A Man of Many Interests: Plutarch on Religion, Myth, and Magic: Essays in Honor of Aurelio Pérez Jiménez 9004404473, 9789004404472

Table of contents :
‎Contents
‎Preface
‎An Appreciation of Aurelio Pérez Jiménez (Titchener)
‎Part 1. Lives
‎Chapter 1. The Life of Theseus: From Theater to History (Alcalde-Martín)
‎Chapter 2. “The Heraclean” and “The Dionysian” as Structural Traits in Plutarch’s Biography of Antony (Calvo Martínez)
‎Chapter 3. A Statesman of Many Resources: Plutarch on Solon’s Use of Myth and Theatricality for Political Purposes (Leão)
‎Chapter 4. Plutarch’s Ghosts (Mossman)
‎Chapter 5. The Religiosity of Plutarch’s Spartan Heroes and Their Attitude towards Divination (Nikolaidis)
‎Chapter 6. Plutarch on the Great Battles of Greece (Pelling)
‎Chapter 7. Prophecy and Fortune (τύχη) in Plutarch’s Marius and Sulla (Stadter)
‎Part 2. Moralia
‎Chapter 8. The μεταβολή of the Soul (Frags. 177–178 Sandbach) (Volpe)
‎Chapter 9. The Virtues and the Intelligence of Animals in Plutarch (Becchi)
‎Chapter 10. Plutarch’s Image of the Androgynous Moon in Context (Muñoz Gallarte)
‎Chapter 11. The Myth of Human Races: Can Plutarch Help Us Understand Valentinian Anthropology? (Roig Lanzillotta)
‎Chapter 12. Plutarch’s Use of Myth in His Anti-Stoic and Anti-Epicurean Polemics (Roskam)
‎Chapter 13. From the Classical Age to Plutarch: A Diachronic Study of the Term ἀλιτήριος in Greek Literature (Ramón Palerm)
‎Chapter 14. Plutarch the Greek in the Roman Questions (Brenk)
‎Chapter 15. Plutarch and the Separable Intellect: Some Further Reflections (Dillon)
‎Chapter 16. Platonic Elements in the Chaldaean Oracles (Ferrari)
‎Chapter 17. Marriage, Cult and City in Plutarch’s Erotikos (Georgiadou)
‎Chapter 18. Plutarch on Philology and Philologists (Van der Stockt)
‎Bibliography of Aurelio Pérez Jiménez (Lesage Gárriga)
‎Index of Modern Authors
‎Index Rerum
‎Index Locorum

Citation preview

A Man of Many Interests: Plutarch on Religion, Myth, and Magic

Brill’s Plutarch Studies Editors Lautaro Roig Lanzillotta (University of Groningen) Delfim F. Leão (University of Coimbra)

Editorial Board Lucia Athanassaki Mark Beck Ewen L. Bowie Timothy Duff Rainer Hirsch-Luipold Judith Mossman Anastasios G. Nikolaidis Christopher Pelling Aurelio Pérez Jiménez Luc van der Stockt Frances B. Titchener Paola Volpe Cacciatore

volume 2

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/bps

A Man of Many Interests: Plutarch on Religion, Myth, and Magic Essays in Honor of Aurelio Pérez Jiménez

Edited by

Delfim F. Leão Lautaro Roig Lanzillotta

LEIDEN | BOSTON

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at http://catalog.loc.gov

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill‑typeface. ISSN 2451-8328 ISBN 978-90-04-40435-9 (hardback) ISBN 978-90-04-40447-2 (e-book) Copyright 2019 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi, Brill Sense, Hotei Publishing, mentis Verlag, Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh and Wilhelm Fink Verlag. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Preface xi An Appreciation of Aurelio Pérez Jiménez xv Frances Titchener

Part 1 Lives 1

The Life of Theseus: From Theater to History Carlos Alcalde-Martín

3

2

“The Heraclean” and “The Dionysian” as Structural Traits in Plutarch’s Biography of Antony 28 José Luis Calvo Martínez

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A Statesman of Many Resources: Plutarch on Solon’s Use of Myth and Theatricality for Political Purposes 41 Delfim F. Leão

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Plutarch’s Ghosts 59 Judith Mossman

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The Religiosity of Plutarch’s Spartan Heroes and Their Attitude towards Divination 76 Anastasios G. Nikolaidis

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Plutarch on the Great Battles of Greece Christopher Pelling

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Prophecy and Fortune (τύχη) in Plutarch’s Marius and Sulla 114 Philip A. Stadter

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Part 2 Moralia 8

The μεταβολή of the Soul (Frags. 177–178 Sandbach) Paola Volpe

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The Virtues and the Intelligence of Animals in Plutarch Francesco Becchi

138

10

Plutarch’s Image of the Androgynous Moon in Context Israel Muñoz Gallarte

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The Myth of Human Races: Can Plutarch Help Us Understand Valentinian Anthropology? 188 Lautaro Roig Lanzillotta

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Plutarch’s Use of Myth in His Anti-Stoic and Anti-Epicurean Polemics 211 Geert Roskam

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From the Classical Age to Plutarch: A Diachronic Study of the Term ἀλιτήριος in Greek Literature 228 Vicente M. Ramón Palerm

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Plutarch the Greek in the Roman Questions 240 Frederick E. Brenk

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Plutarch and the Separable Intellect: Some Further Reflections John Dillon

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Platonic Elements in the Chaldaean Oracles Franco Ferrari

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Marriage, Cult and City in Plutarch’s Erotikos Aristoula Georgiadou

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Plutarch on Philology and Philologists Luc Van der Stockt

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Bibliography of Aurelio Pérez Jiménez Luisa Lesage Gárriga Index of Modern Authors 325 Index Rerum 332 Index Locorum 340

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Preface A feature particularly distinctive and remarkable of Plutarch’s intellectual and professional activity is the way he managed to cover such an impressive range of areas and interests, which make of his work an inexhaustible source of information on the ancient world. This sensation is felt by any reader who is approaching for the first time his oeuvre, but is not less intense in a scholar who has been investing many years in studying it. Plutarch is in fact a ‘man of many interests’ and such is the case as well of Aurelio Pérez Jiménez, to whom this Festschrift is devoted and who distinguished himself, throughout his entire life, as one of the most enthusiastic and brilliant specialists on the great writer of Chaeronea. Aurelio’s particular emphasis on fields such as religion, myth and magic, rooted in meticulous philological approach, is made very clear both in the introductory section by Frances Titchener (“An Appreciation of Aurelio Pérez Jiménez”), and in the final contribution on his scholarly publications outlined by Luisa Lesage (“Bibliography of Aurelio Pérez Jiménez”). Therefore, the title of this volume—A Man of Many Interests: Plutarch on Religion, Myth, and Magic—is first and foremost a coalescing homage to Plutarch and to Aurelio, and to the way they have been inspiring (as master and indirect disciple) a multitude of readers in their path to knowledge, here metonymically represented by a number of Plutarchan scholars who present their joint tribute to both of them. The analysis developed throughout the several contributions favors a philological approach of wide spectrum, i.e., stemming from literary and linguistic aspects, it projects them into their cultural, religious, philosophical, and historical framework. For the convenience of readers, the works were organized into two broad sections, respectively devoted to the Lives and to the Moralia, although each of these parts intersects with the work of many other ancient authors and sources, and as well fertilize each other, as would be expected (and is in fact imperative) in a volume devoted to the work of Plutarch. The part dedicated to the Lives comprises seven studies. The first one, “The Life of Theseus: from Theater to History”, by Carlos Alcalde-Martín, discusses the way Plutarch attempts to confer historical verisimilitude to the legends on this hero that he found in the works of poets, especially the tragic ones, but that the biographer could not accept in their literal sense. Taking his religious and philosophical ideas as a point of departure, Plutarch puts into practice a process of purging these stories by means of reason. José Luis Calvo Martínez, in the work “‘The Heraclean’ and ‘the Dionysian’ as Structural Traits in Plutarch’s Biography of Antony”, explores the way the warlike spirit and erotic-theatrical character of Antony may be linked to the two hero-gods that somehow sym-

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bolize them, namely, Heracles and Dionysus. Delfim Leão, in his contribution “A Statesman of Many Resources: Plutarch on Solon’s use of Myth and Theatricality for Political Purposes,” deals with the way Plutarch presents this paradigmatic statesman intervening at different times in the Athenian political scene. Solon quite often appears in a setting of strong social and political tensions that he manages to control by turning the situation in his favor. Famous examples are the exhibition of a feigned mania while performing in public the elegy for Salamis, the use of myth and Homeric poetry as means to reinforce the Athenian claim to the possession of the island, and the theatrical and strongly symbolic way in which he opposed the installation of Peisistratus’ tyranny. In “Plutarch’s Ghosts,” Judith Mossman seeks to examine Plutarch’s accounts of ghostly visitations and set them in context. These appearances— different than dreams, by the disconcerting characteristic that they appear to percipients who are awake—are frightening because of the manner they represent a rupture of the boundary between this world and the next, establishing an intrusion on the living by the dead. Anastasios G. Nikolaidis, in the paper “The Religiosity of Plutarch’s Spartan Heroes and their Attitude towards Divination,” discusses the changing attitudes of Plutarch’s Spartan heroes (such as Lycurgus, Agesilaus, Agis and Cleomenes) towards religion and its manifestations (oracles, omens, sacrifices), by connecting them with Plutarch’s own somewhat ambivalent attitude towards divination and oracles. With “Plutarch on the Great Battles of Greece,” Christopher Pelling analyses the biographer’s intellectual and narrative challenge in portraying heroes who were very often men of military achievement, thus personalities who, at times, might stimulate a sort of emulation that he might find unsuitable for treatment. The paper explores therefore Plutarch’s techniques in treating such battles, and the way the heroic achievement is fully acknowledged and admired, while reflecting as well the points of distress and suffering caused by those internecine battles. Finally, Philip Stadter, with his “Prophecy and Fortune (τύχη) in Plutarch’s Marius and Sulla,” considers as a case study the biographies of these two generals who transformed Rome by their military skill, ambition, and disastrous rivalry with each other. Stadter pays particular attention to the manner in which, during the course of both Lives, and of the two men’s conflict with each other, prophecy and divine signs remarkably interact with τύχη. The part dedicated to the Moralia is a little longer and comprises twelve studies, which stimulate a vivid dialogue in particular with philosophical and religious issues, while maintaining as well the philological approach as a methodological continuum. The opening text, by Paola Volpe, on “The μεταβολή of the Soul (frags. 177–178 Sandbach),” aims at studying the μεταβολή or ‘transformation’ of the soul at the moment when it departs from the body, underlining

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the way this experience can be compared to going through an initiation ritual, where wonder and fear are inextricably linked. Francesco Becchi, in his “The Philosophical Debate Concerning the Virtues and the Intelligence of Animals in Plutarch,” approaches the question of the “moral superiority” of beasts deriving from their predisposition to follow nature as their master, whilst their incapability to achieve perfect rationality—and not their ‘atheism’—properly explains the Stoics’ denial of any form of intelligence to animals. In “Plutarch’s Image of the Androgynous Moon in Context”, Israel Muñoz Gallarte focuses his analysis on the myth of the “androgyne” or “Hermaphroditus,” and in the way its symbolism affects diverse fields of knowledge, and a number of different cultures that are in contact with each other, as is the case of Romans, Greeks, Jews, and Christians. Because Plutarch stands at the crossroads of these cultures, the study of his use of the sources pertaining to the androgyne myth provides a key to elucidating his relationship with the cultures of his age. With the contribution on “The Myth of Human Races: Can Plutarch Help Us Understand Valentinian Anthropology?,” Lautaro Roig Lanzillotta accentuates the approach to mythical issues, by placing Valentinian anthropology in the wider religious and philosophical context to which it belongs, and by comparing it with Plutarch’s conception of the human being as presented in his eschatological myths, in particular in the De facie. Myth is again at the core of Geert Roskam’s essay on “Plutarch’s Use of Myth in his Anti-Stoic and Anti-Epicurean Polemics,” which analyses the complex and multimodal attitude of the writer of Chaeronea in what pertains to this topic. While sometimes Plutarch dismissed myths as mere fictions, on other occasions he appreciated them as interesting and valuable images of a deeper philosophical truth, and, as a Platonist, he also created his own eschatological myths. In his study “From the Classical Age to Plutarch: a Diachronic Study of the Term ἀλιτήριος in Greek Literature,” Vicente M. Ramón Palerm underlines the contribution of the philological approach to religion, namely in the way the irreligious vocabulary in Greek contributes to an overall understanding of the “religiosity / irreligiosity” antithesis, a discussion in which Plutarch’s input has special interpretative relevance. Frederick Brenk’s “Plutarch the Greek in the Roman Questions” maintains that an examination of the Roman Questions reveals that Plutarch usually employs Roman answers for Roman “questions,” while Greek answers are normally given as corroboration for the solution based on Roman culture. He then argues that, unlike the Roman Questions, most Greek Questions allow a precise factual answer, usually from myth-history or knowledge of the local religion. In “Plutarch and the Separable Intellect: Some Further Reflections,” John Dillon presents a new proposal to explain the origin

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of Plutarch’s conception of a separable intellect in human beings, especially in connection with Zoroastrianism, although allowing for a certain degree of creative adaptation on his part. In his turn, Franco Ferrari approaches the “Platonic Elements in the Chaldaean Oracles,” arguing that the Oracles reflect some important philosophical elements in Imperial-age Platonism, which are placed within a framework dominated by a religious and ritual approach, and marked by soteriological concerns. Aristoula Georgiadou, with her essay on “Marriage, Cult and City in Plutarch’s Erotikos,” maintains that, by making both women and men active agents, joined in their souls and fused together through the (Stoic) notion of “total blending,” Plutarch erases the traditional (Platonic) boundaries between “lover” and “beloved,” and between “to love” and “to be loved.” In his final provocative study on “Plutarch on Philology and Philologists,” Luc van der Stockt sketches, on the basis of Plutarch’s use of the words φιλόλογος, φιλολογία, φιλολογεῖν, his view on the content and the extent of the notion of philology, and on the role of literature in philology and education. It is our conviction that the essays collected in this volume (among whose authors are some of the most prominent Plutarchan scholars) make a very valuable contribution to Plutarch and to the understanding of his cultural and religious setting. And if the Festschrift has succeeded well in attaining that purpose, it will as well fittingly achieve the goal of paying our homage to Aurelio Pérez Jiménez, who, together with his most cherished writer of Chaeronea, are prime examples of men able to profoundly cultivate and illuminate a multitude of interests. Special acknowledgements are due to Carlos Alcalde Martín, from Málaga University, and to the “Sección Malagueña,” of the Sociedad Española de Estudios Clásicos, for their important contribution to the making of this volume. Thanks are also due to the Centre for Classical and Humanistic Studies of Coimbra University and to the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies of Groningen University, whose institutional support was as well essential for the advent of this publication. Finally, a sign of particular recognition to the International Plutarch Society, for scientific support, and to our publisher, for having accepted this volume at “Brill’s Plutarch Studies.” Delfim F. Leão and Lautaro Roig Lanzillotta

An Appreciation of Aurelio Pérez Jiménez Frances Titchener

To most of those writing about the classical world, Aurelio Pérez Jiménez is first and foremost a distinguished scholar on Plutarch and his works, particularly the Life of Theseus. When like good Plutarchans we look at the publications of Aurelio, we can see many points of comparison between Theseus and Athens, and Aurelio and the International Plutarch Society (IPS). For we in the Society know Aurelio as the man who in early days established traditions for the IPS in publishing and philanthropia that persist to this day and are important focuses of the Society’s attention and planning. The vigor and success of the IPS, as well as the very existence of its journal Ploutarchos, owe an enormous debt to this learned and congenial man. Learned he certainly is: Aurelio has written not just on Plutarch, but many other things, including astrology, Hesiod, and Plutarchan reception in Spain. And congenial he is also, without question. Aurelio is one of those rare and very appealing individuals who really enjoys the role of host, and he plays it to perfection, whether that be taking visitors to tour the waterfront at Marbella, enjoy a local theatrical production, or enjoy the view from the Castillo in Málaga. He attends to details personally, and makes sure things go smoothly. The story of the IPS has been told before, but perhaps not the significance of the Spanish Section. From the beginning, the Spanish section was notable for its important scholarly contributions, but over the decades, we recognize the Plutarquistas also for their fantastic Section conferences, beginning in 1988. Invitations to these conferences remain highly sought after because following the vision of Aurelio, these gatherings take place in beautiful, temperate places like Salamanca or Cadiz, too many to count!, and feature the highest levels of scholarly engagement as well as unmatched hospitality. The Acta tell the story, representing an impressive body of scholarly achievement by the Section and periodically, lucky guests. Not only do the Spanish section conferences impress the memory, but especially the important international congress on Plutarco, Platón y Aristóteles, held in Madrid and Cuenca in 1999. That was only the fifth congress held by the young Society, who recently in 2017 held their 11th such congress in Fribourg, Switzerland. The success of that Cuenca meeting had a lot to do with people’s enthusiasm over the years for attending other congresses, and to this day, interest and attendance grow amongst the membership as each international congress is bigger and more successful than the last.

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For Aurelio is not only an important scholar and administrative leader, but a generous and hospitable host. I recall many happy visits in Spain, often as Aurelio’s guest, and most particularly, I recall visiting him in Málaga. I had not been to that historic city before, and Aurelio was generous with his time and knowledge. The past and present became connected for me in a new way, as an old Carthaginian town came alive in its different incarnations. Making a bridge between the past and present is something it turns out that Aurelio is very good at. For instance, in the same way the Spanish section’s very popular international Congress helped pave the way for more of the same, so did Aurelio’s stewardship of Ploutarchos take the journal to the final stage of its journey. In 1986, Ploutarchos was a three- or four-page newsletter which relied on volunteer work and institutional generosity to exist. Within the next five years, the binding changed from saddle to perfect, a big improvement, but still a newsletter. In 2002, the vision of Aurelio was realized in Ploutarchos, a formal academic journal with original articles and book reviews. Even then, he did not rest, but in 2014, he transformed the journal’s appearance, working with artists to create an elegant appearance. He has worked hard, and continues to do so, to help the journal raise its professional profile and become accessible to even more scholars around the world, creating a meaningful legacy that continues to grow. But again, Aurelio’s vision was greater. It was he during his service as the third President of the IPS who had envisioned the value of honorary volumes for individuals who had been important to the Society, starting with Italo Gallo and Philip Stadter, the first two Presidents. Typically, Aurelio was not constrained by a “category”, but wanted to include Frederick Brenk, an important friend to the Society since the beginning in the early 1980s, and an important scholar on Plutarch’s works. Aurelio assembled teams of co-editors and authors and was the driving force behind the printing and dissemination of these books. This volume is a direct outgrowth of these Aurelian trends toward increased visibility, professionalism, and even beauty, and we naturally hope that Aurelio is pleased to see the kind of fruit produced from that early tree. We ask him to accept this tribute to his scholarship, friendship, and leadership, and we salute him and thank him for the service he has done for the International Plutarch Society, and for all scholars of Plutarch’s works. We all look forward to even more years of happy association, perhaps Plutarch most of all!

part 1 Lives

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chapter 1

The Life of Theseus: From Theater to History Carlos Alcalde-Martín

Methodological Principles and Procedures When Plutarch declares in the Life of Alexander 1.1–2 that he does not write history but bioi, he also makes it clear that he is dealing with historical men and facts.* His Lives, therefore, are also of a historical nature, as he expressly says in Demosthenes 2.1, adding that, in order to compose them, he needs to have the appropriate “bibliography.” In Nicias 1.5, he points out his dependence on the works of historians but, at the same time, he marks the differences with them in the selection and treatment of facts and other types of data he provides, for example monuments, which still survive in his time and which he has, therefore, the opportunity to contemplate. But when he writes the Life of Theseus, he is aware that this biography is not like the others because of the different nature of both the protagonist and the written sources available to him. In the proem of Theseus (1–2), Plutarch states the reason why he composes this biography and the problems he faces: after publishing the book dedicated to Lycurgus and Numa, he wanted to go back to Romulus, who had been “the father of invincible and glorious Rome:”1 τῷ πατρὶ τῆς ἀνικήτου καὶ μεγαλοδόξου Ῥώμης, and felt that it would be appropriate to compare with him “the founder of lovely and famous Athens:”2 τὸν τῶν καλῶν καὶ ἀοιδίμων οἰκιστὴν Ἀθηνῶν. He aspires to build a coherent and systematic narrative, with a structure similar to the other Lives: he organizes the biography of the hero, dealing with his family origin, education, first deeds, akme, decadence, death, descendants and posthumous fame.3 * The subject of this paper has been chosen as a modest tribute to Professor Aurelio Pérez Jiménez, who has devoted special attention in numerous works of his research to the myths about Theseus in Greek literature. 1 English translation by B. Perrin, in Plutarch’s Lives I: Theseus and Romulus. Lycurgus and Numa. Solon and Publicola (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1914). 2 A preferable translation would be: “the founder of beautiful and celebrated in songs Athens.” 3 For a detailed display of this Life’s structure, cf. A. Pérez Jiménez, “La estructura literaria de la Vida de Teseo,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & F. Titchener (eds.), Historical and Biographical Values of Plutarch’s Works. Studies Devoted to Prof. Ph.A. Stadter by the International Plutarch Society (Málaga: Universidad de Málaga; Logan, UT: Utah State University, 2005) 342–343, 347–351.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004404472_002

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In addition, in the construction of a “true life” of Theseus, Plutarch is giving some guidelines about the temporal sequence, as we see below. (5.1): “Since it was still a custom at that time for youth who were coming of age (τοὺς μεταβαίνοντας ἐκ παίδων) to go to Delphi and sacrifice some of their hair to the god …” (6.2): “… in his young manhood (μειράκιον ὢν) … Aethra brought him to the rock … and bade him take away his father’s tokens and go by sea to Athens.” (15.1): “Not long afterwards (Ὀλίγῳ δ’ ὕστερον), the collectors of the tribute came from Crete to Athens for the third time.” (17.1): “when the time came for the third tribute, and it was necessary for the fathers who had youthful sons (ἠίθεοι παῖδες) to present them for the lot.” After the return from Crete begins the reign of Theseus, his stage of maturity, and Plutarch enumerates, without chronological sequence, all his political measures and reforms (24– 25), then the adventures and the war with the Amazons (26–28), abductions of women, other adventures and the Centauromachy (29–30). The chronological data appear again at the beginning of the decline of the hero with Helen’s abduction (31.1): “Theseus was already fifty years old, according to Hellanicus, when he took part in the rape of Helen.” Shortly after the abduction, when Theseus was a prisoner of Aïdoneus, Menestheus began plotting to dethrone Theseus (32.1): “Meanwhile Menestheus” (Ἐν δὲ τῷ χρόνῳ τούτῳ Μενεσθεύς). The latest temporal references in the biography no longer refer to the hero’s life but to his descendants, posthumous honors and recovery of his remains (35.8): “The sons of Theseus … after Menestheus died … came back … and recovered their kingdom … many of those who fought at Marathon against the Medes thought they saw an apparition of Theseus.” (36.1): “And after the Median wars, in the archonship of Phaedo … they were told by the Pythian priestess to take up the bones of Theseus.” (36.3): “These relics were brought home on his trireme by Cimon.” (36.4): “And now he lies buried in the heart of the city, near the present gymnasium.” But Plutarch is aware of the difficulties posed by the fact that many of the sources he has at his disposal are not accounts with historical plausibility but fantastic stories created by mythographers and poets, especially tragic poets: ἐμοὶ περὶ τὴν τῶν βίων τῶν παραλλήλων γραφὴν τὸν ἐφικτὸν εἰκότι λόγῳ καὶ βάσιμον ἱστορίᾳ πραγμάτων ἐχομένῃ χρόνον διελθόντι, περὶ τῶν ἀνωτέρω καλῶς εἶχεν εἰπεῖν “τὰ δ’ ἐπέκεινα τερατώδη καὶ τραγικά, ποιηταὶ καὶ μυθογράφοι νέμονται, καὶ οὐκέτ’ ἔχει πίστιν οὐδὲ σαφήνειαν.”4

4 Thes. 1.2–3. In this passage and in some others of the biography, the Greek terms related to “tragedy” have a relevant meaning that Perrin’s translation, as well as others consulted, does

the life of theseus: from theater to history

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In the writing of my Parallel Lives, now that I have traversed those periods of time which are accessible to probable reasoning and which afford basis for a history dealing with facts, I might well say of the earlier periods: “What lies beyond is full of marvels and unreality, a land of poets and fabulists, of doubt and obscurity.” Two influences stand out immediately in Plutarch’s program: the rejection of myth within the historical narrative recalls that of Thucydides (1.22.4), and the difference and confrontation between logos and mythos have a clear Platonic root (Gorgias 523A, 527A, Protagoras 320C). From this proem, and throughout the whole biography, Plutarch insists that, among the sources of the subject he deals with, the poetry related to Athens in general and, above all, tragic poetry, is of special importance. In the previous quote, we have just read the adjective τραγικά (1.3) and, somewhat later (1.5), when Athens receives the epithet ἀοιδίμων (celebrated in songs), already applied to the city by Pindar (fr. 76 Snell), we think not only of this poet, but also of the tragic poets. The enormous influence of these Attic poets, superior to that of Homer and Hesiod (and Plato, although he is not expressly mentioned) at least in relation to Theseus and Minos, is evident when Plutarch affirms: ἔοικε γὰρ ὄντως χαλεπὸν εἶναι φωνὴν ἐχούσῃ πόλει καὶ μοῦσαν ἀπεχθάνεσθαι. καὶ γὰρ ὁ Μίνως ἀεὶ διετέλει κακῶς ἀκούων καὶ λοιδορούμενος ἐν τοῖς Ἀττικοῖς θεάτροις, καὶ οὔθ’ Ἡσίοδος αὐτὸν ὤνησε ‘βασιλεύτατον’ οὔθ’ Ὅμηρος ‘ὀαριστὴν Διὸς’ προσαγορεύσας, ἀλλ’ ἐπικρατήσαντες οἱ τραγικοὶ πολλὴν ἀπὸ τοῦ λογείου καὶ τῆς σκηνῆς ἀδοξίαν αὐτοῦ κατεσκέδασαν ὡς χαλεποῦ καὶ βιαίου γενομένου. καίτοι φασὶ τὸν μὲν Μίνω βασιλέα καὶ νομοθέτην, δικαστὴν δὲ τὸν Ῥαδάμανθυν εἶναι καὶ φύλακα τῶν ὡρισμένων ὑπ’ ἐκείνου δικαίων.5 And verily it seems to be a grievous thing for a man to be at enmity with a city which has a language and a literature. For Minos was always abused and reviled in the Attic theatres, and it did not avail him either that Hesiod called him “most royal,” or that Homer styled him “a confidant of Zeus,” but the tragic poets prevailed, and from platform and stage showered not take up. For this reason, as well as for the rendering of other terms, I offer my own translation of the part between quotation marks: “What lies beyond is fantastic and appropriate for tragedies, inhabited by poets and mythographers and no longer offers credibility or certainty.” About the importance of these terms, which reflect the influence of tragedy in this biography, cf. A. Casanova, “La Vita di Teseo e la tradizione letteraria,” in A. Casanova (ed.), Figure d’Atene nelle opere di Plutarco (Florence: Florence University Press, 2013) 10–11. 5 Thes. 16.3.

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obloquy down upon him, as a man of cruelty and violence. And yet they say that Minos was a king and lawgiver, and that Rhadamanthus was a judge under him, and a guardian of the principles of justice defined by him. If Minos’s bad reputation was due to the fact that he was unjustly denigrated by the tragic poets, then it would not be wrong to suppose that, on the contrary, Theseus’s heightened fame was due to those same poets.6 Plutarch also expresses in the proem the purpose of purging with reason those elements of the legend that have mythical tint to give them the appearance of history, and even addresses directly the reader asking for understanding when his story fails to be compatible with the plausible:7 εἴη μὲν οὖν ἡμῖν ἐκκαθαιρόμενον λόγῳ τὸ μυθῶδες ὑπακοῦσαι καὶ λαβεῖν ἱστορίας ὄψιν· ὅπου δ’ ἂν αὐθαδῶς τοῦ πιθανοῦ περιφρονῇ καὶ μὴ δέχηται τὴν πρὸς τὸ εἰκὸς μεῖξιν, εὐγνωμόνων ἀκροατῶν δεησόμεθα καὶ πρᾴως τὴν ἀρχαιολογίαν προσδεχομένων. May I therefore succeed in purifying Fable, making her submit to reason and take on the semblance of History. But where she obstinately disdains to make herself credible, and refuses to admit any element of probability, I shall pray for kindly readers, and such as receive with indulgence the tales of antiquity.8 Plutarch does not doubt the historical reality of Theseus and his important political reforms; for this he has authorities as respected as Thucydides (2.15.2) and Aristotle (Athenaion politeia 41.2). But he has some doubts about the veracity of specific episodes in his story and while not promising to make it true, he aspires to obtain a story with ‘semblance of history,’ (ἱστορίας ὄψιν) by con-

6 As C. Pelling points out in “Dionysiac diagnostics: some hints of Dionysius in Plutarch’s Lives,” in C. Pelling, Plutarch and History. Eighteen Studies (London—Duckworth: The Classical Press of Wales, 2002) 199. 7 Cf. the detailed explanation of this passage (along with the fundamental value of the term εἰκός) in C. Pelling, “Making myth look like history: Plutarch’s Theseus—Romulus,” in Pelling, Plutarch and History, 171–175. 8 Thes. 1.5. I offer some small corrections to Perrin’s translation: “May I therefore succeed in purifying the mythical story, making it submit to reason and take on the semblance of history. But where it obstinately disdains to make itself credible, and refuses to admit any element of verisimilitude, I shall pray for kindly readers, and such as receive with indulgence the legends of antiquity.”

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ferring it verisimilitude, in line with the historical rationalization of myths that many Greek historians cultivated after Hecataeus.9 This rationalizing attitude will condition his treatment of myth, not only in its form but also in the selection of sources and versions, providing the reader with indications on the degree of credibility or plausibility of the information. Plutarch makes extensive use of historians and Atthidographers whose rationalized versions of myths coincide with his attitude, as he believes their accounts are more likely to be true.10 But even in this case, Plutarch gives the name of the writers who provide the information and does not want to take responsibility for it, as it does not offer full guarantee or evidence, which is why he once says (27.6): “it is not astonishing that history, when dealing with events of such great antiquity, should wander in uncertainty.” While expressing his doubts about such accounts, he reveals an almost total mistrust of the mythical traditions of tragedy (2.3):11 “If there is any aid to the truth in what seems to have been told with the least poetic exaggeration:”12 εἴ τι τῶν ἥκιστα τραγικῶς εἰρῆσθαι δοκούντων ὄφελός ἐστι πρὸς ἀλήθειαν. Although in specific details he can allude to tragic poets in general, and even mention them individually, as support for a narrative, the manifest distrust of them can be taken as a general principle in this biography. However, the dependence on poets is inevitable, given their prestige and enormous diffusion. The influence of tragedies can often be observed even if they are not cited,13 and indeed Plutarch finds it necessary to allude to them if only to reject their versions. Moreover, their presence in the narrative not only is direct, but also indirect, since the sources that rationalize myths, such as the Atthidographers, often depend on the versions offered by tragedies. In short, Plutarch sometimes accepts stories from tragedies, sometimes expresses his caution and very often rejects them. When accepted, if they are well known, in some cases he just mentions them.

9

10 11

12 13

A study of the different procedures used by Plutarch to adapt myth to plausibility can be found in A. Pérez Jiménez, “Perfiles humanos de un héroe. Plutarco y su imagen de Teseo,” in V. Pirenne-Delforge & E. Suárez de la Torre (eds.), Héros et héroïnes dans les mythes et les cultes grecs (Liège: Kernos Supplément 10, 2000) 231–232. But for Plutarch these stories are not a guarantee of truthfulness: cf. Pelling, “Making myth look like history,” 177–178. On Plutarch’s rationalist attitude and his mistrust of the tragedians, cf. C. Ampolo, “Introduzione,” in Plutarco, Le vite di Teseo e di Romolo (Milano: Fondazione Lorenzo Valla— Mondadori, 1988) XIII–XV. But I prefer to translate: “If any of the stories that seem less typical of tragedy is useful for the truth.” Cf. Casanova, “La Vita di Teseo e la tradizione letteraria,” 9–18.

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The strength and validity of tradition is manifested in language: Plutarch does not express doubts against the unanimity of tradition. On the other hand, however, he is careful to indicate to the reader, with certain expressions, the degree of reliability of a story.

First Deeds of Theseus The first chapters of the biography, from 3 to 11, dedicated to the origin, youth and first acts of Theseus, can be taken as an example of Plutarch’s procedures. He expresses no doubt concerning Theseus’s descent by maternal line, and in this he coincides with all traditions. But when he wants to specify the kind of wisdom that Pittheus, Theseus’s grandfather, had, inferring it from a verse by Hesiod (Opera et Dies 370) traditionally attributed to Pittheus, he manifests his caution with expressions that appear quite frequently in the biography: ὡς ἔοικεν (‘as it seems’) and λέγουσι (‘they say’). He also cites Aristotle as a source who attributes the verse to Pittheus, and adds that Euripides underlines the fame of Pittheus.14 As the main source, the philosopher; the tragic poet, a support. With regard to the paternal lineage of Theseus, Plutarch also accepts without hesitation that it goes back to Erechtheus and the primitive autochthonous people (3.1), and that he is the son of Aegeus15 (3.5–4.1). But in a particular detail—the Pythian oracle that forbade Aegeus to lie with any woman before arriving in Athens, Plutarch manifests his insecurity with expressions such as “they say” (λέγουσι). Maybe because this information comes from Euripides?16 Instead, he reports without expressing doubts that Aegeus, persuaded or deceived by Pittheus, slept with Aethra and got her pregnant and, before leaving Troezen, left under a large rock the tokens with which he would recognize his future son when he came of age. The reason for Plutarch’s certainty is to be found later, when he confirms this paternity of Aegeus by denying another one that was also widespread among ancient sources (6.1–2):17

14 15 16 17

E., Hipp. 11. Cf. also Med. 686. Theseus appears mentioned as the son of Aegeus already in Il. 1.265. E., Med. 665–685. On this, cf. Casanova, “La Vita di Teseo e la tradizione letteraria,” 12. Paus. 2.33.1, following a tradition of Troezen, attributes to Poseidon the fatherhood of Theseus. Apollod. 3.16 says that Theseus is the son of Aegeus, but before, in 3.15.7, he says that Aethra had been lying with Aegeus and Poseidon the same night; Hyg., Fab. 37 also tells this story.

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Τὸν μὲν οὖν ἄλλον χρόνον ἔκρυπτεν Αἴθρα τὴν ἀληθινὴν τοῦ Θησέως γένεσιν· ἦν δὲ λόγος ὑπὸ τοῦ Πιτθέως διαδοθεὶς ὡς ἐκ Ποσειδῶνος τεκνωθείη. Ποσειδῶνα γὰρ Τροιζήνιοι σέβονται διαφερόντως … ἐπεὶ δὲ μειράκιον ὢν ἅμα τῇ τοῦ σώματος ῥώμῃ διέφαινεν ἀλκὴν καὶ φρόνημα μετὰ νοῦ καὶ συνέσεως βέβαιον, οὕτως αὐτὸν ἡ Αἴθρα πρὸς τὴν πέτραν προσαγαγοῦσα, καὶ φράσασα περὶ τῆς γενέσεως τἀληθές, ἐκέλευσεν ὑφελεῖν τὰ πατρῷα σύμβολα καὶ πλεῖν εἰς Ἀθήνας. During the rest of the time, then, Aethra kept his true birth concealed from Theseus, and a report was spread abroad by Pittheus that he was begotten by Poseidon. For Poseidon is highly honored by the people of Troezen … But when, in his young manhood, Theseus displayed, along with his vigor of body, prowess also, and a firm spirit united with intelligence and sagacity, then Aethra brought him to the rock, told him the truth about his birth, and bade him take away his father’s tokens and go by sea to Athens. In this way Plutarch explains the tradition, also ancient and solid, that Theseus was the son of Poseidon.18 He invents that it was Pittheus who spread such a rumor (presumably in order to honor his daughter and grandson), a plausible version, since he does not consider true the unions of gods with mortals,19 and puts Aethra herself as a witness (who could know better?), who reveals to Theseus that his father is Aegeus. He cannot omit the version of the divine origin of Theseus, given its great diffusion, and he is obliged to quote it even if to deny it. But he does not cite the sources that transmit it, however well-known they are, like the poet Bacchylides.20 18

19

20

In Od. 11.631, Theseus is said to have a divine father. But Plutarch does not give credit to this, and later, in 20.2, he says that, according to Hereas the Megarian, Peisistratus interpolated this verse to please the Athenians. On this, cf. A. Pérez Jiménez, Plutarco, Vidas paralelas: Teseo—Rómulo. Licurgo—Numa. Introducción general, traducción y notas (Madrid: Gredos, 1985) 159 n. 24; Ampolo, “Introduzione,” XV–XVI. Cf. B. 17 Snell: on the voyage to Crete, Theseus, to prove that he was the son of Poseidon, submerged himself in the sea and returned to the ship with the ring that had been thrown by Minos and with a crown that Anphitrite gave him in her underwater palace (but B 18 suggests that this same poet echoes the tradition that made Theseus son of Aegeus). Paus 1.17.3 recounts a summary of this underwater adventure and says that it was represented in the sanctuary of Theseus in Athens in a painting by Micon. Plutarch is completely silent on this adventure, although he probably knew it from Bacchylides’ poem and Micon’s painting (cf. 36.4). As son of Poseidon he also appears in Pl., R 391C–D. Cf. Isoc. 10.18: he was called son of Aegeus, but he was truly the son of Poseidon. On the two origins of Theseus and the sources, cf. H. Herter, s.v. “Theseus,” RE Suppl. 13 (1973) 1053–1057.

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Plutarch finds various types of proofs of the veracity of his information, such as the festivities and rites that have remained in posterity. Thus, he considers as proof that the name of Theseus’s pedagogue was Connidas the fact that, even in his time, the Athenians still honored him with that name. The truthfulness is confirmed by Plutarch’s ethical conclusion about the importance of the preceptor in character formation (4.1): τρεφόμενον δ’ ὑπὸ τοῦ Πιτθέως ἐπιστάτην ἔχειν καὶ παιδαγωγὸν ὄνομα Κοννίδαν, ᾧ μέχρι νῦν Ἀθηναῖοι μιᾷ πρότερον ἡμέρᾳ τῶν Θησείων κριὸν ἐναγίζουσι, μεμνημένοι καὶ τιμῶντες πολὺ δικαιότερον ἢ Σιλανίωνα τιμῶσι καὶ Παρράσιον, εἰκόνων Θησέως γραφεῖς καὶ πλάστας γενομένους. He was reared by Pittheus, as they say, and had an overseer and tutor named Connidas. To this man, even down to the present time, the Athenians sacrifice a ram on the day before the festival of Theseus, remembering and honoring him with far greater justice than they honor Silanio and Parrhasius, who merely painted and molded likenesses of Theseus. Another proof of verisimilitude or truthfulness is constituted by expressions and customs that have survived in posterity (5.1): Ἔθους δ’ ὄντος ἔτι τότε τοὺς μεταβαίνοντας ἐκ παίδων ἐλθόντας εἰς Δελφοὺς ἀπάρχεσθαι τῷ θεῷ τῆς κόμης, ἦλθε μὲν εἰς Δελφοὺς ὁ Θησεύς (καὶ τόπον ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ τὴν Θησείαν ἔτι νῦν ὀνομάζεσθαι λέγουσιν), ἐκείρατο δὲ τῆς κεφαλῆς τὰ πρόσθεν μόνον … καὶ τοῦτο τῆς κουρᾶς τὸ γένος Θησηὶς ὠνομάσθη δι’ ἐκεῖνον. Since it was still a custom at that time for youth who were coming of age to go to Delphi and sacrifice some of their hair to the god, Theseus went to Delphi for this purpose, and they say there is a place there which still to this day is called the Theseia from him. But he sheared only the fore part of his head … and this kind of tonsure was called Theseïs after him. Also, and above all, proof of the veracity of the facts is provided by their adaptation to the moral portrait of the hero that Plutarch wants to transmit. Aethra reveals to Theseus his true origin when she sees the vigor of his body, his courage and the signs of his good judgment and intelligence, and orders him to remove from under the rock the tokens of recognition that his father Aegeus had left and to travel with them to Athens (6.2). Knowing his true origin through his mother’s mouth, Theseus sets off his heroic nature, and so he decides to go

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to Athens not by sea, which was the safest trip, as recommended by his grandfather and mother, but by land. His motivation is twofold: on the one hand, he longs to portray himself as a worthy son of Aegeus and to emulate the exploits of Heracles whose virtue he admired21 (6.3–7.3). On the other hand, Plutarch highlights the social function of the exploits that Theseus will perform in order to restore justice, driven by his humanitarian feelings (6.4, 7.3), which somehow anticipates the future political action of Theseus. The moral approach is Plutarch’s personal stamp on the traditional story.22 Through the emulation of Heracles, the biographer completes the characterization of Theseus as a hero prior to his first acts (7.2–3): δεινὸν οὖν ἐποιεῖτο καὶ οὐκ ἀνεκτὸν, ἐκεῖνον μὲν ἐπὶ τοὺς πανταχοῦ πονηροὺς βαδίζοντα καθαίρειν γῆν καὶ θάλατταν, αὐτὸς δὲ τοὺς ἐμποδὼν ἄθλους ἀποδιδράσκειν, τὸν μὲν λόγῳ καὶ δόξῃ πατέρα καταισχύνων διὰ θαλάττης φυγῇ κομιζόμενος, τῷ δ’ ὄντι προσφέρων γνωρίσματα πέδιλα καὶ ξίφος ἀναίμακτον, οὐκ ἔργοις εὐθὺς ἀγαθοῖς καὶ πράξεσι παρέχων ἐμφανῆ χαρακτῆρα τῆς εὐγενείας. Τοιούτῳ φρονήματι καὶ τοιούτοις λογισμοῖς ἐξώρμησεν, ὡς ἀδικήσων μὲν οὐδένα, τοὺς δ’ ὑπάρχοντας βίας ἀμυνούμενος. Accordingly, he thought it a dreadful and unendurable thing that his famous cousin should go out against the wicked everywhere and purge land and sea of them, while he himself ran away from the struggles which lay in his path, disgracing his reputed father by journeying like a fugitive over the sea, and bringing to his real father as proofs of his birth only sandals and a sword unstained with blood, instead of at once offering noble deeds and achievements as the manifest mark of his noble birth. In such a spirit and with such thoughts he set out, determined to do no man any wrong, but to punish those who offered him violence. There follows the narration of Theseus’s journey from Troezen to Athens, a total of six adventures23 that take the form of a catalogue and close in Ringkomposition with another reference to the imitation of Heracles and the restoration of justice (11.2–3):

21

22 23

Plutarch once again manifests his conception of divinity by mentioning only the human kinship between both heroes (by maternal line) without alluding to the divine kinship. On this, cf. Pérez Jiménez, “Perfiles humanos de un héroe,” 233–236. Cf. their analysis in Herter, s.v. “Theseus,” 1061–1079. Almost all of them are already listed in B. 18.18–30.

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ἔπραττε δὲ ταῦτα μιμούμενος τὸν Ἡρακλέα. καὶ γὰρ ἐκεῖνος οἷς ἐπεβουλεύετο τρόποις ἀμυνόμενος τοὺς προεπιχειροῦντας … οὕτω δὴ καὶ Θησεὺς κολάζων τοὺς πονηροὺς ἐπεξῆλθεν, οἷς μὲν ἐβιάζοντο τοὺς ἄλλους ὑπ’ ἐκείνου καταβιαζομένους, ἐν δὲ τοῖς τρόποις τῆς ἑαυτῶν ἀδικίας τὰ δίκαια πάσχοντας. He did this in imitation of Heracles. For that hero punished those who offered him violence in the manner in which they had plotted to serve him … Thus, Theseus also went on his way chastising the wicked, who were visited with the same violence from him which they were visiting upon others, and suffered justice after the manner of their own injustice. Plutarch recounts these adventures as true facts, without any doubt about them, because they are supported by the tradition. However, despite presenting them as a kind of catalogue, he does not tell them impersonally in the style of mythographers who merely summarize in prose the poets’ stories. Plutarch leaves his personal imprint here and there. For example, he accepts that the Crommyonian sow was an animal (9.1): “the Crommyonian sow, which they called Phaea, was no insignificant creature, but fierce and hard to master.” He does not even mention that, according to some authors, she was a descendant of monsters.24 He does allude, however, to the rationalized version according to which Phaea was a thief and criminal woman who died at the hands of Theseus. But the fact that he does not mention any specific author and the way he introduces this second version (“some say”: ἔνιοι λέγουσιν) indicates that Plutarch, although not expressly stating it, considers the first one to be preferable. In telling how Theseus killed Sciron because of his criminal behavior, he says “according to the prevalent tradition” (10.1, ὡς μὲν ὁ πολὺς λόγος), and then also gives the version offered in Megara, which is deprived of validity (10.2): οἱ δὲ Μεγαρόθεν συγγραφεῖς ὁμόσε τῇ φήμῃ βαδίζοντες καὶ ‘τῷ πολλῷ χρόνῳ’, κατὰ Σιμωνίδην, ‘πολεμοῦντες’, οὔθ’ ὑβριστὴν οὔτε λῃστὴν γεγονέναι τὸν Σκείρωνά φασιν, ἀλλὰ λῃστῶν μὲν κολαστήν, ἀγαθῶν δὲ καὶ δικαίων οἰκεῖον ἀνδρῶν καὶ φίλον. Megarian writers, however, taking issue with current report, and, as Simonides expresses it, “waging war with antiquity,” say that Sciron was 24

Not even when he mentions her in Gryllus 987F. In Apollod., Epit. 1.1, she is considered the daughter of Echidna and Typhon. Herter, s.v. “Theseus,” 1071–1072, gives a list of authors who mention her.

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neither a violent man nor a robber, but a chastiser of robbers, and a kinsman and friend of good and just men. Plutarch, therefore, removes the validity of this version of the Megarians as it goes against fame (does it allude to ‘the voice’ (φωνή) of Athens?25) and ancient traditions. Anyway, as an indication to the reader, the passage ends as follows (10.4): “Such, then, are the contradictions in which these matters are involved” (ταῦτα μὲν οὖν ἔχει τοιαύτας ἀντιλογίας). To sum up, Plutarch gives more validity to the most widespread traditions but without the wonderful elements of the traditional myth. However, he considers that other versions may also be admissible. Of this series of adventures, the second is the one that most clearly shows Plutarch’s thinking, since he not only uses it for the moral characterization of the hero, but also to establish a general principle that he also develops in other works (8.3):26 Ἐν δ’ Ἰσθμῷ Σίνιν τὸν πιτυοκάμπτην, ᾧ τρόπῳ πολλοὺς ἀνῄρει, τούτῳ διέφθειρεν, αὐτὸς οὐ μεμελετηκὼς οὐδ’ εἰθισμένος, ἐπιδείξας δὲ τὴν ἀρετὴν ὅτι καὶ τέχνης περίεστι καὶ μελέτης ἁπάσης. On the Isthmus, too, he slew Sinis the Pine-bender in the very manner in which many men had been destroyed by him, and he did this without practice or even acquaintance with the monster’s device, but showing that valor is superior to all device and practice. Perrin translates here ἀρετή by “valor”, but the passage acquires its full meaning if, as Pérez Jiménez understands it, the Greek term means “virtue” (identified here with “justice”, which is the supreme expression of virtue), opposed and superior to ‘device and practice’ (τέχνη and μελέτη).27

Some Episodes Briefly Expounded The episodes told later in the biography do not have a homogeneous treatment; some are told in detail and others, on the contrary, are briefly cited. Thus,

25 26 27

Cf. 16.3, a passage already commented above. Cf. Per. 1–2. Cf. Pérez Jiménez, Plutarco, Vidas paralelas: Teseo—Rómulo, 164 n. 35.

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Plutarch hardly dedicates space to the episode of the fight with the Marathonian bull (14.1) despite the numerous variants,28 perhaps because it is an adventure well-known in literature and artistic representations. He does not forget to add to it a political motivation that contributes to the characterization of the hero: “desiring to be at work, and at the same time courting the favor of the people.” But, because of his interest in religious matters, he prefers to expand on the myth of Hecale (14.2–3), following Philochorus: Ἡ δ’ Ἑκάλη καὶ τὸ περὶ αὐτὴν μυθολόγημα … ἔοικε μὴ πάσης ἀμοιρεῖν ἀληθείας. ἔθυον γὰρ Ἑκαλῆσιν οἱ πέριξ δῆμοι συνιόντες Ἑκαλείῳ Διί, καὶ τὴν Ἑκάλην ἐτίμων … Now the story of Hecale29 … seems not to be devoid of all truth. For the people of the townships round about used to assemble and sacrifice the Hecalesia to Zeus Hecalus, and they paid honors to Hecale … As the explanatory conjunction γάρ (for) indicates, the mythical story (μυθολόγημα) of Hecale is confirmed by the cult that was paid to her and to Zeus Hecalus. He also does not give a detailed account of Phaedra and Hippolytus because it is a well-known story thanks to the tragedies, and believes that the Theseid poet’s account on the marriage of Theseus and Phaedra “has every appearance of fable and invention” (περιφανῶς ἔοικε μύθῳ καὶ πλάσματι): 28.1. But (28.3), τὰς δὲ περὶ ταύτην καὶ τὸν υἱὸν αὐτοῦ δυστυχίας, ἐπεὶ μηδὲν ἀντιπίπτει παρὰ τῶν ἱστορικῶν τοῖς τραγικοῖς, οὕτως ἔχειν θετέον ὡς ἐκεῖνοι πεποιήκασιν ἅπαντες. As for the calamities which befell Phaedra and the son of Theseus by Antiope,30 since there is no conflict here between historians and tragic poets, we must suppose that they happened as represented by the poets uniformly.

28 29

30

Cf. Herter, s.v. “Theseus,” 1083–1090. A preferable translation would be: “Hecale and the mythical story about her …” According to Casanova, “La Vita di Teseo e la tradizione letteraria,” 15, the term μυθολόγημα would be an allusion to the poem Hecale by Callimachus, most likely the source of Plutarch. Perrin’s translation is often quite explanatory.

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Once again, Plutarch follows the versions of the tragic poets when they do not contradict the historians, and the unanimity of all them seems to him sufficient guarantee about the veracity of the facts. It seems that the tragedies in this biography have a much greater weight than Plutarch wants to acknowledge. Specifically, in the case cited above, the implicit reference is, among other tragedies, Euripides’ Hippolytus, and it is clear what Plutarch alludes to by saying “the calamities which befell Phaedra and the son of Theseus:” Phaedra’s suicide and the curse of Theseus (one of the wishes that Poseidon had granted him) that will cause his son Hippolytus’s death.31 In the Comparatio Thesei et Romuli 3.2, Plutarch criticizes Theseus for causing the death of Hippolytus, indicating that he seems to accept that Poseidon granted a wish to Theseus, but he does not explicitly mention the curse, as that would imply acknowledging that Poseidon is the father of Theseus. Plutarch follows tragedies closely, sometimes accepting their versions, sometimes refuting them, and also mentioning them even if they do not provide him with different data. Thus, after the reference to Phaedra, he continues (29.1): “There are, however, other stories also about marriages of Theseus which were neither honorable in their beginnings nor fortunate in their endings, but these have not been dramatized (τὴν σκηνὴν διαπεφευγότες).”

Some Evidences of Verisimilitude and Veracity The plausible, history-like story is not only constructed with rationalized versions of the myth coming from historians and Atthidographers. There are other procedures that are Plutarch’s personal contribution.32 One of them is the existence of places that, still in his time, preserve the memory of the events, although sometimes he manifests some uncertainty. Thus, when Theseus arrived in Athens, he found the city in disrepair because of the weakness of the elderly Aegeus, who, at the instigation of Medea, was going to poison Theseus before recognizing him. But, once he recognized him, he dropped the cup of poison (12.2–6), “and it is said (λέγεται) that as the cup fell, the poison was spilled where now is the enclosure in the Delphinium, for that is where the house of Aegeus stood.”

31 32

E., Hipp. 45. Due to the fulfillment of the curse, Theseus proclaims himself twice the son of Poseidon: 887–890, 1169–1170. Cf. C. Cooper, “Making irrational myth plausible history: Polybian intertextuality in Plutarch’s Theseus,” Phoenix 61 (2007) 229–230.

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Sometimes, Plutarch takes rituals and festivities as reliable testimony of an event. We have mentioned the case of Hecale before, and another example is found when he narrates the war against the Amazons:33 he attributes different versions of episodes and details of this story to authors such as Philochorus or Cleidemus, and uses expressions such as “some say”, “it is said”, “as it seems” (ἔνιοι φασι, λέγεται or ὡς ἔοικε). The reason for this caution is found in another passage (27.6): “It is not astonishing that history, when dealing with events of such great antiquity, should wander in uncertainty.” But he indicates with certainty the day Theseus attacked the Amazons because of the religious celebration that commemorates it still in his time (27.3): “This battle, then, was fought on the day of the month Boëdromion on which, down to the present time, the Athenians celebrate the Boëdromia.” Plutarch also provides his eyewitness testimony, or autopsy, as a guarantee of truthfulness, or at least plausibility, of an event.34 Sometimes he states that he has personally seen monuments or archaeological remains, and they seem to him to be such reliable evidence of the facts that he uses an expression as forceful as “is attested” (μαρτυρεῖται, μαρτύριόν ἐστιν). Examples of his eyewitness testimony are found throughout the biography, and they concentrate especially in the episode of the fight with the Amazons: the tombs of the Athenians fallen in combat, the stele that marks the place where, according to some, Antiope died, and other tombs of Amazons in Megara, Chaeronea and Thessaly (27, 4– 9). Sometimes there is a confluence of evidence, and toponymy and festivities are added to the autopsy. In the case of the Amazons, this confluence indicates Plutarch’s effort to lend plausibility to the story: (27.2) τὸ δ’ ἐν τῇ πόλει σχεδὸν αὐτὰς ἐνστρατοπεδεῦσαι μαρτυρεῖται καὶ τοῖς ὀνόμασι τῶν τόπων καὶ ταῖς θήκαις τῶν πεσόντων. The fact that they [the Amazons] encamped almost in the heart of the city is attested both by the names of the localities there and by the graves of those who fell in battle.

33

34

Pelling, “Making myth look like history,” 176–177, points out that Plutarch accepts the existence of the Amazons because of the special character of this Life, while rejecting it in other biographies. Cf. Cooper, “Making irrational myth plausible history,” 230; C. Alcalde-Martín, “La mirada de Plutarco: significados y funciones de su testimonio visual en las Vidas Paralelas,” Euphrosyne 44 (2016) 96.

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(27.7) ἀλλὰ τοῦ γε τὸν πόλεμον εἰς σπονδὰς τελευτῆσαι μαρτύριόν ἐστιν ἥ τε τοῦ τόπου κλῆσις τοῦ παρὰ τὸ Θησεῖον, ὅνπερ Ὁρκωμόσιον καλοῦσιν, ἥ τε γινομένη πάλαι θυσία ταῖς Ἀμαζόσι πρὸ τῶν Θησείων. But that the war ended in a solemn treaty is attested not only by the naming of the place adjoining the Theseum, which is called Horcomosium, but also by the sacrifice which, in ancient times, was offered to the Amazons before the festival of Theseus. A well-known myth told of Theseus’s and Peirithoüs’s descent to the Underworld to abduct Persephone with the intention of turning her into the wife of the latter. But Hades imprisoned them both, and afterwards, he only consented to free Theseus through the intercession of Heracles.35 In Theseus, Hades is a king of Epirus named Aïdoneus, Phersephone is his wife and Cora the daughter whom Peirithoüs intends to kidnap. As for the dog of Hades, it is simply Aïdoneus’s dog, called Cerberus, with which the king forced the suitors of Cora to fight. Realizing that the aim of Theseus and Peirithoüs was to kidnap his daughter, the king decided to apprehend them (31.4). Later, Aïdoneus released Theseus when Heracles, who was his guest, asked him to do so (35.1–2).36 This is a euhemeristic narrative in which the god Hades is turned into a mere mortal.37 Plutarch avoids this way of interpreting myths, so this would be a unique case in his work38 that can be explained by the exceptional character of Theseus and also because this is perhaps the only rationalist version that Plutarch knows. A confirmation of Heracles’ favor to Theseus is, in this case too, toponymy: according to Philochorus,39 the precincts which the city had previously set apart for Theseus, he now dedicated to Heracles, and called them Heracleia instead of Theseia (35.3).

35

36 37

38 39

Already in Od. 11.631, Theseus and Peirithoüs appear together in Hades, in what could be an allusion to the myth of their attempted kidnapping of Persephone. Cf. D.S. 4.62; Apollod. 2.5.12; idem, Epit. 1.23–24; Hyg, Fab. 79. Cf. a similar version in Paus. 1.17.4. This version perhaps comes from Hellanicus, who is quoted at the beginning of the passage (31.1) as the source for the age of Theseus. Cf. Herter, “Theseus,” 1182; Ampolo, “Introduzione,” 252. According to P.R. Hardie, “Plutarch and the Interpretation of Myth,” ANRW II.33.6 (Berlin—New York: W. de Gruyter, 1992) 4763. There is also an allusion to it in E., HF 1325–1328.

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The Great Cretan Adventure This is Theseus’s most popular and well-known feat, in which he risks his life to benefit the Athenians selflessly. It occupies a considerable extension in the biography (15–20) and preludes the stage of maturity (akme) of the hero because, on his return from the expedition to Crete, when he has already demonstrated what he is capable of doing to benefit his fellow citizens, he will become king, will carry out the synoecism of Athens, along with other political measures, and will perform two other great deeds that Plutarch does not dispute: the war against the Amazons and the Centauromachy. The Cretan deed constitutes an excellent example of the treatment of myths in this Life and gathers practically all the procedures that we have been seeing for the construction of a credible story. After explaining the causes of the human tribute that the Athenians had to pay to Minos, Plutarch adds “most writers agree” (ὁμολογοῦσιν οἱ πλεῖστοι τῶν συγγραφέων) as a guarantee of plausibility. Next, he says only that about the Minotaur (15.2): τοὺς δὲ παῖδας εἰς Κρήτην κομιζομένους ὁ μὲν τραγικώτατος μῦθος ἀποφαίνει τὸν Μινώταυρον ἐν τῷ Λαβυρίνθῳ διαφθείρειν, ἢ πλανωμένους αὐτοὺς καὶ τυχεῖν ἐξόδου μὴ δυναμένους ἐκεῖ καταθνῄσκειν. And the most dramatic version of the story40 declares that these young men and women, on being brought to Crete, were destroyed by the Minotaur in the Labyrinth, or else wandered about at their own will and, being unable to find an exit, perished there. Two verses of Euripides describing the double nature of the Minotaur are cited below. The qualification of τραγικώτατος for this version indicates not only the most widespread sources of the myth41 but also the scant consideration Plutarch believes they deserve. After such brevity, he recounts in detail the rationalized versions of the myth coming from Philochorus (16.1,19.4–7), Aristotle (16.2), Hellanicus (17.3), Pherecydes and Demon. In the Philochorus version, for example, the Minotaur is a general of Minos called Taurus. Minos allowed Theseus to take part in a sports competition in which the winner won as a prize the young Athenians who until then were locked in the Labyrinth.

40 41

A preferable translation would be: “the most widespread myth in tragedies.” For example, Aegeus by Sophocles, Aegeus and Theseus by Euripides.

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Taurus always won before, but on this occasion the winner was Theseus (16.1, 19.4–79). According to Demon, Taurus, general of Minos, died fighting in the port when Theseus was trying to set sail (19.3). Plutarch also pays attention to other lesser-known and less creditable versions (19.8–20.9). By offering so many rationalized versions of the Cretan adventure, he might want to indicate to the reader not only that he considers such stories more credible, but also that there can be no complete certainty as to how the events actually occurred. Philochorus is also the source for the names of the pilots of the ship in which the crossing was made, as evidenced (μαρτυρεῖν) by the memorial chapels that Theseus built for them in Phalerum and the festival of the Cybernesia. Theseus sailed on the sixth day of the month Munychion, on which day even in the time of Plutarch (ᾗ καὶ νῦν ἔτι) the Athenians had a celebration. When Plutarch refers again to the Cretan exploit in the Comparatio, the approach is different from that of the biography and this causes some bewilderment. He first compares Romulus’s military exploits (in which there are no fantastic elements) with Theseus’s struggles against Centaurs and Amazons, without expressing doubts about their reality (Comparatio Thesei et Romuli 1.4), just as he does when referring to these episodes in the biography. The surprise comes next, when Plutarch praises Theseus’s feat in Crete and mentions the traditional mythical version on an equal plane with the rationalized versions (Comparatio Thesei et Romuli 1.5): Ὃ δ’ ἐτόλμησε Θησεὺς περὶ τὸν Κρητικὸν δασμόν, εἴτε τινὶ θηρίῳ βοράν, εἴτε πρόσφαγμα τοῖς Ἀνδρόγεω τάφοις, εἴθ’—ὃ κουφότατόν ἐστι τῶν λεγομένων— λατρεύειν παρ’ ἀνδράσιν ὑβρισταῖς καὶ δυσμενέσιν ἀκλεῆ λατρείαν καὶ ἄτιμον ἐπιδοὺς ἑαυτόν, ἑκουσίως μετὰ παρθένων πλεύσας καὶ παίδων νέων, οὐκ ἂν εἴποι τις ἡλίκης ἐστὶ τόλμης ἢ μεγαλοφροσύνης ἢ δικαιοσύνης περὶ τὸ κοινὸν ἢ πόθου δόξης καὶ ἀρετῆς. But as for the daring which he showed about the Cretan tribute, whether that was food for some monster, or a sacrifice on the tomb of Androgeos, or whether—and this is the mildest form of the story—he offered himself for inglorious and dishonorable servitude among insolent and cruel men when he volunteered to sail away with maidens and young boys, words cannot depict such courage, magnanimity, righteous zeal for the common good, or yearning for glory and virtue. Does this mean that here Plutarch is only interested in the comparison between Theseus and Romulus and not at all in offering an account with historical plau-

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sibility? Or does he want to imply that rationalized stories deserve the same credit as the traditional and fantastic ones? This second possibility would be adequate for Plutarch’s final conclusions at the end of the book Theseus— Romulus. Something similar happens with Ariadne. In the Life, she is mentioned several times in the Cretan episode. The first time, the role she plays in the traditional version of the myth is told (19.1): Ἐπεὶ δὲ κατέπλευσεν εἰς Κρήτην, ὡς μὲν οἱ πολλοὶ γράφουσι καὶ ᾄδουσι, παρὰ τῆς Ἀριάδνης ἐρασθείσης τὸ λίνον λαβών, καὶ διδαχθεὶς ὡς ἔστι τοῦ λαβυρίνθου τοὺς ἑλιγμοὺς διεξελθεῖν, ἀπέκτεινε τὸν Μινώταυρον καὶ ἀπέπλευσε τὴν Ἀριάδνην ἀναλαβὼν καὶ τοὺς ἠιθέους. When he reached Crete on his voyage, most historians and poets tell us that he got from Ariadne, who had fallen in love with him, the famous thread, and that having been instructed by her how to make his way through the intricacies of the Labyrinth, he slew the Minotaur and sailed off with Ariadne and the youths. Such brevity may mean that Plutarch feels obliged to refer (although without explicitly denying it) to the traditional story known thanks to the poets but, later on, the rationalized accounts of the Cretan adventure offer different versions of what happened to Ariadne (19.10–20.9). As for her marriage with Dionysos, since Plutarch does not admit the unions of gods with mortals, he mentions a rationalized account: taken to Naxos by Theseus, she lived there with a priest of Dionysos (20.1). Another story cited is that of some Naxian writers (20.8–9): there were two Ariadnes, one of whom was married to Dionysos in Naxos, and another, of a later time, who arrived in Naxos after being kidnapped and abandoned by Theseus. But the Comparatio Thesei et Romuli gives us a double surprise about Ariadne (1.6–7): ὁ γὰρ Ἀριάδνης ἔρως παντὸς μᾶλλον ἔοικεν ἔργον θεοῦ καὶ μηχανὴ γενέσθαι σωτηρίας ἕνεκα τοῦ ἀνδρός, καὶ οὐκ ἄξιον αἰτιᾶσθαι τὴν ἐρασθεῖσαν, ἀλλὰ θαυμάζειν εἰ μὴ πάντες οὕτω καὶ πᾶσαι διετέθησαν· εἰ δ’ ἐκείνη μόνη τοῦτ’ ἔπαθεν, εἰκότως ἔγωγε φαίην ἂν αὐτὴν ἀξιέραστον θεῷ γεγονέναι, φιλόκαλον καὶ φιλάγαθον καὶ τῶν ἀρίστων ἐρωτικὴν οὖσαν. For Ariadne’s love seems to have been, more than anything else, a god’s work, and a device whereby Theseus should be saved. And we should not

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blame her for loving him, but rather wonder that all men and women were not thus affected towards him; and if she alone felt this passion, I should say, for my part, that she was properly worthy of a god’s love, since she was fond of virtue, fond of goodness, and a lover of the highest qualities in man. Which of the gods inspired in Ariadne the love for Theseus so that he would be saved? Maybe Poseidon, attending to a plea of his son Theseus?42 And what could be said about the philosophical reflection on the love of Ariadne and Dionysos? Does Plutarch intend to make it credible in this way, or is he just offering an interpretation of the traditional myth as a moral allegory? Plutarch bewilders us again. To sum up, Plutarch’s personal contributions in the narration of the expedition to Crete, as in other cases of the biography, are the following: the selection and way of presenting the different versions, indicating the reliability or the judgment they deserve; the credit he gives to a version for being the most widespread among writers (provided that it is a rationalized version or without fantastic elements), or evidence, such as celebrations, locations or vestiges that still remain in his time and are known to him personally.

The Character of the Hero Plutarch’s most characteristic contribution is the selection of facts and the interpretation of them as a sign of the hero’s character. The tone of the story is even different when the facts serve to show the character of Theseus: Plutarch then does not express doubts or cite sources because, if there are any, he makes them his own by giving a personal interpretation. In addition to the cases discussed above, some others can be pointed out. Theseus volunteered, without participating in the lot, to go to Crete (17.1– 2).43 With such an attitude, he demonstrated his love and sacrifice for the country and his desire to avoid envy, which are typical features of the ideal ruler.

42

43

In E., Hipp. 45–46, it is said that Poseidon granted three wishes to Theseus (in this tragedy, Theseus’s father is Poseidon). The two authors mentioned below quote a scholion according to which the three wishes granted were to escape from Hades, to escape from the labyrinth and to kill Hippolytus: cf. W.S. Barrett, Euripides Hippolytos (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1964) 39. T.D. Kohn, “The Wishes of Theseus,” TAPhA 138 (2008) 382. Isoc. 10.27 also says that Theseus embarked voluntarily.

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With this interpretation of Theseus’s attitude, Plutarch prefigures the democratic king who loves his people as he is portrayed later (24–25). Among the political and social ordering actions attributed to Theseus during his reign, there is the minting of coins with the image of an ox that Plutarch interprets as follows (25.3): ἔκοψε δὲ καὶ νόμισμα, βοῦν ἐγχαράξας ἢ διὰ τὸν Μαραθώνιον ταῦρον ἢ διὰ τὸν Μίνω στρατηγόν, ἢ πρὸς γεωργίαν τοὺς πολίτας παρακαλῶν. He also coined money, and stamped it with the effigy of an ox, either in remembrance of the Marathonian bull, or of Taurus, the general of Minos, or because he would invite the citizens to agriculture. This obvious anachronism may have its origin in ancient Athenian coins of the 6th century BC mentioned by some authors such as Philochorus.44 The coin, then, is one more of the means used by Plutarch to approximate the legend of Theseus to history. We cannot know whether the interpretation of the ox’s effigy as a symbol of two notorious feats of Theseus—the submission of the Marathonian bull and the success of the expedition to Crete—is Plutarch’s or of one of his sources, such as Philochorus. But surely the third interpretation, Theseus’s desire to guide citizens to agriculture, is his. This is not a feat, but a political measure which we also find in other biographies, considered by Plutarch as the prudent ruler’s instrument to promote peace and harmony among citizens.45 Many years after his death, Theseus continued to benefit the Athenians, in his double role as a war hero against Athens’ adversaries, and as a humanitarian king who protects the weak.46 With this, Plutarch reflects the integration process of Theseus into the historical reality of Athens (35.8):

44

45 46

About these coins as the origin of Plutarch’s reference, cf. A. Pérez Jiménez, “Plutarco y la iconografía monetaria antigua,” in C. Alcalde Martín & L. de Nazaré Ferreira (eds.), O sábio e a imagem. Estudos sobre Plutarco e a arte (Coimbra: Coimbra University Press; São Paulo: Annablume, 2014) 35–36. Cf. Num. 16.4–5. Phoc. 29.5. This double facet is presented by Euripides in Suppliant Women. Cf. A. Pérez Jiménez, “La imagen de Teseo en las Suplicantes de Eurípides,” in J.A. López Férez (ed.), De Homero a Libanio (Estudios actuales sobrte textos griegos II) (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1995) 145– 161. H.J. Walker, Theseus and Athens (New York—Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995) 143–169.

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χρόνοις δ’ ὕστερον Ἀθηναίους ἄλλα τε παρέστησεν ὡς ἥρωα τιμᾶν Θησέα, καὶ τῶν ἐν Μαραθῶνι πρὸς Μήδους μαχομένων ἔδοξαν οὐκ ὀλίγοι φάσμα Θησέως ἐν ὅπλοις καθορᾶν πρὸ αὐτῶν ἐπὶ τοὺς βαρβάρους φερόμενον. In after times, however, the Athenians were moved to honor Theseus as a demigod, especially by the fact that many of those who fought at Marathon against the Medes thought they saw an apparition of Theseus in arms rushing on in front of them against the Barbarians. The culmination of the process happens when Cimon finds the remains of Theseus on the island of Scyros and transports them solemnly to Athens. Plutarch ends the Theseus with the two facts that, still in his time, manifest the presence of the hero in the city. One is the tomb of the hero (36.3–4): κομισθέντων δὲ τούτων ὑπὸ Κίμωνος ἐπὶ τῆς τριήρους, ἡσθέντες οἱ Ἀθηναῖοι πομπαῖς τε λαμπραῖς ἐδέξαντο καὶ θυσίαις ὥσπερ αὐτὸν ἐπανερχόμενον εἰς τὸ ἄστυ. καὶ κεῖται μὲν ἐν μέσῃ τῇ πόλει παρὰ τὸ νῦν γυμνάσιον, ἔστι δὲ φύξιμον οἰκέταις καὶ πᾶσι τοῖς ταπεινοτέροις καὶ δεδιόσι κρείττονας, ὡς καὶ τοῦ Θησέως προστατικοῦ τινος καὶ βοηθητικοῦ γενομένου καὶ προσδεχομένου φιλανθρώπως τὰς τῶν ταπεινοτέρων δεήσεις. When these relics were brought home on his trireme by Cimon, the Athenians were delighted, and received them with splendid processions and sacrifices, as though Theseus himself were returning to his city. And now he lies buried in the heart of the city, near the present gymnasium, and his tomb is a sanctuary and place of refuge for runaway slaves and all men of low estate who are afraid of men in power, since Theseus was a champion and helper of such during his life, and graciously received the supplications of the poor and needy. There is no doubt about the authenticity of the remains of Theseus who, therefore, had his definitive burial in Athens. The fact that his tomb serves as a refuge for the weak confirms their authenticity, since that agrees with the humanitarian character attributed to the hero. Plutarch mentions this quality at the end of the biography to make it the trait that best characterizes Theseus. The hero embodies the philanthropia, the Greek, and in particular Athenian, virtue par excellence, which is identified with civilization and Hellenism,47 and his tomb

47

The term philanthropia expresses the notions of humanity, sociability, kindness, generos-

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continues to make it visible down to Plutarch’s time.48 Also in this moral valuation that Plutarch makes of the tomb of Theseus, the influence of tragedy, especially of Euripides, can be noticed. Between the facet of heroic warrior and that of a democratic and humanitarian king who helps the weak and supplicants, Plutarch chooses the latter for the end of the biography. Such an image of Theseus, although also transmitted by some Atthidographers of the fourth century BC, was developed and perhaps partly also invented by Euripides in the tragedy Supplices.49 Theseus made his first deeds, on his trip from Troezen to Athens, to achieve glory with actions that restored justice because of his humanitarian character. The cycle of his actions closes with these same benefits for the Athenians, but now from his grave, still in the days of Plutarch. In this way, the life of the founding hero of Athens does not end with his death in a remote time but is projected in the history of Athens until Plutarch’s own time, not only because of Theseus’s past actions, such as the democratic institutions and the effects they continue to have, but also because of the visible presence of his tomb which continues to fulfill a humanitarian function. Plutarch ends the biography with another manifestation of Theseus’s presence, the cult that was paid to him in Athens (36.5): θυσίαν δὲ ποιοῦσιν αὐτῷ τὴν μεγίστην ὀγδόῃ Πυανεψιῶνος, ἐν ᾗ μετὰ τῶν ἠιθέων ἐκ Κρήτης ἐπανῆλθεν. οὐ μὴν ἀλλὰ καὶ ταῖς ἄλλαις ὀγδόαις τιμῶσιν αὐτόν, ἢ διὰ τὸ πρῶτον ἐκ Τροιζῆνος ἀφικέσθαι τῇ ὀγδόῃ τοῦ Ἑκατομβαιῶνος … ἢ νομίζοντες ἑτέρου μᾶλλον ἐκείνῳ προσήκειν τὸν ἀριθμὸν τοῦτον, ἐκ Ποσειδῶνος γεγονέναι λεγομένῳ· καὶ γὰρ Ποσειδῶνα ταῖς ὀγδόαις τιμῶσιν. The chief sacrifice which the Athenians make in his honor comes on the eighth day of the month Pyanepsion, the day on which he came back from

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ity, benevolence, mercy … It is one of the essential virtues that the ideal politician must have and is associated with other qualities such as dikaiosyne, praotes, phronesis, etc. The bibliography on the term is very abundant. Among other works, see H. Martin, “The concept of philanthropia in Plutarch’s Lives,” AJPh 82 (1961) 164–175. F. Frazier, Histoire et morale dans les Vies Parallèles de Plutarque (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2016) 315–318; and J. Ribeiro Ferreira, D.F. Leão, M. Tröster & P.C. Barata Dias (eds.), Symposion and Philanthropia in Plutarch (Coimbra: Coimbra University Press, 2009). Cf. a more extensive discussion of this matter in Alcalde-Martín, “La mirada de Plutarco: significados y funciones de su testimonio visual en las Vidas Paralelas,” 95–96. It is also found, with different nuances and approaches, in Sophocles’ Oedipus at Colonus. Cf. Pérez Jiménez, “La imagen de Teseo en las Suplicantes de Eurípides,” 146, and Walker, Theseus and Athens, 145, 160–162, 171–193.

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Crete with the youths. But they honor him also on the eighth day of the other months, either because he came to Athens in the first place, from Troezen, on the eighth day of the month Hecatombaeon … or because they consider this number more appropriate for him than any other since he was said to be a son of Poseidon. For they pay honors to Poseidon on the eighth day of every month. Plutarch surprises us, right at the end, with an unexpected reminder of the divine filiation of Theseus that he had rejected at the beginning of the biography and, somehow, leaves the reader uncertain about the hero’s origin, since one of the possible reasons why he receives worship on the eighth day of the every month is that “he was said to be a son of Poseidon.”50 Likewise, the Comparatio Thesei et Romuli ends in a way that casts a shadow of doubt on Theseus’s origin (6.7): “the oracle given to Aegeus, forbidding him to approach a woman while in a foreign land, seems to indicate that the birth of Theseus was not agreeable to the will of the gods.” This set of elements presented at the end of the biography and in the Comparatio recalls a trait that Theseus shares with Romulus, pointed out in the proem of Theseus (2.1): “For both were of uncertain and obscure parentage, and got the reputation of descent from gods.”

Conclusions Plutarch believes in the historical reality of Theseus and his political reforms, but he doubts the veracity of most of the concrete episodes of his life. When writing the biography of the hero, aware of the impossibility of providing a truthful historical account, he aspires just to achieve a narrative with appearance of history by conferring it verisimilitude. Consequently, he strives to avoid the traditional mythical legends handed down by poets, especially the tragic ones, and gives greater credit to the rationalized versions of myths cultivated by many historians that exclude the fantastic and wonderful elements. He trusts the poets only when they coincide with the historians. Plutarch manifests his personality and originality not only in the selection and presentation of the data provided by tradition, but also in his search for evidence of veracity in festivities and rites, expressions and customs, toponymy 50

It should be pointed out, however, that it is not Plutarch himself who says it, but it is something that is vaguely attributed to the Athenians: νομίζοντες ἑτέρου μᾶλλον ἐκείνῳ προσήκειν τὸν ἀριθμὸν τοῦτον, ἐκ Ποσειδῶνος γεγονέναι λεγομένῳ. But this filiation of Theseus also had great strength in Athens even in tragedies, such as Euripides’ Hippolytus.

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and places that preserve the memory of the events. Also very important is his eyewitness testimony of archaeological remains as a reliable proof of the facts. All this makes the two parameters of space and time, which from the remote past of the hero’s life reach the present lived by the biographer, fundamental elements of the verisimilitude of the story. But Plutarch continually records the uncertainty and the impossibility of guaranteeing the truthfulness of the events narrated through various procedures. However, he shows greater confidence in the political and moral legacy of Theseus, whose fundamental feature is philanthropia, and his permanent beneficial presence manifested in an evident way, still in Plutarch’s days, in the tomb of the hero in Athens.

Bibliography Alcalde-Martín, C., “La mirada de Plutarco: significados y funciones de su testimonio visual en las Vidas Paralelas,” Euphrosyne 44 (2016) 83–102. Ampolo, C., Plutarco, Le vite di Teseo e di Romolo. Introduzione, commento e traduzione (Milano: Fondazione Lorenzo Valla—Mondadori, 1988). Barrett, W.S., Euripides Hippolytos. Edited with Introduction and Commentary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1964). Casanova, A., “La Vita de Teseo e la tradizione letteraria,” in A. Casanova (ed.), Figure d’Atene nelle opere di Plutarco (Florence: Florence University Press, 2013) 9–18. Cooper, C., “Making Irrational Myth Plausible History: Polybian Intertextuality in Plutarch’s Theseus,” Phoenix 61, 3/4 (2007) 212–233. Ferreira, J.R., Leão, D.F., Tröster, M. & Barata Dias, P.C. (eds.), Symposion and Philanthropia in Plutarch (Coimbra: Coimbra University Press, 2009). Frazier, F., Histoire et morale dans les Vies Parallèles de Plutarque (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2016). Hardie, P.R., “Plutarch and the Interpretation of Myth,” ANRW II.33.6 (1992) 4743–4787. Herter, H., s. v. “Theseus,” RE Suppl. 13 (1973) 1045–1238. Kohn, T.D., “The Wishes of Theseus,” TAPhA 138. 2 (2008) 379–392. Martin, H., “The Concept of philanthropia in Plutarch’s Lives,” AJPh 82 (1961) 164–175. Pelling, C., “Making Myth Look Like History: Plutarch’s Theseus—Romulus,” in C. Pelling, Plutarch and history. Eighteen Studies (London—Duckworth: The Classical Press of Wales, 2002) 171–195. Pelling, C., “Dionysiac Diagnostics: Some Hints of Dionysius in Plutarch’s Lives,” in C. Pelling, Plutarch and history, 197–206. Pérez Jiménez, A., Plutarco, Vidas paralelas: Teseo—Rómulo. Licurgo—Numa. Introducción general, traducción y notas (Madrid: Gredos, 1985). Pérez Jiménez, A., “La imagen de Teseo en las Suplicantes de Eurípides,” in J.A. López

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Férez (ed.), De Homero a Libanio (Estudios actuales sobre textos griegos II) (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1995) 145–161. Pérez Jiménez, A., “Perfiles humanos de un héroe. Plutarco y su imagen de Teseo,” in V. Pirenne-Delforge & E. Suárez de la Torre (eds.), Héros et héroïnes dans les mythes et les cultes grecs (Liège: Kernos Supplément 10, 2000) 229–240. Pérez Jiménez, A., “La estructura literaria de la Vida de Teseo,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & F. Titchener (eds.), Historical and Biographical Values of Plutarch’s Works. Studies devoted to Prof. Ph.A. Stadter by the International Plutarch Society (Málaga: Universidad de Málaga; Logan, UT: Utah State University, 2005) 341–354. Pérez Jiménez, A., “Plutarco y la iconografía monetaria antigua,” in C. Alcalde Martín & L. de Nazaré Ferreira (eds.), O sábio e a imagem. Estudos sobre Plutarco e a arte (Coimbra: Coimbra University Press; São Paulo: Annablume, 2014) 31–68. Walker, H.J., Theseus and Athens (New York—Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995).

chapter 2

“The Heraclean” and “The Dionysian” as Structural Traits in Plutarch’s Biography of Antony José Luis Calvo Martínez

As is well known, Plutarch usually characterizes the protagonists of his biographies psychologically. This charaterization is sometimes a little coarse, sometimes artificially and simplistically drawn, which leads him, for instance, to confer somewhat forced symbolic relations to their physical traits. But, although from an artistic point of view some of the Lives are far from being perfect, nobody could deny the Chaeronaean biographer a certain literary instinct which, it is true, sometimes works better and sometimes less well. An instinct, however, that makes him use effectively constructive procedures of the narrative, which belong to the “poetic function” of language, in order to highlight not only the most outstanding features of the character, but even the most important hinges in the narrative structure. The “poetic” feature, in the Jacobsonian sense,1 most commonly used by Plutarch is one to which M. Riffaterre2 has drawn attention in his work on style: convergence. As Plutarch himself generally proposes methodologically, and usually follows faithfully, the traits of the character are usually highlighted and illuminated through convergence, that is, through the accumulation of the acts and words of the protagonist. Therefore, the bionarrative thread is usually a chain of acts and sayings, sometimes well-built and sometimes forcibly assembled. In these lines, I draw attention to a fact that seems unusual in most of the Lives and which perhaps has not been sufficiently heeded to: Plutarch’s use of divine or heroic figures as symbols of a set of virtuous traits that apply to the subject of a biography.3

1 R. Jakobson, “Linguistics and Poetics” (1960), in idem, Selected Writings (Paris—The Hague: Mouton & De Gruyter, 1971) vol. 3, 18–51. 2 M. Riffaterre, Essais de stylistique structurale (Paris: Flammarion, 1971). 3 In spite of this, not a few of the anecdotes relating to the religious behaviour of Antonius could be taken from the propaganda which was developed by Antonius’ enemies before and after Actium in order to obscure his role in it. They obscure, therefore, the real role of him, as a philohellene, extending with serious intentions the Greek religion, mainly the one

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As to the heroic figures of Heracles and Dionysus, only Cimon and Lucullus are compared by Plutarch openly to them.4 Nevertheless, he restricts this resemblance, in terms of the Heraclean trait, to the fact that nobody, neither Greek nor Roman, led the war so far from their borders as they did—if we exclude Heracles and Dionysus. And in terms of the Dionysian aspect, everything is simplified and generalised, alluding just to “that festivity and magnificence and entertainments and joviality and splendour.” The two divine characters are never used in the biographies of Cimon and Lucullus to systematically exemplify their behavior and actions, much less as a structural element to highlight the decadence in their lives. But this is not so in the Vita Antonii, and Plutarch’s intelligent use of this procedure makes this work one of his most successful biographies from the point of view of narrative. R. Flacelière goes so far as to say that, in fact, it ends up as a “roman d’amour.”5 This is debatable: “the end is very long and pathetic,” but even if it were true, this is not the only or the most important thing we can say about the Vita Antonii. What unfolds before our eyes in this long story, Plutarch’s longest (86 chapters, although it could have ended in death by suicide in 77), is the rise and fall of a man endowed with exceptional qualities and defects and who had a decisive importance in Rome at the end of the Republic and in the very creation of the institution of the Principate. Now, the remarkable thing about this case is that Antonius’ ascension and fall is inscribed, within the narrative, in the frame of what we could call “the Heraclean” and “the Dionysian” [in Spanish lo herácleo y lo dionisíaco]. Plutarch likes to pair these two figures, those of Heracles and Dionysus, “Boeotians” like himself, who are born as heroes in agonic conditions, live an errant existence of frenetic activity, and both end up reaching the category of God thanks to their virtue.6

of Dionysos favoured by the syncretism with Osiris and Isis. Cf. H. Jeanmaire, “La Politique religieuse d’ Antoine et de Cléopatre,” Revue Archéologique 19 (1924) 241–261; M.F. Chamoux, “Vues nouvelles sur Marc Antoine,” Bulletin de la Sócieté nationale des Antiquaires de France (1987) 188–201; F.E. Brenk, “Antony-Osiris, Cleopatra-Isis: the end of Plutarch’s Antony,” in P.A. Stadter, Plutarch and the Historical Tradition (London: Routledge, 1992) 159–182. In any case, Plutarch seems to have taken advantage of these denigrating stories to illuminate, not an evil character, but Antonius’ decadence. Nevertheless, I will not enter into this aspect of the question. The paper deals mainly with the literary structure of the Life of Antonius. 4 Cim. 3. 5 R. Flacelière & E. Chambry, Plutarque. Vies. Démétrios. Antoine (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1977, Vol. XIII). See too P. Grimal, L’ amour à Rome (Paris: Hachette, 1979) 277–287. 6 Pel. 16.8; Lys. 27.3; Cim. 3.2.

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Indeed, in the course of the Vita, both complexes of qualities are intertwined in a sort of pendulum movement, although, in fact, the process of degeneration of Antonius’ character is configured as a progressive attenuation of “the Heraclean” until its complete disappearance. This is exemplified through a comparison with Heracles’ loss of virility due to the influence of Queen Omphale: Ἀντώνιον δ, ὥσπερ ἐν ταῖς γραφαῖς ὁρῶμεν τοῦ ‘Ηρακλέους τὴν Ὀμφάλην ὑφαιροῦσαν τὸ ῥόπαλον καὶ τὴν λεοντῆν ἀποδύουσαν, οὕτω πολλάκις Κλεοπάτρα παροπλίσασα καὶ καταθέλξασα συνέπεισεν ἀφέντα μεγάλας πράξεις ἐκ τῶν χειρῶν καὶ στρατείας ἀναγκαίας ἐν ταῖς περὶ Κάνωβον καὶ Ταφόσιριν ἀκταῖς ἀλύειν καὶ παίζειν μετ’ αὐτῆς.7 As we see in the paintings of Omphale removing Heracles’ club and lion skin, so Cleopatra many times disarming and bewitching Anthony convinced him to let free his hands of important matters and necessary expeditions and run and play with her on the banks of Canopus and Taphosiris.8 And, parallel to this attenuation, there is a progressive increase of the Dionysian element, so that his end is predicted as a destruction of both, as if Antonius were a mixture of the two: προσῳκείου δ ἑαυτὸν Ἀντώνιος Ἡρακλεῖ κατὰ γένος καὶ Διονύσῳ κατὰ τὸν τοῦ βίου ζῆλον ὥσπερ εἴρηται Διόνυσος νέος προσαγορευόμενος.9 Anthony associated himself with Heracles for his lineage, and with Dionysus according to his lifestyle, for, as it has been said, he received the nickname of “New Dionysus.” In the end this was done symbolically through the burning of Heracles’ temple in Patras by lightning and the miraculous transference to the theater of the figure of Dionysus present in the Gigantomacheia: ἐν δὲ Πάτραις διατρίβοντος αὐτοῦ, κεραυνοῖς ἐνεπρήσθη τὸ ‘Ηράκλειον· καὶ τῆς Ἀθήνησι γιγαντομαχίας ὑπὸ πνευμάτων ὁ Διόνυσος ἐκσεισθεὶς εἰς τὸ θέατρον κατηνέχθη.10 7 8 9 10

Comp. Demetr. et Ant. 3.4. The translations are the author’s. Ant. 60.5. Ant. 60.4.

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When he spent some time in Patras, the temple of Heracles was set on fire by lightning. The Dionysus of the Gigantomachia in Athens was also shaken loose by winds and fell into the theatres. It is true, as I have said before, that Plutarch compares some of his other biographied characters with Heracles and Dionysus,11 as in the case of Cimon. The remarkable thing, in Antonius’ case, is that he is the only figure, together with Alexander, whom the biographer related by ancestral line with Heracles himself: the Antonians would come from Anton, son of the Theban Heracles: “It was said since ancient times that the Antonians were Heraclidae because they came from Anteon, son of Heracles.”12 As for Dionysus, the relationship was logically not one of kinship, but of imitation, admiration and even, in a characteristic trait of hybris foreseeable in a character like Antonius, an identification with the hero-god son of Semele.13

The Heraclean Element Until his first encounter with Cleopatra in Tarsus, Plutarch emphasizes in Antonius the physical aspect and the qualities of strength and endurance characteristic of Heracles. From the reference to his family connection, in the physical description of him, his resemblance to the hero is highlighted, especially in facial features and even in the way he dressed: Προσῆν δὲ καὶ μορφῆς ἐλευθέριον ἀξίωμα, καὶ πώγων τις οὐκ ἀγεννὴς καὶ πλάτος μετώπου καὶ γρυπότης μυκτῆρος ἐδόκει τοῖς γραφομένοις καὶ πλαττομένοις

11

12 13

Cim. 3.2: Οὔτε γὰρ Ἑλλήνων Κίμωνος οὔτε Ῥωμαίων Λευκόλλου πρότερος οὐδεὶς οὕτω μακρὰν πολεμῶν προῆλθεν, ἔξω λόγου τιθεμένων τῶν καθ Ἡρακλέα καὶ Διόνυσον; “because nobody went so far with war, not Cimon among the Greeks nor Lucullus among the Romans, if we don’t take into account the deeds of Heracles and Dionysus.” Ant. 4.2: ἦν δὲ καὶ λόγος παλαιὸς Ἡρακλείδας εἶναι τοὺς Ἀντωνίους, ἀπ Ἄντωνος παιδὸς Ἡρακλέους γεγονότας. Plutarch (Ant. 24 and 60) only says that people called him “Dionysos” or “The new Dionysos” (Διόνυσος, or Διόνυσος νέος). But Velleius Paterculus (Hist. Rom. 2.82) is more explicit: novum se Liberum Patrem appelari iussisset et redimitus hederis coronaque velatus aurea et thyrsum tenes cothurnisque succintus curru velut Liber Pater vectus Alexandriae (“when he had already ordered that he be called Pater Liber (Bacchus) and was driven in a car through Alexandria as Pater Liber, surrounded by ivy, with his head covered by a golden crown and holding the thyrsus and wearing cothurni.”).

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‘Ηρακλέους προσώποις ἐμφερὲς ἔχειν τὸ ἀρρενωπόν … καὶ τοῦτον ᾤετο τὸν λόγον τῇ τε μορφῇ τοῦ σώματος ὥσπερ εἴρηται καὶ τῇ στολῇ βεβαιοῦν.14 Add to this the dignity proper of a free man in his appearance: a beard not without nobility, the breadth of his forehead and an aquiline nose approximated the virility of his countenance to the faces that are painted or sculpted of Heracles … And it was thought that this tradition was confirmed by both his bodily appearance, as has been said, and his attire. Plutarch passes from here to behavioural traits that have to do more than anything else with the somatic ones: he insists on his voracity and excesses with drink and food, as well as on the excessive virility manifested by his sexual excesses: ἦν δέ που καὶ τὸ ἐρωτικὸν οὐκ ἀναφρόδιτον, ἀλλὰ καὶ τούτῳ πολλοὺς ἐδημαγώγει, συμπράττων τε τοῖς ἐρῶσι καὶ σκωπτόμενος οὐκ ἀηδῶς εἰς τοὺς ἰδίους ἔρωτας. As far as love is concerned, his conduct was not unattractive, but even with this, he attracted many people by acting in complicity with those who were in love and accepting jokes, not without grace, about his own love affairs.15 The consequence of this polyerotic inclination is his contempt for monogamy, since he came to have four wives. And along with this, a similar disdain for the institution of marriage itself: at the height of his glory Antonius used to take other people’s wives, which earned him the hatred of the majority. On the other hand, and not unrelated to it, Antonius’ affinity with Heracles is revealed in the comradeship he had with the soldiers, and in his liberality:16 ἀλλὰ καὶ τὰ τοῖς ἄλλοις φορτικὰ δοκοῦντα, μεγαλαυχία καὶ σκῶμμα καὶ κώθων ἐμφανὴς καὶ καθίσαι παρὰ τὸν ἐσθίοντα καὶ φαγεῖν ἐπιστάντα τραπέζῃ στρατιωτικῇ, θαυμαστὸν ὅσον εὐνοίας καὶ πόθου πρὸς αὐτὸν ἐνεποίει τοῖς στρατιώταις 14 15 16

Ant. 4.1–3. Ant. 4.5. See also 36.7, where it is asserted that this trait came from his father, who, on his part, “came from Heracles”. Ant. 4.4.

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And what’s more, traits that to others seemed coarse, “his haughtiness, his mocking character, his drinking in public and sitting next to one who was already eating, and his eating at the table of the soldiers,” all this won for him, it’s incredible to what extent, the benevolence and affection of the soldiers. But the relationship with his soldiers was not limited to sharing with them wines and women. In this facet of his career as a soldier, Antonius served as an example to his men, above all, in the endurance he demonstrated on special occasions. This is where Plutarch describes in his biography as “Heraclean” the soldier’s areté, which is mainly andreia. Thus in the flight to Gaul after Caesar’s death:17 ὁ δ’ οὖν Ἀντώνιος τότε θαυμαστὸν ἦν παράδειγμα τοῖς στρατιώταις, ἀπὸ τρυφῆς τοσαύτης καὶ πολυτελείας ὕδωρ τε πίνων διεφθαρμένον εὐκόλως καὶ καρποὺς ἀγρίους καὶ ῥίζας προσφερόμενος. ἐβρώθη δὲ καὶ φλοιὸς ὡς λέγεται, καὶ ζῴων ἀγεύστων πρότερον ἥψαντο τὰς Ἄλπεις ὑπερβάλλοντες Well, Antonius was on this occasion an admirable example for his soldiers, drinking even putrid water and eating wild fruits and roots after such a great luxury and abundance. Even the bark of trees was eaten, it is said, and when crossing the Alps they set their hands on animals never eaten before. But already, especially on the march to Pelusion in his first contact with Egypt accompanying Ptolemy and General Gabinius in an attempt to regain the kingdom, he had shown a herculean resistance and the same capacity, as a soldier, that he would show after the civil war and the death of the conspirators: ἐπεὶ δὲ τοῦ πολέμου μᾶλλον ἐφοβοῦντο τὴν ἐπὶ τὸ Πηλούσιον ὁδόν, ἅτε δὴ διὰ ψάμμου βαθείας καὶ ἀνύδρου παρὰ τὸ Ἔκρηγμα καὶ τὰ τῆς Σερβωνίδος ἕλη γινομένης αὐτοῖς τῆς πορείας … πεμφθεὶς μετὰ τῶν ἱππέων ὁ Ἀντώνιος οὐ μόνον τὰ στενὰ κατέσχεν ἀλλὰ καὶ Πηλούσιον ἑλών, πόλιν μεγάλην, καὶ τῶν ἐν αὐτῷ φρουρῶν κρατήσας, ἅμα καὶ τὴν ὁδὸν ἀσφαλῆ τῷ στρατεύματι καὶ τὴν ἐλπίδα τῆς νίκης ἐποίησε τῷ στρατηγῷ βέβαιον.18

17 18

Ant. 17.5. Ant. 3.6–7.

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And since they feared the road to Pelusium more than war and their march was going to be through deep sand and with little water, bordering the Torrent and the swampy areas of the Serbonis … Antonius was sent with the cavalry and not only dominated the straits but, after taking Pelusium, a big city, and overcoming the defenses that are in it, he secured the road for the army and assured for their General the hope of victory.

The Dionysian Element The Dionysian element of Antonius’ character, which is expressly alluded to in more than one passage, although not defined by Plutarch, coincides to a large extent with the Nietzschean conception of Dionysisch. But, although Plutarch does not define it, among other reasons because it was unnecessary for both him and his readers, it is adequately highlighted either by the expressed identification of Antonius with the god, or by a series of notes that are undoubtedly characteristic of Dionysus. In the first part of the work, which describes the period before the beginning of his decline, some of these traits are curiously found in Heracles also: I am referring, above all, to his taste for transvestism and his histrionic character. Transvestism, which is at the deepest root of Dionysism insofar as it points to alienation or transpersonation, is not foreign to the legend of Heracles either, as revealed in the above-mentioned exchange of clothes with Omphale; but not only there. In the case of Antonius, there are several passages in which he disguises himself and all coincide with the highlights of his biography, so that they have a primarily dramatic and even theatrical function stricto sensu: thus, when he is expelled from the Senate together with Quintus Cassius and, dressed as a slave and in a rented cart, they are ranting openly about the injustice of the regime in order to justify Caesar’s exaltation to the Principate.19 This episode, which would be a “theatrical scene” very appropriate for an author like Shakespeare, is actually historical because Cicero cites it.20 Equally “theatrical” is the encounter with his own wife in disguise: 19

20

Ant. 5. Λέντλος ὑπατεύων ἐξέβαλε τῆς βουλῆς τὸν Ἀντώνιον. ὁ δὲ πολλὰ μὲν αὐτοῖς ἐξιὼν ἐπηράσατο, λαβὼν δὲ θεράποντος ἐσθῆτα καὶ μισθωσάμενος μετὰ Κασσίου Κοΐντου ζεῦγος, ἐξώρμησε πρὸς Καίσαρα. This episode is repeated at the beginning of the civil war, cf. 6. The Greek phrase is always θηράποντος λαβὼν ἐσθῆτα, “taking the clothes of a slave.” Philipp. 2.21.

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λαβὼν δὲ θεράποντος ἐσθῆτα, νύκτωρ ἐπὶ τὴν οἰκίαν ἦλθε, καὶ φήσας ἐπιστολὴν Φουλβίᾳ παρ’ Ἀντωνίου κομίζειν, εἰσήχθη πρὸς αὐτὴν ἐγκεκαλυμμένος.21 And taking the clothes of a servant, he came into the house at night; and saying that he had a letter for Fulvia from Antonius, he was introduced into his presence in with the face covered up. On other occasions, finally, transvestism is simply linked to the histrionic character of Antonius, for example, when in Alexandria he used to dress as a slave with Cleopatra: καὶ νύκτωρ προσισταμένῳ θύραις καὶ θυρίσι δημοτῶν καὶ σκώπτοντι τοὺς ἔνδον συνεπλανᾶτο καὶ συνήλυε, θεραπαινιδίου στολὴν λαμβάνουσα. καὶ γὰρ ἐκεῖνος οὕτως ἐπειρᾶτο σκευάζειν ἑαυτόν.22 And at night she would run around with him in slave clothes when he came near people’s doors and windows and mocked those inside. Because he also tried to dress in this same way. It is very likely, I repeat, that in some cases these are real episodes that actually happened, but the truth is that Plutarch makes a dramatic use of them in the narrative by linking them insistently, by making them converge in important moments of his biography. As for the theatrical element, an essentially Dionysiac trait, throughout the biography his relationship with the technitai of Dionysus is alluded, the actors of theatre or mime whose company he frequented in Rome when he was tribune: καὶ μεθ’ ἡμέραν μὲν ὕπνους καὶ περιπάτους ἀλύοντος καὶ κραιπαλῶντος, νύκτωρ δὲ κώμους καὶ θέατρα καὶ διατριβὰς ἐν γάμοις μίμων καὶ γελωτοποιῶν.23 During the day, he spent his time sleeping and wandering hungover, while at night he spent it in bands of revellers, theatres and in wedding feasts of mimes and comedians.

21 22 23

Ant. 10.8. Ant. 29.3. Ant. 9.6.

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And during the triumvirate, his house at Rome that had belonged to Pompey was full of μεστὴν δὲ μίμων καὶ θαυματοποιῶν καὶ κολάκων κραιπαλώντων, εἰς οὓς τὰ πλεῖστα κατανηλίσκετο τῶν χρημάτων, τῷ βιαιοτάτῳ καὶ χαλεπωτάτῳ τρόπῳ ποριζομένων.24 mime actors, wizards and drunken sycophants on whom he spent the greatest part of the money acquired in the most violent and cruel manner; also those who, being in Greece, he set up in Priene are alluded to: τοῖς μὲν περὶ τὸν Διόνυσον τεχνίταις Πριήνην ἔδωκεν οἰκητήριον, αὐτὸς δὲ πλεύσας εἰς Ἀθήνας πάλιν ἐν παιδιαῖς ἦν καὶ θεάτροις He gave Priene as a residence to the Dionysian artists, while he sailed back to Athens and spent his time in entertainments and theatres.25 However, as I have already pointed out, the intensification of allusions to the Dionysiac element takes place from the moment of his encounter with Cleopatra. It is true that it was the contact with Asia that triggered Antonius’ repressed behavior, but not entirely. It is now with Cleopatra when all the gates of “the Dionysian” are opened to let in all kinds of excesses in luxury: the gifts, the sumptuous and absurd expenses, the refined food, the theatrical and musical games, the depraved and continuous sex. Thus, even before the first encounter, his entry into Ephesus is described as if he were the god Dionysus himself. The story of his first encounter, as if it were one of Aphrodite with Dionysus, is described as follows: εἰς γοῦν Ἔφεσον εἰσιόντος αὐτοῦ, γυναῖκες μὲν εἰς Βάκχας, ἄνδρες δὲ καὶ παῖδες εἰς Σατύρους καὶ Πᾶνας ἡγοῦντο διεσκευασμένοι, κιττοῦ δὲ καὶ θύρσων καὶ ψαλτηρίων καὶ συρίγγων καὶ αὐλῶν ἡ πόλις ἦν πλέα, Διόνυσον αὐτὸν ἀνακαλουμένων Χαριδότην καὶ Μειλίχιον.26 When he entered Ephesus, he was led by women disguised as Bacchants, men and children disguised as Satyrs and Panes, and the whole city was 24 25 26

Ant. 21.3. Ant. 57.1. Ant. 24.3–5.

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full of ivy, thyrsi, psalteries, syringes and flutes acclaiming him as a Benefactor and Benevolent Dionysus. Immediately afterwards, Plutarch openly asserts that the cause of his ruin was the Egyptian woman: “the character of Anthony being as it has been described, the love (ἔρως) for Cleopatra awakened in him feelings and attitudes that had been attenuated and held in check up to now, and obliterated whatever there was of ‘for something good and healthy.’”27 In the pendulum movement of one character to another, as I pointed out before, there is again a long section on wars in the East where his Heraclean qualities are reborn. In 26 long chapters, Plutarch describes the hardships he endured, and the military virtues he had to display, in a long and difficult campaign such as the one he waged against Parthians and Armenians. Also his cunning in making use of the military successes of his inferiors and appropriating them as his own are described as something in Plutarch’s opinion he shared with Octavian: “Both of them were more fortunate to lead the army through others than by themselves” (ὡς εὐτυχέστεροι δι’ ἑτέρων ἦσαν ἢ δι’ αὑτῶν στρατηγεῖν [34.10]). Once the campaigns of the Orient are over, Plutarch refers to Antonius’ coming back to Ephesus and his return to Dionysos with the description of the entertainments and games and the installation in Priene and also in Athens of every comedian, musician and actor related to the god. And finally, already in a state of complete decadence, Augustus decides to make war on a degenerate Antonius who, “impregnated with herbs,” had ceded his authority to eunuchs and slaves such as Eira, Cleopatra’s hairdresser: Ἐπεὶ δὲ παρεσκεύαστο Καῖσαρ ἱκανῶς, ψηφίζεται Κλεοπάτρᾳ πολεμεῖν, ἀφελέσθαι δὲ τῆς ἀρχῆς Ἀντώνιον ἧς ἐξέστη γυναικί· καὶ προσεπεῖπε Καῖσαρ, ὡς Ἀντώνιος μὲν ὑπὸ φαρμάκων οὐδ’ αὑτοῦ κρατοίη, πολεμοῦσι δ’ αὐτοῖς Μαρδίων ὁ εὐνοῦχος καὶ Ποθεινὸς καὶ Εἰρὰς ἡ Κλεοπάτρας κουρεύτρια καὶ Χάρμιον, ὑφ’ ὧν τὰ μέγιστα διοικεῖται τῆς ἡγεμονίας.28 And when Caesar was sufficiently prepared, they voted to wage war against Cleopatra and remove Antonius from the power he had abandoned in the hands of a woman. Caesar added that Antonius was dominated by drugs and did not even control himself; that the eunuch Mardion 27 28

Ant. 25.1.1: τελευταῖον κακὸν ὁ Κλεοπάτρας ἔρως (“his last disgrace was his love for Cleopatra.”). Ant. 60.1.

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and Potheinos and Eira, Cleopatra’s hairdresser, and Charmion, by whose hands the most important matters of power were directed, were their enemies. And here, in the decisive turn of Antonius’ life, is when Plutarch brings the omen, quoted above, of the burning of the Heracleon in Patras and the fall of the statue of Dionysus in Athens, two episodes which unite once again the two hero-gods whom Antonius had tried to imitate. The high point of his alienation is described by Plutarch masterfully when Antonius abandons the struggle because, as the biographer says, he already only possesses his body: the soul has become one with Cleopatra. There is no greater or better expression than this of his alienation and transvestism. Or his Dionysism. The end of the biography is also dramatically effective and equally framed in this pendulum movement to which I have alluded. When Antonius is going to die, another harbinger full of Dionysian content appears: ἐν ταύτῃ τῇ νυκτὶ λέγεται μεσούσῃ σχεδόν, ἐν ἡσυχίᾳ καὶ κατηφείᾳ τῆς πόλεως διὰ φόβον καὶ προσδοκίαν τοῦ μέλλοντος οὔσης, αἰφνίδιον ὀργάνων τε παντοδαπῶν ἐμμελεῖς φωνὰς ἀκουσθῆναι καὶ βοὴν ὄχλου μετ’ εὐασμῶν καὶ πηδήσεων σατυρικῶν, ὥσπερ θιάσου τινὸς οὐκ ἀθορύβως ἐξελαύνοντος.29 It is said that almost halfway through the night, when the city was mired in stillness and depression due to fear and expectation of the future, harmonious sounds of all kinds of instruments were suddenly heard, and the screaming of the crowd amid voices of “euhoé” and satyr leaps, as if a thunderous thiasos were leaving. But in the end, the Heracles that he bore in his blood returns for a moment: when he believes that Cleopatra is dead—and therefore that his former self has returned to his body, he has a moment of Heraclean lucidity and takes his own life with the sword. A slow and painful suicide, by the way, similar to that of his ancestor Heracles. And also full of erotic-Dionysian allusions: he had arranged with a slave, called Ἔρως, to end his life when he was asked to do so. But when the time came, Eros did not dare to do what he had agreed to do, and he stabbed himself with the sword. All completely symbolical.

29

Ant. 75.4.

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Epilogue On a recent visit to the Archaeological Museum of Naxos, I saw a Roman statue without arms or legs: merely the body down to the dalmatic skirt (the tunic with folds that usually appears below the cuirass) of what appears to be an important personage; and beside it, supported on a metal piece, there is a small statue of a Maenad instead of a Nike hovering over a hand which belongs to the left arm of the personage represented. The normal thing in these visits, especially in Greece, is to pass by hardly looking at a piece with these characteristics. There are hundreds of them. But there was something in this one that caught my attention: the motley decoration of the cuirass. The visitor immediately knows the identity of the soldier because an explanatory label clarifies it with several data: it is Marcus Antonius dressed as a victorious general; the visitor then tries to identify the various figures that decorate the breastplate and the skirt. Above a wide belt that encircles the cuirass we see Amphion and Zethus tying Dirce, hiereia of Dionysos, under the bull that would drag her to death, a Rhodian composition taken by Antonius himself to Rome, as the informative label says. But the most striking thing, and significant for us now, is the rest of the decoration. Immediately below the belt is the unmistakable combat of Heracles with the Nemean lion—the heroic feat that reflects most directly his physical vigour and personal courage. And under the breastplate, just in the central fold of the tunic, which is wider than the others, stands Dionysus holding the thyrsus accompanied by the tiger that the god had as a companion in the Hellenistic era after the arrival of Alexander at the Indus. In this way, the author of this statue represents, in an artistic medium different from that of Plutarch, the same connection of Antonius with divinity through the two heroes turned into gods that the Greeks held in so much esteem.

Bibliography Bengston, H., Marcus Antonius, Triumvir und Herrscher der Orient (München: C.H. Beck, 1977). Brenk, F.E., “Antony-Osiris, Cleopatra-Isis: The End of Plutarch’s Antony,” in P.A. Stadter (ed.), Plutarch and the Historical Tradition (London: Routledge, 1992) 159–182. Chamoux, F., Marc Antoine, dernier prince de l’Orient grec (Paris: Arthaud, 1986). Chamoux, F., “Vues nouvelles sur Marc Antoine,”Bulletin de la Sócieté nationale des Antiquaires de France (1987) 188–201. Fontani, E., “Il filellenismo di Antonio tra realtà storica e propaganda politica: le gin-

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nasiarche ad Atene e Alessandria,” in B. Virgilio (ed.), Studi Ellenistici 12 (Pisa— Roma: Istituti Editoriali e Poligrafici Internazionali, 1999) 193–210. Huzar, E.G., “The Literary Efforts of Mark Antony,” ANRW II.30.1 (1982) 639–657. Jakobson, R., “Linguistics and Poetics,” in idem, Selected Writings (Paris: Mouton; The Hague: De Gruyter, 1971) vol. 3, 18–51. Jeanmaire, H., “La politique religieuse d’Antoine et de Cléopátre,” Revue Archéologique 19 (1924) 141–161. Pelling, C.B.R., “Aspects of Plutarch’s Characterization,”Illinois Classical Studies 13 (1988) 256–274. Pelling, C.B.R., “Childhood and Personality in Greek Biography,” in C. Pelling (ed.), Characterization and Individuality in Greek Literature (Oxford: Clarendon, 1989). Riffaterre, M., Essais de stylistique structurale (Paris: Flammarion, 1971). Southern, P., Mark Antony: a Life (Stroud: Amberley, 2010). Stadter, P.A. (ed.), Plutarch and the Historical Tradition (London: Routledge, 1992). Walker, S. & Higgs, P. (eds.), Cleopatra of Egypt: From History to Myth (Princeton: BM Press, 2001). Wet, B.X. de, “Contemporary sources in Plutarch’s Life of Antony,” Hermes 118 (1990) 80–90.

chapter 3

A Statesman of Many Resources: Plutarch on Solon’s Use of Myth and Theatricality for Political Purposes Delfim Leão

The Dispute of Salamis: Feigned Madness, Spoken Word and Myth The struggle between Megara and Athens over the domination of Salamis was a complex affair, although its basic motivation seems to be quite clear: the strategic importance of the island.1 The sources do not always coincide as to the protagonists of the moment nor as to the way the events evolved,2 but the dispute is most probably linked to tensions arising from the development of maritime trade. In fact, the occupation of Salamis by the Athenians indicates the concern of securing a safe sea route that would allow them the unrestricted use of the ports in the south of Attica and also the opening of a way to reach the Corinthian Isthmus. On the other hand, such a policy would certainly imply the existence in Athens of an influential part of the population who was already living, directly or indirectly, off the exploitation of maritime resources, whether that may be fishing, trade or simply piracy.3 Still, the details of the Salamis dispute are not easy to reconstitute, but for the purposes of this study it is not necessary to take up this issue in detail, since the aim is now to analyze the way Solon skillfully managed to put the theme of the conquest of the island

1 The arguments here expressed resume and expand those presented in D.F. Leão, Sólon. Ética e política (Lisboa: Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian, 2001) 250–264, and D.F. Leão, “As jogadas de Sólon e a esperteza dos Atenienses: Plutarco e o uso irónico da teatralidade e das metáforas na Vita Solonis,” in M.C. Pimentel & P.F. Alberto (eds.), Vir bonus peritissimus aeque. Estudos de homenagem a Arnaldo do Espírito Santo (Lisboa: Centro de Estudos Clássicos, 2013) 175–185. I want to thank Manuel Tröster, who read an earlier version of this paper and whose comments helped me to improve it, especially at the linguistic level. This research was developed under the project UID/ELT/00196/2013, funded by the FCT—Foundation for Science and Technology. 2 For an overview of the ancient sources concerning the Salamis question, see A. Martina, Solon. Testimonia veterum (Roma: Ateneo, 1968) 122–130. 3 As was long ago remarked by A. French, “Solon and the Megarian question,” JHS 77 (1957) 238–246, at p. 238.

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on the political agenda. A basic assumption needs, however, to be accepted, in order somehow to reconcile the information provided by the testimonies: that the war with Megara must have developed over a long period of time and in campaigns with different protagonists.4 The dispute probably goes back to Cylon’s attempt to seize power by force, with the support of family, friends and, above all, troops supplied by his fatherin-law, the tyrant Theagenes of Megara.5 The attempt failed, and a good part of their supporters would eventually be murdered by treason, possibly with direct responsibilities to Megacles, an Alcmaeonid, archon at the time, who had promised them immunity and a fair trial. As a result, there was a long struggle between those partisans of Cylon who managed to escape and the members of the Alcmaeonidae (nicknamed ‘sacrilegious’ ἐναγεῖς), which would be solved only about a generation later, in the times of Solon.6 Although it is not the purpose of this study to return to the discussion about the controversial reconstruction of these events, there are still some conclusions that can be advanced with some certainty and that are pertinent to evoke: on the one hand, that the dispute for Salamis would have been a long conflict with several campaigns; on the other hand, that in one of them, Solon had a preponderant role that would give him the political and social projection that allowed him to ascend to the archonship. The way in which Plutarch presents Solon’s involvement in this question contributes to construct an image of the statesman strongly marked by the use of stratagems that are somewhat theatrical or even of doubtful legitimacy, thus creating an effect of some ironic detachment from this form of political diplomacy. Before analyzing the passage in which Plutarch reports how the future legislator recited the famous elegy on Salamis (which is the most expressive example of that strategy), it is convenient to recall a detail provided when the 4 Moreover, Plutarch, the main source, seems to suggest this very thing: cf. Sol. 8.1 (αὖθις), a passage that will be analyzed later in more detail. French, “Solon and the Megarian question,” 241 and n. 11, refers to the necessity of admitting different stages in the dispute of the island, with Solon being involved in a first conquest (a decisive factor for his rise to the archonship) and Peisistratus in its final recovery, since, due to chronological impediments, the latter could not have participated in a campaign carried out around the year 600. The confusion of the sources must have resulted from the tendency to bring the two men together, merging different realities into a single situation. L. Piccirilli, “Solone e la guerra per Salamina,” ASNP 8 (1978) 1–13, also discusses the problem from the perspective of several phases of the same conflict. 5 Cf. Hdt. 5.71; Thucydides 1.126.3; Plu., Sol. 12. For a more extensive discussion, see Leão, Sólon. Ética e política, 215–221. 6 See S. Todd, “Death and religion in Athenian law: identifying pollution?”, in D.F. Leão & G. Thür (eds.), Symposion 2015. Vorträge zur griechischen und hellenistischen Rechtsgeschichte (Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2016) 325–350, at 338.

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biographer refers to the intervention of Sparta in the dispute between Athens and Megara. He expounds the question in these terms (Sol. 10.1–2): Οὐ μὴν ἀλλὰ τῶν Μεγαρέων ἐπιμενόντων, πολλὰ κακὰ καὶ δρῶντες ἐν τῷ πολέμῳ καὶ πάσχοντες, ἐποιήσαντο Λακεδαιμονίους διαλλακτὰς καὶ δικαστάς. οἱ μὲν οὖν πολλοὶ τῷ Σόλωνι συναγωνίσασθαι λέγουσι τὴν Ὁμήρου δόξαν· ἐμβαλόντα γὰρ αὐτὸν ἔπος εἰς νεῶν κατάλογον ἐπὶ τῆς δίκης ἀναγνῶναι (Il. 2.557– 558). Αἴας δ’ ἐκ Σαλαμῖνος ἄγεν δυοκαίδεκα νῆας, στῆσε δ’ ἄγων ἵν’ Ἀθηναίων ἵσταντο φάλαγγες. αὐτοὶ δ’ Ἀθηναῖοι ταῦτα μὲν οἴονται φλυαρίαν εἶναι. Notwithstanding all this, the Megarians persisted in their opposition, and both sides inflicted and suffered many injuries in the war, so that finally they made the Lacedaemonians arbiters and judges of the strife. Accordingly, most writers say that the fame of Homer favored the contention of Solon; for after himself inserting a verse into the Catalogue of Ships, he read the passage at the trial thus: Ajax from Salamis brought twelve ships, And bringing, stationed them near the Athenian hosts. The Athenians themselves, however, think this an idle tale.7 The other sources that refer to the same events do not add anything essential to Plutarch’s account, which is the longest and most complete.8 As to the idea that Solon had interpolated verse 558 in the Catalog of Ships, it is not unlikely that the accusation derives from Megarian historiography, although opinions are divided, both in antiquity and among modern scholars.9 Plutarch, on the 7 English translations of Solon’s biography by B. Perrin, available at the Perseus Digital Library (http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus:text:2008.01.0063). 8 E.g. D.L., 1.48; Schol. B ad Il. 2.494–877. Strabo (9.394) states that some attributed this interpolation to Solon and others to Peisistratus. For more details on the various arguments used by Solon, see Plu., Sol. 8–10, with the commentary of M. Manfredini & L. Piccirilli, Plutarco. La vita di Solone (Milano: Fondazione Lorenzo Valla, 1995) 136–137. The great variety of resources that are attributed to the legislator to succeed in taking the island and legitimizing this achievement seems to show that in antiquity there was no certainty as to how the operation had taken place. The contours of the question are pertinently analyzed by C. Higbie, “The bones of a hero, the ashes of a politician: Athens, Salamis, and the usable past,” CA 16 (1997) 278–307, especially at p. 283. 9 E.g. M.M. Willcock, A Commentary on Homer’s Iliad (London: Macmillan, 1970) 73, argues that, if the charge were true, verse 558 could have replaced a more extensive description of Ajax’ contingent—a hypothesis that would be more in accord with the importance of this hero,

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other hand, based possibly on the discussion of the subject by the Atthidographers, refers to the opinion that it was only an unfounded slander (φλυαρία), and hence he presents other arguments that may have been balanced by the Spartan mediation (Sol. 10.4). It is worth noting that, in addition to the greater or lesser likelihood of this account, the episode clearly emphasizes the historical and evidential value attributed to the Homeric Poems, to the point of being summoned to solve delicate foreign diplomacy questions, as well as the use of myth as a means of reinforcing political legitimacy.10 Moreover, even if unfounded, it shows that there was a strong tradition that presented Solon as a politician willing to use the most various devices to achieve the goals he established for himself.11 After these preliminary observations on the troubled evolution of the Salamis dispute and the role that Solon played in it, the analysis will now focus on certain details of how the future legislator appears in public making considerations on a subject that the Athenians themselves had considered a taboo. The account provided by Plutarch is the richest in detail and, although it is well known, it is still worth being recalled in full:12

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who is mentioned without the usual epithet of Telamonios or Telamoniades, which serves to distinguish him from his homonym. G.S. Kirk, The Iliad. A Commentary. Volume I: Books 1–4 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985) 207–209, recalls these and other objections, but still admits that the verse in question fits well the Homeric style. M. Haslam, “Homeric papyri and transmission of the text,” in I. Morris & B. Powell (eds.), A New Companion to Homer (Leiden: Brill, 1997) 55–100, at pp. 82–83, although being cautious, does not believe in the authenticity of the story. N. Reggiani, La giustizia cosmica. Le riforme di Solone fra polis e cosmos (Milano: Le Monnier Università, 2015) 77, considers the account very suspicious and underlines the fact that the choice of the number of fifty ships is significant, because it corresponds to the entity of the Athenian fleet before the naval reform of Themistocles, who would increase it to seventy ships. M. Valdés Guía, Políticas y religión en Atenas arcaica. La reorganización de la polis en época de Solón. Una revisión de la documentación arqueológica, literaria y religiosa (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2010) 175–201, analyses the way the territorial conquest of Salamis was followed by a process of social and religious integration. M. Noussia-Fantuzzi, Solon the Athenian. The Poetic Fragments (Leiden: Brill, 2010) 208–209, although considering unlikely that verse 558 may have been part of the ‘original’ Iliad, underlines nevertheless that this tradition is prone to show that “Solon would have looked to the legitimizing force of myth, exploiting the legend in which the two sons of Ajax, Philaeus and Eurysaces, gave Salamis to the Athenians as they became Athenian citizens.” Higbie, “The bones of a hero,” acutely argues on how the past (in literary, etymological and ethnographic terms) was explored in this episode of Salamis. For an analysis of the possible influence of the patrios politeia debate in shaping a less favorable image of the Athenian legislator, see D.F. Leão, “Plutarch and the dark side of Solon’s political activity,” Ploutarchos 1 (2003/2004) 51–62. Sol. 8.1–3.

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Ἐπεὶ δὲ μακρόν τινα καὶ δυσχερῆ πόλεμον οἱ ἐν ἄστει περὶ τῆς Σαλαμινίων νήσου Μεγαρεῦσι πολεμοῦντες ἐξέκαμον, καὶ νόμον ἔθεντο μήτε γράψαι τινὰ μήτ’ εἰπεῖν αὖθις ὡς χρὴ τὴν πόλιν ἀντιποιεῖσθαι τῆς Σαλαμῖνος, ἢ θανάτῳ ζημιοῦσθαι, βαρέως φέρων τὴν ἀδοξίαν ὁ Σόλων, καὶ τῶν νέων ὁρῶν πολλοὺς δεομένους ἀρχῆς ἐπὶ τὸν πόλεμον, αὐτοὺς δὲ μὴ θαρροῦντας ἄρξασθαι διὰ τὸν νόμον, ἐσκήψατο μὲν ἔκστασιν τῶν λογισμῶν, καὶ λόγος εἰς τὴν πόλιν ἐκ τῆς οἰκίας διεδόθη παρακινητικῶς ἔχειν αὐτόν· ἐλεγεῖα δὲ κρύφα συνθεὶς καὶ μελετήσας ὥστε λέγειν ἀπὸ στόματος, ἐξεπήδησεν εἰς τὴν ἀγορὰν ἄφνω, πιλίδιον περιθέμενος. ὄχλου δὲ πολλοῦ συνδραμόντος, ἀναβὰς ἐπὶ τὸν τοῦ κήρυκος λίθον, ἐν ᾠδῇ διεξῆλθε τὴν ἐλεγείαν ἧς ἐστιν ἀρχή· αὐτὸς κῆρυξ ἦλθον ἀφ’ ἱμερτῆς Σαλαμῖνος, κόσμον ἐπέων ᾠδὴν ἀντ’ ἀγορῆς θέμενος. τοῦτο τὸ ποίημα Σαλαμὶς ἐπιγέγραπται καὶ στίχων ἑκατόν ἐστι, χαριέντως πάνυ πεποιημένων. τότε δ’ ᾀσθέντος αὐτοῦ, καὶ τῶν φίλων τοῦ Σόλωνος ἀρξαμένων ἐπαινεῖν, μάλιστα δὲ τοῦ Πεισιστράτου τοῖς πολίταις ἐγκελευομένου καὶ παρορμῶντος πείθεσθαι τῷ λέγοντι, λύσαντες τὸν νόμον αὖθις ἥπτοντο τοῦ πολέμου, προστησάμενοι τὸν Σόλωνα. Once when the Athenians were tired out with a war which they were waging against the Megarians for the island of Salamis, they made a law that no one in future, on pain of death, should move, in writing or orally, that the city take up its contention for Salamis. Solon could not endure the disgrace of this, and when he saw that many of the young men wanted steps taken to bring on the war, but did not dare to take those steps themselves on account of the law, he pretended to be out of his head, and a report was given out to the city by his family that he showed signs of madness. He then secretly composed some elegiac verses, and after rehearsing them so that he could say them by rote, he sallied out into the market-place of a sudden, with a cap upon his head. After a large crowd had collected there, he got upon the herald’s stone and recited the poem which begins: Behold in me a herald come from lovely Salamis, With a song in ordered verse instead of a harangue. This poem is entitled ‘Salamis’ and contains a hundred very graceful verses. When Solon had sung it, his friends began to praise him, and Peisistratus in particular urged and incited the citizens to obey his words. They therefore repealed the law and renewed the war, putting Solon in command of it. According to Plutarch, the Athenians had promulgated a law that punished with death anyone who made any proposal to resume the hostilities with

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Megara, be it in writing or in speech. This is, in fact, the first legal difficulty that Solon was able to circumvent in a profoundly deft way. He did not go to the agora to make a speech nor did he send any missive to state his reasons. Instead, he decided to ‘sing’ or ‘chant’ an elegy—as Plutarch records (ἐν ᾠδῇ διεξῆλθε τὴν ἐλεγείαν) and the poem itself underlines (ᾠδὴν ἀντ’ ἀγορῆς θέμενος).13 With this subterfuge, he could begin by defending himself against possible charges, saying that he had not violated the letter of the law. However, it is possible that Solon had no assurance that his argument would be valid if he chose to shelter himself only in interpretive subtleties. For this reason, the future legislator must have understood the advantage of making a more sophisticated planning of his appearance in public, thus showing a profound inventive capacity. In fact, Plutarch informs that Solon began by pretending that he had lost his reason, according to a rumor that spread through the city from his own house, a detail that reinforces the idea that everything was prepared by him in great detail. On the other hand, the fact that the elegy was composed in secret (κρύφα) seems to indicate that the devised plan would be his full responsibility and not shared before the performance in the agora.14 It is also worth noting the detail of wearing a cap (πιλίδιον περιθέμενος) on the head and of having sung the elegy on the herald’s stone (ἀναβὰς ἐπὶ τὸν τοῦ κήρυκος λίθον) before the crowd that had joined in the meantime.15 The correct interpretation of the word pilidion has raised some controversy and, although this is not the moment to return to the details of the debate, it is still worth remembering the

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R. Flacelière, “Le bonnet de Solon,” REA 49 (1947) 235–247, mentions already this possibility (235 n. 1): “Les Athéniens avaient défendu d’ écrire et de parler (μήτε γράψαι τινὰ μήτ’ εἰπεῖν) au sujet de Salamine; Solon, jouant sur les mots, estimait-il qu’il lui était permis de chanter sur le même sujet?”. K. Dover, The Evolution of Greek Prose Style (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997) 184–185, when discussing ancient literary terminology, cites this passage to illustrate the fact that, in the Archaic period, poetry is called ἀοιδή. He also underlines that Solon bears the first occurrence of ἀείδειν along with ποῖεν (fr. 20 West), the term that would be more specific of ‘poetic’ production. The reference to the explicit support of Peisistratus (Sol. 8.4), continued later in the expedition to the island, has most probably no historical value, and must simply be an invention intending to bring together two men who, from initial collaborators, ended up in opposing political positions, as shall be discussed in the last section of the present work. Other sources do not always match this version: Diogenes Laertius (1.46) presents as well the connection between feigned madness and the presentation of the elegy (though not directly made by Solon) on the herald’s stone; the two combined motifs of the madness and of the performance are likewise found in Justin and Polyaenus (2.7.9 and 1.20.1, respec-

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most fertile interpretations of the term.16 One of them is to identify pilidion simply with a diminutive caricature of pilos, the hat of the heralds: when presenting himself in public in that way, Solon would be claiming the immunity of the herald, since he states, at the opening of the elegy, that he was presenting himself to the Athenians in this quality (αὐτὸς κῆρυξ ἦλθον). However, a difficulty arises with this line of interpretation. As other sources illustrate, pilidion was not simply a diminutive of pilos, since it could designate a similar object, but with a quite different function, as can be seen from Plato’s testimony. In a passage from the Republic (R. 406D), in which is discussed the attitude of the craftsman—in this case a carpenter—who is facing a disease, Plato seems to argue that the pilidion was a kind of cap that patients put on the head, perhaps with the intention of maintaining the heat.17 The absurdity of appearing with such clothing in public could, therefore, be interpreted as a sign of illness— or even madness. Actually, in Plutarch’s account, the idea of mental insanity is also clearly implied, and therefore there is no need to see conflicting positions in those interpretations of the term pilidion, but rather complementary traditions. In the event of anything going wrong, Solon would thus enjoy a double ‘indulgence’: that of the herald and that of the madman.18 Solon’s mania, which Plutarch claims to have been deliberately proclaimed, thus found a possible outward symbol in the cap with which the future legislator went to the agora. His psychic imbalance was therefore suggested by the strangeness of appearing with this domestic costume in the middle of the agora—i.e., by his performa-

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tively); Cicero (Off. 1.30.108), however, only recalls the madness and Pausanias (1.40.5) simply the elegy. For a more detailed analysis of the arguments in question, see Leão, Sólon. Ética e política, 258–264. For other occurrences of the term, see Flacelière, “Le bonnet de Solon,” 242–244. Aristophanes (Ach. 439) portrays Dikaeopolis asking Euripides for the props with which the playwright depicted some of his tragic characters, and among them he refers to the pilidion. In his analysis of this passage, A. Mastrocinque, “Gli stracci di Telefo e il cappello di Solone,” SIFC 77 (1984) 25–34, argues that the use of the term pilidion aimed at accentuating the folly of the character. It has also long been argued that the tradition of feigned madness was prompted by the content of Solon’s own poetry (fr. 10 West), which would imply that the legislator might have been the victim of this accusation on the part of contemporaries. See A. Masaracchia, Solone (Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1958) 91. O. Vox, Solone. Autoritratto (Padova: Antenore, 1984) 17–48, analyses the tradition of feigned madness against the backdrop of epic tradition, taking as reference the characteristic cunning of Odysseus. On the epic influx in this poem, see also W.-D.G. von Behm, Solon von Athen und die Entdeckung des Rechts (Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann, 2009) 99–104.

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tive options. Altogether they contribute as well to portray Solon as a poet who uses poetry for the purposes of persuasion, or even as a proto-rhetor.19

An Inventive Legislator: The ‘Seisachtheia’ and the Athenians As argued in the previous section, at the turn of the seventh century Solon managed to gain the necessary public visibility to make him the natural candidate for political leadership in a delicate context of stasis at Athens. With all due reservations, an attempt can be made to establish the most impressive elements of his ‘curriculum’.20 Solon came from an aristocratic family and, motivated either by economic needs or by the desire for knowledge, he had undertaken, when he was still young, a series of journeys during which he had the opportunity to come into contact with other cultures and personalities. This experience must have developed (or accentuated) in him a certain sense of pragmatism and shown the economic opportunities deriving from trade and from openness to new markets—as well as the awareness of the need to adapt legislation to an emerging social reality. In Athens, timely and decisive intervention in the dispute with Megara over Salamis had definitely made him a popular public figure. On the other hand, one must also take into account the ideas conveyed in his poems, which, besides the purpose of diagnosing the tribulations of Athenian society, could also constitute a kind of veiled political promise that had created different expectations in rival factions.21 Even if this attempt to organize the events that led Solon to the archonship is globally in accord with the information provided by the sources, it must be recognized that, in matters of detail, it remains speculative. At any rate, it seems safe to argue that, in the eyes of his Athenian contemporaries, Solon appeared to be a mature, experienced, respected, and consensual person, to the point

19

20

21

To use the expression suggested by J.D. Lewis, Solon the Thinker. Political Thought in Archaic Athens (London: Duckworth, 2006) 60: “To call Solon a proto-rhetor is to affirm his status as a poet with a persuasive purpose, and to place that persuasive speech in a context that is prior to the deliberative, legal and constitutional institutions of the classical polis.” For a comprehensive discussion of the questions dealing with Solon’s biographical details, see Leão, Sólon. Ética e política, 239–279. At this point, only the general conclusions arising from this debated question are recalled. E.g. frs. 4, 4a, 4c and 15 (West). E. David, “Solon’s electoral propaganda,”RSA 15 (1985) 7–22, analyzes the whole activity of Solon precisely in the light of this possibility, to the point of stating, with some exaggeration, that the legislator was the first demagogue in Athenian history. On this question, see also J. Ribeiro Ferreira & D.F. Leão, Dez grandes estadistas atenienses (Lisboa: Edições 70, 2010) 31–42.

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of deserving generalized confidence, thus accentuating a remarkable capacity for mobilization and leadership, which he had already revealed in the Salamis episode. He therefore met with the necessary consensus to assume the position of archon in 594/3, in a domestic scenario particularly marked by intense social tensions. Solon’s archonship was going to be known as one of the most dynamic moments in the constitutional history of Athens. But before proceeding with the enactment of a new code of laws, which would shape a new constitution, the statesman promoted a series of emergency measures aimed at creating the conditions for implementing deeper changes. These preliminary measures became known by the expression σεισάχθεια (a compound of σείω ‘shaking off’ + ἄχθος ‘burden’). For the purposes of this study, what matters is not so much the controversial identification of the exact nature of the measures thus designated, but rather the very use of the term itself.22 The author of the Athenian Constitution presents this provision in the opening chapters of the treatise: Κύριος δὲ γενόμενος τῶν πραγμάτων Σόλων τόν τε δῆμον ἠλευθέρωσε καὶ ἐν τῷ παρόντι καὶ εἰς τὸ μέλλον, κωλύσας δανείζειν ἐπὶ τοῖς σώμασιν, καὶ νόμους ἔθηκε καὶ χρεῶν ἀποκοπὰς ἐποίησε, καὶ τῶν ἰδίων καὶ τῶν δημοσίων, ἃς σεισάχθειαν καλοῦσιν, ὡς ἀποσεισάμενοι τὸ βάρος.23 Solon having become master of affairs made the people free both at the time and for the future by prohibiting loans secured on the person, and he laid down laws, and enacted cancellations of debts both private and public, the measures that are known as ‘the shaking-off of burdens’, meaning that the people shook off their load.24 The organization of this chapter of the Athenian Constitution seems to point to some oversight, perceptible in the fact that a reference to legislation is intro22

23 24

For a recent outline of the debate regarding this topic, see M. Faraguna, “Hektemoroi, isomoiria, seisachtheia: ricerche recenti sulle riforme economiche di Solone,” Dike 15 (2012) 171–193; D.F. Leão & P.J. Rhodes, The Laws of Solon. A New Edition with Introduction, Translation and Commentary (London: I.B. Tauris, 2015) 112; J.H. Blok & J.H.E. Krul, “Debt and its aftermath: the Near Eastern background of Solon’s seisachtheia,” Hesperia 86 (2017) 607– 643. [Aristotle], Ath. 6.1. English translations of the Athenian Constitution by H. Rackham, available at the Perseus Digital Library (http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus:text:1999.01 .0045).

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duced in the midst of economic questions.25 At any rate and for the purposes of this study, more important than this question is the information that the name of the emblematic measure became known among the Athenians by the expressive designation of seisachtheia (ἃς σεισάχθειαν καλοῦσιν), for having got rid of the ‘burden’ of the debts (ὡς ἀποσεισάμενοι τὸ βάρος). The fact that the author of the treatise indicates an indefinite authorship (καλοῦσιν) for that word suggests that the term seisachtheia did not appear in the poems of Solon.26 Plutarch ascribes an identical meaning to the interpretation of the term, but adds some particulars that reinforce the irony of certain characteristics of Solon’s personality and, by extension, of the Athenians as a whole: ἃ δ’ οὖν οἱ νεώτεροι τοὺς Ἀθηναίους λέγουσι τὰς τῶν πραγμάτων δυσχερείας ὀνόμασι χρηστοῖς καὶ φιλανθρώποις ἐπικαλύπτοντας ἀστείως ὑποκορίζεσθαι, τὰς μὲν πόρνας ἑταίρας, τοὺς δὲ φόρους συντάξεις, φυλακὰς δὲ τὰς φρουρὰς τῶν πόλεων, οἴκημα δὲ τὸ δεσμωτήριον καλοῦντας, πρώτου Σόλωνος ἦν ὡς ἔοικε σόφισμα, τὴν τῶν χρεῶν ἀποκοπὴν σεισάχθειαν ὀνομάσαντος.27 Now later writers observe that the ancient Athenians used to cover up the ugliness of things with auspicious and kindly terms, giving them polite and endearing names. Thus, they called harlots ‘companions’, taxes ‘contributions’, the garrison of a city its ‘guard’, and the prison a ‘chamber’. But Solon was the first, it would seem, to use this device, when he called his cancelling of debts a ‘disburdenment’ (seisachtheia). The direct attribution to Solon of the invention of the term seisachtheia is sustained by Plutarch in several passages of the Moralia.28 In the Praecepta gerendae reipublicae 807D, the biographer goes to the point of maintaining that the term seisachtheia “was a pleasing expression to designate the extinc-

25

26 27 28

P.J. Rhodes, A Commentary on the Aristotelian Athenaion Politeia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981; reissued with addenda, 1993) 127–128, defends this wording with the argument that the author of the treaty begins by discussing the economic problem but takes the opportunity to announce in advance the political theme that will be developed later—as he did already a few chapters earlier (Ath. 2). On the seisachtheia presented in connection with the poetic work of the legislator (fr. 36 West), see also [Aristotle], Ath. 12.4. Sol. 15.2–3. E.g. De Al. Magn. fort. 343c. For an outline of the ancient sources pertaining to the seisachtheia, see Martina, Solon, 141–146. For an overview of the differences in detail between the sources, see Manfredini & Piccirilli, Plutarco. La vita di Solone, 186–188.

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tion of debts” (ἦν ὑποκόρισμα χρεῶν ἀποκοπῆς). This idea of using euphemisms to refer to uncomfortable realities is, moreover, the central aspect of the passage quoted in the biography and represents an interesting detail that is not found in the other sources. Indeed, Plutarch suggests (ὡς ἔοικε) that it was Solon who introduced the practice of referring to unpopular measures by “urbanely disguising [them] with agreeable terms” (ἐπικαλύπτοντας ἀστείως ὑποκορίζεσθαι). The biographer does not identify the ‘later writers’ (νεώτεροι) to whom he attributes the opinion that the Athenians generalized the use of euphemisms, demonstrating this habit with concrete examples, in a selection marked by a sarcastic tone (as is clearly illustrated by the choice of calling prostitutes ‘companions’ or taxes ‘contributions’). The ingenious innovation (σόφισμα) may have been a Solonian invention, but the irony of exemplification is clearly Plutarchean, and ends up being in the same line of the characterization of Solon’s theatrical behavior: the statesman may at times be giving a blurred presentation of reality, thus deceiving at least in part the audience, although it must be conceded that this deception can be motivated by commendable ends.

A Dramatic Opposition: A ‘Tyrannos’ in Power and a ‘Sophos’ in Arms In the opening paragraphs of Solon’s biography (Sol. 1.3–4), Plutarch adduces the authority of Heraclides of Pontus, who establishes a relatively close familial relation between Solon and Peisistratus, on both their mothers’ sides.29 This information respecting a kin closeness between the two statesmen must be regarded with some skepticism, because it may be simply a result of the tyrant’s political propaganda, or the tendency to connect two figures that belonged to different and even opposing contexts of Athenian political history. In any case, if the blood relation between the two men were to be confirmed, it would allow important inferences about the period comprised between 600 and 575, and the possible familial alliances established in those turbulent times.30 More 29

30

D.L. 1.49 also speaks, without being specific, of a degree of consanguinity between the two statesmen, based on his reading of Sosicrates, who is a source that inspires a certain confidence. This section recovers and expands some arguments presented in D.F. Leão, “A Sophos in arms: Plutarch and the tradition of Solon’s opposition to the tyranny of Pisistratus,” in J. Ribeiro Ferreira, L. van der Stockt & M.C.G. Zambujo Fialho (eds.), Philosophy in Society. Virtues and Values in Plutarch (Leuven: Leuven University Press; Coimbra: Imprensa da Universidade de Coimbra, 2008) 129–138. J.K. Davies, Athenian Propertied Families. 600–300B.C. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971) 323, recognizes that, in genealogical terms, the connection with Peisistratus is relatively strong,

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dubious, however, is to imagine the prospect, underlined in that same passage, that Solon had cultivated an amorous relationship with the future tyrant. Plutarch does not give any clear clues as to whether or not this view is already contained in Heraclides, whom he cites in the previous paragraph, though he stresses that other authors have also debated the same subject.31 The biographer finds a justification for their close friendship in the consanguinity (συγγένεια) which unites the two men, as well as in the innate qualities and the beauty of the young Peisistratus. However, the author of the Athenian Constitution negates the validity of this account, on the basis of chronological criteria.32 His position even shows that the tradition could be anterior to Heraclides himself, and it is not improbable that the idea would have been derived, for example, from the laws of Solon regarding pederasty.33 At any rate, the problem of a possible familial connection between Solon and Peisistratus held an extra interest for the ancients from an ethical point of view, to the extent that there also existed the widespread tradition according to which Solon had opposed Peisistratus’ first attempt to implant tyranny, which implies that the old legislator was still alive in 561/60, though of advanced age.34 There are no substantial reasons for doubting this information, since, in his poems, Solon repeatedly advises his fellow-citizens against the actual threat of tyranny (e.g. frs. 11 and 33 (West)), thus showing, furthermore, that he was correctly perceiving Peisistratus’ maneuvers.

31

32

33

34

but not to the point of being used assuredly to cast a light on the political attitudes of the two men. Echoes of this putative relationship can be found in Diogenes Laertius (1.53; 1.66) and in Aelian (VH, 8.16). On this see P. Von der Mühll, “Antiker Historismus in Plutarchs Biographie des Solon,” Klio 35 (1942) 89–102, at pp. 91–92. Ath. 17.2. Although it seems, as it did to [Aristotle], that the report has no historical basis, one must recognize nevertheless that, in chronological terms, it is not totally impossible, especially given the fact that there was usually a difference in age between the erastes and the eromenos. As to the war over Salamis, it seems probable that both of the statesmen had been involved in the conflict, though at different times, as it was argued in the first section. On the way Solon’s moderate attitude towards eros contributes to turn him into a paradigmatic statesman who was able to combine politics and poetry under the guidance of philosophy, see A. Hertzoff, “Eros and moderation in Plutarch’s Life of Solon,” The Review of Politics 70.3 (2008) 339–369. See Plu., Sol. 1.6. The biographer seems, in a certain fashion, to want to excuse Solon, by mentioning, directly afterwards (1.7), that Peisistratus had also been Charmus’ lover. Though the homoerotic theme is hardly significant in the legislator’s poetry, some echoes still appear, though they rather seem to reflect literary convention; cf. frs. 24.5–6 and 25 West. See Leão & Rhodes, The Laws of Solon, 122–125, for his legislation on pederasty, with commentary. [Aristotle], Ath. 14.2; Plu., Sol. 30.6; D.L. 1.49; Valerius Maximus, 5.3.

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The way Plutarch describes the relationship between these two men presents some interesting details for the subject of this study, for the way they illustrate the performative nature of political action, as discussed above in connection with the dispute of Salamis. In fact, though driven by distinct purposes, Solon and Peisistratus still share common traits as to the strategies used to impress their fellow citizens—a characteristic which the biographer clearly underlines in a cunny observation that Solon makes to Peisistratus: Ἐπεὶ δὲ κατατρώσας αὐτὸς ἑαυτὸν ὁ Πεισίστρατος καθῆκεν εἰς ἀγορὰν ἐπὶ ζεύγους κομιζόμενος, καὶ παρώξυνε τὸν δῆμον ὡς διὰ τὴν πολιτείαν ὑπὸ τῶν ἐχθρῶν ἐπιβεβουλευμένος, καὶ πολλοὺς εἶχεν ἀγανακτοῦντας καὶ βοῶντας, προσελθὼν ἐγγὺς ὁ Σόλων καὶ παραστάς ‘οὐ καλῶς’ εἶπεν ‘ὦ παῖ Ἱπποκράτους ὑποκρίνῃ τὸν Ὁμηρικὸν Ὀδυσσέα· ταὐτὰ γὰρ ποιεῖς τοὺς πολίτας παρακρουόμενος, οἷς ἐκεῖνος τοὺς πολεμίους ἐξηπάτησεν, αἰκισάμενος ἑαυτόν.’35 Now when Peisistratus, after inflicting a wound upon himself, came into the market-place riding in a chariot, and tried to exasperate the populace with the charge that his enemies had plotted against his life on account of his political opinions and many of them greeted the charge with angry cries, Solon drew near and accosted him, saying: “Oh son of Hippocrates, thou art playing the Homeric Odysseus badly; for when he disfigured himself it was to deceive his enemies but thou doest it to mislead thy fellowcitizens.” The passage begins by referring to Peisistratus’ stratagem of presenting himself as a victim of an attack so that he might call upon the State to provide him with a personal military escort, which he would later use as a supporting force for taking power. According to Plutarch, Solon quickly intuited Peisistratus’ real intentions, accusing him of using the expedient of wounding himself less skillfully than Odysseus had done. In fact, in the Odyssey (4.240–258), Helen describes the way in which the hero of Ithaca entered Troy unnoticed after having disguised himself as a beggar and having harmed his own body to enhance the authenticity of his clever trick.36 35 36

Sol. 30.1. The citation, in this very context (Sol. 30.2), of a fragment of the poetry of the legislator (fr. 11.7; 11.5–6 West) reveals itself to be particularly opportune; according to Diodorus (9.20), this poem, which is a bit longer, would have been composed already after the tyranny had been established.

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When the tyrant’s intentions had finally become quite clear, even then the old legislator’s attitude would draw the attention among the few opponents, in a gesture that is again highly theatrical and reminiscent of the first public appearances of Solon as a young politician. Despite being already an elderly person, the legislator was able to show that he had not lost the ability to play his part in the political arena—even if his audience was not as receptive as it had been in the past. Plutarch underlines this by establishing an explicit and deeply ironic contrast between this determined aged man and the ridiculous behavior of other citizens: ὁ δὲ Σόλων ἤδη μὲν ἦν σφόδρα γέρων καὶ τοὺς βοηθοῦντας οὐκ εἶχεν, ὅμως δὲ προῆλθεν εἰς ἀγορὰν καὶ διελέχθη πρὸς τοὺς πολίτας, τὰ μὲν κακίζων τὴν ἀβουλίαν αὐτῶν καὶ μαλακίαν, τὰ δὲ παροξύνων ἔτι καὶ παρακαλῶν μὴ προέσθαι τὴν ἐλευθερίαν· ὅτε καὶ τὸ μνημονευόμενον εἶπεν, ὡς πρώην μὲν ἦν αὐτοῖς εὐμαρέστερον τὸ κωλῦσαι τὴν τυραννίδα συνισταμένην, νῦν δὲ μεῖζόν ἐστι καὶ λαμπρότερον ἐκκόψαι καὶ ἀνελεῖν συνεστῶσαν ἤδη καὶ πεφυκυῖαν. οὐδενὸς δὲ προσέχοντος αὐτῷ διὰ τὸν φόβον, ἀπῆλθεν εἰς τὴν οἰκίαν τὴν ἑαυτοῦ, καὶ λαβὼν τὰ ὅπλα καὶ πρὸ τῶν θυρῶν θέμενος εἰς τὸν στενωπόν, ‘ἐμοὶ μέν’ εἶπεν ‘ὡς δυνατὸν ἦν βεβοήθηται τῇ πατρίδι καὶ τοῖς νόμοις.’37 When this had been done, and the city was in an uproar, Megacles straightway fled, with the rest of the Alcmaeonidae. But Solon, although he was now a very old man, and had none to support him, went nevertheless into the market-place and reasoned with the citizens, partly blaming their folly and weakness, and partly encouraging them still and exhorting them not to abandon their liberty. Then it was, too, that he uttered the famous saying, that earlier it had been easier for them to hinder the tyranny, while it was in preparation; but now it was a greater and more glorious task to uproot and destroy it when it had been already planted and was grown. No one had the courage to side with him, however, and so he retired to his own house, took his arms, and placed them in the street in front of his door, saying: “I have done all I can to help my country and its laws.” Peisistratus’ coup d’état occurred in 561/60, therefore a period in which Solon must have been around seventy years old, an age that did not permit him to engage himself physically in the defense of liberty. This is how the symbolic

37

Sol. 30.4–5.

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gesture of putting his weapons in front of the doorway to his house can be explained, emphasizing the fact that he had already given to his country and its laws all that was in his power to give. However, a dedicated polites like the old legislator continued to wield another important weapon, which, indeed, he always used with great efficacy: the word—not only the spoken words which he offered up in the public agora, encouraging his fellow citizens (as he had already done in the past, in connection with the dispute of Salamis), but also the written words which he left inscribed in his poetry. Before the end of the biography, Plutarch provides a last illustrative example of the astute character of Solon, and as well of his ability to explore theatrical and witty sayings as a resource to point out unexpected outcomes in an ironic way: Ἐπὶ τούτοις δὲ πολλῶν νουθετούντων αὐτὸν ὡς ἀποθανούμενον ὑπὸ τοῦ τυράννου, καὶ πυνθανομένων τίνι πιστεύων οὕτως ἀπονοεῖται, ‘τῷ γήρᾳ’ εἶπεν. οὐ μὴν ἀλλ’ ὁ Πεισίστρατος ἐγκρατὴς γενόμενος τῶν πραγμάτων οὕτως ἐξεθεράπευσε τὸν Σόλωνα, τιμῶν καὶ φιλοφρονούμενος καὶ μεταπεμπόμενος, ὥστε καὶ σύμβουλον εἶναι καὶ πολλὰ τῶν πρασσομένων ἐπαινεῖν. καὶ γὰρ ἐφύλαττε τοὺς πλείστους νόμους τοῦ Σόλωνος, ἐμμένων πρῶτος αὐτὸς καὶ τοὺς φίλους ἀναγκάζων.38 In view of this, many warned him that the tyrant would put him to death, and asked him on what he relied that he was so lost to all sense, to which he answered, “My old age.” However, when Peisistratus had become master of the situation, he paid such court to Solon by honoring him, showing him kindness, and inviting him to his palace, that Solon actually became his counsellor and approved of many of his acts. For he retained most of Solon’s laws, observing them first himself, and compelling his friends to do so. What stands out in the narrative is the indomitable character of Solon, as well as his capacity for transforming a weakness to his advantage, realizing that his old age was his major ally against the risk of retaliation on the part of Pisistratus. It is not improbable that this declaration has some historical value, as it fits well with principles upheld in Solon’s poetry, such as the celebrated idea that age brings with it intellectual maturation, a concept which is expressed

38

Sol. 31.1.

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in exemplary fashion in fr. 18 (West).39 As much again could possibly be said in relation to the constitutional reform and to the legislation implemented by Solon, which Peisistratus seems to have maintained without serious alterations, though now under his own guardianship.40 However, the information that the tyrant had treated Solon with striking affability is more doubtful, insofar as it rather seems to belong to the domain of exaggerated speculation, much as the idea, which was commented on above, of a possible amorous relationship between the two politicians.

Concluding Remarks Throughout the biography of Solon, Plutarch presents this paradigmatic statesman intervening at different times in the Athenian political scene, mostly in a setting of great social and political tension. Although this backdrop would normally constitute a serious obstacle, Solon managed to control the difficulties and turn the situation in his favor. This is the case when he found a way to conform to legal impediments and to exhort his fellow citizens to regain their own self-esteem, by exhibiting a feigned mania while presenting in public the elegy for Salamis. He is also said to have used myth and Homeric poetry as means to reinforce the Athenian claim to the possession of the island. This ingenious character of Solon can also be perceived in the name given to his first emblematic reform: the revolutionary cancelling of debts, which was literally termed as the ‘shaking off of burdens’ (seisachtheia), thus opening the path to the use of euphemisms in political language, which Plutarch says to have become typical of the Athenians. Solon’s inventive and performative personality was also made evident in the way he opposed the implementation of Peisistratus’ tyranny, combining theatricality with strong symbolism as a strategy to turn again an objective weakness (old age) into his strongest bulwark (absence of fear). As he had already done as a young aspiring politician during the Salamis affair, he could count again on the power of the spoken word, although this time he did not meet with the same success, as he could not prevent tyranny from being established in Athens.

39 40

Frs. 20 and 21 West also contribute to this same universe of values, contrary to the dominant spirit of the poets of the Archaic Period. Cf. Hdt. 1.59 and Th. 6.54.5–6; differently [Aristotle], Ath. 22.1.

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Bibliography Behm, W.-D.G. von, Solon von Athen und die Entdeckung des Rechts (Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann, 2009). Blok, J. & Krul, J., “Debt and its aftermath: the Near Eastern background of Solon’s seisachtheia,” Hesperia 86 (2017) 607–643. David, E., “Solon’s electoral propaganda,” RSA 15 (1985) 7–22. Davies, J.K., Athenian Propertied Families. 600–300B.C. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971). Dover, K., The Evolution of Greek Prose Style (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997). Faraguna, M., “Hektemoroi, isomoiria, seisachtheia: ricerche recenti sulle riforme economiche di Solone,” Dike 15 (2012) 171–193. Flacelière, R., “Le bonnet de Solon,” REA 49 (1947) 235–247. French, A., “Solon and the Megarian Question,” JHS 77 (1957) 238–246. Haslam, M., “Homeric Papyri and Transmission of the text,” in I. Morris & B. Powell (eds.), A New Companion to Homer (Leiden: Brill, 1997) 55–100. Hertzoff, A., “Eros and Moderation in Plutarch’s Life of Solon,” The Review of Politics 70.3 (2008) 339–369. Higbie, C., “The Bones of a Hero, the Ashes of a Politician: Athens, Salamis, and the Usable Past,” CA 16 (1997) 278–307. Kirk, G.S., The Iliad. A Commentary. Volume I: Books 1–4 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985). Leão, D.F., Sólon. Ética e política (Lisboa: Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian, 2001). Leão, D.F., “Plutarch and the Dark Side of Solon’s Political Activity,” Ploutarchos 1 (2003/2004) 51–62. Leão, D.F., “A Sophos in Arms: Plutarch and the Tradition of Solon’s Opposition to the Tyranny of Pisistratus,” in J. Ribeiro Ferreira, L. van der Stockt & M.C.G. Zambujo Fialho (eds.), Philosophy in Society. Virtues and Values in Plutarch (Leuven: Leuven University Press; Coimbra: Imprensa da Universidade de Coimbra, 2008) 129–138. Leão, D.F., “As jogadas de Sólon e a esperteza dos Atenienses: Plutarco e o uso irónico da teatralidade e das metáforas na Vita Solonis,” in M.C. Pimentel & P.F. Alberto (eds.), Vir bonus peritissimus aeque. Estudos de homenagem a Arnaldo do Espírito Santo (Lisboa: Centro de Estudos Clássicos, 2013) 175–185. Leão, D.F. & Rhodes, P.J., The Laws of Solon. A New Edition with Introduction, Translation and Commentary (London: I.B. Tauris, 2015). Lewis, J.D., Solon the Thinker. Political Thought in Archaic Athens (London: Duckworth, 2006). Manfredini, M. & Piccirilli, L., Plutarco. La vita di Solone (Milano: Fondazione Lorenzo Valla, 1995). Martina, A., Solon. Testimonia veterum (Roma: Ateneo, 1968). Masaracchia, A., Solone (Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1958).

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Mastrocinque, A., “Gli stracci di Telefo e il cappello di Solone,” SIFC 77 (1984) 25–34. Noussia-Fantuzzi, M., Solon the Athenian. The Poetic Fragments (Leiden: Brill, 2010). Piccirilli, L., “Solone e la guerra per Salamina,” ASNP 8 (1978) 1–13. Reggiani, N., La giustizia cosmica. Le riforme di Solone fra polis e cosmos (Milano: Le Monnier Università, 2015). Rhodes, P.J., A Commentary on the Aristotelian Athenaion Politeia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981; reissued with addenda, 1993). Ribeiro Ferreira, J. & Leão, D.F., Dez grandes estadistas atenienses (Lisboa: Edições 70, 2010). Todd, S., “Death and Religion in Athenian Law: Identifying Pollution?”, in D.F. Leão & G. Thür (eds.), Symposion 2015. Vorträge zur griechischen und hellenistischen Rechtsgeschichte (Wien: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2016) 325–350. Valdés Guía, M., Políticas y religión en Atenas arcaica. La reorganización de la polis en época de Solón. Una revisión de da documentación arqueológica, literaria y religiosa (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2010). Von der Mühl, P., “Antiker Historismus in Plutarchs Biographie des Solon,”Klio 35 (1942) 89–102. Vox, O., Solone. Autoritratto (Padova: Antenore, 1984). Willcock, M.M., A Commentary on Homer’s Iliad (London: Macmillan, 1970).

chapter 4

Plutarch’s Ghosts Judith Mossman

There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet’s Father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot—say St Paul’s Churchyard for instance—literally to astonish his son’s weak mind. Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol (1843)

∵ In this essay, I seek to examine Plutarch’s accounts of ghostly (or daimonic—a caveat which will be explored further below) visitations and set them in context.1 Dickens sums up the essence of ghostly appearances in the passage above: they are frightening to the percipients because they represent a rupture of the boundary between this world and the next, an intrusion on the living by the dead. The existence of ghosts has thus at times been a matter of philosophical argument,2 theological debate,3 and, more recently, scientific investigation.4

1 I hope that Aurelio will accept this examination of an aspect of Plutarch’s treatment of the supernatural as a small token of my esteem for him. 2 See A. Gregory, The Presocratics and the Supernatural: Magic, Philosophy and Science in Early Greece (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013) 195–196, on the Presocratics, and Pl., Phaedo, 81B–D, esp. C8–D4 (tr. Jowett, adapted): “And this, my friend, may be conceived to be that heavy, weighty, earthy element of sight by which such a soul is depressed and dragged down again into the visible world, because she is afraid of the invisible and of the world below— prowling about tombs and sepulchres, in the neighbourhood of which, as they tell us, are seen certain ghostly apparitions of souls, the sort of visions which such souls give rise to (ἄττα ψυχῶν σκιοειδῆ φαντάσματα, οἷα παρέχονται αἱ τοιαῦται ψυχαὶ εἴδωλα), which have not departed pure, but are cloyed with sight and therefore visible.” See further below on Cassius’ analysis of Brutus’ vision in the Brutus.

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The attraction of believing in ghosts has generally been that their existence can be interpreted as demonstrating the immortality of the soul, as Socrates does in Plato’s Phaedo (n. 2). In fictional literary genres, their deathly perspective allows the introduction of knowledge which would otherwise be logically unavailable to the reader or audience, and to the intra-diegetic characters, and from Homer onwards they have been used for this purpose.5 However, it is significant that in the climactic myth of the Republic, Plato relies as a witness to his eschatology not on a ghost, but on a soldier killed in battle who has come back to life. Ghosts, while impressive, are disputable figures—hence Hamlet’s reluctance to believe that his uncle murdered his father solely on the word of an apparition.6 It is important, I think, that although in the ancient world ghosts share various characteristics with dreams, they are not the same, even though similar vocabulary is used of both, in Greek and in Latin.7 Dreams often, from Homer on, take human form, and sometimes fulfil similar narrative functions to ghosts; but—at the risk of stating the obvious—dreams occur during sleep.8 The particularly disconcerting characteristic of ghosts is that they appear to percipients who are awake. Dreams share with ghostly apparitions the need 3 K. Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic (London: Scribner, 1971) 701–724, discusses the importance of the Reformation as a catalyst for the decline in belief in ghosts at 723–724: “… the main reason for the disappearance of ghosts [in modern society] is that society is no longer responsive to the presumed wishes of past generations … Men’s actions [by the eighteenth century] were less explicitly governed [than in the fifteenth century] by concern for the wishes of their ancestors or their spiritual welfare. If they stopped seeing ghosts, it was because such apparitions were losing their social relevance, not just because they were regarded as intellectually impossible.” 4 In the United Kingdom, the Society for Psychical Research was founded in 1882 and is still active today. Its first president was Henry Sidgwick, professor of Moral Philosophy at Trinity College, Cambridge. See https://www.spr.ac.uk/about/our‑history (accessed 29/12/17 at 18:09). 5 Homer, Odyssea, 11; Euripides, Hecuba, 1–58. Aeschylus, Persae, 681–842, is unusual in that Darius is informed by the living rather than informing them. 6 On this see J.D. Wilson, What Happens in Hamlet (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959) 51–86, and Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic, 704–705. 7 See D. Felton, Haunted Greece and Rome: Ghost Stories from Classical Antiquity (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1999) 4–8, on ghosts and dreams (and ghosts in dreams), and 23–25 on vocabulary. φάσμα is used of both ghosts and dreams, as is imago. See also J.L. Moles, A Commentary on Plutarch’s Brutus, Histos Supplement 7 (2017), on Brutus 36.1–7. 8 The ghost of Polydorus at the start of Euripides’ Hecuba states that he has been appearing in dream form to his mother for three nights, having left his body empty (30–31). When he predicts the discovery of his body, he says φανήσομαι, “I shall appear” (47); when Hecuba enters, he says “I shall get out of the way” (52), ἐκποδὼν χωρήσομαι; his mother, he says, is coming out from her tent in fear of φάντασμα … ἐμόν, “my phantom” (54). The dream Hecuba sees, the ghost the audience sees, and the body the serving woman will see in the waves, all share an identity.

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for interpretation and the possibility of misinterpretation, but they are, even when disturbing, a natural phenomenon, whereas ghosts overturn nature.

Cimon: The Haunted Bathhouse and the Moaning Maiden It is striking that two of Plutarch’s ghosts occur in one Life—Cimon. Plutarch’s Cimon is not a text which has attracted many, or very enthusiastic, readers. When it is discussed, it tends to be as something of a disappointment, a slightly odd preface to the Lucullus, its pair. To a large extent this reading is promoted by Plutarch’s extended and elaborate explanation of how he came to wish to write a life of Lucullus, which occupies the first three chapters and is much the most famous part of the life.9 Blamire has pointed out that lack of sources alone cannot account for Plutarch’s patchy treatment of aspects of Cimon’s life.10 I agree, and would further suggest that while Plutarch is indeed tailoring his account of Cimon to suit its role as a counterpart to the Lucullus, this is being done not out of necessity (let alone incompetence), but out of literary artistry. Our ghosts play their spectral part in that artistry. Plutarch tells the story of a Roman officer, billeted at Chaironeia, who falls in love with a local youth of excellent family but limited means and education.11 Damon, on being condemned to death by the magistrates, then returns and kills them the very same night, and then takes to a career of banditry, ravaging the city’s territory. Later he is lured back with the promise of the office of

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This is partly thanks to its virtuoso treatment by J. Ma, “Black Hunter Variations,” PCPS 40 (1994) 49–80; see also A. Blamire, Plutarch, Life of Kimon, BICS Supplement 56 (London: University of London, 1989) ad loc. Blamire, Plutarch, Life of Kimon, 4, negatively phrased. Plu., Cim. 1.2–4 (tr. Perrin): “There remained, however, an orphan boy (παῖς ὀρφανὸς γονέων), Damon by name, Peripoltas by surname, who far surpassed his fellows in beauty of body and in vigour of spirit, though otherwise he was untrained (ἀπαίδευτος) and of a harsh disposition (σκληρὸς τὸ ἦθος). With this Damon, just passed out of boy’s estate, the Roman commander of a cohort that was wintering in Chaironeia fell enamoured, and since he could not win him over by solicitations and presents (ὡς οὐκ ἔπειθε πειρῶν καὶ διδούς), he was plainly bent on violence, seeing that our native city was at that time in sorry plight, and neglected because of her smallness and poverty. 3 Violence was just what Damon feared, and since the solicitation itself had enraged him, he plotted against the man, and enlisted against him sundry companions,—a few only, that they might escape notice. There were sixteen of them in all, who smeared their faces with soot one night, heated themselves with unmixed wine (ἄκρατον), and at daybreak fell upon the Roman while he was sacrificing in the market-place, slew him, together with many of his followers, and departed the city.”

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gymnasiarch, but is murdered in the steam bath, which then has to be bricked up because of the ghostly cries and apparitions which ensue (εἰδώλων τινῶν … προφαινομένων καὶ στεναγμῶν ἐξακουομένων)—they persist up to Plutarch’s own day: “to this present time those who live near the place think it produces certain troubling sights and sounds” (1.6). This is a unique variation on a common type of ghost story, found in Plautus, Pliny and Lucian, whereby a house is haunted by a ghost which drives away all comers until the matter is investigated by a brave man, in Pliny and Lucian a philosopher, who reveals an improperly buried corpse; when the corpse receives a proper funeral, the hauntings cease.12 We shall return to these narratives later and examine them in greater detail. But in this passage of Plutarch it is not a private house which is haunted, but a public building, and no one, not even Plutarch the philosopher, has come to the aid of the murdered man and laid the ghost. Damon the bandit remains condemned to an existence on the margins of life and death, even in the middle of the city.13 The setting of the murder in a civic building (a building whose existence demonstrates Chaironeia’s Romanization)14 is appropriate in the context: Chaironeia at this point in its history is weak and troubled, and needs help. Lucullus assists Chaironeia not once but twice in the aftermath of this traumatic incident, which is why Plutarch says that he wishes to write his life. Although this opening overtly suggests that Cimon’s inclusion in the pair is a bit of an afterthought, in fact the preface prepares us for Cimon’s character as well as Lucullus’. There are a number of correspondences between Cimon and Damon, when he is introduced in 4.3–4, apart from the broad similarity in their names.15 Both are described in relation to their forebears, both are orphans, both are uneducated, both drink unwisely (either too much or the wrong thing).16 But there are crucial differences, too, which we are encouraged 12

13 14

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See Plautus, Mostellaria, 476–505; Pliny, Letters, 7.27; and Lucian, Philopseudes, 30–31. On all three see Felton, Haunted Greece and Rome, 38–49, 50–61, 65–73, and 81–88; on Lucian see also D. Ogden, In Search of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice: The Traditional Tales in Lucian’s Lover of Lies (Swansea: The Classical Press of Wales, 2007) 205–224, and now, K. Ní Mheallaigh, Reading Fiction with Lucian: Fakes, Freaks and Hyperreality (Cambridge—New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014) 92–94, with further bibliography. Ma, “Black Hunter Variations,” 56. See Ma, “Black Hunter Variations,” 64, on the baths, and G. Woolf, “Becoming Roman, Staying Greek: culture, identity and the civilizing process in the Roman East,” PCPS 40 (1994) 126, on bath-gymnasium complexes and Romanization in the Greek East. This is noted briefly by Ma, “Black Hunter Variations,” 76, though generally he does not discuss the context of the anecdote in the life or the pair, as he points out himself on p. 76. Plu., Cim. 4.3–4 (tr. Perrin): “Now Miltiades, who had been condemned to pay a fine of fifty talents and confined till payment should be made, died in prison, and Cimon, thus left a mere stripling (μειράκιον παντάπασιν) with his sister who was a young girl and unmarried,

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to notice and to read comparatively. Damon’s harshness is to be contrasted with Cimon’s character: inarticulate, yes, but noble and truthful. Damon persecutes his city once he becomes alienated from it; Cimon, despite losing some of his political battles, never attacks his own city, but rather dies fighting for it, and is honoured accordingly. Damon’s spectral groans still disturb his neighbours, and his family still bears a name which alludes to his crime (1.7); Cimon’s remains are repatriated in honour and he has another tomb at Citium which receives almost heroic reverence. Athens is a great city, Chaironeia a small one; the actions of Damon diminish Chaironeia further, those of Cimon enhance Athens.17 The ghost story in the opening chapter thus acts as a prompt to contrast Cimon with Damon. Later, the Life’s second ghost story intensifies a contrast between Cimon and Pausanias. In chapter 6, the excellence of Cimon shines against the treasonous arrogance and violence of Pausanias. In this context Plutarch tells the following story: Λέγεται δὲ παρθένον τινὰ Βυζαντίαν ἐπιφανῶν γονέων, ὄνομα Κλεονίκην, ἐπ’ αἰσχύνῃ τοῦ Παυσανίου μεταπεμπομένου, τοὺς μὲν γονεῖς ὑπ’ ἀνάγκης καὶ φόβου προέσθαι τὴν παῖδα, τὴν δὲ τῶν πρὸ τοῦ δωματίου δεηθεῖσαν ἀνελέσθαι τὸ φῶς, διὰ σκότους καὶ σιωπῆς τῇ κλίνῃ προσιοῦσαν ἤδη τοῦ Παυσανίου καθεύδοντος, ἐμπεσεῖν καὶ ἀνατρέψαι τὸ λυχνίον ἄκουσαν· τὸν δ’ ὑπὸ τοῦ ψόφου ταραχθέντα καὶ σπασάμενον τὸ παρακείμενον ἐγχειρίδιον, ὥς τινος ἐπ’ αὐτὸν ἐχθροῦ βαδίζοντος, πατάξαι καὶ καταβαλεῖν τὴν παρθένον, ἐκ δὲ τῆς πληγῆς ἀποθανοῦσαν αὐτὴν οὐκ ἐᾶν τὸν Παυσανίαν ἡσυχάζειν, ἀλλὰ νύκτωρ εἴδωλον αὐτῷ φοιτῶσαν εἰς τὸν ὕπνον ὀργῇ λέγειν τόδε τὸ ἡρῷον· Στεῖχε δίκης ἆσσον· μάλα τοι κακὸν ἀνδράσιν ὕβρις.

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was of no account in the city at first. He had the bad name of being dissolute and bibulous (ἄτακτος καὶ πολυπότης), and of taking after his grandfather Cimon, who, they say, because of his simplicity, was dubbed Coalemus, or Booby. And Stesimbrotus the Thasian, who was of about Cimon’s time, says that he acquired no literary education, nor any other liberal and distinctively Hellenic accomplishment; that he lacked entirely the Attic cleverness and fluency of speech (δεινότητός τε καὶ στωμυλίος Ἀττικῆς); that in his outward bearing there was much nobility and truthfulness; that the fashion of the man’s spirit was rather Peloponnesian, ‘Plain, unadorned, in a great crisis brave and true’, as Euripides says of Heracles, a citation which we may add to what Stesimbrotus wrote.” Plutarch plays with the contrast between the greatness of Athens and the littleness of Chaironeia at some length in Demosthenes 1–2: see further J.M. Mossman, “Is the Pen Mightier than the Sword? The Failure of Rhetoric in Plutarch’s Demosthenes,” Histos 3 (1999), and A. Zadorojnyi, “King of his Castle: Plutarch, Demosthenes 1–2,” CCJ 52 (2006) 102–127.

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ἐφ’ ᾧ καὶ μάλιστα χαλεπῶς ἐνεγκόντες οἱ σύμμαχοι μετὰ τοῦ Κίμωνος ἐξεπολιόρκησαν αὐτόν. ὁ δ’ ἐκπεσὼν τοῦ Βυζαντίου καὶ τῷ φάσματι ταραττόμενος, ὡς λέγεται, κατέφυγε πρὸς τὸ νεκυομαντεῖον εἰς Ἡράκλειαν, καὶ τὴν ψυχὴν ἀνακαλούμενος τῆς Κλεονίκης παρῃτεῖτο τὴν ὀργήν. ἡ δ’ εἰς ὄψιν ἐλθοῦσα ταχέως ἔφη παύσεσθαι τῶν κακῶν αὐτὸν ἐν Σπάρτῃ γενόμενον, αἰνιττομένη, ὡς ἔοικε, τὴν μέλλουσαν αὐτῷ τελευτήν. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν ὑπὸ πολλῶν ἱστόρηται. It is said that a maiden of Byzantium, of excellent parentage, Cleonice by name, was summoned by Pausanias for a purpose that would disgrace her. Her parents, influenced by constraint and fear, abandoned their daughter to her fate, and she, after requesting the attendants to remove the light, in darkness and silence at length drew near the couch on which Pausanias was asleep, but accidentally stumbled against the lamp-holder and upset it. Pausanias, startled by the noise, drew the dagger which lay at his side, with the idea that some enemy was upon him, and smote and felled the maiden. After her death in consequence of the blow, she gave Pausanias no peace, but kept coming into his sleep by night in phantom form (νύκτωρ εἴδωλον αὐτῶι φοιτῶσαν εἰς τὸν ὕπνον) wrathfully uttering this verse: “Draw thou nigh to thy doom; ‘tis evil for men to be wanton.” At this outrage the allies were beyond measure incensed, and joined Cimon in forcing Pausanias to give up the city. Driven from Byzantium, and still harassed by the phantom (τῶι φάσματι), as the story goes, he had recourse to the ghost-oracle (νεκυομαντεῖον) of Heracleia, and summoning up (ἀνακαλούμενος) the spirit of Cleonice, besought her to forgo her wrath. She came into his presence (εἰς ὄψιν) and said that he would soon cease from his troubles and on coming to Sparta, thus darkly intimating, as it seems, his impending death. At any rate, this tale is told by many.18 Pausanias writes himself into a story reminiscent of Damon’s by accidentally killing a girl he has insisted on debauching. Like Damon, she is of good family. Unlike the Roman officer in Damon’s story, Pausanias does not really try persuasion (her parents act under compulsion and fear in sending her to him). Darkness dominates both stories—Damon and his friends camouflage themselves for night-fighting and kill their victim at daybreak. Cleonice seeks to cover her shame with darkness and hence, disastrously, trips over a lamp and startles Pausanias.19 Pausanias kills the object of his passion rather than being 18 19

Tr. Perrin. The story is also told at De sera, 555C. See also Pausanias 3.17.7–9. At 555C we are told only that Pausanias “was seized by some wild suspicion.” The more

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killed by her; but she haunts him just as the resentful Damon haunted the scene of his own murder in Chaironeia. Pausanias tries exorcism, but only elicits a prediction of his own death.20 The story illustrates the closeness of ghosts and dreams. ‘She’ (ἡ δέ) comes into his sleep as a phantom; the phrasing strongly implies that she has an existence outside his dreams, and this is then confirmed when he visits the oracle at Heracleia.21 His reaction demands comparison with Cimon’s to the dream which foretells his own death at 18.2–3 (tr. Perrin): Ἤδη δὲ παρεσκευασμένων ἁπάντων καὶ τοῦ στρατοῦ παρὰ ταῖς ναυσὶν ὄντος ὄναρ εἶδεν ὁ Κίμων. ἐδόκει κύνα θυμουμένην ὑλακτεῖν πρὸς αὐτόν, ἐκ δὲ τῆς ὑκλαῆς μεμιγμένον ἀφεῖσαν ἀνθρώπου φθόγγον εἰπεῖν· Στεῖχε· φίλος γὰρ ἔσῃ καὶ ἐμοὶ καὶ ἐμοῖς σκυλάκεσσιν. All things were now ready and the soldiery on the point of embarking, when Cimon had a dream. He thought an angry bitch was baying at him, and that mingled with its baying it uttered a human voice, saying: “Go thy way, for a friend shalt thou be both to me and my puppies.” The vision being hard to interpret, Astyphilus of Posidonia, an inspired man and an intimate of Cimon’s, told him that it signified his death. He analysed the vision thus: “A dog is a foe of the man at whom it bays; to a foe, one cannot be a friend any better than by dying; the mixture of speech indicates that the enemy is the Mede, for the army of the Medes is a mixture of Hellenes and Barbarians.” Despite this, and another disturbing omen at his sacrifice to Dionysus, Cimon sets sail as planned and conducts a successful expedition against the barbarians. There is a symmetry between the angry ghost of Cleonice and the vision of an angry multi-lingual bitch, both speaking lines of poetry which start

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elaborate account in the Cimon arouses more sympathy for Cleonice in her shame and fear, and there is a terrible irony in her tripping over a lamp, of all household objects, in the dark. Pausanias 3.17.8–9 has her dropping her lamp and thus disturbing the sleeping general who, “conscious of his treason to Greece, and therefore always nervous and fearful, jumped up then and struck the girl with his sword.” Pausanias does not, however, go into the details of the haunting. On Pausanias’ death, see Th. 1.128–135.1, with S. Hornblower, A Commentary on Thucydides: History of the Peloponnesian War (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991) ad loc. On the oracle at Heracleia, see D. Ogden, Greek and Roman Necromancy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2001) 29–42, esp. 29–32 on this passage; it is uncertain how the ghosts were consulted (discussion on p. 31).

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with the same word (Στεῖχε).22 Cleonice’s original message is very clear; but in her oracular appearance, she uses a similar euphemistic term for dying as the interpretation of Astyphilos attributes to the baying bitch. Both Cleonice and the bitch contrast in their clarity of expression with the inchoate noises and groans of Damon. In short, both the ghost stories in this Life contribute to a wider web of comparisons. As Pelling has noted,23 the life features a great many internal comparisons with Themistocles and Aristides, and Miltiades, as well as the overarching comparison with Lucullus. I shall now turn to the vexed question of Caesar’s ghost in the Brutus and the Caesar, and consider whether what we have learned from the examination of Cimon can help us in interpreting these famous passages.

Caesar, Dion and Brutus: When (and Why) Is a Ghost Not a Ghost? In Shakespeare, the wakeful Brutus undoubtedly sees Caesar’s ghost at Julius Caesar (1599) IV.3. The stage direction is unambiguous and traditionally the part is played by the actor who played Caesar. In the sixteenth century, even if ghosts were theologically contested and their existence debatable, as a theatrical device they were comprehensible to the audience, and impressive. But the text of Plutarch is rather more complex than the Shakespearian dramatization, and in fact comparison with Cleonice in Cimon makes it clear that the apparition in Brutus’ tent is not a ghost in the sense of a revenant: it does not look like Caesar, it is not referred to as “Caesar,” “he” or even as “Caesar’s δαίμων.”24 We are told at 69.2 that Caesar’s great δαίμων, “which he had experienced in life, even when he was dead followed after as an avenger of his murder,” and also that (69.6) “more than anything else, it was the phantom (φάσμα) that appeared to Brutus that gave a particularly clear sign that Caesar’s killing had been unwelcome to the gods.” Both these passages hint at a being connected with Caesar but much more potent than a mere ghost, an entity both capable of acting inde-

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In the version of the Cleonice story at 555C, her line starts with βαῖνε, so it is possible Plutarch has altered the verse to point the comparison here. C. Pelling, “Ion’s Epidemiai and Plutarch’s Ion,” in V. Jennings & A. Katsaros (eds.), The World of Ion of Chios (Leiden—Boston: Brill, 2007) 93. For discussion, see C. Pelling, Plutarch: Caesar (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011) on 69.2–14. In a similar manner, Marley’s ghost is recognisable to Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, but the three spirits of Christmas, Past, Present and Yet to Come, each take a form suitable to their didactic function.

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pendently and doing so in a manner which indicates the will of the gods.25 The narration of its appearance to Brutus, then, in some respects comes as a bit of a surprise. Here is Caesar 69.9–11: λέγεται γὰρ οὗτος ἀνὴρ ἥκιστα δὴ τῶν στρατηγῶν ὑπνώδης γενέσθαι καὶ πλεῖστον ἑαυτῷ χρόνον ἐγρηγορότι χρῆσθαι πεφυκώς· ψόφου δέ τινος αἰσθέσθαι περὶ τὴν θύραν ἔδοξε, καὶ πρὸς τὸ τοῦ λύχνου φῶς ἤδη καταφερομένου σκεψάμενος ὄψιν εἶδε φοβερὰν ἀνδρὸς ἐκφύλου τὸ μέγεθος καὶ χαλεποῦ τὸ εἶδος. ἐκπλαγεὶς δὲ τὸ πρῶτον, ὡς ἑώρα μήτε πράττοντά τι μήτε φθεγγόμενον, ἀλλὰ ἑστῶτα σιγῇ παρὰ τὴν κλίνην, ἠρώτα ὅστις ἐστίν. ἀποκρίνεται δ’ αὐτῷ τὸ φάσμα· “Ὁ σός, ὦ Βροῦτε, δαίμων κακός· ὄψει δέ με περὶ Φιλίππους.” τότε μὲν οὖν ὁ Βροῦτος εὐθαρσῶς, “Ὄψομαι,” εἶπε· καὶ τὸ δαιμόνιον εὐθὺς ἐκποδὼν ἀπῄει. He thought he heard a noise by the door, and looked towards the lamp, which was already burning low. He saw a terrifying apparition of a man, a giant in size and menacing to look at (ὄψιν … φοβερὰν ἀνδρὸς ἐφύλου τὸ μέγεθος καὶ χαλεποῦ τὸ εἶδος). At first he was shaken, but then he saw that the apparition was doing nothing and saying nothing, but just standing silently by the bed. Brutus asked him who he was. The phantom (τὸ φάσμα) replied: “Your evil spirit (ὁ σός … δαίμων κακὸς), Brutus. You will see me at Philippi.” For the moment Brutus calmly replied “I will meet you there,” and the phantom (τὸ δαιμόνιον) immediately went away (ἐκποδὼν ἀπήιει).26 It is made clear at 69.7 that Brutus was not asleep, so this is not a dreamnarrative. In fact, it has a great deal in common with haunted house narratives in the manner of its telling, and to some extent in its vocabulary, but with some significant differences. In Pliny (7.27), the brave philosopher Athenodorus rents a haunted house. He sits writing by lamplight, awaiting the ghost which occupies the house and frightens away all comers. As with Brutus, he hears a noise at the door—in Pliny the noise of clanking chains. Athenodorus puts the ghost in its place by gesturing to it to wait until he has finished his writing, then

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The word δαίμων is used of a ghost more than once in Philopseudes 30–31 and in Pausanias’ account of the ghost of Temesa at 6.6.7–11. It is Plutarch’s reference to Caesar’s δαίμων following him in life as well as in death, which suggests a more sophisticated sense of the word here (see further below). Note the similarity to the expression which Polydorus uses to describe his departure at Hecuba 52 (see n. 8 above). Translations from Caesar are by Ch. Pelling.

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calmly follows it out to the courtyard lamp in hand, where it vanishes. The spot where it disappears proves to be its unmarked grave; after the bones are buried, the ghost disappears. In Lucian (Philopseudes 30–31), Arignotos’ more highly colored account in the first person also features a philosopher sitting reading by lamplight, awaiting the ghost he is to lay. Arignotos’ ghost is called both a δαίμων and a φάσμα; he is “filthy and long-haired and blacker than the shadow” (αὐχμηρὸς καὶ κομήτης καὶ μελάντερος τοῦ ζόφου), and in his struggles with Arignotos he turns himself, Proteus-like, into a dog, a bull and a lion. Finally, after an epic struggle with Arignotos’ Egyptian spells, he sinks into the ground; the next day, when they dig down into that spot, once again a rotting corpse is discovered. When the corpse is properly interred, the supernatural manifestations stop.27 Brutus is not reading, but thinking. But the noise at the door, the lamplight, the size and grim appearance of the apparition, and Brutus’ calm demeanor all recall the haunted house narratives. The differences are that Brutus’ phantom, unlike the ghosts in Pliny and Lucian, and unlike Cleonice in the Cimon, does not speak—or clank, or groan—until spoken to. And, of course, the biggest difference of all lies in what the phantom says. Far from being an unburied stranger, this vision asserts that he is Brutus’ evil spirit. Brutus’—not Caesar’s. The implication in the context of 69.2 is that Caesar’s great δαίμων has become Brutus’ bad luck. The phantom is making a grim joke, playing on the sense of δαίμων as personal fortune, good or bad. Caesar’s spirit is Brutus’ worst nightmare. The use of δαιμόνιον to describe the apparition as it leaves perhaps recalls the use of that word to describe Socrates’ sign, which at once aligns Brutus with that philosopher and increases the sense of doom in this last chapter. At 69.13, when it silently returns, Brutus appears to recognize this: “When he was about to fight the second battle, the phantom (φάσμα) visited him again at night. It said nothing, but Brutus recognized his fate, and plunged into danger in the battle.” I shall now turn to the equivalent passage in the Brutus, and set it in the context both of the Caesar and of its pair, Dion.28 Dion and Brutus are described right from the beginning of the pair as men who see apparitions (Dion 2.3–6):

27 28

See n. 12 above for references and bibliography. For discussion see Pelling, Plutarch: Caesar, on 69.2–14, and Moles, Commentary on Plutarch’s Brutus, on Brutus 36–37, and his excursus on problems of ‘demonology’, which immediately follows the discussion of 36–37. See also F.E. Brenk, “An Imperial Heritage: The Religious Spirit of Plutarch of Chaironeia,” in L. Roig Lanzillotta (ed.), Frederick Brenk on Plutarch, Religious Thinker and Biographer (Leiden: Brill, 2017, vol. 1) 43–65 and 81–95, esp. 48, 50–51, and 92–94.

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ὃ δὲ πάντων θαυμασιώτατον, ὅτι καὶ τὸ δαιμόνιον ἀμφοτέροις ὑπεδήλωσε τὴν τελευτήν, ὁμοίως ἑκατέρῳ φάσματος εἰς ὄψιν οὐκ εὐμενοῦς παραγενομένου. καίτοι λόγος τίς ἐστι τῶν ἀναιρούντων τὰ τοιαῦτα, μηδενὶ ἂν νοῦν ἔχοντι προσπεσεῖν φάντασμα δαίμονος μηδὲ εἴδωλον, ἀλλὰ παιδάρια καὶ γύναια καὶ παραφόρους δι’ ἀσθένειαν ἀνθρώπους ἔν τινι πλάνῳ ψυχῆς ἢ δυσκρασίᾳ σώματος γενομένους δόξας ἐφέλκεσθαι κενὰς καὶ ἀλλοκότους, δαίμονα πονηρὸν ἐν αὑτοῖς τὴν δεισιδαιμονίαν ἔχοντας εἰ δὲ Δίων καὶ Βροῦτος, ἄνδρες ἐμβριθεῖς καὶ φιλόσοφοι καὶ πρὸς οὐδὲν ἀκροσφαλεῖς οὐδ’ εὐάλωτοι πάθος, οὕτως ὑπὸ φάσματος διετέθησαν ὥστε καὶ φράσαι πρὸς ἑτέρους, οὐκ οἶδα μὴ τῶν πάνυ παλαιῶν τὸν ἀτοπώτατον ἀναγκασθῶμεν προσδέχεσθαι λόγον, ὡς τὰ φαῦλα δαιμόνια καὶ βάσκανα, προσφθονοῦντα τοῖς ἀγαθοῖς ἀνδράσι καὶ ταῖς πράξεσιν ἐνιστάμενα, ταραχὰς καὶ φόβους ἐπάγει, σείοντα καὶ σφάλλοντα τὴν ἀρετήν, ὡς μὴ διαμείναντες ἀπτῶτες ἐν τῷ καλῷ καὶ ἀκέραιοι βελτίονος ἐκείνων μοίρας μετὰ τὴν τελευτὴν τύχωσιν. But the most wonderful thing of all was that the divine (τὸ δαιμόνιον) gave to both an intimation of their approaching death, by the visible appearance to each alike of an ill-boding spectre (ὁμοίως ἑκατέρῳ φάσματος εἰς ὄψιν οὐκ εὐμενοῦς παραγενομένου). And yet there are those who deny such things and say that no man in his right mind was ever visited by a spectre or an apparition (φάντασμα δαίμονος μηδὲ εἴδωλον), but that little children and foolish women and men deranged by sickness, in some aberration of spirit or distemper of body, have indulged in empty and strange imaginings, because they had the evil genius of superstition in themselves. But if Dion and Brutus, men of solid understanding and philosophic training and not easily cast down are overpowered by anything that happened to them, were so affected by a spectre (φάσματος) that they actually told others about it, I do not know but we shall be compelled to accept that most extraordinary doctrine of the oldest times, that mean and malignant spirits (τὰ φαῦλα δαιμόνια καὶ βάσκανα), in envy of good men and opposition to their noble deeds, try to confound and terrify them, causing their virtue to rock and totter, in order that they may not continue erect and inviolate in the path of honour and so attain a better portion after death than the spirits themselves.29

29

Tr. Perrin. De superstitione does not strictly mention ghosts, perhaps surprisingly, but at 167A the description of what superstitious people expect after death has something in common with this picture of jealous and malicious spirits: “Darkness is crowded with spectres of many fantastic shapes, which beset their victim with grim visages and piteous

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The vocabulary in 3–5 is very suggestive of ghosts (note especially the phrase φάντασμα δαίμονος); but when the possibility is raised that these may be malignant forces, they are referred to as δαιμόνια. In the singular, at the start of the passage, that seemed to mean ‘the divine’, perhaps with overtones, again, of the sign of Socrates; but in the plural, the force of the diminutive is to express the malice of these spirits.30 When we come to Dion’s spectre, it turns out to be much more aligned with the malignant forces than with the ghostly vocabulary of the earlier part of the passage (Dion 55.1–2, tr. Perrin): Συνισταμένης δὲ τῆς ἐπιβουλῆς φάσμα γίνεται τῷ Δίωνι μέγα καὶ τερατῶδες. ἐτύγχανε μὲν γὰρ ὀψὲ τῆς ἡμέρας καθεζόμενος ἐν παστάδι τῆς οἰκίας μόνος ὢν πρὸς ἑαυτῷ τὴν διάνοιαν· ἐξαίφνης δὲ ψόφου γενομένου πρὸς θατέρῳ πέρατι τῆς στοᾶς, ἀποβλέψας ἔτι φωτὸς ὄντος εἶδε γυναῖκα μεγάλην, στολῇ μὲν καὶ προσώπῳ μηδὲν Ἐριννύος τραγικῆς παραλλάττουσαν, σαίρουσαν δὲ καλλύντρῳ τινὶ τὴν οἰκίαν. ἐκπλαγεὶς δὲ δεινῶς καὶ περίφοβος γενόμενος μετεπέμψατο τοὺς φίλους καὶ διηγεῖτο τὴν ὄψιν αὐτοῖς καὶ παραμένειν ἐδεῖτο καὶ συννυκτερεύειν, παντάπασιν ἐκστατικῶς ἔχων καὶ δεδοικὼς μὴ πάλιν εἰς ὄψιν αὐτῷ μονωθέντι τὸ τέρας ἀφίκηται. As the plot [against him] was ripening, Dion saw an apparition of great size and portentous aspect (φάσμα … μέγα καὶ τερατῶδες). He was sitting later in the day in the vestibule of his house, alone and lost in thought, when suddenly a noise was heard at the other end of the colonnade, and turning his gaze in that direction he saw (for it was not yet dark) a woman of lofty stature, in garb and countenance exactly like a tragic Fury, sweeping the house with a sort of broom. He was terribly shocked, and, becoming apprehensive, summoned his friends, told them what he had seen, and begged them to remain and spend the night with him, being altogether beside himself, and fearing that if he were left alone the portent would appear to him again.

30

voices (πολυφαντάστων εἰδώλων τινῶν χαλεπὰς μὲν ὄψεις οἰκτρὰς δὲ φωνὰς ἐπιφερόντων)” (tr. Babbit). For discussion of Dion 2.1–6 in the context of the pair and of other passages where Plutarch discusses ‘demonology’, see Moles, Commentary on Plutarch’s Brutus, 395–407. I am doubtful about his thesis that the passage reflects Zoroastrianism. See LSJ s.v. δαιμόνιον II.2. Plutarch also uses the adjective φαῦλα to qualify this form of the noun elsewhere and attributes the thought to Chrysippus: see Quaestiones Romanae 277A and De stoicorum repugnantiis 1051CD (‘in the third book of On Substance’), and Moles, Commentary on Plutarch’s Brutus, 397–398.

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Again, elements of the ghost story are here, but unusually deployed. Plutarch is very clear that this is a daytime vision, not seen at night by lamplight or in a dream. Again, Dion is alone, but thinking rather than reading. Again, he hears a noise first before seeing the vision. Again, the appearance of the phantom is frightening, but on this occasion the apparition says nothing at all. However, its resemblance to a Fury in a tragedy again is strongly suggestive of a divine force which is greater than a mere ghost—indeed, very much of a malignant spirit such as that mentioned in the proem to the life.31 Dion is particularly perturbed by this occurrence, in a very un-philosopher-like manner, and begs his friends not to leave him in case he sees the same thing again. He does not; but a few days later his son kills himself by throwing himself from the roof. Unlike the hero-philosophers of the haunted house tales, he does not keep his cool—but then, there is no facile solution to the problem of a tragic Fury, and the corpse in the house lies in the future, not in the past.32 What of Brutus? The account of the apparition at 36 is prefaced by a longer summary of Brutus’ evening habits than occurs at Caesar 69, but again stresses the same elements, familiar from the haunted house stories (Brutus 36.5–37.1, tr. Perrin):33 ὡς οὖν ἔμελλεν ἐξ Ἀσίας διαβιβάζειν τὸ στράτευμα, νὺξ μὲν ἦν βαθυτάτη, φῶς δ’ εἶχεν οὐ πάνυ λαμπρὸν ἡ σκηνή, πᾶν δὲ τὸ στρατόπεδον σιωπὴ κατεῖχεν. ὁ δὲ συλλογιζόμενός τι καὶ σκοπῶν πρὸς ἑαυτὸν ἔδοξεν αἰσθέσθαι τινὸς εἰσιόντος. ἀποβλέψας δὲ πρὸς τὴν εἴσοδον ὁρᾷ δεινὴν καὶ ἀλλόκοτον ὄψιν ἐκφύλου σώματος καὶ φοβεροῦ, σιωπῇ παρεστῶτος αὐτῷ. τολμήσας δὲ ἐρέσθαι, “Τίς ποτ’ ὤν,” εἶπεν, “ἀνθρώπων ἢ θεῶν, ἢ τί βουλόμενος ἥκεις ὡς ἡμᾶς;” Ὑποφθέγγεται δ’ αὐτῷ τὸ φάσμα· “Ὁ σός, ὦ Βροῦτε, δαίμων κακός· ὄψει δέ με περὶ Φιλίππους.” καὶ ὁ Βροῦτος οὐ διαταραχθείς, “Ὄψομαι,” εἶπεν. Ἀφανισθέντος δ’ αὐτοῦ τοὺς παῖδας ἐκάλει· μήτε δ’ ἀκοῦσαί τινα φωνὴν μήτ’ ἰδεῖν ὄψιν φασκόντων, τότε μὲν ἐπηγρύπνησεν· ἅμα δ’ ἡμέρᾳ τραπόμενος πρὸς Κάσσιον ἔφραζε τὴν ὄψιν.

31

32

33

The domesticity of the Fury is a particularly horrid touch, suggesting it is right at home. The Furies are a drinking-party, a κῶμος, in the house of Atreus at Agamemnon 1189–1190; this image, of the Fury cleaning house, is as frightening in its quiet menace. As Moles, Commentary on Plutarch’s Brutus, 374, points out, “[Plutarch] is greatly concerned by the problem of evil in a universe ordered by a beneficent God and particularly with the question whether it could be solved by the hypothesis of the existence of evil δαίμονες.” The failure of philosophic education to produce satisfactory political order in both lives is a deeply troubling feature of both narratives. For other parallels, see Moles, Commentary on Plutarch’s Brutus, ad loc.

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Once, accordingly, when he was about to take his army across from Asia, it was very late at night, his tent was dimly lighted, and all the camp was wrapped in silence. Then, as he was meditating and reflecting, he thought he heard someone coming into the tent. He turned his eyes towards the entrance and beheld a strange and dreadful apparition, a monstrous and fearful shape (δεινὴν καὶ ἀλλόκοτον ὄψιν ἐκφύλου σώματος καὶ φοβεροῦ) standing silently by his side. Plucking up courage to question it, “Who art thou,” said he, “of gods or men, and what is thine errand with me?” Then the phantom answered “I am thy evil genius, Brutus, and thou shalt see me at Philippi.” And Brutus, undisturbed, said: “I shall see thee.” When the shape had disappeared, Brutus called his servants; but they declared that they had neither heard any words nor seen any apparition, and so he watched the night out. As soon as it was day, however, he sought out Cassius and told him of the apparition. Once again, we find the familiar emphasis on solitude, the dim light from the lamp in the darkness, Brutus not reading but thinking, the noise and then the shape appears. Once again it remains silent; here Brutus questions it in direct speech rather than indirect, as in the Caesar. His formulation here is interesting: is the vision a man or a god? In the context of this question perhaps the sense of the reply, the same reply as in the Caesar (“Your evil spirit”), is altered: the thing is neither a god nor a man (even a dead man), but a δαίμων. Unlike Dion, Brutus is unperturbed. The phantom “disappears” here, rather than the more down to earth phrase in Caesar (“went away”). Here, Brutus makes enquiries of his attendants, who have seen and heard nothing: the vision is his alone. Cassius’ attempt to cheer Brutus is not particularly relevant to our discussion here, though the argument he makes that Brutus was probably dreaming is interesting, since such a frightening dream at such a juncture would be a very bad omen in itself. A dream, however, would be preferable to the appearance of an otherworldly visitor.34 Later, in 48, the phantom reappears, as it does in the Caesar, this time silently. At this point no mention is made of a recognition by Brutus of his fate; but so many omens and indications

34

On this speech of reassurance and its rich mixture of influences, and its subtle characterization of Cassius, see Moles, Commentary on Plutarch’s Brutus, ad loc., and excursus 392– 395, with further bibliography. I am less clear than Moles, though, that because similar arguments are rehearsed elsewhere in Plutarch’s oeuvre, this represents “P.’s own considered view” (395). We are on safer ground, it seems to me, in focussing on the character of Cassius and on his attempt to downplay the vision—which in fact turns out to keep its word in reappearing and in presaging disaster.

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are clustering at the point in the narrative that the reader, certainly, is left in no doubt what the issue will be. In the immediately preceding passage, at 47.7, Plutarch says: Ἀλλὰ τῶν πραγμάτων, ὡς ἔοικεν, οὐκέτι πολλοῖς ὄντων καθεκτῶν, ἀλλὰ μοναρχίας δεομένων, ὁ θεός, ἐξάγειν καὶ μεταστῆσαι τὸν μόνον ἐμποδὼν ὄντα τῷ κρατεῖν δυναμένῳ βουλόμενος, ἀπέκοψε τὴν τύχην ἐκείνην, καίπερ ἐγγυτάτω τοῦ μὴ λαθεῖν τὸν Βροῦτον ἀφικομένην … But since, as it would seem, the government of Rome could no longer be a democracy, and a monarchy was necessary, the god, wishing to remove from the scene the only man who stood in the way of him who was able to be sole master, cut off from Brutus the knowledge of that good fortune, although it very nearly reached him in time … In that context, the phantom brings realisation not so much to Brutus as to the reader. The story which in the Caesar represented the revenge of an entity linked to, but infinitely more powerful than, Caesar himself, in the Brutus represents something more powerful still—a divine force which, as is suggested in the proem to the Dion, prevents men from accomplishing their intentions, even when those intentions are good. Once again, as in the Cimon, the phantoms are tailored to their context. The same supernatural speech is given different meanings in each case by the passages which lead up to these bravura scenes, told as ghost stories, but not about ghosts. Attempts to find a single consistent theological meaning in these accounts are probably futile, since in each case Plutarch adapts existing anecdotes to his purpose in context.35 In the case of Cleonice, and the apparitions in the Caesar, Dion and Brutus, the material is part of a mainstream historical tradition, in Damon’s case, we assume, part of local tradition, rather than a Plutarchan invention. Every time Plutarch tells a ghost-story, his version can be seen to diverge from the more generic narratives in other authors. It is easy to underestimate the skill with which he does this, not least because part of the terror of the scenes is exactly the indeterminate identity of the phantoms, so much more frightening in their quiet menace than the chain-clanking ghosts in Pliny and Lucian.36 The ghostly sights and sounds in Chaironeia’s haunted bath-house are 35 36

Moles, Commentary on Plutarch’s Brutus, 399, rightly warns against overplaying arguments from ‘consistency’. So Dickens’ Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come says nothing at all, but is much the most frightening apparition.

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also more effective because Plutarch does not go into too much detail. Cleonice, on the other hand, is almost more of a nuisance than a terror, because she is so vocal, and indeed so univocal. No one, least of all Pausanias, can be in doubt as to the meaning of what she says, and justified though her blame of Pausanias undoubtedly is, it lacks the spine-tingling quality of the other apparitions. It is also possible that this is because she haunts a secondary character, not Plutarch’s main subject. In all cases, however, the phantoms bring a realisation to the living of the power and mystery of other realms, whether of the underworld or of the daemonic. How living human characters react to these phenomena is a key touchstone of their character. The consequence of that basic feature of ghostly narratives of all sorts and all times is to render the still restless ghost of Damon as disturbing—to the reader, as well as to Plutarch’s neighbours—as the great δαίμων of Caesar was to Brutus.

Bibliography Blamire, A., Plutarch, Life of Kimon, BICS Supplement 56 (London: University of London, 1989). Brenk, F., “An Imperial Heritage: The Religious Spirit of Plutarch of Chaironeia,” in L. Roig Lanzillotta (ed.), Frederick Brenk on Plutarch, Religious Thinker and Biographer (Leiden: Brill, 2017) 5–129. Felton, D., Haunted Greece and Rome: Ghost Stories from Classical Antiquity (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1999). Gregory, A., The Presocratics and the Supernatural: Magic, Philosophy and Science in Early Greece (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013). Hornblower, S., A Commentary on Thucydides: History of the Peloponnesian War (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991). Ma, J., “Black Hunter Variations,” PCPS 40 (1994) 49–80. Moles, J.L., A Commentary on Plutarch’s Brutus, Histos Supplement 7 (2017). Mossman, J.M., “Is the Pen Mightier than the Sword? The Failure of Rhetoric in Plutarch’s Demosthenes,”Histos 3 (1999) [http://www.dur.ac.uk/Classics/histos (August 2000)]. Ní Mheallaigh, K., Reading Fiction with Lucian: Fakes, Freaks and Hyperreality (Cambridge—New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014). Ogden, D., Greek and Roman Necromancy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001). Ogden, D., In Search of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice: The Traditional Tales in Lucian’s Lover of Lies (Swansea: The Classical Press of Wales, 2007).

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Pelling, C., “Ion’s Epidemiai and Plutarch’s Ion,” in V. Jennings & A. Katsaros (eds.), The World of Ion of Chios (Leiden—Boston: Brill, 2007) 75–109. Pelling, C., Plutarch. Caesar (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011). Thomas, K., Religion and the Decline of Magic (London: Scribner, 1971). Wilson, J.D., What Happens in Hamlet (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959). Woolf, G., “Becoming Roman, Staying Greek: culture, identity and the civilizing process in the Roman East,” PCPS 40 (1994) 116–143. Zadorojnyi, A., “King of his Castle: Plutarch, Demosthenes 1–2,” CCJ 52 (2006) 102–127.

chapter 5

The Religiosity of Plutarch’s Spartan Heroes and Their Attitude towards Divination Anastasios G. Nikolaidis

Sparta and Lycurgus Sparta’s reputation as the city of the most disciplined and valiant warriors in Greece is well-known. Less well-known or rather less accentuated perhaps is the Spartan remarkable piety and religiosity in general,1 given that no other Greek city observed its religious festivals so strictly2 or consulted the oracle of Delphi so often.3 Unlike the Athenians, for instance, who felt no need to consult Delphi before engaging in the Peloponnesian war, the Spartans did send envoys to the oracle and inquired of Apollo if going to war would be better for

1 For the exceptional piety or religiosity of the Spartans, see P. Cartledge, The Spartans (Woodstock—New York: The Overlook Press, 2003) 176, and H. Bowden, Classical Athens and the Delphic Oracle. Divination and Democracy (Cambridge: CUP, 2005) 148–149. J.H. Finley too speaks of “the traditional religiosity of the Spartans” in Thucydides (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1942) 311. See also Herodotus’ remark about the Spartan piety at 5.63.2 (τὰ γὰρ τοῦ θεοῦ πρεσβύτερα ἐποιεῦντο ἢ τὰ τῶν ἀνδρῶν), and cf. Apophth. Lac. 219F and 228D (22). 2 Note their delayed arrival at Marathon because of the Carneia—Hdt. 6.106.3, but see W.W. How & J. Wells, A Commentary on Herodotus, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1912 [1928 with corrections] 108–109 ad loc.; cf. also 7.206.1 and Thuc. 5.54.2, 75.2)—and their delayed joining the other Greeks against Mardonius because of the Hyacinthia (Hdt. 9.11.1). See also their admirable demeanor upon hearing of the disaster at Leuctra whilst they were celebrating the Gymnopaediae (Xen. Hell. 6.4.16; Plu. Ages. 29.3–4). For the Spartans’ exceptional attention to religious rituals, cf. also M.A. Flower, “Spartan ‘religion’ and Greek ‘religion’,” in S. Hodkinson (ed.) Sparta: Comparative Approaches (Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2009) 193–229. 3 For the special relationship of Sparta with the oracle of Delphi, see N.G.L. Hammond, A History of Greece to 322B.C. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1959) 97, and Cartledge, The Spartans, 60. See also How & Wells, Commentary v. 2, 86 (“The connection of Sparta with Delphi was peculiarly close”), and cf. Cic. Div. 1.95–96. In at least two cases the Spartans even bribed the Pythia (see p. 80 below and n. 19). And for their frequent consultations in Herodotus, see C. SánchezMañas’ table in Los oráculos en Heródoto. Tipología, estructura y función narrativa (Zaragoza: Prensas de la Universidad de Zaragoza, 2017), where the Spartans consult the oracle 11 times against only 2 of the Athenians. This special relationship is no doubt due to their equally special relationship with Apollo, as all three Spartan public festivals (Carneia, Hyacinthia, Gymnopaediae) were dedicated to him; cf. Xen. Resp. Lac. 15.5, and see also n. 8 below.

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them.4 Thucydides, however, regarded the Spartan religiosity as specious and sneered at it,5 but this judgement can hardly be dissociated from the contemporary antagonism and actual enmity between Athens and Sparta. So, it may be more plausible for one to suppose that Sparta’s attitude to gods and religion had been determined and regulated, as so many other things, by Lycurgus and his laws.6 The Spartan constitution, after all, was given to Lycurgus, according to one tradition at least,7 by Apollo himself when the former went to Delphi to pray for good laws;8 let alone that the Pythia addressed him as beloved of the gods and rather god than man.9 4 See Thuc. 1.118.3, and Bowden, Classical Athens and the Delphic Oracle, 148–149 (the Spartans presumably feared that, by marching onto Attica, they might seem to violate the thirty years’ treaty which was under oath); for a similar Spartan consultation, cf. Xen. Hell. 4.7.2. 5 See Finley, Thucydides, 311–312. 6 Cf. M.A. Lucchesi, “Delphi, place and time in Plutarch’s Lycurgus and Lysander,” in A. Georgiadou & K. Oikonomopoulou (eds.), Space, Time and Language in Plutarch (Berlin-Boston: De Gruyter, 2017) 101–104. 7 In fact, there were two traditions concerning the provenance of the Spartan constitution. Besides Plutarch (see n. 8), its divine origin is also upheld by Plato (Laws 624A, 691E) and Ephorus (see D.S. 7.12 and Strabo 10.4.19: εἶθ’ ὁρμῆσαι διαθεῖναι τοὺς νόμους, φοιτῶντα ὡς τὸν θεὸν τὸν ἐν Δελφοῖς, κακεῖθεν κομίζοντα τὰ προστάγματα …; Tyrtaeus’ fr. 4 Gerber is regarded as a forgery combining Plutarch and Diodorus), although in Ephorus the tradition that wants Lycurgan legislation to imitate the Cretan constitution is also there (see Strabo 10.4.17–18 and 19). The Cretan origin is adopted by Aristotle too (Pol. 1271B23–33), whereas Xenophon regards the Spartan constitution as an invention of Lycurgus (so also Polybius at 6.10 and 10.2.11), which also earned the approval of Apollo (Resp. Lac. 8.5: ἀνόσιον θεὶς τὸ πυθοχρήστοις νόμοις μὴ πείθεσθαι; cf. Cic. Div. 1.96: Lycurgus … leges suas auctoritate Apollinis Delphici confirmavit); or was deliberately presented as a teaching of Apollo, so that it would readily be accepted by the people. Somewhat surprisingly, this is not only Polybius’ judgement (10.2.11), but also the pious Xenophon’s view, who speaks of Lycurgus’ most excellent contrivance (ibid.: Πολλῶν … ὄντων μηχανημάτων καλῶν τῷ Λυκούργῳ εἰς τὸ πείθεσθαι τοῖς νόμοις ἐθέλειν τοὺς πολίτας ἐν τοῖς καλλίστοις καὶ τοῦτο). On the other hand, Herodotus (1.65.4) seems to believe that Lycurgus may have indeed brought his laws from Crete (ἐκ Κρήτης ἀγαγέσθαι ταῦτα), but he also tells us that, according to some people, it was the Pythia who dictated them to him (φράσαι αὐτῷ τὴν Πυθίην τὸν νῦν κατεστεῶτα κόσμον Σπαρτιήτῃσι). See also Dion. Hal. 2.61.2: ὁ δὲ Λυκοῦργος εἰς Δελφοὺς ἀφικνούμενος ὑπὸ τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος ἔφη διδάσκεσθαι τὴν νομοθεσίαν. 8 Cf. Lyc. 6.1: Οὕτω δὲ περὶ ταύτην ἐσπούδασε τὴν ἀρχὴν ὁ Λυκοῦργος, ὥστε μαντείαν ἐκ Δελφῶν κομίσαι περὶ αὐτῆς, ἣν ῥήτραν καλοῦσιν (cf. Comp. Ag., Cleom. et Gracch. 2.4: αἱ πάτριαι ῥῆτραι … ὧν τούτοις [sc. Λακεδαιμονίοις] μὲν ὁ Λυκοῦργος, ἐκείνῳ δ’ ὁ Πύθιος βεβαιωτής); At Lyc. 6.3, the name of ἀπέλλα, i.e., the Spartan assembly, is etymologically connected with Apollo, the source of the Lycurgan polity (τὸ δ’ ἀπελλάζειν ἐκκλησιάζειν, ὅτι τὴν ἀρχὴν καὶ τὴν αἰτίαν τῆς πολιτείας εἰς τὸν Πύθιον ἀνῆψε), and further at 6.9 the assembly is persuaded to yield to the opinion of the kings and the gerousia ὡς τοῦ θεοῦ ταῦτα προστάσσοντος (see also Tyrtaeus at 6.10, and cf. Cic. Div. 1.96 above n. 7). However, it is not entirely clear whether Apollo dictated or simply approved and ratified the laws which Lycurgus conceived and drafted for the Spartans; for we are also told that the Spartans truly enjoyed a divine fortune in the man who framed their con-

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Moreover, Lycurgus’ actions before his death eloquently confirm all the foregoing. At first, he made the Spartans believe that for the complete prosperity of their city, something of the greatest importance (Lyc. 29.2: κυριώτατον … καὶ μέγιστον) still remained to be done which, however, he could not make public before consulting the god at Delphi. So, after binding them all (kings, gerousia, citizens) with an oath that they would not alter in the least his laws before his return (promising that he would then do what the god thought best), he went to Delphi, got an oracle that his constitution was fine and that Sparta would remain a most honorable and illustrious city as long as it abided by this constitution, wrote this oracle down and sent it home, and then committed suicide (Lyc. 29.6–9). This passage, then, not only again links Sparta’s glory and prosperity to Lycurgus’ laws and Apollo’s approval of them, but it also substantiates both the religiosity of the Spartans10 as well as the special association of this city with the oracle of Delphi (see nn. 1 and 3 above).

Lysander (Cleomenes I, Callicratidas, Pausanias) Yet, while Sparta was still thriving under Lycurgus’ polity, one of the ablest and shrewdest Spartans, Lysander, appears to have taken into little account the veneration of the gods and the religious spirit in general, as instilled and established by Lycurgus. Plutarch tells us, for instance, that Lysander would pay no heed to oaths, which he actually employed as a means to cheat his opponents, a policy totally unlaconic, according to Plutarch, and in fact revealing not only one’s fear of the enemy but also one’s contempt of the gods.11 This particular attitude was in full harmony, of course, with Lysander’s general mentality

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stitution (Lyc. 7.5: θεῖον ἦν ὡς ἀληθῶς εὐτύχημα τοῖς Σπαρτιάταις ὁ τὴν πολιτείαν ἁρμοσάμενος καὶ κεράσας παρ’ αὐτοῖς), while Lycurgus’ last inquiry at Delphi if the laws he had established were good (Lyc. 29.5) would be meaningless if the legislator was Apollo; and so would the synkrisis with Numa as a whole. Cf. also Xen. Apol. 15, and D.S. 7.12.1. Spartan religiosity is directly associated with Lycurgus also at Plu. Non posse 1125D, where we hear that it was his legislation that instilled into the Spartans the belief in the gods and thus made them a devoted people through the prayers, oaths, oracles and omens it established (τῶν νόμων πρῶτόν ἐστιν ἡ περὶ θεῶν δόξα καὶ μέγιστον). Cf. Lys. 8.3–5: A certain Androcleides accused Lysander of πολλήν τινα … περὶ τοὺς ὅρκους εὐχέρειαν, for he would urge τοὺς μὲν παῖδας ἀστραγάλοις, τοὺς δ’ ἄνδρας ὅρκοις ἐξαπατᾶν (“to cheat boys with knuckle-bones, but men with oaths”—transl. Perrin in Loeb, but it is not entirely clear that παῖδας and ἄνδρας are the objects and not the subjects of ἐξαπατᾶν); yet, οὐδὲ Λακωνικὸν τὸ χρῆσθαι τοῖς θεοῖς ὥσπερ τοῖς πολεμίοις, and besides, ὁ γὰρ ὅρκῳ παρακρουόμενος τὸν μὲν ἐχθρὸν ὁμολογεῖ δεδιέναι, τοῦ δὲ θεοῦ καταφρονεῖν.

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and manners; for he would not regard truth as by nature better than falsehood, but would assess either by the needs of the hour and the benefits that each involved.12 Accordingly, most of his military tactics were based on ruses (Lys. 7.5: ἀπάταις τὰ πολλὰ διαποικίλλων τοῦ πολέμου) and, therefore, he would make sport of those who demanded that Heracles’ progeny should not employ deceit in war, saying instead that “where the lion’s skin will not reach, it must be patched out with the fox’s” (transl. Perrin in Loeb).13 It appears that precursor of Lysander in this kind of demeanor was king Cleomenes the first. For having made an armistice of seven days with the Argives, he made a murderous attack on them by night, while they were sleeping; and when he was rebuked for perjury, his excuse was that the nights were not included in his oath (Apophth. Lac. 223B(3): οὐκ ἔφη προσομωμοκέναι ταῖς ἡμέραις τὰς νύκτας).14 After all, he added, whatever harm one can do to one’s enemies is regarded, by both gods and men alike, as something far higher than justice (ibid.: τοῦτο καὶ παρὰ ἀνθρώποις δίκης ὑπέρτερον νομίζεσθαι).15 To return to Lysander, when the ephors recalled him from the Hellespont back to Sparta, following Pharnabazus’ accusations against him (Lys. 19.7), Lysander obeyed, but only after trying to reconcile himself with Pharnabazus and taking from him a sealed letter in which the satrap supposedly had revoked his accusations; but Pharnabazus had outwitted Lysander and the letter he gave him in fact contained all his complaints and charges (Lys. 20.1–3). Gravely confounded and humiliated, as he was caught flagrantly lying before the ephors, Lysander eventually asked for their permission to go to the temple of Ammon in Libya in order that he might offer to the god the sacrifices he had vowed before his battles at the Hellespont (Lys. 20.6). Most people, however, believed, as Plutarch tells us, that this religious duty was only a pretext, and that Lysander’s

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Cf. Lys. 7.5: τῷ συμφέροντι χρώμενος ὡς καλῷ, καὶ τὸ ἀληθὲς οὐ φύσει τοῦ ψεύδους κρεῖττον ἡγούμενος, ἀλλ’ ἑκατέρου τῇ χρείᾳ τὴν τιμὴν ὁρίζων. Cf. also Apophth. Lac. 229A(2). Lys. 7.6: Ὅπου γὰρ ἡ λεοντῆ μὴ ἐφικνεῖται, προσραπτέον ἐκεῖ τὴν ἀλωπεκῆν. Cf. also Reg. et imp. apophth. 190E(2), Apophth. Lac. 229B(3). Hence the Argives accused Cleomenes of perjury and impiety (Apophth. Lac. 223C[6] in the following note). Cf. also Cic. Off. 1.33. However, at Hdt. 6.78–79, Cleomenes employs a different stratagem to deceive the Argives. For this shivering view, cf. Eurip. El. 584 and fr. 758 Nauck (κακοῖς τὸ κέρδος τῆς δίκης ὑπέρτερον). See also F. Fuhrmann, Plutarque, Œuvres Morales, vol. 3 (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, CUF, 2003/1988) 192 n. 1. At Apophth. Lac. 223C(6) we read that, when the Argives chided Cleomenes as an impious perjurer (ὡς ἐπίορκον καὶ ἀσεβῆ), he retorted that it was in their power to accuse him, but it was in his to do them harm. For more sayings of Cleomenes, see Apophth. Lac. 223A–224B; and on Cleomenes and his kingship in general, see mainly Hdt. 6.50–84.

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request actually betrayed his fear of the ephors (Lys. 20.8: τοῖς δὲ πλείστοις ἐδόκει πρόσχημα ποιεῖσθαι τὸν θεόν, ἄλλως δε τοὺς ἐφόρους δεδοικώς). Lysander’s religious attitude might indirectly be seen also in his clash with the seer Diopeithes after king Agis’ death. As is known, Lysander supported Agesilaus, Agis’ brother, for the succession, on the ground that the king’s son Leotychidas was not a genuine Spartan.16 Yet the highly reputable chresmologue Diopeithes appealed to an old prophecy that predicted calamities for Sparta, should a lame person (an unmistakable reference to Agesilaus) become its king.17 Lysander, however, thwarted this prophecy by arguing that it did not refer to a man’s physical shortcoming but to a lame kingship, if Sparta’s throne was taken by a bastard and not a genuine descendant of Heracles (Lys. 22.12, Ages. 3.8). No doubt, this episode primarily manifests Lysander’s sagacity and rationalistic frame of mind, yet rational thinking often distances itself from religious faith and piety.18 But Lysander’s authentic attitude towards religion is more patently and eloquently revealed in his scheme to overthrow the Lycurgan constitution and drastically change the form of government by using religion as an essential tool (Lys. 24–26, 30.4, Comp. Lys. et Sull. 2.1–3). Realizing that religious fears and superstition subdue the populace more effectively than any skillful or forceful rhetoric, he connected his revolutionary enterprise with fabricated oracles of Apollo supposedly promoting his designs; and to achieve his goal, he even tried to bribe the Pythia, the priestesses of Dodona, and the prophets of Ammon’s temple in Libya (Lys. 25.1–3).19 Once more Lysander follows in the footsteps of Cleomenes, who had bribed the Pythia in order to get rid of Demaratus,20 but Lysander’s designs came to nothing, as we know, because of the cow16 17 18

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In fact, a son of Alcibiades; cf. Lys. 22.6–7, Ages. 3.1–4, Alc. 23.7–9, De tranq. an. 467F, Xen. Hell. 3.3.1–2. Cf. Lys. 22.10–11; Ages. 3.6–7 and 30.1; Xen. Hell. 3.3.3; Paus. 3.8.9; Justin (Pomp. Trog.) 6.2.5. However, the future seems to have vindicated Diopeithes and not Lysander. For Epaminondas’ advance into Peloponnesus, which put an end to the Spartan hegemony in Greece, made the Spartans connect their successive losses after Leuctra with that very oracle concerning Agesilaus’ lameness (cf. Ages. 30.1: ὡς διὰ τοῦτο πραττούσης κακῶς τῆς πόλεως, ὅτι τὸν ἀρτίποδα τῆς βασιλείας ἐκβαλόντες, εἵλοντο χωλὸν καὶ πεπηρωμένον· ὃ παντὸς μᾶλλον αὐτοὺς ἐδίδασκε φράζεσθαι καὶ φυλάττεσθαι τὸ δαιμόνιον). “Indeed, one would hardly imagine a more sacrilegious machination for a Spartan:” so Lucchesi, “Delphi in Plutarch’s Lycurgus and Lysander,” 106. For the attempted bribery of Ammon’s ministers, see also D.S., 14.13.7: the officials of the oracle sent envoys to Sparta to accuse Lysander περὶ τῆς τοῦ χρηστηρίου διαφθορᾶς. Cf. Hdt. 6.66, 75.3; Paus. 3.4.3–6. Before Lysander, the Pythia had also been bribed by the deposed Spartan king Pleistoanax, who was striving to return to his throne (Thuc. 5.16.2; Plu. De Pyth. or. 403B). A similar bribery occurred almost one century earlier, when the

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ardice of his accomplices (Plutarch speaks of only one cowardly accomplice, Lys. 26.6). But Cicero, more interestingly perhaps, attributes Lysander’s failure to the religious qualms and apprehension of the people (Div. 1.96: quas [sc. Lycurgi leges] cum vellet Lysander commutare, eadem est prohibitus religione). In the Synkrisis Plutarch finds fault with Lysander’s impetuosity and rashness that led to his inglorious death outside the walls of Haliartus (Comp. Lys. et Sull. 4.3–5: ἀκλεῶς παραναλώσας ἑαυτόν). The rumor that he had received an oracle which should supposedly have put him on his guard, but he apparently ignored it,21 tallies with our picture concerning the mentality of the man, whereas what does cause some surprise in connection with the same episode is that Lysander was accompanied before the walls of the enemy by his personal diviner who was also killed (Lys. 28.10: ἐξαπίνης … προσπεσόντες, αὐτόν τε μετὰ τοῦ μάντεως κατέβαλον). If this piece of information is accurate, it simply refers, I would think, to a Spartan (a Greek generally, to some degree) military formality or practice rather than to Lysander’s respect of or trust in priests and diviners, whom he actually disdained, as Apophth. Lac. 229D(10) clearly intimates.22 A somewhat similar case is that concerning the death of Callicratidas, who had succeeded Lysander as admiral of the Spartan fleet prior to the sea-battle at Arginusae. As a character and personality, Callicratidas was the exact opposite of Lysander, and Plutarch thinks very high of this decent, upright and especially Greek-minded Spartan.23 Yet in the Life of Pelopidas, he criticizes Callicrati-

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Pythia, suborned by the Alcmeonids, would urge all Spartan inquirers of Delphi to expel the Athenian tyrants (Hdt. 5.63.1, 6.123; Arist. Ath. 19.2, 4; Plu. De Her. mal. 860D). The oracle warned Lysander against a roaring soldier (Ὁπλίτην κελάδοντα) and a snake coming from behind (see Lys. 29.7–9). But Hoplites was also the name of a near-by river, while the emblem on the shield of the Haliartian soldier who killed him was indeed a snake. J. Fontenrose, The Delphic Oracle (Berkeley-Los Angeles-London: University of California Press, 1978) 332 rightly denies the genuineness of this oracle, the meaning of which, even if grasped, could not practically have helped Lysander (ibid. 61). As Lysander was consulting the oracle at Samothrace, the priest bade him to declare the most lawless thing that he had done. Lysander asked if that was a command of the gods or of the priest, and when the latter specified “τῶν θεῶν”, Lysander asked him to leave the place so that he would tell the gods only, if they inquire (ἐκποδών μοι μετάστηθι, κἀκείνοις ἐρῶ, ἐὰν πυνθάνωνται). Cf. also Apophth. Lac. 217C (1) and 236D (68). Cf. Lys. 5.7: ἀνὴρ … πάντων ἄριστος καὶ δικαιότατος, and one who would prefer to be defeated by any Greek than flatter the Barbarians (6.4); cf. also 6.8 and 7.1, where Callicratidas is described as a sterling Spartan, and on a par with the most eminent Greeks (τοῖς ἄκροις ἐνάμιλλος τῶν Ἑλλήνων); cf. R. Flacelière, Plutarque, Vies 6 (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, CUF, 1971) 159–160.

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das’ disregard of the diviner’s warning that the sacrificial omens portended his death, even though this disregard was not due to impiety but to Callicratidas’ Spartan patriotism and personal sense of honor.24 However, regardless of the above, the dominant attitude towards oracles, omens and the prophecies of the soothsayers in Spartan society is one of respecting and paying heed to them. This is well illustrated by Pausanias’ stance at Plataea, where the commander of the whole Greek army almost risked losing a most crucial battle out of deference to the diviner’s verdict. For partly because the sacrificial omens were not favorable and partly—in fact mainly—because the diviner had predicted victory to the Greeks, so long as they would not attack the enemy first (Arist. 11.3: ἐμαντεύσατο καὶ προεῖπε νίκην ἀμυνομένοις καὶ μὴ προεπιχειροῦσιν), Pausanias ordered the Spartans to put their shields down and sit quiet, although the enemy were assailing and killing them.25 Finally, the Spartans got engaged in the battle, but only after Pausanias had prayed anew to the gods, the sacrifices had turned out propitious, and the seer had announced victory (Arist. 18.1–2).

Agesilaus (Agesipolis) Agesilaus, though not as cool (and even cynical at times) towards religion as Lysander, seems to have somehow shared his former lover’s practical and rationalistic frame of mind.26 As his expedition to Asia was under way and he was

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Callicratidas said to the seer that Sparta does not depend on one man (Pel. 2.2: μὴ παρ’ ἕνα εἶναι τὰν Σπάρταν); cf. also Apophth Lac. 222F(6). P. however, argues that, being the leader and therefore responsible for the whole army, Callicratidas was not one (Pel. 2.3– 11). See also A. Georgiadou, Plutarch’s Pelopidas (Stuttgart—Leipzig: Teubner, 1997) 58–59. But Cicero unfairly criticizes Callicratidas for putting his personal glory above the interests of his city (Off. 1.84: ille respondit Lacedaemonios classe illa amissa aliam parare posse, se fugere sine suo dedecore non posse); for Callicratidas said that flight before the enemy would be a disgrace for Sparta, not for him; cf. Xen. Hell. 1.6.32; D.S. 13.97.5; Plu. Apophth. Lac. 222F(6): ἀποθανόντος γάρ μου, οὐδὲν ἡ πατρὶς ἐλαττωθήσεται· εἴξαντος δὲ τοῖς πολεμίοις, ἐλαττωθήσεται. Cf. Arist. 17.7–9: ὡς δὲ θυόμενος οὐκ ἐκαλλιέρει, προσέταξε τοῖς Λακεδαιμονίοις τὰς ἀσπίδας πρὸ τῶν ποδῶν θεμένους ἀτρέμα καθέζεσθαι … 8: καὶ προσέπιπτον οἱ ἱππεῖς … 9: οὐ γὰρ ἠμύνοντο τοὺς πολεμίους ἐπιβαίνοντας, ἀλλὰ τὸν παρὰ τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ τοῦ στρατηγοῦ καιρὸν ἀναμένοντες, ἠνείχοντο βαλλόμενοι καὶ πίπτοντες ἐν ταῖς τάξεσιν. For the pederastic relationship between the two men, see Ages. 2.1 and Lys. 22.6, a partial explanation perhaps for Lysander’s support of Agesilaus to the throne. In the Synkrisis, however, P. seems to believe that Agesilaus almost usurped the throne by sinning against the gods and despising the oracle concerning his lameness (Comp. Ages. et Pomp. 1.2: τὴν

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ready to sail off from Aulis like Agamemnon, a voice in a dream told him that he also ought to do what Agamemnon had done. Agesilaus, however, imparting his vision to his friends, declared that he would certainly honor Artemis with a suitable sacrifice, but would not imitate Agamemnon’s cruel insensibility (ἀπάθειαν).27 He then ordered his own seer to sacrifice a deer, ignoring the Boeotian priest (Aulis is in Boeotia) who would customarily perform this ritual. Grossly offended by this act, the Boeotian magistrates hindered Agesilaus to accomplish the sacrifice, threw pieces of the victim away from the altar,28 and forced the Spartan king to leave Aulis under bad omens and thus greatly despondent.29 As for Agesilaus’ pragmatism and practical spirit, it can more clearly be seen and assessed in the case of the τρέσαντες at Leuctra, namely in the favorable treatment of the Spartans who shamefully fled from the battlefield. Normally, the laws of the city provided the most disgraceful penalties for them,30 but Agesilaus, realizing that the run-aways were numerous and from eminent families, and fearing that they might attempt an uprising if duly punished, proposed that the laws should be allowed to sleep for that particular day, but keep remaining in force thereafter. Thus, Plutarch comments, Agesilaus managed to save at once both the laws of the city and the tresantes from infamy.31 Prima facie,

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βασιλείαν ἔδοξε λαβεῖν οὔτε τὰ πρὸς θεοὺς ἀμέμπτως … τὸν δὲ χρησμὸν κατειρωνευσάμενος). See also Ages. 28.6 and cf. Xen. Hell. 6.4.2–3. But Xenophon was of a different opinion: Agesilaus was pious and god-fearing (Ages. 11.1–2 and 8: ἀεὶ δὲ δεισιδαίμων ἦν). Cf. Ages. 6.7–9. P. would approve Agesilaus’ decision here, as Pel. 21 and De def. or. 417CD testify. Cf. also Georgiadou, Plutarch’s Pelopidas, 166–167; and for a broader treatment of Agesilaus’ and Pelopidas’ dreams, see R. Giannattasio Andria, “Il sogno di Agesilao (Plu., Ages. 6.6): qualque riflessione,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & F. Titchener (eds.), Valori letterari delle opere di Plutarco: studi offerti al professore Italo Gallo dall’ International Plutarch Society (Málaga: Universidad de Málaga; Logan, UT: Utah State University, 2005) 185– 196. For a similar sacrificial disruption, cf. Plu. Arist. 17.10. Cf. Ages. 6.6–11: δύσελπις δια τὸν οἰωνόν, and Pel. 21.4; also Xen. Hell. 3.4.3–4 and 3.5.5. See further Ages. 28.6 and cf. Xen. Hell. 6.4.2–3, where Agesilaus again—and more willingly that time—disregards bad omens; cf. also Cic. Div. 1.74–76. For other cases in which diviners are ignored by the Spartans, see Apophth. Lac. 223C (5), 223E(11), and 224E(2), where the soothsayers are almost made sport of; cf. Hdt. 6.81, Cic. Div. 2.62 and Fuhrmann, Œuvres Morales, vol. 3, 330 (196.6). Cf. Ages. 30.3–4; Xen. Lac. 9.4–5; Hdt. 7.231. Cf. Ages. 30.3, 6. The fear of a possible revolution was also (and perhaps primarily) shared by the ephors, as Reg. et imp. apophth. 191C(10) and Apophth. Lac. 214B(73) suggest. In any case, P. approves of Agesilaus’ decision also at Comp. Ages. et Pomp. 2.3 by calling it a political device (σόφισμα πολιτικόν). Note, however, that when Lysander’s revolutionary designs became known after his death (see above and Lys. 24–26), the required realism was shown

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Agesilaus’ realistic stance above is not in juxtaposition to any religious manifestation or aspect, but the context of the situation certainly touches religion at large, since the disaster at Leuctra was immediately linked to the disregard of the old prophecy concerning the lameness of Agesilaus (see above p. 80 and n. 18); this was why the people then were dismayed and fearful of the divine (Ages. 30.1: καὶ δυσθυμία πολλὴ καὶ πτοία πρὸς τὸ θεῖον, ὡς διὰ τοῦτο πραττούσης κακῶς τῆς πόλεως—see n. 18). Agesilaus features also in two almost identical passages from the Moralia, where the wording of his inquiry of the Delphic oracle looks like submitting to the Pythia the response that he desired. Before his expedition to Asia, Agesilaus consulted the oracle of Zeus at Olympia and the god gave him his consent. But when Agesilaus informed the ephors about the divine response, the latter asked him to go also to Delphi and consult Apollo as well. As a good Spartan, Agesilaus complied, but what he cunningly inquired this time was whether or not Apollo was of the same opinion as his father;32 in other words, he glaringly begged the question, as the Delphic oracle could only answer in the affirmative of course. In fact, however, Plutarch (or a copyist perhaps) must have garbled his sources here and have mistakenly transferred the oracular prelude of Agesipolis’ invasion into Argive territory some years later (cf. Xen. Hell. 4.7.2) to Agesilaus.33

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by the chief ephor and not by Agesilaus (Lys. 30.3–5); cf. also Ages. 20.3–5 and Apophth. Lac. 212CD(52), 229F(14). Cf. Reg. et Imp. Apophth. 191B (7): … εἰ ἅπερ τῷ πατρὶ δοκεῖ καὶ αὐτῷ, and Apophth. Lac. 208F– 209A, where the oracle of Zeus at Dodona replaces that at Olympia. The craftiness of this inquiry is also attested by Arist. Rhet. 1398B33–1399A1: καὶ Ἡγησίπολις [this name is not well attested] ἐν Δελφοῖς ἠρώτα τὸν θεόν, πρότερον κεχρημένος Ὀλυμπίασιν, εἰ αὐτῷ τὰ αὐτὰ δοκεῖ ἅπερ τῷ πατρί, ὡς αἰσχρὸν ὂν τἀναντία εἰπεῖν. See also H.W. Parke, Greek Oracles (London: Hutchinson University Library, 1967) 112 and Bowden, Classical Athens and Delphic Oracle, 78. On the other hand, given the religious conservatism of the Spartans in connection with the Argive foul play here (see Xen. Hell 4.7.2), Fontenrose, Delphic Oracle, 18 n. 6, may be right in observing that Agesipolis did not mean to trick the oracle, as Aristotle and other later writers have understood, but only wanted to make sure that neither god would be offended. See also Fuhrmann, Œuvres Morales vol. 3, 79 n. 6, and cf. Arist. Rhet. 1398B33–1399A1 (previous note); cf. also J.-A. Fernández Delgado, “Plutarco como fuente de los oráculos,” in M. García Valdés (ed.), Estudios sobre Plutarco: ideas religiosas. Actas del III Congreso Internacional sobre Plutarco. Oviedo, 30 de abril a 2 de mayo de 1992 (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1994) 150.

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Agis and Cleomenes The religiosity of the Spartans as well as their special relationship with the oracle of Delphi is again present under the reformer kings Agis and Cleomenes, five whole centuries after Lycurgus, although not as directly linked to the personality of these men as to that of their predecessors. Yet, when Agis aspired to restore the Lycurgan constitution (Agis 4.2), totally degenerated in his time,34 he not only kindled, with the help of his friends and relatives, his compatriots’ sense of honor by reminding them of Sparta’s former dignity which now lay prostrate, but also appealed to some religious memories and pertinent considerations (Agis 9.1); for he asked them, inter alia, to recall the old oracle that bade them to guard themselves against the love of riches, which alone could destroy Sparta;35 and also take into account the recent one from the neighboring temple of Pasiphae, which ordained that all Spartans should again become equal amongst themselves in accordance with the Lycurgan constitution (Agis 9.4). Besides, the recourse to a rather strange practice that would help Agis and his associates to get rid of Leonidas, his fellow king who withstood his plans, brings again into play the employment of religion as a political tool. According to that practice (effectuated every ninth year though! See Agis 11.4–5), a shooting star across the sky is taken by the ephors to denote that their kings have somehow sinned in connection with the gods and, therefore, they suspend them from their office until an absolving oracle comes from either Delphi or Olympia.36 Finally, in the Life of Cleomenes there is nothing to indicate Cleomenes’ attitude to religion. But pointers to the Spartan religiosity are not missing. At Cleom. 7.3 we again see the role which the sanctuary of the prophetess Pasiphae played,37 while Cleom. 9 is a digression on the Spartan habit of erecting temples to such emotions and conditions as Fear, Laughter and Death (Cleom. 9.1: … οὐ Φόβου μόνον, ἀλλά καὶ Θανάτου καὶ Γέλωτος καὶ τοιούτων ἄλλων παθημάτων ἱερά).38 Further, the reason for honoring fear is one more evidence of 34 35

36

37 38

Cf. Agis 3.1; 5; Lyc. 30.1; Apophth. Lac. 239F(42); D.S. 7.12.8. See D.S. 7.12.5 (ἁ φιλοχρηματία Σπάρταν ὀλεῖ, ἄλλο δ’ οὐδέν); Plu. Apophth. Lac. 239F–240AB (with Fuhrmann’s, Œuvres Morales III important note on pp. 346–347), and Cic. Off. 2.77 (Spartam nulla re alia nisi avaritia esse perituram). Cf. Agis 11.5: … κρίνουσι τοὺς βασιλεῖς ὡς περὶ τὸ θεῖον ἐξαμαρτάνοντας καὶ καταπαύουσι τῆς ἀρχῆς, μέχρι ἂν ἐκ Δελφῶν ἢ Ὀλυμπίας χρησμὸς ἔλθῃ τοῖς ἡλωκόσι τῶν βασιλέων βοηθῶν. For the oracle at Olympia and the method of divination there, see Flacelière, Vies XI, 31 n. 1. Cf. above and Agis 9.2–3; also Cleom. 10.1. Cf. Lyc. 25.4. Pausanias (3.18.1 and 20.10–11) saw also statues of Ὕπνος (Sleep) and Αἰδὼς (Shame) in Sparta.

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the use of religion for political purposes. For, as Plutarch tells us, the Spartans revere fear not as a baleful demon whom they wish to avert—which, incidentally, is also a religious practice—but because they regard fear as the main factor that holds their state together, securing, that is, its unity.39 The function of fear as a cohesive element of the citizenry is no doubt a political invention; but by erecting a temple to Fear, the state, the Spartan state, clearly involves also religion in its plans, apparently believing that through this religious dimension its goals may be accomplished easier and more efficiently.

Conclusion: Plutarch and Divination To recap and conclude. Spartan religiosity and piety can hardly be disputed and neither can the Spartans’ respectful attitude towards religious festivals, cult traditions and practices, oracles, omens, and divination in general. Yet, as soon as we leave Lycurgus behind, the founder—legendary or not—of the Spartan constitution and the molder of the Spartans’ manners, we find that the policies of Sparta, whether through its kings or individual commanders, while respecting on the whole religion and its various manifestations, often part company with it whenever the interests of the state, being at stake, suggest otherwise or require different attitudes: putting religion into the service of political purposes, for example, and even bribing the Pythia to this end.40 It appears that divination and professional seers were probably the main victims of the Spartan religious discounts. Passing over the case of the adventurous and at times unscrupulous Cleomenes I, we shall necessarily pause at 39

40

Cf. Cleom. 9.2: Τιμῶσι δὲ τὸν Φόβον οὐχ ὥσπερ οὓς ἀποτρέπονται δαίμονας ἡγούμενοι βλαβερόν, ἀλλὰ τὴν πολιτείαν μάλιστα συνέχεσθαι φόβῳ νομίζοντες. The political implications of this reverential act are also evident in the decision to erect this temple of Fear next to the mess-hall of the ephors, who had already been invested with almost monarchical powers (Cleom. 9.7: … μοναρχίας ἐγγυτάτω κατασκευασάμενοι [sc. the Spartans] τὸ ἀρχεῖον). Besides the cases we have already seen (p. 80 and nn. 19–20 above), the Spartans employed religion for political purposes also in connection with the start of the Peloponnesian war; cf. Thuc. 1.118.3, 123.1, 2.54.4 (but cf. also 7.18.2). See also n. 4 above. Realizing that it was mainly because of Pericles that the Athenians were so unyielding to their demands, they tried to undermine his position by ordering the Athenians to drive out the Cylonian pollution in which Pericles was involved on his mother’s side; cf. Per. 33.1 (with Stadter’s remarks ad loc.—P.A. Stadter, A Commentary on Plutarch’s Pericles [Chapel Hill—London: The University of North Carolina Press, 1989] 307); Sol. 12.1–4, and all details in Thuc. 1.126– 127; cf. also Hdt. 5.70–72.

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Lysander, because this uneasy and exuberant personality was in many respects an anti-Lycurgus: he paid no heed to oaths, he waged wars with ruses and stratagems rather than with bravery and valor, his manners were mostly wily and deceitful, he had no qualms to bribe oracular shrines, and he even plotted to overthrow the Lycurgan constitution. Oracles, omens and prophecies were not taken into particular account by Agesilaus’ pragmatism either, while, as we saw, even the conservative and genuinely Λάκων Callicratidas was not held back by the diviner’s warning. With Agis and Cleomenes the third, who aspired to restore the Lycurgan polity of old, religion seems to assume and play again an important role, but primarily as a political tool; not as piety and reverence for the divine. Finally, the question remaining to be raised is Plutarch’s stance towards all these religious phenomena, and more specifically whether his presentation of the Spartan worthies above is associated with his own convictions regarding the same phenomena. Although this subject is huge and cannot be discussed even cursorily in this epilogue, some speculation and a couple of observations might be attempted. The very fact that oracles, omens, dreams, prophecies, and divination in general feature so profusely in the works of Plutarch evinces, I would think, not only his interest in these religious manifestations, but also the serious account into which he took all aspects and methods of divination.41 Besides, Lamprias’ Catalogue attributes to Plutarch a collection of oracles, two tracts on divination, while fragments from his work on Aratus’ weatherlore also show an interest in predictions and foretelling.42 On the other hand, it is also Plutarch who openly disapproves of certain cult practices, and advises against giving heed to all sorts of omens;43 and it is Plutarch again who condemns superstition

41

42

43

See F. Brenk, In Mist Apparelled, Religious Themes in Plutarch’s Moralia and Lives (Leiden: Brill, 1977) 9–27 and 184–235, esp. 209–211; and idem, “An Imperial Heritage: the Religious Spirit of Plutarch of Chaironeia,” in L. Roig Lanzillotta (ed.), F.E. Brenk on Plutarch, Religious Thinker and Biographer (Leiden: Brill, 2017) 5–129. Cf. Lampr. Cat. no. 171: Χρησμῶν συναγωγή; 71: Περὶ μαντικῆς ὅτι σῴζεται κατὰ τοὺς Ἀκαδημαϊκούς (The Academic philosophy accepts divination); 131: Περὶ τοῦ μὴ μάχεσθαι τῇ μαντικῇ τὸν Ἀκαδημαϊκὸν λόγον (The Academic doctrines are not in conflict with divination). Perhaps the two titles refer to one and the same work to which frs. 21–23 (Εἰ ἡ τῶν μελλόντων πρόγνωσις ὠφέλιμος—On whether foreknowledge of future is useful) may also belong; see F.H. Sandbach, Plutarch’s Moralia XV (London—Cambridge, MA.: Harvard University Press, Loeb Classical Library, 1969) 96–102. Finally, cf. no. 119: Αἰτίαι τῶν Ἀράτου διοσημιῶν (Explanations of Aratus’ signs in the sky) and frs. 13–20 in Sandbach, Plutarch’s Moralia XV, 88–96. See, e.g., De def. or. 417CE; also Fab. 2.2–3, where some weird omens are dismissed because

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so vehemently and regards dreams, omens and some sacrifices as aspects of superstition.44 True, his Pythian dialogues teem not only with serious philosophical considerations but also with genuine religious feeling;45 yet in both the De Pythiae oraculis and the De defectu oraculorum,46 namely the two dialogues which explore the issue of divination par excellence, Plutarch himself does not take part in the relevant problematization, although he has been a priest in Apollo’s temple at Delphi and thus privy, one might reasonably presume, to much of inner information and various oral traditions, let alone his access to whatever archives might have existed. Some would argue that it was exactly for this reason that Plutarch chose not to get directly involved,47 in other words out of discretion, and further we also know that many authors (Plutarch included) speak through their characters in their works; yet it seems somewhat strange that Plutarch should have employed this literary practice even in this treatise, thus leaving his readers to infer his convictions on such an important matter from the arguments of others. All this does not mean that he did not accept divination or that he questioned the oracular function of the sanctuary, but perhaps one might also suspect that, owing to his capacity as a priest at Delphi, Plutarch had come to know things that somehow undermined his readiness to personally defend all aspects of the Delphic oracular background and procedure, in other words, the institutional, as it were, divination as such. Let us also remember at this point that, living in the mid-first and early second century AD, and having been a student of the Academy of his day, Plutarch may not have been entirely unaffected by the skeptical or more rationalistic approaches

44 45

46

47

of their absurdity (διὰ τὴν ἀλογίαν). See also Brenk, In Mist Apparelled, 210: “Plutarch reveals his dislike for commonplace or vulgar omens.” Cf. De sup. 166A, 167A (cf. De aud. poet. 17B), 168F–169A, 169C, 171BE. Cf. also Pel. 21 and Ages. 6.6–8. Cf. E.G. Simonetti, A Perfect Medium? Oracular Divination in the Thought of Plutarch (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2017) 13; and for the religious character of the De Pyth. or. in particular, see S. Schröder, Plutarchs Schrift De Pythiae oraculis (Stuttgart: Teubner, 1990) 59–72. Despite the traditional order of these dialogues, it is almost certain, pace K. Ziegler, Plutarchos von Chaironeia (Stuttgart: A. Druckenmüller, 1964, 2nd ed./1949) 199, that the De def or. is the earlier one. And even if the De Pyth. or. is not as late as R. Flacelière believes (Plutarque, Œuvres Morales VI. Dialogues Pythiques [Paris: Les Belles Lettres, CUF, 1974] 39), it most probably is the latest of the Pythian dialogues. See briefly Brenk, In Mist Apparelled, 86 n. 2, 88–88 n. 3; cf. also C.P. Jones, “Towards a chronology of Plutarch’s works,” JRS 56 (1966) 72, and E. Valgiglio, Gli oracoli della Pizia (Naples: M. d’Auria, 1992) 8 and 31. See, for instance, F.C. Babbitt, Plutarch’s Moralia V (London—Cambridge, Mass.: Loeb, 1936) 349 s.f.

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and tendencies of the New Academy.48 Cicero, after all, another adherent of the New Academy, did not believe in divination and in fact regarded it as a form of superstition.49 In matters pertaining to religion in general, Plutarch steers, as in so many other things, a middle course. He disapproves of all kinds of religious exaggerations, whether in doctrinal faith or in forms of ritual including divination, portents and oracles;50 but, being reluctant to ignore or reject altogether religious traditions and practices, he believes that in religious matters it is preferable for one to go awry out of undue reverence or piety than to show disrespect and contempt out of insolence.51 On the other hand, his reasoning and judgement, nourished by his erudition and philosophical armament, might not have allowed him to tolerate all current views and ideas regarding the Delphic shrine and the oracular divination there;52 moreover, Plutarch—the Academic Plutarch, let me repeat—might have been somewhat hesitant to directly 48

49

50 51

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For P.’s attitude to the New Academy, see J. Opsomer, “Divination and academic skepticism” (Leuven: Studia Hellenistica 32, 1996) 176–187; cf. also A.G. Nikolaidis, “Plutarch and the Old, Middle, and New Academies, and the Academy in Plutarch’s day,” in A. Pérez Jiménez et al. (eds.), Plutarco, Platón y Aristóteles: actas del V Congreso Internacional de la I.P.S. (Madrid-Cuenca, 4–7 de mayo de 1999) (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1999) 397, 412– 413; Brenk, In Mist Apparelled, 13, 31; Ziegler, Plutarchos, 200–201. Cf. Div. 2.8 s.f.: ego … esse divinationem nego; It is superstition that haunts you (Div. 2.149: instat enim et urget et … persequitur), Cicero concludes, “when you listen to a prophet (sive tu vatem … audieris) or an omen; when you offer sacrifices or watch the flight of birds; when you consult an astrologer or a soothsayer (si haruspicem videris).” See, for instance, Cam. 5.6; De def. or. 414E, 417CE and nn. 43–44 above. Cf. also Simonetti, Oracular Divination, 32. Cf. Comp. Nic. et Crass. 5.3 (ἐπιεικέστερον δ’ [αὐτῆς] τοῦ παρανόμου καὶ αὐθάδους τὸ μετὰ δόξης παλαιᾶς καὶ συνήθους δι’ εὐλάβειαν ἁμαρτανόμενον), and see also his essay on superstition (esp. De sup. 164E, 171F); De Is. et Os. 378A; Non posse 1101BC, 1125DE; Rom. 28.7; Cam. 6.6; Fab. 4.4. Cf. also Brenk, In Mist Apparelled, 184–235; R. Klaerr, Plutarque, Œuvres Morales II (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, CUF, 2003/1985) 246, with n. 1 ibid.; Simonetti, Oracular Divination, 13 and 65. Moreover (and this is more interesting and important), P. sympathizes with the affectionate believers (cf. Cor. 38.5: τοῖς … πρὸς τὸν θεὸν ἄγαν ἐμπαθῶς ἔχουσι) who are unable to reject or deny religious absurdity and exaggeration, on the ground that god’s nature and power are immensely different and superior to man’s and so there is nothing that the deity cannot do (ibid: μέγα πρὸς πίστιν ἐστί τὸ θαυμάσιον καὶ μὴ καθ’ ἡμᾶς τῆς τοῦ θεοῦ δυνάμεως); and of whatever the god does, however miraculous and beyond human powers, nothing is contrary to reason (Cor. 38.6: … οὐδ’ εἴ τι ποιεῖ τῶν ἡμῖν ἀποιήτων καὶ μηχανᾶται τῶν ἀμηχάνων, παράλογόν ἐστιν). Cf. also Flacelière, Vies III, 174–175. Views like that of his Athenian friend Sarapion, for instance, who argued that Homer’s or Hesiod’s literary quality is inferior to that of the Delphic oracles in verse! (De Pyth. or. 396D; cf. also 397BC); or like some of Cleombrotus’ naïve stories and theories (cf. De def. or. 420E–422C).

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expound himself some of the ideas he put into the mouth of either Lamprias or Ammonius in the De defectu oraculorum or to appear fully subscribing to the certainties with which Theon concludes the De Pythiae oraculis;53 thus, it cannot perhaps be ruled out that this is why he decides to leave himself out of the discussions in his latest Pythian dialogue.

Bibliography Babbitt, F.C., Plutarch’s Moralia V (London-Cambridge, MA.: Harvard University Press, Loeb, 1936). Bowden, H., Classical Athens and the Delphic Oracle. Divination and Democracy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005). Brenk, F., In Mist Apparelled. Religious Themes in Plutarch’s Moralia and Lives (Leiden: Brill, 1977). Brenk, F., “An Imperial Heritage: the Religious Spirit of Plutarch of Chaironeia,” in Lautaro Roig Lanzillotta (ed.), F.E. Brenk on Plutarch, Religious Thinker and Biographer (Leiden: Brill, 2017) 5–129 = W. Haase (ed.), ANRW II36.1 (Berlin—New York: De Gruyter, 1987) 248–349. Cartledge, P., The Spartans (Woodstock-New York: The Overlook Press, 2003). Fernández Delgado, J.A., “Plutarco como fuente de los oráculos,” in M. García Valdés (ed.), Estudios sobre Plutarco: ideas religiosas. Actas del III Congreso Internacional sobre Plutarco. Oviedo, 30 de abril a 2 de mayo de 1992 (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1994). Finley, J.H., Jr., Thucydides (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1942). Flacelière, R. Plutarque, Vies 3 (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, CUF, 1964). Flacelière, R. Plutarque, Vies 6 (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, CUF, 1971). Flacelière, R. Plutarque, Vies 9 (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, CUF, 1976). Flacelière, R., Plutarque, Œuvres Morales VI, Dialogues Pythiques (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, CUF, 1974). Flower, M.A., “Spartan ‘Religion’ and Greek ‘Religion’,” in S. Hodkinson (ed.), Sparta: Comparative Approaches (Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2009) 193–229. Fontenrose, J., The Delphic Oracle (Berkeley—Los Angeles—London: University of California Press, 1978).

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Flacelière, Dialogues Pythiques, 39, rightly remarks that the end of this dialogue, in contrast to the aporetic conclusion of the De def. or. where only tentative answers are offered, gives the clear impression that P. “a enfin trouvé la solution qu’il cherchait et qu’il expose sans aucune trace de doute ni d’ hésitation;” cf. also pp. 41, 85–86, and 98 ibid.

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Fuhrmann, F. Plutarque, Œuvres Morales, vol. 3 (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, CUF, 2003/1988). Georgiadou, A., Plutarch’s Pelopidas (Stuttgart—Leipzig: Teubner, 1997). Giannattasio Andria, R. “Il sogno di Agesilao (Plut., Ages. 6.6): qualque riflessione,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & F. Titchener (eds.), Valori letterari delle opere di Plutarco: studi offerti al professore Italo Gallo dall’ International Plutarch Society (Málaga: Universidad de Málaga; Logan, UT: Utah State University, 2005) 185–196. Hammond, N.G.L., A History of Greece to 322 B.C. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1959). How, W.W. & Wells, J., A Commentary on Herodotus, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1912/1928 with corrections). Jones, C.P., “Towards a Chronology of Plutarch’s Works”, JRS 56 (1966) 61–74. Lucchesi, M.A., “Delphi, Place and Time in Plutarch’s Lycurgus and Lysander,” in A. Georgiadou & K. Oikonomopoulou (eds.), Space, Time and Language in Plutarch (Berlin—Boston: De Gruyter, 2017) 101–104. Nikolaidis, A.G., “Plutarch and the Old, Middle, and New Academies, and the Academy in Plutarch’s day,” in A. Pérez Jiménez, J. García López & Rosa Ma Aguilar (eds.), Plutarco, Platón y Aristóteles: Actas del V Congreso Internacional de la I.P.S. (MadridCuenca, 4–7 de mayo de 1999) (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1999) 397–415. Opsomer, J. “Divination and Academic ‘Scepticism’ According to Plutarch,” in L. van der Stockt (ed.), Plutarchea Lovaniensia: A Miscellany of Essays on Plutarch (Leuven: Studia Hellenistica 32, 1996) 165–194. Parke, H.W., Greek Oracles (London: Hutchinson University Library, 1967). Sánchez-Mañas, C., Los oráculos en Heródoto. Tipología, estructura y función narrativa (Zaragoza: Prensas de la Universidad de Zaragoza, 2017). Sandbach, F.H., Plutarch’s Moralia XV (London—Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, Loeb Classical Library, 1969). Schröder, S., Plutarchs Schrift De Pythiae oraculis (Stuttgart: Teubner, 1990). Simonetti, E.G., A Perfect Medium? Oracular Divination in the Thought of Plutarch (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2017). Stadter, P.A., A Commentary on Plutarch’s Pericles (Chapel Hill—London: The University of North Carolina Press, 1989). Valgiglio, E., Gli oracoli della Pizia (Naples: M. d’Auria, 1992). Ziegler, K., Plutarchos von Chaironeia (Stuttgart: A. Druckenmüller, 21964, 1949 = RE vol. XXI, 1951).

chapter 6

Plutarch on the Great Battles of Greece Christopher Pelling

At this moment of celebration, it was all the more natural that those present should talk and reflect on the fate of Greece. They thought of all the wars the country had fought for freedom; but freedom had never come more firmly and delightfully than now, and it had come almost without blood and without grief, championed by another people, this finest and most enviable of prizes. Bravery and wisdom were rare possessions among mortals, but the man of justice was the rarest good of all. People like Agesilaus, Lysander, Nicias, and Alcibiades had known how to fight their wars well, and how to lead their men to victories over land and sea; but they had not known how to use their victories for glorious ends or to bestow noble favours. If one discounted Marathon, Salamis, Plataea, and Thermopylae, and Cimon’s victories at the Eurymedon and in Cyprus, all Greece’s wars had been fought internally for slavery, every one of her trophies had been also a disaster and a reproach for Greece, which had generally been overthrown by its leaders’ evil ways and contentiousness. Titus Flamininus 11, describing the reaction to Flamininus’ proclamation of the freedom of Greece in 196BCE

… We laugh at small children when they try to pull on their fathers’ boots and wear their crowns; but what of the leaders in the cities, when they stupidly stir up the ordinary people and encourage them to imitate their ancestors’ achievements and spirit and exploits, even though those are all quite out of keeping with present circumstances? Their behavior may be laughable, but the consequences they suffer are no laughing matter. There are many other deeds of the Greeks of old which one may recount to mold the characters of the people of today and give them wisdom. At Athens, for instance, one might remind them not of their deeds of war, but of the nature of the amnesty decree under the Thirty; or of the way they fined Phrynichus for his tragedy about the fall of Miletus; or of how they wore crowns when Cassander refunded Thebes, but when they heard of the clubbing at Argos, with the Argives killing 1,500 of their fellow-citizens,

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they gave orders for a procession of purification around the whole assembly; or of the episode during the Harpalus affair, when they were searching the houses but passed by the one of the newly wedded bridegroom. Even now one can imitate these things, and make oneself like one’s ancestors; as for Marathon and Eurymedon and Plataea, and all those examples which make the ordinary people swell up and fill them with shallow ostentation—let us leave them in the schools of the sophists. Praecepta gerendae reipublica 814A–C

∵ Plutarch has a problem. The subjects of his Lives were men of achievement, and that usually meant or included military achievement. He was not a man to belittle that: in De gloria Atheniensium he elevates what Athens achieved in war above all their cultural magnificence, though he has skilful ways there of conveying admiration for both. For all his veneration of Plato, he puts Alexander’s achievement higher—not just his military achievement, it is true, but conquest was the essential prerequisite for everything else: Πλάτων μὲν γὰρ μίαν γράψας πολιτείαν οὐδένα πέπεικεν αὐτῇ χρῆσθαι διὰ τὸ αὐστηρόν, Ἀλέξανδρος δ’ ὑπὲρ ἑβδομήκοντα πόλεις βαρβάροις ἔθνεσιν ἐγκτίσας καὶ κατασπείρας τὴν Ἀσίαν Ἑλληνικοῖς † τέλεσι τῆς ἀνημέρου καὶ θηριώδους ἐκράτησε διαίτης. καὶ τοὺς μὲν Πλάτωνος ὀλίγοι νόμους ἀναγιγνώσκομεν, τοῖς δ’ Ἀλεξάνδρου μυριάδες ἀνθρώπων ἐχρήσαντο καὶ χρῶνται, μακαριώτεροι τῶν διαφυγόντων Ἀλέξανδρον οἱ κρατηθέντες γενόμενοι· τοὺς μὲν γὰρ οὐδεὶς ἔπαυσεν ἀθλίως ζῶντας, τοὺς δ’ ἠνάγκασεν εὐδαιμονεῖν ὁ νικήσας. Plato wrote one Republic, and persuaded nobody to live like that because it was so forbidding; Alexander founded more than seventy cities among barbarian races and spread Greek culture through Asia, overcoming their uncivilised and savage habits of before. Hardly anyone reads Plato’s Laws, but tens of thousands adopted Alexander’s laws and still live by them today. The lucky ones were not those who fled from Alexander but those who were conquered by him; nobody saved the first from their miserable existence, but the victor forced the second to live a good and happy life.1

1 Plu., De Alexandri Magni fortuna aut virtute 328DE.

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In De Herodoti malignitate he criticises Herodotus for being inadequately fulsome in treating the Persian Wars. Plutarch would indeed be the last to decry the glories of the warriors of classical Greece. Yet all too many of the career high-spots of his characters were those of the battles that, at least in one mindset, he thought were unsuitable for treatment—those battles that, as we saw in that epigraph from Praecepta gerendae reipublicae, he thought should be left “in the schools of the sophists.” That may be because they could lead astray the young and also the not so young, filling them with inflated ideas of freedom-fighting that could be dangerous in those days of the Roman empire; now one had always to remember “those most powerful men above,” as he calls them in another haunting phrase of Praecepta gerendae reipublicae (οἱ ἄνω δυνατώτατοι, 814C). Or it may be because they set the worst possible example, battles of one Greek state against another like those of the Peloponnesian War or Leuctra or Sellasia. In treating individuals, he can leave no doubt that such internecine hostilities marked the least creditable, or at least most problematic, aspects of a career. Philopoemen’s devotion to Greek freedom was laudable enough, but the looming presence of Rome and the dangers of resisting the new world power are felt as well (Philopoemen 1.7, 16–17, 21.10–12), and so much of the man’s bellicosity was expended on fighting his fellow-Greeks (Comparatio Philopoemenis et Titi Flaminini 1, 2.3). “You Greeks! You are the inventers of barbarian evils,” Plutarch exclaims when Agesilaus is called back from his embryonic eastern campaign to fight a Greek war instead (Agesilaus 15, quoting Euripides, Troiades 743), yet Agesilaus’ own insatiable hostility towards Thebes will contribute mightily to that Greek malaise during the following generation. Not that the Romans are any better: the theme comes back at the end of Comparatio Agesilai et Pompeii with the sombre remarks of observers at the battlefield of Pharsalus, notably including “some Greeks who were present,” as they reflect on how much could have been achieved had only Pompey and Caesar combined to fight eastern barbarians rather than one another (Pompeius 70). But Rome was hardy and powerful enough to survive such mutual dissensions. Greece, particularly in Plutarch’s own day, was not. What was he to do when he came to those great battles of Greece? His proems leave no doubt that, one way or another, the Lives have a serious ethical purpose. Yet a constant moralising refrain of “This was all very well, but don’t try this at home, not in the circumstances of today” could not fail to be dampening; yet so often “go thou and do likewise” was not the note to strike either. Seeing how he handled these difficult but unavoidable topics is likely to cast some light on the question of how exactly that “moralism” of his is to be interpreted and how he couches it, and this is a topic that has aroused quite a lot

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of interest in the last three decades, the period in which Aurelio Pérez Jiménez has been so central a figure in Plutarch scholarship. Aurelio has explored how eloquence could be used and misused; he has looked at the way Plutarch’s characters navigate between justice and pragmatism; he has interesting thoughts on how they can serve as models for imitation.2 All those aspects are relevant to the question before us now.

Cry Freedom! The Great Persian Wars Plutarch was never likely to minimise the achievement of Greece’s finest hour. Freedom was at stake: conquest and enslavement threatened (Aristides 5.1, 8.1, 19.7, 21.4–6; Themistocles 8.2, 11.5, 4.6), and Greece needed to be “saved” (Aristides 8.3, 10.7; Themistocles 7.4, 28.2). The combatants were simply “fighting for Greece” (Aristides 10.4, 11.8, 17.8, 18.6, 19.5, 21.5; Themistocles 3.5, 17.4), a recurrent phrase carrying its own emotional charge. How insistent and how dreadful that “enslavement” would really have been were questions that Plutarch does not face, nor whether it was a worse prospect than the consequences if resistance failed. Of course, he knew that many Greek states had chosen to Medize rather than fight; for a proud Boeotian it was a sore point, as De Herodoti malignitate makes very clear. He acknowledges in that work that some had no choice, and for him that includes the Thebans (864D–865B). But in the Lives he allows no space to any case for Medism. In the case of Thebes the Medism is seen as a matter of internal stasis, with the oligarchs forcing it on the demos against their will (Aristides 18.7, perhaps influenced by Thuc. 3.62.3–4): the sense of embarrassment and special pleading is clear. For Plutarch, as before him for Herodotus, fierce resistance was simply the better cause. Live free or die! The glory is all the greater because of what had to be laid aside. The previous animosity of Aristides and Themistocles is emphasised in both their Lives (Aristides 2–4, 8.3, Themistocles 3, 5.7, 11.1, 12.6);3 so are the jealousies and resent2 A. Pérez Jiménez, “La elocuencia como instrumento politico en las Vidas Paralelas de Plutarco,” Cuadernos de Filología Clásica 12 (2002) 253–270; “Los héroes de Plutarco y su elección entre la justicia y la utilidad,” in L. de Blois, J. Bons, T. Kessels, & D.M. Schenkeveld (eds.), The Statesman in Plutarch’s Works (Leiden—Boston: Brill, 2004) 127–136; “Exemplum: the paradigmatic education of the ruler in the Lives of Plutarch,” in P.A. Stadter & L. van der Stockt (eds.), Sage and Emperor: Plutarch, Greek Intellectuals, and Roman Power in the Time of Trajan (98– 117 A.D.) (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2002) 105–114. 3 One can trace ways in which Plutarch tweaks his material to stress this new harmony between Aristides and Themistocles. The canonical version of Herodotus represented the second message to Xerxes, alleging a Greek plan to destroy the Hellespont bridge, as a piece of self-seeking

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ment of both men’s fellow-citizens that led to ostracism and exile (Aristides 7, Themistocles 22, 23.4–6). Inter-state antagonisms are also stressed (e.g. Aristides 20.1–2, Themistocles 4.2–3, 6.5, 9.3, 11.5), and there are hints that these will break out again once the Persian threat has receded (Themistocles 20.4, 24.1, 24.7, 25.2, 31.4). Plutarch is a man of peace: one of the appreciative strands in his thinking about Rome is his acknowledgement of the deep peace that Rome has brought to the Greek world (Praecepta gerendae reipublica 824C)—perhaps an overgenerous acknowledgement, indeed, if one thinks of the army boots soon to be tramping along the Via Egnatia on the way to Trajan’s Parthian war. But he is not a man of peace for all times or at all costs. Fighting Persia for survival was fine; fighting Persia even for vengeance or to deter further wars was fine too, but as the Cimon moves towards its end we hear a note that is elegiac as well as laudatory. Μετὰ δὲ τὴν ἐκείνου τελευτὴν πρὸς μὲν τοὺς βαρβάρους οὐδὲν ἔτι λαμπρὸν ὑπ’ οὐδενὸς ἐπράχθη στρατηγοῦ τῶν Ἑλλήνων, ἀλλὰ τραπέντες ὑπὸ δημαγωγῶν καὶ πολεμοποιῶν ἐπ’ ἀλλήλους, οὐδενὸς τὰς χεῖρας ἐν μέσῳ διασχόντος, συνερράγησαν εἰς τὸν πόλεμον, ἀναπνοὴν μὲν τοῖς βασιλέως πράγμασι γενόμενον, φθόρον δ’ ἀμύθητον τῆς Ἑλληνικῆς δυνάμεως ἀπεργασάμενον. ὀψὲ δ’ οἱ περὶ τὸν Ἀγησίλαον εἰς τὴν Ἀσίαν ἐξενεγκάμενοι τὰ ὅπλα, βραχέος ἥψαντο πολέμου πρὸς τοὺς ἐπὶ θαλάσσῃ βασιλέως στρατηγούς, καὶ λαμπρὸν οὐδὲν οὐδὲ μέγα δράσαντες, αὖθις δὲ ταῖς Ἑλληνικαῖς στάσεσι καὶ ταραχαῖς ἀφ’ ἑτέρας ἀρχῆς ὑπενεχθέντες, ᾤχοντο, τοὺς Περσῶν φορολόγους ἐν μέσαις ταῖς συμμάχοις καὶ φίλαις πόλεσιν ἀπολιπόντες, ὧν οὐδὲ γραμματοφόρος κατέβαινεν οὐδ’ ἵππος πρὸς θαλάσσῃ τετρακοσίων σταδίων ἐντὸς ὤφθη στρατηγοῦντος Κίμωνος. After his death no Greek general was to win another brilliant success against the barbarians. Instead, a succession of demagogues and warmongers arose, who proceeded to turn the Greek states against one another, and nobody could be found to separate or reconcile them before they met with an eye to Themistocles’ personal future (8.110). Them. 16.4–6 and (less clearly) Arist. 9.6 turn this into a case where the two men’s intellectual gifts work in tandem, with Themistocles’ trickery reinforcing Aristides’ insight: if the priority is to get Xerxes out of Europe (Aristides), let’s make him do so with a sense of urgency (Themistocles). For Plutarch too Themistocles turns this to his advantage later at Xerxes’ court (Them. 28.2), but the deft self-seeking turn comes only at that stage. Cf. F.J. Frost, Plutarch’s Themistocles: a Historical Commentary (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980) 163–164; J.L. Marr, Plutarch: Lives. Themistocles (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1998) 112–113; D. Sansone, Plutarch: Lives. Aristeides and Cato (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1989) 187–188.

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in the headlong collision of war. In this way the Persians gained a breathing space, but the power of Greece was incalculably weakened. It was not until several generations afterwards that Agesilaus carried Greek arms into Asia and fought a brief campaign against the king’s generals along the Ionian coast. Yet even he achieved nothing of great consequence before he was overwhelmed in his turn by a flood of dissensions and disturbances within Greece and a second empire was swept from his grasp. In the end he had to return, leaving the tax-gatherers of the Persian Empire still collecting tribute among the allied and friendly cities, whereas not one of these functionaries, not even so much as a Persian horse, was to be seen within fifty miles of the sea, as long as Cimon was general.4 So an emphasis falls not just on triumph but on all the missed opportunities that were to come. The theme comes back in Agesilaus itself, as we saw, and Plutarch marks his disagreement with the Corinthian Demaratus: οὐ γὰρ ἔγωγε συμφέρομαι τῷ Κορινθίῳ Δημαράτῳ μεγάλης ἡδονῆς ἀπολελεῖφθαι φήσαντι τοὺς μὴ θεασαμένους Ἕλληνας Ἀλέξανδρον ἐν τῷ Δαρείου θρόνῳ καθήμενον, ἀλλ’ εἰκότως ἂν οἶμαι δακρῦσαι, συννοήσαντας ὅτι ταῦτ’ Ἀλεξάνδρῳ καὶ Μακεδόσιν ἀπέλιπον οἳ τότε τοὺς τῶν Ἑλλήνων στρατηγοὺς περὶ Λεῦκτρα καὶ Κορώνειαν καὶ Κόρινθον καὶ Ἀρκαδίαν κατανήλωσαν. I do not agree with Demaratus of Corinth, who talked of the great pleasure denied to those Greeks who never saw Alexander seated on Darius’ throne. No, I think they would have done better to shed tears at the thought that this had been left for Alexander and the Macedonians by those who had at that time expended the lives of Greek generals at Leuctra, Coroneia, Corinth, and in Arcadia.5 So even battling against Persia offered opportunities to see what formidable obstacles Greece had to overcome, those perpetual internal squabbles and jealousies, that readiness to shed Greek blood rather than rejoice in its ties—so not just la gloire grecque, but le malaise grec as well. That plea for concord and harmony would of course resonate with Plutarch’s present too: it is the theme on which he chooses to conclude Praecepta gerendae reipublicae (823E– 825F). Greek harmony had always been good, and all too often it had been

4 Cimon 19.3–4. 5 Agesilaus 15.4.

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rare: present circumstances lent it a new urgency, for it was easy to draw in the Romans to be more intrusive than they wished (Praecepta gerendae reipublica 814F). Whatever might have been the case in the world and era of Philopoemen, now the Romans were very ready to be mild masters—or so Plutarch claims, perhaps with half an eye to readers with Roman careers who might help to maintain that lightness of touch. No case, then, for finding in the glories of 480–479 any inspiration to fight in the present too: enslavement had then threatened, but now it was all so different. Extracting that moral of concord was a different matter. That did still have great value, and part of that value was to ensure that Rome continued to be so very different from Persia, a friendly partner as well as a master. “Live free or die!” was all very well for 480. One pleasure of living in the early second century was that you no longer had to choose.

Aegospotami Plutarch takes no pleasure in the bloodshed of the Peloponnesian War. So much of his theme anyway took him to domestic wranglings (Pericles and his critics, Nicias and Cleon, Nicias and Alcibiades, Lysander and Callicratidas), or to disaster rather than triumph, Syracuse in Nicias and Mantinea in Alcibiades— though in that second case he manages, just as Thucydides’ smooth Alcibiades had done (6.16.6), to stress the achievement in constructing an anti-Spartan alliance rather than the awkward fact that the Spartans had won (Alcibiades 15.1–3). Still, Nicias can also award due praise for the man’s role in the peace of 421. It is Plutarch who tells us that people called it the “Peace of Nicias”, and the name has stuck (Nic. 9.9). Aegospotami was different. It figured in two Lives, Alcibiades and Lysander.6 Alcibiades had by then been backstaged and his wise counsel ignored, and so the spotlight in his own Life rests less on the battle itself, more once again on the internal discord, jealousy, and suspicion that got in the way of good generalship (Alcibiades 36–37).7 In Lysander, though, the battle itself was central, and

6 On the relationship of the two accounts see S. Verdegem, Plutarch’s Life of Alcibiades: Story, Text, and Moralism (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2010) 372–384. 7 One can again see him elaborating to this effect what was presumably his source-material. The gibe of Tydeus (Xenophon says “Tydeus and Menander”)—“go away: we are in command, not you,” Alc. 37.2—is closely based on Xen. Hell. 2.1.26, but it is Plutarch, here and at Lys. 11.1, who adds that Alcibiades “suspected an element of treachery” in so curt a dismissal. Plutarch also adds a note of what Alcibiades could have done, had he been asked, to bring on battle

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it was a triumph. Yet it was unequivocally a victory over Greeks, and one that brought down the great city that was the focus for so much of what Plutarch had admired in classical Greece. It would have been ungenerous, and untrue to Plutarch’s principles (Cimon 2.4–5; De Hererodoti malignitate 855DE), to deny credit where credit is due, and he allows ample space to Lysander’s shrewdness in duping the Athenians (Lysander 10–11, much fuller than the equivalent in Alcibiades). Emphasis falls on the need for order and silence in his forces (10.1–2, 11.3): his enemy Alcibiades knew that the Spartans would keep that discipline (10.6), so different from the casualness on the Athenian side (10.4, 11.2, 11.7), and he was right. The stealthy efficiency of those preparations then gives way to the chaos of the outsmarted Athenians, and it is now that Plutarch pulls out his stylistic stops: Κόνων δὲ πρῶτος ὁ τῶν Ἀθηναίων στρατηγὸς ἀπὸ τῆς γῆς ἰδὼν ἐπιπλέοντα τὸν στόλον ἐξαίφνης ἀνεβόησεν ἐμβαίνειν, καὶ περιπαθῶν τῷ κακῷ τοὺς μὲν ἐκάλει, τῶν δὲ ἐδεῖτο, τοὺς δὲ ἠνάγκαζε πληροῦν τὰς τριήρεις. ἦν δὲ οὐδὲν ἔργον αὐτοῦ τῆς σπουδῆς ἐσκεδασμένων τῶν ἀνθρώπων. ὡς γὰρ ἐξέβησαν, εὐθύς, ἅτε μηδὲν προσδοκῶντες, ἠγόραζον, ἐπλανῶντο περὶ τὴν χώραν, ἐκάθευδον ὑπὸ ταῖς σκηναῖς, ἠριστοποιοῦντο, πορρωτάτω τοῦ μέλλοντος ἀπειρίᾳ τῶν ἡγουμένων ὄντες. ἤδη δὲ κραυγῇ καὶ ῥοθίῳ προσφερομένων τῶν πολεμίων ὁ μὲν Κόνων ὀκτὼ ναυσὶν ὑπεξέπλευσε καὶ διαφυγὼν ἀπεπέρασεν εἰς Κύπρον πρὸς Εὐαγόραν, ταῖς δὲ ἄλλαις ἐπιπεσόντες οἱ Πελοποννήσιοι τὰς μὲν κενὰς παντάπασιν ᾕρουν, τὰς δ’ ἔτι πληρουμένας ἔκοπτον. οἱ δὲ ἄνθρωποι πρός τε ταῖς ναυσὶν ἀπέθνῃσκον ἄνοπλοι καὶ σποράδες ἐπιβοηθοῦντες, ἔν τε τῇ γῇ φεύγοντες ἀποβάντων τῶν πολεμίων ἐκτείνοντο. It was the Athenian general Conon who was first on land to see the sudden approach of the Spartan fleet. He cried out to his men to embark: distraught at the danger, he called on some, he pleaded with others, and others again he forced to man their ships. But nothing came of his efforts: all were scattered, for after leaving their ships they thought there was nothing more to come. Some had gone shopping, some were roaming the countryside, some sleeping in their tents, some having their meal, all without an inkling of what was coming—and it was all the fault of their commanders’ inexperience. Now the enemy were on them, with cries and in a more favourable location. D.S. 13.105.3 and Nepos, Alc. 8.2–3, suggest that the second element at least may come from a source other than Xenophon (Verdegem, Plutarch’s Life of Alcibiades, 381–382); the first may be Plutarch’s own imaginative reconstruction. But one can see how both motifs were welcome as underlining the discord and its consequences.

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splashing of waves. Conon slipped away with eight ships and got through to Evagoras in Cyprus; the Spartans fell on the rest, taking some ships completely empty and ramming others while the crews were still getting on board. The men were cut down near the ships as they arrived, unarmed and in scattered groups, or as they fled overland once the enemy had disembarked.8 So, just as at the end of Nicias in Syracuse, the lens through which we see this internecine Greek battle is that of the hopeless and vanquished and dying. The technique is very different when in, say, Alexander–Caesar barbarians are the enemy and the focus and focalisation remains firmly with the victors (e.g. Alexander 16, 20, 31–33; Caesar 18–19, 25–27). One cannot avoid the impression that Greek blood matters a lot more to Plutarch than barbarian. Not that Lysander is forgotten: ἀναδησάμενος δὲ τὰς ναῦς καὶ διαπορθήσας τὸ στρατόπεδον μετὰ αὐλοῦ καὶ παιάνων ἀνέπλευσεν εἰς Λάμψακον, ἔργον ἐλαχίστῳ πόνῳ μέγιστον ἐξειργασμένος, καὶ συνῃρηκὼς ὥρᾳ μιᾷ χρόνου μήκιστον καὶ ποικιλώτατον πάθεσί τε καὶ τύχαις ἀπιστότατον τῶν πρὸ αὐτοῦ πολέμων, ὃς μυρίας μορφὰς ἀγώνων καὶ πραγμάτων μεταβολὰς ἀμείψας, καὶ στρατηγοὺς ὅσους οὐδὲ οἱ σύμπαντες οἱ πρὸ αὐτοῦ τῆς Ἑλλάδος ἀναλώσας, ἑνὸς ἀνδρὸς εὐβουλίᾳ καὶ δεινότητι συνῄρητο. He took the ships in tow, destroyed the camp, and sailed back to Lampsacus to the accompaniment of aulos and paeans. He had accomplished the greatest of deeds with the least of labours; in one hour he had brought an end the war that had been the longest lasting, most varied in suffering, and most unexpected in its twists and turns of all that had gone before. It had taken a myriad of different forms of combat and of reverses of fortune, and had cost the lives of more generals than all the previous Greek wars put together. Now one man’s insight and brilliance had brought it to its conclusion.9 No skimping of praise there10—and the emphasis falls on what he had brought to an end. This is no man of peace, no Nicias, and yet peace is the achievement that matters most. 8 9 10

Lysander 11.7–9. Lysander 11.11–12. “Unquestionably encomiastic,” T. Duff, Plutarch’s Lives: Exploring Virtue and Vice (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999) 186.

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The theme of musical accompaniment returns a few chapters later, for Plutarch takes over from Xenophon the tale that Athens’ walls were dismantled to, once again, the sound of the aulos, with Sparta’s allies “wearing crowns and joking as they celebrated what they thought to be the day that brought the dawn of liberty” (Lysander 15.5 ~ Xenophon, Hellenica 2.2.23). They were soon to be disappointed, as we shall see—but for the moment the emphasis is upbeat. Yet there is no doubt of the danger that Athens is now in, nor how close the city comes to destruction. Some say that there was even a Theban proposal to destroy it completely and give the land over to pasturage. εἶτα μέντοι συνουσίας γενομένης τῶν ἡγεμόνων παρὰ πότον, καί τινος Φωκέως ᾄσαντος ἐκ τῆς Εὐριπίδου Ἠλέκτρας τὴν πάροδον ἧς ἡ ἀρχή Ἀγαμέμνονος ὦ κόρα, ἤλυθον, Ἠλέκτρα, ποτὶ σὰν ἀγρότειραν αὐλάν, πάντας ἐπικλασθῆναι, καὶ φανῆναι σχέτλιον ἔργον τὴν οὕτως εὐκλεᾶ καὶ τοιούτους ἄνδρας φέρουσαν ἀνελεῖν καὶ διεργάσασθαι πόλιν. Then, however, the leaders met for dinner, and as they drank a certain Phocian sang the parodos from Euripides’ Electra, the lines beginning Daughter of Agamemnon, I have come to your country dwelling, Electra … Everyone’s resolve was broken: they saw it as a dreadful thing to remove and destroy the city that was so glorious and had borne men like this.11 There may be a deeper significance in the allusion, for the Electra passage goes on to Electra’s own lament: she can have no part in the festival to which the chorus of Argive women are inviting her, for δάκρυσι νυχεύω, δακρύων δέ μοι μέλει δειλαίαι τὸ κατ’ ἦμαρ. σκέψαι μου πιναρὰν κόμαν καὶ τρύχη τάδ’ ἐμῶν πέπλων, εἰ πρέποντ’ Ἀγαμέμνονος κούραι τᾶι βασιλείαι τᾶι Τροίαι θ’, ἃ ’μοῦ πατέρος μέμναταί ποθ’ ἁλοῦσα.

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Tears mark my nights; tears my concern in my daytime misery. Look at my filthy hair, my rags: Will these be fitting for the royal daughter of Agamemnon? Or for Troy, that remembers how it fell to my father?12 The misery and pathos are most pertinent to Athens now, and so is the contrast with the magnificence and achievements of the previous generation. But the primary point is in “the city that … had borne men like this”—like Euripides, presumably. Even the city’s enemies, and even as they celebrate the dawn of freedom, appreciate the glories that the war could so easily have destroyed. It was now Athens playing that role of Troy, humbled in defeat and all too mindful of its vanquisher; and it is on Athens’ suffering that the focus rests even at this moment of Lysander’s triumph, just as it will in the last point to be made in the synkrisis (Comparatio Lysandri et Sullae 3.5). Of course, those hopes of freedom were to be cruelly dashed, and Plutarch has no illusions about the disgraces of Sparta’s years of hegemony. Lysander himself takes a large part of the blame: already during the war he is promoting his cronies in the cities, sometimes bloodily (Lysander 5.5–6, 13.3–5, 14.2). The contrast with the virtuous Callicratidas is not to Lysander’s credit, even if it is also clear that Lysander’s techniques are the ones that work (5.5–7.6).13 Now he again carries personal responsibility for setting up the Thirty at Athens (15.6, Comparatio Lysandri et Sullae 5.5), for the corruption and bloodshed in the allied cities that followed (19.1–5, Comparatio Lysandri et Sullae 2.6), and for the progressive alienation of Argos, Corinth, and Thebes (22.1–5, 27). Once more, then, Plutarch emphasises the sufferings that one Greek state brings upon the rest. The one thing that Spartan harmosts did not do is what was their etymological job, to “harmonise” or “fit things together” so that they would work well. Still, Plutarch’s blame falls more on the individual Lysander than on Sparta as a whole. A Lacedaemonian remarks that “Greece could not have coped with two Lysanders” (19.5): that tells a story not just of the man himself but also of his city, distancing itself from his behaviour, and he is soon recalled (19.7– 12). It is true that Sparta’s educational system has a lot to do with the way that Lysander has turned out, especially in his love of honour and his contentious-

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E. Electra 181–190. “Compared to Callicratidas’ simplicity and nobility Lysander seemed a rogue and a shyster,” P.A. Stadter, “Paradoxical paradigms: Plutarch’s Lysander and Sulla,” in P.A. Stadter (ed.), Plutarch and the Historical Tradition (London: Routledge, 1992) 45 = Plutarch and his Roman Readers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015) 263. Duff, Plutarch’s Lives, 168–176, finds more moral ambiguity in the contrast.

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ness (Lysander 2.1–4). We shall see something similar with Agesilaus. But it is also true that Lysander is a most atypical Spartan, contrasted sequentially with the avaricious ambassador (2.8),14 with the conventionally upright Callicratidas (5.7–7.1), with the boorish Callibius (15.7–8), with the avaricious Gylippus (16–17.1), and finally with the dutiful Pausanias (21.5–7). The second half of the Life turns to the way that, despite his personal austerity, he still disrupted one of the most hallowed Lycurgan institutions by introducing the city to wealth (16–17, Comparatio Lysandri et Sullae 3.7–8), something that Plutarch pinpoints again in Lycurgus (30.1) and Agis–Cleomenes (Agis 5.1) as a critical turningpoint. Sparta made him what he was—but he ends as a plotter against his own city’s constitution (24–26, 30.3–5, Comparatio Lysandri et Sullae 2.1), an unSpartan Spartan indeed.15 So the man himself is not given a very positive portrait, even though his achievement at Aegospotami is allowed due credit.16 Any triumphalism in this conquest of Greek over Greeks is soon overlaid by other, more uncomfortable strands, and the destructive capacity and the miseries of such wars are strongly stressed. Once again, too, we see the capacity of a Greek city, in this case Sparta, to generate its own debilitating internal tensions. But the individuation of the portrait means that his city is left with less mud attaching to its reputation in power than Plutarch might have thrown, and that, clearly, many others had been very ready to throw.17 How all that ended will become clear if we turn to the next great battle of Greeks against Greeks: Leuctra. 14

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16 17

On this passage and the textual crux see D. Sansone, “Lysander and Dionysius (Plut. Lys. 2),” CPh 76 (1981) 202–206; R. Renehan, “Plutarch Lysander 2: an addendum,” CPh 76 (1981) 206–207; C. Pelling, “Aspects of Plutarch’s characterization,” ICS 13 (1988) 268–269 = Plutarch and History (London—Swansea: The Classical Press of Wales and Duckworth, 2002) 292–293; Duff, Plutarch’s Lives, 182–184. More on this in Pelling, “Aspects of Plutarch’s characterization,” 268–274 = Plutarch and History 292–297; Stadter, “Paradoxical paradigms,” 42, 47 = Plutarch and his Roman Readers, 259, 265; Duff, Plutarch’s Lives, 164–165, 179–180, 200–201. Duff, Plutarch’s Lives, ch. 6, discusses the moral complexities of Lys.–Sulla and the difficulties of reaching an unequivocal moral verdict on either figure. This therefore qualifies the thoughtful argument of J.M. Candau Morón, “Plutarch’s Lysander and Sulla: integrated characters in Roman historical perspective,” AJPh 121 (2000) 453–478, esp. 472–473, relating the qualities of Lysander to paradoxes inherent in Sparta itself: Candau Morón stresses especially the contrast between the Spartans’ proud championing of liberty and the duplicity and domineering of their leadership, and goes so far as to speak of “the identification of Lysander with Sparta.” Those suggestions might easily have been made, but Plutarch avoids drawing them out, and he therefore spares Sparta from direct criticism. We might compare the obliquity with which he formulates his harsh words about militaristic culture in Lyc.–Numa: the criticism applies more obviously to Lycurgus’ Sparta, but Plutarch frames it as a point about Rome (Comp. Lyc. et Num. 4.13).

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Leuctra One of the most difficult battles to describe was Leuctra—or so we might expect. It would be so natural to see it as a simple contest for hegemony, with ample shedding of Greek blood. Plutarch handled it three times, first in the lost Epaminondas and then in Pelopidas, probably early in the series of Lives, and finally in Agesilaus. How it was done in Epaminondas we cannot tell. (It may well be that Pausanias draws his account of the battle from that Life, 9.13,18 but that version sheds no light on this). In Pelopidas the emphasis in the setting falls on the life-or-death character of the struggle, as mighty Sparta made peace with other cities and targeted Thebes alone: this, says Plutarch, was the greatest threat the city had ever faced (Pelopidas 20.1). Of course, one infers, they had to fight, just as in the parallel Life Rome and Marcellus had to resist Hannibal. The danger was such that the Thebans seriously contemplated a human sacrifice, though this was thankfully averted (21–22). The account of the battle itself is here selective19 (Epaminondas was probably fuller, for Agesilaus 28.6 cross-refers back to Epaminondas rather than Pelopidas). It is the successful co-operation with Epaminondas that is stressed both in the preliminaries (Pelopidas 20.3) and in the fighting itself (23), picking up the theme of the two men’s harmonious partnership that has been recur-

18

19

As U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorf suggested (“Abrechnung eines boiotischen Hipparchen,” Hermes 8 (1874) 439, n. 2, and Commentariolum grammaticum I [Gryphiswald: Kynike, 1879] 11–12 = Kleine Schriften IV [Berlin: Akademie Verlag Berlin, 1962] 574–576): cf. G. Shrimpton, “Plutarch’s Life of Epaminondas,” Pacific Coast Philology 6 (1971) 55–59. This is not to say that Pausanias offers an “epitome” of Plutarch (or as Wilamowitz put it a compendium), still less a full and careful one: this much does emerge from the (to my mind over-) sceptical discussion of C.J. Tuplin, “Pausanias and Plutarch’s Epaminondas,” CQ 34 (1984) 346–358. I would envisage the debt as similar to what can be inferred for Philopoemen (Pelling, Plutarco: Filopemene e Tito Flaminino [Milano: Rizzoli, 1997] 154–166), with Pausanias grafting some material from other sources or his general knowledge on to a framework drawn from Plutarch. That fits the general picture that A.E. Meadows, “Pausanias and the history of classical Sparta”, CQ 45 (1985) 92–113, draws of Pausanias’ technique with narrative (cf. M. Pretzler, Pausanias: Travel Writing in Ancient Greece [London: Duckworth, 2007], 82–83), though Meadows is, like Tuplin, sceptical about this particular case (110 n. 80). A. Georgiadou, Plutarch’s Pelopidas: a Historical and Philological Commentary (StuttgartLeipzig: Teubner, 1997) 172–173, discusses the variations in the different sources’ accounts of the battle; at 174 she has good comments on Plutarch’s style and narrative technique. Despite its selectivity, Plutarch’s account is vital for the reconstruction of the battle: G.L. Cawkwell “Epaminondas and Thebes,” CQ 22 (1972) 260–263 = From Cyrene to Chaeronea: Selected Essays on Greek History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011) 308–312.

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rent in the Life.20 That continues in the sequel, as they both press on into Laconia (24): this was constitutionally questionable as the terminal date had passed for their commands, but Plutarch clearly approves (cf. Praecepta gerendae reipublica 817F).21 The ensuing domestic criticism is presented as driven by reprehensible factionalism. Plutarch describes it as ὁ δὲ συγγενὴς καὶ πολιτικὸς φθόνος, “the envy of kindred and fellow-citizens,” which strengthened as the reputation of the men grew (25.1)—interesting language, as there is also a hint of “the” envy (the definite article marks it out as a familiar feature) that it is “congenital” or “ingrained” (another and in some ways easier meaning of συγγενής)22 in the polis (πολιτικός), perhaps just in Thebes or perhaps in any polis, a malaise grec indeed.23 In any case Pelopidas wins an exemplary political victory over Menecleidas, the petty-minded opponent. The beneficial consequences of victory go beyond the city walls, too: Pelopidas’ repute has reached the ears of the Great King, and this plays a part in securing a Peace that proclaims Messenian synoecism and autonomy for all Greek states, something that understandably wins Pelopidas further nationwide “goodwill” (εὔνοια, 30–31.1). It also meant that other states looked to him for leadership in the campaign against the unspeakable Alexander of Pherae (31.2), rather as they had laid their usual quarrels aside and willingly followed Pelopidas and Epaminondas in the Laconia campaign (24.5–8). The Pherae expedition was ill-omened at the start (31.3–4) and led to Pelopidas’ own death, but the note struck at the end is the glory of a death when fighting for the liberty of others (34.7; cf. 31.6, 33.9–10). Pelopidas emerges as an example of selflessness, inter-state harmony, devotion to freedom, and willingly collaborative leadership. The taint of internecine bloodletting is left as the fault of others, not himself. 20 21

22 23

On this see Georgiadou, Plutarch’s Pelopidas, 32–37 (“Pelopidas and Epaminondas: a pair within a Life”). As, robustly, does Cawkwell, “Epaminondas and Thebes,” 267 = From Cyrene to Chaeronea, 318: “His [Menecleidas’] first prosecution on a constitutional point was absurd. If the price of refounding Messene and of invading Laconia hitherto inviolate was a breach of the law, so much the worse for the law.” Cf. e.g. Per. 22.4, Crass. 6.6, Aem. 23.9, De sera num. 562B. As the general phrasing of Georgiadou’s comment (Plutarch’s Pelopidas, 184) might suggest: “envy …, [seen] here as inherent among the fellow-citizens of outstanding individuals.” Translators obscure the oddity by fusing the two adjectives συγγενής and πολιτικός together into a single concept: “the envy of their own fellow-citizens” (Perrin), “the envy of their compatriots” (Scott-Kilvert & Duff), “l’ envie de leurs concitoyens” (Chambry). But usually a fellow-citizen is not eo ipso a συγγενής; the word is being used very broadly (for similar cases cf. Them. 24.3, Arist. 16.3, and Arat. 45.7). Certainly nothing suggests that Menecleidas, the one partisan opponent that is mentioned in Pel. 15, was literally Pelopidas’ kinsman.

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So, then, whose fault is it? In the final phase of Pelopidas, clearly that of Alexander, as villainous a tyrant as can be. With Leuctra, the obvious culprit would be the Spartans, ruthless as they had been in imposing their will and infringing the autonomy of others; as we saw in Lysander, Plutarch is fully aware of the damage done by the way they exercised their hegemony. That is the emphasis in Pelopidas as well, with “the Spartiates” or “the Lacedaemonians” the threatening bullies before Leuctra as they had earlier been in the seizing of the Cadmeia (Pelopidas 5.1–2, 6.1–2 etc.) and in the confrontation at Tegyra (17.1, 11–12). There is something of that in Agesilaus too, but the presentation there is subtler and more differentiated. The driving force is seen in much more individuated terms, just as it was in Lysander: this time it is that personal hostility of Agesilaus against Thebes (above, p. 94) that is more the motor of events, born of the humiliation at Aulis when his pre-war sacrifice was spoiled (Agesilaus 6.9– 11).24 Its catastrophic effects are seen not just in stimulating a battle that ended Sparta’s empire but also in providing some explanation why Thebes won, for Agesilaus was the Thebans’ schoolmaster, providing them with the training and experience that generated a crack military force (Pelopidas 15.3–4, Agesilaus 26.3). It also leaves us in no doubt that Sparta’s allies were alienated by seeing that this was a private grudge (Agesilaus 25.5). Plutarch knew from Xenophon (Hellenica 6.4.15) that the allies had been reluctant to fight at Leuctra, and duly gives that proper emphasis here (Agesilaus. 28.6; so also Paus. 9.13.9, perhaps drawing on Epaminondas). Agesilaus has a lot to answer for, just as Lysander had done before him. True, there is something here of a mirroring of a state’s characteristics in one of its prominent individuals: just as Alcibiades’ enterprise or Pericles’ greatness of spirit can mirror Athenian virtues,25 so Agesilaus’ φιλονικία/-νεικία and Lysander’s hard temper bear a relation to a distinctive feature of Sparta.26 Com24

25

26

On the implied comparison and contrast with Agamemnon here see S. Nevin, “Negative comparison: Agamemnon and Alexander in Plutarch’s Agesilaus–Pompey,” GRBS 54 (2014) 45–68. More on this in Pelling, “Plutarch and Thucydides,” in Stadter (ed.), Plutarch and the Historical Tradition, 21–27 = Plutarch and History, 125–130; and in Alcibiades’ case, D. Gribble, Alcibiades and Athens: a Study in Literary Presentation (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999) 263–282. An important antecedent here is Herodotus’ Themistocles, a very Athenian character: W. Blösel, “The Herodotean picture of Themistocles: a mirror of fifth-century Athens,” in N. Luraghi (ed.), The Historian’s Craft in the Age of Herodotus (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001) 179–197 (“a symbol for Athens as a whole,” 196; “a mirror to the Athenians,” 197), and Themistokles bei Herodot: Spiegel Athens im fünften Jahrhundert (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, Historia Einzelschriften 183, 2004). φιλονικία or φιλονεικία, “love of victory” or “love of quarrels”? This is an old problem: both forms are frequent in Plutarch’s manuscripts. I still hold to the view that both associations

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petitiveness is instilled in Spartiates by their hardy and harsh education (Agesilaus 5.5): it is no coincidence that Agesilaus—unique among Spartan kings in having shared the regular agoge, as the proem had stressed (Agesilaus 1.4– 5)—should in adulthood have shown it to such a marked degree. But it is still an extreme and off-kilter version of this general characteristic, rather as his excessive willingness to do a favour for a friend is a distortion of the comradeship that the agoge was supposed to nurture.27 An underlying hint of a broader theme may therefore be sensed, with a distinctively Spartan tweak given to that Greek inter-city competitiveness and contentiousness. Yet it is done in a way that sidesteps too direct a criticism of Sparta itself, and sees and explores the Spartan characteristic only after it has been filtered through, and travestied by, an individual who gets it wrong. In a way, this furthers the agenda commended in Praecepta gerendae reipublicae: look for the morals that can still be valuable. Avoiding φιλονικία/-νεικία is good, and that is true in one’s everyday exchanges as much as in civic politics; close co-operation with a friend is also good, both on a personal and a political level; and certainly, patriotism and military courage are good, commended as such in both Agesilaus and Pelopidas—though Pelopidas’ rashness in command is also stigmatised when he takes the personal risk that costs him his life (Pelopidas 1–2, 32.9, Comparatio Pelolpidae et Marcelli 3). There is nothing here that might inspire an impressionable reader to wish to fight such battles again, or to resume the freedom-fighting against a mightier power in the present day that posed no immediate threat to a city’s survival, one that was prepared, as Sparta had not been, to live and let live.

Sellasia εἰ δὲ Κλεομένης ἦν—λεγέσθω γὰρ οὕτως—παράνομος καὶ τυραννικός, ἀλλ’ Ἡρακλεῖδαι πατέρες αὐτῷ καὶ Σπάρτη πατρίς, ἧς τὸν ἀφανέστατον ἦν ἄξιον

27

were felt (Pelling, Plutarch and History, 347 n. 24), but P.A. Stadter, “Competition and its costs: Φιλονικία in Plutarch’s society and heroes,” in G. Roskam & L. van der Stockt (eds.), Virtues for the People: Aspects of Plutarchan Ethics (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2011) 238–241 = Plutarch and his Roman Readers, 271–273, concludes that the word “is always associated with nikê” and “always connected in some way with the desire to win a contest.” I say a good deal more about this in a forthcoming article, linking it with the similar emphasis on education in Lysander and arguing that this interest is a distinctively Plutarchan touch rather than inherited from sources (“Stereotyping Sparta, Stereotyping Athens: Herodotus, Thucydides—and Plutarch,” forthcoming in L. Athanassaki & F.B. Titchener (eds.), Plutarch’s Cities).

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ἀντὶ τοῦ πρώτου Μακεδόνων ἡγεμόνα ποιεῖσθαι τοὺς ἔν τινι λόγῳ τὴν Ἑλληνικὴν τιθεμένους εὐγένειαν. If Cleomenes was—let us say—a man with a tyrannical temper and with no respect for law, still the Heraclids were his forebears and Sparta his fatherland, and it was right to make the meanest of Spartans one’s leader ahead of the foremost Macedonian if one had any respect for Greek nobility.28 Strong words: they are used of Aratus’ decision in 226 to favour Antigonus over the rampaging Spartan king Cleomenes, thus bringing the Macedonians into Greece. Aratus is often more forthright and simple in its moralism than the parallel Lives, but this still points to the difficulty that Plutarch would feel when he came to the battle of Sellasia four years later; and, whether or not the Macedonian victors were to be counted as Greek, they certainly had Greek allies in plenty, including Philopoemen’s Achaeans. The battlefield ended the day strewn with Greek dead (Cleomenes 28.7–8). In Aratus itself the battle gets the briefest of mentions (46.1), but fuller treatments come in Philopoemen (6) and Agis–Cleomenes (Cleomenes 27–28). Unusually for Plutarch, this seems a case where two parallel accounts have a different source-texture: most of the Philopoemen account appears to come from Polybius, either the History or Polybius’ own Philopoemen or both, whereas most of the extra detail in Agis–Cleomenes seems owed to Phylarchus, who is quoted for the “treachery” that is its central feature (28.2 = fr. 59 Jacoby).29 It is arguable that the basic reason for this is simply “the law of biographical relevance,” with Polybius offering more material relevant to Philopoemen’s part in the battle and Phylarchus richer on the treachery that deceived Cleomenes and eventually led to his defeat.30 Still, there is more to it than that, as in each case the emphasis also fits the themes of the Life. In Philopoemen the emphasis falls on the bravery, insight and initiative of the rising young commander; yet his readiness to ignore his commanders and launch an independent charge also

28 29

30

Aratus 38.7. Thus F.W. Walbank, A Historical Commentary on Polybius I: Commentary on Books I–VI (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957) 272–273, on Polybius 2.65–69, whereas G. Marasco, Commento alle biografie Plutarchee di Agide e di Cleomene (Rome: Edizioni dell’Ateneo, 1981) ii. 573, preferred to think of Polybius as the main source in Cleomenes too. That does not convince, though some material doubtless does come from Polybius, notably the figures for the numbers involved (Cleom. 27.11, citing Plb. 2.65.1–7). Or so I argued in more detail in Pelling, Filopemene e Tito Flaminino, 111–114.

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betrays a reluctance to take orders that will soon recur (7.1). One already senses something of the φιλονικία/-νεικία that will be the man’s defining characteristic (Philopoemen 3.1, 17.7, Comparatio Philopoemenis et Titi Flaminini 1.4), a closely neighbouring quality of the φιλοτιμία he shows in the battle now (6.10).31 That φιλονικία/-νεικία is also the besetting vice of Greece as a whole, as those ruminations of spectators make clear in the passage from the paired Life of Flamininus that served as an epigraph to this chapter. It is not coincidence that Philopoemen should have been dubbed “the last of the Greeks” (Philopoemen 1.7, Aratatus 24.2): such pugnacity, battling time after time against fellow-Greeks, sums up so much of why Greece would offer no opportunities for any successor to win a similar place in the sun. In Agis–Cleomenes it is more elaborate. Plutarch has just been developing the theme of money as “the sinews of war”—a most interesting strand in this double Life of the two Spartan kings. Lysander, as we saw (p. 103), had introduced the curse of wealth to Sparta; it was an important part of the programme of Agis and Cleomenes to reverse the decadent process and reassert the old Spartan values of austerity and indifference to wealth. The trouble was that warfare needs money, more so than ever in this new age of the mighty Hellenistic powers. That was why Cleomenes had needed to turn to Ptolemy of Egypt; his family were now hostages at his court, and that was where he himself would meet his end. Now it is money that proves his undoing, for a well-placed bribe from Antigonus ensures that he is fed critically false information (28.5). No wonder that it was here, not in Philopoemen, that Plutarch welcomed that addition from Phylarchus (28.2) to Polybius’ account.32 The world has moved on, for good and for ill: however laudable the kings’ traditionalism may have been, their fate raises the question how far one can really mimic the standards of old-time simplicity among the realities of a rougher and harder present.33 That was already true in the third century BCE, as Cleomenes came to know. How much truer it was in Plutarch’s own day, more than three centuries later! And that, after all, was the point that our initial passage from Praecepta gerendae reipublicae was so concerned to make.

31 32 33

As Pérez Jiménez says (“Exemplum,” 108), this is one important way in which Philopoemen falls short of his model Epaminondas. We should not therefore follow Marasco, Commento ii. 573, 576 and 580, in thinking that the citation of Phylarchus indicates scepticism about the treachery story. I muse further on the implications for Plutarch’s moralism in “A doubles match: Agis– Cleomenes and the Gracchi,” forthcoming in P. Davies (ed.), Plutarch and Sparta.

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Conclusion “Let us leave them in the schools of the sophists,” said Plutarch in Praecepta gerendae reipublicae; but he was never going to leave all such triumphant stories aside when it came to the Lives. He owed it to the men of achievement to give the credit they were due; he owed it too to his readers and to himself, as without those battles they would not have been able to understand “how great these figures were, and what sort of men” (Aemilius Paulus 1.2, quoting Iliad 24.630), nor indeed how their cities reached their heights of glory and of power. But we have seen too how deftly he avoids the dangers that the inspiration might be excessive and ill-judged. The wondrous victories of the Persian War were achieved when freedom and survival were at stake; things were very different now. Even at those moments of glory, he also finds ways of reminding his audience of the darker side: the domestic divisions, the inter-city strife, the ease with which the same personal qualities could topple over into overreach and disgrace. So often, too, the emphasis is shared between triumph and disaster, with the realities of defeat and despair given due attention as well as the lustre of victorious fame. Nothing detracts from the winners’ deserts: Plutarch cannot be accused, as he accused Herodotus, of diminishing the appreciation due to Greece’s heroes for their finest hours. But we are not left in any doubt that there were losers too, that not all the hours were fine, and that Greece herself— and often those same Greek heroes, even more than their cities—must carry the blame. There is no need to overdo the pertinence of all this to Plutarch’s own day. Anyone seeking hard advice even from Philopoemen–Flamininus for contemporary political life would have to rest content with the broadest morals: a dignified degree of independence is good, but one must remember the power of Rome; contentiousness is bad; harmony is extremely desirable. Plutarch is notably vague when he talks at Philopoemen 17.2–7 about the “concessions” that Philopoemen saw fit to make to Rome, or the way in which he tried to “draw the most powerful speakers and statesmen in the direction of liberty.” Polybius, whose account Plutarch clearly knew so well, had been harder-edged in his own comparison of Philopoemen and Aristaenus, with its stress on arguments from legalism and the implied contrast with the more hazardously self-abasing approach of Callicrates (24.11–13):34 there was more illuminating guidance there for the reader’s own day. It is still, I think, wise to speak of a “contemporary resonance” in Plutarch, no more, and to see the various politi-

34

Pelling, Philopemene e Tito Flaminino, 135–136.

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cal morals he draws as “timeless,” relevant for all ages and not just for his own.35 But these morals were certainly relevant to his own age as well; and we can see the care and judgment with which he made sure that readers were not led to imitate the wrong things in the wrong way.

Bibliography Blösel, W., “The Herodotean Picture of Themistocles: a Mirror of Fifth-century Athens,” in N. Luraghi (ed.), The Historian’s Craft in the Age of Herodotus (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001) 179–197. Blösel, W., Themistokles bei Herodot: Spiegel Athens im fünften Jahrhundert (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, Historia Einzelschr. 183, 2004). Candau Morón, J.Ma., “Plutarch’s Lysander and Sulla: Integrated Characters in Roman Historical Perspective,” AJPh 121 (2000) 453–478. Cawkwell, G.L., “Epaminondas and Thebes,” CQ 22 (1972) 254–278; repr. in From Cyrene to Chaeronea: Selected Essays on Greek History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011) 299–333. Duff, T., Plutarch’s Lives: Exploring Virtue and Vice (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999). Frost, F.J., Plutarch’s Themistocles: a Historical Commentary (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980). Geiger, J., “Greeks and the Roman Past in the Second Sophistic: the Case of Plutarch,” in A. Georgiadou & K. Oikonomopoulou (eds.), Space, Time, and Language in Plutarch (Berlin—Boston: de Gruyter, 2017) 119–125. Georgiadou, A., Plutarch’s Pelopidas: a Historical and Philological Commentary (Stuttgart—Leipzig: Teubner, 1997). Gribble, D., Alcibiades and Athens: a Study in Literary Presentation (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999). Marasco, G., Commento alle biografie Plutarchee di Agide e di Cleomene i–ii (Rome: Edizioni dell’Ateneo, 1981). Marr, J.L., Plutarch: Lives. Themistocles (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1998). 35

As I argued in “The moralism of Plutarch’s Lives,” in D. Innes, H. Hine & C. Pelling (eds.), Ethics and Rhetoric: Classical Essays for Donald Russell on his Seventy-fifth Birthday (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), esp. (on Phil.) 213–217 = Plutarch and History, 243–247, and elsewhere; J. Geiger “Greeks and the Roman past in the Second Sophistic: the case of Plutarch,” in A. Georgiadou & K. Oikonomopoulou (eds.), Space, Time, and Language in Plutarch (Berlin—Boston: de Gruyter, 2017) 120, is not convinced. I would not quarrel with P.A. Stadter, “Introduction,” in Stadter & van der Stockt (eds.), Sage and Emperor, 17: “Plutarch wished to express his thoughts on political life in as timeless a manner as possible, but allowed general parallels to contemporary events to surface in his Lives.”

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Meadows, A.R., “Pausanias and the History of Classical Sparta,” CQ 45 (1985) 92–113. Nevin, S., “Negative comparison: Agamemnon and Alexander in Plutarch’s Agesilaus– Pompey,” GRBS 54 (2014) 45–68. Pelling, C., “Aspects of Plutarch’s characterization,” ICS 13 (1988) 257–274; repr. in Plutarch and History, 283–300. Pelling, C., “Plutarch and Thucydides”, in Stadter (ed.), Plutarch and the Historical Tradition, 10–40; repr. in Plutarch and History, 117–141. Pelling, C. “The Moralism of Plutarch’s Lives,” in D. Innes, H. Hine & C. Pelling (eds.), Ethics and Rhetoric: Classical Essays for Donald Russell on his Seventy-fifth Birthday (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995) 205–220; repr. in Plutarch and History, 237–251. Pelling, C., Introduction and Notes in C. Pelling & E. Melandri, Plutarco: Filopemene e Tito Flaminino (Milano: Rizzoli, 1997). Pelling, C., Plutarch and History: Eighteen Studies (London—Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2002). Pelling, C., “Stereotyping Sparta, Stereotyping Athens: Herodotus, Thucydides—and Plutarch,” in L. Athanassaki & F.B. Titchener (eds.), Plutarch’s Cities (forthcoming). Pelling, C., “A doubles match: Agis–Cleomenes and the Gracchi,” in P. Davies (ed.), Plutarch and Sparta (forthcoming). Pérez Jiménez, A., “La elocuencia como instrumento político en las Vidas paralelas de Plutarco,” Cuadernos de filología clásica 12 (2002) 253–270. Pérez Jiménez, A., “Los héroes de Plutarco y su elección entre la justicia y la utilidad,” in L. de Blois, J. Bons, T. Kessels & D.M. Schenkeveld (eds.), The Statesman in Plutarch’s Works I (Leiden—Boston: Brill, 2004) 127–136. Pérez Jiménez, A., “Exemplum: the paradigmatic education of the ruler in the Lives of Plutarch,” in Stadter & van der Stockt (eds.), Sage and Emperor, 105–114. Pretzler, M., Pausanias: Travel Writing in Ancient Greece (London: Duckworth, 2007). Renehan, R., “Plutarch Lysander 2: an addendum,” CPh 76 (1981) 206–207. Sansone, D., “Lysander and Dionysius (Plut. Lys. 2),” CPh 76 (1981) 202–206. Sansone, D., Plutarch: Lives. Aristeides and Cato (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1989). Shrimpton, G., “Plutarch’s Life of Epaminondas,” Pacific Coast Philology 6 (1971) 55–59. Stadter, P.A., “Paradoxical Paradigms: Plutarch’s Lysander and Sulla,” in Stadter (ed.), Plutarch and the Historical Tradition, 41–55; repr. in Plutarch and his Roman Readers, 258–269. Stadter, P.A. (ed.), Plutarch and the Historical Tradition (London: Routledge, 1992). Stadter, P.A., “Introduction,” in Stadter & van der Stockt (eds.), Sage and Emperor, 1–26. Stadter, P.A., “Competition and its Costs: Φιλονικία in Plutarch’s Society and Heroes,” in G. Roskam & L. van der Stockt (eds.), Virtues for the People: Aspects of Plutarchan Ethics (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2011) 237–255; repr. in Stadter, Plutarch and his Roman Readers 270–285. Stadter, P.A., Plutarch and his Roman Readers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015).

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Stadter, P.A., & van der Stockt, L. (eds.), Sage and Emperor: Plutarch, Greek Intellectuals, and Roman Power in the Time of Trajan (98–117A.D.) (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2002). Tuplin, C.J., “Pausanias and Plutarch’s Epaminondas,” CQ 34 (1984) 346–358. Verdegem, S., Plutarch’s Life of Alcibiades: Story, Text, and Moralism (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2010). Walbank, F.W., A Historical Commentary on Polybius I: Commentary on Books I–VI (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957). Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, U. von, “Abrechnung eines boiotischen Hipparchen,”Hermes 8 (1874) 431–441. Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, U. von, Commentariolum grammaticum I (Gryphiswald: Kynike, 1879); repr. in Kleine Schriften IV (Berlin: Akad. Verlag Berlin, 1962) 583–596.

chapter 7

Prophecy and Fortune (τύχη) in Plutarch’s Marius and Sulla Philip A. Stadter

“Our dear Apollo, it seems, heals and resolves the puzzles of life by his oracular responses to those who consult him,” Plutarch writes while exploring the enigma of the Delphic E (De E apud Delphos 384EF). The god has knowledge of past, present, and future, and on occasion he shares bits of the future through prophecy, the entrails of sacrificial animals, omens, and other signals. Plutarch’s service as priest of Delphi carried among other duties the responsibility for supervising the sacrifices of petitioners seeking a divine response, as well as other actions connected with the Pythia and oracular consultations. In his own day, the petitions in general concerned rather mundane questions, as he himself admits (De Pythiae oraculis 408C). Yet they nevertheless revealed both the omniscience of the god and divine willingness to impart some small part of this knowledge to his mortal petitioners. Plutarch believed and participated in the prophetic tradition.1 At the same time, as a historian and observer of human nature, he knew the unpredictable ups and downs which are an essential part of the human condition, sensed the movement of historical events in a particular direction, and recognized the succession of preeminent individuals and empires. His experience of history encouraged, alongside notion of divine omniscience, the view that man is subject to chance, or the vagaries of fortune or luck (τύχη), or the inexorable demands of fate or one’s own lot (εἱμαρμένη). What the gods know will happen, must happen, and humans must accept this as best they can. Yet, Plutarch believed, they can profit from a proper use of the prophetic insights afforded them by oracles, seers, and omens. 1 Cf. most recently E.G. Simonetti, A Perfect Medium? Oracular Divination in the Thought of Plutarch (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2017). The question of Plutarch’s thinking on fate and providence has elicited a large bibliography: see most recently the articles in F. Frazier & D.F. Leão (eds.), Tychè et pronoia. La marche du monde selon Plutarque (Coimbra: Coimbra University Press, 2010). The introduction by Frazier, “La marche du monde et les incertitudes de la Tychè,” III–XXIII, provides an overview of the issues. This paper will deal with a limited aspect of the problem, Plutarch’s presentation of prophecy and divine intervention in the Lives of Marius and Sulla.

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The tension between human efforts and divine knowledge can be particularly apparent in the lives of great men. In setting Greek statesmen and generals against Roman counterparts, Plutarch, alongside his many other objectives, challenges the reader to evaluate the role played by prophecy and omens both in individual careers and in the broader expanse of Greek and Roman history, and their interaction with each other. He was naturally more familiar with the varieties of Greek divination than Roman, but his Roman Questions reveals both his interest in Roman religious practice and his respect for it. He had no desire to reject or demean Roman religious experience or rituals. The present essay considers as a case study Plutarch’s biographies of Marius and Sulla, two generals who transformed Rome by their military skill, their ambition, and their disastrous rivalry with each other. In the course of both Lives, and of the two men’s conflict with each other, prophecy and divine signs interact with τύχη (fortune/chance/luck) in a remarkable way. Plutarch’s presentation of this dynamic interrelation poses a question for the historian. These two Lives foreshadow the rise of Caesar and the end of the Roman republic.2 Did Plutarch think that the gods, through the omens and signs that they gave, shaped the success or failure of these men, and of Rome, and in what way?3 Was Marius fated to defeat the Cimbri, and fight his way to his seventh consulship? Or was Sulla’s defeat of Mithridates and return to Rome, his victory over the Marians and establishment of his savage dictatorship part of a divine plan? The biographer finds that the two men differed in their relation to prophecy and their own fortune. We shall see that Marius employed prophetic signs and omens to encourage his troops and himself, but in the end believed that he had been betrayed in his expectations. Sulla, on the other hand, trusted in his good luck, in the fortune which he felt was favoring him at every turn, and despite all appearances, believed that his fortune remained with him throughout his life.

Marius: Prophecy as Encouragement The Life of Marius traces the hero’s controversial political career from his humble beginnings through his glorious successes against Germanic armies and his first six consulships (in 107, 104, 103, 102, 101, 100 BCE), to his exile, his return to gain his seventh consulship in 86, and finally, his death within two weeks 2 Cf. B. Buszard, “Caesar’s Ambition: a combined Reading of Plutarch’s Alexander-Caesar and Pyrrhus-Marius,” TAPA 138 (2008) 185–215. 3 Cf. F. Brenk in L. Roig Lanzillotta (ed.), Frederick E. Brenk on Plutarch. Religious Thinker and Biographer (Leiden: Brill, 2017) 88–89; 90–92.

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of taking office. Prophecy encouraging and supporting Marius’ success plays a major part in the shaping of Plutarch’s biography. It poses the question, how much did Plutarch think the prophecies that Marius received contribute to this success? More precisely, did Plutarch believe that Marius’ career was guided by divine intervention and encouraged by divine prophecies? Or was it Marius’ own understanding of words and events which supported his drive to power and encouraged his hopes even in old age? The first sign of coming greatness was Marius’ response as a young man to Scipio’s words of praise, suggesting the possibility that Marius might prove to be a worthy successor of himself. Marius took this comment “as a god-inspired omen” (θείας κληδόνος) and encouragement for a political career (Caius Marius 4.1). But his life in politics got off to a bumpy start. With some difficulty, he advanced to the praetorship and served in Africa under Caecilius Metellus, but only after his stubborn insistence overcame Metellus’ objections did he receive permission to sail to Rome and present himself for the consular elections. Plutarch records, however, that “it is reported” that at the sacrifice Marius made prior to his sailing, “the diviner announced that the divine spirit (τὸ δαιμόνιον) indicated incredible success, beyond any possible expectation (8.8).” Marius, elated by this prophecy, sailed to Rome, where he was immediately elected consul, with the duty of replacing Metellus and completing the war against Jugurtha. Two moments are prominent in the biographer’s treatment of this war. First, Sulla’s capture of Jugurtha took away the glory Marius was anticipating as his own, a bitter turn of fortune: “Some Nemesis came round in the end to Marius, for he was deprived by Sulla of the glory of success, as Metellus had been by Marius (10.2).” Nemesis is the negative aspect of fortune. Sulla is established as Marius’ opponent, his own personal Nemesis. Despite this disappointment, Marius is reelected to the consulship, and celebrates his triumph over Jugurtha. His fortune is high, but then he enters the senate still dressed in his triumphal robes, an act, Plutarch remarks, by which he used his good fortune boorishly (τῇ τύχῃ χρώμενος ἀγροικότερον), unless he somehow forgot (12.7). The suggestion is clear: Marius does not know how to use his good fortune, but always wants to press it further. The example of Jugurtha’s fall and miserable death, detailed by Plutarch just before, is lost on him (12.4–5). Nevertheless, Marius’ good fortune stays with him. As Marius marched to confront the invading Cimbri, the barbarians changed course and headed first for Spain, presenting him with “a great piece of good fortune” (14.1, εὐτύχημα δὲ δοκεῖ τῷ Μαρίῳ μέγα γενέσθαι). The delay gave him the opportunity to train his newly drafted troops and to prepare to confront the Cimbri on his own terms when they returned.

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Prophecy comes to the fore before the great battle of Aquae Sextiae, where Marius’ army faced down and utterly defeated the barbarian horde. In the intervening chapters Plutarch has concentrated on Marius’ preparation of his troops for battle. Finally, the troops are eager to engage, and urge Marius to attack, but he refuses, citing certain oracles (17.1, ἔκ τινων λογίων) which cause him to delay until the proper moment and position. The biographer goes on to explain the source of these prophecies: the Syrian mantis Martha, who usually went about in a litter, pompously accompanying Marius on campaign. Marius sacrificed according to her orders, having been earlier convinced by her ability to predict the victors at the gladiatorial combats. Plutarch notes that when Martha left her litter for the sacrifices “she would wear a double thick purple mantle fastened with a brooch, and carry a spear decorated with wreaths and garlands (17.2).” However, the biographer observes, this spectacle (τὸ δρᾶμα) caused much discussion: “Did Marius really believe this as true, when he presented the woman, or was he inventing and acting out with her?” (Mar. 17.5). The uncertainty expressed by unidentified observers (note the impersonal construction, “furnished discussion to many,” πολλοῖς ἀμφισβήτεσιν παρεῖχεν) suggests the biographer’s own hesitation: was Marius simply using Martha to manage the army’s expectations, or did he truly believe in her prophetic skills? More fundamentally, was Plutarch willing to accept Martha’s performance as genuinely divinely inspired, or did he suspect that she was a charlatan, and Marius’ use of her deception, without actually stating so directly? The problem lies in the fact that Marius was successful, so it was impossible for the biographer to be sure. When a prophecy fits the future outcome, the fact does not prove its validity. On the other hand, if it were to miss the mark, then the observer can rightly attack its divine inspiration. Plutarch’s emphasis on Martha’s role as Marius’ seer brings to the fore the underlying puzzle of Marius’ life. Was his extraordinary military success against the Cimbri in some way divinely ordained? The story of the two vultures immediately following (17.6–7) might seem to support divine favor. But it is problematic for several reasons. The vultures’ behavior is perhaps not so remarkable, if Marius’ soldiers had taken to feeding them regularly. More significantly, the anecdote has no direct association with the battle of Aquae Sextiae, since it refers only to a general uplifting of the soldiers’ morale whenever they sallied out to battle. The source of the anecdote, Alexander of Myndus, is named only here in Plutarch, although he may have been used in Gryllus. This Alexander wrote a book On birds, which seems to belong to the tradition of paradoxography, or stories of marvels. Athenaeus cites numerous examples from the book in Deipnosophistae, book 9. Apparently Plutarch thought that this would make an

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interesting, though hard to believe, supplement to the already highly dubious prophecies of Martha. The biographer also records several other signs that encouraged hopes for Marius’ victory (17.8–11). Not only were there signs in the sky, but there was the impressive story of Bataces, the priest of the Great Mother—or was he a mountebank? He seemed quite convincing to the Roman senators, but was attacked by Aulus Pompeius as a charlatan. Pompeius’ sudden death seemed to validate the authenticity of Bataces’ words, but Plutarch leaves the reader with a sense of uncertainty. Did any of these prophecies and signs reveal the foreknowledge of the gods, and their favor toward Marius? Whatever the divine force or validity of these signs, Marius in fact won a stunning victory at Aquae Sextiae. Moreover, he had just begun to celebrate the victory with a great sacrifice when messengers arrived announcing that he had been elected consul for the sixth time, another marvelous achievement (22.1–5). Marius might well have thought that the gods favored him highly at this moment. This was, in Plutarch’s telling, the high point of Marius’ career. In the following chapter, the bad news arrives of Catulus surrender of the Alpine passes. This might have been seen as a minor setback, but the biographer dramatizes the moment by commenting on the external forces which can diminish or eradicate success (23.1):4 Ἡ δὲ μηθὲν ἐῶσα τῶν μεγάλων εὐτυχημάτων ἄκρατον εἰς ἡδονὴν καὶ καθαρόν, ἀλλὰ μείξει κακῶν καὶ ἀγαθῶν ποικίλλουσα τὸν ἀνθρώπινον βίον ἢ τύχη τις ἢ νέμεσις ἢ πραγμάτων ἀναγκαία φύσις οὐ πολλαῖς ὕστερον ἡμέραις ἐπήγαγε τῷ Μαρίῳ τὴν περὶ Κάτλου τοῦ συνάρχοντος ἀγγελίαν, ὥσπερ ἐν εὐδίᾳ καὶ γαλήνῃ νέφος—, That element which allows not one great success to be pure and unadulterated pleasure, but mixes evils and goods, making human life variegated—whether it be some kind of Fortune (τύχη), or Nemesis (νέμεσις), or the natural necessity of events (πραγμάτων ἀναγκαία φύσις), not many days later brought the report, like a cloud on a serene and clear day (ὥσπερ ἐν εὐδίᾳ καὶ γαλήνη νέφος), concerning his consular colleague Catulus.

4 The translations are the author’s.

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The changed military situation brought to Rome another storm of fear (23.1, αὖθις ἕτερον φόβον καὶ χειμῶνα). Marius was called to Rome, but once there decided to forego his triumph and return north to assist Catulus. Plutarch expresses uncertainty whether he wished to protect his soldiers’ right to honor in a triumph, or he was encouraging the multitude by entrusting the glory of his first victories to the fortune of the city (τῇ τύχῃ τῆς πόλεως), to be returned in new more glorious victories (24.1). However, Marius was not to repeat his previous victory, despite his loud proclamation, after sacrificing before the battle, that the victims guaranteed success: “Victory is mine!” (26.4, ἐμὴ ἡ νίκη). This time his prophecy was belied by events. A great cloud of dust arose, which hid the enemy from Marius and kept him from engaging. The victory was won largely by Catulus’ forces. Plutarch reports that Sulla in his Memoirs interpreted the dust storm as Nemesis at work (26.5, νεμεσητόν). Sulla’s opinion is not introduced casually into Plutarch’s narrative, but continues the strand begun in chapter 23. Marius’ luck has changed, and his prophecy is only partially valid. And Sulla is once more associated with Nemesis. Nevertheless, the Roman people hailed Marius as the victor, and third founder of Rome (27), support which Marius eagerly converts into his election to a sixth consulship (28.1). Plutarch is distinctly cool to this maneuver, stressing how much Marius yielded to the populace to gain favor, acting “not only contrary to the dignity and status of the office, but also to his own nature” (28.1, παρὰ τὴν αὑτοῦ φύσιν). Marius’ character, Plutarch affirms, had nothing to do with appealing to the populace, but he tried to present himself as easygoing and one of the people. The result was the collapse of his greatest virtues: instead of confronting the crowds, his ambition for glory (φιλοδοξία) made him fearful, and his unshakeable firmness in battles abandoned him in the assemblies, and he was left off balance by any casual praise or blame (28.1–5). Marius’ ambition drove him to politics, where his virtues melted into vices. Nemesis has indeed struck. The biographer chronicles in the following chapters Marius’ violent attempts to win victory for his own party, especially by supporting the violent demagogue Saturninus (29–30). In his longing for new glory, Marius is led to use religion as a means to power. Plutarch reports that he sailed to Cappadocia, “ostensibly to make the sacrifices which he had vowed to the Mother of the Gods,” but really to stir up war and secure himself a command (31.2).5 Upon his return, he found himself being eclipsed by Sulla. His mediocre performance in the Social War further

5 About this time, Marius was elected augur, although Plutarch does not mention it: Cicero,

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weakened his position, while strengthening Sulla’s. Finally, after protracted civil disturbances brought on especially by Marius and his henchman Sulpicius, Sulla was able to assert his authority as consul and drive Marius from the city (35.7–8). Soon, Marius found himself wandering with a few followers along the Mediterranean shore, hungry and desperate. The exiled hero encouraged his men with “ancient prophecies” (36.7, μαντεύμασι παλαιοῖς), recalling an event of his youth. He had caught in his cloak a nest of an eagle as it was falling, and in it found seven nestlings. The seers at that time interpreted the sign as indicating that Marius would become most illustrious, and necessarily would hold the greatest command and rule seven times. Plutarch finds the story difficult to believe: although some said it really happened, he reports, others considered it “completely fabricated” (36.8–9, κομιδῆ μυθῶδες). The biographer records that the deniers cited the fact that eagles lay no more than two eggs at a time. Nevertheless, he concludes, Marius consistently asserted that he would attain a seventh consulship. Plutarch suggests, but does not insist, that this prophetic incident was manufactured by Marius purely to encourage himself and his entourage. In so doing, he also encourages his readers to question whether the earlier predictions before the battle of Aquae Sextiae were also falsified, to support Marius’ influence over his troops. Marius’ further adventures travelling to Africa and returning to Rome do not involve prophecy, except for Marius’ observation while fleeing Italy of two scorpions fighting, which he takes to be a bad omen (40.13). The reader thinks immediately of the struggle between Marius and Sulla, the background to the more immediate conflict in Rome between the consuls, Octavius and Cinna. Plutarch makes no comment, but passes rapidly to the situation in Rome. While Octavius and Cinna are at odds, Marius successfully returns to Italy and joins Cinna. Octavius, we learn, was in the thrall of “Chaldaeans, sacrificers, and interpreters of the Sibylline books” (42.7, Χαλδαῖοι καὶ θύται τινὲς καὶ σιβυλλισταὶ), who urged him to remain in Rome. Plutarch remarks that Octavius wished to respect the dignity of the consulship, but “spent more time with mendicant priests and seers than with statesmen and military men.” Trusting their advice, he stayed on, only to be ignominiously dragged by Marius’ agents from the rostra and butchered, holding in his toga a Chaldaean chart (42.7–8). Plutarch wryly comments, “It is very strange (πολλὴν ἀλογίαν εἶχε) that … Marius should succeed by paying attention to oracles (τὸ μὴ καταφρονῆσαι μαντικῆς),

Ad Brut. 1.5.3). Cf. T.R.S. Broughton, Magistrates of the Roman Republic, vol. 2 (New York: American Philological Society, 1952) 8.

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but Octavius be destroyed” (42.9). Or is Plutarch puzzled? How can we trust any divine signs, if they can have such different results? But the end was near for Marius as well. “As if there were a change in the wind” (ὥσπερ τροπαίας τινος ἀμειβούσης) messengers came announcing Sulla’s successes and his return to Italy (45.1). Still, Marius was elected consul VII, and immediately had a certain Sextus Lucinus thrown from the Tarpeian rock, “a tremendous sign of the evils awaiting Marius’ partisans and the city” (45.3). However, Marius, although he had achieved his ambition of a seventh consulship, was exhausted and fearful of Sulla’s return. In his last days, we are told on the authority of C. Piso, he reviewed his life’s experience of successes and reversals, and exclaimed “no one with any sense would trust himself again to fortune” (45.9, οὐκ ἔστι νοῦν ἔχοντος ἀνδρὸς ἔτι τῇ τύχῃ πιστεύειν ἑαυτόν).6 Another story, however, has him so deluded by his ambition, that he dreamed of having the command of the Mithridatic war: “… so fierce and unavoidable a love, stemming from envy and a passion for command (οὕτως δεινὸς … καὶ δυσπαραμύθητος ἐκ φιλαρχίας καὶ ζηλοτυπίας ἔρως), possessed him” (45.11). Despite his unparalleled successes, “he complained of his fortune (τύχην), and thought that he was dying needy, and without completing what he desired” (45.12). The prophecies to Marius had portended victory, but not that Nemesis would follow. In the end, Plutarch seems to suggest, the prophecies do not matter: we still do not know the end. Marius’ dream of the seventh consulship, encouraged by the omen of the eagle’s nest—whether true or fabricated—ended not in glory but in despair. His boundless ambition became a curse, not a blessing. As the incident of entering the senate house in triumphal garb had indicated, Marius did not know how to use his good fortune. These thoughts lead Plutarch to a meditation on fortune, tyche. The anecdotes of Plato and of Antipater of Tarsus point not only to acceptance of what fortune brings, but valuing its most basic gifts. For Plato, those gifts were being born a rational creature, a Greek, and a contemporary of Socrates. Antipater included among Fortune’s gifts even his easy voyage to Athens from Cilicia (46.1–2).7 The point is to be grateful for what fortune brings, and store it carefully in memory, so that we have a safe storehouse of all the good that we have experienced. To always hope for more, as Marius did, means that one neglects present goods, and casts oneself on an uncertain fortune. The wise man does 6 This C. Piso is not cited by Plutarch elsewhere, and is otherwise unknown. He presumably was a contemporary of Marius. 7 Plutarch greatly expands on this theme in De tranq. anim., and mentions Antipater’s words at 469D. Other comments of Plato on the same subject are found in the same work at 467A, 474E.

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not entrust himself to fortune, but rejoices in what he has. These thoughts render the question of prophecy moot: if one lives in the present, there is no advantage in knowing the future. In any case, we must learn to accept what fortune brings, and treasure those gifts which come to us. Marius in fact died only two weeks after assuming his seventh consulship: all the struggle of his later years had brought no good or satisfaction. In a final twist of fate, four years later his son was elected consul at 26, savaged his opponents at Rome with equal or greater brutality than his father, and finally committed suicide to avoid capture by Sulla.

Sulla: Prophecy as Confirmation In contrast to Marius’ biography, Plutarch’s Sulla traces its protagonist’s fortune from the very beginning. Prophecies become a means of recognizing Sulla’s good fortune by foreseeing his success in new endeavors. Plutarch highlights the constant role of fortune in Sulla’s life by noting in the very first chapter of the proem that wealthy aristocrats criticized him for “his undeserved good fortune” (1.3, παρ’ ἀξίαν εὐτυχεῖν). At the end of his life, fortune still accompanies him, when rain holds off until his remains could be gathered from the pyre, “so that his Fortune seems to be still with him, to help in burying his body” (38.5, ὥστε τὴν τύχην αὐτοῦ δοκεῖν τὸ σῶμα συνθάπτειν παραμένουσαν). Of the multiple references to Fortune (τύχη) in this life, I will pick out a few major references and try to draw their implications. While serving as propraetor in Cilicia in 92 BCE, Plutarch reports, Sulla met with Orobazus, a representative of the Parthian king Arsaces, the first time the two nations had come into contact. “This too seems to be a sign of Sulla’s enormous fortune” (5.8, τῆς μεγάλης … Σύλλα τύχης), Plutarch observes. Not much later, during the Social Wars, Sulla was remarkably successful, unlike Marius: his enemies preferred to think of him as extremely lucky (εὐτυχέστατος) rather than a skillful leader (6.4). This observation provokes a long discussion by Plutarch of Sulla’s good fortune. Unlike Timotheus of Athens, Sulla did not resist the attribution of his success to Fortune, but gloried in it, and even magnified Fortune’s role in his achievements. The biographer cites Sulla’s statement from his Memoirs, that he was more naturally prone to Fortune rather than war, and attributed to Fortune his success, making himself completely a product of the daimon (6.4–9). For two major battles, Plutarch records, Sulla particularly acknowledged his good fortune. In the first, he confronted and defeated Mithridates’ general Archelaus at Chaeronea, and ascribed his victory as much to good Fortune (εὐτυχίᾳ) as to his own skill and forces. On the trophy set up in Plutach’s home

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town, he inscribed the names of Mars, Victory, and Aphrodite, thinking that “he had won as much by good fortune (εὐτυχίᾳ) as by cleverness or military force” (19.9). The second battle was fought to win entrance into Rome against the Marian forces resisting him. On his return to Italy, Sulla received many signs of divine favor, but the story of his prayer before the battle of the Colline Gate stands out. Sulla’s troops on the left wing were hard pressed, and Sulla himself narrowly missed being struck by enemy spears (29.10). At this point Plutarch inserts a story that Sulla prayed to Apollo, a small gold statue of whom he carried with him on his campaigns. Sulla kissed the statue, and prayed (29.11– 12): Ὦ Πύθιε Ἄπολλον, τὸν Εὐτυχῆ Σύλλαν Κορνήλιον ἐν τοσούτοις ἀγῶσιν ἄρας λαμπρὸν καὶ μέγαν ἐνταῦθα ῥίψεις ἐπὶ θύρας τῆς πατρίδος ἀγαγών, αἴσχιστα τοῖς ἑαυτοῦ συναπολούμενον πολίταις; Pythian Apollo, Cornelius Sulla the Fortunate (τὸν Εὐτυχῆ Σύλλαν Κορνήλιον) you have rendered famous and great in so many battles, will you throw me down at the gates of my country after you have led me here, to die shamefully here with my fellow citizens? In fact, despite a defeat and heavy losses on his left wing, Sulla’s men won this final engagement and he was able to enter Rome. The god had not abandoned him. The story of Sulla’s prayer allows Plutarch to inform us that Sulla thought of himself, or wished to present himself, as “Sulla the Fortunate” τὸν Εὐτυχῆ Σύλλαν. Later, when presenting Sulla’s triumph in Rome, Plutarch gives more specifics. Sulla, speaking to the people in Rome of his successes, gave just as much importance to cases of good fortune (εὐτυχίας) as to bravery (ἀνδραγαθίας), and asked that he be awarded the surname Felix, or Fortunate (Εὐτυχῆ). Continuing the focus on Fortune, Plutarch notes that Sulla in his Greek letters would call himself Epaphroditus, or “Favorite of Aphrodite,” and that on the trophies at Chaeronea he had inscribed his name as “L. Cornelius Sulla Epaphroditus.” Not only that, but when his wife Metella gave birth to twins, he named the male child Faustus and the female Fausta, which, as Plutarch explains, in Latin meant ‘fortunate’ or ‘cheerful’ (34.3–5).8 8 Appian, Bellum Civile 1.97 (453), traces Sulla’s association of himself with Aphrodite to an oracle of Delphi. Cf. also Plu., De fort. Rom. 4.381CD and A. Casanova, “Fortuna e Carattere da Menandro a Plutarco. Con una nota testuale su alcuni citazioni di Menandro in Plutarco,” in F. Frazier & D.F. Leão (eds.), Tychè et pronoia, 239–249, at 244–245.

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So confident was Sulla in the support of Fortune that he decided to lay down his dictatorship and take the role of a private citizen, despite the hordes of men he had had slaughtered and the drastic changes he had made in the city (34.6). He was able to die a natural, if pitiful, death, and as has been noted, his Fortune continued even after his death, so that the rain threatening his funeral held off until the ceremonies were complete. Sulla truly deserved the cognomen Felix. Plutarch clearly accepts Sulla’s own perception and that of the Romans that he was immensely favored by Fortune. This despite the biographer’s frequent criticisms of his lifestyle and his political decisions, in particular his savagery against his political opponents. Plutarch does not admire Sulla, as is clear also from the comparative epilogue,9 but he respects his achievements. Does Plutarch believe that fate, fortune, or the divine was acting with some ulterior purpose, or is the notion of Sulla’s fortune simply a way of stating that he was successful in war and politics?

Predictions and Omens in Sulla Alongside the references to Sulla’s good fortune, the Life includes many examples of omens and predictions of his success. Early on, there was a report (ἱστορεῖται) that at the time of his meeting with the Parthian Orobazus a Chaldean seer (τις ἀνὴρ … Χαλδαῖος), after examining Sulla carefully, had declared that he would become extremely powerful (μέγιστον), and was surprised that he could endure not being first (5.11). After discussing Sulla’s good fortune in the following chapter, Plutarch concludes his overview with a report by Sulla himself, in his Memoirs, that during the Social War a great chasm opened, with flames shooting forth, which Sulla took to be a good omen for himself. In fact, he saw himself as destined, according to the interpretation of the seers, to be that brave man who would take power and free the city of its present troubles (6.12–13). Troubles for the city in fact began when Marius decided to oppose Sulla for command of the war against Mithridates. In fact, a series of omens warned (7.3, ὡς καὶ τὸ δαιμόνιον αὐτοῖς προεσήμηνε) of the dangers that would follow for Rome, especially a long eerie trumpet blast that Etruscan experts predicted heralded a new age (7.4–13). These omens predicted the civil war which would bring so many troubles for Rome, and are not directly related to Sulla’s own fortune. However, after Marius and Sulpicius gained control of Rome and

9 Cf. T. Duff, Plutarch’s Lives (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999) 200–204.

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directly opposed Sulla, Sulla’s decision to march against Rome was determined by omens. First the seer (μάντις) Postumius made a firm prediction, based on the sacrifices, that Sulla would succeed, then it was reported that Sulla himself had a dream in which he was visited by the goddess Bellona, who gave him a thunderbolt to strike his enemies. Thus encouraged, he moved against Marius and soon drove him from the city (9.6–8). Having temporarily disposed of Marius, Sulla set out against Mithridates, who had become distressed, it was said, by unfavorable omens (δαιμόνια), including a statue of Victory that fell, almost hitting him (11.1–2). Once arrived in Greece, Sulla needed immense sums of money, and so requisitioned the god’s treasure from Delphi. The Delphians attempted to dissuade him, saying that they could hear the god striking his lyre inside the shrine, no doubt expressing his displeasure. Sulla’s reply indicated that he felt confident in his relationship with the god: singing was a sign of pleasure, not anger, and Apollo would be happy to let him have the treasures (12.5–8). Of course Plutarch is scandalized by this behavior, and contrasts it with that of other Roman generals, while admitting that circumstances had changed at Rome (12.9–14). However that may be, Apollo took no action, and Sulla’s success continued. “From Lebedaia and the oracle of Trophonius,” Plutarch notes a few chapters later, “came favorable voices and oracles predicting victory (φῆμαί τε χρησταὶ καὶ νικηφόρα μαντεύματα)—the inhabitants of the territory say much about them” (17.1). These oracles preceded the battle of Chaeronea, as did other reports from Q. Titus and Salvenius mentioned by Sulla in his Memoirs (17.4). Sulla’s sacrifices before moving to Chaeronea were favorable (17.6, τῶν ἱερῶν γενομένων). Sulla won the battle, and as I have noted, he asserted on his dedications that he succeeded no less by fortune than skill (19.9). Sometime after his victory at Chaeronea, Sulla prepared to return to Italy. Plutarch reports the strange story that, while at Dyrrhachium, his soldiers captured a satyr. This strange creature, half man and half beast, would seem to be an omen of some sort, but neither Sulla nor Plutarch explain it (27.3). However, a series of other omens promise Sulla good fortune in his Italian campaign (27.6, 7–14, ἐκδηλότατα τοῦ θεοῦ τὰς εὐτυχίας προσημαίνοντος αὐτῷ), as Sulla himself recorded. Sulla also reported an encouraging dream before he engaged successfully with the younger Marius (28.7–8). In his vision, the elder Marius, now long dead, had warned his son to beware of the next day, because it would bring great misfortune (δυστυχίαν). However, the day brought heavy rain, and Sulla was about to postpone the battle, until the younger Marius attacked, with the intention of scattering Sulla’s troops. “This is when the divine spirit (ὁ δαίμων) fulfilled the statement of the dream”: Sulla’s tired men turned against those of Marius and routed them, forcing him to flee to Praeneste (28.11–12).

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Sulla then was able to march on Rome and establish his dictatorship there, as we have seen, thanks to his good fortune. The final chapters of the Life of Sulla, describing the marriage to Valeria, who said that she “wanted to have a bit of your good fortune for myself”; (35.8, βούλομαι τῆς σῆς κἀγὼ μικρὸν εὐτυχίας μεταλαβεῖν), his debauchery with Metrobius and other actors, and his disgusting sickness, do not suggest a fortunate end to the reader. And yet, Sulla in his final days wrote in his Memoirs that the Chaldaean seers had predicted that after a fine life (βεβιωκότα καλῶς) he would die at the acme of his good fortune (ἐν ἀκμῇ τῶν εὐτυχημάτων, 37.2).

Conclusion In Plutarch’s Life of Sulla, omens seem to foreshadow the protagonist’s good fortune, but to operate separately from it. The divine powers simply make known through these presages the success that will follow for Sulla. In the Life of Marius, on the other hand, Marius himself seems to have used Martha’s prophecies and other signs to support his own plans. Plutarch seems dubious about the authenticity of Martha’s gifts, and even more so of the eagle’s nest omen which Marius cited as an indication that he should attempt to win a seventh consulship. Plutarch’s own attitude toward the omens and prophecies seems to be that it is necessary to see the outcome before deciding on their truth. The gods send true signs and oracles. If there are signs and utterances which purport to come from the gods, but are not fulfilled, then they are not from the gods. Octavius trusted in Chaldaean prophecies, which turned out to be false, so that their purveyors could be recognized as charlatans. The prophecies given to Marius were dubious, but his victories over the Cimbri were essential to Rome’s continued success. However, his return to Rome and his seventh consulship, in Plutarch’s mind, were an unmitigated disaster. On the other hand, Plutarch does not challenge any of the omens recorded in the Life of Sulla. Rather, he speaks of how Sulla in the beginning used his good Fortune well (30.6): Σύλλας δὲ μετρίως τὰ πρῶτα καὶ πολιτικῶς ὁμιλήσας τῇ τύχῃ καὶ δόξαν ἀριστοκρατικοῦ καὶ δημωφελοῦς ἡγεμόνος παρασχών, ἔτι δὲ καὶ φιλόγελως ἐκ νέου γενόμενος καὶ πρὸς οἶκτον ὑγρὸς ὥστε ῥᾳδίως ἐπιδακρύειν Sulla at first used his relationship with Fortune moderately and civilly (μετρίως τὰ πρῶτα καὶ πολιτικῶς ὁμιλήσας τῇ τύχῃ) and won the reputation of being a leader who followed noble principles while caring for

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the people (ἀριστοκρατικοῦ καὶ δημωφελοῦς ἡγεμόνος). Besides, he was good-humored from his youth and responsive to pity, so that he often cried. Plutarch suggests that the dictator might have been twisted by his great power and the vicious opposition of his enemies to act badly, but leaves this difficult question for another time (30.7). In any case, even when Sulla used his Fortune, and the power that it brought, in a disastrous manner, it stayed with him until the end. The reader is left wondering whether the gods had intended Sulla to succeed in the way he did, saving Rome from Mithridates, but viciously slaughtering his enemies at Rome, or whether somehow the one outcome was necessarily tied to the other. Finally, was Sulla’s fortune also that of Rome and of Greece? That would imply that the empire, and Greece’s role in it, was part of a divine plan. Plutarch refrains from giving a firm statement in the Lives of Marius and Sulla, while recognizing that the two men were essential contributors to the world as he knew it.

Bibliography Broughton, T.R.S., Magistrates of the Roman Republic (New York: American Philological Association, 1952) vol. II. Buszard, B., “Caesar’s Ambition: a Combined Reading of Plutarch’s Alexander-Caesar and Pyrrhus-Marius,” TAPA 138 (2008) 185–215. Casanova, A., “Fortuna e Carattere da Menandro a Plutarco. Con una nota testuale su alcuni citazioni di Menandro in Plutarco,” in F. Frazier & D.F. Leão (eds.), Tychè et pronoia. La marche du monde selon Plutarque (Coimbra: Coimbra University Press, 2010) 239–249. Duff, T., Plutarch’s Lives. Exploring Virtue and Vice (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999). Frazier, F. and Leão, D.F. (eds.), Tychè et pronoia. La marche du monde selon Plutarque (Coimbra and Paris: 2010). Frazier, F., “La marche du monde et les incertitudes de la Tychè,” in F. Frazier & D.F. Leão (eds.), Tychè et pronoia. La marche du monde selon Plutarque (Coimbra University Press, 2010). Keaveney, A., “Sulla and the Gods,” in C. Deroux (ed.), Studies in Latin Literature and Roman History vol. 3 (Brussels: Latomus, 1983), 44–79. Roig Lanzillotta, L., (ed.), Frederick E. Brenk on Plutarch. Religious Thinker and Biographer (Leiden: Brill, 2017). Simonetti, E.G., A Perfect Medium? Oracular Divination in the Thought of Plutarch (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2017).

part 2 Moralia

∵

chapter 8

The μεταβολή of the Soul (Frags. 177–178 Sandbach) Paola Volpe

Not to be born at all Is best, far best that can befall, Next best, when born, with least delay To trace the backward way Sophocles, Oedipus at Colonus 1224–1227

∵ In the fragments 1–2 Tyrwhitt, Plutarch addressed two interdependent questions: in the first one he asked “if desire and grief are affections of the body or affections of the soul,” and in the second “whether affections were a part or a faculty of human soul.” Concerning the first question, Plutarch, in his discourse on affections, recalls Democritus, who attributes all unhappiness to the soul because it destroys and weakens certain parts of the body and ruins other parts, tearing them with the desire for pleasures (B 159 Diels Kranz), and Theophrastus, who, instead, underlines how the soul is locked up in a heavy prison, mistakenly held responsible for the ills of the body.1 Straton, the Physicus, sees not only the insurgence of desires and pleasures in the soul, but also of pains, fears, envy, joy for the misfortune of others, anguish, sufferings and every sensation in general (fr. 111 Wehrli). On the other hand, Posidonius’ concept (SVF 3.439) seems to be more reasoned as he distinguishes the afflictions of the body (excessive fevers, cold chills) from those of the soul (desires, fears, anger outbursts). He moreover includes those which, although belonging to the body, are connected with the soul and others which, although belonging to the soul, are connected to the body.2

1 Cf. Porph., Abst. 4.20.266 Nauck, and Plu., De tuenda 135E. 2 The attribution of this fragment to Posidonius is much debated. In fact this text (Plu. De virt.

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Diodotus, the Stoic, for whom it is impossible to seek the boundaries of the soul and the body, opposed this division because nature itself created that connection which only death can undo: it is the conception of those who, considering human being as a unity of body and soul, attribute every affection and every behavior to it. In fact, “it is the man who feels pleasure and grief and fear (…) it is not the body that throws or dances or walks about, but the man.” In this way, evil belongs exclusively to human being, not to the soul, whose nature is characterized by “not the exercise of unreason,” but also possesses the potential “for exercising unreason.”3 Therefore, the soul is potentially capable of living and reasoning at the same time; if, however, some element prevents the soul from performing its own activity, or reasoning, it will be imprisoned in the body that hosts it, losing its freedom. The soul, which thus turns out to be passive, however, returns to its primordial nature when it moves away from the body and reconquers what Plato calls immortality.4 “For if the belief in immortality is of remote antiquity,”—says Patrocleas to Timon in fr. 177 (Stobaeus, 1.5)—“how can the dread of death be the oldest of all fears?” This question already seemed to have been answered by Seneca in Ep. 1.4.3– 6 and 4.30.10–11, where one understands that the fear of death is transformed into μελήτη θανάτου, since it is rather life that should be despised, the life that one must—if wise—always be ready to abandon.5 The wise man, in fact, should not fear death because, if he has conquered the tranquility of the soul, life is so gratifying that, when faced with the end, he has no regrets. The world in which he is introduced through birth is “a most holy and worthy temple of a god,”6 in which he contemplates the sensorial representations of the intelligible essences that he will have to interpret.7 Life, which is a full “initiation” into the mysteries that exist in the world, is in the hands of those who gave it fullness of meaning, of those who knew how to enjoy the sound of musical instruments and the song of birds and of those who enjoyed the animals with their playful

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mor. 449AB) is not included in Posidonius’ fragments by either Edelstein-Kidd or Vimercati. In Theiler’s collection of fragments, it appears as an “Anhang” (F 441 D). Cf. Aristot., An. 412A22–27. Pl., Phaed. 65BC “Only by forgetting the body, by being separated from it can it acquire wisdom (φρόνησις), can it come into contact with the truth (τῆς αληθείας ἅπτεται), can reason (λογίζεσθαι), can see the ideas, which are not seen with the eyes of body but with only thought.” Cf. G. Casertano, Morte. Dai presocratici a Platone (Naples: Guida, 2003) 56– 57. Cf. Pl., Phaed. 67E: “Life has been given to man on condition that it ends with death.” My translation. Pl., Tim. 92C. Cf. Sen. Tranq. an. 20.

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games. For those who can adapt to the present, joyfully remember the past and point towards the future without fear, death will appear only as the dramatic, however natural, conclusion of a journey that subjects every phase of life to constant change.8 The philosopher will therefore be unafraid of death because he will only be aware that “his passing will mark the transition to a better condition of life ⟨and⟩ in this non-fear of death will seem to possess a small part of tranquility in the comparisons of life,”9 knowing that even when confronted with a painful surprise “the port is near and you can get out of the body by swimming as from a raft that makes water.”10 The unwise, on the contrary, will grip onto life and one’s body, similarly to Odysseus clinging to the rock, terrified by Charybdis (Od. 12.413ff.), disgusted by a life of vicissitudes and torments, terrified in the face of death. Timon, adhering to a more strictly philosophical conceptualization, confirms that in expressions such as ‘a man has passed away’ (μετηλλαχέναι) and also ‘departed’ (μεθίστασθαι) is an intrinsic need to be unafraid of death, because it is no more than “a change or a transition.” It is the etymology of the word θάνατος which explains how and where this μεταβολή11 or ‘transformation’ occurs: the transfixed goes neither underground nor below, but rises and flies upwards (ἄνω) and “hence it is reasonable to believe that the soul when expired by the body, shoots forth and races upwards, as if at the release of a spring, and itself draws breath and is revivified.”12 His ἀπαλλαγή or ‘deliverance’ is the beginning of a rebirth.13 It is also true that the body necessarily dies if there was a birth (γένεσις),14 which is nothing more than an inclination towards the earth (νεῦσιν ἐπὶ γήν), which marks the beginning of labors and torments. Thus, if being born means to suffer, dying is the liberation from the body that is δέμας, because the soul is unnaturally imprisoned in there (δεδεμένη).15 Thus, “to this forced (βία) impris-

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M. Zani, Plutarco (Milan: Riza, 2007) 146–147. Sen., Tranq. An. 18. The text was translated by me. Sen., Tranq. An. 17. The text was translated by me. For the μεταβολή and μετακόσμησις cf. fr. 200 Sandbach (Stobaeus 1.44.60 = 1.445 Wachsmuth). Cf. Cic., Tusc. 1.53, citing Pl., Phaedr. 245C–E, recalls the demonstration of Socrates according to whom what moves is eternal and that, which never ceases to move, is the source or the very principle of movement. Casertano, Morte, 54. Casertano, Morte, 36: “C’è morte perché c’è nascita; γένεσις è l’inizio di una storia individuale, θάνατος segnala la sua fine.” Cf. Pl., Crat. 400C.

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onment they have by a change of termination given the name life (βίος), a parallel, I believe, is Homer’s use of the word hesperos for hespera (evening) [Od. 1.423]. And so in contrast to the name ‘life’ stands the phrase ‘going to rest’, used for the dying man, as he escapes from the grievous and unnatural constraint of living.”16 “The human soul—writes Lucius Seneca (Ep. 17–18.102.21)—is a great and noble thing; it permits of no limits except those which can be shared even by the gods. First of all, it does not consent to a lowly birthplace (…) The soul’s homeland is the whole space that encircles the height and breadth of the firmament, the whole rounded dome within which lie land and sea, within which the upper air that sunders the human from the divine.” The soul, therefore, that is dead (ὁλωλέναι)—as we read in fr. 178 Sand. (Stob. 4.52.49 = V1089 Hense), that is, pierced because of its change and transformation εἰς τὸ ὅλον, is on earth in a state of ignorance except when it is on the verge of death, when it begins to acquire that “conoscenza suprema, ossia ⟨quel⟩ sapere relativo alle idee (e ai principi) ⟨che⟩ avvicina l’uomo alla divinità e lo trasforma in un essere immortale.”17 And it is precisely at the moment of death in which the soul lives an experience similar to that undergone by the initiates of the great mysteries. It is exactly for this reason that the verb ‘to die’ (τελευτᾶν) is similar to the verb ‘to be initiated’ (τελείσθαι). At the beginning it is a drifting, a frantic wandering, a suspicious and endless advance in the darkness, then before the completion of the initiatory rite all kinds of terrors, thrills, tremors, sweats and bewilderment pile up; but subsequently a wonderful light appears and open pure places and beautiful meadows come to the fore, with voices, dances, the solemn majesty of sacred music and holy visions.18 It is here that the one who has completed the rite and is now fully initiated walks freely and without obstacles, with a crown on his head celebrating the sacred rites and enjoying the company of holy and pure men, turning his gaze down here to the uninitiated and impure mass of the

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English Translation by F.H. Sandbach. See Casertano, Morte, 69: “Sarà vivo l’uomo quando la sua anima e il suo corpo sono uniti, morto quando si separano. ⟨E allora⟩ si vede subito che questo senso di vita e di morte può essere applicato all’uomo, ma non alla sua anima, e nemmeno al suo corpo separatamente presi.” F. Ferrari, “L’incantesimo del Trace. Zalmoxis, la terapia dell’anima e l’immortalità nel ‘Carmide’ di Platone,” in M. Taufer (ed.), Sguardi interdisciplinari sulla religiosità dei GetoDaci (Freiburg—Berlin—Wien: Rombach, Paradeigmata 23, 2013) 21–41, at 35: “supreme knowledge, i.e. ⟨that⟩ knowing about ideas (and principles) ⟨that⟩ brings man closer to divinity and transforms him into an immortal being.” For the music of the spheres cf. Pl., Rp. 10, 14; Plu., Quaest. conv. 746.

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living, who are piled up and trample on each other in the mud and the soot, but remain bound, in their fear of death, to their ills because they have no faith in the benefits of the afterlife.19 The fact that the union of body and soul is against nature, however, is deducible from the experience of sleep that extinguishes the perception of all pain and dominates even the most violent of appetites.20 “In separating, so far as possible, the soul from the body and teaching the soul the habit of collecting and bringing itself together from all parts of the body, and living, so far as it can (…) and hereafter, alone by itself, freed from the body as from fetters,” and also the pleasure of learning, of talking and of philosophizing. Plutarch had already turned his attention to the difference between sleep and death from the perspective of some ancient philosophers in the Placita philosophorum 5.23–25. Alcmaeon was the first to offer a unified explanation: “that sleep is caused when the blood retreats to the concourse of the veins, but when the blood diffuses itself, then we awake; and when there is a total retirement of the blood, then men die.”21 Other explanations are provided by Empedocles according to whom a “moderate cooling of the blood caused sleep, but a total removal of heat from blood caused death,”22 or Diogenes of Apollonia, who explained the two phenomena in a unitary fashion: “when all the blood is so diffused as that it fills all the veins, and forces the air contained in them to the back and to the belly that is below it, the breast being thereby more heated, thence sleep arises; but if everything that is airy in the breast forsakes the veins, then death succeeds.”23 Anaxagoras further distinguishes sleep from death because while the activity of the body is interrupted during sleep, that of the soul is not. In death, the separation of the body from the soul, θάνατος, is for one and the other. Plato attributed a partly cognitive and partly eschatological value to sleep and to that semblance of annihilation that man lives through during his nights. Returning to Hesiod’s image of sleep being the brother of death, he makes his Socrates say: “⟨and if it is⟩ like a sleep in which the sleeper does not

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20 21 22 23

Cf. Pl., Rp. 614A–621D (myth of Er); Plu., De sera num. 563B (myth of Tespesius); Plu., De genio Socr. 589F–592F (Timarchus). Cf. Aristot., fr. 14 Ross; Cic., Leg. 2.14.36; W. Burkert, “Religiosità personale e teologia filosofica,” in I. Gallo (ed.), Plutarco e la religione. Atti del VI Convegno plutarcheo (Ravello, 29–31 maggio 1995) (Naples: M. D’Auria, 1996) 11–28, 16; A. De Pace, La scepsi, il sapere è l’anima. Dissonanze nella cerchia laurenziana (Milano: LED Edizioni Universitarie, 2002) 66 ff. Cf. Pl., Phaed. 67CD. Cf. Diog., Aët. 5.24.1 = A 18 D-K. Cf. Diog., Aët. 5.24.2 = A 85 D-K. Cf. Diog., Aët. 5.24.3 = A 29 D-K.

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even dream, death would be a wonderful gain” (Apologia 40D).24 But if sleep is the most pleasant of sensations because during it “turn(s) aside each into a world of his own”25 and the tension that binds the soul to the body is loosened,26 “why—asks Patrocleas—is it that we feel no discomfort or pain when we awake?” To clarify everything, Timon resorts to some examples: the head feels relief when it is shaved but does not perceive the weight if it has long hair, just like a light which is suddenly brought to a symposium is pleasurable although the darkness did not cause any disturbance. There is only one explanation to this: “gradual change accustomed and habituated the seat of sensation to an unnatural condition, so that it did not feel any natural discomfort at what it was enduring, but on being freed and reverting to nature it immediately recognizes the previous burdensome presence of what was alien alongside what was natural, and painful feeling alongside what was pleasurable.” In the same way the soul does not appear oppressed by the unnatural association with the body, but feels a sense of relief when it is freed from that prison. Sleep gives it a short escape but it is in death that the soul can abandon its chains, even if it is uncertain of what awaits it. Its true prison is therefore uncertainty, if the soul had faith in what “there awaits men when they die”27 it would not be held back.28

Bibliography Burkert, W., “Religiosità personale e teologia filosofica,” in I. Gallo (ed.), Plutarco e la religione. Atti del VI Convegno plutarcheo (Ravello, 29–31 maggio 1995) (Naples: M. D’Auria, 1996) 11–28. Casertano, G., Morte. Dai presocratici a Platone (Naples: Guida, 2003). De Pace, A., La scepsi, il sapere è l’anima. Dissonanze nella cerchia laurenziana (Milan: LED Edizioni Universitarie, 2002).

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25 26 27 28

F. Ferrari, “L’incantesimo del Trace,” 21-41 Cf. G. Guidorizzi, “Intersezioni. Sonno e veglia,” Sfera 2 (1989) 5–13. Cf. moreover L. Repici, Aristotele. Il sonno e i sogni (Venice: Marsilio, 2015). Heraclit. B 89 D-K, cited also in Plu., De sup. 166C. Cf. Aristot. fr. 10B Ross. Heraclit. B 27 D-K: ἀνθρώπους μένει ἀποθανόντας ἅσσα οὐκ ἔλπονται οὐδὲ δοκέουσιν. Cf. Pl., Crat. 403A–404A. Socrates explains to Hermogenes that no one would want to return to Earth after having been charmed by the words of Hades who is also the dispenser of numerous gifts from which the name Pluto is derived.

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Ferrari, F., “L’incantesimo del Trace. Zalmoxis, la terapia dell’anima e l’immortalità nel ‘Carmide’ di Platone,” in M. Taufer (ed.), Sguardi interdisciplinari sulla religiosità dei Geto-Daci (Freiburg—Berlin—Wien: Rombach, Paradeigmata 23, 2013) 21–41. Guidorizzi, G., “Intersezioni. Sonno e veglia,” Sfera 2 (1989) 5–13. Repici, L., Aristotele. Il sonno e i sogni (Venice: Marsilio, 2015). Zani, M., Plutarco (Milan: Riza, 2007).

chapter 9

The Virtues and the Intelligence of Animals in Plutarch Francesco Becchi

Bruta animalia ratione uti The Bruta animalia ratione uti or Gryllus—which Ziegler numbers amongst the writings on animal psychology and Babut among the anti-Stoic polemics–1 is a zestful but only apparently humorous or comic2 dialogue in which the intellectual from Chaeronea compares the way of life of animals with that of humans to reveal the moral superiority of the former.3 An unicum amongst the works of Plutarch, this high-spirited dialogue4 pits Gryllos, a Greek transformed by Circe into a pig, the animal that occupies the lowest rung in the hierarchy of animate creatures,5 against Odysseus, the canniest and most intelligent of men (ὁ

1 Cf. D. Babut, Plutarque et le Stoïcisme (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1969) 62: “Bien que les Stoïciens n’apparaissent pas directement dans le Bruta ratione uti et que leur doctrine n’ y soit pas expressément désignée comme celle qui vise l’auteur, le dialogue doit être rangé sans hésitation parmi les écrits de polémique antistoïcienne.” 2 Cf. P. Li Causi & R. Pomelli, L’anima degli animali (Torino: Einaudi, 2015) 196. I do not, however, share the judgement of J. Bouffartigue, Plutarque, Oeuvres Morales. Tome XIV Ire partie. Traité 63. L’intelligence des animaux (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2012) XXVI: “Les données du Gryllos sont inexploitables à l’ état brut dans une recherche sur les conceptions de Plutarque en matière de psychologie animale, car le registre de ce dialogue est paradoxal et humoristique.” 3 Also in light of the title of the dialogue, I would speak of an ethical, rather than intellectual, superiority of beasts, endowed though they are of superior intuition (Gryllus 992A περιουσίᾳ συνέσεως). 4 Cf. G. Indelli, Plutarco, Le bestie sono esseri razionali (Naples: M. d’Auria, 1995) 7. 5 The pig, whose soul was bestowed only in order to save its body from putrefaction and thus satisfy human gluttony, is noted not so much for its distance from the human way of life (see O. Longo, “Introduzione,” in A. Zinato, Plutarco, Le virtù degli animali (Venezia: Marsilio, 1995) 9), as because, together with fish, it occupies the bottom rung in the hierarchy of living beings: see Porph., Abst. 1.14.3 (⟨ὗς⟩ μέντοι ἐσθίουσιν ὡς ταὐτοῦ γένους τοῖς ἀγρίοις τὸ ἥμερον· … οὐδὲ γάρ ἐστι χρήσιμον πρὸς ἄλλο τι ὗς ἢ πρὸς βρῶσιν); 3.20.1 (ἡ δὲ ὗς—ἐνταῦθα γάρ ἐστι τῶν χαρίτων τὸ ἥδιστον—οὐ δι’ ἄλλο τι πλὴν θύεσθαι ἐγεγόνει, καὶ τῇ σαρκὶ τὴν ψυχὴν ὁ θεὸς οἷον ἅλας ἐνέμιξεν, εὐοψίαν ἡμῖν μηχανώμενος); SVF 1.516 = Cl. Alex., Strom. 7.6.33; 2.723 = Cic., fin. 5.13.38 ut non inscite illud dictum videatur in sue, animum illi pecudi datum pro sale, ne putisceret; 1154 = Cic.,

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φρονιμώτατος ἀνθρώπων).6 Each of its two parts deals with a particular theme. In the first part (985D–991D) the protagonist, who speaks for his fellow bestialized companions, upholds with his rhetorically sophisticizing discourse7 the paradoxical assertion of an innate aptitude of beasts for virtue,8 while in Man, the rational being par excellence, virtue is reduced to a rational calculation driven by conventions and false opinions propagated by the education to social life.9 In the second part (991D–992E) the same Gryllos defends the thesis of a rationality (ἡ τῶν θηρίων φρόνησις) in which all beasts, sheep and donkeys included, share by nature (πᾶσι τοῖς ζῴοις λόγου μέτεστι), though in degrees differing according to species.10 The moral superiority of beasts springs from the fact that they—anchored as they are to the most important and wisest of first principles (εἰς τὴν κυριωτάτην καὶ σοφωτάτην ἀρχὴν ἀναφέρεις), nature, which they follow as their master—manifest a natural aptitude for the moral virtues, because they possess a soul that will not be influenced or corrupted by those unnatural and unnecessary affections that penetrate humans from without (πάθη ἐπείσακτα) through empty opinion born of ignorance of what is good (δι’ ἀπειροκαλίαν).11 In humans, indeed, whose very nature as ‘rational’ (λογικός) beings brings them

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nat. deor. 2.64.160 Sus vero quid habet praeter escam; cui quidem ne putesceret animam ipsam pro sale datam dicit esse Chrysippus. Gryllus 987A; 987C (τῷ σοφωτάτῳ τῶν ἀνθρώπων), but cf. ibid. 986D μάτην ἄρα δεινὸς ἐλέγου καὶ τῷ φρονεῖν πολὺ τῶν ἄλλων ἀνθρώπων ἐδόκεις διαφέρειν. Gryllus 988E … ὦ Γρύλλε, δεινός μοι δοκεῖς γεγονέναι σοφιστής. Gryllus 987F (οἷς δὴ μάλιστα δῆλον ὅτι τὰ θηρία πρὸς τὸ θαρρεῖν εὖ πέφυκε); 992E. On the natural aptitude for virtue of the beasts, see now also J.-F. Lhermitte, L’animal vertueux dans la philosophie antique à l’ époque impériale (Paris: Classiques Garnier, 2015) 235: “Selon Plutarque, les vertus animales sont spontanées: elles résultent non de l’apprivoisement, mais d’ un ‘don naturel’.” Gryllus 988B: ἐκ τούτων γε δῆλόν ἐστιν, ὅτι τοῖς ἀνδράσιν οὐ φύσει μέτεστι τῆς ἀνδρείᾳς· ὥσθ’ ὑμεῖς … οὐχ ἑκούσιον οὐδὲ βουλομένην ἀλλὰ δουλεύουσαν ἔθεσι καὶ ψόγοις καὶ δόξαις ἐπήλυσι καὶ λόγοις πλανωμένοις μελετᾶτε ἀνδρείαν. Gryllus 991DE; 992CD (μάλιστα δεῖ τεκμαίρεσθαι τὴν τῶν θηρίων φύσιν, ὡς λόγου καὶ συνέσεως οὐκ ἔστιν ἄμοιρος); De soll. an. 962C (λόγος μὲν γὰρ ἐγγίγνεται φύσει, σπουδαῖος δὲ λόγος καὶ τέλειος ἐξ ἐπιμελείας καὶ διδασκαλίας· διὸ τοῦ λογικοῦ πᾶσι τοῖς ἐμψύχοις μέτεστι), 964A, 966B: οἱ φιλόσοφοι δεικνύουσι τὸ μετέχειν λόγου τὰ ζῷα. On the natural superiority of beasts, see De am. prol. 493D (μὴ θαυμάζωμεν, εἰ τὰ ἄλογα ζῷα τῶν λογικῶν μᾶλλον ἕπεται τῇ φύσει); Gryllus 987B (ἤδη οὖν ὁμολογεῖς τὴν τῶν θηρίων ψυχὴν εὐφυεστέραν εἶναι πρὸς γένεσιν ἀρετῆς καὶ τελειοτέραν); 991F–992A; De soll. an. 962D (οἱ μὲν τὰ χερσαῖά φασιν οἱ δὲ θαλάσσια μᾶλλον προῆχθαι φύσει πρὸς ἀρετήν); Lhermitte, L’animal vertueux, 253: “En somme, les animaux sont vertueux parce qu’ils sont naturellement portés à désirer la vertu. Ce n’est donc pas la vertu animale qui est naturelle, mais plus exactement l’ inclination des animaux à la vertu (ἀρετή).” On the ἀνθρωπίνη κακία, see De am. prol. 493B.

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into contact with many false opinions and prejudices, nature has been corrupted and has forfeited, like the perfumer’s oil, its own essence,12 thus becoming, by force of habit, a second nature, “the nature of what is contrary to nature” (τὸ ἔθος τρόπον τινὰ φύσις τοῦ παρὰ φύσιν γέγονεν).13 To the sages of Stoicism (οἱ σοφισταί),14 then, who deny animals the practice of virtue, Plutarch replies polemically, presenting the innate aptitude for the moral virtues that makes them superior to human beings, in whom, with their souls deprived of the connatural instrument (τὸ σύμφυτον … ὅπλον) of passion, even virtue seems to have lost its natural force.15 The list of the virtues for which animals exhibit a natural predisposition opens in the Gryllus, as in the De sollertia animalium,16 with that of ἀνδρεία. Gryllos shows his interlocutor that courage, of which he is proud, is neither innate to Man nor founded on true strength (πρὸς ἀληθινῆς ἀλκῆς);17 because it is really made up of deception, trickery and machinations,18 it proves, rather, to be prudent cowardice (δειλία φρόνιμος)19 and should be called by its true name, knavery (πανουργία).20 In drawing a distinction between the natural courage of beasts founded on θυμός and the unnatural courage of Man, as slave to false opinions and empty judgements,21 Plutarch illustrates the natural aptitude of beasts for audacity citing the domestication to which humans subject them22

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De am. prol. 493CD. De tuenda 131D–132A; De soll. an. 960A: ἡ γὰρ συνήθεια δεινὴ τοῖς κατὰ μικρὸν ἐνοικουμένοις πάθεσι πόρρω προαγαγεῖν τὸν ἄνθρωπον. On the impossibility of being immune to error because of habit (διὰ τὴν συνήθειαν τὸ ἀναμάρτητον), cf. De esu 996B (μᾶλλον … τῶν παρὰ συνήθειαν ἢ τῶν παρὰ φύσιν αἰσθανόμεθα); 2.996DE. Gryllus 992C: θαυμάζω τοὺς λόγους ἐκείνους, οἷς ἀνεπειθόμην ὑπὸ τῶν σοφιστῶν ἄλογα καὶ ἀνόητα πάντα πλὴν ἀνθρώπου νομίζειν. Gryllus 988B; 988DE. De soll. an. 966B: ἐμφάσεις ἀρετῆς, οἷον ἀνδρείας κοινωνίας ἐγκράτειας μεγαλοφροσύνης. Gryllus 987C; 988B (cit.). Gryllus 987C. Gryllus 988C. On this subject, see A. Billault, “Le modèle animal dans le traité de Plutarque Περὶ τοῦ τὰ ἄλογα λόγῳ χρῆσθαι,” in J. Boulogne (ed.), Les Grecs et les animaux. Le cas remarquable de Plutarque (Lille: Université Charles de Gaulle—Lille 3, 2005) 39: “Mais, dans Les bêtes privées de raison ont l’ usage de la raison, cette pureté de la nature que les animaux sont censés conserver est sans cesse opposée aux calculs, aux artifices et à l’intempérance contre nature des hommes.” Gryllus 987C. Gryllus 986E; 988B; 989E. The reference is to the Stoic and Chrysippean panlogism that ultimately deprived mankind of a natural component, the passions, which constitute the weapon conferred by nature and the engine of virtuous action, thus reducing virtue to a mental judgement. Gryllus 987E.

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to then arrive at the evident conclusion that “beasts have an innate predisposition to audacity while in humans “frankness” is actually against nature” (οἷς δὴ μάλιστα δῆλον ὅτι τὰ θηρία πρὸς τὸ θαρρεῖν εὖ πέφυκε. τοῖς δὲ ἀνθρώποις ἡ παρρησία καὶ παρὰ φύσιν ἐστίν).23 The concluding words of this section have disturbed scholars with the unexpected mention of παρρησία, which is ill-suited to a context polarized on the subject of courage but also with the copulative conjunction (καὶ παρὰ φύσιν), which is difficult to justify. This problem seems not to have escaped the notice even of the Humanist commentators who interpret this text, on which the manuscript tradition is in agreement, and who eliminate ἡ παρρησία, making fortitudo the subject of both propositions (Antonio Cassarino)24 or retain the term with the most diverse of its meanings: fiducia (Lampugnino Birago);25 libertas (Giovanni Regio);26 la hardiesse et la franchise de parler (Jacques Amyot);27 or confidentia (Wilhelm Holtzman sive Xylander).28 Beginning with Stephanus,29 who adopts the version of Xylander, publishers print the passage as uniformly presented in the manuscripts. The one exception is Hubert’s Teubner edition,30 which, noting

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Gryllus 987F. For the superiority of beasts in the virtue of courage, see Ael., NA 6.1. Plutarchi, Quod bruta ratione non careant (Ms. Vat. Lat. 3349, ca. 1445): “quibus vel maxime perspicuum est fortitudinem animalibus a natu, hominibus autem praeter naturam adesse idque facile hinc erit existimatu.” Plutarchi, An utantur ratione irrationalia (Ms. Vat. Lat. 1887; Ms. 1354 Biblioteca Angelica, Roma): “quibus quidem maxime clarum est quod feris ingenitum est fidere, hominibus vero praeter naturam est fiducia.” Plutarchi, An brutis quoque animalibus ratio insit (Ms. 958 Biblioteca Unversitaria, Padova): “Ex his igitur aperte constat et feras ad fortiter faciendum natas esse, et hominibus libertatem vel praeter naturam inesse.” Plutarque, Que les bêtes brutes usent de raison (Paris: M. de Vascosan & F. Morel, 1572): “On voit par là que la nature des animaux est d’ être vaillants et hardis: qu’au contraire, la hardiesse et la franchise de parler sont contre nature chez les hommes.” G. Xylandro Augustano, Plutarchi Chaeronensis Moralia (Bruta animalia ratione uti) (Basel: Th. Guarinum, 1570): “Unde maxime patet bruta natura ad audaciam proclivia, hominum vero confidentiam praeter naturam esse.” The version of Xylander was adopted between the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries by J.J. Reiske, Plutarchi Operum Moralium et Philosophicorum, vol. X partem quintam et ultimam tenens cum notis Gul. Xylandri, H. Stephani et Io. Iac. Reiskii texto subiectis (Leipzig: G.T. Georgi, 1778); D. Wyttenbach, Plutarchi Chaeronensis Moralia id est opera, exceptis vitis, reliqua. Graeca emendavit …, Tomus I (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1795); F. Dübner, Plutarchi, Scripta Moralia, Tomus II (Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1841). H.E. Stephanus, Plutarchi Chaeronensis Quae extant opera cum latina interpretatione …, exc. (Geneva: R. Estienne, 1572). Indelli, Plutarco, Le bestie sono, 71: “Per queste considerazioni è estremamente chiaro

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the use of the verb ἐγκαρτερέω in 987DE, prints καρτέρησις, an emendation accepted by modern critics,31 though it is anything but readily justified palaeographically.32 To persist in defending the text of the manuscripts would make little sense, given that the notion of παρρησία represents a quality not only inapplicable to the animal world but also anything but contrary to the nature of Man,33 if Plutarch in the De adulatore et amico considers it a noble sign of character (φιλικὸν γὰρ ἡ παρρησία καὶ σεμνόν) and the very voice of friendship (ἰδία φωνὴ … τῆς φιλίας).34 I agree with Hubert in maintaining that the context requires one of the subordinate virtues of courage,35 a synonym of θάρσος, though to the emendment proposed by the Teubner editor I would prefer the notion of καρτερία in the Stoic sense of coherence (ἐπιστήμη ἐμμενητικὴ τοῖς ὀρθῶς κριθεῖσι),36 also considering the final accusation of incoherence (μεταβέβλησαι σύ … “have you changed your opinion …?”) Odysseus makes to Gryllos.37 The palaeographic difficulty remains, nonetheless, in justifying the emendation of παρρησία to καρτερία. If one supposes that a textual corruption occurred in antiquity it becomes necessary to explain the appearance of the reading ἡ παρρησία, on which the manuscripts agree. Consequently, in opposition to a communis opinio inclined to see hidden beneath παρρησία one of the subordinate virtues of courage, I would prefer to think that behind ἡ παρρησία lay the first member (καὶ παρ’ ἀξίαν) of one of those binary syntactical structures so dear to Plutarch. This

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che le bestie hanno una predisposizione innata all’audacia. Per gli uomini, invece, la franchezza è proprio contraria alla loro natura.” W.C. Helmbold, Plutarch’s Moralia XII (London—Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press & W. Heinemann, 1957) 505: “These facts make it perfectly obvious that bravery is an innate characteristic of beasts, while in human beings an independent spirit is actually contrary to nature;” Zinato, Plutarco, Le virtù degli animali, 57: “Il tutto chiarisce bene che negli animali la forza è innata, mentre negli uomini essa è proprio innaturale;” Li Causi & Pomelli, L’anima degli animali, 207: “Da questi fenomeni si evince che nelle bestie la tendenza all’ardimento è ben connaturata. Al contrario, negli uomini la fermezza è del tutto innaturale.” C. Hubert, Plutarchi Moralia, VI 1 (Leipzig: Teubner, 1954). On παρρησία as a virtue characteristic of the free man and one of the privileges of the Athenian citizen, see Arist., EN 1124B29, 1165A29; E., Hip. 421–423; Ion 670–672. De ad. et am. 51C; 66E; Publ. 10.4 παρρησίαν ἀντὶ κολακείας. Stob 2.60.21–22 W. = SVF 3.264 τῇ δὲ ἀνδρείᾳ (sc. ὑποτάττεσθαι) καρτερίαν, θαρραλεότητα, μεγαλοψυχίαν, εὐψ̓υχίαν, φιλοπονίαν. See [Arist.], VV 1250B6 (παρέπεται δὲ τῇ ἀνδρείᾳ … καὶ ἡ καρτερία). Stob 2.61.12 W. = SVF 3.264. Gryllus 992C: Νῦν μὲν οὖν, ὦ Γρύλλε, μεταβέβλησαι σὺ καὶ τὸ πρόβατον λογικὸν ἀποφαίνεις καὶ τὸν ὄνον;

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hypothesis emerges from the difficulty of the copulative conjunction even understood as an intensifier, which leads one to think that the archetype could have read καὶ παρ’ ἀξίαν καὶ παρὰ φύσιν. Therefore, following Cassarino, I would place a comma after εὖ πέφυκε, taking τὸ θαρρεῖν as the subject of the asyndetic clause, which can be derived directly from the preceding syntagma (πρὸς τὸ θαρρεῖν),38 and I would thus reconstruct the text, exempli gratia, as follows: οἷς δὴ μάλιστα δῆλον ὅτι τὰ θηρία πρὸς τὸ θαρρεῖν εὖ πέφυκε, τοῖς δὲ ἀνθρώποις καὶ παρ’ ἀξίαν καὶ παρὰ φύσιν ἐστίν. Seen from this perspective the opposition between the audacity that in beasts is natural, and the courage that in humans proves to be worthless (παρ’ ἀξίαν) and contrary to nature (παρὰ φύσιν),39 is fully respected.40 The natural predisposition of beasts to virtue gives way in the second part of the dialogue to their natural intelligence,41 which is distinct from that which in Man is the absolute master (ὁ δὲ δεσπότης ἐν ἀνθρώπῳ καὶ αὐτοκρατὴς λόγος). Indeed, in Plutarch Man remains the only animate being capable, through teaching (ἐξ ἐπιμελείας καὶ διδασκαλίας), of achieving right (ὀρθότητα λόγου) or perfect reason (σπουδαῖος δὲ λόγος καὶ τέλειος)42 and the only one endowed with the ability to reflect and judge.43 Beasts, however, though they do not possess the versatility, the excellence and the full autonomy of human rationality (τοῖς δὲ θηρίοις τὸ μὲν πολύτροπον τοῦ λόγου καὶ περιττὸν καὶ φιλελεύθερον ἄγαν οὐκ ἔστιν)44 but only an intuitive understanding of what exists (φρόνησις/σύνεσις), prove nonetheless to be endowed with a natural intelligence (λόγος μὲν γὰρ ἐγγίγνεται φύσει)45 which equips them not only to acquire but also to teach skills.46 Therefore the nature of beasts, Gryllos concludes, is not bereft of reason or the 38

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For the unspecified subject understood from the direct or indirect object of the preceding clause, cf. De soll. an. 959C: τὴν θηρευτικὴν ἄξιον ἐπαινεῖν ὅτι … τὸ πολὺ δεῦρο τρέψασα καθαρὰν παρέχει θέαν. Gryllus 988B (above n. 9). SVF 3.124–126 πάντα τὰ κατὰ φύσιν ἀξίαν ἔχειν καὶ πάντα τὰ κατὰ φύσιν ἀπαξίαν. Another solution is emendation παρρησία > πανουργία: cf. De soll. om. 962B (δείγματά γε πολλὰ κοινωνίας καὶ ανδρείας και τοῦ πανούργου); Ph. Alex. 71 cuius rei (i.e. intellectus) participatio virtutis ac malitiae satis fidem facit. On the instinctive character of animal intelligence, see also Lhermitte, L’animal vertueux, 101. Am. prol. 495C; De soll. an. 962C (above n. 10). De E 386F: εἴ γε τῆς μὲν ὑπάρξεως τῶν πραγμάτων ἔχει καὶ τὰ θηρία γνῶσιν, ἀκολούθου δὲ θεωρίαν καὶ κρίσιν ἀνθρώπῳ μόνῳ παραδέδωκεν ἡ φύσις. De am. prol. 493D. De soll. an. 962C. On the naturalness of animal intelligence, see now Lhermitte, L’animal vertueux, 254: “L’ intelligence animale constitue une sagesse pratique et naturelle, parce que, comme l’ impulsion et l’ intention, elle procède de la φύσις.”

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ability to comprehend, also because there could be no differentiation, in terms of intelligence, from beast to beast or from species to species unless they all had some share of rationality.47 From the Humanist versions of Antonio Cassarino, Lampugnino Birago, Giovanni Regio and Jacques Amyot48 through that of Xylander49 then reprised by Reiske, Wyttenbach and Dübner, Odysseus’s warning, which is followed by the final rebutal of Gryllos with its reference to the well-known tale of Sisyphos (Εἶτά σε μὴ φῶμεν, ὦ Οδυσσεῦ, σοφὸν οὕτως ὄντα καὶ περιττὸν ἐκ τοῦ Σισύφου γεγονέναι;), has been interpreted following a critical tradition that emphasizes the atheism of beasts and according to which belief or non-belief in the gods was the direct result of the possession or non-possession of intellect.50 This ingenious and charming interpretation was authoritatively defended by the German editor Reiske around the turn of the eighteenth to nineteenth century51 and has come to condition the understanding of modern critics, who seem to have lost sight of the context of Odysseus’s closing admonition52 and of what

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Gryllus 992CD. On the difference between the weakness (φαυλότης λόγου καὶ ἀσθένεια) and the total absence of reason (στέρησις λόγου) see De soll. an. 962BC. See Cassarino, Plutarchi, Quod bruta ratione: “Sed vide Grylle num verum ac certum illud sit eos a ratione discedere quibus dei cognitio non adsit;” Birago, Plutarchi, An utantur ratione irrationalia: “Sed vide Grylle ne sit acerbum et violentum delinquere rationem eis quibus non est dei intellectio;” Regio, Plutarchi, An brutis quoque: “At vide Grylle, ne grave atque violentum sit, iis rationem concedere, quibus Dei cognitio ingenita non est;” Amyot, Plutarque, Que les bêtes brutes: “Prends garde, Gryllus, que cela ne soit trouvé étrange, et que ce ne soit forcer la similitude que de vouloir concéder l’usage de la raison à ceux qui n’ ont aucune intelligence ni pensée de Dieu.” G. Xylander, Plutarchi Chaeronensis Moralia: “Attamen Grylle hoc vide, ne improbum sit et violentum, rationem iis adscribere, quae notitia dei carent.” Gryllus 992E. See Li Causi & Pomelli, L’anima degli animali, 470 n. 72. According to Plutarch, as with Plato (Prot. 322A3–4: Ἐπειδὴ δὲ ὁ ἄνθρωπος θείας μετέσχε μοίρας, πρῶτον μὲν διὰ τὴν τοῦ θεοῦ συγγένειαν ζῴων μόνον θεοῦ ἐνόμισεν), man is the only animate creature to believe in the gods. “Ratiocinatur hoc modo Gryllus: Si ex eo, quod aliquis deum non agnoscit, neque reveretur, sequitur, eum ratione carere, nocesse est, te, virum tam sapientem et acutum, e Sisypho non potuisse nasci, quem constat deorum fuisse contemptorem, cuius impietatis poenas apud inferos saxo perpetim volvendo dat. Confusus tanta contumelia et dicterio tam acerbo ictus Ulysses abrumpit colloquium. Apta sane et hamata clausula, qua nil poterat convenientius excogitari.” See above n. 28. See Helmbold, Plutarch’s Moralia XII, 532 n. (“Reiske ingeniously supposes Gryllus’ final answer to mean: ‘If those who do not know God cannot possess reason, then you, wise Odysseus, can scarcely be descended from such a notorius atheist as Sisyphus’.”); Indelli, Plutarco, Le bestie sono, 138: “Reiske interpreta giustamente, secondo me, la risposta di Grillo.”

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Plutarch writes in the Non posse, that beasts do not fall into superstition nor into atheism precisely because they do not have the concept of god.53 I believe that a correct interpretation of what proves to be the conclusion of the dialogue, at least in the form it has come down to us, must disregard neither the Theophrastean thesis that Gryllos labours to support—that is that beasts exhibit an imperfect rationality in varying degrees to determine a line of development leading from beast to human—nor the opposed thesis of the Stoic Odysseus, who, convinced of the absolute value of rationality, draws a clear line separating beast and Man. The object of the dispute seems in fact to regard not the “atheism” of beasts but their true nature (τὴν τῶν θηρίων φύσιν),54 because, as Plutarch polemically writes in the De sollertia animalium, πρὸς τοὺς τὰ ζῷα λόγου καὶ συνέσεως ἀποστεροῦντας,55 those who maintain that a being that by nature does not receive perfect reason is devoid of any form of rationality (ὁ δ’ ἀξιῶν τὸ μὴ πεφυκὸς ὀρθότητα λόγου δέχεσθαι ⟨μηδὲ λόγον δέχεσθαι⟩ is not aware of the difference there is between logos per se, which is innate, and perfect logos).56 The Stoics, in fact, though attributing to animals rudimentary forms of logos to serve the instinct of self-preservation (οἰκείωσις), deemed it impossible that nature should have provided a wellspring of rationality to beings incapable of achieving its ultimate end, that of developing concepts of value.57 Consequently, the vulgate interpretation, which sets up a cause-and-effect relationship between the irrationality of beasts and atheism, introduces a theme that is seen to be alien not only to the chain of argument of Plutarch’s zoological works in general58 and of the Gryllus in particular, but also to that by which, at the beginning of the common era, Stoics and Neo-Accademics debated the question of animal intelligence. It seems, moreover, unthinkable that Odysseus, not only as the son of Sisyphos, as Hirzel noted,59 but also as a Stoic hero, should have resorted to citing

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Non posse 1092C: τοῖς ὅλως μὴ νοοῦσι θεὸν … οὐ γὰρ (sc. τὰ θηρία) ἀπήλλακται δεισιδαιμονίας ἀλλ’ ουδὲ περιπέπτωκεν, οὐδὲ ἀποτέθειται τὴν ταράττουσαν ἔννοιαν περὶ θεῶν ἀλλ’ οὐδ’ εἴληφε. Gryllus 992C. S.E., P 2.5.26–27: ἄλλοι ἔφασκον ἄνθρωπον εἶναι ζῷον λογικὸν θνητόν, νοῦ καὶ ἐπιστήμης δεκτικόν ἐπεὶ οὖν δείκνυται … ὅτι οὐδέν ἐστι ζῷον ἄλογον, ἀλλὰ καὶ νοῦ καὶ ἐπιστήμης δεκτικά ἐστι πάντα. De soll. an. 962C = Porph., Abst. 3.23.1. See the reply of Soclarus in De soll. an. 962A: ἀπορῶ πῶς ἡ φύσις ἔδωκε τὴν ἀρχὴν αὐτοῖς (i.e. τοῖς ζῴοις), ἐπὶ τὸ τέλος ἐξικέσθαι μὴ δυναμένοις. The only reference proves to be that to divine inspiration (θειότης) and to prophetic powers (μαντική / πρόνοια) in De soll. an. 975AB. R. Hirzel, Der Dialog. Ein literarhistorisches Versuch II (Leipzig: S. Hirzel, 1895) 129 n. 5.

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atheism to deny reason to the beasts. Atheism, in fact, which like the affections (πάθη) is a false judgement and an error of the mind (ἡ μὲν ἀθεότης κρίσις οὖσα φαύλη),60 would have led unequivocally to the recognition of bestial cognition. To this we should add another, no less important, consideration: the expression νόησις θεοῦ does not express the Stoic notion of the divine that is innate in the soul of every human—a concept Plutarch expresses with such phrases as ἔμφυτος πρόληψις or φυσικὴ ἔννοια θεοῦ,61 but the capacity to represent the divine through logos:62 a capacity, this, according to the Stoics, which confers on mankind a definite superiority over all animals. In light of these considerations I believe that, faced with the arguments of Gryllos, which aim to define human intelligence even more than animal intelligence, in relative terms,63 the “Stoic” Odysseus, with the expression θεοῦ νόησις, intends to stress the absolute value of rationality, thus the distinction between beings as λογικά or ἄλογα, which makes it impossible to speak of rationality in those creatures in whom there can never arise right reason, which can develop such universal concepts as that of god.64 Confirmation that this was the fundamental objection of the Stoics to the doctrine of animal intelligence of Theophrastus and the Neo-academics comes from the Alexander or De animalibus of Philon, wherein the Alexandrian philospher’s reply

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De sup. 65B. On the prolepsis or notion of the divine (ἔμφυτος vel κοινὴ πρόληψις vel ἔννοια θεοῦ) intrinsic by nature in the consciousness of every human being and anticipates the concept that develops with logos, see Plu., De Stoic. rep. 1041EF = SVF 3.69 (τῶν ἐμφύτων … προλήψεων); 1051D (τῶν ἐννοιῶν … περὶ θεῶν); 1052E (ἡ τῶν θεῶν ἔννοια); Comm. not. 1075A (τοῦ θεοῦ … τὴν πρόληψιν); 1085A = SVF 2.847.89 (= FDS 271); Plac. 4.11 = SVF 2.83; Cic., De nat. deor. 2.12 = SVF 1.528 (omnibus enim innatum est et in animo quasi insculptum esse deos); Sen., Ep. 117.6 (omnibus insita de dis opinio est). On Stoic ἐπίνοια as ἐναποκειμένη νόησις see Plu., De soll. an. 961C = Porph., Abst. 3.22.2 (νοήσεις, ἃς ἀποκειμένας μὲν ἐννοίας καλοῦσι, κινουμένας δὲ διανοήσεις); M. Pohlenz, La Stoa. Storia di un movimento spirituale (Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1967 [vol. 1]; Transl.: O. de Gregorio & B. Proto) I 108–109 n. On the common notion of the divine (ἡ κοινὴ τοῦ θεοῦ νόησις), see Epic., [4]123. On the “intellection of god”, which represents the most luminous and powerful of the many eyes of the soul (ὥσπερ ὀμμάτων πολλῶν τὸ φανότατον καὶ κυριώτατον … τὴν τοῦ θεοῦ νόησιν), see De sup. 167B; De Is. et Os. 382F (οὐκ ἔστι μετουσία τοῦ θεοῦ πλὴν … νοήσει διὰ φιλοσοφίας); Num. 8.8 (οὔτε ἐφάπτεσθαι θεοῦ δυνατὸν ἄλλως ἢ νοήσει); Alcin., Didask. 154.33; 155.20–21H (νόησις δ’ ἐστὶ νοῦ ἐνέργεια θεωροῦντος τὰ πρῶτα νοητά); 163.14–15H: νόησις δ’ ἐστὶ νοῦ ἐνέργεια θεωροῦντος τὰ πρῶτα νοητά. Gryllus 992DE. Otherwise one would have to attribute to the Stoics, as with the Epicurean Polystratos (Cat. cap. 1 coll. V–VI, 110 Indelli), a belief in a constitutional difference between the human soul and that of the beasts, but in Stoic thought any allusion to such a difference is lacking (see Pohlenz, La Stoa, I 167).

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to Alexander’s nephew, a proponent of bestial rationality, delivers the fundamental objection from the Stoa: Verum tamen rationalis habitus necesse est illa (i.e. animalia) nullam habere participationem. Rationalis autem habitus est syllogismus ex apprehensione entium, quae minime assunt; ut intellectus de deo, de mundo, de lege, de patrio more, de civitate, de politica, deque aliis innumeris, quarum nihil percipiunt bestiae.65 Odysseus’s objection66 proves not substantially different from that of Philon, who denies the intelligence of animals insomuch as they are unable to conceive universal concepts; and Gryllos, from his own perspective, shows that he has fully grasped the sense of that objection, when, in his concluding rebuttal, he refers to the σοφία of Odysseus: indeed Odysseus himself, the wisest of all, though the son of the evildoer Sisyphos,67 is a living paradigm that manifestly contradicts the Stoic doctrine that makes intelligence an absolute value, illustrating how it is contrary to the truth and to the evidence. It cannot be considered mere coincidence that in De sera numinis vindicta,68 in order to demonstrate, following Homer,69 that ἐκ πατρὸς πολὺ χείρονος a son may be born (ὑιὸς ἀμείνων)70 who is better in every virtue (παντοίην ἀρετήν) and even in mind (νόον), Plutarch cites in primis the example of the son of Sisyphos (τὸ Σισύφου).

De sollertia animalium The debate that unfolded in the ancient world on the status of animals was concerned almost entirely with their intelligence, an issue that seems as topical as ever today, thanks also to the findings of modern science and the growing consensus that the behaviour of animals is not to be considered merely instinctive.71 65 66 67 68 69

70 71

Ph., [Alex.] De animalibus 85. Cf. Plu., De E 386F (above n. 43). Gryllus 992DE. On Sisyphos as a seducer of women, (φθορεύς) see De aud. poet. 18C; Quaest. graec. 301D. De sera num. 553B. Hom., Il. 15.641–643: τοῦ γένετ’ ἐκ πατρὸς πολὺ χείρονος υἱὸς ἀμείνων / παντοίας ἀρετάς, ἠμὲν πόδας ἠδὲ μάχεσθαι, / καὶ νόον. Cf. Hom., Od. 2.276–277: παῦροι γάρ τοι παῖδες ὁμοῖοι πατρὶ πέλονται, / οἱ πλέονες κακίους, παῦροι δέ τε πατρὸς ἀρείους. For the converse, see the objection of Socrates in Pl., Prot. 326E6–7: Διὰ τί οὖν τῶν ἀγαθῶν πατέρων πολλοὶ ὑεῖς φαῦλοι γίγνονται; See R. Sorabji, Animal Minds and Human Morals. The Origin of the Western Debate (Lon-

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In the history of the Greek thought, from which the absence of animals would be inconceivable,72 such interest began with Homer and continues throughout its development. In archaic literature, where Mankind appears as an animal, a superior one to be sure but an animate being all the same,73 one discerns no distinct demarcation between the anthroposphere and the zoosphere: beasts, even where they are presented as antagonists who do not know justice,74 do, nonetheless, symbolize specific human qualities, both positive and negative, as noted by, in metaphorical terms, among others, Semonides of Amorgos.75 Philosophical thought, too, which considered animals beings capable of seeing or perceiving the means to achieve their aims76 and driven like humans by desire or by need, did not make a sharp distinction between the sphere of sense and that of thought, which both the Ionic and the Italic schools saw as correlated, interacting structures,77 and attributed to animals faculties of perception rather than a genuine comprehension of things.78 It seemed, in fact, to ancient philosophers that the actions and desires of animals, the sphere of thought and that of perception, coincided,79 and they interpreted their will, thought and comprehension as a sort of feeling.80 Indeed, it may be said that from Pythagoras to Empedocles, from Diogenes of Apollonia to Democritus,

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73 74 75 76

77 78 79 80

don: Duckworth, 1993) 208 ff.; M.C. Nussbaum, La fragilità del bene. Fortuna ed etica nella tragedia e nella filosofia greca (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2004; Italian transl. by M. Scattola & R. Scognamiglio) 495–530 (IX. “Gli animali razionali e la spiegazione dell’azione”); R. Marchesini, Intelligenze plurime. Manuale di scienze cognitive animali (Bologna: Perdisa, 2008); idem, Modelli cognitivi e comportamento animale (Isernia: Eva, 2011); U. Eco, “Ma i cani parlano o no?” Repubblica 9-Sept-2011. On zoological knowledge in Greek and Roman antiquity, see B. Cassin, J.-L. Labarrière & G. Romeyer Dherbey (eds.), L’ animal dans l’ Antiquité (Paris: Vrin, 1997); J. Dumont, Les animaux dans l’ Antiquité grecque (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2001) 7: “L’histoire des Grecs, comme celle de toutes les autres sociétés humaines, est inconcevable sans les animaux. On n’imagine pas la guerre sans les chevaux, la mise en valeur du sol et les transports sans les ânes et les mulets, la nourriture quotidienne sans le lait de la vache et de la chèvre, la viande du mouton et le miel des abeilles.” Dumont, Les animaux dans l’ Antiquité, 46. Hom., Il. 22.261–267; Hes., Op. 276–280; Pl., Prt. 322C. See Sorabji, Animal Minds, 117. Sem., fr. 7.6 (West). On the passions that represent the common basis on which our similarity to animals is grounded and animals are taken as a model of behaviour in which the acts of heroes are mirrored, see Hom., Il. 4.143–145; 15.263, 15.275ff., 15.721; 18.426–462; Li Causi & Pomelli, L’anima degli animali, X–XI. R. Laurenti, Empedocle (Naples: M. D’Auria, 1999) 96–98. Diog. Apoll., A 19 D-K = Thphr., De sens. 42 ff. See Emped., A 86.10 D-K = Thphr., De sens. 1 ff.; S.E., P 1.67–72. Arist., De an. 3.427A19–23: δοκεῖ δὲ καὶ τὸ νοεῖν καὶ τὸ φρονεῖν ὥσπερ αἰσθάνεσθαί τι εἶναι … καὶ οἵ γε ἀρχαῖοι τὸ φρονεῖν καὶ τὸ αἰσθάνεσθαι ταὐτὸν εἶναί φασιν … ὥσπερ καὶ Ἐμπεδοκλῆς εἴρηκε.

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from Plato to Aristotle, animals were considered capable of phronesis insomuch as they were fundamentally perceptive beings. Pythagoras showed that every soul that partakes of sensation and memory is rational,81 and Empedocles recognized as rational and endowed with thought (phronesis) not only living creatures (ζῷα) but plants (φυτά) as well,82 recognizing only one law embracing all animate beings.83 Even the atomistic science of the fifth century, which did not fail to note the technical ability and ingenuity of such animals as web-spinning spiders or nest-building birds, never strayed from this identification, treating animals more as assemblages of material particles than as creatures that act intentionally.84 Aristotle attests to this when, accusing Homer and the ancients of failing to distinguish between understanding and perceiving,85 between the soul (ψυχή) and the intellect (νοῦϛ), he confirms that the only form of mental life (φρονεῖν / νοεῖν / γινώσκειν) the ancients recognized in animals was represented by perception and sensorium (αἴσθη-

81

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83 84

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Porph., Abst. 3.1.4–6 (πᾶσαν ψυχήν, ᾗ μέτεστιν αἰσθήσεως καὶ μνήμης, λογικήν); 10, 3 (καὶ ἔχει ⟨sc. τὰ ζῷͅ α⟩ γε μνήμην, ἥπερ εἰς ἀνάληψιν λογισμοῦ καὶ φρονήσεως ἐτύγχανεν οὖσα κυριωτάτη); S.E., M. 9.127: φέρε ἡμεις τὴν ἀληθῆ τε ὁμοῦ καὶ Πυθαγόρειον δόξαν παραστήσωμεν, πᾶσαν ψυχήν, ᾗ μέτεστιν αἰσθήσεως καὶ μνήμης, λογικὴν ἐπιδεικνύντες. See C.G. Tappe, De Philonis qui inscribitur Ἀλέξανδρος ἢ περὶ τοῦ λόγον ἔχειν τὰ ἄλογα ζῷ α quaestiones selectae (Tübingen: Officina Academica Dieterichiana, 1912) 23: “Animalia ratione praedita esse primus Pythagoras dixisse videtur … Sed certe mentem (νοῦν) Pythagoras animalibus tribuit.” Tappe, however, advises caution because Alexander Polyhistor, who represents the source upon which Diogenes Laertius (8.30) draws, generally refers to the Pythagoreans of the first century BC. On the distinction in Pythagoras between the soul of Man and that of beast, see D. Tsekourakis, “Pythagoreanism or Platonism and ancient Medicine? The Reasons for Vegetarianism in Plutarch’s Moralia,” ANRW II 36.1 (1987) 374 ff. Emped., B 110 D-K = Sext. Emp., M. 8.286 (ὁ δὲ Ἐμπεδοκλῆς ἔτι παραδοξότερον πάντα ἠξίου λογικὰ τυγχάνειν καὶ οὐ ζῷα μόνον ἀλλὰ καὶ φυτὰ ῥητῶς γράφων ‘πάντα γὰρ ἴσθι φρόνησιν ἔχειν καὶ νώματος αἶσαν’); B128 D-K = Porph., Abst. 2.21.1–22.1. Cic., R. 3.11.19 non enim mediocres viri, sed maximi et docti, Pythagoras et Empedocles, unam omnium animantium condicionem iuris esse denuntiant … Democr., B 113 (καὶ ὁ νοῦς καὶ ἡ ψυχὴ ταὐτόν), 154 D-K = Plu., De soll. an. 974A; Dox. Gr., 392 (Diels) (Παρμενίδης καὶ Ἐμπεδοκλῆς καὶ Δημόκριτος ταὐτὸν νοῦν καὶ ψυχήν, καθ’ οὓς οὐδὲν ἂν εἴη ζῷον ἄλογον κυρίως); Arist., De An. 1.404A27–31, 405A8–9 (Δημόκριτος … εἴρηκεν … ψυχὴν μὲν γὰρ εἶναι ταὐτὸ καὶ νοῦν); S.E., P 2.5.23–24. See M.M. Sassi, Le teorie della percezione in Democrito (Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1978) 46; M. Isnardi Parente, “Le radici greche di una filosofia non antropocentrica,”Biblioteca della Libertà XXIII 103 (1988) 76–77. On Diogenes of Apollonia (B4 D-K; A 19 D-K = Thphr., Sens. 42 ff.), a philosopher who deals with a primarily material sphere, see G. Lanata, “Antropocentrismo e cosmocentrismo nel pensiero antico,” in S. Castignone & G. Lanata (eds.), Filosofi e animali nel mondo antico (Pisa: ETS, 1994) 19–20; Nussbaum, La fragilità del bene, 502–503. Arist., De An. 427A21–22.

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σις) or by νοῦς understood as a faculty of the simple life force that is the ψυχή. Anaxagoras86 and Archelaus, too,87 who held that intelligence wields its power over all living things, large and small, still consider animals fundamentally αἰσθητικά. Indeed, if passive intellect, which is identified with the soul, belongs to all living beings, active intellect, understood as reason (ὅ γε κατὰ φρόνησιν λεγόμενος νοῦς), specific to human intelligence, does not belong to the same degree even to humans,88 though they prove to be the most rational and the wisest of living beings.89 This fundamental unity of αἰσθάνεσθαι and φρονεῖν,90 which characterizes animals as perceptional beings (τὸ ζῷον αἰσθητικόν),91 was supplanted only in the early fifth century by an eminent exponent of the school of medicine of Croton, Alcmeon, who first practiced the dissection of animals and located in the brain the governing, the hegemonic (ἡγεμονικόν), faculty—that from which, as the Hippocratic school would later recognize, spring thoughts and passions; a human thus understands while a beast senses (αἰσθάνεται).92 The separation between the intelligence of Man and the perception of beasts would celebrate its triumph with Plato, who, in reaction to the physiological explanation of animal activity by the atomistic science of the fifth century, restores the psychological explanation that takes account of the presence in animals of qualities comparable to those of humans yet essentially different.93 Plato, who characterizes the behaviour of human beings in a hyper-intellectual manner as the result of deliberation and rational choice,94 draws a distinction between the soul that is wise and endowed with intelligence (φρόνιμός τε καὶ νοῦν ἔχουσα) of humans and that of the beasts, who, deficient or

86 87 88 89 90 91 92

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Anaxag. A 100 D-K. Archel. A 4 D-K νοῦν δὲ λέγει πᾶσιν ἐμφύεσθαι ζῴοις ὁμοίως. Anaxag. A 100 D-K = Arist., De An. 404B1ff.: οὐ φαίνεται δ’ ὅ γε κατὰ φρόνησιν λεγόμενος νοῦς πᾶσιν ὁμοίως ὑπάρχειν τοῖς ζῴοις, ἀλλ’ οὐδὲ τοῖς ἀνθρώποις πᾶσιν. Anaxag. A 102 D-K φρονιμώτατον vel σοφώτατον τῶν ζῴων ἄνθρωπον. See n. 84. Arist., De An. 427A15. Alcm., A 3 D-K = Arist., Metaph. 986A29–30, who presents him as an adult when Pythagoras was, by then, elderly; A 5 D-K = Thphr., Sens. 25ff. On Alcmeon and on the doctrine of encephalocentrism, see Laurenti, Empedocle, 258; and U. Dierauer, “Raison ou instinct? Le développement de la zoopsychologie antique,” in B. Cassin et al. (eds.), L’animal dans l’ Antiquité, 3–30. See Pl., La. 197Aff., who recognizes in animals the courage that is daring owing to a dearth of intelligence (δι’ ἄνοιαν), but not the courage that is knowledge (ἐπιστήμη) of what one must and must not fear. Pl., Phd. 99A.

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lacking in reason like toddlers95 (ἄνευ … λόγου), behave according to emotional impulses bound up with the body.96 And yet despite this dichotomy not even Plato presents a true separation between the anthroposphere and the zoosphere, because animal nature, faulty though its intelligence is, represents not a debasement of humanity but its earliest condition and its necessary presupposition. Aristotle, who deals systematically and scientifically with the animal world,97 then recognizes in animals alongside the impulses of passion, in which beasts are found to be amply superior to humans, the faculty not only of perception, which equips them to sense how painful or pleasurable something is,98 and the ability to express this feeling, not articulating it through language, a prerogative of mankind, but with the voice as an expression of pain or pleasure,99 but also the faculty of imagination (φαντασία),100 which in animals represents a form of intellection,101 of memory,102 which plays a fundamental role in the acquisition of intelligence, thus a capacity to

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97 98

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Pl., Lg. 12.963E: τὸ μέν (id est ἀνδρεία) ἐστιν περὶ φόβον, οὗ καὶ τὰ θηρία μετέχει, τῆς ἀνδρείας, καὶ τά γε τῶν παίδων ἤθη τῶν πάνυ νέων· ἄνευ γὰρ λόγου καὶ φύσει γίγνεται ἀνδρεία ψυχή. See Arist., EN 1119B5–6: καθ’ ἐπιθυμίαν γὰρ ζῶσι καὶ τὰ παιδία. Pl., Tht. 186BC; Tim. 91D–92D. While Plato recognizes in some animals, such as dogs, qualities identifiable with human intelligence (R. 376B), it is not without sarcasm that seems to acknowledge the possession of intelligence in such animals as the crane (Plt. 263D). Arist., MA 700B17: τὰ κινοῦντα τὸ ζῷον διάνοια καὶ φαντασία καὶ προαίρεσις καὶ βούλησις καὶ ἐπιθυμία. Arist., Pol. 1253A9–18: τοῦτο γὰρ πρὸς τἆλλα ζῷα τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἴδιον, τὸ μόνον ἀγαθοῦ καὶ κακοῦ καὶ δικαίου καὶ ἀδίκου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων αἴσθησιν ἔχειν. See Porph., Abst. 3.8.3: αἰσθήσεως μέν γε καὶ πλεονεκτεῖν ἔοικεν μᾶλλον τὰ ζῷα. Arist. Pol. 1253A8–18; HA 536B2–5; PA 660A17–25. On imagination as a form of intellection distinct from sensation and from the nous, see Arist., de An. 428A21–22 (τῶν δὲ θηρίων οὐθενὶ ὑπάρχει πίστις, φαντασία δὲ πολλοῖς), 23–24 (τῶν δὲ θηρίων ἐνίοις φαντασία μὲν ὑπάρχει, λόγος δ’ οὔ); 433A9–12 Φαίνεται δέ γε δύο ταῦτα κινουν͂τα, ἢ ὄρεξις ἢ νοῦς εἴ τι τὴν φαντασίαν τιθείη ὡς νόησίν τινα … καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις ζῴοις οὐ νόησις οὐδὲ λογισμός ἐστιν, ἀλλὰ φαντασία. Arist., GA 731A31 (ἀλλὰ καὶ γνώσεώς τινος πάντα ⟨sc. τὰ ζῷα⟩ μετέχουσι), 753B12; MA 980B21. On memory, which is neither a perception nor a process of comprehension, but figures as a product of the perceptive element of the soul, see Arist., Mem. 449B23–24 and 453A6ff.; APo. 99B36–40; Metaph. 1.980A27–29 (φύσει μὲν οὖν αἴσθησιν ἔχοντα γίγνεται τὰ ζῷα, ἐκ δὲ ταύτης τοῖς μὲν αὐτῶν οὐκ ἐγγίγνεται μνήμη, τοῖς δ’ ἐγγίγνεται); HA 589A1; 608A16–20. It is, nonetheless, useful to note that if some animals are capable of remembering, in contrast with mankind they lack the ability to ἀναμνεῖν. On this distinction, see Arist., HA 488B25–26 (καὶ μνήμης καὶ διδαχῆς πολλὰ κοινωνεῖ), where it is clearly stated that many animals partake of memory, though only mankind is capable of ἀνάμνησις. On this subject, see M.M. Sassi, “Aristotele fenomenologo della memoria,” in M.M. Sassi (ed.), Tracce nella mente. Teorie della memoria da Platone ai moderni (Convegno Pisa, 25–26 settembre 2006) (Pisa: Edizioni della Normale, 2007) 25–46.

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learn and teach.103 The Stagirite, however, breaks new ground not only with respect to the mechanistic explanation of animal movement of the ancient φυσικοί, who presented an animal as a sort of marionette driven solely by the causal forces of nature,104 but also with respect to Plato, who did restore the psychological explanation, but held up only the actions of human beings as the outcome of intellectual activity.105 Alongside the intellect, Aristotle recognizes another force for action common to all living beings, which is ὄρεξις.106 Thanks to this “orectic” capacity, which is not without a cognitive-evaluative dimension,107 the behaviour of animals proves not to be entirely irrational, though with respect to mankind they remain midgets108 or toddlers109 incapable of acting according to a rationally deliberated choice. By sharply distinguishing the perception (αἰσθάνεσθαι) common to all animate beings from the thinking (φρονεῖν) of only a few,110 Aristotle nonetheless manifests a distinct conception of the continuity between human and non-human animals, both animated by forces that partake of some form of intelligence. These permit beasts to engage in such virtuous behaviours as love and care for offspring111 proper to rational beings and fundamental to human philanthropy,112 though what they lack is principled resolution (προαίρεσις) and reason (λογισμός),113 which, that is, exemplifies the noblest of human traits, intellect (νοῦς), the ability to develop concepts. Consequently, beasts are incapable of distinguishing

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108

109 110 111 112 113

See Arist., HA 608A14–15; Metaph. 1.980AB. Cf. Porph., Abst. 3.6.5; 10.3 (cit.). Nussbaum, La fragilità del bene, 501. Pl., Phd. 99AB. Arist., EN 1102B30 (τὸ ἐπιθυμητικὸν καὶ ὅλως ὀρεκτικὸν μετέχει πως λόγου); De An. 433A13 (ἄμφω ἄρα ταῦτα κινητικὰ κατὰ τόπον, νοῦς καὶ ὄρεξις); MA 700A–701B. On the role of orexis, see Nussbaum, La fragilità del bene, 508–514. Arist., GA 608A15; 753A12 (τοῖς δὲ μάλιστα κοινωνοῦσι φρονήσεως); MA 980B21. Cf. Porph., Abst. 3.9.5: τοῦ ταῦτα πολυπραγμονήσαντος ἐπὶ πλέον Ἀριστοτέλους λέγοντος πᾶσι τοῖς ζῴοις μεμηχανῆσθαι πρὸς τὸν βίον καὶ σωτηρίαν αὐτῶν τὴν ⟨γνῶσίν⟩ add. Becchi. See Arist., GA 731A33–34 (ἀλλὰ καὶ γνώσεώς τινος πάντα (sc. τὰ ζῷα) μετέχουσιν, τὰ μὲν πλείονος, τὰ δ’ ἐλάττονος, τὰ δὲ πάμπαν μικρᾶς); De E 386F. Arist., Protr. B28; De An. 427B6–8 (ὅτι μὲν οὖν οὐ ταὐτόν ἐστι τὸ αἰσθάνεσθαι καὶ τὸ φρονεῖν, φανερόν. τοῦ μὲν γὰρ πᾶσι μέτεστι, τοὺ δὲ ὀλίγοις τῶν ζῴων), 433A11–12 (cit.); EN 1149B31–35 (τὰ θηρία οὔτε σώφρονα οὐτ’ ἄκολαστα λέγομεν … οὐ γὰρ ἔχει προαίρεσιν οὐδὲ λογισμόν); Pol. 1.1253A9–10 (λόγον δὲ μόνον ἄνθρωπος ἔχει τῶν ζῴων). Arist., PA 686B11 (νάνοι εἰσὶ τὰ παιδία πάντα), 22–27; EE 1236A3–4 ὡς δ’ ἔχει παιδίον καὶ θηρίον πρὸς ἄνθρωπον καθεστῶτα. Arist., De An. 427B6–8. Arist., EN 1155A16–19; HA 588B4–589A9; PA 681A12–28; GA 753A. On the natural affinity between man and man, owing to physical and spiritual similarity, see Porph., Abst. 1.7–12; 26.4 = Hermarc., fr. 34 (Longo Auricchio). Arist., EN 1149B31–35 (cit.).

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between good and bad, right and wrong,114 or of exhibiting virtue or vice but, rather, follow only natural predispositions.115 This anthropocentrism, whereby nature made plants for animals and animals for Man,116 accredits Aristotle as a fervent advocate of a system of values at the top of whose finalistic, hierarchical order of the universe stands mankind, who alone, of all the animals, possesses a fully developed language and a sense of good and evil, of right and wrong.117 This, however, does not keep him from defining some animals as intelligent (φρόνιμα),118 and others, who can also make use of memory, as more intelligent and more capable of learning (φρονιμώτερα καὶ μαθητικώτερα).119 In his zoological works, moreover, he considers animals to be beings belonging to the same scala naturae as mankind and endowed with souls in many respects analogous to the human soul. This new psychological vision, as Martha Nussbaum writes, makes animals appear less brutish and humans more bestial.120 Whereas Xenocrates, the second successor of Plato at the head of the Academy, on the grounds of a common ancestry (ὁμογένεια), forbade the killing of any living being,121 the successor of Aristotle as director of the Lyceum, Theophrastus, whose works included a Περὶ ζῴων φρονήσεως καὶ ἤθους,122 on the grounds of structural and material similarity (ὁμοιότης), by degrees and by analogy, recognized in animals the possession of those psychic modalities (ἴχνη τῶν περὶ τὴν ψυχὴν τρόπων) that in mankind are more manifestly differentiated,

114 115

116

117 118 119 120 121

122

Arist., Pol. 1253A9–18 (cit.). Aristot., EN 1144B8 (καὶ γὰρ παισὶ καὶ θηρίοις αἱ φυσικαὶ ὑπάρχει ἕξεις); 1145a25–26; EE 1236A3–4 (cit.). See J. Bouffartigue, “La notion d’animal vertueux dans l’Antiquité grecque,” Schedae 1 (2009) 5. Arist., Pol. 1256B15–22: οἰητέον τά τε φυτὰ τῶν ζῴων ἕνεκεν εἶναι καὶ τὰ ἄλλα ζῷα τῶν ἀνθρώπων χάριν, τὰ μὲν ἥμερα καὶ διὰ τὴν χρῆσιν καὶ διὰ τὴν τροφήν, τῶν δ’ ἀγρίων, εἰ μὴ πάντα, ἀλλὰ τά γε πλεῖστα τῆς τροφῆς καὶ ἄλλης βοηθείας ἕνεκεν, ἵνα καὶ ἐσθὴς καὶ ἄλλα ὄργανα γίνηται ἐξ αὐτῶν· εἰ οὖν ἡ φύσις μηθὲν μήτε ἀτελὲς ποιεῖ μήτε μάτην, ἀναγκαῖον τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἕνεκεν αὐτὰ πάντα πεποιηκέναι τὴν φύσιν. Arist., Pol. 1253A9–18. On the distinction in Aristotle between domesticated animals, useful for the work and food they provide, and wild animals, useful for food and clothing, see Pol. 1.1256B15. Arist., Metaph. 1.980B1; EN 1141A27 (τῶν θηρίων ἔνια φρόνιμα); PA 648A6, 650B14, 651A19; Pol. 1254B11 (τὰ ἥμερα … βελτίω τὴν φύσιν); Oec. 1343B15.16 (τὰ ἥμερα καὶ φρονιμώτερα). Nussbaum, La fragilità del bene, 495–530 (IX “Gli animali razionali e la spiegazione dell’azione”). Xenocr., fr. 53 (Isnardi Parente) = Plu., De Esu 996AB. See M. Isnardi Parente, “Le ‘tu ne tueras pas’ de Xénocrate,” in J. Brunschwig et al. (eds.), Histoire et Structure. À la mémoire de V. Goldschmidt (Paris: Vrin, 1985) 164–165. D.L. 5.49.

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such as intelligence,123 and this doctrine was given theoretical underpinnings by his student and successor at the Peripatos, the physicist Straton of Lampsacus.124 In recognizing that there is no perception without intellect (οὐδ’ αἰσθάνεσθαι τὸ παράπαν ἄνευ τοῦ νοεῖν ὑπάρχει), since by nature one has perception thanks to the nous (τῷ νοεῖν αἰσθάνεσθαι πεφύκαμεν),125 Straton confirmed the verses of Epicharmus, νοῦς ὁρῇ καὶ νοῦς ἀκούει, τἄλλα κωφὰ καὶ τυφλά.126 On the basis of these psychic modalities of animals, whom nature has endowed with a soul enjoying the faculties of perceiving, seeing and hearing, but also those of imagination and intelligence that each may accomplish what is proper to it and avoid what is not, Aristotle’s successor as the head of the Peripatus not only extended a shared ancestry (συγγένεια) and kinship (οἰκειότης) to all animate beings,127 but formulated the principle of the juridical parity of man and beast thus in effect signalling the supersession of Aristotelian anthropocentrism. If from Aristotle’s lesson on zoology the Peripatetic school,

123

124 125

126 127

For the reference to craft (τέχνη), to wisdom (σοφία) and to intelligence (σύνεσις), which in some animals find analogies in another, similar natural faculty (τις ἑτέρα τοιαύτη φυσικὴ δύναμις), see Arist., HA 8.588A25–31: τὰ μὲν γὰρ (sc. τῶν ζῴων) τῷ μᾶλλον καὶ ἧττον διαφέρει πρὸς τὸν ἄνθρωπον, καὶ ὁ ἄνθρωπος πρὸς πολλὰ τῶν ζῴων (ἔνια γὰρ τῶν τοιούτων ὑπάρχει μᾶλλον ἐν ἀνθρώπῳ, ἔνια δ’ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις ζῴοις μᾶλλον), τὰ δὲ τῷ ανάλογον διαφέρει· ὡς γὰρ ἐν ἀνθρώπῳ τέχνη καὶ σοφία καὶ σύνεσις, οὕτως ἐνίοις τῶν ζῴων ἐστί τις ἑτέρα τοιαύτη φυσικὴ δύναμις. Strat., Fr. 112 (Wehrli) = Plu., De soll. an. 961A. Cf. Arist., Protr. B29 (φρονιμώτερα δέ φησιν ὁ Ἀριστοτέλης εἶναι τὰ εὐαισθητότερα); Porph., Abst. 3.21. Concerning animal intelligence, Plutarch seems always to have professed the same doctrine, and this precludes any evolution from a position near to those of Zenon and Chrysippus to an emphatically anti-Stoic position or, as Babut, Plutarque et le Stoïcisme, 78, maintains, that there should have been adaptations according to the rhetorical or philosophical character of the work. Epich., fr. 214 (Kassel-Austin) = B 12 D-K = Plu., De fortuna 98B; De soll. an. 961A: τοῦ περὶ τὰ ὄμματα καὶ ὦτα πάθους, ἂν μὴ παρῇ τὸ φρονοῦν, αἴσθησιν οὐ ποιοῦντος. Thphr., Π. εὐσεβείας, fr. 20 (Pötscher) = Porph., Abst. 2.25.1–3 Θεόφραστος δὲ καὶ τούτῳ κέχρηται λόγῳ. Τοὺς ἐκ τῶν αὐτῶν γεννηθέντας, λέγω δὲ πατρὸς καὶ μητρός, οἰκείους εἶναι φύσει φαμὲν ἀλλήλων … πάντας δὲ τοὺς ἀνθρώπους ἀλλήλοις φαμὲν οἰκείους τε καὶ συγγενεῖς εἶναι, δυοῖν θάτερον, ἢ τῷ προγόνων εἶναι τῶν αὐτῶν, ἢ τῷ τροφῆς καὶ ἠθῶν καὶ ταὐτοῦ γένους, κοινωνεῖν. Οὕτω δὲ καὶ τοὺς πάντας ἀνθρώπους ἀλλήλοις τίθεμεν [καὶ] συγγενεῖς καὶ μὴν καὶ πᾶσι τοῖς ζῴοις. αἱ γὰρ τῶν σωμάτων ἀρχαὶ πεφύκασιν αἱ αὐταί … πολὺ δὲ μᾶλλον τῷ τὰς ἐν αὐτοῖς ψυχὰς ἀδιαφόρους πεφυκέναι, λέγω δὴ ταῖς ἐπιθυμίαις καὶ ταις ὀργαῖς, ἔτι δὲ τοὶ λογισμοὶ καὶ μάλιστα πάντων ταῖς αἰσθήσεσιν. Ἀλλ’ ὥσπερ τὰ σώματα, οὕτω καὶ τὰς ψυχὰς τὰ μὲν ἀπηκριβωμένας ἔχει τῶν ζῴων, τὰ δὲ ἧττον τοιαύτας, πᾶσί γε μὴν αὐτοῖς αἱ αὐταὶ πεφύκασιν ἀρχαί. Δηλοῖ δὲ ἡ τῶν παθῶν οἰκειότης. Cf. Arist., EN 1155A16 ff.; Porph., Abst. 2.22.1–3. See A.M. Battegazzore, “La concezione teofrastea dell’ Οἰκειότης e del Δίκαιον verso gli animali alla luce di un passo controverso di Porfirio (De abst. II 22,1–3),” in M.S. Funghi (ed.), ΟΔΟΙ ΔΙΖΗΣΙΟΣ. Le vie della ricerca. Studi in onore di F. Adorno (Florence: Olschki, 1996) 87.

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with Theophrastus, developed the notion of kinship and of a common juridical status, the modern schools of thought, Epicureanism and Stoicism, were engaged not so much in seeking the common ground that also made possible the intelligence of human psychic life as in defining limits and dissimilarities (ἀνομοιότης) between the human psyche and that of beasts,128 understood only as the infrastructure for the development of logos for superior life forms.129 On the basis of utilitarian considerations, Hermarchus of Mytilene, who in 270, with the death of the Master, took the reins of the Epicurean school and who wrote a treatise Against Empedocles,130 excluded the possibility of extending the right to justice to beings not endowed with reason,131 and the third scholarch of the garden, Polystratus, author of a text entitled On Irrational Contempt (Περὶ ἀλόγου καταφρονήσεως), spoke, on the basis of a different atomic make-up, of a disparity between the soul of humans and that of beasts, whose lack of logos deprives them of the ability to comprehend moral concepts, procure what is useful and avoid what is harmful.132 It was, however, primarily the disciples of Zeno, Cleanthes and in particular Chrysippus,133 who, with the premises of anthropocentrism and a gradualistic conception of being, disputed the doctrine of animal intelligence.134 In particular the second founder of Stoicism vehemently opposed the Theophrastean doctrine of οἰκειότης and of juridical parity, thus showing himself to be a fervent exponent of a radical disparity that excludes animals from the community of rational beings and from any juridical rights.135

128 129 130 131

132

133 134 135

A difference that does not seem to imply a difference in constitution: see SVF 3.367; Pohlenz, La Stoa, I 164–167. On the Stoic conception of the animal as created for mankind, see Porph., Abst. 3.20.1–4 πρὸς ἀνθρώπων χρῆσιν ὁ θεὸς μεμηχάνηται τὰ ζῷα. Hermarc., fr. 34.12 (Longo Auricchio) = Porph., Abst. 1.3.3 below n. 205. Hermarchus, on the basis of utilitarian considerations (Porph., Abst. 1.10.1 Οὐ γὰρ δυνατὸν ἦν σῴζεσθαι μὴ πειρωμένους ἀμύνεσθαι and 12, 6 ἐκ δὲ τοῦ τὴν ἐξουσίαν λαμβάνειν, ἣν νῦν ἔχομεν, εἰς τὸ κτείνειν αὐτὰ μόνως ἔστι τὴν ἐνδεχομένην ἔχειν ἀσφάλειαν) excluded the possibility of extending juridical rights to beings not endowed with reason and to establish with them a juridical pact, because mankind would not have been able to survive had he not endeavoured to defend himself against animals. Polystr., Cat. 1. coll. I, VI–VII. Polistratus denied, no doubt on the basis of a different atomic constitution, any analogy between the soul of humans and that of animals. This is the difference that makes animals incapable of understanding what is useful or harmful or what is holy or impious—that is, to entertain concepts. Porph., Abst. 3.20.1. Plu., De soll. an. 967E = SVF 2.515. Pohlenz, La Stoa, I 164.

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Invoking the doctrine of opposites, whereby nature ordains that to a rational being there correspond an irrational being,136 Chrysippus deemed animals essentially perceptive and devoid of logos.137 He therefore explained certain virtuous behaviours formally similar to the rational behaviours of human beings, such as love for their own young,138 by means of the natural tendency (ὁρμή) on the part of beasts to appropriate anything that preserves their being (οἰκειοῦσθαι) and to shun what proves to be hostile (ἀλλοτριοῦσθαι),139 attributing to them, in addition to sensory perception, imagination as well as the possession of certain common abilities such as planning, preparing, remembering, predicting and making appropriate choices in accordance with nature—to the extent that he had to resort to a sophistic use of these terms to avoid homonymy of human and animal virtues.140 He nonetheless judged these behaviours rudimental and instinctive and, consequently, effectively extraneous to any form of rational activity (οὐ σοφία οὐδὲ λόγος ἐστὶν ἐν αὐτοῖς, ἀλλά τις φυσικὴ πρὸς τὰ τοιάδε σωτηρίας ἕνεκεν τῶν ζῴων κατασκευή, ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου γεγενημένη),141 as being prescribed not by an art rationally learnt and practiced but by the innate instinct for self-preservation (οἰκείωσις), that is, by an ability that communicates an immediate awareness of reality. A staunch proponent of reason as an absolute value, Chrysippus traced a sharp dividing line between Man and beast, judging it impossible that nature should have afforded a spark of rationality to beings incapable of reaching its ultimate end (ἀπορῶ πῶς ἡ φύσις ἔδωκε τὴν ἀρχὴν αὐτοῖς (i.e. τοῖς ζῴοις), ἐπὶ τὸ τέλος ἐξικέσθαι μὴ δυναμένοις).142 He therefore held animals to be extraneous to any logical process and, together with reason, he was actually constrained,

136 137 138 139

140 141

142

Plu., De soll. an. 960BD. Plu., De E 386F; SVF 2.725. Plu., De soll. an. 961E = Porph., Abst. 3.22; Pohlenz, La Stoa, I 163. On the Stoic doctrine of οἰκείωσις perfected by Chrysippus and understood as the primal instinct of animals to recognize what helps them and what harms them, see SVF 3.178 = D.L. 8.85; C.O. Brink, “Οἰκείωσις and οἰκειότης. Theophrastus and Zeno on Nature in Moral Theory,” Phronesis I (1955–1956) 123; M. Isnardi Parente, Stoici antichi (Torino: UTET, 1989) 22 n. 33. Plu., De soll. an. 961C. SVF 3.725; 216. On the animal that seeks what is useful without rational intelligence concerning causes, see Plu., De E 386F above n. 43, where his companion (Θέων ὁ ἑταῖρος), who presents typically Stoic arguments recognizes that animals too are conscious of the existence of things, though only to mankind has nature given the faculty seeing and judging logical consequences. Cf. S.E., P. 1.69–71; Porph., Abst. 3.6; Pohlenz, La Stoa, I 163–165. Plu., De soll. an. 962A above n. 57.

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contrary to truth and evidence, to deny animals any of those conditions of the body or soul to which they are manifestly subject, thus excluding the potential for moral behaviour on their part.143 The reaction to this rigid, anthropocentric and logocentric Stoic doctrine, which did, however, recognize in animals a “quasi” likeness to human capacities, was not long in coming. This was initiated probably around the mid second century B.C. by the scholarch of the New Academy, Carneades, and by his disciple Hagnon,144 who, rejecting the Stoic finalism according to which animals had been created for human purposes, did not consider logos an exclusively human prerogative145 but attributed some form of intelligence to animals as well. The Neo-Academics adopted themes and arguments from Aristotle and the Peripatus, in particular from Theophrastus and Straton, and elaborated them in anti-Stoic terms, pointing up the contradictions into which the philosophers of the Portico had fallen. Driven by their longing for pleasure (φιληδονία)146 and their love of self (φιλαυτία),147 with tendentious and sophistic lines of argument148 they had denied beast even passions and vices, which on a par with virtues demonstrate that even aloga are possessed of forms of intelligence.149 Towards the end of the Republic a young Alexander takes a stance contrary to the Stoic position of his uncle, the Alexandrian philosopher Philo, in the dialogue de animalibus, which adopts the results of the Peripatetic–

143

144

145 146 147

148 149

Plu., De soll. an. 963CD. See SVF 3.367, 371, 374 = Plu., De esu 999AB ‘οὐδὲν γὰρ ἡμῖν πρὸς τὰ ἄλογα οἰκεῖον ἔστιν’ … οὐ μὴν ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῦτ’ ἤδη σκεψώμεθα, τὸ μηδὲν εἶναι πρὸς τὰ ζῷα δίκαιον ἡμῖν. On Carneades, who left no extant writings, see Carn., Fr. 51 Wiśniewski = Plu., De Al. Magn. fort. 328A; De soll. an. 966B (see Tappe, De Philonis, 24–25: “Philosophi illi Plutarchi sunt Academici, cum genus argumentandi sit Academicorum posteriorum et praecipue Carneadis. E consuetudine Academicorum est, cum stoici dicant animalia rationis expertia esse, demonstrare singulas facultates et virtutes, quas ratione sola effici stoici affirmant, etiam in animalibus inveniri et hac de causa etiam animalia ratione praedita esse.”); Plu., fr. 193, 73 ff. Sandbach = Porph., Abst. 3.20.3. On Hagnon, see Plu., De soll. an. 968D. See Porph., Abst. 3.20. Plu., De Esu 996E. See Ph., Ἀλέξανδρος ἢ περὶ τοῦ λόγον ἔχειν τὰ ἄλογα ζῷα (henceforth cited as Alex.) §10. This text, whose title is known to Eusebius (H.E. 2.18.6), is preserved only in a version in Armenian, which J.B. Aucher, Philonis Judaei sermones tres hactenus inedita III (Venice: Venetiis coenobium armenorum, 1822), translated into Latin, and the latter version was, in turn, taken up by C.E. Richter, Philonis Judaei, Opera omnia VIII (Leipzig: E.B. Schwickert, 1830) 101–144, who is responsible for the division into paragraphs referred to here. Plu., De esu 999B. Ph, Alex. § 66: Porro non minus vitia quam virtutes sunt indicia naturae rationalis.

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Theophrastean speculation: natura in universis animis dominatricem mentem condidit; ita tamen ut in uno languida sit delineatio ac subobscura et facilis ad delendum figura formae; in altero vero velut indelebilis, clara et vix delenda forma depicta sit.150 He, in fact, attributes to animals, who are self-sufficient and selftaught (§38ff.), if not perfect intelligence, which nature does not confer,151 traces thereof that are not insignificant (§12: si minus perfectionem, attamen haud contemnenda principia et semina), as evidenced by their innate predisposition to learn and teach crafts (§17ff.) and to practice the virtues proper to a rational soul (sapientia et prudentia, sobrietas, fortitudo, aequalitas et iustitia).152 This reaction persisted into the first centuries of the Empire through the efforts of the so-called partisans of animal intelligence:153 Plutarch,154 Sextus Empiricus155 and Porphyry, who, though differing in their philosophical orientations, converge in recognizing a single line of psychic development leading gradually from animal to human, seeing in animals, who have, by nature, a soul no different from that of humans, kindred creatures endowed with intelligence and with rights.156 Concerning animals they recommend, if not law and jurisprudence—which by nature apply solely to human beings, as Plutarch writes, at least gentleness (πραότης), the source from which goodness springs.157 In denouncing behaviour prompted by insensitivity (ἀπάθεια), cruelty (ὠμότης),158 ferocity (ἀγριότης),159 and lawlessness (ἀνομία) on the part of an aristocracy within which habitual intemperance, profligacy160 and φιληδονία161 have become rooted, Plutarch hopes that towards animals the attitude be one of respect162 and that behaviour be inspired by compassion (τὸ φιλοίκτιρμον),

150 151 152 153 154

155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162

Ph., Alex. §§ 17, 29. De soll. an. 962C above n. 10. Ph., Alex. §§ 30–31, 34, 38, 46–62, 66 (Porro non minus vitia quam virtutes sunt indicia naturae rationalis); Plu., De soll. an. 962B. See Lhermitte, L’ animal vertueux, 248–251. See Lhermitte, L’ animal vertueux, 22: “Plutarque rejette avec vigueur les thèses stoïciennes relatives à l’ intelligence animale, notamment dans un dialogue consacré à ce sujet et portant le titre grec Πότερα τῶν ζῴων φρονιμώτερα, τὰ χερσαῖα ἢ τὰ ἔνυδρα …”. S.E., P 2.26 οὐδέν ἐστι ζῷον ἄλογον, ἀλλὰ καὶ νοῦ καὶ ἐπιστήμης δεκτικά ἐστι πάντα. Plu., De esu 999AB. Ca. Ma. 5.2. De esu 994A. De soll. an. 959D. De esu 993DF; 996B; 996D. De esu 996E. De soll. an. 959F; De esu 997E; 998A.

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gentleness,163 humanity (φιλανθρωπία)164 and a sense of justice165—which can come only from an awareness of the true nature of animals. Consequently, even as he reaffirms the superiority of mankind, λογικὸν καὶ πολιτικὸν ζῷον, as the only animate being possessing the versatility, the excellence and the full autonomy of reason166—thanks to his ability to attain ἐξ ἐπιμελείας καὶ διδασκαλίας right reason (ὀρθότητα λόγου)167 and to make judgements as to the logical coherence of things,168 in his dispute with the Stoics Plutarch recognizes in beasts the possession of a natural intelligence,169 which equips them to learn arts and even to teach them.170 The chief accusation Plutarch levels against the philosophers of the Portico is that of confusing the total lack (στέρησιν) with the deficiency and feebleness (φαυλότητα λόγου καὶ ἀσθένειαν) of reason.171 He shows that they in fact admit what they sophistically deny verbally,172 when they all agree to argue that the passions (which in animals provoke acts and movements) are all “false judgements and opinions” (τὰ δὲ πάθη σύμπαντα … ‘κρίσεις φαύλας καὶ δόξας’)173 and that vice (which abounds in animals)174 is a product of reason (καὶ ταῦτα τὴν

163 164 165 166 167 168

169

170

171

172 173 174

De soll. an. 959F. De esu 996A. De soll. an. 963F; De esu 997B; Ca. Ma. 5.2. De am. prol. 493D; 495C. De soll. an. 962C. De E 386F above n. 43. See Lhermitte, L’ animal vertueux, 254: “Toutefois, il semble que l’ intelligence animale soit la plupart du temps de nature intuitive et non discursive … Plutarque et Élien appellent σύνεσις ou σοφία cette intelligence intuitive. Sous sa forme morale, l’ intelligence animale constitue une sagesse pratique et naturelle, parce que, comme l’ impulsion et l’ intention, elle procède de la φύσις.” On the capacity of beasts to move on their own initiative and to provide for their own development, to perceive what is useful or harmful (οἰκείωσις), thus making proper choices in accordance with nature, see De soll. an. 962A; on the ability to remember, feel emotions and adopt virtuous behaviours similar to those of human beings, such as love for their own offspring, considered the wellspring of justice, see De soll. an. 966B; Porph., Abst. 3.19.2: καὶ γὰρ οἰκειώσεως καὶ ἀλλοτριώσεως ἀρχὴ τὸ αἰσθάνεσθαι. Τὴν δὲ οἰκείωσιν ἀρχὴν τίθενται δικαιοσύνης οἱ ἀπὸ Ζήνωνος. De soll. an. 966B. On the rationality of animals in Plutarch, see S.T. Newmyer, “Animals in Plutarch,” in M. Beck (ed.), A Companion to Plutarch (Oxford: Blackwell, 2014) 226– 231. De soll. an. 962B. Cf. De virt. mor. 450F–451A: τοῦτο δ’ ἀμέλει καὶ τὰς τῶν θηρίων ἠθοποιεῖ πρὸς τὰ πάθη φύσεις. οὐ γὰρ ὀρθότητι δοξῶν οὐδὲ φαυλότητι δήπου τοῖς μὲν ἀλκαὶ καὶ ὀρμαὶ πρὸς τὰ φαινόμενα δεινὰ παρίστανται … De soll. an. 961C; De esu 999AB. On the aims of the De soll. an., see Li Causi & Pomelli, L’anima degli animali, 220–221. De soll. an. 961D; De virt. mor. 447A. Cf. SVF 3.459. De soll. an. 961DF. Plutarch notes—and marvels at the fact (θαυμαστὸν ὅτι)—that the Sto-

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κακίαν ὁμολογοῦντας εἶναι λογικήν, ἧς πᾶν θηρίον ἀναπέπλησται).175 Indeed, certain emotional states, such as anger, themselves attest that beasts do possess mental capabilities, because it would not be possible to feel such an affection in the absence of the faculty of which that affection represents a loss or weakening (οὐ γὰρ ἔστιν ἐμπαθὲς γενέσθαι μὴ κεκτημένον δύναμιν ἧς τὸ πάθος ἢ στέρησις ἢ πήρωσις ἤ τις ἄλλη κάκωσις ἦν).176 In stressing the substantial affinity (οἰκειότης) that links the soul of beasts to that of humans the Chaeronean intellectual seeks to demonstrate the flimsiness of the Stoic objections as absurd (ἄτοπος)177 and ridiculous (καταγέλαστόν ἐστι),178 insomuch as they contradict the evidence (παρὰ τὴν ἐνάργειαν)179 and the truths (φιλονεικεῖν πρὸς τὴν ἀλήθειαν)180 adduced by the Stoa against the intelligence of animals,181 but he also seeks to resolve the dilemma propounded by his friend Soclarus182 by advancing a solution that does not deprive animals of reason and upholds our own sense of justice. From Plutarch’s zoological texts—and in particular from the De esu carnium (I–II) and from the first chapters of the De sollertia animalium—there emerge, on the one hand, a line of philosophical development leading from the doctrines of Pythagoras and of Empedocles, which were laws of the ancient Greeks,183 through Xenocrates’s doctrine of ὁμογένεια184 and that of οἰκειότης of Theophrastus185 down to the New Academy and, on the other hand, a systematic critique of the Stoa of Chrysippus, who, in the name of ἀνομοιότης, denied intelligence and justice to animals: a doctrine, this, which reinforced the bestial and bloodthirsty component of human nature. This dichotomy is strangely contradicted by what one reads in at the beginning of Chapter 6

175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185

ics stupidly (ἀβελτέρως) and against the evidence (παρὰ τὴν ἐνάργειαν) take no account of many actions of beasts or their impulses, of anger, of fear, or—with respect to Zeus—of envy and jealousy, when they affirm that animals μήτε ἥδεσθαι μήτε θυμοῦσθαι μήτε φοβεῖσθαι μήτε παρασκευάζεσθαι μήτε μνημονεύειν. De soll. an. 962B. De soll. an. 963D. De soll. an. 960D. De soll. an. 962B. De soll. an. 961F. De soll. an. 963F. De soll. an. 960B–962D. De soll. an. 963F. De esu 998A. Cf. Xenocr., fr. 251 (Isnardi Parente). De esu 996AB. De esu 999AB.

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of the De sollertia animalium (963F), where his friend Soclarus, by way of conclusion, recognizes the correctness of the Academic and Theophrastean argumentation in defence of animal intelligence by Plutarch’s father, Autoboulus;186 yet the motivation adduced is contradictory in that it also attributes to the Peripatetic school the Stoic doctrine that denies intelligence and justice to animals: “Ὀρθῶς μοι δοκεῖς ὑπονοεῖν· οἱ γὰρ ἀπὸ τῆς Στοᾶς καὶ τοῦ Περιπάτου μάλιστα πρὸς τοὐναντίον ἐντείνονται τῷ λόγῳ, τῆς δικαιοσύνης ἑτέραν γένεσιν οὐκ ἐχούσης, ἀλλὰ παντάπασιν ἀσυστάτου καὶ ἀνυπάρκτου γιγνομένης, εἰ πᾶσι τοῖς ζῴοις λόγου μέτεστι·” Despite the evident contradiction and the textual difficulties,187 the translators and editors who, over the centuries, have, in various capacities, dealt with this pericope, beginning with Xylander, who in Basel in 1570 published the Latin translation188—reprinted almost exactly in the editions edited by Reiske,189 Wyttenbach190 and Dübner,191 and by Amyot, who in Paris in 1572 published the French translation,192 down to modern times (Helmbold,193 Santese,194 Bouffartigue,195 Li Causi & Pomelli196), print the text as it appears throughout the manuscript tradition and in Porphyry, who freely copies it in Books I and III of his De abstinentia ab esu animalium:197 Xylander Recte mea sententia iudicas. Equidem Stoici et Peripatetici contrarium hac maxime probant ratione, quod iustitiae esse nullam originem posse dicunt, nullamque omnino fore iustitiam, si omnia animalia ratione sint praedita.

186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197

Cf. De soll. an. 959C (ἀληθῆ λέγεις, ὦ Αὐτόβουλε· καὶ γὰρ …), 961F: κἀμὲ τοίνυν, ὦ Αὐτόβουλε, ταῦτά γε τίθει πειθόμενον. The reference is primarily to the adverb μάλιστα. Plutarchi Chaeronensis Moralia (Bruta animalia ratione uti). Plutarchi Operum Moralium et Philosophicorum X. Plutarchi Chaeronensis Moralia … Tomus I. Plutarchi, Scripta Moralia, Tomus II. Plutarque, Que les bêtes brutes usent de raison. Plutarch’s Moralia XII, 347. In L. Inglese & G. Santese, Plutarco, Il cibarsi di carne (Naples: M. D’Auria, 1999) 36. Plutarque, L’ intelligence des animaux, 13–14. L’Anima degli animali, 236. Porph., Abst. 1.3.3; 6.3; 3.20–24 = De soll. an. 959E–963F.

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Amyot Il m’est avis que ta conjecture est bonne, car les philosophes stoïciens et les Péripatéticiens résistent fermement à ce propos, disant que la justice ne pourrait avoir naissance autrement et qu’ il serait totalement impossible de soutenir qu’il y eût une justice en ce monde, si l’ on confessait que les bêtes ne sont capables de raison. Helmbold Your inference seems quite justified. For the Stoics and Peripatetics strenuously argue on the other side, to the effect that justice could not then come into existence, but would remain completely without form or substance, if all the beasts partake of reason. Santese Gli Stoici e i Peripatetici … [affermano] che la giustizia non potrebbe nascere e in ogni caso sarebbe vana e inesistente se tutti gli esseri viventi partecipassero della ragione. Bouffartigue Tes soupçons semblent fondés. De fait les stoïciens et les péripatéticiens s’appliquent plus que tous les autres à argumenter en sens contraire, disant qu’il n’y a plus d’avènement possible pour la justice mais qu’ elle devient quelque chose d’inconstitué et d’inexistant si tous les vivants ont part à la raison. Li Causi—Pomelli Le tue ipotesi mi sembrano corrette. E infatti i seguaci della Stoa e del Peripato più degli altri propendono verso posizioni contrarie nei loro discorsi, dicendo che la giustizia neanche sarebbe stata generata, ma che o non esisterebbe affatto o sarebbe il prodotto privo di coerenza dell’immaginazione, se tutti gli animali partecipassero della ragione. As it comes down to us from the manuscript tradition, the text attributes to the Peripatetics a doctrine that is exactly the opposite of that to which Plutarch constantly refers in the De esu carnium, where he manifests his adherence

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to the Theophrastean doctrine of kinship (οἰκειότης),198 and in the De sollertia animalium, where he cites Aristotle as the most authoritative proponent of the intelligence of animals,199 lists as proofs of the existence of mental functions in animals the same ones to which Aristotle and Theophrastus have recourse in Books VIII and IX of the Historia animalium,200 identifies in the Theophrastean doctrine the solution that preserves the man-beast juridical pact,201 and invokes the doctrine of the Perpatetic Straton.202 If one accepts the text of the manuscripts one must admit that the Peripatetic school had, on the whole, denied beasts intelligence and justice,203 and that Theophrastus and Straton, to whom we would have to add at least Eudemus,204 had been the only Peripatetics to defend the intelligence of animals. The inevitable consequence would then be to think of the Peripatetics as philo-Stoic philosophers who had developed hostile arguments (οἱ ἀντιλέγοντες)205 against not only the philosophy of Pythagoras and of Empedocles, but also against the doctrine of their founding father. Of such philosophers, who have left no traces in the development of ancient thought,206 however, no mention is made even in the zoological writings of Plutarch, whose polemic is consistently addressed to the Stoics.207

198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206

207

De esu 999AB. De soll. an. 965D, 973A (= Arist., HA 536b18: ἐπεὶ δὲ τοῦ μαθεῖν τὸ διδάξαι λογικώτερον, ἤδη πειστέον Ἀριστοτέλει λέγοντι καὶ τοῦτο τὰ ζῷα ποιεῖν); 981B, 981F. Cf. Porph., Abst. 3.9.5. De soll. an. 966B. De soll. an. 964E. Cf. Thphr., fr. 20 (Pötscher) = Porph., Abst. 3.23.1–2; 3.24.5. De soll. an. 961A. See Porph., Abst. 1.3,3; 1.4.1. Eudem., fr. 130 (Wehrli) = Ael. 4.53. Porph., Abst. 1.4.1: Εὐθυς τοίνυν φασὶν οἱ ἀντιλέγοντες τὴν δικαιοσύνην συγχεῖσθαι καὶ τὰ ἀκίνητα κινεῖσθαι, ἐὰν τὸ δίκαιον μὴ πρὸς τὸ λογικὸν μόνον τείνωμεν, ἀλλὰ καὶ πρὸς τὸ ἄλογον. The only exception is found in three sections of the De abstinentia of Porphyry, drawn from Books I (3.3: οἵ τ’ ἐκ τοῦ περιπάτου καὶ τῆς στοᾶς καὶ τοῦ Ἐπικούρου τὸ πλεῖστον τῆς ἀντιλογίας πρὸς τὴν Πυθαγόρου καὶ Ἐμπεδοκλέους ἀποτεινόμενοι φιλοσοφίαν; 6.3: τῶν μὲν οὖν ἀπὸ τῆς στοᾶς καὶ τοῦ περιπάτου τὰ κυριώτατα πάντα.) and III (24.6 Τὰ μὲν δὴ τοῦ Πλουτάρχου ἐν πολλοῖς βιβλίοις πρὸς τοὺς ἀπὸ τῆς Στοᾶς καὶ τοῦ Περιπάτου εἰς ἀπάντησιν εἰρημένα ἐστὶ τοιαῦτα), in which Porphyry, however, reproduces the text of the De soll. an. of Plutarch. Porphyry proves incapable of justifying the Plutarchean passage that attributes to the Peripatetics as well the doctrine of animal irrationality (963F), following this (3.25.1), by way of confirmation, with the precisely opposed doctrine of the founder of the Peripatetic school, Theophrastus, on kinship (οἰκειότης / συγγένεια). Cf. De soll. an. 960B; 960E; 961CD; 961E; 962A; 962B; 963F; 964C; De esu 994F; 997E; 998F; 999A; 999B. On Plutarch’s polemics against the Stoic doctrine concerning animals, see Santese in Inglese & Santese, Plutarco, Il cibarsi di carne, 83–84; Newmyer, “Animals in Plutarch,” 230; and Li Causi & Pomelli, L’anima degli animali, 220.

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The true identity of these philosophers against whom Plutarch polemicizes208 is confirmed by Chap. 7 of the De sollertia animalium (964C), in which these prove to be the same philosophers who opposed what is manifest without offering any demonstration and who criticized Epicurus for introducing the theory of clinamen (παρέγκλισις), an acausal (ἀναίτιον) movement, thus breaking with their strict determinism.209 Comparison with Plutarch’s De animae procreatione in Timaeo210 and De Stoicorum repugnantiis211 confirms that it was not a question of the Peripatetics but of the Stoics, and in particular Chrysippus, who accused the Epicureans of an assault on nature with their concept of an absence of cause (πρὸς τούτους ὁ Χρύσιπποϛ ἀντιλέγων, ὡς βιαζομένους τῷ ἀναιτίῳ τὴν φύσιν)212 thus showing all his unwillingness to concede to Epicurus a thing so minimal and insignificant as the declination of a single atom (ἄτομον παρεγκλῖναι μίαν).213 If, then, one nonetheless followed the common interpretation, placing the pronoun αὐτοί (964C) in apposition with Stoics and Peripatetics, one would inevitably also have to attribute to the Peripatetics determinism (heimarmene), which negates the free will of humans. Further confirmation of this anti-Stoic polemic comes from the De animalibus of Philo, mentioned above,214 in which his nephew, Alexander, to conclude a long excursus (10–71) in which he defends the intelligence of animals, states: Itaque … non solum homines, verum etiam bestias sortitas esse intellectus, quasi hereditate accepta, haud obscurum est … Sunt quidem aliqui qui nequeant haec audire, per se minime edocti; sed ignorantiam pro disciplina habentes contrarium omnino tuentur.215 From this comparison of the texts of Philo and Plutarch it clearly emerges that those adversaries who licet … increpare veluti insanos aut veluti inimicos veritatis, because they will hear nothing of animal intelligence, and whose conviction is entirely opposite to that of Alexander (contrarium omnino tuentur),216 are the same persons who in Plutarch raise objections contrary to the truth and

208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216

De soll. an. 960B, 960E, 961DE, 962AB, 963F, 964C. Cf. De esu 994F; 997E, 998F, 999AB. On the Epicurean theory of the spontaneous deviation of atoms in Plutarch, see also De Pyth. or. 398B; De an. procr. 1015C; De Stoic. rep. 1045C. See De an. procr. 1015BC: Ἐπικούρῳ μὲν γὰρ οὐδ’ ἀκαρὲς ἐγκλῖναι τὴν ἄτομον συγχωροῦσιν (sc. οἱ Στωικοί), ὡς ἀναίτιον ἐπεισάγοντι κίνησιν ἐκ τοῦ μὴ ὄντος. See De Stoic. rep. 1045BC Πρὸς τούτους ὁ Χρύσιππος ἀντιλέγων, ὡς βιαζομένους τῷ ἀναιτίῳ τὴν φύσιν. De Stoic. rep. 1045C. De soll. an. 964C. For the Latin version see n. 77. Ph., Alex. 71. Ph., Alex. 71. Cf. Porph., Abst. 1.4.1.

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whose line of argument is the exact opposite to that of Autoboulus (μάλιστα πρὸς τοὐναντίον ἐντείνονται τῷ λόγῳ),217 that is, the Stoics.218 As things would seem, then, to stand, in order to restore coherence to this Plutarchean pericope, textual correction becomes inevitable. To that end, I would propose the following emendation, deeming it an economical modification of the text and a solution to the problem of its sense: the excision before the genitive τοῦ Περιπάτου of the copulative conjunction [καί], whose insertion in the text seems to have been dictated by the need to coordinate the two contiguous genitives τῆς Στοᾶς τοῦ Περιπάτου. That interpolation, which led to the attribution also to the Peripatetics of the absence of any juridical obligation towards regarding animals, could be the work of a scholar not terribly expert in the Greek language, perhaps Porphyry himself, who, one might add, is no stranger to such alterations of Plutarch’s text.219 The deletion of the conjunction, and the consequent dependence on it of the genitive τοῦ Περιπάτου, from the prepositional phrase πρὸς τοὐναντίον220 allows us to restore coherence and complete sense to the text, which I interpret as follows: “It seems to me that you reason correctly, because the Stoics make the opposite argument, especially with respect to the Peripatetics; for they hold that justice has no other origin, but becomes entirely groundless and false if all animals partake of reason.”

Philo

Plutarchus

Alex. §12: Verbi enim duplex est species. Una intus in consilio sita (quae dicitur ratio) … Altera pronuntiativa … Utriusque videre est in eis (animalibus), si minus perfectionem, attamen haud contemnenda principia et semina.

217 218 219

220

Porphyry Abst. 3.6.7–7: Ἀλλ’ Ἀριστοτέλης γε καὶ Πλάτων Ἐμπεδοκλῆς τε καὶ Πυθαγόρας Δημόκριτός τε καὶ ὅσοι ἐφρόντισαν τὴν ἀλήθειαν περὶ αὐτῶν (i.e. τῶν ζῴων) ἑλεῖν ἔγνωσαν τὸ μετέχον τοῦ λόγου. Δεικτέον δὲ καὶ τὸν ἐντὸς (i.e. λόγον) αὐτῶ͂ ν καὶ ἐνδιάθετον.

For the periphrasis ἐντείνεσθαι τῷ λόγῳ, cf. De virt. mor. 442F–443A (τῷ λόγῳ περαίνειν), 449D, 450BC (ἐνιστάμενοι τῷ λόγῳ). Tappe, De Philonis, 49: “Philonem totam orationem, qua Alexandri sententias refutat, e doctrina stoicorum hausisse haud difficile est intellectu.” Comparison of Plutarch’s text with that presented by Porphyry would seem to confirm this hypothesis: Porph., Abst. 1.5.2 (ἀλλὰ καὶ ἡμῖν) = De soll. an. 964A (ἀλλ’ ἡμῖν); Abst. 3.22.1 (θήρατρα καὶ πάλιν) = De soll. an. 961C (θήρατρα πάλιν); Abst. 3.22.8 (μὴ καὶ καταγέλαστόν ἐστι) = De soll. an. 962B (μὴ καταγέλαστόν ἐστι). For the anastrophe, cf. De soll. an. 959B τοῦ μέτρου πέρα.

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(cont.) Philo

Plutarchus

Porphyry

§13: Nam multa sunt eorum voce articulata utentia ex natura per se edocta auditu proprio; multa autem quae etiam edocentur (ab hominibus), sicut dicitur de corvis et indicis psittacis.

De soll. an. 972F–973A: ψᾶρες δὲ καὶ κόρακες καὶ ψιττακοὶ μανθάνοντες διαλέγεσθαι … ἐμοὶ δοκοῦσιν προδικεῖν καὶ συνηγορεῖν τοῖς ἄλλοις ζῴοις ἐν τῷ μανθάνειν

3.10.3: Καίτοι ἐπὶ τῶν ἄλλων ζῴων, καθάπερ ἐπὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων, τὰ μὲν πολλὰ ἐν αὐτοῖς ἡ φύσις ἐδίδαξεν, τὰ δὲ ἤδη παρέσχε καὶ ἡ μάθησις· διδάσκονται δὲ τὰ μὲν ὑπ’ ἀλλήλων, τὰ δὲ … ὑπὸ ἀνθρώπων.

Gryllus 992A: (i.e. ἡ φύσις τῶν ζῴων) οὐκ ἀμαθὴς οὐδὲ ἀπαίδευτος, αὐτομαθὴς δέ τις μᾶλλον οὖσα καὶ ἀπροσδεής … τούτων ἡ διάνοια καὶ παρὰ φύσιν τοῦ σώματος περιουσίᾳ συνέσεως ἀναλαμβάνει τὰς μαθήσεις. ἐῶ γὰρ … κόρακας διαλέγεσθαι … De soll. an. 973A: ἐπεὶ τοῦ μαθεῖν τὸ διδάξαι λογικώτερον, ἤδη πειστέον Ἀριστοτέλει (H.A. 536A18) λέγοντι καὶ τοῦτο τὰ ζῷα ποιεῖν. Gryllus 992B: εἰ δὲ ἀπιστεῖς ὅτι τέχνας μανθάνομεν, ἄκουσον ὅτι καὶ διδάσκομεν. §31: Possident autem (sc. animalia) … abundantem sapientiam; nemo eorum privatur sapientia …

De soll. an. 960A: ⟨Ἀποφηνάμενοι⟩ γὰρ … μετέχειν ἁμωσγέπως πάντα τὰ ζῷα διανοίας καὶ λογισμοῦ.

3.9.1: Ὅτι τοίνυν καὶ λογικὴ (sc. ψυχή) ἐν αὐτοῖς (i.e. τοῖς ζῴοις) ἐστι καὶ οὐκ ἀφῄρηται φρονήσεως ἐπιδεικτέον …

§71 (cit. infra)

962CD: λόγος μὲν γὰρ ἐγγίγνεται 3.10.1: ὁ δὲ φύσει λέγων αὐτοῖς προσφύσει … διὸ τοῦ λογικοῦ πᾶσι τοῖς εῖναι ταῦτα ἀγνοεῖ λέγων ὅτι φύσει ἐμψύχοις μέτεστιν … μηδὲ εἶναι ζῷον ἐστὶ λογικά … ᾧ μὴ δόξα τις καὶ λογισμὸς ὥσπερ αἴσθησις καὶ ὁρμὴ κατὰ φύσιν πάρεστιν.

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(cont.) Philo

Plutarchus

Porphyry

§29: Sic ergo natura in universis animis dominatricem mentem condidit; ita tamen ut in uno languida sit delineatio ac subobscura et facilis ad delendum figura formae; in altero vero velut indelebilis, clara et vix delenda forma depicta sit …

De soll. an. 962C: σπουδαῖος δὲ λόγος καὶ τέλειος ἐξ ἐπιμελείας καὶ διδασκαλίας … ἣν δὲ ζητοῦσιν ὀρθότητα καὶ σοφίαν οὐδὲ ἄνθρωπον εἰπεῖν κεκτημένον ἔχουσιν.

3.7.1: Φαίνεται δὲ ἡ παραλλαγή, ὥς φησί που καὶ Ἀριστοτέλης, οὐκ οὐσίᾳ διαλλάττουσα, ἀλλ’ ἐν τῷ μᾶλλον καὶ ἧττον θεωρουμένη· … οὐ κατ’ οὐσίαν οὔσης τῆς διαφορᾶς ταύτης, ἀλλὰ κατὰ τὸ ἀκριβὲς ἢ μὴ τοῦ λόγου.

§71: Itaque … non solum homines, verum etiam bestias sortitas esse intellectus, quasi hereditate accepta, haud obscurum est: cuius rei participatio virtutis ac malitiae satis fidem facit. Sunt autem aliqui, qui nequeant haec audire, per se minime edocti; sed ignorantiam pro disciplina habentes contrarium omnino tuentur.

963B: Οὐκοῦν ὁμοίως μηδὲ τὰ θηρία λέγωμεν, εἰ νωθρότερον φρονεῖ καὶ κάκιον διανοεῖται, μὴ διανοεῖσθαι μηδὲ φρονεῖν ὅλως μηδὲ κεκτῆσθαι λόγον, ἀσθενῆ δὲ κεκτῆσθαι καὶ θολερὸν κεκτῆσθαι ὥσπερ ὀφθαλμὸν ἀμβλυώττοντα καὶ τεταραγμένον.

3.18.1: Διὰ μὲν τούτων καὶ ἄλλων … δείκνυται λογικὰ ὄντα τὰ ζῷα, τοῦ λόγου ἐν τοις πλείστοις ἀτελοῦς μὲν ὄντος, οὐ μὴν παντελῶς ἐστερημένου.

De soll. an. 960D: … πρὸς ἀνθρώπους διαλεγόμενος μηδὲ ἓν οἰομένους αἰσθήσεως μετέχειν ὃ μὴ καὶ συνέσεως, μηδ’ εἶναι ζῷον ᾧ μὴ δόξα τις καὶ λογισμὸς ὥσπερ αἴσθησις καὶ ὁρμὴ κατὰ φύσιν πάρεστιν. 961A: Καίτοι Στράτωνος γε τοῦ φυσικοῦ λόγος ἐστιν ἀποδεικνύων ὡς οὐδ’ αἰσθάνεσθαι τὸ παράπαν ἄνευ τοῦ νοεῖν ὑπάρχει·

3.8.6: Φρονιμώτερα δέ φησιν ὁ Ἀριστοτέλης εἶναι τὰ εὐαισθητότερα.

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Plutarchus

Porphyry

963D: οὐκοῦν οὐδὲ παραπαῖον ἢ παραφρονοῦν ἢ μαινόμενον, ᾧ μὴ τὸ φρονεῖν καὶ διανοεῖσθαι καὶ λογίζεσθαι κατὰ φύσιν ὑπῆρχεν·

3.7.2: Καὶ ὅτι μὲν ἄχρι γε αἰσθήσεως τῆς τε ἄλλης ὀργανώσεως τῆς τε κατὰ τὰ αἰσθητήρια καὶ τῆς κατὰ σάρκα ὁμοίως ἡμῖν διάκειται, πᾶς σχεδὸν συγκεχώρηκεν. Καὶ γὰρ οὐ μόνον τῶν κατὰ φύσιν παθῶν τε καὶ κινημάτων τῶν διὰ τούτων ὁμοίως ἡμῖν κεκοινώνηκεν, ἀλλ’ ἤδη καὶ τῶν παρὰ φύσιν καὶ νοσωδῶν ἐν αὐτοῖς θεωρουμένων.

§30: Porro praeter iam dicta non supervacaneum erit illud quoque dicere, quod sapientiam, scientiam et optimam deliberationem, eam etiam, quae provida est cum procuratione, tum aliam quae consilii prudentiae germana est, compluresque alias, quae rationalis animae virtutes appellantur, animalia prae se ferunt.

Gryllus 987BC: … ὁμολογεῖς τὴν τῶν θηρίων ψυχὴν εὐφυεστέραν εἶναι πρὸς γένεσιν ἀρετῆς καὶ τελειοτέραν· … Τίνος (i.e. ἀρετῆς) μὲν οὐχὶ μᾶλλον ἢ τῷ σοφωτάτῳ τῶν ἀνθρώπων;

§38: Adeo autem abundanter effluit copia sapientiae (animalium), ut in apprime necessariis superet vel hominum sapientiam.

Gryllus 992A: … ῥώμῃ καὶ τελειότητι τῆς κατὰ φύσιν ἀρετῆς …

§60: quaedam animantia praeter iam dictas virtutes, iustitiam etiam prae se tulerunt.

De soll. an. 962BD: Σκόπει δὲ ἄλλως, μὴ καὶ καταγέλαστόν ἐστιν … τῶν θηρίων αἰτιᾶσθαι τὸ μὴ καθαρὸν μηδὲ ἀπεκριβωμένον πρὸς ἀρετὴν ὡς στέρησιν οὐχὶ φαυλότητα λόγου καὶ ἀσθένειαν, καὶ ταῦτα τὴν κακίαν ὁμολογοῦντας εἶναι λογικήν, ἧς πᾶν θηρίον ἀναπέπλασται· … δείγματά γε πολλὰ κοινωνίας καὶ ἀνδρείας καὶ τοῦ πανούργου … ὥσπερ αὖ καὶ τῶν ἐναντίων ἀδικίας, δειλίας, ἀβελτερίας, ἔνεστιν αὐτοῖς.

§62: Videntes antiqui virtutes usque ad animantia devertisse, a carnis esu sese abstinuerunt. §66: perversitas peccati tam hominibus quam animantibus inest. §71: cuius rei (i.e. intellectus) participatio virtutis ac malitiae satis fidem facit.

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(cont.) Philo

Plutarchus

Porphyry

De esu 3.25.4: Παντάπασιν ἂν οἰκεῖον εἴη 2.999AB: ‘ναί, φασίν (sc. οἱ Στωϊκαὶ συγγενὲς ἡμῖν τὸ τῶν λοιπῶν κοί), οὐδὲν γὰρ ἡμῖν πρὸς τὰ ἄλογα ζῴων γένος … οἰκεῖον ἔστιν’ … Οὐ μὴν ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῦτ’ ἤδη σκεψώμεθα, τὸ μηδὲν εἶναι πρὸς τὰ ζῷα δίκαιον ἡμῖν … III 25, 4 Παντάπασιν ἂν οἰκεῖον εἴη καὶ συγγενὲς ἡμῖν τὸ τῶν λοιπῶν ζῴων γένος …

Bibliography Babut, D., Plutarque et le Stoïcisme (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1969). Battegazzore, A.M., “La concezione teofrastea dell’ Οἰκειότης e del Δίκαιον verso gli animali alla luce di un passo controverso di Porfirio (De abst. II 22,1–3),” in M.S. Funghi (ed.), ΟΔΟΙ ΔΙΖΗΣΙΟΣ. Le vie della ricerca. Studi in onore di F. Adorno (Florence: Olschki, 1996) 81–93. Becchi, F., “Istinto e intelligenza negli scritti zoopsicologici di Plutarco,” in M. Bandini & F.G. Pericoli (eds.), Scritti in onore di Dino Pieraccioni (Florence: Istituto Papirologico Vitelli, 1993) 59–83. Becchi, F., “Irrazionalità e razionalità degli animali,” Prometheus 26 (2000) 205–225. Becchi, F., “Biopsicologia e giustizia verso gli animali in Teofrasto e Plutarco,” Prometheus 27 (2001) 119–135. Becchi, F., “Lignes directrices de la doctrine zoopsychologique de Plutarque,” Myrtia 17 (2002) 159–174. Billault, A., “Le modèle animal dans le traité de Plutarque Περὶ τοῦ τὰ ἄλογα λόγῳ χρῆσθαι,” in J. Boulogne (ed.), Les Grecs et les animaux. Le cas remarquable de Plutarque (Lille: Université Charles de Gaulle—Lille 3, 2005) 33–42. Bodson, L., Le Statut éthique de l’animal, conceptions anciennes et nouvelles (Liège: Université de Liège, 1996). Bouffartigue, J., “La notion d’animal vertueux dans l’Antiquité grecque,” Schedae 1 (2009) 1–14. Bouffartigue, J., Plutarque, Oeuvres Morales XIV. Traité 63. L’intelligence des animaux (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2012). Brink, C. “Οἰκείωσις and οἰκειότης. Theophrastus and Zeno on Nature in Moral Theory,” Phronesis 1 (1955–1956) 123–145.

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Cassin, B., Labarrière, J.-L. & Romeyer Dherbey, G. (eds.), L’animal dans l’Antiquité (Paris: Vrin, 1997). Castignone, S., & Lanata, G. (eds.), Filosofi e animali nel mondo antico (Pisa: ETS, 1994). Dierauer, U., Tier und Mensch im Denken der Antike. Studien zur Tierpsychologie, Antropologie und Ethik (Amsterdam: Grüner, 1977). Dierauer, U., “Raison ou instinct? Le développement de la zoopsychologie antique,” in B. Cassin et al. (eds.), L’animal dans l’Antiquité, 3–20. Dumont, J., Les animaux dans l’Antiquité grecque (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2001). Eco, U., “Ma i cani parlano o no?,” Repubblica 9-Sept-2011. Helmbold, W.C., Plutarch’s Moralia XII (London—Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press & W. Heinemann, 1957). Hirzel, R., Der Dialog. Ein literarhistorisches Versuch (Leipzig: S. Hirzel, 1895) 2 vols. Hubert, C., Plutarchi Moralia VI 1 (Leipzig: Teubner, 1954). Indelli, G., Plutarco, Le bestie sono esseri razionali (Naples: M. d’Auria, 1995). Inglese, L. & Santese, G., Plutarco, Il cibarsi di carne (Naples: M. D’Auria, 1999). Isnardi Parente, M., “Le ‘tu ne tueras pas’ de Xénocrate,” in J. Brunschwig, C. Imbert & A. Roger (eds.), Histoire et Structure. À la mémoire de V. Goldschmidt (Paris: Vrin, 1985) 161–172. Isnardi Parente, M., “Le radici greche di una filosofia non antropocentrica,” Biblioteca della Libertà XXIII 103 (1988) 73–84. Isnardi Parente, M., Stoici antichi (Torino: UTET, 1989). Lanata, G., “Antropocentrismo e cosmocentrismo nel pensiero antico,” in Castignone & Lanata (eds), Filosofi e animali nel mondo antico, 15–50. Laurenti, R., Empedocle (Naples: M. D’Auria, 1999). Lhermitte, J.-F., L’animal vertueux dans la philosophie antique à l’époque impériale (Paris: Classiques Garnier, 2015). Li Causi, P. & Pomelli, R., L’anima degli animali (Torino: Einaudi, 2015). Longo, O., “Introduzione,” in Zinato, A., Plutarco, Le virtù degli animali (Venezia: Marsilio, 1995). Marchesini, R., Intelligenze plurime. Manuale di scienze cognitive animali (Bologna: Perdisa, 2008). Marchesini, R., Modelli cognitivi e comportamento animale (Isernia: Eva, 2011). Newmyer, S.T., “Tool Use in Animals: Ancient and Modern Insights and Moral Consequences,” Scholia 14 (2005) 3–17. Newmyer, S.T., Animals, Rights and Reason in Plutarch and Modern Ethics (New York— London: Routledge, 2006). Newmyer, S.T., “Animals in Plutarch,” in M. Beck (ed.), A Companion to Plutarch (Oxford: Blackwell, 2014) 223–234. Nussbaum, M.C., La fragilità del bene. Fortuna ed etica nella tragedia e nella filosofia greca (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2004); Original ed.: The Fragility of Goodness. Luck and

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ethics in Greek Tragedy and Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986). Nussbaum, M.C., L’intelligenza delle emozioni (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2009); Original ed.: Upheavals of Thought. The Inteligence of Emotions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001). Pohlenz, M., La Stoa. Storia di un movimento spirituale (Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1967 vol. 1—1978 vol. 2). Santese, G., “Animali e razionalità in Plutarco,” in Castignone & Lanata (eds), Filosofi e animali nel mondo antico, 139–170. Sassi, M.M., Le teorie della percezione in Democrito (Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1978). Sassi, M.M., “Aristotele fenomenologo della memoria,” in M.M. Sassi (ed.), Tracce nella mente. Teorie della memoria da Platone ai moderni (Convegno Pisa, 25–26 settembre 2006) (Pisa: Edizioni della Normale, 2007) 25–46. Sorabji, R., Animal Minds and Human Morals. The Origin of the Western Debate (London: Duckworth, 1993). Tappe, C.G., De Philonis qui in scribitur Αλεχανδροσ ε περι του λογον εξηειν τα αλογα ζοα quaestiones selectae (Tübingen: Officina Academica Dieterichiana, 1912). Tsekourakis, D., “Pythagoreanism or Platonism and ancient Medicine? The Reasons for Vegetarianism in Plutarch’s Moralia,” ANRW II.36.1 (1987) 366–393.

chapter 10

Plutarch’s Image of the Androgynous Moon in Context Israel Muñoz Gallarte

Introduction Plutarch left behind De Iside et Osiride as one of the most interesting intertextual labyrinths we preserve from Greek Imperial literature.* Here, in one of his last works, the Chaeronean knitted1 a tangled fabric in which different levels of allegory overlap with one another. On the one hand, Plutarch offers in De Iside et Osiride his personal reading of the Egyptian myth and, on the other, uses it as an authority, in an attempt to argue for the rightness of Middle Platonic concepts.2 Such an attempt was not very easy, nor is it easy, centuries later, to disentangle the meaning and implications of his words. One such challenge to the reader regards the cosmological structure of De Iside et Osiride, whose main characters are, as is well-known, Osiris, Isis and Typhon / Seth.3 In the following pages, we will try to focus our analysis on the

* I thank Aurelio Pérez Jiménez for his generous conversations, friendship and always-wise advice. 1 F. Pordomingo Pardo & J.A. Fernández Delgado, Plutarco: Obras morales y de costumbres (Moralia) VI (Madrid: Gredos, 1995) 10, argue that De Is. et Os. could be the summary of Plutarch’s thought. 2 Plu., De Is. et Os. 371A. F.M. Petrucci, “Plutarch’s Theory of Cosmological Powers in the De Iside et Osiride,” Apeiron 49.3 (2016) 333. Pordomingo Pardo & Fernández Delgado, Obras morales, 20, point out to influences from Stoicism, Platonism, Gnosticism, and Persian thought. See also Petrucci, “Plutarch’s Theory,” 363; D.S. Richter, “Plutarch on Isis and Osiris: Text, Cult, and Cultural Appropriation,” in Transactions of the American Philological Association 131 (2001) 191–192 and n. 5, esp. 194; R.E. Witt, Isis in the Graeco-Roman World (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1971) 42–43. E. Manolaraki, Noscendi Nilum Cupido. Imagining Egypt from Lucan to Philostratus (Berlin-Boston: De Gruyter, 2013) 253–257, points out interestingly to three interpretative levels. 3 See J.G. Griffiths, Plutarch’s De Iside et Osiride (Cambridge: University of Wales Press, 1970); Frederick E. Brenk, “An Imperial Heritage: The Religious Spirit of Plutarch of Chaironeia,” in L. Roig Lanzillotta (ed.), F.E. Brenk on Plutarch, Religious Thinker and Biographer (Leiden: Brill, 2017) 5–129 at 17–24; idem, “ ‘Isis Is a Greek Word.’ Plutarch’s Allegorization of Egyptian Religion”, in idem, With Unperfumed Voice. Studies in Plutarch, in Greek Literature, Religion and

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004404472_011

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interesting passage at 368C, when the Chaeronean states that the nature of the Moon is ἀρσενόθηλυς, ‘androgynous,’4 in an undoubted cosmological context. To analyze this topic, we will firstly examine the sources that Plutarch allegedly may have used5 and, secondly, we will concentrate on the synchronic intertextual network in which De Iside et Osiride was written. With all this, we hope to draw some conclusions that will shed at least a little light on the passage.

Plutarch, De Is. et Os. 367C–368F Let me briefly remind the reader that this passage appears when Plutarch, having recounted the Egyptian myth of Isis and Osiris, applies diverse interpretative approaches to it.6 In this case, from 367C to 368F, the author gives an astronomical interpretation, also included in a longer section in which physical and allegorical interpretations prevail.7 For example, the observation that the Nile overflows because of an effect of the Moon8 reminds Plutarch of Apis inasmuch as he is Osiris’s image, engendered by the latter when a moonbeam reacts with an estrous cow.9 This linking of the Moon with

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Philosophy, and in the New Testament Background. PAwB 21 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2007) 334–345. About the techniques of adaptation, see Petrucci, “Plutarch’s Theory,” 363–364. F. Ferrari, Dio, idee e materia. La struttura del cosmo in Plutarco di Cheronea (Naples: M. D’Auria, 1995); idem, “La generazione precosmica e la struttura della materia in Plutarco,” Museum Helveticum, 53 (1996) 44–55; R. Hirsch-Luipold, Plutarchs Denken in Bildern (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002); J. Opsomer, “Plutarch on the Division of the Soul,” in R. Barney, T. Brennan & C. Brittain (eds.), Plato and the Divided Self (Cambridge: Cambridge 2012) 311– 330. See also Petrucci, “Plutarch’s Theory,” 329–367. About the character of the hermaphroditus and its representation in arts during the Imperial Age, see M. Robinson, “Salmacis and Hermaphroditus: When Two Become One: (Ovid, Met. 4.285–388),” CQ, 49.1 (1999) 212–223. Pordomingo Pardo & Fernández Delgado, Obras morales, 38–39, count around twenty-six references to authors and/or anonymous works. See the introduction of Griffiths, Plutarch’s De Iside, 100–101; Witt, Isis in the Graeco-Roman World, 37. Pordomingo Pardo and Fernández Delgado, Obras morales, 26. Also Richter, “Plutarch on Isis and Osiris,” 212, states that “de Iside would elevate Egyptian cult—via Platonic exegesis—to the level of holy mystery (…) In the absence of this interpretative frame—a Greek interpretative frame—Egyptian cult remains at the level of barbaric superstition.” See Griffiths, Plutarch’s De Iside, 461–462. About Plutarch’s references to Apis and innovations relating to him, see Griffiths, Plutarch’s De Iside, 462–463. It seems safe to admit that Plutarch differs from early Egyptian traditions by establishing the relationship between the Moon and Apis, instead of the Sun and Apis.

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Osiris10 is again reinforced in the next reference to a festival, the so-called “entry of Osiris into the Moon.”11 After this, Plutarch inserts the following text:12 οὕτω τὴν Ὀσίριδος δύναμιν ἐν τῇ σελήνῃ τιθέντες τὴν Ἶσιν αὐτῷ γένεσιν οὖσαν συνεῖναι λέγουσι. διὸ καὶ μητέρα τὴν σελήνην τοῦ κόσμου καλοῦσι καὶ φύσιν ἔχειν ἀρσενόθηλυν οἴονται πληρουμένην ὑφ’ ἡλίου καὶ κυισκομένην, αὐτὴν δὲ πάλιν εἰς τὸν ἀέρα προϊεμένην γεννητικὰς ἀρχὰς καὶ κατασπείρουσαν· οὐ γὰρ ἀεὶ τὴν φθορὰν ἐπικρατεῖν τὴν Τυφώνειον, πολλάκις δὲ κρατουμένην ὑπὸ τῆς γενέσεως καὶ συνδεομένην αὖθις ἀναλύεσθαι καὶ διαμάχεσθαι πρὸς τὸν Ὧρον. ἔστι δ’ οὗτος ὁ περίγειος κόσμος. Thus they make the power of Osiris to be fixed in the Moon, and say that Isis, since she is generation, is associated with him. For this reason they also call the Moon the mother of the world, and they think that she has a nature both male and female, as she is receptive and made pregnant by the Sun, but she herself in turn emits and disseminates into the air generative principles. For, as they believe, the destructive activity of Typhon does not always prevail, but oftentimes is overpowered by such generation and put in bonds, and then at a later time is again released and contends against Horus, who is the terrestrial universe.13 With this passage the Chaeronean seems to interpret the traditional Egyptian myth using Platonic cosmology. However, the relationship between the gods and their cosmological counterparts of Sun, Moon and Earth, and also with their attributes in the cosmos, is far from clear. As a matter of fact, there are two primary and opposite poles in Plutarch’s interpretation,14 to wit, on the one

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See Griffiths, Plutarch’s De Iside, 281, 461–462, and especially 456, about Osiris’s power of generation in both traditions, Greek and Egyptian. See Griffiths, Plutarch’s De Iside, 463. Plu., De Is. et Os. 367C–368F. About the relationship between incest and androgyny, understood in Hermetic literature as the supreme state through unification of the two parts, see M. Delcourt, Hermaphrodite. Myths and Rites of the Bisexual Figure in Classical Antiquity (London: Studio Books, 1961) 81; L. Brisson, Sexual Ambivalence: Androgyny and Hermaphroditism in Greco-Roman Antiquity (Berkeley-Los Angeles-London: University of California Press, 2002) 93–94. Transl. by F.C. Babbitt, Plutarch’s Moralia V (London-Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, Loeb Classical Library, 1969). See Brenk, “ ‘Isis Is a Greek Word’,” 337–338; Pordomingo Pardo and Fernández Delgado, Obras morales, 27, state that Osiris is “puro lógos creativo”, Isis “la materia y el elemento

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hand Osiris, the Sun, “God, the Creator of the Universe, the Form of the Good (…) and the logos (or nous) of the World Soul;”15 on the other hand, the material world, or in Plutarch’s words, ὁ περίγειος κόσμος.16 Between these two poles, in my view, two forces engaged in an eternal struggle can be identified: Isis, or the “potential, receptive part” (and the) “prime matter,” or just “generation,”17 and Typhon/Seth, who performs the role of destructive activity—again, in the text’s words, τὴν φθορὰν … τὴν Τυφώνειον.18 Additionally, regarding the function of these two forces within this structure—at least as far as our passage is concerned, it seems that the general concept grapples more with the cosmological organization and administration of the cosmos, than with a cosmogony sensu stricto. Consequently, it appears that the sexual union of both superior gods, Isis and Osiris, united in the figure of the Moon is the cause of generation, as can be seen in: αὐτῷ (scil. Osiris) γένεσιν οὖσαν (scil. Isis), and one line below, μητέρα τοῦ κόσμου (scil. selene), once she is pregnant by the Sun, κυισκομένην, ὑφ’ ἡλίου.19 Moreover, the Moon, besides her activity as recipient of the solar semen of Osiris,20 is responsible for emitting and disseminating the generative principles, γεννητικὰς ἀρχὰς.21 These

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receptivo,” and Horus “el mundo.” See also Petrucci, “Plutarch’s Theory,” 330, 333–334, and nn. 5, 6, and 13; Witt, Isis in the Graeco-Roman World, 37–38. See Petrucci, “Plutarch’s Theory,” 337, 339, 359. See Petrucci, “Plutarch’s Theory,” 331, 349, and n. 8. About her intermediary nature and how she partakes of Horus and Osiris, Plu., De Is. 370F argues that “between these (scil. the beneficent soul and its opposed) leaves a certain third nature, not inanimate nor irrational nor without the power to move of itself, as some think, but with dependence on both those others;” trans. by Babbitt, Plutarch’s Moralia. About the function as receptacle, see I. Muñoz Gallarte, “Plutarch’s Motif of Descensus Animae in Nag-Hammadi and the Corpus Hermeticum,” Cuadernos de Filología Clásica 26 (2016) 172–173. Metis, as well as having been conceived with both genders, is called “the receptacle of the illustrious seed of the gods” in orphic cosmology; Brisson, Sexual Ambivalence, 95. Petrucci, “Plutarch’s Theory,” 331–332, 337–338, 344, 360, 362 and n. 11, argues at 338: “Isis is neither matter nor the original soul, but displays fundamental functions of both;” “Isis can be described either as the world soul plus matter or as ensouled matter” (at 362). Petrucci, “Plutarch’s Theory,” 332, 337, 359. Also in Plu., De Is. 372F; about how these relationships, male-celestial and female-terrestrial, prevail in Antiquity, see G.P. Luttikhuizen, La pluriformidad del Cristianismo primitivo (Córdoba: El Almendro, 2007) 170. Also in Plu., De Is. 372E. Petrucci, “Plutarch’s Theory,” 332; however, see his conclusions at 355. About the simile of Isis’s throne-womb, see Witt, Isis in the Graeco-Roman World, 37. This assessment is maybe an echo of her Egyptian title of Lady of the House of Life, supposedly related later on with the Christian conception of Mary; Witt, Isis in the GraecoRoman World, 27 and n. 9.

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functions imply also that she is in an eternal confrontation against Typhon (Death)22 and serves as the limit of Horus, or Matter.23 These schematic characterizations tend to be constant throughout the tractate, but not without exceptions that mislead the reader.24 In our passage, as Gwyn Griffiths highlights, it is interesting that the context immediately before and after the quotation ascribes to Osiris the representation of the Moon, but here Osiris is apparently the Sun and Isis the Moon.25

The Sources The response to this and other inconsistencies is the main point of our discussion; that is, that the Moon is so-called ἀρσενόθηλυς—a not very common term in Greek texts. In discussing this particular adjective, Gwyn Griffiths, after conveniently disassembling the hypothesis that such an idea could be purely Egyptian,26 adduces three interesting sources from which Plutarch may have been inspired. Firstly, it is undeniable that the term ἀρσενόθηλυς and the conception of an androgynous divinity are rooted in the corpora devoted to Orpheus:27 Συνεῖναι δὲ αὐτῶι τὴν Ἀνάγκην φύσιν οὖσαν τὴν αὐτὴν καὶ Ἀδράστειαν δισώματον διωργυιωμένην ἐν παντὶ τῶι κόσμωι τῶν περάτων αὐτοῦ ἐφαπτομένην. 22

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It is related in the myth with the image of the Nile (Isis) ebbing and flowing again, and thereby bringing back life to the land of Egypt (Typhon); Witt, Isis in the Graeco-Roman World, 27, 29. See Petrucci, “Plutarch’s Theory,” 357–358; Witt, Isis in the Graeco-Roman World, 40–41. About the variability of Plutarch’s anthropological allegories, see Plu., De Is. et Os. AB; Brenk, “ ‘Isis Is a Greek Word’,” 338: Osiris-nous, Isis-psyche, Typhon/Seth-the irrational part of the soul. This kind of ascription abounds in Plutarch’s works, such as in De Is. et Os. 372D: “Osiris is the sun and, (…) Isis is none other than the Moon;” trad. by Babbitt, Plutarch’s Moralia. It is also worth remarking that the conception of Selene as a feminine deity is not Egyptian, but eminently Greek; Griffiths, Plutarch’s De Iside, 463, mentions I‘ah and Thoth as male deities related to the Moon. Regarding the deities Nile, the Theban Mut, and Aten in the CH, see Griffiths, Plutarch’s De Iside, 464. About the androgynous Hapi, also related to the Nile, see B. Mojsov, Osiris. Death and Afterlife of a God (Malden, MA-Oxford, UK-Victoria: Blackwell Publishing, 2005) 3–4. Only the deity Atum can be considered in this way as a figure able to create by masturbation. However, she does not come from any foreign culture; Delcourt, Hermaphrodite, 72. Ps. Hellanic., FGH 4, F87.7–11 (Jacoby); Transl. in http://www.brill.com/publications/ online‑resources/jacoby‑online, sv [last access: 6-5-2017]. About the relationship between Osiris and Orpheus, see Witt, Isis in the Graeco-Roman World, 40.

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ταύτην οἶμαι λέγεσθαι τὴν τρίτην ἀρχὴν κατὰ τὴν οὐσίαν ἑστῶσαν, πλὴν ὅτι ἀρσενόθηλυν αὐτὴν ὑπεστήσατο πρὸς ἔνδειξιν τῆς πάντων γεννητικῆς αἰτίας. Joined with it is Necessity, which has the same nature as Inevitability, double-bodied, with arms extended to all the universe, holding onto its outer edges. I think that this third element is meant to stand for the essence of being, except that he conceived of it as hermaphrodite as proof of its being the generative cause of all things. Here, for instance, the adjective is applied to Adrasteia or Ananke, the third principle, in a fragment attributed to Hellanicus of Lesbos28—one of Plutarch’s alleged sources on Egyptian culture.29 Likewise, θῆλύς τε καὶ ἄρσην (9.4) are well-attested adjectives in the Orphic Hymns,30 whether applied to the Moon,31 or to the couple of Dionysus and Mise, the daughter of Selene.32 Besides these, the same attributes are also applied to Athena,33 and even Zeus, as in the Pseudo-Aristotelian De mundo,34 in which he is defined as ἄρσην and ἄμβροτος νύμφη, and, two verses below, Ζεὺς ἥλιος ἠδὲ σελήνη.35

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And Jerome. Hellanic. in FGH 4, F87.10 Jacoby = DFdV, vol. 1, Fr. 13 Diels-Kranz = fr. 2 Bernabé. See also, J.J. Caerols, Helanico de Lesbos. Fragmentos (Madrid: CSIC, 1991) 125. “This passage of Orphic cosmology is almost certainly not from our Hellanikos, as nothing found in it corresponds to anything that the fifth-century mythographer says in the extant fragments (his interest in Orpheus seems mainly connected to a desire to associate the Thracian singer with Lesbos; Commentary to F 5b and F 85a), nor does the manner in which Damaskios, the final Neo-Platonic philosopher in Athens, refers to him inspire confidence;” C. López-Ruiz, “Commentary to Hieronymos (787),” in I. Worthington, BNP (Leiden: Brill, 2009) sv, http://www.brill.com/publications/online‑resources/ jacoby‑online [last access: 6-5-2017]; R.L. Fowler, Early Greek Mythography 2: Commentary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013) 9–10. On the Orphic cosmology reflected in this passage, see M.L. West, The Orphic Poems (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983) 176– 203. With Manetho, Eudoxus, Hecateus, and Posidonius. See M. Delcourt, Hermaphrodite, 68–69 and 74; L. Brisson, Sexual Ambivalence, 85–101. H. 9.4 Moon; also at 32.10 Athena. H. 42.4: Ἄρσενα καὶ θῆλυν. It is not only applied as an epithet to Mise; see Griffiths, Plutarch’s De Iside, 463; Delcourt, Hermaphrodite, 69. About the different names for this primal dual-sexed deity, and the implications of the adjective’s meaning, see Brisson, Sexual Ambivalence, 87–89. H. 32.10 Athena, with the meaning of inspiring the proper activities of each gender. See A.P. Bos, The Soul and Its Instrumental Body. A Reinterpretation of Aristotle’s Philosophy on Living Nature (Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2003) 210–216, and 374–382. About Zeus in the Orphic context, see Brisson, Sexual Ambivalence, 97–100. Fr. 31 Bernabé v. 6; in v. 4: Ζεὺς ἄμβροτος ἔπλετο νύμφη. About the fortune of this thought

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However, despite these similarities, it is noteworthy that the meaning of ἀρσενόθηλυς in this context suggests more a proper quality of the primal deities—to wit, the capacity to agglutinate opposites prior to later distinguishing between them—rather than a quality such as those observed in De Iside et Osiride.36 Therefore, in my view, although it is probable that these conceptions would eventually be used by future authors, the motif does not appear in these sources in the form in which it does in Plutarch’s tractate. Secondly, Griffiths and others note that ἀρσενόθηλυς, as it occurs in the case of the couple Mise and Dionysus, is frequent also in the Greek Magical Papyri, but now with regards to Hermes and Hecate, as follows: Ἐρμῆν τε καὶ Ἑκάτην ὁμοῦ, ἀρσενόθηλυν ἔρνος.37 The very union of these two gods is called Mene, one of the names used for the Moon:38 Μήνην, ἐράσμιον φῶς, Ἐρμῆν τε καὶ Ἑκάτην ὁμοῦ, ἀρσενόθηλυν ἔρνος. Mene, O light-beloved Hermes and Hekate at once, Male-female child together. In the same papyrus this epithet is also applied to Cronus39 and to Pagoure and Michael in the seventh papyrus.40 This demonstrates that, although the roles of these divinities are not the same—at least from the third-fourth centuries, when these papyri are dated—

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in Stoicism, see Delcourt, Hermaphrodite, 71. With similar meaning it can be traced in Athenag., Leg. 22.4 as early as the 2nd cent. BC: οἱ μὲν γὰρ ἀέρα διφυῆ ἀρσενόθηλυν τὸν Δία λέγουσιν. There are clear similarities between Heraclitus and Pythagoreans with Plato’s text, Iambl., Theol. Ar. 4.17; Delcourt, Hermaphrodite, 76. Brisson, Sexual Ambivalence, 72–73, 93, clarifies that these primordial beings are archetypes or principles. For more about the reunification of contrasts, see W.A. Meeks, “The Image of the Androgyne: Some Uses of a Symbol in Earliest Christianity,” History of Religions, 13.3 (1974) 166. About the origin of this motif related to the women’s role in sacred mysteries and the syncretic religions, see W.A. Meeks, “The Image of the Androgyne,” 169–171. PGM 4.2610–2611: Μήνην, ἐράσμιον φῶς, Ἐρμῆν τε καὶ Ἑκάτην ὁμοῦ, ἀρσενόθηλυν ἔρνος, “Mene, O light-beloved Hermes and Hekate at once, Male-female child together;” transl. by H.D. Betz (ed.) et al., The Greek Magical Papyri in Translation, Including the Demotic Spells (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996). PGM 4.2610.1; ed. by K. Preisendanz & A. Henrichs, Papyri Graecae Magicae. Die griechischen Zauberpapyri, 2 vols (Stuttgart: Teubner, 1973–1974); transl. by Betz (ed.) et al., The Greek Magical Papyri; see also page 336. Hymn. Hom. 32.1; Hymn. Orph. 9.3.4; PGM 4.2264, 4.2546, 4.2815; 7.758. PGM 4.3100–3101. 7.606, 7.609: Pagoure appears again in Pistis Sophia.

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the terminology and conception of hermaphroditism as a typical quality of certain divinities, especially the Moon, were well ingrained in popular GrecoEgyptian culture. Thirdly, the interest of researchers has evidently focused on Plato’s Symposium,41 and especially on the assessment of 190B, where Aristophanes, explaining the circularity of the hermaphroditic gender, ascribes each of the three genders to a cosmological entity, as follows:42 τὸ μὲν ἄρρεν ἦν τοῦ ἡλίου τὴν ἀρχὴν ἔκγονον, τὸ δὲ θῆλυ τῆς γῆς, τὸ δὲ ἀμφοτέρων μετέχον τῆς σελήνης, ὅτι καὶ ἡ σελήνη ἀμφοτέρων μετέχει· The male was in the beginning born from the sun, the female from the earth, and what shared in both male and female from the moon, because the moon too shares in both. Accordingly, this statement could be a product either of the Athenian philosopher’s own speculation, as Rowe proposes in his commentary,43 or else inspired by other sources such as the pre-Socratic philosophers Empedocles and Parmenides.44 In any case, this is the earliest known example in which both elements, hermaphroditism and the function of giving birth, are applied to the Moon in a cosmological context, just as they are in Plutarch’s De Iside et Osiride. However, there are some differences that are worth highlighting: Plutarch does not mention that each human gender comes from a specific celestial body separately—male from the Sun, female for Earth, and male-female from Moon, but instead all three partake, in subsequent steps, in the action of giving birth independently of the gender of the living being.45 41 42 43 44

45

See Delcourt, Hermaphrodite, 73. Ed. and transl. by W.R.M. Lamb, Plato, Lysis—Symposium—Gorgias (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, Loeb Classical Library, 1925). See C.J. Rowe, Plato, Symposium (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1998) 154. Emp. B 45 D-K, B 46 D-K, A 61 D-K, B 49 D-K. D.W. Graham, The Texts of Early Greek Philosophy, v. I (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010) 427, argues that Empedocles learned it from Parmenides and, possibly, Anaxagoras. Brisson, Sexual Ambivalence, 75– 77. For the view that this statement is inspired by the figure of Phanes, see Brisson, Sexual Ambivalence, 92–93. De Is. et Os. 368C, where Plutarch talks about the birth of Apis resulting from moonlight shining on a cow, should also be highlighted. This could be a direct pre-Socratic influence on Plutarch. About Plutarch’s conception of cosmological duality, see Petrucci, “Plutarch’s Theory,” 335. Delcourt, Hermaphrodite, 71, states that “the literature of the philosophers always uses the terms male and female or male-female. As for androgynos, it was early on degraded to the pejorative sense of gynandros. By the same process that we have seen in the leg-

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The Context Be that as it may, in spite of the apparently well-documented origins of the motif,46 as expounded in the traditional image of Plato’s Symposium, evaluating the success of the androgyny metaphor within a cosmological structure is more complex. In fact, the motif experiments with a curious polymorphism that breaks down in the boundaries between paganism47 and Christianity. Indeed, Plato’s formulation of the motif was not only widespread during the first two centuries CE, as Philo attests,48 but it also appears with a diverse range of meanings in texts like Galatians 3.28, where Paul uses it for the benefit of the new Christian community.49 Moreover, in a sense closer to the androgynous god of De Iside et Osiride, the motif appears frequently in Gnostic sources and the Corpus Hermeticum.50 The anonymous author of the latter defines the nous of God with its apposite ἀρρενόθηλυς ὤν51 in CH 1.9.18, and Asclepius ponders regarding its function:52

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end of the double god, it slipped from utrumque to neutrum.” J. Cahana, “Androgyne of Undrogyne? Queering the Gnostic Myth,” Numen 61 (2014) 520, argues that the myth of the hermaphrodite provides a purely etiological explanation of the desire between genders, and obviates any cosmological implications. We avoid some references like those of Hdn. and Ps.-Hdn. in De prosodia catholica and περὶ κλίσεως ὀνομάτων, included in Grammatici Graeci 3.1.238.5 and 3.2.710.24, where ἀρσενόθηλυς is only used for illustrating declensions. Diodorus of Sicily clearly assimilates Isis to Selene; D.S. 1.26. Instead of unification, the term ἀρσενόθηλυς seems to keep a distinction between both sexes, at least in D.S. 8.23.2.7: ἄμπελον περιπεπλεγμένην ἐρινεῷ; Witt, Isis in the Graeco-Roman World, 38. Ph., Vit. cont. 57–63 (s. I); Meeks, “The Image of the Androgyne,” 186 and n. 92. Eus., PE 12.12 argues that not only had Plato read the biblical Book of Genesis, but that his interpretation was wrong and he did not understand it. As a result, in his view, Plato composed the satirical discourse of Aristophanes. Furthermore, in pseudo-Hippolytus’s view, the conception of a masculine-feminine deity, whether Sun, Hermes, or some other god, provides the continuity for these ideas during the second and third centuries in Egypt; Hippol., Haer. 4.43.8; Delcourt, Hermaphrodite, 77; Witt, Isis in the Graeco-Roman World, 291, n. 18. Meeks, “The Image of the Androgyne,” 180–183, 200, terms it as the “baptismal reunification formula.” See also Witt, Isis in the Graeco-Roman World, 40. About the importance of the figure of hermaphrodite in the myth of man’s creation, see Meeks, “The Image of the Androgyne,” 188–189 and n. 102–103. CH 1.9.18, 5.9, 10.2–4. See also Asc. 2.21; 1.15–25; Brisson, Sexual Ambivalence, 109; I. Ramelli, Corpus Hermeticum. Edizione e commento di A.D. Nock e A.-J. Festugière. Edizione dei testi ermetici copti e commento di I. Ramelli (Milano: Bompiani, 2005) 95 n. 24. Asc 1.20. Ed. by Ramelli, Corpus Hermeticum; transl. by B.P. Copenhaver, Hermetica (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992).

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Hic ergo, solus ut omnia, utraque sexus fecunditate plenissimus, semper uoluntatis praegnans suae parit semper, quicquid uoluuerit procreare … —Utriusque sexus ergo deum dicis, o Trimegiste? —Non deum solum, Asclepi, sed omnia animalia et inanimalia … God, the only and the all, completely full of the fertility of both sexes and ever pregnant with his own will, always begets whatever he wishes to procreate … —‘Do you say that god is of both sexes, Trismegistus?’ —‘Not only god, Asclepius, but all things ensouled and soulless …’ It is clear that both passages, that of De Iside and Asclepius, propose that a divine uniqueness joins the two sexes—utraque sexus fecunditate plenissimus, in this case—and, in a clearly sexual context, understand that the feminine fulfils the role of getting pregnant and procreating with the androgynous God’s own will—here, uoluntatis praegnans suae parit semper. By the same token, it must be highlighted that, closer to Plutarch’s text and further from both the Magical Greek Papyrus and the Orphic corpus, the Asclepius quotation appears to explain, from a cosmological point of view, how living beings come to be born.53 These explanations are not restricted to the Corpus Hermeticum, but can be found in some Gnostic groups,54 albeit with a lack of uniformity. The Valentinians, if we follow their interpretation of the Gospel of Philip, make use of the motif in the well-known myth of the Bridal Chamber.55 Here, the divine entity, in a way that closely resembles Osiris and Isis, is called Saviour and Sophia,56 the latter being the receptive part of the couple, who—despite 53

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I agree with Delcourt, Hermaphrodite, 79, when she argues that this is the key element for distinguishing between the references that have come down to us from the PGMs and those related to Orpheus; in her words, “carnal and sexual importance he (scil. the author of the 9th treatise) understands with an exactitude which is lacking in the Orphic poems.” About ChOr, see Brisson, Sexual Ambivalence, 107. A negative vision of this androgynous entity is analyzed by Cahana, “Androgyne of Undrogyne?,” 516–517. About the Poimandres, see N.D. Lewis, Cosmology and Fate in Gnosticism and Graeco-Roman Antiquity (LeidenBoston: Brill, 2013) 114. In similar terms Hippol., Haer. 6.29.35 talks about the androgynous autopator called eon by Valentinus. About the sexless Father in Marcion, see Hippol., Haer. 4.42.4; about the male and female eons of the Docetists, see Hippol., Haer. 10.16.1, 8.9.2. Similarly in the Apophasis Megale; see Meeks, “The Image of the Androgyne,” 192–193. Contra Cahana, “Androgyne of Undrogyne?,” 513, where the author agrees with B. Layton, considering the Valentinian strand as a “reformed offshoot” of Gnosticism. About the origin of Sophia, androgyny too in the Secret Revelation of John, see K. King,

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being previously barren–57 receives the form (μορφωθέντας) of the former as a kiss and becomes pregnant.58 It should be noted that, as with Plutarch’s Isis,59 here Sophia is conceived as the Saviour’s sister, mother, and lover,60 and is even given a double nature: one in contact with the sensible, to which she serves as the limit, and one linked with the Saviour.61 Likewise, Naassenes and Ophites believed in an androgynous, primal deity that brought together the Father-Spirit and the Maternal-Mother, who gave birth to Adam, the first man, and, of course, was also androgynous.62 However, Pseudo-Hippolytus appears to be much clearer when he recounts a supposed text of Simon Magus, in which the latter explains his cosmological conception:63

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The Secret Revelation of John (Cambridge, MA—London: Harvard University Press, 2008) 3 and 49–50. Gos. Phil. (NHC II,3) 59.30–32; 63.31–64.5. Gos. Phil. (NHC II,3) 59.1–4. Clem. Al., Ex. Thdot. 68: “when we have received form (μορφωθέντας) from the Saviour, we have become children of a husband and a bride chamber.” About the origin of the myth and variants prior to Plutarch’s tractate, see Witt, Isis in the Graeco-Roman World, 36. Gos. Phil. (NHC II,3) 59.8–11. Regarding the assimilation of Saviour-Sophia with ChristMary Magdalene, see Meeks, “The Image of the Androgyne,” 190 n. 111. There are accusations against the proponents of this thought using the same arguments as early as the fourth century, Cyr. H., Catech. 1–18 6.18.2: Φησὶ γὰρ, ὅτι ἡ τελευταία τῶν θεῶν ἀρσενόθηλυς οὖσα, ὡς τολμᾷ λέγειν, αὕτη ἐστὶν ἡ Σοφία; to Christ in 6.19.5. Gos. Phil. (NHC II,3) 60.10–15 Echamot (Wisdom) / Echmot (small Wisdom). Related to Adam in Hippol., Haer. 5.6.5; also Iren., Haer. 1.11.5 = Epiph., Haer. 2.31.2; related to Attis, 5.7.15; making a triple cross-reference to Zeesar, the Jordan river, and the “celestial horn of the moon,” 5.8.4. The Peratae called hermaphrodite to Thalassa in 5.14.3; similarly to Eros in 5.14.10. See also Luttikhuizen, La pluriformidad, 171–172. King, The Secret Revelation, 114–115. The Gospel of Thomas (NHC II,2) makes androgyny a proper element of perfection that has to be acquired in order to receive due salvation. Indeed, the logion 22 is interpreted as a call for rendering the masculine feminine; also the logia 78 and 114, in their way, mention the capacity of Christ to reunite opposites and to give life to those that were dead as a result of being separated. See Meeks, “The Image of the Androgyne,” 193–194 and n. 129, also Luttikhuizen, La pluriformidad, 169–170. However, J. Cahana, “Androgyne of Undrogyne?,” 512, casts serious doubt on this assessment. Hippol., Haer. 6.18.4; Ed. by M. Marcovich, Hippolytus. Refutatio omnium haeresium (Berlin-New York: W. de Gruyter, 1986). Trans. by P. Schaff, ANF 05 (Grand Rapids, MI: CCEL, 2004). The tractate adds in 6.18.6: “So it is, therefore, that likewise what is manifested from these, being unity, is discovered (to be) duality, an hermaphrodite having the female in itself. This, (therefore) is Mind (subsisting) in Intelligence; and these are separable one from the other, (though both taken together) are one, (and) are discovered in a state of duality.”

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δύο εἰσὶ παραφυάδες τῶν ὅλων αἰώνων, μήτε ἀρχὴν μήτε πέρας ἔχουσαι, ἀπὸ μιᾶς ῥίζης, ἥτις ἐστὶ δύναμις Σιγὴ ἀόρατος, ἀκατάληπτος. ὧν ἡ μία φαίνεται ἄνωθεν, ἥτις ἐστὶ μεγάλη δύναμις, Νοῦς τῶν ὅλων, διέπων τὰ πάντα, ἄρσην· ἡ δὲ ἑτέρα κάτωθεν, Ἐπίνοια, μεγάλη ⟨θεός,⟩ θήλεια, γεννῶσα τὰ πάντ(α). ἔνθεν ἀλλήλοις ἀντιστοιχοῦντες συζυγίαν ἔχουσι (…) οὗτός ἐ(στ)ιν ὁ ἑστὼς στὰς στησόμενος, ὢν ἀρσενόθηλυς δύναμις … There are two offshoots from all the Æons, having neither beginning nor end, from one root. And this is a power, viz., Sige, (who is) invisible (and) incomprehensible. And one of these (offshoots) appears from above, which constitutes a great power, (the creative) Mind of the universe, which manages all things, (and is) a male. The other (offshoot), however, is from below, (and constitutes) a great Intelligence, and is a female which produces all things. From whence, ranged in pairs opposite each other, they undergo conjugal union, (…). This is he who stood, stands, and will stand, being a hermaphrodite power … This theory presents more interesting similarities with the passage of Plutarch’s De Iside et Osiride than a first reading may suggest. First of all, it must be pointed out that the (allegedly) discursive strategies of Simon Magus and Plutarch are quite similar: if Plutarch chooses the foreign myth of Isis and Osiris for demonstrating the universality and rightness of Plato’s cosmology, it is reported that Simon Magus, in his own way, uses the myths of Moses and Helen of Troy to the same end.64 Furthermore, the quoted passage attests that the Simonian doctrine argues for an ἀρσενόθηλυς dynamis, which is divided into higher and lower parts: the former being the male part, the creator and sustainer of the cosmos, with important similarities to Osiris, while the feminine part is responsible for giving birth to all perishable living things, as is the case with Isis.65 Finally, in the corpus of Nag Hammadi this kind of deity appears with similar characteristics. An interesting passage from the Three Forms of First Thought (45.2–12) is the following:66

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Hippol., Haer. 6.17.3; 18. Hippol., Haer. 6.17.3; 18.2–7; Delcourt, Hermaphrodite, 78. Trim. Prot. (NHC XIII, 1) 45.2–12; trans. by J.D. Turner, in M. Meyer (ed.), The Nag Hammadi Scriptures (New York: Harper Collins, 2007); for parallels in NHC see 730 nn. 77–78. See also Gos. Thom. (NHC II,2) 51.22–24 and 51.15–53.3. Cahana, “Androgyne of Undrogyne?,” 514 and n. 13, mentions also the Ap. John (NHC II,1). About the androgynous and Eros in the cosmological context of Orig. World, see Lewis, Cosmology and Fate in Gnosticism, 41–42.

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I am androgynous. / [I am mother and I am] father, since I [mate] with myself. / I [mate] with myself [since it is] myself that [I] love. / Through me alone the All [stands firm]. / I am the womb [that puts forth] the All / by giving birth to light [shining] in splendor. / I am the age to [come]. This cosmological response to the questions of how the cosmos is structured and how life begins is very close to Plutarch’s own response when it comes to androgynous entities. Here again the super-material God is composed of two elements, mother and father, with a clear sexual capacity to fecundate him-orherself in order to produce new living beings within the material part of the cosmos.

Conclusions To conclude, it is beyond doubt that Plutarch here presents us with one of the most complex puzzles of Imperial Greek literature. I agree with Petrucci67 in affirming that behind most sections of De Iside et Osiride can be traced the metaphysical structure of Plato’s Timaeus. However, certain passages transcend the limits of the master’s teachings. Our text is clearly inspired by the Symposium,68 as well as by Greco-Egyptian popular culture, but Plutarch offers something new.69 The myth of the androgynous Moon, in a continuous struggle against Typhon/Seth, giving birth to new living beings in a cosmological context, as our analysis has attempted to demonstrate, points also to Plutarch’s contemporary influences, especially Hermeticism and Gnosticism. In this context, once we accept the esoteric and mystical language, we understand that Isis and Osiris overcome limitations of gender to be conceived anew and perfectly. Both are the androgynous Moon from this cosmological point of view.70 Isis is Moon in as much as her function is to conceive and spread new lives through contact with matter; and Osiris, who is both Sun and Moon, fulfils the mas-

67 68 69 70

However, see Petrucci, “Plutarch’s Theory,” 332–333. Other references in 374C–D, related to Pl., Sym. 203B; Petrucci, “Plutarch’s Theory,” 354. In Delcourt’s view, Hermaphrodite, 76: “symbols cease to be the servants of reason, and it was in part as a result of this that oriental influences found their way in.” About the implications of this statement regarding the Gnostic anthropology, see A.F. Segal, Life after Death: A History of the Afterlife in the Religions of the West (New YorkLondon-Toronto-Sydney-Auckland: Doubleday, 2004) 472–473. At 474, he argues: “The female needs to be abolished, as in the Gnostic texts, in the male before the transformation into the spirit can occur.”

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culine function of fertilising her surface.71 This simile makes sense, especially when we consider the above-quoted passages from the CH, the Simonians of Pseudo-Hippolytus, and The Three Forms of First Thought, of which passages of De Iside et Osiride show so many parallels that we can only conclude either that one author read the others, or that all were inspired by a common source. As Brisson states,72 they have “analogous needs: a desire to ensure one’s personal salvation in a definite and quasi-automatic fashion, through a knowledge of esoteric doctrines and by reference to one and the same intellectual base, characterized by an expansive syncretism.” The result, in my view, is a clear example of intertextuality between corpora of texts whose close relationship should be emphasized.

Bibliography Babbitt, F.C., Plutarch’s Moralia, V (London-Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, Loeb Classical Library, 1969). Betz, H.D. et al., The Greek Magical Papyri in Translation, Including the Demotic Spells (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996). Bos, A.P., The Soul and Its Instrumental Body. A Reinterpretation of Aristotle’s Philosophy on Living Nature (Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2003). Brenk, F.E., “‘Isis Is a Greek Word.’ Plutarch’s Allegorization of Egyptian Religion,” in idem, With Unperfumed Voice. Studies in Plutarch, in Greek Literature, Religion and Philosophy, and in the New Testament Background, PAwB 21 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2007) 334–345. Brenk, F.E., “An Imperial Heritage: The Religious Spirit of Plutarch of Cheroneia,” in L. Roig Lanzillotta (ed.), F.E. Brenk on Plutarch, Religious Thinker and Biographer (Leiden: Brill, 2017) 5–129. Brisson, L., Sexual Ambivalence: Androgyny and Hermaphroditism in Greco-Roman Antiquity (Berkeley-Los Angeles-London: University of California Press, 2002). Caerols, J.J., Helanico de Lesbos. Fragmentos (Madrid: CSIC, 1991). Cahana, J., “Androgyne of Undrogyne? Queering the Gnostic Myth,” Numen 61 (2014) 509–524. Delcourt, M., Hermaphrodite. Myths and Rites of the Bisexual Figure in Classical Antiquity (London: Studio Books, 1961).

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See, for example, the differences between Plutarch and Diodorus Siculus, who only a century before considered Isis exclusively like Moon, and Osiris exclusively Sun; Witt, Isis in the Graeco-Roman World, 38. Brisson, Sexual Ambivalence, 110.

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Denzey Lewis, N., Cosmology and Fate in Gnosticism and Graeco-Roman Antiquity (Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2013). Ferrari, F., “La generazione precosmica e la struttura della materia in Plutarco,”Museum Helveticum 53 (1996) 44–55. Ferrari, F., Dio, idee e materia. La struttura del cosmo in Plutarco di Cheronea (Naples: M. D’Auria, 1995). Fowler, R.L., Early Greek Mythography 2: Commentary (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). Graham, D.W., The Texts of Early Greek Philosophy, vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010). Griffiths, J.G., Plutarch’s De Iside et Osiride (Cambridge: University of Wales Press, 1970). Hirsch-Luipold, R., Plutarchs Denken in Bildern (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002). King, K., The Secret Revelation of John (Cambridge, MA-London: Harvard University Press, 2008). Lamb, W.R.M., Plato, Lysis—Symposium—Gorgias (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, Loeb Classical Library, 1925). López-Ruiz, C., “Commentary to Hieronymos (787),” in I. Worthington, BNP (Leiden: Brill, 2009) http://www.brill.com/publications/online‑resources/jacoby‑online [last access: 6-5-2017]. Luttikhuizen, G.P., La pluriformidad del Cristianismo primitivo (Córdoba: El Almendro, 2007; Transl. by L. Roig Lanzillotta) [Original ed.: De veelmermigheid van het vroegste Christendom (Delft: Eburon, 2002)]. Manolaraki, E., Noscendi Nilum Cupido. Imagining Egypt from Lucan to Philostratus (Berlin-Boston: De Gruyter, 2013). Marcovich, M., Hippolytus. Refutatio omnium haeresium (Berlin-New York: De Gruyter, 1986). Meyer, M. (ed.), The Nag Hammadi Scriptures (New York: Harper Collins, 2007). Mojsov, B., Osiris. Death and Afterlife of a God (Malden, MA-Oxford-Victoria: Blackwell, 2005). Muñoz Gallarte, I., “The Plutarch’s Motive of Descensus Animae in Nag-Hammadi and the Corpus Hermeticum,” CFC (g) 26 (2016) 169–178. Opsomer, J., “Plutarch on the Division of the Soul,” in R. Barney, T. Brennan & C. Brittain (eds.), Plato and the Divided Self (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012) 311–330. Petrucci, F.M., “Plutarch’s Theory of Cosmological Powers in the De Iside et Osiride,” Apeiron 49.3 (2016) 329–367. Pordomingo Pardo, F., & Fernández Delgado, J.A., Plutarco: Obras morales y de costumbres (Moralia) VI (Madrid: Gredos, 1995). Preisendanz, K. & Henrichs, A., Papyri Graecae Magicae. Die Griechischen Zauberpapyri, 2 vols (Stuttgart: Teubner, 1973–1974).

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Ramelli, I., Corpus Hermeticum. Edizione e commento di A.D. Nock & A.-J. Festugière. Edizione dei testi ermetici copti e commento di I. Ramelli (Milano: Bompiani, 2005). Richter, D.S., “Plutarch on Isis and Osiris: Text, Cult, and Cultural Appropiation,” Transactions of the American Philological Association 131 (2001) 191–216. Robinson, M., “Salmacis and Hermaphroditus: When Two Become One: (Ovid., Met. 4.285–388),” CQ 49.1 (1999) 212–223. Roig Lanzillotta, L. (ed.), F.E. Brenk on Plutarch, Religious Thinker and Biographer (Leiden: Brill, 2017). Roskam, G., “Plutarch’s Yearning after Divinity. The Introduction to On Isis and Osiris,” CJ 110.2 (2014) 213–239. Rowe, C.J., Plato, Symposium (Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1998). Schaff, P., ANF 05 (Grand Rapids, MI: CCEL, 2004). Schwarz, W., “A Study in Pre-Christian Symbolism: Philo, De Somniis I.216–218, and Plutarch, De Iside et Osiride 4 and 77,” BICS 20 (1973) 104–117. Segal, A.F., Life after Death. A History of the Afterlife in the Religions of the West (New York-London-Toronto-Sydney-Auckland: Doubleday, 2004). West, M.L., The Orphic Poems (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983). Witt, R.E., Isis in the Graeco-Roman World (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1971). Worthington, I., BNJ (Leiden: Brill) http://www.brill.com/publications/online ‑resources/jacoby‑online, sv [last access: 6-5-2017].

chapter 11

The Myth of Human Races: Can Plutarch Help Us Understand Valentinian Anthropology? Lautaro Roig Lanzillotta

In spite of having been repeatedly contested in various important works over the past fifty years or so,1 the biased heresiological interpretation of Valentinian anthropology continues generally to be held as the Gnostic position regarding human origins, condition, and destiny. Taking complex mythological expositions as a starting point, heresiologists not only managed to distil and fabricate a coherent whole they could easily attack but were also persuasive enough to perpetuate their interpretation for centuries to come. Indeed, according to several modern scholars, the so-called Valentinian theory of the three human races not only provides an ontological explanation of man’s origin and nature, but also a sociological view that divides humanity into three known groups, namely pneumatics, psychics, and hylics.2 This human taxonomy, besides implicitly attributing to each of these races a fixed hierarchical position in their social universe according to their origin and character, allegedly had both ethical and eschatological implications. 1 L. Schottroff, “Animae naturaliter salvandae. Zum Problem der himmlischen Herkunft des Gnostikers,” in W. Eltester (ed.), Christentum und Gnosis (Berlin: Alfred Töpelmann, 1969) 65– 97; E. Pagels, “Conflicting Versions of Valentinian Eschatology,” Harvard Theological Review 67 (1974) 35–53; M.A. Williams, Rethinking Gnosticism: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996) 189–212; M.R. Desjardins, Sin in Valentianism (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990); W.A. Löhr, “Gnostic Determinism Reconsidered,” Vigiliae Christianae 46 (1992) 381–390; G.P. Luttikhuizen, Gnostic Revisions of Genesis Stories and Early Jesus Traditions (Leiden: Brill, 2006) 83–86; idem, “Eve’s Children and the Salvation of Humanity,” in idem (ed.), Eve’s Children. The Biblical Stories Retold and Interpreted in Jewish and Christian Traditions (Leiden: Brill, 2003) 203–217 at 203–207. 2 See, for example, J.F. McCue, “Conflicting Versions of Valentinianism? Irenaeus and the Excerpta ex Theodoto,” in B. Layton (ed.), The Rediscovery of Gnosticism, I: The School of Valentinus (Leiden: Brill, 1980) 404–416; K.W. Tröger, “Die gnostische Anthropologie,”Kairos 23 (1981) 31–42 at 41; G. Filoramo, A History of Gnosticism (transl. A. Alcock; Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1990) 129; H.A. Green, The Economic and Social Origins of Gnosticism (SBLDS 77; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1985) 213–214; J.A. Trumbower, Born from Above. The Anthropology of the Gospel of John (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992) 22–30; A. Magris, “Augustins Pradestinationslehre und die manichaischen Quellen,” in J. van Oort et al. (eds.), Augustine and Manichaeism in the Latin West (Leiden: Brill, 2001) 148–160, at 149–151.

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The past few decades have seen numerous and important studies on the theme, but much of the scholarly discussion on Valentinian anthropology has centered on trying to redefine its contours, revisiting various heresiological expositions, and comparing them to the testimonies provided by texts of Valentinian affiliation from the Nag Hammadi collection. This means that up to very recently the discussion has been governed by the same old questions that marked the Church Fathers’ understanding of Valentinianism, such as its alleged determinism, whether the races were conceived of as congenital or as acquired, whether eschatology was inclusive or not, and whether the latter resulted in an elitist sociology.3 Today I intend to advance the discussion in another direction: instead of focusing on the internal Christian discussion, I will attempt to go beyond the Church Fathers and Valentinian texts in search of a clue to a sound understanding outside the strict world of early Christianity. In my view, a good interpretation of Valentinian anthropology can only be reached by placing it in the wider religious and philosophical context to which it belongs. In order to do so, I will compare the Valentinian conception of the human being with Plutarch’s anthropology. As is well known, Plutarch’s eschatological myths in De sera numinis vindicta, De genio Socratis, and De facie widely, albeit not in a systematic fashion, expose his views on the human being. It is the latter treatise, however, that interests us the most, since, besides providing a clear exposition of the tripartite constitution of the human being, De facie delves into the cosmological, eschatological, soteriological, and, of course, ethical implications of this conception, in this way providing suitable comparable material to that of Valentinian ideas on the theme. In the following pages in honor of my dear mentor, colleague, and friend, Prof. Aurelio Pérez Jiménez, my intention is to compare Valentinian anthropology with the views that transpire in Plutarch’s myths. Once the discussion regarding the correctness or incorrectness of the heresiological cliché has been settled, and a reliable reconstruction of Valentinian ideas based on comparative analysis of the materials emerges, we need to move forward and position Valentinian views in the wider cultural world they belong to. My intention will be to show, first, that, albeit in mythological form, Valentinian anthropology relies on the widespread tripartite anthropological view we find in 3 See, for example, two recent studies: I. Dunderberg, “Valentinian Theories on Classes of Humankind,” in Ch. Markschies & J. van Oort (eds.), Zugänge zur Gnosis. Akten zur Tagung der Patristischen Arbeitsgemeinschaft vom 02.–05.01.2011 in Berlin-Spandau (Leuven: Peeters, 2013) 113–128; E. Thomassen, “Saved by Nature,” in Markschies & van Oort (eds.), Zugänge zur Gnosis, 129–149.

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various contemporary religious and philosophical texts of the first two centuries CE. Second, that Plutarch’s myth in De facie offers the best possible parallel for understanding Valentinian anthropology. The analysis of Plutarch’s views will show not only that the polygraph from Chaeronea provides the best precedent for Valentinian anthropology, but will also demonstrate that both myths are conceived to convey a philosophical, holistic view of human life in which cosmology, theology, anthropology, and ethics are intrinsically connected. This study consists of three parts. While the first provides an overview of Valentinian anthropology that includes the main aspects discussed in previous scholarship, the second will analyze Plutarch’s anthropology, mainly as found in the myth of De facie. The third and final section will in turn provide some conclusions reached by the previous analysis.

An Overview of Valentinian Anthropology Irenaeus, Clement of Alexandria, and the Tripartite Tractate of Nag Hammadi all bear sufficient witness to the existence of three human classes or sorts among human beings.4 In this sense, along with Einar Thomassen, we can affirm that the distinction of three human classes was a rather stable element of Valentinian anthropology.5 These three classes seem to correspond to the three states of Sophia (in Irenaeus and Clement) or the Logos (in Tripartite Tractate), namely passion, conversion, and joy.6 As the latter document affirms: “Mankind came to be in three essential types, the spiritual, the psychic and the material, conforming to the triple disposition of the Logos, from which were brought forth the material ones and the psychic ones and the spiritual ones.”7 This Valentinian trichotomous view of humankind is based on an anthropological conception that discriminates three elements in human beings, body, soul, and spirit.8

See Iren., Haer. 1.7.5; Clem., Exc. Thdt 54; Trip.Tract. (NHC I,5) 118. Thomassen, “Saved by Nature,” 129–149. Thomassen, “Saved by Nature,” 131. Trip.Tract. (NHC I,5) 118.15–21. English Translation according to H.W. Attridge & E.H. Pagels, The Tripartite Tractate, in H.W. Attridge (ed.), Nag Hammadi Codex I (The Jung Codex). Introductions, Texts, Translations, Indices (Leiden: Brill, 1985) 159–337. 8 See, in general, L. Roig Lanzillotta, “One Human Being, Three Early Christian Anthropologies,” Vigiliae Christianae 61 (2007) 1–30. On the tripartite division of humanity according to 4 5 6 7

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According to Irenaeus, all three elements were present in Adam, even if he obviously did not transmit them equally to his sons.9 The first (Cain) is the material, physical, or terrestrial aspect, which is related to the human body and is liable to destruction.10 The second (Abel) or psychic element is the animate constituent of the human being, and, since it partakes of rationality, the human soul enjoys the possibility of choice. Midway between body and intellect, the soul is open to the influence of both: If it chooses for the body, the soul is liable to perdition, but if it follows the intellect, it may reach the intermediary region where it can achieve the transformation necessary to attain salvation. The third element (Seth) is the spiritual, which is related to spirit (pneuma) or intellect (nous), and is conceived of as both divine and eternal.11 So far so good. As we will see in the second part of this study by means of Plutarch, up to this point Valentinian anthropology is consistent with the trichotomous view of the human being that was rather widespread in late antiquity. Closely connected to a three-tiered cosmological view that distinguished sublunary, astral, and transcendent regions (below), this view related the body to the elements, the soul to the astral region, and the intellect to the divine transcendent region.

Ethical, Eschatological, and Soteriological Implications of the Tripartition As far as the ontology of this conception of the human being is concerned, the tripartite anthropology at work clearly reflects a form of Platonism influenced by Aristotle: not only human tripartition but also the mortality of both

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the heresiologists, see Irenaeus, Against Heresies 1.7.5; Clement of Alexandria, Excerpts from Theodotus 54; Tert., Contra Valent. 29; Ps. Hipp., Ref. 6.31.9; Epiph., Haer. 31.23.1–4. Iren., Haer. 1.5.6. According to Clem., Exc. Thdt. 56.2, “this is the reason why there are many material ones, not so many animate ones, and only a few are spiritual ones,” but the uneven distribution of Adam’s qualities hardly explains the different number of individuals in each class. On Cain, see L. Roig Lanzillotta, “Cain, Ruler over the Cave: Gnostic Views on Cain in Anti-Heretical Writings and Nag Hammadi Texts,” in E. Koskenniemi & P. Lindqvist (eds.), Studies in Rewritten Bible vol. 3: Rewritten Patriachs (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2010) 237–252. According to Clem., Exc. Thdt. 54.1, for example, the implicit hierarchy of this human taxonomy is visible already in the genesis of the ancestors of these races. Cain or terrestrial man (χοϊκός) was created “in the image” (κατ’ εἰκόνα) of God; Abel or ensouled man was created “after the likeness” (καθ’ ὁμοίωσιν); while Seth was of the “same substance” (κατ’ ἰδίαν) as God.

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body and soul seem to point in this direction. The strict monism that dominates both the origin and eschatology of the human being, however, indicates that Platonic-Aristotelian anthropology has been adapted to a system of clear Neopythagorean ascendant.12 The ethical dimension of this ontological classification is clear: while people in the first group are overwhelmed by bodily drives and simply live according to the dictates of their physiological needs, those in the second, ensouled class move within the realm of the soul and need to focus on the rational control of the passions and drives. Those of the third group, finally, live according to the dictates of the spirit, continuously engaging with things immaterial and completely removed from the world of the senses and the soul.13 In terms of the eschatological implications of the classification, given the closest of connections with the body and matter of the lowest group, hylics remain chained to physical existence and are consequently destined to dissolution in the elements of the lower realm. As for the second or middle group, given their position between the physical world and the divine region, their region is the mesotes, the middle celestial region, although they may attain the divine region, thanks to the help of pneumatics. Only those in the highest status are, strictly speaking, said to reach pleroma or fullness without any problem.14 As far as soteriology is concerned, while salvation is obviously denied to the hylikoi, it is granted to the psychikoi—midway between body and spirit, they may move in either direction. Too close an involvement with the body implies the loss of their spiritual share and consequently their demotion from the middle to the lower group, which leads to perdition and dissolution. However, close involvement with the spirit may produce the opposite results: the ethical path mentioned above helps psychics cancel out their passions and, with this, the dangers for the spiritual part. After the transformation enacted by the ethical process of purification, psychics divest themselves of their souls in order to proceed as pure pneumatics to the pleroma. As far as the pneumatics are concerned, their salvation is granted, provided that they follow a pious life centered on the spirit, overcoming the influence of both body and soul, and, after reaching the middle region—as in the previous case of the pneumatics, they are able to divest themselves of the psychic envelope. As Irenaeus puts it: 12

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See L. Roig Lanzillotta, “Valentinian Protology and the Philosophical Discussion Regarding the First Principles,” in J. van Ruiten & G.H. van Kooten (eds.), Intolerance, Polemics, and Debate in Antiquity: Politico-Cultural, Philosophical, and Religious Forms of Critical Conversation in the Ancient Near Eastern, Biblical, Graeco-Roman, and Early-Islamic World (Leiden: Brill, 2019). Forthcoming. Iren., Haer. 1.6.2. See the text below on p. 193. See Irenaeus’s text in previous note.

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Quemadmodum enim choicum impossibile est salutem percipere—non enim esse illum capacem salutis dicunt—, sic iterum quod spiritale— quod semetipsos esse uolunt—impossibile esse corruptelam percipere, licet in quibuscumque fuerint factis. For just as the earthly element cannot partake of salvation—for they say it is incapable of receiving salvation—so, on the other hand, the spiritual, which they maintain they constitute, cannot take on corruption, regardless of what practices they may have engaged in.15 Consequently, Cain, as a prototype of the bodily or material man, is ontologically related to matter; eschatologically, he is destined to disappear in the physical realm and consequently cannot attain salvation. Abel, considered as the ancestor of the animate or psychic nature, appears endowed with reason and occupies a middle position between the material and spiritual races. From the eschatological point of view, he occupies the middle region of the mesotes, and soteriologically he is liable either to salvation or dissolution.16 Finally, Seth, as the representative of the spiritual seed, is by nature related to pneuma or nous, which means, eschatologically, that he reaches the highest region and, soteriologically, that he is by definition saved.17 As mentioned, however, according to the report of these anti-heretical writers, this tripartition was not merely ontological but also had important sociological consequences. As Irenaeus explicitly points out in Against Heresies (1.7.5), the three natures are considered “no longer as individuals but as a class.”18 To complicate matters, the particulars of the heresiologists’ exposition are mixed in with stock accusations that form the backbone of the attack against the Valentinian heresy, namely determinism, elitism, and lack of ethical concern.

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Iren., Haer. 1.6.2. Iren., Haer. 1.6.1; Cf. 1.7.5; Clem., Exc. Thdt. 56.3; Trip.Tract. (NHC I,5) 119–121; 130–136. The above description is not meant to establish a deterministic differentiation of human types. Even if Nag Hammadi texts do not seem to grant the lowest human race the possibility of salvation, the same cannot be said of the middle or psychic race, which, in fact, appears to be able to evolve and might thereby achieve salvation. This obviously means that behind the apparently trichotomous scheme there is a more basic anthropological dichotomy at work that, on the basis of their respective eschatological perspectives, distinguishes two basic groups—material or hylic and psychic-pneumatic. Irenaeus, Against Heresies 1.7.5. The English translation follows Dominic J. Unger & John J. Dillon, St. Irenaeus of Lyons: Against the Heresies (New York, N.Y., etc.: Paulist Press, 1992).

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Determinism? The first problem we encounter in the heresiological exposition of Valentinian anthropology is determinism, which, in the context of the heresiologists’ synthesis, Winrich Alfried Löhr has sufficiently assessed.19 As he noted, in spite of the heresiologists’ claim, Plotinus, on the one hand, never mentions the accusation of determinism in his criticism of Gnosticism,20 while, on the other and more importantly, the alleged determinism cannot be found in the Nag Hammadi texts either. In his view, consequently, determinism is a heresiological construction that was first applied by Irenaeus to Valentinus,21 was further developed by Clement of Alexandria in his polemics against Basilides and Isidorus,22 and was perfected by Origen in his attack on Marcion.23

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Löhr, W.A., “Gnostic Determinism Reconsidered,” Vigiliae Christianae 46 (1992) 381–390. Löhr, “Gnostic Determinism,” 385. Irenaeus made wide use of arguments furnished against Stoic determinism to refute Valentinian anthropology and eschatology, mainly Platonic-Sceptical arguments, such as those attested to by Origen (Cels. 2.20), Pseudo-Plutarch (De fato 574E) or Cicero (De fato 28–29). Interestingly, according to Löhr, “Gnostic Determinism,” 382, 383, he never compared it to the Stoic doctrine of the heimarmene but rather claims a Stoic descent for Valentinian eschatology. Based on the principle of like to like, this naturalistic principle (Stoic according to Irenaeus) seemed to make both faith and the salvific action of Christ superfluous. See Irenaeus, Against Heresies 2.14.4, with K. King, What is Gnosticism? (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003) 21–50. Clement of Alexandria and Origen not only inherited this cliché but also developed it by broadening the arguments arrayed against it. Clement (Str. 2.115.1; 3.3.3) uses the bishop’s view as a framework for the heresiological expositions of Basilides’ and Isidorus’ thought (see for Basilides, also Str. 4.81.1–88.5, with Löhr, “Gnostic Determinism,” 388, note 16). However, he adds new arguments against determinism, such as the notions of προαίρεσις or “choice” (Str. 2.11.1) and συγκατάθεσις or “assent” (Str. 5.3.3). In addition to Irenaeus’s argument that determinism annuls faith and the descent of the Saviour, Clement now affirms the freedom and moral responsibility of the believer, which is safeguarded by the soul’s faculty of assent. Origen, in turn, further elaborates the arguments used by his predecessor. After ascribing determinism to Marcion, he not only takes up the notions of προαίρεσις and συγκατάθεσις, but also adds his own conception that pedagogical training might be of help in combating external influences that might pose a threat to the soul’s capacity for choice (Or., Princ. 3.1.5). See on Origen’s accusation of determinism against Marcion, A. Le Boulluec, La notion d’ hérésie dans la littérature grecque IIe–IIIe siècles, t. II: Clément d’Alexandrie et Origène (Études augustiniennes; Paris: Brepols, 1985) 510–551; see also Or., Comm. in Rom 4.12; De princ. 2.9.5 with Löhr, “Gnostic Determinism,” 389 with note 27. See also 383–384 in reference to previous studies by A. Le Boulluec, “La place de la polémique antignostique d’ Irénée dans le Peri Archon,” in Origeniana (Quaderni di Vetera Christianorum 12) (Bari: 1975) 47–61; idem, “Y a-t-il des traces de la polémique antignostique d’Irénée dans le Peri archon d’ Origène?”, in M. Krause (ed.), Gnosis and Gnosticism (Leiden: Brill, 1977) 138–147.

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And, in fact, Irenaeus himself seems to speak against this deterministic understanding of Valentinian anthropology when dealing with eschatology: Hominum autem tria genera dicunt, spiritalem, psychicum, choicum, quemadmodum fuit Cain, Abel, Seth, ut ostendant et ex his tres naturas, iam non secundum unumquemque, sed secundum genus. Et choicum quidem in corruptelam abire; animale uero, si meliora elegerit, in loco Medietatis refrigeraturum, Si uero peiora, transire et ipsum ad similia; spiritalia uero inseminat Achamoth ex illo tempore usque nunc, propter quod et animae erudientur quidem hic: et semina enutrita, quoniam pusilla emittantur, post deinde perfectione digna habita, sponsas reddi Saluatoris Angelis respondent, animabus eorum ex necessitate in Medietate cum Demiurgo refrigeraturis in aeternum. Et ipsas autem animas rursus subdiuidentes, dicunt quasdam quidem natura bonas, quasdam autem natura malas et bonas quidem has esse quae capaces seminis fiunt, alias uero natura nequam numquam capere illud semen. They suppose that there are three classes of peop1e—the spiritual, the ensouled, and the earthly—as Cain, Abel, and Seth were; and from these [one arrives at] the three natures by considering them no longer as individuals but as a class. The earthly indeed goes into corruption; but the ensouled, if it chooses the better things, will rest in the intermediate region; if, however, it chooses the worse things, it too will go to regions similar [to the worse things]. Moreover, they dogmatize that the spiritual people whom Achamoth has planted as “seeds” from then until now in just souls, and which have been disciplined and nourished here below— because they were sent forth immature—and have finally become worthy of perfection, will be given brides (sic) to the Angels of Savior, while their souls will of necessity rest forever in the intermediate region together with the Demiurge. Again, subdividing the souls, they say that some are good by nature and some evil by nature. The good are those that are capable of receiving the “seed,” whereas those evil by nature are never capable of receiving that “seed.”24 Indeed, in spite of his accusation of determinism, Irenaeus’ description leaves the impression that the human races are not as fixed as he apparently first sug-

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Iren., Haer. 1.7.5. English translation follows Dominic J. Unger and John J. Dillon, St. Irenaeus of Lyons: Against the Heresies (New York, N.Y., etc.: Paulist Press, 1992).

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gests, since here he clearly allows for the possibility of growth. While the first part affirms a narrow, deterministic view of the human races, the second section exposes an evolutionary scheme, in which one even perceives echoes of the First Letter to the Corinthians (below). Following up on Le Boulluec, Löhr therefore states that determinism was probably unknown to Justin,25 and, in any case, was not important for (Pseudo-) Hippolytus, who further plagiarized Irenaeus’ work.26 For Elaine Pagels, comparative analysis between Irenaeus’ exposition and Clement’s version (Excerpts from Theodotus) allows us to see how Irenaeus changes his source in order to create his heresiological framework and to accuse Valentinians of a determinism that was not in the texts.27 Elitism? Closely connected to determinism, another important aspect of Irenaeus’ stock accusations is the question regarding the exclusiveness or inclusiveness of Valentinian anthropology, namely elitism. As Ismo Dunderberg noted in the specific context of Christianity, Valentinian tripartition, according to Irenaeus, resulted in the distinction of two groups. In his view, the issue at stake was the discrimination between those who were more advanced in the moral progress that gave access to salvation and those who were less developed. In the same way that Paul speaks in 1 Corinthians of “infants” (nepios) and of Christians “more advanced” (teleioi) in the faith,28 Irenaeus refers here to the Valentinians as undergoing a process, in which they first become righteous, later on worthy of receiving the seed, and only then are they able to bring it to perfection: Consummationem uero futuram, cum formatum et perfectum fuerit scientia omne spiritale, hoc est homines qui perfectam agnitionem habent de Deo et hi qui ab Achamoth initiati sunt mysteria esse autem hos

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Löhr, “Gnostic Determinism,” 386, in reference to Le Boulluec, La notion, 36–91. Most interestingly, (Pseudo-) Hippolytus does not endorse the idea of deterministic eschatology with all three elements coming back to their roots. See Löhr, “Gnostic Determinism,” 386 and note 36. Against the view that considers that Irenaeus’ and Clement’s expositions are nearly the same, Pagels, “Conflicting Versions,”passim, has shown that this is not the case and that it is possible to see how Irenaeus tendentiously transforms his source in order to make it fit his heresiologcal intentions. 1 Cor. 3:1 and 2:6, respectively. On Paul, see T. Engberg-Pedersen, Paul and the Stoics (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 2000) 70–72; C.S. Keener, 1 and 2Corinthians (New Cambridge Bible Commentary; Cambridge: CUP, 2005) 39–40; and idem, “Milk,” in C.A. Evans & S. Porter, Dictionary of the New Testament Background (Leicester—Downers Grove, IL: Inter-Varsity, 2000) 707–709.

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semetipsos dicunt. Erudiuntur autem psychica, id est animalia, psychici, id est animales, homines, qui per operationem et fidem nudam firmantur et non perfectam agnitionem habent esse autem hos nos, qui sumus ab Ecclesia, dicunt. Quapropter et nobis quidem necessariam esse bonam conuersationem respondent aliter enim impossibile esse saluari, semetipsos autem non per operationem sed eo quod sint naturaliter spiritalesomnimodo saluari dicunt. The consummation will take place when every spiritual element has been formed and perfected by knowledge. The spiritual element is the spiritual persons who possess the perfect knowledge about God, and have been initiated into the mysteries of Achamoth; and they assume that they themselves are these. Really, the ensouled persons are disciplined by ensouled measures; they are the ones who are made steadfast by works and bare faith, and so do not have perfect knowledge. They claim that we of the Church are these persons. So they declare that good conduct is necessary also for us; otherwise it is impossible to be saved. They themselves, however, so they dogmatize, are spiritual, not by conduct, but by nature, and so will be saved entirely and in every case.29 Interestingly, in this passage Irenaeus indeed discriminates between two groups, but rather than fixed categories, they are presented as stages of development. It could not be otherwise, since both Paul and the Valentinians were aware of ancient philosophical theories on moral progress30 and accordingly distinguished groups depending on their progress towards the goal of becoming worthy Christians. Ethics Closely connected with the charge of elitism is the accusation that the Valentinians despised ethics. The Valentinian elitist attitude only merits Irenaeus’s irony in response. The reason for this is that the Bishop uses elitism as a basis for a more serious accusation: in fact, according to Irenaeus, elitism is a way of covering their lack of moral principles and of indulging in the alleged libertinism that marked their behavior. Indeed, if one of the races has in fact an unchangeable nature, which is from the beginning destined for salvation, he implies, it seems clear that everything else becomes irrelevant.31 The begin29 30 31

Iren., Haer. 1.6.1–2. On Valentinians, see Dunderberg, “Valentinians,” 117. Iren., Haer. 1.6.2, “For just as the earthly element cannot partake of salvation—for they

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ning of the subsequent section is clear about this: “Because of this doctrine, the most perfect among them shamelessly do all the forbidden things, about which the Scriptures give guarantee that those who do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God.”32 There follows a long list of vices that includes sacrifice to idols, visiting wild beast spectacles, carnal pleasures, abuse of authority, and defilement of female disciples, adultery, and libertinism. These accusations are also problematic in the light of Irenaeus’ exposition. Not only does the idea of spiritual growth that transpires in the text— with its vocabulary including notions such as righteousness, education, and nourishment—seem to speak against it, but the Bishop’s own statement that Valentinians lead exemplary lives also seems to contradict it.33 Despite some recent voices to the contrary,34 it consequently seems that Irenaeus’ intention is simply to slander his opponents.35

Plutarch’s Tripartite Anthropology The tripartite conception of the human being at work in Valentinian anthropology is rather widespread in the first centuries CE, and appears in both philosophical and religious texts, such as Philo of Alexandria, Plutarch, and Alcinous, or the Corpus Hermeticum and the Chaldaean Oracles.36 It also shows up in several apocryphal Acts of the Apostles, such as the Acts of Andrew, and is well represented in the Nag Hammadi writings.37

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say it is incapable of receiving salvation—so, on the other hand, the spiritual, which they maintain they constitute, cannot take on corruption, regardless of what practices they may have engaged in. By way of illustration, gold when deposited in mud does not lose its beauty, but preserves its own nature, since mud can in no way injure gold. In the same way they themselves, so they indeed claim, neither suffer harm nor lose their spiritual substance regardless of what material practices they may be engaged in.” Iren., Haer. 1.6.3. Emphasis in the original. As Dunderberg, “Valentinians,” 116, in reference to Iren., Haer. 3.15.2. C.E. Hill, “Silencing the Bishop. The Ugly Irenaeus,” Reconsiderations 10/1 (2010) 1–4. On the slanders of libertinism and other vices against Christians in general, and against sectarians by proto-orthodox, see L. Roig Lanzillotta, “Early Christians and Human Sacrifice,” in J. Bremmer (ed.), The Strange World of Human Sacrifice (Leuven: Peeters, 2007) 81–102. On Irenaeus’ rhetoric of vilification, see Dunderberg, “Valentinian,” 115–116 and note 7 and 116 note 8. I analysed the issue in Plutarch in L. Roig Lanzillotta, “Plutarch’s Anthropology and its Influence on His Cosmological Framework,” in M. Meeussen & L. Van der Stockt (eds), Aspects of Plutarch’s Natural Philosophy (Plutarchea Hypomnemata. Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2015) 179–195. On the Apocryphal Acts of Apostles, see L. Roig Lanzillotta, Acta Andreae Apocrypha. A

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Most interesting for the theme we are dealing with is the exact parallelism with the anthropological views we find in Plutarch, in general, and in his treatise De facie, in particular. In a famous section of the myth included in this text, Sylla corrects the widespread bipartite conception of the human being and, in so doing, for the first time in ancient literature defines a tripartite view of man.38 Even if frequently implied in numerous ancient sources,39 Sylla’s assertion in De facie is our first explicit mention of the human trichotomy.40 Interestingly enough, Sylla’s tripartition also assumes a clear hierarchy among the parts of the human being, such as Valentinian texts will also do: “[I]n the same degree as soul is superior to body, so is mind better and more divine than human soul.” Hierarchy, however, is not Sylla’s main goal. As is also the case with Valentinian anthropology, the focus is on the soul’s dual nature, the rational and irrational parts of which account for its contact and commerce either with the intellect or with the body.41

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New Perspective on the Nature, Intention and Significance of the Primitive Text (Geneva: Patrick Cramer, 2007); On the Nag Hammadi library and the Corpus Hermeticum, see now L. Roig Lanzillotta, “Spirit, Soul and Body in Nag Hammadi Literature: Distinguishing Anthropological Schemes in Valentinian, Sethian, Hermetic and Thomasine Texts,” Gnosis: Journal of Gnostic Studies 2 (2017) 15–39. Plu., De facie 943A. For this passage see, L. Roig Lanzillotta, “Plutarch’s Anthropology”, 179– 195, and the abundant literature quoted at 180 and notes 7 and 8. The tripartite view of the human being arises from Aristotle, who considered that only the intellect is divine and immortal, while soul and body were mortal. As to the former, see De an. 408B18–26; 413B24–28; 429A24–429B6; 430A17–25; as to the soul and body, De an. 412A19–30; 413A3–10; 414A19–25. See H. Cherniss, Aristotle’s Criticism of Plato and the Academy (Baltimore: John Hopkins Press, 1944) 605ff., for Aristotle’s criticism of Plato’s bipartition of the soul. However, H. Dörrie & M. Baltes, Der Platonismus in der Antike, Vol. 6.1: Die philosophische Lehre des Platonismus: von der “Seele” als der Ursache aller sinnvollen Abläufe (Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: Frommann-Holzboog, 2002) 204, point out that the corpus Platonicum provides enough passages—such as Tim. 42D5; 69C–70E; 30B; 46D5–6; Phlb. 30C; Legg. 897B1–2; 961D7; Epin. 982B5—to allow Aëtius (Dox. gr. 392) to affirm that, despite Aristotle’s criticism, the view of the nous “coming in man from without” can already be found in Plato, Pythagoras, Anaxagoras, Xenocrates, and Cleanthes. Besides Plutarch’s De facie, also De genio 591D–F (below) mentions this trichotomy explicitly. Other passages, such as De genio 592C1; De sera 563E; 564C; 566 D, simply imply it. See, however, also CH 10.13; 17–18, which explicitly mentions the same tripartite view: on which, J. Dillon, “Plutarch and the Separable Intellect,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & F. Casadesús (eds.), Estudios sobre Plutarco. Misticismo y religiones mistéricas (Madrid-Málaga: Ediciones Clásicas & Charta Antiqua, 2001) 35–44 at 42–43. Plu., De facie 943A5–6; see also De an. procr. 1014E; 1016C; 1023D; 1024CD; 1026E; Quaest. Plat. 2.1001C; 4.1003A and, on the issue, Dörrie-Baltes, Der Platonismus 6.1, 205–206, with notes 27–31.

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In line with the Valentinian etiological myth, anthropology in Plutarch also seems to reflect cosmology. The close correlation between man and cosmos is explicitly stated in De facie: τριῶν δὲ τούτων συμπαγέντων τὸ μὲν σῶμα ἡ γῆ τὴν δὲ ψυχὴν ἡ σελήνη τὸν δὲ νοῦν ὁ ἥλιος παρέσχεν εἰς τὴν γένεσιν ⟨τἀνθρώπῳ⟩ ὥσπερ αὐ⟨τῇ⟩ τῇ σελήνῃ τὸ φέγγος. ὃν δ’ ἀποθνῄσκομεν θάνατον, ὁ μὲν ἐκ τριῶν δύο ποιεῖ τὸν ἄνθρωπον ὁ δ’ ἓν ἐκ δυεῖν, In the composition of these three factors earth furnishes the body, the moon the soul, and the sun furnishes mind (to man) for the purpose of his generation even as it furnishes light to the moon herself. As to the death we die, one death reduces man from three factors to two and another reduces him from two to one …42 But let us take a closer look at the different constituents of this tripartition. The lowest part of the triad is, for Plutarch, clearly the body, which provides the material substrate for both soul and intellect, and tends to overwhelm them due to its physical nature: the body’s weight, disorderly nature, and needs incline human beings to passions, and this forms the most important obstacle to the human achievement of higher goals, so much so, that De facie even conceives of incarnation both as a “prison” for the soul43 and as punishment for the misbehavior of Spirits.44 Plutarch conceives of the physical body in such a negative way that he even equates the soul’s incarnation with its death.45 In this sense, despite a couple of passages adduced to the contrary, Plutarch’s attitude toward the body is, in general, one of contempt.46 As far as the soul is concerned, it occupies a central place in Plutarch’s thought and, consequently, he deals with it not only in the myths of De facie 42 43

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Plu., De facie 943A. Plu., De facie 926C: αὐτὴ δ’ ἡ ψυχή, πρὸς Διός’ εἶπον ‘οὐ παρὰ φύσιν τῷ σώματι συνεῖρκται βραδεῖ ταχεῖα καὶ ψυχρῷ πυρώδης, ὥσπερ ὑμεῖς φατε, καὶ ἀόρατος αἰσθητῷ;’ See also De an. procr. 1023C; fr. 177 Sandbach with H.D. Betz, Plutarch’s Theological Writings and Early Christian Literature (Leiden: Brill, 1975) 323–324; H. Dörrie & M. Baltes, Der Platonismus in der Antike, Vol. 6.2: Die philosophische Lehre des Platonismus: von der “Seele” als der Ursache aller sinnvollen Abläufe (Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: Frommann-Holzboog, 2002b) 225. Plu., De facie 944C; De defectu 417B; De Iside 361C. See Fr. 178, 68–93 Sandbach, a fragment from his On the Soul preserved by Stob. 5.1092, 1–25 W.-H. On the issue, Dörrie-Baltes, Der Platonismus, 6.2, 225–226. J. Dillon, The Middle Platonists. A Study of Platonism 80 BC to AD220 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1996) 197–198, refers to fragment 144 Sandbach, which includes a fragment of the lost treatise In Defence of Beauty.

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and De genio but also from different perspectives in On moral virtue,47 in De animae procreatione in Timaeo, and in Quaestiones Platonicae. Midway between the intellect and the body, the soul occupies an intermediary position in human beings. As such, it functions as a bridge between immaterial and material realities, something that, as mentioned, is possible thanks to the soul’s inner bipartite structure that includes rational and irrational parts.48 Of the two parts it consists of, Plutarch describes the rational one as divine,49 impassible (ἀπαθές), and simple. It is intellective50 and is therefore in charge of controlling the complex of the soul.51 The irrational part, in turn, is prone to the body, is passible, and is therefore mortal.52 Moreover, due to its overbearing nature, it always tends to distort the original, internal balance of the soul, putting the former, rational part under pressure. This is the reason why Plutarch describes it as “variable and disorderly, and has need of a director.”53 The lead taken by the intellect or the lack of it, and the subsequent resisting or yielding to the influence of the body, consequently determines whether the irrational part remains stable or rather grows and develops, finally eclipsing the rational one completely. This is because both parts are in fact intrinsically intermingled. As De animae procreatione puts it: “There is no part of the soul which remains pure and unmixed, or separate from the rest” (τῆς δὲ ψυχῆς οὐδὲν μὲν εἰλικρινὲς οὐδ’ ἄκρατον οὐδὲ χωρὶς ἀπολείπεται τῶν ἄλλων).54

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Plu., De virt. mor. 441DE. English translation by W.C. Helmbold, Plutarch’s Moralia: in Sixteen Volumes, Vol. VI: 439a–523b (London: Heinemann; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1939). Plu., De an. procr. 1025D: “… but the soul is a mixed and intermediate thing, even as the moon has been created by God, a compound and blend of the things above and below and therefore stands to the sun in the relation of earth to moon.” Translations of De an. procr. according to H. Cherniss, Plutarch’s Moralia: in Sixteen Volumes, vol. 13, part 1: 999c– 1032f (London: Heinemann; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1976). According to Plu., De virt. mor. 448D, the soul’s halves are so different that seem to respond to two different principles or ἀρχαί, namely the ‘rational principle’ (ἡ λογιστικὴ ἀρχή) and the ‘passionate principle’ (ἡ παθητικὴ ἀρχή). Plu., De an. procr. 1026E. Plu., De virt. mor. 450E. Plu., De virt. mor. 442A. Plu., De an. procr. 1026D: ἔκ τε τῆς θνητῆς καὶ περὶ τὰ σώματα παθητῆς μερίδος; see also 1023D: τὸ παθητικὸν ὑπὸ τῶν περὶ τὸ σῶμα ποιοτήτων. See, however, M. Baltes, “Plutarchs Lehre von der Seele,” in idem, Epinoemata. Kleine Schriften zur antiken Philosophie und homerischen Dichtung (edited by M.-L. Lakmann; Leipzig: De Gruyter, 2005) 77–99 at 80 note 29. Plu., De virt. mor. 442A. Plu., De an. procr. 1025D; 1026C: “There is no part of the soul which remains pure and unmixed, or separate from the rest … Nevertheless, there appears in the irrational part a

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The central place the soul occupies in this anthropology lies in the fact that it may determine human success or failure in living the correct life on the path towards the final achievement of likeness to god. Timarchus’ myth in De genio might help us shed some light on this process.55 After asserting from the outset that every soul partakes in nous or rationality, the De genio affirms that this aspect might be eclipsed by the soul’s excessive exchange with the body: “[E]very soul partakes of understanding; none is irrational or unintelligent. But the portion of the soul that mingles with flesh and passions suffers alteration, and becomes irrational in the pleasures and pains it undergoes.”56 While souls that sink entirely into the body become disordered and distracted by passions, human tripartition is preserved if the rational part is not completely subdued.57 Ethics, in this context, provides the necessary training to keep the rational part in shape, keeping humans from indulging in excessive pleasures and passions, and revitalizing the rational part by the choice of a proper way. It is thanks to this rational part that the individual is receptive and sensible to the third, extrinsic element, namely the nous or intellect.58

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turbulent and boisterous temerity; in the rational part, an orderly and well-marshalled prudence; in the sensitive part, the constraint of necessity; but in the understanding, entire and perfect command of itself. The limiting and bounding power sympathizes with the whole and the indivisible, by reason of the nearness of their relations; on the other side, the dividing power fixes itself upon particulars, by virtue of the divisible substance …” On the myth included in Plu., De genio 591D–592C, see W. Hamilton, “The Myth in Plutarch’s De genio (589F–592E),” Classical Quarterly 28 (1934, 3–4) 175–182; Y. Vernière, Symboles et mythes dans la pensée de Plutarque: essai d’interprétation philosophique et religieuse des Moralia (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1977) 126–127; D. Babut, “Le dialogue de Plutarque, Sur le démon de Socrate. Essai d’ interpretation,” Bulletin du l’Association G. Budé 1 (1984) 51–76; 69–70; K. Döring, “Plutarch und das Daimonion des Sokrates (Plu. De genio Sokratis Kap. 20–24),” Mnemosyne IV 37 (1984) 376–392, at 382–384; Dillon, The Middle Platonists, 212–214; Dörrie-Baltes, Der Platonismus in der Antike 6.2, 228–234; W. Deuse, “Plutarch’s Eschatological Myths,” in H.G. Nesselrath (ed.), Plutarch. On the Daimonion of Socrates (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010) 169–197. Plu., De genio 591DE, ψυχὴ πᾶσα νοῦ μετέσχεν, ἄλογος δὲ καὶ ἄνους οὐκ ἔστιν, ἀλλ’ ὅσον ἂν αὐτῆς σαρκὶ μιχθῇ καὶ πάθεσιν, ἀλλοιούμενον τρέπεται καθ’ ἡδονὰς καὶ ἀλγηδόνας εἰς τὸ ἄλογον. English translation by P.H. De Lacy & B. Einarson, Plutarch’s Moralia: in Sixteen Volumes, Vol. VII: 523c–612b (London: Heinemann; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1959). Plu., De genio 591DE: “… others mingle in part, but leave outside what is purest in them. This is not dragged in with the rest, but is like a buoy attached to the top, floating on the surface in contact with the man’s head, while he is, as it were, submerged in the depths; and it supports as much of the soul, which is held upright about it, as it is obedient and not overpowered by the passions.” See my forthcoming study “Plutarch’s Moralia and Second-century Gnosticism on the

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The highest element of the trichotomy is the intellect, which controls and guides the soul, assuring the direction and sound functioning of the individual.59 Plutarch describes the intellect as impassible and sovereign,60 and he is clear about its separated nature: intellect is not a part of the soul, namely its rational part, but rather something detached, an entity in its own right. The De facie emphasizes this separateness by an analogy with the status of the soul within the body: in the same way that the soul is not the body but is located in the body, the intellect is not a part of the soul but is housed by it. The De genio, in turn, underlines its separable—even extrinsic—nature,61 and, in the wake of the Timaeus,62 presents it as a daimon that guides the individual.63 This extrinsic nature of the intellect betrays the influence of Aristotle’s intellectus extrinsecus from the De generatione animalium.64 It is easy to see that, from an ontological perspective, the tripartition of the human being at work in Plutarch’s Moralia coincides point by point with the Valentinian conception dealt with above. Let us now take a look at the ethical, eschatological, and soteriological implications of this conception in order to see the extent to which both views also overlap here.

Ethical, Eschatological, and Soteriological Implications of the Tripartition From an ethical perspective, the implications of Plutarch’s human trichotomy are clear. Human ontology implies that those willing to fulfill the human telos of leading a life devoted to philosophy and virtue should try to overcome the grievous influence of the body, which, due to its material nature, overwhelms

59 60 61 62

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Importance of Ethics,” in R. Hirsch-Luipold & L. Roig Lanzillotta (eds.), Plutarch in the Ancient Religious Landscape. Forthcoming. Plu., De genio 588EF. Plu., De an. procr. 1025D. Dillon, “Plutarch and the Separable Intellect,” 35–44. Plu., De genio 591EF: “Now the part carried submerged in the body is called the soul, whereas the part left free from corruption is called by the multitude the understanding, who take it to be within themselves, as they take reflected objects to be in the mirrors that reflect them; but those who conceive the matter rightly call it a daemon, as being external.” See on the issue, De genio 588DE: “Socrates had an intelligence, which being pure and free from passion, and commingling with the body to a minimal extent, for necessary purposes only, was so sensitive and delicate as to respond at once to what reached him”; see also Pl., Timaeus 90AB, with Dillon, “Plutarch and the Separable Intellect,” 39–40. Arist., GA 736B27–29; De an. 408B18–26; 413B24–28; 429A24–429B6; 430A17–25. So too (albeit with hesitation) in Dörrie-Baltes, Der Platonismus 6.2, 233.

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soul and intellect impeding its freedom of action. Those who are either not interested or capable of doing so will be doomed to a series of reincarnations in the realm of corruption and decay. Philosophy and ethics can then help the soul to maintain the balance in the internal structure of the soul, with a view to avoiding its inclination to the body and assuring its contact with the intellect. The latter is essential, since a sound philosophical life assures the exercise of man’s most divine element, the intellect. From an eschatological angle, while the body returns to the elements after the first death, soul and intellect leave the body behind and ascend to the moon, which equates in Plutarch’s myth to the intermediary region or mesotes in the Valentinian one. This is the place where the soul has to fight the decisive battle. If the soul succeeds in shunning everything that bothered its existence—be it the body’s remembrance or the passions that accompanied it during life—it will finally dissolve in the moon, the so-called second death according to the myth of the De facie. As far as the intellect is concerned, when exercised in the proper way during life, that is, by controlling both body and soul, it will naturally ascend after the second death to the sun. The soteriological implications are also clear: while the body is doomed to perdition and corruption, dissolving as it does in the physical realm, the soul survives the first death and reaches the region of the moon where it belongs. However, as is also the case in the Valentinian myth, the soul cannot transgress this region: if it managed to lead a life directed by philosophy and ethics, it will happily dissolve in the moon, allowing the intellect to continue its journey. It is only the intellect that attains salvation. If it has succeeded in leading a righteous and spiritual life—governing the soul to keep it away from the passions and the body, the intellect finally frees itself from all physical and psychic accretions and speeds towards its origin in the sun.

Conclusions In my view, the comparative study of the anthropological frameworks at work both in Valentianism and in Plutarch allows us to reach the following conclusions: 1. To begin with, it should be clear that Valentinian and Plutarchan anthropology are mainly conceived of as ontological accounts. Admittedly, the etiological nature of the myths that include them complicate matters, since their main goal (cosmogonical in the case of Valentinians, eschatological in that of Plutarch) implies also dealing with other aspects more or less related to the anthropological aspect we are investigating, making

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the exposition intricate and complex. In both systems, the appearance of the different parts of the human being is explained differently, but this is due to differences at the protological level of the worldviews they imply, which in the case of Valentinians is Platonic-Pythagorean and in Plutarch Platonic influenced by the Peripatos. The resulting three constituents of the human being, however, are at any rate the same. Both among Valentinians and in Plutarch, anthropology is intrinsically connected to cosmology. The three constitutive parts in the human being in fact reflect the three constitutive elements of the cosmos. While Valentinians distinguish earthly region, the mesotes, and the pleroma, to which they associate the hylics, psychics, and pneumatics, respectively, Plutarch differentiates three regions associated cosmologically with earth, moon, and sun, and anthropologically to body, soul, and intellect. Tripartite anthropology consequently implies tripartite cosmology. This means that, in both systems, after death the single elements of the individual return to the respective original abode they belong to. The eschatology of both systems describes how the physical body returns to the lowest cosmological region, how the soul remains in the middle one—the mesotes according to Valentinians, the moon according to Plutarch—and how only the highest element (either pneuma or intellect) reaches the highest cosmological region, the pleroma or the sun, respectively. Despite the modern discussion as to whether or not Valentinian anthropology is deterministic, I think that the comparison with Plutarch’s anthropology makes clear that there is no such thing as Valentinian determinism. When distinguishing hylics, psychics, and pneumatics among human beings on the basis of the three human components, Valentinians seem to point rather to inclinations or tendencies in certain human beings. This is also the case in Plutarch: while the philosopher is led by the intellect and always makes the right choice, those who are controlled by their souls, even if originally incapable due to the influence of both body and soul, might in the long run nevertheless achieve the same results by means of determination and ethics. Some might object that character in antiquity was seen as rather stable during human life and not liable to change. This latter view did not preclude, however, the possibility of change, witness the Platonic-Peripatetic motto, to pan ethos dia ethos “character is formed by habit,” along with the wider nature-nurture discussion among philosophical schools. In this line, both Valentinian texts and Plutarch document very well the possibility of migrating from one group to another.

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This said, it seems clear, however, that both Valentinians and Plutarch grant salvation to the highest element and to those led by it alone, namely pneumatics or philosophers, respectively. Does this mean that Valentinians envisaged an exclusivist or elitarian view of salvation? I don’t think so: both among Valentinians and in Plutarch this view is the corollary to the ontological basis of the myth, since the different human elements cannot be found outside the cosmological regions they belong to. Given that souls cannot enter the pleroma (Valentinians) or reach the sun (Plutarch) and must necessarily remain in the intermediary region, it seems obvious that psychics cannot reach salvation as psychics. In the same manner, according to Plutarch, those who are still dominated by the passionate part of the soul either stay on the moon for purification or are sent back down to earth for reincarnation. Both systems consequently grant salvation to individuals in the middle category, if and only if they manage to transform their nature by means of either pneuma or intellect. Consequently, even if only the highest element can receive salvation, there is no exclusivism, since both systems allow migration among the categories. Ethics plays a very important role in this process, since salvation is granted at the end of the path: none are said to be saved in advance. Both Valentinians and Plutarch were probably elitist, but not in the sense we understand this today. We may explain this elitism as arising from the ancient concept of antakolouthia agathon, or “mutual implication of the virtues,” namely that those who had privileged knowledge should also exteriorize this accordingly.65 It seems clear therefore that ethics was necessary for all different stages of development. As the Origin of the World (NHC II,5 127.15–17) affirms: “[E]ach one shall manifest his nature through his behavior and his knowledge.” Consequently, those aware of their pneumatic element need to exteriorize it by means of their own ways and forms of behavior. Those who were ruled by the psychic element needed not only to awaken to pneumatikon from its lethargy but also to free it from the influence of emotions—and this happens precisely by means of ethics.

On its importance in the Peripatos, see Ph. Merlan, “Greek Philosophy from Plato to Plotinus,” in A.H. Armstrong, Cambridge History of Later Greek and Early Medieval Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967) 121. See also J. Dillon, Alcinous. Handbook of Platonism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993) 180. See SVF 295–305 for the formalization of a theory whose origin might be searched for already in Plato’s Protagoras 329ff. A.A. Long & D.N. Sedley, The Hellenistic Philosophers I (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987) 387.

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des Gnostikers,” in Walter Eltester (ed.), Christentum und Gnosis (Berlin: Alfred Töpelmann, 1969) 65–97. Scopello, M., “Les milieux gnostiques: du mythe à la réalité sociale,” in J.-P. Mahé, P.H. Poirier & M. Scopello (eds.), Les textes de Nag Hammadi: histoire des religions et approches contemporaines: actes du colloque international réuni les 11 et 12 décembre 2008, à la fondation Simone et Cino del Duca et à l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres (Palais de l’Institut de France) (Paris: Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, 2010) 251–267. Roig Lanzillotta, L., Acta Andreae Apocrypha. A New Perspective on the Nature, Intention and Significance of the Primitive Text (Geneva: Patrick Cramer, 2007). Roig Lanzillotta, L., “The Early Christians and Human Sacrifice,” in J.N. Bremmer (ed.), The Strange World of Human Sacrifice (Leuven: Peeters, 2007) 81–102. Roig Lanzillotta, L., “Cain, Ruler over the Cave: Gnostic Views on Cain in Anti-Heretical Writings and Nag Hammadi Texts,” in E. Koskenniemi & P. Lindqvist (eds.), Studies in Rewritten Bible vol. 3: Rewritten Patriachs (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2010) 237–252. Roig Lanzillotta, L., “One Human Being, Three Early Christian Anthropologies,” Vigiliae Christianae 61 (2007) 1–30. Roig Lanzillotta, L., “Plutarch’s Anthropology and its Influence on His Cosmological Framework,” in M. Meeussen & L. Van der Stockt (eds.), Aspects of Plutarch’s Natural Philosophy (Plutarchea Hypomnemata. Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2015) 179–195. Roig Lanzillotta, L., “Spirit, Soul and Body in Nag Hammadi Literature: Distinguishing Anthropological Schemes in Valentinian, Sethian, Hermetic and Thomasine Texts,” Gnosis: Journal of Gnostic Studies 2 (2017) 15–39. Roig Lanzillotta, L., “Valentinian Protology and the Philosophical Discussion Regarding the First Principles,” in J. van Ruiten & G.H. Kooten (eds.), Intolerance, Polemics, and Debate in Antiquity: Politico-Cultural, Philosophical, and Religious Forms of Critical Conversation in the Ancient Near Eastern, Biblical, Graeco-Roman, and Early-Islamic World (Leiden: Brill, 2019). Forthcoming. Roig Lanzillotta, L., “Plutarch’s Moralia and Second-century Gnosticism on the Importance of Ethics,” in R. Hirsch-Luipold & L. Roig Lanzillotta (eds.), Plutarch in the Ancient Religious Lanscape. Forthcoming. Thomassen, E., “Saved by Nature,” in Ch. Markschies & J. van Oort (eds.), Zugänge zur Gnosis. Akten zur Tagung der Patristischen Arbeitsgemeinschaft vom 02.–05.01.2011 in Berlin-Spandau (Leuven: Peeters, 2013) 129–149. Tröger, K.W., “Die gnostische Anthropologie,” Kairos 23 (1981) 31–42. Trumbower, J.A., Born from Above. The Anthropology of the Gospel of John (HUTh 29; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992). Unger, D.J. & Dillon, J., St. Irenaeus of Lyons: Against the Heresies (New York, N.Y., etc.: Paulist Press, 1992).

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Vernière, Y., Symboles et mythes dans la pensée de Plutarque: essai d’interprétation philosophique et religieuse des Moralia (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1977). Williams, M.A., Rethinking Gnosticism: An Argument for Dismantling a Dubious Category (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996).

chapter 12

Plutarch’s Use of Myth in His Anti-Stoic and Anti-Epicurean Polemics Geert Roskam

Plutarch and Myth: A Complicated Story Plutarch’s attitude to myth is so diverse that every general discussion of it risks gross oversimplification.1 Sometimes, the term μῦθος clearly has a negative connotation for Plutarch. In such contexts, it is regarded as a mere fiction and is often connected with the word πλάσμα.2 This, of course, is hardly surprising for a Platonist like Plutarch, for there exists a certain tension between a Platonic outlook and the colourful world of Greek mythology. Plutarch’s view of the world rests on Plato’s dialogues, especially on the Timaeus. He understands the creation of the world soul as a mixture of sameness and difference through the intermediaries of the divisible and the indivisible.3 This position has several important consequences for his understanding of evil, but also for his view of the human soul and of moral behaviour.4 It is not immediately clear, to say the least, what can still be the relevance of mythical stories about the quarrels and adultery of Olympian gods from such a perspective. If envy indeed has no

1 Excellent discussions can be found in Y. Vernière, Symboles et mythes dans la pensée de Plutarque: essai d’interprétation philosophique et religieuse des Moralia (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1977) and P.R. Hardie, “Plutarch and the Interpretation of Myth,” ANRW II.33.6 (1992) 4743– 4787. See also the excellent surveys of R. Hirsch-Luipold, Plutarchs Denken in Bildern: Studien zur literarischen, philosophischen und religiösen Funktion des Bildhaften (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002) and “Religion and Myth,” in M. Beck (ed.), A Companion to Plutarch (Malden: Blackwell, 2014) 163–176. 2 See, e.g., Thes. 28.1; Cor. 32.5; De aud. poet. 17A; De Is. et Os. 358F; De def. or. 435D; De sera num. 557F; De gen. Socr. 589F; Quaest. conv. 641B; De esu 993C; cf. also Cam. 22.3; Ps.-Plu., Parall. graec. et rom. 305A. The same pair often occurs in the works of Philo of Alexandria as well; see therefore esp. A. Méasson, “Un aspect de la critique du polythéisme chez Philon d’ Alexandrie: les acceptions du mot μῦθος dans son œuvre,” Centre Jean Palerne Mémoires II (1980) 74–107. 3 De an. procr. 1025B. 4 See J. Opsomer, “L’âme du monde et l’ âme de l’ homme chez Plutarque,” in M. García Valdés (ed.), Estudios sobre Plutarco: ideas religiosas. Actas del III Simposio Internacional sobre Plutarco. Oviedo 30 de abril a 2 de mayo de 1992 (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1994) 33–49.

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part in the divine choir, as Plato would have it,5 then all these stories can only be disregarded as mere fiction indeed. In that respect, μῦθος is diametrically opposed to λόγος. Nevertheless, this opposition need not imply that myth never deserves any credit. Sometimes, it is granted a relative claim to truth. In De genio Socratis, for instance, Simmias hesitates to tell the story of Timarchus, since it resembles in his view more a myth and fiction than an argument.6 Theocritus however replies that even myth, albeit less precise (εἰ μὴ λίαν ἀκριβῶς), still touches on the truth (ψαύει τῆς ἀληθείας).7 A similar scene is to be found in De sera numinis vindicta. In this case, it is Plutarch himself who hesitates to tell a story (λόγος) he recently heard, because he fears his interlocutors will regard it as a myth (μῦθος) and because he prefers to confine himself to probabilities, but here as well, his listeners urge him on to come up with his story.8 We may infer, then, that myth is not always radically opposed to rational truth. In these two cases, however, we are dealing with Platonically inspired myths which have been created by Plutarch himself. We thus come across another aspect of Plutarch’s dealing with myth. Plutarch indeed conceived several elaborate myths in line with his own Platonic perspective and these myths can of course claim to contain at least the germs of truth. Even if they do not meet the demands of rigorous dialectics (μὴ λίαν ἀκριβῶς, in Theocritus’ terms), they contain many philosophical ideas. In other words, there is much more philosophical λόγος in Plutarch’s eschatological myths than the absolute opposition between μῦθος and λόγος suggests.9 This, however, is not the whole story: Plutarch does not merely replace old fictitious myths by new Platonic ones, but he often also defends and adopts the old myths. These, indeed, are part and parcel of the ancestral faith (πάτριος πίστις) that is highly esteemed in the Amatorius10 and they are often used as sources for philosophical truths. In this context, scholars often refer to Plutarch’s treatise De Iside et Osiride, where we indeed find a very elaborate discussion of an old myth. Plutarch proposes various interpretations of it: the Euhemeristic point of view (359D–360D), the demonological explanation (360D–363D), the physical allegory (363D–369A), and the metaphysical allegory (369A–377B). Each of these interpretations throws light on diverse aspects

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Pl., Phdr. 247A7, quoted in Quaest. conv. 679E, Non posse 1086F and fr. 31. De gen. Socr. 589F (μύθοις ὁμοιότερα καὶ πλάσμασιν ἢ λόγοις). De gen. Socr. 589F. De sera num. 561B; cf. also 563B. Cf. R. Hirsch-Luipold, “Religion and Myth,” 174. Amatorius 756B.

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of the myth and thus illustrates its many philosophical interests. This, in a way, reflects a polysemous exegesis of myth. According to Hardie, polysemy is not a positive value for Plutarch,11 but this perhaps underestimates the dynamics of Plutarch’s ‘zetetic’ thinking. The variety of (at best) complementary interpretations does not reveal Plutarch’s indifference to the ultimate truth but his active search after this truth and his sincere attempt to do justice to as many aspects of the myth as possible.12 While a treatise like De Iside et Osiride thus contains much information about Plutarch’s philosophical approach towards myths, we should not forget the specificity of the work. For there, Plutarch does not deal with a Greek but with an Egyptian myth and this may at least partly explain his fondness for an allegorical approach. When dealing with Greek myths, such allegorical interpretations are less frequent. This is not to say, of course, that they nowhere occur,13 but as a rule, Plutarch is more interested in other, more literal approaches. In that sense, De Iside et Osiride is a somewhat atypical work, and it is perhaps no coincidence that Plutarch places different accents in his De audiendis poetis. There, he explicitly rejects artificial allegorical interpretations of the poets and instead recommends a more straightforward, literal exegesis.14 All in all, De audiendis poetis, where Plutarch elaborates his own method of reading the poets, is probably a better guide for his general attitude towards Greek myth than De Iside et Osiride, although the latter treatise also adds important material of course. While the above picture may serve as a very general framework, it in fact conceals more than it reveals. Plutarch’s reception of myths is to a large extent conditioned by different concrete elements: a) the specific character of his work: in the Parallel Lives or the political essays, Plutarch’s approach towards Greek myths is different from the one he adopts in, for instance, his theological works. Some works lend themselves to a detailed discussion of myths. In the Quaestiones convivales, for instance, several conversations focus entirely on mythological top11

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See Hardie, “Plutarch and the Interpretation of Myth,” 4760–4761 (“It might be truer to say that polysemy for Plutarch is more a matter of indifference than of positive value. […] So long as a number of plausible reasons are found, there is no need felt to search for one that is indubitably true.”). Cf. G. Roskam, “On the Multi-Coloured Robes of Philosophy. Plutarch’s Approach in On Isis and Osiris,” in M. Erler & M. Stadler (eds.), Platonismus und spätägyptische Religion. Plutarch und die ägyptenrezeption in der römischen Kaiserzeit (Berlin—Boston: De Gruyter, 2017) 199–218. See for several examples Hardie, “Plutarch and the Interpretation of Myth,” 4764–4781. De aud. poet. 19F.

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ics.15 Other works deal with issues that provide less opportunities for a discussion of myths. In Quaestiones naturales, for example, mythological material is far less mentioned.16 b) the particular context of his argument: Plutarch’s attitude towards and interpretation of the myths is usually influenced by his argumentative purposes. This sometimes entails differences in accents, though seldom real inconsistencies.17 c) the content of the traditional myths: some stories can, of course, more easily be reconciled with a Platonic perspective than others. But this entails another question that further complicates the matter: what, after all, is Greek mythology and what does Plutarch regard as such? Greek mythology contains famous stories such as that of the Trojan War or the Argonauts, but also stories about the gods. Since most of these stories were told and retold by the poets, Plutarch’s reception of Greek myth significantly overlaps with his reception of the poets and thus involves an important literary, intertextual dimension.18 But poetry is not Plutarch’s only source for Greek mythology, since Greek myths had for centuries been embedded in Greek religion. Plutarch was himself priest of Apollo at the Delphic shrine and it is more than likely that this indeed significantly influenced his view of the god. All this shows how complex the question of Plutarch’s attitude towards myths actually is and how many different parameters should be taken into account when dealing with it. It also shows how difficult it is to define the core of Plutarch’s position on the basis of a few elements, taken from a few works. General surveys remain very useful, no doubt, but they should be completed by more specific case studies which give due attention to particulars and thus better succeed in illustrating Plutarch’s thinking.

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See, e.g., 739AD (“Which of Aphrodite’s Hands did Diomedes Wound?”) or 741AB (on the meaning of Poseidon’s defeat); 639A–640A, 677C–678B and 741D–743C also deal with Homeric questions. On the role of mythology in the Quaestiones naturales, see M. Meeusen, Plutarch’s Science of Natural Problems. A Study with Commentary of Quaestiones Naturales (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2016) 269–274. See on this topic in general A.G. Nikolaidis, “Plutarch’s Contradictions,” C&M 42 (1991) 153– 186; cf. also A.G. Nikolaidis (ed.), The Unity of Plutarch’s Work. ‘Moralia’ Themes in the ‘Lives’, Features of the ‘Lives’ in the ‘Moralia’ (Berlin—New York: De Gruyter, 2008). The topic of Plutarch and intertextuality has received a lot of attention in recent scholarship. It was the theme of the 11th congress of the International Plutarch Society in Fribourg (2017) and of the 12th congress of the Spanish Section of the IPS in 2015. The proceedings

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In this contribution, I would like to provide one such case study, by examining in more detail how Plutarch uses Greek myths in his polemical writings against the Stoics and Epicureans. This focus immediately entails several consequences: a) We have to do with Greek myths, not with Egyptian material. We thus leave the periphery for the centre and deal with Plutarch’s own Greek tradition. b) The myths which Plutarch mentions are usually borrowed from Homer and tragedy. In what follows, I shall confine myself to this literary tradition and exclude religious and ritual aspects as well as theological speculations. c) The general perspective of Plutarch’s polemical writings is that of the philosophical school. In other words, Plutarch here speaks as a professional philosopher who is primarily interested in theoretical debates. Through a careful reading of these works, we may thus learn how Greek myths were understood and used in Plutarch’s school. The other side of the picture, however, is that myth is hardly ever thematised for its own sake. Myths are now and then mentioned in theoretical discussions but are nowhere the object of lengthy interpretations. d) Finally, the myth is repeatedly regarded through the interpretative prism of previous intellectual traditions. As usual, Plutarch’s impressive παιδεία makes its influence felt. Plutarch once alludes to the learned explanations of the grammarians,19 but is here primarily interested in the philosophical interpretation of the poets, and notably in the Stoic and Epicurean view.

An Advanced Exercise in Contradicting The obvious starting point of philosophical polemics is the position of the opponent. We can expect, then, that in this particular case too, the Stoic and the Epicurean attitudes towards myth strongly influence Plutarch’s reply. Plutarch’s general strategy in his polemical works indeed recalls what Cicero relates about Arcesilaus. This famous scholarch from the Academy usually invited his stu-

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of the latter congress are published in M. Sanz Morales et al. (eds.), La (inter)textualidad en Plutarco (Cáceres—Coimbra: Universidad de Extremadura, 2017). Adv. Colot. 1112E; on Plutarch’s familiarity with the Alexandrian commentary tradition, see esp. C. Bréchet, “Plutarque et le travail critique des Alexandrins sur Homère,” in A. Casanova (ed.), Plutarco e l’età ellenistica. Atti del convegno internazionale di studi. Firenze, 23–24 settembre 2004 (Florence: Florence University Press, 2005) 243–268.

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dents to state their own opinion about something and then argued against them.20 Somewhat similarly, the positions of the Stoics and Epicureans are here introduced as a starting point for refutation. When Plutarch’s opponent develops a positive view about myth, Plutarch endorses a negative one; when the opponent adopts a negative position, Plutarch prefers a positive one. a) Epicurus is usually very critical of Greek myths and this criticism is also mentioned several times in Plutarch’s polemical works. Near the beginning of Non posse, Plutarch recalls Epicurus’ attack on the “rabble of the poets” and on “Homer’s idiocies” and also refers to Metrodorus’ abuse of Homer.21 Somewhat further down, he quotes Metrodorus’ radical statement that “you should not be dismayed when you say that you do not even know on which side Hector fought, or the opening lines of Homer’s poem, or again what comes between.”22 Even such elementary knowledge is not necessary for Epicurean happiness. It is clear, then, that Epicurus had no great esteem for myths and poets, although his position was probably a bit more nuanced than Plutarch polemically suggests.23 Since Epicurus is so negative about myths, Plutarch is generally quite positive. He points out that Epicurus would have done better in writing about Homer and Euripides than in pursuing vulgar corporeal pleasures,24 and he very often quotes from the poets in Non posse. The implicit message is that the poetic tradition is highly relevant and frequently illustrates or clarifies philosophical views. A case in point is Plutarch’s reference to Homer’s description of Ithaca.25 At first sight, such verses are completely irrelevant for philosophical discussions. Plutarch, however, associates the infertile nature of Ithaca with the body, which yields only little pleasures and brings much more pains, and thus gives the verses a certain philosophical relevance. A little bit later, he observes that many poets called our condition ephemeral.26 This is an argumentum ex auctoritate, which acquires an additional dimension in light of Epicurus’ criti-

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Cic., Fin. 2.2. Non posse 1087A. Non posse 1094E; all translations are borrowed from the Loeb Classical Library. Also relevant is De aud. poet. 15D; cf. also Non posse 1095DE and Adv. Colot. 1124EF. See K.-D. Zacher, Plutarchs Kritik an der Lustlehre Epikurs. Ein Kommentar zu ‘Non posse suaviter vivi secundum Epicurum’: Kap. 1–8 (Königstein: Hain, 1982) 54–55. Philodemus even extensively used Homer in his discussion of good leadership, in his De bono rege secundum Homerum. Non posse 1095A. Non posse 1088D, with reference to Hom., Od. 4.605 and 9.27. Non posse 1090B.

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cism of the poets. Its effect is further enhanced by the juxtaposition of verbal quotations from Euripides and Hippocrates: the view of the poets is apparently confirmed by medical science. The poetic tradition, then, implicitly appears as an important source for philosophical truth. A special case are the eschatological myths. These were likewise radically opposed to Epicurus’ philosophical view of death, yet in a certain sense, Epicurus took them seriously, in that he regarded them as an important source of fear. He considered his own philosophy precisely as a therapy for such irrational fears.27 Again, Plutarch follows the opposite course, by dismissing such traditional eschatological myths as unconvincing.28 He argues that the majority of people are not troubled at all by such myths,29 that they are not afraid of Aeacus, Ascalaphus and Acheron,30 nor of Cerberus or Cocytus.31 It is rather the Epicurean alternative of being no more that is repulsive to them and they readily prefer to be bitten by Cerberus or to carry water to the leaky jar of the Danaids if only they can avoid utter destruction.32 Again, they should not be afraid of punishments such as those suffered by Tityos or Sisyphus but only of being forgotten and unknown.33 To a certain extent, this runs counter to Plutarch’s own eschatological myths, especially to that of De sera numinis vindicta, where he describes post mortem punishments in all their gruesome details.34 In the anti-Epicurean polemics, however, Plutarch’s position is, as we have seen, primarily conditioned by the position of his opponent Epicurus. By downplaying the importance of the traditional eschatological myths, Plutarch also belittles the relevance of Epicurus’ philosophical insights. It simply is not worth all the trouble, for the patient is far less ill than Epicurus presupposes and has no need at all of his philosophical therapy.35 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

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See, e.g., Lucretius, 3.978–1023; Diogenes of Oenoanda, fr. 73.I.1–II.1; Seneca, Epist. 24.18; Cicero, De nat. deor. 1.86; cf. Tusc. 1.11. Cf. also De aud. poet. 17BC; De sup. 166F–167A; De virt. mor. 450A. Non posse 1104BC. Non posse 1104D. Non posse 1106E. Non posse 1105AB. De lat. viv. 1130DE; I discuss Plutarch’s argument in detail in G. Roskam, A Commentary on Plutarch’s De latenter vivendo (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2007) 159–173. See De sera num. 566E–568A; cf. H. Adam, Plutarchs Schrift ‘Non posse suaviter vivi secundum Epicurum’ (Amsterdam: Grüner, 1974) 68–69, and B. Boulet, “The Use of Myths and Superstition in Plutarch,” in L. Van der Stockt et al. (eds.), Gods, Daimones, Rituals, Myths and History of Religions in Plutarch’s Works. Studies Devoted to Professor Frederick E. Brenk by the International Plutarch Society (Málaga: Universidad de Málaga; Logan, UT: Utah State University, 2010) 59–64. Precisely the same strategy can be found in Cicero, Tusc. 1.11: those who write such lengthy

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Plutarch’s main purpose in such passages, then, is not criticism of traditional myths but refutation of Epicurus.36 In Adversus Colotem, finally, we find a somewhat different example of Plutarch’s strategy of contradicting Epicurus. Plutarch there refers to Colotes’ characterization of the Academic doctrine of withholding judgement (ἐποχή) as a myth.37 For Colotes, the word ‘myth’ here has its usual negative connotations: the Academic doctrine, then, is opposed to the truth. After having defended the Academic view, Plutarch now attacks Colotes and tries to demonstrate that Colotes actually proves guilty of the things he blames in others. It is not ἐποχή that is a myth, but the Epicurean doctrine of infinity and films. As a result of the polemical tu quoque-strategy that Plutarch adopts throughout the whole work, the term ‘myth’ here keeps its negative connotation, but again, the target is not the myth as such but rather Colotes and his Epicurean philosophy. b) Basically, the same polemical strategy of contradicting the opponent is used against the Stoics. Here as well, Plutarch starts from their general view of myth and then argues against it. Contrary to Epicurus, the Stoics appreciated the poets and adapted them to their own philosophical perspective. Plutarch often mentions Chrysippus’ agreement with and use of the poets38 and also refers to Stoic corrections of the poets39 and to their allegorical interpretations. The Homeric phrase “Zeus’ design was maturing,” for instance, is understood by Chrysippus as a reference to destiny and the nature of the universe as a whole.40

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treatises against the traditional eschatological myths have merely lost their time, for “who is so stupid as to be influenced by such stories?”. A somewhat similar strategy can be found in De sera numinis vindicta, a lengthy reply to the Epicurean attack on providence (cf. 548AB). In 556E–557E, Timon raises the problem of the divine punishment of innocent children, who have to suffer because of the offences of their guilty parents, and there also makes use of mythological material. In his reply, Plutarch questions the truth of these stories and argues that they resemble myths and fictions (557F: τὰ πλεῖστα μύθοις ἔοικεν καὶ πλάσμασι). Here as well, the point is that all such myths need not be taken too seriously. In what follows, Plutarch is nevertheless willing to deal with Timon’s argument. For the general structure of the argumentation in the treatise, see J. Opsomer, “The Cruel Consistency of De sera numinis vindicta,” in J. Opsomer et al. (eds.), A Versatile Gentleman. Consistency in Plutarch’s Writing (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2016) 37–56. Adv. Colot. 1124B. See, e.g., De virt. mor. 450C; De Stoic. rep. 1052E; 1055B; De comm. not. 1065D; cf. also his verbatim quotation in De comm. not. 1062A (= SVF 3.210). The practice of ἐπανόρθωσις; see De aud. poet. 33D; De Stoic. rep. 1039F. De aud. poet. 23D and De Stoic. rep. 1050B (with reference to Homer, Il. 1.5).

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Confronting this Stoic enthusiasm regarding the poetic tradition, Plutarch develops a much more critical stance. He emphasizes that the works of the poets are full of superstition.41 This, of course, is a completely different accent from what we read in his anti-Epicurean polemics. Such passages, however, should not be isolated from their context, since they precisely derive their meaning and relevance from their specific polemical goal. Plutarch also criticises several Stoic interpretations of the poets and regards them as the products of excessive ingenuity (εὑρησιλογία).42 He attacks, for example, Chrysippus’ interpretation of the Trojan War. Chrysippus agreed with Euripides that the gods caused the Trojan War as a remedy against population growth,43 but such a view, according to Plutarch, entails several inconsistencies. Whereas Chrysippus always attributes positive epithets to the gods, they now prove to bring about the destruction of many people whom they first created and let grow up.44 Even worse, since every war implies vice, God, by bringing war, also brings vice, and such a conviction, that regards God as the cause of wickedness, is of course at odds with Stoic doctrine. Although the emphasis in this whole passage is on Chrysippus’ inconsistencies, Plutarch in passing suggests that Chrysippus’ view of the Trojan War is also problematic in itself, as it involves many absurdities.45 Chrysippus’ principal problem is to give great catastrophes such as the Trojan War a meaningful place within his deterministic world view, in which every single detail is caused by Zeus’ will. Passages from the poets were very welcome to explain away the difficulty, but Plutarch’s objections are not without value. In the end, Chrysippus struggles with the fatal problem of evil which every theodicy has to face and he falls into the same trap as Plutarch in his De sera numinis vindicta. What is especially relevant for our purpose, however, is that, in the whole passage, the discussion of myths is only of secondary importance. Plutarch’s first concern is with Chrysippus’ inconsistency, although he also argues that Chrysippus’ interpretation of the myth is erroneous. In short, Chrysippus’ uncritical acceptance of what the poets say is, for various reasons, no less problematic than Epicurus’ radical rejection of the poets.

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De Stoic. rep. 1051E. De aud. poet. 31E; on the εὑρησιλογία of the Stoics, see also De comm. not. 1070E and 1072F; cf. De Stoic. rep. 1033B. De Stoic. rep. 1049BE (cf. Euripides, El. 1282–1283; Hel. 38–40; Or. 1639–1642). Cf. P. Volpe Cacciatore, “È il dio degli Stoici filantropo?” in J. Ribeiro Ferreira et al. (eds.), Symposion and Philanthropia in Plutarch (Coimbra: Coimbra University Press, 2009) 289– 295. De Stoic. rep. 1049B (τούτων δὲ τὰς μὲν ἄλλας ἀτοπίας ἄφες).

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Myths as Material for Eristic Strategies We have seen so far that Plutarch’s attitude to myth in the polemical treatises is to a large extent conditioned by the position of his opponents. His general strategy is one of contra dicere. Next to that, his view of myth also depends on the particular eristic strategy he uses. Greek myths indeed more than once contain interesting material that can be used for polemical goals. a) An argument which Plutarch often uses is the argumentum ex absurditate. He again and again shows that both the Stoic and the Epicurean positions are absurd and often refers to mythological material in such contexts. He even wrote two complete treatises in which he argued that his opponents defended views that were even more absurd than those of the poets.46 In Stoicos absurdiora poetis dicere, he contrasts: – Caeneus, who was physically invulnerable, to the Stoic sage, who enjoys complete ἀπάθεια; – Iolaus, who suddenly regains his youth, to the Stoic sage, who instantaneously becomes perfect; – Odysseus, who was made handsome by Athena, to the Stoic sage who is handsome despite his physical shortcomings; – Heracles, who was never in want of the necessities of life, to the Stoic sage, who is opulent and still has to beg or borrow; – Odysseus, who, although being a king, acts as a beggar because he wants to escape detection, to the Stoic sage who claims to be a king but in fact acts as a beggar. The general gist of Plutarch’s argument in this treatise obviously implies a very negative view of myth: myth, indeed, here appears not as an image of, or a source for the truth, but as absurd. Such a view is much closer to Plato’s attack on the poets than to Plutarch’s allegory of myths in De Iside et Osiride or to the interpretative strategies he recommends in De audiendis poetis. This observation, however, does little justice to Plutarch’s main concern in this treatise, which does not lie with the myth. His principle argument is not that these myths are absurd but that the Stoic doctrines are much more absurd. This polemical argument also conditions Plutarch’s hermeneutics. In this context, Plutarch is especially interested in exceptional mythological figures or in situations that run counter to common sense. These are then contrasted to the 46

Stoicos absurdiora poetis dicere, of which a substantial fragment has come down to us. Its counterpart, Epicureos absurdiora poetis dicere (Lamprias catalogue 143) is no longer extant.

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Stoic doctrine, which proves even more counterintuitive. The notorious Stoic paradoxes are an easy target of course. The fact that several examples from the poetic tradition concern rather marginal figures, whereas the Stoic view always pertains to the sage himself, gives Plutarch’s argument extra pungency. b) The persuasiveness of the above argumentum ex absurditate rests to a significant extent on an implicit appeal to common sense. In that sense, it is not surprising that similar references to poets and myths return in De communibus notitiis. There, Plutarch especially underscores the counterintuitive and absurd character of the Stoic doctrines, although he frequently adds that the Stoic position is indeed even more absurd than what we read in the poets. For example, the Stoics, so Plutarch polemically argues, are convinced that the sage, although being virtuous and perfectly happy, will often commit suicide because he lacks indifferents. In this way, he resembles Glaucus of old, who exchanged his golden arms for bronze.47 In both cases, such behaviour is at odds with “common conceptions,”48 but Plutarch adds that, in Glaucus’ case, his decision at least makes some sense, in that bronze weapons are no less useful than golden ones in battles.49 The position of the Stoics, then, proves more absurd than that of the poets—an argument that recalls Plutarch’s approach in Stoicos absurdiora poetis dicere.50 Further down, Plutarch refers to Lynceus, who was able to see through rock and tree but nevertheless failed to perceive what the Stoics saw,51 and to Pentheus, who saw two suns and a double Thebes, whereas the Stoics are convinced that everything is double.52 And this, so Plutarch says, is actually a simplification of the Stoic view, since the Stoics in fact postulate

47

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De comm. not. 1063CF; cf. M. Casevitz & D. Babut, Plutarque. Œuvres morales. Tome XV, 2e partie. Traité 72: Sur les notions communes contre les stoïciens (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2002) 160–161. The Stoic notion of κοιναὶ ἔννοιαι should not simply be equated with common sense; cf. D. Obbink, “ ‘What all Men Believe—Must be True’: Common Conceptions and Consensio Omnium in Aristotle and Hellenistic Philosophy,” OSAPh 10 (1992) 193–231; see also C. Brittain, “Common Sense: Concepts, Definition and Meaning in and out of the Stoa,” in D. Frede & B. Inwood (eds.), Language and Learning: Philosophy of Language in the Hellenistic Age. Proceedings of the Ninth Symposium Hellenisticum (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005) 164–209. De comm. not. 1063F. Cf. also De comm. not. 1071CD, where Plutarch associates the Stoic view with a verse of an unknown comic poet and then again adds that the Stoics in fact prove worse: for whereas the comic character changes conventional order, the Stoics utterly overthrow and ruin facts. De comm. not. 1083DE. De comm. not. 1083EF.

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four subjects.53 In this case too, the Stoics defend theories that are more absurd than what can be read in the poetic tradition. Since the treatise Stoicos absurdiora poetis dicere has only been partly preserved, it cannot be excluded that these examples (or at least some of them) were also elaborated there. If that was indeed the case, Plutarch cleverly recycled his material, adapting it to the new context of his polemical argument.54 Such an approach can indeed very often be found in Plutarch’s works and throws interesting light on his heuristics and method of working.55 c) In Non posse, we come across a completely different attitude towards myth, connected with a different eristic strategy. In this polemical dialogue, Plutarch tries to demonstrate that the Epicureans cannot even live a pleasant life when they follow their own principles.56 After he has pointed out the precariousness of corporeal pleasures, he elaborates on all the pleasures of which the Epicureans are deprived. These include the intellectual pleasures that are brought about by reading myths like Plato’s Atlantis or the last part of the Iliad.57 The whole passage concludes with a challenging rhetorical question: who would prefer eating and drinking to following Odysseus’ tale of his wanderings, and who would find greater pleasure in going to bed with the most beautiful women than in sitting up with Xenophon’s story of Pantheia?58 Here we find a strikingly positive view of myth, which is appreciated as a far better alternative than the base concerns of Epicurean hedonism. Yet in this case as well, we are doing primarily with a polemical argument. Myth is not appreciated for its own sake, as a source for deeper philosophical insights, but as a means for intellectual pleasures and refined pastime that surpasses the vulgar pleasures of the body. Of course, such charms are part and parcel of the 53 54

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De comm. not. 1083E. This hypothesis gains further support from De prof. in virt. 75EF, where the example of Caeneus reappears in an anti-Stoic context. See G. Roskam, On the Path to Virtue. The Stoic Doctrine of Moral Progress and its Reception in (Middle-)Platonism (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2005) 233, n. 50, on the striking verbal parallels between De prof. in virt. 75EF and Stoic absurd. poet. 1058AB. See, on analogous issues related to the problem of Plutarch’s ὑπομνήματα, L. Van der Stockt, “A Plutarchan Hypomnema on Self-Love,” AJPh 120 (1999) 575–599. For Plutarch’s (reflections on his) methodology in this work, see G. Roskam, “Considering Tit for Tat. The Programmatic Introduction to Non posse suaviter vivi secundum Epicurum,” in M. Sanz Morales et al. (eds.), La (inter)textualidad en Plutarco, 345–356. Non posse 1093A. Non posse 1093C. Cf. on this passage C.B.R. Pelling, “De malignitate Plutarchi: Plutarch, Herodotus, and the Persian Wars,” in E. Bridges et al. (eds.), Cultural Responses to the Persian Wars. Antiquity to the Third Millennium (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007) 156.

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myth—that is why a treatise like De audiendis poetis is necessary indeed, but again, Plutarch’s emphasis here does not fall on the correct approach towards myth and its pleasures but on anti-Epicurean criticism. That Plutarch oversimplifies the matter appears from Philodemus’ more nuanced position in his De poematis, but that is a different story that need not detain us here. d) In several passages from the polemical writings, Plutarch uses myth as an illustration of, or even as an argument in support of philosophical views. In such passages, myths are appreciated as an interesting means to reach or at least approach the truth. An interesting case can be found near the beginning of Theon’s argument in Non posse, where Philoctetes’ miserable situation is used as an argument to demonstrate that the body is open to all kinds of pain.59 It also indirectly refutes Epicurus’ conviction that extreme pains do not last60 and thus reflects an argument based on common sense. Near the end of the work, the same Theon points out that Epicurus’ doctrine of death as total annihilation brings far less pleasures than the Pythagorean and Platonic belief in the immortality of the soul. For whereas the Epicureans can only receive apparitions and likenesses (εἴδωλα) of their dead friends, they can never hope to meet them again. Thus, so Theon argues, they are in the same situation as Aeneas’ friends, who were fighting around the likeness (εἴδωλον) of their comrade. Yet when the real Aeneas later returned, his friends were filled with joy, readily left the likeness and turned to the man himself.61 This is a particularly clever use of Homeric myth, as an authoritative argument against the Epicurean claim to bring pleasure. Homer here sides with Plato and against Epicurus. Other myths are used to refute the Stoics. In De virtute morali, for instance, while underlining against the Stoics that there are great differences in the passions, Plutarch argues that Dolon’s fear was greater than that of Ajax,62 and later he concludes that the work of reason is not like that of the Thracian king Lycurgus, that is, to cut down every passion, but rather like that of Dionysus, that is, lopping off excessive elements and cultivating what remains.63 In such cases, the myth is taken seriously as an argument against the Stoic point of view. It is not introduced for its own sake, to be sure, but constructively contributes

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Non posse 1087F. Non posse 1088A (against Epicurus, RS 4). The same use of Philoctetes’ case against Epicurus’ position can be found in Cicero’s Tusc. 2.44. Non posse 1105EF (with reference to Homer, Il. 5.449–453 and 514–516). De virt. mor. 449D. De virt. mor. 451CD. Other relevant passages, where Plutarch uses material taken from Homer and Euripides against the Stoics, are De virt. mor. 442DE, 443B and 448F.

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to the refutation of Stoic philosophy. A similar approach can also be found in De Stoicorum repugnantiis and De communibus notitiis adversus Stoicos. In the former treatise, Plato’s conviction that what is drunk passes through the lungs is corroborated by both physicians and poets.64 In the latter work, the strange implications of the Stoic doctrines are more than once exemplified by means of mythological material. If Circe had possessed two philtres, one turning prudent men into fools and the other turning them into prudent asses, the Stoic doctrine implies that Odysseus should have preferred the former one and given up his prudence.65 Chrysippus’ argument that the good cannot exist without the bad amounts to saying that Achilles would not have had long hair if Thersites had not been bald.66 And the Stoic concern for indifferents implies that Odysseus should not seal up Alcinous’ precious gifts but rather litter and stones.67 In all of these cases, Greek mythology helps in underscoring the absurdity of the Stoic doctrines. The similarity with the approach mentioned above (sub a and b) is obvious of course. e) Finally, Greek myths also appear in the introductions to several polemical writings. At the outset of Adversus Colotem, Aristodemus asks for a reply to Colotes and in that context criticizes Nestor’s decision to leave the selection of Hector’s opponent to the chance of the lot.68 This is a creative and intelligent application of a mythical story to the concrete situation of the moment. Plutarch takes Aristodemus’ point and develops it, again assuming the relevance of Nestor’s mythical story for the matter at hand: just as Nestor appointed himself to cast the lots, so that the lot fell on the best man, so Plutarch opts for the most prudent man, godlike Odysseus, that is to say, Aristodemus himself.69 Greek myth is here confronted with real life itself. It still remains relevant and vital and serves as a sounding board, contributing to the assessment and justification of one’s motivations and decisions. Myth, in short, here functions as a path to ἀλήθεια in a practical sense, that is, to truthful, well-considered behaviour.70

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De Stoic. rep. 1047D; cf. also Quaest. conv. 697F–700B. De comm. not. 1064A. De comm. not. 1065C. De comm. not. 1069B (referring to Homer, Od. 8.438–448). Adv. Colot. 1107F. Adv. Colot. 1107F–1108A. A similar use of myth can be found at the beginning of De sollertia animalium 959BC, where Autobulus experiences the same feelings as Phaedra. Cf. also De comm. not. 1059C on the myth of the destruction of Sipylus.

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A few traces of such original use of myth can also be found elsewhere in the polemical works. In the second chapter of De Stoicorum repugnantiis, for instance, Plutarch states that the Stoics, in spite of their political philosophy, did not engage in politics themselves but “tasted the lotus of leisure.”71 In Adversus Colotem, the argument from inaction (ἀπραξία) is cleverly compared to Gorgo.72 Such images are little more than flosculi, but they nevertheless testify to the vitality of Greek myth. These are no dead stories of long forgotten times, nor ancient tales that are only suitable to be collected and stored in anthologies, but a living tradition that continues to be relevant for Plutarch’s cultural identity.

Conclusion If we now put all the passages discussed above in a broader perspective, we should conclude that Greek mythology is only of limited importance in Plutarch’s polemical writings. Myths are almost never discussed for their own sake. We never find elaborate allegorical explanations that resemble those put forward in De Iside et Osiride73 nor detailed exegeses along the interpretive lines of De audiendis poetis. All in all, the polemical works contain relatively few passages where myths receive more than casual attention, and this is hardly surprising, given the general focus of the works on technical school doctrines. Yet within these polemical discussions, myths are sometimes used. They are part and parcel of Plutarch’s world view and thus occasionally pop up as arguments against the opponent’s position or in favour of Plutarch’s own philosophical view. According to Hardie, “Plutarch’s own approach to myth varies according to the hat that he chooses to wear at any particular time.”74 This definitely holds true for Plutarch’s polemical works (as indeed for his whole oeuvre). In this contribution, we have cast a quick glance at the hat wardrobe of Plutarch the schoolteacher. We have seen that it contained different shelves for anti-Stoic and anti-Epicurean situations, each being filled with many different hats, one for each occasion. Plutarch disposed of a particularly rich collection—we can only hope that his wife Timoxena was virtuous enough not to be jealous! 71 72 73 74

De Stoic. rep. 1033C (alluding to Homer, Od. 9.94–97). Adv. Colot. 1122AB. A brief allegorical interpretation can be found in Adv. Colot. 1119BC, where Plutarch explains Typhon as the “ponderous load of silly conceits and noisy boasting.” Hardie, “Plutarch and the Interpretation of Myth,” 4756.

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Bibliography Adam, H., Plutarchs Schrift non posse suaviter vivi secundum Epicurum (Amsterdam: Grüner, 1974). Boulet, B., “The Use of Myths and Superstition in Plutarch,” in L. Van der Stockt, F. Titchener, H.G. Ingenkamp & A. Pérez Jiménez (eds.), Gods, Daimones, Rituals, Myths and History of Religions in Plutarch’s Works. Studies Devoted to Professor Frederick E. Brenk by the International Plutarch Society (Málaga: Universidad de Málaga; Logan, UT: Utah State University, 2010) 59–64. Bréchet, C., “Plutarque et le travail critique des Alexandrins sur Homère,” in A. Casanova (ed.), Plutarco e l’età ellenistica. Atti del convegno internazionale di studi. Firenze, 23– 24 settembre 2004 (Florence: Florence University Press, 2005) 243–268. Brittain, C., “Common Sense: Concepts, Definition and Meaning in and out of the Stoa,” in D. Frede & B. Inwood (eds.), Language and Learning: Philosophy of Language in the Hellenistic Age. Proceedings of the Ninth Symposium Hellenisticum (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005) 164–209. Casevitz, M. & Babut, D., Plutarque. Œuvres morales. Tome XV, 2e partie. Traité 72: Sur les notions communes contre les stoïciens (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2002). Hardie, P.R., “Plutarch and the Interpretation of Myth,” ANRW II.33.6 (1992) 4743–4787. Hirsch-Luipold, R., Plutarchs Denken in Bildern: Studien zur literarischen, philosophischen und religiösen Funktion des Bildhaften (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002). Hirsch-Luipold, R., “Religion and Myth,” in M. Beck (ed.), A Companion to Plutarch (Malden: Blackwell, 2014) 163–176. Méasson, A., “Un aspect de la critique du polythéisme chez Philon d’Alexandrie: les acceptions du mot μῦθος dans son œuvre,” Centre Jean Palerne Mémoires II (1980) 74–107. Meeusen, M., Plutarch’s Science of Natural Problems. A Study with Commentary of Quaestiones Naturales (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2016). Nikolaidis, A.G., “Plutarch’s Contradictions,” C&M 42 (1991) 153–186. Nikolaidis, A.G. (ed.), The Unity of Plutarch’s Work. ‘Moralia’ Themes in the ‘Lives’, Features of the ‘Lives’ in the ‘Moralia’ (Berlin—New York: De Gruyter, 2008). Obbink, D., “‘What all Men Believe—Must be True’: Common Conceptions and Consensio Omnium in Aristotle and Hellenistic Philosophy,” OSAPh 10 (1992) 193–231. Opsomer, J., “L’âme du monde et l’âme de l’homme chez Plutarque,” in M. García Valdés (ed.), Estudios sobre Plutarco: Ideas Religiosas. Actas del III Simposio Internacional sobre Plutarco. Oviedo 30 de abril a 2 de mayo de 1992 (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1994) 33–49. Opsomer, J., “The Cruel Consistency of De sera numinis vindicta,” in J. Opsomer, G. Roskam & F. Titchener (eds.), A Versatile Gentleman. Consistency in Plutarch’s Writing (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2016) 37–56.

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Pelling, C.B.R., “De malignitate Plutarchi: Plutarch, Herodotus, and the Persian Wars,” in E. Bridges, E. Hall & P.J. Rhodes (eds.), Cultural Responses to the Persian Wars. Antiquity to the Third Millennium (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007) 145–164. Roskam, G., On the Path to Virtue. The Stoic Doctrine of Moral Progress and its Reception in (Middle-)Platonism (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2005). Roskam, G., A Commentary on Plutarch’s De latenter vivendo (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2007). Roskam, G., “On the Multi-Coloured Robes of Philosophy. Plutarch’s Approach in On Isis and Osiris,” in M. Erler & M. Stadler (eds.), Platonismus und spätägyptische Religion. Plutarch und die ägyptenrezeption in der römischen Kaiserzeit (Berlin—Boston: De Gruyter, 2017) 199–218. Roskam, G., “Considering Tit for Tat. The Programmatic Introduction to Non posse suaviter vivi secundum Epicurum,” in M. Sanz Morales et al. (eds.), La (inter)textualidad en Plutarco (Cáceres—Coimbra: Universidad de Extremadura, 2017) 345–356. Sanz Morales, M., González Delgado, R., Librán Moreno, M. & Ureña Bracero, J. (eds.), La (inter)textualidad en Plutarco (Cáceres—Coimbra: Universidad de Extremadura, 2017). Van der Stockt, L., “A Plutarchan Hypomnema on Self-Love,” AJPh 120 (1999) 575–599. Vernière, Y., Symboles et mythes dans la pensée de Plutarque: essai d’interprétation philosophique et religieuse des Moralia (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1977). Volpe Cacciatore, P., “È il dio degli Stoici filantropo?” in J. Ribeiro Ferreira, D.F. Leâo, M. Tröster & P. Barata Dias (eds.), Symposion and Philanthropia in Plutarch (Coimbra: Centro de Estudios Clássicos e Humanísticos da Universidade de Coimbra, 2009) 289–295. Zacher, K.-D., Plutarchs Kritik an der Lustlehre Epikurs. Ein Kommentar zu Non posse suaviter vivi secundum Epicurum: Kap. 1–8 (Königstein: Hain, 1982).

chapter 13

From the Classical Age to Plutarch: A Diachronic Study of the Term ἀλιτήριος in Greek Literature Vicente M. Ramón Palerm

In recent studies on (ir)religious vocabulary in Greek Literature there is a focus on the antithesis of “religiosity / irreligiosity” which becomes clearly apparent in the fifth century BC and from there on its presence grows exponentially.* On this occasion, I would like to consider the evolution of a term whose frequency in Greek Literature makes it possible to illustrate the intensity that the word presents. I am referring to the adjective ἀλιτήριος, the meaning and fundamental significance of which I will deal with in this contribution, concluding with the presence of this adjective in Plutarch’s biographical works and essays. In order to adjust to the characteristics of this contribution, I will stay within the time period proposed and, as a consequence, not include examples of Christian or pagan literature from any later date. The only study specifically related to the development and exegesis of the term ἀλιτήριος that exists in modern philology—as far as I know—was written at the beginning of the last century by Hatch.1 Summarising, this commendable contribution by Hatch blends undeniable virtues with certain deficiencies that I will briefly explain. One of the most notable accomplishments of this work is the taxonomic criterion the author establishes through the inventory of the different meanings the adjective shows, generally based on the pertinent texts and the commentaries by late lexicographers. The author establishes three main senses of the adjective: 1) of persons and things regarded as ‘evil’ or ‘sinful’, based on a relevant number of appropriate texts;2 2) of the divinities who avenge homicide (concept used only in Antiphon); 3) of a youth who squan* This contribution has benefited from the Research Project FFI2016-75632-P financed by the Spanish Ministry of Economy, Industry and Competitiveness. 1 W.H.P. Hatch, “The Use of ἀλιτήριος, ἀλιτρός, ἀραῖος, ἐναγής, ἐνθύμιος, παλαμναῖος, and προστρόπαιος: A Study in Greek Lexicography,” HSPh 19 (1908) 157–186 (regarding the term ἀλιτήριος, 157–162). 2 In this regard, it is interesting to have a closer look at those passages, profusely documented in Attic oratory from the beginning of the fourth century BC, where certain individuals are considered ἀλιτήριος for having commited “some offense or crime against the state” (according to the respective orator): Hatch, “The Use of ἀλιτήριος,” 158.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, 2019 | doi:10.1163/9789004404472_014

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dered his father’s property in luxurious living (meaning found in Andocides, On the Mysteries). This classification by Hatch seems to be acceptable in broad terms; however, I will add a few nuances to it subsequently. Overall, the article shows various limitations: the first and most important being the fact that the author, intentionally, only uses literary texts from the earliest times until about 300 BC. As a consequence, evidently there are no verifiable data extracted from Hellenistic and Imperial literature. A second objection is that certain explanations of some of the passages from the period studied would deserve—as I see it—a more detailed examination. Therefore, accepting Hatch’s explanatory model, I will briefly comment on some of the issues that this scholar raises, then complement his analysis by means of the selection of some relevant texts from after 300 BC, and complete this chapter with some considerations concerning passages from Plutarch. The three parts, therefore, of my collaboration follow below.

Notes on Hatch’s Study As mentioned above, the functional and insightful methodological approach suggested by Hatch needs a few additional comments. As a matter of fact, the classification he proposes for the different meanings of the term ἀλιτήριος shows a common denominator: the context of impiety (in its most genuinely ancient sense) that underlies all the commented passages, regardless of precisions or subtleties in meaning inherent to the specific texts. Hatch rightly observes this fact on certain occasions, although the sense of ‘impious’ is toned down, simplified or even excluded on others. I will now briefly discuss the concrete passages that Hatch mentions.3 First of all, concerning the first meaning Hatch mentions, in On the Mysteries (1.51), Andocides laments, in a personal and rhetorical reflection, the possibility of relatives of his being treated “as individuals having offended the gods” 3 Except for the first extract, unique in the Archaic Period, by Alcman (fr. 87 Bergk), all the other appearances of the term ἀλιτήριος that Hatch examines belong to the fifth and fourth centuries BC, when for political, religious and intellectual reasons, we observe a large number of irreligious neologisms. In any case, it should be stressed that the reading of the word ἀλιτήριος in the extract mentioned by Alcman, which Hatch persistently defends, is conjectural and uncertain: Hatch, “The Use of ἀλιτήριος,” 159; for example, C. Calame, Alcman (Rome: Edizioni dell’Ateneo, 1983) 122; 483, reads ἀλιτηρός concerning fragment 87 Bergk (= 100 Calame). Furthermore, in this chapter I will only go into the term itself without taking other cognates into account. On the etymological base of the term ἀλιτήριος: Hatch, “The Use of ἀλιτήριος,” 161.

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(ὡς ὄντας ἀλιτηρίους τῶν θεῶν); a fragment by Eupolis (146A, B Kock; 157 K-A) comically criticises Protagoras for being impiously pretentious in his scientific investigations (“Protagoras … boasts about his impiety regarding the physical phenomena:” Πρωταγόρας … ἀλαζονέυεται μὲν ἀλιτήριος περὶ τῶν μετεώρων); also Thucydides (1.126) describes the idea of “offenders of the goddess” (ἀλιτήριοι τῆς θεοῦ) concerning the Alcmeonidae and their descendants, for being responsible for killing the followers of Cylon, who had sought sanctuary at the shrine of Athena Polias: this fact is equally referred to by Aristophanes (Eq. 445) in a clearly comical way; likewise, in oratorical passages (all from the fourth century BC) the term ἀλιτήριος is used for those who have committed some major offence against the state and, as a consequence, are obviously impious. Secondly, concerning Hatch’s interpretation of the relevant passages of Antiphon (all part of the Third Tetralogy), the scholar does not go into considerable depth in analysing the meaning of the term, stating that it strictly affects “divinities who avenge homicide”.4 In fact, in these extracts the epideicticjudicial reply and counter reply are clearly present (Antiphon 4.1.3–4; 4.2.8; 4.3.7; 4.4.10). Structurally, the plot of this school exercise in oratory shows a formal inventio: it is about the quarrel between an old man and a young one who come to blows. In consequence of his injuries the old man dies, and in the trial that follows the group of old men, the prosecution, confronts the friends of the young man, who defend the accused. As it happens, this tetralogy shows a few (ir)religious matters, particularly the ‘piety / impiety’ antithesis present in the works of Antiphon. The accumulation of (ir)religious elements in the speech of the prosecution becomes gradually more incisive. In fact, the impiety of the crime of the murderer requires expiation by the infernal spirits, a sense of the term (ἀλιτήριος) exquisitely sought by Antiphon of Rhamnus.5 Moreover, in a very cunningly subtle manner, the prosecution introduces a worrying idea (4.1.3): those who might rule or testify against strict justice (in this way astutely involving the actual judges and the defendant in the case) will be as much a part of this impiety as the murderer himself and they will have to face the fury of the “avenging divinities,” τῶν ἀλιτηρίων. What is essential here is that the defendant, with special emphasis at the end of the second speech (4.4.10), uses comparable arguments, claiming that if the young man is iniquitously condemned to death, “he will redouble for his murderers the rage of the vengeful spirits” (καθίστησι τὸ μήνιμα τῶν ἀλιτηρίων τοῖς ἀποκτείνασιν αὐτόν). Summing up, the term ἀλιτήριος is 4 Hatch, “The Use of ἀλιτήριος,” 160. 5 F. Decleva Caizzi, Antiphontis Tetralogiae (Milano-Varese: Istituto Editoriale Cisalpino, 1969) 248, confirms that “nelle Tetralogie ἀλιτήριος è equivalente a προστρόπαιος, nel senso di ‘irato spirito vendicatore’.”

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developed in a sophistic and rhetorical school exercise in oratory, the objective of which is to link the verdict of the lawsuit to the possible impiety that might be committed by the defendants and even the judges themselves. As occurs so frequently in the sophistic work of Antiphon (especially in the Tetralogies), the semantic meaning that the logographer gives to a certain word, in this case ἀλιτήριος, is a genuine lexical creation of the orator from Rhamnus. Thirdly, the extract from Andocides (On the Mysteries 1.131), where a youth squanders his father’s property in luxurious living, leads Hatch to the following reflection: “The young man is here thought of as an avenging spirit and his misdeeds as harrowing and harassing the father’s mind.”6 This statement is justified by the fact that Andocides emphatically claims that the father, Hipponicus, “nourishes an evil spirit in his house” (ἐν τῇ οἰκίᾳ ἀλιτήριον τρέφει). This sense of the term, partially related to the previous use by Antiphon (as Hatch largely recognises), appears within a more general and incisive speech by Andocides. Indeed, this claim is the corollary of the orator in his own defence in the most delicate charge against himself (1.110): the accusation of having placed a suppliant’s bough in the Eleusinium (temple in Athens dedicated to the goddesses Demeter and Persephone) during the celebration of the Mysteries. There must have been an “ancestral law” (νόμος πάτριος) under which the penalty for placing such a suppliant’s offering during the celebration of the Mysteries was death. In consequence, this implied an enormous impiety. In such a context, Andocides’ defence is going to be based on discrediting the true instigator of the accusation: Callias, son of Hipponicus, a member of the distinguished family of the Ceryces and priest during the celebration of the sacred Mysteries. In fact, Andocides is going to ingeniously combine his own defence with the invective against Callias. He sets his own bonhomie against Callias’ malicious attitude. Callias is described as “the most sacrilegious of all men” (πάντων ἀνθρώπων ἀνοσιώτατε: 1.116) by Cephalus, a leader of the democratic party, for having unlawfully claimed the right—a considerable perversion of justice—to interpret an ancestral law that contradicts the ruling of the written law. In addition, the vocative in the superlative form of the adjective ἀνόσιος, “sacrilegious,” forms an intensifying characterisation of Callias’ moral lowness.7 Moreover, in order to underline the deleterious nature of Callias, our orator berates the dissolute personal life of this priest of the sacred Mysteries (1.117–129) mentioning how he had lived together with three different women 6 Hatch, “The Use of ἀλιτήριος,” 162. 7 In fact, the semantics of ἀνόσιος, “sacrilegious,” occasionally presents an emotional nuance and stresses a human attitude that noticeably repulses the gods: S. Peels, Hosios. A Semantic Study of Greek Piety (Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2015) 253–256.

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of the same family (the mother, the daughter and the niece): a situation which leads the orator to the comparison of Callias with figures such as Oedipus or Aegisthus (1.129). Looking at it closely, this identification is particularly caustic, as it concerns characters whose acts offend against the most basic and solemn piety of Greek religiosity. The fact is that, ultimately, Andocides introduces the proverbial rumour that had been going around in Athens: Hipponicus, Callias’ father, was nourishing in his home “an evil spirit,” because his son was squandering the fortune of the wealthy family. The term ἀλιτήριος takes the meaning of an individual who, because of committing abominable offenses against the gods, leads a wretched life among human beings.8 As we can see, Andocides’ sarcasm is fundamental and also emphasises the impiety of Callias who violates a cardinal principal of religiosity: the scrupulous respect of one’s closest relatives.9

Between 300 BC and Plutarch: Significant Occurrences of the Word ἀλιτήριος At the beginning and up until the middle of the Hellenistic Period there is— I will not say paradoxically—a considerable decline, both in quality as well as in frequency, of the term ἀλιτήριος. Some fragments are difficult to include in a universally acceptable classification, because, stating the obvious, the process of periodization constitutes a continuum where the chronological limits are unstable and even artificial. For instance, there is the appearance of the term in the comic playwright Strato (whose floruit is thought to have been around the fourth and third century BC): nonetheless, it is a fragmentary, isolated occurrence which does not add much information to a thorough overall idea of the presence of the term in the Hellenistic Period.10 In my opinion, it seems logical that the reasons for this practically general omission of the word ἀλιτήριος (among other irreligious terms) in the Hellenistic Period are related to the end of a time when the legal, intellectual, religious and oratory framework had stood out in the social and political debate of the Classical Period. 8 9

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W.D. Furley, Andokides and The Herms. Study of Crisis in Fifth-Century Athenian Religion (London: Institute of Classical Studies, 1996) 109. On the use of the topic of family relationships in Andocides (here obviously used in malam partem), see M.-M. Mactoux, “Le discours religieux d’Andocide,” Index 17 (1989) 81–104; B. Strauss, “Andocides’ On The Mysteries and the Theme of the Father in Late Fifth-Century Athens,” in R. Rosen & J. Farell (eds.), Nomodeiktes. Studies in Honor of M. Ostwald (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1993) 255–268. Strato Com. (fr. 219 K-A) presents the word ἀλιτήριος in a scarcely defined context.

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As we have observed thanks to the passages of the first part of this chapter, the “religiosity / irreligiosity” antithesis was to a large extent the result of oratory practice that never bloomed again in the same way, or genres that at the emergence of the Sophistic movement (for example, every aspect of Attic theatre) experienced a major influence. None of that will happen in the Hellenistic Period, when oratory turns moralistic, epideictic and literary11 and when private liberties are gradually reduced. Therefore, it should not be surprising that the only reliably corroborated evidence of our adjective up to the first century BC does not appear in a much-defined way, unconnected to the meaning related to the provocatively impious implications that we have observed in the Classical Period. This one passage appears in the historical work of Polybius (second century BC): as a part of his pragmatic history, when relating the situation of stability that certain Greek states lived after the death of leaders (such as Lyciscus, Mnasippus, Chremas and Charops), who had exercised a tyrannical policy with the acquiescence of the Roman authorities. In this context, the historian plainly points out that (32.5), once the civil conflicts had calmed down, in Greece there was “some type of purification” (καθαρμόν τινα), “as if the evil spirits had faded from it (i.e. from Greece)” (τῶν ἀλιτηρίων αὐτῆς ἐκ τοῦ ζῆν μεθισταμένων). In truth, we have not found any comments on Polybius that allow for additional relevant inferences. In any case, I must stress the fact that, apparently, Polybius uses the term ἀλιτήριος with the pristine meaning of “evil spirit.”12 Besides, it seems suggestive that Walbank, in his excellent historical comment on the work of Polybius, refers to this passage as a metaphor “of ritual purgation after pollution.”13 However, after two centuries of absence of the word we are interested in, ἀλιτήριος, during the first century BC and the first century AD we find some important texts: not because of their frequency, but definitely so in terms of their quality. There are three authors whose passages deserve thorough consideration: Dionysius of Halicarnassus (first century BC), Flavius Josephus (first century AD) and Dion of Prusa (first century AD, a contemporary of Plutarch). I will discuss the fragments of Dionysius and Dion, omitting the case of the 11 12

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A. López Eire, “Retórica y política,” in F. Cortés Gabaudán et al. (eds.), Retórica, Política e Ideología. Desde la Antigüedad hasta nuestros días, vol. 3 (Salamanca: Logo, 2000) 99–139. In the opinion of Hatch, “The Use of ἀλιτήριος,” 162, the only use of the term with a similar meaning, of a later period, can be found in the Seventh Letter by Plato (366B), frequently considered spurious. However, the chronology of the Letter is a vexata quaestio difficult to solve. A position of reasonable eclecticism can be consulted in M. Isnardi Parente, Platone. Lettere (Milano: Lorenzo Valla-Mondadori, 2002) XIX–XXI. F.W. Walbank, A Historical Commentary on Polybius, III (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999) 522.

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Roman-Jewish Flavius Josephus because of his particularly singular doctrinal orientation. This author deserves a detailed study just on his work, which is beyond the objectives, extent and nature of this present article.14 Therefore, allow us to focus on two absolutely revealing passages of Dionysius of Halicarnassus and a third from the work of Dion of Prusa. As we will be able to verify, the appearance of the term concerned regains (as was the case in the Classical Period) a rhetorical and sensationalist formulation in the relevant passages, where the characters involved are part of an incisive observation of major impiety. Let us have a look at the relevant extracts: D.H. (Antiquitates Romanae 4.39): the author narrates—without sparing us the scabrous details—the murder of Servius Tullius at the request of Tarquinius and instigation of Tullia, daughter of the former and wife of the latter. The fact is that Tarquinius accepts his wife’s suggestion of finishing off Servius Tullius, which explains why the historian presents Tullia as a “most sacrilegious woman” (4.39.3: τὴν ἀνοσιωτάτην γυναῖκα). After the murder of Servius by Tarquinius’s collaborators, we read a scene that could well be described as the non plus ultra of impious irreligiosity of a daughter towards her own father: indeed, apparently Tullia was on a carriage pulled by mules and the groom, in order to continue on their way, had to lead the carriage around Servius’s dead body, as he did not want the mules to trample the body. As the groom refuses to carry out the shocking deed of running over the body, Tullia gives him the following order: “Will you not lead on, accursed wretch, even over the body?” (4.39.5: οὐκ ἄξεις, ἀλιτήριε, καὶ διὰ τοῦ νεκροῦ;). The cruelty of the account leads to sarcastic astonishment: Tullia, an atrociously impious, sacrilegious woman, calls the person who intends to act mercifully ἀλιτήριε. Therefore, it is perfectly reasonable that Dionysius of Halicarnassus concludes the story with a painful comment: from this moment on, the place where this horrid, detestable incident took place was called by the Romans “Impious Street” (4.39.5: ἀσεβής). D.H. (Antiquitates Romanae 8.28.3): according to Dionysius of Halicarnassus, the politician Minucius, in an incisive speech, addresses the following words to Marcius, based on the measures that the latter intends to take: “you will be called the assassin of your mother, the murderer of your children, perdition of your wife and the ruin of your country” (μητροκτόνος κεκλήσῃ καὶ παιδοφόνος καὶ γυναικὸς ἀλιτήριος καὶ πατρίδος ἀλάστωρ). The expressions ἀλιτήριος and ἀλάστωρ, with a long semantic history in the field of irreligiosity, are followed by a subsequent reflection by Minucius considering Marcius: you will face the

14

Flavius Josephus is actually the writer who shows the most uses of the word ἀλιτήριος in Greek literature. There are twelve passages in total (four in AJ, eight in BJ).

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contempt of all men “because of your impious crimes” (ἐκ τῶν σῶν ἀσεβημάτων), apart from other matters which, with bold rhetoric, the orator says he is omitting (8.28.4): “I say nothing of the furies sent by the gods and daimones to punish those who commit terribly sacrilegious deeds” (τὰς γὰρ δὴ παρὰ θεῶν τε καὶ δαιμόνων ἐπιπεμπομένας τοῖς ἀνόσια καὶ δεινὰ διαπραξαμένοις ἐρινύας ἐῶ). Ultimately, this extract leads us to a sense of the term ἀλιτήριος linked to the meaning that we already witnessed in the case of Andocides: the existence of a subject that, estranged from the gods, bears a life full of suffering, despised by everyone. D. Chr. 3.53: Dion of Prusa (also called Dio Chrysostom) offers a series of didactic and moral reflections with a strong rhetorical influence, which in his third discourse leads him to propose some warnings to the sovereign leader. After a few doctrinal proposals on the way the king should behave in relation to the gods (3.51–52), he advises—by means of very formal structural antithetical clauses—that the king should “regard virtue as holiness and all vice as impiety” (3.53, ἡγεῖται δὲ τὴν μὲν ἀρετὴν ὁσιότητα, τὴν δὲ κακίαν πᾶσαν ἀσέβειαν). Immediately after that, he personally adds that … ἐναγεῖς καὶ ἀλιτηρίους οὐ μόνον τοὺς τὰ ἱερὰ συλῶντας ἢ λέγοντάς τι βλάσφημον περὶ τῶν θεῶν, ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον τούς τε δειλοὺς καὶ ἀδίκους καὶ ἀκρατεῖς καὶ ἀνοήτους καὶ καθόλου τοὺς ἐναντίον τι πράττοντας τῇ τε δυνάμει καὶ βουλήσει τῶν θεῶν. … the impious and the accursed are not the only ones who profane temples and blaspheme the gods, but also, more so, the pusillanimous, the unjust, the licentious and the fools, and, in general, those who act contrary to the power and the will of the gods. Aside from the accumulation of irreligious terms within this consciously sought rhetoric sensationalism, we should emphasise a particular characteristic of this expression of the author, who extends (for the first time in Greek literature, we think) the meaning of ἀλιτήριος to a wide range of semantic implications.

The Term ἀλιτήριος in Plutarch The term ἀλιτήριος appears five times in the work of Plutarch: there are three passages in the Moralia (Quaestiones Graecae 297A; De curiositate 523AB; De laude ipsius 546E) and two extracts appear in the Vitae (Galba 4.1; Comparatio

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Demosthenis et Ciceronis 4.1). As we will be able to verify, the examples from Plutarch’s treatises match the technical considerations on the etymological and conceptual aspects of the term (apart from the exception we will establish below for De laude ipsius 546E). Concerning the biographical passages, Plutarch—in quite a moralistic way—mentions the word to confront the different attitudes taken on by the leaders involved in the stories he narrates. I will start with the Moralia: as I already mentioned above, the passage related to De laude ipsius 546E does not show a reference by Plutarch himself directly, as it is composed using a “microstructure,” a writing technique frequently used by the author: the occasional use of an erudite or poetic quote, considering the audience Plutarch usually writes for. On this occasion, our author is summarising, at the end of the treatise, the harmful characteristics of “self-praise,” to a point where even people who are not very socially reputable find it unbearable that a rich or powerful person bursts into self-glorification. In this context, Plutarch quotes a certain fragment attributed to Menander (maybe from Kolax): “How wise! The military wit! How conceited and how insolent he is!” (τὰ σκώμμαθ’ οἷα τὰ σοφὰ καὶ στρατηγικὰ, / οἷος δ’ ἀλάζων ἐστιν ἀλιτήριος). This expression by Menander, here used as an example by Plutarch, surely does not provide any clearly impious connotations,15 except for the obviously negative personal traits of the people the word is used for. Consequently, let us take a look at two fragments in which Plutarch assesses the adjective ἀλιτήριος, with a certain lexical and semantic solemnity. In Quaestiones Graecae 297A, Plutarch rejects the idea that the term ἀλιτήριος would be etymologically related to a verb like ἀλέω (‘mill’), in the sense that in times of famine, the supposed ἀλιτήριοι would spy on those who secretly used to grind wheat.16 In contrast, the author gives a plain definition: ἀλιτήριος “is a person that one should avoid and stay away from because of his maliciousness” (ἀλιτήριος δ’ ὅν ἀλεύασθαι καὶ φυλάξασθαι διὰ μοχθηρίαν καλῶς εἶχε). Logically, the definition is a conventional meaning, as is appropriate in these largely encyclopaedic “collections” on quaestiones that Plutarch writes.17 Moreover, the testimony that Plutarch shows in De curiositate 523AB accepts this same consideration, although 15

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However, it seems significant to point out the parallelism that could be observed with the, also comical, fragment by Eupolis that we commented above (157 K-A): “Protagoras … boasts about his impiety regarding the physical phenomena;” Πρωταγόρας … ἀλαζονέυεται μὲν ἀλιτήριος περὶ τῶν μετεώρων. Observe the symmetry: ἀλάζων ἐστιν ἀλιτήριος and ἀλαζονέυεται μὲν ἀλιτήριος. A. Carrano, Plutarco, Questioni Greche (Naples: M. D’Auria, 2007) 130. K. Oikonomopoulou, “Plutarch’s Corpus of ‘Quaestiones’ in the Tradition of Imperial Greek Encyclopaedism,” in J. König & G. Woolf (eds.), Encyclopaedism from Antiquity to the Renaissance, (Cambridge-New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013) 129–153.

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this time e silentio: what I mean to say is that our author on this occasion does not provide a conventional definition of the term, but that he redounds upon the same idea, on the possibility—popularly admitted—that it is characteristic of the ἀλιτήριοι to investigate the noise of the mills, secretly at night, in times of famine.18 As far as the biographical work of Plutarch is concerned, we need to look into two passages of importance: the first one, of major significance, is from Galba 4.1: in this passage, Plutarch is writing—in noticeably favourable terms—the biographical sketch of Galba, who had received the order to govern Hispania by Nero. The fact is that Galba showed his opposition to the severe methods that the leaders deployed in the area used. And, despite Galba’s limited ability to step in, he was striving to alleviate the situation of the locals in a merciful way. To be more specific, Plutarch tells us that Galba realised “that the administrators behaved in ruthless ways” (τῶν ἀλιτηρίων ἐπιτρόπων … διαφορούντων). The second significant passage appears in Comparatio Demosthenis et Ciceronis 4.1: Plutarch is in this fragment developing the structural synkrisis of the characters, which affects certain aspects of their personalities.19 According to Plutarch, the respective banishments that affected Demosthenes and Cicero had a very different effect on their personalities. In fact, whilst Demosthenes suffered the dreadful accusation of theft, for Cicero it was a most honourable result, as he “had rid his country of baleful men” (ἀνθρώπους ἀλιτηρίους ἐκκόψαντι τῆς πατρίδος). Summarising, the inventory of examples and analysed data from the Classical Period until Plutarch enables us to reach several conclusions, and, according to the reflections presented above, we can draw the following inferences: 1. In the Classical Period, independently of the concrete meaning that the term ἀλιτήριος takes on in the different authors, we witness a persistent conflict concerning the antithesis of “piety / impiety” which marks the whole Classical and Post-Classical Periods, where political, intellectual and religious interests are frequently inextricably combined in order to, supported by rhetorical techniques, persuade the audience of one’s own goodness or the other’s maliciousness in different lawsuits.

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L. Inglese, Plutarco, La Curiosità (Naples: M. D’Auria, 1996) 170. The morphological section of the Vitae known as synkrisis has been justly and suggestively defended in a study by T. Duff, “L’articulazione interna del libro plutarcheo,” in G. Pace & P. Volpe Cacciatore (eds.), Gli scritti di Plutarco: tradizione, traduzione, ricezione, commento. Atti del 9° Convegno internazionale della International Plutarch Society, Ravello (29 settembre–1 ottobre 2011) (Naples: M. D’Auria, 2013) 143–161.

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2.

In the Hellenistic Period we have observed how initially the term involved suffers a sharp drop in the frequency of its use, in a Period when public and private liberties were greatly reduced.20 However, the period during the first century BC and the first century AD allows for a renewed acceptance of the word ἀλιτήριος in contexts of effective rhetoric, inclined towards moral teachings, used by authors who were comfortably established in the Greek and Roman world. 3. The case of Plutarch, a paradigm perhaps of a Greek intellectual wellintegrated in the “elites” of Roman power, offers us an erudite, balanced and justly prudent use of the term ἀλιτήριος: the use of the adjective becomes contained and efficiently didactic in his essays, as the work of Plutarch shows us a facet of a moralising tone that enables him to characterise, by means of antithetical opposition, the ethical and political decorum of the statesmen he describes.21 Nonetheless, these conclusions are obviously provisional and in accordance with the time frame used in this chapter, since the analysis of the influence of the adjective ἀλιτήριος—and, indeed, irreligious vocabulary as a whole—on Greek literature in general deserves a proper global study of all aspects (taking into account the ideological and doctrinal parameters of the different periods, the reception of paganism in Christianity or the Jewish-Christian tradition in a pagan context, the terminology of relevant Christian and non-Christian texts, etc.). However, this task goes beyond the scope of our paper.

Bibliography Calame, C., Alcman (Rome: Edizioni dell’Ateneo, 1983). Carrano, A., Plutarco, Questioni Greche (Naples: M. D’Auria, 2007). Decleva Caizzi, F., Antiphontis Tetralogiae (Milan-Varese: Istituto Editoriale Cisalpino, 1969).

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However, and almost paradoxically, the second century BC provides the essentially doxographic literature from the Imperial Period with the classified and catalogue of those authors who should be judged ‘atheists’ in the post-antique tradition: M. Winiarczyk, “Wer galt im Altertum als Atheist?,” Philologus 128, 2 (1984) 157–158; 182, n. 10. The ethical education of the political and military leaders is a fundamental mark of the biographical work of Plutarch. A. Pérez Jiménez, Plutarco. Vidas Paralelas I (Madrid: Gredos, 1985) 35–42; F. Frazier, Histoire et morale dans les Vies Parallèles de Plutarque (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2016 [= 1996]) 265–377; and T. Duff, Plutarch’s Lives. Exploring Virtue and Vice (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002 [= 1999]) 73–78, have dedicated pages of precious value to this issue.

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Duff, T., Plutarch’s Lives. Exploring Virtue and Vice (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002 [= 1999]). Duff, T., “L’articulazione interna del libro plutarcheo,” in G. Pace & P. Volpe Cacciatore (eds.), Gli scritti di Plutarco: tradizione, traduzione, ricezione, commento. Atti del 9° Convegno internazionale della International Plutarch Society, Ravello (29 settembre–1 ottobre 2011) (Naples: M. D’Auria, 2013) 143–161. Frazier, F., Histoire et morale dans les Vies Parallèles de Plutarque (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2016 [= 1996]). Furley, W.D., Andokides and The Herms. Study of Crisis in Fifth-Century Athenian Religion (London: Institute of Classical Studies, 1996). Hatch, W.H.P., “The Use of ἀλιτήριος, ἀλιτρός, ἀραῖος, ἐναγής, ἐνθύμιος, παλαμναῖος, and προστρόπαιος: A Study in Greek Lexicography,” HSPh 19 (1908) 157–186. Inglese, L., Plutarco, La Curiosità (Naples: M. D’Auria, 1996). Isnardi Parente, M., Platone. Lettere (Milan: Lorenzo Valla-Mondadori, 2002). López Eire, A., “Retórica y política,” in F. Cortés Gabaudán, G. Hinojo Andrés & A. López Eire (eds.), Retórica, Política e Ideología. Desde la Antigüedad hasta nuestros días vol. 3 (Salamanca: Logo, 2000) 99–139. Mactoux, M.-M., “Le discours religieux d’Andocide,” Index 17 (1989) 81–104. Oikonomopoulou, K., “Plutarch’s Corpus of ‘Quaestiones’ in the Tradition of Imperial Greek Encyclopaedism,” in J. König, & G. Woolf (eds.), Encyclopaedism from Antiquity to the Renaissance (Cambridge-New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013) 129–153. Peels, S., Hosios. A Semantic Study of Greek Piety (Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2015). Pérez Jiménez, A., Plutarco. Vidas Paralelas, I (Madrid: Gredos, 1985). Strauss, B., “Andocides’ On The Misteries and the Theme of the Father in Late FifthCentury Athens,” in R. Rosen & J. Farell (eds.), Nomodeiktes. Studies in Honor of M. Ostwald (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1993) 255–268. Walbank, F.W., A Historical Commentary on Polibius, III (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999). Winiarczyk, M., “Wer galt im Altertum als Atheist?,” Philologus 128, 2 (1984) 157–183.

chapter 14

Plutarch the Greek in the Roman Questions Frederick E. Brenk

In a far ranging study,* “Roman Questions, Greek Answers: Plutarch and the Construction of Roman Identity,” Rebecca Preston has alleged that for Plutarch Roman religion, and presumably Roman culture, is something rather foreign and inscrutable.1 Plutarch does not say, in her view, that the Romans were barbarians, at least after receiving Greek paideia, but the enigmatic character of their culture only allows him to give tentative answers in Roman Questions.2 On the other hand, his uses of qualifiers such as ‘natural,’ ‘reasonable,’ and the like, “insinuates the naturalness, reason and propriety of his own value system,” presumably with the corollary that the Roman value system, at least as far as their customs go, is unnatural and unreasonable.3 The other proposition, somewhat contradictory (in light of the fact that Roman culture supposedly is

* A much shorter version of this article was given at the Inaugural Meeting of the North American Sections of the International Plutarch Society, “Plutarch Among the Barbarians,” Banff, Alberta, Canada, March 13–16, 2014. I would like to thank the participants for their questions and suggestions. 1 R. Preston, “Roman Questions, Greek Answers: Plutarch and the Construction of Identity,” in S. Goldhill (ed.), Being Greek under Rome (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001) 86– 119. As she notes (93), the title is rather complex. The Greek title varies in the mss. between Αἰτίαι and Αἴτια with the latter preferable (that is, the difference between ‘causes’ and ‘reasons’). Αἴτια links them with the etiological tradition, such as of Callimachus, but also of Varro (93–94). They also have something in common with Pseudo-Aristotle’s Problemata (95). For the enigmatic or inscrutable character, see 96–97; for Greek answers, 97–98, 107, 109, and 112. 2 Preston, “Roman Questions, Greek Answers,” for the Romans as barbarians before receiving Greek culture, 100–101; 96–97: “… there is an intrinsic difficulty in explaining Roman culture,” “the responses are only tentative.” See, however, A.G. Nikolaidis, “Ἑλληνικός—βαρβαρικός: Plutarch on Greek and Barbarian Characteristics,” WS 20 (1986) 229–244; and T.S. Schmidt, Plutarque et les barbares. La rhétorique d’une image. Coll. Études Classiques 14 (LouvainNamur: Peeters, 1999). For Dionysius of Halicarnassus, the earliest Romans, however, were civilized Greeks; see M. Fox, Roman Historical Myths: The Regal Period in Augustan Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996) 55; and E. Gabba, Dionysius and the History of Archaic Rome (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991) 11, 20. Dionysius stressed the substantial historical and cultural unity of Greece and Rome, with Rome as the contemporary center (4, also 11 and 20). 3 Preston, “Roman Questions, Greek Answers,” 105–106, 109, 116.

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something of an enigma) is that Plutarch uses Greek answers for Roman questions. In the conclusion, she does admit that the situation is very complicated: Plutarch is both an insider and an outsider when it comes to Roman culture, but basically he is only at home in Greek culture (… “he is more an insider in Greek culture”).4 Her conclusions have far-reaching consequence. The methodology and the conclusions reached, however, need a bit of scrutiny, especially since she opposes the views of other scholars, especially Jacques Boulogne, who sees Plutarch as philo-Roman.5 First, as Preston is well-aware of, the ‘answers’ in Quaestiones Romanae are not really answers. Rather, they are simply a question (only 10 %, or more precisely, 9.9% have only one) or questions leading to further questions.6 Recently Katarzyna Jazdzewska has taken up some of these problems again.7 She notes that the Roman and Greek Questions were not written as a pair, that Quaestiones Graecae were not used for the Lives, and that the two works were written in different circumstances and for different purposes.8 Thus, “the peculiar, inconclusive nature of Quaestiones Romanae should not be considered as anomalous.”9 She rejects the idea that the Quaestiones Romanae do not belong to the ‘problemata’ literature in the Pseudo-Aristotelian tradition. Preston had suggested that Quaestiones Romanae differs from the Pseudo-Aristotelian problemata tra-

4 Preston, “Roman Questions, Greek Answers,” 118–119. 5 J. Boulogne, “Les Questions Romaines de Plutarque,” ANRW II.33.6 (1992) 4682–5702. See also his Un aristocrate grec sous l’ occupation romaine (Lille: Presses Universitaires de France, 1994) e.g. 35–45, but he also notes that Greece “took Rome captive” (45–52). He would see the parallels in the Roman Questions and elsewhere as serving to make Roman customs and institutions understandable to Greeks (51). Preston, “Roman Questions, Greek Answers,” acknowledges her debt to Boulogne, but takes issue with him (esp. at 99–101, and note 61; see also 93, note 32; 106 and note 100). She rejects his view that Plutarch’s Hellenization of the Romans was a conciliatory gesture and represents a cultural synthesis, thus making them more palatable to his Greek readers; see also 102, note 77. See now M. Nouilhan, J.-M. Pailler & P. Payen, Plutarque: Grecs et Romains en parallèle. Questions romaines—Questions grecques (Paris: Le Livre de Poche, 1999), but especially J. Boulogne, Plutarque. Oeuvres morales. Tome IV: Conduites méritoires de femmes, Étiologies romaines, Étiologies grecques, Parallèles mineurs (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2002). 6 11 out of 113. They seem to appear in clusters: 12, 13, 15, 16; 57–59, 66, 80, 88, 90, 110. 7 See now K. Jazdzewska, “Plutarch’s Greek Questions: Between Glossography and ProblemataLiterature,” Hermes 146 (2018) 41–53. She argues that the Roman Questions belong to the problemata literature, citing K. Oikonomopoulou, “Peripatetic Knowledge in the Table-Talk,” in F. Klotz & K. Oikonomopoulou (eds.), The Philosopher’s Banquet: Plutarch’s Table Talk in the Intellectual Culture of the Roman Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011) 105– 130. 8 Jazdzewska, “Plutarch’s Greek Questions,” 42 and note 4. 9 Jazdzewska, “Plutarch’s Greek Questions,” 42–43.

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dition because two-thirds of Plutarch’s questions are followed by more than one possible alternative. Preston notes that some texts of the problemata genre offer multiple alternative answers, but that what is distinctive about the Quaestiones Romanae is “the scale of the use of alternatives and the particular context in which it occurs, that is, in a work of Roman culture in a series of three texts concerning Greek, Roman, and barbarian culture.”10 Jazdzewska notes, however, that in Plutarch’s Quaestiones naturales the majority of answers consist of multiple alternative solutions.11 Thus, in her view the peculiar, inconclusive answers in Quaestiones Romanae should not be considered anomalous, and that it was probably the established format of the problemata literature in Plutarch’s time.12 We can now consider the typology of Quaestiones Romanae. For instance, in Question 1, “Why do they bid the bride touch fire and water?” There follow a series of questions. The letters in parentheses represent Boulogne’s classifications: Is it that of these two, being reckoned as elements or first principles, fire is masculine and water feminine, and fire supplies the beginnings of motion and water the function of the subsistent element or the material? (A: physical symbolism). Or is it because fire purifies and water cleans, and a married woman must remain pure and clean? (B: physical symbolism). Or is it that, just as fire without moisture is non-sustaining and arid, water without heat is unproductive and inactive; so also male and female apart from each other are inert, but their union in marriage produces the perfection of their life together. (C: biological symbolism). Or is it that they must not desert each other, but must share together every sort of fortune, even if they are destined to have nothing other than fire and water to share with one another? (D: ethical symbolism). In the most developed cases, Boulogne would see Plutarch as giving a number of possibilities or common opinions. Developed on different levels and even in a hierarchical order, and from different angles (for instance, historical, ethical, physical, and theological aspects as in Question 10 and 25), the result is a

10 11 12

Preston, “Roman Questions, Greek Answers,” 93, note 7. Jazdzewska, “Plutarch’s Greek Questions,” 43, note 9. Jazdzewska, “Plutarch’s Greek Questions,” 43.

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profound insight into the Roman mind.13 The exposition, then, is conscious, organized, and based on methodical choices.14 Question 10. Why is it that when they worship the gods, they cover their heads, but when they meet any of their fellow-men deserving respect, if they happen to have their toga over their head, they uncover themselves? This second fact seems to intensify the difficulty of the first. If then the tale of Aeneas is true, that when Diomedes passed by, he covered his head … it is reasonable (λόγον ἔχει) … (myth-history answer). In fact, the behavior in regard to the gods is not properly related to this custom, but accidentally resembles it … it is not to show more respect for these men, but rather to avert from them the jealousy of the gods … (logical answer based on Roman religion, but also Greek, and in Plutarch’s mind, probably universal). … as a precaution against any ill-omened and baleful sound reaching them (logical based on religion or superstition). Or as Castor (a Greek historian) states when he is trying to bring Roman customs into relation with Pythagorean doctrines: the daimon within us entreats and supplicates the gods without, and thus he symbolizes by the covering of the head, the concealing of the soul by the body (logicalsymbolic explanation based on Pythagorean philosophical doctrine, also held by some Romans; the answer could also be considered theological). Question 25. Why do they consider the day that follows the Kalends, the Nones, or the Ides as unsuitable for travel? Answers: 1. myth-historical (or historical) citing Livy. 2. logical-symbolic extension to the defeat at the Allia (myth-history [or historical]) 3. Or is this irrational? Consider (ὅρα δὴ μὴ) this analogy: after fixed festival

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J. König, “Fragmentation and Coherence in Plutarch’s Sympotic Questions,” in J. König & T. Whitmarsh (eds.), Ordering Knowledge in the Roman Empire (Cambridge—New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007), notes how Plutarch is very self-conscious about getting order from a diversity of solutions (45), as in the Roman Questions. Boulogne, “Les Questions romaines,” 4690. Two of the longest are Roman Questions 10 and 25. Thus the ἤ (‘or’) has an inclusive sense, as is clear when the adverbial conjunction καὶ (‘and’) is used.

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days, there are days for the dead and evil spirits (daimones) (Greek custom as a suggested parallel). 4. Time is a sort of number and the beginning of number is divine; for it is the monad. But after it comes the dyad, antagonistic to the beginning number and the first of the even numbers (logical symbolic, religious solution based on number mysticism). 5. parallel with a saying by Themistocles (the Feast Day said to the Day-After): “You would not exist without me.” 6. All travel and business needs provision and preparation, so it is reasonable (εἰκότως) not to set out on a journey immediately after a festival, just as priests make this kind of proclamation as they set out to sacrifice (logical, paralleled by religious practice). 7. Men loiter a bit after going into a temple, so they would not want business days immediately after festival days (logical, based on religious practice). In this question, then we find a progression from (myth)-history to logicalsymbolic based on number mysticism (philosophical and theological), to religious custom (also in a sense, theological). Next, are the answers to Quaestiones Romanae really Greek? This hinges on the sources Plutarch used, which are not the same as the authors cited. Though most of the authors cited are Greek, many, for example, Homer, are for embellishment and not directly relevant.15 Luc Van der Stockt notes that Plutarch mentions 30 writers by name, 19 Greek and 11 Latin. However, Juba should be counted as a Roman not as a Greek author. This shifts things to 18 Greek to 12 “Latin,” but he then notes that many of the Greek authors are simply used for embellishment. He thinks Plutarch would have read 6 Latin and 14 Greek writers. Again, we should correct for Juba, making 7 Latin to 13 Greek writers he supposedly had read. Chrysippus, Plato, Hesiod, Homer, Solon Sophocles, Parmenides, Euripides, Aeschylus, Empedocles, and Hippocrates hardly have much bearing on the questions. That means we have to subtract 11 from the 18 authors. We then have 12 Latin authors to 7 Greek authors. Van der Stockt gives a list of 45 mentions of Greek and Latin writers.16 34 of 45 in this list are Latin authors (counting Juba). If we subtract the 11 embellishment Greek writers, we obtain 11 mentions of Greek authors out of the 45. That results in 34 pertinent mentions of Roman authors to 11 pertinent mentions of Greek authors, 3 times as many Roman authors as Greek. According to Van der Stockt, Plutarch would have actually read 13 Greek authors (but this is counting Juba as a Greek, not a Roman), and 7 Roman authors. But we have to subtract 11 of the Greek authors, 15 16

L. Van der Stockt, “Plutarch’s Use of Literature: Sources and Citations in the Quaestiones Romanae,” Ancient Society 18 (1987) 281–292 (282–283). Van der Stockt, “Plutarch’s Use of Literature,” 283–285.

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such as Aeschylus, Sophocles, and the like. This leaves us with only 2 pertinent Greek authors Plutarch would have read directly, Aristotle (who could not be very helpful and is only mentioned once, or possibly twice, Van der Stockt puts a question mark by the second occurrence) and Dionysius of Halicarnassus.17 Van der Stockt would regard most of the Greek authors as “superfluous.”18 Moreover, even Latin authors frequently cited Greek authors in confirmation of their views. Boulogne gives 19 authors either Greek or writing in Greek, but in this group are the embellishment authors along with Favorinus (a friend of Plutarch’s) and Juba, who were Roman citizens who wrote in Greek.19 Moreover, one of the pertinent authors, Alexander Polyhistor, taught in Rome and was in Octavia’s household at one time. Thus, it is very likely that he was quite familiar with Roman customs, and that Juba knew him in person and was heavily influenced by him.20 Like his contemporaries, Plutarch rarely cites his sources. Therefore, the major ones are not clear. Early in the work, in Question 2, Plutarch cites without comment Varro’s answer based on Roman office-holding. Since this reference comes so early in a work with very few authorities or sources cited, the reader would naturally assume that Varro, the logical source, was a main if not a principal one. In Question 101, Plutarch rejects an answer by Varro, based on Greek etymology and (logical) symbolism. But this is very much the type of answer we find throughout the Quaestiones Romanae. It, thus, suggests that many of the supposed Greek answers might come from Roman authors. In Question 4, only two questions after Question 2, Plutarch mentions Varro and Juba together as the source of an opinion, but Juba offers a piece of information not in Varro. Here Juba is preferred to Varro (regarding a tale about the sacrifice of a mysterious heifer to Diana, which would guarantee Rome becoming the greatest city on earth): “This story both Varro and Juba have recorded, except that Varro has not noted the name of Antro, and he says that the Sabine was fooled, not by Cornelius, the priest, but by the keeper of the temple.”

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Van der Stockt, “Plutarch’s Use of Literature,” 282–283. Van der Stoctkt “Plutarch’s Use of Literature,” 291. Boulogne, Plutarque. Oeuvres morales. Tome IV, 101. On the ambiguous role of Favorinus as a Celt (or Gaul), Roman, and Greek, see B. Isaac, “Attitudes toward Provincial Intellectuals in the Roman Empire,” in E.S. Gruen (ed.), Cultural Identity in the Ancient Mediterranean (Los Angeles: Getty Publications, 2011) 491–518 (507–508). Plutarch dedicated The Primary Cold to him. See P.A. Stadter, Plutarch and his Roman Readers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015) 9 and note 33. D.W. Roller, The World of Juba II and Kleopatra Selene: Royal Scholarship on Rome’s African Frontier (New York: Routledge, 2003) 65.

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One view is that Plutarch used Juba as a kind of textbook, presumably out of preference for Greek, and then went from him to Verrius and Varro.21 Van der Stockt thinks Plutarch’s reading of Juba’s Ὁμοιότητες (Resemblances) may have been his point of departure: a series of citations in that author initiated him into the Questions.22 Juba, though born in Mauritania, like Cicero, the emperor Claudius, and the philosopher Musonius Rufus, was a Roman who wrote in Greek, not a Greek.23 Brought to Rome as an infant, he was raised in the Imperial family, probably eventually in the home of Octavia, where there were several children. He received the education common to foreign children in the imperial family, part of which was to Romanize them. This was a heavily Greek education taught by distinguished Greek teachers.24 However, he was able to associate with the best of the Roman intellectual elite. He obtained Roman citizenship and could have equally well written his works in Latin.25 By writing in Greek much like writing in English today rather than German or French, a scholar would increase the number of interested readers. There is also the intellectual background of upper class and well-educated Romans, who would have studied the subjects in Greek rather than Latin. The Emperor Claudius, later, wrote equally in both Greek and Latin, doing the antiquarian work in Greek. Juba wrote most or perhaps all of his works in Greek, possibly because that was the most recognized language for the antiquarian genre he was using.26 Jorma Kaimio claims there was no Latin tradition for Roman ethnic works, such as on local history and tradition, as seems to be evidenced by Juba, whose entire historical output may have been in Greek.27 Judging by Juba’s works, his major

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Van der Stockt, “Plutarch’s Use of Literature,” 286, gives this as the view of H.J. Rose, The Roman Questions: A New Translation with Introductory Essays and a Running Commentary (Oxford: Oxford University Press 1924). Van der Stockt says the hypothesis stands the test of a number of Quaestiones in which the respective share of cited and uncited sources is fairly complicated. Van der Stockt, “Plutarch’s Use of Literature,” 286–287. J. Kaimio, The Romans and the Greek Language (Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica, 1979) notes (267) that Cicero published political commentaries in Greek like many other authors in the same period. See also J.A., Howley, “‘Heus tu rhetorisce:’ Gellius, Cicero, Plutarch, and Roman Study Abroad,” in J.M. Madsen & R. Rees (eds.), Roman Rule in Greek and Latin Writing: Double Vision (Leiden—Boston: Brill, 2014) 163–192, esp. 187–190. See Roller, The World of Juba II, 65–67. Roller, The World of Juba II, 72–73. For the competition between Latin and Greek as a literary language among Roman authors, see Kaimio, The Romans and the Greek Language, 262. Claudius preferred Greek for Etruscan and Carthaginian history (237). Kaimio cites Jacoby FGH 3II A, no. 275, for the Juba fragments (note 150), but this is his only reference to Juba. See E. Rawson, Intellectual Life in the Late Roman Republic (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins,

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interests were geography, exploration, natural history, linguistics, Roman history, Pythagorean philosophy, and the visual and architectural arts. According to Duane Roller, these disciplines may have formed the core of his education.28 Juba’s choice of subjects may have been influenced by Alexander Polyhistor of Miletus, who wrote several ethnographic works and was in Rome at the time. Juba’s education, however, was not only in Greek. He socialized with Roman intellectuals, and two Roman scholars in particular may have influenced him, C. Asinius Pollio and M. Terentius Varro. Pollio was on the campaign in Africa and it may have been through Pollio that Juba learned much of the history of his own family. According to Roller, though at the end of his career, Varro would have been esteemed by many in Rome as the greatest scholar of his age. Juba had a number of interests that also reflected those of Varro, such as linguistics and Roman antiquities, but his affinity to Varro appears also in the polymathic quality of Juba’s work.29 To understand better the nature of the Quaestiones Romanae, they can be classified in a slightly different way than others have done.30 First, one can isolate 227 answers (remember these are presented as opinions or questions: “is it?” or “is it rather?,” and so forth). These can be categorized on the grounds for answering: namely, logical (what Plutarch describes as κατὰ λόγον, reasonable, natural, and the like), logical-symbolic (ones which seem to express an evident or logical symbolism), Roman myth-history, Roman customs, Roman religion, Pythagoreanism, philosophy, and superstition. An example of the logicalsymbolic type is the second answer in Question 1, as we have seen: “Why do

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1985) 12. Many Romans came to Greece, had Greek libraries, or studied under Greek intellectuals in Rome or Greece (9–12, 40–41, 70). She notes that Roman boys were received into the ephebeia, and many Romans had Greek libraries, and many Greek intellectuals like Parthenios came to Rome (70). Kaimio, The Romans and the Greek Language, notes (254–255) that Augustus gave Varro the task of building the largest Greek library in the world, besides the largest Latin one (Suetonius, Julius 34.2). Kaimio also notes that at the beginning of Rerum rusticarum, Varro claims to offer a history of earlier writers on the subject, both Greek and Latin. He mentions no Latin authors, but 37 Greek prose and 2 poetic authors (1.1.7). Roller, The World of Juba II, 65. Roller, The World of Juba II, 66–67. Preston, “Roman Questions, Greek Answers,” (97–99) divides these answers into three categories: 1. the explanation of a particular Roman custom by a Greek one; 2. a Greek parallel is used to suggest or confirm an explanation (104, and note 93). (She notes that this type of explanation is not entirely absent from Roman authors, citing Boulogne, “Les Questions romaines,” 4701–4702, and Varro, Antiquitates rerum humanarum et divinarum (ARD) Cardauns [frs. 151, 232, 246 and 247]; 3. the naturalness Greek ritual practice, which she sees as the most frequent category of Greek answering, along with the moralizing answer in accordance with his own ethical and philosophical beliefs (105 and note 97).

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they bid the bride touch fire and water?” Answer: “Is it because fire purifies and cleanses and a married woman must remain pure and clean?” In this system, the number of occurrences is the following: logical (68), myth-history (61), logical symbolic (49), Roman customs (20), Roman religion (21), Pythagoreanism (5), philosophy (2), and superstition (1).31 If we include Pythagoreanism and “like philosophers,” we arrive at 11 explicitly Greek answers. We should remember, though, that many Romans would have regarded Pythagoreanism as a home-grown part of their culture. Moreover, Roman authors frequently used Greek authors as proof of their argument.32 Even so, this gives us less than 5% (4.7%, to be exact) of unquestionably Greek answers. How many of the logical or logical-symbolic answers are Plutarch’s own?33 His Quaestiones convivales represent him as a brilliant inventor of ingenious answers to enigmatic questions, both Greek and Roman, his teacher’s ‘star pupil.’34 Presumably his sources in Quaestiones Romanae shared the same traits. In Quaestiones Romanae 101 Plutarch quotes Varro for an answer which could be called logical-symbolic, such as are very common in the Roman Questions. In 101 we find a logical-symbolic answer, based on a (false) etymology from Varro: “Why do they put amulets which they call bullae around their children’s necks? What Varro says (οἱ περὶ Βάρρωνα) is not convincing: that since βουλή (counsel) is called βόλλα by the Aiolians, the boys put this ornament on as a symbol of good counsel (εὐβουλία).” The answer probably was originally found in a Greek author, but it is rejected by Plutarch. Evidently Varro’s antiquarian works might have been full of such answers. In Question 2, what is particularly 31 32

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It is surprising that philosophy occurs so rarely, though it is often used as a parallel, e.g. Chrysippus in Question. 52, whose evil spirits (daimonia) are like the Lares. E.g. Varro incorporates Greek stories, such as shrines in Rome established by the Argeioi, the Argive followers of Hercules, used Aristotle’s Nomima barbarica (Barbarian Institutions), which had mentioned Rome, and in two known cases employed Callimachus’ Aitia (Rawson, Intellectual Life, 237). On Varro, see also Rawson, 312–316. Varro offered a “natural interpretation” of the Mysteries of Samothrace (Varro, fr. 206 Cardauns; Rawson, 215). According to Rawson, there were actually few practitioners of antiquarianism at the time. Varro was heavy on origin, etymology, and rationalizing (248–250). One should not forget that Plutarch spent considerable time in Rome and even in Greece was close to Roman intellectuals who could give him information and advice. See, e.g. Stadter, “Introduction,” in his Plutarch and his Roman Readers. For Plutarch’s frequent use of Latin in the Roman Lives, see P.A. Stadter, “Sulla’s Three-Thousand-νοῦμμοι Apartment: Plutarch’s Problematic Code-Switching,” in J. Opsomer, G. Roskam, & F.B. Titchener (eds.), A Versatile Gentleman: Consistency in Plutarch’s Writing (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2016) 197–212. See König, “Fragmentation and Coherence,” 46–47; and “Self-Promotion and Self-Effacement in Plutarch’s Table Talk,” in Klotz & Oikonomopoulou (eds.), The Philosopher’s Banquet (e.g., 180 and 202).

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Greek about fire and water symbolizing the ideal purity of a married woman? The answers from Roman myth-history, Roman custom, and Roman religion constitute almost half the answers (102 out of 230 [44.3 %]). Surely most, if not all, of them came originally from Roman, not Greek sources. Then, there are those from Roman customs, including political customs, which would seem to originate in Roman sources.35 Preston makes a great deal of how Plutarch rejects solutions proposed by Varro.36 However, these are relatively few, and it is possible that Plutarch rarely mentions Varro explicitly except when he disagrees with him. Moreover, unlike the Roman ‘questions,’ most Greek ones allow a precise factual answer, usually from myth-history or knowledge of the local religion, as in Quaestiones Graecae 1: “Τίνες οἱ ἐν Ἐπιδαύρῳ κονίποδες καὶ ἄρτυνοι;” Οἱ μὲν τὸ πολίτευμα ἔχοντες … ὀγδοήκοντα καὶ ἑκατὸν ἄνδρες ἦσαν· ἐκ δὲ τούτων ᾑροῦντο βουλευτάς, οὓς “ἀρτύνους” ἐκάλουν. τοῦ δὲ δήμου τὸ πλεῖστον ἐν ἀγρῷ διέτριβεν· ἐκαλοῦντο δὲ “κονίποδες,” ὡς συμβαλεῖν ἔστιν ἀπὸ τῶν ποδῶν γνωριζόμενοι κεκονιμένων, ὁπότε κατέλθοιεν εἰς τὴν πόλιν (291E). Who were the “dusty feet” and the “directors” in Epidauros? There were one-hundred and eighty men who directed the state. From these, they would elect councilors whom they called “directors.” But the majority of the populace spent their life in the country. They were called “dusty feet,” since, as one may conjecture (ὡς συμβαλεῖν ἔστιν), they were recognized by their dust-covered feet whenever they came into the city. (The second answer looks suspiciously like one of Plutarch’s ‘logical’ answers.)37 Almost 40% of the Quaestiones Graecae ask the question “why,” and 20 % answer with another question (for example, Quaestiones Graecae 28): “Why 35

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Latin authors often had recourse to Greek sources. Rawson, Intellectual Life, notes (237) how Varro incorporates Greek stories, e.g., that the shrines in Rome were established by the Argeioi, the Argive followers of Hercules, before the Trojan War, that Varro was uncertain about exact dates, but does not seem to have been credulous about the legendary period. She finds it surprising (237) that Varro turned to Greek sources, e.g., to Aristotle’s Nomima barbarica (Barbarian Institutions), which had mentioned Rome. He also twice mentions Callimachus’ Aitia. The De gente populi romani set the origins of Rome in a wider context, esp. in a Greek context (244). Preston, “Roman Questions, Greek Answers,” 105. Quaest. graec. 291A.

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is it that among the inhabitants of Tenedos a flute-player may not enter the shrine of Tenes, nor may anyone mention Achilleus’ name within the shrine? Is it that …?” (answered with a myth-history story about Tenes). On at least two occasions, Plutarch rejects solutions offered by Greek authors, for example, at Quaetiones Romanae 103 and 111: Question 103. “Διὰ τί τοὺς ἀπάτορας ‘σπορίους’ υἱοὺς καλοῦσιν;” Οὐ γάρ, ὡς Ἕλληνες νομίζουσι καὶ λέγουσιν οἱ ῥήτορες ἐν ταῖς δίκαις, συμφορητοῦ τινος καὶ κοινοῦ σπέρματος γεγόνασιν, ἀλλ’ ἔστιν ὁ Σπόριος τῶν πρώτων ὀνομάτων, ὡς ὁ Σέξτος καὶ ὁ Δέκιμος καὶ ὁ Γάιος. Why do they call the children of unknown fathers spurii? Now the reason is not as the Greeks believe and lawyers in court are used to asserting, that these children are born of some promiscuous and lowerclass sexual unions. Rather, “Spurius” is a first name like “Sextus,” “Decimus,” and “Gaius” … (rejection of a Greek solution, answer from Roman custom).38 Question 111. “Διὰ τί δὲ κυνὸς καὶ αἰγὸς ἐκέλευον ἀπέχεσθαι τὸν ἱερέα, μήθ’ ἁπτόμενον μήτ’ ὀνομάζοντα;” … καίτοι φασὶν ἔνιοι μήτε τῆς Ἀθηναίων ἀκροπόλεως ἐπιβαίνειν κύνα μήτε τῆς Δηλίων νήσου διὰ τὴν ἐμφανῆ μεῖξιν … τὴν γὰρ ἀληθινὴν αἰτίαν ἀγνοοῦσιν ὅτι μάχιμον ὄντα τὸν Cκύνα τῶν ἀσύλων καὶ ἁγίων ἐξείργουσιν ἱερῶν, ἀσφαλῆ καταφυγὴν τοῖς ἱκέταις διδόντες. Why do they order the priests to avoid dogs or goats, not to touch them nor name them? … Some assert, however, that a dog may not enter either the Athenian Acropolis or the island of Delos, because they mate in the open … These persons are ignorant of the true reason. Dogs are pugnacious. So excluding them from inviolable and holy shrines, offers a safe place of refuge for suppliants.39

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Quaest. rom. 288E. Quaest. rom. 290BC.

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Plutarch continues with a Greek example, applied to Jupiter, based on Roman custom, then a Greek example, followed by a Roman example (sacrifice of a dog at the Lupercalia), followed by an example from Greek and Roman religion (Bacchic rites). Here we find the rejection of a Greek answer and the assertion of Greek and Roman parallels. Preston also seems to take the Greek parallels as a kind of proof, the last nail in the coffin, but as others have seen, these serve as a parallel, a kind of confirmation, or underline how natural the custom is, but are not really answers or proofs. A fundamental pillar of her article is the difference between the Quaestiones Graecae and the Roman ones. According to Preston, more than half ask a precise question “what” or “who,” with one definite answer, not “why” followed by a series of questions.40 Mostly they are very erudite answers to abstruse local customs or rites.41 According to her, one work expresses sureness and authority and the other unfamiliarity and tentativeness.42 To be more precise, of 59 Quaestiones Graecae, 20 (ca. 40% [33.8%]) ask “why?” Of these, 11 (ca. 20 % [18.6%]) answer with a question. Only 2 of these, however, answer with multiple questions (36 and 39).43 Still, 40% is not an insignificant percentage. This is not as puzzling, then, as Preston makes out, but perhaps needs an explanation. The Quaestiones convivales often present several answers to most questions without insisting that any one is the best. Possibly there were two different genres treating cults, and possibly Plutarch’s Roman sources, including Juba, used this approach. In any case the Greek readers of the Quaestiones Romanae hardly would be interested in abstruse elements of local Italian cults. His Latin readers could probably find them in Latin sources. Here and in the Lives, we see Plutarch building bridges between the two cultures, already very much intertwined.44 Preston mentions how the elite members of the Greek East were

40 41 42 43

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Preston, “Roman Questions, Greek Answers,” 96. As Preston, “Roman Questions, Greek Answers,” notes, 108. Preston, “Roman Questions, Greek Answers,” 96–97. She says the implied reader is Greek (97), but surely the implied reader included both Greeks and non-Greeks. Preston, “Roman Questions, Greek Answers,” 96–97. She does note that “under half” of the Greek Questions begin with “why” (96). In the Greek Questions, we find “why?” (τί, διὰ τί, τίς ἡ αἰτία, ἀπὸ ποίας αἰτίας) in the following: 27, 28, 31, 33, 35, 36, 37, 39, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 55, 57, 58. The following answer the question with a question [ἤ ὅτι, πότερον ὡς, ἤ ὅπως]: 27, 28, 31, 36, 39, 46, 50, 51, 52, 53, 56. Two answer with multiple questions (36 and 39). The first answers with 3 questions [1. myth-history, 2. logical-symbolic, 3. very obscure religious myth]. The second answers with 3 question-answers (1. linguistic, 2. myth-history, 3. myth-history). It then asks another question, with 3 question answers (1. Pythagoreanism, 2. logical-symbolic, 3. myth-history). Gabba, Dionysius, 20, sees Dionysius with his stress on the Greek origins of Rome, provid-

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the most Romanized of Rome’s subjects.45 The Quaestiones Romanae reveal how international the Graeco-Roman world had become in the Early Imperial period, and how the opposition Greek versus Roman can be very misleading.46 Through Plutarch, Greeks could learn much about Rome, their new patris, their new country. If anything, rather than suggesting a tremendous unsurpassable gulf between the Greek and Roman worlds, the Quaestiones Romanae tell us how in the Early Imperial Period the two had become joined inextricably.47 As Jacques Boulogne puts it: Roman culture was clearly Hellenized, which offered a double advantage. These strangers who dominated Greece were not all that barbarian, seeing that they owed a good part of their culture to Greece. Making their customs comprehensible reduces the differences and at the same time is an attempt to make them more likable, or at the least, more supportable. On the other hand, the appropriation of certain characteristics of the Romans, judged positively, serves to soothe the self-love of the Greeks. Comforted by their feeling of superiority, they could savor the pleasure of revenge at the spectacle of the triumph of their culture among the conquerors … But this Hellenocentrism should not allow us to be blind to two other motivations of the Roman Questions … to make its own contribution to the demonstration of the unity of the human race … and to acknowledge the exemplary merits of the Romans, the imitation of which would help … to create a Graeco-Roman synthesis, thus producing the ideal human being. On a political level this synthesis would also help to dissuade Plutarch’s compatriots from revolting against the yoke of the oppressor and thus endangering the peace.48

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ing a new opening for the cultural and political integration of the Greek upper classes into imperial life. Preston, “Roman Questions, Greek Answers,” 91. For the unity in diversity of patterns of social and political life in Roman Greece, see König, “Fragmentation and Coherence,” 46–47. Regarding the Sympotic Questions, he sees the solution as philosophical, with local commitments and overarching Greek identity as encompassing and explaining Roman culture as well as Greek. Many things were held in common, even if Plutarch produced essentially a Greek product (47). For Dionysius of Halicarnassus, the earliest Romans, however, were civilized Greeks; see M. Fox, Roman Historical Myths: The Regal Period in Augustan Literature (Oxford: Clarendon 1996) 55; and Gabba, Dionysius and the History of Archaic Rome, 4, 11, 20. Dionysius stressed the substantial historical and cultural unity of Greece and Rome, with Rome as the contemporary center. Boulogne, Plutarque. Oeuvres morales. Tome IV, 95–97. See also C. Pelling, “Plutarch the

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Bibliography Boulogne, J., “Les Questions romaines de Plutarque,” ANRW II.33.6 (1992) 4682–5702. Boulogne, J., Un aristocrate grec sous l’occupation romaine (Lille: Presses Universitaire de France, 1994). Boulogne, J., Plutarque. Oeuvres morales. Tome IV: Conduites méritoires de femmes, Étiologies romaines, Étiologies grecques, Parallèles mineurs (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2002). Fox, M., Roman Historical Myths: The Regal Period in Augustan Literature (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996). Gabba, E., Dionysius and the History of Archaic Rome (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991). Howley, J.A., “‘Heus tu rhetorisce:’ Gellius, Cicero, Plutarch, and Roman Study Abroad,” in J.M. Madsen & R. Rees (eds.), Roman Rule in Greek and Latin Writing: Double Vision (Leiden & Boston: Brill, 2014) 163–192. Isaac, B., “Attitudes toward Provincial Intellectuals in the Roman Empire,” in E.S. Gruen (ed.), Cultural Identity in the Ancient Mediterranean (Los Angeles: Getty Publications, 2011) 491–518. Jazdzewska, K., “Plutarch’s Greek Questions: Between Glossography and ProblemataLiterature,” Hermes 146 (2018) 41–53. Kaimo, J., The Romans and the Greek Language (Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica, 1979). König, J., “Fragmentation and Coherence in Plutarch’s Sympotic Questions,” in J. König & T. Whitmarsh (eds.), Ordering Knowledge in the Roman Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007) 43–68. König, J., “Self-Promotion and Self-Effacement in Plutarch’s Table Talk,” in F. Klotz & K. Oikonomopoulou (eds.), The Philosopher’s Banquet: Plutarch’s Table Talk in the Intellectual Culture of the Roman Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011) 179– 203. Nikolaidis, A.G., “Ἑλληνικός—βαρβαρικός: Plutarch on Greek and Barbarian Characteristics,” WS 20 (1986) 229–244. Nouilhan, M., J.-M. Pailler & P. Payen, Plutarque: Grecs et Romains en parallèlle. Questions romaines—Questions grecques (Paris: Le Livre de Poche, 1999). Oikonomopoulou, K., “Peripatetic Knowledge in the Table-Talk,” in F. Klotz & K. Oiko-

Multiculturalist: Is West Always Best?,” Ploutarchos 13 (2016) 33–52 (esp. 37–38). As he writes: “And Plutarch, quite evidently, treats Romans and Roman culture with respect too. Otherwise he would hardly have written the Parallel Lives, after all, and the Roman Questions shows an utter fascination with Roman customs for their own sake.” (38).

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nomopoulou (eds.), The Philosopher’s Banquet: Plutarch’s Table Talk in the Intellectual Culture of the Roman Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011) 105–130. Pelling, C., “Plutarch The Multiculturalist: Is West Always Best?,” Ploutarchos 13 (2016) 33–52. Preston, R., “Roman Questions, Greek Answers: Plutarch and the Construction of Identity,” in S. Goldhill (ed.), Being Greek under Rome (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001) 86–119. Rawson, E., Intellectual Life in the Late Roman Republic (Baltimore, Johns Hopkins, 1985). Roller, D.W., The World of Juba II and Kleopatra Selene: Royal Scholarship on Rome’s African Frontier (New York: Routledge, 2003). Stadter, P.A., Plutarch and his Roman Readers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015). Stadter, P.A., “Sulla’s Three-Thousand-νοῡμμοι Apartment: Plutarch’s Problematic CodeSwitching,” in J. Opsomer, G. Roskam, & F.B. Titchener (eds.), A Versatile Gentleman. Consistency in Plutarch’s Writing (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2016) 197–212. Van der Stockt, L., “Plutarch’s Use of Literature: Sources and Citations in the Quaestiones Romanae,” Ancient Society 18 (1987) 281–292.

chapter 15

Plutarch and the Separable Intellect: Some Further Reflections John Dillon

Some years ago, I composed, for a Plutarch conference organized by Aurelio in Palma de Mallorca in November 2000, a paper on the subject of Plutarch’s employment of the concept of an intellect as a third, distinct, “higher” element of the human being, over and above soul and body, and offered some suggestions as to the possible origins of such a concept.1 I propose now, as part of a volume put together in his honor, to return to this question with a new proposal, which I hope may shed some further light on this interesting innovation of Plutarch’s. This is that Plutarch, who shows various signs of knowing a certain amount of Zoroastrianism, may have derived from his sources some notion of the Zoroastrian concept of the fravashi, which is the pre-existing external higher soul or essence of a person (according to some sources, also of gods and angels), designated by Ahura Mazdā to preside over humans as a sort of guardian daemon. There are certain features of the fravashi that are not reflected in Plutarch’s separable intellect, but I suggest that we may allow for a certain degree of creative adaptation on his part. As is well enough known, after all, among Platonists at least, both Plutarch in Chaeronea, in the first/second century CE, and Plotinus in Rome, in the midthird century, employ, in somewhat different ways, the concept of an aspect of the individual person that is “above,” and in some degree separable, from the ‘normal’ human soul. In Plutarch, what we find is a ‘separable’ intellect, vividly presented, for instance, in the myth of the De genio Socratis, but alluded to also in the De facie (943Aff.) and in De Virtute morali (441D ff.). In Plotinus, we have his doctrine of the “undescended” status of the highest part of the soul, which he conceives of as remaining ‘above’, in the intelligible realm. Such passages as Enneads 4.8[6].8, 5.1[10].10 or 4.4[15].3 come to mind—though in the last passage the doctrine gets mixed up with that of the “guardian daemon” (if that is 1 Subsequently published as “Plutarch and the Separable Intellect,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & F. Casadesús (eds.), Estudios sobre Plutarco: Misticismo y religiones mistéricas en la obra de Plutarco (Actas del VII Simposio Español sobre Plutarco, Palma de Mallorca, 2–4 de noviembre de 2000) (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 2001) 35–44.

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indeed a mix-up!). Various possible sources for such a development within Platonism have been proposed, notably an adaptation of Aristotle’s doctrine of the Active Intellect and its relation to the “passive” intellect within the individual, and a development of Plato’s suggestion, at the end of the Timaeus (90a ff.), of the highest part of the human soul as a sort of guardian daemon. Such suggestions are certainly not to be dismissed out of hand, but I would like to throw into the mix another possible source, this time from an Eastern direction. We have ample evidence, particularly from the De Iside et Osiride, but also from the De animae procreatione, that Plutarch was acquainted with the broad outlines, at least, of Zoroastrianism.2 The question that I would like to raise on this occasion is whether he could have acquired some intimation of the distinctive Zoroastrian doctrine of the fravashi, or separable higher soul, also to be regarded as a kind of guardian daemon. For a definition of this, I borrow shamelessly from Encyclopedia Britannica—a respectable enough source, I hope:3 fravashi, in Zoroastrianism, the pre-existing external higher soul or essence of a person (according to some sources, also of gods and angels). Associated with Ahura Mazdā, the supreme divinity, since the first creation, they participate in his nature of pure light and inexhaustible bounty. By free choice they descend into the world to suffer and combat the forces of evil, knowing their inevitable resurrection at the final glory. Each individual’s fravashi, distinct from his incarnate soul, subtly guides him in life toward the realization of his higher nature. The saved soul is united after death with its fravashi. Cosmically, the fravashis are divided into three groups—the living, the dead, and the yet unborn. They are the force upon which Ahura Mazdā depends to maintain the cosmos against the demon host. Protecting the empyrean (sacred fire), they keep darkness imprisoned in the world.4

2 See in particular De Is. et Os. 369E–370C, and De an. procr. 1026B. 3 I have also had the pleasure, I must say, of discussing this issue with M. Jean Kellens, a major authority on Zoroastrianism, when we were both taking part in an Entretien of the Fondation Hardt in Vandoeuvres in August 2006, on Rites et croyances dans les religions du monde romain (ed. J. Scheid) (Vandoeuvres-Genève: Fondation Hardt, 2007). He remains somewhat sceptical, pointing out various differences. But we must, I think, take into account the possibility of a certain amount being ‘lost in translation’. I am also indebted for various details to R.C. Zaehner’s little book, The Teachings of the Magi (London: Allen & Unwin, 1956), and J. Moulton, Early Zoroastrianism (London: Williams & Norgate, 1913). 4 In the Bundahishn, ch. 3, their creation by Ahura Mazda is presented as quite separate from his creation of the First Man, Gayomart, and his seed (in ch. 1). They are then presented by

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Certainly, aspects of the concept of fravashi go beyond that of a “separable” or undescended soul/intellect, and abut on that of the guardian daemon—also a concept beloved of Plutarch, but that does not, I think, disqualify it as being a partial stimulus to the development of the former cluster of concepts in the above two thinkers. If we ask ourselves, after all, what is behind such a doctrine, whether in the Persian or in the Greek thought-world, it is surely the idea that there is some element in the human being that rises above, or—looked at from another angle—escapes descent into, the contingencies and imperfections of bodily existence. This entity can be regarded either as the highest element of the human personality, representing the best that we can be; or alternatively, a superior being explicitly assigned to each of us to exercise guidance throughout our lives. These may seem alternatives, but they turn out, I think, not to be exclusive alternatives. In Platonist theory, the ambiguity may be seen as going back to a notable passage at the end of the Timaeus (90A), where Plato says: τὸ δὲ περὶ τοῦ κυριωτάτου παρ’ ἡμῖν ψυχῆς εἴδους διανοεῖσθαι δεῖ τῇδε, ὡς ἄρα αὐτὸ δαίμονα θεὸς ἑκάστῳ δέδωκε, τοῦτο ὃ δή φαμεν οἰκεῖν μὲν ἡμῶν ἐπ’ ἄκρῳ τῷ σώματι, πρὸς δὲ τὴν ἐν οὐρανῷ ξυγγένειαν ἀπὸ γῆς ἡμᾶς αἴρειν ὡς ὄντας φυτὸν οὐκ ἔγγειον ἀλλ’ οὐράνιον, ὀρθότατα λέγοντες· We should think of the most dominant element of our soul in the following way, as a guardian spirit given to each individual by God, that which we very properly say dwells at the summit of the body, and raises us from the earth towards our proper place in heaven; for we are a growth not of earth but of heaven …5 In this utterance, Plato seems uncannily to parallel the Zoroastrian concept of the fravashi—if indeed he had not acquired some intimation of such a doctrine himself.6 However that may be, this passage of the Timaeus comes to serve as an important proof-text for later Platonists who are inspired, for whatever reason,

Ahura Mazda with the task of descending into human bodies to confront Ahriman and his devilish host, and they assent to that. 5 Pl., Tim. 90A. 6 He almost certainly knew something of Zoroaster (Alc. 1.122A—even if not genuine, at least Old Academic), and there are tales (to which not much credence is usually given) of the Academy being visited by a magus (Phld., Index Acad, Herc, 3.34–43). See now on this topic the stimulating article by P.S. Horky, “Persian Cosmos and Greek Philosophy: Plato’s Associates and the Zoroastrian Magoi,” OSAP XXXVII (2009) 47–103.

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to make a strong distinction between soul and intellect within the human individual, or alternatively to postulate an aspect of the soul which remains ‘above’ that part which descends fully into the complex entity which is the animated body. Plutarch is one thinker who does wish to make a strong distinction between soul and intellect, in such a way as actually to substitute for the more traditional Platonist dualism of soul and body a three-way distinction of elements within the individual. In such a passage as this from his dialogue On the Face in the Moon (De facie 943Aff.), he makes quite a point of this, as follows:7 τὸν ἄνθρωπον οἱ πολλοὶ σύνθετον μὲν ὀρθῶς ἐκ δυεῖν δὲ μόνον σύνθετον οὐκ ὀρθῶς ἡγοῦνται. μόριον γὰρ εἶναί πως ψυχῆς οἴονται τὸν νοῦν, οὐδὲν ἧττον ἐκείνων ἁμαρτάνοντες οἷς ἡ ψυχὴ δοκεῖ μόριον εἶναι τοῦ σώματος· νοῦς γὰρ ψυχῆς ὅσῳ ψυχὴ σώματος ἄμεινόν ἐστι καὶ θειότερον. ποιεῖ δ’ ἡ μὲν ψυχῆς ⟨καὶ σώματος μῖξις τὸ ἄλογον καὶ τὸ παθητικὸν ἡ δὲ νοῦ καὶ ψυχῆς⟩ σύνοδος λόγον, ὧν τὸ μὲν ἡδονῆς ἀρχὴ καὶ πόνου τὸ δ’ ἀρετῆς καὶ κακίας. Most people rightly hold a man to be composite, but wrongly hold him to be composed of only two parts. The reason is that they suppose mind to be somehow part of soul, thus erring no less than those who believe soul to be part of body, for in the same degree as soul is superior to body, so is mind better and more divine than soul. The result of soul and body commingled is the irrational or the affective factor, whereas of mind and soul the conjunction produces reason; and of these the former is the source of pleasure and pain, the latter of virtue and vice.8 trans. Cherniss

Here we find a tripartite structure of the human being presented as a superior explanation of the distinction between rational and irrational soul. We do not here, however, have a mind that is radically distinguished from both soul and body. In the myth expounded in the course of the dialogue On the Daemon of Socrates, however, we find this concept developed in an interesting way,

7 These words are admittedly not spoken by Plutarch himself, but by one of the characters of his treatise, Sextius Sulla. There is no reason to doubt, however, that he stands over them. We find a rather less developed version of the theory expounded in the treatise On Moral Virtue 441D ff., where either Plutarch has not yet quite arrived at his concept of tripartition, or (more probably) he sees no reason to lay emphasis on it. 8 Plu., De facie 943A. English translation according to H. Cherniss & W.C. Hembold, Plutarch’s Moralia, vol. XII (Loeb Classical Library; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1957).

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albeit in a mythological context.9 What happens is that Socrates’ Pythagorean associate Simmias tells the story of a certain Timarchus, who underwent an incubation in the Cave of Trophonius, in order to learn the truth about the nature of Socrates’ daimonion, and got rather more than he bargained for. In the course of a spectacular Himmelfahrt (590C ff.), conducted by an invisible Spirit guide, he is treated to a scenario designed to illustrate what relation the nous-daimon bears to the rest of the human being. What he sees is a great sea of light, with a great many star-like entities floating in it, some calmly, some in a more agitated fashion, bobbing up and down, and vanishing periodically below the surface, “like the corks we observe riding on the sea to mark nets” (ὥσπερ τοὺς τὰ δίκτυα διασημαίνοντας ἐν τῇ θαλάσσῃ φελλοὺς ὁρῶμεν ἐπιφερομένους, 592A). The Spirit tells him that what he is seeing is the actual daemons the nature of which he was in search of,10 and he continues (591DE): ἔχει γὰρ ὧδε· ψυχὴ πᾶσα νοῦ μετέσχεν, ἄλογος δὲ καὶ ἄνους οὐκ ἔστιν, ἀλλ’ ὅσον ἂν αὐτῆς σαρκὶ μιχθῇ καὶ πάθεσιν, ἀλλοιούμενον τρέπεται καθ’ ἡδονὰς καὶ ἀλγηδόνας εἰς τὸ ἄλογον. μίγνυται δ’ οὐ πᾶσα τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον· ἀλλ’ αἱ μὲν ὅλαι κατέδυσαν εἰς σῶμα, καὶ δι’ ὅλων ἀναταραχθεῖσαι τὸ σύμπαν ὑπὸ παθῶν διαφέρονται κατὰ τὸν βίον· αἱ δὲ πῇ μὲν ἀνεκράθησαν, πῇ δὲ ἔλιπον ἔξω τὸ καθαρώτατον, οὐκ ἐπισπώμενον ἀλλ’ οἷον ἀκρόπλουν ἐπιψαῦον ἐκ κεφαλῆς τοῦ ἀνθρώπου καθάπερ ἐν βυθῷ δεδυκότος ἄρτημα κορυφαῖον, ὀρθουμένης περὶ αὐτὸ τῆς ψυχῆς ἀνέχον ὅσον ὑπακούει καὶ οὐ κρατεῖται τοῖς πάθεσι. τὸ μὲν οὖν ὑποβρύχιον ἐν τῷ σώματι φερόμενον ψυχὴ λέγεται· τὸ δὲ φθορᾶς λειφθὲν οἱ πολλοὶ νοῦν καλοῦντες ἐντὸς εἶναι νομίζουσιν αὑτῶν, ὥσπερ ἐν τοῖς ἐσόπτροις τὰ φαινόμενα κατ’ ἀνταύγειαν· οἱ δὲ ὀρθῶς ὑπονοοῦντες ὡς ἐκτὸς ὄντα δαίμονα προσαγορεύουσι. I will explain. Every soul partakes of mind; none is irrational or unintelligent (anous), but the portion of the soul that mingles with flesh and passions suffers alteration and becomes in the pleasures and pains it undergoes irrational. Not every soul mingles to the same extent: some

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It is reasonable to suggest, I think, that Plutarch uses mythical narratives to air ideas that he finds interesting, but is not quite prepared to stand over philosophically. The Zoroastrian doctrine of the fravashi would be one of these. We may note that, at least in the later Avestan period, there was a tendency to connect the fravashi with the stars, cf. Yasht 13 (where, however, the fravashi are connected, but not identified, with the stars), and outside the Avesta itself, the later text Minokhired (49.22), where they are so identified. I owe this information to Moulton, Early Zoroastrianism, 279– 281.

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sink entirely into the body, and becoming disordered throughout are during their whole life distracted by passions; others mingle in part, but leave outside what is purest in them. This is not dragged in with the rest, but is like a buoy attached to the top, floating on the surface in contact with the man’s head, while he is as it were submerged in the depths; and it supports as much of the soul, which is held upright about it, as is obedient and not overpowered by the passions. Now the part carried submerged in the body is called the soul, whereas the part left free from corruption is called by the multitude the mind, who take it to be within themselves, as they take reflected objects to be in the mirrors that reflect them; but those who conceive this matter rightly call it a daemon, as being external.11 This presents a somewhat different picture from that presented in the De facie passage. The mind is seen here as ‘external’ (ektos) to the body, presiding over it as its daemon, and in some sense remaining ‘above’ when the rest of the soul-body combination is “below.” When discussing this in The Middle Platonists, I quite reasonably called attention to Timaeus 90A, mentioned above, and also to Aristotle’s concept of the Active Intellect, as presented in De Anima 3.5, but even then those suggestions did not quite satisfy me.12 I also adduced the doctrine of the distinctness of nous and psyche presented in certain tractates of the Corpus Hermeticum, which seemed to me to betoken a rather more exotic provenance, though I did not venture to suggest what that might be. Nous appears in CH 1 and 10, after all, not simply as the intellectual faculty in man, but as a daemon sent by God to reward or chastise man according to his deserts, and this seemed to me to go rather beyond anything that could be derived from Tim. 90A. In s. 22 of the first treatise, the Poemandres, the disciple asks Poemandres, “Do not then all men possess nous?”, to which Poemandres replies: Εὐφήμει, ὦ οὗτος, λαλῶν· παραγίνομαι αὐτὸς ἐγὼ ὁ Νοῦς τοῖς ὁσίοις καὶ ἀγαθοῖς καὶ καθαροῖς καὶ ἐλεήμοσι, τοῖς εὐσεβοῦσι, καὶ ἡ παρουσία μου γίνεται βοήθεια, καὶ εὐθὺς τὰ πάντα γνωρίζουσι καὶ τὸν πατέρα ἱλάσκονται ἀγαπητικῶς καὶ εὐχαριστοῦσιν εὐλογοῦντες καὶ ὑμνοῦντες τεταγμένως πρὸς αὐτὸν τῇ στοργῇ

11 12

Plu., De genio Socr. 591DE. trans. De Lacy/Einarson. J. Dillon, The Middle Platonists (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1996) 213.

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Restrain your tongue! I, as Nous, am present only to the holy and good and pure and charitable—to the pious, in a word—and my presence brings support to them, and they worship the Father with love, and give thanks to him with benedictions and hymns in due order with affection.13 He goes on to say that as Nous he frees them from all bodily desires and affections, guarding them from the things of this world. To the wicked, on the other hand, he comes as an avenging spirit (timoros daimon), “applying to them the sharpness of fire” (τὴν ὀξύτητα τοῦ πυρὸς προσβάλλων), and stirring up their material desires and the tortures of the soul consequent upon them. The same doctrine is found also in Tractate 10, called “The Key,” in ss. 19–21. Here the distinction is made between the pious soul, which acquires knowledge of God and thus becomes “wholly nous,” and the impious soul, which remains at the level of its own nature, and to which the nous becomes, again, an avenging daemon. Nous is in each of these passages an at least partly transcendent entity, helping the good and tormenting the evil, working in each case through the individual soul, of which it is also a part. Since it is highly unlikely that either Plutarch or the Hermetic authors are influenced by each other, it seems that we must look for some other source that might have influenced both, and I would make the suggestion that that source is Persian. If this be so, I would suggest that what we have here is an interesting case of cultural cross-fertilization, such as may also be operative in the case of Plotinus a century and a half later, with his theories of the undescended soul and of the personal daemon. What the precise mechanisms of this transference of influence may have been we can only guess, but we may reflect that a good idea travels far, if it answers to a felt need.

Bibliography Dillon, J., “Plutarch and the Separable Intellect,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & F. Casadesús (eds.), Estudios sobre Plutarco: Misticismo y religiones mistéricas en la obra de Plutarco (Actas del VII Simposio Español sobre Plutarco, Palma de Mallorca, 2–4 de noviembre de 2000) (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 2001) 35–44. Dillon, J., The Middle Platonists (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1996).

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Horky, P.S., “Persian Cosmos and Greek Philosophy: Plato’s Associates and the Zoroastrian Magoi,” OSAP XXXVII (2009) 47–103. Moulton, J.H., Early Zoroastrianism (London: Williams & Norgate, 1913). Zaehner, R.C., The Teachings of the Magi (London: Allen & Unwin, 1956).

chapter 16

Platonic Elements in the Chaldaean Oracles Franco Ferrari

Marginal Platonism The Chaldaean Oracles (henceforth: CO), a collection of hexameters composed—at least in its original redaction—in the second half of the second century AD, belong to what John Dillon has felicitously described as the “Underworld of Platonism”.1 Along with other documents from the same period, such as the Corpus Hermeticum and certain Gnostic texts, the CO fall within the Platonic tradition, although they illustrate one of its marginal and peripheral aspects. They share some of the theoretical motifs of Platonism, which we will be focusing on in the following pages; yet at the same time, like the other sources just mentioned, they possess a mystical-religious character (with a markedly ritual emphasis) and privilege the soteriological aspect over the strictly philosophical one. Following Luciana Gabriela Soares Santoprete, it would not be unreasonable to regard the CO as an integral part of that marginal Platonism which in the early centuries of the Imperial age developed alongside mainstream Platonism, namely that Middle Platonist and Neoplatonist philosophy which shaped the course of ancient thought.2 The original redaction of the CO, which would appear to have been subsequently revised,3 is traditionally attributed to the cooperation between two fig1 J. Dillon, The Middle Platonists 80B.C. to A.D. 220, Revised edition with a new afterword (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1996) 392–396. 2 L.G. Soares Santoprete, “Tracing the Connections between ‘Mainstream’ Platonism (Middleand Neo-Platonism) and ‘Marginal’ Platonism (Gnosticism, Hermeticism and the Chaldean Oracles) with Digital Tools: the Database, the Bibliographical Directory, and the Research Blog The Platonism of Late Antiquity,” in H. Seng & G. Sfameni Gasparro (eds.), Theologische Orakel in der Spätantike (Heidelberg: Winter, 2016) 9–45. 3 On the CO as a sort of révélation en devenir, whereby a révélation primordiale was followed by subsequent contributions, chiefly by Neoplatonist authors, see A. van den Kerchove, “Le mode de révélation dans les Oracles Chaldaïques et dans les traités hermétiques,” in H. Seng & M. Tardieu (eds.), Die Chaldaeischen Orakel: Kontext-Interpretation-Rezeption (Heidelberg: Winter, 2010) 145–162. Along the same lines, I. Tanaseanu-Döbler, Theurgy in Late Antiquity. The Invention of a Ritual Tradition (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht: 2013) 25–26, speaks of a “work in progress, experiencing subsequent additions, subtractions and variations in the course of time.”

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ures named Julian: “Julian the Chaldaean” and his son, nicknamed “the Theurgist”. According to the Byzantine scholar Michael Psellus (eleventh century), who is one of the most important sources for the reconstruction of Chaldaean doctrines, Julian the Chaldaean asked God to bestow an archangelic soul on his son, allowing him to enter in contact with the gods and even with Plato’s soul by means of theurgic rites.4 This explains the “Platonic” character of the philosophical conceptions expressed or implied by many oracular responses. The CO cannot be considered genuine philosophical texts, comparable to Alcinous’ Didascalicus, Numenius’s Περὶ τἀγαθοῦ or even Plutarch’s Moralia, to mention a few works from this period. Rather, they represent a “para-philosophical” text that is largely marked by a religious attitude and by soteriological concerns. Nevertheless, the elements that may be traced back to the Platonic tradition are numerous and well worth discussing. Yet before doing so, it is necessary to spend some words on the nature of this mysterious and fascinating source, which exercised a remarkable influence on the development of post-Iamblichean Neoplatonism, as witnessed by Proclus’ pupil and biographer, Marinus. According to the latter, his master used to say that, were it up to him, of all the books of the Ancients he would only allow the circulation of τὰ Λόγια καὶ τὸν Τίμαιον, which is to say the (Chaldaean) Oracles and the Timaeus (Proclus 38). Apparently ignored by Plotinus,5 the CO were certainly known to Porphyry, who nonetheless displays an ambivalent or at any rate inconsistent attitude towards them. Starting from Iamblichus,6 who was responsible for promoting the theurgy contained in these texts, the CO acquired a crucial importance and became a key point of reference for the two leading representatives of late Neoplatonism, Proclus and Damascius, our main sources on Chaldaean utterances. 4 Mich. Psel. Opusc. Philos. 1.46.43–51 (Duffy). On this well-known testimony, see C. van Liefferinge, La Théurgie. Des ‘Oracles Chaldaïques’ à Proclus (CIÉRGA: Liège, 1999) 128, and H. Seng, Un livre sacré de l’ antiquité tardive: les ‘Oracles Chaldaïques’ (Turnhout: Brepols, 2016) 24. 5 But see J. Dillon, “Plotinus and the Chaldaean Oracles,” in S. Gersh & C. Kannengiesser (eds.), Platonism in Late Antiquity. Mélanges Édouard Des Places (Notre Dame: Notre Dame University Press, 1992) 131–140, who is apparently inclined to acknowledge the presence of traces of the CO in the Enneads. 6 As regards Porphyry’s and Iamblichus’ evaluation of the CO, van Liefferinge’s monograph La Théurgie, 23–126 and 156–211, remains crucial. Different conclusions on Porphyry would appear to have been reached in the recent study by C. Addey, Divination and Theurgy in Neoplatonism. Oracles of God (Burlington: Ashgate, 2014) 21–24, 79–82, 98–106, and 131–169. A very useful discussion of Porphyry’s relation with the CO is provided by M. Zambon, Porphyre et le moyen-platonisme (Paris: Vrin, 2002) 251–294.

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On account of their allegedly divine origin, “revealed” nature and dogmatic content, which was perceived to be in keeping with Plato’s thought, the CO became a sort of Bible des néoplatoniciens, to borrow Franz Cumont’s famous definition.7 The CO, then, are a collection of responses from the gods (θεοπαράδοτα). In all likelihood, they constitute a collection of individual revelations, rather than a continuous text, although scholars’ opinions differ on the matter.8 Be that as it may, the individual oracles provide answers to questions which have not survived. In their original redaction, they may have been transcriptions of utterances produced by Julian the Theurgist in a trance state, as though his soul were possessed by the gods and by Plato. The poetic form adopted, and in particular the use of hexameters, was certainly designed to increase the level of emotional involvement on the reader’s part and possibly to reinforce the aura of mystery shrouding the responses. It should also be added that the form in which the utterances have reached us may partly be due to the authors who transmitted them, in particular Proclus and Damascius, who certainly sought to integrate the oracles within their own philosophical system. Indeed, one often gets the impression that these authors are charging the oracular utterances with a philosophical, and in particular metaphysical, meaning that is essentially foreign to them. The observations just made, however, should not lead us to downplay the philosophical value of the collection, which provides valuable evidence of how Imperial Platonism was able to extend its influence beyond the boundaries of scholastic philosophical reflection.

The Structure of the Chaldaean System and the Place of the Soul From a general philosophical perspective, the CO reflect the classic Platonic dichotomy between the intelligible sphere and the sensible, corporeal one. At the same time, they emphasise the fact that the soul originally belonged to the intelligible and divine realm, from which it descended to earth. The soul is called to reascend to this higher realm through a process that can be achieved

7 F. Cumont, Les religions orientales dans le paganisme, C. Bonnet & F. van Haeperen (eds.) (Turin: Aragno, 2006; orig.: Paris, 1906) 195. On the reception of this definition, see now Seng, Un livre sacré, 19–20. 8 In my view, a convincing position is adopted by Addey, Divination and Theurgy, 10, who states that the “collection represented a set of discrete oracles rather than a continuous and lengthy poem.” See too Tanaseanu-Döbler, Theurgy in Late Antiquity, 25.

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by resorting both to an intellectual—or, rather, “hyper-intellectual”—element, and to a complex ritual process that takes the name of “theurgy.”9 Upon closer inspection, the Chaldaean universe may be seen to present a tripartite structure, insofar as alongside the two above-mentioned spheres— the divine, intelligible sphere and the corporeal, mortal one—we may add a third sphere, that of the stars, which occupies an intermediate position and connects the transcendent realm to the earthly one. Many parallels for this kind of tripartition are to be found in the ancient Platonic tradition, starting from Xenocrates, who apparently acknowledged the existence of three types of οὐσία: a sensible substance, located in the heavens, which is to say in the sublunary world; a noetic one, located ἐκτὸς οὐρανοῦ, which is to say outside the heavens, in the transcendental sphere; and finally an intermediate substance, corresponding to the heavens themselves, which is to say the stars (Xenocr. fr. 2 Isnardi Parente).10 Although no explicit references to this tripartition are to be found in the surviving fragments, the ancient testimonia would appear to assign the CO a tripartite system with a concentric structure. At the highest level stands the κόσμος ἐμπύριος, which is to say the fiery divine region governed by the Father and encompassing the intelligible principles. Below it lies the κόσμος αἰθέριος, where the stars are located, while the lowest and most internal region is the κόσμος ὑλαῖος, i.e. the earth, which represents the realm of nature (φύσις), necessity (ἀνάγκη), and fate (εἱμαρμένη).11

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On theurgy, a complex ritual system designed to promote or bring about the soul’s encounter with the divine sphere and the absolute principle of reality, see van Liefferinge, La Théurgie, passim, Tanaseanu-Döbler, Theurgy in Late Antiquity, passim, and Addey, Divination and Theurgy, passim. A useful reconstruction of the various attitudes that the Neoplatonists adopted with regard to theurgy may be found in S. Knipe, “Filosofia, religione, teurgia,” in R. Chiaradonna (ed.), Filosofia tardoantica (Roma: Carocci, 2012) 253– 272. On Xenocrates’ tripartition, see J. Dillon, The Heirs of Plato: A Study of the Old Academy (347–274 BC) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003) 123–129, 132–133; see too the ad locum commentary by M. Isnardi Parente, Senocrate e Ermodoro: Testimonianze e frammenti, ed. a cura di T. Dorandi (Pisa: Edizioni della Normale, 2012) 240–242. See e.g. Procl., In Tim. 2.57.9–12 (Diehl): Τί οὖν; φαίη τις ἂν τῶν ἐκ ⟨τῆς ὑπερορίου θεοσοφίας⟩ ὡρμημένων καὶ τὰ πάντα διαιρουμένων εἰς ἐμπύριον αἰθέριον ὑλαῖον, καὶ μόνον τὸ ἐμφανὲς ὑλαῖον καλούντων· (“How about this? Suppose there were someone prompted by foreign theosophy who divides all things into an empyrian region, an aetherial region and a material one, and calls only the visible region material”). On the tripartition of the Chaldaean universe, see H. Lewy, Chaldaean Oracles and Theurgy (New edition by M. Tardieu; Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1978; orig.: Cairo, 1956) 137–157, and Seng, Un livre sacré, 84–87.

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Within this cosmological and metaphysical framework, the soul is conceived as a sort of cosmic wanderer that in its process of descent from the divine sphere onto earth acquires the “corporeal” features of the astral spheres it passes through. In making its way down from the divine sphere to the terrestrial region, through the sphere of the stars, the soul takes on the latter’s “ethereal” nature (CO fr. 61 Des Places), becoming a “pneumatic soul”. While not entirely corporeal, πνεῦμα represents a sort of “vehicle” (ὄχημα) of the soul (CO fr. 120 Des Places), which turns into a body via contact with matter. In this respect, the πνεῦμα which the soul absorbs from the stars, and which in a way represents its first form of embodiment, may be regarded as the medium by which it prepares itself to enter in contact with earthly matter.12 Once it has reached the earthly sphere, which is to say the realm of necessity, the soul loses its original divine condition, forgets its birth, and is no longer capable of entering in contact with the Father, which is to say the transcendental sphere: Ἀλλ’ οὐκ εἰσδέχεται κείνης τὸ θέλειν πατρικὸς νοῦς, μέχρις ἂν ἐξέλθῃ λήθης καὶ ῥῆμα λαλήσῃ μνήμην ἐνθεμένη πατρικοῦ συνθήματος ἁγνοῦ. But the Paternal Intellect does not receive the will (of the soul) until she emerges from forgetfulness and speaks a word, remembering the pure, paternal token. CO fr. 109 Des Places; transl. Majercik

The soul can re-establish contact with the divine realm from which it has sprung only through the signs (συνθήματα) that the Father has strewn across the cosmos during the generative process. This idea that the Paternal Intellect has scattered symbols (σύμβολα) throughout the cosmos that evoke his presence and which the soul can employ in order to ascend to the transcendental realm is clearly at work in fr. 108 of the collection: Σύμβολα γὰρ πατρικὸς νόος ἔσπειρεν κατὰ κόσμον, ὃς τὰ νοητὰ νοεῖ· καὶ κάλλη ἄφραστα καλεῖται.

12

See O. Geudtner, Die Seelenlehre der chaldäischen Orakel (Meisenheim am Glan: Anton Hain, 1971) 22–24, according to whom πνεῦμα serves for the soul as “Vorstufe ihrer körperlichen Existenz auf die Erde.”

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For the Paternal Intellect has sown symbols throughout the cosmos, (the Intellect) which thinks the intelligibles. And (these intelligibles) are called inexpressible beauties. CO fr. 108 Des Places; transl. Majercik13 The philosophical thought expressed or implied by the CO thus presupposes the Platonic dichotomy between intelligible and corporeal, divine and mortal: the former element is the realm of light and truth, while the latter is the abode of darkness and is dominated by nature and fate. We can therefore understand those oracles calling for one to leave behind all that belongs to the physical world in order to turn to the transcendental and divine sphere. In fr. 102 we read: Μὴ φύσιν ἐμβλέψῃς· εἱμαρμένον οὔνομα τῆσδε (“Do not gaze at Nature; her name is Destiny”). Fr. 116 instead explicitly denies that it is possible to access the divine sphere and confirms the need to relinquish all that pertains to corporeality: οὐ γὰρ ἐφικτὰ τὰ θεῖα βροτοῖς τοῖς σῶμα νοοῦσιν, / ἀλλ’ ὅσσοι γυμνῆτες ἄνω σπεύδουσι πρὸς ὕψος (“For the Divine is accessible not to mortals who think corporeally, / but to all those who, naked, hasten upward toward the heights”).14 The “Platonic” contrast between the divine world and the material one is most explicitly formulated in fr. 134 of the collection. The oracle urges one to relinquish everything belonging to the earthly sphere, which is marked by death and pestilence, in order to turn towards the Paternal Intellect, the source and principle of the intelligible realm: Μηδ’ ἐπὶ μισοφαῆ κόσμον σπεύδειν λάβρον ὕλης, ἔνθα φόνος στάσιές τε καὶ ἀργαλέων φύσις ἀτμῶν αὐχμηραί τε νόσοι καὶ σήψιες ἔργα τε ῥευστά· ταῦτα χρεὼ φεύγειν τὸν ἐρᾶν μέλλοντα πατρὸς νοῦ. Do not hasten to the light-hating world, boisterous of matter, where there is murder, discord, foul odours, squalid illnesses, corruptions, and fluctuating works. He who intends to love the Intellect of the Father must flee these things. trans. Majercik 13

14

In commenting on this fragment, R. Majercik, The Chaldean Oracles. Text, Translation, and Commentary (Leiden-New York-Boston-Köln: Brill, 1989) 182, observes: “These symbols are equivalent to the tokens (συνθήματα) as voces mysticae. This expression also designates the sacred materia (e.g. stones, herbs, scents) handled by the theurgist during some of the Chaldean rites.” On the nature and function of symbols and signs in the Chaldaean rites, see Tanaseanu-Döbler, Theurgy in Late Antiquity, 30–33. On this oracle see Majercik, The Chaldean Oracles, 186, and Seng, Un livre sacré, 120.

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In some oracular responses we find indications concerning the backward “path” that the soul must follow (through the ethereal realm of the stars) in order to rejoin the intelligible sphere (e.g. fr. 110 Des Places). This is a highly significant aspect of the thought expressed in the CO, but I cannot dwell on it here. Instead, it is important to note how the adoption of the Platonic dichotomy between the earthly world and the noetic and divine sphere acquires a chiefly soteriological meaning in the CO. Although echoes are to be found of some central Platonic themes, such as that of the soul’s affinity (συγγένεια) with the intelligible world from which it originates (cf. fr. 25 Des Places), there is no doubt that the CO essentially ignore the kind of epistemological concerns in relation to which Plato frames the issue of the soul’s “affinity” with the transcendental sphere.15 On a general philosophical level, the CO would appear to foreshadow a thesis that was destined to be systematically developed by Iamblichus and accepted by practically all Neoplatonist philosophers. This is the thesis according to which the soul of man, while having a divine and transcendent origin, fully descends into the body and is therefore incapable of reuniting itself with the intellectual sphere through its own powers. The reference to theurgic rites would therefore be designed to provide an “external aid” to the soul, allowing it to bridge the gap created by its “fall” into the corporeal and material world.16

The Hierarchy of the Intelligible World In general terms, the metaphysics expounded or implied by the CO might be described as a form of ontogonic monism, whereby the whole of reality is generated by a single principle, operating through a series of intermediate entities. The latter may be regarded as powers or faculties (δυνάμεις) of the Supreme Principle that are virtually identical to it, but possess an ontological consistency of their own once they become actualised.17 In the Chaldaean system every 15 16

17

Concerning this aspect, I will refer the reader to F. Ferrari, Platone, Menone (traduzione, introduzione e commento) (Milan: Bur, 2016) 42–53. On theurgy as an alternative to the Plotinian conception of the undescended soul, see now M. Bonazzi, Il platonismo (Turin: Einaudi, 2015) 151–158. On the anthropological assumptions on the basis of which an author such as Iamblichus could resort to theurgy as a means to achieve a closer contact with the intelligible than the one ensured by intellectual knowledge, see Knipe, Filosofia, religione, teurgia, 264–270. See Lewy, Chaldaean Oracles, 79: “These intermediaries are His faculties who in their virtuality are identical with the Supreme Being, but acquire in the state of actuality a particular existence.”

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act of the Supreme Entity engenders new noetic orders, which are described as procreations, emanations or divisions of the principle. The idea that the Supreme Principle encloses reality as a whole in a prototypical and hypercompressed form would appear to be implied by fr. 21, quoted by Damascius: … πάντ’ ἐστὶ γάρ, ἀλλὰ νοητῶς (… for he [the Father] is all things, but intelligibly). According to the CO, the intelligible world and even the ideas are powers generated by the Supreme Principle and in turn exercising a generative and ordering function vis-à-vis reality, and in particular the sensible world. One of the most extensive and complex oracles in the collection provides an evocative and metaphorical description of the role of the ideas, which are generated by the Father’s thought: Νοῦς πατρὸς ἐρροίζησε νοήσας ἀκμάδι βουλῇ παμμόρφους ἰδέας, πηγῆς δὲ μιᾶς ἄπο πᾶσαι ἐξέθορον· πατρόθεν γὰρ ἔην βουλή τε τέλος τε. Ἀλλ’ ἐμερίσθησαν νοερῷ πυρὶ μοιρηθεῖσαι εἰς ἄλλας νοεράς· κόσμῳ γὰρ ἄναξ πολυμόρφῳ προὔθηκεν νοερὸν τύπον ἄφθιτον, οὗ κατ’ ἄκοσμον ἴχνος ἐπειγόμενος μορφῆς μέτα κόσμος ἐφάνθη παντοίαις ἰδέαις κεχαραγμένος· ὧν μία πηγή, ἐξ ἧς ῥοιζοῦνται μεμερισμέναι ἄλλαι ἄπλατοι ῥηγνύμεναι κόσμου περὶ σώμασιν, αἳ περὶ κόλπους σμερδαλέους σμήνεσσιν ἐοικυῖαι φορέονται στράπτουσαι περί τ’ ἀμφὶ παρασχεδὸν ἄλλυδις ἄλλῃ, ἔννοιαι νοεραὶ πηγῆς πατρικῆς ἄπο, πουλὺ δρεπτόμεναι πυρὸς ἄνθος ἀκοιμήτου χρόνου ἀκμῇ. Ἀρχεγόνους ἰδέας πρώτη πατρὸς ἔβλυσε τάσδε αὐτοτελὴς πηγή. The Intellect of the Father, while thinking with its vigorous will, shot forth the multiformed Ideas. All these leapt forth from one Source, for from the Father comes both will and perfection. But the Ideas were divided by the Intelligible Fire and allotted to other intelligibles. For the Ruler placed before the multiformed cosmos an intelligible and imperishable model from which, along a disorderly track, the word with its form hastened to appear engraved with multiform Ideas. There is one Source for these, from which other terrible (Ideas), divided, shoot forth, breaking themselves on the bodies of the worlds. Those which are borne around the frightful wombs like a swarm of bees

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– flashing here and there in various directions— are the intelligible Thoughts from the Paternal Source, which pluck in abundance the flower of fire from the acme of sleepless Time. The first self-perfected Source of the Father spouted forth these primordial Ideas CO fr. 37 Des Places = Baust. 197.7l Dörrie-Baltes; transl. Majercik18 Shrouded in a metaphorical language that is difficult to decipher, this fragment would appear to conceal some important philosophical theses that are also common to other Middle Platonist texts, and which directly or indirectly derive from an exegesis of the Timaeus.19 It is worth outlining at least some of these theses: a) the Supreme Principle of reality acts as an intellect (νοῦς) that engenders the ideas, which are therefore “thoughts of God” (νοήματα τοῦ θεοῦ);20 b) the primordial ideas generated by the Father are “divided” into other ideas by the “intelligible fire” (πῦρ νοερόν), that is to say the τεχνίτης κόσμου (CO fr. 5 Des Places = Baust. 197.7c), which is no doubt to be identified as a second intellect, akin to the demiurge or “second god” posited by some Middle-Platonist authors, such as Alcinous and Numenius; c) the metaphysics of the CO, then, would appear to distinguish two levels within the intelligible world: a first, unified and “compressed level”, which comprises the primordial ideas and stands as the eternal paradigm of the cosmos, and a second level of “divided” (μεμερισμέναι) ideas, which presumably represent those entities by means of which the demiurge orders matter;21 d) these ideas operate in

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On the remarkable problems raised by this oracle, see the commentary in Majercik, The Chaldean Oracles, 156–158. See too L. Albanese & P. Mander, La teurgia nel mondo antico. Mesopotamia, Egitto, Oracoli Caldaici. Misteri Egiziani (Genoa: ECIG, 2011) 92–95. On the CO as a “religious interpretation of the Timaeus,” see L. Brisson, “Plato’s Timaeus and the Chaldaean Oracles,” in G. Reydams-Shils (ed.), Plato’s ‘Timaeus’ as Cultural Icon (Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame University Press, 2003) 111–132. Also in Alcin., Didasc. 164.27–31 (= Baust. 188.1 Dörrie-Baltes) the activity of the divine intellect, which is to say the first God (πρῶτος θεός), engenders the ideas, which are therefore “thoughts of God”. See J. Dillon, Alcinous, The Handbook of Platonism (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993) 103–107, and M. Baltes, Der Platonismus in der Antike. Grundlagen, System, Entwiklung, vol. 7.1: Die philosophische Lehre des Platonismus. Theologia Platonica (Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: Frommann-Holzboog, 2008) 329–330. On the “division” of the forms accomplished by the demiurge, which is to say the second intellect, see J. Finamore & S.I. Johnston, “The Chaldaean Oracles,” in L.P. Gerson (ed.), The Cambridge History of Philosophy in Late Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010) vol. 1, 161–173, part. 164.

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and around the womb—presumably, Hecate’s womb—which probably ought to be identified as the World Soul (fr. 28; 32; 35, etc.), which receives the ideas from the intelligible world.22 The Chaldaean metaphysical system, therefore, appears as a form of ontogonic monism, whereby a Supreme Principle engenders reality—including both intelligible and sensible reality—by relying on intermediate entities, which in a way constitute “emanations” of this principle. From a philosophical point of view, the most significant aspect of the Chaldaean doctrine consists in the distinction drawn, in relation to the divine sphere, between a demiurgic function, which is assigned to the divine craftsman described in the Timaeus, and an “ontological” function, which is attributed to an intellect superior to the demiurgic one and responsible for the generation of the ideas. The CO would thus appear to rightfully belong to that Middle Platonist “current” which finds its chief representatives in Numenius and Alcinous, and which conceives the divine sphere in hierarchical terms, either explicitly or implicitly drawing a clear-cut distinction between the idea of the Good (Republic VI) and the demiurge of the Timaeus.23 While this distinction is to be found in many oracles,24 the most famous text in which it occurs is undoubtedly fragment 7 of the collection. A parallel for it is offered by Numenius, as scholars have not failed to note:

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According to Majercik, The Chaldean Oracles, 157, it is the “womb of the World Soul which receives the Ideas.” In the Chaldaean system, the goddess Hecate would appear to embody not so much an individual entity, as a mediating function which operates on different levels of reality: see Brisson, Plato’s Timaeus, 118–119, and Seng, Un livre sacré, 54–56. On the two contrasting versions of Middle Platonist theology—one tending to identify the demiurge with the idea of the Good (Plutarch and Atticus), the other to clearly separate the two entities and to assign primacy to the idea of the Good, identified with the first God and the first intellect, which is to say the prime unmoved mover of Metaph. XII, see F. Ferrari, “Metafisica e teologia nel medioplatonismo,” Rivista di Storia della Filosofia 70 (2015) 321–337. According to the theological and metaphysical schema of the CO, the demiurgic intellect presents a “dyadic” structure, insofar as—following an established model among Middle Platonist authors (e.g. Numen. fr. 15 Des Places = Baust. 197.3 Dörrie-Baltes)—it is directed both towards the Paternal Intellect, which generates and contains the intelligibles, and towards the sensible cosmos, which it orders by means of the ideas (CO fr. 5 and 8). In the light of this we can also understand the mysterious statement that the Father is ἅπαξ ἐπέκεινα, whereas the craftsman of the cosmos, which is to say the second intellect, is δὶς ἐπέκεινα (CO fr. 169 Des Places): the former is simply and absolutely transcendent, whereas the latter presents a twofold nature; on this formula, see H. Seng, “Ἅπαξ ἐπέκεινα und δὶς ἐπέκεινα,” in A. Lecerf, L. Saudelli & H. Seng (eds.), Oracles Chaldaïques. Fragments et philosophie (Heidelberg: Winter, 2010) 31–46.

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Πάντα γὰρ ἐξετέλεσσε πατὴρ καὶ νῷ παρέδωκε / δευτέρῳ, ὃν πρῶτον κληΐζετε πᾶν γένος ἀνδρῶν For the Father perfected all things and handed them over to the Second / Intellect, which you—the entire human race—call the First Intellect. OC fr. 7 Des Places = Baust. 197.7d Dörrie-Baltes; transl. Majercik

A comparison with fr. 17 of Numenius proves particularly instructive, as it shows that the distinction between the demiurge and the “unknown God” goes hand in hand with an acknowledgement of the incapacity of men—or at any rate the majority of mankind—to get to know a principle that is different from, and superior to, the demiurge and craftsman: Ἐπειδὴ ᾔδει ὁ Πλάτων παρὰ τοῖς ἀνθρώποις τὸν μὲν δημιουργὸν γιγνωσκόμενον μόνον, τὸν μέντοι πρῶτον νοῦν, ὅστις καλεῖται αὐτοόν, παντάπασιν ἀγνοούμενον παρ’ αὐτοῖς, διὰ τοῦτο οὕτως εἶπεν ὥσπερ ἄν τις οὕτω λέγοι· ‘Ὦ ἄνθρωποι, ὃν τοπάζετε ὑμεῖς νοῦν οὐκ ἔστι πρῶτος, ἀλλ’ ἕτερος πρὸ τούτου νοῦς πρεσβύτερος καὶ θειότερος’. Plato knew that among mankind only the Demiurge is know, while the First Intellect who is called absolute Being is completely unknown among them. For this reason he spoke thus, as if one were to say “O men, the one which you surmise to be Intellect is not the First, rather there is another Intellect before this one which is more august and more divine”. Numen. fr. 17 Des Places = Baust. 189.4 Dörrie-Baltes; transl. Petty25 The above texts beg the question of what nature this principle superior to the demiurge possesses. What is this Father who, according to the CO, has entrusted all things to the demiurgic intellect, and whom men are incapable of knowing and confuse with the demiurge? It must be acknowledged that the statements contained in the CO fragments are marked by certain tensions, if not genuine contradictions. It must be added, however, that a certain wavering with regard to the nature of the supreme principle of reality is also present in texts coeval with the CO and characterised by a greater attention to the philosophical aspects of Platonism, as witnessed by the cases of Numenius and Alcinous. 25

On these two important documents, see the commentary in M. Baltes, Der Platonismus in der Antike, 361–362 and 484–492. On fr. 17 of Numenius, see too R. Petty, Fragments of Numenius of Apamea (Westbury: The Prometheus Trust, 2012) 166–169.

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The oracular responses alternate between utterances which seem to conceive the absolute principle as devoid of all positive characteristics and hence essentially ineffable, and fragments presenting it in a somewhat defined way, or at any rate in relational terms, by referring to it as πατήρ (fr. 3; 7), νοῦς (fr. 7; 20 etc.), πατρικὸς νοῦς (fr. 39,1; 49,2; 108; 109), ἀρχή (fr. 13), πηγὴ τῶν πηγῶν (fr. 30), ἀγαθόν and πατρικὴ μονάς (fr. 11), etc.26 There would appear to be two aspects to the Supreme Being: in itself it is the “Absolute Abyss” or “Paternal Abyss” (πατρικὸς βυθός: fr. 18 Des Places = Baust. 197.7g Dörrie-Baltes), but as a generative principle, it manifests itself in the form of a δύναμις that chiefly expresses itself noetically. In this respect, the content of fr. 3 and 4 (Baust. 197.7a–b Dörrie-Baltes) proves particularly revealing: ὁ πατὴρ ἥρπασσεν ἑαυτόν, / οὐδ’ ἐν ἑῇ δυνάμει νοερᾷ κλείσας ἴδιον πῦρ (“the Father snatched himself away, / and did not enclose his own fire in his intellectual Power”), and ἡ μὲν γὰρ δύναμις σὺν ἐκείνῳ, νοῦς δ’ ἀπ’ ἐκείνου (“For Power is with him, but Intellect is from him”). It is difficult to set statement of this sort within a unitary and coherent theoretical framework. Nevertheless, there is no doubt that the explanation provided several decades ago by Hans Lewy in his landmark monograph on the CO still constitutes an excellent point of reference to understand this theoretical constellation: “The Supreme Being is said to be withdrawn from the inferior entities; but He does not enclose His Fire in His Power; that is to say the personality of the Father remains transcendent, but His action unfolds itself through His Power.”27 Besides, a similar “tension” between the assignment of the status of metacosmic (i.e. metademiurgic) intellect to the principle and its placement above the intellect (ἐπέκεινα τοῦ νοῦ) also marks a famous passage from Alcinous’ Didascalicus, assuming that the text transmitted by the manuscripts is reliable and, in particular, that the clause καὶ ὅπερ ἂν ἔτι ἀνωτέρω τούτων ὑφέστηκεν does not represent a late Neoplatonic insertion:28

26

27

28

On this “tension” between absolute transcendence and unpredictability, on the one hand, and the attribution of positive predicates on the other, see Brisson, Plato’s Timaeus, 115, and Baltes, Der Platonismus in der Antike, 484–486. Lewy, Chaldaean Oracles, 78–79. Much the same position is found in Baltes, Der Platonismus in der Antike, 485, according to whom the Supreme Being “seinem Wesen nach ist ja abgründige, unergründliche Tiefe, zugleich aber auch Feur, erstes, transzendentes Feuer …”, and Intellect, Paternal Intellect, Father, Source of all sources, etc. This is suggested, perhaps rightly so, by Baltes, Der Platonismus in der Antike, 324. However, see too the commentary in Dillon, Alcinous, 102–103.

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Ἐπεὶ δὲ ψυχῆς νοῦς ἀμείνων, νοῦ δὲ τοῦ ἐν δυνάμει ὁ κατ’ ἐνέργειαν πάντα νοῶν καὶ ἅμα καὶ ἀεί, τούτου δὲ καλλίων ὁ αἴτιος τούτου καὶ ὅπερ ἂν ἔτι ἀνωτέρω τούτων ὑφέστηκεν, οὗτος ἂν εἴη ὁ πρῶτος θεός, αἴτιος ὑπάρχων τοῦ ἀεὶ ἐνεργεῖν τῷ νῷ τοῦ σύμπαντος οὐρανοῦ. Since the intellect is superior to soul, and superior to potential intellect there is actualized intellect, which cognizes everything simultaneously and eternally, and finer than this again is the cause of this and whatever it is that has an existence still prior to these, this it is that would be the primal God, being the cause of the eternal activity of the intellect of the whole heaven. Alcin. Didasc. 163.18–23 = Baust. 188.1 Dörrie-Baltes; transl. Dillon

As one can see, Alcinous too speaks in rather uncertain terms of the nature of the First God, whose status as intellect (νοῦς) might only be the first manifestation of an entity that in itself stands above the intellect (see too 165.5: “God is ineffable and graspable only by the intellect”).

The Knowledge of the Supreme Being The last aspect of the philosophical thought of the CO on which it is worth dwelling is the question of the knowledge of the Supreme Being. This is a problem addressed by almost all Platonist authors of the Imperial age and which lies at the origin of the well-known conception of the three procedures leading to the knowledge of the principle: the via negationis, the via analogiae, and the via eminentiae.29 While no systematic doctrine is formulated in the CO, certain statements are quite interesting. The most significant text is fr. 1 of the collection. It has been preserved by Damascius, who may have partially altered the meaning of the oracle to suit his own philosophical perspective. The oracle comprises the following verses: Ἔστιν γάρ τι νοητόν, ὃ χρή σε νοεῖν νόου ἄνθει· ἢν γὰρ ἐπεγκλίνῃς σὸν νοῦν κἀκεῖνο νοήσῃς ὥς τι νοῶν, οὐ κεῖνο νοήσεις· ἔστι γὰρ ἀλκῆς

29

These three procedures are already to be found in Alcin. Didasc. 165.16–34. See Dillon, Alcinous, 107–111, and Dillon, The Middle Platonists, 284–285.

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ἀμφιφαοῦς δύναμις νοεραῖς στράπτουσα τομαῖσιν. Οὐ δὴ χρὴ σφοδρότητι νοεῖν τὸ νοητὸν ἐκεῖνο ἀλλὰ νόου ταναοῦ ταναῇ φλογὶ πάντα μετρούσῃ πλὴν τὸ νοητὸν ἐκεῖνο· χρεὼ δὴ τοῦτο νοῆσαι οὐκ ἀτενῶς, ἀλλ’ ἁγνὸν ἀπόστροφον ὄμμα φέροντα σῆς ψυχῆς τεῖναι κενεὸν νόον εἰς τὸ νοητόν, / ὄφρα μάθῃς τὸ νοητόν, ἐπεὶ νόου ἔξω ὑπάρχει. For there exists a certain Intelligible which you must perceive by the flower of mind. For you should incline your mind toward it as perceiving a specific thing, you would not perceive it. For it is the power of strength, visible all around, flashing with intellectual divisions. Therefore, you must not perceive that Intelligible violently but with the flame of mind completely extended which measures all things, except that Intelligible. You must not perceive it intently, but keeping the pure eye of your soul turned away, you should extend an empty mind toward the Intelligible in order to comprehend it, since it exists outside of (your) mind.30 CO fr. 1 Des Places; transl. Majercik

It is a real challenge to find one’s way through the meanders of a text so rich in metaphors and analogies, and to derive a consistent and non-contradictory conception from it.31 Still, it is possible to establish some clear points. First of all, it must be noted that the supreme principle of reality is an intelligible (νοητόν) of an extraordinary nature, insofar as it does not present itself as something determinate, which is to say possessing a specific content. This might mean that the Supreme Being encompasses all intelligible reality in a condensed and undifferentiated form, according to a theoretical model similar to the one possibly adopted by Numenius (cf. fr. 22 Des Places = Baust.

30

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On this famous fragment, see Lewy, Chaldaean Oracles, 165–169; Majercik, The Chaldean Oracles, 138–140; A. Linguiti, “Motivi di teologia negativa negli Oracoli Caldaici,” in F. Calabi (ed.), Arrhetos Theos. L’ineffabilità del primo principio nel medioplatonismo (Pisa: ETS, 2002) 103–117, in part. 114–117; and Zambon, Porphyre et le moyen-platonisme, 259– 261. Lewy, Chaldaean Oracles, 165, rightly notes: “This oracle is couched in the obscure symbolic language characteristic of the Chaldaean Oracles.”

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197.5 Dörrie-Baltes).32 Be that as it may, the soul can get to know the Supreme Being through the “flower of the intellect” (νόου ἄνθος), which is to say through a particular psychic function, superior to the mere intellect. In other words, contact with the absolute principle requires the adoption of a hyper-noetic mode, which operates at a higher level than the ordinary processes of the human intellect, even though the latter is not wholly devoid of it. In all likelihood, what is at work behind the statement in question is the principle according to which like is known by like. The somehow indeterminate nature of this νοητόν discourages any approach based on a “violent” and “wilful” cognitive attitude. Rather, it suggests the adoption of an attitude of self-abandonment allowing the soul to “empty” itself and turn towards the supreme intelligible. Contact with the principle is not conceived as an intentional act of cognition, but as a “passive” condition in which the soul is filled with divine light.33 The presence of the motif of self-abandonment, which recalls that of silence34 (very dear to a Neoplatonist like Damascius), sketches out a phenomenon which is closer to an experience than it is to any actual process of knowledge-acquisition. At this stage, the kind of contact described would seem to have little to do with thought (νοεῖν), as Proclus himself realised—one of the Neoplatonist authors who most fell under the spell of the CO, and who went so far as to state that τὸ νοεῖν ἐκεῖνο μὴ νοεῖν ἐστι (CO 209.29 Des Places).

Bibliography Addey, C., Divination and Theurgy in Neoplatonism. Oracles of God (Burlington: Ashgate, 2014). Albanese, L. & Mander, P., La teurgia nel mondo antico. Mesopotamia, Egitto, Oracoli Caldaici. Misteri Egiziani (Genova: ECIG, 2011). Baltes, M., Der Platonismus in der Antike. Grundlagen—System—Entwiklung, Bd. 7.1: Die philosophische Lehre des Platonismus. Theologia Platonica (Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: Frommann-Holzboog, 2008).

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See here the interpretation put forward by A. Michalewski, “Le Premier de Numénius et l’ Un de Plotin,” Archives de Philosophie 75 (2012) 29–48, in part. 35–36; see too Baltes, Der Platonismus in der Antike, 476–478. See Lewy, Chaldaean Oracles, 175: “… the process of ‘cognition’ was not regarded as an autonomous act of apprehension, but as the state of being filled with the divine light.” Cf. CO fr. 16: … τῇ θεοθρέμμονι σιγῇ τῶν πατέρων … (in the god-nourishing silence of the Father).

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Bonazzi, M., Il platonismo (Turin: Einaudi, 2015). Brisson, L., “Plato’s Timaeus and the Chaldaean Oracles”, in G. Reydams-Shils (ed.), Plato’s Timaeus as Cultural Icon (Notre Dame: Notre Dame University Press, 2003) 111–132. Cumont, F., Les Religions orientales dans le paganisme, éd. par C. Bonnet & F. van Haeperen (Turin: Aragno, 2006, orig.: Paris 1906). Dillon, J., “Plotinus and the Chaldaean Oracles”, in S. Gersh & C. Kannengiesser (eds.), Platonism in Late Antiquity. Mélanges Édouard Des Places (Notre Dame: Notre Dame University Press, 1992) 131–140. Dillon, J., Alcinous, The Handbook of Platonism (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993). Dillon, J., The Middle Platonists 80 B.C. to A.D.220, Revised edition with a new afterword (Ithaca-New York: Cornell University Press, 1996). Dillon, J., The Heirs of Plato: A Study of the Old Academy (347–274BC) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003). Ferrari, F., “Metafisica e teologia nel medioplatonismo”, Rivista di Storia della Filosofia 70 (2015) 321–337. Ferrari, F., Platone, Menone, traduzione, introduzione e commento (Milan: Bur, 2016). Finamore, J. & Johnston, S.I., “The Chaldaean Oracles”, in L.P. Gerson (ed.), The Cambridge History of Philosophy in Late Antiquity, vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010) 161–173. Geudtner, O., Die Seelenlehre der chaldäischen Orakel (Meisenheim am Glan: Verlag Anton Hain, 1971). Isnardi Parente, M., Senocrate e Ermodoro: Testimonianze e frammenti, edizione rivista e aggiornata a cura di T. Dorandi (Pisa: Edizioni della Normale, 2012). Knipe, S., “Filosofia, religione, teurgia”, in R. Chiaradonna (ed.), Filosofia tardoantica (Roma: Carocci, 2012) 253–272. Lewy, H., Chaldaean Oracles and Theurgy, Nouvelle édition par M. Tardieu (Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1978, orig. Le Caire 1956). Linguiti, A., “Motivi di teologia negativa negli Oracoli Caldaici”, in F. Calabi (ed.), Arrhetos Theos. L’ineffabilità del primo principio nel medioplatonismo (Pisa: ETS, 2002) 103–117. Majercik, R., The Chaldean Oracles. Text, Translation, and Commentary (Leiden-New York-Boston-Köln: Brill, 1989). Michalewski, A., “Le Premier de Numénius et l’Un de Plotin”, Archives de Philosophie 75 (2012) 29–48. Petty, R., Fragments of Numenius of Apamea (Westbury: The Prometheus Trust, 2012). Seng, H., “Ἅπαξ ἐπέκεινα und δὶς ἐπέκεινα”, in A. Lecerf, L. Saudelli & H. Seng (eds.), Oracles Chaldaïques. Fragments et philosophie (Heidelberg: Winter, 2010) 31–46. Seng, H., Un livre sacré de l’antiquité tardive: les Oracles Chaldaïques (Turnhout: Brepols, 2016).

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Soares Santoprete, L.-G., “Tracing the Connections between ‘Mainstream’ Platonism (Middle- and Neo-Platonism) and ‘Marginal’ Platonism (Gnosticism, Hermeticism and the Chaldean Oracles) with Digital Tools: The Database, the Bibliographical Directory, and the Research Blog The Platonism of Late Antiquity”, in H. Seng & G. Sfameni Gasparro (eds.), Theologische Orakel in der Spätantike (Heidelberg: Winter, 2016) 9–45. Tanaseanu-Döbler, I., Theurgy in Late Antiquity. The Invention of a Ritual Tradition (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht: 2013). Van den Kerchove, A., “Le mode de révélation dans les Oracles Chaldaïques et dans les traités hermétiques”, in H. Seng & M. Tardieu (eds.), Die Chaldaeischen Orakel: Kontext-Interpretation-Rezeption (Heidelberg: Winter, 2010) 145–162. Van Lieffering, C., La Théurgie. Des Oracles Chaldaïques à Proclus (CIÉRGA: Liège, 1999). Zambon, M., Porphyre et le moyen-platonisme (Paris: Vrin, 2002).

chapter 17

Marriage, Cult and City in Plutarch’s Erotikos Aristoula Georgiadou

Public and Private Homonoia Already at the beginning of the Erotikos,* the reader is promptly reminded of its unmistakable positioning within the tradition of erotikoi logoi (τοὺς περὶ Ἔρωτος λόγους, 748D).1 Composed most likely in the last ten years of Plutarch’s life (ca. 120CE), and certainly after the extinction of the Flavian dynasty in 96 CE,2 the Erotikos is firmly anchored in the tradition of Platonic and Platonising erotikoi logoi. This tradition is further enriched and influenced by other philosophical schools of thought, especially the Stoics and the Neopythagoreans, which we find expressed in the Peri erotos3 and Peri gamou4 surviving * My gratitude for valuable insights in this chapter goes, once again, to Angeliki Tzanetou. 1 For a discussion of the Platonic intertext of the Erotikos, as well as its influence by motifs from the Old and the New Comedy, see A. Georgiadou, “Playing with intertexts in Plutarch’s Erotikos,” ICS 35–36 (2010–2011) 69–84; for a detailed analysis of its Platonic landscape, see R. Hunter, “Plato as Classic: Plutarch’s Amatorius,” in R. Hunter (ed.), Plato and the Traditions of Ancient Literature: The Silent Stream (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012) 185– 222. 2 On the estimated date of composition of the dialogue, see C.P. Jones, “Towards a chronology of Plutarch’s works,” JRS 56 (1966) 61–74, esp. 66; R. Flacelière (ed.), Plutarque. Oeuvres morales, X, Dialogue sur l’ amour (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1980) 7–11; H. Görgemanns, “Einführung,” in H. Görgemanns et al., Plutarch. Dialog über die Liebe (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006) 3–38, esp. 6–7. The extinction of the Flavian dynasty (96 CE), which is mentioned at 771C, constitutes the most secure chronological marker (a terminus post quem) in the entire text. Plutarch’s visit to Thespiai points to the dramatic dating of the debate, which clearly antedates the conjectured date of composition and may be assigned to the early period of his marriage (perhaps in the early 70’s) and before the birth of his son Autoboulos (749B). 3 There is a small collection of fragments from Plutarch’s On Love (Peri erotos), which survive through Stobaeus (4.20.34, 4.20.67–69, 4.21.15, Hense) and are compiled by F.H. Sandbach, Plutarch. Moralia, vol. 15 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press (Loeb Classical Library), 1969) frs. 134–137. 4 Stobaeus (Hense) preserves parts of the Peri gamou and related works of the Stoic Hierocles (4.22.21–24); Antipater of Tarsus (4.22.25 [= SVF 1.63]); Nicostratus of Macedon (4.22.102; 4.23.62–65), and Musonius Rufus (4.22.90). On the Stoic influence on the Peri gamou literature of the imperial period, see S. Swain, Hellenism and Empire (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996) 119–120; F.E. Brenk, “Sliding atoms or supernatural light. Plutarch’s Erotikos and the “On

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literature, but also by the Ei gameteon rhetorical exercises, which were current in Plutarch’s time. To all these philosophical and rhetorical strands, including other related genres such as the Greek novel and New Comedy, Plutarch is “both heir and best witness.”5 It is Michel Foucault’s History of Sexuality that brought the Erotikos, along with other moralising and technical/medical texts of the High Roman Empire, to the limelight.6 In order to understand the transition from pagan to Christian varieties of sexual experience, Foucault delved into the literature of the first three centuries of the common era, as it reflected, with various degrees of emphasis, an unparalleled high level of concern for the wife’s role in the household and the family, as well as a concomitant disapprobation of pederastic relationships (cf. Dio, Or. 7.133–152).7 In his analysis of this age, Foucault claimed that pederasty was no longer privileged, as it was in fifth-century Athens BCE. He posited the existence of a ‘new model’ of conjugality in the Roman world, which, he argued, marked a change from the classical period.8 He understood this new emphasis on the importance of the matrimonial bond and the relationship of man and wife as the natural outcome of changes in the socio-political realities of the later period. He argued that while marriage was at first a mere contractual agreement connected with legal, dynastic, political and economic reasons, namely “handing down a name, instituting heirs, organizing a system of alliances, joining fortunes” (p. 74), under the emperors it lost its

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Eros” literature,” in J.M. Nieto Ibáñez & R.L. López (eds.), El Amor en Plutarco. Actas del IX simposio internacional de la Sociedad Española de Plutarquistas, celebrado en la Facultad de Filosofía y Letras de la Universidad de León y en el Museo Romano de Astorga, del 28 al 30 de septiembre de 2006 (León: Universidad de León, 2007) 19–25; idem, “Most beautiful and divine: Graeco-Romans (especially Plutarch), and Paul, on love and marriage,” in D.E. Aune & F.E. Brenk (eds.), Greco-Roman Culture and the New Testament (Leiden—Boston: Brill, 2012), Supplements to Novum Testamentum, vol. 143, 87–111. On the Neo-Pythagorean Bryson and his concern with the theme of reciprocal conjugal eros, see S. Swain, “Polemon’s physiognomy,” in S. Swain (ed.), Seeing the Face, Seeing the Soul: Polemon’s Physiognomy from Classical Antiquity to Medieval Islam (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007) 146–154. Hunter, “Plato as Classic,” 191. M. Foucault, The History of Sexuality: The Care of the Self, vol. 3 (New York: Vintage Books, 1986) 193–210. On Dio’s attack on pederasty, see Swain, Hellenism and Empire, 125–126; R. Hawley, “Marriage, gender, and the family in Dio,” in S. Swain (ed.), Dio Chrysostom: Politics, Letters, and Philosophy (Oxford—New York: Oxford University Press, 2000) 125–139, esp. 136–137. S. Swain, “Plutarch’s moral programme,” in S. Pomeroy (ed.), Plutarch’s Advice to the Bride and Groom and A Consolation to his Wife (New York—Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999) 85– 96, esp. 89; idem, “Polemon’s physiognomy,” 132–133.

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function of validating family alliances, since distinction in the political sector was no longer achieved by winning elections, but now depended on one’s influence in the imperial court.9 This move towards an affective spousal relationship and family life, matched with an increased attention to (Stoic) self-reflection and self-preoccupation, was thus seen by Foucault as the result of the political powerlessness and withdrawal of the Roman élite from public life under the empire. While Foucault’s ‘new model’ of sexual morality fuelled and inspired a good deal of discussion about sexuality and gender, the notion that marital values changed radically during the empire has become the focus of some scholarly controversy.10 Simon Swain, for instance, casts doubt on the sweeping generalization of Foucault’s hypothesis and argues convincingly that there is no reason to make the weakening of the political power of the Roman senatorial élite also the cause of a shift to an increased attentiveness to family life in the whole Roman empire; for the élite in the Greek east, he observes, continued to invest heavily in civic life at the time.11 And despite the fact that Romans often interfered with the political organization of the local communities of the east, there was still room for political life and individual achievement. From Plutarch’s perspective, these local liberties could be achieved through homonoia,12 a Stoic idea13 which he himself embraced and which was to play a major role in the society and politics of his time.14 In his view homonoia and philia among one’s fellows are coextensive and interlocked with homonoia and sophrosyne (self-control, decency, modesty) within the oikos.15 9 10

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On this view, see M. Skinner, Sexuality in Greek and Roman Culture (Oxford: Blackwell, 2014) 318. For recent surveys of the controversy raised by Foucault’s reconfiguration of the notion of sexuality, see K. Ormand, Controlling Desires. Sexuality in Ancient Greece and Rome (Westport CT: Praeger Series of the Ancient World, 2009) 13–17; K. Ormand & R. Blondell, “One hundred and twenty-five years of homosexuality,” in R. Blondell & K. Ormand (eds.), Ancient Sex (Columbus: The Ohio State University Press, 2015) 1–14. Swain, Hellenism and Empire, 127–129; idem, “Plutarch’s moral programme,” 89; idem, “Polemon’s physiognomy,” 133. On the same wavelength stands M. Skinner’s critique of Foucault, Sexuality, 317–320. A milder approach is taken by Ormand, Controlling Desires, 143–145 and 262–266. On marriage and homonoia in Plutarch, see G. Tsouvala, “Integrating marriage and homonoia,” in A.G. Nikolaidis (ed.), The Unity of Plutarch’s Work. ‘Moralia’ Themes in the ‘Lives’, Features of the ‘Lives’ in the ‘Moralia’ (Berlin—New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2008) 701–718. On Stoic influences on the Erotikos, see D. Babut, Plutarque et le Stoïcisme (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1969) 108–115. Plutarch was not alone in promoting homonoia and friendship among one’s fellows; Dio and Aelius Aristides were in the same league; cf. Dio, Or. 34, 38, 40 and 41; Aelius Aristides, Or. 24 (Behr). Cf. esp. Praec. ger. reip. and Con. Praec. On the interconnection of the oikos and the polis

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In order then to understand Plutarch’s and his contemporaries’ emphasis on the interconnective power of ‘consent’, their accent on marriage and harmony within the family and the mutual respect these ideas entailed between wife and husband, we need to take into account that, at a time when the freedom of action of the Greek élite was circumscribed by Roman power, the smooth running of the city was subject to the regulation of private life. The affirmation of civic identity and its perpetuation through the élites’ (classical) ancestry, as well as through reproduction,16 also depended greatly on the proper valorisation of the wife’s role and contribution to the happiness of the family.17 Women were important actors in the social game, and their cooperation in the unstable process of transmitting property to the family’s offspring was essential. The nexus of these ideas is encapsulated in the term homonoia and is best evidenced in the Erotikos.

The Cult of Eros as a Social Metaphor The Erotikos is a discourse on the subject of Eros/eros which Plutarch, the author of the dialogue and (in a very un-Platonic way)18 its central speaker, had with his friends on Mount Helicon,19 near the Boiotian city of Thespiai,20 in the

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in the classical period, see C.B. Patterson, “Marriage and the married woman in Athenian Law,” in S.B. Pomeroy (ed.), Women’s History and Ancient History (Chapel Hill—London: The University of North Carolina Press, 1991) 48–72. See for instance the emphasis Plutarch lays on ancestry/lineage in Con. Praec. 139B (τὸ ἀξίωμα τῆς γυναικὸς); on children and oikos (ἐπὶ τέκνοις καὶ οἴκῳ), in his advice to his wife Timoxena, in Cons. ad ux. 611B; on lineage (γένει λαμπρὰ and τὸ βάρος τοῦ οἴκου καὶ τὸν ὄγκον) in Amat. 749DE, when he lists Ismenodora’s fine qualities. On the idea of homonoia within the oikos and the city, see Swain, “Plutarch’s moral programme,” 87–91. Hunter, “Plato as Classic,” 198. On the choice of Helicon as the site of the philosophical debate in the dialogue, see R. Scannapieco, “ΜΥΣΤΗΡΙΩΔΗΣ ΘΕΟΛΟΓΙΑ: Plutarch’s Fr. 157 Sandbach between cultural traditions and philosophical models,” in L. Roig Lanzillotta & I. Muñoz Gallarte (eds.), Plutarch in the Religious and Philosophical Discourse of Late Antiquity (Leiden— Boston: Brill, 2012) 193–214, esp. 195. On the importance of Thespiai in the second century CE and Plutarch’s connections with it, see C.P. Jones, “A leading family of Roman Thespiae,” HSCP 74 (1970) 223–255, esp. 230– 233 and 246–247; F.E. Brenk, “The Boiotia of Plutarch’s Erotikos beyond the shadow of Athens,” in F.E. Brenk (ed.), Relighting the Souls. Studies in Plutarch, in Greek Literature, Religion, and Philosophy, and in the New Testament Background (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1998) 50–58.

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early days of his marriage (749B). The conversation and the events that led up to it are related several years later by Autoboulos,21 one of Plutarch’s sons (749B; cf. Plato, Symposium, 172C), at the request of a company of friends, all of whom remain unnamed with the exception of one Flavianus (748EF). The narrated dialogue is marked by an almost complete absence of temporal markers and a complex narrative technique. It is structured around a double frame: the narrative frame, in which the narrator, playing out the role of Plato’s Phaedrus in the Phaedrus, agrees to give a performance of a debate from memory (748D)— a compelling reminder of Socrates’ unsuccessful attempt to convince Phaedrus into reciting Lysias’ speech from memory—and the dramatic frame of the conversation between Plutarch and his friends. The lack of resumption of the narrative frame at the end of the dialogue, which again echoes Platonic techniques of narration, combined with the absence of a precise temporal frame pervading the reported account, creates an open-ended text with multiple narrative possibilities and social meanings.22 Placed both against and beyond the Platonic tradition, the Erotikos “offers a broadening of the Platonic vision in changed social circumstances and under the pressure of Plutarch’s own (Platonising) convictions.”23 At the outset of the dialogue, Autoboulos gives some minimal background information on his newly-wed parents’ visit to Thespiai, the site of an ancient Thespian cult and festival of Eros. The visit to the city at the time of the festival was triggered by the occurrence of ‘a disagreement and friction’ between their parents. This unpleasant family dispute necessitated, apparently, the ritual of sacrifice to Eros and prayer by Plutarch’s young bride, Timoxena (749B). We are to understand that the god Eros, celebrated with splendor at the Thespian festival (748F), was necessary for the success of their marriage (769D). The festival of Eros is clearly not incidental to the entire dialogue. There is a tight connection between Plutarch’s own ‘troubled’ marriage, the problematic marriage of two locals (see below), and the need to stabilize or validate both through the religious ceremonies of the Erotideia. It is not surprising, therefore, that Plutarch pointedly embeds the entire dialogue within this communal religious event, placing the festival both at the beginning (748F) and at the end of the Erotikos (771E). The Eros festival thus “emblematizes the complementarity of opposed

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See Hunter, “Plato as Classic,” 201. On open-ended texts with regard to the Greek novels, see T. Whitmarsh, “Desire and the end of the Greek novel,” in I. Nilsson (ed.), Plotting with Eros: Essays on the Poetics of Love and the Erotics of Reading (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 2009) 135–152, esp. 135–136. Hunter, “Plato as Classic,” 185.

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elements”,24 discord and homonoia, serving as a social metaphor which remedies the disruptive effects of eros. Festal occasions then such as the Erotideia, as well as other similar celebrations featured in the Greek novels (cf. Char. 1.1.4; Xen. 1.2.2), not only provided the stage for exploring sexual possibilities, but also constituted public events where the relationship between the private and public realm was negotiated. Much to the reader’s disappointment, the narrator weaves a protective shroud around the Thespian festival of Eros25 giving it “an air of sacred taboo.”26 His reluctance to inform us about the festival and its activities at the time of his visit anticipate, in a way, Pausanias’ occasional refusal to describe sacred centers on the grounds of their sanctity,27 and should be ascribed to the atemporal character of the entire dialogue.

Private and Public in Conflict: The Emergence of a ‘New’ Model of Conjugality After spending two or three days in the city, the narrator relates that Plutarch and his company left the turmoil of Thespiai following a feud among the harpists who participated in the contests and withdrew to the sanctuary of the Muses on Helicon (749C), a pertinent allusion to the ‘quietness’ in the famous scene-setting of the Phaedrus (229A). Space, but not time, is thus split into two, affording the narrator a panoramic view, as his scenic standpoint shifts from one vantage point (Helicon) to the other (Thespiai). The discourse on eros takes place outside the city, at the sanctuary of the Muses, and is set against the dramatic background of an unusual love story which unfolds in Thespiai. Instead of a girl and a boy of the same station and roughly equal age who fall in love,28 as is usually the case with the novel, we are offered a love-story, which 24 25

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On the formulation, see T. Whitmarsh, Narrative and Identity in the Ancient Greek Novel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011) 37–38 and n. 65. For a tentative reconstruction of the Erotideia festival, see A. Georgiadou, “Plutarch’s Amatorius: towards a reconstruction of a cult of Eros,” in L. van der Stockt et al. (eds.), Gods, Daimones, Rituals, Myths and History of Religions in Plutarch’s Works: Studies Devoted to Professor Frederick E. Brenk by the International Plutarch Society (Logan, UT: Utah State University; Málaga: Universidad de Málaga, 2010) 229–253. The idea is borrowed from T. Whitmarsh’s discussion of Philostratus’ description of the Nile in the Life of Apollonius: “Writes of passage: cultural initiation in Heliodorus,” in R. Miles (ed.), Constructing Identities in Late Antiquity (London—New York: Routledge, 1999) 16–40, esp. 25. J. Elsner, “Pausanias: a Greek pilgrim in the Roman world,” Past & Present 135 (1992) 3–29, esp. 22–25. They are not meeting during the festival, a topos in the novel: meeting at a crowded festi-

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appears difficult to reconcile with the norms of sexual courtship that we find in the popular culture of Athens before and during Plutarch’s time: Ismenodora, a respectable widow, well-born, rich and good-looking, still of childbearing age (753A, 754BC), has fallen in love with a handsome ephebe, Bacchon, and is determined to marry him (749E, 753B, 755A). Her desire, however, for the young man meets with strong opposition within his family and among some of his friends.29 Bacchon is considerably younger than her (749E, 753A, 754D), less rich (749E; 752E), and is courted by a host of erastai. The passion ascribed to the widow develops gradually over an unidentified period of time and bears no resemblance to the love-at-first-sight topos of infatuation we find in the novel. The ephebe, on the other hand, remains ambivalent and is portrayed as having reservations of his own about marrying Ismenodora (749E). Pressured by his peers and social conventions surrounding marriage (the widow’s age, wealth, and higher social status), the ephebe asks the most enthusiastic of his lovers and an older cousin of his who endorses his marriage to the widow to decide for him. Deadlocked, however, by their contentious arguments, the two take their disagreements to Plutarch (the character) and his friends and ask them to act as arbitrators hoping to come to a resolution (750A).30 After a debate over the respective merits and shortcomings of pederasty and marriage comes to an impasse, Plutarch, who initially agreed to adjudicate the dispute, enters the ‘contest’ on the side of those favouring the marriage (752C, 753C), and, in the course of the debate, he emerges as the principal advocate for the conjugal relationship (753C–754E, 761E–F, 769A–769E) and the widow’s most eloquent supporter (753C–754E). While the debaters are still on Helicon, it is reported that Ismenodora had in the meantime taken matters into her own hands;31 for not only does she kidnap Bacchon (754E– 755A),32 though not against his will (755CD), but the two have already begun

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val and falling in love at once became a commonplace for the young lovers of the Greek novel (see e.g. Char., 1.5.6; Xen. Eph. 1.2; Heliod. 1.10.1–2). The motif of resistance to the protagonist’s desire is common in Menandrian comedies. There is, of course, some irony in relegating the arbitration to the newlywed Plutarch in a controversy over same-sex and opposite-sex relations; we may recall the more successful choice of the sexless Lycinus, in his role as arbitrator to a ‘contest’ set by an Athenian pederast and a Corinthian woman-lover, in [Lucian]’s Amores (18.50–51). The description of the widow’s audacious act recalls comic scenes from Aristophanes’ Women at the Thesmophoria and the Lysistrata. This turn of events draws upon and inverts familiar patterns in pederastic narratives; see for instance in Am. narr. 772D–773B and 773C–774D, where Plutarch preserves two accounts featuring male adolescents-eromenoi who are abducted and raped by their elder erastai. Comparable to the abduction scene of the Amatorius is a Samian wedding witnessed by Polemon (De Physiognomia Liber 69, Foerster 1893, vol. 1: 286–290). In Polemon’s

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to make preparations for the wedding. The report of the kidnapping arouses a public uproar in the town, which brings the relationship between individual and community into sharp focus. Falling in love causes an ominous crisis in the community and has the potential of threatening the cohesion of the social group and rupturing civic harmony.33 The whole world is said to be topsy-turvy: the public places of the polis, the gymnasia and the Bouleuterion, should be handed over to women, proclaims Peisias, the ephebe’s fervent admirer, ‘now that the polis is completely emasculated’ (755C). After the departure of Bacchon’s friends from the scene of the debate, the conversation moves away from the traditional binarism involving arguments about homoerotic and heterosexual relationships and revolves, almost exclusively, around Plutarch’s theory of Eros/eros; the main points of his exposition are the explication of the divinity of Eros/eros and his forceful impact on humans (755E)—a major issue that will help de-problematize the widow’s improper action—, Eros/eros’ benefits and his power to transform lovers (762BE; 767E–768B), his inseparability from Aphrodite (756E, 759EF), his power to form philotes and synkrasis (756E) and his role as a healer, a savior, a ruler of the soul. Like the eros of Plato, Plutarch’s eros is the mystic guide of the soul who leads it towards the blessed vision of the Forms and the noble forms of love (762A; 765A–766C). As Plutarch gradually distances himself from the Platonic paradigm of the pederastic relationship, he opens the way for a noble lover of beauty to be stirred by desire (on the basis of proper moral values) irrespective of gender (766E, 767A) and age (754D, 766E, 770C). Having established that both genders have a natural bent for virtue (767B, 769B) and that women can also generate eros (766E), Plutarch then moves to his final articulation of a single unified love (769F), which he claims, is fully realizable only in marriage. Such a relationship, in which both partners are joined as active subjects, is marked by respect, kindness, mutual affection and trust for each other (789A) and generates harmony (769A), stability, fellowship (769F) and immortality through children (770A).34 It has been argued that “Plutarch’s originality consists not so much in the aspect of reciprocal or egalitarian love, as in the incorporation of this type of

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narrative the bride is being kidnapped by her lover, apparently with her consent; on this episode, see J. Winkler, “The constraints of Eros,” in C.A. Faraone & D. Obbink (eds.), Magika Hiera. Ancient Greek Magic and Religion (New York—Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997 [1991]) 214–243, esp. 216. On this idea, see Whitmarsh, Narrative and Identity, 37. For a discussion of different aspects of eros in Plutarch’s Erotikos and the Conjugalia Praecepta, see G. Tsouvala, “Love and marriage,” in M. Beck (ed.), A Companion to Plutarch (Oxford: Blackwell, 2014) 191–206.

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love into the Platonic goal of the vision of the beautiful;”35 or that he “redefine[s] eros in such a way as to assimilate it to marital affection.”36 While these views hold true, I would suggest further that Plutarch’s original move toward a single eros capable of accounting for the love of women and the love of boys and in addition of valorizing heterosexual eros and marital affection derives mainly from his effective appropriation of the Stoic notion of ‘total blending’ (ἡ δι’ ὅλων λεγομένη κρᾶσις, 769F; cf. SVF 3.65).37 Foucault’s observation on [Lucian]’s Erotes that “forming a bond in which the equality is so perfect … that the role of the erastes and that of the eromenos can no longer be distinguished” applies equally aptly to the Erotikos.38 It is the erasure of boundaries between the erastes and the eromenos and between ἐρᾶν (eran) and ἐρᾶσθαι (erasthai) that strikes a new note in Plutarch’s new erotics, for now both lovers are active agents. True lovers, he says, are no longer distinguishable, for they “join their souls and fuse them together, no longer wishing to be separate entities” (767E), and they are “integrally amalgamated” (769F); “in marriage it is more important to love than to be loved” (τὸ γὰρ ἐρᾶν ἐν γάμῳ τοῦ ἐρᾶσθαι μεῖζον ἀγαθόν ἐστι, 769DE). It is this model that provides the philosophical framework for the explication of the unconventional portrayal of the older widow and the problematic Thespian love affair. The Thespian love episode initially emerges as a controversial and a deterrent example in its asymmetry, on all levels; it becomes, in the end, the site of civic reconciliation and consent: the wedding of the couple is overseen by the god Eros and is celebrated with laughter and garlands within the religious context of the Erotideia.

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F.E. Brenk, “Plutarch’s Erotikos: the drag down pulled up,” in idem, Relighting the Souls. Studies in Plutarch, in Greek Literature, Religion, and Philosophy, and in the New Testament Background (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1998 [repr. ICS 13 (1988) 457–471]) 13–27, esp. 13. D. Konstan, Sexual Symmetry. Love in the Ancient Novel and Related Genres (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994) 219. From the Stoic Antipater’s Peri Gamou preserved in Stobaeus’ Florilegium and included in Von Arnim’s collection of Stoic fragments. On the Stoic notion of “total krasis” in the Erotikos, see J. Boulogne, “Le paradigme de la crase dans la pensée de Plutarque,” Ploutarchos, 4 (2006/2007) 3–17; R. Scannapieco, “Krasis Oinou Diken. Amore coniugale e linguaggio del simposio nell’Amatorius di Plutarco,” in J. Ribeiro Ferreira et al. (eds.), Symposion and Philanthropia in Plutarch (Coimbra: Coimbra University Press, 2009) 313–332, esp. 318–322. On the Stoic influence on Plutarch’s model of conjugality, see I. Ramelli, “La temática de matrimoni nello Stoicismo romano: alcune osservazioni,” Ilu. Revista de Ciencias de las Religiones 5 (2000) 145–162, esp. 157–159. Foucault, The Care of the Self, 225.

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Fashioning Women in the Erotikos: The ‘Hetairization’ of the Greek Wife Ismenodora is portrayed as a mature woman of good character, yet aggressive and unrestrained in her desire and determined to marry Bacchon at any cost, despite the civic rift she provoked by her desire for the young man, her subsequent plotting, and his kidnapping.39 In his unconventional portrayal of the widow, Plutarch challenges the stereotypical view that women fall into two categories, the modest, secluded, private wife and the desiring woman, usually in the guise of the licentious hypersexualized prostitute (hetaira, porne, auletris, orchestris), who made a public display of her sexual activity. The former category cannot love or be loved with propriety (752C, cf. 753B), while the latter constitutes the only type of woman who can experience a form of eros, albeit an undignified one. Love of women then is base, because it can only be associated with immoderate expression of female desire. As an alternative to the conventional binarism which is especially pronounced in the first part of the dialogue (mainly in the agonistic debate between the upholders of pederasty and the advocates of heterosexuality), Plutarch uses an expansive frame of conceptualizing the feminine by allowing for one type of woman to be defined in relation to others. He thus builds a hierarchy of the feminine, to use Kate Gilhuly’s terminology,40 in “a continuum of role acts.” Plutarch’s portrait of Ismenodora partakes of various attributes found in the roles female characters inhabit in the Erotikos: the ritual agent (Plutarch’s wife, 749B), the generic category of the incontinent woman (akolastos, 752C, 759F, 767B), the (male) lover outside a locked house who serenades his beloved from the door step (753B), the kosmios woman who sits at home and waits for suitors (753B) and the sophron type who exhibits intolerable severity (753C), the womancommodity (porne, auletris and orchestris, 753D), the house-born slave and concubine (pallake, 753DF, 759EF), the hetaira (759EF), the devoted and selfsacrificing wife (761EF), the ill-mannered and stubborn woman (766CD), the hetaira who is transformed under the influence of eros (767F), romantic models of conjugal fidelity (768BD, 770D–771C), the bride (Ismenodora, 771D). The various gendered roles of women mentioned in the text map out in a way Plutarch’s hierarchy from the physical experience of eros to a conjugal ‘Platonis39 40

Note Plutarch’s advice (Con. Praec. 149D) against initiatives taken by wives in matters of desire; he claims that it is ἑταιρικὸν καὶ ἰταμόν. For a detailed analysis of the various roles assigned to females in the Athenian imagination, see K. Gilhuly, The Feminine Matrix of Sex and Gender in Classical Athens (Cambridge—New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009), esp. 86–91.

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ing’ form of love41 which recalls the ascending steps of the philosopher from the bodily toward the metaphysical, as described by Diotima in Plato’s Symposium (211BC). To sum up, it is out of this synthesis of female types that Plutarch constructs his own model of femininity for Ismenodora. Between the role of the sophron ritual performer (Plutarch’s wife) and that of a prostitute42 (with the bawdy potential she offered for the depiction of women’s sexuality) he maps out a space in the middle for the desiring, autonomous, yet sophron type, who is firm in her passion for Bacchon and willing to validate her eros through a proper marriage in spite of the city’s resistance. This atypical portrayal of femininity is initially seen as a threat to the stability of the civic norms, but progressively yields a site for negotiating and resolving tensions and anxieties that arise between the public and the private in the changed social context of Plutarch’s time. Bacchon, on the other hand, is portrayed initially as being rather unresponsive to the widow’s desire and not in a position to decide on his own (749E), frank and simple (755D). To repair a little the initial impression that Bacchon does not reciprocate Ismenodora’s desire, it is later suggested by Soclarus (one of the debaters) that the kidnapping might be actually a ruse of the young man who wanted to escape his male admirers (755C). We have no indication from Plutarch’s account of the aftermath of the wedding, for this is not the point of the Thespian tale. What appears to matter to Plutarch is that both Ismenodora and Bacchon are adept in role-playing and that “such relationships”, especially in Plutarch’s time, “are more fluid than Platonic standards dictate, and also that human interaction is a game in which people can assume various roles to their own advantage.”43 Plutarch’s model moves away from normative expectations of gender roles which characterize the instances of homoerotic courtship, but also traditional heterosexual relations. With the hierarchical disposition of roles out of the way he clears the way for reciprocity in the expression of desire and affection within a heterosexual relationship. The Thespian love episode just described articulates precisely 41

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At 762A Plutarch suggests that married love can lead to the blessed vision of the Forms, and at 765A–766C, 766DE he claims that maidens and women have the capacity to be led by Eros toward real and eternal beauty through sacred recollections. For a debate on the ‘hetairization’ of the Greek wife in Aristophanes’ Lysistrata, see S.C. Stroup, “Designing women: Aristophanes’ Lysistrata and the “hetairization” of the Greek wife,” Arethusa 37 (2004) 37–43. D.B. McGlathery, “Reversals of Platonic love in Petronius’ Satyricon,” in D. Larmour, P. Miller & C. Platter (eds.), Rethinking Sexuality: Foucault and Classical Antiquity (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998) 204–227, esp. 211.

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the dynamics of an initially ‘unsymmetrical’ marital union and its potential to achieve over time (ὑπὸ χρόνου) and through habit (συνηθείας, 767D) and the appropriate role-playing Plutarch’s model of ‘symmetrical’ conjugality.

∵ The debate on Eros/eros terminates with the arrival of a new messenger, who announces the celebration of the widow’s wedding, and the return of Plutarch and his friends to Thespiai to join in the celebration. It has been accepted by the entire community, for even Bacchon’s most dedicated erastes has given in and is joining the wedding party (771D). The crisis then that erupted in the community on account of Bacchon’s kidnapping, the successful deflection of this ‘violent’ act44 and the prayer to the ‘kindly’ god Eros, 771E (a reminder of the narrator’s prayer to Mnemosyne at the beginning of the dialogue, 749AB) tie well with Plutarch’s encomium of conjugal eros and provide an appropriate form of closure for the dialogue. The wedding celebration finally heals differences within the city, and, in Tim Whitmarsh’s words, restores “social concord and psychic wholeness.”45 The healing of differences within the city and the restoration of social concord make Thespiai emblematic of the capacity of Greek cities to affirm their post-crisis cohesion under a well-disposed authority, in this case, under the rejuvenating power of the god Eros (771E).

Bibliography Babut, D., Plutarque et le Stoïcisme (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1969). Blondell, R. & Ormand, K. (eds.), Ancient Sex (Columbus: The Ohio State University Press, 2015). Boulogne, J., “Le paradigme de la crase dans la pensée de Plutarque,” Ploutarchos 4 (2006/2007) 3–17. Brenk, F.E., “Plutarch’s Erotikos: the Drag Down Pulled up,” in F.E. Brenk, Relighting the Souls. Studies in Plutarch, in Greek Literature, Religion, and Philosophy, and in the New Testament Background (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1998 [repr. ICS 13 (1988) 457–471]) 13–27.

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It is nowhere explained in the dialogue how this conflict was dealt with within the community, unless we suppose that some information was provided in the lengthy lacuna at 766D. Whitmarsh, Narrative and Identity, 37.

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Brenk, F.E., “The Boiotia of Plutarch’s Erotikos Beyond the Shadow of Athens,” in F.E. Brenk (ed.), Relighting the Souls. Studies in Plutarch, in Greek Literature, Religion, and Philosophy, and in the New Testament Background (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1998), 50–58. Brenk, F.E., “Sliding Atoms or Supernatural Light. Plutarch’s Erotikos and the ‘On Eros’ Literature,” in J.M. Nieto Ibáñez & R.L. López (eds.), El Amor en Plutarco. Actas del IX simposio internacional de la Sociedad Española de Plutarquistas, celebrado en la Facultad de Filosofía y Letras de la Universidad de León y en el Museo Romano de Astorga, del 28 al 30 de septiembre de 2006 (León: Universidad de León, 2007) 19– 25. Brenk, F.E., “Most Beautiful and Divine: Graeco-Romans (especially Plutarch), and Paul, on Love and Marriage,” in D.E. Aune & F.E. Brenk (eds.), Greco-Roman Culture and the New Testament (Leiden—Boston: Brill, 2012), Supplements to Novum Testamentum, vol. 143, 87–111. Elsner, J., “Pausanias: a Greek Pilgrim in the Roman World,” Past & Present 135 (1992) 3–29. Flacelière, R. (ed.), Plutarque. Oeuvres morales, tome X, Dialogue sur l’amour (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1980). Foucault, M., The History of Sexuality: The Care of the Self, vol. 3 (transl. R. Hurley) (New York: Vintage Books, 1986). Georgiadou, A., “Playing with Intertexts in Plutarch’s Erotikos,” ICS 35–36 (2010–2011) 69–84. Georgiadou, A., “Plutarch’s Amatorius: Towards a Reconstruction of a Cult of Eros,” in L. van der Stockt, F. Titchener, H.G. Ingenkamp & A. Pérez Jiménez (eds.), Gods, Daimones, Rituals, Myths and History of Religions in Plutarch’s Works: Studies Devoted to Professor Frederick E. Brenk by the International Plutarch Society (Logan, UT: Utah State University; Málaga: Universidad de Málaga, 2010) 229–253. Gilhuly, K., The Feminine Matrix of Sex and Gender in Classical Athens (Cambridge— New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009). Görgemanns, H., “Einführung”, in H. Görgemanns, B. Feichtinger, F. Graf, W. Jeanrond & J. Opsomer (eds.), Plutarch. Dialog über die Liebe (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006) 3–38. Hawley, R., “Marriage, Gender, and the Family in Dio,” in S. Swain (ed.), Dio Chrysostom: Politics, Letters, and Philosophy (Oxford—New York: Oxford University Press, 2000) 125–139. Hunter, R., “Plato as Classic: Plutarch’s Amatorius,” in R. Hunter (ed.), Plato and the Traditions of Ancient Literature: The Silent Stream (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012) 185–222. Jones, C.P., “Towards a Chronology of Plutarch’s Works,” JRS 56 (1966) 61–74. Jones, C.P., “A Leading Family of Roman Thespiae,” HSCP 74 (1970) 223–255.

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Konstan, K., Sexual Symmetry. Love in the Ancient Novel and Related Genres (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994). McGlathery, D.B., “Reversals of Platonic love in Petronius’ Satyricon,” in D. Larmour, P. Miller & C. Platter (eds.), Rethinking Sexuality: Foucault and Classical Antiquity (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998) 204–227. Ormand, K., Controlling Desires. Sexuality in Ancient Greece and Rome (Westport, CT: Praeger Series of the Ancient World, 2009). Patterson, C.B., “Marriage and the Married Woman in Athenian Law,” in S.B. Pomeroy (ed.), Women’s History and Ancient History (Chapel Hill—London: The University of North Carolina Press, 1991) 48–72. Ramelli, I., “La temática de matrimoni nello Stoicismo romano: alcune osservazioni,” Ilu. Revista de Ciencias de las Religiones 5 (2000) 145–162. Scannapieco, R., “Krasis Oinou Diken. Amore coniugale e linguaggio del simposio nell’Amatorius di Plutarco,” in J. Ribeiro Ferreira, D. Leão, M. Tröster & P. Barata Dias (eds.), Symposion and Philanthropia in Plutarch (Coimbra: Coimbra University Press, 2009) 313–332. Scannapieco, R., “ΜΥΣΤΗΡΙΩΔΗΣ ΘΕΟΛΟΓΙΑ: Plutarch’s Fr. 157 Sandbach between cultual traditions and philosophical models”, in L. Roig Lanzillotta & I. Muñoz Gallarte (eds.), Plutarch in the Religious and Philosophical Discourse of Late Antiquity (Leiden—Boston: Brill, 2012) 193–214. Skinner, M., Sexuality in Greek and Roman Culture (Oxford: Blackwell, 2014). Stroup, S.C., “Designing Women: Aristophanes’Lysistrata and the “Hetairization” of the Greek Wife,” Arethusa 37.1 (2004) 37–43. Swain, S., Hellenism and Empire (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996). Swain, S., “Plutarch’s Moral Programme,” in S.B. Pomeroy (ed.), Plutarch’s Advice to the Bride and Groom and A Consolation to his Wife (New York—Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999). Swain, S., “Polemon’s Physiognomy,” in S. Swain (ed.), Seeing the Face, Seeing the Soul: Polemon’s Physiognomy from Classical Antiquity to Medieval Islam (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007) 146–154. Tsouvala, G., “Integrating Marriage and homonoia,” in A.G. Nikolaidis (ed.), The Unity of Plutarch’s Work. ‘Moralia’ Themes in the ‘Lives’, Features of the ‘Lives’ in the ‘Moralia’ (Berlin—New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2008) 701–718. Tsouvala, G., “Love and marriage,” in M. Beck (ed.), A Companion to Plutarch (Oxford: Blackwell, 2014) 191–206. Whitmarsh, T., “The rites of Passage: Cultural Initiation in Heliodorus,” in R. Miles (ed.), Constructing Identities in Late Antiquity (London—New York: Routledge, 1999) 16– 40. Whitmarsh, T., “Desire and the End of the Greek Novel,” in I. Nilsson (ed.), Plotting with Eros: Essays on the Poetics of Love and the Erotics of Reading (Copenhagen: MuseumTusculanum Press, 2009) 135–152.

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Whitmarsh, T., Narrative and Identity in the Ancient Greek Novel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). Winkler, J., “The Constraints of Eros,” in C. Faraone & D. Obbink (eds.), Magika Hiera. Ancient Greek Magic and Religion (New York—Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997 [1991]) 214–243.

chapter 18

Plutarch on Philology and Philologists Luc Van der Stockt

Introduction When S.F. Bonner published his research on the literary treatises of Dionysius of Halicarnassus,1 he offered in the first of the six chapters of his book a survey of The Critic; His Environment and Equipment. The scholar explores the factors that contributed to Dionysius’ education as a literary critic: his philosophical education, his stay in Rome, his dealings with friends/writers in the literary circle to which he belonged. The present contribution has a similar aim: it intends to sketch a general overview of Plutarch’s intellectual milieu. The sketch will be based on the information offered by the Moralia and Vitae themselves, rather than producing an overview of Plutarch’s literary œuvre and of the writers who belonged to Plutarch’s cultural and social circle.2 More specifically, Plutarch’s intellectual milieu will be sketched on the basis of his own use of the words φιλόλογος (‘fond of words, fond of learning and literature’), φιλολογία (‘love of argument /reasoning’), and φιλολογεῖν (‘pursue learning, study’).3 Now in whatever meaning the word ‘philology’ may be used nowadays,4 it always implies an intensive dealing with words, language, literature. And if it also includes archaeology, history and “not only all literary and linguistic studies, but studies of all products of

1 S.F. Bonner, The Literary Treatises of Dionysius of Halicarnassus. A Study in the Development of Critical Method (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1939). 2 An overview of Plutarch’s friends: K. Ziegler, “Plutarchos von Chaironeia,” in RE, XX.1 (1951) 665–697; of the sources of his religious and philosophical convictions: ibid., 938–947 and 914– 928. But see especially also the more recent B. Puech, “Prosopographie des amis de Plutarque,” ANRW II.33.6 (1992) 4831–4893. 3 The translations are from H.G. Liddell & R. Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968). 4 Concerning classical philology, a distinction is made between a narrow and a broad meaning of the word: see A. Gudeman, Grundriss der Geschichte der klassischen Philologie (Stuttgart: Teubner, 1967 = Leipzig 1909) 8; the same author provides an example of the broad approach of philology when he deals with Plutarch as a philologist: A. Gudeman, “Plutarch as a Philologist,” TAPhA 26 (1895) v–ix: there is a discussion of Plutarch as a textual critic, as a literary critic, as a historian, as an art critic, as an etymologist.

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the human mind,”5 there is a good chance that the words will introduce us to the intellectual world of Plutarch.6 It is, for that matter, promising that Plutarch appears to count himself among the group of the φιλόλογοι. For in Quaestiones convivales 723A he relates that he—not without some self-satisfaction?— managed to not be involved in the banquets that Sospis offered to strangers and citizens in Corinth, but that he was present at the banquet of τοὺς μάλιστα φίλους καὶ φιλολόγους (Sospis’ most intimate friends and men of learning).

The φιλόλογοι: An Elite We must first notice that this tendency to present the ‘philologists’ as an elite can be detected also elsewhere in Plutarch. Thus, in Comparatio Aristophanis et Menandri 854A–B, Plutarch regards the fact that the φιλόλογοι are able to appreciate Menander as a conclusive argument for the superiority of the comedian; besides, an educated man (ἀνὴρ πεπαιδευμένος) will not go to the theatre unless for the performance of a play of Menander. Thus, although the φιλόλογοι show the same appreciation as the masses—it is precisely the merit of Menander to please everybody—Plutarch (maybe inadvertently) regards them as a distinct group of the audience.7 Elsewhere (Quaestiones convivales 613DF), Plutarch treats the question whether philosophy is a suitable subject for a discussion at a symposium. Plutarch remarks that a company can consist of mainly educated people (πλείονας … φιλολόγους) and only a few laymen (ὀλίγοι τινὲς ἰδιῶται). In such a company of many educated people (ἐν μέσῳ πολλῶν πεπαιδευμένων), one should allow the treatment of philosophical themes (ἀφήσομεν … φιλοσοφεῖν). But when the philosopher (φιλόσοφος ἀνὴρ) is amidst people who show no interest in his explanations, he should conform himself to their behaviour. Standing out from the masses of common people, the philologist can be observed as connected to the imperial court of Tiberius (De defectu oraculo5 R. Wellek & A. Warren, Theory of Literature (Harmondsworth—Ringwood: Penguin Books Ltd, 19703 = 1949) 38. 6 G.R.F.M. Nuchelmans, Studien über φιλόλογος, φιλολογία und φιλολογεῖν (Zwolle: W.E.J. Tjeenk Willink, 1950) studied the occurrence of these words in Greek literature from the fourth century BC up to the fifth century CE. I was able to add some occurrences in Plutarch to his collection, and I made a synthesis of all the occurrences in Plutarch. 7 Plutarch’s veneration of Menander and (to some degree prejudiced) depreciation of Aristophanes is also clear in Quaest. conv. 711F–712D: see L. Van der Stockt, Twinkling and Twilight. Plutarch’s Reflections on Literature (Brussel: Koninklijke Academie voor Wetenschappen, Letteren en Schone Kunsten van België, 54, 145) 154–155.

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rum 419D), in the circle of noble families as the one of the Gracchi (Caius Gracchus 6.4 and 19.2), in the company of politicians (φιλολόγων καὶ πολιτικῶν: Quaestiones convivales 715B; τοῖς φιλολόγοις καὶ πολιτικοῖς: Lucullus 42.2), in contact with prominent people like Cicero (Cicero 8.2) and Cato Minor (φιλολογεῖν … συγγίνεσθαι φιλοσόφοις: Cato Minor 6.2).

The Research Area of the Philologists: Philosophy, Physics, Psychology a. Above we saw already that “philology” is sometimes an equivalent to “education” and more specifically also to philosophy. Moreover, Plutarch rejects the warning of the teachers of gymnastics holding that it would be unhealthy to have scholarly discussions at a dinner (παρὰ δεῖπνον φιλολογεῖν). Plutarch holds that research, philosophy, reading (ζητεῖν ἢ φιλοσοφεῖν ἢ ἀναγιγνώσκειν παρὰ δεῖπνον) is to a philologist a pleasurable means of promoting digestion (De tuenda sanitate praecepta 133BC), and he scornfully remarks that athletes are forced to offer their books on the altar of the cult of the body (De tuenda sanitate praecepta 133D). Some Stoic philosophers left their own country “in order to pass the time tranquilly lecturing and conversing”8 (De Stoicorum repugnantiis 1033E). The philologist listens to philosophical lectures: the essay De audiendo contains a number of rules one has to comply with when listening to scholarly lectures (44E: ἐν … ταῖς φιλολόγοις ἀκροάσεσιν). Thus, e.g., one has to listen benevolently to the word of “a man who seems to be or is called a philosopher” (44F: λόγος ὑπ’ ἀνδρὸς … δοκοῦντος ἢ καλουμένου φιλοσόφου). When Carneades and Diogenes came to Rome as ambassadors, they attracted the young people who were most fond of learning (οἱ φιλολογώτατοι τῶν νεανίσκων), who were interested in philosophy, and apparently also admired the eloquence of Carneades (Cato Maior 22.2–3). In fact, listening to “philologists” (ἀκροάσεις φιλολόγων) was a mark of Antony’s Philhellenism (Antonius 23.2); given this context, “philologists” means here “philosophers”. The same goes for Cicero 3.2, where it is said that Cicero devoted himself to the contemplative life, having commerce with “Greek scholars” (Ἕλλησι … φιλολόγοις). Reading philosophical texts is as well on the menu of the philologist. Plutarch is very happy that even in his own days philologists can be present at,

8 Translation from H. Cherniss, Plutarch’s Moralia in Seventeen Volumes. XIII. Part II (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann Ltd, 1976) 419.

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and enjoy the Socratic symposia because Plato has written those philosophical problems and discussions down (Quaestiones convivales 686CD). Indeed, in Plutarch’s works the philologist is a philosopher, so much so that G. Nuchelmans,9 against all editors,10 and against most of the manuscripts, defends the reading φιλολογῶν in Pyrrhus 8.3. In that passage Plutarch dwells on Pyrrhus’ devotion to the study of military science. Whereas other editors than Nuchelmans would read τοῦτο μελετῶν ἔοικε καὶ φιλοσοφῶν ἀεὶ διατελεῖν, implying that the study of military science is a branch of philosophy, it is indeed, given the context of περὶ τῆς … τάξεις καὶ στρατηγίας ἐπιστήμης and μαθημάτων, more likely that the original text read φιλολογῶν (“to study”). b. The philologist devotes attention also to physics and psychological problems. Democritus was driven by φιλολογία (“eagerness to research, inquisitiveness”) when investigating the sweetness of a cucumber, and he continues to look for a natural cause proper to the cucumber, even if he is informed that the cucumber has been kept in a honey-jar (Quaestiones convivales 628BD). And when a guest at a symposium is able to produce an explanation for the cold of water that is kept in a vessel above the water in a well, he is called φιλόλογος ἐπιεικῶς (“rather well-read”), because he gets his knowledge from reading Aristotle (Quaestiones convivales 690C). Aristotle is mentioned again when one is investigating the cause of bulimy: it is Plutarch himself who quotes him in an attempt at producing an adequate explanation. According to Plutarch, such an attempt befits eager philologists (τοῖς φιλοτίμοις καὶ φιλολόγοις), whilst idle and ungifted persons abandon it (Quaestiones convivales 694D). Psychology as well belongs to the domain of the philologist. When young people are able to produce examples of intelligent behavior of animals, they can do so because they are φιλολόγους καὶ φιλογραμμάτους ὄντας (“fond of learning and reading”: De sollertia animalium 963BC), that is, reading ancient writers11—not, as we would expect nowadays, through observation!

9 10

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Nuchelmans, Studien über φιλόλογος, 71. B. Perrin, Plutarch’s Lives, IX (with an English Translation in Eleven Volumes) (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press; London: William Heinemann Ltd, 1988 [= 1920]); R. Flacelière & E. Chambry, Plutarque, Vies, 6 (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1971) 35; Cl. Lindskog & K. Ziegler, Plutarchi, Vitae Parallelae, 3.1 (Leipzig: B.G. Teubner, 1971) 162; see also A.B. Nederlof, Plutarchus’ Leven van Pyrrhus. Historische Commentaar (Amsterdam: H.J. Paris, 1940) 42. Cf. M. Schuster, Untersuchungen zu Plutarchs Dialog De sollertia animalium (Augsburg: Dissertation Munich, 1917) 39, n. 35: “Die Beziehung der Jüngliche als φιλόλογοι καὶ φιλογράμματοι … drückt vor allem die Beschäftigung mit den Alten aus.”

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c. Apart from philosophy, military science, physics, and medicine, also music, rhetoric, literary studies and geometry are regarded as philological disciplines: Plutarch calls all those research areas “philological problems” (φιλόλογα ζητήματα: Quaestiones convivales 737D). If one adds mythology (De defectu oraculorum 419D), (Platonic) mathematics (De adulatore et amico 52C), and historical questions (De tuenda sanitate praecepta 133E), it is clear that Plutarch calls all the problems treated in book IX of the Quaestiones convivales (φιλολογηθέντα, “learned conversations, scholarly problems”, Quaest. conv. 748D). When Cicero retreats from public life and wants to live a speculative life, he consults philologists and turns to studies (Cicero 3.2: Ἕλλησι συνῆν φιλόλογοις καὶ προσεῖχε τοῖς μαθήμασι).12

The Research Area of the Philologists: The Study of Language and Literature Language and literature are pointed objects of the philological interest; that interest is also cherished by royals like Alexander. Alexander, being φύσει φιλόλογος καὶ φιλαναγνώστης (“fond of learning and reading”), ordered to bring him to Asia the works of Philinus, of the three great tragedians, of Telestus and of Philoxenus (Alexander 8.2–3). In fact, kings who are fond of reading (φιλόλογοι) make many persons learned (Coniugalia praecepta 140C).13 As we already noticed, the philologist uses literature as a source of information, but he is also sensitive to the formal beauty of the word. But Plutarch’s attitude towards the philological study of literature, and especially of poetry, is balanced. Thus, he calls the study of obsolete words scholarly and not unpleasant (φιλόλογον καὶ οὐκ ἀηδές), but useless with a view to ethical-practical education (De audiendis poetis 22C). This only hesitant appreciation has been explained by Stoic influences,14 but it should also be understood against the background of the tendency of De audiendis poetis to afford guidelines to the young reader of poetry that would make it possible to employ poetry with an eye on ethical-

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Cf. Pomp. 10.4, where Pompey has a conversation with Q. Valerius in order to learn from him, before executing him! As L. Goessler, Plutarchs Gedanken über die Ehe (Diss. Zürich: privately printed, 1962) 51 remarks, Plutarch talks about a kind of education that is imitated by the citizens, and the notion of literary patronage, if it is present, remains in the background. Nuchelmans, Studien über φιλόλογος, 29 and 65; A. Schlemm, De fontibus Plutarchi commentationum De audiendis poetis et De fortuna (Diss. Göttingen: Officina academica Dieterichiana, 1893) 50.

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practical profit.15 Plutarch’s scepsis vis-à-vis non-philosophical, purely ‘scientific’ philology is only relative: that kind of philology may very well be pleasant, but it cannot be of service to a moralizing reading of poetry. An interesting passage in this respect is Non posse suaviter vivi secundum Epicurum 1095C: Plutarch makes a plea for a scholarly study of poetry. He engages in a polemic with Epicurus concerning the value of spiritual pleasure, and he notices a contradiction in the latter’s attitude: on the one hand, Epicurus holds that the wise man loves spectacles and enjoys theatrical recitals and shows, but that, on the other hand, he does not allow, not even over wine, the treatment of musicological questions nor of scholarly questions of critics (προβλήμασι … μουσικοῖς καὶ κριτικῶν φιλολόγοις προβλήμασιν). He even advises the cultivated king to put up with stories about strategies during a symposium rather than with problems concerning music and poetry (περὶ μουσικῶν καὶ ποιητικῶν προβλημάτων). Plutarch holds that Epicurus’ loathing of the talk of the critics and the musicians (κριτικῶν καὶ μουσικῶν λαλίαν: Non posse 1096A) will certainly not contribute to a pleasant life. So, the κριτικός is indeed a critic of poetry.16 And this κριτικός is a specific kind of philologist. We saw that Plutarch can only moderately appreciate a philology that is concerned merely with the explanation of obsolete words in poetry. The exegesis of the κριτικός then is probably of another kind. For the study of metrics, of the explanation of obsolete words, of antiquities, etc., is just the job of the γραμματικός, whilst for the κριτικός the philosophy as the corpus of the (Stoic) scholarship was the hermeneutical guideline for the exegesis of poetry.17 Finally, the passage De audiendis poetis 30CD is interesting for our subject. Plutarch compares the study of literature with the various ways in which a pasture responds to the expectations of different animals. He divides the reading public into three classes, based on the kind of interest with which they approach poetry. Apart from the φιλόμυθοι, whose interest is in the novel and unusual aspects of the story, there are the φιλόλογοι: their interest is in beauty and the arrangement of the words (τῷ κάλλει καὶ τῇ κατασκευῇ τῶν ὀνομάτων), 15

16

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According to G. von Reutern, Plutarchs Stellung zur Dichtkunst. Interpretation der Schrift ‘De audiendis poetis’ (Kiel: Gräfenhainchen, 1933) 82–83, this attitude is typical of the Cynics rather than of the Stoics. The term is a technical term for the literary critic: see H. Lausberg, Handbuch der literarischen Rhetorik. Eine Grundlegung der Literaturwissenschaft (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 19903), 31 and 37 n. 1. Cf. R. Pfeiffer, History of Classical Scholarship. From the Beginning to the End of the Hellenistic Age (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968) 238 and 242. The inferior position of the γραμματικός is also clear in De aud. poet. 31E: whilst etymology belongs to the domain of the γραμματικός, one should pursue a reading that is useful and credible.

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and in the faultless and elegant diction (τὰ καθαρῶς πεφρασμένα καὶ ῥητορικῶς). The φιλόλογος apparently deals with the aesthetic aspect of the organization of the language material in poetry: he is a literary critic. The third group are the φιλότιμοι καὶ φιλόκαλοι (“those who love what is honourable and noble”): they make a special study of sayings that are useful for the character. They read poetry not for playful amusement but for education (μὴ παιγνίας ἀλλὰ παιδείας ἕνεκα). Thus, the lovers of stories, together with those with aesthetical interest, form one group who approach poetry with merely playful interest, as opposed to those who make use of poetry as a source of ethical-practical education. Still, one cannot say that in this way the philologists are put in a bad light. Reading poetry for the sake of playful amusement is in itself not depreciated. But in an essay that addresses young people and that has a clear ethical-educational goal, a certain approach is advised in comparison to which the literary-aesthetical approach is only relatively appreciated.

Symposia, Lectures, Reading a. Symptomatic for the philologist’s almost universal interest, for his eagerness to learn is the frequent occurrence of the combination φιλόλογος καὶ φιλομαθής:18 the philologist loves learning, and not seldom does he do that in conversations with his colleagues. A symposium seems to create the optimal conditions for that learning process.19 But one has to take care that the company is composed in a well-balanced way: the majority of the participants should be philologists (Quaest. conv. 613DF), and it is not advised to bring uninvited guests to the symposium, unless they are the kind of people who can adapt themselves to their host-philologist (Quaest. conv. 709B). Besides, a man who is eager to learn (φιλομαθής) should sit next to a learned man (φιλολόγῳ) at the dinner-table (Quaest. conv. 618EF). In those circumstances, a symposium is the occasion par excellence to have a learned conversation, provided that one does not talk about indigestible subjects like διαλεκτική (De tuenda sanitate praecepta 133C). Plutarch is indignant when he notices that Epicurus would decline the treatment of philological inquiries (φιλόλογα ζητήματα) even over wine (Non posse 1095C; cf. Quaest. conv. 716D). 18 19

De ad. et am. 52C; De Pyth. or. 394F; Crass. 8.4; Pomp. 10.4. Philology in a sympotic context: De tuenda 133BC; De coh. ira 462B; Quaest. conv. 612E, 613D, 618E–F; 635F; 645C; 673A; 686CD; 709B, 715B; 723A; 736D, 737D, 748D; Non posse 1095C.

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The conversation should take place in an agreeable atmosphere; there is no room for a heated discussion with irritable arguments, since in that case the φιλολογία would turn into contentiousness (φιλονεικία) (De cohibenda ira 462B). For it is the intention of the kind and polite exchange of ideas that is generated through the impulse of φιλολογία to veil the mean aspects of the soul, and to put its most beautiful aspects to the fore (Quaest. conv. 645C). The pursuit of spiritual pleasures is a fortiori the task of the philologist, since after the meal even the mean and illiterate people (οἱ φορτικοὶ καὶ ἀφιλόλογοι) will pursue pleasures that are not those of the body (Quaest. conv. 673A; cf. De tuenda sanitate praecepta 133BC). The informal style of the discussions allows for some teasing: a true philologist can deal with that (Quaest. conv. 635F). b. Courtesy, absence of rivalry, and benevolent attention to other people’s opinion are characteristic of the philologist also when he listens to a lecturer: since he has a positive attitude (De audiendo 44E), he always finds one or other point on which to congratulate the speaker (De audiendo 45A); he is not eager to show his own erudition by questioning the speaker; he lets other people ask questions and then listens benevolently: he is a truly sociable scholar (φιλόλογον καὶ κοινωνικόν: De audiendo 43D). c. Apart from conversations with colleagues and with lecturers, the philologist uses yet another means to satisfy his innate20 love of learning, namely reading. Thus, the flatterer who wants to imitate the philologist is forced to be a bookworm (ἐν βιβλίοις εἶναι: De adulatore et amico 52C). Furthermore, friendship with many people is not advised, since in that case one has to conform to all those people; for instance, one should have to read books with the philologist (φιλολόγοις ἀναγιγνώσκοντος: De ad. et am. 97A). And Plutarch is pleased that Plato wrote his dialogues down so that philologists can still enjoy his festive meals (Quaest. conv. 686CD). And acquaintanceship with Aristotle’s writings gives you the qualification ‘φιλόλογος ἐπιεικῶς’ (“rather well-read”: Quaest. conv. 690C). The youngsters will give a lecture on animal psychology on the basis of their reading: they are φιλόλογοι καὶ φιλογράμματοι: De sollertia animalium 963C; but the older Peripatetics were less familiar with Aristotle’s and Theophrastus’ writings, but they were still accomplished and learned men (χαρίεντες καὶ φιλόλογοι: Sulla 26.2)! Alexander was a natural philologist, and so he loved reading (φύσει φιλόλογος καὶ φιλαναγνώστης: Alexander 8.1). The philologists go to the library as to a ‘Hotel of the Muses’ (Lucullus 42.2).

20

Φιλόλογος as opposed to the ἀφυεῖς: Quaest. conv. 694D.

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The philologist not only reads, his φιλολογία implies that he is also willing to write, and to write poetry as well as prose (Lucullus 1.5). That the philologist refers all the time to the works he has read is not surprising: the many quotations testify to his wide reading, whereby literature is not only his source of knowledge, but also of his explicitly phrased arguments: “die Wissenschaft war zu gleicher Zeit Literatur.”21

Conclusion What kind of image results then from the above sketch of his behavior and his activities? The philologist explores all areas of human knowledge with a universal interest; driven by love of learning, he investigates problems in the field of philosophy, geometry, military science, physics, medicine, rhetoric, poetry, mythology, mathematics, and history. It must be clear, however, that it was not Plutarch’s intention to produce an exclusive and exhaustive list of the disciplines concerned. He is, e.g., not consistent concerning the question whether mythology has something to do with philology (compare De defectu oraculorum 419D with De audiendis poetis 30CD). But it is quite clear that the core business of the philologist is of a spiritual nature. With some contempt for the cult of the body and disturbed by the business of public life, he prefers to devote himself to scholarly research in the company of his like-minded fellows. Of course, this scholarly research does not always comply with our methodological standards. The anecdote about Democritus makes it clear that philology ventures to neglect facts for the benefit of a hypothetical construction: desto schlimmer für die Wirklichkeit!22 And instead of the experiment, the quotations from literature afford probative value to the philological account.23 But the intellectual openness, the urge to investigate, the desire to find out the truth, the erudition, do label the philologist as a genuine scholar. Although he stands apart from the uncultivated masses, he does not belong to a specific social class; but one could say he belongs to ‘the aristocracy of the mind’. That is indeed implied in the qualification of χαρίεις (Quaestiones convivales 635F and Sulla 26.2); as in Aristotle Ethica Nicomachea 21 22

23

Nuchelmans, Studien über φιλόλογος, 63. But in De prof. in virt. 75F Plutarch reproaches the Stoics with manipulating the facts because they have their eye on their theory instead of constructing their theory on the basis of facts. Elsewhere in Plutarch this procedure is criticized as well: Caphisias reproaches Praxiteles with compiling peripatetic commonplaces in order to use them as impressive arguments (Quaest. conv. 724D).

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1095B14 and Politica 1267A1, the term points to a spiritual perfection that distinguishes the philologist from the masses. The philologist is an educated man, a πεπαιδευμένος, the product and the practitioner of the ἐγκύκλιος παιδεία, and the culture that he acquired comes to light in civilized and kind manners. It comes as no surprise that Plutarch has stressed philosophy within the whole of the many-sided, polymath education. The tension between scholarship and wisdom, between the many-sided Alexandrian philology, which did not adhere to one particular philosophical school, and the practical wisdom that took the Stoa as a guideline for the development of the mind does not lead to a conflict between philosophy and philology in Plutarch’s writings. But it is true that non-philosophical philology holds an inferior position in the hierarchy of the disciplines (and certainly so in those passages where Stoic influences are probable). The philologist lives on and for words: he reads and writes, listens to lectures and gives lectures himself, he has dialogues with his colleagues. Literature as “all that has been written down” is to him an inexhaustible source of information; it provides him with the necessary arguments when lecturing or in a dialogue. On the other hand, language and literature are also the object of his research: he explains obsolete words in poetry and knows how to interpret poetry in a meaningful way from a philosophical viewpoint; as a literary critic, he also pays attention to the purity of the language and the formal beauty of the word-painting. The tendency of identifying literature with written information should be understood in light of the close connection between literature and education: education requires that one has access to the opinions of other people, and then writing plays a crucial role. Plato’s writings allow us to participate in his philosophical dialogues. In this respect, Galaxidorus’ comparison of divination with reading literature (De genio Socratis 582AB) is revealing: just a few, and with respect to their form, unimportant signs can provide us with information about great wars, the foundation of cities, acts of kings, in short about most important events. It is also significant that Cicero’s erudition is levelled with his all-round interest in letters (καὶ πολυμαθὴς καὶ ποικίλος τῇ περὶ τοὺς λόγους σπουδῇ γενόμενος) (Comparatio Demosthenis et Ciceronis 1.2). Cicero was indeed, in accordance with his studious and philosophical nature, fond of all disciplines and did not despise any form of letters or education (μηδὲν λόγον μηδὲ παιδείας … εἶδος) (Cicero 2.3). Dion, who was convinced that Dionysius’ shameful behavior was caused by his lack of education (ἀπαιδευσία), wanted to engage him in the liberal arts (εἰς διατριβὰς ἐλευθερίους),24 namely by making him taste letters and sciences 24

Cf. Quaest. conv. 7.5, where the shameful movements of the ecstatic dance, unworthy of a gentleman (ἀνελευθέρους: 704D) are opposed to the noble old letters (706E).

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(γεῦσαι λόγων καὶ μαθημάτων) that would form his character (Dion 9.1). This ethical-practical moment is prominently present in Plutarch’s παιδεία. Thus, Brutus’ temper was softened by philosophical education and letters (Brutus 1.1: παιδείᾳ καί λόγῳ διὰ φιλοσοφίας). Letters and philosophy are often closely connected: when Plato came to Syracuse, there was in that city a penchant for letters and philosophy (φορὰ δέ τις … ἐπὶ λόγους καὶ φιλοσοφίαν) (Dion 13.2), and Dion showed the proper dedication to letters and philosophy (περὶ λόγους καὶ περὶ φιλοσοφίαν εὐσχήμονας διατριβάς). And although Marcellus was by nature a warrior, he was nonetheless “temperate, humane and lover of Greek culture/education and letters” (σώφρων, φιλάνθρωπος, Ἑλληνικῆς παιδείας και λόγων … ἐραστής) (Marcellus 1.2). But Marius did not know Greek literature, nor did he speak Greek when talking about serious matters. Plutarch argues that it would have been wiser for him to sacrifice to the Greek Muses and Graces: that would have prevented his being driven by the blasts of passion (Marcellus 2.2). The term λόγοι can be used to designate different kinds of literature that contribute to the ethical education. That is clear also in Philopoemen 4.5: he read the writings of philosophers, the poetry of Homer, the Tactics of Euangelus, and the histories of Alexander because he was convinced that letters would promote action; at the same time, it is noteworthy that he tested the tactical suggestions in those writings by making his studies on the ground! The man who cares about his intellectual and ethical education cannot do without letters: λόγος and παιδεία are correlative. παίδεια implies in an obvious way a view on literature as the source of knowledge and education. And that is, for that matter, the way in which Plutarch himself dealt with literature: the thousands of quotations that illustrate, inform, embellish or conform his Moralia and Vitae are the contributions of the past to the education of Plutarch. Literature was his breeding ground, but also the medium through which he communicated, through which he phrased his exploration of the human soul. In short, the portrait of the φιλόλογος, as it emerges from Plutarch’s writings, is perfectly applicable to himself.25 In this respect, he deserves to be called Plutarch, Φιλόλογος of Chaeronea.26

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One should compare our sketch of the philologist with the portrait E.R. Dodds sketched of Plutarch: E.R. Dodds, “The Portrait of a Greek Gentleman,” G&R (1931–1933) 97–107. I dedicate this contribution to Prof. dr. Aurelio Pérez Jiménez with admiration for his scholarship and gratitude for his support and friendship. It is a proper accolade to grant him the title of Φιλόλογος of Málaga.

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1973 “Actitudes del Hombre frente a la Tyche en las Vidas Paralelas de Plutarco,” Boletín del Instituto de Estudios Helénicos 7 (1973) 101–110. 1975 Hesíodo. Trabajos y Días. Teogonía (Barcelona: Bruguera, 1975). 1977 “Los Días de Hesíodo: Estructura Formal y Análisis de Contenido,” Emerita 45 (1977) 105–123. “Unidad Formal y Sentido de los Días de Hesíodo,” in Actas del V Congreso Español de Estudios Clásicos (Madrid: Sociedad Española de Estudios Clásicos, 1977) 607–611. Aristóteles. La Política (Madrid: Editora Nacional, 1977) (in collab. with C. García Gual). 1978 Hesíodo. Obras y Fragmentos (Madrid: Gredos, 1978) (in collab. with A. Martínez Díez). 1979 Vida de Apolonio de Tiana (introd., Spanish transl. & com. A.B. Pajares; rev. A. Pérez Jiménez) (Madrid: Gredos, 1979). 1980 “Pobreza, Justicia y Patriotismo en la Vida de Aristides de Plutarco,” Sodalitas 1 (1980) 145–153. 1981 “Un caso de pervivencia púnica durante el imperio romano. El municipio bético de Ostippo,” Memorias de Historia Antigua (1981) 95–101. 1984 “La Religión como Instrumento Político en Plutarco,” in O. García de la Fuente & V. Polentinos (eds.), Actas del II Congreso Andaluz de Estudios Clásicos vol. 2 (Málaga: Sociedad Española de Estudios Clásicos, 1987) 25–28.

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1985 “La Batalla de Trasimeno y la Caracterización Fabio-Flaminio en Plu., Fab., 2.2–3.7,” Habis 16 (1985) 129–143. Aristóteles. La Política (Madrid: Alianza Editorial, 1985) (in collab. with C. García Gual). Plutarco. Teseo-Rómulo, Licurgo-Numa (introd., Spanish transl. & com. A. Pérez Jiménez) (Madrid: Gredos, 1985). 1987 “La Versión Renacentista de la Vida de Cimón y Lúculo de Plutarco,” J.C. Santoyo, J.L. Chamosa, T. Guzmán González & R. Rabadán (eds.), Fidus Interpres. Actas de las Primeras Jornadas Nacionales de Historia de la Traducción (León: León University Press, 1987) 140–147. 1988 “El Ideal de Buen Rey según Plutarco,” in J.Mª. Candau Morón, F. Gascó & A. Ramírez de Verger (eds.), La Imagen de la Realeza en la Antigüedad (Madrid: Coloquio, 1988) 89–113. “Plutarco y las Leyes de Rómulo sobre el Matrimonio,” Analecta Malacitana 11 (1988) 3–10. 1990 “Plutarco y el humanismo español del Renacimiento,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & G. del Cerro Calderón (eds.), Estudios sobre Plutarco: obra y tradición. Actas del I Simposio español sobre Plutarco (Fuengirola, 1988) (Málaga: Málaga University Press, 1990) 229–247. 1991 “La debilidad política de Solón en Plutarco,” in L. Ferreres (ed.), Actes del ixé simposi de la Secció Catalana de la SEEC, St. Feliu de Guíxols, 13–16 d’abril de 1988, I–II: treballs en honor de Virgilio Bejarano (Barcelona: Barcelona University Press, 1991) 687–696. “Plutarco y el paisaje lunar,” in J. García López & E. Calderón Dorda (eds.), Estudios sobre Plutarco: paisaje y naturaleza. Actas del II Simposio Español sobre Plutarco (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1991) 307–317. A. Pérez Jiménez & G. del Cerro Calderón (eds.), Estudios sobre Plutarco: obra y tradición. Actas del I Simposio español sobre Plutarco (Fuengirola, 1988) (Málaga: Málaga University Press, 1990). 1992 “Alle frontiere della scienza: Plutarco e l’astrologia,” in I. Gallo (ed.), Plutarco e le scienze. Atti del IV Convegno plutarcheo Genova-Bocca di Magra (22–25 aprile 1991) (Geneva: Sagep, 1992) 271–286.

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“Reflejos del Mito Clásico en la Literatura Europea,” Estudios Clásicos 102 (1992) 65– 87. “Religión y política en Grecia: Temístocles y el oráculo de Delfos,” Minerva 6 (1992) 61– 82. 1993 “El viaje sidéreo de las almas: origen y fortuna de un tema clásico en Occidente,” Fortunatae 5 (1993) 101–123. 1994 “La doctrina de las estrellas: tradición histórica de una ciencia,” in A. Pérez Jiménez (ed.), Astronomía y astrología: de los orígenes al Renacimiento (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1994) 1–42. “Plutarch on the Irresponsibility of Aegeus,” The Ancient World: a Scholarly Journal for the Study of Antiquity 25 (1994) 223–231. 1995 “Etra: la visión del héroe a través de la madre,” in Actas del VIII congreso español de estudios clásicos (Madrid, 23–28 de septiembre de 1991) (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1994) 307–313. “La imagen de Teseo en las Suplicantes de Eurípides,” in J.A. López Férez (ed.), De Homero a Libanio: estudios actuales sobre textos griegos II (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1995) 145–161. “Precisiones a la Doctrina de Plutarco sobre el Carácter,” in M. García Valdés (ed.), Estudios sobre Plutarco: Ideas Religiosas. Actas del III Simposio Español sobre Plutarco (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1994) 331–340. “Proairesis: las formas de acceso a la vida pública y el pensamiento político de Plutarco,” in I. Gallo & B. Scardigli (eds.), Teoria e prassi politica nelle opere di Plutarco: atti del V convegno plutarcheo [e III congresso internazionale della International Plutarch Society] (Certosa di Pontignano, 7–9 giugno 1993) (Naples: M. D’Auria, 1995) 363–381. A. Pérez Jiménez (ed.), Astronomía y astrología: de los orígenes al Renacimiento (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1994). 1996 “Δεισιδαιμονία: el miedo a los dioses en Plutarco,” in L. van der Stockt (ed.), Plutarchea Lovaniensia: a Miscellany of Essays on Plutarch (Leuven: Peeters, 1996) 195–225. “Elementi astrali nei miti di Plutarco,” in I. Gallo (ed.), Plutarco e la religione. Atti del VI Convegno Plutarcheo (Ravello, 29–31 maggio 1995) (Naples: M. D’Auria, 1996) 297– 308. “La Asociación de Ideas como Criterio Formal en las Vidas Paralelas,” in J.A. Fernández

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Delgado & F. Pordomingo Pardo (eds.), Estudios sobre Plutarco: Aspectos Formales. Actas del IV Simposio Español sobre Plutarco (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1996) 257– 266. “La Envidia como Dolor y Placer en Plutarco,” in P. Cosenza (ed.), Il Filebo di Platone e la sua Fortuna. Atti del Convegno di Napoli (4–6 novembre 1993) (Naples: M. D’Auria, 1996) 375–382. “La Tiranía de los Astros sobre el Hombre: Melotesia Zodiacal,” in J.Mª García González & A. Pociña Pérez (eds.), Pervivencia y Actualidad de la Cultura Clásica (Granada: Granada University Press, 1996) 263–286. A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), La religión como factor de integración y conflicto en el Mediterráneo (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1996). A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), Hijas de Afrodita: la sexualidad femenina en los pueblos mediterráneos (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1996). Plutarco. Solón-Publícola; Temístocles-Camilo; Pericles-Fabio Máximo (introd., Spanish transl. & com. A. Pérez Jiménez) (Madrid: Gredos, 1996). 1997 “Conciencia lingüística y proceso de creación literaria: a propósito de Plutarco, Pericles 35.3,” in C. Schrader, V. Ramón & J. Vela (eds.), Plutarco y la Historia. Actas del V Simposio Español sobre Plutarco. Zaragoza (20–22 de junio de 1996) (Zaragoza: Zaragoza University Press, 1997) 379–385. “Odiseo y las Sirenas. Interpretaciones Griegas de una Escena Mítica,” in M. del C. Bosch & M.A. Fornés (eds.), Homenatge a Miquel Dolç. Actes del XII Simposi de la Secció Catalana i de la Secció Balear de la SEEC (Palma, 1 al 4 de febrer de 1996) (Palma de Mallorca: Govern Balear—Conselleria d’Educació, Cultura i Esports, 1997) 139–153. “Plutarco y las Vidas Paralelas,” introduction to J. Bergua & A. Pérez Jiménez, Plutarco. Alejandro y César. Pericles y Fabio Máximo (Barcelona: Círculo de Lectores, 1997) 7– 35. 1998 “Ciencia, religión y literatura en el Mito de Sila de Plutarco,” in M. Brioso & F.J. González (eds.), Actitudes literarias en la Grecia romana (Seville: Libros Pórtico, 1998) 283–294. “Grandeza retórica de un exiliado: los diálogos de la Carta Veinte de Temístocles,” in L. Gil, M. Martínez Pastor & R.Ma. Aguilar (eds.), Corolla Complutensis in memoriam Josephi S. Lasso de la Vega = Homenaje al profesor José S. Lasso de la Vega (Madrid: Complutense University Press, 1998) 351–359. “La imagen celeste de la Ecúmene: geografía zodiacal y planetaria,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), Los límites de la Tierra: el espacio geográfico en las culturas mediterráneas (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1998) 177–219.

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“Luisa Sigea y Plutarco,” in I. Gallo (ed.), L’eredità culturale di Plutarco dall’Antichità al Rinascimento (Naples: M. D’Auria, 1998) 377–388. “Mito y astrología en Grecia: un viaje sin retorno,” in J.L. Calvo Martínez (ed.), Religión, magia y mitología en la Antigüedad clásica (Granada: Granada University Press, 1998) 137–165. A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), Los límites de la Tierra: el espacio geográfico en las culturas mediterráneas (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1998). 1999 “El mensajero Hermes y las propiedades astrológicas de su planeta Mercurio,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), Aladas palabras: correos y comunicaciones en el Mediterráneo (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1999) 95–122. “Implicaciones astrológicas del mito de Crono-Saturno,” Minerva 13 (1999) 17–44. “Melotesia zodiacal y planetaria: la pervivencia de las creencias astrológicas antiguas sobre el cuerpo humano,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), Unidad y pluralidad del cuerpo humano: la anatomía en las culturas mediterráneas (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1999) 249–292. “Plutarco y la embriaguez literaria de los sentidos,” in J.G. Montes Cala, M. Sánchez Ortiz de Landaluce & R.J. Gallé Cejudo (eds.), Plutarco, Dioniso y el vino: actas del VI simposio español sobre Plutarco (Cádiz, 14–16 de mayo de 1998) (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1999) 369–377. A. Pérez Jiménez., L. García López, & R.Ma. Aguilar (eds.), Plutarco, Platón y Aristóteles. Actas del V Congreso Internacional de la I.P.S. (Madrid-Cuenca, 4–7 mayo 1999) (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1999). A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), Unidad y pluralidad del cuerpo humano: la anatomía en las culturas mediterráneas (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1999). A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), Aladas palabras: correos y comunicaciones en el Mediterráneo (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 1999). 2000 “Del Coriolano de Plutarco al Coriolano de Shakespeare: Perfiles de un Retrato Literario,” in P.L. Zambrano Carballo, M.A. Márquez Guerrero & A. Ramírez de Verger (eds.), El Retrato Literario. Tempestades y Naufragios. Escritura y Reelaboración. Actas del XII Simposio de la SELGYC (Huelva: Huelva University Press, 2000) 323–331. “La Retórica del Silencio: El Discurso de Volumnia en la Vida de Coriolano,” in L. van der Stockt (ed.), Rhetorical Theory and Praxis in Plutarch. Acta of the IVth International Congress of the International Plutarch Society (Leuven, July 3–6, 1996) (Leuven— Namur: Peeters, 2000) 341–353. “Perfiles humanos de un héroe: Plutarco y su imagen de Teseo,” in V. Pirenne-Delforge & E. Suárez de la Torre (eds.), Héros et héroïnes dans les mythes et les cultes grecs: actes

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du Colloque organisé à l’Université de Valladolid (26 au 29 mai 1999) (Liège: Centre International d’Étude de la Religion Grecque Antique, 2000) 229–240. “‘Perì deípnou’: referencias astrológicas antiguas a la dieta y la gastronomía,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), Dieta mediterránea: comidas y hábitos alimenticios en las culturas mediterráneas (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 2000) 125–157. “Retrato literario y biografía menor en el Corpus Plutarcheum,” in I. Gallo & C. Moreschini (eds.), I generi letterari in Plutarco (Naples: M. D’Auria, 2000) 29–37. A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), Seres intermedios: ángeles, demonios y genios en el mundo mediterráneo (Málaga: Charta Antiqua, 2000). A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), Dieta mediterránea: comidas y hábitos alimenticios en las culturas mediterráneas (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 2000). 2001 “Cien años de investigación sobre la astrología antigua,” Mene 1 (2001) 133–203. “Introduction” in C. Alcalde Martín, El mito de Leda en la Antigüedad (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 2001). “Plutarco uersus Platón: espacios místicos en el mito de Tespesio,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & F. Casadesús Bordoy (eds.), Estudios sobre Plutarco: misticismo y religiones mistéricas en la obra de Plutarco. Actas del VII simposio español sobre Plutarco (Palma de Mallorca, 2–4 de noviembre de 2000) (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 2001) 201–210. “Traducciones castellanas de las Vidas Paralelas en el siglo XVI: el Plutarco de Francisco de Enzinas,” Euphrosyne 29 (2001) 29–46. A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), La verdad tamizada: cronistas, reporteros e historiadores ante su público (Málaga: Charta Antiqua, 2001). A. Pérez Jiménez & F. Casadesús Bordoy (eds.), Estudios sobre Plutarco: misticismo y religiones mistéricas en la obra de Plutarco. Actas del VII simposio español sobre Plutarco (Palma de Mallorca, 2–4 de noviembre de 2000) (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 2001). 2002 “Δαίμων πάρεδρος,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), “Daímon páredros”: magos y prácticas mágicas en el mundo mediterráneo (Málaga: Charta Antiqua, 2002) 1–6 (in collaboration with G. Cruz Andreotti). “Exemplum: the paradigmatic education of the ruler in the Lives of Plutarch,” in P.A. Stadter & L. van der Stockt (eds.), Sage and Emperor: Plutarch, Greek Intellectuals, and Roman Power in the Time of Trajan (98–117A.D.) (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2002) 105–114. “‘Homo mathematicus’: astrólogos griegos y romanos,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & R. Caballero (eds.), “Homo mathematicus,” Actas del congreso internacional sobre astrólogos griegos y romanos (Benalmádena, 8–10 de octubre de 2001) (Málaga: Charta Antiqua, 2002) 9–18.

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“La elocuencia como instrumento político en las Vidas Paralelas de Plutarco: ὁ λόγος ὥσπερ δεύτερον σῶμα,” Cuadernos de Filología Clásica. Estudios Griegos e Indoeuropeos 12 (2002) 253–270. “Περι δείπνου: a propósito de Heph., III 36,” Mene 2 (200) 237–254. “Plutarco y la literatura española del XVII. Importancia actual de los estudios sobre Plutarco,” en J. Ribeiro Ferreira (ed.), Plutarco educador da Europa (Porto: Fundação Eng. António de Almeida, 2002) 353–368. “Relaciones divinas y asociaciones planetarias: mito y astrología antigua,” in J. Peláez (ed.), El dios que hechiza y encanta: magia y astrología en el mundo clásico y helenístico: actas del I congreso nacional, Córdoba 1998 (Córdoba: El Almendro, 2002) 249– 263. “Valores literarios del mito de Sila: anotaciones estilísticas a la antropología de Plu., De facie 943a–943b,” in L. Torraca (ed.), Scritti in onore di Italo Gallo (Naples: Ed. Scientifiche Italiane, 2002) 463–478. “Y así dijo la zorra,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), “Y así dijo la zorra”: la tradición fabulística en los pueblos del Mediterráneo (Málaga: Charta Antiqua, 2002) 1–9 (in collaboration with G. Cruz Andreotti). A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), “Daímon páredros”: magos y prácticas mágicas en el mundo mediterráneo (Málaga: Charta Antiqua, 2002). A. Pérez Jiménez & R. Caballero (eds.), “Homo mathematicus”: actas del congreso internacional sobre astrólogos griegos y romanos (Benalmádena, 8–10 de octubre de 2001) (Málaga: Charta Antiqua, 2002). A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), “Y así dijo la zorra”: la tradición fabulística en los pueblos del Mediterráneo (Málaga: Charta Antiqua, 2002). A. Pérez Jiménez (ed.), Plutarchus redivivus. Memorándum del II Encuentro de la Red Temática de Plutarco (Málaga, 14–15 de junio de 2001) y Propuesta de Proyectos aprobados (Málaga: Málaga University Press, 2002). 2003 “De cuando los dioses perdieron su divinidad: orígenes de la interpretación histórica de los mitos divinos,” in J.A. López Férez (ed.), Mitos en la literatura griega helenística e imperial (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 2003) 137–155. “El Plutarco de los Moralia en la literatura emblemática hispánica,” in G. Fernández Ariza (ed.), Literatura Hispanoamericana del Siglo XX. Mimesis e Iconografía (Málaga: Málaga University Press, 2003) 169–195. “Gestos, palabras y actitudes en el De facie in orbe Lunae de Plutarco,” Ploutarchos 1 (2003/2004) 63–78. “La ciudad mediterránea: entre el mito y la realidad,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), De la aldea al burgo: la ciudad como estructura urbana y política en el Mediterráneo (Málaga: Charta Antiqua, 2003) 7–11.

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“Las Vidas Paralelas de Plutarco en la Emblemática Hispánica de los siglos XVI–XVII,” Humanitas 55 (2003) 223–240. “Los héroes de Plutarco como modelo en la literatura emblemática europea de los siglos XVI–XVII,” in A. Barzano, C. Bearzot, F. Landucci, L. Prandi & G. Zecchini (eds.), Modelli eroici dall’Antichità alla cultura Europea (Roma: L’erma di Bretschneider, 2003) 375–402. “Notas sobre la posición de Marte en tres horóscopos de Vetio Valente,” Mene 3 (2003) 317–322. A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), De la aldea al burgo: la ciudad como estructura urbana y política en el Mediterráneo (Málaga: Charta Antiqua, 2003). 2004 “Bajo las flechas de Eros,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & M. Salcedo Parrondo (eds.), Las alas del placer: las riberas del Mediterráneo bajo las flechas de Eros (Málaga: Charta Antiqua, 2004) 7–12. “Dos héroes fundadores: las Vidas de Teseo y Rómulo de Plutarco,” in J.Mª. Candau, J. González Ponce & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), Historia y mito. El pasado legendario como fuente de autoridad (Málaga: CEDMA, 2004) 165–175. “El Hesíodo de Plutarco,” in I. Gallo (ed.), La Biblioteca di Plutarco. Atti del IX Convegno plutarcheo (Pavia, 13–15 giugno 2002) (Naples: M. D’Auria, 2004) 37–46. “Influencias astrales en la fundación de ciudades y en las tareas de reconstrucción,” Mene 4 (2004) 173–196. “La comida y la astrología lunar antigua,” in D. Segarra Crespo (ed.), Connotaciones sacrales de la alimentación en el mundo clásico (Madrid: Complutense University Press, 2004) 79–88 (Ilu. Revista de ciencias de las religiones 12 special issue). “¿Las ‘Biografías’ de Plutarco como medio de propaganda imperial?,” in A. Pérez Jiménez, J. Ribeiro Ferreira, Ma. do Céu Zambujo Fialho (eds.), O retrato literario e a biografia como estratégia de teorização política (Málaga: Málaga University Press, 2004) 49–64. “Los héroes de Plutarco y su elección entre la justicia y la utilidad,” in L. De Blois (ed.), The Statesman in Plutarch’s Works. Proceedings of the Sixth International Conference of the International Plutarch Society (Nijmegen/Castle Hernen, May 1–5, 2002) (Leiden: Brill, 2004) 127–136. “Tántalo en Sófocles y el Tántalo de Sófocles,” in A. Pérez Jiménez, C. Alcalde Martín & R. Caballero Sánchez (eds.), Sófocles el hombre, Sófocles el poeta. Actas del congreso internacional con motivo del XXV centenario del nacimiento de Sófocles (497/6 a.C.–2003/4), celebrado en Málaga (29–31 de mayo de 2003) (Málaga: Charta Antiqua, 2004) 319–328. A. Pérez Jiménez & M. Salcedo Parrondo (eds.), Las alas del placer: las riberas del Mediterráneo bajo las flechas de Eros (Málaga: Charta Antiqua, 2004).

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A. Pérez Jiménez, J. Ribeiro Ferreira, Ma. do Céu Zambujo Fialho (eds.), O retrato literario e a biografia como estratégia de teorização política (Málaga: Málaga University Press, 2004). A. Pérez Jiménez, C. Alcalde Martín & R. Caballero Sánchez (eds.), Sófocles el hombre, Sófocles el poeta. Actas del congreso internacional con motivo del XXV centenario del nacimiento de Sófocles (497/6 a.C.–2003/4), celebrado en Málaga (29–31 de mayo de 2003) (Málaga: Charta Antiqua, 2004). 2005 “Δικαιοσύνη als Wesenszug des Göttlichen,” in R. Hirsch-Luipold (ed.), Gott und die Götter bei Plutarch. Götterbilder—Gottesbilder—Weltbilder (Berlin—New York: De Gruyter, 2005) 101–110. “Importancia literaria del léxico: ‘amigos’, ‘enemigos’ y ‘utilidad’ en De capienda ex inimicis utilitate,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & F.B. Titchener (eds.), Valori letterari delle opere di Plutarco. Studi offerti al professore Italo Gallo dall’International Plutarch Society (Logan: Utah State University Press, 2005) 349–365. “La estructura de la Vida de Teseo de Plutarco,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & F.B. Titchener (eds.), Historical and Biographical Values of Plutarch’s Works. Studies devoted to Professor Philip A. Stadter by the International Plutarch Society (Logan: Utah State University Press, 2005) 341–354. “Los animales de Plutarco en la emblemática europea de los siglos XVI–XVII,” in J. Boulogne (ed.), Les Grecs de l’Antiquité et les animaux. Le cas remarquable de Plutarque (Lille: Éd. du Conseil Scientifique de l’Université Charles-de-Gaulle-Lille 3, 2005) 63–94. “Plutarco en Alciato, I (Andreae Alciati Emblematum libellus, Parisiis, MDXXXIV),” Silva: Estudios de humanismo y tradición clásica 4 (2005) 235–266. “Πλούταρχος Φιλίππῳ,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & F.B. Titchener (eds.), Historical and Biographical Values of Plutarch’s Works. Studies devoted to Professor Philip A. Stadter by the International Plutarch Society (Logan: Utah State University Press, 2005) 9–11. “Πλούταρχος Ἰτάλῳ,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & F.B. Titchener (eds.), Valori letterari delle opere di Plutarco. Studi offerti al professore Italo Gallo dall’International Plutarch Society (Logan: Utah State University Press, 2005) 9–11. “Prescrizioni astrologiche relative alla prassi religiosa,” in G. Sfameni Gasparro (ed.), Modi di Comunicazione tra il Divino e l’Umano (Messina: Giordano, 2005) 151–190. “Reflexiones sobre el Píndaro de Fray Luis de León,” in S. Montesa Peydró (ed.), ‘A zaga de tu huella’. Homenaje al Prof. Cristóbal Cuevas vol. 1 (Málaga: CEDMA, 2005) 67– 76. “Usos didácticos de la imagen y la palabra. El Plutarco de Juan Francisco de Villava,” in M. Jufresa, F. Mestre, P. Gómez & P. Gilabert (eds.), Plutarc a la seva època: Paideia i societa. Actas del VIII Simposio Internacional de la Sociedad Española de Plutarquis-

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tas (Barcelona, 6–8 nov. 2003) (Barcelona: Sociedad Española de Plutarquistas, 2005) 797–808. A. Pérez Jiménez & F.B. Titchener (eds.), Valori letterari delle opere di Plutarco. Studi offerti al professore Italo Gallo dall’International Plutarch Society (Logan: Utah State University Press, 2005). A. Pérez Jiménez & F.B. Titchener (eds.), Historical and Biographical Values of Plutarch’s Works. Studies devoted to Professor Philip A. Stadter by the International Plutarch Society (Logan: Utah State University Press, 2005). 2006 “Irrupción de la astrología en la historia y los mitos de Grecia,” in J. Martínez-Pinna Nieto (ed.), Initia Rerum. Sobre el Concepto del Origen en el Mundo Antiguo (Málaga: Málaga University Press, 2006) 83–103. “La Luna como símbolo de los prestamistas,” Mene 6 (2006) 299–304. “Los nuevos dioses planetarios: implicaciones religiosas de Mercurio,” in J.A. Delgado Delgado (ed.), Dioses viejos-Dioses nuevos. Formas de incorporación de nuevos cultos en la ciudad antigua (Las Palmas de Gran Canaria: Fundación MAPFRE Guanarteme, 2006) 117–133. “Plutarco, Juan de Mal Lara y la Galera Real de D. Juan de Austria,” in R.Mª. Aguilar & I. Rodríguez Alfageme (eds.), Ecos de Plutarco en Europa. De Fortuna Plutarchi Studia Selecta (Madrid: Complutense University Press, 2006) 233–246. “Préstamos y profesiones bancarias en los textos astrológicos del mundo antiguo y medieval,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), Hijos de Mercurio: banqueros, prestamistas, usureros y transacciones comerciales en el mundo mediterráneo (Málaga: Charta Antiqua, 2006) 11–71. “Retórica y crítica a los estoicos en Plutarco: relevancia estilística de una cláusula métrica en De esu carnium II 6, 999 A–B,” in E. Calderón Dorda, A. Morales Ortiz & M. Valverde Sánchez (eds.), Koinòs lógos: homenaje al profesor José García López vol. 2 (Murcia: Murcia University Press, 2006) 795–801. A. Pérez Jiménez & G. Cruz Andreotti (eds.), Hijos de Mercurio: banqueros, prestamistas, usureros y transacciones comerciales en el mundo mediterráneo (Málaga: Charta Antiqua, 2006). Plutarco. Coriolano-Alcibíades; Paulo Emilio-Timoleón; Pelópidas-Marcelo (introd., Spanish transl. & com. A. Pérez Jiménez & P. Ortiz García) (Madrid: Gredos, 2006). 2007 “A propósito de una cita de Hipócrates y de la relación entre ΣΙΓΗ y ΑΣΚΗΣΙΣ en dos tratados de Plutarco: οὐ μόνον ἄδιψον, ὥς φησιν Ἱπποκράτης,” in A. Bernabé & I. Rodríguez Alfageme (eds.), Φίλου σκιά. Studia philologiae in honorem Rosae Aguilar ab amicis et sodalibus dicata (Madrid: Complutense University Press, 2007) 127–135.

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“Dodecátropos, Zodíaco y partes de la nave en la astrología antigua,”Mene 7 (2007) 217– 235. “El Plutarco de Antonio Agustín,” in J. Nieto (ed.), El Amor en Plutarco. Actas del IX Simposio Internacional de la Sociedad Española de Plutarquistas (León: León University Press, 2007) 673–686. “Hephaestio III, 7.16–18 and the Consecration of Statues,” Culture and Cosmos 11 (2007) 111–134. “¿Ἰχθύες αἱ πλωτίδες?: propuesta de corrección textual en la melotesia náutica de Demetrio (CCAG VIII 3, p. 98, nota 1, 16),” Mene 7 (2007) 315–318. “Trasilo y Tiberio: ¿un fragmento de la Vita Tiberii de Plutarco?,” Ploutarchos 5 (2007/ 2008) 91–97. “Urania, el chivo y la imagen antigua del tirano,” in G. Fernández Ariza (ed.), Homo ludens. Homenaje a Mario Vargas Llosa (Málaga: Ayuntamiento de Málaga—Área de Cultura, 2007) 165–176. 2008 “El trofeo de Maratón. Adaptación y desarrollo de un tópico ético en Plutarco,” in A.G. Nikolaidis (ed.), The Unity of Plutarch’s Work (Berlin—New York: De Gruyter, 2010) 591–600. “Saturno, los eunucos y la emasculación de Urano,” Mene 8 (2008) 261–268. Plutarco. Sull’utilità dei nemici (introd., ed., Italian transl. & com. J.C. Capriglione & A. Pérez Jiménez) (Naples: M. D’Auria, 2008). 2009 “Astrometeorología e influencia lunar en las Quaestiones convivales de Plutarco,” in J. Ribeiro Ferreira, D. Ferreira Leão, M. Tröster & P. Barata Dias (eds.), Symposion and Philanthropia in Plutarch (Coimbra: Coimbra University Press, 2009) 447–455. “Fundamentos de la astronomía en Grecia,” Uciencia: revista de divulgación científica de la Universidad de Málaga 2 (2009) 16–19. “Influencia del mito hesiódico de la sucesión en los textos astrológicos grecorromanos,” in U. Dill & Ch. Walde (eds.), Antike Mythen: Medien, Transformationen und Konstruktionen (Berlin—New York: De Gruyter, 2009) 135–177. Paradigmas de nuestra cultura: astrología y poder político en la Antigüedad: discurso pronunciado en el acto de ingreso en la Sociedad Erasmiana de Málaga por el Dr. D. Aurelio Pérez Jiménez, y contestación del Dr. D. Cristóbal Macías Villalobos (Málaga, 24 de abril de 2009) (Málaga: Grupo Editorial 33, 2009). “Plutarco de Queronea,” in F. Lafarga & L. Pegenaute (eds.), Diccionario histórico de la traducción en España (Madrid: Gredos, 2009) 910–911. Eurípides. Fenicias, Suplicantes, Heraclidas (introd., Spanish transl. & com. A. Pérez Jiménez) (Madrid: Alianza Editorial, 2009).

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2010 “Ante el espejo de la cerámica griega en Málaga,” in A. Pérez Jiménez (ed.), Ante el espejo de la cerámica griega: anotaciones a la muestra ‘En el jardín de las Hespérides. Vasos griegos del Museo Arqueológico Nacional’ (Málaga, 5 de agosto–24 de octubre de 2010) (Málaga: Málaga University Press, 2010) 11–18. “En el Jardín de las Hespérides,” BBC Historia 3 (2010) 22–27. “En las praderas de Hades. Imágenes, metáforas y experiencias escatológicas de las almas buenas en Plu., De facie 943C–E,” in L. van der Stockt, F.B. Titchener, H.G. Ingenkamp & A. Pérez Jiménez (eds.), Gods, Daimones, Rituals, Myths and History of Religions in Plutarch’s Works (Málaga: Málaga University Press; Logan: Utah State University Press, 2010) 333–343. “Filosofía práctica y puesta en escena del banquete como tema de conversación entre los simposiastas plutarqueos,” Introduction to A.R. Rodrigues, C.A. Martins de Jesus & R. Lopes, Intervenientes, discussâo e Entretenimento no Banquete de Plutarco (Coimbra: Coimbra University Press, 2010) I–VIII. “Fundamentos religiosos y mitológicos de la atribución de plantas, metales, piedras y animales a los cinco dioses planetarios,” in S. Montero & Mª.S. Cardete (eds.), Naturaleza y religión en el mundo clásico. Usos y abusos del medio natural (Madrid: Signifer Libros, 2010) 213–232. “La Providencia como salvaguarda de los proyectos históricos humanos en las Vidas Paralelas,” in F. Frazier & D. Ferreira Leão (eds.), Tychè et Pronoia. La Marche du Monde selon Plutarque (Coimbra: Coimbra University Press, 2010) 169–182. “Las doradas manzanas de Hera,” in A. Pérez Jiménez (ed.), Ante el espejo de la cerámica griega: anotaciones a la muestra ‘En el jardín de las Hespérides. Vasos griegos del Museo Arqueológico Nacional’ (Málaga, 5 de agosto–24 de octubre de 2010) (Málaga: Málaga University Press, 2010) 39–44. “Medicina, astrología y culto de Asclepio,” in V. Cali, E. De Miro & G. Sfameni Gasparro (eds.), Il culto di Asclepio nell’area mediterranea. Atti del Convegno Internazionale Agrigento (20–22 Novembre 2005) (Roma: Gangemi, 2010) 241–252. “Plutarco en el arte,” Introduction to L. de Nazaré Ferreira, P. Simoes Rodrigues & N. Simôes Rodrigues, Plutarco e as Artes. Pintura, Cinema e Artes Decorativas (Coimbra: Coimbra University Press, 2010) 7–13. “Religión, sociedad y naturaleza en la cerámica griega,” in A. Pérez Jiménez (ed.), Ante el espejo de la cerámica griega: anotaciones a la muestra ‘En el jardín de las Hespérides. Vasos griegos del Museo Arqueológico Nacional’ (Málaga, 5 de agosto–24 de octubre de 2010) (Málaga: Málaga University Press, 2010) 29–36. “Ritmos y cadencias de la cerámica,” in A. Pérez Jiménez (ed.), Ante el espejo de la cerámica griega: anotaciones a la muestra ‘En el jardín de las Hespérides. Vasos griegos del Museo Arqueológico Nacional’ (Málaga, 5 de agosto–24 de octubre de 2010) (Málaga: Málaga University Press, 2010) 85–96.

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“Un mar en el cielo: Manilio, Astr. 5.416 y los hijos del Delfín,” in C. Macías Villalobos & V.E. Rodríguez Martín (eds.), Por la senda de los clásicos: studia selecta in honorem María Dolores Verdejo oblata (Málaga: Grupo Editorial 33, 2010) 205–234. “Una traducción castellana renacentista del De capienda ex inimicis utilitate de Plutarco,” in A. Pérez Jiménez (ed.), Plutarco renovado: importancia de las traducciones modernas de Vidas y Moralia (Málaga: Grupo Editorial 33, 2010) 141–152. A. Pérez Jiménez (ed.), Plutarco renovado: importancia de las traducciones modernas de Vidas y Moralia (Málaga: Grupo Editorial 33, 2010). A. Pérez Jiménez (ed.), Ante el espejo de la cerámica griega: anotaciones a la muestra ‘En el jardín de las Hespérides. Vasos griegos del Museo Arqueológico Nacional’ (Málaga, 5 de agosto–24 de octubre de 2010) (Málaga: Málaga University Press, 2010). L. van der Stockt, F.B. Titchener, H.G. Ingenkamp & A. Pérez Jiménez (eds.), Gods, Daimones, Rituals, Myths and History of Religions in Plutarch’s Works. Studies devoted to Professor Frederick E. Brenk by the International Plutarch Society (Málaga: Málaga University Press / Logan: Utah State University Press, 2010). 2011 “Astrología y creencias sobre los astros en Plutarco,” in G. Roskam & L. van der Stockt (eds.), Virtues for the People: Aspects of Plutarchan Ethics (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2011) 259–271. “Comentario astrológico del horóscopo de Demóstenes (Fírmico Materno, Math. 6.30, 22),” in A. Pérez Jiménez (ed.), Studia mystica, magica et mathematica ab amicis, sodalibus et discipulis Iosepho Ludovico Calvo oblata (Málaga: CEDMA, 2011) 181–202 (Mene 11 special issue). “Interpretatio mathematica in honorem Iosephi Ludovici Calvi, Avulensis,” in A. Pérez Jiménez (ed.), Studia mystica, magica et mathematica ab amicis, sodalibus et discipulis Iosepho Ludovico Calvo oblata (Málaga: CEDMA, 2011) 7–12 (Mene 11 special issue). “De nuevo el Temístocles de Gracián/Enzinas de 1551. ¿Una traducción revisada?,” in J.Mª. Candau, J. González Ponce & A.L. Chávez Reino (eds.), Plutarco Transmisor. Actas del X Simposio Internacional de Plutarco (Sevilla, 12–14 de noviembre de 2009) (Sevilla: Sevilla University Press, 2011) 585–597. “En las redes de χρόνος. La peregrinación inicial de las almas contaminadas (Plu., De facie 943C),” in M. Herrero de Jáuregui, A.I. Jiménez San Cristóbal, E.J. Luján Martínez, R. Martín Hernández, M.A. Santamaría Álvarez & S. Torallas Tovar (eds.), Tracing Orpheus: Studies of Orphic Fragments in Honour of Alberto Bernabé (Berlin— Boston: De Gruyter, 2011) 205–211. “Homo verbosus erit. Condicionamientos astrológicos de la retórica antigua,” in C. Macías Villalobos & S. Núñez Romero-Balmas (eds.), Virtuti Magistri Honos. Studia Graecolatina A. Alberte septuagesimo anno dicata (Zaragoza: Libros Pórtico, 2011) 483–525.

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“La astrología en el siglo IV: Pablo de Alejandría,” in A.J. Quiroga Puertas (ed.), Ἱερὰ καὶ λόγοι: estudios de literatura y de religión en la Antigüedad Tardía (Zaragoza: Libros Pórtico, 2011) 281–316. “La constelación greco-romana del altar y sus implicaciones astrológicas en la religión,” in E. Calderón Dorda & A. Morales Ortiz (eds.), Eusébeia. Estudios de religión griega (Madrid: Signifer Libros, 2011) 323–360. “La talasocracia de las estrellas en Grecia: vivir y morir en el mar mirando al cielo,” in J. Santos Yanguas & B. Díaz Ariño (ed.), Los griegos y el mar (Vitoria: País Vasco University Press, 2011) 37–75. “Οὐ καθ’ Ἡσίοδον,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & I. Calero Secall (eds.), Δῶρον Μνημοσύνης: miscelánea de estudios ofrecidos a Mª. Ángeles Durán López (Zaragoza: Libros Pórtico, 2011) 221–231. “Plutarco y los Emblemata Amorum de Vaenius,” Humanitas 63 (2011) 185–199. “Poésie et astrologie chez Antiochos,” in I. Boehm, W. Hübner & J.H. Abry (eds.), La poésie astrologique dans l’Antiquité. Actes du colloque organisé les 7 et 8 décembre 2007 par Josèphe-Henriette Abry (Université Jean Moulin Lyon 3) avec la collaboration d’Isabelle Boehm (Université Frères Lumière Lyon 2) (Paris: De Boccard, 2011) 181–191. “Reflexiones astrológicas sobre la ciudad en el mundo antiguo,” in J. Bergua & G.G. Fernández (eds.), Literatura Hispanoamericana del Siglo XX. Literatura y ciudad (Málaga: Málaga University Press, 2011) 53–75. “Sí, el Quevedo del ‘Anacreón’, helenista,” in A. Pérez Jiménez & P. Volpe Cacciatore (eds.), Musa Graeca tradita, Musa Graeca recepta: traducciones de poetas griegos (siglos XV–XVII) (Zaragoza: Libros Pórtico, 2011) 103–130. A. Pérez Jiménez & P. Volpe Cacciatore (eds.), Musa Graeca tradita, Musa Graeca recepta: traducciones de poetas griegos (siglos XV–XVII) (Zaragoza: Libros Pórtico, 2011). A. Pérez Jiménez & I. Calero Secall (eds.), Δῶρον Μνημοσύνης: miscelánea de estudios ofrecidos a Mª. Ángeles Durán López (Zaragoza: Libros Pórtico, 2011). A. Pérez Jiménez (ed.), Studia mystica, magica et mathematica ab amicis, sodalibus et discipulis Iosepho Ludovico Calvo oblata (Málaga: CEDMA, 2011) (Mene 11 special issue). 2012 “Fatalismo, providencia y responsabilidad humana en las Vidas de Plutarco,” in G. Bastianini, W. Lapini & M. Tulli (eds.), Harmonia: scritti di filologia classica in onore di Angelo Casanova (Florence: Florence University Press, 2012) 697–707. “ΝΟΜΟΣ como criterio de valoración ética en las Vidas Paralelas,” in J. Ribeiro Ferreira, D. Ferreira Leão & C.A. Martins de Jesus (eds.), Nomos, Kosmos & Dike in Plutarch (Coimbra: Coimbra University Press, 2012) 5–22. “Plutarch’s attitude towards astral biology,” in L. Roig Lanzillotta & I. Muñoz Gallarte

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(eds.), Plutarch in the Religious and Philosophical Discourse of Late Antiquity (Leiden: Brill, 2012) 159–169. “Pseudepígrafos de la astrología griega,” in J. Martínez (ed.), Mundus vult decipi. Estudios interdisciplinares sobre falsificación textual y literaria (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 2012) 271–284. 2013 “Ensayo sobre dos Vidas comparadas: Alejandro y César,” in A. Consentino & M. Monaca (eds.), Studium Sapientiae. Atti della giornata di studio in onore di Giulia Sfameni Gasparro, 28 gennaio 2011 (Soveria Manelli: Rubbettino Editore, 2013) 189–199. “Interpretación moral de las obras de arte en Plutarco,” in G. Santana Henríquez (ed.), Plutarco y las Artes (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 2013) 191–202. “Misticismo, magia y religión en la casa novena de la dodecátropos,” in E. Suárez de la Torre & A. Pérez Jiménez (eds.), Mito y magia en Grecia y Roma (Zaragoza: Libros Pórtico, 2013) 237–256. “Plutarco en la Iconología de Cesare Ripa,” in M. Gabriele, C. Galassi & R. Guerrini (eds.), L’Iconologia di Cesare Ripa. Fonti letterarie e figurativi dall’Antichità al Rinascimento (Florence: Leo S. Olschki Editore, 2013) 15–27. “Traducciones latinas de las Vidas Paralelas en el Humanismo. El ejemplo del Alejandro,” in G. Pace & P. Volpe Cacciatore (eds.), Gli scritti di Plutarco. Tradizione, Traduzione Ricezione, Commento (Naples: M. D’Auria, 2013) 337–352. “Un ateniense en la corte persa,” in A. Casanova (ed.), Figure d’Atene nelle Opere di Plutarco (Florence: Florence University Press, 2013) 51–58. E. Suárez de la Torre & A. Pérez Jiménez (eds.), Mito y magia en Grecia y Roma (Zaragoza: Libros Pórtico, 2013). 2014 “Antiochi De stellarum in locis thematis significationibus fragmentum epicum” (ed., Spanish transl. & com. A. Pérez Jiménez) Mene 14 (2014) 217–289. “Autoridades griegas en la astrología medieval,” in J.Ma. Maestre Maestre, J.G. Montes Cala, R.J. Gallé Cejudo, C. Macías Villalobos, Ma.V. Pérez Custodio, S.I. Ramos Maldonado, M. Sánchez Ortiz de Landaluce (eds.), Baetica renascens vol. 2 (CádizMálaga: Federación Andaluza de Estudios Clásicos, Instituto de Estudios Humanísticos, Grupo Editorial 33, 2014) 711–742. “Iconografía numismática de un héroe: Teseo en Trecén,” in A. Pérez Jiménez (ed.), Realidad, fantasía, interpretación, funciones y pervivencia del mito griego: estudios en honor del profesor Carlos García Gual (Zaragoza: Libros Pórtico, 2014) 151–166. “Identidad del Diseño de la Cultura Clásica Contemporánea ante el humanismo en la era de las redes interpersonales,” discurso del miembro electo Dr. D. Sebastián García Garrido leído en el acto de su recepción pública el día 28 de mayo de 2014,

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laudatio del Dr. D. Quintín Calle Carabias y contestación del Dr. D.A. Pérez Jiménez (Málaga: Sociedad Erasmiana de Málaga, 2014) 49–52. “La Astrología, un método científico de adivinación,” in J.A. Delgado Delgado & A. Pérez Jiménez (eds.), Adivinación y Astrología en el Mundo Antiguo (Las Palmas de Gran Canaria: Fundación Mapfre Guanarteme, 2014) 45–77. “La filiación en las Vidas Paralelas de Plutarco. Interpretación ética y política de los hijos de los dioses,” in P. de Navascués Benlloch, M. Crespo Losada & A. Sáez Gutiérrez (eds.), Filiación V. Cultura pagana, religión de Israel, orígenes del Cristianismo (Madrid: Trotta, 2014) 127–137. “Las mansiones lunares. Adaptación árabe de una doctrina astrológica antigua,” in F. Roldán Castro (ed.), El cielo en el Islam (Huelva: Huelva University Press, 2014) 239–264. “‘Natus prima luce’: posiciones astrales del horóscopo (?) del mitreo de Santa Prisca en Roma,” in A. Martínez Fernández, B. Ortega Villaro, H. Velasco López & H. Zamora Salamanca (eds.), Ágalma: ofrenda desde la Filología Clásica a Manuel García Teijeiro (Valladolid: Valladolid University Press, 2014) 1037–1046. “Plutarco y la iconografía monetaria antigua,” in C. Alcalde Martín & L. de Nazaré Ferreira (eds.), O sábio e a imagem. Estudos sobre Plutarco e a arte (Coimbra: Coimbra University Press, 2014) 31–68. “Presentación: Un Hombre en la Encrucijada de los Mitos,” in A. Pérez Jiménez (ed.), Realidad, fantasía, interpretación, funciones y pervivencia del mito griego. Estudios en honor del Profesor Carlos García Gual (Zaragoza: Libros Pórtico, 2014) 11–14. “Religión, adivinación y adivinos bajo la influencia de los astros,” in J.A. Delgado Delgado & A. Pérez Jiménez (eds.), Adivinación y Astrología en el Mundo Antiguo (Las Palmas de Gran Canaria: Fundación Mapfre Guanarteme, 2014) 77–110. “The reception of Plutarch in Spain,” in M. Beck (ed.), A Companion to Plutarch (Chichester: Blackwell Publishing Limited, 2014) 556–576. A. Pérez Jiménez (ed.), Realidad, fantasía, interpretación, funciones y pervivencia del mito griego: estudios en honor del profesor Carlos García Gual (Zaragoza: Libros Pórtico, 2014). J.A. Delgado Delgado & A. Pérez Jiménez (eds.), Adivinación y Astrología en el Mundo Antiguo (Las Palmas de Gran Canaria: Fundación Mapfre Guanarteme, 2014). 2015 “En el reino de las Moiras: comentario estilístico de Plu., De facie in orbe lunae 945C– 945D,” Giornale Italiano di Filologia 67 (2015) 181–213. “Los Campos Elíseos: espacios reales e imaginarios de la superficie celeste de la Luna (De facie 944C–945B),” in J. Ángel y Espinós, J.M. Floristán Imízcoz, F. García Romero & M. López Salvá (eds.), Ὑγίεια καὶ γέλως. Homenaje a Ignacio Rodríguez Alfageme (Zaragoza: Libros Pórtico, 2015) 645–658.

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“Plutarch and Transgressions of Nature: Stylistic Analysis of De facie in orbe lunae 926CD,” in M. Meeusen & L. van der Stockt (eds.), Natural Spectaculars. Aspects of Plutarch’s Philosophy of Nature (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2015) 215–226. “Religiones orientales e iconografía numismática antigua,” in C. Macías Villalobos, J.Ma. Maestre Maestre & J.F. Martos Montiel (eds.), Europa Renascens: la cultura clásica en Andalucía y su proyección europea (Zaragoza: Libros Pórtico, 2015) 365–394. 2016 “De Titios y Tifones. Anotaciones estilísticas a Plu., De facie in orbe lunae 945B,” in A. Setaioli (ed.), Apis Matina. Studi in onore di Carlo Santini (Trieste: EUT, 2016) 520– 531 (POLYMNIA Studi di filologia classica 20 special issue). “Incesto y astrología antigua,” Mene 16 (2016) 195–234. “Inquietud y confianza esperanzada de las madres argivas en Eu., Suppl. 618–633,” Studia Philologica Valentina 18 (2016) 289–304. “Los habitantes de la Luna (Plut., De fac. 944C–945B). Notas críticas sobre las propuestas textuales y traducciones del XVI,” in F. Frazier & O. Guerrier (eds.), Plutarque. Éditions, Traductions, Paratextes (Coimbra: Coimbra University Press, 2016) 123–138. “Plutarco, Pégaso y Belerofonte. Comentario estilístico a Mul. virt. 247F–248B,” in J.A. López Férez, A. López Fonseca, M. Martínez Hernández, E. Pandís Pavlakis, L.M. Pino Campos, G. Santana Henríquez, J. Viana Reboiro & A.N. Zahareas (eds.), POLYPRAGMOSYNE. Homenaje al profesor Alfonso Martínez Díez (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 2016) 553–566. “Prefacio. Carta a una Amiga, Paola Volpe Cacciatore,” in S. Amendola & G. Pace (eds.), Charis. Studi offerti a Paola Volpe dai suoi allievi (Trieste: Trieste University Press, 2016) 9–22. “Selenographic Description: Critical Annotations to Plutarch, De facie 944C,” in J. Opsomer, G. Roskam & F.B. Titchener (eds.), A Versatile Gentleman. Consistency in Plutarch’s Writing (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2016) 255–265. “Una apropiación oportuna: textos astrológicos griegos y vocabulario de los cultos mistéricos y místicos,” in E. Calderón Dorda & S. Perea Yébenes (eds.), Estudios sobre el vocabulario religioso griego (Murcia: Murcia University Press, 2016) 131–158. 2017 “El Horóscopo de Constantinopla a la Luz de los Textos Astrológicos Antiguos,” LaborEst 14 (2017) 16–24. “Imágenes Literarias para el Legado Político de Alejandro. Comentario Estilístico de Mor. 336E–337A,” in S. Amendola, G. Pace & P. Volpe Cacciatore (eds.), Imaginni letterarie e iconografia nelle opere di Plutarco (Madrid: Ediciones Clásicas, 2017) 143– 156. “La astrología como parte del curriculum del mago grecolatino,” in E. Suárez, M. Blanco,

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E. Chronopoulou & I. Canzobre (eds.), MAGIKÈ TÉCHNE. Formación y consideración social del mago en el Mundo Antiguo (Madrid: Clásicos Dykinson, 2017) 75–94. “La lámpara de Anaxágoras (Plu., Per. 16.8–9) y su Recepción en el Arte de los Siglos XVII–XIX,” Ploutarchos 14 (2017) 69–106. “Las regiones fértiles de la tierra: nueva propuesta crítica a Plu., De facie 938D,” in M. Sanz Morales, R. González Delgado, M. Librán Moreno & J. Ureña Bracero (eds.), La (inter)textualidad en Plutarco. Actas del XII Simposio Internacional de la Sociedad Española de Plutarquistas (Cáceres, 8–10 de Octubre de 2015) (Cáceres—Coimbra: Coimbra University Press, 2017) 43–51. “Religión y Astrología en el Tetrabiblos de Tolomeo o las servidumbres del Sistema,” in J.C. Bermejo Barrera & M. García Sánchez (eds.), Δεσμοὶ φιλίας. Bonds of Friendship. Studies in Ancient History in Honour of Francisco Javier Fernández Nieto (Barcelona: Barcelona University Press, 2017) 243–257. 2018 “Refutatio Astrologiae en Gregorio Nacianceno. Algunas hipόtesis de interpretaciόn y anotaciones estilísticas a De Providentia 15–24,” in P. de Paz Amérigo & I. Sanz Extremeño (eds.), Eulogia. Estudios sobre cristianismo primitivo (Madrid: Guillermo Escolar, 2018) 153–171.

Index of Modern Authors Adam, Hella 217n34 Addey, Crystal 264n6, 265n8, 266n9 Albanese, Luciano 271n18 Alberto, Paulo F. 41n1 Alcalde Martín, Carlos 16n34, 22n44, 24n48 Alcock, Anthony 188n2 Ampolo, Carmine 7n11, 9n19, 17n37 Amyot, Jacques 141, 144, 144n48, 161, 162 Armstrong, Arthur H. 206n65 Athanassaki, Lucia 107n27 Attridge, Harold W. 190n7 Aucher, Jean-Baptiste 157n147 Aune, David E. 281n4 Austin, Colin 154n126 Babbitt, Frank C. 88n47, 174n13, 175n17, 176n25, 70n29 Babut, Daniel 138, 138n1, 154n125, 202n55, 221n47, 282n13 Baltes, Matthias 199n39, 199n41, 200n43, 200n45, 201n52, 202n55, 203n64, 271, 271n20, 272n24, 273, 273n, 274, 274n26,27,28, 275, 277, 277n32 Barata Dias, Paula C. 24n47 Barney, Rachel 173n3 Barret, William S. 21n42 Battegazzore, Antonio M. 154n127 Becchi, Francesco 152n107 Beck, Mark 159n170, 211n1, 287n34 Behr, Charles A. 282n14 Bergk, Theodor 229n3 Bernabé Pajares, Alberto 177n28, 35 Betz, Hans D. 178n37, 38, 200n43 Billault, Alain 140n19 Birago, Lampugnino 141, 144, 144n48 Blamire, Alec 61, 61n9,10 Blok, Josine H. 49n22 Blondell, Ruby 282n10 Blösel, Wolfgang 106n25 Bonazzi, Mauro 269n16 Bonner, Stanley F. 295, 295n1 Bonnet, Corinne 265n7 Bons, Jeroen 95n2 Bos, Abraham P. 177n34 Bouffartigue, Jean 138n2, 153n115, 161, 162 Boulet, Bernard 217n34

Boulogne, Jacques 140n19, 241, 241n5, 242, 243n14, 245n19, 247n30, 252, 252n48, 288n37 Bowden, Hugh 76n1, 77n4, 84n32 Bréchet, Christophe 215n19 Bremmer, Jan N. 198n34 Brenk, Frederick E. 29n3, 68n28, 87n41, 88n43, 88n46, 89n48, 89n51, 115n3, 172n3, 174n14, 176n24, 280–281n4, 283n20, 288n35 Brennan, Tad 173n3 Bridges, Emma 222n58 Brink, Charles O. 156n139 Brisson, Luc 174n12, 175n17, 177n30,32,34, 178n36, 179n44, 180n51, 181n53, 185, 185n72, 271n19, 272n22, 274n26 Brittain, Charles 173n3, 221n48 Broughton, T. Robert S. 120n Brunschwig, Jacques 153n121 Burkert, Walter 135n19 Buszard, Bradley 115n2 Caerols Pérez, José J. 177n28 Cahana, Jonathan 180n45, 181n53,55, 182n62, 183n66 Calabi, Francesca 276n30 Calame, Claude 229n3 Candau Morón, José Mª. 103n17 Cardauns, Burkhart 247n30, 248n32 Carrano, Andrea 236n16 Cartledge, Paul 76n1,3 Casadesús, Francesc 199n40, 255n1 Casanova, Angelo 5n4, 7n13, 8n16, 14n29, 123n8, 215n19 Casertano, Giovanni 132n4, 133n13,14, 134n16 Casevitz, Michel 221n47 Cassarino, Antonio 141, 143, 144, 144n48 Cassin, Barbara 148n72, 150n92 Castignone, Silvana 149n84 Cawkwell, George L. 104n19, 105n21 Chambry, Émile 29n5, 105n23, 298n10 Chamoux, M. François 29n3 Cherniss, Harold 199n39, 201n48, 258, 258n8, 297n Chiaradonna, Riccardo 266n9

326 Cooper, Craig 15n32, 16n34 Copenhaver, Brian P. 180n52 Cortés Gabaudán, Francisco 233n11 Cumont, Franz 265, 265n7 David, Ephraim 48n21 Davies, John K. 51n30 Davies, Philip 109n33 De Blois, Lukas 95n2 De Gregorio, Ottone 146n61 De Lacy, Phillip 202n56, 260 De Nazaré Ferreira, Luisa 22n44 De Pace, Anna 135n19 Des Places, Édouard 267, 268, 269, 271, 272n24, 273, 274, 276, 277 Decleva Caizzi, Fernanda 230n5 Delcourt, Marie 174n12, 176n26, 177n30,32, 178n35,36, 179n41,45, 180n48, 181n53, 183n65, 184n69 Desjardins, Michel R. 188n1 Deuse, Werner 202n55 Dickens, Charles 59, 73n36 Diehl, Ernst 266n11 Diels, Hermann A. 131, 149n84, 177n28 Dierauer, Urs 150n92 Dillon, John 193n18, 195n, 199n40, 200n46, 202n55, 203n61,63, 206n65, 260n12, 263, 263n1, 264n5, 266n10, 271n20, 274n28, 275, 275n Dodds, Eric R. 305n25 Dorandi, Tiziano 266n10 Döring, Klaus 202n55 Dörrie, Heinrich 199n39, 199n41, 200n43, 200n45, 202n55, 203n64, 271, 271n20, 272n24, 273, 274, 275, 277 Dover, Kenneth 46n13 Dübner, Friedrich 141n28, 144, 161 Duff, Timothy E. 100n10, 102n13, 103n14,15, 16, 105n23, 124n, 237n19, 238n21 Duffy, John M. 264n4n Dumont, Jacques 148n72,73 Dunderberg, Ismo 189n, 196, 197n30, 198n33,35 Eco, Umberto 148n71 Einarson, Benedict 202n56, 260 Elsner, Jas 285n27 Eltester, Walter 188n1 Engberg-Pedersen, Troels 196n28

index of modern authors Erler, Michael 213n12 Evans, Craig A. 196n28 Faraguna, Michelle 49n22 Faraone, Christopher A. 287n32 Farrell, Joseph 232n9 Felton, Debbie 60n7, 62n12 Fernández Delgado, José A. 84n33, 172n1,2, 173n5,7, 174n14 Ferrari, Franco 134n17, 136n24, 173n3, 269n15, 272n23 Festugière, André-Jean 180n51 Filoramo, Giovanni 188n2 Finamore, John F. 271n21 Finley, John H. 76n1, 77n5 Flacelière, Robert 29, 46n13, 47n17, 81n23, 85n36, 88n46, 89n51, 90n, 280n2, 298n10 Flower, Michael A. 76n2 Foerster, Richard 286n32 Fontenrose, Joseph E. 81n21, 84n32 Foucault, Michel 281, 281n6, 282, 282n10,11, 288, 288n38, 290n43 Fowler, Robert L. 177n28 Fox, Matthew 240n2, 252n47 Frazier, Françoise 24n47, 114n, 123n8, 238n21 Frede, Dorothea 221n48 French, Alf 41n3, 42n4 Frost, Frank J. 96n Fuhrmann, François 79n15, 83n29, 84n33, 85n35 Funghi, Maria S. 154n127 Furley, William D. 232n8 Gabba, Emilio 240n2, 251n44, 252n47 Gallo, Italo 135n19 García Valdés, Manuela 84n33, 211n4 Geiger, Joseph 111n35 Georgiadou, Aristoula 77n6, 82n24, 83n27, 104n19, 105n20,23, 111n35, 280n1, 285n25 Gerber, Douglas E. 77n7 Gersh, Stephen 264n5 Gerson, Lloyd P. 271n21 Geudtner, Otto 267n Giannattasio Andria, Rosa 83n27 Gilhuly, Kate 289, 289n40 Goessler, Lisette 299n12

327

index of modern authors Goldhill, Simon 240n1 Görgemanns, Herwig 280n2 Graham, Daniel W. 179n44 Green, Henry A. 188n2 Gregory, Andrew 59n2 Gribble, David 106n25 Griffiths, J. Gywn 172n3, 173n6,8,9, 174n10,11, 176, 176n25,26, 177n32, 178 Grimal, Pierre 29n5 Gruen, Eric S. 245n19 Gudeman, Alfred 295n4 Guidorizzi, Giulio 136n24 Hamilton, Walter 202n55 Hammond, Nicolas G.L. 76n3 Hardie, Philip R. 17n38, 211n1, 213, 213n11,13, 225n74 Haslam, Michael 44n9 Hatch, William H.P. 228, 228n1,2, 229, 229n3, 230, 230n4, 231, 231n6, 233n12 Hawley, Richard 281n7 Helmbold, William C. 142n31, 144n52, 161, 162, 201n47, 258n8 Henrichs, Albert 178n38 Hense, Otto 134, 280n3,4 Herter, Hans 9n20, 11n23, 12n24, 14n28, 17n37 Hertzoff, Andrew 52n32 Higbie, Carolyn 43n8, 44n11 Hill, Charles E. 198n34 Hine, Harry 111n35 Hirsch-Luipold, Rainer 173n3, 203n59, 211n1, 212n9 Hirzel, Rudolf 145, 145n59 Hodkinson, Stephen 76n2 Holtzman, Wilhelm (Xylandro Augustano, Guilielmo) 141, 141n28, 144, 144n49, 161 Horky, Phillip S. 257n6 Hornblower, Simon 65n20 How, Walter W. 76n2,3 Howley, Joseph A. 246n23 Hubert, Curt 142, 142n32 Hunter, Richard 280n1, 281n5, 283n18, 284n21,23 Hurley, Robert 281n6 Indelli, Giovanni 138n4, 141n30, 144n52, 146n64 Inglese, Lionello 161n194, 163n207, 237n18

Innes, Doreen C. 111n35 Inwood, Brad 221n48 Isaac, Benjamin 245n19 Isnardi Parente, Margherita 149n84, 153n121, 156n139, 160n183, 233n12, 266, 266n10 Jacoby, Felix 176n27, 246n26 Jakobson, Roman O. 28n1 Jazdzewska, Katarzyna 241, 241n7,8,9, 242, 242n11,12 Jeanmaire, Henri 29n3 Jennings, Victoria 66n23 Johnston, Sarah I. 271n21 Jones, Christopher P. 88n46, 280n2, 283n20 Jones, Henry S. 70n30 (LSJ) Jowett, Benjamin 59n2 Kaimio, Jorma J. 246, 246n23,26, 247n27 Kannengiesser, Charles 264n5 Kassel, Rudolf 154n126 Katsaros, Andrea 66n23 Keener, Craig S. 196n28 Kellens, M. Jean 256n3 Kessels, Ton 95n2 King, Karen L. 181n56, 182n62, 194n21 Kirk, Geoffrey S. 44n9 Klaerr, Robert 89n51 Klotz, Frieda 241n7, 248n34 Knipe, Sergio 266n9, 269n16 Kock, Theodor 230 Kohn, Thomas D. 21n42 König, Jason K. 236n17, 243n13, 248n34, 252n46 Konstan, David 288n36 Koskenniemi, Erkki 191n10 Kranz, Walther 131, 177n28 Krause, Martin 194n23 Krul, Julia H.E. 49n22 Labarrière, J.-L. 148n72 Lakmann, Marie-Luise 201n52 Lamb, Walter R.M. 179n42 Lanata, Giuliana 149n84 Larmour, David H.J. 290n43 Laurenti, Renato 148n77, 150n92 Lausberg, Heinrich 300n16 Layton, Bentley 181n55, 188n2 Le Boulluec, Alain 194n23, 196, 196n25

328 Leão, Delfim F. 24n47, 41n1, 42n5, 42n6, 44n11, 47n16, 48n20, 48n21, 49n22, 51n29, 52n33, 114n, 123n8 Lecerf, Adrien 272n24 Lewis, John D. 48n19 Lewis, N. Denzey 181n53, 183n66 Lewy, Hans 266n11, 269n17, 274, 274n27, 276n30,31, 277n33 Lhermitte, Jean-François 139n8,11, 143n41,46, 158n153,154, 159n168 Li Causi, Pietro 138n2, 142n31, 144n50, 148n76, 159n172, 161, 162, 163n207 Liddell, Henry G. 70n30 (LSJ), 295n3 Lindqvist, Pekka 191n10 Lindskog, Claes 298n10 Linguiti, Alessandro 276n30 Löhr, Winrich A. 188n1, 194, 194n19,20, 21,22,23, 196, 196n25,26 Long, Anthony 206n65 Longo, Oddone 138n5 Longo Auricchio, Francesca 152n112, 155n130 López Eire, Antonio 233n11 López Férez, Juan A. 22n46 López López, Raúl L. 281n4 López-Ruiz, Carolina 177n28 Lucchesi, Michele A. 77n6, 80n19 Luraghi, Nino 106n25 Luttikhuizen, Gerard P. 175n19, 182n62, 188n1 Ma, John 61n9, 62n13,14,15 Mactoux, Marie-Madeleine 232n9 Madsen, Jesper M. 246n23 Magris, Aldo 188n2 Majercik, Ruth 267, 268, 268n13,14, 271, 271n18, 272n22, 273, 276, 276n30 Mander, Pietro 271n18 Manfredini, Mario 43n8, 50n28 Manolaraki, Eleni 172n2 Marasco, Gabriele 108n29, 109n32 Marchesini, Roberto 148n71 Marcovich, Miroslav 182n63 Markschies, Christopher 189n Marr, John L. 96n Martin, Hubert 24n47 Martina, Antonius 41n2, 50n28 Masaracchia, Agostino 47n18 Mastrocinque, Attilio 47n17

index of modern authors McCue, James F. 188n2 McGlathery, Daniel B. 290n43 Meadows, Andrew R. 104n18 Méasson, Anita 211n2 Meeks, Wayne A. 178n36n, 180n48,49,50, 181n55, 182n60,62 Meeusen, Michiel 198n36, 214n16 Merlan, Philip 206n65 Meyer, Marvin W. 183n66 Michalewski, Alexandra 277n32 Miles, Richard 285n26 Miller, Paul A. 290n43 Mojsov, Bojana 176n26 Moles, John L. 60n7, 68n28, 70n29,30, 71n32,33, 72n, 73n35 Morris, Ian 44n9 Mossman, Judith M. 63n17 Moulton, James H. 256n3, 259n10 Muñoz Gallarte, Israel 175n17, 283n19 Nauck, J. August 79n15, 131n1 Nederlof, Arie B. 298n10 Nesselrath, Heinz-Günther 202n55 Nevin, Sonya 106n24 Newmyer, Stephen T. 159n170, 163n207 Ní Mheallaigh, Karen 62n12 Nieto Ibáñez, Jesús Mª. 281n4 Nikolaidis, Anastasios G. 89n48, 214n17, 240n2, 282n12 Nilsson, Ingela 284n22 Nock, Arthur D. 180n51 Nouilhan, Michèle 241n5 Noussia-Fantuzzi, Maria 44n10 Nuchelmans, Gabriel R.F.M. 296n6, 298, 298n9, 299n14, 303n21 Nussbaum, Martha C. 148n71, 149n84, 152n104,106, 153, 153n120 Obbink, Dirk 221n48, 287n32 Ogden, Daniel 62n12, 65n21 Oikonomopoulou, Katerina 77n6, 111n, 236n17, 241n7, 248n34 Opsomer, Jan 89n48, 173n3, 211n4, 218n36, 248n33 Ormand, Kirk 282n10,11 Pace, Giovanna 237n19 Pagels, Elaine H. 188n1, 190n7, 196, 196n27 Pailler, Jean-Marie 241n5

329

index of modern authors Parke, Herbert W. 84n32 Patterson, Cynthia B. 283n15 Payen, Pascal 241n5 Peels, Saskia 231n7 Pelling, Christopher B.R. 6n6,7, 7n10, 16n33, 66, 66n23,24, 67n26, 68n28, 103n14,15, 104n18, 106n25, 107n26, 108n30, 110n, 111n, 222n58, 252– 253n48 Pérez Jiménez, Aurelio 3n3, 7n9, 9n19, 11n22, 13, 13n27, 22n44,46, 24n49, 59n1, 83n27, 89n48, 95, 95n2, 109n31, 172n*, 189, 199n40, 238n21, 255, 255n, 305n26 Perrin, J. Baptiste 3n1, 4n, 6n8, 13, 14n30, 43n7, 61n11, 62n16, 78n11, 79, 105n23, 298n10 Petrucci, Federico M. 172n2, 173n3, 175n14,15,16,17,18,20, 176n23, 179n44, 184, 184n67,68 Petty, Robert 273, 273n Pfeiffer, Rudolph 300n17 Piccirilli, Luigi 42n4, 43n8, 50n28 Pimentel, Maria C. 41n1 Pirenne-Delforge, Vinciane 7n9 Platter, Charles 290n43 Pohlenz, Max 146n61,64, 155n128, 156n138,141 Pomelli, Roberto 138n2, 142n31, 144n50, 148n76, 159n172, 161, 162, 163n207 Pomeroy, Sarah B. 281n8, 283n15 Pordomingo Pardo, Cisca 172n1,2, 173n5,7, 174n14 Porter, Stanley 196n28 Pötscher, Walter 154n127, 163n201 Powell, Barry 44n9 Preisendanz, Karl 178n38 Preston, Rebecca 240, 240n1,2,3, 241, 241n4,5, 242, 242n10, 247n30, 249, 249n36, 251, 251n40–43, 252n45 Pretzler, Maria 104n18 Proto, Beniamino 146n61 Puech, Bernadette 295n2 Rackham, Horace 49n24 Ramelli, Illaria 180n51,52, 288n37 Rawson, Elisabeth 246n27, 248n32, 249n35 Rees, Roger 246n23

Reggiani, Nicola 44n9 Regio, Giovanni 141, 144, 144n48 Reiske, Johann J. 141n28, 144, 161 Renehan, Robert 103n14 Repici, Luciana 136n24 Reydams-Shils, Gretchen J. 271n19 Rhodes, Peter J. 49n22, 50n25, 52n33 Ribeiro Ferreira, José 24n47, 48n21, 51n29, 219n44, 288n37 Richter, Carl E. 157n147 Richter, Daniel S. 172n2, 173n7 Riffaterre, Michael 28 Robinson, Matthew 173n4 Roig Lanzillotta, F. Lautaro 68n28, 87n41, 115n3, 172n3, 190n8, 191n10, 192n12, 198n34,36, 198–199n37, 199n38, 204n58, 283n19 Roller, Duane W. 245n20, 246n24,25, 247, 247n28,29 Romeyer Dherbey, Gilbert 148n72 Rose, Herbert J. 246n21 Rosen, Ralph M. 232n9 Roskam, Geert 107n26, 213n12, 217n33, 222n54,56, 248n33 Ross, W. David 136n26 Rowe, Christopher J. 179, 179n43 Sánchez-Mañas, Carmen 76n3 Sandbach, F. Harry 87n42, 157n144, 134, 134n16, 280n3 Sansone, David 96n, 103n14 Santese, Giuseppina 161, 161n194, 162, 163n207 Sanz Morales, Manuel 215n18, 222n56 Sassi, Maria M. 149n84, 151n102 Saudelli, Lucia 272n24 Scannapieco, Rosario 283n19, 288n37 Scattola, Mario 148n71 Schaff, Philip 182n63 Scheid, John 256n3 Schenkeveld, Dirk M. 95n2 Schlemm, August 299n14 Schmidt, Thomas S. 240n2 Schottroff, Luise 188n1 Schröder, Stephan 88n45 Schuster, Max 298n11 Scognamiglio, Rosamaria 148n71 Scott, Robert 70n30 (LSJ), 295n3 Scott-Kilvert, Ian 105n23

330 Sedley, David N. 206n65 Segal, Alan F. 184n70 Seng, Helmut 263n2,3, 264n4, 265n7, 266n11, 268n14, 272n24 Sfameni Gasparro, Giulia 263n2 Shakespeare, William 66 Shrimpton, Gordon S. 104n18 Sidgwick, Henry 60n4 Simonetti, Elsa G. 88n45, 89n50,51, 114n Skinner, Marilyn B. 282n9,11 Soares Santoprete, Luciana G. 263, 263n2 Sorabji, Richard 147n71, 148n74 Stadler, Martin A. 213n12 Stadter, Philip A. 29n3, 86n40, 95n2, 102n13, 103n15, 106n25, 107n26, 111n, 245n19, 248n33 Stephanus, Henri E. 141,141n29 Strauss, Barry S. 232n9 Stroup, Sarah C. 290n42 Suárez de la Torre, Emilio 7n9 Swain, Simon 280–281n4, 281n7,8, 282, 282n11, 283n17 Tanaseanu-Döbler, Illinca 263n3, 265n8, 266n9, 268n13 Tappe, C. Georg 149n81, 157n144, 165n218 Tardieu, Michel 363n3, 266n11 Taufer, Matteo 134n17 Teubner, Hubert 141, 142 Thomas, Keith 60n3, 60n6 Thomassen, Einar 189n, 190, 190n5,6 Thür, Gerhard 42n6 Titchener, Frances 3n3, 83n27, 107n27, 248n33 Todd, Stephen 42n6 Tröger, Karl W. 188n2 Tröster, Manuel 24n47, 41n1 Trumbower, Jeffrey A. 188n2 Tsekourakis, Damianos 149n81 Tsouvala, Georgia 282n12, 287n34 Tuplin, Christopher J. 104n18 Turner, John D. 183n66 Tyrwhitt, Charles 131 Tzanetou, Angeliki 280n*

index of modern authors Van den Kerchove, Anna 263n3 Van der Stockt, Luc 51n29, 95n2, 107n26, 111n, 198n36, 217n34, 222n55, 244, 244n15,16, 245, 245n17,18, 246, 246n21,22, 285n25, 296n7 Van Haeperen, Françoise 265n7 Van Kooten, George H. 192n12 Van Liefferinge, Carine 264n4,6, 266n9 Van Oort, Johannes 188n2, 189n Van Ruiten, Jacques 192n12 Verdegem, Simon 98n6, 99n Vernière, Yvonne 202n55, 211n1 Volpe Cacciatore, Paola 219n44, 237n19 Von Arnim, Hans 288n37 Von Behm, Wolf-Dieter G. 47n18 Von der Mühl, Peter 52n31 Von Reutern, Georg 300n15 Von Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, Ulrich 104n18 Vox, Onofrio 47n18 Wachsmuth, Curt 133n11 Walbank, Frank W. 108n29, 233, 233n12 Walker, Henry J. 22n46, 24n49 Warren, Austin 296n5 Wehrli, Fritz 131, 154n124, 163n204 Wellek, René 296n5 Wells, Joseph 76n2,3 West, Martin L. 46n13, 47n18, 48n21, 50n26, 52, 52n33, 53n36, 56, 56n39, 148n75, 177n28 Whitmarsh, Tim 243n13, 284n22, 285n24,26, 287n33, 291, 291n45 Willcock, Malcom M. 43n9 Williams, Michael A. 188n1 Wilson, J. Dover 60n6 Winiarczyk, Marek 238n20 Winkler, John J. 287n32 Wiśniewski, Bohdan 157n144 Witt, Reginald E. 172n2, 173n6, 175n14,20,21, 176n22,23,27, 180n47,48,49, 182n59, 185n71 Woolf, Greg 62n14, 236n17 Worthington, Ian 177n28 Wyttenbach, Daniel 141n28, 144, 161

Unger, Dominic J. 193n18, 195n Valdés Guía, Miriam 44n10 Valgiglio, Ernesto 88n46

Zacher, Klaus-Dieter 216n23 Zadorojnyi, Alexei 63n17 Zaehner, Robert C. 256n3

index of modern authors Zambon, Marco 264n6, 276n30 Zambujo Fialho, Maria do Céu G. 51n29 Zani, Maurizio 133n8

331 Ziegler, Konrat 88n46, 89n48, 138, 295n2, 298n10 Zinato, Antonella 138n5, 142n31

Index Rerum Abyss Absoulte 274 Paternal 274 Academy 88, 89, 89n48, 153, 157, 160, 199n39, 215, 257n6, 266n10 Acts of the Apostles 198, 198n37 Acts of Andrew 198 Aegospotami 98, 103 Aegeus 8, 8n15,17, 9, 9n20, 10, 11, 15, 18n41, 25 Aethra 4, 8, 8n17, 9, 10 Affections of the body 131, 132, 261 of the soul 131, 132, 139, 146, 160 Agamemnon 83, 101, 102, 106n24 Agesilaus 80, 80n18, 82, 82–83n26, 83, 83n27,29,31, 84, 84n31, 87, 92, 94, 97, 103, 104, 106, 106n24, 107 Agis 80, 85, 87, 103, 108, 109, 109n33 Ahura Mazdā 255, 256, 256n4, 257n4 Alcibiades 80n16, 92, 98, 98n6,7, 99, 99n, 106, 106n25 ἀλιτήριος 228, 228n1,2, 229, 229n, 230, 230n4,5, 231, 231n6, 232, 232n10, 233, 233n12, 234, 234n, 235, 236, 236n15, 237, 238 Alcmaeonidae 42, 54, 81n20, 230 Alcmeon 135, 150, 150n92 Alcinous 198, 206n, 224, 264, 271, 271n20, 272, 273, 274, 274n28, 275, 275n Amazons 4, 16, 16n33, 17, 18, 19 Anaxagoras 135, 150, 179n44, 199n40 Androgyne, or Hermaphroditus 173n4, 178n36, 179n45, 180n45,48,49,50, 181n53,55, 182n60,62, 183n66 antakolouthia agathon 206 anthropocentrism 153, 154, 155 Anthropology bipartite 199, 201 tripartite 189, 190, 190n8, 191, 198, 199, 199n39,40, 205, 258, 266 Arcesilaus 215 Archelaus 122, 150 Aristides 66, 95, 95n3, 96n, 282n14 Aristotle 6, 8, 18, 50n25, 52n32, 77n7, 84n32, 89n48, 136n24, 149, 151, 151n102, 152,

153, 153n118, 154, 157, 163, 177, 177n34, 191, 192, 199n39, 203, 221n48, 240n1, 241, 245, 248n32, 249n35, 256, 260, 298, 302 arsenothelys 173, 178 Astyphilus of Posidonia 65 Athenian Constitution 49, 49n24, 52, 56 Atheism 144, 145, 146 Athens 3, 3n2, 4, 5, 8, 9, 9n18,20, 10, 11, 13, 15, 16, 18, 19, 22, 22n46, 23, 24, 24n49, 25, 25n, 26, 31, 36, 37, 38, 41, 42n6, 43, 43n8, 44, 44n9–11, 45, 46, 46n13, 47, 48, 48n19,21, 49, 50, 51, 51n30, 56, 63, 63n17, 76, 76n1,3, 77, 77n4, 81n20, 84n32, 86n40, 92, 93, 99, 101, 102, 106, 106n25, 107n27, 121, 122, 142n33, 177n28, 231, 232, 232n8,9, 250, 281, 283n15,20, 286, 289n40 auletris 289 ἄχθος 49 Bacchylides 9, 9n20 Basilides 194, 194n22 Biography 3, 4, 4n, 5, 5n4, 7, 8, 13, 15, 16, 18, 19, 21, 23, 24, 25, 28, 33, 34, 35, 38, 43n7, 51, 55, 56, 116, 122 Body 9, 10, 38, 39, 53, 60n8, 61n11, 69, 122, 131, 132, 132n4, 133, 135, 136, 138n5, 151, 157, 177n34, 179, 190, 191, 192, 199, 199n39, 200, 201, 202, 203, 203n62,63, 204, 205, 216, 222, 223, 234, 243, 255, 257, 258, 260, 267, 269, 272n22, 297, 302, 303 influence of 191, 192, 201, 203, 205 passion of 151, 157, 192, 200, 202, 203n63, 204, 259, 260 prison of the 132, 136 Cain 191, 191n10,11, 193, 195 Centauromachy 4, 18 Chaeronea 16, 73, 104n19, 105n21, 122, 123, 125, 138, 160, 172, 173, 174, 190, 255, 305 Chaldean Oracles 126, 198, 263n2, 268n13,14, 271n18, 272n22, 276n30 Christianity 178n36, 180, 189, 196, 238

index rerum Christians 196, 197, 198n34 Chrysippus 70n30, 139n5, 154n125, 155, 156, 156n139, 160, 164, 218, 219, 224, 244 Church Fathers Irenaeus 188n2, 190, 191, 192, 192n14, 193, 193n18, 194, 194n21,22, 195, 195n, 196, 196n27, 197, 198, 198n34,35 Hippolytus 14, 15, 21n42, 25n50, 180n48, 182, 182n63, 185, 196, 196n26 Eusebius 157n147 Clement of Alexandria 190, 191n9,11, 194, 194n22,23, 196, 196n27 Cimon 4, 23, 29, 31, 31n11, 61, 62, 62n16, 63, 63n16, 64, 65, 65n19, 66, 68, 73, 92, 96, 97 Cleanthes 155, 199n39 Cleopatra 29n3, 30, 31, 35, 36, 37, 37n27, 38 Conjugality 281, 285, 288n37, 291 Corpus Hermeticum 175n17, 180, 180n51,52, 181, 198, 199n37, 260, 263 Cosmos empyrean 256, 266n11 ethereal 267, 269 intelligible 255, 265, 266, 268, 269, 269n16, 270, 271, 272, 272n24, 276, 277 material 149n84, 175, 184, 201, 266n11, 268, 269 tripartite structure 266 Cosmology 174, 175n17, 177n28, 181n53, 183, 183n66, 190, 200, 205 Customs, Greek 10, 25 Roman 240, 241n5, 243, 245, 247, 248, 249, 252, 253n Cylon 42, 86n40, 230 Damon 61, 61n11, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 73, 74 daimon, daemon 122, 203, 203n62, 217n34, 235, 243, 244, 248n31, 255, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 285n25 Damascius 264, 265, 270, 275, 277 Dead 59, 182n62, 223, 244, 256 Deliberation 150, 168 Delphi 4, 10, 77, 77n6, 80n19, 88, 114, 125, 214 Oracle 76, 76n1,3, 77n4, 78, 78n8, 81n20,21, 84, 84n32, 85, 88, 89, 89n52, 123n

333 Democritus 131, 148, 298, 303 Demon 18, 19 Determinism 164, 188n1, 189, 193, 194, 194n19–23, 195, 196, 196n25,26, 205 Diogenes of Apollonia 135, 148, 149n84 Dionysos 20, 21, 29n3, 31n13, 37, 39 Dionysian traits 28, 29, 30, 34 Divination 76, 76n1, 85n36, 86, 87, 87n42, 88, 88n45, 89, 89n48–51, 114n, 115, 264n6, 265n8, 266n9, 304 Earth 133, 134, 136n28, 174, 179, 193, 195, 197n32, 200, 201n49, 205, 206, 257, 265, 266, 267, 268 Education 3, 61, 63n16, 71n32, 95n2, 102, 107, 107n27, 139, 198, 238n21, 246,247, 295, 297, 299, 299n13, 301, 304, 305 Elitism 193, 196, 197, 206 Emulation 11 Empedocles 135, 148, 148n77, 149, 149n83, 150n92, 155, 160, 163, 179, 179n44, 244 Envy 21, 69, 105, 105n23, 121, 131, 160n174, 211 Epicurus 164, 216, 217, 218, 219, 223, 223n60, 300, 301 doctrine of death 217, 223 view of pleasure 216, 222, 223, 300, 302 Epicureanism 155 Erechtheus 8 Eros 38, 52n32, 182n62, 183n66, 281n4, 283, 284, 284n22, 285, 285n25, 287, 287n32,34, 288, 289, 290, 290n41, 291 Erotideia 284, 285, 285n25, 288 Erotikoi logoi 280 Eschatology 60, 188, 188n1, 189, 191, 192, 194n21, 195, 196n26, 203, 205 Ethics 10, 94, 107n26, 111n, 188, 189, 190, 191, 192, 197, 202, 203, 203n58, 204, 205, 206, 238n21, 247n30, 299, 301, 305 Fears 80, 131, 132, 217 Ferocity 158 Fravashi 255, 256, 257, 259n9,10 Fortune 68, 73, 77n8, 100, 114, 115, 116, 118, 119, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 242

334 Geometry 299, 303 Ghosts 59, 60, 60n3,7,8, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 65n21, 66, 66n24, 67, 67n25, 68, 69n, 70, 71, 73, 73n36, 74 Ghostly appearances 59, 59n2, 60, 62, 73 Gigantomacheia 30 Gnosticism 172n2, 180n45, 181, 181n53,55, 183n66, 184, 184n70, 188, 188n1,2, 191n10, 194, 194n19–23, 196n25,26, 199n38, 202n58, 263, 263n2 God(s) first 271n20, 272n23, 275 second 271 Olympian 211 Hades 17, 17n35, 21n42, 136n28 Hellanicus 4, 17n37, 177 Hecateus 177n29 Heracles 11, 12, 17, 29, 30, 31, 31n11, 32, 32n15, 34, 38, 39, 63n16, 79, 80, 220 Heraclean traits 28, 29, 30, 31, 33, 37 Heresiologists, see also Church Fathers 188, 190n8, 193, 194 Hermarchus of Mytilene 155, 155n131 hetaira 289 Hesiod 5, 8, 89n52, 135, 244 Hero 3, 4, 7n9, 10, 11, 11n22, 12, 13, 14, 18, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 28, 29, 31, 38, 39, 43n8, 44n9,11, 53, 71, 76, 95n2, 107n26, 110, 115, 120, 145, 148n76 Historians 3, 7, 14, 15, 20, 25 History 3, 5, 6, 6n6–8, 7, 7n10, 15, 15n32, 16, 16n33,34, 22, 24, 25, 48n21, 49, 51, 62, 65n20, 76n3, 103n14,15, 104n18,19, 106n25, 107n26, 108, 111n, 114, 115, 148, 178n36, 184n70, 188n2, 206n, 217n34, 233, 234, 240n2, 243, 244, 246, 246n26, 247, 247n27, 248, 249, 250, 251n43, 252n47, 271n21, 281, 281n6, 283n15, 285n25, 295, 300n17, 303 Historiography 43 Homer 5, 22n46, 43, 43n9, 44n10, 53, 60, 134, 147, 148, 149, 214n15, 215, 216, 216n23, 218, 223, 223n63, 244 Iliad 43–44n9, 44n10, 222 Odyssey 53 Homeric poetry 44, 56, 89n52, 201n52, 215n19, 216, 305

index rerum homonoia 280, 282, 282n12,14, 283, 283n17, 285 Human being, holistic views of 190 conception of 132, 152, 155, 189, 190, 191, 198, 199, 203 origins 188 telos 203 tripartition 189, 190n8, 191, 193, 196, 198, 199, 199n40, 200, 202, 203, 205, 258, 258n7 Ignorance 134, 139 Ideas thoughts of god 271, 271n20 primordial 271 Imagination 151, 151n100, 154, 156 Intemperance 140n19, 158 Insensitivity 158 Inspiration 98, 110, 117, 145n58 Intellect, divine 271n20 metacosmic 274 Paternal 267, 268, 271, 272n24, 274n27 separable 182n63, 199n40, 203, 203n61,63, 255, 255n, 257 supreme 271, 271n20, 272 intelligence of beasts 138, 138n2, 143, 143n41,46, 144, 144n48, 145, 146, 147, 150, 150n93, 151, 151n96, 152, 154n123,125, 155, 156n141, 157, 158, 158n154, 159, 159n168, 160, 161, 163, 164 intelligible 132, 255, 265, 266, 268, 269, 269n16, 270, 271, 272, 272n24, 276, 277 irreligiosity 228, 233, 234 Isidorus 194, 194n22 Isis 29n3, 172, 172n2,3, 173, 173n6,7, 174, 174n14, 175, 175n14,17,20,21, 176, 176n22– 25,27, 180n47–49, 181, 182, 182n59, 183, 184, 185n72, 213n12 Joy 131, 190, 223 Juba 244, 245, 245n20, 246, 246n24–26, 247, 247n28,29, 251 Julian the Chaldaean 264 Labyrinth 18, 20, 21n42 Lawlessness 158

index rerum Legend 6, 6n8, 22, 25, 34, 44n10, 249n35 Lecture 297, 301, 304 Leuctra 76n2, 80n18, 83, 84, 94, 97, 103, 104, 106 Literature, Greek Literature 172n3, 228, 234n, 235, 238, 283n20, 288n35, 296n6, 305 archaic period 46n13, 56n39, 229n Classical Period 232, 233, 234, 237, 281, 283n15 Hellenistic Period 232, 233, 238, 240n2, 252n47 Imperial Greek 172, 184, 229, 252, 280n4 and philology and education 304, 305 the study of language and 295, 299, 300, 304 logos 5, 145, 146, 146n61, 155, 156, 157, 174n14, 175, 190 Lucullus 29, 31n11, 61, 62, 66 Lycurgus 3, 3n1, 76, 77, 77n6–8, 78, 78n8,10, 80n19, 85, 86, 87, 103n17, 223 Lysander 77n6, 78, 78n11, 79, 80, 80n18–20, 81, 81n21,22, 82, 82n26, 83n31, 86, 92, 98, 99, 100, 102, 102n13, 103, 103n14,17, 106, 107n27, 109 Magical Greek Papyrus 178, 178n37,38, 181 Man, rational being 121, 139, 143, 152, 155, 156, 158, 191, 202 mania 47, 56 Mankind 140n21, 146, 148, 151, 151n102, 152, 153, 155n129,131, 156n141, 159, 189n, 190, 273 Mantis 117 Marathon 4, 14, 22, 23, 76n2, 92, 93 Marcion 181n54, 194, 194n23 Mathematics 299, 303 Megara 12, 16, 41, 42, 43, 46, 48 Medea 15 Medicine 149n81, 150, 299, 303 mesotes 192, 193, 204, 205 metabole 10, 131, 133, 133n11 Military science 298, 299, 303 Miletus 92, 247 Miltiades 62n16, 66 Minotaur 18, 20 Monism 192 ontogonic 269, 272

335 Moralia 50, 84, 87n41,42, 88n47, 141n28, 142n31,32, 144n49,52, 149n81, 161n188– 191,193, 172n1, 174n13,14, 175n17, 176n25, 201n47,48, 202n55,56,58, 203, 211n1, 214n17, 235, 236, 258n8, 264, 280n3, 282n12, 295, 297n, 305 Moralism 94, 98n6, 108, 109n33, 111n Moon 172, 173, 173n9, 174, 175, 176, 176n25, 177, 177n31, 178, 179, 182n62, 184, 185n71, 200, 201n48, 204, 205, 206, 258 Myth allegorical interpretation 173, 213, 218, 220, 225, 225n73 and eschatology 60, 135, 189, 193, 193n17, 195, 202n55, 204, 212, 217, 218n35 and ethos 205 and fiction 60, 211, 212, 218n36 Egyptian 172, 173, 174, 176n22, 183, 213 Greek 211, 213, 214, 215, 216, 220, 224, 225 and history 5, 6, 6n7,8, 7, 7n10, 15, 15n32, 16n33,34, 25, 243, 244, 247, 248, 249, 250, 251n43, 252n47 of Human races 188 and logos 5, 7, 41, 212 Plutarch’s use of 5, 6, 6n8, 7, 7n9, 13, 14, 15, 15n32, 17, 17n38, 18, 19, 21, 183, 184, 190, 199, 202, 202n55, 211, 211n1, 212, 213, 213n11,13, 214, 214n16, 215, 217n34, 220, 222, 223, 224, 224n70, 225, 225n74, 259n9, 285n25 and tragedy 7, 25, 215 Mythographers 4, 5n4, 12, 177n28 Mythology 211, 214, 224, 225, 299, 303 Nag Hammadi 175n17, 183, 183n66, 189, 190, 191n10, 193n17, 194, 198, 199n37 Narrative, battle 16, 81, 82, 92, 94, 98, 100, 103, 104, 104n19, 107, 108, 110, 117, 119, 120, 122, 123, 125 structure 3, 3n3, 28, 29n3, 218n36, 236, 284 nepios 196 Neo-Academics 146, 157 Neopythagoreans 192, 280 New Comedy 280n1, 281 Nicias 92, 98, 100 Novel 281, 284n22, 285, 285n24,28, 286n28, 288n36

336 Numenius 264, 271, 272, 273, 273n, 276, 277n32 Odysseus 47n18, 53, 133, 138, 142, 144, 144n52, 145, 146, 147, 220, 222, 224 Oracles 8, 25, 64, 65, 65n21, 76, 76n1,3, 77n4, 78, 78n10, 80, 80n18,19, 81, 81n21,22, 82, 82n26, 84, 84n32, 85, 85n36, 86, 87, 89, 89n52, 114, 117, 120, 123n, 125, 126, 198, 263, 263n2,3, 264, 264n4–6, 265, 265n8, 266n11, 268, 268n13,14, 269n17, 270, 271n18,19,21, 272, 272n22,24, 274n27, 275, 276n30,31 Orchestris 289 Omens 38, 65, 72, 78n10, 82, 83, 83n29, 86, 87, 87n43, 88, 88n43, 89n49, 105, 114, 115, 116, 120, 121, 124, 125, 126, 243 Orphic Hymns 177, 177n28, 181, 181n53 Osiris 29n3, 172, 172n2, 173, 173n7, 174, 174n10,14, 175, 175n17, 176, 176n24–27, 181, 183, 184, 185n71 Pains 131, 135, 136, 151, 202, 216, 223, 258, 259 paideia 215, 240, 296, 301, 304, 305 Parmenides 179, 179n44, 244 Passion 21, 64, 121, 140, 140n21, 148n76, 150, 151, 157, 159, 190, 192, 200, 202, 202n57, 203n63, 204, 223, 259, 260, 286, 290, 305 παρρησία 141, 142, 142n33,34 Pederasty 52, 52n33, 281, 281n7, 286, 289 Paul, Apostle 59, 180, 196, 196n28, 197, 281n4 Peisistratus 9n18, 42n4, 43n8, 45, 46n14, 51, 51n30, 52, 52n33, 53, 54, 55, 56 Peirithoüs 17, 17n35 Performance, political 46, 46n15, 119 Peri gamou 280, 280n4, 288n37 Peri erotos 280, 280n2 Peripatetics 162, 163, 163n206, 164, 165, 302 Persian Wars 94, 95, 222n58 Phaedra 14, 15, 224n70 Pharnabazus 79 Pherecydes 18 Philanthropy 152 Philia 282 Philo of Alexandria 198, 211n2 Philology 228, 295, 295n4, 297, 300, 301n19, 303, 304

index rerum Philochorus 14, 16, 17, 18, 19, 22 Philosophy 51n29, 52n32, 59n2, 87n42, 163, 173n3, 177n34, 179n44, 198n36, 203, 204, 206n, 213n12, 217, 218, 221n48, 224, 225, 247, 248, 248n31, 257n6, 263, 271n21, 281n7, 283n20, 288n35, 296, 297, 298, 299, 300, 303, 304, 305 Philosopher 8, 62, 67, 68, 71, 133, 135, 148, 149n84, 157, 159, 163, 164, 177n28, 179, 179n45, 205, 206, 206n, 215, 241n7, 246, 248, 248n34, 269, 290, 296, 297, 298, 305 phronesis 24n47, 149 Phrynichus 92 Physics 297, 298, 299, 303 Pittheus 8, 9, 10 Piety / impiety 76, 76n1, 79n14, 80, 82, 86, 87, 89, 229, 230, 231, 231n7, 232, 234, 235, 236n15, 237 pneumatics 188, 192, 193n17, 205, 206, 267 Plataea 82, 92, 93 Plato 5, 47, 59, 77n7, 89n48, 93, 121, 121n7, 132, 132n4, 134n17, 135, 144n50, 149, 149n81, 150, 151, 151n96, 151n102, 152, 153, 172, 172n2, 173n3,7, 174, 177n28, 178n36, 179, 180, 180n48, 183, 191, 192, 194n21, 199n39,41, 200n43,45,46, 202n57, 203n64, 205, 206n, 211, 212, 213n12, 214, 220, 222, 222n54, 223, 224, 233n12, 244, 255, 256, 257, 257n6, 258, 260, 260n12, 263, 263n1–3, 264, 264n5,6, 265, 266, 266n9,10, 268, 269, 269n15,16, 271, 271n19,20, 272, 272n22– 24, 273, 273n, 274, 274n26–28, 275, 275n, 276n30, 277, 277n32, 280, 280n1, 281n5, 283, 283n18, 284, 284n21,23, 287, 288, 289, 290, 290n43, 298, 299, 302, 304, 305 Plato’s Timaeus 184, 203, 211, 257, 264, 271, 271n19, 272, 272n22, 274n26 Plato’s Phaedo 60 Plato’s Symposium 179, 179n42,43, 180, 184 Plato’s dichotomy 151, 265, 268, 269 Pleroma 192, 205, 206 Plutarch’s anthropology 189, 190, 198, 198n36, 199n38, 200, 202, 204, 205 Plutarch’s Lives Life of Agis and Cleomenes 85, 87, 103, 108, 109, 109n33

index rerum Life of Alexander 3, 100, 115n2, 146, 299, 302 Life of Antonius 28, 29, 29n3, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39 Life of Aristides 66, 95, 95n3, 96n Life of Brutus 59n2, 60n7, 66, 67, 68, 68n28, 69, 70n29,30, 71, 71n32,33, 72, 72n, 73, 73n35, 305 Life of Caesar 66, 66n24, 67n25, 68, 68n28, 71, 72, 73, 100, 115n2 Life of Cimon 23, 29, 31, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 65n19, 66, 68, 73, 96 Life of Cleomenes 85, 103, 108, 108n29, 109, 109n33 Life of Demosthenes 63n17 Life of Lycurgus 3, 77n6, 78, 78n8, 80n19 Life of Marius 114, 114n, 115, 115n2, 116, 117, 118, 119, 119n, 120, 121, 122, 126, 127 Life of Nicias 98, 100 Life of Pelopidas 81, 82n24, 83n27, 104, 104n19, 105, 105n20,23, 106, 107 Life of Solon 3n1, 41, 42, 43, 43n8, 44, 44n11, 45, 46, 47, 50, 51, 51n29, 52, 52n31–33, 53, 54, 55, 56 Life of Sulla 114, 115, 119, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 248n33 Life of Theseus 3, 3n1, 4, 4n, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8n16, 9, 9n18, 10, 11, 12, 14, 15, 15n32, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26 Life of Themistocles 95, 95n3, 96n, 106n25 Plutarch’s Moralia De defectu oraculorum 88, 90 De Pythiae oraculis 88, 88n45, 90 Quaestiones Romanae 115, 240, 240n1– 3, 241, 241n4,5,7, 242, 242n10, 243, 243n13,14, 244, 244n15, 245, 246, 246n21, 247, 247n30, 248, 249, 249n36, 251, 251n40–43, 252, 252n45, 253n Quaestiones Graecae 241, 241n7–9, 242n11,12, 248, 249, 251, 251n43 Poets Attic 5 tragic 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 14, 15, 25 Poetry 5, 46n13, 47n18, 48, 52n32,33, 53n36, 55, 56, 65, 214, 299, 300, 301, 303, 304, 305

337 Polemics, anti-Stoic 138, 154n125, 163n207, 164, 211, 215, 222n54, 225 anti-Epicurean 211, 215, 217, 219, 223, 225 Polybius 77n7, 108, 108n29, 109, 110, 233, 233n13 porne 289 Predictions 30, 60n8, 65, 82, 87, 117, 120, 124, 125, 126 Prophecy 80, 82, 84, 87, 114, 114n, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 126 Proclus 264, 264n4, 265, 277 psyche human 155, 260 animal 155 psychikoi, psychics 188, 192, 205, 206 Psychology 28, 138, 150, 152, 153, 297, 298, 302 Profligacy 158 Pythagoras 148, 149, 149n81,83, 150n92, 160, 163, 199n39 Rational beings 121, 139, 149, 150, 152, 155, 156 choice 150, 152 soul 158, 258 Rationality 143, 145, 152, 156, 191, 202 bestial 139, 144, 145, 146, 147, 156n41, 159n170, 162, 165 Reason 6, 89n51, 132, 132n4, 143, 144n47,52, 145, 146, 150, 151, 152, 155, 156, 157, 159, 160, 162, 165, 193, 223, 240, 240n1, 247, 250, 258, 295 Rome 3, 29, 29n5, 35, 36, 39, 60n7, 62n12, 73, 94, 96, 98, 103n17, 104, 110, 115, 116, 119, 120, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 240n1,2, 241n5, 245, 245n20, 246, 247, 247n27, 248n32,33, 249n35, 251n44, 252, 252n47, 255, 282n10, 295, 297 Region, sublunary 191, 266 astral 191, 267 divine 191, 192, 266 Religion, Greek 28n3, 42n6, 44n10, 76n2, 84, 89, 135n19, 211n1, 212n9, 214, 232n8, 251, 266n9, 269n16, 283n20, 285n25, 287n32, 288n35 religiosity Spartan 77, 80, 84, 85, 86, 86n40, 87 Rhetoric 63n17, 80, 198n35, 231, 235, 237, 238, 281, 299, 303

338 Ritual 83, 89, 215, 233, 247n30, 263, 263n3, 266, 266n9, 284, 289, 290 initiation ritual 132, 285n26 Sacrifices 4, 10, 14, 17, 19, 23, 24, 65, 79, 82, 83, 88, 89n49, 104, 106, 114, 116, 117, 118, 119, 125, 198, 198n34, 244, 245, 251, 284, 305 Salamis 41, 41n2, 42, 43, 43n8, 44, 44n10,11, 45, 48, 49, 52n32, 53, 55, 56, 92 Seisachtheia 48, 49n22, 50, 50n26,28, 56 σείω 49 Sellasia 94, 107, 108 Semonides of Amorgos 148 sensory perception 135, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 156 Sextus Empiricus 158 Seth 172, 175, 176n24, 184, 191, 191n11, 193, 195, 199n37 Sisyphos 144, 144n51,52, 145, 147, 147n67, 217 Sophia 178n40, 181, 181n56, 182, 182n60, 190 Sparta 43, 44, 64, 76, 76n1–3, 77, 77n4,7,8, 78, 78n10, 79, 80, 80n18–20, 81, 81n20,23, 82, 82n24, 83, 83n29, 84, 84n32, 85, 85n35,38, 86, 86n39,40, 87, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 103n17, 104, 104n18, 106, 107, 107n27, 108, 109, 109n33 Solon 3n1, 41, 41n1–3, 42, 42n4,5, 43, 43n7,8, 44, 44n9–11, 45, 46, 46n13,15, 47, 47n16– 18, 48, 48n19–21, 49, 49n22, 50, 50n28, 51, 51n29, 52, 52n31–33, 53, 54, 55, 56, 244 sophron 289, 290 sophrosyne 282 Soul higher 255, 256 divine origin of 265, 267, 269 rational 149, 158, 192, 199, 201, 202, 202n54, 203, 258 Spirit 9, 11, 60n3, 61n11, 63n16, 64, 66n24, 67, 68, 69, 69n, 70, 71, 72, 106, 116, 125, 138, 142n31, 152n112, 182, 184n70, 190, 191, 191n9, 192, 193, 195, 197, 198, 198n31, 199n37, 200, 230, 230n5, 231, 232, 233, 244, 248n31, 257, 259, 261, 300, 303, 304 Straton of Lampsacus 131, 154, 157, 163 Stoics 132, 138n1, 140, 140n21, 142, 145, 146, 146n61,64, 147, 154n125, 155, 155n129,

index rerum 156n139,141, 157, 157n144, 158n154, 159, 160, 159–160n174, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 165n218, 172n2, 178n35, 194n21, 196n28, 215, 216, 218, 219, 219n42,44, 220, 221, 221n47,48,50, 222, 222n54, 223, 223n63, 224, 225, 280, 280n4, 282, 282n13, 288, 288n37, 297, 299, 300, 300n15, 303n22, 304 Substance sensible 266 intermediate 266 noetic 266 Sulla/ Sylla 102n13, 103n16,17, 114, 114n, 115, 116, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 123n, 124, 125, 126, 127, 199, 248n33, 258n7 Sun 173n9, 174, 175, 176, 176n25, 179, 180n48, 184, 185n71, 200, 201n48, 204, 205, 206, 221 Symbolism biological 242 ethical 242 physical 242 Supreme principle 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 276 Symbolic relations 28 Symposia 24n47, 136, 219n44, 288n37, 296, 298, 300, 301 synkrasis 287 τελείσθαι 134 teleioi 196 τελευτᾶν 134 Tension, political 56, 103 θάνατος 133, 133n14, 135 Theology 190, 272n23 Theophrastus 131, 146, 153, 155, 156n139, 157, 160, 163, 163n206, 302 Theagenes of Megara 42 Theatricality 34, 35, 41, 42, 51, 54, 55, 56 Themistocles 44n9, 66, 95, 95n3, 96n, 106n25, 244 Thermopylae 92 Thessaly 16 Theurgy 263n3, 264, 264n6, 265n8, 266, 266n9,11, 268n13, 269n16 Theurgist 264, 265, 268n13 Thucydides 65n20, 76n1, 77, 77n5, 98, 106n25, 107n27 Transformation 133, 134, 184n70, 191, 192

339

index rerum Tyche 114n, 121, 123n Typhon 12n, 172, 174, 175, 176, 176n22,24, 184, 225n73 Underworld 17, 74 Underworld of Platonism 263 Valentinus 181n54, 188n2, 194 Valentinian anthropology 188, 189, 190, 191, 194, 194n21, 195, 196, 198, 199, 199n37, 204, 205 ideas 189, 189n, 192n12, 205, 206 myth 200, 204, 206 trichotomous view of mankind 188, 190, 196, 203, 205 Valentinianism 188n2, 189 Varro 240n1, 245, 246, 247, 247n27, 248, 248n32, 249, 249n35 Verisimilitude 6n8, 7, 10, 15, 25, 26 Veracity 6, 10, 15, 25 via analogiae 275 via eminentiae 275 via negationis 275 Vitae, see also Lives 3, 3n1, 5, 6n6, 24n47, 28, 87n41, 93, 94, 95, 95n2, 96n, 98,

100n10, 102n13, 103n14–16, 104, 108, 110, 111n35, 114n, 115, 124n, 127, 213, 214n17, 235, 237n19, 238n21, 241, 248n33, 251, 253n, 282n12, 295, 298n10, 305 Vocabulary irreligious 229n, 232, 235, 238 Virtue animal 138, 139, 139n8, 140, 141n23, 143, 153, 156, 157, 158 human 11, 13, 19, 21, 23, 24n47, 29, 37, 51n29, 69, 100n10, 106, 107n26, 119, 139, 140n21, 142, 142n33, 147, 203, 206, 222n54, 235, 238n21, 258, 287 War, civil 33, 34n19, 124, 233 World, divine 268 material 175, 269 sensible 192, 270 World Soul 175, 175n17, 211, 272, 272n22 Xenocrates 153, 160, 199n39, 266, 266n10 Zoroastrianism 70n29, 255, 256, 256n3, 259n10

Index Locorum Aelianus De natura animalium 4.53 6.1 Varia Historia 8.16 Aelius Aristides Orationes 24 (Behr) Aeschylus Agamemnon 1189–1190 Persae 681–842 Alcinous Didascalicus 154.33 155.20–21H 163.14–15H 163.18–23 164.27–31 165.5 165.16–34

163n204 141n23 52n31

282n14

71n31

231

Antiphon 4.1.3 4.1.3–4 4.2.8 4.3.7 4.4.10

230 230 230 230 230

Apollodorus 2.5.12 3.15.7 3.16 Epit. 1.1 Epit. 1.23–24

17n35 8n17 8n17 12n 17n35

Appianus Bellum civile 1.97

123n8

Archelaus A 4 (Diels-Kranz)

150n87

60n5

146n62 146n62 146n62 275 271n20 275 275n

Andocides fr. 87 (Bergk = 100 Calame) 229n Alcmaeon (Diels-Kranz) A3 150n92 A5 150n92 Anaxagoras (Diels-Kranz) A 100 150n86 A 102 150n89 Andocides De mysteriis 1.51 1.110 1.116 1.117–129 1.129

1.131

229 231 231 231 232

Aristophanes Acharnenses 439 Equites 445 Aristoteles Analytica posteriora 99B36–40 *Athenaion politeia 2 6.1 12.4 14.2 17.2 19.2 19.4 22.1 41.2 De Anima 3.5 404A27–31 405A8–9

47n17 230

151n102 50n25 49n23 50n26 52n34 52n32 81n20 81n20 56n40 6 260 149n84 149n84

341

index locorum 408B18–26 199n39, 203n64 412A19–30 199n39 412A22–27 132n3 413A3–10 199n39 413B24–28 199n39, 203n64 414A19–25 199n39 427A15 150n91 427A19–23 148n80 427A21–22 149n85 427B6–8 152n108,110 428A21–22 151n100 428A23–24 151n100 429A24–429B6 199n39, 203n64 430A17–25 199n39, 203n64 433A9–12 151n100 433A11–12 152n108 433A13 152n106 De generatione animalium 608A15 152n107 731A31 151n101 731A33–34 152n107 736B27–29 203n64 753A 152n111 753A12 152n107 753B12 151n101 De memoria 449B23–24 151n102 453A6 ff. 151n102 De motu animalium 700A–701B 152n106 700B17 151n97 980B21 151n101, 152n107 De partibus animalium 648A6 153n119 650B14 153n119 651A19 153n119 660A17–25 151n99 681A12–28 152n111 686B11 152n109 686B22–27 152n109 De virtutibus et vitiis 1250B6 142n35 Ethica Eudemia 1236A3–4 152n109, 153n115 Ethica Nicomachea 1095B14 303–304 1102B30 152n106 1119B5–6 151n95 1124B29 142n33

1141A27 1144B8 1145A25–26 1149B31–35 1155A16ff. 1155A16–19 1165A29 Historia animalium 488B25–26 536A18 536B2–5 536B18 588A25–31 588B4–589A9 589A1 608A14–15 608A16–20 Metaphysica 980A27–29 980AB 980B1 986A29–30 Oeconomica 1343B15.16 Politica 1253A8–18 1253A9–10 1253A9–18 1254B11 1256B15–22 1267A1 1271B23–33 Protrepticus B28 B29 Rethorica 1398B33–1399A1 Fragmenta (Ross) 10B 14

153n119 153n115 153n115 152n108,113 154n127 152n111 142n33 151n102 166 151n99 163n199 154n123 152n111 151n102 152n103 151n102 151n102 152n103 153n119 150n92 153n119 151n99 152n108 151n98, 153n114,117 153n119 153n116,118 304 77n7 152n108 154n124 84n32,33 136n26 135n19

Athenagoras Legatio pro Christianis 22.4 178n35 Avesta: Khorda Avesta Yasht 13 259n10

342

index locorum

Bundahishn 1.3

256n4

Bacchylides (Snell) 17 18 18.18–30

9n20 9n20 11n23

Carneades fr. 51 (Wiśniewski)

157n144

Chaldean Oracles (Des Places) fr. 1 276 fr. 3 274 fr. 4 274 fr. 5 271, 272n24 fr. 7 273, 274 fr. 8 272n24 fr. 11 274 fr. 13 274 fr. 16 277n34 fr. 18 274 fr. 20 274 fr. 21 270 fr. 25 269 fr. 28 272 fr. 30 274 fr. 32 272 fr. 35 272 fr. 37 270–271 fr. 39.1 274 fr. 49.2 274 fr. 61 267 fr. 102 268 fr. 108 267–268, 274 fr. 109 267, 274 fr. 110 269 fr. 116 268 fr. 120 267 fr. 134 268 fr. 169 272n24 fr. 209.29 277 Charito 1.1.4 1.5.6

285 286n28

Cicero De divinatione 1.74–76 83n29 1.95–96 76n3 1.96 77n7,8, 81 2.8 s.f. 89n49 2.62 83n29 2.149 89n49 De fato 28–29 194n21 De finibus bonorum et malorum 2.2 216n20 5.13.38 138n5 De legibus 2.14.36 135n19 De natura deorum 1.86 217n27 2.12 146n61 2.64.160 138–139n5 De officiis 1.30.108 47n15 1.33 79n14 1.84 82n24 2.77 85n35 De re publica 3.11.19 149n83 Epistolae ad Marcum Brutum 1.5.3 119–120n5 Orationes Philippicae 2.21 34n20 Tusculanae disputationes 1.11 217n27, 217n35 1.53 133n12 2.44 223n60 Clemens Alexandrinus Excerpta ex Theodoto 54 54.1 56.2 56.3 68 Stromata 2.11.1 2.115.1 3.3.3 4.81.1–88.5 5.3.3 7.6.33

190n4, 191n8 191n11 191n9 193n16 182n58 194n22 194n22 194n22 194n22 194n22 138n5

343

index locorum Corpus Hermeticum 1.9.18 1.22 5.9 10.2–4 10.13 10.17–18 10.19–21 Asclepius 1.15–25 Asclepius 1.20 Asclepius 2.21

180, 180n51 261n 180n51 180n51 199n40 199n40 261n13 180n51 180n52 180n51

Cyrillus (Hierosolymitanus) Catecheses mystagogicae (1–18) 6.18.2 182n60 6.19.5 182n60 Democritus (Diels-Kranz) B 113 149n84 B 154 149n81 B 159 131 Diodorus Siculus 1.26 4.62 7.12 7.12.1 7.12.5 7.12.8 8.23.2.7 9.20 13.97.5 13.105.3 14.13.7

180n47 17n35 77n7 78n9 85n35 85n34 180n47 53n36 82n24 99n 80n19

Diogenes Apolloniates (Diels-Kranz) A 18 135n21 A 19 148n78, 149n84 A 29 135n23 A 85 135n22 B4 149n84 Diogenes Laertius 1.46 1.48 1.49 1.53 1.66 2.494–877

46n15 43n8 51n29, 52n34 52n31 52n31 43n8

5.49 8.30 8.85

153n122 149n81 156n139

Diogenes Oenoandensis fr. 73.I.1-II.1 217n27 Dio Chrysostomus (Orationes) 3.51–52 235 3.53 235 7.133–152 281 34 282n14 38 282n14 40–41 282n14 Dionysius Halicarnassensis (Antiquitates Romanae) 2.61.2 77n7 4.39 234 4.39.3 234 4.39.5 234 8.28.3 234 8.28.4 235 Empedocles (Diels-Kranz) A 61 179n44 A 86.10 148n79 B 45 179n44 B 46 179n44 B 49 179n44 B 110 149n82 B 128 149n82 Epicharmus B 12 (Diels-Kranz) 154n126 fr. 214 (Kassel-Austin) 154n126 Epictetus [4]123

146n61

Epiphanius Scr. Eccl. Panarion (Adversus haereses) 2.31.2 182n62 31.23.1–4 191n8 Eudemus fr. 130 (Wehrli)

163n204

344 Eupolis fr. 146AB Kock fr. 157 K–A Euripides Electra 181–190 584 1282–1283 Hecuba 1–58 30–31 47 52 54 Helena 38–40 Heracles 1325–1328 Hippolytus 11 45 45–46 421–423 887–890 1169–1170 Ion 670–672 Medea 665–685 686 Orestes 1639–1642 Troiades 743 Fragmenta (Nauck) 758

index locorum

230 230, 236n15

fr. 87.7–11 fr. 87.10

176n27 177n28

Heraclitus (Diels-Kranz) B 27 136n27 B 89 136n25 102n12 79n15 219n43 60n5 60n8 60n8 60n8, 67n26 60n8 219n43 17n39 8n14 15n31 21n42 142n33 15n31 15n31 142n33 8n16 8n14 219n43

Hermarcus (Longo Auricchio) fr. 34 152n112 fr. 34.12 155n130 Herodotus 1.59 1.65.4 5.63.1 5.63.2 5.70–72 5.71 6.50–84 6.66 6.78–79 6.81 6.106.3 6.123 7.206.1 7.231 8.110 9.11.1 75.3

56n40 77n7 81n20 76n1 86n40 42n5 79n15 80n20 79n14 83n29 76n2 81n20 76n2 83n30 96n 76n2 80n20

Herodianus (Aelius) De prosodia catholica 3.1.238.5 3.710.24

180n46 180n46

Hesiodus Opera et Dies 276–280 370

148n74 8

Homerus Ilias 514–516 1.265 2.557–558 4.143–145 5.449–453 15.263 15.275ff.

223n61 8n15 43 148n76 223n61 148n76 148n76

94 79n15

Eusebius Historia ecclesiastica 2.18.6 157n147 Praeparatio evangelica 12.12 180n48 Heliodorus (Aethiopica) 1.10.1–2 286n28 Hellanicus (Jacoby, FGH 4) fr. 9.4 177

345

index locorum 15.641–643 15.721 18.426–462 22.261–267 24.630 Odyssea 1.423 2.276–277 4.240–258 4.605 8.438–448 9.27 9.94–97 11 11.631 12.413 ff.

147n69 148n76 148n76 148n74 110 134 147n69 53 216n25 224n67 216n25 225n71 60n5 9n18, 17n35 133

Iamblichus Theologoumena arithmeticae 4.17 178n36 Irenaeus Adversus haereses 1.5.6 1.6.1 1.6.1–2 1.6.2 1.6.3 1.7.5 1.11.5 2.14.4 3.15.2

Hyginius Fabulae 37 79

8n17 17n35

Isocrates 10.18 10.27

Hymni Homerici 32.1

178n38

Iuba (II) A 275 (Jacoby, FGH 3)

191n9 193n16 197n29 192n13, 193n15, 197n31 198n32 190n4,8, 193, 193n16, 193n18, 195n 182n62 194n21 198n33

9n20 21n43

246n26 Hymni Orphici 9.3.4 9.4 32.10 42.4

178n38 177n31 177n31,33 177n32

(Pseudo-) Hippolytus Refutatio omnium haeresium 4.42.4 181n54 4.43.8 180n48 5.6.5 182n62 5.7.15 182n62 5.8.4 182n62 5.14.3 182n62 5.14.10 182n62 6.17.3 183n64,65 6.18 183n64 6.18.2–7 183n65 6.18.4 182n63 6.18.6 182n63 6.29.35 181n54 6.31.9 191n8 8.9.2 181n54 10.16.1 181n54

Justinus Hist. 2.7.9 6.2.5 Lucianus Amores 18.50–51 Philopseudes 30–31

46n15 80n17

286n30 62n12, 67n25, 68

Lucretius 3.978–1023

217n27

Marinus Proclus 38

264

Minokhired 49.22

259n10

346

index locorum

Nag Hammadi Corpus Tripartite tractate (I,5) 118 190n4 118.15–21 190n7 119–121 193n16 130–136 193n16 The Gospel of Thomas (II,2) 22 182n62 51.15–53.3 183n66 51.22–24 183n66 78 182n62 114 182n62 The Gospel of Philip (II,3) 59.1–4 182n58 59.8–11 182n60 59.30–32 182n57 60.10–15 182n61 63.31–64.5 182n57 On the Origin of the World (II,5) 127.15–17 206 Trimorphic Protennoia (XIII, 1) 45.2–12 183, 183n66 Nepos Alcibiades 8.2–3

99n

Numenius (Des Places) fr. 15 272n24 fr. 17 273, 273n fr. 22 276 Origenes Commentarius in Epistolam Pauli ad Romanos 4.12 194n23 Contra Celsum 2.20 194n21 De principiis 2.9.5 194n23 3.1.5 194n23 Papyri Graecae Magicae (Betz et al.) 4.2264 178n38 4.2546 178n38 4.2610.1 178n38 4.2610–2611 178n37 4.2815 178n38 4.3100–3101 178n39 7.606 178n40

7.609 7.758

178n40 178n38

Paulus Epistola I ad Corinthios 2.6 196n28 3.1 196n28 Epistola ad Galatas 3.28 180 Pausanias 1.17.3 1.17.4 1.40.5 2.33.1 3.4.3–6 3.8.9 3.17.7–9 3.18.1 6.6.7–11 9.13 9.13.9 20.10–11

9n20 17n36 47n15 8n17 80n20 80n17 64n18, 65n19 85n38 67n25 104 106 85n38

Philodemus Index Academicorum Herculanensis 3.34–43 257n6 Phylarcus fr. 59 (Jacoby)

108

Pindarus fr. 76 (Snell)

5

Plato Alcibiades 1.122A Apologia Socratis 40D Cratylus 400C 403A–404A De legibus 624A 691E 897B1–2 961D7 Epinomis 982B5

257n6 136 133n15 136n28 77n7 77n7 199n39 199n39 199n39

347

index locorum Epistola VII 366B Gorgias 523A 527A Laches 197A ff. Leges 12.963E Phaedrus 229A 245C–E 247A7 Phaedo 65BC 67CD 67E 81B–D 99A 99AB Philebus 30C Politicus 263D Protagoras 320C 322A3–4 322C 326E6–7 329 ff. Republica 6 10 14 376B 391C–D 406D 614A–621D Symposium 172C 190B 203B 211B–C Theaetetus 186BC Timaeus 30B 42D5 46D5–6

233n12 5 5 150n93

69C–70E 90A 90AB 91D–92D 92C

199n39 256, 257, 257n5, 260 203n63 151n96 132n7

151n95

Plautus Mostellaria 476–505

62n12

285 133n12 212n5

Plinius Epistulae 7.27

62n12, 67

132n4 135n20 132n5 59n2, 60 150n94 152n105

Plotinus Enneades 4.4[15].3 4.8[6].8 5.1[10].10

255 255 255

Plutarchus 199n39 151n96 5 144n50 148n74 147n70 206n65 272 134n18 134n18 151n96 9n20 47 135n19 284 179 184n68 290 151n96 199n39 199n39 199n39

Vitae Aemilius Paulus 1.2 23.9 Agesilaus 1.4–5 2.1 3.1–4 3.6–7 3.8 5.5 6 6.6–8 6.6–11 6.7–9 6.9–11 8 11.1–2 15 15.4 20.3–5 25.5 26.3 28.6 29.3–4 30.1

110 105n22 107 82n26 80n16 80n17 80 107 83n31 88n44 83n29 83n27 106 83n26 83n26 94 97 84n31 106 106 83n26, 83n29, 104, 106 76n2 80n17,18, 84

348 Agesilaus (cont.) 30.3 30.3–4 Agis 3.1 4.2 5.1 9.1 9.2–3 9.4 11.4–5 11.5 Alcibiades 15.1–3 23.7–9 36–37 37.2 Alexander 1.1–2 8.1 8.2–3 16 20 31–33 Antonius 3.6–7 4.1–3 4.2 4.4 4.5 5 6 9.6 10.8 17.5 21.3 23.2 24 24.3–5 25.1.1 29.3 34.10 36.7 57.1 60 60.1 60.4 60.5 75.4

index locorum

83n31 83n30 85n34 85 103 85 85n37 85 85 85n36 98 80n16 98 98n7 3 302 299 100 100 100 33n18 32n14 31n12 32n16 32n15 34n19 34n19 35n23 35n21 33n17 36n24 297 31n13 36n26 37n27 35n22 37 32n15 36n25 31n13 37n28 30n10 30n9 38n29

Aratus 24.2 38.7 45.7 46.1 Aristides 2–4 5.1 7 8.1 8.3 9.6 10.4 10.7 11.3 11.8 16.3 17.7–9 17.8 17.10 18.1–2 18.6 18.7 19.5 19.7 20.1–2 21.4–6 21.5 Brutus 1.1 36–37 36.1–7 36.5–37.1 47.7 48 Caesar 18–19 25–27 69 69.2 69.2–14 69.6 69.7 69.9–11 69.13 Caius Gracchus 6.4 19.2

109 108n28 105n23 108 95 95 96 95 95 96n 95 95 82 95 105n23 82n25 95 83n28 82 95 95 95 95 96 95 95 305 68n28 60n7 71 73 72 100 100 71 66, 68 66n24, 68n28 66 67 67 68 297 297

349

index locorum Caius Marius 4.1 8.8 10.2 12.4–5 12.7 14.1 17.1 17.2 17.5 17.6–7 17.8–11 22.1–5 23.1 24.1 26.4 26.5 27 28.1–5 28.1 29–30 31.2 35.7–8 36.7 36.8–9 40.13 42.7 42.7–8 42.9 45.1 45.3 45.9 45.11 45.12 46.1–2 Camillus 5.6 6.6 22.3 Cato Maior 5.2 22.2–3 Cato Minor 6.2 Cicero 2.3 3.2 8.2

116 116 116 116 116 116 117 117 117 117 118 118 118, 119 119 119 119 119 119 119 119 119 120 120 120 120 120 120 121 121 121 121 121 121 121 89n50 89n51 211n2 158n157, 159n165 297 297 304 297, 299 297

Cimon 1.2–4 61n11 1.6 62 1.7 63 2.4–5 99 3 29n4 3.2 29n6, 31n11 4.3–4 62, 62n16 18.2–3 65 19.3–4 96–97 Cleomenes 7.3 85 9 85 9.1 85 9.2 86n39 9.7 86n39 10.1 85n37 27–28 108 27.11 108n29 28.2 108 28.7–8 108 Comparatio Agesilai et Pompeii 1.2 82n26 2.3 83n31 Comparatio Agidis et Cleomenis cum Tiberio et Caio Graccho 2.4 77n8 28.2 109 28.5 109 Comparatio Demetrii et Antonii 3.4 30n7 Comparatio Demosthenis et Ciceronis 1.2 304 4.1 235–236, 237 Comparatio Lycurgi et Numae 4.13 103n17 Comparatio Lysandri et Sullae 2.1 103 2.1–3 80 2.6 102 3.5 102 3.7–8 103 4.3–5 81 5.5 102 Comparatio Niciae et Crassi 5.3 89n51 Comparatio Pelopidae et Marcelli 3 107

350 Comparatio Philopoemenis et Titi Flaminini 1 94 1.4 109 2.3 94 Comparatio Thesei et Romuli 1.4 19 1.5 19 1.6–7 20 3.2 15 6.7 25 Comparationis Aristophanis et Menandri epitome 854A–B 296 Crassus 6.6 105n22 8.4 301n18 Demosthenes 1–2 63n17 2.1 3 Dion 2.1–6 70n29 2.3–6 68 3–5 70 9.1 305 13.2 305 55.1–2 70 Fabius Maximus 2.2–3 87n43 4.4 89n51 Galba 4.1 235, 237 Lucullus 1.5 303 42.2 297, 302 Lycurgus 6.1 77n8 6.3 77n8 6.9 77n8 7.5 78n8 25.4 85n38 29.2 78 29.5 78n8 29.6–9 78 30.1 85n34, 103 Lysander 2.1–4 103 2.8 103 5.5–6 102 5.5–7.6 102

index locorum 5.7 5.7–7.1 6.4 6.8 7.1 7.5 7.6 8.3–5 10–11 10.1–2 10.4 10.6 11.1 11.2 11.3 11.7 11.7–9 11.11–12 13.3–5 14.2 15.4 15.6 15.7–8 15.15 16–17 16–17.1 19.1–5 19.5 19.7 19.7–12 20.1–3 20.6 20.8 21.5–7 22.1–5 22.6 22.6–7 22.10–11 22.12 24–26 25.1–3 26.6 27 27.3 28.10 29.7–9 30.3–5 30.4

81n23 103 81n23 81n23 81n23 79, 79n12 79n13 78n11 99 99 99 99 98n7 99 99 99 99–100 100n9 102 102 101n 102 103 101 103 103 102 102 79 102 79 79 80 103 102 82n26 80n16 80n17 80 80, 83n31, 103 80 81 102 29n6 81 81n21 84n31, 103 80

351

index locorum Marcellus 1.2 2.2 Marcius Coriolanus 32.5 38.5 38.6 Nicias 1.5 9.9 Numa 8.8 16.4–5 Pelopidas 1–2 2.2 2.3–11 5.1–2 6.1–2 11–12 15 15.3–4 16.8 17.1 20.1 20.3 21 21–22 21.4 23 24 24.5–8 25.1 30–31.1 31.2 31.3–4 31.6 32.9 33.9–10 34.7 Pericles 1–2 22.4 33.1 Philopoemen 1.7 3.1 4.5 6

305 305 211n2 89n51 89n51 3 98 146n62 22n45 107 82n24 82n24 106 106 106 105n23 106 29n6 106 104 104 83n27, 88n44 104 83n29 104 105 105 105 105 105 105 105 107 105 105 13n26 105n22 86n40 94, 109 109 305 108

6.10 7.1 16–17 17.2–7 17.7 21.10–12 Phocion 29.5 Pompeius 10.4 70 Publicola 10.4 Pyrrhus 8.3 Romulus 28.7 Solon 1.3–4 1.6–7 8–10 8.1 8.1–3 8.4 10.1–2 10.4 12 12.1–4 15.2–3 30.1 30.2 30.4–5 30.6 31.1 Sulla 1.3 5.8 5.11 6.4–9 6.12–13 7.3 7.4–13 9.6–8 11.1–2 12.5–8 12.9–14 17.1 17.4 17.6

109 109 94 110 109 94 22n45 299n12, 301n18 94 142n34 298 89n51 51 52n33 43n8 42n4 45 46n14 43 44 42n5 86n40 50n27 53n35 53n36 54n 52n34 55n 122 122 124 122 124 124 124 125 125 125 125 125 125 125

352 Sulla (cont.) 19.9 26.2 27.3 27.6 27.7–14 28.7–8 28.11–12 29.10 29.11–12 30.6 30.7 34.3–5 34.6 35.8 37.2 38.5 Themistocles 3 3.5 4.2–3 4.6 5.7 6.5 7.4 8.2 9.3 11.1 11.5 12.6 16.4–6 17.4 20.4 22 23.4–6 24.1 24.3 24.7 25.2 28.2 31.4 Theseus 1–2 1.2–3 1.3 1.5 2.1 2.3 3.1

index locorum

123, 125 302, 303 125 125 125 125 125 123 123 127 127 123 124 126 126 122 95 95 96 95 95 96 95 95 96 95 95, 96 95 96n 95 96 96 96 96 105n23 96 96 95, 96n 96 3 4–5 5 5, 6 25 7 8

3.5–4.1 4.1 5.1 6.1–2 6.2 6.3–7.3 6.4 7.2–3 8.3 9.1 10.1 10.2 10.4 11.2–3 12.2–6 14.1 14.2–3 15–20 15.1 15.2 16.1 16.2 16.3 17.1 17.1–2 17.3 19.1 19.3 19.4–79 19.8–20.9 19.10–20.9 20.1 20.2 20.8–9 24–25 25.3 26–28 27.2 27.3 27.4–9 27.6 27.7 28.1 28.3 29–30 29.1 31.1 31.4 32.1

8 10 4, 10 8–9 4, 10 11 11 11 13 12 12 12–13 13 11–12 15 14 14 18 4 18 18, 19 18 5–6, 13n25 4 21 18 20 19 18, 19 19 20 20 9n18 20 4, 22 22 4 16 16 16 7, 16 17 14, 211n2 14 4 15 4, 17n37 17 4

353

index locorum 35.1–2 35.3 35.8 36.1 36.3 36.3–4 36.4 36.5 Titus Flamininus 11 Moralia Adversus colotem 1107F 1107F–1108A 1112E 1119BC 1122AB 1124B 1124EF Amatoriae narrationes 772D–773B 773C–774D Amatorius 748D 748E–F 749A–B 749B 749C 749D–E 749E 750A 752C 752E 753A 753B 753C 753C–754E 753D 753D–F 754B–C 754D 754E–755A 755A 755C–D 755C 755D 755E 756B

17 17 4, 22–23 4 4 23 4, 9n20 24 92

224n68 224n69 215n19 225n73 225n72 218n37 216n22 286n32 286n32 280, 284 284 291 280n2, 284, 289 285 283n16 286, 290 286 286, 289 286 286 286, 289 286, 289 286 289 289 286 286, 287 286 286 286 287, 290 290 287 212n10

756E 287 759E–F 287, 289 759F 289 761E–F 286, 289 762A 287, 290n41 762B–E 287 765A–766C 287, 290n41 766C–D 289 766D 291n44 766D–E 290n41 766E 287 767A 287 767B 287, 289 767D 291 767E 288 767E–768B 287 767F 289 768B–768D 289 769A 287 769A–769E 286 769B 287 769D 284 769D–E 288 769F 287, 288 770A 287 770C 287 770D–771C 289 771C 280n2 771D 289, 291 771E 284, 291 784F 284 789A 287 Apophthegmata Laconica 208F–209A 84n32 212CD (52) 84n31 214B (73) 83n31 217C (1) 81n22 219F 76n1 222F (6) 82n24 223A–224B 79n15 223B (3) 79 223C (5) 83n29 223C (6) 79n14,15 223E (11) 83n29 224E (2) 83n29 228D (22) 76n1 229A (2) 79n12 229B (3) 79n13 229D (10) 81

354 Apophthegmata Laconica (cont.) 229F (14) 84n31 236D (68) 81n22 239F (42) 85n34 239F–240AB 85n35 Coniugalia praecepta 139B 283n16 140C 299 149D 289n39 Consolatio ad uxorem 611B 283n16 De adulatore et amico 51C 142n34 52C 299, 301n18, 302 66E 142n34 97A 302 De Alexandri Magni fortuna aut virtute 328A 157n144 328DE 93n 343C 50n28 De amore prolis 493B 139n11 493CD 140n12 493D 139n11, 143n44, 159n166 495C 143n42, 159n166 De animae procreatione in Timaeo 1014E 199n41 1015BC 164n210 1015C 164n209 1016C 199n41 1023C 200n43 1023D 199n41, 201n52 1024CD 199n41 1025B 211n3 1025D 201n48, 201n54, 203n60 1026B 256n2 1026C 201n54 1026D 201n52 1026E 199n41, 201n49 De audiendis poetis 15D 216n22 17A 211n2 17B 88n44 17BC 217n28 18C 147n67 19F 213n14 22C 299

index locorum 23D 218n40 30CD 300, 303 31E 219n42, 300n17 33D 218n39 De audiendo 43D 302 44E 297, 302 44F 297 45A 302 De cohibenda ira 462B 301n19, 302 De communibus notitiis adversus Stoicos 1059C 224n70 1062A 218n38 1063C–F 221n47 1063F 221n49 1064A 224n65 1065C 224n66 1065D 218n38 1069B 224n67 1070E 219n42 1071CD 221n50 1072F 219n42 1075A 146n61 1083DE 221n51 1083E 222n53 1083EF 221n52 1085A 146n61 De curiositate 523AB 235, 236 De defectu oraculorum 414E 89n50 417B 200n44 417CD 83n27 417CE 87n43, 89n50 419D 296–297, 299, 303 420E–422C 89n52 435D 211n2 De E apud Delphos 384EF 114 386F 143n43, 147n65, 152n107, 156n137,141, 159n168 De esu carnium 993C 211n2 993DF 158n160 994A 158n158 994F 163n207, 164n208 996A 159n164

index locorum 996AB 996B 996D 996DE 996E 997B 997E

153n121, 160n184 140n13, 158n160 158n160 140n13 157n146, 158n161 159n165 158n162, 163n207, 164n208 998A 158n162, 160n183 998F 163n207, 164n208 999AB 157n143, 158n156, 160n185, 163n198, 164n208, 169 999A 163n207 999B 157n148, 163n207 De facie quae in orbe lunae apparet 926C 200n43 943A 199n38, 200n42, 255, 258, 258n8 943A5–6 199n41 944C 200n44 De fortuna 98B 154n126 De fortuna Romanorum 4.381A/CD 123n De genio Socratis 582AB 304 588DE 203n63 588EF 203n59 589F 211n2, 212n6,7 589F–592F 135n19 590C 259 591D–592C 202n55 591DE 202n56,57, 259–260, 260n11 591DF 199n40 591EF 203n62 592A 259 592C1 199n40 De Herodoti malignitate 855DE 99 860D 81n20 864D–865B 95 De Iside et Osiride 358F 211n2 359D–360D 212 360D–363D 212 361C 200n44 363D–369A 212

355 367C–368F 173, 174n12 368C 173, 179n44 369A–377B 212 369E–370C 256n2 370F 175n17 371A 172n2 371A–B 176n24 372D 176n25 372E 175n20 372F 175n19 374CD 184n68 378A 89n51 382F 146n62 De latenter vivendo 1130DE 217n33 De laude ipsius 546E 235, 236 De profectibus in virtute 75EF 222n54 75F 303n22 De Pythiae oraculis 394F 301n18 396D 89n52 397BC 89n52 398B 164n209 403B 80n20 408C 114 De sera numinis vindicta 548AB 218n36 553B 147n68 555C 64n18 556E–557E 218n36 557F 211n2, 218n36 561B 212n8 562B 105n22 563B 135n19, 212n8 563E 199n40 564C 199n40 566D 199n40 566E–568A 217n34 De sollertia animalium 959B 165n220 959BC 224n70 959C 143n38, 161n186 959D 158n159 959E–963F 161n197 959F 158n162, 159n163 960A 140n13, 166 960B 163n207, 164n208

356 De sollertia animalium (cont.) 960BD 156n136 960B–962D 160n181 960D 160n177, 167 960E 163n207, 164n208 961A 154n124, 154n126, 163n202, 167 961C 146n61, 156n140, 159n172, 165n219 961CD 163n207 961D 159n173 961DE 164n208 961DF 159n174 961E 156n138, 163n207 961F 160n179 962AB 164n208 962A 145n57, 156n142, 159n169, 163n207 962B 158n152, 159n171, 160n175,178, 163n207, 165n219 962BC 144n47 962BD 168 962C 139n10, 143n45, 145n56, 158n151, 159n167, 167 962D 139n11 962CD 166 963B 167 963BC 298 963C 302 963CD 157n143 963D 160n176, 168 963F 159n165, 160n180, 160n182, 161, 163n206, 163n207, 164n208 964A 139n10, 165n219 964C 163n207, 164, 164n208, 164n213 964E 163n201 965D 163n199 966B 139n10, 140n16, 157n144, 159n169, 159n170, 163n200 967E 155n134 968D 157n144 972F–973A 166 973A 163n199, 166

index locorum 974A 149n84 975AB 145n58 981B 163n199 981F 163n199 De Stoicorum repugnantiis 1033B 219n42 1033C 225n71 1033E 297 1039F 218n39 1041EF 146n61 1045BC 164n211 1045C 164n209, 164n212 1047D 224n64 1049B 219n45 1049B–E 219n43 1050B 218n40 1051C–D 70n30 1051D 146n61 1051E 219n41 1052E 146n61, 218n38 1055B 218n38 De superstitione 65B 146n60 164E 89n51 166A 88n44 166C 136n25 166F–167A 217n28 167A 69n29, 88n44 167B 146n62 168F–169A 88n44 169C 88n44 171B–E 88n44 171F 89n51 De tranquillitate animi 467A 121n7 467F 80n16 469D 121n7 474E 121n7 De tuenda sanitate praecepta 131D–132A 140n13 133BC 297, 301n19, 302 133C 301 133D 297 133E 299 135E 131n1 De virtute morali 441D 255, 258n7 441DE 201n47 442A 201n51, 53

357

index locorum 442DE 223n63 442F–443A 165n217 443B 223n63 447A 159n173 448D 201n48 448F 223n63 449AB 131–132n2 449D 165n217, 223n62 450A 217n28 450BC 165n217 450C 218n38 450E 201n50 450F–451A 159n171 451CD 223n63 Gryllus (Bruta animalia ratione uti) 985D–991D 139 986D 139n6 986E 140n21 987A 139n6 987B 139n11 987B–C 168 987C 139n6, 140n17,18,20 987DE 142 987E 140n22 987F 12n, 139n8, 141n23 988B 139n9, 140n15, 140n17,21, 143n39 988C 140n19 988DE 140n15 988E 139n7 989E 140n21 991D–992E 139 991DE 139n10 991F–992A 139n11 992A 138n3, 166, 168 992B 166 992C 140n14, 142n37, 145n54 992CD 139n10, 144n47 992DE 146n63, 147n66 992E 139n8, 144n50 Non posse suaviter vivi secundum Epicurum 1086F 212n5 1087A 216n21 1087F 223n59 1088A 223n60 1088D 216n25 1090B 216n26 1092C 145n53

1093A 222n57 1093C 222n58 1094E 216n22 1095A 216n24 1095C 300, 301, 301n19 1095DE 216n22 1096A 300 1101BC 89n51 1104BC 217n29 1104D 217n30 1105AB 217n32 1105EF 223n61 1106E 217n31 1125D 78n10 1125DE 89n51 Placita philosophorum 4.11 146n61 5.23–25 135 Praecepta gerendae reipublicae 807D 50 814A–C 93 814C 94 814F 98 817F 105 823E–825F 97 824C 96 Quaestiones convivales 612E 301n19 613D 301n19 613D–F 296, 301 618E–F 301, 301n19 628B–D 298 635F 301n19, 302, 303 639A–640A 214n15 641B 211n2 645C 301n19, 302 673A 301n19, 302 677C–678B 214n15 679E 212n5 686CD 298, 301n19, 302 690C 298, 302 694D 298, 302n 697F–700B 224n64 704D 304n24 706E 304n24 709B 301, 301n19 711F–712D 296n7 715B 297, 301n19 716D 301

358 Quaestiones convivales (cont.) 723A 296, 301n19 724D 303n23 736D 301n19 737D 299, 301n19 739A–D 214n15 741AB 214n15 741D–743C 214n15 746 134n18 748D 299, 301n19 Quaestiones Graecae Question 1 249 Question 28 249–250 291A 249n37 297A 235, 236 301D 147n67 Quaestiones Platonicae 2.1001C 199n41 4.1003A 199n41 Quaestiones Romanae 277A 70n30 Question 1 242, 247–248 Question 2 245, 248 Question 4 245 Question 10 243 Question 25 243–244 Question 52 248n31 Question 101 245, 248 Question 103 288E 250(n38) Question 111 290BC 250(n39) Regum et imperatorum apophthegmata 190E (2) 79n13 191B (7) 84n32 191C (10) 83n31 * Stoicos absurdiora poetis dicere 1058AB 222n54 Fragmenta (Sandbach) 1–2 (Tyrwhitt) 131 13–20 87n42 21–23 87n42 31 212n5 73 ff. 157n144 144 200n46 177 132, 200n43 178 134, 200n45 193 157n144 200 133n11

index locorum Philo De animalibus [Alex.] 10 10–71 12 13 17 29 30–31 30 31 34 38 46–62 60 62 66 71 85 De vita contemplativa 57–63 (s. I)

157n147 164 158, 165 166 158, 158n150 158n150, 167 158n152 168 166 158n152 158, 158n152, 168 158n152 168 168 157n149, 158n152, 168 164n215, 166, 167, 168 147n65 180n48

Poetae Epici Graeci (Bernabé) fr. 2 177n28 fr. 31 177n35 Polemon De Physiognomia Liber (Foerster) 69 286n32 Polyaenus 1.20.1

46n15

Polybius 2.65.1–7 2.65.69 6.10 10.2.11 24.11–13 32.5

108n29 108n29 77n7 77n7 110 233

Polystratus De irrationali contemptu Cat. 1. coll. I, VI–VII (Indelli) 146n64, 155n132

359

index locorum Porphyry De abstinentia 1.3.3 1.4.1 1.5.2 1.6.3 1.7–12 1.10.1 1.12 1.14.3 2.21.1– 22.1 2.22.1–3 2.25.1–3 3.1.4–6 3.6 3.6.5 3.6.7–7 3.7.1 3.7.2 3.8.3 3.8.6 3.9.1 3.9.5 3.10.1 3.10.3 3.18.1 3.19.2 3.20 3.20–24 3.20.1 3.20.1–4 3.20.3 3.21 3.22 3.22.1 3.22.2 3.22.8 3.23.1–2 3.24.5 3.24.6 3.25.1 3.25.4 3.26.4 4.20.266 (Nauck)

155n130, 161n197, 163n203,206 163n203, 163n205, 164n216 165n219 161n197, 163n206 152n112 155n131 155n131 138n5 149n82 154n127 154n127 149n81 156n141 152n103 165 167 168 151n98 167 166 152n107, 163n199 166 152n103, 166 167 159n169 157n145 161n197 138n5, 155n133 155n129 157n144 154n124 156n138 165n219 146n61 165n219 145n56, 163n201 163n201 163n206 163n206 169 152n112 131n1

Proclus In Timaeo 2.57.9–12 (Diehl)

266n11

Psellus Opuscula philosophica 1.46.43–51 (Duffy) 264n4 *Pseudo-Plutarch Paralella Graeca et Romana 305A 211n2 De fato 574E 194n21 Seneca De tranquillitate animi 17 133n10 18 133n9 20 132n7 Epistulae morales ad Lucilium 1.4.3–6 132 4.30.10–11 132 17–18.102.21 134 24.18 217n27 117.6 146n61 Sextus Empiricus Adversus mathematicos 8.286 9.127 Pyrrhoniae hypotyposes 1.67–72 1.69–71 2.5.23–24 2.5.26–27 2.26

149n82 149n81 148n79 156n141 149n84 145n55 158n155

Semonides fr. 7.6 (West)

148n75

Solon (West) fr. 4, 4a, 4c fr. 10 fr. 11 fr. 11.5–6 fr. 11.7 fr. 15 fr. 18 fr. 20

48n21 47n18 52 53n36 53n36 48n21 56 46n13, 56n39

360 Solon (West) (cont.) fr. 21 fr. 24.5–6 fr. 25 fr. 33 fr. 36 Sophocles Oedipus Coloneus 1224–1227

index locorum

56n39 52n33 52n33 52 50n26

Strabo 9.394 10.4.17–18 10.4.19 19

43n8 77n7 77n7 77n7

Straton Lampsacenus (Wehrli) fr. 111 131 fr. 112 154n124 131

Stobaeus (Wachsmuth-Hense) 1.5 132 1.44.60 133n11 2.60.21–22 142n35 2.61.12 142n36 4.20.34 280n3 4.20.67–69 280n3 4.21.15 280n3 4.22(1) 280n4 4.22(4) 280n4 4.23(62–65) 280n4 4.52.49 134 5.1092 200n45 Stoicorum veterum fragmenta (Von Arnim) 1.154 138n5 1.516 138n5 1.528 146n61 2.83 146n61 2.515 155n134 2.723 138n5 2.725 156n137 2.847.89 146n61 3.65 288 3.69 146n61 3.124–126 143n40 3.178 156n139 3.210 218n38 3.264 142n35,36 3.295–305 206n65 3.367 155n128, 157n143 3.371 157n143 3.374 157n143 3.439 131 3.459 159n173 3.725 156n141

Straton Comic. fr. 219 Kassel-Austin 232n10 Suetonius Julius 34.2

247n27

Tertullianus Adversus Valentinianos 29 191n8 Theophrastus De sensibus 1 ff. 25 ff. 42 ff. Π. εὐσεβείας fr. 12 (Pötscher) Thucydides 1.22.4 1.118.3 1.23.1 1.126 1.126–127 1.126.3 1.128–135.1 2.15.2 2.54.4 3.62.3–4 5.16.2 5.54.2 5.75.2 6.16.6 6.54.5–6 7.18.2

148n79 150n92 148n78, 149n84 154n127, 163n201

5 77n4 86n40 230 86n40 42n5 65n20 6 86n4 95 80n20 76n2 76n2 98 56n40 86n4

361

index locorum Tyrtaeus 6.10 fr. 4 (Gerber) Valerius Maximus 5.3

77n8 77n7

52n34

Varro Rerum rusticarum 1.1.7 247n27 Antiquitates rerum humanarum et divinarum (Cardauns) fr. 151 247n30 fr. 232 247n30 fr. 246 247n30 fr. 247 247n30 fr. 206 248n32 Velleius Paterculus Historiae Romanae 2.82

31n13

Xenocrates Fragmenta (Isnardi Parente) fr. 2 266

fr. 53 fr. 251

153n121 160n183

Xenophon Apologia Socratis 15 78n9 Ephesiaca 1.2 286n28 1.2.2 285 Hellenica 1.6.32 82n24 2.1.26 98n7 2.2.23 101 3.3.1–2 80n16 3.3.3 80n17 3.4.3–4 83n29 3.5.5 83n29 4.7.2 77n4, 84, 84n32 6.4.2–3 83n26,29 6.4.15 106 6.4.16 76n2 Respublica Lacedaemonorium 8.5 77n7 9.4–5 83n30 15.5 76n3