The Enneads of Plotinus, Volume 1: A Commentary [Course Book ed.] 9781400852512

Table of contents :
Contents
Preface to the English Edition
Translator’s Preface
Main Abbreviations
Porphyry: On the Life of Plotinus and the Order of His Books
Plotinus: First Ennead
Second Ennead
Third Ennead
List of Variant Readings
Key to the Chronological Order of Plotinus’ Treatises
Suggested Further Readings on Individual Treatises
Figures
Index of Passages Cited

Citation preview

The Enneads of Plotinus

The Enneads of Plotinus A Commentary Volume 1

Paul Kalligas Translated by Elizabeth Key Fowden and Nicolas Pilavachi

PRINCETON UNIVERSIT Y PRESS Princeton and Oxford

First published in Greek under the titles Porphyriou: Peri tou Plōtinou biou, and Plōtinou: Enneas Prōtē, Plōtinou: Enneas Deutera, Plōtinou: Enneas Tritē by The Academy of Athens, Athens, 1991, 1994, 1997, 2004 Copyright © 2014 by Princeton University Press Requests for permission to reproduce material from this work should be sent to Permissions, Princeton University Press Published by Princeton University Press, 41 William Street, Princeton, New Jersey 08540 In the United Kingdom: Princeton University Press, 6 Oxford Street, Woodstock, Oxfordshire OX20 1TW press.princeton.edu All Rights Reserved Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data Kalligas, Paulos. The Enneads of Plotinus : a commentary / Paul Kalligas ; translated by Elizabeth Key Fowden and Nicolas Pilavachi. volumes cm Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-­0-­691-­15421-­3 (v. 1 : hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Plotinus. Enneads. I. Fowden, Elizabeth Key, 1964-­II. Pilavachi, Nicolas. III. Title. B693.E53K3513 2014 186ʹ.4—­dc23 2013019282 British Library Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data is available This book has been composed in Garamond Premier Pro Printed on acid-­free paper. ∞ Printed in the United States of America 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Contents

Preface to the English Edition   vii Translator’s Preface  xvii Main Abbreviations  xix

Porphyry: On the Life of Plotinus and the Order of His Books Introduction The Author, His Times, and His Work   3 The Composition and Character of the VP  4 The Organization and Sources of the VP  5 The System of Dating   7 Chronological Table  9 Map  16 Other Testimonies concerning the Life of Plotinus   18

Commentary  19 Appendixes  

A. Iulius Firmicus Maternus, Mathesis I 7, 13–­22   93 B. The Figural Representations of Plotinus   94 C. Porphyry in Sicily and His Literary Activity There   95

First Ennead I 1 [53]. I 2 [19]. I 3 [20]. I 4 [46]. I 5 [36]. I 6 [1]. I 7 [54]. I 8 [51]. I 9 [16].

What Is the Living Being, and What Is Man?   101 On Virtues   131 On Dialectic   148 On Well-­Being   161 On Whether Well-­Being Increases with Time   187 On Beauty   192 On the Primal Good and the Other Goods   219 On What Are and Whence Come Evils   223 On Going out of the Body   241 v



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Contents

Second Ennead   II 1 [40]. On Heaven   249 II 2 [14]. On the Movement of Heaven   267 II 3 [52].  On Whether the Stars Are Causes   277 II 4 [12].  On Matter   304 II 5 [25].  On What Exists Potentially and What Actually   327 II 6 [17].  On Substance, or on Quality   336 II 7 [37].  On Complete Transfusion   346 II 8 [35].  On Sight, or How Distant Objects Appear Small   353 II 9 [33].  Against the Gnostics   363

Third Ennead III 1 [3].  On Destiny   413 III 2–­3 [47–­48].  On Providence, Books I–­II   440 III 4 [15].  On Our Allotted Guardian Spirit   481 III 5 [50].  On Love   501 III 6 [26].  On the Impassibility of Things without Body   534 III 7 [45].  On Eternity and Time   577 III 8 [30].  On Nature and Contemplation and the One   620 III 9 [13].  Various Considerations   646

List of Variant Readings   657 Key to the Chronological Order of Plotinus’ Treatises   669 Suggested Further Readings on Individual Treatises   671 Figures  679 Index of Passages Cited   681

Preface to the English Edition

Plotinus’ philosophy stands out as one of the major cultural accomplishments of late antiquity. While it clearly forms part of the long tradition of Greek philosophical rationalism, which goes back all the way to the Presocratics, it also prefigures some of the developments that were to take place in the history of civilization during the ensuing centuries, in what came to be described as the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. It appears as the heir of the fundamentally optimistic and scholarly outlook of the schools of thought that had evolved during the Hellenistic and Greco-­Roman periods, while, at the same time, it exhibits some of the uncertainties and ambivalences that have marked the emergence in Plotinus’ own times of a new, considerably darker and less self-­assured worldview. In a famous phrase, E. R. Dodds described Plotinus as “the last rationalist in an age of irrationalism.” I believe that such an assessment, for all its inevitable oversimplification, bears out fairly accurately the way Plotinus viewed himself: as part of a society whose traditional values and certainties, which had been taken for granted during most of the history of the ancient world, appeared to crumble on their own or under the serious pressure of novel, sometimes alien, but nonetheless vigorous and provocative alternatives. One of these alternatives, Christianity, would in fact eventually overcome the existing order and effectively bring about its extinction, at least in the form recognized by people like Plotinus. Thus Plotinus can be seen as standing on the threshold of such imminent and dramatic changes: while he is looking back deliberately toward a cultural past he respects profoundly but which is nearing its crepuscule, he is at the same time opening up new ways of thinking and of evaluating reality. He thus presages the coming of a new era of intellectual achievement—­for that reason he often strikes contemporary readers as both uncomfortably traditionalist and astoundingly innovative, even modern in his sensibilities. There can be little doubt, in my opinion, that some of his insights lie at the very foundations of the ways we perceive ourselves today and that we can easily share some of his deeper anxieties. The present volume is part of a project that started many years ago and whose original aims and scope were far less ambitious. My initial intention, back in the 1980s, was to produce a complete modern Greek translation of the Enneads, because no such work existed at the time. As I remember it, my initiative was spurred by a firm conviction that vii



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Preface to the English Edition the work of Plotinus, apart from its intrinsic philosophical value, forms a crucial link between the ancient Greek philosophical tradition and medieval, or even modern thought, which seems to rest, to a considerable extent, on the conceptual foundations laid down during the Middle Ages. Furthermore, Plotinus seemed to me to provide a common basis for the philosophical thinking of all three of the great cultures that flourished in Europe and the Middle East for several centuries after his death, namely, those of the Latin West, of the Byzantine, and of the Arab world. The extraordinary diffusion of his ideas—­combined with the strange fact that his contribution has passed virtually unnoticed and that his name is scarcely, if at all, mentioned even by those who are most indebted to him—­made him appear in my eyes as a crucial, albeit shadowy, figure inhabiting an astonishingly broad range of cultural backgrounds and thereby underlying the development of several modern systems of thought. And so I came to regard his thought, perhaps optimistically, as a common ground that might eventually help to bring these disparate cultural traditions together. Another factor that encouraged me to embark on a translation of the Enneads was the publication of the universally acclaimed edition of the text by P. Henry and H.-­R . Schwyzer (Brussels, 1951–­73 = H-­S1; the editio minor appeared in Oxford, in 1964–­82 = H-­S2)—­a landmark for the study of Plotinus that also set new standards for the editing of ancient philosophical works. It has to be noted here that one of the great merits of their editio maior is that it provides an exhaustive record of the readings reported by the main representatives of the manuscript tradition and thus furnishes a stable basis on which one can develop one’s own views concerning the constitution of the text. By that time, several excellent modern translations had already appeared in other languages, although some of them (namely, those by A. H. Armstrong and J. Igal) were still incomplete. These have proved to be of immense value for my work, as they encapsulated the results of the most recent research on the interpretation of Plotinus. My translation proceeded reasonably well, and a complete draft of it was ready before the end of the decade, though by then it became evident to me that its publication at that time would be almost pointless: Plotinus’ thought, it had become clear to me, even when adequately translated, is not nearly as accessible to a modern reader as, say, the works of Plato or even of Aristotle. Plotinus’ prose is notoriously difficult and obscure, and the more the reasons for this obscurity became apparent to me, the more deeply troublesome I felt them to be. It is not easy to analyze the many factors that contribute to the frequently acknowledged sense of awkwardness that confronts readers of the Enneads. However, a great part of that sense can be explained, and even dissipated, once we understand that the several treatises of which the Enneads consist are individual probings into distinct traditional philosophical issues and locate them within the historical, intellectual, and educational circumstances that led to their composition. Thanks to the invaluable eyewitness testimony of Porphyry’s Life of Plotinus (Vita Plotini; hereafter VP), we have a fairly trustworthy account of the character and the purposes attending the production of these works. Porphyry, who was Plotinus’ pupil, makes it clear that the treatises were intimately related to the teaching activities in Plotinus’ “school” in Rome (see VP 4.9–­ 14). They were supposed to reproduce the proceedings in the lecture room and serve as



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reminders for those who had attended the “seminars” (cf. VP 13.15–­17). Porphyry’s picture of these proceedings is informative and illuminating: they began with the reading of long excerpts from the Platonic and Peripatetic commentators available at the time, and subsequently the master, after discussing extensively the difficulties (aporiai) associated with the topic addressed, would sum up his own view in a highly insightful way before concluding the meeting (see VP 14.10–­18). Such a pattern is easily discernible in most of the treatises of the Enneads. It is furthermore evident that these were meant to be circulated within a rather small group of disciples and associates or “friends” who were already well acquainted both with the master’s “usual manner of expressing himself ” (VP 20.7) and with the “reading list” of works discussed during the meetings in the lecture room. In fact, it is clear that Plotinus’ readers are supposed to be so intimately acquainted with Plato and Aristotle that they should be able to recognize immediately any allusion to their texts, even when cited in an incomplete form, occasionally only by means of a single pivotal word. Because these texts are still extant, modern readers can readily identify such primary philosophical sources, numerous as they are. Moreover, several years of scholarly research in the field, now conveniently epitomized by Henry and Schwyzer in their apparatus fontium, make most of the pertinent references easily accessible. What is still much more difficult, however, is the task of determining Plotinus’ implicit references to the “secondary” sources studied, as mentioned earlier, during the teaching sessions. These were mostly commentaries by roughly contemporary authors, and also, presumably, other treatises on related subjects that were constantly consulted and referred to as part of the teaching process. But although their influence on Plotinus’ articulation of his views is undeniable, it is also almost impossible to ascertain, as most of the relevant works are no longer extant and are therefore inaccessible to us. The situation is further aggravated by Plotinus’ habit of never mentioning his intermediate sources by name. In this he differs markedly from Porphyry, who, having been trained as a philologist in Athens, provides meticulous references to all his sources, securing for himself the somewhat dubious sobriquet “much-­learned” (polumathēs). Not once, by contrast, does Plotinus reveal his sources to us, even though, as Porphyry rather frustratingly remarks, “his writings are full of concealed Stoic and Peripatetic doctrines” (VP 14.4–­5). In my view, the fact that this intellectual background remains simply presupposed, and hence undisclosed and imperceptible, causes most of our difficulties in understanding Plotinus’ intentions—­why he addresses the specific issues he raises in his treatises, why his argumentation follows a particular path, and why it turns, sometimes quite abruptly, into this or that seemingly irrelevant direction. One has to realize that in his time, just as in ours, philosophy was a thoroughly trodden field. Most positions had already been explored and debated, sometimes quite fastidiously, and their consequences had been painstakingly and exhaustively evaluated. Accordingly, every move within this field instantly positioned its upholder within a broader, more or less precisely defined territory of options that was taken for granted in subsequent discussion. Sometimes a view advanced by a particular thinker of this period looks like a piece from a jigsaw puzzle that makes little sense when seen on its own but acquires a clear meaning when placed within the appropriate surroundings.



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Preface to the English Edition A related issue is that of polemic. Plotinus is undoubtedly not a conspicuously contentious thinker, and little in his total output is directed against specific opponents. The most obvious exception is his attack on the Gnostics, against whom he devoted at least one of his major treatises (titled by Porphyry “Against the Gnostics,” II 9 [33]); even here, though, he addresses the issues at a level of generality that makes it almost impossible to know the particular targets of his criticisms. Nevertheless, a detailed analysis of his arguments reveals that he is in fact constantly struggling to differentiate himself from other thinkers, who may have been philosophically close to him, but with whom he disagreed on the specific point under discussion. The subtlety of his criticisms makes it difficult to be sure of the precise identity of his various targets, but once we succeed in deciphering his allusions correctly, his discussion acquires an unsuspected directness and vividness that render his enterprise far easier to appreciate. These considerations led me to the realization of the need for a commentary to accompany my translation of the Enneads. One of its main objectives would be to make this background visible to the reader of each treatise and provide the means necessary for placing the emergence and development of Plotinus’ thought within its specific historical context. This is not to be regarded as of merely antiquarian interest. Placing the thought of a major thinker within its context is an essential component in our effort to understand the import of his ideas and appraise his contribution to philosophical inquiry. To be sure, any attempt to reconstruct the intellectual environment in which Plotinus lived and worked is bound to be partly speculative and provisional; and it would have been impossible without the upsurge in the study of the philosophy of the Hellenistic and Roman ages that has occurred during the past few decades. Nevertheless, it is an indispensable prerequisite for any serious effort to enter into the complexity of Plotinus’ thought and appreciate his significance. Another source of the Enneads’ difficulty is Plotinus’ highly idiosyncratic manner of exposition. Plotinus himself took his philosophy to be a thoroughly systematic exposition of Platonism (cf. the often-­quoted passage in V 1.8.10–­14). This means that he considered each of his doctrines as an integral part of an overarching theoretical edifice with an intricate but precisely articulated structure. Each part, then, makes its own particular contribution to a complete and more or less self-­contained worldview. However, this structure is presented, either in the individual treatises or in the complete set as a whole, in anything but a systematic manner. This, no doubt, is to be attributed to the occasional nature of the composition of these works, to which I have already referred, but it is also related to Plotinus’ peculiar writing habits, again recorded for us by Porphyry: “When he had written anything he could never bear to go over it twice . . . . He worked out his train of thought from beginning to end in his own mind, and then, when he wrote it down, since he had set it all in order in his mind, he wrote continuously as if he was copying from a book” (VP 8.1–­11). This remarkable testimony explains fairly adequately the haphazard manner in which Plotinus usually pursues his train of thought, freely following any association that may come up and without organizing his exposition so that it would be more easily accessible to his readers. It was his trusted pupil, Porphyry, who undertook to edit and arrange Plotinus’ works systematically, combining them to form the Enneads, a collection of six groups of



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nine treatises each. Not everyone is happy nowadays with this arrangement, which is quite artificial and sometimes tends to reflect the views of the editor rather than the intentions of the author. Still, Porphyry’s text brings some kind of order to an otherwise completely random, if not utterly chaotic, set of writings that make it nearly impossible to decide where one should begin and in which direction to proceed. We do, as a matter of fact, know the chronological order in which the treatises were composed (thanks, again, to Porphyry), and some modern editors have chosen to follow this arrangement, thus abandoning altogether the systematic aspirations of the Enneads’ project. Although, no doubt, there are things to be said in favor of such an option, its overall advantages are, in my opinion, rather meager. One may certainly discern developments in Plotinus’ treatment of his subjects and in the expression of his thought, and some topics seem to have preoccupied him more intensely during his later years. However, no major change in his basic doctrines has so far been convincingly demonstrated, and no significant insight into the evolution of his thought has been gained by such an approach. To be sure, the earlier treatises do tend to be more schematic and scholarly (e.g., by depending more heavily on a doxographical survey of existing views), but they can hardly be said to be more elementary, more easily accessible, or in any other sense “introductory”: no pattern of overall development can be detected in the corpus as a whole. Plotinus regularly returned to the same topics time and again throughout his writing career, and it is often more helpful to have the consecutive treatments of the same subject close together than to leave them scattered because of their chronological distance. In any case, the total written output of Plotinus spans a period of no more than sixteen years, extending roughly from his fiftieth year until his death at the age of sixty-­six. No dramatic change of doctrine is likely to have occurred during that interval, especially because, from the very start, he regarded his philosophy as something more or less given and complete—­already embedded in Plato’s works, albeit formulated therein in a vestigial, cryptic, and unclear way and requiring spelling out in further detail in order to become fully articulated. Reading the treatises in their chronological order provides little real solace to readers in return for the obscurities it presents them with. The main purpose of my commentary is, therefore, to provide modern readers of the Enneads with the means necessary for making the text coherent and more readily intelligible. It has been remarked that the structure of Plotinus’ writings resembles the structure he ascribes to the intelligible universe itself: each part, if analyzed carefully, appears to implicitly include all the rest, bound up in an integrated organic whole. It is for this reason that there is no precise “doorway” for entering his philosophy. One can start from almost any point and, by attentively examining its presuppositions and implications, end up with a comprehensive overview of all his interconnected doctrines. Thus one might, in principle, start from any part of his written work, and proceed following the suggestions contained in the commentary concerning its relations with other treatises to the very end. In this way one might end up reading through most of the work of Plotinus just by following the internal interconnections binding its parts together in a tightly woven fabric of associated ideas. This may sound like an overstatement, but it reflects the way the treatises were conceived to be related with each other—­informally, but nonetheless in an orderly and systematic manner. Thus the commentary aspires to



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Preface to the English Edition bring to the surface what lies hidden between the lines of the text, whether this is its presupposed theoretical context or its significant relations with other parts of Plotinus’ work. At the same time, it is important to differentiate the outlines of the author’s own position from the traditional background against which he articulates it. The commentary is thus meant to be “analytical” in the sense of functioning as a guide to the inner structure of Plotinus’ work, as well as to the origins of the problems that prompted its composition. Moreover, in order to make the structure of each treatise more conspicuous, I have placed at the beginning of the pertinent commentary a short synopsis that presents the main lines and the articulation of its argumentation. Each of these has the form of a simple abstract, arranged in such a way as to give readers an easy and quick overview of the content of the treatise and thereby to serve as a map of the main signposts within the text. There are also brief, individual introductions for each treatise (or, alternatively, for groups of “treatises” partitioned by Porphyry for the purposes of his edition), where I undertake to present the broader philosophical background against which Plotinus’ contribution can be assessed. That is necessary because Plotinus seems to have sometimes consciously located himself within a tradition of philosophical debate that went back all the way to the Presocratics, and it is important to understand along which lines of this tradition he professes to advance. His originality becomes more apparent once we begin to discriminate between his speaking his own mind, his merely reproducing traditionally accepted views, and his purporting to further advance a position espoused already in some related form by some of his predecessors. A list of suggested further readings is provided for each treatise of the Enneads, mentioning only works that focus on those particular texts, occasionally updated so as to include important recent additions to the literature. Works of more general import will be included in the general bibliography, which will appear at the end of volume 3. In the meantime, an interim bibliography is freely accessible at http://press.princeton.edu/titles/10382.html. The commentary itself is introduced by means of short lemmata giving references to the part of the text under discussion. All references are given to H-­S2, following the common usage of Ennead number (in roman numerals) followed by treatise number (and occasionally the chronological order of the treatise placed in square brackets), number of chapter (according to Ficino; the numbering of the chapters in the VP derives from Fabricius’ edition of 1711), and line numbers (as in H-­S2). The Greek text that forms the basis of the commentary is again that of H-­S2. In the few cases where in my edition I have deviated from this text, I normally discuss the issue in the corresponding part of the commentary. A list of all such discrepancies will be given at the end of each volume. My modern Greek edition of Plotinus, in separate volumes for each Ennead, began with Porphyry’s Life of Plotinus, which appeared in 1991, and it is still under way, as I am currently working on Ennead VI. It was relatively late that the idea of producing an English translation of my commentary came about. It was prompted by various people who have expressed their frustration at being asked to read my analysis in an obscure—­ though perhaps to classicists not completely inaccessible—­language. Eventually, some



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individuals who happened to be quite close to me managed to overcome my hesitation in even further broadening a project that had already acquired unexpected proportions. These are mentioned with gratitude at the end of this preface. Embarking on a translation of my work involved making decisions on various important practical issues. The Greek text contained in the modern Greek edition, although occasionally adopting readings at variance with those of the H-­S2 text, serves mainly as a point of reference for the translation that accompanies it. However, it seemed superfluous, perhaps even misguided, to try to render my modern Greek translation into English. This would have represented a huge and dubious task in itself, and furthermore, one that would have required my full engagement in an effort that could hardly hope to supersede what by all accounts is an outstanding and easily accessible translation, namely, A. H. Armstrong’s version in the Loeb edition of Plotinus. Even though there are inevitably instances where our understanding of the meaning of the text differs quite substantially, this did not seem to justify, let alone necessitate, the undertaking of a completely new translation. As things are, Armstrong’s translation may therefore be used as a standard reference, while any discrepancies of interpretation should be easily sorted out by the arguments presented in the commentary itself. For all other quotations from works of classical literature, the available standard translations have been consulted and used, although occasional divergences, necessitated by the interpretation advocated in my comments, may occur here and there. In general, I have followed the format of the Oxford edition as far as the partition of the text is concerned. Indeed, this arrangement goes back to the ancient edition of the Enneads by Porphyry, as can be gathered from its presentation in chapters 25 and 26 of the VP. The first volume comprises the commentary on the Life of Plotinus and the first three Enneads. The second volume will contain the commentary on Enneads IV and V; and the third, the commentary on Ennead VI, along with a complete general bibliography and indexes. Throughout the commentary, I use the abbreviation “P.” for “Plotinus.” Porphyry’s Life of Plotinus is, by any standard, a text of exceptional value. It is an extensive and elaborately documented biography of the philosopher composed by a pupil who knew him well, with the explicit purpose of serving as an introduction to the Enneads, which comprise a complete edition of his works. Porphyry, apart from being a notable philosopher in his own right, was also a well-­trained historian and a philologist of considerable stature. He tries to give us a picture of his master’s life and activity that makes a strong claim to objectivity, in part by incorporating a series of documents coming from different sources, not always favorably disposed toward Plotinus. There is a bit of irony in the fact that the most detailed and carefully documented biography of an ancient philosopher we possess turns out to deal with somebody whose life, at first sight at least, seems to present little of biographical interest, because he remained either indifferent or immune to external influences, and his work presents few, if any, marks of intellectual development. Be that as it may, the biography still gives us a precious and detailed account of Plotinus’ social and intellectual environment, as well as important historical information concerning the events of a period about which we have otherwise very scarce information. It also contains invaluable testimony concerning the way in



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Preface to the English Edition which Plotinus taught his courses and how he composed his written works, as well as the reactions his thought provoked among his contemporaries. The First Ennead comprises what Porphyry describes as “treatises with mainly ethical subject-­matter” (VP 24.36–­37). Nonetheless, it is immediately evident to the reader that Plotinus was rarely content with presenting a purely ethical doctrine; he was rather trying to probe into the metaphysical, psychological, and epistemological underpinnings of ethics. Thus even his treatment of topics such as dialectic or beauty becomes easily integrated into the overall character of this set of treatises. Moreover, the First Ennead lays down some of the basic principles of Plotinus’ system (e.g., concerning the nature of man and the presence of the Good) and thus effectively serves as an introduction to his work as a whole. The Second Ennead deals with “natural philosophy, including the physical universe and subjects connected with it” (VP 24.37–­39). Because Plotinus is generally thought to have had little interest in the workings of the sensible world, it is not surprising that this part of his work has attracted relatively little attention on the part of modern scholarship. However, a careful reading of its contents reveals its crucial importance for understanding his philosophy as a whole. The reason is that it includes a series of detailed studies in conceptual analysis, which may serve as a kind of toolbox for reading the rest of his work and for understanding its logical structure and architecture. And, after all, both his complex metaphysical theories and his detailed treatment of psychological issues are in the last analysis meant to provide explanations of the functioning of the world of our common, everyday experience. We thus also come to appreciate better the reasons for his conflict with the Gnostics, who refused to see the sensible world as anything but a place of depravity and corruption. The Third Ennead is also focused on physical reality and cosmological issues, although this time viewed from a more general perspective, “dealing with considerations about the universe” (VP 24.59–­60). It is the most miscellaneous in character, and Porphyry spends some time in trying to justify his inclusion of treatises like III 4, III 5 and III 8 (VP 25.2–­9), without mentioning III 9, which is but a cento of disparate notes without any unity. Nevertheless, this Ennead consistently revolves around issues and concepts central to Plotinus’ understanding of how the universe functions, the forces that pervade it and make it work as it does, and the way in which the various kinds of soul that Plotinus postulates (and which, according to the standard Platonic doctrine, are the cause of every change and motion in the world) govern and organize it into an integrated and coherent whole. The effects of the activity of these souls on the material universe may take the form of Fate or of Providence, but can also find expression in the workings of love or even of contemplation; after all, these last turn out to be the driving forces governing the whole of sensible reality according to the guidance provided by its intelligible counterpart. In general, the first three Enneads may be said to lay down the foundations on which the doctrine of the three hypostases—­the Soul, the Intellect, and the One—­constituting the core of Plotinus’ metaphysical system and expounded successively in the next three Enneads, is erected.



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Several people have substantially contributed in bringing about this translation in its present form. Alexander Nehamas, an old and valued friend, has given me ample support and encouragement right from the start and has helped me decisively on many of the more practical aspects of the enterprise. My late wife, Thetis, was also, from the beginning, the most fervent advocate of the idea of an English translation, and it is quite certain that without her constant instigation and support the whole project would never have taken off the ground. Furthermore, Nicolas Pilavachi, another old and trusted friend, undertook the burden of actually producing a translation of the first part of the work, mainly because of his own personal interest in the subject and out of his amicable wish to help my work become accessible to a broader readership, a task he executed with exemplary care and consistency. In the meantime, Elizabeth Key Fowden offered to help by translating the part related to Porphyry’s Life of Plotinus, which she did with painstaking efficacy. It is difficult for me to express how deeply indebted I feel to all of them, for their resolute encouragement and their loyalty not only ensured the completion of this phase of the project but have also filled my life with a deep sense of true companionship. I wish also to mention here the late Michael Frede, with whom I collaborated on several occasions connected with the reading and the interpretation of Plotinus, and whose advice and insightful comments assisted my work in various instances and stimulated my overall research. I further owe special gratitude to the staff of the Centre for the Edition of Greek and Latin Literature of the Academy of Athens, which has undertaken the edition of the Greek version of my work, and especially to those members of the Academy, such as the late C. Trypanis and the current head of the Supervising Committee, Professor Athanasios Kambylis, who have constantly supported and assisted me in every possible way. Paul Kalligas Athens May 2013

Translator’s Preface

When I undertook to prepare an English edition of Paul Kalligas’s commentaries on the first three Enneads of Plotinus, it was agreed with the author that we would be addressing a reader whom we could not suppose to possess any knowledge of Greek, ancient or modern, but whom we would suppose to be equipped with A. H. Armstrong’s Loeb translation of Plotinus. This pair of assumptions had some important implications. First, it meant that in several instances where Kalligas’s construal or interpretation of Plotinus’ text differed markedly from Armstrong’s, some unobtrusive editorial changes to the commentary would have to be made in order to assist readers, whether by advising them of Kalligas’s reading or by providing them with an alternative translation to Armstrong’s. In this respect the English edition diverges from the modern Greek one. Second, it meant that several of Armstrong’s choices for the translation of philosophical terms—­choices that are often in agreement with those of W. D. Ross in his versions of Aristotle—­were adopted in the interests of clarity and consistency, even though they may occasionally sound somewhat old-­fashioned. Third, it meant that all citations of ancient texts—­which in the modern Greek edition appear in their original wording—­ had to be translated into English, and indeed in such a way as to make perspicuous the reason for their inclusion. Here again it was felt desirable to maintain consistency where possible in the rendering of philosophical terms. Accordingly, standard translations, even when available, had often to be adapted or replaced. Elizabeth Key Fowden had already finished her translation of the commentary to Porphyry’s Life of Plotinus when I started work on my part of this edition. Some minimal adjustments were required in order to harmonize the two parts, which I undertook at the request of the author. My translation of the commentaries to Enneads I and II was generously supported by personal grants bestowed on me, respectively, by the J. F. Costopoulos Foundation (in 2002) and the A. G. Leventis Foundation (in 2004) on the kind recommendation of the late Michael Frede. Let this be a record of my gratitude. Nicolas Pilavachi

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Main Abbreviations

AAA = Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha = Lipsius and Bonnet 1891–­1903. ANET = Ancient Near East Texts = Pritchard 1969. ANL = Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei. Bibl. Teubneriana = Bibliotheca scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana. CAG = Commentaria in Aristotelem Graeca. 1882–­1909. Edita consilio et auctoritate Academiae Litterarum Regiae Borussicae. 23 vols. Berolini: G. Reimeri. Repr. 2001, Berlin: de Gruyter. CAlchGr = Collection des anciens alchimistes grecs = Berthelot and Ruelle 1887–­88. CCAG = Catalogus codicum astrologorum Graecorum. 1898–­. Brussels: Lamertin/ Académie Royale. CCSL = Corpus Christianorum: Series Latina. 1953–­. Turnhout: Brepols. CIL = Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum. 1863–­. CLCAG = Corpus Latinum commentariorum in Aristotelem Graecorum. 1957–­. Louvain: Publications Universitaires de Louvain; Paris: B. Nauwelaerts; Leiden: E. J. Brill. CMAG = Catalogue des manuscrits alchimiques grecs. 1924–­32. 8 vols. Brussels: M. Lamertin. CNRS = Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique. Coll. Budé = Collection des Universités de France publiée sous le patronage de l’Association Guillaume Budé. CPF = Corpus dei Papyri Filosofici Greci e Latini. 1989–­. Florence: Olschki. DK = Diels and Kranz 1951–­52. Dox. Gr. = Doxographi Graeci = Diels 1965. EH = Entretiens sur l’antiquité classique. Vandoeuvres-­Geneva: Fondation Hardt. Enn. = Enneads. EproEr = Études préliminaires aux religions orientales dans l’Empire romain. FGrH = Jacoby, Felix. Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker. 1923–­58. Berlin: Weidmann. xix



xx

Main Abbreviations FPG = Fragmenta Philosophorum Graecorum = Mullach 1860–­81. GCS = Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten Jahrhunderte. 1887–­. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs; Berlin: Akademie-­Verlag/de Gruyter. H-­S = Consensus of H-S1 to H-S5. H-­S1 = Henry and Schwyzer 1951–­73 (editio maior). H-­S2 = Henry and Schwyzer 1964–­82 (editio minor). H-­S3 = “Addenda et Corrigenda” in H-­S1, vol. 3:348–­407. H-­S4 = “Addenda et Corrigenda” in H-­S2, vol. 3:304–­25. H-­S5 = “Corrigenda ad Plotini Textum” in Schwyzer 1987, 192–­202. ILS = Inscriptiones latinae selectae = Dessau 1892–­1916. IndArist = Index Aristotelicus = Bonitz 1961. KP = Der Kleine Pauly. 1964–­75. Stuttgart and Munich: Druckenmüller. LexPlot = Lexicon Plotinianum = Sleeman and Pollet 1980. LS = Long and Sedley 1987. LSJ = Liddel, Scott, and Jones 1940. MPB = A Manichaean Psalm-­Book = Allberry 1938. NF = Nock and Festugière 1945–­54. NHC = Nag Hammadi Codices. OCT = Oxford Classical Text = Scriptorum classicorum bibliotheca Oxoniensis. P. = Plotinus. PG = Patrologiae cursus completus, series Graeca = Migne 1857–­87. PGM = Papyri Graecae Magicae = Preisendanz 1973–­74. PhA = Philosophia Antiqua, a series of monographs on ancient philosophy. PL = Patrologiae cursus completus, series Latina = Migne 1844–­64. PLRE = The Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire = Jones, Martindale, and Morris 1971–­92. PMGM = Physici et medici Graeci minores = Ideler 1841–­42. PTHP = The Pythagorean Texts of the Hellenistic Period = Thesleff 1965. RE = Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. 1894–­. Rev. ed., ed. Georg Wissowa et al. Stuttgart and Munich: Druckenmüller. RGVV = Religionsgeschichtliche Versuche und Vorarbeiten. Rhet. Graec. = von Spengel, Leonhard. 1853–­66. Rhetores Graeci. 3 vols. Bibl. Teubneriana. Lipsiae: in aedibus B. G. Teubneri. ROT= The Revised Oxford Translation = Barnes 1984. SHA = Scriptores Historiae Augustae. SVF = Stoicorum veterum fragmenta = von Arnim 1903–­24. VP = Vita Plotini.

The Enneads of Plotinus

Porphyry: On the Life of Plotinus and the Order of His Books

Introduction The Author, His Times, and His Work Porphyry (ca. 232–ca. 304), from Tyre in Phoenicia, was one of the most important representatives of early Neoplatonism. Because our basic source of information about his life is the VP itself, there is no need to expand on that theme here.1 It is enough to remark that before he went to Rome and Plotinus’ school there, he spent some time in Athens, where he studied with the mathematician Demetrius, the grammarian Apollonius, perhaps the rhetor Minucianus, and—most important—with the philologist and philosopher Longinus, with whom he maintained long-­lasting and warm relations. But it is obvious that the most significant and definitive influence on him was that of Plotinus. He remained in his school in Rome for about five years (263–68) and quickly came to play an important role within it. By his own account, Porphyry was assigned by P., among other things, the editing and publishing of his writings, a task that Porphyry would accomplish with great success, but also with notable delay, as the edition appeared thirty years after the death of his teacher. After a psychological crisis, Porphyry left Rome, only a little before P.’s death, and settled in Lilybaeum in Sicily. The evidence suggests that from there he journeyed to North Africa and to his homeland, Phoenicia, before returning again to the imperial capital, probably during the reign of Aurelian.2 We know precious little about his life after this return. It is reasonable to suppose that it was during this period that he was most active as writer and teacher, but it is debatable whether he succeeded P. as leader of the philosophical school in Rome—if there even existed a school in which such a succession could take place. Late in life he married Marcella, the widow of a friend and mother of seven children. There are good reasons to suspect that he took part in the preparations for the Great Persecution of the Christians, and it appears that he died before Diocletian’s abdication in May 305.3 The history of the tumultuous time in which P. and Porphyry lived, and which more recent historians usually term the “Third-­Century Crisis,” cannot be presented here, even in brief.4 Suffice it to say that in the period of one hundred years between the birth of P. and the death of Porphyry, there reigned some thirty emperors, among whom—if we exclude the members of the tetrarchy, all of whom died after 304—only two, Septimius Severus and Claudius II, died a natural death. For a very summary picture of the 1  Some additional information is contained in the Vitae sophistarum et philosophorum of Eunapius of Sardis (VS). Among more recent research, besides the classic study of Bidez 1913, see also Beutler 1953, 275.66– 278.35; Smith 1987, 719–22; and appendix C below. 2  This may explain the expression “he established himself (gegonōs) under Aurelian” used in the Suda, s.v. Porphyry. See also appendix C. 3  “He was living until the time of the Emperor Diocletian”: Suda, loc. cit. 4  It is clear at least that Porphyry’s contemporaries had a pronounced sense of crisis and general upheaval: “Everything is being moved and, so to speak, transferred in another land, while the exercise of power is shifting as if in a violent storm or earthquake. It is like a ship ready to sink being carried to the edge of the world,” as the situation is described by the anonymous author of the oration To the King, a panegyric for the emperor Philip the Arab, which is preserved among the works of Aelius Aristides (Or. XXXV 14 = [Ael. Arist.] II, 256.21–24); in addition, see Alföldi 1974, 89–111.

3



4

Introduction to the VP political and cultural setting for this period, readers may refer to the chronological table following the “System of Dating” section below. Porphyry was a multifaceted and prolific writer. The primary features of his work are exceptionally wide-­ranging knowledge combined with a sensitivity characteristic of his era, which causes him to oscillate between scholarly sobriety and the occasionally melodramatic sentimentality of the “torch-­bearer.”5 He was concerned about the broader dissemination of Neoplatonic philosophy, with the result that some of his works possess a marked popularizing and introductory character.6 This fact has earned him the dubious reputation of a vulgarisateur, especially because his great works of systematic philosophy and his philosophical commentaries have been lost.7 He also wrote on historical themes, religion, philology, grammar, astrology, music theory, and other subjects. These writings bear witness to a very broad competence in all the areas of study that would soon constitute the triuium and the quadriuium of medieval education.

The Composition and Character of the VP As appears from its title and final phrases, the VP was written as an introduction to the edition of the Enneads, P.’s complete written work, organized by Porphyry in a systematic manner according to themes. To judge by a reference Porphyry apparently makes to his own age (23.13–14), this work must have been composed during the period between the summer of 299 and the summer of 301. The phraseology at 26.37–40 gives one to understand that during this period the editorial work on the Enneads had not yet been completed, but cannot have been much further delayed, making it possible for us to say that the entire work was published in about 300–301. The result is a work of exceptional importance, the like of which has not been preserved from antiquity: the presentation of the life of a great philosopher written by a close friend and disciple, who was also an unusually learned philologist with notable experience as a historian, and a determination to undertake his subject with completeness and—to the extent that the spirit of his age allowed—sobriety. But in order to ap5  See Eunapius, VS IV 2.2–3, 9.11–19; and Eus. HE VI 19.9. Cf. the famous oracle of Pythian Apollo (No. 474 Parke-­Wormell) related by David Prol. 4, 92.3–5: “About . . . Porphyry and Iamblichus the Pythia said: ‘The Syrian is divinely inspired, the Phoenician is deeply learned.’ By the deeply learned Phoenician she means Porphyry . . . by the divinely inspired Syrian she means Iamblichus.” 6  Such works include, for example, (a) the Sententiae ad intelligibilia ducentes, which presents in a simple and brief manner subjects often derived from the Enneads; (b) the famous Isagoge, the best known and most commented upon of his writings, which—contrary to what is usually thought—is not an introduction to Aristotle’s Categoriae but rather a simplified presentation of the conceptual armory of the Topica, as a preparation for the study of the (Aristotelian) theory of the categories; (c) the short commentary on the Categoriae “by question and answer”; (d) his letter ad Marcellam; et al. 7  Such as, e.g., his massive commentaries on Aristotle’s Categoriae (Ad Gedalium), De interpretatione, and Physica; on the Parmenides, the Sophist, and the Timaeus of Plato; the De silua (in six books); the On the Soul against Boethus (in five books); and, of course, the monumental Contra Christianos (in fifteen books), about which in 448 a special edict of Theodosius II and Valentinian III was required in order that “everything written by Porphyry, who was driven by his rage against the pious religion of the Christians, found by whomever, should be consigned to the flames” (CIC, Codex Iustinianus I 1.3).

Introduction to the VP 5



preciate properly its contents, as well as its omissions, we must bear in mind its place in the entire undertaking of the publication of the Enneads. We will then understand why, for example—even though it would not be fair to call this work a “hagiography”—only the positive aspects of P.’s personality are emphasized, and in particular those which pertain either directly or indirectly to his teaching activity;8 why stress is laid on the circumstances surrounding P.’s various writings and the order and manner in which they were produced; why Porphyry foregrounded so prominently his own role as instigator of, and confidant in, his teacher’s intellectual production; and finally, why there is such a preoccupation with contemporary opinions of P.’s books, where the modern reader would prefer fuller and more substantial information about subjects such as Ammonius, P.’s adventures in Mesopotamia, the story of Platonopolis, the development of the relationship between P. and Amelius, the economic and social arrangements during the period when he was living and teaching in Rome, and so forth.9 Porphyry’s purpose is not historical, nor is it purely biographical. First and foremost it is introductory—he is primarily concerned to prepare readers and to entice them toward the text of the Enneads.

The Organization and Sources of the VP The organization of the VP is quite clear, straightforward, and at the same time revealing of the preferences and interests of its author. It can be presented in outline as follows (the arabic numerals are the numbers of the chapters):   I.  Prologue: The philosophical and physical death of P. 1 His shame of being in a body 2 His illness and death II.  Narration of P.’s life 3 His youth until his establishment in Rome P.’s writing activity 4 The first period 5 The second period 6 The third period P.’s circle 8  Neither is it “The Gospel of Plotinus according to Porphyry,” as Jerphagnon 1990, 43 (unfoundedly, in my opinion) refers to it. 9  John Dillon in his introduction to MacKenna 1991, lxxxiv, is particularly concerned with these omissions, which can be arranged into three categories: (a) the events about which Porphyry is ignorant, for example, those in P.’s youth; (b) facts that he considers to be well known, such as the social conditions in which P. lived; (c) episodes “over which he might wish to draw a discreet veil.” I believe that at least as far as categories (b) and (c) are concerned, the fact that Porphyry is focusing on information that illuminates the contents of the Enneads directly is of decisive importance. It is for this reason, for example, that he lets the story of Platonopolis pass with scarcely a reference, because, as is well known, political philosophy is almost entirely absent from the Enneads. On the other hand, Cox 1983, 143, introduces the view that the primary purpose of the VP was “the creation of a school tradition [that] also entailed, of course, the creation of a revered founder.” I do not think that either the work’s contents or any other evidence indicates that Porphyry had such intentions: see also Goulet-­ Cazé 1982, 246–48; and the more recent speculations of Saffrey 1992, 53–57.



6

Introduction to the VP 7 The students 8 Digression: How P. composed his works 9 Women and children Stories about the school 10 Olympius The invocation at the Iseum Amelius’ love of sacrificing 11 The necklace of Chione Polemon Porphyry’s melancholy 12 P.’s relations with the imperial couple and Platonopolis 13 Transition: How P. taught III.  P.’s intellectual presence His relations with the other philosophers 14 Earlier thinkers Longinus Origen 15 Porphyry 16 The Gnostics 17 Numenius Amelius’ Letter 18 Comments on the Letter External assessments 19 Longinus The Letter to Porphyry 20 Comments on the Letter The On the End 21 Comments on the On the End 22 The oracle of Apollo 23 Comments on the oracle  IV.  The arrangement and publication of the Enneads 24 The first volume 25 The second volume 26 The third volume The administration of the publication It is evident even from this outline that Porphyry collected a sequence of documents at the end of the biographical part of the VP (17–23), where he presents them unaltered but also extensively annotated by himself. Nevertheless, other sections of the work also obviously depend on evidence whose sources Porphyry only sometimes divulges. We know, for example, that the description of P.’s illness and death (2.11–31) depends on Eustochius (see 2.12, 23, and 29), that the information relating to his youth (3.1–35) comes from P. himself (see 3.1), and that Amelius is the source for everything concerned with his first years of teaching in Rome (3.35–43; see 3.37–38) and the oracle of Apollo

Introduction to the VP 7



(22.8–63; see 22.8–9). But we can also deduce that the description of the incident with Olympius derives from P. himself (10.1–13; see my comments ad loc.); while Amelius is the source for the testimonies about the portrait of P. (1.4–19; see my comments at 1.14–17), the invocation at the Iseum (10.15–33; see my comments at 10.31) and perhaps also the episodes surrounding Chione’s necklace (11.2–8), “Platonopolis” (12.3–12), and the appearance of Origen at P.’s seminar (14.20–25). We should consider the remaining material to be derived from Porphyry’s own personal experience during the five years he spent at his teacher’s side. All the sources Porphyry uses are the best we could hope for. But their trustworthiness necessarily varies in relation to the idiosyncrasy of each author. It is the elegant and loquacious Amelius who most reasonably incurs our suspicion that he elaborated his materials in a novel-­like manner, but we should not overlook the probable effect on his own testimony of Eustochius’ rather naive admiration for P.

The System of Dating Much ink has been spilt over the chronological data Porphyry provides in considerable abundance at various points in the VP.10 For that reason, it is somewhat disheartening that one of the most recent studies on the subject concludes with a reference to “the hope for a new investigation of the chronological system of the Life of Plotinus.”11 I shall not attempt here to engage in the details of this complex problem. But because I am not in complete agreement with any of the views thus far espoused, a brief review of the problem is necessary. Porphyry gives us three forms of time reckoning: (a) absolute dates, based on the corresponding regnal year; (b) dates tied to either P.’s or Porphyry’s age; (c) calculations of the length of time intervening between two events. (a) For the first type, a substantial number of dating systems have been proposed—as well as various combinations of these systems—on the basis of which it is possible to calculate the regnal years in such a way as to correlate them with contemporary evidence from other historical sources. But both the manner in which Porphyry chooses to express himself (usually with the general phrase “the nth year of the reign of x”) and the improbability that in the introduction of such an ambitious endeavor as the publication of the Enneads Porphyry would employ a geographically restricted calendar—such as the Egyptian,12 or Syro-­Macedonian—or some specialized system of his own invention13 strongly suggests, in my opinion, the dies imperii as the starting point. That is to say, Porphyry’s system employed a year that began with the ascension to the throne of 10  The most significant scholarly studies on this subject are the following: Oppermann 1929 (mainly the second part, titled “Die Chronologie in Porphyrios’ Vita Plotini”); Boyd 1937, 241–57; Igal 1972a; Barnes 1976b, 65–70; Goulet 1982b, 187–227; Edwards 2000, 117–19. For a catalogue of all the chronological material contained in the VP, see Igal, op. cit. 11–13. 11  Goulet, op. cit. 227. 12  This possibility has attracted the favor of quite a few scholars, among them Oppermann and Barnes. 13  Such as the very complicated combination of the Julian calendar and a system of antedating and postdating that Goulet introduces. The latter’s observation that “everything is as if Porphyry presupposes that his



8

Introduction to the VP the emperor of the day. All scholars agree that this is the most obvious solution. However, all but Boyd eventually reject it because of difficulties that emerge from attempts to link this dating system with information relayed in the VP. Nevertheless, after the most recent findings concerning the death of Claudius Gothicus (about which see my comments at 2.29–31), a careful investigation reveals that all the difficulties derive from the acceptance of P.’s date of birth according to Porphyry’s calculations. In my commentary on 2.34–37, I question the accuracy of Porphyry’s calculations and attempt to identify the reason for the error. If my estimation is correct, then P. was born not in the thirteenth, but the twelfth year of Septimius Severus’ reign (April 204–5). In this way, all the remaining dates in the VP fall into line, if interpreted in accordance with a system based on the dies imperii, as mentioned above. That this is correct is affirmed by a glance at the chronological table below, in which appear all the dates and their equivalents in the Julian calendar. (b) The dates based on the ages of either P. or Porphyry are, as a rule, linked to those of the first category and provide the opportunity to cross-­check and verify information. In most instances ages are expressed by inclusive reckoning and refer to the as-­yet-­ uncompleted current year of the age of the person in question (usually with a phrase such as “in his xth year”). In three cases, however (2.29–30, 3.23–24, and 4.8–9), exclusive reckoning is used, registering completed years of age: the first of these occasions refers to P.’s age at the time of his death, as mentioned earlier. For the other two, there is no reason to suppose, as do many scholars, that Porphyry confuses exclusive with inclusive reckoning.14 The somewhat indefinite reference to P.’s age at 4.6–8 allows us, as I argue in my comments ad loc., to accept without any problem that the date is determined according to exclusive reckoning. (c) Finally, scholarly opinion also differs with regard to the precise meaning of the expression holōn etōn, which we encounter at various points in the VP, referring to some (usually large) time span (see 3.20, 34, 41, and 9.20). If, as seems more reasonable at first sight, we consider that it refers to full years, then certain problems arise with the dating of events. The most significant refers to the length of time Amelius spent with P. (3.38– 42): the third year of Philip’s reign began in March 246, and the first year of Claudius’ ended in August 269. It is impossible for twenty-­four full years to fit between these dates, and it is worth noting that even translators who in other cases follow the interpretation referred to above (such as, e.g., MacKenna, Harder, and Armstrong) are forced at this point to abandon that system. Boyd 1937, 252n.34, already argued that the phrase means “in all,” and that consequently it is not necessary for the years to be complete. Igal 1972a, 86, advanced serious objections to this but was forced to take refuge in the desperate solution that Porphyry did not write what he meant (see also nn. 22, 24, and 50 in his translation). Goulet 1982b, 206–7, returns to Boyd’s view but without supporting it with new arguments. reader has in front of him a chronicle, or at least tables where each regnal year corresponds to some definite chronology” (op. cit. 206) demonstrates sufficiently that his efforts have finished up ad absurdum. 14  Goulet in particular devotes a great deal of space to arguing this view. Igal, on the other hand, believes that Porphyry maintains the distinction.

Introduction to the VP 9



However, in my opinion, there is a fragment of Porphyry (apud Proclus In Ti. I, 63.29) that justifies Boyd’s view. There it is recounted that the Platonist Origen developed an argument over the course of three days (triōn holōn hēmerōn): obviously, it is not meant that his lecture lasted three full twenty-­four-­hour periods, nor—as Igal 1972a, n. 41, would understand it—three days without interruption, but that from the beginning of the argumentation to its completion more than two days had passed, while the emphasis is on the fact that it was an exceptionally long period of time. I believe that we should understand the phrase in the VP in a similar fashion: the period when P. did not write lasted ten “whole” years (3.34), that is, more than nine years, namely, from the second half of 244 until (at most) September 254; Amelius was with P. for twenty-­four “whole” years (3.41), from 246 until 269; and P. himself sojourned in Rome, without making any enemies, for twenty-­six “whole” years (9.20), from the second half of 244 until the first half of 270. For the period when P. studied with Ammonius (3.20), we cannot cross-­check our information, which anyway does not derive from Porphyry, but from P. himself. The other chronological calculations present no particular problems, and they all fit easily into the chronological table that follows below.15 We may conclude that Porphyry’s dating in the VP is, generally speaking, accurate; it follows consistently a system that was widely accepted in his day and one that corresponds to what we would expect from an experienced chronographer and historian, especially in a work as important as this was for him and one that he clearly made constant efforts to substantiate as best as was possible.

Chronological Table The purpose of the following table is to present in outline form all of the chronological data contained in the VP and to fit them into the Julian calendar, indicating at the same time—and, naturally, in a very summary fashion—the environment in which P. and Porphyry lived. In the first column appears the year, according to the Julian calendar, in which the events referred to in the other columns took place. In the second column are recorded the emperors who ascended to the imperial throne in that period, with the exception of a few whose reign was exceptionally short-­lived, and who are mentioned instead in the last column. In the third and fourth columns, respectively, are given the dates Porphyry records and, on the basis of the dies imperii system, their corresponding dates in the Julian calendar. In the fifth column is given the age P. had reached at the time of the events noted in the other columns. In most cases, information about P.’s age is again derived from Porphyry. The dated events from P.’s life are contained in the sixth column, while the seventh presents various parallel occurrences in contemporary political and cultural life. Such a brief presentation cannot possibly aspire to completeness; but, in any case, an attempt was made to include events that illuminate—however remotely or even indirectly—the personalities and activities of the first two Neoplatonists.16 On 5.1–5, which presents a problem on account of Porphyry’s attempt to put greater emphasis on the period of time he spent with P., see my comments ad loc. 16  The indications 1/2 and 2/2 refer to the first and the second half of a year, respectively. 15 

10 7

Plotinus’ age

Episode with the nurse.

(ca. July) Birth of Plotinus

Biographical details of Plotinus Origen directs (from 203) the Christian Didaskaleion of Alexandria.

Parallel events

(May) Elagabalus

(March) Alexander Severus

218

220

222

d. Caracalla. Callistus, bishop of Rome.

(April) Macrinus

217

d. Bardaisan.

d. Elagabalus. (ca.) Alcibiades preaches in Rome the teaching of Elchasai.

( June) d. Macrinus.

(April) b. Mani.

216

(February) d. Geta. d. Papinian. Constitutio Antoniniana. Caracalla’s massacres in Alexandria. Persecution of Peripatetics. Flight of Origen. d. Clement of Alexandria.

Caracalla

215

212

211–12

d. Septimius Severus.

April 205/6

Year according to Julian calendar

211

13th of Severus

Year according to imperial reign

Tertullian, Aduersus Marcionem.

(February) Geta and Caracalla

Septimius Severus (from April 193)

Emperors

Porphyry’s chronological data

208

204

CE ( Julian calendar)

Chronological Table

11

(April) Shapur I coregent with Ardashir. (April) Mani’s second vision and beginning of his mission. (ca.) Birth of Iamblichus. Timesitheus prefectus praetorio and de facto ruler.

240

241

Gordian I and II claim the throne. (May) d. Maximinus. Brief reign of Pupienus and Balbinus. Censorinus, De die natali.

238

( July) Gordian III

Persians take possession of Mesopotamia.

d. Alexander Severus. Persecution of the Christians. Pontianus and Hippolytus exiled to Sardinia. Origen, Protrepticus. (ca.) d. Aelian.

235

237

Birth of Porphyry. (ca.) Tomb of the Aurelii on the Viale Manzoni. (ca.) Hippolytus, Refutatio. (ca.) Philostratus, Vitae Sophistarum.

232–33

(March) Maximinus Thrax

Origen meets the queen-mother Julia Mammaea in Antioch.

Heraclas patriarch of Alexandria. Origen in Caesarea in Palestine. Julius Africanus, Kestoi.

231

232

Second term of Dio Cassius as Roman consul.

229 (2/2) Turn to philosophy. In the school of Ammonius Saccas.

(ca.) d. Hermogenes. (ca.) Heliodorus, Aethiopica.

225

27

Ardashir, shah of Persia.

224

12 Gordian’s campaign against the Persians.

Parallel events

(1/2) Amelius in Plotinus’ school.

d. Gallus. d. Aemilianus. d. Origen. d. Cornelius.

253

( July) Aemilianus (September) Valerian and his son Gallienus

Plague appears in Alexandria.

252

(March) Cornelius, bishop of Rome. d. Decius. b. St. Anthony.

251

( June) Trebonianus Gallus

Persecution of the Christians. d. Fabianus of Rome. Gothic invasions. (ca.) Philostratus the Younger, Imagines.

250

(September) d. Philip. (ca.) Porphyry meets Origen in Caesarea.

( June) Decius

42

249

March 246/7

(ca.) [Aelius Aeristides], To the King.

(April) Thousandth anniversary of the foundation of Rome celebrated. Origen, Contra Celsum. Dionysius, patriarch of Alexandria.

3rd of Philip

(2/2) Settled in Rome.

In Gordian’s campaign.

Biographical details of Plotinus

248

246

245

40

38

Plotinus’ age

d. Gordian. Peace with Persia.

March 244/5

Year according to Julian calendar

244

1st of Philip

Year according to imperial reign

d. Ardashir. Shapur “King of Kings.” (October) d. Timesitheus.

(March) Philip the Arab

Emperors

Porphyry’s chronological data

243

242–43

CE ( Julian calendar)

Chronological Table (continued)

13

(September) Gallienus visits Athens. d. Dionysius of Alexandria. Sabinillus consul (together with Gallienus) Heruls repelled at Piraeus by Dexippus. d. Odenathus. (ca.) Mathematician Diophantus active in Alexandria.

265

266

267

Dispute between Porphyry and Amelius.

59

264

( June) Arrival of Porphyry.

58

(ca.) b. Eusebius of Caesarea. (September) Decennalia of Gallienus. Plague strikes Rome.

September 262/3

263

10th of Gallienus

Shapur founds Jundeshapur. Odenathus, Dux Orientis. Rebellion of Aemilianus in Alexandria.

( June) Shapur captures Valerian. Galerian issues edict to halt the Persecution; another edict debars senators from the ranks of the army. Coups d’état by Postumus, Ingenuus, Regalianus, and Macriani. (ca.) b. Arius.

260

261

( July) Dionysius I, bishop of Rome.

259

Gallienus sole emperor

(September) d. Cyprian.

Invasions by Goths and Marcomanni. (ca.) Porphyry, De philosophia ex oraculis.

258

Begins writing.

Persecution of Christians. Passio S. Perpetuae.

49–50

257

September 253/4 Persians at Antioch. (ca.) b. Calcidius.

1st of Gallienus

256

254

14 Aurelian dedicates a great temple to Sol Invictus. d. Aurelian.

274

275

(April) Tacitus

d. Longinus. (February) b. Constantine the Great.

273

Claudius dies of the plague at Sirmium.

(February) Zenobia’s forces take possession of Alexandria.

(ca.) Longinus moves to Palmyra.

New Gothic invasions. Synod of Antioch condemns Paul of Samosata as heretic. d. Gallienus.

Parallel events

Aurelian captures Palmyra. Revolt of Firmus in Alexandria.

(August) Death of Plotinus.

(1/2) Retires to Campania.

(1/2) Amelius’ departure.

( June) Porphyry in Sicily.

Biographical details of Plotinus

272

66

65

64

63

Plotinus’ age

d. Shapur I.

August 269/70

August 268/9

September 267/ August 268

Year according to Julian calendar

271

(September) Aurelian, after assassinating Quintillus, is crowned emperor

2nd of Claudius

270

15th of Gallienus

Year according to imperial reign

1st of Claudius

(August) Claudius II

Emperors

Porphyry’s chronological data

269

268

CE ( Julian calendar)

Chronological Table (continued)

15

( July) Carinus and Numerian

Diocletian

283

285

(ca.) Composition of VP and publication of the Enneads.

d. Probus.

Carus

282

b. Athanasius the Great. Arch of Galerius in Thessalonica. (ca.) Arnobius, Adu. nationes.

295

299

Price edict of Diocletian. (March) Diocletian’s edict against the Manichaeans. (February) The Great Persecution begins in Nicomedia. (ca.) d. Porphyry. Lactantius, De opificio Dei.

301

302

303

304

300

Establishment of the tetrarchy

293

d. Carinus. (ca.) b. Pappus of Alexandria. (ca.) Alexander of Lycopolis, Contra Manichaei opiniones..

d. Carus.

(ca.) Peregrinus’ sarcophagus with representations of philosophers (Rome, Museo Torlonia).

280

d. Tacitus. b. Prohaeresius. d. Mani.

Florianus, Probus

277

276

Mediolanum

PANNONIA TUSCIA

Ostia

Sirmium

ILLYRIA

s Istru

ROME Minturnae Puteoli Naples

CAMPANIA Pompey

LUCANIA

Tarentum

Thessalonika

TROAD Lilybaeum CARTHAGE Thamugadi

SICILY Syracuse

Epidaurus

ATHENS

Claros Ephesus

NUMIDIA

M e d i t e r r a n e a n Leptis Magna

LIBYA

16

Rhodes

S e a

C

as

pi an

Se

Black Sea

a

ARMENIA

Nicomedia

BITHYNIA

Aphrodisias

Nisibis Edessa

CILICIA ANTIOCH Chalkis Apamea Emesa Sidon Tyre Caesaria

Palmyra

ris Tig

es ont Or

MESOPOTAMIA Circesium Dura Eu

PHOENICIA Damascus

p hra tes

PERSIA

Ctesiphon BABYLON

Scythopolis

PALESTINE Jerusalem

ALEXANDRIA

Petra

ARABIA

EGYPT

Ni l e

Memphis Oxyrhynchus Hermopolis Lycopolis

ia n

Gu

lf

UPPER EGYPT (THEBAID)

Thebes

ab

Nag Hammadi

Ar

Panopolis

17



18

Introduction to the VP

Other Testimonies concerning the Life of Plotinus Approximately thirty-­five years after the publication of the Enneads and the VP, a Sicilian aristocrat, Iulius Firmicus Maternus, wrote an astrological encyclopedia in eight books, titled Mathesis. The first of these books contains a defense of astrology written in the fanatical and pompous rhetorical style that the same author would employ, a few years later and after his conversion to Christianity, in order to blast errorem profanarum religionum. The motif of all-­powerful Fate plays a central role in his defense, and he offers Plotinus as an example of the manifestation of astrological power, as the latter had dared (primarily in his treatise “On Whether the Stars Are Causes,” II 3 [52]17) to doubt it. Fate’s vengeance took the form of a terrible illness that struck P. relentlessly and eventually brought him down. As perhaps one might expect, Firmicus included in his account a hair-­raising description of the symptoms of the illness from which P. finally died and this—as is natural—has since then particularly attracted the interest of students of P.’s life. Unfortunately, the entire passage in Firmicus contains so many inaccuracies—which are obviously due to misunderstandings of the account in the VP—that current scholarship denies it any credibility whatsoever.18 Nevertheless, I have decided to include it here as appendix A, if for no other reason than at least to provide a point of comparison from which we can better appreciate Porphyry’s sobriety. The material we can draw from the Vitae sophistarum et philosophorum (VS III–IV) of the historian Eunapius of Sardis (ca. 345–ca. 420) is also minimal. The relevant passage reveals that this student of the Neoplatonist Chrysanthius did not appear to discern any difference between philosophers like P. and Porphyry and the rhetors who competed to win over the public by demonstrations before large audiences. As he himself states and as is apparent anyway from what he says, Eunapius derives his information from his reading of works by Porphyry—primarily, of course, the VP. Consequently, the only substantial new piece of evidence he offers with regard to the life of P. is his striking reference to P.’s place of birth (on which see my comments at 1.3–4). On his romantic rendition of the story about Porphyry’s melancholy, see my comments at 11.11–15. The only other testimonies related to the life of P. come from the Suda (s.v. Plotinus) and from the Metabyzantine Iōnia of Pseudo-­Eudocia (s.v. peri tou Plōtinou). The former adds only the utterly baseless information that “[h]is body was also afflicted by the sacred illness. He also wrote other things” (that is, besides the Enneads),19 while the latter contributes practically nothing.20 But see also VP 15.21–26, and my comments ad loc. The most obvious errors are: (a) The assertion (16) that P. settled permanently in Campania because of his health, while we know from Porphyry that he used to go there sporadically (VP 7.22–23), perhaps during his holidays, and that he retired there only during the last months of his life when he was forced to by the deplorable state of his health (op. cit. 2.17–20). (b) The hint that P., just before his death, changed his views on the influence of the stars (21–22; cf. 19). However, treatise II 3 [52], which addresses the question ex professo, belongs to the group of treatises written only a few months before P.’s death (see VP 6.16–20) and does not provide evidence for any sort of change in his views—unless, of course, Firmicus has in mind at this point P.’s last words (VP 2.26–27), which would represent a grotesque misinterpretation of them (see my comments at 2.9–15). 19  For a somewhat more positive estimation of the Suda article, see Henry 1937b, 158–62. 20  The reference to P.’s homeland, which records that “some say he was a Lycopolitan from Lyco in the 17  18 



Commentary to the VP 19

Commentary 1.1. ὁ καθ’ ἡμᾶς γεγονώς:The expression suggests some chronological distance, which is natural, as the VP was composed nearly thirty years after P.’s death (see 23.13–14). But, at the same time, Porphyry’s wording presents him as a contemporary of P. and in many cases an eyewitness to the events. Cf. 3.44, 16.1, 20.1, 3, 11, 17, and Fraser 1972, 2:708n.96. 1.1–2. ἐῴκει . . . εἴη:That P. “seemed ashamed of being in the body” is Porphyry’s impression, a view that does not necessarily correspond precisely to his teacher’s theoretical position. See Ferwerda 1980, 120–21. Cf. the extreme form that such a conception could take, as, for example, in the case of Saint Anthony: Athanasius VAnton. 45. 1.3–4. οὔτε . . . πατρίδος:As a matter of fact, we do not possess firm information about P.’s origin. Porphyry, perhaps out of respect for his teacher’s wishes (see Courcelle 1953, 233 and 238–39), does not mention anything relating to his background. The conceit with which Eunapius, VS III 1.1, 5.18–20 reveals that P. was an Egyptian and that his hometown was called Lyko makes this information somewhat suspect (on this toponym, cf. Palladius Hist. mon. I 1,9). It is difficult to divine the source of this information. Nevertheless, it appears to be confirmed by the title of Porphyry’s Isagoge as transmitted in most manuscripts, as well as in two commentators on the work: Eisagōgē of Porphyry the Phoenician, the pupil of Plotinus the Lykopolitan (CAG IV 1.1–2. Cf. David In Porph. Isag. 91.24–25, [Elias] In Porph. Isag. 27.3; see also Suda, s.v. Plotinus). Exactly which Lukopolis (thus in Porph. Isag., David and the Suda; Eunapius has Lukō; [Elias], Lukos) was meant cannot be verified; however, the most probable guess is the one in upper Egypt, near the banks of the Nile, at the modern settlement of Asiut. In any case, that P. was an Egyptian we could conjecture even without the above testimony (or that of Proclus TP I 1, 6.19–20, where he is referred to as an Egyptian), simply from the fact that he studied in Alexandria (3.8) and that his circle included many Alexandrians, such as Eustochius, Serapion, Olympios, Origen, and perhaps Zethos and Castricius Firmus. P. himself refers once to the “Egyptian wisemen” (Enn. V 8.6.1–7) but displays the usual ignorance of the real meaning of hieroglyphic writing that was characteristic of its Greek-­speaking students and “exegetes” since as far back as the Ptolemaic period. Somewhat later (V 8.10.26–29), we may possibly discern a hint of the impression made on him in his youth by the sight of the local inhabitants (perhaps hermits?) of upper Egypt, whitened by the sun and dust, when he watched them descending from the heights where they lived. For a description of the environment in which it is likely that P. grew up, see Zucker 1950, 3–20. All indications suggest that P.’s family was well off and enjoyed a prominent social position. P.’s education was purely Greek. He had a nurse from an early age and went to a schoolmaster (grammatodidaskalos: 3.3); later he had the leisure to begin his studies at Lycopolite nome of Egypt,” seems to be derived from a source related to pseudo-­Elias: on this, see my comments at 1.3–4. The information that “he lived in Rome for 27 years” conflicts with the period of time Porphyry gives, VP 11.20–21.



20

Commentary to the VP age twenty-­seven (3.6–7) and to prolong them until he was thirty-­eight years old (3.19– 21). He was in the entourage of the emperor Gordian III (3.17–19) and clearly had no difficulty entering the highest circles of Roman society (see, e.g., 7.29–32, 9.1–22, 11.2–8, and 12.1–2). Even though he did not seem to possess a personal fortune (given that he was put up in the houses of friends), he knew how to manage substantial estates (9.5–16) and had some experience in handling complicated legal matters (9.21). His name, without constituting a clue to his origin (see Zucker 1950, 11; and Schwyzer 1951, 477.15–25), may point—primarily thanks to the ending “-­inos”—in the direction of a family Romanized even before the Constitutio Antoniniana of 212 CE, probably during the reign of Trajan and his consort Plotina. Plotinus’ refusal to speak about his origins may have had philosophical motives (cf. Epict. Diss. I 9.1–6; and Greg. Thaum. In Orig. 6; [Eudoc.] Iōnia 363, discerns Porphyry’s implied explanation: “considering that it (his native land) is above”; cf. Enn. I 6.8.16–27). However, we cannot exclude the possibility that P., in an atmosphere of intense social rivalries, had other reasons besides those Porphyry advances to conceal his background. If his family ties to senatorial circles of eastern origins were as intimate as it is allowed to appear, that fact would not, of course, have been deemed advantageous in Rome under the Pannonian military rulers. 1.6. Ἀμέλιον:See below, 7.2–3. 1.7. φέρειν . . . περιτέθεικεν: That the body is an image (eidōlon) of the soul is a view already expounded in Plato (Leg. XII 959b2–4, where it involves the reversal of an older, Homeric idea; see, e.g., Il. 23.104 and Od. 11.83—a notion according to which it is the soul that, after death, is characterized as an image). Clearly, it had acquired special significance in the context of Hellenistic physiognomy (see, e.g., Sext. Emp. Pyr. 1, 85). For P., nature (phusis) makes the body organic (Enn. IV 4.20.22–25) in the sense that it projects onto the body an image of itself, which, together with the body, forms the “animal” (zōion: I 1.8.15–23, IV 3.10.38–40, IV 4.16.40–45), that is, the living organism (I 1.11.12–15). This other man has “wound himself around us” (VI 4.14.24) and is not our real self, but a copy and an image (eikōn) of our real self (VI 3.15.29–33). The portrait artist who attempts to imitate this figure can only create something even lower, “a kind of still lesser man” (VI 7.5.16). This disparaging view of mimetic art no doubt draws its inspiration from the tenth book of Plato’s Republic (see 596e5–598d5 and 603a10–b5) and had broad repercussions during the early Christian period (see, e.g., Acta Ioannis 29, 166.12–167.5). This does not, however, exhaust P.’s aesthetic views. Cf., above all, Enn. V 8.1 and Rich 1960, 233–39. Porphyry does not seem to share entirely his teacher’s objections: “for if someone makes an image of a friend, he does not think that this friend is in that image, or that the limbs of his body are confined in the parts of the drawing, but that the esteem he has for the friend is revealed through the image” (C. Christ. fr. 76.18–21). On this, see Cox 1983, 108–10. Of course, Barnes 1973, 428–30, has expressed doubts about the attribution of all the fragments of Porphyry derived from Macarius. However, I believe that this particular fragment at least contains authentic material from some work of the Neoplatonist.



Commentary to the VP 21

1.9. ὡς . . . ἔργων: This ironic twist may have Epicurean practice as its target. Cf. Cic. Fin. V 1.3, Plin. HN XXXV 5, Origen C. Cels. VII 66 = Epicurus fr. 390. 1.11–12. Καρτέριον . . . ζωγράφον: The only information we possess about this painter Carterius is that contained in the present chapter of the VP. 1.13–14. ἐξῆν . . . συνουσίας: Porphyry uses three terms to describe P.’s gatherings with his students: meetings (sunousiai—here and at 3.46; 5.6; 13.1; 14.10, 21; 16.10; 18.7; cf. 3.34), lectures (diatribai—3.34, 36; 18.9), and conversations (homiliai—3.1; 5.5; 8.12, 14, 19). Those in the third category were undoubtedly informal conversations within a narrow circle of pupils among whom more personal confidences could take place (see 3.1 ff.). It is more difficult to define the differences betweeen the other two. Most likely, the term diatribai refers to the lessons in which the teacher’s doctrines are laid out, while the term sunousiai alludes to the more general activities of the school, which would include readings (14.10–14), discussions (5.5, 14.16), questions (13.9–16), and criticism (16.10). But it would be misleading if we rendered all these simply as “gatherings.” It is certain that the school met at a clearly defined place (see Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 241–42) and time (see 5.4), perhaps also on a regular, organized basis (see Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 242–57). Rendering them as “seminars,” even if anachronistic, seems to me to reflect more fully their function and alludes to the influence of this pedagogical practice in the development of comparable educational institutions during the Middle Ages. It is perhaps worth noting here that we do not encounter the Peripatetic term akroasis (“listening”) in the context of P.’s teaching activities (but cf. 3.9, 26 and 15.11). That the meetings were open to whomever wished to attend—a practice that, at times, exposed it to unexpected (14.20–25) or even unpleasant (13.12–17) visitors—is a strong indication that they did not include any type of secret precepts (see Fowden 1977, 372) and that participation in the school was free of charge. 1.14–17. τὰς ἐκ τοῦ ὁρᾶν . . . τὸ ἴχνος:This somewhat overwrought and pretentiously Stoicizing description of what would, in fact, have been a rather simple operation may perhaps echo the affected manner (cf. 17.16–44 and 20.76–80) of Amelius, on whose testimony Porphyry appears to be basing himself here. In this case, it is most likely that the incident occurred before Porphyry’s arrival in Rome in the summer of 263. 1.18–19. εἰκόνα . . . ὁμοιοτάτην: Various conjectures have been made in recent years about whether the portrait of Plotinus has survived in the form of some figural monument. See appendix Β. 2.1. κωλικῇ δὲ νόσῳ:The manuscripts attest equally well the readings kōlikēι (“of the bowels”) and koiliakēι (“of the belly”) (see Henry 1934a, 28n.3; and Schwyzer 1951, 475 ll. 4–7). However, kōlikēι is a specialist medical term (whereas this is not the case with koiliakēι, which could refer to any ailment of the digestive tract; see Puschmann 1878– 79, 1:220–21), and, consequently, is the lectio difficilior (see Oppermann 1929, 26). As treatment for diseases of the bowels, doctors in antiquity often advised clysters, purga-



22

Commentary to the VP tives, and antidotes derived from wild beasts. For references, see Oppermann, op. cit., 25 and n. 5. 2.2. τοῦ πρεσβύτου:We have here an indication that the “disease of the bowels” appeared (or at least intensified significantly) toward the end of P.’s life. But it is not immediately clear whether it was at all connected with the illness that ultimately led to his death. 2.3–4. θηριακὰς ἀντιδότους:The term is used here to mean a drug prepared with, among other things, ingredients extracted from wild animals. See Galen’s special treatises on the subject (in vol. XIV of Kühn’s edition, 210–310) and Watson 1966. Galen informs us that during the course of a sojourn in Rome, he discovered that antidotes prepared from wild animals were extremely popular: “Many of the wealthiest people in Rome take the drug during each new moon . . . not in order to avert the illness that afflicts them, but so that they remain immune to all illness, and it seems to work” (De ther. XIV 298). It was employed particularly as a therapy for ailments of the bowel: see Oppermann, op. cit. 25, and Alex. Trall. Therapeutica VIII 2, 2:357. 2.4–5. μηδὲ . . . λέγων: Abstention from all forms of animal food appears to have been the established practice in Plotinus’ circle—a practice no doubt indebted to the Pythagorean tradition. Porphyry composed an entire treatise in four books in defense of vegetarianism, the De abstinentia. However, the Enneads are silent on this theme. See Bouffartigue and Patillon 1977, 1:xxi–xxiii. 2.5–7. λουτροῦ . . . οἰκίας: As Harder also observes, loutron here refers to the public baths, “places of entertainment, debauchery and pleasure,” as Hadot 1963, 112, describes them. Cf. Lucian Nigr. 34 and Clem. Al. Paed. III 9, 46.1–48.3. The Pythagoreans in particular avoided frequenting such places: see, e.g., Apoll. Tyan. Ep. 43; Philostr. VApoll. I 16; Iambl. VPyth. 18.83, 48.18. Cf. Burkert 1972, 199. Certainly many baths were believed to be frequented by evil spirits: see Bonner 1932, 203–8; Hopfner 1974, §195; and [Psellus] De oper. daem. 21.2, 849b8. Porphyry in his treatise De philosophia ex oraculis haurienda describes how he himself had exorcised from a bath one such evil spirit whose name was Kausathas (see Eun. VS IV 1.12, 9.2–3). This name may be Syrian in origin, as Wolff 1856, 152, and Bidez 1913, 15n.1 would have it; but a Greek etymology (from kaunē sathē) is not out of the question, in which case the name reveals the sexual character of the fear that inspired the superstition. On the other hand, P. did not, as it seems, neglect bodily health entirely. Cf. Enn. I 4.14.21–26. 2.7. τοῦ λοιμοῦ ἐπιβρίσαντος:This epidemic originated in Egypt (or—according to John of Antioch fr. 151, 598b and Zonaras Chron. XII 21, 590.1—in Ethiopia) at the beginning of the 250s and spread across nearly all the empire, consuming in its path almost half the population of Alexandria and hundreds of thousands of other cities’ inhabitants, including the emperor Claudius II himself, who succumbed in Sirmium in the same year



Commentary to the VP 23

P. passed away. For our sources on this ghastly scourge, see Alföldi 1939, 228n.1, to which could be added the dramatic description of the plague by Pontius De uita S. Cypriani IX, PL III, 1489b–c. Porphyry’s use of the definite article makes indisputable the above identification of the plague. 2.9–15. τοῦ κυνάγχου . . . ἑλκωθῆναι: Porphyry’s description of the illness is rivaled by the much more dramatic and impressive description contained in Firmicus Maternus’ astrological treatise, Mathesis, I 7.20–21, 24.8–23; see below, appendix A. However, Henry 1934a, 25–43, demonstrated that the latter is simply a rhetorical elaboration of the former and, consequently, utterly devoid of historical value. Therefore, since Firmicus’ account formed the basis of Oppermann’s conclusions in 1929, 12–18, with regard to the nature of the disease, these conclusions should be understood to have been entirely overturned. Oppermann had concluded that P.’s disease was elephantiasis Graecorum, a type of leprosy that does not relate to the illness known today as elephantiasis (elephantiasis Arabum). Similarly questionable—if not even more so—are Gillet’s conclusions (1934, 45), which diagnose the illness as pulmonary tuberculosis. In my opinion, any future inquiry into this issue should not exclude the possibility that the illness was linked to the plague. In any case, it is worth noting that all of the symptoms mentioned by Porphyry are to be found also in Thucydides’ famous description of the plague that struck Athens during the Peloponnesian War (II 49). Cf: “hoarsenes” ~ Thuc. 3.5, “blurred vision” ~ 2.1–2 and 8.3–5, “ulcerated hands and feet” ~ 5.14 and 8.3; even for the abandonment of the afflicted, cf. Thuc. II 51.5. These parallells may, of course, be coincidental, but they do cause us to wonder to what extent Porphyry based his account on Eustochius’ (presumably) scientific report, and to what extent his account is colored by rhetorical topoi for such subject matter. For “sore throat” (kunanchos), see Puschmann 1878, 1:179–83; and Oppermann 1929, 8–9. For Eustochius, see below, 7.8–12. 2.16. ἐκτρεπομένων . . . τῶν φίλων: Cf. the way in which Dionysius of Alexandria describes how the pagans of Alexandria abandoned the victims of the plague without help: “Even those who were in the first stages of the disease they thrust away, and fled from their dearest. They would even cast them in the roads half-­dead, and treat the unburied as vile refuse, in their attempts to avoid the spreading and contagion of the death-­plague” (Eus. HE VII 22.10). 2.17. ἀπὸ στόματος . . . ἔχειν: The kiss between teacher and pupil was an established Roman tradition (Harder), though the manner in which Judas betrayed his teacher indicates that it had a wider coinage. Cf. also the Hermetic ritual kiss mentioned in NHC VI 6, 57.26 and VI 7, 65.4. 2.18–23. εἰς δὲ τὴν Καμπανίαν . . . εἶχε:For Zethus and Castricius, see below, 7.17–29. Zethus’ estate was located six miles north of Miturnae (modern Minturno) (7.23), by



24

Commentary to the VP way of the Via Appia, while Eustochius lived at Puteoli (modern Pozzuoli, a bit outside Naples) at a distance of about forty miles. 2.25–27. εἰπὼν . . . θεῖον: Although the gist of these ultima uerba is, generally speaking, easily comprehensible and consistent with P.’s basic philosophical position (perhaps, indeed, they echo Theaetetus 176a8–b2, a passage so fundamental for Plotinian ethics), the problems presented by the manuscript tradition at this particular point have provoked extensive discussion. The most important contributions to this discussion have been those of Henry 1953, Harder ad loc., Igal 1972b, Schwyzer 1976a, and D’Ancona 2002. To start with, Henry argues (at 121) that the first phrase, “I have been waiting a long time for you,” acquires meaning only if the second phrase contains an exhortation—the spiritual legacy of the teacher to his students, via Eustochius. This argument seems to me definitely to exclude the older interpretation, which Harder among others espoused, according to which the subject of “to try” (peirasthai) is P. himself. In this case, de Strycker’s emendation (peirasthe) is rendered necessary (Schwyzer, 95). The phrase “the god in us” is genuinely Plotinian: see Enn. V 1.11.4–7, V 8.10.43, VI 5.1.3; cf., furthermore, the Hermetic Asclepius 6, 302.5–7; Iambl. VPyth. 33.240, 129.1; and Zostrianus = NHC VIII 1, 130.19. In addition, the expression “the god” (ton theon), which is derived from a different textual tradition (see Henry 1953, 119) is preferable to “the divine” (to theion), as otherwise we have a superfluous repetition of the phrase, completely inappropriate to the circumstances in which it was pronounced (for such an interchange of the expressions “god” and “divine,” cf., e.g., the Acta Apostolorum 17.29–30). I believe that the imperative “try” (peirasthe) makes Schwyzer’s choice, 90–91, of “to us” (hēmin) instead of “to you” (humin) impossible (see also the objections of Henry, 126n.1). As he himself admits (89–90; see also Henry, 126–28), Synesius (Ep. 139, 725.5–10), scarcely a century after the composition of the VP, read “to you,” and although, as Harder remarks, the term hēmeis may have an almost technical meaning in P., nonetheless, in the context of an oral admonition, the second person is, I think, unavoidable. On the other hand, the phrase “the divine in the All” acquires a striking pantheistic resonance if, with all previous interpreters, we take “the All” to mean the Universe (as it does in the Enneads as a rule: see Igal, 455n.63). For this reason, and with passages such as Enn. VI 5.12.13–19 in mind, I think Armstrong is right to prefer a rendering that does not commit us quite as fully to this direction. So much for the interpretation of the incident as Porphyry relays it to us. And for its historical accuracy, we can do little else but concur with Schwyzer’s view, 96–97 (see also Schwyzer 1986, 551): Se non è vero, è ben trovato! 2.27–28. δράκοντος . . . ὑποδεδυκότος:If, at this point, Eustochius’ account is at all credible, then we possess here a clue to the time of P.’s death that, until now, has passed unnoticed: the snake’s appearance rules out the possibility that it occurred in the winter or early spring (as, e.g., Igal 1972a, 66, believes). However, for the Alexandrian doctor, the event clearly had another meaning that was related either to the belief in the snake-­shaped Egyptian god Agathodaimon that was widespread at that time (Kneph: see Bréhier, ad loc.; and Ganschinietz 1918, 49; see



Commentary to the VP 25

also id. 1919, 38–54; cf. Plut. Amat. 12, 755e), or to the symbolic, “hieroglyphic” representation of the “entrance,” that is, the setting of a star, according to the newer Ptolemaic system of ideograms (see John Tzetzes Exeg. in Il. I 97, 11; and Iversen 1961, 47). Even Giordano Bruno relates that, when he was an infant (ca. 1548) in his native Nola, not far from where P. died, there appeared from a crack in the wall of his house an enormous snake, “which looked extraordinarily archaic,” a sign of his heroic destiny (see Sigillus sigillorum in Opere latine II (ii), 184–85, quoted by Yates 1964, 339). 2.29–31. ἔτη γεγονώς, . . . πληρουμένου: We have here a piece of well-­dated historical evidence. The information that on the day of his death P. had lived sixty-­six years comes from Eustochius and is adopted unreservedly by Porphyry. One suspects that this knowledge derived from a confession by P. himself to his trustworthy doctor, perhaps just before his death. However, a certain obscurity surrounding the precise dating of the reign of Claudius II has for years elicited uncertainty also with reference to the date of P.’s death. Because the first issue has been solved thanks to the publication of a sequence of papyri (POxy 2892–2940) by J. R. Rea in 1972, we now know that Claudius ascended the throne at the end of August or beginning of September 268 and died at the end of August 270. See Barnes 1976b, 66–67. Consequently, P. must have died a little before (plēroumenou) the end of August 270—that is to say, in August or, at the earliest, in July 270. 2.31–33. ἐγὼ μὲν . . . Ῥώμῃ:Porphyry had already left on his voyage (2.11) in the fifteenth year of Gallienus’ reign (6.1–3), after the event described below (11.11–19). Amelius departed for Syria via Phoenicia (19.20–32) in the first year of Claudius’ reign (3.40–41). He finished up in Apamea, where we lose trace of him. From the fact that the Suda (s.v. Amelius) calls him an Apamean and that his adopted son was an Apamean (see 3.47–48), we may conclude that he settled and perhaps established a school in the hometown of Numenius, whom he so greatly admired (3.44–45). Indeed, it is probable that somewhat later Iamblichus’ star burned bright in this school, the remains of which (including mosaics depicting Socrates and the six other “sages,” as well as allegorical representations from the Odyssey) have been discovered there beneath a Christian church; see Balty 1974, 276–77. With regard to Castricius, we can only conjecture that during this disturbed period his political involvements (see 7.28–29) kept him in Rome. 2.34–37. ἀναψηφίζουσι . . . πίπτει: What we have here is a calculation—and Porphyry, as the author of a Chronicle, among other things, should have been experienced at this job. Nevertheless, this calculation leads us face to face with serious difficulties. Septimius Severus ascended the throne in April 193, so the thirteenth year of his reign is April 205/6 (as long as we base our reckoning on the dies imperii; but even if we employ the Egyptian calendar, we arrive at 29 August 204 / 28 August 205, and the problem remains, pace Edwards 2000, 118). However, from April 205 to August 270 lapse sixty-­five and not sixty-­six years. Where, then, is the error? Many scholars have occupied themselves with the problem and have proposed a considerable number of solutions. See, e.g., Oppermann 1929, 39–40; Boyd 1937, 242–



26

Commentary to the VP 25 and 248–51; Schwyzer 1951, 473.30–50, 474.46–64, and 1978, 313.68–314.28; Igal 1972a, 59–75; and Goulet 1982b, 208–10. But the simplest solution was touched on by Goulet, who did not, however, follow up on it: the error seems to be the result of a misunderstanding between Eustochius and Porphyry. As Goulet, 209, rightly observed, following Carter 1967, 51–57, the participle gegonōs does not necessarily mean that we are dealing with a fully completed year of age; cf., e.g., Plutarch Caesar 69.1, 740c. Consequently, it is likely that Eustochius gave P.’s age (correctly) as sixty-­six fully completed years, whereas Porphyry understood the expression in the sense adopted by Plutarch in the above example, that is, that Plotinus was in the sixty-­sixth year of his life. Based on this theory, our conclusion is that P. must have been born between September 203 and August 204. 2.37–40. οὔτε . . . ἠξίου:We must be careful not to associate the information Porphyry provides us here with what he says above, at 1.3–4. Here, the reason for P.’s silence is not shame regarding the body, but a modesty that made him shun self-­advertisement. Cf. P.’s own description of his contribution to philosophy at V 1.8.10–14. We do not, consequently, have reason to suppose (as do, e.g., Oppermann 1929, 54; and Rist 1967b, 3) that Plotinus concealed his age or date of birth from those around him because he believed the latter to be a lamentable or contemptible event. He simply avoided, for particular reasons, revealing any clear-­cut date. See also Igal 1972a, 31. Nevertheless, there are signs that Porphyry knew more or less when his teacher’s birthday was. See my comments below at 4.6–8. 2.40–43. καίπερ . . . ἀναγνῶναι:The birthdays of Socrates and Plato were traditionally placed on the sixth and seventh of Thargelion (that is, toward the end of May), corresponding to the birthday feasts of Artemis and of Apollo of Delos. See Riginos 1976, 15–17. Ample evidence shows that the birthdays were celebrated in Athens with dinners hosted by the local representatives of Platonist philosophy. During these events, speeches were declaimed (as, e.g., the Perideipnon of Speusippus and the Encomium of Clearchus; see Diog. Laert. III 2 = Speus. fr. 1, and Procl. In Remp. I, 69.23–70.7); discussions took place (see Plut. Quaest. conu. VIII 1–2, 717a–720c; and Porph. Philologos Akroasis apud Eus. PE Χ 3.1); and poems were recited (as perhaps Antagoras’ On Eros = Coll. Al. 120; see also below 15.1–6). See also Marinus Proclus 23.15–17, and the anonymous Prolegomena philosophiae Platonicae 6.16–18. Twelve hundred years later in Florence, Lorenzo dei Medici attempted to revive this tradition (see Marsilio Ficino In ­Platonis Conuiuium I.1, 136). That P. maintained this custom shows to what degree he was concerned to situate himself in the Platonic tradition. 3.1–2. Ἃ μέντοι . . . τοιαῦτα:What follows (2–35) is founded on autobiographical confidences by P. The same is probably true for the episode with Olympius (10.1–13). Oppermann 1929, 54, has already observed that at 3.17 there is a syntactical switch to indirect speech. But this is not enough reason to convince me of Harder’s suggestion that



Commentary to the VP 27

from this point onward, Porphyry’s source is Amelius. See Igal 1972a, 29–30, 34, and 38–41. 3.2–6. προσφοιτᾶν . . . αἰδεσθέντα: This episode is certainly of interest from a psycho-­ historical point of view (on this, see Dodds 1965, 91n.2; and cf. Zaehner 1957, 150; we encounter this attachment to the breast in the similarly peculiar story narrated in the anonymous Vita Secundi philosophi 70.5–6), but it is difficult to comprehend what might have been P.’s reason for relating the story, and, indeed, on many occasions. The most plausible explanation is perhaps that of Harder (see also Hadot 1963, 196n.1), who suggests that Plotinus used it as an example in the course of his development of some philosophical view: cf., e.g., Enn. I 2.6.3–4, III 1.7.18–19, and III 2.10.7. But Porphyry claims that P. related these stories during private conversations, not, that is, while teaching. So perhaps, as Courcelle 1954, 234; and Igal 1972a, 33, argue, the episode was recounted as symptomatic of a “first conversion” to a more philosophical way of life through shame; or perhaps P. attributed some symbolic meaning to it. Milk, as something associated with the Milky Way, was considered by some to be the soul’s first nourishment during its descent from heaven, or during its return thence after death: see, e.g., Clem. Al. Strom. V 8, 48.8; Numenius fr. 32.8–9 = Porph. De antr. nymph. 28. For this reason, it was also a symbol of a transcendent, paradisal condition: see Alline 1912, 99– 107; and cf. Clem. Al. Paed. III 12, 101.3; Greg. Nyss. In Cant. I 3, 33.12–35.14; Gospel of Thomas = NHC II 2, 37.20–23; also Tran Tam Tinh 1973, passim. It may be that P.’s persistence was understood as a first impulse to ascend to his beloved homeland, or as Mephistopheles was to say to Faust’s disciple, “an der Weisheit Brüsten.” Cf. also my comments at 22.48. As for the expression “a little pest” (atēron), although we find almost the exact expression in a fragment of Democritus (B 279 DK), it seems rather too poetic, to my mind, to have come from the lips of a simple Egyptian nurse; perhaps the original expression was asēron (disgusting) and was transformed in the telling—quite possibly owing to P.’s defective articulation (see 13.2–5). 3.6–13. εἰκοστὸν δὲ . . . ἐζήτουν:What P. did until he was twenty-­seven we simply do not know. In any case, a conversion to philosophy at such a mature age is not unheard of— Zeno of Citium, for example, turned to philosophy when he was already in his thirties (Diog. Laert. VII 2). Anyhow, nothing suggests that P.’s inquiries in Alexandria lasted very long (see Igal 1972a, 91–92). Literature of the Greco-­Roman period is replete with similar stories of anxious quests for the philosophical path amidst the labyrinth of different schools and of the final discovery of the ideal spiritual guide, an event often accompanied by a conversion of a religious character. Cf., e.g., Vett. Val. IV 11, 162.32–163.17; see Nock 1933, 107–21, 255–71; and MacMullen 1984, 68–73. According to Eunapius, VS VII 2.12, Julian later echoed the same expression “this is the man I was looking for”—but in a much more insulting manner—when he abandoned his teacher Eusebius of Myndus, in order to sit at the feet of Maximus of Ephesus.



28

Commentary to the VP P.’s teacher Ammonius is one of the most attractive and mysterious figures in the history of philosophy. Our information about him, however, is minimal and sometimes contradictory. The evidence for Ammonius is gathered in the form of testimonia in Schwyzer’s fundamental work, Ammonios Sakkas, Opladen 1983 (to which, perhaps, can be added a scholium, probably based on Theodoret, which comes from a Vatican codex; see Busse 1891 = CAG 4.3, xxv). For an extensive, but not complete, bibliography, see Schroeder 1987a, 522–26; and see also Theiler 1966, 1–45; Baltes 1985, 323–32. The cognomen Sakkas is not handed down by Porphyry. We encounter it for the first time in Ammianus Marcellinus (second half of the fourth century), where the pertinence of the reference to Ammonius (XXII 16.16 = test. 10 Schwyzer) has (wrongly, in my opinion) been called into question (see Schwyzer 1983, 81–82). However, the sequence of words et Saccas Ammonius Plotini magister corresponds precisely to that employed in the same passage for the other celebrated Alexandrians who were active at Bruchium (cf. chiefly Chalcenterus . . . Didymus, multiplicis scientiae copia [Bentley: copti MSS] memorabilis). But what does Sakkas mean? That Ammonius previously carried sacks of wheat (Theodoret Graec. aff. cur. 6.60, 169.11–12 = test. 18; Suda, s.v. Plotinus = test. 22)? That he was a Buddhist monk (Sakya-­Muni: see Seeberg 1942, 136–70)? That he wore a characteristic type of tribōn? (sakkos, Lat. cilicium; see Lagerbeck 1957, 68)? Or, finally, that he wore an especially thick philosopher’s beard (see LSJ, s.v. sakkos III)? The third proposal seems the most persuasive, if, nonetheless, hypothetical. From what we can know, it seems that Ammonius wrote nothing. And after Schwyzer’s devastating critique of the evidence, very few things can be said with certainty about his teaching. Indeed, what can be said differentiates him from P. with regard to crucial points of his teaching, as, for example, on the question of the One’s transubstantiality: see Baltes 1985, 328–30. We know of at least six other students of Ammonius: the Platonist Origen and Erennius (3.24–27), Theodosius (7.18), Longinus (20.36–38), Olympius (10.1–2), and Antoninus (Procl. In Ti. II 154.9). The view that the Christian Origen and the future patriarch of Alexandria, Heraclas, should be counted among Ammonius’ students ought finally to be abandoned, despite its long and renowned history. The teacher of the Christian Origen, and perhaps also of Heraclas, was another Ammonius, author of what was probably an anti-­Marcionite treatise, On the Accord between Moses and Jesus (see Eus. HE VI 19.10 = test. 8); see Dörrie 1955a, 468–71 = 1976, 352–54. This mistaken view derives from an error made by Porphyry, who evidently thought that the Ammonius about whom, as a child, he had heard the Christian Origen speak, was none other than Ammonius Saccas (C. Christ. fr. 39 = Eus. HE VI 19.5–7 = test. 7). Ammonius must undoubtedly have been a remarkable personality, who attracted students with a wide range of temperaments. In his teaching, Ammonius seems to have employed a method completely different from that of his contemporary philosophers, and one which had an immediate effect on his audience. (That Ammonius’ method diverged from the usual can be understood from the fact that Hierocles, Prou. et Fat. apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 214, 172a4 = test. 12, characterizes Ammonius as “God-­instructed”—in other words, an autodidact. An inscription from Olbia on the Black Sea calls down blessings on a contemporary of Ammonius for the “incomparable innate philosophy”



Commentary to the VP 29

that he possessed; on this, see Nock 1940, 308, and cf. Bickerman 1938–39, 372–73. Cf. also below, 14.15–16; for the audience response, see Baltes 1985, 330, and 1984, 207; and also Dillon 1987a, 333). Nonetheless, he was anything but a celebrity. Ammonius was not counted among those with the most prominent reputations, and P. had to be led to him by a friend (see Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 235n.1). Of the many explanations that may be given for this, there are some that may not have been accorded sufficient attention: one of the few reliable pieces of information we have about his teaching is that “he revealed that the teachings of Plato and of Aristotle were in agreement on the most important and necessary doctrines” (test. 12 = Hier. Prou. et Fat. apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 214, 172a7– 9. See also test. 15 = op. cit., cod. 251, 461a24–39). This indicates that Ammonius must have studied Aristotelian philosophy at least as much as Platonic. But we know that during the period of Caracalla’s brutalities in Alexandria, the “Aristotelian philosophers” were under severe persecution: see Dio Cass. 78.7.3. It was only many years later that Anatolius undertook to reestablish the “Aristotelian succession at Alexandria”: see Eus. HE VII 32.6. It is not inconceivable, then, that Ammonius was to be found on the fringes of Alexandrian philosophical life not on the grounds of his supposed Pythagorean mysticism (see Dörrie 1955a, 446–48 = 1976, 331–32), but because of his “heretical” Aristotelianism: see also my comments at 13.15–17. 3.15–17. ὡς καὶ . . . κατορθουμένης:Ex Oriente lux! The seductive attraction of the Orient was intense among the Greeks since the age of Pythagoras, Herodotus, Democritus, and Eudoxus, but also of Posidonius and Plutarch. Especially during the early Christian period, oriental mystery religions, as well as prophets or wisemen, such as Julian the Chaldaean and his son, Julian the Theurgist, Elchasai, Bardaisan, and many others contributed to the triumph of the idea of the East as the home and source of all wisdom. Then-­current “histories of philosophy” had sometimes claimed that philosophy sprang from the barbarians: see, e.g., Diog. Laert. I 1–2; and Lucian Fug. 6–8. In this context, it is not peculiar if Plotinus showed an interest in becoming acquainted with the “philosophy” of the oriental peoples, perhaps in its more practical manifestations (that is to say, “barbarian customs”), as the phrase “[the philosophy] practiced (epitēdeuomenēs) by them” gives us to understand. Indeed, according to one version (Apul. De Plat. I 3, 186), even Plato himself had an adventure similar to his own. Numenius had already named the “peoples of renown” (ta ethnē ta eudokimounta) as well-­springs of the doctrines of Pythagoras and Plato (fr. 1a = Eus. PE IX 7.1; on this see Waszink 1965, 45–48); cf. Paus. IV 32.4. Somewhat later, Porphyry would many times look back to the wisdom of the Indians (De Styge fr. 376F apud Stob. Ecl. I 3.96, 66.24–70.13; Abst. IV 17.1–18.3; De reg. an. fr. 302F = Aug. De ciu. D. X 32) and the Persians (De antr. nymph. 6, 8.13–23; Abst. IV 16) in order to rally support for his philosophical positions. Cf. Festugière 1944–54, 1:19–44; Andresen 1955, 258n.40; Dihle 1964, 60–69. Whatever P.’s connection with the Orient may have been, these lines in the VP have sparked the imagination of scholars, with the result that a rather extensive bibliography exists on the possible influences, relations, and even simply parallels between Indian (primarily) and Persian philosophy and that of P. I supply here a few representative titles:



30

Commentary to the VP Armstrong, A. Hilary. 1936. “Plotinus and India.” CQ 30:22–28. Repr. in Armstrong 1979. Armstrong, A. Hilary, and Ravi Ravindra. 1977. “The Dimensions of the Self: Bhuddi in the Bhagavad-­Gita and Psyche in Plotinus.” Religious Studies 15:327–47. Bréhier, Émile. 1958. The Philosophy of Plotinus. Trans. Joseph Thomas. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 118–31. García Bazán, Francisco. 1982. Neoplatonismo y Vedánta: La doctrina de la materia en Plotino y Shánkara. Buenos Aires: Ediciones Depalma. Harris, R. Baine, ed. 1982. Neoplatonism and Indian Thought. Norfolk, Va.: International Society for Neoplatonic Studies. Lacombe, Olivier. 1950–51. “Note sur Plotin et la pensée indienne.” AEHE 5th section:1–20. Marrucchi, Piero. 1938. “Influssi indiani nella filosofia di Plotino?” In Atti del XIX Congresso internazionale degli Orientalisti, Roma, 23–29 settembre 1935–XIII, 390–94. Rome: Tipografia del Senato. Müller, Hermann Friedrich. 1914. “Orientalisches bei Plotinos?” Hermes 49:70–89. Philonenko, Marc. 1989. “La philosophie de Plotin et la Gnose mandéenne.” CRAI: 18–27. Przyluski, Jean. 1933. “Mani et Plotin.” BAB 19:322–26. ———. 1936. “Les trois hypostases dans l’Inde et à Alexandrie.” In Mélanges Franz Cumont, 925–33. Brussels: Université Libre de Bruxelles. Schlette, Heinz Robert. 1962. “Indisches bei Plotin.” In Einsicht und Glaube: Gottlieb Söhngen zum 70. Geburtstag am 21. Mai 1962, ed. Joseph Ratzinger and Heinrich Fries, 171–92. Freiburg: Herder. Staal, Frits. 1961. Advaita and Neoplatonism. Madras: University of Madras. Wendell, Th. 1940. “Plotinus, a Link between East and West.” Calcutta Review 74:125–53. With regard to all of this, three things should be underlined: (a) The motive that impelled P. to accompany Gordian’s campaign has perhaps been embellished—the best way to become familiar with the wisdom of the Persians, etc., is clearly not by participating in a campaign against them. (b) Porphyry makes it clear that, in the end, P. did not manage to reach his destination. (c) Up until now, it has not been proven that there is some element in P.’s philosophy that cannot be explained as a development of views derived from earlier Greek philosophical tradition. See also Schwyzer 1951, 580.43–581.25. 3.17–19. Γορδιανοῦ . . . συνεισῄει: Gordian III was of aristocratic lineage, claiming descent from the Gracchi. His grandfather, Gordian I, after spending many years as proconsul of Africa, had been promoted at the age of eighty to the position of Augustus by Egyptian landowners who were dissatisfied with the heavy taxation of Maximinus. The promotion was also safeguarded, with the help of the then young Valerian, by the support of the Roman Senate: see Zos. Hist. I 14.1. Gordian I, “beloved by the Africans as



Commentary to the VP 31

no other proconsul ever had been before” (amatus ab Afris ita ut nemo antea proconsulum; SHA Gord. 5.5, trans. D. Magie), is said to have been a man of exceptional learning, who “passed his days with Plato and Aristotle, Cicero and Vergil” (cum Platone semper, cum Aristotele, cum Tullio, cum Vergilio ceterisque ueteribus agens; op. cit. 7.1), and to whom Philostratus had dedicated his Vitae Sophistarum. Powers similar to those who elevated Gordian I also supported his grandson as Caesar and, a little later, as emperor, at the age of just thirteen. In the spring of 242, Gordian III opened the double doors of the temple of Janus in Rome, thus proclaiming the beginning of a great campaign contra Persas (op. cit. 26.3). Only just before, he had taken care to secure the support of a preeminently Greek goddess, Athena Promachos—she who had aided the Athenians in repelling the same foes at Marathon about 730 years earlier—by organizing games in her honor. See Robert 1970, 11–17. At that time, the man who actually wielded power was Gordian’s father-­in-­ law, Timesitheus, an eques who, according to the Historia Augusta, could pen his own correspondence in Greek (SHA Gord. 25.6). But after his death, his successor as prefectus praetorio, Philip the Arab, did not hesitate to kill the young emperor and assume the purple himself (March 244; related to this, see Loriot 1975, 757–77). P. was apparently a witness to these events. He joined Gordian’s army (for the meaning of stratopedon, “expeditionary force,” here, see Igal 1982–98, 1:12n.19) at some rather early stage of the campaign, as is suggested by the phrases “was preparing to march against the Persians” and “joined in (suneisēiei)” (Igal’s view is in agreement with this: 1972a, 35–36). Clearly his presence there indicates that P. was well acquainted with members of the imperial entourage, a fact that probably placed him in an awkward position once the situation changed (see 3.22 and Harder 1960b, 280–82). Certain seekers after significant historical coincidences have maintained that Mani, preacher of the most developed Gnostic system of the age, was in the rival camp, as a member of the Persian king Shapur’s entourage: see, e.g., Puech 1938, 20–21, but also Igal 1982–98, 1:13. However, the explicit reference by Alexander of Lycopolis, C. Manich. 2, 4.20 to the name Valerian ought to urge them to abandon this idea, as did later Puech himself, 1978, 61n.1. 3.19–21. ἔτος . . . συνεσχόλασε:The reckoning of P.’s age here appears to be the work of Porphyry. By contrast, the period of eleven years, as well as P.’s age when he turned to philosophy (3.6–7), were revealed, as far as the evidence shows, by the master himself. The calculation is correct (27 + 11 = 38) if P. went to Ammonius’ school in the second half of 231 and left it at the end of 242, or the beginning of 243. Cf. Igal 1972a, 39–41. Additionally, the presence of the word gar, which indicates the logical relationship between the information and the calculation, is justified only if, when P. left Alexandria, Ammonius was still living, or had just recently died. 3.21. περὶ τὴν Μεσοποταμίαν:The murder of Gordian seems to have taken place near the camp of Circesium in a region named Zaitha where, later, Ammianus Marcellinus (XXIII 5.7) saw his grave monument (cf. SHA Gord. 34.2; and Eutropius Breuiarium IX 2.3) a little way outside Dura (see the map in the introduction to this section). Loriot



32

Commentary to the VP 1975, 772–73, makes a worthy attempt to support the view that the young emperor was killed in battle by the enemy, basing his argument on the version found in the trilingual victory inscription of the Persian king, known as the Res Gestae Diui Saporis. This text corresponds in places with the description of the incident recorded by Zonaras in his Chronicon (XII 17, 580.9–14). However, (a) the inscription, although it overflows with the barbaric boasting of Shapur, says only that “inside the boundaries of Assyria in Mesichise there was a great face-­to-­face battle and Gordian Caesar was killed” (see Ensslin 1949, 92 and 95–96), without specifying whether the final deed was done by a Persian hand; and (b) Zonaras’ account is obviously confused, because, apart from everything else, he associates the incident with the death of Gordian II, and not with that of Gordian III, about whom he relays, a bit further on, op. cit. XII 18, 582.6–13, the generally accepted version that pins the blame on a conspiracy. In addition, (c) the “propagandist” author of the panegyric To the King is hardly credible when he says about Philip that “nor at the beginning of his rule did he require any murder” ([Ael. Arist.] II 255.3), while his eagerness to support the notion that the gods “assigned to others deeds of madness and folly” (op. cit. 255.9–10) is somewhat suspect: for Gordian’s murderers to have required “madness” and “folly,” they need to have been other than his natural enemies, the Persians. It is, then, my opinion that even if some sort of battle did take place at Mšyk (Pirisabora), we do not possess enough evidence to abandon the view that the death of Philip’s predecessor was due to conspiracy on the part of his companions, as the Sibylline Oracles also “prophesy” (Anon. Orac. Sibyll. XIII 19–20, 204): he will fall in the ranks, smitten by gleaming iron because of jealousy and moreover betrayed by a companion. (trans. D. Potter) See also Pohlsander 1980, 464–65. 3.22. μόλις φεύγων . . . διεσώθη: Even if the emperor was indeed killed in a coup d’état, or, at least, as part of some conspiracy, still the risk P. ran and his flight to Antioch are explicable only if he had close ties to Gordian’s regime. See Oost 1958, 106–7. 3.23–24. Φιλίππου . . . ἄνεισιν: From the start, Philip took an interest in cultivating good relations with the senate and made haste to return (before 23 July 244) to Rome in order to stabilize his position (see Ensslin 1939, 88). Porphyry appears to mean that P. reached the city after Philip. Therefore, he must have arrived during the second half of 244, when—as his biographer records—he was still forty years old. But why Rome? No important philosophical movement thrived in the imperial capital, in contrast with the situation at Alexandria and at Athens. To this query I can propose the following answers: (a) Perhaps in Alexandria the shadow of Ammonius was too great for a young philosopher with his own independent thought and personal ambitions. Furthermore, all signs suggest that Ammonius had died in the meantime, and that the Platonist Origen had succeeded him in his school. That, at least, is the most likely conclusion to be derived from the fact that Longinus claims to have studied with Ammonius and Origen



Commentary to the VP 33

(20.26–28; see also Igal 1972a, 87n.46). Consequently, it is possible that the place was not big enough for P. as well. (b) In Athens, the past was more powerful than the present. The philosophical schools there were especially concerned with the continuation of tradition, which guaranteed their identity—but also their state subsidy since the reign of Marcus Aurelius— with the result that an air of unreal scholasticism prevailed. Lucian had already satirized this intellectual Cloud-­Cuckoo-­land in his Nigrinus (see Tarrant 1985a, 93–94). However, the best way to acquire a sense of the atmosphere of the Athenian schools at this time is to read the fragments of Porphyry’s Philologos Akroasis, which Eusebius preserves, PE X 3. P. never had good relations with this type of academicism (see 14.18–20, 17.1–6, 18.2–8, 19.36–37, and 20.92–97), and it is easy to understand that he avoided a direct confrontation with it. (c) On the other hand, Rome offered significant advantages: it was the center of political power, a fact that could not leave a Platonic philosopher indifferent, as is shown in chapter 12 of the VP (see also Rudberg 1922, 8). It may not have had a distinguished, academically organized intellectual life, but there did exist from the time of Augustus a public that possessed culture, sensitivity, and a developed religiosity, a sense of which we can glean from the classic study of Rostovtzeff 1927. It must have been this public that had brought there also, around the middle of the previous century, Valentinus and Numenius, and, a bit later, Alexander of Aphrodisias (see De fato 1, 164.4). And finally, P. clearly had important acquaintances at Rome who would lend him their support and introduce him to circles high in Roman society. A decisive role in this process must have been played by the Arab Zethus, a man in contact with Ammonius’ circle (on which see below at 7.17–24) and perhaps also by others. To some readers it may perhaps seem peculiar that while P. was active in Rome, his writings and, clearly, his teaching were in Greek. We must keep in mind, however, that at least since the time of Cicero, the highest and best-­educated Roman class was taught Greek from a young age. Moreover, during the third century in particular, many imperial officials were of eastern origin (see my comments at 7.29–30) and were consequently accustomed to Greek, the Mediterranean lingua franca at that time. Finally, Greek was undoubtedly the language par excellence for philosophy, and many eminent Romans, such as Brutus and Marcus Aurelius, had already chosen to express their philosophical thought in that language. For a more thorough treatment of this issue, see the work of Kaimio 1979, esp. 239–48. 3.24. Ἐρεννίῳ:One of the most shadowy, but clearly important, figures who appears in the VP is Errenius, a student of Ammonius. All that we know about him is contained in the VP. It is peculiar that no one else mentions his name—not even Longinus in his detailed and extensive work concerned with contemporary philosophers, the On the End (see below 20.17–104)—until thirteen centuries later, when Erennius makes a spectacular reappearance in a work (preserved in at least sixteen manuscripts) titled “Erennius the Philosopher’s Exegesis of Metaphysics” (ed. Mai 1837, 513–93). L. Holstenius, in a letter to Peirescius dated 9 July 1632, had already indicated that the work was a forgery, and after the careful investigation by Heitz 1889, 1167–90, and certain supplementary



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Commentary to the VP observations by C. Steel, in Westerink 1986, cxi, it has been established that the text consists of a collage of passages from works of George Pachymeres, Augustine (in a Byzantine translation), Philo of Alexandria, Alexander of Aphrodisias, Proclus, and Damascius. Attempts, such as that made by Cardona 1967, 176–90, to salvage certain small sections of the text as authentic have not been persuasive. On the other hand, while previously the person responsible for this fabrication was thought to be the “Epidaurian” (that is, Monemvasiote) copyist of the sixteenth century, Andreas Darmarios (Heitz 1889, 1186), the more recent research of Westerink, op. cit., cxiii, places the composition around the time of the fall of Constantinople to the Ottomans. See also Schrenk 1989, 452–56. 3.24. Ὠριγένει:It is now generally accepted that this person is not the same as the ecclesiastical writer also named Origen: see Weber 1962, where the relevant evidence is collected. 3.25–27. συνθηκῶν . . . ἀνεκεκάθαρτο: It is noticeable that often the most enigmatic phrases in Greek are introduced with a genitive absolute. Likewise, here the following questions arise: (a) When did the three students of Ammonius make their agreement? (b) What was the nature of his doctrines? (c) What exactly was forbidden, and what was allowed within the terms of their agreement? (d) What were the motives that led them to forge the agreement? Let us consider these questions in turn: (a) It is more or less self-­evident that the agreement must have been made after their teacher’s death, and we saw above (3.19–21) that Ammonius cannot have died before 242. Of course, we cannot exclude the possibility that the agreement took place toward the end of 242. Nevertheless, a date after P.’s Mesopotamian adventure seems more likely (see also Igal 1972a, 87–88). This, of course, presupposes a trip from Antioch to Alexandria, about which Porphyry relates nothing. But to exclude the possibility on this basis is just a feeble argumentum ex silentio: the historical narrative in chapter 3 of the VP is so summary that one can easily justify the absence of a reference to a fleeting stopover at Alexandria by P. en route to Rome. As regards also the use of the verb “he came up” (aneisin) with reference to a journey from Egypt to Rome (24), cf. 10.15. (b) As we have already stated, our knowledge of Ammonius’ doctrines is almost nonexistent. It is, however, worth noting the verb “had cleared out” (anekekatharto) that is used here, because it calls to mind the testimony of Hierocles apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 214, 172a5 about Ammonius, namely, that he “purified (diakatharanta) the doctrines of the ancient philosophers.” Cf. also 173a39–40. We find ourselves once more confronted with an indication that the “doctrines” of Ammonius were substantially the teaching of Plato and Aristotle, freed from subsequent “adulterations” (see op. cit. cod. 251, 461a28– 30) and harmonized so as to form a single “purified philosophy.” (c) Along general lines, we can gather what the terms of their agreement were from the way in which they were broken. Even though Porphyry is not very clear on this point either, he gives the impression that the transgression of the agreement was committed through the composition of certain written works. It seems that the agreement primarily regulated the conditions regarding the publication of the conclusions of Am-



Commentary to the VP 35

monius’ philosophy, hence safeguarding the common possession by the three disciples of their intellectual inheritance. (d) The objective of the agreement was neither the protection of secret teachings from the profane ears of the uninitiated, as Dörrie 1955a, 446–47 = 1976, 331–32 thinks, nor obedience to the commandments of the seventh Platonic Epistle, which implied a devaluation of the written word as a means for expressing philosophical thought, as is held by Szlezák 1977, 53–63. As has already been mentioned, Ammonius had other students as well. But the agreement bound only the three leading disciples, so as to avoid the appropriation by one of them of the school’s rights of intellectual property. This reality seems to have been too prosaic for Porphyry, or for his source, with the result that he decided to dress it up with expressions that somehow recall mystery religions or secret teachings (cf., e.g., [Clem. Rom.] Hom. XX 8; [Hermes Trism.] Asclepius 1, 297.11; and Porph. De phil. apud Eus. PE IV 8.1). These efforts are responsible for leading astray certain scholars. However, as Theiler 1968, 29n.3 notes, the expression “maintained silence about the doctrines of Ammonius” (28) need mean no more than “he wrote nothing” (33). 3.30–32. ἔγραψε . . . βασιλεύς: Porphyry’s expression here indicates that Origen’s written work was not considered to be representative of his contribution to philosophy. For this same reason, Longinus in his On the End (below 20.36–47) categorizes Origen with the philosophers who left no written work. The definite article in the title of his first writing leads one to suspect that this work does not consist of a systematic treatise on demonology, but that it is an interpretative analysis of some particular Platonic passage, for example, of Ti. 40d. This would conform better to what else we know about the type of philosophical activity practiced by Origen, and also with the context of fr. 12 = Procl. In Ti. I 76.30–77.24. As for the second writing, its title establishes clearly enough that it was a polemical work against those, like P., who made a distinction between the Demiurge of the cosmos—here, “maker” (poiētēs: cf. Pl. Ti. 28c3)—and the supreme ontological principle, which Numenius fr. 12.13 = Eus. PE XI 18 had already identified with the King of All of the second pseudo-­Platonic Epistle (312e1–2). We also know from another source that on this point Origen’s position differed from that of P.: see fr. 7 = Procl. TP II 4, 31.4–11. Related to this, see Jaeger 1915, 65n.3; Dodds 1960b, 26; Dörrie in Dodds 1960b, 42; Dörrie 1970, 222 = 1976, 394; Weber 1962, 74–113; and Isnardi Parente 1984, 58–59. For the Platonic tradition, see Dörrie 1970; as a starting point we should consider some authentic Platonic passages such as, for example, Resp. X 597e7; and Phlb. 30d2. Cf. Krämer 1967, 37. To the precursory texts referred to by Dörrie 1970, and Ferwerda 1965, 156, we can add the following as well: the Orph. fr. 245.13; Philo Quaest. in Gen. IV 8, 281 and Quaest. in Exod. II 66, 112; Dio Chr. Or. 1.39–41, 12.75, 35–37, and 36.31–32; Justin Trypho 4.2. Porphyry’s clarification about the period when Origen wrote the second work indicates that this occurred when P. himself had begun committing his thought to writing. We cannot exclude the possibility that Origen’s work was a response to some particular item among P.’s earliest writings, such as, e.g., V 1 [10] where, at paragraph 8, he undertakes for the first time an analysis of the disputed passage of the Platonic Second Epistle.



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Commentary to the VP 3.32–35. Πλωτῖνος δὲ . . . γράφων δὲ οὐδέν:As Longinus attests in his On the End (fr. 4 = VP 20.25–57), it was anything but unusual at this time to find someone who taught, but did not write philosophy. Cf. Enn. V 1.9.30–32. At 4.9–11, Porphyry explains that P. began writing—“on the subjects that came up in the meetings of the school”—in the tenth year of Gallienus’ reign (September 253/4). 3.35–38. ἦν δὲ . . . διηγεῖτο::Chapter 13, as well as many other places in the VP, and the Enneads themselves suggest that P.’s teaching must have been especially aporetic and tentative. However, during the period of intense reflection that followed his separation from Ammonius, this characteristic teaching style must have become particularly marked, at least in Amelius’ opinion. It is no doubt thanks to the industry and organizational talents of Amelius that P.’s didactic activity was so long-­lasting and successful: see Henry 1934a, 6. 3.38–42. προσῆλθε . . . τέσσερα: That is to say, from 246 to 269. For the expression “in all,” see my introduction to this section; cf. below 4.3–4. 3.43. Λυσιμάχου:From Longinus (below 20.47) we learn that the philosopher Lysimachus belonged to the Stoic school. During the third century, the divisions between the schools had ceased to be very clear, so that Amelius’ change-­over would have seemed nothing peculiar. Perhaps, indeed, his relationship with “the Stoic and Platonist” Tryphon (17.2–3) bears witness that even after this change-­over, he preserved his connections with his old colleagues. However, the suspicion has also been expressed that this same Lysimachus is none other than the Platonist philosopher of the same name who carved his name on the tomb of Memnon in Egyptian Thebes sometime in the middle of the third century: see Whittaker 1987, 99. 3.44. τὰ Νουμηνίου:For Numenius, see my comments at 14.12 and 17.1–2. That Amelius had occupied himself with the philosophy of Numenius in particular seems clear from, among other things, the fact that it was he who later undertook to explain the differences between Numenius’ thought and that of P. (17.1–6). Indeed, from certain allusions contained in the prologue of his work on this subject (see 17.40–43), it follows that Amelius’ views were, on some points, nearer to those of Numenius than of P. Consequently, it is not impossible that Amelius bears some responsibility for the impression certain contemporaries had that P.’s philosophy imitated that of Numenius. It is indicative that Iamblichus joined the two in the title of his work Contentions against Amelius and Numenius (see Procl. In Ti. II 277.28–30). Finally, Amelius’ removal to and activity in Apamea (see my comment at 2.31–33 and Goulet 1982c, 405–8) also point to his relationship with the intellectual legacy of his great Apamean predecessor. 3.46–48. σχόλια . . . κεχάρισται:Nothing has survived of these notes, which must have taken the form of “university notes,” familiar to us from later years as apo phōnēs: see Richard 1950, 191–222; and Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 270–73. There may be one reference to them in Procl. In Ti. II 213.9–11.



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According to Henry 1937a, 310–22, these notes form the basis of the so-­called Theology of Aristotle (known to us in an Arabic translation). Despite the fact that it still finds supporters (such as Brisson 1982, 68–69), this theory should be abandoned, because the Theology’s derivation from the Enneads has been definitely proven. 4.1. Τῷ δεκάτῳ . . . βασιλείας:This date, which Porphyry repeats with remarkable insistence (cf. 4.7, 4.11–12, and 5.2), is a focal point for the VP. With this as a point of reference, a whole series of events is being fixed chronologically: Amelius’ period of service at his teacher’s side (4.3–4), P.’s age (6–8 and 67–68), Porphyry’s age (8–9), and the first phase of P.’s literary activity (9–13). Porphyry’s emphasis is justified because, from the author’s point of view, the moment of his first encounter with the person whose biography he is composing is fundamental to his narrative. And it is obvious that Porphyry has a subjective approach to the events that, on some occasions, verges on self-­advertisement (see Schroeder 1987a, 518, and my comment at 6.27–37). There is, however, an important external event, which also helps to establish this date as a basis for calculations: the celebration of Gallienus’ decennalia. Since the time of Alexander Severus, no emperor had managed to commemorate such an anniverary, and Gallienus did not lose the opportunity to celebrate it “with new kinds of spectacles, new varieties of parades, and the most elaborate sort of amusements” (nouo genere ludorum, noua specie pomparum, exquisito genere uoluptatum; SHA Gallieni duo VII 4, trans. D. Magie—see the entire description up to IX 8). Despite the thorough argumentation of Oppermann 1929, 46–49, some disagreement still remains as to when this celebration took place (see Barnes 1976b, 69n.18) and whether Porphyry actually means to indicate the decennalia celebration itself (see Goulet 1982b, 190–91) by his expression dekaetia (5.2, instead of the more common dekaetēris). Nevertheless, I think that the text leaves little room for doubt: Porphyry says that he came to Rome in the tenth year of Gallienus’ reign (4.1 and 11–12) and that he arrived in the summer “a little before the tenth year of Gallienus” (5.2). Unless we wish to believe that Porphyry is contradicting himself, it is impossible to harmonize the two pieces of evidence unless we accept that the event he describes took place toward the end of Gallienus’ tenth year, 263. It would have been utterly illogical for Porphyry to have used the term dekaetia as the terminus ante quem, and to refer to the tenth anniversary of the emperor’s ascension to the throne, if he knew that his decennalia had been gloriously celebrated a year earlier. In addition, the Historia Augusta clearly refers to only one celebration. 4.2. ἐκ τῆς Ἑλλάδος:For Porphyry’s sojourn and studies in Athens, see Bidez 1913, 29–36. 4.2. Ἀντωνίου τοῦ Ῥοδίου:We do not encounter the name Antonius of Rhodes anywhere else, even though the manner in which Porphyry mentions it suggests that he is some known personality. Perhaps (together with one manuscript and Krause 1904, 10n.2), we should read “Antoninus,” in which case he would be the student of Ammo-



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Commentary to the VP nius referred to by Syrianus, In Meta. 105.29 (alongside Longinus), and Proclus, In Ti. II 154.9; on which see Dörrie 1955a, 473–77 = 1976, 357–60. 4.3–4. ὀκτωκαιδέκατον . . . συνουσίας:If Amelius had come to P.’s school in the second quarter of 246 (the beginning of the third year of Philip’s reign), then in the summer of 263 he would have spent seventeen years there and would be into his eighteenth, as Porphyry informs us. 4.6–8. ἦν δὲ Πλωτῖνος . . . ἐννέα:One of the details that has puzzled students of the VP’s chronology is the apparent inconsistency between the present passage and the end of the chapter (67–68). The “general bafflement” (grand étonnement) is well expressed by Goulet 1982b, 191. Nonetheless, I believe that careful study of the passage not only alleviates any contradiction, but furnishes us with the opportunity to determine with reasonable accuracy the date of P.’s birth, which he himself endeavored to conceal (2.37– 39). Porphyry does not give us here one piece of information in two ways, but rather, two intimately linked pieces of information: (a) that when he himself arrived in Rome, at the beginning of the summer of 263, P. was in his fifty-­ninth year of life, that is to say, he was fifty-­eight (67–68), and (b) that during the tenth year of Gallienus’ reign, P. was about fifty-­nine years old. These two pieces of information match beautifully, but only if P. completed his fifty-­ninth year after the middle of the summer of 263, a little before the decennalia, that is to say, in July or August 263. And because at the time of his death, in August 270, he had completed his sixty-­sixth year (see 2.29–31) according to the only source who seems to have possessed accurate knowledge of his teacher’s birthday, we can deduce that this must have fallen sometime in July. Porphyry may not have known the date exactly, but he took care to gather together what facts he had in order to come reasonably close to it. There is no reason to impute to Porphyry lack of clarity or imprecision at this fundamental point in the narrative as does, e.g., Igal 1972a, 51–52. 4.8–9. ἐγὼ δὲ . . . τριάκοντα: On the basis of this testimony, we can locate Porphyry’s birth between the second half of 232 and the first half of 233: see Bidez 1913, 5; and Igal 1972a, 55. Neugebauer 1975, 2:944, believed that he had found in the Apotelesmatica of Hephaestion, II 10.23–27, 112.16–32, part of Porphyry’s horoscope, which gave as his date of birth 5 October 234. But this allegation is met with justifiable skepticism by Goulet 1982b, 211. 4.11. γράφειν . . . ὑποθέσεις:It has been said that the Enneads are the nonsystematic presentation of a systematic philosophy: see, e.g., Kristeller 1929, 3. This is due to the fact that they reflect P.’s classroom teaching, which, as has already been pointed out (3.36– 37; cf. 13.9–17), was based on the questions posed by his audience. We would perhaps understand better the relationship between his treatises and the “subjects that came up in the meetings” or the “problems which came up from time to time” (5.60–61) that furnished their starting point, if we still had the “chapter headings” (kephalaia: see below, 5.62 and my comment) that Porphyry provided for each one of them. Neverthe-



Commentary to the VP 39

less, the VP as it is contains a few examples: see 10.28–33 (Enn. III 4), 13.10–17 (see my comment ad loc.), 15.21–26 (II 3), 16.9–11 (II 9), and 18.8–22 (V 5). 4.14–16. ἐκδεδομένα . . . λαμβανόντων: The term ekdosis (“issuing of copies”) usually means the handing over of a manuscript to copyists in order to begin the process of the text’s reproduction: see Marrou 1949, 221; and van Groningen 1963, 1–17. In the present case, it seems that reproduction was both selective and on a small scale, primarily for the use of those who were participating in his seminars. This, in my opinion, is due more to the close connection between the treatises and P.’s oral teaching than to some “esoterisches Wissen” they contained, as Jansen 1964, 166, believes. Cf. below 18.20 and Galen Lib. prop. Proem. 92.13–16. It seems to have been Amelius who was primarily in charge of the supervision of the whole process: see 19.21–23 and 20.8–9. 4.17–18. διὰ τὸ μὴ . . . ἐτίθει:Cf. Galen Lib. prop. Proem. 93.12–13. 4.18–19. αἱ δ’ οὖν . . . αἵδε:The titles listed here are those that had prevailed in the school’s circle. However, they are not identical to those that appear in the Enneads or in the general and partial tables of contents thereof. For a detailed comparative study, see Henry 1938, 2–28. 4.19–21. θήσω δὲ . . . βιβλίων:The custom of mentioning a book’s incipit together with its title is related to the use of a scroll, the type of book in which the treatises were undoubtedly written in their first edition: cf. the representation on the sarcophagus in the Gregorian Museum, referred to in appendix Β. 4.22–65: We should not consider it a given that the order in which Porphyry lists the twenty-­one titles corresponds precisely to the chronological order of their composition—not even Porphyry himself asserts this. Cf. Schwyzer 1951, 485.8–32. 4.67–68. πεντηκοστὸν . . . Πλωτῖνος:See above, 4.6–8. 5.1–3. Συγγεγονὼς . . . Ῥώμῃ:Porphyry reached Rome in about June 263; he stayed there until the decennalia (touto te to etos) and continued on from 263/4 to 267/8 (ephexēs alla etē pente). Before the end of Gallienus’ fifteenth year (August 268, see 6.1–3), perhaps near the end of the teaching year ( June 268), Porphyry suffered his fit of “melancholy” and subsequently left for Sicily (11.11–17). In this way he was able to say that he spent six years near P. (5.5 and 59), even if, in reality, the period was shorter than five years. Cf. Igal 1972a, 78–79. 5.3–4. τὰς θερινὰς . . . ἀργούς: The fact that P. took a holiday indicates that the school had a specified and organized annual program. We do not know for sure when exactly these feriae aestivae fell, but most likely it would have been at some point in July and August.



40

Commentary to the VP 5.6–7. καὶ γράφειν . . . καὶ ἐμοῦ:The combined prompting of Amelius and Porphyry (cf. 18.21–23) resulted in an impressive increase in P.’s literary production, which reached six times what he had written previously. See Igal 1972a, 96–99, where, however, the author’s specific conclusions concerning the year of composition of each treatise are rather speculative. 5.12–16. Γράφει . . . ὧν τὸ μὲν . . . τὸ δὲ . . . :The introductory phrases require an expression such as the kai ephexēs (“Then came . . .”) inserted by Harder after the incipit of Νο. 4 (5.17). However, the manuscripts transmit nothing, and perhaps Henry-­Schwyzer are correct in attributing the omission to Porphyry himself. 5.62. κεφαλαίων:Topic summaries: see my comments on 4.11, 20.84–5, and 26.32–35. 6.1–3. Ἐν δὲ . . . Γαλλιήνου: For the circumstances that led to Porphyry’s journey, see 11.11–19. 6.15–17. Ταῦτα μὲν . . . πέμπει ταῦτα: The penultimate group of five treatises must have been written while P. was in Rome, because Porphyry (3.40–41) says that during the first year of Claudius’ reign Amelius was still with him. We can be less sure about the last group of four, even if the bad state of health at the time of his departure and the close relationship that existed between his literary and didactic activity strongly suggest that probably these too were written before he left for Campania. See Igal 1972a, 82–85; and Schwyzer 1978, 315.63–316.16. 6.27–37. ὥσπερ δὲ . . . πέντε:The subdivision of P.’s work that Porphyry attempts here is arbitrary to a great degree, and indicative of a rather egocentric attitude, given that his own presence in Rome forms the criterion for his judgments. Also, the schema that he uses, “in early life—in his prime—in decline,” is a commonplace and one that is rather ill-­fitted to an author who began to write at age fifty, at least as far as the quality of his writing is concerned. See Schwyzer 1951, 484.14–44; Rist 1967b, 9; and Igal 1972a, 105– 6; but for a different view, see Hadot 1963, 155. The only aspect of Porphyry’s evaluation that can be deemed to correspond to reality is that concerned with quantity: I have already mentioned the significant increase in the bulk of P.’s literary output after the tenth year of Gallienus’ reign (5.6–7), and it is a fact that this decreased somewhat during the last years of his life. It is also observable that the four longest treatises—IV 3–5, VI 1–3, III 8–V 8–V 5–II 9, and VI 7—were all written during the “middle” period. But the presence among the “early” works of IV 7, IV 8, VI 9, and V 1, and among the “last” of III 2–3, V 3, and I 8, is sufficient to demonstrate the failure of any attempt to connect a date of composition with an estimation of their value. It is, however, a different question whether, given that we have a general impression of the sequence in which the treatises were written, we can distinguish some development as regards their theoretical content. From time to time, various positions have been formulated on this subject, from the extreme evolutionism of Heinemann 1921, passim; to the moderate views of Guitton 1959, 71–86; Puech 1960, 187; Rist 1963a, 223;



Commentary to the VP 41

Matter 1964, passim; Igal 1979, 315–17; and Narbonne 1987, 25–26; to the denial of any development in P.’s philosophical work, with the exception of small differences in emphasis or in the manner in which the theories are presented: see Wundt 1919, 24; Schwyzer 1951, 547.49–548.32; Armstrong 1967b, 218; Blumenthal 1971a, 4; and O’Meara 1975, 125–28. It is my view that, while some modification in the subjects that occupy P. and in the way he approaches them in different periods is apparent at some points, we cannot speak of any substantial development or modification of his theories (but see my comment at 13.10–12). This may be due not only to the fact that he started writing at a mature age, but also to the fact that he understood philosophical activity not as the acquisition of new knowledge, or as an evolving formulation of new theories, but as the revelation and realization of an inner truth that was given from the beginning. 7.1–2. Ἔσχε . . . συνόντας: Porphyry’s division of those who followed P.’s teaching into two circles rests on the degree to which the participants wanted to occupy themselves seriously with philosophy. The “listeners” (akroatai) were more or less occasional visitors, many of whom no doubt wanted simply to cultivate an ear for philosophical discourse—“for the sake of acquiring general knowledge (historia),” as Albinus says, Introd. 5, 149.28–29—and then to return to their public or other engagements. Among these were probably also included the “friends” (philoi), to whom reference is made at Enneads II 9.10.3–5 (see also below, 10.26). But the narrower circle of students was composed of the “associates” (hetairoi: 2.12, 19, 41–42, 7.50, 12.9, etc.), the “close acquaintances” (gnōrimoi: 20.33 and Enn. II 9.10.8), or “zealots” (zēlōtai), who maintained close personal relations with the teacher and demonstrated particular devotion to philosophy, without, however, this being necessarily their primary occupation. It is noteworthy that from among the “zealots” Porphyry mentions, only he and Amelius can really be considered as proper philosophers. For an extensive presentation of the subject, see Goulet-­ Cazé 1982, 233–38. 7.2–3. Ἀμέλιον . . . τὸ κύριον:Amelius was P.’s most important disciple and collaborator. Besides the organization of the school and the presentation and analysis of his teacher’s philosophy through editing (19.22–23) and commentary (3.46–48), he undertook P.’s defense against critics (17.1–6) and opponents (16.12–14). Almost all we know about Amelius is contained in the VP. On the other hand, fragments from his teaching are preserved in quite a few later authors. See Brisson 1987, 795–860. The relationship between Amelius and Pophyry cannot be described as inimical, because, among other things, the former had dedicated a book to the latter (see 17.6). But it was clearly competitive, at least from Porphyry’s point of view, as the only talent he seems to recognize in Amelius is his industriousness (3.43–45). He mocks Amelius’ religiosity (10.33–34) and does not hesitate to brand his style of writing “unphilosophical” (21.17). In a fragment preserved by Proclus, In Ti. II 300.25–32, Porphyry describes with some malice how “Amelius was greatly hurt” when on one occasion Porphyry entered his classroom and upset his entire argument with a small philological emendation in the text that was being interpreted. See also Pépin 1982, 8.



42

Commentary to the VP We do not know the reasons why Amelius distanced himself from P. shortly before the latter’s death. Quite apart from P.’s ghastly illness (2.16) and Amelius’ own urgent duties (19.23), a certain cooling off of relations between them is perceptible, which could possibly have been related to Porphyry’s growing influence on his teacher but may also be linked to differences with regard to important theoretical issues (cf. 17.42). It is not, perhaps, coincidental that right after Amelius departed, P. wrote the treatise “On What Are and Whence Come Evils” (I 8 [51]), in which he comes into direct conflict with Amelius’ views, as they are known to us from Asclepius In Nicom. I 45.3–5, 32, and Philoponus In Nicom. I 45.2–3. Porphyry establishes clearly that Amelius’ nomen was Gentilianus: cf. 20.15, 33, 71, and 88. Consequently, the distinction made by Cyril of Alexandria, C. Jul. VIII, 936a 3–4, between an Amelius and a Gentilianus is due to misunderstanding. 7.3–5. αὐτὸς . . . λέγων:The text does not make it clear here whether it was P. or Amelius himself who made the change in Amelius’ name. The auton in the manuscript tradition at 7.4 (and regarding the adventures of which, see Cherniss 1952, 248), does not consitute a testimony for what Porphyry wrote, because it seems that Eunapius, VS IV 2.1, 9.5, had already read (or understood) hauton: see H-­S2, 2:xii n.3 and Tarán 1984, 476–77. Neither the arguments of Harder—nor those of Tarán, op. cit. 478–79, in support of the former view—seem persuasive to me: the expression autos . . . auton, even in this form, appears to the impartial reader to be reflexive. It is very likely that “Amelius” is a supernomen (cf. Kajanto 1967, 16 and 76), but this does not mean that—as Tarán suggests at 478, contradicting himself a little further on—it could have been changed arbitrarily by Amelius himself; while at the same time, we have no reason to believe that Amelius was above self-­praise, or humor: cf. 17.40–44. On the other hand, there are some signs that he enjoyed playing with words (see 7.6–7, 17.1–5, and cf. my comment at 7.17), in keeping with the Platonic tradition, which certainly traces its origin to Plato’s Cratylus: cf. 17.13–14; Bieler 1935, 1:31–33; and Tarrant 1985a, 89–90. On the role of indivisibility (amereia) in P.’s philosophy, see, e.g., Enn. III 7.6.49, IV 2.1.18, IV 7.8.25, and VI 7.18.39–40. 7.6. ἰατρικόν:We know of three doctors in P.’s narrow circle: Paulinus, Eustochius, and Zethus. This may explain the interest in medicine and the medical knowledge that are apparent at various points in the Enneads. See, e.g., I 8.14.24, II 9.14.21–23, IV 3.7.22–25, 23.9–21, and IV 4.29.5–7. It should be noted that, in this regard, P. conformed to the tradition of those, mostly Platonic, philosophers who, as Galen would have put it (Lib. prop. 4, 88.5–7), could “handle competently both medical and philosophical theoretical concepts” and who often dealt with medical problems, usually in the context of analysis of the parts of the Timaeus that are concerned with the physiological. See, e.g., Aulus Gellius NA XVII 11; “Alcinous” Didasc. 17–22; Apuleius De Plat. I 15–8. On the other hand, doctors’ interest in philosophy was intense in this period, as Galen’s treatise, That the Best Doctor Is also a Philosopher (Opt. Med., in Scripta minora 2:1–8), bears witness.



Commentary to the VP 43

7.6–7. Σκυθοπολίτην Παυλῖνον . . . προσηγόρευε:We know nothing about this Paulinus of Scythopolis, except that he died before P. (7.16–17). Deserving of mention, however, is the conjecture of Benamozegh 1868, 862–74, according to which this person is to be identified with the (of notoriously short stature) Rabbi Mar Samuel (ca. 180–257), about whom the Talmud relates that he had meetings and conversations with some famous non-­Jewish teacher called Aplat (‫ )טלבא‬or Paltia (Plotinus?). This is, of course, impossible to prove on the basis of the evidence in our possession, but it must be noted that the arguments adduced by Merlan 1964, 20–21, to refute the theory rest on an entirely mistaken dating of the events. The nickname “Mikkalos” (referring again to shortness of stature) is not completely novel and may even have had a Semitic parallel: see Robert 1963, 56–57. However, in order to appreciate Amelius’ sense of humor, we should recall that Aristotle uses, once only, in a logical example the term “musical Mikkalos” (An. pr. I 33, 47b30–36), a fact that makes the name comically unfitted to someone who “was full of mishearings” (parakousmatōn plērēs): see Igal ad loc. 7.7. παρακουσμάτων:We encounter this word in the Platonic Epistle VII, 338d3 and 340b6, and it is not impossible that behind it lies an e contrasto allusion to the Pythagorean “hearings” (akousmata). 7.8–12. Ἀλεξανδρέα Εὐστόχιον . . . φιλοσόφου:One of the most attractive characters of the VP is the faithful Eustochius. All that we know about him is derived from this work and from the ancient scholium at Enn. IV 4.29.55, which mentions an edition by him of some of P.’s treatises. The phrase “toward the end of his life” has evoked various interpretations. I prefer that of Igal 1972a, 22–23n.34, which, as his opponent Schwyzer 1976a, 86, admits, corresponds more satisfactorily with the text’s word order. According to this view, the disputed expression refers to Eustochius and not to P.; but it should be noted that if Eustochius knew P. toward the end of his own life, the phrase applies a fortiori to P., as we know that the latter died before Eustochius. 7.12. Ζωτικὸς . . . ποιητικός:Besides what is recorded here, we know nothing else about this Zoticus. See Brisson 1982, 85. As to the characterization “critic and poet,” cf. that applied to Philetas of Cos (test. 13 in Strabo Geogr. XIV 657): poiētēs hama kai kritikos. 7.13. τὰ Ἀντιμάχου Διορθωτικά:The presence of a definite article shows that this is the title of a literary work (i.e., “he [sc., Zoticus] composed The Corrections to Antimachus”), otherwise Wilamowitz’s correction (eis ta) would be indispensable; as for the work’s contents, it must have included corrections to the main poetical work of Antimachus of Colophon (second half of the fifth–mid fourth century BCE), because the latter’s philological activity was limited to the edition of Homer and did not extend to textual emendation. See Pfeiffer 1968, 94; and for the meaning of the term diorthōsis (“correction”), Erbse 1959, 286–89. In this context it is worth remembering that Antimachus



44

Commentary to the VP enjoyed Plato’s special esteem: see Heraclid. Pont. fr. 6 apud Procl. Ιn Ti. I. 90.20–24; Cic. Brutus 51.191; and Plut. Lysandrus 18, 443d. 7.14. Ἀτλαντικόν:The reference is evidently to Plato’s Critias. Interest in this dialogue in connection with the story of Atlantis in the Timaeus, 24e1–25d6, was lively from the time of Numenius. See Procl. Ιn Ti. I, 76.21–77.24. 7. 17. Ζῆθον . . . γένος: This Arab, at whose country estate P. died (2.18–21), was an old acquaintance of his—perhaps since P.’s time in Alexandria. Zethus’ political activity (7.20–21) may have been tied to the ascent to the throne of his fellow Arab, Philip, in which case it is quite likely that he played a crucial role in P.’s decision to come to Rome (3.23–24). We should not exclude the possibility that “Zethos” too was a school nickname. A long tradition existed according to which the mythical Zethos, one of the sons of Antiope in Euripides’ play of that name, represents the “practical life,” in contrast with his brother Amphion, who sapientiam laudat (Cic. Inu. I 94: see Dodds 1959, 275–76). 7.18. Θεοδοσίου . . . ἑταίρου:Another unknown figure. Von Arnim 1887, 283–85, undertook to identify this Theodosius with the Platonic successor Theodotus (or Theodoulos) to whom Longinus refers below (20.39), and/or with Theodotus, author of a Collectio Ammonii scholarum according to Priscian, Solut. ad Chosroem, Proem. 42.15–16. But the solid counterarguments of Schwyzer 1983, 47–51, render these hypotheses worthless. 7.24–25. Καστρίκιος . . . γεγονώς: Our knowledge of Castricius Firmus is somewhat fuller. The manner in which Porphyry introduces Castricius’ second name makes it clear that it was a supernomen (on this subject, see Kajanto 1967, 52) and that keklēmenos serves in place of the distinguishing signo. Porphyry addresses his work De abstinentia to him, calling him either by his first (II 1.1 and IV 1.1) or by his second name, or by both (III 1.1). The motive for this work was Castricius’ abandonment of the “meatless diet” (I 1.1–3.1), but Porphyry treats him with evident respect and invokes their “mutual friendship.” It is possible that Castricius had composed a—somewhat superficial, according to Damascius’ judgment—commentary on Plato’s Parmenides: see Dam. Hist. Philos. fr. 97I apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 242.275, 351a33. Less persuasive is his identification with Castricius of Nicaea, a fragment of whose work is preserved in a codex of the Suda, s.v. Homer = Allen 1920, 5:256. He must have been a person of some influence and with a significant fortune (see 2.22–23 and 33), but not a senator as the PLRE 1:340 presents him: see the distinction made at 7.29 (de . . . kai . . .). In my opinion, it would be worth looking into whether this is none other than the first of the minusculos tyrannos of the Historia Augusta. Both were “lovers of beauty” (philokalōtatoi: for the meaning of this word, see Brisson 1987, 815n.30): “Vopiscus” was impressed by the luxuriousness of the house and the size of Firmus’ library, while, at the same time, he adds that his business enterprises reached as far as India (SHA Firmus III 2–3). His proverbial gluttony (carne multa uescebatur, struthionem ad diem comedisse



Commentary to the VP 45

fertur, op. cit. IV 2) seems, at first glance, an utterly incompatible characteristic for a member of P.’s circle; but, in fact, it is precisely the kind of remark we would expect a source such as Aurelius Festiuus (see op. cit. V 2) to make about a rival of his protector, Aurelian, especially if he had heard about his abandonment of vegetarianism. Castricius was a warm supporter of Zenobia (op. cit. V 1 and 3; cf. Merlan 1964, 15–16), and it seems that he was backed by exactly the same political factors who had earlier supported the followers of Gordian as well (Aegyptorum incitatus furore, op. cit. III 1). Finally, we have indications that men, such as Anatolius, who belonged to the circle of P. and Porphyry took part in the Alexandrian revolt that he led: see Eus. HE VII 32.7–11. And, by a strange coincidence, it is precisely the reference to the consequent destruction of the Bruchium at the hands of Aurelian that causes Ammianus Marcellinus to recall the teaching of P. at the school of Ammonius Saccas (XXII 16.15–16: cf. my comment above at 3.6–13). If, as I suggest, Castricius had such close ties to Egypt, then Porphyry’s appeal to “the ancestral laws of philosophy, of which you were an enthusiast” (Abst. I 2.3; cf. Philo VC 28) is more easily understandable. 7.29–30. ἠκροῶντο . . . οὐκ ὀλίγοι:Since the Severan dynasty, the majority in the Roman Senate had passed into the hands of prouinciales of oriental and African origin. Despite the reduction in its power, the Senate was still capable, in certain circumstances, of undertaking important initiatives, as is clear from the occasion on which its two members, Pupienus and Balbinus, were elevated to the throne. Its members were the holders of the traditional, albeit usually only nominal, political and religious offices, and it continued to represent the class of rich landowners. Its primary opponents were the military officer class, which consisted mainly of Pannonians, and in general, the rising class of the equites, which by now included many Christians, as Valerian’s edict of 257 testifies (see Cyprian Ep. 80, I 2). The Senate’s political power was decisively weakened when, after Valerian’s capture, his son Gallienus was compelled, under pressure from the military establishment, to restrict the senators’ privileges in provincial administration and to forbid their participation in the administration of the army: see Aur. Vict. Caesares 33, 33–34. At the same time, he halted persecution of the Christians. See also Brisson 1982, 127–30 for the basic bibliography. 7.31. Μάρκελλος Ὀρρόντιος:I prefer the reading of Orontius with one “r.” As Brisson 1982, 102, observes, this spelling, which is equally well attested in the manuscripts, points to a Syrian origin for this senator. But see, in support of the other spelling, Barbieri 1952, 252–53, No. 1451. It is possible, but by no means certain, that this is the same Marcellus to whom Longinus’ On the End is dedicated (see below, 20.17= Longinus fr. 4.17), as is suggested by Alföldi 1930, 27n.153 = 1967, 256n.153; and Henry 1934a, 5n.4. 7.31. Σαβινίλλος:This figure was consul ordinarius, together with Gallienus, in 266. See CIL 6:2819; and Barbieri 1952, No. 1718. I consider it not impossible that Sabinillus was buried in a sarcophagus now to be found in the Naples Museum (No. 1053 in the Guida Ruesch, Ruesch [1927]) that came



46

Commentary to the VP from Potuoli (see Amelung 1908, No. 60: cf. above, 2.24). The careful study of this sarcophagus by Himmelmann-­Wildschütz 1962, 110–24, dates it to the so-­called Gallienic Renaissance, suggests that it belonged to someone who had held the office of consul, and explains that the deceased, who is portrayed in the center of the panel, wears the philosopher’s cloak (pallium), indicating, if not his philosophical activity, then at least a strong interest in philosophy. 7.32. Ῥογατιανὸς ἐκ τῆς συγκλήτου:Alföldi 1930, 27 (1967, 255) n.152, mentions that, according to an inscription dated to the end of the third century (ILS 9362), a M. Julius Quintianus Flauius Rogatianus donated an entire library to his hometown of Timgad in Numidia. See also Barbieri 1952, 307, No. 1713 and 284, No. 1612. 7.32–39. ὃς εἰς τοσοῦτον . . . καθεύδειν:The graphic story of the senator who, instead of becoming praetor, prefers to leave the lictors waiting for him at the door, and out of love for philosophy pursues the life of a clochard, is a most vivid testimony to the direct effect that P.’s activity had in Rome. Teachings such as those contained, e.g., in Enneads I 2.7.24–27, I 4.14.14–20, and I 6.7.35–39 could lead to a stance such as that of Rogatianus (certainly Galen, Lib. prop. 4, 89.3–4, had already considered the practice of either medicine or philosophy incompatible with public life). However, at the same time, the Plat­ onopolis scheme (see 12.3–9) shows that P. himself was not without political views and was certainly not satisfied with current standards of political life. It is through this lens that we ought to view his exhortations (7.20–21 and 45–46). See also Rudberg 1922, 11–12. 7.39–44. σιτεῖσθαι . . . μετιόντες:This event must have made a great impression on Porphyry, who was sensitive to these issues; for this reason he refers to the story again in Abst. I 53.3 (cf. also I 2.1), but without mentioning Rogatianus’ name. From that text we learn that the infirmity had lasted eight entire years. 7.46–47. Σεραπίων Ἀλεξανδρεύς:Serapion of Alexandria, too, is otherwise unknown to us. 7.50–51. Πορφύριον . . . ἠξίου:Porphyry ends his list of P.’s close disciples with himself, taking care to emphasize how it was P. who had entrusted him with the editing of his writings (see also 24.2–3), clearly because he esteemed Porphyry’s brilliant philological studies in Athens. Porphyry’s home was Tyre in Phoenicia: cf. 20.91; Eun. VS IV 1.1. Some later Christian writers such as John Chrysostom, Anastasius of Sinai, Jerome, et al. refer to him diminishingly as the Bataneōtēs, which may be related to his parents’ origin. See Zeller 1923, 693n.1; Bidez 1913, 5–6; and Rinaldi 1980, 25–37. For Porphyry’s life, the work of Bidez is still invaluable. 8.1–4. Γράψας . . . ἀνάγνωσιν: The reference to his philological contribution provides Porphyry with the opportunity (gar) for a tremendously valuable digression on P.’s



Commentary to the VP 47

method of composition. These first four lines of section 8 are the subject of a close analysis by O’Brien 1982b, 331–67. Nevertheless, the view he advocates seems to me to be overinterpretative: to understand metabalein here in the same way as at 8.11 (“copying”) is to overlook the fact that there we are dealing with a simile, whereas at 8.1 Porphyry is speaking literally. The defectiveness of P.’s sight must have appeared gradually, and it was only toward the end of his life that he became totally blind (2.14–15; see O’Brien, 345–46, but also my comment at 14.10–11). In this context, it is interesting to note the observation of Roussos 1968, 6–7, that “the majority of occasions when P. mentions the names of philosophers is in the books belonging to his first period of composition. Only a few names of philosophers are referred to in the second period. In the books written during the third and fourth periods, P. does not mention the name of any philosopher, neither Presocratic, nor any other, except, of course, his great model, Plato.” 8.4–6. ἔγραψε δὲ . . . ἐχόμενος:P.’s disdain for written expression of his ideas—and even for the details of pronunciation (see 13.2–5)—has well-­known Platonic roots: cf. Pl. Phaedrus 277e5–278b2 and the Platonic Epistle VII, 341b7–e5, etc. These imperfections of his writing are primarily what made Porphyry’s interventions necessary; cf. 26.37–39. More difficult to comprehend is his “unclear division of the syllables,” considering that this was a period when it was not yet conventional even to separate words from one another. Perhaps, as Harder and Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 282n.3 suggest, the reference is to P.’s use of a slovenly cursive style of writing, rather than more easily legible majuscule letters. 8.8–20. συντελέσας . . . ἐχάλασεν: This characteristic independence of noetic thought from the circumstances in which it is expressed is a manifestation of P.’s belief concerning the permanent contact between the higher soul and the hypostatic Nous. Cf., e.g., Enn. I 4.13.1–6, IV 8.8.1–3. See also Rist 1973, 78–79. The continuous use of words with the prefix “sun-­” (suntelesas, suneiren, suneirōn, episunēpse, sunēn) alludes to the unitary character of P.’s self-­concentration. Cf. Schroeder 1987b, 677–98. 8.21–23. ἢ μόνον . . . ἐπιστροφή: According to P., even sleep cannot separate the soul’s attachment to Nous; see Enn. I 4.9.17–23. But for Porphyry, sleep, which has also symbolic meaning (cf. below, 22.40 and 23.3–4), ought to be limited to the minimum, with “light fare, tending toward a fast”: see Αbst. I 27.2–28.2. Cf. Pl. Leg. VI 808b3–c2; Iambl. VPyth. 3.13, 10.11–15, 31.188, and 104.18. And it is also appropriate to mention here that Aristotle had underlined the link between food and sleep: see Insomn. 3, 456a30–b34. The first Christian monks also tried to reduce sleep to the minimum: cf., e.g., the anonymous VPach. I 60. 9.1. Ἔσχε:After the digression in section 8, Porphyry returns to the enumeration of the members of P.’s circle (cf. 7.1, 5, 8, 17, and 49).



48

Commentary to the VP 9.1. γυναῖκας . . . προσκειμένας: In the ancient philosophical schools, and particularly among the Pythagoreans and the Neoplatonists, the notion of the equality of men and women predominated. Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 239–40, has gathered together the best-­ known examples of female philosophers. See also the “feminist” fragment of Theodore of Asine: test. 40 = Procl. In Remp. I 251.1–4 and 253.1–255.28. 9.2–3. Γεμίναν . . . καλουμένην:Gemina’s house must have been rather spacious, in order to accommodate the children to whom P. was guardian (9.9–10), as well as Chione with her own children (11.3). It is most likely that the house also served as the venue for P.’s school. Saffrey 1992, 32, has suggested that the elder Gemina might be the widow of the emperor Trebonianus Gallus, whose full name was Afinia M. F. Gemina Baebiana. This would provide a further indication of the ties connecting P. with the senatorial circles of Roman society. 9.3–5. Ἀμφίκλειαν . . . γυναῖκα:If the Iamblichus referred to here is the famous Neoplatonist philosopher (see Merlan 1960, 67n.4; and Dillon 1973a, 7; Igal ad loc. opposes this view), the passage offers important facts about his life. The most significant, as Cameron 1968, 374–75, observed, is related to his birth: as we shall see, the composition of the VP took place around 300, and Amphiclea must already have been married to Ariston during this period, presumably after P.’s death (“she became” / gegonuian). So, even in the unlikely event that both Iamblichus and his son married in their twenty-­fifth year, the date of Iamblichus’ birth cannot have been after 250. If we combine this with the information we gather, as Barnes 1978, 104, shows from two letters of pseudo-­Julian (nos. 187 and 184 Bidez-­Cumont = 79 and 78 Wright), namely, that Iamblichus died around 320 “at a very great age,” a birthdate around 240 becomes more likely: see now also Dillon 1987b, 865–66. The evidence of the Suda, s.v. Iamblichus (“who came into being during the reign of the emperor Constantine”) is in any case unreliable. As for Amphiclea, she must have been significantly older than her husband because, before his departure from Rome in 268, Porphyry described her as a woman well-­versed in philosophy. Dillon’s hypothesis, 1973a, 6–7, that she was one of the maidens referred to below (9.10), allows us to reduce somewhat the age difference. 9.5–16. πολλοὶ δὲ . . . σῳζομένας:Harder (ad loc.; see also 1960c, 91 and 1960b, 284–85) complains that Porphyry here is garnishing with sentimentality a reality that was clearly regulated by Roman law: the tutela testamentaria. However, Porphyry makes it clear that the parents entrusted their children to P. before their death, and, after the restoration of the text under consideration, it is clear that these children had other guardians (ep’ ekeinois; see LSJ, s.v. epi B III 6), who sent their accounts to P. for review. So P.’s role was that of honorary guardian (honorarius), that is to say, of overseer of the actions of each guardian; see with reference to this, Ulpian apud CIC Digesta XXVI 7, 3.2. This essentially supervisory responsibility fits better anyway with the philosopher’s general social activity (cf. 9.21). Whatever the facts of the matter, Harder himself accepts that P.’s hospitality and concern for the education of the children certainly exceeded any legal obligations that



Commentary to the VP 49

may have applied to him, and they offer us a glimpse of an unexpectedly tender side of his personality. 9.18–22. ἦν δὲ . . . ἔσχε:Cf. Lucian Demon. 9–10; and Galen De an. aff. et pecc. 32.2–4. This gentleness is an aspect of P.’s personality that Porphyry refers to again and again: cf. 13.8 and 23.2. P.’s assumption of the role of arbitrator, a responsibility that most people tried to avoid (see Bowersock 1969, 33–34), betrays, apart from the esteem that he clearly enjoyed in the eyes of others, a strong sense of social responsibility on his part. 10.1–13. Τῶν δὲ . . . ἐπαύσατο:P. himself was the narrator of this story, which must have taken place in Alexandria while he was studying under Ammonius (see 10: “said . . . on that occasion”). So, it is legitimate for us to interpret it e Plotino on the basis of what is said about magic in the Enneads. From this it is clear that P., like all his contemporaries, believed in the efficacy of magic: see IV 4.43.3–5, 16–17 and IV 9.3.4–6. But he widens, and simultaneously limits, its field of action: magic governs all mankind’s doings, as it is indissociable from the “enchantment” that is the motive force behind human practical behavior (IV 4.43.18–20). On the other hand, intellectual contemplation remains “insusceptible to enchantment” (agoēteutos: IV 4.44.1). And so, while the irrational and material part of man receives the magical influences of his surroundings, he himself, in the degree to which he has identified himself with his higher self, “by counter-­chants and counter-­incantations will dissolve the powers on the other side” (IV 4.43.8). Consequently, it is a misunderstanding to believe, as does Merlan 1953, 343, that P. practiced magic in order to rebuff the attacks of Olympius. His counter-­incantations had a purely philosophical and not a practical character. See Armstrong 1955, 76–77; and Dodds 1960b, 29. The Platonist Celsus (second half of the second century), apud Origen C. Cels. VI 41, also mentions that a certain Egyptian “musician” named Dionysius had once told him that “magical arts were effective with uneducated people and with men of depraved moral character, but that with people who had studied philosophy they were not able to have any effect, because they were careful to lead a healthy way of life” (trans. H. Chadwick). The question of what were the practices Olympius used and what, in fact, did P. understand as their action, is another matter. The terminology Porphyry employs (“to star-­ strike”), shows that astral sympathies were called upon: for this subject, see Festugière 1944–54, 1:90–91. Among other things, their effects, such as the feeling that one’s limbs are being squeezed together, remind us that, according to P., the foundation of magic is erotic, that “the true magic is the love (philia) in the All”; see Enn. IV 4.40.1–20; and also Hadot 1982, 286–89. Finally, the characteristic phrase from Plato’s Symposium, 190e7–8, brings to mind, e.g., the hair-­raising statuette used for sorcery that is described by Wünsch 1902, 26–31. Harder attempted to link P.’s symptoms with the “disease of the bowels” he suffered from (2.1; see also Merlan 1953, 341–42). But Porphyry says that it was his limbs (and not his insides) that were being squeezed together and, as we noted at 2.2, P.’s illness appeared rather toward the end of his life.



50

Commentary to the VP Accusations of the use of magic to subvert competitors were not uncommon in philosophical and rhetorical schools. Libanius, for example, was accused of having used magic by a certain Bemarchius: see Libanius Or. I 43, 105.5–10. 10.15–16. Αἰγύπτιος . . . γνωρισθείς:Bernays 1866, 136, had maintained earlier that this anonymous Egyptian should be identified with the Egyptian whom Porphyry, Abst. II 47.1, refers to as an authority on subjects relating to the fate of souls after death and necromancy. Festugière 1936, 586–89, rejected this theory and proposed that the latter was none other than Hermes Trismegistus himself, the mythical founder of all “Egyptian” wisdom. But the aorist that Porphyry uses at that point (“he disclosed to us”) and the expression “verified by experience” (ek tēs peiras edokimasen) are not appropriate for a reference to an ancient mythological personage and weaken somewhat the negative part of Festugière’s argumentation, while leaving intact his suggestion that the Egyptian’s views are of Hermetic provenance. At another point in the De abstinentia, IV 8.4, Porphyry relates that the Egyptian priests “counted among the greatest impieties to sail away from Egypt . . . and considered that the only legitimate reason for such voyages was to perform a service for the king.” Thanks to two papyrological finds (PHerm 124 and 125), we happen to know that for precisely such serious reasons Aurelius Plution, one of the high officials from the Mouseion in the Egyptian holy city of Hermoupolis, had repeatedly visited Rome during the reign of the emperor Gallienus: on this, see Méautis 1918, 173–76. The fact that the “officials and council” of his city make a point of emphasizing that the eponymous god Hermes Trismegistus “stands by you everywhere” shows that views about the “accompanying” (sunontes) gods, which did not fundamentally differ from those of the priest mentioned in the present passage, were widespread: cf. also Corpus Hermeticum I 2, 7.10. In addition, as Plutarch relates in De Is. et Os. 3, 352a–b, the priesthood of Hermoupolis attached particular significance to the cult of Isis: cf. CH Asclepius 37, 348.3–8. 10.18. τοῦ συνόντος . . . δαίμονος:The belief in guardian spirits sprang from the realm of popular belief (cf. Hes. Op. 122–23; and Menander fr. CAF 550), made its way into the philosophical tradition early on, and found a rather unsystematic expression in the work of Plato: see especially Phd. 107d5–8, Resp. X 620d8–e4, Plt. 271d6–7, and Leg. IV 713c5–e3; also the Aristotelian evidence provided by the Gnostic Isidore apud Clem. Al. Strom. VI 6, 53.2–3 = Arist. fr. 193. Generally, see Andres 1918, 278.52–288.62; Dodds 1951, 42–43; Beaujeu 1973, 183–201; Brown 1978, 71–72; and Nilsson 1973, 210–13. For a comparison of these spirits with the daimonion of Socrates in particular, see Rist 1963b, 13–24. 10.19–20. ἐν τῷ Ἰσίῳ:The use of the definite article makes it more or less certain that the reference here is to the most important Iseum in Rome, the Iseum Campense in the Campus Martius, about which see, e.g., Witt 1971, 60–61 with pls. 41–43; and Griffiths 1975, 327 and bibliography.



Commentary to the VP 51

The priest’s choice of location does not mean that P. himself was a devotee of Isis, as Cumont 1921–22, 86–92, would have it; to the contrary, a little later (10.33–36) it becomes clear that P. maintained a certain distance from actual cult practice: see also Cilento 1960, 264n.1. 10.22. αὐτοψίαν:This is a technical term indicating the type of ritual in which the participant is himself the viewer of the god’s manifestation (“when the one performing the rites sees the divine lights himself ”: Psellus Opusc. philos. 38, 136.6; see also the parallel passage to which Bidez 1936, 95–96 refers); cf. PGM IV 162, 222, 930, 953, V 55, Va 3, VII 319, 335, 727; Thess. De uirt. herb. 51.2; Porph. De philos. fr. 329F = Eus. PE IV 20.1, and Ad An. 2.9, 21.6; Iambl. Myst. II 4, 76.17, II 6, 82.18, and II 7, 83.10; see also Eitrem 1929, 49–51. 10.22–23. θεὸν . . . γένους:The criteria for distinguishing between the different types of epiphanies are set out in detail by Iamblichus, Myst. II 3–10, who, it seems, did not miss the opportunity to put the distinctions into practice: cf. Eun. VS VI 11.11, 40.8–13, where he describes how Iamblichus calmed the audience at a similar gathering by explaining to them that he who appeared was not Apollo, but simply a phantom of some unfortunate gladiator! On this, see Dodds 1973, 209. 10.24–25. θεὸν . . . συνόντα:According to P.’s own theory, each person’s “allotted guardian spirit” belongs to the next rank up from that in which he himself is active: see Enn. III 4.3.1–8. In line with this theory, if P.’s “companion daimōn” was a god, he himself belonged to the rank of demons between gods and men. For a similar story about Pythagoras, see Arist. fr. 192 = Iambl. VPyth 6.30–31, 18.1–16, but it is doubtful whether this would be appropriate for P., who had even higher aspirations for the wise man: see Enn. III 4.6.1–6. 10.26–27. τοῦ συνθεωροῦντος . . . πνίξαντος:What role did these birds play in the rite? If Porphyry’s explanation is correct, then we should rule out the suggestion of Eitrem 1942, 64–65, according to which their strangling was part of the ritual. As Dodds observes in 1951, 290–91, their presence probably had an apotropaic function: see also Thorndike 1923, 1:301; and Cumont 1949, 409–11. For the term “protection” (phulakē), cf. Procl. De sacr. 149.6; and Delatte 1927, 414.6 and 27. 10.28. διὰ φόβον:The fear of the anonymous “friend” was not entirely unjustified. As Cumont notes, 1921–22, 82, it was believed that the uninitiated, when they penetrated into the sanctuary of a temple and came face to face with a god, risked losing their lives. Cf. Exod. 33:20. 10.28. θειοτέρων δαιμόνων:The expression betrays a tendency on the part of Porphyry to weaken the distinction between gods and demons, which constitutes the theoretical basis of the entire story. A similar stance predominates in his Ad Anebo, 1.3–4, 5.4–7.13,



52

Commentary to the VP but the work in which the view acquires a certain clarity is the De regressu animae, where it is said that “he distinguished angels from demons” (discernat a daemonibus angelos; fr. 293F apud Aug. De ciu. D. X 9). It is clearly these latter “who come down to earth and reveal divine truth to theurgists” (qui deorsum descendentes hominibus theurgicis diuina pronuntierunt; fr. 285F apud Aug. De ciu. D. X 26), which correspond to the “more godlike spirits” of our text. 10.29. τὸ θεῖον ὄμμα:The expression is certainly inspired by Plato, Resp. VII 533d2–3; cf. 519b2–5, Soph. 254a10–b1, and Friedländer 1969, 340–41nn.15 and 16; also, e.g., Enn. VI 8.19.3–12. The adjective “divine” reflects the correspondence between knower and known, according to the principle “like to like”: cf., e.g., I 6.9.30–32 and V 3.8.15–25. 10.30. ἐκεῖνον:This expression is reserved in P. as a way of referring to the supreme principle (archē), the One. See LexPlot 351–52, s.v. ekeinos, A d. On the masculine gender, see Schwyzer 1951, 515.1–17. 10.31. βιβλίον . . . δαίμονος: Enn. III 4 [15]. Cf. Pl. Ti. 90a3–4. From the fact that this treatise is counted among those that Porphyry found already in written form when he met P. (4.51), we can deduce that the invitation to the Iseum must have been issued before the summer of 263, probably between 261 and 262. Proclus also refers to the event in In Alc. 73.4–5, 32, basing himself, evidently, on the VP. 10.33–34. φιλοθύτου . . . ἐκπεριιόντος:The Etruscans had an established tradition in the sacrificial arts, to which Clement of Alexandria testifies in Strom. I 16, 74.4, and also in the observation of “the rising and setting of heavenly bodies,” as follows from the part of a treatise “derived from the sacred writings of the Etruscans” by Claudius Tuscus that is preserved by John Lydus in his Ost. 59–70. It is not impossible that Amelius was simply following ancient traditions. On the religious meaning of the “New Moon,” see Clem. Al. Strom. III 2, 5.2 and the note of Stählin ad loc. 10.34–38. καί ποτε . . . ἐτολμήσαμεν: It is difficult to comprehend Porphyry’s surprise, when he himself in the Αbst. II 42.3–43.1 argues that the fragrance of sacrifices can attract only lower or maleficent spirits: see Armstrong, note ad loc., and 1955, 77–79. This notion, and the consequent contempt for this type of cult activity, date back at least to the time of Xenocrates (see Nilsson 1974, 256) and found adherents in the Pythagoreanizing Platonic tradition (e.g., Philo Dec. 74–75; Celsus apud Origen C. Cels. VIII 60; an anonymous Pythagorean apud C. Cels. VII 6; and Sextus Sent. 564), as well as among Christian apologists (e.g., Athenag. Leg. 26; and Origen C. Cels. VIII 60–65). So P.’s statement seems to echo the philosopher’s feeling of “social superiority” (Armstrong 1955, 78) with regard to such demons. Nevertheless, I believe that acceptance of the above interpretation does not exclude, as Rist 1964, 92–93, believes, the interpretation of Bréhier 1958, 116, according to which P. was hinting at the omnipresence of the di-



Commentary to the VP 53

vine, and that one can draw near to it only by spiritual means and not by ritual means or movements within space. Cf. Enn. I 6.8.22–27, V 3.17.30–32, VI 5.1.21, 12.1–19, and VI 7.34.8–9; also Luc. Dem. 27; Porph. Marc. 16–17; and Zos. Alch. Tel. apoch. 8, 244.17– 245.7. As Rist himself recognizes, the statement that “they” ought to come to P. cannot imply the use of binding theurgical practices. It follows that “they” (35) cannot refer to the lower demons, but rather to higher divine beings—perhaps, as Igal 1982–98, 1:24, believes, to the three Plotinian hypostases. According to P., no occult or theurgical ritual is required for these to approach, but only philosophical conversion and awakening to the knowledge of their eternal presence. 11.1–8. Περιῆν . . . ἀπέδωκε: Recovery of destroyed or stolen objects is a frequently encountered theme in the hagiographical, but also the paradoxographical narratives of this period. Sometimes the explanation offered is of a supernatural character; on other occasions—as here—it is psychological. Geffcken 1929, 261n.16 and 354, draws parallels between the events in the anonymous Vita Sophoclis 11 and in the apocryphal Acta Petri 17, 64.32–65.15. Cf. also Porph. VPyth 54, 62.6–18. However, the word ēthos (“character”) had special meaning in the context of physiognomy. See, for instance, [Arist.] Phgn. 1, 805b1–9, 2, 806a30; Max. Tyr. XXV 3, 299.19–300.5; and Philostr. VApoll. II 30 and Gym. 25. The related passages from the Enneads that Igal has noted (II 3.7.8–10 and IV 3.18.19–20) point in the same direction. This does not mean that P. had immersed himself in this pseudoscience, but simply that, according to Porphyry, he possessed a particular natural talent (periousian) for discerning inborn predispositions of the irrational part of the soul, which determine, to a great extent, human behavior when it is unimpeded by reflection. Cf. the Middle Platonic definitions for ēthos handed down to us by Arius Didymus apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.1, 38.3–15. 11.8–11. προεῖπε . . . ἀπέβη: On the “children who lived with him,” see 9.5–12. Wyttenbach and, before him, an emender of a manuscript at 9.10–11 conjectured that Polemon and the Potamon referred to there are one and the same person. However attractive this surmise may be, it cannot be verified. 11.11–15. καί ποτε . . . ἐκέλευσε: A rather different version of this story can be found in Eunapius, VS IV 1.7–9; for a detailed analysis of the story and a comparative study of the two versions, see Goulet 1982d, 443–57. P. confronts the issue of suicide in a brief treatise, Enn. I 9 [16], which was written, however, long before the event described here (see 4.53). Nevertheless, it should be noted that whatever is said there can be harmonized with the present passage: “disgust of grief ” (Enn. I 9.10), when combined with psychosomatic complications (cf. below 19.12–13), can be a symptom of a “bilious indisposition,” as occurs also with the “irrational despondency” to which [Arist.] Pr. 30.1, 954b35 refers. In both passages P. condemns suicide—a respectable practice among both Stoics and cultivated Romans (see Rist 1969, 238–55; and Griffin 1986, 64–77 and 192–202)—employing, above all, anti-­Stoic arguments. A somewhat different position is revealed at several points in his treatise



54

Commentary to the VP “On Well-­Being,” I 4 [46], which was in fact written directly after the episode (6.1–5): see especially I 4.7.31–32 and 16.24–27. But a more careful reading shows that the issue there is not physical, but philosophical death, the “study for death” (meletē thanatou); cf. I 8.6.9–12. This distinction between the two types of death was, of course, systematized later by Porphyry (see Sent. 9, 4.3–6; Macrobius In Somn. Scip. I 13.5–7, 52.15–31; and Cumont 1919, 114–15), but it is discernible already in Philo (e.g., Quaest. in Gen. I 16, 11), and it confutes the close correlation between this treatise and the episode suggested by Henry 1934a, 167, and Igal 1972a, 102. The therapy that P. prescribed to Porphyry was the usual cure for “melancholic” complaints: mutare debere regiones, et, si mens redit, annua peregrinatione esse jactandos: Celsus De medicina III 18.23, 127.11–12; cf. Rufus Ephesius fr. 128.5 (from Razi), 458.21– 22. I owe these references to Goulet 1982d, 449n.18. 11.16–19. πεισθεὶς . . . ἐνεποδίσθην:Porphyry’s voyage to Sicily (by sea, all the way, 2.11, not just crossing the straits of Messina, pace Eunapius) is well attested; but the length of his stay there is unknown to us. Besides the date of his departure, for which see 5.1–2 and 6.1–3, the only hard facts we possess are that he was still to be found in Lilybaeum when P. died (2.31–32), and even slightly later, when he received Longinus’ letter from Phoenicia (19.4–5). Nevertheless, several ancient sources of questionable authority, together with the weight of Bidez’s work (see in particular, 1913, 51–64, 67, 99, and 103 n. 1), have formed the communis opinio according to which this sojourn was quite long, and during the course of it Porphyry wrote several very important works: see, e.g., Beutler 1953, 277.67–278.4. But see also below, appendix C. As for the “distinguished” Probus, we know nothing: his description as a philosopher by a scholiast in Ammonius’ In Porph. Isag. (see Busse 1891, xlvi), and also by Vitanza 1923–24, 1:250, is no more than pure, if reasonable, conjecture. 12.1–2. Ἐτίμησαν . . . Σαλωνίνα: Publius Licinius Egnatius Gallienus ascended to the throne together with his father Valerian in September 253. Of aristocratic descent, he enjoyed close family links to the Senate: see SHA Valer. V 4–8; Aurelius Victor 32.2; and my comment at 3.17–19. During the course of their co-­reign he followed his father’s pro-­senatorial policies. But after his father was taken prisoner by the Persians in June 260, Gallienus underwent a spectacular conversion that had as a result, among other things, his systematic slander by later historians friendly toward senatorial circles. See also my comment at 7.29–30. He ruled until August 268, when he was assassinated by his own staff. With his wife Iulia Cornelia Salonina Augusta, who may have belonged to a Greek family from Bithynia (see Alföldi [1930]/1967, 257–58), he had an unusually close relationship, by Roman standards. She accompanied him even on campaign: see Zon. Chron. XII 25, 601.9. As is to be expected, P.’s relations with the emperor and his milieu have attracted great interest from scholars. According to Wundt 1919, 36–57, P. collaborated closely with Gallienus in an effort to reform the empire according to new moral and political principles; while Alföldi [1930]/1967, 247–63, argues that P. was the prime spokesman of a mild anti-­Christian Gegenpropaganda, which the emperor had chosen as a more



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effective means of confronting the new religion than the violent persecutions of Decius and Valerian. Finally, some Soviet scholars have expressed the view that P. represented the formal, conservative reaction against the innovative and revolutionary teachings of the Gnostics: see, e.g., Sidorov 1979, 54–70. But these undoubtedly attractive theories are based, in my opinion, on weak evidence and unsupported oversimplifications. There is no trace of evidence for such a full-­blown attempt at reform on the part of Gallienus (see de Blois 1976, 188–93). In addition, his undoubted philhellenism certainly brought him into contact with the intellectual circles of Athens, but, as we shall see below, the relations of these circles with P. and his philosophy were anything but close: on this matter, see Rosenbach 1958, 26; and D. Armstrong 1987, 235–58. For another view, see Gazé 1975, 840–43. The failure of the “Platonopolis” venture proves that P.’s views did not leave a deep impression on the emperor. And, anyway, the content of P.’s philosophy did not lend itself readily to application in the political arena. 12.3–9. ὁ δὲ . . . ὑπισχνεῖτο:More details about this fascinating story would be welcome, but Porphyry remains rather unclear about it, perhaps because by the time he came to Rome the entire plan was a thing of the past. The facts he presents are the following: (a) In Campania, the region where, as we have seen, both Zethus and Castricius had their estates (2.18–23), there was an abandoned and ruined city that once, it was said, had been inhabited by (Pythagorean?) philosophers. (b) P. wanted to have it restored and, after its resettlement, to have the surrounding region given to the city as an endowment. (c) The city’s inhabitants would live according to the system of government described by Plato in the Laws. This would presuppose a certain autonomy, something that would naturally sound alarming to the imperial advisers. (d) P. and his friends (hetairoi) would withdraw there, where they would live together with the other inhabitants, as Porphyry’s expression gives us to understand. (Festugière 1954a, 53–67, offers a classic analysis of the development of the meaning of anachōrēsein from Polybius to Christian monasticism. It seems to me that its use here is closer to the earlier than the later sense.) It is reasonable to suppose that these people would obtain certain privileges, perhaps even to man the “nocturnal assembly,” which would keep a watch on the workings of the system; but it is rather unlikely that they would possess any real political authority: cf., e.g., Enn. V 9.1.16–21. This does not mean that Platonopolis would have been, as has been thought occasionally, simply a “non-­ Christian monastery” (see, e.g., Bidez 1913, 48; and Harder 1960b, 286). It was precisely the political dimension to the plan that eventually led to its thwarting. The best analysis of the episode is still that by Rist 1964, 171–73. See also Jerphagnon 1981, 215–29. 12.9–12. καὶ ἐγένετ’ ἂν . . . ἐνεπόδισαν:We can only hypothesize about the factors—and the motives behind them—that stood in the way of the realization of the plan for Platonopolis, because Porphyry is so vague on this account. The most reasonable view seems to be Harder’s (ad loc., 103, and 1960c, 321), that the emperor’s poor relations with the Senate must have played a decisive role, as some of P.’s basic supporters were, it seems, members of this body. If, as I believe (see my comment at 7.29–30), the influence of the



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Commentary to the VP military and bureaucracy became stronger during Gallienus’ sole rule, the expression “some of the courtiers” acquires a clear significance, and we can place his retraction of interest in Platonopolis in the context of the more general changes in imperial politics after 260. Perhaps also the appearance of Thaumasius in P.’s lecture room (13.12–14) indicates a certain distrust toward the Egyptian philosopher on the part of some high imperial officials: cf. Pugliese Carratelli 1947, 71–72. 13.1–2. Γέγονε . . . δυνατώτατος: In order to describe how P. taught, Porphyry uses terms borrowed from rhetorical theory, which he had studied in Athens. Consequently, the terms phrasai (“explain”), heurein (“discover”), and noēsai (“consider”) correspond to a subcategory of the art of rhetoric similar to that which we encounter, for example, in the anonymous Introductio in Artem Rhetorica = Rabe 1931, 2: see 14.17–15.1. (Rhetoric is defined there as an “inventive and interpretative power” (14.13– 14), and it is specified that “an argument becomes persuasive when we use speech suitable to the persons or objects in question” (15.3–5), which I take as an explanation of the expression ta prosphora in the present passage.) This subcategorization is derived from that of Zeno Athenaeus apud Sulpicius Victor Inst. orat. 4, 315.6–7 and 14, 320.9–11 (cf. Max. Planud. Prol. = Rabe 1931, 7, 69.1) into noēsis, heuresis and diathesis, to which was later added to hupokrinasthai (“acting”: see Rabe 1931, 6 B, 60.21–61.1 and 12, 175.16–17; cf. Longinus Rhet. 310.21–312.22). It is worth mentioning here that immediately afterward (13.5–10), Porphyry gives a rather detailed description of his teacher’s demeanor while teaching. A surviving fragment of Porphyry, fr. 416F, preserved in Syrianus illuminates the relation between heuresis noēmaton and hermēneia (i.e., phraseōs): “Because speech appears to possess both soul and body, it is just to regard invention of thought (noēmatōn heuresis) as the soul of speech, and expression (hermēneia) as its body.” 13.2–5. ἐν δὲ . . . ἐτήρει:Cf. 8.4–6 and 26.39. As Edwards 2000, 23n.129, notes, “this may be the first case of dyslexia on record, with a slight touch of aphasia.” 13.10–12. τριῶν . . . ἀποδεικνύς: Dörrie 1959, 18n.1 (see also Dillon 1979, 75; and Schwyzer 1983, 50), conjectured that this discussion inspired the composition of the “Problems on the Soul” (Enn. IV 3–5), but Blumenthal 1971a, 16n.20, is more cautious. With regard to this issue, we may note that the treatise “On the Presence of Being” (Enn. VI 4–5), the first that P. wrote after Porphyry’s arrival in Rome (see 5.5–9), takes as its starting point precisely the problem of the soul’s presence in the body. And it is in this work that we start to notice a modification in P.’s views on this subject, which leads to what Igal 1979, 316–17, characterizes as his “new anthropology.” 13.12–14. Θαυμασίου . . . θέλειν: The presence at the school of this official from the “Ministry of Finance”—his title must have been procurator summarum rationum: see Mason 1974, 58; and Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 268n.1—somewhat reinforces the impression we derive from Longinus’ expression dēmosieuontes (below, 20.32), that the school, even if it was not public, was at least subsidized. Thaumasios seems to have wanted to hear P.



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dictate his views so that they could be taken down directly as a set treatise (hupomnēma apo phōnēs). For a different interpretation, see Lim 1993, 159–60. 13.15–17. ἀλλὰ ἂν . . . δυνησόμεθα: The essentially dialectic character of P.’s thought has been noted many times—see, e.g., Bréhier 1924–38, 1:xxxiv–xxxv and Eon 1970, 274— and evidently corresponded to the aporetic nature of his teaching. This method was novel both to Thaumasios and—in the beginning—to Amelius (see 3.35–38), but it had been used in the past, primarily in Peripatetic philosophical practice, as we see, for example, in certain of the pseudo-­Aristotelian Problemata and the works of Alexander of Aphrodisias, especially his Quaestiones et solutiones (on this title, see below, 18.13); see also Donini 1982, 60–61. Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 251, rightly remarks that the communal character of this philosophical enterprise induced in the seminars’ participants a sense of common intellectual property. We encountered something similar among the students of Ammonius Saccas (see my commentary at 3.25–27). It is interesting to note that, according to Lynch 1972, 85–86, this shared effort (koinōnia) was the characteristic feature of Peripatetic scientific collaboration. 14.1–2. Ἐν δὲ . . . λέξεσι:The brevity and density of P.’s thought are qualities recognized by both ancient and modern critics. See, e.g., below at 19.38 and 20.78–80; and Macrob. In Somn. II 12.7, 131.28–29: “Plotinus, who is terser than anyone” (Plotinus, magis quam quisquam uerborum parcus, trans. W. H. Stahl); also Wilamowitz 1924, 270: alles kör­ perliche der Sprache ist verschwunden; for examples from the Enneads, see Schwyzer 1951, 520.15–521.10. This was, of course, a Pythagorean virtue par excellence (see, e.g., Iam­ blichus VPyth 29.161, 91.1–14; and Sextus Sent. 430 and 431), but it is worth remembering that in Plato’s Laws (I 641e5–7; cf. below 14.19) thoughtfulness (polunoia) is extolled as the Cretans’ aptitude, as opposed to the love of argument (philologia) and loquacity (polulogia) of the Athenians. Cf. also Enn. VI 2.21.4. 14.3. ἐνθουσιῶν:See Dodds 1960b, 30. 14.3. καὶ τὸ συμπαθείας:Here—as already noted in an article of mine in Emerita, Kalligas 1988, 95n.3—I undertake to restore a passage in the text that has led almost all scholars to despair. My suggestion is to expand by supplementation the to transmitted by the MSS into eicheto, and to translate the phrase as “he focused on (or gave attention to) the sympathetic response (of his audience).” For this use of echesthai, cf. above, 8.6. As for the meaning, even modern interpreters recognize the necessity of a “sympathetic” reading of the Enneads: see, e.g,. Emilsson 1988, 2. As Jaspers 1966, 47, has written: “We cannot find the truth of such thinking [sc., as that of P.] by logical operations or objective experience, which are merely its medium, but only in our own Existenz; we agree or disagree in so far as we perceive our own existential potentialities in it. In either case our understanding of it comprises a self-­understanding.” 14.4–7. ἐμμέμικται . . . πραγματεία:In agreement with, for example, Dodds 1960a, 2 = 1973, 129, I understand the expression lanthanonta dogmata (“concealed doctrines”) to



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Commentary to the VP mean that Plotinus’ writings are replete with material of Stoic and Peripatetic origin (as a glance at the Index Fontium of H-­S2 reveals) that has been assimilated and incorporated into a completely new synthesis. Moreover, his habit of hardly ever making explicit reference to his sources—except Plato—renders them, in practice, invisible. More recent research, particularly over the past fifty years, has taken strides toward uncovering these sources: see, e.g., Graeser 1972 and Szlezák 1979. However, it should be noted that while P. often refers directly to texts of Aristotle, as Henry 1960, 431– 44, has demonstrated, in the case of the Stoics his knowledge seems to have been derived secondhand through either Platonists (Gaius, Nicostratus, Severus) or Peripatetics (Alexander). For a different interpretation, see Dumont 1981, 191–92 and 203–4. 14.7–10. ἔλαθε . . . παρεσκεύαστο: Although P. appears to possess the traditional Platonist high regard for mathematics as propaedeutic, serving “to train [sc., the student] in philosophical thought and accustom him to firm confidence in the existence of the immaterial” (Enn. I 3.3.5–7), the Enneads reveal no inclination toward deeper investigation of mathematical themes. While the brief treatise “On Sight, or How Distant Objects Appear Small” (II 8 [35]) demonstrates familiarity with the relevant theories of geometric optics, the solution it offers to the problem posed is distinctly antimathematical. On the other hand, the treatise “On Numbers” (VI 6 [34]) treats the subject from an entirely philosophical vantage point without touching on strictly mathematical issues. Nevertheless, the information Porphyry provides, particularly the reference to mechanics, strengthens the impression that P.’s education was Peripatetic, at least in large part. Cf., at any rate, the curriculum offered contemporaneously in Alexandria by Origen the Christian apud Eus. HE VI 18.3; and Greg. Thaum. In Orig. 8. 14.10–11. ἀνεγινώσκετο μὲν αὐτῷ:P.’s poor eyesight (see 8.2–4) obviously prohibited him from reading the writings of other philosophers himself (cf. 15.20–21 and 18.11–12). But the practice of reading aloud (anagnōsis) is known to us from other philosophical schools as well, above all that of Epictetus: with reference to this practice, see Donini 1982, 59–60; and Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 264–65. Interestingly, the works of Plato and Aristotle are not among the “readings” Porphyry refers to here, no doubt because they were assumed to be known or, in any case, familiar. The writers who are mentioned all belong to the second century, and their names never occur in the text of the Enneads. The most recent philosopher named in the Enneads is Epicurus (II 9.15.8). 14.11. ὑπομνήματα:This term does not necessarily refer to exegetical works. It also meant lecture notes, that is to say, collections of notes used by a philosopher in his teaching, which at some point in the publication procedure (ekdosis, on which see my comments at 4.14–16) assume the form of a literary work (sungramma). 14.11. Σεβήρου:One of the few things that we know about Severus, an apparently important Middle Platonist, is that he was a precursor of P. both in his psychology and his



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criticism of the Aristotelian categories. See Praechter 1923, 2007.15–2010.23. He was active around the end of the second century, probably in Athens (see Dillon 1977, 262), unless we accept as correct the restoration of an inscription from Antinoopolis in Egypt suggested by Cauderlier and Worp 1982, 72–79, as referring to some “Flauius Maecius Seuerus Dionysodorus, Platonic philosopher subsidized to live in the Mouseion.” However, the restoration is not supported by particularly strong arguments. 14.11. Κρονίου:The philosopher Cronius, whose name usually appears with that of Numenius, is characterized as either Pythagorean or Platonist (which, in the tradition to which he belongs, amounts more or less to the same thing). He must have been active around the third quarter of the second century, if he is the Cronius to whom Lucian addressed his Peregrinus a little after 165. Fragments of his work have been assembled by Leemans 1937, 153–57. For the content of his philosophy, Praechter’s article 1922a, 1978.14–1982.2, remains fundamental. 14.12. Νουμηνίου:Numenius the Apamean (17.18) is P.’s most important direct precursor about whom we possess sufficient material to reassemble the basic points of his philosophy. Indeed, P. was accused of plagiarizing Numenius, a charge that compelled Amelius to write a book in response (17.1–6). Numenius too must have been active during the reign of Marcus Aurelius, and his thought shows certain similarities to the Gnostic systems that were developed at that time. See Beutler 1940, 664.51–678.37; Dodds 1960b, 3–24; Frede 1987b, 1034–75. For the edition of his fragments, see des Places 1973. 14.12. Γαΐου:We know very little about this Platonist, who was active at the beginning of the second century. His pupil Albinus composed an extensive collection (in eleven books) of Gaius’ lectures, which Priscian, Solut. ad Chosr. Proem. 42.9–10, consulted in the sixth century. Indications exist to suggest that it was still preserved at least until the ninth century (see Whittaker 1974, 320–54), but today it is considered lost. It is very likely that this was the work that was read in P.’s seminars: see Dillon 1977, 267; and Whittaker 1987, 98. It is possible to maintain that we have access to certain basic elements of Gaius’ philosophy if we accept the conjecture of Freudenthal 1879, 3, that the author of the Didascalicus, which has reached us under the name of Alkinoos, is actually Albinus. This conjecture has been vigorously disputed (mainly by Whittaker 1974, 83–102), but it has also found some new supporters: see, e.g., Tarrant 1985a, 87–94. 14.12. Ἀττικοῦ:Atticus is the chief representative of the anti-­Aristotelian current in second-­century Platonism, making it likely that Ammonius had already dealt critically with his views: see des Places 1977, 24–25. Another of his teachings, which must have been the subject of a Plotinian critique, was a literal interpretation of the Timaeus as a description of the creation of the world in time: see Atticus fr. 19, 23, and 38a–b; and Sorabji 1983, 270–72. More generally, see Dillon 1977, 247–58; Baltes 1983, 38–57; and Moreschini 1987, 477–91.



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Commentary to the VP It is probable that it was through Atticus that P. became acquainted with the critique of the Aristotelian theory of categories that the Platonists Lucius and Nicostratus had elaborated in the middle of the second century. Porphyry apud Simpl. In Cat. 1, 30.16– 17 seems to hint that Atticus had further developed Nicostratus’ aporiai. P. used several of these arguments in his own criticism (Enn. VI 1.1–24: see Praechter 1922b, 512–13) without, as was his usual custom, mentioning his source, which, however, is revealed by Simplicius (In Cat. 1, 73.27–28 and 76.13–14). 14.13. Ἀσπασίου:This philosopher was more or less a contemporary of Gaius and the author of the earliest, albeit partial, commentary on Aristotle that has come down to us: Aspasius In Eth. Nic. (edited by G. Heylbut, CAG 19.1); on this, see Gottschalk 1987, 1156–58. It is by no means necessary to consider, as does Moraux 1973–2001, 2:228, that P.’s interest in the work of Aspasius was limited to his (lost) commentary on the Categoriae, which was anyway entirely introductory, as evidenced by Galen Lib. prop. 11, 119.1– 2. Quite a few points in his theories on both well-­being (eudaimonia) and the affections (pathē)—about which see Moraux op. cit., 270–90—bear significant resemblance to the corresponding theories that appear in P.’s later works. 14.13. Ἀλεξάνδρου:Alexander of Aphrodisias is the only immediate precursor of P. whose work we possess as a significant corpus. His importance for the development of Platonic psychology and noology has been recognized for some time: above all, see Merlan 1969a, 1–84, and 1967, 117–23, and, more recently, Schroeder 1984, 239–48. It is probable, though not certain, that he taught in Athens around the end of the second century. For a dense presentation of his work, accompanied by an extensive bibliography, see Sharples 1987, 1176–1243, where pages 1220–23 are dedicated to the possible influences of Alexander’s thought on the philosophy of P. 14.13. Ἀδράστου:Yet another Aphrodisian, Adrastus completes the triad of the most important second-­century Aristotelian commentators. The oldest of the three, his activity began in the late first century. He was also the author of an important commentary on Plato’s Timaeus, some fragments of which are preserved. See Moraux 1973–2001, 2:294–313. He is therefore the most characteristic representative of the Platonizing Aristotelianism of the period, about which see Donini 1982, 215–19; and Gottschalk 1987, 1155–56. 14.13–14. καὶ τῶν ἐμπεσόντων:According to Porphyry In Soph. fr. 169F apud Boeth. Diu. 875–76, the De diuisione of Andronicus of Rhodes (on which see Moraux 1973– 2001, 1:120–32) should be included among the Peripatetic writings referred to here. 14.15–16. ἴδιος ἦν . . . ἐξετάσεσιν: The very personal and original nature of P.’s analyses had already been noted by Longinus (below, 20.70–71). But it is not exactly clear what is meant by the phrase referring to the nous (“mind” in Armstrong’s translation) of Ammonius. In any case, because as far as we know the other participants in the seminars had



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not met Ammonius (but see my comment at 4.2 concerning Antonius), the reference to him must have been made by P. himself. Comparison with 3.33–34 suggests that from at least the time when he began to write, P.’s teaching depended noticeably less on his teacher’s. The term nous seems to allude chiefly to a way of thought (cf. von Fritz 1943, 81), that is to say, a certain philosophical method, and to a lesser extent to some particular doctrines: see Armstrong 1967b, 199–200; and Dillon 1987a, 333. We can perhaps narrow down the meaning of the term still further if we take into consideration the fact that Porphyry is employing—as I noted in my comments on 13.1–2—expressions borrowed from rhetoric. We find in a Byzantine manuscript that draws on the earlier literature on this subject the following response to the question, “Into how many branches can rhetoric be divided?”: “In three ways: according to nous, lexis, and technē. And nous is, in turn, divided into dianoia and allēgoria and protheōria and historia, etc.” (Rabe 1931, xliv). With this as background, it is possible that by the nous of Ammonius is meant a particular interpretative method of approach to and analysis of philosophical texts, together with the interpretation that is derived from it, something that fits the context here well. It seems that it was through this intellectual approach that Ammonius “united [sc., the teachings of Plato and Aristotle] into one and the same way of understanding (nous), and delivered philosophy harmonized to all his acquaintances” (Hier. Prou. et Fat. apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 251, 461a 36–38 = Ammon. Sacc. test. 15). See also Charrue 1978, 38; Romano 1979, 68–69; and my comment at 3.6–13. 14.18–19. ἀναγνωσθέντος . . . Φιλαρχαίου: All indications suggest that the “reading” (anagnōsis) of works should be taken here in the technical sense to which I referred a little earlier. Cassius Longinus was the nephew of the Emesene rhetor Fronto (Suda, s.v. Fronto, who should, pace Dörrie 1969, 731.20–21, be distinguished from the Lybian M. C. Fronto). He was “the greatest critic of the age” according to Porphyry (20.1–2), “a living library and a walking shrine of the Muses,” to use the flowery expression of Eunapius VS IV 1.3. Although he applied himself above all to philology (see Suda, s.v. Longinus), he also wrote commentaries on Plato (see Aulitzky 1927, 1405.13–18), using, though, a conservative and philologizing method that resembled that of his teacher, the Platonist Origen. His goal, it seems, was to remain faithful to both the spirit and the letter of the classical texts, and it is probably to this disposition of his that the title “Lover of antiquity” refers: cf. Eun. VS IV 1.5. He played an important role in Athenian intellectual life, and the fact that it was he who hosted the dinner in honor of Plato (see Porph. apud Eus. PE X 3.1) leads us to the conclusion that he held the “seat” of the Platonic succession in the city: for the contents of this institution, see my comment below at 15.18–19. 14.19–20. φιλόλογος . . . οὐδαμῶς:P. was not interested in either philological or historical analyses. See, e.g., Enn. III 7.10.10–11; and Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 266–67. On the other hand, the philology/philosophy distinction was a commonplace: cf., e.g., Sen. Ep. 108.23; Justin Trypho 3.3; and [Clem. Rom.] Hom. I 11 and II 8. See further Pépin 1992c, 477–501.



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Commentary to the VP 14.20–25. Ὠριγένους . . . ἐξανέστη: This rather colorful event is usually dated during the first period of P.’s stay in Rome (244–54), before he started writing, as it was during this time that his teaching was based exclusively on Ammonius’ seminars, which, of course, Origen too had attended. See, e.g., Igal ad loc.; and Goulet 1977, 490. But P.’s distress is better explained if his teaching contained divergences from that of their teacher, in which case his response would simply have been of a “diplomatic” character. 15.1. ἐν Πλατωνείοις:See above, 2.40–43. 15.1–2. τὸν Ἱερὸν γάμον:The title implies that Porphyry’s poem dealt with the “blessed marriage” of Hera and Zeus (cf. Orph. fr. 163), which he would certainly have interpreted allegorically. Even though the great generalizations of Reitzenstein 1927, 245– 52, concerning the hierogamic celebrations no longer stand (see, e.g., Mylonas 1961, 314–15; and Freymuth 1964, 86–95), it remains true that the motif of the “sacred marriage” is given increased emphasis in various late antique texts, from Philo (Cher. 42– 52) to the Gnostics: see, e.g., Bardaisan apud Ephr. Syr. Ref. Bard. 2:lxxvii; Iren. Adu. haer. I 7.1 and 21.3; Gos. Phil. = NHC II 3, 64.31–68.26. Festugière 1944–54, 2:549–50, discerned behind this tradition an elaboration of the Platonist theme of the “birth” (tokos) of the soul (Symp. 208e1–209e4); it is possible that Porphyry too had drawn from this source. 15.2–3. μυστικῶς . . . ἐπικεκρυμμένως:Cf. Clem. Al. Strom. VI 15, 124.5. 15.3. μαίνεσθαι:Regardless of how Porphyry took it, the person who voiced this judgment did not necessarily intend to offend him. Cf. Plato Phdr. 244a6–245a8; Ion 533e3–534b6; and Dodds 1951, 80–82. Certainly P.’s intervention was designed precisely to underline the Platonic credentials of poetic mania: cf. Enn. V 3.14.8–13. 15.6–9. ὅτε δὲ . . . καθηγεμόνι: Rist 1964, 185, and 1967b, 14–15, suspects that Diophanes’ views were related to the amorality of certain Gnostics, but the title “Apology for Alcibiades” shows, rather, that it was a playful rhetorical “invention” (paignion), based, of course, on Alcibiades’ speech in Plato’s Symposium, 216b4–219d2, but written pour épater les bourgeois, perhaps also with some irony directed at Platonist philosophers. This interpretation better explains Diophanes’ refusal to hand over his written text (12–13). 15.10–16. ἤιξε . . . ἐπιλέγειν: P.’s strong reaction (on which cf. Enn. III 5.1.57–58) may have been in response to the offensive nature of the lecture, but as Harder in Theiler 1960, 90, has noted, it was also inspired by the strictness with which Roman morality condemned all forms of Greek paidika. Harder also cites the prohibition of the latter by Philip the Arab, according to Aurelius Victor Caesares 28.6. Bidez 1913, 67* (No. 16) discovered in a codex of the Etymologicum Magnum, s.v. Ōkeanos, a trace of a work by Porphyry titled On Love in the “Symposium,” which must be this same response to Diophanes’ lecture.



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15.17. Βάλλ’ . . . γένηαι: Agamemnon’s exhortation to Teucer on the battlefield (Hom., Il. 8.282) fits this occasion aptly, as is also invariably the case when P. himself employs Homeric phrases in the Enneads. 15.18. Εὐβούλου:Longinus includes the philosopher Eubulus among those who did not write (the agraphoi), because one (the only?) treatise he did write, On the “Philebus” and the “Gorgias” and Aristotle’s Arguments against Plato’s “Republic,” is considered to have represented a mere side product for him: see 20.40–47. In this case, it is probably best to resist identifying him with the Eubulus who, according to Porphyry (Abst. IV 16.2), wrote “the history of Mithras in many books.” See also Turcan 1975, 38–43. 15.18–19. Ἀθήνηθεν . . . διαδόχου:It is generally accepted that this title means that Eubulus held one of the endowed (by 10,000 drachmas annually) chairs for philosophical teaching, which Marcus Aurelius had founded in Athens in 176: on this, see Lynch 1972, 170–89; and Glucker 1978, 146–53. Evidently, he held the position from the beginning of the period when Porphyry was in Rome (when Longinus composed his On the End, see 21.12–13). But earlier (see my comment at 14.18–19) I have argued that the (lifelong) title of Platonic Successor (diadochos) was already held by Longinus when Porphyry was in Athens. The only explanation for this is that in Athens there existed simultaneously two diadochoi for each philosophical school (hairesis), a conclusion confirmed by certain other sources: see Lucian Eunuchus 3 (and also the plural that Philostratus uses in VS II 2, 566) and, for the later period, Glucker 1978, 155n.122. 15.19–20. συγγράμματα . . . ζητημάτων: The exegetical character of treatises titled Zētēmata . . . (on this, see Dörrie 1959, 2; and Cherniss 1976, 2–3) makes it probable that we have here the same work as that to which Longinus refers at 20.42–43. The author’s forwarding of his work to P.—perhaps in parts, as is suggested by the phrases “was writing . . . sending . . . making . . .”—demonstrates that the Platonic Successor did regard the teacher in Rome with considerable respect. 15.20–21. ἐμοὶ . . . ἠξίου:Porphyry does not conceal his pride that the teacher delegated to him the task of examining the treatises sent by Eubulus. However, this fact does not necessarily also reveal P.’s “coolness towards official Platonism,” as is believed by Isnardi Parente 1984, 73; see Rist 1967b, 12; and Harder ad loc. See also my comment at 14.10–11. 15.21–26. προσεῖχε . . . ὤκνησε: The critique of astrological determinism occupied P. throughout all periods of his writing activity (see primarily Enn. III 1 [3], IV 4 [28].30– 45, and II 3 [52]), perhaps as part of his more general anti-­Gnostic polemic. In this way, he provided a continuation of the tradition among Platonists who, since the time of Carneades, had systematically opposed the theoretical presuppositions—often of Stoic derivation—underpinning the pseudoscience of astrology, which was nonetheless very widely embraced. On the other hand, even Numenius seems to have worked into his philosophy elements of genethlialogy: see fr. 35.10–15.



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Commentary to the VP 16.1–2. τῶν Χριστιανῶν . . . ἀνηγμένοι:See Igal 1981, 138–39, for a very good analysis of this passage. Porphyry distinguishes the mass of uneducated (apaideutoi: see C. Chr. fr. 49.15 and 89.5) Christians from that group of Christian Gnostics who, drawing on ancient philosophical tradition, notably Pythagorean and Platonic, formulated their doctrines in such a way as to present themselves as a philosophical school (hairesis: on the meaning of this term, see Glucker 1978, 174–92). Augustine too informs us of the presence of Christians, but also of “magicians” (adherents of theurgy or extremist Gnostics) in P.’s circle: “Then flourished at Rome the school of Plotinus, which had as scholars many men of great acuteness and ability. But some of them were corrupted by curious inquiries into magic, and others, recognising in the Lord Jesus Christ the impersonation of that essential and immutable Truth and Wisdom which they were endeavouring to reach, passed into His service” (Ep. 118.5.33, trans. J. G. Cunningham). Basing himself on Eus. HE VI 43.11, Gibbon [1776–1788]/1994, 1:504, estimated that around the year 251 there were among Rome’s population of a million inhabitants about fifty thousand Christians, an impressively large number for that period. 16.3. Ἀδέλφιον:This Adelphius is otherwise completely unknown to us. 16.3. Ἀκυλῖνον:Eunapius, VS IV 2.1, states that Aquilinus was a fellow student of Porphyry (in P.’s circle), “as he himself records” (ōs autos anagraphei). The problem is that Eunapius’ catalogue also includes “Origen and Amerios.” While we know that the former was not among Porphyry’s, but was rather among P.’s fellow students, the form “Amerios” for the latter’s name appears only in the VP (7.4), where, as we see here, Aquilinus is a rival of both P. and Porphyry. All of this, combined with the general untrustworthiness (neglegentia atque socordia, according to Wolff 1856, 10n.1) of Eunapius on these matters, impels me to disregard the information as fictitious. On the other hand, John Lydus, De mens. IV 76, 128.11–17, preserves an interesting fragment from a Commentary on Numbers of a certain Aquilinus, who could be identical to the one mentioned here, but also to the Platonist Julius Aquilinus, for whom Fronto, ca. 160, wrote his letter of recommendation Ad amicos I 4, 288–90. See also Elsas 1975, 14–15. 16.3–4. Ἀλεξάνδρου τοῦ Λίβυος:The possibility can neither be confirmed nor excluded that the Alexander of Lybia mentioned here should be identified with the Valentinian Docetist Alexander to whom Tertullian refers in De carne Chr. 16–17, 780B–782C; cf. Jerome In Ep. ad Galat. Prol. 309A. But we should note that, according to Tertullian, this Alexander employed an unusually philosophical syllogistic and hermeneutic method. On this, see Elsas 1975, 26–27. 16.4. Φιλοκώμου . . . Δημοστράτου . . . Λυδοῦ:Elsas 1975, 50–52, attempted to associate the unknown names Philocomus, Demostratus, and Lydus with somewhat better-­ known figures from the magico-­religious syncretism of the second century, using, however, rather acrobatic reasoning.



Commentary to the VP 65

16.5. ἀποκαλύψεις:For a work to belong to the category of apocalyptic literature, it is not necessary that the term “Apocalypse” should figure in its title. This literary genre provided the most suitable medium for the formulation of Gnostic beliefs. For gnōsis, the special form of “knowledge” vouchsafed to the “elect,” was usually imparted to them through ecstatic visions, divine revelations, and the handing down or the discovery of various “sacred texts.” All of these were regarded as warrants for its authenticity: see Puech 1960, 165. 16.5. προφέροντες:The distinction “kept for themselves” (kektēmenoi) on the one hand, and “discussed in public” (proferontes) on the other, alludes to the different character of these texts: the first group would be more theoretical and rather “esoteric,” whereas the purpose of the second would be rather more evangelical and exhortatory. Cf. the use of the verb proferein in Hippol. Haer. VII 30.1; and in Theod. Cyr. Haer. fab. I 15, 368B. 16.6. Ζωροάστρου:We do not know exactly which of the many pseudepigraphical works ascribed from time to time to the greatest of the Persian sages is meant here. It is certainly not On Nature, which, according to all indications, was a fabrication of the early Hellenistic period, but which seems to have been taken by Porphyry as genuine (see VPyth 12, 41.17–20; and Bidez and Cumont 1938, 1:109–14). Bousset 1907, 378–82, and 1912b, 1540.1–30, already noted a tendency among contemporary Gnostics to identify Zoroaster with Seth, a central figure in many brands of Gnosticism. The followers of the Gnostic Prodicus possessed, according to Clement of Alexandria, Strom. I 15, 69.6 (see also Bidez and C ­ umont 1938, 2:250–51) apocryphal books of Zoroaster. The Apocryphon of John = NHC II 1, 19.10 alludes to another(?) book of Zoroaster, this one on demonology, while Zostrianus = NHC VIII 1, 132.9, mentions Zoroaster (as its author?) in its cryptographic conclusion. See Puech 1960, 166–67 and 172–73. 16.6. Ζωστριανοῦ:Until 1945, the only other information we possessed about Zostrianus was contained in Arnobius Adu. Nat. I 52, 35.20–21, according to which his grandson (nepos: perhaps nephew) was Armenius—the father, presumably, of Er, the protagonist in the concluding myth of the Republic (X 614b3)! Given that in the aforementioned On Nature “Zoroaster” is identified with Er (see fr. O 12 and O 13 Bidez-­Cumont), one could be led to the conclusion that Zostrianus was considered, according to one tradition, as the great-­grandfather of Zoroaster. But it is at least equally probable that Arnobius simply became confused amidst this mire of pseudepigraphy. The discovery of the Coptic Nag Hammadi library in Upper Egypt supplied us with an entire work—the collection’s largest—under the name Zostrianus (NHC VIII 1). Its translator, J. H. Sieber, considers it to be a rare “example of non-­Christian Gnosticism, a Gnosticism with a philosophical tendency and a powerful message” (see Robinson 1996, 368; cf. Sieber 1973, 239), but other scholars have characterized it as “crypto-­ Christian,” which better corresponds to Porphyry’s testimony: see Abramowski 1983, 2. It may have been the Greek original of this text that circulated on the fringes of P.’s school and attracted Amelius’ torrent of criticism (see below, 16.12–14).



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Commentary to the VP 16.6. Νικοθέου:Puech 1960, 167–69, has noted that there are three other sources for this mysterious figure: (a) the alchemist Zosimos of Panopolis (ca. early fourth century) in his work On the Letter Omega invokes the authority of a Nicotheus who is “hidden” (1.4) or “cannot be found” (10.101); (b) the anonymous Coptic treatise contained in the Codex Brucianus 7, 342.2, attributes to him a brief saying in connection with Marsanes, the latter being known to us now from the homonymous treatise (NHC X 1) in the Nag Hammadi library; (c) a fragment in Persian from the collection of Manichaean Hymns (M 299a) found at Turfan refers to a series “of local prophets from whose mouths was revealed the Holy Spirit.” Among these, according to the transliteration of Henning 1934, 27–28, are Šēm, Sēm, Enōs, Nkty’wys, and others. Henning interprets Nkty’wys as none other than Nicotheus. Elsas 1975, 34–35, makes a daring attempt to relate the “hidden” (kekrummenon) Nicotheus with Elkesai (Aramaic: hyl ksy = “veiled power”: see Epiphanius Adu. haer. 19.2.10, 219.9–10 with the correction by Marcovich 1986, 357). If there is any basis to this suggestion, then the work to which Porphyry refers is the book that, according to Hippol. Haer. IX 13.1, “a certain person by the name of Alcibiades, dwelling in Syrian Apamea . . . brought to Rome . . . , saying that a certain righteous man by the name of Elchasai received it from the Sēres of Parthia.” 16.6–7. Ἀλλογενοῦς:This, as Epiphanius tells us (Adu. haer. 40.7.1, 87.30–31), was the name the “Archontians” used to denote their ancestor Seth, “to whom they attributed certain books in his name and in that of his seven sons; for they say that he was the father of seven, called Allogenes” (op. cit. 40.7.4–5, 88.8–11); cf. 39.5.1, 75.10–11 and 40.2.2, 82.13–14. Theodore bar Konai in the eleventh part of his Scholia (written ca. 791), provides some information about the contents of these “Books” or “Apocalypses of Allogenes” (Ktaḅa or Gelyȗna d’nukhrayē); see Puech 1936, 935–39, and 1960, 169–71. Different, but not incompatible with this evidence, are the contents of the apocalyptic work Allogenes, contained in the Nag Hammadi library (NHC XI 3). This text presents some especially interesting similarities to the philosophy of both P. and Numenius: an apophatic theology of the One (47.7–38) with emphasis on the static (53.10 and 67.28) and transcendent (48.22–29 and 62.28–64.24) character of the highest principle; the approach to it through ecstatic divestiture (58.27–59.1) and assimilation (52.10– 12 and 56.15–30); the perception of Being (which is the image of the One) by man with the help of a prototype inherent within him (59.18–60.12); the composite character of the triad Being–Life–Nous, et al. It is a good example of the philosophical dimension of Gnosticism, the principle adversary—and competitor—of P. in Rome. 16.7. Μέσσου:“Allogenes” addresses the work just mentioned to his son, Messos: see NHC XI 3, 50.19, 68.28, and 69.16. Nothing else is known about the author, except that another work was attributed to him that clearly originated in the same circles of Sethian and Archontian Gnostics. 16.8–9. ὡς δὴ . . . πελάσαντος:Porphyry touches here on a basic point of difference between the Gnostics and P. Whereas the latter considered his philosophical contribution



Commentary to the VP 67

to be an interpretation and explanation of the philosophical tradition to which he belonged—first and foremost that of Plato (see Enn. V 1.8.10–14)—the Gnostics, despite the respect they usually showed Plato (it is not coincidental that among the sacred texts of the Nag Hammadi community was found a fragment of the ninth book of the Republic = NHC VI 5), believed that they could supersede this tradition and approach a truth that had been revealed to them and to no one else, “saying that they alone know the deep truths,” as Hippolytus records in Haer. V 6.4. According to their view, both the (Greek) philosophical tradition and the holy writings of different religions were products of distortion and delusion, if not a Satanic disguise of the true gnōsis of salvation. P. considered this way of thinking to be arrogant egocentrism and vanity, indicative of decadence and “effrontery” (tolma: see, e.g., Enn. II 9.6.5–12, 10.11–14, 14.36–45; and Eon 1970, 278–79). 16.10–11. γράψας . . . ἐπεγράψαμεν: The Enneads contain a treatise (II 9 [33]) bearing the title “Against the Gnostics.” However, Harder 1936, 1–10, has persuasively demonstrated that this treatise is the last section of a much larger work whose other parts are the “treatises” III 8 [30], V 8 [31], and V 5 [32]. The anti-­Gnostic character of this entire tetralogy has been repeatedly emphasized and is firmly underlined in the title of V. Cilento’s publication Paideia Antignostica (1971). It is possible therefore, as Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 302n.1, has argued, that Porphyry was referring here to the composition of this larger work. It is worth noting that in the systematic catalogue of the Enneads’ contents that appears below (24.56–57), treatise II 9 appears with a different title: “Against Those Who Say That the Universe and Its Maker Are Evil.” The title “Against the Gnostics” can be attributed either to Porphyry, if we consider the plural here to be pluralis auctoris, or to Porphyry and Amelius (in practice Amelius on his own), if we associate the latter with the “us” (hēmin) that follows. P. himself did not give titles to his writings: see 4.17–18. 16.12. ἡμῖν . . . καταλέλοιπεν:Cf. Enn. II 9.14.36–43. When later (see appendix C) Porphyry wrote his Contra Christianos, he may have felt that he was fulfilling his teacher’s instructions. We have no indication that P. himself ever turned against the Christians in general. Rather, it is more likely that he considered them, on the whole, worthy only of contempt. 16.12–14. Ἀμέλιος . . . ἀντιγράφων:We have here an example of Amelius’ overwhelming industriousness: cf. 3.43–47. The work Zostrianus, as we have said, may be by far the longest work contained in the Nag Hammadi library (NHC VIII 1, extending to 132 codex pages; the second in size, the Tripartite Tractate = NHC I 5, is only 78 pages long), but still, it hardly justifies a refutation of such length. It is sufficient to recall that Porphyry’s apologetical opus magnum, the Contra Christianos, ran to fifteen books (or perhaps more?), and he was anything but unproductive. 16.14–18. Πορφύριος  . . . πρεσβεύειν:We have no other information about this work, but Porphyry seems to have used the historico-­philological method familiar from his



68

Commentary to the VP famous critique of the authenticity of the Old Testament Book of Daniel in the C. Christ., fr. 43. On this, see Casey 1976, 16–17; also García Bazán 1974, 473–75. 17.1. Τῶν δ’ ἀπὸ τῆς Ἑλλάδος:The expression must refer to the holders of the Athenian philosophical “chairs.” As I have argued above (15.19–20), Eubulus and Longinus represented Platonic philosophy at Athens in this period. To judge by the respect that Eubulus showed for P., he must not have been responsible for the charge of plagiarism. On the other hand, the stance of Longinus—“the most discerning critic” and an “extremely close scrutinizer”—at least before he had acquired an extensive knowledge of P.’s writings, was not incompatible with such a charge: see in particular 20.4–5 and 21.22–23. But Porphyry hastens to explain, at 21.4–6, that the charge did not originate with Longinus (see, additionally, the “also” at 19.1). It seems more likely that other scholars were responsible, such as the Peripatetic Prosenes (see Porphyry apud Eus. PE X 3.24–25), who were fond of occupying themselves with such matters and who at times even tarred Plato himself as a plagiarist. See also my comment on 17.16–24. 17.1–2. τὰ Νουμηνίου . . . λεγόντων:The works of Numenius were among those read in P’s school. See 14.12. Without a doubt, points of similarity can be found between the philosophical systems of the two men: see above all Dodds 1960b, 16–24. But equally if not more significant are their differences: see Schwyzer 1951, 574.66–575.17; and more generally, Merlan 1967, 96–104; Henry 1972, lviii–lxii; Wallis 1972, 33–36; Donini 1982, 143–46; and Elsas 1975, 21–25. Merlan captures the prevailing assessment in his epigrammatic phrase: “Thus, while there was no plagiarism, similarity was obvious and influence possible.” 17.3. Τρύφωνος . . . Πλατωνικοῦ: The dual affiliation of the philosopher Trypho is less surprising than it would have been in previous periods: cf. my note at 3.43. It has been argued that “Alcinous”/Albinus also adhered to two philosophical schools: see Tarrant 1985a, 88–89. [Elias] In Porph. Isag. 27.3 goes so far as to characterize Porphyry himself as a Stoic! 17.3–6. γέφραφεν . . . ἐμοί:Of course, Amelius was the appropriate person to write this book thanks to his thorough knowledge of Numenius: see 3.44–45, with my comments. As both Harder ad loc., and Igal 1972a, 116–21, have argued, it must have been composed while Porphyry (and Amelius) were in Rome, and it follows that the epistolary format of the prologue simply assumes the role of a dedication. 17.6–10. Βασιλεὺς . . . ἐθέλοι:The name Malkos (or Malchos, as it is given in one manuscript of the VP, in Eun. VS IV 1.4, and in the title of Porphyry’s VPyth) was very common in Syria, Phoenicia, and Palestine. It is derived from the Semitic root mlk, meaning king. To Hellenize a name was a common practice, and Amelius showed, in addition, a particular interest in names: see my comment at 7.3–5. Less clear is the origin of the name “Porphyry.” According to Eunapius loc. cit. it was the choice of Longinus—who is quoted in the VP, however, as calling him either Malkos (17.12) or Basileus (20.91): “linking the name to the color of the imperial attire.” The Me-



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tabyzantine Iōnia attributed to Eudocia Macrembolitissa, s.v. peri tou Porphyriou, 364, as well as a scholium at this point in the VP, give this same explanation, but also a further one: “or also from the fact that the Tyrian art [sc., of dyeing] is called ‘porphyria.’ ” These explanations are neither fully cogent nor entirely unlikely. 17.11. Κλεοδάμῳ:Cleodamus must have been another student of Longinus who is otherwise completely unknown to us. 17.14. Μάξιμον:A good deal of effort has gone into identifying this Maximus with others of the same name (see, e.g., Bréhier ad. loc.; and Brisson 1982, 96), but the more we know about the candidates, the less possible it has proven to match them up with the one who appears here. 17.16–24. Ἀμέλιος . . . λεγόντων: Amelius’ lively, plethoric, humorous, and pompous writing style (see also 20.78–80) stands in stark contrast to the dense and unaffected style of P., and the elegant, restrained (if often dry) style of Porphyry. Certainly he enjoyed striking phrases, and this, together with the sarcasm of his polemic, is somewhat reminiscent of the deft fireworks we find in Numenius’ On the Unfaithfulness of the Academy to Plato (fr. 24–28). As Armstrong notes ad loc., the impression that P. placed “the meanest of realities” as the foundation of his ontological system may derive from the apophatic nature of the language he uses to discuss the One/Good. In this case, the parallels with the criticism of Speusippus’ system by Aristotle are interesting (cf. primarily Arist. Metaph. Λ 7, 1072b30– 1073a3; N 4, 1091a29–36; and N 5, 1092a11–17 = Speus. fr. 42, 44, and 43, respectively) and, consequently, may possibly betray the Peripatetic affiliation of P.’s critics. Finally, hupoballomenos (23–4) may be an example of the “glibness” of these critics, who presumably were playing with the double meaning of the verb hupoballō, meaning (1) to place as a base or foundation; (2) to appropriate something belonging to someone else as my own, to plagiarize. 17.29–30. ἥκω . . . πεπονημένα: Here is yet another indication of the ease with which Amelius wrote (cf. 18.15), a talent for which he seems to have been particularly renowned. 17.32–33. ἀπὸ . . . ἀναπεπολημένα: This fits well with the impression made at 3.43–45 that Amelius’ interest in Numenius had antedated his arrival at P.’s school. 17.37–38. ἀνδρὸς . . . φοράν: That Numenius’ written work is not always characterized by logical precision and consequential thinking has been noted by ancient as well as modern critics: see below, 20.74–76; and Waszink 1965, 43. 17.39. οἰκείας ἑστίας:The word “hearth” (hestia) is often used to signify a philosophical school or, more generally, a group joined by intellectual bonds. Cf. Atticus fr. 4.15 = Eus. PE XV 6.3; Procl. In Eucl. 29.14, In Prm. 1061.22–23, and TP I 7, 31.10.



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Commentary to the VP 17.40. διορθώσει εὐμενῶς:As Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 295n.1, points out, it was usual for both proofreading and corrections to be entrusted to a work’s dedicatee. In this way Amelius diplomatically avoided Porphyry’s reproach wherever his position diverged from that of their teacher. 17.40–41. ὥς . . . τραγῳδία: Nauck 1889, 922–23 Adespoton 432, notes that in his quae insint tragici poetae uerba non assequor. The evocation of need is something so common in tragedy (cf., e.g., Soph. El. 221) that, in my opinion, the tragic phrase Amelius chose to cite must also include some additional words besides “I am compelled” (ēnagkasmai: 40). These might be either “because I am wrapped up in affairs” (ōn philopragmōn: 41) or, more likely, “I must correct and reject” (euthunein te kai apopoieisthai: 42–43). 17.41–42. τῇ ἀπὸ . . . διαστάσει: Amelius seems not to have hesitated in certain instances to disagree categorically with his teacher: see, e.g., Procl. In Ti. II 213.9–13. For the deviations from P. in his teaching, see Armstrong 1967b, 264–66 and my comments at 7.2–3 and 20.76–80. 18.6–8. ὁμιλοῦντι . . . λαμβανομένας: In his treatise “On Dialectic,” P. compares Platonic dialectic, the ultimate stage of philosophical enlightenment, with “the so-­called study of logic, dealing with propositions and syllogisms,” which he considers to be a lower, auxiliary art, comparable to writing: see Enn. I 3.4–5 and cf. above, 8.4–6. 18.8–19. ἔπαθον . . . ἀνέγνων:This extraordinarily illuminating story is told at length in order to underline how difficult it is to detect the logical structures of P.’s philosophy. At the same time, it reveals how open the school was to differing opinions. Porphyry’s original position—which he had obviously been taught in Athens by Longinus, see 20.90–96; but cf. Atticus fr. 28 (Baltes 1983, 42n.21)—may make better use, at least on the literal level, of the Platonic dialogues than does the argument we find in the Enneads (especially treatises V 9 [5], VI 4–5 [22–23], and V 5 [32].1–20); see Armstrong 1960, 393–95. This does not, however, mean that P.’s view was “not Platonic,” as Rist 1964, 60, concludes. Cf., e.g., the careful analysis of de Vogel 1970, 194–206. Of course, P.’s position is more compatible with Aristotelian noology. Cf. also my comments at 20.92–96. Bidez 1913, 68* (No. 25) discovered a trace of Porphyry’s recantation (which, if we are to believe al-­Nadim, must have been directed explicitly and at length against Longinus: see Dodge 1970, 2:610) in the Lexicon Platonicum of Timaeus, s.v. ouch ēkista (404–5): “very much, as Porphyry says in his To Those Who Separate the Intellect from the Intelligible: ‘They differ not least (ouch ēkista) with regard to their misunderstanding of doctrine.’ ” 18.21–23. καὶ αὐτὸν . . . ἐποίησεν:Cf. 5.5–7. 19.4–6. ἀξιῶν . . . Πλωτίνου:Two facts given here allow us to narrow down the date of the letter’s composition:



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(a) Porphyry is in Sicily, and, as we have seen (6.1–3; see also my comments at 5.1–3), his journey there took place around the beginning of the summer of 268. (b) Longinus is in Phoenicia (and has been there for quite some time; see 16–17 below). It is reasonable to suppose that he was on his way to Palmyra, where, in the court of Zenobia, he would meet with honor. There too he met his death, on orders of Aurelian in 273: see SHA Aurel. 30.3; and Zos. Hist. I 56.2–3. The letter offers another piece of information, namely, that Amelius had passed through Phoenicia, carrying with him some of P.’s works (32). This must have been around the middle of 269, when he went to Apamea (see 2.31–33, with my comments). But later Porphyry sent Longinus some additional works (20–21). Logically, these must have been part of the last, perhaps even the final group of writings that Porphyry received in Sicily during the autumn of 270, and that would not have been in Amelius’ possession. All this suggests that the letter was most likely written in the middle of 270, a little before or just after P.’s death—if the latter, then Longinus’ encomiastic words have the character of an obituary. 19.12–13. ἣν λέγεις . . . ἀσθένειαν: From this passage we learn that Porphyry’s “melancholic affliction” (11.15) had a psychosomatic dimension. 19.25–26. Περὶ . . . ὄντος:Henry and Schwyzer have suggested that Longinus must here be referring to the works “On Difficulties about the Soul” (IV 3–5 [27–29]) and “On the Kinds of Being” (VI 1–3 [42–44]). My own guess would be rather the earlier treatises “On the Immortality of the Soul” (IV 7) and “On the Three Primary Hypostases” (V 1): see Kalligas 2001, 588–90. 19.28. παρὰ σοῦ . . . γεγραμμένα: We have here an indication not only that Porphyry made corrections to P.’s written work prior to the publication of the Enneads (cf. 7.50– 51), but also that these corrections were very well known and relatively substantial, because—for someone like Longinus, who did not understand “the man’s usual way of expressing himself ” (20.9)—they were enough to transform the incomprehensible texts Amelius had given him, “which were transcribed from the author’s own originals” (20.9), to an admirably limpid writing style (19.37–38). 19.32. ἃ μὲν . . . ἐκτησάμην: Rist 1981, 140–41 and 163–44 (see also Brisson 1987, 809) made the interesting suggestion that the treatises Amelius brought to Phoenicia and Syria later found their way into the famous library in nearby Caesarea, which Eusebius eventually put to good use. If this were the case, then the passages cited in books XI and XV of the latter’s PE would have been mined from Amelius’ copy. See further on this topic the suggestions advanced in Kalligas 2001. 19.34–35. καὶ παρόντι . . . διατρίβοντι:The first expression evidently refers to Porphyry’s sojourn in Athens (see 4.2). Nothing else is known about his trip home to Tyre—it may have been during a holiday period, either (as is most likely) from Athens (see Bidez 1913, 34), or from Rome or Sicily (see Bréhier ad loc.).



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Commentary to the VP 19.36–41. τῶν μὲν . . . ζητητικούς:The distinction between the content and style of the Plotinian texts evoked here by Longinus in order to express his disagreement with the former and admiration for the latter reveals the philological manner in which he approaches P.’s works. His most important disagreement, that concerned with the relationship between the intellect and the ideas, is discussed below, 20.89–96. 20.1–2. κριτικωτάτου:Longinus is characterized in the same way by the anonymous epitomizer of his Ars Rhetorica: see Spengel 1853, 1:321.6. 20.4–5. τὰ πρῶτα . . . διετέλει:The image that Porphyry wants to convey is clear: in the beginning, influenced by the “ignorance” of his colleagues in Athens (cf. 17.1–2), Longinus did not hold P.’s philosophy in high esteem. Later, thanks mainly to Porphyry himself (19.2), he came to understand it better, changed his opinion (while always preserving certain reservations on the level of doctrine), and arrived at a much more positive assessment of P.’s work. The question arises, however, whether Porphyry has overemphasized his own role at this point, given that in his letter (19.34–41) Longinus himself says that his views on P. had been formed before Porphyry went to Rome. Furthermore, it would be utterly surprising if he were completely ignorant about the views of such an important student of his own teacher, Ammonius, even if (as it seems) he did not know him personally. The only reasonable explanation for this last point is that his own (not very brief, see 20.37–38) period of study in Alexandria—perhaps at a relatively young age (see 20.20–25)—preceded that of P. This calls for a date of birth for Longinus around 200, which would also help explain the presence of his writings in Origen’s library in Caesarea in about 249: see Porph. C. Chr. fr. 39.32 = Eus. HE VI 19.8. 20.14–15. Λογγίνου . . . τέλους: Henry 1934a, 5n.4, asserts, and Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 295n.1 supports the idea with strong arguments, that the pros in the title has polemical force (that is to say, it means “against”; cf. “Against (pros) the Gnostics” referred to at 16.11). Less certain is the meaning of the term telos (“end”). If, as seems to be the case, the point of the book was primarily philosophical, it is probable that it concerned the Good as an ontological and teleological principle, as in Middle Platonism, and rejected the apophatic nature of the Plotinian understanding of the One. This work must have been composed after the dispute between Porphyry and Amelius over the relationship between the intellect and ideas (see 91–96), which must have occurred in the autumn of 263 (see 18.9, prōton), before Amelius’ departure from Rome (32–33). Theiler’s dating of the work to “about 265” seems, then, to be secure. See my comments at 20.41 and 21.12–13. 20.17. Μάρκελλε:It is probable, though not at all certain, that this is Marcellus Orontius, the senator whom we met earlier among P.’s students (7.31): see Alföldi 1930, 27 (1967, 256) n.153. 20.30. Εὐκλείδης:This must be the same as the Eucleides to whom Proclus In Remp. II, 96.13 refers, among those who had commented on the final myth of the Republic before Porphyry.



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20.31. Δημόκριτος:The few scattered and uncertain pieces of information that exist about this Democritus have been examined briefly but ably by Brisson 1982, 78. To his discussion I would simply like to add that the theory of names as statues appears much earlier than the fifth century, primarily in the context of magico-­philosophical beliefs, and it seems to have assumed a systematic form even before Theodore of Asine: see Gersh 1978, 289–304, and cf. also the Gospel of Truth = NHC I 3, 23.1–22. As regards, more particularly, the designation “XNA” which is assigned to (the same?) Democritus by Olympiodorus In Alc. 70, “since his name adds up to 651,” this may be derived from some arithmetical sleight of hand (e.g., counting the final “ς” of his name as 30 instead of 200) in order to obtain a combination of three letters that correspond to the three higher levels of being: the soul (χ = 600), cf. Theod. Asin. test. 6 = Procl. In Ti. II 276.16–277.24; the Intellect (ν = 50), cf. Praechter 1934, 1835.63; and the One (α = 1). But it is not known whether the Democritus mentioned here by Longinus was up to this type of imaginativeness, which would bring him close to the homonymous inspirer of the magical treatise Sphaera contained in PGM XII, 351–64. 20.31. Προκλῖνος:Nothing is known of Proclinus other than from the text of Longinus under consideration. 20.32. ἐν τῇ Ῥώμῃ δημοσιεύοντες:The intransitive use of the verb dēmosieuō usually means “to be in the public service” or “to be in receipt of a salary from the state” (LSJ). But no evidence exists to suggest that at this time in Rome, as opposed to Athens (see my comments at 15.18–19), there were formally recognized and permanently subsidized philosophical schools. For this reason Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 244–46, argues that the verb is used here with its more general meaning, “I teach publicly.” But the examples she produces as parallels all refer to public lectures (see especially Eun. VS IX 1.6), frequently in the middle of the street (“in the middle of the city,” cf. Dam. Hist. Philos. fr. 43A = Suda, s.v. Hypatia), which could not be said of P.’s school (cf. Enn. III 8.1.8–10), especially by Longinus, who weighs carefully the expressions he uses. Rather, if we consider the facts known about the school’s organization (see my comments at 1.13–14) and our other information (see 12.1–3 and my comments at 13.12–14), I think we are led to the conclusion that P.’s school enjoyed, at least for a time, some state support and perhaps subsidy. See also Igal 1982–98, 1:14. 20.34. Θεμιστοκλῆς:The only thing that we might be able to say about this Themistocles is that he may have been the philosopher and contemporary of P. who, according to the Chronography of George Syncellus, 680.9–11 (for the year 228), enjoyed the honor of receiving an oracle from the shrine at Delphi that said about him: “a good man honored by the blissful gods, is of blessed lot” (No. 469 Parke–Wormell). 20.34. Φοιβίων:Cf. below, at 63–65. We know nothing more about this figure unless his name is hiding in the corrupt title “On the Book Αgainst Phubion [sic]” referred to in the manuscripts of the Suda, s.v. Longinus (see Adler’s apparatus at III, 279.7).



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Commentary to the VP 20.35. Ἄννιος:Unknown figure. 20.35. Μήδιος:Proclus In Remp. I 234.1–9 preserves a testimony from Porphyry’s Summikta zētēmata = fr. 263F, where he presents a dispute between Medius and Longinus “concerning the parts of the soul.” On this, see Dörrie 1959, 104–7. The Longinian rejoinder preserved by Eus. PE XV 21.1–3 = Long. fr. 20 is likely to have been excerpted from this work. 20.35–36. Ἀλεξανδρεὺς Ἡλιόδωρος:See 20.65–68, for our only other piece of information about the Alexandrian Peripatetic Heliodorus. 20.36–38. Πλατωνικοὶ . . . προσεφοιτήσαμεν: As I argued in my comments on 20.4–5, Longinus ought to have studied with Ammonius Saccas before 231, when P. arrived on the scene. It seems that even at that time the Platonist Origen held a prominent position in the school and wielded a certain authority, which explains P.’s embarrassment on the occasion discussed above at 14.20–25. 20.39. Ἀθήνησι διάδοχοι:See 15.18–19, with my comments. 20.39–40. Θεόδοτος καὶ Εὔβουλος:Theodotus seems to have been the predecessor of Eubulus (or, alternatively, of Longinus: see my comments at 14.18–19). We possess no other information about the former, despite the efforts of von Arnim, on which see my comments at 7.18. On Eubulus, see further my comments at 15.18. 20.41. Ὠριγένει . . . δαιμόνων:Cf. 3.31–32. The fact that Longinus does not refer to Origen’s other work means that the On the End was written before it, that is to say, significantly prior to the end of Gallienus’ reign. 20.47. Ἑρμῖνος καὶ Λυσίμαχος:This Herminus is completely unknown, whereas for Lysimachus, see 3.43, with my comments. 20.48. Ἀθηναῖος καὶ Μουσώνιος:Unknown figures. 20.49. Ἀμμώνιος:Philostratus VS II 27, 618, similarly describes this Ammonius, who should be distinguished from Saccas, saying, “I have never met a more learned man than him.” 20.49. Πτολεμαῖος:It is very likely that this figure should be identified with the Ptolemaeus, also a Peripatetic, who, according to Sextus Empiricus M. I 60–61 and 72 (cf. Schol. in Dion. Thrax 165.16), criticized Dionysius Thrax’s definition of Grammar as “experience.” There is, though, also a Platonist philosopher with the same name who is mentioned by both Iamblichus, De an. apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.39, 378.7, and Proclus, In Ti. I 20.7, and who may be none other than the famous “pinakographer” Ptolemaeus al-­Garib, the



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source of an important group of biographies of Aristotle: see Dihle 1957, 315–25, but also, for an opposing view, Plezia 1975, 39–40. Even though, as Dihle himself (at 323) acknowledges, his links with Aristotelianism are very evident, both he and Düring 1957, 469–75, consider him to be a Neoplatonist after the time of Porphyry. In this way they unnecessarily, in my opinion, complicate the issue by distinguishing him from the Peripatetic Ptolemaeus, because, apart from the fact that the distance between Platonism and Peripateticism had shrunk in the third century, the argument that the designation al-­garib (the foreigner, the other) was used in order to distinguish him from the famous astronomer loses its thrust if we accept that a third Ptolemaeus—and indeed a Peripatetic—existed. Furthermore, it is somewhat unsound to consider, as does Düring, that the Neoplatonists had a monopoly on uncritical and excessive enthusiasm for the Stagirite. We should also put greater weight on the earlier observation of Plezia 1946, 5, that Ptolemaeus adopted the classification of Aristotle’s works introduced by Andronicus and not that used by the Neoplatonists. See also Moraux 1973–2001, 1:60n.6, and 64–65. 20.70. τρόπῳ . . . χρησάμενοι: As Igal 1982–98, 1:11, acutely observes, this appraisal, coming from another student of Ammonius, is enough to prove the innovative character of P.’s philosophy, and that it was he, and not his mysterious teacher, who was the founder of Neoplatonism. 20.71–72. τὰς Πυθαγορείους . . . καὶ Πλατωνικάς:It is worth noting that Longinus first refers to the Pythagorean strands in P.’s thought and immediately afterward compares him with philosophers who are best known as Pythagoreans. It seems that for him and—perhaps—for other representatives of the Platonic “orthodoxy,” P.’s deviation from their own version of Middle-­Platonism was attributable primarily to the admixture of elements derived from (Neo-­)Pythagoreanism. Furthermore, even though it had been more or less a commonplace since the time of the Ancient Academy that Plato was an adherent and continuator of Pythagorean philosophy (sometimes even a diadochos of Pythagoras: see the anonymous VPyth. apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 249, 438b17), certain tensions had already developed from at least the second century between some Platonists and those Neopythagoreans who saw Plato as a simple (and perhaps not entirely authentic) expression of a much older tradition that had been revealed in the wise doctrines of “the peoples of renown” and the “teachings of Pythagoras”: see Numenius fr. 1a = Eus. PE IX 7.1; Dillon 1988, 119–25; and Kalligas 2004c, 47–50. Nevertheless, despite the reverence with which he refers to the “ancient wise men” (see, e.g., Enn. III 6.19.25, IV 3.11.1, and V 8.6.1) and to those “close to Pythagoras” (e.g., V 1.9.28–32 and V 5.6.27–28), P. did not hesitate to face them critically at times (e.g., IV 7.84.3–28 and IV 8.1.17–26), and always through the lens of Platonism, as the precursors of the “divine Plato” (III 5.1.6 and IV 8.1.23): see also Gelzer 1982, 129–30; Schwyzer 1983, 92; and Whittaker 1987, 118–20. 20.72–73. πρὸς σαφεστέραν . . . ἐξήγησιν: Longinus, consistent with his attitude elsewhere (cf. 19.36–41), praises the exactitude of P.’s writings, while maintaining his reser-



76

Commentary to the VP vations about their content, as we shall see below. Clarity is an especially prized literary virtue related to the art of rhetoric: see, e.g., Arist. Rh. ΙΙΙ 2.1, 1404b1–2; Hermog. Id. I 2, 226.8–18; and also the third chapter titled “The Concept of Obscurity in Greek Literature” in Kustas 1973, 63–100. 20.75. Μοδεράτου:This Neopythagorean from Gadara who taught at Rome during the second half of the first century is one of the most important early figures in Neopythagoreanism. Even though our information about the work of Moderatus is very limited, it appears that he paved the way both for the theory of the three hypostases and for the theory of the transcendental One, using as his foundation an interpretation of Plato’s Parmenides and the pseudo-­Platonic Epistle II. On this, see Merlan 1967, 90–95; Saffrey and Westerink 1968–97, 2:xxvi–xxxv; Dillon 1977, 344–51; and Kahn 2001, 105–10. 20.75. Θρασύλλου:The trusted astrologer of the emperor Tiberius, characterized by Nietzsche 1935, 349, as a “shadowy Faustian figure,” Thrasyllus died in 36 CE, a few months before his protector. He is primarily known for his advice in the establishment of a system of “tetralogies” for the publication of Plato’s dialogues: see Diog. Laert. III 56, but now also Tarrant 1993. If Dillon 1977, 85n.1, is right to argue that the account of Pythagorean philosophy contained in the Against the Physicists of Sextus Empiricus, M. X 248–83, is based on the work of Thrasyllus that Longinus has in mind here, then it must have included a strongly Platonizing exposition of a “Pythagorean” doctrine of the first principles, whose origin is perhaps to be found in the Old Academy. 20.76–80. ὁ δὲ Ἀμέλιος . . . ὑπαγόμενος:By “mostly” (ta polla), Longinus indicates that there already existed certain points where Amelius differed from his teacher: cf. my comments at 17.41–42. On Amelius’ verbose writing style, see 17.16–44. 20.84–85. οὐχ ὅτι . . . ἐπιχειρημάτων: As Wilkens 1977, 276–79, has shown, the terms “chief points” (kephalaia) and “arguments” (epicheirēmata) are derived from the vocabulary of rhetorical theory. The first refers to the basic points that a rhetorical text is required to treat, while the second indicates the entire rhetorical procedure that illustrates the points made—in the words of Minucianus, “what is required in order to produce belief concerning the topic under consideration.” See Long. Rhet. 301.15–18 = fr. 48.75– 79; id. apud ?Psellus De rhet. 321.23–322.3 = fr. 49.21–28; and Minuc. De epcheirēmatibus 417.26–27. 20.88–89. Γεντιλιανῷ . . . ἀντειπόντες:The dispute must have been over the interpretation of Plato’s Republic, as there are suggestions in Proclus’ commentary that Amelius had written at least a partial commentary on that work. 20.89. τὸ Περὶ τῶν ἰδεῶν:If the On the End of Longinus was written around 265, as I have accepted in my comments on 20.14–15, then the treatise of P. that is discussed here must be Enn. V 9 [5].



Commentary to the VP 77

20.91. Βασιλέα:Cf. above at 17.6–10. 20.92–96. ὃν ἀποδεξάμενος . . . παλινῳδήσαντα: According to Proclus, In Ti. I 322.24, Longinus’ view was that the intelligible model, on the basis of which the Demiurge of the Timaeus operates, exists “after him.” P., who usually identifies the Demiurge with the Intellect (e.g., Enn. II 3.18.14–16, V 1.8.5, V 9.3.25–26), sometimes gives the impression that he would not be entirely opposed to such a formulation: see, e.g., Enn. V 8.12.4, V 9.5.12– 13; Rist 1962a, 102; and also for the opposite view, Carbonara 1954, 342–43; and Krämer 1967, 404–5. Their difference seems to be attributable to the fact that P., influenced primarily by Peripatetic noology (see Szlezák 1979, 140–41), argued that the intelligibles exist within the Intellect, and that after a point at least they are identified with it. 21.6. αὐτοῦ τε Πλάτωνος:Tollius’ emendation, reading Platōnos instead of helomenou, safeguards the correspondence with Longinus’ phrase at 20.72. But Porphyry is interested to underline the authenticity of P.’s Platonism, something that Longinus was probably not ready to do. 21.12–13. μνησθεὶς . . . συνουσίας:Igal’s discerning analysis of this phrase notwithstanding (in Igal 1972a, 108–13), I think that the only way to interpret its presence here is to recognize that during Longinus’ composition of the On the End, Porphyry was just beginning his period of association with P. This appears to be confirmed by Longinus’ use of the perfect tense, “has written” (pepragmateumenos) at 21.15 just below (and cf. 20.91– 92), as Igal himself seems to have sensed when he came to translate the passage (op. cit. 162). Longinus’ invitation to Porphyry to join him, which is mentioned below (21), needs by no means to be identified with that issued in his letter that is quoted at 19.7–41. As is indicated there (19.8–9), similar exhortations had already been made “many times.” 22.1–2. Ἀλλὰ λέγειν:The verse Porphyry cites from Hesiod’s Theogony 35 also plays a transitional role in that work between the proem and the hymn of the Muses. Its proverbial origin may, as is the case with a parallel line in the Odyssey, 19.163, be related to the very ancient dendrogonic and lithogonic genealogies. Cf. Pl. Phdr. 275b5–8. As for the proverb’s meaning, the ancient scholiasts on Hesiod paraphrase it thus: “for what reason do I occupy myself with the out-­of-­date, when matters to hand are urgent?” (Schol. in Hes. Theog. 35, 10.5–6), that is to say, roughly, “Why speak at length on things of secondary importance, when there are much more significant matters to be discussed?” See also West 1966, 169. 22.6–7. Οἶδα . . . ἀκούω:The lines belong to the response with which the Pythia assured Croesus of the truthfulness of the Delphic oracular shrine (No. 52 Parke–Wormell). Porphyry, like all the other indirect sources, uses in the second line ou laleontos instead of Herodotus’ ou phōneuntos. 22.8. Ἀπόλλων:Most scholars have assumed that the oracle mentioned here is that of Pythian Apollo, because, besides the oracle about P., Porphyry refers to two other fa-



78

Commentary to the VP mous oracles known to be Delphic (at 6–7 and 11). See, e.g., Harder, ad loc. 116, and Schwyzer 1986, 546n.1; both Parke and Wormell 1956 and Fontenrose 1978 include it in their collections of Delphic oracles as No. 473 and No. H 69, respectively. The former observe in their commentary (op. cit., 2:193) that its artful composition sets it apart from all other similar oracles (cf., e.g., my comments at 20.34); and Fontenrose 1978, 35 and 191, expresses the view (adopted also by Igal 1984, 114–15) that the oracle lent its prestige to a hymn that had already been composed by Amelius. Goulet 1982c, 380–81, on the other hand, noting that for Porphyry it was the divine and not the geographical provenance of the oracle that mattered, expresses serious reservations about the oracle’s relation to some “official” shrine. 22.8–9. ἐρομένου . . . κεχώρηκεν: Amelius must have posed the question not long after P.’s death: see also 23–24, “now . . . approaching.” Quis est hujus Oraculi Vates? The oracle’s philosophical content and striking Neoplatonic nuances have inclined nearly all scholars toward assigning its authorship either to Amelius (see primarily Goulet 1982c, 405–9, but also the reference in the previous comment), or to Porphyry himself (see, e.g., Schwyzer 1986, 550–51). I think that the latter, despite his enormous experience of the matter, must be excluded. Otherwise Amelius’ involvement in this story would be completely inexplicable, especially as it is well known that Porphyry strove to diminish his fellow disciple’s role in his own relations with their teacher (cf. my comments at 7.2–3). See also the argument of Brisson 1990, 86. Consequently, in my opinion, Goulet’s remains the most convincing theory, in which he argues for the oracle’s origin in the Neoplatonic circles of Apamea, where the most prominent position was held by Amelius, who was, however, preparing to give way in a little while to the “inspired” Iamblichus. Cf. further Goulet 1992, 603–17. 22.11. Ἀνδρῶν . . . σοφώτατος:In addition to Diogenes Laertius II 37, this famous oracular response is given in the verse form as it appears here by Lucian, Galen, the Christian Origen, Libanius, and a scholiast on Aelius Aristides. Two later testimonies—one of which, a scholium on line 144 of Aristophanes’ Clouds (88.23–29), seems, however, to invoke the authority of Apollonius of Molos (ca. 100 BCE)—offer the preceding line: “Sophocles is wise, but Euripides is wiser. . . .” On this, see No. 420 Parke–­ Wormell and de Strycker 1975, 41 and 49n.6. At any rate, it should be stressed that Porphyry, who was fully qualified as a philologist, states unequivocally that the response contained “only” (tosouton) that which he records. Cf. also Plato Ap. 20e6–21a7 (No. 134 Parke–Wormell). 22.13. Ἄμβροτα . . . ἀναβάλλομαι:This Homeric phrase (cf. Od. 1.155 and 8.266) alludes to the instrumental “prelude” of a song. The correct interpretation and punctuation of the line by Wolff 1854, 7n.3, introducing a comma after anaballomai, was defended by Schwyzer 1986, 555, but did not appear in H-­S5. 22.13. ὕμνον ἀοιδῆς:Cf. Hom. Od. 8.429.

Commentary to the VP 79



22.14. ὑφαίνων:The metaphor of weaving a song is also met with in Bacchylides fr. 5.9, as noted by Schwyzer op. cit. 22.15. χρυσέῳ ὑπὸ πλήκτρῳ: Cf. [Hom.] Hymn Apoll. 185. 22.16–17. κλῄζω . . . ἐρωαῖς:Apollo, leader of the Muses, summons them to accompany a hymn of praise with their choral dance. This scene is familiar from several Roman sarcophagi: see, e.g., the Belvedere sarcophagus in the Vatican, with Cumont 1942a, pl. XXXIV, 2. Cf. Philodamus Scarpheus, Paean V 58–62, 167. The presence and signification of the Muses on a large number of grave monuments from the Hellenistic and, primarily, Roman periods have been explored exhaustively by leading scholars in the field, such as Marrou 1938, Cumont 1942a, and Wegner 1966. It should suffice here simply to mention a testimony about Amelius that has been generally overlooked, because it is not included in Brisson’s catalogue. John Lydus Mens. IV 85, 135.2–7, records: “He [Amelius] says that the Muses are the souls of the spheres, which gather together into a single harmony arranged by the Demiurge the energies of all the powers and the substances which are sent forth in the universe.” There are signs that even P. himself was disposed at times to attribute to the Muses an analogous cosmic role, which connects them with the creation of time: see Enn. III 7.11.4–11. The symbolism of this role, which is probably based on a cosmological interpretation of a passage in the Timaeus, 47c6–d7, even though it is not original (see Cumont 1942a, 259–61), harmonizes well, as we shall see, with the oracle’s contents. Cf. Porph. VPyth 31, 50.20–51.3; and Boyancé 1946, 7–9. 22.18 οἷον . . . ἐκλήιχθεν: Scholars accept, usually without discussion, that the Aeacid referred to here is Achilles: see, e.g., Harder and Igal ad loc.; Brisson 1982, 125. But I am unaware of any other example of such an encomium of Achilles by the Muses. On the other hand, Pindar, in one of his two versions of the death of Achilles’ son Neoptolemus (see Nem. VII 50–70), says that the latter was killed at Delphi, on the order of the Fates:  . . . for it was doomed that one of the royal race of Aeacus should, for all time to come, dwell in the heart of that primeval grove, beside the fair walls of the God’s own temple, and, dwelling there, should preside over the processions of heroes, which are honoured by many sacrifices, for enforcement of auspicious guest-­right . . . (trans. Sir John Sandys) Neoptolemus’ relation to the Delphic rituals of a hero cult (cf. Pausanias X 24.6) make him a more likely candidate for the person for whom the Muses were called “to set the choral dance going.” 22.19. ἀθανάτων μανίαισιν:This refers, as Igal has noted, to the Platonic theory of the poets’ “possession and frenzy inspired by the Muses”; see Pl. Phdr. 245a1–8; and Ion 533e3–534a7.



80

Commentary to the VP 22.20–21. ἀπύσωμεν εἰς ἕν:The unifying role of the leader Apollo (the creative Logos), which here is manifested as an exhortation to the Muses’ dance, is emphasized also in the fragment of Amelius’ writing that I quoted as a parallel in my comment on 22.16–17 above; cf. further Enn. VI 9.8.36–45. 22.22. ἐν μέσσαισιν ἐγὼ Φοῖβος:This positioning of Apollo, usually together with Athena, in the center of the Muses’ chorus is known also from the archeological evidence: see Cumont 1942a, 316–17; and Wegner 1966, Nos. 2, 24, 43, 125, 215, and 231, all from the second quarter of the third century. It corresponds precisely to his role as the power that holds the universe together: cf. Plato Cra. 405c6–d5, as interpreted by Procl. In Remp. I, 57.13–16; and ?Auson. Nomina Musarum 10–11, 412: Mentis Apollineae uis has mouet undique Musas; in medio residens complectitur omnia Phoebus. Apollo’s central position also corresponds to that occupied by the sun in both the order of the planets according to the so-­called Chaldean (i.e., Pythagorean) system, and in the constitution of the cosmic “harmony of the spheres”: see Theon Sm. De ut. math. 138.9–142.5; and Boyancé 1966, 168–69. 22.22. βαθυχαίτης:According to West 1966, 425, this epithet is not found in archaic epic poetry as a descriptive feature of Apollo, but rather of his son Aristaeus (see Hes. Theog. 977 and fr. 217.1). 22.23. δαῖμον:According to P., after its departure from the body, the soul follows its own most dominant element: see Enn. III 4.2.11–12. Consequently, the result of the philosopher’s steady concentration on the vision of the intelligible is his eu-­daimonia (“well-­ being”) and, in the end, his incorporation into the (superhuman) category of daimones (“demons”): cf. Pl. Cra. 398b5–c4; and Xenocr. fr. 81 = Arist. Top. II 6, 112a32–38. See Igal 1984, 89–96, where he refutes the reservations expressed by Goulet 1982c, 395n.4, as to whether P.’s characterization as a daimōn corresponds to his own philosophical position on the subject (on which see also my comment at 10.24–25). 22.23–24. ἄνερ . . . πελάων: The journey after death from the human condition to that of the daimōn was a rather common conception, independent of particular philosophical convictions regarding the nature of the daimones: cf., e.g., the sepulchral epigram for the doctor Philadelphos (Kaibel 1878, 243.5–8, dated to about the second century CE), the vocabulary of which bears many similarities to that of the oracle:  . . . your soul, having flown from your limbs (cf. Il.16.856), went among the other daimones and you dwell on the plain of the blessed. Be happy and bestow on me cure of illnesses as before, for now you have a more divine share of life. Edwards 2000, 41n.233 further points out that the so-­called Pythagorean Golden Verses 70–71, perhaps reflecting Empedocles’ famous claim (fr. B112.3 DK; cf. Enn. IV 7.10.38– 39), conclude with an assurance that whoever conforms with their precepts “will be immortal, an undying god, no longer mortal.”



Commentary to the VP 81

22.24–25. δεσμὸν ἀνάγκης ἀνδομέης:The view that the incarnation of the soul involves entanglement in the bonds of bodily necessity is of definite Platonic provenance (see, e.g., Phd. 67d1–2, 82e1–7; and Ti. 73b3–d7), but it played a particularly important role in the tradition of Pythagorizing philosophy: see, e.g., Euxitheus Pythagoricus apud Clearchus of Soli fr. 38 = Athen. IV 157c; Arist. Quint. De mus. II 17, 87.14; and Schreckenberg 1964, 145–53. 22.25. ῥεθέων . . . κυδοιμοῦ: The likening of the body to troubled waters either of a stormy sea or a raging river also has roots in Platonism (see Phd. 87d9), but it became especially popular during the early Christian period: see Boyancé 1937, 288; and Pépin 1971a, 156n.3. For the same image in P., see, e.g., Enn. I 8.4.1–5. The famous epigram on the tomb of the doctor Asclepiades characterizes his body as a “grave on the sea” (Kaibel 1878, 594.8; see also Cumont 1942a, 278n.3). Cf. the Christian prayer, No. 118 from the first book of the Palatine Anthology. This symbolism acquired its greatest importance, however, among the Gnostics and Manichaeans: see Jonas 1954–93, 1:322n.4; and Henrichs and Koenen 1970, 156n.148. 22.26. ἐς ᾐόνα νηχύτου ἀκτῆς:With this allegorical image compare that of the “calm harbor” as it is analyzed by Bonner 1941, 49–67, and also Visio Dorothei 175 = PBodmer 29 (“in a gentle harbor”), together with the comments of Livrea 1986, 698. See also Kaibel 1878, 168; Pal. Anthol. VII, 472b; and Griffiths 1975, 245. 22.27. νήχε’ ἐπειγόμενος:This phrase is taken from the dramatic lines of the Odyssey 5.399, where Odysseus at last reaches, by swimming, the island of the Phaeaceans. Its appearance here reveals the allegorical substructure of this part of the hymn (25–33), namely, the “Pythagorean” interpretation of the wanderings of Odysseus—understood, in the words of Porphyry apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.60, 445.20, as a “spiritual enigma”—which is known to us from a fragment of Numenius (fr. 33 = Porph. De antr. nymph. 34, 32.13– 21), from the Enneads (see, e.g., I 6.8.16–20), but also from a large number of archeological finds: see Courcelle 1944, 73–93; Carcopino 1956, 199–221; Buffière 1956, 413–18; and Rahner 1945, 281–328. According to this interpretation, Odysseus’ return home (nostos) symbolizes the return of the soul to its home above the heavens after the long struggles and temptations of the stormy world of sensation: cf. Lamberton 1986, 107. On the symbolism of the swimmer in particular, cf. Plutarch De gen. 24, 593f; and Maximus of Tyre XI 10, 142.8–12. 22.29. ἦχι . . . περιλάμπεται: The radiance that illuminates the place of the pure soul is derived from the Intellect: cf. Enn. III 5.2.27–32. 22.30. ἀλιτροσύνης ἀθεμίστου:As Igal 1984, 103n.84, observes, there may be a reference here to the Cyclopes, often characterized as “lawless” (athemistoi) in book 9 of the Odyssey; at any rate, cf. Enn. V 9.1.20–21. 22.31. κῦμ’ ἐξυπαλύξαι:Cf. Hom. Od. 5.429–30.



82

Commentary to the VP 22.32. εἰλίγγων:Cf. [Hermes Trism.] Asclepius 28, 334.9–10. 22.33. κλύδωνος:Cf. Hom. Od. 12.421, but also Hierocles In CA 26.7, 113.1. 22.34. σκοπός:The term is not found in the Enneads with the emphatic meaning it has here; cf., however, the equivalent use of the term telos in, e.g., Enn. V 5.12.20, V 8.7.46, VI 7.25.1, and VI 9.8.43. 22.34. ἐγγύθι ναίων:Cf. Hom. Od. 7.29. These are words used by the disguised Athena to refer to the house of her “noble father.” 22.35. λοξῇσιν ἀταρποῖς:I do not think that Goulet 1982c, 401n.2, is correct in drawing a parallel between this passage and fr. 136 of the Chaldaean Oracles. There it is God, as Proclus explains at In Prm. 990.34–991.1, who leads into impasses the uninitiated who attempt to approach the “most divine things of visions and rituals”; this is a conception utterly foreign to P.’s thought, but also inconsistent with the oracle’s content (see the next comment). 22.36. ἐρωῇσι σφετέρῃσιν:We have here a reminder that the soul is responsible for its own orientation and fall—“The blame is his who chooses, God is blameless” (Pl. Resp. X 617e4–5). Cf., e.g., Enn. III 2.7.15–23; CH IV 8; and Porph. Marc. 12, 112.15–16 = Sextus Sent. 114. 22.38. θαμινὴν φαέων ἀκτῖνα:Neither here is it necessary to appeal to the Chaldaean Oracles, as does Goulet 1982c, 403–4, in order to interpret the anagogic role of light. Lichtsymbolik is a common idea in the terminology of mystery religions—taking perhaps the “great light” of the Eleusinian Mysteries as a starting point—and even among Christians: cf., e.g., Philo Opif. 23.71; Spec. leg. I 6.37; Clem. Al. Protr. I 2.3; Paed. I 6, 26.1–2 and 28.1. See also Igal 1984, 108. 22.40. ἔχε νήδυμος ὕπνος:The phrase is Homeric (Il. 2.2; but cf. also Od. 13.79, as noted by Edwards 1988, 513–14). We encounter the resemblance of the “present life” with sleep in Maximus of Tyre, X 1, 111.5–112.4, and in other Middle Platonic sources (see Deuse 1983, 84–87); but also in Pl. Resp. V 476c2–d4. Cf. Enn. III 6.6.69–74 and V 5.11.19–22; Philo Ins. I 165; CH I 2:15; Montanus apud Epiph. Adu. haer. 48.4.1, 224.23; and Manichaean Psalm CCLXI, 75.31–76.1. Porphyry himself seems to have written a work titled On Sleep and Wakefulness: see Bidez 1913, 56*.30–33. Both Goulet 1982c, 400n.5; and Igal 1984, 109, understand this as referring to natural sleep, which P. kept to a minimum (see 8.21–23). I find this highly unlikely within the context of such a strikingly allegorical description. 22.42–43. ἀχλύος . . . χαρίεντα:Cf. [Hermes Trism.] Asclepius 32, 342.5–10. The expression “and many beautiful things” (polla te kai charienta) is taken from Homer: see Il. 8.204 and 9.599.



Commentary to the VP 83

22.44. ἀνθρώπων . . . ἔπλευν:This verse looks like a poetic paraphrase of the “Pythagorean”/Platonic etymological definition of “philosophy” as “love of wisdom”: see, e.g., Nicomachus Ar. I 1.1; Elias Prol. 9, 23.24–26; and also Burkert 1960, 175–77. Porphyry too understood the verse in much the same way: see 23.23–24. It seems that P. also would have been willing to accept this definition. Cf., e.g., Enn. V 9.2.2–9. 22.45. σκῆνος:The term, which is used to designate the body in two disputed fragments of Democritus, B37 and 187 DK, and in the pseudo-­Platonic Axiochus 366a1 (but cf. also Pl. Resp. X 621a4), became almost a technical term in Hellenistic Pythagorean literature, as is clear from the Index of Thesleff 1965, 257, s.v. Cf. CH XIII 12 and Excerpta IIA, V 4, XXIII 34; also Kaibel 1878, 97.3 and 502.11; and PGM IV 448. It also played an important role in Christian writers: see, e.g., Paul in 2 Cor. 5:1, 4; and Clem. Al. Strom. IV 26, 165.2. 22.45. σῆμα:The body’s likeness to a grave of the soul is based on the alliterative similarity between sōma (body) and sēma (sign, hence grave mound, grave), best known from Plato: see Grg. 493a3; Cra. 400c1; and Phdr. 250c5. The long life of this imagery has been studied by Courcelle 1966, 101–22; and de Vogel 1981, 88–93. P. refers to it, but without much enthusiasm: see Enn. IV 8.1.31 and 3.4. 22.47. ἀναπνείουσαν ἀήταις:Cf. Hom. Od. 4.567. 22.48. ἐνθ’ . . . ἵμερος:The phrase comes from Hom. Il. 14.216, where Aphrodite’s magical breastband is described. The ground is prepared in this way for the introduction of the theme of eros, which has an important role to play in the rest of the hymn. Plato seems also to have had the phrase in mind in similar contexts: see Symp. 197d7 and Phdr. 251e3. 22.49. πλείων:Schwyzer 1986, 522–25, clearly demonstrated that the use of the form pleiōn here instead of the usual (Homeric) pleios, is due to a misunderstanding of the adjective’s use in Hom. Od. 20.355. 22.51. νήνεμος αἰθήρ:Cf. Hom. Il. 8.556. 22.52. χρυσείης γενεῆς:This reference to the “golden race” of Hesiod (Op. 109–26) reveals the origin of the hymn’s theory of daimones, mediated, no doubt, by Plato’s interpretation of the Hesiodic myth in the Cratylus (397e5–398c4). It is likely, as has been observed by Glucker 1978, 320, that this golden race (see also 56–57) is related to the “sacred race” that—according to Hierocles Prou. et Fat. apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 214, 173a34–38—included “Plotinus and Origen, and Porphyry and Iamblichus and those who followed in succession . . . down to Plutarch of Athens,” that is, the representatives of the “authentic” tradition of “purified” Platonic philosophy. Later this succession was called the “golden chain,” based on an allegorical interpretation of a passage in the Iliad (8.19; cf. Pl. Tht. 153c9–d5); see, e.g., Dam. Philos.



84

Commentary to the VP Hist. fr. 98E apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 242, 346a18; Glucker 1978, 306–15; and Fowden 1982, 34. 22.53–54. Μίνως . . . Αἰακός:The sons of Zeus and Europa, Minos and Rhadamanthys, first appear together with their half-­brother Aeacus (and the Eleusinian Triptolemus) as judges in the underworld in Plato’s Apology 43a3–4. The role of the three is analyzed extensively in the eschatological myth of the Gorgias, 523e7–527a4. In the pseudo-­ Platonic Axiochus, 371b8, only the first two appear, but it is worth remarking that among the good things mentioned there as being enjoyed by those whom “a good daimōn inspired during their lifetime” are included also “companies of philosophers.” In this hymn it is obvious that P. is not being judged—the point, rather, is that he will join the company of the judges, together with Plato and Pythagoras, as an equal (see also 59–60 and 23.33–34). 22.54–55. ἦχι . . . Πυθαγόρης: “A sage among sages,” pronounces a Hellenistic grafitto on the grave of Petosiris in Egyptian Hermoupolis: see Cumont 1942a, 269. The encounter after death with the great wise men of the past is a quite common motif in both literary sources and archeological finds: see Cumont, 275n.2; and Courcelle 1944, 83– 86. Cf. Martianus Capella De nupt. II 211–13. The reasons for choosing Plato and Pythagoras in this instance are obvious: see my comments at 20.71–73. Telemachus in Hom. Od. 2.409 is also described as a “sacred power”; but see also [Hesiod] fr. 198.2. The beauty of Pythagoras was one of the basic elements of the myth surrounding his personality: see, e.g., Diog. Laert. VIII 11; Apul. Florida 15.12, 147; and Iambl. VPyth 2.9–10, 8.13–22. 22.55–56. ὅσσοι . . . ἀθανάτου: The reference is the same as that at 44: the subject is, of course, philosophical eros, which is the moving power and unifying principle of every progression toward philosophical enlightenment. 22.57. ἐν θαλίῃσιν:Another allusion to the golden race of Hesiod: cf. Op. 115. 22.58. αἰὲν . . . ἰαίνεται:Cf. Hom. Od. 6.156. 22.59. ὀτλήσας . . . ἀέθλων:The use of athletic metaphors in ethics is familiar from much earlier times (see, e.g., Thuc. II 46 and Pl. Phdr. 247b5), but it seems that in P.’s day they could still—sometimes—be quite vivid. See, e.g., Enn. I 4.8.24–27, III 2.5.3–4; cf. CH X 19; Clem. Al. Strom. VII 3, 20.3–6, Ecl. proph. 28.2; Porph. Abst. I 31.3; Theiler 1966, 42–43; and Henrichs and Koenen 1981, 251–52. It is noteworthy that a treatise from Nag Hammadi has as its title, Book of Thomas the Contender (athlētēs): NHC II 7, 145.17–18. Cf. also my comment on Enn. I 4.8.24 22.59. δαίμονας ἁγνούς:The expression daimones hagnoi is not directly attested in the text of Hesiod’s Works and Days, but it is a variant of verse 122, which appears in Plato’s Cratylus 398a1 and Republic V 469a1. See West 1978, 181–82.



Commentary to the VP 85

23.1. Ἐν δὴ . . . εἴρηται:Porphyry continues with his own commentary on the oracle, as he did previously with the other “documents” he quoted: cf. 18.1–8, 20.1–9, 21.1–23. He had especially refined the technique of philosophical commentary on divine utterances in other works, such as his De philosophia ex oraculis; on this see Goulet 1982c, 378–79. 23.1–2. ἀγανὸς . . . ἤπιος: Comparison with 22.14 makes Harder’s emendation of agathos into aganos look necessary. Cf. also Hom. Od. 2.230 and 5.8. 23.2–3. πρᾶός γε . . . συνῄδειμεν:Cf. 9.18–20. 23.3–7. εἴρηται . . . βίου:Cf. 22.28–40. 23.7–8. πολλάκις . . . θεόν:As Rist 1967b, 195–96, remarks, the phrase appears to refer to the famous prologue of the treatise “On the Descent of the Soul into Bodies” (Enn. IV 8 [6].1.1–7: “Many times have I woken up to myself out of the body . . .”). Whereas it is clear that here Porphyry is speaking about the ascent to the One/Good, which is beyond the Intelligible realm, it has been argued that the passage from the Enneads refers to the experience of identification with the (Aristotelian) “active intellect,” which is simply a preparation for the ultimate mystical union: see Schwyzer 1951, 572.1–7; and Hadot 1986, 239–41. However the case may be, the correspondences with that which we also find below (11–12) demonstrate that, at least for Porphyry here—as also for Ambrose De Isaac 4.11, 650.16–20; and the Theology of Aristotle (see H-­S1, 2:225; and Rist op. cit. n.4)—there is no real difference between the two. 23.8–9. ταῖς ἐννοίαις:Porphyry here observes that the path of ascent to the One passes through the world of the Intelligibles, which in turn are revealed in human consciousness by thoughts (ennoiai): on this, see Phillips 1987, 33–52. The phrase corresponds to the knowledge “of the things which come from it” referred to in the Enneads (VI 7.36.7) as one of the ways of approaching the Good. 23.9–10. κατὰ . . . Πλάτωνι: Here we have the “degrees” (anabasmoi) of Plato’s Symposium (210a4–211d1; cf. Enn. VI 7.36.8). The foundational character of this passage for P.’s mystical thought cannot be analyzed here, but it is clearly revealed by a glance at page 360 of the Index fontium of H-­S2. 23.10–11. ὁ μήτε . . . ἔχων:That the Good is “shapeless” (amorphos) and “formless” (aneideos), as the source of all shape and all forms, is a basic Plotinian doctrine. See, e.g., Enn. V 5.6.4–5; VI 7.17.18, 36, 40, 32.9, 38; VI 9.3.39, 43–44; also Regen 1988, 41–44 and passim. 23.11–12. ὑπὲρ . . . ἱδρυμένος:Cf. Enn. IV 8.1.6–7. The One’s transcendence of the Intellect (nous) is also one of the best-­known foundation stones of Plotinian ontology. See, e.g., Enn. V 3.11.27–28 and 13.2–3.



86

Commentary to the VP 23.13–14. ἔτος . . . ὄγδοον: It is undoubtedly preferable, though not incontestably safe, to follow Thedinga 1922, 192, and Harder ad loc. in understanding Porphyry’s age here as that which he had reached at the time of the VP’s composition, and not of his experience of union with God. If we accept this interpretation, based on our information concerning the date of Porphyry’s birth (see my comments at 4.8–9), we can conclude that the VP was written during the period between the end of 299 and the beginning of 301. 23.14. ἐφάνη . . . ναίων:Cf. 22.34. 23.16. τῷ ἐπὶ πᾶσι θεῷ:We do not encounter this phrase in P. On the contrary, as Hadot 1961, 434, has observed, it is characteristic of Porphyry (“presque une signature”) and is probably Neopythagorean in origin. Cf., e.g., [Hermes Trism.] Asclepius 16, 315.17–21. 23.16–17. ἔτυχε . . . τούτου: This personal testimony by Porphyry refers to the period between mid-­263 and mid-­268. It indicates, among other things, that the mystical experience was accompanied by certain external signs, evidently some change in behavior, with the result that it could be confirmed by a third party. We may recall Socrates’ withdrawal (anachōrēsis) on his way to Agathon’s symposium (Pl. Symp. 175a7–b2) and Iamblichus’ more spectacular performance (Eun. VS V 1.8, 12.1–5), but we do not know anything more about P. From indications in several treatises of the Enneads that were written before Porphyry’s arrival in Rome we can gather that besides the four mentioned here, P. had undergone such experiences previously as well. In addition to IV 8.1.1–7, on which see my comments at 23.7–8, see also I 6 [1].7.2–3 and VI 9 [9].9.46–50. As far as we know, Porphyry was the last Neoplatonist for whom mystical union was a lived experience. After him, this union “ceased to be a living experience or even a living ideal and had become a pious formula on the lips of professors” (Dodds 1963, xix). 23.17. ἐνεργείᾳ ἀρρήτῳ:One of the charcteristic features of P.’s teachings is the view that man is in constant and permanent contact with the divine, but usually without being aware of the fact. As a result, besides the empirical “ego,” which carries on the functions of the senses and the mind, there is also, in enduring contact with the Intellect, a transcendent “ego,” which, as a rule, is unconscious and in abeyance (see, e.g., Enn. IV 3.30.7–16 and VI 4.14.16–31). Hadot 1980a, 255–56, notes that “we may define Plotinian mystical experience as the emergence of the presence of this transcendent ‘ego.’ ” In Aristotelian terms, this is explicable as the actualization of the inner “intelligible man” so that this higher consciousness can take over. But before being distilled into thoughts and expressed through words, the Intellect lies outside both consciousness and language. When we achieve the final transcendence even of that otherness that is implicit in intellection, amidst the intoxication of the One, then at last this actualization becomes “apprehension and a sort of contact without speech or thought” (Enn. V 3.10.42– 43). Something along these lines, in my opinion, is what Porphyry is hinting at here with his cryptic formulation.



Commentary to the VP 87

23.18–21. καὶ ὅτι . . . εἴρηται:Cf. 22.35–38. In his zeal to mark out his teacher’s writings as the most divinely inspired, Porphyry here exaggerates the meaning of the hymn’s verses in a comparison that is not at all Plotinian. 23.21–24. ἐκ δὲ . . . προσεχόντων:Cf. 22.40–44. 23.24–27. ἡ γὰρ . . . οἱ θεοί:Porphyry is drawing here a distinction between human contemplation and divine knowledge, recognizing that only the latter can comprehend the depths (bathos: on this expression, see Enn. VI 8.18.3). This is probably a remnant of the Middle Platonic theory of knowledge (cf. “Alcinous” Didasc. 4, 154.18–22; and Sext. Emp. Math. VII 122), and it seems to suggest that for man to approach the supreme principle, the intervention of God is required. Augustine interprets in similar fashion a passage from Porphyry’s (now lost) work, De regressu animae (fr. 297F.1–5 = Aug. De ciu. D. X 29.11–15, trans. M. Dods): “Yet you believe in grace, for you say it is granted to few to reach God by virtue of intelligence (per uirtutem intellegentiae). For you do not say, ‘Few have thought fit or have wished,’ but, ‘It has been granted’ (esse concessum), distinctly acknowledging God’s grace, not man’s sufficiency.” This view has been considered antithetical to that of P. himself, for whom “the success of his endeavor lies in the hands of man, who by his effort is responsible for both his salvation and for his perfection: nothing is more antithetical to P.’s thought than the notion of divine grace” (Arnou 1967, 228–29; see also Dodds 1973, 132). However, this antithesis may be reduced to a mere difference of emphasis, if we consider that for P. too man, in his approach to the Good, is no longer the person he was previously; “he ceases to be human” (V 8.7.33–34), and “he becomes another and is not himself ” (VI 9.10.15–16; see Mamo 1976, 205–6). On the usual, human level of thought, the presence of the Good is indeed revealed as grace (charis: see VI 7.22.7; cf. VI 7.25.7–11), but during the final phase of ascent, the philosopher transcends the human condition, becomes “the Intellect in love” and “out of its senses,” and so is identified with the divine. Porphyry and his teacher differ more substantially on the extent to which they believe that physical death is a presupposition for the deification of man. Both in our text and in the continuation of the fragment cited here, Porphyry bases his argument on a passage from the Phaedo (66e4–67b1) in order to express the view that “in this life a man cannot by any means attain to perfect wisdom (ad perfectionem sapientiae peruenire), but that whatever is lacking is in the future life made up to those who live intellectually (secundum intellectum uiuentibus), by God’s providence and grace” (fr. 297F.7–9 = Aug. De ciu. D. X 29.15–20, trans. M. Dods); cf. again “Alcinous” Didasc. 4, 155.17– 29). P., on the other hand, shows that in his view it is a matter of complete indifference whether one finds oneself in a body or not when advancing toward knowledge of the One and, finally, toward union with God. See Armstrong 1967b, 230. 23.28–40. μετὰ . . . μακαριζόμενον:My emendation at 34–35 suppressing toutois before hois and substituting it in place of the houtos before Platōn in the next line, based on Brinkmann’s rule (on this see H-­S1 3:xv ff.), helps repair an obviously corrupt text. The result is that P. is presented as keeping company after death with the “pure spirits” (22.59,



88

Commentary to the VP hagnoi daimones), among whom are Plato and the other “blessed ones” (makares). This adjustment allows for a completely consistent interpretation of the verses. 24.2–4. ἐπεὶ δὲ . . . ὑπεσχόμην:Porphyry is careful to underline repeatedly (cf. 7.51) that the publication of his teacher’s works was a fulfillment of the latter’s desire. P.’s dispatch of his last treatises (6.1–25) to Porphyry somewhat strengthens this assertion. We have seen earlier (see my comments at 19.28) that Porphyry had begun publishing some of P.’s writings long before the final edition of the Enneads appeared. As far as we know, Amelius (see 20.8–9) and Eustochius (see the ancient scholium at IV 4.29.55 and Goulet-­ Cazé 1982, 287–94) were also similarly occupied with P.’s writings, but we have no indication that there was ever another full edition of P.’s works besides the Enneads. By diorthōsis (“correction” or “editing”) we should understand primarily the removal of the imperfections in P.’s writing style; cf. 8.4–6, 16–17, 13.2–5, 20.1–2, and 26.38–39. Interventions by Porphyry in matters of substance have so far not been located. 24.6. φύρδην ἐκδεδομένα:That P. did not follow any systematic program in the composition of his writings is clear from what is said at 4.10–11 and 5.60–61, but also at 14.2–4. 24.7. Ἀπολλόδωρον τὸν Ἀθηναῖον:Porphyry must have encountered the work of this great second-­century BCE philologist and chronographer during his studies in Athens—perhaps, as has been suggested by Cilento 1960, 248n.1, in the context of his religio-­philological researches (cf., e.g., Porph. apud Eus. PE IV 16.5; and De Styge fr. 373F apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.50, 418.9–420.20). We know that Apollodorus had occupied himself with the study of Sicilian Doric comedy, and it is probable that a few fragments survive from his edition of the comedies of Epicharmus: see Pfeiffer 1968, 264–65. 24.7–8. Ἀνδρόνικον τὸν Περιπατητικόν:Andronicus of Rhodes is the most prominent figure in the revival of Aristotelianism in the first century BCE. Porphyry’s testimony affirms and clarifies that of Plutarch, Sulla 26, 468b, regarding Andronicus’ monumental edition of the writings of the early Peripatetics. On this, see Moraux 1973–2001, 1:58–64. There are signs that Porphyry had a more general knowledge of Andronicus’ works: see, e.g., Simpl. In Cat. 154.3–4 and my comments at 14.13–14. 24.8–9. ὁ μὲν . . . συνήγαγεν:Apollodorus’ publication of the plays of Epicharmus must have been considered an especially important success for Porphyry to refer to it as his exemplar. It is perhaps not as difficult to understand the thematic classification according to “related topics” as Harder imagines it to be (see his comments ad loc.), if we recall that a similar division of the mimes written by his compatriot Sophron into “masculine” and “feminine” was already well known at the time of Plato (see Resp. V 451c2). Porphyry might have had another reason as well for his interest in the work of Epicharmus. According to Diogenes Laertius III 9–17, the historian Alcimus had accused Plato not only of being influenced by Epicharmus, but of having for the most part pla-

Commentary to the VP 89



giarized him! And it is most unlikely that such a “discovery” would have eluded the critical acuity of a Prosenes (on whom see my comments at 17.1). 24.9–11. ὁ δὲ . . . συναγαγών:From what we can deduce about Andronicus’ publication, Porphyry seems to have followed his example in straightforward technical issues, such as placing biographical material first (see Gottschalk 1987, 1091), the use of tables of contents, and the provision, underneath its title, of each treatise’s incipit—not in the tables of contents, though, but in the catalogues contained in the text of the VP itself. But he is also indebted to Andronicus’ model for more substantial matters, such as the hierarchical classification of the treatises, even though, as Düring 1957, 415, has observed, Porphyry’s classification is ascending, whereas that of Andronicus moves in the opposite direction: first principles—god—universe—soul—natural and scientific phenomena. 24.12. νδ ὄντα . . . βιβλία:We know that this is not entirely precise: for the publication of the Enneads, Porphyry sometimes gathered together unrelated notes under one title (III 9 [13]) and other times divided long treatises into smaller units: III 2 [47]–III 3 [48]; IV 3 [27]–IV 4 [28]–IV 5 [29]; VI 1 [42]–VI 2 [43]–VI 3 [44]; VI 4 [22]–VI 5 [23]; III 8 [30]–V 8 [31]–V 5 [32]–II 9 [33]. (On the last example, see my comments at 16.10–11). Consequently, the total of fifty-­ four is, to some extent, artificial. 24.12–14. διεῖλον . . . ἐπιτυχών:The “perfection” of the number six consists in its equivalence to the sum of its “parts” or divisors (6 = 1 + 2 + 3); see Eucl. Elementa VII, Def. 23. On the other hand, the number nine played an important role in, for example, Hermetism. See especially the Hermetic treatise included in the Nag Hammadi library, NHC VI 6, whose title must have been The Eighth Reveals the Ninth (and in particular 61.19–22 and 63.13–14). In addition, later writers insisted that nine was a symbol of perfection thanks to its “kinship” with the one, on the basis of the (para-­)etymology of enneas = hen neon: see de Falco 1936, 383–84. Nevertheless, Porphyry’s numerological feat has been the subject of some not particularly flattering criticism, at least in recent years. It has been indicted as a Procrustean and disorganizing system with an utterly pointless goal (“Zahlenspielerei” according to Schwyzer 1951, 487.1). Indeed, two of the most important modern editors of P., Kirchhoff and Harder, abandoned the system of the Enneads altogether and presented the treatises in their chronological order. It is true that the divisions Porphyry attempts are arbitrary and, sometimes, totally unsuccessful, as, for example, with the splitting of one sentence between IV 3 and IV 4. Despite all this, there is also something positive that should perhaps be noted: quite probably it is thanks to the mathematical symmetry of Porphyry’s articulation of the Enneads that they have reached us intact, without omissions or “supplements.”



90

Commentary to the VP 24.14–16. ἑκάστῃ . . . προβλήμασιν: Besides the splitting up of treatises, the arrangement of treatises within each Ennead, and also of the Enneads themselves, has provoked scorn among scholars on many occasions. However, without wanting to justify Porphyry’s choices, I consider it worthwhile to try to understand his intentions. To begin with, his primary ambition was obviously to achieve an ascending, or “anagogic” order, one that would start out with the commoner ethical questions and conclude with the investigation of the crowning level of the Plotinian ontological hierarchy, the supreme Good. As Hadot 1979, 218–19, observed, the entire order of the Enneads corresponds along general lines with a “division of the parts of philosophy based on the idea of spiritual ascent. Three separate parts are distinguished: ethics, physics and epoptic (this last with reference to the supreme initiatory act of the Eleusinian mysteries).” This classification, already known from Clement of Alexandria, Strom. I 28, 176.1–3 (cf. Cic. Acad. I 19; Atticus fr. 1 = Eus. PE XI 2.1; and Donini 1982, 50–52), is perhaps drawn from the teaching of Antiochus of Ascalon and of Eudorus of Alexandria (see Boyancé 1971, 129–32) and is based on a division of philosophy according to the following plan. practical (moral) natural

philosophy theoretical

dialectical

Cf. the even earlier Xenocr. fr. 1 = Sext. Emp. Math. VII 16; and Hadot 1979, 206. In this way, the first Ennead deals with the more ethical questions (24.16–17 and 36–37); the second with the natural, that is, “on the universe and subjects related to it” (24.37– 39); and the third with “considerations about the universe” (24.60), that is, the principles that govern the organization and functioning of the universe. Thereafter, Enneads IV, V, and VI refer, in rising order, to the three Plotinian hypostases: the soul (see 25.10– 11 and 31), the Intellect (see 25.32–33), and the Good (primarily VI 7–9). It is interesting that Porphyry placed the writings that treat the constitution of Being (VI 1–3, VI 4–5, and VI 6) at the beginning of the sixth Ennead, after the treatises on Intellect, which is consistent with his view (see Procl. In Ti. I 322.23–24) that the exemplar (Being) is (ontologically) prior to the creator, or Demiurge (Intellect). Cf. now Strange 2007, 20. This basically pedagogical ordering of the parts of philosophy is also mirrored in the sequence in which the Neoplatonist schools of the later period read the Platonic dialogues: see Hadot 1979, 220–21. In addition, we can discern that certain views concerning such a sequence also played a role in the arrangement of the Enneads. It is known, for example, that Iamblichus (apud Anon. Prol. Plat. 10. 26.12–20) argued that “one should study the Alcibiades first, for there we come to know ourselves, and it is appropriate before knowing the eternal things to know ourselves”; cf. Albinus Is. 5, 149.35–37. On this, see Festugière 1969, 283–84 = 1971, 537–38. At the begining of the first Ennead, we find the treatise “What Is the Living Being and What Is Man?” (I 1), which revolves around precisely that dialogue. The “ethical” treatises that follow are concerned with subjects inspired by the Phaedo (I 2), the Phaedrus and Symposium (I 3 and I 6), the Theaetetus and the Sophist (I 8), a sequence of dialogues that differs little in substance



Commentary to the VP 91

from that of the Neoplatonic cursus (see Festugière 1969, 285–92 = 1971, 539–46; and cf. Hadot 1965, 129). Furthermore, of the two “perfect” (Anon. Prol. Plat. 10.26.34) dialogues, the Timaeus and the Parmenides, the former covers, grosso modo, the sections on cosmology and the theory of the soul (Enn. II, III, and IV), and the latter covers the theory of the Intellect and the One (Enn. V and VI), while the discussion of the Good, corresponding to study of the Philebus (cf. Anon. Prol. Plat. 10.26.21–23), completes the whole arrangement. What this analysis should make clear is that Porphyry made a rather methodical attempt to organize his teacher’s work and systematize it in a way that was rooted in the hermeneutical tradition of the Platonism of his day. If the results of his efforts are not judged satisfactory today, that is probably due to the originality of Plotinian philosophy. Even if its intentions are systematic, in practice it upsets all systematization and schematic analysis, not hesitating every now and then to advance into mazelike digressions, all the while returning to previous thoughts and interpretations, constantly engaged in self-­questioning in the course of a passionately determined inquiry (cf. also my comments at 4.11). 25.1. σωματίῳ:We have here yet another indication of the monumental character of Porphyry’s edition of the Enneads. It seems that it was published in the format of codex, still a relatively new form of book that was known from as early as the second century, but had initially been used almost exclusively by Christians for their sacred texts. It was not until the fourth century that the codex began to replace systematically the roll (uolumen), when the various programs were initiated for copying important literary works in the more durable and accessible form, as, for example, at the libraries of Caesarea and Constantinople: see Birt 1882, 114; and Roberts 1954, 200–202. 25.14–15. β΄ Περὶ . . . νοητῷ:Because of a peculiar oversight, this brief “treatise” appears twice in the manuscripts of the Enneads: once after III 9 (as the last of the “Various Considerations”) and once between IV 2 and IV 3. This made Ficino number it as IV 1, a practice also followed by H-­S, who, however, place it in its proper position, as I do. 26.3–6. ὡς διὰ . . . μίαν: These three volumes were more or less of the same size, as are those of the H-­S publication, which are assembled in the same manner. 26.29–32. καταβεβλήμεθα . . . ἠξίουν: The commentary was a long-­esteemed form of philological and philosophical criticism. It is clear from what is said here that Porphyry’s was some sort of running commentary and explanatory in nature; Porphyry must have started compiling it after P.’s death, perhaps in the context of his own teaching acitivity: cf. Porph. Isag. 1.3–7. It has been maintained that a testimony in Aeneas Gazaeus Theophrastus 51, 45.4–9 contains a reference to Porphyry’s commentary on the treatise “On the Origin of Evils” (I 8): see Theiler 1933, 16–17 = 1966, 179–80; and Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 311–12. But I consider it more likely that the relevant interpretation was derived from Porphyry’s book on the Chaldaean Oracles, referred to by Aeneas. It is perhaps better to look into the Arabic tradition for any remains of this commentary that may survive: see Theiler 1941, 170. Indeed the dialogue form of the work known as Dicta Sapientis Graeci,



92

Commentary to the VP for example, may perhaps reflect the question-­and-­answer format that seems to be hinted at here. 26.32–35. ἀλλὰ μὴν . . . βιβλίων:For the term kephalaion (“heading”), see my comments at 4.11 and 20.84–85, and cf. Hermog. Inu. III 4, 132.1–136.19. Even P. himself uses the term in the sense of “topic summaries”: see Enn. IV 3.5.15. It seems that the headings to which Porphyry is referring here divided P.’s text into conceptual unities and provided a concise indication of the questions that inspired their composition (see 5.60–62). Consequently, their basic function was to organize the material into thematic unities and in this way make them more accessible. That is to say, they served a purpose similar to that of the titles Porphyry added (epigraphai, see 4.17–18 and 16.11) and were part of the general preparation of the teacher’s writings for publication, even while P. was still alive. It is very likely that a remnant of these “headings” (and also of the “arguments,” about which see immediately below) survives at the end of the introduction to the Arabic Theology of Aristotle. There is a sequence of 142 titles referring to the first thirty-­four paragraphs of treatise IV 4 of the Enneads. To this catalogue the following introduction is attached: “Now we shall mention the heads of the problems. The heads of the problems which the Philosopher promised to expound on the “Book of Theology,” being the discourse on the Divine Sovereignty, interpreted by Porphyry and rendered by ‘Abd al-­ Masīh al-­Nā’mi of Emesa” (trans. G. Lewis in H-­S1 2:488). The headings themselves are set out in a special section on pages 62–127 of the second volume of H-­S1, translated into English by Lewis. For the Arabic, see Badawi 1955, 8–18. See also the typological analysis by Wilkens 1977, 281–82. The phrase “following the chronological order in which the books were issued” corresponds to “[sc., arranged] confusingly in chronological order as they were issued” (24.5–6) and does not necessarily mean that some other edition of P.’s complete works existed that had been organized chronologically and prepared by Amelius, as Brisson 1987, 806–9, believes. 26.35–37. ἀλλ’ . . . συναριθμεῖται: As opposed to the headings, the arguments (epic­ heirēmata) were composed especially for the publication of the Enneads (en toutōi). For the term, see also Hermog. Inu. III 5–7, 140.9–150.15. The definition given by John Doxapatres In Aphthonii Progymnasmata 104.18–19, is interesting: “An epicheirēma is the systematic explanation of the preceding heading.” What we appear to have here are brief indicators concerning the logical structure of the solution to each question, which, as Porphyry has already observed (18.7–8), P. did not always take the trouble to make clear. See Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 321–23. Nevertheless, we should not imagine that the arguments contained a comprehensive logical analysis. The fact that they are counted along with the headings suggests that they simply contained supplementary and slightly more detailed observations than the headings. 26.40. αὐτὸ . . . ἔργον: This apophthegmatic phrase is also found in Euripides’ Andromache, at l. 265. Cf. Phoen. 623. The parallel confirms Kirchhoff ’s emendation (sēmanei for sēmainei).



Appendixes to the VP 93

Appendix A: Iulius Firmicus Maternus, Mathesis I 7, 13–22 13. . . . In general, you must answer in the way that all of these examples suggest: the guilty has sinned because he is forced by Fate, whereas the innocent is condemned under the commands of this inexorable Necessity. 14.Let us turn now to an exceptional man, Plotinus, so as to confirm our conclusion by a recent example. What branches of philosophy did he not pursue? His teaching made him famous, and he demonstrated whatever he taught through the example of his own virtue, not that of others. Inspired words came from his mouth as if from a sanctuary. He was just, brave, farsighted, moderate, disposed for all kinds of virtue, trained in the study of all aspects of the divine order, and he believed that by rational foresight he could overcome the impact of Fortune. 15. First he selected a quiet place, far removed from the tumult of human intercourse, so as to avoid the attacks of Fortune and be able to heed only to the divine teachings. He expected that pure and uncorrupted virtue would protect him from all the threats of Fortune. 16.Confidently, he devoted himself to the care and the training of his body, while, on the other hand, in order not to leave any point unprotected from where cruel Fortune might attack him, he settled in a healthy and pure region. He is said to have chosen the pleasant soil of Campania, where the tranquil climate offers the inhabitants good crops, and the calm weather is in balance between the extreme harshness of winter and the summer’s burning sun, where all kinds of illnesses are treated by the boiling waters of lush hot springs. 17.He settled there and, despising worldly honors, considered as worthy only those that come out of the possession of divine wisdom. He had no desire for riches: he regarded as worthy only whatever contributes to the intellect’s attainment of the Author of its origin. 18. However, in some parts of his writing he appears to be imprudent and lacking in caution, when he attacks the power of Necessity and Fate. He reproves with harsh words those who fear the decrees of Fortune; he maintains that nothing is caused by the power of the stars, nothing by necessity of Fate, and that everything is in our own power. 19.It would take too much space to list point by point all he says, his reasoning against the power of the stars and of Fate. While he was writing these things, he was well and healthy. He did not give a thought to the deaths of Socrates and Plato. One may surmise that, while admiring their thought, he attributed their ends to their own flaws. 20.Nonetheless, the powers of Fate seized hold of him while he was feeling secure in his hostility to them. First, his limbs became stiff because his blood turned sluggish and



94

Appendixes to the VP congealed. Little by little his eyesight became blurred, and his vision failed. Then a malignant infection lurking under his skin burst forth in a disease that affected his whole body, which, weakened by the polluted blood, began to rot and to wither away. Every day and every hour the creeping disease consumed little by little his inner organs. One moment you might see a part of his body in a good condition, and in the next it was deformed by the festering disease. 21.His body came to lose its shape, because of such disintegration. As I said, within a dying body only the intellect was still alive, so that through this protracted severe illness, through his suffering, but also by the force of true reason, he came to realize the power and the complete dissolution of his body; he succumbed to the commands of Fortune. 22.What shall we say about his famous death? Why were his virtues—his prudence, his moderation, his fortitude, his justice—unable to liberate him from the punishment of Fortune? Even he came to realize the power of Fate and to suffer the end that was ordained for him by the fiery judgment of the stars. After this characteristic example of the sufferings of Plotinus, we may conclude without exaggeration that everybody now is convinced that it is impossible for anyone to overlook the force of Fate.

Appendix B: The Figural Representations of Plotinus Three types of sculptural representation have so far been associated with P. by various scholars, and theories have been formulated linking some of these images with the portrait of P. made by Carterius. 1.A series of three copies (two in the museum at Ostia and the third in the Museo del Vaticano) comprises the best-­known type, thanks to L’Orange’s enthusiastic support of the identification of their prototype with the portrait of P. (see L’Orange 1951, 15–30), and to the dating of the latter in the 250s (op. cit., 21–22; cf. my comments at 1.14–17). Cf., e.g., Richter 1965, 3:289 and figs. 2056–58. A fourth “portrait” (also in the Ostia museum) is probably a copy of the same portrait as well. See L’Orange 1955–57, 474–78. One of the Ostia copies is reproduced at the end of the present volume as figure 1. 2.The famous sarcophagus in the Gregorian Museum at the Vatican (formerly in the Lateran Museum), adorned with a representation of philosophical teaching (see the fine photograph reproduced as the frontispiece of Brisson et al. 1982–92, vol. 1; also in Wegner 1966, figs. 70 and 71; and at the end of the present volume as figure 2), was previously advanced by Rodenwaldt 1936, 104–5, as the “Sarcophagus of Plotinus.” Marrou 1937, 47–50; and L’Orange 1951, 28–29, expressed objections to this theory, but their arguments do not seem to be very strong: the dating of the sarcophagus is at least debatable (see Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 326n.2), and the hairstyle of the “philosopher” in the middle is comparable to that which appears in the above-­mentioned “portrait.” There are, in my opinion, important similarities in expression (as L’Orange too acknowledges, op. cit.) but also in the facial features (see, e.g., the characteristic horizontal lines at the bridge of



Appendixes to the VP 95

the nose, which L’Orange 1955–57, 475, observes in the “portrait” and which are also present on the “philosopher”). The two women standing on either side of the central figure resemble each other, even if the one on the left is significantly older in age, as is also clear from the difference in their dress. Perhaps we can recognize in these figures Gemina and her daughter of the same name (see VP 9.1–3). In addition, the rather short young man with the “Semitic” nose, large features, and somewhat melancholy air who stands to the “philosopher’s” right strongly recalls another philosopher, known from three portraits depicting him at a greater age. These come from the Serpentze wall on the southern slope of the Athenian acropolis, from the Asclepium at Epidaurus, and from Isthmia. The two first examples are now in the Archeological Museum in Athens (Nos. 581 and 582); on these portraits, see Rodenwaldt 1919, 3–4 and figs. I–III; Voutiras 1981, 201–6 (where the first portrait is completed with the help of a fragment from the Rodin Museum in Paris); and Datsouli-­Stavridi 1985, 87–98. It is true that L’Orange 1975, 61–63, attempted to identify the philosopher in this portrait as Iamblichus, but the arguments he evoked are entirely general in nature. In his older article, 1955–57, 483, this distinguished scholar discussed the first portrait (reproduced at the end of the present volume as figure 3), which is the most impressive and is carefully wrought in exceptionally high-­ quality marble (most probably Pentelic). He indicated, with regard to this first portrait in particular, a singularity in the shape of the mouth and the surrounding muscles, a feature that is especially emphasized also in the “disciple” on the sarcophagus. Besides the expression, one might also observe other notable similarities in the shape of the forehead and nose (even though it is partially broken), in the V-­shaped wrinkle beside his eye, and in the sunken, ascetic cheek. Do we, then, have before us here the figure of Porphyry? 3.Von Heintze 1963, 35–53 and figs. 1–5, presents another statue head, this one from the F. J. Dölger-­Institut in Bonn, which could also be supposed to represent P. But, in my opinion, it more closely resembles the portraits of the first group singled out by Voutiras 1981, 205. Schwyzer 1978, 316.30–60, expresses a partially justified skepticism about all these attempts to locate the portrait of P. Because they are not based on epigraphical evidence, such identifications are condemned to remain conjectural. However, I cannot agree with his argument that in Rome, after his death, P. was entirely forgotten. The publication of the Enneads itself proves precisely the opposite.

Appendix C: Porphyry in Sicily and His Literary Activity There 1.Two of the scholiasts of Porphyry’s Isagoge refer to the fact that he composed that work in Sicily, where he had gone in order to study “the fire of Etna” (Ammon. In Porph. Isag. 22.15; see also the editor’s preface, Busse 1891, xv and xlvi) or “the craters of fire on Etna, because the philosopher should seek out the wonders of the works of nature” (Elias In Porph. Isag. 15, 39.12–14). This not only contradicts what is said in paragraph 11 of the VP, but it also betrays some sort of confusion with a segment of the traditional life of Plato: cf. Olymp. In Alc. 2.94–96. As a result, not even Bidez 1913, 57, regards these testimonies as worthy of consideration.



96

Appendixes to the VP 2.Bernays 1866, 4–6 and 138, expressed the view that the De abstinentia was written in Sicily, and as far as I am aware, this view has not been subsequently contested. His basic argument in support of this theory is that at the beginning of the work it is presumed that the addressee, Castricius Firmus, was to be found somewhere far from the author. But nothing excludes the possibility that it was Castricius who was away from Rome; perhaps, indeed, if my above hypothesis is correct (see my comments at 7.24–25), he was already in Alexandria. 3. Eusebius, in HE VI 19.2, refers to the work Aduersus Christianos, which was written by “our contemporary Porphyry, who settled in Sicily.” However, it is clear that this assertion made by Eusebius does not mean that the composition took place in Sicily, as has been believed by, e.g., Bidez 1913, 67; and Cameron 1967, 302. Von Harnack 1916, 31, had already conjectured that Sicily was simply mentioned in that same work of Porphyry, which in any case contained other biographical information as well. Consequently, more recent research places the composition of his massive work (in at least fifteen volumes) at the beginning of the fourth century: see Barnes 1973, 424–42; and Rist 1981, 142–47. To the arguments of these scholars, there is one more I believe we may add. Lactantius, Diuinae institutiones V 2, speaks of two philosophers who played a significant role in the preparation of the Great Persecution of the Christians under Diocletian. Of these the second is surely Sossianus Hierocles, prefect of Bithynia and the author of an anti-­Christian work titled Philalēthēs (“Lover of Truth”): see Barnes 1976a, 242. About the first (and, obviously, the more important), Lactantius says that “he professed to be a patriarch of philosophy” (antistitem se philosophiae profitebatur; Diu inst. V 3) and goes on to describe him as a money-­loving and voluptuous court-­flatterer whose actions were the exact antithesis of his ideas. Chadwick 1959, 142–43; and Pötscher 1969, 66–67, did not hesitate to follow a suggestion made by Baronius, and to identify this person with Porphyry. Despite the reservations that have occasionally been advanced by Bidez 1913, 112n.1; Barnes 1973, 438–39; and Monat 1973, 2:37–38, there are certain elements that, in my opinion, confirm this suggestion: (a) The phrase “now that the need of the Greeks is calling us and the gods are urging us along” in Porph. Marc. 4, 106.15–16, is a clear allusion to the oracle given by Apollo of Didyma, which prepared the way for the persecution, and which is referred to by Lactantius De mortibus persecutorum XI 7, and by the emperor Constantine in one of his letters preserved by Eusebius in his Vita Constantini II 50; cf. Barnes 1976a, 251–52. (b) Lactantius charges that the anonymous philosopher “was eating in the palace worse than he did at home” (in palatio peius cenaret quam domi; Diu. inst. V 2.3). I think that this remark may plausibly be explained as a spiteful barb aimed at the author of the De abstinentia. (c) Lactantius also accuses him of inconsistency (op. cit. 4) and self-­indulgence (3): “he wallowed in avarice no less than in debauchery” (non minus auartia quam libidinibus arderet). Porphyry, against whom charges of inconsistency seem to have been a commonplace (cf. Eun. VS IV 2.6, 10.7–8), offered himself up as a particularly easy target of such criticism because, even though in his writings he advocated celibacy for philoso-



Appendixes to the VP 97

phers (Abst. II 52.3; and cf. Marc. 28, 122.11–12), he had just married. Indeed, Ad Marcellam seems to be an attempt to refute precisely this accusation. (d) In Marc. 1, 104.9–11, Porphyry also seems to want to deny the rumor that both he (cf. Lact. Diu. inst. V 3: “he masked his vices . . . by means of his riches”) and his wife (cf. Anon. Theos. Tubing. 85, 693–99) were wealthy. Cf. Digeser 1998, 144–45. (e) In some text of his, part of which is quoted in Lact. Diu. inst. V 7, the anonymous philosopher mentioned in (b) above characterizes Christianity as “a superstition of old women” (anili superstitione). This expression, although it is common in both Latin (see Monat 1973, 2:42; and cf. Amm. Marc. XXI 16.18) and Greek, well suits the polemic of Porphyry, who had expressed himself with bitterness about the popularity of Christianity, especially among women: on this, see Demarolle 1970, 44. (f ) In the same text, reference is made to a manifestly anti-­Christian argument: that by impeding the worship of the true gods, the Christians were responsible for the empire’s ill fortune. We know that Porphyry used this argument in the C. Christ.: see fr. 80 = Eus. PE V 1.10. Cf. Arnobius Adu. nat. I 1, 3.2–8; Courcelle 1963, 151–57; and Monat 1973, 2:42–43. (g) Finally, I think (pace Bidez 1913, 112n.1) that in this period the only person who, because of his age and reputation, could be characterized as the “patriarch” (antistes) of philosophy was Porphyry. Furthermore, this description corresponds with reasonable precision to the title “elder,” which we find repeatedly associated with the name of Porphyry: see, e.g., Socrates Hist Eccl. III 22, 440a and the other references given in Kutsch 1954, 284. Nothing requires us therefore to assume that Porphyry remained in Sicily after 271. His visit to Carthage (see Abst. III 4.7) may very well have taken place before this time. If, as I have argued with reference to VP 7.9, Eustochius met P. toward the end of his own life, then Porphyry’s return to Rome must not have been much delayed, because when he did return, Eustochius was still alive (2.12).

Plotinus: First Ennead

I 1 [53]. What Is the Living Being, and What Is Man? Synopsis 1 First problem: What is the subject of sensations, feelings, actions, reasoning, intellection, and philosophical inquiry? 2 Investigation: The soul is either something composite, in which case it will admit of being affected, or it is a Form, in which case it will be impassible and immortal, admitting neither sensation nor reasoning; it should perhaps be allowed intelligence. 3 In the body of any living being there must be a soul that (a) uses it as an instrument, or (b) has been mixed with it (1) by blending (2) by interweaving (3) as an unseparated form (4) as a connected but separate Form (5) as a form both unseparated and separable. 4 Preliminary findings: The soul, through intermixture, will impart life and sensation to the body, without becoming conflated with it or affected by it. 5 Second problem: How are sensations, etc. conveyed from the body to the soul? 6 Theory: The soul and its powers remain unmoved and impassive. What perceives is the ensouled body. 7 What endows the body with life and sense-­perception is not, however, the soul itself, but rather its “activity,” which, in combination with the body, constitutes the “living being.” The proper function of the soul itself is rational. 8 Relation of the soul to the higher hypostases: its presence in the body is merely apparent. 9 Conclusions: Error, vice, and ills derive from the “living being.” Hence the soul itself remains unperturbed and unerring. 10 Two meanings of “we,” corresponding to two conceptions of man, two types of virtues, etc. 11 What obtains when the function of reason is absent, e.g.: (a) in children (b) in beasts. 12 Moral blame can only attach to the image that the soul projects onto the body. The soul itself is above any ethical responsibilities: what it does, simply, is to direct its attention either to a life of practical activity, 13 or to a life of contemplation, leading it to reascend toward Intellect. 101



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First Ennead

Introduction This treatise, the penultimate composed by P. (VP 6.22), must have been written toward the beginning of the year 270, and in some sense forms a sequel and a complement to II 3 [52] (“Whether the Stars Are Causes”). Whereas in the latter treatise he argues (as he often did: see my comment on VP 15.21–26) for the human soul’s independence from worldly influences, in the present one he upholds its superiority in respect of the bodily “affections” (pathē) and the lower psychical functions (cf. II 3.15.14–16.3). The stance maintained by P. assumes a dramatic character when we consider that during the composition of these two treatises their author must already have been suffering acutely from the symptoms of the disease that was to lead only a few months later to his death. To construct his philosophical anthropology, P. draws on two distinct—and, at first sight, incompatible—traditions that he makes efforts to combine. First, there is the Platonic tradition, according to which the soul is separable from the body and immortal. When this thesis, which is especially emphasized in the dialogues of Plato’s middle period (principally the Phaedo, the Republic, and the Phaedrus), is conjoined to the claim formulated at the core of the Alcibiades—a work of now debated authenticity, but esteemed by P. as incontestably Platonic—that man is nothing but soul (?Pl. Alc. 130c3: cf. Pl. Leg. XII 959a7; but also Phd. 115c4–d3), what is normally entailed is man’s complete independence as a cognitive and ethical subject from the body and its associated sensations, seeing that the connection of the two is merely temporary and contingent. Second, there is the Aristotelian tradition, according to which the soul is defined as “the first actuality (entelecheia) of a natural organized body” (De an. II 1, 412b5–6): in other words, as the “form” (eidos) that prevails upon a receptive, naturally constituted body in such manner that they may jointly compose a living organism. Given the ontologically dependent nature of “form” in the philosophy of the Stagirite, soul is denied— according to this view—the possibility of separate existence (see De an. II 2, 414a19– 28), and man, being just such a living organism, ceases to exist from the instant of his death. The foundations for a reconciliation of these apparently contradictory views had been laid by their chief exponents themselves.1 Plato refers in the Timaeus to “another form” (allo eidos) of soul that is designated as “mortal” (thnēton: 69c7–8; see also 65a5, 1  Indeed, even earlier: in Homer there can already be discerned a distinction between the animating soul-­ breath and the personal soul-­image, which retains beyond death some measure of existence, albeit of a shadowlike nature (see Jaeger 1947, 77–79). This distinction appears to have taken on more definite shape within the Pythagorean philosophical tradition as a subdivision of the soul into two parts, one irrational and mortal, the other rational, immortal, and divine (see Rohde 1925, 400–401n.55; Guthrie 1962–81, 1:317–19; and Scolnicov 1978, 35–38). Philolaus fr. B13 DK trans. Huffman (which Burkert 1972, 276, followed by Huffman 1993, 17 and 307–14, considers authentic) distinguishes four principles of “the rational (logikon) animal” as follows: “of man” (anthrōpou) “the head” / “the brain” “[seat] of the intellect” (noou) “of animals” (zōiou) “the heart” “[seat] of life (psuchas) and sensation” “of plants” “the navel” “[seat] of rooting and first growth” “of all” “the genitals” “[seat] of the sowing of seed and generation”



I 1. What Is the Living Being

69d5 ff., 72d4)2 and as susceptible of “those dreadful and necessary affections (pathēmata)” that emanate from the body; in the Statesman (309c3) this is further specified as being “of animate kind” (zōiogenes), in contrast to the higher and “divine” (theion) part of the soul. Aristotle, on the other hand, introduces in De anima III 5 the conception of a “separable intellect” (nous chōristos) that is “impassible and unmixed” (apathēs kai amigēs: 430a17–8), “immortal and eternal” (athanatos kai aidios: 430a23; cf. II 2, 413b24–27; and also, Protr. fr. B108). Later attempts by both Platonists and Peripatetics to harmonize these two views led to the adoption of a bipartite subdivision of the soul into a “rational” (logikon) or “ratiocinative” (logistikon) part and an “irrational” (alogon) or “passible” (pathētikon) one. The first—which is the subject of the intellective and discursive faculties—is immortal and peculiar to man, whereas the second—the subject of perceptual awareness, the “passions” or “affections” (pathē), and instinctual drives—is also present in animals, but its immortality is, at the very least, questionable.3 The major difficulty with this position was that it presents man—that is, the unitary subject of the psychical and intellective faculties, of practical activity and of ethical responsibility—as divided between his “animal” (zōikon) element (the compound of body and irrational soul) and the (separable) intellect, which is entirely divine, if not actually identical with God himself,4 and is accordingly not individual to each person, but supra-­personal.5 One possible way out of this difficulty might be to regard the perceptual and affective manifestations of the soul not as having their origin in some lower part of the soul, but as comprising certain of its “powers” (dunameis) in the sense given to the term by Aristotle (De an. II 3, 414a29–32): namely, of its faculties. Such was the type of solution Posidonius chose to adopt, so as to be able to introduce an irrational element into his psychology without entirely abandoning the traditional monism of Stoic psychology (see fr. 145 and 146). The same path was apparently also followed by some Peripatetic philosophers of the first centuries of our era who were known to the anonymous author of a pseudo-­Plutarchean treatise, portions of which have survived under the title “The Affective Element in Man: Is It a Part or a Faculty of His Soul?” ([Plut.] Parsne an. fac. 2; cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 155.15–17). The Platonists, however, were unable to accept such a view, which not only contradicted the explicit indications of the Timaeus, but also left the soul with little margin of independence from the body, as pseudo-­ Plutarch observes (loc. cit.; cf. Galen PHP VI 2.5–17, 368.22–372.15). Hence they proIn the Phaedrus myth, the “living being” (zōion) that results from the soul’s entry into a body admits the designation “mortal” only insofar as the “combination” or “coherence” (sumphusis) of its two constituents is impermanent (246c5–d2). 3  See, e.g., [Arist.] Mag. Mor. 1182a24–29; Cratippus apud Cic. Div. I 70; Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.13, 117.11–18; Philo Leg. alleg. II 6, Quaest in Gen. II 59; Plut. De uirt. mor. 441d–442c, De gen. 591d, De fac. 943a and d; and “Alcinous” Didasc. 24, 176.37–41 and 25, 178.24–32; cf. Tert. De an. 16.1. Pertinent doxography is cited by Proclus, In Ti. III 234.8–235.9. 4  See Arist. Eth. Nic. X 7, 1177b26–1178a8, with the comments of Guthrie 1962–81, 6:392–95, who, on pp. 322–29, advances strong arguments for reviving the view of Alexander of Aphrodisias according to which the “active intellect” (poiētikos nous) is to be identified with the supreme Intellect of Arist. Metaph. Λ. 5  See Lloyd 1968, 199–201. 2 

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First Ennead ceeded in the direction of a dualism that in some cases, such as that of Numenius (see fr. 43 and 44), verged on Gnostic extremism. Aristotle himself had proposed, in a passage of the De anima, that “it is doubtless better to avoid saying that the soul pities or learns or thinks, and rather to say that it is the man who does this with his soul (ton anthrōpon tēi psuchēi)” (I 4, 408b13–15 trans. ROT). But nowhere else in his work does he elaborate on this suggestion, and so the precise content he intended to give here to the term “man” (anthrōpos) remains indeterminate.6 Nevertheless, a fragment from another philosophical work of the first century CE that has also come down to us under the name of Plutarch preserves a Peripatetic analysis of this passage of the De anima, according to which man is identified with the “conjunct” (to koinon), that is, the synthesis of body and soul: “it is the man who feels pleasure and grief and fear, the man not the soul, and this exactly corresponds to the fact that it is not the body that throws or dances or walks about, but the man, who uses both body and soul together (amphoterois chrōmenon), being composed of both (hosper [my corr.: hōsper MSS] ex amphoin sunestēke) . . . . For these are actions that the man performs, not things that happen to the soul . . . . So there is no affection peculiar to the soul, but it is the man who is glad and sorry and appetent and fearful” ([Plut.] Lib. 7 trans. Sandbach; cf. also Plut. De uirt. mor. 451b and fr. 144, Cic. Fin. V 34, as well as the chronologically uncertain [Archyt.] De uir. bon. fr. 6, 11.4–5). The same passage also marks possibly the earliest appearance of the personal pronoun as a philosophical term: “ ‘I’ (egō), however, am not the soul, but the man (ouk eimi hē psuchē all’ ho anthrōpos).” This looks at first sight like a direct attack on the anthropology of the Alcibiades, but a closer reading reveals the “man” under discussion to be the subject only of affections, desires, and actions, not of the higher psychical faculties as well. In the same way, Philo Judaeus can speak, on the one hand, of “ ‘created man’ (ton plasthenta anthrōpon), . . . an object of sense-­perception (aisthētos) . . . consisting of body and soul, man or woman, by nature mortal,” while, on the other hand, also of one who is “an object of thought (noētos), incorporeal, neither male nor female, by nature incorruptible” (Opif. 134 trans. after Whitaker; see in addition the references given by Pépin 1971a, 85–86; and cf. Corpus Hermeticum I 15, and the distinction between the “outward” and the “inward man” invoked by Saint Paul in 2 Cor. 4:16). We seem to find ourselves confronting once again the same split remarked on earlier: man is composed of two differently originating elements in opposition to one another, a view that appears to leave no margin for the constitution of any notable concept of person.7 The first response proffered by P. to this question was the induction of each particular man into the intelligible world of Forms. We shall examine this view elsewhere, especially in relation to his treatise “On the Question Whether There Are Ideas of Particulars” (V 7 [19]). In the present treatise, he seems to continue to approve of this solution (see primarily chapter 2), but here the emphasis falls rather on the unity that governs all See Hamlyn 1968, xiii–xiv and 81. Cf., perhaps, Arist. Metaph. Ζ 11, 1037a6. The polarity of the rational and irrational functions of the soul is even more emphatically drawn in the psychology of Posidonius; see Pépin 1971a, 157–60. An apt illustration of it is to be found in the comparison of man to a centaur “as being compounded of reason and unreason” (Clem. Al. Strom. IV 3, 9.4). 6  7 



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the different levels of human consciousness by virtue of their relations of hierarchical dependence. For P., as for Philo, man does not constitute a simple entity. His substance is “made up of many elements” (ek pollōn: 7.8). The real man occupies the position of Form with respect to the body as matter, or of user with respect to the body as instrument, but remains identified with the pure soul (cf. IV 7.1.22–25); on the other hand, the man of practical experience—the subject of sensations and passions, even of actions and discursive reasoning, all of which are related to corporeal existence—represents a composite made up of a psychical and a bodily element: namely, a (rational) “animal” (zōion). Nevertheless, the psychical element that animates the organic body is not independent of the primary, eternal man, constituting as it does his “image” (eidōlon), or rather a whole series of images that correspond to the various lower psychical functions. These only acquire reality insofar as the independent and separate soul projects its “activity” (energeia) onto an appropriately qualified articulated body. The subject of consciousness has the capacity to extend over the entire range of the soul’s activity. But the principal meaning of “we” (hēmeis), our primordial self, refers upward, to the realm of the intelligible. This is how we are meant to understand the Delphic injunction “Know Thyself ” invoked in the Alcibiades (192a2–3): as an exhortation to ascend toward the intelligible. Paradoxical though it may seem, what we most truly are is to be found at the furthest extreme from our own individuality: it is that universal divine intellect that is immanent within us (cf. VI 4.14.17–26). Aside from the anthropological aspect of the issue, P. also examines its ethical aspect. From this point of view, the radical differentiation of the rational from the irrational part of the soul led even Plato himself into insuperable difficulties with respect to the allocation of responsibility for human actions (see, e.g., Cross and Woozley 1964, 128– 30). With characteristic optimism, P. does not hesitate to uphold that all mistakes and all responsibilities weigh on the corporeal image of our soul, whereas our true self remains essentially “unerring” (anhamartētos).8 In spite of the numerous difficulties this treatise reserves for its readers, it was placed by Porphyry at the beginning of the Enneads. The reason for this is that the determination of the nature of man as subject concurrently succeeds in establishing the perspective from which philosophy is practiced in all of P’s work, and especially in its ethical portion, which is covered for the most part by the first Ennead (cf. VP 24.16–17 and 36–37). Such an anthropocentric approach to philosophy was apparently well established in the Platonic schools at least since the time of Antiochus of Ascalon, and it reflected the primacy accorded to the Alcibiades in the order in which the Platonic dialogues were studied during late antiquity.9 Michael Psellus has preserved for us some interesting scholia by Proclus to this treatise—the only ones to have survived from his extensive commentary on the Enneads (see Westerink 1959, 1–10). Plutarch appears to have a similar solution in view in his De esu carnium I 996c. See my comment on VP 24.14–16. Cf. Diog. Laert. III 62; Procl. In Alc. 4.19–8.12 and 11.3–15; and Olymp. In Alc. 11.3–6. See also O’ Daly 1973, 8–11; and Pépin 1971a, 116n.1. Even a Peripatetic such as Alexander of Aphrodisias feels compelled to conform to this tradition, as he shows at the beginning of his De an. (see 1.3–2.4). 8  9 

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Commentary Title:The wording of the title is perhaps intended to remind us of how Socrates in the Theaetetus describes the work of “all who spend their lives in philosophy; . . . the question [the philosopher] asks is: What is man (ti de pot’ estin anthrōpos)? What actions and passions properly belong to human nature and distinguish it from all other beings? This is what he wants to know, and concerns himself to investigate” (174b1, 4–6 trans. after Levett-­Burnyeat). A zōion (“living being”) is defined by Plato as “body and soul joined together” (psychē kai sōma pagen: Phdr. 246c5 trans. LSJ, s.v. pēgnumi II; and cf. Ti. 87e6, and [Pl.] Epin. 981a7–9), designating broadly the compound of body and soul through the duration of embodied life (Phdr. 250a1); the term is thus to be understood as encompassing plants as well as animals (see Ti. 77a3–c5). Aristotle accepts the Platonic definition (see, e.g., De an. III 12, 434b12; Pol. I 5, 1254a34–35), even though he considers sense-­ perception to be a necessary feature of any zōion (De an. II 2, 413b2; III 12, 434a30; Somn. 1, 454b24–25). This explains the later use of the term to designate a body constituted as a living organism (see, e.g., Eudorus apud Ach. Tat. Intr. Arat. 13, 40.25). But it seems that the first philosopher who imbued it with a clearly negative connotation as designating the vehicle of the soul’s irrational urges was Posidonius (see fr. 169.82), who in his work On Affections—obviously having the Phaedrus myth in mind (but cf. also Ti. 70e4)—repeatedly employs the term “the animal-­like” (to zōiōdes) to refer to the lower, “passible” (pathētikon) instance of the soul: see fr. 161 and 187.8; Pépin 1971a, 159–60; and cf. “the brutish” (to thēriōdes) in the anonymous Life of Pythagoras apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 249, 440b14; and the Teachings of Silvanus = NHC VII 4, 87.27–28, 94.12–19, 107.17–25. Finally, in Philo we actually come across the expression “the composite animal” (to suntheton zōion: see, e.g., Ebriet. 101), whereas according to the definition of Alexander of Aphrodisias, “the zōion is the complex (to sunamphoteron) . . . which consists of soul and body . . . and is what feels pain, as also what walks and sees and desires and loves and hates” (De an. mant. 117.15–18; cf. the contrast with “man” (anthrōpos) in Quaest. I 26, 42.1–2), that is, the zoion is the subject of sensations, actions, desires, and emotions: cf. [Plut.] Lib. 7; Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.5, 65.1; Hierocles El. Eth. IV 39–52; and Longinus apud Porph. apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.25, 351.15. Concerning “the man” (ho anthrōpos), see my introduction to this treatise. 1.1–2. Ἡδοναὶ . . . ἂν εἶεν:The affections and the psychical functions are referred to here in a systematic manner that betrays the “scholastic” origins of the inaugural aporia. They are set out in ascending order and by pairs of opposites, after Plato’s listing of “those dreadful but necessary affections” in Ti. 69d1–4 (a passage cited by P. at II 3.9.6–10. Cf. 42a5–7; a somewhat different exposition is provided in Resp. IV 429c9–d1, 430a7–b1; and in Phd. 83b6–9), as they are also in Aspasius (In Eth. Nic. 46.10–11, on which see Moraux 1973–2001, 1:284–85). First come “pleasure” (hēdonē) and “distress” (lupē): these have the closest connection to sensation (cf. Arist. De an. II 3, 414b4–5 and “Alcinous” Didasc. 16, 172.12); they constitute the “simplest and most basic” (ibid. 32, 185.42),



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the “highest” and “most general” (Aspas. op. cit. 42.27–32, 46.7 and 12) of all “affections” (pathē); and they concern the “desiderative” part of the soul (to epithumētikon), as “fear” (phobos) and “courage” (tharros) concern its “spirited” part (to thumikon). “Desires” (epithumiai)—as “appetitions of what is pleasant” (orexeis tou hēdeōs: see Arist. De an. II 3, 414b6; and cf. Top. VI 3, 140b27–28)—and “aversions” (apostrophai) are necessary consequences of the former (Arist. De an. II 2, 413b23–24 and II 3, 414b5); and these in turn lead to “actions” (praxeis), as well as to the formation of “impressions” (doxai). In Plato’s view (Leg. X 896e9–897a4; and see Phlb. 35c6–d3, with the comment of Hackforth 1945, 61), all of these consist in “movements” (kinēseis) of the soul, whereas Aristotle’s contention is that insofar as they constitute kinēseis, they do so in the sense of “changes” belonging to the body, even though their origin may lie in the soul (De an. I 4, 408b1–13; cf. Enn. III 6.3.22–24). Finally, as regards intellection, the self-­sufficiency this displays with respect to the other psychical functions obliged Aristotle to ascribe it to “a different kind (genos heteron) of soul” (De an. II 2, 413b26). Hence P. starts off by posing the question: Who or what is (or are) the subject(s) of all of these? Cf. the way Aristotle sets out the problem in De an. I 1, 403a2–28. 1.3. χρωμένης . . . σώματι:Cf. ?Pl. Alc. 129e11–130a1. 1.3–4. τρίτου τινὸς ἐξ ἀμφοῖν:What this tertium quid is will be made clear below at 5.2 and 7.3–5. 1.6. τῶν παθημάτων:The terms pathēma and pathos are employed synonymously by both Plato and Aristotle (cf. Bonitz 1961 = IndArist, 554, s.v. pathēma: “non esse certum significationis discrimen”), mainly in order to designate the corporeal or psychical “affections” one thing experiences by the action of another. It was with Stoicism that pathos came to be defined as “the irrational movement (alogos kinēsis) of the soul” (see, e.g., SVF 1:205 and 3:378); but while his predecessors attributed the pathē to the soul’s “directive faculty” (to hēgemonikon), Posidonius, fr. 34.10–12, regarded them as deriving “from its spirited and desiderative faculties (hupo tēs thumoeidous te kai epithumētikēs dunameōs),” thereby—as Galen notes ad loc.—aligning himself perfectly with the Platonic viewpoint. Thereafter, the Stoic definition was absorbed into Peripatetic psychology (see Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.1, 38.18–19; and [Andron.] De pass. 1 = FPG 3:570 = Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 44.21–22), with the clarification that by “irrational” (alogon) was meant “not that which is contrary to right reason, as with the Stoics, but the moving (kinēma) of the irrational part of the soul” (Aspas. op. cit. 44.22–24; cf. Ar. Did. op. cit. 39.1–2). As will be seen below (but cf. also, e.g., IV 4.18.19–21), P. returns to the viewpoint of Aristotle but modifies it somewhat, holding that it is only the “composite” of body and (the image of the) soul that is subject to pathē. The latter term is hence better understood in P. as referring to passions in the sense of “affections” (or “feelings”) rather than impulses (or emotions), as is usually also the case in Aristotle (cf. Sorabji 1974, 69n.12; see also my comment on 1.12–13, below).

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First Ennead 1.8. τὰς νοήσεις:Concerning intellection, Aristotle, having first indicated that it must constitute something exceptional within the soul (De an. I 1, 403a8), and indeed that “it seems to be a different kind of soul . . . [which] alone admits of being separated” (II 2, 413b26–27), concludes that the intellect must be something “simple” (haploun: III 4, 429a15) and “impassible” (apathes: b23). 1.9–11. τὸ ἐπισκοποῦν . . . ἂν εἴη:P. repeatedly posits the subject of philosophical inquiry as the object of his investigation; cf. I 8.9.1–4, IV 3.1.11, and V 1.1.31–35. Indeed, in the last chapter of the present treatise he actually sketches out an answer to the question here posed. Henri Bergson, during his famous 1902 seminar at the Collège de France on the last treatise of the Enneads, predictably pointed out that by establishing reflection as the starting point of the process of philosophical inquiry, P. became the first exponent of what he, Bergson, described as “a kind of experimental metaphysics (métaphysique expérimentale),” the foundation of his own philosophical method (see Mossé-­Bastide 1959, 30–33; cf. Chaignet 1892, 4:53; and O’Meara 1993, 20–21). 1.12–13. τὰ πάθη . . . αἰσθήσεως:In the Timaeus 42a5–6, sense-­perception is depicted as being “inherent” (sumphutos) to the body and a product “of violent affections.” According to Aristotle, the affections and other attributes of animals “all either imply sensation as a concomitant (met’ aisthēseōs sumbainei), or have it as their medium (di’ aisthēseōs)” (Sens. 1, 436b3–4 trans. ROT). Alexander of Aphrodisias stipulates that some, at least, of “the affections (pathē) have their origin in sense-­perception” (De an. 97.2–3). For P., the affections either presuppose some perceptual apprehension that gave rise to, for example, pleasure, or themselves consist in percepts. 2.1–2. Πρῶτον . . . εἶναι:P’s first task is to locate the soul within his ontologically stratified Platonic universe, so as to be able to identify some of its basic characteristics. Essentially, what he is seeking in this way to do is to differentiate between two ways of using the term “soul” (psuchē): either to refer to the pure and separate soul, or, alternatively, to the embodied one. It is especially worth noting that in order to refer to the first meaning of “soul” P. has recourse to the mock-­dative form psuchēi (following a practice inaugurated by Aristotle; cf. Metaph. Η 3, 1043b2) and not to one of the usual expressions indicative of the Forms (autē, auto-­, etc.). The reason for this is that P. does not here have in mind some Form of Soul (autopsuchē)—which in any case, as he declares at V 9.13.4–5, does not exist—he has in mind particular souls: souls that are, however, independent of bodies and that with respect to the latter occupy the position of Forms. Cf. [Philop.] (= ?Stephanus) In De an. III = CAG 15: 528.34–529.12. 2.2–5. εἰ γὰρ . . . καὶ βελτίους:If we adopt the linguistic distinction and utilize the term “the soul itself ” (psuchēi) to refer to the independent soul, reserving the term “soul” (psuchē) for the embodied one, we shall be able, following the Aristotelian model, to



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ascribe all affections and so forth to the soul, inasmuch as this will be understood henceforth as something composite with the body. 2.6–7. εἰ ταὐτὸν . . . εἴη ψυχή:From the fact that the soul itself is a form (see, e.g., Arist. De an. II 9, 421a20; cf. Eud. fr. 8), it follows that it must also be identified with its ti ēn einai or essence, according to the argument Aristotle sets out in Metaph. Ζ 6, 1031a17– b3. This is summarized by Proclus in his comment ad loc. apud Psellus Peri archōn etc. = Opusc. psych. 14, 73.27–31: “[the Peripatetics] maintain that in the case of composites it is a different thing to be something and to be its essence . . . but in the case of the simples they say that it is the same thing to be something and to be its essence (tauton phasi to einai hekaston kai to einai hekastōi).” Aristotle explicitly accepts this conclusion further on, at H 3, 1043b1–2—a passage cited by P. at VI 8.14.4–5. Now for a Platonist such as P., this implies that the soul itself is something intelligible, a position that he attempts to elucidate at IV 8.3.6–30, and that derives from a long tradition of interpretation of Phaedo 79d1–80a9 (examined by Dörrie 1959, 203–25), where it is stated that the soul, when it is “by itself ” (kath’ hautēn), that is, separated from the body, is to be found in the intelligible realm. As Kristeller 1929, 12–13, acutely remarked, this view presents difficulties if considered as an “objective” (gegenständliche) description of the ontological position of the soul; but it becomes comprehensible as a “subjective” (aktuale) realization of the soul’s identification with its real essence. 2.7–9. ἄδεκτον . . . ἐν ἑαυτῷ: The first important concomitant of the essentially formal nature of the soul is that it will be ontically activated (see II 5.3.31–3), which is to say that it will display a primary “activity of essence” (energeia tēs ousias), as distinguished from a secondary “activity from essence” (ek tēs ousias: V 4.2.28–29; on the theory of the two “activities” in P., see Rutten 1956, 100–106). When primary activity is transmitted to something else, it is converted into secondary or “other” (allē: II 5 loc. cit.) energeia, being received by the new entity as something different from itself. Something similar appears to be hinted at in a Hermetic text (Exc. XIX 2–3 = NF 3:82), where the two kinds of energeia are named “ ‘lives’ and ‘alterations’ (zōai kai kinēseis), the first corresponding to the essence (mia men hē kat’ ousian), the second to the growth of the body (hetera de hē kata phusin tou sōmatos).” 2.9–11. οὕτω γὰρ . . . εἶναι: Because, as has been stated, the soul will, as a Form, act on other things without in turn being affected by them, it will undergo no change or transformation; hence neither will it suffer destruction. In this way the soul’s immortality becomes immune to the objection of Panaetius (apud Cic. Tusc. I 79), according to whom whatever feels pain sickens and whatever sickens dies. Cicero himself (loc. cit. 80) has no difficulty in disposing of the same objection through an equivalent distinction between the intellect (mente) and the passible parts of the soul “that are subject to the affects of distress, anger and lust (in quibus aegritudines, irae libidinesque versentur),” but he appears unable to rebut it in the more general formulation it received from Carneades apud Cic. Nat. D. III 29, where the pathē are understood to encompass—as in

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First Ennead the present passage—all external influences, including perceptual excitations. Hence P. takes care to rid the soul itself of any such influences, ensuring thereby that it will remain entirely impassible (apathēs: cf. III 6.1.28–30). 2.12–13. ἢ ὅσον . . . ὄντων: The soul may be independent of the lower entities, but it is dependent on those that precede it in the ontological hierarchy, either within the realm of the intelligible or beyond it; indeed, the soul constitutes a (secondary) activity of theirs (V 2.1.16). And it remains in constant contact with the totality of beings, even if it has no awareness of the fact. 2.14–15. ἐκεῖνο . . . παθεῖν: Cf. I 8.15.15–16:fear, distress, and pain arise from the reluctance of the compound to undergo dissolution. 2.16–18. ἐπιθυμίαι . . . καὶ πληρουμένου:Cf. Pl. Phlb. 34e9–35b9 and e2–5. 2.19. τὸ οὐσιῶδες ἄμικτον:The Forms are characterized in Phlb. 59c4, as “utterly unmixed” (ameiktotata). This observation acquired particular importance in the face of the Stoic theory, according to which the soul becomes entirely blended with the body (SVF 1:145). 2.22. αὔταρκες ἐν οὐσίᾳ:Self-­sufficiency for P. is a direct consequence of simplicity, that is, of unity. Thus ultimate self-­sufficiency belongs to the One (II 9.1.19, V 3.13.17, and V 4.1.12); but intelligibles, insofar as they consist in a multiple unity, also possess self-­ sufficiency (see, e.g., V 9.5.45 and VI 7.9.45). 2.25–27. οὐδὲ αἰσθήσεται . . . ἐπ᾿ αἴσθησιν:Apart from the affections that presuppose sense-­perception, P. even denies to the pure soul perception itself and the related functions of “discursive reason” (dianoia) and “opinion” (doxa). His fundamental reason for this is his unwillingness to admit that the soul incurs any external influence whatsoever. For sense-­perception, the definition employed is that of Aristotle, De an. II 12, 424a18, extended so as to include the “reception” (paradochē) of “bodily affections” (pathē sōmatos) as well. These consist in changes of a purely corporeal nature, such as “emptying” (kenōsis) and “filling” (plērōsis), which in turn provoke pleasure, distress, desire, or even impressions of a certain kind (see I 8.8.6–9, V 3.2.4–6, VI 8.3.10–16; and cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. X 3, 1173b8–15). As regards the “reception of form” (paradochē eidous), this is effected by means of the sense organs, which transform perceptual qualities into intelligible ones in order that they may become objects amenable to discursive processes (see Emilsson 1988, 71–72). 2.28–29. περὶ δὲ . . . καταλείψομεν:See the comment on 1.8, above. 2.29. περὶ ἡδονῆς αὖ καθαρᾶς:The notion of pure pleasures is introduced by Plato in Phlb. 52c2 and 63e3. It is equivalent to that of “unmixed” (ameiktōn: 50e6; cf. above 2.19)



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or “true” (alēthōn: 51b1) pleasures and applies to cases where pleasure is not excessively strong; the example Plato cites is that of “the pleasures of learning.” Cf. also Alex. Aphrod. Probl. eth. 23, 146.2–7. 3.1–3. ἐν σώματι . . . ἐκλήθη:P. sets aside the examination of the pure soul and returns to the issue of the embodied one, which is distinct from the first (2.1–2). He is concerned with the question of its relation to the body, as also with the fact that the body must, so long as it is ensouled, possess something psychical conjointly with which to compose a living organism, the zōion. The phrase taken from the Phaedrus (246c5) refers to the soul’s entry—after “it has shed its wings”—into “an earthly body,” so that together they may constitute a mortal organism. 3.3. χρωμένη . . . ὀργάνῳ:The analogy of the soul’s use of the body to an artist’s or craftsman’s use of an instrument is taken from the presumably Platonic Alcibiades: see 129c5– 130a1. Cf. Pl. Phd. 79c3, Tht. 184d4; Arist. Protr. fr. B8 and B59, De an. I 3, 407b25–26 and II 4, 415b18–19, Eth. Eud. VII 9, 1241b18–23; also Max. Tyr. X 2, 133.11; and Galen De moribus apud Walzer 1962, 166. Origen goes so far as to define man as “a soul using a body (psuchēn chrōmenēn sōmati)” (C. Cels. VII 38.15 and VIII 30.27–34; cf. Hierocles In CA 60.21–23), but Alexander of Aphrodisias feels that in this way an unacceptable split is introduced within the unitary constitution of the organism (De an. 23.24–24.3). For his part, P. makes regular use of this analogy: see, e.g., I 4.16.22–28, IV 3.23.8–9, 26.4–5, IV 7.1.20–24; and Ferwerda 1965, 140–41. 3.4–5. οὐκ ἀναγκάζεται . . . τεχνῖται: To the extent that the analogy of the body to an instrument is an applicable one, the soul, even if embodied, will not be directly susceptible of bodily affections. Whatever happens to the body cannot be transmitted to the soul as if it too were something corporeal. 3.6–8. αἴσθησιν . . . ὁρᾶν:On the other hand, use of the body implies sense-­perception, given that the body is by its nature perceptual. But although sense-­perception presupposes that the sense organ will somehow be affected by the sensible object, it does not for all that constitute in P.’s view an “affection” (pathos) of the soul, but rather one of its “activities” (energeia), that is, a cognitive manifestation (see Emilsson 1988, 126–33). The analogy with the eye and with sight is also employed by Aristotle, De an. II 1, 412b18–25. 3.8–11. ἀλλὰ . . . ὀργάνου: Nonetheless, the existence of sense-­perception appears to be linked to the existence of feelings and desires—not, perhaps, as its immediate consequences, but certainly as a result of the good (or bad) functioning of the sense organs. As regards the harms occurring to sight that are here mentioned, it is worth recalling that at the time he was writing these lines, P. must have been almost blind (see VP 2.14–15).

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First Ennead 3.11–15. ἀλλὰ πῶς . . . παθεῖν: Hence the problem remains: the model “body = instrument of the soul” appears incapable of fully explaining the transmission of the affections from the body to the soul. Transmission can occur only from body to body, not from body to something incorporeal such as the soul (contra: Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 117.9–16). We have here a good example of the persistence and conscientiousness with which P. pursues his investigation. He insists on penetrating deeper at a point at which other contemporaries of his would barricade themselves behind authorities of the past and traditional formulas, such as that of the division of the soul into two parts, the one rational and immortal, the other irrational, “bound” to the body and mortal: I referred in my introduction to the pertinent Platonic sources. P., however, is not prepared so easily to dismiss the categorial distinction between the corporeal and the psychical, even where a lower, “passible” soul is concerned. 3.15–18. μέχρι . . . πῶς εἶχεν: In the (pseudo-­?)Platonic Alcibiades, 129d11–e7, it is declared that the soul—being a “user” (chrōmenon)—must be “other than the body it uses (heteron . . . tou sōmatos hōi chrētai)”; cf. Plut. Adu. Col. 1119a. For P., this alterity either constitutes an insurmountable category difference, or consists in a merely theoretical distinction between entities that are inseparable in fact. 3.18–19. ἀλλὰ εἰ . . . ἦν:P. presents four hierarchically ordered levels of conjunction. The first, whose degree of commingling is the greatest, corresponds to the Stoic viewpoint on the relation between body and soul: Zeno declared “the soul . . . wholly to have been blended with the whole of the body (kekrasthai holēn di’ hōlou tou sōmatos . . . tēn psuchēn)” (SVF 1:145), but according to him, of course, the soul was material. See also SVF 2:473, 155.25–29. 3.19. ὡς διαπλακεῖσα:The notion of interweaving is introduced in the Timaeus (at 36e2) to describe how the cosmic Soul penetrates the universe as it expands to its furthest extremities; see also II 2.3.3. Accordingly, here too, the expression must convey the suggestion of the soul’s diffusion throughout the body, so as to reach all its parts; but for P. such a viewpoint would have an excessively materialist ring to it, one that he will seek to dampen later on (4.12–18). 3.19–20. ὡς εἶδος οὐ κεχωρισμένον:This is Aristotle’s model of the soul, if we except his “active intellect” (poiētikos nous: see De an. I 1, 403a10–19 and II 2, 413b24–29). Cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. 17.9–15. 3.20–21. εἶδος . . . κυβερνήτης:The final model also refers to an Aristotelian passage (De an. II 1, 413a9) and is the one that allows the soul the greatest degree of independence from the body, inasmuch as it assumes that the “handling form” (eidos ephaptomenon) will be “separable” (chōriston) as well (even though the necessity of such an assumption has been denied insofar as Aristotle himself is concerned: see H. M. Robinson 1983, 128–31). Whether or not we accept Ross’s addition of the disjunctive ē to the text of De



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anima (which finds Lefèvre 1978, 23–25, for one, opposed), we must concur with him that Aristotle appears to refer to this analogy as if it were one “which someone had actually put forward” (Ross 1961, 215). And of course this “someone” can be none other than Plato, who clearly hints at such an analogy in the Phaedrus (at 247c7, where in fact the word used for “pilot” is kubernētēs as it is here, instead of Aristotle’s plōtēr; cf. also Ti. 42e3 and Phlb. 28d8–9), and who not only reaffirms it in the course of the reference he makes to this dialogue in the Laws (X 905e8), but later on even amplifies on it somewhat (XII 961e1–5). Tarán 1969, 259–61, demonstrated that this particular passage of the Phaedrus, in a version differing somewhat in punctuation from later editions, was believed by P. and the other Neoplatonists to contain the Platonic definition of soul (see Stob. Ecl. I 41.2, 320.19–21). Tracy 1979, 195–99 (see also 1982, 97–112) explored the survivals of this analogy in later authors, from Menander to Descartes. We could supplement his references with the following: Plut. De sera 563e; CH XII 4, 175.15–16; Iambl. De an. apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.2, 320.19–21; and Porph. Ad Gaurum 10.4, 47.6–16. P. reverts to this analogy at IV 3.21.9–17; cf. also IV 3.17.22–26. 3.21–26. ἢ τὸ μὲν . . . χρῆσθαι:At this point, P. introduces—albeit in a rather vague and hesitantly worded manner—his own view on the issue. In highly characteristic fashion, he draws together various elements from the preceding analysis but integrates them into a distinctly personal composition. The soul is conceived as consisting in a duality—not of “parts” (merē), for P. chooses to avoid the term—of which one is separate, the other “mixed” (memigmenon) with the body: the first plays the role of user, the second that of “instrument” (organon). We can already discern here P.’s endeavors to assure the unity of these two constituents of the soul. Coincidentally, the role of philosophy is also defined within this same framework: while the bond between user and instrument may respond to a certain physical necessity (cf. Pl. Ti. 42a3–4, 46e1–2), it is neither obligatory nor eternal; philosophy’s task is not the dissolution of this bond, but the “returning” or “reversion” (epistrophē: the term is a technical one in P. and later Neoplatonism; cf., e.g., V 1.12.14, VI 5.7.11; and Dodds 1963, 202–3 and 218) of the lower toward the higher, and the turning of the user’s attention from his instrument to his (real) self. 4.1–4. Θῶμεν . . . ἀλογίας: Here begins the more detailed investigation of the fivefold analysis introduced in 3.18–21. The first case—that of complete “mixture” (mixis), or “blending” (krasis)—contains, in P.’s view, some elements of truth: it is indeed the combination of soul with body that gives life to the second (cf. II 9.7.17–20 and VI 4.16.11–12) and constitutes a kind of “death” (thanatos) for the first (cf. I 8.13.21–25). 4.4–10. τὸ δὴ . . . φθαρήσεται: But the blending model involves some serious difficulties. How will the soul’s “death” result in its sensitization? Could it be that the subject of sensations and feelings is not, in the end, the soul, but the animated body? (Cf. I 8.15.13–21.)

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First Ennead 4.10–12. ζητητέον . . . ἄλλῃ: Furthermore, a complete mixture of the sort implies that the two constituent elements will be mutually affected. According, however, to the standard Aristotelian view (see Gen. corr. I 7, 323b26–30), in order for one entity to affect another, they must both belong to the same genus, that is, they must either be “contraries” (enantia) or be composed “of contraries” (ex enantiōn). It is difficult to see how this condition would apply in the case of body and soul. 4.12–18. τὸ δὲ . . . διαπέπλεκται: The Platonic credentials of the “interweaving” model (see above, 3.19 with my comment) oblige P. to accept it, but not without first cleansing it of all its materialist connotations (such as it preserves, e.g., for Aristides Quintilianus, De musica II 17, 87.16; cf. Simpl. In Cael. 379.1–4). Interweaving does not imply commonality of affections between body and soul. Their relation is rather like that of light to illumined object. This celebrated analogy would appear to have been ascribed by Nemesius to P.’s teacher Ammonius Saccas (see De nat. hom. 3, 40.22–41.8), but Schwyzer 1983, 51–63, has pointed out that the relevant testimony derives from Porphyry, who did not have direct access to the philosophy of Ammonius, and that it lacks, therefore, historical credibility. The testimony nonetheless preserves its value as an interpretation of this analogy, so frequently employed by P. (see Ferwerda 1965, 49–54). And what it tells us in this regard is that, just as in the case of light in air, “in the same manner soul, becoming unified (henoumenē) with body, remains perfectly non-­ commingled (pantōs asunchutos),” something that P. also insists on (IV 3.22.1–7). This makes it clear that the analogy is, indeed, suitable for emphasizing the soul’s impassibility, but it continues to leave undetermined the subject of the affections (see also Igal 1979, 332–33). Accordingly, at IV 4.18.5–6, P. feels obligated to modify the analogy so as to be able to correlate bodily sensations with the soul. 4.19–20. πρῶτον . . . χρώμενον:The third case of mixture is that between “form” (eidos) and “matter” (hulē). For a Platonist philosopher, it would be natural to think first of the relation of separable Forms—which are alone in constituting substances—to matter. But we would thus find ourselves reverting to the case of soul itself, which has already been examined in chapter 2. 4.20–27. εἰ δὲ . . . μᾶλλον:Here at last P. hits upon the model that, in his opinion, best describes the nature of the living organism and the subject of bodily affections: it consists in Aristotle’s notion of unseparated, “enmattered form” (enhulon eidos). To dispel any doubt, P. resorts to the same example employed by Aristotle (De an. II 1, 412b11–15): a body constitutes a “living organism” (zōion) “in virtue of ” (kata) the soul it possesses, in the same way as a piece of iron is an axe “in virtue of ” (kata) its “form” (eidos), that is, its shape and its capacity to chop in a certain way. In this sense it would be as absurd to identify the living being with its soul (even in the case of the human zōion), as to identify the axe with its capacity to chop. But just as an axe ceases, from the moment it loses the specific property, to be an axe, so also the living being ceases to exist as such from the instant of its death. (On this see Ackrill 1972/73, 120–21.) Just as an axe has the capacity to chop “in virtue of ” its shape, so also the living being has the capacity to feel sensations



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“in virtue of ” the soul (cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 102.20–27). Hence the subject of sensations, desires, and actions is the living organism, the zōion. Cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 104.34–105.2. As if wishing to underline his debt to the Stagirite, P. cites two phrases from the De anima (II 1, 412a27–b1 and II 4, 408b12–13), and in referring to him employs (as he does once more, at IV 4.15.19) the subject-­less “says” (phēsi), which he normally reserves for the occasions when he is quoting the words of Plato himself. Concerning, finally, the phrase “a body of a specific kind” (sōmati toioutōi), see Arist. De an. II 1, 412a21 and 28. 5.1–2. τὸ ζῷον . . . γεγενημένον: P. now moves on to examine the nature of this living being. The alternatives are either that it should be identified with the body, the latter being equipped with such qualities as to render it organic, or that it should consist in a combination of this body with some element originating in the soul. A third possibility does not appear to exist within P.’s range of vision, nor does he anywhere allude to such. For this reason I propose the deletion of the second disjunctive ē in line 2, so that the phrase following the comma will be read as an explication of the Aristotelian term “conjunct” (koinon: cf. De an. II 4, 408b29), which does not appear to have as yet come into established use. Before P., we meet with it only as a technical term, in [Plut.] Lib. 7, but afterward, it comes to be regularly employed, for example, in Iambl. De an. apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.33, 368.2–9 and 36, 370.27. For a Platonic antecedent of the Aristotelian term, one might perhaps look to the Philebus, 31c2–11 and 34a3–5. 5.3–5. ἤτοι . . . καὶ αὐτήν:To what extent, though, does the soul participate in the affections of the body? According to the Stoics, the soul interacts or “sympathizes” (sumpaschei) with the body, and vice versa (see Nemesius De nat. hom. 32 = SVF 1:518; Hier. El. Eth. IV 10–22; but also [Arist.] Phgn. 805a1–10). The Platonists, on the other hand, made efforts to preserve the “impassibility” (apatheia) of the soul in order to safeguard its immortality (see my comment on 2.9–11 and cf. [Plut.] Lib. 9). 5.5–7. καὶ ἢ . . . πάσχειν:As is his habitual practice, P. hints at his solution before setting it out in detail: perhaps to the affection of the body there corresponds a “like” (homoion) affection—or better, activity—of the pertinent psychical faculty. Of course, the notion of “likeness” is here left imprecise, as it is also below, at 9.23. It is doubtful, however, whether it can be designating anything stronger than “correspondence.” 5.8. ὕστερον ἐπισκεπτέον:The later passage being referred to is chapter 7, below. 5.8. συναμφότερον:Here the Aristotelian term for “conjunct” (koinon: 5.2) is replaced by the equivalent “Platonic” one (sunamphoteron). This derives from ?Pl. Alc. 130a9–c1, but is also used in a related sense in two interesting passages of undisputedly Platonic authorship (Symp. 209b7; and Ti. 87e5–6). It is worth remarking that this same term is even employed by such a dedicated Peripatic as Alexander of Aphrodisias: see De an. mant. 115.28; and cf. [Plut.] Parsne an fac. 7. But P. is not striving to adhere to some rigidly consistent terminology: a little further on (11.1, etc.), he will deploy yet another

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First Ennead term (again, this time, Aristotelian) for the selfsame thing, namely, to suntheton (“the compound”); on this see de Vogel 1976, 148n.10, and 153. 5.9–12. ἆρα . . . πῶς:This somewhat mechanistic view of the transmission of sensations from the body to the soul bears some resemblance to that of Posidonius (fr. 169.90–92). It fails, however, to provide an explanation of perceptual apprehension that would satisfy a Platonist, for whom there can be no transmissibility from the corporeal to the incorporeal. See above, 3.11–15. 5.12–15. ἀλλ᾿ ὅταν . . . γένηται:Just as there is a problem with the transmission of sensations from the body to the soul, so there is a difficulty also in accounting for the reverse influence of the psychical dispositions on the body (the so-­called psychosomatic phenomena), concerning which the Stoics again had a mechanistic explanation (see SVF 3:459; and Theiler 1930, 87–88). 5.15–21. ἀλλὰ καὶ . . . ὄρεξιν:As was stated in 1.5–6, the “impressions” (doxai) are consequences of the “affections” (pathēmata), that is, they are the product of more complex psychical processes than is the case with the latter: they presuppose a degree of rational elaboration and may be either true or false (see Alex. Aphrod. De an. 67.13– 18). Indeed, insofar as they involve judgment, they possess some autonomy with respect to the affections. This casts doubt on the extent to which they can be attributed to the “conjunct.” 5.21–26. ὅτι καὶ . . . ἀφροδισίων: Another solution would be to ascribe the affections to purely psychical functions. Aristotle had pointed out, however, that “all the affections (pathē) of soul involve a body . . . in all these there is a concurrent affection (paschei ti) of the body” (De an. I 1, 403a16–19 trans. ROT), and consequently that their definition must always include some reference to this corporeal factor (ibid. 25–27). Hence, for example, the definition of anger includes the expression “a boiling (zesis) of the blood or warm substance surrounding the heart” (ibid. 31–b1; cf. Pl. Ti. 70b3–5, but also CH XII 2, 175.4–5). It is accordingly held to be impossible by definition for someone to become angry without corresponding changes presenting themselves in his body. 5.26–28. ἡ δὲ . . . λόγος:Having mentioned “desire” (epithumia) and “spirited impulse” (thumos), P. feels obliged to make a reference to “appetition of the good” (agathou orexin), which for Aristotle, as we can see from his Rhetoric, I 10, 1369a3, is none other than “wish” (boulēsis). Thus all three categories of “appetition” (orexis) are covered (Arist. De an. II 3, 414b2). But contrary to the other two forms of appetition, boulēsis “is found in the ratiocinative (en tōi logistikōi) part” of the soul (ibid. III 9, 432b5–6), the one that, as Aristotle gives us to understand, constitutes its “separable part” (chōriston morion: ibid. 432a19–20). According to P., it belongs to the separate soul itself, which, as was shown in chapter 2, is impassible.



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5.29–35. ὀρεγομένου . . . ἄρξεται: Does “desire” (epithumia), being “appetition of the pleasant” (orexis tou hēdeos: Arist. De an. II 3, 414b5–6), originate in the living being or in the desiderative part—better, the desiderative “power” (dunamis)—of the soul? The problem as set out resembles that of the chicken and the egg; P., however, does have a solution, but in the chapter following he presents it in a somewhat covert guise, displaying it more fully in chapter 20 of treatise IV 4. The use of the term “man” (anthrōpos) in this passage deserves attention, corresponding as it does exactly to the way in which it is used by pseudo-­Plutarch in the passage of the Lib. that I cited in my introduction to this treatise: man is identified with the “conjunct”; cf. VI 7.5.1–4. On the technical meaning of the term “to follow on” (epakolouthein) as signifying a secondary consequence, see Dillon 1987a, 348n.19. 6.1–4. ἀλλ᾿ ἴσως . . . ἔχουσιν: P. feels that after having aporetically surveyed the field in the preceding chapters, he is now ready to start, however hesitantly, on the theōria, which is to say on the “exposition” of his own viewpoint. He sets about it by introducing the terms “power” (dunamis) and “activity” (energeia) into a sentence of extraordinarily convoluted syntax, where it is said that the “presence” (parousia) of the psychical “powers” or “faculties” (dunameōn) in the bodily organs is what provides them with the capacity to act in a determinate way. The faculties Aristotle mentions (De an. II 3, 414a31–32) are the “nutritive” (threptikon), the “perceptive” (aisthētikon), the “appetitive” (orektikon), the “locomotive” (kinētikon kata topon), and the “ratiocinative” (dianoētikon); as we saw in my introduction, both Posidonius and a number of Peripatetics invoked at least the first of these in order to explain the irrational manifestations of the soul. According to the Aristotelian viewpoint, a dunamis is to the organ in which it is present what the soul is to the body as a whole (see Arist. De an. II 1, 412b23–413a3; and cf. Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. III 9, 97.9–12). This provides P. with the latitude to employ the notion of “power” in order to explain not only the sensorial and passible, but also the active and discursive operations of the soul. The psychical faculties remain unmoved and impassible, while the bodily organs act “in virtue of these” (kat’ autas: cf. my comment on 4.20–27, and Theiler’s remark ad loc.: “The soul acts as a catalyst, without itself undergoing any change”). Yet the psychical faculties actually are present in the body, in contradistinction to the soul itself, which, as we saw, remains separate. 6.4–9. ἀλλ᾿ εἰ . . . ψυχῆς ἔσται:P. hastens to establish that it is not the psychical faculties themselves that are subject to the affections, but the “living being” in virtue of these (see my previous comment, and cf. [Plut.] Parsne an fac. 6). In this way he is able to avoid the hazard that, as I mentioned in my introduction, gave pause to other Platonists and led them to espouse an extreme dualism. But one consequence of this view is that the life-­giving power of the soul will not itself possess life, even as it gives life to the zōion. This is not a source of worry to P., whose conception of life is a much broader one, extending even to the realm of the intelligible; see below, 13.5–6. The life

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First Ennead of the soul itself differs from that of the “living being,” being its cause and model; cf. IV 3.10.38–40. 6.9–10. ἡ δύναμις . . . τὴν δύναμιν:What perceives is the sense organ, in virtue of the corresponding perceptual faculty of the soul: “for as the wrestler wrestles in virtue of conditioning in the art of wrestling without the art of wrestling itself wrestling, and as the flutist plays the flute in virtue of the art of flute playing without the art of flute playing itself playing the flute, and as the weaver weaves in virtue of the art of weaving without the art of weaving itself weaving, such are we to understand as being the case also concerning the activities (epi tōn energeiōn) that are carried out by beings possessing soul insofar as they are ensouled; for not even in their case does the soul perform any of the vital functions in and of itself, but rather it is in virtue of soul (kata tautēn) that its possessor performs these” (Alex. Aphrod. De an. 23.18–24; cf. [Plut.] loc. cit.). In a word, the subject of sensations and other “activities” (energeiai) will be man qua living organism, as was pointed out above at 5.30–33 (and see my comment ad loc.). The whole of this passage of Alexander’s, commencing from 23.6, repays study, as P. obviously must have had it in view (see VP 14.13). 6.10–14. εἰ ἡ αἴσθησις . . . τὸ συναμφότερον:The “mechanistic” theory adumbrated in 5.9–12 is now restated in more Platonic terms (cf. Ti. 43c4–7, 45d1–2; but also Arist. Somn. 1, 454a9–10). On the point at issue, however, P. prefers to follow Aristotle, because he is unwilling to accept that the soul itself may incur any “affection.” 6.14–16. ἀλλ᾿ εἰ . . . δυνάμεως:What remain to be clarified are the nature and composition of the “compound” (sunamphoteron), and how it is possible for the soul not to form part of it. This is the point at which P. parts ways with Aristotle in order to forge his own path, “contradicting the opinion of others (para doxan tōn allōn),” as he was to remark in IV 8.8.1. 7.1–6. τὸ συναμφότερον . . . εἴρηται: The opening phrase constitutes a response to the question just posed, while the genitives that follow are absolute genitives: so does Armstrong also understand this passage, but the naturalness of this reading can be further emphasized by the addition of a comma after estō (7.1). The relation of the soul itself with the body is shown to be exceedingly attenuated. The soul’s “presence” (parousia) is restricted to the radiation or (as P. will state below, at 8.17–88) the reflection it casts on the body (cf. VI 4.16.14–16). All that the body derives from the soul in order that the “living being” may be constituted is “a sort of light which it [sc., the soul] gives of itself.” We are thus back once again at the “light—illumined object” model of their relation that we had encountered at 4.15–16: namely, that of “non-­commingled union” (asunchutos henōsis: see my comment ad loc.). This image of the illumination of matter by the soul, familiar in the form of a cosmological allegory from the Hermetic writings (see CH I 5, 8.5–7), and already employed by Seneca Ep. 41.5, was a particular favorite of those Gnostics who moved in P.’s circles; see II 9.10.24–



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26; and cf. the “luminous Thought (Epinoia)” that is sent by the One to vivify Adam by “the shadow of the light which is in him,” according to the Apocryphon of John (= NHC II 1, 20.25–30). P. himself sometimes uses the term “shadow of soul” (skia psuchēs) in order to describe the animating element within the body (IV 4.18.7; cf. below 12.26), while at other times he refers to it as “image of irradiation” (eidōlon eklampseōs: IV 5.7.61; cf. below, 11.12 and also VI 4.15.16 and VI 7.6.13) or as “trace” (ichnos: II 3.9.22). On the “living being”—the “third thing composed of both” of 1.3–4 and 5.2—as subject of sensations and feelings, see my comment on 6.9–10 and also IV 3.26.1–9. Cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 117.15: “it is the complex (to sunamphoteron) which is the suffering entity (to paschon), for the living being (to zōion), consisting of soul and body, may be cut in virtue of the body (kata men to sōma temnomenon), but feels pain in virtue of the soul (algoun de kata tēn psuchēn).” Cf. also [Plut.] Parsne an fac. 5. 7.6. ἡμεῖς:In P., “we” (hēmeis) is a technical term designating the “I” or subject of consciousness, which constitutes “a point of view . . . from which there opens up for us a perspective on the world or on our soul” (Hadot 1963, 31). Although this “I” displays a degree of mobility that led Dodds (in the “Discussion” following Schwyzer 1960, 385– 86) to characterize it, in an exquisite turn of phrase, as “a fluctuating spotlight of consciousness,” I believe there are no indications, at least in the present treatise, that it extends beyond the boundaries of the soul itself: it remains always “above” (anō) the living being (7.17–18), while the Intellect (nous) is “above us” (huperanō hēmōn: 8.3); see also Himmerich 1959, 93, but also the contrary view cautiously advanced by Blumenthal 1971a, 109–11—who incidentally points out that the term hēmeis was similarly employed in the pseudo-­Platonic Axiochus 365e6: “for each of us (hēmeis) is a soul, an immortal living being (zōion) locked up in a mortal prison.” 7.7–9. οὐκ ἀπηλλάγημεν . . . πάρεστι:Man is hereinafter presented as something multiple and composite, as the “we” is also (cf. below, 9.7), because P. begins to examine him as the subject of consciousness, not as an objective, ontological reality. Cf. my comment on 2.6–7. 7.9–14. τὴν δὲ . . . θεωρίαν: The attempt is made here, perhaps for the first time in ancient philosophy, to draw a clear distinction between sensation and (conscious) perceptual apprehension (see Blumenthal 1971a, 67–88 and 72). The sense organs have the capacity to receive the “form” (eidos) of sensible objects without their “matter” (hulē: see Arist. De an. II 12, 424a17–20; and Alex. Aphrod. De an. 39.13–14). In this way, sensible objects induce “imprints” (tupoi) within the living organism that are in themselves already intelligible objects, amenable to discursive elaboration (cf. V 3.3.1–2). At this point, the soul’s perceptive faculty—which, let it be noted, obviously belongs to the soul itself—takes over, apprehending these forms “impassively” (apathōs), without the body’s participation (see Emilsson 1988, 117; de Vogel 1976, 150n.16; and cf. Galen PHP VII 6.31, 468.15–16 trans. De Lacy: “perception (hē aisthēsis), then, is not alteration (alloiōsis) . . . but discernment (diagnōsis) of alteration”).

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First Ennead Just as “the conjunct” (to koinon) is an image of the soul (see my comment on 7.1–6), so “the joint entity’s perception” (hē koinē aisthēsis: 9.12) is an image of psychical apprehension. Interestingly, what P. calls antilēpsis (“apprehension”) corresponds to what Alexander terms noēsis (“thought” or “intellection”), given that the latter does not believe in the existence of separate Forms (see De an. 88.13–17, and De an. mant. 110.17–20). The term antilēpsis itself, signifying a process by which representations deriving from both sensation and intellection are jointly apprehended (see Warren 1964, 84–88), appears to have come into established usage earlier on as a substitute for the Stoic term katalēpsis (now usually rendered in English as “perceptual cognition”), which referred to the apprehension of perceptual representations alone. The most important pertinent testimony is contained in a fragment of the Peripatetic “apostate from the Academy” (see Acad. Ind. Herc. 35.15–16) Ariston of Alexandria (apud Porph. De animae facultatibus apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.24, 348.1–9), which until recently was overlooked, having been attributed instead to Ariston of Chios (see SVF 1:377; Mariotti 1966 in his monograph on Ariston of Alexandria does not refer at all to this fragment). What it tells us is that “Ariston, having postulated an apprehensive power of the soul (antilēptikēn dunamin tēs psuchēs), divided it into two, saying that one of the parts (meros) is mostly moved together with some one of the sense organs, and this he called the “sensory” (aisthētikon) part, being the origin and source of the particular senses; while the other, which is always in itself (kath’ heauton) and [operates] without organs . . . he called “intellect” (noun).” Cf. in addition Anon. In Tht. 59.46–49; but also Hier. El. Eth. IV 49–53. 7.14–16. ἀπὸ δὴ . . . νοήσεις: The soul subsequently processes these apprehensions, to produce: “reasonings” (dianoiai), mainly through abstraction (cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. 83.3–12; and also Arist. An. post. II 19, 100a15–b5); “opinions” (doxai), which are equivalent to “impressions” (entupōseis); and “acts of intuitive intelligence” (noēseis). These last cannot constitute “intellection” in the primary sense given to the term by P., as they do not involve contemplation of the separate Forms, but instead some kind of intellectual scrutiny of those “forms” that are apprehensible by sense-­perception, possibly consisting in their determination and ordering by the processes of collection and division, as would appear to be suggested by V 3.2.7–9. P. was perhaps influenced here in his choice of words by the use the Peritatetics made of the term noēsis, as detailed in the preceding comment. And just as “intellection” corresponded for them to the “power” (dunamis) of the “passive intellect” (pathētikos nous: see Schroeder 1982, 122–23), so does it belong for P. to the “intellect in the soul” (en psuchēi noun); see 8.1–2. On the other hand, the reference to the hegemony of the soul itself masks an allusion to “the great commander (hēgemōn) in heaven, Zeus” (Pl. Phdr. 246e4; cf. Ti. 41c7), whom Philo had already likened to “the human mind (ton anthrōpinon noun) in men” (Opif. 69; see Boyancé 1963, 48–50). 7.16–17. ἔνθα . . . μάλιστα: That the region where each of us is most at home is that of discursive reason and the impressions directly follows from the content of the term “we”



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(hēmeis), as discussed in my comment on 7.6 above; cf. V 3.3.35–36. Aristotle had already expressed the view that “the intellectual element (to dianoētikon) . . . would seem to be the man himself ” (Eth. Nic. IX 4, 1166a16–17). 7.17–18. τὰ δὲ . . . ζῴω: The distinction “we—our” (hēmeis—hēmetera) is established inductively in ?Pl. Alc. 128c9–e2, and applied later in the same work to the soul and the body (131a2–b11). The same distinction appears frequently in P. (see, e.g., IV 4.18.11–15 and V 3.3.40), but it seems to have enjoyed wider currency as well: cf., e.g., [Hermes Trism.] Asclepius 11, 309.9–21; and Hierocles In CA 13.6, 60.12. 7.18–20. κωλύσει . . . σχεδόν:At this point, P. begins to manifest a tendency to alter the terminology he has been using up to now, which, as we saw, has Peripatetic roots. He prefers to designate as “living being” (zōion) the aggregate of body, soul image, and pure soul, wherein the first two elements are intermingled, whereas the third constitutes “more or less the true man (ho anthrōpos ho alēthēs schedon).” Yet in the sequel this alteration will only prove to be of some importance in relation to the term “man” (anthrōpos). The fact is that in any case the Platonists, like Plato himself, rarely concerned themselves with establishing a strict technical terminology. Cf. also below at 10.5–6. 7.20–21. ἐκεῖνα . . . θηρίον: In Plato’s comparison (see Resp. IX 590a9–b1 and 588c7), two “beasts” (thēria)—the “spirited” (thumoeides) and the “desiderative” (epithumētikon) ones—together constitute the part of ourselves that is lower, mixed, irrational and “brutish” (thēriōdes: cf. Anon. VPyth. apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 249, 440b14). 7.21–24. συνδρόμου . . . ἐνεργήματα:Cf. above, 7.16–17. It is not entirely clear whether the clause beginning with “when” (hotan) depends on “coincides” (sundromou ontos), as Blumenthal 1977, 111, would have it, or on “we reason” (logizometha); I agree with Armstrong in preferring the latter reading, which avoids setting a temporal limit on man’s “coincidence” with the rational soul. 8.1–3. Πρὸς δὲ . . . ἡμῶν:A highly compressed exposition is provided here of the distinction between the intellect that the soul possesses as one of its faculties, and the separate Intellect, the second “hypostasis” in P.’s ontology. As the terminology he utilizes reveals, P. is here drawing on the corresponding Peripatetic explications of the notions of the active and the passive intellect that Aristotle introduced in De anima III 4 and 5. Thus, for example, according to Alexander of Aphrodisias: (a) each man possesses of his own nature in his soul the passive intellect, which, like matter, “is always in potentiality (dunamei panta)” (De an. mant. 107.10) and consists in an indeterminate predisposition to receive the intelligible “forms” (eidē); (b) just as craftsmen acquire “states (of skill)” (hexeis) that provide them with the ability to accomplish their work, so the passive intellect may be molded through perceptual and intellectual apprehensions into “a state of intelligence” (hexin tou noein: De an. 81.28–82.10, 85.20–86.4, and De an. mant. 107.21–34; cf. [Plut.] Parsne an fac. 4) that constitutes its first “actuality” (entelecheia); (c) finally, there comes “from outside (thurathen)” the active intellect, which “illumi-

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First Ennead nates” and activates the one already present in the soul. “And it is separate from us (chōristos de estin hēmōn) . . . because it does not come to be the intellect itself through being thought by us, but is such by its own nature: being in actuality Intellect and intelligible (energeiai nous te ōn kai noētos)” (Alex. Aphrod. op. cit. 108.26–29). On this, see Moraux 1978, 299–300. P. persistently and, in my opinion, consistently maintains the distinction between the two intellects. See, e.g., I 8.2.7–15, V 1.3.12–17, 10.12–18, and V 3.3.21–26. 8.3–6. ἔχομεν δὲ . . . πρώτῃ: P. displays a similar hesitancy concerning the relation of the “I” (hēmeis) with the Intellect at V 3.3.26–29. It is his firm view, however, that the nature of the Intellect is such that it is everywhere present as a whole; see V 8.4.4–11, VI 5.6.1–6, and VI 7.9.31–35. From this perspective, when the soul’s intellect is activated by the light of the Intellect, it becomes identified with the whole of the intelligible, whereupon it can be truly said that “transcendence becomes a property of the ‘I’ ” (Trouillard 1955b, 78). On the other hand, I believe that the attempt by Blumenthal 1974, 219, to discover in the phrase “the primary soul” (psuchēi tēi prōtēi) a reference to the hypostasis of the soul founders on the fact, among others, that in the specific context the soul is something that has to do with “each [of us]” (hekastos), and hence must refer simply to the pure, separate soul that is identical to our higher self. 8.6–8. ἔχομεν οὖν . . . τὰ πάντα:P. frequently employs Anaxagoras’ expression “all together” (homou panta: fr. B1 DK) in respect of the contents of the intelligible world; see, e.g., V 3.15.21, 17.10, V 9.6.3 and 8, etc. By contrast, at the level of “discursive reason” (dianoia), where the soul begins to go through the “forms” (eidē) and weave them into propositions, these acquire some degree of discrete existence and hence become “formative principles” (logoi), objects submitted by the soul to intellectual elaboration, that is, to “ratiocination” (logismos). See McCumber 1978, 165; and cf. III 5.9.1–14. 8.8–10. τὸν δὲ . . . ὄντως: “God” (theos), “the One” (to hen), transcends “Intellect” (nous)—which is identical to “Substance” (ousia), the totality of “[real] beings” (onta)— being its principle. P.’s manner of expression here reminds us of Numenius’ description of the Good as “the Sovereign Principle (to hēgemonikon) riding serene above the tides of Being (hileō epochoumenon epi tēi ousiai)” (fr. 2.16 trans. Dodds 1965, 94), whereas the expression tēi ousiai tēi ontōs (“real substance”) recalls Plato’s Sophist 248a11. 8.10–15. ἡμᾶς δὲ . . . μία: The soul comes third, after the One and the Intellect, and according to Plato’s Timaeus, 35a1–7, it was out of “indivisible” (ameristos) and “divisible” (meristē) “Substance” (ousia) that the Demiurge “composed” (sunestēsen) it in his mixing-­bowl. (P. discusses this passage in treatises IV 1 [21] and IV 2 [4]). Soul is portioned out among living things in the form of particular souls, but also to the universe in the form of cosmic Soul. The unity of the aggregate of souls is taken up as a subject of discussion in treatise IV 9 [8]; what interests P. more specifically in the present passage is the unity of the soul with its various manifestations.



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8.15–18. φαντάζεται . . . κατόπτροις:Even the soul “divided” (meristē) among living bodies is present in them only in appearance, as a vivifying radiation (see 7.4, above). This led Igal 1979, 326–27, to observe that, according to P.’s indications here, the soul itself includes the perceptive and vegetative faculties (the latter comprising nutrition, growth, and reproduction), which correspond to the divided soul, whereas the soul’s image belongs to an even lower level, that of the “other kind (allo eidos) of soul,” where the affections occur. See also the table of comparison he provides on p. 342. On the image of the mirror, see Pépin 1970, 320, who omits, however, to point out that this is already to be met with in Plutarch (De gen. 591e; cf. Apollodorus De dis apud Porph. De Styge apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.50, 420.15–20). See also my comment on 12.31–39, below, on the meaning of eidōlon (“image”). 8.18–23. πρῶτον . . . ἀποτελούμενον: The faculties of the soul are “reflected” on the body, producing a series of corresponding images. First comes the image of perceptual apprehension, namely, sense-­perception (see above, 7.9–14; and cf. Pl. Ti. 42c5); this is followed by the other affections and activities that correspond to the vegetative faculty (cf. Pl. Ti. 69c7). A precondition for the generation of all these images is that the soul should be “turned toward” (epistrammenē) the body (cf. [Plut.] Parsne an fac. 7). This, for P., is what the soul’s “declination” (neusis) consists in: nothing more than a change in its orientation, constituting neither a fall nor a sin; see 12.21–25, below; and Rist 1967b, 120–21. 9.1–4. Ἔσται . . . εἴρηται:The primal cause of all evils is, in P.’s view, matter, which, upon entering the “irrational kind of soul” as “unmeasuredness” (ametria), precipitates evil within it in the shape of “involuntary affections” (akousia pathēmata) and “false impressions” (pseudeis doxai). Accordingly, the soul itself—which, as was declared earlier (7.1– 6), remains unperturbed by the latter—is entirely impervious to evil. See I 8.4.5–22. 9.4–12. ἀλλ᾿ εἰ δόξα . . . αἰσθήσει:The “representative” (doxastikē) and “discursive” (dianoētikē) faculties of the soul are susceptible of error and falsehood. Such malfunctions, though, come about when these higher faculties fail to exercise appropriate directive control over an inferior agency, the “living being,” and are led astray by it. If, for example, perceptual apprehensions (see above, 7.9–16) fail to be subjected to discursive processing (epikrinai: cf. Pl. Resp. VI 524e4; Arist. De an. III 7, 431a20; and Alex. Aphrod. De an. 71.26–72.1), then raw percepts may induce erroneous impressions, which in turn may lead to wrongdoing. Ultimately, that is, evil arises from some inability of the soul to exert effective action on the body—in other words, from allowing itself to be led astray by it. See also de Vogel 1976, 163–64. 9.12–15. ὁ δὲ νοῦς . . . ἔχειν:In contrast to the discursive faculties, the intellect is insusceptible of error, because intellection does not consist in a composition of heterogeneous elements, but rather in the intuitive contemplation of intelligible objects ordered within a unitary whole on the basis of their conceptual interconnections. Aristotle had

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First Ennead argued (in Metaph. Θ 10, 1051b17–33) that the intellection of “incomposite” (asuntheta) objects of thought is insusceptible of truth or falsity, or, better, that in its case any truth or falsity will consist in whether or not “contact” (thixis) has been achieved with the intelligible. Plato had already made frequent use of various cognates of the verb ephaptomai—which denotes “touching” or “making contact with”—to designate the intellective contemplation of the Forms (see, e.g., Phd. 65d7, Symp. 212a5, Phdr. 253a2). P., however, hastens to clarify that he is referring to intelligible objects that are present in the soul, “in us” (cf. 8.6–8)—where, as was stated, they are not “all together (homou panta),” but “as it were ‘unfolded’ (hoion aneilēgmena),” which is to say, articulated into judgments of a definitional character, such as we today would term a priori. These are not always “available” (procheiroi) to consciousness, but, like the epistēmai in the aviary of the Theaetetus (198d5–8: in the Levett/Burnyeat translation, these are the “things one got the knowledge of ”), they are in need of being grasped and restored to consciousness through recollection; cf. V 3.2.7–14. 9.15–23. διείλομεν . . . κοινωνία: P. summarizes the allocation of the various psychosomatic processes that was effected in the preceding chapters. The “common” (koina) processes—those belonging to the “conjunct” (koinon) or living being—are the sense-­ perceptions and feelings, which have their origin in bodily states and dispositions. The processes “proper to the soul” (idia tēs psuchēs: the distinction is Aristotelian; see De an. I 1, 403a4) are the apprehensive and rational functions, which either exercise “supervenient judgment” (epikrisis: cf. V 3.2.8) on perceptual data (cf. 7.9–11) and feelings, or activate intellectual representations through recollection (as mentioned in the previous comment). The precise connotation conveyed here (l. 20) by the term sunaisthēsis (“apperception” or “awareness” are both better than “sympathy”) is that the grasping of meanings through discursive thinking does not address anything external, but involves taking cognizance of intellectual data already present to the soul (cf. Schroeder 1987b, 682–84). On the other hand, just as “apprehension” (antilēpsis) presupposes some similarity between the “form” (eidos) retrieved by the senses and the corresponding intellectual representation (cf. IV 5.8.22–6), so intellection itself implies an assimilation of the soul to the archetypal Intellect. 9.23–26. ἀτρεμήσει . . . παθημάτων: Hence soul, turned toward itself, shall be as “unshakeable” (atremēs) as the “Being” (eon) of Parmenides (fr. B8.4 DK) and the “Forms” (eidē) in the Phaedrus (250c3), and impervious to the “clamor” (thorubos) of the affections that disturbs the living being (cf. Pl. Phd. 66d6—but also Philo Spec. leg. I 298; and Plut. De gen. 588d; in addition, Enn. IV 3.29.34–36 and VI 4.15.18–23). 10.1–7. Ἀλλ᾿ εἰ . . . τὸ σῶμα:It is by now time to come to terms with the problem arising from the introduction of the technical meaning of “we” (hēmeis: see my comment on 7.6, above): for this appears to be incompatible with the normal use of the pronoun, according to which we can say that it is “we” who suffer, feel, or effect something. P.’s response is to distinguish between two meanings of hēmeis, of which one refers only to the soul itself, whereas the other comprehends the living being as well. P. had already



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introduced the same notion of duality in the “sister” treatise II 3, but it was there viewed in its cosmic perspective (9.30–47). Yet what he is concerned in both treatises to stress is not the polar oppositeness of the lower to the higher, but rather the relation of dependence binding the two. Our body is not something alien—nor, as it was for the Gnostics, a place of exile—but something that is ours: something humbler by far than our true self, yet nonetheless a component of our identity, even though we may need to stretch somewhat our conception of identity in order to accommodate it. On this, see also O’Daly 1973, 46. Of course, this “living being” (zōion) has, in virtue of its irrationality, something nonhuman about it, something “brutish” (thēriōdes: see above 7.20–21). Even so, P. will not agree to relegate it to a nature opposite from that of man. 10.7–11. ὁ δ᾿ ἀληθὴς . . . συνεπομένη:The “true” (alēthēs) or, as he is termed elsewhere (V 1.10.10; cf. Pl. Resp. IX 589a7–b1), the “inner” (eisō) man is identified with the primary, impassible, and separate soul that was described in chapter 2. Philo already makes repeated reference to “the man in truth” (pros alētheian anthrōpos: Her. 231, Migr. 71 and Det. 22), whom he identifies with the “purest intellect” (katharōtatos nous) in contradistinction to the man “intermingled with sensation” (kekramenos met’ aisthēseōs: see also my introduction to this treatise); for him, however, these “men” are two entirely heterogeneous and mutually incompatible elements, whereas for P., the second is entirely dependent on the first, who constitutes his principle (cf., e.g., IV 7.14.10–13 and VI 7.6.9– 13) and to whom he has a natural tendency to ascend. But the soul itself may turn direction from the body toward the Intellect, which is positioned even higher in the ontological hierarchy. This “conversion” (periagōgē: cf. Pl. Resp. VII 518d4), consisting in contemplation of the Forms and concomitant conformation to them, constitutes the two intellectual virtues, “theoretical wisdom” (sophia) and “practical wisdom” (phronēsis); see I 2.7.3–7. 10.11–14. αἱ δ᾿ ἀρεταὶ . . . ἔλεοι:Apart from the “conversion” (periagōgē) of the soul, Plato acknowledges the existence of “other so-­called ‘virtues’ (aretai kaloumenai) of the soul . . . akin to (engus ti) those of the body,” which are acquired “through habituation and practice” (ibid., 518d9–e2). These are usually referred to as “civic virtues” (politikai aretai: see Enn. I 2.1.15–16 and passim) and are directly related to the control and resolution of the bodily affections. Their absence, which would be due to an incapacity on the part of the body to accommodate a soul image of adequate strength, will result in the abandonment of the “living being” (zōion) to its uncontrolled instincts, evil being the consequence; see I 8.14.1–27. 10.14–15. φιλίαι . . . ἀνθρώπου: Aristotle, as is well known, accorded special value to philia—a concept broader in scope than its conventional rendition as “friendship,” encompassing as it does every kind of attachment between people—having devoted to it two books of his Nicomachean Ethics, where it is characterized as “a virtue, or implying virtue (aretē tis ē met’ aretēs)” (VIII 1, 1155a4; cf. II 7, 1108a27–28). This was perhaps the reason that led P., who also appears to have accorded significant value to philia (see

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First Ennead I 4.15.21–25; and cf. VP 9.18–22), to have felt the need to make reference to it here, albeit fleetingly. The distinction he seems to have in view must be related to Aristotle’s subdivision of philia according to whether it is directed toward the real good or toward “the apparent good” and “the pleasant” (to hēdu: see Eth. Nic. VIII 2, 1155b19–26). Concerning the “inner man,” see my comment on 10.7–11. 11.1–2. Παίδων . . . εἰς αὐτό: According to the Timaeus, 44a8–b1 trans. Cornford, “a soul comes to be without intelligence at first, when it is bound in a mortal body.” The cause is of course the “affections” of the body, which must first be pacified in order for man to be able to manifest his rational predisposition and become “intelligent” (emphrōn). Cf. Alex. Aphrod. Probl. eth. 3, 122.17–20; and Iambl. De an. apud Stob. Ecl. I 48, 318.1–4, with the comments of Festugière 1944–54, 3:198–99. The word suntheton is employed by Plato as an adjective in order to designate the “compound” of body and soul; see, e.g., Phd. 78c1; Resp. X 611b; and cf. Arist. De an. II 1, 412a15–16, but also CH XII 2, 175.4. We find the same word substantivized but always with the same reference both in Aristotle, Eth. Nic. X 7, 1177b28 and 8, 1178a20, and in pseudo-­Plutarch, Parsne an fac. 7. P. is, however, the first to employ the word systematically as a technical term; cf. II 3.9.21. 11.2–8. ὅταν . . . ἄγομεν:Although, as we saw in my comment on 7.6, the conscious “I” moves within the limits of the soul, this does not imply that the two are to be identified. On the contrary, as was observed by Dodds [1960a]/1973, 135, P. “was apparently the first to make the vital distinction between the total personality (psuchē) and the ego-­ consciousness (hēmeis); . . . on this distinction . . . his whole psychology hinges.” The soul extends through the whole region between the intelligible and the sensible, but it is usually active at the level of discursive reasoning, because that is where its primary apprehensive “faculty” (dunamis) is located (see above, 7.9–14 and IV 8.8.9–11; cf. Proclus’ comment, cited—from Psellus—by Westerink 1959, 4). From this vantage point, consciousness turns its “attention” (prosochē: see V 1.12.15) either in the direction of the intelligible realm or in that of the sensible, thereby acquiring cognition (cf. gnōrizein: Procl. In Enn. 9 and 12; and see also IV 8.8.8) of either intellectual or sensory “apprehensions” (antilēpseis: see IV 3.30.15–16, V 3.3.36–40; and cf. Sext. Emp. Math. VII 359–60). From a “subjective” viewpoint this shift in attention implies a transposition of the “I” toward the one or the other direction, as well as an identification of consciousness with the corresponding objects. Yet the activation of the soul’s various regions is not necessarily a conscious operation. Indeed, in certain cases—such as that of pure intellection—consciousness may, because of its discursive and analytical nature, represent an obstacle for the corresponding function; see Hadot 1980a, 251–53; and below, I 4.10.21–33, with my comment. For this reason, the higher processes of intellection and union require a modification of the habitual, discursive mode of apprehension, a transcendence of the “I” itself, in order for the soul to measure up to this higher form of activation; see also O’Daly 1973, 48–49.



I 1. What Is the Living Being

P. employs terms drawn from the Peripatetic noetic (on which, see my comment on 8.1–3) in order to describe something quite different from the latter’s range of concern. Here it is the “I” or consciousness that, by its apprehending, activates the “potential” (dunamei) or “dispositional” (kath’ hexin) intellect, the “intellectual representations in discursive reason” (ta en tēi dianoiai noēmata: V 3.3.35–36), which in themselves are, of course, “actualizations of the Intellect . . . from above” (tou nou energēmata anōthen: ibid. 36–37). The localization of consciousness at a level intermediate between the intellectual and the sensory (cf. II 9.2.4–9) corresponds, as stated at IV 3.12.4–8, to the intermediate position occupied by man within the universe, which renders him, as it were, “amphibious” (amphibion: IV 8.4.32), or—in the words of the “Thrice-­Great Hermes”—a “great miracle” (magnum miraculum: see [Hermes Trism.] Asclepius 6, 301.18–302.12). 11.8–15. τὰ δὲ θηρία . . . γενόμενόν ἐστιν:Plato frequently (albeit, it is true to say, with fluctuating seriousness) reiterated his conviction concerning the possibility that human souls may come to be reembodied in animals and vice versa (see, e.g., Phd. 81e2–82b7; Phdr. 249b3–5; Resp. X 618a3, 620a2–d5; and Ti. 42c1–d8). For Middle Platonism, influenced as it was by Aristotelian conceptions of the soul, matters were less clear-­cut, and in some of its more religiously oriented versions the viewpoint is maintained that “it is against the divine order for a human soul to fall down into the body of an unreasoning animal” (CH X 19, 123.3–6; cf. Chald. Or. fr. 160); this was predicated, however, on a radical distinction between the rational and the irrational soul that would have been difficult to reconcile with a monistic psychology such as P.’s. According to another viewpoint—one patently motivated by the desire to remain faithful to the letter of Plato’s text, as also to the Pythagorean tradition (cf., e.g., Xenophanes fr. B7 DK; and Porph. VPyth. 19, 44.22)—animal souls are themselves rational as well, “though not, it is true, acting rationally, on account of the imperfect blending of their bodies (para tēn duskrasian tōn sōmatōn)” (“Aëtius” V 20.4, 432a15–22). Alexander of Aphrodisias hastens to reject this as being tantamount to “belief in metempsychosis” (De an. 27.15– 28.2); but P., who is intent on maintaining a stance “in agreement, or at least not in disagreement, with” those “who in ancient times have philosophized best about the soul” (VI 4.16.5–7), seems to find the same viewpoint acceptable (IV 7.14.1–8), and he proceeds to embellish it with entertaining details (III 4.2.16–30), while clarifying, however, that the irrationality of animals is due to the attenuation, in their case, of the action exercised by the soul upon matter (see VI 7.7.1–8; and Rich 1957, 232–38). In the present passage, he seems more reserved regarding the whole issue, possibly in response to the controversy that had broken out in Platonic circles concerning it (on which, see the important paper by Dörrie 1957). Soul—both human (i.e., rational) and cosmic—acts by projecting on matter an image that, if sufficiently “dim” (amudron), assumes the form of a specific animal (see III 3.4.33–43; and cf. the kindred theory of the Gnostic Basilides apud Clem. Al. Strom. II 20, 112.1–2). What holds the body together and renders it susceptible of being composed into an organism is the “co-­affinity” (sumpatheia) of its parts, which provides it

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First Ennead with a kind of instinctual inner perception (see Schwyzer 1960, 372–73; Warren 1964, 91; and cf. Hier. El. Eth. II 1–3, III 52–6). 12.1–4. Ἀλλ᾿ εἰ . . . μετενσωματοῦσθαι:There remain to be clarified the ethical implications of the psychological theory that has been delineated up to this point. Faith in a judgment after death that would determine the subsequent transmigrations of souls formed an important chapter within the Pythagoreanizing Platonic tradition. See indicatively Dodds 1959, 372–76; Iambl. De an. apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.66, 456.13–28 (= Festugière 1944–54, 3:243–44); and my comment on VP 22.53–54. Such a viewpoint appears, however, to presuppose that it must be possible for the entire soul to fall into error and to suffer the attendant consequences. Plato himself appears to vacillate on this point and to provide nothing like a clear-­cut answer (see Rist 1967a, 412–14). P., who usually addresses the mythological aspects of Platonism with a certain condescension, accurately pinpoints here the moral issue lurking behind the “final judgment” myth: what responsibility could the soul possibly have—the soul, which is “unerring” (anhamartētos) and “free from all responsibility for evils” (apēllagmenē aitias kakōn: cf. 9.1–5)—for anything suffered or done by the living being? 12.6–9. ὁ μὲν . . . πάθη:Just as P., at 10.5–6, had introduced the distinction between the two meanings of “we” (hēmeis), so here he has recourse to a corresponding semantic differentiation in respect of the term “soul” (psuchē), with a view to preserving the Platonic theory of post-­mortem judgment from the impact of a head-­on collision with his own theory of the impassibility of the “undescended” soul. Thus psuchē may signify either the essential, eidetic soul that was described earlier at 2.6–30, the primary characteristic of which is simplicity (2.22 and cf. [Hermes Trism.] Asclepius 7, 304.2–3), or the soul with the body, that is, the soul image that in combination with the body constitutes the “living being” (zōion). 12.11. τὸ σύνθετον:Cf. above, 11.1. 12.11–18. καὶ τοῦτό ἐστι . . . ἕτερον:P. attempts here to ascribe the above distinction to Plato himself. To this end, he cites a Platonic passage (Resp. X 611c7–d1, e1–612a4) verbatim, but one that is not drawn from any of the eschatological myths that deal with the judgment of souls. In the latter, what is subjected to judgment is clearly the soul purified of bodily admixtures. In the Gorgias, the souls under judgment are naked, as also is their judge, who “with his very soul (autēi tēi psuchēi) should contemplate the very soul . . . of each person (autēn tēn psuchēn theōrounta . . . hekastou) bereft of all kinfolk and having left behind on earth all that adornment (panta ekeinon ton kosmon), so that the judgment may be a just one” (523e1–6). According to the Phaedo as well, the soul arrives in Hades “possessing nothing but its education (paideia) and upbringing (trophē)” (107d2– 4). Hence, all those things that adorn the soul and distort its nature, such as the “shells, seaweed and stones” that have attached themselves to Glaucus, must be not corporeal adjuncts, but psychical ones. In other words, what they correspond to can be nothing



I 1. What Is the Living Being

other than the image that the soul projects on the body. We can see, accordingly, the difficulties that continue to stand in the way of P.’s adaptation of Platonic mythologizing to his own rigidly transcendentalist conception of the soul. 12.18–21. ἡ δὲ . . . εἴδους: As was emphasized in 7.1–6, generation does not entail any actual involvement of the soul itself with the body, but rather the projection of its images on it, as in a series of mirrors (8.15–18). Accordingly, its separation (cf. Pl. Phd. 67d4–10) does not entail its departure from the body; it entails rather its turning away from it, resulting in the vanishing of the images or “adjunct” (prosthēke). Separation thus constitutes the first abstraction, the first negation leading on the path toward the Good; see also Trouillard 1955b, 133–34. The term “ascent” (anachōrēsis) or “to ascend” (anachōrēin) had already designated in Plato the abandonment of the senses with a view to achieving the concentration of the soul on itself, its self-­withdrawal; cf. Phd. 83a6–8: “exhorting the soul . . . to assemble and gather itself up in itself (autēn de eis hautēn sullegesthai kai athroizesthai parakeleuomenē),” and see Festugière 1954a, 58–59. P. uses the term again at II 3.9.27 for the movement of the soul toward “the fair and divine” in a passage that, like the present one, was written during the period when he was himself getting ready, for the last time, to “retire to” or “take refuge in” Campania (the apposite verb being again anachōrein: see VP 7.23; and Festugière 1954a, 64–65). 12.21–23. τὸ δὲ . . . νεύσει:The term neusis has virtually a technical meaning, designating the soul’s “declination” toward the body (see LexPlot, s.v. a). It has already been found with the same meaning in Plut. De sera 566a and fr. 177. The soul’s “descent” (katabasis) forms the subject of treatise IV 8 [6], and it may indeed be to this that P. is alluding here, as H-­S maintain; perhaps, however, he is merely alluding to the description of the creation of the “living being” above, at 7.1–6. 12.23–31. ἆρ᾿ οὖν . . . ὅλη:The soul image that fashions the body into a living organism is a dependent entity, lacking in self-­sufficient existence. Responsibility for its creation lies with the material body, which “reflects” the soul, and not with the soul, which “is reflected.” This solution allows P. to circumvent both the dualism of the Corpus Hermeticum, according to which the body is entirely subservient to Fate (see, e.g., XII 5, 176.3– 7), as well as the ascription of responsibilities to the soul itself, which was the position taken by the Christians; cf. Festugière 1944–54, 3:102–3. 12.31–39. χωρίζειν δὲ . . . κάτω: P. rarely has recourse to allegorical interpretations of Homeric or other texts in support of his views; but even when he does so, this usually happens, as it does here, in an entirely auxiliary manner, and frequently punctuated by open expressions of reservation (cf. here: eoiken and tacha . . . pithanos). In the present passage, we are presented with two different, but not contradictory, interpretations of a pair of verses from the first descent to the underworld in the Odyssey (11.601–2):

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First Ennead Next I caught sight of mighty Heracles— an image (eidōlon): for he himself (autos) amid the immortal gods . . . Even in antiquity, Homeric students had been troubled by the distinctive post-­ mortem fate of Heracles; indeed, Aristarchus had athetized verses 602–4: see the ancient scholium ad loc. (= Orph. fr. test. 190) with the comment of Dindorf; Rohde 1925, 39; and Cumont 1920, 238. Others tried, instead, to find in these same verses evidence for some psychological theory that postulated a subdivision of the soul into a higher, rational part, namely, the “particular self ” (autos hekastos), and a lower one, namely, the “image” (eidōlon), which is more closely connected with the body than the first: see Plut. De fac. 944f–945a; [Plut.] Vit. Hom. 2, 123; Luc. Dial. Mort. 16 = 11 Macleod; but also Porph. Sent. 29, 18.1–13. P’s first interpretation fits within this tradition, reflecting as it does the distinction between the soul itself and its image, immanent in the living being. Why, however, if Heracles himself is to be found in the intelligible realm, does his image continue to exist in Hades? At this point, P. introduces his second, complementary—and, possibly, original (see Dodds in the “Discussion” following Cilento 1960, 315)—interpretation, which is also implied at IV 3.27.7–14 and 32.24–27, and according to which only the image of Heracles retains a memory of “all that he did in his life,” while “Heracles himself (Hēraklēs autos)” belittles and ignores the things of this life, “having migrated to the intelligible”: it is the fact that he was oriented toward heroic deeds, toward the practical life, and not exclusively toward contemplation of the Forms that resulted in the persistence of his image. Had he been a philosopher, this image would have ceased to exist; cf. VI 4.16.36–47. Heracles in Hades represents, therefore, “the practical mode of life” or “the life of action” (ton praktikon bion: see Buffière 1956, 409; Pépin 1971b, 176n.1; and cf. my comment on 10.11–14. The Stoics were of the opposite view: see Heraclit. All. 33.1). The message would certainly not have been lost on those of P.’s companions who “had leanings toward a statesman’s life” (see chapter 7 of the VP, with my comment on 7.32–39; there is perhaps also some relevance in the fact that Heracles had been deployed by Gallienus as a symbol of imperial uirtus (see Mathew 1943, 67). On the other hand, the allegorical interpretation as a whole serves to reveal once again the importance that P. attaches to the direction toward which the “I” turns its “attention” (prosochē); cf. 8.22– 23 and my comment on 11.2–8. 13.1–5. Τὸ δὲ . . . ζωή:By way of epilogue, P. returns to the question he had posed at the start concerning the subject of philosophical inquiry (see 1.9–11, with my comment). After all that has been said, it is by now obvious that this subject is the “I” of consciousness (see my comment on 7.6, and cf. Arist. De an. I 4, 408b13–15), which being a manifestation of the soul, will, in traversing it, acquire a kind of self-­knowledge. This reflexive movement of the soul, which occurs at the level of discursive reason, constitutes the most authentic manifestation of our true “self ”—the real life of the soul, as against the imperfect biological and experiential life of the living being, which acts as an obstacle to its realization (cf. II 3.17.21–22). At this juncture, however, P. unavoidably comes into



I 2. On Virtues

direct conflict with the Peripatetic viewpoint, according to which “it is impossible for soul to be moved on its own (kath’ hautēn kineisthai)” (Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. II 10, 55.15–16 trans. Sharples). 13.5–8. καὶ ἡ νόησις . . . ἄνιμεν:This life of the soul at the level of discursive reason approaches (without attaining: see V 3.2.23–4) the highest form of life, that of the “self-­ thinking” (noountos heauton) intellect. But “we” (hēmeis) do have the possibility of transcending the boundaries of the soul through the activation of the intellect within us; see 8.3–6, with my comment; and Szlezák 1979, 200. From this point of view, philosophy may be considered as an emulation of the primal self-­knowledge of the divine Intellect, and a movement toward it.

I 2 [19]. On Virtues Synopsis 1 Problem: If assimilation to God is accomplished by means of the virtues, does this imply that God too is virtuous? Examination: It cannot be the case that either cosmic Soul or Intellect possesses all the “civic” virtues. Solution: There remains the possibility of assimilation by means of the virtues to something that, while not possessing virtues, yet constitutes their model. 2 Theory of the two kinds of likeness. The “civic” virtues set limits on the unmeasuredness of matter. 3 The virtues as purifications. 4 Results of purification: (a) contemplation of the intelligibles; 5 (b) impassibility; 6 (c) assimilation to God. The intelligible models of the virtues. 7 The “mutual succession” (antakolouthia) of the virtues.

Introduction What is the “end” (telos) of human life? When, in other words, can we be said to have achieved our ultimate goal? This question, which Aristotle placed at the opening of his Nicomachean Ethics, provoked considerable controversy, generating—as evidenced by Cicero’s De finibus—a multiplicity of different responses, on the basis of which the various philosophical schools of the Hellenistic period defined the nature of “well-­being” (eudaimonia) and of the virtues conducive toward it. Around the end of the first century BCE, the Platonist philosopher Eudorus claimed to have identified the ex professo response to the same question, not just of Plato but of Socrates and Pythagoras as well,

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First Ennead in a phrase he extracted from the Theaetetus (176d1–2): “assimilation to God” (homoiōsis theōi).1 This formula, the pertinence of which could be supported by additional references to the Platonic corpus,2 subsequently gained wide currency among the Platonists, at the same time as it focused attention on the theological dimension of Platonic philosophy.3 On the other hand, Aristotle had remarked, in a celebrated passage of the Nicomachaean Ethics (X 8, 1178b8–18), that the gods could not be held to possess virtues such as justice, courage, self-­control, etc., given that the “activity” (energeia) of the gods is not “practical” (praktikē), but “theoretical” (theōrētikē).4 There thus arose the problem of how man can become assimilated through the virtues with something that does not itself possess virtues. The initial response to this problem was to recognize the existence of various sets of virtues, hierarchically disposed. Aristotle had already distinguished between “ethical” (ēthikai) and “intellectual” (dianoētikai) virtues (ibid. I 13, 1103a4–II 1, 1103a20, and VI 2, 1138b35–1139a5), and he appears to have crowned these with the “contemplative” (theōrētikē) virtue, which brings about “complete well-­being” (teleia eudaimonia: X 7, 1177a17–18): for if the first two are conducive to “activities befitting humans” (energeiai anthrōpikai: X 8, 1178a10), the last allows man to transcend himself and to experience the “divine life” (bios theios: X 7, 1177b30–31).5 We find traces of a similar view in Philo (Conf. 81), while “Alcinous,” in the course of his analysis of the concept of “likening oneself to god” (exomoiōthēnai theōi), hastens to clarify: “by which we mean, obviously, the god in the heavens (epouraniōi), not, of course, the God above the heavens (huperouraniōi), who does not possess virtue, being superior to this” (Didasc. 28, 181.44–45 trans. Dillon). Although solutions of this kind naturally suggested the notion of a scale of virtues ascending from the more practical toward the more theoretical and divine, they failed to satisfy P., who was not prepared to compromise with respect to the end-­target of “assimilation” (homoiōsis): this had to be located in the realm of Intellect (i.e., of the Forms), as it was toward this that the entire process of philosophical ascent was directed. 1  Eudorus apud Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.3f, 49.9–10, where it is clarified that “Plato articulated this more precisely by adding the phrase, ‘as far as possible’ (kata to dunaton),” a qualification P. generally omits when citing the Theaetetus passage (see Rist 1964, 186 and 190; but cf. I 2.5.5). It is worth noting that Eudorus’ teacher, Antiochus of Ascalon, retained a preference for the classic Stoic (albeit derived from Polemo) formulation of the “end” as “living in accordance with nature” (homologoumenōs tēi phusei zēn: Cic. Fin. V 26; cf. Dörrie [1944]/1976, 303–4; and Dillon 1977, 122–23). 2  E.g., Resp. VI 500c9–d1, Phdr. 248a2 and 253a4–5, Ti. 90d4–6, Leg. IV 716b8–c3. Cf. the testimony pertaining to Empedocles in Sext. Emp. Math. I 303. 3  See, e.g., Philo Migr. 63; Plut. De sera 550d; Albinus Is. 6, 151.4; “Alcinous” Didasc. 28, 181.19–45; Apul. De Plat. II 23, 100.30–31; Anon. In. Tht. 7.16–20; Diog. Laert. III 78; Hippol. Haer. I 19.17. Cf. also CH I 26, 16.9–13; Clem. Al. Strom. II 19, 100.3 and 22, 131.5; and Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 99.4. For an authoritative and detailed presentation of the subject, see Merki 1952 and, on its more recent survivals, Passmore 1970. 4  Cf. ibid. VII 1, 1145a25–27; and [Arist.] Mag. Mor. 1200b14–15; Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.18, 132.21– 22; Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 34.23–24. Carneades (apud Sext. Emp. Math. IX 152–77 trans. Bury) elaborated Aristotle’s syllogism into a barrage of arguments, all tending to the conclusion that “God possesses no virtue, [therefore] he is nonexistent (anuparktos)”; cf. Cic. Nat. D. III 38.9. On this, see Wallis 1987, 925–31. 5  Cf. Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 30.34–35 and 34.23–24; Alex. Aphrod. De fato 21.3–4; and Schissel 1928, 27–29.



I 2. On Virtues

For him, therefore, the problem assumed an aspect at once more general and more pressing: does “assimilation” entail likeness? Such an eventuality would leave the whole of his ontology exposed to the problem of the “third man” argument that Plato himself had so opportunely identified (Prm. 132d5–133a5). Accordingly, P. rejects this likelihood, introducing instead the notion of hierarchical assimilation, which allows him simultaneously to retain the model–image analogy for the relation of the intelligible to the perceptible, while denying that the virtues are present at the superior level. Concurrently, however, he also retains the schema of a gradation of virtues on the lines of a distinction between practical or “civic” ones and theoretical or “purificatory” ones, finding support for this distinction in a passage in the Phaedo (82a11–c1), in which Plato refers somewhat condescendingly to “popular and civic virtue (dēmotikēn kai politikēn aretēn) . . . which was developed by habit and practice (ex ethous te kai meletēs) without philosophy or intellect,” and contrasts this with the virtue of one “who has . . . practiced philosophy and is . . . completely pure when he departs from life (katharōi apionti).” One consequence of all this is the demotion of the entire ethical theory—together with its indissolubly connected political theory—expounded by Plato in the Republic. In the eyes of P., this theory has to do with the regulation and tutelage of the bodily “affections” (pathē), a concern that can only disturb man’s concentration on those exemplars of the virtues that are superior to them, that is, the Forms. His own detachment from civic engagements and the exhortations to the same effect that he addressed to his companions are attested in the VP: see, e.g., 7.20–21 and 31–46 (with my comment on 32– 39). It would be wrong, however, to conclude from this that, in his view, the wise man might fail in his practical behavior fully to conform to the requirements of ethics, as appears to have been the accepted view of certain antinomian Gnostics (cf., e.g., Iren. Adu. haer. I 6.2–3). The higher virtues entail the lower ones, even though the latter are not the end-­purpose, but merely a concomitant of the former, just as “action” (praxis) in general represents a by-­product of “contemplation” (theōria); see III 8.6.1–4. But the higher virtues in their turn also refer to intelligible models, which, though they cannot themselves be regarded as virtues, do nonetheless determine the basic theoretical attitude of the soul, an end-­result of which are the virtues. There thus emerges a hierarchical analysis of the four basic Platonic virtues according to the four different levels of theoretical activation each may be seen to occupy: (a) the level of practical action, (b) that of the soul’s attitude toward the body in the course of purification, (c) that of the soul’s vision of the intelligible models following on purification, and (d) that of the models or exemplars themselves. It was this analysis that led Porphyry6 subsequently to formulate a fourfold system by which the virtues were hierarchically ordered into “civic” (politikai), “purifying” (kathartikai), “contemplative” (theōrētikai) or “intellectual” (noerai), and “exemplary” (paradeigmatikai) ones. The following table presents the definitions (merely indicative in some cases) of the four virtues (and their models) at these four levels of theoretical activation. The first column provides references to the 6  In chapter 32 of his Sententiae ad intelligibilia ducentes, where he cites and paraphrases, but also further elaborates, numerous sections of the present treatise. On this, see Schwyzer 1974, 224–28; and Hadot, I. 1978, 152–56. Cf. also Macrob. In Somn. I 8.5–11, 37.22–39.16; and also Harpocration fr. 5 = apud Dam. In Phd. I 149.

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First Ennead PLOTINUS’ definitions

Wisdom (phronēsis)

Justice

Temperance

Courage

PORPHYRY’S kinds of virtues

I 2.1.17–21

“pertaining to discursive reason”

“minding one’s own business where ruling and being ruled are concerned”

“agreement and harmony of desire and reason”

“pertaining to the emotions”

civic

I 2.3.15–19

“acting alone”

“ruling by reason and intellect, without opposition”

“not sharing the body’s experiences”

“not being afraid of departing from the body”

purifying

I 2.6.12–27

“contemplation of that which intellect contains”

“activity toward intellect”

“inward turning to intellect”

“freedom from affections”

contemplative

I 2.7.3–6

“intellection”

“proper activity”

“self-concentration”

“ ‘itselfness’ and abiding pure by itself ”

exemplary

passages of the present treatise in which P. formulates his definitions, and the last gives the names of the corresponding virtues in Porphyry’s system. The theory of the scale of virtues underwent further development at the hands of the later Neoplatonists. Iamblichus, apud Dam. In Phd. I 138–44, extended his analysis to seven grades, subjoining two—the “natural” (phusikai)7 and the “ethical” (ēthikai)— below the civic virtues, and superimposing yet another—the grade of “hieratic” (hieratikai) virtues—at the peak. These scholastic elaborations not only proved themselves useful in feeding the theurgic inclinations of the late Neoplatonists (see Lewy 1978, 465–66) but, having once been introduced into Christian thought by Augustine, also came to play an important role in medieval philosophy: see Schissel 1928, 65 ff.; Trouillard 1955b, 189–93; Pépin 1964, 381–84; and Pontikos 1992, lxxxi–lxxxiii. The placement of this treatise at the head of the series of “ethical” ones (following on the “introductory” I 1) is justified by its systematic and fundamental character. What we find in it is an exposition of the foundations and framework of P.’s ethical theory.

Commentary 1.1–5. Ἐπειδὴ . . . ἐν ἀρετῇ:On the importance for Middle Platonism of the passage (Pl. Tht. 176a5–b3) here paraphrased by P., see my introduction to this treatise. It seems to have already been in Aristotle’s mind when he correlated “well-­being” (eudaimonia) with the “contemplative life” (theōrētikos bios); see Eth. Nic. X 7, 1177b33 and 8, 1178b27. 7 

Which P. does not mention in the present treatise, but does appear to have in mind at I 3.6.18.



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The soul’s desire to flee the necessary evils of this world, harnessed to a life of virtue within its boundaries, is an expression of the fundamental tension inherent in Platonism between the otherworldliness that led Cleombrotus to commit suicide (see Callim. Epigr. LIII, 1378–81) and the worldliness that informs certain portions of the Republic and the Timaeus. Cf. I 8.6.9–13 and II 3.9.19–24. 1.5–10. εἰ οὖν . . . ὁμοιοῦσθαι:The basic problem or aporia is here first stated by P. in its general form and is immediately afterward particularized to the issue of whether the assimilation effected by means of the virtues is to the ruling part of a supremely wise cosmic Soul (cf. IV 4.10.6–13). As mentioned in my introduction, this precisely was the solution “Alcinous” chose to adopt, inspired no doubt by Stoic views concerning the “likeness” (similitudo) of man to God (i.e., to the cosmic reason or logos): cf. SVF 1:529 and 564; Cic. Leg. I 25; and Dragona-­Monachou 1976, 98. Hence, the employment here of the Stoicisizing expression tōi en tautēi hēgoumenōi, referring to “the ruling principle within it [sc., the soul]”—that is, to the hēgemonikon, the soul’s “ruling [or directive] part” (cf. IV 4.10.6–7)—acquires particular significance. 1.10–13. ἢ πρῶτον μὲν . . . ἢ ἕλῃ:The arguments marshaled against the viewpoint of “Alcinous” (of which it is not improbable that P. had firsthand knowledge; see my comment on VP 14.12, s.v. Gaius) are of two kinds. The first of these, which is purely Aristotelian (cf. Eth. Nic. X 8, 1178b10–18), is that we should indeed deem it “tasteless praise” (phortikos ho epainos) to ascribe virtues of the desiderative part of the soul (such as self-­ control) or of the spirited part (such as courage) to beings that have neither fears nor “bad appetites” (phaulas epithumias). (Incidentally, this distinction renders necessary, I believe, that we accept Kirchhoff ’s insertion at line 11 of a disjunctive ē between sōphroni and andreiōi, which would enable us to emend Armstrong’s translation to: “ . . . self-­ controlled, or brave when. . . .”) The judiciousness of the wording—cf. “all” (pasai) at l. 11—suggests that this objection, while resting on the self-­sufficiency and impassibility of the cosmic Soul, concerns only those virtues that correspond to the lower of the soul’s faculties. Cf. I 1.2.13–18, II 9.18.27, etc. 1.13–16. εἰ δὲ . . . ἔχει: The second argument is broader in scope and undermines the logical basis of the viewpoint of “Alcinous.” If both our own virtues and those possessed by the cosmic Soul are to be referred to some common (intelligible) model, then the original problem remains unanswered: does that model possess virtues or not? 1.16–21. οὐκ εὔλογον . . . ἄρχεσθαι: Through an argument parallel to, but not identical with, the previous one, P. rules out the existence of the “civic” virtues—that is, of the four basic virtues of the Platonic Republic (see IV 430b9–d2, 433b8–c2, 434c8, and 443b2)—in the realm of the Intellect, because these in turn presuppose the existence of reasoning, passion, desire, and relations of ruling and being ruled, all of which are incompatible with the nature of the Forms. We find here one of those rare cases where P. tacitly “corrects” the words of Plato, who a little further along in the Theaetetus, 176b8– c1, characterized God as “most just” (dikaiotatos); cf. also Ti. 29e1.

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First Ennead The correspondence of the civic virtues to the tripartite division of the soul represented traditional Platonist doctrine (cf. “Alcinous” Didasc. 29, 182.19–22 and 37–43), and P. gives the impression of adhering to it (cf. III 6.2.22–29), in spite of his overall reservations concerning this division; see Blumenthal 1971a, 20–25. Yet, as was mentioned in my introduction, even Plato himself in the Phaedo (82a11–b2; cf. Ap. 20b4–5) appears to relegate the civic virtues to a secondary status in comparison with philosophical virtue, which is acquired through complete purification from the desires of the body. 1.22. τὰς μείζους . . . χρωμένας:On these, see below at 3.14–19. 1.22–26. ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . τὴν ὁμοίωσιν εἶναι:Do the civic virtues then contribute “not at all” to assimilation with God? P. hastens to declare—although the explanation for this is given much later, at 7.10–11—that these are also connected “somehow or other” with the process of “assimilation” (homoiōsis), but that they are not one of its essential components. In an unusual aside, P. evokes the “tradition” (phēmē) according to which men who excelled in civic virtue were rendered “divine” (theioi). The most familiar example would have been that of Heracles (cf. I 1.12.35–39, with my comment), but P.’s expression may also have brought to the minds of some of his auditors the customary “apotheosis” of the Roman emperors. 1.29–38. οὐδὲν κωλύει . . . σύμφυτον: In this important passage P. lays out his view on how it is possible for an object O to become like another object N by means of an attribute P not possessed by N. In order for us to grasp what this involves, we had best start with the example P. himself employs both here and in related passages, such as treatise II 6: if body A is made hot by body B by means of the heat H that B provides to A, then A will possess the property of being heated (by B), which we may call ZB. Now B, obviously, does not have the property ZB, and in this respect is not like A. But B is what provides H to A, and is accordingly the cause of A’s possession of the property ZB. If, now, we assume that the cause of any body being made hot is fire or F, this will entail that all heated bodies will have the property ZF , which F itself does not possess. Given, however, that ZF is a result of H, which in turn derives from F, one could assert that F possesses H, of which ZF constitutes a manifestation—or an “image” (eidōlon). H is “inherent” (sumphutos) to F (see II 6.3.15 and V 4.2.30–33), whereas in bodies A, B, etc. it is “something extraneous” (epakton) that becomes manifest as property ZF , that is, as “something incidental” (sumbebēkos), and not as an essential characteristic complementing their substance, such as H is to F. We are therefore entitled to claim that A, B, etc. become assimilated to F by means of ZF , a property that they possess but that it, F, does not. P. makes use of this model (cf. analogia) in order to explain what the relation is between the virtue immanent in the soul and God, to whom the latter becomes assimilated. The Form “Justice” (dikaiosunē) constitutes a “property” (idiotēs)—which is to say, an essential, peculiar, and inherent quality; see II 6.1.24—of God (i.e., here, of Intellect); by contrast, “just” (dikaios) represents “a qualification and nothing else” (monon poion: II 6.1.25–29) attributable to particular just men—which is to say, an incidental,



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acquired property of theirs, that is, a “certain state from outside” (diathesin tina exōthen) or, as Simplicius In Cat. 254.3–9, terms it, an “affective quality” (pathētikē poiotēs)—the presence of which results from their participation in Justice. Sometimes P. prefers to evoke this model by utilizing the terminology of “activity” (energeia: cf. below, 6.15, II 6.3.16–26, V 4.2.27–33, and my comment on I 1.2.7–9). Substance possesses a primary “activity essentially completing the substance” (energeia . . . sumplērousa tēn ousian), which corresponds to the inherent property I mentioned previously, and it also “produces” (cf. ap’ ekeinēs ginomenē) a secondary activity, which corresponds to the “something extraneous” (epakton) of this passage. This theory plays a fundamental role in P.’s ontology. See further Igal 1982–98, 1:28–29. 1.39–40. ἀρετῆς . . . μείζονα:Cf. the expression employed by “Alcinous” in respect of the God above the heavens: “he who does not possess virtue, being superior to this (ameinōn d’ esti tautēs)” (Didasc. 28, 181.44–45 trans. Dillon). 1.40–50. ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . παρουσίαν:P. now reveals the broader significance of the distinction remarked on in my comment on 29–38. The example of the house shows it to be applicable to all cases of participation of a sensible object in an intelligible one. Between the two there obtains a relation of “becoming like” or “assimilation” (homoiōsis), but not also—as will soon be made clear—one of “likeness” or “similitude” (homoiotēs), given their radical ontological difference: the sensible object represents an expression and manifestation in space and time of an intelligible archetype that is timeless and without parts (cf. I 6.3.9). Thus the virtues also, at the level of the soul, constitute attributes, manifestations of higher principles that in themselves are inherent and essential features of the intelligible. If, then, what “virtue” signifies is precisely an “extraneous” (epaktē) attribute of the soul, at the level of Intellect we should not expect to find any virtues, but only their intelligible archetypes (see below, 2.3–4 and 3.31). Only at a level less perfect than that of the undisturbed unity of the intelligible does virtue, as a coordinating and organizing power, become something there is a “need” for (on this notion here of chreia, see Wallis 1987, 945). 1.52–53. δεῖ δὲ . . . βίας: In VP 18.6–8 Porphyry reports that P’s “lectures were like conversations, and he was not quick to make clear to anybody the compelling logical coherence of his discourse.” So it is that we find him here, as on a few other occasions in the Enneads (see V 3.6.9–10, VI 4.4.5, VI 7.40.4–5; and Ferwerda 1980, 124–25), not resting content with the logical force of demonstration or (as in the present case, where he evokes the theory of the two “activities”) of formalistic argument, but seeking instead to elicit from his reader a more profound and fundamental response, for which he employs the somewhat equivocal term of “persuasion” (peithō). It is not, however, his intention to fall back on rhetorical or other means of compulsion, nor again is it merely to adduce some supplementary arguments (as maintained by Dillon 1983, 96): instead, he will endeavor to push his investigation still deeper in order that, by laying bare the principles governing the emergence of the virtues, he might lead the reader to grasp their true nature by reflecting on his own self; see also my comment on VP 14.3.

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First Ennead 2.4–10. ἡ ὁμοίωσις . . . ὡμοίωται: The first thing that needs to be clarified is that P.’s concern here is with two forms of “assimilation” (homoiōsis), not two forms of “likeness” (homoiotēs). If the latter term conveys the sense of a static relation, the former can also, by contrast, embrace the sense of a dynamic process or development, of which likeness may constitute the end-­result. What makes this clarification necessary is that the two concepts are occasionally conflated, as, for example, by Hirschberger 1971, 57–74, who at the beginning of his analysis employs the correct equivalent, Ähnlichwerden (62), only to slip shortly thereafter into the usage Ähnlichkeit (64), thereby discovering in this passage a concern with homoiotēs, even though this term is entirely absent from the present treatise. It must of course be acknowledged that even Plato fails to respect the distinction (see Tht. 176c2, and Leg. IV 716d2). Here, on the other hand, it is only if we do heed the distinction that we will be able to see how the analogy with “being heated” (thermainesthai) and “heat” (thermotēs) that we encountered above (1.31–36) applies. Bréhier, “Notice” 50n.1, correctly discerned that we are being presented here with a response to the objection formulated by “Parmenides” in Plato’s dialogue of that title (132d1–133a6) against the “paradigmatic” version of the theory of Forms. The objection had made use of a variant of the “third man” argument. P.’s response to this is to reject premise B1.1—according to the classic analysis of the argument by Vlastos 1954, 329— and to replace the symmetrical relation “(being) like” (homoion) that we find in Plato’s text (cf., however, Socrates’ characteristic reservation at Phd. 74d1) with the asymmetrical relation “to become like” (homoiousthai): consequently, it will no longer be true that “if a resembles F-­ness (in respect of being F), F-­ness must resemble [i.e., must be like] a (in the same respect).” Or, to recall the example used earlier, the fact that A is made hot by B does not imply that B in turn is made hot by A. By this means, the infinite regress in which the absurdity of the argument consists is effectively forestalled. Of course, homoiōsis can also signify “likeness” (see LSJ, s.v., sec. 2), and it is this fact that allows P. to speak of two kinds of “assimilation.” The first represents a symmetrical notion, in which the two correlated factors possess a common quality that refers to a common archetype, as in the case of two images of the same face; the second, an asymmetrical notion (ouk antistrephon), in which one factor constitutes an archetype of the other, their relation being homonymous (albeit “in respect of one thing” (pros hen): see Lassègue 1983, 7–8), as in the case of the face itself and its image; see further Schroeder 1978, 57–62. In his desire to emphasize this difference, P. explicitly denies the existence of virtues at the level of Intellect (see my comment on 1.40–50). Instead, Porphyry terms the intelligible archetypes of the virtues “a fourth kind of virtues” (tetarton eidos aretōn), the “exemplary” ones (paradeigmatikai: Sent. 32, 28.6), thereby opening the way to the Neoplatonists’ systematic scaling of the virtues. 2.13–20. αἱ μὲν . . . ἀρίστου:After making a new start (10 ff.), P. moves on to examine the nature of the “civic” virtues and their relation to their intelligible model. The primary function of these virtues is “giving limit and measure to our desires and . . . all our affections,” which by their nature are unmeasured and unlimited, and in this respect similar to matter. (“Affections are the material of virtue,” says the Neopythagorean Metopos De



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uirt. 119.8 apud Stob. Flor. III 1.115, 71.16; cf. Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 42.23–24; Alex. Aphrod. Probl. eth. 24, 146.14–25; but also Nicom. Ar. I 23.4, 65.1–16.) They thus correspond to the “art of measurement” (metrētikē technē) that Plato describes in the Protagoras, 356d1–357b3, and that in the Statesman, 284a8–e8, is shown to be the genus of the “political art” (politikē); cf. Soph. 228c1–d4, and Phlb. 64d9–e7. The “measure” or “standard” (metron) that the virtues look to in order to accomplish their function is, of course, “the Good” (to agathon: see I 8.2.5, VI 8.18.3; and cf. Arist. fr. 79 Rose; and Krämer 1959, 396 and 547–48) or, according to the celebrated phrase of Plato’s Laws (IV 716c4), God. We see then that assimilation by means of the civic virtues (see 1.23–24) is reducible to the imposition of divine measure on the limitlessness of the bodily affections (cf. I 8.4.8–32). Hence, for some Middle Platonists at least, “moderation” (metriopatheia) constituted the primary concern of ethical living (see Lilla 1971, 101–3); but P., as we shall see in due course, set a different, higher target: complete freedom from bodily affections (apatheia: 3.20). 2.20–22. τὸ μὲν . . . ὄντι: If the Good is “measure,” then its opposite, matter, is total unmeasuredness; see I 8.3.13–34. The latter is “formless” (aneideos: I 8.3.14 and 31) in and of itself, receiving the Forms as something extrinsic to it. The former, instead, is “formless” (aneideos: cf. V 5.6.4–5, VI 7.32.9, VI 9.3.43–44; and Hippol. Haer. I 19.3) in the sense that it is “formative” (eidopoiētikon: I 8.3.14); and, as Dillon 1983, 97, observes, not only must it be superior to the Forms, inasmuch as it is their imposer, but it must be superior to the virtues also, inasmuch as it is the imposer of these as well. 2.23–26. μᾶλλον δὲ . . . τοῦτο ᾖ:Just as matter must be shaped by Forms in order to constitute perceptible objects, so the soul must be molded by (other) Forms for the virtues to arise: see VI 7.27.2–3. Through enmattered “formative principles” (logoi), matter “comes to be ordered” (kosmeitai) and to acquire “beauty” (kallos), thereby approximating to, and emulating, the divine Intellect. Through the virtues the soul also comes to be godlike. Accordingly, the cosmic Soul, being more perfect than all the others, will also be more like God. It was this that misled “Alcinous” and all those who believed that it is to the cosmic Soul that our assimilation is to be effected; see my comment on 1.5–10. 3.1–2. τὴν ὁμοίωσιν . . . οὖσαν:Cf. Pl. Tht. 176c4–d1. The transition from the “civic” to the “purifying” virtues is better explained, however, by the parallel passage in the Laws (IV 716d1–e3), which P. appears constantly to have in mind. 3.5–10. λέγων δὴ . . . τιθείς:As was mentioned in my introduction, Plato draws a distinction in the Phaedo (82a11–c1) between the “popular and civic (dēmotikēn kai politikēn) virtue “ and the virtue that belongs to one “who has . . . practiced philosophy and is . . . completely pure when he departs from life (pantelōs katharōi apionti).” Now by combining, on the one hand, the “flight” (phugē) of the Theaetetus (176b1) with, on the other (perhaps), the allusion to “civic” (politikē) virtue in the Republic (IV 430c3), P. renders the distinction a systematic one between two grades of virtue: the civic and the purifying.

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First Ennead 3.10–13. πῶς οὖν . . . συνδοξάζουσα:With the term “purification” (katharsis) and its intensely religious resonance (see my comment on I 6.6.1–5), Plato introduced “a totally new, entirely philosophical conception of virtue,” displacing the traditional notion that regarded virtue as displaying the purely social characteristic of practical expertise. He endowed it instead with the sense of the unimpeded manifestation of the soul’s inherent predispositions. See Festugière 1950, 123–56. By thus internalizing the concept of virtue, Plato brought it into correlation with the orientation of man’s consciousness, rather than with the evidence of his practical concerns. From this moment on, “virtue in its true sense is not the regulation of earthly life, but an internal liberation from it” (Barnes 1942, 363). Hence, for P. also, the true, “purifying” virtue does not consist in a struggle to impose reason on matter so as to moderate the bodily affections (i.e., in metriopatheia: cf. Porph. Sent. 32, 24.14; and “Alcinous” Didasc. 30, 184.20–36); it consists rather in the adoption of an attitude of indifference toward the sensible and in a shift of attention toward the supra-­sensible. This enfranchisement from the things of the body aims at assimilation to—and, ultimately, identity with—the divine, whereas the acquisition of the civic virtues is merely a concomitant, representing for the purified soul neither an aspiration nor a concern. Any engagement with the body (or its affections) causes the soul to be led astray by mistaking for its own such impressions as derive from the former; cf. Pl. Phd. 66b5 and 83d6–8. On purification, see also III 6.5.13–29. 3.13–19. εἴη ἂν . . . εἴη τοῦτο:To the four “civic” virtues that were described above (at 1.17–21) correspond four homonymous (see 1.2) “purifying” ones. While these may not differ from the former as to their external manifestations, they are nevertheless distinguished both as to their definitions and as to the psychical predispositions that give rise to them. Cf. Pl. Phd. 69b8–c3. 3.19–21. τὴν δὴ . . . ἁμαρτάνοι: “Freedom from the affections” (apatheia) had, of course, been adopted as an ethical ideal by the Stoics, but, as was shown by Lilla 1971, 103–11, it came to be coupled systematically with “assimilation to God” (homoiōsis theōi) in the conception of the highest aspiration held by thinkers such as Philo Judaeus and Clement of Alexandria, a fact that reveals the wider dissemination of the view expressed here by P. 3.21–24. καθαρὸν . . . ἡ διάθεσις:What is quintessentially “pure” (katharon) for P. is the Good (see, e.g., V 5.10.3) and, secondarily, Intellect (e.g., IV 7.10.32) and the intelligibles (IV 9.3.34). Conversely, to soul corresponds “purification” (katharsis) or “being purified” (kathairesthai). For the soul, purity represents a “disposition” (diathesis), that is, an acquired attribute (note the use of echein), whereas for its superiors it represents an essential “activity” (energeia). The distinction is parallel and logically equivalent to the one between “likeness” and “assimilation”—or “heat” and “being made hot”—which was noted above, in my comment on 2.4–10. 3.24–27. νοεῖ τε . . . ἑτέρως: P. hastens to forestall a possible misunderstanding: if the virtuous soul thinks (see 3.15 and 20), so also does the Intellect (see, e.g., V 1.4.15–16 and



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V 3.7.19–20); the Good, however, is above intellectual activity (see, e.g., V 6.2.1–17). But whereas for the Intellect thought or intellectual activity is the primary manifestation of its proper essence, for the soul it is something secondarily derived from the Intellect. (On the “intellect within the soul,” see also my comment on I 1.8.1–3.) Hence, also, the relation that obtains between the two intellects is not that of a simple homonymy, but, once again, that of a model to its image (cf. my comment on 2.4–10). 3.27–30. ὡς γὰρ . . . τὸ πρὸ αὐτοῦ:A new model is now introduced, that of the relation between the “internal” (endiathetos) word “in the soul” (en tēi psuchēi) and the “spoken” (prophorikos) word “in voice” (en phōnēi), which the parallel passage V 1.3.7–10 shows to be isomorphic with the analogy of heat (on which see my comment on 1.29–38). The ancestry of this model, according to which the spoken word is an “imitation” (mimēma) or “offprint” (ektupōma) of that “talk that the soul has with itself,” may be traced to Plato’s Theaetetus (189e6 and 206d1–4; cf. Soph. 263e3–8, Resp. II 382b9–10; and Arist. An. post. I 10, 76b24–25), although the terminology here employed reveals some Stoic influence as well (cf. SVF 2:135). The latter influence is even more visible in Philo, who in fact extends the analogy to encompass the relation between intellect and sensibles (Mos. II 27; see Rist 1967b, 100). Only in P., however, do we find a hierarchy of three “words” (logoi), such that each is the imitation of the previous one: (a) the word “in the Intellect” (en nōi), that is, the one designated here—by contrast with its immediate copy—as being “in something else” (en heterōi) or “before it” (pro autou); (b) the “word in the soul” (logos en psuchēi); and (c) the “word in utterance” (logos en prophorai). Another significant point of convergence with Philo is to be found in the characterization of the “word in the soul” as the “interpreter” (hermēneus) of the intelligible; cf., e.g., Leg. alleg. III 207, and Migr. 219. But, as Früchtel 1970, 46n.161, also intuited, this stems from an earlier tradition, traces of which we find in Cicero (Leg. I 30) and “Aëtius” (V 20.3, 432.14) and which may echo some exegesis of a passage in the Timaeus (29b4– 5). Besides, in a well-­known passage of his (III 6.19.26–29), P. personifies the “intelligible word” as the ithyphallic Hermes. But Hermes, according to an exceedingly widespread belief, was not only the messenger of the gods, but also—in keeping with the Platonic “etymology” of his name in the Cratylus (407e5–6)—their “interpreter” (hermēneus); see, indicatively, Hippol. Haer. V 7.29 (with the note of Marcovich ad loc., to which add Justin 1 Apol. 21.2; and Clem Al. Strom. VI 132.1) and Zos. Alch. Lett. omega 8.75–79; also Festugière 1944–54, 1:69–73. We thus find that the role played here by the “word in the soul” is exactly the same: to interpret the eternal verities of the divine Intellect within the soul as ethical imperatives. Cf. IV 3.11.19–21. 3.31. ἡ δὲ ἀρετὴ . . . ἐπέκεινα:The virtues, accordingly, represent manifestations of the Intellect at the level of the soul. Both the Intellect itself and the highest principle, the Good, are above the virtues. For this reason, in order to come within reach of that summit, one must transcend “the choir of the virtues” (VI 9.11.17). 4.1–8. εἰ ἡ κάθαρσις . . . ἀρκεῖ:In this difficult passage—which remains hard to decipher even after Igal’s rearrangement of the text—the distinction noted in my comment

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First Ennead on 3.21–24 is further dissected. The soul is subject to “being purified” (kathairesthai), that is, to the process of purification, the culmination of which is its “having been purified” (kekatharthai), that is, its complete dedication to the wholly “pure” (katharon) intelligible; cf. I 3.1.12–15. Whereas the first entails some temporal duration, the second—along with its correlative, “well-­being”—consists in an extratemporal state (see I 5.7.20–22 and 10.20–23; also Plass 1982, 249–50). For Porphyry, Sent. 32, 27.3–9, the last constitutes “a third kind of virtues after the civil and purificatory ones: the virtues of the soul acting intellectually (noerōs tēs psuchēs energousēs).” This view, as Dillon 1983, 100, observes, is not the result of any misconstrual on Porphyry’s part, but only of an interpretative systematization of P.’s thought; it evinces nonetheless an abandonment of the logical clarity that pervades P.’s analysis, in the name of a somewhat scholastic preoccupation with the discovery of symmetrical structures. Cf. Schwyzer 1974, 227–28. 4.8–20. ἀλλ’ ἀρκέσει . . . τὸ ὁρώμενον:Once the process of purification is complete, the soul is now pure and wholly directed toward that to which it is “kindred” (sungenes; cf. Pl. Phd. 79d3), that is, the intelligible. Yet it has still not become identified with it. It is neither the Good, that is, the first principle, nor Goodness, that is, the manifestation of the Good at the level of the Intellect. Instead, the soul has goodness as an (acquired) attribute, which implies that they are different from one another. The soul has by its nature the capacity to turn either toward the Intellect, in which case it (subjectively) becomes unified with it, or toward the body, in which case it (subjectively again, as consciousness) becomes identified with the latter’s “affections” (pathē). Cf. my comment on I 1.11.2–8. P. states with the utmost clarity that purification suffices to bring about the conversion of the soul; indeed, the two are basically identical, the first being simply the metaphysical, “objective” aspect of the second. It is accordingly misleading to refer (as does Schissel 1928, 64; cf. Bréhier 1940, 56; and Dillon 1983, 98) to two phases of “assimilation,” the one—“purification” (katharsis)—negative, the other—“integral understanding” (sunesis)—positive, occurring in succession. Instead, what is involved is a single, uniform, purifying conversion that leads the soul to a direct vision of Being, virtue being the result. 4.20–24. οὐκ ἄρα . . . ἐφαρμόσαι: The question now is: are intelligible objects something alien to the soul that it must go outside itself to seek? P. provides two successive responses: (a) The soul contains inactive intellectual “impressions” or “imprints” (tupoi), of which it becomes cognizant only when they are “illuminated,” that is, activated. This is the Plotinian version of Plato’s theory of recollection (see Blumenthal 1971a, 96–97; and cf. V 3.2.9–14), which is built on the foundation of Peripatetic noetic (see my comments on I 1.8.1–3 and 11.2–8). 4.25–29. τάχα δὲ . . . ἀλλότριαι: (b) According to a second, more profound and more “subjective” formulation, the Intellect, the totality of intelligible entities, constitutes the soul’s essential core; when consciousness focuses on it, it comes to be identified with it,



I 2. On Virtues

and so evolves into self-­intellection, thereby transcending its own self; cf. III 9.6.1–9. The example of the “branches [or, simply, items] of knowledge” (epistēmai) underlines the Aristotelian inspiration of the theory: it is the one used by Aristotle in the De anima (II 1, 412a22–23) in order to mark the distinction between first and second actuality. 5.1–5. Ἀλλ’ ἐπὶ πόσον . . . δυνατόν:Having analyzed “assimilation” (homoiōsis) as a concept, P. moves on to examine the degree to which its realization is practicable. In Plato, the expression “assimilation to God” (homoiōsis theōi) is usually accompanied by the qualification “as far as possible” (kata to dunaton: Tht. 176b1–2; cf. Resp. VI 500d1 and X 613b1, Phdr. 253a4, Ti. 69a1–2, Leg. IV 716c6–7). P. as a rule omits the latter, a fact that led Dillon 1983, 98, to suggest that he may have understood the phrase, as Eudorus had done earlier, to mean that assimilation is to be achieved “ ‘according to that part of us which is capable of this,’ ” implying that “only by wisdom (phronēsei monōs) is it possible” (apud Stob. Ecl. II 3f, 49.11; cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. X 8, 1178b26–27). As the present passage shows, however (and cf. also below at 6.9–10, 7.24, and II 9.9.50–51), P. correctly understood it to mean “as far as possible (for a mere mortal).” Hence his concern with determining the degree to which purification—and, by extension, assimilation to God—may be achieved, as long as the soul remains embodied. 5.5–6. ἀπὸ μὲν . . . πρὸς ἑαυτήν:Purification of the soul is equivalent to its withdrawal from the bodily things with which it had become preoccupied toward its “proper place” (idios topos), which is the intelligible; indeed, according to Aristotle, the Platonists called this “the place of forms” (topos eidōn: De an. III 4, 429a27; see my comment on I 6.9.40–41). On the reflexive construction of sunagein pros (“to draw to”), cf. II 1.7.8–9. 5.7–14. πάντως μὴν . . . τὸ ἀπροαίρετον:On the “impassibility” (apatheia) of the purified soul, see my comment on 3.19–21. The “asceticism” prescribed by P.—in contradistinction to that of the Stoics (cf. de Gandillac 1966, 144–45) or to that of certain Gnostics—eschews extremities. It calls for a limitation to be imposed on the role of the affections in the life of the soul, through a reduction in the amount of interest and concern that are to be directed toward them; cf. the “indifference” (aphrontistia) of Rogatianus, which P. used to praise so highly (VP 7.40–46). Nonetheless, he admits the existence of necessary pleasures (cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. VII 4, 1147b24, but also Kristeller 1929, 44–45), as he does of disturbing pains and unwanted urges. All these, however, as we saw in treatise I 1, concern the “living being” (zōion)—the compound of the body with an image of the soul—and are “involuntary” (aprohaireta), being outside of our control or intentions; cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. II 5, 1106a2– 3. Virtue—and, more particularly, courage (cf. 6.25–27)—consists, then, in the soul’s refraining from “being co-­affected” (sumpaschein) with them. 5.14–16. τὸ δὲ . . . νουθετήσει: An emendation of the text is, I believe, required if the present passage is to recover regularity of expression and coherence of meaning. What undermines both is the presence of the phrase to de aprohaireton kai entautha (“though involuntary impulse comes in here too”) at the spot at which the MSS have handed it

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First Ennead down to us; hence, the expedient adopted by H-­S, to treat the phrase as a somewhat inopportune parenthesis. My own suggestion is that we should apply Brinkmann’s rule—which so often proves to be “golden” in the case of Plotinus (cf. H-­S1 3:xv ff.)—by deleting to de aprohaireton and transposing kai entautha to two lines above, immediately after the earlier appearance of the words to de aprohaireton. Amending Armstrong’s translation correspondingly, we would obtain the following: “The involuntary impulse belongs to something else, but, even in that, it is small and weak. And fear it does away with altogether, for it has nothing to be afraid of, except, that is, where fear has a corrective function.” H-­S may have been held back from attempting any such revision by the consideration that the received text at this point carries added authority: apart from the consensus of the MSS, the text has also been bequeathed to us in the same form—with insignificant variations only—by Porphyry (Sent. 32, 34.3–5). It is accordingly beyond doubt that in the MSS used by Porphyry as the source for his edition of the Enneads, the controversial phrase must have appeared at the same spot as in the MSS that survive today. Yet, from the point of view of the meaning conveyed, it is equally beyond doubt that the phrase has been transposed. What may we suppose to have occurred? Perhaps the following: We know that the present treatise was numbered among those that Porphyry, on his arrival in Rome in the summer of 263, found to be circu­ lating already among the “associates” (hetairoi) of P.’s school; see VP 4.12–16, 59, and 66–67. There had accordingly already appeared “editions” (ekdoseis) of these, but their probable editor—Amelius—was not, in spite of his “industriousness” (philoponia), distinguished for his philological competence, as witnessed by the caustic remark of ­Longinus apud VP 19.21–23. We may presume, therefore, that the above-­mentioned transposition was already present in this pre-­Enneadic edition of the treatise, and that it subsequently escaped the notice of Porphyry, thereby slipping into the text of the Enneads. We may even perhaps guess at the original cause of this error: we are told by Porphyry that P.’s eyesight was so poor that whenever he “had written anything he could never bear to go over it twice (dis to graphen metalabein); even to read it through once was too much for him” (VP 8.1–4 and 16–17). The actual implication of this passage is that he was unable to correct what he had written, that is, to “substitute” (cf. LSJ, s.v. metalambanō III) any erroneous wording in the text by an amended version. What he could do, however, was to note his corrections outside the text, in any one of the margins. Such precisely was the practice (otherwise widely attested) that Brinkmann 1902, 481–84, identified as the cause of the type of transposition he brought to attention. Might we then have here an indication that the similar transpositions we so frequently encounter in the text of the Enneads are to be ascribed, in part at least, to some such practice of P.’s? The possibility that the purified soul might be subjected to corrective action shows that it has not ceased from containing an irrational part, for which such “tutelage” (nouthesia) is required; see below, 22; and cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. I 13, 1102b34–1103a1. 5.17–21. σίτων δὲ . . . ταύτης: Cf. Pl. Phd. 64d2–7; and VP 8.21–22, 15.6–10. The remarks concerning sexuality display—at least in the way that they are formulated—a remarkable degree of suppleness. The pertinent prohibition is so diluted by the two suc-



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cessive conditionals (ei d’ ara), as to transform almost beyond recognition the strict “not at all” (oudamōs) of Simmias in the Phaedo into the sort of vague, watered-­down deterrent we find here. On the employment of the hapax, protupēs, to characterize an impression that is “salient” or “emphatic,” see Schwyzer 1963, 190–93. The sense of the last clause might accordingly be better conveyed in these terms: “or if it does have other kinds, only insofar as they are accompanied by internal representations, and to the extent that these are compelling.” 5.21–31. ὅλως δὲ . . . ἐπιτιμῆσαι: The phrase “so there will be no conflict (oukoun estai machē)” epitomizes the quality of gentleness that pervades P.’s ethical theory and his opposition to the dualistic, “heroic” exhortations of the Gnostics and, especially, of the Manichaeans to wage war without quarter against the forces of Evil—a war marked by ferocious duels against demons of darkness and governed, naturally, by an absolute injunction against the mere thought of compromise. For P., the presence alone of goodness is sufficient to subdue any evil and to illuminate every shadow within the soul, so as to render it immune to external affections. Cf. Plut. De uirt. mor. 442c and 448c, and Quomod. adul. 71e–f. 6.1–3. Ἔστι . . . θεὸν εἶναι: The process of purification (see my comment on 4.1–8) described in chapter 5 may, in practice, conform to Stoic ethical theory, as P. himself hints by introducing here the characteristically Stoic antithesis of “right action” (katorthōsis) and “error” (hamartia); cf. SVF 3:500–502. At the same time, however, it does not constitute an end in itself, but rather a means for the achievement of “assimilation.” 6.3–6. εἰ μὲν οὖν . . . μόνον:As man in the course of purification advances toward his assimilation to God, he sweeps along, as it were, the lower, “involuntary” (aprohairetoi) manifestations of his being. This in the world of everyday life is expressed as virtue, and it is by this that he is raised to the level—intermediate between man and god—that is proper to a “spirit” or “demon” (daimon), where affections are still present (cf. III 5.6.10–11) but subjugated entirely to the commands of reason. Should these lower manifestations cease to make themselves felt, man would be “simply god” (monon theos). What exactly does this mean? Does it imply, as Dillon 1983, 99, interprets the passage, that the “end” (telos) is only to be achieved after (natural) death? Such, patently, was the view of Porphyry: see my comment on VP 23.24–27; and cf. Justin Trypho 4.5. P. himself, however, avoids giving clear expression to any such thought; cf. also I 3.3.2–3, with my comment. 6.6–7. θεὸς δὲ . . . τῷ πρώτῳ:Assimilation to God means that man becomes god: one god among the other (intelligible) gods, all of whom follow the highest God, the Good. The image owes its inspiration to the procession of Zeus in the Phaedrus (246e4–6) and is consonant also with the Pythagorean precept “Follow God” (hepou theōi), which Eudorus understood as referring to the process of assimilation (apud Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.3f, 49.16). Cf. also Pl. Ti. 41c7–8.

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First Ennead 6.7–11. αὐτὸς . . . τῷ δεσπότῃ:Hence, our true self—our intellective core (see my comment on 4.25–29)—is god. It is he who assimilates to himself the lower manifestations of man. When purification is complete, “involuntary impulses” (to aprohaireton) vanish and with them all resistance. This also explains the absence of “conflict” (machē) pointed out earlier; for as was remarked at the time (5.27–31), the true “master” (despotēs) is not the one who induces submission by force, but rather the one who by his presence alone imposes respect and obedience on others. 6.11–13. τὶς οὖν . . . ἔχει:This is the passage in which P. comes closest to ascribing virtues to the “man made god,” as does Porphyry (see my comment on 4.1–8). He corrects himself, however, just afterward (at 6.14–15). With phronēsis commences the third enumeration of the four cardinal Platonic virtues, on which see my introduction to this treatise. Obviously, however, because of the fact that in Aristotle the term in question was applied primarily to the kind of “practical wisdom” associated with “action” (to prakton) and acquired through “training” (ēthos: see, e.g., Eth. Nic. VI 7, 1141b10–16; VI 8, 1142a23–27; and X 8, 1178a16–19), P. tends to replace it, as he advances toward more theoretical levels, by the term sophia (cf. 7.3–4). The latter term designates—always according to Aristotle (op. cit. VI 7, 1141a16–20)— that superior “wisdom” which, by embracing knowledge of “first principles” as well, constitutes “comprehension combined with knowledge” (nous kai epistēmē). 6.13. νοῦς δὲ τῇ ἐπαφῇ:There is no need for us to follow H-­S in invoking Speusippus (fr. 73), an author about whom there is not the slightest evidence that P. had any direct knowledge, in order to explain P.’s utilization of tactual metaphors in connection with vision of the intelligibles or unification with the Good (cf., e.g., V 1.11.13–14 and V 3.10.42–43; see further Sorabji 1982, 312). Plato himself defines “intelligence” or “wisdom” (phronēsis) in the Phaedo as that state of the soul in which it is “in touch with” (ephaptomenē) eternal beings (79d6; cf. Symp. 212a4, Ti. 37a6; Arist. Metaph. Λ 7, 1072b21; Theophr. Metaph. 9b15). See also my comment on I 1.9.12–15. 6.14–19. κἀκεῖ . . . ἄλλου τινός:As if to dispel any doubts that may have arisen, P. returns to his basic position, which is that in the realm of the intellect no virtues are to be found—only their archetypes. After recalling the logical distinction between an “inherent” (sumphutos) property and an “acquired” (epaktē) attribute, he proceeds once again to invoke the analogy of the two “activities” (energeiai: see my comment on 1.29–38 above) before adding an observation that serves to complete the model by making clear the precise point of difference in logical behavior between the virtues (and sensible attributes) and their intelligible archetypes: the former are always “of someone” (tinos), that is, dependent entities, whereas the latter are self-­existent substances. The former behave logically as predicates, the latter as subjects. See also Dillon 1983, 99. 6.19–23. δικαιοσύνη . . . τὸ δὲ ἄλλο:Cf. above, 1.19–20. Every step down the scale of Plotinian ontology entails a lessening of unity. Hence, justice too at the level of soul presupposes a multiplicity of parts, while as a Form it is a unitary entity.



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Schwyzer 1951, 481.34–36, pointed out that the term autodikaiosunē is also employed by Origen In Joann. II 6.51.3 and 52.4 to designate the superiority of the judgment of God over that of “participants in justice” (metechontōn dikaiosunēs). Yet in both authors (for P., see LexPlot, 171–76), the generation of compounds beginning in auto-­to designate intelligible entities or divine properties is so frequent as to weight probability on the side of simple coincidence. Moreover, as I maintained in my comment on VP 3.6–13, we no longer have any reason to believe that the two studied under the same teacher. 6.27. τῷ χείρονι συνοίκῳ:Cf. 5.25–26. 7.1–3. Ἀντακολουθοῦσι . . . παραδείγματα: The “mutual succession” (antakolouthia) of the virtues was standard Stoic doctrine (see SVF 3:275, 295, 299), a descendant of the (possibly) Socratic thesis concerning their inter-­entailment that we find, for example, in Plato’s Protagoras (392e2–4; on this, see Vlastos 1973, 232–33). Through Antiochus of Ascalon the doctrine passed into Middle Platonism and thence into many other authors: see the references supplied by Lilla 1971, 83–84; and by Horn 1970, 8–20 (who strangely overlooks P.’s testimony); also Hippol. Haer. I 19.18; Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.20, 142.7–10; Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 80.14; Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 153.28 ff., and Probl. eth. 22, 142.22 ff. For P., the mutual succession of the virtues is a direct consequence of the unity of intellectual activity. 7.5. ἀυλότης:The MSS at this point transmit the hapax legomenon, aulotēs (“immateriality” in Armstrong’s translation), while Porph. Sent. 32, 29.6 (as well as Macrobius, who depends on him) give tautotēs (or “identity”). In one of his classic papers, Henry 1934b, 475–85, defended the MSS readings in both instances, regarding the second as representing a deliberate “correction” of P.’s text on the part of Porphyry. More recently, however, Blumenthal 1984, 89–93, recommended the reading autotēs, which I have adopted in my own text, in spite of the fact that it did not meet with the acceptance of Schwyzer. As Blumenthal, 92, notes, “one would thus explain autotēs as an abstract noun formed like the common tautotēs and heterotēs and meaning ‘having the quality of being auto to, “itselfness.” ’ ” His viewpoint derives some unexpected support from a text that has only come down to us in Arabic, and that Pinès 1955, 387–95, wished to attribute to Aristotle himself, although it is more probably the work of some late Neoplatonist, given that its author invokes “assimilation to God” (homoiōsis theōi) and readily deploys the theory of the two “activities” (energeiai), on which see my comment on 1.29–38. In this text—of which Pinès, 390–91, provides a French translation—ipséité (?autotēs) is introduced as the first activity of the divine, while it is maintained that God “does not act in virtue of the things themselves [sc., for which he provides], but rather in virtue of his ‘itselfness.’ ” 7.6–10. ἐν ψυχῇ . . . τελεία:“Wisdom” (phronēsis), being the most theoretical of the virtues, is regarded by Plato as superior to the rest, because (Resp. VII 518e2–3) “it seems to belong above all to something more divine (theioterou tinos).” Yet it is not identified

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First Ennead with the manner in which Intellect contemplates the intelligibles contained within it. Now, because purification consists in the turning of the soul from the corporeal toward the intelligible, once this “conversion” (periagōgē) has been effected (see above, 4.4–5), the soul will be in possession of all the virtues. Such is the “horizontal” meaning of “mutual succession” (antakolouthia). 7.10–28. καὶ ὁ μὲν . . . ἡ ὁμοίωσις:By contrast, the “vertical” succession of the virtues is not mutual. The higher virtues do entail the lower ones—albeit in potentiality, because the exercise of the civic virtues is also dependent on circumstances (peristasiakōs: cf. SVF 3:496; Alex. Aphrod. Probl. eth. 20, 140.27–31; and above, 5.7–11). The converse, however, does not apply: unless his soul is converted, man, no matter how virtuous his behavior might be, will never be able to advance on the road to purification. Cf. I 3.6.14–15. There remains the question, whether he who possesses the higher virtues will necessarily also possess the lower ones “in actuality” (energeiai). The answer is, yes— sometimes. Not that he will be governed by any deliberate intention of “moderating” the affections (cf. 2.15–16); their moderation and, finally, their elimination will simply come about as a concomitant of his conversion. To which we may add: and he will certainly never act in such as a way as to contravene the lower virtues. But as a consequence of his indifference to worldly things, he might become entirely inactive. P.’s ideal, which was also the ideal of his age, was not the “noble and virtuous” (kalos kagathos) man of action, but the “divine man” (theios anēr) who has withdrawn from the turbulence of the world. See, however, the new perspective provided on this issue by O’Meara 2003, 43–44. 7.28–30. ὁμοίωσις δὲ . . . παράδειγμα:By way of conclusion, P. reminds us of the fundamental semantic distinction he had introduced at 2.4–10, the logical axis around which the entire treatise subsequently turned.

I 3 [20]. On Dialectic Synopsis 1 2 3 4 5 6

Ascent and its target. The two stages of ascent. The musical man. The lover. The philosopher. Dialectic: definition and description. Its principles. Its relation to logic. Its relation to natural philosophy and to ethics. Practical wisdom as the perfection of the natural virtues.



I 3. On Dialectic

Introduction This treatise follows immediately after I 2 by order of composition and complements it in subject matter, investigating as it does the intellectual journey we must pursue in order to ascend to the first principle, the Good.1 The cue for the discussion to follow is furnished by a quotation from the section of the Phaedrus myth in which is promulgated the “law of Destiny” governing the incarnations of souls. With this as his starting point, P. manages to reconstitute a sequence of three grades of approximation to the Good, represented in turn by the musical man, the lover, and the philosopher. To the highest stage of philosophy corresponds Platonic dialectic, defined as the science that, through the study of the nature of real beings and their interconnections, leads to complete knowledge of the composition and constitution of the intelligible world. This science P. regards as incomparably superior to Aristotelian logic, to which he ascribes a merely preliminary and subservient role: a view that excited the indignant irony of Prantl, who did not hesitate to denounce P. as “an arrogant Pharisee.”2 But in order to comprehend P.’s viewpoint, we must come to appreciate that for him dialectic and syllogistic did not represent competing methods sharing a common object, but rather distinct rational approaches operating at separate ontological levels. The efficacy of Aristotelian logic resides in its formalization, in its indifference to the “material” aspect of the terms it deploys: what concrete reference the terms of a proposition might possess has no effect on its syllogistic transformations. No matter whether the premises used consist in essential predications or in contingent ones, the syllogistic figures and logical inferences function with invariant necessity and precision. Conversely, Platonic dialectic, in its concern with the a priori semantic articulation of ideas—their collection and division into genera and species3—remains always firmly attuned to the nature of its actual objects, which it is precisely its goal to determine and comprehend. Hence, while for P., Aristotelian logic is the proper instrument4 for the logical analysis Curiously enough, Harder, whose edition reproduces the treatises according to their chronological order, maintains in his introduction that the present treatise is related not to I 2, but to other, earlier treatises such as I 6 [1] and IV 8 [6]. Yet in spite of the undoubted stylistic divergences between the two treatises (which stem primarily from the difference in their subject matter), the two must be seen as complementary, for two reasons: because of the common method they employ (that of commenting in each case on a Platonic passage that, as far as P. at least is concerned, is of the first importance), and because of the frequent occurrence in the present treatise of back-­references to “On Virtues” (see, e.g., 1.12–13, 2.12–13, 3.4–8, 5.4–5, 6.8–17). 2  Prantl 1855–70, 1:613. Just before this, he scathingly observes: “diese Gottseligkeit [i.e., P.] ist natürlich viel zu vornehm, um sich mit dem mühseligen Wissens-­Materiale des irdischen Jammerthales oder gar mit Formen des menschlichen Verstandes näher abzugeben.” 3  At this point it coincides with Aristotelian dialectic, which, as the very structure of the Topics betrays, handles its “propositions” (protaseis) by first investigating the nature of the categorial combination exhibited in them, according to whether it designates the genus, property, definition, or specific difference (Top. I 4, 101b17–25). Such an investigation can only be prosecuted by an examination of terms from their “material” aspect, i.e., from the point of view of their semantic content. 4  The characterization by the Peripatetics of Aristotelian logic, and more particularly of syllogistic, as an “instrument” (organon) was intended precisely to underline its formal character. See Ammon. In An. pr. 10.38–11.7. 1 

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First Ennead of the phenomena of the perceptual universe (see VI 5.2.16–19), dialectic is strictly restricted to the exploration of the nature of intelligibles and their interrelations.5 Its premises derive from the intellect, and its conclusions constitute “knowledge” (epistēmē): “[they are] not, then, about any sense-­object,” P., as an authentic Platonist, hastens to add (VI 7.1.25). A bit further on (29–31), he makes clear that “There,” that is, in the intelligible world, “there is no reasoning (logismos) at all,” which implies the effective absence of any suitable ground for the exercise of syllogistic. This is the case because “There”—as he indicates in another passage (V 8.7.40–44)—it is as if the conclusion preceded the cause of the syllogism: “for it [sc., the intelligible world-­order] is not the result of following out a train of logical consequences (ou gar ex akolouthias) or of purposive thought (oud’ ex epinoias): it is before (pro) consequential and purposive thinking; for all this comes later, reasoning (logos) and demonstration (apodeixis) and the confidence (pistis) produced by them.” The above distinction must not be confused with the well-­known dispute between the Peripatos and the Stoa on whether logic is to be considered a constitutive part or merely an instrument of philosophy. The logical method of the Stoics—which they too normally designated by the term “dialectic” (dialektikē)—was also, like Aristotelian syllogistic and in spite of the radical differences between the two, a system of formal inferences applicable to assertions of all kinds, independent of their content. Now insofar as it is through this dialectic that we are able to approach and gain awareness of the rational constitution of the universe, even indeed of its all-­pervasive “rational principle” (logos), the Stoics held it to represent a necessary stage on the road to mastery of natural philosophy and, in the end, to ethical perfection and well-­being.6 Hence, in the context of their monistic and materialistic system, they viewed it as constituting the first grade of philosophy, of which it formed an inseparable “part” (meros).7 Conversely, P., holding as he does to a hierarchical ontology in which intelligible beings belong to a different level from the perceptible ones, does not hesitate to side on this issue with the Peripatetics.8 Formal logic does not have the power to reveal the essence of things: it may concern itself with “propositions” (protaseis) and with “sayables” (lekta), but not with “beings” (onta) themselves (V 5.1.38–41). This type of logic cannot be anything other than subservient, an “instrument” (organon) of philosophy and of reasoning in general. On the other hand, Platonic dialectic does, alone, have the capacity to investigate real beings; and it alone, being the true dialectic, is able to measure up to the role envisaged by the Stoics, of acting as the guiding reason of natural and ethical philosophy. These views, which are expounded in the present treatise, provide us with an important key to understanding P.’s mode of philosophical exposition. As Porphyry testifies with regard to his oral teaching (see VP 18.6–8), so P. in his writings also “was not quick to make known to anyone the compelling logical coherence of his discourse.”9 The cases 5  Cf. Clem. Al. Strom. I 28, 177.1: “ . . . it [sc., dialectic] does not convey experience of mortal things (empeirian tōn thnētōn), but knowledge of divine and celestial ones (all’ epistēmēn tōn theiōn kai ouraniōn).” 6  On this see Hadot 1979, 208–10. 7  See Ammon. In An. pr. 8.20–22 and 9.1–35 (= SVF 2:49). 8  See Leroux 1974, 190–92. 9  See also my comment on I 2.1.52–53.



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where P. marshals a battery of formal argumentation in support of his viewpoint are relatively scarce. Here perhaps we touch on that aspect of his thought that for the contemporary reader raises the greatest barriers to comprehension. For P. appears to have no interest in forcing the reader’s acquiescence by means of watertight logical constructions, but rather, after having first revealed his own view, in leading his reader progressively to the appropriate vantage point from which he will be able—if he so wishes—to begin to understand it. There, often, P. will leave him on his own, sometimes even asking of him (as he does at VI 8.13.4–5) “to deviate from the correct understanding (paranoēteon)” of what has just been said, in order that he may probe the intelligible world with his own intellective powers. In the words of Fouillée, for P. “to demonstrate is to understand (démontrer c’est comprendre); and to understand is to grasp (embrasser) the multiplicity within unity.”10 Accordingly, his written works—and this applies rather more to his earlier ones—possess a character that is not so much demonstrative as it is protreptic or exhortatory.

Commentary 1.1–4. Τίς τέχνη . . . δεδειγμένον: The similarities of expression to the beginning of the first book of the Nicomachaean Ethics (I 1, 1094a1–3) delimit the horizon within which the concerns of this treatise are to range. “Ascent” (anagōgē), man’s upward progression, leads to “the Good” (to agathon), the supreme principle of all things, “that which all things desire” (hou pant’ ephietai), as has already been shown, primarily in treatise VI 9 [9]. This is the nucleus of P.’s ethical theory, and the present treatise concludes with a reference to virtue, the means by which this ascent is accomplished. As Igal notes, the word anagōgē comes from the allegory of the cave in Plato’s Republic (see VII 517a5, 521c2, 533d2). 1.6–9. ἆρά γε . . . ἐρωτικοῦ: P. paraphrases, according to his habitual practice, the excerpt from the passage of the Phaedrus (248d1–4) that sets out the “ordinance (thesmos) of Adrasteia,” the law of Destiny governing the incarnations of souls. The focus here is on the “first birth” after the departure of the souls from the “plain of truth,” that is, from the highest grade of humanity (eight others follow, the last being the “tyrannical” one). In Plato, the three categories featured in the present passage show no evidence of any hierarchical dispostion. Indeed, in the Phaedrus the “votary of the Muses” (mousikos) and the “erotically inclined” (erōtikos) seem to be identified, whereas between these two and the “lover of wisdom” (philosophos) is interposed the “lover of beauty” (philokalos), who is missing from P.’s account. In addition, whereas the mousikos in Plato represents the person versed in all the arts of the Muses, that is, the “cultivated man” in general, P., as will become clear below (1.24–28), has more particularly in mind the person who 10  Fouillée 1912, 1:10; cited by Arnou 1967, 33, who adds: “For him [i.e., for P.], as for Plato, it is frequently the case that to demonstrate means to integrate, that is, to place each thing into position within the universal hierarchy of beings, where all things are either coordinate or subordinate one to the other.” Cf. also the introduction to the edition of Bréhier, xxxvii–xxxviii.

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First Ennead adores music and sounds, namely, the philomousos (“music lover”), as he calls him elsewhere (III 4.2.24). P.’s primary concern is to secure Platonic credentials for his own distinction of three grades, the lowest of which is occupied by the musical man and the highest by the philosopher. This distinction corresponds to the one he draws at V 9.1.1–21 among three “kinds of men”: those who remain attached to sense-­objects and are captives of pleasure and of pain; those who, while impelled toward higher things, lack the capacity to abide with them and turn back toward the life of practical activity; and lastly, those “godlike men” who succeed in rising above worldly things and advancing to the realm of truth. As Dillon 1989b, 69–73, has shown, we find analogous anthropological classifications in Philo (Gig. 60–61) and the Gnostics (see esp. Clem. Al. Exc. 54; also Zandee 1961, 17). I doubt, however, whether at this point we need to assume the operation of some Gnostic influence on P., as Dillon 1989b, 74–75, appears to believe (de Gandillac 1966, 129–30, being similarly skeptical). Both the present treatise (which Dillon does not take into consideration) and the sequel to the one in the fifth Ennead that I mentioned previously suggest a derivation of the theory from the milieu of Pythagoreanizing Platonism, in the context of the etymological analysis of the term “philosophy” (philosophia). On this, see Gottschalk 1980, 23–33; Dillon 1989b, 71–72; and my comment on VP 22.44. 1.10–11. τίς οὖν ὁ τρόπος:Cf. I 6.8.1 and V 9.2.1–2. 1.12–16. ὁ μὲν . . . ἀφίκωνται: The subdivision of the ascending progression into two stages—the first leading from the sensibles to the intelligible, the second continuing within the intelligible realm and culminating at the highest principle—corresponds to the subdivision of the soul’s appropriation of the virtues into the stage of “being purified” (kathairesthai) and that of “having been purified” (kekatharthai) encountered in I 2.4.1–7. As in the earlier passage, so here the first verbal expression, anabainousin (“they are going up”), designates a process being effected in time, while the second, elthousin (“when they have arrived”), points to a completed process or perhaps an extratemporal state, as befits everything intelligible (cf. III 7.3.33–38 and IV 7.8.38–43). But again here, as before, the arrival at the intelligible is not regarded as the end of the journey, but rather as a new starting point from which to undertake the final ascent to the Good, localized at the uppermost extremity of the intelligible. Cf. also V 1.1.22–29. 1.16–18. ὃ δὴ . . . τῷ νοητῷ:Just as it had been for Plato (cf. Resp. VII 532e3), so for P. also, the end and purpose of the upward journey is “contemplation of the best” (tou aristou thea), of the supreme Good (cf. VI 8.21.22), which he is here content to describe as being the summit of the intelligible—the apex mentis (cf. V 3.12.41)—without emphasizing, as he usually does, its transcendency with respect to Intellect. 1.18–19. περὶ δὲ . . . λέγειν:It seems to be suggested here that the term “ascent” (anagōgē) properly refers to the first stage of the journey, whereas to the second corresponds the term “dialectic” (dialektikē). But P. does not insist on this distinction, usually employing



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the first term to indicate the approach to the One/Good as well; see, e.g., III 8.10.20–22, V 4.1.1–5, V 5.4.1–2, etc. On the other hand, the term “dialectic” is not to be met with in any other treatise of the Enneads. 1.20–28. ἀρξαμένους . . . διώκειν: At the lowest grade of those engaged on the upward journey lies the “musical man” (mousikos), the worshiper of beautiful sounds (see my comment on 1.6–9). His identifying characteristic, according to P., is that he is readily moved and excited by the latent appeal of beautiful melodies and rhythms (cf. I 6.6.1–3). In point of fact, his participation is entirely passive (see de Keyser 1955, 92); indeed, it is almost mechanical or automatic (cf. Arist. Quint. De mus. II 18, 89.23–90.8), having, for this reason, some affinity to a magically induced state (see IV 4.40.20–27; and Moutsopoulos 1971, 384–86). Of course, what renders the sounds and rhythms beautiful is the presence of “Beauty” (to kalon), which, as a manifestation of the One, secures unity of modal harmony and regularity of rhythm. From this point of view, music—as also any other art—may act in an intermediating capacity, leading man first to an awareness of the “imperceptible” (aphanēs) harmony and underlying arithmetic proportions of which its audible instances constitute an expression (cf. I 6.3.28–30), and ultimately to a comprehension of the intellectual principles by which these are governed. 1.28–34. μετὰ τοίνυν . . . ἔχων: A musical sensibility is not sufficient on its own, however, to power the ascent. What is further required is a typically Platonic procedure of abstraction from the sensible characteristics of music. The magic of sounds needs to be dispelled if the intelligible harmony—and, ultimately, the Form of Beauty itself—are to be grasped. This presupposes a philosophical conception of music, lacking which the worshiper of sounds remains entrapped in the world of perceptible images. The whole exercise corresponds to Platonic recollection; see my comment on I 2.4.20–25. On the notion of harmonikoi (“modal”) and rhuthmikoi (“rhythmic”) logoi—which in addition to “formative principles” should perhaps also be understood here as “ratios”—in ancient musical theory, see Arist. Quint. De mus. III 23, 125.15–20. 1.35. ὕστερον:Theoretical analysis within the intelligible realm is accomplished through dialectic, which P. provides a survey of in chapters 4–6, below. 2.1–2. Ὁ δὲ . . . παρέλθοι: The first grade, that of the musical man, leads to the second, that of the lover (cf. Pl. Resp. III 403c6–7); one may either remain there or advance to the next grade, that of the philosopher. 2.2–4. μνημονικὸς . . . ἐπτόηται: The lover outclasses the musical man in that his emotion is not entirely passive. He has some consciousness of Beauty (the expression “having a kind of memory” being of course an allusion to the theory of recollection: cf. I 6.2.8– 11 and I 8.15.28), but he is led astray by its images, which manifest themselves in beautiful, sensible bodies. Although his stance is an active one, his propensity becomes misdirected, being beguiled by mere refractions of the intellective light.

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First Ennead 2.5–12. διδακτέον οὖν . . . ἐγγίνονται: P. rapidly retraces here the first three gradients of initiation into the “erotic mysteries” described by Diotima in Plato’s Symposium: (a) The realization that “beauty” (kallos) is common to all “beautiful” (kala) bodies (and consequently, as P. adds, different from them). Cf. Symp. 210a8–b6. (b) Next, the turning toward incorporeal beauties, toward “the beauty present in souls,” which is revealed in the relations and actions of men, but also in their regulating ordinances. Cf. Symp. 210b6–c6 with Sykutris 1934, n.1 ad loc. Also V 9.2.5–7. (c) Lastly, the recognition of the beauty of knowledge, of the arts (a noteworthy addition of P.’s), and of the virtues (meaning here, obviously, the “theoretical” virtues, which have to do with the conversion of the soul toward the Intellect: on this, see I 2.6.12–27). Cf. Symp. 210c6–7. These three preliminary steps having been negotiated, there supervenes an overarching comprehension of the unity of all beauties, namely, that “one such knowledge of what is thus beautiful” referred to by Plato (Symp. 210d7). 2.12–13. ἀπὸ δὲ . . . πορείαν: After the “theoretical” virtues, the ascent continues on to the Intellect—identified with the whole of Being (to on)—only to terminate, as was stated at the beginning (1.2–4), at the Good. But the investigation of the constitution and articulation of Being is the work of dialectic, which already belongs to philosophy. 3.1–2. Ὁ δὲ φιλόσοφος . . . ἐπτερωμένος:When the soul breaks loose and turns away from the perceptible, it “emerges” (anakuptei) into the world of real Being. Such is the condition of the philosopher, who outclasses the lover by having escaped from the illusions engendered by materiality; only he, therefore—having, as the allegorical myth of the Phaedrus expresses it, “grown wings” (see 246c1 and 249c4–5)—is able to maintain constant contact with the “place beyond heaven” (247c2) of the Forms. 3.2–3. καὶ οὐ . . . οὗτοι:The normal run of men need to purge themselves of the body by means of the “purifying” virtues or through natural death before they are able to confront the Forms; see my comment on I 2.6.3–6. By contrast, the philosopher has already been purified and thus finds himself already within their realm; or, to put the matter differently, he has full consciousness of their presence. 3.3–5. ἀπορῶν δὲ . . . λελυμένον:At first sight, it seems inconceivable that on coming to view the totality of intelligible things, one might find oneself in a state of aporia; but it appears that we do at this point catch a faint echo of Socratic aporetic. Plato repeatedly makes reference to the philosopher’s need to be guided toward the intelligible, but also within it: the most typical occasions are to be found in the Symposium, 210a6–7 and c7 (see the comments of Sykutris 1934 ad loc.), and in Epistle VII (which P. at least regarded as genuine), 340c5. As the context of the last-­mentioned passage reveals, such guidance is provided through some form of deixis (ibid. 340c7 and 341a6). This brings to mind the method of teaching employed by Plato’s own “leader” (hēgoumenos: 340c5), when guiding Meno’s slave along the path of recollection. After having purged him of his false opinions and brought him to a state of aporia (Men. 84a7–b6), he proceeds to



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indicate to him the solution to the geometrical problem, first drawing for him the diagonal of the square (84e4–85a1) and then asking him also to point to it himself (85b1–2; cf. 84a1). In the intelligible realm, deixis cannot of course consist in anything other than the determination of the place each Form occupies within the network of semantic interconnections constituting the realm in question: and this only dialectic can accomplish. The expressions “he must be set free” (luteon) and “he has been set free” (lelumenos) are of course further allusions to the allegory of the cave; cf. Pl. Resp. VII 523b4–8. 3.5–7. τὰ μὲν . . . φιλομαθὴς ὤν:The role assigned here to mathematics corresponds to the role it plays in the education of the guardians, in the seventh book of the Platonic Republic (see esp. VII 524d9–531c7). Cf. Alex. Aphrod. In An. pr. 4.18–21, but also Moderatus apud Porph. VPyth. 48–50, 59.3–60.4. P. himself seems to have possessed mathematical competence, even though he does not display it in his works; see VP 14.7–10, with my comment. The philosopher will take easily to mathematical studies, being by nature “inclined to learning [of such kind]” (philomathēs); cf. Pl. Resp. II 376b8–c2. 3.7–8. καὶ φύσει . . . ἀκτέον:Philosophy causes the innate ethical predispositions to become expressed and realized; see below, 6.18–22. The term enaretos (“virtuous”) is not met with earlier than the Stoics: see SVF 3:295, but also Alex. Aphrod. In Top. 331.10–11; Clem. Al. Strom. VI 17, 158.4 and 159.6. 3.8–10. καὶ μετὰ . . . ποιητέον: As it does also in the Republic (VII 531d7–535a1), the teaching of dialectic follows on that of mathematics “like a coping stone at the top of the other studies.” 4.1. καὶ τοῖς προτέροις:But in contrast to the position taken by Plato, mathematics does not constitute for P. a necessary precondition for the study of dialectic, which indeed is also within reach of the musical man and the lover. One must reflect at this point on the fact that among P.’s associates in Rome who receive mention in chapter 7 of VP there is not a single mathematician. 4.2–6. ἔστι μὲν . . . ὄντων: This definition of Platonic dialectic, while drawing on the various descriptions of it found in Plato (cf., e.g., Resp. VII 534b3–4, Phdr. 265d3–266c1, Soph. 253d1–e2, Plt. 287a3–4), is, compared with them, far more systematic and complete. According to P., the basic features of dialectic are the following: (a) By providing the means to formulate definitions, dialectic makes it possible to discriminate what each being is (i.e., its Form), in what respect it differs from other beings (i.e., its specific difference), and which characteristics it has in common with them (i.e., its genera); cf. Clem. Al. Strom. VIII 6, 19.5. (b) In this way, it determines the position each Form occupies within the network of genera and species, charting its semantic relations with all other intelligible beings.

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First Ennead (c) It thereby confirms the status of the Form as a being, distinguishing it from that of nonbeings, i.e., perceptibles (cf. I 8.3.3–10). (d) A broader exploration of the intelligible realm further reveals how many beings there are, from how many others each is divided off and into how many others it is in turn subdivided (cf. Pl. Plt. 285b2, Phlb. 16d1–7). In a word, what dialectic effectively consists in is the method of division (cf. Alex. Aphrod. In Top. 1.14–19; and Boeth. Diu. 880A–B), considered as a means for the discovery of the essential semantic interconnections among beings, which make it possible to determine the location of each within the intelligible realm. Cf. also Schrenk 1994b, 103–4. 4.6–9. αὕτη καὶ . . . οὐ δόξῃ:Cf. Pl. Resp. VII 534b8–c6. Besides providing the means to explore the field of ontology, dialectic also offers the only secure mode of access to the field of valuation: through it may be investigated the nature of the Good itself (even if only by way of negation, as the Platonic passage suggests), as also the correlation of all other values with the Good. Dialectical investigation results in certain knowledge, inasmuch as it allows everything to be located precisely within its semantic frame in a manner admitting of neither contestation nor vacillation. See also Krämer 1966, 37–51. 4.9–10. παύσασα . . . ἔχει:Cf. Pl. Phd. 79d4–5, 81a4–8. 4.11. ἐν τῷ λεγομένῳ ἀληθείας πεδίῳ:Concerning the “plain of truth,” cf. Pl. Phdr. 248b6. 4.12–16. τῇ διαιρέσει . . . ἔλθῃ:According to “Alcinous” (Didasc. 5, 156.24–30 trans. Dillon), dialectic is subdivided into two branches: the first is concerned with “the essence (tēn ousian) of everything whatsoever,” the second “with its accidents (peri tōn sumbebēkotōn).” The first “enquires . . . either ‘from above’ (anōthen) by means of division (diairetikōs) and definition (horistikōs), or ‘from below’ (katōthen) by means of analysis (analutikōs),” whereas the second “by induction (di’ epagōgēs) or . . . by syllogistic (dia sullogismou).” As will be made clear below (4.18–20), P. recognizes as dialectic only the first branch, which he depicts here on the basis of the features sketched out in the Phaedrus (256e1–266c1) and especially the Sophist (253d1–e6 and 259e5–260b2). The procedure designated by the term comprises a series of operations: (a) The “distinction of the Forms” (diakrisis tōn eidōn), meaning, obviously, the determination of the differences distinguishing each Form from the rest. (b) The discovery, with the help of these differences, of the “essential nature” or “what it is” (ti esti) of each: which is to say, of its definition. (c) The definition presupposes the subsumption of the Form under some genus. Through this operation, one may trace a passage all the way to the “greatest” (megista) or “primary genera” (prōta genē), which also constitute “principles of being” (archai tou ontos: cf. VI 2.2.6–14). (d) There follows the “division” (diairesis) proper, the “combination” or “interweaving” (sumplokē) of the genera so as to compose subordinate forms. If successive subdivi-



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sions are exhaustively pursued, one may theoretically traverse the whole of the intelligible order: on this see also Trouillard 1955a, 36. (e) Finally, there may follow the inverse operation of “collection” (sunagōgē), the “resolution” or “analysis” (analusis: note that here P. employs—as does “Alcinous”—the Aristotelian term; cf. also below, my comment on 5.1–4) of each form into its constituting genera, by which one is led back again “to the starting point” or “to the principle” (ep’ archēn). Although P. takes for granted—as did Plato—the complementarity of the two operations of (inter)weaving and analysis, it is interesting that he chooses to place the latter at the end, no doubt because of its anagogic character, which connects it with the purpose of philosophy overall. 4.16–18. τότε δὲ . . . βλέπει:The soul on coming into contact with the truth enters into a state of “tranquillity” (hēsuchia); see, e.g., III 8.6.27. Cf. also Pl. Prt. 356d8–e2. On tranquillity as a state of the “wise man” (spoudaios), see I 4.12.8–9. The transition from erratic “meddlesomeness” (polupragmosunē) to unity of aim is what defines virtue in Plato’s Laws (XII 962d2–4; cf. 963a2–3, b1–2). 4.18–23: τὴν λεγομένην . . . βουλομένης: Formal logic—which is concerned with the rules governing the logical implications of propositions independent of their content— constitutes a technique separate from, and auxiliary to, dialectic, as is the case of writing in relation to rhetoric (cf. Pl. Phdr. 269b7–8). Like writing, formal logic also is something that men are induced “to put their trust in, something which is external (exōthen) and depends on signs that belong to others, instead of trying to recollect from the inside, completely on their own (endothen autous hup’ hautōn anamimnēskomenous)” (ibid. 275a3–5 trans. after Nehamas and Woodruff ). It cannot reveal the nature of beings but can only describe the contingent necessity of their manifestations. Its field of application is that of “ratiocination” (dianoia), of discursive, informational knowledge having extension in time (see V 3.17.21–28). Its ruling principles are subject to the control of dialectic, but in some cases differ radically from the ruling principles of the latter; see, e.g., Kristeller 1929, 2–3. 5.1–4. Ἀλλὰ πόθεν . . . ἥκῃ: The principles of dialectic, being summa genera, are insusceptible of definition. Hence they may only be cognitively accessed by means of a direct intellectual apprehension that must obviously exceed the capacities of linguistic expression, given that it anticipates their combination or interweaving, which is the precondition for the constitution of “discourse” (logos). For beings other than these principles there does exist the possibility of formulating definitions or other (analytical) propositions, precisely because their character is to be interwoven; but this type of analysis, being nothing other than an elaborated version of what was initially a unitary intellectual preconception, constitutes in effect a tautology (see V 5.2.18–20). (I am here modifying somewhat the very pertinent observations of Sorabji 1982, 311. See also Kalligas 2004b, 73–75.) In any case, the “elaboration” or “unfolding” (anaptuxis) of beings by means of dialectic, even though it does require the interweaving of multiple genera,

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First Ennead does not adduce new knowledge; it consists rather in an investigation of the a priori structures that inhere in them, “and an act of this kind is more like a concentration of attention (oion enapereisis mallon)” (IV 4.1.25–26). According to Sextus Empiricus, Math. VII 218, “clarity” (enargeia) was introduced as a term into the field of epistemology by Theophrastus. Through him it passed into the technical vocabulary of the Epicureans and the Stoics. It appears, however, that the employment of this term to designate the self-­evidence of intellective principles was an innovation of the New Academy, and perhaps more particularly of Metrodorus of Stratonicea: see Brochard 1887, 197–98; Glucker 1978, 74–78; and Tarrant 1981, 72–74, and 1985b, 6–21. Clement of Alexandria, Strom. VIII 3, 8.1, also refers to “the things that are clear to sense-­perception and to intelligence (ta pros aisthēsin te kai noēsin enargē),” calling the “reversion to” these analusis, in contradistinction to what is effected by means of syllogisms, which he calls apodeixis (“demonstration from”). 5.4–5. ἔστι γάρ, . . . καὶ φρονήσεως:Cf. Pl. Phlb. 58d6–7. 5.5–8. ἀνάγκη οὖν . . . τοῦ ὄντος:Inasmuch, then, as dialectic consists in the elaboration of unitary intellectual apprehensions and the reconstruction of the semantic interconnections among beings, it will have Being in its totality as its object, but at the same time it will lead toward that principle of all things that lies beyond Being. As the journey proceeds, the soul will be directed by “wisdom” (phronēsis) toward Being, while the intellect by its principles will be directed toward the Good. Nor do I find any inconsistency being displayed here, as Mortley 1975, 372n.16, thinks there is. The preposition peri (Armstrong: “[concerned] with”) is to be read here with the same emphasis as it is given, for example, at VI 7.42.5–8 (where Armstrong renders it by “around”): wisdom approaches asymptotically toward Being, precisely as does the intellect toward the One. The expression “beyond Being” (epekeina tou ontos or tēs ousias) derives of course from the characterization of the form of the Good in Plato’s Republic, VI 509b, and had already in Middle Platonism become established as a designation of the transcendency of the first principle; see Whittaker 1969, 91–104; and Pépin 1971a, 294–301. P. systematically employs it in connection with the Good. On “wisdom” (phronēsis) as “the most valuable state” (timiōtatēn hexin) of the soul, see Pl. Resp. IX 591b3–6. 5.9–10. φιλοσοφίας μέρος . . . τοῦ φιλοσόφου:P. now proceeds to locate dialectic within the context of the controversy (on which see my introduction to this treatise; cf. Alex. Aphrod. In An. pr. 1.8–9) over whether (formal) logic—which the Stoics also called “dialectic” (dialektikē)—constituted a “part” (meros) or an “instrument” (organon) of philosophy. And it is clear that whereas he regards dialectic as the most important part of philosophy, where logic is concerned he adheres to the view of the Peripatetics, who saw in it a simple instrument. Not that this implies its denigration, as Prantl thought: “for the attention due to an instrument is judged by the worth of what is made or proved by it,” as Alexander of Aphrodisias observes (In An. pr. 4.31–2 trans. Barnes et al.). And it was indeed this disengagement of logic from ontology that permitted the revival of the study of Aristotle’s logical works (henceforth as an Organon) by Porphyry and the



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late Neoplatonists, with the result that Aristotelian formal logic comprised the most lasting and fertile heritage relegated by antiquity to the Middle Ages and even to the modern era. See Ebbesen 1990, 144. 5.10–13. οὐ γὰρ . . . ἔχουσα:The nonformal nature of dialectic is here most emphatically asserted, in contradistinction to that of logic, which contemplates “beings as results of a process of reasoning (hōs ex akolouthias ta onta),” whereas previously it is “empty (kenē)”: see I 8.2.9–14. Conversely, in dialectic, contemplation and reality are identified, as they are in the case of “active knowledge” (kat’ energeian epistēmē) in Aristotle (De an. III 5, 430a19–20 = 7, 431a1–2). It is this identification of thinker and object of thought—of dialectic and ontology—that ensures the truth of such contemplation, by contrast with what occurs in the case of logic, where the “propositions” (protaseis) and the “assertions” (axiōmata) it deals with are not actually identified with beings, but merely depict them (see V 5.1.30–40): they are “that which measures” (to metroun), not “that which is measured” (to metroumenon), as Epictetus puts it (Diss. III 26.19). 5.13–23. τὸ δὲ . . . ἀγαπώσῃ:As knowledge of the true and of Being, dialectic is also in a position indirectly to determine what diverges from either of these. It is not concerned with “propositions” (protaseis: on this term see Arist. An. pr. 24a16–7; and “Alcinous” Didasc. 6, 158.5–17), which, as was stated at 4.19–20, constitute mnemonic devices or “letters” standing in for psychical or “discursive” (dianoētikē) acts that are directly accessible to dialectic through a kind of immediate grasp, similar to the perceptual one. (The perceptual connotations of the term epiballō/epibolē through which is here designated this “fixing upon” or direct appropriation of its objects by dialectic have been rightly stressed by Rist 1967b, 49–51.) These psychical acts or “movements” (kinēmata) are always accompanied by an element of affirmation (on this meaning of tithenai, see Alex. Aphrod. In An. pr. 17.2–3) or denial. This implies that dialectic does not concern itself with unverifiable propositions, as some Skeptics such as Aenesidemus may have done (cf. Sext. Emp. Pyr. I 10, 196 and 198). Indeed dialectic even casts into doubt the identity of what is affirmed with what is denied, respectively, in a pair of contradictory propositions. 6.1. Μέρος οὖν τὸ τίμιον:Cf. above, 5.9. 6.2–6. περὶ φύσεως . . . ἐκεῖθεν:Just as arithmetic is a precondition for all the other arts and sciences (cf. Pl. Resp. VII 522c1–8; and Iambl. Comm. Math. 16), so dialectic is presupposed by the other two branches of philosophy: natural philosophy and ethics (in its theoretical part). This viewpoint presents certain similarities to the Stoic position, according to which “all things are observed through study conducted in discourses (dia tēs en logois theōrias: i.e., through dialectic), whether they belong to the domain of physics or equally that of ethics” (SVF 2:130 trans. LS), a fact that led Leroux 1974, 188, to question the authenticity of the whole of chapter 6. But the example of arithmetic is here to show that P. does not share the Stoics’ conception of dialectic as a controlling and regulating instrument of reason lacking any independent capacity (SVF 2:125), seeing it

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First Ennead rather as the sort of “super-­reasoning” (Barnes 1942, 371) or “first philosophy” that is required to provide the ontological foundations on which alone the other theoretical branches can base themselves. 6.6–14. προστιθεῖσα . . . τῇ φρονήσει: Just as virtue is not practical wisdom alone, but there exist also “the other virtues” that are “akin to those of the body, for they really aren’t there beforehand but are added later by habit (ethesi) and practice (askēsesin)” (Pl. Resp. VII 518d9–e2 trans. Grube-­Reeve), so ethics is not solely theoretical: there exists also that part of it which is concerned with the formation of the appropriate “states of character” (hexeis), virtue itself being defined by Aristotle at Eth. Nic. II 6, 1106b36, as a hexis. This is primarily achieved through “practice” (askēsis), as both the aristocrat Theognis (see Arist. Eth. Nic. IX 9, 1170a12) and the educationalist pseudo-­Plutarch (De lib. educ. 2a) used to recommend, for it is practice that makes perfect our innate predispositions: cf. II 9.15.15–17; “Alcinous” Didasc. 28, 182.3–5 and 30, 184.1–6; and Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 25.18–25. Accordingly, while the lower virtues are concerned with the “affections” (pathē) and with actions, the subject of which—as was discussed in treatise I 1—is the compound of body and soul, “wisdom” (phronēsis) is purely theoretical and consequently draws its principles and its directions from dialectic. On the “mutual succession” (antakolouthia) of the virtues, see I 2.7.1–3. It is worth remarking that, as this passage indicates, inter-­entailment is not to be taken for granted in the case of the lower virtues (cf. Anon. In Tht. 11.12–22, Apul. De Plat. II 6, 83.28–29), but only comes about as a result of the regulative intervention of wisdom. Cf. Alex. Aphrod. Probl. eth. 28, 157.22–25; and Moraux 1973–2001, 2:272n.166. 6.14–17. πότερα δὲ . . . συναύξεται: Can the lower virtues exist in the absence of the higher ones? P.’s answer is that they can, but defectively, because instead of being based on solid knowledge, they will be at the whim of circumstance. The “vertical” succession of the virtues applies only in the reverse direction: it is the theoretical virtues that entail or bring about the lower ones. Cf. I 2.7.10–17, where the same thought is formulated, however, in less categorical terms; also “Alcinous” Didasc. 30, 183.37–41, and the following comment. 6.18–24. καὶ τάχα . . . ἔχομεν:The innate virtues were not mentioned in the relevant treatise I 2, perhaps because they are not in fact true virtues, but instead mere aptitudes or “good natural dispositions” (euphuiai) as they are called by “Alcinous” Didasc. 30, 183.17 (cf. Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.19, 136.16–18; Anon. In Tht. 9.39–43; Apul. De Plat. II 6, 83.24–25; Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. IV 29, 161.27–28; and Dillon 1983, 92–93). Cf. in addition Donini 1999, 707. Aristotle (Eth. Nic. VI 13, 1144b3–1145a2) had already drawn a distinction between “natural virtue” (phusikē aretē) and virtue “in the strict sense” (kuria). The former may also be present in children and even in beasts (cf. Elias Prol. 19.34–20.1), but without the intervention of wisdom, it can prove damaging: “nature without learning is blind,” as pseudo-­Plutarch, De lib. educ. 2b, says. Thus, according to Aristotle, “virtue in the strict sense does not come about without practical wisdom (ou ginetai aneu



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phronēseōs)”; all the other virtues presuppose it and derive from it: “for with the presence of the one virtue, practical wisdom, all will be present.” And then, as P. says here, the latter become “perfect” (teleiai): cf. Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.3g, 51.2–8; “Alcinous” Didasc. 30, 183.39–40; Anon. In Tht. 9.41; Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 40.11–12. In the end, P.’s ethical theory is revealed as an entirely intellectualist one: the lower virtues, which concern our “habits” (ēthē), do not generate the higher and theoretical ones, but instead devolve from them.

I 4 [46]. On Well-­Being Synopsis 1 A. Critical review of other theories: 1.  Peripatetic: “Well-­being” (eudaimonia) is the same as “living well” (euzōia). But then: (a) irrational animals and plants will share in well-­being, (b) and what will be the role of sense-­perception? 2 2. Stoic: Well-­being is the rational life. No, not if the rational life is the mere servant of nature. 3 B. P.’s position: Well-­being is the intellective life. 4 It thus corresponds to the real nature of man. The man who is well off does not seek other things as goods, but as necessities. 5 C. Peripatetic objections: (a) The role of external goods. (b) The role of bodily goods. 6 D. Responses: (a) External goods make no contribution to well-­being; our will is only directed toward true goods. 7 Even great evils do not disturb well-­being: 8 (b) not even bodily pains, whether one’s own or others’. 9 E. The role of consciousness: Are (a) apprehension and (b) activity necessary constituents of well-­being? (a) Apprehension is not necessary to intellection. 10 The function of representation is accessory to (and at times disruptive of ) intellection. 11 To admit external things as goods would diminish well-­being. 12 The pleasure of the man who is well off is pure and unshakeable. 13 (b) His activities are not subject to the effects of fortune. 14 F. The subject of well-­being. Well-­being concerns only the true man, who 15 is indifferent to whatever concerns his lower manifestations. 16 The attention of the wise man is directed only to the Good.

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Introduction The word eudaimonia (which I shall here, following Armstrong, render as “well-­being” instead of the more common “happiness”) was from its earliest appearance connected with the notion of the utmost prosperity and blessedness attainable by man: a state more properly befitting the gods, and hinging as a rule for its achievement on their benevolence.1 In Plato, the word frequently designates the condition of the soul in contemplation of the Forms (see, e.g., Phd. 111a3, Resp. VII 516c6, Phdr. 250b6), while occasionally the object of this contemplation is also qualified as “what enjoys the height of well-­being among the things that are” (to eudaimonestaton tou ontos: Resp. VII 526e3–4). It stands for the supreme aspiration of man (Symp. 205c1–5, Resp. IX 580b9–c1, Leg. II 660e2–3, etc.). For Aristotle, eudaimonia represents the center of gravity of his ethical teaching: surely it is no coincidence that the Eudemian Ethics begin, and the Nicomachean Ethics both begin and culminate, with an analysis of this concept. In its broadest terms, the theory of the Stagirite presents significant correspondences with Plato’s:2 eudaimonia is “some form of (intellective) contemplation” (theōria tis: Eth. Nic. X 8, 1178b28–33); it is the “end” or “goal” (telos) of all our aspirations (ibid. I 7, 1097a31–b7; X 6, 1176b30–32) and is attained through virtue (1177a1– 2), or rather it consists in “activity according to virtue” (energeia kat’ aretēn: I 7, 1098a16–18; I 13, 1102a5–6; X 7, 1177a12). But at the same time Aristotle identifies it with “living well” (eu zēn) and “faring (or doing) well” (eu prattein: I 4, 1095a20 and I 8, 1098b20–22; cf. Eth. Eud. II 1, 1219b1 and [Arist.] Mag. Mor. I 3, 1184b9–10); it was this, in conjunction with the emphasis he places on “external goods” (ta ektos agatha: Eth. Nic. I 8, 1099a31–b8 and I 10, 1101a15) and on the practical manifestation of the virtues (I 8, 1099a4–7) as preconditions for perfect well-­being,3 that led the later Peripatetics to correlate it much more closely with the good life and even, indeed, with pleasure. Arius Didymus apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.18, 130.20–21, provides, among others, a definition of eudaimonia as “the unimpeded exercise of virtue in natural things,” achieving a remarkable synthesis of the definition of the “life of well-­being” (eudaimōn bios) in the Politics, IV 11, 1295a37, with that of “pleasure” (hēdonē) in the Nicomachean Ethics, VII 12, 1153a14–15. Alexander of Aphrodisias views eudaimonia as consisting in “the activities that are natural to man and proper to him (tais kata phusin . . . oikeiais energeiais) . . . provided that they take place without impediment (ei anempodistōs gignointo)” (Probl. eth. 23, 143.21–23, with the correction suggested by Bruns in his apparatus, trans. Sharples; cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. VII 13, 1153b11–12). At the same time, in De an. mant. 164.9–21, he explores the implications that the subsumption of “well-­being” (eudaimonia) under “living well” (eu zēn) has for the self-­ See, indicatively, Pind. Nem. VIII 55–56; and Eur. Bacch. 72–75; and more generally De Heer 1969. Which is not also to imply, of course, similarities. But this is not the place for me to go into the differences prevailing between the views of Plato and Aristotle, nor into the variations present even within the works of the Stagirite himself. 3  The internal tension running through Aristotle’s pronouncements on the subject has been noted in recent scholarship: see Cooper 1975, 98–111; and White 1981, 225–46. 1  2 



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sufficiency of virtue:4 “for it is the one who puts virtue to use and who lives in accordance with virtue and who performs some action who is said to live well; because it is in qualified action that the good life for man [resides].” Subsequently, actions are subdivided into ones “of use” (chrēstikai) and ones “of possession” (ktētikai), and it is further specified that “of activities and actions, it is in those of use that well-­being and living well reside, these being not without the goods of the body and the external ones and the ones proper to oneself and the ones in accordance with nature, which virtue has the power to select.” Hence, we can discern a tendency among later Peripatetics to reduce eudaimonia to two constituents: (a) the consciousness of the possession of certain bodily and external goods, which are usually designated as “natural” or, literally, “ones in accordance with nature” (ta kata phusin), and (b) the unimpeded activation of the psychical functions through the various virtues. This inclined them to place even greater emphasis on that kinship with pleasure that Aristotle had discovered in eudaimonia. Indeed, Alexander felt obliged to dedicate one of his “Ethical Problems” (Probl. eth. 23) to explaining the differences between these two constituent concepts. All the same, eudaimonia retained for the late Peripatetics its preeminent character as an “activity” (energeia): the activation of the psychical predispositions and virtues, and their manifestation in practical action.5 Insofar as the outcome of an action depends, however, on the availability of certain adequate external circumstances, virtue constitutes a necessary but not a sufficient condition for eudaimonia. Such, in outline, is Alexander’s argument against the Stoic position concerning the self-­sufficiency of virtue for eudaimonia; see especially De an. mant. 160.4–31. All this naturally prompted endless, and at times exceedingly sharp, controversy with the Stoics, according to whom virtue was “self-­sufficient” (autarkēs) in the sense that it constituted the sole precondition for the conquest of eudaimonia (SVF 1:187, 3:49).6 The wise man might have elected to acquire the so-­called primary natural things (ta prōta kata phusin), but “the (actual) possession of the things chosen” was “indifferent (adiaphoros) . . . and not conducive to the end (mē sunteinousa pros to telos)” (SVF 3:193). Eudaimonia, according to their standard position, corresponded to a state of affairs such that life flows unimpeded and in agreement with universal natural reason (logos).7 This viewpoint, however, tended to detract from the active character of eudaimonia and to relegate it to the status of a mere psychical disposition, one which 4  While it is true that the argument is dialectical in character, it is nevertheless patent that in this, as in the remaining arguments he sets forth in this chapter, Alexander embraces the assumptions he employs. 5  Cf. Moraux 1973–2001, 1:310. 6  The whole of book V of Cicero’s Tusculanes Disputationes is devoted to this subject. Particularly worth noting is the advanced view of Theophrastus, which is laid out in chapters 24–25, and which Atticus, in his fr. 2, seems to be aware of. A highly amusing light is thrown on the controversy by Lucian in his Symposium; see principally 36–37. The Peripatetic view is clearly and comprehensively laid out by Alexander of Aphrodisias, De an. mant. 159.15–168.20. See further Moraux 1973–2001, 2:282n.197. 7  Zeno’s classic definition—“smooth flow of life” (eurhoia biou: SVF 1:184)—was also adopted by the later Stoics (SVF 1:554, 3:73).

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First Ennead “happiness”—the word usually selected to render the Greek term into English—well serves to denote. Instead, P. is able to approach the issue from an entirely different perspective. For him, the activation of the psychical powers does not hinge on the prevalence of any set of objective conditions in the world of the senses. There exists another realm, that of the intelligible universe, toward which the soul may direct its gaze and become activated by contemplating real beings. It is There that the primal, true Life is to be found, source and model of the one here, just as the contemplation of what is There constitutes the source and model of our perceptual and practical life here (see, e.g., III 8.8.1–30). Hence—and seeing as well that for the soul this turning toward the Intellect is in effect a reversion to its own true self—any external limitations on its capacity for well-­being are waived. This consideration allows P. to revert to the Stoic position, with the proviso, however, that now the coexistence of virtue and well-­being is the result of a common cause: devotion to the contemplation of Being. Having once secured this theoretical perspective, P. then moves on to describe, in the form of a Stoic diatribē, the superiority of the life of well-­ being and its impassibility in the face of external influences and conditions. The present treatise is the first of the ones P. composed following Porphyry’s departure for Sicily. Accordingly, it must have been written at the end of 268 or the beginning of 269: see VP 6.1–6 and 15–16, with my comment. Perhaps P. had begun to feel the first symptoms of the disease that was to lead to his death approximately a year and a half later. Physical hardship and social isolation (see VP 2.10–16) may have played some role in motivating the turn that becomes noticeable in his last works toward issues of a more pronouncedly ethical character. Eudaimonia in particular was not a theme he had been especially concerned with in his previous works. Only in “On Whether Well-­Being Increases with Time” (I 5 [36]) does he investigate it, and this from a specialized, albeit crucial, point of view;8 but there, too, in a mere two lines (7.20–21) he barely touches on the problematic to which he devotes his first four chapters in the present treatise. In addition to this shift in subject matter, there is also a perceptible shift in literary style; especially in the second part of the treatise (from chapter 5 on), we find it departing from the form of an internal dialogue that is familiar to us from the rest of P.’s work, and becoming much more direct, exhortatory, and, in some instances, even elegant, with its lapidary formulations, asides, rhetorical questions, and poetic allusions. This dramatic directness is, perhaps, precisely what allowed “On Well-­Being” to exert as considerable an influence as it in fact did on later writers.9

Commentary 1.1–8. Τὸ εὖ ζῆν . . . εἶναι: As mentioned in my introduction to this treatise, Aristotle is the one who—by appealing, among other things, to “what everyone believes”—identifies “well-­being” (eudaimonia) with “living well” (eu zēn). Yet even in the unimpeachSee also the brief remarks contained in III 2 [47].4.45–5.7. See my comment on 7.23–44. For its influence on St. Ambrose, see Courcelle 1950, 29–56; and Solignac 1956, 148–56. 8  9 



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ably Academic, though pseudo-­Platonic, Definitions (412d10–11), one also finds eudaimonia defined as “the self-­sufficient capacity (dunamis autarkēs) for living well (pros to eu zēn).” On this basis, to the extent that any living organism that proceeds unimpeded toward its own “proper end” (oikeion telos) and lives “naturally” (kata phusin) may be considered to be living well, even irrational animals, when they lead their lives in agreement with nature, must be held to have attained eudaimonia. It is true that this viewpoint is ascribed by Michael of Ephesus, In Eth. Nic. 598.20–34 = SVF 3:17, to the Stoics, but the sequel to the same passage shows that all its author had in mind was the present excerpt from P. (see also Himmerich 1959, 163n.2). Certainly, Aristotle himself explicitly rejects any such conclusion (Eth. Nic. I 9, 1099b33–35; X 8, 1178b24–28; and Eth. Eud. I 7, 1217a24–29) on the grounds of its incompatibility with his view of eudaimonia as “contemplative activity” (theōrētikē energeia). What P. is, however, attempting here to demonstrate is that consistency requires that a specialized meaning be given to “living well” (eu zēn) and to “life” (zōē) generally. For if life is to be conceived simply as biological survival with its passive and active manifestations, such as are expressed respectively by the phrases “in satisfactory experience (en eupatheiai)” and “in accomplishing one’s proper work (en ergōi oikeiōi teleioumenōi)” (cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. 32.10), then the only stand one could consistently adopt would be to accept that any living thing, even a plant, has the capacity to achieve well-­being. 1.8–10. οἷον καὶ . . . τὴν ζωὴν ἔχει:Cf. Mich. In Eth. Nic. 598.34–599.5, where the ascription of the above-­mentioned viewpoint to the Stoics may clearly be seen to stem from a surmise of its author, and to lack therefore any independent historical value. 1.10–15. τέλος . . . τιθέμεθα:That eudaimonia constituted the ultimate end of all rational human actions was a conviction deeply rooted in the consciousness of virtually all ethical philosophers in antiquity. Vlastos 1991, 203, calls this “the Eudaimonist Axiom.” We find it enunciated by Aristotle (Eth. Nic. X 6, 1176a31–32), as also by his commentators (e.g., Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 9.7–11 and 15.17–16.5; Alex. Aphrod. In De an. mant. 152.17–22, and Probl. eth. 148.29–30). But eudaimonia could equally be conceived as the “ultimate term of desire” (eschaton orekton: cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 152.20–21; SVF 3:3 and 65), the pursuit of which provides the motivation of every vital activity, and the attainment of which brings about the consummation of life as a manifestation of the nature of an organism. 1.15–21. εἰ δέ τις . . . δοκεῖ εἶναι:So general an identification of well-­being with the good life, envisaged as biological welfare, implies the extension of its compass to the totality of living organisms. If life—in accordance with its Aristotelian definition (De an. II 1, 412a14–15)—is conceived solely as the capacity of a body for “self-­nutrition and growth and decay,” then anything that satisfies these criteria, even a plant, will be able to live well so long as its life unfolds “without any impediment” toward the achievement of its proper “end,” namely, the fulfillment of its “nature” (phusis); cf. Arist. Part. an. I 1, 641b24–26. Now although this kind of unimpeded activation of the natural functions of an organism yields pleasure (even for the humblest: cf. Sext. Emp. Math. XI 97), it

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First Ennead does not also necessarily yield eudaimonia (cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. VI 13, 1153b10–15, X 4 1175a15–21; and Alex. Aphrod. Probl. eth. 143.25–144.7). And in order for this distinction between well-­being and pleasure to be properly grounded, what is required, as was noted earlier, is a different conception of living well and, ultimately, of life, such as is introduced below in chapter 3. 1.21–26. τοῖς δὲ φυτοῖς . . . μὴ φέρειν:It might occur to someone that so long as life is present, the good life might be realizable even in the absence of sense-­perception, as with the flourishing of plants (cf. SVF 3:178; and Cic. Fin. V 39). Be that as it may, in the case of man, a corresponding satisfaction of the natural functions of nutrition and growth is not adequate to bring about his well-­being (cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. I 7, 1097b33– 1098a1). On the other hand, if one should wish to exclude plants from well-­being, one could appeal to their lack of perception, thereby restricting “living well” to the domain of perceptual life. The implications of such a move are examined below in chapter 2. 1.26–28. εἰ μὲν . . . τὸ εὖ ζῆν:After all that was said above in my comment on 1.15–21, it appears rather improbable that P. should here be referring back to the views of Aristippus of Cyrene on pleasure as the “end,” which was the opinion of H-­S. In any case, from what Diogenes Laertius, II 87–88, has to tell us, Aristippus clearly distinguished the “particular pleasure” (kata meros ēdonē)—that is, the particular end—from well-­being. More likely, what is being alluded to here is a hedonistic position assumed within the confines of Aristotelianism, according to which pleasure is not simply “interwoven” with well-­being (as was held, e.g., by Aspasius In Eth. Nic. 151.28–33), but, being in itself “unimpeded activity” (anempodistos energeia), is actually identified with it (cf. my comment on 1.1–8). Such seems to be the viewpoint that Alexander of Aphrodisias (De an. mant. 151.30–34: see my comment below on I 5.2.1–2) attributes to Sosicrates and to a certain Verginius Rufus. Nor would it in fact be an easy matter, in the context of such a theory, to justify barring irrational animals from access to the good life and, by implication, to well-­being. 1.28–30. εἰ ἀταραξία . . . εἶναι: Under this form of hedonism (to which we might give the name of “euzoism”), P. somewhat arbitrarily subsumes the theories on the “goal” or “end” of both the Epicureans, for whom this consisted in “freedom from disturbance” (ataraxia: cf. Epicurus Ep. Men. 128, but also the reservations of Dumont 1981, 194), and the Stoics, for whom it consisted in “living in accordance with nature” (kata phusin zēn: cf. SVF 1:183 and 3:16). The main target of his criticism, however, remains—as will become clear in the sequel—the hedonism of Aristotelian inspiration that was discussed in the previous comment. 2.1. Τοῖς μέντοι . . . διδόντες:Cf. 1.21–23. 2.3–4. τὸ αἰσθάνεσθαι . . . μὴ λανθάνειν:Of the stimuli received by our body, some fade away before reaching the soul, leaving it “unaffected” (apathēs), while others produce a sufficient “upheaval” (seismos), so as “not to escape notice” (mē lanthanein); this appar-



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ently simple observation that Plato advances in the Philebus (33d2–10) has important implications concerning the nature of perceptual apprehension and the role that consciousness plays in it. P. explores these to some extent in his “On Difficulties about the Soul” (see IV 4.8.8–13). Here he remains content to note the distinction between “affection” (pathos)—in the sense of the corporeal change or primary, preapprehensive stimulation from which sensation is formed (see also my comment on I 1.1.6)—and our awareness of it (cf. III 6.1.1–4). 2.4–9. δεῖ αὐτὸ . . . προσλαμβάνειν: The question now is: does the “good” (eu) of the “good life” (euzōia) reside in the corporeal and unconscious (or rather, preconscious) affection, or is it to be found instead in the awareness and cognizance we have of it? In the first case, what will be “good” (agathon) and “proper to oneself ” (oikeion) will be the affection itself, regardless of whether one “has knowledge” and consciousness of the matter. We know that some such view had been held by Antiochus of Ascalon (see Cic. Fin. V 18, where its Peripatetic origin is emphasized) and by Eudorus (apud Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.3c, 47.12–48.1). According to it, animals possess a “primary proper affection (prōton oikeion pathos) that provided the starting point for the apperception they have (sunaisthanesthai)”; it is what was also designated by the term hupotelis (“the subordinate goal”), “and it resides in one of these three: in pleasure or in lack of disturbance or in the primary natural things “ (cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 150.28–151.27). Interestingly, this theory was subjected to harsh criticism even before P. by the Stoic Hierocles; on this see Inwood 1984, 157–78 (where the Arius Didymus passage is, however, somewhat misunderstood; ibid., 168). Yet P. shows no interest in demolishing it altogether. He restricts himself to an ad hominem argument: if the “primary proper affection” is of itself “good” and sufficient to bring about “the good life,” then we cannot deny it to plants. Accordingly, if we are not prepared to admit it for plants, then neither must we attribute it to animals. 2.9–13. εἰ μὴ . . . ἀντιλαμβανομένοις:In the second case, the “good” (henceforth, to agathon) will reside in a certain kind of perceptual awareness or cognizance: we might even say, in a certain state of consciousness. Yet such a state could come into being independently of any particular affection. It would suffice if the particular sensory function were activated—even by a delusion—for anyone to gain access to the eu or agathon of the good life. Such an extreme subjectivist conception of eudaimonia ran counter to the view broadly held in ancient philosophy, according to which eudaimonia designated an objective state of affairs that one can actually attain and experience (on this see the celebrated analysis by Austin 1979, 17–19). Hence, P. regards it as self-­evidently absurd, which explains why he takes no further trouble over its rebuttal. 2.13–15. εἰ δὲ . . . λέγουσιν:A third eventuality—that the “good” should consist in some kind of combination of an “affection” (pathos) or sensory stimulation and of “sense-­ perception” (aisthēsis) or perceptual awareness—is rejected on the basis of the argument that something “good” cannot result from a combination of “indifferents” (adiaphora),

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First Ennead given that “these contribute neither to well-­being nor to ill-­being,” as the Stoics themselves agreed (SVF 3:122). 2.15–24. εἰ δὲ . . . ἀγαθόν:A less crude combinatory view would consist in holding that what is good is the affection, but that it brings about the good life only when one becomes aware of it. P.’s criticism rests on the observation that the requisite awareness must involve some evaluative assessment of the affection, that is, of the particular pleasure—because otherwise pleasurableness would provide the sole criterion for assessing whether an affection is or is not an agathon, which would bring us back to the hedonism of 1.26–27. Alexander of Aphrodisias had already pointed out that because of their supervenient character, “we judge the pleasures by the activities (apo tōn energeiōn tas hēdonas krinomen)” (Probl. eth. 13, 134.15 trans. Sharples); that is, pleasures are to be evaluated according to the activities that produce them. In fact it is for this reason that not all pleasures are to be assessed as “goods” (agatha) (ibid. 17, 137.25–26). There exist, moreover, other criteria for determining whether something is or is not “choiceworthy” (haireton), such as “the beautiful” (to kalon) and “the advantageous” (to sumpheron) (ibid. 18, 138.30–31; cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. II 3, 1104b30–31). Hence, according to this view, the good life will not come about as an automatic consequence of pleasurable sensations, but will presuppose their evaluation; and this is already a cognitive procedure. 2.28–31. ἀλλὰ γὰρ . . . τιθέντες: P. has a characteristic way of criticizing rival theories, discerning within them intimations of the correct approach, which nonetheless prove inexpedient because some fundamental assumption of his own is wanting. In this manner he succeeds in presenting his own theory (in the present instance, his theory of the intellective life) as a band of illumination that dominates the half-­light of the other philosophical theories, banishing their obscurities and imperfections. So is it, then, that the Stoicizing Peripatetics, against whom he has been arguing up to this point, did succeed—according to him—in intuiting the need to correlate well-­ being with the activation of the higher, intellective functions of man, yet all the same failed to arrive at the correct solution, for lack of the requisite Platonic ontological equipment. He will adopt a similar stance in the sequel, when he comes to confront the more Platonic, but still Stoicizing, proponents of the “rational life” (logikē zōē). On the expression “brighter life” (tranotera zōē), cf. VI 7.5.27. 2.31–46. καὶ ὅσοι . . . ποιεῖ: Whereas the older Stoics defined the “end” as “living in agreement (with nature)” (homologoumenōs (tēi phusei) zēn), some of the later ones, under pressure of criticism from the Academics (see Long 1967, 59–90), amended the definitory formula, placing greater emphasis on the predominance of reason during the selection of goods. Thus, for example, Diogenes of Babylon located the end “in reasoning well (en tōi eulogistein) in the selection and disselection of things in accordance with nature” (SVF 3: Diog. Babyl. 44–46 trans. LS; cf. Schol. In Luc. Bis accus. 22, 142.13–14). Finally Posidonius, who with his theory of the “emotions” (the accepted translation in his case for pathē) introduced into Stoic psychology a much more dramatic competition



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between the rational and the irrational parts of the soul, held that eudaimonia consisted in “being led in no way by the irrational and ill-­fated and godless part of the soul” (fr. 187.12–13). Rationality for Posidonius constituted “a more perfect governance” (teleioteran prostasian), a “craftsman . . . of impulse” (technētēn . . . tēs hormēs): it offered man a far more effective way of obtaining “what is in accordance with nature” than the irrational “affinity” (oikeiōsis) of animals (see fr. 185, with Kidd’s comment). Indeed, for Seneca the absence of rationality bars access to the good not only for animals and plants, but also for children: “and where there is no place for reason, the Good does not exist (nisi ubi rationi locus est bonum non est)” (Ep. 124.8–13). Interestingly, however, in the variant of this theory that Cicero ascribes to Antiochus of Ascalon, this somewhat utilitarian approach is supplemented by a eulogy of the pure delight, unsullied by any notion of profit, afforded by theoretical knowledge; see Fin. V 40 and 48–50. For P., to subordinate the rational and discursive functions to the pursuit of “what is in accordance with nature” was to effect an inversion of reality: “reason” (logos) is not the servant of natural needs, but rather the worldly expression of its own intellective principles, which themselves constitute the only true values. It is not the means for the achievement of some end different from itself, but a manifestation of the end itself (see also Rist 1967b, 140–41). The Stoics had broken the ground for such a theory, but they lacked the appropriate ontology on which to found it. The context makes it more probable that the definition of virtue as “the perfection of reason” (logou teleiōsis: 42–43) is not drawn directly from Aristotle (Ph. VII 3, 246a13– b3, 247a2 and Metaph. Δ 15, 1021b20), but from some Stoic source instead; cf. SVF 3:197; and Posid. fr. 31.42–43. At 35–36, I prefer, with Armstrong and against H-­S2, the reading proslambanete (cf. 43: phēsete), even though it lacks MSS authority, because in this way the question-­and-­ answer format of the passage is preserved. 2.46–51. ποιεῖν . . . ἁπάντων: The perfection of the rational cannot consist in devotion to the (sensible) “primary things in accordance with nature” (prōta kata phusin) and to their attainment, because the pertinent discursive function is not self-­contained, but draws its principles from intellection (cf. I 3.6.7–14, with my comment), which alone is concerned with “perfect” (teleia) beings; cf. V 1.4.14–16 and V 9.4.7–10. 2.52–55. οὗτοι μὲν . . . τούτων:P.’s stance toward the Stoics is almost always the same: he considers that they are moving in the right direction, but that their material monism condemns them to being unable to rise aloft to the supra-­sensible realm, which alone provides a sound foundation for ethical theory; cf. V 9.1.10–16. 3.2. τὸ εὐδαιμονεῖν ἐν ζωῇ:That well-­being “is a life qualified in a certain way (zōē poia tis)” is the position of Aristotle (Metaph. Θ 8, 1050b1–2), who formulates it in the context of an excursus to the effect that in the case of things that have no “product” (ergon) other than “actuality” (energeia), that is, being activated, “the actuality exists in them, e.g., seeing in the one seeing, and contemplating in the one contemplating, and life in the soul” (ibid. 1050a34–36). It appears then that for Aristotle “life” already had the

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First Ennead sense of an activation of the higher, “theoretical” (i.e., intellective) faculties of the soul (cf. Eth. Nic. X 7, 1177a13–21), and that, accordingly, eudaimonia might, by extension, legitimately be characterized as a “contemplative” (theōrētikē) or intellective life. 3.3–9. εἰ μὲν . . . ὑπῆρχεν:On the grounds supplied by this thesis of well-­being as a kind of life, P. is able to undertake a fresh logical analysis and evaluation of the two viewpoints that were presented earlier: (a) The Peripatetic extension of the notions of “living well” (and “well-­being”) to all living beings (see 1.1–26) presupposes that the term “life” is synonymous, that is, preserves the same meaning, when referring to different categories of living organisms. If we base ourselves on the biological definition of life according to the De anima (see my comment on 1.15–21), then human life does not differ essentially from that of animals or plants. Whereupon, however, the intellective dimension of eudaimonia is left entirely without support. The Peripatetics cannot have it both ways: either “well-­being” is to be identified with the unimpeded activation of vital functions common to all living beings, or it is to be seen as the result of intellective activation alone, such as solely man is capable of. Antiochus of Ascalon had attempted to provide a response to an objection of this type. In his view, every living being has a nature peculiar to itself; accordingly the “good life” that corresponds to each must also be different in kind, and it must follow in addition that “all things endowed by nature with life have a similar, but not an identical, End (omnium rerum quae natura uigeant similem esse finem, non eundem)” (Cic. Fin. V 25–26 trans. Rackham). This appeal, however, to the notion of similarity (in contradistinction to that of identity) in respect of the various forms of life gives P. the right to point out that we are no longer faced with a synonymy (which demands identity of definition), but rather with a homonymy—not, of course, a chance one, but one that is hierarchical in structure (see below, 3.18–22). 3.10–15. οἱ ἐν λογικῇ ζωῇ . . . συνίσταται:(b) The Stoics—inasmuch as they accept that life is insufficient to bring about well-­being, rationality being additionally required to this end (cf. 2.31–3)—will be obliged to seek out the conditions for the constitution of well-­being in the area of quality. If life, in and of itself, does not contain eudaimonia, which is instead identical with the rational life, then one can only conclude that what constitutes eudaimonia is the quality of “the rational” (to logikon). This argument seems somewhat mechanistic and is condemned as erroneous by Igal ad loc. It is nonetheless entirely valid within the particular context of Stoic ontology, which holds that qualities, as manifestations of logos, constitute corporeal “dispositions” (diatheseis); on this, see Reesor 1954, 42–44. Because if “rational power” (logikē dunamis) is a quality of this kind that may be superadded to an already preexisting life, then eudaimonia will consist in precisely this addition. 3.15–24. ὥστε . . . τοῦ εὖ:Rationality does not, for P., constitute a merely logical distinction that divides life into a rational and an irrational kind; on this notion of “dividing into coordinate kinds” (antidiaireisthai), see Arist. Cat. 13, 14b33–15a1 (trans. Ackrill),



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where it is emphasized that “none of them [sc., the antidiēirēmena or coordinate species arising from such division] is prior or posterior; and things of this kind are thought to be simultaneous by nature (hama tēi phusei).” Instead, rationality is an expression of the higher and more perfect life-­form, with which, accordingly, it is inseparably intertwined. Irrational life-­forms consist in progressive degradations of primary life and thus constitute a hierarchy in which the higher the level, the closer it approximates to the perfect life of intellection and true well-­being; see Himmerich 1959, 40–42; and O’Meara 1975, 86–88. From a semantic viewpoint, the relation among all these “lives” is homonymous; yet the homonymy in question is not of the chance but of the hierarchical variety, being composed of terms ordered as prior and posterior so as to form a P-­Series (according to the terminology of Lloyd 1962, 67–76). What this means is that there is no common genus covering all forms of life (cf. Arist. Metaph. Β 3, 999a6–7; and VI 3.7.27–28), and that accordingly “life” is something “said in many ways” (pollachōs legomenon): for “it does indeed signify a certain nature, but this is not in a similar state in all the things of which it is predicated” (Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. I 11b, 23.8–11 trans. Sharples). It is interesting how the same distinction that led Alexander to a “nominalist” conclusion is employed by P. in support of a “realist” hierarchical ontology. 3.24–31. εἰ δὲ ὅτῳ . . . εἶναι:P. has by now reached the correct vantage point from which to introduce his own position (cf. I 5.7.20–21): having brought to bear the necessary clarifications and modifications on the concept of life, he can admit its correlation with well-­being. But “living well” (eu zēn) now signifies participating in that higher and more complete form of life, the “perfect” (teleios) life, within which is also embodied the concept of “the best” (to ariston). For in the philosophy of P., to ascend the ontological hierarchy is just to approach the Good itself. 3.31–33. εἰ δέ τις . . . ζητοῦμεν:Nonetheless, the Good preserves its transcendence. While being the cause of that goodness that is immanent in other things, and consequently in the intellective life also, it is not itself immanent in these, nor does it possess the property of being “good” (eu), as it indeed does not possess any other property either. Nor do I think it possible that—as Rist 1967b, 142, believes—“the immanent” (to enuparchon) can refer here to the Good (in the sense of “basis or underlying foundation”): for elsewhere P. explicitly rejects the use of this term to describe the relation of the Good to the intelligible; see V 3.11.16–20. 3.33–40. ὅτι . . . εἶναι:According to Plato, in “that which wholly is” (to pantelōs on) there is life present (see Soph. 248e6–249a1). The intelligible world is described in the Timaeus as a “complete living thing” (panteles zōion: 31b1; cf. 39e8). For Aristotle, the primary, perfect, and true life is the “activity” (energeia) of Intellect, that is, its self-­ intellection (see Metaph. Λ 7, 1072b26–28). P. regards life as a necessary consequence of the potency of Being (which is identified with Intellect; see III 6.6.14–17, IV 7.9.23–25; and Hadot 1960, 108–13). Indeed he even goes so far as to maintain that every life is intellection, but that the lower forms of life are “dimmer” (amudrotera: III 8.8.17–21),

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First Ennead enfeebled thoughts, mere “traces of life and Intellect” (VI 7.15.1–11). Hence, it remains true for P. also that the intelligible possesses life, “but the first and clearest life (all’ hē prōtē kai enargestatē), having the pure essence of living (kai to tranon echousa tou zēn)” (VI 6.18.15–16). Cf. also Alex. Aphrod. De princ. apud Badawi 150.14–24 = Mund A 126. 4.1–4. Εἰ μὲν . . . ζωή: For Aristotle, well-­being consists in “contemplative activity” (theōrētikē energeia), and as such pertains principally to the gods; man may enjoy it insofar as he possesses “some likeness of such activity”: see Eth. Nic. X 8, 1178b7–9 and 21–27; and cf. Metaph. Λ 7, 1072b24–25). Essentially, that is, the “well-­off ” (eudaimōn) man transcends his human nature and attains a properly divine condition. One could even express Aristotle’s view as being that in order for man to achieve well-­being, he must cease to be what he is by nature. As we shall see, this fundamentally tragic view of human nature finds P. diametrically opposed. 4.6–8. ἔχει τελείαν . . . ἀληθινόν:It is taken for granted that man possesses the following three cognitive functions: (a) sense-­perception; (b) reasoning, that is, the operation of the rational part of the soul by means of which intellectual representations are apprehended and logically processed; and (c) “true intelligence” (alēthinos nous: cf. V 9.2.21– 22), which maintains direct and constant contact with the intelligibles. Of these, it is (b) and (c) that differentiate man from other animals, rendering his life “perfect” (teleia) and therefore conducive to well-­being: cf. Arist. Eth. Eud. II 1, 1219a38. This perfection does not depend, as it does in Aristotle (see Eth. Nic. I 7, 1098a17–20 and X 7, 1177b24– 25), on its temporal duration, but rather on its intellective nature and a life’s dedication to what is itself perfect: cf. I 5.7.20–30 and Pl. Phdr. 246b7–c1, 249c7–8. 4.8–15. ἀλλ’ . . . τοῦτο:We see here how P.’s anthropology allows him to broach the issue of well-­being in a manner entirely different from Aristotle’s. For him, it is the divine element that forms the nucleus of man’s constitution, and well-­being accordingly represents a connate condition for man, who is always either “potentially” or “actually” well off: see also Rist 1967a, 419–20; and Schniewind 2005, 53. 4.15–19. περικεῖσθαι . . . ὅπερ ἔχει: The lower psychical functions represent adjuncts to the original, pure substance of man, supervening by virtue of the body’s presence; the latter in turn is an outcome of a “spontaneous inclination” (autexousios rhopē) of the soul that nonetheless is of an “involuntary” (akousion: see IV 8.5.8, 26; and Rist 1967b, 120–22) nature—that is, it does not correspond to the soul’s authentic “will” (boulēsis: cf. VI 8.6.26–41). From this perspective, the achievement of well-­being may be considered the result of an abstractive or cathartic process that frees man from his body and permits him to discover his true self (see Bodéüs 1983, 259). The same perspective also allows us to uncover the relation that exists between well-­being and virtue (cf. I 2.4.7–18 and III 2.3.25). 4.19–20. τὸ δὲ . . . ἄλλως:Cf. 3.31–33, with my comment.



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4.20–25. μαρτύριον . . . ὃ μὴ ἔχει:A characteristic feature of well-­being is its completeness, for which Aristotle employs the term autarkeia (“self-­sufficiency”: see Eth. Nic. I 7, 1097b7–20, and Rh. I 5, 1360b14). This implies that whoever possesses well-­being strives after nothing else: it is what “makes life desirable and lacking in nothing,” for it contains all that is good. 4.25–30. ἀλλ’ ὃ . . . ζωῆς: This does not also imply, however, that man wants nothing else, for embodied life creates needs that he is obliged to accommodate. Such was the main thrust of the offensive launched by the Peripatetics against the Stoic theory of the self-­sufficiency of virtue for eudaimonia; and they were able to press home their advantage, as long as their campaign was fought on the grounds of an anthropology that regards man as consisting in a composite of soul and body: see Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 162.3–16; cf. [Archyt.] De uir. bon. 11.4–10. The Platonists had, however, the means at hand to shift the combat onto entirely different territory: for the anthropology of the (pseudo-­?)Platonic Alcibiades (130c3: see P.’s analysis of this in treatise I 1), which takes man to be soul and only soul, cancelled the effectiveness of any appeal to the needs of the body. Real though the latter may be, they do not concern man himself, and consequently their satisfaction plays no role in man’s well-­being: they concern what is “ours” (ta hēmetera), not “us” (hēmas: see I 1.7.17–18, with my comment). Furthermore, Plato himself, in a celebrated passage of the Republic (III 387d5–e1), maintained that “a reasonable person is most self-­sufficient (autarkēs) in respect of living well (pros to eu zēn) and, above all others, has the least need of anyone else.” On such grounds was the dogma concerning the self-­sufficiency of virtue established as one of the perennially most strongly held doctrines of Platonism: see the survey by Lilla 1971, 69–72. 4.30–36. οὐδ’ . . . οὐ δέξεται: The “misfortunes” (dustuchiai) that may befall someone might cause him “distress” (lupē), but they do not reduce his well-­being: because grief and the “other affections” (alla pathē) belong not to the soul, which is our true self, but to the “living being,” the composite of body and an image of the soul (see I 1.9.1–3, 10.7–11 and passim), they can exert no influence on the impassible soul itself, which is the bearer of eudaimonia. This is the theme that pervades the chapters immediately following, from 5 to 8. The examples adduced confirm that the main source of inspiration lies in the passage from the Republic already cited: cf. primarily III 387d5–6 and e3–4, and my comment below at 5.4–9; also Diog. Laert. III 78. 5.1–4. Ἀλγηδόνες . . . ἂν ἔχοι: The questions posed here will be answered below: see 6.25–32 and 8.1–20, on “pains” (algēdones); 14.21–26, on “sickness” (nosoi); and 9.1– 10.33, on “consciousness” (to parakolouthein). Even the Stoics (after Cleanthes) accept that certain “drugs” (pharmaka) and illnesses—principally melancholia—may bring about “loss of the rational state (apobolēn tēs logikēs hexeōs) and of virtue itself ” (SVF 3:238): and thereby also, one would infer, of eudaimonia. Cf. also Pl. Cri. 47d7, and Grg. 512a2–5.

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First Ennead 5.4–9. πενίας γὰρ . . . βίον εἶναι:An objection to the broad line of argument sketched out in the preceding chapter now begins to be formulated. The perspective from which this is set forth is basically a Peripatetic one, but there is also a marked tendency to avoid harping on positions that might be regarded as both extreme and of secondary importance, such as that concerning the necessary presence of those “external goods” (ta ektos agatha: cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. I 8, 1099a31–b8 and VII 13, 1153b17–19), the role of which had been so fiercely disputed during the Hellenistic period (see my introduction). Reference is nonetheless duly made to “the proverbial misfortunes (tuchai) of Priam” (cf. also 7.33). Plato had spoken contemptuously of the lamentations of the Trojan king (Resp. III 387e9–388b7), but Aristotle—provocatively—assumed the opposite stance, opining that “one who has experienced such fortunes and has ended wretchedly no one will claim to be well-­off (oudeis eudaimonizei)” (see Eth. Nic. I 9, 1100a5–9 and I 10, 1101a6–8). As one would expect, the Stoics ranged themselves against this view (SVF 3:585). But it is in a passage of Atticus (fr. 2.82–108) that we encounter the most violent criticism of it: criticism that is directed not at Aristotle, but at an anonymous Peripatetic (see ibid. 50, 59, and 63), quite probably Theophrastus, judging from a parallel passage in Cicero (Tusc. V 24). The argument here is a minimalist one: however lightly one may bear misfortune, it is certainly not something “rationally wished for” (boulēton); the “life of well-­being” (eudaimōn bios), instead, is something “wished for” (cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 159.18); therefore—is the implied conclusion—the life of well-­being cannot contain any misfortune. P. will refute this below in chapter 6, focusing his criticism on the sense to be given to the middle term of the syllogism, the boulēton. 5.9–24. οὐδὲ τοῦτον . . . ἔχει: The Peripatetic polemic resumes with a weightier argument, anthropologically based this time, concerning the second class of goods, the ones “relating to the body” (peri sōma: see Arist. Eth. Nic. I 8, 1098b14; and Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 21.27). If man is a composite of soul and body, his well-­being must be predicated on each of his constituent elements being in its proper state. Therefore, the good condition of the body (i.e., in the final analysis, pleasure) is necessary to eudaimonia: but this cannot be made certain, being at the whim of “uncertain fortune” (tuchē abebaios: Arist. Ph. II 5, 197a31). Self-­sufficiency in well-­being must therefore be reserved for the gods, seeing that they alone are unencumbered with bodies. Cf. 4.1–4, with my comment. We have already seen (in my comment on 4.25–30) that P. was unwilling to accept the anthropological premise of this argument. He rejects it at 14.1–14, but does not provide the rationale for his rejection until later, in treatise I 1 [53]. 6.1–7. Ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . ἠρίθμηται:There now begins a detailed rebuttal of the Peripatetic objections voiced in chapter 5. Pain and misfortunes would only come to exert some effect on eudaimonia if they influenced the possession of what is truly good. But this cannot be the case, given what was stated at 3.24–31: goodness is not an acquired characteristic of intellective life; it is innate to it and inseparable from it.



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6.7–13. εἰ μὲν . . . ἐγκολπίσασθαι: P. turns here against the “inclusive” view of eudaimonia, which not only better represents Aristotle’s overall position on this issue (as comprehensively argued by Ackrill 1974, 341–54; contra: Heinaman 1988, 31–53), but also corresponds to the more explicitly formulated opinions of some later Peripatetics such as Critolaus (see fr. 19–20). Of course, P. interprets the said view as envisaging the mere “collection” or “aggregation” (sumphorēsis: cf. Ackrill 1974, 347) of heterogeneous “goods,” but also procedes to make the acute observation that if we are to admit many different goods, we must also admit a variety of “ends” (telē) that will not all be referable to one ultimate end (cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. I 7, 1097a25–b1). 6.13–21:ἡ δὲ ζήτησις . . . ἀξιοῦμεν:For Aristotle, boulēsis—conventionally translated as “wish”—designates the kind of “appetition (orexis) when movement accords with rational calculation” (De an. III 10, 433a23–24), in contrast to “desire” (epithumia) and “spirited impulse” (thumos), which represent lower psychical functions; see De an. II 3, 414b2 and III 9, 432b5–6. In the course of meticulously distinguishing it from “deliberate choice” (prohairesis: Eth. Nic. III 2, 1111b20–29), Aristotle makes clear that boulēsis is not strictly limited to what is rationally attainable, but that it does always relate to the “end.” In other words, it constitutes an intrinsic aspiration toward the “good” (agathon: see Rhet. I 10, 1369a2–3), which, though not necessarily governed by rational calculation, does, nevertheless, respond to man’s deeper intellectual predispositions. It is this consideration that leads P. actually to identify boulēsis—now more suitably rendered as “volition” or “will”—with “intellection” (noēsis: VI 8.6.36–45), conceived as a motive tendency for “reversion” (epistrophē) to the Good; cf. Alex. Aphrod. De princ. apud Badawi 136.36–39 = Mund. A 13. Hence, by definition, “will” (boulēsis) can only be directed toward “the better” (to kreitton), not toward something lower, such as mere “necessities” (anankaia). In any case, the so-­called things in accordance with nature (ta kata phusin: see above 2.37–43, with my comment) do not correspond to any inbred psychical predispositions, being no more than objects of such practical choices as reasoning is obliged to effect under the compulsion of external circumstance: the well-­off man may “want” (ethelein) these objects, but they are not what he “wills” (boulesthai; see below, 7.1–6). 6.21–32. ἐπεὶ καὶ . . . τηρητέον:At this point, P. enters into direct conflict with Aristotle, for whom health, for example, is a “good” (agathon) that “we wish for” (boulometha), whenever “we deliberately choose (prohairoumetha) what will make us healthy” (Eth. Nic. III 2, 1111b27–29). P. refuses to recognize an object such as health as being “good” and, by implication, “worth wishing for” (boulēton): he only recognizes it as “necessary” (anankaion). The rationale he provides for this judgment is an especially interesting one. The presence of health does nothing to promote our well-­being—in fact, we hardly notice it; it is the absence of health that, by causing us distress, motivates our desire for its recovery (cf. Pl. Phlb. 45c1–e7; Igal also cites Heraclitus fr. B111 DK). Instead, a “good” must be something that is “worth striving for” (epheton: cf. VI 8.7.3–4) by its very nature, not as a lesser evil. Accordingly, health is not to be classified among the “goods,” but among the

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First Ennead “necessities,” which consist in the avoidance of evils. And evils, finally, are something that we avoid—insofar as it is possible for us to do so (cf., however, I 8.5.28–6.4)— through our “wanting” (thelēsis), not through our “will” (boulēsis). As Theiler points out, the distinction between “goods” and “necessities” was adumbrated by Plato in the Laws, IX 858a1–5. Cf. also Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.16, 129.6–17. 7.1–10. Διὰ τί οὖν . . . τῆς εὐδαιμονίας:Whereas the will, then, always aspires to the end and to well-­being, there is simultaneously a second rational motivation at work in man: this is “wanting” (ethelein), which is concerned with securing what is necessary to his survival. Wanting cannot directly influence the attainment of well-­being; but by diverting one’s attention from the end-­target, it may prevent one from being “actively” (energeiai) well-­off (cf. 4.9–17). Natural as it is for man to want to avoid the world’s evils, it would be absurd for him to dedicate his will to such a task, given his knowledge that evils are present to the world by necessity. See also the acute analysis by Plass 1982, 251–52. 7.14–17. ἀλλὰ . . . ἐξηρτημένου:Cf. contra Arist. Eth. Nic. I 10, 1100b25–29 and 1101a9– 14. “Well-­being” or its lack is not a matter of quantity: if it depended on the number or measure of benefits or of disasters (cf. 6.2), it would submit to the logic of aggregation of “goods” that was rejected earlier (6.7–13). 7.18. εὐτυχίας:“Good fortune” (eutuchia), the opposite of “misfortune” (dustuchia, on which see my comment on 4.30–36), is defined by Aristotle as the acquisition of those goods “of which chance (tuchē) is the cause” (Rhet. I 5, 1361b39–1362a1; it is already distinguished from eudaimonia by Euripides in Med. 1229–30). It depends, that is, on the exogenous and unpredictable factor of chance, which largely regulates the possession of those bodily and external “goods” that P. termed “necessities.” Now if one considers the latter to be necessary components of well-­being, then chance becomes the controlling factor of well-­being (cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. VII 13, 1153b16–18 and [Arist.] Mag. Mor. II 8, 1206b32–35), which thereby ceases being autonomous and self-­sufficient. By contrast, for P.—who, as we saw, regards the presence of the “necessities” as entirely indifferent to the achievement of the “end” (6.29–32)—“pieces of good fortune” (eutuchiai) are incapable of contributing anything to well-­being. 7.19–20. βασιλείας . . . γίγνοιτο: Rudberg 1922, 12, was not, perhaps, unjustified in discerning behind these phrases an echo of the disappointment P. must have felt as a result of the cancellation of the plan for his “Platonopolis”; see VP 12.3–12. 7.20–22. ἐκπτώσεις . . . εἶναι μέγα:Cf. Epict. Diss. I 28.14 trans. Dobbin: “What do you call ‘matters of such moment?’ Wars and factions and deaths of many men and destruction of cities—what is there great in all of that? Nothing.” As is evident from the context, Epictetus, like P., has in mind both here and in the related passage I 28.26 (with which cf. 7.31–33, below) the ruin of Troy and “the misfortunes of Priam.” This does



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not by any means imply that there was a direct influence of the former on the latter, as has been advanced, for example, by Spanneut 1962, 623; and Graeser 1972, 82—it is much more likely that both drew independently on the tradition that accumulated around this much-­disputed philosophical example, on which see my comment on 5.4–9. 7.23–24. οὐκ ἂν . . . ἡγούμενος: These are the precise words that came to the mind of Augustine as he lay dying under Vandal siege in Hippo, contemplating the annihilation of his life’s work: “in the midst of these evils, he was comforted by the saying of a wise man: non erit magnus magnum putans quod cadunt ligna et lapides et moriuntur mortales” (Possidius Vita Augustini 28.11 = PL 32:58; see Henry 1934a, 137–39). Their inspiration derives of course from Plato (Resp. III 387d5–6; but cf. Anaxag. fr. A33 DK; and Diog. Laert. II 55). The expression “by Zeus” (nē Dia)—transmuted to “God help us” in Armstrong’s translation, and omitted altogether in Possidius’ otherwise literal rendition—is also employed by P. for rhetorical emphasis in other, less dramatic passages than this one: see III 1.7.20, III 2.3.16, and V 3.7.13. By this period, it had degenerated into a figure of speech so barren of theological reverberations, that it could even be employed by a Jew such as Josephus (Ap. I 255). 7.26–29. αὐτὸς δὲ . . . σαπείη: A tradition in antiquity had it that when the Cyrenaic Theodorus—styled “the Atheist”—was threatened by Lysimachus with crucifixion, he retorted: “of what consequence is it to Theodore, whether he rots on the earth or under it?” (see Giannantoni 1983–85, 2: IV H 8). And indeed it is possible that the phrase had become proverbial: cf. Epict. Diss. IV 7.31. Yet it appears to me more probable that what P. had in mind here were mythological precedents drawn from literature, such as the tales of Iphigeneia and Antigone. 7.30–31. τῆς μικρολογίας:This pejorative has also been bequeathed to us—couched in a somewhat more “didactic” version, better correlated with the preceding context and delivered in question-­and-­answer form (cf. my comment on VP 26.29–32)—by two commentators on Porphyry’s Isagoge (David, Prol. 10, 30.31–31.2; and [Elias] ‹In Porph. Isag.› 12.15), as well as by Olympiodorus, In Grg. 18.9, 106.2–5; see H-­S1 ad loc.; and Schwyzer 1951, 511.8–20. The first two explicitly remark on the connection between the preceding descriptions and the “misfortunes of Priam.” 7.31–32. πάρ τοί ἐστιν . . . εὐδαιμονεῖν:The use of this Homeric saying (Il. 22.65) here might give one the impression of constituting an incitement to “reasonable departure” (eulogos exagōgē) in cases of extraordinarily adverse external circumstance (cf. Sen. Ep. 26.10 and Prou. II 10 and VI 7). But such a stance would appear to conflict with what was said a little earlier (cf. 7.8–18) and with P.’s attitude toward suicide, as we know it from other testimonies; cf. my comment on VP 11.11–15; and Rist 1967b, 174–77. If in particular we give consideration to the fact that, in Homer, the first phrase cited here (Il. 9.43) is addressed by Diomedes to Agamemnon as he urges him to depart and flee to his

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First Ennead own country, the parallel with the famous passage from “On Beauty” (I 6.8.16) becomes compelling: P.’s invitation is to philosophical death, to the separation of the soul from the affections of the body, corresponding to the “voluntary death” (uoluntaria mors) of the Isiac initiate (see Apul. Met. XI 21, 283.5). Be that as it may, the precision conveyed by the second phrase shows that there might arise circumstances that would render actual well-­being an impossibility. These, as may be deduced from the parallel passages 8.5–6 and I 9.11–13, are of a preponderantly subjective character, being associated with the loss of capability for rational thought (cf. my comment on 5.1–4). In such a case suicide will come to be ranged “among the inevitable things (en tois anankaiois) . . . to be accepted because of the circumstances (kai ek peristaseōs hairetois),” although it will of course still not be, strictly speaking, “reasonable” (eulogos). See also Cumont 1919, 115. Cf. Epict. Diss. II 1.19–20; and below, 16.19–20. 7.32–33. εἰ δὲ . . . θυγατέρες:See my comment on 7.20–27. There is a clear reference here to the “misfortunes of Priam” and more particularly to Il. 10.62 and 65. 7.40–41. ἡ τοῦδε . . . φέρειν: Cf. P.’s beloved passage from the Theaetetus, 176a5–8 (and also, e.g., I 8.6.1–4). 7.42–43. καὶ πολλοὶ . . . πράξουσι:This almost unbelievable rejection of the ideal of civil liberty, which had held such vital and fundamental importance for the people of the classical period, in favor of a notion of inward personal liberation from the bonds of one’s worldly self, helps us better to take cognizance of the enormous distance separating P. from the epoch in which his great exemplars lived and pursued philosophy. 8.1–2. Τὸ δὲ . . . ἐξοίσουσι: This belief held wide currency among the Epicureans (cf., e.g., Epicurus RS 4 = fr. 446–48; Diog. Oen. fr. 42), yet eventually, as Dumont 1981, 197, observes, it devolved into a commonplace; cf. Sen. Ep. 24.14 and Prou. VI 6: “think nothing of pain; either it is extinguished or it extinguishes (contemnite dolorem aut soluetur aut soluet).” The result is to make it impossible for us to locate the source from which P. derived it. 8.3–5. τὸ αὐτοῦ . . . χειμῶνι: The image of the inextiguishable inward light that continues to shed illumination through all of life’s tempests appears to combine the famous simile from the sixth book of the Republic (496d6–8) with Empedocles’ description of the functioning of the eye (fr. B84.1–6 DK) in such a way as to produce a different figure: the metaphor of the “eye of the soul” (omma tēs psuchēs: on this see my comment on VP 10.29). Cf. also Arist. Eth. Nic. I 10, 1100b30–31. 8.5–6. εἰ μὴ παρακολουθοῖ:See my comment on 7.31–32. As will be demonstrated in chapters 9–10 below, “conscious awareness” (to parakolouthein) is not a precondition for well-­being; its absence, however, renders embodied life a superfluous burden.



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8.11–22. ὅταν . . . πολλούς: This almost Nietzschean disdain for pity and compassion derives from the Stoics, who were unwilling to accept that the “wise man” (spoudaios) could ever be subject to any form of “distress” (lupē: see SVF 3:415–16; and Edelstein 1966, 2–3). P. displays the same frame of mind in other parts of his work (cf. I 1.10.13– 14), but chapters 9 and 11 of VP caution us against drawing overhasty conclusions. The wise man does not refuse support and assistance to his fellow men; in his case, however, these are an expression not of impetuous compassion, but of his rationally constituted personality and of his “affection (to philein) for . . . the children of the father [sc., god] he loves”; see II 9.16.7–9; and Rist 1976, 229–30. The severely admonitory tone (cf. gignōsketō) may, perhaps, hint at a criticism directed by P. against those of his companions who had manifested sympathy for the Christian lesson of “love” (agapē). Cf. VP 16.9–10; and Clem. Al. Strom. IV 6, 38.1. On this whole subject, see Ferwerda 1984b, 53–72. 8.24. οἷον ἀθλητὴν μέγαν:See my comment on VP 22.59. 8.27. παισὶ φοβερά:Cf. Pl. Cri. 46c4–6, Phd. 77e5, and the comment of Epict. Diss. II 1.15–19 (as well as IV 7.32). 9.1–7. Ἀλλ’ ὅταν . . . λέγειν:We saw that, according to the Stoics, certain external factors might lead by way of a loss of consciousness to “forfeiture of the rational state” and hence to a falling away from well-­being: see my comment on 5.1–4; and cf. Epict. Diss. III 2.5. Further, it seems that it was again precisely the (late?) Stoa that extended the meaning of the term parakolouthein beyond its literal signification of “following or attending closely” (cf. LSJ, s.v.) to embrace that of “taking cognizance”; see Schwyzer 1960, 369 (but cf. the use already of the term akolouthein by Aristotle in Somn. 2, 455a16, pointed out by Warren 1964, 89n.15). As evidenced in Epictetus (Diss. I 6.13–18), the term came to refer to the cognitive function peculiar to man through which he is able “to discern (cognitive) representations (parakolouthein tais phantasiais) and to discriminate among them”; cf. II 26.3; and Marc. Aurel. VI 42. It consists accordingly in a preliminary discursive processing of impressions manifested to perceptual apprehension (cf. my comments on I 1.7.9–14 and 14–16); and while this presupposes a state of psychical alertness, it requires also that the soul be engaged with the body. Thus it was inevitable that P. would regard such “discernment” or “conscious awareness” (to parakolouthein) as a lower psychical function, of no consequence for that intellective condition that is eudaimonia. And in this way he was led to the revolutionary conception of the possibility of an unconscious intellective life: one that secures for man a constant and undisturbed well-­being, of which he has only to gain awareness. See also Rist 1967b, 148–50. Aristotle had proclaimed that “well-­being is not a state (ouk estin hexis); for if it were, it might belong to someone who was asleep throughout his life, living the life of a plant, or, again, to someone who was suffering the greatest misfortunes” (Eth. Nic. X 6, 1176a33–35; cf. I 13, 1102b5–8; and Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.18, 133.11–19). P. attacks this view head-­on: neither misfortune nor unconsciousness can have the slightest reper-

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First Ennead cussion on eudaimonia, which derives its stability from the inseverable coherence of intellection with Being. 9.10–11. μὴ αἰσθανόμενος . . . εἴη: For Aristotle, perception, as an essential constituent of life (Eth. Nic. IX 9, 1170a16–20), combines with “activity in accordance with virtue” (kat’ aretēn energeia: X 7, 1177a12) to form the nucleus of eudaimonia; cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 161.3–13. Unconsciousness, however, cancels them both. P. addresses first the issue of perception, and later, in chapter 13, that of “activity” (energeia). 9.16–19. ἐν γὰρ . . . ἐν τῇ οὐσίᾳ:“Wisdom (sophia) . . . being a part of virtue entire, by being possessed (tōi echesthai) and by actualizing itself (tōi energein) . . . makes a man happy (eudaimona)” (Arist. Eth. Nic. VI 12, 1144a5–6 trans. Ross). If wisdom is viewed as a rational, discursive mode of apprehension (cf., e.g., ibid. VI 6, 1141a1–8), then it will be required of it that it be conscious. But for P. wisdom is the uninterrupted “activity” of Being, a purely intellective manifestation that transcends (empirical) consciousness; cf. V 8.4.44–47 and 5.15–17. It is not something that can be acquired or even be sought after, because it is always present (V 8.4.36–38). 9.20–23. οὐκ ἀπόλωλε . . . ᾗ τοιοῦτος:Sleep consists, according to Aristotle (Somn. 2, 455b3–10), in a suspension of functioning arising “in the primary [sense organ] whereby one perceives everything,” that is, within whatever perceptual system is responsible for the “common sense” (koinē aisthēsis). What makes sleep necessary for any zōion (i.e., any sentient “living being”) is that “it is unable to be active at all times” (ibid. 1, 454b8–9 trans. Gallop). To say of a sleeping man that he “is being active” (energei) strikes the Peripatetics as an indulgence in paradox (see Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 161.40–162.3). If “activity,” though, coexists essentially with true “Being” (ousia), then it too will be, like the latter, “unsleeping” (aupnos), that is, uninterruptedly present to whoever is in contact with it. 9.24–30. λανθάνοι . . . ἡμεῖς: Just as an organism’s “[vegetative] growth-­functions” (to phutikon) carry out their activities without being apprehended because they reside below the threshold of consciousness, so the contact of intellection with Being may remain latent because it transcends consciousness. The difference is that whereas we are not identified with the lower psychical functions of the living being, our real self, our true life, is intellective actualization; and our conscious “I” represents only a part of our total self. See also my comment on I 1.7.6. 10.1–3. Λανθάνει . . . περὶ τούτων:The reason that intellective activity remains as a rule unconscious is that consciousness is usually directed toward those sense-­objects and perceptual representations in which this activity comes to be refracted. And in spite of the peculiar interpretative difficulties attaching to this passage, this much, at least, is made clear: that perceptual apprehension intermediates between intelligibles and sensibles and thus, patently, forms judgments concerning the latter. Strangely enough, Emils-



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son, who marshaled impressive evidence in support of the thesis that, for P., perceptual apprehension consists in the activation of intelligible representations preexisting in the soul and the subsequent formulation of “perceptual judgments” (see Emilsson 1988, 111 and 136), failed to notice the pertinence of these lines to his argument. 10.3–6. αὐτὸς δὲ . . . καὶ εἶναι:As Schibli 1989, 216n.31, observes, P. draws a sharp line here between himself and Aristotle. For Aristotle held that intellection (being the outcome of an abstractive process) could not possibly exist without sensation and the faculty of “representation” (phantasia); see De an. III 7, 431a16–17; III 9, 432a3–9; and Mem. 1, 449b31. Instead, P. sets out from entirely different ontological premises: for him, intellection is identified with its object, Being (see also above, 9.18–19), and is thereby tantamount to self-­intellection; consequently, it does not require the intermediation of any representation or any further process. As the self-­cognizing actualization of Being itself, intellection remains entirely autonomous and independent of any act of apprehension. The complete autonomy of intellective activity with respect to any sensory perception or apprehension whatsoever ensures the possibility of the existence of representations that are independent of sensory stimuli, and consequently, the development of a purely creative representational faculty through direct access to the intelligible models themselves. Similar points of view are already familiar to us from Cicero and Philostratus (see Watson 1988, 209–12) and prefigure an “idealistic” theory of art, such as is met with in “On the Intelligible Beauty” (see V 8.1.34–40). Fragment B3 DK of Parmenides was not preserved by the doxographers. We come across it for the first time in Clem. Al. Strom. VI 23.3, while P. cites it verbatim on two occasions (V 1.8.17–18 and V 9.5.29–30) and paraphrases it on another five (see the Index fontium in H-­S2). It is readily apparent that P. interpreted this statement as an assertion of identity between “thinking” (noein) and “being” (einai), in contrast with recent interpretations that tend to find in it rather an assertion that only “being” or “what is” can be thought; on this see Calogero 1974, 49–53. 10.6–9. καὶ ἔοικεν . . . πάλιν: For P., any apprehension, even of the perceptual kind, is not brought about by the passive introduction of impressions into the soul, but rather by an activation of the latter’s intellective functions (see Emilsson 1988, 129–37). This explains also why perceptual apprehensions may be regarded as “dim intellections” (amudrai noēseis: see VI 7.7.30–31). When the product of intellective activity—which is here regarded as an actualization of the life of the soul—strikes against the surface of the faculty of apprehension, it comes to be “reflected” or “projected back” (apōsthen), with the result that, on condition that this surface is in the requisite untroubled state, an image of it, called a phantasia (“representation”), is formed, and it is thereby rendered conscious. 10.9–21. ὥσπερ . . . φαντασίας: The comparison of the representational function of phantasia with that of a mirror is of course derived from the psycho-­physiology of the Timaeus. It is described there (71a5–b5) how the lower part of the soul, the desiderative,

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First Ennead which is at the whim “of images and phantoms (eidōlōn kai phantasmatōn),” was lodged in the liver, which is “dense, smooth and bright . . . so that the force of the reasonings sent down from the intellect might be impressed upon it as upon a mirror that receives the impressions and returns visible images.” According to the myth related by Timarchus in Plutarch’s De genio Socratis, the intellect remains at all times outside the body, but “the multitude . . . take it to be within themselves, as they take reflected objects to be within the mirrors that reflect them” (591e trans. De Lacy–Einarson). Finally, Theophilus of Antioch, in a passage from the Ad Autolycum which is full of Platonic echoes, declares that “as a burnished mirror (hōsper esoptron estilbōmenon), so ought man to have his soul pure. When there is rust on the mirror, it is not possible that a man’s face be seen in the mirror; so also when there is sin in a man, such a man cannot behold God” (Theoph. Ad Autol. I 2.19–21 trans. Dods). In the first two of these passages, particular stress is laid, as in P., on the heteronomy or dependent character of the images appearing within the mirror of the lower soul (cf. also Num. fr. 45). In the passage from Theophilus, emphasis is placed on another condition that must be satisfied if reflection is to occur: the mirror must be “burnished,” that is, smooth or, as P. phrases it, “abiding in tranquillity.” According to Aristotle, the “disturbance” caused by the senses is what prevents the formation of “apparitions” (phantasmata: i.e., dream representations) during waking, while affections such as fever or inebriation may disturb and distort such apparitions as are formed during sleep; see Insomn. 3, 461a3–29; and cf. Pl. Phd. 66a5 and d6. The disruption of the representational function by dint of bodily disturbances was of course familiar to the Stoics also (see, e.g., Hier. El. Eth. IV 13–16), but P. would have disagreed with them as to the causative principle at work: it is not the “co-­affection” (sumpatheia) of the soul with the body, but the soul’s distraction and its “preoccupation” (ascholia) with sense-­perception that render it incapable of focusing its attention exclusively on intellective actualizations; see IV 8.8.18–20, V 1.12; and Schibli 1989, 215–17. The outcome, in any case, is that while intellection remains constantly alert and active, our apprehension and consciousness of it are only occasional and subject to interruption: “for the intellectual act is one thing, and the apprehension of it another” (see IV 3.30.5–15). Concerning the autonomy of intellection with respect to representation, cf. contra Alex. Aphrod. De an. 12.20. 10.21–33. πολλὰς . . . συνηγμένον: But P. does not stop there. He goes on to formulate the bold view that its becoming conscious may constitute an impediment to intellective activity, and that it is preferable and “wiser” for the life of the intellect to remain unconscious. The suggestion is that in the formation of conscious rational presentations there is a third factor involved: this is the “attention” (prosochē), which brings about a transposition of the “I” in the direction of its object; see my comment on I 1.11.2–8. When the attention is turned exclusively toward the intelligible, man achieves identity with his own true self (see 9.24–30 with my comment), and intellective representations are reduced to insignificant concomitants of his life, the “conscious awareness” (parakolouthēsis) of which can amount to nothing more than a distraction. For at the level of intellection is achieved a complete identity between subject and object that brings about the highest form of self-­knowledge, “being with” or “integral understanding” (sunesis: see



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Schwyzer 1960, 364–68; 1975, 216; and Smith 1978, 292–96); instead, “conscious awareness” displays some measure of alterity, indicating a lack of identification with the intellect. Accordingly, illness and pain, as conditions foreign to the organism, are projected more vividly onto our consciousness than are health and “freedom from pain” (anōdunia); see 6.25–29 and V 8.11.25–31. And in art also, the intervention of reason only becomes necessary when there arises some difficulty or aporia (IV 3.18.5–7). See Trouillard 1955b, 34–36; and Warren 1966, 284. 11.1–3. Εἰ δέ τινες . . . τὸ ζῆν:Summarizing his critique thus far of the Peripatetic theory of eudaimonia, P. stresses once again (cf. chapter 3) that he is introducing a new, different conception of “living” (zēn), one that has reference to intellective actualization, which is the sole cause of well-­being. 11.3–10. ἀξιώσομεν . . . τοῖς ἔξω:Hence, according to P., the Peripatetic “good life” (euzōia) has the effect not only of attenuating real life, but of distorting man’s true nature as well. And if contemplation—for Aristotle, the primary constituent of eudaimonia (Eth. Nic. X 8, 1178b28–32)—involves, as P. understands it, a turning inward, then the well-­off man cannnot be directing his wish toward external “goods.” In any case, a conversion of such a kind will represent a consummated and permanent change of perspective—as indicated by the perfect tense in epestraphthai (“has turned”); cf. at I 2.4.3–5 kekatharthai (“having been purified”)—which does not admit of any augmentation or diminution through the action of exiguous factors. Cf. the description of “the man who is making progress” (prokoptōn) by Epictetus, Diss. I 4.18–21. 11.10–17. οὕτω γὰρ . . . εἰς τὸ εἴσω:The wise man will naturally want necessities to be generally available, as he will want the world to be free from evils, even though he knows such things to be unfeasible. All the same, none of this will have any effect on his well-­ being, toward which he directs not his “wanting” (thelēsis), but his “will” (boulēsis). See 6.21–7.10, above, with my comments. 12.1–4. Τὸ δὲ . . . περιχαρίας: Aristotle had maintained that “happiness (eudaimonia) ought to have pleasure mingled with it, but the activity of philosophic wisdom (sophia) is admittedly the pleasantest of virtuous activities; at all events the pursuit of it (philosophia) is thought to offer pleasures marvellous for their purity and their enduringness” (Eth. Nic.X 7, 1177a23–26 trans. Ross). P., possibly having this passage in mind, and being aware also of its allusion to Plato’s Philebus 52c2 (see my comment on I 1.2.29), employs expressions drawn from the same dialogue (see ibid. 65d5–10) in order to underline the “theoretical” nature of the pleasures to which Aristotle refers, perhaps in light of the divergent interpretations that had been proferred by some later Peripatetics: see my comment on 1.26–28. 12.5–10. τὰς συνούσας . . . σπουδαῖος: The pleasures of the body—as also its vexations (lupai)—are characterized by Plato in the Republic, IX 583e9–11, as “motions” (kinēseis) of the soul. P. contrasts these with the pleasures that accompany well-­being. The latter

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First Ennead are distinguished by their stability, permanence, and imperviousness to external evils. The well-­off man is always as calm or “serene” (hileōs) as the Good of Numenius (fr. 2.16), being turned toward, and present to, his real self—just as P. himself was, according to the description Porphyry gives of him (see VP 8.19). 13.1–3. Οὐδ’ . . . περιστατικαί: P. now begins his examination of what the Peripatetics regarded as the second presupposition of well-­being, “activity” (energeia); see Eth. Nic. X 6, 1176b1–8 and cf. above, 9.10–11, with my comment. As pointed out in my introduction, the core of the theory of eudaimonia propounded by Alexander of Aphrodisias was a conception of “activity” as the practical manifestation of the soul’s predispositions and virtues. P. shows respect for this point of view, but he refuses to accept that chance circumstances might disrupt entirely the activities of the wise man. Even under the most adverse conditions, the wise man will find a way to display his virtues by carrying out his “circumstantial duties” (peristatika kathēkonta: cf. SVF 3:496; “Alcinous” Didasc. 2, 153.17–18; and my comment on I 2.7.10–28). But his intellective actualization and, therefore, his well-­being will be the cause of such activities, not their effect. 13.3–6. αἱ δὲ . . . μετ’ αὐτοῦ:The only theoretical activities that might be hindered by external circumstances are those concerned with particulars, which are of a discursive character. Instead, the pure life of the intellect remains, as was said earlier (see my comment on 10.3–6), entirely autonomous and impassible. P.’s reference to the “greatest study” (to megiston mathēma) (cf. Pl. Resp. VI 505a2) should not be taken to imply that he has in mind here only union with the Good. The Good constitutes the horizon toward which, when intellective life turns, it ceases to be “unlimited” (aoristos), acquiring the form of intellection; see VI 7.17.14–26; and Hadot 1960, 133. 13.7–8. κἂν . . . ἡδύ:The notorious brazen bull of Phalaris, tyrant of Acragas during the first half of the sixth century BCE, was already known to Pindar (Pyth. I 95–96). It was alleged to have been fashioned by the sculptor Perilaus in order that in its belly the brutal tyrant might broil his enemies alive—its maker having been the first who, “by being parboiled, offered really valid demonstrations of his science” (see [Phalaris] Ep. 122, 445.42–43). An insistent tradition makes out Epicurus to have declared that the sage is to such a degree imperturbable, that even if he were to find himself in the bull of Phalaris, he would still be capable of calling out: “how pleasant this is! (quam suaue est: see fr. 601).” 13.8–10. ἐκεῖ μὲν . . . τὸ δὲ ἄλλο:The Epicureans, forced into a corner by their identification of well-­being with pleasure, were obliged to defend a patently paradoxical and self-­ contradictory position (as Cicero also remarked, Tusc. II 17; DeWitt 1954, 242, finds it so unacceptable, that he even accuses Cicero of deliberate misinformation!). Only if one distinguishes between the aforementioned two concepts does it become possible to maintain that the sage enjoys well-­being in spite of feeling pain. The Stoics could well advance such a claim (see SVF 3:586), but P. alone was able to secure it on the sound



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foundation of his distinction between a higher and a lower self: between the true “man” (anthrōpos), the subject of imperturbable well-­being, and the “living being” (zōion), the subject of the “affections” (pathē), pleasures and pains. See also Hadot 1963, 99–100. 14.1. Τὸ δὲ . . . τὸν ἄνθρωπον:Cf. I 1.10.5–10 and, for the term “the composite” or “the complex” (to sunamphoteron), my comment on I 1.5.8. 14.3–4. ἡ . . . καταφρόνησις: On the “despising” (kataphronēsis) of the bodily “goods,” which P. prefers to call “necessities” (anankaia), see above, 6.25–32; also my comment on 5.9–24. 14.5–14. εὐζωΐας . . . τὰ ἔξω:And now the final offensive is launched against the Peripatetic notion of the “good life” (euzōia). “Well-­being” (eudaimonia) is indeed the good life, but it is such in the sense of an actualization of the higher, intellective part of the soul, not of its lower functions, the ones pertaining to growth and perception. 14.16. τοῦδε τοῦ τόπου:Cf. Pl. Tht. 176a6–7. 14.20. ἀρχὰς δὲ ἀποθήσεται:Cf. VP 7.20–21 and 32.9, with my comment. 14.21–30. σώματος δὲ . . . τούτων: It was perhaps the poor condition of his own health (see my introduction) that caused P. to insist on the subject of bodily illness, even though he had already treated the question of “pains” (algēdones) at 8.1–12. 15.1–6. Ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . ἂν εἴη:The denial to “indifferents” (ta adiaphora) of any contribution toward well-­being (or toward its opposite, kakodaimonia) was the characteristic feature of Stoic ethics; see, e.g., SVF 3:119 and 122. For the Stoics, the “primary things in accordance with nature” (ta prōta kata phusin) are not “goods” (agatha), but merely objects of “selection” (eklogē), such that “the things themselves and the obtaining of them are not the goal but are given as a kind of matter having ‘selective value’ (tēn eklektikēn axian echousa)” (SVF 3:195 = Plut. Comm. not. 1071b trans. Cherniss). Alexander of Aphrodisias had combatted these views (De an. mant. 163.1–164.9), but here we see P. reverting to the Stoic positions, albeit setting them on entirely new foundations. Cf. III 2.6.5–8. 15.8–9. οὐδὲ γὰρ . . . συμβάλλοιτο: We have here the reversal of a familiar Peripatetic example: cf. Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.17, 129.21–22; Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 24.3–5; Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 164.21–24, 167.4–9; and see also below, 16.23–29. 15.13. οἷον . . . γενόμενος: The importance of the qualification inserted here—namely, “in a way” (hoion)—must not be overlooked. While in other passages P. may emphasize very strongly the change brought about by the turn toward the intelligible (see, e.g., V 3.4.11–12 and VI 4.14.17–18; also Bodéüs 1983, 257–59; and Schibli 1989, 219n.36), here he appears more guarded, possibly because he has just finished defending the view (at 9.28–30) that our intellective self is also our real “I.” Hence, conversion and disengagement from corporeal representations neither alters man’s permanent condition nor

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First Ennead alienates him from his true self, but instead it purifies him of elements foreign to his self ’s real nature that had superficially disfigured it. 15.19–20. οἷον . . . παῖδα:On the scared child within us, see Pl. Phd. 77e5, and my comment on 8.27 above. 15.21–25. οὐ μὴν . . . ἔχειν:Cf. VP 8.19–20 and 9.16–20. 16.5. μικτὸν βίον:The reference is to the “mixed life” of the Philebus (22d6), accomplished through a combination of “pleasure” (hēdonē) and of “intellect and wisdom” (nous kai phronēsis). 16.9. ἐν τῷ κοινῷ:Cf. I 1.5.1–2, with my comment. 16.10–13. ὀρθῶς γὰρ . . . ζῆν:P. does not appear to have in mind here any specific passage of Plato’s. He chooses instead to present in highly condensed form what—in his view— Plato’s doctrine on eudaimonia consisted in, seeing that it encapsulates the findings of the anti-­Peripatetic critique that has been waged throughout this treatise. There are, of course, some echoes to be heard of the Symposium (212a1) and the Republic (IV 427d5–6 and X 613b1), but the spirit is in the main doxographical. 16.17. διδοὺς . . . δύναται:As previously stated (see 7.1–8), the well-­off man is not indifferent: he “wants” (ethelei) “necessities” (anankaia), as long as there is “need” of these (chreia: cf. SVF 3:126; and Posid. fr. 173), and he avoids evils, so far as this is possible (cf. my comment on 6.21–32). Yet his well-­being remains self-­sufficient and unaffected by these things. 16.19–20. κύριος δὲ . . . τούτου:Cf. 7.31–32, with my comment. 16.23–27. οἱονεὶ . . . ὀργάνων: P. modifies the example of 15.8, replacing the flute with a lyre—perhaps because it better answers to the notion of the harmonia of the body (cf. above, 10.17–18, and I 9.6–7). Aristotle of Mytilene, the teacher of Alexander of Aphrodisias, had already employed a similar figure to illustrate the independence of noetic activity from the organ through which it is manifested, observing that “the artist who sets aside [his] instruments continues to exercise an activity, though one that is not material and instrumental” (apud Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 112.25–113.2; see Armstrong 1960, 406–8). If here there is any difference to be noted, it is that whereas for the Peripatetics this “divine” intellect is entirely transindividual and is clearly distinguished from “ours” (hēmeteros), for P., it exists in us and constitutes our real self; see above 9.28–30, and cf. I 1.8.5–6. At any rate, the comparison of man to a lyre that the divine intellect plays on with its celestial plectrum must have its origins at a considerably earlier time: see, e.g., [Euryph.] De vit. 86.15–20; [ Justin] Cohort. ad Graec. 8; and Montanus apud Epiph. Adu. haer. 48.4.1, 2:224.22–23.



I 5. On Whether Well-Being Increases

I 5 [36]. On Whether Well-­Being Increases with Time Synopsis 1 Well-­being is of the present. 2 The propensity for life and actualization always concerns the present. 3 The measure of well-­being is not influenced by the prolongation of contemplation, 4 nor of pleasure, 5 nor of itself. 6 Ill-­being may increase in time, but not so well-­being. 7 Well-­being transcends time. 8–9 Memory has no effect on it. 10 Virtuous actions are the result, not the cause, of well-­being.

Introduction “Before he should reach his end, refrain from calling any man ‘happy’ (olbion); call him, rather, ‘fortunate’ (eutuchea).” Such was Solon’s prophetic advice to Croesus, which reflected a conviction, widely shared during the Archaic period, concerning the instability and transitoriness of human happiness.1 It was the internalization of this notion and its linkage to a number of stable ethical principles that subsequently made it over into a firm possession of the virtuous man, independent of chronological limitations. This transformation, ascribable mainly to the teaching and example of Socrates,2 exercised a determining influence on Hellenistic philosophy and more particularly on the Stoa, according to which “the happy are no more happy for being longer happy” (see SVF 3:54 = Plut. Stoic. rep. 26, 1046c trans. Cherniss; also SVF 3:524; Sen. Ben. V 17.6; and Ep. 32.3, 73.13, and 93 passim). As he did on other issues, Aristotle tried on this one too to forge a middle way. On the one hand, he considered that “the attribute in question [sc. durability] will belong to the happy man, and he will be happy throughout his life; for always, or by preference to everything else, he will be engaged in virtuous action and contemplation” (Eth. Nic. I 10, 1100b18–20 trans. Ross): and that, accordingly, “the happy man can never become miserable” (ibid. 1101a6–7). On the other hand, he conceded that multiple and great “misadventures” may crush happiness (ibid. 1101a8–14; cf. 1100b28–30), because “one who has ended wretchedly”—such as Priam—“no one calls happy” (ibid. I 9, 1100a8–9 trans. Ross). This last observation led to the view that eudaimonia requires not only “the best and most complete virtue,” but “in addition” its exercise “in a complete life” (en biōi teleiōi: ibid. I 7, 1098a16–20; 9, 1100a4–5; and X 7, 1177b24–25; cf. also Eth. Eud. II 1, 1219a35–38)—a view that for later Peripatetics made the amount of happiness directly See Herod. I 32.7. That olbios is here synonymous with eudaimōn may be seen by comparing 32.1. Cf. also Pindar Nem. VII 55–56. 2  See Vlastos 1991, 234–35. 1 

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First Ennead dependent on its duration; see Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.3g, 50.11–51.14; 18, 132.3–8; and Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 19.3–11. P.’s way of dealing with the issue is characteristic: the statement of the problem is framed in Peripatetic terms; the position he adopts is a Stoic one; but he claims that its effective grounding requires his own Platonic theory of well-­being as timeless intellective life. The entire treatise is purely technical in presentation, lacking the rhetorical flourishes of “On Well-­Being.” It seems more like a series of scattered notes intended for elaboration in the classroom. The style is markedly unpolished and the treatment quite uneven and lacunose. Nevertheless, it manages to hint at, or touch on, some of the most central themes of P.’s philosophy. The seemingly secondary issue raised in the title provides P. with a privileged standpoint from which to survey not only his ethical theory, but also his views on eternity and time, on memory and contemplation. Thus in what is chronologically his first engagement with the problem of eudaimonia, P.’s primary concern is to integrate it within the coordinates of his system.

Commentary 1.1–3. τοῦ εὐδαιμονεῖν . . . λέγειν: The coupling of “being well” (eudaimonein) with the temporal present held a special importance for the Stoics (see, e.g., Marc. Aurel. III 10 and 12), for whom “only the present exists (huparchein),” whereas “the past and the future merely subsist (huphestanai)” (see SVF 2:509 and 518), in the sense that the latter do not refer to facts about the world other than indirectly, through linguistic temporal determinations, which implies that in themselves they are grammatical, not real entities; on this see also Lloyd 1970, 8–10. Cf. in addition Pl. Ti. 37e5–38a2. On such a presupposition, however, past and future well-­being would not constitute a real, lived experience, but mere narration or “talk” (legein), which, though, may come perhaps to be conceived as the “intentional aim” (skopos) of human action, and thus motivate us to attain our true “end” (telos): “being well” in the here and now; see SVF 3:16. On the putative contribution of memory to well-­being, see below, chapters 8 and 9. 1.4–5. ἐν τῷ . . . τῆς ζωῆς:The characterization of eudaimonia as a “disposition” (diathesis) represents a provocative challenge to the Aristotelian viewpoint, according to which happiness is neither a “state” (hexis) nor a “quality” (poiotēs), but an “activity” (energeia) and “in action” (en praxei); see Eth. Nic. X 6, 1176a33–b6, and Poet. 6, 1450a17–20. P. hastens to clarify, however, that by diathesis he does not intend any temporary passive state, but rather a constant actualization of (intellective) life; cf. I 4.3.2 and below, 7.20– 21 and 10.13 ff. 2.1–2. Εἰ δ’ . . . μᾶλλον:The position sketched here represents an extension of a particular aspect of Aristotle’s theory of pleasure (cf., e.g., Eth. Nic. X 4, 1175a10–18), one that appears to have led a number of late Peripatetics toward a certain form of hedonism (see also my comment on I 4.1.26–28). As Alexander of Aphrodisias attests (De an. mant. 151.30–33), “Verginius Rufus, and Sosicrates before him, stated that each man longs for perfection and for being in activity, namely, for acting unimpededly (anempodistōs ener-



I 5. On Whether Well-Being Increases

gounta); which is why they tell us that what is worthy of desire is actively being (orekton einai to einai energeiai), i.e., living (to zēn) and those activities ensuant on living that are pleasant.” 2.2–5. πρῶτον . . . τῇ ἀρετῇ:This first objection appears to be ad hominem, resting as it does on Peripatetic premises: namely, that well-­being, as “something permanent and by no means easily changed” (Eth. Nic. I 10, 1100b2–3), cannot possibly be subject to daily increase, especially when its “measure” is virtue (ibid. X 5, 1176a18), which is independent of the passage of time. 2.5–6. ἔπειτα . . . τέλεον:The second objection is also ad hominem: because for Aristotle, the gods represent the model of “perfect” or “complete” (teleia) well-­being (ibid. X 8, 1178b7–9 and 26–27), it can only be regarded as utterly inconceivable that they should progressively become better off. 2.7–13. ἔπειτα . . . εἶναι: The third objection seems more self-­contained: it rests on P.’s acute observation that the “propensity” (ephesis) for life is always aiming at the prolongation of the life now present, not at some other life, past or future (cf. also Pl. Symp. 200d3–6). But presence is in itself an ontic manifestation: for “Being” (to einai) exists “in the present” (en tōi paronti). With these pointers, P. is already directing us toward the solution he will announce below. I propose that the second ēdē (“now”) that the MSS preserve at the end of the chapter should be deleted, because, in my opinion, it attaches an unwarranted temporality to the emphatic final “to exist” or “to be” (einai); cf. the strictly parallel clause in l. 12, “what is already to exist” (ho ēdē esti touto einai). 3.1–5. τί οὖν . . . ἔχει:Theiler ad loc. adduces in comparison a rather fatalistic meditation of Marcus Aurelius’ (VII 49.2). This, however, refers to the inescapable “rhythm of things coming now into existence,” whereas what P. has in mind is that timeless contemplation of intelligible Forms to which apply no differences of either degree or magnitude. As Bréhier notes, Aristotle had already pointed out that “seeing seems to be at any moment complete” (Eth. Nic. X 4, 1174a15). 4.1–5. Ἀλλὰ . . . οἴχεται: Here P. reveals to us that the opponents he is arguing against are, indeed, hedonists, but that they are also Peripatetics (as I indicated in my comment on 2.1–2), inasmuch as they are presumed to accept the Aristotelian definition of pleasure: cf. Eth. Nic. VII 13, 1153b10–12; Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 43.7–8 and 46.13; and Alex. Aphrod. Probl. eth. 23, 143.9–144.4. Just like “propensity” (ephesis), so pleasure also has only to do with the present. Past pleasure is no longer pleasure, as future pleasure is not yet pleasure: neither can be calculated alongside present pleasure, so as to augment it. (Concerning the memory of pleasure, see below at 8.6–10.)

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First Ennead 6.1–18. Τί οὖν . . . συναριθμοῦντα: Rebuttal of an objection a contrario: if time aggravates the troubles that cause ill-­being, then what magnifies ill-­being is not the passage of time, but the deterioration of the situation (as when a temporary illness turns into a chronic state, apropos of which Theiler invokes a passage from Galen Loc. aff. I 3, 8:32: “when the deterioration accedes to a permanent disposition, it is called a disease”; cf. also Plut. Quaest. conu. V 7.5, 682c). If, on the contrary, the situation has not deteriorated, then we have no reason to speak of any increase in ill-­being. Interestingly, P. chooses to remain within the Peripatetic framework of the view he wishes to rebut, without seeking recourse as yet in his own position concerning the imperviousness of well-­being to external shocks (on which see esp. chapter 8 of treatise I 4 “On Well-­Being”). 6.18–23. τὸ δὲ . . . μᾶλλόν ἐστιν:Well-­being, having virtue as its standard of measure (see 2.4–5), possesses the latter’s stability, which of course derives in turn from its unvarying intelligible models. Even the wording here recalls Stoic statements concerning the independence of well-­ being from the passage of time (see my introduction to this treatise), yet P. appears to take leave of the Stoics when it comes to denying also to eudaimonia any differences of degree. 7.1–7. Ἀλλὰ . . . ποιήσομεν:This aporia seeks to circumvent the Stoic position regarding the exclusive correlation of well-­being with the present (see my comment above on 1.1– 3): if we deny the reality of past well-­being, we will be obliged to deny also the actual existence of time itself. Some Stoics would have had no difficulty admitting this corollary, on condition that they might be allowed to assert that although time cannot be said to “exist” (huparchein), it can be said to “subsist” (huphistanai); see Sorabji 1989, 22–25. Could it not then be maintained that, in a corresponding manner, past well-­ being also subsists, and may consequently be measured according to time’s own subdivisions? 7.8–13. τὸν μὲν χρόνον . . . μηκέτι εἶναι:Time, being a quantity, can measure and number the past; cf. III 7.9.1–12. Conversely, well-­being does not admit quantification of this sort: because although “more time” signifies a greater duration, more eudaimonia signibeing, independently of its fies qualitatively (not quantitatively) superior well-­ duration. On the use of the perfect tense to indicate the timelessness of a situation—as here with summemenēkenai (“to persist”) or, as the MSS have it, sumbebēkenai (“to be the case”), which is not necessarily wrong—cf. I 2.4.3–5. 7.14–20. ὅλως δὲ . . . γένοιτο:Bréhier ad loc. and in his “Introduction,” xxiv, proposed to delete the passage extending from line 12 to 17 on the grounds that we must understand the subject of both “requires” (axioi: 12) and “means” (bouletai: 14) to be P. himself, which would entail that this text is the interpolation of a commentator. Schwyzer 1951, 497.50–57, however, put forward persuasive arguments in rebuttal of this hypothesis.



I 5. On Whether Well-Being Increases

The theory of time intimated here is essentially the one that will receive detailed treatment in the pertinent treatise “On Eternity and Time”: cf. III 7 [45].11.41–47, but also VI 5.11.15–18. In the expression of the Timaeus (37d5), time is an “image of eternity,” a manifestation of life and of the soul that unfolds and extends itself because it is unable to remain fixated on eternity as does its model, intellective life. Its extension entails that life comes to be scattered into multiplicity and hence to vanish, given that it is a fundamental tenet of P.’s henology that multiplicity is an expression of non-­Being. 7.20–22. εἴπερ . . . αἰῶνι: We are here given a highly abbreviated exposition of the core of the theory of well-­being that P. was to articulate in his treatise on the subject (cf. esp. I 4.3.24–28): eudaimonia, seeing that it is “the good life” (zōē agathē), belongs to the sphere of eternal beings, not of transient phenomena. It refers to an eternal present, not to any temporal duration, however extended; see also Kristeller 1929, 77–78. Cf. Arist. Metaph. Λ 7, 1072b28–30. 7.24. ἀδιάστατον:Cf. III 7.2.32–35, 3.15–17, 36–38, etc. See also Sorabji 1989, 113. 7.24–30. οὐ συναπτέον . . . πᾶσαν ὁμοῦ:The timelessness of well-­being obviously entails its independence of both psychical activities and the practical virtues. It is only the higher, “theoretical” virtues—which, according to “Alcinous” Didasc. 30, 183.22–24, are susceptible neither of “higher intensity” (epitasis) nor of “lower intensity” (anesis), and are accordingly unaffected by the passage of time—that may lead us, through that contemplation of eternal Being in which they consist, to eudaimonia. The distinction between timeless “eternity” (aiōn) and “temporal sempiternity” (to chronikon aei), which was to exert a profound influence over subsequent treatments of the subject, had been adumbrated in the “nontemporal” interpretations of the cosmogony of the Timaeus, but it is first set forth with such succinctness only in the present passage. Cf. III 7.6.21–36; and Sorabji 1989, 112–16. 8.4–8. ἢ γὰρ . . . τῇ παρούσῃ:Memory, for P., is a function of the “I,” the subject of consciousness; and just as the latter may turn either toward intelligibles through discursive reasoning or toward sensibles through perceptual apprehension, so is memory also correspondingly dual in nature; cf. IV 3.27.3–4 and IV 6.3.7–19. The higher kind will lead to contemplation of intelligibles, and hence to “wisdom” (phronēsis: cf. I 2.6.12–13); and the consequent increase in well-­being will be due not to any accretion of memory, but to the appropinquation to eternal life of the person in the act of recollecting. On the other hand, the lower kind of memory, that of sensible pleasures, can in itself contribute nothing to well-­being, while the pleasures themselves are by their nature tied exclusively to the present; cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. X 4, 1174a17–19; and Epicurus fr. 436–37. The employment of the term pericharia (“extra enjoyment”), which is also found at I 4.12.4, indicates that P. had in mind here the last pages of the Philebus; see 65d8. 9.1–4. Εἰ δὲ . . . γεγενημένων: The reference to “beautiful things” (ta kala, which in Armstrong become “excellences”) confirms the indebtedness of this passage to the

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First Ennead Philebus; cf. 65e1–7. True beauty is a firm possession of the one who has attained “wisdom” (phronēsis). 10.1–3. Ἀλλ’ . . . τῶν καλῶν:The final aporia is strictly Peripatetic in provenance; cf. Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.17, 129.19–21, and 18, 132.3–8: “just as a single verse does not constitute an actor’s speech, nor the extension of a single hand a choral dance, neither does one swallow make Spring, nor, likewise, a brief span of time well-­being; for it is necessary that well-­being be complete (teleian gar einai dein tēn eudaimonian), such that it be comprised of an accomplished man and time and guardian spirit.” P. was in due course to dedicate his “On Well-­Being” to providing a fuller response to this issue; see esp. I 4.11–16. 10.10–12. πρῶτον μὲν . . . πεπραγότος:An orientation toward “action” (praxis) can serve to inhibit “contemplation” (theōria: cf. III 8.3.3–14), which alone confers well-­being. Cf. I 4.11.3–10, with my comment. 10.12–20. ἔπειτα . . . ποιεῖ: It is man’s interior disposition that bestows ethical value or disvalue on his actions, which are not susceptible of ethical judgment either on their own or in light of their consequences. Not that this should be taken to imply any “Kantian” reduction of ethical valuation to the intentions of the agent: in P’s view, the “wise man” (spoudaios) does not even possess any intention to act. Any actions of his come about as unwanted concomitants of his endeavor to contemplate intelligible truths (cf. III 8.6.1–10). The virtuousness of the wise man’s actions follows on from the “vertical” succession of the virtues, which, however—as was explained earlier—is not bi-­ directional (see my comments on I 2.7.10–28 and I 3.6.14–17). The “noble” or “admirable” (to kalon) is not to be found in this world, and “if one is content with the nobility in practical activities, and chooses activity because one is deluded by its vestiges, one has been enchanted in one’s pursuit of the nobility in the lower world; . . . for to pursue what is not good as if it was good, drawn by the appearance of good through irrational impulses, belongs to one who is being ignorantly led where he does not want to go” (IV 4.44.25–32).

I 6 [1]. On Beauty Synopsis 1 Introductory: Varieties of the beautiful. Statement of the problem: What is the cause of beauty? Criticism of the theory of symmetry. 2 Theory: (a) Sensible manifestations of the beautiful 3 in shape, in color, in sounds.



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4 (b) Supra-­sensible beautifulness 5 in the soul: the virtues 6 lead, through purification, to the intelligibles; the Intellect is identical to the Beautiful itself. 7 Protreptic: The ascent: the divestment of the body; 8 the vision of Beauty and the Good. 9 Inner sight requires the activation and perfection of the soul’s “eye” through virtue.

Introduction Of all the treatises of the Enneads, “On Beauty”—or, more accurately, “On the Beautiful” (Peri tou kalou)—is the one that has gained the largest readership and enjoyed the broadest appeal. Porphyry placed it first in his chronological list of his teacher’s works, but this need not be taken to signify that it was also the first to be composed by P.; see VP 4.21–22, with my comment. As Porphyry relates, the work came into his hands with some delay (VP 26.33–34; cf. 4.15–16 and 18.20); accordingly its positioning at the head of the chronological list may conceivably be due simply to its already having acquired the greatest celebrity among the writings of P.’s first period of composition. And indeed this treatise does, from many points of view, constitute a suitable introduction to P.’s thought, giving voice as it does to some of his most basic (and most “Platonic”) philosophical themes, arranged in a vivid protreptic style and embellished by a wealth of references to the Symposium, the Phaedrus, and even some poetical texts—the whole comprising one of the supreme examples of philosophical writing bequeathed to us by antiquity. At the same time, it provides a welcome counterbalance to the technical treatises that open the first Ennead, a comparison with which reveals the author’s conversion from an enthusiastic, though somewhat anti-­cosmic, Platonism permeated by dogmatic certainties and marked by a tendency to treat issues in a rather general and synthetic manner (such as we find in the present treatise), toward the more “Aristotelian” aporeticism and the investigative character of the works of his late period. Precisely these considerations suggest that it would be a mistake to see in “On Beauty,” as is frequently done, a representative sample of P.’s way of doing philosophy.1 It would be as if we were to single out the speech of Diotima as the prototypical example of Plato’s philosophical writing. The first elements that strike the modern reader are the cognitive and, above all, the ethical coloration with which P. imbues his notion of “the beautiful” (to kalon). Aesthetic values are not, to his way of thinking, independent of ethical ones; instead they accompany and complement the latter, proceeding in parallel along the same directional axis. The kalon is to be discovered on the road leading to the Good; yet the two are not identical. As early as the Archaic period, the word kalos had a far broader mean1 

As Harder forcefully emphasizes in his introduction.

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First Ennead ing than is captured by such locutions as “beautiful” or “sensually appealing”: it designated a more generally positive valuation—conveyed in English by such terms as “fine,” “noble,” “honorable,” and “admirable”—which could refer to people, objects, sayings, and anything else one might come to hear or think about, including, for example, achievements, institutions, and virtues. The term kalos differed from the term agathos (“good”) in that it referred mainly to the sphere of outward conformation with certain social norms or values, and not solely to that of the inner ethical predispositions.2 In both Plato and Aristotle, we find this ethical aspect of to kalon emphasized repeatedly;3 it was, however, the Stoics who established it as a term preeminently denotative of ethical value, and one even at times synonymous with to agathon.4 Indeed, the Stoics correlated both bodily and psychical “beauty” (kallos) to the “good proportion” (summetria) of the relevant parts to one another as well as to the pertinent whole.5 This viewpoint found its most perfect expression in the classicizing art of the age of Hadrian and the Antonines, with its emphasis on compositional regularity and rhythmic balance. For P., however, to regard beauty as the outcome of “correct” ratios and symmetry was to reverse the true order of things: for what were taken to be the causes of beauty were in fact merely the manifestation of a more profound correspondence of the “beautiful” object to its intelligible model, a secondary by-­product of that essential ontological relation between the two that the soul has the ability to recognize immediately, independently of its valuation of any particular proportions, through an experience of erōs for their supra-­sensible archetypes, the Forms. Hence, for P., the ideally “Beautiful” (to kalon) is nothing but a collective term for the set of intelligibles, the perceptible figurations of which are also “beautiful” (kala) to the extent that they faithfully correspond to the former—that is, insofar as in them the resistances of matter have been effectively subdued. In other words, we can say that P. does not recognize the existence of any independent Form of Beauty coordinate with the other Forms or paradigms of the perceptible world (such as Plato does seem, instead, on occasion to admit), but that he views the Beautiful as representing the intelligible world as a whole. His espousal of this thesis should not be seen as a willful departure from the teaching of Plato, but rather as an attempt at the creative interpretation of viewpoints one may find expressed in the Symposium, the Phaedrus, and even the Republic, and their reconstruction into an integrated ethical and aesthetic theory. The investigation of the nature of this intelligible model of the Beautiful was to be carried out primarily in “treatise” V 8 [31] “On the Intelligible Beauty,” the second part of the anti-­Gnostic tetralogy that belongs to P.’s middle period of composition. Instead, See Dover 1974, 60–73 and passim; and Sykutris 1934, 56* and 95*n.2. This fact is perhaps of greater significance for our understanding of the ethical conceptions of the ancient Greeks, than it is for the aesthetic ones. 3  See, e.g., Pl. Phdr. 279b9, Grg. 492c1; Arist. Eth. Nic. III 7, 1115b2–3, IV 1, 1120a24–5, and IV 2, 1122b6–7. 4  See SVF 3:30, 38, 40, 83, etc. 5  See SVF 3:278, and my comment below on 1.20–25. As one would expect, this viewpoint also found special favor among the Pythagoreans: see, e.g., Aristox. fr. 35 (from the “Pythagorean Sayings”); [Ti. Locr.] De nat. 78, 223.6–7. 2 



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in this early work, the focus is on the anagogic role of beauty, beginning with its sensible manifestations and leading to the intelligible and even beyond it, in the direction of its highest principle, the Good. What we find being unfolded before us, therefore, is a true ascent “according to the ways Plato teaches in the Symposium” (VP 23.9–10). This explains both the intensely protreptic style of the treatise and its numerous allusions to the ritual celebrations of the mystery cults. Mysterienmetaphorik was in any case an established topos in the Platonic tradition,6 his own exact position within which P. appears eager—in this treatise, perhaps, more than in any other—to define, possibly because he was here for the first time addressing a wider public through the medium of the written word.7

Commentary 1.1–6. Τὸ καλὸν . . . κάλλος:P. starts off by delimiting the concept of “the beautiful” (to kalon). As noted in my introduction to this treatise, the meaning of this term extended beyond the range of aesthetic beauty to encompass the ethical valuation of actions, virtues, etc.; the point is explicitly made in the passage from the Hippias Major, which P. seems here to have in mind (297e6–298b4; but cf. also Grg. 474d3–475a2 and Symp. 210b6–c7). Beginning, in obeisance to a tradition deeply rooted in the mentality of the Greeks, with visible beauty, P. advances by stages through ever more abstract expressions of the beautiful. The intercalation of “words” (logoi) between the beauties of sight and those of “music” (mousikē), as well as the division of the latter into “tunes” (melē) and “rhythms” (rhuthmoi), derive from Plato’s Republic (III 398b6–d9), with the difference that “words” and “stories” (muthoi) are there subsumed under mousikē, in line with Plato’s broader conception of this term (cf. my comment on I 3.1.6–9). 1.6. αὐτὸ δείξει:Cf. Pl. Hp. mai. 288b5. Creuzer 1814, 134–35, reveals the proverbial origin of the expression. 1.7–11. τί οὖν . . . ἢ τοῦτο:The guiding aporiai for the analysis to follow are here formulated and articulated with notable care. P.’s investigation will be directed at the cause that makes sensible objects to appear beautiful and souls to possess beautifulness. Is there a correlation between sensible and supra-­sensible beauty, or are the two merely homonymous? 1.12–16. τὰ μὲν . . . τοῦ καλά:Right away, P. makes a crucial distinction: “beautifulness” (kallos) is, for sensible objects, something exogenous and acquired in which they participate; for the virtues of the soul, on the other hand, it is something inherent and inseparable from their substance. The reasoning behind this has already been exposed in chapter 6 of treatise I 2: the substance of the virtues resides in the intelligibles, that is, as will become clear below, in the “Beautiful” (kalon) itself. 6  7 

On this, see the monograph by Riedweg 1987. Cf. Armstrong 1974, 171; and see my comment on VP 2.40–43.

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First Ennead The argument marshaled in favor of the heteronomy of the bodily beautiful is a traditionally Platonic one, drawn, perhaps, once again from the Hippias Major (288a8– 289d5; cf. Phd. 100c10–103c1, Symp. 211b2–5, etc.): the fact of a body’s being beautiful (e.g., this beautiful woman) is not due to its being a body (or a woman), but to the addition of an external factor, “the Beautiful itself (auto to kalon), by which all other things are embellished and are seen to be beautiful.” In translation it is sometimes preferable to ignore the word “nature” (phusis) when it governs a genitive, as it does here (13–14): “others are beauties themselves, as in the case of virtue.” For justification, see Creuzer 1814, 134–35; and IndArist 838 (ut meram peri­ phrasin nominis). 1.19. εὐφραίνεσθαι:The correlation of beauty with gladness (euphrosunē: cf. Symp. 206d4) or pleasure is endorsed repeatedly in the works of Plato: see, e.g., Hp. mai. 297e5–299b4, and Phlb. 51b3–52a1. Cf. VI 7.22.3–5. 1.20. ἐπιβάθρᾳ αὐτῷ χρώμενοι:The reference is to the initiatory “rising steps” (epanabasmoi) in Diotima’s speech (Symp. 211c3), where every gradient of beauty prepares for, and leads on to, the ascent to the one above it, until one comes to look upon “that very Beauty itself ” (auto ekeino to kalon: c7–8). The word “stepping-­stone” (epibathra) is used also by Clem. Al. Strom. II 4, 13.3, in order to designate the role of perception as a forerunner of “knowledge” (epistēmē). Cf. also Nicom. Harm. 6, 248.13; and Iambl. VPyth. 26.119, 68.23. 1.20–25. λέγεται . . . ὑπάρχειν:P. is correct in pointing out the virtually unanimous acceptance in antiquity of the correlation of beauty with “good proportion” (summetria). Plato articulates this view comprehensively in the Timaeus (87c4–d8; see also Phlb. 64e5–7, but also the speech of Agathon in Symp. 196a4–8), while Aristotle makes repeated reference to it (see Metaph. Μ 3, 1078a36–b1; Top. III 1, 116b21–22). Cf. also Pl. Soph. 235d6–e2. It is an easy matter as well to find it exemplified in the visual arts and in architecture, as it is also to discern its influence on the musical theory both of the classical period and of all subsequent classicizing movements. Perhaps the most celebrated instance was that of the Polyclitean Canon, in which that master sculptor, seeking to specify beauty, “gave us full information . . . about all the proportions of the body (tas summetrias tou sōmatos)”; this we know from the testimony of Galen, who is drawn thereby to conclude: “All physicians and philosophers place beauty of body (to . . . kallos tou sōmatos) in the proportion of the elements (en tēi tōn moriōn summetriai)” (Polycl. fr. 40A3 DK = Galen PHP V 3.15–17, 308.17–26 trans. De Lacy). Yet, as Galen himself remarks, the ones who showed the greatest persistence and thoroughness in upholding the dependence of beauty on good proportion were the Stoics, and Chrysippus in particular. The most characteristic passage is Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.5b4, 63.1–5 = SVF 3:278: “Just as beauty of the body is a good proportion of its limbs established in respect of each other and of the whole, so too the beauty of the soul is a good proportion of reason and its parts in respect of the whole of it and of each other.” (See



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also SVF 3:83 and 471–72; and cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 162.10–14; In Top. 134.18–19 and 236.14–16. On the numerological and musical dimension of the relation between good proportion and beauty, see Arist. Quint. De mus. III 8, 105.27–31 and 18, 118.19–28. Cicero (Tusc. IV 31 = SVF 3:279) employs a formulation that is even closer to that of P.—“in the body, a certain appropriate shape of the limbs (quaedam apta figura membrorum) combined with a certain charm of coloring (cum coloris quadam suauitate) is what is called ‘beauty’ (eaque dicitur pulcritudo)”—and that appears to have become a commonplace by the early Christian era: cf., e.g., Philo Opif. 138, Mos. II 140; Clem. Al. Paed. III 64.2; Luc. Zeuxis 5; and the other citations in Creuzer 1814, 151–52. Finally, Atticus (fr. 5.46–54) casts scorn on certain “modern” sculptors (as we would term these husteron genomenoi), whose works consisted in an assemblage of disparate elements derived from other—no doubt classical—models, “imitating of one statue the head, of another the chest, of a third the waist” with the result that, as he observes, “the whole, which one might indeed criticize as being ill-­proportioned, is theirs, while its components, cobbled together and with whatever they possess of beauty, are not theirs.” It must be emphasized that P. does not object as such to the correlation of beauty with good proportion. The point that concerns him is that, in his view, those who consider that the latter “produces” (poiei: 23) the former have their facts the wrong way round. As will be further made clear below, being well-­proportioned, according to P., is a consequence and manifestation of the presence of beauty, not its cause. Beauty in a work of art is not to be attained by the mechanical imposition of predetermined formal proportions—by the application of “recipes” such as those largely responsible for the frigidity and lack of vivacity of certain products of Hadrianic neoclassicism—but rather by its inspiration with that liveliness that corresponds to the intelligible model, and that only the true artist has the ability to envisage; cf. V 8.1.7–16, V 9.11.7–10, and esp., VI 7.22.24–26: “beauty must be said to be what illuminates good proportions, rather than the good proportions themselves.” See further, de Keyser 1955, 107–8; Anton 1964, 233– 37; Armstrong 1975, 159–60; Moreau 1981, 249–52; and Horn 1989, 1471. 1.25–26. οἷς . . . ὑπάρξει: This First Argument (A1) against the Good Proportion Theory (GPT) trains its sights on the latter’s primary implication, namely, that only something that has parts can be beautiful, and is developed a few lines later, at 30–36. 1.26–30. τότε ὅλον . . . τὸ κάλλος:In the meantime, P. identifies a secondary implication of GPT, namely, that the parts that contribute to the beauty of a whole will not in and of themselves be beautiful, against which he proceeds to develop a Second Argument (A2)—one seemingly entirely reductive in character, in that it would appear to consist in reducing the beauty of the whole to that of its component parts. As such, though, this argument would offer an exceedingly weak means of attack, and is in fact rebutted by P. himself in his late treatise “On Providence” (III 2.7.64–74; see also Anton 1964, 235; and Armstrong 1975, 160). Cf. also Atticus fr. 5.63–68. Possibly, then, instead of being considered on its own, it should be taken in close correlation with A1, as follows:

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First Ennead If being beautiful is due to the good proportion of the parts (GPT), the beautiful will have parts. Therefore the beautiful will be composite (A1); But: The beautifulness of a whole “encroaches on” its parts. Therefore the parts of the beautiful will be beautiful (A2). From A1 and A2 it follows that: The parts of the beautiful will be composite (C), which leads to an infinite regress. The conclusion (C) is not explicitly formulated in the text; but, thus construed, the argument as a whole bears some degree of plausibility, and it does not presuppose that we ascribe to P. the reductive position referred to above. 1.30–36. τά τε . . . ὄντος:The rebuttal of A1 is effected with the support of four counterexamples. Their nature lends some support to the viewpoint I defended in my previous comment, for they refer not only to simple components of beautiful wholes, which are themselves beautiful, but also to simple impressions that may be produced even by exceedingly complex phenomena (as the “impressionistic” third example of lightning and the stars illustrates). What P. would appear to be at pains to indicate is that such simple, even transient impressions are capable of yielding aesthetic pleasure independently of any composite phenomenon of which they may happen to form a part. If such cases are productive of beauty, it is not because of any contribution they make as parts to a whole, but rather because of what in them comes to be reflected—however glancingly—of intelligible beauty. It is also not by chance that, for P., both sunlight and gold are cherished symbols of the intelligible; see Ferwerda 1965, 59–60 and 102. The example of gold is taken from Pl. Hp. mai. 289e3–6. 1.37–40. ὅταν δὲ . . . δι’ ἄλλο:The Third Argument against GPT also refers to the impressions that an object is capable of producing. Even though an object may remain stable in its proportions, the impression it creates may vary depending on the viewpoint from which it is observed, the context in which it is placed, etc. P. chooses an especially illuminating example by which to illustrate this phenomenon: that of the face. Critical elements of a face’s beauty are its expression and (as P. observes at VI 7.22.27–31) its liveliness, neither of which depends directly on its proportions. 1.40–53. εἰ δὲ . . . τῶν θεωρημάτων:The Fourth Argument consists essentially in a stand on principle: the very notion of proportion has too many materialist connotations to be suitable as a medium by which to evaluate psychical beauty. It is inaccurate and misleading to speak of “good proportion” in connection with ways of life and customs and theoretical studies (the examples are taken from Symp. 210c3–7 and 211c5–6). In such matters, the only relations that apply are logical ones; nevertheless, logical coherence does not secure for Thrasymachus (or those like him: see Resp. I 348c11–12, VIII 560d2–3, and Grg. 491e2) that their views are also “beautiful.” Beauty



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of the soul consists in its accession, through knowledge and the virtues, to intelligible Being; cf. I 3.2.8–13. We saw above (see my comment on 1.20–25) that the beauty pertaining to the soul is for the Stoics the result of some kind of “good proportion” (summetria) of the parts of the soul with respect to “[universal] reason” (logos); see, esp., SVF 3:471a, where Galen accuses Chrysippus of vagueness—a charge taken up in the present passage by P., who further recognizes that such a view presupposes the soul’s being something material. 1.53–54. τὸ δὲ . . . εἴη:Intelligible beauty is nothing other than the Intellect itself as object of contemplation (see, e.g., V 8.8.1–7). Yet Intellect, as an indivisible and transcendent entity, does not, in its “aloneness” (monoumenos: cf. monos at IV 7.9.25, 13.2 and V 1.10.20–21), allow for any kind of commingling among its parts. The “universal proportion in the intelligible” (en tōi noētōi peri panta summetria: V 9.11.9–10) arises not from the synthesis of heterogeneous components, but from the ontological interarticulation of the Forms into a perfectly unitary whole. 2.1–6. Πάλιν οὖν . . . ἀλλοτριουμένη:The aporia (cf. 1.7–11) is now confined to sensible bodies and reformulated so as to pave the ground for the exposition of P.’s own theory. A fundamental characteristic of sensible beauty, we are told, is that the soul responds to it in an immediate, preconscious manner. (On the term sunesis by which this kind of intimate, integral understanding is conveyed, and which in the parallel passage at III 5.1.16–18 is characterized as “unreasoned” (alogos), see Harder ad loc.; and Schroeder 1987b, 687–88; cf. Plut. Terr. an aqu. 960d.) By contrast, “the ugly” (to aischron) repulses and alienates the soul, as also does pain (Pl. Symp. 206d6 and cf. Ti. 64e6). 2.7–11. φαμὲν δὴ . . . τῶν ἑαυτῆς:The position P. espouses is a traditionally Platonic one: the response of the soul to the beauty of sensibles arises from its recognition within them of a trace—sufficient to stir its recollection—of that intelligible Being that is “akin” (sungenēs) to its own nature (cf. Pl. Phd. 79d3). This constitutes, in some sense, a preliminary stage of the cognitive learning process, which consists in “proceeding to bring many perceptions together into a reasoned unity” (Pl. Phdr. 249b7–c1). As has been noted, the theory of recollection plays a limited role in P.’s epistemological system, but it does serve to describe the initial conversion of the soul toward the intelligible; cf. I 8.15.28, II 9.16.44–47, III 5.1.34–35, and McCumber 1978, 166–67. Interestingly, beauty and erotic attraction are similarly correlated with memory in the description of the lovers’ first meeting in the Aethiopica of Heliodorus (III 5.4–5). 2.11–13. τίς οὖν . . . φαμὲν ταῦτα:The question of the nature of the similarity obtaining between sensibles and intelligibles is quite a delicate one, and P. elsewhere handles it with the requisite care; cf. my comment on I 2.1.40–50. Here he limits himself to the suggestion that, while the former are beautiful because of their participation in the Form (taken generally, not specifically in the Form of the Beautiful), the latter are beautiful in themselves. In intelligibles, beauty is an inherent quality or, rather, an ac-

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First Ennead tivity of theirs, whereas in sensibles it is merely a refracted image of the cause of their being. 2.13–18. πᾶν μὲν . . . μορφοῦσθαι: Ugliness is defined correspondingly. The as yet unshaped material substrate (cf. Pl. Ti. 50d7), which is to receive from the Forms, without ever truly posessing them, the “formative principles” (logoi) by which it will be shaped, constitutes the “absolutely ugly” (to pantēi aischron), “Ugliness” (to aischos) itself (see III 6.11.15–27 and cf. I 8.9.14–18), which is inaccessible both to the senses and to the intellect. Perceptible ugliness, on the other hand, consists in the imperfect domination of Form over matter (see also I 8.5.23–24), being tantamount to a kind of monstrous birth (cf. Arist. Gen. an. IV 3, 769b12 and 4, 770b16–17), where the imperfection of the form allows a glimpse to be caught of “the ugliness of matter” (I 8.9.11–14). 2.18–28. προσιὸν . . . κοινωνίᾳ:In imposing its control over the indefinite multifariousness of matter through its formative principles, Form organizes it into parts and arranges these parts into wholes. These ordered wholes reflect their ideal archetype, and, insofar as they are successful in this, they are beautiful. Accordingly, the degree of a sensible object’s beautifulness will be directly proportionate to the degree of its constitution into a unitary composition, which is its way of approximating as much as it is able to the unassailable unity of the intelligible beings. Thus the beautiful, being, and unity advance in parallel—as far, at least, as the realm of Intellect. De Gandillac 1966, 100, rightly points out that here the term homologia (“agreement”) alludes to Stoic ethical theory, in which the logos played a similar unifying and organizing role, but without being given, from P.’s point of view, the necessary grounding in a transcendental ontology. Whereas there the logos is identified with the material universal organizing principle, here it is a simple expression, a formative “directive” that, originating in a superior system of organization, brings order to the unlimited indefiniteness of matter. 3.1–5. Γινώσκει . . . τοῦ εὐθέος: Having examined the ontological side of the question, we now turn to its epistemological side. The first aspect requiring elucidation, according to the order established since the Hellenistic period for philosophical investigations of the kind, was that of the “criterion” (kritērion) appropriate to the particular type of cognition concerned. Inasmuch, however, as the Form of the Beautiful has not until now been presented as something separate or different from the other Forms, the criterion of sensible beauty will be nothing other than the criterion applicable to the cognition of sensibles in general. Hence, while the criterion in the case of intelligibles is the intellect itself, in the case of sensibles the responsibility falls on the discursive function of the soul. Already Philo appeals to a distinction between two kinds of logoi, one of which analyzes sensibles, while the other concerns incorporeal intelligibles (see Quaest. in Gen. III 3, 183–84; and Sharples 1989, 234). We find a corresponding distinction in Alexander of Aphrodisias (De an. 80.20–81.12), who subdivides “the soul’s faculty of judgment” (tēn kritikēn dunamin tēs psuchēs) into one “concerned with beliefs” (doxastikē) and one “concerned



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with knowledge” (epistēmonikē). According to P., “the part [sc., of the soul] which reasons discursively (to dianoētikon) . . . gains understanding of the things outside it (sunesin tōn exō lambanei), and . . . judges what it judges (kai . . . krinei ha krinei), . . . by the rules in itself which it has from Intellect” (V 3.4.15–17). In other words, judgment is effected in the soul by the comparison of “perceptual impressions” (phantasmata) with the forms deposited in the “intellect within the soul”: see Blumenthal 1989, 259–63; Phillips 1987, 49–51; and my comment on I 1.8.1–3. This initial evaluation is rendered more authoritative by the “supplemental assessment” or “supervenient judgment” (epikrisis) to which it is submitted by “reason” (dianoia) through an ulterior process of discursive and logical analysis; cf. I 1.9.18–21 and V 3.2.7–14. 3.5–15. πῶς δὲ . . . καὶ φίλον:The juxtaposition and comparison—to designate which, P. employs the verbs sunarmottein (“to fit together”) or epharmozein (“to fit with”): cf. I 2.4.25, V 3.2.12, and VI 7.6.4–6—of the form apprehended by the soul from the “outside” (exō) with the form “inside” (esō) presupposes that between the two there will pertain relations of “resemblance” (homoiotēs) and “communion” (koinōnia); cf. I 1.9.23. P. holds the view that the only difference between the two is that the external form is distributed within the “mass” of matter—that is, that the latter is, as we might put it, extended in space. “If successful, the architect reproduces this idea in the extended matter of the house. The mental pattern is transferred to the matter, for if we abstract the stones and other building materials from the house we are left with the pattern of their arrangement, which is the same as that with which the architect began” (Fielder 1978, 100). What happens, though, if the model the architect chooses as his starting point is itself ugly? P. does not here provide any answer to this question—which in our days has become a crucial one. We can surmise, however, that he would respond by clarifying that in such a case it would not be the imperfect subjugation of matter by form that would be directly productive of ugliness, but rather the “evil” (kakia) within the soul of the architect himself that would have caused the intelligible “imprints” within it to become malformed. For as he explains elsewhere, the form “within the soul,” just as is the sensible one, is different from the intelligible form, even though it resembles it; see I 2.1.40–43. 3.17–19. τὸ δὲ . . . ὄντος:P. returns to the question of “good color” (euchroia: cf. 1.22). In his view, matter is, in itself, dark, whereas light, which is incorporeal, stands to it in the relation of a logos or formative principle; cf. II 4.5.7–12. The perceptible result of the commingling of the two is color (see IV 5.7.37–41 and 54–55), which is all the more beautiful, the more the light is pure and free of admixtures, and the further it has gained dominion over matter; cf. Pl. Phlb. 53a5–b7. On this, see Schöndorf 1974, 53–56. 3.19–26. ὅθεν . . . εἶδος ὄν: As one would be led to expect, P. regards “fire” (pur) as the most beautiful of the elements (cf. Pl. Ti. 40a3–4), because it is of all the most luminous and the least material. We know that Plato regarded light as a kind of fire (see Ti. 45b4– d4 and 58c5–7), but for P. (as also for Aristotle: see De an. II 7, 418b14–17; and cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. 43.11, and De an. mant. 138.3–139.28), light is incorporeal (see IV 5.7.41;

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First Ennead and Beierwaltes 1961, 336n.6), whereas fire is a body—although, because of its natural location (cf. II 1.7.33–36), its fineness (cf. Arist. Top. V 2, 130b32), and its concomitant mobility and efficacy, it has “the rank of form” in relation to the other elements, being “already at the point of escaping from bodily nature” (III 6.6.41), a condition for which others offered different explanations (see Arist. Gen. corr. II 8, 335a18–21; and SVF 2:413). This does not mean, of course, that fire is a Form (as Armstrong 1937, 64, and 1940, 54–55 understands the passage), as we would then be faced with an—for P.—unprecedented confusion between the sensible and the supra-­sensible. Light and heat are inherent (primary) activities of fire (cf. I 2.1.33–36), the presence of which in other bodies brings about their coloration and their warming. 3.26–28. τὸ δὲ . . . ὅλου: In my text I have, at the end of this passage, conjectured the reading holon instead of holou (per MSS and H-­S); adjusting Armstrong’s translation accordingly would make his final clause read: “ . . . because the whole of it does not participate in the form of color.” My reasoning is that when something sensible participates in a Form, it can only participate in the whole of it, given the unitary and indivisible nature of the latter. It is the sensible itself that, because of its own imperfect unity, is able to participate in the intelligible not as a whole, but only in part, and for that reason imperfectly, with the result that it will seem “dull and faint” (exitēlon). 3.28–33. αἱ δὲ . . . κρατεῖν: After what is beautiful “in sight,” P. now turns to what is beautiful “in things we hear.” As was already made clear at the beginning of the treatise, music is regarded as an intermediate stage between sensible and supra-­sensible beauty. P. begins with what appears to be a clear allusion to Heraclitus fr. B54 DK trans. Kahn: “The hidden attunement (harmonia aphanēs) is better than the obvious one.” Of course, here the term harmonia is strictly limited to its musical signification: to the modal harmony we can perceive aurally correspond determinate mathematical relations and ratios among sounds, but these in turn represent manifestations of an intelligible harmony (cf. I 3.1.29–33, II 9.16.39–41, V 8.1.32), which in itself is nothing other than the unitary constitution of the intelligible universe; cf. Pl. Ti. 80b6–7; and de Keyser 1955, 71–72. 4.1–9. Περὶ δὲ . . . κάλλος:Continuing up the steps marked out by Diotima, P. ascends from sensible to supra-­sensible beauties: cf. Pl. Symp. 210b6–d1, and above, 1.3–6; also my comment on I 3.2.5–12. Parallel passages we can find in, for example, “Alcinous” Didasc. 5, 157.16–20 and 10, 165.27–30, show that we are moving within the mainstream of the Platonic tradition, for which “the ways Plato teaches in the Symposium” (cf. VP 23.9–10) provided the lines of direction guiding the philosophical ascent toward the highest principle. The soul’s intellective faculty does not require the intermediation of any organ for its activities, nor are these the epiphenomenon of any organic process; Igal pertinently cites IV 3.19.24–27 and V 1.10.12–19 by way of comparison. 4.10–12. τὸ τῆς δικαιοσύνης . . . καλά:Although this phrase from the “wise” Melanippe of Euripides (fr. 486) is also cited by Aristotle, Eth. Nic. V 3, 1129b28–29, P. ap-



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pears to have drawn it from a different source, given that his version includes the word prosōpon (“face”)—authentically Euripidean, according to Nauck—which is missing from Aristotle’s. Cf. VI 6.6.37–40. This intermediate source could have been some work by the hand of Adrastus (cf. VP 14.13), if we can accept the hypothesis of Moraux 1973–2001, 2:325–29, concerning the role of this Peripatetic as a source for the anonymous commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics in which this phrase of Euripides’ is not only cited again, but its provenance also made explicit; see Anon. In Eth. Nic. 210.9–10. 4.12–17. ἀλλὰ δεῖ . . . μεθ’ ἡδονῆς:The passage is teeming with allusions to the Symposium (cf. mainly 212a4–5 and 206d8) and the Phaedrus (259b8). 4.17–19. ἔστι δὲ . . . ἐρωτικώτεραι:Cf. I 3.2.1–11. 4.20–21. κεντοῦνται:Cf. Pl. Phdr. 251d5. 5.2–8. τί πάσχετε . . . σωμάτων:Platonic reminders continue to come hard and fast: cf. Symp. 210b6–c4, 211d8; Phdr. 279b9; and Phd. 83a7. On the other hand, the employment of the word anabakcheuesthai (“to be seized by Bacchic frenzy”) is, in my opinion, particularly significant, because it alludes to the well-­known allegorical interpretation of the dismemberment of the young Dionysus-­Zagreus by the Titans and the subsequent collection and reassembly of his limbs by Apollo, which is bequeathed to us in complete form only by the later Neoplatonists, for example, in the analysis by Olympiodorus of the phrase sunageiresthai te kai athroizesthai from the Phaedo (67c8–9), which reads as follows: “ ‘to assemble itself ’ (sunageiresthai) means to turn away from the influence of the body, and ‘gather itself together’ (athroizesthai) is to turn away from unreasoned belief. Is it not evident, further, that Plato is adapting elements from the well-­known Orphic myth? The myth tells how Dionysus is torn to pieces by the Titans and is made whole by Apollo; so ‘assembling and gathering itself together’ means passing from the Titanic life to the unitary life . . .” (In Phd. 7, 10.3–8 trans. Westerink = Orph. fr. 211; cf. Dam. In Phd. I 9). It seems, though, that this interpretation was already known to Plutarch (De esu carn. I 996c = Orph. fr. 210), and may go back to Xenocrates: cf. Linforth 1941, 315–39; Dodds 1951, 177n.135; and Pépin 1970, 310–12. On one other occasion, P. explicitly refers to the same myth (IV 3.12.1–4 = Orph. fr. 209), and, as we will see below, there are some further allusions to it in the present treatise. Of particular interest, always in the same perspective, is the highlighting by Puech (see the “Discussion” following Dodds 1960b, 38–39) of a series of passages in which the verb sullegein is used, as it is here (7), to indicate the “collection” by the soul of its “dispersed limbs,” with the result that it comes to recognize both itself and the divine; see the Gospel of Philip apud Epiph. Adu. haer. 26.13.2, 292.16–19; Porph. Marc. 10, 111.10–16; also the Gospel of Eve apud Epiph. Adu. haer. 26.3.1, 278.12–13. Cf. I 2.5.5–6; and Porph. Sent. 32, 32.6–13. These further references suggest that in P.’s time some allegorical interpretations of the myth of Dionysus-­Osiris had gained wide circulation (see Plut. De Is. et Os. 364f–365a; and Festugière 1935, 381) and presented marked similarities to the one alluded to here.

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First Ennead 5.9. οὐ σχῆμα, οὐ χρῶμα:Cf. Pl. Phdr. 247c6; and Max. Tyr. XI 11e, 145.12. 5.14. καὶ ἀνδρίαν . . . πρόσωπον: Cf. Hom. Il. 7.212. In a display of poetic sensibility, P. ascribes to courage the “noble” or, better, “grim” (blosuros) expression of Ajax as he throws himself into battle. Anthropomorphisms of the kind were, however, not unusual, especially among the Stoics; see, e.g., Aul. Gell. NA XIV 4.4. 5.15–16. σεμνότητα . . . διαθέσει: It is interesting that P. feels free to mention virtues other than those established as “canonic” by the Platonic and Aristotelian traditions. Cf., however, Pl. Phdr. 256a6. 5.16–17. ἐπὶ πᾶσι . . . ἐπιλάμποντα:What P. usually points to in the intelligible realm as corresponding to the sun is the Good, not Intellect; nevertheless, on some occasions, such as this one, when the distinction between the first and the second hypostases is not in the forefront, the Intellect too may be compared to the sun. Cf., e.g., IV 3.11.14–17. 5.18–20. ἔστι μὲν . . . ἢ καλὰ:The beautiful, which provokes admiration and attraction, is a consequence of what it is to be a Form: of formositas, as Ficino calls it; cf. V 9.9.36– 41. The reason for this will be revealed below: the foundation of Being is the Good, the ultimate object of all aspiration and attraction. 5.21–22. τὸ ἐπὶ πάσαις . . . φῶς:Cf. above, 5.12. Virtues, being “activities” (energeiai) of the Intellect (cf. VI 2.18.15–16), may be spoken of as the “illumination” it casts on the soul, by which the latter is rendered “intellectual” (noera) and thus becomes assimilated to it; see V 3.8.21–28. 5.25–29. ψυχὴ . . . πανταχοῦ:This description of the “ugly soul” is derived from the one Plato introduced into the eschatological myth of the Gorgias, 525a2–6. 5.31–34. προσγεγονέναι . . . συμπεφυρμένην:The reading kalon is given by all MSS and defended by H-­S against the correction kakon (emendator’s hand in some MSS, Rinck, Kirchhoff, etc.). An extraneous accretion may appear beautiful, but in reality it is an ugliness that disguises and distorts the true beauty that is not acquired, but corresponds to the pureness of Being. Hence, a contrario, through the example of the ugly and “contaminated” soul (cf. Pl. Phd. 66b5), we are led to the theme of psychical beauty (i.e., virtue) as purification. 5.34–36. οὐδὲ ζωὴν . . . κεκραμένην:The pair “life–death” is here given a new meaning, one that is the converse of its habitual one (cf. 5.30) and that perhaps also conveys a distant echo of that famous saying of Heraclitus’ (fr. B62 DK), which has in turn been linked to the “Orphic” mysteries (see the extreme view put forward by Macchioro 1922, 87–94; and cf. above my comment on 5.2–8) and was known to Numenius (fr. 30.13–14; see also Max. Tyr. IV 4, 45.8–9). Cf. also I 8.13.21–22.



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5.38–40. τῷ ἕλκεσθαι . . . προσπίπτοντα:Cf. Pl. Phd. 79c7: the senses induce confusion and dizziness in the soul (causing its “fall” into the body). 5.43–45. εἴ τις . . . ἀπεμάξατο: The “beauties of our region” are compared to “mud” (pēlos) and “filth” (borboros) by Plato in the myth of the Phaedo, 110a5–7. On this subject in general, see Aubineau 1959, 185–214. On the equation of the body to pēlos, cf. also the Hermetic fr. 21.8 = NF 4:118. 5.51–58. ὥσπερ χρυσῷ . . . ἀπεθήκατο: Creuzer 1814, 267, invokes the procedure employed for cleansing gold in the mines of Egypt, as described by Diod. Sic. III 14.1–4. The “alchemical” figuration of the soul’s relation to bodily desires as gold steeped in mud has a markedly dualistic character that made it especially attractive to the Valentinian Gnostics: see Iren. Adu. haer. I 6.2, 623–29. Indeed, Foerster has suggested that in this single image “the totality of Gnosis can be comprehended” (1972–74, 1:2–3). P. employs it once again in his early treatise “On the Immortality of the Soul” (IV 7 [2].10.47–50), but not later, when his philosophy becomes more deliberately and systematically anti-­Gnostic. 6.1–5. Ἔστι . . . ἐν βορβόρῳ:With clear reference to the Phaedo (69c1–6), P. expounds the established Platonic theory of the virtues as purifications (see on this Trouillard 1955b, 167–82; and cf., e.g., Justin Trypho 4.3), which, as Plato himself explicitly points out, has its origin in the Mysteries. Cf. Heraclitus fr. B13 DK. The religious connotations of the term katharsis (on which see Boyancé 1937, 83–91; and Zuntz 1971, 306–8) were certainly of interest to P., but his viewpoint concerning them was a strictly philosophical one; see my comments on I 2.3.10–13 and 21–24. As Trouillard op. cit., 195–96, notes, “P. frequently alludes to the mystery rites, but he internalizes them. . . . The purifications, the chants, the initiations are converted into intellectual processes.” Cf. also I 8.13.17–25. 6.5–6. τὸ μὴ καθαρὸν . . . τῷ τοιούτῳ:The saying of Heraclitus (fr. B13 DK) has some kinship with a widely diffused folk proverb (see Roussos 1968, 66–69; and Aubineau 1959, 185–214; cf. also Pl. Resp. VII 535e4–5; Democr. fr. B147 DK; Marcovich 1986, 343; and the Syriac version of The Story of Ahikar 8.18 apud Charles 1913, 772), but, as Roussos accurately observes, P. employs it metaphorically in a manner that “bears a closer relation to Orphic than to Heraclitean ethics.” Besides, as Clem. Al. Strom. V 8, 51.3, attests, “the pig is the beacon of unclean and voluptuous craving for food and venery, and signals polluted licentiousness, ever prurient and material and lying in mud,” whereas pseudo-­Alexander of Aphrodisias sees the matter from the viewpoint of physiology: “why are pigs drawn to manure? According to medical doctors, because they naturally take pleasure in it, being possessed of an extremely large liver, [the organ] in which appetitive desire resides” (Quaest. medic. I, 48.12–14). 6.9–11. ἡ δὲ ἀνδρία . . . γενέσθαι:The argument summarizes that of the Phaedo, 64c2– 65a3. On ascent as a “coming to be alone” (monousthai), see 7.9, below.

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First Ennead 6.11–12. μεγαλοψυχία . . . τῇδε:Cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. IV 3, 1124a20 and b5–6. 6.12. ἡ δὲ . . . κάτω:Cf. I 2.3.14–15. 6.13–21. γίνεται οὖν . . . τῶν ὄντων:The purified soul is a “form” (eidos: cf. I 1.2.6–7), hence something intellective, “akin” (sungenēs: cf. Pl. Phd. 79d3, 84b2, Resp. X 611e2, etc.) to the intelligibles (see my comment on I 2.4.8–20), which are identical with the Beautiful itself. Such is the metaphysical grounding of those feelings of intimacy, joy, and welcome in the presence of the beautiful that had been evoked earlier (2.2–11); by providing this grounding, P. succeeds in improving on that vague and unsupported “affinity” (oikeiōsis) admitted by the Peripatetics (see, e.g., Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 151.20–23). Purification approaches and assimilates the soul to God (cf. Pl. Tht. 176b1–3, Resp. X 613a7–b1; and my introduction to I 2), the source of the Beautiful. 6.21–32. μᾶλλον δὲ . . . ποιεῖ: After displaying a certain lack of clarity, which will also reemerge later (mainly at 9.39–43; see the careful analysis by Rist 1967b, 54–88, and cf. Philo Legat. 5), P. outlines a “kalological” hierarchy that corresponds to his ontological hierarchy of the hypostases:

“Beauty” (kallonē) Good “the Beautiful” (kalon) Intellect “psychical beautifulness,” i.e., virtues (psuchikon kallos) soul “beautiful” bodies, actions, etc. (kala) sensibles the Ugly (aischron) matter (Evil)

Each gradient depends causally on the one above it. That which is kalon par excellence, the “Beautiful” itself, corresponds to the second gradient (cf. its similar position in the system of Speusippus, as presented by Krämer 1967, 213–14), while the supreme principle, the “formless” (aneideon) Good, transcends the notion of the beautiful (inseverably linked always, in Greek thought, to that of eidos as “shape”) and is characterized as “beyond all beauty” (huperkalos: I 8.2.8 and VI 7.33.20) or designated by the somewhat unusual term kallonē (cf. VI 2.18.1–3 and VI 7.33.22, but also Pl. Symp. 206d2), not in order to describe its nature, but in order to designate its role as cause of “the beautiful” (kalon). It is worth noting here that the introduction of a principle of the beautiful transcending the attribution of the predicate in question (but also that of any other predicate: see III 8.9.50–54) offers a way of forestalling the infinite regress in which the Third Man Argument consists (on which, see also my comment on I 2.2.4–10), because self-­ predication is in its case inconceivable. 7.1. Ἀναβατέον οὖν:Cf. 4.2–3. Having concluded the theoretical section of his treatment of the Beautiful, P. launches on a protreptic to philosophical ascent notable for its dramatic structure, its rhetorical figures, and the richness of its literary references, whereby its style differs markedly from the “schoolroom” character of the majority of his writings.



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7.1–2. ἐπὶ τὸ ἀγαθὸν . . . ψυχή:The Good is placed in the position occupied in Aristotle by “the divine” (to theion): “it is that which all things desire (panta ekeinou oregetai)” (De an. II 4, 415b1 trans. Hicks), that which moves everything “as being an object of love (hōs erōmenon)” (Metaph. Λ 7, 1072b3 trans. Tredennick). It is the ultimate object of all aspiration and striving. Cf. also Pl. Resp. VI 505d11. 7.2. εἴ τις . . . λέγω: This same phrase (which is repeated at VI 9.9.46–47) is employed also by Pausanias (I 37.4) in referring to “the rite at Eleusis . . . or the so-­called Orphic ones.” It suggests in particular that “incommunicability by speech” (anermēneuton logōi) of the mystical “vision” (epopteia), which Aristotle already appears to have likened to the immediacy of intellectual apprehension; see De phil., fr. 15, with the analysis of Croissant 1932, 147–51; cf. [Alex. Aphrod.] In Metaph. Λ 696.33–36, but also the citation from the Peripatetic Cratippus apud Cic. Diu. I 71. Expressions similar to those employed by the Peripatetics to express the irradiation of the active intellect are often used by P. in describing the approach to the Good beyond Intellect; see also my comment on VP 23.7–8. 7.3. ἐφετὸν . . . ἀγαθόν:The Good is by its very nature (or, as we might put it, by definition) “worthy of aspiration” (epheton). Cf. Pl. Phlb. 20d8–10; and Theophr. fr. 507 = apud Schol. in Pl. Leg. 631c, 303–4. The latter passage was overlooked by Whittaker 1987, 90–91. 7.5–7. ἀποδυομένοις . . . ἀνιέναι: If one is to approach the highest principle, it is necessary that one should shed whatever accoutrements one may have taken on during the descent from There. The process is likened to that of an initiatory rite, in the course of which the initiate strips off his clothes, so as to enter the “sanctum” (aduton) of the temple naked. Perhaps deliberately, P. avoids linking this practice to any specific religion. Such ritual divestments appear to have constituted a leading theme in Mesopotamian rites of passage from earliest times; see the Sumerian Descent of Inanna 100–160 = ANET 54–55 and its Akkadian parallel, the Descent of Ishtar 38–62 = ANET 107–8, prototypes of the “Dance of the Seven Veils”: also the Epic of Gilgamesh XI 237–55 = ANET 96. In Hellenic and Roman cults, rites of this nature were quite widely diffused: to take just one example, Socrates, on seeing Strepsiades step into his “Thinkery” to be “initiated,” and on eyeing his “robe” (chitōn), instructs him to “deposit” (katathetein) this, on the pretext that in such circumstances “it is customary (nomizetai) to enter naked (gumnous eisienai)” (Aristoph. Nub. 498). Much related evidence has been collected by Heckenbach 1911, 8–23. Dodds 1965, 94–95, was the first to draw attention to the correspondences that exist between these lines of P.’s and a passage in Philo Judaeus (Leg. Alleg. II 56 trans. after Yonge) where the author, interpreting Lev. 16:3–4 LXX, explains that the high priest “will not come into the holy of holies clad in a garment reaching to the feet; but having put off the robe of opinion and vain fancy of the soul, and having left that for those who love the things that are without, and who honor opinion in preference to truth, will

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First Ennead come forward naked, without colors or any sounds (gumnos aneu chrōmatōn kai ēchōn eiseleusetai), to pour the libation of the blood of the soul, and to burn the incense of the whole mind, in offering to God the Savior and Benefactor”; cf. Clem. Al. Strom. V 6, 39.2–40.3. In yet another parallel passage—also cited by Dodds—which derives from some Valentinian treatise (apud Clem. Al. Exc. 27), there is again talk of a holy rite symbolizing in similar fashion the purification and “laying off ” (apothesis) of the body; cf. as well Heliod. Aeth. VII 7.2, and the comment of Merkelbach 1962, 271–72. It would be vain, however, to seek to identify any direct cultic reference P. may have had in mind (as was attempted, e.g., by Cumont 1921–22, 86–87), seeing in particular that he did not hold such practices in any high regard (see VP 10.33–36). The comparison of the body (and its attendant affections) to a garment of the soul had such wide diffusion in antiquity, that to present it fully in all its variations would necessitate not just a weighty monograph (as Zuntz 1971, 405–6, notes in his own brief but vital contribution; see in addition the attempt of Kehl 1978, 945–1025), but also the combination of passion and tireless dedication of a Professor Teufelsdröckh (see Carlyle 1908, chapter 10). Our older sources suggest a Pythagorean origin for the comparison; see Emped. fr. B126 DK (cf. A1.77 DK; also Eur. HF 1269, and Bacch. 746). Plato introduces it into the “Pythagoreanizing” eschatological myth of the Gorgias, 523c3–e4 and 524d5–7; puts it into the mouth of the “Pythagorean-­leaning” Cebes in the Phaedo, 87b4–e5; and alludes to it in the myth concerning the transmigration of souls in the Republic, X 620c3; cf. also Cra. 403b5–6; and Ath. XI 507d. Later on, it becomes so widespread as practically to assume the status of a commonplace, not just within the Platonic or Pythagorean tradition (see, e.g., Plut. Quaest. Rom. 10, 266e, and De def. or. 415c; Max. Tyr. XI 11, 143.13–17; Sextus 449; the “Orphic” Bologna Papyrus (= PBon. 4) fol. IIIv.8 apud Merkelbach 1951, 10; and the parodic treatment in Luc. Ver. hist. II 12), but also among the later Stoics (cf. Epict. Diss. I 25.21; Sen. Ep. 92.13, and Consol. ad Marc. 25.1; SHA, Hadr. 25.9: animula . . . nudula), on funerary inscriptions (Epigr. 651.6 Kaibel) and representations (see Lameere 1939, 79–85), even in the Onirocriticon of Artemidorus (IV 30, 264.12–13). What is especially interesting is the depth of the appeal exercised by this comparison in the milieus of philosophico-­religious syncretism of the early centuries of the Christian era. We discover it in the Corpus Hermeticum (I 26, 16.4–51; VII 2, 81.18–19; X 16, 121.2–8; and Exc.XXIV 10) and in the Chaldaean Oracles (fr. 116). Philo weaves it into his allegorical interpretation of the primeval couple’s “garments of skin” (dermatinoi chitōnes: Gen. 3:21 LXX): see Quaest. in Gen. I 53 (cf. Leg. alleg. III 69, Deus 56, Migr. 192; analogous later interpretations are examined in detail by Beatrice 1985). This biblical association secured its circulation among the Christians (see Origen C. Cels. IV 40.20–26; In Cant. II 8, 132.7–9; Greg. Thaum. In Orig. 3) and, above all, among the Gnostics (see Iren. Adu. haer. I 5.5, 566–67; Julius Cassianus apud Clem. Al. Strom. III 14, 95.2; Clem. Al. Exc. 55.1; Tertull. Adu. Valent. 24.3; Gos. Thom. = NHC II 2, 39.29– 31; Gos.Phil. = NHC II 3, 56.26–32; Allog. = NHC XI 3, 58.26–30; Zos. Alch. Lett. Omega 11.106–7; Acta Thomae = AAA 2:222.16–17). P. also hints elsewhere at the correspondence between the body and a garment; see I 4.4.15–17, III 2.15.24–27, and III 6.18.20–22; cf. VP 1.7. Porphyry in turn supplements the



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image and develops it further in a passage of his De abstinentia, I 31.3–5, which somewhat unexpectedly seems to draw its inspiration from the same text of Genesis that we saw Philo interpreting earlier: “we must strip off, therefore, our many garments, both this visible one which is made of flesh and those we have put on inwardly which are adjacent to the ones made of skin. Naked, then, and without garments we must ascend to the stadium to contest the Olympic games of the soul . . . since the former lay outwardly in relation to the less apparent ones, etc.” Cf. also II 46.1. The juxtaposition of this passage with one from Macrobius (In Somn. I 11.11–12, 47.15–29), which is thought to reflect the views of Porphyry (see Mras 1933, 254–55), makes it clear that these “less apparent inward garments” correspond to the affections that come progressively to shroud the soul as it descends through the heavenly spheres. It is virtually certain that P. would have disapproved of the astrological and Gnostic ramifications of this analysis (on which see Festugière 1932, 109n.9); hence, his unwillingness to enter into any details. Yet the language and images he employs are saturated with this description of the soul’s adventure, thus testifying, perhaps, to the influence of Numenius; see also Dodds 1960b, 7–11. This last suspicion seems to be confirmed by the fact that in his De antro nympharum, a work profoundly indebted to Numenius, Porphyry (who in fact also borrows from the same source an interpretation of another text from Genesis; see 10, 12.15–16, and also Waszink 1965, 55–56) recites an allegorical interpretation of the “wandering” (planē) of Odysseus that, as will become clear below, P. had in mind when he composed these lines. The “deposit” by Odysseus of his garments in the cave immediately upon setting foot in Ithaca (Hom. Od. 12.363–70) is viewed there as signifying that “all outward possessions must be put aside . . . and that one must be stripped naked and take on the form of a beggar and, having withered the body away and cast off every superfluity and turned away from the senses, deliberate with Athena . . . how one might cut away all the destructive affections of one’s soul” (Porph. op. cit. 34, 32.8–13); cf. ibid. 14, 16.2–13. It would not, perhaps, be out of place to recall here how, as he fought with the waves off the Phaeacian shores, the “initiate” Odysseus was feeling weighed down by the garments Calypso had given him (Od. 5.321; cf. 264), when the nymph Leucothea appeared before him, urged him to “strip off these garments (heimata taut’ apodus), and leave your raft to be driven by the winds” (343–44), and offered him as a protective charm her “veil” (krēdemnon: 346–47; cf. 372–73)—a symbol, according to Maximus Tyrius (who had in mind an analogous interpretation; see XI 10, 142.8–12) of philosophy itself. Similarly Odysseus could not finally be rid of his torments until he was “stripped naked (gumnōtheis) . . . and entirely cut off from the sea . . . and among souls having no experience of ways maritime and material” (Porph. op. cit. 35, 34.3–6). See also my comment on I 9.6–7. It seems, accordingly, that the theme of the divestment of the (higher) soul not only from its bodily accoutrements, but also from those (lower) psychical ones that are of a kind with these, was exceedingly widespread and variously interwoven with Platonism at the time of P. In taking it over, P. imbued it with an entirely spiritual content, employing it as a mere analogy of an inward psychical process, without allowing himself to be carried away toward beliefs of an astrological or theurgic nature. In this regard, he differs

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First Ennead markedly both from his immediate predecessors and from his heirs. See also Rist 1967b, 190–92. 7.9. αὐτῷ . . . ἴδῃ: On the expression monos pros monon (“alone to him alone”) in connection with “praying” (euchesthai), see the classic study by Peterson 1933, 30–41; and cf. V 1.6.11–12, VI 7.34.7–8, VI 9.11.51. It designates that one achieves direct contact with the divine in isolation, or, in the words of Saint Paul (1 Cor. 13:12), “face to face (prosōpon pros prosōpon).” Thessalus of Tralles makes use of it in order to refer to the personal vision of a god in an Egyptian temple (De uirt. herb. 22, 53.8); Philo for the “intercourse” (homilia) of Moses with God on Mount Sinai (Mos. II 163; cf. Fug. 92); and, more significantly, Numenius (fr. 2.12), as here, for the homilia of man with the Good. Its erotic connotations are confirmed by an important precedent in the Symposium of Plato (217b3–4), while on its own, the word “alone” (monos) was sufficient to suggest withdrawal from the body both to the “Pythagoreanizing” Ennius (apud Cic. Rep. apud Sen. Ep. 108.34) and to the Platonist Celsus (apud Origen C. Cels. VII 39.18). 7.10–12. ἀφ’ οὗ . . . τοῦ εἶναι:Like Aristotle’s “unmoved mover” (kinoun akinēton: see Cael. I 9, 279a28–30; Metaph. Λ 7, 1072b13–14 and 19–24), P.’s highest principle is the primal cause on which everything depends. Again, as in Aristotle, this dependence is manifested in three ways: all things owe their being to the Good, their lives consisting in their issuance from It into being, while intellection represents a manifestation of their tendency to return to and be reunited with It. These three manifestations comprised as many stages of a Neoplatonic ontological “dialectic,” the nature and origins of which were investigated by Hadot 1960, 107–41. 7.13. συγκερασθῆναι:The aspiration of one who is ascending is not merely to confront the Good, but to become united and identified with it (cf. VI 9.10.9–17), thus transcending the duality inherent to intellection. 7.13–14. πῶς . . . ἡδονῆς:Cf. Pl. Phdr. 259b8; and above, 4.16. The sight of God “astonishes” the soul, filling it with “wonder” (thambos); cf. V 8.10.4–8, VI 7.31.6–7; and Thess. De uirt. herb. 26, 55.5–6. The question posed here is, like the preceding ones, rhetorical in nature; the question mark performs the function of an exclamation point (as Armstrong’s translation bears out; cf. III 7.5.7–9). Accordingly, there is no need to insert an ouk after an, as Roussos 1974, 461, proposed and H-­S4 accepted. 7.14–19. ἔστι γὰρ . . . καταφρονεῖν:The impulse toward the Good is a universal one. But anyone who has “seen” It—anyone, that is, who has begun to achieve conscious awareness of its nature and of its presence—becomes acquainted with intelligible beauty (which, as we shall see, derives from the Good), with the result that he grows to pay no heed to sensible beauty. 7.21–23. τί δῆτα . . . ἐν οὐρανῷ:Cf. Pl. Symp. 211d8–e2 and 211a8.



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7.26–27. δίδωσι . . . αὐτό:A fundamental principle informing the whole of P.’s system is the bounteousness of each ontologically superior grade and the receptivity of each lower one. (A fuller exposition of this principle is to be found in treatise V 2.) Hence, the intelligible is self-­sufficient: it dispenses “formative principles” (logoi) but accepts nothing from without; cf. Pl. Ti. 52a2–3. 7.27–30. μένων . . . ποιεῖ: Here now is the aspect of “assimilation to God” (homoiōsis theōi) opposite to the one that was discussed earlier, in my introduction to “On Virtues” (I 2). Going by the cognitive principle “like by like” (homoion homoiōi), which may be Pythagorean in origin (see Philolaus fr. A29 DK; and Emped. fr. B109 DK; cf. CH XI 20, 155.11–15), contemplation of the Beautiful presupposes likeness to the object. What is asserted here, though, is that such contemplation entails the assimilation of the one who contemplates to intelligible beauty. We find a similar view expressed in the Gnostic treatise Allogenes = NHC XI 3, 52.10–12 trans. Turner and Wintermute: “I saw the light that surrounded me and the Good that was in me and I became divine.” The implication in both cases is that of the spectacular mobility of the cognizing subject, which has the capability of taking on the characteristics of the object of its contemplation; see my comment on I 1.11.2–8. 7.31. ἀγὼν μέγιστος . . . πρόκειται:Cf. Pl. Phdr. 247b5–6. 7.32–33. τῆς ἀρίστης θέας . . . τεθεάμενος:Cf. Pl. Phdr. 250d6 and CH X 5, 115.7–8. 7.34. [οὗτος]:I propose to adopt the emendation of Vitringa to houtōs; this is defended as well by Cherniss 1952, 250, and assumed by Armstrong in his translation (cf. “utterly”) of the passage. 7.34–39. οὐ γὰρ . . . ἴδοι:The wording here displays notable similarities with that of the erotic literature of the period; cf., e.g., Heliod. Aeth. I 2.9. 8.1. Τίς οὖν . . . μηχανή:The wording recalls a phrase from the Philebus (16a7) that Numenius also seems to have had in mind in his fr. 2.6, but here it also serves to introduce an antithetical rhetorical figure in apposition to the phrase from the Republic (VI 509a6; cf. Symp. 218e2), which follows immediately after. Creuzer 1814, 331, remarks: “this same passage of P.’s also derives a certain grace of its own from a kind of oxymoron (ex specie oxymori), . . . a figure which writers of the same philosophical persuasion employ to characterize somehow the essential nature of God.” 8.2. κάλλος ἀμήχανον:Cf. Pl. Resp. VI 509a6. 8.2. ἐν . . . μένον:Cf. 7.6, V 1.6.12–15, and VI 9.11.17–21.

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First Ennead 8.4. συνεπέσθω . . . δυνάμενος:The contemplation of intelligible beauty is unattainable without the requisite cathartic preparation, which provides the soul with the will and strength to follow the celestial procession of the gods; see Pl. Phdr. 247a6–7. 8.6–8. ἰδόντα γὰρ . . . εἰκόνες:Cf. Plut. Amat. 765d–766a. 8.9–16. οἷα εἰδώλου . . . συνέσται:This mythological reference is of a rich and profound significance. First of all, a parallel passage in “On Intelligible Beauty” (V 8.2.34–35) makes it clear that what the unfortunate lover becomes enchanted with is the image of his own self, and that therefore the fate he meets with is that of Narcissus, not of Hylas (as Zielinski 1905, 327, believed). Cf. also IV 3.12.1–2. Starting from the correct identification, Hadot 1976, 81–108, has provided us with a wide-­ranging and fascinating analysis of the mythological context and its elaboration by P. See also Creuzer 1814, xlv–lxx; and Eitrem 1935, 1721–33. The myth of Narcissus makes no appearance in literature or the figurative arts before the age of Augustus: see, principally, Ovid Met. III 339–510; Conon Diēgēseis apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 186.24, 134b38–135a3; Pausanias IX 32.7–9; Philostr. Imag. I 23; and Zanker 1966, 152–68. Nothing is known regarding the provenance of an “Orphic” variant mentioned by Ficino In Conu. VI 17, 235.7–23. P.’s version presents, however, one notable peculiarity: instead of committing suicide or wasting away by the side of the pool, the young man falls into the water and thus becomes “invisible” (aphanēs); in other words, the soul throws itself and sinks into matter, and “thereby abandons its own form” (suam quidem figuram deserit), as Ficino puts it (ibid.; and cf. above, 5.42). Two elements drawn from this wider mythological context may, perhaps, contribute to a better understanding of the present version: (a) Narcissus and, especially, the flower that bears the same name are closely connected with “stupor” (narkē) and with death. This was the plant that lured Persephone into the arms of the Lord of Hades ([Hom.] Hymn. Dem. 8–18; Pausanias op. cit.; see the comment of Richardson 1974, 144; and Hadot op. cit., 82–84). In the same vein, for Artemidorus, “being mirrored in water augurs death” (I 7, 108.11). And the state of the embodied soul is not infrequently compared to a deep sleep or even to death: see my comments on VP 22.40 and 22.45; also above, 5.36 and below, I 8.13.21–22. (b) The autoeroticism of Narcissus is regarded as “contemptuous of real love” (huperoptēs Erōtos: Conon op. cit. 134b30; cf. Ovid Meta. III 354), but also as a foredoomed attempt at self-­knowledge (ibid. 463: iste ego sum; cf. 348, 424, 430, 446–47), deceived by the water’s “sophism” (sophisma: Philostr. Imag. 3). In P. also, true love is that which turns away from the sensible image of the “beautiful” (kalon) toward the opposite direction, leading to paradigmatic beautifulness and beyond (see VI 7.31.8–27). Conversely, the falling away of the soul consists precisely in its delusion that it really is that simulacrum of itself that is mirrored in matter, when in fact its true self resides in the intelligible. To Pausanias, IX 32.8, it seems “altogether incredible . . . that one should be unable even to distinguish a man from a man’s shadow,” but for P. this is the exact situation in which unphilosophical people usually find themselves, ensnared as they are by the fun-



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damental homonymy between a model and its image (cf. Arist. Cat. 1, 1a1–4; also Pl. Phdr. 255d4–e1). Of interest also are the correspondences that exist between P.’s version of the Narcissus myth and a cosmological myth that enjoyed wide diffusion in Gnostic circles, but that can be found more clearly formulated in the Poimandres (= CH I 14, 11.6–7; cf., e.g., Hyp. Arch. = NHC II 4, 87.11–21; and Jonas 1963, 161–65). According to this, the primeval, archetypal, and deiform (CH I 12, 10.17) Man consents to there being reflected, from across the heavenly spheres, “in the water the form (eidos) . . . of [his] most beautiful shape . . . and on the ground his shadow. Now he, seeing the shape that was like him in . . . that [downward-­tending Nature] abiding in the water, loved it and wished to live inside it,” with the result that the two unite sexually to engender lower, mortal man. Over and above the important parallels this myth displays with P.’s philosophical anthropology (see, e.g., my comment on I 1.7.1–60), one also finds explicitly mentioned in it that primeval Man “is androgynous, being issued of an androgynous father, and, [though being] sleepless, is ruled by sleep” (CH I 15, 12.1–2, reflecting the textual reconstruction proposed by Dodd). Bisexuality represents a logical extension of the autoeroticism of Narcissus, and may be observed in the development of the pertinent iconographic tradition (see Zanker 1966, 165–69). It was a characteristic feature both of the Orphic Phanes, who, according to the (Hellenistic) Hieronyman Theogony, practiced a similar mode of creation to that of Hermetic Man (see West 1983, 207), and of the blind seer Teiresias, whom Ovid connects with the myth of Narcissus (Meta. 348; cf. 318–38). Furthermore, in a somewhat unexpected reversal, P. describes the state of the soul in the “Hades” of materiality in terms that recall the figure of Teiresias in the Homeric underworld, that “joyless place” (aterpea chōron: Od. 11.94) where he abides among shadows, although, as Plato (Meno 100a4–6) had already pointed out,  . . . his mind (phrenes) remains sound; to him even in death Persephone has granted understanding (noon), that he should retain his wits . . . (Od. 10.493–95). P. shows no hesitation in compressing these mythological themes to such a degree that their identification becomes hazardous. As he demonstrates as well on other occasions, the allegorical elaboration of myth is not his principal concern; instead he makes use of it suggestively in order to express philosophical positions, without having any interest in a complete or even a consistent mythological reconstruction, such as later Neoplatonists were to attempt. 8.16–17. φεύγωμεν . . . παρακελεύοιτο: These words of Agamemnon’s from the Iliad (2.140), which are also recalled shortly afterward by Hera (158–59; cf. also Od. 5.37 and 204), are employed here in a magnificent metaphor to evoke the “longing” (nostos) of the soul for its supra-­worldly home. The metaphor is not, of course, an original one. Socrates in his prison cell offers an analogous interpretation of the Homeric verses he heard in his dream (Pl. Cri. 44a10–b4). Cf. Arist. Eud. fr. 1 Ross = Cic. Diu. I 53, but also Anaxag. fr. A1, 5.17–18 DK. In addition, Philo Agr. 65, and Her. 274, where reference is also made to the seduction of the androgunos by “pleasurable evils”: see my pre-

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First Ennead vious comment; Plut. De fac. 943c; Clem. Al. Protr. XII 118.1–2; and MPB II 182.11–12. As Merkelbach 1962, 227–28, 247, 268, and 292, has shown, this metaphor was in wide use as well in the novelistic literature inspired by the Mystery cults. Cf. V 9.1.20–2.2. 8.17. ἀναξόμεθα:The term is a nautical one, as noted by Creuzer 1814, 347. The verb anagō, as also the noun anagōgē, have a technical meaning in P., signifying the “reascent” of the soul toward the Good (cf., e.g., I 3.1.1–5). Yet its nautical connotations (see LSJ, s.v., B1) render it especially apt for introducing the present comparison. 8.18–20. οἷον . . . συνών: By this point it becomes clear that the home-­longing that P. principally has in mind is that of Odysseus. Cf., e.g., Od. 9.29–36, 10.483–84. The allegorical interpretation of the Odyssey as “a riddle concerning the soul” (ainigma tōn peri psuchēs: see my comment on VP 22.27; also, Hermeias In Phdr. 115, 214.19–24) was already hinted at in certain earlier writers, such as Numenius fr. 33; cf. [Plut.] Vit. Hom. 2, 126; and Demoph. Simil. 23, 486. It is, though, more amply witnessed by archeological findings, such as the frescoes from the hypogaeum of the Aurelii (see Carcopino 1956, 177–214; and Turcan 1979, 163–70), where the nakedness of Odysseus’ companions presents an interesting parallel to the initiatory nakedness alluded to above by P. (see 7.7, with my comment). The cosmic sorceress Circe (see [Plut.] op. cit.; and Porph. apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.60, 445.15–447.5) weaves (see Od. 10.222–23) bodies that, once souls have become enwrapped in them, assume animal shapes. Calypso, on the other hand—the one who, as her name indicates, “covers up”—is frequently linked to material nature, the associated “representational faculty” (phantasia) and the fascination it exercises (see Procl. In Eucl. 55.20–23; Olymp. In Phd. 6.2.7, 97; and Buffière 1956, 461–64); but the most impressive parallel passage occurs in Exeg. Soul = NHC II 6, 136.27–35, a Gnostic treatise likely to have been composed a few decades prior to this work of P.’s, in which a similar allegorical explanation is ventured of the episode on the island of Calypso. See also my comment on 7.5–7. The verb ainittomai, meaning “to hint at” or “to express enigmatically,” is indicative of a need for allegorical interpretation. Cf. V 1.7.33; and Lamberton 1986, 41, 48, 65, and 125. 8.21. πατήρ:As cause of all things, God is frequently referred to in this manner by Plato (see, e.g., Ti. 28c3 and 37c7) and his successors; see Ferwerda 1965, 76–78; and Bonanate 1985, 129–38. Yet, as Rist 1964, 72–73, justly points out, this does not necessarily imply that P. regards his supreme principle as a person, as is the case, for example, with Christianity. 8.22. ὁ στόλος:As has been noted by Deuse 1983, 66, the word stolos, meaning here “journey,” is employed in comparable contexts by Max. Tyr. XVI 6, 206.19; and Num. fr. 12.15. 8.23–25. οὐδέ σε . . . μὴ βλέπειν:The thought seems well-­trodden and is perhaps of proverbial origin; cf. Pind. Pyth. 10.29–30; Arist. Protr. fr. B53; Marc. Aurel. II 13; Zos. Alch.



I 6. On Beauty

Tel. apoch. 8, 244.18–19: “do not travel around seeking god; stay at home rather, and god will come to you.” These words may also have some bearing on the mysterious utterance reported of P. at VP 10.35–36. 8.25–26. οἷον μύσαντα . . . ἀνεγεῖραι: Dedication to inner truth necessitates a “turning away” (apostrophē) of the senses “toward one’s own self ” (pros heauton); see Max. Tyr. XI 10b, 140.17–19; and cf. Pl. Symp. 219a2–4, CH I 30, 17.17; Celsus apud Origen C. Cels. VII 39.17–19 trans. Chadwick: “If you shut your eyes to the world of sense and look up with the mind, if you turn away from the flesh and raise the eye of the soul [on this, see my comment on VP 10.29], only so will you see God.” Also Procl. TP I 3, 16.13–16. Asclepius In Metaph. 309.15–18, comments on the present passage in strictly Neoplatonic terms: “hence Plotinus used to assert exquisitely that it is necessary to compose the many vortices [i.e., distractions] into some one thing, and thus to think on god, and to become aware of him with eyes shut, since he is above intellect and simple and producer of all things.” 9.1–2. ἄρτι . . . βλέπειν:The image is taken from the allegory of the cave in the Republic VII 515e1–516a8. Cf. V 8.10.4–8. 9.3–6. πρῶτον μὲν . . . ἐργαζομένων:We return once more to the rising steps of the Symposium (see my comment on 4.1–9), which lead to the final “ascent” (anagōgē). 9.8–13. οἷα ποιητὴς . . . ἄγαλμα:Although the simile of the statue undoubtedly draws its inspiration from the Phaedrus (252d7), Armstrong 1961, 112, has highlighted a crucial difference in thought between P. and Plato on the point at issue: whereas for Plato the lover works on the loved one in order to render him deiform, here the process is not intersubjective, but is wholly internal to the single subject. “Further study of the Enneads confirms that for Plotinus the eros of aspiration to and union with the Good is a solitary love, a love of one for One.” We find a similar transposition of the Platonic simile in an excerpt from Hierocles (In CA I 18–19, 13.9–15; cf. ibid. XIX 10, 83.24–27; and Porph. Marc. 11, 112.3–5), where, however, the author seems to have had in mind some specific ritual practice, such as the one described in Apul. Met. XI 24, 286.5. Theiler 1968, 42–43, believes that the common source here must be Ammonius Saccas, but this is by no means necessary, if we keep in mind that the comparison of ethical perfection with the making of a statue had already become quite commonplace: cf. [Socr.] apud Stob. Ecl. III 1.89, 35.16–17; Demoph. Simil. 5, 485; and SVF 3:197. 9.14. ἀγλαΐα:This archaic poetic word is employed in a similar fashion by Numenius, fr. 2.15, and quite frequently in the Enneads. 9.14–15. σωφροσύνην . . . βάθρῳ:Cf. Pl. Phdr. 254b7.

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First Ennead 9.17. πρὸς τὸ εἷς οὕτω γενέσθαι:As noted by Creuzer 1814, 374, the present phrase echoes a Pythagorean “symbol” that is known to us from Clem. Al. Strom. IV 23, 151.3: “hence in secret, among ourselves, we would also repeat the Pythagorean [maxim], ‘man too must become one’ (‘hena genesthai kai ton anthrōpon dein’), . . . God being one.” This for P. also is the crossroads where his ethical theory of katharsis—or, as he says at VI 9.11.23, of “simplification” (haplōsis)—meets his metaphysical henology; see mainly VI 9.1.16–17. Cf. Porph. Marc. 10, 111.11–15; Origen In Ezech. 9.1, 732: “where there are sins, there is multiplicity . . . but where there is virtue, there is singularity, there is union (ubi peccata sunt, ibi est multitudo; ubi autem uirtus, ibi singularitas, ibi unio).” See also my comment above on 8.25–26. 9.22–23. ὄψις ἤδη γενόμενος:In its progression toward the Good, the soul comes to be identified with the “eye” that holds it fixed in sight: cf. III 8.6.38; also Plut. De sera 563f, and CH fr. 25 = NF 4:130. 9.23. θαρσήσας περὶ σαυτῷ:Cf. Pl. Tht. 148c9. Yet the exhortation to courage was a customary element in Mystery ceremonies (see Joly 1955, 166–70), whence it infiltrated literature; see, e.g., [Pyth.] CA 63; and Merkelbach 1962, 100 and passim. 9.23–24. ἀναβεβηκώς:We come here to the end of the procedure, the description of which began at 7.1, and which corresponds to the initiatory summons: “looking to yourself, go in (sauton idōn enduthi).” On this, see Westerink 1962, 163–64; but in my opinion enduthi here carries the meaning “penetrate” or “enter” (as into a temple: cf. Procl. In Alc. 5.4–5). As regards the perfect tense, cf. I 2.4.1–8, with my comment. 9.24. μηκέτι . . . δεηθείς:Once vision of the intelligible and of the Beyond has been attained, the role of “the one who shows” (deiknuōn)—on whom see my comment on I 3.3.3–5—comes to an end. 9.25–28. ἐὰν δὲ . . . βλέπει: Hierocles In CA, Prolegomena 3, 6.7–10, again provides us with an interesting parallel. For the later Neoplatonists, see Anon. Prol. Plat. 10.53–55 and the comment of Westerink 1962, ad loc. 9.28–29. κἂν ἄλλος . . . δυνάμενον:Intelligible beauty is always present. The question is whether man is in a position to become aware of it: whether his intellective “eye”— which is to say, his transcendent “I”—has “awakened” inside him. See my comment on VP 23.17. 9.29–30. τὸ γὰρ . . . τῇ θέᾳ:See above, my comment on 7.27–30. 9.30–31. οὐ γὰρ . . . γεγενημένος: Cf. Pl. Resp. VI 508b3 and 509a1; also II 4.5.10 and V 3.8.19–25. This Platonic thesis derives from the principle “like is known by like (to homoion homoiōi gignōsketai),” which is explicitly formulated at I 8.1.8 (cf. Pl. Ti. 45c4 and 7), but also from the primordial belief that the eye is not just a passive receiver of light but



I 6. On Beauty

also an active transmitter of the same (see on this Dihle 1983, 85–91). The latter seems to have exercised an influence not only on Posidonius’ theory of vision (see fr. 85; and cf. Pl. Ti. 45b3), but also on Galen’s (see UP III 10, 177.17–20; and Siegel 1970, 71). The present passage exerted a notable influence on Goethe, as witnessed above all in the following celebrated lines from the Farbenlehre, XXX1: Were not our eye another sun, How could we contemplate the light? Did God’s own power not within us run, How could we share in God’s delight? (Wär nicht das Auge sonnenhaft, Wie können wir das Licht erblicken? Lebt’ nicht in uns des Gottes eigne Kraft, Wie könnt’ uns Göttliches entzücken?) 9.32–34. γενέσθω . . . καλόν:Cf. V 3.8.48–49. 9.34–37. ἥξει γὰρ . . . καὶ οὐσίας:The first stage of ascent leads to the region of the intelligible, to Intellect and to the forms, which are here characterized as “products” or “offspring” (gennēmata). This formulation brings P. into the vicinity of the (Middle Platonic) view of the forms as thoughts of God (cf. “Alcinous” Didasc. 9, 163.13–15 and 30–31; “Aëtius” 228.4–6; etc.), as also of that of Longinus concerning the priority of Intellect with respect to the intelligibles; see my comment on VP 20.92–96. It is P.’s unwavering doctrine that the intelligible derives from the One in two stages, which are of course only logically, not temporally, distinct. At a first stage, out of the One springs Intellect as a still indefinite intellective energy, sometimes referred to as “intelligible matter.” At a second stage, this Intellect turns back toward the One in such a way as to constitute an articulated whole composed of genera and forms, the “Beings” or “Substances” (ousiai), that henceforth inhere in Intellect and are identified with it. It is from this viewpoint that it becomes possible to maintain that forms are the “offspring” of Intellect. 9.37–39. τὸ δὲ . . . ἔχουσαν:After the ascent to Intellect and to the Beautiful (which is identified with it), there remains a final stage, that of the ascent to the Good “beyond Intellect” (epekeina tou nou: cf. Arist. De prec. fr. 49; see also my comment on I 3.5.5– 8), which constitutes the ultimate “end” (telos); cf. my comments on I 3.1.1–4 and 2.12–13. From the usual, human point of view, therefore, the Beautiful is situated along the path leading to the Good; see V 9.2.24–26. From the supreme vantage point of the Beyond, however, the Beautiful is to be found at a lower level. Hence to choose it instead of the Good would constitute degradation or even, indeed, sin; see V 5.12.33–37; and Rist 1967b, 64–65. Such are the boundaries of Plotinian aesthetic theory, which comes in this way to be subordinated to the broader ethical perspective of the philosophical

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First Ennead ascent. As Edwards 1991a, 162–65, observes, adumbrations of such a distinction in value between the Beautiful and the Good can be identified in earlier Platonists, but never before P. was it so emphatically expressed, although it represents a legitimate extension of thoughts already present in Plato’s Symposium and Phaedrus, and even in book X of his Republic. The expression “nature of the Good” (phusis tou agathou) is synonymous with “Good” (agathon); cf. Pl. Phlb. 60b10; and Creuzer 1814, 139. Interestingly, the verb proballesthai—which means “to project” or “to hold before one [as a screen]”—is repeatedly employed by Irenaeus in the course of describing the system of Ptolemy, a student of the Gnostic Valentinus, in connection with the “production” of the lower entities within the Plērōma: see Adu. haer. I 1.1, etc. 9.39–40. ὥστε . . . τὰ νοητά:But now comes the great surprise: we hear, all of a sudden, that the “primary” (prōton) is “beautiful” (kalon), whereas in the sentence just before we had been told that the kalon is to be found below the Good. And as if this were not enough, we find, immediately afterward, that same Good, of which we had been advised that it was “beyond Intellect,” now constituting a subdivision of the “intelligible” (noēton). I find it difficult to understand why P., having previously clearly outlined the differences between the Beautiful and the Good, should now prefer to conclude his treatise by hopelessly conflating the very entities he had so meticulously distinguished. What necessity compels this “loose and general way of speaking” (holoscherēs logos)? As the only probable but not entirely satisfactory answer, one might put forward the idea that in a concluding rhetorical flourish the author turns to a wider audience that would be unable—or, for philosophical reasons, unwilling—to observe the fine distinctions between “the beautiful” (kalon) and “Beauty” (kallonē: see 6.25–32, with my comment), or between the “intelligible” (noēton) and what is “beyond Intellect” (to epekeina tou nou: 9.37–39). The shift in subject from the authorial third-­person plural (38: legomen) to the impersonal third-­person singular (41: phēsei) indicates that these phrases are not being uttered ex professo: and one possible explanation of this is that P. is seeking to justify the absence of any mention of the Good in the speech of Diotima. 9.40–41. τὸν τῶν εἰδῶν φήσει τόπον:The confusion persists: the expression topos eidōn (“place of the Forms”) was employed, according to Aristotle (De an. III 4, 429a27–28), by some—who, if we were to believe [Philop.] (= ?Stephanus) In De an., 524.6–8, would be none other than Plato!—in order to characterize the soul. In fact Plato employs the expression noētos topos (“intelligible place”) at Resp. VI 508c1 and VII 517b5 in order to designate the field of the intelligibles, whereas later writers prefer, for the same purpose, alternative expressions, such as the chōra ideōn (“region of the Forms”) of Clem. Al. Strom IV 25, 155.2 and V 11, 73.3. At any rate, P. is here reiterating, albeit in a roundabout way, his standard position on the substantial identification of “beautifulness” (kallos) with the forms (see above, 35–36). 9.41–42. τὸ ἐπέκεινα . . . ἀρχὴν τοῦ καλοῦ:Cf. Pl. Resp. VI 509b9 and Phdr. 245c9.



II 7. On the Primal Good

9.43–44. ἢ ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ . . . τὸ καλόν:For someone who is still at the starting point of philosophical ascent, such as the young Alcibiades in the dialogue of that name, and because of his lowly prospect, the Beautiful and the Good coincide (see ?Pl. Alc. 116c1– 2); and they both certainly lie in the direction of the intelligible.

I 7 [54]. On the Primal Good and the Other Goods Synopsis 1 The Good, being the object of the natural activation of all things, must be beyond them. 2 It is, in some way, the center around which all things revolve. 3 Everything turns toward the Good at the appropriate level. 4 Life represents precisely this tendency. 5 Three problems concerning life and death.

Introduction This brief treatise is a characteristic example of Plotinian breuiloquentia (see VP 14.1– 2). It contains a multitude of ideas, many of which are elaborated in other parts of the Enneads, while others taking form here—in the last text composed by P. (see VP 6.24– 25)—seem to announce developments that would see the light in the later stages of Neoplatonism. The problem of the Good is examined primarily in its ethical dimension, on the basis of the problematic presented in “On Well-­Being” (I 4 [46]).1 Yet P.’s thought also turns, as it always does, to the metaphysical presuppositions on which his ethical convictions are grounded. He arrives thus at a metaphysics of life and is thereby led to confront as well the problem of death. With a meditation on the latter—which, in light of his illness, he must have experienced as a looming presence—he concludes his authorial labors, casting a brief backward glance at the major pinnacles of his philosophical contribution: his transcendent “agathology” and his insistence on the worldliness of the struggle for the conquest of the supra-­worldly.

Commentary 1.1–2. Ἆρ’ ἄν τις . . . ἐνέργειαν: The treatise begins within a strictly Peripatetic framework. We find almost verbatim formulations in Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.18, 130.19– 21; and in Alex. Aphrod. Probl. eth. 23, 143.18–23, of the thesis outlined here by P., which may readily be subsumed under what I have identified as “Peripatetic euzoism”: see my introduction to I 4 and my comments on I 4.1.26–30. 1  It is worth remarking that the present treatise is also given the title “On Well-­Being” in the chronological listing provided in the VP.

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First Ennead 1.2–4. εἴ τι . . . ἐλλείπουσαν:This second thesis is also Peripatetic in origin: cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. X 7, 1177a12–17; Protr. fr. B60–63; and Alex. Aphrod. op. cit. 143.21–25. 1.4–7. ψυχῆς . . . ἂν εἴη:From these Peripatetic assumptions—including one that is only implied here, but that we find explicitly asserted in the previously mentioned passage from the Protrepticus: “soul is better than body, etc.”—there seems to follow a Peripatetic conclusion: the “good” (agathon) for the soul is “contemplation” (theōria), the activation of its innate intellect. And the ruling position occupied by intellect, but also its capacity for never-­failing contact with the object of its activation, ensure that the good concerned is the absolute Good, that limiting point where man comes to be identified with God; cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. X 7, 1177a20–22 and b27–31. 1.7–10. εἰ οὖν . . . ἔστι:But at this point, P. categorically distinguishes his own viewpoint from that of the Peripatetics; this is further underlined by a change in vocabulary, with the introduction of strictly Platonic terms, such as “beyond (all) beings” (epekeina tōn ontōn) and “to partake in” (metalambanein). The supreme Good neither turns, nor directs any activity, toward other beings: consequently it is not numbered among them, but transcends them all. All other beings turn in its direction and aspire to it, while it remains (ontologically) inaccessible, except insofar as anything shares in it through “participation” (methexis), which, as will be shown in the next chapter, is mediated by Intellect. The rest of the present treatise is concerned to clarify and to elaborate further this precise point of differentiation from Aristotle. Yet the investigation and attempted bridging of this crucial rift between Platonism and Peripateticism also pervades large tracts of P.’s corpus as a whole. 1.11–13. τὰ δὲ . . . ποιεῖσθαι: P. goes on to mention two methods of approach to the Good: “assimilation” (homoiōsis: see principally treatise I 2), and “activity directed toward it” (pros auto energeia), by which I believe him to be referring to that subjective concentration of the “attention” (prosochē: see my comment on I 1.11.2–8) that may finally lead to mystical union with the Good. 1.13–19. εἰ οὖν . . . τἀγαθὸν εἶναι:The first argument against the Aristotelian viewpoint relies on the observation that the Good, being superlatively self-­sufficient, cannot possibly constitute an “activity” (energeia) as Aristotle maintained (Metaph. Λ 6, 1071b19– 22), seeing that it can have no reason to turn toward anything outside its own self. Even though on certain occasions P., in an effort to effect a compromise, appears willing to employ such terms as “abiding activity” (energeia menousa: VI 8.16.15) or “only activity, or not activity at all” (energeia monon, ē oud’ holōs energeia: ibid. 12.36), he prefers, generally, to characterize the Good as “the power of all things” (dunamis tōn pantōn: see III 8.10.1, V 1.7.9–10, V 3.15.32–33; and Arnou 1967, 141–42). It is all other things that turn and direct their activity toward it, while it, as the ultimate Good, remains by itself what it is; cf. VI 8.16.25, where the term monē (“abiding”) is introduced, which was to have considerable importance for late Neoplatonism.



II 7. On the Primal Good

1.20. ἐπέκεινα . . . νοήσεως:This formulation, which may well owe its origin to a phrase attributable to Aristotle himself (De prec. fr. 49), enjoyed a certain prehistory—in combination always with the adjoining citation from Plato’s Republic (VI 509b9)—within the milieu of Middle Platonism (see, e.g., Celsus apud Origen C. Cels. VII 38.1 and 45.24–25). Its role in the development of Neoplatonic theology has been exhaustively investigated by Pépin 1971a, 249–301. 1.21–22. εἰς ὃ . . . ἐφίεται:Cf. I 8.2.2–5. See also my comment on I 6.7.10–12. 1.25–28. παράδειγμα . . . τὸ φῶς:This example is certainly inspired by the famous comparison of the Good to the sun in the Republic (VI 508d9–509b10). We also know, however, that Alexander of Aphrodisias, following his teacher Aristotle of Mytilene (see Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 113.4–12), applied the same comparison toward the interpretation of the passage on the “separate intellect” in Arist. De an. III 5, 430a14–19; see, e.g., Donini 1974, 43–44. Indeed, in his De an. 89.1–6, Alexander compares the effect of the primal Good to that of light: “for what is supremely visible, namely light, is also the cause for other visible things of their being visible; but also what is primarily good is the cause for other good things of their being such . . . and indeed what, by its very nature, is supremely intelligible is quite plausibly also the cause of other things being intellectually apprehended. The active intellect would be just this kind of an entity.” And earlier, while discussing the nature of perceptible light, he maintains that there exists “in fire and in other things which are productive of light an inherent power (enousa dunamis)” that “not only makes them supremely visible, but also [makes them] the causes of other colors being seen” (ibid. 46.1–3). Now what precisely this dunamis consists in in the case of the intelligibles remains unclear in Alexander (see Schroeder 1981, 218–19), but for P. it is obviously the Good “beyond Intellect”: just as the sun dispenses light, which in turn constitutes the cause of the visibility of sensible objects, so also the Good endows beings with goodness and renders them intelligible. See also Schroeder 1984, 246–47. We thus come back to the Middle Platonist analysis of the analogy of the sun (cf. the passages from Celsus mentioned previously), enriched, however, by the results of the Peripatetic preoccupation with the nature of light. Yet the emphasis here, as in V 3.12.44–45 and VI 9.9.6–9, is on the inseverable and immediate dependence of light on its source, the sun. We find the same emphasis and a comparable vocabulary in an interesting parallel passage from the Corpus Hermeticum (XII 1, 174.5–7): “the Intellect, then, has not been cut off from the essentiality of God, but has been spread out, as it were, like the light of the sun.” 2.1–6. Τὰ δὲ . . . ὡσαύτως: Participation in the Good is mediated by the intermediate hypostases. Like goodness, so too the condition of being constitutes an image or “radiation” of the Good, which, as its cause, transcends it. 2.6–11. ψυχῇ δὲ . . . ἐπ’ αὐτό:Correspondingly, the soul also participates in the Good through its life, which is directed toward Intellect; cf. I 4.3.26–37.

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First Ennead With extraordinary brevity—such as to render the text obscure—P. appears to introduce here a hierarchic system of manifestations of the Good at the several ontological levels, possibly in an attempt to come to terms with the problem of the emergence of multiplicity from the One. From this point of view, we could say that he lays here the foundations for a theory corresponding to that of the henads, which was elaborated by the later Neoplatonists. Like that theory, this one too “represents an attempt to account for the existence of individuality by importing plurality into the first hypo­ stasis, yet in such a manner as to leave intact the perfect unity of the One” (Dodds 1963, 259). Hence the turn toward the good “proper to oneself ” (oikeion), the Plotinian version of “minding one’s own business” (oikeiopragia), constitutes, indirectly, a “reversion” (epistrophē) to the primary Good, which simply confers on these other goods their goodness. 3.1–3. Εἰ δὴ . . . αὐτοῦ:The first—and introductory—of the aporiai with which the treatise ends serves to confirm the distinction between the life that constitutes, as was said earlier, in its most perfect form a manifestation of intellect, and mere corporeal or “biological” survival, which, for P., is nothing other than a form of death. Cf. I 4.3.2–23, with my comments, and I 6.5.34–36. The lower forms of life are diminished with respect to the perfect, intellective life; they can, accordingly, be viewed as representing “privations” (sterēseis) of the latter, as when someone “who has limped his way through life returns to Hades uninitiated and unintelligent” (Pl. Ti. 44c2–4 trans. after Zeyl). As noted by Igal 1973, 76–77, the example of the eye that is unable to accomplish its “work” (ergon) and is thus deprived of its “proper virtue” (oikeia aretē) derives from the first book of the Republic (353b4–c7; cf. X 608e6–609a1), but it is also employed by Aristotle (Eth. Nic. I 7, 1097b30–33) in the framework of a discussion in which he is attempting, as P. is here also doing, to distinguish among various kinds of life. 3.3–7. εἰ δὴ . . . τῷ λίθῳ:As Socrates did when confronting his judges (see Pl. Ap. 40c5– 9), so now does P., faced with the imminence of death, divide his own response to this second aporia into two parts. In the first, he deals peremptorily with the “materialist” identification of man with his body or, at any rate, with the living organism: in this case at the moment of death man ceases to exist, whereupon nothing bad can happen to him. “I was not, I was, I am not, I care not (non fui, fui, non sum, non curo),” was how this thought was formulated in a popular funerary inscription of Epicurean inspiration (on which, see Cumont 1928, 73–85). 3.7–14. εἰ δ’ ἔστι . . . μόνον:But even in the second case, that of life after death, nothing bad can happen to the soul. Even Hades itself, that place of punishment, is nothing but a symbol of corporeal life and the affections of this world: this transposition, familiar to us from other testimonies as well, is closely connected, as has been shown by Cumont 1949, 198–207, with the theory of metempsychosis, and must derive from the tendency of the Pythagoreans to interpret traditional mythological beliefs allegorically.



I 8. On What Are Evils

3.14–16. ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . οὐ κακόν:This third aporia is far more to the point, and carefully— though still summarily—formulated. The definitions of life and death are an inheritance from Middle Platonism; see Philo Leg. Alleg. I 106; and “Alcinous” Didasc. 25, 177.39–41 (cf. Pl. Grg. 524b2–4, Phd. 67d4–5). The question is: are man’s birth and his life intrinsically evil? Were the Gnostics, then, right? Will, then, that divine Providence, which pervades and regulates both, not be the instrument of a maleficent god? And in the final analysis, would not the sole rational solution to a situation such as this be suicide? Again, if life is not an evil, but a good, then how is it that its opposite, death, is not itself evil? 3.17–22. ἡ ἀγαθὴ μὲν . . . ἑαυτήν:P.’s response, his ultimate reflection on death, does not waver from the stance he maintained throughout his entire written work. The position of man is paradoxical and liminary. He is not in exile, he is on a mission: not to survive, living the life of “the composite,” but to realize good in the world by rising above it through virtue—which is to say, through the conscious renunciation of the body—and so to come near to that which, finding itself outside the world, informs and pervades it.

I 8 [51]. On What Are and Whence Come Evils Synopsis 1

A. Introduction of the problematic—Programmatic investigation of the subject. 2 B. Theōria: The Good and its hypostases. 3 Evil as nonbeing. 4 Bodies as secondary evils. The soul is not in itself evil: evil comes to it from matter. 5 Matter, as total privation, is the principle of all evils. 6–7 C. Analysis of a passage from Plato’s Theaetetus with the help of the Timaeus. D. Aporiai: (i) The nature of Evil. 8 Affections arise in the soul through its involvement with matter. 9 Knowledge of Evil. 10 Matter is evil because it is without quality. (ii) Vice in the soul. 11 Evil is exogenous to the soul. 12 It is not a partial deprivation, 13 but a total one, and it is what prevents the soul from being activated. 14 Vice as an illness of the soul. 15 E. Epilogue: Evil and Good.

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Introduction Any monistic system runs up against serious difficulties when called upon to explain the presence of evil in the world.1 Plato, who in certain passages of the Republic appears to treat evil as the negation of good,2 in his late works employs language giving instead the impression that he believes in the existence of a self-­subsistent force of disorder, opposed to the forces of Good and of order, which is responsible for the presence of evils in the world.3 It is in any case certain that Aristotle regarded Plato’s philosophical system—to the “unwritten doctrines” of which he also had access—as dualistic.4 So also did Theophrastus,5 Plutarch,6 and Numenius.7 This is not the place for us to take a position on the question of whether the dualistic configuration that emerges from these descriptions is in turn subordinated to a broader monistic viewpoint, according to which the emergence of Evil constitutes a “necessary” and indeliberate by-­product of the Demiurge’s beneficent activity.8 What concerns us here is that it is along such lines that P. attempts his restructuring of Platonism, thus marking his adherence to a tradition that appears to have originated within the confines of the ancient Academy.9 While acknowledging that Evil has objective hypostasis, and indeed that it is to be identified with matter, he refuses to grant it autonomous existence and self-­subsistence with respect to the single and unique principle, the Good.10 Hence it emerges as a by-­product of the diffusion throughout the universe of the activity of the Good: which is to say, as For a systematic presentation of this problem, see Merlan 1965, 146–47. When, e.g., he describes “vice” (kakia) as a privation of virtue (Resp. I 353d14–e5). 3  The principal passages in which Plato appears to follow a dualistic direction are: the myth of the Statesman (269c6–270a8 and 272e3–273e4), where the periodic reverse rotation of the cosmos is said to have “the bodily element in its mixture” as its “cause” (to sōmatoeides tēs sunkraseōs aition); the description of the “straying cause” (planōmenē aitia) and of pre-­cosmic chaos in the Timaeus (48a6–7 and 52d4–53a8); and the reference to the “evil” (kakē) cosmic soul in the Laws (X 896e4–897d1). Cf. also [Pl.] Epin. 988e1–4. 4  See Metaph. Α 6, 987b18–27 and 988a7–15. 5  Metaph. 33, 11a27–b12. 6  De Is. et Os. 48, 371a; cf. Procl. In Ti. I 381.26–382.3. 7  Fr. 52.37–39. 8  In recent years, the dualistic interpretation of Plato has been defended with extraordinary comprehensiveness and persuasiveness by Festugière; see mainly 1947, 34–44 and 1944–54, 2:113–32; also ibid., 3:xii–xiv. The opposing, monistic viewpoint is lucidly defended by Cherniss 1954, 23–30; and by de Vogel 1972, 4–60. In his own detailed study of the subject, Hager 1963 concludes that although Plato veers in a dualistic direction, he always retained some reservations against radical dualism. 9  The earliest pertinent testimony is the well-­known fragment of Plato’s Syracusan student Hermodorus (fr. 7 = apud Porph. apud Simpl. In Ph. 247.31–248.18). Subsequently, this viewpoint comes to be connected with the “Pythagoreans,” but judging by the terminology they employ, the latter must obviously be regarded as members of the Academy propounding Platonic or Platonizing doctrines: see Alexander Polyhistor apud Diog. Laert. VIII 25; Sext. Emp. Math. X 261 (= ?Thrasyllus; see my comment on VP 20.75); Eudorus apud Simpl. In Ph. 181.10–30; Num. fr. 52.3–14; and Chald. Or. fr. 34–35. Iamblichus ascribes a similar viewpoint to “the Egyptians”: see Myst. VIII 3, 265.1–10; and Procl. In Ti. I 386.9–13; cf. [Clem. Rom.] Hom. XVI 12.2.2–4. On this whole question, see Rist 1965, 333–37. 10  It is true that at 6.33–34, P. speaks of two principles, one of goods and one of evils, but the context clearly shows that he does not mean by this to imply the existence of two principles independent of each 1  2 



I 8. On What Are Evils

a mere consequence of the “distance” (apostasis: literally, the “ex-­sistence”) of contingent beings in relation to their principle. One fact especially worth noting is that in order to buttress his monistic interpretation, P. draws heavily on Aristotelian terminology, conceptual equipment, and methods. Hager 1962, 77–78, correctly pointed out the crucial importance for the development of monistic Platonism of a passage from the Metaphysics (Ν 4, 1091b35– 1092a5; cf. Ph. I 9, 192a16–20) in which Aristotle criticizes Plato’s theory of principles. His argument consists effectively in a reductio ad absurdum of the identification of the unique principle with the “one” and the “good”; for if such is the case, as Aristotle observes, “it then follows that all things partake of evil except one: the one itself, . . . and that evil constitutes the space of the good (to kakon tou agathou chōran einai), and that it partakes in, and longs for, that which is destructive (kai metechein kai oregesthai tou phthartikou); for the contrary is destructive of its contrary. And . . . evil will be just the potentially good.” Clearly, the absurd consequences will arise only within the framework of a dualistic view positing the “contrariety” (enantiotēs) of the two principles. If, however, one were to cast this contrariety in a different light—for example, as a relation between states of “possession” (hexis) and “privation” (sterēsis)—one would at the same time remove any inconsistency from the implications noted by Aristotle. These could instead serve as the foundations on which to erect a philosophical system such as that of P., who—with perhaps one or two suitable clarifications—would have had no difficulty in accepting them in toto. Hence, we should not be surprised to discover that P. concentrates the brunt of his attention precisely on the analysis and amplification of the notion of contrariety, and on its correlation, in the case of Evil, with that of privation. It is in this way that the theory of Evil as priuatio boni originated—a theory that, principally through the intermediary of Augustine, was fated to exert an enormous impact on the evolution of ethical theory throughout the Middle Ages and into the modern era. On the other hand, the delicate balance P. achieved by his theory of Evil proved unable to withstand the weight of the pluri-­composite and multicomplex ontological systems assembled by late Neoplatonism. We already find Amelius striking out on a path diverging from that of his teacher, when he declares that the “formative principles” (logoi) of Evil are inherent in the Demiurge himself.11 For Porphyry, the soul and “evil-­ wreaking demons” (kakoergoi daimones) are—alongside matter—additional causes of evil, whereas Iamblichus abandons the Plotinian view altogether and adopts the first two as the sole causes of evil. Finally, Proclus turns directly against P., preferring, under the influence of the Phaedrus, to seek for the cause of Evil within the area of the irrational soul—“that element, in humanity and the world, which is imperfectly governed by rational desire,” as Dodds was to express it.12 other: simply, just as all goods derive from a unitary cause, the Good, so all evils must also be due to a unitary originating cause, namely, matter. 11  See my comment on VP 7.2–3. 12  Dodds 1973, 116.

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Commentary Title:An oration by Maximus of Tyre (XLI) on the same theme features a rather more expansive title: “God Being the Maker of Good Things, Whence Come Evils (pothen ta kaka)?” Beyond the title, however, the similarities end. Cf. also Num. fr. 52.48–49; and Boethius Cons. Phil. I 4.30. 1.1–6. Οἱ ζητοῦντες . . . ὁμολογηθείη: The investigation of the problem of Evil begins more socratico with the posing of a “What is F?” type of question, an answer to which is regarded as a precondition for responding to any further questions with respect to F. 1.7–12. κακοῦ δὲ . . . ἰνδαλλόμενον:See my comment on I 1.1.9–11. In setting out the epistemological problem concerning the nature of Evil, P. lays the ground for the responses he will offer to the related ontological questions. The principle “like is known by like” and its consequences are set forth by Aristotle in De an. I 2, 405b15–19; cf. ibid. 404b17–8, and Metaph. Β 4, 1000b5–6. On the intellect and the soul as cognizing “forms” (eidē), cf. Arist. De an. III 8, 432a2–3. 1.12–13. ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . ἐπιστήμη:This epistemological principle, the necessity of which will become clear in what follows, was adumbrated by Plato (Phd. 97d3–5) and given explicit formulation by Aristotle (De an. III 3, 427b5–6; cf. An. pr. I 1, 24a21), who possessed a fully developed theory of contrariety. 1.20. ὕστερον:That is, after the excursus on the Good in chapter 2. 2.1. Νῦν δὲ . . . προσήκει:The rationale for this excursus was furnished in 1.12–16. On the use of the expression “the nature of the Good” (tou agathou phusis) to indicate “the Good,” see my comment on I 6.9.37–39. 2.2–3. ἔστι δὲ . . . ἐφίεται:Cf. I 7.1.21–22 and Arist. Eth Nic. I 1, 1094a3. 2.4–7. τὸ δ’ . . . ἐνέργειαν: The fact that he intends to employ the description of the Good in order to define Evil as its contrary obliges P. to lay aside his usual reservations about attributing any predicate whatsoever to the Good (see indicatively V 5.6.11–17). The first three predicates describe (two of them, at least, in negative terms) a single state of affairs: the Good is (ultra-­)self-­sufficient, such being the result, we are told elsewhere, of its simplicity and unity; cf. II 9.1.5–9, VI 9.6.16–18, and V 3.17.12–14. The next two predicates, without attempting to reveal the nature of the Good, refer to the functional features it possesses, which determine its role within P.’s ontological system: like the God of Plato (see Leg. IV 716c4–5), the Good is the “measure” (metron) of all things (VI 8.18.3) and is itself “not measured” (ou metroumenon: V 5.4.13–14), being the “limit” (peras) of everything else while in itself “limitless” (apeiron); see Rist 1967b, 25. Finally, P. mentions those entities that originate “from it” (ex autou), thereby affording some indication of its magnificence (cf. VI 7.36.6–7).



I 8. On What Are Evils

2.8. ὑπέρκαλος:See my comment on I 6.6.21–32. 2.8–9. βασιλεύων ἐν τῷ νοητῷ:Cf. Pl. Resp. VI 509d2. 2.9–10. νοῦ ἐκείνου . . . νοῦς εἶναι:The reference here is to the hypostasis of Intellect, which derives from the Good. This is emphatically distinguished from the intellect inhering in souls; cf. I 1.8.1–3. 2.10–14. τοὺς ἐκ προτάσεων . . . ὄντας:Cf. I 3.4.18–23, with my comment. 2.16–17. ἔχει πάντα . . . ἄλλος: In describing the hypostasis of Intellect, P. lays emphasis on its identity with the intelligibles (i.e., the Forms) that comprise it and that it contemplates, thus intelligizing itself, as in Arist. Metaph. Λ 7, 1072b19–23 and 9, 1074b21– 1075a5. Such is the means by which the absolute and unshakable truth of Intellect is secured; see V 3.5.22–48. 2.17–20. οὐδὲ χωρὶς . . . πάντων:As frequently occurs, P., in order to speak of Intellect, makes use of expressions that recall those employed by Anaxagoras in referring to his own—entirely different—nous; cf. fr. B1 and 12 DK. 2.22–23. ἐνεργεῖ . . . ζῶν:The activation of Intellect, its “irradiation,” is already characterized as “life” by Aristotle, Metaph. Λ 7, 1072b26–27. Cf. VI 9.9.17; and Hadot 1960, 112. 2.23–25. ἡ δὲ . . . βλέπει:Cf. VI 9.8.36–45; and Iambl. apud Simpl. In Cat. 351.33–353.2. 2.25–26. καὶ οὗτος . . . βίος:Cf. Pl. Phdr. 248a4 and c4. 2.28–32. περὶ . . . τρίτα: This passage from the pseudo-­Platonic Epistle II (312e1–4) addressed to the tyrant Dionysus was purported to contain, expressed in riddling form, the quintessence of the metaphysics of its putative author. It was greatly influential among the Middle Platonists and more particularly among the Neopythagoreans, who discovered in it a summary of their own theory of “principles” (archai); see the survey provided by Saffrey and Westerink 1968–97, 2:xxvi–xlix. P. cites the passage (here as elsewhere) from memory, but to all essentials accurately; see Kalligas 1988, 100. In so doing, he reconfirms his commitment to the interpretation he had proposed for it in his early, fundamental treatise, “On the Three Primary Hypostases” (V 1 [10]. 8.1–10); while we also know that Amelius, who had just withdrawn from the school, had gravitated toward an entirely different interpretation, based on Numenius: see Amelius fr. A.III. XLIV = Procl. In Ti. I 306.1–14; and Saffrey and Westerink op. cit., lii–liii; and cf. my comment on VP 7.2–3. On the term “king” (basileus), see my comment on VP 3.30–32 (and cf. also Pl. Leg. X 904a6). 3.1–3. Εἰ δὴ . . . ταῦτα:The Good and its hypostases, Intellect and the soul—which, according to P., comprise the totality of “beings” (onta)—are all three “goods” (agatha),

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First Ennead hierarchically graded; see I 7.2.6–11, with my comment. Therefore, because the state of being is enmeshed with that of goodness, Evil must be sought somewhere outside of its realm. 3.4–6. εἴπερ ἔστιν . . . τῷ μὴ ὄντι:The expression “Form of nonbeing” (eidos tou mē ontos) is employed catachrestically by Plato at Soph. 258d6 to designate “the nature of the Different” (phusis tou thaterou). P. is more cautious in his formulation, especially as what he has in mind is not—as it was for Plato—some genus that pervades the totality of beings, but rather the common property of all nonbeings, that is, of all sensibles along with their immanent qualities and their constituent elements. 3.6–7. μὴ ὂν . . . τοῦ ὄντος:Although Evil is a “nonbeing” (mē on) and is, indeed, “really nonbeing” (ontōs mē on: see II 5.5.24–25), it should not be identified with “what is nonbeing absolutely” (to pantelōs mē on), that is, with complete nonexistence; for even though it may lack substantiality, it nevertheless has subsistence (see below, 3.20–22 and 14.43). The formulation recalls Soph. 257b3–4, but the thought goes back to Plato’s emphatic assertion at Prm. 162a4–b3 that the “binding guarantee” (desmos) of anything’s nonbeing is “its being a nonbeing” (to einai mē on), by which nonbeing partakes of being. 3.7–12. οὐχ οὕτω . . . τοιοῦτον ὄν:But Plato had shown in the Sophist (256d11–e6) that nonbeing, in the guise of “difference” or “otherness” (heterotēs), pervades all the greatest genera and, by extension, all the Forms. P. hastens to clarify that what he has in mind here is not this type of nonbeing, which he elsewhere correlates with so-­called intelligible matter (see II 4.5.28–35), but rather that deficiency of being—that lack of substance—that differentiates an image from its model (cf. II 4.16.1–4). He thus redirects our attention toward Plato’s investigation of the nature of the “image” (eidōlon) in Soph. 239d3–240c2. Within this perspective, P. marks the presence of two grades of nonbeing, which he is for the moment content to distinguish by the mere interposition of a disjunctive ē. The first of these, embracing the sensibles and their affections, corresponds to the Eleatic Stranger’s description of a “likeness” (eikōn) as “not what really is” (ouk ontōs [ouk: rightly deleted by Baiter and Burnet] on: Soph. 240b7), yet at the same time as “not really what is not” (ouk on . . . ouk ontōs: ibid. 12, restoring the second ouk wrongly deleted by Badham and Burnet, and subsequently expunged in the new OCT edition; cf. Procl. In Prm. 816.18–20; and see Kohnke 1957, 35–38). It will be made clear below (4.1–5) that the reference here is to “secondary evil” (deuteron kakon). Instead, the primal Evil corresponds to the next grade of nonbeing, “that which still more is not” (to eti mallon mē on), that is, what is “really nonbeing” or “nonbeing essentially” (ontōs mē on). This is described with a certain vagueness, because its identity has not yet been disclosed; but there can be no doubt that what P. is hinting at is “matter” (hulē), which he elsewhere (III 6.7.23–30) compares to a mirror in which the “images” (eidōla) of beings are seen to appear.



I 8. On What Are Evils

3.12–18. ἤδη γὰρ . . . πάντα ταῦτα:An attempt is now made to determine the nature, so “difficult to hunt down” (dusthēreutos), of Evil. The repeated use of privative designations prepares us for its definition as perfect deficiency (see below, 5.5–8), which in the context of Plotinian metaphysics can only mean perfect deficiency of Good (cf. III 2.5.26), Good itself having been previously (2.4–6) described precisely as the “measure” and “limit” of all things, as “giving of substance” (dous . . . ousian, i.e., as “formative” or eidopoiētikon), and as “self-­sufficient.” The remaining characterizations draw their inspiration from the description of chōra, the material substrate in the cosmogony of the Timaeus (52d6–e4); the same source may well have suggested also the expression pampathes (“subject to every sort of affection”; but cf. Arist. Gen. corr. I 7, 324b18) which seems to contradict the fundamental tenet of P.’s that matter is “impassible” (apathēs: III 6.10–13; cf. however SVF 2:318). Matter is characterized as “formless” (aneideos) by Arius Didymus fr. ph. 2, 448.3; Moderatus apud Porph. De silua apud Simpl. In Ph. 231.13; “Alcinous” Didasc. 8, 162.35– 163.7; and Alex. Aphrod. De an. 3.28–4.2, and De mixt. 226.15. Cf. the anonymous Neoplatonic fragment, PFlor apud Barigazzi 1949, 60.23; and Arist. Cael. III 8, 306b17. The term serves to express the privation of matter in respect of any Form or quality. The same idea is conveyed also through its characterization as “want” or “poverty” (penia); cf. II 4.16.19–23, III 5.9.49–53, and, of course, the allegorical interpretation of the myth of Plenty and Poverty from Plato’s Symposium in the treatise “On the Impassibility of Things without Body,” where the latter is explicitly identified with matter (III 6.14.5–26). 3.20. ὑποστάσει:Contrary to a rather widely held impression, the term hupostasis possesses no particular technical meaning for P.; see also Dörrie [1955b]/1976, 45. Hence, in the present context, where it is utilized in connection with matter—that is, with what is nonbeing essentially—it serves to indicate nothing more than the fact that although matter is neither a substance nor an accident, it is “something” (ti). Cf. Nicom. Ar. I 1.3, 2.18. 3.26–30. ἀλλ’ ὥσπερ . . . μεμέτρηται:In making his case for the self-­subsistence of Evil— not as an independent ontological principle, but as something nonaccidental—P. marshals a rather strange argument concerning that “unmeasuredness” (ametria) that he had earlier pointed to as one of its characteristic features. The underlying thought seems to be that if unmeasuredness is not something self-­subsistent, that is, separate, then it must be present in something else as an inherent characteristic; but then this something else will be essentially unmeasured, as is the case with matter. Cf. II 4.15.10–17. 3.30–32. καὶ οὖν . . . φύσιν: There is, then, something, the essential characteristics of which correspond to the description given at 3.13–16, and which, as I explained in my comment ad loc., can be nothing other than matter, described elsewhere as well in the Enneads as “unmeasured” (ametros: I 2.2.20–21), “unlimited” (apeiros: II 4.15.10–37), “in need” (endeēs: III 5.9.49–50), “indefinite” (aoristos: II 4.10.1–5 and III 4.1.11–12), and “not yet stable by itself ” (mēpō stasa par’ hautēs: II 4.11.40).

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First Ennead 3.33–34. καὶ εἴ τι . . . τοιοῦτον:P. refers here to what partakes of matter, that is, to the “secondary” evils. These affect either sensible bodies, which are mixed in with matter (see II 4.12.8–10), or the soul, which “produces” it (see III 4.1.5–17, III 9.3.10–14, and IV 8.6.20–21; also O’Brien 1971, 127–28; and below, my comment on 14.51–54) and becomes evil, that is, bad or vicious, when it makes matter the focus of its concern (see below, 14.49–53). 4.1–5. Σωμάτων . . . κακόν:Sensible bodies are constituted by the reflection of intelligible Forms on matter; as such they have the capacity to disorient the soul and mislead it in the direction of something “other” (heteron) than its true goal, inhibiting it at the same time from activating its intelligence (cf. Pl. Phd. 65a9–c10). To this extent, then, bodies may be thought of as evil, although it is matter that is actually responsible. It is well worth noting that P. imputes the disorderly motion—which many students of the Timaeus (30a4–5; see Festugière 1944–54, 2:127; and cf. Num. fr. 4a.4–7) regard as being assignable to prime matter—to “the nature of bodies” (sōmatōn phusis). Bodies collide and engage in mutual destruction, thereby becoming evils for one another, whenever their motion is incompletely harmonized with the rhythm of the Good. Even fluidity, which was traditionally regarded as the characteristic property of matter, is here attributed to bodies; on this see Pépin 1971a, 156n.3. 4.7–8. δουλωσάμενοι . . . ἐγγίγνεσθαι:Cf. Pl. Phdr. 256b2–3. 4.8–12. τοῦ ἀλόγου . . . καὶ διώκει:It is the irrational part of the soul that, on coming into contact with the body, sustains its influence in the form of “affections” (pathē); these, being excessive and unmeasured (cf. Pl. Phlb. 52c3–d1), foment vices in the soul (cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. II 8, 1108b11–18, but also the compilation of Pythagorean ethical theory apud Iambl. VPyth. 7.34, 20.13–17): vices that are involuntary, in the sense that they are concomitants of its disorientation. In this way, the fundamental Socratic conviction concerning the involuntariness of evil—which in the case of Socrates himself was perhaps inadequately supported by argument (see Vlastos 1991, 153–54), but which Plato continued to defend even as he was writing the Laws (see IX 860d1–9)—finds here its metaphysical grounding; cf. Pl. Ti. 86d7–e2. 4.15–16. μέμικται . . . ἄγοντος: The Forms are manifested at the level of soul as virtues. On the regulating and “measuring” (i.e., moderating) role that these exercise, see my comment on I 2.2.13–20. 4.20–22. πρὸς γένεσιν . . . κακοῦ ἑαυτῆς:Although the soul itself never “falls” into matter, it does, by turning its gaze in its direction and concentrating its attention on the self-­image it finds mirrored there (cf. I 1.8.15–23, with my comments), acquire viciousness. We could say, then, that vice constitutes a tertiary evil, following on those of matter and sensible bodies—yet one that concerns the soul neither in its nature nor even in its situation, but only in respect of the stance and orientation it adopts within the ontological order.



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4.22–24. ἄμοιρος γὰρ . . . ἔλλειψις:Matter is by nature entirely negative: it consists in a total lack of any trace of the Good, and therefore in a complete deficiency of being. Already Moderatus seems to have described matter as a kind of privation: “the unitary rational principle (ho heniaios logos) . . . separated off (echōrise Zeller: echōrēse MSS, Diels: echorēgēse Dodds) quantity by self-­privation (kata sterēsin hautou), depriving it of all its ordering principles and Forms. This he [sc., Plato, as construed by Moderatus, according to the paraphrase by Porphyry which Simplicius, In Ph. 231.8–21 is reporting] called ‘quantity,’ ‘shapeless’ and ‘undivided’ and ‘non-­configured’, yet ‘receptive of shape, configuration, division, quality,’ and everything similar. . . . Now this quantity . . . and this Form, which is conceived by privation of the unitary rational principle that has gathered within itself all the ordering principles of beings, are archetypes of corporeal matter.” But P., of course, denies even quantity to matter; see II 4.9.4–14. Cf. also Plut. De def. or. 414d; and Simpl. op. cit. 429.4–7. 4.26. καθαρά:Cf. I 2.4.13–17. 4.28–32. ἡ δὲ . . . τὸ σκότος:The lower soul that animates the body is nothing but a specter of the true soul reflected in matter; cf. I 1.7.1–6. Looking to the body, the soul gazes on what is not: on evanescent shadows whose material is darkness. Just as in reality we do not “see” shadows, but only their illuminated outlines, so matter also can only be apprehended as the negation and privation of its circumambient Being. Cf. II 1.6.39–41. 5.1–5. Ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . τῆς ὕλης:From everything that has been said so far, it follows that the occurrence of vice depends on two factors: (a) matter, on which the soul projects its image, and (b) the concentration of the soul’s “gaze” on this image. The question now arises: Which of these two factors is primary? And the issue is complicated by the fact that, for P., matter is an offspring of the soul, its etiolated and sterile by-­product (see above, my comment on 3.33–34). If one were to regard the (inevitable) weakening of the action of the Good at the level of soul, which is responsible for the generation of matter, as in itself evil, then this would constitute the primal Evil, whereas matter, as a by-­ product, would represent a secondary, concomitant evil. For P., this would entail the danger that Evil might then be held to have its source in a vicious soul, a countervailing power in conflict with the Good. 5.5–9. ἢ οὐκ . . . μοῖραν: Hence P.’s response to the above question is categorical: the primary Evil is matter, because it is this which constitutes if not a sufficient, certainly a necessary precondition for the presence of evil in the soul; see below, 14.49–54; and O’Brien 1971, 143–44. The explanation provided is authentically Platonic in inspiration: just as any quality in itself, as Form, is prior in being to that in which it inheres, so Evil itself, or perfect deficiency, must have precedence over its instantiation in the soul or in anything else; cf. II 4.16.19–24. The identification of primal Evil with matter seems to have been a standard doctrine for the Platonizing Neopythagoreans (see, e.g., Moderatus op. cit. 231.21; Celsus apud

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First Ennead Origen C. Cels. IV 65.3–4; and Num. fr. 52.37–39 and 44–64), yet, as becomes clear in the case of Numenius, it was usually accompanied by the ascription to matter of an innate maleficent power, such that it could even be described as a “soul (anima) . . . [which is] malignant (maligna) . . . [and] which, although it flows about in a disorderly manner, still, seeing that it is moved by its own internal motility, must be alive” (ibid. 65–68; cf. 92–97). This kind of dualistic approach was completely unacceptable to P., who held that every soul is good by nature, even if by its irradiation it should illuminate matter; cf. I 1.12.24–27. The expression “a share in good” (agathou moiran) is used repeatedly by Plato in the Philebus (see 20d1, 54c10, 60b4), but what it there designates is the Good itself. 5.9–12. οὐδὲ γὰρ . . . μὴ εἶναι:Although paradoxical in the extreme, especially for the contemporary reader, P.’s position is nonetheless pellucid and categorical: because every property is the manifestation of a Form, and every Form—as an expression of the supreme Good—a bearer of goodness, matter, being denuded and destitute of any trace of Form, has no property whatsoever; and seeing, therefore, that it is not anything, it must follow that it “is not.” Indeed, even to speak of it as “evil” (kakē) is not to designate a property of matter; it is merely to indicate its lack of any property (see below 10.1–5). Hence, insofar as we apply the term “being” at all to matter, we do so catachrestically, without any implications for its status as a being. 5.12–26. ἡ οὖν ἔλλειψις . . . χρησμοσύνην εἶναι:We are now introduced to an ordered hierarchy of evils that is inversely symmetrical to the hierarchy of goods, according to the classic Aristotelian division of the latter into three classes: (a) those “relating to soul,” (b) those “relating to body,” and (c) those that are “external”; see Eth. Nic. I 8, 1098b12–15. Thus immediately after Evil itself, P. mentions in turn: (a) the vices of the soul (cf. also below, 15.13–21), then (b) bodily depredations, and finally (c) the lack of external “goods” or necessities. It is worth noting that the theory of the physiology of disease that is recalled here differs not in the least from that of Galen, for whom illness is the result of “misblending” (duskrasia), that is, of the immoderate preponderance of one of the four qualities, the proper balance of which is fundamental to life and health; see, e.g., Temp. 3, I 521; and cf. SVF 1:125 and 132; also Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. I 9, 19.29–20.1. The unusual word chrēsmosunē (“need”) possibly represents a deliberate evocation of the language of Heraclitus fr. B65 DK (see Theiler ad loc.), where the same word designates the cosmological opposite of the koros (“satiety”) of cosmic fire. Cf. also Epigr. 594.12 Kaibel. 5.26–30. εἰ δὴ ταῦτα . . . οὐ δύνασθαι:See my comment on 4.8–12 and cf. Pl. Phd. 107d1. 5.30–33. θεοῖς δὲ . . . ἐν αὐτοῖς ὄντι:The perceptible—that is, visible—divinities are, of course, the celestial bodies: the “gods in heaven”; cf. II 1.5.18–19, V 8.3.27–28, etc. Although they possess matter, they are not the maleficent masters of human destiny that they were held to be by the astrologizing Gnostics and by Numenius (see fr. 52.81–87);



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rather they are exemplars of virtue, because they exercise full control over their corporeal matter, being “unaffected by any mortal discomfort” (see Arist. Cael. II 1, 284a14– 15; cf. IV 8.2.38–52). This also renders them appropriate models for man: if he should succeed in overmastering matter and the affections stemming from it, then he will not be touched by evil. As Pistorius 1952, 124, explains, “there is no moral stigma on man because he shares in the common limitations of bodily life. His association with the body is not-­good, because it causes a condition of lack. But before there can be a stigma of moral evil, there must be a definite choice of the will to increase that lack.” See also O’Brien 1971, 129–30; and Rist 1974, 497. 6.1–4. Ἐπισκεπτέον δὲ . . . ἀεί:In chapters 6 and 7, P. takes up the interpretation of this celebrated Platonic passage (Tht. 176a5–b2, with 176a2–4 and 177a5) from a different perspective than in his earlier treatise “On Virtues” (see my introduction to I 2). The necessity of the presence of evil in the world had similarly been propounded, and with reference to the same passage in the Theaetetus (and not the Phaedo, as von Arnim believed), by Chrysippus, who placed strong emphasis on the logical correlation of good and evil as being “tied to each other in polar opposition (uerticibus inter se contrariis deligatum: SVF 2:1169 trans. LS).” Cf. also Celsus apud Origen C. Cels. IV 62.4– 10 and VIII 55.9–11, and CH VI, 74.2. Numenius seems to have been fully alive to the issues concerned (fr. 52.56–64), which in his case led to the view that the extirpation of evil presupposes the destruction of the material world itself. 6.4–9. ἆρ’ οὖν . . . ὅδε ὁ τόπος:One way of reading the Theaetetus passage would be to construe it, against a background of astral worship, as an invitation for us to abandon this lower world and ascend to our heavenly home, where divine order and harmony prevail. Support for such an interpretation could be sought for in those passages of the Platonic Timaeus and of Aristotle’s De philosophia that discuss the soul’s “kinship” (sungeneia) with the celestial bodies; on this, see Festugière 1944–54, 2:247–59. 6.9–12. ἀλλὰ . . . κακίαν δεῖν: P. firmly rejects this interpretation. Escape from evils (cf. Pl. Tht. 176a8-­b2) is not achieved by spatial displacement (cf. I 6.8.22–27; also below, 14.27–34, but also my comment on I 9.2–4), but by an internal conversion toward Intellect through virtue. Socrates is not enjoining us to take flight from the world, but to avoid the viciousness that our excessive preoccupation with it entails. 6.14–17. εἰ πείθοι . . . τῷ ἀγαθῷ:Cf. Pl. Tht. 176a3–6. 6.17–25. τὴν μὲν . . . ἐξ ἀνάγκης:Raising this aporia enables P. to put forward certain clarifications and to, as it were, “correct” Plato’s formulation somewhat, according to his own lights. Human vice is the contrary (cf. Tht. 176a6: hupenantion) not of the Good, but of virtue, which is a manifestation of the primal Good. There is a corresponding adjustment to be made in respect of the mode of the affirmation: while the presence of Evil in the world is necessary, man does have the possibility of detaching himself from viciousness, seeing that the occurrence of one contrary does not entail

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First Ennead the occurrence of the other, but merely the contingency (to endechomenon) of the other’s occurrence. 6.27–59. ἀλλ’ εἰ οὐσία . . . ποιεῖ:The purpose of this lengthy argument is to show that the “contrariety” (enantiotēs) that has the existence of Evil as its necessary consequence is not completely to be identified with the corresponding Aristotelian concept. As was already made apparent earlier, at 5.5–6, what comes closer to P.’s thought is the concept of “lack” (elleipsis) or “privation” (sterēsis), which Aristotle distinguishes from contrariety as a separate way of “being in opposition” (antikeisthai: Cat. 10, 11b17–23). To begin with, Aristotle indicates one feature of “substances” (ousiai) as being “that there is nothing contrary to them” (to mēden autais enantion einai: Cat. 5, 3b24–25); this, by the by, is the reason why contraries are in all cases predicable of subjects as accidents (see Metaph. Ν 1, 1087b1–3). Yet P. has an entirely different conception of Substance: for him, it is the transcendental mode of being of real beings, that is, of the Forms. In this sense, Substance is amenable to contrariety; this will consist in a lack of Substance, that is, either in the deficient substantiality displayed by sensibles, or in the complete lack of substantiality that, as we saw earlier (3.4–9; see also my comment on 4.2.2–4), characterizes matter. Second, contrariety in Aristotle entails that the polar opposites will compete for inherence to a common substrate and will belong to a common genus (Cat. 11, 14a15–25, where, however, Aristotle himself recognizes that “good” and “bad” are in and of themselves contrary genera). Instead, P., taking his cue from a phrase in the Categories (6, 6a17–18; cf. also Eth. Nic. II 8, 1108b33–34), broadens the notion of contrariety to encompass the opposition of “possession” (hexis) and “privation” (sterēsis), as in the cases of limit and the unlimited, measure and the unmeasured, and the others mentioned at 3.13–15, where the contraposed entities share nothing whatsoever in common, given that the one represents the negation of the essential characteristics of the other. Third, P. broadens the notion of contrariety in yet another direction, namely, that of the opposition of truth and falsehood, which Aristotle had also sharply distinguished from the former; see Cat. 10, 13a37–b5. What enables him to do this is that his conception of truth differs radically from that of the Stagirite. He correlates it not with the truth values assumed by pairs of contradictory statements, but with the degree to which any entity corresponds to its real essence. From this point of view, falsehood is nothing but a deficiency of truth (cf. Pl. Soph. 266e10), whereas matter, as deficiency of substantiality, will consist in pure falsehood. In this manner P. arrives at a notion of contrariety that is more ontological than it is logical. It bears a family resemblance to the concept of “otherness” (heterotēs) in the Sophist (see 257b3–10 and 258b1–3), and it is better adapted to the description of the relations holding among the different ontological levels within the Plotinian system than it is to the analysis of the logical relations holding between same-­level concepts or statements. 7.1–7. Ἀλλὰ πῶς . . . κοσμηθεῖσαν:Just as it is with contrariety, so is it also with Evil: the necessity of its existence stems more from ontological considerations than it does from



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logical ones. It is a consequence of the mixed nature of the universe (cf. III 2.5.25–32 and III 3.7.1–3), which in the Timaeus (47e5–48a1) is described as a combination of “Intellect” (nous) and “Necessity” (anankē). The latter’s action as “Straying Cause” (planōmenē aitia) is due to the resistance of chōra, the material substrate of creation: that “primordial nature” (palai pote phusis) that, in the myth of the Statesman, 273b4–c2, is responsible for the occurrence in the world of “whatever is bad and unjust.” 7.7–12. ἀλλὰ πῶς . . . τὰ κακά:The expression “mortal nature” (thnētē phusis) from the Theaetetus passage, 176a7–8 (cf. 6.3), is interpreted via a second Platonic citation, drawn from the “address” of the Demiurge in the Timaeus, 41b2–4. In accordance with the latter, it is held to refer to the celestial divinities and, by extension, to the whole universe, which, although its mixed nature makes it mortal, yet, by the will of God, is eternally preserved from dissolution. Cf. II 1.1.1–3. 7.12–16. πῶς οὖν . . . ἀθάνατοι:Cf. above, 6.9–12, with my comment. 7.16–23. ἔστι δὲ . . . τοῦ κακοῦ:The second justification P. provides for the necessity of Evil reaches to the core of his philosophical system. A necessary consequence of the nature of the Good—of its superabundance, but also of its own proper will—is the “procession” (ekbasis) of the hypostases from it; on this see Rist 1967b, 69–83. But from the moment such a procession exists, it must necessarily conclude somewhere, at something that in the process of so-­called emanation will constitute its “utmost extremity” (eschaton), where all further possibility of productive action is voided—something that is at the maximum remove from the Good, the influence of which is there nil. This will constitute the perfect deficiency of Good, that is, its negation, that is, Evil. 8.1–10. Εἰ δέ τις . . . τὸ κακὸν εἶναι:The first of the aporiai that comprise the last part of the treatise is quite a reasonable one, besides being of some interest. If it is the case that in itself matter is inert, how can we possibly regard it as the cause of the ills befalling bodies and souls? Ought we not instead to view the Forms as the responsible agents, seeing that it is they that represent the active ingredients in the mixture of which the sensible world is composed? Is not that “decrepit state of the body” (ponēra hexis tou sōmatos: cf. Pl. Ti. 86e1–2) brought on by vice attributable rather to the Forms acting upon it, than to the influence of passive and indifferent matter? 8.11–13. ἅ τε γὰρ . . . ποιεῖ:The first response is that in order to exercise any effect in the sensible domain, a Form must be enmattered. The example P. utilizes in support of this position is drawn from Aristotle, PA I 1, 642a10–11, where it is brought in by the Stagirite to illustrate “hypothetical” necessity. We may infer then that, in P.’s view, although matter is not itself active, it constitutes a presupposition for the effective action of Forms on sensibles. 8.13–24. εἶτα καὶ . . . ἔτι εἶναι:The second response rests on the observation that the images of the Forms suffer distortion on coming into contact with matter. As they as-

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First Ennead sume the latter’s characteristics, they are not only corrupted, but become themselves capable of corrupting. This does not mean that matter reacts in any positive manner to the imposition of the Forms upon it. Rather, seeing that, as described also by Alexander of Aphrodisias, De an. 4.1–2, it is “shapeless, formless and non-­configured (amorphos, aneideos kai aschēmatistos) according to its own definition,” it projects a sort of inertia that exerts a distorting and disorganizing influence on the image appearing in it, which it thereby appropriates and assimilates to itself. Cf. also II 3.16.50–52. O’Meara 1999, 52 and 74n.50, has recommended the transposition of the phrase oude gar to pur . . . legetai poiein from ll. 16–18 to l. 12, after ou chōris ousa poiei (“it does not do when it is separate”), where it seems to fit better in meaning. Yet apart from the paleographic difficulties that such a textual amendment would pose, it would also deprive the second response of the illustrative example of fire, which renders it somewhat more perspicuous. As regards the destructive action of fire in its “enmattered” form, see also my comment on II 1.4.11–13. 8.24–27. ὥσπερ . . . ἐκείνου: Cf. Porph. fr. 259F. 90–99 = Nemesius De nat. hom. 3, 39.20–40.1: “where bodies are concerned, union brings about a complete alteration in the conjoined entities, since these are transformed into different bodies, as . . . food is changed into blood, and blood into flesh and the remaining parts of the body.” We notice that while Porphyry contrasts the process of assimilation of nourishment to that of the “unconfused union” (asunchutos henōsis) of intelligibles with sensibles, P. displays the two as being parallel, employing the former to elucidate the latter. This, together with the similar use of forms of the verb paratithenai (“to apply”) by both authors (see above, 20, which oddly escaped Schwyzer 1983, 57), create the suspicion that they are both drawing from the same source, but independently of one another, each interpreting (or judging) it in his own way. Their common source cannot be other than Ammonius Saccas, to whom the doctrine in question is explicitly ascribed by Porphyry (who could have obtained the pertinent information from some other student of Ammonius, for example Longinus or Origen). 8.28–37. ἀλλὰ κρατεῖν . . . ταδὶ δὲ ἄλλοι:P. does not dispute the influence that external factors may exercise on psychical dispositions, or even on consciousness. We have some further evidence of this in the attention he himself appears to have shown to matters of diet and mode of living generally; see VP 2.1–6, 8.21–22. See also above, 5.17–23, with my comment. Yet these influences and their concomitant “affections” (pathē) concern only the image that the soul projects onto the body in composing a “living being” (zōion) and do not concern the soul itself (this being the central theme of treatise I 1). Hence, an excessive preoccupation with such factors, even in the course of one’s effort to master them, deflects the soul’s attention in the wrong direction and ultimately proves unsuccessful, as the only way of radically overcoming them is through “flight” (phugē: cf. above, 6.10–12). 8.37–44. ἔστω δὴ . . . αὐτοῦ: P. does not hesitate to employ the Platonic vocabulary of assimilation to, and participation in, the Forms with respect to the diametrically oppo-



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site and countervailing relation that corporeal entities and affections have with matter. We could say that one relation constitutes the inverted image of the other, just as matter represents the antipodes of the Good. 9.1–11. Τίνι οὖν . . . καταλιπόντες: We now turn to the discussion, announced at the beginning of the treatise (see 1.7–17), of the epistemological problem connected with Evil. Insofar as vice is concerned, the problem can be met with the help of the Aristotelian principle governing the knowledge of opposites (see my comment on 1.12–13; and cf. Arist. De an. I 5, 411a3–6). Vice is a sort of shadow, a negative image of virtue. It is thus apprehended incidentally, as the absence and negation of the virtues; cf. my comment on 4.28–32; and Blumenthal 1989, 263. 9.11–14. καὶ δὴ . . . ἐλλείψει:Cf. I 6.2.16–18. 9.14–26. ὁ δὲ . . . ἐναντίον:We now come to appreciate why P. insisted on the use of the term enantion (“contrary”) in his discussion of the nature of Evil, thereby drastically expanding the term’s meaning; see 6.27–59, with my comment. His purpose was to preserve the possibility of employing the logic of contrariety in dealing with the problem of the knowledge of Evil; cf. 1.12–14. In effect, knowledge is obtained “through what is like” (tōi homoiōi); see 1.8. Hence, in order for intellect to apprehend the nature of its own privation and negation, it must in some way abrogate itself. That is the reason why in the parallel passage of his treatise “On Matter” (II 4.10.1–11) P. invokes the Platonic expression “bastard reasoning” (nothos logismos: cf. Pl. Ti. 52b2) to indicate the way in which intellection accedes to matter. What this consists in is a uia negationis that is the counterpart in reverse (cf. my comment on 8.37–44) of the one leading to the Good, as is implied also by the reference to “abstracting” (aphairein: 15; cf. also 7). Cf. Simpl. In Ph. 226.25–227.2. 10.1–11. ἄποιος δὲ . . . στέρησις: Because matter is tantamount to the complete absence of Form, and because any property is the manifestation of a Form, matter will in itself be entirely “unqualified” (apoios). The term apoios seems to have been first applied to matter by the Stoics (see SVF 1:85, 493, 2:300, etc.), to whom it appears to have conveyed the sense of “inert” by derivation from a + poiein (i.e., “non-­acting”). The Platonists, following some initial resistance (see Plut. De an. proc. 6, 1015b, which brings to the fore precisely the aporia to which P. here provides an answer), came to adopt it themselves, but now as signifying an absence of quality: see, for example, “Alcinous” Didasc. 8, 162.41 and 163.6; Sext. Emp. Pyr. III 31; Num. fr. 52.34; Dox. Gr. 308a6 (“Aëtius”), 567.17 (Hippolytus), 610.4 ([Galen]). Cf. also Origen C. Cels. III 41.14 and IV 56.11. See also Hager 1962, 80–81. According to P., matter is unqualified in the most radical way possible. Outflanking the Stoic position, he insists that it is not even corporeal (II 4.8.1–3). Its only property is its “privation” (sterēsis) of all qualities (ibid. 13.7–28); but privation of quality does not constitute a quality, “for privation is a taking away (arsis), while qualification is a matter

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First Ennead of positive assertion (to de poion en kataphasei).” Hence, in the end, matter is identified with privation itself (ibid. 14.17–28). And it is within this perspective that we are meant to understand its characterization as “evil”—as signifying the complete privation of Being, and consequently also of the Good. 11.2–9. στέρησις . . . εἶναι: The objection raised here has its roots in the Aristotelian conception of privation as something that “in its own nature is not” (kath’ hautēn ouk on) and that occurs, therefore, always accidentally—in contrast with matter, which for this very reason is characterized as something that “is nearly, and in a qualified sense, substance”; see Ph. I 9, 192a3–6. But if privation (of the Good) can occur only as an accident (in the soul), then evil will have no existence other than in a deprived and, by implication, evil soul, whereupon matter—insofar as it has any independent subsistence—will not in itself be evil. We have no way of knowing to what extent such a line of thought may have played a role in the formulation of dualistic views such as one finds, for example, in Numenius, for whom maleficent matter is at the same time a soul, and “is not without some substance (neque sine ulla est substantia: fr. 52.92–93).” 11.10–19. ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . τὸ ἀγαθόν:In any case, P. rejects this conception of privation and takes sides with Plato—who had formed the target of Aristotle’s criticism in the passage cited above—by maintaining that matter is identical with privation understood as nonbeing (see also, however, my comment on 3.6–7). In this way he undermines the logical foundation for the dualistic conception of an innately maleficent cosmic Soul. At the same time, P. introduces an argument based on the indissoluble relation of the soul with life. Through this relation, the soul is necessarily linked with Intellect and the Good; cf. I 4.3.24–40. Hence, the privation of Good cannot, for the soul, be something innate. 12.1–7. Τί οὖν . . . τὸ κακόν:Evil in the soul—“vice” or “[moral] defectiveness” (kakia)— is itself also a privation (of the virtues); yet it is so not in absolute, but as a mere accident in something that in its substance is good. 13.1–14. Εἰ μὴ ἄρα . . . ἀπὸ τῆς κακίας:Vice is accidental to the soul, as virtue is also. And as virtue presupposes the soul’s participation in Beauty and in the Good itself, but not its identification with either of these, so vice presupposes the soul’s participation in Evil itself as in something subsisting independently of it. See also my comment on 8.37–44. 13.14–26. θεωροῦντι μὲν . . . ἐπικαταδαρθεῖν: The “contemplation” of matter, being the inverted image of the contemplation of the Forms, entails the soul’s immersion in the “filth” (borboros: cf. Pl. Phd. 69c6; also Enn. I 6.5.39–45, 6.1–5, and VI 7.31.26–27) of materiality, or the “region of unlikeness (topos tēs anomoiotētos),” as it is described in the myth of the Statesman, 273d6–e1. (Let it be noted in passing that P. has in mind the text as transmitted by the Platonic MSS; Burnet’s ponton (“sea”) in place of topon, retained in the new OCT edition, is due to an inspired corrective intervention by Proclus. On this,



I 8. On What Are Evils

see Pépin 1954, 257–59; and Courcelle 1957, 5–33.) This immersion constitutes a “death” not of the man, but of the soul (cf. my comment on I 6.5.34–36; and Arnobius Adu. nat. II 14, 58.29–59.19)—a kind of deep sleep from which only the intellect (through dialectic; cf. Pl. Resp. VII 533d1–2 and 534c7–d1) can rouse it. We have here an echo of the theme, familiar to us from Middle Platonism, of the soul as a “Sleeping Beauty”; cf. Bos 1989, 87–89; and my comment on VP 22.40. 14.1–8. Εἰ δέ τις . . . τῇ ψυχῇ:P. now moves on to investigate the nature of evil as it is manifested in the soul. Plato already considered vice to be a kind of “disease” (astheneia: see Resp. IV 444e1–2, and cf. Grg. 477b3–4), but it was Posidonius who further specified it as an infirmity of the “rational” (logistikon) faculty of the soul and linked it to the debilitating presence of “affections” (pathē); see fr. 164.26–60. Hence also, the distinctively Stoic flavor of the terminology employed here. Cf. SVF 3:172, 548; and Posid. fr. 34.32–35. The antithetical pair “winds and sun-­heat” (pneumata kai heilēseis) was commonplace as an example of fortuitous external influences; cf. Pl. Resp. II 380e5, III 404b1; and Arist. Ph. II 5, 197a23. 14.8–17. οὐ γὰρ δὴ . . . ψυχὴν εἶναι:P. hastens to dissolve any possible misunderstandings that might arise as a result of the materialistic language used by the Stoics, interpreting it as “metaphorical” (analogia). 14.20. ἐπτερωμέναι καὶ τέλειοι:Cf. Pl. Phdr. 246b7–c1. 14.21–24. λοιπὸν . . . παρουσία:It is only the image projected by the soul onto the body that is subject to affections and hence to disease. The soul itself remains “free from all responsibility (apēllagmenē aitias) for the evils that man does and suffers” (see I 1.9.1–4 and my comment above, on 4.20–22). This is why its affections are something “alien” (allotrion) to the soul, just as for the Gnostic Basilides also they represented “adjuncts” or “appendages” (prosartēmata: Clem. Al. Strom. II 20, 112.1; and cf. I 1.12.17–33). 14.24. ὥσπερ . . . ἐν σώματι:Cf. Pl. Resp. VIII 564b10. 14.27–34. ἔστιν . . . χωρὶς εἶναι:Cf. 6.9–12, above, with my comment. 14.35–36. ὕλη δὲ . . . θέλει:The phrasing evokes the figure of Poverty from Plato’s myth in the Symposium (see 203b4), whom P., as we saw earlier in my comment on 3.12–18, identified with matter. 14.36–37. πᾶς δὲ ὁ χῶρος ἱερός:The same Sophoclean words from Oedipus at Colonus, 54, were cited to similar effect by Philo Somn. I 127; and Clem. Al. Strom. VII 7, 43.1. 14.40–51. τὴν δὲ . . . κακίας αἰτία:Matter may lack “substance” (ousia), yet it does have “presence”; see my comment on 3.6–7. Thus it intrudes itself and is illuminated by intel-

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First Ennead lective light, while at the same time hindering the latter’s dissemination and depleting its strength. Precisely this is what constitutes the soul’s “fall” (see above, 14.21–24, with my note), which is a necessary precondition of its lapse into vice, albeit not a sufficient one, seeing that the soul always retains the possibility of reverting to the intelligible; see also 5.5–9, with my comment. 14.51–54. καὶ γὰρ . . . λαβοῦσα: A controversial passage, around which a considerable bibliography has built up: see primarily O’Brien 1971, 135–39; Schwyzer 1973, 274–75; Rist 1974, 500–502; Corrigan 1986, 172–76; and Narbonne 1987, 13–25. O’Brien’s basic thesis that, according to P., matter is somehow produced by the soul (see, previously, Theodorakopoulos 1928, 14), has, I believe—and in spite of all the criticism it has attracted—a solid grounding in the first chapter of treatise III 4. At the same time, it seems to me clear that the cause of this production, the “affection of the soul” (pathos tēs psuchēs; see here 52: pathousa, and cf. Iren. Adu. haer. I 2.2, 156–61; Exeg. Soul = NHC II 6, 128.29), is related to its removal from “that which is before it” (ta pro autēs: see II 9.3.7–14). Yet this “distancing” (apostasis) of the soul, although it results in the creation of primal Evil, is not in itself evil, but only “a principle of evil” (archē tou kakou: cf. V 1.1.1–4) within the larger pattern of “procession” (ekbasis) from the One (cf. IV 8.6.1–16). Evil, as a moral failure, can only be conceived to emerge after the appearance of self-­willed movement, or responsibility, in the soul. And this presupposes the possibility of choice, that is, the presence of matter as what is “other” (heteron) than Being. See also O’Meara 1995, 84–85. 15.1–3. Εἰ δέ τις . . . εἰρημένου:See II 4 [12].11.1–12.28. 15.13–23. ψυχὴ . . . εἰς τὸ χεῖρον:A brief exposition of the way in which matter contributes to the arousal of affections, perceptual representations, and (false) opinions. The earlier glancing remarks at 5.17–19 are hereby elucidated. See also I 1.5.8–26 and IV 4.19.1–4. P. seems to have in mind the corresponding analysis in Plato’s Philebus, 31c2–39c6. Conversely, intellection does not presuppose the existence of matter. The soul is by its own nature established within the Intellect. 15.23–28. Τὸ δὲ κακὸν . . . συνῶσιν:Evil, like matter, is not self-­subsistent. It occurs always in combination with some Form, as a deformation and negation of the latter, being detachable from it only as an intellectual abstraction; see my comment on 9.14–26. Alexander of Aphrodisias, De an. 4.11–18, clarifies this with an example: “for just as it is necessary that any wax we take hold of have a shape (it being impossible to take hold of any shapeless wax . . .) , the same holds for matter in the proper sense in relation to forms of both natural and simple bodies; for neither is it able to subsist apart from any one of these, nor is it in essence with one of these.” Exotic tales about tribes in Ethiopia using chains of gold as fetters were in circulation from the time of Herodotus (III 22.2; cf. Dio Chr. “On Wealth” = LXXIX 3, and He-



I 9. On Going out of the Body

liod. Aeth. IX 1.5). In P. they become a symbol of the beauty of the Forms that bounds and beautifies the unmeasured ugliness of matter. O’Meara has acutely proposed emending the text at l. 26 in a way that is less poetic than Dodds’s hin’ amousa (“so that . . . in its charmlessness”), namely, to hina parousa (“so that . . . although being present”). This is not only simpler, but it has the advantage of underlining the virtual presence of matter throughout the domain of the sensible. Cf. above, 14.40.

I 9 [16]. On Going out of the Body Synopsis Theory: The soul must not be withdrawn violently, but must be allowed to divest itself of the body naturally. Problems and Solutions: Violent suicide is not without passion. Drugs are perhaps damaging to the soul. Suicide deprives man of the possibility of progress.

Introduction Ancient societies were in general tolerant of suicide, as long as this had some reasonable motivation and represented neither an antisocial act nor the mere fulfillment of a death wish.1 The most radical opposition to it emerged, as one might have expected, from the Pythagoreans, who condemned killing in any form. In Plato’s Phaedo, the relevant prohibition derives from Philolaus,2 while a similar stance is attributed to another Pythagorean—a certain Euxitheos—by Clearchos of Soli (fr. 38; Wehrli supposes the name to refer to a person in some dialogue), probably under the influence of the Phaedo.3 This attitude has its counterpart in ancient popular beliefs concerning the “violently deceased” (biaiothanatoi) and the “untimely [departed]” (aōroi), among whose ranks were included the self-­murderers.4 Plato himself has Socrates in the Phaedo categorically rejecting suicide as an acceptable method of withdrawing the soul from the body, unless, as happened in his own 1  The most comprehensive available collection and examination of pertinent material from ancient literature remains Hirzel 1908, 75–104, 243–84, 417–76. See also my comment on VP 11.11–15. 2  Fr. B15 DK; in spite of the reservation expressed by Strachan 1970, 216–20, who would rather derive it from “Orphic mythology,” I believe that the presence of Philolaus’ name in the text of the Phaedo would have no sense, if Plato did not consider the prohibition to be a Pythagorean doctrine, even if not necessarily one formulated specifically by Philolaus. 3  See also the interpretation proposed by Turcan 1956, 144–47, for the initial verses of the “Orphic” Bologna Papyrus. Suicide was also banned by the (Pythagoreanizing) theology of sun-­worship that informs the Aethiopica of Heliodorus (II 29.5). 4  See Porph. Abst. II 47; and Cumont 1949, 334–42.

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First Ennead case, this was imposed by some “necessity” (anankē: 61c9–62c8). The Laws qualify as a pollution “the man who kills himself, depriving destiny of [his] fate through violence, neither having had such punishment imposed by the state, nor having been constrained by the incidence of excruciating and inescapable misfortune, nor yet having drawn a share of some irremediable and unendurable disgrace, but who imposes this unjust justice on himself by reason of sloth and unmanly cowardice” (IX, 873c3–d8). Aristotle also condemns suicide as an injustice performed against the state (Eth. Nic. V 11, 1138a6–14) and a mark of cowardice (III 7, 1116a12–15). By contrast, the Cynics established suicide, both in theory and in practice, as the recommended method for securing the salvation of the “wise man” (spoudaios) in case his reason comes under threat, and as the highest expression of human freedom; perhaps indeed it was Antisthenes who introduced for it the euphemistic term exagōgē (“departure” or “withdrawal”).5 The Stoics systematized this point of view in their theory of “reasonable departure” (eulogos exagōgē),6 while in practice, as is widely known, distinguished Stoics such as Zeno, Cleanthes, Antipater, and Seneca deliberately put an end to their own lives. According to the testimony of Elias,7 the Stoics compared human life to a lengthy symposium that could be broken up voluntarily in five ways:

(a) “due to the sudden onset of some great need,” that is, as he explains, by divine ordinance; (b) “due to the gate-­crashing obscenity-­mongers,” that is, as a result of being tyrannically constrained to perform disgraceful acts; (c) “due to the fare on offer being decayed and noxious,” that is, because of prolonged bodily disease; (d) “due to scarcity of food,” that is, in response to poverty; (e) “due to drunkenness,” that is, by reason of madness.

Yet the decisive factor that, as they saw it, could render such an act acceptable was rationality of intention. Accordingly, it is only the sage who is justified in taking such a step.8 Yet in practice these views led to the proliferation of suicide among educated Romans beginning with the last years of the Republic, the crowning example being that of Cato.9 The pompous theatricality with which some of these acts were perpetrated could on occasion lead to tragicomic excess, as in the case of the Cynic philosopher Peregrinus.10 Consequently, reaction was seen to emerge even within the Stoa itSee Giannantoni 1983–85, 2:V A 133; and Hirzel 1908, 279–81. The title that Porphyry bequeathed to us for the present treatise—“On Reasonable Departure (from Life)” (Peri eulogou exagōgēs: VP 4.53; Peri tēs ek tou biou eulogou exagōgēs: 24.34)—is consonant with Stoic terminology but rather misleading in respect of its content, as the pertinent comments of Olympiodorus, In Phd. I 8.17–18, also reveal. 7  Prol. 6, 14.15–15.22 = SVF 3:768; cf. Olymp. In Phd. I 8.19–39, with the comment of Westerink ad loc. 8  See SVF 3:758; and Rist 1969, 238–42. 9  See Griffin 1986, 194–200. It is worth noting that both he (see Plut. Cato 68, 792d) and Cleombrotus (see Callim. Epigr. LIII) associated their action with Plato’s dialogue “On the soul” (i.e., his Phaedo). It would seem that the overall anticosmic spirit of the work was more influential than the passage where suicide is explicitly condemned. 10  Recounted with exuberant sarcasm by Lucian in his De morte Peregrini. 5  6 



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self. Epictetus emphasizes that if one is to take one’s own life, one must do so “not irrationally, . . . not faintheartedly, not from some casual pretext” (Diss. I 29.29 trans. Oldfather). The Peripatetic opposition to the theory of “reasonable departure” was at once more intense and better grounded. Arius Didymus stands its logic on its head by appealing to the eulogon as not the “reasonable,” but the “commonsensical.”11 Along similar lines, Alexander of Aphrodisias confronts the Stoics with the following constructive dilemma: if virtue is “sufficient for” (autarkēs pros) well-­being—an assumption that, as we saw, occupied a central position in Stoic ethical theory—then for the wise man it will never be eulogon to commit suicide, because “virtue, which alone both builds and safeguards the blessed life by being present, would never abandon the wise man.” His conclusion is that the espousal of “reasonable departure” by the Stoics amounted on their behalf to a confession that “it is impossible for the happy life to come into being independently of bodily and external [goods]”; in other words, it entailed their adoption of the Peripatetic theory of well-­being (see De an. mant. 168.1–20; cf. 159.19–22 and 160.27–29). It was natural that P.—who, as we saw (see I 4.5–11), spurned the Peripatetic viewpoint as to the indispensability of bodily and external goods to well-­being—would instead choose the other horn of the dilemma, rejecting outright the theory of “reasonable departure.” And it is interesting that in order to do this he feels the need to appeal—for the sole time, perhaps, in his entire philosophical output—to the authority of the Chaldaean Oracles, that notorious product of the Pythagoreanizing religio-­theosophic syncretism of the second century. Eunapius12 associates the writing of the present treatise with the events surrounding the melancholikē indisposition of Porphyry described in VP 11.11–16, and goes on to assert that the latter composed a pertinent “commentary” (hupomnēma). Yet Porphyry includes this treatise among the works P. had already completed prior to his own arrival in Rome (VP 4.53). Hence, the testimony of Eunapius must be read as yet another display of his novelistic bent.13 In H-­S2, the text of I 9 is immediately followed by the citation of an excerpt from the Prolegomena philosophiae of Elias,14 a student of the Neoplatonist Olympiodorus, which 11  Apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.14, 126.6–11: “It is a mistake [kakōs Wachsmuth: kai MSS] to regard withdrawal from living as reasonable for the wise, and abidance in living as reasonable for the mean” (cf. SVF 3:758–59); “for abidance in living is reasonable for those among both the worthy and the mean who are capable of performing social, political and theoretical activities, while release from living is reasonable for those who are not capable.” 12  VS IV 1.9, 8.4–9. 13  To further embellish his story, Eunapius has P. following Porphyry to Sicily, thus directly contradicting Porphyry’s own account (VP 11.18–19; cf. 2.10–13). Henry 1934a, 167, attempted to locate the treatise Eunapius refers to elsewhere within the Enneads (specifically at I 4), but Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 309, is right to insist on the futility of any such effort, given the measure of unreliability characterizing the particular witness. The few scraps from Porphyry’s “commentary” that Cumont 1919, 114–20, believed he had discovered in a passage of Macrobius, In somn. Scip. I 13.5–17, 52.10–54.30, may in fact derive from some other work of his, in which he also recalled views that he had heard his teacher giving voice to. 14  15.23–16.2. Cf. also [Elias] In Porph. Isag. 12.10–12.

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First Ennead was supposed to summarize the contents of the “single volume” (monobiblos) P. had composed on this subject, titled “On Reasonable Withdrawal” (Peri eulogou exagōgēs). Westerink 1964, 26–32, was able to demonstrate authoritatively, however, that the relevant “testimony” was the result of a misunderstanding by Elias of the passage in Olympiodorus on which he was relying. Subsequent to this, H-­S3–4 also withdrew their confidence in its value, and it does not appear in my own edition.

Commentary 1–2. Οὐκ ἐξάξεις . . . γὰρ:The text as it appears in the MSS (and in all editions previous to my own) is contradictory to the point of incoherence, while the difficulties standing in the way of settling on some suitable interpretation had already been acutely noted by Wilamowitz (see von Wilamowitz-­Moellendorff 1962, 576: interpungendi difficultate fatigamur). My own attempt at reconstruction involves a transposition suggested by a parallel passage of Michael Psellus, the admittedly bold insertion of an ouk (“not”), and corresponding changes of punctuation. The result (down to the end of line 4) is the following: ouk exaxeis, hina mē exiēi [exeleusetai gar: my deletion] echousa ti, hina kai exelthēi; ‹ouk exeleusetai gar› [my addition and transposition], to te exelthein esti metabēnai eis allon topon, alla menei to sōma apostēnai pan autēs, hote mē deitai metelthein, all’ esti pantē exō. A translation might go like this: “ ‘Do not take out [sc., your soul], in order that it should not go out having something with it,’ in its effort to come out; for in fact it will not come on out—after all, ‘to come out’ is just to pass over to another place—but will wait for the entire body to distance itself from it, whereupon it will have no need to come away, but will be completely outside.” Psellus cites the “oracle” quoted here twice, in identical form: “Take [it] not out, that it go not out having something (mē exaxeis, hina mē exiēi echousa ti: Opusc. psych. 38: Exēgēsis tōn Chaldaïkōn rhētōn, 128.18 and 129.7–8; cf. Pletho Orac. mag. 1191a: mē exaxēis, hina mē exiousa echēi ti).” He also provides two distinct exegeses, which are not entirely incompatible with each other: (a) Even so much as to be bothered about the soul’s withdrawal from the body is to concern oneself with the latter, and “insofar as we are preoccupied with the [process of ] dissolution . . . the soul will go out not altogether free, but retaining something of the more affect-­ridden life” (Psellus op. cit. 128.20–28). (b) One must, conforming to what Plato says in the Phaedo, wait for the occurrence of natural death, “even if you have greatly given yourself to philosophy; for you will not have achieved the most complete purification” (ibid. 129.9–10). This second explanation is rather foreign to the spirit of P., while being compatible with views we know to have been espoused by Porphyry; cf. my comment on VP 23.24–27. Commentators have until recently shown reluctance to admit that P. does in fact appeal to the authority of the Chaldaean Oracles. Indeed Dodds 1951, 301n.26, remarked that the meter in which the commandment is expressed fails to match the hexameter of the Oracles. Nevertheless, I believe that stronger arguments would be required for us to lay aside the categorical testimony of someone as habitually well informed as Psellus; see now Finamore 1985, 8n.10; and Dillon 1992b, 132.



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2–4. τό τε ἐξελθεῖν . . . πάντη ἔξω:The separation of the soul from the body does not entail its transposition in space (as, e.g., Socrates appears to suppose in Pl. Ap., 40c8–9), but involves rather an internal change of orientation through virtue; for its very presence in the body is of a different order (see IV 3.20.10–15). Consequently, its forceful withdrawal fails to bring about the desired liberation from the fetters of the body, effecting only “a transition (metastasin) from one state of sleep into another” (III 6.6.72–76; cf. also I 4.16.13–15, I 6.8.22–25, V 1.10.24–27). See also the relevant comment of Porphyry, Abst. I 38.2–3: “accordingly, the man who acts philosophically will not take himself out by violent means; for in doing violence to himself, he nonetheless remains there, from where he has the violent urge to depart.” 6–7. ἀδυνατοῦντος . . . τὴν ψυχήν: The harmonious relation of the body’s components allows the soul to become securely fastened to it; see my comment on VP 22.24–25. This view differs from the corresponding “Pythagorean” one (obviously inspired by the intervention of Simmias in the Phaedo, 85e3–86d4), which P. rejects at IV 7.84, according to which the soul is to be identified with this harmony, thus constituting a mere epiphenomenon of the corporeal blend. Here the soul is self-­subsistent; it is only its conjunction with the body that depends on the harmony of the “proportions” (logoi) making up the latter. We come across a similar theory in Arist. Quint. De mus. II 17, 86.25–88.22 (and see the commentary of Festugière 1954b, 62–73). On the other hand, it is not improbable that the term harmonia alludes also—directly or indirectly—to the allegorical interpretation of the episode in Rhapsody 5 of the Odyssey, which I discussed in my comment on I 6.7.5–7. In verses 356–60, Odysseus expresses his reluctance to comply with the advice of Leucothea (= philosophy) to abandon his raft (= his body) and the garments put on him by Calypso so as to make for shore naked and on his own (cf. 343–45). And he continues his thought in these words (361–62 trans. after Murray): As long as the timbers hold fast at the joints (en harmoniēisin), So long will I remain (meneō) here and endure to suffer affliction. For the allegorical interpreters of Homer, these verses could signify nothing less than a call for every man to endure “until the wave shall have shattered” (363) that “harmony” by which the body was composed into a living organism and was given the capacity to hold fast the soul within. 8. λυθῆναι . . . ἐβιάσατο:The choice of words recalls the relevant passage in the Phaedo; cf. 62b5 and 61d4. 9–11. ὅτε λύει . . . πράττειν: We find here an extension of the argument that I have shown in the introduction to this treatise to have been formulated by Alexander of Aphrodisias: because to take one’s own life can never be “reasonable” (eulogon), it must be the effect of some “affection” (pathos). According to standard Stoic doctrine, however, “every affection is censurable” (pan pathos epilēpton: SVF 3:446), and anyone who acts in obedience to the affections “errs” (hamartanei: SVF 3:468). This is why Marcus Aure-

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First Ennead lius (X 8) counsels: “do not go out of life raging, but simply and freely and modestly”— or, as Clemens Alexandrinus (Strom. IV 26, 165.2) puts it, “impassibly” (ou prospathōs). 11–14. εἰ οὖν . . . αἱρετοῖς: What happens if someone is in danger of losing his reason? This case corresponds to the last of the five situations in which, according to Elias, the Stoics recognized withdrawal as reasonable (see the introduction to this treatise). A first response—attributable to the Stoics themselves—is that such an eventuality could not possibly ever confront the sage; see SVF 3:712. But P. goes on to furnish a second response: in such circumstances, suicide would be “necessary” (anankaion), that is, not something “to be wished for rationally” (boulēton); cf. I 4.6.19–24. Accordingly, we would be wrong to think of it as being strictly speaking “reasonable” (eulogos), given that it represents the outcome of a forced choice of the less unworthy alternative; see also Kristeller 1929, 46; and my comment on I 4.7.31–32. 14–15. ἡ τῶν φαρμάκων . . . πρόσφορος:Cf. VP 2.3–5; and Pl. Ti. 89b1–d1.

Second Ennead

II 1 [40]. On Heaven Synopsis 1 A. Problem: What is the cause of the world’s everlastingness? 1. The will of God is not a sufficient explanation. 2. The preservation of the universal order as a whole fails to explain the imperishability of individual celestial bodies, 2 a fact that in itself appears to contradict the Platonic doctrine of the fluxibility of the corporeal. Investigation: The cause must be 1. in the Soul, or 2. in the body of heaven, or 3. in both. 3 B. The everlastingness of the world as a whole. The flux of the world’s body is internal to it. Cosmic fire is established in its own proper place, unresistingly obeying the motility of Soul. 4 Some questions concerning the nature of celestial fire. The Soul as the principal and immutable cause of the world’s constitution. 5 C. The everlastingness of individual celestial bodies. 1. Principal cause: the heavenly Soul. 6 2. Auxiliary cause: the body of heaven,  which the Timaeus seems to indicate does not contain fire alone; 7 but a correct interpretation shows it to be made of pure fire, which gains its solidity from earth. 8 This fire neither flows out of heaven nor is in need of nourishment.

Introduction The question of the world’s eternity was one of the most crucial and hotly debated topics not only in the context of cosmology itself, but more particularly also in that of the interpretation of Plato’s Timaeus. For in this dialogue, following the model of earlier mythological cosmogonies, the kosmos—that is, the “ordered universe”—is presented as having been created in stages by the successive interventions of a divine Demiurge on the chaotic pre-­cosmic disorder. Aristotle had already interpreted the cosmogony of the Timaeus literally, as a process unfolding in time.1 This interpretation undoubtedly served the polemical motives of Principally, it would appear, in his now lost dialogue De philosophia. The pertinent evidence has been collected and analyzed by Baltes 1976–78, 1:8–10; my own discussion follows in its main lines the presentation contained in this valuable monograph. See also Cherniss 1945, 74; and Sorabji 1983, 268–76. 1 

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Second Ennead the Stagirite, who devoted the final three chapters of the first book of his De caelo to establishing that the universe is both agenētos (“ungenerated” and, indeed, “ungenerable”) and aphthartos (“imperishable”); but it seems to have been adopted as well by Epicurus, albeit for precisely the opposite reason: to establish, contra Aristotelem, that the universe is subject to generation.2 The authority of Aristotle’s opinion must have contributed to the ascendancy of this line of interpretation among later “Platonizing” thinkers such as Cicero, Philo Judaeus, Plutarch, and Galen, and even among extreme Platonists such as Atticus and Harpocration.3 It harmonized especially well, of course, with the dualistic version of Platonism, according to which the action of the Demiurge consists in the imposition of order on the disorderly and chaotic motion of a preexisting, maleficent, “material” soul.4 And it was substantially reinforced when thinkers such as Atticus discovered that they could also get around Aristotle’s fundamental objection that “if something has been generated, it must necessarily perish”5 by associating the generation of the world in time with its infinite duration through the intervention of divine Providence. As was to be expected, this maneuver immediately came under strong fire: more particularly, as Proclus reports, “the Peripatetics raised many and varied objections against it” (In Ti. III, 212.9–10). The leading role in this was assumed by Alexander of Aphrodisias, who seems to have devoted to his critique an appendix to his commentary on the first book of Aristotle’s De caelo, the main points of which have been preserved by Simplicius (In Cael. 358.27–360.3). Alexander puts forward a crucial distinction between two kinds of impossibility: (a) a relative or contingent kind, involving “what is impossible for some” (ta tisin adunata) but not for others, and (b) an absolute or necessary kind, involving “what is simply impossible” (ta haplōs adunata) for all subjects “by nature” (phusei). He goes on to propose that the omnipotence of God is capable of contending only with the first kind of impossibility, but not with the second, and calls on no less a witness than Plato, finding ready support for this last point in the famous passage of the Theaetetus where Socrates is made to speak of the impossibility of expunging evils from the world (176a5–8; on this, see I 8.6–7). “And since,” Alexander continues, “nothing perishable will of itself admit of not perishing, having to perish must accrue to perishables of necessity.” Consequently it will be beyond the capacity of the divine to preserve the world in perpetuity.6 See fr. 304; and Baltes op. cit. 24–26. See, e.g., Procl. In Ti. I, 276.31–277.5 = Atticus fr. 19: “Plutarch, Atticus and many other Platonists construed generation temporally, . . . since prior to the creation of the cosmos there is a disorderly motion, and as soon as there is motion, there is at all events also time, so that there is time even prior to the universe.” See also Baltes op. cit. 38–63. 4  See Atticus, fr. 23 and 26; and cf. my introduction to “On What Are and Whence Come Evils” (I 8). 5  Atticus, fr. 4.44: ei ti gegone, tout’ anankē phtharēnai; cf. Arist. Cael. I 12, 282b4, but also Pl. Resp. VIII 546a2. An interesting Gnostic variant of the argument can be found in Eugnostos = NHC III 3, 71.19–24. 6  We also come across more or less the same line of argument in Alexander’s Quaest. I 18, 30.23–32.19 (and see Baltes op. cit. 76–80), where it is easier to discern that he relies as a premise on the “Principle of Plenitude,” which, as Hintikka 1973, 94–99, has shown (and see also my comment on II 5.1.6–10), was espoused by Aristotle, but not necessarily by Plato (see, however, Ti. 41b7–c2). 2  3 



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Of course Alexander’s argumentation was deployed in the context of an attempt to demonstrate the absurdity of the entire cosmogony of the Timaeus. He himself, as an authentic Aristotelian, held the world to be ungenerable and imperishable,7 and accepted as proof of this the very constitution of the heavens by “the body which moves in a circle” (to kuklophorētikon sōma), which is “everlasting” (aidion), “most excellent” (ariston), “ensouled” (empsuchon), and “divine” (theion); see Quaest. I 1, 3.7–14. Now P., being the Platonist that he was, could by no means accept such a solution. For him, no material body could be everlasting or divine by its own nature.8 On the other hand, however, the Peripatetic critique had shown that an appeal to the divine will was insufficient to justify the everlastingness of the world. There thus remained no further option available to him than to abandon the literal interpretation of the Timaeus’ cosmology as a creation in time and to seek recourse in an allegorical interpretation of the pertinent myth, which was accordingly to be regarded as an expository device employed “for the sake of clear explanation” (didaskalias kai tou saphous charin: see IV 3.9.12–20; and Baltes op. cit. 24). In this way it became possible for the world to be conceived of as ungenerable and (consequently) imperishable, such being also, of course, the view taken of the Soul. Both of these, world and Soul, and even the Forms themselves, are genēta only in the sense of being ontologically “derived from” and dependent on a higher principle (see II 9.3.11–15). This interpretative strategy was by no means novel. It would appear to have had its roots in the first efforts at explicating the Timaeus, which were undertaken by Plato’s immediate students within the ancient Academy,9 and it was the approach adopted by Xenocrates’ student Crantor, who became the first systematic commentator of this dialogue (apud Plut. De an. proc. 1013a, and apud Procl. In Ti. I, 277.8–10). Crantor’s line of interpretation was revived a few years before the birth of Christ by Eudorus of Alexandria (see Plut. op. cit. 1013b and Baltes op. cit. 96–102). Other Middle Platonists, among them “Alcinous” and Apuleius, were also prepared to accept that the cosmos did not have a beginning in time, while conceding that it is subject to a continual process of becoming (creatio continua; see Baltes op. cit. 96–102). But the philosopher who made the most thorough case for the extratemporality of the world’s creation was Calvenus Taurus, who lived roughly a century earlier than P. and appears to have been one of the leading lights in the attempt to “harmonize” the philosophy of Plato with that of Aristotle.10 We owe it to John Philoponus that there survive to our day three extensive exA precedent worth mentioning is [Ocell.] De uniu. nat., in which, however, the arguments that are put forward for the universe’s “being insusceptible of destruction or generation” (anōlethron einai kai agenēton) do not appear to bear any direct relation to the interpretation of the cosmology of the Timaeus. 8  Even Alexander himself appears to balk at considering the “body in circular motion” as material; see Quaest. I 10, 20.20–21.7. 9  See Arist. Cael. I 10, 279b32–280a2, where the targets of the attack appear to all evidence to be Xenocrates and Speusippus (Baltes op. cit. 18–22). 10  The Suda, T 166, s.v. Taurus, mentions a particular composition of his titled “On the Doctrinal Differences between Plato and Aristotle,” in which, according to the judgment of Dörrie [1973]/1976, 312, he sought “to minimize or to deny completely the deviations of Aristotle.” Another witness pointing in the same direction is Ammonius, In Porph. Isag. 22.20–22. 7 

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Second Ennead cerpts from his commentary on the Timaeus in which Taurus examines this particular question.11 In the first of these he submits the term genētos to semantic analysis and puts forward the view (which he appears to endorse) that it can refer either (a) to the world’s perpetual coming-­to-­be, “inasmuch as it is always in the process of becoming (katho aei en tōi ginesthai estin), just as Proteus is always changing into shapes of all kinds,” or (b) to its ontological dependence and heteronomy, “in that it derives its being from elsewhere (hoti kai to einai autōi allachothen estin), namely from God.” Thus were the foundations laid for the erection of the Neoplatonic interpretation of the Timaeus, which has proven to be the predominant one even in the present era.12 Even so, P. was faced with yet another grave difficulty. Sempiternal though it may be, the world surrounding us is in a state of perpetual flux; and according to fundamental Platonist doctrine, sensible objects are subject to continual generation and corruption, while the only entities that are immutable are the Forms. Yet the celestial bodies, though being perceptible by the senses, appear at the same time to enjoy exemption from the operation of this inexorable law of fluxibility, remaining permanently the same, unmodified in form or behavior, “divine and everlasting in their being,” as Plato expresses it in the Timaeus (40b5). How was this to be explained? The Peripatetics had the advantage of being able to respond to this question by invoking the theory of the “fifth body,” which was kuklophorētikon (“possessed of circular motion”), as Theophrastus (fr. 161a = apud Philop. op. cit. XIII 15, 520.21) seems to have been the first to characterize it; yet in spite of the support that this theory had recently received from Alexander of Aphrodisias (see Moraux 1963, 1238.41–1239.60), P.—who doubtlessly also felt constrained on this issue by the Platonic tradition, as Philoponus was acute enough to observe (op. cit. 524.19–26)—rejected it outright, adhering instead to a position that comes closer to the corresponding Stoic theory. The Stoics admitted that the celestial bodies consisted of fire unmixed with any other element, but they distinguished between two “kinds of fire: one is undesigning and converts fuel into itself (to men atechnon kai metaballon eis heauto tēn trophēn); the other is designing, causing growth and preservation (to de technikon, auxētikon te kai tērētikon), as is the case in plants and animals, where it is nature and soul respectively; such is the fire which constitutes the substance of the stars” (SVF 1:120 trans. after LS; cf. also 540).13 P. seeks to establish a similar distinction, although of course he aims to minimize, as much as possible, the materiality of his “pure” (katharon) fire and its dependence on the “exhalations” (anathumiaseis) of the sublunar region (cf., e.g., SVF 2:579), denying that it had any need of “nourishment” (trophē), that is, fuel, whatsoever. He also denies categoriPhilop. Aet. mund. VI 8, 145.10–147.25; 20, 186.17–189.9, and XIII 15, 520.4–521.24. On the nature of these commentaries, see Dörrie [1973]/1976, 313n.15. See also Baltes op. cit. 105–12. 12  Among the defenders of the “metaphorical” interpretation of the Timaeus cosmogony, one should mention especially Taylor 1928, 67–69; Cornford 1937, 24–26 and 31; Cherniss 1944, 421–31; and Tarán 1971, 372–407. Firm resistance to this view has been proffered mainly by Vlastos 1965. 13  See also Boyancé 1936, 66–72. As in other cases, so on this point as well, it would seem that the Stoic theory represents a further elaboration of views that had already been formulated by Theophrastus; see, e.g., Ign. 4. For a more general, yet certainly synoptic, presentation of the debate surrounding the composition of the heavens in the Hellenistic and Imperial periods, see Festugière 1954b, 70–71. 11 



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cally that the heavenly bodies themselves emit any kind of “outflow” (aporrhoia) capable of exercising an influence on the lower regions of the world. In this way he establishes the cosmological foundations for the objections he would raise against astrological theories, which maintain that the celestial bodies not only oversee but actually direct and proclaim what happens on earth.14 After all, the world was for him an icon of the intelligible, imaging in its imperishability the eternity that is There.15

Commentary Title: Whereas the title of this treatise is handed down by the MSS as Peri ouranou (“On Heaven”), it is reported as Peri (tou) kosmou (“On the World” or “On Universal Order”) by Porphyry (VP 5.47 and 24.40), Philoponus (Aet. mund. XIII 15, 524.27), and Simplicius (In Cael. 12.12). The discrepancy is of no real importance, given that the terms ouranos and kosmos came to be regarded as synonymous from the time that the latter began to be employed in its cosmological sense; see Diog. Laert. VIII 48. In any case, as will be seen below, the question of the everlastingness of the world is in substance reducible to that of the imperishability of the heavens. It is the immutable nature of the celestial bodies that secures the perennial preservation of cosmic order. On the other hand, Baruzi 1951, 9–13, has pointed out that in the Judeo-­Christian consciousness the word kosmos lacked the positive connotations it held for the Greeks, a fact that the Gnostics made the most of in propagating their anticosmic theories. Consequently, it provided suitable ground on which P. could in turn deploy against the Gnostics the time-­sanctioned awe of the Greeks for the perfection of heaven (on this, see Festugière 1944–54, 2:153–61). 1.1–2. Τὸν κόσμον . . . ἔχοντα: The view that the world, perpetually changing as it is, is yet eternal had already been emphatically expressed by Heraclitus, fr. B30 DK, whose cosmological thinking underlies significant portions of the present treatise; see Roussos 1968, 8–12. Within the confines of Platonism, the same view, as I showed in my introduction to this treatise, was propounded by that branch which, from the time of Eudorus of Alexandria and after, sought to span the divide with Aristotle by reviving the “metaphorical” interpretation of the Timaeus. This, for P., constitutes established dogma (cf. II 9.7.1–2), which he makes no effort to demonstrate, but only to explain through an investigation of the causes making the heavens forever immutable in spite of their corporeality (on this cf. Pl. Ti. 28b8). 1.2–4. εἰ μὲν . . . παρεχοίμεθα: In the context of the Timaeus, the most perspicuous explanation is the one provided by the Demiurge himself in his “address” to the lower, mainly astral gods (41b2–6 trans. Cornford): “therefore, although you, having come into being (gegenēsthe), are not immortal nor indissoluble altogether, nevertheless you As we shall see, this subject occupies an important position in the arena of controversy between P. and the Gnostics; see II 9.3.11–15, 4.15–19, 7.1–8.6. 15  Cf. V 8.12.12–25. 14 

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Second Ennead shall not be dissolved nor taste of death, finding my will a bond yet stronger and more sovereign than those wherewith you were bound together when you came to be.” It was to this invocation of the divine will that Atticus, for one, harnessed his interpretation, seeking to find some means of escape from the uncompromising principle that whatever is subject to generation is doomed by necessity to perish: see fr. 4.26–95, and cf. fr. 25.5–11 and 32. Cf. also Diog. Laert. III 72: “because god does not allow it to be dissolved (dia to mē dialuesthai ean [Breitenbach’s conjecture: eis MSS, Long] ton theon),” and “Alcinous” Didasc. 15, 171.22–23. But as I pointed out in the introduction above, the critique directed by the Peripatos against this viewpoint was fulsome and devastating. On the other hand, Platonists such as Severus (on whom see my comment on VP 14.11) introduced some elements from the cosmological myth of the Statesman (269d5–270a6 and 273d4–e4) that allowed them to conclude that this divine will is subject to periodic vacillation, bringing about “reversals of the [cosmic] cycle” (anakuklēseis), with the end result “that the cosmos is in the absolute sense everlasting, but that this particular cosmos which now exists and is in motion in this way is generated” (Procl. In Ti. I, 289.7–9 trans. after Dillon); cf. Philop. Aet. mund. VI 28, 228.10–230.11. All this made it more than apparent that the mere appeal to the word of the Demiurge was no longer sufficient either to justify or to explain the everlastingness of the world, especially in the face of dualistic, “historical” cosmologies, such as those of the Gnostics. 1.5–12. τῶν στοιχείων . . . τὸ ἀεί:P. confronts here another possible line of explanation with respect to the everlastingness of the celestial bodies, according to which the latter are in substance no different from any other of the sensible objects that surround us. Just like these others, the celestial bodies are also, as individual entities, subject to generation and destruction, but they enjoy, besides, perpetual existence in “form” (eidos), that is, in kind or species (with which they are not, of course, to be identified; see Arist. Cael. I 9, 278a9–15). It is difficult for us today to grasp the extent to which any such assimilation between the mutability of earth and the stability of heaven would have struck P.’s contemporaries as inconceivable. As Dodds 1965, 7n.1, remarks, even the Christians—for whom earth and heaven were alike the creation of God, and consequently equally perishable—found it difficult to deny that the two were antithetical. The distinction between two kinds of identity, the one “in number” (kat’ arithmon) and the other “in kind” (kata to eidos), is proposed by Aristotle in Metaph. Δ 6, 1016b31– 6, whereas in Gen. corr. II 11, 338b13–8, he makes use of it in order to differentiate two forms of substance: “those things whose substance, being in [sc., circular] motion, is imperishable will evidently also be numerically the same, . . . while those whose substance is not [such], but is perishable, will necessarily return upon themselves in kind but not in number . . . ; hence when out of air comes water and out of water air, [the air] is the same in kind, not in number.” We see that it was possible for P. to have hit upon his example of the elements in Aristotle himself; his other example of the living beings on earth derives perhaps from Alexander of Aphrodisias: see, e.g., Quaest. III 5, 89.18– 21, and De princ. apud Badawi 151.36–40 = Mund. A 136.



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1.12–16. εἰ δὲ . . . φθαρῆναι:Another way for us to grasp the everlastingness of the world is by taking a holistic view, according to which any change that might occur will be an internal one, given that, by hypothesis, the cosmos—that is, “the all” (to pan)—contains everything there is. We find such a view clearly emerging in Plato’s Timaeus, 33b2–d3, and being further developed by Aristotle into an elaborate argument for the imperishability of the world; see De phil. fr. 19a (which is evidently echoed by [Ocell.] De uniu. nat. 13, 128.15–24); and cf. Arist. Cael. I 9, 279a6–28. Galen seems to have had a similar argument in mind in Comp. Ti. 41.7–12. See also Pépin 1964, 263–66. 1.16–27. ὁ δὲ ἥλιος . . . ὁ αὐτός:Yet this holistic view fails to guarantee the perpetual preservation of the celestial bodies. On the contrary, it is in effect reducible to the previous line of explanation concerning the perpetuation of sensible bodies in kind, not in number; see my comment on 1.5–12; and cf. Pl. Leg. IV 721c2–6, and Symp. 208a7–b4; and Arist. De an. II 4, 415a26–b7. That the material substrate of bodies is in constant flux was, of course, standard Platonist doctrine, which Numenius, for one, asserts with peculiar emphasis: see fr. 3.11, 11.14–16, and 52.33–34; and cf. “Aëtius” 307.21–308.2; Max. Tyr. XI 7, 137.6–7; Porph. De antr. nymph. 5, 8.3–6; and Calc. In Ti. 204, 223.5–6; also Krämer 1971, 61–65. 1.28–31. οὐ τοίνυν . . . ἐν οὐρανῷ:This, then, is the conclusion to which both of the aforementioned lines of explanation are driven: heavenly and earthly phenomena are distinguished not according to any qualitative difference, but only according to a quantitative one, namely, in respect of their duration. 1.33–40. μᾶλλον δὲ . . . τὰ πάντα εἶναι:P. now focuses in on the question he particularly wishes to examine. He is not concerned to explain the everlastingness of the world taken as a whole, all of whose parts are yet subject to continual generation and destruction. To do this, it would be sufficient to appeal to the existence of a binding divine will (cf. Arist. Pol. VII 4, 1326a32–33), equivalent to the cosmic “breath” (pneuma) of the Stoics (cf. SVF 2:439–42, 447–49, and 473). The problem only becomes acute when one decides that one wants to admit the imperishability of the celestial bodies individually, in contradistinction to the perishable nature of earthly particulars. How is such a discrimination on the part of the divine will to be justified? 2.1–6. Εἰ οὖν . . . ῥεούσης ἀεί:The aporia is meticulously reformulated and placed unambiguously within a doxographical and philosophical framework. The “view” or “opinion” (doxa) that P. intends to advocate is precisely that the celestial bodies are imperishable as individual entities, whereas earthly beings are preserved in perpetuity only in form, that is, in respect of their kind or species. The question is how this can be made compatible with the doctrine of the incessant flux of matter. 2.6–12. τοῦτο γὰρ . . . γίγνεσθαι:P. is conscious of the fact that his view brings him into conflict with the opinions of most of the earlier philosophers, including even Plato him-

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Second Ennead self, who, in the passage cited from the Republic (VII 530b2–3), expressed doubts concerning precisely the stability of celestial phenomena. Atticus fr. 6.11–21 contrasts the views of Plato and Aristotle, using almost the same terms as P.: “on the one hand, he [sc., Plato] assigns imperishability in form to all the heavenly bodies, . . . while Aristotle would have them remaining altogether the same as to their substance.” P. accepts this way of framing the problem, but he aligns himself with the view of Aristotle in its essentials, without admitting every one of its accompanying assumptions as well. Interestingly, P. ascribes Plato’s theory of the fluxibility of sensibles to the influence of Heraclitus (cf. Arist. Metaph. Α 6, 987a32–b1 and Μ 4, 1078b13–15), paraphrasing his well-­known dictum that “the sun is new every day” (fr. B6 DK = Arist. Mete. II 2, 355a13–14; cf. Pl. Resp. VI 498b1); on this, see Roussos 1968, 14–17. Rare are the cases where P. comes into direct conflict with Plato, as he does here. We will see him below, however—in chapters 6 and 7—attempting to “interpret” the Timaeus in such a way as noticeably to moderate the extent of this divergence. 2.12–17. Ἀριστοτέλει . . . μόρια ὄντα: Here, then, is the task P. has taken upon himself: he must defend the Aristotelian thesis on the imperishability of heaven and of each of its parts individually, without, however, seeking shelter, as did the latter, in the theory of the “fifth body” or “aether” (aithēr: see Cael. I 3, 270b21–22), which he, as a Platonist, feels obliged to reject. Our witness to the fact that, according to the then prevailing view, Plato “affirms the [sc., elementary] bodies to be only four, because none besides these is to be found among the things that are” is Porphyry apud Philop. Aet. mund. XIII 15, 521.25–526.23; cf. the anonymous Neoplatonic fragment that is preserved in a Florentine papyrus and has been published by Barigazzi 1949, 59–60, ll. 10–16. 2.17–28. συγκειμένου . . . προσήκει: Preliminary investigation of the question: Heaven being ensouled, that is, a “living being” (zōion: cf. Pl. Ti. 30b7–8), to which of the following three causes will its imperishability be due? (a) Its bodily constitution? This was the position of Aristotle (see Cael. I 3, 270a13–b4). (b) Its soul? As this does not, however, suffice on its own, is what is required: (c) The cooperation of the body with the soul, that is, the body’s unimpeded subordination to the soul and to the divine will? It is this third solution that P. decides to promote, for reasons that are starting to become transparent: he wants to ensure the contribution of divine Providence and at the same time to exclude any possible resistance to its purpose on behalf of the heavenly gods, who must remain impassible, exercising absolute mastery over their material substrate. In the reverse case, we would be led inevitably to a dualism such as that of Numenius (see fr. 52.81–87) and the Gnostics; cf. I 8.5.30–34, with my comment, and II 9.6.55–62. 3.1–5. Πῶς οὖν . . . γηράσκει:What is it, then, that secures the cooperation and subservience of the matter in celestial bodies to the ordinances of the cosmic Soul? The answer is both ingenious and characteristically Plotinian: their material component does not flow out of the celestial bodies, nor, consequently, does it flow into them; in flux though



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it may be, its flow is internal to them. Hence they, the celestial bodies, remain self-­ sufficient and unchanging as individual wholes, notwithstanding such alterations as occur within them. In effect they are like closed systems, the make-­up of which is neither influenced by the environment nor active upon it; consequently, they are “immutable” (analloiōta) and “unaging” (agērata); cf. Arist. Cael. I 3, 270b2. Calcidius appears to elaborate on this Plotinian viewpoint in a passage (In Ti. 24, 75.8–12) that may owe something to the corresponding commentary of Porphyry (as Waszink 1962 suggests in his preface, lxvi–lxvii), and that at the same time confirms the soundness of the addition made here by H-­S to the text of P.: “But both the harm and the destruction of parts consists not in flux, but in effluence (sed et detrimentum et interitus partium non in fluxu est sed in effluendo)—that is, in flowing out (id est extra fluendo)—for what perishes is what will have gone clean out of the whole (amittitur quippe id quod ex uniuersitate defecerit). Yet the compass of all discharges is inside the world: certainly not outside it (intra mundum uere regestis omnibus nihil certe extra mundi ambitum est). Hence whatever is in flux in accordance with a body’s nature does not have where to flow out to (ita quod secundum naturam corporis fluit quo effluat non habet); consequently it flows within, it does not flow out (influit ergo, non effluit). . . .” 3.5–9. ὁρᾶν δὲ . . . φύσιν:Of all things, it is the earth that is chosen to illustrate such an “internal flow” that permits a system as a whole to remain unchanged. We are thus made to see that the distinction between heaven and the sublunar region has ceased being a radical one. This conception of the earth as a quasi-­closed “ecosystem,” as a self-­sufficient living organism, will again be found in IV 4.22.5–25, where it is further advocated that the earth possesses its own individual soul. 3.10–12. ᾧ δὲ . . . μένον: We glimpse here the kinship linking the current argument to the one presented earlier at 1.12–16, which is no longer, however, conceived as a self-­ contained one, but as subsidiary. 3.13–20. πῦρ δὲ . . . κινεῖσθαι: What remains to be done is to clarify the nature of this “internal flow” and to justify the movement of the celestial bodies, without being able to appeal to the natural circular motion of aether, as Aristotle felt he could (see, e.g., Cael. I 2, 269a5–7). P. combines Plato’s view as to the mobility and sharpness of the particles of fire (Ti. 56a5–b1) with Aristotle’s theory of the “proper place” (oikeios topos) for each element (see, e.g., Cael. II 3, 268b27–269a10 and I 9, 279b1–3; Ph. IV 1, 208b8– 12; and also Pl. Ti. 57c3). The natural motion of fire is upward, but when it arrives at the furthest reaches of heaven, it is obliged to proceed along a circular orbit, for outside the world there is nothing—not even space; cf. II 2.1.26–29; Arist. Cael. I 9, 278b24–279a17; but also Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. III 12, 106.36–107.4. This movement corresponds to the activation of the cosmic Soul and reflects its life. 3.21–23. φθάνει γὰρ . . . μένει:The rotation of heaven acts on celestial fire with a sort of centrifugal force to keep it up high, especially as its own natural inclination is upward

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Second Ennead rather than downward; it is not “tending toward earth” like the “vicious horse” in the Phaedrus myth (247b3–4). 3.23–30. τὰ μὲν οὖν . . . οὕτως:A crucial question for P. is whether the preservation of celestial fire presupposes that it must be “fed” by some combustible material; because it would then be dependent on external factors, and could not therefore be impassible and imperishable by nature. And it happens to be the case that, for example, Atticus, fr. 6.12–18, explicitly ascribes to Plato the view that the celestial bodies are subject to “withdrawals . . . and proportionate adhesions,” namely, to “effusions” (apokriseis) and “suffusions” (proskriseis) that secure the constancy of their brilliance. The vocabulary P. employs allows us to see where he locates the source of the conception that the fire in celestial bodies is of a dependent character: it is in Heraclitus’ theory of the “exchange for fire” (antamoibē tou puros) and the continual mutual transformation of the elements; see fr. B30, 31, 90 DK, and esp. Heraclit. apud Arist. Mete. II 2, 354b33 = fr. 58a Roussos (not in DK), which specifically states that “the sun is nourished by the wet [i.e., moisture]” (ton hēlion trephesthai tōi hugrōi), a viewpoint that Roussos 1987, 115–16, has shown in his commentary to have enjoyed wider diffusion; see also Guthrie 1962–81, 1:67. Evidently, then, on this point also P. is in broad conformity with Aristotle; cf. Mete. II 2, 354b34–355a20. On the other hand, it is also certainly the case, as we know, for example, from Ptolemy, Apot. I 4.1–7 and III 11.4, that it was precisely on the related theories of astral “outflows” or “effluxes” (aporrhoiai) and “exhalations” (anathumiaseis) that astrologers tried to base their views on the cosmic influence of the celestial bodies, which P. steadfastly opposed. See also below, my comment on 8.1–5. 4.1–4. Ἀλλ’ αὐτό γε . . . ἀπορροήν:See below, chapter 8. 4.4–6. καὶ πότερον . . . κρατοῦντος:See chapters 6–7. 4.7. τὴν κυριωτάτην αἰτίαν:For a Platonist, mechanistic necessity cannot provide a complete explanation; the material constitution of bodies and its derivative properties are merely “accessory causes (sunaitia), which the god uses as subservient” (see Pl. Ti. 46c7–e2 trans. Cornford). The principal cause operating in the cosmos can only be the Soul. 4.9–10. ἐπεὶ καὶ . . . ἡ φύσις:Just as in man the “divinest” (theiotaton) part was confined by the gods in the “spherical body” that is uppermost and sovereign, that is, the head (see Pl. Ti. 44d3–e2), so also in the universe the highest and purest region constitutes the natural seat of the cosmic Soul, which is thereby assured of its immortality. 4.11–13. ὀρθῶς γὰρ . . . φύσει:P. attempts to forge a distinction between two allotropic forms of fire; cf. Pl. Ti. 58c5–d1. The first corresponds to the Aristotelian description of fire as “an ebullition” (zesis) that is the product of excess heat coupled with dryness (see Gen. corr. II 3, 330b25–29; Mete. I 3, 340b23 and I 4, 341b22). The second bears some resemblance to what Aristotle called an “inflammable” (hupekkauma), which he re-



II 1. On Heaven

garded as “a dry and smoky exhalation” with the property such that “when it incurs a slight movement, it often bursts into flame,” causing the production of “meteorological” phenomena such as comets and shooting stars (see Mete. I 4, 341b6–35 and Ross 1949a, 109–10); later Peripatetics such as Alexander of Aphrodisias (see Quaest. II 17, 61.29–33) identified it with elemental fire, which is stated to be “by nature rare and dry and unmixed with matter [!] . . . , and . . . does not depend on nourishment (ouk epi trophēi) . . . , but is unalloyed and pure, unmixed with its opposite” (ibid. 62.5–13 trans. Sharples). No great step was required for P. to settle on this second form of fire as the constituent of the heavenly bodies themselves, which were in this way acquitted not only of any need for “nourishment,” but also of the violent efficacy of the common flame; cf. II 9.8.30–36, IV 4.42.23–26. In any case, even Aristotle himself, explicitly countering Anaxagoras, held that his aether was in itself not hot, and that the heat of, for example, the sun was due to the friction caused by the great speed of its movement (see Mete. I 3, 341a13–37; and Boyancé 1967, 206–8). It must be noted, however, that such a theory of a fire that is “ethereal” (aitherion), “mild” (ēpion), “light” (elaphron), and indissoluble was already known to Parmenides (see fr. B8.56–57 DK), and consequently had, very probably, a Pythagorean origin; cf. Philo Somn. I 21. Another echo of the same theory is to be found in the Gnostic tractate Zostrianos = NHC VIII 1, 48.8–9. 4.14–25. τὸ δὲ δὴ . . . φύσιν:The revolution of the heavenly bodies is due not to the spontaneous and inherent movement of the “body having circular motion,” as the Peripatetics held, but to the action of the cosmic Soul, which in turn emulates the introversion of Intellect (this being the subject of treatise II 2). This motion of the Soul leads them in its train without any force or effort (cf. IV 8.8.13–40), while their constitution ensures that they will not put up any kind of resistance. In this manner P. eliminates theories of periodic “reversals of the [cosmic] cycle” (anakuklēseis), such as the one espoused by Severus (see Procl. In Ti. I 289.7–13) on the basis of Plato’s Statesman myth, where the beneficent intervention of the cosmic “pilot” has to overcome a countervailing “destined and innate desire” (heimarmenē te kai sumphutos epithumia: 272e4–6) of the universe, fruit of its “primordial nature” (273b5, and cf. I 8.7.6)—a task that he performs over discrete periods of time, abandoning the world in the intervals to the mercy of cosmic disorder. As for the specific reference we find here to an overthrow of universal authority, this may be an allusion to those scenes in which first the Gnostics and later the Manichaeans sought in their myths to represent the creation of the world as a sequence of rebellions and wars among cosmic powers; see, e.g., Alex. Lycop. C. Manich. 3, 5.18; and Hegem. Acta Archelai VII 2–4, 10.1–10. 4.25–30. τό τε . . . αἰτία:P. offers us here a highly abbreviated abstract of the fundamental and carefully articulated argument put forward by Aristotle in Cael. I 12, 282a25– 283a3 (trans. Leggatt), with a view to demonstrating that “the ungenerable and the imperishable” (to agenēton kai to aphtharton), as also “the generable and the perishable” (to genēton kai to phtharton), “imply one another” (akolouthousin allēllois); cf. II 9.3.12–15. He caps it with an appeal to the doctrine that the world is preserved as a whole (cf. Pl.

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Second Ennead Ti. 33c6–7), irrespective of whether its component elements remain unaltered or change into one another; this too had been meticulously argued by Aristotle in his De phil.; see fr. 19a Ross (= 19 Rose3). 4.30–33. ἡ δὲ μετάνοια . . . γίγνοιτο:Yet another argument Aristotle resorted to in support of the world’s imperishability was that it is impossible for God to vacillate and decide to “desist from world-­making,” for this would presuppose “a change of mind (metanoian), an affection and a disease (pathos kai nosēma)” of the cosmic Soul (De phil., fr. 19c Ross = 21 Rose3; on the employment of this argument by the Neoplatonists, mainly against the Christians, see Wallis 1972, 103n.1. In P., see II 9.4.17–19). As noted by Simplicius, In Cael. 289.10–26, the ontological foundation on which the argument rests is genuinely Platonic: we can recognize it as the second of those “patterns of speaking about the gods” (tupoi tēs theologias) that are set out in the Republic, II 380d1–381c9, according to which it is unacceptable to suppose that God might be subject to any change whatsoever. P. reinforces this with another explanation that is no less noble in ancestry (Roussos 1974, 463, traces it as far back as Xenophanes, fr. B25 DK; at any rate, see Arist. Cael. II 1, 284a14–18, [Arist.] Mund. 6, 400b9–11): because the direction of the universe requires no effort, nor indeed any “deliberation” (bouleusin), on the part of the Soul (see IV 8.8.13–16 and V 8.12.20–25), any change within it is unthinkable. Cf. [Pl.] Epin. 982c7–d3; and [Aristaios] De harm. fr. 1, 52.21–53.2. 5.1–5. Πῶς οὖν . . . φθείρεσθαι: The radical ontological discrepancy that obtains between the sublunar region and heaven (see my comment on 1.5–12) is not, then, due primarily to the difference in their respective material composition, but rather to the distinctive creative cause responsible for the constitution of each. For, as we know, the cosmogony of the Timaeus is divided into two phases, the first of which is the work of the Demiurge, terminating with the composition of the cosmic Soul and the creation and appointment of the celestial “visible” gods, while the second begins with an “address” in which the Demiurge assigns the continuance of the task of world-­creation to the lower “new” or “young” gods, so that the beings created thereafter “may be mortal, and this All may be truly all-­in-­all (to te pan tode ontōs hapan ēi),” their instructions being “by weaving mortal to immortal, to fashion living beings; to bring them to birth and, by giving them nourishment, to cause them to grow; and when they waste away, to receive them back again,” whereas by contrast those works “of which I [sc., the Demiurge] am the maker, which have been generated by me” are “indissoluble (aluta)” (Pl. Ti. 41a7–d3; cf. 69c3–5). 5.5–14. τοῦτο δὲ . . . ἀρχούσης:Now once the Demiurge in the Timaeus “has set out all the ordinances (diathesmothetēsas),” he takes no part in the ulterior creation of the earthly sensible world “in order that he might not be responsible for the ensuing evil”; next after this “he left it to the new gods to mold mortal bodies,” giving them the authority to rule over and guide the “mortal creature,” which is formed from the combination of the lower, human soul with the less perfect and mortal earthly bodies (Ti. 42d2–e4, trans. after Cornford).



II 1. On Heaven

For P., these successive phases of world-­creation entail both an ontological hierarchy and a coordinate ranking of the duration typifying each level of being: Demiurge Intellect eternal “new gods” “heavenly Soul” everlasting “living things on earth” “other soul” in time It is perhaps superfluous to mention here the importance that this cosmological ranking possessed for Hermetism and for Gnosticism. I wish only to point out that P. is not content, as Plato was, to describe the creative action of the young gods in terms of a mimēsis of that of the Demiurge (cf. Ti. 41c5, 42e8, 69c5), for he actually goes on to characterize the lower soul itself as an “image” or “specter” (indalma) of the higher one (cf. I 8.4.28–31, II 3.18.10–13, V 9.6.16–20), thus harmonizing his view on this point with one of the classic themes of Gnostic myth-­making; see Jonas 1963, 162–63, with references. At the same time, however, he introduces the figure of an “effluence” or “outflow” (aporrhoia)—also to be found in Gnostic writings (cf., e.g., Iren. Adu. haer. I 5.5, 97 and I 24.3, 47–49; Hippol. Haer. V 15.2–3)—which, in spite of the entirely marginal role it plays overall in P.’s philosophy, has at times been regarded as representative of his thought. Instead, as Dörrie [1965]/1976, 81–85, has shown, P.—as a genuine Platonist— normally avoids this figure or utilizes it with patent reserve, such as is manifested here by the locution hoion (“so to speak”); see also Früchtel 1970, 34n.110. Human souls, at any rate, belong in the same rank as their “sister” (adelphē: see IV 3.6.13), the cosmic Soul; what is being referred to of course are the pure, separate souls that constitute men’s higher and true nature (see I 1.10.7–10). 5.18–21. ἡμεῖς δὲ . . . αἴτια: For the technical meaning of hēmeis (“we”) in P., see my comments on I 1.7.6 and 10.1–7, while for that of kata (in the sense of “by” or “in virtue of ”), those on I 1.4.20–27 and 6.9–10. Our lower, passible, experiential self is composed by the heavenly gods (cf. IV 3.14.1–11), who in this way determine and permeate our affective and practical lives. Yet our true self transcends these cosmic influences and can conduct us to imperturbable well-­being; cf. II 3.9.6–18 and I 4.14.1–14. As was rightly observed by de Vogel 1973, 501n.3, we have here an echo of the well-­ known Aristotelian distinction between “living” (zēn), that is, mere survival, and “living well” (eu zēn), which is identified with “well-­being” (eudaimonia); cf. Arist. Protr. fr. B53 (and Pl. Cri. 48b5–6), as well as my introduction to “On Well-­Being” (I 4). 5.21–23. ἤδη γοῦν . . . συλλαμβανομένη: On the basis of a not entirely perspicuous passage of the Timaeus (43a4–6), but also of the doctrine of the immortality of the soul (cf. “Alcinous” Didasc. 25, 178.33–35), the Platonists usually held that the soul is “infused” (eiskrinetai) into the body after the formation of the embryo (cf. also [Hippoc.] Nat. pueri 18, VII 498), or even, as Porphyry believed, “after parturition (meta tēn apokuēsin: Ad Gaurum II 5, 36.6).” On the contribution of reasoning to “being” (einai), see my comment on I 4.2.31–46.

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Second Ennead 6.1–2. Ἀλλὰ . . . σκεπτέον: What P. sets out as a problem here is precisely what Atticus presents as the status quaestionis in fr. 6.3–21. 6.2–8. τῷ μὲν . . . ταύτην:In the Timaeus, the Demiurge composes the world’s body “of fire and earth” because “that which comes to be (to genomenon) must be bodily, and so visible and tangible; and nothing can be visible without fire, or tangible without something solid, and nothing is solid without earth” (31b4–8 trans. Cornford, who reads gignomenon for genomenon), while the other two elements, air and water, perform the function of a “bond” (desmos) connecting the two extreme elements as their proportional means in such a way as to constitute a continued geometrical proportion of the form: fire air

=

air water = water earth

(31b8–32c4; cf. [Ti. Locr.] De nat. 39–41, 217.3–14). Insofar as the heavenly “living beings,” that is, the astral bodies, are concerned, the Timaeus declares that the Demiurge “fashioned their form for the most part of fire” (40a2–3), clearly suggesting that other elements are involved in their composition; cf. [Pl.] Epin. 981d7–e1. P. points out, however, that these cosmological considerations are introduced by Plato as a “likely story” (eikōs muthos: see, e.g., Ti. 29d2), and are accordingly susceptible of modification. 6.8–12. παρὰ μὲν . . . ἂν ἔχοι:That the celestial bodies consist mostly of fire is ascertainable on the basis of empirical evidence: through sight because of their brightness, and through touch—at least, in the case of the sun—because of their heat. If now we consider that they appear to possess some solidity as well, then we might be led to conclude that they also contain earth, on the principle that without earth there is no solidity (see my previous comment). In what follows, P. will not cast doubt on the empirical findings, but only on the logical inference and the concomitant conjecture that might be drawn from these. In this he was perhaps encouraged by the criticism that had been leveled at this very point within the school of Alexander of Aphrodisias; see De an. mant. 125.7–35. 6.12–21. ὕδατος . . . πάντα:First, doubt is cast on the presence of water and air in astral bodies for two separate reasons: (a) according to the theory of Plato himself, these two elements could not endure so much fire without themselves having to be transmuted into fire (see Ti. 56d6–e2 and 56e7–57a6); (b) although the so-­called Platonic theorem (Ti. 32a7–b3; cf. Nicom. Ar. II 24.6–7, 129.16–130.3) with respect to the two proportional means (see above, my comment on 6.2–8) may apply to geometrical solids, this does not necessarily mean that it applies also to natural bodies. P. prefers a different explanation for the capacity of elements to form a “bond” (desmos), one based on their ability to acquire properties from each other; this will be developed below, in chapter 7. In this way every element will contain (potentially) all the others.



II 1. On Heaven

6.21–24. ἀλλ’ ἐπισκεπτέον . . . ἕκαστον:Second, doubt may be cast even on the general principle (Ti. 31b5–6; see above) that prescribed the existence of earth in astral bodies. For this would lead to an Anaxagorean mixture of all things, where “in everything there is a portion of everything,” each different thing being characterized simply “according to what is predominant (to epikratoun) within it” (see fr. A41, B11, and 12 DK; and Arist. Ph. I 4, 187b1–7, Gen. corr. I 5, 321a35–b1; cf. also PDerveni XIX 1–4). Some such view did take root in the accommodating soil of Stoic cosmology (see, e.g., Sen. Nat. quaest. III 10.4–5, as noted by Graeser 1972, 37; cf. Hadot 1968, 1:240–41), but it also enjoyed wider dissemination; see, e.g., Moraux 1973–2001, 2:739 on Galen. According to P., however—and in contraposition to the view of Anaxagoras—this condition is applicable mainly at the level of Intellect; see my comment on I 1.8.6–8 and V 8.4.4–11. Cf., however, IV 3.28.9 and VI 3.9.15–18. 6.25–35. οὐδὲ . . . τοῦ ὕδατος:There were some who would have advocated that the heavenly bodies could not contain earth unless water was simultaneously present to secure its cohesiveness by “gluing” its parts together: see, e.g., Philo Opif. 38; Plut. De prim. frig. 952b; Macrob. In Somn. I 6.37, 25.6–8; and Theiler 1930, 154. This objection makes it easier for P. to advance the position that what is required for the cohesiveness of the heavenly bodies is not water itself, but wetness, which in turn leads directly to the solution he will propose below, at 7.7–9. 6.37–44. περὶ δὲ . . . ἀπελθεῖν: And as concerns fire, it need not itself be present for something to acquire luminosity and to become visible. The presence of light alone is adequate to the purpose: and light (as I explained in my comment on I 6.3.19–26) is for P. an incorporeal “activity” (energeia) of fire. This would explain also how a capacity for brightness may be possessed even by what is antithetical to fire, such as snow. The view that snow retains “a kind of light-­like breath (phōtoeides ti pneuma) . . . and this is the cause of whiteness” is refuted summarily by Alexander of Aphrodisias, De an. mant. 133.2–4. 6.45–46. ἀὴρ . . . εὔθρυπτος ὤν: On the “friability” (to euthrupton) and dissipability of air, cf. Arist. De an. II 8, 420a7–9; and Alex. Aphrod. De an. 47.14–24. 6.46–52. περὶ δὲ . . . πήξεως:The purpose of this sequence of rapidly glimpsed problems is to make evident that an element may assume properties from another without actually being mixed with it, as in the case of gold (considered, like all metals, to be “water” (hudōr); cf. Pl. Ti. 59b1–4; Arist. Mete. IV 10, 389a7–9; Theophr. Lap. I 1; and below, II 4.6.12–13), which acquires denseness from the earth not by being mixed with it, but by being surrounded and compressed by it (see Arist. op. cit. III 6, 378a29–31). 6.52–54. καὶ πῦρ . . . δαιμόνων:P. wants to ensure the possibility that there could exist a living organism, the body of which consists solely of fire: a possibility realized, as he intends to show, in the celestial bodies. He finds an analogue in the case of the “fiery demons,” the existence of which appears to have been admitted by Aristotle (see Gen.

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Second Ennead an. III 11, 761b16–23; and Lameere 1949, 287–313) and possibly also by Xenocrates (fr. 15), and which played the role of scourges of wrongdoing in Hermetic eschatological beliefs (see CH X 21, 123.19–22), while according to Porphyry they occupied a high rank in the hierarchy of demons (see apud Procl. In Ti. II, 11.10–12, and De reg. an. fr. 293F; cf. [Clem. Rom.] Hom. IX 9.4.1–5.3). 6.54–60. ἀλλὰ . . . πυρός: The principle that all living creatures are composed of all the elements, the ruling one being in each case the one the proper zone of which the creature happens to inhabit, is hinted at in the Timaeus and explicitly formulated in the Epinomis, 981d3–e1. Without combating it, P. restricts the principle to earthly beings, viewing the presence of earth in heaven as being contrary to the laws of nature. It may be useful at this point to clarify something that is perhaps not immediately apparent to the contemporary reader: the presence of the four elements in the celestial bodies was one of the basic premises of the art of causally “efficacious” (apotelesmatikē) astrology. More precisely, as Kalfas 1990, 89, has correctly pointed out, “the four elements . . . constitute the foundations of the ‘natural peculiar character’ (phusikē idiotropia) of the planets and, by implication, of their combinations.” Hence the invalidation of this thesis was of particular importance for the advancement of P.’s overall case against this type of astrological theory. 7.1–6. Ἴσως οὖν . . . ἐχῃ:Having laid out his critique, P. is now ready to put forward his own view on the subject. Yet, in characteristic fashion, he presents this as the result of a closer reading of Plato, whose views had been rejected—or, at any rate, cast into doubt— in chapter 6. To begin with, he accepts the first part of Plato’s argument: the body of the world must indeed possess solidity (see Ti. 31b5–6), and consequently earth must constitute the sturdy foundation at its center (cf. [Ti. Locr.] De nat. 31, 215.7), offering a stable base (hedraia: cf. Ti. 59d6; [Arist.] Mund. 2, 391b13; and Max. Tyr. XXXI 1, 360.13–361.1) for all the things that move upon it, and that must themselves possess some solidity. 7.6–9. ἡ δὲ γῆ . . . ὄγκους:Earth possesses solidity on its own, but it also partakes of properties deriving from the other three elements, without this implying that it is mixed in with the latter. Cf. my comment on II 7.2.26–32. On the reasons why air rises up from earth, cf. Ti. 60b7–c1. In l. 7, I prefer the form metechoi de to echoi de (H-­S3: metechein de MSS, H-­S2, Armstrong), because I believe that it is important to preserve the distinction between the inherent property of “being cohesive” (to einai sunechēs), which the earth “will possess” (echoi), and the other, acquired attributes in which it “will have a share” (metechoi). On the possibility of such “participation” in an element, cf. above, 6.46; below, 7.14 and VI 3.7.33. And what is more, I regard it as not impossible that Brinkmann’s rule (on which see my comment on I 2.5.14–16) should also apply to lexical compounds; therefore I would agree with Kirchhoff and H-­S3 in deleting echei de in the following line. 7.10–19. μεμίχθαι . . . πυρότητα:P. wants to “interpret” the crucial phrase of the Timaeus, according to which “nothing is solid without earth” (31b6), in such a way that solidity



II 1. On Heaven

may obtain without there being a necessity for the presence of earth itself, but only of one of its “activities” (energeiai), from which the celestial bodies might derive what solidity they happen to have. The only explanation offered for this exceedingly obscure operation is that community of participation in the universal organism that alone ensures this type of—otherwise inconceivable—mutual interaction, the outcome of which is the peculiar complex of qualities that makes up the sensible world as a unified whole. 7.19–24. μαρτυρεῖ . . . πυρὸς εἶναι: P. now attempts to authenticate his viewpoint as a genuinely Platonic one by citing a variety of specific passages (see, in turn, Ti. 39b4–5, Tht. 208d2, Resp. X 616e9), none of which comes close to providing him with the desired credentials. His reference to the sun as “the clearest” or “the whitest” (leukotaton) of celestial lights appears to reflect a confusion in the interpretation of a passage from the final myth of the Republic (X 617a3), where the attribute in question is ascribed to the light in the third circuit (from that of the fixed stars), namely, that of Jupiter. But cf. Arist. Mete. I 3, 341a36 and III 6, 377b23. 7.24–30. πυρὸς δὲ . . . σῶμα:P. recalls the distinction he had made between two kinds of fire (see my comment above, on 4.11–13). He regards this as being justified by the differences remarked on by Plato among the several “classes of fire” (Ti. 58c5–d1), and by the fact that Plato regarded light as a kind of flame that does not burn (Ti. 45b4–6). Combining these two passages with the other one from the Timaeus he has just cited (39b4– 5, at 7.20–21), P. succeeds in ascribing to Plato the view that there exist two “forms” (eidē) of fire: one that is corporeal, being nothing other than the pure, “equable and placid” (homalon kai ēremaion: see 1.14–3 above) fire of which the heavenly bodies are composed, and one that is incorporeal, being simply an “activity,” and that represents what P. primarily thought of as light (see IV 5.6.30–31 and my comment above on 6.37– 44). And of course both of these must be distinguished from the common fire that is found in the earthly region, and that has the quality—characteristic of flame—of burning violently. Thus, on other occasions P. would be able to refer to the irradiation surrounding a luminous source as “light from light” (phōs ek phōtos: IV 3.17.13–14 and VI 4.9.26–27), a phrase that the Christians would eventually introduce into the Nicene Creed (see Roussos 1974, 464; but cf. also Hippol. C. haer. Noeti 10.4.4 and 11.1.3). 7.30–33. ἡμεῖς δὲ . . . τιθεμένου:P.’s conclusion: Plato employs the term gē in two senses, to signify either (a) the corporeal element “earth” that exists only in the sublunar region and that possesses the primary quality of solidity, or (b) the incorporeal quality “solidity” that may be present as an acquired attribute in other elements besides earth, and that thus comes to characterize the heavenly bodies, among others. 7.33–49. τοῦ δὴ . . . τὸ πόρρω:By now P. has what he needs in order to present his own theory of “fire” (pur). Pure fire has its “proper place,” its natural seat, in the higher reaches of the universe; cf. I 6.3.20–21; and Creuzer 1814, 196–97. The light that comes down to us from there

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Second Ennead constitutes an activity of this pure fire, and consequently lacks corporeality; it nevertheless illuminates terrestrial bodies and endows them with attributes that emanate from the nature of fire. By contrast, the inflammatory, ebullient, and “rioting” (hubrizon: 4.12) fire we find on earth is a mixture, the earthy consistency of which—though P. is not particularly clear about this—renders its union with the heavenly kind impossible, even if it is perhaps responsible for various “meteorological” phenomena such as, for example, comets were thought to be (see Alex. Aphrod. In Mete. 33.23–35.18), and even if it results in the formation of aithēr, albeit not in the sense of a distinct fifth body (pace Clark 1949, 137–38), but of a “finer” (leptoteron) and “superlatively clean” (euagestaton) kind of air (cf. Ti. 58c6–d2; CH Exc. XXV 12, 71.26; and Ach. Intr. Arat. 5, 34.26–29). Yet although the whole of heaven is fiery, it displays considerable variety in luminosity and color (on this, cf. Pl. Resp. X 616e8–617a4; and Bidez 1945, appendix I, 1*–18*), which endows it with beauty of proportion and harmony (see 44: poikilthen en logois; cf. indicatively Brumbaugh 1951, 173–76). 8.1–5. Τούτου δὴ . . . τὸ κάτω:P. now turns to answering the question he had posed at 4.1–4. One of the fundamental tenets on which “hard” astrology was based (on this, see my introduction to treatise II 3 below) was that heavenly bodies are subject to “outflows” (aporrhoiai) that exercise a causal influence on terrestrial entities and bring changes to bear upon them. Ptolemy holds that “a certain power (dunamis) [emanating] from the eternal ethereal substance is dispersed through, and permeates, the whole region about earth,” maintaining that the moon, for instance, “bestows her effluence (aporrhoian) most abundantly upon mundane things, for most of them, animate or inanimate, are sympathetic to her and change in company with her” (Apot. I 2.1–3 trans. Robbins); in what follows he in fact goes on to detail the powers of the different heavenly bodies and their configurations (ibid. I 2.4–20). Such beliefs enjoyed wider diffusion (cf. Cleom. I 8, 79–99 = ?Posid. fr. 289 Theiler; Sext. Emp. Math. IX 73 = ?Posid. fr. 400b Theiler; CH Ascl. 2, 298.5–9, and Exc. XXIII = Korē Kosmou 3, 2.2–5; PGM XII 254–55; and Reitzenstein 1904, 16n.4). They were capable of leading to an extreme astrological determinism, but also to views such as the Gnostics had concerning the tyrannical rule exercised by the planetary gods over the earth. P. had already secured the presuppositions he required in order to repel theories of this kind (see above, my comments on 3.1–5 and 23–30). Here he summarizes his arguments and launches his final attack against all those who held that any direct influence can come to bear either from or upon heaven. 8.5–7. πᾶν δὲ . . . τὸ μόνον:Cf. above, 2.17–28, 3.18–20, and 4.6–11. 8.7–15. τό τε . . . γίνεσθαι: The “primary sublunar elements” are air and fire; cf. Ptol. Apot. I 2.1. But the fire originating in the sublunar region is incapable of reaching heaven; even if it comes near, it will by then have lost its blaze and become exhausted: cf. above 7.35–43.



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At any rate, fire is inherently hot and cannot, therefore, be heated by something else; cf. I 2.1.31–36, with my comment. 8.15–19. οὐδὲν δεῖ . . . βιασθέντων:Cf. above, 3.14–20, with my comment. Simplicius In Cael. 20.10–23, informs us that the theory that “when the elements are in their proper place, they either stand still or move in a circle (ē menei ē kuklōi kineitai)” was advocated, other than by P., also by Ptolemy “in his book ‘On the Elements’ and in his ‘Optics’ ” (cf. Procl. In Ti. III, 114.31–33) and by Xenarchus “in his [book of ] problems ‘Against the Fifth Substance,’ ” while Philoponus In Mete. 37.18–19 and 97.4–5, credits the same theory to “Platonists” in general. It seems that Xenarchus in particular attributed, under the aforementioned circumstances, “the circular [sc., motion] to fire and the stillness to the other three [sc., elements]” (Simpl. op. cit. 22.16–17). 8.19–27. οὐ τοίνυν . . . φύσιν:On the origins of the view concerning the “nourishment” (trophē) of the stars, see my comment on 3.23–30 above. It found favor mainly among the Stoics (see SVF 1:121, 501, 504, 2:579; and Posid. fr. 118, with the comment of Kidd, 458–59), but was combated by Alexander of Aphrodisias, In Mete. 72.13–73.25. The need for nourishment is an indication of imperfection and corruptibility. As such it characterizes only the lower, terrestrial creatures, which are subject to constant change and flux, and which only approximate to the permanence of being through generation and the perpetuation of their species (cf. above, 1.23–27). 8.27–28. τὸ δὲ . . . εἴρηται:In spite of their imperishability, the celestial beings are nonetheless corporeal and belong accordingly to a radically different ontological category from the intelligible Forms. Although they will possess the characteristic of “uniformity” or “sameness” (to hōsautōs: see above, 2.5 and 10), they are yet not “integrally” (pantē) constant, as the Forms are; cf. III 6.6.19, III 7.3.10; and, indicatively, Pl. Phd. 78c6–d8, Leg. X 898a8. For in their case what this constancy involves is everlastingness in time, whereas the Forms possess supratemporal eternity. The gulf separating the observation of the starry heavens from the contemplation of the intelligible world, which thinkers such as the author of the Epinomis tended to depreciate (see 986a8–d4; and Festugière 1944–54, 2:152), remained, for P., an unbridgeable one.

II 2 [14]. On the Movement of Heaven Synopsis 1

The cause of the circular movement of heaven is the cosmic Soul. Principal question: But given that the Soul does not move in space, how is it able to induce local movement?

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Answer: By its cohesive power, it bends the natural rectilinear movement of fire and makes it circular. Yet this circular motion is simply a concomitant of the Soul’s vital propensity for its intelligible center. That men do not move in circles is due to the nature of their bodies. With their higher self, however, they compass God. The universe as a composition of the progressively encompassing revolutions performed by the three faculties of the cosmic Soul.

Introduction In Plato’s Timaeus, the Demiurge, having fashioned the “spherically shaped” (sphairoeides) body of the world, proceeds to endow it with “the motion . . . which most of all pertains to reason and intelligence (kinēsin tēn peri noun kai phronēsin malista ousan); accordingly, having drawn it round the same way in the same place, he made it move in a circle as it turned” (34a1–4). It is subsequently made clear that this rotation of the heavens is due to the Soul, which, “turning itself round in itself (autē en hautēi strephomenē), initiated the divine beginning of the ceaseless and intelligent life” of the cosmic “living being” (36e3–4; cf. 34b3–6, 37a5, and Phdr. 247d1–e4). As Cornford 1937, 56, points out, the reason why circular motion around a center is the only “rational” (phronimos) one is explained in the Laws. There the Athenian Visitor develops the view that “the entire course and motion of heaven . . . is of like nature with intellect and comes to be homogeneous with it as to its movement and revolution and reasonings” (X 897c4–7), because the motion of intellect is itself characterized as proceeding “in the same way [i.e., regularly], and all the same [i.e., uniformly], and [constantly] within and about and in relation to the same things, and according to a single rational principle and a unique order” (ibid. 898a8–b1; on this, see Moreau 1939, 73–75). It is no secret that for Aristotle as well the question of the movement of heaven was an object of intense preoccupation that he tackled with dedication, although perhaps not with absolute consistency, through the various phases of his philosophical development.1 His position seems to have been determined by three basic points, to which he gave variable emphasis in his different works: (a) Heaven is “animate” (empsuchos), and its soul constitutes a “principle of movement” (kinēseōs archēn), that is, the effective cause of its “circular movement” (kuklophoria), without this implying that by its action the soul of heaven exercises any kind of force on its body (see Cael. II 2, 285a18–35; cf. [Plut.] Epitome I 7, 305a8–13). (b) This movement of the cosmic Soul (or, at any rate, of the souls of the celestial spheres) is guided by the propensity for a supreme intellective principle that constitutes its final cause and that came to assume the form of the “prime mover” (prōton kinoun) in the ulterior phase of the Stagirite’s philosophy. 1  See the enlightening survey provided by Guthrie 1939, xxxv–xxxvi, in the introduction to his edition of the De caelo.



II 2. On the Movement of Heaven

(c) The material cause of the circular movement of heaven is the “fifth body”— aether—to which such movement is natural, without this implying, however, that it is also spontaneous, as is the case with each of the other four elements and its associated movement. When, during the first century CE, the Peripatetic Xenarchus formulated his critique of the theory of the fifth body,2 he was brought face to face with the problem of having to explain why fire, which in the sublunar region exhibits an upwardly rectilinear natural movement, should, when it reaches its “proper place” in the heavens, move in a circle; he felt he had no choice but correspondingly to amend Aristotle’s theory at the relevant point. The amendment was accepted, so Simplicius tells us (see my comment on II 1.8.15–19), by both Ptolemy and P. But there thus arose the further problem of what function, if any, was to be assigned to Soul within such a mechanistic system, deprived as it was of the presence of its “more divine” fifth body. Unfortunately, we do not know what solution Xenarchus himself proposed,3 but we can observe Ptolemy in the aftermath gravitating toward a version of vitalism which holds that each planet is moved, as birds are, by its own proper “psychical power” (psuchikē dunamis: see Ptol. Hypoth. II 7, 119.21–31; and Sambursky 1962, 143–45), whereas thinkers such as Julianus of Tralles and Herminus regarded the movement of the heavenly “living being” (zōion) as a correlation of the movements of both its corporeal and psychical components.4 The view proposed by Alexander of Aphrodisias is again—as Merlan loc. cit. observes—along the same direction: he identifies the “nature” (phusis) of the celestial bodies, which is what imparts circularity of motion to them—and according to him, of course, consists in “fifth substance”—with the “soul” (psuchē).5 But what is especially important in the present context is that he interprets this circular motion as a propensity for “emulation” (mimēsis) of, and “assimilation” (homoiōsis) to, its unmoved and intelligible cause.6 On which, see Moraux 1973–2001, 1:197–206; and Sambursky 1962, 124–32. On the basis of the testimony of “Aëtius” IV 3.10, 388b16–20, concerning his theory of the soul, it appears likely that Xenarchus thought of it as coinciding with the nature inherent in bodies that determines the behavior of their motion. 4  See Simpl. In Cael. 380.1–5; and cf. the scrap from PGeneva inv. 203 that Burkert 1987, 51–55, attributed to Xenarchus. On this whole subject, see Merlan 1943, 180–81, a study that to a large degree has guided my own presentation; and Wolfson 1962, 72–78. 5  Apud Simpl. In Cael. 380.29–381.2 : “What we are attempting to demonstrate is that the nature of the divine body is not one thing and its soul another, but that they are as weight is to earth and lightness to fire; for just as when we say of these that they move in accordance with nature, we are saying that they move in virtue of these powers, and that the motion that they have in virtue of their nature is none other than the one that they have in virtue of their proper powers, it would appear reasonable that the same should hold for the nature of the divine body and its psychical power (tēn dunamin tēn psuchikēn [my emendation: psuchēn or psuchēs MSS]); for what else than this could its nature be? For the soul is more perfect (teleiotera) than nature, and it is reasonable that in the case of the more perfect body, its nature too should be more perfect (kai tēn phusin einai teleioteran), its nature and soul being that in virtue of which it is possessed of circular motion.” Cf. also Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. I 1, 3.10–14; De princ. apud Badawi 135.21–136.17 and 146.32–37 = Mund. A 4–7 and 96; Simpl. In Ph. 1218.27–30. See also Wolfson 1962, 76–77; and Sharples 1983a, 62–63. 6  See Quaest. I 1, 3.25–4.3; I 25, 40.16–23; II 19, 63.20–21; and above all II 18, 62.23–63.2, trans. after Shar2  3 

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Second Ennead It is on this grand synthesis that P. chooses to base his own position. Being the Platonist that he is, he does of course differentiate his views on some crucial points, managing in this way to circumvent certain weaknesses and contradictions inherent to Alexander’s kinematic system. First of all, as one would expect, he categorically rejects (cf. II 1.2.12–15) the existence of the “fifth body.” For him, celestial bodies consist of fire, even if not of entirely the same kind of fire as that found on earth (see II 1.7.33–49, with my comment), the “nature” (phusis) of which is—initially at any rate—rectilinearly ascendant in motion. Second, it would never be possible for him to admit the identity of the cosmic Soul—which for a Platonist cannot but be, potentially at least, separable—with that nature which is ineluctably immanent in the body. The Soul’s independence of being affords a much more plausible explanation than was available to the Peripatetics for the possession by the heavens of a different, and possibly even countervailing, motion than is in their bodily nature. And it was in fact possible also to extract such a view by an appropriate reading of the passage in the Timaeus where the cohesive “encircling” or “encompassing” (kukloterēs) movement of the cosmic Soul “constricts” (sphingei) the four elements, preventing them from moving to their own place and there becoming dormant (58a4–b2). Of course this action of the Soul is not coercive, a fact that ensures its everlastingness (see II 1.3.14–23). In this way the movement produced by the correlation of these two countervailing tendencies can be thought of as corresponding to the composite nature of the cosmic zōion, and as instancing at the same time a mimēsis of the static motion of the Intellect, to which the Soul is in the process of returning. We are thus led once again to the passage from the Laws which I cited at the beginning. For it is this theological aspect of the subject that motivated P.’s interest in celestial phenomena.7 The revolution of the heavens is not a product of mechanical processes, but a true epiphany, a manifestation of the quest for what is infinite and transcendent within the finite limits of the corporeal universe.

Commentary Title:In the VP (4.49 and 24.42) this treatise is referred to under the more Aristotelian title, “On the Circular Motion” (Peri tēs kuklophorias). ples: “As for bodies that are not subject to coming-­to-­be, complete by their own nature and in their natural place, their nature . . . contributes . . . to their being made like the best of things, on account of their activity in accordance with it (dia tēs kat’ auton energeias homoiousthai tōi tōn ontōn aristōi), by their everlasting and continuous and regular movement, imitating its always (aei [Spengler: dein MSS]) being in actuality and its [being] unmoved and at rest, . . . and for this reason [the heavens], moving continuously on account of the nature that is in them, imitate, through the permanence in their movement, the being at rest [of the supreme being] (dia tēs en tēi kinēsei monēs tēn ekeinou mimeitai stasin).” See also De princ. apud Badawi 138.7–11 = Mund. A 23. 7  Simplicius accurately diagnosed the affinity that exists between the present treatise and the passage from the Laws, which he actually quotes (In Cael. 382.15), a fact that escaped Merlan 1935, 156–59, who nevertheless noted the reference in Simplicius to P. Of more recent scholars, only Igal in his introduction to his own edition of this treatise, 361, lays emphasis on this affinity.



II 2. On the Movement of Heaven

1.1. Διὰ τί . . . μιμεῖται: The pithiness of this query and retort, with its rare balance of assonance and rhythm, harks back to the Pythagorean “maxims” (akousmata), and its reverberations would carry far and wide among later writers: see the apparatus testium of H-­S1. The aporia concerns the explication of a passage in the Timaeus (34a4) that had already preoccupied Aristotle, De an. I 3, 406b26–407b11, in whose view the perpetual circular motion described by Plato is incompatible with intellection, which “resembles more a kind of stillness or arrest than it does a movement”; see Cherniss 1944, 394. The response also derives from the Peripatos, echoing as it does precisely the viewpoint formulated by Alexander of Aphrodisias to justify the correlation of the revolution of heaven, in its “stability in motion” (en kinēsei monē), with the permanence of the intelligible: the former is not identical with, but rather “emulates” (mimeitai), the latter; see above, note 6 of my introduction to this treatise; and Merlan 1943, 182. Cf. also III 2.3.30 and VI 9.8.1–8. 1.1–4. καὶ τίνος . . . συμφέρει:I regard the entire passage as the development of a single aporia having the following successive subdivisions: the movement of heaven (kinēsis ouranou) belongs to its soul (psuchēs), which

(a) its body (sōmatos)

is self-contained (en autēi) and self-centered (pros autēn)

(b) is eager to go (speudei ienai)

(c) but not self-cohesive (en autēi ou sunechei)

(d) sweeping it along in its momentum (pheromenē sumpherei)

Of these, alternatives (a), (b), and (c) are silently dismissed, even though the third—if I understand it correctly—refers to the sustaining, cohesive function assigned to the cosmic Soul in the Timaeus (58a6–7). For what concerns P. here is not to prove that it is (d) which is the case, but rather to kindle an interest in the elucidation of its content. 1.4–8. ἀλλ’ ἔδει . . . κινουμένη: The exposition of the aporia continues, now coming to focus on point (d): (i) being a supra-­sensible entity, the Soul does not, of course, exist in space; (ii) hence it does not move in space; (iii) hence it is at rest; (iv) hence what it brings about should be rest, not movement (in space). 1.8–19. ἢ ἴσως . . . μένοντος:At first impression, P.’s response seems astounding and paradoxical: he advances the view that circular motion does not constitute movement in space but is instead simply a manifestation of the vitality of the Soul as it turns toward itself and its intelligible core. If the world were to remain immobile and inert, it would dissolve into the elements of which it was composed, as these would “stagnate,” each in

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Second Ennead its proper place. The Soul animates the world—and as it does so, it unifies it into an organism (cf. Pl. Ti. 30b8), the vital invigoration of which preserves its body (here P. reverses the image employed by Plato in the Cratylus, 400c6–7; cf. IV 3.9.34–36) as it moves in emulation of the “motionless movement” (akinētos kinēsis) of the Intellect itself. Thus the body is merely an accessory cause of the movement of heaven, for which the chief responsibility lies with the Soul: not with its substance, but with its action and the effect it has, incidentally, on the body of the world (cf. Arist. De an. I 3, 407b6–9). Accordingly, the latter’s motion also is only incidentally a local movement, because its cause lies outside of space. Nor does it indeed constitute a true transposition. For as a correlation of the rectilinear natural motion of bodies and the centripetal cohesive power of the Soul, it assumes the form of a cyclical rotation around a fixed center, combining in this way movement with rest (cf. VI 3.24.11–13, but also Pl. Resp. IV 436d5– e4) and, ultimately, the two countervailing tendencies that pervade Platonic cosmology: the Intellect and (natural) necessity. See also Bréhier 1955, 246. 1.19–25. εἰ δὲ . . . κύκλῳ:P. returns to case (a) (see above, my comment on 1.1–4) in order to deal with two observations of Aristotelian origin. And his reply to these echoes that of Xenarchus, as it has been passed down to us by Simplicius In Cael. 21.35–22.17: “rectilinear motion is not natural to any of the four elements when it is already a being. . . . Accordingly it is false that the motion of a simple body is by nature simple; for it has been demonstrated that [sc., rectilinear] motion is an incidental property not of a being, but of something which is coming to be [sc., by not yet having reached its proper place] . . . . And therefore it would not be out of place to assign the circling [sc., motion] to fire, and to the other three [sc., simple bodies], rest.” See Merlan 1943, 186; and my comment on II 1.8.15–19. Yet P. also provides an explanation for this peculiarity that fire possesses: as the most extreme of all the elements, were it to continue along its rectilinear, upward course, it would be scattered into infinity. 1.25–27. ἀλλὰ . . . ἐξ αὐτοῦ:One factor that could inhibit such dispersal and dissipation of fire would be the providential intervention of the Soul, which, as we saw, holds together and “constricts” the universe. This kind of solution would have appealed perhaps to the Stoics, for whom the heavens are surrounded by an infinite void, and the world is prevented from breaking apart by a sustaining “tenor” (hexis: see SVF 2:552–53), but not to the Peripatetics, for whom (a) the world is finite, and beyond it there can exist no body nor void nor even place (see Arist. Cael. I 9, 279a6–13), and (b) Providence concerns only the sublunar region, while heaven occupies the place of “what exercises Providence” (to pronooun: see Quaest. II 19, 63.13–26; and Sharples 1983a, 62). 1.27–31. ἢ ἐφιέμενον . . . φέροιτο: Thus it is the Aristotelian thesis of the finitude of the universe that is drafted in response to the Peripatetics: the nature of fire drives it upward, but when it reaches the outer bound of heaven, where—to employ an anachronistic formulation—space curves and becomes spherical, it assumes a cyclical orbit, since to move downward would conflict with its nature; cf. II 1.3.14–17, with my comment.



II 2. On the Movement of Heaven

1.31–37. καὶ κύκλου . . . περιδινήσει:A simple centripetal force, such as the “tenor” (hexis) of the Stoics, would result in a contraction of the world into an immobile, compact sphere by way of a sterile expansion of its fixed center. But the universe is a live organism, and at the bodily level, life is manifested in movement (see above, 14). Hence, although the center of the world remains immobile, its circumference—heaven—revolves about it, emulating in this manner not only the stability, but also the vitality of Intellect. 1.37. οὕτω . . . ἔφεσιν:This tendency of the circumference of the world toward its center is interpreted as a “propensity” (ephesis), and therefore corresponds in function to the “love” (erōs) for the prime mover of Aristotle’s theology; see Metaph. Λ 7, 1072b3–4. Alexander of Aphrodisias had also advocated that the motivation for the revolution of the heavenly body is its ephesis toward the “first, everlasting and unmoved substance,” adding: “its propensity is not to seize it, but to become assimilated to it in a manner consistent with its power (homoiōthēnai kata dunamin autōi); and it is in respect of movement that it becomes assimilated to it” (Quaest. I 25, 40.10–19; cf. De princ. apud Badawi 138.11–18 = Mund. A 24–25). The only difference is, as Merlan 1943, 188, has noted, that P. places the object of this ephesis at the center of the moving sphere; as becomes clear, however, from the employment of the same image elsewhere in the Enneads (see, e.g., IV 4.16.20–31), this center is not meant to be understood spatially, but only analogically. See also below, 2.7–10. 1.37–39. εἰ ψυχὴ . . . ταχθέν: The Soul does not move the body of heaven by force or compulsion; cf. Arist. De an. I 3, 407b1–2, Cael. II 1, 284a27–35; and above, II 1.3.18–20 and 4.31–32. The motion it imparts to it is not contrary to its nature. As we saw in my introduction to this treatise, Alexander reached the point of actually identifying the “nature” (phusis) that imparts motion with the soul. But the conflation of the two was unacceptable to P., given that they belong to different ontological levels. Nevertheless, Nature is an expression and a specter of the Soul (see IV 4.13.3–5; and Müller 1916, 239–40), and hence it cannot but harmonize itself with the latter. 1.39–51. ἔτι . . . κύκλῳ ἄρα:P. is now in a position to offer a response to a question that Alexander had left unanswered (see above, my comment on 1.37): in what manner does circular motion accommodate a propensity for something that is unmoved? His explanation relies on the ubiquity of the Soul’s presence. What characterizes the manner of the soul’s presence in body is that it is to be found “in all [sc., the parts] of it as a whole and in any one part as a whole” (see IV 2.1.53–66 and VI 4.4.30–34). This also means, however, that it cannot be located in any specified part of it, because in that case the rest of the living organism would remain soulless (IV 2.2.38–39). The body of heaven, of course, does not itself have the capacity to be present everywhere in such a “synchronous” manner, but it approximates this condition through movement, by the successive transposition of each of its parts to all points in the heavenly sphere. In the words of Merlan 1943, 189, “permanent motion and, thus, nowhereness of this kind, is the spatial equivalent of the nonspatial nowhereness of the unextended soul.”

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Second Ennead 2.1–3. Τὰ οὖν . . . τὸ πᾶν:During the preceding argument, it was emphasized that the circularity of the world’s motion is due to its constituting a whole that is extended everywhere and that consequently has no margin left either to go anywhere outside itself, or to receive any outside influence. The same does not apply, however, to individual bodies, animate or inanimate, the movements of which are co-­determined by the intervention of external factors. A similar radical distinction between “the whole” (to pan) and “its parts” (ta merē) is effected in the papyrian text (PGeneva 203) to which I referred earlier in note 4 of my introduction; lines 8–16 (according to Burkert’s emended version) might be read as follows: “and there is, on the one hand, rectilinear motion of natural bodies (kai esti men ep’ eutheias kinēsis tōn phusikōn sōmatōn), either from the center or toward the center (ētoi apo tou mesou ē epi to meson); and, on the other hand, the [motion] around the center, of the whole (hē de peri to meson tou pantos). Nor is the whole identical with the parts (ou tauton de to pan tois meresin). If in fact the fire here moves “in an erratic and disorderly manner” [Ti. 30a4–5], being bereft of soul (ei dē plēmmelōs kai ataktōs to tēde pur kineitai erēmon on psuchēs), it is not necessary that the heavenly one, being ensouled (ouk anankaion kai to ouranion empsuchon on), should be held in thrall to disorder and unreason (ataxiai kai alogiai sunechesthai).” If this text were indeed, as Burkert advocates, pre-­Plotinian (but cf. Decleva Caizzi and Funghi 1998), then it would constitute a direct precursor not only of P.’s kinematic theory itself, but also of its mobilization with a view to excluding disorderly motion from the heavenly region and restricting its presence to the sublunar region of Destiny, which is “bereft of soul”; cf. II 3.9.27–28. 2.3–5. πῶς οὖν . . . ὅλον:P. does not omit to make an oblique reference to the anthropological counterpart of the distinction between the sublunar and the heavenly region: insofar as he is a “composite” (sunamphoteron), man is a mere “part” (meros) of the cosmos and is subject to its influences; see II 3.9.29–30. But his true self transcends the restrictions of his corporeal nature and constitutes an entire and autonomous intelligible world; cf. III 4.3.22–25. 2.5–15. εἰ οὖν . . . περὶ αὐτόν:See above, my comment on 1.37. The revolution of heaven is “analogous” to that of the soul about the Intellect, from which it derives; cf. VI 9.8.1–15. This rational motion of the soul is also mentioned in the Florentine papyrus to which I drew attention in my comment on II 1.2.12–17: “for what is moved by the soul we declare to be moved rationally (to goun epi tēs psuchēs kinoumenon dianoētikōs phamen kekinēsthai) . . . and we construe this spatially, though not in the ordinary sense (kai ou koinōs topikōs lambanomen), inasmuch as discursive reason also rotates in a circle about the intellect (kath’ hoson kai ē dianoia perieisi kuklōi peri noun), even as about a center (hōsper peri kentron)” (Anon. PFlor apud Barigazzi 1949, 61 ll. 58–65). To express the propensity of the Soul for its intelligible center, P. employs the unusual poetic verb amphagapazesthai. I was reminded by E. N. Roussos that this verb is used in the Homeric “Hymn to Demeter” (436) to describe how Demeter “embraces lovingly” with Persephone, a scene that had been interpreted allegorically as signifying



II 2. On the Movement of Heaven

the mutual attraction between the earth (at the center) and the heavenly bodies (in particular the moon) revolving around it; see Plut. De fac. 942c–e. Nor is it unheard of for P. to evoke an entire mythological framework by a single word: see, e.g., I 6.5.6, with my comment. On the dependence of all things from God, see my comment on I 6.7.10–12. 2.16–20. διὰ τί . . . κινουμένης: According to the Timaeus, our “spherical body,” that is, our head, which emulates the “divine circumvolutions” of heaven, was equipped with additional limbs so that it could partake of all kinds of (rectilinear) motion (44d3–e2). In this way, however—as P. clarifies—a restriction is placed on the ability of the soul to sweep the body along in its circular movement, which the “smoothly running circle” (eutrochos kuklos: 37c1–2) of heaven sustains unimpededly, by virtue of the “tractable” (euagōgos) and “readily mobile” (eukinētos) nature of the fire of which it consists (cf. II 1.3.18–19). The term “impulse” or “drive” (hormē) is already employed by Aristotle (Eth. Eud. II 8, 1224a16–26) as a tag for the causes of the unforced movements of both animate and inanimate bodies. Here too it similarly refers to the diverse natural tendencies of material bodies, which in their totality compose the “mode of life” (bios) of the universe; cf. II 3.13.10–18. 2.21–22. ἴσως δὲ . . . ποιεῖ:P. alludes here—clearly indicating, however, his reservations (as also in IV 4.26.23–27)—to the Aristotelian theory of pneuma. In a rather elusive passage of the Gen. an., II 3, 736a30–737a1, the Stagirite talks of a vital pneuma with which the soul “communes” (koinōnei) and that is analogon to the sidereal element, that is, aether. The appeal that this idea exercised on later thinkers (mainly Stoics and proponents of the so-­called Pneumatic (pneumatikē) school of medicine) is a complex issue that cannot be examined here in detail. Suffice it to mention that, as Kissling 1922, 319– 22, has pointed out, it was this idea that, in combination with a somewhat far-­fetched interpretation of excerpts from the Timaeus, the Phaedo, and the Phaedrus of Plato, eventually culminated in the strange theory of the “ethereal and luminous vehicle (aitherōdes kai augoeides ochēma)” on which the soul “rides” even after its separation from the body; on this see Dodds 1963, 313–21. What is of interest here is that, as the context suggests, the pneuma P. has in mind possesses a spherical shape that renders it “easy to move” (eukinēton); see IV 4.5.18; and Dodds 1963, 347. (On its further characterization as lepton—“light” or “subtle”—cf. Chald. Or. fr. 120.) A similar credence appears already to have been known to Plutarch, De sera 563f–564a. Later on, it came to be viewed as an element of the “Origenist heresy” and was condemned by the Fifth Ecumenical Council of Constantinople in 553 (although Festugière 1959a, 81–86, has shown that it should not be attributed to Origen himself; cf. also Methodius De resurr. 18). At any rate, P.’s reservations must have been sharpened by the materialistic overtones that the theory as a whole held for thinkers such as Heraclides Ponticus, Eratosthenes, and Ptolemy the Platonist (see Iambl. De an. apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.39, 378.1–18; and Gottschalk 1980, 102–5; on the Ptolemy in question, see my comment on VP 20.49). Given also his indifference to theurgy, which the introduction of the “soul-­vehicle” was chiefly meant to

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Second Ennead serve, its presence here has the appearance of a useless fossil that remained entrenched in his psychology as a result of his not venturing to expunge it outright, as had Alexander of Aphrodisias, apud Simpl. In Ph. 964.19–23. See also Inge 1929, 1:219–20. 2.22–27. εἰ γὰρ . . . ἀνάγκαις:The ubiquitous presence of God has the consequence not only that the heavenly sphere revolves around the center of the universe (see above my comment on 1.39–51), but that every one of the celestial bodies also rotates about its own center (cf. Pl. Ti. 40a7–b2), because God, as the ontological core, is to be found there (as well); cf. I 7.1.23–27. We thus have here a prefiguration of the celebrated image of the universe as a sphere having its middle everywhere, the history of which was exhaustively explored by Mahnke 1937. The propensity for God—that is, for the Good—transcends the calculations of reason and acts as a natural necessity and ineradicable law; cf. VI 8.10.32–35. Yet there is still, I believe, a notable difference between what we find here and the corresponding (proto-­)Christian approach: it is not God who rejoices in his creation (see, e.g., Clem. Rom. Ep. Cor. I 33.2), but instead—as the Greeks even today proclaim in their Christmas carols—it is “the skies” (hoi ouranoi) that “rejoice” (agallontai) in the worldly presence of the divine. 3.1–6. Ἔστω δὲ . . . ζωτικωτέραν: As if he were not entirely satisfied with the explanations he has furnished thus far, P. attempts to reposition the whole question anew on more perspicuous psychological grounds. His point of departure is of course once again the composition of the Soul in the Timaeus, where the circular motion of heaven is attributed to the extension and interweaving of the cosmic Soul throughout the universe, and its consequent introversion (34b3–6 and 36d8–e5). This Soul is interpreted as the lower manifestation of a higher, “sensory” and “ratiocinative” one, which has its seat in the celestial spheres; see my comment on II 1.5.5–14 and below, II 3.18.9–16. The former is of a vegetative and reproductive character, the latter of a sensory and “doxastic” one, while there exists also, as will be revealed in due course, a still higher, intelligible level, corresponding to the intellective functions of Soul (cf. Ti. 37a2–c3). As was shown by Igal 1979, 320, this entire analysis depends on the projection of the Aristotelian division of the faculties of the soul onto the Platonic theory regarding the nature of the cosmic Soul; see also Igal 1982–98, 1:53; and Buchner 1970, 123–25. 3.6–20. κινεῖται οὖν . . . συμφέρεται: To the hierarchy of the functions of the cosmic Soul corresponds a hierarchy of successively inclusive circular motions. The sensible and opinionative one (which for Plato, loc. cit., corresponds to the circle of the Different, i.e., the ecliptic) revolves the heavens in virtue of its propensity for the ubiquitous Good, and at the same time sets in motion the one below it, which, interwoven as it is into the body of the world, sweeps it along in a wheeling dance. The description at several points bears a notable resemblance to the one in the Epinomis, 982a4–e6. In both works reference is made to two “living beings” (zōia), of which one is “earthy” (gēinon) and the other “fiery” (purinon). Again, the sequence in which the successively inclusive motions



II 3. On Whether the Stars Are Causes

are described gives the impression that the system as a whole is certainly geocentric, but not necessarily geostatic (cf. [Pl.] Epin. 983b7–c5). On the other hand, however, while in the Epinomis it is the disorder and senselessness of the lower sphere that are emphasized, here the same sphere is shown responding willingly to the virtuous guidance of the Intellect. 3.20–22. ὁ δὲ νοῦς . . . ἔστηκεν:In chapter 1, it had been stated that circular motion combines movement with rest; see my comment on 1.8–19. Here it is clarified that precisely this is what makes it an emulation of the self-­thinking Intellect (cf. also the passage from the Laws that was cited in my introduction to this treatise). Now Plato, as we know, numbered Rest and Motion among his “greatest genera” (megista genē: Soph. 254d4–5). Hence, it is no surprise to discover that in the Parmenides they are both attributed to the “One-­Being” of the Second Hypothesis (145e7–146a7). P. explains elsewhere what he makes of this: being actively intellective, nous must be in motion; but in order to be intelligible to itself, it must be at rest (V 1.4.35–37). Hence, Intellect, inasmuch as it is the eternal and immutable intelligible world, is indeed stable; but it is not still, for it is also infused by, and vibrant with, its propensity for the Good.

II 3 [52]. On Whether the Stars Are Causes Synopsis 1 A. The tenets of causally efficacious astrology. 2 Their refutation. The theories of astral influence advanced by the astrologers are invalid if: 1. the stars are soulless, or 2. they are ensouled and act with deliberation. 3 It is also absurd to suppose that 3. they act under the compulsion of their positions, or 4 4. of any attendant psychical dispositions of theirs 5 (which would in any case be incompatible with the facts of astronomy), or 6 5. that they are directed in their actions by affection or calculation. 7–8 B. The property that they possess of acting as signs is a consequence of the universal order, and the universal order is itself a product of the cosmic Soul. 9 C. Whatever influence the stars exert relies on the community of affection that binds us to Nature; it 10 1. concerns the lower, affective soul; 11 2. comes down to us transmuted and etiolated; and 12 3. applies to qualities, not substances. 13 D. The Soul rules the universe through Logos but is impeded by materiality, while

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Second Ennead 14 much that is ascribed to the influence of the stars is due to natural or social causes. 15 Interpretation of the closing myth of the Republic: what it demonstrates is that man is able to rise above the dictates of astral and natural necessity. 16 The action of Logos is not mechanical, but is 17 consonant with the principles that the Soul derives from Intellect. 18 Recapitulation: The necessity of evils and the hierarchical organization of the universe.

Introduction Astrological beliefs appear to have been introduced into the Hellenic world from the East, but, as happened also in other cases, it was the Greeks who, primarily during the Hellenistic and early Roman Imperial eras, ordered and systematized them into theoretical constructs of imposing cosmological and more generally philosophical dimensions.1 Plato already seems to be referring to some form of astrological prognostication, when he speaks slightingly of those who believe that the movement of the stars sends “fears and signs of things to come” (Ti. 40c9–d2). Yet however much he may, in other parts of his work, appear willing—albeit strictly within a mythological framework—to “toy with” astrological ideas,2 he even there categorically denies that the stars are able to exert a maleficent influence on man, “since ill-­will (phthonos) has no place in the gods’ chorus.”3 The same could be said also of the Stoics, whose deterministic worldview lent itself to the incorporation of astrological beliefs: for them, the stars and their movements constitute an indication and an expression of the order that pervades the universe through the prudential guidance of cosmic Logos.4 Of course, just as astral configurations were subject to the inflexible laws of a celestial mechanics, so their terrestrial counterparts as well were ruled by an inescapable Destiny. It was not, however, until later— with the emergence of dualistic views of a more markedly anticosmic orientation—that this indefectible web of cosmic necessity began to be experienced as an oppressive compulsion. We are accordingly in a position today to distinguish three basic tendencies within the overall development of Greek astrology. From a theoretical perspective, the differences that set them apart are significant, but we need not assume that these were always clearly present in the minds of their individual champions or adherents. We also not infrequently meet with combinations that draw from two or even all three of these ten1  Both the astronomer Eudoxus of Cnidus (fr. 343) and Aristotle’s successor Theophrastus (fr. 194) appear to have had some acquaintance with “the Chaldaeans’ theory of genethlialogy.” In general, see Cumont 1912, passim; Capelle 1925, 373–95; and Nilsson 1974, 268–81. 2  See primarily Phdr. 246e6–247a7 and 252c3–d2, with the analysis of Kerényi 1923/24, 245–56. As concerns the final myth of the Republic, see Bidez 1945, 46–51. With regard to the Epinomis, see des Places 1936, 136–42. 3  Phdr. op. cit. trans. Nehamas and Woodruff. See further Dörrie 1977, 65–66. 4  See Cic. Nat. D. II 15 = SVF 1:528; and Dragona-­Monachou 1976, 88–90. Also below, note 6.



II 3. On Whether the Stars Are Causes

dencies. Nonetheless, I believe the analysis that follows will facilitate the appreciation of the particular position staked out by P. on this issue. (a) The first—and most probably the earliest5—tendency might appropriately be termed “semiotic.” It holds that celestial phenomena constitute “signs” (sēmeia) that, when properly interpreted, yield knowledge of events inescapably due to occur in the future. In this respect it is analogous to other forms of divination such as extispicy, augury, and oneiromancy, and does not entail the presence of any causal connection between the heavenly signs and the terrestrial occurrences of which they are indicators. (b) The second is, instead, a mechanistic approach according to which the heavenly bodies directly determine whatever happens on earth by exercising, through their “outflows” (aporrhoiai), an effective influence that enters into the causal chain that interconnects all things and binds them to the rule of an unremitting and inescapable “Destiny” (heimarmenē). It was this tendency that provided the basis for astrology to come to be termed “apotelesmatic” (apotelesmatikē, i.e., “causally efficacious”), and that naturally found its strongest support among the Stoics, being fully consonant with their rationalistic and deterministic worldview.6 Its “scientific” character7 led to its acquiring a wide influence, and it provided the foundation on which Manilius and Ptolemy8 were to erect their famous works—but it relegated man to a dependent and auxiliary role within a wholly preordained cosmic drama. The likelihood of this being the case increases when we consider the related Babylonian techniques of prognostication, which aimed solely at the discovery of systematic correspondences between celestial phenomena and terrestrial occurrences of a general nature, with a view to the establishment of an “interpretation” capable of generating predictions for the latter on the basis of the predictability displayed by the pertinent celestial configurations in virtue of their regularity. In no way does this method presuppose “a mechanistic theory of physical causality, in which the stars and planets themselves directly produce effects on earth” (Rochberg-­Halton 1984, 117). 6  The thinker who played an especially important role in this respect was Posidonius, who, according to Augustine, was “much given to astrology” (multum astrologiae deditus; see, principally, fr. 111 and 112, with the comment of Kidd 1998, 1:440), and who combined this interest of his with his theory concerning “bands of latitude” (klimata) in the context of his investigations into the influence of the environment on man and society. It would appear, however, that the Peripatetic Adrastus (whom I mentioned in my comment on VP 14.13) had furthermore worked out an interesting theory—starting out, no less, from Platonic presuppositions—according to which the precession of the planets along the ecliptic is responsible for the variety and mutability of terrestrial phenomena; see Theon Sm., De ut. math. 148.13–149.15. 7  Even according to contemporary (e.g., Popperian) criteria, it is the only type of astrology that satisfies the conditions for it to be recognized as a science—that is, as a theoretical construct that is actually falsifiable and, indeed, false in its details (e.g., as concerns the influences exerted by the heat or the gravitational force of the planets). Cf. Neugebauer 1957, 171; and Festugière 1944–54, 1:89: “Hellenistic astrology is an amalgam consisting of a seductive philosophical doctrine, of an absurd mythology and of learned methods inopportunely applied.” 8  Ptolemy’s theory may well be less monolithic than that of Manilius, but it remains, for all that, one that is fundamentally causally based, as the whole of chapter I 2 of the Tetrabiblos makes clear; see also Ptol. Apot. I 3.6 (trans. Robbins, my emphasis), where it is explicitly stated that the change of earthly things “is subject to a natural and mutable fate, and in drawing its first causes from [sc., the stars] above, it is governed by chance and natural sequence.” In other words (and pace Kalfas 1990, 92), Ptolemy’s theory constitutes a system of “hard” astrology (see note 16 below). 5 

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Second Ennead (c) A third tendency, which might be termed “magico-­religious,” considered the heavenly bodies as (more or less) self-­willed divine entities,9 and regarded the influence they exercised as a product not just of their peculiar temperament, but also of their individual will, which could be made responsive to human wishes through the mediation of prayer or other theurgic rituals.10 This approach came early on to be viewed as representative of the beliefs of the “Chaldaeans,” whom tradition identified as the founders of genethlialogy. The indications that we possess, however, concerning Babylonian views and techniques support the conclusion that we are instead probably faced here with a product of “pseudomorphosis,”11 that is, with the investment of Greek (and more specifically Pythagorico-­Platonic) philosophical attitudes in the robes of an ancient and exotic “wisdom.” The principal characteristic that the first two types of astrological theory share in common is their fatalism: whether as causes or as signs, the heavenly bodies prescribe the course of earthly events according to an absolute necessity, allowing no possibility of aversion or alteration. But such a thorough subjugation of man to the commands of Destiny12 deprived him, as we noted earlier, of any vestige of self-­command and, by extension, of ethical responsibility, while it also debarred him from any possibility of escape from the bonds of necessity. This was the reason that had led certain thinkers— and, especially, the mystery religions that had gained such currency in the Hellenistic and Roman world—to embrace the view that there inheres an element in man that gives him the ability to transcend the limitations imposed by the web of heimarmenē.13 In conjunction with the third tendency I identified above, this view came to be crystallized in the soteriology of the Gnostics, according to which the heavenly bodies, and more particularly the planets, constitute maleficent despots—the “Archons” (archontes) or “World-­Rulers” (kosmokratores)—who, acting as instruments of Destiny, have succeeded in imprisoning within successive layers of garment-­bonds the divine spark residOr “self-­ruling gods” (theous autokratores), as Philo Spec. leg. I 13, chose to characterize them. It is worth noting that even a Stoic such as Seneca felt the need to lean in this direction (see Nat. quaest. II 37.2). Astral influences could in this way, however, be transformed into instruments of “black magic,” such as Olympios appears to have attempted (unsuccessfully) to deploy against P. himself; see VP 10.1–5. Ficino 1492, fol. li verso–lii recto, draws an interesting parallel between this procedure and the use of ardent mirrors. 11  This mineralogical term of Spengler’s (1926–28, 2:189) was employed anew by Jonas 1963, 36–37, in order to describe the synthesis of beliefs of Oriental origin with theoretical constructs of Greek inspiration. 12  See, e.g., Vett. Val. VI 9, 250.9: “for no one is free (oudeis gar eleutheros), but all are by nature slaves of Destiny (pantes de douloi tēs heimarmenēs pephukasin).” 13  See, e.g., CH I 22–26, 14.12–16.5; XII 5–7, 176.3–20; and XVI 13–16, 236.4–237.10; also Festugière 1932, 101–13; and 1954a, 41; as well as Peterson 1948, 199–214. I believe that the most natural environment in which such a viewpoint could be cultivated was Aristotelianism, primarily because of the total independence that its founder ascribed to man’s intellectual core. See, e.g., Atticus fr. 8.11–16, where Aristotle is credited with a threefold division of causes into “Destiny” (heimarmenē), “nature” (phusis), and “practical wisdom” (phronēsis), which corresponds with the one elaborated by Atticus’ near contemporary, Bardaisan. The latter distinguished sharply between “nature” and astral Fatality, which “sometimes aids and strengthens nature, and sometimes hinders and impedes it. . . . Whenever nature is deflected from her true course, it is Fate that is the cause.” On the other hand, “as we have seen that Fate can disorder nature, so we can also see how man’s liberty forces back and disorders Fate.” See Drijvers 1965, 33–39. 9 

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ing in “pneumatic” man.14 The latter, as many Gnostics believed, could only achieve his liberation with the aid of theurgic rites, the origins of which were frequently attributed to “the wise among the Egyptians.”15 On the other hand, what the second and third of the tendencies described above share in common is that they are both representative of a “hard” version of astrology, according to which there is a determining cause-­and-­effect relationship in operation between the phenomena of heaven and life on earth.16 P. tackled this complex issue repeatedly,17 and the fact that he was in possession of an ontologically stratified worldview allowed him to maintain a position that was anything but one-­sided. To begin with, he discerned that if he limited the field in which astral influences operated—more or less as the Gnostics had done—to the domain of the sensible and corporeal, he could secure the possibility of freedom and self-­rule for man, to the extent that the latter was identified with his supra-­sensible and intellective inner self. At the same time, however, P. was not prepared to accept the demotion of the ordered universe to a kind of prison, erected by the powers of Darkness as a bulwark in their eternal combat with the Good (on which, see also II 9.13.1–22). Thus, in his early treatise “On Destiny” (III 1 [3]; see primarily chapters 5 and 6) he had introduced, in the context of a more general theoretical treatment of causation, his views on astrology, articulating the limitations to which it is subject. On the one hand, he admitted that the motions of the heavenly bodies provided signs indicative even of certain types of human action, but on the other, he categorically denied that the stars exercised any notable influence on human “characters” (ēthē) or “acts of will” (boulai). In his view, astrology constitutes a type of divination resembling augury, inasmuch as they both practice a “reading” of signs on the basis of analogies—and it is accordingly to be classified as a hermeneutic technique rather than as a cause-­revealing science. Insofar as the corporeal level is concerned, he admits that the stars do in fact exert some kind of influence on the earth,18 but one that contributes in a “cooperative” (sunergos) manner to the ordered course of nature (see III 1.6.1–7), without being completely identified with it.19 This influence only bears an impact—and indeed a limited one—on man’s corporeal side, 14  See, indicatively, Clem. Al. Exc. 69–78; and Hippol. Haer. V 13.3–13 and 15.1–16.6. Also Reitzenstein 1904, 77–81; Festugière 1932, 113n.12; Jonas 1963, 254–62; Culianu 1983, 1:48–49; etc. 15  See Nemesius De nat. hom. 36, 106.15–17; and Iambl. Myst. VIII 6–7. Cf. Chaer. fr. 2. As is also well known, the Hellenistic period had already witnessed the growth of an entire magico-­religious literature under the name of the archetypical representative of Egyptian “wisdom,” Hermes Trismegistus; on this, see Festugière 1944–54, 1:106–86. 16  I invoke here the distinction drawn by Long 1982, 170n.19, between a “hard” (i.e., causally efficacious) and a “soft” (i.e., semiotic) astrology. 17  See VP 15.21–26, with my comment. Also Firm. Mat. Math. I 7.18, 23.23–29. His interest in the matter may possibly have been aroused by the pertinent views of Numenius, which their author had gone so far as to put forward as interpretations ascribable to Plato himself; see fr. 34–35, and also Gundel and Gundel 1966, 312–13. 18  This was in any case regarded as a virtually self-­evident extension of the influences manifestly exerted by the sun and the moon; see Ptol. Apot. I 2.1–11. Amand 1945, 159–63, pertinently underlines P.’s adherence to the deterministic Stoic dogma of universal sumpatheia, which he attempted to reconcile, however, with the Platonic principle that human virtue has no master. 19  As, conversely, it appears to have been in the view of, e.g., Alex. Aphrod. Fat. 6, 169.18–28; cf. In Mete. 7.9–14.

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Second Ennead being entirely without relevance to his psychical predispositions or states. The latter are linked to a totally different order of necessity, the source of which is to be sought in the soul’s intellective core. Hence, to the extent that the soul devotes its attention to the intelligible realm, it “becomes free, pressing on by means of Intellect without hindrance towards the Good” (VI 8.7.1–2 trans. after Armstrong). Yet by coming to be present and active in the sensible domain, the soul also performs a providential function, in the exercise of which it finds itself in alignment and in concord with the cosmic Soul, one manifestation of whose life is, as we have already seen (at II 2.3.6–20), the circular motion of the heavens. It is this coordination and harmonization of the individual human soul with the universal cosmic order that renders possible the interpretation of heavenly formations “by the use of analogy” (kata to analogon: III 1.6.22–23) as signs predictive of future events. The present treatise, one of the last composed by P. before his death (see VP 6.16–21), aims at developing this standpoint further, while at the same time casting additional light on some of its anti-­Gnostic parameters. The stars are not maleficent dynasts: they are cooperative factors contributing to the sublime order of the universe. Their movements and influences are not by-­products of their unruly individual idiosyncrasies: they are vital manifestations of the unitary cosmic Soul. And whatever repercussions they may chance to have on man can only concern his lower, corporeal self, leaving his true self—as P. had shown in his complementary treatise I 1—“unaffected” (apathēs). In this manner, P. recalled astrology to its original mission as a semiotic divinatory technique that lacked any capacity either to furnish causal explanations for events occurring in the sublunary domain, or to underwrite anticosmic or antinomian practices, such as were pursued by a number of Gnostic groups.20

Commentary Title: The term astron (“heavenly body”) may designate either a single “star” (astēr), whether fixed or planetary, or a whole formation of stars, that is, a constellation. See Ach. Intr. Arat. 14, 41.13–22: “a star, such as that of Cronus or Hermes, is something single in number, while a heavenly body (astron) is a configuration of many stars, such as Andromeda or the Centaur . . . but whereas a star is also a heavenly body, the converse is not the case as well.” 1.1–4. Ὅτι . . . ὁ λόγος: The reference here is in all probability to the discussion contained in the treatise “On Destiny” (III 1 [3].5–6). Yet the Enneads, as Theiler points out in his introduction, 418, include many other references to the semiotic role of heavenly bodies: see, e.g., II 9.13.20–25, IV 3.12.22–24, IV 4.31.33–58, 33.26–34.27, and 39.17–23. It is worth noting that on this point P.’s position coincides with that of Origen, who was inspired by a passage in Genesis (1:14) to unfold a whole series of arguments “to the effect that the heavenly bodies are not in any way productive of human circumstances (peri tous asteras mēdamōs einai poiētikous tōn en anthrōpois), they are merely significative (sēmantikous de monon)” (In Gen. 69.33–77.15 apud Euseb. PE VI 11.54.4–72.6); cf. Clem Al. Ecl. Proph. 55.1.1–4. For the history of this question, see Pfeiffer 1916, 45–76. 20 



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1.4. ἀκριβέστερον:P. had already made the same promise at III 1.5.38! 1.6–12: τοὺς δὴ πλάνητας . . . ὡς ἔχουσι:P. begins to sketch the position he intends to rebut. Its principal features are the following: (a) Astral influences are dependent on planetary motions. The planets had already been assigned an exceptionally prominent role in “Chaldaean” astrology (see Diod. Sic. II 30.3; and Sen. Nat. quaest. II 32.7). (b) These influences have repercussions (i) on “fortune” (tuchē), that is, the external circumstances of life (cf. III 1.5.4–7, IV 3.1.26–29, 12.22–24, and IV 4.31.43–46), (ii) on men’s corporeal and (iii) ethical predispositions, and finally, (iv) on the ways men act. 1.12–16. καὶ τὰ λεγόμενα . . . ἄλλους: (c) The planets exert their influence not intentionally, but mechanically and automatically, according to the position they occupy on the circle of the zodiac, as well as their daily orbit. The circle of the zodiac was divided into four equal sections ordered by the four cardinal points known as “centers” (kentra): the “horoscope” (horoskopos), the point of the zodiac that at any particular time is rising over the eastern horizon; the “mid-­heaven,” “zenith,” or “meridian” (mesouranēma); the “setting” or “descendant” (dunōn); and the “anti-­mid-­heaven,” “nadir,” or “subterranean” (antimesouranēma, hupogaion). “Moreover, in the case of each of these “centers” they [sc., the astrologers] call the preceding zodiacal sign ‘declination’ (apoklima) and the succeeding one ‘ascension’ (epanaphoran)” (Sext. Emp. Math. V 12–14 trans. after Bury; cf. Manil. II 788–840). In a similar fashion, the planets had their daily orbits divided into ‘places’ (topoi), and were thought to alter in behavior according to whether they were traversing one of the centers or were declining or ascending; see, e.g., Paul Al. 14, 28.21–29.5 and 26, 76.12–78.28; and Hippol. Haer. V 15.4. 1.17–19. τὸ δὲ μέγιστον . . . γίγνεσθαι:(d) Besides, the planets themselves were divided into those that were regarded as ‘beneficent’ (agathopoioi), such as Jupiter and Venus, and those that were regarded as ‘maleficent’ (kakopoioi), such as Mars or Saturn; “but others believe that the same stars are at one time beneficent and at another maleficent according to their varying positions” (Sext. Emp. Math. V 29–30 trans. Bury). Cf. Ptol. Apot. I 5; Paul Al. 34, 90.1–91.23; Clem. Al. Exc. 71.2; Porph. De quod nostr. 271F.84 apud Stob. Ecl. II 8.42, 171.16; and Bard. apud Drijvers 1965, 37. 1.20–24. ἀλλήλους . . . κατὰ τόδε:(e) But a determinant role was also played by the so-­ called aspects (schēmata), that is, the geometrical relationships holding between two or more planetary stars, of which the most important were the “trine” (kata trigōnon), where the angle between planets is 120º; the “sextile” (kata hexagōnon), where it is 60º; the “square” (kata tetragōnon), 90º; and the “opposition” (kata diametron), 180º: see Gem. II 13–15, 11–12; Manil. II 270–432; Ptol. Apot. I 14.1; Paul Al. 10, 23.8–25.6; and Firm. Mat. Math. II 22–23, 69.1–72.17. Indeed, according to one version of events, the geometrical analysis of the zodiac on the basis of these relationships derives from the Pythagorean Philolaos; see Burkert 1972, 349. An equivalent significance was also attached to the relations of symmetry holding between the zodiacal signs with respect to the axis of the tropics. These relations were termed “casting opposite shadows” (antiscia)

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Second Ennead and determined which planets could be said to be “ ‘seeing’ one another” (bleponta), it being thought to be the case that “the signs of the zodiac which see one another make common cause toward sympathy and friendship and benevolence, etc.”; see Paul Al. 8, 21.4–22.7; and Porph. Intr. Ptol. 33 = CCAG V 4, 208.19–209.7. The schematic representations of “aspects” and “seeing [signs]” shown below are taken from the handbook of Paul of Alexandria, a work that was not composed earlier than the end of the fourth century CE, but which describes older, pre-­Ptolemaic astrological practices; see Festugière 1959b, 393. Schēmata

Bleponta

A Z

Θ H

E Γ

Δ B

A B = kata diametron A Γ Δ = kata trigōnon

A E B H = kata tetragōnon A Z Γ B Δ Θ = kata hexagōnon

On the whole question of the interrelationships of the planets, see also Bouché-­ Leclercq 1899, 241–55. 1.24–26. ὁμοῦ τε . . . μεμιγμένα: (f ) Finally, the influences of the various planets interact with each other and jointly constitute a mixture—or a “tempering” (sunkrasis); see, e.g., Vett. Val. I 19, 36.19 ff., and those “effects of a mixture of influences” (efficacia mixtae temperationis) alluded to in Firm. Mat. Math. VI 1.1, 67.6 trans. Rhys Bram—the properties of which may differ significantly from those of its individual components; cf. Ptol. Apot. I 2.2–5. The idea of concerted planetary influence was already familiar to Cicero, Nat. D. II 119, while Diogenes Laertius, Ι 11, attributed it to the Egyptians. P. invokes it elsewhere (IV 4.39.23–29) in order to justify any possible malign side-­effects of sidereal influences. 2.2–5. εἰ μὲν γὰρ . . . γινομένης:Opposition to the widely prevalent view that the heavenly bodies were animate beings was expressed not only by the followers of Epicurus, for whom they were no more than “ignited fires” (puros anammata: Ep. Her. 77 according to Usener’s emendation) or “conglomerations of fire” (pur hama onta: MSS, trans. LS), but also of at least some Peripatetics; see Atticus fr. 8.9–16. Such also appears to have been the mature view of Aristotle himself; see Cael. I 9, 290a27–35; and Guthrie 1962– 81, 6:256. If this is how things stand, however, then any influences that the stars bring to bear on earth will necessarily be of an entirely mechanical nature and will consist primarily in the effects of heat and cold, and possibly of other qualities also. This, at any rate, was how the matter was understood by Alexander of Aphrodisias; see Quaest. II



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3.2, 49.30–50.17, and De mixt. 11, 225.30–34. It was also the basis on which Ptolemy erected his own astrological theory, in which he maintained that sidereal influences derived from “powers” (dunameis) corresponding to the corporeal properties of the individual planets; see Apot. I 2, 4, 8; and Thorndike 1923, 1:113. Thus, to take one example (which P. seems to view with skepticism; cf. IV 4.31.36–37): “it is Saturn’s quality chiefly to cool and, moderately, to dry” (Apot. I 4.3; and cf. also Antioch. Ath. Intr. 149.10–11; and Virg. G. I 336; also Paul Al. 6, 19.12). 2.6–10. τῆς τε ἀπορροῆς . . . ὡσαύτως:In this case, the influences exercised by the planets will be clearly limited in range and variety: the “quality” (poiotēs) each planet will possess will be either that of heating or its opposite, and its efficacy will depend on its distance from earth, while the final astral influence will constitute the synthesis of all such individual influences in a unitary compound (see my comment above on 1.24–26). Nor will the fluctuations of this overall thermal influence be either especially pronounced or particularly effective at determining men’s fates, being restricted to the field of so-­called astro-­meteorology; cf. Cic. Diu. II 94. 2.10–16. σοφοὺς δὲ . . . γενέσθαι:Yet astrologers claimed that they were in a position to discern the predispositions of a newborn infant and to predict its future capabilities and performances: see, e.g., Ptol. Apot. IV 4; Schol. in Paul Al. 76, 125.17–127.10; and not least, the impressive material collected by Cumont 1937, 87–112. It was possible to justify such claims on the basis of the effects produced by planetary influences on the peculiar temperaments of physical bodies, and hence on their associated “dispositions” (ēthē). Elsewhere P. appears willing to endorse this explanation, but he does not fail to point out that it would not in the same way be possible to arrive at predictions concerning chance or contingent events, which are in no way correlated with corporeal qualities; see IV 4.31.38–48; and cf. Cic. Diu. II 34; and Sext. Emp. Math. V 101. Furthermore, still according to the astrologers, three of the astronomical “places” (see my comment on 1.12–16, above) determined everything that concerned a person’s siblings, parents, and children; see, e.g., Paul Al. 24, 55.5–57.13; and Firm. Mat. Math II 19.4–6, 61.25–62.19. This was exploited by Origen in his attack on “hard” astrology, when he argued that what is temporally posterior (namely, the astronomical configuration) cannot exert a causal influence on what is temporally anterior (namely, nature and the situation of one’s parents), nor can it determine a plethora of heterogeneous contingent circumstances; see In Gen. 72.10–36 and 73.47–76.20 apud Euseb. PE VI 11.58–60 and 67–69; and cf. Diodorus of Tarsus Fat. apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 223, 214b1–20. 2.16–21. εἰ δ’ ἔμψυχα . . . πασχόντων:Alternatively, one might regard the heavenly bodies as animate beings and endow them with anthropomorphic intentions and emotions. Such an approach struck P. as “inappropriate” (atopon), being incompatible with their divine nature; cf. IV 4.31.48–58 and I 8.5.30–34. 3.1–4. Ἀλλ’ οὐχ . . . γινομένους: One recourse available to the proponent of “hard” astrology was to consider the stars as constituting mere executive instruments of an imper-

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Second Ennead sonal necessity, and their actions as being determined exclusively by their positions and their configurations. In this way, the universe becomes a kind of cosmic clockwork mechanism, within which every movement and every action is totally predetermined. In such a case, however, it no longer makes sense to attribute anthropomorphic emotions and intentions to the stars; accordingly, the mythological “explanations” of their influences will be deprived of their foundations, and along with these will be abolished also any peculiar characteristics possessed by the stars, given that all of them will be in the service of a unitary Destiny. 3.4–9. νῦν δὲ . . . καὶ ἄλλα:But what principally concerns P. is to deny the planets any mutability or circumstantial change of disposition. It was one of the fundamental dogmas of “Chaldaean” astrology that whenever a planet traversed a different zodiac, its “disposition” altered accordingly, as did, correspondingly, the influence it exercised; see Cic. Diu. II 89. These changes of influence wrought on the planets by their traversal of the different zodiacs were subjected to exhaustive analysis by Firmicus Maternus; see Math. V 3–6, 27.14–64.5. Yet, as Cicero had already observed (Diu II 91, and see also Long 1982, 173–74), the huge distances that separate one planet from the other, and all of them from the sphere of the fixed stars, render any reciprocal influences inconceivable. 3.10–20. ἀνατέλλων δὲ . . . χαίρειν: A second factor that, according to the genethlialogists, effectively determined the influence exercised by an individual planet at any single moment was the position it occupied at that instant in its daily orbit, that is, its “place” (topos: see my comment on 1.12–16). This was usually described in anthropomorphic terms, as corresponding to particular psychological conditions. More particularly, chairein constituted a technical term signifying that a star was “glad” or “well-­disposed” in the sense of being beneficently placed; see, e.g., Vett. Val. III 5, 133.31–134.7; Paul. Al. 6, 19.14–20; 24, 54.5–6; and 59.11–12. Firmicus Maternus, Math. II 20.7, 66.15–22, also employs its opposite tristetur (“being sad”), as does P. here (cf. lupeisthai). A “center” was believed to reinforce the influence of whichever planet was passing through it, that is, was “epicentric” (epikentros: see Paul Al. 15, 32.15–20 and 36, 96.3–6; and Sext. Emp. Math. V 40), while other “places” were characterized as “enfeebled” or “idle” (argoi), because they rendered ineffectual the “powers” of the planets passing through them; see Sext. Emp. op. cit. 15–19; and Paul Al. 24, 61.6 and 27, 78.22–26. The horoscope that is here said “to be angry” (thumoutai) is of course none other than Mars, which, according to Antioch. Ath. Intr. 151.3–6, “directs . . . anger and rage and rashness (aphēgeitai thumou te kai orgēs kai thrasous).” P.’s argument is based on the observation that the topos at which a heavenly body finds itself at any given moment is a function of the geographical position from which we happen to view it, given that the earth’s curvature causes the arrangement of “places” to vary relative to geographical latitude (cf. Cic. Diu. II 92–93; Favorinus apud Aul. Gell. NA XIV 1.9–10; Sext. Emp. op. cit. 84–85; and Long 1982, 175–76). At any rate, his aim is not to deny that the influence the planets may exercise will possibly vary from



II 3. On Whether the Stars Are Causes

location to location, but to rebut the anthropomorphic attribution to them of intentions and emotions. 3.21–25. ὅλως δὲ . . . τὸ εὖ:Cf. Sen. Ep. 88.14. According to P., the souls of the heavenly bodies are unwaveringly engaged in contemplation of the divine: they thereby “live a blessed life, and contemplate this life besides with their souls” (IV 4.8.52–54). Moreover, as we saw earlier, their circular motion is an expression of their turning toward their own selves and toward the good that is present within them; see my comments on II 2.1.8–19 and 3.20–22. The repetition of hekastōi in l. 24 has caused difficulties for editors and translators. Theiler deleted the second instance, but in my view it would be preferable to delete the first (which Kirchhoff and Bréhier emended to hekastou) and transpose the comma after the second, yielding the following: “Each has the mode of life of its choosing (bios gar [hekastōi] eph’ hautou hekastōi), and its welfare consists in its activity (kai en tēi energeiai to eu).” 3.25–28. καὶ μάλιστα . . . σημαίνειν: The configurations of the heavenly bodies constitute, as does their motion, an “incidental concomitant” (sumbebēkos) of their vital propensity for the Intellect; see II 2.1.9 and IV 4.8.16–45. Consequently, if they provide “signs” (sēmeia) of things to come, they do so neither with any intent, nor out of any concern. It is the same with birds, which provide divinatory signs without this constituting their proper “work” (ergon), but a mere by-­product of their flight; cf. III 1.5.33–37, 6.18–24; and Clem. Al. Exc. 70.1. 4.1–3. Κἀκεῖνο . . . τίνων:See above, my comment on 3.10–20, and cf. I 8.6.4–7. Astrological treatises made much of “hostile places and stars” that “portended critical periods and deaths”: see Vett. Val. VIII 9, 305.11–306.14 and I 19, 36.26; Manil. II 466–642; and CCAG VIII 1, 200–217. Cf. also Haase 1910, 83–84. 4.3–5. διὰ τί δὲ . . . οὐχ ὁρᾷ:As was mentioned earlier in my comment on 1.20–24, the principal “aspects”—already known to Cicero, Diu. II 89—were the “trine,” which was considered well-­disposed or “harmonious” (sumphōnos), and the “square,” which was considered ill-­disposed or “disharmonious” (asumphōnos); see Sext. Emp. Math. V 39– 40. Conversely, adjoining signs of the zodiac were believed not to “see” one another; see Censorinus DN 8.6, 14. 4.6–12. ὅλως δὲ . . . πράττειν:Here is yet another objection directed against the anthropomorphic conception of planetary influence. For example, in The Hypostasis of the Archons (= NHC II 4) the planetary “rulers” are described as holding a “council” (sumboulion), at which they decide to fashion corporeal Man in concert (87.24–26). Even Ptolemy speaks of “ ‘commanding’ and ‘obeying’ . . . sections” (prostattonta kai akouonta . . . tmēmata) of the zodiac; see Apot. I 15, together with p. 75n.3 of Robbins’ Loeb edition (where the same chapter is numbered I 14); cf. Paul Al. 9, 22.10–23.2.

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Second Ennead 4.12–17. τὸ δὲ . . . θάτερον:See above, my comment on 3.4–9. 5.1–4. Λέγοντες δὲ . . . εἶναι:Concerning the “cold” planet Saturn, see my comment on 2.2–5. Its influence was generally considered maleficent, as was that of Mars; see my comment on 1.17–19. A glance at the relevant chapter in Firmicus Maternus (Math. V 3, 27.14–49.14) reveals that no matter in which section of the zodiac it happens to be, Saturn foretells nothing other than misfortune, disease, and catastrophe. P.’s argument is that the planet’s passage through opposite signs of the zodiac should normally bring about a reversal of its influence. 5.4–6. καὶ ἐναντίους . . . κρᾶσιν εἶναι:The “opposite” or “diagonal aspect” was generally considered to be ill-­omened, as also was the “square”; see Ptol. Apot. I 14.3. More particularly, the opposition of Saturn to Mars was believed to be especially catastrophic; see Firm. Mat. Math. VI 15.4–11, 101.6–103.11. Yet, as P. points out, on the basis of the theory of the compounding of influences (see above, 1.24–26, with my comment), the results of such an opposition should have been an intermediate, temperate state. 5.6–10. καὶ τόνδε . . . ὄντος: It was believed that Saturn “was glad” during the day, while “fiery” Mars was so at night; see Paul Al. 6, 19.13–18; and cf. Vett. Val. III 5, 133.32–134.1. 5.11–21 and 12.12–18. τὸ δὲ . . . ὄντος:This whole argument, which demonstrates considerable technical expertise on the part of P., presents serious difficulties for anyone seeking to understand it in its details. What is clear is that it sets out from the observation that, inasmuch as the moon is the heavenly body that is closest to the earth, when we witness it in its fullness, any planets that happen to be located in the same region of heaven as the moon will “see” its dark side and will accordingly receive none of its radiation; conversely, the waning moon will cast its light on whichever planets are located “behind” it. In the sequel of the argument at the beginning of the passage discussed in my next comment, P. appears to be referring to two different cases of planetary conjunction: (a) The first is between “distant” Saturn (see below, 12.22–23) and the waning moon. Because the radiation of the former, owing to its distance, is weak, its conjunction with the latter results in a dearth of heavenly radiation, giving rise to a number of negative consequences; these, however, do not result from Saturn’s “ill-­disposition” by reason of the moon’s darkness, given that in any case it sees the moon’s illumined side, but rather from its inability to “come to its help” (cf. epikourountos, and see Paul Al. 24, 68.3 and 25, 73.19) and fill the vacancy left by the moon. (b) The second case is that of the conjunction of Mars and the full moon, where the unlit side of the moon acts as a protective shield against the excessively fiery radiation of the planet. In the one case as in the other, the “disposition” of the planets remains unperturbed. 12.12–32 [= 5.21–41 in my edition]. τὸ δὲ . . . ἁρμονία:The present passage (= T) has been transmitted by all MSS at the end of chapter 12. Ficino had already noted that there it was obviously misplaced, having no connection whatsoever from the point of



II 3. On Whether the Stars Are Causes

view of content with what precedes it, and he accordingly transposed it to after auton in l. 5.21, a choice in which he was followed by all subsequent editors of the text. H-­S, however, while acknowledging that T is apposite in meaning with chapter 5 (see their apparatus at 12.12–32; H-­S4 308 ad 12.15–16; and Schwyzer 1951, 498.48–50), hesitate to sanction a textual intervention of this order, for two reasons: (a) Until now no satisfactory explanation has been put forward for such a serious (and surely unprecedented, where the Enneads are concerned) displacement of twenty whole lines of text; see Schwyzer op. cit. (b) The content of T presents certain divergences from the positions advanced by P. in the rest of the treatise. More particularly, it appears to represent a more accommodating stance toward astrology, inasmuch as it regards the heavenly bodies as organs of the complete organism in which the universe consists. Perhaps, therefore, what we have here is a fragment from some unknown astrological work, which came to be interpolated—how? Impossible to say: perhaps by way of a marginal comment by Porphyry?— into the text of the Enneads; see H-­S apparatus, and Schwyzer op. cit., 499.13–24. Hence, they adopted the solution of leaving T in the place where it has been handed down to us by the MSS, but placing it within square brackets as a delendum. At the same time they note that “if it belongs to P., then it would be more appropriate to place it after eiē an,” that is, at the end of chapter 5. In my view, the aforementioned solution is not a satisfactory one. To begin with, as regards point (b) above, I believe that my detailed comments will show that the content of T is in complete harmony with P.’s overall stance toward astrology. Indeed, its closing words provide us with the key to a finer appreciation of this stance. Besides, we should not overlook, either, the dialectical character of the present passage, in which P. is seeking to undermine the positions of the astrologers from within by pointing to inaccuracies and contradictions in respect of particular issues. As for point (a) above, the displacement of the lines may be explained as the result of a not improbable error that would have had to have occurred prior to the copying of the archetype of those MSS we possess today. Let me begin, however, with certain preliminary observations:

(i) T contains approximately 870 letters. (ii) Between the word auton in l. 5.21 and the point at which the MSS introduce T, that is, following l. 12.11, there intervenes a text (= D) of approximately 6,100 letters. (iii) The ratio D:T is roughly 7. The point of these calculations is that if T covered one leaf of the MS, the length of its displacement measured 7 leaves. This in turn could be explained as the result of an error having occurred during the binding of a quaternio, when the first leaf was mistakenly placed at the end and came to be incorporated there. Such errors are rare, but their occurrence is not impossible, as is shown by a somewhat similar case that arose during the textual transmission of Origen’s Contra Celsum (see Chadwick 1965, 512). P. Henry 1936, 571–85, has argued that the (lost) archetype of the MSS of the Enneads that we possess today was composed of lines containing approximately twenty letters each, but that it derived from an earlier (probably uncial) MS containing double

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Second Ennead columns with lines of approximately twelve letters each. It seems therefore more likely that the displacement occurred within that pre-­archetypal ancestral codex, given that, if each of its columns consisted of approximately eighteen lines of text, then each of its leaves must have contained about 12 × 18 × 4 = 864 letters. Finally, as regards the opinion of H-­S that if T is to be transposed to chapter 5, it must be placed at the very end, that is, after taut’ oun . . . eiē an, I believe that the reference this last phrase contains to “signs based on analogy” (ex analogias sēmeia) (Armstrong translates this, “signs from the correspondence of different spheres”) fits in much better after the discussion of the analogy between microcosm and macrocosm introduced in T. 12.18–20. τὰ δὲ ἰόντα . . . ὁ τόπος:A difficult passage: who are these animate beings, whose bodies—made, presumably, of fire—come from the heavens? The only plausible answer is that they are some kind of fiery demon, which draws its material element from the planets; cf. II 1.6.54 (with my comment) and III 5.6.33–42. 12.20–24. Δία δὲ . . . σύμφοροι:The presentation of the five “smaller” planets is here effected in approximately the same order as in chapter I 5 of Ptolemy’s Apotelesmatica: first the “benefics,” Jupiter and Venus; then the “malefics,” Mars and Saturn; and lastly Mercury, which, as Ptolemy tells us, shares in both powers and “accommodates itself ” (suntrepetai) to the other planets. We observe, however, that in referring to these planets P. employs a mixed set of names: for Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars he makes use of the simplified appellations Zeus, Kronos, Arēs that had become the established names in his time, instead of the expressions “the star of Zeus” (ho (astēr) tou Dios), etc., which had been introduced in the classical era (see also Pl. Ti. 38d6 and [Pl.] Epin. 987b2–c7), but which appear to have continued in use in Egypt during the Hellenistic period, up until the time of the composition of the Apotelesmatica. Conversely, for Venus he prefers the more poetic appellation “Morning Star” (Heōios); cf. I 6.4.12. Finally, for Mars he has recourse to the Hellenistic term “Fiery” (Puroeis), which had already been employed by Epigenes of Byzantium (second century BCE; see Schnabel 1923, 114–16). It is possible that P. owed his acquaintance with the by-­now-­obsolete Hellenistic appellations of the planets, as well as with their peculiar characteristics, to the polymathy of Porphyry, who in turn had obtained the relevant information from Antiochus of Athens; see Cumont 1934, 149–54. It is worth pointing out, however, that a similarly mixed set of names was also employed by Archimedes, at least according to the testimony of Hippol. Haer. IV 8.7. On the whole question of planetary names, see Cumont 1935, 5–43. At any rate, we find here a reconfirmation of P.’s conviction that the heavenly bodies are composed of “fire” (pur); cf. II 1.6–7. Even the “coldness” of Saturn (see above, my comment on 2.2–5) is due to the planet’s great distance from us, not to its being cold in itself. 12.25–32 and 5.21. ὥστε . . . εἴη ἄν:The theoretical underpinning of Greek astrology was the conception of the universe as constituting an organic whole. Roots of this conception are to be found in Plato’s description of the world as a “living being” (zōion: Ti.



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30d3 and passim). Two of its expressions were the mutually compatible theories of the correspondence between the macrocosm and the (human) microcosm, which is already discernible in the Timaeus (see Olerud 1951, 15–24), and of universal “co-­affection” or “sympathy” (sumpatheia), which appears to have had its origins in the ancient Peripatos (see Theophr. Caus. pl. II 19.4), but was developed mainly within the confines of Stoicism; see Sambursky 1959, 41–42; and Reinhardt 1926, 50–54 and 111–19. The first of the two is most clearly illustrated in the so-­called assignments of the parts of the body to the signs of the zodiac or the planets (zōidiakai or planētikai melothesiai), where the different parts of the human body were placed in systematic correspondence with either individual signs of the zodiac or, as intimated here, with the planets; see, e.g., Ptol. Apot. III 13.4–5; Vett. Val. II 37, 103.30–105.34; Firm. Mat. Math. II 24, 72.26–73.8; Sext. Emp. Math. V 21–22; and Festugière 1944–54, 1:92–94 and 126–31. In turn, the second theory—as was correctly perceived by Sext. Emp. op. cit. 43–44—offered an explanatory schema that purported to interpret the world through a set of more or less arbitrary analogies; cf. 13.33 below, and also III 3.6.24–38 and IV 4.32.29–30. It consequently did not constitute an effort to discover the causes behind various phenomena, but instead an attempt to reduce natural phenomena to an organic model capable of securing their mutual connection and predictability, without providing any causal explanation of them. (Cf. III 3.6.17–18. I am here drawing freely on the notion of “predictive sympatheia” introduced by Rodier 1976, 307–10.) What guarantees the possibility of such natural phenomena being interpreted as signs is the presence of the cosmic Soul, which pervades and unites the world into a single, unified organism, a crucial manifestation of which is the motion of the heavenly bodies. Cf. III 1.5.1–15, IV 4.8.52–61, and 32.1–22. See also Phillips 1981, 277; and Wallis 1983, 499–500. 6.1–6. Ἄρεα δὲ . . . παραδέξαιτο:We return to the critique of naive anthropomorphism, with P. seeking to undermine all efforts to attribute emotions, intentions, or will to the heavenly bodies. Cf. Vett. Val. II 38, 112.22–23: “Whenever Mars bears watch over Venus, being in harmony with her,” that is, whenever they come together in trine aspect, “they conjoin in adultery.” The reference is of course to the scandalous tale related by Demodocus in the Odyssey (8.266 ff.), but, as noted by Cilento 1960, 281, an astrological interpretation of the myth is already to be found in Plut. Quomod. adol. 19f. Cf. also Bard. apud Drijvers 1965, 41 = Euseb. PE VI 10.13.2–3. We may safely conclude, therefore, that this interpretation was quite widely known and hence suitable as a target of attack by P., who is in any case indulging here in a rather more rhetorical treatment of the question at hand. 6.6–10. μυριάδων δὲ . . . ποιεῖν: The second argument, no less simplistic than the first, was patently directed at people who approached the question of astral influences in a very naive manner. Cf., e.g., Joannes Galenus Schol. ad Hesiod. Theog. III 471.20 = [Orpheus] Hymn. 3*. 6.10–20. τὸ δὲ ἀναφορὰς . . . ἰοῦσαν:The initial objective of the argument is to cast ridicule on the detailed calculations of the astrologers. And the example has been well

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Second Ennead chosen: the “method of calculation of length of life” (agōgē peri chronou zōēs) was—as revealed in its exposition by Ptolemy (Apot. III 10, 127–36) and by Vettius Valens (IX 19, 334.35–336.9: the text here being, however, somewhat confused), as well as in the pertinent chapter of Firmicus Maternus (Math. II 25, 73.10–74.24)—both complex and intricate, given that, as Ptolemy formulates it (trans. after Robbins), “it depends entirely upon the determination of the prorogative [i.e., life-­extending] places and the stars that rule the prorogation, and upon the determination of the destructive [i.e., life-­curtailing] places or stars,” while it required also an exact “determination to the degree” (moirothesia)—among other things—of the arc that the planet identified as “ruler of life” (kurios tēs zōēs) had traversed from the moment of its “rising” (anaphora). Cf. Porph. Intr. Ptol. 41–42 = CCAG V 4, 213.4–215.5. Sext. Emp. Math. V 52 and 73–74, hastens to point out the extent to which information of such a kind was “undiscoverable” (aneureton), “impossible to grasp” (alēpton), and “incapable of being determined with accuracy” (adunatōs . . . kata to akribes horisthēnai): cf. Ptol. Apot. I 2.14–16 and III 3.1–2; Porph. De phil. 340F, Ad An. 41, and De quod nostr. 271F.78– 79 apud Stob. Ecl. II 8.42, 171.11; and also Basil Hom. Hex. VI 5, 19–29. As far as P. is concerned, the absurdity lies in seeking to dissect the uniform motion of the soul, which “has no need of consideration” (aprosdeēs bouleuseōs: IV 4.11.5), into a multitude of individual calculations, and in ascribing the latter, moreover, to the various astral divinities. 7.1–4. Ἀλλ’ εἰ σημαίνουσιν . . . γιγνομένων:What we have here is the formulation, in aporetic form, of a complex argument that paves the way for the introduction of the Soul as a unitary and unifying principle. It consists essentially in a combination of two of the classic “ways” (tropoi) of proof concerning the existence of the gods: the one “from divination” (ek tēs mantikēs) and the other “from design” (ek tēs kosmikēs diataxeōs); on these see Dragona-­Monachou 1976, 74–80 and 88–91. In brief: For there to be divination, there must be a universal order. For there to be a universal order, there must be a universal ordering principle, which is none other than Soul. We find an argument corresponding to this one, and that even evokes—as does the present one, below—the notion of sumpatheia, in Cleom. Cael. I 1.11–15. 7.4–8. ἔστω τοίνυν . . . μάθοι: Cf. III 1.6.19–23. The comparison of heavenly signs with written ones is also known from elsewhere. We find it in Origen In Gen. 73.10–16 apud Euseb. PE VI 11.63, while Ephraim the Syrian used to say concerning Bardaisan that “he may not have known the prophets, but he read the zodiac like a book” (according to the report of Teixidor 1992, 112). Cf. also Porph. De quod nostr. 271F.50–57 apud Stob. Ecl. II 8.42, 170.8–15. Even in our own day, we say of an apparently inevitable occurrence that it was “written in the stars.” Yet the example of the living organism reminds us that we are dealing here with natural signs (cf. III 3.6.19: phusika grammata), which are not autonomous from what they signify. Indeed, the opposite is true: if they are able to signify at all, it is precisely because they are a part of the same unified organic whole.



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7.8–10. καὶ γὰρ . . . σωτηρίας:Cf. IV 3.18.19–20. We discover here the theoretical explanation for P.’s extraordinary capacity of “penetration into character” (ēthōn katanoēsis); see VP 11.1–8. 7.11–16. ἄλλα οὖν . . . ἕκαστα:The interpretation of natural signs is a common, everyday necessity. But the wise man is the one who is able to interpret them in new and more penetrating ways, discovering in this way additional threads that go to make up the web of which the world is constituted. Armstrong, ad loc., appositely cites Sen. Nat. quaest. II 32.4: “Whatever comes to be (quicquid fit) is a sign of some other thing’s future (alicuius rei futurae signum est).” On the subject of augury, see above, 3.25–28, with my comment. 7.16–28. συνηρτῆσθαι . . . ἄλλο: The “sympathy” that holds together the whole of the sensible universe (see above, my comment on 12.25–32 and 5.21) corresponds to the “single united breath [of life]” (sumpnoia), that is, the unity of pneuma (“breath”) that pervades and holds together a corporeal entity, making it into a living being. This latter concept was one that was known to the medical writers (cf. [Hippoc.] Nutr. 23 = DK 1: 189.19, cited also by Galen Nat. fac. I 13 = II, 39 Kühn), but that had already been transferred to the field of cosmology by the Neopythagoreans and the Stoics: see [Ecph.] De regno fr. 2, 79.9–13; SVF 2:543; and [Plut.] Fat. 574e. The former concept, which during the Hellenistic and Imperial periods had attained the status of ruling dogma in almost all branches of knowledge (see Festugière 1944–54, 1:89–91), having come virtually to be identified with Nature itself, constituted the principle on which were usually grounded the attempts to provide a theoretical foundation for astrology, and in particular for its “Chaldaean” variety: see, e.g., Cic. Diu. II 33–34; Manil. I 247–54; Ptol. Apot. I 2.2–5; Philo Migr. 178, and Spec. leg. I 16; Clem. Al. Strom. VI 16, 143.1; Sext. Emp. Math. V 4 and IX 79–84. 8.1–9. Καὶ δὴ . . . φανερῶς ποιεῖ:The soul as principle of motion (see Pl. Phdr. 245c–d) is what causes everything that occurs in the world. However, it “brings about” (poiein), it does not “do” (prattein); it does not act on bodies by way of “pushings” (ōthismoi: cf. III 8.2.1–6), as if it were just another effective cause, but it does so at a higher level of organization and “order” (taxis) toward which the corporeal will tend, provided it has the capability. The causal interrelation of events emerges as a consequence of the coordination of every individual thing with this unitary principle through “co-­affection” or “sympathy”; cf. Procl. In Remp. II 258.13–20. Thus each thing performs its own “work” (ergon), but at the same time it constitutes—incidentally (see above, 3.27–28)—a “sign” (sēmeion) for all the other things that in this manner are interconnected with it. The good ordering of the universe that thus supervenes, but also the intervention, when necessary, of cosmic “Justice” (Dikē)—a very ancient notion, being known to us from Parmenides, if not from Anaximander—provide a guarantee of its preservation through eternity, concording thereby with the will of the Demiurge; cf. Pl. Ti. 41a7–b6 and Leg. IV 716a2–b5.

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Second Ennead The expression ariprepē (“very bright”) to characterize the stars comes from the wonderful image of the Trojan camp in the Iliad, 8.555–56. 8.9–12. ἡμεῖς δὲ . . . εἰς ὕστερον:At times the complexity of the universe leads us into errors that divert us from our goals, disturb our concordance with the rhythm of the cosmic Soul (cf. II 9.7.27–39), and invite the inescapable and just punishment (cf. III 2.13.1–17 and IV 3.16.1–6)—not of our own true selves, but of that lower part of us that is responsible (see I 1.12.1–12). 8.12–16. πλοῦτοι μὲν . . . εἴρηται:Cf. I 8.12.5–7. This glancing allusion to the comparison of the soul with the sea-­god Glaucus in Pl. Resp. X 611d2 prepares us for the “judgment of souls” to follow in chapter 12 of complementary treatise I 1. 9.1–6. Νῦν δὲ . . . τὰ γεννώμενα:The closing myth of the Republic provides the backdrop against which to evaluate the nature of cosmic forces and the role they play in the adventure of the soul. Regarding the spindle as an image of the constitution and functioning of the heavenly spheres (Resp. X 616c4), cf. Procl. In Remp. II 203.15–20. A more explicitly astrological interpretation of the myth is put forward by Porph. De quod nostr. 271F.38–104 apud Stob. Ecl. II 8.42, 169.21–172.8; he supposes that Plato derived it from “the wise men of Egypt, who infer the modes of lives from the horoscopes (tous bious ek tōn hōroskopōn sēmeioumenous) and from the disposition of the planets at time of birth in relation to the heavenly bodies in the zodiac, as being consequent upon the horoscope’s rising.” 9.6–14. ἔν τε Τιμαίῳ . . . παθητικῆς οὔσης:The cosmological vision from the myth of Er is here combined with the description of “ensoulment” in the Timaeus, where it is inferred that the lower kind of soul—the subject of the affections and the senses, which conjoins with the body to compose the “living being”—is the creation of the lower, astral gods. As such it is therefore possessed from the very beginning of constitutional bonds with the stars, and the same holds, accordingly, for our characters, our actions, and our affections, these last being—as are the stars—“subject to natural necessity,” and in that sense therefore anankaia; see Schreckenberg 1964, 151. 9.14–16. ὥστε τί . . . ἡ φύσις:Yet, as the next treatise in order of composition will expound in detail, we ourselves are not to be identified with this subject of the affections, which is bound up with the movements and configurations of the stars. Our true self is purely intellective and impassible, being impervious to all external influence; see I 1.7.14–18 and 10.5–10. 9.16–27. καὶ γὰρ . . . ἀναχωρήσας: Our entry into corporeality and our consequent entanglement in the bonds of natural necessity create the need for our liberation therefrom through the virtues. We are obviously here dealing with the lower virtues, the ones that concern the body and are acquired “by habit and by training” (cf. I 1.10.11–14 and I 3.6.6–10, with my comment), and especially the so-­called purifying virtues, through



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which are achieved our “separation” and liberation from the body (cf. I 2.3.10–20 and III 6.5.2–22). In any case, the “theoretical virtues” are not even—from a certain vantage point—properly speaking virtues at all (see I 2.6.14–15), because in the aftermath of purification man finds himself entirely within the realm of the intellective. Cf. Pl. Resp. X 617e3, Tht. 176a8-­b1, and Phd. 67c6. As concerns the term “trace” (ichnos: 22), see my comment on I 1.7.1–6; and for the import of “withdrawing” (anachōrēsas: 27), my comment on I 1.12.18–21. 9.29–30. ἀλλὰ γίνεται . . . οὐ μέρος:On corporeal man as a part of the universe, see above 7.10–11, but also II 2.2.3–5, with my comment. 9.30–31. διττὸς γὰρ . . . αὐτός:Cf. I 1.10.5–10. 9.31–47. καὶ πᾶς . . . δαιμόνια: Here it is not man who is being viewed as a microcosm, but the cosmos that is being viewed as a kind of “macro-­man.” Just as man is constituted by the impassible eidetic soul and by the body, on which the former projects an image or trace of itself, animating it and transforming it into an ensouled organism, so also the cosmic Soul, while remaining pure and dedicated to the contemplation of the intelligible, projects onto the universe its radiant traces, the cosmic “formative principles” (logoi), which are constitutive of Nature, the organized and well-­ordered kosmos; cf. II 2.1.38–39, with my comment, and below, my comment on 18.9–22. See also Romano 1992, 287–90. An analogous duality is exhibited by the sun and the stars. This, of course, implies that in between the supra-­intelligible sun, which is the Good, and its sensible “analogue” (cf. Pl. Resp. VI 508b12–c2), there intervenes yet another, at the intellective level occupied by the Soul. Hence, we find in this passage a presage of the hierarchy of the three suns, which was to provide the theoretical underpinning for the speech “To King Helios” of the Emperor Julian; see Jul. Or. 4, esp. 132c–133c. The corporeal presence of the stars in the universe has inevitable somatic and psychosomatic repercussions on man, seeing that they are all parts of the same cosmos (cf. above, 9.29–30)—and some of these will be nefarious, as is unavoidable in anything that is “mixed” (cf. Pl. Ti. 47e5) and partakes of materiality, without, however, being the outcome of the stars’ “deliberation” (prohairesis), which is instead unwaveringly directed toward the intelligible (cf. IV 3.11.14–27 and IV 4.7.1–5) and corresponds to their divine dimension. These repercussions concern the lower part of man, the “living being” (zōion), connecting him with Nature through bonds of an erotic texture. In the end, the entire sensible world is nothing other than the web of these erotic interconnections, and consequently—like the Eros of the Symposium, 202d13—a “great demon”; cf. III 5.4.23–5.18. 10.1–10. Εἰ δ’ οὕτω . . . λαβόντος:A brief recapitulation offers P. the opportunity to underline some of the conclusions to which he has been led up to this point: (a) The stars really do constitute signs of whatever occurs or will occur in the future, throughout the universe. (b) Yet their semiotic capacity is incidental to them and concerns only the psychosomatic part of the universe, that is, Nature.

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Second Ennead (c) At the same time, the heavenly bodies also exercise certain purely corporeal influences. What is now added here is that for a soul to be deflected toward the body, there must preexist within it an element of passibility or a predisposition toward it. This only, perhaps, applies—as Igal notes ad loc.—to souls that are subject to reincarnation. 11.1–13. Χρὴ δὲ . . . καὶ ἀλλήλοις:The repercussions of Nature’s presence in the universe for individual corporeal entities may, as was stated earlier, be at one time benign and at another malignant, inasmuch as the energy of Soul comes to be dispersed and attenuated as it mingles with matter. It thus assumes the form of the cosmic forces of “Love” (philia) and “Enmity” (neikos: cf. III 2.2.1–6) subtending those magic “affinities” (sumpatheiai) and “disaffinities” (antipatheiai) that pervade the universe and hold it together; see IV 4.40.1–6 and Hadot 1982, 286–89. The weakening of psychical energy is responsible for the degradation of “love” into carnal desire, of “spirited impulse” (thumos) into violent temper (see Pl. Resp. III 411b7–c2), and of “understanding” (nous) into “knavery” (panourgia). Yet the cause of all this is not the stars, but our own incapacity to emulate their impassibility. 12.1–2. Καὶ δὴ . . . κράματος:Cf. above, my comment on 1.24–26. 12.3–11. ὥστε . . . τοῦ εἴδους:Astral influences may have an effect on the properties of a thing, but not on its ousia in the Aristotelian sense of the word, that is, on what it is. Even Aristotle regarded them as contributory causes toward the creation of a living being such as man (see Ph. II 2, 194b13 and Metaph. Λ 5, 1071a13–16). But the substantial identity of anything generated is solely determined by the “form” (eidos) of its father; cf. Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. II 3.1, 48.12–19. As Ptolemy himself was obliged to admit, “differences of seed exert a very great influence on the special traits of the genus, since . . . each seed prevails to express in general its own form, for example, man, horse, and so forth” (I 2.18 trans. Robbins). See also Boll 1894, 139–44; and cf. III 1.6.1–4. Finally, if the form fails to establish complete dominion over matter, the outcome will for that reason be imperfect and ugly, “contrary to nature” (para phusin); cf. I 6.2.13–18, with my comment. 12.12–32. Τὸ δὲ . . . ἁρμονία: For the commentary of this passage, see above, my comment on 5.11 ff. 13.3–10. ψυχῆς δὴ . . . καὶ πρόσφορα:Hence, the unitary cosmic Soul, “being perfect and winged . . . journeys on high and controls the whole world” (Pl. Phdr. 246b7–c2 trans. Hackforth), without having any commerce with the bodies of which it is comprised. Conversely, these same bodies seek to partake of Soul and to harmonize themselves with it, and to the extent that they are successful, they mirror it, acquiring thereby a subsistence of their own; cf. IV 4.32.4–13. External influences may either assist or hinder sensible entities in their efforts to conform to the rational order of the cosmos.



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13.10–13. Τῷ δὲ ὅλῳ . . . βίον:The nature of each individual entity contributes, in proportion to its capabilities, to the unitary order—itself reflecting the union of all souls (see IV 9.5.3–7)—with the result that all opposites are harnessed into “coordination” (suntaxis), such that everything comes “to be signified” (sēmainesthai) by everything else; cf. III 2.2.23–33 and IV 4.38.14–39.2. 13.14. ὠθούμενα ἔξω:Obviously, the cosmic Soul does not cause soulless things “to be pushed out”—of what? Soul? their nature? the universe?—given that the circular motion for which it is responsible instead “constricts” (sphingei: Pl. Ti. 58a7) bodies and “squeezes [them] together” (sunōthei: ibid. b5). It is rather the case that bodies are “induced” or “motivated” (exōtheisthai) by soul to act in a certain way. Accordingly, the reading exōthoumena preferred by Kirchhoff seems to me to be certain, but it requires the deletion of the second exō, which is possibly the remnant of some corrector’s marginalium. 13.15–19. ὡς ὑφ’ ἅρμασιν . . . πολλάκις:The reminders of the Phaedrus myth are insistent: cf. 246b1–4, 247b3–5, 248a1–b1, etc. 13.17. πληγῇ νεμόμενα:It would appear that we have here an echo of a fragment of Heraclitus (B11 DK), although it is doubtful that P. had it consciously in mind as he was writing this passage; see Roussos 1968, 71–72. Cf., at any rate, also Max. Tyr. V 5, 59.1–3. 13.29–30. ὥσπερ στρατιώτας στρατηγῷ:Cf. III 3.2.3–15; and [Arist.] Mund. 6, 399b1–11 and 400b8. See also my comment on I 2.6.6–7. 13.30. ἕπεσθαι Διί:Cf. Pl. Phdr. 246e6. 13.34–35. κατὰ λόγον . . . ὅλον: The notion of a cosmic “pattern” or “rational order” (logos) that we find here corresponds exactly with the one dissected in the treatises “On Providence” (III 2 and 3 [47 and 48]). Both there and here it consists in the “irradiation” or “shining forth” (eklampsis) of the cosmic Soul as it looks to the Intellect and conforms to it; cf. III 2.16.12–17. Hence, it constitutes, in essence, a projection of the intelligible Forms onto the domain of the sensible—a projection that is mediated by the Soul and acts in an organizing capacity as Nature, but one that equally brings on contrarieties and war; cf. III 2.15.5–7. The lawlike inexorability of its action corresponds to “Destiny” (heimarmenē), yet it represents the manifestation of a higher principle, “Providence” (pronoia), which is traceable to the purely intellective activation of the Soul. Although the Stoic (and Heraclitean) derivation of this logos is clearly to be seen, it must not lead us astray (as it did Armstrong 1960, 102) into regarding it as a separate hypostasis: for it is precisely its dependence on the intelligizing Soul that affords it the possibility of exercising, through sumpatheia, its unifying role. 13.35–45. τά τε ἐν οὐρανῷ . . . ποιῆσαι:Cf. above, 12.3–11, with my comment. The “co-­ affinity” (sumpatheia) of the souls for each other is rooted in their profound unity; see

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Second Ennead IV 3.8.1–4; and Gurtler 1984, 401–3. On the other hand, in order to admit the soul’s radiation, the body must possess an appropriate constitution, like a receiver “tuned” to the correct wavelength. If, however, this bodily harmony becomes disturbed, then the psychical image that is formed upon it—the “formative principle” (logos)—comes to be distorted or to vanish entirely; cf. I 9.6–7, with my comment. Whereupon it becomes fair to say that the body hinders the manifestation of the soul’s “activity” (energeia); cf. Pl. Phd. 65a10. 13.45–47. οἷον οὐχ . . . φθόγγους: On the comparison of the body with a lyre, cf. I 4.16.23–27, with my comment; and Ferwerda 1965, 187–89. 14.1–33. Περὶ δὲ . . . ἐσχηκότος:P. returns to the question of the relation of the stars to “fortunes” (tuchai); cf. above, 1.6–7 and 8.12–13. At IV 4.31.44–48, he had excluded entirely the possibility that the influence of the heavenly bodies might be what causes men to be “good and bad, rich and poor,” and what is responsible “for the nobility of their families or themselves, and for the finding of treasures.” Here, conversely, he wishes to emphasize the correlation that exists between, on the one hand, life and men’s fortunes, and, on the other, the natural environment. Their interweaving enmeshes our individual fates in a multifarious web of necessity, resulting in our submission to the inexorable rule of Destiny. And it is Destiny that, as an expression of the cosmic rational order, is manifested in the heavenly signs. Nevertheless, other factors also enter into the chain of events—factors having their origin in different, higher principles (see 8.1–2; and cf. also II 9.13.20–25), such as our self-­ruling, true self, “the best within us” (to beltiston en hēmin: 11, 23, 26), which controls our “deliberate choice” (prohairesis: 28) and which is responsible for our virtuous actions (8, 22). Also worth noting are (a) the sense of social awareness and responsibility to which some of P.’s examples testify (9, 14–15, 23–24; cf. III 2.8.50–51 and my comment on VP 19.18–22); and (b) the tolerant attitude demonstrated toward marriage (27–28), which P. acknowledges may well be the result of “deliberate choice” (prohairesis); cf. my comment on I 2.5.17–21. 15.1–5. Ὁ δὲ Πλάτων . . . αὐτῶν:We come back once more to the myth of the Republic, which was briefly alluded to above, at 9.1–6. The first point remarked on is that every one of us, in fulfilling the fate we have chosen for ourselves prenatally, has the help of the stellar influences, symbolized by the Sirens (X 617b4–6), and of “our allotted guardian spirit” (ho eilēchos hēmas daimōn: 620d8–e1), who—as explained in the treatise specially devoted to the subject, namely III 4—represents the immediately higher ontological level to the one at which our own soul is activated. 15.5–8. ἀλλ’ οἱ κλῆροι . . . τὰ ἔξω:Attention is now focused on the lots that, according to the account of Er, are spilled from the lap of Lachesis to the ground and determine by what order of priority the souls will choose the “mode of life” (bios) they are to follow; see Pl. Resp. X 617d4–618a3 and cf. Phdr. 249b1–3. These lots symbolize, in P.’s view, the



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“external circumstances” (ta exō) prevailing at the time of each body’s ensoulment, among which—naturally—a privileged position is occupied by the corresponding astrological birth “chart,” that is, by what we today call a “horoscope.” The association was all that much easier to make, if we recall that, according to astrological theory, the positions of the planets at the time of birth determined the “lots” (klērous: see, e.g., Ptol. Apot. III 11.5–6 and IV 2.1–3; Paul Al. 23, 47.15–53.5) that comprised a system parallel to that of the “places” (topoi: see my comment on 1.12–16). The same consideration obviously lies behind the pertinent definition that Proclus was to formulate in the course of commenting on the relevant passage of the Republic: “the lot (klēros) . . . is the sum total of the ways of life that the All proposes to each [sc., soul] by its own revolutions” (In Remp. II 263.17–18). It seems probable, therefore, that P. is at this point drawing on some specific astrological treatise, for example, the Panaretos attributed to Hermes Trismegistus, in which the theory of lots played a central role; see Schol. in Paul Al. 48, 118.24–119.3; and Festugière 1944–54, 1:105. Moreover, this is precisely the same view—if we examine it closely—that Porphyry ascribes to the “wise Egyptians” (De quod nostr. 271F.46–49 apud Stob. Ecl. II 8.42, 170.4–7; see also my comment on 9.1–6), namely, “that the quality of the disposition of the [sc., stellar] configurations constrains the ways of life of the souls passing towards birth through the Ascendant portion [sc., of the zodiac] to be qualified according to how the configurations are then disposed.” Now Porphyry may well go on to claim that Plato distinguished his position from that of the Egyptians on the question of necessity, but this seems rather to have to do with his own, somewhat confused attempt to safeguard the self-­ruling power of the soul through the process of its embodiment, arguing along lines that would have been most unlikely to command the assent of his teacher (cf. Beutler 1953, 306.8–22). For in the eyes of the latter, a truly free will could never become engaged in the embodiment of the soul, but only in its disembodiment; cf. VI 8.2.14–16 and 6.26–31. 15.9–12. πάντα δὲ . . . ἐπάγειν: The roles assigned here to the three daughters of Necessity may well be somewhat different from those assigned to them in the Republic, but they are not incompatible with Plato’s description. Clotho personifies the rational order of the cosmos, which weaves all natural powers together into a unified and harmonious whole (cf. my comment on 13.34–35). Lachesis represents what these powers compose: the web of Destiny itself, which, because its complexity is beyond the capacity of men to unravel (see above, my comment on 6.10–20), is experienced by them as Fortune. Finally, Atropos is identified with the necessity inherent in the inescapable interconnection of events. This interpretation does not differ much from that of Plutarch in De gen. 591b, but more light is thrown on it when it is seen against the representation of the three Fates on the famous “Prometheus Sarcophagus” studied by Cumont 1942a, 318– 22 (see figure 4 at the end of the present volume); cf. also Festugière 1957, 195–202. Lachesis is there portrayed holding in her left hand the heavenly sphere, while with the help of a rod held in her right, she points to the “lot” (klēros) displayed on it, that is, to the position of the planets at the time of birth. Clotho, utilizing—I would guess—a

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Second Ennead kind of distaff, spins a single continuous thread, while Atropos leads the soul away from its association with the earthbound body. Finally, their mother Ananke (or Adrasteia, more or less equivalent with Destiny), seated on a stool, holds a scroll on which—presumably—are recorded the inexorable consequences brought on by each “mode of life” (bios); cf. Pl. Resp. X 618a1–b6. And cf. also, as suggested by Armstrong ad loc., Cornutus Theol. Graec. 13, 13.3–17. 15.13–14. τῶν δ’ ἀνθρώπων . . . αὐτοί:On the “enchantment” (goēteia) of Nature and of worldly things, see IV 3.17.26–28, IV 4.40.1–6, 43.18–24, and 44.25–37. 15.15–16:ὑπεραίροντες . . . ἄνω:Cf. Pl. Phdr. 248a2–3. Also Plut. De gen. 591e; and Max. Tyr. XI 141.12–13. 15.16–17. τὸ ἄριστον . . . οὐσίας:Cf. above, 8.13–14. 15.17–24. οὐ γὰρ δὴ . . . κεκτῆσθαι:For a Platonist, naturally, the soul is not an epiphenomenon supervening on the functions of the body: it is their cause. It constitutes in itself a “principle” (archē: cf. 8.2 above, and III 1.8.4–8, 9.10–14, III 3.4.6–7, IV 7.9.6–13; the term itself derives, of course, from Pl. Phdr. 245c9–d7) that is primary and irreducible to other causes. 15.24. συναμφότερον:See my comment on I 1.5.8. 15.25–28. ψυχὴ δὲ . . . τὸ δὲ ἄλλο:Cf. Arist. De an. I 1, 403a10–19: if the soul had nothing but “affections” (pathē), because these are always correlated with the body, it too would be “inseparable” from the latter. Yet, as will be maintained in the next treatise by order of composition, the soul also possesses, in reality, “affections not common [sc., to both body and soul]” (mē koina pathēmata), that is, affections that are strictly its own; see I 1.5.26–28. 16.1–3. Ἀλλὰ τί . . . ζητητέον:At this point, the problematic of the present treatise is tied in with that of the treatise composed just after it; see the beginning of my introduction to I 1. 16.5. πῶς . . . εἴπομεν:See above, 13.3–4. 16.6–17. πότερα γὰρ . . . οὕτως: There remains to be clarified in what way, and to what extent, the Soul determines and orders the universe. The first three answers to the question, toward which P. adopts a critical attitude, represent the following standpoints: (a) an almost deistic determinism, according to which the Soul limits its intervention to the creation of natural kinds, being indifferent to whatever ensues; (b) a somewhat simplistic pantheism, according to which the Soul acts more or less unchecked, constantly propelling the universe at will, down to its slightest details; and (c) an intermediate



II 3. On Whether the Stars Are Causes

position, where the Soul acts through (seminal) “formative principles” (logoi), which determine in each case the necessary course of events. All three of these (Stoically inspired) positions are absolutely deterministic, entailing the identity of Providence and Destiny. It is apparent that P. views the third as the most interesting one, but requiring supplementation and improvement, which he provides in the sequel. 16.18–26. ὄντων μὲν . . . τῶν παρόντων:The Soul, therefore, does not act on bodies as an effective cause (cf. my comment on 8.1–9); it simply knows—by reason of its contemplation of the intelligibles—the consequences of whatever comes about, and it transmits this knowledge through “formative principles” (logoi) that function as its “instructions” and thus set the sensible world in order. 16.27–29. ὅθεν ἴσως . . . παθήμασι: The pessimistic view of human history as a progressive lapse and ever more distant exile from an original paradisiacal stage is a very ancient one. Perhaps its most celebrated formulation is to be found in Hesiod Op. 109–201, in his myth of the five Races (genē), but, as Theiler notes ad loc., it can also be found in Pl. Phlb. 16c7–8; Sen. Ep. 90.44–46; and Sext. Emp. Math. IX 28. Of possibly greater interest for us is a lengthy excerpt, preserved by Porphyry, from the Peripatetic Dicaearchos (fr. 49 apud Porph. Abst. IV 2) in which it is said of “those men of old who came close to being gods, being best endowed by nature and having lived the best lives, that they were considered a Golden Race compared to the men of today, who are of a base and utterly mean material.” What is striking here is that P. seeks to provide an ontological explanation for the phenomenon (see also below, 50–52): the successive intrusion into matter of various formative principles causes it to suffer a certain “disturbance” (seismos), such that the next ones in line are prevented from exercising a complete dominion over it, resulting in progressive deformation. 16.33–36. οἷα δὲ . . . ζάλαι:The image of the Sower-­God is of course derived from Plato’s Timaeus 42d4–7, but it is also known to us from the Corpus Hermeticum IX 6, 99.3–6 and XIV 10, 226.3–8 (where the “good farmer” (agathos geōrgos) alluded to is none other than the Egyptian god Horus, as shown by PGM I 26–27), and, especially, from Numenius, who distinguished between a First God-­Sower and the Demiurge-­Planter (fr. 13 trans. Dillon): “The former, as farmer (geōrgōn Dillon fort. recte: ge ōn MSS, des Places), sows the seed of every soul into all the things which partake of it; while the lawgiver plants and distributes and transplants what has been sown from that source into each one of us.” Cf. also [Ptol.] Cent. 8, 39.6–8. The MSS reading kataphuteusas instead of kai phuteusas (34) is the lectio difficilior, and, in the sense of “transplanted” (see LSJ, s.v. kataphuteuō II), provides a better meaning than the loose “and” (kai). 16.39–40. ἐν ταῖς τέχναις . . . τέχνην:This doctrine, as applied to art, is formulated by Plato at Resp. I 342b3–4; here it is extended to take in the formative principles of natural bodies as well.

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Second Ennead 16.41–54. ἀλλ’ ἐνταῦθα . . . τοῖς λόγοις:P. summarizes the line of argument relative to the necessity for particular evils to exist within the overall plan of the universe, which he had developed in “On Providence” (see mainly III 2.5.6–32 and III 3.6.1–13). The “disturbance” or “upheaval” of matter (see Pl. Ti. 52e1–5, 88d6–e3; cf. “Alcinous” Didasc. 13, 169.4–15) does not constitute a “disorderly motion” (ataktos kinēsis) that is inherent to it, but is instead the result of a kind of quiescence of the formative principles that have previously occupied it. The saying of Heraclitus echoed in l. 53—“from All, One” (hen ek pantōn: cf. fr. B10 DK)—was one of P.’s favorites, as we can see from his allusions to it at other points in the Enneads, including, most characteristically, III 3.1.9; see Roussos 1968, 44–45. 17.1–9. Πότερα δὲ . . . αὐτή: I regard this whole passage as an elaborate aporia in two stages: (a) How is a purely intellective operation, such as contemplation, able to effect changes in the domain of material bodies? (b) If the answer to the first query is that the cosmic Soul has the capacity to act on its embodied image and hence to influence the behavior of the cosmic “living being” (zōion), it remains to be clarified whether this occurs as a result of reasoning on the part of the Soul, and if so, what is the nature of this reasoning. 17.9–17. ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . ποιεῖ: But the creative “reasoning” (logismos) of the Soul is not discursive: it grasps the intellective Forms immediately; cf. IV 3.18.10–13. Consequently, the logos within itself consists in “contemplation” (theōria). A second logos, the one distinguished as the rational order of the cosmos, is a result of that contemplation (being said to be ek theōrias), and it is identified with the projection of the Soul onto the body of the universe, that is, with Nature (phusis); cf. III 8.3.7–23; Igal 1982–98, 1:73; and my comment above on 13.34–35. 17.17–18. ποιεῖ δὲ . . . χείρω:See above, 13.40–45 and 14.30–33, and also IV 3.10.22–24. 17.18–25. ἅτε δὲ . . . τῷ ὅλῳ:Nature, however, does not create solely by heeding the enjoinments of the soul. As a creative principle in its own right, Nature undertakes—like the Gnostic “Prounikos” Sophia or Achamoth (see, e.g., Iren. Adu. haer. I 29.4; Ap. John = NHC II 1, 9.25–35; 1 Apoc. Jas. = NHC V 3, 35.10–17)—its own, spontaneous creative activity, with results that are tangible. It is certainly highly interesting to witness P., at the end of his life, coming into such intimate contact with a theme so central to the mythopoeic imagination of his great adversaries, the Gnostics; a fact underlined by the reference to the “bitter sediment” (pikra hupostathmē) of matter, an expression vividly reminiscent of the one employed by Epiphanius in relation to the abortive offspring of Prounikos, Ialdabaoth: see Panarion 37.4.4, II 56.5–7, and Iren. Adu. haer. I 30.5; and cf. Porph. apud Macrob. In Somn. I 14.15, 58.9–10; Simpl. In Ph. 231.34–37; and the other citations by Henrichs and Koenen 1978, 141n.194. The word hupostathmē (“sediment”) derives, of course, from Pl. Phd. 109c2, where it refers to the watery vapors residing at the earth’s core. Matter is also qualified as “bitter” (pikra) in the Chald. Or. fr. 129; see the comment of Majercik 1989, 190, as well as Dillon 1992b, 139–40; and cf. VP 22.31.



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18.1–8. Ἆρ’ οὖν . . . εὕδειν: P. has repeatedly stressed that the existence of evils in the universe is necessary, being an unavoidable consequence of the “procession” (ekbasis) from the Good; see, e.g., I 8.7.17–23. In effect, he is applying a version of the argument “through concomitance” (kata parakolouthēsin) originally introduced by Chrysippus; see SVF 2:1170. Here he appends to it the argument (also of Stoic provenance: see, e.g., SVF 2:1181; and Sen. Prou. II 5–7 and III 1–2) that evils are useful to the whole of nature and of society; cf. III 2.5.6–23 and 9.31–36. In this manner, P. concludes his response to the queries raised at the beginning of I 8, a fact that serves to underline the unity of conception characterizing the last four treatises composed by P. Especially striking here is the justification provided, in this manner, for art, which may well be thought to contain at all times some element of evil (cf., as suggested by Igal ad loc., Pl. Resp. X 604d8–e6), but one that is redeemed by its beneficial action on the soul, presumably through the process of katharsis of the affections. See the dialogue between A. H. Armstrong and E. R. Dodds in the “Discussion” following Theiler 1960, 95–96. 18.9–22. εἰ δὴ . . . φῶτα:The treatise concludes with a brief recapitulation of the ontology presented in the last three chapters, which the diagram below seeks to represent; on the left are shown the corresponding anthropological elements, as set forth in treatise I 1: 1. Intellect

soul (true man)

2. Soul (that which is primarily filled)

living being

3. [Nature] (ultimate maker)

Demiurge

first logoi

contemplation

intellect

[thoughts]

second logoi

image

traces

As is readily apparent, the fundamental relation subtending this tripartite ontological schema is that of an image toward its original prototype; this is given additional emphasis by a reference to the closing, similarly recapitulative phrases of the Timaeus, 92c7, where the universe is characterized as “an image of the intelligible, a perceptible god” (trans. Cornford); cf. “Aëtius” I 10.1, 308.17–18. At the same time, P. insists on the immobility of both the Intellect and the Soul—even the universe’s motion is merely incidental (cf. II 2.1.8–9)—thereby ranging himself, perhaps consciously, against the

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Second Ennead view of Numenius, according to whom only “the First God is at rest (hestōs); by contrast, the Second [i.e., the Creator] is in motion (kinoumenos)” (fr. 15.3–4; cf. fr. 5.23–28 and 8.2–5; see further Dodds 1960b, 12–13, as well as my comment on II 9.1.25–33).

II 4 [12]. On Matter Synopsis 1 Introductory: Views relating to matter as the receptacle of the Forms. Are there two kinds of matter or one? 2 A. Intelligible matter. Five objections concerning its existence (A1–A5) 3 Responses to A1–A3. 4 Response to A5. The role of intelligible matter in the constitution of the intelligible world. 5 Similarities and differences between intelligible and sensible matter. Nature and the origin of intelligible matter (response to A4). 6 B. The matter of sensible objects. Arguments for its existence. 7 The nature of matter. Criticism of Presocratic theories. 8 1st Aporia: Is matter-­as-­receptacle a body? No, because being “formless” (aneideos) it lacks quality, but also quantity, 9 inasmuch as quantity also constitutes a “formative principle” (logos). 10 The epistemological problem: How do we acquire knowledge of matter? 11 2nd Aporia: Is it perhaps mass? No, because the properties of mass, being quantitative, are due to the Form, 12 whereas matter, although it confers size, does not itself have size. 13 3rd Aporia: Is it then a quality, either positive or negative? No, it is a privation of quality. 14 Theory: Matter as privation. 15 Matter as limitlessness. 16 Matter as nonbeing receives Being and is thereby made complete.

Introduction As a philosophical term, hulē (“matter”) is found for the first time in Aristotle.1 Yet the Stagirite himself acknowledges that the corresponding notion had already been molded 1 

Previously it simply meant “timber” or “wood,” although on at least two occasions Plato appears to be



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by Plato in the Timaeus (51a4–52b5) with the introduction of the “all-­receiving” (pandechēs) principle of “space” (chōra).2 The Middle Platonists naturally proved eager to accept the identification of the Platonic chōra with the Aristotelian hulē,3 and on this point P. unhesitatingly followed suit.4 Thus, he conceived of matter as an inert and formless substrate that, through the successive introreception of intellectively derived “formative principles” (logoi), is made subject to the ceaseless becoming that characterizes the sensible world. It is altogether lacking in any kind of determination, qualitative or quantitative, and indeed is in itself nothing other than this very privation of any shape or Form whatsoever—that is, it is complete indeterminacy. This total absence of ontic status is precisely what allows it to be characterized as “nonbeing” (mē on)—that is, as “other” (heteron) than being; see my comments on I 8.3.4–18. Hence, in order for the notion of sensible matter to be constituted, the mediation of Otherness or Difference is required. From the moment that the corporeal, material universe comes to be apprehended—within a Platonic framework—as an image of an “other” (heteron) world, truer than itself and ontologically prior, its defining property and primary factor of differentiation from its model is precisely its nonbeing: that is, the fact that it does not constitute a real being, but something “other than being” (heteron tou ontos). But Otherness itself is not, of course, generically related to materiality alone; it further constitutes a category of the intelligible, a “greatest genus” (megiston genos) that pervades all beings (see VI 2.8.41–42). And in addition, it characterizes the totality of intelligible Substance—that is, the hypostasis of Intellect—in relation to its source, the One.5 It is this Otherness that constitutes both a precondition for the springing forth of Intellect from the One and also, as it were, the prime matter that is configured in the process of the Intellect’s “reversion” (epistrophē) toward It by being articulated into Forms. And just as sensible matter consists in nonbeing, so this Otherness is not-­ One, being fundamentally different from (although not, it will be observed, independent of ) the One. Yet it would be incorrect to characterize it, for this reason, as a “multiplicity” (plēthos):6 because a multiplicity—inasmuch as it is a plurality—presupposes the discriminability of its elements and, consequently, their composition by the One. grooming it as a term for designating “material” in general; see Ti. 69a6, and Phlb. 54c2. See also the comment of Ross on Arist. Metaph. Α 3, 983b7. 2  See Arist. Ph. IV 2, 209b11–13, and Cael. III 8, 306b17–20, but also the reservations of, e.g., Skemp 1960, 210–12. To refer to this same principle, Plato also makes use of the expressions “receptacle of becoming” (geneseōs hupodochē), “[wet] nurse” (tithēnē: Ti. 49a6), “matrix” or “mold” (ekmageion: 50c2), “mother” (mētēr: 51a4–5), and “seat” or “location” (hedra: 52b1). 3  See, e.g., Plut. De def. or. 414f; “Aëtius” I 9.4–5 = Dox. Gr. 308.4–9; “Alcinous” Didasc. 8, 162.29–163.8; Apul. De Plat. I 5.190; Calc. In Ti. 316, 312.19–313.2; and cf. [Ti. Locr.] De nat. 4, 205.13–206.5 and 32, 215.13–14. 4  See principally III 6.13, but the identification is also repeatedly hinted at in the present treatise. This is not, of course, to imply that P. takes over the Aristotelian concept without transforming it in crucial respects. 5  The origin of this thought is to be traced, of course, to the Second Hypothesis of Plato’s Parmenides, 143b1–6. 6  Which is what Speusippus appears to have done; see fr. 38 and 45; and also Rist 1962a, 100. Cf. V 3.12.1–5.

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Second Ennead Instead, matter is radically and limitlessly “indeterminate” (aoristos), having not the least share in the unifying and ordering intervention of the first principle. Nevertheless, the totality of Otherness is not restricted to the realm of the intelligible; it extends also, as we saw, to sensibles, as that material substrate of theirs by which they are “opposed to” or “set apart from” (antitattesthai) primary beings (see below, 16.1–2). Still, the former may be regarded as the intelligible model of sensible matter, and it was therefore thought reasonable to call it “intelligible matter” (noētē hulē). The derivation of this (at first sight) self-­contradictory philosophical concept may be roughly broken down into three constitutive factors: (a) The analysis, mainly in Plato’s Sophist, of the concept of Otherness. This, as already pointed out in my comment on I 8.3.7–12, was thought to characterize all intelligibles insofar as they are discriminable from one another and, in this respect, “nonbeing.”7 P. also atttached, however, a special importance to the role of Otherness in the Second Hypothesis of the Parmenides (143b1–8), where it is presented as a defining property differentiating “being” (ousia) from the “one” (hen). It is precisely the transcendency of the One with respect to Being (i.e., to the Intellect) that establishes the latter as antithetical to the former and, by extension, as multiple—or, perhaps more accurately, as inseverably linked to a principle of multiplicity.8 (b) Just such a principle appears in the so-­called Unwritten Doctrines of Plato, as these have been handed down to us by Aristotle, in the guise of the “Indefinite Dyad” (aoristos duas).9 This constitutes the indefinite and infinitely divisible principle that is opposed to the One but on which the One imposes its “limit” (peras), subjecting it to number or measure, and thereby giving rise to the Forms. It may accordingly be regarded as something like a shapeless intelligible substrate that, by the action of the One, is configured into an intelligible cosmos. (c) This Platonic conception of the production of the Forms appears also to be correlated with the Aristotelian employment of the expression noētē hulē that we find in Metaph. Η 6, 1045a34–36,10 where it designates the (limitless) field of incompatibility, each point of which corresponds to a specific form, while as a whole it is distinguished by an indeterminate generality.11 During the Hellenistic period and later, the concept of the Indefinite Dyad as a principle found resonance mainly among the (Neo-­)Pythagoreans.12 Of particular interest is This is not the place for me to enter into, or even so much as hint at, the details of this complex and controversial subject. See, indicatively, however, Cornford 1935, 290; and Aubenque 1962, 153–55. 8  See Eslick 1963, 42–44. 9  See Arist. Metaph. Μ 7, 1081a14, with the comment of Ross ad loc.; De bono fr. 2 = Alex. Aphrod. In Metaph. 56.18–21; and cf. Sext. Emp. Math. X 261–62. 10  The term is also found in two other passages of the Metaph., Ζ 10, 1036a9–12 and Ζ 11, 1037a4–5, where, however—as Ross notes in his comment on the former—it appears to hold a somewhat different meaning. Cf. the presentation by Ross 1951, 136, of the production of the Forms from the principles of Limit and the Unlimited in Plato’s Philebus. 11  We have here a logical extension of the description of the “genus” (genos) as the “matter” (hulē) of the “species” (eidos) in the process of division: see, e.g., Arist. Metaph. Δ 27, 1024b8–9 and Z 8, 1058a23–24; Porph. Isag. 11.14–16 and 15.6–7. See also Merlan 1960, 125–26; Rist 1962a, 106–7; and Happ 1971, 639–47. 12  See Alexander Polyhistor apud Diog. Laert. VIII 25; and Theiler 1970a, 474–78. 7 



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the view ascribed to them by Eudorus apud Simpl. In Ph. 181.10–30 (trans. Kahn with additions), according to whom “one must say that the Pythagoreans teach that on the highest account the One is [sc., the sole and supreme] principle of all things, but on the second account there are two . . . elements [sc., subordinate to the first principle], the One and the Indefinite Dyad; and it is clear that the One that is principle of all things is distinct from the One opposed to the Dyad, which they also call the Monad.” Yet although Eudorus apparently posited a second One as the opposite of the Indefinite Dyad, the Pythagorean tradition he drew on regarded this as a mere hypostasis of the original monad, in combination with which it generated the numbers, etc.13 This passage has certainly provoked extensive discussion in recent years,14 but it acquires fresh interest to the extent that we can give credence to the conjecture of Dillon 1977, 128, that Eudorus held the Forms to be thoughts of the Creator God. For if the Demiurge’s intellect constitutes the “space” (chōra) of the Forms (cf. Philo Opif. 19–20 and Cher. 14), then, on the basis of the Peripatetic noetic,15 before the Demiurge turns to his source in order to be “illuminated” and informed by it, he will be potentially receptive of all the Forms, that is, a “material intellect” (nous hulikos).16 At any rate, although we lack any positive evidence that Eudorus (or the Pythagoreans) employed the expression “intelligible matter” to refer to this state of the demiurgic Intellect,17 we find P. taking precisely the step of identifying noētē hulē with the initial, inchoate phase of the hypostasis of Intellect (this being, in his view, none other than the Demiurge; see my comment on VP 20.92–96), during which it remains a “potentiality” (dunamis) and a “sight clear of impression” (atupōtos opsis).18 We see, therefore, that the notion of intelligible matter in P. is deeply rooted in the Pythagorean-­Platonic theory of “principles” (archai), as well as in Peripatetic noology, and that it does not represent a mere corollary of the multiplicity of the Forms (as is the opinion of, e.g., Szlezák 1979, 73). Nor is it the product of an awkward projection of the hylomorphic analysis of sensibles onto the realm of the intelligible. In contradistinction See Alex. Pol. op. cit.; and Rist 1962b, 391–93. See the bibliography provided by Mansfeld 1988, 96nn.13 and 14. 15  Both Jones 1926, 325; and Rich 1954, 131–32, stress the Peripatetic parameters of the theory of the Forms as thoughts of God. Conversely, Krämer 1967, 123–24 (and elsewhere) views the same theory as a constitutive element of Xenocrates’ “Nus-­Theologie.” 16  Cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 106.19–26; indeed, Xenarchus had identified Intellect with a “prime matter” (primam materiam) that Alexander of Aphrodisias apud Philop. In De int. III 4, 15.67.9, took to be none other than Aristotelian prōtē hulē, but that appears to have been “prime” only in the sense that it preceded the constitution of both the intelligible and the sensible universe; cf. Moderatus’ “primal Non-­Being” (mē on prōtōs) apud Simpl. In Ph. 231.4. An analogous role is played in the Gnostic Apocryphon of John = NHC II 1, 4.27–5.6 by Barbelo-­“ Thought” (Ennoia), who is also described as prōtē dunamis (“first power”). 17  Something of the kind does not, at any rate, appear improbable, if we think of the well-­known distortion he appears to have attempted on the text of Arist. Metaph. Α 6, 988a10–11; see Alex. Aphrod. In Metaph. 59.1–8. Prior to P., we only find the term noētē hulē as equivalent to the “indefinite dyad” in the fragment of the mysterious Aquilinus (on whom, see my comment on VP 16.3) apud John Lydus Mens. IV 76, 128.15–17, but it was perhaps also so employed by Numenius, if indeed we can trace to him the pertinent remarks of Calc. In Ti. 278, 283.8–11, in accordance with the surmise of van Winden 1959, 43 and 65. See also, however, the previous note regarding Xenarchus, as well as Alex. Aphrod. In Metaph. 59.27. 18  See III 8.11.2–6, V 1.5.14–15, V 3.11.4–12; and Bussanich 1988, 118–20. 13 

14 

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Second Ennead to “sensible” matter, it does not consist in nonbeing; rather, it represents the primary manifestation of the Ontic itself, and as such constitutes a pure contrariety to the transcendency of the One. It is the primal not-­One, the formless, pre-­intellective result of divergence from the absolute unity of the supreme principle. In its initial manifestation it presents itself as an indeterminate possibility of the constitution of a Being multiple within its unity, but from the moment that it apprehends itself as “other” (heteron) than the absolute One, it comes to be informed and articulated into an intelligible universe; see my comment on I 6.9.34–37. It thus constitutes the ontological counterpart of the as yet “unilluminated” passive intellect that the active intellect activates and articulates into Forms, like a prism that resolves a band of white light into a phantasmagoric variety of colors.

Commentary Title:At VP 4.45 and 24.46, Porphyry gives the title of the present treatise as “On the Two Kinds of Matter,” which corresponds more accurately with its content, in view of its clear division into two parts, the first one (chapters 1–5) dealing with intelligible matter, and the second (chapters 6–16) with the matter of sensibles. It is also the case, however, that P. himself refers to this same treatise by the expression “the discussions concerning matter” (I 8.15.2), without this of course implying, as Harder notes ad loc., any definite commitment with regard to some particular title; see VP 4.17–18. 1.1–4. Τὴν λεγομένην . . . φέρονται:On the identification of Aristotelian matter as “substrate” (hupokeimenon: see, e.g., Arist. Ph. I 8, 192a31, Metaph. Δ 28, 1024b9 and Gen. corr. I 4, 320a2–4) with the “receptacle” of Plato’s Timaeus, see the beginning of my introduction. P. often assumes as the starting point of his investigation the “common conceptions” (koinai ennoiai) concerning the subject at hand (cf. I 8.3.12, III 5.1.4, III 7.1.4, VI 5.1.2, VI 8.1.17), thus engaging in a practice analogous to Aristotle’s “setting out what is commonly said” (tithenai ta phainomena: on which see Owen 1961, 85–88), but also—as revealed by the very term he employs—in one directly influenced by the role that such “common conceptions” played in Stoic epistemology. In P.’s philosophical thought, however, these—as noted by Phillips 1987, 38–45—have been turned into innate intellectual predispositions that, although frequently somewhat vague and general, are capable of being rendered precise and of being made conscious through the cognitive process of “recollection” (anamnēsis), as was the case with the “natural conceptions” (phusikai ennoiai) of “Alcinous” (see, e.g., Didasc. 4, 155.27–34). 1.7–11. οἱ μὲν . . . εἶναι:P. is referring to the Stoics (SVF 2:320), whose materialistic ontology admitted only material bodies as onta (“beings”) and identified ousia (“substance”) with matter; see SVF 1:85, 87 and 2:316, 329, 525. According to them, when the passive or “unqualified” (apoios), inchoate “prime matter” (prōtē hulē) undergoes alteration through the action of the fundamental natural qualities—the hot, cold, dry, and wet—it assumes the form of the four elements (SVF 2:580) that compose the universe.



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Consequently, the Stoics were able to describe any being on the basis of their system of categories as “matter” (ousia), “qualified” (poia) in a certain manner depending on “how it is disposed” (pōs echon); cf. VI 1.29.10–16; and Sorabji 1988, 89–90. 1.11–13. καὶ δὴ . . . εἶναι:An attempt is made here to reduce the theology of the Stoics to absurdity by means of an argument that, from P.’s point of view, seems plausible: because the two “principles” (archai) of Stoic natural philosophy—“the active” (to poioun), that is, God; and “the passive” (to paschon), that is, matter (see SVF 1:85)—are always inseparable and may only be distinguished in thought, God will in reality subsist merely as a particular disposition of matter, even if, in himself, he is to be conceived as only the cause of this disposition; see Rist 1969, 259; and cf. Calc. In Ti. 294, 296.19–297.2 (= SVF 1:87). Graeser 1972, 36–37, has shown that this line of argument was already familiar within the Platonic tradition (but cf. also Alex. Aphrod. De mixt. 11, 224.32–225.18 = SVF 2:310; and Sorabji 1988, 93–95) and that it leads—as revealed by the parallel passage in “On the Kinds of Being” (VI 1.27.1–14)—to the following dilemma: God is either to be identified with qualified matter, or else he must consist in an abstract theoretical construct, if not in a mere “name” (onoma: cf. IV 7.4.8–18). 1.13–14. διδόασι δὲ . . . μέγεθος δὲ:Cf. SVF 2:300, 309, 318, 326; and my comment on I 8.10.1–11.1. 1.14–18. οἱ δὲ . . . οὐσίαις:By contrast to the Stoics, the Peripatetics considered matter to be “not a body, although bodily” (ou sōma, sōmatikē de) in the expression of Ar. Did. fr. ph. 2, 448.3–4, given that, from their viewpoint, matter is lacking in the totality of qualities and quantities that comprise the attributes of corporeal entities; cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. 3.25–27; and Guthrie 1962–81, 6:227. Aristotle himself had described matter as “potentially body” (dunamei sōma: Gen. corr. II 1, 329a33), an expression that found favor among the Middle Platonists: see “Alcinous” Didasc. 8, 163.8, with Whittaker’s n.148; Apul. De Plat. I 5, 192; and van Winden 1959, 167–68. P. was to embrace the Peripatetic position wholeheartedly (see below, 9.4–5), but what primarily interests him at this juncture is to establish a distinction between two kinds of matter, of which only the first is dunamei sōma, given that it represents the substrate of sensible bodies, whereas the second (as discussed in my introduction to this treatise) is what is configured into incorporeal intelligible Forms. 2.1–2. Διὸ . . . πῶς ἐστιν:The three questions posed here concern intelligible matter, the existence of which is more subject to doubt (compare “all” at 1.3 with “some” at 1.15), and they establish a framework for the aporiai to follow, which, in turn, anticipate in outline the whole first part of the treatise. 2.2–4. εἰ δὴ . . . εἴη:A1:The first of a series of aporiai that concern the existence and the nature of intelligible matter. The dialectical aim behind the posing of these aporiai is to make evident that there is a lack of correspondence between the two kinds of matter, which renders inoperative the conception of the intelligible world as a mere reduplica-

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Second Ennead tion of the sensible one. Nevertheless, as will be made clear later on, the characterization of the first kind as “intelligible matter” is not arbitrary, given that it is distinguished by indefiniteness and shapelessness just as much as the “sensible” kind (cf. I 8.3.12–18, with my comment; VI 3.2.27; and Heinemann 1926, 8–9). 2.5–6. καὶ εἰ . . . τὸ σύνθετον:A2:Simplicity is a direct consequence of the constitutional unity of the Forms; cf., e.g., III 5.7.55–56. On the other hand, however, this unity is not absolute, as it is in the case of the One, and accordingly both Intellect and its component Forms are constituted as a “multiple unity” (hen polla; cf. V 3.15.10–22). 2.6–8. καὶ γινομένοις . . . δὲ οὔ:A3:As is well known, the concept of matter was introduced by Aristotle in order to provide an explanation for the phenomenon of coming to be, as its characterization by the term “substrate” (hupokeimenon) suggests; see Arist. Ph. I 7, and Metaph. Η 5, 1044b27–29. What sense would there be, then, in the presence of matter in the world of intelligible beings, from which all coming to be is categorically excluded? 2.8–10. πόθεν δὲ . . . πλείους: A4:The passage is to be read as an indirect question dependent on zētēteon (“we must inquire”) in l. 1, with the de complementing the proteron (“first”) mentioned there. What it poses is the problem of the origin of intelligible matter. Like the matter underlying sensibles, it will either be an “everlasting principle” (aidios archē) independent of the One, or it will consist in a hupostasis of the One. The Middle Platonists for the most part embraced the first view, but at least some of the Neopythagoreans gravitated toward the second, as evidenced, for example, by the somewhat confused and presumably even contradictory formulation of Nicomachus of Gerasa, Ar. I 1.3, 2.17–18: “of the everlasting principle and hypostasis of matter” (tēs ex archēs aidiou hulēs kai hupostaseōs). 2.10: κατὰ συντυχίαν:In a genuinely dualistic system, there is no relation of logical “opposition” or “contrariety” (enantiotēs) binding the two principles; accordingly their conjunction is, at bottom, fortuitous. Such is the starting assumption for the “rash statement” (tolmēros logos) that P. holds up to examination at VI 8.7.11 ff. 2.10–12. κἂν . . . σῶμα:A5. 3.1–3. οὐ πανταχοῦ . . . ἀρίστοις: Solution of A1: Indefiniteness and shapelessness had always been regarded as characteristically antithetical to the eidetic nature of Being, and they were for that reason attributed to the principle contraposed to the Forms, namely, matter: see, e.g., Arist. Ph. IV 2, 209b9; Metaph. Ζ 11, 1037a27; Pl. Ti. 50d7 and 51a7. Yet the Plotinian One can also, inasmuch as it transcends Substance, be characterized as “formless” (aneideon), that is, indefinite and shapeless; see V 5.6.4–6, VI 9.3.1–5; Rist 1967b, 24–30; and Theiler 1970b, 292–94. These exact same (negative) features are also reflected in the first image of the One, the primary hypostasis springing forth from It: the inchoate intelligible substrate that, when it turns back toward its source, comes to be



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informed and configured as an intelligible world; cf. Rist 1962a, 101. Of course, this inchoate phase of Intellect cannot be grasped in itself, but only by abstraction, “in thought” (kat’ epinoian). 3.4–5. οἷόν τι . . . ἀγομένη: The soul—or, as the Peripatetics would say, the material intellect—is “illuminated,” activated, and informed by the rational principles that come to it from Intellect; cf. II 5.3.13–14, III 9.5.1–3, V 1.7.36–43, V 8.3.3–9; Simons 1985, 65; and my comments on I 1.8.1–3 and I 2.2.23–26. 3.5–9. ἔν τε . . . καὶ μᾶλλον:Solution of A2: Compositeness in the realm of the intelligible arises from the interweaving of the Genera and the Forms into a firm and immutable web of conceptual interdependencies that render it unitary in its multiplicity. 3.9–16. ἡ δὲ . . . ἑκατέρα:Solution of A3: Contrary to what happens in the case of sensibles, which are subject to becoming, each Form always subsists in actuality and, in addition, contains—that is, presupposes, because of its a priori interconnections—all the others; cf. V 3.15.20–26, V 8.4.4–8. Hence, intelligible matter lacks the fluidity and temporariness of the entities constituted from its sensible correlate, because, while the matter of sensibles is itself always informed, albeit by a succession of different Forms (cf. my comment on I 8.15.23–28), intelligible matter is permanently crystallized into an unalterable hierarchical order. 3.16–17. τὸ δὲ . . . ἔσται:The treatment of A4 is postponed until II 4.5.24 ff. 4.2. ἐν ἄλλοις:Cf. V 9 [5].3–4. 4.2–7. εἰ οὖν . . . τὸ ὑποκείμενον:Responding to A5 provides P. with the opportunity to analyze the role of intelligible matter in the composition of the Forms. The establishment of a correspondence between the elements of a definition (namely, the proximate genus and the specific difference) and the components of sensible substances (namely, matter and form) constituted a part of Aristotle’s solution to the problem of definition: just as matter has the capacity successively to receive mutually opposing qualities and to be configured into the corresponding sensible entities, so the genus constitutes the substrate of the mutually opposing differences by which it is configured into “essences” (ti ēn einai); see Arist. Metaph. Δ 6, 1016a24–28, Δ 28, 1024b8–9, Ζ 12, 1038a5–9, H 6, 1045a14–35; Porph. Isag. 11.12–17; Cherniss 1944, 174n.98; and Happ 1971, 639–47. Cf. Ammon. In De int. 71.7–22. Extending this line of thought in a direction that the Stagirite would not have been disposed to follow, P. considers that there is something “common” (koinon) to all the Forms, a property that they all share and that constitutes for them something like a highest genus. This can be nothing other than their property of being Forms, or their “eideticity,” as we might term it. Now it is precisely in such a Form of Forms—which understandably, from the perspective of a Platonic ontology, takes precedence over individual Forms—that intelligible matter consists. Conversely, this inchoate and unitary substrate is partitioned by the differentia of

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Second Ennead the divisional process and articulated into Forms: “for every species occurs with a dividing differentia” (omnis enim species cum diuisibili differentia est: Boeth. De diff. top. I, 1178C trans. Stump; and see also Stump 1978, 259). 4.8–20. εἰ κόσμος . . . ἐν αὐτῷ:Intellect, whether as intelligizing subject or as objective hypostasis-­model of the sensible entities, is often characterized by P. as “an intelligible universe” (kosmos noētos); cf. II 9.4.30, 5.30, III 3.5.17, III 4.3.22–23, III 8.11.36, V 9.9.7, VI 2.22.37, VI 9.5.12–21. The expression comes from within the Platonic tradition (cf. Philo Opif. 19 and elsewhere; and Isnardi Parente 1984, 110–11), and it connotes, over and above the systematic arrangement prevailing within Intellect, the existence of a correspondence between it and its reflected image, the sensible universe. It is this morphological correspondence that justifies the recourse to the term hulē (“matter”) with regard to the realm of the intelligible; see above, my comment on 2.2–4. Yet the model-­image relation also entails certain reversals (cf. my comment on I 8.13.14–26). Among intelligibles, the configurable principle ontologically precedes what is configured within it. In addition, intelligible matter constitutes a factor of unification, not of dispersal and partition, as is instead the case with the matter pertaining to sensibles (cf. I 6.3.8–9 and V 9.10.9–10). In Alexander of Aphrodisias, variety and polymorphousness are depicted as characteristics of intellect “with the disposition” (en hexei), that is, of “material” intellect after it has been configured by the (sensible) forms and has consequently been perfected and conditioned to “apprehension of the universal”; see De an. 85.10–86.1, and Szlezák 1979, 137–38. 5.1–4. Εἰ δ’ . . . ὅμως:Cf. above, my comment on 3.9–16. Rounding off his response to A5, P. feels obligated to explore the similarities and differences between the two kinds of matter. 5.4–9. καὶ νοῦς . . . ἥγηται: Two diametrically opposed intellectual processes are presented here as analogous; cf. Alex. Aphrod. In Metaph. 55.5–8. In the first, the material constituent of a body is progressively resolved into ever simpler kinds of matter, until one arrives at the matter “that is last by resolution, which is ‘prime matter’ in the proper sense (hē kai kuriōs esti prōtē)” (trans. after Dooley: see Alex. Aphrod. op. cit. 430.1–9; and cf. Arist. Mete. I 3, 339a37–b2); this cannot be resolved further and consequently remains “dark” and inaccessible to the analytical functions of the intellect. In the second, the Forms themselves are resolved into progressively higher and more comprehensive genera, a process that—as hinted at by “Alcinous” Didasc. 5, 157.11–12—corresponds to the “ascent” (anodos) from the cave in Plato’s Republic. But whereas the ascent there leads to the light—or, according to the interpretation of “Alcinous,” to the “primary intelligibles” (prōta noēta)—here we see it culminating again in a kind of darkness, because the unlimited generality and indefiniteness that characterize intelligible matter render it inaccessible to the functions of the intellect ordained for the grasping of determinate “formative principles.”



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I believe that we can here discover the seeds of that notion of the “cloud of unknowing” that was to play such a significant role in medieval mysticism, and that referred to the “place” (topos) beyond substance wherein God “resides”; see [Dion. Areop.] Myst theol. 3, 1000–1001, and Ep. V, 1074. 5.9–12. ὥσπερ ὀφθαλμὸς . . . χρώμασι:Cf. I 6.3.17–25, 9.30–31, and I 8.4.28–32, with my comments. On color as light mixed with matter, see IV 5.7.35–41. 5.12–20. διάφορόν γε . . . τὸ ὑποκείμενον:We now turn to address their differences. Whereas intelligible matter refers to the unlimited vitality and compactness of the intelligible realm—which, for precisely this reason, is also called “Life” (zōē: see VI 7.17.11–16)—the matter of sensibles represents the total lack of any ontic status whatsoever (see my comment on I 4.3.33–40). Furthermore, the “enmattered form” (enulon eidos)—the “shape” that is projected onto matter in the fashioning of sensible bodies— is but an “apparition” (phantasma), an image of real Being (leading Igal 1982–98, 1:68, aptly to characterize the Plotinian theory of participation as a “pseudo-­hylomorphism”), whereas intelligible matter is instead articulated into true beings, the Forms. This difference corresponds to the one indicated by de Vogel [1959]/1970, 379, between the chōra of the Timaeus and the “unlimited” (apeiron) of the Philebus. 5.20–21: τοὺς λέγοντας οὐσίαν τὴν ὕλην:The Stoics are meant here. Cf. above, 1.7–11, with my comment. 5.22–23. τὸ γὰρ ὑποκείμενον . . . οὐσία:Cf. II 5.3.13. 5.24–28. πότερα δὲ . . . κόσμος:Like the intelligible realm as a whole, intelligible matter is of course distinguished by its eternity, with which it is even identified; see III 7.3.36– 38. Yet, inasmuch as it is not entirely self-­subsistent, but is ontologically derived from, and dependent on, the One, it may also be regarded as something genēton (“generated” or “originated”), in a special sense of the term. We know that Calvenus Taurus had untertaken a meticulous semantic analysis of the word genētos in the context of his atemporal interpretation of the cosmogony of the Timaeus, and that later on Porphyry complemented his efforts by adding two new meanings; see Philop. Aet. mund. VI 8, 146.2–149.6, and my introduction to II 1. The last of the four meanings distinguished by Taurus—being “what is generated by virtue of a cause” (to kat’ aitian genēton), as Philoponus dubs it—refers precisely to the condition of ontological dependence on something else (and, in the particular case that concerned our Middle Platonist, to the dependence of the universe on God). From there it was a relatively simple step to transfer the use of the term—somewhat paradoxically, to be sure—even to the realm of the intelligible, once the Intellect itself had come to be regarded as a hypostasis dependent on the supreme principle. It is worth observing, finally, that P. appears to have also had in mind—insofar as the universe was concerned— the third of the meanings analyzed by Taurus, “as being always in a process of becoming” (katho aei en tōi gignesthai estin).

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Second Ennead 5.28–31. καὶ γὰρ . . . καὶ ἑτερότης:Otherness itself, as a constitutive “greatest genus” of the intelligible, is of course connate with the intelligible world and, like it, eternal. Here, however, it appears alongside “Motion” (kinēsis) as a principle of intelligible matter, and consequently of Being. The correlation of Motion with Otherness and Nonbeing is familiar from Plato’s dialogues (see Ti. 57d7–58a1, 74a5–7; Prm. 146a3–7; and Soph. 256c5–e3), and it appears to have held an important position in his oral teaching as well: see Arist. Ph. III 2, 201b18–28; Eudemus fr. 60; and Gaiser 1968, 190–91. But in P., it takes on the meaning of procession from the One, which precedes the hypostasis of Being; cf. VI 7.16.14–19. This line of thought also explains one of Simplicius’ statements (In Ph. 432.16–17) that has come down to us in a somewhat damaged state, and in which it is averred that “rightly, and exactly like Plotinus, Aristotle did not place among beings even the generation itself [i.e., the kinēsis] of Being” (kalōs Aristotelēs ouk en tois ‹ousin oude› genesin autēn etheto tou ontos, hōsper Plōtinos). Simplicius must have understood that the aboriginal Otherness and Motion relate to the emergence of the inchoate intelligible substrate from the supra-­substantial One, and accordingly do not constitute differentiae or subdivisions internal to Being (as was the view of, e.g., Alex. Aphrod. apud Simpl. op. cit. 430.13–21), but rather categories that perfuse its very constitution. 5.31–37. ἀόριστον δὲ . . . παρ’ ἄλλου:With characteristic circumspection, the initial phases of the Plotinian “dialectic” are now disclosed. From the Good there spring forth Otherness and Motion as an “activity” (energeia), being manifested as an indefinite and formless Life. This Life is solely infused by a propensity to turn back to its source; but this turning back gives rise to its “illumination,” its definition, and hence, finally, to its composition into an intelligible universe, in the hypostasis of Intellect; see VI 7.21.4–6; and Hadot 1960, 133–35. Inasmuch as this primary Otherness is otherness in respect of the One, it comprises an element of plurality—not, however, as any definitely configured multiplicity, but rather as an unlimited potentiality for the production of such, which is the reason why it is said to be “indefinite” (aoristos); see Rist 1962a, 99–100; and Krämer 1967, 313. As we have already seen, however (see above, my comment on 5.4–9), this indefiniteness causes it to remain obscure as long as it is still “unilluminated”—although following its “reversion” (epistrophē), of course, it will be “illuminated” and informed. On this point I find myself unable to accept the analysis of Corrigan 1986, 170–72 (see also 1988, 22–23, and 1996, 278–81), who reads the phrase phōs ouk echei aei (“does not everlastingly have light,” i.e., has it but not always) as aei ouk echei phōs (“eternally does not have light,” i.e., never has it). 6.1–11. Περὶ δὲ . . . δεικνῦσα:P. introduces the notion of the matter of sensible entities (see above, my comment on 1.1–4) with a brief review of the Aristotelian arguments on the necessity of its existence. Coming-­to-­be and passing-­away, the alternation of shapes and qualities, presupposes some substrate that is able successively to receive contrary forms, and thus to be configured on every occasion into qualitatively determined bodies: see Arist. Ph. I 7, 190a31–191a5; Metaph. Λ 1, 1069b3–9; Gen. corr. I 4, 320a2–6.



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6.11–17. καὶ ἡ ἀνάλυσις . . . καὶ εἴδους:The argument “from reduction” (ek tēs analuseōs) leads us to the notion of primary matter, an entirely shapeless substrate that lacks any quality, even the most elementary ones that characterize the simplest bodies, the elements; cf. Arist. Gen. corr. II 1, 329a15–31; and Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. II 20, 64.15–21. Concerning the reduction of gold to water, see my comment on II 1.6.46–52. 6.18–19. ἡ δὲ . . . μὴ εἶδος:See my comment on I 8.3.12–18. 7.1–2. Ἐμπεδοκλῆς δὲ . . . αὐτῶν:P. continues to advance along the path forged by Aristotle: the criticism he levels against the Presocratics focuses on their failure to distinguish that tertium quid that underlies the alternation of opposites. Cf. Arist. Gen. corr. II 1, 329b1–3; also Emped. 31A28 and fr. B8 DK. 7.2–13. Ἀναξαγόρας δὲ . . . πῶς οὐκ ἀδύνατον:Even in respect of Anaxagoras, P.’s criticism is again based on Aristotle’s: the identification of Anaxagoras’ “mixture” (migma: it is doubtful that the term itself can be ascribed to him; at any rate, see Arist. Ph. I 4, 187a23, Metaph. Γ 7, 1012a28; and Simpl. In Ph. 154.30 and 155.24) with Aristotelian “matter” (hulē) is their common starting point (arbitrary though this certainly is; see Cherniss 1935, 56–57), while the description of its constituents as existing within it “in actuality” (energeiai) is a direct allusion to the words of Metaph. Λ 2, 1069b20–21. On the other hand, the objection that the mechanistic logic of Anaxagoras’ cosmology essentially deprives the “Mind” (nous), which he himself had introduced as a principle, of any role corresponds to the famous passage from Socrates’ philosophical “autobiography” in Plato’s Phaedo, 98b8–c2, where Anaxagoras is criticized for “making no use of Mind.” P. adds that the prior existence in matter of the “forms” (eidē: cf. ideas in Anaxag. fr. B4 DK) would render laborious the intervention of the Demiurge (i.e., of Mind) for their reconstitution by way of “separation” (diakrisis: cf. fr. B13 DK). He shows particular sensitivity toward the question of whether the material principle is posterior to, or simultaneous with, Mind. His judgment that for Anaxagoras these principles were “simultaneous” (i.e., independent of each other) finds some support in fr. B1, 5 and 17 DK, although the argument he deploys against this viewpoint is totally anachronistic. Finally, P. once again expresses his misgivings with regard to Anaxagoras’ contention that “in everything there is a portion of everything” (en panti pantos moira enesti) (fr. B11: see my comment on II 1.6.21–24). 7.13–20. ὁ δὲ . . . δῆλον:The way in which P. introduces the conjectural identification of the material principle of the universe with the “Unbounded” or “Unlimited” (apeiron) shows that the thinker he has in mind here is Anaximander; cf. fr. A1, 11, 14, and B1 DK. As will become clear below (15.10–12), P. was ready to agree with this formulation, provided that the apeiron would be conceived neither as a being nor as a formative principle, but as a total absence of determination. Having thus in mind his own third solution, he rejects both of the versions Aristotle put forward in the course of criticizing the view of the Pythagoreans (Ph. III 5, 204a8–16; Aristotle appears to have correlated this view with that of Anaximander, to whom he referred a little earlier and would revert later, at

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Second Ennead 204b22–29). The apeiron cannot be “a being in itself ” (auto ti on), that is, a substance (as they believed), but neither can it be something “incidental” (sumbebēkos), as in the latter case it would not constitute a self-­subsisting “principle” (archē). 7.20–28. ἀλλ’ οὐδὲ . . . ἐν τούτοις:The atomists are the last to make an appearance in this doxographical digression. The sequence here is the same as the one Aristotle had followed in the critique of his predecessors at Metaph. Λ 2, 1069b20–23, a fact that led Bréhier, for one, to suspect that P. may drawing on some Peripatetic commentary to this “theological” work of the Stagirite’s. On the other hand, the atomists are dealt with in a highly doctrinaire manner that betrays the characteristic contempt usually felt by Platonists toward their materialist opponents. The argument does not extend beyond a few bare allusions and a vague reference, possibly—as Harder notes—to III 1.3.1–29. 8.1–2. Τίς οὖν . . . λεγομένη: None of the characterizations applied to matter attributes to it any positive feature. The first two refer to the shapeless and unvarying homogeneity of matter, which, being devoid of any quality or determination, cannot possibly be differentiated from itself or display any kind of discontinuity; cf. Alex. Aphrod. De mixt. 1, 213.16 and his characterization of matter as “simple” (haplē) at De an. 4.18, but also Arist. Ph. I 7, 191a12–3, Metaph. Δ 6, 1016a28. As concerns its lack of quality, see I 8.10.2–11, with my comment; and Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. I 15, 27.21–23. 8.2–3. καὶ ὅτι μὲν . . . ἕξει:The complete absence of quality entails incorporeality, inasmuch as anything corporeal is necessarily determined qualitatively and quantitatively; see above, my comment on 1.14–18. Cf. also below, 12.34–35 and III 6.7.3–7. 8.3–10. λέγοντες δὲ . . . οὐδὲ σχῆμα:P. makes it clear that he is not talking about matter in its relative sense, that is, about the material that bodies contain or of which they are made, but about that “prime” matter devoid of properties that, in the words of Aristotle, “in itself is neither a particular thing nor of a certain quantity nor assigned to any other of the categories by which being is determined” (Metaph. Ζ 3, 1029a20–21). This is because even the four elements are determined, as we know, by the basic pairs of qualities hot-­cold and dry-­wet, while matter in this latter sense underlies them all, but without possessing any of them (cf. Arist. Gen. corr. II 1, 329a25–32). The distinction between matter “in relation to something else” (pros ti) and matter “simply” or “absolutely” (haplōs) is lucidly spelled out by Philop. Aet. mund. XI 1, 409.20– 28. 8.11–12. οὐ τοίνυν . . . εἶναι: Volume does not constitute an inherent feature of bodies (as, e.g., Moderatus apud Simpl. In Ph. 231.9–12, appears to have believed), but comes to them rather from the Forms through “formative principles” (logoi), and inheres in them as quantity; cf. III 6.16.1–18.23. 8.13–14. ἁπλοῦν καὶ ἕν τι:See above, my comment on 8.1–2.



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8.14. πάντων ἔρημος:Cf. III 6.9.37–38 and 14.12. 8.14–23. καὶ ὁ μορφὴν . . . ἔσται:Matter does not in any way bind the form that configures it; it is incapable of putting up any resistance of its own (see, however, my comment on II 3.16.41–54) and is therefore entirely plastic, infinitely extendible and “tractable” (euagōgos); cf. SVF 2:303, 1107; and Cic. Acad. I 27. 8.24–30. τὸ δὲ εἶδος . . . ἀριθμὸς ὄν:The volume of any sensible body is a function of the (seminal) “formative principle” (logos) that configures and composes it, and at the same time regulates the extension it will occupy in space. Every Form also sets certain boundaries within which the volume of the sensible bodies coming within its purview may fluctuate; beyond that, each body is characterized as “great” or “small” in relation to “things of the same kind” (homogenē); cf. III 6.16.1–24, VI 3.11.13–21; and also Arist. Cat. 6, 5b18–20. 9.1–11. Πῶς οὖν . . . οὐ τηλικόνδε:P. now turns his attention to the epistemological problem relating to matter, one that had occupied him repeatedly, because the difficulties it poses are indeed serious; cf. I 8.9. The first of these, perhaps of (Neo-­)Pythagorean inspiration, has to do with the possibility of acquiring knowledge of anything that is not “possessed of quantity or magnitude” (poson), that is, something that is not quantitatively determined, given that it would then have to be “indefinite” (aoristos), and hence incapable of being grasped by our cognitive faculties; cf. Num. fr. 4a.2–4. P. rejects the basic premise of this aporia; in his view, quantity is not identical to, nor does it define, being. Consequently beings, which are the objects of knowledge, are not “possessed of quantity” (posa); for if they were, they would be on a par with sensibles: and this would undermine the whole Platonic theory of Forms, as “Parmenides” had already shown in the homonymous dialogue (130e5–132b2). Thus not even “Quantity” (posotēs) itself—as a Form—is quantitatively determined, but it constitutes, instead, the cause of the quantitative determination of whatever participates in it. This distinction is expressed by means of the paronymous pair of terms posotēs-­poson, which corresponds to the relation between eidetic model and sensible image—as is the case also with the pairs poiotēs-­ poion (“quality”-­“qualified”) and leukotēs-­leukon (“whiteness”-­“white”)—and which eliminates the possibility of self-­predication where intelligibles are concerned; see also Rist 1964, 59. Yet neither can “being possessed of quantity,” inasmuch as it is a manifestation of intelligible “Quantity,” characterize matter itself, given that the latter consists in the absence of any intelligible trace; cf. III 6.17.1–4, and my comment on I 8.4.22–24. On the other hand, every body is necessarily quantitatively determined (see, e.g., IV 7.81.17); it follows that matter is not a body, but rather is “incorporeal” (asōmatos). Cf. III 6.6.3, and above, my comments on 1.14–18 and 8.11–12. 9.11–15. τὸ τὶ πηλίκον . . . οὖσαν:The Form through its formative manifestation, the (seminal) logos, projects an image of itself onto matter, thereby informing it. In the same

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Second Ennead way it endows it with volume and dimensions, not by “uncoiling” it from a limited space (as “Poimandres” appears to have understood the process; see CH I 4, 7.18–19), but by imposing on it something that it lacks entirely of itself. 10.1–10. Τί οὖν . . . συγκείμενον: The epistemological problem is thus posed again, but now on a different basis: if intellection has beings as its object, how is it possible for their opposite, indefiniteness, to be grasped in thought? The principle that the like is known by its like (cf. I 8.1.8) appears to rule out any such possibility. And even Aristotle argued that “the underlying nature is knowable by analogy” (kat’ analogian) (Ph. I 7, 191a7–8). Nevertheless, indefiniteness may be cognitively accessed through its definition: in this the notion of Being is interwoven with that of Difference, resulting in the creation of a rational presentation that does not, however, correspond to some unitary intellective act, and that in this respect may be said to be “bastard” (nothos); cf. my comment on I 8.9.14–26. 10.11. ὁ Πλάτων . . . εἶναι:Cf. Pl. Ti. 52b2, and “Alcinous” Didasc. 8, 162.32. 10.12–20. τίς οὖν . . . εἰδοποιήσει ἤδη:Cf. I 8.4.28–32, with my comment; and Happ 1971, 674–75. 10.20–31. ὅταν οὖν . . . οὐ νοοῦσα:Because matter, although nonbeing, is not identical with nonexistence (see I 8.3.6–7, with my comment), neither will our apprehension of it be entirely void. Yet its presence is deducible indirectly through a rational process of analysis and abstraction from the representations of sensibles, and hence, in the final analysis, from the distortions exhibited by the Forms as they are “mirrored” in it; cf. my comment on I 8.8.13–24. 10.31–35. καὶ ἐπειδὴ . . . ἑστάναι: But just as in the sensible world matter cannot exist without the bonds of “formative principles” (logoi: cf. I 8.15.23–28, with my comment), so its apprehension by the soul requires that it be invested with some shape, even if only as a proxy for its participation in Being; see O’Brien 1981, 115. 11.1–13. Καὶ τί . . . κενὸν εἶναι:The crucial and methodical aporia that is here developed in three stages will determine the course of the argument to follow in the rest of this chapter and the next: S1 (ll. 1–4) sees the concept of matter as receptacle of the Forms (see above, 1.1–2) identified with that of onkos, a term that I translate—somewhat anachronistically—as “mass,” following the suggestion of LexPlot, s.v., which, in turn, reflects the renditions of MacKenna, Harder, Armstrong, and Igal ad loc. (Cf. Sorabji 1988, 8–9. A notable precedent for this meaning may be found in Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. II 12, 57.19, if we accept Spengler’s emendation of the text.) A corollary of this identification is that matter will necessarily possess extension in space, that is, volume. S2 (ll. 4–7) and S3 (ll. 7–13) are complementary to S1, the three of them together echoing a well-­developed objection to the conception of matter as an incorporeal and



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sizeless hypostasis—an objection that may have been of Stoic origin (cf. above, 1.13–14; SVF 2:323, 323a; and Philop. Aet. mund. XI 1, 409.20–28; but see also the reservations of Sorabji 1988, 36–38, and 1987, 34–37)—but alternatively may possibly have sprung from the armory of criticism that the Platonists Lucius and Nicostratus had deployed in the middle of the second century CE against Aristotle’s Categories. (Both Bréhier in his pertinent “Notice,” 51, and Armstrong 1962, 427–28, have upheld the Platonic provenance of the aporia.) Simplicius reports “Lucius’ circle” (hoi peri ton Loukion) as maintaining that certain features of a body such as color, figure, and magnitude constitute “parts completive of a substance” (merē sumplērōtika tēs ousias), and that consequently— in accordance with the definition provided by Aristotle at Cat. 2, 1a24–25—they are not “in a subject” (en hupokeimenōi: In Cat. 48.1–11; the relevant passage is reproduced below, in my introduction to II 6). Extending this line of thought, one could argue that, because these features are also assuredly not said “of a subject” (kath’ hupokeimenou) with respect to bodies, they must constitute components of the hupokeimenon itself, that is, of the “underlying” matter; and if such is the case, it will no longer be possible to characterize matter as entirely “formless” (aneideos) and “indefinite” (aoristos). This direction would be followed later on by John Philoponus (encouraged, perhaps, by a passage in Aristotle, Metaph. Ζ 3, 1029a12–19), who would be led by it to a conception of prime matter as identical with “three-­dimensional volume” (ton trichēi diastaton onkon: Aet mund. XI 5–8; see indicatively 424.9–11, 425.6–13, 428.5–24, 434.4, and 440.6–8), thus paving the way for the emergence of the modern conception of mass as quantitas materiae. On this, see Wolff 1971, 107–19; and Sorabji 1988, 23–32. Cf. also the view of Moderatus to which I referred earlier, in my comment on 8.11–12. 11.13–19. πρῶτον μὲν . . . δεκτική:Response to S1: In order for images of the Forms to be fashioned, it is not necessary that the “receptacle” in which this occurs should possess any particular dimensions. The example cited is that of the soul, in which images, that is, representations, of objects of whatsoever magnitude may be formed (cf. II 8.1.36–42). Matter differs, however, in that it is susceptible of magnitude, being predisposed to confer volume on the images formed within it by extending them in three dimensions. Yet there is no limit to the capacity of matter to be extended or contracted, in order to admit some Form. 11.19–27. ὥσπερ . . . δέχεσθαι:As a living organism comes closer to its “realization” (entelecheia), that is, to a more complete impression of its Form on matter, it grows in volume, while the further removed it is from this eventuality, the smaller it will happen to be. This is adduced as evidence for the “plasticity” of matter, the dimensions of the latter not being predetermined, but varying in relation to the nature and fidelity of the image being formed. Two and a half centuries later, John Philoponus would advance important objections to this conception of the infinite extendibility of matter, contending that though its plasticity may fluctuate, it will do so within fixed bounds; “for the transformation of bodies into one another eventuates in determinate magnitudes” (see Aet. mund. XI 8 passim). We have no way of knowing how many of these objections had already been

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Second Ennead formulated during P.’s lifetime, but here he seems to be attempting to forge a distinction between “matter simply” (hulē haplōs), that is, matter that is “formless” (aneideos), and the matter of a particular body (which is quantitatively determined), thus paving the way for the distinction between “first” (prōton) and “second substrate” (deuteron hupokeimenon) proposed by Porphyry (apud Simpl. In Cat. 48.11–33; cf. Philop. In Cat. 83.14–17). 11.27–43. καὶ φάντασμα . . . ὄγκου:Matter consists in a passive receptacle of the images that Forms cause to appear within it, but, as was said earlier, it also has the inherent predisposition to extend these images into space, while itself remaining perfectly indeterminate and void (cf. III 6.7.32–33); as for the identification of matter with the void, cf. Arist. Ph. IV 7, 214a13, with Ross’s comment). Hence, it lacks dimensions and, consequently, does not constitute a mass, even a shapeless one, but only a predisposition for the constitution of a mass and the configuration of a large or small corporeal volume. This is the interpretation P. gives of the characterization “large and small” (mega kai mikron) that, according to Aristotle’s testimony (Ph. I 4, 187a17, I 9, 192a7, III 4, 203a16, IV 2, 209a35; Metaph. A 6, 987b20, 988a13–14, A 7, 988a26), Plato himself applied to his material principle. And it is precisely this infinite plasticity of matter (cf. Plato apud Arist. Ph. III 6, 206b27–29, and apud Hermod. fr. 7 apud Simpl. In Ph. 248.5–14) that differentiates it absolutely from the Forms, themselves wholly determinate and stable. At the same time, matter is responsible for the dispersion of bodies in space and their consequent diffusion in multiplicity. Such is its ontological role, which we would do well not to overlook, as does Narbonne 1993, 224–25. 12.1–7. Συμβάλλεται οὖν . . . τοῦ μεγέθους:Response to S2. Philoponus paraphrases it as an objection to his own view: “But perhaps again someone will say that prime matter must be formless, but that the three-­dimensional is not formless, if it is a form of a simple body. It will then be the case that the substrate of natural bodies will not be formless, but that a form underlies forms. If—they will say—matter and the primary substrate must be formless, then the three-­dimensional could not be matter” (Aet. mund. XI 7, 425.25–426.4). Philoponus goes on to observe that the argument rests on the “postulate,” that is, the unproven assumption, that matter must be entirely formless, whereas— in his opinion—no difficulty would be posed if we were to accept that the forms encompass bodies in successive layers, and that accordingly the substrate is in every case “formed matter” (eidopepoiēmenē hulē), while if all the forms were to be removed, there would remain nothing: “that which has no definition does not even, at all events, belong to the things that are” (ibid. 427.28–428.1; cf. Arist. Metaph. Ζ 3, 1029a16–21). Interestingly, P. in his later works comes considerably closer to the view that he here appears to be rejecting in a somewhat dogmatic fashion. The theory of the layering of forms better accommodated the requirements of his monistic system than did the thesis of a self-­subsistent and entirely indefinite matter, with the result that he would eventually go so far as to characterize the latter as “a sort of ultimate form” (eidos ti eschaton: V 8 [31].7.22–23). Indeed, he already employs a formulation in treatise II 6 [17].2.11–13 that is compatible with the view of Philoponus.



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12.8–13. ἐπεὶ καὶ νῦν . . . ὕλης:This argument is more difficult for us to grasp. As I understand it, it is equivalent to the observation that in case two materials are mixed, the volume of the resultant mixture differs from that of either of its components, and hence there arises the question: whence this new volume? To the plausible answer, “From the combined volumes of the components,” one might object that these—insofar as they are quantities, that is, Forms—will be incommensurable with each other. As Narbonne notes ad loc., P. may be relying for his argument here on Stoic assumptions; cf. SVF 2:505 and 507. 12.13–20. οὐδὲ . . . ταῖς πράξεσιν:Response to S3: For P., a praxis (“action”) consists in “a shadow of contemplation and reasoning” (skia theōrias kai logou: III 8.4.32), a product of the reflection of intellective activity on the (lower) psychical functions. From this viewpoint the soul may be thought of as the material underpinning for the formation of the virtues, which in turn are exhibited as (virtuous) actions. This placement of the “material” of actions within the subject—in contrast, e.g., to Aspasius, In Eth. Nic. 42.23–24, for whom the “matter of the virtues” was to be found in the “affections” and “actions”—is in keeping with the overall introverted nature of P.’s ethical theory (on which see my comment on I 2.7.10–28). 12.27–30. πολὺ μᾶλλον . . . οὐδὲ γλῶσσα:Insofar as matter is “unqualified” (apoios), it is incapable of being apprehended by the senses, which only grasp qualities; see Emilsson 1988, 71–73. 12.30–37. ἆρ οὖν . . . μόνον: Of all the senses, touch appears to be the one best adapted for the apprehension of matter. Yet it too has corporeal qualities as its objects. (To the usual catalogue of such qualities—cf., e.g., Arist. De an. II 11, 422b26–27—P. adds the couple “density-­rarity” (puknon-­araion), which better accords with the supposed “resistance” (antitupia) of matter; cf. VI 1.28.18–21.) Even corporeality, if we assume it to consist in an independent property (corresponding to the “three-­dimensional” of Philoponus; cf. Aet. mund. XI 4, 418.25–26), must, as a property, inhere in some material substrate. Cf. II 7.3.7–14. Accordingly, matter may only be cognitively accessed through reasoning; see above, 10.1–11, with my comment. 13.1–7. Εἰ δὲ . . . ἡ ζητουμένη ὕλη:Is, then, the nature of the material substrate to be sought not in the category of Quantity, but in that of Quality? Yet indefinite quality is even more inconceivable than indefinite quantity. 13.7–23. τί οὖν . . . ἐν καταφάσει:This new aporia provides P. with the opportunity to engage at last in the theōria: that is, to begin expounding his own position on the question of the matter of sensibles, while making sure to reestablish a linkage with the debate surrounding intelligible matter, with which the treatise had begun. It has by now become clear that the nature of matter can only be negatively determined as the privation of qualities (cf. my comment on I 8.4.22–24). Inasmuch, however, as a quality consti-

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Second Ennead tutes an activity of a Form and a manifestation of its presence (cf. II 6.2.14–17), privation will be tantamount to its absence, and hence may well amount to a peculiar characteristic, but not to a quality. Let us recall here that Plato himself, according to the testimony of Aristotle, rejected the existence of Forms corresponding to negative concepts (apophaseis); see Ross 1951, 167–69. On the other hand, Plato in the Sophist (258d6–7) speaks of “the form of nonbeing” (eidos tou mē ontos) and of “the nature of the other” (tēn thaterou phusin) in a manner that may be construed as a reference to a Form of Difference or Otherness (heterotēs) corresponding to that of Identity or Sameness (tautotēs). Obviously, this is how P. sees things here, and it enables him to discover an archetype of privation in the region of the intelligible: intelligible matter (cf. above, 5.28–31, with my comment). Thus, the particular privations that correspond to sensible matter are viewed as manifestations not of some case-­specific Form, but of the universal Otherness pervading all intelligibles. This raised some problems of coherence for P.’s ontological system, which obliged him to revert to the question in due course in order to draw certain distinctions among the various kinds of otherness through the deployment of a novel conception of contrariety; see my comments on I 8.3.7–12 and 6.27–59. On the other hand, because properties constitute manifestations of intelligible substances in the domain of the sensible, neither the Forms themselves nor matter will possess properties. The reason for this is different in each case, however: in the case of matter, because it is nonbeing; in the case of the Forms, because they are pure substances. Cf. I 8.10.11–12. 13.26–30. ἔστιν οὖν . . . μόνον ἄλλο:According to P., therefore, privation is not something incidental to matter (pace Arist. Metaph. Ζ 3, 1029a25–26), but its very nature, its quasi essence. This explains why matter can never assimilate the images that take shape on its surface, nor undergo any alteration whatsoever by reason of their presence; cf. Nédoncelle 1956, 175. There are indications that the material principle was already characterized as “other” (allon) by those Pythagoreans who were known to Aristotle; see fr. 207. 13.30–32. τάχα δὲ . . . ἐνδείξῃ: The otherness of matter relative to all beings, and in respect of any trace of the One, estranges it entirely from any notion of unity (see, however, 8.13–14 above, and my comment on 8.1–2). Thus P.—having also, perhaps, in mind Plato’s injunction in the Sophist, 238b2–3—seeks to banish any indication of unity whatsoever even from its verbal description. On this, see Trouillard 1958, 88–91; and cf. VI 6.3.34–35. 14.1–6. Ἀλλ’ ἐκεῖνο . . . ὡσαύτως:What still remains to be done is to rebut the view expounded by Aristotle—in opposition to that of the Platonists—at Ph. I 9, 192a3–12, according to which matter and privation are to be distinguished, respectively, as “not-­ being incidentally” (ouk on kata sumbebēkos) and “not-­being in itself ” (ouk on kath’ hautēn). Specifically, Aristotle charges Plato with having failed to make this distinction in the belief that “if it [sc., the material principle] is one numerically, it must also be one



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potentially,” that is, one in definition. P. intends to submit Aristotle’s position to systematic criticism by examining and comparing the definitions of the two concepts. 14.6–8. ἡ γὰρ . . . ὁποτερονοῦν:P. wants his investigation to be exhaustive. He thus lays out all the possible combinations that could be at play in the relation between the definitions of matter (M) and of privation (P): (C1) The definition of M is not contained in that of P, nor is the one of P contained in that of M. (C2) The definition of M is contained in that of P, and the one of P is contained in that of M. (C3) (a) The definition of M is contained in that of P, but not conversely, or (b) The definition of P is contained in that of M, but not conversely. In both my presentation above and in my analysis of the argument that follows, I have been greatly helped by Igal’s notes ad loc. 14.8–11. εἰ μὲν οὖν . . . θάτερον:The detailed examination of the cases is preceded by a clarifying remark: in case C1, whether or not privation is present in matter incidentally, it must not be contained in its definition even so much as potentially. This means (in Aristotelian terms) that privation must not “hold of ” or “belong to” (huparchein) matter “in itself ” (kath’ hautēn); cf. Arist. An. post. I 4, 73a37–b3. It seems probable, therefore, that P. interpreted the somewhat problematic expression dunamei in the text of the Physics (I 9, 192a2) as denoting the potentiality that matter possesses (by definition) to admit either form or privation. For according to this interpretation, privation would be contained potentially in the definition of matter, “as is the case with male in animal and equal in quantity and all such as are said to hold [sc., of things] in themselves” (Arist. Metaph. Ζ 5, 1030b21–23; on this, see also Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. I 26, 42.25–43.5). 14.11–12. εἰ δὲ . . . καὶ δύο:Philoponus comments on the passage from Arist. An Post. cited in the previous note as follows: “for we also call those things ‘in themselves’ (kath’ hauta), the substrates (hupokeimena) of which are comprised (proslambanontai) in their definitions; for example, in defining snubness we further take into its definition the substrate, by which of course I mean the nose, saying that snubness is ‘hollowness in the nose’ ” (In An. post. 61.4–7). The classic example of the snub nose derives in all probability from Aristotle’s Metaphysics (Ε 1, 1025b30–34 and Ζ 5, 1030b28–32) and refers to those cases where the definiendum “is to be comprehended along with its matter”; which is to say that, in the present instance, privation cannot be defined without reference being made to matter, but the definition of matter will also contain (“potentially”) that of privation (see my previous comment). We would thus find ourselves within the ambit of case C2, without as yet having arrived at a total identification of the two concepts, such as P. will propose below. 14.12–17. εἰ δὲ . . . οὕτως ἕν:We move on to case C3. Here privation will inhere in matter as its constitutive characteristic, that is, it will be something equivalent to its form. Con-

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Second Ennead sequently, what we will be faced with will not be an identity of subject and a difference of definition, as in 14.2–3 above, but a relation of inherence, wherein one property inheres in an object and is contained in its definition, but is at the same time different from it (cf. Pl. Phd. 103d2–3). 14.17–28. ἆρα οὖν . . . λόγῳ δὲ δύο:A hypothetical interlocutor undertakes the final defense of the Peripatetic position: “privation” and “matter” add up to characterizations that refer to the same item, but either (a) “matter” refers to the item itself and “privation” to its character of nonbeing, or (b) “privation” is the term that describes its real nature—the absence of any ontic status—while “matter” denotes its role as substrate in relation to the forms. At any rate, their definitions will be distinct (C1). The lack of certainty betrayed by the presentation of two alternative responses may possibly reflect the prevalence in Peripatetic circles of some difference of opinion on the subject at hand. Thus we find a similar dichotomy among the responses included within the corpus of works attributed to Alexander of Aphrodisias. On the one hand (Quaest. I 24, 37.26–31 and 38.15–19), matter is presented as “in itself . . . some being” (kath’ hauto . . . on ti), though incidentally—because of the incidence of privation—“nonbeing,” while privation is presented as “in itself nonbeing” (kath’ hauto men mē ontos), though incidentally—because of its incidence in matter—“being.” On the other hand (ibid. II 7, 52.29–30 trans. Sharples), the defining property of matter is stated to be “a suitability (epitēdeiotēs) . . . and potentiality, according to which it is able to admit qualities.” We might be tempted to interpret this as irresolution between responses (a) and (b). It should be pointed out, however, that Alexander goes on to draw a careful distinction between suitability and privation (ibid. II 7, 53.9–17 trans. Sharples): the former corresponds to the fact that matter “is-­not, in its own nature, qualified” (ouk esti poia tēi autēs phusei); the latter to the fact that “it is, in its own nature, not-­qualified” (estin ou poia tēi autēs phusei). 14.28–30. εἰ μέντοι . . . οἱ λόγοι:P. seems unaware of the subtle distinction drawn by Alexander, which was referred to at the end of the previous comment. Whereas Alexander insisted that matter “according to its own account is neither without quality nor qualified, . . . and being without quality attaches to it, [but] not as [something which] completes its being” (ibid. II 7, 52.25–53.1 trans. Sharples), here it is taken for granted that matter is identical with indefiniteness, unlimitedness, and absence of qualification. This premise is of course buttressed in the next chapter, but nowhere is Alexander’s distinction directly confuted. 15.1–10. Πάλιν οὖν . . . λόγον ἔχειν:By shifting the discussion from the pair “quality-­ unqualified” to that of “limit-­unlimitedness,” P. finds himself better placed to put forward his own view concerning matter. “Unlimitedness” (apeiria) is the material principle at the ontological level of the constitution of numbers, and as such corresponds both to the matter of sensible objects (cf. I 8.3.13 and III 6.7.8) and to the indefiniteness of intelligible matter (cf. V 1.5.8–17 and V 4.2.4–7)—this being the reason why it is correlated both with Motion (cf. above, 5.30–33) and with the Platonic “great and small”



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(cf. above, 11.33–34); see VI 6.3.9–33. Besides, according to the testimony of Arist. Ph. III 4, 203a3–16, the “indefinite” played an analogous role in Platonic ontology as well (see also the testimony of Hermod. fr. 7 apud Simpl. In Ph. 247.34–248.14), while later Platonists characterized it as “the element [underlying] every shapelessness and disorder,” that is, as constitutive of materiality: see Plut. De def. or. 428f–429a; Apul. De Plat. I 5, 192; Num. fr. 4a.2–3 and 52.25–26; and Mondolfo 1956, 524–25. Yet by making the treatment of sensible matter dependent on the analysis of incorporeal entities, as numbers are, P. is to some extent prejudging its nature. 15.10–12. ἀνάγκη τοίνυν . . . αὐτῇ:Cf. above, 7.13–20, with my comment. 15.12–17. πρῶτον μὲν . . . τῇ ὕλῃ τὸ ἄπειρον:Two arguments against the view that unlimitedness is an accident (cf. Arist. Ph. III 5, 204a29–30): The first is based on the Platonic premise that every accident constitutes a logos, that is, the formative manifestation of an intelligible eidos (“Form”). Yet the “unlimited” (apeiron) cannot be a logos, as it consists in the negation of the formative intervention of a “limit” (peras); cf. VI 6.3.15–16. The second is based on the fact that the substrate upon which the unlimited would devolve as an accident would have to be lacking in whatever property the latter would introduce to it: in other words, the substrate would have to be lacking in unlimitedness, that is, it would have to be something limited—which goes against the very nature of matter; cf. I 8.3.12–30. 15.17–37. αὐτὴ τοίνυν . . . λεκτέον ἄπειρον:Accordingly, because unlimitedness is not incidental to matter, it must be identical with it. But whereas intelligible matter constitutes an immediate result and manifestation of the unlimited “power” (dunamis) of the One (cf. V 8.9.24–27 and VI 9.6.10–12), sensible matter is what is left over as a dark phantom of unlimitedness after the productive influence of the One has been mediated through successive hypostases. See also Rist 1965, 339. The outcome of all this is a characteristic reversal: the unlimited is that much more true, the more it is an image. The Form of Unlimitedness, the intelligible model of matter, reflects as it were the ultimate indeterminateness of its image, which is in itself unlimited; cf. my comments on I 8.3.7–12 and 8.37–44. In this manner, a response is provided as well to an aporia that had been raised by Aristotle, Ph. III 5, 204a20–24: although matter is in itself unlimited, it is not identical with Unlimitedness, and accordingly is not bound by the characteristic attributes of the Forms, insofar as its partibility is concerned. 16.1–4. Ἆρ’ οὖν . . . ὄντα: Matter and the unlimited are not identical with Otherness, but are concomitants of it (see above, 5.28–31, with my comment; and de Vogel [1959]/1970, 390). And because they consist in the antithesis of limit and being, or rather in their privation, they may be characterized as “nonbeing,” but only in the relative sense conferred on the term by Plato (Soph. 258e2–3). On the other hand, inasmuch as matter is “nonbeing essentially” (ontōs mē on), it will have some type of subsistence

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Second Ennead that will differentiate it from what is “nonbeing absolutely” (pantelōs mē on); cf. I 8.3.6– 12, with my comments. 16.4–13. οὐκοῦν . . . ὅταν σπείρηται: P. now rebuts the argument that Aristotle marshaled against the Platonists at Ph. I 9, 192a19–22. The action of the Forms on matter, and the projection of their sensible images upon it, neither annuls its nature as privation, nor dissolves it. For privation does not constitute, for matter, a property liable to be expelled, but rather the very susceptibility it possesses to receive the formative principles from the intelligible in such a manner that it will itself undergo no change; cf. III 6.7.23–42. And the (seeming) abrogation of this lack does not mean that it “loses” anything, but on the contrary, that it thus participates—insofar as it is able to—in being, and hence “is” all the more. In this way, its own nature is not annulled but rather actualized and perfected, just as potentiality “is not consumed, [but] is precisely preserved and made manifest, is called forth into the full and active presentation of its being, so that actuality does not replace potentiality, but is potentiality, and is the occasion for the fullest and most real expression of the potentiality that it is” (Kosman 1984, 134; the emphasis is his own). It should be noted that Alexander arrives by a different route at almost the same conclusion as P.: “the form is indeed in the being of the matter . . . so that the presence of the form contributes to its being matter” (Quaest. I 26, 41.25–28 trans. Sharples). 16.13–16. καὶ ὅταν . . . γίγνεται:The example of the impregnation of the female confirms the reference to Aristotle (Ph. I 9, 192a23–25), although it ultimately derives from Plato’s Timaeus (50d2–3). The view that the female plays a strictly passive role in procreation is a characteristically Aristotelian one (see, indicatively, Gen. an. I 19, 727a26–30; and Lloyd 1983, 94–97), but it has, of course, a prior history (cf., e.g., Aesch. Eum. 658–66). The interest here lies in the fact that P. is either unacquainted with, or chooses to ignore, the well-­founded objections raised by Galen against the Aristotelian theory that the father, through his sperm, provides the embryo with the form, while the mother, through her menses, only with the matter in which this comes to be “impressed” (see Lloyd op. cit. 109; Waszink 1947, 342–43; and cf. II 9.12.20–21); by contrast, III 6 [26].19.18–24 shows him to have been at least aware of them. I believe that Igal 1973, 78–79, has demonstrated the fullest understanding of the text at this problematic juncture, and in my edition I followed his punctuation; but as I do not share his view concerning the possibility of the verb speiresthai to govern the genitive, I have thought it necessary to accept Bury’s suggestion and introduce a hupo denoting agency before tou arrenos in l. 14. With all that, my rendition is equivalent to Armstrong’s. 16.19–23. ὃ δ’ ἂν . . . ποιοῦ:Concerning the characterization of matter as “want” or “poverty” (penia), see my comment on I 8.3.12–18. It enjoyed a long afterlife, finding an echo in the saying of the Neoplatonist Olympiodorus: “nature invented a marvellous contrivance: indigence revelling in wealth and wealth posing as indigence (endeian ploutousan kai plouton hupokrinomenon endeian)” (apud David Prol. 6, 16.4–5 and apud Philop. In



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Porph. Isag. 11a43). One thus comes to understand also why the alchemist Zosimos of Panopolis viewed the “great task” (mega ergon) of the investment of matter with the higher qualities as a victory over “poverty, the incurable disease” (penian, tēn aniaton noson: see Lett. omega 18.188). Cf. also Gos. Thom. = NHC II 2, 33.4–5. 16.23–24. πῶς οὖν . . . κακόν:Cf. I 6.2.13–18, with my comment, and I 8.3.35–40. 16.24–27. ἐκείνη δὲ . . . τοῦ ὄντος:We discern here the functional correspondence pertaining between the two kinds of Otherness, which constitute, respectively, intelligible matter and the matter of sensibles; see also my comments above on 5.28–31 and 16.1–4. Intelligible matter, the unitary intellectual substrate of Being, is constituted by its otherness in relation to the One beyond Being, while the matter of sensibles is constituted by their otherness in relation to Being; see also Santa Cruz de Prunes 1979, 102–3. This insight concludes the treatise, incidentally revealing the unity underlying its two parts.

II 5 [25]. On What Exists Potentially and What Actually Synopsis 1 Differences between dunamei-­energeiai (“potentially-­actually”) and dunamis-­ energeia (“power-­activity”). 2 The potentiality of matter, and form as an activation. 3 The intelligibles are activities; consequently matter There does not constitute a potentiality. 4 Conversely, matter in sensibles has being only potentially, lacking any ontic status: 5  it is nonbeing, inasmuch as it is an apparition of Being.

Introduction The present treatise is one of P.’s more “technical” ones, having as its theme a pair of concepts closely interwoven with Aristotelianism. More particularly, the term dunamis originally signified the active possibility that a body has to exert an effect upon another.1 This is how the Stoics appear to have conceived it (see SVF 2:311), while later on Antiochus of Ascalon (apud Cic. Acad. I 34) employed the term in respect to the active principle that, acting upon matter, brings about the creation of sensible bodies and qualities. By extension, dunamis could refer to the potency, efficacy, and creative power of any entity whatsoever, and it is in this sense that P. speaks of the dunamis of Intellect and the soul (see, e.g., II 1.4.15, III 2.2.10, IV 2.1.67, IV 8.6.25, V 8.2.23, VI 5.12.4–5), but also— and primarily—of the One (see, e.g., II 9.9.37, V 5.10.12, VI 8.21.4–5, VI 9.5.36, 6.8–12), which, although “beyond being (epekeina ousias) . . . and activity (kai energeias)” (I 7.1.19–20), may nonetheless be characterized as “the (productive) power of all things” 1 

See LSJ, s.v. I–II; and Cornford 1935, 234–35, whose discussion is based on Souilhé 1919.

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Second Ennead (dunamis pantōn: III 8.10.1, V 1.7.9–10), that is, as the possibility of production of all things from It.2 Plato, however, had already drawn a distinction between two kinds of dunamis: an active power or capability, that “of producing whatever else” (eis to poiein heteron hotioun), but also a passive susceptibility or capacity, that “of being affected” (eis to pathein) (Soph. 247d8–e1; cf. 248c5, and Phdr. 270d3–5), which allowed him to speak in the Timaeus (50b7–8) of the insatiable receptive dunamis of chōra. Aristotle had only to render this distinction systematic and to suggest a number of illuminating correspondences: “Obviously, then, in one sense the power of producing and of being affected is single . . . but in another sense they are different: for the one is in the thing affected— since that which is oily is inflammable, and that which yields in the appropriate way is breakable; but the other is in the producer, e.g., heat and the art of building are present, respectively, in that which has the ability to heat and in whoever has the ability to build” (Metaph. Θ 1, 1046a19–28; cf. Δ 12, 1019a19–23). Thus, Aristotle was in turn able to characterize matter as “potentially substance” (dunamei ousia: see, indicatively, Metaph. Η 2, 1042b9–10, 1050a15; Gen. corr. II 1, 329a30–33), but also, and more generally, to go on to formulate the famous distinction between dunamei and energeiai being, which was to constitute the foundation stone of Aristotelian metaphysics, inasmuch as it represents the dynamic expression of the fundamental distinction between “matter” (hulē) and “form” (eidos). For the shaping of matter by form, if viewed as a process in time, may be considered as the transition from one state where something is dunamei (“potentially”) F, to another state where the same thing becomes energeiai or entelecheiai (“actively” or “actually”) F.3 In this way, matter represents a capacity (or susceptibility) to be informed, while the (enmattered) eidos represents the activation of the form during the shaping of an object (see, e.g., Metaph. Θ 6, 1048a30–b6). One point that requires particular attention is the fact that Aristotle often refers to matter as that “from which” (ex hou: see Gen. corr. I 3, 317b14–25)4 something comes to be. Yet in the context of this problematic, the meaning of the preposition ek holds an altogether exceptional interest. Its usual employment, by which it simply denoted a temporally prior state that disappears in order to give way to a new one (as in the case of night and day; see Arist. Metaph. Δ 24, 1023b6, and Gen. an. I 18, 724a22–23), was, according to Aristotle, inadequate to describe all cases of becoming, especially those where throughout a process of change there underlies a more or less stable substrate, upon which the various properties succeed one another. He accordingly introduced a new meaning of ek that is closely correlated with his theory of matter as the inert and neutral ground upon which “form” and “privation” (sterēsis) compete for prevalence: “we speak of ‘becoming that from this’ (to d’ ek tinos gignesthai ti) . . . more in the case of what does not survive the change—e.g., ‘becoming musical from unmusical,’ not ‘from man’—but we sometimes use the expression even of what survives; for we speak of ‘a Cf. V 3.15.29–35; but also Buchner 1970, 102–5. See Guthrie 1962–81, 6:123–24. 4  This expression emerged as a basic constituent of the Middle Platonic Präpositionen-­Metaphysik, where it was employed to denote the material principle from which the Demiurge made the universe; on this, see Theiler 1930, 20–33. 2  3 



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statue coming to be from bronze,’ not of ‘the bronze becoming a statue’ ” (Ph. I 7, 190a21–26 trans. after ROT; cf. Metaph. Δ 24, 1023a26–29, and Gen. an. I 18, 724a24– 27). Naturally, a theory of this kind may be taken to lead to the acceptance of the existence of a “prime” matter that, although lacking any property whatsoever, continues to serve as the ultimate ground for the successive superaddition of those various qualities, by virtue of which it comes to be shaped into a body.5 P. was unable to accept this version of hylomorphism. For him, matter is not neutral, but something “contrary” (enantia) to the Form, a negation of Being, and indeed “a sort of form of nonbeing” (hoion eidos ti tou mē ontos: I 8.3.4–5 trans. Armstrong amended; see also my comment on I 8.6.27–59). Hence, it remains impassible and impervious to the Forms, which do not really configure it, but are merely mirrored within it; cf. III 6.7.10– 8.20; and above, my introduction to II 4 and my comment on II 4.13.26–30. It is not an unshaped material capable of being molded in such a way that from it there will emerge anything configured, but rather a substrate that remains entirely inert and insusceptible of alteration, within which become manifest apparitions of the intelligible Beings. This view of P.’s naturally had dramatic consequences for the concept of potentiality, as it fundamentally subverted Aristotle’s own position on the subject. Henceforth, being “potentially” (dunamei) and “actually” (energeiai) no longer refer to successive phases of one and the same substrate (cf., e.g., Arist. Metaph. Θ 8, 1050a15–16), but are made over into categorial characteristics of two radically disparate ontological fields: the former characterizes the eternally indigent substrate of the sensible bodies, while the latter refers to the action that the eternal self-­sufficiency of the Forms brings to bear upon these. Matter—as the incurable privation of any ontic status—is potentially everything, but actually it is absolutely nothing. Conversely, only the Forms are activated or actualized as ontic entities, and accordingly, only through them may the unlimited potency, the “power” (dunamis) of the One be manifested.6 We thus find ourselves confronted, however, with an opposition within the very realm of the intelligible7 between the creative power that pervades it and holds it together as a coherent whole, and the self-­sufficient activity of each one of the separate Forms that comes to be reflected upon matter, thereby constituting the universe of sensible phenomena.

Commentary 1.1–2. Λέγεται . . . οὖσι: The repetition of the expression “one speaks of ” (legetai)—as was observed by Buchner 1970, 17–19—places the theme to be explored in the present treatise within the context of the Peripatetic School tradition. The locus classicus where Aristotle examines the conceptual pair “potentially” (dunamei) and “actually” (enerSee Alex. Aphrod. In Metaph. 421.30–36. This conclusion has been upheld against more recent objections by, among others, H. M. Robinson 1974, 168–88. 6  Concurrently, dunamis also more generally denotes the cohesive, but at the same time creative, relation that every hypostasis maintains with the one below it, while energeia the relation that each maintains with the one above it, of which it constitutes a manifestation. See V 1.6.30–34; Lloyd 1957, 146–48; and Schroeder 1980, 42–43. 7  See III 8.11.1–4; and Narbonne 1993, 93–94. 5 

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Second Ennead geiai) is, of course, Book Θ of the Metaphysics, but its presence pervades his entire philosophical output and plays a fundamental role in such works as the Physics and the De anima. It must be noted, however, that we have no indication of any particular interest having been shown in the subject by the Aristotelians who immediately preceded P. 1.3–6. ἆρα τὸ αὐτὸ . . . εἶναι:The first question to be raised concerns the relation between being “actually” (energeiai) and what P. calls energeia, which I translate as “activity” or “activation” in an effort primarily to avoid any correlation of the term with the completion of some “work” or “end-­product” (ergon) external to it, as in the case of “motion” (kinēsis). Because, as Aristotle explains at Metaph. Θ 6, 1048b18–25, energeia already contains its own “end” (telos), and consequently does not require any discrete temporal duration for its completion; on this see Kosman 1984, 123–27. 1.6–10. ὅτι μὲν οὖν . . . εξείργεσθαι:That potential being is a feature of the sensible domain is regarded as obvious; besides, it follows directly from the nature of potentiality as a precondition of change, which in turn constitutes a categorial property of sensibles. There remains the question, to what extent potential being extends also to the intelligible realm. This eventuality is rejected through a reductio argument that invokes a version of the Principle of Plenitude identified in Arist. Metaph. Θ 4, 1047b3–6 by Hintikka 1973, 107–9, who formulated it as follows: (T) no unqualified possibility remains unactualized through an infinity of time (ibid. 96). This means that no potentiality may remain a potentiality forever, as would be required if it existed in the eternally unchanging world of the intelligible. Cf. also the parallel argumentation at Metaph. Θ 8, 1050b7–18. Other arguments concerning the nonexistence of potential being in the intelligibles are presented below, in chapter 3. Cf. also V 3.5.38–43 and V 9.10.14. 1.10–17. ἀλλὰ τί . . . ἦν ἂν δυνάμει:At this point, the question of the “intentionality” of the notion of potentiality is introduced, because the characterization dunamei invariably correlates the object it determines with something else, different from itself, into which it may be transformed in the future. Bronze potentially is not bronze—nor anything that it already is—but a statue (cf. Arist. Ph. III 1, 201a30) that, in turn, will be “brazen” (cf. Arist. Metaph. Θ 7, 1049a18–b2) or “of ” (ek) bronze—in the special sense of ek, which denotes the relation of matter to the sensible body shaped out of it (see ibid. Δ 24, 1023b1–2). 1.17–21. δεῖ τοίνυν . . . ὁ ἀὴρ πῦρ:We are thus led, as rehearsed in my introduction to this treatise, to the question of determining the exact meaning of the preposition ek (“of ”) within this frame of reference. P. clearly distinguishes between the following two cases: what has being “potentially” consists either (a) in a terminus ad quem, that is, a substrate that is successively configured while still remaining what it is, such as in the case of bronze, which, while always remaining bronze, may possibly be shaped into a statue; or



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(b) in a terminus a quo, that is, something that itself undergoes change and is destroyed, giving place to a new entity, as in the case when one element is transmuted into another. Through this distinction (already familiar to Aristotle; see, e.g., Gen. corr. I 4, 319b6– 20), P. is able to avoid some of the problems of Aristotelian hylomorphism (cf. Charlton 1970, 76–7) by differentiating, on the one hand, the relation between the configured body and its material substrate, and, on the other, that between this proximate, qualified substrate and other states of matter from which it may derive, without thereby being obligated to admit the existence of a “prime” matter at some different, lower level of analysis. For in his view, matter itself is never really configured, remaining forever entirely unaffected and “unqualified” (apoios). Concerning bronze as an allotropic form of water, see my comment on II 1.6.46– 52. 1.21–26. τοιοῦτον δὴ . . . λέγοιτο ἂν δυνάμει:Here potentiality is clearly distinguished from the active sense of dunamis that I isolated in my introduction above. The potentiality that bronze possesses to be shaped into a statue is entirely passive. Thus also matter in general is devoid of any efficacy, being absolutely infertile and inert. The active element in sensibles is the image of the intelligible they harbor, while the ultimate source of this active “power” is the One itself. Cf. V 3.15.32–35. 1.26–29. εἰ δὲ . . . λέγειν:A thought crosses P.’s mind: if we regard what has being potentially as the opposite not only of what has being actually, but of activation itself, that is, of the full development of all the possibilities inherent in a being, then we could characterize the One—or better, perhaps, the unitary and as yet undifferentiated intelligible matter that proceeds from It—as a (productive) power subsisting in potentiality, inasmuch as it has not yet been configured and articulated into an intelligible universe (on which, see further my introduction to II 4). Such a conception would complete the image of matter as the inverted image of the Good (as per my comment on I 8.8.37–44), while the intelligible would be portrayed as an island of activation between two oceans of potentiality. Yet P. appears to hesitate before the dangers of the conceptual confusion such a description might give rise to. Thus, the semantic field of the expression dunamei is restricted to the domain of sensibles; see also below, 3.8–18. 1.29–34. τὸ μὲν δὴ . . . ἐστὶν ἄλλο:Recapitulation: the state of being “potentially” corresponds to the material substrate of bodies, upon which the “activities” of Beings compete and interweave with one another, producing the universal drama. 2.1–14. Περὶ δὲ . . . ὁ ἀνδριάς:We return to the question of matter as potentiality: as that “of ” (ek) which a body may be formed; cf. above, my comments on 1.10–21 and II 4.1.14–18. P. deals first with the question of radical coming-­to-­be, where there occurs a transformation so substantial as to give rise to an entirely new entity. Thus, in the case where a lump of bronze is shaped into a statue, what is activated and actualized is the statue—not the bronze, that is, matter. The bronze remains bronze, and matter remains unaffected and inactive, ready to assume in due course whichever other shape is im-

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Second Ennead posed on it. Accordingly, what is involved is not a transformation of the bronze into a statue (cf. Arist. Ph. I 7, 190a25–26), of something potential into something actual, but rather the activation of a shape on an inert substrate, which itself continues to be characterized by the same receptivity and potentiality. 2.14–26. ἐπὶ δὲ . . . τὸ εἶδος:The inertness of the substrate of change is even more apparent in the case of “alteration” (alloiōsis), that is, “when a body—its substrate, which is sensible, remaining the same—changes in its affections” (Arist. Gen. corr. I 4, 319b10– 11). Because in such a case the affection—that is, the property—that undergoes change may well disappear and give place to another, but the common ground to which all these properties belong “persists” (hupomenei), that is, remains unaltered; see Arist. Ph. I 7, 190a17–21. Thus, for instance, the unlearned man may become a man of knowledge, whereupon his unlearnedness, as terminus a quo, disappears, but he himself remains a man. The critical observation P. makes here is that if the unlearned man is “potentially a man of knowledge,” this is not because he is unlearned, but because he is a man. Indeed, he even goes so far as to assert that this potentiality of his (and of course its opposite as well, that of unlearnedness) is not lost with the onset of the form and the corresponding actualization, but persists and is somehow “receptive of ” the form; cf. II 4.16.4–13, with my comment. Consequently, the potentiality is not actualized, nor is it replaced by the actualization (as held by, e.g., Simons 1985, 60), but remains eternally impassible and unaltered. 2.26–35. εἰ οὖν . . . τὸ ἀνδρίζεσθαι:We thus have the following schema: that which is something “in potentiality” (dunamei), that is, matter, receives ab extra (cf. my comment on I 6.7.26–27) the effect of an action exerted by a Form, resulting in the formation upon it “in actuality” (energeiai) of a sensible “composite” (sunamphoteron). This activation of the Form consists in a spontaneous (cf. par’ hautēs = “by itself ”) manifestation of a possibility inherent as a predisposition in the Intellect, and it derives ultimately from the inexhaustible potency of the One. In other words, intellective “power” (dunamis) causes the “activation” (energeia) of the Forms, which in turn brings about the apparition “in actuality” (energeiai) of perceptible shapes upon the substrate of matter, which itself remains forever “in potentiality” (dunamei), never becoming activated. This asymmetry of relation between dunamis and energeia in, respectively, the sensible domain and the intelligible realm is also pertinaciously remarked upon in a paragraph of the anonymous Arabic Theology of Aristotle, VII 52 (see H-­S1 II, 73). 3.4–8. εἰ δὴ . . . οὖν χρόνον ἐχόντων:One more argument on the nonexistence of potentiality in the realm of the intelligibles; cf. above, 1.6–10, with my comment. Potentiality presupposes (a) the existence of a material substrate (see 1.29–31 and 2.26) and (b) temporality, in the context of which the possibility will obtain that the corresponding activation will come about (as can be deduced if we combine the Aristotelian definitions of “motion” (kinēsis) and “time”; see Ph. III 1, 201a10–11 and IV 12, 220b32–221a1). But There is to be found neither matter (in the sense in which it subsists among sensibles)



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nor time, change, and becoming, but only immutable eternity; see II 9.1.24–25, III 7.3.33–38, and III 9.8.1–4, but also Pletho, De diff. 326.33–327.4. 3.8–13. εἴ τις οὖν . . . εἶδός ἐστιν:Does not the existence of noētē hulē signify the existence in the intelligible world of some kind of potentiality? The answer is that “intelligible matter” does not constitute a neutral and inert substrate, but instead that deeper unity that pervades and animates intelligible Beings: their ontic status; cf. II 4.3.5–5.20. Yet interestingly, P. seems to be distancing himself here from the proponents of intelligible matter, and it is a fact—noticed by Merlan 1960, 126—that this notion disappears almost entirely from his later work. See also Szlezák 1979, 82n.259. 3.13–18. καὶ ἡ ψυχὴ . . . μία φύσις:Nowhere else is the logical connection made clearer between the theory of intelligible matter and the Peripatetic theory of the “material intellect” (discussed in my introduction to II 4), concerning which Alexander of Aphrodisias had this to say: “and so the intellect which is not yet thinking, but has the potentiality to come to be like this, is ‘material,’ and it is this sort of potentiality of the soul that is the material intellect, not being in actuality any of the extant things, but having the potentiality for becoming all of them (dunamenos de panta ginesthai)” (De an. mant. 106.23–26 trans. Sharples). P. categorically denies that the soul, even though it may occupy the position of matter in relation to Intellect (cf. III 9.5.3 and V 9.4.11–12), will admit potentiality, for to do so would be to confuse—in his opinion—what has being “potentially” (dunamei) with the “potency” (dunamis) of Being. The soul’s eidetic nature (see I 1.2.6–7) ensures its status as a dunamis of Being: one that can only be differentiated “in thought” (kat’ epinoian) from the forms into which it comes to be configured; cf. also my comment on II 4.3.1–3. 3.18–19. οἷον καὶ Ἀριστοτέλης . . . εἶναι:Aristotle admitted that “the primary body of all (to prōton tōn sōmatōn),” the stuff of which the heavenly bodies are constituted, “is everlasting and subject to neither increase nor diminution, but ageless and unalterable and impassible” (Cael. I 3, 270b1–3), a fact that differentiates it radically from other material bodies (see ibid. I 2, 269b14–17, and Metaph. Η 4, 1044b6–8); but never did he assert that it is immaterial. Some of his later commentators, however, did not hesitate to give expression to this extreme view (see Atticus fr. 5.69–74; Origen C. Cels. IV 56), bringing down on themselves the justified indignation of Philoponus (C. Arist. fr. 70 = Simpl. In Cael. 133.28–29). Be that as it may, P. himself was not prepared to admit the existence of this “fifth” body (see my comment on II 1.2.12–17). He only invokes it here in order to fight the Peripatetics with their own weapons. 3.19–22. περὶ δὲ . . . τούτων:See above, my comment on 3.13–18. 3.22–32. τὸ δὲ . . . καὶ ἀεί:The Intellect is always present to itself in the ambit of its eternal, synchronic self-­intellection; its very essence is identical with its activation, which at every moment is complete and perfect. Cf. V 3.5.19–48.

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Second Ennead 3.32–34. καὶ ψυχὴ . . . ὅ ἐστιν:The higher, eidetic soul is accordingly in continuous contact with the intelligibles, its primary activity being constantly directed toward them. At the same time, it animates the body, although existing within it only in appearance. This it effects by means of the “radiation” it sends in the body’s direction, projecting onto it another activity emanating from itself, in virtue of which the body is rendered sensible and comes to exercise its basic vital functions such as nutrition, etc. See I 1.2.7–9 and 4.20–27, with my comments. The soul’s image that comes to be formed on the body does nevertheless inhere in it “actually,” in the sense of constituting its “first actuality” (prōtē entelecheia: see Arist. De an. II 1, 412a27–28; and Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 103.11–20). See also Buchner 1970, 87–88. 3.36–37. καλῶς εἴρηται . . . ἀρίστη: P. gives a slightly more active turn to a phrase from the Timaeus (52b7), altering Plato’s ahupnos phusis (“sleepless nature”) to agrupnos phusis (“wakeful nature”). The phrase “the best life” (zōē aristē), which comes just afterward, and which derives from Arist. Metaph. Λ 7, 1072b28, perhaps shows why: as explained by Hadot 1960, 112, P. has in mind the uninterrupted and “everlasting activity” of the divine Intellect, which, in Eth. Nic. X 8, 1178b19–20, is contrasted with the eternal sleep of Endymion; cf. my comment on I 8.13.14–26. 3.38–40. καὶ ἐνεργείᾳ ἄρα . . . καὶ νοῦ:The activation of the Intellect is bound up with its inherent life; see VI 9.9.17, and my comment on I 4.3.2. Yet this vitality it possesses has its ultimate source in the Good itself; cf. I 7.1.13–15 and V 5.10.11–13. 4.1–3. Τὰ μὲν οὖν . . . λέγεται:The basic principle set out here concerning the “parasitic” nature of potential being is never formulated explicitly by Aristotle but is presupposed in arguments such as the one in Gen. corr. I 3, 317b23–33. Joachim 1926, 97, has expressed it as follows: “the ‘potential substance’ presupposed by genesis is some indeterminate one out of a number of alternative actual formations of prōtē hulē.” For anything to be potentially F, it must already be actually G, H, or I. 4.3–18. περὶ δὲ . . . εἴη:Matter is nonbeing (see my comment on I 8.3.7–12) in (at least) two senses: (a) It cannot be identified with any of the sensible objects that are formed upon it, because it is totally “unqualified” (apoios); moreover, if the case were different, matter would not be “tractable to everything” (see II 4.8.1–23), it would not constitute a potentiality for the reception of any form whatsoever but would entail predispositions in the direction of one or another Form. Consequently, it cannot be any one of these in actuality; see above, my comment on 2.26–35. The apparition of qualities upon it is entirely phenomenal, as matter itself remains always inert and impassible. (b) Being “formless” (aneideos: see I 8.3.14, with my comment), matter cannot possibly belong to the intelligible realm of the Forms. It thus represents an exception to the rule that was formulated just previously (4.1–3): matter constitutes pure potentiality, lacking any kind of activation and any kind of



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ontic status. Cf. my comments on I 8.4.22–24, 10.1–11, II 4.13.7–23; and Lilla 1971, 195–96. 5.1. Πῶς οὖν λέγομεν περὶ αὐτῆς:An echo of the epistemological problem relating to matter, on which see my comments on II 4.10.1–11. 5.3–5. Τὸ εἶναι αὐτῇ . . . ὃ ἔσται:Concerning the correlation of potentiality with temporality, see above, my comment on 3.4–8. 5.7–8. Εἰ γὰρ ἔσται τι . . . ὁ χαλκός:Cf. my comment on II 4.8.3–10. 5.9–10. εἴη ἂν οὖν . . . κίνησις:Cf. I 8.3.7–9, with my comment; III 6.7.11–13; and Pl. Soph. 256d5. Matter is “other” than Being in the way in which an image is “other” than that of which it constitutes an image (see, e.g., I 8.3.37 and Santa Cruz de Prunes 1979, 98–103), and this otherness manifests itself as potentiality, as a predisposition to extend the “apparitions” that are projected upon it into space (see my comment on II 4.11.13– 19) and time (see above, 3.5). 5.11–22. ἡ δέ ἐστιν . . . μὴ δυνάμενον:This passage has been commented on repeatedly in recent years, in the context of the debate as to whether or not P. believes matter to be generated. I rather think, however, that the question that concerns him here (as also earlier, in chapter 4) is the impassibility and immutability of matter “from the beginning,” that is, from the moment it came to be hypostasized, without this implying, of course, that it was ever created in time. Both Corrigan 1986, 169–70, and Narbonne 1987, 10–1, fail to realize—in my opinion—that the verb egeneto (“did become”) in l. 15 is, like the ēn (“was”) that precedes it, a copulative one, having energeiai ti (“anything actually”) as its predicate, and that accordingly it does not refer to the generation of matter itself, but to its incapacity to escape from a state of being potentially to becoming actualized. Yet it is precisely in this that its nature as an image consists: for as an eternal presage and expectation of the being that illuminates it, it reflects it, without ever capturing it, however, in reality. See also O’Brien 1993, 63–64. 5.23–27. οὐκοῦν . . . ἐν τῷ μὴ ὄντι:The oxymoronic formulations (cf. Pl. Resp. II 382a4, and Soph. 254d1) are intended to underline the unintelligible nature of matter (cf. above, 5.1). Accordingly, its characterization as “actually an image” (energeiai eidōlon) does not seek to deny, but rather to further emphasize, all that was said previously, at 5.6–8. Because for something to be truly (and only) an image, means for it to possess an imperfect and heteronomous ontic status. See also my comments on I 8.3.6–12. 5.34. ἀνώλεθρον τὴν ὕλην τηρεῖν:The “indestructible” (anōlethros) nature of matter assumed the status of firm dogma as early as the period of Middle Platonism: see, indicatively, Antiochus of Ascalon apud Cic. Acad. I 27; Apul. De Plat. I 191; Num. fr. 52.60– 64. Here it is deduced from matter’s impassibility, which was shown to be in turn a consequence of its irremediable potentiality and privation.

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II 6 [17]. On Substance, or on Quality Synopsis 1 The relation between Being and Substance: Substance is the totality of intelligible beings, including Qualities. Conversely, the properties of sensible objects—whether they are completive of what it is that these are, or whether they are separable—are always qualitative. Even so-­called sensible substances are composed of qualitative properties. 2 These essentially completive properties would be better termed “activities” of the formative principles, 3 which are themselves products of the primary activities constituting intelligible reality.

Introduction P.’s first attempt to combine the Platonic ontology of the “greatest genera” (megista genē) with the Aristotelian theory of the categories yielded this brief, exceedingly difficult, largely aporetic and perhaps, finally, not entirely satisfactory investigation of the nature of quality. By the time he would return to the same problem—several years later, in his voluminous “trilogy” “On the Kinds of Being” (VI 1–3 [42–44])—he would be ready to come into much more open conflict with Aristotle and to expound his own position fully, one that amounted to a fundamental reconstruction of classical ontology into two disparate ontological levels: that of intelligible “Substance” (ousia), which is permeated by the “greatest genera” of Plato’s Sophist; and that of sensible properties, to which is applicable—with some modifications—the Aristotelian system of the remaining categories. It was natural for a Platonic philosopher to acknowledge as substances nothing besides the intelligible Forms.1 But if the Forms—all the Forms—constitute substances, how does it come about that those images of theirs which characterize sensible particulars consist in properties, that is, in qualitative determinations?2 Besides, if, on the basis of the Aristotelian view, qualities always inhere as properties in some substance, and the substance alone discloses what something is, how is it that there always enter into the definition of any substance specific differences, that is, once again, qualitative determinations? In a much-­discussed passage of the Categories (5, 3a21–32), the Stagirite himself had argued that the differentia, qualitative though it may be, is not predicated as being “in a subject” (en hupokeimenōi), inasmuch as it constitutes a “part” (meros) of the substance (cf. ibid. 2, 1a24–25). Some of his commentators felt obligated openly to express their disagreement on this point.3 Others, however—such as Boethus of Sidon (ca. first century CE)—upheld the view that “matter and the composite will be subsumed under See, e.g., Pl. Phd. 78d1, Resp. VI 485b2, VII 525b5, 534a3–4, IX 585b12–d3, Phdr. 247c7, Prm. 133c9. Cf. Arist. Metaph. Α 9, 990b22–34; Alex. Aphrod. In Metaph. 89.18–20 and 90.21–91.16. 3  See, e.g., Alex. Aphrod. apud Simpl. In Cat. 99.19–20. 1  2 



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the category of substance, but the form will be outside (ektos) [the category of ] substance, and will fall under a different category, either quality (poiotēs) or quantity (posotēs) or another one (allē tina)”; see Simpl. In Cat. 78.17–20 trans. de Haas. In this manner, of course, sensibles are shorn of their fundamental role as Aristotelian “primary substances” (prōtai ousiai) and reduced to mere compositions of matter and qualities (or predicates subsumed under any of the remaining categories). In other words, individual “substances” will consist in bundles of qualities, which, however—inasmuch as they constitute “parts completive of a substance” (merē sumplērōtika tēs ousias)—will not be predicated “in a subject,” as we have also seen Aristotle to have maintained. In any case, the crucial question here is how, and according to what criteria, we are to explain the difference between, on the one hand, the constitutive properties that, as specific differences, go into the making of such “substances” and are, in a sense, incorporated in them, and, on the other, their merely incidental properties, which are exogenous to the objects in which they inhere and separable from their natures. Aristotle had himself, in Metaph. Δ 14, 1020a33–b21, suggested one direction along which an answer to the above question might be sought, when he distinguished two senses of “qualification” (to poion): according to the first, a qualification is “the differentia of the substance (hē diaphora tēs ousias) . . . in that the differentia with respect to the substance is a quality (hōs tēs diaphoras tēs kata tēn ousian poiotētos ousēs),” whereas according to the second, it designates “the affections of the moveable substances” (ta pathē tōn kinoumenōn ousiōn), that is, the incidental attributes of bodies; cf. Ph. V 2, 226a27– 29. In later years this distinction was made systematic, and the technical term “completive [parts] of a substance” was established to designate the specific differences integral to every substance. The most important relevant testimony is an aporia that Simplicius,4 who has preserved it, credits to the Platonist Lucius (first half of the second century CE), and which is worth citing in full: If we say that the completives of a substance (ta sumplērōtika tēs ousias) are parts of that substance (merē autēs), and that what simply completes the being of a sensible body is color, figure, magnitude and, generally, quality and quantity (since there could be no colorless or figureless body), and of some particular body—for instance, snow—whiteness and coldness, then one of two things is necessary: either it must not be said that these are in a subject, or it must be incorrect to deny to what are in a subject that they should be so as parts (to mē hōs merē einai). But how is it possible that completives, in general, should be said to be in a subject? For the shape (morphē) of Socrates is not in Socrates as in a subject; rather, if anything, it would be the [things] additionally coming in to already complete [entities] from outside that would be in these as in subjects. Here we should observe the following: (a) It is acknowledged that for anything to be corporeal, we must presuppose that it will possess (some) color, (some) shape, etc.; in other words, what are regarded as con4  In Cat. 48.1–11. The same aporia, formulated in similar terms, can also be found in Dexippus, In Cat. I 22, 23.17–24.

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Second Ennead stituents of corporeality are the features of color, shape, etc., that is, the potentiality for the acquisition of specific properties within the range determined by each of these features. We thus find ourselves within a perspective that is not far removed from P.’s own views on matter as a potentiality for the acquisition of shapes and qualities, set out in treatise II 5.5 (b) The “completives of substance” are not “in a subject,” because they constitute the subject itself; the latter is further characterized by the accidents “additionally coming in from outside,” that is, by the “further imported qualities” (epeisaktoi poiotētes). If one were to remove all these, literally nothing would remain, inasmuch as the matter of sensibles is “nonbeing essentially” (ontōs mē on).6 In other words, we are seeing the Aristotelian primary substance evaporating into a simple “concurrence of qualities” (syndromē poiotētōn).7 The question that arises, accordingly, is the following: These completive properties of substance—are they, or are they not, qualities? If they are, then their being predicated of substances as “of a subject” (kath’ hupokeimenou) will breach the fundamental rule concerning “things belonging to different genera” (ta heterogenē) that Aristotle lays out in Cat. 3, 1b16–17. If they are not, then either they will be substances—but it was said that only their intelligible models can be substances—or it will be necessary to introduce an eleventh category in addition to Aristotle’s ten.8 Various attempts were made to provide a solution to this problem, the most important one being that of Porphyry. According to him, the specific differentiae constitute “essential qualities” (ousiōdeis poiotētes), a kind of hybrid, intermediate between Quality and Substance—this being the reason why they are comprehended in the definition of a substance.9 The solution proposed by P. is less drastic, but at the same time more radical: for he refuses altogether to recognize either that there are sensible substances of any kind whatsoever, or that intelligible differentiae are qualities. The latter he considers as being “activities” (energeiai) that constitute and “define” the logoi, that is, the intelligible “formative principles” of sensible bodies. If, in the definition of a substance, the proximate genus plays the role of matter because of its potentiality—because, that is, of the susceptibility of its features to assume different “values”10—then the differentia is literally “formative” (eidopoios), inasmuch as it defines the “values” which configure that particular intelligible; cf. my comment on II 4.4.2–7. In this way, these “activities” both constitute and describe the Forms and the formative principles, but at the same time they also secure their interconnection—through relations of identity and difference—with other See also my comment on II 4.11.1–13. See II 5.5.20–27, and my comments on II 4.9.1–11, 12.1–7, and 13.7–23; cf. Arist. Metaph. Ζ 3, 1029a11–15. Concerning the Platonic ancestry of this view, see Sorabji 1988, 44. 7  See Porph. In Cat. 129.10 Busse; and cf. Sext. Emp. Math. VII 276–78. More generally, see Sorabji op. cit., 46–50. It is worth remarking on the similarity of P.’s views on the question at hand with those of Speusippus; cf. Cherniss 1944, 59–62. 8  See Philop. In Cat. 5, 66.7–12. 9  See Porph. In Cat. 94.29–96.1; Simpl. In Cat. 98.1–35; and P. Kotzia-­Panteli 1992, 168–69. 10  Cf. Porph. Isag. 11.2–5. 5  6 



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intelligibles, determining, ultimately, their position within the realm of the Intellect.11 Their multiplicity, however, is only apparent. In reality, they comprise an inseverable unity, which only comes to be apprehended as multiple at the lower level of “discursive reason” (dianoia), where the intelligible presentations are analyzed into “propositions” (protaseis) and “definitions” (horismoi); cf. V 9.8.12–22, and my comments on I 1.8.6–8 and I 3.5.1–4.12 Concurrently, images of these “activities”—namely, “secondary activities” (deuterai energeiai)—are projected onto the sensible domain, activating the potentiality of matter and becoming apprehensible as qualities, whether these amount to constitutive and inseparable properties, or to merely incidental attributes. Only the last, however, comprise real, “pure” qualities, because it is only these that are entirely isolated from substance, owing to their dependence on the bodies in which they appear without ever being really present.

Commentary 1.1–8. Ἆρα . . . ἡ οὐσία: The five “greatest genera” (megista genē) of Plato’s Sophist (254d4–e5), which, as P. was to explain in detail in his “treatise” VI 2, constitute a system of categories of the intelligible world, are here presented as subdivisions or “elements” (stoicheia) comprising a supreme quasi genus (cf. V 9.10.10–14 and VI 2.2.3–10): that of “Substance” (ousia), which is in this way rendered synonymous with “Substantiality” (ousiotēs: cf. CH XII 1, 174.6), that is, “eideticity” or “intelligible matter” (noētē hulē); cf. my comment on II 4.4.2–7. These five genera are coordinate, none of them being subordinate to any other, and thus each is independent of, or “isolated from” (apērēmōmenon; cf. Pl. Soph. 237d3), the rest, any interrelations among them being only incidental. Conversely, they all inhere in Substance, not as incidental attributes, but as constitutive parts; cf. VI 2.18.12–15. See also Kalligas 1988, 96; and Lloyd 1988, 86–87. 1.8. πῶς οὖν οὐ καὶ ἐνταῦθα:The question posed here echoes a classic argument of Aristotle’s against the Theory of Forms (Metaph. Α 9, 990b28–991a8). This purported to show that “if the Forms can be partaken of, then necessarily there are Ideas only of substances,” and it deployed a type of argumentation for which G.E.L. Owen 1968, 116 ff. introduced the term “two-­level paradox.” These paradoxes made use of the difference pertaining between two kinds of predicates that are applicable to the Platonic Forms. Of these, A-­predicates refer to properties that the Forms possess as Forms, whereas B-­ predicates either determine the logical behavior of the corresponding concept, or represent constituents of their definitions. It is obvious that although A-­predicates designate categorial properties of the Forms, nevertheless they are not predicated as “of a subject,” and accordingly they do not exhibit the transitivity enjoyed by B-­predicates. This means that the greatest genera may, like the totality of Forms, together comprise Substance, 11  12 

See Lloyd 1990, 86–92. A response is thereby also provided to the aporia formulated by Alex. Aphrod. In Metaph. 91.31–92.18.

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Second Ennead but ousia itself, as an A-­predicate, does not constitute their genus in the logical sense of the term. Consequently, although ousia characterizes all the Forms (as does also, e.g., eternity), it cannot be attributed to the things “here (below),” that is, to the sensibles that partake of them, other than homonymously; cf. Annas 1977, 157–59. 1.8–12. ἡ ἐκεῖ . . . οὐκ ἀληθῆ:Multiplicity and dispersion are characteristics of sensible bodies, resulting from the disorganizing nature of matter; see my comment on II 4.11.27–43. Conversely, the intelligibles are charactized by unity, and they constitute a unified plurality, to describe which P. often has recourse to Anaxagoras’ famous phrase, “all things (are) together” (homou panta: fr. B1 DK); cf. my comments on I 1.8.6–8, V 9.6.8–15, and VI 5.5.3–6.4. There, every being contains all others, resulting in the complete transparency and compactness of the intelligible; see V 8.4.4–10, 9.16–18; and Trouillard 1961, 125–28 and 133. Heraclitus’ dictum that “all (are) one” (hen panta: fr. B50 DK)—which is directly to be correlated with the other one that P. cites at II 3.16.53—enjoyed considerable renown in antiquity, especially among the Stoics; see, for example, Cleanthes Hymn to Zeus 20 = SVF 1:537. Philo Spec. leg. I 208, employs it to designate the organic unity holding fast all the members of an organism, whether diluted into “need” (chrēsmosunē: see I 8.5.25, with my comment) during the phase of its “harmonious arrangement” (diakosmēsis), or—principally—as “satiety” (koros) in its seminal form. Thus it was natural that it should be considered especially appropriate to describe the intelligible realm; see CH XII 8, 177.6–7, and more generally, Norden 1923, 246–50. 1.13–22. τὰς οὖν ποιότητας . . . συμβεβηκός:The intelligible models of sensible qualities, the Forms, will therefore constitute substances, that is, subdivisions of Substance (ousia). Conversely, their images in the sensible domain will not be real substances, but qualities, some of which combine to comprise the so-­called sensible substances (as discussed in my introduction to this treatise), while others inhere in these as mere accidents. It is worth noting that, although at this point P. is still (concessively) making use of the term ousia in its Aristotelian sense (16; see, e.g., II 5.2.12–13), he will later take pains to amend his formulation, so as to leave no room for misunderstanding: the addition or accumulation of qualities cannot ever lead to the formation of a true substance; see VI 2.14.14– 22; and Rutten 1961, 75. “White lead” (psimuthion)—the lead carbonate that was once widely employed as a cosmetic—is mentioned, along with snow, as an example of a white body by Aristotle, Eth. Nic. I 6, 1096b23, but the addition of the swan (which will be retracted soon after, at 31–32) suggests the possible side-­influence of some intermediate source. 1.22–29. ἢ τὸ λευκὸν . . . γίγνοιτο:Tentative formulation of a view that presents important similarities with that of Porphyry (on which see my introduction ad note 9): the “completives” (sumplērōtika) of (sensible) substance, the constitutive specific differentiae, are not qualities, nor of course substances, but properties of a sui generis kind: “essential qualities” (ousiōdeis poiotētes: cf. Porph. In Cat. 95.17–33). They are integral constituents of sensible substance and are included in its definition. On the other hand,



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simple properties somehow surround this substantive nucleus of the object and lend it additional characteristics; these, however, do not modify its nature, which—as long as the former are present—remains constant and unchanged. What distinguishes these simple properties is that they are not included in the definition, and consequently they are not components of the “formative principle” (logos) responsible for the constitution of sensible bodies. In my translation into modern Greek I tried as far as possible to preserve (as Armstrong often does not) the distinction captured in the paired terms poiotēs (“quality”) and poion (“qualification,” “property”), seeking to indicate thereby that the former usually refers to the abstract universal concept, whereas the latter denotes its particular expression in a corporeal entity. Cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 124.25–33; Simpl. In Cat. 207.28–208.4 and 211.5–212.11. 1.29–42. ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . οὐ τί:P. has objections to this view, mainly because it persists in recognizing that sensibles contain a nucleus of substantiality—which is none other than Aristotle’s “secondary substance” (deutera ousia)—around which the differentiae congregate. If we admit the existence of substantial entities corresponding to substantive predicates—for example, “fireness” (purotēs) in the case of “fire” (pur)—then we will not be in a position to explain how the same qualities—for example, “heat” (thermotēs)—will in one case be substantive and completive (of “fireness”), while in other cases they will be mere accidents; cf. Simpl. op. cit. 209.9–10. Conversely, if we regard as substances only the intelligible models of sensible qualities (or, more generally, of properties falling under any category other than substance), then the “primary substances” are reduced to compositions of matter together with these properties, while the “secondary substances” are reduced to simple abstractions from the former, without any precise correspondent in the realm of the Forms; see however below, my comment on 2.15–20. Thus, for instance, the predicate psimuthion (“white lead”) will not correspond to some intelligible Form of psimuthion (“White Lead”), but will consist in mere shorthand for the coexistence within matter of a series of nonsubstantive predicates, one of which is “white” (leukon), which does itself correspond to the intelligible Form “Whiteness” (leukotēs), and designates its inherent property of being white. This property is constitutive or completive, in the sense that if it were absent, the particular sensible body could no longer have the name it has—unlike what happens in the case of a swan, which, even if it is plucked or dyed, does not lose those fundamental properties that are comprehended in the “formative principle” or “definition” (logos) by which it is rendered a swan. Indeed, even if (as was actually to occur centuries later) there were to be discovered in Australia a kind of bird that, albeit black, were to possess these same essential properties, it too could assume the name “swan” without bringing about any kind of rearrangement in the intelligible realm. We recall here the hesitation shown by the young Socrates when he was asked by “Parmenides” about the existence or not of separate Forms corresponding to substantive predicates such as “man,” “fire,” or “water”; see Pl. Prm. 130c1–4. In recent times it has been maintained that according to Plato’s theory, “there are Forms corresponding only to incomplete predicates,” that is, nonsubstantive ones; see Nehamas 1973, 469–76, and also Owen 1957, 107–10. Hence, this nomi-

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Second Ennead nalistic stance of P.’s with respect to substantive predicates cannot be regarded as going against the spirit of Platonism, of which it represents, on the contrary, a careful and sensitive analysis. 1.42–49. ὅθεν καὶ ἁμαρτάνειν . . . αὐτῆς πάθη:P. believes that he is by now in a position to unravel the causes of the deception of our cognitive faculties, whenever they are confronted with sensible objects: it is the Forms that are the real substances, but our senses only have access to their images, that is, to the sensible properties reflected on matter. Because the soul, however—pursuing its innate tendency—inquires after the “what [it is]” (ti) and not after “what [is its] qualification” (poion ti), it is carried away by impressions to fashion—out of these same impressions—spurious “primary substances” that come to stand in for the true ones in man’s consciousness, leading him along through what is “unclear” (asaphes) to “impasse” (aporia). Cf. ?Pl. Ep. VII, 343b8–c5; and Wagner 1985, 274—but also VI 3.15.26–7. Unfortunately, at this critical juncture the text is exceedingly obscure, and it has inspired varied, even contradictory, interpretations. On the basis of the line of interpretation I set out above, it becomes clear why, in my opinion, the to men in l. 46 cannot refer to pur in the previous line, as most scholars have believed until now (see indicatively the translations of Bréhier, Harder, Igal, and Armstrong; also Corrigan 1981, 107 and passim), but instead—indirectly—to the ti of l. 43. The view P. seeks here to defend is precisely that fire is not a substance: sensible fire is not a substance, because it consists in a mere combination of “properties” (pathē; cf. V 5.1.12–15); intelligible fire is not a substance, because it subsists only as an abstract concept or logos. My reading will perhaps be made clearer if I provide an alternative English translation of these lines: “This is why we are always making mistakes about what something is (peri to ti), because in our investigations concerning it we are always slipping off it and being carried away to [the question of ] its qualification (to poion). For the fire of which we speak when we have in mind its qualification (eis to poion aphorōntes) does not exist (ou gar einai), but Substance is one thing (to men einai ousian), and another what we now see (ha de nun blepomen) and have in mind as we speak (eis ha kai aphorōntes legomen), so that we are led away from what something is (apagein hēmas apo tou ti) to defining its qualification (kai orizesthai to poion).” 1.50–52. πῶς οὐκ . . . τὸ γενόμενον οὐσία:P. now turns to face a purely Peripatetic objection: how is it possible for a sensible substance to be a product of the combination of nonsubstantial constituents? Cf. Arist. Cat. 5, 3a29–31; Ph. I 6, 189a33. Indeed, Porphyry reformulates this Aristotelian principle in even more categoric terms: “the completives of substances are substances” (ta sumplērōtika de tōn ousiōn ousiai: see In Cat. 95.33; cf. apud Zos. Alch. Peri Iou 205.13–14, and also Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 121.21–22, and Quaest. I 26, 42.10–14; see also Wurm 1973, 255–56). But P. challenges this view frontally (cf. VI 3.8.30–34), and he does so for two reasons: (a) What is derived need not have the same nature as that from which it derives. More particularly, in the case of the production of an image, what is derived is ontologically inferior to its creative principle, of which it is a secondary “activity” (energeia); cf. V 2.2.2–3, V 4.2.27–33, V



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5.13.37–38; Igal 1982–98, 1:30–31; and my comments on I 1.2.7–9 and I 2.1.29–38. Moreover, (b) the so-­called sensible substance is no substance at all, but merely—as was mentioned earlier—“a conglomeration of qualities and matter”; cf. VI 3.8.20. 1.52–58. ἀλλὰ πῶς . . . τούτου: A further aporia arises from within the structure of the Platonic ontology itself: how is it possible for Substance (and indeed, for what is “really substance” (ontōs ousia); cf. Pl. Soph. 248a11) to derive from a principle beyond Being, such as the One? This question is dealt with in the brief treatise V 4 [7] within the framework of answer (a) given above. The Forms constitute a secondary activity of the “power” (dunamis) of the One (see V 4.2.33–40), but they constitute real Substance only when they are contemplated all together, as an organized multiple unity (cf. above, 1.4–8). Their unity is circumstantiated by their nature as “activities” (see II 5.3.30–31), that is, as differentiations of the uniform “radiation” of the One in the realm of the intelligible. The “addition” of the differentiae according to which the Forms are individuated is also an indication of diminution in respect to the absolute unity of the supreme principle; cf. V 5.13.9–23. Igal proposes an ingenious reading of this passage as an extension of the problematic concerning sensible “substance,” but this would entail the insertion of an ouk before ousia in l. 55, an emendation that I find excessively daring. 2.1–13. Ἀλλὰ περὶ . . . ἡ ὕλη οὐσία:We return to the investigation of the view set out earlier in 1.22–29, which appears to have held a particular interest for P. If we admit the existence of properties completive of substance, this will imply that the substance concerned will be qualitatively determined and that, therefore, there exists also a substantial nucleus, an ultimate “substrate” (hupokeimenon), to which these properties are superadded, and which thereby complete it as inseparable accidents of some kind (cf. II 4.14.11– 12, with my comment). The foregoing ensues from nothing other than the logical behavior of properties, given that these must always inhere in a “what it is” (ti esti). Yet the subtraction of these properties reveals that instead of substance, it is matter that would be the ultimate subject or substrate; cf. VI 3.8.14–19 and my comment on II 4.11.1–3. 2.13–14. ἀλλ’ οὐ . . . ποιότης:For reasons independent of Aristotle’s purposes in formulating an analogous argument (see Metaph. Ζ 3, 1029a11–27; and Scaltsas 1985, 221–22), P. is led to observe that matter, as total privation and mere potentiality for the acquisition of properties (cf. II 4.13.10 and II 5.4.3–4), is unsuitable to play the role of a substantial ontological substrate surrounded by properties, given that it is essentially lacking in identity. Only the enmattered form could undertake such a role (cf. Arist. op. cit. 1029a29, and Z 17, 1041b8–9), except that, as has already been stated, the images of the intelligible Forms in the sensible domain constitute properties, not substances; see above, my comment on 1.13–22. 2.15–20. ἢ οὐ ποιότης . . . καταλείψομεν:What, then, is that ‘formative principle’ that systematically articulates the images of the intelligible Forms into natural shapes and configurations, and that determines what properties will go into the making of what bodies? It is none other than the logos, which in this manner acts as “the representative of a superior

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Second Ennead kind of reality at a lower level” (Rist 1967b, 84) and organizes sensible phenomena into a unitary cosmos. Its structure is reflected in the “definition”—the logos, once more—of each sensible “substance,” which depicts the composition of the properties—the nonsubstantive predicates—that determine the nature of a particular corporeal entity. Hence, we see that the “nominalism” invoked in my comment on 1.29–42 does anything but lead P. to linguistic relativism. The names we employ to refer to the sensible bodies that surround us reflect, through their definitions, the combination of characteristics of which these bodies consist. The characteristics themselves represent creative manifestations of the logos in the domain of the sensible, and they only appear to be multifarious and variegated when they escape from the unity that informs them in their seminal, intelligible condition; see above, 1.8–12, with my comment, but also SVF 2:318. 2.20–22. ἢ ταύτας . . . ἰοῦσαι: These manifestations of the logos—its “activities”—are not strictly speaking qualities, inasmuch as they are constitutive elements of the identity of the object we are speaking about. If any of these should be modified, then we will no longer be speaking of the same object, but of some other, which will be a manifestation of a different logos. On the other hand, the expression “are said to be” (legontai) reminds us that the term “substance” (ousia) is here being employed concessively; cf. above, my comment on 1.13–22. 2.22–34. ἃ δ’ ἐστὶν . . . ἔμμονον αὐτῆς:Conversely, qualities (poiotētes)—in the strict sense of the term—are only those properties, the presence or absence of which does not affect the identity of an object as defined by its logos. The examples P. cites show that he has in mind some of the subdivisions of quality referred to by Aristotle in chapter 8 of his Categoriae. There are the “states” (hexeis: cf. 8b29, 33–35), which include the virtues and vices, and the “conditions” (diatheseis: cf. 8b37), which include uglinesses and beauties and health: the former are distinguished by their “greater longevity and lesser susceptibility to change”; the latter by their “changeability” (eukinēton: 9a4–10). There are also the “shape” (schēma) and the “external form” (morphē), with respect to which P.— on the basis of the analysis set out above, in my comment on 1.13–22—diverged from the view of Aristotle (10a11–15). The triangle itself, being a shape, does not constitute a quality, but rather a Form, that is, a substance; qualification consists in something’s having triangular shape, which means that this something must in itself be something else that has acquired triangular shape; cf. [Archyt.] Cat. 24.19–25.1 in conjunction with the comment of Simpl. In Cat. 271.25–31. Finally, mention is made of “arts” (technai) and “aptitudes” (epitēdeiotētes), that is, of what are “called [what they are] by virtue of a capacity or incapacity” (cf. Arist. op. cit. 9a14–27). 3.1–6. Τὸ οὖν λευκὸν . . . ἐχούσας:At the intelligible level, the archetypes of qualities will, as has been said, consist in substances. Nor do these enter directly into the composition of sensible bodies, being mediated by the logos, which is itself in turn constituted by the “activities” of those archetypes; cf. II 5.3.30–34, VI 1.10.20–24, my comment on I 1.2.7–9, and above all my introduction to this treatise. These energeiai define the position of every intelligible within the network of their mutual interconnections, and they



II 6. On Substance, or on Quality

are apprehended by our consciousness as relations of identity and difference with respect to other intelligibles, all intelligibles being defined by means of such relations. Cf. V 1.4.33–43; Smith 1981, 104; and my comment on I 3.4.2–6. As Igal correctly notes ad loc., for P. “whiteness” does not constitute, in the case of someone belonging to the white race, an incidental attribute, but rather a formative characteristic of his, and hence an element of his logos; cf. V 9.12.4–11. 3.6–11. τί οὖν . . . οὐ ποιόν:The substantive, primary “activities” (energeiai) indicate “what something is” (and what it is not) and are integral to its substance, of which they are inseparable constitutive elements. See Santa Cruz de Prunes 1979, 127–28. 3.11–14. ὅταν δὲ . . . φανὲν αὐτῷ:The secondary “activities going out from substance” (energeiai ek tēs ousias: cf. V 4.2.27–33)—the sensible images of the primary activities on matter—are apprehended as properties. Some of these properties are combined by the logos into sensible “substances” (see above, my comment on 2.14–20), to which they thus belong as “constitutive properties” and peculiar characteristics. 3.14–17. εἰ δὲ τοῦτο . . . ἄλλως ποιότητα:Thus, for example, heat, as a constitutive property of fire, will of course not constitute a real Form, but will be “something like a Form” (eidos ti) in respect of fire. Hence, it could only be called a quality by some special extension of the term’s usage, such as the one proposed by Porphyry (see my comment on 1.22–29). The example of heat is of course derived from Plato’s Phaedo, 103c11–d12, but it is the stock example employed in presenting the theory of the two activities: cf. V 1.3.10, V 3.7.21–25, V 9.8.12–14; my comment on I 2.1.29–38; and Ferwerda 1965, 68–69; also [Ocell.] De uniu. nat. 11, 127.26–27. 3.17–29. μόνην δὲ . . . μόνον τοῦτο:The only genuine qualities are the “incidental attributes” (sumbebēkota). These do not compose any logos, but consist in isolated images of intelligible activities adhering to the wandering and perpetually changing phantasms that make up the sensible universe. Cf. Schroeder 1980, 51. In summary, P.’s theory might be represented, with the help of a diagram, as follows: Intelligibles

Sensibles

Substance substances – Forms (essential differentiae)

qualities – mere properties (incidental attributes) “in something else”

primary activities logoi intelligible “qualities”

sensible “substances” secondary activities

completive qualities (specific differences)

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II 7 [37]. On Complete Transfusion Synopsis 1 Introduction to the subject of complete transfusion. Three Peripatetic objections to the Stoic theory. Stoic responses to these objections. 2 Theory: P.’s position on each of these objections (in reverse order). 3 Appendix: Corporeality is to be identified neither with body nor with its definition, but rather with its formative principle.

Introduction With this brief treatise, P. intervenes in a dispute between the Peripatos and the Stoa that had begun at the start of the Hellenistic period. Aristotle had presented—in the tenth chapter of the first book of the De generatione et corruptione—his comprehensive theory of “mixture” (mixis), which held that this type of unification of bodies is to be clearly differentiated both from: (a) sunthesis (“composition” or “mechanical combination”), that is, the simple juxtaposition of two bodies’ component particles; and (b) the radical, and not immediately reversible, transformation of the combined constituents into a completely new body, in which case— according to his view—we are dealing rather with a phenomenon of “coming-­to-­be and passing-­away” or “generation and perishing” (genesis kai phthora). Mixis instead does, indeed, give rise to a single homogeneous body “of like parts” (homoiomeres), but one in which the original components remain present “potentially” (dunamei) in such a manner that they can be separated out anew: they “therefore neither persist actually nor do they perish, either singly or both, for their potency is preserved (sōzetai gar ē dunamis autōn)” (op. cit. 327b29–31).1 Given that, as Aristotle himself had pointed out (op. cit. 327b35–328a4), such an effect is obtainable primarily in the case of the mixture of liquids, the term mixis came by stages to be replaced by the term krasis (“blending” or “coalescence”), which even more emphatically implied the homogeneity of the resultant body.2 When we come to the Stoics, we find a tripartite division into: (a) mixis (“mechanical mixture” or “mingling”), which, being understood by now as “the juxtaposition (parathesis) . . . of different bodies (diaphorōn sōmatōn),” clearly corresponds to AristoJoachim 1926, 175, views Aristotle’s mixis as corresponding to our concept of “chemical combination.” What is certain—and this, in spite of the reservations expressed by Williams 1982, 142—is that its resemblance to the electrovalent bonds, at least, of modern chemical theory is striking, inasmuch as the transfer of electrons from the outermost shells of one set of atoms to another, and the reciprocal conversion of the latter into ions, could be regarded as yielding a combination corresponding to the type Aristotle had in mind, in which the original constituents remain present in potentiality. 2  A characteristic phase of this development is found in the testimony of Arius Didymus (fr. ph. 28, 463– 64) concerning Chrysippus, where the doxographer seems to want to draw a distinction between the two terms, but fails to do so convincingly; see Todd 1976, 56. 1 



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telian sunthesis (“composition”); (b) krasis (“blending” or “transfusion”), which is defined as “the complete mutual coextension of dissimilar parts interpenetrating one another (tōn anhomoiōn merōn eis allēla eisduomenōn di’ holōn antiparektasis), though their qualities can still be separated by some device (eti dunamenōn epitechnēsei tini diakrinesthai tōn poiotētōn)”; and (c) sunchusis (“fusion”), which entails the “destruction of the original qualities”; see Philo Conf. 184 = SVF 2:463–64 (definitions trans. Todd). Their principle point of divergence from Aristotle has of course to do with krasis, in which, as the Stoics maintained, the blended constituents continue to subsist and to “show forth together” (sunekphainesthai), this being what ensures the possibility of their reseparation.3 Yet the definition just cited seemed to presuppose the possibility that two bodies will be infinitely coextended in such a manner that the original components will inhere in every portion, howsoever minute, of the blend ad infinitum. And this—in the eyes of their opponents, at least—seemed to imply that it is possible for two bodies to occupy exactly the same space. The last point brought down on the Stoics a hail of objections, which, although informed in many cases by prejudice or misrepresentation, managed in the end to convey the impression that the path on which they had struck led to an impasse.4 What, then, was the alternative solution that the later Peripatetics had to propose? It has been preserved by Galen (SVF 2:463–64 and Sub. nat. fac. IV 762) and Arius Didymus (fr. ph. 4, 449.1–3),5 and proposes that krasis (in the sense of “coalescence”) concerns only the qualities of bodies, while they themselves—their “substances” (ousiai)—are merely juxtaposed, “being broken up into little bits” (thruptomena kata mikra moria).6 Over and above its inherent difficulties, such a response could not provide complete satisfaction to a Platonist such as P., for whom sensible bodies do not constitute substances, but rather (as we have seen in treatise II 6) compositions of qualities and “unqualified matter” (apoios hulē). Indeed, if we also consider his view that matter lacks not just quality but also quantity (onkos: see II 4.11.24–28), then the nature of the components juxtaposed in a blend remains to be clarified. For what is it, then, which prevents bodies undergoing transfusion from interpenetrating one another completely, and which ensures that the volume of the ensuing blend will not be the same as that of one of the components, but will instead be roughly equal to the sum of their two volumes? The answer suggested by P.—not without hesitation and uncertainty—is that the responsibility for this must lie either in a particular quality, namely, “density” (puknotēs), or in a corresponding combination of qualities: not qualities in themselves, as these are incorporeal, but rather qualities as they appear on matter, which (as noted in my com3  See Ar. Did. op. cit., 464.1–4; Alex. Aphrod. De mixt. 220.27–35; and Sambursky 1959, 13. A similar position was attributed to Plato himself by Menon in his Iatrica; see Anon. Lond. XIV 12–26. 4  On this whole question, see Sorabji 1988, 79–104. P. had himself contributed to the critique of the Stoic view; see IV 7.82.7–21. 5  In Nat. fac. I 2.5, Galen ascribes it to Hippocrates (!). Also pertinent is Moraux 1973–2001, 1:280–83. Cf. the testimony of Hippol. Haer. V 21, concerning a work “On Blending and Mixture” (Peri kraseōs kai mixeōs) by Andronicus of Rhodes. 6  Cf. Simpl. In Cael. 660.19–31; and Sext. Emp. Pyr. III 57–58.

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Second Ennead ment on II 4.11.13–43) has the tendency to extend them in space, so that they come to form corporeal volumes. Even “corporeality” (sōmatotēs) itself consists in a “formative principle” (logos), and consequently it can only become constituted as a body when it finds itself within the domain of materiality. As the pertinent section 82 of the treatise “On the Immortality of the Soul” (IV 7 [2]) makes clear, the importance of this problematic for P.—as also for the Stoics7—was linked to the circumstance that “blending” offered itself as a model to describe the relation between body and soul. The subject gave rise to lengthy discussions within P.’s school (see VP 13.10–12), an echo of which is to be discerned in the remains of Porphyry’s Summikta Zētēmata.8

Commentary 1.1–4. Περὶ τῆς . . . εἰ γίγνοιτο:The term krasis (“blending”) normally designated the kind of “mixture” (mixis) in which the ingredients entering into combination are fluids; see Arist. Top. IV 2, 122b25–31; and Alex. Aphrod. De mixt. 13, 228.34–37. In conjunction with the expression di’ holōn (“through and through”), it referred to the “complete transfusion” of two or more bodies along their full extent, as the Stoics understood it (see SVF 2:471, 472, 479), that is, to the case where the resultant blend was entirely “homogeneous” (homoiomeres) and “no part of the bodies that had been mixed existed with its own shape and surface”; see Alex. Aphrod. op. cit. 7, 220.37–221.15 trans. Todd; and cf. Galen Temp. I 9, I 563. 1.4–6. οἱ μὲν γὰρ . . . ἐατέοι:The “atomic” theory that P. here dismisses corresponds to “mingling” or “composition,” that is, to Stoic mixis and Aristotelian sunthesis (on which see my introduction, above); in the doxographical portion of De mixtione, Alexander of Aphrodisias ascribes it to Democritus (2, 214.18–25 = Democr. fr. A64 DK; cf. Anaxag. fr. A54 DK). Aristotle had already treated this as a purely phenomenal case of mixis, stating that it was only “something relative to perception” (Gen. corr. I 10, 327b33), devoid of reality for an acute observer such as Lynceus (ibid. 328a24–28). “Juxtaposition” (parathesis) was the distinguishing feature of particulate theories of mixture (cf. IV 7.3.1–3): to the Stoics it signified “the contact of bodies at their surfaces, as we see with heaps” (Ar. Did. fr. ph. 28, 463.21 = SVF 2:471 trans. Todd). 1.6–8. εἴπερ δεῖ . . . εἶναι: The fact that the definition of krasis contained in the present clause is so casually introduced reinforces the impression we have already gained from the expression legomenēs (“what is called”) in l. 1: which is, that we find ourselves in the middle of a discussion begun long ago, echoes of which are to be discovered in various parts of the corpus of Alexander of Aphrodisias, besides the De mixtione; see, mainly, De an. mant. 139.29–141.28, and Quaest. II 12, 57.7–30. According to this definition, krasis results in (a) a homoiomeres material body, that is, one that in its constitution displays no 7  8 

On this see Mansfeld 1983, 308–9. See Dörrie 1959, 24–35; and cf. VI 4.1.17–29.



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heterogeneity, no discontinuity, no differentiation whatsoever between its parts (cf. Arist. Gen. corr. I 10, 328a10–12; and Alex. Aphrod. De mixt. 7, 221.9 and 15, 231.26–27); and (b) any portion of the blend, no matter how minute, will comprise both intermixed ingredients; cf. Hier. El. Eth. IV 6–8. The latter provision aims at excluding cases such as the one referred to by Aristotle (op. cit. 328a24–28), where one of the two ingredients predominates and somehow comes to assimilate the other. 1.8–10. οἱ μὲν οὖν . . . ποιότητας:At this point we are presented with the later Peripatetic theory I discussed in my introduction, which held that whenever two bodies are blended, their respective matter is juxtaposed (such that the volume of the blend equals the sum of the volumes of its two ingredients), but their individual qualities coalesce to produce new, or intermediate, or at any rate different qualities from the original ones: the result “displays a single appearance, just like the song composed of different sounds ever so closely juxtaposed which seems to have been blended and to be one,” in the words of Simplicius, In Cael. 661.10–12. Cf. Alex. Aphrod. De mixt. 14, 231.10–12 and 233.2–5. As will become clear in what follows, the problem with this theory—from P.’s point of view—is that while it does presuppose the juxtaposed matter to be “unqualified” (apoios), it does not equally presuppose it to be “unquantified” (aposos), as he himself maintained; see II 4.9.4–5 and my comment on II 4.11.27–43. 1.11–15. πιθανοὶ . . . εἰς θάτερον:This Peripatetic theory appears in the form of a counterargument to the corresponding Stoic one, focusing on two points: (a) That if the masses of the two ingredients were not somehow juxtaposed, but their mutual interpenetration was pursued to infinity, then they would only have contact at the level of a point. Alexander of Aphrodisias offers a more complete exposition of the argument: “If the constituents leave no undivided remainder in the blend, they would be divided through and through, and the cut would be effected not into parts but into divisions, if no particle of them remains beyond the division. Then if each body is reconstituted through the composition of the bodies into which it has been divided, the bodies that have been divided in this way would be composed neither of parts nor bodies, but divisions” (De mixt. 8, 221.34–222.3 trans. Todd, with additions). Cf. also IV 7.82.7–18. 1.15–19. καὶ δὴ . . . ἐνεβλήθη: (b) That if this mutual interpenetration were total, then there should not come about any increase in the volume of the combined ingredients, given that the one would occupy exactly the same space already occupied by the other, being “coextended” (antiparekteinomenon) with it, so that its volume would add nothing to the other’s, but would coincide with it. This consideration was repeatedly adduced by Alexander as an element in the reductio argument by which he sought to confound the Stoic theory of blending; see De mixt. 6, 220.3–10, and De an. mant. 140.10–23. P. pursued the exact same tactic in his early treatise “On the Immortality of the Soul” (see IV 7 [2].82.7–10). 1.19–20. οὐ δὲ . . . θάτερον: The Peripatetics also had a ready response for those cases where it appeared that no expansion of volume supervened on the intermixture of two

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Second Ennead material bodies: when, for instance, a sponge is soaked in water, what happens is that one material flows into the interstices of the other, pushing out the air that previously filled the empty spaces. Cf. Alex. Aphrod. De mixt. 5, 218.24–27. 1.20–21. καὶ τὸ σμικρὸν . . . χωρήσειε:This Peripatetic demurral—let us label it (c)— echoes one of the oldest and most frequently reiterated objections to the Stoic theory of krasis. Cf. Plut. Comm. not. 1078c–e; Sext. Emp. Pyr. III 59–61; SVF 2:479– 80; Alex. Aphrod. De mixt. 6, 220.14–16, De an. mant. 140.10–23; and see also IV 7.82.14–15. 1.22–32. οἱ δ’ αὖ . . . δηλονότι:Nevertheless, P. is willing to hear the other side as well. He thus proceeds to pass in review the various responses proferred by the Stoics to the aforementioned objections. As far as (a) is concerned, the Stoics have nothing to counter with other than examples such as that of sweat, where—in their view—a fluid permeates and penetrates a solid body without disrupting its cohesion. P. does not, however, appear to be persuaded by their explanations, and he reverts to the same phenomenon below, at 2.7 ff., explaining it on the basis of his own theory. 1.33–41. τὰς δὲ αὔξας . . . μέγεθος:We now come to objection (b): straight away the Stoics are shown as being ready to accept that blending brings about a body greater in volume than either of its separate ingredients. Hence, they also accept the explanation advanced in the case discussed at 19–20 above, where an escape of air is said to occur. Nevertheless, they are able to claim that this increase in volume is due to the fact that each ingredient contributes to the blend not only its qualities, but also its volume. This view retains P.’s interest—after all, it is not very dissimilar to his own, as we shall see in due course—and he therefore goes on to elicit certain clarifications. 1.41–48. ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . μὴ γίνεσθαι:The floor is once again given to the Peripatetics: if the increase in volume implies that the masses of the two ingredients are juxtaposed, as when two linear segments are joined end to end to produce a length greater than either of the initial ones (cf. Alex. Aphrod. De mixt. 6, 219.13–18), then there is complete agreement; but if the Stoics maintain that it is as if the two linear segments were placed one on top of the other, then no increase in volume is justified. 1.48–56. τὸ δ’ ἔλαττον . . . γίγνοιτο:As concerns objection (c), P. confesses his inability to grasp in what way the Stoics conceive a body to be able to extend itself so as to occupy a volume many times its initial one, when its mass is and remains continuous (this being a precondition common to both P. and the Stoics; cf. above, my comment on 1.4–8) and when its nature and qualities remain unchanged (SVF 2:471–73; see also Sambursky 1959, 14–15)—unlike what happens when the material state of a body is transformed, where we do have an alteration of its qualities, or otherwise a phenomenon of “coming-­to-­be and passing-­away” (genesis kai phthora: cf. Alex. Aphrod. De mixt. 16, 234.7–9).



II 7. On Complete Transfusion

2.1–3. Τοῦτο δὲ . . . ἐν τῷ γενομένῳ:On the question of the expansion a body undergoes in being transformed from a liquid to a gas, we have not been vouchsafed the explanation P. had in mind, but we can imagine that it would not have differed in substance from those provided by Aristotle (Ph. IV 9, 217a10–b20) and Alexander (Quaest. II 12, 57.16–22), according to which it is the succession of different “active qualities” (poiētikai poiotētes) upon the same matter that is responsible for the increase in volume. 2.3–6. νῦν δὲ . . . φανεῖται: This declaration marks the end of the aporetic part of the treatise and the beginning of its expository part, the theōria. The methodology described is somewhat at variance from the one P. habitually followed (cf., e.g., III 7.1.7– 16), given that in the present instance he is called upon to fill a lacuna in the theories of the “blessed philosophers of ancient times.” What is now required is nothing less than the formulation of a new theory capable of surmounting any imperfections of the old, such as came to light in the course of the protracted conflict between Peripatetics and Stoics. 2.7–16. ὅταν τοίνυν . . . ὁ αὐτὸς ὄγκος:In presenting his own responses to the previously discussed Peripatetic objections, P. approaches them in reverse order. Taking up (c), he begins with an example that was perhaps inspired by the reference in Plato’s Symposium (175d6–7) to a banqueting game in which water is decanted from one cup to another along a connecting stretch of absorbent (woolen) yarn or cloth. What interests him are cases where a solid body is entirely saturated by a liquid without, to his way of seeing, leaving any point extant where one might be able to distinguish the one from the other. The question—and it is addressed to the proponents of the Peripatetic theory recalled above, at 1.8–10—is, how can any distinction be made between a saturating and a saturated matter, when the qualities of the two ingredients have coalesced totally? In order for there to be juxtaposition, there must be some differentiation. But what differentiation is to be made between two items that occupy the same space and share the same properties? P.’s position is that what we are now faced with is a uniform mass, within which it is not possible to isolate any portions of matter deriving from one or the other of the ingredients. Matter, being entirely “unqualified” (apoios), is unable to retain elements indicative either of its identity or of its history. 2.17–20. ἢ ἐξέτεινε . . . εἶναι:As concerns objection (b), P. agrees—within the framework of his acceptance of a kind of “principle of the conservation of mass”—that the matter of the blend will occupy a volume equal to the sum of the volumes of its ingredients (see above, my comment on 1.33–41). What P. understands this to imply, however, is that it is not their two volumes that are added together (as the Stoics appear to have concurred), because the latter, being quantities, are incidental attributes; nor yet is it their matter (as certain Peripatetics maintained), because this, in itself, lacks not just quality, but also quantity (see my comment on II 4.8.11–12); rather, it is their masses (onkoi). 2.20–26. ἢ τί κωλύει . . . ἀφανίζεται:The view that quantity can, like qualities, be transferred from one body to another, and hence that it can be intermixed with other quan-

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Second Ennead tities (see above, 1.35–41), fails to take into account that quantity is of a different nature. Whereas, according to this view, the intermixture should yield a quantity intermediate between those of the separate ingredients (just as the intermixture of hot and cold water yields tepid water), in the case under consideration the quantities are aggregated. Cf. also my comment on II 4.12.8–13. 2.26–32. τὸ δὲ σῶμα . . . διίασι:Finally, objection (a) leads P. toward a fresh idea: the Stoics themselves admitted (according to one interpretation; see SVF 2:467 and 797; but also Sorabji 1988, 89–90) that qualities penetrate substances completely, and this, as their Peripatetic critics contended, led inexorably to the conclusion that they were incorporeal; see [Galen] Qual. Incorp. 9–14, 109–93; and Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 115.37–116.1, 123.12–13. Yet in the view of the Peripatetics, which P. himself espoused, matter is in itself also incorporeal; see II 4.9.4–5, with my comment. Hence, there is in principle no barrier to the mutual interpenetration of the matter of two bodies, in addition to their qualities, in the course of blending. The Peripatetic view appears to contradict itself, if the substances juxtaposed in blending are taken to be “corpuscles” of matter entirely denuded of qualities. 2.33–42. μὴ διιέναι δὲ . . . τὸ μέγεθος:There thus still remains to be clarified what it is that prevents the juxtaposed corpuscles from interpenetrating each other, and thereby ensures that a body blended with another will expand in volume. We saw that this can be neither the qualities themselves nor unqualified matter, given that these are incorporeal. The answer is, that it is their combination which is responsible: it is the embodied qualities (which alone have the capacity to exert any influence in the sensible domain; see my comment on I 8.8.11–13) that prevent the mutual interpenetration of bodies. And this may come about in one of two ways, between which for the moment P. does not declare his preference: either (a) because the multitude of qualities inherent in a body repulses the (contrary, to be sure) qualities inherent in others, or (b) because there exists some particular quality, “density” (puknotēs), the presence of which renders a body impenetrable by others. It must here be emphasized that this entire problematic is framed in the terms of the later Peripatetic theory referred to earlier, which we are accordingly to understand P. as further developing and supplementing, rather than rebutting. 3.1–7. Ἐπεὶ δὲ . . . ἁπάσας:P. seeks to avoid choosing between the two explanations adumbrated in the previous comment, by reducing (b) to (a). “Corporeality” (sōmatotēs) had been introduced by older commentators (alluded to at 2.38) as the property of being a body; see Sext. Emp. Math. IX 371–72; and [Galen] Qual. Incorp. 24, 346. Given that according to P., however, a body is nothing but a composition of qualities and matter (see my comment on II 6.1.29–42, and cf. VI 3.8.19–20), corporeality will be if not actually identical with this composition, at least no different from “density” (puknotēs), that is, from the simultaneous inherence of a whole series of properties in matter— properties that jointly comprise a “formative principle” (logos).



II 8. On Sight

3.7–14. δεῖ δὲ . . . αὐτὸς ᾖ:Consequently, “corporeality” (sōmatotēs)—what consolidates material bodies and makes them what they are—will be nothing else than the “seminal” or “spermatic” logos that acts on matter and configures it into sensible objects; cf. II 4.12.35–37. Now this, on the one hand, should by no means be considered a mere intellectual construct (as it was in Alexander Quaest II 14, 59.12–17, in a passage that, as Bréhier surmises in his “Notice,” P. must have here had in mind), but as something in­ herent in objects and inseparable from them; but, on the other hand, its presence in them is only phenomenal, like that of an image on the surface of a mirror. 3.14–15. ὁ γὰρ χωριστὸς . . . ἄλλοθι:This embodied logos is of course a reflected image of the intellective logos, which is something entirely separate from bodies, inasmuch as it contains—in summary, as it were—the whole of Intellect down to the “indivisible forms” (atoma eidē). The concluding phrase appears precisely to refer to the description of the intellective formative principle that was included in the very next treatise by order of composition; see VI 7 [38].14.11–18 and Hadot 1987, 218–19.

II 8 [35]. On Sight, or How Distant Objects Appear Small Synopsis 1 Aporia: Why do distant objects appear small? Four possible answers. Examination of the fourth: The analogy with sound. Its applicability to objects with many parts and to the distances between objects. 2 Rejection of a fifth solution, the one pertaining to the angle of vision.

Introduction The question of the change in apparent size that objects incur in relation to the distance from which they are viewed was one that had already preoccupied antiquity at both a practical and a theoretical level since the classical period.1 Having been early on associated with the deceitfulness of phenomena,2 it was later impressed by the Skeptics into 1  The study of the phenomenon was at first practical in nature, being concerned with the art of “scene painting” (skēnographia); but this soon led to theoretical treatment of the subject. Vitruvius—in the prologue to book VII of his De architectura—reports that the painter Agatharchus (second half of the fifth century BCE), having created the sets for some Aeschylian tragedy, went on to write a relevant handbook, which provided the incentive for Democritus and Anaxagoras themselves to compose treatises on perspective; on this, see Levidis 1994, 298. Diogenes Laertius, IX 48, mentions among the titles of Democritus’ works a “Description of Rays” (Aktinographiē); see fr. B15b DK. 2  See, e.g., Eur. Ion 585–86; and Pl. Resp. X 602c7–d4.

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Second Ennead their arsenal of arguments.3 Yet all along, serious efforts were being undertaken to frame explanations within broader theories concerned with visual phenomena. Euclid proposed an explanation that was purely geometrical in conception and was to remain known as the “Visual Angles Theory”;4 it does not, however, seem to have acquired much currency in philosophical discussions of the subject,5 at least not until the period of Claudius Ptolemy. On the other hand, Aristotle seems to have in mind an entirely different explanation when, in Mete. III 4, 374b12–20, he contends that “sight, when strained to a distance, becomes weaker and lesser,” with the result that objects located further away appear “darker and smaller and smoother.”6 The attenuation of the intensity of colors and of the conspicuousness of visual impressions attendant on an increase in the distance between object and viewer was a topic that preoccupied the philosophical schools of the Hellenistic period in the context of their investigations in the fields of optics and epistemology, and that was frequently correlated with perspective phenomena.7 A characteristic example is the theory that Basil of Caesarea expounds in Hom. Hex. VI 9, 23–41, manifestly drawing on a source much earlier than his time:8 We see objects that are far removed from us as somehow smaller, and the more we approach them, the better we are able to discover their size. . . . For at very great distances the size of the objects we see suffers contraction (sunaireisthai), the See, Cic. Acad. II 82; Philo Ebriet. 183; Diog. Laert. IX 85 (the seventh mode of Aenesidemus); Sext. Emp. Pyr. I 118; Synesius De ins. 6, 154.6–7. 4  Eucl. Opt. definition 4, 2.10–12: “and things seen under a larger angle appear larger (kai ta men hupo meizonos gōnias horōmena meizona phainesthai), those under a smaller one smaller, while those seen under equal angles [appear] equal.” The antithesis between “seeing” (horasthai) and “appearing” (phainesthai) that is reiterated in the following three definitions corresponds to the distinction between the purely visual stimulus arising from the incidence of the visual rays emitted by the eye onto the object (see op. cit., definition 3) and the cognitive apprehension of this stimulus by consciousness. On this, see Tobin 1990, 21–23. 5  Lindberg 1976, 1–17, distinguishes three different currents of optical theories in antiquity: (a) the medical tradition, which was concerned with the investigation of the anatomy and physiology of the eye; (b) the physical or, more generally, philosophical tradition, which examined the aspect of the epistemology, psychology, and physical causation of visual perception; and (c) the mathematical tradition, which was directed principally toward questions of the perception of space from a geometrical standpoint. The same author points out that the last, in which the work of Euclid is also to be subsumed, developed independently of the first two as a branch of mathematics, according to what both Aristotle Ph. II 2, 194a11–12; and Geminus apud Procl. In Eucl. 40.9–16 had suggested. 6  We have here in effect a prefiguration of the theory of so-­called atmospheric perspective, which was eventually to be formulated by Leonardo da Vinci. An analogous optical illusion, also arising as an effect of distance, is explored in the Aristotelian Problemata XV 6, 911b3–34. Aristotle himself in GA V 1, 780b16– 781a11, attributes “the power of seeing at a distance” not to the eye’s keenness of sight, but to its “location” (thesis), i.e., to how well its anatomical position in the face is conducive to averting the dispersion of the “movement” that provokes sight, regardless of whether this kinēsis is activated by the eye itself or by the outlying object. 7  See, indicatively, Lucretius IV 397–99, 426–31; Sext. Emp. Math. VII 208–9; Calc. In Ti. 237, 250.5 = SVF 2:863; and the anonymous treatise of Skeptic origin, a fragment of which is preserved in PLouvre 7733 R0 = Lasserre 1978, 539. Cf. Favorinus apud Aul. Gell. NA XIV 1.5; [Hermes Trism.] Asclepius 33, 343.8–11; Ephr. Syr. Ref. Bard. xix–xx. 8  The case made by Henry 1938, 174, for the dependence of Basil on Plotinus has been persuasively rebutted by Theiler 1941, 171; and Rist 1981, 206. 3 



II 8. On Sight power of sight not sufficing to traverse the intervening space, but being, as it were, spent in the middle and making contact with visible objects with only a small part of itself. Hence as our power of sight becomes small, it makes the objects we see be deemed (nomizesthai) small, bringing to bear its own proper affection (oikeion pathos) on visible objects.

During the second century CE, a notable resurgence of interest in the subject of visual perception is to be observed. In the work of Ptolemy we find an attempt at a synthesis of the philosophical, physiological, and geometrical parameters of the question,9 a tendency pursued, up to a point, in the work of later Peripatetic thinkers.10 Alexander of Aphrodisias, for example, was aware of the alteration colors incur with distance, as he was of the primary role they play in the ascertainment of the shape of visible objects and their distance from the observer; yet he attributed the perception of the size of objects to “the angle of the cone which is formed in the direction of sight” (De an. mant. 145.34–146.29). The position assumed by P. on the question11 undoubtedly represents a regression toward the earlier, reductive models, according to which the weakening of the perception of the primary object of vision, color, sweeps in its wake the apprehension of other properties, which—as in the case of size, for example—are “discerned along” (sundiagignōskesthai)12 with it. The main reason he took this direction was, I believe, that his overall theory of visual apprehension is incompatible with the notion of visual rays—a notion that is presupposed, in one form or another, by the Visual Angles Theory.13 For he considers sight to be an effect of the “co-­affinity” (sumpatheia) linking the seer with the seen, an effect that does not require the interposition of any medium. Color, which consists in a kind of light surrounding the matter of bodies (see II 4.5.9–12), forms a sort of dynamic field around them, such that when the eye comes within its ambit, it beThat Ptolemy was the first who sought to combine the different traditions into one synthetic theory of visual perception, thus paving the way for the achievement of Alhazen, has been exhaustively argued by Smith 1988, 203–7. His Optics survive only in a defective Latin translation of the twelfth century, which is based on an earlier Arabic version and has been shorn entirely of its first, and more theoretical, book (see Lejeune 1956). Galen, on the other hand—who was by no means ignorant of the geometrical aspects of the question—pursued at heart the (Stoic-­derived) theory of the so-­called pneumatic school (see PHP VII 4.4–5.41, 448.25– 460.33; UP X, 2:54.20–113.5; and Siegel 1970, 46–78), which P. categorically opposed in his treatise “On Sight” (IV 5 [29].4.10–46). 10  See, indicatively, Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 127.27–139.28, 141.29–150.18, and Quaest. I 2, 5.1–7.17. Alexander’s teacher Sosigenes had composed a work “On Sight” in at least eight books (see Alex. Aphrod. In Mete. 143.13–14), which Knorr 1985, 96–104, even wished to identify with the treatise of putative Ptolemaic authorship mentioned in the previous note. And it is surely not by accident that, with respect to visual theory, Calcidius chose to classify the Peripatetics alongside the “Geometers” (In Ti. 238, 250.14). 11  Especially if we take into consideration what Porphyry reports in VP 14.7–9, namely, that “there was no theorem he was ignorant of . . . in optics.” 12  I employ here a term from Galen, PHP VII 5.34–35, 460.11–13, given that P.’s views come quite close to his on this specific point. But see also below, my comment on 1.12–13. 13  See Eucl. Opt. definitions 1–3, 2.2–9; and Brownson 1981, 169. It is true that Alexander denies that sight occurs “by the diffusion of rays,” but it is equally obvious that the visual cones, the angle size of which “permits judgment of larger and smaller and equal things,” presupposes the rectilinear transmission of some form of radiation or “movement” (kinēsis) from the object to the eye; see De an. mant. 146.20–29. 9 

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Second Ennead comes activated, and thus “sees” the bodies as colored. But this “sympathetic” reaction and activation of the eye is hindered or weakened whenever any other body is interposed.14 And this weakening—which naturally grows more pronounced with distance,15 by virtue of the interposition of air—means that the form transmitted by dint of the visual process grows ever more dim and indistinct as we move away from the object, with the result, according to P., that its apparent size will also suffer diminution. P.’s manner of approaching the specific question vividly recalls the Aristotelian Problemata,16 as well as the comparable brief treatises that were included in the corpus of the works of Alexander of Aphrodisias in the form of Quaestiones. He begins with the formulation of an aporia and moves on to a summary doxographical overview of some of the luseis or solutiones that had been proposed in earlier times. Indeed, the fact that the one he recommends is the fourth of the five he mentions should perhaps be taken to indicate that he was working from a Peripatetic handbook that concluded with a presentation of the Visual Angles Theory. In any case, it should be noted that P.’s treatment of the subject is prosecuted in purely “scholastic” fashion through a critical analysis of doxographical sources, without any parallel examination of the postulates of geometrical optics and the anatomy of the eye, and without the support of any systematic observation or experimentation.17 In this respect, it is fair to say that P. was genuinely a man of his times. In an essay of prime importance,18 André Grabar argued that the theory of perspective expounded in the present treatise, in conjunction with the view, formulated in IV 6.1.14–21, that visual apprehension occurs at the location of its object and not within the soul, faithfully corresponds to the new aesthetic climate that had begun to take shape in P.’s era, and that found its expression above all in the art of the Byzantine period.19 Grabar’s thesis, however, calls for the following observations: (a) The theory P. had in mind not only represented, in its basic outlines, no innovation whatsoever, but in essence it even marked—as was stated above—a return to earlier ways of thinking that had already become prevalent in the Hellenistic period. (b) The same theory is also clearly concerned only with the visual apprehension of sensible objects (see in particular the reference to their “matter” (hulē) at 1.6) by means of corporeal eyes (see 1.5), and consequently it is at best hazardous to invoke it in order to explain the artistic representation of an “intellectual vision” or an “ideal space,” to which art is purportedly striving to elevate us.20 (c) It is also clear that P. is not seeking to countermand classical perspective, according to which “distant objects appear smaller,” but rather to explain the phenomenon within the framework of his broader theory of sense-­perception. Hence, in no way is he See IV 5.1.15–40, 2.15–25, 3.32–35; Court 1987, 24–26; and Emilsson 1988, 50–51. Cf. Philop. In De an. 335.4–7. 16  As Bréhier observes in his introductory note. 17  See Siegel 1970, 123. 18  His “Plotin et les origines de l’esthétique médiévale”; see Grabar 1945. 19  Grabar himself, of course, is careful to state categorically that “P.’s ideas did not exert any influence on the activity of artists, either contemporary or later” (op. cit. 30; the emphasis is his own). 20  See Grabar 1945, 22–26. See also the reservations expressed by Gurtler 1989, 277–78. 14  15 



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promoting some new, alternative method of the representation of sensible space, for example, by means of an “inverted” or “radial” perspective.21 It nevertheless remains true that, as Grabar observes (op. cit. 22–31), notions such as those expressed elsewhere by P. concerning the “transparency,” the “luminescence,” and the absence of perspective prevailing in the realm of the intelligibles may well have found an echo in the religious art of late antiquity and the Byzantine period.22

Commentary 1.1–3. Ἆρα . . . ἀπόστασιν:This inaugural aporia raises two closely interrelated questions: (a) Why do objects that are remote from the observer appear to have a smaller size than they actually possess? As was pointed out in note 4 of my introduction to this treatise, the employment here of the verb phainesthai (“to appear”) implies that what concerns P. is the psychological phenomenon of sense-­perception, and not the actual physical processes that terminate in the visual stimulus. This becomes even more manifest in the alternative title with which the treatise appears in VP (5.37 and 24.54): “How Objects Seen (horōmena) from a Distance Appear (phainetai) Small.” (b) Why do objects that are far apart give the impression of being close together (or even contiguous) when seen from a distance? Cf. Lucr. IV 397–99, 404–13; and PLouvre 7733 R0 I 16–20 = Lasserre 1978, 539. The use of the verb dokein (“seem”) would imply—if we give due consideration to the remarks of Tobin 1990, 22—that what is at issue is a phenomenon of illusion or deception appertaining to the perceptive function. On the other hand, P. appears oblivious (see also below, 1.50) to the established distinction between an apostēma (which normally designated the distance between object and observer) and a diastēma (which referred instead to the distance between two visible objects); on this, see Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 146.30–35; and cf. Sext. Emp. Math. VII 183. 1.4–6. ἐλάττω μὲν . . . τὸ φῶς:This first proposal is characterized by Bréhier and Armstrong as Stoic on the grounds of its correspondence with a passage where Seneca, referring to the sun and having Heraclitus’ famous fr. B3 DK obviously in mind, observes that “our sight so contracts it (acies nostra sic contraxit), that wise men have contended it is the size of a foot (pedalem esset)” (Nat. quaest. I 3.10). The parallelism with another passage from Cleomedes (Cael. II 1.60–78) renders plausible the common provenance of the two from Posidonius (fr. 290a Theiler), but it also makes clear that what is to be understood is that the visual band “is drawn together” (Cleomedes here employing a form of the verb sunagesthai) not in the direction of the observer, but in that of the object. Cf. also Tert. De an. 17.6, 22.23–24: “The uniform structure of the arcade will contract at its far end, as the sight, narrowing in compress (in concluso stipata), will grow 21  See Grabar 1945, 21–22. Cf. the somewhat different approach taken by Ramphos [1995], 22–26. Michelis 1979, 205, rightly discerns the anachronism lurking behind the formulation of such alternative theories of perspective. 22  See also Court 1987, 33–43.

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Second Ennead weaker the further out it extends (quo et extenditur).” By contrast, as IV 7.6.21–22 also reveals, the “contraction” (sunhairesis) P. has in mind occurs in the opposite direction, toward the pupil of the eye. In this it comes closer to the theory that had been ascribed in the past to the Epicureans, according to which the visual “images” or “simulacra” (eidōla) emitted by various bodies suffer progressive diminution before entering the eye “because the outlines of the images are worn away during their motion through the air,” as Sextus Empiricus, Math. VII 209 (= Epicurus fr. 247), explains; for this interpretation, see De Witt 1939, 417–18; and Westman 1955, 165–66. Avotins 1980, 440–44, has disputed that this view can be ascribed to the Epicureans in general, but without, in my opinion, having put forward a satisfactory alternative interpretation of the Sextus passage; cf. also Alex. Aphrod. In De sensu 24.18–22 (= Epicurus fr. 319), where it is clear that what becomes visible in the pupil of the eye is “an image and internal apparition” of the entire object in miniature, and not merely of some part of it. The fact that the view in question represents a plausible response to objections such as the one raised by Galen (PHP VII 5.2–3, 452.34–454.3) shows that it could easily—albeit, perhaps, arbitrarily— have been ascribed to the Epicureans by doxographical sources. P. disdains to refute this explanation, possibly because he had dealt with it on some earlier occasion in conjunction with the Visual Angles Theory (cf. below, 2.1–2), possibly also because he considers it incompatible with his own theory of sumpatheia (on which see my introduction). 1.6–9. καὶ ὅσῳ . . . ἀφικνεῖσθαι μόνον:This second explanation is branded by Armstrong as “bad Aristotelian.” And there can be no doubt that it rests on a certain interpretation of chapter II 12 of the De anima. There it is declared that “a sense is what has the power of receiving the sensible forms of things without the matter” (424a17–19), while the sequel makes clear that (a) the sense-­object is a particular qualitative and formal element (cf. Nemesius De nat. hom. 7.179, 58.9–11), and (b) that the sense does not consist in (and hence does not convey?) “magnitude” (megethos), but constitutes rather a “formal principle” (logos) and “power” (dunamis) of the sense organ. Far was it from Aristotle’s thought, however, to draw any correlation between the isolation of the sensible form from matter and the distance from which an observation is effected. Yet the objection P. interposes is a different one: quantity is not a feature of matter, but is itself a property, and hence a “form” (eidos); cf. II 4.8.29–30, 9.6–15, and III 6.16.1–5. Consequently, while he himself was disposed to accept its line of argument, he does not agree that an explanation of the kind answers the problem. 1.9–12. ἢ καὶ . . . ὅσον:The general impression until now has been that the explanation outlined here is of Epicurean derivation. While this cannot be ruled out, it should nevertheless be noted that Alexander, De an. mant. 135.14–15, judged the Epicurean theory incapable of explaining how the size of visible objects is apprehended; cf. also Galen PHP VII 7.8, 470.30–34. In my view, it is at least as probable that P. here had in mind a theory such as the one that has been ascribed to the Stoics by Dumont 1994, 4751–52. According to this, the dispersion of the visual rays emitted by the eye results in the registration of stimuli becoming ever dimmer and “grainier” (cf. the expression pachumer-



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esteron (“rougher”) employed by Favorinus apud Aul. Gell. NA XIV 1.5), such that “the part of the visual field which is further from the eye produces a smaller image than the part which is nearer.” The closer the observer comes to the object of his observation, the more distinctly he is able to view its details, and consequently, the more accurately he is able to apprehend its size. Cf. Basil Hom. Hex. VI 9, 23–25. As will be seen, this view is not incompatible with the one P. ultimately prefers, but he obviously judges it to be inadequate, perhaps because its correlation with the processes that in his opinion govern visual perception is not clear-­cut; see below, my comment on 1.33–43. 1.12–13. ἢ καὶ . . . θεωρουμένου:Here is the theoretical basis on which P.’s approved solution rests. It derives, of course, from Arist. De an. II 6, 418a11–21, where we do in fact find the “common sense-­objects” (koina aisthēta), such as magnitude, initially being differentiated from those that are “incidental” (kata sumbebēkos); but later it is asserted that we also perceive common sense-­objects incidentally, “through each (special) sense” (III 1, 425a15). Aristotle remarks as well that whereas “the perception of the special sense-­objects (tōn idiōn: e.g., color) is veridical (alēthēs),” about that “of the common objects that follow upon the incidental objects to which the special ones belong (I mean, for example, movement and magnitude) . . . it is most possible to be deceived (apatēthēnai: III 3, 428b18–25).” On this, see Dumont 1994, 4733–34; and cf. Lucr. IV 489–99. The Aristotelian distinction between “special” or “proper” (idia) sense-­objects and “common” (koina) ones is also at the foundation of Ptolemy’s theory of vision. For him as well, the proprium sensibile of vision is color, while the remaining visible properties, namely, size, shape, place, movement, and rest, are only apprehended indirectly. Thus “we see any luminosity or color directly, by virtue of an affection (per passionem) of the vision; while things secondarily visible occur to us incidentally (per accidentia que illi accidunt)” (Opt. 22.17–23.2). This means that an object’s shape and size are inferred on the basis of its color differentiation from its surroundings, which alone constitutes the primary and real object of visual perception: “for [vision] acquires knowledge of (cognoscit) shapes and dimensions by means of the boundaries of the colored object” (ibid. 13.17–14.1). On Ptolemy’s theory and its dependence on Aristotle, see Smith 1988, 197–203. The same general framework also serves for Galen, although the technical vocabulary he deploys is somewhat modified: “and the proper object of sight, which I also called its primary sense-­object (prōton autēs aisthēton), is the class of colors; . . . it alone can discern along with (sundiagignōskein) the color of the thing seen its size and shape” (PHP VII 5.33–35, 460.6–12 trans. De Lacy). By introducing the notion of co-­ discernment, Galen is obviously seeking to avoid identifying the visual perception of the shape and size of objects as a simple accident (although he immediately proceeds to characterize touch as kata sumbebēkos). In this respect, P. sides with Ptolemy’s analysis. 1.13–16. πλησίον μὲν . . . διάγνωσιν:From a small distance, the “discernment” or “determination” (diagnōsis) of the extent of a colored surface is accurate, because it rests on a

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Second Ennead precise and unimpeded perception of the pertinent color. Of course, as P. notes elsewhere (IV 6.1.23–40), some distance is required for us to have any vision at all of an object. Yet, from a certain point onward, any increase in distance brings about a weakening of the “co-­affection” (sumpatheia) that is responsible for our apprehension of colors (see my introduction), and we are consequently left with an ever more indeterminate sensation of their presence. One is tempted here to remark that a viewpoint such as this was all the more easily upheld by someone whose eyesight was as imperfect as P.’s; cf. VP 8.3–4 and 16–17. 1.16–17. ἐπεὶ καὶ . . . προσέρχεται:This is the second basic assumption on which P.’s preferred explanation rests. As I mentioned in the introduction, it too is of Aristotelian derivation (cf. Mete. III 4, 374b12–20), and it had already provided Alexander of Aphrodisias with the foundation for a succinct formulation of the principle of “atmospheric perspective”: “For since of the objects we see those that are far away impinge on us mildly, while those close at hand intensely, through habituation to such things, [sight] supposes that the things that appear dimmer are far off, but those which are more conspicuous and clear [are] close at hand” (De an. mant. 147.1–4 trans. after Sharples). It is worth noting that Alexander concludes this same passage by drawing a comparison with acoustic phenomena (“the same thing occurs also in the case of voice and hearing”), precisely as P. does here. 1.17–20. τί οὖν θαυμαστὸν . . . αἰσθάνεται:But the parallelism between the progressive attenuation of visual stimuli with distance and the corresponding diminution of the intensity of sounds was, it seems, commonplace: cf., e.g., Sext. Emp. Math. VII 207–8; and Ephr. Syr. Ref. Bard. xix–xx. Hence, it was possible to argue that just as in the case of sounds any increase in distance goes in hand with a reduced apprehension of the relevant form and, concomitantly, with a loss of sonic magnitude, so also in the case of sight the fading of colors entails a contraction in the apparent size of objects. 1.20–33. ἀλλὰ περὶ . . . ἠλάττωται:Yet this simplifying analogy—which to others, such as Alexander, op. cit. 147.4–5, seemed unproblematically adequate—is less than absolutely satisfying for P. With characteristic persistence (see, e.g., my comment on I 1.3.11– 15), he proceeds to an analysis of the explicans, examining what is meant by “magnitude” or “size” (megethos) in the case of sound. What this analysis shows is that there are two types of “lessening” (elattōsis), that is, two ways for something to become “less than it is” (hētton ho esti): (a) the reduction of the “intensity” (to sphodra) of presence of the particular form that constitutes the primary object of a given sense, and (b) the reduction of an object’s magnitude “according to its [actual] quantity” (kata to poson). The first has to do with the degree of prevalence of the form over matter: as this diminishes, so do tastes, sounds, and colors lose their intensity and become “fainter” or “dimmer” (amudrotera). The second has to do with incidental attributes and is correlated with the object’s “extent in space” (eph’ hoson): sounds come to occupy a smaller spatial volume (this, as P. explains, does not depend solely on their intensity, but on other factors as well, including the configuration of the space itself ), and colored objects appear smaller



II 8. On Sight

in size. At the same time, however, the visible size of an object might be regarded (cf. dokei) as the proprium sensibile of another sense, that of touch (just as, for instance, the sweet is the special sense-­object of taste: cf. Arist. De an. II 6, 418a11–13, Sens. 4, 442a12–3). We would then infer that, as far as this sense is concerned, the perception of size (contrary to what was stated above, in my comment on 1.12–13) does not occur incidentally, but in a primary way—a fact that would also explain the absence, in this case, of any effect of perspective. 1.33–43. σαφέστερον δὲ . . . γινώσκεται:The second aspect of so-­called atmospheric perspective is now put before us: apart from the fading of colors, we also have the phenomenon of the loss of conspicuousness and distinctness of detail. Basil formulates it in these terms (Hom. Hex. VI 9, 61–62): “at very great distances, the likeness (tēn eikasian) [sight] receives of bodies is not articulated but confused (ou enarthron alla sunkechumenēn).” (Cf. Leonardo da Vinci, in MacCurdy 1941–42, 998: “Because of distance . . . we lack the perception of its [sc., the visible object’s] parts and outlines.”) Now if we combine this observation with the view that, in the case of especially large objects, their size is inferred from an estimation of the size of their component parts (cf. above, my comment on 1.9–12), we can appreciate that the loss of conspicuousness due to distance will result in our inability to arrive at a correct evaluation of the size of the whole. 1.43–47. ὅσα δὲ . . . τῇ διαφορᾷ:The case under discussion is of the same order as the previous one: uniformity of color renders the different parts of a body indistinguishable (cf. Alex. Aphrod. op. cit. 146.1–7), with the result that we are again unable to evaluate the size of the whole. On the “slippage” of sight, cf. Ephr. Syr. Ref. Bard. xv. 1.47–48. ἐγγύθεν δὲ . . . κατὰ τὴν αὐτὴν αἰτίαν:Compendious reply to question (b) of the initial aporia; see my comment on 1.1–3. 1.49. πλησίον . . . λανθάνει:I accept the syntactic analysis of the phrase by H-­S4, but not the semantic analysis (H-­S3) nor the punctuation they propose, because a first comma after hoson (Armstrong places it just before; my edition has none) would cut off the verb lanthanei from its subject. This is how I would translate: “And the extent of something close by does not elude us for the same reasons.” 1.49–51. οὐ διεξοδεύουσα . . . εἰπεῖν:Perception of size is thus a product of the discursive elaboration of sense data, and it is consequently posterior to the reception of the corresponding sensible properties that are constitutive of sensible “substances” (on which, see my comment on II 6.1.13–22). This is the reason why predicates indicative of size, such as “large” and “small,” are normally subsumed under the category of “relatives” (pros ti); cf. VI 3.11.11–21; and Arist. Cat. 6, 5b15–22. If, then, the reception of the form (in the case in question, of color; see Emilsson 1988, 52; and cf. Alex. Aphrod. op. cit. 146.27) is defective, it follows that the concomitant perception of the magnitude of objects will also be distorted.

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Second Ennead 2.1. Τὸ δὲ . . . ἐλάττους:P. now turns to an examination of the Euclidean theory of visual angles. The principal relevant theorems of the Optics are the following:

4. (6.11–13): Of distances [sc., between pairs of objects] which are of equal length and lie on the same straight line, those seen from a greater distance (ta ek pleionos diastēmatos horōmena) appear smaller (elattona phainetai). 5. (8.6–7): Equal magnitudes lying at unequal distances appear unequal (anisa phainetai), and the one lying close to the eye always [appears] larger.

Theorems 6 and 7 are also pertinent. All of these theorems are demonstrated on the basis of Definition 4 (quoted in note 4 of my introduction), which is where we first meet with the notion of visual angle. This was originally tied in with the theory of the ‘visual rays’ (opseis) purportedly emitted by the eye onto the object (on which see Hahm 1978, 62–64; and Lindberg 1976, 12–13), but Alexander of Aphrodisias had no difficulty disengaging the two, and thereby making use of the first (op. cit. 146.17–34), having previously rejected the second (127.27 ff.). Hence, neither is P. particularly concerned with the theory of visual rays; cf. IV 5.2.8–10. It is worth noting, however, that P. turns to geometrical optics only after having concluded the presentation of his own thesis, exactly as does Galen in his De usu partium, X 12, 93.1–9, where he confesses that he had originally intended to avoid altogether “touching on geometrical theory itself,” but that he was compelled to change his mind “by a dream . . . that censured me for wronging the most divine of organs, and for acting impiously toward the Demiurge, were I to leave out without due exposition one of the great works of his providence toward living things.” 2.1–12. εἴρηται . . . οὐκ ἔστι:The reference must be to some other—perhaps verbal—discussion on questions concerning optics, which has not come down to us. See also my comment on 1.4–6. 2.3–11. ὁ λέγων . . . ὁρωμένου:This argument—which, if I understand it correctly, does not reveal any deep understanding on P.’s part of the theory of visual angles—is a purely verbal one: the fourth definition of Euclid’s Optics states that “things seen . . . under a smaller [angle appear] smaller.” But—the argument continues—in those cases where the visible object is so large as to occupy the entire visual field, one cannot speak at all of any “smaller” angle. How, then, is a diminution of the object to occur? 2.12–14. πᾶν μὲν γὰρ . . . ἐκτεινομένη:As was noted by Jaeger 1914, 27–28 and 46–47, the terminology employed by P. in this passage greatly resembles the one utilized in similar contexts by Galen; cf. especially PHP VII 5.4 and 7, 454.5–6 and 14. Although a direct influence cannot be excluded (see my comment on VP 7.6), it seems more likely that both were drawing from common or closely related doxographical traditions. As concerns more particularly the “dispersal” or “diffusion” (chusis, ekchusis) of visual rays, see my comment on 2.1; and cf. “Aëtius” IV 13.2 = Dox. Gr. 403b8–11; Cleom. Cael. II 1.257–58; Alex. Aphrod. op. cit. 127.28; and Calc. In Ti. 238, 250.14.



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That the radiation emitted by the eyes is unable to encompass the entire visible expanse of the sky was also a commonplace, as witnessed, for example, by passages in Alexander, op. cit. 129.11–13, and Basil, C. Eun. III 6, 12–22. The present argument is more readily comprehensible with the aid of an assumption that in all probability derives from Porphyry’s De sensu, and that has been preserved by Nemesius, De nat. hom. 7, 60.10–11: “when [sight] is able to encompass the phenomenon by a single contact, then it discerns (diaginōskei) size by itself, . . . [otherwise] it is in need of both memory and discursive reason.” Consequently, it is impossible for us to have immediate perception of the total magnitude of the sky. 2.14–18. ἀλλ’ εἴ τις . . . αἰτιῷτο:If we do, per impossibile, grant this assumption, then we are back to the previous argument (3–11), whereupon the Theory of Visual Angles has been led—formally—to a complete impasse. That the size of the heavenly bodies is many times greater than it appears, or than anything found on earth, was, even for Cleomedes (in the second half of the second cent. CE), a subject worthy of detailed and systematic proof; see Cael. II 1.1–268. Igal’s correction of tou to tōi in l. 17 seems to me preferable to the somewhat acrobatic syntax proposed by H-­S (and adopted by Armstrong; compare the latter’s translation with: “If, then, the whole sight includes the whole hemisphere, and, in the case of the sky, its size is many times greater than its appearance, since (tōi) it appears much smaller than it actually is, how . . . etc.).”

II 9 [33]. Against the Gnostics Synopsis 1 A. Introductory remarks—connection with the preceding. The three hypostases: neither more nor fewer. Self-­intellection is characteristic of the Intellect, 2 while the Soul is always devoted to intellection, 3 resulting in the creation of sensibles. 4 B. Critique of Gnosticism. In general: The creation of the universe is not the result of a “fall” of the Soul at some point in time. The sensible world is a perfect image of the intelligible. 5 It is irrational: to denigrate the heavenly bodies; to introduce a “material” soul; to posit a “new” earth. 6 The theories of the Gnostics are the results of misunderstanding or distortion of views belonging to Plato. Catalogue of such deviations.

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Second Ennead 7 C. Analytical section: The government of the universe by the Soul entails neither effort nor affections on its part. 8 It is the result of the vital energy of the Soul, which derives from the intelligibles and is most adequately expressed in the movements of the heavenly bodies. 9 The presence of evils in the world is necessary and does not countermand the providential care it receives from the Soul, which concerns its entirety, not just certain people selectively. 10 Digression: The nature of P.’s anti-­Gnostic polemic. The descent of Sophia and the creation of the universe according to the Gnostics. 11–12 Rebuttal of the Gnostic cosmology in question. 13 D. The theoretical errors of the Gnostics: (1) Ignorance of the hierarchical structure of the All. 14 (2) Misunderstanding of the powers of nature: magic and demonology. 15 (3) Consequences of Gnostic theories: Amoralism. 16 Despisal of the world, self-­centeredness, and arrogance. 17 E. Conclusions: The beauty and eternity of the universe are indicative of its perfection. 18 The tranquil worldly life of the wise man is analogous to the Soul’s government of the universe.

Introduction When, in the year 244 CE, P. settled in Rome and began to teach, “admitting people to study with him but writing nothing” (VP 3.35), he appears not to have encountered any notable competition. In the capital of the empire there did not exist—at least, not during the second or third century—any institutionally established philosophical schools with traditions and an organization comparable to those of Athens and Alexandria. Whichever of its citizens—usually among the more affluent—were seized by any intellectual anxieties could allay them either in the amphitheaters where rhetoricians such as Maximus of Tyre1 and Diophanes held their exhibitions (see VP 15.6–12), or in the classrooms where various representatives or bearers of the “wisdom” emanating from the eastern provinces of the empire purveyed their message.2 Among the latter, an ever more prominent position was occupied by certain people who, although they usually presented themselves as Christians,3 promoted different versions of a concoction comSome of whose lectures—or, quite possibly, all—were delivered “in Rome” at the time of “his first visit” there, in the reign of Commodus; on this see Koniaris 1982–83, 1:90–102. 2  References to some of these may be found in my comments on VP 3.23–24 and 16.6 (s.v. Nikotheos). 3  To the question of whether Gnosticism was from the beginning a deviating tendency within Christianity or whether it also represents an independent development, there has yet to be given a definitive and uni1 



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bining cosmological narratives of intricate multifariousness and bizarre symbolism with exotic magico-­religious beliefs and some intensely anticosmic convictions, the blend of which was supposed to lead in the first place to a radically extrarational “knowledge” (gnōsis) of the nature of the essentially suprarational—and hence inaccessible to the usual cognitive processes, that is, “unknowable” (agnōstos)—supreme deity, and in the second place to the recognition and reevaluation of the “true” condition of man, that is, of the fact that man is a portion of the divine substance exiled from his supracelestial home and imprisoned in the material world by a maleficent—or, at best, ignorant and unintelligent—Demiurge.4 The arrival of the heresiarch Valentinus in Rome, around 140 CE, and his presence there over a period of at least two decades5 symbolizes, as it were, the beginning of a process of crystallization of this theosophic movement into a Pythagorean lines.6 theological system articulated philosophically along Platonic-­ During the following century, this tendency was continued and reinforced by Valentinus’ numerous disciples, some of whom, such as Heracleon and Ptolemy, were also, according to Hippolytus, active in Italy.7 At the same time, it also swept along with it certain other, related branches of the by now rapidly spreading current of Gnosticism, such as the so-­called Sethians8 or Barbelognostics, who, having started out as a purely Jewish sect, quickly absorbed many elements of Christian and, above all, philosophical (Platonic) dogma, transforming themselves into apostles of a somewhat melodramatically articulated and ostentatiously multicomposite theological system, presenting the following basic characteristics: versally accepted answer. It is nevertheless the case that, at least from the second century onward, Gnosticism displays a vivid Judaeo-­Christian coloration (on which, see Wilson 1970, 511–16; and Nock 1964, 276–78). And the Gnostics with whom P., at any rate, was familiar were, according to the explicit testimony of Porphyry (see VP 16.1–2, with my comment), included among the Christians. 4  The phenomenon of Gnosticism and its typology are subjects too multiform and labyrinthine to be presented here, even in outline. For a relatively brief and outstandingly authoritative presentation of its fundamental general theoretical features, see Rudolph 1983, 53–204. 5  See Leisegang 1948, 2261.55–2262.15. Tertullian Adu. Valent. IV 1, reports that Valentinus had his eyes set on the episcopal throne of Rome, but that he was beaten to it by another candidate “by reason of precedence gained through confessorship (ex martyrii praerogatiua),” causing him to become indignatus and “to break relations with the official Church.” 6  Valentinus himself is frequently characterized in our sources as a Platonist (see, e.g., Tert. De praescr. haeret. 7.3 and 30.1, De carne Chr. 20; Hippol. Haer. VI 29.1). Indeed, Hippolytus, VI 37.1–6, maintains that his theological system was based on the celebrated enigmatic passage from the pseudo-­Platonic Epistle II (312e1–4); cf. the reference made by Anthimus of Nicomedia in his De tre naturae (see Leisegang 1948, 2262.37–38), and what I have to report in my comment on I 8.2.28–32. See also, however, the well-­founded reservations formulated by Mansfeld 1992, 204–7. 7  Haer. VI 35.5–6. Hippolytus himself composed his voluminous Refutatio omnium haeresium in Rome, where he held some important ecclesiastical office (see Marcovich 1986, 10–12) and was able to collect the vast amount of Gnostic material he utilizes in this work. Another fascinating vestige of the presence and activity of the Gnostics in Rome during the first half of the third century is the famous hypogaeum of the Aurelii with its frescoes, the Gnostic symbolism of which was revealed and investigated by Carcopino 1956, 85–221; see also Elsas 1975, 28–30. 8  Because they regarded themselves as descendants of the third son of the biblical Adam, Seth. On what follows, see Schenke 1981.

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Second Ennead (a) An exceedingly fine-­spun “negative” description of the supreme and inapprehensible deity, which is at times designated as “Monad” or “Father,” but which transcends any determination or categorization. (b) This first principle is surrounded by a luminous emanation within which it is mirrored, resulting in the creation of the “Fullness” or Pleroma, a congregation of paired—usually—divinities or Aeons. (c) The central personage in the unfolding of this cosmological speculation is “Wisdom” or Sophia, the last of the Aeons, who disrupts the prevailing order by conceiving and giving birth to the imperfect and foolish Demiurge of the material world, sometimes going under the name of Ialdabaoth.9 (d) Sophia’s “repentance” results in the undertaking of an effort for the repatriation of the divine power that had “fallen” during the creation of the world. Part of this effort was directed toward the salvation of “pneumatic” men from the bonds of their material bodies, overcoming the Destiny (heimarmenē) of the planetary Archons that pervades them. The ever more intensive theoretization and complex elaboration of these speculative systems, and the attempt to underpin them by philosophical means, led in time to the production of tractates in which the Christian elements have been relegated to the background or expunged entirely, while what have come to dominate are the vertiginously multicomposite theological constructions that are presented through phantasmagorically apocalyptic allegories and recondite mystical symbolism. To this category appear to belong two, at least, of the tractates referred to by Porphyry in chapter 16 of the VP, and which came to light again as recently as 1945 with the discovery of the Coptic library of Nag Hammadi.10 It would appear that initially P. chose not to enter into direct conflict with this movement, toward some aspects of which he may well have even felt a modicum of sympathy.11 But after the arrival at his school of Porphyry, who was well known for his anti-­Christian sentiments, it is clear that P. was led to a drastic and open breach with it. 9  The meaning of this name, which is of Aramaic origin, is explained etymologically by Scholem 1974, 420–21, as “begetter of the [celestial] Forces.” Although the figure of Sophia is usually linked with the Valentinian system, the Nag Hammadi library has revealed that her role was of equivalent importance to the Sethians. 10  The works concerned, both of them apocalyptic in character, are Zostrianos (NHC VIII 1) and Allogenes (XI 3). Other Sethian tractates included in this collection are: The Apocryphon of John, which survives in two versions, one longer (NHC II 1 and IV 1) and one shorter (NHC III 1 and the Berlin Gnostic Papyrus = Anon. BG 8502); The Hypostasis of the Archons (NHC II 4); The Gospel of the Egyptians (NHC III 2 and IV 2); The Three Steles of Seth (NHC VII 5); Marsanes (NHC X 1); and the Trimorphic Protennoia (NHC XIII 1). Of these only The Apocryphon of John contains conspicuous Christian elements. We need to remind ourselves, however, that these works have come down to us in the form that they possessed around the middle of the fourth century, and that it is possible, therefore, that they had undergone considerable alterations since the time when they had circulated in the ambit of P.’s school. On this, see Attridge 1991, 22–23; and Majercik 1992, 475–76. 11  I have already pointed to some instances where P., in his early treatises, evokes images and ideas deriving from the broader domain of “Gnosis.” See my comments to I 6.5.51–58, 8.9–16, 18–20, I 9.1–2; and cf. Sinnige 1984, 81–89. By contrast, García Bazán sought to discover anti-­Gnostic elements in these treatises without, to my mind, any notable success. The first to formulate a conjecture concerning a major shift in P.’s stance toward



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Porphyry reports that in the course of his oral teaching, P. frequently directed criticism against certain Gnostics (VP 16.9–10), while around 265 CE12 he composed an extensive work abounding in anti-­Gnostic allusions, and which in its fourth and final part attacks them with an unexampled fierceness that is entirely exceptional for his character. In putting together his edition of the Enneads, Porphyry13 divided this treatise into four sections of approximately equal length, which he dispersed among different parts of the collection. In order, they are: Enn. III 8 [30], V 8 [31], V 5 [32], and II 9 [33]. In a celebrated article, R. Harder demonstrated that these sections are linked not just by a thematic congruence, but by an organic coherence, and he thereby restored the unity of what in recent literature has come to be called (primarily by German scholars) P.’s “Great Treatise” (die Grossschrift).14 The wording Porphyry employs in VP 16.10–11 creates the impression that the title that prevailed among P.’s students for the treatise as a whole was Against the Gnostics,15 but this does not necessarily mean that its intention was exclusively, or even mainly, polemical. For to the extent that such an intention comes to the fore, it does so as a simple by-­product of his radical disagreement with the Gnostics concerning certain fundamental tenets of his philosophy. Their views undoubtedly provided him with the incentive to rethink his entire philosophical system from the beginning,16 and to seek out and display to advantage the cohering elements within it. The crowning position among the latter is commanded by the concept of “contemplation” (theōria), which is thereby singled out as the key for the comprehension of his entire philosophical edifice.17 Thus, his confrontation with the Gnostics is pointed from the start in the direction of theoretical presuppositions, and in this way it crosses over into the field of philosophical analysis. As Porphyry explains at VP 16.1–9, P.’s adversaries professed to be true Christians, but they were distinguished from the rest by the circumstance that they displayed their dogmas in such a manner as to make it appear that they constituted a philosophical the Gnostics after 263 was Puech, during the discussion that followed his presentation to the Vandoeuvres conference of 1957; see Puech 1960, 183–84. 12  See Igal 1972a, 103–4. 13  Or perhaps even someone else before him; see Schwyzer 1976b, 448n.3. 14  With the somewhat misleading title “Eine neue Schrift Plotins,” Hermes 1936, 1–10 = Harder 1960a, 303–13. Harder’s finding has since gained almost universal acceptance (see, however, the reservations expressed by Rist 1983, 146; and more extensively by Wolters 1981, 83–87) and engendered a range of publications dedicated to the commentary of this particular treatise. See below, the pertinent section of the List of Suggested Further Readings on Individual Treatises. 15  Such is, e.g., the opinion of Igal 1981, 147n.18. 16  We may take it as indicative that he provides a summary review of his philosophical system at the start of the present treatise, just before the final showdown with his opponents. 17  On this point, I am in agreement with Tzavaras 1995, 13, who rightly points out that the “central and implicit theme of the whole of this ‘great’ treatise is contemplation in its universality” (the emphasis is the author’s); nevertheless, as will become evident from my analysis of treatise III 8, I cannot accept that this contemplation has anything to do with “seeing” and “being seen,” as he understands it (op. cit. 19–36). On the central position of the concept of theōria in P.’s philosophy, see the classic paper by Cilento 1946, 197–221 = 1973, 5–27.

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Second Ennead “sect” or “school of thought” (hairesis).18 The fact that they took “the ancient philosophy” (archaia philosophia) as their point of departure,19 even if in the sequel they distanced themselves from it, was patently a source of particular concern to P., who viewed himself as an authentic spokesman of the classical Greek philosophical tradition,20 because it raised them to the status of capable and even dangerous theoretical competitors of his. If indeed we are to give credence to the view, recently revived,21 that the treatises “possessed” by the Gnostics, and on which they based their apocalyptic phantasies, were manuals of a philosophical or doxographical content “having nothing to do with either Christianity or Gnosticism,” then P. had one reason the more to confront them on a purely philosophical level.22 Thus, P. avoids entering into the details of Gnostic mythological constructs and overlooks any differentiations among them, refusing even to specify or so much as characterize his opponents, whom he contents himself with referring to allusively.23 He hardly concerns himself with the particular shapes assumed by their visionary cosmological “scenarios,” or with the ritualistic procedures through which they hoped to achieve their release from their worldly bonds, making it impossible for us today to identify precisely the branch of Gnosticism to which those he was addressing belonged. With remarkable acuity, however, P. locates the epicenter of their newfangled views on the world, on history and on man’s ethical status in three corresponding forms of alienation: (a) Alienation from the world. Anticosmism, contempt for the world and its maker, was one of the principal characteristics of Gnosticism,24 which regarded the visible universe in its entirety as a temporary abode, a place of exile or even a prison for “pneumatic” man, who, being “of another race” (allogenēs), is by nature and descendance a stranger to it. It believed the creation of the material world to be the work of a foolish, blind, and arrogant deity who governs it tyrannically through the power of “Destiny” (heimarmenē) wielded by the planetary Archons.25 Conversely, the supreme God is completely transcendent, unknowable, unnamable, and hidden, neither intervening in See my comment on VP 16.1–2. On the meaning of the word anēgmenoi at VP 16.2, see Igal 1981, 139; and Jackson 1990, 253–55. 20  See my comments on VP 2.40–43, 16.8–9, and 20.71–73. 21  By Tardieu 1992, 516–17; see also my review in Platon (= Kalligas 1993), 191–92. 22  Thus, for example, he examines as strictly philosophical concepts certain terms (such as, e.g., epinoia and logos) that for the Gnostics possessed more of a mythological character. This is not, however, to be ascribed to any misinterpretation on his part, whether deliberate or otherwise, but to the fact that P. was only interested in their theories insofar as they raised claims of a philosophical nature. 23  See 10.8, 13.10, and 15.23. 24  See Jonas 1954–93, 1:148–56. According to Tertullianus, Adu. Marc. I 14.5, “Marcionite” was synonymous with “repudiator creatoris.” This does not, of course, mean that similarly anticosmic teachings had not been formulated as well within the framework of Greek philosophy, even as early as the Presocratic period. On this, see Mansfeld 1981, 261–314. 25  These represented, of course, an evolved offshoot from the “new gods” of Plato’s Timaeus (42d6), who were already named archontes or “ruling powers” in Plt. 271d5, and Leg. X 903b7 (cf. also Phdr. 247a3), but they had also acquired additional characteristics drawn from different traditions. Cf., e.g., the “guardians” (phulakes) of the Orphic lamellae aureae (Orph. fr. 32a5; and Zuntz 1971, 358–61). On this, see Boyancé 1970, 340–56. 18 

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any manner in the government of the universe, nor seeking to improve it. His sole concern is the salvation of the scattered particles of divine light that have been imprisoned within it. Such a viewpoint was entirely unacceptable to a Platonist, for whom the notion of cosmos was firmly bound up not only with its harmonious order and beauty, but also with its beneficent arrangement through divine “Providence” (pronoia).26 (b) Alienation from history. Gnostic soteriology was based on an apocalyptic view of time and history, which, as results of the activity of the cosmic Demiurge, were considered symptoms of a fallen state and, in the final analysis, falsehoods.27 The gnōsis that brings about man’s salvation, his deliverance from worldly bonds and ultimately his return to the embrace of his transcendental “Father,” is by nature atemporal; yet because of man’s fallen state and his ignorance, it is always revealed as something radically “novel” (kainon, nouum).28 Of course, even the Gnostics were prepared to admit that in the course of human history there had appeared a succession of outstanding “prophetic” personalities who had preached the redeeming truth, but their emergence does not fall within an organized tradition; it is not woven into the world’s historical progression, but represents instead its denial and dissolution. On the other hand, the ever-­evolving, historically transmitted worldly “wisdom” is in reality nothing but “folly” (mōria), an obscuration of the truth vouchsafed to them through revelation. For that reason, even those representatives of traditional philosophy, whose worth they acknowledged—such as, for example, Plato—were thought to have arrived at a partial and at any rate inadequate approximation of the truth, and not “at the depths of intelligible reality” (VP 16.8–9). In the eyes of P., these beliefs merely manifested the egocentrism of the Gnostics, their megalomania and their presumption to found a hairesis of their own, but at the same time they threatened the foundations of traditional Greek paideia.29 (c) Alienation from society. For some Gnostics at least, an awareness of man’s otherness in relation to the world entailed his release from any social and, by extension, moral commitments. If the sole precondition for his salvation is his individually determined conversion toward the supreme God and his devotion thereto, then everything else— not just material goods, but the whole of practical living—is rendered entirely superfluous and “indifferent” (adiaphoron).30 If the only proper response to the world is one of total contempt and revulsion, then any concern for a morally righteous behavior within its confines can only serve to disorient man and to entrap him into perpetuating his On this, see Dragona-­Monachou 1994, 4420–21 and 4453–76. See, above all, the superb analysis by Puech 1957, 56–84. 28  See, e.g., Tert. Adu. Marc. I 8.1, 20 trans. Evans: “So when I am told of a new (nouum) god, unknown and unheard of in the old world, in old times, under the old God: when I hear that in all those past ages he was not, was ancient only in men’s ignorance of him, and that one Jesus Christ, himself new but under ancient names, has revealed him (reuelauerit) . . .” 29  Precisely as Celsus had also, a century earlier, believed with regard to the teachings of the Christians; on which see Frede 1994, 5199–5201. 30  In the Stoic sense of the term. Cf. Iren. Adu. haer. I 25.5, 92–95 with SVF 3:117 and 118. Irenaeus also reports of Simon Magus having held that “it is through his grace (secundum . . . ipsius gratiam) that men are saved, not through righteous works (secundum operas iustas); for there are no righteous works by nature (naturaliter), only as a result of contingency (ex accidentia)” (I 23.3, 74–76). 26  27 

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Second Ennead fallen status.31 If, finally, salvation is predestined for some who are “chosen” and “spiritual by nature” (phusei pneumatikoi), then, as Irenaeus observes,32 they “cannot possibly admit corruption, no matter what kind of actions they may indulge in.” As far as P. was concerned, these views furnished the most striking demonstration of the irrationality and hypocrisy of his adversaries.33 He believed that their unbridled individualism, their indifference to the beauty and order of the universe, and their contempt for virtue and every moral value could not but deflect man from his true purpose, striking as they did at the very foundations of the world he himself lived in: even though it may well be that these same beliefs, as Jonas34 perceptively remarks, are to be reckoned among the underpinnings of our own.

Commentary Title:Regarding the paternity of this title, see my comment on VP 16.10–11. The more descriptive title supplied in the systematic listing of the VP (24.56–57: “Against Those Who Say That the Universe and Its Maker Are Evil”) is superior, in that it (a) makes explicit the objections of P.’s adversaries toward the fundamental principle of the cosmology of the Timaeus (see 30a2–c1), and (b) avoids using the term “Gnostics” just as P. himself did, thereby transposing the dispute to a purely philosophical terrain. P. does not turn against the Gnostics for religious reasons (as his Byzantine scholiasts appear to have believed, who noted in the margin of some MSS: “he calls ‘Gnostics’ us Christians”) but because he radically disagrees with specific theoretical tenets of theirs. 1.1–6. Ἐπειδὴ τοίνυν . . . μίαν λέγειν:As noted by Harder 1936, 5–6, P. summarizes here the conclusions of the preceding, third part of his “tetralogy”; cf. the whole of section V 5 [32].4–13, and especially 13.33–36. The Good of the Republic is explicitly identified with the One of the Parmenides, the reason being that the primal propensity of all things is toward unity, which constitutes a precondition of their very being. Cf. VI 5.1.13–20 and VI 9.1.1–2. 1.7–8. οὐ κατηγοροῦντας . . . ὡς οἷόν τε:Attributes such as “Good” or “One” by no means reveal or even designate the nature of the supreme principle, which is insusceptible of any predication whatsoever; cf., e.g., III 8.10.28–31, 11.11–13, V 3.13.1–33, and VI 9.3.37–54. They are no more than indications that help us to refer to It, without so much as naming It; cf. V5.6.11–26 and VI 9.5.31–41. The denial of any predicate to the Good was already known to Middle Platonism (see, e.g., “Alcinous” Didasc. X 165.5–17, Clem. Cf. Jonas 1963, 267–72. Adu. haer. I 6.2, 622–23; cf. Clem. Al. Strom. III 4, 30.1–32.1, concerning the Gnostic Prodicus. According to their Christian opponents, this line of thought led the Gnostic heretics toward libertinage, but it would appear that the more usual result was an extreme asceticism; see Foerster 1972, 1:18–19; and Rudolph 1983, 252–57. 33  By contrast, P. himself, as Porphyry emphasizes at VP 9.5–22, gave proof of serious social engagement, over and beyond his moral integrity. 34  1954–93, 1:172. 31  32 



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Al. Strom. V 12, 81.5–82.2), but it is also met with in Gnostic tractates such as, e.g., Ap. John = NHC II 1, 3.19–4.10. 1.9–11. αὔταρκες . . . παρ’ ἄλλου:“Self-­sufficiency” or “self-­containment” (autarkeia) is a fundamental and characteristic (though, as Lovejoy 1936, 42, observes acutely, at bottom negative) feature of the Good. The idea goes back to Plato’s Philebus (60b10–c4 and 67a6–8) and is often found in the Enneads: see, e.g., V 3.13.17, V 4.1.12–15, VI 7.23.7– 8, VI 9.6.16–39; and Pépin 1992a, 302–3. Consequently, It cannot be composed of parts, nor can it inhere in something else as its product; cf. Pl. Prm. 145b6–e5. 1.12–16. οὐ τοίνοιν . . . μήτε ἐλάττω:Concise presentation of the theory of the three “hypostases.” As frequently happens, P. eschews the use of the term hupostaseis (on which see my comment on I 8.3.20) in referring to the three ontological levels of the noēton (the “intelligible” in a broad sense, i.e., the supra-­sensible), preferring the term archai (“principles”); cf. V 1.9.23–24. As its ex professo exposition in V 1.8 reveals, this theoretical schema is based on an interpretation of the well-­known passage from the pseudo-­Platonic Epistle II (312e1–4: on this see also note 6 of my introduction to this treatise), the “authoritativeness” of which determined, among other things, the numerus clausus of the three principles. The Intellect is said to think primally because (a) it is the first hypostasis endowed with intellection, given that the One-­Good is beyond intellection (see I 7.1.20), and (b) thought, or intellection, is an expression of its very essence and is self-­directed; cf. I 2.3.24–27, V 3.5.36–44, and V 6.1.1–2.4. 1.16–19. εἴτε γὰρ . . . πολλαχῇ: Anyone who claims that the hypostases are fewer than three will have to maintain the identity of either the soul and the Intellect (as did certain Stoics; see [Galen] Phil. Hist. 24 = Dox. Gr. 615.5–6) or the Intellect and the first principle, as occurred in certain Middle Platonic systems; see, e.g., “Alcinous” Didasc. 10, 164.19–28, and, with respect to Ammonius Saccas, Baltes 1985, 328–30. On what concerns the differences between Intellect and soul, see Blumenthal 1974, 204; and on those between One and Intellect, see indicatively III 8.11.36–45, V 3.10.7–13.36, V 5.6.1– 37; and Rist 1967b, 25–29. 1.19–20. λοιπὸν δὲ . . . παρ’ αὐτάς:Yet the direction in which P. aims his criticism is that of the multiplication of the hypostases—or, as they are called here, the “natures” (phuseis); cf. V 1.8.27. Tendencies in this direction evolved not only among the Gnostics, but also in later Neoplatonism. 1.23–25. οὐ γὰρ δὴ . . . πλείους:P. denies that any distinction between potentiality and actuality (or, better, activation) can apply at the level of the One. The absence there of the principle of potentiality, that is, matter, renders any reference to a dunamei phase of the supreme principle infelicitous; cf. my comment on II 5.1.26–29. Consequently, it is meaningless to admit the presence, in seminal form, of a predisposition toward the constitution of the intelligible world (or, as the Gnostics called it, the Plērōma) residing

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Second Ennead within the One-­Father, as did, for example, the (Valentinian in inspiration) Tripartite Tractate = NHC I 5, 60.27–61.24; cf. Iren. Adu. haer. I 1.1 and note 16 of my introduction to treatise II 4. It is equally infelicitous to attribute to the One any “predisposal” (prothumia) for the production of the other hypostases; see V 3.12.28–36. 1.25–33. ἀλλ’ οὐδὲ . . . ψυχῆς φύσιν:Yet P. rejects also the subdivision of the hypostasis of Intellect according to the Aristotelian distinction between an “active” (poiētikos) and a “passive” (pathētikos) intellect; see De an. III 4–5, 429b27–430a25. This distinction had already been transposed from the individual to the cosmic level by the Middle Platonists; see “Alcinous” Didasc. 10, 164.18–27; and cf. Max. Tyr. XI 8, 139.5–6 trans. after Trapp: “there is one kind of intellect that has the natural capacity to think, even though in fact it does not think; there is another that both has the natural capacity and does think (ho de kai pephuken ‹kai noei› [suppl. Lascaris]).” It was naturally also brought into connection with the description of the activity of the Demiurge in the Timaeus. Thus, over and beyond the cosmic Soul, two kinds of intellect were spoken of: a primal one, which “is active without motion” (energei akinētos), being dedicated to eternal self-­ intellection, and which is essentially identified with the Aristotelian Unmoved Mover, but also with the totality of Forms, the archetype of the world’s Maker; and another one, that “of the whole heaven,” which “is moved” by the first: on this see Dillon 1993, 103. There are indications that the notion of such a pair of intellects was especially widespread among the Middle Platonists (see Dillon 1973b, 176–85), but the most interesting case is that of Numenius, who in the course of interpeting a crucial passage on the cosmogony of the Timaeus (39e7–9) spoke of three gods: the first corresponds to “the real Living Being,” that is, to the ideal model of the world as a unitary, undifferentiated whole; the second—the Demiurge proper—intelligizes the first and “gives expression” to him, analyzing him as a system of Forms; finally, the third submits these Forms to rational elaboration and realizes them in the sensible universe (as cosmic Soul); see fr. 22 with the interpretation of Frede 1987b, 1061–68. The fact that the second and third of these “gods” are essentially two manifestations (or functions) of one and the same entity (see fr. 11.13–14) explains why on other occasions Numenius speaks of only two gods, “the first . . . inactive (argos) in respect of all works, and king (basileus),” whereas the demiurgic god “exercises command (hēgemonein) as he progresses through heaven” (fr. 12.12–14); cf. also fr. 15.3–4, where the first is characterized as “at rest” (hestōs) and the second as “in motion” (kinoumenos). Interestingly, similar ontological schemata displaying clear Platonic influences are to be discerned in the background of several Gnostic mythological constructs. For example, Hippolytus, Haer. V 17.1–2, reports of the Peratae (a branch of Gnosticism related to the Naassenes) that “according to them, the All is Father, Son, Matter; each of these three has within itself infinite powers; intermediate, then, between Matter and the Father sits the Son, the Word (logos), the Serpent (ophis) always in motion (aei kinoumenos) toward the unmoved (akinēton) Father and the moveable (kinoumenēn) Matter; and at one time he turns towards the Father and receives the powers into his own person, and having received the powers he turns toward Matter; and Matter which is unqualified and unshaped is impressed with the forms by the Son, which the Son was impressed



II 9. Against the Gnostics

with by the Father.” It is clear that if in place of the three “principles” Father-­Son-­Matter we were to insert the familiar Middle Platonic triad Forms-­Demiurge-­Matter, there would emerge a system closely akin to that of Numenius; see also Krämer 1967, 232. More specifically, the “first” god was often characterized by both the Gnostics and the Middle Platonists as “unmoved” (akinētos); “inactive” (argos: see already Apul. Ap. 64.7 and Tert. Adu. Marc. I 25.3, V 19.7, Adu. Valent. 7.4–5); “in great quietness and serenity” (en hēsuchiai kai hēremiai pollēi: Iren. Adu. haer. I 1, 78; cf. Hippol. Haer. V 19.9, and the “Untitled Treatise” in Anon. Cod. Bruc. 9, 347.7–8); and “at rest” (hestōs: see CH II 12, 37.4). “He who is at rest” (ho hestōs) is how the Gnostic Simon Magus—who identified himself with no less than the supreme God—used to refer to himself; see Hippol. Haer. VI 9.2, with Marcovich’s note. As Hippolytus explains elsewhere, Haer. VI 17.1, “according to Simon, then, that blessed and incorruptible being lies hidden in everything potentially, not actually: that is, he who is, was, shall be at rest (ho hestōs stas stēsomenos).” Nor is it, I believe, irrelevant to all this that in the Valentinian system the primal entity that was “coexistent” (sunuparchousa) with the Forefather was named “Silence” (sigē), as testified by Irenaeus (op. cit., but cf. also Val. Exp. = NHC XI 2, 22.26, and the Sethian Gos. Eg. = NHC III 2, 41.10–12, 43.13–24; nonetheless, I regard the word sigē, which appears in a passage from the Apophasis Megalē of Simon, cited by Hippol. Haer. VI 18.2, as a later addition to the text). At times P. himself is willing to describe the intelligible as “Intellect . . . at rest . . . and in quietness” (III 9.1.15–17; cf. V 3.12.33–36), yet this does not by any means imply, as he clarifies at V 3.7.13–15, that the Intellect is inert, but, on the contrary, that it is dedicated to an active self-­knowledge. For it is well known that P., basing himself on Peripatetic noology (cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 111.22–5), advocated the identity of the active Intellect and the intelligibles; see V 5.2.1–3.2 (and cf. V 3.4.28–5.44). One consequence this led him to was the denial of the existence of any potentiality in the region of his second hypostasis (see II 5.1.7–10), which remains in a complete and eternal state “of static activity” (energeiai hestōsēi: cf. Allog. = NHC XI 3, 53.33–34 and 67.28–31), contrary to the “moveable” (kinoumenos) intellect, which is inherent in cosmic Soul and which may be intellectively activated through contemplation of its model. On this, see Schmidt 1900, 37–38. As revealed, for one, by the testimony cited above from Hippolytus concerning the Peratic heresy, it was the “Word” (logos) that, according to the Gnostics, served as the intermediary for the transmission of the intelligible “powers” from the first god to the world, inasmuch as its “utterance” (prophora) gave rise to the expression of the Forms in the domain of the sensibles. The assignment of a comparable mission to logos is a fact already widely recognized in the case of the Middle Platonists (cf. my comment on I 2.3.27–30), but one that in the case of the Christians took on an entirely special importance in view of the prominence given to the Word in the Prologue to the Gospel of St. John. (We should note here that one of those who attempted such a Platonic interpretation of this Prologue was P.’s student Amelius; see Euseb. PE XI 19.1; and Dörrie [1972]/1976, 494–96. This interpretation presents considerable similarities with that of Valentinus apud Clem. Al. Exc. 6.1–3.) Hence, the Gnostics utilized and developed the pertinent theory, embellishing it with their characteristically prolific imagination; see

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Second Ennead principally Hippol. Haer. VI 42.4–8, Tri. Trac. = NHC I 5, 61.14–19, 65.1–27, and Steles Seth = NHC VII 5, 123.6–11. Cf. the remarks of Armstrong 1984, 44; Zandee 1961, 28–29; as well as the material collected by Elsas 1975, 150–66 and 208–9. For his part, P., believing as he does that the soul is by its nature “akin” (sungenēs) to Intellect and “intellectual” (noera), holds that it has no need of any intermediation in order to gain cognitive access to the Forms, which are absolutely “its own” (oikeia); cf. IV 4.2.27–29, V 1.3.12–23. 1.33–40. οὐ μὴν . . . τοῦ νενοηκότος:Commencement of the rather protracted rebuttal of a theory that seeks to distinguish between two phases of the process of intellection: (a) thinking proper and (b) thinking about the fact that one is thinking. P. is ready to admit that such a distinction makes sense insofar as it applies to the intellectual apprehensions of the embodied soul: see en toutois in l. 34 (“on our level” in Armstrong’s apt rendition), and cf. epi tou alēthinou nou in ll. 36–37 (“in the case of the true Intellect”) and ekei in l. 52 (“there in the intelligible world”); further, see Becker 1940, 32n.2. He is perhaps ready to admit it also at the level of the cosmic Soul, even though the fact that “it is unalterably disposed to intelligence” entails “a concurrent awareness of itself, as having become one and the same thing with its intelligible object” (IV 4.2.31–32). Later, he proceeds to differentiate even more radically between intellection and the consciousness of intellection; see I 4.10.21–33, with my comment. At the level of pure Intellect, however, intellection is always self-­intellection, and it consequently entails “knowledge of itself ” as intelligizing; see V 3.5.14–18, 6.28–35, VI 2.22.5–7; and Schwyzer 1960, 364–66. Thus, we catch P. once again in the act of drawing on a purely Aristotelian line of argument: cf. Arist. Metaph. Λ 7, 1072b19–21; Λ 9, 1074b33–1075a5; and De an. ΙΙΙ 4, 430a3–5. The question that arises here, of course, is why P. concerns himself in such detail with self-­intellection as a distinct “hypostasis.” In my view, Bréhier in his introduction, 105, was correct to discern here a criticism of the Gnostic tendency to hypostasize virtually without control not only abstract concepts, but even products of reflection on these, which they associated with one another in pairs. To take one example, according to the Valentinian system of Ptolemy, which has been described by Irenaeus, I 1.1, the Plērōma consisted of fifteen such pairs, which were formed by the Propatōr (“Forefather”) or Buthos (“Depth”) together with the previously mentioned Sigē (“Silence”), who was also named Ennoia (“Thought”), and who manifestly was nothing other than a hypostasization of the former’s reduplication, as and when he “was intelligized” (enoēthē). A similar role appears to have been conferred on Barbelō in the Sethian systems; see, e.g., Ap. John = NHC II 1, 4.27–5.5; and Zost. = NHC VIII 1, 82.23–83.22, 87.14–20. 1.40–57. ἀλλ’ εἰ ἐπινοίᾳ . . . εἰς ἄπειρον οὕτω:Through a semantic analysis of the concept of intellection, P. seeks to show that its distinction from self-­intellection is not just pointless, but inconceivable. The subject is treated here in a somewhat cursory fashion, but P. would address it much more systematically in his treatise “On the Knowing Hypostases and That Which Is Beyond” (V 3 [49]).



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As concerns the term epinoia, Becker 1940, 33–34, under the influence, evidently, of German idealism, sought to uphold that it here designates the “supervening reflexive differentiation of an initial unity.” I believe, however, that its employment elsewhere in the Enneads (see, e.g., IV 4.6.14, V 8.7.8, and VI 2.13.28), as also by other authors (see, e.g., Sext. Emp. Math. X 255; Porph. Isag. 1.11), makes it clear that its meaning has rather to do with the notion of a “conception” or “(theoretical) construction,” and that this is how P. intends it in the present passage. Nevertheless, we must not overlook the possibility that what we have here is a misconstrual on his part of Gnostic onomatology: for the term epinoia was employed, for example, in the Apophasis Megalē of Simon Magus to designate a mythological entity similar to the Ennoia (“Thought”) of Valentinus; see Hippol. Haer. VI 18.3–7; but cf. also Zost. = NHC VIII 1, 82.1–22; Trim. Prot. = NHC XIII 1, 35.12–36.25; and García Bazán 1981, 282n.14. 1.57–63. τὸν δὲ λόγον . . . ὅλως νοήσει:In my comment on 1.25–33, I touched on the intermediating role played by logos in the Gnostic systems. Yet here once again it is from a purely philosophical vantage point that P. examines the question. The intervention of one (or more) intermediate entities between Intellect and Soul would, in his opinion, deny to the latter the possibility of achieving any immediate apprehension of intelligible beings, and hence any real knowledge of the truth. That man possesses the capacity for immediate and integral contact with the intelligibles by means of philosophical “ascent” (anagōgē) or, otherwise, “dialectic” (dialektikē) was a foundation stone of P.’s philosophy; cf., e.g., I 3.5.1–13, V 3.5.18–28, and V 5.1.19–41. 2.3–4. μιμούμενον τὸν πατέρα:In the same way, Numenius’ second god, the Demiurge, is an “emulator” (mimētēs) of the first, and hence himself “good” (agathos), albeit at a certain distance from his “good” archetype (cf. Pl. Resp. X 597e1–8); see fr. 16.4–8 and 14–15. Similar phraseology (albeit eschewing any expression suggestive of a positive valuation) was utilized by a number of Gnostic cosmogonies, such as those of Valentinus and Marcus; see Hippol. Haer. VI 29.7, 48.1, 54.1; and Pépin 1992a, 301. 2.4–10. ψυχῆς δὲ ἡμῶν . . . καθελκύσαι:As noticed by Rist 1967a, 415–16, the image here, though not the phraseology, harks back to the Phaedrus myth. Yet the division of the soul is effected not into parts, but into “powers” (dunameis) or functions, so as not to endanger its unity; see my introduction to treatise I 1. The highest of these powers, the intellective one, remains unlapsed and eternally dedicated to the contemplation of the intelligible beings, in conformity with the characteristically Plotinian point of view; cf. IV 8.8.1–3. The power “in the middle” (en mesōi) corresponds to the ratiocinative function, which is usually the level on which consciousness is focused; cf. V 3.3.35–40 and my comment on I 1.11.2–8; and Baladi 1970, 83–87. That is why the greater part of mankind vacillates in the region “between gods and beasts” (III 2.8.9–11). Finally, the lowest power manifests itself through the sensory and biological functions of the organism, and is the outcome of the “mirroring” of the primary soul on the body it animates; cf. Igal 1979, 324–27; and I 1.6.1–7, with my comment ad loc.

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Second Ennead It should be noted that in the Valentinian system described by Hippolytus, Haer. VI 32.9, the soul is presented as a “middle (mesotēs)” that, “if it comes to be assimilated to those above, to the Ogdoad, becomes immortal and ascends to the Ogdoad, which is “the heavenly Jerusalem”; but if it comes to be assimilated to matter, i.e., to the material affections, it will be made perishable and be destroyed.” 2.11–15. ψυχὴ μείνασα . . . δυνάμει θαυμαστῇ:Contrary to the individual human souls, which are always vacillating between the intelligible and the sensible, the cosmic Soul remains unwaveringly directed toward the Intellect, governing and arranging the body of the universe without rational calculation or tergiversation, but solely by its “contemplation” (theōria). Cf. III 8.4.5–29 and my comment on II 3.6.10–20. Alt 1990, 18, points out that the soteriology of the Valentinian Gnostics was based on the myth of the “repentance” (metanoia) of the cosmic Soul–Sophia for the abortion of a world she created, and her attempt, together with “Fruit” (Karpos), who is a representative of the Plērōma and a prototype of Jesus Christ, to rectify those passions of hers which were to blame; see Hippol. Haer. VI 31.2, 32.4–5, 36.1, 3. Anything of this nature is, of course, inconceivable if, as P. maintains, the contemplation of the intelligible Forms by the Soul is steadfast and insusceptible of error. 3.4–7. ὥσπερ εἰ . . . αὐτῶν μεταλαμβάνειν:The comparison of the action exercised on the world by Soul with the heating of a body by fire was a favorite of P.’s (cf. II 3.9.32–34, IV 3.9.20–28, 22.1–11, V 1.3.8–12) and may testify to some degree of influence from the Stoics, for whom the soul was “fiery in form” (puroeidēs: see, e.g., SVF 2:773–75, 785–86, and 1045). If such is indeed the case, it is interesting that P. chooses here to indicate, by means of a glancing reference to Heraclitus fr. B30 DK (see Roussos 1968, 11–12), the inadequacy of this physical paradigm, owing to the materiality of fire, the action of which is inevitably limited to space, by contrast with the unlimitedness of the “potency” (dunamis) of the intelligibles; see also Ferwerda 1965, 69. 3.7–12. ἀλλ’ ἀνάγκη . . . καὶ ἀεί:P.’s universe is not static: on the contrary, it is pervaded by a dynamic unity that holds together the various ontological levels and composes them into a unitary organic whole. The cohesive principle, by virtue of which the unification of all the ontological gradients is achieved, and for which one occasionally finds employed the rather unfortunate term “emanation” (aporrhoē or aporrhoia, on which see my comment on II 1.5.5–14: although P. does, in a single instance, resort to this term metaphorically, borrowing it from Plato’s Phaedrus 251b2, he elsewhere categorically denies the aptness of the correlation; see, e.g., VI 5.3.1–26), is that of “the procreativeness of the already perfect,” which is formulated at V 1.6.38–39 (see Igal 1982–98, 1:29–30) and is of course directly related to the theory of the two “activities” (energeiai: see my comment on I 1.2.7–9). The necessity according to which every primarily activated reality is accompanied by a secondarily derived energeia (see below, 8.21–24 and V 4.2.29), in conjunction with the unlimited potency of the One, inevitably brings the succeeding hypostases into being and integrates them into an ordered, unified process of “proces-



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sion” (proodos) from, and “return” (epistrophē) to, It; cf. IV 8.6.1–16 and V 3.15.32–40. In this manner, the potency of the One is made manifest as goodness; cf. Pl. Ti. 29e1–30a3. Concerning the nature of this necessity, see also Rist 1967b, 73–78. 3.12–14. γενητὰ δὲ . . . λέγεται: Concerning the use of the term genētos (“generated” or “derived”) in order to designate ontological dependence, see my introduction to “On Heaven” (II 1 [40]), as well as II 4.5.25–28, with my comment; and Sorabji 1983, 274–75. The question whether or not the world was created in time was a critical point of contention in the controversy between P. and the Gnostics. This is the reason why he was to return to it at greater length some time later, in the aforementioned treatise II 1; cf. also V 8.12.17–25. 3.14–15:οὐδὲ φθαρήσεται, ἀλλ’ . . . οὐδὲ φθαρήσεται:The axiom lurking behind this argument may well be, as Alt 1990, 19, believes, the one Aristotle formulates at Metaph. Α 3, 983b8–18 (trans. after Ross): “that of which all things that are consist and from which they first come to be, and into which they are finally resolved . . . is the element and the principle . . . of beings, and therefore nothing is either generated . . . or destroyed.” Cf. also Pl. Phd. 78c1–8. If, then, matter is that “from which” (ex hou; on this expression, see my introduction to II 5) all things in the world are created, as well the final outcome of their destruction, then it is itself incapable of ever perishing; cf. my comment to II 5.5.34. By contrast, the eschatological doctrines of the Valentinians included a final “conflagration” (ekpurōsis), in the course of which “the fire that lies hidden in the world shall blaze forth and burn, and as it destroys all matter, it shall be consumed along with it, and shall pass into being no more—or so they teach” (Iren. Adu. haer. I 7.1, 689–92). 3.18–19. εἰ δὲ μόνη . . . καταλειφθήσεται:According to the Valentinians and, more generally, the monistic branch of Gnosticism, the “constitution and substance” (sustasis kai ousia) of matter was attributable to the despair of Sophia “on account of having been left alone (dia to kataleleiphthai monē) in the darkness and vacuity” (Iren. Adu. haer. I 4.2, 395–96; cf. 387). Yet in the passage under consideration, the subject (pace Orbe 1954, 19) is matter itself, not the Soul, and thus the coincidence with the testimony of Irenaeus is less than complete. 3.19–20. ἀλλ’ ἔν τινι . . . ἀποτετειχισμένα:By means of a jocular allusion to the “blockade” (apoteichismos) of the gods by the Birds in Aristophanes’ comedy (Au. 1576, as was noted by Harder 1952, 182), P. refers here to the radical distinction made by the Gnostics between the Plērōma and the kosmos, a distinction they presentified symbolically as “Limit” (Horos) or “Cross” (Stauros), “who having been born great . . . was sent forth to act as guard and entrenchment of the Aeons . . . because he separates off from the Pleroma the Deficiency (Husterēma) outside” (Hippol. Haer. VI 31.5–6). Cf. Iren. Adu. haer. I 4.1; Clem. Al. Exc. 42.1; and Alt 1990, 20. 4.1–2. Εἰ δὲ . . . πάσχει:Cf. above, 2.4–15.

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Second Ennead 4.2–4. εἰ δὲ σφαλεῖσαν . . . τὴν αἰτίαν:The fall of the Soul-­Sophia from the Plērōma was presented by the Valentinians as a consequence of her own deception, transgression, and “error” or “moral failure” (sphalma); see, e.g., Hippol. Haer. VI 32.2–6, 36.1; and Gos. Truth = NHC I 3, 17.10–18.11. 4.4–6. πότε δὲ . . . πρὸ τοῦ:In order to show up the absurdity of the claim that the creation of the world is the product of error, P. presents a dilemma, the second horn of which incorporates the classic argument—“Why not earlier?”—which was already familiar to Parmenides (fr. B8.9–10 DK) and had been deployed repeatedly by Aristotle against theories which assumed that the world had a beginning in time, as was the case with the Gnostic cosmologies; see indicatively the word pote (“at one time”) in Hippol. Haer. VI 29.5 and the repetition of tote (“then”) in Anon. Cod. Bruc. 11, 350.6, 24, 351.7; and cf. Alex. Aphrod. Mund. A 67. Further, see Sorabji 1983, 232–38; and Baltes 1976– 78, 1:14. Cf. II 1.4.26–27, with my comment. 4.6–7. ἡμεῖς δὲ . . . μὴ νεῦσιν:Even particular, individual souls do not, in P.’s view, literally descend into the bodies they animate, but merely “illuminate” them by their activity; see my comment on I 1.7.1–6. A fortiori, the cosmic Soul, which administers the world “in effortless transcendence” (huperechousa aponōs: IV 8.8.14), never “declines” toward the sensibles, but remains “always above, where it is natural for it to be” (III 9.3.5–6; cf. III 4.4.4–7 and Rist 1967b, 112–15). As will be made apparent below, at 10.19–26, the Gnostics P. had in mind also believed that the Soul does not descend into the world, but merely illuminates it. 4.7–12. εἰ δὲ ἔνευσε . . . ἐπανελθεῖν:“Oblivion” or “forgetfulness” (lēthē), being the opposite of “knowledge” (gnōsis), was, for the Gnostics, the basic cause of the fall and of removal from the highest principle. As the Valentinian Gos. Truth = NHC I 3, 18.7–11 puts the matter: “Since oblivion came into existence because the Father was not known, then if the Father comes to be known, oblivion will not exist from that moment on.” Cf. also Tri. Trac. = NHC I 5, 81.26–82.31; and Exeg. Soul = NHC II 6, 132.20–21. 4.12–15. τί γὰρ ἂν . . . τῶν ἐνταῦθα:What was it that impelled the Soul to create the world? In Valent. fr. 5 apud Clem. Al. Strom. IV 13, 90.1–2, the motivation is shown to have been the ambition of Sophia “to be honored” (hina timēthē) for her “picture,” the perceptible image of the intellective world. It seems probable, therefore, that P. is here citing some specific Gnostic tractate; cf. below, 11.21. See also Pépin 1992a, 318–19. Nevertheless, a view such as this is in total contraposition to the Platonic one, which recognized as the Demiurge’s sole motivation his goodness (Ti. 30a2–7), thereby precluding any disingenuousness on his part. This is emphasized even more clearly in a pseudo-­ Platonic fragment of unknown origin cited by Clem. Al. Strom. V 11, 75.3: “For it was not out of need that God created the world, in order that he might reap honors (hina timas . . . karpoito) from men and other gods and demons.”



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4.17–19: πότε δὲ . . . γενομένη: According to the mythological narratives of the Gnostics, the Soul-­Sophia, following her exodus from the Plērōma, “repented” and sought to return there once more. She thus set in motion the redemptive plan of Christ’s mission for the deliverance of souls, which would lead finally to the apocalyptic dissolution of the material world as a whole. See Iren. Adu. haer. I 3.1, 250–52, and 30.12, 215; Hippol. Haer. VI 32.6. Cf. Tri. Trac. = NHC I 5, 81.19–29; Elsas 1975, 230–32; and above, my comments on 2.11–15 and 3.14–15. As concerns the temporality or otherwise of the Soul’s change of mind, cf. above, 4.4–6, and my comment on II 1.4.30–33. 4.25–26. εἰ ἀξιοῦσι . . . εἰκὼν ἐκείνου:The Gnostics’ depreciation and contempt of the world arose, in P.’s view, from the excessive expectations they placed on it, from their failure to evaluate correctly its status as a “likeness” (eikōn), in accordance with the terminal phrase of the Platonic Timaeus (92c7; cf. 29b2). For as the final division of the “art of imitation” (mimētikē technē) in the Sophist (235d1–236c7) reveals, the art of “likeness-­ making” (eikastikē) preserves a valid truth-­relation with its model, by contrast with the art of “apparition-­making” (phantastikē), which answers only to its model’s “seeming” (dokounta) elements, not to its “real” or “true” (alēthē) ones. Thus, a positive valuation of the world as “likeness” (eikōn), that is, as a more or less accurate depiction of its model and, therefore, as an approximation of the truth, is hinted at in a number of pre-­ Neoplatonic texts (see, e.g., “Alcinous” Didasc. 12, 167.4–15; [Ti. Locr.] De nat. 43, 217.24; Num. fr. 16.7) and becomes clearly evident in the Enneads; see II 3.18.16–17, III 2.1.21–26, III 8.11.26–30, V 8.8.21–23, 12.12–20. Even certain Gnostics (taking their lead from the description of the creation of man in Gen. 1:26–27) were prepared to acknowledge that the macrocosm as well (or, at any rate, some of its parts) constitutes to some degree an effigy of the divine: see, e.g., Simon Magus apud Hippol. Haer. VI 14.4–6; Iren. Adu. haer. I 5.1, 486–89; Tri. Trac. = NHC I 5, 90.31–37, 96.17–34; Gos. Phil. = NHC II 3, 67.9–18; Trim. Prot. = NHC XIII 1, 40.4–6. Yet as a rule they believed that this likeness was perverted and distorted by reason of the depravity and baseness of the powers responsible for the creation of the world; see characteristically Hyp. Arch. = NHC II 4, 87.11–33. On this whole question, see also Stead 1980, 86–87; and Bonanate 1985, 26–29. 4.27–28. τί γὰρ ἄλλο . . . τὸ ἐνταῦθα πῦρ:Concerning the special position occupied by fire in the Gnostic cosmologies, see below, my comment on 11.28–29. Yet in certain cases, recognition appears to have been granted therein to another form of fire—“white, bright, and beautiful”—which exercises a purifying action; see Gos. Phil. = NHC II 3, 67.5–10; and Hippol. Haer. VI 9.5–6. Cf. also my comment on II 1.4.11–13. 4.28. ἢ τίς . . . ἐκεῖ γῆν:According to the Valentinians, for example, the Demiurge of the world created an imperfect earth because of his ignorance, “not having knowledge of the [true] Earth” (Iren. Adu. haer. I 5.3, 515–16; and see Rousseau’s note ad loc.). On the “new earth” (kainē gē) of the Gnostics, see below, 5.24.5.

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Second Ennead 4.29–31. τίς δὲ σφαῖρα . . . ἐν αὐτῷ:Cf. II 2.1.1 and 3.20–22, with my comments. 5.1–16. Ἀλλ’ αὐτοὺς . . . ἐφιεμένης:According to the Gnostics, mankind (and more particularly those men who possessed the calling of “pneumatics”) held an entirely distinct and privileged position in the world. For man was the sole creature who was fashioned “in the image and likeness” of the supreme God, and as such he differs in his capacities from all other created things. Whereas the body and its closely connected psychical functions are works of the fallen demiurge of the world and are governed by the powers of cosmic Destiny, the pneuma (“spirit”), the “inner” or “true” man, is essentially “alien” to the world (allogenēs) and free. Hence, his embodiment and his presence here on earth mean exile and imprisonment for him, but at the same time they lead to the overthrow and dissolution of the cosmic powers. In the words of the Trimorphic Protennoia tractate from Nag Hammadi (NHC XIII 1, 40.23–29 trans. Robinson): “The Archigenetor of ignorance reigned over Chaos and the underworld and produced a man in my [sc., the divine Concept’s] likeness. But he neither knew that one would become for him a sentence of dissolution, nor does he recognize the power in him.” This radically antithetical relation between man and the world seemed inconceivable to a thinker steeped in traditional Greek beliefs (see Magris 1994, 185–87) as to the correspondence of microcosm to macrocosm, the beauty and orderliness of the universe, and man’s essential integration in the world as its crowning—granted—but nonetheless inseparable part. More particularly, the comparison of man to the heavenly bodies, which from the time of Plato and Aristotle had been regarded as “perceptible gods” (see Pépin 1964, 128–72; and cf. my comment on I 8.5.30–33), and the claim that man transcends them all in terms of his kinship with the supreme God and his capacity to come near Him, appeared thoroughly subversive (see Jonas 1954–93, 1:238–43) and blasphemous. 5.16–18. ἄλογος δὲ . . . συνιστᾶσι:According to the system of Valentinus’ student Ptolemy, which has been described by Irenaeus, Adu. haer. I 4.1–2 and 5.4, the causes that led to the constitution of the “material substance” (hulikē ousia) of the universe were psychical: they were the “affections” or “passions” (pathē) that Sophia-­Achamoth experienced in the course of her separation from the Pleroma, each with its proper physical counterpart: “consternation” (ekplēxis) or “bewilderment” (aporia) → earth “fear” (phobos) → water “grief ” (lupē) → air “ignorance” (agnoia) → fire Insofar as she is identified with her passions, this “lower” Sophia could be regarded as a “material” soul that manifests itself in the form of the four elements; cf. the view of Numenius, discussed in my comment on I 8.5.5–9. Correspondingly, at the level of man (and now according to the account of Theodotus), the Demiurge, starting from these elements, “concocted an earthy and material soul, irrational and consubstantial with that of beasts” (Clem. Al. Exc. 48.2–50.1). We are in the dark, however, as to whether



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the psychical “appendages” (prosartēmata) of the Gnostic Basilides or the “attached soul” (prosphuēs psuchē) of his son Isidorus (see Clem. Al. Strom. II 20, 112.1–113.4), which possessed distinctly animal characteristics, were correlated directly with the four elements or with planetary influences; see Dodds 1960b, 7–8. 5.18–20. πῶς γὰρ ἂν . . . ἐκ τούτων:The blending of the elements can only lead to the creation of bodies possessing the apposite properties, in accordance with the rules laid out by Aristotle in Gen. corr. II 4. Hence, abiogenesis must be excluded. 5.24–26. καινὴν αὐτοῖς γῆν . . . κόσμου:In their own apocalyptic writings, the earliest Christians frequently made use of descriptive elements drawn from the messianic visions of Isaiah concerning the return of the people of Israel from their Babylonian exile and the refounding of Jerusalem. The expectation of “a new heaven” and “a new earth” (ouranos kainos, gē kainē: Isa. 65:17 and 66:22 LXX) had to do, in their view, with a transcendental “heavenly Jerusalem” (epouranios Hierousalēm: Paul in Heb. 12:22; cf. Gal. 4:26, 6:15; 2 Cor. 5:17; 2 Pet. 3:13; Rev. 3:12, 21:1–2), where the blessed elect of God would reside in direct and uninterrupted communion with Him. The Gnostics adapted these considerations to their own cosmological scheme, locating this “upper” Jerusalem in the region of the so-­called Ogdoad, a place intermediate between the world ruled by Destiny and the Pleroma beyond heaven, and one that was usually identified with the sphere of the fixed stars or with the Milky Way; see, e.g., Iren. Adu. haer. I 5.3, 522–26; Hippol. Haer. V 7.39, VI 30.9, 32.9, 34.3–4. In addition, the (Coptic) Anon. Cod. Bruc. 12, 352.6–11, refers to the cosmogonic action of an abortive offspring of the divine creative Word named Prōtogennētōr in the following terms: “And he raised up all the purity of matter, and out of it made a world and an aeon and a city (polin) which is named d ‘TheNew NewEarth’ Earth’ ( and Imperishability and Jerusalem. And it is also called ‘The ‘Self-­Complete,’ as well as ‘Unruled.’ ” This place is described in the sequel as a kind of model of the material universe and—principally—of sensible man, who was created “in the type of that earth.” In this regard, it resembles that intelligible “Great City” (megalopolis) that, as Philo used to assert (Opif. 19–20), functions as a pattern of the visible world and has “no other location than the divine Logos,” of which the microcosm-­man is in turn a “likeness” (eikōn) (see Runia 1986, 471). Concerning the role of logos in Gnostic cosmologies, see above, my comment on 1.25–33. On this whole question, see also García Bazán 1981, 290n.82; and Pépin 1992a, 313–14. See further below, 11.12, on the “alien earth” (xenē gē). 5.26–27. ἐν παραδείγματι τοῦ κόσμου:That the New Earth or even the Pleroma itself constituted, in some fashion, a model of the sensible world is one example of the influence exerted by Plato’s Timaeus on some of the Gnostic cosmological theories. This influence is especially evident in the tractate Zostrianos from Nag Hammadi; see NHC VIII 1, 48.3–26, 55.13–24, and 113.1–14. 5.28–29. τοῦτο γὰρ . . . πεποιηκότος: Just as in Philo’s cosmology (Opif. 16), when God “willed (boulētheis) to create this visible world, he first modeled the intelligible one, in

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Second Ennead order that he might have the use of an incorporeal and most godlike pattern in fashioning the corporeal one,” so also in certain Gnostic cosmogonies the creation of the world is preceded by the Demiurge’s “wanting” (thelēma), which leads him to the fabrication of a model, on the basis of which he will proceed with his work. See, e.g., Anon. Cod. Bruc. 3, 338.10–15. 6.1. ἄλλας ὑποστάσεις . . . ἃς εἰσάγουσι:One of the main points on which P. concentrates his polemic against the Gnostics is what might be termed “the overpopulation of the supra-­sensible,” that is, their practice of introducing a whole bevy of newfangled entities (most of them bearing exotic or merely bizarre names), for the sole purpose of “inventing a new jargon” (kainologein) and causing a sensation; cf. also my comment on 1.33–40. The term hupostaseis refers here to real entities, albeit derivative, not primal ones, given that, as the examples that follow make clear, they were regarded as having been produced by other entities—whether the Soul or the Pleroma (pace Igal 1981, 148n.26). It seems also to have been employed in a similar sense by the Gnostics: see, e.g., Iren. Adu. haer. I 5.4, 532 and 11.1, 1220; Hippol. Haer. V 17.8 and VI 32.6; Marsanes = NHC X 1, 36.21; and, with respect to the Hypostasis of the Archons = NHC II 4, see Layton 1976, 44. 6.2. παροικήσεις . . . καὶ μετανοίας:These terms (all of them with a certain biblical prehistory; see the pertinent references provided by Igal 1981, 148n.29, and for paroikēsis (“exile”) more particularly, see Gen. 23:4 and Pss. 38:13 LXX) had a more or less “technical” meaning for the Gnostics, and, as Schmidt 1900, 61, already observed, they are to be met with, all three of them together, in the Anon. Cod. Bruc. 20, 361.38–362.3. There, the first and the third of these terms appear to designate way stations of the souls during their departure from the world— way stations that at the same time contain (or project?) some sort of “impressions” (antitupoi). The foregoing receives an “exegesis” of sorts in the tractate Zostrianos = NHC VIII 1, 12.8–15: “[The souls] are removed one by one from the impression (antitupon) of exile to the Exile (paroikēsis) that really exists, from the impression of repentance to the Repentance (metanoia) that really exists, etc.” See also the other passages cited by Abramowski 1983, 3, but also Pearson 1984, 61, in relation to Marsanes = NHC X 1, 2.26–3.17. As evidenced also by its usage in Iren. Adu. haer. I 5.6, 581 and I 24.3, 49, in Epiph. Adu. haer. 31.5.5, 1:391.7, and in Ap. John = NHC II 1, 25.2–5, the term antitupos designated the projection of a higher entity onto a lower one, which thus functions as a likeness and reminder of the former; on this, see Elsas 1975, 202–8; and Pépin 1992a, 315–16. On the other hand, paroikēsis referred (precisely as it did in Philo: see Conf. 77, 81; Cher. 120–21; Somn. I 45; and below, my comment on 11.11–14) to the temporary removal of the soul from its heavenly “home” (oikos), and to its embodied sojourn in the world, like a traveler finding short-­term lodging in an inn (see Jonas 1963, 55–56). Finally, metanoia (“repentance”) was directly related to Sophia’s “passions” outside the Pleroma (see Iren. Adu. haer. I 3.1, 215; 30.12, 221; and Hippol. Haer. VI 32.6) and with her reversion toward her kindred Aeons (see Tri. Trac. = NHC I 5, 81.19–29); see further García Bazán 1981, 285n.36 and my comment on 4.17–19.



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6.5–6. καινολογούντων . . . αἱρέσεως: The effort made by the Gnostics to present their teaching as a new philosophical system (a hairesis: cf. below, 6.11–2), but with ancient roots, was denounced by Porphyry (VP 16.14–18) as an attempt at deception, while, on the contrary, their Christian opponents took it seriously and held it responsible for their divergences from orthodox dogma: see Iren. Adu. haer. I 9.3–4, 1049–53 and 11.1, 1197– 99; Hippol. Haer. V 6.2, VI 21.3, VII 31.7. It is interesting to note that P., in attacking the Gnostics as “plagiarists” (klepsilogoi), finds himself closer to the Christian fathers than to his student; see Hippol. Haer. I Prol. 11. 6.6–7. τῆς ἀρχαίας Ἑλληνικῆς οὐχ ἁπτόμενοι:Igal 1981, 148n.32, is certainly correct in maintaining that in the present passage P. principally had in mind the linguistic innovations of the Gnostics (cf. Iren. Adu. haer. I 11.4); with all that, I believe, however, that his wish was to emphasize that these barbarisms reveal them to be occupying a position outside the ambit of Greek culture and Greek traditions more generally, and to have been possessed by “barbarian delusion” (barbarikos tuphos). The abuse of language in particular was, for him, an expression of their overall stance toward civilization. Cf. below, 6.44, but also the similar formulation of Atticus fr. 4.17–19. 6.7–10. τῶν Ἑλλήνων . . . προϊούσας:In P.’s view, many of the Gnostic descriptions of the adventures of the Soul were nothing other than fanciful and melodramatic reworkings of the allegory of the cave in Plato’s Republic (VII 514a1 ff.; cf. IV 8.1.30–36). One characteristic example of such a mythological construct is the hymn of the Naassenes quoted by Hippol. Haer. V 10.2, where, among other things, the following description appears:  . . . and Soul received the law so as to accomplish it (‹ex›ergazomenē); therefore clad in the shape of a hind she toils—practice for death (thanatōi meletēma)—as she is held captive. Now holding dominion, she sees the light (blepei to phōs); now cast into a cave (eis ‹sp›ēlaion ekri‹pto›menē), she weeps. On the other hand, even Porphyry found in the Platonic allegory echoes of Zoroastrian cosmic symbolism (De antr. nymph. 5–9, 59.1–62.22; cf. my comments on VP 16.6). 6.11. ὅσα καινοτομοῦσιν:See below, 6.56–62. 6.13. αἱ δίκαι:The theme of the Final Judgment does not appear to have held any special interest for the Gnostics (see, however, Tri. Trac. = NHC I 5, 120.29–121.14; Gos. Eg. = NHC III 2, 62.14–63.9; Great Pow. = NHC VI 4, 46.6–47.30), but the importance it had more generally for the Christians leads P. to recall the Platonic origins of the pertinent myth (see mainly Grg. 523a1 ff., but also Phd. 113d1–114b6), notwithstanding that he himself had serious reservations concerning it; see I 1.12.1–12. 6.13. οἱ ποταμoὶ . . . αἱ μετενσωματώσεις:The four rivers of Eden possessed a symbolic significance for the Gnostics in connection with the constitution of both the macro-

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Second Ennead cosm and the microcosm. The Naassenes and Simon correlated them with specific vital and sensory functions of the human body, while Justin regarded them as instruments wielded by the angels for the exercise of world domination; see Hippol. Haer. V 9.14– 18, VI 14.8–15.4, and V 26.11–13; and my comment on II 3.17.18–25. P. brings them into correspondence with the four rivers of Hades that Plato describes in the Phaedo, 112e5–113c9. It is of course in the same dialogue (80d5–82c1) that he also finds the provenance of the theory of reincarnation, which some Gnostics, at least, espoused: see, indicatively, Iren. Adu. haer. I 23.2, 25.4; II 33.1; Basilides fr. 5; Hippol. Haer. VII 32.7–8. 6.14–21. καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν νοητῶν . . . τὸν δὲ διανοούμενον:The first part of this—for P.—entirely unusual Quellenforschung concludes by indicating the Gnostics’ debt toward the cosmogonic myth of the Timaeus, but also by identifying some of their fundamental misunderstandings concerning it. In my comment on 1.25–33, I referred to the problems of interpretation that the analysis of this crucial section of Plato’s dialogue (Ti. 39e7–9) had given rise to. What is worth noting here is that in the final part of P.’s citation, the word order exhibits a slight alteration in relation to the Platonic text, such that the verb schein (“to contain”) has the poioun to pan (“the maker of all”) as its subject, and not just tode (“this,” i.e., the world of the senses). The result of this is to create the impression that the one who dienoēthē (“thought of ”) the Forms is someone else than the one who kathora (“discerns”) them. Do we have here, then, yet another “ideological emendation,” like the ones identified in respect to other parts of the Timaeus by Dillon 1989a, 54–72? All we can be certain of is that the text in this form lent itself to the interpretation promoted by Numenius (fr. 22), who found mention in it of his three “gods.” Elsewhere, P. himself appears willing to countenance such a formulation, on the condition, however, that it should refer to a purely theoretical distinction between the intelligible and the Intellect, and not to an actual ontological subdivision; see III 9.1.12–15. Here he takes a stricter view, perceiving the danger of an uncontrollable proliferation of intelligible entities; after all, even within his own school, his student Amelius, fr. A.III.LV = Procl. In Ti. III 103.18–23, seems to have aligned himself with this tendency, positing “a triad of creative intellects, and calling the first ‘Being,’ from ho estin zōion (‘the real living being’); the second ‘Having,’ from enousas (‘existing in’) . . . and the third ‘Seeing,’ from kathoran (‘discerns’).” See further Krämer 1967, 87–90. 6.21–22. πολλάκις δὲ . . . ἡ δημιουργοῦσα:By a strange coincidence, this seems to have been the view of Porphyry (see Procl. In Ti. I 306.32–307.5 and 322.1–7), but efforts have been made to discover correspondences also with various Gnostic systems (see Igal 1981, 143; and Pearson 1984, 64). In any case, for the Gnostics, the Demiurge was, as a rule, an abortive offspring or, perhaps, the lower, “passible” part of Sophia-­Soul, but certainly not the cosmic Soul, as Porphyry believed. Conversely, P. normally identifies him with the Intellect itself; see my comment on VP 20.92–96. 6.26–28. ὡς αὐτοὶ μὲν . . . ἀνδρῶν μή:Cf. VP 16.8–9, with my comment.



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6.31–34. δέον ἐκεῖ . . . τὴν πρώτην φύσιν:The principle of economy (cf. my comment on 6.1) formulated here, a prefiguration of Ockham’s razor, does not appear to have held any special appeal for P.’s successors. The later Neoplatonists were notable for their ever more complicated and multicomposite ontological constructs, the effect of which was an ever increasing expansion of the distance separating man from the highest principle. 6.35. ψυχῆς δὲ εἶδος τρίτον:The preceding phrase (and especially the words ekeinou, tōn pantōn, and kala) makes it clear that P. had in mind here the famous passage from the pseudo-­Platonic Epistle II (312e1–4), which is supposed to contain a conspectus of Platonic theory “on principles”; see my comment on I 8.2.28–32. The passage was a common point of departure for P., Numenius, and possibly the Valentinian Gnostics (see above, note 6 of my introduction to this treatise), and for this reason its interpretation was of crucial importance. P. is concerned here to emphasize that the “third” (triton) referred to in the Epistle is the third hypostasis of his ontology, the soul, and not just one of its products, such as the Gnostics held the Demiurge to be, who appeared as an abortive offspring of Sophia “when she was voided of that Logos which had been invisibly present in her” (Iren. Adu. haer. I 4.1, 371–72), and who was consequently “unthinking and foolish” (Hippol. Haer. VI 33.1). On the higher soul as an impassible form, see I 1.2.6–25. 6.35–36. διαφορὰς . . . ἰχνεύειν:This is the theme that will be investigated in chapter 7. 6.38–43. ψυχῆς ἀθανασίαν . . . καλῶς ποιοῦσι:P. completes his catalogue of the Gnostics’ debts to Plato (cf. above, 6.8–16) by enumerating some of their more characteristic Platonic dogmata. The first three concern the three Plotinian hypostases: (a) On the immortality of the soul, see, indicatively, Phdr. 245c5–246a3 (and cf. “Alcinous” Didasc. 25; and Diog. Laert. III 67). This was standard doctrine among the Gnostics, at least as far as the “pneumatics” were concerned, for which we have the witness of Valent. fr. 4 apud Clem. Al. Strom. IV 13, 89.2–3: “from the beginning you are immortal and children of eternal life, etc.” Cf. the passage from Irenaeus that I cited in my comment on 2.4–10; and Hippol. Haer. V 7.40. (b) On the intelligible world, cf. Resp. VII 517b5 (and “Alcinous” Didasc. 9). What corresponded to it in the Gnostic cosmologies was the Pleroma. See the pertinent comparative study attempted by Dillon 1992a, 99–110. (c) On the first god, see “Alcinous” Didasc. 10 and Whittaker’s note 181 ad loc. For the Gnostics, the supreme deity was characterized by absolute transcendency and ineffability (see Rudolph 1983, 61–65), which is why P. seems disposed to agree with them on this point. The last three items all have to do in one way or another with the central Gnostic theme of escape from the things of this world. Here P. points out the Platonic precedents in Tht. 176a9–b1 and Phd. 67d8–10. 6.43–49. οἷς θέλουσι . . . βλέποντας: At this stage it becomes clear that P. regards the teaching of his adversaries as being aimed against Hellenism itself, against the Greek

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Second Ennead way of life and thought. His conflict with them is ultimately reducible to the clash between two radically opposed worldviews: on the one side that of Hellenic “culture” (paideia), with its faith in rational discourse and the reasoned exchange of views and arguments, and on the other that of dogmatic mysticism, which, in spite of its “pseudomorphic” coating of philosophical formulations, revealed a radical estrangement from the world, from historical traditions, and from society, as well as an attitude of renunciation from any attempt at their rational evaluation or reconstruction. It is clear that here the term Hellēn (“Greek”) had a purely cultural content, and not a geographic or racial one. Plato and the other “old” thinkers (the attribute palaoi always referring specifically—as it does in Porphyry—to Greek authors; cf. III 7.1.13–14, V 8.5.24–25, VI 1.1.1–2, VI 8.19.13–14; and Tardieu 1992, 516n.23) are the forefathers and representatives of a whole cultural tradition that in the third century CE was still predominant in the wider Mediterranean area. Yet from the very beginnings of the Christian era, when the first serious questionings of this predominance took shape, Hellenism had started to remuster and progressively to take on the features of an increasingly conservative ideology, consolidating around itself those social groups that had a special interest in the preservation of the status quo. Christianity in particular was confronted by these groups—but also by the representatives of the leading philosophical currents of the time—with undisguised suspicion as a barbaric movement seeking to overthrow established norms (see, indicatively, the accusations leveled by the Platonist Celsus at the beginning of his anti-­Christian manifesto, apud Origen C. Cels. I 1–2. Cf., on the other hand, the threatening wording of Gos. Phil. = NHC II 3, 62.31–32: “If you say ‘I am a Christian,’ the whole world will tremble”). This was even more true in the case of Gnosticism, which occasionally assumed an overtly “anti-­Hellenic” character, and which referred at times with contempt and at times with condescension to the “wisdom of this world.” See Tri. Trac. = NHC I 5, 109.24–110.32 and the beautiful verses from the tractate The Thunder: Perfect Mind = NHC VI 2, 16.1–11 trans. Robinson (where the speaker is an unnamed emissary of the supreme “Power”): Why then have you hated me, you Greeks? Because I am a barbarian among the barbarians? For I am the wisdom of the Greeks and the knowledge of the barbarians. I am the judgment of the Greeks and of the barbarians. I am the one whose image is great in Egypt and the one who has no image among the barbarians. I am the one who has been hated everywhere and who has been loved everywhere. Cf. Martin 1973, 20–37. Hans Jonas has analyzed, in part, the forces that led the Gnostics to break with the prevailing ideology (see above all the historical review in Jonas 1963, 13–26). Less attention has been devoted to an investigation of the factors that led to the progressive shrinkage in the content of the expression Hellēn to that of a purely religious characterization, signifying simply a worshiper of idols (see Lampe 1961, s.v. 2). There are, how-



II 9. Against the Gnostics

ever, some indications that this development (which had not yet taken place when P. was writing these lines) was a consequence of the anti-­Christian propaganda waged by the later Neoplatonists starting with Porphyry (see C. Christ. fr. 1; and Marc. 4, 106.16, with my remarks in my commentary of VP, appendix C, 3a), as well as of the devotion they showed to theological concerns and theurgical practices from the time of Iamblichus onward (see Koch 1928, 539; and the very pertinent observations of Bowersock 1990, 9–10). Gregory of Nazianzus, Or. IV 5, attributed the shift in the word’s meaning to the emperor Julian, who “wickedly transferred the appellation to what seemed [fit to him], as though Greek speech were a matter of religion and not of language; and by this action, like a thief of other people’s goods, he stripped us [sc., Christians] of our speech.” The speaker of these words does not seem to realize, however, that in this manner the Apostate condemned a large portion of the Greek culture he so admired to be swept along by the collapse of ancient religion to its perdition. For it was not long before the appellation Hellēn became a disgrace, synonymous with idolatry, and sufficient to condemn someone if not to immediate prosecution, then at least to the social marginalization and isolation ordained in Justinian’s notorious forty-­fifth Novella (caput I, 279), which provides the following hair-­raising rationale: “for our form of government is both correct and already filled solid with the orthodox faith, any other dogma being reasonably subject to loathing.” 6.52–56. ἐπεὶ τά γε . . . ληφθέντα:Cf. VP 16.7–9 and 14–18. 6.56–62. προσθήκας δὲ . . . ἐν μέρει:P. now proceeds to enumerate the major points on which he believed the Gnostics to diverge from, or come into conflict with, Platonism. These, as Theiler notes ad loc., also constitute a list of the topics on which P. will in the sequel focus his criticism (see also Roloff 1970, 175): (a)  Creatio ex nihilo and, correspondingly, total annihilation of the universe in time; cf. 7.1–2, 8.2–5. (b) Condemnation of the sensible universe; cf. chapters 8–9 and 13.1–25. (c) Censure of the Soul for its descent into the body; cf. 11.1–15. (d) Censure of the Demiurge; cf. 11.15–12.44. (e) Identification of Soul and Demiurge; cf. 10.17–33. (f ) The passions of the cosmic Soul; cf. 7.13–39. 7.1–2. Ὅτι μὲν . . . εἴρηται:Cf. above, 3.11–21. The universe lasts as long as its intelligible model subsists, that is, forever. As explained in V 8.12.19–25, this occurs because the former is a natural (i.e., not an artificial) likeness of the latter, and “every natural image exists as long as its archetype is there.” 7.2–4. τὴν δὲ . . . τῇ ψυχῇ:Of the many Platonic passages P. could have had in mind here, H-­S single out the most characteristic: Leg. VIII 828d4–5. 7.5–7. ὡς εἴ τις . . . ψέγοι:Cf. the example of the public executioner in III 2.17.85–87.

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Second Ennead 7.8. ἐνδεδεμένη:The expression recalls Aristotle’s in his description of how the stars go round in a circle because they are “attached” (endedemena) to the circles of heaven (Cael. II 8, 289b30–33). Yet the thought alludes rather to the comparison of the cosmic Soul with Ixion, condemned to go round perpetually on his wheel, which Aristotle had drawn a little earlier (Cael. II 1, 284a30–b1). Cf. Max. Tyr. XVI 6, 206.17–19. 7.9–10. εἴρηνται ἐν ἄλλοις:See, indicatively, IV 8 [6].8.13–23. 7.10–14. ἡμεῖς μὲν . . . δεδεμένων:As the cosmic Soul composes and arranges the sensible world, it creates within it a network of “sympathetic” correlations and mutual influences that make up what we would today refer to as the system of natural law. The latter amounts to a direct psychical “bond” that holds the universe together, governs its internal reciprocities and determines the causal relations among the various bodies subsumed within its order; see Ti. 36d9–e1. This bond is primal, immutable, and indissoluble: in other words, it is wholly “natural,” and as such requires neither reasoning nor effort on the part of the Soul. On the other hand, the particular individual souls that animate the various living bodies within the world are obliged to integrate themselves within this preexisting system of natural law, and in some sense to become bound by it. This constitutes for each of them a “second” bond (see below, 29–30), additional to the direct connection they establish with a particular body, something that cannot obtain in the case of the cosmic Soul. On the body as a “bond” (desmos), see Pl. Phd. 67d1–2; VP 22.24–25, with my comment; and I 9.5–7. 7.18–20. ὅλως γὰρ . . . ἔχοντι: The “affections” (pathēmata) of particular living organisms within the universe are due to the divergences between the exigencies of the cosmic Soul and those determined by the particular soul pervading each of them. For the cosmic Soul itself, however, there can be no question of any conflicts of the kind, and consequently it cannot be anything other than entirely “impassible” (apathēs). 7.20–22. οἷον εἰ . . . ζωὴν ἔχει:Theiler, ad loc., notes the correspondence between this comparison and that of St. Paul in Rom. 11:17–24 (cf. also John 15:4–6). Yet any direct influence seems rather improbable here. 7.28–29. οἷον ἐπιθεῖ . . . εἰς τὴν τάξιν:I believe that, as Igal notes ad loc., the present passage should be added to the list of those comparisons of the cosmic Soul with a general ordering his troops, such as was compiled by Ferwerda 1965, 167–68. 7.31–32. οὔτε οὖν . . . ὠθεῖν:Perhaps we have here some slight criticism of the excessively mechanistic description of the action of the cosmic Soul in the Timaeus; cf. 58a5–7, and “Alcinous” Didasc. 14, 170.5–9. 7.33–39. ἐὰν δέ πού τι . . . πάθοι:Cf. IV 4.32.7–44.



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8.1–5. Τὸ δὲ . . . γεγονέναι: P. considers that it is self-­contradictory to regard the world as sempiternal and at the same time to seek the cause of its creation as if the latter had occurred at some moment in time, because he must obviously have had in mind the fundamental Aristotelian claim that whatever is created is inevitably perishable (see note 5 of my introduction to II 5). Thinkers such as Plutarch had attempted to reconcile these two positions through a description of the world as “forever being generated” (aeigenēs: on this see Baltes 1976–78, 1:94 and 134–35), but the established Platonist view saw it as without temporal beginning or end, refusing to admit any change whatsoever in the activity of the Demiurge; cf. my comment on II 1.4.30–33. 8.5–6. διδακτέον οὖν . . . ἡ φύσις τούτων:Cf. below, 10.8–10 and III 8.4.1–22. 8.8–20. ἐπεὶ οὐδὲ . . . εἰκόνα φυσικὴν ἔχειν:The fact that the sensible universe constitutes an “effigy of the intelligible gods” (besides the well-­known Timaeus passage, 37c6– 7, Turcan 1974, 309–10, invokes a further parallel from the Epinomis: 983e5–984a1) does not imply any denigration of its value, unless we make the mistake of comparing things belonging to different ontological levels; cf. my comment on 4.25–26. 8.21–26. οὐ γὰρ . . . καὶ εἰργάσατο:P. invokes the theory of the two activities in order to show the necessity of the projection of lower entities by higher ones, the dynamism of which it would not be possible to restrain; cf. my comment on 3.7–12. All Plotinian hypostases are therefore necessarily procreative of entities of a progressively lower level. Matter alone, being the ultimate limit of this process and lacking any energeia or life (cf. II 4.5.16–18), is incapable of procreating anything. 8.26–27. εἰ μὲν δὴ . . . τίς οὗτος:See above, my comment on 5.24–26, for the response the Gnostics might conceivably have given to this question. P. will deal with it below, at 11.8–19. 8.32–36. διὰ τί γὰρ . . . καὶ ἐνοχλοῦσα:Cf. I 8.5.30–34, with my comment. The participants in the discussion sponsored in 1957 by the Fondation Hardt under the title “Les sources de Plotin” agreed that the thought that evil might be present among the celestial bodies was totally foreign to the ancient Greek frame of mind; see EH 1960, 5: 53–54. 8.39–42. ἐπεὶ καὶ . . . ἑκόντες ἤλθετε:P. confronts his opponents with the following dilemma: individual souls came to this world either (a) because the cosmic Soul compelled them by force, or (b) because they wished it themselves. In the first case, the Gnostics could not claim that their souls are better or superior to the cosmic one (cf. above, 5.1–16); while in the second, their descent to earth would be the result of their own choice, whereupon to blame the world would be bereft of meaning. See also the pertinent analysis by O’Brien 1993, 5–6. 8.43. διδόντος . . . ἀρέσκοιτο: Compare the sarcastic reminder to the Gnostics of the possibility of suicide, “if they don’t like it here” (or “if the world cannot contain [them]

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Second Ennead (ei o kosmos ou chōrei)”: see Clem. Al. Exc. 54.3. Cf. also below, 9.16–17), with the high-­ minded acceptance by P. himself of suicide as the last-­ditch solution only in wholly exceptional circumstances, at I 4.7.31–32 and I 9.11–14. 9.1–6. Πλούτους δὲ . . . ἄλλους ἐᾷ ἔχειν:Cf. I 4.6.7–10, 7.17–22 on the indifference of the wise man to external “goods.” 9.6–11. καταμεμάθηκεν . . . τοῖς ἐπιεικεστέροις: This tripartite classification of human characters on the basis of a double subdivision is to be ranged alongside similar classifications attempted by P. in other parts of the Enneads; see my comment on I 3.1.6–9. What is especially interesting, though, is that an analogous typology formed a basic element in the anthropology of certain Gnostics. Its clearest formulation is found in the work of Clemens Alexandrinus, Excerpta ex Theodoto, 54: “From Adam three natures were born: the first, to which belonged Cain, was the irrational (hē alogos); the second, to which belonged Abel, was the rational and just (hē logikē kai hē dikaia); the third, to which belonged Seth, was the “pneumatic” (hē pneumatikē). And earthly man (choïkos) was made “in the image” (kat’ eikona) of God, the second “in His likeness” (kath’ homoiōsin), and “pneumatic” man “in His form” (kat’ idean Höschel: kat’ idian MSS, Stählin).” The image is completed by Irenaeus, Adu. haer. I 7.5, 756–60: “And the earthly [sc., race] advances to its perdition; the psychic (to psuchikon), if it chooses what is better, will repose in the place of the Middle (en tōi tēs Mesotētos topōi), but if what is worse, it will itself advance to a similar fate; as for the “pneumatics” (ta pneumatika), which Achamoth has ever since and to the present day sowed in righteous souls, etc., etc.” Cf. also Hippol. Haer. V 6.6–7, X 9.1–3; Tri. Trac. = NHC I 5, 118.14–119.24; Orig. World = NHC II 5, 117.28–118.5, 122.5–16; and Quispel 1992, 2–6. The correspondences become even more apparent when they are presented in the form of a table: Philo Judaeus

Plotinus

Gnostics

II 9.9

I 3.1

V 9.1

Gig. 60–61

the wise

the philosopher

the godlike

the men of god

the “pneumatics”

the mindful of virtue

the lover

the ones brought down to virtuous actions

the men of heaven

the “psychics”

the common crowd

the musical man

the ones who stayed here

the men of earth

the earthly or fleshly men

It is obvious that P. is seeking to recapture for philosophy this thoroughly widespread classification, ridding it of the radical character it held for the Gnostics (according to whom only those born as “pneumatics” were susceptible of salvation, or rather possessed it already), and presenting it either as descriptive of the steps marking a uniform upward progression (which is what he does in I 3), or, which is the case here, as representative of a psychological characterology.



II 9. Against the Gnostics

9.13. ἁμαρτίαις . . . ψυχαῖς:Cf. I 1.12.6–12. 9.14–15. εἰ δὲ γυμνάσιον . . . καλῶς ἔχει:Cf. III 2.8.16–38. 9.16. καὶ εἰ . . . ὃ θέλεις:The use of the second person invests P.’s criticism with much greater directness and leads it to its rhetorical culmination, after 9.43. The explanation for this is provided in 10.3–14: he was addressing people who found themselves in immediate contact with Gnostic teachings, and who had obviously been measurably influenced by them. 9.17–25. ὁμολογεῖται . . . ἀκόλουθον: The impersonal syntax of homologeitai (“it is agreed”) casts some haziness on who exactly these people would be, who would be willing to admit the existence of a theodicy such as the one P. describes, patently drawing on the extensive apposite literature, whether of Stoic or of Middle Platonic origin (the best known example being Plutarch’s De sera numinis vindicta). It is rather doubtful that the Gnostics, at least, would agree (at any rate, see also the first part of my comment above on 6.13), given that in their view the universal order was anything but just; on the contrary, they regarded it as a manifestation of the tyrannical power of the maleficent planetary “Archons,” who were supposed to be solely interested in binding the divine spark of souls to the world, mobilizing for their purpose the irrational violence of Destiny; on this, see Rudolph 1983, 265–66. Hence, for the Gnostics not only were these celestial bodies not “effigies of the gods” (as the Platonists would have them; see above, 8.15–16), but they represented the exact antipodes of the divine. As H-­S point out, the word phēsin in l. 22 (Armstrong translates: “as the saying goes”) suggests that P. is making use of some quotation, probably poetic in origin, judging by the Ionic form rhēidiōs. Yet in spite of the efforts that have been made (see especially Cilento 1960, 294 and 311–13), its source has thus far eluded discovery. One possibility is that P. is paraphrasing somewhat confusedly the famous verses of the Odyssey, 1.33 ff. (cf. SVF 2:999), employing a vocabulary influenced by Theognis (cf. mainly I, 833–34, 1033–34) and echoing a turn of phrase common in rhetoric (see, e.g., Gorg. Hel. 15). The thought, at any rate, derives from Plato: cf. Resp. X 617e4–5, and Ti. 42d3–4, but also II 3.16.21–36. 9.25–26. ὁ ἀγνοῶν . . . ἀγροικιζόμενος:The acerbity of expression, which is certainly unusual for P. (cf. VP 9.18), reminds us somewhat of the violent language of Celsus (cf. mainly apud Origen C. Cels. VIII 49), although the charge of “boorishness” (agroikia: cf. also 9.46) addressed to the Christians was quite a frequent one; cf. Min. Fel. Oct. V 4 and XII 7. 9.26–28. ἀλλὰ . . . γενέσθαι:The complete and preordained separation of the “pneumatics” on the one hand from the “psychics” and the “earthly” on the other deprived them all of any motivation to better themselves through virtue. This is why P. will proceed to censure this teaching as fundamentally amoral below, in chapter 15. Here, however, he

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Second Ennead identifies another crucial point in the substrate of Gnostic beliefs, one directly correlated with the three forms of alienation discussed in my introduction, above: namely, an extreme, anchoretic individualism that regarded human reaching after perfection and achievement as a strictly private and isolated affair within an indifferent, if not downright hostile, environment. 9.30–32. πολὺ δὲ . . . μακαριωτάτην:The praising of the world and its Maker was a commonplace in Platonism; see, e.g., Pl. Leg. X 903b4–e1; and Runia 1986, 117–18. Conversely, for the Gnostics the Demiurge was usually the personification of arrogance, depravity, and Evil in general; see Jonas 1954–93, 1:167 and, indicatively, Ap. John = NHC II 1, 10.7–12.33. 9.34–35. τὸν μέγαν . . . ἐνδεικνυμένους:H-­S cite as the source for this passage the image of the procession of the gods in the Platonic Phaedrus (246e4–6), but I believe that there is a closer correspondence with [Arist.] Mund. 6, 398a2–b10 (trans. after Furley), where the grandeur of the cosmic god is compared to the “pomp” (proschēma) of the Great King, composed of a whole army of courtiers and acolytes, and “ordered on a grand scale that touched the heights of majesty and magnificence.” 9.35–36. οὐ γὰρ . . . εἰς ἕν:The counterpart to the isolation of man (on which, see my comment on 9.26–28) is the isolation of God. But for P. the highest principle is not some aloof “unknowable god” (agnōstos theos), entirely cut off from the lower entities, which in any case represent manifestations of his own potency and superabundance; for this superabundance of his is expressible in multiple ways and at various ontological levels, such that the entire universe may be regarded as a series of successive and hierarchically arranged images of himself. Consequently, as Armstrong 1992, 123–28, rightly observes in his analysis of this passage, P. would have no objection against the Gnostics or, more generally, the Christians in respect of their monotheism, but only in respect of the exclusivity of their version of monotheism as a privileged religion that condemns every other form of accession toward the divine to the sphere of error or diabolical deceit. See also Elsas 1975, 131–36. 9.36–42. τὸ δεῖξαι . . . ἃ ἐκείνοις φίλα:The view of the world as demonstratio dei was an old one in Greek philosophy (see Pease 1941, 163–200), having been attributed to Plato himself by Philo Prou. 21 (on which, see Runia 1986, 119–22), but it also makes an appearance in [Arist.] Mund. 6, 399b11–23, where it is supplemented by a hinting reference to the well-­known Stoic argument e diuinatione (on which, see Dragona-­Monachou 1976, 74–80), with the result that the world is revealed as a “prophet” (i.e., an interpreter) of God. Although the observation of the stars and their movements had always been regarded within Platonism as propaedeutic to an ascent to the region of the divine (see, e.g., [Pl.] Epin. 991b6–d5; but also III 8.11.33–39), P. hastens here to emphasize with particular forcefulness that all worldly manifestations of the divine are conducible to a single, unitary, and universal principle that, though it exhibits itself as multifariousness, is what secures their internal cohesion and harmony. On this, see Phillips 1981, 276–80.



II 9. Against the Gnostics

9.43–52. εἰ δ’ ὑπερορᾶν . . . ἔξω νοῦ πεσεῖν:The qualification “as far as possible” (kata to dunaton: on which see my comment on I 2.5.1–5), which is contained in the well-­ known passage of the Theaetetus (176b1) on “assimilation to God” (homoiōsis theōi), is here interpreted by P. as a warning concerning the limited capabilities a mortal possesses to accede directly to the supreme principle, and the risk of “outrage” (hubris) one faces, if one presumes to accomplish this by bypassing the necessary intellectual preparation. For in such a case one would be running the danger of falling into mere delusion. Even the example of the man who dreams that he is flying seems to derive from the Theaetetus (158b2–4). 9.52–60. πείθονται δὲ . . . συνεπηχῶσιν ἄλλοι:It was already pointed out by Norden 1923, 117 ff. (see esp. 193n.1) that forms of address of the type, “I am god,” “You are god,” “You are the son of god,” etc. had an established liturgical role in the mystery rites of the Hellenistic period or even earlier, and that their purpose was to suggest the feeling that the inner “self ” of at least some people had a divine origin or was identified with the divine: cf. Emped. fr. B112.4 DK; Orph. fr. 32c10; Cic. Somn. Scip. 24; and Dodds 1965, 72–74. The Gnostics would appear to have employed such forms of address constantly during their theurgic rituals in order to underline their superiority in relation to the external, worldly powers: see, e.g., Clem Al. Strom. III 4, 30.1; 1 Apoc. Jas. = NHC V 3, 33.2–34.20; Steles Seth = NHC VII 5, 118.25–119.6; and verses 7–9 from the Manichaean hymn contained in fr. M 7 from the Turfan collection (see Henning 1934, 874–75; trans. Klimkeit): A god am I, born of the gods, a bright, radiant and shining, beaming, fragrant and beautiful god . . . Cf. also Iren. Adu. haer. II 30.2 (= PG VII, 816A), 8 (= PG VII, 821B); and Elsas 1975, 103–6. Yet the most interesting parallel is with those wandering pseudoprophets who, in the words of Celsus apud Origen C. Cels. VII 9 (trans. after Chadwick), went about declaiming: “I am God, or a son of God, or a divine Spirit. And I have come: for already is the world being destroyed, etc.” Even P. himself seems to find Empedocles’ greeting admissible as a designation of the divine nature of the human soul (IV 7.10.38–40), but, as Phillips 1981, 270–76, points out, for him the divinity of a man’s soul represents the ultimate stage of an ascending journey of return that, by way of a virtuous life and of the contemplation of intelligible beings, as well as of their worldly manifestations, gains access to the former, without rejecting or turning away from the latter. Assimilation to the divine is the result of unremitting effort, not of the uncontrolled dispensation of god-­sent “knowledge,” as certain Gnostics believed, who claimed that they had achieved this gnōsis “by agreeing among themselves that they had knowledge of the greatest things, not by learning, not by inquiring, not by laboring, not by discovering the train of logical consequences” (Clem. Al. Strom. VII 16, 103.1). Concerning P.’s overall stance toward practices of worship, see VP 10.33–38, with my comment.

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Second Ennead 9.60–62. οἷον εἰ . . . πενταπήχεις:As H-­S note, the example is drawn from the Republic, IV 426d8–e2, but it has been embellished somewhat. 9.64–69. εἶτ’ ἐπὶ τούτοις . . . αὐτοὺς βλέπει:The line of argument here is rather complex. After a question addressed to his opponents (see humōn in l. 64), there follow two parallel hypothetical arguments (ei men . . . ei de . . . ) that are addressed to different interlocutors and seek to demonstrate the inability of the Gnostics to furnish a response. The first of these is in modus ponens, while the second is in modus tollens: if God sees them (i.e., the Gnostics), then he also looks toward the world (because they are within the world). If, on the other hand, he never looks outside himself, then neither does he see them. Cf. also below, 16.19–27. On the basis of this analysis of the argument, I have in the past proposed a number of amendments to the text, which, in my opinion, restore its logical drift; see my article in Emerita, Kalligas 1988, 96–97. In our correspondence at the time, the late H.-­R . Schwyzer, editor of the text of P., remarked that although the deletion of de blepei in l. 68 appeared reasonable, it was difficult to justify the addition of a de after exō in the previous line, as Brinkmann’s law would dictate. Nevertheless, I continue to believe that the latter could be explained as a form of de in apodosi, not all that rare following a participle; see Denniston 1934, 181–82. 9.72–74. πράως μὲν . . . συμβαίνει:Cf. I 4.7.40–42. 9.74–75. οὐ γὰρ . . . δεῖ βλέπειν:Cf. Pl. Leg. X 903c1–5; but also Marc. Aurel. XII 18. 10.3–9. αἰδὼς γὰρ . . . πείθειν αὐτούς:As was rightly observed by Igal 1981, 139–40 (and see also Edwards 1989, 228–29), P. employs a rather hackneyed form of aside (which derives ultimately from Pl. Resp. X 595b9–10; but cf. also Arist. Eth. Nic. I 6, 1096a16–7; Atticus fr. 4.30–32) in order to justify his attack against “friends” (philoi). As I reported in my comment on VP 7.1–2, the latter term referred to the broader circle of P.’s “auditors” (akroatai), in contradistinction to his closer “intimates” (gnōrimoi: l. 8). Both the familiarity and the bitterness conveyed by his words correspond to the image we obtain from chapter 16 of the VP and the pertinent testimony of Augustine (see my comment on VP 16.1–2). The aim of P.’s polemic was not to persuade the Gnostics, intransigently persistent in their dogmatism, but to dissuade his own students from being lured by their teachings (cf. above, 6.45; below, 14.36–44; and also my comment on 6.14–22), which clearly circulated threateningly within the ambit of his own school. As Remus 1983, 19, sums up the situation: “Plotinus’ treatise is directed not to Gnostics but against them.” 10.14. τολμῶντας:“Rashness” or “presumption” (tolma) was a stricture addressed with a fair amount of consistency to the Gnostics (see, e.g., VI 8.7.11; Iren. Adu. haer. I 11.4, 3; Hippol. Haer. VI 6.1, 42.3, IX 13.6), but not exclusively to them; see Pal. Anthol. IX 80. What furnished the pretext in their case was the special use they themselves made of this term; see below, 11.22, with my comment.



II 9. Against the Gnostics

10.14–17. ἐκείνως μὲν . . . εἰδέναι: At this point P. seems to indicate that he regards his critique as having been completed, refusing as he does to enter into the fine points of his adversaries’ theories and leaving them to be judged by his students, as Porphyry reports (VP 16.12); see also Schmidt 1900, 36; and Wolters 1981, 88–89. But in the sequel he changes his mind and decides to submit some of the Gnostics’ dogmas to more detailed examination. Are we to suppose, perhaps, that he was led to respond following reactions that may have arisen within his school on the part of those very philoi of his I mentioned earlier? Or that in the meantime he became acquainted with some Gnostic tractate, which he considered deserving of more extensive commentary on his part? Neither of these hypothetical eventualities would conflict with what we know of his methods of teaching and composition; cf. VP 13.10–17, 14.18–20. 10.19–21. ψυχὴν γὰρ . . . θέλουσιν εἶναι:P. seems here to have in mind some specific Gnostic cosmological account, the leading role in which was played by the familiar form of Sophia, whom P. identifies—not entirely without justification—with the Platonic cosmic Soul. Sophia is the last of the Aeons of the Pleroma, and her fall from there brings in its wake the creation of the world. She appears mainly in systems of Valentinian (see, e.g., Iren. Adu. haer. I 2.2 ff.; Hippol. Haer. VI 30.6 ff.; Tert. Adu. Valent. IX 2 ff.; Val. Exp. = NHC XI 2, 33.35 ff.) or Sethian origin (see, e.g., Ap. John = NHC II 1, 9.25 ff.; Hyp. Arch. = NHC II 4, 94.5 ff.; Orig. World = NHC II 5, 98.13 ff.; Gos. Eg. = NHC III 2, 57.1 ff.; Gos. Phil. = NHC III 3, 81.20 ff.; Zost. = VIII 1, 9.16 ff.; Trim. Prot. = NHC XIII 1, 40.15 ff.), but as to her provenance, she evidently represents an elaboration of the corresponding figure of God’s helpmate during the creation of the world that is found in certain books of the Old Testament (see Prov. 8:22–31; Wisd. of Sol. 7:12–29, 9:1 ff.), and the cosmic consequences of whose wanderings between heaven and earth are described in the apocryphal Book of Enoch 42, 213. On this see Stead 1969, 75–104; MacRae 1970, 86–101; Zandee 1970, 203–14; and Trakatellis 1977, 141–47. Her derivation from the biblical Sophia (Hebr. Hokmah) is confirmed by the appellation Achamōth, which is sometimes employed for, at a minimum, her lower version (see below my comment on 10.24–26; and 1 Apoc. Jas. = NHC V 3, 34.2 ff.), while it has been pointed out that a similar tendency to hypostasize divine “wisdom” (sophia) and to identify it with the cosmic “formative principle” (logos) is already observable in Philo; see Zandee 1970, 208–9; and Dillon 1986a, 117–18. 10.21–23. τὰς μὲν ἄλλας . . . τὰ ἀνθρώπων:The fall of Sophia was, according to the Gnostic systems I mentioned above, the originating cause for the “declination” of particular souls, their descent to the world, and their confinement in bodies (on the term neusis, see my comment on I 1.12.21–23; and cf. Tatian Ad Gr. 13). Sometimes, in fact, the particular individual souls are called “members” (melē) of Sophia (see, e.g., Tri. Trac. = NHC I 5, 74.1–16; cf. also Paul Eph. 5:30). A characteristic case is the refrain to a Gnostic prayer contained in the Anon. Cod. Bruc. 330.7–10; this refrain is repeated constantly, the only change occurring in the number of the particular Aeon being invoked:

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Second Ennead Save all my members (melē) which, from the world’s beginning, have been dispersed among all the Archons (archontes) and the Decans (dekanoi) and the executives (leitourgoi) of the fifth Aeon (Aiōn), gather them all together and bring them to the light. Cf. also my comment on I 6.5.2–8. 10.24–32. ἐκείνην λέγουσιν . . . ἐπ’ ἔσχατα εἰδώλων:According to the best-­known version of Sophia’s adventure (Iren. Adu. haer. I 2.4, 197–204), “when her Remembrance (Enthumēsis: sc., of her Father) had been separated off from her along with her supervening passion (pathos), she herself remained within the Pleroma, but her Remembrance, together with the passion, was marked off and crossed off by Limit (Horos), and so having come to be outside it [sc., the Pleroma], it is indeed a spiritual substance, . . . but shapeless and formless because it understood nothing.” Thus there came into being a lower “kenomatic” Sophia, who, as we said, is known at times as Achamōth (Iren. Adu. haer. I 4.1, 355 ff.) or Prounikos, and from whose passions was formed the Demiurge of the world, but, once again, without herself ever having descended: as Irenaeus (Adu. haer. I 29.4, 57–58) phrases it, “she exerted and extended herself and looked down into the lower regions.” This Demiurge, whom one might characterize as “the image of an image” (eidōlou eidōlon: cf. Zost. = NHC VIII 1, 10.1–7; and Pépin 1992b, 328–30), went ahead with his creative task, “oblivious of being driven by his Mother” (Iren Adu. haer. I 5.1, 481–82; cf. 5.3, 511–18; and Hippol. Haer. VI 33.1), and this ignorance of his impelled him to proclaim arrogantly, “I am the Lord God, and there is no other god beside me” (Isa. 45:5–6; cf. Exod. 20:2–3. See Iren. Adu. haer. I 29.4, 72–74; Hyp. Arch. = NHC II 4, 86.27–31; Treat. Seth = NHC VII 2, 53.29–31, 64.17–23; Trim. Prot. = NHC XIII 1, 43.32–44.2), which sealed his separation from Sophia and the other higher divinities. Sophia’s action on the initially unformed “materiality” (hulotēs: as Pépin 1992a, 331n.49, observes, this term is also found in the Corpus Hermeticum, VIII 3, 88.7 and XII 22, 183.9, where one may discern the same tendency toward lectical innovation through the arbitrary formation of derivative nouns ending in –otēs, such as the one derided here by P., but elsewhere also by Irenaeus, Adu. haer. I 11.4, 4–10) could be compared to the flooding of a dark substrate by a source of light, an image that was also dear to P. himself; see my comment on I 1.7.1–6. Cf. Elsas 1975, 112–14, 166–71; and Pépin 1992a, 320–23. 10.32–33. ἵνα σφόδρα . . . γράψας: I continue to make sense of this phrase in the same way as the vast majority of P.’s translators to date, in spite of the support lent by Pépin 1992a, 316–18, to an entirely different interpretation, according to which by “the man who wrote this” (ho touto grapsas) must be meant the Demiurge (or Sophia), who in certain Valentinian texts is compared to a painter. In my opinion it is not possible for “this” (touto) to refer to the “image” (eidōlon) evoked six lines earlier, especially because in the interval there has been mention of “the world” (kosmos) as object of the Demiurge’s activity. The word hina (“just to”) here expresses indignation (see LSJ, s.v. II 3 d),



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while the use of the verb loidoroumai (“to be blasphemous”) in the middle voice with an active (and intransitive) sense is perfectly normal (cf. III 2.16.9). P. gives the impression that in venting this aside, he has before him the text he is deriding. 11.1–8. Πρῶτον μὲν . . . ἐν τοῖς οὖσιν:The critical difference between the model of “descent” and that of “irradiation” on which P. insists resides in the element of necessity characterizing the latter, by contrast with the kind of causality implied by the former. In his view, the activity of the intelligibles and the passivity of matter—matter, which can never exist without being informed by the intelligibles (see my comment on I 8.15.23– 28)—leads unavoidably to the formation of a material universe, for the existence of which it would be absurd to seek to assign responsibilities. See also O’Brien 1993, 38–41. 11.11–14. ἔπειτα καὶ . . . τοὺς ποιήσαντας:As I mentioned in my comment on 5.24–26, certain Gnostics held that before the creation of the material universe, a model or prototype of it had been created in the region of the so-­called Ogdoad, to which the souls would return following their departure from the world. P. puts forward the argument here that the constitution of such a world, even if only “in conception” (en logismōi), prepares for and, in a sense, predetermines the creation of the lower, sensible world as well; whereupon, if the latter entails the fall of the powers responsible for its making in consequence of their “declination,” the same will equally be the case in respect of the creation of that “new” (kainē) or “alien earth” (xenē gē). This last term is also found— and in a comparable sense—in Philo Agr. 64–65: “You must say in all forthrightness that ‘we have come hither as exiles, not as inhabitants’ (‘paroikein, ou katoikein ēlthomen’; Gen. 47:4). For in reality every soul of a wise man has been assigned heaven as its country and the earth as an alien place (patrida men ouranon, xenēn de gēn elache), and regards the house of wisdom (sophias oikon) as its own house and that of the body as a foreign one, in which it proposes to stay temporarily.” 11.14–17. ἔπειτα πῶς . . . συνηρτημένον ἔσται:P.’s criticism is now once again directed against the multiplication of entities by the Gnostics. The projection of the activity of the soul on matter ought to bring about the production of material bodies, not of some intermediate psychical images, which, like the “psychic” Demiurge (cf. Hippol. Haer. VI 32.7), are in turn called upon to fashion matter into bodies; cf. IV 3.10.10–22. 11.18. ἐννόημα:The “projection” (probolē) of the lower entities by the higher ones in the Valentinian systems was effected through the intermediation of two “dispositions” (diatheseis), “Thought” (ennoia) and “Intention” (thelēsis); see Hippol. Haer. VI 38.6–7. Consequently, the Demiurge, having come into being without any thelēsis on Sophia’s part, could be regarded as an idle “conception” (ennoēma) of hers. 11.20–23. εἰ ἐκείνη λογικὴ . . . ἀνῄρηται:If the Demiurge is nothing but a lower soul (i.e., on the basis of P.’s psychological theory, a vegetative and procreative one), then one cannot ascribe to him motivations such as vainglory (cf. above, 4.13–14), arrogance (cf.

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Second Ennead my comment on 10.24–32; and Ap. John = NHC II 1, 13.26–30), and presumption— which presuppose, to some degree, a certain capacity for rational thought. The word tolma (the Doric morphology of which certainly testifies to a Neopythagorean origin: cf. Plut. De Is. et Os. 381f; De esu carn. I 996c; Nicom. apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 187, 143a39; Num. fr. 52.97) carried special weight for the Gnostics, for whom it designated Sophia’s trespass, origin of her passions, and source, ultimately, of the creation of the world. See Iren. Adu. haer. I 2.2, 160; 3, 184; 29.4, 62; Tri. Trac. = NHC I 5, 78.30 and 90.19; Ep. Pet. Phil. = NHC VIII 2, 135.8–21; as well as the important interventions of Puech in CNRS 1971, 98; and of Jonas in Bianchi 1970, 213–14. Even P. himself makes use of it in his early treatise “On the Three Primary Hypostases” (V 1 [10].1.4) and, somewhat more guardedly, a little later (see III 6 [26].14.8), but he prefers to steer clear of it in the wake of his anti-­Gnostic polemic. Cf. further VI 8.7.11. 11.25–27. πρῶτον τὸ ὄνομα . . . ἡ ποίησις:In Valent. fr. 5 apud Clem. Al. Strom. IV 13, 90.1, it is asserted that “the Name (to onoma: i.e., the Son of God; cf. Gos. Truth = NHC I 3, 38.7–39.28; and Attridge 1991, 16–19) completed what was deficient in its fashioning.” P. appears to wonder here in what way Sophia’s “conception” (ennoēma) comes to be hypostasized as a name and finally as a fully-­fashioned universe, that is, as a “likeness for the glorification of the invisible one.” 11.28–29. διὰ τί δὲ πρῶτον πῦρ:Fire represented for the Gnostics, as it did for the Stoics, the foundational cosmological element. This is how it appears in early systems such as that of Simon Magus (see Hippol. Haer. VI 9.3–10, 11.1–12.2), but also later, in some of the Valentinian systems (ibid. 32.7–8), where its “psychical” status is made plain, that is, the fact that it constitutes the material correlative of the primal creative passion, “ignorance” (agnoia): cf. Iren. Adu. haer. I 5.4, 553–56; Clem. Al. Exc. 48.4; Bousset 1907, 230–32; Jonas 1954–93, 2:1, 160n.3; and Jonas 1963, 197–99. Cf. also my comments above on 4.27–28 and 5.16–18. 12.1–3. Καὶ ἄρτι . . . ἣν διδόασιν αὐτῷ:To this reasonable question, the Gnostics had sought to provide a response by means of the surreptitious intervention of the Demiurge’s “mother,” the lower Sophia; see my comment on 10.24–32. But, as P. observes, she did not have direct access to the Plērōma either (cf. Iren. Adu. haer. I 4.1, 353–58 and 5.3, 524–26). 12.5–7. μόλις . . . ὧν ποτε εἶδον:The irony of expression aims at undermining the credibility of the Gnostic Books of Revelation. In these, as a rule, an exceptionally gifted individual narrates some totally extraordinary visionary experience of his, through which he is supposed to have acquired direct knowledge of the transcendental truth concerning not only himself, but also the world’s nature in general. The most characteristic examples of works of this kind are the tractates Paraph. Shem. = NHC VII 1, Zost. = NHC VIII 1, Marsanes = NHC X 1, and Allogenes = NHC XI 3 from the library of Nag Hammadi, all of them representative of the so-­called Sethian branch of Gnosticism; cf. VP 16.5–7, with my comments.



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12.7–12. τὸ δὲ εἴδωλον . . . ἂν γένοιτο:The text at this point presents serious difficulties. If we accept that P. is seeking to display an internal contradiction in those Gnostic systems that presented the Demiurge and his mother—the lower Sophia—as, on the one hand, reprobates debarred from the Plērōma but, on the other, as undertaking the creation of the world having the former as their model, “remembering” things they had never had the possibility to acquire knowledge of (cf. above, 4.7–10), then we must regard tēn mētera autou (“its mother”) as subject, in common with eidōlon (“image”), and not as object of enthumēthēnai (“to remember,” “to form a conception of ”), and the description eidōlon hulikon (“material image”) as referring to her. Something of the kind does not appear improbable (pace both Igal and Alt 1990, ad loc.), if we keep in mind that the lower Sophia was described above (10.26) as “an image in matter” (eidōlon en tēi hulēi), and that some Gnostic tractates speak of a “material Sophia” (see, e.g., Gos. Eg. = NHC III 2, 57.1). As for the Demiurge’s knowledge concerning his origins, this was usually represented as being highly imperfect; see, e.g., Orig. World = NHC II 5, 100.5–24. 12.16. ἐμπεριείχετο . . . ἐν τῇ ἐνθυμήσει:The “Remembrance” (Enthumēsis) was, in the system of Ptolemy, identical with the lower Sophia and consequently also with the image on the basis of which the Demiurge created the whole universe; see my comment on 10.24–32; and also Iren. Adu. haer. I 3.4, 303–5; 4.1, 354–69; 5.1, 486–89. 12.17. φυσικώτερον . . . ἐποίει:Cf. above, 4.13–17 and also V 8.12.12–20. 12.18–21. ἐπεὶ καὶ νῦν . . . τοῦ ζῴου:During natural reproduction, the particular properties that go into the constitution of any one kind of organism do not appear successively, but all together, answering to a single “formative principle” (logos). Concerning the biological model P. has in mind, see my comment on II 4.16.13–16. 12.22–23. τύπῳ κόσμου . . . τὰ ἄλλα:If P. employs the word tupos here (translated by Armstrong as “form”), it is clearly because he has been led to it by the analogy with biological reproduction described just above. For the Gnostics, however, the same word was close to having a technical meaning, correlative to that of the antitupoi (“impressions” or “imprints”) discussed in 6.2. As we can see from Clem. Al. Exc. 33.3, it designated the “offprints” or “counterimpressions” or “antitypes” that, as likenesses, represent—and in some sense replace—their prototypes. We find the term used with a comparable meaning in Iren. Adu. haer. I 7.2 (where it is reported that the Gnostics “declare that all these [sc., here below] are counterimpressions (tupoi) of those [sc., above]”), 8.2, 4, 12.1, and so on, where the emphasis is, however, placed more on the symbolic dimension of figuration through tupoi, an element particularly stressed in the epigrammatic phrase from Gos. Phil. = NHC II 3, 67.9–11: “Truth did not come into the world naked, but it came in types and images.” Cf. 75.14–17. Both Eugnostos = NHC III 3, 83.20–84.11; and Anon. Cod. Bruc. 12, 351.15–352.21 and 21, 363.24–364.28 contain extensive catalogues of such symbolic tupoi, through which was evidently secured a detailed correspondence between some privileged elements of the sensible world and the contents of the Pleroma.

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Second Ennead 12.25–30. καίτοι προϊδεῖν . . . ὁμολογοῦσιν: The perfection and beauty of the cosmic mechanism that regulates the movement of the celestial spheres were, in antiquity, objects of such universal admiration (if one makes an exception for the Epicureans), that on occasion even the Gnostics themselves felt obliged to acknowledge them: see, indicatively, Tri. Trac. = NHC I 5, 90.31–91.10, 96.17–97.31; Ap. John = NHC II 1, 12.34–13.5; Hyp. Arch. = NHC II 4, 87.8–11; Marsanes = NHC X 1, 41.25–42.6. According to the Gospel of Truth, which has been attributed to Valentinus himself, the creation of the world signified “the preparation of a substitute for the truth by way of beauty” (NHC I 3, 17.19–20). See also Perkins 1992, 284–87. 12.31. ἔλλαμψις:The term ellampsis (“illumination”), in its verbal form at least, was employed by the Sethian Gnostics to designate the formative action of the higher powers on the material darkness; see Hippol. V 19.4 = X 11.3 and above, my comment on 10.24– 32. Yet, as Blumenthal 1971a, 15n.19, advises, this was one more point on which they followed Middle Platonic prototypes. 12.32–39. τί γὰρ . . . ἐπὶ τὰ πρῶτα:Cf. my comment on 11.1–8. If the “illumination” of matter is a direct consequence of the very nature of the higher entities, then it is inevitable and necessary; and hence the formation of the material world cannot be something evil in itself. See further Rist 1961, 161–62. 12.39–44. εἰ δὲ δὴ . . . ἡ αἰτία:Some of the Gnostic accounts reported that Sophia, on going out of the Pleroma, “looked downwards” toward matter, with the result that an image of herself was formed and ensnared there, leading ultimately to the creation of men: see Hyp. Arch. = NHC II 4, 87.11–13; Zost. = NHC VIII 1, 27.9–12; and Pistis Sophia 31, 27.36–39; and cf. my comment on I 6.8.9–16. Yet this version of events seems to presuppose that matter existed prior to the “fall” of the Soul, and hence is conducive to a radical dualism. Of course, the Sethians who applied the model of “illumination” (ellampsis: see my comment on 12.31) would have no objection at this point, as they spoke of two or even three principles. The Valentinians, on the other hand, sought to remain monists, and for them, as for the Chaldaean Oracles, matter was a product of the Soul (see Hippol. Haer. VI 32.9), insofar as it ultimately arose from within the system of the Aeons itself and did not derive from some power outside it (cf. my comment on I 8.14.51–54); whereupon they were obliged to admit that the world was a necessary by-­ product of a predisposition inherent in the very nature of the higher entities. 13.3–5. οὐκ ἴσασι . . . τῶν πρώτων:The ontological hierarchy of the hypostases, as determined by that passage from the pseudo-­Platonic Epistle II, which had acquired constitutional status (312e1–4: see above, 1.13–15, with my comment), requires the existence of both higher and lower entities. But what is the nature of the necessity that imposes the existence of all gradients of being, “ever down to the last?” Lovejoy 1936, 61–66, identified the singular principle governing this necessity, and he named it the “Principle of Plenitude,” finding its clearest formulation in P., at IV 8.6, and adding that “in this assumption of the metaphysical necessity and the essential worth of the realization of all



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the conceivable forms of being, from highest to lowest, there was obviously implicit the basis of a theodicy.” Thus, he accurately pinpointed one of the main axes around which revolves the conflict between P. and the Gnostics, for whom the universe is inherently unjust and cut off from the workings of divine Providence. 13.6–8. παυσάμενον . . . σφαίραις:Contemptuous references to the “melodrama” of the Gnostic accounts of the adventures and passions of the Soul (a good example of such a roman métaphysique, to borrow an expression from Bréhier, being The Exegesis on the Soul = NHC II 6), as well as to their bombastic pomposity, had already emerged in the works of their Christian adversaries: see Iren. Adu. haer. I 4.3, 400; 11.4, 7–10; Hippol. Haer. VI 42.2. But cf. also Num. fr. 21.6, with the comment of Puech 1934, 765–67. Yet P. seems rather to have in mind here the ritual “ascents of the soul,” during which the “believer” was prepared for his post mortem ascent through the celestial spheres by being taught the requisite symbols and “response formulas” (sunthēmata), in order successfully to confront the terrible planetary Archons, who guard the gates and routes of heaven. Such rites are known to us from their descriptions in Origen C. Cels. VI 31 and in the two Books of Jeu contained in the Anon. Cod. Bruc. See Rudolph 1983, 172–75; and Culianu 1983, 48–54. 13.8. αἳ δὴ . . . αὐτοῖς:In order for us to grasp P.’s irony, we need to look beyond the particular verse of Pindar’s he is alluding to here (Ol. I 30) to recall its immediate context (29–32). The poet is questioning the veracity of the myth of the sacrifice of Pelops by Tantalus, and he admits that men may be misled by “tales told and overlaid with elaboration of lies,” as well as by poetic Grace, who brings to fulfillment all things for men’s delight (hapanta teuchei tameilicha thnatois), granting honor again, and many a time makes things incredible seem true (trans. Lattimore). Thus for P. also, the dramatic metaphysical narratives of the Gnostics may well have been gripping and seductive, but in no way did they correspond with the truth. 13.9–10. τοὺς ἀπείρους . . . γνώσεως:Irony gives way to sarcasm. According to P., it was the very possessors of supposed gnōsis who stood out for their lack of true learning and their “boorishness” (agroikia); cf. above, 9.35–36. 13.11–20. οὐ γὰρ . . . παρέχοντα: The celestial bodies should engender fear neither by reason of their physical properties (cf. II 3.2.2–10, 5.27–41) nor by reason of their psychical dispositions, which are insusceptible of lower affections (see I 8.5.30–34, with my comment and IV 4.42.19–30, IV 8.2.38–53). Cf. also Pl. Leg. X 898d3–899b9. 13.20–25. ἃ δὲ λέγεται . . . ψυχῶν:P. was to return to the subject of planetary influences in his treatise “On Whether the Stars Are Causes” (II 3 [52]), but although his treatment there would be much more detailed, his approach would remain broadly the same. He

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Second Ennead was prepared to admit the semiotic capability of the celestial bodies, but he refused to allow that they held any kind of privileged position within the causal chain that interconnects the various phenomena of the sensible universe, and even more that they were the principal agents of an inexorable and tyrannical cosmic Destiny. For the Gnostics, by contrast, astral influences constituted the basic means by which the planetary Archons and the “world-­ruling” (kosmokratōr) Demiurge exercised their power. Hippolytus, Haer. V 16.6, reports that the Peratics maintained that “the stars are the gods of destruction, which imposed among things subject to becoming the necessity of mutable generation,” and that their haeresis was “adapted (methērmosmenē) from that of the astrologers” (ibid. 15.1); see also Jonas 1963, 260–62. Obviously, in their view, the study of astrology was indispensable in order for the actions of the stars to be deciphered, thus allowing the “believer” to overcome or bypass them. For its part, however, classical astrological theory admitted willingly that apart from the movements of the celestial bodies, there were other “accessory causes” (sunaitia) that also contribute to the “peculiar character of individual constitutions”; see Ptol. Apot. I 2.18. 13.25–33. καὶ οὐκ ἀπαιτητέον . . . ἔλαττον:The ontological hierarchy spoken of earlier is at the same time a scale of value, because at its peak resides the supreme Good, and descent in ontological grade implies an ever greater removal from It, an ever greater privation of Good, entailing—inevitably—the appearance of Evil; see further my comments on I 8.3.12–18 and 7.16–23. The broader argument, Stoic in provenance, that the presence of Evil is justified by its integration into an inherently good larger totality is developed at length in the treatise “On Providence”; see above all III 2.3.1–18. 14.2–8. ὅταν γὰρ . . . γέγραπται:We know that some of the Gnostics, at least, employed magical techniques, “invocations” (epiklēseis), and rituals in order to prevail against the cosmic powers. As Hippolytus has to say about the Carpocratians, VII 32.5: “They too make use of magic arts and incantations, philters and spells, and attendant demons and dream-­senders (paredrous te kai oneiropompous), and all the rest of such evil works, declaring themselves to possess the power already to hold sway over the Archons and makers of this world, and even over all created things within it.” The best-­known case is that of the Valentinian Marcus, of whom Irenaeus, Adu. haer. I 13.1–25.5, recalls that he was “most expert at magic trickery,” and who, by deploying, among other things, the magic “devices” (paignia) of the notorious magician Anaxilaos of Larissa, as well as special “vocal projections” (ekphōnēseis), alphanumeric manipulations, and sacred wedding ceremonies, believed that he was able to attain gnōsis, which is to say the “liberation of the inner man” (apolutrōsis tou endon anthrōpou). Cf. also Marsanes = NHC X I, 25.1–32.5; Elsas 1975, 127–31. From the magical papyri we know as well that those participating in magic ceremonies were called on to make use of complicated combinations of often incomprehensible incantations and utterances with other sounds, “cluckings” (poppusmoi), “sighings” (stenagmoi), “whistlings” (surigmoi), “cryings” (ololugmoi), “moanings” (mugmoi), “bayings” (hulagmoi), “bellowings” (mukēthmoi), etc. (see, indicatively, PGM VII 766–94, XII 39–89, 941–6. Also Eitrem 1926, 47–49). All of these, along with oaths, supplications, blandishments, and even, on occasion, threats and warnings,



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were aimed at obliging the cosmic divinities and powers to engage in such actions or omissions as would serve specific human purposes. But the formal and strictly technical character of these methods was supposed to secure the desired result independently of the moral status of the agent or of the worthiness or abjectness of his intentions. A characteristic example is the combination of protective and response formulas that was deployed, according to the testimony of Origen (see my note on 13.6–8), by the Ophites to ensure their unimpeded ascent through the planetary spheres. 14.11–17. καθαίρεσθαι δὲ . . . θαυμάζουσι:The relation between magic “purgative” practices and therapy is, of course, an age-­old one, but it took on a special importance at the time of P., in a period when the ancient “scientific” medicine had reached its apogee with the work of Galen, but was simultaneously being confronted by a revival of magico-­ religious beliefs concerning the causes and treatment of disease. In the magical papyri we come across a vast number of protective and exorcising formulas, by means of which one was supposed to be able to rid oneself of such conditions as, for example, “head disease” (nosos tēs kephalēs), “cold sweat” (rhigos), “fever” (puretos), “headache” (kephalēs ponos), “bleeding” (haimarrhoia), “pain of the breasts and womb” (mazōn kai mētras ponon), etc.; see PGM XVIIIa, b, XX, XXIIa, XXXIII, XLIII, 5a, b, c, etc. Cf. also Heim 1893, 465–576. And many, undoubtedly, of the miraculous cures reported in the Gospels and in the Acts of the Apostles would have been attributed by the people of the time to the exorcism of evil demons; see Origen In Matt. XIII 6, 62–89; Eitrem 1966, 34–40; Aune 1980, 1533–35; and Lane Fox 1986, 327–30. Cf., e.g., the apocryphal Acta Thomae 42–46, 159.13–163.16. Be that as it may, Greek medical theory remained steadfastly, and radically, opposed to every kind of magical or demonological explanation; see Edelstein 1967, 219–26. Correspondingly, for P. the only true katharsis is the soul’s turning away from the body by way of virtue; see I 2.3.10–20. 14.17–34. τοὺς μέντοι . . . ἕτοιμον ὄν:P. brings into confrontation the superstitions of the Gnostics with the “philosophical” explanations of the medical practitioners in respect to the causes behind the various diseases, but also in respect to their cures, natural or interventive. The effectiveness of these “scientific” therapeutic techniques constituted, in his opinion, adequate refutation of explanations by reason of supernatural powers. And although the therapies he mentions (relying on the medical knowledge of his time; see my comment on VP 7.6. These consist mainly in the so-­called cathartic cures: purgatives, blood-­letting, and fasts; see Phillips 1973, 85–87) may seem to us today at least as arbitrary and ineffective as the ones his adversaries preferred, they still reflected attempts at a rational investigation and treatment of the physical causes that bring on the various diseases, and they rested on a rational analysis of the data of medical experience. 14.36–45. τὰ δ’ ἄλλα . . . ἂν πρέποι:At this point P. announces that he is calling a halt to the specialized criticism he embarked on in 10.14 ff., leaving it to the “associates” (hetairoi) of his school to pursue it (see my comment on VP 16.12). He himself proceeds to summarize the principal differences between his own philosophical method and the teachings of the Gnostics, giving notice that the final reckoning with his adversaries will

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Second Ennead come in the field of ethics. As Bréhier notes ad loc., the wedding of “boldness” (tharros) to “caution” (eulabeia) was one of the fundamental themes in the ethical teaching of Epictetus, who maintained indeed that it was “esteemed by philosophers” in general (see Diss. II 1.1). Here it is contrasted with the unphilosophical “arrogance” (authadeia) of the Gnostics; see above, my comment on 10.14. 15.4–8. δυοῖν γὰρ . . . θεωρητέον: P. draws from his sheath a tactic highly familiar in philosophical—and other—controversies: he divides the theoretical field into two warring camps, and makes sure to enlist his opponents on the side that seems doomed from the start, at least where impressions are concerned. The division is effected on the basis of the established problematic concerning the proper “goal” or “end” (telos) of life (on which see my introductions to treatises I 2 and I 4, and cf. SVF 3:21), pitting the hedonists against the proponents of “nobility” (to kalon) and “virtue” (aretē), the propensity for which—P. hastens to add—comes from God and leads back to Him, because in his view every propensity, even the most humble, constitutes a manifestation, at the apposite level, of the universal and all-­pervasive tendency toward the Good; cf. I 6.7.1–2 with my comment. 15.8–10. ὁ μὲν Ἐπίκουρος . . . παρακελεύεται:This doxographical reference to Epicurus concerns two of the best-­known elements of his philosophy: his “abolition of providence” (apronoēsia), that is, his rejection of a divine plan for the world (which appeared to some as tantamount to atheism; see Epicurus fr. 368), and his positing of “pleasure” (hēdonē) as the goal of human life; see Epicurus Ep. Men. apud Diog. Laert. X 128–29. What is especially interesting is the way P. seeks to correlate these two dogmata, making the second appear as a consequence of the first. His aim is strictly dialectical: it allows P. to range the Gnostics on the same side as the hedonists. See also Dumont 1981, 192–93. Epicurus is the most recent of the authors referred to by name in the Enneads; see my comment on VP 14.10–11. Following a practice familiar since Middle Platonism and well established since the Second Sophistic, P. avoids referring to his contemporaries by name and is always on the lookout for “some ancient signpost” (archaion ti pragma) when seeking to survey or to delimit a theoretical field; cf. Koniaris 1982–83, 2:242n.42. 15.10–22. ὁ δὲ λόγος . . . μεταδιώξουσι:The classification of the Gnostics alongside the hedonists must have seemed strange to anyone familiar with their—for the most part— ascetic predispositions, but is perhaps related to the rumors concerning the “immorality” of the early Christians, which the orthodox anti-­heretical authors took care in due time to associate with the practices of various Gnostic groups; see, indicatively, Iren. Adu. haer. I 6.3–4; and Grant 1981, 164–68. The Gnostics, for whom the radical opposition between the supreme God and the created universe rendered inconceivable the existence of any realizable worldly “end” (telos), had nothing to propose but indifference and aversion where anything that had to do with corporeal life was concerned. This logically led them, on the one hand, to abolish the very concept of virtue in the way that this was understood in ancient Greece (a fact that made them appear, in the eyes of mistrustful or hostile ob-



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servers, as genuine amoralists; see Jonas 1954–93, 1:24–26), but also, on the other, to reject every form of bodily pleasure as binding the soul to the things of this world. Nevetheless, their association with the Epicureans was something that their orthodox Christian adversaries had also repeatedly essayed: see Iren. Adu. haer. III 24.2; Tert. Adu. Valent. 7.4; Adu. Marc. V 19.7; and Hippol. Haer. VI 17.1, with Marcovich’s note. At the same time, the radical antinomianism of the Gnostics, their opposition to any form of law, whether deriving from the Demiurge-­God or from the legal order of the worldly State, lent their teachings on occasion a revolutionary character, making them appear to subvert the fundamental principles of justice, and even to abolish the innate ethical predispositions of mankind; cf. I 3.6.6–24, with my comment; Foerster 1972– 74, 1:18–19; and Elsas 1975, 114–19. 15.22–24. καίτοι ἐχρῆν . . . ἥκοντας: This is the closest P. ever comes to naming his adversaries. Cf. also above, 13.10. We should not let it escape our attention that he directly correlates the “knowledge” they claimed to possess with the self-­awareness they had of their divine origins, their transcendental nature, and their other-­worldly destination. He thus provides an accurate description of the fundamental “awakening of consciousness” that, as the Gnostics believed, determined their stance in the world, and that finds expression in the famous passage from the Excerpta ex Theodoto (apud Clem. Al., 78.2): “It is not the ablution [sc., of baptism] alone that sets us free, but the knowledge (gnōsis) also: of who we were; what we have become; where we were; into what place we were cast; whereto we hasten; from what we are delivered; what is birth, what rebirth.” See further Norden 1923, 102–9. But P. turns the logic of their analysis upside down: their privileged position within the universe should instead cause them to become paragons of virtuous living within it. 15.27–40. μαρτυρεῖ δὲ . . . ὄνομά ἐστιν:Conversion and assimilation to God are achieved through the systematic practice of the virtues (cf. Pl. Tht. 176b1–2), not by a merely formal invocation of His name or a Pharisaic display of devoutness. As Dodds 1973, 138, observed, it was P.’s conviction that “mystical union is not a substitute for intellectual effort, but its crown and goal. Nor is it a substitute for moral effort. It is the presence of aretē and phronēsis, he says, that reveals God to us.” Consequently, although practical life and ethical behavior are not central to the wise man’s range of concerns, neither are they for him something totally indifferent (as they were for some of the Gnostics P. had in mind; see Porph. Abst. I 42.75–76); they are, rather, genuine expressions of his devotion to higher truths; cf. I 2.1.22–26 and 7.10–28. 16.1–5. Οὐδ’ αὖ . . . γεγονὼς εἴη:“Disdain” (kataphronēsis) for the world (cf. Porph. op. cit., and Iren. Adu. haer. I 25.1–2) was something that seemed totally inconceivable and contradictory to a man steeped in Greek culture as was P. (and, a little earlier, Galen; see Walzer 1949, 24–25), but not so to the Sethians, who were of Jewish origin, and for whom the word kosmos—or rather its Aramaic equivalent, halmā—was missing the positive connotations it carried in Greek. See further my comment on II 1 Title, and cf. Celsus apud Origen C. Cels. V 6.

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Second Ennead 16.6. ἀσυμπαθής:By means of this rather unexpected word, P. wishes to suggest (as correctly discerned by Hegel 1892–96, 2:428) that the access the Gnostics were seeking to a realm entirely cut off from, and alien to, the realities of the world was leading them to introspective isolation, and to an incapacity to grasp the kinship that connects the various ontological levels to each other. Cf. above, 9.26–29. 16.11–13. πῶς γὰρ . . . καὶ πρότερον:Cf. above, 3.18–20. 16.14–34. ἐπεὶ καὶ . . . τὸ πᾶν:P. reverts to a line of argument he had already deployed at 9.64–75. He denies the possible existence of a selective Providence that would concern itself only with the Gnostics and remain indifferent to the rest of the world, or that would act miraculously, deviating from the operation of natural law: see, e.g., Valent. fr. 2 apud Clem. Al. Strom. II 20, 114.5–6; Iren. Adu. haer. I 5.6 and 9.3. For Providence, in his view, makes sense only with reference to the whole, and the cosmic order itself is its manifestation; see also my comment on 13.25–33. 16.39–43. τίς γὰρ . . . οὐχ ἡσθήσεται:Cf. I 2.1.20–34 and 3.5–8. 16.43–56. εἴπερ οὐχ . . . ἐκεῖνα εἶδεν:On the mnemonic and anagogical role of beauty, see I 6.2.7–11 and passim; and cf. Pl. Phdr. 251a1–5. What is stressed here, more than anywhere else in the Enneads, is that each observer has his own, different approach toward Beauty, but that the end-­experience of its presence is common to all. 17.1–4. εἰ καὶ μισεῖν . . . χείρονα:“I honestly lament that Plato has become the caterer (conditamentarius) of all the heretics,” complained Tertullianus, De an. 23.5, 31.30, before attempting to dislodge the Platonic foundations of Gnosticism. Cf. also above, note 6 of my introduction. But P. himself is also willing to acknowledge that there are points in Plato’s work that reveal contempt for the body and treat it as an obstacle and a distraction to the soul; cf., e.g., Phd. 64e8–67b4. 17.4–9. ἐχρῆν ταύτην . . . ἐξισωθῆναι: But Platonism also has a more positive aspect, which sees the world as a kind of epiphany—a projection and manifestation of intelligible beauty—occurring through the providential and regulative intervention of souls and the cosmic Logos; see Dörrie 1975, 123–25. It is this aspect that, in P.’s opinion, the Gnostics disregarded entirely. 17.9–10. τὸ γὰρ . . . ἐν ὄγκῳ:The size of every sensible object is a function of its formative principle, not of its matter; cf. my comment on II 4.8.24–30. 17.10–15. καὶ εἴτε . . . δοικούσης: Cf. II 2.1.7–19, with my comment. The description of God as holding “the beginning and end and middle of all beings” derives from Pl. Leg. IV 715e8–716a1.



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17.15–16. ἐκθέντας δὲ . . . ἑτέρῳ:In the cosmogony of the Timaeus, after the genesis of the Soul, the Demiurge fashions “all that is body-­like (sōmatoeides) within it” (36d8–e1). Instead, for the Gnostics to whom I referred earlier in my comment on 5.16–18, the creation of material bodies was the consequence of the passions of Sophia after her exodus from the Pleroma. 17.16–17. δούσης δὲ . . . θεοῖς εἶναι:The gift of Soul to the whole universe is a result of the goodness and “abundance,” but also the “absence of ill-­will” (aphthonia), that characterize the higher entities in their relations with the lower ones: cf. Pl. Ti. 29e1–3, Phdr. 247a7; Arist. Metaph. Α 2, 983a2–3; Alex. Aphrod. Prou. apud Cyril Al. C. Jul. II, 596b; and, in P., III 2.11.8, IV 8.6.10–14, V 4.1.34–36, V 5.12.44–45. See further the important remarks of Rist 1964, 30–32. By contrast, in the Gnostic Tripartite Tractate = NHC I 5, while the production of the Plērōma is due to the supreme Father’s “absence of ill-­will” (aphthonia: 57.30–2), the lowest rank of material powers is a product of the Demiurge’s “ill-­will” (phthonos: 103.25–30). 17.17–21. εἴ τι δύναται . . . μετέχειν κάλλους:Beauty is something exogenous to bodies; cf. I 6.1.14–16. It comes to them by way of the cosmic Soul, which arranges them in such a manner that they inspire the admiration of its kindred particular souls, sensitive as these are to beauty. 17.22–29. εἰ μὴ ἄρα . . . ἡττᾶσθαι:The present argument consists in a consideration-­in-­ reverse of the “rising steps” (epanabasmoi) of Plato’s Symp. 211b7–d1. If the cause of beautiful things in our world resides in the transcendent beauty of the intelligible, then the disavowal of beauty here also abolishes that one. For it does away, first of all, with the distinction between “right” and “wrong” behavior, the foundation stone of ancient Greek ethical beliefs, which allowed a direct correlation to be established between aesthetic and ethical values, as discussed in my introduction to I 6. Something of the kind could even lead to the coming into acceptance of libertine practices, such as were on occasion attributed to the Gnostics (see above, my comment on 15.10–22; and Puech 1960, 186–88). Principally, however, it erases the path toward the higher, intelligible values, of which our beauties constitute manifestations. 17.29–31. ἀλλ’ εἰδέναι . . . πῶς διατεθέντες:A fine example of just how penetrating P.’s critical glance can be: he sees through the hypocrisy (see below, 18.13–14) that frequently lurks behind ascetic revulsion from worldly beauty. Cf., e.g., the striking image of the satanic fisherman, who captures human souls by using sensible beauty as his bait, in Auth. Teach. = NHC VI 3, 30.4–31.24. 17.34. οἷα δαιμόνων:Cf. I 6.7.19–20. 17.36. ἀμήχανον . . . κάλλος:Cf. I 6.8.2.

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Second Ennead 17.40–49. μήποτε δὲ . . . καὶ τἄνδον:It is impossible for inner ugliness not to manifest itself in outward appearance, while it is possible for inner beauty (on which see Pl. Phdr. 279b9–c1) to be prevented from properly manifesting itself. Be that as it may, the world’s beauty offers powerful evidence for the goodness of the cosmic Soul. 18.4–6. οἶκον καλὸν . . . ἐν αὐτῷ:Cf. Sen. Ep. 65.21: “In this abject home my soul lives free (in hoc obnoxio domicilio animus liber habitat).” The comparison of the world and, sometimes, of the body with a home or lodging of the soul was frequent in Gnosticism (see Jonas 1963, 55–56, and above, my comment on 6.2), as it was in the literature of mysticism, at least until the time of Juan de la Cruz. Elsewhere P. displays a characteristic reserve in regard to it, feeling that it may create the impression that the world is something inanimate, cut off from the powers that created it; see IV 3.9.29–36, IV 4.36.10–15; and Ferwerda 1965, 169–70. 18.14–17. δεῖ δὲ . . . ἀπόνως ἐχούσης:Individual souls “inhabit” bodies that are also subject to the operation of the natural law determined by the cosmic Soul; see my comment on 7.10–14. The latter is both beneficent and a “sister” to them (not their “mother,” as the Gnostics thought of Sophia; see Iren. Adu haer. I 7.1), in the sense that it is of the same form and descendance as they, and consequently performs the same providential task in the universe as they do; cf. IV 3.6.12–17, VI 7.7.8–15. Yet the creative action of the Soul is “without trouble or harm” to itself, as is also its “(house) management” (dioikēsis: cf. II 1.4.31–32, IV 8.2.49–53), because neither presupposes any kind of effort or even mindfulness on its part, while it remains unencumbered by bodily interventions; cf. above, 2.3–5, 13–14 and Blumenthal 1971b, 61. 18.17–19. ἢ ἀδελφοὺς μὲν . . . κόσμου ψυχήν:It struck P. as oxymoronic that the Gnostics, but also the Christians more generally, should address each other as “brothers” (adelphoi: see, e.g., Tert. Apol. 39.8–10; Iren. Adu. haer. I 6.3; Ptolemy Ad Floram apud Epiphanius Panarion 33.3.1, 450.17; Gos. Truth = NHC I 3, 43.5; and Elsas 1975, 136–38), while disdaining to acknowledge any kinship with the visible celestial gods. 18.20. στόματι μαινομένῳ:The phrase of Heraclitus (fr. B92 DK) evoking the “unembellished and unperfumed” mutterings of the Sibyl may, as I believe, have been employed as an allusion to the visionary, oracular, and at times nearly incoherent style displayed by some of the Gnostic treatises. 18.24–35. ἔστι δὲ τοῦτο . . . ὑπάρχει:The “affections” (pathē) troubling the soul derive from its attachment to the body, the fluxity of which tends to sweep it along in their turbulence; cf. Pl. Ti. 43a4–c5 and my comment on VP 22.25. Yet in the case of the cosmic Soul there does not arise any question of tempering the affections of the cosmic body, because it contains everything and remains, therefore, incorruptible as a whole; cf. above, 17.52–54, and my comment on II 1.1.12–16.



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18.38–39. ἀπειρία . . . ἄν λέγοιεν: Finding oneself “outside” the world does not mean undergoing any transposition in space (cf. I 9.2–4, with my comment), but rather gaining relief from suffering along with one’s corporeal aspect, following the example of the “visible gods”; see my comment on I 8.5.30–34. 18.39–40. ψυχὴ παντὸς . . . τοῦ ἀψύχου:Cf. Pl. Phdr. 246b6. 18.41–42. μὴ φιλοσωματεῖν . . . καταφρονεῖν: “Love of the body” (philosōmatia) is referred to in Plato’s Phaedo, 68b8–c1, as the opposite of “love of wisdom” (philosophia), and it manifests itself as indignation before the prospect of death. According to “Alcinous” Didasc. 25, 178.37–38, it constituted one of the reasons for the insinuation of souls into bodies. 18.45–46. τοῖς οἰομένοις λέγει:Cf., as Theiler suggests ad loc., Cleom. Cael. II 1.111–12.

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III 1 [3]. On Destiny Synopsis 1 Introductory: General observations on causality:  Everything, apart from principles, has some cause; consequently, no becoming is without cause.  Fourfold division of immediate causes: deliberation, art, chance, nature. 2 Philosophy seeks ultimate causes.  Critical section: Four philosophical theories concerning the role of Destiny (heimarmenē): the Epicurean (T1), the Stoic-­Middle Platonic (T2), the Astrological (T3), and the Stoic (T4). 3 Critique of T1. 4 Critique of T2. 5–6 Critique of T3. 7 Critique of T4. 8 Theory: The individual soul as an independent causal factor. 9 Relations between the soul and corporeal necessity. 10 Summary and Review: Thoughtlessness may be accounted for by the prevalence of Destiny, while practical wisdom is a spontaneous manifestation of the pure soul.

Introduction The notion of natural necessity came very early on to be associated with that of the orderliness and cohesion of the universe. The “inseverable bond” (arrēktos desmos) of “Necessity” (anankē) represented, in the thought of the Presocratic philosophers as much as of the early poets, the guarantee that all natural phenomena were subject to the operation of a unitary and incontrovertible law to which not only all men, but even the gods themselves were obliged to submit.1 Nevertheless, while this bondage was at first regarded as a welcome limitation to the arbitrariness of the unpredictable and uncontrollable will of the gods or to the blind violence of impersonal natural forces,2 from the moment that divine action came to be accepted as inherently benevolent,3 any limitaWe may recall the famous verse of Simonides (fr. 4.21 Diehl = Pl. Prt. 345d5): Necessity not even the gods resist. See also the other passages cited by Gundel 1914, 31–41. 2  Characteristic is the role played by “what must be” (to chreōn) and “justice” (dikē) in Anaxim. fr. B1 DK; cf. also Parm. fr. B1.14, 8.14, 30, 37, 10.6 DK. See further Vlastos 1947, 167–68; and Wright 1995, 71–74. 3  See Pl. Resp. II 379c2–7, Ti. 29e1–7. Vlastos 1991, 162–67, lays particular stress on the contribution of Socrates to the ethicization of theology, perhaps overlooking certain premonitions of it in Presocratic thought. See, e.g., what Vander Waerdt 1994, 74, has to report concerning the natural teleology of Diogenes of Apollonia. 1 

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Third Ennead tion imposed on the efficacy of such action began in some cases to appear as an obstacle to the enactment of divine Providence, and hence—potentially, at least—as malevolent. The emergence of this new way of thinking about the role of necessity is especially evident in the late work of Plato. Whereas in the Republic (X 616c ff.) the function of the cosmic “spindle” of Necessity is fully integrated into the providential arrangement of the universe, in the Timaeus, anankē is made to appear as a force opposed to the action of “Intellect” (nous), which must overcome its resistance by means of “persuasion” (peithō).4 The action of anankē is shown as possessing an even greater degree of autonomy in the cosmological myth of the Statesman, where the “destined and innate desire” (heimarmenē te kai sumphutos epithumia) of the cosmic body is able on its own to set it into the reverse motion from that imposed by the cosmic “pilot,” whenever the latter abandons the direction of the universe and retires “to his observation post.”5 The Stoics were the ones who brought the problem of necessity, in its cosmic dimensions, to the forefront of philosophical research.6 For them, Destiny represented the inexorable succession of natural causes,7 and as such it was identified with “the Rational Principle (logos) according to which the course of the world is detemined,” as well as with “Providence” (pronoia) and “Nature” (phusis).8 Chrysippus sought to overcome the difficulties entailed by Zeno’s initial, inflexibly fatalistic position, and to this end he proposed a division of the “causes” (aitiai) that bring about any given outcome into those that are “self-­sufficient” or “complete” (autoteleis: for Cicero, perfectae et principales) and those that are “preliminary” or “auxiliary” (prokatarktikai: for Cicero, adiuuantes et proximae). According to the explicit testimony of Plutarch as well as Cicero, Chrysippus maintained that only the latter were subject to Destiny; see SVF 2:974, 997; and cf. Cic. Top. 59.9 This implies that although for certain events the existence of certain exogenous (and consequently “predestined”) causes constitutes a necessary precondition, these same causes are not capable of actually bringing about on their own the Pl. Ti. 48a1–5. See further Alt 1978, 445–58; and Balla 1997, 213–15. Pl. Plt. 272e3–273d4. Plutarch, De an. proc. 1015a (trans. Cherniss), goes so far as to claim that Plato is here referring to a “maleficent . . . necessity (kakopoion . . . anankēn) which is largely refractory and recalcitrant to god.” By contrast, Proclus In. Ti. III 273.25–274.2, seeks to mitigate the dualistic character of the passage by interpreting it as a mythological expansion of a single synchronic reality. Be that as it may, in the Platonic Laws, X 904c6–9, “destiny” (heimarmenē) appears to represent a natural law operating independently of the spontaneous action of souls. 6  As Gundel 1914, 61, phrased it, the relevant problematic acquired, from the time of Zeno onward, the status of a catechismal question (Katechismusfrage) for all philosophical schools of the Hellenistic period. It is characteristic that nearly all the works we know today (in part or as a whole) that dealt with this subject engage in criticism directed primarily against the Stoic theory and employ by and large identical arguments. As we shall see, the present treatise of P.’s was consciously framed within the context of this longstanding controversy. It should be noted, however, that according to the testimony of Diog. Laert. IV 12, Xenocrates had already composed a work in a single book “On Destiny.” 7  “Being an unbreachable concatenation (heirmos . . . aparabatos) of causes,” SVF 2:918; cf. also the other references supplied by Theiler 1946, 43–44. See also Schreckenberg 1964, 123–24. 8  SVF 1:175–76, 2:933. See further Dragona-­Monachou 1973, 263–68. 9  This needs to be stressed, inasmuch as both Reesor 1965, 286–87 (carried away by a passage from Nemesius that tends toward a leveling of distinctions; see SVF 2: 991), as well as Rist 1969, 121–22, arrive at the opposite conclusion. For the correct interpretation, see Frede [1980]/1987a, 138–40. 4  5 



III 1. On Destiny

specific result, but only of contributing toward it. Thus, for example, an optical impression might constitute a necessary precondition for the formation of a given “representation” (phantasia), but the latter cannot come into being without the intervention of another, independent cause, “assent” (sunkatathesis), which is “up to us” (eph’ hēmin), that is, depends on the will of the subject.10 The opacity, however, of the Chrysippean theory with respect to the nature of this will and its degree of independence from external factors11 led on the one hand to the exercise of scathing criticism on the part of Carneades,12 and on the other to the creation of a schism within the Stoa itself: for while Panaetius attempted to promote human nature as an entirely autonomous principle, not subject in any way to the determinations of Destiny,13 Posidonius seems to have reverted to the radically fatalistic stance of the early Stoics, reinforcing it with a wealth of arguments drawn from divination and astrology, at the same time as he systematized his theory of causality by breaking it down into three levels on the basis of the tripartite schema of “god” (theos), “nature” (phusis), “destiny” (heimarmenē).14 These developments undoubtedly made a decisive contribution to the shaping of Middle Platonic views on Destiny. We find an anticipation of the latter in Cicero’s De fato,15 where the sweeping determinism of the natural world is presented as being compatible with the autonomy of the individual will, itself wholly independent of Destiny: “as to matters that are in our power (quae in nostra potestate sint), from these Fate is absent (ab his fatum abesse). . . .” Progressively, these views came to be systematized and consolidated into a complex theoretical construct with a strikingly hierarchic and “eclectic” character. What it proposed is that Destiny may be approached from two angles, either as an “activity” (energeia) or as a “substance” (ousia). As an activity it is to be identified with the “ordinance” (thesmos) of Adrasteia, which, according to Plato’s Phaedrus (248c2 ff.), regulates the embodiments and disembodiments of souls. It has the form accordingly of an irrefragable “civic law” (politikos nomos) that operates hypothetically and defines the necessary consequences of every choice, without, however, also predetermining the choice itself, for which the soul “that has no master” (adespotos) is responsible, divine Providence being “without responsibility” (anaitios: cf. Pl. Resp. X 617e4) in the matter. The view may therefore be taken that all things occur “within [the framework of ] Destiny” (en heimarmenēi), without for all that being determined “according to Destiny” (kath’ heimarmenēn). As a substance, on the other hand, Destiny is 10  assentio nostra erit in potestate (“assent will be in our power”): Cic Fat. 43; Cf. SVF 2:1000; and Kahn 1988, 247. 11  On which, see Long 1971b, 179–83. Cf. the judgment of Cicero apud Aul. Gell. NA VII 2.15. 12  See, e.g., Cic. Fat. 31 ff. 13  See Tatakis 1931, 113–18. 14  See fr. 103 and 107. The fact that this schema was essentially hermeneutical and devoid of any particular ontological pretensions has been argued persuasively by Graeser 1972, 110–11; and by Dragona-­Monachou 1974, 295–301. 15  Dillon 1977, 86–88, maintains that Cicero is in this work drawing mainly on the views of Antiochus of Ascalon, who was seeking to reconcile the Chrysippean theory with the positions delineated by Carneades. See, mainly, Cic. Fat. 45; and cf. Top. 63–64, where the pertinence of the relevant problematic to the question of criminal responsibility is noted.

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Third Ennead to be identified with the cosmic Soul, which mediates the providential will of the first god in the universe and is apportioned among three nested spheres: that of the fixed stars, that of the planets, and that of the subcelestial regions. To each of these correspond in due succession the three Fates, Clotho, Atropos, and Lachesis,16 but also three types of “Providence” (pronoia), each of which “is subsumed” (perilambanetai) within its predecessor.17 In spite of its systematic character, however, this finely wrought synthesis still left several important questions unanswered: how is one to correlate—or, again, how is one to differentiate—chance and “[the power of ] self-­determination” (to autexousion, to eph’ hēmin) when both are said equally to fall within the range of Destiny?18 What scope does the soul have to manifest its freedom of action within a universe so implacably regulated by Destiny? And above all: to the operation of what law is the rational will of the otherwise unfettered soul ultimately obedient? Attempts appear to have been made to answer at least some of these questions even within the bounds of Middle Platonism,19 but the most interesting proposals were to come from the ambit of Aristotelianism. The Peripatetics had long been the most severe adversaries of the Stoic view of Destiny and the most consistent defenders of human self-­determination. For although they too accepted the identification of Destiny with “the proper nature of each thing” (oikeian hekastou phusin),20 they did not regard it as a binding and irrefragable law, but as a simple causal factor that may contribute, along with others, to the realization of some Such, at any rate, is the order proposed by [Plut.] Fat. 568e, one that may be rather unorthodox (as Dillon 1977, 322, pointed out; cf., e.g., Xenocr. fr. 5), but that nonetheless appears to correspond more exactly to the one P. has in mind at II 3.15.9–12. Cf. also the illustration of the “Prometheus Sarcophagus” reproduced in Cumont 1942a, pl. IV, 1, and at the end of the present volume as figure 4. 17  The fullest exposition of this theoretical scheme is to be found in the spurious Peri heimarmenēs (= De fato), which has come down to us among the works of Plutarch. Gercke 1886, 269 ff., noted its widespread diffusion, pointing to the parallel witness of Apul. De Plat. I 12, 205–6; Calc. In Ti. ca. 143–59 and 176–79; and Nemesius De nat. hom. 38, 303–8; nevertheless, his conjecture that the person who inspired the scheme was the Platonist Gaius (see my comment on VP 14.12) is no longer accepted today: see Dillon 1977, 295; and Sharples 1978, 243–44. See also Dragona-­Monachou 1994, 4462–64. We find a similar tripartite distribution of Providence in the “Untitled Cosmological Treatise” of the Nag Hammadi library (Orig. World = NHC II 5), as noticed by Perkins 1980, 40–43. 18  See [Plut.] Fat. 570e, 574b; Calc. In Ti. 179, 207.13–208.2. 19  A characteristic case is that of Maximus Tyrius, who had in mind a fourfold division of causality into “divine Providence” (pronoia theou), “destined Necessity” (heimarmenēs anankē), “human Art” (anthrōpou technē), and “the drift of Fortune” (tuchēs phora); see Or. V 4–6, 56.16–61.10, and cf. Pl. Leg. IV 709b7–c1. See also the anonymous Vita Pythagorae apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 249, 439b36–8, where we find the quartet: “according to God” (kata theon), “Destiny” (kath’ heimarmenēn), “our deliberate choice” (kata prohairesin hēmeteran), and “chance” or “Fortune” (kata tuchēn). 20  See the testimonies regarding Theophrastus (apud Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 186.28–30; and apud “Aëtius” I 29.4 = Dox. Gr. 325.31–32) and, on these, Sharples 1980, 82. Cf. also the proemium to Theophrastus’ Characters, which, although not authentic, certainly does reflect genuine Peripatetic positions. We would also have important confirmation if we could identify the Polyzelus mentioned by Alexander op. cit. with the homonymous historian from Rhodes and probable student of Eudemus (cf. FGrH 521, mainly fr. *7). The singling out of “nature” (phusis) as the factor that determines the regularities of an individual’s behavior undoubtedly constituted a crucial point of differentiation between Peripatetics and Stoics. At the same time, however, it left unspecified any other factors that may contribute to its shaping; see further Sharples 1978, 250. 16 



III 1. On Destiny

outcome, without determining it absolutely. Of the other factors that collaborate with Destiny or that may possibly, on occasion, override it, the more usually mentioned are the trio “necessity” (anankē), “chance” (tuchē), and “art” or “science” (technē).21 The most complete exposition we possess of this Peripatetic analysis is of course the one to be found in the corpus of works attributed to Alexander of Aphrodisias.22 The view maintained there is that Destiny does indeed constitute an efficient cause, but one with a specific teleological direction—it belongs to “the things that come to be for the sake of something” (en tois heneka tou ginomenois: Fat. 5, 169.2)—and is nothing other than the “proper nature” (oikeia phusis) of each individual, the sum total, that is, of their “natural constitutions and dispositions” (phusikai kataskeuai kai diatheseis), which determine, up to a point, people’s actions and mode of life (Fat. 6, 169.18–20, 170.9–27; cf. De an. mant. 185.11–19). Nevertheless, its dictates are neither necessary nor unavoidable; they are merely usual or “for the most part” (hōs epi to polu: Fat. 6, 169.28–170.9, 170.19–21), and they may be overridden by the remaining causal factors, and principally by the free human will. For man’s self-­determination does not consist in the unhindered pursuit or satisfaction of his innate “impulses” (hormai), but in his capacity to effect a “deliberate choice” (prohairesis) between opposing practical possibilities open to him both “of doing” (tou practhēnai) and “of not doing” (tou mē prachthēnai) (Fat. 12, 180.4–15; cf. De an. mant. 172.25–173.3) by “rationally weighing” (bouleuesthai) the alternatives, which will allow him to choose the one that does not merely seem good, but that in his judgment actually is (Fat. 14, 184.3–20). A somewhat different version is ascribed to Aristotle himself by the Platonist Atticus (fr. 8.11–16). In it, we find a broad statement referring to just three causes: “Destiny” (heimarmenē), which concerns the celestial bodies “that are always in the same way and all the same”;23 “Nature” (phusis), which concerns “sublunar things”; and “practical wisdom” (phronēsis), which concerns “human things.” The context is unfortunately insufficient to provide any clarification as to how these causal factors combine or conflict with each other, but we can supplement the picture we have with the help of the testimony of Bardaisan, who, in his dialogue Peri heimarmenēs (“On Destiny”),24 seems to rely on a comparable schema. According to this, the fundamental necessity pervading the natural See “Aëtius” I 29.2 = Dox. Gr. 325.5–8; Anon. In Eth. Nic. 149.34–150.4. Cf. [Diotogenes] De piet. fr. 3, 77.1–7, where anankē has been replaced by nomos (“law”). A similar fourfold analysis of causes had been adumbrated by Aristotle himself; see Eth. Nic. III 3, 1112a32–33, Metaph. Λ 3, 1070a6–7, and Protr. fr. B11. This, in turn, obviously represented an elaboration of the tripartite scheme we find in Pl. Leg. X 888e4–6. 22  It includes, in addition to the special monograph De fato ad imperatores, the Opuscula 22–25 from the so-­called De anima mantissa, as well as sections II 4–5 and II 13 of the Quaestiones; cf. also Probl. eth. 29. 23  And that consequently must be identified with the “Necessity” (anankē) mentioned previously; cf. Antiochus of Ascalon apud Cic. Acad. I 29 and Anon. VPyth op. cit. 439b33–36. A distinction between two Destinies, the first—celestial—“divine and immutable” (theia kai ametaptōtos); the second—terrestrial—“natural and mutable” (phusikē kai metaptōtē), is to be found in Ptol. Apot. I 3.6–7; see Boll 1894, 155–56. Conversely, Alexander explicitly protests against viewing the movements of the stars as falling under the control of Destiny; see De an. mant. 181.14–22. 24  On this title, see Eus. HE IV 30.2. The work has been preserved complete only in Syriac; see Drijvers 1965. A certain Philippus is named as the author, Bardaisan setting forth his teaching as a person in the dialogue. 21 

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Third Ennead world is the natural constitution and predisposition of things, their “nature” ().).25 But the latter can be hindered from manifesting itself (or, conversely, assisted in doing so) by contingent factors that fall under the (astrologically determined) control of fate.26 On the other hand, “as we have seen that fate can disorder nature, so we can also see how man’s liberty forces back and disorders fate.”27 In other words, we find Destiny here occupying an intermediate position between, on the one hand, the purely natural predispositions of man, and, on the other, his power of self-­determination unfettered by natural necessities, and thus representing in essence merely the external and contingent influences of the environment. Nevertheless, Destiny was not only a philosophical term, it was also a concept with a broader appeal to the consciousness of people living in the Greco-­Roman world, who frequently approached it from a more religious angle. First of all, it was brought early on into connection with astrological views, in order to designate the inescapable necessity that the planetary configurations either impose or signify.28 In this way, however, the chain of universal causes was experienced as an impersonal, asphyxiating noose within which man finds himself entrapped, and from which he could only be liberated by the intervention of a god possessing superior power.29 Progressively, therefore, there emerged a tendency to revert to those prephilosophical views that held the supreme deity, at least, to be not only impervious to the bonds of cosmic necessity, but capable of severing them as well in order to fulfill its redemptive task. This was the reason also why the theme of emancipation from the bonds of Destiny grew as popular as it did within the domain of the mystery cults and magico-­religious beliefs.30 Of particular interest is the way this theme appears in the Hermetic treatises, where Destiny combines with Necessity to bring order to the world, but is itself subjugated to divine Providence, and See Bard. apud Eus. PE VI 10.1–4; and Drijvers 1966, 78–81. Thus, for example, “to grow up and become adult pertains to the work of nature, but outside of this work, illnesses and physical defects are caused by fate” (Bard. apud Drijvers 1965, 35). 27  Op. cit. 37. As Drijvers 1966, 87, observes, “one is greatly tempted to associate the three parts of man [sc., nous, psuchē and sōma] with liberty, fate and natural constitution.” 28  See Gundel 1912, 2632–34 and Vett. Val. V 6.4, 209.10–11: “for Destiny has legislated for each individual an unalterable enactment of consequences (ametatheton apotelesmatōn energeian) fortifying it with a multitude of causes of things both good and evil.” More generally, see Green 1990, 595–97 and 634–35. 29  See Nilsson 1946, 23–44, and my introduction to treatise II 3. 30  The most characteristic case being that of Isis, in whose aretalogies is often emphasized her superiority in relation to astral Destiny: I showed the stars their path, I ordered the course (poreias sunetaxamēn) of the sun and the moon.  . . . I preside over (paredreuō) the course of the sun.  . . . I vanquish what is fated (to himarmenon [sic] nikō), What is fated heeds me (emou to heimarmenon akouei), boasts a widely diffused hymn of Isis: see Harder 1944, 20–21; Apul. Met. XI 5, 269.12–13; 6, 271.5–6; 15, 277.12–20; and Festugière 1932, 107–9. Analogous claims were expressed in Mithraic rituals, in the aretalogies of Sarapis, in magical papyri (e.g., PGM I 214–6, XIII 633–35, 708–14), in the Chaldaean Oracles (fr. 153), but also in early Christian and Gnostic texts. See Festugière 1932, 109–15; Nilsson 1971, 2:689; and Griffiths 1975, 242–44. 25  26 



III 1. On Destiny

consequently also to that which is correlated with the latter, that is, the human intellect.31 In any case, human self-­determination also contributes to the same end, as its unimpeded exercise leads always to the choice not of the seeming good, but of the real one.32 In this early treatise of his, P. demonstrates, first of all, that he was entirely up to date with the evolving argumentation surrounding this much-­discussed topic. He seems more interested in marking the bearings of his own position along the range of available views, than he is in investigating the subject in depth. Of course, in the last three chapters he does provide an exposition of his personal view, which consists in a characteristic synthesis of Platonic and Aristotelian elements, illuminated by a novel emphasis on the role of the individual soul as an independent and unfettered “principle” (archē). But he contents himself with merely hinting at the nature of the teleological law subtending the activity of this soul and aligning it, through its impassible rational part, with the perspective of the supreme Good.33 For his theory on the subject to acquire its fully developed form, several years would have to go by, until he undertook the composition of his great treatise “On Free Will and the Will of the One” (VI 8 [39]), in which he attempts one of the boldest, but also one of the most penetrating, reconstitutions of the whole of Platonism as a transcendental agathology, where the Good appears as the source, but at the same time also as the final aim and guarantor, of the soul’s power of self-­determination.

Commentary Title. The word heimarmenē is closely related etymologically to moira (“portion” or “fate”), both being derived from the verb meiromai (“to receive one’s share, one’s portion”), and it had long designated, as a verbal form, that which the gods or Fate have preordained, the predestined: see Theognis 1033 (to which cf. [Hom.] Hymn. Dem. 216–17); Aesch. Ag. 913; Soph. Trach. 169; Isocr. Hel. 52, 218c. As a substantive, it was probably first employed by Plato (given that its attribution to certain Presocratics was, it seems, the result of doxographical anachronism), principally in the sense of a person’s appointed hour of death (see Grg. 512e3, Phd. 115a6, Leg. IX 873c4; cf. the later epigraphic evidence cited by Gundel 1914, 93–94, but also Enn. I 9.15–16) or of the law regulating the reincarnation of souls (Resp. X 619c1, Ti. 41e2–3, Leg. X 904c8). Especially worth noting is its appearance in Plt. 272e6, where it denotes the world’s “innate desire” (sumphutos epithumia), which acts contrary to the providential activity of the universal “pilot” (kubernētēs), causing the cosmos periodically to reverse direction. As a philosophical term occupying a key position in the field of cosmology, it appears to have been established by Zeno (see SVF 1:87, 99, 175–76), while both Chrysippus See CH XII 5–7, 9, Asclepius 39–40, Exc. VIII 5–7, XII, XIV, XVIII 3–5, XIX 1–4. See CH Exc. XVIII 3: “Choosing the better is in our power (eph’ hēmin), and similarly [choosing] the worse, involuntarily (akousiōs); for the repeated choice of bad things is associated with bodily nature, and for this reason over the person making [such] choices it is Destiny that rules (tōi helomenōi heimarmenēi dunasteuei).” Cf. Chald. Or. fr. 102–3. 33  Henry 1931, 59, aptly describes the findings of this treatise as “foundations for a future edifice.” 31  32 

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Third Ennead (SVF 2:913) and Epicurus (Diog. Laert. X 28) composed treatises on the subject of heimarmenē; see also note 6 of my introduction to this treatise. For the Stoics, then, it designated the universal and inflexible chain of causation which ensures that “past events have happened, present events are happening, and future events will happen” (trans. LS). It was identified with the “rational principle” (logos) that rules all things or, in other words, with divine “Providence” (pronoia), and was often personified as Zeus. Cicero’s now fragmentary De fato offers valuable witness to the history of the controversy surrounding this term during the Hellenistic period, while from the second century CE we are fortunate to possess the important relevant monographs of pseudo-­ Plutarch, Alexander of Aphrodisias, and Bardaisan (or, to be more precise, his student Philippus); see also Gundel 1912, 2623–25, and 1914, 61n.1. 1.1–8. Ἅπαντα . . . μετ’ αἰτίας: The dialectical treatment of a question through the systematic investigation of the possible combinations holding among the concepts being scrutinized constitutes a fairly usual tactic for P., especially in the treatises of his first period of composition, and more particularly when he is faced with problems determinative of key positions within the spectum of the philosophical schools of his era. Compare, for example, the analysis of the semantic correlation between “matter” (hulē) and “privation” (sterēsis) in II 4.14.6–8. The attempt is made here to investigate the range of possible cases in respect to whether the entities occupying the two levels of the Platonic ontology are subject or not to causation. This is a reasonable starting point for the study of heimarmenē, inasmuch as the latter was usually defined as the heirmos (“concatenation”) of events (see below, 4.11). The logically possible combinations that arise if, for the sake of brevity, we make use of the well-­known quantifier symbols of the Aristotelian square of opposition are shown below, the first member of each pair corresponding to “things that come to be” (ginomena), the second to “things that are” (onta):

1. A—A 2. A—I 3. A—E

4. I—A 5. I—I 6. I—E

7. E—A 8. E—I 9. E—E

Of these, P. mentions in turn—dividing them by successive disjunctives (ē)—seven, namely, 1, 9, 5, 2, 3, 4, and 7 (see the analysis of von Kleist 1886, 35). We can only guess as to the reasons that led to the omission of cases 6 and 8. One likelihood is that for the latter combinations there were no correspondences readily available in the pertinent doxography; then again, the fact that both go against the fundamental Platonic principle, set forth below (1.13–15), concerning the causation of things subject to generation may have, in P.’s opinion, rendered them unworthy of discussion from the start. 1.8–11. ἐπὶ μὲν . . . ἐχέτω: Here it becomes clear that what P. understands by cause is ontological dependence: X is the cause of Y if Y “is referable” (anagetai) to X in the sense that “it has its being” (to einai echein) from it (the formulation employed in Alex. Aphrod. Fat. 25, 194.26, being virtually identical). Consequently, only entities can be causes, not events or states of affairs, which presuppose a propositional formulation;



III 1. On Destiny

and thus P. does not observe the distinction between aition (“cause”) and aitia (“account of a cause,” i.e., “reason” or “explanation”) identified—as an element of Stoic doctrine—by Frede [1980]/1987a, 128–30. It is also clear that, from this perspective, the highest and most universal aitia will be the One (see VI 7.2.27–46). Furthermore, this will be the sole uncaused element, or—as P. was to express it later on in VI 8.14.41—the “cause of itself ” (aition heautou), and as such the only thing that is “in truth free” (alētheiai eleutheron: VI 8.21.30–31). Some scholars seem troubled by P.’s employment of the plural in speaking of “the first [realities]” (ta prōta); see, e.g., Graeser 1972, 102–4. For, as I noted earlier, what we should normally understand here as being “first” in the required sense is only the One. Perhaps the explanation is to be found in the dialectical nature of the argument: the point being made here is that whatever might be found at the beginning of the sequence of causes, whether it is single or multiple, will in any case itself be lacking a cause. Conversely, Brisson et al. 2002, 160n.2, propose that “first” here refers to the Forms, while the entities dependent on these will be the stars. Although this view seems to be bolstered somewhat by the passage from Alexander cited in my next comment, it nevertheless remains doubtful, because the heavenly bodies are surely not alone in possessing such a dependence, and it consequently seems rather improbable that they would be introduced into the discussion here in such an allusive and indefinite manner. 1.11–13. τάς τε . . . ἀποδιδόναι:The primal “activity” (energeia) of each entity is a manifestation of its “being” or “essence” (ousia); cf. II 6.3.6–11. Hence, any consequences of this activity will have this ousia as their cause. It is possible that by this line of argument P. was seeking to undermine the distinction that, as was mentioned in my introduction, had been introduced by the Middle Platonists between Destiny as activity and as substance, and through which they hoped to preserve some margin of self-­determination for individual souls; cf. [Plut.] Fat. 568c–d, 570d–e. This was not a solution P. was prepared to accept. As will be made clear in chapter 4 below, if the substance of Destiny were the cosmic Soul, and individual souls merely “offshoots” of the latter, then these would be nothing more than unwilling accessories of a universal cosmic organism. Their freedom of energeia presupposes their independence of ousia, and consequently the possibility of their autonomous access to their ontological foundation, the intelligible. As Alexander says, speaking of the celestial bodies (De an. mant. 181.18–20 trans. after Sharples): “but just as they are free in respect of their being and essence (hōsper kata to einai kai tēn ousian eleuthera) from a cause of this sort [i.e., from Destiny], so they are in respect of their proper activities (houtōs de kai kata tas oikeias energeias).” 1.13–15. περὶ δὲ . . . γίνεσθαι: Up to this point, what have been identified as caused are (a) whichever of the “everlasting things” (aidia), that is, the supra-­sensibles, are dependent on “the first [realities]”; and (b) activities, which are causally dependent on the corresponding substances. We now move on to the domain of mutable reality. Here we meet with two further categories of the caused: (c) the “things that come into being” (ta ginomena) and (d) any things that, while eternal, are changeable in their activity. In the case of (c), the general rule of sufficient cause, formulated by Plato in Ti. 28a4–6, is ap-

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Third Ennead plicable: “everything that comes to be must of necessity come to be by the agency of some cause, for it is entirely impossible to have generation without a cause.” Cf. also Phlb. 26e2–5. It is indeed noteworthy that even Alexander aligns himself with this view; see Fat. 22, 192.8–11. The last category (d) corresponds to individual souls, the activities of which vary from one time to another; cf. IV 4.15.7–10. 1.15–22. τὸ δ’ ἀναίτιον . . . ἀναιτίους οὔσας:P. begins by turning against all those who admitted uncaused changes within the domain of becoming, thereby breaching the Platonic principle set out above. To this group, in his opinion, belonged the Epicureans, who in order to secure some margin of liberty for human will introduced their famous theory of the “swerves” (parenkliseis) atoms undergo during their free descent. This theory, although nowhere explicitly formulated in any of the extant writings of Epicurus, must certainly have represented an answer to his call to avoid “the enslavement to Destiny of the natural philosophers” (Ep. Men. apud Diog. Laert. X 134). Its most complete presentation is provided by Lucretius (II 216–93), who emphasizes that these deviations, which constitute “what might be termed a mutation in the motion (momen mutatum)” of atoms, occur “at an undetermined time and in undetermined places (incerto tempore ferme incertisque locis),” that is, suddenly and unexpectedly, and that (If ) the elements by swerving (declinando) do not make of motion a new beginning to burst the bonds of fate, so that cause may not follow cause from infinity, then whence to living creatures comes this free will, whence comes, I say, this will torn from the fates, through which we move where each man’s pleasure leads him, and change our motions neither at any fixed time nor at any fixed place, but however our mind has taken us? See further Furley 1967, 173–82 (whose translation appears above) and Green 1990, 621, who expatiates on the ad hoc character of the theory: “Epicurus . . . was stacking his physical theory for ethical purposes.” The correlation effected by the Epicureans between the “swerves” of atoms and the freedom of the will was remarked on by Cicero (Fat. 22–23), who assigned particular weight (as did P.) to the fact that this deviation must be devoid of a cause (declinationem sine causa fieri), even if Epicurus himself had never explicitly asserted such a thing. P.’s objection to this is that the eradication of causality and the prevalence of a wholly anarchic fortuitousness in human behavior would result in the instauration of “an alternative human mechanism, perhaps more undependable and eccentric, but hardly more autonomous” (LS 1:107); indeed, in such a case we would be confronted with a totally blind and unpredictable form of necessity. At the same time, the categorical rejection of the “uncaused” (anaition) by P. emphasizes his commitment to overcoming the weaknesses of the Peripatetic position on the subject as well, the latter being—at least on the point in question—similar to that of the Epicureans; on this see Sharples 1983b, 22.



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The term parenklisis (“deviation,” “clinamen,” “slant,” “swerve”) appears also in Philod. De signis 36.13, §54; and in “Aëtius” (see Epicurus fr. 280); cf. further Plut. De Pyth. or. 398b; and Diog. Oen. fr. 32 III 6–7. 1.22–24. ἢ γὰρ . . . μηδὲν ὀρεκτὸν ἐκίνησεν:To the Epicurean theory on the fortuitous and uncontrollable drives of mankind P. contraposes an essentially Peripatetic analysis of the motivations of human action. According to Aristotle, “appetition” (orexis) moves either “in accordance with rational calculation” (kata ton logismon), in which case it is called boulēsis (“wish”), or against it (para ton logismon), in which case it is called epithumia (“desire”); and the former is directed to “what is fine” (to on kalon), that is, to the real “good” (agathon), while the latter to “what seems fine” (to phainomenon kalon); see De an. III 10, 433a21–29, Metaph. Λ 7, 1027a26–28, De motu an. 6, 700b23–29. Now since appetition is the “ultimate cause of being moved” (eschatē aitia tou kineisthai: De motu an. 8, 701a34–35), its absence will entail the absence of any movement or action; cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. 25.22–24, Probl. eth. 29, 160.23–24. Of particular interest is the distinction drawn between two kinds of “object of volition” (boulēton), an external one and an internal one. The latter is apparently introduced in order to cover those cases where the “object of appetition” (orekton) is none other than the ontological core of the moved entity; see, e.g., II 2.2.5–15. 1.24–36. γινομένων δὲ . . . εἰς φύσιν:Harder, ad loc. 410, supposes that the term prosecheis employed here (l. 25) by P. must refer to the causes labeled by the Stoics as “preliminary” (prokatarktikai: see, e.g., SVF 2:346, 348, and above all Cic. Fat. 41: adiuuantes et proximae), and which constituted, as I set out in my introduction, conditions necessary indeed to the production of an outcome, but merely auxiliary ones, not principal or sufficient ones. I believe, however, that the examples provided, and especially those of medicine and the father, are not in harmony with such a view. P. seems rather to be speaking of the “immediate” causes of things or events, which he classifies on the basis of a fourfold schema (deliberate choice, art, chance, nature) that is possibly Peripatetic in provenance (cf. Alex. Aphrod. Fat. 4, 168.11–19; Themist. In Ph. 35.2–7), but is not without its Platonic ancestry in Leg. X 888e4–889a8 (as Igal notes ad loc.). It is in any case in the same sense of “immediate causes” that the expression prosechē aitia is also employed by Simpl. In Ph. 306.31–307.2. Cf. also Hankinson 1999, 488–89. Even the examples themselves appear to have been drawn from the Aristotelian corpus. The first is from Arist. Ph. II 5, 196b3–4; cf. Alex. Aphrod. Fat. 8, 173.5–7. The one on medical art is from Arist. Metaph. Λ 3, 1070a29–30. The finding of treasure was of course a classic example of “fortune” (tuchē); cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. III 3, 1112a29; Cic. Diu. II 33; [Plut.] Fat. 572a; Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 177.35–178.3, and Fat. 8, 172.25–30. As concerns the role of the father in procreation, see below, my comment on 6.1–3. Finally, the “smooth flow” (eurhoia) of bodily fluids had always been regarded as essential to fertility; see, e.g., Pl. Ti. 77d5; [Hippoc.] Genit. II 3. 2.1–4. Μέχρι μὲν . . . ἀνιόντων:Yet the identification of such immediate causes does not constitute a real explanation of phenomena, given that the former are often neither suf-

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Third Ennead ficient nor even necessary conditions for the production of the latter. Philosophical investigation requires a search for ultimate causes that will provide a complete causal explanation of phenomena; cf., e.g., Pl. Phd. 99a4–b4; Arist. Ph. I 1, 184a12–14; and Plut. De prim. frig. 948b–c. 2.4–7. διὰ τί γὰρ . . . ἔργων:Often there may occur, under identical conditions, events that are different or even contradictory to each other. In its anti-­astrological version, this argument was familiar at least since the time of Panaetius (see Cic. Diu. II 97; cf. Aug. De ciu. D. V 2, and also here below at 5.55–59), but P. deploys it here in order to show up more generally the inadequacy of immediate causes as explanatory principles. 2.9–17. οἱ μὲν . . . τὰ ὄντα:The atomic theory of the Epicureans (= T1) is referred to as the first attempt at the discovery of the ultimate causes pervading natural phenomena. The description of its basic characteristics corresponds, in the main, exactly with what we know from other sources: the atoms or “indivisible principles” (atomoi archai: cf. Epicurus Ep. Her. apud Diog. Laert. X 41; and fr. 267), with their movements (cf. Lucr. II 84–94), their collisions (ibid. and 241–42), and their interweavings (98–104; cf. Diog. Laert. X 41, 43; and Epicurus fr. 279), compose the sensible bodies, which thus come into being and are dissolved again (Lucr. II 63) solely as a result of the interactions of atoms. Even psychical impulses are referable to movements of this kind, as the soul is itself corporeal, being made up of atoms (Diog. Laert. X 63, Lucr. II 251–71). Dumont 1981, 193, observes that presented in this way, the atomic theory appears totally deterministic, and hence corresponds more closely to the views of Democritus than to those of the Epicureans. Yet as I noted above, in my comment on 1.15–22, the tactic adopted by P. is precisely to show that even the introduction of the notion of the “swerve” is insufficient to absolve the materialistic atomic theory of an—in his view— absurd form of rigid determinism. 2.17–25. οἱ δ’ . . . τῶν ζῴων:The second philosophical theory referred to (= T2) is patently Stoic in origin (see SVF 2:946), but, as will be seen below, it had also found appeal among the Stoicizing Middle Platonists. According to this, the causes of all things are reducible to a single unitary principle, which is identified with Destiny, Nature, Reason (logos) and God; see SVF 2:928–29; Alex. Aphrod. Fat. 22, 191.30–192.26 = SVF 2:945; and Sen. Ep. 65.12. It consists in a ruling cosmic power that not only sets the universe in motion like the Aristotelian prime mover, but “having penetrated within” it (phoitēsasa), acts as its only true efficient cause; cf. SVF 1:85, 2:300 and 311. The operation of its lawlike necessity pervades not only material bodies, but even our thoughts, which may be by-­products of corporeal “affections” (pathē) and “dispositions” (diatheseis); see, e.g., SVF 1:202. 2.26–30. ἄλλοι δὲ . . . ἀξιοῦσι: The view next referred to as being parallel to that of the Stoics is a version of “hard” astrological theory (note the employment of poiousan (“makes”), and cf. II 3.1.1–2 and my introduction to treatise II 3), according to which the movements and “relative positions” (scheseis) of the celestial bodies (see my comment on



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II 3.1.20–24) causally determine terrestrial phenomena (= T3). Thus, for example, Ptolemy in the Prologue to his Apotelesmatica announces that in this work he intends to study “the changes which they [i.e., the stars] bring about in that which they surround by means of the peculiar natural qualities of these configurations themselves,” given that—as he says—“it is so evident that most events of a general nature draw their causes from the enveloping heavens” (I 1.1–2, 37–52 trans. after Robbins). Cf. also the passage from Vettius Valens cited in note 28 of my introduction to this treatise. It is also interesting to note here the allusive reference to the argument “from divination” which, as we know, had been deployed by the Stoics (cf. SVF 2:939, 941, 943): the predictions of the augurs and the astrologers could not be veridical, if all things were not subject to Destiny. 2.30–36. καὶ μὴν . . . φανεῖται: This fourth theory concerning Destiny (= T4) also has pronounced Stoic characteristics. First of all, the term epiplokē (“nexus”) was also employed by Chrysippus in a phrase quoted verbatim by Aulus Gellius (SVF 2:1000) to denote the succession of natural causes; cf. SVF 1:98 and 2:916. The more common word heirmos (“sequence” or “concatenation”) forms part of the classic definition of heimarmenē (based, obviously, on a false etymology) as “an unbreachable concatenation of causes” (heirmon aitiōn aparabaton: SVF 2:917–20; cf. 948–49, 962, 978); on this see my introduction, and also Amelius apud Procl. In Remp. II 29.14–15. That this sequence has its origin “up above (anōthen) from the most ancient causes” is admitted as well by Marcus Aurelius, V 8.12, whereas Ptolemy contradicts it directly, when he maintains that “we should not believe that all things follow on (parakolouthein) for man from the cause up above (apo tēs anōthen aitias), as if they had been ordained from the beginning for each person by some irrevocable and divine command, and were destined to take place of necessity” (Apot. I 3.6, 259–63). Nevertheless, the view P. has in mind here is deterministic in the extreme, because it maintains that the same presuppositions always entail the same consequences, constituting both sufficient and necessary conditions for such a result; furthermore, as Sharples 1978, 256, has noted, this view is not to be met with in this form prior to Alexander (e.g., Fat. 22, 192.22–24). It must accordingly be regarded as an extreme formulation meant to serve the dialectical development of the argument, and not as an accurate reproduction of the Stoic view of Destiny. Cf. the tactic employed by Carneades apud Cic. Fat. 31. 2.36–38. διττοὺς δ’ ἄν τις . . . οὐχ οὕτω:P. classifies the four theoretical positions he has just described into two categories, on the basis of whether in each case the causal sequence is referable to a single principle (T2 and T4) or to more than one (T1 and T3). As will be made clear, P.’s own view falls within the latter category, inasmuch as the dual nature of man makes him subject to two separate causal sequences. 3.1–5. Σώμασι . . . ἐξ ἀτόμων:The rebuttal of the older theories concerning Destiny follows the order in which they were previously introduced. The first to be dealt with is the atomic theory (T1), which is taken, however—as it was earlier (2.9–17)—to be representative of all materialistic theories that seek to explain Destiny within the framework

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Third Ennead of the universal prevalence of a necessity determined solely by the physical properties of the various material bodies. Such is the perspective also from which we must understand the reference to the elements as pre-­cosmic principles endowed with their own spontaneous and irregular motion. Although something similar is perhaps already hinted at in the cosmology of the Hermetic Poimandres = CH I 4, 8.1–5, a much clearer version may be attested in cosmological narratives such as that of Bardaisan, where the mixture of the five primeval elements (fire, air, water, light, and darkness) is attributed to “misfortune” or to Destiny, but must obviously presuppose some innate motility on their part. See Drijvers 1966, 98–100, 109–10, and 136–37. As far as the atomic theory is concerned, it was, it seems, in its older form—that of Leucippus and Democritus—that a primary, irregular, but also “necessary” (anankaia) movement of atoms was admitted, which was also deemed responsible for their mutual conglomerations and collisions. See further Bailey 1928, 82–86 and 134–35; and cf. Alex. Aphrod. Prou. 99.1–25. 3.5–6. καὶ περὶ . . . ἀληθεῖς:The allusion is perhaps to the criticism addressed by Aristotle (e.g., in Cael. III 2, 300b9 ff. and in Gen. Corr. I 8, 325a24 ff.) toward the early atomic theories—theories which, however—as I remarked above—did not differ essentially in P.’s eyes from those of the Epicureans. 3.6–13. εἰ δὲ δὴ . . . πάντως:The line of argument here represents a variation on the classic theological argument “from design,” and may therefore derive from some Stoic source; see, e.g., SVF 2:1016; Sen. Prou. I 2; and Dragona-­Monachou 1976, 88–91. It rests on the observation that the very concept of necessity seems to presuppose some form of regularity, and hence of order, something that cannot be explained on the sole basis of the wholly irregular movement of atoms. Worth noting also is the concessive reservation expressed as to whether determinations such as “down” (katō) can have any applicability in such a system (cf. the relevant objections of Aristotle, Ph. III 5, 205b30 and IV 8, 215a8–9). Epicurus himself seems to be conscious of the fact that terms such as “up” and “down” can only have a relative meaning in an infinitely extended universe (Ep. Her. 60), yet he proceeds to explain the natural movement of atoms as being due to their “proper weight”; see op. cit. 61, and cf. Lucr. II 83–85, 221–24 and Epicurus fr. 279–80. P.’s objection (as was already pointed out) stems from the thought that if the slanting movements of the atoms are not due to natural causes (such as, e.g., their weight), but to uncaused—and therefore fortuitous and irregular—swerves, then it would be impossible for their effects to display the order and regularity observable in the universe. 3.13–17. ὥστε οὔτε . . . εἶναι:This next argument also displays striking correspondences with a Stoic counterpart, this time the argument “from divination,” of which indeed it may frequently be seen to have formed a part; see SVF 2:939, 941–44. The prediction of the future, whether it is effected on the basis of some prognosticating technique such as augury or astrology, or through an inspired access to the will or the predictive power of the divine, presupposes the regularity and the (theoretical, at least) predictability of phenomena. The distinction between two types of prediction derives, of course, from



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Plato’s Phaedrus, 244a8–245a1, where “divination” (mantikē) is differentiated from “augury” (oiōnistikē), but it took on an added importance in view of the preference the Stoics declared for technical methods of prediction, which they were prepared to classify as kinds of “art” (technē) or even “science” (epistēmē); see SVF 1:174, 2:1018; and Dragona-­Monachou 1976, 76–77. Cf. also, as noted by von Kleist 1886, 40n.1; [Plut.] Vit. Hom. 2, 212. 3.19–29. τὰ δὲ δὴ . . . ἄψυχα σώματα:Yet the greatest drawback of the atomic theory is, in P.’s view, its inability to provide adequate explanations for a number of phenomena of a psychological nature: (a) Psychical activities determinative of a man’s behavior and actions are difficult to explain on the basis of the movements and collisions of atoms. (Let it be noted in passing that the term plēgē (“blow”) derives from Democritus; see fr. A47 DK.) The truth is that the Epicurean theory of “images” (eidōla, simulacra) was designed to accommodate precisely this class of phenomena. See, e.g., Lucr. IV 752–56, 877–91. But obviously explanations of such a kind appeared inadequate to a Platonist, because they failed to secure the autonomous and spontaneous activity of the soul. (b) The soul’s opposition to the body’s drives had already been highlighted by Plato, Phd. 94b7–c2, as an indication of its autonomy. (c) Theoretical predispositions or achievements cannot adequately be justified on the basis of fortuitous atomic movements. (d) What is characteristic of every living organism is its self-­propelled and spontaneous activation, while the atomic theory, as P. understands it, would render the same a passive recipient, at the mercy of uncontrollable corporeal influences. 3.29–34. τὰ αὐτὰ . . . ἰέναι: As was stated earlier, the critique of the atomic theory applies also, mutatis mutandis, to all other materialistic views that fail to acknowledge the autonomy of the soul and its related phenomena. Thus, for example, Bardaisan’s mixture of elements (see my comment on 3.1–5) would only be able to justify changes in the physical properties or states of bodies, and not, as he himself claimed, the emergence of evil in the world; see Drijvers 1966, 79, 103, 154. On the soul as a separate “principle,” see below, 8.4 ff. 4.1–3. Ἀλλ’ ἆρα . . . ἄγει:Now begins the examination of the second theory (T2), which had been summarily introduced at 2.17–25. With the difference that here the principle “which permeates the universe” (dia pantos diēkousa), motivating and sustaining all things, is specified as being “Soul” (psuchē), whereas the Stoics preferred to characterize it as “breath” (pneuma), if not as “designing fire” (pur technikon); see, e.g., SVF 2:310, 416, 439–42, 1027 (but cf. SVF 1:158, 495, 2:473, where one does find employed the term psuchē, which for the Stoics of course amounted to the same thing). It seems, however, that there was also at least one Middle Platonist philosopher who passionately upheld the psychological nature of such a principle that functions as “a single animated power (dunamis empsuchos) permeating the universe (diēkousa dia tou pantos) and binding all things and holding them together”: this was Atticus (fr. 8.18–20). In his view, the division of causes effected by the Aristotelians (on which see my introduction) led to

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Third Ennead the fragmentation of the unitary divine Providence that pervades the whole of nature. The patently Stoic features of this standpoint (on which see Dillon 1988, 118) should not induce us to overlook its correlation with the composite Middle Platonist theory set out in my introduction, according to which Destiny “as a substance” is identified with the cosmic Soul; see [Plut.] Fat. 568e; Nemesius De nat. hom. 38, 109.10–11; Calc. In Ti. 144, 182.16. For there, too, the ruling principle, although “triply apportioned,” is unitary, merely expressing or activating itself differently according to each portion of the world it rules. The verb agō (“direct”) is the one typically used to designate the compulsory nature of Destiny; on this, see Schreckenberg 1964, 122–23. 4.3–9. φερομένων δὲ . . . λέγοι: The necessary succession of cause and effect was the foundation on which the Stoics built their view of heimarmenē, a view reinforced by the false etymology of the latter word from the verb heirō, meaning “to string together” or “to connect”; see SVF 2:914–15. Thus their “continuity” (sunecheia) and “interconnection” (sumplokē) was given special emphasis (see SVF 2:948, 976; [Plut.] Fat. 569b), because it ensured a unitary, unbroken, and constant “natural everlasting ordering (suntaxin) of the whole: one set of things follows on and succeeds another, and the interconnection is inviolable” (SVF 2:1000 trans. LS; cf. 917–21). The adequacy of this explanatory schema will be investigated below, in chapter 7. What occupies P.’s interest for the time being is the extent to which the principle pervading this whole chain of causes is in fact single and unitary, and his example of the plant has been chosen precisely with a view to emphasizing this very point; he will revert to the same example in III 3.7.10 ff., but there he will do so from a somewhat different angle. 4.9–20. ἀλλὰ πρῶτον . . . τὰ πάντα:If all things are essentially referable, however, to a single cause, then it makes no sense to speak of a succession of causes, because all the rest will not be genuine causes, but mere manifestations of a unique self-­same principle. As Alexander also observes (SVF 2:962), in such a case one could not even invoke compulsion as a cause, as it too would be determined by the one universal cause. If even “impulse” (hormē) itself, the characteristic motivation of animal activity, is nothing more than yet another manifestation of the universal Destiny acting “through them” (di’ autōn: cf. SVF 2:979), then all things would be simultaneously both its agents and its objects. My understanding of the parenthetical sentence is that it forms part of a reductio argument, and that consequently the phrase ekeino . . . prōton refers (as Armstrong’s translation makes very clear) to the hēgemonoun (“the ruling principle”), the sole subject of the individual organism’s every movement; and that hence—according to the view rejected by P.—in the case of the cosmic organism as well, the sole subject and cause of every activity would correspondingly be the all-­pervasive cosmic Soul, which would leave no margin for the operation of any other cause: Destiny would be all. Cf. above, 2.21–22, but perhaps there is implied also an indirect reference to Heraclit. fr. B50 DK, which the Stoics would surely have regarded as suitable for appropriation; see, e.g., SVF 2:528, 532, but also Norden 1923, 246–49.



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4.20–28. ὥστε οὔτε . . . ἀνατιθέναι:Such an extreme identification of Destiny with the sole motive cause of all things would end up abolishing the very notion of any other subject whatsoever. If all things were activated “by” (hupo) Destiny, even if “through” (dia) individual living organisms, then it would make no sense to speak of our actions or even of our thoughts. Indeed, one would also need to attribute to this unique cause all the evil and ugly things that occur in the world; cf. Plut. Comm. not. 1076d–f. As concerns the distinction between hupo and dia, which forms the backdrop to the discussion, and which Alexander explicitly invokes in his anti-­Stoic critique (Fat. 13, 182.6–13), there is a likelihood that it did not originate with Chrysippus, but was a product of later elaboration; see Theiler 1946, 66–67. 5.1–7. Ἀλλ’ ἴσως . . . ἥκιστα ἕξει:The third theory examined is that of “hard” (i.e., causally efficacious) astrology (T3); cf. above, 2.26–30. Its defenders frequently invoked Destiny as that natural causal “concatenation” (heirmos) that permits the formulation of accurate predictions; see, indicatively, Ptol. Apot. I 3.10–12; Vett. Val. V 6.4, 209.10–14; Firm. Mat. Math. I 7.13, 22.9–20 and 8.2–7, 31.2–33.10. As I discussed in my comments on II 3.1.12–16 and 20–24, the positions and mutual geometrical relations of the celestial bodies at any given instant were regarded by the astrologers as of determining importance in respect to the influence they exercised on earth. P. indicatively rehearses here some of the technical terms that were employed in the notation of elements critical to the drawing up of any horoscope. The term stasis referred to the “position” of a “heavenly body” (astron: on this term, see my comment on II 3 Title) on the zodiac, or more generally to the geometrical figure expressive of the relation between two heavenly bodies; see Geminus II 12; Ptol. Apot. I 14.1. The term marturia (“aspect”) referred to the presence of a planet in one of the “centers” (kentra) or “houses” (oikoi) of the natal horoscope: see Ptol. Apot. IV 2.2; and also Paul Al. 25, 75.4; Vett. Val. II 18.8, 76.23–27 and IV 17.13, 180.21–25; and earlier Thras. Trall. fr. T25a = Porph. Intr. Ptol. 24, 203.7. Furthermore, it was not just the sun, but also the stars that were said to rise and set. See Gem. XIII 1–2: “In the course of the world’s rotation all stars both rise and set each day. ‘Rising’ (anatolē) is their daily occurring appearance above the horizon, while ‘setting’ (dusis) is their daily occurring disappearance below the horizon.” The term parabolē (“juxtaposition” rather than “conjunction”) was less common in astrological texts (see, however, Hephaest. Apot. II 18.69–71, 166.13–26), but it carried particular weight, because it had appeared already in Pl. Ti. 40c4. Proclus In Ti. III 146.7–9, explicates it as follows: “By ‘juxtapositions’ (parabolai) I mean their [sc., the stars’] ordering along the same longitude, when they differ in latitude or depth; in other words, their common risings and settings.” For the rest, Ptolemy (Apot. II 1.2 trans. after Robbins) also divides astrological prognostications into two basic categories: “the first and more general is that which relates to whole races, countries and cities, which is called ‘universal’ (katholikon); the second and more specific is that which relates to individual men, and which is called ‘genethlialogical’ (genethlialogikon).” Cf. Festugière 1944–54, 1:101. 5.7–9. ὁρᾶν δὲ . . . πάσχοντα:As was observed by Festugière 1944–54, 1:90n.1, “all Hellenistic works of astrology, alchemy, magic or popular medicine deal to a greater or

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Third Ennead lesser extent with the subject of universal sumpatheia,” a somewhat vague notion, which had already made an appearance in the work of Theophrastus (see Caus. pl. II 19.4), and which appears initially to have been related to the observable consequences of phenomena, such as the effects of the moon’s phases on earth; see Sext. Emp. Math. IX 79; and my comment on II 3.12.25–32 (after II 3.5.20). The developed theory, according to which the various kinds of animals, plants, stones, metals, even human bodily organs are connected with each other through “ineffable properties” (arrhētoi idiotētes) in “series” (seirai) which are correlated with the planets and governed by relations of “affinity” (sumpatheia) and “disaffinity” (antipatheia) such as to make possible sympathetic interactions between them, is attested by a multitude of sources. Chaeremon (first century CE) fr. 2 = Psellus Opusc. log. 3, 119–22, attributed this doctrine to the wise men of Egypt, “who introduce an ineffable affinity among beings (sumpatheian tois ousin eisagousin arrhēton), and believe that separate entities would develop such affinities were they to come together with respect to this or that planet, for instance a Cretan herb with an Egyptian feather and an Iberian bone.” In fact a number of treatises have come down to us that deal with the systematic recording of such correlations, principally in the form of those astrological “Lapidaries” (Lithica) concerned with the magical properties of various precious and semiprecious stones; on these, see Halleux and Schamp 1985, xxviii–xxxi. 5.9–14. τούς τε τόπους . . . καὶ ἤθη:Ptolemy devotes the second book of his Apotelesmatica to the study of that “universal prognostication by astronomical means” (katholikon di’ astronomias prognōstikon) that includes predictions, on the one hand, of events “such as wars, famines, pestilences, earthquakes, deluges, and the like,” and, on the other, of various meteorological phenomena “of a more occasional nature” (kairikōtera). The principal component of this analysis is the theory of “Climes” (klimata). This claimed to be able to explain the “peculiar characteristics” of peoples by the geographical position of the different countries in which they reside, based on “their position relative to the ecliptic and the sun” (Ptol. Apot. II 2.1), which represents “a more general Destiny” (heimarmenē meizōn: op. cit. IV 10.2). This theory is due, in all probability, to the influence of Posidonius, whose ethnographic theory sought to explain phenomena such as the variation of flora and fauna, climatic conditions, racial characteristics, the customs and usages of peoples, etc. on the basis of the dependence of terrestrial occurrences on celestial ones. See fr. 49.310–26, with the comment of Kidd 1998, 1:273, as well note 6 of my introduction to II 3. Cf. also, however—as Brisson et al. 2002, 166n.48 suggest— Arist. Pol. VII 7, 1327b24–30. 5.16. καὶ οὗτος:Boll 1894, 234n.2, finds here a direct reference to Claudius Ptolemaeus and his Apotelesmatica, but this seems rather improbable, in view of P.’s more general practice not to become involved in open, personal confrontations with thinkers who are either exact or near contemporaries of his; cf. II 9.10.7–8. It is consequently preferable to assume that some expression such as, for example, ho logos (“the argument”) is implied here. Nevertheless, this does not detract from the overall value of Boll’s observation as regards the paternity of the theory P. is rebutting.



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5.16–20. ἕτερον τρόπον . . . ἔργον: The basic objection P. has against this astrological theory is the same as he had against the atomic one. Such types of explanations of all things, including human behavior, on the basis of the natural interactions of different kinds of bodies leave no margin for the exercise of any autonomous action by man, who is thus made to appear as being at the mercy of the mechanical or sympathetic influences of the environment. The last two chapters of the third book of the Apotelesmatica, for example, are titled “Of the Quality (poiotēs) of the Soul” and “Of the Affections (pathē) of the Soul.” In these, psychical predispositions, moral tendencies, intellectual capacities, even sexual preferences are correlated with the positions of the planetary bodies (principally Mercury and the Moon). According to P., however, if this is how human actions are determined, the result is to abolish man’s very being as a moral subject capable of making spontaneous choices and undertaking actions of his own. Up to this point, his argument proceeds along more or less traditional lines, analogous to what we find in other authors, such as, for example, Favorinus apud Aul. Gell. NA XIV 1.23; but the reference to men’s “work from their own nature” foreshadows its ultimate grounding in the view of man’s nature as soul, autonomous and independent of the body. On this see my introduction to I 1 and II 3.9.14–31. 5.20–28. ἀλλὰ χρὴ . . . παθῶν: P. does not deny the existence of environmental influences on man, but he wishes to delineate their boundaries with exactitude. Climatological conditions, for instance, can certainly have repercussions on our individual bodily makeup, and thus also on some of our feelings or predispositions that are closely correlated with it. Even those elements of external appearance or character that children inherit from their parents (to which must be added racial and ethnological characteristics such as those described by Ptolemy in his chapter II 3, “Of the Familiarities between Countries and the Triplicities and Stars”) may be regarded as exogenous. But all these cases concern features that are nonessential to an individual’s personality; cf. VP 1.3–4, which reflects P.’s overall stance toward questions of this nature. This way of seeing things also invalidates the syllogism of Cleanthes (SVF 1:518), who from the resemblance between parents and their offspring deduced the corporeality of the soul. For, according to P., it is not the soul itself, but only “those dreadful but necessary affections” (cf. Pl. Ti. 69c8–d1) that are dependent on such external factors. Consequently, only the latter are implicated in the chain of natural causes and effects that constitute Destiny and are accordingly subject to her rule; cf. II 3.9.7–14. It is worth remarking that up to this point at least, and in spite of certain deviations in the terminology employed, P.’s position has not distanced itself in substance from that of Alexander, according to which, as was mentioned in my introduction, Destiny is to be identified with “the proper nature” (oikeia phusis) of each individual, to the extent, of course, that the latter is a product of external influences. Cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 185.11–14, and Fat. 6, 169.23–28. 5.28–33. οὐ μὴν . . . λέγοιντο ἄν:Nevertheless, neither environmental influences nor racial or family inheritances are sufficient to determine certain psychological capacities and functions, those peculiar temperaments that truly individuate each human being as a dis-

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Third Ennead tinct subject of ethical action. For it is the latter that grant us the capability to overcome or even to resist whatever drives may spring from the needs of the body and its concomitant affections. The correlation of human “character” (ēthos) with bodily “disposition” (diathesis) and, through this, with the “blend” (krasis) of the elements “in accordance with the environment” was of course already familiar from Hippocratic medicine (see, e.g., Vict. 35; and Sykutris 1934, 72n.1), but it was stated more fully by Posidonius (fr. 169.88–106, with reference to Aristotle) and especially by Galen, who has left us an entire treatise with the title “That the Capacities (dunameis) of the Soul Follow upon the Blends (kraseis) of the Body” (= Scr. mi. II 32 ff.); cf. also Temp. II 1, 576, and San. Tu. I 8, 39–41. On the controversy between Galen and the Platonists concerning the extent of the influence of bodily kraseis on the soul, see Donini 1974, 139–44. 5.33–37. εἰ δ’ ὅτι . . . προλέγουσιν:As we also saw previously (3.13–17), P. was prepared to admit, in consonance with the prevailing attitudes of the time, various forms of divinatory prognostication. What he refuses to allow is that these are in any way equivalent to a scientific determination of the causes responsible for different occurrences. The semiotic property of stars, as of birds, is “incidental” (sumbebēkos) to them (cf. II 3.3.25–28) and has to do with the dependence of their movements on the cosmic Soul, which coordinates the whole universe into a single and unified arrangement; cf. II 3.3.7–8, IV 3.12.19–24, and IV 4.8.52–61. Consequently, astrological prognostication is nothing more than one further technique of natural divination based on the operation of cosmic sumpatheia; see also Gurtler 1984, 396–97. 5.41–53. ὅταν τοίνυν . . . οὐδὲ ταῦτα:The drawing of inferences from a person’s horoscope concerning his or her relatives was an extremely widespread practice among those occupied with astrological prognostications. In Ptolemy’s Apotelesmatica, for instance, there is a special chapter titled “Of Parents” (III 5) in which, among other things, the latter’s “well-­being” or, conversely, their “low station and obscurity” are signified by the positions of Saturn and Venus, as well as by any planets that happen to be in “attendance” (doruphoria). In the next chapter, “Of Brothers and Sisters,” there is discussion of those cases where “sibling scarcity” (spanadelphia) by reason of the death of brothers or sisters is signified. On the other hand, Firmicus Maternus devotes whole chapters to the signs of the deaths of parents (VII 9 and 11), their conjugal relations or their individual characters (VII 12–14 and 16–18), and so on. See also my comment on II 3.2.10–16, where the references provided show that the argument set out here is not original, but has possible Academic ancestry. 5.53–55. καὶ μὴν . . . ἄστρων:Children’s resemblance of their parents (cf. Arist. Gen. an. IV 3, 767a36–b8 and SVF 1:518), although it once again concerns nonessential characteristics (see above, 5.27–28), reveals the existence of other external factors that are much more determining than any astrological circumstance. Consequently, even if the stars do exert some influence on terrestrial occurrences, its importance will be negligible. This again is an argument that was familiar since the time of Cicero; see Diu. II 94.



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5.55–59. εὔλογόν τε . . . τῶν σχημάτων:Even the very sequence of the arguments here is identical to that in Cicero; cf. Diu. II 95 (where Panaetius is cited as the source). But the reference to animals is found only in Sext. Emp. Math. V 94, and in Favorinus apud Aul. Gell. NA XIV 1.31; cf. also Porph. De quod nostr. apud Stob. Ecl. II 8.42, 170.15–8 = fr. 271F. 57–60. Much more widespread than this was the related argument concerning the dissimilar fortunes of twin brothers. See Cic. Diu. II 90; Favorinus op. cit. 26; Sext. Emp. op. cit. V 88; Aug. De ciu. D. V 2–6; and Long 1982, 173. 6.1–3. Ἀλλὰ γὰρ . . . ἐκ τοιοῦδε:“Nature” (phusis) appears accordingly as the principal and essential factor governing the birth of a living organism, as the fundamental cause determining the kind of whatever is born. This was an Aristotelian thesis (cf., e.g., Ph. II 7, 198a26–27; Metaph. Ζ 7, 1032a24, Λ 3, 1070a7–8 and 4, 1070b30–34) that even the theoreticians of astrology were prepared to adopt; see my comment on II 3.12.3–11. 6.3–10. ἔστω δὲ . . . τίς εὑρετής:P. has no objection to granting the claims of the proponents of “hard” astrology concerning the influence of the natural environment—which includes celestial phenomena—in the formation of bodies and the shaping of their peculiar temperaments. In general, we could say that on the basis of what has been discussed up to the present, P. would have no difficulty in signing on to the greater part of the following statement of position by Ptolemy (Apot. I 2.19, 194–200 trans. Robbins): For if the seed is generically the same, human for example, and the condition of the ambient the same, those who are born differ much, both in body and soul, with the difference of countries. In addition to this, all the aforesaid conditions being equal, rearing and customs contribute to influence the particular way in which a life is lived. Ptolemy goes on to classify the influence of the environment as a sunaition (“joint-­ cause”). This term, according to the analysis of Frede [1980]/1987a, 140–44, designates the equal coparticipation of a cause along with others in the production of an effect. P. prefers, however, the term sunergos (“cooperating [sc., cause]”), which implies that there is some other, principal or “self-­sufficient” (autotelēs) cause that determines the result. In this manner emphasis is given to the fact that the contribution of environmental factors, and thereby of Destiny, constitutes not a sufficient, but simply (and at best) a necessary condition. Cf. on this point Drijvers 1965, 33–35. The crucial point on which he expresses his dissension, however, concerns what is said about souls. Within the framework of an epiphenomenalistic theory of the soul, it would be natural to view the latter as being decisively determined by the composition and dispositions of the body it animates; for any Platonist, however, the soul is a self-­ subsisting substance, and consequently its predispositions and choices are (for the most part; cf. IV 4.31.38–48) autonomous and independent of any bodily entanglements. 6.10–18. πονηρία δὲ . . . εἰ τἀναντία:A problem which for P. held a special importance was the alleged maleficent influence of certain planets either because of their nature or

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Third Ennead because of their position; see my comment on II 3.1.17–24. For in his view, the heavenly bodies, being visible gods, could be nothing short of unswerving exemplars of goodness and virtue; see I 8.5.30–34 and II 9.13.9–25. Furthermore, the correlation of a planet’s disposition, and thereby of its influence, with the astrological “place” (topos) it occupied at any one moment (see, e.g., Ptol. Apot. I 23.2) seemed to ignore the relativity of these topoi with respect to the geographical point of observation; see my comment on II 3.3.10–20. 6.18–19. ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον . . . τῶν ὅλων:These heavenly gods are not idiosyncratic and autonomous entities; rather, they contribute in unison to the perfect functioning of the universe, coordinating their activity to the dictates of the cosmic Soul. As the Athenian Visitor expresses it (Pl. Leg. X 903b5–7): “Everything has been ordered with a view to the preservation and virtue of the whole, each part of which suffers or performs its due according to its capacity.” Cf. Philo Spec. leg. I 13–20. 6.20–24. παρέχεται . . . πράξεις:The view of planetary configurations as “signs” (sēmeia) or “letters” (grammata) that, once they are deciphered with the help of the appropriate “science of letters” (grammatikē), foretell the future, is known to us primarily from the Jewish tradition (Gen. 1:14, Isa. 34:4, Sepher Yezirah, etc.; cf. Philo Opif. 58, as well as my comment on II 3.7.4–8; Scott 1991, 145–46; but also Cic. Diu. I 34). We have no way of knowing where P. might have come across it, but it is likely to have been in some source familiar with Jewish beliefs, such as, for example, Numenius or the Hermetic Panaretos (see further my comments on II 3.15.5–8 and VP 7.6–7, but also Norden 1923, 248n.4). At any rate, the reading of these “natural writings” (phusika grammata) cannot yield knowledge of the causes—the “why” (dioti)—of an occurrence, but only of the fact “that” (hoti) it will occur; see III 3.6.17–38, where certain clarifications are also provided concerning the “analogy” (analogia) linking the sign to the occurrence signified. The comparison between genethlialogy and augury is also made by Origen apud Eus. PE VI 11.71–72. 7.1–4. Λοιπὸν δὲ . . . περαίνεται: The examination of the fourth, purely Stoic theory of Destiny (T4) now begins; cf. above, 2.30 and 4.3–9, with my comments. Its “trademark” was the notion of “seminal principles” (spermatikoi logoi) as agents of an internal yet, for all that, strictly natural necessity. The seminal principles were themselves components of the cosmic logos, ensuring thereby that “each particular occurrence comes about in accordance with Destiny”; see SVF 2:1027. At IV 4.39.5–11, P. criticizes the materialistic dimension of this theory, because in his view the logoi, seeing that they are formative principles, must “also be inclusive of the prior [principles]” (perilēptikoi kai tōn proterōn), that is, of the general intelligible directives by which the unified planning of the universe is assured. 7.4–8. ἔστι μὲν . . . ποιεῖν τι:P. notes the proximity of this standpoint to the one examined in chapter 4 (T2), given that, in his opinion, the apparent multiplicity of causes is



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abolished by the very fact of their inescapable consequentiality. Thus, the attempt made by Chrysippus to preserve some margin of self-­determination for man by distinguishing between internal causes, or “what is in our power” (eph’ hēmin), and external causes, or what is “destined” (heimarmenon)—on which see my introduction; and Sorabji 1980, 274–76—was no doubt ingenious, but it was in the end unsuccessful. For, as P. observes, what would be able to ensure such an outcome is not the multiplicity, but the independence of causes. If all the factors cooperating in the production of any occurrence are “co-­destined” (sunheimarmena: see SVF 2:956 and 998) in the sense that they are all subject to the operation of a unitary natural law, then there is in essence no possibility remaining for the realization of independent choices. 7.8–12. ἔχει μὲν . . . τῇ εἱμαρμένῃ:The inexorable necessity that forms the “concatenation of all (natural) causes” (colligatio causarum omnium) does not allow any margin— as Cicero makes the Stoic representative Quintus observe in Diu. I 127—for anything to occur outside the dictates of Destiny: “all things happen by Fate” (fato omnia fiant). Pseudo-­Plutarch, Fat. 570c–f, shows himself willing to adopt a similar formulation, when he states that “everything is contained in Destiny” (en tēi heimarmenēi panta periechesthai), but he hastens to add that this does not entail that all things also occur “in accordance with Destiny” (kath’ heimarmenēn), given that there also enters into the course of events the factor of “what each thing is by nature” (hoion kai pephuken einai), which here seems to stand in for the Chrysippean “self-­sufficient” (autotelēs) or “internal” cause. 7.12–17. τοιαῦτα δὲ . . . γεννωμένης: But P. is unwilling to concede such an easy escape route to his Stoic adversaries. For even this “nature,” if it is nothing else than one more natural—that is, for them, material—entity, will necessarily fall under the operation of the same common law governing all things; accordingly both the “assents” (sunkatatheseis) of the soul to various sensory representations, and the concomitant “impulses” (hormai) directing its action, will be consequences of the self-­same succession of causes and effects, and absolutely subjugated, therefore, to the common Destiny. 7.17–21. τοιοῦτόν τε . . . κατὰ ταύτην:If a psychical “impulse” (hormē) is seen as nothing but an automatic, mechanical response to external stimuli, without the intermediation of any autonomous process of critical evaluation and deliberate choice, it finds itself demoted to the manifestation of a naturally predetermined predisposition, without differing significantly from the natural tendency of an element—for example, fire—to burn or to move in a determinate direction; cf. VI 8.2.24–25; my comment on II 2.2.16– 20; and, more generally, Inwood 1985, 243–47. It will only be able to bring about actions that are strictly and univocally predetermined, like a dependent reflex. In which case even the distinction between living and nonliving entities becomes problematic, if not entirely arbitrary: the impulses of both will be exclusively determined by the interaction of “nature,” that is, seminal principles, and Destiny; cf. SVF 1:172, 2:991; Nock and Festugière 1945–54, 1:193; and Sharples 1978, 253–54. The very term “in our power” (eph’

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Third Ennead hēmin) will become an empty expression, if it is not recognized that “we” (hēmeis) are not fully subject to the operation of this natural law, but that there inheres in us some other, different and independent causal principle capable of resisting it, even of overturning it; cf. Alex. Aphrod. Fat. 14, 182.22–24 and 183.3–184.5. 7.21–24. τοῦτο δὲ . . . ταύτης:Even the Stoics acknowledged that, in the case of rational beings, between “representation” (phantasia) and “impulse” (hormē) there intervenes a process of “assent” (sunkatathesis) that regulates their response to any given stimulus and ensures them some degree of self-­determination; on this see Kahn 1988, 246–47; and Cooper 2004, 228. But obviously for P., such a process would acquire meaning only if it were due to some autonomous principle, entirely independent of the natural necessity governing the body. 8.1–4. Τίς οὖν . . . οὐκ ἀναιρήσει:The preceding discussion has established the framework within which P. is called upon to formulate his own view. The rebuttal of the four theories concerning the nature of Destiny has concluded in the raising of four requirements that any theory of causation must satisfy: (a) to posit nothing in the domain of becoming as uncaused (cf. 1.13–16); (b) to acknowledge the concatenation of natural causes (cf. 4.3–5); (c) to leave man with a margin of self-­determination (cf. 7.15); and finally, (d) to allow the existence of divinatory prognostications, but under the conditions stated above (cf. 6.19–23). The crucial question is this: what other principle must we introduce, apart from the corporeally determined individual “nature” and the environmental influences of Destiny, in order to cover the whole range of causes governing the domain of becoming? 8.4–8. ψυχὴν δὴ . . . αἰτίας οὔσης:The answer to the question is proclaimed at once, with unusual alacrity and completeness: the sought-­for third cause is the soul—not the cosmic one (as in T2), but the individual one. That every voluntary action had its principle within the agent himself represented standard Aristotelian dogma: see, e.g., Arist. Eth. Nic. III 1, 1110a15–18, Eth. Eud. II 6, 1222b18–20 and II 8, 1224b11–15; Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 173.7–17, Probl. eth. 29, 159.11–26, Fat. 15, 185.15–21; but also “Alcinous” Didasc. 26, 179.10–12; Iambl. Ad Mac. apud Stob. Ecl. II 8.45, 174.11–16. Cf. also Carneades apud Cic. Fat. 23–25. Nevertheless, its theoretical grounding remained insecure as long as the ontological autonomy of the soul as the primary subject of human action was not assured. The Platonic view of the soul as “principle” (archē) of all movement (Phdr. 245c9–d7; cf. Leg. X 896e8–897b3; as well as II 3.15.20–21, with my comment) lends itself precisely to providing the possibility of such support, but it also leads, of course, to the recognition of the soul as the true identity of man; cf. ?Pl. Alc. 130c3; and IV 7 [2].1.22–25. As a principle, the individual soul does not constitute the seminal dispensation of some other soul (cf. 7.1–4). Nevertheless, because of the inherent relation it bears to other souls, its actions do in the end fall under the overall plan of cosmic Reason, contributing in this way to the cooperative weaving of “the serviceable web of the whole”; see IV 3.15.15–24, 16.5–17.



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8.9–14. ἄνευ μὲν . . . ἄγειν: The soul in itself is outside the domain of becoming, and consequently, outside the sphere of cosmic causality (see, however, my comment on 1.13–15). Hence, when it is not embodied, it is entirely self-­ruling, and therefore free and without vice. The responsibility for any eventual errors of the soul lies in its engagement with cosmic necessity as a result of its embodiment, which may cause it to lose its proper orientation and be swept along, thereby giving up its self-­control (cf. II 3.9.24–30 and my comment on I 1.9.4–12). This implies its enslavement to bodily affections and, through them, to the Destiny ruling everything that conspires to bring them on. One recognizes a traditional Platonic theme that came to enjoy a wider appeal in the mystery cults; see, e.g., Geudtner 1971, 30–31. It seems that it was the Stoics who conferred a wider ethical meaning on the concept of eleutheria (“freedom”), which originally had mainly a political content. Its definition as “the power of managing on one’s own” (exousia autopragias: see SVF 3:355; and Bobzien 1997, 78–79) indicates the importance that was attached from the start to the element of autonomy, but P. was the first who attempted to provide it with an ontological foundation. 8.14–20. πλείω δὲ . . . μετὰ κάκης:The soul has the possibility of either giving in or not giving in to the affections stemming from the body and to the latter’s concomitant needs. From the choice it makes will be decided whether it will become subjugated to Destiny or will retain its freedom. The whole schema is quite conventional and displays correspondences with certain redemptive beliefs of the mystery religions of the time; cf. Nock and Festugière 1945–54, 1:194–95. Besides, the close similarity between this passage and Nemesius De nat. hom. 40, 116.18–22, suggests their common dependence on some Middle Platonic source. 9.1–4. Ἀναγκαῖα μὲν . . . συντελεῖται: At first sight, it seems wholly extraordinary that what should be regarded as “necessary” (anankaia) are occurrences arising from the cooperation of two factors that are radically opposed to the notion of necessity. Prohairesis is defined by Aristotle as “deliberate appetition of things in our own power” (bouleutikē orexis tōn eph’ hēmin: Eth. Nic. III 3, 1113a10–11) and is explicitly contraposed by Alexander to “things that come to be necessarily” (ta anankaiōs ginomena), because it characterizes those actions “over which we have control both to do them and not to do them” (Fat. 12, 180.9–12 trans. Sharples). On the other hand, tuchē (“chance” or “fortune”) is contrasted even more forcefully with anankē in at least two celebrated Aristotelian passages (Ph. II 5, 196b11–13 and De int. 9, 18b16). A first indication that will help us resolve this paradox comes again from Alexander (op. cit. 4, 168.16–18 trans. Sharples), who provides us with the precious clarification that “the things that come to be in accordance with skill and choice (kata technēn te kai prohairesin) have their beginning of movement and their efficient cause outside (exōthen) and not in themselves, and the cause of their coming to be is the reasoning of the agent concerning them.” According to this analysis, our “choice” (prohairesis) cannot therefore be considered a truly internal cause, but is rather the result of the intervention of an external cause, which, through

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Third Ennead the intermediation of reasoning, directs it toward whatever is on each occasion settled upon as “object of appetition” (to orekton). What is more, Kristeller 1929, 44–47, has acutely observed that “the necessary” here is to be taken not in its natural, but in its ethical sense, as designating “what is external, what is ethically indeterminate,” that is, the context of extrinsic barriers, compulsions, and influences that surround the ethical behavior of the individual and set the limits of what is attainable. It is not therefore truly an object of our “wish” (boulēsis), but is what we choose deliberately as the lesser evil. Cf. I 4.6.19–30, with my comments. In this sense, then, both prohairesis and tuchē (which comprises all sorts of environmental influences, even planetary ones, on which, see my comments on II 3.9.31–47, 14.1–33, and III 1.5.20–28), insofar as they have their origin in, and are determined by, external factors, act against the internal autonomy of the soul and impose necessary limitations on it. 9.4–9. ὅταν μὲν . . . χρωμένη:There are two cases where our actions, although appearing to be spontaneous, cannot be regarded as voluntary. Their identities emerge in the course of a critical elaboration of the definition of hekousion (“the voluntary”) proposed by Aristotle in Eth. Nic. III 1, 1111a22–24 trans. ROT: “since that which is done under compulsion (biai) or by reason of ignorance (agnoiai) is involuntary (akousion), the voluntary would seem to be (a) that of which the moving principle is in the agent himself (hou hē archē en autōi), (b) he being aware of the particular circumstances of his action.” Of the two conditions stated, (a) means, as Furley 1977, 53, expresses it, “that the source of the action is to be found in the agent himself and not wholly in things that are external to him. If it appears that we can find all the causes of his action in his environment, then his action cannot qualify as voluntary.” Aristotle hastens to clarify, however, that actions due to “spirited temper” (thumos) or “desire” (epithumia) should not be regarded as involuntary, given that these irrational affections are “human” (anthrōpika) just the same; for if the opposite were the case, then it would not be possible either for other living beings or for children to act voluntarily. P. was radically opposed to this standpoint. For him, irrational affections belong not to man, but to the “living being” (zōion) with which he is correlated (see I 1.4.23–27). He further notes explicitly that in children and animals the higher psychical functions are inoperative in respect of such affections (see I 1.11), and therefore in these cases the question of voluntariness does not arise. Consequently, actions occurring under the rule of irrational drives, and even, indeed, the “choice” (hairesis) of “what is necessary” (ta anankaia), would be regarded by him as nonvoluntary, inasmuch as they do not correspond to the aspirations of the true nucleus of man, his pure soul. On the other hand, there is the possibility also that the soul itself will err in its evaluation of the objective circumstances surrounding an action or in its estimation of its own drives. An error of this kind, however, leads the soul into a state of “ignorance” (agnoia), and therefore—in accordance with what is already stated by Aristotle in Eth. Nic. III 1, 1110b18–23—the ensuing action would have to be characterized as “nonvoluntary,” although it would of course remain accountable and might even be judged as blameworthy (cf. III 2.10.7–11). This paradoxical standpoint is an outcrop of P.’s extreme



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view regarding the nature of man. Only when devoted to the eternal truth of Being is man really himself, and only then does his activity correspond fully to his substance, so that it may be regarded as truly voluntary. 9.9–16. λόγον δὲ . . . παρ’ ἡμῶν:The result is, of course, that the concepts of “what is in our power” (to eph’ hēmin) and “the voluntary” (to hekousion) are mutually identified, while “deliberate choice” (prohairesis) is presented as something broader, which only when under the direction of “sovereign reason” (hēgemōn logos: cf. Pl. Grg. 527e2) corresponds exactly to the will of the self-­ruling (because shorn of its affections) soul, and therefore also to its only genuine inherent propensity, the one that is directed toward the Good. And only then is the soul the actual and exclusive cause of its actions. Any other motivations or choices that may enter into its embodied life do not represent its genuine activities, but rather its (often necessary) affections. That is also the reason why practical life in general cannot be “choiceworthy” (hairetos) in itself, but only “necessary” (anankaios); cf. VI 8.5.34–37; my comment on I 2.7.10–28; and Amand 1945, 163. 10.2–10. γίνεσθαι . . . αἴτιον εἶναι: Summarizing the doctrine presented in chapters 8 and 9, P. seems to be invoking the distinction between two kinds of cause that we find in Plato’s Timaeus 46d7–e2: the soul, to the extent that it is self-­moving in accordance with the dictates of the Intellect; and necessity, which depends on the external or “environmental” conditions constituted by the concatenation of things subject to becoming. But by now any further distinctions within the scope of the latter (see my comment on 6.3–10) are no longer of any importance, and thus the term heimarmenē can be applied to it in general. It is this that binds the soul in its practical manifestations and, entangling it in the snares of natural necessity, drags it at times toward actions that contravene its innate tendency to conform to right reason. 10.10–12. τὰ δὲ ἄριστα . . . ἐπ’ αὐτοῖς:The nature of the soul has an affinity with the “most excellent” beings (cf. Pl. Phd. 79d3), and consequently its isolation from the influences of the environment, the cares and the diversions of practical life, leave it in constant contact with the object of its unique genuine predilection, and in this sense free, emancipated from the bonds of Necessity. This anchoretic ethic of “isolation” (monōsis: cf., indicatively, I 2.3.15, I 6.5.53–57, I 6.11, IV 4.23.13, VI 9.11.51) concerns of course the wise man, who is alone in being perfectly aligned with the intelligible. Cf. also I 2.7.10–13. 10.13–15. τοὺς δὲ ἄλλους . . . οὐ κωλυθέντας:As for the common people, they participate in the blessed life of the wise man only transiently, and yet—the crux of what P. is telling us lies here—whenever they act with wisdom, they are free, for wise behavior corresponds to man’s authentic and innate predisposition. The correction I have proposed of anapneusōsi (“they have a breathing space”) to ananeusōsi (“they look up”) helps us to link this transitory turning of the simple man toward the truth residing within him to that occasional “contemplation through examination” that is discussed in III 8.6.32–36.

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III 2–3 [47–48]. On Providence, Books I–II Synopsis III 2.1 The question to be investigated: How is Providence exercised? The sensible world. Nature and its constitution: It is eternal, an image of a unitary and perfect model, 2  but is itself multiple, being the product of the mixture of the intelligible rational formative principle (logos) with matter, effected under the supervision of Soul. 3 Praise of the world: Its creation is a necessary spillover from higher beings. It must be evaluated as a whole— and as a whole it is well-­ordered, self-­sufficient, and beautiful. 4–5 The Providence of particulars: Among particular things there exist conflicts, injustices, misfortunes, and other evils, but all are ordained within the broader, beneficent design of the Logos. 6 Aporia: How is it that there are injustices in the world? 7 Responses: (a) Mixed entities cannot possess the perfection of intelligible ones. (b) Responsibility for particular evils resides with particular souls. (c) The presence of injustices does not place Providence in doubt. 8 The relation of Providence to man. Man is intermediate between god and beasts. He is himself responsible for his own fate. 9–10 Consequently, Providence does not abrogate human initiative. 11–12 Overall Providence: The universal Logos arranges and orders all things, attributing to each its due position. 13 The Logos rewards each thing according to its past behavior, and regulates even the smallest detail. 14 Thus, the overall arrangement of the universe corresponds, to the extent possible, with the perfection of Intellect. 15 Conflicts among particulars are harmoniously ordained within the overall plan of the universe. 16  Aporia: Then how is it that evil exists? Response: (a) The Logos is neither pure Intellect nor pure Soul, but something begotten of both, which contains contrarieties. 17 (b) The universe is even less unified: within it contrarieties assume the form of conflicts. Three analogies: (a) The Logos as producer of a drama:



III 2–3. On Providence, Books I–II



18 Souls (like actors) are judged according to their natures and their actions “on stage.” III 3.1 (b)  Particular logoi are subordinated to the overall Logos, as forms are to a genus. 2 (c) The Logos as general of an army. 3–4 Final observations on how particular operations of natural law are combined with overall Providence: 5 Providence extends to the entire universe, but in its lower regions it takes on the form of Necessity. 6 Divination is possible precisely because of the existence of Providence. 7 In a hierarchical whole it is natural that there should be higher and lower, better and worse parts. Image of the cosmic tree.

Introduction The notion of divine Providence was, in ancient Greek thought, less a product of religious tradition than of philosophical inquiry. Its emergence is correlated with the attempt to discern beneath the chaotic complexity of natural phenomena a coherent divine plan capable of providing justification within its perspective for such imperfections or conflicts as appear to threaten the cosmic order. Something of the sort is already implied by the cryptic sayings of Heraclitus concerning the “one wise” (hen sophon),1 but it comes to the fore in Diogenes of Apollonia, according to whom the divine first principle, “what men call ‘air’ (aēr),” arranges all things in the best possible way by means of “intelligence” (noēsis).2 It is in the same spirit that we later find Xenophon’s Socrates operating when, for example, he characterizes the teleological design of the bodies of living entities, but also more generally the construction and organization of the world, as “works of Providence” (pronoias erga).3 But all these more or less physiocratic explanations were superseded by Plato in his late work with the introduction of a transcendental Soul, acting in conformity with the dictates of a supracosmic Intellect, as the agent of cosmic Providence. The most authentic delineation of this perspective is to be found in the final chapters of his Laws, where the view that “although the gods exist, they give no heed to human affairs” is denounced, indeed, as the greatest of blasphemies.4

See fr. B33, 41 and 108 DK, with the comments of Kahn 1979, 171–72 and 268. See fr. B3 and 5 DK; and, more generally, Parker 1992, 84–94. In a passage that may have been influenced by the theories of Diogenes, Herodotus III 108–9, ascribes the low birth rate of Arabia’s flying snakes to “divine providence” (tēn tou theiou pronoiēn), which has taken care to make “prolific all creatures that are of a timid soul and are prey for others, in order to ensure that they are not devoured to extinction, while those that are savage and noxious it has made unprolific.” 3  See Xenophon Mem. I 4.4–13, IV 3.3–12; Jaeger 1947, 167–71; Dragona-­Monachou 1997, 315–16; and, as regards the historicity of the influence of Diogenes on Socrates, Vander Waerdt 1994, 61–66. 4  See, mainly, Pl. Leg. X 888b4–c7, 899d4–905d3, and XII 966d9–967e2. The idea is expressed elsewhere 1  2 

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Third Ennead With all that, there is general acknowledgment that in the end it was the Stoics who made of Providence a central theme of philosophical inquiry, seeing in it the most fundamental expression of the divine substance itself, which permeates the whole of nature.5 Every natural event, however destructive it may appear, was for them a manifestation of the cosmic Logos, and because of this they viewed it as contributing to the good ordering of the whole (SVF 2:1181). The providential arrangement of the world ensures, consequently, the harmonization of all contrarieties, and with them, the partiality and relativity of every natural evil. If man succeeds in broadening his perspective enough to become aware of the overall cosmic scheme, then particular conflicts and imperfections are abolished within the beauty and order ruling the wider picture. Yet this ambitiously optimistic view of things, correlated as it was, in addition, with the monistic cosmological theory of the Stoics, entailed serious theoretical difficulties, primarily with respect to the justification of the presence of moral evil, and provoked, as was natural, the reaction of all the other philosophical schools of the Hellenistic period.6 Against this, the Stoics marshaled an impressive array of arguments, with a view to defending the existence and effectiveness of Providence, as well as its beneficial influence on human destiny.7 The basic assumptions employed in their arguments had to do, on the one hand, with the goodness, wisdom, and omnipotence of god, and, on the other, with the perfection and cohesion of the universe,8 while their end outcome was the construction of a comprehensive teleological argument “from design.”9 An important spur in this direction was of course provided by the admiration of the beauty and well-­regulated functioning of the universe, and of heaven in particular, enhanced by the perceived superiority of nature to art10—while the major difficulty to be confronted was the presence in the world of evil in its various manifestations. The tactic brought to bear sometimes in terms of “care” (epimeleia: see, e.g., Phd. 62b7, Resp. II 365e1, Plt. 271d4, 273a7; but also [Pl.] Epin. 980d2), and at others in terms of “providence” (pronoia: e.g., Ti. 30c1, 44c7, Phdr. 254e7). 5  See, indicatively, SVF 2:528, 933, 1118; Dörrie 1977, 73–74; Dragona-­Monachou 1994, 4424–31. Zeno appears to have identified it with both Nature and Destiny; see SVF 1:176; and cf. Cic. Acad. I 29; Sen. Nat. quaest. II 45.2. 6  The Epicureans were the most notorious deniers of the teleological arrangement of the universe and consequently of any notion of divine Providence; see, indicatively, Cic. Nat. D. I 18–23, and my comment on II 9.15.8–10. The Academics, and even the Pyrrhonian Skeptics, also systematically rebutted the pertinent Stoic positions: see Porph. Abst. III 20.3–6; Lactantius De ira Dei XIII 9; Sext. Emp. Pyr. I 32, III 9–12; and Fazzo 1998, 31–35. Finally, Aristotelianism was generally believed to leave no margin for any exercise of divine Providence within our world: see Strato fr. 32–34; Atticus fr. 3.66 ff., 8.8 ff.; and the further references provided by Scott 1991, 65n.14. 7  In this phase, the determinant contribution was that of Chrysippus, who was the first to compose a special treatise “On Providence” (Peri pronoias) in at least four books (see SVF 2:1000). For a detailed and systematic presentation of the relevant arguments, the work to consult is Dragona-­Monachou 1976. The basic source is the latter half of Balbus’ speech in Cicero’s De natura deorum (II 73–167). Greater caution is required when using Philo’s De prouidentia, in which important Middle Platonic influences already make themselves felt. 8  See Dragona-­Monachou 1976, 135–36. 9  See, principally, Cic. Nat. D. II 57; and Dragona-­Monachou 1976, 140–41. 10  See Cic. Nat. D. II 57 and II 98 ff.



III 2–3. On Providence, Books I–II

by the Stoics on this last problem usually presupposed, as we saw, the distinction between “cosmic” and “moral” evil.11 The former refers to the damaging or merely disagreeable occurrences taking place in the world through natural causes, such as disease, famine, earthquakes, etc., while the latter refers to human evil as revealed through acts or omissions. Where the former was concerned, the Stoics were prepared to admit that it formed part of the divine plan, and they maintained that its evil is in essence abolished when it is viewed within the overall disposition of the universe.12 The latter represented for them the only true evil, but responsibility for it lay exclusively with those who committed it. The point is made epigrammatically by Cleanthes in his “Hymn to Zeus” = SVF 1:537, ll. 15–17: Nor is any deed done on earth without you, God, either in the divine ethereal vault of heaven, or yet at sea, save what bad men wreak in their folly. Late Stoicism continued in the attempt to establish the predominance of Providence in the world by bringing forward a number of novel arguments, but also by more thoroughly investigating in parallel some of the consequences of the pertinent doctrine in the sphere of ethics. The Jobian problem, “If Providence rules the world, how does it come about that a myriad bad things happen to good people?” constitutes the principal subject of Seneca’s De prouidentia (1.1), which also marks the appearance of the theme of the justification of external misfortune as an ethical trial that in the end does not harm, but benefits the truly good.13 According to Epictetus, again, the capacity man has to discern, through his “power of obtaining a comprehensive view of things” (sunoratikē dunamis), the total providential plan of god, and to conform to it, leads him toward the realization of his true “goal” (telos), as he thus becomes not just a spectator, but an interpreter of his works, and in this manner a participant and a collaborator in the management of all things.14 Yet the Stoics were not long in finding willing allies in their defense of divine Providence. Such were the Platonists of the first centuries CE, who considered the pertinent doctrine, however, as being the product of a fundamental innovation of Plato’s own.15 Moreover, signs of tension marred this common enterprise of the two schools almost from the beginning.16 The main source of friction had to do with the clarification of the relation between Providence and Destiny. As we have seen, the older Stoics identified On this, see Long 1968, 329–43. This is the classic argument “through concomitance” (kata parakolouthēsin), which had been elaborated by Chrysippus (SVF 2:1170); cf. Philo Prou. II 102–4; Marc. Aurel. VI 36.2–4. 13  See Sen. Prou. 2.2–9, 3.1–4 and passim; and Dragona-­Monachou 1994, 4440–41. 14  Epict. Diss. I 6.1–22. 15  See, e.g., Favorinus Omn. hist. fr. 25 = Diog. Laert. III 24. Cf. also Theophr. apud Dox. Gr. 493.5–6. 16  Typical, in this respect, is the case of Philo’s De prouidentia (a work that survives complete only in an Armenian translation): the author, while basically pursuing the familiar Stoic line of argument, distances himself from it at certain crucial points, such as, e.g., the role of logos as an “instrument of God” (instrumentum Dei: I 23) and the subordination of Destiny and of the cosmic sumpatheia to divine Providence (I 33; see also Hadas-­Lebel 1973, 90–91). See also Dragona-­Monachou 1975/76, 309–12 and 346–47. 11  12 

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Third Ennead completely these two notions, or, at any rate, their referents.17 Conversely, in the Middle Platonists we can discern, at least as early as the beginning of the second century CE, a tendency to subordinate Destiny to Providence so as to secure the superiority of the transcendently divine to the workings of natural law, and so as to free it also entirely of responsibility for whatever evils happen to occur in the world as consequences of the latter.18 Thus Apuleius, for instance, defines Providence as divine “judgment” or “thought” (sententia, i.e., logos), while Destiny he asserts to be the divine law in accordance with which god’s designs are accomplished.19 He then goes on to divide the former into three levels: (a) that of “the highest and most surpassingly eminent of all gods” (summi exsuperantissimique deorum omnium), (b) that of the astral deities, and (c) that of the demonic powers, the “Genies and Lares . . . ministers of the gods . . . and guardians and interpreters of men.”20 In this manner Providence retains the character of a cosmic force, but it also acquires a transcendental dimension, because at least the first of its agents had the capability to supervise the management of the universe from afar, like an inaccessible monarch.21 This theological turn found an immediate resonance in the sensitive religious ambience of the first centuries CE, as we are able to witness in the works of such authors as Plutarch, in which Providence occupies a central position as a supracosmic “tutelary” (epitropeuousa) power, which on occasion even countermands the law of “inertness” operating in Nature, so as to rearrange it according to the dictates of its own “reason” (logos).22 The opposition between the divinity of Providence and the inherent imperfection and perishability of the sensible world is emphasized even further by Atticus, who invokes it as a fundamental tool for the interpretation of the cosmogony of the Timaeus. Insisting on a literal reading of the dialogue as a description of the creation of the universe in time,23 Atticus considered divine Providence to be essential to its preservation as its sole guarantor power. As a result, the world found itself under the constant tutelage of god, and the doctrine concerning Providence came to be regarded as the primary, “great,” and “multiply beneficial” dogma of Platonism.24 In a series of articles, Dragona-­Monachou 1973, 262–300, and 1974, 286–301, has argued that this remained the prevailing view through all phases of Stoicism. 18  See Dragona-­Monachou 1997, 320–21. 19  De Plat. I 12, 205: “Providence (prouidentiam) is divine thought (esse diuinam sententiam), the preserver of that prosperity, for the sake of which it assumed such a function; Destiny (fatum), by which are accomplished the conceptions and ineluctable designs of god, is divine law (diuinam legem).” As Beaujeu 1973, 273, notes ad loc., this definition of Providence comes from Pl. Leg. X 899d–903a, whereas that of Destiny is from Ti. 41e2–3. 20  This tripartite division of Providence was extremely popular among the Middle Platonists; see above, note 17 of my introduction to treatise III 1, as well as Dillon 1977, 324–26; and Dragona-­Monachou 1994, 4463–71. 21  The locus classicus for this simile is of course the pseudo-­Aristotelian treatise De Mundo, 6, 398a10 ff. But cf. also Max. Tyr. XI 12, 144.6–145.9. 22  See, primarily, Plut. De Is. et Os. 67, 377e–378a, and De fac. 13–15, 927a–928d. Cf. what Schreckenberg 1964, 128–30, has to report concerning Hermetism. 23  On this, see my introduction to treatise II 1. 24  See fr. 4.8–13; and Baltes 1976–78, 1:51–53. 17 



III 2–3. On Providence, Books I–II

To this idea of the dominating rule and constant stewardship exercised by divine Providence over worldly occurrences, the Peripatetics proffered strenuous resistance, having decided that it was time to abandon their older minimalistic view25 and to formulate a complete theory on the subject that would not involve the divine in the constant care and service of the world, without denying it entirely some providential contribution. Thus Alexander of Aphrodisias was led to an intermediate solution based on the reasoning that when someone seeks to obtain a result by an action of his, and this action produces an ulterior beneficial effect for some third person, we cannot characterize the latter as “accidental” if the agent had also foreseen it and had, therefore, included it from the start in his “planning” (logos). In this manner, the concomitant effects of providential divine action come about with god’s knowledge, even if not as a result of his willed intention.26 As heir to this tradition of philosophical engagement with the problem, P. feels obliged to defend the transcendency of Providence, without, however, being carried away by the dualistic excesses of the Platonism of his time.27 In his view, the very notion of “providence” presupposes a distinction between a providential agent and an object of its providence, and consequently cannot but concern the action of soul on body.28 Now, seen from the perspective of the body and of its attendant partiality, Providence comes to be perceived at times as a compelling natural law or Destiny,29 which, fragmented within the multiplicity of becoming, gives rise to contrarieties, and even to conflicts or to an apparent disharmony with respect to the “disposition” (diataxis) of individual entities within the world. Seen, however, from the superior perspective of the Soul itself, which, to the extent that it obeys the dictates of its intelligible model, is identified with the formative cosmic Logos, Providence “coordinates” (suntassein) individual phenomena into a unitary cosmic plan, in the context of which each one acquires a meaning and value proportional to its contribution. Without any doubt, the outcome represents the most ambitious attempt relegated to us by late antiquity to provide a comprehensive theoretical vision of the world as the realization of a divine plan. The central role ascribed to the cosmic Logos reveals P.’s intention as being less to justify the world’s imperfections through a detailed theodicy,30 According to which Providence is exercised either exclusively or primarily in the celestial region, with terrestrial affairs only falling within its scope “accidentally” (kata sumbebēkos); see Adrastus apud Theon Sm. De ut. math. 149.10–150.18 (basing himself on Arist. Metaph. Λ 10, 1075a18–23); and “Aëtius” II 3.4 = Dox. Gr. 330. Yet, as noted by an interlocutor of Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. II 21, 65.34–66.2, such a Providence is no longer any providence at all, “since in all cases when ‘accidental’ is added it retracts that with which it is combined.” 26  “For knowledge of some one of the things that will follow on things that come about for some other reason removes the accidental [quality of their] coming about, since what is accidental is what is thought to come about contrary to rational [expectation] (para logon), while foreknowledge is thought to be a sign (sēmeion) of things that come about in accordance with reason (tōn kata logon ginomenōn)” (trans. Sharples). 27  See further Johansen 1990, 234–35. 28  A direct implication of this is that Providence has no place in the supra-­sensible domain of true beings: “the things there transcend Providence” (epekeina pronoias takei: VI 8.17.7). 29  See, however, my comments on III 1.6.3–10 and 10.10–12. 30  As had, for instance, Plutarch in his De sera numinis uindicta. On this, see Soury 1945, 163–66. 25 

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Third Ennead than to interpret it as the expression in multiplicity of a fundamentally unitary and coherent truth that connects it with the intelligible beings. The division into two parts of this single treatise, composed by P. in Rome during the winter of 268–69, is obviously due to the initiative of Porphyry in his effort to obtain a symmetric arrangement of the Enneads.31 What does give rise to perplexity32 is the latter’s decision to effect his incision in the middle of the formulation of an aporia.

Commentary III 2.1.1–5. Τὸ μὲν . . . λόγοι:P. does not undertake to provide a demonstration of the existence of Providence, as had been concertedly attempted before him, mainly by the Stoics. He considers it as more or less self-­evident, in light, obviously, of the order and beauty that pervade the universe; see, e.g., III 8.11.33–35. Such is the implication also of the passage from Aristotle’s Metaphysics (Α 3, 984b14–18) that he seems to have in mind here. Cf. also Aristotle’s criticism of the atomists at Ph. II 4, 196a24–b5, as well as Alex. Aphrod. Prou. 97.19 ff. A similar disdain for the proponents of mechanistic explanations of the world also colors P.’s expression in VI 9.5.1–3. 1.5–10. τὸ δὲ . . . τὸν λόγον λαβόντας:The problem he will be concerned with in the sequel is now fixed upon: the manner in which Providence is exercised has the result that some of the things occurring in this world are not “right” (ortha). This may lead to reactions of two kinds: (a) Denial of the very existence of Providence. (b) Denunciation of the creator god as indifferent or maleficent. The same objections are presented in a well-­articulated complex argument by Sextus Empiricus, Pyr. III 9–12. With the first of these, P. has already declared that he will not concern himself. The second, however, held for him an altogether special importance, in view of his anti-­Gnostic polemic; cf. II 9.15.8–17. 1.10–13. πρόνοιαν τοίνυν . . . ἀφείσθω:P. hastens to brush aside the common and etymologically motivated meaning of pronoia as “intention,” “solicitude,” or “forethought” (see, e.g., Soph. Aj. 536, El. 1015; Herod. I 120.3, 159.3), because it does not correspond in the least to his view of the atemporal and unpremeditated exercise of divine Providence; cf. V 8.7.1–15. 1.15–19. εἰ μὲν . . . οὖν:If anyone were to admit that the universe had a temporal beginning, as was maintained by the Gnostics (cf. II 9.8.2–5), but also by certain Platonists such as Plutarch and Atticus (see the beginning of my introduction to treatise II 1), then the Providence of its creator would not differ at all from the human pronoia mentioned See VP 6.7–16 and 24.11–15. Although the case is not unique: cf. the even more inopportune incision between treatises IV 3 and IV 4, before the unfolding sentence has reached its conclusion. One asks oneself whether this was not Porphyry’s way of underlining the essential continuity of the relevant texts that, for editorial reasons, he was obliged to partition. 31  32 



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just previously. God would act like a craftsman who, having fashioned one of his artifacts, remains mindful of its preservation; in the same manner, he too would sustain the inherently perishable sensible world by uninterruptedly holding it together by his will (see my comment on II 1.1.2–4) and anticipating whatever might bring about its obliteration. Cf. especially Atticus fr. 3.20–24. 1.20–21. ἐπεὶ δὲ . . . παρεῖναι:The everlastingness of the universe held the status of firm dogma for P., correlated as it was with the allegorical interpretation of the cosmogonic myth in the Timaeus. See II 1.1.1–2, II 9.7.1–2, III 7.6.52–53, and my introduction to treatise II 1. 1.21–26. τὴν πρόνοιαν . . . ὑποστάντος ἀεί:The “creation” of the world and the Providence exercised by god on its behalf signify no more than the ontological dependence of the sensible on the supra-­sensible, and especially on Intellect. They represent direct, natural consequences of the creative dynamism of Intellect, not requiring the intervention of any planning or forethought on its part. See V 8.7.1–16, 12.17–22; and Pépin 1964, 503–4. Hence the prefix pro-­in pronoia is also to be understood metaphorically as designating ontological rather than temporal priority; cf. Arist. Metaph. Δ 11, 1019a1–4. The arrangement of the universe is such as to make it appear as if it were the result of painstaking advance planning and calculation on the part of an all-­wise maker-­craftsman. Yet in reality Intellect has no need of any such preparations; cf. VI 7.1.28–45, VI 8.17.1– 12. In this respect, then, god’s providential action is analogous to the practical manifestations of the wise man’s virtue, who, without having set practical life as his target, acts virtuously by reason of his conformity to the intelligible models of the virtues; cf. Plass 1982, 249. 1.26–34. ἡ τοῦ νοῦ . . . ἐναντίον:We have here a description of the intelligible model of the world, the world of Forms, with particular emphasis on its unity. To begin with, Intellect is identified with the object of its intellection, “Being” (to on); cf. V 1.4.26–33, V 3.5.5–28, V 9.5.6–13; and Emilsson 1996, 235–38. Next, because it finds itself in constant activation, it is identified with its activity, intellection, and consists thus in an eternal—that is, supratemporal—self-­intellection; cf. V 3.6.5–8, V 6.1.7–21. What is also characteristic of its unity is the fact that every one of its parts contains the whole, although of course different elements come to prominence in each; V 8.4.4–11, 9.13–18. This allows contrarieties to be present in Intellect without thereby entailing any mutual opposition, because contraries there do not compete against one another but are able to coexist, as do species within a common genus; cf. my comment on II 4.4.2–7. This organic coexistence in an unbroken and reciprocally circumincessant unity of thinking and thought is characterized by P. as “life” (zōē); see III 7.3.12–23, VI 7.12.1–23 (with reference to the panteles zōion of Pl. Ti. 31b1); and Armstrong 1971, 68–69. 1.34–45. πανταχοῦ δὲ . . . οὐ σμικρὰ ποιεῖν:A basic consequence of the undisturbed unity of Intellect is that it is immutable. This means that its activation incurs not the slightest fluctuation. But the same fact also casts light on the fundamental difference

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Third Ennead between Intellect’s own creative activity and that of craftsmen. For according to Aristotle’s analysis, the “craft” (technē) of the latter is a “state” or “capacity to make” (hexis poiētikē: Eth. Nic. VI 4, 1140a10)—but “making” (poiēsis), as opposed to “doing” (praxis), has its end outside itself, and is therefore always directed toward something else, something in which it is lacking: “everyone who makes, makes for the sake of something (heneka gar tou) . . . and whereas making has an end other than itself (heteron to telos), doing does not” (op. cit. 2, 1139b1–2 and 5, 1140b6–7). On the other hand, Intellect, as we said earlier, does not lack the object of its intellection but is instead identified with it. Hence, its principal activity does not consist in “making” or “production” (poiēsis), but in “contemplation” (theōria), which represents for P. the highest form—indeed, the model—of “doing” or “action” (praxis); see III 8.1.15–18, 5.21–25, 7.1–8, 8.26–30. Instead, poiēsis is for him a kind of “concomitant effect” (apotelesma: see III 8.3.12, 21, 7.14)—in essence, a product—of Intellect’s secondary or “other activity” (allē energeia: on which, see my comments on I 1.2.7–9, II 3.8.1–9; and Lloyd 1990, 98–107). Thus is the nondeliberate character of Providence explained as well; cf. VI 1.22.24–27. 2.1–7. Ὑφίσταται γοῦν . . . σῴζεται: In total contradistinction to its unitary intelligible model, where all things are permeated solely by “friendship” or “love” (philia: see 1.33), the sensible world is described as a battleground of radical and violent oppositions, a true kingdom of Heraclitean “war” (polemos: cf. fr. B53 DK). The cosmic forces of “Love” and “Enmity” (Philia and Neikos: see Emped. fr. B17.7–8 = B26.5–6 DK; and my comment on II 3.11.1–13) overwhelm its parts, while privation constrains them into constant conflict and antagonism: the preservation of one is the obliteration of the other. That is why its unity appears factitious, for what it essentially consists in is an unstable balance of contrary and mutually conflicting forces, in constant need of providential arrangement; cf. IV 8.2.6–14, VI 7.14.20–21. 2.8–15. γέγονε δὲ . . . λαβὼν τοῦτο:The creation of the sensible world, therefore, does not constitute a purposeful intention on god’s part, but a necessary by-­product of the inexhaustible dynamism of the First Principle; cf. II 9.3.7–12, 8.20–26, with my comments; IV 8.6.1–16; and Kremer 1965, 251–54. The contrast with the activity of a craftsman is reinforced through the observation that in the latter’s case his knowledge of a craft is not innate but acquired, and therefore discursive, whereas for Intellect, intellection—and therefore knowledge of the truth—is its very nature. Wallis 1987, 933–37 finds some echoes here of a debate between Stoics and Skeptics concerning the nature of divine “wisdom” (phronēsis); cf. Sext. Emp. Math. IX 167–71. But P.’s position is in no danger of confusing the “absence of rational intention” (aboulia) of the divine with that of irrational animals (!), because the activity of the former is set in motion, as we have seen, by contemplation of intelligible Being. 2.15–18. νοῦς τοίνυν . . . ἐν τοῖς οὖσι νοῦς:Intellect, being devoted, as it is, to eternal self-­ intellection, is not in the least preoccupied with the providential arrangement of the world. Whatever action it has upon the latter is realized through the cosmic Logos, that



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“rational formative principle” that is projected from it in the direction of matter. This nondeliberate creative activity in which Intellect engages is merely a necessary concomitant of its primary, purely intellective activity, which the secondary activity manages after a fashion to reflect, transmitting thereby some characteristics of the intelligible model to another, lower ontological level. The employment of the metaphor of an “emanation” or “outflow” (aporrhoia: concerning which, see my comment on II 1.5.5–14) may have had a Stoic origin (see, e.g., Marc. Aurel. II 4.2; and Armstrong 1937, 62–63), but it appears to have already passed into the vocabulary of certain Platonists (see, e.g., Clem. Al. Strom. V 13, 88.2; and fr. 23 = Phot. Bibl. cod. 109, 89a27; but also [Plut.] Parsne an. fac. 7, 50.17). These materialistic resonances do not seem here to bother P., who emphasizes that Intellect remains entirely unaffected by this aporrhoia and, above all, that the outpouring of the Logos is absolutely dependent on Intellect’s ongoing contemplation of the true Beings. 2.18–33. ὥσπερ δὲ . . . καὶ λόγου:The Logos constitutes a cosmopoeic formative “ordinance” which, drawing its hypostasis from Intellect, has the capacity to configure matter in accordance with that model, creating thereby a representation of the intelligible in the sensible. The fact that the agent that receives this ordinance and impresses it on the sensible—namely, Soul—is not mentioned in the present passage had once caused Armstrong 1940, 102–4, to consider that the Logos here supplants the Soul in its formative role. Yet as will become clear below, at 16.12–17, the reality is that the Logos arises from the illumination cast by Intellect on Soul, which in this way has the possibility of acquiring cognizance of this illumination through its reasoning; cf. V 1.7.42–43. This entails, however, that the intelligible truths are made known to it, not immediately and holistically as occurs in the case of Intellect, but unfolded in a multitude of logoi that are of course cohesively bound to each other, but nevertheless already contain within themselves the seeds of multiplicity. The lower phase of Soul—namely, Nature (on which see my comments on II 3.13.34–35 and 17.9–25)—proceeds to sow these logoi in matter; they in turn now shape matter into a world that may well be brimming with oppositions, but is for all that organized into a harmonious composition; cf. V 9.6.10–24; and, e.g., [Arist.] Mund. 5, 396a33–b34; Max. Tyr. XIII 3, 161.11–18. On the notion of Logos in P., see Früchtel 1970, 12–13 and 64–65; and, esp., Rist 1967b, chap. 7. 2.33–36. διὸ καὶ ἐδεήθη . . . ἀνάγκης:This harmony is the product of the collaboration of the two factors that, according to the Timaeus (47e5 ff.), conspired in the “mixed birth of the world,” namely, “Intellect” (nous) and “Necessity” (anankē), where the former is, however, predominant (cf. Pl. Phlb. 30d8), while the latter merely collaborates as a “joint-­cause” (sunaition); see Matter 1964, 129. The Logos represents, precisely, the totality of these harmonic relations that compose the universe and assure the existence of reciprocal sympathetic reactions within it. Its basis is purely intelligible—as it is in the case of musical harmony, where it is indeed mathematical—but in the world it manifests itself in the form of compulsory natural laws. Thus this “destined” (heimarmenē) natural necessity is subordinated to the providential design of the Intellect by way of the Logos.

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Third Ennead 2.36–42. ὁ μὲν γὰρ . . . τῇ οἷον παρουσία:Consequently, the universe is neither pure Logos, which is something intelligible, nor pure matter, which is entirely unformed (see II 4.8.1–16), but an outcome of the mixture of the two, which is effected by Soul. The latter supervises the process of the constitution and management of the sensible domain as it were “from above,” effortlessly (cf. II 1.4.31–2 with my comment, IV 8.2.27–8, 8.14, V 8.7.25; also, indicatively, [Arist.] Mund. 6, 398b6–14, Num. fr. 52.29–32) and without actually “descending” into the world; cf. IV 3.9.22–36. 3.1–5. Καὶ οὐκ ἄν τις . . . ὅμοιον ἑαυτῇ:This chapter establishes the framework for the exposition to follow, which concerns the manner in which Providence is exercised. It consists essentially in a defense of the world and of the powers that created it and rule over it, against those—principally the Gnostics, as already discerned by Vizyenos [1884]/1995, 143—who regarded it as an inhospitable and repulsive place of bondage constructed by a maleficent creator; see my introduction to treatise II 9; and Daniélou 1970, 454–56. The world is the best possible, because its creation is not the result of rational calculation—which might prove mistaken or malicious—but of a natural, as well as necessary, procession from higher entities toward lower ones; cf. V 9.9.8–16; and Baltes 1976–78, 1:128–30. 3.5–18. ἔπειτα . . . εἰς μέσον ἄγοι:The second argument is auxiliary to the first: even if the world is judged as a work of art, it will again be revealed as a thing of exceeding beauty, as long as it is considered as a whole, and not by the individual elements of which it is comprised. The idea that divine Providence is exercised “with a view to the preservation and virtue of the whole” and not for the benefit of its constituent parts goes back, of course, to Plato’s Laws; see X 903b4–904a4. It is there correlated with the ease enjoyed by the gods (cf. above, 2.41), but is compared as well with the practices of doctors and skilled craftsmen, who also look to the final result that the exercise of their art will have on the whole object, of which each part merely contributes to the overall good. This last consideration, as was correctly pointed out by Hadas-­Lebel 1973, 109–12, formed a basic assumption of the argument “through concomitance” (kata parakolouthēsin), by means of which the Stoics justified the presence of natural evil in the world and which, as will be made apparent below (see esp. chapter 14, as well as my comment on II 3.18.1–8) held a particular importance for P. The perfection, the self-­ sufficiency, and the internal harmony that characterize the sensible universe (cf. Pl. Ti. 33c6–34b8) can only impress themselves upon us when we consider it as a whole, given that within it are to be found, as we saw, a multitude of contrarieties and conflicts; cf. Plut. De Is. et Os. 55, 373c–d; Max. Tyr. V 4, 57.12–58.12. Hence, each part of it must be evaluated only on the basis of its contribution to the whole. For the classic description of Thersites’ ugliness, see Hom. Il. 2.216–19. Cf. also Pl. Resp. X 620c2–3. 3.20. τάχα ἂν ἀκούσαις παρ’ αὐτοῦ:Personification is a rhetorical figure not all that frequently found in the Enneads. Only in three passages—the present one, III 7.11.11 ff.,



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and III 8.4.2–14—do we see it being employed at some length; cf. Schwyzer 1951, 524.23–33. Yet in all three cases, the impression generated is a powerful one. Here the hieratic style of the world’s address is reinforced by certain formal characteristics that recall texts of a liturgical nature. Such elements include the measured dignity of rhythm, the paratactic syntax (indicatively: in the twenty-­one lines of text the address comprises, kai appears twenty-­two times and de another ten), the emphatic repetitions (see, e.g., the sequence: ek pantōn . . . panta . . . sumpantōn . . . pasi . . . pantodapois . . . pas . . . sumpas . . . pasai . . . panta . . . pas . . . pasa . . . panta . . . pasan), as well as the studied use, in the first half of the address, of participles for the attribution of properties appropriate to the divine; cf. Norden 1923, 166–68. As concerns the special affinity of the first-­ person form of address to apocalyptic literature and the mystery cults, see op. cit. 186– 201; my comment on II 9.9.52–60; and cf., e.g., the Prologue to John’s Apocalypse (Rev. 1:17–18). The effect that P. thus succeeds in rendering is, as Schroeder 1996, 349–50, has remarked as well, that of an imposing change of perspective. The words that follow do not describe the world: they express it, leading the reader to a kind of immediate vision of it. Throughout the remainder of the treatise, the entire exposition will essentially be pursued within this new perspective. 3.21–24. κἀγὼ ἐκεῖθεν . . . τῶν γενητῶν φύσις:The perfection of the world is thus an outcrop of its completeness and self-­sufficiency (cf. above 3.6–9), and reflects, to the extent possible, the absolute perfection of its intelligible model; cf. Pl. Ti. 30c7–31a1. 3.24–29. καὶ θεοὶ . . . ζῆν διδοῦσαι:In the Timaeus, then, the Demiurge creates every kind of living being “by forming [each] as in an impression of [its] exemplar’s nature,” and he apportions them into four categories, corresponding to the four elements of the sensible universe: (a) the race of heavenly gods, that is, the stars, whose bodies are mostly made up of “fire” (pur, on which, cf. II 1.16, with my comment); (b) that of birds; (c) the “race that lives in water”; and (d) “the one that walks and lives on land”; see 39e4–40a7. P. seems to have in mind a somewhat different classification of living organisms, taking care to include among them the demons (on the origins of whom “Timaeus” had avoided committing himself: see 40d6–9). He thus ranges himself closer to the fivefold classification of the pseudo-­Platonic Epinomis, 981c5 ff. There, as here also, the whole variety of plants and animals, including birds and fish (see the comment of Tarán 1975, 264 ad 981c8–d5), and even (contrary to what is the case here) men, are classed within the “earthly race.” On the other hand, the “divine race of the stars” consists (for the most part, again) “of fire.” Between these two extreme “races” or “genera” (genē) the Epinomis places three intermediate ones, of which the first, which inhabits “aether” (aithēr), is that of the “demons” (daimones: 984e1); the second has air as its place of habitation; the third, water; and all three have the same basic mission of acting as go-­betweens and interpreters between the two extreme genē, following the model of the demonology of Plato’s Symposium (202d13–e7). The mention of aithēr in the present passage, a term that is found nowhere else in the Enneads and that probably has no place in P.’s cosmo-

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Third Ennead logical system (see my comment on II 1.2.12–17), seems to confirm its dependence on the Epinomis. Nevertheless, the distribution of the intermediate genera is again somewhat different: in these are included, apart from the demons (who obviously correspond to aether), true souls and virtuous men. The view that air is the abode of souls was espoused primarily by the Pythagoreans, as attested to by Alexander Polyhistor (apud Diog. Laert. VIII 32; see also Cumont 1942a, 113–14). The same source informs us also that they used to divide aether into three kinds: a “pure and healthy” kind, where are to be found the sun, the moon, and the other heavenly bodies; a “cold” one, identified with air; and finally the “dense aether,” identified with “the sea and moisture”; see op. cit. VIII 26–27; and Festugière 1945, 23–24. It seems therefore likely that P. is here splicing the fivefold schema of the Epinomis with some Pythagorean source, so as to avoid having to introduce aether as an additional element in his cosmology. Cf. in any case Pl. Ti. 58d1– 4; and Kingsley 1995, 16–18. As concerns the goodness of astral souls, cf. II 9.13.12–14, with my comment. 3.29–31. καὶ τῇ εὐτάκτῳ . . . περὶ ταὐτὸν ἀεί:The well-­ordered rotation of heaven offers a firm indication that it is an entity endowed with “wisdom” (phronēsis), because by this movement it imitates the eternal self-­intellection of Intellect; cf. II 2.1.1, with my comment, and my further comments on II 2.2.5–15 and 3.20–22. The idea certainly stems from the Timaeus and the Laws (see my introduction to treatise II 2), but it is presented with greater emphasis and more detail in the Epinomis, 982a7–d3, which, as we saw, P. seems to have had in mind here. Nevertheless, the characterization of the relation between the movement of heaven and that of the Intellect as one of “emulation” (mimēsis) is only first met with in Alexander of Aphrodisias (Quaest. II 18, 63.2; 19, 63.20; 20; and Mund. A 76–78), a fact that may reveal the mediation of some later, possibly Peripatetic, elaboration of the original Platonic notion. Cf., of course, also Pl. Ti. 41c5, 42e8, 69c5, while a reverberation of the same idea is to be found in the maleficent “mimicking spirit” (antimimon pneuma) that the Gnostics linked with Destiny; see, e.g., Ap. John = NHC III 1, 36.15–37.7; and Bousset 1912a, 1520. Concerning the world’s lack of needfulness, see my comment above on 3.21–24; and Pl. Ti. 34b7. 3.31–33. πάντα δὲ . . . ἕκαστα: Cf. I 6.7.10–11, with my comment; also I 7.1.21–22 and I 8.2.2–4. Attainment of the Good is achieved through assimilation with It “as far as possible”; see my comment on I 2.5.1–5. 3.33–41. ἐξήρτηται γὰρ . . . τὸ αὐτοῦ ἔχειν:This teleological dependence of the whole scala naturae on a single unitary principle (apart from the passages cited in my previous comment, see also II 2.2.14 and VI 5.12.31–36) ensures its cohesion. Of course, each of the scale’s gradients contributes to the extent that its own nature, and the level of life it enjoys, permits (cf. my comment on I 4.3.15–24). It is noteworthy that just as was the case a little earlier (see my comment on 3.24–29), so also in the present passage there seems to be implied an underlying fivefold ranking—of sensibles, this time—classified according to the kind of life they partake of, as follows:

“the whole heaven” (the sphere of fixed stars?) “the whole of soul and the partial gods”   (cosmic Soul and the planets) “animals” “plants” “inanimate things”

III 2. On Providence, Book I “fullness of life” “reason” “sense-­perception” “[mere] living” “mere being”

(It should be noted that elsewhere, e.g., at IV 4.27.8–11, P. maintains that certain bodies thought to be inanimate in fact also possess traces of life.) In this manner, the sensible world is shown to display a hierarchical arrangement, but one that has been ordained within a unitary organizational structure. It is like an organism endowed with parts— some higher, some lower, some more important and others rather trivial—which may only be evaluated correctly, however, on the basis of their contribution to the whole and as parts of that whole, while it would be pointless to compare them to each other as if they were mutually equivalent and independent. See also O’Meara 1975, 89–93. 4.1–6. Πῦρ δὲ . . . πῦρ ἄλλο:The perishability of bodies was interpreted by some Gnostics as an indication that radically opposed characteristics must coexist within them, and that therefore it is only a matter of time before these will be dissolved and will revert to their original condition of nonexistence; see, e.g., Gos. Phil. = NHC II 3, 53.14–21; and my comment on II 9.3.14–15. But P. adopts the Aristotelian view, according to which the perishing of a sensible body does not entail its annihilation, but its transformation into something else, just as the creation of a new one follows on the perishing of some other; cf. Arist. Gen. corr. I 3, 318a23–25 and II 10, 336b23–26. 4.6–12. τῷ μὲν γὰρ . . . καὶ τραφήσεται:This passage, full of resonances from Plato’s Phaedrus 246b6–c4, distinguishes among three regions: (a) the wholly immutable “incorporeal heaven” of the intelligible (cf. VI 7.12.1–6); (b) the sensible heaven, abode of everlasting life; and (c) the domain of becoming, where individual souls come to be embodied and disembodied, until they return to the place where the cosmic Soul is established, and from where they oversee along with it the entire universe; cf. IV 8.4.1–10. As concerns living bodies, these continue to exist in perpetuity, though not as individuals, but as species (cf. Arist. Gen. corr. II 11, 338b16–17; and Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. I 25, 41.9–19; II 19, 63.26–28; Prou. 155.23–157.9), given that it is in their nature that the one should feed on—and consequently destroy—the other. 4.12–16. ζωὴ γὰρ . . . οὖσαν: Life in the domain of the sensibles is manifested as movement, but in its highest form it rejoices in the immobility of the intelligible; see my comment on I 4.3.33–40. 4.16–26. ζῴων δὲ . . . νόμῳ: The contrarieties that in the intelligible realm coexist harmoniously, as do the species subordinated to each genus, develop in the sensible domain into oppositions and conflicts. The mutual preying of animals has its source in their natural need for survival, and constitutes thereby an unavoidable consequence of their

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Third Ennead existence. Yet their existence also constitutes a necessary (on this, see above, my comment on 2.8–15) concomitant of the presence of their models within the cosmic Logos; cf. Pl. Ti. 30c7–31a1; and VI 7.8.1–13. Similarly, the endeavors of men, although having in all cases the same ultimate end, namely the Good, bring them frequently into conflict with one another because of their mutual isolation and their inability to conform to the overall pattern of the Logos, with the result that they must endure the consequences of their divarication; cf. IV 8.4.10–5.10. 4.26–36. ἔστι δὲ . . . ἱεμένων: Yet behind all these oppositions and conflicts there subsists a consistency and a harmony that synthesizes them into a unified composition. Nor is this merely the product of a contingent balancing of discrepant tendencies emerging without rime or reason, but the manifestation of the deeper consonance that pervades the world-­forming Logos, and ultimately of the fundamental unity of the Intellect, from which the former derives its subsistence; see above, my comment on 2.18–33. Thus, the operation of natural law is not a fortuitous outcome of the irregular motions of matter, as the Epicureans, for example, believed, or some other older thinkers as well (see Lucr. I 1021–28, V 419–31; but also Arist. Ph. II 4, 196a20–35, where the reference to phusis and, above all, nous makes it seem to me unlikely that Democritus is intended), but a consequence of the cohesiveness—and hence the unity—of this Logos. Unity and order are, in P.’s view, logically and ontologically prior to any disorder that may be observable in the world; the latter simply represents a necessary and concomitant deviation from the former. 4.36–38. τὰ δὲ . . . πρὸς τὰ χείρω:Whereas, however, the majority of animals live in absolute agreement with the designs of the Logos, blindly obeying the ordinances it dictates to them through the very constitution of their nature, there are some that possess varying degrees of “self-­determination,” that is, of a capacity to act on the basis of their own sovereign choices. The term autexousion was probably Stoic in origin (being employed by Musonius Rufus, fr. 12, 66.5 and 16, 87.18, as well as by Epictetus), but it enjoyed a wider diffusion, in particular among Christian authors; initially, at least, it designated one’s capacity to act on one’s own initiative, without being forced to do so by some external compulsion. See Kahn 1988, 250–51; I was also fortunate enough to be able to consult a series of unpublished lectures on the subject of “freedom of the will” by Michael Frede. See now Frede 2011. P. clarifies elsewhere that he also regards being carried away by irrational impressions as a form of compulsion, while he links self-­determination to the activation of intellection (VI 8.3.10–24). Consequently, and after what was discussed in my comment on III 1.9.1–16, the autexousion is immediately distinguishable from “deliberate choice” (prohairesis), while appearing to be identified with the “voluntary” (hekousion). But at this point there arises the question: How can a self-­determined choice lead “to what is worse” (pros ta cheirō), when “everything which goes to the worse does so involuntarily” (pan . . . ion epi to cheiron akousion: IV 8.5.8)? The crucial difference seems to reside in the fact that self-­determination, as opposed to voluntariness, may also be directed not toward the better, or the Good, but rather toward the subject itself or whatever is de-



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pendent on it, without this implying necessarily that it is a result of compulsion or illusion. For it might also be due to a kind of well-­meaning solicitude for something lower or weaker (cf. IV 8.5.25–27), and in this sense could be ascribed—by us—as a motivation even to the Good itself; see VI 8.7.38–8.6. Whereas, however, the adoption of a wholly independent stance may be justified in the case of the Good, inasmuch as it happens to be the unique first principle of all things, in the case of the soul, the same may induce in it a tendency toward secession and isolation from its ontological sources and from its “kindred,” “sister” souls. It is this isolating form of self-­determination that, while being due to a wholly spontaneous and self-­ruling tendency of the soul—although we, perhaps, might come to see it as a kind of arrogance—places it in danger of being cut off from the intelligible, of becoming oblivious to it and lapsing from it; cf. V 1.1.1–17; my comment on III 4.2.1–6; and Rist 1967b, 120–22. It is assuredly interesting that self-­determination plays a comparable role in the Gnostic Tripartite Tractate = NHC I 5, where the Logos, the world-­creating Aeon, moved by its desire to know the incomprehensible Father, undertakes a deliberate but injudicious action, “wanting to bring forth something perfect, a harmony that did not exist previously, although he did not have the power to do so”; see 75.17–76.27; and Kenney 1992, 196. 4.38–44. τὴν δὲ . . . εἰργάσατο: The “living being” (zōion), the subject of “affections” (pathē) and “desires” (epithumiai), is the complex of body and of the soul-­activity projected upon it; see I 1.7.1–6. Now the presence of desire within it is necessary (cf. Pl. Ti. 69c7–d4), because of the body’s innate “need” or “deficiency” (endeia: op. cit. 70d7–8). Yet even the slightest initial divergence from the intelligible can set off a long process of decline from bad to worse. Bréhier ad loc., 22n.2, recalls here the strict admonition of Seneca Ep. 116.2 trans. Gummere: “There is no vice (uitium) which lacks some plea; there is no vice that at the start is not modest and easily entreated (exorabile); but afterwards the trouble spreads more widely.” The difference here is that P. does not seem to want to condemn the initial “inclination” (rhopē) as an error, at least not in the sense of a blameworthy moral action, a sin. It is from the individual’s subsequent stance toward it that its ethical evaluation depends. 4.44–48. ἕπεταί γε . . . θεοὶ εὐδαίμονες:Cf. Pl. Leg. IV 716a2. On the “judgment” (dikē) of souls and their punishment for their sins, see I 1.12.1–12, with my comments. On the other hand, the “life of well-­being” is only cut out for the wise man, who lives unimpeded and undistracted by bodily affections; see I 4.16.9–20. And precisely in this lies his resemblance to the gods; cf. I 2.3.5–22. 5.1–4. Εἰ τοίνυν . . . πρόκειται:The rhetorical commonplace that compared the seeking after virtue, and thereby well-­being, to a gymnastic exercise or athletic contest (on which, see I 4.8.24, with my comment) was especially popular, naturally, with the Stoics; see, e.g., Epict. Diss. II 18.22–28; Marc. Aurel. III 4.4. But what is particularly interesting here is the echo we hear from the closing of Pericles’ funeral oration in Thuc. II 46.1, because it dramatically underlines the profoundly different views concerning the

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Third Ennead nature of virtue that, in spite of verbal similarities, divide the two authors and their epochs; cf. also my comments on I 2.7.10–28 and I 4.7.42–43. 5.6–7. πενίαι δὲ . . . κακοῖς σύμφορα:Cf. Theognis, 525–26: and having riches seems [fitting] for good men, while to endure poverty (peniē pherein) is what is so for a bad man (kakōi sumphoros andri). Here then is a further case where the verbal echo serves to remind us of the distance separating the two authors (cf. also below, my comment on 14.16–20). For the aristocratic Theognis, indigence is a “suitable” punishment for evildoers, while for the austere Neoplatonist it is merely a “useful” reminder of the vanity of worldly things. 5.7–25. καὶ οὐκ . . . ἱκανὴν εἶναι:Evils, as such, do not form part of god’s intentions; they are simply unavoidable concomitants of the multiplicity and perishability of his creations. Yet the cosmic Logos succeeds in ordaining even these within its overall plan, thereby securing their cooperation toward the prevailing of orderliness and goodness within the sensible universe. Natural evil is nothing but a symptom of natural destruction, which is for the rest necessary toward the production of new forms in the sensible domain. In order to justify this, P. marshals the classic argument “through concomitance,” an established one from the time of Chrysippus; cf. mainly SVF 2:1170, 1173, 1176, 1181, 1184; and Bréhier 1951, 205–7; as well as Philo Prou. II 98–102. As for moral evil, recourse is again made to a Stoic argument—not, this time, in order to justify it, as something of the kind would cancel any assignment of moral responsibility, but in order to ordain this too within the beneficent cosmic design—which is, that it contributes to the overall good either by exercising men’s moral resilience (cf. Sen. Prou. III 1–IV 4), or by providing them with lesson and example (cf. SVF 2:1175, 1176; and Philo Prou. I 46–48, Mos. I 110–11). 5.26–32. τὸ κακὸν . . . τῷ πόρρῳ:Compendious presentation of P.’s view on the nature of evil as privation of the Good, a view expounded in chapter 7 of treatise I 8 [51], with reference always to the same celebrated passage of Plato’s Theaetetus (176a5); cf. also V 9.10.18–20. Augustine later encapsulated the same view in the phrase, malum non esse nisi priuationem boni (“evil has no being of its own, but is only a privation of being”; Conf. III 7.12; and cf. De ciu. D. I 11.9), bequeathing it to the theological thought of the Middle Ages as a fundamental dogma. 6.2–3. ὡς οὐδὲν κακὸν . . . λέγεται:Socrates’ claim that nothing bad can happen to a good man (cf. Pl. Ap. 41d1–2) is here accompanied by its inverse, acquiring thus a vivid Stoic coloration. Cf. SVF 3:54, 570, 575, 578, 587; Sen. Prou. II 1; Epict. Diss. III 26.28; see also Hadas-­Lebel 1973, 102–4. Only the wise man has the capacity to come into possession of the true good, and so to attain well-­being. Consequently, external evils do not constitute for him real “evils” (kaka), as they are incapable of distracting him from it; cf. I 4.7.5–10; and Sen. Ep. 92.14–26.



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6.3–9. ἀλλὰ διὰ τί . . . ὁ ἀγαθός:Yet even the Stoics—from the time, at least, of Chrysippus and later—were prepared to agree that certain items, even though they might be “indifferent” (adiaphora) from the point of view of the individual’s well-­being, nevertheless possessed some “value” (axia), because they corresponded to the needs of the subject’s “nature” (phusis). Among these—the so-­called things in accordance with nature (ta kata phusin)—were included health, natural strength and beauty, soundness of limb, etc., while their opposites were classed as “against nature” (para phusin); and it was admitted that a preference of the former over the latter represented, as a rule, a “rational selection” (eulogistos eklogē). On this, see Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.7a, 79.18–80.13 and c–f, 82.5–83.11; SVF 3:191, 195; Sen. Ep. 92.10–13; Inwood 1985, 196–98; and my comment on I 4.15.1–6. 6.9–22. ἀλλὰ τὸ πρέπον . . . ἠμεληκέναι:Hence, the problem remains: even if the things “according to” or “against” nature can neither add nor subtract anything from someone’s personal well-­being (cf. I 4.14.26–15.8), would it not be more correct for their apportionment in the world to be effected in proportion to the moral worthiness of men or lack thereof ? Would it not be more “behooving” (prepon) for Providence to distribute these relative advantages in a manner that would be both just and helpful to the prevailing of good in the world? In this manner, the arrangement of the universe would not only be, but would also appear to be even better (cf. Pl. Hp. mai. 294c3–7), inspiring us with greater confidence in the providential activity of the divine. The prosperity of evildoers and the misfortunes of the virtuous had constituted, as was to be expected, a favorite theme adduced by the deniers of Providence in their arguments, as in the case of Cotta in Cicero’s Nat. D. (see III 79–85), and of course provoked detailed and elaborate counterarguments on the part of its supporters. Nevertheless, P.’s treatment of the subject is rather schematic and allusive, possibly because he considered that it had been adequately covered by earlier discussions, such as the one we find in Philo’s Prou. II 3–33; see further Dragona-­Monachou 1975/76, 342. On the other hand, the bitterness and disappointment with the things of this world that may be discerned behind the phrase “which is not the way things are now” in l. 10, is not unlikely to have been related—as was hypothesized by Pugliese Carratelli 1974, 67–68—to the disruptions that took place in Rome after the overthrow of the Emperor Gallienus in the summer of 268, although the third century was of course hardly lacking in events conducive to such thoughts. See also below, my comment on 8.31–42. 6.23–25. εἰ οὖν φαμεν . . . καλῶς ἔχει:Hence, the challenge facing P. is a great one: if all things depend on a beneficent and omnipotent Intellect, then the solution proposed by Plato in the Laws (X 903e4–5), which is that Providence is (only) universal, will not suffice. It must also be demonstrated that each separate particular is in (or contributes to) the best possible state. 7.1–15. Πρῶτον τοίνυν . . . τὸ πᾶν τόδε:The first point P. wishes to clarify is that in a hierarchical system such as his own, the agent of Providence and its object must belong to different levels, and that it is absurd to expect of the latter that it should display the

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Third Ennead characteristics or perfection of the former. It was irrational exigencies of the kind that had caused the Gnostics unjustly to despise the sensible universe; see II 9.4.22–26, with my comment. Thus, the admission that the universe is an image of the intelligible constitutes the theoretical foundation on which P. will erect his theory of Providence. For an image cannot but ipso facto be less perfect than its model, the creation less perfect than its creator; cf. V 5.13.37–38. 7.15–28. ὅσα μὲν οὖν . . . οὐ μεμπτέον:A second factor through which evil comes to be present in the world is the self-­impelled deviation of the soul from its sources in the intelligible; cf. above, 4.36–38, with my comment. The pretext for this is provided by its embodiment, the fact that it contributes to the creation of a living organism with needs, desires, and affections. Even if this does not imply the occurrence of any actual “descent” on its part into the sensible world (cf. IV 8.8.1–6; Rich 1971, 622–23; and my comments above, at 2.36–42 and I 1.7.1–6), it nevertheless places it in danger of becoming disoriented and misdirecting its solicitude toward its image. Its ensuing isolation may lead it into conflict with other souls and even into “vice” or “sin” (kakia), a secondary evil, springing from materiality; see I 8.4.1–32, with the comments of O’Meara 1999, 112–15. In any case, however, the responsibility for all this cannot be attached to the cosmic Logos and is consequently unrelated to Providence. Cf. Pl. Resp. X 617e4. 7.33. ἆρ’ οὖν . . . φθάνει: This question reflects the classic Peripatetic standpoint: Providence rules celestial phenomena but does not extend as far as terrestrial ones. See “Aëtius” II 3.4 = Dox. Gr. 330; Diog. Laert. V 32; and the other references provided by Sharples 1983b, 25n.172. 7.33–36. ἀλλὰ τῶν ἄλλων . . . μεταλαμβάνει:The fact that living terrestrial organisms are ordained to the cosmic plan through the common Logos, which comprehends all particular ones (see above, my comment on 2.18–33), is evidence that Providence extends even to them; that is also why they are neither products nor mere playthings of the various influences of the environment. Their identity, the power that inspires them and gives them life, represents a conferment of divine Providence itself; cf. II 3.12.3–9, with my comment. 7.36–43. ἀλλὰ φθάνουσα . . . τῷ ποιήματι:Another version would be that Providence does extend to terrestrial things but lacks the power to prevail, bowing there to the domination of natural necessity. P.’s basic objection to this is that the latter does not constitute an autonomous and independent cause, but is itself subordinated to the universal design; cf. II 9.16.1–16. 8.1–7. Λοιπὸν δὴ . . . τῶν ἄστρων:As in every organic whole, so also in the universe there exist higher and lower parts. On the basis of the macrocosm-­microcosm correspondence that runs through large sections of the cosmogony of the Timaeus, heaven occupies the same place in the universe as the head does in the human body—this being,



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moreover, why the head is characterized as “most divine” (theiotaton: 44d3–6; see also Olerud 1951, 23–24). Contrary to what is today a fairly widespread impression, the geocentric view of the universe did not necessarily entail, in antiquity at least, any magnification of the importance of the earth and of earthly occurrences. We find a whole crowd of authors stressing the smallness and insignificance of the terrestrial domain in comparison with the totality of the universe, which was essentially the abode of the celestial gods. Thus, it was a commonplace that the earth as a whole occupied the position of the center point in relation to the vast magnitude of the celestial spheres. See, e.g., Aristarchus De magn. Hyp. 2, 352.5–6; Gem. XVII 16, 86; SVF 2:558, 583; Cic. Somn. Scip. 16b; Sen. Nat. quaest. I Praef. 8, 11; Marc. Aurel. IV 3.8; Plut. De ex. 6, 601c; Ptol. Synt. math. I 6, 20.3–19 (with the observations of Taub 1993, 79–84); Cleom. Cael. I 8.69–78 and II 1.70–72; Adrastus apud Theon Sm. De ut. math. 128.5–129.9; Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 171.31–33; and Festugière 1944–54, 2:446–56. Cf. also Arist. Cael. II 14, 297b30–32, Mete. I 3, 339b6–9 and 14, 352a27–28. 8.7–9. θαυμάζεται δὲ . . . σοφωτέρου: The view that man is the most important and the wisest creature in the world seems foreign to the thought of the ancient Greeks, and it is likely here to derive from a Gnostic source; cf. my comment on II 9.5.1–16. 8.9–16. τὸ δὲ . . . μὴ παθεῖν:For P., human nature—that is, the human soul—finds itself at the “frontier” (methorion) between the sensible and the intelligible (see IV 4.3.1–4.6), and vacillates between the two conditions of the godly and the beastly; see my comment on I 1.11.2–8. The classification of men into three categories recalls somewhat that of II 9.9.6–14. Their comparison yields the conclusion that only the “wise” (spoudaioi) are truly “good” (agathoi) and unaffected by external misfortunes; cf. I 4.12.6–13.3. 8.16–31. εἰ οὖν παῖδες . . . τὰ ἀμείνω:Of the two other categories of men, the beastly suffer the punishment of their own vice; see the description of the alienated state in which the “ugly” soul finds itself, in I 6.5.25–31, while the example of the wolf-­man is also attributed to Epictetus (Diss. IV 1.127; cf. also Pl. Resp. VIII 566a4). In addition, however, they are also subject to ulterior, postmortem punishment, apparently through their reincarnation in lower forms of life; cf. III 4.2.11–30, VI 7.7.1–6; and Rich 1957, 237. At any rate, because the whole question of reincarnation and judgment after death presented certain difficulties of integration with P.’s psychological theory, the subject is introduced, as usual, in a somewhat allusive fashion and with characteristic reserve; cf. my comment on I 1.11.8–15. On the other hand, for the remainder of men, the prospect of divine judgment should not be an invitation to sloth and laxity, for an unimpeded life of ease would render men slack and incapable of rising to the slightest difficulty; cf. II 9.9.14–15. “Virtue grows feeble without adversity (marcet sine aduersario uirtus)”: this Stoic teaching is expressed with particular severity by Seneca, Prou. II 4–12, although the lawgiver P. had in mind was of course none other than Plato; see Leg. X 900e10–14.

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Third Ennead 8.31–42. ἀλλ’ οὐ παλαίστρας . . . εἴη ἄμεινον:These bitter words of P.’s reflect the militaristic age in which he lived. He insists nevertheless in defending the providential government of the universe, while denying that the divine must become engaged in the affairs of humans: for something of the kind would relieve the latter of works, the performance of which represents a duty for them or belongs to the arena where free initiative may be exercised through “art” (technē). Consequently, pleadings and prayers addressed to the gods are both vain and improper; cf., as Theiler suggests ad loc., Xenophon Cyr. I 6.6. Besides, Plato himself had shown in his Laws, X 905e5–906d4, that an eventual response of the gods to the prayers of men would render the former partners and accomplices in the injustices of the latter. Man will alone be saved by “justice and temperance along with wisdom”: such was Plato’s austere testament. See also Rist 1976, 230. 8.42–50. ἔπειτα γελοῖον . . . τὰ χείρω:If Providence were to intervene to save people who take no care to conform on their own to its dictates and to the natural laws that are its manifestations, it would be abolishing its own self. If the invocation of the divine were adequate for our salvation, then instead of Providence, we would have total arbitrariness and improvidence; cf. II 9.15.32–40. It cannot be ruled out entirely that among the “better” deaths referred to here, P. would also include the execution of Christian martyrs, who, not being differentiated from the Gnostics, were usually persecuted because of their refusal to accept the established religious views and to obey the “universal laws”; see further my comment on II 9.15.10–22. 9.1–4. Οὐ γὰρ δὴ . . . τὸ θεῖον:If man loses his power of self-­determination, that is, his autonomy of action, he is reduced to a mere puppet—an accessory of a larger mechanism—and he thereby ceases to exist as an individual entity: he becomes “nothing” (mēden); cf. II 3.15.14, VI 8.1.26–27. On the other hand, the absence of an object of Providence distinct from its agent would abolish the very notion of Providence. This is what makes it necessary to posit the soul as an autonomous principle; see III 1.8.4–10, with my comment. 9.4–10. καὶ πρὸς ἄλλο . . . τὰ ἐναντία:Providence exercises oversight to ensure that each soul will follow the determinations of its corresponding “lot” (klēros), in accordance with the description provided in the vision of Er; see Pl. Resp. X 617e2–618e2; and Dörrie 1977, 69–70. This klēros represents a certain “mode of life” (bios), which in turn implies a predetermined sequence of events (cf. heimarmenēn, op. cit. 619c1), whether good or evil. And this individual fate, although subordinated to the overall providential design, is occasionally experienced by the soul as compulsion because of the inherent multiplicity of the world; see IV 3.15.7–16.6. This view of Destiny as an inexorable law is also familiar to us from Middle Platonism (cf., e.g., “Aëtius” I 28.2 = Dox. Gr. 323; [Plut.] Fat. 568d; “Alcinous” Didasc. 26, 179.3–10; Apul. De Plat. I 12, 205; and my introduction to treatise III 1), but here its immediate dependence on Providence is more clearly asserted.



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9.10–12. κακοὺς δὲ . . . εὐχὴν ποιουμένων:Cf. above, my comment on 8.42–50. The reference to Christianity, which in the earlier passage was more concealed, is here almost blatant; see Armstrong 1938, 195–96. According to P., it is unthinkable that one should expect some “Savior” to intervene in one’s behalf; for, as de Gandillac 1966, 65, has observed, for him the attainment of accession to the intelligible “does not require any mystery ceremony, any ritual, any affiliation to some Church. It does not presuppose any gift that will transform our very existence, any forgiveness that will absolve us of our sins. Salvation is the task of the person to be saved alone.” 9.12–15. οὐ τοίνυν . . . ἄρχοντας εἶναι:It is vain to expect others to regulate the details of our daily life, for which we bear the sole responsibility through our choices. In such matters we should not expect any guidance from the stars either (cf. II 3.6.6–10), nor from the wise among our fellow men, who, in P.’s view, are hardly disposed to concern themselves with our prosperity, for example, through the exercise of political activity; cf. VI 9.7.26–33; and my comment on I 2.7.10–28; as well as Pl. Resp. I 347b5–d4. 9.15–19. ἐπεὶ οὐδ’ αὐτοὶ . . . προστάτας:It is perhaps possible to discern here some trace of bitterness over the cancellation of the Platonopolis project; on this, see VP 12.3–12. I regard as basically correct the interpretation of the passage proposed by Boot 1983, 312–13. 9.19–31. γενόμενοι τοίνυν . . . ἐπὶ γῆς βελτίονα:Man, by grace of his reason, does in fact occupy a relatively privileged position among terrestrial animals. Through the virtues— even the lower, civic ones (see I 2.2.13–26)—he is able to become assimilated, within measure, to the divine. In this manner, he becomes a collaborator in the providential management of the world. 9.31–40. ἐπεὶ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις . . . τί θαυμαστόν ἐστιν:The existence of savage beasts harmful to man was one of the favorite counterexamples to the good ordering of the universe adduced by the opponents of the notion of Providence; see, e.g., Lucr. V 218– 20; Cic. Acad. II 120; Philo Prou. II 91–92 (where it is Philo’s interlocutor, Alexander, who is speaking). The Stoics, and Chrysippus in particular, sought to rebut them by claiming that even beasts performed some task useful to man, for instance, by serving him as instruments of exercise or by keeping him in a state of alertness; see, e.g., SVF 2:1163 (on the usefulness of bedbugs!); Cic. Nat. D. II 161; Philo Prou. II 103–4; and cf. II 3.18.3–5. 10.1–7. Ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . οὐκ ἄδικα οὕτως:A series of objections is raised to what has been said up to this point. The first has its source in the Socratic principle, “no-­one errs willingly,” as formulated, for example, in Pl. Leg. V 731c2–3. The second and the third are based on two of the concepts that have been central to the exposition thus far, that is, Necessity and the Logos. Thus P. affords himself with an opportunity of making some crucial clarifications.

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Third Ennead 10.7–11. ἀλλὰ τὸ μὲν . . . ὄντες:Involuntariness does not abrogate self-­determination; cf. above, my comment on 4.36–38. 10.11–16. τὸ δὲ . . . παρ’ αὐτῶν τοῦτο:Concerning the necessity of the Intellect’s providential activity, see above, 2.8–18, with my comments. It is a kind of necessity that cannot be characterized as external, because it corresponds to the deepest essence of beings themselves. The fact that its consequences are at times experienced as compulsion does not mean that man is bereft of any margin of self-­initiative, and thereby of error. 10.16–19. ἀρχῆς δὲ . . . αὐτεξούσιος: Concerning the soul as an independent principle, see III 1.8.4–8, with my comment. 11.1–12. Πότερα δὲ . . . ἑκάστῳ τόπῳ:Although he has already pointed out the differences that exist between the laborious and premeditated activity of the common craftsman and the entirely natural and unforced one of the providential Logos (see above, my comments on 1.21–26 and 34–45), P. admits that there are also some important analogies between the two, such as even to allow conclusions to be drawn about the one on the basis of the other. Thus, given that in both cases the aim is the achievement of the best possible overall result, but in order for this to be achieved it is necessary for various and dissimilar components to be brought into mutual harmony (because even the Logos, though it apprehends all the variety of the intelligible as an undifferentiated unity, nevertheless expresses it and unfolds it through a multiplicity of distinct forms; cf. V 9.6.10–20, VI 7.14.11–18), it is inevitable that there should exist inequalities between the best and the less good parts, whereupon “by rendering to each its due we make the whole beautiful,” according to the classic formulation of Plato, who also employs the example of the eyes; see Resp. IV 420c4–d5. The idea that in a hierarchical system it is unreasonable to demand the same degree of perfection from all its levels was particularly widespread among the Peripatetics; see, indicatively, Theophr. Metaph. 10, 5b26–6a5; Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. II 3; and Sharples 1994, 178–79. 11.12–16. καὶ αἱ πόλεις . . . συμπληρούμενον:The aim of the Logos, as also of the lawmaker and the artist, is not a leveling uniformity, but the well-­ordered arrangement of a whole (see, e.g., Arist. Pol. II 4, 1261a17–24 and III 2, 1277a5–10; but also [Diotogenes] De regno 1, 72.21–22), which should reflect, as far as possible, the unitary—but hierarchically structured—multiplicity of the intelligible. The example of the play, which prepares us for the great dramaturgy simile that is to follow in chapters 15 ff., had been employed by Chrysippus, according to the testimony of Plutarch, Comm. not. 14, 1065d = SVF 2:1181 (trans. Cherniss): “ ‘For just as comedies,’ he says, ‘contain funny lines (epigrammata geloia) which, while vulgar in themselves, add charm to the piece as a whole, so vice all by itself you would censure, but for the universe as a whole it is not useless.’ ”



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12.1–7. Εἰ μὲν οὖν . . . ἄλλος:The intermediating role of the Logos is here made especially clear. The Logos expresses the unity of the intelligible as the multiplicity of the all, ordered into a unitary and complete totality. 12.7–12. εἰ δὲ ἔξω . . . κατ’ ἀξίαν:The Logos does not oblige individual souls to ordain themselves in its plan, it simply composes and harmonizes their own self-­determined choices (see my comments at 8.16–31 and 9.4–10), while the more virtuous among them in essence become voluntarily consonant with it (see my comment on 9.19–31). 13.1–15: Ἐπεὶ οὐδὲ . . . ἵνα βιασθῇ:We have here an elaboration on one of the darkest pages in Plato’s Laws, the “ ‘myth’ or ‘explanation’ or whatever is the right name for it,” according to which the most heinous criminals are subject after death to the harshest form of retribution, in order, as Morrow 1960, 456, observes, to provide “reassurance as to the supremacy of the all-­seeing and incorruptible Providence”; see IX 872d7–e9, and cf. 870d4–e3. Here the same rule is generalized almost ad absurdum, as the theodicy threatens to become debased into a farce of reciprocal reprisals. 13.16–17. ὅθεν καὶ . . . σοφία θαυμαστή:The “ordinance (thesmos) of Adrasteia” was the one that, according to Plato’s Phaedrus (248c2 ff.), regulates the embodiments and disembodiments of souls, determining the consequences of their choices for each cosmic period. Adrasteia is described by Hermeias In Phdr. 161.22–162.2 = Orph. fr. 105, as “the one who uniformly contains and holds within herself the measures of all laws equally, whether worldly or supra-­worldly, of Destiny or of Zeus . . . [and who] is called “The One from Whom There Is No Fleeing” (Adrasteia) for the reason that all things posed and legislated by her are inescapable (anapodrasta).” The fact that Providence is not exercised arbitrarily, but in accordance with a supreme law that is consonant with “right reason” (orthos logos), was of outstanding importance to the Stoics; see SVF 1:162, 3:316; Philo Opif. 143. 13.18–26. τεκμαίρεσθαι δὲ . . . ἀεὶ ποιεῖται:Admiration for the variety and beauty of the natural world, even down to its details, is especially prominent in philosophical writings (see, e.g., SVF 2:1163), but also runs through naturalist (i.e., paradoxographical) and general literature, as well as the visual arts, from the Hellenistic period down to late antiquity. It frequently reflected a tendency to escape from the corrupting life of the big cities to the unspoiled beauty of nature; on this, see Green 1990, 233–43, 340–42. Moreover, we know that P. himself was in the habit of retreating to the estate of his friend Zethus, so as to be close to nature; see VP 7.22–23 and 2.17–20. 13.26–33. τῶν ὑπεράνω . . . ποῦ ἂν εἴη:But what was regarded as the most sublime expression of nature’s order and beauty was the starry sky. Cf. I 6.1.34. From the Timaeus (90c7–d7) and the Epinomis (982a4–e6) down to Ptolemy (Pal. Anthol. IX 577) and the Corpus Hermeticum (see, indicatively, Asclepius 13, 312.3–11), the observation and the study of stellar movements engendered genuine religious feeling and admiration, but

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Third Ennead also a strengthening of conviction in the constant solicitude of the divine toward the universe. 14.1–6. Ἔχει τοίνυν . . . λογισμοῦ διάταξιν:Cf. above, my comment on 1.21–26. 14.6–16. ἐφ’ ἑκάστου  . . . οὐ πάντα ἕκαστον:The basic difference among Intellect, the Logos—constituted, as we said above (in my comment on 2.18–33), at the level of the Soul—and the sensible world consists in the relation of whole to parts pertaining to each, which varies in proportion to the degree of unity characterizing it. In the first, each part somehow contains the whole; cf. my comment on 1.26–34. At the opposite extreme, the parts of the sensible world are by their nature entirely distinct from one another, and on many occasions act antagonistically and with destructive consequences toward each other; see my comments on 2.1–7 and 4.16–26. Hence, it would be absurd to demand that the sensible world should display the cohesiveness of the Intellect, and to hold the Logos responsible for its imperfections, when it is the Logos that arranges and composes it, as far as possible, in consonance with Intellect as its model. Because although in this way it comes to form the entire, complete, and unified whole that is the sensible universe, it yet is not in a position to countermand the logical necessity that requires of the parts, for example, that they should be smaller than the whole that they constitute, insofar as they are extended entities; cf. Eucl. El. I, Comm. Not. 8; and Sext. Emp. Math. IX 310. 14.16–20. καὶ ἄνθρωπος δὴ . . . οὐκέτ’ ἂν μέρος:Man’s position, it was said, is an intermediate one, between the intelligible and the sensible; see my comment on 8.9–16. As a corporeal entity, man is a distinct part of the universe, whereas his intellective core is not a fully distinct part of Intellect, because, being intelligible as well, it contains within it the whole; cf. II 2.2.4–5. Hence, whenever someone succeeds through virtue in becoming identified with his core, he sheds his partiality and takes his place among the intelligibles; see further my comments on I 1.11.2–8, I 2.4.25–29, and 6.6–7. That this ordination of his still leaves a margin for the preservation of some degree of individuality is a question that I believe must be seen in relation to the problem of the existence of Forms of individuals; see O’Daly 1973, 66–70; and my own article on the subject, Kalligas 1997b, 225. The use made in l. 19 of the citation from ?Tyrtaeus (El. 9.43: its authenticity has been challenged by, among others, Fränkel 1975, 337–39) is of particular interest. In the original, the phrase aretēs eis akron (“to the summit of virtue”) is heard in the protreptic finale of a hymn on the virtue of the warrior—the “Praise of Boldness”—that is as enthusiastic as it is eloquent. For P., however—nearly one thousand years later—the meaning of the word aretē has changed so drastically that the protreptic seems totally inappropriate. But just as the poet defines virtue as “the good common to both the city and the whole people,” so the Neoplatonist philosopher sees it as the means for man to transcend the narrow boundaries of his individuality and to become identified with another, broader totality, the community of true Beings.



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14.20–22. οὐ μὴν . . . ἀξία μείζονι:Cf. Pl. Leg. X 903c1–5. 14.22–30. καὶ γὰρ γίνεται . . . κειμένων:The “perfect” soul, even as it resides down here, participates in the management of the world as a whole (cf. IV 8.4.1–7 and V 1.2.1–6), being identified, within measure, with its cosmic counterpart. Thus, man too becomes “placed among the stars,” insofar as he rules his body with the same impassibility with which the cosmic Soul ordains the movements of the heavenly bodies (cf. my comment on I 8.5.30–34). The process of ethical perfectibility has been compared elsewhere (at I 6.9.7–13) to the carving of a beautiful statue. On the other hand, Plato characterizes the world fashioned by the Demiurge as “an effigy of the everlasting gods” (see Ti. 37c6–7; cf. [Pl.] Epin. 983e6–984a1). P. takes these two elements and combines them in an assuredly impressive image of the virtuous man as a statue of a divinity corresponding to Zeus the world-­ruler, whom a magnificent Orphic hymn, handed down to us by Porphyry, described as follows (Orph. fr. 168.10–16): For all those things reside within the body of great Zeus; his head indeed, and the faces beautiful to behold, are the radiant heaven, framed by the golden locks of the marmoreal stars waving in exquisite beauty, and by the two golden bullhorns one to each side, the place of rising and the place of setting, the routes of the celestial gods, while his eyes are the sun and the opponent moon. Given that, as Bréhier ad loc. 41n.1, already observed, Hephaestus was frequently identified in the Orphic tradition with the Demiurge of the world (see Orph. fr. 179–81, [Orph.] Hymn 66.6–7), it is reasonable for us to suppose that P. had in mind here the statue of some divinity with a broader cosmic significance, such as, for example, the one described by Bardaisan apud Porph. De Styge fr. 376F. 31–47, or of the Heliopolitan Zeus; on this, see Turcan 1974, 313–14. Cf. also the Pythagorico-­Peripatetic tradition echoed by Epiphanius, Adu. haer. 7.1, 186.8–10. 15.1–15. Τὰ μὲν οὖν . . . πάντως οὕτως:Everything that has been said up to this point concerned the “disposition” (diataxis) of particulars within the universe, and explained whatever evils are present within it as the result of a partial view of things on the part of one or another individual. Evil was thus shown to be phenomenal, an effect engendered by the partiality of our perspective, without corresponding to any actual condition pervading and characterizing the whole. Yet even when viewed as a whole, the universe continues to be full of violence and war (see my comments on 2.1–7 and 4.16–26). If, then, the Logos is alone responsible for the constitution of the universe, and if it does not have to compete against any other principle antagonistic toward it, because even matter is ultimately produced by it (see my comment on I 8.14.51–54), how is one to explain the presence of Evil within the world as a whole? We must note here that the similarity of expression between ll. 13–14 of the present passage and the Prologue to the Gospel of St. John may not be altogether coincidental.

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Third Ennead From a citation in the Preparatio Euangelica of Eusebius of Caesarea (XI 19.1 = Amelius fr. B.I), we know that P.’s student Amelius had discussed the evangelical text in question, interpreting the Word, the Logos, as a cosmogonic power “through which” or “through whom” (di’ hou) the Demiurge god had fashioned the world, and comparing it to Heraclitus’ logos (as P. seems here to connect it with the Ephesian’s “war” (polemos: see fr. B53 DK); see Roussos 1968, 46; and below, my comment on 16.41–52): And this then was the Word (ho logos), in accordance with which, since it is eternal, were made the things that are subject to becoming, as Heraclitus also would maintain, and as, by Zeus, does the one of whom the Barbarian [i.e., the Evangelist], having accorded him the rank and dignity of the beginning, maintains that “he was with God and was God”; “through whom” (di’ hou) absolutely all things were made, etc. See further Dörrie [1972]/1976, 494–96. 15.15–17. τίς οὖν . . . ἀνάγκη:The inevitability of constant undeclared war in nature and human society appears to allude to the theory of war with which Plato’s Laws begin; see expecially I 625e5–626a5. 15.21–29. οἷον εἰ ἐπὶ σκηνῆς . . . γενέσθαι:P.’s final response to the problem of the presence of Evil in the world is advanced with the assistance of his progressively elaborated parable of the dramatic stage, where events are not only determined, but also given their meaning by the logos, that is, by the plot or “script” of the work being presented, which is correlated with the cosmic Logos. This parable allows us to see what occurs in the world from a new perspective, the principal elements of which are the following: (a) Ethical judgments are relativized and in essence replaced by aesthetic ones. Each action is evaluated not in the absolute, but with respect to its contribution to the development of the plot of the play in question. An action that appears evil may be perfectly justified by the evolution of the story, without this implying that we ought to attribute its evil either to the play or to its author; cf. Nozick 1981, 462. (b) All individual actions may be explained or given meaning in relation to the “authorial intention,” that is, to the putative aim of the representation as a whole—its “message.” The dominant interpretative principle becomes the discernment of piecemeal intentions and the comprehension of the way in which they have been interwoven; thus the most commodious method of explanation is the teleological one. (c) Hence, the overall succession of events is interpreted as an epiphenomenon of a more inward, invisible process unfolding outside the plot and directing it, without itself incurring any direct influence from the episodes being enacted. We are now in a position to see clearly the special importance this parable holds for the better understanding of P.’s philosophical thought in general. The demotion of the role of ethics in his system becomes comprehensible on the basis of point (a). Nevertheless, the Good as the ultimate “end” (telos) of the world’s constitution and of our own organized apprehension of the structure of reality could occupy no other position than the center, as point (b) illustrates. Finally, the Providence that pervades and determines



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the evolution of events through a universal design, the Logos, responds to a law altogether different from that of natural necessity—or “Destiny” (heimarmenē)—which rules phenomena, as evinced by point (c). More particularly, the teleological character of the logos as a formative principle had already been emphasized by Aristotle, Part. an. I 1, 639b15–20. The parable itself derives from Pl. Leg. VII 817b1–8 (cf. Phlb. 50b3), but it became a favorite theme of Cynic and Stoic diatribe: see, e.g., Bion of Borysthenes fr. 8 = Teles “On Self-­Sufficiency” fr. 16.4; Cic. Sen. 70; Sen. Ep. 76.31; SVF 1:351, 3:371; Epict. Ench. 17; Luc. Nigr. 20; Marc. Aurel. XII 36.2–4; Plut. De def. or. 431b–c; Vett. Val. V 6.11, 210.9–14. For a presentation of the extensive pertinent material, see Kokolakis 1960, 23 ff.; also Ferwerda 1965, 180–82 (where one would wish to add the allusion occurring at VI 7.7.16); and Dodds 1965, 8–12. Porphyry, presumably influenced by the present passage, was in the habit of referring to the “tragicomedy” (kōmōdotragōdia) of life; see Marc. 2, 105.10–19; and fr. 275F. 39. Nock 1933, 197–202, makes some exceedingly interesting observations concerning the correlation of this parable with more widely prevailing attitudes toward life during the first centuries CE. 15.29–33. ἐκείνως μὲν . . . ζῶντα παίγνια:There again comes to the surface the deeper necessity that drives the Logos to its creative activity (cf. above, 2.8–15): the infinite dynamism of the First Principle is expressed as an outpouring of life into the remaining ontological levels. And for what concerns the Intellect, see my comment on 1.26–34. Yet in the domain of sensible entities, the same is manifested both as movement (see above, 4.12–16) and as their organic articulation into a cosmic “living being”; cf. II 9.8.10–15 and above, 7.37. And of course individual animals, and even man himself, are nothing but playthings at the hands of god; cf. Pl. Leg. I 644d7–9 and VII 803c4–5. 15.33–42. ἀνθρώπων δὲ . . . ἄλλων: Cf. Epict. Diss. II 1.15–17. In general, the spirit here corresponds exactly with that expressed in Palladas’ famous epigram (Pal. Anthol. X 72): All of life’s a stage and a game; either learn how to play laying earnestness aside, or bear the sorrows. 15.42–43. ἐπεὶ καὶ . . . τὴν κτῆσιν:It would appear that P. held forth against the possession of property, and indeed that he himself put this view into practice, while at the same time showing great gentleness and understanding toward those who chose a different mode of life; cf. VP 2.18–22, 9.2, and 12–16. 15.47–53. καὶ γὰρ ἐνταῦθα . . . ἠγνοηκότος:And so what embodied life comes down to essentially is a performance of shadow theater! The “inner” man is the impassible soul (cf. I 1.10.7–11, with my comment), while the “outer” one may be characterized as a shadow (cf. VI 4.18.7 and my comment on I 1.7.1–6), as he is the product of the projection of a soul-­trace onto the body, through which is shaped the subject of those feelings and affections that are correlated with the sensible.

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Third Ennead 15.53–58. μόνῳ γὰρ . . . ἀποθέμενος παίγνιον:The antithetical pair “seriousness–play” (spoudē–paidia) appears frequently in the work of Plato, principally as a rhetorical figure; see Symp. 197e7, Resp. V 452e5–6, Phdr. 277e6–8, Leg. I 644d8–9, III 688b5–6, VI 761d5, X 887d4–5; and [Pl.] Epin. 992b2–3. Cf. also the notable remarks by Tsitsirides 2001, 57–59; and Sext. Emp. Pyr. I 221. While maintaining the rhetorical character of the antithesis, P. radicalizes it here to such a degree that he relegates each of its poles to a different ontological level. The devotion of the spoudaios (the “serious” or “wise” man) to the truth of Beings makes all worldly things, including his own bodily existence, seem like mere paignia (“playthings”). But cf. III 8.1.1–2, with my comment. 15.58–59. εἰ δὲ δὴ . . . τῷ ἔξω Σωκράτει:As was pointed out by Spanneut 1962, 622, the image of Socrates at play is also known to us from Epictetus (Diss. II 5.18–20 trans. Oldfather): “Socrates knew how to play ball . . . : imprisonment, exile, drinking poison, being deprived of wife, leaving children orphans. These were the things with which he was playing, but none the less he played and handled the ball in good form. So ought we also to act, exhibiting the ball-­player’s carefulness about the game, but the same indifference about the object played with, as being a mere ball.” In the present passage, however, the contrast between an “outer” and an “inner” Socrates may allude also to a certain way of reading the Platonic dialogues, according to which we ought to distinguish the “external,” “playful” and irrational dramatic elements of the text, which may display some variety and inconsistency, from the unitary and coherent philosophical dogma expressed within it, and which represents its inner truth; cf. Sext. Emp. Pyr. I 221. This hermeneutical viewpoint had been formulated epigrammatically in the saying of Eudorus apud Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.3f, 49.25–50.1 and 4a, 55.5–6, according to which Plato had been a man “of multiple voices” (poluphōnos) but “not of multiple beliefs” (ou poludoxos), and which corresponds, to a great extent, with P.’s overall stance. See further Schwyzer 1951, 551.46–552.21; Theiler 1960, 68–69; Charrue 1978, 31; and Opsomer 1998, 127–33. 16.1–10. Ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . τοῦ δράματος:A series of aporiai poses once again the problem of Evil overall, this time in a somewhat extreme manner. The total predominance of the Logos seems here to leave no margin not just for natural evil, but even for moral vice. 16.12–17. ἔστι τοίνυν . . . ἡσυχῇ ἔχουσαν:Cf. above, 2.18–33. 16.17–23. πᾶσα δὲ ζωὴ . . . ὡς μορφοῦν:The primary activity of Intellect is Life; see above, my comment on 1.26–34. That is the reason also why every manifestation of life contains some intellective element, however attenuated, which is what renders it other than fortuitous in its being; cf. my comment on I 4.3.15–24. It is a teleologically determined activity (cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. X 4, 1175a12–13, and Metaph. Λ 7, 1072b24–28), ordained as such within the formative plan of the Logos, not a blind and uncontrolled one, as is, for example, the upward motion of fire; cf. II 2.1.16–27.



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16.23–27. ἡ τοίνυν ἐνέργεια . . . τοιαύτης πως οὔσης:Cf. I 8.2.22–25. P. reverts to the comparison between Providence and art (cf. above, my comments on 1.34–45 and 2.8– 15), but this time in order to point out the analogies between the providential activity of Intellect and a nonconstructive art, namely, dancing. He thus emphasizes the element of life as action regulated by a higher principle, such that it produces temporary forms that are, nonetheless, ordained within a unified “choreographic” project. 16.28–34. ἥκων τοίνυν . . . ἓν εἴη:Because the Logos cannot be identical with the intelligible cause that created it, it must display a greater degree of multiplicity than the latter; cf. my comment on 2.18–33. The uneven apportionment of its constitutive energy on the various sensibles it informs results in the arousal among them of those antagonisms and conflicts that were disussed above at 2.1–7. 16.34–40. γενόμενον γὰρ . . . μάχη:If it is a necessary feature of every good literary creation that it should bring together the heterogeneous elements of which it is constituted into a unified “composition” (sustasis: see Pl. Phdr. 268c5–d5 and 265d3–4, echoed in Arist. Pol. III 6.5, 1281b11–15), then the function of the cosmic Logos is directly analogous. And just as in the former case the point from which the narrative is to be viewed is identified somehow with god’s point of view, such that from its perspective the contradictions of the plot are abolished along with any temporal distinctions into past, present, and future (on this last point see Lamberton 1986, 6), so does the Logos draw together and harmonize individual antitheses into a diachronic unity. This harmony does not abolish the contrarieties inherent in the world but instead presupposes them and composes them; see my comment on 2.33–36; and cf. [Arist.] Mund. 5, 396a33–b34. The sensible universe adds up to a system of antagonistic and mutually balancing tendencies, corresponding to the Empedoclean cosmological principles; on this see my comment on 2.1–7. 16.40–41. ὥστε μᾶλλον . . . ἐν τοῖς λόγοις:This harmonization, then, is a constantly precarious one, yet assuredly also “superlatively beautiful” (kallistē)—and it is produced, as Heraclitus would say (fr. B8 DK), “from the things at variance” (ek tōn diapherontōn), that is, from polar opposites; cf. IV 4.41.7–8. But the notion of harmony as in general constituting a synthesis of “conflicting” (machomena) contrarieties was also standard dogma in Pythagorean musical and arithmetical theory; see, e.g., Philolaus fr. B6 DK; and Nicom. Ar. II 19.1, 114.24–115.4: “existing things were composed from conflicting and contrary [elements], and they suitably admitted harmony; now harmony is in all cases produced from contraries (ex enantiōn), etc.” And of course in that context the composition of harmony always has as its basis arithmetic “proportion” (logos). See Nicom. Ar. I 6.1–3, 12.3–20: “all things appear to have been distinguished and arranged according to number by providence and by the intellect that has created all things . . . while everything that has been harmonized has in all cases been harmonized from contraries (ex enantiōn pantōs hērmostai) and of course from existing things; for neither can nonexisting things be harmonized, nor can things that exist but are the same (homoia)

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Third Ennead as each other, nor things that are at variance but are mutually incommensurable (aloga de pros allēla); what remains is that the elements of which something is harmonized should be existing and at variance and mutually commensurable (kai onta einai kai diapheronta kai logon pros allēla echonta).” 16.41–52. εἰ οὖν . . . φερούσης: Thus, contrariety constitutes the “substance” of Logos. For the harmonization it brings about presupposes the existence of opposites to be composed. In this manner, the universe “being at variance with itself is of the self-­same logos,” that is, “in agreement” (diapheromenon heōutōi homologeei), according to the saying of Heraclitus (fr. B51 DK; see Roussos 1968, 47–51). A similar description of the various aspects of the harmonizing function of the logos is provided by the author of the pseudo-­ Aristotelian treatise De Mundo 5, 396a33–397a5. Cf. also Max. Tyr. XI 5, 132.3–6; and Alex. Aphrod. Mund. A 81. 16.52–58. καὶ γὰρ . . . εἶναι ἑαυτόν:Some elements are here provided toward an explanation of the emergence of such antitheses within the Logos: inasmuch as the sensible world is inevitably multiple because of its materiality, the Logos will also have to respond somehow to this multiplicity, if it is to pervade the world in its entirety. Yet within multiplicity there reside inherent differences, of which some are more extreme than others. Aristotle had termed “the greatest difference” (megistē diaphora) “contrariety” (enantiōsis: Metaph. Ι 4, 1055a4–5). Consequently, the emergence of these polar oppositions within the design of the Logos is necessary in order for it to cover the whole range of possibilities offered by Intellect. 17.1–3. Ὢν δὴ τοιοῦτος . . . διέστηκε μᾶλλον:In my edition of the text I have conjectured the reading hoia kai panta in l. 1, in place of the hoios kai pantōs appearing in the MSS and in H-­S. (Armstrong’s translation would at most require only slight modification to reflect the shift in nuance, from “Since its [i.e., the Logos’] nature corresponds to its whole productive activity, etc.” to “since its nature corresponds to all that it produces, etc.”) As I have already defended this reading in an earlier publication (see Kalligas 1988, 97–98), I would like here to add only two supplementary observations: (a) Whatever necessity accompanies the creative activity of the Logos concerns only the “procession” (ekbasis) of entities from the One (see my comment on 15.29–33), and does not constitute a peculiar characteristic that differentiates the Logos from other ontological levels. (b) It is not this necessity that in itself is the cause of the emergence of multiplicity among sensibles. Rather, it is the correspondence that must exist between the Logos and its creations that serves to magnify the differences and contrarieties of the latter, by virtue of the antitheses inherent in the former (see 16.50–52). 17.3–5. καὶ ἧττον ἓν . . . ἓν μᾶλλον:The incapacity of matter to receive at its every point the full impress of the intellective richness of the Logos has the consequence of greatly intensifying the antitheses inherent in the latter, and of increasing thereby the multiplicity and antagonism prevailing among sensibles. Yet this loss or privation of unity



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provokes in them an increased propensity for life (cf. 16.17–23) and unity, thereby opening the way for their “reversion” (epistrophē) to their source. There are some notable correspondences between this passage and the description bequeathed to us by Irenaeus Adu. haer. I 4.1, of the passions of the lower Sophia, as related in the teaching of the Gnostic Ptolemaeus (see further my comments on II 9.10.19–32): “And unlike her own mother—the first Sophia, who was an Aeon—she did not suffer alteration (heteroiōsin) in her passions, but contrariety (enantiōsin). And there supervened within her a different disposition, that of reversion (tēs epistrophēs) to the one who had endowed her with life (eis ton zōopoiēsanta).” The alterity prevailing at the level of the higher Soul(-­Logos) is transmuted, at the lower level, into contrariety, which entails a propensity toward reversion. Of course, while the Gnostic description has the character of a purely mythological and apocalyptic narrative, in P. we are able clearly to discern the logical concatenation holding the entire construction together and imparting to it the status of a fundamentally rational theoretical system. Key to this is the role of unity and its diminution from one gradient to another, as is also the reverse tendency toward its recovery through Eros. Thus the similarities of vocabulary that are to be observed between the two descriptions, and that reflect the common cultural milieu in which their two authors lived and worked, should not be allowed to obscure the substantial differences that set them apart in their intellectual orientation and their theoretical aims. 17.6–11. φθείρει δὲ . . . καλῶς ἔχει:To this tendency for reversion to unity, various things respond differently in proportion to their individual capacities. Yet the paths they take may vary greatly from one another, a fact that may lead them into conflict without, however, ceasing thereby to be ordained to the unitary rhythm of the Logos. 17.12–28. καίτοι οὐδὲ . . . τῷ δράματι:The Logos harmonizes and composes forces and tendencies that are, at least to some extent, independent from it. We saw above that the soul constitutes an autonomous and independent principle; see my comments on 7.15– 28 and 9.1–4. Consequently, it is responsible for its choices (cf. heileto in l. 25: this verb and its cognate noun dominate the final section of the myth of Er in the Republic: from X 617e4 to 620e4 they occur no less than twenty-­five times!), which are of course followed by inevitable consequences “according to the order and law of Destiny”; see Pl. Leg. X 904c2–e3. The Logos simply coordinates all these predispositions, thus “staging” the cosmic drama and assigning to each the role that suits him best; see further my article, Kalligas 1997b, 223–24. 17.28–53. ἐν μὲν οὖν . . . καὶ τιμὰς αὖ ἔχει:P. seems to be trying here to combine two perhaps not entirely compatible traditions of employment of the dramaturgical analogy. On the one hand, there is the Cynic-­Stoic tradition, according to which the assignment of roles is purely a matter of chance (see, e.g., the fragment from Bion of Borysthenes cited in my comment on 15.21–29, and Luc. Men. 16), whereupon what is incumbent on man is solely that he should play well his appointed role. We find this formulated in Sen. Ep. 77.20 (trans. Gummere) as follows: “It is with life as it is with a play (quomodo fab-

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Third Ennead ula),—it matters not how long the action is spun out, but how good the acting is (quam bene acta sit) . . . only see to it that the closing period is well turned (tantum bonam clausulam inpone).” On the other hand, the Platonic theodicy required, during the procedure of reincarnation, that the individual’s past behavior should be taken into consideration, ensuring thereby his just reward or punishment. See further Sharples 1994, 175. 17.54–55. πρόσεστι δέ τι . . . ὑποκρινομένοις:Concerning the earth as the “great stage” (meizōn skēnē) where life’s tragedy is enacted, see Kokolakis 1960, 17. 17.55–86. καὶ τοῦ ποιητοῦ . . . οὕτω φθεγγομένη:In spite, then, of their subordination to the operation of cosmic necessity, individual souls remain masters of their choices, at least during their first embodiment, before they become caught up in the cycle of successive reincarnations. Of course, this does not imply that they also rule over the universe; this only the cosmic Soul can do, through the Logos. That is why, as has convincingly been argued by Alt 1989, 230–33, the emendation proposed by Creuzer in l. 55, based on haplography—tou poiētou ‹tou› pantos—is one that must be adopted, in order to ensure that the genitive “of the all” refers to the “author” and not to “them,” that is, “the actors,” who are themselves “masters” (kurioi) only of themselves and their own fate, through their choices. After their entrance into the world, however, the souls are assigned by the Logos to places suitable for them to make whatever contribution each is able, thus performing their share in the completion and realization of a more universal cosmic plan. And just as any good play contains reversals and conflicts, “goodies” and “baddies,” so is it also with the world—but with everything arranged in such a manner, as all-­in-­all to form a wonderful, harmonic composition, in which there is even place for the “unnatural” (to para phusin). Laurent 1999, 8, 18, has noted the Aristotelian origin of this last idea: cf. Arist. Gen. an. IV 4, 770b9–17. 17.86–89. ὥσπερ οὐδὲ . . . καὶ οὗτος κεῖται:A “well-­governed city” (eunomoumenē polis: for the expression, see Pl. Resp. X 607c5–6) also represents a composition of opposing tendencies and conflicting interests and aims; yet all its citizens, from its highest-­ranking officials to its basest convict, are integrated within it, because “the law of the city, itself immovably established within the minds of those who observe it, disposes all the activities of the state,” as the matter is put by the author of [Arist.] Mund. (6, 400b11–33 trans. Furley; cf. Philo Prou. II 82). And it would be senseless to judge it on the basis of the behavior of a few isolated citizens (cf. II 9.7.4–7), without taking into consideration their contribution to the whole; cf. also IV 4.39.11–17. The example of the public executioner is also employed by Philo Prou. II 31. 18.1–5. Χείρους δὲ . . . ψυχήν: Not all individual souls are identical, given that they do not form a completely unitary and undifferentiated whole. Each one represents a peculiar, individualized conception of Being (for some further thoughts of mine on this, see Kalligas 1997b, 225–26), but also a variable degree of integration into, and devotion to, the intelligible (cf. VI 7.6.1–8, and my comment on I 1.11.2–8). It is consequently natural that differences, and even adversity, should arise among them.



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18.7–18. μὴ γὰρ οὐδὲν . . . ὑπὸ ἀνδρῶν πονηρῶν:After their embodiment, and only, of course, as to that part of themselves that is embodied—namely, that “trace” of theirs that is projected onto the body and composes along with it the “living being”; see I 1.7.1–6, with my comment—the souls come absolutely within the ordinance of the law of the Logos and are capable neither of determining, nor even always of predicting, the consequences of their actions. Only their higher, undescended part remains impassible, “unmastered” (adespoton) by cosmic necessity, and thereby truly free, but only for as long as its attention is directed “by way of Intellect toward the Good” (see VI 8.7.1–3). 18.18–26. εἰ οὐκ ἄτοπος . . . παρ’ αὐτοῦ:The differences existing among “embodied” souls will lead them to perform better and worse deeds, all of which nevertheless find their appropriate place within the world. The argument that if there were no bad deeds, neither would there be any good ones, represents a transposition to the field of ethics of the Stoic argument “from opposites” (ek tōn enantiōn: the first in the classification of LS 1:332); cf. Plut. Comm. not. 16, 1066d = SVF 2:1181. On the other hand, the fact that everything is ordained by the Logos to its design does not imply as well that everything is brought about by it. 18.26–29. ἀλλὰ τὸ κακὸν . . . ψυχῆς τινος ὄντος:There remains to be explained, naturally, the origin of moral evil, a question introduced with the present aporia. But Porphyry chose to sever this aporia in the middle, passing us abruptly to the second part of the treatise. III 3.1.4–12. ψυχῆς γάρ τινος . . . εἰς σύνταξιν μίαν:On the dependence of the “formative principles” (logoi) on the Soul, see my comment on III 2.2.18–33. Therefore, both they and their works have a common original derivation, a fact that ensures their compatibility. In Heraclitean terms (fr. B10 DK = [Arist.] Mund. 5, 396b22–23; cf. SVF 1:497), “One out of All, and out of All, One.” The Heraclitean spirit running through this whole treatise in respect to the dialectical relation between the One and the All is frequently expressed in pairs of terms having the antithetical prefixes sun-­ and dia-­. Characteristic is the pair suntaxis (“composition”—see III 2.2.31, 5.8, 14.24, 15.15, etc.) and diataxis (“disposition”—see III 2.13.16, 14.1), which corresponds to two different but complementary conceptions of the “ordering” of the world; cf. Kirk 1970, 174–77. 1.12–27. ἓν ἵππων . . . καὶ τὸ κακῶς:Conflicts and antagonisms arise only among particulars, while in the logical articulation that subtends them, antitheses coexist harmoniously; cf. my comment on III 2.4.16–26. This articulation follows the structure of dialectical “collection” (sunagōgē) and “division” (diairesis); cf. my comment on I 3.4.12–16. It does so because the disposition of logoi in nature is consistent with that of the intelligibles in Intellect; see V 9.6.9–20. It is worth noting that this whole procedure is here viewed as capable of arriving at the transcendent One, that which even “makes Being possible” (cf. I 6.7.10–2) and is the guarantor of the most profound unity of all things. Perhaps this is what inspired P. to make use here of a vocabulary that reminds us rather

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Third Ennead more of the poem of Parmenides (cf. ll. 20–21 with fr. B4 DK) than of the dubiously authentic fr. B91 DK of Heraclitus, as Roussos 1968, 47, believed. 2.1–3. Αἱ δὲ συντυχίαι . . . ἐμπλεκεῖσαι:External contingencies, which obey the natural law of Destiny (cf. III 1.7.8–12, 9.1–4; and Adrastus apud Theon Sm. De ut. math. 148.13–22), cannot have any influence on the real welfare of the soul, which is to say on its “well-­being” (eudaimonia); cf. my comment on I 4.7.18. 2.3–11. συμπλέκει δὲ . . . παρὰ τοῦ στρατηγοῦ:P. elaborates here on the celebrated Aristotelian comparison of the arrangement of the universe by god with the disposition of an army by its general: cf. Arist. Metaph. Λ 10, 1075a14–19; De phil. fr. 12b; but also [Arist.] Mund. 6, 399a36–b11 and 400b8; Cic. Nat. D. II 85. The model is of course the celestial procession of Zeus, as described in Pl. Phdr. 246e4–247a4; cf. IV 4.9.1–10.13. A consequence of divine guidance is the “commonality of spirit” (sumpnoia) prevailing among the “subordinates” (suntetagmenoi), that is, among the various parts of the universe; see further my comment on II 3.7.16–28. 2.11–15. καίτοι ἔξωθεν . . . συνηρμοσμένον εἴη:The dualistic tendencies popular in his time, especially among the Gnostics, oblige the author to modify somewhat the image of the general, in order to prevent possible misinterpretations: the army governed by universal Providence is not confronted by any external enemy, because it includes everything. It is not being led on a campaign or into war against powers antagonistic toward it, as was the case in the cosmological myths devised by the Manichaeans; cf., e.g., Kephalaia 18, 58.1 and 41, 105.15; and Hegem. Acta Archelai VII, 10.1–10. Whatever antitheses exist are internal to the conscripted world-­army and are harmonized by the commands of the ruler-­god. 3.1–3. Καὶ γὰρ . . . ἠρίθμησαι ὁ τοιόσδε:The capacity of the individual to enact self-­ determined choices does not exclude the possibility of the Logos itself ordaining these choices within its own design. The word epeisodion (“underplot”) refers us back to the dramaturgical analogy of III 2.15.21 ff. 3.3–18. ἀλλὰ πόθεν . . . ἴσα ἔδει:In Plato’s Laws, X 904b6–d4, god is presented as ensuring that souls are distributed to the various “places” of the universe according to the quality of their “character” (ēthos). Nevertheless, it is the individual soul that remains responsible for its own choice of ēthos, as is decreed also in the Republic, X 617e2–5. P. is less categoric on this particular point: in his view, the soul can only be absolutely responsible for matters concerning which its choice is entirely free. Yet the choices it is offered during its initial embodiment—the “lots” or “parts of the drama”—are predetermined not only by the Logos, but also by the “species” (eidos) of the corresponding progenitor; see my comment on III 1.6.1–3. These limitations entail a proportional diminution in the individual soul’s responsibility. For it is not reasonable to demand of a living entity that it should surpass its own nature.



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3.18–29. ἆρ’ οὖν ἐνδεέστερον:Within the Intellect, “Difference” or “Otherness” (heterotēs) is already present, and therefore multiplicity also in some form. Inevitably, this will be reflected and intensified as the entities derived from it come into being, resulting in the emergence of differences in their “value” (axia) as well; cf. also my comment on III 2.11.1–12. 3.30–37. σκόπει δὴ . . . μειζόνως ἔχειν:Cf. my comments on III 2.7.1–28. 4.1–7. Ἁπλοῦ μὲν . . . ἀρχὴν ἄλλην ἐλευθέραν:It is precisely man’s position at the “frontier” between the intelligible and the sensible (cf. my comment on III 2.8.9–16), between god and beast, that renders him responsible for his free choice in identifying himself with one side or the other. For by his nature he is receptive of virtue (cf. my comment on I 3.6.18–24) and, as was observed by Alex. Aphrod. Prou. apud Cyril Al. C. Jul. III, 621c, “whatever is receptive of something, to which there exists some contrary, is necessarily receptive also of its contrary.” This means that only he has the capacity, but also the responsibility, to practice the virtues and thus assimilate himself to god, becoming his collaborator in the exercise of Providence. 4.9–13. καὶ λόγος . . . ἡ πᾶσα:At this point P.’s theory about Providence shows the most vivid signs of an internal contradiction: for how is it possible to combine the unity of the universal design with the independence and freedom of choice of each individual? He is thus obliged to admit that Providence is exercised finally in two successive, and progressively more encompassing, phases. The first, which consists in the action of the cosmic Logos, sets as it were the scene within which the second and higher phase intervenes, securing an even firmer connection between what has already occurred and the higher principles. It is the combination of both these phases that constitutes “overall Providence.” The two phases operate concurrently and cumulatively (not in opposition to each other, as held by Rist 1967b, 96–97), resulting in the formation of a web of logoi, all of which nevertheless ultimately attain mutual harmony, as they all refer to a unitary intelligible model. We find a similar distinction between two nested logoi, one “paternal” (patrikos) and the other “the son” (huios), in a rather enigmatic fragment from the Hypotyposes of Clement of Alexandria apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 109, 89a21–28. The latter is probably to be identified with the “power” that harmonizes and disposes the universe “in accordance with the will of the father” (see Clem. Al. Strom. VII 2, 5.4; and Lilla 1971, 209–10), while “Intellect” (nous), which “has permeated the hearts of men,” constitutes something like an “emanation” (aporrhoia) of the former, and must consequently possess some margin of independence from the ordinance of cosmic law. In certain Gnostic treatises (principally the Apocryphon of John, on which see note 10 of my introduction to treatise II 9) we find again two Providences, one “Pleromatic” (i.e., intellective) and one “Archontic” (i.e., cosmic); see further Williams 1992, 485–92. But what we observe in P. is a more pronounced effort to combine these two levels in such a manner as not to allow the one to cancel out the other, while at the same time

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Third Ennead leaving room for the presence of Evil in the universe, but without going so far as to elevate Evil to the status of an autonomous cosmic power. 4.13–18. ἀρχὴν μὲν . . . τὸ ἑαυτοῦ:Man represents a synthesis of various elements, and consequently has within him various principles of action, one of which—the higher, intellective soul—is entirely free, because it alone remains unperturbed by disorienting external influences; see III 1.8.4–10. If these elements cooperate harmoniously on the basis of the notion of “minding one’s own business” (oikeiopragia: cf. Pl. Resp. IV 434c7–9, 435b5–7; but also Arist. De motu an. 11, 703a29–34), then the whole of man will be guided by this one principle, resulting in a virtuous, “just” mode of life; cf. Pl. Ti. 42a1–b2. Yet although all men posess this higher soul, and possess it indeed in an active state, they do not always take cognizance of the fact, with the result that they fail to conform to the dictates it conveys from the Intellect; cf. I 1.11.2–8. 4.18–29. ἀλλ’ εἰς τούτους . . . τὸ αἴτιον εἶναι:An exceedingly impenetrable passage, as Harder also notes, mainly because of the uncertainty surrounding its proper punctuation. I believe that we are at heart presented with two aporiai concerning the presence of the free principle mentioned previously in those cases where it seems to be inactive. P.’s position seems to be that we can indeed assert that in those cases the principle is not present, but in consequence not of any incapacity of its own, but rather of its material substrate, that is, the body, which is incapable of receiving it; cf. VI 4.15.1–18. 4.29–44. ἀλλὰ πρῶτον . . . ὁ χείρων:With the response to a third aporia comes the clarification that the resistance to the predominance of the free principle derives not from matter itself, which is in any case inert, but from the “perturbations” left within it as a result of its previous formations; cf. my comment on II 3.16.41–54. Having a specific passage from the Timaeus (42c2–d2) in mind, P. maintains that the human soul must already have acquired “beastly” characteristics before it is reincarnated as an animal for the first time, and that consequently such a reembodiment represents a natural concomitant of its character, but also a direct punishment for the acquisition of the same. This implies that the decisive transformation occurs at the level of the formative principle, the logos, and not at the level of matter; cf. also VI 7.6.33–7.16 and my comment on I 1.11.8–15. 4.44–54. ἀλλ’ ἐξ ἀρχῆς . . . τῶν ἐφεξῆς:Yet a fourth aporia seeks clarification as to what is responsible for the degradation of the formative principle. The response provided is a somewhat embarrassed one, a fact that perhaps explains why P. felt it necessary to compose, not too much later, a special treatise “On What Are and Whence Come Evils” (I 8 [51]). Here he remains content to refer back to four points that had been raised earlier: (a) The ontological hierarchy renders the existence of higher and lower logoi inevitable (cf. III 2.18.1–5 and III 3.3.22–24; also Pl. Ti. 41d5–7). (b) A small initial divarication may lead to far worse consequences (cf. III 2.4.39–41).



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(c) The “blending” (krasis) of the soul-­trace with the body degrades the former, making it susceptible to the affections of the latter (III 3.3.24–29 and I 1.4.1–18, IV 4.18.11–21). (d) The present condition of a particular formative principle depends on its activity during its previous lives (cf. III 3.4.34–44). Let us recall here the observation made by Armstrong 1978, 123: “Perhaps the greatest contribution which Plotinus made to the endless discussion of the problem of Evil is the vivid sense of how difficult it all is.” 5.1–15. Γίνεται τοίνυν . . . πρόνοια μία:An attempt is now made to effect a synthesis of two analogies that were previously elicited in order to illustrate the unifying character of the Logos. The first is that of the living organism (cf. III 2.8.1–7), the second that of musical harmony (cf. III 2.16.40–45). Their common element is the integration of variegated and even antithetical elements into one unified whole, where the parts are disposed hierarchically and cooperate with one another toward the attainment of a unitary result. The harmonious relations interconnecting the parts of an organism or the chords of a musical instrument cause them to be sustained by “mutual affection” (sumpatheia), which allows the transmission of an “affection” (pathos) from one part to another, or of one chord’s vibration to those attuned to it, so that all may sound together in a uniform harmony (cf. IV 4.8.54–61). It is just such a harmonious integration of the parts of the universe that, when viewed as natural necessity, bears the features of Destiny, but when viewed as a consequence of the proportional arrangement of all things by the divine Intelligence, becomes apprehensible as Providence. A cognate idea is expressed by Porphyry in a passage of his commentary on Ptolemy’s Harmonics (12.14–20 trans. after Tarrant): “For matter is given form as if being counted out and totaled up, together with the coordination of the affections and dispositions that arise within her according to their mutual relation and concordance; when these are joined in proportion (analogōs), everything is governed with a view to the detailed completion of each thing and to the integrity of the whole, this proportion (logos) and calculation (logismos) being employed by ‘the God and Leader of All’ as if he were possessed of some holy knowledge and reasoning.” But Clement of Alexandria (Strom. VII 2, 12.2–3) also sees the “government” of the universe being exercised proportionately, although he emphasizes the ethical aspect of the relative ranking in which beings are arranged: “For all things have been disposed with a view to the salvation of the whole by the Lord of the whole, both universally and in particular. It is then the function of redemptive justice always to promote each thing as far as it is receptive of betterment. For even the lesser things are governed with a view to the salvation of the greater and better, and to [their] abode in proportion (analogōs) to their own character.” On this see Mortley 1971, 88–89. In this manner, the justice in accordance with which divine Providence is exercised responds to Plato’s call for a “proportional” (kata logon) equality among citizens, and not an arithmetic one—not “the equality of measures, weights and numbers”; see Leg. VI 757a1–c6.

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Third Ennead 5.5–16. εἱμαρμένη δὲ . . . πρόνοια μόνον:The subordination of Destiny to Providence appears to have been a fundamental feature of the Middle Platonist tradition. It is openly upheld by Calcidius (In Ti. 143, 181.20–182.5; 145–47, 183.18–20 and 184.12– 185.2; and 177, 206.1–2. See also den Boeft 1970, 8–20), but is also discernible in other, related texts, such as [Plut.] Fat. 9, 573b; and Nemesius De nat. hom. 38, 109.16–18. 5.16–24. τὰ μὲν γὰρ . . . ὁ προνοίας:It is here made apparent that Providence is correlated with the hierarchical structure of the universe. In the realm of the purely intelligible it has no place (cf. VI 8.17.7), because what it consists in is a conveyance of energies from the higher entities to the lower and less perfect ones through the intermediation of the Logos, which apportions them unequally in proportion to the capacities of the recipients. Whatever conforms to the commands of Providence is ordained within it, participating with it in the arrangement of the whole. We thus arrive at a fourfold layering of the providential function: (a) The Intellect lies above Providence, but it supplies it with the principles that will constitute the basis of its action. (b) The Soul, receiving the “illumination” of Intellect (cf. III 2.16.13–17), exercises Providence-­proper through the Logos. (c) The trace projected by the Soul on matter confers on it powers of mutual interaction that pervade the sensible universe, weaving cosmic Destiny in subordination to Providence. (d) At the lowest layer resides the blind necessity of materiality (cf. III 2.2.33–35), extending to the limit that the action of Providence reaches. 5.24–32. συνείρεται μὲν . . . τὸ πονῆσαν:Nevertheless, Providence has the capacity to integrate into its design even what arises from other causal factors independent of itself. Cf. III 2.5.7–25 and 18.13–18. 5.33–41. ὥστε τὰ κακὰ . . . ἄλλο πρὸς ἄλλο:Materiality, which is the primary cause of Evil, represents a necessary consequence of the procession from the Good; cf. my comment on III 2.2.8–15. Yet moral badness, which constitutes a derivative “secondary evil” (see I 8.4.1–12), requires the cooperation of another, independent factor, the self-­ impelled—and thereby responsible—devotion of the soul to its enmattered image; on this see I 8.5.1–9, with my comment. Thus, for example, the self-­chosen—though nonvoluntary (see my comments on III 1.8.14–9.16)—relinquishment to the needs or affections of the body may lead man to actions that are opposed to Providence but correlated for all that to Destiny, and may thereby reduce him to thraldom to the latter. 5.41–43. οἷον καὶ . . . οὐ τὸ αὐτό:The Homeric example appears to have been carefully chosen, and it provides evidence of P.’s excellent knowledge of the classical literary texts. Idomeneus, in spite of having been one of Helen’s suitors (see Hes. Cat. fr. 204.55–63), was “many times” (pollakis) a guest at the palace of Menelaus—as she herself reports in Hom. Il. 3.230–33—but without ever displaying the dissolute behavior of Paris. In other words, identical stimuli do not provoke identical reactions in different people.



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5.47–54. τὸ δ’ ὑπὸ τοῦ σώφρονος . . . εἰργάσατο:The individual has the possibility of choosing whether he will act “according to providence” (kata pronoian), that is, with temperance, or “against providence” (para tēn pronoian). Providence determines not his choices, but their consequences, which it ordains to its plan. Just as the art of the doctor in regulating matters of health and disease aims for the former and combats the latter, so Providence also determines both the good and the bad consequences of our actions, without being itself responsible for them. See also Schubert 1968, 112–13. 6.1–16. Πόθεν οὖν . . . παρ’ αὐτοῦ:The question of divination was habitually raised at the conclusion of discussions of Providence, principally among the Stoics; see, indicatively, Cic. Diu. I 117 and II 3. The thought that the systematic and persistent observation of natural phenomena assists us in discerning the laws they are ruled by, laws that, as we saw, represent in their turn manifestations of divine Providence, is one that comes very close to the views of Posidonius, as these are expressed in Cicero’s De diuinatione; see above all I 127–28. Yet P. places a special weight on the ability of the diviner to distinguish within individual occurrences between the contribution of providential planning, which is inscribed in the formative logoi, and the “fortuitous” mechanical causes that intervene during the unfolding of events. 6.16–17. ἀλλ’ οὐδὲ . . . τὸ γέρας:The ability to foretell events through divination had always been viewed as a feature or gift of divinity, and consequently the diviner had to have access to a higher, divine level of apprehension of things; the locus classicus concerning this subject is of course Pl. Phdr. 244a6–d5, but cf. also Cic. Diu. I 64, 88, 127, and what I have to report in my comment on I 6.8.9–16 with respect to the diviner Teiresias. P. adapts to the occasion a verse from Simonides’ “Praise of Scopas” (fr. 4.7 Diehl), which is known to us from Plato’s Protagoras, 341e3 and 344c2–3. Yet from the way that Aristotle (Metaph. Α 2, 982b30–31) already makes use of the same verse, it would appear early on to have acquired virtually proverbial status. 6.17–20. καὶ γὰρ . . . ἀποκλινόντων:Divination does not constitute an explanatory science capable of uncovering causal relations (concerning the distinction between knowledge “why” (dioti) and knowledge “that” (oti), see Arist. An. post. I 13, 78a22; and the observation of Ross 1949b, 596: “the study of the facts without the reasons is of course only by courtesy called a science at all”); it is a mere technique of prognostication that is based on the interpretation of “signs” (sēmeia). Cf. my comments at II 3.12.25–32 (after II 3.5.20), 7.4–8, and III 1.6.20–24; but also Cic. Diu. I 86 (trans. Falconer): “You ask why everything happens. You have a perfect right to ask, but that is not the point at issue now. The question is, does it happen, or does it not? (fiat necne fiat, id quaeritur)” and 127: “They may not discern the causes themselves (causas ipsas non cernunt), yet they do discern the signs and tokens of those causes (signa tamen causarum et notas cernunt).” The only guarantee for the accuracy of these prognostigations is the good ordering and regularity of natural phenomena, which permits certain ones to be correlated with others in such a manner as to constitute sēmeia of them. Cf. II 3.7.3–4; and Cic. Diu. I 130.

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Third Ennead 6.20–33. μᾶλλον δὲ . . . καὶ προειπεῖν ἔνι:Hence, for whatever occurs in the universe, it is possible to formulate predictions backed by evidence. The principle that allows entailments of such a kind is that of “analogy” or “proportion” (analogia), a specific type of relation that connects variegated phenomena to each other, governing even the constitution of the elements of which the world is composed: see Pl. Ti. 31c1–32c2; “Alcinous” Didasc. 12, 167.32–34 and 13, 169.5–7; and my comments on II 1.6 2–8 and II 3.12.25–32 (after II 3.5.20). In any case, the sumpatheia linking the various parts of the universe to each other makes them move in common on the basis of the proportions prevailing among them; cf. above, my comment on 5.1–15; and Reinhardt 1926, 111–12, 250–54. 6.33–38. καὶ εἰ ποιεῖ δὲ . . . καὶ λόγος εἷς:The “sympathetic” interactions among analogous parts of the world are reciprocal and in essence not causal, stemming as they do from a common concordance with the cosmic Logos. 7.1–8. Καὶ ὅτι δὲ . . . πρὸς τὸ κάτω λέγομεν:Cf. III 2.11.1–12, with my comment, and III 3.3.22–37. The argument is of course of Stoic provenance; cf. SVF 2:1169–70. As concerns the layered structure of Providence, see my comment on 5.16–24; but also Sharples 1994, 179–80, on a possible echo from the De prouidentia of Alexander of Aphrodisias. 7.8–9. τὸ μὲν γὰρ . . . καὶ ὅλον πάντα:The principle of Providence has its source in Intellect, where things are “all together”; see my comment on I 1.8.6–8. In Providence all antitheses are marshaled together to comprise a unitary logos, as was emphasized also in Cleanthes’ “Hymn to Zeus” (= SVF 1:537), which P. seems to echo here. See esp. ll. 20–21: For so have you composed into one all (eis hen panta) the good with the bad, that they are become the one Logos of all things, eternal in its being. 7.10–28. πρόεισι δὲ . . . τῶν πεποιηκότων:P. sums up his theory of Providence by drawing on the assistance of a majestic image, in which the universe is compared to an enormous tree. Each of its parts derives from, is determined by, and depends on the whole, and in spite of its peculiarities and differences from the other parts, contains traces of their common principle, which abides within the nourishing root. Even eventual conflicts among the parts do not abolish their common origin, as well as the concomitant bonds of kinship and sumpatheia that sustain them; cf. Charles-­Saget 1982, 82–83. The image of course boasts a long history, and its ultimate source lies perhaps in the dendrogonic cosmologies of remote antiquity; see Ferwerda 1965, 92. In the Timaeus, 90a5–b1, man is likened to a “heavenly plant,” the roots of which are planted upward, thus indicating its “kinship” with celestial things. Taylor 1928, 631–32, may be correct in supposing that Plato was there drawing on some Pythagorean source; cf. Orph. fr. 228a. At any rate, the image found favor with the Stoics, who regarded it as especially appropriate to their organic vision of the universe; see Cic. Nat. D. II 82; Reinhardt 1926, 99–105; and cf. III 1.4.1–9.



III 4. On Our Alotted Guardian Spirit

It also seems likely that the distinction made in ll. 16–17 between the intelligibles, which “remained for ever” (emenen aei), and “those [things] which are forever coming into being” (ta ginomena aei), reflects another, fundamentally important passage of the Timaeus: see 27d6–28a1. In this case, as was pointed out by Dillon 1989a, 60–63, the text P. had in mind contained, in the section that concerned the gignomenon, the word aei as do some of the Platonic MSS, along with Eusebius, Philoponus, and certain other testimonies, while the majority of Platonic MSS and the remaining Neoplatonist tradition omit it. The reading in question certainly served P.’s views on the question of whether the universe had a beginning; cf., indicatively, II 9.3.11–14, with my comment. Nevertheless, the addition—if such it was—must not have arisen with him (nor do we have any clear indications that P. indulged in “ideological” emendations of Plato’s text) but must have been older; see, e.g., the suspicions of Tarrant 1993, 199. On the brotherhood linking all parts of the universe, cf. II 9.16.7–9.

III 4 [15]. On Our Allotted Guardian Spirit Synopsis 1 A. The Spirit and the structure of the soul. The soul, producer of natural bodies. 2 The action of the soul on the body confers upon it its organic functions: the vegetative, the perceptive, and the ratiocinative. After death, the identity of each soul is determined by the function predominant within it. 3 One’s personal Spirit corresponds to the ontological level immediately superior to one’s own. The soul chooses it when it chooses what mode of life it will follow next, but in itself it is an entire “intelligible universe.” 4 Contrary to us, the cosmic Soul remains devoted to the intelligible. 5 B. The Spirit as guardian of the life of the soul. The choice of Spirit corresponds to the soul’s own predispositions. But in what sense and to what degree is our Spirit correlated with us? 6 Various particular issues: The Spirit of the wise man. How the Spirit participates in the judgment of souls. The Spirit during the process of birth. The Spirit upon the return of souls to the world.

Introduction As mentioned in my previous introduction, there existed a Middle Platonic tradition according to which divine Providence is exercised at three levels, of which the third is in

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Third Ennead the charge of “spirits” (daimones).1 This explains perhaps why Porphyry chose to place this treatise immediately following the ones “On Providence.”2 In reality, however, P. here comes to grips with Platonic demonology by treating some of its traditional themes (which were, moreover, readily susceptible to harmonization with certain widely diffused religious beliefs of the Romans) in an entirely individual and innovative way, demythologizing and internalizing it to a significant extent, and “translating” it thereby into a pioneering psychological theory. In ancient literature the term daimōn was connected right from the start with divinity as a whole, and especially with those of its manifestations or actions that influence or determine—whether positively or negatively—the fate of men.3 But whereas the twelve Olympic gods acted within more or less predetermined boundaries that were defined by their peculiar characteristics and individual preferences, demonic intervention occurred for the most part in a confounding and unexpected manner, provoking intense outbursts of that indeterminate sensation of surprise and wonder (mirum) that is at the heart of every genuine religious feeling.4 At the same time, one may already from the archaic period discern a deeper ambiguity surrounding the activity of demons: for in several instances the latter appears to represent a transparent metaphor for purely internal psychological processes that, because of their inexplicable character, are projected onto the external world as the mysterious interventions of certain indeterminate and uncontrollable supernatural entities.5 See principally Apul. De Plat. I 12, 206. The most evident sources of this tradition lie in Plato’s Leg. IV 713c5–e3 (cf. also Plt. 271d6–8) and in the demonology of Xenocrates, who, having accepted the tripartite division of the universe into the supracelestial, the celestial, and the sublunar regions, classified the agents responsible for their respective providence into three corresponding grades: (a) the “supreme” Zeus, (b) the celestial astral gods, and (c) the lower demons or spirits. See fr. 15, 18, 24, 57; and Schibli 1993, 144–45; cf. also Plut. De gen. 593d–594a; and [Plut.] Fat. 572f–573a and 574b–c. 2  At VP 25.2–6, Porphyry justifies his placement of this treatise in the third Ennead by asserting that it is of cosmological and anthropological interest. As we shall see, this reflects more his own views than it does those of P. 3  Thus, e.g., in Homer the phrase sun daimoni (Il. 11.792: Lattimore translates, “with God helping”) designates the assistance of an unspecified divine power, while conversely, the responsibility for a severe sickness is attributed to some stugeros (“hateful”) daimōn (Od. 5.396); cf. also Aesch. Pers. 601; Eur. Med. 1347; and Andr. 98. This seems to add strength to the widespread view that traces the etymology of the term to the verb daiomai (to “apportion” or “distribute”) and connects it semantically with fate; cf. Soph. OT 1194; and also Nilsson 1974, 218; Festugière 1950, 268–71; and LSJ, s.v. daimōn, closing remark. The history of the role of spirits in ancient religion and philosophy is of course a subject far too vast and complex to be presented here. For further reading, see, above all, the fundamental article of Andres 1918, 267–322; Hopfner 1974, 1–247; and Brenk 1986, 2068–2145. 4  In a celebrated article, Jørgensen 1904, 357 ff., pointed out that, in the Homeric epics, whereas the poet in propria persona analyzes any supernatural interventions on the strength of his theological baggage by describing the actions of the various gods, his heroes attribute the same events to the activity of anonymous deities (daimones), whose nature and even intentions frequently remain unspecified; see also Dodds 1951, 11–13. It was also the view of Bergson 1932, 197–98, that the demonic element is much closer than the individual gods to “the truly primary representation of divinity, [which is that of ] an effective presence.” Cf. Nilsson 1974, 221. 5  See, e.g., Hom. Od. 3.26–27, 11.61; and Brenk 1986, 2073–76. Dodds 1951, 10–15, 40–42, emphasizes that this internal dimension is already visible in Homer. See also the acute observations of Boyancé 1935, 192. 1 



III 4. On Our Alotted Guardian Spirit

These demonic interventions assumed, for the most part, two different shapes, corresponding to the two ways in which they were primarily experienced. According to the first, they were regarded as exercising compulsion, being expressions of the ruling power held over human affairs by divinity, which establishes through its commands a rigid framework within which necessarily unfolds the activity of each individual, and that on occasion personifies a particular contingency within which the individual feels entrapped.6 Yet such interventions could, on other occasions, acquire a positive, even redemptive character, guiding a man or attending him or assisting him at difficult moments or in critical choices. The classic example of this kind of divine mediation is of course the presence of Athena at the side of both Odysseus and the young Telemachus in the Odyssey, where her role as comforter and guide led her to be regarded as the archetypal expression of the solicitude of the divine for man, and of its contribution to the life of wisdom and virtue.7 Thus it appears that there emerged very early on the perception of a special category of spirits (daimones) who watch over and look after the life and behavior of men on earth. According to this widely diffused view, these spirits undertook to oversee whichever souls were “allotted” to them, thereby determining, up to a point, their destiny and their path within the world.8 In the Phaedo, 107d5–e4, Plato seems to make this belief his own, but he also connects it directly with the soul’s fortune after death: each person’s individual spirit, “who received him as its lot when he was alive” (hosper zōnta eilēchei), directs his soul to the place of Judgment, while at the conclusion of the entire procedure, another “leader” or “guide” (hēgemōn) directs it again to its new embodiment. As the sequel reveals, the role of the latter is to provide guidance to the soul at the “forks and crossroads” of its journey, that is, at those moments of choice on which will depend its ulterior fortune. By contrast, in the Republic Plato seems to react intentionally against this version of events, amending it in some important aspects. Here the prophet of Lachesis declares emphatically to the souls awaiting reembodiment that “you will not be assigned to your daimōn by lot—it is you who must choose him,” thus laying stress on their own personal responsibility in this action (X 617e1). And from then on, this spirit assumes the duties of “guardian of its life,” seeing to the fulfillment of all the consequences attending any choices made by the soul that is in its charge (620d8–e1).

See, indicatively, Hom. Od. 6.172, 24.306, while the demonic intervention in 5.421 appears to be attributed to Poseidon. This aspect found its most complete expression, as one would expect, in the work of the tragic poets. Characteristic is the dramatic aside of Oedipus on the “cruel daimōn” pursuing him; see Soph. OT 828; and cf. Trach. 910; and fr. 592. 7  Such was the view of Plut. De gen. 580c; Apul. De deo Socr. 24, 177–78; and Max. Tyr. VIII 5, 90.17– 92.4. See also Brenk 1986, 2075–77 and 2081, for other examples of “demonic” guidance in Homer. 8  See, mainly, Hes. Op. 122–23 (= Pl. Cra. 398a1–2, and Resp. V 469a1–2); Phocylides fr. 16; Emped. fr. B115.5 DK. Cf. also Pind. Pyth. III 108–9; and the well-­known fragment (714) from Menander: A spirit stands by every man as soon as he is born, a guide through the mystery of life, a good presence (agathos) . . . See further Dodds 1951, 42–43. Détienne 1959, 18–24, has argued that the belief was especially widespread among the early Pythagoreans. 6 

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Third Ennead In the Timaeus (90a2–c6) we again come across a somewhat different version of the same belief. The guardian spirit is here identified with “the principal kind of soul that is present to us”; this resides in our head and is able, by means of wisdom, to render a man eudaimōn, that is, literally “good-­spirited.” What it essentially amounts to, as Aristotle observes in a passage that clearly echoes this section of the Timaeus (Eth. Nic. X 7.7–8, 1177b24–34), is that “something divine” that is intrinsic to man and that when activated leads to the “life according to intellect” by which he comes to resemble god and attain true “well-­being” (eudaimonia).9 Here we notice that the mythological elements have been largely laid aside, as the nature and activity of the “indwelling” (sunoikos) spirit are by now wholly internalized, being represented as simple constituents of the individual’s spiritual life.10 Thus was it also that Xenocrates, according to the testimony of Aristotle,11 identified “each man’s spirit” (ho hekastou daimōn) with the soul itself. The appreciation of the higher, intellective part of the soul as “the divinity within us” would appear to have evolved into a kind of common element for some of the philosophical schools of the Hellenistic period.12 The late Stoics in particular were in the habit of referring to that “fragment” (apospasma) of the divine Logos that constitutes the rational component of the soul—its “directive faculty” or “ruling principle” (to hēgemonikon)—as the “inner god” (endon theos) or “inner demon.”13 Viewed in this way, however, the daimōn seems once again to represent nothing more than a simple metaphor for a purely psychical entity or function, to constitute an inseparable component of an individual’s personality, although of course its presence does not fail at the same 9  There are certain indications that the etymological correlation of eudaimonia with the eu echein (“good state”) of the soul’s tutelary daimōn had a Pythagorean derivation: see Alex. Pol. apud Diog. Laert. VIII 32, with the comment of Delatte 1922, 228; and Détienne 1959, 25–26. On its later conjuration, see “Alcinous” Didasc. 28, 182.1–2, with Whittaker’s n.460 ad loc. 10  Such a tendency may already be discerned in the etymological derivation of the word daimōn from daēmōn (“wise” or “knowing”) in Plato’s Cratylus, 398b5–c4. Cf. also Heraclitus’ celebrated fr. B119 DK (“the character of a man is his daimōn”); as well as Democr. fr. B170–71 DK. Conversely, in Plato’s Laws, V 732c4–6 and IX 877a2–7, the personal daimōn appears to correspond to an entity that extends beyond the narrow confines of the individual and exercises a kind of providential solicitude not only for him, but for the wider good, for instance, by preventing a wound intentionally inflicted by someone from proving mortal. 11  Top. II 6, 112a37–8 = Xenocr. fr. 81; see also Schibli 1993, 154–56. As for Aristotle himself, there is a testimony deriving from the Gnostic Isidore (apud Clem. Al. Strom. VI 6, 53.2–3 = Arist. fr. 193) according to which “he states that all men are furnished with spirits (daimosi) who attend on them during the time of their embodiment,” a viewpoint that is not very far removed from what is expressed in the myth of the Republic. 12  The expression to en hēmin theion and its variants are found in the work of Plato, Resp. IX 589e4, 590d1, Ti. 41c7, 88b2; cf. ?Pl. Alc. 133c1–6; in that of Aristotle, Eth.Eud. VIII 2, 1248a27, and Protr fr. B 108 and 110, where reference is made to the familiar verse of Eur. fr. 1018: “our intellect is what in each of us is divine”; but also in the work of Theophrastus, fr. 584A60 = Porph. Abst. II 19.4; of Menander, Epitr. 661–64; and of many later authors, principally ones with Middle Platonist or Neopythagorean connections: see indicatively Philo Opif. 69, Her. 84, Somn. I 34; Anon. VPyth. apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 249, 440b16; Plut. De fac. 943a, Quaest. Rom. 10, 266e; Max. Tyr. XI 8, 138.19–139.4; and, more generally, Haussleiter 1957, 799–810. 13  See also SVF 1:146 (Zeno); but, mainly, Posid. fr. 187.6–8; Sen. Ep. 31.11, 41.1–5; Epict. Diss. I 14.12–14, II 8.11–14; SVF 3:606; and Marc. Aurel. II 13.1–2, 17.4, III 6.2, 7.2, 16.3–4, V 27. One doxographical testimony (apud Clem. Al. Strom. II 22, 131.4) even attributes this viewpoint to Plato himself, while orators such as Dio Chrysostom, 23.7–12, debased it into a shallow commonplace. Cf. my comments on VP 2.25–27 and 10.15–16.



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time to suggest the deeper affinity that pertains between the rational element inherent in man and the cosmic Logos. Nevertheless, as Rist14 has pointed out, there are a number of indications that older Stoics such as Chrysippus ascribed a somewhat greater independence to the daimōn “that is present with each man” (par’ hekastōi), the role of which was probably regarded as being to represent to the soul “the will of the director of the universe”: for it is the conformation and harmonization of our actions with its dictates, that is, with “right reason” (orthos logos), that ultimately brings about the “smooth flow of life” (eurhoia biou) that, according to Stoic doctrine, is equivalent to “well-­being” (eudaimonia).15 In certain cases, the demon appears to be watching over man and standing by him, even to share with him some relation of “affinity” (sumpatheia),16 and yet to remain something different, external to him, like a true guardian-­angel. We saw that in the Laws Plato was already prepared to make some concessions to popular beliefs in respect to “each man’s spirit” (ho hekastou daimōn); thus is it that Epictetus still speaks of it as a “guardian” (epitropos) sent to each of us by god to “watch over” us (phulassein: Diss. I 14.12). And his Roman audience would of course have had no difficulty in recognizing here a reference to the individual Genius, which folk tradition envisaged as attending a person from the moment of his birth until his death.17 Another tradition that also contributed to the elaboration of views concerning personal guardian spirits was the one connected with the interpretation of the famous “divine sign” (daimonion) of Socrates. At first sight, the Platonic version of the phenomenon, according to which this consisted in an inner “voice”18 that functioned solely and exclusively to avert or dissuade,19 did not seem to lend itself to being understood as arising from the intervention of some extrapersonal factor. More amenable to such an interpretation was the version handed down by Xenophon, according to which the sign of Socrates functioned as a kind of intermediary, through which the providential gods “signaled beforehand” to Socrates and his companions “what they should do and what not.”20 This mantic capacity that it possessed, and the guiding function it assumed, even led Plutarch to compare it to the Athena of the Iliad.21 It was natural that this dimension 1969, 262–71. SVF 3:4; cf. SVF 1:184. The close connection of this text with the passages from the Timaeus and the Nicomachaean Ethics cited earlier argues for the antiquity of the relevant testimony. 16  See SVF 2:1102. 17  Cf. Apul. De deo Socr. 15, 151. According to the classic formulation of an author contemporary to P., Censorinus, DN 3.1, “the Genius is the god in whose tutelage one lives from the moment one is born” (Genius est deus, cuius in tutela ut cuisque natus est uiuit). This at first purely Roman belief came progressively under the influence of the corresponding Greek philosophical theories concerning personal demons (see, e.g., Sen. Ep. 110.1), with the result that someone like Varro could end up interpreting it in exclusively psychological terms as “any person’s rational soul” (uniuscuisque animum rationalem), which is in correlation with the cosmic Soul (apud August. De ciu. D. VII 13). See further Rohde 1925, 514n.44; and Schilling 1978, 52 ff. 18  See Ap. 31d3, Phdr. 242c2. 19  See Ap. 31d3–4, 40b1–c4, Tht. 151a3–4; and cf. ?Pl. Alc. 124c5–9; [Pl.] Theages 128d3–7. Nevertheless, even in Plato the commands of the demonic (or, conversely, their absence) are occasionally interpreted as exhortations to positive action; see, e.g., Phdr. 242c2–3 and the aforementioned passage of the Apology. 20  Xen. Mem. I 1.4, IV 3.12, 8.1; cf. Ap. 12–13. See further Vlastos 1991, 280–82. 21  See De gen. 580d–e trans. after De Lacy and Einarson: there “seems to have attached to Socrates from 14  15 

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Third Ennead would appeal especially to the mentality of the people living under the Roman Empire, with their susceptibility to credences of this kind; the result is that we posess today three specialized treatises on the subject, all from the ambit of the so-­called Second Sophistic, which interpret the daimonion of Socrates as a sign of supernatural intervention in human affairs.22 Indeed, Apuleius makes an explicit distinction between (a) the category of continuously disembodied spirits that oversee the lives of men and that observe all their actions—and even their thoughts—like a kind of secret police while remaining themselves unseen, but that also direct the disembodied soul to its judgment, where they submit their own testimonium to its preceding life, and (b) those souls that in their disembodied state—but even while still embodied—displayed a “demonic” character,23 as was the case with certain exceptionally gifted wise men. P., while maintaining his distance from the mythological aspects of the whole question,24 refuses, on the other hand, to interpret the “allotted spirit” merely as an allegorical expression for the ruling part of the soul, the rational “I.” His expansive theory of the soul and of its relation to the conscious “I” (see my comment on I 1.11.2–8) allows him to interpret it instead as an entity that, although extending beyond the narrow confines of our consciousness, remains nonetheless indissolubly bound with the inner truth and the intrinsic aims that rule us and motivate us and integrate us into an order of things that, however much it may transcend us, is in reality most profoundly our own.25 His pioneering view that the soul is able to range across a field much broader than the “I” offers him the possibility of understanding its higher regions as “not-­I,” and hence as something superior and demonic. The question concerning the nature of the “allotted spirit” offers itself to him as an occasion to investigate the complexity and multilayered character of man’s inner life, which is revealed thereby as an entire “intelligible universe.” his earliest years as his guide in life the vision of this divine thing (daimonion), which alone ‘Showed him the way, illumining his path’ (Hom. Il. 20.95) in matters dark and inscrutable to human wisdom.” Cf. Apul. De deo Socr. 11, 145; Max. Tyr. VIII 5, 90.17–92.4. As far as I know, however, we find no explicit identification of Socrates’ daimonion with the “allotted spirit” (eilēchōs daimōn) until as late as Psellus; see his Oratio de miraculo in Blachernais patrato in CMAG VI 201.28–33. But cf. also Amm. Marc. XXI 14.3–5. 22  The works are the first three cited in the previous note: Plutarch’s De genio Socratis, Apuleius’ De deo Socratis, and the two orations of Maximus Tyrius, VIII and IX, with the title “What Is Socrates’ Daimonion?” Cf. also Dio Chr. Or. 25 De daemone. 23  De deo Socr. 15–16, 150–55: “Even the human soul (animus humanus), while it still resides in the body, may be defined as a demon (daemon nuncupatur); . . . in a secondary sense, even the human soul is a kind of demon, which, having accomplished its term of life, takes leave of its body. . . . There are others, . . . a superior and more august species of demons, which are always free of corporeal chains and bonds . . . and it is from this more elevated class of demons, then, that, according to Plato, derive those demons who have been assigned to individual men as witnesses and custodians through the course of life, etc.” 24  His refusal to celebrate his own birthday (VP 2.39–40), which according to Roman tradition was dedicated to one’s individual Genius, may constitute further indication of the demythologizing stance he assumed toward the prevailing religious attitudes of his time. Indeed, the testimony concerning the appearance of his own Genius in the form of a snake at the moment of his death (VP 2.27–28; see my comment ad loc. and cf. Cumont 1942a, 394–96) merely serves to reveal that people of his close entourage such as Eustochius remained much more attached to such attitudes than he did. 25  Which is what leads de Gandillac 1966, 122, to remark that, in the view of P., “our demon, far from constraining us [sc., as did the daimonion of Socrates], . . . corresponds precisely with our freedom.” Cf. Rist 1963b, 23.



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At the same time, the motility that characterizes the “I” causes that higher element to become apparent and apprehensible at various ontological levels, depending on the level at which the soul happens itself to be activated. An indication of just how innovative were these views of P.’s, but also the interpretations he ventured of the various pertinent credences, is the difficulty that even people of his own circle appear to have had to grasp them in all their dimensions. The description in VP 10.14–30, of the famous “spiritualist” séance at the Iseum in Rome, during which there took place a conjuration “of his own companion spirit,” and which Porphyry correlates directly with the composition of the present treatise, reveals that its narrator,26 who was obviously intimately familiar with Middle Platonist views such as we find in Apuleius’ De deo Socratis,27 attributed to the event a very different meaning from the one it held for P. himself.28 Even Porphyry, elsewhere, reveals himself to be exceedingly embarrassed when faced with the multitude of conflicting traditions concerning personal guardian spirits. In his “Epistle to Anebo” it seems that he attempted to approach the subject from two different, and not easily reconcilable, angles: a “technical” one, which referred the choice of “allotted spirit” to a specific genethlialogical contingency, correlating it directly with the astrological “ruling planet” (oikodespotēs); and a “philosophical” one, according to which the eilēchōs daimōn is to be identified with the “intellectual” (noeron) part of the soul.29 The cogent criticism of Iamblichus, in the ninth book of his De mysteriis, does not seem sufficiently to have clarified the situation, with the result that Proclus was eventually to end up distinguishing between no less than six categories of such demons.30 The sterile complexity of these elaborations discloses, by comparison, in the best possible way the acuteness of P.’s own approach to the question. Nevertheless, the present treatise leaves us, in spite of its innovations, with a sense of its immaturity. Its author does not ultimately succeed in liberating himself sufficiently I.e., in all probability Amelius, who is there described as philothutos (“fond of sacrifices” or, in Armstrong’s neat rendition, “ritualistic”); see section 3 of my introduction to VP. 27  Thus, for example, the episode is introduced with the appreciation that P. excelled “from birth” (kata genesin) in respect of his proper daimōn, an observation patently intended to correlate his case with that of Socrates, who in the Platonic Apology is seen to assert in connection with his daimonion that “this began when I was a child” (31d2–3; cf. [Pl.] Theages 128d3), while in the disputedly Platonic Alcibiades, 124c5–10, he is made to refer to his daimonion as “god” (theos). On the other hand, the ritual was said to have as its aim the actual sighting of the Spirit (see my comment on VP 10.22), something that was regarded as feasible by certain Pythagoreans and by Apuleius, op. cit. 20, 166–67, even by Plutarch, De gen. 10, 580c–d. Indeed, Dodds 1951, 289, draws a comparison between this procedure and an anonymous recipe for the “concoction of a demon of one’s own” (sustasis idiou daimonos) that is to be found in PGM VII 505–28; the contents of the magic formula preserved on the papyrus reveal, however, that in the case in question it was the spirit of the place where the pertinent ritual was held that was the intended object (pace Brisson 1992, 470–71). 28  Rist 1963b, 23, has pointed out that the theurgic techniques that must have been employed by the Egyptian priest during the summoning ritual could not have exerted any influence on P.’s “allotted spirit” as he himself understood it, because for a true philosopher this would have consisted in nothing less than the highest principle itself, the Good (see III 4.6.3–5). See also Wallis 1983, 503; and Männlein-­Robert 2002, 588–89. 29  See Iambl. Myst. IX 1–2, 5, 8 = Porph. Ad An. fr. 2.14, 15, and 17. 30  See Procl. In Alc. 71.1–72.12. It is worth noting that later on Olympiodorus, In Alc. 23.2–9, would content himself with a much simpler equation between the “allotted spirit” and “conscience (to suneidos), which is the finest part of the soul and unerring and an unbending judge and witness of occurrences here.” 26 

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Third Ennead from the mythological context of his Platonic sources, expending more effort on trying to reconcile the latter,31 than he does on grounding his own ideas in a comprehensive philosophical psychology—something that he was to attempt later on, in his treatise “What Is the Living Being, and What Is Man?” (I 1 [53]).

Commentary Title. The title Porphyry chose for this treatise closely echoes the well-­known passage from Plato’s Phaedo (107d6–7) that P. himself quotes at 3.3–4, inasmuch as the accusative hēmas (“us”) corresponds to the object of eilēchei (“received as its lot”) in the Platonic text. Hence, a translation that better preserves the syntax would be: “On the Guardian Spirit That Has Received Us as Its Lot.” The attribute eilēchōs (“[to which we are] allotted”) as applied to one’s personal spirit may thus be traced back to the aforementioned source, but it appears to have had a prior history. Empedocles had already spoken of those daimones “to whom life long-­lasting is allotted” (hoite makraiōnos lelachasi biou: fr. 31B115.5 DK; the verse may well have been later misinterpreted as referring to human life): see also [Lys.] Or. fun. 78; Trag. adesp. fr. 17; Theocr. Id. IV 40. That is also why Plato, even as he emphasizes in the myth of the Republic that the souls are themselves responsible for their choice of guardian spirits, continues to correlate the selection they make with a “lot” (klēros) that now, however, “falls” to each of them (lachōn: X 617e2–618a1, 620d6–e4; cf. Porph. fr. 268F. 11–33). Yet even in later philosophical contexts, the personal guardian spirits are usually portrayed rather as “having us allotted to them” (hēmas lanchanousin) than vice versa. See, indicatively, Celsus apud Origen C. Cels. VIII 33–34; Max. Tyr. VIII 8, 98.6–8; Hierocles Prou. et Fat. apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 251, 466b7; but also Heliod. Aeth. I 26.4, V 2.7. In what follows—and as I attempt to explore the relationship between the notion of a personal guardian spirit and this web of credences, laying particular emphasis on the Platonic tradition—whenever it is clear that it is the eilēchōs daimōn that is being referred to, I indicate this by capitalizing the initial letter. 1.1–3. Τῶν μὲν . . . μέχρι φυτῶν:The allusion (see l. 2: elegeto) is obviously to the previously composed treatise, V 2 [11].1.13–21, where it is asserted that, contrary to what occurs during the production of the higher hypostases, the soul does not remain unmoved as it generates that image of itself that animates and vivifies the body (cf. I 1.7.1–6, with my comment): it “does not stay still as it produces—it is moved and so brings forth (kinētheisa egenna)” sense-­perception and the “vegetative” functions of nutrition, growth, etc. This peculiar characteristic must be related to Plato’s description of the soul as being “always in motion” (aeikinēton: Phdr. 245c5; cf. IV 7.9.6–9 and V 1.12.5)—yet the question remains, what precisely does this “movement” of the soul, which brings it into contact with the body, consist in? The answer is to be found, I believe, at III 7.11.23– 30, where we are given a description of the generation of time by the world-­creating 31 

As Bréhier correctly observed in his “Notice.”



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movement of the Soul, which imitates in this manner the “motionless movement” of Intellect; see also my comment on II 2.1.8–19. The movement of the individual soul, which introduces motility to living bodies, must be analogous; see III 6.3.22–26, IV 4.20.1–8. 1.3–5. καὶ γὰρ . . . μόνη γενομένη:Even the lowest manifestation of psychical activity is present in every soul, but it only becomes dominant when it “comes to be isolated” from higher ones, as happens in plants, which, being susceptible by their constitution to receiving only the most attenuated form of life, are suffused and dominated by the particular image of the soul that activates the reproductive and nutritive functions alone. Conversely, in more developed organisms, these lower functions are subordinated to the higher ones, the sensory and ratiocinative; cf. V 2.1.22–28. 1.5–12. αὕτη μὲν . . . παντελῆ: Toward the end of the previously mentioned treatise (V 2.2.29–31), the same question had been raised concerning the creativity of the lowest manifestation of psychical activity, that of “vegetative” life: does it bring forth anything at all? The answer there had been: it brings forth that “in which it is,” to which was attached the promise that the subject would be investigated further from a different starting point. The answer given there is now supplemented with an enumeration of specific attributes that characterize this offspring of the lowest soul: it is “lifeless,” “shapeless,” “not any more a form of soul,” “absolute indefiniteness,” while further on we are told that “it becomes a body by taking on a shape,” and we find it referred to as “receptacle” (hupodochē: cf. Pl. Ti. 49a6; and II 4.1.1, III 6.13.12) and as “last” or “utmost” (eschaton: cf. I 8.7.22, II 5.5.19, etc.). Consequently, the present passage is regarded as one of the strongest indications we possess that, according to P., matter constitutes a product of the soul, and, more particularly, of its “power of growth” or “nature” (phusis); see above all the pertinent publications of O’Brien (1981, 121n.19; 1993, 24–26; and elsewhere), but also Corrigan 1986, 168. A divergent view, according to which the offspring of the soul is the body, has been defended mainly by Schwyzer 1973, 274–78; and Narbonne 1987, 6–8, and 1993, 150–51; see also the references I have provided in my comment to I 8.14.51–54. Yet beyond the parallels highlighted above, and the explicit declaration in ll. 14–15 that the body is the result of the “perfection” of this initially shapeless and indefinite offspring, there also exist other passages in the Enneads that render it certain that what is here being referred to is matter: see III 2.15.12, III 9.3.7–14. 1.12–14. εἰ μὲν γὰρ . . . πρὸς τὴν τελείωσιν αὐτοῦ:Indefiniteness, as a property entailing radical opposition to the possession of any shape or formal Substance, is quintessentially a trait of matter, although in P.’s view it may even be discovered at the highest levels of the ontological hierarchy; see II 4.3.1–5, 5.31–37, with my comments. What is here pointed out is that inasmuch as indefiniteness is intrinsic to materiality, it will be inherent in any material body, where it is expressed as the distance separating the latter from the perfect realization of the form upon it. Cf. Arist. Metaph. Ζ 11, 1037a27, and Gen. an. IV 10, 778a7–9.

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Third Ennead 1.14–17. τὸ δὲ . . . τοῦ κάτω:By contrast with the indefiniteness of bodies, which, though a function of their materiality, is relative to the specific form that each of them tends to assume, the indefiniteness of matter itself is absolute, a fact that confers on it the potentiality to receive within itself every kind of formative principle; see further II 4.13.7–30, with my comments. The perceptible shape that emerges in a body and thereby “perfects” it constitutes the “ultimate” or “terminally distant” (eschaton) reflection of the formative activity of Being, and for this reason it lacks any potency or vitality: it is a “dead” logos; cf. III 8.2.27–34; and Santa Cruz 1979, 109–10. 2.1–6. Καὶ τὸ ψυχὴ . . . ἔξω γὰρ:The citation from Plato’s Phaedrus (246b6–7) affords P. an opportunity to clarify somewhat his earlier assertion (see 1.3–5) concerning the dominant part of the soul. Depending on the extent of its fall or “shedding of wings,” each soul comes to be either more or less devoted to the materiality of the body in which it resides, with the result that it becomes isolated from the intelligible world. The degree of its isolation may be such, that the soul will become fully identified with the needs and perturbations that unavoidably possess the body, whereupon it finds itself exclusively dominated by the corresponding bodily affections. When this is the case, its higher psychical functions remain inactive—not in themselves, but in relation to the specific organism—and beyond its apprehensive range; see my comment on I 1.11.2–8. At other times, again, the soul becomes identified with its sensory or, indeed, its ratiocinative functions, with the result that it configures higher forms of organisms and thus comes to occupy different gradients on the scala naturae; see my comment on III 2.3.33–41. 2.6–11. ἐν δὲ ἀνθρώπῳ . . . εἶδος ἄνθρωπος:In the case of man, we see all the lower functions being present to him, and on occasion even preventing the others from becoming predominant. Yet that which makes him a man is his higher, intellective component on which all the others depend and to which they ought to submit; cf. I 1.10.7–11, with my comment. 2.11–15. ἐξελθοῦσα δὲ . . . καὶ θεόν:Following the soul’s departure from the body, its future path and fortune will be determined by whichever element had predominated in the course of life. That is why the “flight” (phugē) to which we are invited by the well-­ known passage from Plato’s Theaetetus (176a8–9; cf. I 2.1.1–5, with my comment) constitutes in essence a redirection of the soul’s attention from its concern for its sensual apprehensions, or for the needs and desires of the body (cf. Pl. Resp. VII 519b1–2), toward its true self, which remains dedicated to the intelligible; cf. Pl. Phd. 81b1–c7; and my comment on I 4.10.21–33. Only by means of such a conversion is the soul finally able to break free from anything to do with the body. The expression P. chooses to employ hints at the three stages of this process of ascension: the first is accomplished at the level of the soul, with its dedication to its intellective apprehensions, while the second unfolds within Intellect itself, through the investigation of all the complex interconnections that sustain it. The consummation is of course union with the divine itself; cf. my comment on I 3.1.12–16.



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2.16–30. ὅσοι μὲν οὖν . . . ἢ τὰ τοιαῦτα:Here we have our clearest indication that P. admitted the reembodiment of souls; see also my comment on I 1.11.8–15. Indeed, the extension of the possibility of reembodiment even to plants, which has no precedent in the Platonic dialogues (cf., however, Emped. fr. B117 and 127 DK), is also attested by a doxographic reference in Damascius, In Phd. I 177.2–3, on which see Dörrie [1957]/1976, 426–27. For the rest, the exposition of the subject unfolds with one clear allusion after another to the relevant passages of the Phaedo, 81b1–82b8, Republic, X 620a2–d5, and Timaeus, 91d6–92c3; cf. also CH Exc. XXIII = Korē Kosmou 42, 13.16–14.12. Nevertheless, the playfulness running through the whole passage—something quite unusual for P.—suggests that the reader is perhaps not meant to take literally the entire sequence of details. The basic content of the doctrine is ethical rather than metaphysical: one’s mode of life forms one’s character. A life wholly given over to dissipation, for instance, renders a man beastly. Neglecting the dictates of the intellect leads to being cut off from the intelligible and to pursuing a life that is animal-­like, or even plantlike; cf. Arist. Protr. fr. 28, but also the pertinent belief of the Gnostic Basilides cited by Clem. Al. Strom. II 20, 112.1–2. With all that, P. does admit that the moral condition of the soul also has consequences for the natural order of the universe. Incarnation as an animal is the natural result of the incapacity of the soul to configure a body that adequately corresponds to its higher functions; cf. VI 7.6.21–7.8. Hence, as Rich 1957, 235–38, has also argued, P.’s assertions concerning reembodiment cannot be regarded as mere metaphors. 3.1–4. Τίς οὖν . . . ζῶντα εἰλήχει:The ontological field occupied by the soul extends all the way from the intelligible to the edge of matter. Yet the nature of every animated being is determined by that portion of the soul that is activated and predominant. What is appropriate to man is the activation of the ratiocinative function (see my comment on I 1.11.2–8), while if some additional higher function is also activated, then we are dealing with a demon, or even with a god. In all these cases, the activated part of the soul directs the animated being and determines its character. And, as was mentioned in my introduction to this treatise, the later Stoics tended to refer to the ruling, rational part of the soul, the hēgemonikon, as the “inner spirit” (endon daimōn), something readily identifiable in turn with the personal guiding Genius. Even Dio Chrysostom, 25.1, regards it as a commonplace that this daimōn is equivalent to “that which in each person is dominant and according to which he lives . . . and does whatever he does.” 3.4–8. ἢ οὔ . . . τῷ ἐργαζομένῳ:P. refuses to admit this Stoic interpretation of the credence, and he invokes a number of Platonic texts in defense, starting with the Phaedo passage (107d6–7), which, during a discussion of the soul’s fortune after death, refers to its having been placed in the charge of a particular Spirit throughout the course of its earthly life. This Guardian Spirit is to be found, according to P., at the ontological level immediately above the one at which the soul is activated, and for that reason remains “invisible” to the latter. Its contribution through the duration of life is expressed in the form of silent approbation of the actions of the person in its charge. This probably implies, however, that on occasion it may intervene avertingly, to prevent an ac-

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Third Ennead tion that would contravene its own principles. Thus, for example, someone who lives only by his senses may from time to time feel certain compunctions that can be traced to the intervention of his reason, even if in the end he fails to heed them. Perhaps we have an echo here of the purely dissuasive action of Socrates’ daimonion; see above in my introduction. 3.8–10. ὀρθῶς οὖν . . . αἱρούμεθα: Special emphasis and endorsement is now given to the innovation introduced by Plato in the Republic (X 617e1 ff.), according to which the placement of the soul in the charge of its personal Guardian Spirit comes about as a result of its choosing on its own a mode of life in such a manner that god takes no part in the selection and remains, in consequence, “without responsibility” (anaitios); cf. above, my comment on the title of this treatise. Later, at III 5 [50].7.26–46, P. will clarify that each daimōn represents a particular “propensity” (ephesis) of the soul for something that it aims at or desires alongside the “good” itself, and which constitutes the object of the propensity concerned. These proclivities may be regarded as to some degree granted and exogenous, yet the soul has the capacity to choose among them the one it will ultimately follow. 3.10–14. διὰ τί οὖν . . . ἔχων δαίμονα:From this opaque passage it appears possible to draw two conclusions: (a) According to P., the personal Guardian Spirit ceases to have any direct relation with the soul in the aftermath of death. This is in complete contradiction with what Plato has to say concerning the role of these demons during the postmortem judgment of souls (see Phd. 107d7–e2), and must obviously bear some correlation to the reservations P. himself entertained in respect of the whole idea of such a judgment; see my comment on I 1.12.1–4. (b) Each Guardian Spirit is not necessarily associated with only a single soul, but the persons in its charge may alternate, to the extent that upon completion of a particular life, a person may choose to become activated at a different level than previously. This shows beyond any doubt that the Guardian Spirit in question represented an extrapersonal entity, with its own independent and autonomous hypostasis. 3.14–20. εἰ δὲ βαρύνοιτο . . . ἕως ἄνω:It was unwavering Plotinian dogma that the punishment for the soul’s wickedness consisted in nothing else than its degradation to that lower level of activation, to which it was lured by the base desires and unruly character of the “bad” horse of the Phaedrus allegory (247b3–5); cf. my comment on III 2.8.16–31. On the other hand, the conscientious observance of the recommendations of its Guardian Spirit may lead the soul onto the path of its ascension to the intelligible; cf. also my comment on I 2.6.6–7. Its passage to a higher level will of course entail its coming under the charge of another Guardian Spirit, one belonging to a higher grade. 3.21–24. ἔστι γὰρ . . . τῷ νοητῷ:The soul that, as we said, extends down to the furthest fringes of the sensible and has the capacity to apprehend representations from all ontological levels, displays an extraordinary multifariousness and an outstanding versatility. Aristotle had already observed that “the soul is, in a sense, all beings”; see De an. III 8, 431b21. P. makes sure to clarify that what imparts this capacity to the soul is its intellective



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nature and the fact that it somehow contains in potentiality all forms of life; cf. IV 7.10.35, V 1.10.5–6, VI 7.6.23; Trouillard 1955a, 42–43; and Kalligas 1997b, 217, 219–20, and 223. 3.24–27. καὶ μένομεν . . . οὐκ ἐλαττουμένου:What comes next is this compendious presentation of the model P. usually invokes to describe the formative and vivifying action of the soul on matter; cf., indicatively, I 1.7.1–6, with my comment. The intellective core of the soul remains uninterruptedly preoccupied with the intelligible, but there radiates or “emanates” from it a secondary energy that enters into contact with the body and gives it life. I provide a somewhat more detailed analysis of this process in Kalligas 2000, 31–35; see also my comment on II 9.3.7–12. One of the fundamental principles governing the production of every secondary activity, according to P., is that of undiminishing bounteousness; the radiation of this energy does not lead to any kind of diminution or alteration of its source. Thus the soul also, in spite of its “procession” (ekbasis) and its “advance” (proodos) toward the domain of the sensible, and also in spite of that peculiarity of its own that was discussed above in my comment on 1.1–3, remains immutable in itself, with its primary energy constantly turned toward intellection; see III 8.5.11–17, V 1.7.42–48, and V 2.1.22–28. The verb menei (“remains” or “abides”), which P. usually employs to denote this immutability, echoes, as he himself reveals at V 4.2.21–22, the description of the Demiurge abiding at rest “in his own customary nature,” which is to be found in the Timaeus, 42e5–6. Yet the idea that participation in an intelligible does not cause it to suffer any change or diminution is already present in the Symposium, 211b2–5. As concerns the word aporrhoia (“outflow” or “emanation”), which P. employs here with a reservation worth reflecting on, see my comment on II 2.2.15–18. 4.1–2. Ἆρ’ οὖν . . . καὶ τοῦτο:The present observation clearly derives from a “subjective” view of things and concerns how the soul acquires awareness of itself. Its conversion toward the intelligible abolishes its “isolation” (cf. my comment on 1.3–5), upon which its lower functions, the ones that are correlated with the body, become subordinated to, and aligned with, the higher ones, such that they too find themselves turned toward There. Without ceasing to “illuminate” the body and so endow it with life, the soul is no longer bothered or concerned with it, now that the body merely “depends upon and is attached to us,” but causes us no troubles, worries, or affections; cf. IV 4.18.6–21. 4.2–7. τί οὖν . . . τοῦ κόσμου κειμένου:The cosmic Soul finds itself from this point of view in an especially advantageous position. The body of the world is by its nature complete and perfect; cf. Pl. Ti. 33a7. Hence, there is no need for the cosmic Soul to expend any special care on its arrangement and direction; cf. IV 8.2.6–24. In essence, it is not in the least concerned or preoccupied with it; instead, it is the body of the world itself that succeeds, up to a point, in coordinating itself with the cosmic Soul and thereby taking in that image, which gives it the appearance of a living organism. Thus, it leaves the cosmic Soul in its unwavering and eternal contemplation of higher truths. 4.7–10. τί οὖν . . . οὐδὲ γλῶτταν:This essentially carefree and detached stance of the cosmic Soul toward the body of the world raises the question whether it even has any

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Third Ennead apprehension of what goes on in the world through some kind of perceptual representation. The response to this is given with reference to the observation of Plato, Ti. 33c1– 34a7, that inasmuch as the world constitutes a self-­sufficient whole without external needs, neither does it require sensory organs or locomotive limbs of any kind. Yet P.’s syllogistic moves in the opposite direction: from the fact that the body of the world lacks sensory organs, we may conclude that its Soul does not possess any active sensory function. For the soul itself does not have the capacity to apprehend sensibles without the use of bodily organs; see IV 4.23.32–36. This conclusion appears to contradict the claim that was formulated at II 2.3.1–6, according to which the cosmic Soul also possesses a function that is there characterized as “naturally perceptive.” Nevertheless, the sequel of the discussion there makes clear that the function in question has as its object not the common sensibles, but an intellective apprehension of the Good (op. cit. 15– 20). Cf. also IV 4.24.14–25.14 for another treatment of the same theme. 4.10–13. τί οὖν . . . ὡσαύτως:The next question is whether the cosmic Soul has any kind of internal sensation of all that is contained within the body of the world. The term sunaisthēsis, which is employed here, seems to derive from Stoic psychology, where it denoted those apperceptions through which a living organism acquires cognizance of its constitution, and also of the internal processes related to its “affections”: see SVF 2:886, 900, 3:178; Schwyzer 1960, 357–59; and Tieleman 1996, 174–88. This fact allows us better to understand why P. denies its presence in the case under examination. The management of the universe by the soul is effected without effort or labor (see II 1.4.31–33 and my comment on II 9.7.10–14) and consequently passes almost unnoticed. Besides, P. elsewhere makes the point that natural and calm states, such as that of health, are not readily perceptible; see V 8.11.25–31. Yet at IV 4.24.21–22, he does appear prepared to acknowledge some form of sunaisthēsis for the universe, in the sense that some of its parts may have an awareness of the state of certain others; cf. also III 8.4.22–25. As is made clear, the sunaisthēsis there at issue is, according to the apt characterization of Schroeder 1987b, 684, the “cognitive equivalent of sumpatheia,” that is, of that “affinity” or “co-­affection” that ensures the coherence of the different parts of the universe, facilitating thereby a variety of interactions. Hence, what emerges from the combination of these two passages is that although sympathetic relations do exist that interconnect the various parts of the universe and compose it into a unitary organic whole, these are never expressed as violent passions, but only as perfectly equable displays of natural harmony. 4.13–14. ἀλλὰ περὶ μὲν . . . ἐν ἄλλοις:As Igal notes ad loc., it is not immediately obvious to which of his treatises the author is here alluding. The likeliest possibility seems to me to be the immediately preceding treatise in order of composition, where the movement of heaven is described as one of “self-­concentrated awareness and intellection and of life” (sunaisthētikē kai sunnoētikē kai zōtikē); see II 2 [14].1.10. 5.1–4. Ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . αἰνίττεται:Here there arises, however, a much more serious question: if, as the myth of the Republic would have it (X 617e1–3 and 620d6–e6), the soul engages in the choice of its Guardian Spirit and its mode of life before its reembodiment,



III 4. On Our Alotted Guardian Spirit

then is not its behavior through the duration of its embodied life already predetermined? And if so, what sense is there in speaking of self-­determination and having power over our own decisions while we abide here? In his first response, P. points out that in view of the mythological character of Plato’s description, we are meant to take it not literally, but allegorically (cf. ainittetai, and see my comment on I 6.8.18–20). In accordance with his standard practice (cf. III 5.9.24–29), he interprets the diachronically successive phases of the myth synchronically. Thus, the choice that is said to take place There in illo tempore must be interpreted as referring to permanent predispositions that are inherent to the soul, but that nevertheless do not absolutely predetermine its choices and its behavior in the course of its life here. 5.4–12. ἀλλ’ εἰ ἡ προαίρεσις . . . ὁ δὲ τἀναντία:An objection is here laid out with unaccustomed elaborateness according to which, on the basis of the interpretation given above to the Platonic myth, the path that every soul will follow through the course of its embodied life will be wholly predetermined, without its decisions being influenced in any way by the body’s presence. If its comportment is determined exclusively by its intentions, and these are a consequence of the extent of its activation during its previous lives, then its entanglement with the body will have not the slightest bearing on what it does. The word prohairēsis in this passage refers to the overall ethical predisposition of the soul, which, without being in itself responsible for its embodiment (see Rist 1975, 111–12), determines to a significant degree its stance toward the body and effects rational choices in respect to situations that are to some extent beyond its immediate control; cf. my comment on III 1.9.1–4. That is why I concur that it is more correctly rendered here as “intention” or “purpose.” The otherwise interesting analysis of this passage by Phillips 1995, 139–47, suffers, I believe, from the fact that it overlooks that at this point we have to do with an objection, and not with any view held by P. For insofar as prohairēsis corresponds—as declared in ll. 2–3—with the mythical “choice” (hairēsis) of lives, it cannot be identified with the undescended soul’s inherent propensity for the intelligible, given that it concerns a matter of merely practical interest, such as what would be the most preferable mode of worldly existence. It more probably represents a series of choices and judgments effected by the soul that are of course correlated with its aforementioned propensity, but that are formulated at a lower level of discursive thought, where there is the possibility that preferences shaped during earlier embodiments might also intrude (cf. Pl. Resp. X 620a2–3; and below, 6.8–10). The question then is, whether the fact that the choice of mode of life is correlated with the choice of Guardian Spirit (Resp. X 617e1–3, 620d8–e1), and that the latter choice is unalterable (620e1–621a1), leaves the soul with any margin of liberty to alter its preferences and its choices during its embodied life—and whether the intervention of bodily affections is, finally, able to influence and disorient the soul, or not. 5.12–19. ἢ δύναται . . . τὰ αὐτῶν ἤθη:The answer to the question is quite clear, but it is developed in three stages: (a) With explicit reference to the myth of the Republic, the assertion is put forward that it is the soul that shapes the body, and not vice versa. It is a question that depends

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Third Ennead on the soul’s own character, to what extent it will conform to its own better intentions, or will allow itself to be led astray by irrational bodily affections. (In my edition I have in general followed the suggestions of Igal 1973, 83–85, for the restoration of the text at the problematic l. 16, although I have preferred to make a slightly different insertion to the passage, one that comes a little closer to the Republic than the one he recommends. Thus, at the critical point my text reads: epeita tais psuchais ‹hōs daimona hairēsontai›, which in English might be rendered: “then [sc., when it is said] to the souls that they are to choose their Guardian Spirit” etc.) 5.19–24. ὅτι γὰρ . . . ὁ δαίμων ληφθείη:(b) It follows from the Timaeus, 90a2–5, that the Guardian Spirit, whose nature is intimately related with the ethical orientation of the soul, itself constitutes in some sense a part of it, without, for all that, being apprehended as a part of our conscious “I.” It functions as a kind of superego, which provides directions and controls our behavior, without also being what in the end actually enacts our choices. Just like its Freudian counterpart (cf. Freud 1962, 38–39), it lies closer to our subconscious drives and on occasion represents them, yet it is permeated and ruled by higher aims and truths, not by desires or affections. 5.24–29. τὸ δὲ . . . ἢ ᾗ ἐστι:(c) Returning once more to the Republic myth, the author points out that the regulative role of the Guardian Spirit may be invisible, but it is ultimately determinative, because it sets the limits within which the soul is able to move, as long as it remains within the body. The Guardian Spirit examines our actions and dissuades us (see above, my comment on 3.3–8) from abandoning the mission we are carrying out in the universe. At this point P.’s views closely approximate those of Philo with respect to the “censor” (elenchos), a kind of moral conscience that guides and admonishes the soul; on this see Philo Det. 23, 146, Fug. 5–6; and Nikiprowetsky 1967, 255–60; but also Soury 1942, 140, on Apuleius. Nevertheless, the pronounced motility P. allows to the soul renders his own view a more dynamic one. The previously mentioned passage from the Timaeus, however, leads us here to understand this Guardian Spirit as something internalized, as a component of the soul itself; but in this manner there comes about a substantial expansion of the area occupied by the latter, as this will henceforth also include powers that transcend or regulate our individual choices on the basis of criteria that lie beyond our consciousness; cf. my comment on 3.21–24. 6.1–4. Τί οὖν . . . τούτῳ θεός:As has already been pointed out (3.4–5, 5.27), the Guardian Spirit does not itself engage in action but simply oversees our activities, cross-­ examining, suggesting, or dissuading, but always leaving the final decision to us. Otherwise, if it were to act in parallel, it would become coresponsible for our choices and our deeds, which could thereby be attributed to it. But the Guardian Spirit must not be thought to limit either the freedom or the responsibility of the individual. Consequently, a wise man will be someone who acts in concordance with the virtues recommended by the higher, intellective part of his soul (cf. I 2.7.6–13), as long as it is he himself who is making the relevant choices.



III 4. On Our Alotted Guardian Spirit

Now, on the basis of the principle formulated in 2.11–12, the soul of the wise man, after its departure from the body, must be identified with that part of it “that was preponderant” through the course of his life, that is, with intellect. This entails that he will surpass the level of man and himself become a daimōn; cf. my comment on VP 22.23. As has correctly been pointed out by Igal 1984, 94–95, the term daimōn is here being employed in two different senses: (a) an ontological one, designating the level of entity intermediate between the gods and man to which also belong the most “demonlike” (daimonioi) of men, the wise (cf. on this Pl. Cra. 397e2–398c4); and (b) a functional one, when it designates the relation between an entity and its immediately superior ontological level (cf. 3.3–4). Thus, the wise man belongs, by dint of his intellectiveness, to the class of demons (in the first sense of the term), but he has as his “allotted” Demon (in the second sense) some god, either Intellect (which is frequently characterized as theos: see, indicatively, IV 3.11.11, V 1.4.9–11, V 5.3.1–4) or even the supreme principle, the One. We see then that while the expression “his [i.e., the wise man’s] guardian spirit is god” seems to correspond faithfully with the blessing of the Egyptian priest in VP 10.24 (but cf. also ?Pl. Alc. 124c5–10), the philosophical content of P.’s position is incompatible with the theurgic part of the relevant story. 6.4–10. ἆρ’ οὖν . . . καὶ ταύτην προαίρεσιν:Yet one is not born wise; one becomes such in the course of one’s life. How is this to be reconciled with the attribution of a personal Guardian Spirit (who, in this particular case, will be the One) to the soul even before its embodiment? The answer is that his innate wisdom is drowned out, at least during childhood, by the “disturbance” or “tumult” of bodily affections (cf. Pl. Ti. 43b5–7), which daze the soul and distract it temporarily from its concentration on the intelligible, until reason manages to acquire predominance; cf. I 1.11.1–2, with my comment. Yet even before this, the soul’s propensity for higher things is already at work—an observation that reflects the fundamental optimism and trust that P. unfailingly displays concerning the basic goodness of human nature. The soul’s disposition may vary according to circumstance, and its intentions may be adapted to the requirements of the moment, but its deeper propensity is always urging it toward something superior, and in this it enjoys the guidance and support of its Guardian Spirit. 6.10–17. ὁ μέντοι δαίμων . . . ἀλλὰ δίκη:According to the account of the Phaedo, 107d5– e4, the “leader” (hēgemōn) who conducts the soul back again to its new embodiment is other than the one who was guiding it after its disembodiment. Cf. on this point, Plut. Gen. 585f (trans. De Lacy and Einarson): the “soul, already judged, had been joined by lot to another demon and released for another birth.” P. seems to identify this second spirit with the “personal Guardian Spirit, to whom we were allotted in life”—a reasonable interpretation, but by no means self-­evident, as shown, for example, by the pertinent commentary of Damascius, who distinguishes here among three different spirits: see In Phd. I 491 and II 105. Thus, in the period between its two embodiments, the soul finds itself under the direct supervision of these two Guardian Spirits, of which the first acts as its abettor, while the second as, in effect, its avenger. It was either this or something like it that had led certain Platonists, who were also drawing on older religious

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Third Ennead beliefs, to assume that there exist in general two kinds of demon, beneficent and maleficent, who find themselves at war over the fortune of souls; see Procl. In Ti. I 76.30– 77.23 = Num. fr. 37 = Orig. Plat. fr. 12. P. makes it apparent that he is seeking to relieve the two of any responsibility, viewing them as simple overseers who only watch over the fulfillment of the necessary consequences entailed by whatever choices each soul has made; cf. II 3.15.4–5. The final embodiment is regarded as yet another of these consequences; cf. above, my comment on 2.16–30. That is also the reason why at the beginning of the last sentence I propose the reading hē instead of ē, in order that dikē (“expiation”) may be directly connected with tēs husteron geneseōs (“[of ] their next birth”), to which the feminine pronoun will refer. 6.17–18. τί δὲ . . . ἢ εὐήθης:The souls that are reembodied into lower animals (cf. above, 2.17 ff., 3.16–17; and Pl. Ti. 42c1–4) will also have an inferior kind of Guardian Spirit, but this will be an outcome of their antenatal choice, that is, of their predisposition to be led astray by the affections of the body. It is not that there are maleficent demons lying in wait to entrap the soul, as Porphyry perhaps believed (see fr. 469F), but that the soul itself, of its own responsibility, finds itself subordinated to a Guardian Spirit of a lower order. 6.18–30. ἢ τῶν ἄνω . . . τὴν δύναμιν:Apart, however, from the souls that are embodied in terrestrial organisms, there are also those that ascend to higher spheres. Of the latter, some—the more philosophic ones—succeed in overcoming every bond with the sensible universe and in retreating to the supracelestial realm of the intelligible (see further below, 6.30 ff.). Others, however, abide in an intermediate condition, “gaining a place among the stars” and thereby enjoying the blessed mode of life of these visible gods. The belief in the affinity of souls with celestial bodies, and in their concomitant postmortem settlement in their midst, has, in all likelihood, a Pythagorean provenance (see Delatte 1915, 274–76; and Boyancé 1936, 130–32; but cf. also the testimony of the so-­called Orphic leaves (lamellae orphicae), B 1.6–7 and B 2.6–7 in the edition of Zuntz 1971, 358– 61; as well as Avagianou 2002, 82–86). It is also clearly hinted at in Plato’s Timaeus, 41d8–e1 and 42d4–5, and received a variety of interpretations at the hands of later Platonists; see Iambl. De an. apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.39, 377.16–378.18. The best-­known of these is that of Numenius, fr. 34 and 35, who referred at length to the descent of the souls through the planetary spheres toward earth, and to their postmortem reascent toward the Milky Way. Related to this description is a paragraph in Macrobius’ Commentarium in Somnium Scipionis, I 11.10–12, 47.10–29 (trans. Stahl), according to which the duration of the souls’ sojourn among the stars varies depending on the degree of their contact with the body, or, perhaps, of their “contamination” by it (cf. contagione corporis), which comes about because the soul “allows a secret yearning (desiderio latenti: sc., for the body) to creep into its thoughts, [and] gradually slips down to the lower realms because of its earthy thoughts (terrenae cogitationis).” Some remain unpolluted in heaven—that is, in the sphere of the fixed stars—and others descend to the planetary spheres, where they progressively “swell out with certain increases of a sidereal body (siderei corporis incrementa).” If, as was persuasively argued by de Ley 1972, 22, this para-



III 4. On Our Alotted Guardian Spirit

graph faithfully reflects the views of Numenius (see also Flamant 1977, 554–56; and Scott 1991, 87–88), then there can be no doubt that P. does here have in mind these theories of the Apamean philosopher, but he is nevertheless careful to point out concerning them that they are in need of further investigation; cf. IV 3 [27].17.1–4. What is of primary interest here, however, is the observation that individual souls are disposed in a manner directly comparable to that of the cosmic Soul. Thus, each one is not only an intelligible universe (cf. above, 3.22), but a whole hierarchic system of functions and activities that reflects somehow the arrangement of the cosmic spheres; cf. II 2.3.1–20, with my comments. Whereupon something corresponding to the soul’s Guardian Spirit will also be present in the arrangement of the universe, without this entailing the subjugation of the soul to the dominion of the planetary archons, as some Gnostics believed; see Scott 1991, 91–103. Finally, it is worth reflecting on the introduction at this point of the expression daimoni . . . chrēsetai (“will have [intimate recourse to] a Demon”), which, as has been pointed out by Detienne 1959, 22–23, was employed mainly by the Pythagoreans to designate the relation of the soul toward its personal Guardian Spirit, the revelation of whose nature may assist it in ridding itself of evil in all its forms; cf. [Pyth.] Carmen aureum 61–62. If we accept the emendation of H-­S4 to ll. 28–29 of the text (the transposition of toioutōi one line down after autōi, which would allow the passage to be rendered as follows: “and of course each one will have as its god or Guardian Spirit either the corresponding star itself, or etc.”), this relation acquires here a peculiar, “astrological” significance: the soul, in choosing its mode of life, places itself in the charge of a certain type of Guardian Spirit, who is in turn connected with a particular stellar region—and this consequently rules, to some degree, the fate of the particular soul, without, however, actually imposing this fate upon it; see further my comments on III 3.6.20–38. In this manner, the view formulated here by P. partially paves the way toward the position developed later on by Porphyry in his work De quod in nostra potestate (see principally fr. 271F)—who claimed that he derived it from the teachings of Egyptian wise men—according to which the souls’ choice of lives is equivalent to their subordination to the corresponding planetary horoscopes; see Deuse 1983, 156–59. However that may be, the present author appears unwilling to venture into this type of astrological speculation. 6.30–37. τὰς δ’ ἔξω . . . ὀρθῶς λέξει:Nevertheless, the soul can choose (see my comment on 3.8–10) to free itself entirely from anything corporeal, and so to find itself completely outside the cosmic cycle (cf. 6.19). Such a definitive release of the soul from the process of reembodiment seems to have been provided for by Plato himself, Phd. 114b6–c5, Phdr. 248c3–5, but also by Numenius (fr. 35.48–51) and Porphyry (fr. 298F. 1–3, 34–36, and 298cF). P. shows himself here to approve of this position (cf. also III 2.4.9–11), but, as Wallis 1972, 77, has remarked, his simultaneous adoption of the theory of eternal recurrence (see IV 3.12.14–19) would appear to entail that each soul must be embodied at least once in every cosmic period; see also Sorabji 1983, 188. What matters is that these fully disembodied souls will transcend the demonic nature of the visible universe, which is held together by the “erotic” (i.e., demonic) bonds running through it; cf. II 3.9.31–47.

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Third Ennead They will also escape Destiny, inasmuch as it constitutes an expression of these natural powers and laws; cf. III 1.8.9–20, with my comments. (The passage cited from the Timaeus, 35a2–3, is repeatedly interpreted by P. as referring to the image that the soul itself projects on the body, thereby vivifying it; cf., e.g., IV 1.9–13.) 6.37–45. μερίζεται δὲ . . . τὴν αὐτὴν οὖσαν:Nevertheless, the soul’s division is only apparent, given that in reality any division concerns bodies, not it. For in itself the soul remains undivided, being present as a whole in each and every part of the body; cf. IV 2.1.65–76. Evidence of this is provided by plants, from a small section of which an entire new plant may crop up. A rather different case arises with the death of animals: the exit from their body of the soul, which until then had held them together as a unitary manifestation of vital functions, leaves behind it a sort of “glow” that leads to the birth of a multitude of microorganisms. The view that the putrefaction of organic bodies leads to the spontaneous generation of other organisms was exceptionally widespread in antiquity, but also long after, until as late as 1668, when Francesco Redi performed his famous experiments. Theophrastus, for example, reports that certain kinds of flies and snakes spring forth from putrefaction or spilled blood; see fr. 359A2–5, 40–42; and Capelle 1955, 150–80; and note that Diogenes Laertius mentions a work of his, “On Spontaneously Generated Animals” (peri tōn automatōn zōiōn: V 46). Cf. also Arist. Mete. IV 1, 379b6–8; and also Plut. Cleom. 39.5; Varro Rust. III 16.4 (and Cassianus Bassus Geoponica XV 2.21–32, 440.13–442.14); Virg. G. IV 309–13; Celsus apud Origen C. Cels. IV 57; Aelian NA I 28; Philo Prou. II 104; Sext. Emp. Pyr. I 41. According to the explanation of the phenomenon offered by Themistius In De an. 26.25–30 (who was probably drawing on some work of Porphyry’s: see Theiler 1933, 54), the cosmic Soul confers “ensoulment” (empsuchia) on bodies by its irradiation, which is all-­pervasive and able to vivify automatically whatever possesses the proper “temperament” (krasis). P. reverts to this example elsewhere; see IV 3.4.27–29, 8.44–55, V 9.14.15–17. 6.46–49. Πάλιν δὲ . . . πρῶτον: The descent of souls into the world is effected in two stages, and takes place under the oversight of the allotted Guardian Spirit, who, as was stated earlier, may or may not be the one who had guided them during the preceding period of their disembodiment. In the first stage of descent, the soul comes aboard the cosmic “craft” of heaven radiant with light, which Plato in the myth of the Republic had already compared to the “cables girding a trireme” (X 616c3), an image ideally combinable with that of god as “pilot” (kubernētēs) of the universe (see Pl. Plt. 272e3–4; and cf. Num. fr. 18). Its Guardian Demon accompanies each soul this far, but—it would seem—no further, being content to remain observing from on high; cf. above, 3.4–5. 6.49–50. εἶτα παραλαβοῦσα . . . ἕδραν τύχης:Next, each soul, having first been swept into the whirl of the cosmic “spindle” (atraktos: cf. Pl. Resp. X 617a4–6; and my comment on II 3.9.1–6), is finally embarked on its own individual “skiff ” (naus)—an obvious elaboration of the “vessel” (ochēma) referred to in the Timaeus (41e1–2; cf. Phdr. 247b1–3)—which determines the ulterior fortune it is to experience in the world; cf. my comment on III 3.3.3–18. This image is of course associated with that of the soul as ku-



III 5. On Love

bernētēs of the body; on this, see my comment on I 1.3.20–21. Yet it cannot be excluded that the image owes something as well to an echo of the ancient Egyptian belief in the “skiff of the soul”; see further Griffiths 1975, 245. 6.51–60. περιαγούσης δὲ . . . ἡ εἱμαρμένη:Only once it has been embarked on its “vessel” does the soul become exposed to the chance influences of the environment, and hence to the operations of the law of Destiny; cf. my comment on III 1.8.9–14. The same view is clearly articulated as well by Proclus in commenting on the aforementioned passage of the Timaeus (In Ti. III 275.26–33): “As to their essence, souls are above Nature and above the World (huperkosmioi) and beyond Destiny (heimarmenēs epekeina) . . . but as to their vessels (ochēmata) and the lots (lēxeis) which have fallen to them to administer, they have become worldly (enkosmioi), having also received this rank and station from the Demiurge. That is why, after their attachment to their vehicles, he recites the laws of Destiny (tous heimarmenous nomous), by which it has been allotted to them that they are to administer their bodies.” The wording employed by P. contains clear allusions to the Phaedrus myth (cf. principally Pl. Phdr. 247a4 and c1), but the reference to the spinning about of the soul in the whirlwind of natural circumstance possibly echoes also the ancient Orphic belief that the soul is swept along by the winds during the process of embodiment: cf. Arist. De an. I 5, 410b28–30 = Orph. fr. 27; Cumont 1942a, 112, and 1949, 175; but also, e.g., the role of Zephyr as guide of souls in the myth of Cupid and Psyche in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses (IV 35.4, etc.). P. makes certain to underline that quite apart from any movement that derives from external conditions and the revolution of the universe, the soul also possesses its own spontaneous movement, a fact of prime importance for its relation with Destiny; cf. III 1.8.4–8, with my comment.

III 5 [50]. On Love Synopsis 1 The problem: What is love (erōs)? The method of the investigation. Love as an affection of the soul. Two kinds of love: (a) pure, (b) mixed. The birth of erotic passion. Further subdivisions and evaluations of love. 2 “Theology” of Eros. Problems concerning his genealogy. The two Aphrodites. The god Eros 3 is substantial, being an activity of the primary soul. The demonic Eros: in the universe,

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Third Ennead 4 in particular souls. Conclusions: The dependence of Eros on the soul and his inherent proclivity for the Good. 5 Interpretation of the myth of the Symposium. Eros is not to be identified with the universe. 6 The nature of demons and their differences from gods. 7 The inherited traits of Eros and the other demons. 8 Zeus, symbol of Intellect; Aphrodite, of the soul. 9 Other symbolisms: Plenty, the garden of Zeus, nectar, etc. Methodology of the interpretation of myth. Summation.

Introduction It is very widely known that “love” (erōs) occupies a central position in the philosophical thought of Plato1 but also in the history of Platonism more generally.2 The reason for this lies assuredly in the fact that in a teleological view of the world, love, as a propensity for the Good (see V 5.12.14–19), possesses precisely the same fundamental importance that mechanical causes possess for a physicalist view. But within P.’s philosophical thought in particular, erōs acquires an even greater and more variegated importance, given that it there represents the motivating force that imbues all gradients of Plotinian ontology with their ascending impulse. It even finds expression in the supreme ontological principle itself, the One/Good, concerning whose otherwise ineffable and incomprehensible nature P. declares—in one of the rare cases where he hazards any such comment—that it is “lovable and Love itself and love of himself ” (erasmion kai erōs ho autos kai hautou erōs).3 At the level of the second hypostasis, love is manifested as the striving of Intellect to transcend its own proper nature so as to come into immediate contact with the transintellective principle that gave it birth, and thereby find itself transformed from “Intellect in its right mind” (nous emphrōn) into “Intellect in love” (nous erōn); see VI 7.35.23–27. Finally, from the viewpoint of the individual soul, it represents in essence the subjective correlative of the Good, the expression of the former’s own continuous proclivity to return to It; see VI 9.9.24–46. Just as the Good, then, is present in various ways at all ontological levels,4 so does love also respond to its call to different degrees and intensities at all gradients of our existence and of the universe. This fact causes it to manifest itself as something equivocal in nature: on the one hand, as the basic motivator of philosophical ascent toward higher truths; and on the other, as an irrational power capable of disorienting the soul and luring it toward the reflections cast by intelligible beauty on sensible forms.5 The classic study remains Robin [1908]/1964. See also Gould 1963. On this major theme, in addition to Rist 1964, see also the important older monograph, Nygren 1953. 3  VI 8.15.1. See further the remarks of Rist 1964, 78–87. This point provides the basis for a recent study by A. Pigler (Plotin: Une métaphysique de l’amour. Paris: Ellipses 2002), which I was unable to consult in time. 4  Cf. my comment on I 7.2.6–11. 5  Cf. I 3.2.1–4. It seems that the dual character of erōs had long since acquired commonplace status; see, 1  2 



III 5. On Love

The multifaceted nature of the subject, in conjunction with the foundational character it possesses in the context of a dynamic system such as P.’s, was bound at one time or another to have aroused great expectations among the readers of this treatise. Yet most of its commentators are in the end unable to disguise their disappointment with its contents.6 This is mainly due, I believe, to the fact that it has not always been sufficiently appreciated that the major aim of the treatise is considerably narrower in scope, and essentially a hermeneutical one. Just as in the preceding treatise, III 4, what P. is seeking here to do is to combine and harmonize views formulated in various parts of the Platonic corpus and on occasion even by different speakers. More particularly, the mythological narrative of the Symposium is here conjoined to the psychological theory of the Phaedrus in order to produce a comprehensive view of love as a phenomenon possessing at the same time both a cosmic dimension and a crucial psychological one as well. The significance and imperativeness of this task are brought into relief through his critique of other, more one-­dimensional interpretations of the Platonic myth. Among those of a cosmological slant, which will be examined in due course,7 the one that must have occupied a special place in P.’s thought was the Gnostic view of Eros as the cosmogonic force responsible for the incarceration of the divine light in matter.8 In the so-­called Untitled Cosmological Treatise from the library at Nag Hammadi, for example, it is reported that the creation of the sensible universe is the result of the casting of a reflection of primeval Pistis on the surface of the chaotic pre-­cosmic “waters.” Subsequently, when the Prime Parent (Archigenetōr: i.e., the lion-­shaped demiurge, Ialdabaoth) saw the likeness of Faith (Pistis) on the waters, he was greatly (malista) saddened . . . and . . . foolish (anoētos) as he was . . . he acted with rashness (tolma), and said: “If there is anyone who is prior to me, let him appear, that we may see his light.” And lo, a light came from the eighth heaven on high, and traversed all the heavens of earth. And when the Prime Parent saw how beautiful the light was as it shone, he felt amazement and was greatly ashamed. [For] as the light appeared, there was seen within it a human likeness, which was exceedingly splendid . . . Then (tote), when Providence (Pronoia: i.e., the companion or female version of Ialdabaoth) saw the angel (angelos), she became enamored of him. But he felt loathing for her, because she was in darkness. And she desired to embrace him, but was not able to do so. Being unable to assuage her love, she poured out her light upon the earth . . . Out of that first blood Eros appeared, who was androgynous. His masculine nature is Yearning (Himireris, i.e., Himeros), being fire e.g., Antagoras apud Diog. Laert. IV 5.26 = Coll. Al. 120; and cf. Eur. fr. 547; and Max. Tyr. XVIII 3, 218.16–219.16. 6  Bréhier, for instance, remarks on this treatise at the beginning of his “Notice,” 71, that “by the relatively loose quality of its argumentation, it goes some little way towards justifying Porphyry’s harsh assessment of the last writings of his master” (cf. VP 6.34–37). Cf. also the appraisals of Cilento and Zeller cited by Wolters 1984, x; but also that of Dillon 1969a, 43. 7  See my comment on 5.5–10. 8  See the typological analysis by Tardieu 1974, 141 ff.; and the observations of Edwards 1991b, 25 ff.

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Third Ennead from the light. His feminine nature, which is with him, is a soul (psuchē) of blood, out of the substance (ousia) of Providence . . . Just as Eros appeared at the midpoint (mesotēs) of light and darkness, and the sexual union (sunousia) of angels and men was consummated, so there blossomed on earth the primal pleasure (hēdonē). After the earth came woman. And after woman came marriage (gamos). Marriage led to birth. Birth led to death.9 It must have been catastrophic “scenarios” of this kind—representative of extreme ascetic tendencies, and associating the appearance of Eros with all the ills of incarnation and embodied life10—that P. must have had in mind as he was writing this treatise. He must have been especially irked by the fact that, as the above citation—for one—evinces, these views were presented as variations or elaborations of familiar Platonic themes, such as the myth of “Plenty” or “Resourcefulness” (Poros) and “Poverty” (Penia),11 or the role of love as “middle” (mesotēs).12 His opposition to this type of intensely anticosmic interpretation of Plato led him to a radical reassessment and decriminalization of love as a psychological phenomenon, betrayed by his unexpectedly positive stance even Orig. World = NHC II 5, 107.18–109.25. See also Tardieu 1974, 141–48. As concerns more particularly the correlation of sexual desire with death, which features at the end of the passage, see also [Hermes Trism.] Poimandres = CH I 18, 13.5–11. Cf. also Clem. Al. Exc. 80.1: “he to whom a mother gives birth, is led towards death; he to whom Christ gives rebirth, is transferred towards life, towards the Ogdoad.” 11  Who are here replaced, respectively, by the angel “Phōs-­Adam” (Orig. World = NHC II 5, 108.20; cf. Zos. Alch. Lett. omega 10.98–103), effulgence and representative of the higher powers of the Ogdoad, and by Providence Sambathas, who is identified with the lower planetary Hebdomas (Orig. World = NHC II 5, 101.27). A little further on (112.13), the constituent that has been mixed in with Phōs-­Adam is explicitly characterized as “poverty” (penia). A similar interpretation of the Platonic myth may lie behind a fragment from the thirteenth book of a treatise of unspecified title by the Gnostic Basilides (quite probably his Exegetica, which stretched to twenty-­four books; see Waszink 1950, 1218) preserved by Hegemonius, Acta Archelai 67.5, 96.17–21 = fr. 1 Foerster (in the latter’s translation): “It shows in the parable of the rich man and the poor man, whence sprouted the nature without root and place (naturam sine radice et sine loco), which has come upon things.” The sequel (op. cit., 67.7–11) confirms that this heresiarch interpreted the parable of the rich and the poor Lazarus (Luke 16:19 ff.) as a cosmic allegory, no less, and as one that did indeed exhibit notable similarities of content with the narrative of the “Untitled Treatise” cited above. It seems, then, that in the phantasy of Basilides, the protagonists of the parable were identified with the Poverty and Plenty of the Platonic myth, and interpreted in a manner analogous to Plutarch’s exegesis of the myth (De Is. et Os. 57, 374c–e; see below, my comment on 5.5–7): for, of course, “the nature without root and place, which has come upon things” cannot be other than the material substrate of bodies, which is marked by instability. Furthermore, the expression employed by Basilides echoes almost to the word another passage of Plutarch’s (from his “On the Festival of Images at Plataea” apud Eus. PE III 1.2 = fr. 157), where the author, invoking Plato’s Leg. VI 775b–d, declares that “it is unseemly for the bridal pair to be tipsy . . . heavy drinking causes a disturbance both in mind and in body, as a result of which what is sown and conceived, being unformed and unsettled, has poor roots (aplasta kai peplanēmena rhizoutai kakōs: trans. Sandbach).” On the basis of this view, it is now easy for us to understand why, according to Basilides, the offspring of the union of Poverty with Plenty is condemned to eternal instability. 12  Cf. Pl. Symp. 202e3–204b5; and Robin [1908] 1964, 108–10. Cox Miller 1992, 229–30 and 234, also discerns a number of correspondences between this Gnostic myth and P.’s own views on love, but she entirely overlooks the latter’s critical stance toward such speculations, which interpreted sexual attraction simply as an indication and consequence of a fall from higher principles, without referring to its anagogical role. 9 

10 



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toward sexuality itself, when it represents an authentic expression of the desire for “reproduction in beauty” (tokos en kalōi).13 Within this more distinctive perspective, it becomes easier for us to understand, on the one hand, the method P. chooses to follow, and on the other hand, some of the limitations he imposes on his treatment of the subject. First of all, the exegetical character of the work—so unusual for P., who rarely, and only somewhat warily, occupies himself elsewhere with the allegorical interpretation of myths—may be explained as a response to the fact that in his time there were certain other interpretative reworkings of the various myths dealing with Eros in circulation,14 and that these needed to be dislodged, or at least to be denounced as not authentically Platonic. At the same time, P. seems to be especially interested in providing a comprehensive interpretation of everything Plato has to say in his various works concerning love, being motivated, apparently, by the belief that only in this way would it be possible to throw light on certain obscure areas and avoid any one-­sided interpretations. Yet on the other hand, he directs his attention almost exclusively to the “psychical” variety of love, examining it as an offspring and complement of the soul in its various manifestations, without remarking in particular on its function at the higher ontological levels, whether as “intellective” or even as “henological” erōs.15 This narrow bias in his treatment of the subject allows him, from one point of view, to engage in an unusually detailed exposition of the correspondences prevailing between the basic elements of Plato’s myth of the birth of Eros and the comprehensive psychological theory he himself had developed during the last years of his life,16 and from another point of view it represents a useful reminder of a fact that the readers of his work tend, at times, to lose sight of: that his so-­called treatises are not autonomous and self-­sufficient compositions, but different aspects of a much broader and more ambitious philosophical enterprise, which, in intention at least, aims at a constantly prospected, but ever fugitive, systematic vision of the world as a unitary whole. The place of love within this whole is a crucial one, and it runs through all levels of the ontological hierarchy. But here we are permitted to approach it only from a limited, albeit fundamentally important, perspective. Concurrently, we are also thus enabled to discern once again that the allegorical interpretation of myths was not, for P., an end in itself, but rather a means for the expres13  See III 5.1.16–30; and Wolters 1984, xvi–xxii. Cf. also my comment on I 2.5.17–21. A similarly positive reassessment of love is to be found in the Chaldaean Oracles; see Lewy 1978, 126–29. Cf. also Brenk 1989, 463–67, concerning Plutarch’s Amatorius. For a hostile view, from the Judaeo-­Christian side, of this tendency, see [Clem. Rom.] Hom. V 8–28. 14  The widespread popularity of such mythological narratives and related allegorical elaborations is attested both by literary works (the supreme example being the pertinent interlude that occupies the central books of Apuleius’ Metamorphoses) and by archeological findings. As a relevant monograph, see, indicatively, Schlam 1976. Even Origen appears disposed to admit an allegorical exegesis of Plato’s Symposium myth; see C. Cels. IV 39. 15  Concerning these distinctions, see primarily Lacrosse 1994. P. examines the other aspects of love mainly at VI 7.32–33 and VI 8.15.1–8. 16  Indeed Dillon 1969a, 28–43, has pointed out that P. is here introducing a number of innovations that were only to attain their complete expression in the work of his Neoplatonist succesors.

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Third Ennead sion of philosophical views that he had worked out independently. In this respect, the following observations advanced by Pépin seem especially pertinent:17 P. never gives the impression of being the exegete of Homer or of Hesiod. Nowhere does he refer to them by name. . . . Far from setting himself up as the interpreter of the Iliad and the Theogony, he simply sees in allegory an expedient, because concrete, language for the expression of his own thought, whenever it becomes most intractable to expression. This reflects P.’s more general stance toward the mythological tradition, always critical, and always auxiliary to his purely philosophical inquiries. The works of the great poets of the past, and even the Platonic myths themselves, were not, in his view, the bearers of some superior and inscrutable authenticity, but mere vehicles of thought that, by means of the appropriate interpretation, are capable of conveying, and rendering more accessible, the results of philosophical analysis.18 This attitude leaves open for P. the possibility of attempting several alternative interpretations of one and the same myth, without actually falling into inconsistency or contradiction. In a justly admired study, Praechter had pointed out that this type of circumstantial and multifaceted interpretative approach to myth was characteristic of Porphyry’s exegetical method.19 Wallis 1972, 135, correctly indicated that this may be traced back to the practice of P., who always employs myths as an expedient illustration of his own theories, amending his interpretations in accordance with the particular theoretical requirements of the moment. Nowhere does he show any interest in a systematic remythologizing of philosophy, such as Iamblichus and certain later Neoplatonists were to attempt after him. In spite of whatever dogmatism it might contain, or its commitment to tradition, his philosophy manages thus to maintain its supple, zetetic character, without being hemmed in under the canopy of any god-­given “holy script.”

Commentary 1.1–3. Περὶ ἔρωτος . . . ἐπισκέψασθαι ἄξιον:The initial aporia establishes the general thematic framework of the treatise and was obviously what suggested to Porphyry the title he gave to it. The aporia divides into two major branches—“whether” (potera) . . . “or whether one” (ē ho men)—both of which contain the following alternative theses concerning the nature of love: In his Mythe et Allégorie; see Pépin 1958, 198. Cf. also, on this point, the remark of Szlezák 1979, 34, that for P. “myth does not possess a self-­standing authenticity. When it comes into conflict with Plato, it can be laid aside without any particular problems.” 19  The study was published in 1910 in the celebratory volume Genethliakon C. Robert; see, principally, pp. 122–38. As Praechter there notes, Proclus In Ti. I 204.24–27, had already distinguished between the ways that Porphyry and Iamblichus, respectively, interpreted the prologue to the Timaeus, “the first in a more piecemeal manner (merikōteron), the second in a more panoramic one (epoptikōteron).” It must be said that Porphyry’s approach (and also, as we see here, P.’s) presents certain interesting similarities with that of Cornutus, who, armed mainly with the tool of (frequently alternative) etymologies, sought to bring back to the surface buried truths that had on occasion been misunderstood even by the very poets who conveyed them; see further Dawson 1992, 25–40. 17  18 



III 5. On Love

T1: Eros is a god. This view was familiar from as early as the Archaic period: see, for instance, Hes. Theog. 120; Orph. fr. 28, 74; Parm. fr. B13 DK; Aristoph. Aues 695 ff.; Paus. IX 27.1–2. Cf. Pl. Symp. 195b7–c6 (Agathon), Phdr. 242d9; but even Apul. Met. V 22–23 and 25.6. T2: Eros is a demon. This is of course the well-­known thesis propounded by Diotima in Plato’s Symposium, 202d13, but that may also have had an Orphic derivation (see Orph. fr. 83 and 85). T3: “Love” (erōs) is an “affection” (pathos) of the soul. This is a purely psychological, and perhaps demythologizing, interpretation of erotic passion such as we find in certain Stoics (see, e.g., SVF 3:Diog. Babyl. 65), but that was undoubtedly more widespread (cf. also Pl. Phdr. 252b1–3). In the first branch of the aporia, these three theses are presented as each excluding the other two, while in the second branch the possibility of their combination is entertained, such that erōs might simultaneously designate both a god or demon, and the familiar psychical feeling as well. Although the three theses will in the sequel be examined separately (T1: chapters 2–4; T2: chapters 5–7; T3: chapter 1), the first branch of the aporia is in effect quietly abandoned in favor of the second. The explanation for this resides in the fact that, for P., the theological and the psychological interpretation represent two sides of the same coin, given, for example, that Eros (as will be seen in due course) is an offspring of, and bound indissolubly to, Aphrodite-­Psyche, and thereby constitutes an allegorical expression of a psychical manifestation. 1.3–10. τάς τε . . . ἐστὶ γεγενημένος:Although P. appears to indicate that what he has in mind is a method of investigation that would begin with the received notions concerning the subject, would move on to examine the relevant philosophical approaches, and would conclude with the study of Plato’s own views (cf. III 7.7.10–17), he will in practice pursue his research almost entirely within the boundaries of the Platonic tradition. His basic concern is to combine and harmonize the three theses just mentioned, and which, as we saw, all found support in Platonic texts. In the main, the enterprise assumes the form of a synthetic appraisal of the views formulated in the Symposium and the Phaedrus. Faithful as always to the interpretative tradition that regarded Plato as “a man of multiple voices” (poluphōnos) but “not one of multiple beliefs” (ou poludoxos: cf. Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.3f and 4a, 49.25–50.1, 55.5–6; and Tarrant 2000, 73), P. seeks to uncover the unitary dogma subtending the seemingly contradictory claims emerging from these dialogues. His commitment to a Platonic conception of the subject is underlined by his characterization of Plato as “divine” or “godlike” (theios), an expression that he himself employed in only a single other passage in the Enneads (IV 8.1.23; but cf. II 9.6.36 and 10.13), but that would become routine among later Neoplatonists. The same characterization had been employed earlier on by Posidonius (T 97), but cf. also Cic. De opt. gen. orat. 17: “Plato, the godlike author” (diuinus auctor Plato). 1.10–14. περὶ μὲν οὖν . . . οὐδεὶς ἀγνοεῖ δήπου:Setting off from T3, P. immediately recognizes two forms of love, the first being anagogical—as Diotima had suggested—toward the Form of the Good (cf. Pl. Symp. 210e3–211b2); the second being lower, aiming exclu-

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Third Ennead sively at carnal “intermingling” (mixis). The Stoicizing terminology—e.g., oikeiōthentōn (“who have become akin to,” “who have acquired an affinity with”)—had already been incorporated into Platonism and is frequently encountered in P.’s writing in similar contexts (see, e.g., I 6.6.17–18, with my comment, and III 8.8.7). Another point to note is that when mention is made of “the doing of some ugly act,” what P. is taking aim at is not, as will become clear in due course, every sexual union indiscriminately, but only those cases where the act deviates from the natural manifestation of the procreative instinct, whereupon it also works against the manifestation of natural beauty in the world. 1.15–19. ὅθεν δὲ . . . τῆς αἰτίας:The correlation of love with striving after beauty had long since been regarded as pretty much self-­evident, witness the following verse of Sappho’s (fr. 16): most beautiful of all (kalliston) . . . is whatever one loves (kēn’ hottō tis eratai). It is also the foundation on which P. will proceed, as Plato had earlier, to establish his theory of love. The beginning of every feeling of love lies in the proclivity—not always rational or fully conscious—toward something beautiful that appears to be good and seems, therefore, to be thoroughly and intimately familiar (cf. Pl. Symp. 205e5–206a4; and my comment on I 6.2.1–6). This fact is of essential importance for the philosophical evaluation of the feeling of love, which ought to be conducted on the basis of this, its principle, and not of whatever consequences it may turn out to have. At the same time, the sense of familiarity evoked by communion with the beautiful is thus grounded ontologically in the soul’s affinity to intelligible substances; cf. Pl. Resp. X 611e2–3; and I 6.6.13–18. 1.19–20. τὸ μὲν γὰρ . . . καὶ τῷ θεῷ:Hence, ugliness is from the start contraposed to the very nature of love; cf. Pl. Symp. 206c4–d7. But ugliness has also been defined elsewhere as what is contrary to the Forms, and therefore to the divine nature; see I 6.2.13–18, with my comment. We thus obtain a first indication of the divine status of the feeling of love. 1.20–23. καὶ γὰρ . . . τῆς ἑτέρας συστοιχίας:The erotic propensity toward the Beautiful and, through that, toward the Good may be recognized first of all in so-­called natural beauty as the inherent tendency of Nature to graceful and well-­ordered self-­organization. This earns it a place in the column of “goods” (agatha) to which belonged, according to the Pythagoreans, all factors conducive to the beauty and harmony of nature; cf. Arist. Metaph. Α 5, 986a22–26 and N 6, 1093b11–14. More particularly, [Archyt.] De princ. 19.5–18, had spoken of two oppositely arrayed principles, one “beneficent” and the other “maleficent,” of which “the first rules the column (tan sustoichian) of things ordered and definite, the second the column of things disordered and indefinite.” P. certainly did not approve of such extreme dualistic analyses, yet in the present circumstance he shows himself willing to borrow their phraseology, in order to indicate to any adversaries of his with eventual Pythagorean sympathies (a category that would have included certain Gnostics) that even if anyone were to be tempted by this type of polar distinction, love would have to be classified within the sphere of the Good.



III 5. On Love

1.23–26. τῇ δὲ φύσει . . . τὰς εἰκόνας:The beauty of Nature is derived from the circumstance that it constitutes a manifestation of the higher hypostases within the region of the sensible; cf. V 8.3.1–9. At this point, P. takes a step beyond the theory formulated by Plato, in whose works the beauty of nature does not appear to play the crucial intermediating role attributed to it here. 1.26–36. εἰ δέ τις . . . τοῦτο φαντάζεται:Hence, whatever problem there is lies not in the pleasure taken in natural beauty, but in the ignorance of the fact that this beauty is nothing but a by-­product and a reflection of the beauty of intelligible beings; cf. Pl. Phdr. 250a6–b1. For in the absence of this knowledge, such pleasure, instead of motivating the soul to ascend to the contemplation of the Forms, entraps it in the domain of sensible images and alienates it from the true object of its desire. Be that as it may, the attraction to Beauty, or even to Beauty’s reflections, comes in and of itself to be grounded ontologically and to acquire positive value whenever it is ordained within the perspective of the quest for the Good. Thus, even sexual intercourse finds its justification, provided it has the aim of “reproduction in beauty” (tokos en kalōi); cf. Pl. Symp. 206b1–e9; and the comments of Sykutris 1934, 205*–9*. On this point, then, Wolters 1984, xvii–xxii, is correct to maintain that P. is aligning himself with Plato (possibly in conscious opposition to the Stoics) when he acknowledges that erotic passion, even when it concerns sensible forms, is not something that is necessarily bad. For even those who succeed in attaining through it the recollection of intelligible beauty may yet continue to appreciate and enjoy its sensible manifestations; cf. below, 1.60–62; and Mortley 1980, 51. 1.36–38. καὶ σώφροσι . . . ἁμαρτία: The recognition of the anagogical character of love, even in its humblest forms, countermands the ascetic repudiation of any manifestation of the erotic impulse. Thus, even when the sexual urge is at issue, the question is what stance the soul will adopt toward it. If the sexual urge is seen as a natural pursuit of sensible beauty with the aim of perpetuation, then it may be accommodated in a temperate manner. But if it is pursued as a goal in itself, without awareness of its broader function, then it risks disorienting the soul from the pursuit of the beautiful and diverting it toward perverse self-­indulgence; cf. de Gandillac 1966, 111–12; Wolters 1984, 24–25; and Gerson 1994, 214–15. While it is clear that something of the kind constitutes an error, and that it distances the soul and alienates it from the true object of its erotic desire, yet it does not, on its own, entail any form of moral culpability. The term hamartia retains in P. its ethically almost colorless meaning of simple “error” (which is logically possible in the context of self-­determination; see my comment on III 2.4.36–38), without those dark reverberations of moral condemnation and guilt that were to be conferred upon it by Christian ethics; cf. above all III 2.16.2–4, where hamartanein (“to err”) is clearly distinguished from adikein (“to act unjustly”), but also II 9.9.12–14, III 2.4.39–41, III 3.5.28–30, IV 8.4.21–24. 1.38–40. καὶ ὅτῳ μὲν . . . εἴτε καὶ μή:This is not to say, of course, that carnal love is a necessary, or even a desirable, precondition for the erotic re-­ascent toward pure, supra-­ sensible beauty. P. regards as adequate—and preferable—the type of love that even

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Third Ennead today we characterize as “Platonic” (although whether this corresponds with Plato’s own views has been disputed; see, at any rate, Phdr. 256a7–b3, and Leg. VIII 837c3–d1), that is, the pure devotion to beauty, unadulterated by bodily admixtures and affections. Yet even disdain for beautiful sensible forms does not imply that the soul ceases to acknowledge the bodies in question as beautiful (cf. II 9.17.29–38) but simply that it has become aware that what causes erotic attraction are not these objects in themselves, but the intelligible beauty that is discernible within them. Nevertheless, there still remains to be answered a question that Armstrong has posed—somewhat indirectly, if truth be told—in a footnote to this passage (see p. 170n.1 of his translation): is pure love in P. (contrary to what it is in Plato) unproductive? Although Hadot 1990, 27 and 158–61, for example, seems to accredit something of the kind, I believe that any answer to the question ought to be formulated with reference to P.’s fundamental position regarding the productivity of “contemplation” (theōria) in general; on which, see III 8.5.1–13. And in this “contemplative” form, love can be productive, because it results in the creation of “specters” (indalmata) of Beauty in the domain of the sensible, either through art, or through some other of its practical manifestations. 1.40–50. ὅτῳ δὲ . . . ἐν καλῷ γεννήσεται:Yet apart from this pure type of erotic passion, there also exists another—one that Diotima had examined in detail (see Pl. Symp. 206e7–208e1)—which is intermingled with the desire to transcend the temporal limitations of human nature: the “love for the sake of immortality,” manifested as a propensity for the perpetuation of the species and, consequently, as sexual desire. If this desire is in accord with nature, it falls in with the latter’s beneficent action and so gains justification by becoming ordained in, and contributing to, natural beauty. This type of mixed love, then, is what ensures the harmonic recycling of life in Nature and its continuation to perpetuity through the constant reproduction of sensible effigies of intelligible beauty. But while natural reproduction foments a permanent anticipation of beauty, it assuredly cannot secure its entirely self-­sufficient possession, something that only the first, purely contemplative version of love is capable of achieving. Nevertheless, it is able to excite in the soul that erotic passion which prepares it for its ascent toward the intelligible; cf. I 3.2.3–13; Plut. Amat. 765f–766b. 1.50–55. οἳ δ’ ἂν . . . κάλλος αὐτό:We arrive thus at the conclusion that there exist three types of erotic affection (cf. Hadot 1990, 163): (a) The first and lowest one is not even a genuine type of love. It consists in an unnatural, blind sexual drive that aims neither at perpetuation nor at beauty, but leads instead to perversions, such as the “sowing of seed on stones and rocks” mentioned by Plato (Leg. VIII 838e8). 1.55–65. ἀλλ’ οὖν . . . τὰ παθήματα:(b) The second type consists in “the so-­called mixed love” (ton legomenon mikton erōta: a likely reference to Pl. Leg. VIII 837b4–6, but see the reservations of Hadot 1990, 161–62), which normally aims at the perpetuation of the specific form through sexual congress (mixis), but which may veer off along infertile directions, such as homosexuality—which here seems to be condemned, at least indi-



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rectly, in accordance with the mores of Roman society (see VP 15.6–12, with my comments), but also with the dictates of the Platonic Laws (VIII 836c2–e4, 838e6–7; cf. 840e2–7)—or other manifestations of indiscriminate and beastly hedonistic excess (cf. Pl. Phdr. 250e1–251a1; and ?Pl. Ep. VII, 335b3–6). The erotic enjoyment of aesthetic beauty can (i) contribute to the recollection of supra-­sensible beauty, and therefore to being appreciated as an incarnation and expression of the latter; but it can also (ii) function as a trap, diverting erotic passion solely toward sensible forms by adoring these as if they were gods (cf. Pl. Phdr. 251a5), thereby forfeiting the perspective of the intelligible. Hence, in the case of this second type of erotic affection, the pursuit of beauty risks causing a descent into ugliness, just as the propensity for the Good risks occasioning harm and unrighteousness (cf. III 2.4.20–23). (c) The third type of erōs is the pure one, detached from any sexual drive, and directed exclusively to the contemplation of aesthetic beauty, either (i) with an accompanying recollection of its intelligible archetype, or even (ii) without. Of these types, (c) (i) certainly, but also (b) (i), may be characterized as temperate versions of erotic affection, because they orientate and direct the soul toward the object of its true and innate desire. In P.’s erotic paradise there is thus a place both for the acolyte of contemplation, as well as for the seeker after beauty through the perpetuation of its instantiations in sensible forms—both for Tamino and for Papageno. Consequently, the claim advanced by Harrington 1975, 117, to the effect that P. “insists that it [sc., erōs] must remain asexual” cannot be accepted. Temperance here does not necessarily presuppose chastity. 2.1–6. Περὶ δὲ . . . φιλοσοφητέον:The discussion up to this point has concerned love as a psychical feeling, and has thus remained in contact with the notions people commonly entertain about it (cf. 1.3–4). It now turns to the examination of T1, and begins with a philosophical analysis of what “those who give accounts of the gods” (theologoi), and Plato (cf. Phdr. 242d9 and 265c2–3; Symp. 180d7–8, 203c3–5), had to say about the god Eros. Among the former P. assuredly meant to include the poets of the Archaic period who, as noted above in my comment on 1.1–3, assigned to the god Eros an important place in their mythological accounts of a cosmogonic and theological nature. Yet of all the theologoi of antiquity, the principal and most distinguished was unquestionably Orpheus; see Arist. Metaph. Λ 6, 1072b27; and Orph. fr. 66, 246, 340 (and concerning the use of the term theologos, see the analysis of Festugière 1944–54, 2:598–605; and Lamberton 1986, 22–31). Furthermore, as will emerge shortly, it is quite possible that P. actually had in mind here some specific Orphic traditions regarding the origins of Eros. By philosophical analysis is meant, as was stated earlier (1.15–16), the search for causes, which in the language of mythology, however, are expressed by means of genealogical relations (cf. 9.27). 2.6–9. καὶ δὴ . . . καὶ τοῦ Πόρου:The next problem to be explored is whether it is possible to derive a unitary and consistent doctrine from the—at first sight, certainly—contradictory assertions of Plato regarding the origins of Eros. Almost the entire remaining part of the treatise will be concerned with the presentation of the two principal Platonic

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Third Ennead excursions into the subject: the Phaedrus version, according to which Eros is a son and follower of Aphrodite, will be examined in chapters 2–4, while the corresponding Symposium myth will be examined in chapters 5–9. 2.10–14. ἔοικε δὲ . . . καὶ σὺν αὐτῇ:The first questions that arise, then, are what exactly is the relation of Eros to Aphrodite, and what is the true nature of the latter. As concerns the former, P. seems to have in mind two traditions. (a) There is a first tradition, which holds Eros to be the son of Aphrodite (see Simonides apud Schol. In Apoll. Rhod. III 26 = fr. 70 Page; Cic. ND III 59–60; Cornutus Theol. Graec. 25, 47.3–4), and to which Plato refers in a somewhat allusive manner in the Phaedrus. (b) According to another tradition, however, Eros was simply a follower of the goddess (see Hes. Theog. 201), and it is this one to which Pausanias seems to incline when, in Plato’s Symposium 180e2, he brands Eros as Aphrodite’s “accomplice” (sunergos). P. declares his intention to combine these two traditions, because the only thing that matters for him is how we are to understand the relation of Eros to Aphrodite—that is, what philosophical content we are able to imbue it with. 2.14–19. λέγομεν δὴ . . . ἐν οὐρανῷ γάμοι:Somewhat unexpectedly, P. invokes the distinction drawn by Pausanias during his speech in the Symposium between two Aphrodites, the “Heavenly” (Ourania) one and the “Common” or “Vulgar” (Pandēmos) one; cf. also Xenophon Symp. 8, 9–10. It has been claimed that in this way Pausanias was likely seeking to reconcile the conflicting testimony of older poets concerning the birth of Aphrodite: for Hesiod, Theog. 188–200, has her being born from the foam of the severed genitals of Ouranos, whereas Homer introduces her as the daughter of Zeus and Dione; see Sykutris 1934, 43n.2; and Pépin 1958, 195n.74. But one should note certain indications pointing to the existence of at least one Orphic tradition that also combined these separate versions and recognized two different divinities with the name “Aphrodite.” The most abundant relevant testimony is to be found in Proclus In Cra. 183, 110.5– 111.20, and comes from the Hellenistic “Rhapsodic Theogony,” which in turn—according to the reconstruction of West 1983, 68–75—had incorporated a welter of much older Orphic theogonic traditions. Further testimony is provided by the Orphic hymn of the Derveni Papyrus, which also refers to a “Heavenly Aphrodite” (Ouraniē Aphroditē), whom indeed the anonymous exegete identifies with no less than Zeus himself; see Janko 2002, 42 (Anon. PDerveni col. XXI 5–10). Although we have no way of knowing with certainty whether “Pausanias” was in fact drawing on some such tradition, it is quite clear that P. does discern Orphic sources lying behind his speech, as was hinted at by the earlier mention of theologoi—and cf. also the plural expression ēinittonto (“they spoke riddlingly”) at l. 24. On the strength of all that has been reported so far with respect to his views on the reception of the mythical tradition, it is clear that he was open to this type of syncretistic maneuver. But here, in addition, the differentiation of the two Aphrodites is rendered specific, being precisely correlated with the distinction between the “pure” and “mixed” types of love we encountered in chapter 1. Embracing the recommendation of Wolters 1984, 58–59, H-­S4 prefer the reading ouranou (with a small “o”) in l. 15, in order to avoid any contradiction with the affirma-



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tion of Aphrodite’s birth from Kronos, which follows almost immediately. Yet the parallel use of the genitive just above (2.2–3), the justification for the characterization “motherless” (amētōr) proferred just below (2.18–19), and the concessive clarification supplied a few lines later (2.33–34) conspire to suggest that the reference here (as also— significantly—in Plato) is to the mythological figure of Ouranos. The inconsistency that this gives rise to must not have caused P. any undue concern, given the flexibility of his exegetical technique. It is in any case possible that the problem had been resolved by the interpreters of the Orphic tradition in a manner analogous to the neat maneuver by which Proclus succeeds in presenting Heavenly Aphrodite as the offspring of Ouranos, and simultaneously also of Kronos (In Cra. 110.6–12): “They say that the cardinal Aphrodite was engendered of two causes, the one [acting] ‘as that because of which’ (hōs di’ hou), the other ‘as procreative [cause]’ (hōs gennētikou); for they say that Kronos cooperated in her procession as that because of which, as that which challenged the fertile power of the father and released it to the intellectual world-­order, while Ouranos [cooperated] as creative cause (hōs poiētēn kai aition), bringing this goddess to light from his own genetic inheritance.” 2.19–30. τὴν δὲ οὐρανίαν . . . κατέχειν ἄνω:It seems that there did in fact exist an old tradition that held Aphrodite to be the daughter of Kronos; cf. Epimenides fr. B19 DK. Now P., who had already taken cognizance of the “etymology” by which Plato had declared the name “Kronos” to signify “the undefiledness of intellect” (to akēraton tou nou: see Cra. 396b3–7, and cf. V 1.4.8–10 and 7.33–35), hastens to appropriate this very tradition, thereby securing a solid foundation on which to erect his subsequent allegorical interpretations: Kronos is identified with the hypostasis of Intellect, and therefore Aphrodite, who was engendered by him, can be none other than the next hypostasis of the ontological hierarchy—to wit, the soul; cf. V 8.13.15–16, VI 9.9.31. This correlation, however, seems to conflict with another, different mapping of the three basic Hesiodic cosmological deities onto the three Plotinian primal hypostases that we encounter at several other points of the Enneads (see V 1.7.30–37, V 8.12.3–13.2; Pépin 1958, 203–6; and Hadot 1981b, 124–27):

Ouranos One Kronos Intellect Zeus Soul

Numenius was likely to have been hinting at a comparable schema when he named his three gods “grandfather” (pappos), “offspring” (engonos), and “descendant” (apogonos); see fr. 21; and de Ley 1972, 55–58. Indeed, according to the testimony of Proclus In Ti. I 304.22–305.2, another Middle Platonist, Harpocration of Argos, used to call “the first god ‘Ouranos’ and ‘Kronos,’ the second ‘Zeus’ and ‘Zēn,’ and the third ‘heaven’ (ouranos) and ‘universe’ (kosmos). But then again, changing about, he characterizes the first as ‘Zeus’ and ‘king of the intelligible’ (basilea tou noētou), the second as ‘ruler’ (archonta)— and Zeus and Kronos and Ouranos become one and the same.” The points of interest here are: (a) the vagueness as to the exact mythological correlate of the “first god” (cf. immediately below, 2.32–34); (b) the characterization of the universe as a (third) god;

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Third Ennead cf. 6.18. Furthermore, if, as has been suggested by Dillon 1971, 144–45, the views of Harpocration are related to those of the Gnostics, then we can better appreciate that P. would have had a special reason to deal with the question so as to put forward his own version and thereby forestall—indirectly—any possible misinterpretations. In any case, as we shall see, he will revert to the subject in chapter 8, below, in order to provide yet another explanation concerning the cosmological symbolism of Zeus. But there too it will be emphasized that Aphrodite corresponds to the soul, and indeed to the Soul of the universe (see 8.2–3 and 5.11–12), which is what we have seen him suggest elsewhere. Yet—and this is what is emphasized here—the heavenly Aphrodite represents the higher, undescended Soul, pure of bodily admixtures, which is why she is represented as “motherless” (amētōr). For the absence of a mother (i.e., of the passive element in reproduction, according to the views of the time; cf. my comment on II 4.16.13–16, as well as III 6.19.1–41) implies that this Soul has not been intermingled at all with matter, and that it is therefore wholly intelligible, separate as is the Intellect itself. Cf. Philo Ebr. 61. Consequently, it holds the rank of a god and not that of a demon, as demons were distinguished by the fact of their correlation with material bodies (cf. below, 4.24–25). The contrast with the fallen “kenomatic” Sophia, to whom the Gnostics assigned the responsibility for the creation of the world and indeed for any creative activity within it (cf. my comment on II 9.10.24–32), is patently evident. 2.30–32. ὅθεν . . . συνηρτημένον:We find here yet another invocation of the established image of the Intellect as the source of light from which the soul’s effulgence is propagated (cf. II 3.18.19–22). As on other similar occasions (cf., e.g., IV 3.11.14–21, IV 8.4.1–6, V 1.7.43–46, V 3.9.7–19), the stress falls on the soul’s direct dependence on Intellect, a fact that implies its derivative character as a hypostasis. Thus, the emphasis rests yet again on the indissolubility of its connection with the realm of the intelligible. 2.32–38. ἐφεπομένη δὴ . . . ἀεὶ τεταγμένη:The vagueness concerning whom exactly it is that Aphrodite-­soul follows after is justified, if we keep in mind the duality of her birth as described in the Procline passage cited in my comment on 2.14–19. She contemplates Intellect but discerns through it the supreme principle that floods it with light and engenders within her an all-­conquering and intoxicating love; see VI 7.22.1–22, 35.1–27. The image of the sated and inebriated Kronos(-­Intellect) appears to have also formed part of the Orphic theogony (cf. Porph. De antr. nymph. 16 = Orph. fr. 154) and prefigures, at a higher level, the adventure of Plenty (Poros). What P. is suggesting by means of it, however, is that the ultimate and primal cause of the birth of Eros is the Good itself; cf. also Hadot 1987, 40–43. And it is this circumstance that secures for Eros its ontological status as a “substance.” As we saw above, at 2.23–24, it was fundamental dogma for P. that the pure soul constitutes a hupostasis and an ousia (cf. IV 7.85.40–46), and that like every substance, it too is possessed of an innate propensity for the source of all Substance, the Good. This primal manifestation of every substance is its primary activity, which operates self-­constitutingly, determining what each one is and activating it as a constituent part of the Intellect engaged in contemplation of the One/Good. That is why it is often described by P. as a kind of activated—that is, seeing—sight; see, e.g., III



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8.11.1–8 and V 3.11.1–15. What is characteristic about it is that it does not require the existence of some other thing, external to it, which would receive it as a “material” substrate; it is itself its own result. Hence, this substantial and substantivating propensity for the highest principle, mediated through the system of intelligible beings, is for Aphrodite—for the soul—the higher form of Love, the kind that earns for her the attribute of ourania, that is, according to the “etymology” of the Cratylus (396c1), of one horōsan ta anō: “gazing on higher things” (cf. Cornutus Theol. Graec. 1, 2.2–4). For it does not represent some intrusive passion to which she falls subject but rather her intrinsic desire to live with Intellect and the Good. This love is, consequently, nothing other than the soul itself, but the soul when seen solely from its anagogical side, solely as “following after” (ephepomenē; cf. Pl. Resp. X 611e4). That is why this Love—Eros—is inseparable from her, her eternal companion and “follower” (opados: see 3.19–21), but not, for all that, a separate entity or “formative principle” (logos) as well, as Dillon 1969a, 30–31, erroneously assumes, led astray on this point by later Neoplatonist elaborations of the subject. In this way an answer is also provided to the initial question concerning the precise relation between Aphrodite and Eros (2.13–14): the latter is both “from her” (ex autēs) and “with her” (sun autēi). 2.39–46. καὶ τὸ εἶναι . . . παραθέουσαν:Hence, the higher, “heavenly” (ouranios) Love occupies an intermediate position, “between” (metaxu) the soul and the intelligible or supra-­intelligible object of its desire, just as in Plato’s Symposium (202b5, e1, 204b5) the demonic Eros abides between evil and good, mortality and immortality, ignorance and wisdom. Its comparison to the “eye” of the soul (cf. I 6.9.22–23; and Pl. Resp. VII 533d2) is there to underline the fact that it is not something self-­sufficient, independent of the soul, but that it is connate with it (cf. VI 9.9.25). For it consists in an activity of the soul, albeit an activity that is, as we saw, self-­constituting. That sight is the chief conduit of erotic affection was a commonplace, one on which Aristotle had already drawn in Eth. Nic. IX 12, 1171b29–31: “for lovers, seeing is what is dearest, and they love this sense more than the others, because on it love depends most for its being and its origin.” See also Pl. Phdr. 250d3–6, 255c5–d3, Cra. 420b1, Leg. VIII 837c5; and Gorg. Hel. 19; Xenophon Cyr. V 1.16; Agathon fr. 29. It naturally acquired considerable notoriety in later erotic literature, where we frequently come across aphorisms such as that of Achilles Tatius, Leuc. et Clit. I 4.4, “the eye is the passage of love’s wound,” while Heliodorus, Aeth. III 5.4, exploits verbal assonance to full advantage in a phrase overflowing with Platonic reverberations: “And at the same instant (homou) the young ones looked (heōrōn) at one another and fell in love (ērōn), just like the soul which, on first meeting with its like (homoion), recognizes it and rushes toward what is akin (oikeion) to it in value.” Cf. also Panayotakis 2001, 577–79. Attractive, though still unproven, is the correlation that has been drawn between this notion and one of the best-­known symbols of an ancient Egyptian cult, the “eye of Horus” (udjat: on this, see Bonnet 1952, 314–15; and Griffiths 1958, 182–91). As noted by Hadot 1990, 62–63, Plutarch, in his work De Iside et Osiride (52, 372b), refers to an Egyptian belief according to which the sun was regarded as the eye of Horus, and goes on to identify Horus with the cosmic Eros (op. cit. 57, 374c–d), while in another work

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Third Ennead of his, the Amatorius (19, 764b), he informs us that “the Egyptians, alongside the Greeks, know of two Erōtes, one vulgar (pandēmos) and the other heavenly (ouranios), but they also believe in the sun as a third Eros.” P. in general makes very few references or allusions to matters relating to his homeland, Egypt (see my comment on VP 1.3– 4); yet the diffusion of the symbol of the “eye of Horus,” especially in the form of amulets (on which see Lexa 1925, 1:90–91), must have rendered it quite familiar to his audience. In his commentary, Wolters 1984, 83–88, offers an acute explanation of the particular characteristics that the image of the eye lends to the discussion: insofar as Eros is, like the eye, a mere organ and intermediary, it does not “take” sight of its object, but only enjoys it fleetingly as it passes through on its way to the soul; see also Hadot 1990, 180. 3.1–11. Ὑπόστασιν δὲ . . . καὶ τοῦ ὁράματος:In a passage that stands out for its extraordinary denseness and intensity (note the cumulative use of the conjunction kai), P. refers to the birth of the higher Eros from the soul’s devotion to intelligible Substance (ousia), which is at the same time the source of its hypostasis and the goal of its primal activity. The term hupostasis, applied here to Eros, is qualified at once by the phrase “a substance [sprung] from a substance” (ousia ex ousias): we are thus dealing indeed with a substance, but one that derives from, and depends on, another substance. Up to this point things are relatively clear. Most interpreters take for granted, without advancing any particular supporting argument, that the other substance in question is the soul, which has already been characterized as an ousia (2.24) and, as we saw, gave birth to Eros (2.35); see Wolters 1984, 89; and Hadot 1990, 181. The problem with this interpretation is that, as Lacrosse 1994, 124–25, has pointed out (cf. also Dillon 1969a, 30–31), Eros is thus made out to be a distinct “formative principle” (logos), a hypostasis additional to the numerus clausus of the familiar trio of Plotinian ontology (cf. II 9.1.12–16, with my comment). Nor should we let it escape our notice that P. avoids employing here the term logos, a term that he does use further on (7.9 ff.), but in connection with the lower Eros. It therefore seems more likely that the other substance, the activity of which provides hypostasis to Eros, is the substance of the primal beings; for their secondary activity does indeed hypostasize the soul, while the latter’s primary activity brings it back into contact with them. Thus does the expression kai gar (3.3) also acquire its proper weight: “For (gar) that Soul too (kai: i.e., just like Eros) . . . was born (genomenē) . . . of the substance of (real) Beings (tēs tōn ontōn ousias). . . .” Furthermore, in this way the status of higher Eros as a substance is in fact fully secured, something that fails to be accomplished under the alternative interpretation. The turning of the soul toward the beauty of intelligible beings is accompanied by a feeling of exhilaration and joy, a kind of spiritual euphoria that, for lack of another expression, might be termed “pure pleasure” (hēdonē kathara); cf. I 6.7.3–19, VI 7.30.18–25; and also Pl. Phlb. 63b2–e7. This is a characteristic feature of the higher Eros. 3.11–15. ἐξ οὖν . . . τὴν ὑπόστασιν ἔχει:The analogy between Love and the eye is here further developed, as the elements characterizing the operation of sight are brought into detailed correlation with the intellective vision accomplished within the soul:



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(a) The viewer activates his intellective function so as to coordinate himself with, and thereby become assimilated to, the objects to which he turns; cf. Emilsson 1988, 70–71; but also Pl. Phdr. 253a1–5. (b) What sets this process in motion is of course the beauty that becomes apparent within objects and that in some manner radiates or “flows out” (aporrhein) from them (cf. VI 7.21.11–22.10). (c) This “outflow” (aporrhoē) then “flows into” (eisrhein) the eye, inducing love (thus recalling, moreover, the etymology Plato provides for the word erōs in Cra. 420a9–b4; cf. also Phdr. 251b2). Yet P. takes care to point out that the above should not be regarded as a mechanical process along the lines of the Empedoclean theory of “effluxes” (aporrhoiai: see fr. B84, as well as A90 and 92 DK; similar reservations appear to have occurred to the anonymous author of a Middle Platonic commentary on Plato’s Alcibiades: see POxy 1609 = CPF III 5, col. II 6–12)—such being the point here of the twice-­repeated hoion (“kind of ”) at 3.12–13. (d) And this is the reason why preference is finally given to the “etymology” of the word erōs from orasis (“sight”); cf. Et. Magn., s.v. erōs, 379.48–50. Wolters 1984, 97, accurately points out that everything said here concerning the operation of sight lays the groundwork for the later description of the birth of the demonic (lower) Eros from the coupling of the “indefinite propensity” (aoristos ephesis) of Poverty (Penia) with the overflowing abundance of Plenty (Poros). 3.15–19. ἐπεὶ τό γε πάθος . . . λέγοιτο:A rather strange observation of a “grammatical” nature links the present discussion with the theme of chapter 1, love as a psychical affection. Unlike the “substantive” Eros who represents a constituting activity of the soul, ordinary erotic passion is something exogenous to it, something that “happens to” the soul. The idea (provided of course we accept the acute emendation of Creuzer in l. 16) seems to be the following: a substantial predication is necessarily synonymous with its subject; Socrates is a man, because this predicate corresponds to his substance. Conversely, an accidental predication is as a rule paronymous; Socrates is musical or brave, not music or bravery (on which, see Porph. In Cat. 68.12–70.6). This distinction is taken here to be capable of shedding light on the nature of erotic passion. For insofar as we say of someone that he “loves” (erai), or that “love possesses him” (erōs auton echei: on this particular expression, see, e.g., Aesch. Suppl. 521), and we do not confer upon him (synonymously) the name erōs, this implies that we are attributing to him paronymously a nonsubstantial feature, a mere “affection” (pathos). 3.19–27. ὁ μὲν δὴ . . . ἡ ἀκήρατος:The substantive Eros, then—who, like the Aphrodite who bore him, is himself ouranios (“heavenly”), inasmuch as he hora anō (“looks on high”)—is not correlated with either the psychical feeling or with the sensible instantiations of beauty, but constitutes a manifestation of the pure soul and is consequently her “follower” (see my comment on 2.32–38; the word opados that is used here represents a possible further reminder of the Orphic derivation of the pertinent mythological tradition: cf. Orph. fr. 184). Hence, he too will be—as she is (cf. I 1.10.7–10)—separate and independent of anything corporeal. The expression “the best in us” appears to refer di-

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Third Ennead rectly to the Aristotelian intellect, which is also distinguished by its paradoxical position as being simultaneously “in us” yet also “separate” (cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. X 7, 1177a13– 20, and De an. III 5, 430a17). In similar fashion, the pure, higher soul illuminates the vault of heaven, yet it is simultaneously transcendent, being “separate” (chōristē) from the world. Concerning heaven as the first “space” (chōra) of souls, see IV 3.17.1–14. 3.27–38. ἐπεὶ δὲ . . . καὶ ἐξ ἐκείνης:Yet apart from the pure and unmixed soul, there also exist those that attach to the various sensible bodies and animate them. First among these is the Soul of the universe, who is not without a companion of her own. This universal Love, which, although mixed with corporeality, is an expression of the Soul’s propensity toward the higher truths, holds together, preserves, and perpetuates the sensible kosmos, rendering it a beautiful and harmonious whole. What it represents is the cosmic version of the mixed love introduced earlier (see 1.40–50). It governs the mutual interactions between the various parts of the universe, operating as a kind of internal cohesive necessity that orders their relations of “sympathy” and “antipathy” and thereby provides the foundation—in the form of “the love in the All”—for the universal magia naturalis; see IV 4.40.1–14; and Hadot 1982, 286–89. It should be emphasized here (as it is by Dillon 1969a, 26–28) that the Love in question, like the Soul of which it constitutes a manifestation, remains steadily devoted to intelligible beauty despite the fact that it is not unmixed, and incurs no danger of becoming disoriented or perverted, as can occur with the corresponding human passion (cf. my comment on 1.55–65). In general, the ordering here of the various souls (and their correlated loves) does not appear to differ from what we find in other sections of the Enneads (see, e.g., IV 3.4.12–5.18): the “higher” or “universal” soul remains in itself “separate” and unitary, although its solicitude for bodies renders it in a certain sense divisible, so as to allow one part to govern the cosmic body, and other parts to animate the individual ensouled beings present within it. Hence, each of the various individual souls, including the universal one, possesses a particular love of its own corresponding to its proper “desire” (orexis). Now the cosmic Eros does, of course, direct and beautify—within limits—the whole of Nature, but it also leaves a margin for the efflorescence of the partial, individuated desires of particular ensouled beings. 4.1–9. Ἆρ’ οὖν . . . καὶ πρὸς οὐσίαν:If what ensures that each love has a substance as a distinct entity, that is, that it is no chance affection of the soul, is the fact that it constitutes an expression of the innate tendency and activity of every soul to aspire toward the Good (cf. 2.35–38), then all these manifestations of even the humblest souls will have such a kind of being, which is to say that they will fall within the overall beneficent activity of the first principle. The question now is how all these loves of the various souls are connected and combined among each other. If their aims were entirely individuated and self-­seeking, they would dissolve the cohesiveness of the universe, or would act antagonistically toward the global cosmic design. An aim such as the simple satisfaction of one’s needs, or even their rationally elaborated management, is insufficient to explain the joint articulation of the motivations and aims of the various souls into a single, more broadly coordinated network. That is why P. invokes here the demonic character of gen-



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uine love, suggesting thereby that the latter represents powers that transcend the limits of activation of the soul concerned. Although he is the soul’s offspring, love, as a distinct entity, comes to be ordained—and thus also ordains the soul—within the broader operation of the imperative sway of the Good. This naturally occurs in a manner that differs in each case in proportion to the soul’s degree of activation; by the same token, we find ourselves confronted once again with the question of how to interpret the role of “guiding” demons (cf. III 4.3.1–8, with my comment). 4.9–18. ἐχέτω δὴ . . . εἰ θέλοι:Such is the indissoluble affinity binding every substantive love to its corresponding soul, that the interrelationships among the various loves are an exact reflection of the unitary multifariousness that characterizes the interrelationships among souls. Just as all the particular souls are jointly articulated into a unity and are subsumed under the higher, universal, and “undescended” soul (see 3.3–11), so too all the loves jointly comprise a uniform network of interconnections, but are at the same time subordinated to that broader propensity for the Good, of which universal Love is the agent. This implies that every genuine manifestation of love, including any pertaining to the lower organisms, is ordained within the broader perspective of the Good. 4.18–23. οἴεσθαι δὲ . . . ὀριγνωμένης: The souls dispensed within the sensible universe have, by reason of their solicitude, developed special bonds with certain bodies, as a result of which they have become demonic. Hence, the loves corresponding to these also possess a demonic nature, inasmuch as they come to act as intermediaries and to conduct ensouled corporeal entities into reaching out to supra-­sensible beauty. This implies that every genuine and authentic love does not in any way seek after some self-­serving satisfaction, but consists in an active participation in the universal striving for the Good. One question that arises is of which global soul do these partial demonic souls represent “emanations”: should we identify it as that higher, pure soul to which all partial souls converge and are dependent (see my comment on 3.27–28), or, in line with the argument of Hadot 1990, 120n.163 and 197–99, as the cosmic Soul, which is here viewed as the genitrix of the lower, embodied, and “demonic” souls? The second seems the more likely alternative, for the following reasons: (a) the expression “from some universal Aphrodite” in l. 20 suggests that what is meant here is an entity that, while universal in character, is not yet identical with the unqualifiedly “universal” soul of which mention was made previously, for example, at 4.2 and 10–14. (b) The demonic nature of the generated souls indicates that they are being considered here only in their “mixed” aspect, as being cut off from their higher generic cause; cf. II 3.9.43–47. (c) The parentage of this Aphrodite, the “Common” or “Vulgar” one (Pandēmos: admittedly, P. avoids mentioning this epithet, possibly because of its negative connotations; cf. the derogatory surname Prounikos that certain Gnostics applied to their lower Sophia: Iren. Adu. haer. I 29.4, Epiph. Adu. haer. 25.3.2–4.2, 269.24–271.12), is entirely different and independent from that of the Heavenly one (see 2.15–17). This means that as far as the former is concerned, some additional causal factors enter into its configuration, and that these are certainly related to the natural necessity that governs material bodies, that is, to Destiny.

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Third Ennead Hence, all particular ensouled beings are subject to the operation of two different— and on occasion even conflicting—imperatives: (a) that of the higher intellective soul, which is aligned with the pure universal soul in contemplation of intelligible beauty, and (b) that of the universal concatenation of natural causes and effects, which, while tending toward the same goal by way of physical beauty and the perpetuation of sensible forms, attains it only indirectly or partially, remaining forever bound by the limitations imposed by materiality. Cf. III 1.7.8–8.8. 4.23–25. ἄγων τοίνυν . . . ὁ τῆς μεμιγμένης:Summarizing what has been said so far, P. places each of the two Loves into correspondence with the imperative it serves: the first love, which belongs to the unmixed soul, is purely “contemplative” and offers her direct access to the Good through the intelligible beings; consequently, it is a god. The second love approaches the Good by way of the sensible avatars of the Beautiful, but remains subject to the limitations of natural necessity; consequently, it is demonic. 5.1–4. Ἀλλὰ τίς . . . ἐν τοῖς Ἀφροδίτης γενεθλίοις:P. moves on to the main exegetical part of the treatise, making a clear and specific reference to the myth of the birth of demonic Eros, which is to be found in the speech of the priestess Diotima in Plato’s Symposium (203b1–c4). Straightaway, the significance of the myth is declared to extend to the whole class of demons who, because of their mixed status (in contradistinction to the gods; cf. 2.25–27), are distinguished by an internal instability that manifests itself in a constant striving for some kind of plenitude. According to the myth in question, Eros “was conceived” (this being the sense here of gegennēmenos; cf. Pl. Symp. 203c3, gennētheis) during the gods’ celebration of the “birthday” (this being the sense here of genethlia; cf. ibid. and 203b2, hote egeneto) of Aphrodite (the Vulgar, obviously; cf. above, 2.16–17). His parents were “Plenty” (Poros), sated and inebriated with nectar (concerning the consequences of the state he was in, see note 11 of my introduction to this treatise; and Eumolpus’ aside in the Satyricon of Petronius, 112.1: scitis quid plerumque soleat temptare humanam satietam, which Allinson translates: “Now you all know what temptations assail poor human nature after a hearty meal”), and the beggar woman “Poverty” (Penia), who took advantage of the occasion to obtain a child from the prosperous Plenty. P. had already referred to this myth in his treatise “On the Impassibility of Things without Body” (III 6 [26].14.5–18), but there the emphasis was placed on the deceptiveness of the “apparition” (phantasma) that Poverty succeeds in grasping from Plenty, a theme that appears to hark back to a cosmological interpretation analogous to the one he will reject just below. 5.5–10. τὸ μὲν οὖν . . . ἀεὶ δὲ ἐνδεοῦς εἶναι:The interpretation of the Platonic myth according to which the newly born Eros symbolizes the sensible universe (and not, as P. would have it, the powers holding this universe together) is known to us from Plutarch, who, in his De Iside et Osiride 57, 374d–e, had this to say on the matter (trans. after Griffiths): “For Wealth (Poros) is none other than the primarily loved, the desired one, the perfect and the self-­sufficient; Poverty, however, Plato called the material (tēn hulēn), which was of itself lacking (endea) in the Good, but which is impregnated by it



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and constantly desires and shares it. The world (kosmos), or Horus, which issues from these, is neither eternal nor dispassionate nor indestructible, but being constantly reborn (aeigenēs) he tries, amid the changes and cycles of emotions, to remain always young and never likely to be destroyed.” In his cosmological interpretation Plutarch combines elements from the Hesiodic Theogony with others derived from the Egyptian mythological tradition in an attempt to depict the universe as a battlefield of hostile and warring powers, a place of anxious and unceasing striving after an unstable and ever-­ precarious perennity. (It should be noted here that a fundamental role analogous to that of Plenty and Poverty may have been assigned earlier to Aidōneus (= Pluto) and Nēstis in the cosmology of Empedocles; see fr. B6 DK; and Kingsley 1995, 348–54.) Conversely, P. holds the stability and everlastingless of the universe to be established and assured (on which, see treatise II 1 and cf. Pl. Ti. 33d2, 34b8). Hence, the perpetually “needful” (endeēs: see Pl. Symp. 202d1) Eros cannot but represent powers that, active though they are within the world, nevertheless echo the propensity of his mother, the universal Soul, for the supra-­sensible and supracosmic beauty of the intelligible. As I suggested above in my introduction, the cosmological interpretation of the myth of the birth of Eros appears to have enjoyed special favor with the Gnostics and may well lurk behind a cosmogonic passage of the Valentinian Gospel of Truth (= NHC I 3, 24.20–25.20). Cf. also Cornutus Theol. Graec. 25, 48.5–9. It is therefore likely that P.’s present intention is to disassociate himself unambiguously from the dualistic and anticosmic extensions that were usually attached to this interpretation. On the other hand, it also becomes clear, both here and in the arguments to follow, that P. is interested in making apparent how this interpretation falls into contradiction with what Plato himself had to say. 5.10–13. εἶτα ἀνάγκη . . . τὴν Ἀφροδίτην εἶναι:Second argument against the cosmological interpretation of the myth: if the universe consists, like any other living organism, in a composition of soul and body (cf. IV 4.32.4–9 and my comment on II 2.1.8–19; but also Pl. Ti. 30b7–8, 34b1–4, Phlb. 30a5–6), then Aphrodite-­Soul (concerning this correspondence, see my comment on 2.19–30) must have represented a constitutive part of the universe, and consequently a part of her own child, Eros. 5.13–15. εἰ κόσμος . . . τὴν Ἀφροδίτην εἶναι:The third argument employs as an assumption the Platonic anthropological principle according to which man is to be identified with his soul; cf. ?Pl. Alc. 130c3; and my introduction to I 1. If we extend this principle to cover the case of the universe (as some Stoicizing Platonists were undoubtedly prepared to do; see the remarks made by Pépin 1971a, 149–50, in connection with a passage from Varro apud Aug. De ciu. D. VII 6), then we must conclude that the universe is to be identified with the cosmic Soul, and therefore Eros with Aphrodite, his mother. 5.15–18. εἶτα διὰ τί . . . ἐκ δαιμόνων:Fourth argument: the assumption here is the demonic nature of Love; cf. above, 4.25 and the T2 mentioned in my comment on 1.1–3. If the universe were identified with this demonic substance, then it would be nothing but a conglomeration of all demonic tendencies. But then the universe would be nothing

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Third Ennead other than the forces that pervade it—forces that are, however, frequently at variance and even mutually offsetting; see my comment on III 2.2.1–7. As far as P. is concerned, such a chaotic image of the universe is self-­evidently unacceptable. 5.18–21. ὁ δὲ ἔφορος . . . καὶ ἀπᾳδόντως:The final card P. lays before us is the total incompatibility of this interpretation with some of the classic descriptions of Love in the Platonic corpus. The citation from the Phaedrus, 265c2–3, had also been employed earlier (at 2.3–4) to indicate the anagogical character of Eros as desire for supra-­sensible beauty, and it is certainly to be correlated with those features of Eros that he had, according to the Symposium, 203d4–5, inherited from his father Poros, but that appear to lack any raison d’être in relation to the sensible world itself. On the other hand, the citation from the celebrated description in the Symposium, 203d1–2, of Eros as “poor” (penēs) qua son of “Poverty” (Penia) falls into contradiction with the plenitude and self-­sufficiency of the universe, as was already stated above, at 5.8. 6.1–4. Ἀλλὰ τί δὴ . . . εἶναι αὐτῷ:Having concluded his criticism of the alternative, cosmological interpretation of the myth, P. now moves forward to present his own, commencing by setting out the questions to which any such interpretation should be expected to provide answers. The first and most obvious of these, but which will not be examined until the following chapter, is what precisely do the parents of Love—Plenty and Poverty—symbolize. For as in all mythological theogonies, the parentage of Love ought to point toward something of substance concerning his nature; cf. my comment on 2.1–6. As will be explained below at 9.27–29, the “account of his birth” is nothing other than the unfolding in temporal succession of contemporaneous relations and structures, so as to render them accessible to our reason. 6.4–6. δῆλον δὲ . . . ἕξουσι μόνον:The second question to be examined concerns the genus of which the embodied soul’s Love is (as was asserted at 4.25) a member. This leads to a digression on the nature and features of demons in general, with a view subsequently to singling out those peculiar characteristics that determine the place Eros occupies within the more general category of demons. 6.7–13. λάβωμεν τοίνυν . . . τοῦ ἡμετέρου γένους:The essence of demons is defined by contrasting them with the gods. This distinction, which seems to have held a great importance for theurgy (see my comment on VP 10.22–23), is drawn by P. on the basis of the criterion of impassibility: the gods, being purely intelligible entities, are insusceptible of any type of affection (cf. I 2.6.26, III 6.4.34–35), whereas demons, conversely, are subject to them (cf. IV 4.43.12–16) by consequence of their embodied nature (cf. IV 4.18.19–21). P. is aware, of course, that in common usage the words “god” (theos) and “demon” (daimōn) were more or less synonymous (on which see my introduction to III 4), but he aligns himself with the philosophical tradition going back at least as far as Pl. Symp. 203d4–5, according to which demons occupied a rank intermediate between that of gods and men, sharing immortality with the former and susceptibility to affections with the latter: cf. Xenocr. fr. 23; Max. Tyr. IX 1–2, 100.5–102.8 and 4, 104.13–105.2;



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Apul. De deo Socr. 13, 147; and Calc. In Ti. 131, 173.13–20. P. ascribes to the demons a “second[-­rank] nature” (deuteran phusin), in between gods and men, also at III 2.11.6–7 and VI 7.6.26–29. Yet their immortality had been an object of serious dispute, as witnessed by the discussion in Plutarch’s De def. or. (see principally 11–12, 415c–416c; Andres 1918, 304.53–305.7; and Soury 1942, 29–36). Cf. also Porph. Abst. II 39.1–2. 6.13–14. πῇ δὴ οὖν . . . πρὸς τὸ χεῖρον:It remains to be clarified why demons are not impassible as the gods are, and what this implies concerning their nature. The answer is provided a little further on (at 6.24–25, pace Wolters 1984, 153, ad loc.) in the form of a rhetorical question: every demon is a trace, which is to say a projection or imprinting of a soul on a material substrate. 6.14–24. καὶ δὴ . . . περὶ ἕκαστον ἄστρον:Might it then be the case that we are dealing with a categorial distinction? That in the intelligible there are nothing but gods, while in the sensible universe there are nothing but demons? P. accepts the first part of this thesis: indeed, whatever is in the intelligible will belong to the gods, because it does not share in materiality; cf. V 5.3.1–4; and the crucial observations of Rist 1962c, 169–70. On the other hand, however, the authority of the Greek philosophical tradition from Heraclitus to Numenius suggests to him that neither is the sensible universe deprived of the presence of the divine. At this point he could in fact have invoked the characterization of the universe as a (sensible) god by Plato in the Timaeus (see, e.g., 34b1, 92c7; but also [Pl.] Epin. 976e4–977a6; cf. II 3.9.45), but it seems that what concerns him at present is to highlight the wider diffusion of this view. Especially characteristic is his reference to the anecdotal testimony regarding Heraclitus. As Aristotle—by way of illustration of the fact that “in all natural things there is something of the marvelous”—relates in Part. an. A 5, 645a18–21 = Heraclit. fr. A9 DK, when some strangers who had sought out the sage of Ephesus found him warming himself by his kitchen hearth, they hesitated to draw closer, whereupon he greeted them with the phrase recalled in l. 17: einai . . . kai entautha theous. The context shows that the force of kai here is emphatic (“even here are there gods”), and that, as Roussos 1968, 78–79, proposes, it points toward a pantheistic conception of the omnipresence of the divine. Moreover, P.’s citation, immediately afterward, of the characteristic formula from the triadic theological hierarchy of Numenius (fr. 21.3 = Procl. In Ti. I 304.1)—behind which, of course, there is a latent reference to the three “kings” of the pseudo-­ Platonic Epistle II (on which, see my comment on I 8.2.28–32, and cf. below, at 8.8)—is intended merely to summon up a received opinion, an endoxon, without necessarily implying any adherence to its validity on the part of P. Cf. also my comment above, at 2.19–30. As regards the divinity of the heavenly bodies, P.’s repeated assertions on the matter leave not the slightest doubt that he accepted it unreservedly; see, indicatively, II 3.9.7, II 9.8.30–32, III 2.3.24, 8.4–5, IV 4.30.26, V 1.2.40–41, V 8.3.27–28; and cf. Pl. Resp. VI 508a4–9, Leg. VII 821c7; [Pl.] Epin. 981e4; Xenocr. fr. 15 and 17, etc. He takes care to suggest, however, that they are “second-­rank” (deuteroi) in relation to the intelligibles, drawing their orderliness and their luminescence from them—although they enjoy, of

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Third Ennead course, priority with respect to terrestrial objects; cf. IV 3.17.3–21. On the other hand, his position appears to bring him into close proximity with those of whom Proclus reports (In Ti. III 153.24–25) that they “held the gods to preside in heaven, but demons to preside over sublunary affairs”: the sublunary domain is in effect ruled by powers that are embodied and, accordingly, demonic. 6.24–27. τοὺς δὲ δαίμονας . . . τὸν ταύτης ἔρωτα:See my comments on 4.23–25 and 6.13–14. 6.27–35. πρῶτον δὴ . . . τῷ ἑαυτῆς ὅλῳ:P. now comes to grips with two closely interrelated questions: (a) why are not all demons loves, and (b) what is it that prevents demons from all being pure (and hence divine)? The answer to (a) is that the activities of souls are not exclusively determined by their propensity for the Good and the Beautiful (which, as we saw at 2.32–38, is the source of divine love), but on occasion also by other factors, such as, for example, the solicitude for something lower; cf. my comments on 4.18–23 and III 2.4.36–38. In the case of the cosmic Soul, then, there emerge some tendencies bearing on the custody and preservation of the universe that may—individually—fail to take heed of the goodness vested in overall cosmic planning. These are the demonic powers, which while performing the service of holding together and “filling up” or “completing” (sumplērousan: cf. Pl. Symp. 202e6; and Hadot 1990, 212–13) the universe, yet cause it also to convulse with internal tensions and contrarieties; cf. my comment on III 2.2.1–7; and the very useful comments of Wolters 1984, 162–64. Hadot 1990, 126n.197, has convincingly defended the correctness of the MSS reading at l. 33 against the emendation proposed by Kirchhoff. 6.35–43. ἀλλὰ πῶς . . . τῇ μιγνυμένῃ αἰτία:An answer to (b) requires some prior clarification concerning the material component of the demonic nature. Traditionally, it was thought that demons possessed bodies of a rarefied—frequently airy (cf. Hes. Op. 255)—kind, and that this made them imperspicuous. The author of [Pl.] Epin. 984b2– 985c1, held that there exist, apart from the fiery celestial gods and the earthy mortal animals, other living things as well, fashioned out of the three intermediate elements (aether, air and water), but he only calls “demons” (daimones) the ethereal ones among these (see Tarán 1975, 283); cf. my comment on III 2.3.24–29. For Middle Platonism, the apportionment of demons “in respect of each of the elements” (kath’ hekaston tōn stoicheiōn) was regarded as virtually self-­evident; see, e.g., “Alcinous” Didasc. 15, 171.15– 19. Airy demons were referred to by Varro, apud Aug. De ciu. D. VII 6, as well as by Apuleius, De deo Socr. 11, 143–44, whereas concerning the fiery ones, see my comments on II 1.6.52–54 and II 3.12.18–20 (after II 3.5.20); and cf. Porph. apud Procl. In Ti. II 11.10–12. Yet although P. does, indeed, allow that demons actually do possess a corporeal hypostasis—because, as was said earlier, they are not pure of matter—he is not prepared to accept this as a substantive explanation concerning their nature. On the contrary, it is precisely this that stands in need of explanation: namely, how this material dimension of theirs came into existence. Any explanation, in his view, must always proceed from



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the higher to the lower, not the other way round. And the provenance of demons from the purely incorporeal Soul does not seem adequate to explain how they should find themselves in possession of bodies. Furthermore, there is also need to clarify the nature of this material substrate that allows them to escape detection by the senses—at least, as a rule; cf. Porph. Ad Gaurum 6.1, 42.7–10; and Hadot 1990, 213–15. 6.43–45. τίς οὖν . . . δι’ αὐτῆς:As cause of the corporeality of demons, P. nominates—by way of hypothesis—an “intelligible matter” (hulē noētē), which would make intermediation possible from the purely intelligible Soul to corporeal nature. But in what, precisely, would this consist? The later Neoplatonists would not hesitate to discover here a reference to the “pneumatic vehicle” of the soul, a credence that was to gain widespread acceptance among their ranks; cf. Smith 1974, 153, but also my comments on II 2.2.21– 22 and III 6.5.25–29. On the other hand, the intelligible matter to which discussion was devoted in the treatise “On Matter” (II 4.2–5) appears to bear no relation to the one here, given that the former consisted in a purely intelligible reality. (For a different perspective on this particular point, see Corrigan 1986, 177–80.) Thus, for the final answer to the question, we need to pursue our reading further, to the point where intelligible matter comes to be figured allegorically by Poverty. 7.1–4. Διὸ καὶ . . . γενομένου:From a—to all accounts—playful parenthetical remark of Plato’s at Symp. 203b5–6 (which recalls those explanatory asides to the audience habitual in fairy tales; note the surprise registered by Sykutris 1934, ad loc.), P. appears to be seeking to derive serious metaphysical consequences: the nonexistence of wine (which, as everyone knows, was always absent from the gods’ table; see Hom. Il. 5.341) is interpreted as an indication that the birth of Love is accomplished within the supra-­sensible realm. I believe that what we have here is one of the rare examples of Plotinian humor. Nevertheless, nectar as a symbol of that “sober inebriation” instilled by the propensity for the supreme Good (and not simply as a symbol of intelligible substance, which is the view preferred by Wolters 1984, 171, ad loc., or of the Logos, which is the one defended by Hadot 1990, 244; cf. below, 9.16–17) is encountered at other points in the Enneads; see V 8.10.32–35 and VI 7.35.23–27. 7.4–9. καὶ τῆς Πενίας . . . τοῦ Ἔρωτος τεκούσης:After this brief interlude of Platonic “jest” (paidia), P. reverts immediately to the seriousness of philosophical analysis (cf. III 8.1.1–2). Poverty, that is, the “intelligible matter” mentioned just previously, has intercourse with (and hence “participates” in) the very nature of the intelligible, and not just a mere image of it—as P. himself had maintained at III 6.14.5–18, where, however, the myth’s symbolism was interpreted differently; see Pépin 1958, 196. This means that the entity in question is not just supra-­sensible, but also immaterial, being directly correlated with the intelligible. Hence, Love was engendered from the mixture of two intelligible constituents: the “form” (eidos), which is the parental contribution of Plenty (cf. my comment on II 4.16.13–16), and “indefiniteness,” which characterizes the soul before she arrives at an understanding of the Good, when she finds herself in a state of confused and intuitive awareness of its presence (P. alludes here to a charac-

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Third Ennead teristic passage from Plato, Resp. VI 505d11–e4), giving rise to an indeterminate proclivity toward it; see Dillon 1969a, 35–36; and Couloubaritsis 1992, 237. During this phase when it remains unformed, the soul consists in a kind of matter with respect to Intellect, as stated at III 9.5.1–3. We see then that, in the end, this “intelligible matter”—perhaps the term “psychical matter” (hulē psuchikē), which is employed with a slightly different shade of meaning by Porphyry, In Harm. 13.16, would have been more appropriate—presents after all significant morphological correspondences with its counterpart at II 4 (on which, see principally my introduction). Their basic difference, however, is that in the present instance the procreative indefiniteness is an offspring of the intelligible, not of the supra-­intelligible One, while its corresponding propensity is orientated toward the Intellect, and only indirectly toward the transcendent Good. This is also why Poverty’s intercourse is with Plenty, the representative of the intelligible “formative principles” (logoi: see below, 9.1), while the outcome of their intercourse is the birth of Love. In order to bring this point out clearly, I believe that it is necessary to add a comma in l. 6 after summichtheisēs, so as to indicate that the hōs that follows is parallel in syntax to the one in l. 3 (as Armstrong’s translation succeeds in doing; cf. Wolters 1984, 174, ad loc.). 7.9–19. λόγος οὖν . . . ἐξ αὐτοῦ ἐκείνη:We are now given a description of the nature of demonic Love, in which the paradoxical combination of features inherited from his parents is registered and displayed. For what “psychical matter” finally admits inside her is not Intellect itself, but its effulgence, a “rational formative principle” (logos) originating from There, which impregnates her as something external to itself. Thus Love is himself a logos, being derived from that intelligible reason, but he is at the same time possessed of the indefinite unreason that characterized his mother’s longing. He has within himself the seed of plenitude and perfection, but is condemned to imperfection and indigence, and to an eternal search for replenishment. He reflects, and seeks after, a fulfillment that exhilarates him as much as it exceeds him. He is a creature of the fundamental incapacity of the soul to achieve that which she most desires but can never conquer, even though it constitutes her most essential part. A point worth remarking on within the mythical context is the absence of any initiative, or even active concurrence, on the part of the inebriated Plenty. One implication of this, of course, is that Plenty does not “err” (hamartanein: on this, cf. Hermas Pastor, Mandate 4, 32.1–2) and is accordingly not responsible for any imperfections born of his union with Poverty. In the mythological narratives of the Gnostics, Sophia’s desire for “seeking her Father,” but also for creating without his concurrence, results in the abortive birth of the fiendish Ialdabaoth (see Iren. Adu. haer. I 2.2–3; and Ap. John = NHC II 1, 9.28–10.5), which is accomplished without her husband’s participation. Conversely, the mythological context of the Symposium allows P. to envisage the intellective logos’s contribution to the birth of Love as real and substantive, albeit unintentional and unconscious. 7.19–25. καὶ ἔστιν . . . τοῦ λόγου φύσιν:The genealogy of Eros offers P. the opportunity to shed light on some of the characteristic features attached to him in ancient literature.



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His “lack of resources” (aporia) is due to the “need” or “deficiency” (endeia) he inherited from his mother; cf. Pl. Symp. 203c6–d3, 204b7; and Plut. De Is. et Os. 57, 374d (trans. Griffiths): “a mother who was shiftless (mētros d’ amēchanou), hard up (aporou), and because of need (di’ endeian) always hankering after some one else and coaxing him.” His ever-­unsatiated need feeds the “frenzy” (oistros) that consumes him; cf. Pl. Phdr. 240d1. On the other hand, the correlation of Love with “resourcefulness” (euporia) and inventiveness is attested to by, apart from Plato (Symp. 203d6–8), other sources as well; see, e.g., Aristarchus fr. 2.4–5: “for this god [sc., Eros] makes both the lacking in strength to be strong, and the lacking in means to find means (kai ton aporon heuriskein poron).” Of related interest is the attempt made by an ancient commentator of Alcman (which has been preserved on a papyrus of the second century CE, POxy 2390: see CPF III, 1; and Most 1987, 1–19) to attribute a cosmological content to the poet’s description of the love of Peleus for Thetis, through an allegorical analysis of the “means” or “resources” (poros) availed of by the former: the commentator regards this as a kind of cosmological “principle” (archē) that leads to the achievement of the “goal” (bearing the rather mysterious name tekmōr) sought after by the “creator of all things” (kataskeuazonta panta), that is, Thetis; see also Steiner 2003, 25, 29. If nothing else, this testimony reveals the importance that the figure of Poros was able to assume as procreative cause within contexts that might differ radically, but were always marked by the presence of an erotic cosmological allegory. As far as the pair of opposites “powerlessness–ability to provide for oneself ” (amēchanon–poristikon) is concerned—the linkage of the former with “deficiency” (endeia) rendering Kirchhoff ’s textual emendation certain—this was an established commonplace; cf. ?Aesch. PV 59 (with the comment of Griffith 1983, ad loc.); Aristoph. Ran. 1429; and esp. Eq. 759, where, as an ancient commentator points out (see Schol. In Aristoph. ad loc., 61a8–10), it is logōn euporia (“resourcefulness in reasoning”) that is at stake. Thus, the demonic Eros is laid bare as a product of the combination of two radically opposed tendencies: the indefinite and defective propensity of “psychical matter” toward its overlying truths, and the resource-­laden, way-­finding plenitude of the intelligible “rational principle” (logos), which constantly orientates him in the direction of the Beautiful and, consequently, the Good. 7.26–30. Δεῖ δὲ . . . ὡς ἀγαθῶν:P. proceeds here to frame a generalization of the first importance: whatever was said concerning the nature of Love in relation to his parentage applies more generally to every demon (cf. Pl. Symp. 202d13); by the same token, it is revelatory of the demonic nature’s most profound essence, as well as of its place and function in the world. The tension created by the combination of blind and incurable privation with the fertile abundance of the intelligible logos operates as a mechanism capable of mobilizing a psychical substrate along a given direction, in the perspective of which the Beautiful comes into vision as an effulgence of the Good. Yet because we find ourselves in the domain of materiality, where the avatars of goodness are divided and dispersed in time and space, the soul is propelled in different, and even opposite, directions. Demons, consequently, are nothing else than personifications of these varied psychical tendencies pervading the world, each directed toward some partial—or perhaps,

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Third Ennead indeed, merely apparent—good, and as such are certainly related in some way to Love. What sets the latter apart is that, even in his lower manifestations, and provided alone that he is genuine, he remains turned always toward the real—and therefore universal— Good; cf. 2.37–41, 3.28–38, 4.15–18. 7.30–46. ὅθεν καὶ . . . καὶ ἕξεσιν ἤδη:We thus arrive at a more general theory of psychological motivation, viewed through the allegorical prism of demonology. Even in embodied life, true love is always turned toward what is “really good” (ontōs agathon: this expression may be alluding to Pl. Phlb. 21a1–2), while the demonic tendencies to which most people succumb propel them toward its manifold splintered reflections in the diversity of partial goods; cf. Hadot 1990, 67. In every soul there reside such demonic impulses, from among which she makes her choices. These choices are, however, not always conscious, as her motivations are governed by powers that lie beyond her control; cf. my comment on III 4.5.24–29. Any wrong choices give rise to deceptive affections (cf. on this point the remarks I made in my comment on 3.15–19) that, fettering her in delusions, disorientate her and distance her from the object of her natural (cf. 1.50– 54) and most inward erotic longing, which alone possesses real substance; see above, my comment on 2.32–38; and Hadot 1990, 33–34, 228–30. Thus, the soul becomes a slave to her demonic impulses, whereupon her activity too is deprived of both freedom and voluntariness; cf. III 1.9.4–16, with my comments. 7.46–58. καὶ γὰρ ὅλως . . . ἁπλῶς τρίγωνον:In this rather obscure passage, P. seeks to correlate the truth of “natural” love with the validity of intellectual knowledge. The hesitation testified to by the opening kinduneuei (“it is likely that”) shows the difficulty of the enterprise. True love propels the soul toward real goods and real substance, just as true thought brings us into contact with true beings. The clear allusion to Parmenides fr. B3 DK (cf. my comment on I 4.10.3–6) brings us to the central dogma of P.’s epistemology, his thesis concerning the identification of intellect with its activity, but also with the objects of its activity; on this, see Emilsson 1996, 227–28 and 234–36. Thus does the soul’s true “internal” activity bring her into direct contact and communication with the Intellect (cf. my comment on 2.32–38), whereas every other preoccupation of hers represents a diversion occasioned by exogenous affections, a beguilement leading her to suppose that it is outside herself that goods are to be found. Now Intellect, just like the beings it contains, is inextricably tied in with generality; particularity is the result of the fragmentation induced by matter. Thus in our own selves also, although the intellect’s activity may appear to be piecemeal and imperfectly identified with its object, its force and the validity of its conclusions are universal and lasting, transcending the limitations of our individuality. Correspondingly, the true, authentic love of the soul will also be permanently directed toward the universally Beautiful, and not toward its particular avatars; cf. Pl. Symp. 210a8–e1. 8.1–17. Ἀλλὰ τίς . . . Ἀφροδίτη λεχθεῖσα:Following this digression on the importance of demonic powers to the formation of the various psychological attitudes and states, P. reverts to his main explicatory task. Still remaining to be clarified are the symbolic



III 5. On Love

meaning of Zeus and that of his garden, in which the farcical union of Love’s parents is consummated (see Pl. Symp. 203b5–6). At this juncture, however, P. finds himself confronted by some serious difficulties: the role of Aphrodite has already been assigned to the soul, while Kronos has been identified with the Intellect; see my comment on 2.19– 30. Moreover, Poros has been interpreted as the universal intellective logos, the rational formative principle that activates and thereby “impregnates” the soul; see 7.9–19, with my comment. Hence, after summoning up various well-­known Platonic passages in which Zeus represents the hegemonic cosmic intellect (cf. Phdr. 246e4, and Ep. II, 312e3), P. decides to enroll him as the intellect of the cosmic Soul, who provides her with the intellective “instructions” necessary for her to arrange and organize the universe in conformity with the specifications of intelligible Being; cf. IV 4.9.1–10.4, where reference is again made to the same passage from Plato’s Philebus (30d1–2), in which Zeus assumes the position of universal cause within the framework of an argument “from design” (op. cit. c5–7 trans. D. Frede): the good ordering of the universe presupposes a cause “that orders and coordinates the years, seasons, and months, and which has every right to the title of wisdom and reason.” Because, however, the latter cannot exist without soul (cf. Pl. Ti. 30b3), there inevitably must exist a cosmic Soul that arranges and preordains everything, the intellectual content of which is Zeus. These contextual remarks drawn from Plato’s dialogue indicate that we are not required to assume that the expression “with him” (sun autōi) in l. 15 points to the existence of a matrimonial relationship between Zeus and Aphrodite, as Hadot 1990, 49–50, would have it. Aphrodite may well stand toward the king of gods as a mere companion (cf. the use of sun in 2.13– 14), representing the beauty of Nature as a manifestation and result of his providential care (which, incidentally, is also how Botticelli envisioned her). Indeed, the closing observation shows that P. had in mind the (putative) etymology of Aphrodite’s name from the adjective habros (“delicate”), which is also known to us from Didymus Chalcenterus apud Et. Magn., s.v. Aphroditē, 179.13–14. 8.17–23. καὶ γὰρ εἰ . . . Ἥρας λέγουσιν:Accessorily to his argument, P. invokes a general exegetical principle for the allegorical interpretation of myths, according to which male gods symbolize intellects, while female deities stand for souls; hence—we may conclude—“sacred marriages” symbolize the union, which is to say the conformation, of the (lower) psychical functions to the dictates of the intellect. The archetype of such a hieros gamos was taken in antiquity to be the marriage of Zeus to Hera, which appears to have been endowed with a special significance in the Orphic tradition; see Orph. fr. 163; but also Bidez and Cumont 1938, 1:91–97, on possible influences from eastern mystery cults; while cf. also Pherekydes fr. 73. Perhaps for this reason, and certainly because of the reference to priests and theologians (cf. my comment on 2.1–6), Kern included the present passage in his collection as Orph. fr. 351, placing it among the spurious or doubtful ones. On the other hand, Chrysippus had attempted—according to a number of testimonies (see SVF 2:1071–74)—to interpret allegorically, as a piece of cosmological symbolism, a rather risqué depiction of the divine couple. We know that similar beliefs circulated within P.’s circle, and that Porphyry, indeed, had marshaled all of his inspiration in composing a poem on this theme, with results that would seem to have been some-

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Third Ennead what equivocal; see VP 15.1–6, with my comments, which also refer to several parallels from the milieu of Gnosticism. It was easy to identify Hera, as “goddess of marriage” and “leader of the bridal procession” (numphagōgos) (see Plut. fr. 157.2), with Aphrodite (cf. Paus. III 13.9), especially in her cosmological dimension, but what provided further backing for this was the fact that (as P. observes) the planet that bore the latter’s name, and that was also known as “Morning Star” (Heōios) or “Light-­Bringer” (Phōsphoros)— cf. my comment on II 3.12.20–24 (after II 3.5.20)—was on occasion also called “[Star] of Hera” (tēs Hēras): see [Ti. Locr.] De nat. 26, 214.4; [Arist.] Mund. 2, 392a28; and Plin. HN II 6.37. 9.1–5. Ὁ οὖν Πόρος . . . τὸ τῆς πληρώσεως:The allegorical interpretation now focuses on the figure of Poros/Plenty. As discussed earlier, what he symbolizes is the logos, the rational formative principle that “flows out” from the Intellect and “impregnates” the soul; cf. 7.9, 17, 8.3–4, and III 2.2.17–33, with my comment. This logos has two dimensions: a cosmological one and an epistemological one. As a world-­creating command or instruction, it is a kind of radiation emitted by, and dependent on, the Intellect; on coming into contact with matter, it causes the variety of sensible forms to appear on it. In its epistemological dimension, the logos is an expression of the unity and cohesiveness of intelligible beings in a looser, more disaggregated form, an expansion of intelligible truth into compositions of meanings amenable to formulation as propositions. (For a defense of this view concerning the relation between intelligible truth and its linguistic expression in P., see Kalligas 2004b, 73–75.) Consequently, Wolters’ insistence on understanding logos here to mean “discursive faculty” (see Wolters 1984, 177, 179, 190; and cf. my comment on I 1.8.6–8) is justified up to a point, except that one should not lose sight in addition of the first, cosmological dimension of logos, which is capable of explaining its regulatory and unifying role in the universe; cf. my comment on III 2.2.33– 36. This duality of logos is already in evidence in a fragment (T23) of the Neopythagorean Thrasyllus of Tralles preserved by Porphyry, In Harm. 12.21–28, which displays some interesting correspondences with the present passage: “And this is ‘the logos of the Forms,’ as Thrasyllus says, ‘compressed (sunespeiramenos) and hidden away as it were in seeds, but unfolded and unraveled in accordance with the operations (energeias) of each nature; and entering into the principles of art by imitation, as also into the actual products of art, and into the reasonings of discursive practical intelligence and wisdom, in accordance with which the intellect puts a seal on what each thing is, and both defines and confirms its essence. The definitional and demonstrative logos is indicative of this.’ ” See further Dörrie 1981, 148–49 (whose views were given weight in adapting the above translation from that of Tarrant 1993, 110–11). The fact that it is the logos that unpacks and deploys the intellective principles in natural operations or their manifestations (cf. IV 9.5.9–12, V 9.6.10–21) also ensures the validity of their rational reconstruction through reasoning. In this way a certain amount of light is shed as well on the correlation between natural love and the cognitive function of intellection that P. had sought to draw at 7.46–58. As an offspring of logos—the formative rational principle—love acts in an intermediating capacity and brings us into contact with the intelligible foundations of the universal order, that is, with its deeper substance.



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9.5–16. τὸ δ’ ἐκεῖ . . . ἐν ἐκφάνσει ἤδη:The peculiar characteristic of the logos is its role of transmission, the fact that it conveys certain elements from a higher level to a lower one—or, to be more precise, to the level immediately below. In this manner it “illuminates” and beautifies the lower hypostasis—that is, in the present instance, the soul. Because Poverty, however, symbolizes, as we have seen, the permanently deprived psychical state of instinctive and indefinite yearning for the Good (see my comment on 7.4–9), P. has need of a different symbol for the soul bathed in intellective light and adorned with “the divine glory of virtue” (cf. I 6.9.14): he settles accordingly for this purpose on the garden of Zeus (cf. Pl. Symp. 203b6; as Sykutris 1934, 141n.6 observes ad loc., Sophocles—in fr. 297, from his tragedy Ion—bears witness to the fact that already during the classical period the locality in question evoked some kind of isle of the blessed), the place where the soul’s beauty is revealed in all its richness. In this respect P. may be regarded as a precursor of the literary genre—familiar mainly from the Byzantine period—of so-­called noēta or theōrētika paradeisia, the “intelligible” or “contemplative gardens [of the virtues],” which consisted in symbolic descriptions of the virtues as decorative plants in a supra-­terrestrial garden flooded by the light of god’s sun and tended by the virtuous intellect; on which, see Thomson 1960, 9–13; and cf. also Philo Opif. 153–54, and Leg. alleg. I 45–49. The relatively rare word ekphansis (which would seem to mark here its earliest appearance; see LSJ, s.v.; and Schwyzer 1984, 68) is likely to have been carefully chosen for its appropriateness to designate the first “coming into view”—the “sprouting”—of plants; cf. Porph. De phil. fr. 315F. 32. 9.16–23. καὶ τοῦτό ἐστι . . . ὑποστῆναι λέγεται:But what the logos transmits can be nothing other than the boundless dynamism of the One, which is diffused everywhere (cf. V 5.10.19–23), provoking the “drunkenness” of insatiable longing for its possession; cf. above, my comment on 7.1–4. It is important to note that the nectar is “acquired” or “tapped” (komizetai: see LSJ, s.v. komizein II 2) even by “the divine” (to theion), that is, the Intellect, which, however—as we are here reminded—does not become inebriated with its own self. Hence, even Nature takes part in this orgiastic drunkenness (cf. above, 7.2, with my comment) with the beauty of its efflorescence, but what primarily is aroused is the soul, and indeed the soul in its higher, intellective dimension; see my comment on 2.32–38. We are thus presented here with a radical reappraisal of drunkenness by comparison with what we had found to be its implied valuation in treatises of a Gnostic character, such as the fragment from Basilides cited in note 11 of my introduction. For the procession of the nectar-­laden Poros-­Logos from Intellect is tantamount not to any catastrophic fall, but to a vivifying dissemination of love for the Good as far as the dark fringes of matter—a process that, as P. emphatically reiterates (cf. 9.7–8), is “simultaneous” with, that is, homologous to, the hypostasis of soul, itself symbolized by the birth of Aphrodite (cf. Pl. Symp. 203b2). 9.24–29. Δεῖ δὲ . . . συναιρεῖν:In an exceedingly interesting methodological digression, P. sets out certain basic features characterizing mythological narratives in general, thereby providing us with some keys to their allegorical interpretation. Two stand out in particular:

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Third Ennead (a) The breakdown of atemporal states of affairs into temporal sequences. For it is to be observed in such narratives that causal relations holding simultaneously are, “for the sake of clear explanation,” presented in temporal succession in the context of the employment of a somewhat expanded version of the gnomic aorist; cf. IV 3.9.12–20, VI 7.35.28–29; and Olymp. In Grg. 48.1, 250.18–22. Thus, we saw, for example, that the phrase “as wine did not yet exist” was attributed not a historical meaning, but an ontological one; see my comment on 7.1–4. Similarly, the phrase “at Aphrodite’s birthday party” (2.8–9, 5.4) is interpreted as expressing not a chronological coincidence, but an ontological one (see 9.7–8, 22–23), namely, that of the logical and ontological inseparability of Love’s existence from the soul’s. (b) The discrimination of things that in reality are not ontologically self-­standing or separate. To take one example, Zeus, his garden, and even Poros/Plenty are presented as discrete elements of the myth; in actuality, however, all three are thoroughly interconnected, expressing merely different aspects of a single, unitary entity—namely, the ratiocinative part of the soul—and its relationship with Intellect; see my comments on 8.1–17 and 9.1–16. P. hastens to clarify, however, that such narrative distortions that require redress through interpretation characterize not just myths alone (or associated ritual practices; cf. Eliade 1954, 34–48), but even “rational discussions” (logoi) themselves, whenever these are concerned, of course, with such entities or states of affairs as are inconducive to purely discursive analysis (Lacrosse 1994, 35–38, seeks to identify these two cases completely, but his interpretation fails, I believe, to give due weight to the first two conjunctions in ll. 27 and 28); see Wolters 1984, 248 ad loc.; as well as Hadot 1990, 245–46, who aptly remarks: “Compared to intellectual intuition, all discourse is, as it were, mythical.” We saw, for instance, in my introduction to II 1 that the question of the world’s eternity was in antiquity tied in with the interpretation of the cosmogonical narrative in the Timaeus. In fact, the expression “generations of things ungenerated” (geneseis tōn agennētōn) that we find here in the text of H-­S alludes, in my view, to this very problematic, which is why I prefer the spelling agenētōn (meaning more exactly “ungenerable” or “not subject to coming-­to-­be”; cf. my comment on II 1.4.25– 30) preserved by a minority of MSS. The requirements of exposition, in alliance with the limitations of linguistic expression, dictate the discursive and analytical formulation, by means of multiple expressions, of truths that are absolutely unitary and, as it were, compact, and that the intellect grasps at once; cf. my comment above on 6.1–4, as well as III 7.6.21–26, IV 3.9.14–20, IV 8.4.40–42, V 1.6.19–22, VI 5.2.1–6, VI 7.35.28–29, and P.’s celebrated reference to the “wisdom” of Egyptian hieroglyphics, at V 8.6.1–9. Thus do myths also provide us with extended representations that we are called upon to resynthesize, or “put together again,” into a single reality through an additional intellective act, which P. chooses to call sunairesis by reaching into the vocabulary of optics (cf. II 8.1.4, 15, 48 and IV 7.6.20–21) for a term designating “the synoptic view of an object.” As Guitton 2004, 103, epigrammatically puts it: “Myths do not, for P., describe actions: they symbolize states of affairs.” See also Pépin 1958, 191–92.



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9.29–37. ἡ δὲ συναίρεσις . . . βεβαρημένος:In his retrospective summary, P. again takes up the main elements of his analysis, assembling them into a unified picture. The repetition of “and” (kai) at the beginning of the passage underlines the effort required of us to attain such a comprehensive view: the soul draws its hypostasis from the Intellect and, dedicating herself to him, receives within her the logoi that “adorn” (kosmein) her with living images of their intelligible models, being themselves sated with the inebriating and life-­giving influence of the Good. Thus do Aphrodite, Poros/Plenty, Penia/Poverty, Zeus, his garden (cf. Pl. Symp. 203b2–7), and even the nectar flowing inside Poros represent, in their “coming together” (cf. sunelthonta below, at 9.47), a single and uniform psychical state in which the soul, aspiring toward Intellect, is flooded with the brilliance of its beauty and with the surge of its own erotic longing for it. So is it that the myth of the birth of Eros/Love does in fact finally lead us to the revelation of its deepest essence. 9.37–39. ζωῆς δὲ . . . ὄντες: A novel element introduced at this juncture is that of the “life” (zōē) of the gods, which is to say their “blessed mode of life,” their “life of well-­ being” (eudaimōn bios: cf. V 8.3.30–4.4), symbolized by their revels at Aphrodite’s birthday party. But perhaps this harking back to the gods’ feasting is meant to underline as well the vital role played in all this by nectar; cf. my comments above at 9.16–23, but also at II 5.3.38–40. 9.39–48. ἀεὶ δὲ . . . τοῦτον ὄντα:P. emphasizes once again the atemporal character of the birth of Love, a necessary consequence of the soul’s nature: that very nature that makes it aspire toward the Good; see 4.22–23 and my comment on 2.32–38. He also explains why its hypostasis is a mixture of “need” or “deficiency” (endeia: see my comment on 7.19–25) and “plenitude” or “resourcefulness” (euporia: cf. Pl. Symp. 203e2): because privation of the Good would on its own be insufficient to provoke an active striving for It. What awakens the memory and the propensity for reversion to the Good is the presence of the Good’s traces, the logoi, in something “other” (heteron) than It. As Hadot 1990, 249, points out, the mention of memory in this passage represents one of the few references made by P. to the Platonic theory of recollection; cf., indicatively, Pl. Phdr. 250a1– 5; but also my comment above on 1.55–65. 9.48–57. ἡ δὲ μήτηρ . . . γεγενημένος:Some requisite clarifications must still be made concerning the materiality of Love. His heritage of “need” renders Love, as was said earlier, lacking in means and deprived of resources (see my comment on 7.19–25). Now, seeing that complete privation is identical with negation of the Good, that is, with matter (see II 4.14.17–28 and my comment on I 8.10.1–11), this inescapable deprivation of his causes Love to participate of necessity in some kind of materiality. We saw that the pertinent role fell to that which was dubbed “intelligible matter” (on which, see my comment on 7.4–9), but there remains to be clarified in what sense and to what degree the latter constitutes real matter. The answer to this question brings into relief once again the paradoxality of matter. Greater remoteness from the Good

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Third Ennead entails an increase in the indefiniteness of aspiration toward It; but what this means precisely is an increase in materiality, that is, in the underlying propensity, accompanied by an ever higher degree of opacity regarding the exact direction in which the Good is to be found. This, then, is what obliges Love to remain forever (albeit, of course, in varying degrees; see Lacrosse 1994, 57–58) material and hence demonic; cf. also my comment on 4.18–23.

III 6 [26]. On the Impassibility of Things without Body Synopsis A. The impassibility of the soul. 1 General statement of position: The soul, being a substance without magnitude and possessed of incorruptibility, is impassible. 2 Problems and solutions: What meaning do virtue and vice have in an impassible soul? 3 Or psychical affections? 4 What is the “passible part” of the soul? 5 And what of its “purification”? B. The impassibility of matter. 6 In general: matter also must, inasmuch as it is incorporeal, be impassible. Being itself, which is the perfect Life and Intellection, is eternal, unchanging, and incorporeal. Conversely, bodies, which are lacking in substance and life, inflict affections on one another and suffer them by reason of their weakness. 7 The unstable and fleeting character of matter. 8 Matter is incorruptible, 9 being like an impassible mirror, in which shapes of all kinds appear. 10 It is receptive of everything, while remaining always essentially unaltered. Interpretative section: 11–13 Interpretation of the pertinent passages of the Timaeus. 14 Interpretation of the myth of Poverty in the Symposium. 15 Matter as the substrate of bodies. How images come to be present in matter. 16 Its extension is due to the presence of form; consequently, matter itself does not even have extension. 17 In any case, Extension itself is a Form, its presence in matter being merely phenomenal. 18 Matter as the domain of phenomenality. The differences between matter and soul. 19 Matter as the sterile “wet nurse” of sensible bodies.



III 6. On Impassibility

Introduction At a critical point in the discussion, the Eleatic Stranger obliges the “Giants,” those extreme materialists who refuse to acknowledge the existence of anything unless they are able to clasp it in their hands, to agree to the following thesis (Pl. Soph. 247d8–e3): Whatever by its nature possesses even the slightest power (dunamin) either to act upon anything else or to be affected . . . : every such thing has real being (pan touto ontōs einai). The Stoics, arguably the most consistent of ancient materialists, were prepared to accept this thesis, which, however—in combination with their standard materialist assumptions—led them to the inescapable conclusion that the only entities capable of exerting an effect or incurring one are bodies, that is, corporeal objects, whereas “the incorporeal (to asōmaton) . . . is not of a nature either to act or be acted upon (oute poiein ti pephuken oute paschein).”1 Naturally enough, the Platonists vigorously challenged the first part of this claim, as it was their conviction that immaterial entities (such as, e.g., souls or Xenocrates’ Intellect) not only exert effects, but actually direct and govern the universe;2 but the second part of the claim, which concerned the “impassibility” (apatheia) of immaterial entities, they accepted without demur.3 The culmination of this development was the eventual formulation by Proclus of a theorem that was destined ever after to form a cornerstone of so-­called idealist philosophy: Every body is in itself of a nature to be acted upon, and every incorporeal to act, the former being in itself inert (adranes), the latter impassible (apathes).4 According to this theorem, the distinction between agent and patient is a categorial one: only incorporeals have the capacity to exert some effect, and only corporeals to incur one. It is the latter of the two theses that constitutes the main subject of the present treatise. P.’s purpose, accordingly, is to delimit the field of the passible strictly within the domain of bodies. In order for us to understand this thesis of his, however, we must first hark back to the content that the notion of pathos (“affection” or “passivity”) holds for him. In the first part of the treatise “On the Kinds of Being” (VI 1.22.1–2) we find the following statement: “Passive affection (to paschein) occurs by undergoing a qualitative alteration (kinēsin tēn kata to alloiousthai) of any kind.” From this it follows that any affection presupposes some alteration. But alteration (alloiōsis)—according to the classic analysis of Aristotle,5 which P. also generally adheres to6—requires the coopera1  SVF 2:363 trans. LS. One corollary of this thesis of theirs was that psychic affections and dispositions, even the virtues themselves, have a material hypostasis and are therefore sensible; see SVF 3:84, 85; and Long 1974, 153. 2  See Cic. Acad. I 39 = Xenocr. fr. 67 = SVF 1:90. 3  See, for example, Num. fr. 4a.25–32. 4  Procl. ET 80. See the pertinent commentary of Dodds 1963, 242–43; and esp. Barnes 1983, 169–92. 5  See, indicatively, Arist. Gen. corr. I 4, 319b8–14 and I 7, 324a34–b9; and Barnes 1983, 177–79. 6  See, e.g., IV 7.12.17–19.

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Third Ennead tion of three factors: (a) an embodied form that vanishes in the course of the alteration; (b) a form that is acquired; and (c) the material substrate of the change. Hence, alteration can occur only in entities that are composites of form and matter, that is, in bodies.7 The final conclusion must therefore be that anything that is without body is also entirely impassible (apathes). The impassibility of intelligible beings (see I 2.6.26, IV 3.25.11–12, IV 7.13.2–3)—and naturally also of their supra-­sensible principle, the One—would most certainly have appeared self-­evident to P., as it would have to any Platonist of his time; but it was much less clearcut how things stood with those ontological levels that lie closer to bodily nature, namely soul and matter. On this point, P.’s inflexible insistence on the above conclusion led him to some of his most controversial philosophical tenets, a number of which remained objects of discussion and criticism down to the last phases of ancient Neoplatonism. More particularly, his well-­known advocacy of the absolute impassibility of the soul8 came into direct conflict with both Peripatetic and Stoic views,9 which placed affections or emotions at the very center of psychical life, and maintained that their emergence often engages even the highest, rational functions of the soul,10 while their control or “moderation” forms the primary concern of the individual’s ethical conduct.11 Instead, it was P.’s view that the pure soul constitutes an entirely eidetic nature, and that it is therefore incorporeal and altogether untouched by anything that befalls the body, that is, by bodily affections. Only if it errs by turning its attention toward the latter, and being fooled into believing that they somehow involve its own self, may the soul be overcome by the disturbance and dizziness that their instability brings on.12 On this, see Matter 1964, 206–8. Cf. Alex. Aphrod. De mixt. 13, 229.8 trans. Todd: “only enmattered bodies can be acted upon.” 8  See I 1.2.9–25, I 2.5.7–23; and my remarks in Kalligas 2000, 30 and 35–36. 9  The Epicureans’ stance on the question was a somewhat idiosyncratic one: they admitted that the soul does not itself have any reasons to make it feel either pleasure or pain, while holding that it merely sympathizes with the affections of the body; see Epicurus fr. 410, 430–31; and cf. Plut. Quaest. conu. V 1, 672d–e: “the soul is altogether without any pleasure or delight or predilection of its own . . . , but is simply the body’s partner in life, smiling in concert with its affections and frowning along with them in turn, as, like a matrix or mirror, it receives within itself the likenesses and images of the sensations that occur in the flesh.” 10  [Plut.] Lib. 5 (trans. Sandbach) preserves a fourfold subdivision of the pathē by Posidonius (= fr. 154) into those: (a) “of the soul without qualification” (psuchika haplōs), “e.g., desires, fears, angers”; (b) “of the body without qualification” (sōmatika haplōs), “e.g., fevers, chills, contractions and expansions”; (c) “of the body but manifested in the soul” (peri psuchēn sōmatika), “e.g., lethargies, atrabilious derangements of mind, reactions to hurts, sense-­presentations and feelings of relaxation”; and (d) “of the soul but manifested in the body” (peri sōma psuchika), “e.g., tremors, pallors and other changes of appearance related to fear or grief.” Indeed, the author sees fit to add that a certain Diodotus had attempted to distinguish the affections “peculiar to the rational element of the soul” (idia tou logikou tēs psuchēs) from those “peculiar to the conjunct irrational element” (idia tou sumphuous kai alogou). 11  See Fortenbaugh 1970, 53–70; Strato fr. 111; SVF 3:378–82; and Long 1999, 580–83. After P., the controversy would continue to be pursued within the Neoplatonist tradition; on this, see Dodds 1963, 243. 12  See IV 4.18.9–21; Kristeller 1929, 41–43; and Gerson 1994, 150–51. 7 



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For the historical source of this doctrine we must look to the description Aristotle provides of the intellect13 in De an. I 4, 408b24–29, as “something more divine and impassible” (theioteron ti kai apathes). It is there made clear that psychical affections such as loving and hating do not in any way concern the intellective soul; they only concern the “conjunct” (koinon), that is, the composite of body and soul.14 Conversely, the intellect, being immaterial and unmixed, is insusceptible of affections. An offshoot of this view—widely diffused during the Hellenistic period and later—seems to have been the subdivision of the soul into two parts, the one “intelligent” (noeron) and “ratiocinative” (logistikon), the other “passible” (pathētikon) and “irrational” (alogon), each governed by distinct motivations and possessing differing capacities for survival.15 P., however, deploys a model of psychological analysis far more complex than anything suggested by this bipartite scheme, while always making certain, of course, to uphold the absolute impassibility of the pure soul. As has been repeatedly pointed out,16 the soul occupies a vast ontological field extending from the intelligibles to the limits of corporeality, and manifests itself at different levels through a variety of functions, the principal ones being reasoning, perception, and vegetation (the last including growth and reproduction). The predispositions activated by this array of functions are, according to P., attributes of the soul itself—attributes that simply find a possibility of manifesting themselves in the sensible domain thanks to the “projection” onto the body of an image of the soul propitious to imitation of the latter’s incorporeal “motions.”17 Should the bodily needs arising therefrom provoke an erroneous or excessive “sympathy,” this may well assume the form of affections; but these affections will solely and exclusively concern the zōion or “living being” that has been composed in this manner.18 For the rest, however, the pure soul remains entirely unaffected by any disturbance or intervention whatsoever on the part of pathē. Nearly the same high order of originality must be accorded to P.’s theory concerning the wholly impassible character of matter. For once again, both the Peripatos and the 13  Which Simplicius already understood here as another term for “the human soul” (anthrōpinē psuchē); see In De an. 59.14–15. 14  “And thus it is that intellective and contemplative activity dies out upon some other thing’s perishing inside, while in itself it [sc., the intellect] is impassible (apathes). And reasoning, and loving or hating, are not affections of that, but of the individual possessing it, insofar as he does possess it. That is why upon his perishing it neither remembers nor loves; for these [sc., activities] did not belong to that, but to the conjunct, which has been destroyed; while the intellect is no doubt something more divine and impassible.” For the Plotinian version of this theory, see I 1.9.15–23, with my comment. 15  See, indicatively, Plut. De uirt. mor. 442a–c; “Alcinous” Didasc. 5, 156.35–37; 17, 173.11–15, et al.; but also Posid. fr. 31, 33, and 158. The term pathētikon was already employed to designate the lower part of the soul by Aristotle, Pol. I 5, 1254b8 and III 15, 1286a18; cf. Eth. Nic. II 4, 1105b20–25. For more on this whole subject, see my introduction to I 1. 16  See, in the first instance, my comments to I 1.11.2–8 and III 4.3.1–4. 17  On this, see the superb analysis by Igal 1979, 337–43, and my own discussion in Kalligas 1997b, 220–21. A comparable approach to the problem of the psychic affections by way of reducing them to “the powers active within us” seems to have been proposed before P. by the Platonist Severus (on whom, see my comment on VP 14.11); see Eus. PE XIII 17.6; and Deuse 1983, 104–6. 18  This was to form the main subject of the treatise “What Is the Living Being, and What Is Man?” (I 1 [53]).

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Third Ennead Stoa posited matter as the principle preeminently subject to affections, if not also as the one primarily responsible for the emergence of affections in all their various manifestations.19 Yet for the Middle Platonists as well, matter was the principle of affectivity, and consequently something that is “purely passive” (pathētikon eilikrinōs).20 Thus, P.’s critique assumes the form of a return to the authentic doctrine of Plato, as expounded in the Timaeus. A careful examination of certain crucial passages in the dialogue, in conjunction with the highlighting of divergences marking the phraseology employed by Plato as against that of his philosophical successors, provides P. with a platform on which to erect his own theory, according to which the incurable inertia of matter renders it incapable of assuming any attributes even of a passive nature: like a smooth and unchanging mirror, matter is restricted to reflecting entities superior to itself, seeming to steal their brilliance, without ever really making it its own.21 The two sections of the treatise22 appear at first glance to be entirely independent of one another, if not actually unconnected. Yet when looked at more closely from the perspective of sensible reality, they may be seen as mutually complementary, or better still as representing the two sides of a single question: that of determining the ontological boundaries of the sensible domain—that is, the domain of perpetual interaction between “agents” and “patients”—by precisely demarcating those regions nearest to it where this cycle of action and reaction is at an end. Soul is the preeminently active and creative element in the world, intermediating so that intellective principles may be realized as sensible forms, yet without itself incurring any alteration or influence in the process, unless it should be induced into acting as if it were “moved” by, and suffered along with, the affections of the body. Conversely, at the opposite frontier of the sensible lies the dark receptacle of matter, that absolute—and hence eternally changeless—nonbeing that by its virtual presence instills sensible forms with their fleeting and unstable character.

Commentary 1.1–4. Τὰς αἰσθήσεις . . . περὶ τὴν ψυχήν:The starting point from which P. chooses to mount his defense of the impassibility of the soul is the portion of Stoic theory that is concerned with perceptual apprehension. He concurs with it insofar as sense-­perception See, e.g., Arist. Ph. VII 3, 245b13–246a1; Metaph. Ζ 3, 1029a12–21; Gen. corr. I 4, 319b8–14 and I 5, 320b16–17; and SVF 1:85, 493, 2:301–5. 20  The expression is drawn from “Alcinous” Didasc. 11, 166.33 (trans. Dillon), where the context indicates that it refers to matter. Atticus fr. 5.69–73, is even more explicit in this regard: “But never could the body come to be impassible (apathes); for bound as it is to a passible and changeable nature (pathētēi gar kai treptēi sundedemenon phusēi), it must necessarily be co-­affected (sumpathein) with that to which it has been coupled; were it instead something impassible, it would need to be released from and free of whatever suffers affection; so that it would be separated from matter. . . .” Cf. also [Ocell.] De uniu. nat. 22, 130.24; [Archyt.] Cat. 26.8– 10; and Philo Opif. 8–9. 21  See also my introduction to II 5. 22  The authenticity of the second of these in particular has been challenged in the past—principally by F. Thedinga—but on the basis of a wholly unfounded argument; for quite an amusing account of the subject, see Heinemann 1926, 1–2. 19 



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presupposes some “affection” (pathos) excited by a sensible object, but also some “judgment” (krisis) through which the soul formulates an opinion respecting the latter; cf. SVF 2:52, 54, 3:380. He parts company with it inasmuch as the affection has only to do with the body—that is, with the corresponding sense organ—while the judgment is an activity of the soul; and although the soul may use the body instrumentally, it incurs not the slightest direct influence from it: cf. IV 3.26.1–9 and my comments on I 1.7.9– 16. It is clear that P.’s view echoes what Aristotle has to say in De an. III 2, 426b8–22 concerning the common sense, which has the capacity to pass judgment on individual sensory apprehensions; cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. 84.4–6; and Mondolfo 1953, 363–64, 370. Yet the emphasis here is on the fact that all sense-­perceptions consist in activities of the soul: activities that allow the soul to discern the affections occurring to the body, while itself remaining entirely impassible; cf. IV 4.22.30–32, IV 6.2.16–18, and VI 1.19.46–48. From a testimony preserved by Themistius, In De an. 17.25–29, it emerges that Porphyry had employed an impressive example, Stoic in inspiration (cf. SVF 2:879), in order to lay emphasis on the purely active role the soul plays in the process of perceptual apprehension: “But, [the critic] says (phēsi: as R. B. Todd brings out in the translation reproduced here with significant modification, it is Porphyry—earlier identified as ‘a critic of Aristotle’—who is presently being cited; cf. op. cit. 16.19, with the corresponding ancient scholium; and also Moraux 1978, 320nn.103 and 104. Smith inexplicably fails to include this passage in his collection of the fragments of Porphyry; cf. fr. 439F), the objects of sense-­perception do not set perception in motion, but instead have the status of a necessary condition, and he compares sense-­perception to spiders that leap on the animals which fall into their webs, where it is not the [animals] which fall in that set things in motion, but rather the inherent impulse [of the spiders]; for this is how objects of sense-­perception ‘fall into’ the sense organs and provoke the soul to discern them.” Cf. also Porph. Sent. 18, 8.8–9.13. Following the recommendation of Fleet 1995, 72–73, I have in my own translation (as Armstrong in his does not) rendered the term pathēma (in l. 2) differently from the term pathos (“affection”), so as to suggest that the former may refer more particularly to the alteration occurring in the sense organ, that is, to its “excitation”; cf. Pl. Tht. 186c2, d2; but also my comment on I 1.1.6. 1.4–8. οὐ τῆς κρίσεως . . . πέπονθεν:What we have here is a glancing allusion to an infinite regress argument in support of the purely active character of judgment (krisis). For if judgment involved no activity whatsoever but consisted entirely in a passive affection, a further affection would be required in order to discern the first, and so on ad infinitum. The intentionality of judgment, that is, the fact that it normally concerns something other than itself—in the case under consideration, bodily excitations and the stimuli that induce them—does not deprive it of its character as an exclusively psychical activity. If, on the other hand, the formulation of a judgment by the soul entailed the occurrence of some form of alteration within it, then who would be able to discern it? It is for this reason that the employment of expressions such as “impression” or “imprinting” in connection with the apprehensive process occurring within the soul would

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Third Ennead be misleading: for this would involve resorting to materialist terms in order to describe the activity of an entirely immaterial and impassible entity. 1.8–14. ἦν δ’ ὅμως . . . ψύξεις σωμάτων:Ever since Plato introduced the model of the wax mold with a view to explaining the operation of memory (see Tht. 191c8–192c6), terms such as tupos (“impression,” “imprint”) and tupōsis (“impressing,” “imprinting”) became a standard feature of the technical vocabulary employed in epistemological theory. Their materialist connotations recommended them especially to the Stoics; thus, Zeno’s explanation for the soul’s capacity to perceive: “because its ruling part is capable of becoming imprinted by existent beings through the sense organs, and to receive the impressings (paradechesthai tas tupōseis)” (apud Eus. PE XV 20.3 = SVF 1:141; cf. SVF 1: 484, 2:53–59). Of course, his successors realized the need for a more complex treatment of the subject, which led them to emphasize the contribution of “assent” (sunkatathesis) to the perceptual process (see SVF 2:72–75; and Frede [1983]/1987a, 167–68). Nevertheless, the element of the passive admission of external stimuli resulting in some kind of change or “alteration” (heteroiōsis) of the soul continued to occupy a central position in descriptions of the process as a whole; see SVF 2:56 and 96. It is to this conception of the soul as a passive recipient of stimuli and impressions that P. is here declaring his opposition; cf. IV 6.1.1–2. In his view, the judgment of senso-­corporeal excitations is a purely active function of the soul, just as are its intellective acts; cf. IV 3.26.29–32. The theoretical motivation underlying the expression “our reasoned intention” will be revealed below, at 1.29–30. 1.14–17. καὶ τὸ παθητικὸν ὕστερον:The characterization of the lower part of the soul as “passible” (pathētikon) is assignable primarily to the Peripatetic and Middle Platonic traditions; see my introduction to I 1, and also Whittaker 1990, 75n.11. P. has no particular objection to the term being employed, provided this is done in conformity with the theoretical presuppositions that are set out below in chapter 4. 1.18–25. πῶς γὰρ . . . καὶ μεταβαλλούσης:The Stoics maintained as a rule that it was only the directive principle of the soul of the wise man that managed to remain imperturbable and “unchangeable in its course” (atrepton) in response to bodily affections, distancing itself from them and taking control over them, without being influenced by them to perform hasty or impulsive acts and evaluations; see indicatively Marc. Aurel. V 26.1. Of course, as Hadot 1992, 134–35, has been careful to point out, this does not imply that the Stoic wise man, in addition to being impassible, is also insensible to bodily excitations; cf. Sen. Ep. 9.2–3. It is merely that he is in a position to control them, to resist them, and, possibly, to reduce them. Conversely, when one is unable to withstand the irrational urges of the body, one becomes overwhelmed by the affections and consequently unable to follow one’s inherent rational predispositions; see SVF 3:459–63; and cf. Plut. De uirt. mor. 451a–b. P.’s own view of the matter is much more extreme than that of the Stoics, and even somewhat paradoxical: he does not allow that the soul can suffer any bodily induced effect, even when it finds itself in a state of “mindlessness” (anoia), that is, when it has



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lost its self-­awareness and comes to feel “those dreadful but necessary affections” of the body as its own. His reason for this is that the soul belongs to a different ontological order, and its nature makes it impossible that it should suffer anything from something of lower rank, such as the body—on which, and on which alone, external stimuli impinge; cf. Pl. Ti. 43b5–c5. Thus, what for the Stoics amounted to an extraordinary “perfectly appropriate act” (katorthōma), was for P. no more than the natural undisturbed state of the soul in its totality; cf. Kristeller 1929, 43; and the comment of Theiler, 445 (ad 5.1). Now even Aristotle had contended that the various so-­called psychical affections such as joy, sadness, fear, rage, etc. do not consist in “motions” (kinēseis) of the soul, but are merely provoked “by the soul” (hupo tēs psuchēs); but elsewhere he asserts that “the impassibility of the perceptual is not the same as that of the intellectual”; see De an. I 4, 408b1–13 and III 4, 429a29–30. It is doubtful whether P. would have been prepared to make even this slight concession. The only possible subject of any kind of affection whatsoever is the compound “living being”; see my comment on I 1.4.20–27. And the sources of its desires and aversions, the roots of its pleasures and its pains, are the body’s natural “appropriations of the kindred” (oikeiōseis) and “rejections of the alien” (allotriōseis: cf. Pl. Ti. 64e6–65a1). The same holds, of course, for most of the “rational” defects that lead to a wide array of evils, and that the Stoics considered primarily responsible for every kind of psychical affection; see SVF 3:459. 1.25–28. ἀλλ’ εἰ μὲν . . . περὶ αὐτήν:If, however, the soul is corporeal, as the Stoics maintained (see SVF 1:142, 518, 2:780, 790), it would be logically and practically impossible for it to remain unaffected by the affections of the body, because it would find itself in direct contact with it, seeing that it would actually permeate it “through and through” (dia pantos); cf. SVF 2:785; Hierocles El. Eth. IV 5–13; and the pertinent criticism leveled by P. at IV 7.81.16–82.11. If indeed—as Seneca, for one, argues (De ira I 8.3)—“affections and reason are nothing but changes of the soul (mutatio animi) for the better or the worse,” then hardly any margin would be left for the soul to retain its imperturbability; see also SVF 1:202; and Fleet 1995, 80. 1.28–30. εἰ δέ ἐστιν . . . διδόντες:Here P. reveals the primary motivation behind his engagement with the question of the soul’s impassibility. Notoriously, Carneades had defended the view that the inevitable alterability and passivity of all things possessing the capacity to perceive through the senses—including God—would render them inescapably subject to corruption; see Cic. Nat. D. III 29–34; and Sext. Emp. Math. IX 139–47. Arguments of this kind had even led the Stoic Panaetius to conclude that the human soul must be corruptible; see Cic. Tusc. I 79. Thus was it that certain Middle Platonists had already sought in various ways to acquit the soul of any kind of affection, and thereby to preserve its immortality; see, e.g., Severus apud Eus. PE XIII 17; and my comment on I 1.5.3–5. It is in this spirit that Plotinus undertakes to show that every kind of emotion or feeling, including even pleasure and pain, concerns the animated body alone, while the primary soul—the soul itself—receives only “dispassionate knowledge” of them; see IV 4.18.6–11; and Wallis 1987, 927–28. What provides him, of course, with the solid foundation on which to erect his argument is the standard Platonic doctrine of

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Third Ennead the soul as a substance incorporeal and indivisible, and hence “lacking magnitude” (amegethēs). 1.31–32. καὶ δὴ . . . ἢ λόγῳ:P. also gives indications in other parts of his work that he accepts the Pythagorean—in its inspiration, at least—definition of the soul as number; see IV 3.8.22, V 1.5.9; and cf. “Aëtius” apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.1a, 318.21–23 = Dox. Gr. 386b8–10; Iambl. De an. apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.32, 363.26–365.4; and, of course, Xenocrates’ classic definition of the soul as “self-­moving number” (fr. 60), which, moreover, Aristotle cites in the passage of the De anima (I 4, 408b32–3; see above, my comment on 1.18–25) that P. seems to have in mind here. As we learn from the testimony of Porphyry, fr. 440F apud Themist. In de an. 32.22–24, Andronicus of Rhodes had tried to rebut Aristotle’s objections to this definition by reverting to the passage in Plato’s Timaeus (36e6–37a1) where the soul of the universe is said to share “in reason and harmony,” an expression that he paraphrased in his description of “the primary elements having been blended according to certain proportions and numbers.” It is broadly along the same lines that P. too seems to be interpreting this expression at VI 6.16.43–46, while at VI 5.9.13–15 he correlates it with Heraclitus’ saying (fr. B115 DK) about the soul’s nature—that it is a logon heauton auxonta, that is (to give my translation a strongly Plotinian slant), “a self-­augmenting rational formative principle”; on this, see Roussos 1968, 35–37. Whereas, however, the philosophical motivation for placing the soul within the range of mathematical entities was at heart an epistemological one—given that the mathematical nature of the soul assured its cognitive access to the mathematical constitution of both the sensible domain and the supra-­sensible realm: as Iamblichus, Comm. Math. 9, 42.3–5, put it, “the rational principle of the soul contains of itself the whole completion of the mathematical sciences” (see further Merlan 1960, 40–55)—for P. it represents a useful starting point from which to establish the soul’s incorporeal, and therefore impassible, character. The reason is that the eidetic nature of numbers (see, indicatively, VI 6.9.23–24) makes the soul also a part of the supra-­sensible realm, while the fact of its being mathematically constituted, irrespective of the precise manner in which this occurs, does not entail its extension in space (pace Severus apud Procl. In Ti. II 153.21–25), but solely its capability to analyze whatever falls within its apprehension on the basis of mathematical principles. 1.32–37. ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον . . . ἐπισκεπτέον:The paradoxical character of the soul’s relation to the body is emphatically displayed in a series of oxymorons; cf. my comment on I 6.8.1. More particularly, the expression “in possessing them it does not possess” appears to echo a typical formula enjoying wide circulation (cf. I 8.2.17; and Heliod. Aeth. I 18.4.5), and is to some extent explicated below at 2.39–44. It is, however, by no means the case that P. is engaging here in irony, as Theiler, ad loc., believes. He is simply concerned to point out the peculiar difficulty of providing an adequate explanation of how bodily affections activate certain perceptual operations by means of which the soul takes cognizance of the corresponding stimuli, without itself experiencing the least alteration or affection; see below 2.32–54; and Dillon 1990a, 23. This, then, is the “different fashion”



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in which the perceptual “impression” is realized, which was also alluded to previously, at 1.9–11; cf. Arist. De an. II 5, 417b7–9 and 14. 2.1–22. Πρῶτον δὲ . . . ἢ ἀρετῆς:As the nature of the subject would lead one to expect, its investigation begins from the so-­called moral or, for P., civic virtues, that is, those psychical states that exert control over the affections by imposing bounds on them and “measuring” them, thereby harmonizing the various tendencies of the soul into a well-­ coordinated whole; cf. Pl. Phd. 93e8–9; and I 2.2.13–20 and I 8.4.8–32, with my comments. The starting point P. settles on is the discussion in Plato’s Phaedo of the “Pythagorean” definition of the soul as harmony, which was proposed by Simmias; cf. also Pl. Resp. 430e3–4. The same question had also, however, been subjected to extended and detailed analysis by the Middle Platonists, judging by several references in Plutarch: see in the first instance De uirt. mor. 6, 444e–445a, 451f, and Quaest. Plat. 9, 1007e–1009b; and, more generally on this subject, Lilla 1971, 61–64; and Dillon 1977, 196, who notes the preference of the (Neo-­)Pythagoreans in similar contexts for the term sunarmoga (“harmonization”; cf. sunarmosthenta in ll. 8 and 9–10, and harmogēn in l. 11). Cf. also O’Meara 1989, 71–76, who refers to later attempts to establish a Pythagorean “arithmetical ethics.” P.’s particular point of concern seems to be to what extent psychical “disharmony”— which is responsible for vice—is the product of external affections acting on the soul. His manner of speaking elsewhere in the Enneads may have created the impression that vice is something that is added to the soul and mixed in with it, thereby rendering it “impure”; see, above all, I 6.5.25–58. But as he makes clear in the treatise he composed specifically “On Virtues,” such a consideration applies to the so-­called purifying virtues, which, though they may carry the “civic” virtues in their train, yet by no means represent a necessary condition for the latter; see I 2.3.10–13, with my comment. This distinction between two different levels of virtues makes clear that the involvement of the soul with the body constitutes a necessary condition, but not also a sufficient one as well, for the emergence of vice. The latter requires one additional act of the soul, the redirection of its attention toward the affections of the body, in order that it may come to regard the latter as its own; cf. I 8.8.28–37 and III 5.7.30–46, with my comments. It appears that P. is attempting here to provide some explanation for the manifestation in the soul of this tendency toward disharmony: he associates it with the improper (i.e., not “natural”) “fitting together” (harmogē) of the various parts of the soul, thus bringing himself rather closely into alignment, on this point, with the Stoic view of virtue as a “harmonization” (congruentia) of the psychical impulses, founded on an aspiration toward that which is “in accordance with nature,” and resulting in “consonance” or “agreement” (homologia) with the logos of nature; cf. Cic. Fin. III 20–22; SVF 3:197, 200, 491; and my comment on I 4.2.31–46. The relevant process is accordingly entirely internal to the soul; it has to do with making the different parts of the soul work together as if to a common rhythm, and, of course, it presupposes the proper functioning of each separate part. This last condition leads us to the notion of psychical oikeiopragia (“minding one’s own business”), that is, to the occupation of each part in the performance of its proper task in

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Third Ennead such manner as to be of service to the whole; cf. Pl. Resp. IV 441d12–442b3, 443c9– 444a2; and, e.g., Philo Leg. alleg. I 72–73; “Alcinous” Didasc. 29, 182.37–183.3. 2.22–32. τῷ μὲν οὖν λογιστικῷ . . . παρὰ τούτου:P. proceeds to examine how vice comes to be manifested in each of the different parts of the soul. In the guise of a series of successive aporiai, a number of cases are presented where vice seems to be due either to the admission of false impressions into the soul’s reasoning part—the reference to internal opinions (cf. doxai enōsin) confirms the observation of Rist 1964, 177, that what is meant here is not the soul’s higher intellective function, but rather its “intermediate” discursive one; cf. Blumenthal 1971a, 103–5; and my comment on I 1.11.2–8—or to eventual “alterations” affecting its lower parts. The first answer P. provides is couched in characteristically Stoic formulations: echoing two Heraclitean sayings (cf. fr. B112 and 50 DK), he asserts the virtue of each part to consist in its listening, and subordinating itself, to the logos or “reason” (cf. also Pl. Ti. 70a2–7). In this manner, its natural actualization is identified with its conformation to the dictates of the Intellect, as intermediated by discursive reason. The outcome will be a well-­balanced and concerted attunement with the logos: the Zenonian “living in agreement with Logos” (homologoumenōs zēn); cf. SVF 1:179. Consequently, deviation from such a state entails not the actual alteration of each part, but rather its defection from the natural manifestation of its nature, and hence its essential disactivation. 2.32–41. ἢ τὸ ἐπαΐειν . . . μορφήν:The virtuous soul accordingly is regulated by, and conforms to, the dictates of the Intellect; cf. V 1.11.1–7. But this does not entail that it suffers any affection or incurs any alteration from this source. The apprehension of the pertinent dictates takes place “impassively” (apathōs) by the simple activation of the psychical “eye” (cf. I 6.9.22–24 and III 8.6.12–27) in such manner that it comes to descry intelligible truths. Aristotle (De an. II 5, 417b2–16 trans. Hamlyn) had already maintained that an activation of the kind does not constitute an “alteration” (alloiōsis), at least in the normal sense of the term, “but rather the preservation of that which is so potentially by that which is so actually and is like it”; cf. Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. III 2, 81.19–82.16 and III 3, 83.15–84.23. For in contradistinction to what happens in the case of common sensations, in the present instance the apprehension is accomplished without the mediation of any organ susceptible of affection or alteration (cf. Arist. De an. II 12, 424a17– 24; III 4, 429a13–27; Ph. VIII 2, 244b11–245a5), and consequently without the formation of any physical imprint. What is thus involved here is the actualization of a purely psychical operation; cf. above, my comment on 1.4–8. The reference to the stamping of the wax seems to be an allusion to the materialistic psychological theory of the Stoics (cf. SVF 1:484, 2:55–58 and 458), which P. naturally rejects. 2.42–49. μεμνῆσθαι δὲ . . . τοῦτο ποιοῦσα:Even memory, for which Plato in the Theaetetus, 191c8–e1, had tentatively proposed the model of the “wax mold” (cf. Arist. Mem. 1, 450a27–32), does not entail—as far as P. is concerned—the emplacement of any impression on the soul (cf. IV 7.6.37–46), but rather the exercising of a specific “power” or



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“faculty” (dunamis) of the soul, which has the capacity, when properly activated, to apprehend things that are not in its possession; cf. IV 6.3.1–63. Hence, neither in this case can we speak of any real alteration of the soul, but only of its transition from a state of potentiality to one of actuality; cf. my previous comment. 2.49–54. ὅλως γὰρ . . . ὥσπερ ὁράματα:The activation of immaterial entities does not involve them in any alteration, given that this would be tantamount to dissolution of their essence, that is, to their corruption. This follows from the fact that immaterial entities, that is, “simple” beings, such as the soul, are identical with their essence (see on this, my observations in Kalligas 1997b, 216–17), and consequently any change they might incur would signify their lapse from it. The whole line of thought, in the end, represents a corollary expansion of the Aristotelian analysis of change, on which I made some remarks in my introduction. It is obvious, then, that nothing of the kind can befall any immaterial entity. Conversely, perceptual apprehension presupposes the mediation of the sense organs, which, as material parts of the body, undergo alterations and affections that the soul, in turn, becomes aware of “impassively”; see Emilsson 1988, 67–69; and my comment on I 1.7.9–14. 2.54–60. τὸ δὲ θυμοειδὲς . . . οὐδὲ πάθος:Here begins the explanation of how the lower parts of the soul are influenced by the operation of the reasoning faculty; cf. above, 2.32. P. first considers the “spirited part” (to thumikon): Cowardice is explained as a result of its malfunctioning, or of its incapacity to conform to the recommendations of reason, and consequently as a privation or disturbance of its normal activation. It does not, therefore, constitute any kind of affection or alteration, but merely the disactivation of the corresponding psychical operation, which is, as it were, sedated. 2.60–66. τὸ δὲ ἐπιθυμοῦν . . . τἀναντία:In analogous fashion, P. proceeds to treat the malfunctioning of the desiderative part of the soul, which he here chooses to call akolasia (“unrestrained lust” or “licentiousness”): again, this is presented as an incapacity of the relevant faculty to conform to the dictates of the discursive part, and its concomitant isolation from the latter, possibly in consequence of some somatic weakness (cf. Pl. Ti. 86e1–87a7). This causes it to expend excessive care on the body and to defect thereby from its natural mission, which is to conform to, and harmonize itself with, the higher faculties. On this whole subject, cf. Pl. Resp. IV 444b1–8. 3.1–3. Τὰς δ’ οἰκειώσεις . . . καὶ κινούμενα:Having concluded the discussion of cases of “mindlessness” (anoia: this is the term that was used at 1.21 and 2.23), P. moves on to the treatment of the primary so-­called psychical affections (pathē: on these, see my comment on I 1.1.1–2), which have their origin, as was stated earlier (see my comment on 1.18–25), in the body’s “appropriations of kindred things” and “rejections of alien ones,” these being in turn indissolubly interwoven with the cosmic “affinities” (sumpatheiai) and “disaffinities” (antipatheiai): see my pertinent comments on (a) II 3.12.25–32 and 5.21 (after II 3.5.20) and (b) III 1.5.7–9; and cf. Marc. Aurel. IX 9.1–9.

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Third Ennead 3.4–7. ὅτι γὰρ . . . τὸ τρεπόμενον:Naturally, P. does not deny the existence of such feelings and emotions (see my relevant comment on I 1.1.6), nor does he deny that they can on occasion be exceptionally strong, or that they are due to some kind of alteration. But the question raised here is, who is their subject? Who is the bearer of these passions, of whom one can say that he incurs them and so “suffers” (paschein) them? The problem occupied a central position in P.’s psychological theory, and he raises it in various ways at different points of his work, most notably at the beginning of his penultimate treatise, “What Is the Living Being, and What Is Man?” (I 1 [53]); cf. also IV 4.18.19–28. 3.7–24. κινδυνεύομεν γὰρ . . . τὰς κινήσεις:Taking his cue from Aristotle’s criticism of Plato’s theory concerning the (inherent) “motility” (kinēsis) of the soul, P. extends its findings to cover the so-­called psychical affections as well. According to Aristotle, De an. I 4, 408a30–b18, the soul may be the cause of various motions and changes in the body, but this does not entail that the soul itself undergoes any motion or change, except incidentally, that is, insofar as it happens to be inside something undergoing change or motion: “to speak of the soul as feeling anger is as if one should say that it weaves or builds” (trans. Hicks). Applying the same form of analysis, P. locates the subject of the feelings and emotions in the living body—what in treatise I 1 he calls the zōion—which is vivified by the soul without possessing it (here P. seems to be consciously correcting Aristotle, op. cit. 408a32), and itself undergoes whatever changes happen to occur. Particular feelings are explained as concomitants of purely somatic reactions to stimuli originating either in the soul—in the cases of shame, fear, and desire—or in the mutual interaction of the body with its environment—in the cases of pleasure and “distress” (lupē: the term covers any unpleasurable feelings associated with bodily pain)—but which in no wise concern, or act upon, the soul. The latter may become cognizant of them, may subject them to rational processing, and then may decide either to react or not, provoking corresponding motions in the body, which is subordinate to it. The soul, however, remains unscathed, observing the entire procedure with detachment, as if in a dream; cf. IV 4.18.8–10; also Blumenthal 1971a, 46–49; and Gerson 1994, 149–51. 3.24–26. ἐπεὶ καὶ τὸ ζῆν . . . οὐκ ἐξιστᾶσα:The above conclusion is extended to the phenomenon of life itself, which is tied in not with the motions or changes of the body, but with the activation of the natural faculties of all its parts, so that they may contribute to its constitution and preservation as a unitary organism. Consequently, and on the strength of the clarifications provided above (see principally my comment on 2.32–41), life neither consists in, nor necessarily does it entail, alteration of any kind, nor yet does it produce any affection whatsoever in the soul. 3.27–35. κεφάλαιον δὲ . . . τὰ ἐναντία γίγνεσθαι:An interesting new element makes its appearance in the course of this recapitulation: the addition of the “appetitions” (orexeis) to the category of manifestations that do not constitute alterations may, perhaps, point to a view of natural desires analogous to the one we find at III 5.4.6–9, where the latter are interpreted as direct manifestations of the psychical activity that aspires toward the Good. For the rest, it is here made even more explicit that P. is directing his fire



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primarily against the materialistic and mechanistic epistemology of the Stoics: the reference to “stamped impressions” (tupous enaposphragismenous) is especially characteristic (cf. SVF 2:53, 60, 65; and above, my comment on 2.32–41. The relevant phraseology had eventually been reduced to a commonplace: cf., for example, the pseudophilosophical passage in Ach. Tat. Leuc. et Clit. V 13.4). And predictably enough, virtue and vice in the soul have nothing in common with corporeal qualities, as they represent, respectively, the activation and the disactivation of the soul in respect to the satisfaction of its natural predisposition to conform with the Intellect. 4.1–2. Περὶ δὲ . . . ἐπισκεπτέον:P. now proceeds to examine that lower expression of the soul that inheres in the body and vivifies it, forming, along with it, the living organism. To this purpose, he makes use of the traditional characterization pathētikon (“passible”: cf. above, my comment on 1.14–17), without implying thereby that he also admits its attendant connotations. His most important divergence in this respect consists in that, as will be revealed below, he takes the attribute to apply not to some part of the soul, but to one of its manifestations, a result of its secondary activity (see the relevant remarks in my comment on III 4.3.24–27). This is what allows the primary soul to remain impervious to the affections of the “living being.” See also Igal 1979, 326–27. By contrast, “Alcinous,” for example, defined “affection” in Didasc. 32, 185.26–29 (trans. Dillon), as “an irrational motion of the soul”—and more particularly, “of the irrational parts of the soul”—“in response either to something good or to something bad,” thus echoing the definition of the Peripatetic Andronicus of Rhodes apud Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 44.21–22 = [Andron.] De pass. 1, 223.3–4 (trans. Dillon) as “an irrational motion of the soul, prompted by an apprehension of good or evil”; on this see Moraux 1973–2001, 1:307–8. 4.2–7. ἤδη μὲν οὖν . . . συνίστασθαι:Cf. above, 2.54–3.26, where the nature of affections and their relation to the primary faculties of the soul came under review. What remains to be clarified is the nature of the subject of these affections, and more particularly its psychical constituent. As Fleet 1995 notes ad loc., the definition here provided seems to be Stoic in derivation (cf. Galen PHP IV 1, 234.19), even though some minor changes in its formulation—“about which” (peri ho) instead of “where” (entha), and the addition of “appear to” (dokei)—reveal an intention on the part of P. to distance himself somewhat from it. 4.7–8. ταῦτα δ’ ἐστὶν . . . καὶ λύπη:Here the affections are treated in a more systematic fashion, as being necessarily accompanied either by pleasure or by distress. Most likely P. has in mind a classification such as the one referred to by Aspasius, In Eth. Nic. 42.27– 43.2, where all the affections are reduced “to pleasure . . . and distress [cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. II 5, 1105b23], for example rage and fear to distress, bravery to pleasure, with desire being something derived in common from distress and pleasure”; see also Donini 1974, 103. 4.8–14. τῶν δὲ παθῶν . . . εἴρηται:But what primarily interests P. is that the soul apprehends the affections only at the level of “belief ” or “opinion” (doxa), which, as was

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Third Ennead stated at 3.22–24, does not constitute a change, but rather an “activity” of the soul, while the affection itself concerns something other than the soul. This becomes patent in those cases where some future good or ill is anticipated. But neither is the fact overlooked that the doxa may come to be formed “nondeliberately” (aprohairetōs), by factors that intervene and waylay the soul’s judgment (cf. I 2.5.11–15 and I 4.15.16–17), thus altering its choices and possibly leading it to take erroneous action, without itself either willing or knowing what is happening (cf. Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 45.2–13). What we have here, accordingly—if I have understood correctly—is an attempt to account for the phenomenon of “incontinence” (akrasia) by relating it to the question of the ways in which our beliefs are formed: it is not that there is conflict between the rational and the passible part of the soul, but that the former is misled by impressions aroused in it by the erroneous evaluation of impulses, which are themselves connected with the lower psychical functions. Akrasia is thus a result of the soul’s being deceived in the course of forming its opinions, and not of any direct influence exercised by the affections. Cf. also my comment on I 1.9.4–12. 4.14–18. ὁ δ’ ἐκ τῆς δόξης . . . κακῷ:There now remains to be explained how the belief that has been shaped in this manner acts on the “composite” that is the living organism. It does so through the formation, on the latter’s part, of a sentiment, an “unassessed” (anepikritos) apperception concerning a previous judgment. This in its turn produces, for example, a feeling of fear: a “disturbance” (tarachē) arising from the sensation of an oncoming evil (this Stoic definition of fear is known to us from Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 45.21–22 = SVF 3:386), where the sensation, however, is a by-­product of a judgment and an evaluation that are themselves the outcome of a process of reasoning in the soul. For only the soul is in a position to judge if the particular occurrence is indeed imminent, and to what extent it really is an evil; cf. IV 4.20.10–12. 4.18–23. ὅτι μὲν οὖν . . . γένοιτο:We thus arrive at the conclusion that there are two kinds of representational faculty: the first, that of phantasia proper, is where the “impressions” of any presentations received, whether intelligible or sensory (see IV 3.30.15– 16), are shaped and synthesized before being submitted to judgment and rational processing, in order that “opinions” or “beliefs” (doxai) may be formed; see Dillon 1986b, 57–59. The second, which is described as a “faculty of unassessed representation” (anepikritos phantasia), is much more indistinct and unelaborated, something like a dim reflection of what transpires in the first kind, which can lead to instinctual or spasmodic reactions in anticipation of the proper completion of the reasoning and judgmental process; concerning the role of “assessment” or “supervenient judgment” (epikrisis), see my comment on I 1.9.15–23. What is more, these “reflexive” reactions may entice the living being into undertaking rash actions, with no intermediation on the part of the primary phantasia, and consequently “without our realizing it,” as the saying goes; cf. IV 3.28.10–16, IV 4.20.12–14; and Dillon 1990a, 25–26. For a contrasting view, cf. Sen. De ira II 1.3–5. In order to refer to this kind of indeterminate awareness, P. invokes the term sunesis (l. 16), which, according to Theiler (ad I 6.2.3), connotes the absence at one and the same time of intermediation, consciousness, and susceptibility to verbal expression



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(das Unmittelbare, Unreflektierte, Unausgesprochene). What it is is an apprehensive state particularly well accommodated to Nature—cf. phusei in l. 22: P. seems to be acknowledging openly at this point his debt to the Stoics; on the use of the term aphantastos (“nonrepresentational” or “without a mental image”), cf. SVF 2:458, 1016, but also my comment on III 8.4.15–25 below—the creativity of which is accompanied by, as we are told at III 8.4.27–28, a “contemplation that is silent, but somewhat dimmer”; cf. IV 4.13.11–12. This confused and instinctual response to the stimuli of the representational faculty may, therefore, prove extraordinarily creative, but it escapes the control of rational judgment. 4.23–30. τὸ δ’ ἀπὸ τούτων . . . ἑαυτοῦ:At yet another, third level, these disturbances are manifested as bodily motions or changes, often involuntary and uncontrolled, and unattributable to the primary soul: for if it too were to be disturbed, it would be incapable of providing the body with any commands; see the apposite comment by Fleet 1995, ad 4.28. By contrast, the Stoics attributed these somatic expressions of the affections to the “affinity” (sumpatheia) between soul and body; see Hier. El. Eth. IV 11–22; and Plut. De uirt. mor. 451a. 4.30–41. ἀλλ’ ἔστι μὲν . . . ἢ ἐνεργείας:In order to describe what relation holds between the “passible part” of the soul and the body, P. reverts to the Aristotelian model of “enmattered form”; cf. I 1.4.20–27, with my comment. This form inheres in matter and endows the resultant material body with certain operational capabilities, which evolve into the basic biological functions. Indeed, it is worth noting that a kind of precedence is accorded here to the generative function among the rest, which have to do with self-­ preservation and the growth of the organism. Even still, however, the form is not itself capable of incurring any change: it can only begin or cease to act on the body, which in turn will be what incurs the change or affection. 4.41–52. αὐτὴν μὲν οὖν . . . τοῦτο λεγούσης:In order to illustrate this relation between the material body and the enmattered form, which endows the former with certain capabilities, either active or passive, P. invokes the example of the well-­attuned chords, where the organic relation that causes them to sound in concert is a specific harmonic— that is, mathematical—relation, incorporated in their lengths. If we could think of this mathematical “proportion” (logos) as setting the chords in motion on its own (cf., on this point, Arist. De an. I 4, 407b34), then we would have a complete correspondence with the case of a living organism consisting of form and body. We ought to notice that the model of harmony is not adduced here in order to explain the relation of the soul itself with the body, as Simmias, for example, seeks to do in Plato’s Phaedo, 85e3–86c3; something of the kind has been categorically ruled out by P. at IV 7.84. One of the arguments employed there is that for such an attunement to exist, there would have to preexist someone who would effect the attunement (and so on and so forth: see loc. cit. 17–23). Here the infinite regress does not arise, because the impassible cosmic Soul can play the role of the original arranger of the body’s components, such that the right “harmony” can emerge that renders it a living thing; cf. my comment

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Third Ennead on III 5.4.18–23. On the other hand, the particular higher, discursive soul plays the role of the musician, who utilizes the appropriately “attuned”—that is, harmoniously regulated—body in order to “perform” the melody of its life; cf. I 4.16.23–27, with my comment; and Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 42.20–24. Thus, neither the soul, nor the harmony inherent in the body (cf. Arist. op. cit. 408a3–5), is affected in any way. They merely manifest and express themselves through the motions of the corporeal “instrument”—motions that certainly could not be accomplished if the body’s parts were not so fitted together as to comprise a harmonious whole. Consequently, even the so-­called passible part of the soul is essentially impassible and only bears this appellation per extrinsecam denominationem, that is, by metonymical catachresis, as the formal cause of the living being’s affections (see on this the excellent analysis of Igal 1979, 329 and 333–34). It activates the vital and perceptual functions of the body, rendering it alive and capable of perception. Cf. Porph. Sent. 18, 9.3–13, where, however, the “cause of motility” corresponding to the musician is oddly enough identified with the “living being.” 5.1–2. Τί οὖν . . . πάσχουσαν:A valid and crucial question: If what was said above is true, and the primary soul is by its nature insusceptible to the influence of the affections, then, given that the goal of philosophy is in the main “the practice of death” (meletē thanatou), that is, the purification and emancipation of the soul from the influence and desires of the body, why should one engage in philosophy? (Cf. VI 4.16.41–44. The correlation of the practice of philosophy with continence and release from bodily affections was a commonplace: see the peculiar use of the verb philosophein by Ach. Tat., Leuc. et Clit. V 16.7 and VIII 5.7). 5.2–19. ἢ ἐπειδὴ . . . ἐργάζεσθαι πάθη:It is interesting that the first answer proposed to the question raised above concerning the mission of philosophy relates it to the cognitive state of the individual: philosophy’s mission is to awaken the individual from the deceitful domain of uncritical psychological impressions—which are formed in the so-­ called passible part of the soul (cf. Pl. Resp. IX 571c3–7)—and to redirect his consciousness toward the primary function of the soul, its contemplation of the intelligibles. It aims, in other words, at his emancipation from the psychological phantasies that assume the shape of sensorial representations but that, because they escape supervenient judgment, remain “obscure” and mere “quasi-­opinions” (cf. 4.21 above, amudra hoion doxa), that is, lead us to form indeterminate and—ultimately—false impressions, and thus hold us captive in a world of deceitful images. Hence, philosophical separation from the body (on which, cf. I 2.3.10–21 and Pl. Phd. 67c5–6) will also consist in nothing else than the refusal to be misled by the illusions arising from the proximity of the body; cf. V 1.10.24–27, with Page’s textual addition. For the desired object is the expungement not (as the Stoics insisted) of the supposed psychical passions, but of the deceitful representations that give rise to them. One could, therefore, say that what subtends this entire discussion is an internalized version of the Platonic allegory of the cave. 5.19–22. εἰ δὲ ἐπὶ θάτερα . . . καὶ ἐν θολερῷ:For the higher, pure, and impassible soul, there can naturally be no question of its actual separation or of its substantive purifica-



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tion; in its case, purification would consist in the turning of its “attention” (prosochē) and its solicitude in the direction of the intelligible, a conversion that would be experienced as a progression of the “I” toward There, and consequently as its emancipatory release from the hold of worldly things; cf. my comment on I 1.11.2–8. See also my comment on I 1.4.12–18 concerning the resemblance of the soul to a light illuminating the turbidity. 5.22–25. τοῦ δὲ παθητικοῦ . . . μὴ φαντασίᾳ:As to the so-­called passible part of the soul, its purification and separation are here to be understood on the basis of what was said earlier; see my comment on 5.2–19. 5.25–29. εἴη δ’ ἄν . . . ὀχεῖσθαι ἡσυχῇ:As an afterthought, P. suggests an alternative way of achieving the “separation” of the passible part from the body—to the extent that anything of the kind is feasible. This second way differs markedly from the first, in that it is by no means a purely contemplative method, but even appears to leave some margin for the employment of theurgic and other similar cathartic means. It includes the purgative emaciation of the body (cf. VP 2.4–5 and 8.21–22), but also the purification of the “breath-­spirit” (pneuma) from licentious tendencies such as “gluttony” (gastrimargia: cf. Pl. Phd. 81e6, Ti. 73a6, CH VI 3, 74.13). Although P. does not in general appear to show much interest in the pertinent Middle Platonic belief (see, e.g., Atticus fr. 15; Dodds 1963, 313–18; Dillon 1973a, 371–72; Kehl 1978, 998–1000; Scott 1991, 77–83, 150–61; and my comment on II 2.2.21–22), in the present passage he seems to be alluding directly, albeit in somewhat peirastic fashion, to the belief concerning a “spiritual vehicle” (pneumatikon ochēma) that envelops the soul during the process of its embodiment, and that is the agent of its affections and its humbler desires. We can obtain a good if cursory view of this theory from the following passage, which is excerpted from a treatise by Synesius of Cyrene, De insomniis 6, 154.10–155.7 (trans. based on FitzGerald):  . . . nor may a man who is diseased in his representational spirit (phantastikon pneuma) be expected to have clear or well-­defined visions. What his disease is, and by what things the faculty of representation becomes bleared and dulled, and by what things it is purged and purified, so as to return to its natural condition, all this you must learn from the ineffable philosophy, through which, when it is purified by the performance of rituals, it becomes divinely possessed. And any elements that have seeped in must be let out before the god is introduced to the representational faculty. And whoever keeps this purified by a life lived in accordance with nature (dia tou kata phusin biou) has an instrument ready at hand, and one that is thus again common to all; for this spirit hearkens to the psychical disposition, and in itself is not lacking in affinity (ouk asumpathes), as our ostraceous envelope (to ostreōdes periblēma: i.e., the material body) is: for the latter is even opposed to the soul’s better dispositions. But its first and special vehicle becomes light and ethereal when good is done to the soul, but when evil is done to it it becomes heavy and clings to the earth. For this is, in a word, the borderline

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Third Ennead (metaichmion) between reason and unreason, and between the bodiless and body, and a boundary common to both; and it is through this that divine things are brought into contact with those furthest removed from them. Nevertheless, P.’s choice of expression is not entirely clear as to whether that on which the passible part of the soul (cf. to en hōi) “is riding” (ocheitai: this image is certainly related to the one found in the myth of Plato’s Phaedrus; see principally 246b2, 247b2, but cf. also Ti. 41e1–2) is the “pneumatic” (i.e., ethereal) body or the material one (pace Finamore 1985, 3 and Dillon 1990a, 28); cf. IV 4.27.11–15; and Blumenthal 1971a, 56n.28. I am under the impression that here, as in many other instances, P. is exceedingly hesitant to acquiesce to views that would shed doubt on the radical distinction between the sensible and the supra-­sensible, by contrast with the tendencies that gained dominance in later Neoplatonism, beginning with his student Porphyry; see Sent. 29, 18.6–20.1; Hadot 2004, 79–81; as well as the above-­cited monograph by Finamore. 6.1–2. Τὴν μὲν δὴ . . . εἴρηται:The impassibility of intelligible beings was of course self-­ evident as far as Platonic philosophy was concerned (see my introduction; and cf. Pl. Ti. 27d6–28a2, 35a2; and Atticus fr. 5.62 as emended by Theiler 1970a, 317), yet the expression eirētai (“it has already been said”) seems to allude to some particular passage that, if it is not to be found in the immediate context (e.g., at 5.22), should perhaps be sought for at IV 7.13.2–4 or VI 5.2.12–3.8. What is meant here by “intelligible reality” (ousia noētē) is the totality of supra-­sensible beings, which not only are real and intelligible entities in themselves, but collectively also constitute a single realm ordered by relations of identity and difference, that of the Forms. 6.3–7. ἐπεὶ δὲ καὶ . . . τῆς ἀπαθείας:At this point, P. announces the problem that will occupy him throughout the remainder of the treatise: Is matter, which underlies sensible bodies (cf. II 4.6.1–13), itself subject to affections and changes, or is it, too, impassible and immutable? The question arises in consequence of the fact that, according to the Peripatetic line of argument, matter must be incorporeal (see below, 7.3–7, with my comment), as it is that which, as their substrate, underlies the changes of corporeal entities. That matter was by nature “subject to affections” (pathētē), that is, “pliable and alterable and altogether mutable,” was a fundamental tenet of the natural theory of the Stoics (see SVF 2:300–305, 309, 318, 482, 1054, 3:657), who on the other hand held, of course, that it was “body” (sōma); see II 4.1.7–14, with my comments. 6.7–14. πρῶτον δὲ . . . τοῦ δοκεῖν εἶναι:Yet the nature of matter is, in its fundamental indefiniteness, insusceptible of becoming directly known; cf. my comments on I 8.9.14–26 and II 4.10.1–10. Hence, the pertinent investigation must begin with the examination of the nature of Being, the corresponding “other” (heteron) of which is, precisely, matter. Primary Being (to on), then, possesses the attributes of its Parmenidean avatar, the eon: it is wholly, and from every aspect, Being (cf. Parm. fr. B8.42–44 DK), and, as the Platonic “Parmenides” declares, it pervades all beings, from the largest to the smallest, without “missing from” the being of any one of them (Pl. Prm.



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144b2). It has need of nothing else in order to be what it is, while it is also that which endows anything else even with such phenomenal being as it might chance to possess; cf. VI 4.2.3–6. 6.15–17. ἀνάγκη αὐτὸ . . . καὶ πάντη φρόνησις:The complete perfection of Being entails its “being alive” (zēn) and “possessing wisdom” (phronein); cf. Pl. Soph. 248e7–249a1. The importance of this thesis for Platonism in general and the philosophy of P. in particular was pointed out by Hadot 1960, 108–10. 6.17–19. καὶ ὡρισμένον ἄρα . . . ἐπιλείποι γὰρ ἂν:It is life that constitutes Being: life made determinate by Intellect, and overflowing unceasingly from the One; see VI 7.17.12–26. Consequently, Being is “limited” (peperasmenon) in the sense that it is bounded; cf. Parm. fr. B8.30–32, 42–43 DK. Yet this is not to imply that it is limited in extensibility or in dynamism: it sets its own boundaries when it forms itself into a system of intelligible Forms, while its “power” (dunamis) is unlimited, seeing that it is essentially nothing else than the power of the One, which its own formative presence simply intermediates; on this cf. VI 5.12.3–13; Hadot 1987, 276; and my introduction to treatise II 5. 6.19–23. διὸ καὶ τὸ ἀεὶ . . . καὶ ἓν πάντα:From the fact that Being is wholly determined, without deficiencies or imperfections, it follows that it is eternal (cf. III 7.6.29–36), immutable, and insusceptible to external influence; cf. Parm. fr. B8.5–10 DK; Pl. Ti. 52a1– 3; and, as regards P.’s recourse to the Anaxagorean expression homou panta (“all things together”), cf. my comment on I 1.8.6–8. 6.23–32. εἰ δὲ τούτοις . . . εἶναι:The basic conclusion—the theorem—in which the investigation of the nature of Being results is that because Being possesses as its characteristic properties (this is the sense—rather than “we define”—to be given here to horizomen: cf. LexPlot, s.v. horizein, a) perfect life, active and uninterrupted intellection, and complete unity, it cannot possibly be either some body, or that which underlies bodies as their substrate, that is, matter, which is instead “lifeless” (azōn: see III 4.1.6–7, with my comment), “unintelligent” (anoun: see II 4.10.1–11), and incurably indefinite and multifarious (see II 4.13.30–32, 15.16–37). One corollary that follows immediately from this thesis is that bodies and their material substrate constitute nonbeings—indeed nonbeings, the being of which consists precisely in their being nonbeings, albeit in a different manner in each case, as will be made clear later on. But what especially commands attention is the line of argument on the basis of which P. attempts to prove the antecedent proposition of the above theorem, the main points of which are reviewed in the long parenthetical sentence of the present passage. The procedure employed is essentially an indirect one, where the negation of the thesis to be demonstrated leads to a dilemmatic pair of closely correlated paradoxes. Specifically: If: (1) The intellect and life do not originate in Being, which is to say, if intellect and life do not constitute inherent manifestations of the essence of Being, that is, primary activities of Being that are connate with it (cf. my comment on I 2.1.29–38),

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Third Ennead then: (2) Intellect and life will exist in Being as acquired extraneous attributes (epakta), and: (3) Intellect and life would originate in something other than Being, that is, in something non-­Being. It follows from (2) that: (4) Being itself would be deprived of life and intellect, something that goes against the fundamental principle mentioned above, in my comment on 6.15–17, at least in the way P. understood it. Also, from (3) it follows that: (5) Intellect and life would belong “truly” (alēthōs), that is, primordially, to something non-­Being, something that is therefore ontologically inferior and posterior to Being, an eventuality inconceivable within a hierarchically ordered ontological system like that of P., where causation is synonymous with ontological dependence; cf. my comment on III 1.1.8–11. The only alternative solution, which is that Being must draw intellect and life directly from its own principle, the One, is ruled out summarily but categorically. For it neither possesses, nor has need, of either of these: It is “beyond intellect and intellection” (epekeina nou kai noēseōs: see I 7.1.20, III 9.9.10) and “above life” (huper tēn zōēn: see III 8.10.1–5, V 3.16–38, VI 7.18.19–20), although It is the true “provider” of both; cf. Pl. Resp. VI 508e1–509b10. 6.33–41. Καὶ πῶς . . . τὴν σώματος φύσιν:An objection concerning the nature of beings is now raised from the perspective of a rather crude materialism. Its formulation recalls the views of the “Giants” in the “Battle of Gods and Giants . . . over being” of Plato’s Sophist, 246a8–b3, but also the description of the “polluted and impure” soul in the Phaedo, 81b1–c11. In the reference made to the claims advanced by elements “lighter” than earth for privileged ontological status, there may lurk an allusion to the familiar theories of the ancient hylozoists, who elevated one or another of these elements to the rank of cosmological principle. As regards fire in particular, see also my comments on I 6.3.19–26, II 1.7.24–30, and II 9.11.28–29. 6.41–53. ἀλλ’ οἶμαι . . . σῶμα ποιούσης:P. turns the viewpoint of the “Giants” on its head: what for them constitutes the characteristic property and criterion of “being” or “substance” (ousia), namely, that it “can be handled and offers resistance to the touch” (Pl. Soph. 246a11 trans. Cornford)—that which their “reformed” companions will come to call, in the continuation of the dialogue (247e1–2), “a power either to affect . . . or to be affected”—is for him nothing but a symptom of incapacity and insubstantiality. The blind, mechanical interaction of material bodies merely serves to reveal the absence of that organic integration that constitutes life, the latter itself being, in turn, a manifestation of the reciprocally circumincessant unity of Being; cf. my comment on III 2.1.26–34. 6.53–64. καὶ ἐκ τῶν δὲ . . . μὴ ὄντι:Passibility is regarded as a particular sign of incapacity and disorganization, as an indication of extreme remoteness from the unificatory



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action of the Intellect and Being. The mutual interactions of bodies are the result not of the power of the active ones, but rather of the incapacity of the passive ones. The absence in these of any internal constitution endowing them with substance renders them vulnerable and exposed to external influences. The text of the present passage from l. 61 to the end has driven to despair even H-­S, who chose to obelize the sentence ptōma oun . . . eis allēla in its entirety. In my edition, I chose to extend the efforts of Theiler and Igal to restore the passage by emending l. 62 as follows:  . . . πληγαί, ‹τῷ› [addidi] ἄλλα [Igal: ἀλλὰ MSS, H-­S] ποιεῖν εἰς ἄλληλα. This allows for the following rendition of the sentence as a whole: “So heavy and severe blows bring about the ruin of bodies, given that these interact with each other in various ways; for when something weak falls against another weak thing, or when some non-­ Being falls against a non-­Being, it is strong against it.” 6.65–71. Ταῦτα μὲν οὖν . . . τοῦτο εὕδει:Placing one’s faith in the testimony of the body—in perceptual representations—is likened to sleeping, when dreams are mistaken for reality. This correlation had been adumbrated above at 5.10–13, where the soul’s coming into awareness of its own impassibility was likened to its awakening from the nightmare of affections. But the comparison of embodied life with sleep is much older (see, e.g., Heraclit. fr. B26 and 73 DK, and the references supplied by Dodds 1965, 9n.4), and it enjoyed especially wide currency among the Middle Platonists. We find a characteristic expression of this in Max. Tyr. X 1, 111.15–18: “Our life here is simply a dream (enhupnion); the soul, buried in the body and overwhelmed by stupor and repletion, scarcely even dreams of reality.” Cf. Pl. Ti. 52b6–c3; Philo Ios. 126; and also V 5.11.19–22, as well as my comments on VP 22.40 and I 8.13.14–26, where there is a clear allusion to a relevant passage in Plato’s Republic; see principally VII 534c6–7: “he is dreaming and asleep throughout his present life.” The critical element here is that so long as sleep lasts, our existing cognitive powers remain inactive (cf. Arist. De an. II 1, 412a25–26), thus leaving the field free for the emergence of delusions. 6.71–77. ἡ δ’ ἀληθινὴ . . . οὖσα:If embodied life is essentially sleep, then (philosophical) death, the separation of the soul from the body, is in reality wakefulness (cf., according to one interpretation, Heraclit. fr. B88 DK; along with Sext. Emp. Pyr. III 230). Arousal from a state of bodily sedation—with its clear echoes of the mysteries (cf. Merkelbach 1962, 315 with n.2)—is synonymous with the philosophical ascent of the individual to his real self, and thereby to the realm of the intelligibles; cf. IV 8.1.1–7. It consequently presupposes complete emancipation from the body and the associated changeability and passibility. The reference to “resurrection with the body” (meta sōmatos anastasis: Armstrong chooses to render the latter term as “the getting up”) may perhaps—as Rohde 1925, 580n.174 suspected, and Dodds 1965, 130n.1 assures us—have been targeted at Christian(-­Gnostic) views, but we can by no means regard this as certain. Cf. my comment on I 9.2–4.

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Third Ennead 7.1–3. Ἀλλ’ ἐπανιτέον . . . γνωσθήσεται:Cf. above, 6.3–7. The study of the nature of matter itself (7.7–23) and of the things that appear on it (7.23–41) will lead us to some important findings (which surely do not constitute “premises,” as Fleet 1995, 146, calls them) concerning its ontic status and its impassibility. 7.3–7. ἔστι μὲν οὖν . . . τῶν σωμάτων:If body is defined as the composite of eidos (“shape” or “form”) and hulē (“matter”)—cf., e.g., Arist. Metaph. Ζ 3, 1029a2–7—then it is self-­ evident that neither of these two components can, by and of itself, be corporeal. Hence, matter must be “incorporeal” (asōmatos). The conclusion of this simple syllogism had met with immediate acceptance on the part of an Aristotelian such as Alexander of Aphrodisias, De an. 3.23–27 and 5.19, but the Platonists, to whom the term asōmatos immediately conveyed a reference to the supra-­sensible intelligible entities, preferred to employ a different expression—likewise Aristotelian in origin (cf. Arist. Gen. corr. II 1, 329a33)—in order to characterize matter, calling it simply dunamei sōma (“potentially body”): see “Alcinous” Didasc. 8, 163.7–8; Apul. De Plat. I 5, 192; Hippol. Haer. I 19.3; Alex. Lycop. C. Manich. 6, 10.19–20; and cf. Ar. Did. fr. ph. 2, 448.8–9: “it would not be body, but bodily (sōmatikē).” See also my comment on II 4.1.14–18; van Winden 1959, 165–68; and Dillon 1977, 313–14. P. has no hesitation in employing the term asōmatos (cf. II 4.9.4–5), but he takes care to clarify that it carries a somewhat different meaning in its present context than when it refers to real beings. 7.7–12. οὔτε δὲ ψυχὴ . . . ἀληθινῶς μὴ ὄν:Matter does not come under any of the categories of items that can be characterized as “beings” (onta). It is not soul (an assertion that marks an important point of divergence from Numenius; see fr. 52.64–73 and van Winden 1959, 117), nor is it of course intellect, nor life (see my comment on 6.23–32), nor form (cf. I 8.3.14, with my comment), nor logos (because this is the “formative principle” of matter; see my comment on III 2.2.18–33), nor limit (but rather limitlessness; see II 4.15.10–17; and cf. Apul. De Plat. I 5, 192; and Diog. Laert. III 69), nor, finally, is it “power” (dunamis): certainly not power to affect, but neither, as will become clear in the sequel, power to be affected (cf. my introduction to treatise II 5). It is a permanent and incurable potentiality (cf. II 5.4.3–7). Thus, it cannot be anything else than non-­ Being, in the relevant sense of the negation of any ontic status whatsoever, that is, of total privation; cf. my comments on I 8.3.6–12, 4.22–24, 5.9–12, and 10.1–11. It is not an intelligible “greatest genus” like Motion or Rest, which are non-­Being in the sense of being “other than Being” (hetera tou ontos, i.e., different from Being itself: cf. Pl. Soph. 250c1–4); instead, it is otherness with respect to any and every being, and consequently its true nature is falsehood; cf. I 8.6.44–45, II 5.5.22–25; also O’Brien 1971, 118; and Santa Cruz 1979, 102–3. An interesting formulation of the same distinction, in reverse order, is to be found in “Alcinous” Didasc. 35, 189.22–24 (for this translation, cf. Dillon 1993, 210): “Non-­being, in the sense in which it can be made perspicuous, is not a flat negation of being [cf. Pl. Soph. 256d5–259b1], but [a negation of being] conveying the positive implication of a relation to another thing.”



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7.13–23. εἴδωλον . . . οὐκ ὄν ἐστιν:Matter is, at heart, a place where images are produced, and thus may itself be characterized as an “image” (eidōlon) that gives rise to fleeting and deceptive illusions, but that can never be pinpointed or apprehended on its own. At the risk of simplification, we could say that it is the indeterminate and imperceptible constituent of corporeal entities considered as images. For while the configuring elements of an image, which in themselves are subject to our powers of perception, may all be referred, in one way or another, to the intelligible models they figure, the nature of the image as such cannot be explained solely by the specification of its relation to these models. Something further is required: a declaration of its otherness with respect to these, in order that the dependent character of its nature as an image may be rendered perspicuous. This nonintelligible element, which makes images be images, and their subsistence be purely phenomenal—an “apparition” (phantasma: cf. Pl. Ti. 52c3) or “ghostly image of bulk” (phantasma onkou: cf. II 4.11.29–30)—is matter; on this, see also the highly pertinent, if somewhat cryptic, observations of Gerson 1994, 112. It is, in other words, a necessary condition for the possibility of images being produced: for it does not itself, literally speaking, produce them. It merely has a predisposition to produce them, and a “propensity” or “aspiration” to give them subsistence, so that in this sense it “longs for that which is destructive [sc., of itself ]” (oregetai tou phthartikou: cf. Arist. Metaph. Ν 4, 1092a2; and my discussion of this passage in my introduction to I 8), notwithstanding that in reality it cannot incur anything and consequently cannot suffer destruction. It may be perceived only indirectly (see my comments on I 8.9.14–26 and II 4.10.1–10), because there appear fleetingly upon it all kinds of conflicting and mutually contradictory qualities, such as those that Plato invoked in his unwritten doctrines in order to designate his own material ontological principle; on this, see Arist. Ph. I 4, 187a16–18, Metaph. Α 6, 987b20; and Hermod. fr. 7 (apud Dercyllides apud Porph. fr. 146F apud Simpl. In Ph. 247.34–248.8): “Plato, assuming matter to be ranged with the unlimited and the indefinite, clarified its nature on the basis of these as belonging to those things which admit the more-­and-­less, of which the great-­and-­small is one.” In addition, see, with respect to the pair “superabundancy–deficiency” (huperochē–elleipsis), Arist. Ph. I 6, 189b10–16; Sext. Emp. Math. X 273–75; Alex. Aphrod. In Metaph. 56.13–20. For a broader discussion, see de Vogel 1949, 205–16. 7.23. οἷον παίγνιον φεῦγον:It may prove of some interest, I believe, to seek a somewhat better understanding of this simile, which, as Fleet 1995 points out ad loc., is introduced with a playful alliteration. Some of the more recent translators of this passage patently intuit that the word paignion here cannot have its usual meaning of “toy” (thus Armstrong translates it “fleeting frivolity” and Fleet “elusive illusion”). Yet their choices do not seem to find any vindication in the pertinent lemma of the LSJ, except perhaps for the last usage listed (III 5: “jocular recipes”), with its citation of a magic papyrus in London (PMag.Lond. 121: see PGM VII 167–78). In the latter—under the title “Democritus’ paignia”—are described a series of what we would today call “tricks,” all aiming at the production of specific illusions (some examples: “to make copper appear to be gold, . . . an egg become like an apple, etc.”). Another, similar piece of hocus-­pocus went

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Third Ennead under the name of “Pythagoras’ paignion” (see Schol. in Aristoph. Nub. 75; Suda, s.v. Thettalē gunē; and Delatte 1932, 149). I am of the opinion that this is the sense of paignion P. has in mind here (a “sham” or “con” in modern parlance; cf. III 8.5.7 and IV 3.10.18), and I find confirmation in the image of the mirror that follows. For it is obvious that P. is referring to the fleeting play of images appearing on a shiny surface, images that are nothing but “imitations” (mimēmata) without any substantial hypostasis, and, as such, “nonbeing” (ouk onta). Or, as Porphyry puts it in his paraphrase of the present passage, Sent. 20, 11.11–12 trans. Dillon: “its flight is not a spatial one, but involves its abandonment of being.” 7.23–27. ὅθεν καὶ . . . τὰ πάντα:Matter is a potential receptacle of every type of image. Not having a subsistence of its own, but depending entirely on its opposite, it is itself a terminally distant and utterly dim image of Being; cf. my comment on III 4.1.5–12. Its comparison to a mirror in which appear images of beings located somewhere else outside of it, such that in itself it remains essentially unaltered and impassive, is of virtually constitutive importance, as was also pointed out by Heinemann 1926, 13–14: “We ought not to think that this image is a simile of no particular importance. The view advanced here has the [perceptible] world being composed of a central light, the Logos [read: the Intellect], and a mirror on which the light rays are reflected, matter. The only real substance is the invisible Logos, while everything that we see is the radiation of the Logos on something else, its mirroring in matter.” Here then is the basis (or the model) for P.’s “pseudo-­hylomorphic” (in the formulation of Igal 1982–98, 1:68) conception of the constitution of the perceptible world: matter receives, in a purely phenomenal manner, not substances, but images devoid of substance, resulting in the production of perceptible shapes like “pictures on a shadow” (VI 3.8.36; see also Kalligas 1997c, 397). Cf. IV 3.11.6–12; and Ferwerda 1965, 17–20. 7.27–33. τὰ δὲ εἰσιόντα . . . οἷον εἰσπέμποι:The citation from Plato’s Timaeus (50c4–5) with which the present passage begins is especially elucidating here (cf. also below, at 11.2–3): because it makes it perfectly clear that what P. has in mind is the discussion by means of which Plato introduces his notion of “space” (chōra), considered as something “invisible” (anoraton), “shapeless” (amorphon), and “all-­receptive” (pandeches), which (op. cit. b8–c4, trans. Cornford) “is always receiving all things, and never in any way whatsoever takes on any character that is like any of the things that enter it. By nature it is there as a matrix for everything, changed and diversified by the things that enter it, and on their account it appears to have different qualities at different times.” If we accord proper emphasis to the fact that this material principle is never actually configured by the images that enter into it, but that its changes are purely phenomenal (phainetai; cf. dokei here in l. 29), and also to the fact that, as Cornford 1937, 181, observes, Plato consistently employs the phrase “in which” (en hōi), and not the phrase “out of which” (ex hou), in order to describe the relation of the apparitions to their receptacle (cf. on this my introduction to II 5), we will find ourselves in a better position to understand that the interpretative model of the mirror (which, as we see, was introduced by P. and not by Baeumker, as Kalfas 1995, 422, contends) is the most appropriate one to help us



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grasp the function of this “invisible . . . and most incomprehensible form” (Pl. Ti. 51a7– 8); cf. Lee 1966, 361–64. We will at the same time gain better insight into the deceptive and fleeting character of the images, which, like the “wraithlike (amenēna) shades of the dead” in Homer’s Odyssey 11.521, lack any real substance. Nevertheless, there is something in the model of the mirror that bothers P.: its stability—that is, the fact that it too is a corporeal object like the rest (although it is not, strictly speaking, a sensible one: given that the primary object of sight is color (cf. my comment on II 8.1.12–13), and that the mirror lacks a color of its own, it is visible only incidentally, through the images appearing within it; cf. Schroeder 1981, 221). This is the reason why he seeks, with characteristic tenacity, to amend and, as far as possible, “de-­corporealize” his image, proposing—as a first alternative—water, which at least is fluid (cf. VI 5.8.12–20), or—as a further one—the “so-­called” (legomenon: since P., like Aristotle, is not prepared to commit himself as to its existence) void; cf. II 4.11.27–29, with my comment. 7.33–43. καὶ γὰρ αὖ . . . πρὸς τὰ ἐνορῶντα:How is it, though, that if the images projected on matter are copies of their ideal archetypes, they do not bear some trace, at least, of the powers inherent in the latter? How is it that their presence is so dim, as to leave their material recipient entirely untouched and unaffected? The answer to these questions lies in the categorial distinction that separates the world of beings from that of appearances: the former consist in substances and are referred to as alla, that is, “other [beings],” while the latter appear as mere properties and are referred to as alloia, that is, “different [-­seeming]”; cf. Pl. Ti. 49d5–e7; and my comment on II 6.1.29–42. Moreover, the resemblance of the one to the other is itself phenomenal and asymmetric: the images resemble their models, but the models do not resemble their imitations. Consequently, the very subsistence and presence of the latter is false (cf. II 5.5.22–24), such that it does not in any way influence that in which it appears, because whatever “affection” it excites in it is equally false; cf. above, my comment on 7.13–23. I am under the impression that the last sentence is once again of the nature of a caveat: all the similes that were mobilized to explain the relation of images to archetypes are to be understood in terms of “assimilation” (homoiōsis), not of (symmetrical) “similitude” (homoiotēs); for an analysis of this distinction, see my comment on I 2.2.4–10. 8.1–11. Ὅλως δὲ . . . τὸ πάσχειν:If now we consider that every change consists in the successive presence of contrary qualities, then what incurs the change, that is, what is affected, will on every occasion be the particular property which vanishes in order that an alternative one may take its place. In the words of Aristotle, Gen. corr. I 7, 323b29– 324a3 trans. ROT with amendments: “But since only those things which either involve a contrariety or are contraries—and not any things selected at random—are such as to be acted upon and to act, agent and patient must be like—i.e., identical—in genus, and yet unlike—i.e., contrary—in species. For by nature body is affected by body, flavor by flavor, color by color, and, in sum, what is generically alike by its congener—the reason being that contraries are in every case within the same genus, and it is contraries which reciprocally act and are acted upon.” Cf. De an. II 4, 416a33–34. Now if we admit that the affecting and affected contraries consist, as was affirmed earlier, in images appearing

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Third Ennead on matter, their successive interchanges will not bring about even the slightest alteration in it. Thus, for example, when fire is transformed into another element, there will occur a change in the qualities manifested on matter (cf. Pl. Ti. 49d4–7), for example, in the discernible heat or dryness, but not in the material substrate itself, which will remain forever the same. In this way, however, as Bréhier points out in his pertinent “Notice,” 92, Aristotle is being led into conflict with his own stated views, a risk he may himself have become aware of when, a few lines further down (Gen. corr. I 7, 324a21), he sought to distinguish two different senses of paschein (“being affected”). 8.11–12. τὴν δὲ ὕλην . . . καὶ πῶς:We thus arrive at a somewhat idiosyncratic formulation of the principle of the indestructibility of matter (cf. Pl. Ti. 52a8–b1). For as a “nonbeing” (ouk on: see above, my comment on 7.7–13), matter lacks any possibility of incurring change, or indeed of suffering extinction. 8.12–20. πῶς οὖν . . . παρ’ αὐτοῦ διδόναι:And here a problem is raised concerning the precise meaning to be given to the presence, or inherence, of sensible images to this impassible material substrate. In what sense does matter “receive” or “apprehend” them? 9.1–12. Ληπτέον δὴ . . . λίθος ἔχει:To respond to the above question, P. begins by distinguishing among three different types of presence or “inherence” of one thing to another. In the first type, we have the case of one body penetrating another, as, for example, when an arrow pierces the body of a man and causes his injury or death, or when nourishment enters the body of an animal and, by becoming assimilated with it, causes it to grow. In the second type, what “comes into” the other alters it, but does not itself undergo any change; such is the case, as we saw in the first five chapters of the treatise, of the soul’s presence to the body. The third type, obviously the one we are interested in here, sees the receiving entity remaining essentially unaltered. P. seeks to clarify his meaning somewhat by citing a series of examples, none of which appears, however, to satisfy him entirely. The classic example of a shape stamped on wax is a useful one insofar as it makes evident that the material substrate—the wax—does not suffer any change in respect of what it is: for it remains withal wax (Calcidius, In Ti. 309, 310.7–11, contents himself with the example of wax, and the result is that he arrives at the exactly opposite conclusion, which is that matter is, in the end, patibilis, that is, passible; see van Winden 1959, 148). The second example, of light, is in some respects a more abstract one, because it does not entail any physical change—not even in the shape of the thing affected (cf. Arist. De an. II 12, 424b10–11). What changes is simply its luminosity, that is, its capacity to become visible. The third example, of the cooling stone, goes one step further: for the change it experiences is not even visible. Loss of heat is something imperspicuous and on occasion even imperceptible, and there can be no doubt that whatever body incurs it will not appear to “suffer” anything at all, especially as it is something that may come about without any (evident) action on the part of any external thing. We thus observe that the sequence of examples is motivated by a desire to lead the reader toward an ever more abstract conception of the nature of the material substrate. We have, in other words, a case where the progressive introduction of examples func-



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tions as a kind of “spiritual exercise” in order to accomplish the intuition of something that surpasses them; or as a kind of uia negationis that leads to something so simple and elemental, that it exceeds the descriptive powers of language. Cf. Hadot 1981a, 186–87; and my comment on I 8.9.14–26. Through this process, then, we are led toward comprehension, although P. does not hazard to express the inexpressible in words. For, as Rappe 2000, 92, has aptly put it, the examples and metaphors “can be read for their rhetorical function as directive utterances, designed to tell us not how things are, but how to see things.” 9.12–16. τί δ’ ἂν . . . μορφὴν περιθεῖναι:P. moves on to a fourth and rather different example, borrowed this time from Aristotle: cf. Gen. corr. I 7, 323b25–28. The acquisition of whiteness by a line does not alter its nature as a line, but merely takes the place of some other incidental attribute that it possessed before, for example, blackness. What is emphasized this time, I believe, is the nonessential character of the bond tying the underlying substrate to the properties appearing on it: color “invests” the line externally as it were, without its being “affected” in any maner. The same thing, to all significant purposes, may be said also about a surface, and even about a body; but the introduction of these further examples helps to lead the discussion back to the question of the material substrate of bodies, by tracing a reverse path of “recorporealizing” the intuitive comprehension of specific perceptible forms achieved through the previous examples. 9.16–19. εἰ δέ τις . . . ἢ τὰ κάτοπτρα:We finally return to the example of the mirror (cf. above, 7.25), except that following the clarifications provided in the interim, we now understand that we are to conceive this in an entirely abstract manner, without allowing it any trace of corporeality, or the incurring of the least affection. As concerns the impassibility of mirrors, cf. the observation of Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 145.13–16. The reference we find here to “every transparent thing in general” gives the impression that P. wished to extend his analogy to the creation of images by materials of every kind, through either total or partial reflection; cf. Pl. Resp. VI 509e1–510a2; and Alex. Aphrod. op. cit. 142.21–29. 9.20–37. ἐγγίγνονται μὲν δὴ . . . πολλὰ ὁμοῦ εἶναι:Hence, any qualities that are exhibited on matter will not act upon it but will simply interact among themselves, and this on condition that they belong to the same genus; cf. the Aristotelian passage quoted in my comment on 8.1–11. Congeneric features act in competitive fashion to expel one another and thus gain a temporary and insecure predominance, until they too are replaced in turn by something “contrary” (enantion) or “intermediate” (metaxu: cf. Arist. Gen. corr. I 7, 324a7–8). On the other hand, generically distinct features neither interact nor come into conflict with each other, and hence may coexist, grouping together to constitute sensible bodies; cf. VI 3.8.19–20; my comment on II 6.2.15–20; and Simons 1985, 57. The latter are the sole entities with the capacity to suffer affections or changes, because the commutations of their nonessential qualities (cf. my comment on II 6.2.22–34) bring about their “alteration” (alloiōsis), while those of their essential qualities (cf. my comment on II 6.2.20–22) result in the loss of their fragile identity and, consequently,

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Third Ennead in their “passing away” (phthora); see the classic analysis by Aristotle, Metaph. Λ 2, 1069b9–14. 9.37–44. τὸ δὲ μόνον . . . ὑπ’ ἀλλήλων εἰσίν:Therefore matter, considered in itself, will be something beyond the contrapositions and contrarieties manifested within it, something wholly simple (cf. II 4.5.5–6, 8.13–14) and devoid of any kind of competition of properties, and hence will be impassible; see further Baeumker 1890, 406. The phrase “single and set apart” (monon kai erēmon), which P. borrows from Plato’s Philebus, 63b6–7 in order to emphasize the isolation of matter from whatever is enacted upon it, is one he usually employs elsewhere to signify the transcendence of the absolute One; see principally VI 7.10.28; but also Schwyzer 1970, 186–87. This coincidence is suggestive of the analogous difficulties attendant on any efforts to approach the two extremes of the ontological system, as it is of the negative mode any such approach must assume. Cf. also my comment on II 4.8.1–2. 10.1–13. Ἔπειτα . . . ὕλην τηρούντων:Τo the positive arguments adduced thus far for the impassibility of matter, a negative one is now added: if matter were to succumb to affections and changes, then its accumulation of qualities would end up abrogating its nature as a receptacle available to take in every other quality (pandeches, Pl. Ti. 51a7); cf. Calc. In Ti. 309, 310.6–7. Its properties would resist and compete against their congeners, with the result that it would become transformed into a polymorphous but unbending and inelastic body susceptible of destruction. Cf. Pl. Ti. 50e4–51a3; and Matter 1964, 208. As was accurately pointed out by Simons 1985, 57–58, it is the immutability of matter that renders it the principle of the never-­ending flux of phenomena: the fact that nothing of what it takes in becomes its own condemns matter to being perenially available to receive all things, like an enduring and incurable lack; cf. my comment on I 8.3.12–18. 10.14–22. ἔπειτα δὲ . . . μὴ ἀλλοιοῦσθαι:A second negative argument is in dilemmatic form with one basic Aristotelian assumption: “alteration” (alloiōsis), seeing that it consists in “motion with respect to quality” (kata to poion kinēsis: Arist. Ph. V 2, 226a26), presupposes that the subject undergoing it will be preserved in respect to its substance, or more precisely to its “form” (eidos), and will change only in respect to its “incidental attributes” (sumbebēkota), that is, its “affections” (pathē); see Arist. Gen. corr. I 4, 319b10–12. Consequently, if matter undergoes alteration, this should normally mean that it will remain unchanged as matter and that only its incidental attributes will change. But the problem here is that matter, being entirely “unqualified” (apoios: see my comment on I 8.10.1–11), is devoid of sumbebēkota. Therefore, the possibility of undergoing any such alteration does not apply to it. 10.22–28. ὥσπερ γὰρ . . . αὐτὴν τὴν ὕλην:But neither can it change in respect to its substance, to its being matter, because although such an eventuality would not constitute alteration, it would constitute “destruction” (phthora). And the latter is ruled out because, as Plato, Ti. 50b7–8, tells us, matter “never departs at all from its own [defin-



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ing] capacity (tēs heautēs . . . dunameōs).” It always conserves the possibility of receiving all things, without ever assuming the shape of any. It will thus always be matter. 11.1–8. Ὅθεν δὴ . . . ἐν αὐτῇ:Cf. Pl. Ti. 50c4–5. The problem now raised is how to explain the meaning of “participation,” that is, in what sense matter “partakes of ” (metalambanei) or “participates in” (metechei) the Forms, given that it is impassible. In Plato’s Phaedo, 101c2–6 (trans. Grube), when Socrates comes to confront the question: What is the cause of something becoming F?, he offers the response that “you do not know how else each thing can come to be except by sharing in the particular reality in which it shares, and in these cases you do not know of any other cause of becoming two except by sharing in Twoness, and that the things that are to be two must share in this (toutou metaschein).” Later on, Aristotle, Gen. corr. II 9, 335b10–16, referring explicitly to the above passage, paraphrases it by saying that in it—according to Socrates—each particular “is said to come to be qua partaking (kata tēn metalēpsin) in the Form, and to pass away qua giving it up (kata tēn apobolēn); hence . . . the Forms must be causes both of coming to be and of passing away.” The context makes clear that the citation was motivated by Aristotle’s desire to make manifest (and to condemn) the absence of an efficient cause of coming-­to-­be and perishing in Platonic theory; see Joachim 1922, 248; and Cornford 1939, 79n.1. Vlastos [1969]/1973, 88–91, has emphatically denounced this interpretation as “a patent . . . misreading of Plato’s doctrine,” going on to explain that the Form F is not the “cause” of some perceptible object’s being or becoming F, but is solely and simply a “reason” or “explanation” for the fact that this object is (or has become) F. It is a pity that Vlastos did not have in mind the present passage of the Enneads. For he would have been able to discover in it a prefiguration of his own incisive interpretation—one formulated, indeed, in similar terms to his as a rebuttal of the criticism of Aristotle and of those who espoused it (referred to here, somewhat disparagingly, as hoi polloi). The advent of the imitations or images of beings is not meant to explain how the world became what it is (which would instead require some reference to the cosmogonic intervention of the Soul), but how and why it appears to be what it appears to be, in other words, in what manner the former are present to it. 11.8–18. ὄντως γὰρ . . . ὃ ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἦν:A series of paradoxes brings to the fore the shadowy nature of matter. (a) To start with, there is its complete impassivity with respect to the images appearing on it. Yet, at the same time, (b) it is matter that introduces, as we saw, the element of incompatibility and competition between congeners; see my comment on 9.20–37. In this respect, accordingly, we have a fundamental differentiation between the material world and the intelligible one, where congeneric contraries coexist, composing an eternal harmony; cf. my comment on II 4.3.9–16. (c) The composite entities that arise from the interweaving of the images with matter are susceptible of affections to the extent that the indigence of materiality renders them, too, deficient. There exist, however, other bodies that are so constituted as to depend not at all on external factors for their preservation or their perfection; see my comment on II 1.3.23–30. Finally, (d) however many things may come to be present to matter, not one will con-

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Third Ennead tribute the least thing to it, and neither does their departure cause it any deprivation, seeing that its nature is absolute privation. 11.18–31. τοῦ δὲ κεκοσμῆσθαι . . . οἷον δοκεῖν:In this passage, two possible eventualities concerning the arrangement of matter are successively reviewed. (a) According to the first of these, sensible qualities “dress up” or “invest” (peritithēmi) matter, bestowing properties on it that, while they do not transform its nature, alter it (cf. my comment on 10.14–22) sufficiently to beautify it and to configure the world therefrom. The employment of various inflections of the verb kosmein may be evidence that P. had in mind here the cosmological theories of the Stoics (although cf. Pl. Ti. 53a7 and b1). According to these, in the period following every periodical world-­conflagration—a period that they referred to as one of “[world-­]configuration” (diakosmēsis; see, e.g., SVF 1:98, 107, 2:616, 620–21)—god, the “peculiarly qualified individual consisting of all substance,” crafts the ordered world by “consuming all substance into himself ”: Diog. Laert. VII 137 trans. LS = SVF 2:526; cf. 2:611. The mechanics through which this qualitative change in the universe is effected are described in SVF 1:102 and 497). In his response P. examines two subcases. (i) If the arrangement of matter consists in its adornment in something that remains entirely foreign to it, then the position he started from, namely, that matter is unalterable and impassible, is vindicated. (ii) If the arrangement involves matter in a change so radical as to make it lose its own basic characteristics, which are, respectively, formlessness and ugliness, the outcome will be that it will cease to be matter. An alternative possible eventuality is that (b) matter is identical with ugliness as such (cf. I 8.5.23–24) and with Evil itself (cf. I 8.5.5–9). But if such were the case, it would be entirely impossible for matter to partake in any way of what are its contraries: “orderly arrangement” (kosmos), which is indissolubly associated with beauty, and the Good. 11.31–43. ἴσως δὲ καὶ . . . τὴν φύσιν κακή:This line of thought also helps provide an answer to a fundamental question that had been raised by Aristotle: how is it possible for Evil to long for, and participate in, its opposite, the Good? See Metaph. Ν 4, 1092a1–3, and my introduction to I 8. The answer given here is that this participation is merely phenomenal, and any alteration or configuration of matter entirely factitious. For this was, moreover, what Plato meant (according to P.) when he asserted that matter “never departs at all from its own [defining] capacity” (Ti. 50b7–8). 11.43–45. ὥστε εἴ τις . . . ὅλως ἀπαθῆ εἶναι:Τhus, the impassibility of matter acquires a new significance: for we can now see that it is tantamount to its incapacity to take real possession of anything at all that derives from the Good, of any hypostasis whatsoever. 12.1–11. Ὁ δέ γε Πλάτων . . . οὖσαν πολλήν:We move on to the purely exegetical part of the treatise, where P. attempts to read specific passages of Plato’s Timaeus in a manner compatible with his own positions concerning the nature and characteristics of matter. It is one of the rare cases where we find him engaging in word-­for-­word commentary, and it is assuredly paradoxical that the germane monographs, such as those of Matter



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and Charrue, do not pay any particular attention to the present passage. To begin with, of course, P.’s respect for Plato and his confidence in the overall correctness of his teaching are made plainly evident; but it is nonetheless pointed out that the way in which this teaching is expressed is, on this particular occasion, both imprecise and confusing—an example of the habitual introductory complaint with which every interpreter paves the ground for his intervention (cf. IV 4.22.10–12 and IV 8.1.23–28). It is also quite clear that, even though it has been formulated in Aristotelian terms, the criticism leveled at the beginning is directed primarily against the Stoics, as indicated by the allusions to sunkrasis (“mutual blending”: cf. the references given in my comment on II 7.2.26–32) and sumpatheia (“mutual affinity”: cf. SVF 2:475); see Bréhier ad loc., and cf. above, my comment on 11.18–31, notwithstanding the reservations expressed by Fleet 1995, 211–12. According to P., the Platonic thesis is that matter does not essentially participate in the formation of bodies, because, being something “utterly incomprehensible” (dusalōtotaton) and insusceptible of configuration (Ti. 50c1–2, d7, e4–5, 51b1), it is neither “pliable” nor “alterable”; cf. above, my comment on 6.3–7. P. adds that in order to shed some light on this paradoxical stance of his, Plato resorted to an example that turns out to be, however, not entirely satisfactory or perspicuous—in contrast (we might be led to think) to the example that P. himself so cautiously employed earlier (see principally 9.16–19): that of the mirror. What complicates the problem as far as we readers are concerned is that we cannot even be absolutely certain which specific example of Plato’s P. has in mind. There are three main candidates: (a) The example of gold that takes on various “shapes” (schēmata: Ti. 50a4–7; see Igal and Fleet ad loc.); (b) the elemental transformations of fire (Ti. 51b2–6; see Fleet ad 12.9. and cf. below, 12.31 ff.); and (c) the constitution of the material elements from four regular solid “shapes” (schēmata; Ti. 53c4 ff.: see Theiler ad 12.1). In any case, the concluding phrase of the present passage may (as Fleet notes ad loc.) represent an echo of the line (Ti. 52e1) where Plato characterizes “the wet nurse of becoming” (geneseōs tithēnē) as “seeming infinitely variable to look at.” 12.12–21. τὴν οὖν ὕλην . . . κἂν ὁμωνύμως λέγοι:My own opinion is that the reference introduced here to the affections produced in ensouled bodies by the shapes of matter obliges us to prefer the third of the above candidates—even though certain scholars preferred to emend the text at this point: instead of empsuchois (“ensouled”), they read enhulois (“enmattered”: Heintz, Harder) or apsuchois (“soulless”: Igal, Fleet). For Plato does indeed really explain analytically how the elemental shapes become perceptible to the senses as a result of the affections they provoke on ensouled bodies: see Ti. 61c4– 62c4. Consequently, we can understand P.’s argument as follows: sensory stimuli (pathē) are provoked not by bare matter, but by the elemental material corpuscles, the “shapes” (schēmata). Hence, matter as such possesses no sensible properties, and therefore the imposition of one or another shape upon it does not constitute any alteration on its part as matter, but merely as to the specific kind of body or element into which it happens to be shaped—and this is an “alteration” only catachrestically, given that a change of shape does not constitute real alloiōsis, namely, a change in quality (cf. Arist. Ph. VIII 3, 245b6–246a9). The conclusion is that matter remains impassive even during its config-

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Third Ennead uration into the elemental shapes, which, however—as will be reiterated below, at 12.24–27—are present to it only phenomenally. 12.22–24. εἴ τις οὖν . . . τοῦ λόγου:We have here an entirely unexpected—though hardly inapt, for all that—evocation of the very well-­known saying of Democritus (fr. B9, 125 DK) in defense of the conventionality—and hence, for P., the phenomenality—of perceptible qualities, which are shown to have no grounding in the nature of matter itself. 12.28–36. Ἢ πρότερον . . . ὡς εἰσῆλθον:The exigencies of verbal expression led Plato to adopt, on occasion, certain formulations that might well prove misleading, should they fail to be interpreted correctly. P. focuses his attention in particular on a sentence in the Timaeus, 52d4–e1, which appears to contradict his own position regarding the impassibility of matter: “the wet nurse of becoming, being made watery and fiery (hugrainomenēn kai puroumenēn), and receiving the shapes of both earth and air (kai tas gēs te kai aeros morphas dechomenēn), and being affected (paschousan) with all the other affections (pathē) that are attendant on these, seems infinitely variable to look at, etc.” The main problem here, of course, lies in the participle paschousan and its interpretation, but P. prefers to approach the difficulty indirectly. He starts from the parallel expression morphas dechomenēn, which he interprets literally as signifying that matter receives the shapes within itself without, however, really being configured in any way. Cf. Calc. In Ti. 351, 342.4–7 trans. van Winden: “not matter itself is made wet or fiery, or undergoes any alteration—for matter is entirely immutable (omnino enim est incommutabilis) and does not relinquish its own nature (nec declinat a natura sua)—but because it receives qualities and quantities of humidity and warmth, it is thought (putatur) to become wet and fiery.” 12.36–45. τό τε “πυρουμένην” . . . ὑπ’ ἀμφοῖν ἤδη:Conversely, the remaining participles of the sentence, namely, hugrainomenēn and puroumenēn, are themselves not to be taken literally, as if they referred to the transformation of matter into water or fire, respectively, but are only to be understood as signifying whatever new state matter has fallen into—when, for example, it becomes fire. What comes into matter is not some natural cause that makes it become fire. It is instead a “formative principle,” that is, a metaphysical cause of its being—or, more accurately, of its appearing to be—fire, for as long a period of time as this happens to remain the case. Cf. above, my comment on 11.1–8. By contrast, any natural cause capable of transforming something into fire must be something corporeal—a burning object, for example. On this see Wagner 1985, 273. 12.45–48. πῶς οὖν . . . μὴ φυγεῖν:We now have the first in a series of “problems and solutions” drawn up for the purpose of clarifying certain aspects of Plotinian theory. Form and matter do not interact with one another: they merely conjoin to compose the body, which alone has the capacity to interact (naturally) with other bodies. The most that could be said is that the form bestows on matter (phenomenally) a particular shape that prevents it—temporarily, of course—from displaying within it some other, com-



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peting (i.e., congeneric; see my comment on 9.20–37) shape, and in this manner it “restrains” it from “fleeing” (phugein) toward any other shape; cf. below, 13.8–11. 12.48–53. ἀλλ’ ὅταν διαιρεθῇ . . . οὐκ ἔφθαρται:The second in the series of aporiai has to do with the division of the body: because matter is a component of the body, how is it that when the latter is divided the former is not? P.’s response to this is entirely ad hominem, provided we assume an interlocutor who relies on Peripatetic assumptions: if we were to admit that anything that occurs to a composite entity must also occur to its constituent components, then the destruction of the body would entail the destruction of matter, which would be tantamount to the failure of the latter to fulfill its metaphysical role (cf. Arist. Ph. I 7, 190a13–b5). One could draw up a more comprehensive response than the foregoing by reflecting on the corresponding discussion in the first part of the present treatise: see primarily my comment on 4.41–52. For it would be possible to assert, by analogy, that matter “is divided” (or “affected”) only per extrinsecam denominationem, as the material cause of whatever the body incurs; cf. Calc. In Ti. 315, 312.14– 18; and van Winden 1959, 159–60, even though the latter tends to overemphasize the difference in approach between the two authors. 12.53–57. ἔτι λεκτέον . . . αὐτὴν εἶναι:An additional observation supplements the solution just provided to the second aporia raised: because division is an affection that concerns the volume or magnitude of a body, it can have no application to matter, which lacks magnitude; cf. II 4.9.1–5, with my comment. Consequently, if matter were passible, it could not be incorporeal: or, at least, it could not be “not body,” as the Peripatetics also allowed; see above, my comments on 6.3–7 and on II 4.1.14–18. 13.1–6. Ἔτι δὲ . . . ἐν εἴδει τινί ἐστιν:Another point requiring clarification is the sense in which matter avoids the “form” (eidos). Are we dealing, perhaps, with some tendency matter possesses to oppose or compete against form? Some power of disorganization inimical to the latter’s presence? The hypothesis is absurd, given that matter never has any subsistence apart from the appearance of some shape in it; cf. my comment on I 8.15.23–28. It is here beginning to become clear that P.’s interlocutors are themselves Platonists (seeing also that, at 11–13 below, they will be shown to accept Plato’s words as their own)—but Platonists who insist on a conception of matter that, leaving aside its Peripatetic heritage, leads them toward dangerously dualistic views. 13.6–18. ἀλλὰ τοῦ μὴ . . . καὶ ἕδραν:An array of quotations from the Timaeus provides support for the view that, when Plato says about the material substrate of becoming that it (49e2–4) “flees (pheugei) . . . without tolerating the designation ‘that’ or ‘this’ or ‘of this kind’ or any other which points to them as permanent beings,” he is referring to the fleeting images that appear upon it, not to matter itself. See also Matter 1964, 213–14. 13.18–20. καὶ τὸ λεγόμενον . . . ζητεῖ:The reference here is, as it seems, to another passage of the Timaeus, 52b3–5, which had been regarded by some as presupposing that

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Third Ennead even the intelligible Forms must be present in some (special) space. Such seems to be the point of the criticism advanced by Aristotle at Ph. IV 2, 209b33–210a2, as noted by Bréhier ad loc. Commenting on this particular passage of Aristotle’s, Simplicius, In Ph. 546.13–16, reports that Alexander of Aphrodisias had claimed apropos of it that the Platonic Forms, albeit immaterial, must be “in a place” (en topōi). The fact that P. chooses to employ the word euthunomenon (“which has been accused of ”) indicates his awareness of this criticism. 13.20–31. τίς οὖν οὗτος . . . καὶ ἐξίῃ:The radical otherness of matter with respect to beings (cf. I 8.3.3–18, with my comments) renders it essentially incapable of apprehending even so much as their imitations. This, then, is the real cause of the inconstancy and fluidity of whatever images appear upon it. 13.31–38. εἴσεισι δὲ . . . ὁρωμένων:It is not only insofar as they are images, therefore, that the things exhibited on matter are false; their very presence is false by reason of the shadowy subsistence of matter, which we have found to be identical with complete privation of being. We see this to be the case from the dependent character of their existence, their derivative and refracted way of being whatever it is that they happen (to appear) to be. 13.38–55. τὸ μὲν οὖν . . . εἰ ἦν αὐτά:P. comes back (for the third time; cf. 7.25 and 9.16) to the model of the mirror, because he senses the need for additional clarifications and adjustments. For although matter resembles a mirror in respect to its function—to wit, the production of factitious images—it does not do so in respect to its nature, because a mirror is, after all, a sensible object, whereas matter is neither corporeal nor sensible (cf. Pl. Ti. 52b1–3). Thus, he resumes the abstractive procedure I analyzed earlier, in my comment on 9.1–12, of citing a series of ever more “dematerialized” examples. We are now invited to imagine a mirror made of air, which, even if illuminated, remains transparent and produces images that are perceptible to the senses, but that nevertheless—and precisely because of its transparence—do not reveal their real nature as falsities. Finally, utilizing a vocabulary drawn from Plato’s Sophist (cf. mainly 240b3–12), P. describes a state of affairs that he regards as a complete inversion of reality: one where the intelligible archetypes, the “real Beings,” are nonexistent, while their sensible offprints, the “nonbeings,” are existent. The paradoxicality of this description is meant to disclose and highlight the ontological dependence of the latter on the former. 14.1–4. Τί οὖν . . . τὸ ἐν ἑτέρῳ:But aside from beings, the creation of images also presupposes the presence of a substrate within which they are to take shape, because it is a requirement of their very nature as likenesses or images; cf. Pl. Ti. 52c2–5. This substrate is matter, which may not possess any “being” or “substance,” but does have a certain kind of “presence”; cf. my comments on I 8.3.6–7 and 14.40–51. And in the apt formulation of Gill 1987, 49 (writing about the Timaeus), “an image depends upon a Form for its nature, but on the receptacle for its existence.”



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14.4–7. εἰ μὲν γάρ τι . . . τῷ οὐκ ἐθέλοντι:The images projected on matter do not have a subsistence of their own, because they are not “emanations” of beings, at least not in the sense of their consisting in something that escapes or becomes detached from There, before settling in some “other” (for matter as such a heteron, cf. II 4.13.26–32) place (hedran: cf. Pl. Ti. 52b1). Herein resides also the reason of their complete ontological dependence on beings, and of the shadowiness and facticiousness of their presence. 14.7–15. τῇ δ’ αὐτοῦ παρουσίᾳ . . . οὐ πληρουμένης:Both here and in the sequel we come upon some clear allusions to the myth of the birth of “Love” (Erōs) from “Plenty” or “Resourcefulness” (Poros) and “Poverty” (Penia), which Plato recounts in the Symposium (203b1–c4). Indeed, we soon discover that these allusions presuppose an allegorical interpretation of the myth, comparable to the one that P. was later to reject in his treatise “On Love”; see primarily III 5.5.5–10, with my comment. According to this allegorical reading, Poverty represents eternally deprived matter, which steals what it can from the realm of Being, without ever ceasing to be what its name indicates: absolute aporia (i.e., lack of means or resourcefulness) and endeia (i.e., need or indigence). The emphasis here is placed on the circumstance that the initiative for the creation of sensible images belongs to Poverty, which, with its “begging” (prosaitēsis: Pl. Symp. 203b4; cf. I 8.14.35) and its “rashness” or “presumption” (tolma: a word rich in connotations; cf. my comment on II 9.11.20–23; and esp. Num. fr. 52.96–97: “for blind and fortuitous presumption (caeca uero fortuitaque temeritas) has its origin in matter (ex prosapia siluae)”), succeeds in laying hold of something that does not belong to it. 14.15–18. τὸ δὲ . . . τοῦ φαντάσματος:In order to emphasize the fact that matter does not enter into direct contact with real beings, P. pretends that Plenty, with whom Poverty unites in the myth, does not represent Being itself—or the Good, as Plutarch, De Is. et Os. 374d, purports; as regards koros (“plenitude” or “satiety”) = Intellect, cf. III 8.11.36– 42, V 1.4.8–10, V 9.8.7–8, VI 7.35.23–26—but its irradiation, the “rational formative principle” (logos) that comes into it and “resourcefully” (eumēchanōs: cf. Pl. Symp. 203d6) configures the sensible forms; cf. III 5.9.1–16, with my comments, and IV 3.11.6–14. 14.18–26. ἐπεὶ γὰρ . . . κἀκεῖθεν εἶναι:P. puts aside the mythological allegory and seeks to provide some explanation for the paradoxical presence in matter of even so much as apparitions of Being, seeing that Being is entirely alien to matter (even though it is admittedly “close” or “neighborly” to it; cf. V 8.7.13–15). For insofar as these images derive from Being and participate in it, they must retain some trace, however wan, of ontic status. On the other hand, if Being is to act upon them, they too must be something; cf. Pl. Soph. 247d8–e3. How then do they appear to be present to something that is wholly and completely nonbeing (cf. my comment on 7.7–13)? To answer this difficult question, P. is obliged to take recourse once again in a simile: it is precisely the radical alterity of matter that causes images to “escape” from it (cf. 13.1–11, with my comments) and

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Third Ennead thus, in a certain manner, to be “reflected” off it (just as sounds are reflected off smooth and regular surfaces; cf. [Arist.] Pr. XI 7, 899b19–20), thereby creating the illusion of their presence there. But the participation of matter in these images is purely factitious; cf. O’Brien 1981, 110–11. 14.26–31. εἰ δ’ ἦν . . . ὑποδοχή:In the opposite case—if, that is, matter had the possibility of approaching Being and coming to participate in it—it too would acquire some form of ontic status, in which case it would be able to contain within it and “assimilate” whatever happened to come into it, thereby causing it to disappear. But in reality it consists in a space where the images of the intelligible congregate and appear, mingling together and combining with each other so as to constitute perceptible bodies, the quasi-­“substances” (ousiai); see further Kalligas 1997c, 404–6; and above, my comment on 9.20–37. 14.31–34. οἷον ὅσα . . . ἔξω δὲ συνίσταιτο:In order to explain in what way matter, without absorbing them, repels the images that come its way, so that they congregate somewhere on the outside and there merge into something composite (and active), P. alludes to a specific natural phenomenon, the identity of which is, however, difficult to determine with precision. Allowing themselves to be influenced, as it would seem, by the frequent comparisons with mirrors that have been effected up to this point, scholars usually conclude that the present reference must also concern something of the kind, in this case “burning mirrors” (pureia)—an invention familiar from the time of Archimedes (on this see Sesiano 1988, 193–94). Thus, e.g., Ferwerda 1965, 15; Theiler ad loc., 453 (ad 15.4); and, in part, Fleet 1995, 243–44. Yet the mention of the use of water in connection with such an apparatus appears to rule out this surmise. The greater likelihood is that what P. had in mind here was a variety of those “burning lenses” that had been known under the name of hualoi since the time of Aristophanes (see Nub. 766–72), and that, as Pliny HN XXXVI 199 mentions, could in later years also assume the shape of spherical glass containers filled with water. Cf. Alex. Aphrod. In Mete. 18.17–19. Whereupon it becomes evident that what attracts P.’s interest in their case is that the light is prevented from passing freely through the lens and is instead “concentrated” or “drawn together” (sunistatai or, at 15.2 below, sunagetai) so as to focus on a particular point outside it. Thus, bodies too are in essence located outside matter, which remains unaffected by them. They merely appear to be located inside it. 15.1–9. Ἐπὶ μὲν οὖν . . . τὸ ἀμιγὲς ἔχουσα:The model of the concentrating lens is naturally also in need of some adjustments; cf. above 13.38–41, with my comment. The spatial distance between the lens and the focal point on which the light rays concentrate corresponds, in the case of matter, to its otherness with respect to the images appearing on it. There is consequently no natural “boundary” (peras) separating these two, but there is an ontological differentiation, which does not permit their commixture. As explained a little further down, at 15.14–16, the fact of being “outside” (exō: cf. 14.34, 15.4, and 15.6) in this case is something discoverable not by the senses, but by “reason” (logos).



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15.9–14. καὶ τὸ αἴτιον . . . ὅτι μὴ ἐμέμικτο:Yet another comparison purports to show that the relation between matter and images is temporary, superficial, and nonessential. It is like those transitory beliefs and impressions that leave no residue in the soul, as they do not correspond to anything touching its essence; cf. above, 2.35–44. 15.16–23. ἐνταῦθα μὲν οὖν . . . τὰ προσιόντα:But not even this analogy is absolutely satisfactory. For the soul, in contradistinction to matter, is a real hypostasis and contains innate predispositions and activities of its own that, when they manifest themselves, are able to resist and eradicate any chance impressions it may have acquired from exogenous influences. Psychical processes are not at the whim of sensory (or even rational) apprehensions: they are also subject to direction by the spontaneous and self-­ruling activity of the soul; cf. III 1.10.4–10. 15.23–32. ἡ δὲ . . . οὐκ ἀκολουθοῦν:Conversely, matter possesses neither substance nor activities of its own and is consequently incapable of displaying any resistance, or even of conforming to and “following after” (akolouthein) the shadows of beings that appear upon it. Indeed, it could be said that matter does not even possess an autonomous identity (at this point it becomes possible to discern a divergence from the teaching of the Timaeus: cf. 50a1–2), and for this reason cannot be known or disclosed except indirectly, through a kind of rational reconstruction that is elsewhere characterized as a “bastard reasoning”; cf. II 4.10.1–31, with my comments. 16.1–15. Καὶ μέν τις . . . οὐ πῦρ γενήσεται:There existed, it seems, a tradition enjoying favor in certain Neopythagorean circles according to which the nature of matter was closely correlated with a kind of primary and indeterminate multiplicity or shapeless magnitude. The most important relevant testimony is that famous passage in Porphyry’s work On Matter, where the views of Moderatus concerning the origins of matter are compendiously reported (Porph. fr. 236F = Moderatus apud Porph. De silua apud Simpl. In Ph. 230.34–231.24). There, once due mention is made of the “first One” and, following that, of “the really Being and the Intelligible,” that is, the Forms, the discussion eventually narrows in on the “final nature, that of the sensibles, . . . which has been arranged according to the reflection of these (kat’ emphasin ekeinōn kekosmēsthai), the matter within them (tēs en autois hulēs) being a shadow of the nonbeing that firstly has being in respect of quantity (prōtōs en tōi posōi ontos ousēs skiasma), and something of even lower standing than this.” Shortly thereafter it is explained that this matter of the sensible bodies has as its “exemplars” or “archetypes” (paradeigmata) a “quantity . . . shapeless and undivided and non-­configured (posotēta . . . amorphon kai adiaireton kai aschēmatiston)” and the “Form, which is conceived by privation of the unitary rational principle that has gathered within itself all the ordering principles of beings”; see also my comment on I 8.4.22–24. Leaving aside the overall interpretation of this difficult passage, one thing that is made clear in it is that the matter of bodies is by its nature lacking in all those characteristics with which the higher entities will later “adorn” (kosmein) it, but it does possess on its own some kind of shadowy “quantity” (poson); on

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Third Ennead this, see Tornau 2000, 203–4. We can easily see how such a view could lead to a conception of matter as something innately “great” or, better, “of a certain magnitude” (mega), that is, as something in itself possessed of volume and having extension in space. It is to just such a conception that P. is objecting here, contending that matter in itself is not only “unqualified” (apoios), but also “unquantified” (aposos: cf. II 4.9.1–7, with my comment) and “without magnitude” (amegethēs: cf. II 4.11.13–36), given that the magnitude of a body is something that is determined by its “formative principle,” and not by its material substrate. 16.15–20. ἐπεὶ καὶ νῦν . . . οὕτως ὄντων:By means of an altogether unrealistic thought experiment (see treatise II 1 on his actual views concerning the eternity of the world), P. wishes to highlight just how radical his position is: if all bodies possessing volume were to vanish from the universe, then matter “would be left what it was” originally, that is, nonbeing, bare, and unadorned—an absolute void; cf. above, 7.31–33 and 12.19–20. 16.21–24. καίτοι . . . καὶ ἀπελθόντος τούτου:Cf. above, 9.9–10 and 13.42–43. 16.24–32. ἐὰν δέ τις . . . οὐ γὰρ σῶμα:The volume a body has is not attributable to any innate property of matter, but to the projection upon it of some immaterial magnitude of extension in space, which in turn reflects an eidetic being, for example, Great, and which, alongside other such images, is incorporated in the formative logos of the particular body. 17.1–2. Οὐδ’ αὖ . . . τῇ ἐκτάσει:There now begins a characteristically dense and synthetic exposition of P.’s theory concerning the way in which sensible objects participate in intelligible Forms. Three separate ontological levels are clearly distinguished: (a) the intelligible Forms or beings (e.g., “Magnitude” (megethos); capitalizing their initial letters in translation helps to differentiate them), which are occasionally marked out by an ancillary expression such as auto (“itself ”) or kath’ hauto (“in itself ”); (b) matter, which, although in itself unqualified and unquantified, subsumes “potentially”—inasmuch as it is itself a potentiality for all things (cf. my comments on II 5.2.1–14 and 2.26–35)—all pairs of opposite properties, such as “the great and the small” (cf. above, my comment on 7.13–23); (c) the images that are “inserted into” or “projected upon” (enseisasthai: cf. Pl. Ti. 52e4, as proposed by Fleet 1995, ad 17.7) matter by the Forms to which they are homonymously related—this being why they too are called “forms”—and that constitute the particular properties that contribute to the configuration or qualitative determination of bodies. The latter, in their aspiration to imitate some individual Form, somehow “extend” (ekteinein) or activate the corresponding possibilities of matter and “repress” the competing ones temporarily, without abolishing or eradicating them. There thus comes into being a phenomenal state wherein the substrate of matter appears to possess something that in reality it neither has nor can ever acquire, but can only “mirror.” Cf. Matter 1964, 215–16.



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17.12–21. ποιούντων γὰρ . . . πάντα εἶναι:Hence, the individual “formative principles” (logoi) bestow upon the bodies that they configure their corresponding magnitudes, so that the totality of active logoi causes the perceptible universe to have the volume it has, thus “mirroring” to the fullest extent possible the intelligible Form “Great.” P.’s momentary hesitation concerning which grammatical number he ought to apply to the characterization of matter as “other” (in l. 13: alla and allo), has its counterpart in an analogous puzzlement raised at II 4.13.30–32—which he appears to resolve to opposite effect in the present instance, thus placing special emphasis on the undifferentiated shapelessness of matter. As to the Anaxagorean expression “all together” in l. 18, cf. above, 6.23. 17.21–27. οἷον αὐτῷ τῷ φαίνεσθαι . . . τὸ ἐν ᾧ φαίνεται:Between the realm of Being and the domain of appearing there obtains a fundamentally homonymous relation, because the contents of the latter derive not only their names, but also their subsistence, from those of the former, without in any way sharing their nature as beings: cf. Pl. Phd. 78d10–e4, Ti. 52a5; VI 2.7.8–14, VI 3.2.1–9, with my comment on II 6.1.13–22; and also Gill 1987, 43–44. This homonymy creates the impression of entities being present in matter that have no direct relation with it. 17.27–35. μεγεθύνεται δὲ . . . καὶ οὐ τουτί:Every image that appears in a portion of matter “draws it out” so as to conform it to its own intelligible archetype. At the same time, as we have seen above (in my comments on 8.1–11 and 17.1–12), it “repels” its antagonistic congeners. In this manner it succeds in creating a “space” that it takes over, simultaneously preventing the appearance within it of certain other images. This exclusion of the co-­presence of different bodies within the same space is what creates the impression of their extension or volume; cf. II 4.9.12–15. 17.35–37. ὃ δὲ μή . . . ἔστη γὰρ ἄν:Whereas the images, however, and the bodies configured from them display this shadowy presence, matter itself, inasmuch as it is absolute nonbeing (see again my comment on 7.7–13), lacks any power to prevent the appearance of any one of these; the only thing it can do is to remain forever “other” (hetera), unmixed, and consequently uninfluenced by them; cf. my comments on 15.1–9 and 23–32; and Nikulin 2002, 10–11. 18.1–23. Ὁ τοίνυν . . . αὐτὴν ποιῇ:This lengthy excursus represents a single sustained attempt to describe the process through which a particular sensible configuration (in this case, the “great”) makes its appearance on matter. The process is delineated in intellective terms, forcing upon us the conclusion that it is transacted through the intermediary of a soul. The cosmological character of the narrative suggests that perhaps we ought to identify the soul in question with the cosmic Soul, or even, as Fleet 1995, 275–76 speculates, with a version of the Demiurge in Plato’s Timaeus; but anything of the kind is far from being assured. The crucial point is that the description has to do with the creation of a material body, most likely a living one (as implied by the references to a horse and an ox; their corresponding “essential” properties are due to the

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Third Ennead presence of their pertinent logoi, and not just of an isolated image), which is a bearer of the specific property, that is, which is “great” (mega). The inexhaustible dynamism of the Form causes its (secondary) activity to radiate outward and to come into contact with the absolute indefiniteness of matter. From this “marriage”—a comparison derived from the Timaeus, 50d2–4 (trans. Zeyl): “it is in fact appropriate to compare the receiving thing to a mother (mētri: cf. also below, 19.1), the source to a father, and the nature between them to their offspring”—there is produced an image of the Great, which in its aspiring toward its model sweeps along the corresponding portion of matter, giving it apparent greatness of volume. Consequently, matter possesses no other volume than that bestowed on it by the specific form that reaches it at a particular moment. It is, I believe, evident that the aim of this entire narrative is to describe the ontological structure underlying the phenomenal presence of bodies, while emphasizing the ontologically dependent character of the latter; its aim is by no means to provide us with a causal explanation of the creation of the sensible universe. Cf. above, my comment on 11.1–8. 18.24–31. ἡ μέν γε ψυχὴ . . . τὸ ποιῆσον:At the level of Forms, beings coexist without mutual opposition or exclusion in an eternal and unbroken harmony. Conversely, matter, though in itself receptive to any image reaching it from There, submits directly to the first one acting on it at a given time, while excluding the simultaneous presence of its congeners. On matter as shadow, cf. II 4.5.7–8, VI 3.7.3–9; as well as the fragment of Moderatus cited earlier in my comment on 16.1–15. 18.31–41. τό τε οὖν . . . τῷ μέλλοντι:Thus matter, then, will receive all things—every kind of formative principle with its peculiarities—but not all of them in the same place and at the same time, with the result that the bodies taking shape in this manner will be scattered around various places (and, we suppose, times; cf. Pl. Ti. 52b4–5), while sensible properties will compete against each other to seize hold of one place or another. This is the famous “battle over places” (machē peri tōn topōn), which, in the later Neoplatonist doxography, was regarded as a characteristic element of P.’s philosophical doctrine: see, e.g., Elias In Porph. Isag. 85.14–17; Elias In Cat. 5, 179.1–13; David In Porph. Isag. 18, 149.6–11. Yet although matter may be considered solely responsible for this battle, it in a sense conducts it in absentia, as none of the combatant forms ever comes into actual contact with it. 18.41–46. πῶς οὖν . . . παρὰ τὸν λόγον:It is only the universal Logos that occupies the whole of matter; see my relevant comment on III 2.2.18–33. The remaining “formative principles” are also all simultaneously present in matter, but divided up according to the organizational needs of the cosmic “living being” (zōion). 19.1–8. Τὰ μὲν δὴ . . . ὅπερ ἦσαν:Cf. above, 9.37–44, and my comments on 17.27–35 and 18.1–23.



III 6. On Impassibility

19.8–14. καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἐμψύχοις . . . οὐ γινώσκουσιν:As we saw in the first part of the treatise, the soul takes cognizance of corporeal affections “impassively” (apathōs); see 1.1–4, with my comment, and 2.33–37. The distinction, however, between two phases of the perceptual process, a sensorial one and a discursive one, allowed for the possibility of there being some gap between the two: of there existing certain sensory stimuli that never reach, or are ignored by, the primary perceptual capacity of the soul, and that therefore remain outside its consciousness. It is this possibility that we here witness P. explicitly confirming. The significance of this thesis was acutely diagnosed by Dodds [1960a]/1973, 135–36, who also pointed to a number of other pertinent passages (principally IV 8.8.7–11 and V 1.12.5–12; cf. also IV 4.8.8–13), but may perhaps have overlooked some important prefigurations of it: cf. above all (as Bréhier recommends ad loc.) Pl. Phlb. 33d2–4; but also Arist. Sens. 7, 447a15–17 and Strato fr. 112. 19.14–18. ἡ δὲ ὕλη . . . καὶ τιθήνη:The fact that matter is entirely impassible and “sterile” (agonos) causes it to resemble an inert “receptacle” (hupodochē) that has no involvement, either active or passive, in whatever takes place upon it. It is like a “wet nurse” (tithēnē), who nourishes something that does not belong to her, something to which she has no real attachment. Cf. Pl. Ti. 49a6. 19.18–25. ἡ δὲ μήτηρ . . . φύσις ἄγονος:Hence, matter is a “mother” (mētēr) only with the qualifications mentioned above, at 9.1–4. The Platonic simile may only be considered apt, P. hastens to clarify, if we subscribe to the ancient view according to which the contribution of the female to the conception of the embryo was a purely passive one, being strictly limited to “providing the place” for the deposit of sperm (and consequently of the form) by the male: see, e.g., Arist. Gen. an. I 20, 729a9–11 and IV 1, 763b32–33 (= Anaxag. fr. A107 DK); Alex. Aphrod. In Metaph. 107.9–10; as well as my comment on II 4.16.13–16. But P. goes further, discreetly correcting Plato in the light of the then most recent medical view on the subject, at least as we know it from the works of Galen. Cf., e.g., UP XIV 3, 288.9–11: “for indeed it is not the menstrual blood that is the matter primary and proper to the generation of the animal,” which is followed by a reference to his own De semine II 2, 611.17–615.14, where, after subjecting Aristotle’s view to criticism, he maintains instead that the contribution of either parent is both in “matter” (hulē) and in “productive power”(poiētikē dunamis), because “the sperm and also the menses possess both principles,” adducing as his main argument for this the similarity children display toward both parents; cf. on this last point V 7.2.9–10; and CH Exc. XXII, III 91. 19.25–29. ὅθεν, οἶμαι . . . τὸν νοητὸν λόγον:Upon concluding the exceedingly abstractive and obscure analysis that I have been seeking to retrace, P. takes a rather unexpected turn, offering a display of his allegorical powers (on the technical sense of the verb “to riddle” (ainittesthai), cf. I 6.8.19, with my comment, and III 4.5.4, III 5.2.24). He draws a parallel between the ithyphallic “ancient” Hermes and the world-­creating Logos (“universal rational formative principle”), which “impregnates” matter by inseminating it with images of the intelligible and giving shape thereby to sensible bodies; cf.

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Third Ennead also my comment on I 2.3.27–30. An altogether different allegorical correlation of this same mythological figure with, again, logos (but this time in the humbler sense of the word, as also in Pl. Cra. 407e3–408a7) has been handed down by Cornutus, Theol. Graec. 16, 23.16–22: “The ancients fashioned the older and bearded Herms having their phalluses erect, the young and smooth-­skinned ones having them slack, intending to represent that in those of an advanced age speech (logos) is fecund and perfected, while in the immature it is sterile and imperfect” (cf. Plut. An seni resp. 797f ). A more pronouncedly cosmological role is attributed to Hermes-­Logos by Plutarch, De Is. et Os. 54, 373b (cf. Porph. De statuis deorum fr. 359F. 106–10), who locates, however, the symbol of the fecundity of the divine in the phallus of another, somewhat more exotic deity, namely Osiris (op. cit. 36, 365b–c and 51, 371f–372a). But where we find all of these themes drawn together and composed into a unified set of religious beliefs and mystery ritual practices—as is the case in the present passage—is in the famous “Naassene Homily” bequeathed to us—peppered with caustic comments—by a near contemporary of P.’s, Hippolytus (Haer. V 7.27–30): “And this is the great and secret and unknowable mystery of the universe, which, among the Egyptians, is both concealed and revealed. For they [sc., the Naassenes] say that there is not a single temple at the entrance of which there does not stand naked that which is to be concealed, craning upward from below and crowned with all the fruit of the things that come into being from it. And they add that not only does such a thing stand in the holiest of temples before all other statues, but that it does so in a manner perspicuous to everyone . . . and the Greeks, having taken over this mystery from the Egyptians, preserve it until this day; for, as they state, we behold the similarly shaped Herms being honored among them. And the citizens of Cyllene, who pay exceptional honor to Hermes, call him Logos; for Hermes is the Logos. Who, being the interpreter and creator of all events equally both past and future, stood honored among them, configured into some such shape as this [cf. Paus. VI 26.5], which is the shameful part of man, having an impulse from lower things to higher ones. And . . . this—i.e., such a Hermes—is, they say, a guide and a conveyor and a creator of souls, etc.” 19.29–41. τὸ δὲ ἄγονον . . . τῷ μένοντι ἄρρενι:What appears to be a more eccentric and original allegorical interpretation is that of the Great Mother, Cybele—an ancient Phrygian godess with a significant presence in Rome (see Carcopino 1942, 49–171)—as a counterpart of corporeal matter; but cf. Num. fr. 52.100–102. The contradictory nature of this figure, who, although styled “Mother of the gods,” yet appeared in the company of the eunuch Corybants, is exploited by P. as a symbol of the sterile maternity of matter, while her followers are said by him to symbolize the images that surround her without being able to fecundate her and produce anything new. It is worth noting that Cybele was often identified with the Rhea of Greek mythology, wife of Cronus, whom P. refers to at V 1.7.32, again as a counterpart of matter, but with the added suggestion that the latter goddess somehow reflects the fluidity (cf. Pl. Cra. 402a4–b3: rhoē) of its nature, in contrast to the stability and fullness of intelligible Being.



III 7. On Eternity and Time

III 7 [45]. On Eternity and Time Synopsis 1 Introduction: Problems and methodology 2 Eternity is not intelligible Substance, is not rest in general, is not the Rest of Substance. 3 Is an intellection at once unitary and multiple, the life of Being. 4 Constitutes not anything incidental, but an essential attribute of intelligible Substance. 5 Is a complete life, and as such entirely simultaneous, 6 permanent, immutable, perfect, and unextended. 7 Time: Methodological preface Doxographical schema (T1–7). 8 Criticism of T1–5. 9 Criticism of T6. 10 Criticism of T7. 11 Exposition of P.’s theory. The generation of time. Its definition. 12 Description of the nature of time. The doctrine of Plato concerning the measurement of time. 13 Criticism of Aristotle. Vindication of Plato. Problems and solutions.

Introduction The concept of time is one of those basic notions that mark the emergence during the Archaic period of the first abstract, nonmythological frames of analysis applied to the explanation of reality,1 and hence its appearance is intimately connected with the birth of philosophy itself. From the very beginning, this concept was closely linked not only to that of change and motion, but also to that of human fate, the progress of which Time is seen to pervade or even regulate.2 The implications of impermanence and The introduction of “Time” (Chronos) as a primordial cosmological principle by Pherekydes (fr. 14 and 60) is possibly to be ascribed to the influence of Eastern beliefs (see West 1971, 28–36), but it can also clearly be classified as an attempt at the remythologizing of proto-­philosophical notions; on which, see Schibli 1990, 28–35. Something analogous could perhaps be said about the emergence of Chronos in the Orphic cosmogonies; see West 1983, 104, but also the reservations expressed by Brisson 1997, 150–51, 159–61. 2  In the cosmological fragment of Anaximander, fr. B1 DK, the cosmic constituents are presented as “giving justice and reparation to one another for their injustice in accordance with the ordination of time 1 

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Third Ennead mutability associated with “time” (chronos) led progressively to the formation of a correlative, antithetical concept, that of “eternity” (aiōn), which bore, however, the parallel connotations of “an unquenchable vital power” or even of the actual “fount of vitality”—life itself.3 Naturally enough, eternity came rapidly to be recognized as the way of existence of the incorruptible and immortal gods, one only partially accessible to mortals, who by sharing in it can enjoy a kind of divine gift.4 Thus during an initial phase in the development of philosophical thought, eternity was conceived as an endless and ageless duration of time, as everlastingness, which surpasses the transient succession of phenomena and embraces time in its totality.5 Such seems to be the conception underlying, for example, the insistent declarations of Anaximander that his “unlimited” (apeiron) is “immortal” (athanaton), “indestructible” (anōlethron), and “ageless” (agērō).6 But it gradually came to be realized that eternity, as the negation of transitoriness and corruptibility, was logically equivalent to atemporality, that is, to the total absence of time. The first, it would appear, to have arrived at this conclusion, even though the word aiōn is not to be discovered in any of his extant fragments, was in all probability Parmenides,7 who among the characteristic “signposts” of eon (“Being”) asserts that: Nor was it ever, nor will it be; for it is now, all together, single, continuous . . . (fr. B8.5–6 DK trans. G.E.L. Owen) Ever since, atemporal presence was regarded as indissolubly linked with the nature of every true Being, the immutability of which was thought to render nugatory any reference to “its past” or “its future,” seeing that these would be impossible to distinguish from its (eternal) “present.” Of course, the one who finally explicitly identified this kind of atemporality with eternity was Plato, who, in a celebrated passage of the Timaeus,

(kata tēn tou chronou taxin),” while for Solon, fr. 36.3, time is a kind of final judge of human actions; cf. also Theognis 967; Pind. Ol. II 16: “Time is the father of all things” and fr. 14; Eur. Antiope fr. 222; etc. 3  See, e.g., Hom. Il. 16.453, 19.27, 24.725; and Benveniste 1937, 103 ff., who considers the word to be related etymologically to the Latin iuuenis (“youth”). Of pertinence also is its very early meaning of “bone marrow” (which was regarded as the seat of life; cf. Pl. Ti. 73c2–d7); see, e.g., Pind. fr. 111; [Hom.] Hymn. Herm. 42. 4  See Pind. Pyth. VIII 95–97; and Aesch. Suppl. 574–84. 5  The early evolution of the word’s meaning was concisely captured by Arist. Cael. I 9, 279a22–28 (trans. Guthrie with added insertions): “The total time which circumscribes the length of life of every creature, and which cannot in nature be exceeded, they named the aiōn (‘life-­span’) of each. By the same analogy also, the sum of existence of the whole heaven, the sum which includes all time even to infinity, is aiōn (‘eternity’), taking the name from aei einai (‘to be everlastingly’), for it is immortal and divine.” See further Festugière 1949, 172–89. 6  Fr. B2 and 3 DK. Cf. the “Ageless Time” (Chronos agēraos) of [Orph.] fr. 1B13 DK, but also the aiōn-­ pais (“eternal [life]time-­child”) of Heraclit. fr. B52 DK. In addition, cf. the “long and countless time” spoken of by Ajax in Sophocles’ eponymous tragedy (646–47), and which appears to be identified with aiōn in an epigram that the Palatine Anthology attributes to Plato (Pal. An. IX 51 = ?Pl. Epigr. XV). 7  According, at least, to one hermeneutic tradition, the clearest expression of which may be found in Owen 1966, 317–19. For alternative approaches, see Tarán 1966, 176–79 (but also the apt criticism of Kahn 1968, 127–29); and Whittaker 1971, 16–24.



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37d3–38a2 (trans. Zeyl), draws a formal distinction between it and boundless duration of time:8 Now it was the Living Thing’s nature to be eternal (aiōnios), but it isn’t possible to bestow eternity fully upon anything that is begotten. And so he [sc., the Demiurge] began to think of making a moving image of eternity (eikō . . . kinēton tina aiōnos): at the same time as he brought order to the universe, he would make an eternal image, moving according to number, of eternity remaining in unity (menontos aiōnos en heni kat’ arithmon iousan aiōnion eikona). This number, of course, is what we now call “time” (chronos) . . . and was and will be are forms of time that have come to be. Such notions we unthinkingly but incorrectly apply to everlasting being (epi tēn aidion ousian). For we say that it was and is and will be, but according to the true account only is is appropriately said of it. Was and will be are properly said about the becoming that passes in time, for these two are motions. According to this description, the demiurgic deity, wishing to make the sensible world as similar as possible to its eternal model, conceived of time as a moving image of eternity, thereby securing the uninterrupted and perpetually regular motion of the celestial bodies.9 As Cornford pointed out,10 time is thus made to appear as a characteristic feature of cosmic order, a regulatory principle for the harmonic arrangement of the universe on the basis of arithmetic relations, and not as a preexisting element of the framework within which the ordering of the universe takes place, as in the case of “space” (chōra). Consequently, time—the image fashioned by the Demiurge—does not consist in the mere possibility of a succession of events, but in a stable and well-­ordered standard on the basis of which this succession may be measured arithmetically, an axis of reference on which we may plot events and thereby determine them chronologically. It is within this perspective that the celestial bodies in their movements record the pas8  See, e.g., Brisson 1974, 128–30. The reference to Parmenides seems incontrovertible; see Palmer 1999, 198–99. Nevertheless, in recent years—and in particular after the publication of an important article by Whittaker 1968, 131–44—it has been strenuously debated whether aiōn, for Plato, was not simply atemporal, but also something that transcends every kind of duration, or whether the latter view is not rather the product of the Neoplatonist (and more specifically Plotinian) (over-­)interpretation of the Platonic passage; see also Kalfas 1995, 383–84. But as Whittaker op. cit., 137–38, himself declares, his interpretation relies on a “literal” reading of the Timaeus as the narration of a creative process unfolding in time—a view that was, naturally, unacceptable to the Neoplatonists; see my introduction to II 1. Furthermore, the parallel passage from Plato’s Parmenides, 140e1–141e7, appears to deny not only temporality, but also any type of differentiation on the basis of duration. Finally, as noted by T. M. Robinson 1986, 143–51, certain careful nuances in the terminology of the Timaeus—such as, e.g., the term diaiōnios applied to the Forms, at 39e2—intimate that intelligible beings are subject to a wholly peculiar type of duration, one that is insusceptible of any “motion” or “change” (kinēsis). 9  The creation of time falls within the overall process of arrangement of the universe undertaken by the Demiurge. Its existence imposes a numerically regulated order on the irregular flow of changes and movements, and it introduces—by way of the invariable revolution of the heavens—a stable standard for the measurement of their temporal duration. 10  See Cornford 1937, 102–3; cf. Guthrie 1962–81, 5:301; and Goldin 1998, 133.

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Third Ennead sage of time like a sort of cosmic watchwork. For the movements of the celestial bodies subdivide—and thus measure—time, without, however, being identified with it. The closeness of the relation between time and motion becomes even more evident in the theory of Aristotle, according to which time is “neither motion nor without motion . . . but . . . something belonging to motion (tēs kinēseōs ti)” (Ph. IV 11, 219a1–10). This led him to formulate his famous definition of time as “the number of motion (arithmos kinēseōs) in respect of the before and after (kata to proteron kai husteron)” (op. cit. 219b1–10). As the very wording of this definition suggests, even though time constitutes a presupposition for the existence of any motion or change, knowledge of it is always with reference to some particular movement, the chronological passage of which is measured. This in turn leads to the somewhat unexpected conclusion that for time to exist, it is necessary that prior to it there should exist a soul, which alone has the capacity to effect the requisite measurement (Ph. IV 14, 223a21–29).11 Of course this does not make of time a subjective entity, it merely underlines that its existence logically presupposes a soul capable of recognizing the preceding and succeeding phases of a motion as being different from one another, and of measuring the chronological distance separating the two. This analysis appears to distinguish between two levels of temporality: (a) the first consists in a succession of states to which we may give the name of “motion” (kinēsis), and which in some manner constitutes the “substratum”12 of time, something that could—theoretically—subsist without the intermediation of a soul;13 (b) the second presupposes consciousness (and by implication the existence of its agency, the soul) of the difference prevailing between one temporal instant and another, as well as the ability to measure the distance between the two. It was probably with the second of these levels in mind that Alexander of Aphrodisias described man as “maker of time” (poiētēs tou chronou),14 in the sense, namely, that time, as a determinate temporal period, pre“One might find it a difficult question, whether if there were no soul there would be time or not. For if it is impossible that there should be something that will do the counting, it is also impossible that anything should be countable, so that it is clear that there would be no number either, for number is either that which has been counted or that which can be. But if there is nothing that has it in its nature to count except soul, and of soul the intellect, then it is impossible that there should be time if there is no soul, except that there could be that which, by being whatever it is, makes time be (all’ ē touto ho pote on estin ho chronos); as for example if it is possible for there to be motion without soul. The before and after are in motion, and time is these qua countable.” On this, see Bolotin 1997, 53–57 (whose remarks have influenced the preceding revision of Hussey’s translation). 12  The term is taken from Ross 1936, 68 and 611. 13  It is to something of this kind that we must consider the rather obscure phrase touto ho pote on estin o chronos in the passage quoted in note 11 above (which I, in this case following neither Hussey nor Bolotin, have translated as: “that which, by being whatever it is, makes time be”) to be referring. That the possibility being entertained is a purely theoretical one is implied by, in addition to other considerations, the fact that— according to Aristotle—any change in the world presupposes the existence of some mover, i.e., a soul; see Sorabji 1983, 93, with the references there provided. 14  Alex. Aphrod. apud Themist. In De an. 7, 120.16–20, the latter there adding the clarification that Alexander “thus makes of time a conception of ours (epinoian hēmeteran poiōn ton chronon), without granting it its own proper subsistence (hupostasin de oikeian mē didous).” See also Alex. Aphrod. De temp. 16, 95.11–12 Théry; and apud Simpl. In Ph.760.1–3. Cf. Stob. Ecl. I 8.40b, 103.7–8 = Dox. Gr. 318: “Antiphon [Paris MS.: Antiph11 



III 7. On Eternity and Time

supposes a consciousness that measures it on the basis of memory or, eventually, of its expectations.15 Nevertheless in at least one case Aristotle seems to have in mind a generation of time occurring independently of the consciousness of any movement outside the sphere of consciousness itself: “even if it is dark and we are not acted upon through the body, but there is some change in the soul, it immediately seems to us that some time has passed together with the change” (Ph. IV 11, 219a4–6 trans. Hussey). Here the “motion” that generates time is purely endo-­psychic, and not the by-­product of any external stimulus. We may consequently surmise that the succession of psychic states that comprises the substrate of the temporal assessment is in this case entirely spontaneous, that it occurs solely and exclusively to the conscious soul; and hence that, in such a case, time as change (i.e., at the first level) is “generated” by the soul itself. As far as we know, Aristotle did not concern himself with the elaboration or further development of this idea.16 Certain later Peripatetics may have been influenced by it in coming to embrace the Platonizing thesis that the presence of the soul is at the same time both the necessary and the sufficient condition for the existence of motion—and therefore also of time.17 By contrast, P. placed it at the center of his own understanding of time as a primarily psychical act that arises from the soul’s inherently discursive comprehension of things, and that assumes the form of a temporal succession or concatenation of different psychical states.18 Thus, time is revealed as a preeminently psychical phenomenon, an authentic manifestation of the life of the soul derived from its innate multifariousness and heterogeneity. Concurrently, P. succeeds by this manner of approach in reconnecting the concept of time with that of eternity (as required by the Timaeus definition referred to above), inasmuch as they are both shown to be forms of life: eternity of Intellect, time of the soul. And just as the former reflects the unbroken, reciprocally circumincessant unity of intelligible beings, the latter expresses the tendency of the soul to restore its internal cohesion by integrating its experiences and its dispositions into a single unitary “life” (bios). anēs in margin, Farnesina MS.] and Critolaos [assert] time to be a concept or measure (noēma ē metron), not something subsistent (hupostasin).” 15  That is at least how it is understood by Themistius, who justifies Alexander’s assertion on the grounds that man alone has cognizance of the past, as well as of the future, as such: “unless,” as he adds (op. cit. 120.14– 15), “in ants, bees and [other animals] that store their food there may also somehow be perception of future time.” Hence, it is possible to regard Alexander’s view as a prefiguration of Augustine’s hypothesis that time constitutes an “extension of the [rational] soul” (distentio animi); see Conf. XI 26; and Sorabji 1983, 29–30. 16  Festugière 1934, 23–28, has defended the view that the Plotinian theory of “psychological” time is an extension, in essence, of this Aristotelian idea to its logical conclusion. Cf. also Moreau 1948, 268. 17  This thesis is known to have been held by Alexander of Aphrodisias: see De temp. 16, 95.12–15; and cf. Simpl. In Ph. 760.12–761.9. 18  It is this way of understanding time that in more recent times led Bergson 1910, 104 (trans. Pogson), to formulate the notion of “pure [psychical] duration” (durée pure), which he describes as “a succession of qualitative changes, which melt into and permeate one another, without precise outlines, without any tendency to externalize themselves in relation to one another, without any affiliation with number”; cf. Mossé-­Bastide 1959, 182–86.

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Third Ennead This understanding of time makes of it a purely and peculiarly psychical act that follows on from the discursive function of the soul, and allows it to unfold itself into a succession of variegated but interrelated states, thereby developing its unitary intelligible presentations into sequential progressions of their images within it. This innovative and idiosyncratic theory in effect failed to find any continuators within the philosophical tradition. The later Neoplatonists, starting with Iamblichus, were led to a radically different understanding, according to which time is hypostasized as a separate entity within the far more complex system of hypostases they propounded.19 Conversely, in the modern era, theories such as Heidegger’s (on natural time as a measure of the transference effected within the “now”)20 or Bergson’s (on time as a projection of psychical “duration” in space)21 appear to follow in the wake of P.’s views, while extending them in directions that he would assuredly not have been willing to pursue.

Commentary 1.1–3. Τὸν αἰῶνα . . . τὸ πᾶν:The problem to be investigated in the present treatise is clearly posed within the context of the school tradition. As often happens with the opening sentence of one of P.’s treatises, the word legontes alludes to some traditional and generally accepted doctrine that is in need, however, of further elaboration and explication in order to become fully comprehensible; cf. II 1.1.1, II 4.1.2, III 6.1.1, and IV 6.1.1–2, but also the comparable expressions used in II 5.1.1, II 7.1.1, III 4.1.2, IV 9.1.1, etc. The “dogma” in question here is the radical ontological differentiation between time and eternity: the former being an inescapable concomitant of the sensible world of materiality and its characteristic “becoming” (gignesthai, genesis), the latter something apposite to the supra-­sensible and incorruptible nature of “Being” (einai, on). The—for Platonism—foundational distinction between these two ontological levels had of course already received its classic formulation in a celebrated passage of Plato’s Timaeus (27d6–28a4), which P. here seems to have in mind; cf., e.g., Nicom. Ar. I 1, 2.10–16; and Num. fr. 7. The systematic correlation of the Being-­becoming distinction with the pair “eternity-­time” (aiōn-­chronos) is also to be found in authors who draw on the Middle Platonist or Neopythagorean school tradition; see, e.g., Philo Mut. 267; and Plut. De E ap. Delph. 20, 393a–b. 1.3–8. αὐτόθεν μὲν . . . ἀποροῦντες:Cf. the famous passage from Augustine, Conf. XI 14, 17 (trans. Sheed): “What is this time (quid est ergo tempus)? If no one asks me, I know. If I want to explain it to a questioner, I do not know.” Aristotle had commenced his own treatment of the problem of time (in the Physics, IV 10) by listing a series of aporiai, the aim of which is to lay bare the paradoxical and elusive quality of its nature. P. lays particular emphasis on the contrast between the apparent conspicuousness of the psychical On this, see Dodds 1963, 228–29; and Sambursky and Pines 1971, 12–21. See, principally, Heidegger 1982, 242–49. 21  See Mossé-­Bastide 1959, 185. 19  20 



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affection brought on by a casual rational apprehension of the notion of time (and eternity), and the “exact knowledge” (epistasis) of the reality it represents. Philosophical investigation is not satisfied with the mere recognition, the conspective mental grasp (on the expression athroa epibolē—which McGuire and Strange 1988, 253, render as “cursory conceptual apprehension”—cf. II 8.1.40; and Strange 1994, 28n.17) and the naming of things: it seeks an understanding of their nature by exploring their ontological hypostasis and their correlations with, or dependencies on, other entities. This is what it means to view things “up close,” that is, to see them as they are, and not to rely on our first impressions or our habitual notions concerning them. And it is this specialized philosophical comprehension of time—about which Wittgenstein in his Philosophical Investigations, I 89 (trans. Anscombe), has explained that it does not mean that we “seek to learn anything new by it. We want to understand something that is in plain view”—that gives rise to our questions and problems. (The image of the difficulties that arise upon close examination of an object had earlier been employed by Plato in the Theaetetus, 208e7–10.) 1.8–16. τὰς τῶν παλαιῶν . . . προσήκει:Our first—and natural—reaction upon being faced with a philosophical problem is to revert to any pertinent solutions that were provided by earlier philosophers. Yet our recourse to these—P. tells us—should not be indiscriminate: it is not enough for us to reproduce the views of others, while living in a kind of dogmatic lethargy. We ought (a) to interpret them and to compare our interpretation to alternative ones, which may have been proposed in the past; also (b) to single out those views that appear to be closer to the truth; finally, (c) to examine them and assess them so as to arrive as far as possible at an “integral understanding” (sunesis) of the question, or perhaps even (as suggested at II 7.2.3–6) so as to be able to recommend additions or amendments to them; cf. VP 14.14–15. This program of philosophical investigation presents a number of similarities with Aristotle’s, as set out, for example, in Eth. Nic. VII 1, 1145b2–7 (see also Verbeke 1973, 188n.1), yet its methodical nature and its emphasis on the correct interpretation of older doctrines betrays the epoch in which it was formulated; cf. Strange 1994, 23–31; and Smith 1996, 196–97 (the latter going so far as to distinguish six different phases within P.’s program of investigation). 1.16–20. καὶ πρότερον . . . σαφὲς γένοιτο:It is hardly a surprise that the first of the “ancients” to come to P.’s mind is none other than Plato, who had conspicuously defined time in the Timaeus, 37d5–7 (trans. after Zeyl), as “an eternal image, moving in accordance with number, of eternity abiding in unity.” The ontological dependence of time on eternity implied by this definition (given that such is the relation obtaining between an image and its original) is indicative as well of the path that the pertinent inquiry ought to follow: any explanation of the nature of time presupposes knowledge of its archetype and cause (cf. my comment on III 1.1.8–11), which is to say, of eternity. 1.20–24. εἰ δέ τις . . . ἔχοι:P. does not, however, wish summarily to exclude an alternative, “anagogical” approach to the question, wherein a preliminary study of the phenomenon of time might lead, through “recollection” (anamnēsis), to knowledge of its

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Third Ennead model. Of course, we are free to assume that such a procedure might also entail some dangers. The fact that, in the absence of precise knowledge of its ontological cause, we can have only limited knowledge of time as it would appear to our perception (cf. phantastheiē: a point overlooked by Strange 1994, 32n.29), may lead to the erroneous (in P.’s view) impression that “eternity is an image wrought in the substance of time” (as Borges 2001, 123, puts it); see also Beierwaltes 1967, 149. Thus, while P. refers in the sequel to at least two attempts to define eternity on the basis of its analogies to specific philosophical views on the nature of time (see 2.1–4 and 20–21), these all prove in the end to be unfruitful and misleading. What he wishes to alert us to here is the methodological error that leads to impasses of the sort. Given also that the importance of recollection to P.’s epistemology is in any case relatively restricted (see my comment on I 6.2.7–11; and the somewhat extreme verdict of Blumenthal 1971a, 96–97), it becomes readily understandable why in what follows it is essentially the first approach that is adhered to: the investigation of eternity is placed in front (chapters 2–6), and that of time is placed after (chapters 7–13). 2.1–4. Τίνα οὖν . . . περὶ χρόνου:Nevertheless, what P. chooses as his starting point for the treatment of eternity is a view that relies on a supposed analogy between it and time: according to the testimony of Aristotle, Ph. IV 10, 218b1, there were certain thinkers who identified time with the celestial sphere itself—and there is moreover some likelihood that they were Pythagoreans; see below, my comment on 7.17–27; and cf. also Burkert 1972, 75–77; and Schibli 1990, 138n.10. Now if one conceives of time as the totality of things contained within the cosmic sphere, that is, as the totality of sensibles— for, as Simplicius, In Ph. 700.31–701.1, put it, “everything is within the heavens and everything is in time”—then it would be plausible to assume about eternity as well that it is nothing other than the whole universe of the intelligible, seen as a totality. Such a line of thought would not have been alien, for instance, to certain Gnostics, who believed, as did the author of Zostrianus (= NHC VIII 1, 115.8–116.6 and 121.1–122.4), that a supreme “Aeon” by the name of Kalyptos engenders and encompasses all the powers that together comprise the Plērōma, the Gnostic counterpart of the Platonic world of Forms. 2.5–9. ἐπεὶ γὰρ . . . οὕτω συνάγοι:The thesis identifying eternity with the intelligible universe is supported by two arguments: (a) The first is based on the fact that both may be characterized as “most majestic” (semnotaton), and runs as follows: (P1) (P2) consequently, (C)

Eternity is semnotaton, and The intelligible nature is semnotaton (cf. V 5.2.13, VI 7.22.21; and Arist. Metaph. Λ 9, 1074b18): Eternity is the intelligible nature.

This (invalid) syllogism is formally identical with the one reconstructed by Simplicius in connection with the “Pythagorean” view of time mentioned in my previous comment (see In Ph. 701.5–8), and it suffers from the same formal defect: though belonging to the second syllogistic figure, it contains two affirmative premises; on which, see Arist.



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An. pr. I 5, 27a18–19. This is the reason why in l. 7 there is introduced an additional third premise, which appears to be aimed at blocking the possibility that the two “most majestic” entities of P1 and P2 might represent separate kinds subordinated to a single genus. And that is why I consider it necessary to emend the text at this point, changing hopoteronoun (“whichever of the two”) to hopoterououn (“than either of the two”) according to a proposal of M. Frede, given that the reading handed down by the MSS seems, if interpreted strictly (which Armstrong in his translation is careful to avoid doing), to contradict the pair of premises, while the parenthetical explanation coming immediately after is intended to show that the only entity that transcends both the intelligible world and eternity, that is, the One, is beyond the attribution of any predicate whatsoever—even that of semnotaton. (As to this last point, however, P. does not appear always entirely consistent; cf. VI 7.39.29–34.) 2.9–10. καὶ γὰρ αὖ . . . καὶ τῶν αὐτῶν:(b) The second argument rests on the idea that both the intelligible world and eternity appear to contain exactly the same items, and therefore, because they have the same content, they must be identical. 2.10–19. ἀλλ’ ὅταν . . . κατ’ αὐτόν:The rebuttal of the above two arguments is somewhat confused in its formulation, but clear in its aim: it begins with argument (b) and notes that the inherence of eternity to the intelligible (cf. Pl. Ti. 37d3) as a property or predicate implies that the former is distinct from the latter, that it is merely present to it without being identical with it. This counterargument relies, as will be seen below, on the multiplicity of meaning of the preposition en (“in”), and to this extent again corresponds (by a curious coincidence) with an observation made by Simplicius, In Ph. 701.2–4. There follows the refutation of (a): the attribution of the same predicate (“majestic” or “most majestic”) to two different subjects does not necessarily entail their identity, as it may be the case, for instance, that the predicate is attributed to one subject per se, and to the other per aliud—because, that is, of the presence of the first. If, for example, we regard eternity as something semnon, then anything that possesses eternity as a property will itself also be “majestic”—albeit in derivative fashion. Toward the end of the passage, however, P. returns to (b) in order to bring out an essential difference: the way in which the intelligible universe and eternity “contain” the intelligible beings is distinct in each case. The former contains them as constituent parts, that is, it is made up of them. The presence of the latter, on the other hand, implies the attribution of a predicate to them (cf. Beierwaltes 1967, 151), and indeed of a special type of predicate. In a classic paper, Owen 1968, 108 ff., had distinguished three types of predicates that can be applied to a Platonic Form: Type A predicates, which are applied to it solely in virtue of its being a Form (“e.g., that it is immutable”); Type B1 predicates, which correspond to the logical characteristics of the underlying concept and correlate it with other Forms (as, e.g., when a given Form is said to be a pros ti, i.e., to belong to the category of relatives); and Type B2 predicates, which determine the content of the corresponding concept (“Man, for instance, is two-­footed and an animal”); see further my comment on II 6.1.8. It is obvious that according to this classification “eternal” (aiōnion) belongs to the predicates of Type A: that it constitutes, in other words, a categorial

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Third Ennead property of the Forms which signifies that all of them, and this in virtue of their ontological hypostasis, are eternally what they are. The importance of categorial properties of this kind for the constitution of the world of intelligible Forms and for its subordination to the supreme Good has been rightly pointed out by Santas 1983, 249–52, and it perhaps explains P.’s insistence in invoking eternity as a characteristic and fundamental feature of Being; see below 3.14–38. However this may be, the conclusion remains that inasmuch as eternity constitutes a property of intelligible beings, it cannot be identical either to any one of these or to their totality. For whereas the totality consists of every one of them as its parts, eternity is present simultaneously to all of them as an essential and constitutive feature of each. We thus catch here a first echo of Parmenides’ renowned “all together” (homou pan: fr. B8.5 DK), on which I remarked in my introduction to this treatise. Indeed, we also obtain a hint of what will be elucidated in the next chapter, namely, that eternity consists precisely in this complete co-­presence and reciprocal circumincession of the intelligible beings—because it is characterized by their simultaneous and perfect coexistence, and is not assured simply by their parallel existence to perpetuity, but only by the actuality of their mutual interarticulation, secured by such bonds of a priori logical dependence as bear no relation to any temporal or contingent parameters. Finally, it is the unity conjoining all beings with such indissoluble bonds that constitutes the eternity that distinguishes them. 2.20–24. Ἀλλ’ ἆρα . . . τῇ περὶ τὴν οὐσίαν:A second thesis concerning the nature of eternity deemed worthy of examination here is the one that, based once again on an analogy with time, identifies eternity with rest—the latter being, according to standard Platonic dogma, characteristic of the intelligible realm; see, e.g., Pl. Phdr. 253d4; Pl. Cra. 437a3–9; and cf. Num. fr. 4a.28–32, 5.19–28, 8.1–5, and 15.3, where particular emphasis is laid on the correlation between the “everlastingness” (aidiotēs) of Being and its motionlessness and fixity. Indeed, there even appears to have emerged a tendency among certain Middle Platonist thinkers to identify eternity with the “rest” (stasis) or the “stability” or “permanence” (monē) of the intelligible world; see, indicatively, “Alcinous” Didasc. 14, 170.26, where aiōn is defined as “the measure of the stability of the eternal world (metron tēs monēs tou aiōniou kosmou)”; and also Apul. De Plat. I 10, 201; CH Ascl. 31, 339.4–5; Calc. In Ti. 25, 76.2–3; Theod. Asin. test. 24. It is worth insisting on the fact that the problem is again posed here in a manner analogous to that in which Aristotle treats the problem of time in Ph. IV 10, 219a8–10: just as there, time is “either motion or something belonging to motion,” so here eternity is either identical to intelligible Rest, or is something partaking of it. In other words, the problem is whether eternity is the same as the concept of rest; or as Rest itself; or is something that merely participates in Rest and is thereby (i.e., by virtue of its participation) immutable and fixed, as intelligible Being is immutable and fixed. Or is eternity perhaps the very fixity of Being? 2.24–29. εἰ μὲν γὰρ . . . λέγωμεν:Three objections are raised against the identification of eternity with the very concept of rest. (a) If the two concepts had exactly the same content, then we would be unable (other than tautologically) to predicate one of the other.



III 7. On Eternity and Time

Rest would be self-­evidently and by definition eternal, and vice versa; there would be no room, for instance, for temporary rest. The fact that this conclusion is obviously regarded by its author as absurd indicates that he is not talking here of the Platonic Form of Rest (as those translators—e.g., McGuire and Strange 1988, 254—who make use of an initial capital letter appear to believe), but of the general concept of rest, which may be attributed as a predicate to either sensible or intelligible subjects. The preceding observation applies to the other two objections as well. (b) By the same token, therefore, eternity could not be predicated of the opposite of rest, that is, of motion. An eternal movement, as is (according to P.; see, indicatively, II 1.5.14–16) that of the celestial bodies, would be impossible if not self-­contradictory. (c) Finally, the concept of rest does not in and of itself include the notion of supratemporal eternity, given that the corresponding attribute may be applied as well to nonintelligible objects—for instance, to a fixed sensible object such as the earth (cf. II 1.7.3–4). Concerning the distinction (unmarked in either Armstrong’s or McGuire and Strange’s translation of the present passage) between to aei (“the always”)—that is, to aiōnion (“the eternal”)—and to aidion (“the everlasting”), see below, 5.15–18. 2.29–31. εἰ δὲ . . . ποιήσομεν:A further objection, addressed this time against the identification of eternity with stasis understood as Plato’s “highest genus” of Rest (cf. Soph. 254d4–5; the latter belongs to intelligible Substance in the sense that it is one of its constitutive parts, as detailed in my comment on II 6.1.1–8.): in such a case, for the remaining highest genera eternity would not constitute an inherent characteristic occurring to them by nature, but something external to them acquired by “participation” (methexis) or “interweaving” (sumplokē). Anything of the kind would be unacceptable to P.: eternity, as a categorial property of intelligible Being, must be substantively woven in with it and must represent an essential feature not only of the whole, but also of every one of its constitutive parts. At any rate, this was the message conveyed as well by the earlier reference—at 2.18—to the presence of eternity to “all such [parts]” of the intelligible world “at once” (homou). 2.31–36. εἶτα . . . οὐκ αὐτοστάσις εἴη:It is precisely this observation concerning the “synchronic” (and consequently extratemporal) nature of the presence of eternity to the intelligible realm that leads to a first attempt at a semantic explication of the term. Eternity is not correlated with extension in time, but consists in the transcendence and negation of it. Temporal duration entails partition and division, while eternity implies full and complete presence at each and every moment. This emphasis on the unity of eternity’s presence is traced by P. to a passage in Plato’s Timaeus (37d6), but it undoubtedly derives from the Parmenidean “Being” (eon), which, as was recalled in my introduction, is distinguished by its unity, its cohesion, and its resistance to partitioning in time. This atemporal conception of eternity as tota simul (“complete [and] simultaneous”)— according to the celebrated formulation of Boethius, De consol. philos. V 6—is detectible in a series of authors who were patently inspired by the phraseology of both Parmenides and the Timaeus; see, indicatively, Philo Deus 32; and Plut. De E ap. Delph. 393ab; as well as the other texts cited by Sorabji 1983, 119–23. No one, however, appears

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Third Ennead to have expressed it until then as precisely and categorically as P. What he projects as eternity’s ruling characteristics are unity and unextendedness (cf. I 5.7.22–30 and V 1.4.21–25). (The latter being a concomitant of the former, I considered it justified in my edition to adopt an emendation to the text at 2.32 proposed by M. Frede from en heni· eita to en heni te, which would allow for the following translation of the sentence in question: “Then again, we must think of eternity not only as at rest, but also as at one and unextended, that it may not be the same as time.”) Now, neither of these characteristics is an element of the semantic content of the concept of rest. We are thus led to the answer that is to be given to the questions raised earlier, as detailed at the end of my comment on 2.20–24: eternity is identical neither to the concept of rest in general, nor to Rest itself, which is a constitutive part of intelligible Substance (ousia). It is the categorial property that characterizes all intelligible and immutable beings and causes them to be eternal, that is, always what they are, unitary with themselves, neither divisible nor portionable among whatever transient entities chance to partake of them. It is the fact of their being at rest that allows them to remain in perfect identity with themselves, without any lapse or other variation. Consequently, eternity partakes of Rest, but all the while is something different from it. 3.1–3. Τί ἂν οὖν . . . ὁ αἰών:Following these preliminary clarifications concerning the character of eternity, we now move forward to an investigation of eternity itself, in order to determine precisely what its nature consists in. Right from the start, P. shows his desire to reconnect the discussion with the cosmology of the Timaeus—Plato being the other subject of “we call” (legomen)—by introducing a question of terminology: for in that dialogue, the intelligible model the Demiurge has in mind is characterized not only as “eternal” (aiōnion), but also as “everlasting” (aidion: 29a3, 37d1, e5). Do these two words, then, possess the same meaning? In spite of the fact that P. employs the latter in respect to the perceptible heavens (III 2.3.30, III 3.6.24, V 1.2.23), he does not appear to hesitate to attribute it as well to the intelligible realm (see, e.g., IV 7.8.38–43, V 1.6.38, V 4.2.18). That is why most recent scholars consider that there does not obtain any significant semantic difference between the two. We may take as representative the position of Beierwaltes 1967, 156–58, who adds that an essential differentiation of meaning between the two words becomes discernible only in the works of Patristic authors. Nevertheless, below, at 5.15–18, P. does proceed to draw a fine distinction between the two, and the way in which the question is posed here prepares us for it: are aidiotēs and aiōn one and the same, or is the latter what it is by virtue of the former (which is thus presented as a broader abstract property)? 3.4–5. ἆρά γε . . . νόησιν:I regard this sentence as stating a further aporia with respect to the nature of “everlastingness” (aidiotēs): does it consist in nothing more than a unity remolded through intellection by the abstractive isolation from intellective beings of a characteristic property of theirs? The answer that follows immediately, introduced by the familiar Plotinian ē (disjunctive, but see LexPlot, s.v. a, second para.), amounts to a qualified denial: everlastingness is no mere creature of the intellect, but a “reality” (phusis) as well.



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3.5–11: ἢ καὶ φύσιν . . . ὁμοῦ ἕν:The description that comes next is, though relatively brief, one of the most comprehensive, evocative, and vivid presentations bequeathed to us by P. of the intelligible realm as a unitary, vibrantly dynamic organism. “Everlastingness” (aidiotēs) is a unitary reality, the presence of which may be discerned within particular intelligible beings as their common ontological substrate, and which is configured into those five “highest genera” of Plato’s (see Pl. Soph. 254d4–255a2) that P. construed as the fundamental categories of Being (see VI 2.8.25–49). It thus comes to constitute “eternity” (aiōn), that is, intelligible Substance in its totality, seen, however, from a particular point of view—to be analyzed in the sequel—from which, if one examines it exhaustively and in depth, one may discern the constituents of its structural unity arranged together without the slightest interval between them—like the “streaks” that appear on a shiny, compact marble surface. In the words of Hadot 1960, 111, “the genera of being . . . appear as the different aspects under which our partitioning intelligence grasps the unitary life of the Intellect.” In other words, intelligible Substance is an unbroken unity possessing certain categorial properties, such as aidiotēs, which allow it to be characterized as aiōn. But when we study it with our “discursive reason” (dianoia: cf. on this point VI 2.7.23), this unity is analyzed into the nexus of the five highest genera, each of which represents a different structural constituent of this multiple unity (cf., indicatively, V 1.8.26 with the comment of Atkinson 1983, 196–97): Being represents the objective subsistence of the intelligible realm, whereas Motion, as will become further evident below, represents its procession from the absolute primal One (cf. Hadot 1968, 1:221; and my comment on II 4.5.28–31), and at the same time its constitution into a “living”—that is, organic—whole; Rest expresses its immutability and constancy; and, finally, Otherness and Sameness compose the network of logical relations thanks to which all beings together comprise a unitary whole. Hence, it would not be out of place to assert that, according to the viewpoint described here, these genera refer and correspond to one and the same thing, but represent different rational approaches toward it. 3.11–27. οὕτω δὴ . . . καὶ οὐκ ἄλλως:With an unusually long sentence, in the first ten lines of which we encounter no fewer than twelve participles and only one verb—the “sees” (eiden) of l. 16, any active power that it might have possessed being essentially “immobilized” by the twin cognate participles (idōn) placed before and after it (on which, cf. also my comment on III 2.3.20)—P. seeks to instill in us a way of conceiving of the intelligible that is the appropriate one in order for us to become aware of—or, better, to “visualize”—the eternity indwelling There. (An impressive parallel passage is to be found in the Gnostic apocalyptic treatise Allogenes, NHC X 3, 59.14–26.) In order for this to come about, we must first obtain a conspective view of the whole, thrusting aside as much as possible the otherness that discriminates between beings, and correspondingly laying emphasis on their cohesive elements, that is, those that connect them to each other and compose them into a multiple, dynamic unity; see Blandin 1999, 49. This cohesiveness of theirs is permanent and unvarying as an expression of their essential and primordial “activity” (energeia: cf. VI 2.7.16–31), the result being that they coexist in absolute and indissoluble simultaneity—what P. encapsulates here in the phrase “always

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Third Ennead having the all present”—which in turn secures the absolute simultaneity, or rather the extratemporality, of their intellection; cf. IV 4.1.11–13. Now this active way of being of the intelligibles, which renders them at the same time both objects and, as thinking intellects, subjects of intellection (cf. V 1.4.26–28, V 5.3.1–2), is characterized by P. as “life” (zōē), based obviously on the example of Aristotle, who, in Metaph. Λ 7, 1072b26–30, declares that the activity of the divine Intellect is “life most excellent and everlasting (zōē aristē kai aidios) . . . so that life and eternity everlasting and continuous belong to god”; cf. Cael. I 9, 279a18–27. And this “life” is identical with eternity; cf. Alex. Aphrod. Mund. A 126. One of its distinguishing features, therefore, is its being adiastaton (cf. I 5.7.21–24), that is, “seamless” or “without interval” between any one of its constituent beings and another, given that in some sense all are inherent in each (cf. V 8.4.22–25). Furthermore, eternity is not some superadded exogenous property that merely sets Being apart, but a constitutive structural feature that expresses the fundamental sameness binding together all of its virtual parts into an indissoluble organic whole; cf. Beierwaltes 1967, 32–34; and above, my comment on 2.10–19. We are thus witnesses to the formation, perhaps for the first time with such distinctness (but cf. Num. fr. 5.6–9), of the concept of the eternal and complete—cf. telos ameres (“partless completion”), perhaps an echo of the tetelesmenon (“completedness”) of Parmenidean Being; cf. fr. B8.42 DK—presentness of being, which of course has deep roots in the philosophical tradition that began with Parmenides (though cf. also Xenophanes fr. B26 DK) and continued with Plato and Aristotle. The basic common feature connecting the concepts of eternity and presentness is that of “partlessness” (amereia) or “indivisibility” (adiaireton), as Arist. Ph. VI 3, 233b33–234a24 refers to it. And it has been pointed out (by Sorabji 1983, 11–12) that the partlessness of the “present instant” or “now” (nun) guarantees that it is not subject to the process of “coming to be” (gignesthai: cf. Arist. Ph. VI 6, 237b9–11; and Num. fr. 5.13–21) and passing away. This, I believe, is the reason why P. insists on the partlessness of atemporal eternity, and also why he compares it to a dimensionless geometrical point—which, as is well known, was defined as “that which has no part”; see Eucl. El. I def. 1. The process of derivation of the different geometrical magnitudes (lines, surfaces, solids) by the continuous displacement, or “flow,” of an initial point successively along each of the three dimensions, seems to have already been known to the ancient Academy (see Arist. De an. I 4, 409a3–5; and Philop. In De an. 77.30–78.5; cf. Philo Opif. 49; Sext. Emp. Math. X 281; Iambl. In Nicom. Ar. 57.7–12; Procl. In Eucl. 97.6–17; and Burkert 1972, 66–69), and Simplicius even appeals to an analogous process for the derivation of time from the flow of the instantaneous now; see In Ph. 722.30–34. It is obvious that P. has this image in mind and that his intention is to lead us to grasp the “dimensionless” or “seamless” character of eternity as the simultaneous co-­presence of “all [sc., Beings] together” (homou panta) by denying to it any extendibility or mutability of such a kind; cf. VI 5.11.16–21. But he reiterates that eternity is not to be identified with the “substrate” (hupokeimenon) of intelligible Substance, but rather with one of its categorial properties: its complete and constant self-­identity; cf. Parm. fr. B8.29 DK; and my comment above on 2.31–36.



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3.27–36. τί γὰρ ἂν . . . ὁ αἰών:At this point, the identification of eternity with the perfect presence of intelligible beings beyond any temporal determination or susceptibility to change whatsoever takes the form of an analysis of a pertinent passage from Plato’s Timaeus, 37e5–38a5, which in turn alludes directly to Parmenides’ poem; cf. especially fr. B8.19–20 DK. The repeated echoes of this poem that we encounter in this treatise, and which I point to in my comments (see also the table furnished by Beierwaltes 1967, 178), are witnesses to the fact that P. reverted to the Parmenidean theory of Being as the originating source of the viewpoint in question, as I already remarked in my introduction above. The basic argument seems to rest on the fundamental principle of the completeness of Being: there is nothing that it might have had in the past, or that it might acquire in the future, that it does not already now possess. Consequently, its “past” and its “future” are included in its “present” and are thus abrogated as temporal determinations. What remains is the determination that it “solely is” (esti monon) in an eternal and transtemporal present; cf. V 1.4.21–25 and VI 7.1.45–57; parallel passages are collected by Beierwaltes 1967, 170–72; and esp. Num. fr. 5.6–7: “Being neither ever was, nor ever will come to be, but always is at a determined time, [which is] solely the present (all’ estin aei en chronōi horismenōi, tōi enestōti monōi).” Hence, this completeness of Being constitutes a primeval, constitutive feature of Substance that differentiates it from the other ontological gradients, even the One, which is characterized solely as “superabundant” (huperplēres: V 2.1.9). We may consequently observe here yet another point of correspondence with those Gnostic systems that refer to the transcendental universe as the Plērōma and to the entities that it contains as “Aeons” (aiōnes): see Zandee 1961, 14–15; Dillon 1992a, 107–8; and my comment on II 9.6.38–43. As noted by Kannicht and Beierwaltes 1968, 247–51, John of Scythopolis, in his Commentary on the De diuinis nominibus of (pseudo-­)Dionysius the Areopagite, incorporated entire sections of the present Plotinian treatise, a fact that is not without interest for the history of the manuscript tradition of the Enneads. More particularly, in the section (313c) containing the excerpt currently under investigation (3.34–36), John transmits a rather more extended version, which allows us better to understand the meaning of the infinitive metabeblēkenai. Specifically, his text runs as follows: “ . . . by not changing to the ‘will be,’ nor ever having changed (mēd’ au metabeblēkenai) from the ‘was’ to the ‘is’ (apo tou ēn eis to esti), this is eternity (touto estin aiōn).” Although in other cases John reveals a tendency to introduce the odd gloss into the text he is quoting, in this particular case it is not improbable that he is preserving a genuine reading, which to be sure does not essentially alter the meaning of the passage in question. 3.36–38. γίνεται τοίνυν . . . αἰών:We thus arrive at a first, “preliminary” (as McGuire and Strange 1988, 252, characterize it) definition of eternity (a second approach will be attempted at 5.22–28). Its basic elements are the following: (a) Eternity is an “essential” (en tōi einai: the translation of the phrase by McGuire and Strange is more perspicuous than that of Armstrong) and constitutive characteristic of intelligible “Being” (to on); cf. above, my comments on 2.10–19 and 29–31. (b) It consists in the “life” (zōē) of Being, that is, in its inherent intellective activity; see my comment on 3.11–27. The meaning to be ascribed to this “life” is what has up to

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Third Ennead now posed the greatest barrier to the understanding of the nature of eternity according to P., and it answers to one of the core enigmas of Platonic philosophy. For, as Hadot 1980b, 53, has observed, “to reconcile life and immobility represents one of the fundamental problems Plato posed for the whole of Western thought.” Thus scholars such as Kneale 1960/61, 99–100 (and see the other references provided by Strange 1994, 38n.45) find the notion of atemporal life anywhere from incomprehensible to self-­contradictory. Yet the origin of the concept is not to be sought in the field of biology, but in Plato’s Sophist, where it is introduced into a discussion concerning the constitution and content of “that which wholly is” (to pantelōs on), that is, of intelligible Being; see 248e7– 249a9. And as has been repeatedly observed, it refers there to the constitution of the intelligible into an organic whole, where each of its members receives its determination and signification from its interconnections with the rest; see, indicatively, de Vogel 1970, 197–98; and Perl 1998, 87–88. For There, the identity of each Form is determined by the position it occupies within the network of relations connecting all beings to one another; cf. my comment on I 3.4.2–6. And these relations, being also of a logical nature, are ruled by a binding and indefectible necessity in such a manner that the abolition of any single Form would entail and accomplish the abolition of the whole. Also, just as each member of a living organism comes to be what it is and to perform its peculiar function only within the framework of the organism as a whole and in correlation with all the other members, so too is the nature, and indeed the function, of each of those entities that comprise intelligible Substance defined by its interrelations with the rest and with the whole. And their intelligibility—which for them, of course, constitutes an essential property—depends immediately on this systematic interweaving and interarticulation of theirs, which is naturally also reflected in the manner of their intellective apprehension; on this, see Beierwaltes 1967, 32; and Gerson 1994, 117. This, then, is the kind of “life” P. has in mind here, which, to the extent that it signifies a network of synchronic structural relations, is entirely compatible with the extratemporality attributed to it; cf. IV 4.10.4–6. Furthermore, as an element promoting a binding and active interdependence and unity, it constitutes a primordial manifestation of the action of the highest principle, namely the One: see further Goldschmidt 1947, 74–75; Pigler 1999, 35; and Kalligas 2000, 27–28. Now, assuredly, the correlation of eternity with the “life” (zōē), or “mode of life” (bios), of the (intelligible) god was not something wholly new. Philo Deus 32, groping toward the notion of the extratemporality of the divine, reports: “so that there is nothing future to God, who has the very boundaries of time subject to him; for his life (bios) is not time (ou chronos), but the archetype of time and its exemplar, eternity (alla to archetupon tou chronou kai paradeigma aiōn); and in eternity nothing has either transpired or is pending, but everything solely subsists (alla monon uphestēken).” And cf. also Mut. 267: “ ‘eternity’ is the name given to the mode of life of the intelligible world, as ‘time’ to that of the sensible world” (a passage that seems to be echoed by Numenius, fr. 15.2); and Plut. De Is. et Os. 1, 351e, where the author ascribes “eternal life” (aiōnios zōē) to god. Here, however, we find this correlation embedded, on the one hand, in a hermeneutical tradition concerning the nature of the “complete living thing” (panteles zōion) of the Timaeus (31b1; cf. 39e8), and on the other hand, in a monistic ontological system, where intellection is regarded as the primal de-



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ployment into a seamless multifariousness of an absolutely unitary, and thereby ineffable, transcendent principle. (c) This “life” represents some of the basic characteristics of Being and is consequently completely present to every one of its constituent “parts,” thereby ensuring their direct mutual intercommunication. Origen too spoke of the “eternal life” (aeizōia) of the pious, the “undisturbed” and “seamless life” (adiastatos zōē) that consists in conformity to the superlative life of God; see In Prou. 2, 165.53–168.2 and 16, 196.27–30; and Tzamalikos 1987/88, 401. Nevertheless, it is only with P. that the notion of adiastatos zōē acquires its full and clear content, as it comes to be correlated with the ontological reciprocal circumincession of the intelligible beings. 4.1–5. Οὐκ ἔξωθεν δὲ . . . σὺν τῇ οὐσίᾳ:P. now seeks to provide additional clarification concerning the position eternity occupies within the totality of intelligible Substance. First of all, it is not an exogenous or incidental characteristic of beings, but a constitutive and essential feature of theirs. For the integration of each within the whole constitutes an inseverable element of its identity. Its ontological status as a “nature” (phusis) may be approached—as was already pointed out at 3.5–6—from three alternative but mutually complementary points of view, which are introduced through the respective employment of the prepositions en (“in”), ek (“from” or “of ”), and sun (“with”). (a) According to the first point of view, eternity becomes perspicuous in intelligible beings as the common property on the basis of which they remain always what they are (cf. 3.16–21). The manner in which categorial properties such as eternity—one of the “things that have primary being” (ta prōtōs onta)—inhere in the intelligible Forms is examined directly below, where the repeated use of the prefix en (in ll. 6, 7, 8, and 9) is sufficient justification for the insertion of the cognate preposition into l. 2 of the text after all’, as proposed by Perna: “ . . . but it is in that nature, and from it, and with it.” (b) According to the second, eternity is comprised “of ” (ek) the totality of intelligible Forms, in the sense that, as was said earlier, it represents their communal “life,” the synthesis of all their primary activities. (c) Finally, inasmuch as eternity represents one of their constitutive features, it necessarily coexists with (cf. sunonta) them: in its absence they could not even be thought of or become known. 4.5–12. τὰ γὰρ πρώτως ὄντα . . . οὗπερ ἡ ἀλήθεια:In the realm of the intelligible, then, aside from the “primaries” (prōta)—that is, the Forms properly speaking, which represent partial manifestations of the intelligible Substance (cf. VI 2.20.10–23)—there are also the “things that have primary being” (prōtōs onta), general properties characterizing the other intelligible beings collectively; cf. above, my comment on 2.20–29; and Smith 1996, 202. Among them are mentioned, apart from eternity, “beauty” (to kalon: cf. my comments on I 6.1.53–54 and 6.21–32) and “truth” (hē alētheia: cf. III 9.1.9–10, V 5.1.54– 68), with the supplementary clarification that the latter in this case does not consist in a correspondence with something external to itself, but in the fact that “it is what it says and it says what it is” (V 5.2.18–20; cf. V 3.5.25–88; and Emilsson 1996, 236–38). These properties of intelligible Substance, but also its internal arrangement, based on the log-

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Third Ennead ical relations governing the Forms of which it is comprised, render it an ordered “whole” (pan), and not a mere agglomeration of miscellaneous constituents; cf. Pl. Tht. 204a7– b9; and Arist. Metaph. Ζ 17, 1041b11–12. 4.12–28. δεῖ δὴ . . . ὥστε καὶ τὸ εἶναι:We thus accede to the core of the concept of eternity, which is none other than the fundamental feature of intelligible Substance, its constitution as a compact and complete whole, fully realized and perfect from every aspect, lacking in nothing (which is to say: not lacking in any being whatsoever); cf. V 1.4.12–21. The full synchronic presence of Being ensures the abrogation of all temporal determinations concerning it, as there is nothing either past or future that it is not already; cf. my comment on 3.27–36. Inasmuch as it is Being “actively” (energeiai), its “end” (telos) is contained within itself, and consequently it always possesses its substance completely, such that nothing can either be added to or happen to it; on this, see Nikulin 2002, 146–47. This point is further elucidated by means of a contrast with the way of existence of sensibles subject to generation: for in their case, activation and the actualization of their quasi substance or “nature” (phusis) is accomplished through “motion” (kinēsis), which tends to impel them toward their fully developed form (cf. Arist. Ph. II 1, 192b21– 23 and 193b16–18, with the analysis of Kalfas 1999, 144–46), and therefore requires time. Hence, their existence is correlated with a specific extension in time, while the nonexistence of the future is in their case tantamount to their extinction; cf. Plut. Quaest. Plat. VIII 4, 1007d (trans. Cherniss): “what is subject to generation cannot [be] apart from time, etc.” The poetic verb errein that is employed here to denote “falling off ” or “perishing” seems to have been selected for its resonance of a passage in Plato’s Philebus, 24d2. 4.28–33. καὶ τῷ παντὶ . . . τῷ μέλλοντι:Whatever obtains for particular sensible objects obtains also for the sensible universe as a whole: it too is perpetually in motion, rotating in a circle in its striving to approximate and imitate the supra-­sensible and motionless Substance; cf. II 2.1.1 and 39–51, with my comments. Thus, its aspiration for eternity makes it always advance toward the future, and its own perpetuity represents an image of the eternity of the intelligible; cf. V 8.12.17. 4.33–42. τοῖς δὲ πρώτοις . . . εἴη ἂν αἰών:Conversely, intelligible beings—each one separately, but also all of them together, as a complete organic composition—have no aspiration for anything external to them, because they already possess not only what each one is, but what all the rest are as well; cf. V 3.15.26, V 8.4.9, 9.16–17, VI 2.8.7–11; and Kalligas 2000, 28. It is this consideration that justifies the characterization of intelligible Substance as pantelēs, that is, “wholly complete” or “perfect in every way,” in what is of course a clear allusion to the panteles zōion (“complete living thing”) of Plato’s Timaeus (31b1; cf. Resp. V 477a3, and Soph. 248e8–249a1), but which also recalls Parmenides’ Being, tetelesmenon . . . pantothen (“complete in every direction”: fr. B8.42–43 DK): for already there, as now here, the presence of any nonbeing is excluded (cf. Parm. fr. B7.1, 8.12–13, 46 DK), and thereby too the presence of any lack or aspiration. This state, then, of uninterrupted repletion that renders Being always complete and perfect—or, in the



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expression of “Alcinous” Didasc. 10, 164.32 (trans. Dillon), aeiteles (“ever-­perfect”)—is what is denoted by the word aiōn. 4.42–43. αἰὼν γὰρ . . . ὄντος:The false etymology of the word aiōn (“eternity”) from aei ōn (“always being”) is familiar from Arist. Cael. I 9, 279a27 (see note 5 in my introduction), where it is thought, however, to supply corroborating evidence for the perpetuity in time and the immortality of the sensible world (but cf. Ph. IV 12, 221b3–7); on this, see Festugière 1949, 175–82. Indeed, it appears to have enjoyed wider acceptance: cf. SVF 2:163. (Porph. Sent. 44, 58.8, clearly draws on the present passage.) Yet, as Whittaker 1968, 138, observes, this etymology was peculiarly adapted to Platonic ontology, and may, perhaps, have contributed to Plato’s decision to employ the terms aiōn and aiōnios in the Timaeus. 5.1–7. Τοῦτο δέ, . . . τοιοῦτον: The difference between timeless eternity and everlasting immutability is here given its due emphasis. For the former does not consist in either a psychological state or in some chance external feature of particular phenomena, but in an ontologically grounded constituent of the very nature of intelligible beings. Consequently, it is inseverable from them. And this entails that it is logically impossible for us to discern earlier or later phases in any intelligible being, as such an eventuality would presuppose that it could be different from what it is; see also Strange 1994, 40. 5.7–12. τί οὖν . . . θεώμενος:Be that as it may, it also remains true that for P. ontological reality is never solely an upshot of abstract theoretical analysis. It is also a lived experience that reveals the deeper affinity connecting the life of the soul with its own roots in the “unwearying” (atrutos) nature of Being; cf. V 8.4.31; and Armstrong 1974, 192–99. Thus, eternity too may be observed and lived through intellective contemplation, in the act of which the soul, directing and dedicating itself to intelligible Being, tends to identify itself with it and to take on its features; cf. I 1.9.23–26, 11.2–8, with my comments, IV 7.10.34, and V 8.3.4–10. 5.12–18. εἰ οὖν . . . ἐμφαινομένης:Following the clarifications that have been provided, it now becomes possible to answer the question that had been raised at 3.1–3: “eternity” is not a mere property of intelligibles, but their very nature, which is articulated according to a stable “synchronic” structure in which “earlier” and “later” have no objective existence. On the other hand, “everlastingness” (aidiotēs) is the general abstract property of immutability, which nothing excludes in principle from being attributed to other, nonintelligible objects, such as, for example, the sensible universe as a whole (cf. III 3.6.24). See also Strange 1994, 34n.34. 5.18–22. ὅθεν σεμνὸν . . . ἐν ζωῇ:Given that eternity is identified, up to a point, with Intellect, and this Intellect (as a hypostasis) is identified with (the second) god (cf. V 5.3.1–4, V 8.9.13–18), the religious tone P. lends to his description is justified. The religious connotations of the word aiōn were of course especially pronounced during the period in which he lived (on which, see Nock 1934, 78–99; Festugière 1944–54, 4:176–

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Third Ennead 99; and Zuntz 1992, passim), and this certainly provided clear evidence, to his mind, that the “common conception” (koinē ennoia: cf. above, 1.4, and my comment on 7.7– 17) regarding the nature of eternity was on the right path. Nevertheless, he himself prefers to employ expressions drawn from the philosophical vocabulary: semnon (“majestic”: cf. above, 2.15–17, V 8.3.18; and Pl. Phlb. 53c6), atremes (“unshakeable”: cf. III 2.2.16, VI 9.5.14; and Parm. fr. B8.4 DK), tauton (“self-­identical” or “the same”: cf. Parm. fr. B8.29 DK), bebaion (“firm”: cf. VI 5.1.9; and Pl. Ti. 29b6). 5.22–28: εἰ δ’ ἐκ πολλῶν . . . τοῦ ὁρίζεσθαι:As a multiple unity or “one-­many” (hen polla: cf. V 3.15.20–26; and Pl. Prm. 144e5), Intellect comprises a multiplicity of constituents, seeing that each Form has its peculiarity that sets it apart from the others; see V 9.6.8–9 and VI 7.16.4–5. And although the number of Forms must be finite (otherwise they could not be conceived of as a totality; cf. V 8.9.23–24, VI 2.21.6–11; and Armstrong 1967a, 249), every one of them is infinite in its power to fashion sensible shapes. This, moreover, is what their infinite vitality consists in; cf. V 5.10.21–22, VI 4.14.3–12, VI 7.14.11–18; and Armstrong 1954/55b, 51. Hence, the total and unremitting presence of Being may be spoken of as “infinite life.” There is a problem here in the apparent contradiction that arises between this infinity of intelligible Substance and its characterization as “wholly complete” (pantelēs: above, at 4.38; but cf. also Parm. fr. B8.32 DK). In an as yet unpublished paper with the title “Parmenides and Eternity,” M. F. Burnyeat has suggested as a possible source of the difficulty P.’s misconstrual (or misreading) of the word ateleston in the poem of Parmenides (fr. B8.4 DK), which he took to mean “unending,” that is, “infinite”; cf. Owen 1960, 76–77. Although something of the kind cannot be ruled out—on the contrary, it seems to be confirmed further on, at 11.3—the fact is that in the present passage infinity is not attributed to beings themselves, but to their power, and their possession of infinite power is not in the least incompatible with their perfection. For in themselves the beings do indeed constitute a perfect and complete unity. 6.1–8. Ἐπειδὴ δὲ . . . ὃ δὴ ζητοῦμεν:Nevertheless, what secures eternity for intelligible beings is the powerful unity that pervades them and binds them together into a stable and interarticulated whole. And this unity, of course, represents a manifestation of the supreme One; see my comment on 3.36–38. This is what Plato is taken to have implied when speaking (in Ti. 37d6) of “eternity remaining in one,” but he, in turn, seems to have been echoing on this point a characteristic “signpost” of Parmenidean Being (fr. B8.29 DK): namely, that “remaining the same and in the same (tauton t’ en tautōi te menon), it lies by itself.” Hence “abiding” (monē) represented for P. a virtual characteristic of the One-­Good (see I 7.1.18–19, VI 8.16.25–26), which is reflected, however, at the level of the “Good-­like” (agathoeides) Intellect, where it is manifested as contemplative life; cf. V 5.5.1–14, VI 7.15.1–13; Pl. Ti. 29b6–7; and Aubenque 1976, 82. Conversely, because life also presupposes some kind of multifariousness, it is not to be found at the level of the absolute One, which, while being a cause of life, also resides beyond it; see III 8.10.2–3, V 3.16.35–38.



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6.9–21. τὸ γὰρ τοῦτο . . . ὁ αἰών:The insistence of this life of Intellect on unity, and on what Intellect itself is, results in its unwavering and genuine identification with its “being.” Cf., on this point, Plut. De E ap. Delph. 20, 393a–b: “But god exists, . . . and he exists for no [duration of ] time but for eternity (kat’ oudena chronon alla kata ton aiōna), which is motionless and timeless and undeviating (ton akinēton kai achronon kai anenkliton), and no [part] of which is earlier or later or future or past or older or younger; but being one, [god] has with the one ‘now’ filled the ‘always’ (heni tōi nun to aei peplērōke), and only what is in conformity with him has real Being, [and is] not something that has been or will be or has commenced or will cease.” At the same time, this life, inasmuch as it constitutes Intellect’s primary “activity,” will by its very nature be timeless, because—according to the Aristotelian analysis—every such energeia always contains its own “end” (telos) and is consequently complete at every instant, not having need of prolongation in time; on this see Arist. Metaph. Θ 6, 1048b18–35; McGuire and Strange 1988, 252–53; and Kalligas 2000, 32. Hence, the life of Intellect, too, is not a process—not something that evolves, progresses, or extends itself—but is straightaway accomplished and complete, a permanent and unvarying Being that is nothing other than eternity. That is why our intellection is not an operation with a beginning, middle, and end, but a permanent self-­identical state with which our individual consciousness on occasion comes into contact, whereupon it “suddenly” (exaiphnēs) acquires the possibility of direct access to the totality of intelligibles; cf. V 3.17.24–30, V 8.7.12–17. Sorabji 1983, 113, has collected the bulk of P.’s observations concerning the partless and unextended character of eternity, and he comes to the conclusion that they are testament to the fact that in the description of eternity as a synchronic presentness we possess the first clear statement of the doctrine of atemporal eternity, which—principally through Boethius (see De trin. 4.64–77; De consol. philos. V 6.9–31; and Beierwaltes 1967, 198–200)—exercised a major influence on the philosophy of the Middle Ages. 6.21–26. ὅταν δὲ . . . ὡς μὴ ἐπιλείψοντός ποτε:P. feels the need to justify in some way the manner in which we refer to eternity. For when speaking about it, we find it unavoidable to resort to expressions containing temporal determinations, thereby implying temporality. Even the word aei (“always”) conveys the notion of unlimited extension in time, which is in contradiction with the absolute simultaneity and compact unity of eternity. Yet expressions of such a kind are indispensable if we are to be guided toward an understanding of eternity. There occurs here something analogous to what we find in mythological narratives, where simultaneous states of affairs are often depicted in temporal succession in order to gain in evocativeness and perspicuity; cf. III 5.9.24–29, with my comment. We are therefore obliged to construe the term aei in a peculiarly synchronic manner, if we are to realize that it signifies not that the eternal always is, but that it cannot (logically) but so be; see Strange 1994, 40; and cf. Procl. In Ti. I 239.2–6, where a careful distinction is drawn between the two meanings of aei. (In any case, Plato appears already to have drawn a distinction between the “eternal” (aiōnion) and the merely “indestructible” (anōlethron), in Leg. X 904a8–9.) See also above, 2.28–29; and Sorabji 1983, 114–16.

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Third Ennead 6.26–36. τὸ δὲ . . . τὸ πᾶν:We thus conclude that eternity is essentially identical with the second hypostasis, Intellect, which is most aptly called “He Who Is” or “Being” (ho ōn); cf. Num. fr. 13.4, with the note of des Places. Whereupon the question arises, what semantic contribution does the adverb aei make to the etymological explanation of aiōn that was adduced above, at 4.42–43? For the expression aei ōn (“always Being”) seems by now to be tautological, if not downright misleading; see Weiss 1941, 235. P.’s answer to this is that because of the improper use of the term on (“being”) by philosophers such as Aristotle or the Stoics (but cf. Pl. Ti. 35a2–3; Apul. De Plat. I 6, 193–4) to designate bodies, the term aei serves as a reminder here that what is under consideration is that which is “truly Being” (alēthōs ōn) and is incorporeal. In other words: aei ōn = alēthōs ōn = pantelōs on; cf. above, 4.37–40, and my comment on 3.27–36. The example of the true philosopher and the one “who appears in that guise” or “acts the part” (hupoduomenos: on this cf. Pl. Grg. 464c5–d1) alludes, of course—as Beierwaltes 1967, 209, observes—to the relevant discussion in Plato’s Sophist (see esp. 235a1–2), but also (as his phraseology indicates) to the corresponding reference in Aristotle, Metaph. Γ 2, 1004b17–26. 6.37–38. Πᾶν οὖν . . . ἡ τοιαύτη φύσις:The resonances from the poem of Parmenides continue apace: cf. fr. B8.5 (pan), B8.23–24 (oudeti tēi mallon . . . pan d’ empleon), B8.33 (ouk epideues), and B8.44–48 DK (oute ti meizon oute ti baioteron etc.). 6.38–42. τὸ γὰρ ἐν χρόνῳ . . . λέγοιτο:The preconditions for an entity to be truly and perfectly a being are such that nothing corporeal could satisfy them. Even the celestial bodies, which unresistingly obey the promptings of the Soul that moves them (cf. my comments on II 1.3.1–5 and 13–23), have need of the future—which is to say, of temporality—in order to satisfy their aspiration to Being; cf. above, 4.28–33, with my comment. Consequently, they are imperfect. Hence, they may only be characterized as “beings” homonymously; cf. my comment on III 6.17.21–27. 6.43–50. ὅτῳ δὲ ὑπάρχει . . . καὶ τῇ οὐσίᾳ:Here we find the clearest formulation respecting the atemporality of Being and, by implication, of eternity. The latter is explicitly distinguished not only from any determined period of time, but also from infinite temporal duration, that is, sempiternity, because it belongs to a higher ontological order and is therefore ontologically and logically prior to both; cf. above, 1.16–20. For, as the life of Being, it possesses the latter’s partlessness (cf. above, 3.19) and remains permanently in contact with its essence, without requiring any prolongation in time in order to accede to it. 6.50–57. τὸ δ’ “ἀγαθὸς ἦν” . . . εἰληχότων:The problems posed by Plato’s Timaeus for its interpreters are notorious, especially when it comes to the way in which the succession of events depicted there is to be understood. Its literal interpretation as a description of a creative process accomplished in time presented exceptional difficulties, and P. preferred to observe the hermeneutic tradition that regarded the pertinent myth as an alle-



III 7. On Eternity and Time

gorical development of a synchronic state of affairs; see my introduction to II 1; and also Pépin 1964, 86–94; and Sorabji 1983, 268–75. The phrase quoted here is from the beginning of the narration of “Timaeus” (Pl. Ti. 29e1), and refers to the Demiurge before he sets out on his task. The tense of the verb “was” (ēn) appears to suggest some definite time in the past during which he (whom P. normally identifies with Intellect; cf. my comments on VP 20.92–96 and II 1.5.5–14), but also the intelligible paradigm to which he refers (i.e., the realm of the Forms), “was.” This seems to breach the fundamental rule stated earlier (at 6.18), according to which for the order of beings there is no prior or posterior. Yet P. interprets it as signifying instead the ontological—and, hence, the causal—dependence of the sensible universe on the intelligible one; cf. III 2.1.20–26; and Baltes 1976–78, 1:133–34. Furthermore, he claims that Plato himself later in the same dialogue hastens to conform to the above rule (see Ti. 37e4–38a2) and to correct his manner of expression, clarifying (cf. eti de saphesteron . . . eipein: Ti. 50a4–5) that all intelligible beings exist “always” (aei); see Ti. 51a1. 7.1–7. Ταῦτα οὖν . . . τοῦ χρόνου:P. insists that a purely theoretical or doxographical approach to the subject of eternity will not suffice; see above, 1.3–13. What is required is direct, lived “experience” of intelligible nature in order to arrive at a complete understanding of it; cf. my comment on 5.7–12. We must ourselves partake of eternity. But how is it possible for anything of the kind to occur in time? The answer to this is that whereas eternity is extratemporal, our relation to it forms part of our own history. It has to do with the degree to which we have succeeded in redirecting our attention toward the intelligible core of our being and in identifying ourselves with it; cf. Gerson 1994, 119–20; and my comment on I 1.11.2–8. By way of these “bridging” considerations, P. has now led his investigation to the subject of time. 7.7–17. καὶ τοίνυν . . . λόγος: The understanding we have achieved through our investigation of the concept of eternity has placed us in a position from which we can also survey the level of its reflected image, time. The method we ought to adopt for this purpose could be a basically anagogical one, taking as its starting point the “internal awareness” or “conception” (ennoia) of time that our understanding of eternity entails, and proceeding to examine the logical implications regarding its nature and its presence in the domain of becoming. As others have observed, a lot hinges here on the term ennoia: it refers to the preanalytical apprehension we might have of a subject before we submit it to rational processing or go on to explore its logical implications. Its derivation seems to go back to the Stoic “common” (koinai) or “natural conceptions” (phusikai ennoiai: see SVF 2:83; and Sandbach 1971, 23–27), yet even some Middle Platonist thinkers such as Plutarch (Quaest. Plat. I 4, 1000e: “innate conceptions” (emphutoi noēseis)), the anonymous commentator of the Theaetetus (Anon. In Tht. 47.44–45), and “Alcinous” (Didasc. 4, 155.26–34)—cf. also Cic. Tusc. I 24.57—employed the term to designate those conceptions that are stored in the embodied soul and provide it with the bases of scientific reasoning, accommodating more or less the same theoretical requirements as Platonic recollection; see Strange 1994, 26–28; and Opsomer 1998, 206–10.

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Third Ennead While readily adopting the term (cf. esp. VI 5.1.1–12, with the comment of Tornau 1998a, 321–22), P. significantly reassesses the contribution that ennoiai make to knowledge. According to the Stoic viewpoint, these “conceptions” were, during the initial stages of their presence in the soul as “preconceptions” (prolēpseis), unarticulated and confused, and therefore the intermediation of rational processes was required in order to control and arrange them systematically into organized knowledge (see, indicatively, Epict. Diss. II 11.13–18 and 17.7–13). Instead, to P.’s way of thinking, they represent authentic echoes of the “intelligible principles” (noētai archai), the “clarity” (enargeia) of which may render them firm bases for any kind of demonstrative or otherwise rational task; cf. my comment on I 3.5.1–4. Nevertheless, he appears to maintain certain reservations concerning their trustworthiness, especially when their acquisition occurs without due caution, “all at once” or “in a rush” (athroōs: cf. above, 1.4, and II 8.1.40). For the manner in which they come to be apprehended and integrated into a given discursive train of thought may, for all that, prove erroneous because of the soul’s inability to negotiate a correct approach to their intelligible principles, which alone provide the proper guarantees of their validity; on this see Phillips 1987, 40–42; and Blumenthal 1989, 258–67. This is what renders imperative our taking recourse in the views of the “blessed” (makarioi) thinkers of the past, so as to cross-­check and control our intuitions by submitting them to the test of comparison against the conflicting views and arguments of philosophical tradition. It is this combination of a critical assessment of the tradition, a comparative and systematic discursive elaboration of our conceptions, and a thoroughgoing analysis of our (internal, for the most part) experience that provides the methodological foundation for the entirety of P.’s philosophical thought; see the important article by Armstrong 1974, 171–94. 7.17–27. τριχῇ δ’ ἴσως . . . τῆς τεταγμένης:The classification of older “opinions” (doxai) concerning time is effected according to a tripartite schema of division that rests on the basic presupposition that time has something to do with motion. To ground this presupposition, P. reverts, of course, to the primitive “conception” (ennoia) we possess of time, which comports the notion that time cannot be correlated with rest, the genus opposite to that of motion, because it is obvious that inasmuch as its existence requires “a before and an after” (proteron kai husteron: cf. Arist. Ph. IV 11, 219a33–b1), and these in all cases have to be different from one another, its nature will be interwoven with that of “otherness” (heterotēs: cf. VI 3.22.37–44), with the result that it will always be “other” (heteros) and not “the same” (ho autos), and hence never at rest. Cf. on this point Wagner 1996b, 76, but also the manner in which Kant, in his “Transcendental Exposition of the Concept of Time,” deduces the concept of time from the law of noncontradiction: “only in time can both contradictorily opposed determinations in one thing be encountered” (see Kant 1998, 180 [B 48–49] trans. Guyer and Wood). The doxographical framework against the background of which P. elects to present his views on time is drawn, for the most part, from book IV of Aristotle’s Physics, supplemented by certain additional viewpoints, probably of Stoic inspiration. The various theses examined may be schematically represented as follows:



III 7. On Eternity and Time time motion

T1. all

T2. of the universe

what is moved

T3. the sphere of the universe

T4. something belonging to motion T8. (either all or only the ordered kind)

T5. its interval

T6. its measure

T7. its concomitant

T1 is drawn from Aristotle, Ph. IV 10, 218b9–18, who attributes it to some unnamed adherents—possibly even to the common belief of the multitude: “But as time is most usually supposed to be motion and a kind of change . . .” (trans. ROT, my emphasis). There is probably little likelihood of its bearing any relation to the dubiously reliable testimony of “Aëtius” I 22.7 (Dox. Gr. 318 = SVF 2:514) that “the majority of Stoics” considered “motion itself ” to be the essence of time; cf. below, T5 and T7; and Clark 1944, 337. T2 is summarily introduced, together with T3, in Arist. Ph. IV 10, 218a33–b1: “Some assert that it is ‘the movement of the whole’ (tēn tou holou kinēsin), others that it is ‘the sphere itself ’ (tēn sphairan autēn).” Commenting on this passage, Simplicius In Ph. 700.17–21, reports that some earlier interpreters such as Eudemus, Theophrastus, and Alexander (cf. op. cit. 705.5–7) ascribed T2 to Plato (cf. “Aëtius” I 22.1 = Dox. Gr. 318a9–10; and Diog. Laert. III 73), while certain others ascribed T3 to the Pythagoreans, “perhaps misunderstanding Archytas, who declared time in general to be ‘the interval of the whole’ (diastēma tēs tōu pantos phuseōs: for the justification of this translation, see my comment on I 6.1.13–4)”; cf. [Archyt.] Cat. 24.16. As Simplicius discerns, this pseudo-­Archytan definition is in reality the product of a distortion or misreading of the Stoic definition T5, and consequently its only actual link with the Pythagoreans remains the testimony of “Aëtius” (op. cit. 318a2–3). Nevertheless, its archaic character, which caused Aristotle to describe it as “excessively naive” (euēthikōteron: see Ph. IV 10, 218b8) renders its ascription to the Pythagoreans quite plausible; see also above, 2.2–4, with my comment. T4 emerges as an intermediate conclusion at Arist. Ph. IV 11, 219a9–10: “Since, then [time] is not motion, necessarily it must be something belonging to motion.” In essence this thesis represents a step toward T6 and the final Aristotelian definition, and it opens the way for the tripartite division that follows. T5 was the position held by Zeno the Stoic; see SVF 1:93—“Zeno declared time to be ‘the interval of motion’ (kinēseōs diastēma)”—and 2:510; cf. 2:515. It would appear, however, that this view eventually came within the orbit of Platonism, where it achieved doctrinal status in a qualified version as “the interval of the motion of the universe” (tēs kinēseōs tou kosmou diastēma); see “Alcinous” Didasc. 14, 170.24–25; “Aëtius” I 20.2 = Dox. Gr. 318a4–5; Sext. Emp. Math. X 170; and Runia 1986, 217. T6 is endorsed by Aristotle Ph. IV 12, 220b32–221a1, 221b7, and explicated by Simplicius In Ph. 736.23–35, as meaning that inasmuch as the unit of measure of motion is

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Third Ennead defined in temporal terms, time will also be the measure of motion as a whole. Cf. also [Pl.] Def. 411b3. T7 comes down to us in the main as an Epicurean thesis—see Usener 1966, 211 [fr. 294.10–11]; cf. Epicurus Ep. Her. 72–33; and Lucr. I 459–60: “likewise, time does not exist in itself, but there ensues (consequitur) upon events themselves a sense of it. . . .” Cf. also Demetrius Lacon apud Sext. Emp. Math. X 219–27: “accident of accidents” (sumptōma sumptōmatōn). However, the term parakolouthoun (“ensuant” or “concomitant”) also formed part of a second Stoic definition of time, this one formulated by Chrysippus (SVF 2:509): “the interval concomitant with the motion of the universe” (to parakolouthoun diastēma tēi tou kosmou kinēsei). On this, see Verbeke 1973, 196–97; and Rist 1969, 273–80. It appears, however, that certain Peripatetics also defined time as “a concomitant of motion” (parakolouthēma kinēseōs), and that they may have ascribed this definition to Aristotle himself; see Themist. In Ph. 91.15–16, and cf. Arist. Ph. IV 12, 221a24–25. Of particular interest is the distinction introduced in T8, which seems to be a reverberation of the well-­known dispute within the ambit of Platonism as to whether the cosmogony of the Timaeus was to be interpreted literally or not; see my comment on 6.50–57. For, on the one hand, those who adopted a “synchronic” interpretation would have had no difficulty in admitting that time pertains to every kind of motion, because, like the universe, it is in itself without beginning. But, on the other, those who held that the sensible world was created in time had to explain how time existed before the Demiurge fashioned the universal mechanism of celestial movements, with which “Timaeus” explicitly correlates the “making” of time (Ti. 37d5–e4). Thus Plutarch, Quaest. Plat. VIII 4, 1007c–d (trans. Cherniss), for example, contended that “Plato said that time had come to be simultaneously with heaven but there had been motion even before the generation of heaven. Time there was not, however, for there was not order either . . . but motion indeterminate (kinēsis aoristos). . . . Time, then, since it is thus necessarily implicated and connected with the heaven, is not simply motion [cf. T1] but . . . motion in an orderly fashion that involves measure and limits and revolutions.” Cf. also Procl. In Ti. I 276.31–277.7; and Baltes 1976–78, 1:43–45. 8.1–8. Κίνησιν μὲν . . . χρόνος δὲ οὔ:The examination of the theses included in the above doxographical chart begins with T1, which is also approached, however, from the perspective of T8: time can neither be the totality of movements in the universe, nor just the orderly movement within it. The two arguments adduced in favor of this conclusion are different from the ones Aristotle had employed at Ph. IV 10, 218b10–18, and to which the phrase kai allōn legomenōn (“and though other arguments can be brought”) possibly alludes. But the first is based on a premise drawn from another section of the same work (Ph. VI 4, 235a11): to wit, that “every motion occurs in time.” (This of course holds—according to P.—only for movements in physical space, which are the ones that the proponents of the pertinent view had in mind; he himself will later go on to speak of “the life of the soul,” a kind of motion that is not in time, but time itself; see 11.43–44; and Callahan 1979, 100.) Now if we admit that for something to be in time means that



III 7. On Eternity and Time

it is measured by it, that is, that it has time as its standard of measure (cf. Arist. Ph. IV 12, 221a4–7, b21–22), we appreciate the impossibility of any movement being measured by itself. Nor could time, by the same token, be the common measure of all movements. The second argument is more straightforward: motion is subject to interruption, but the course of time is not, as it measures not only motion, but also motionlessness; cf. Arist. Ph. IV 221b7–9. 8.8–14. εἰ δὲ . . . εἰς τὸ ἥμισυ ἠκούσης:The discussion of T2 is introduced by way of an objection to the second of the above arguments: what about the motion of the universe, which never ceases (cf. Arist. Cael. II 1, 284a2–6)? And this being so, what prevents the revolution of the heavens from being what time is? The answer, if I understand it correctly, is two-­pronged, corresponding to the two different ways in which the phrase “revolution of the universe” may be construed. (a) It may be taken to refer to one complete cycle, at the end of which the universe will have resumed its initial position—that is, to what certain astronomers called the “Complete” (teleos) or “Great Year” (megas eniautos); on which, see van der Waerden 1952, 129–38. This version could indeed draw support from a passage of the Timaeus (39c5–d7), while the associated theory of recurring cosmic cycles appears to meet with the acceptance of P. himself, for example, at V 7.1.23–25. Nevertheless, it fails to solve the problem. For time may not properly be regarded as equivalent to the distance traveled by the heavenly bodies in the course of a single revolution, but rather as equivalent to the temporal interval in which that revolution is accomplished. Consequently, the latter—along with its subdivisions—may serve as a unit of measure of time, but not as the definition of its essence, which is a presupposition for the determination of the unit of measure. Else, if we were to take time as equivalent to some section of a complete revolution of the universe, we would be reverting in essence to an instance of T1. 8.14–19. καὶ τὸ ὀξυτάτην . . . καὶ μέρος αὐτοῦ:Alternatively, (b) we may construe “revolution” as the speed with which the celestial spheres accomplish their motion. Yet this varies from sphere to sphere, with the outermost one moving faster than all the rest, thereby also producing the sharpest of the sounds composing the “music of the spheres” (cf. Alex. Aphrod. In Metaph. 39.22–40.9 = Arist. De Pyth. fr. 203). Consequently, time, being uniform for all things (cf. Arist. Ph. IV 10, 218b13; and Clark 1944, 339–40), cannot be identified with the speed of all the spheres, nor even with that of a single one alone. Yet in his brief treatise “On Time” (extant solely in Arabic and Latin translations), Alexander of Aphrodisias seems to support the view that time is to be identified with “the number of the movement of the heavenly sphere . . . that moves from east to west, [which] without doubt is the swiftest of them [all], and is in accordance with order”—that is, with the number of the movement of the outermost sphere of the fixed stars; see Alex. Aphrod. De temp. apud Sharples 1982b, 59–67, §§ 10, 15, and 19. P.’s response to this is that if this movement is “the quickest” (tachistē), it must be something other than time, seeing that time does not possess speed, but is that by which speed is measured.

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Third Ennead 8.20–22. Εἰ τοίνυν . . . χρόνος εἶναι:T3 is dealt with by P. almost as cursorily as by Aristotle (Ph. IV 10, 218b5–9). If anyone held time to be the celestial sphere itself, this could only be due to its movement, whereby the thesis reduces to T2. 8.23–30. Ἆρ’ οὖν . . . ἅμα ἔσονται:We now turn to the examination of T5, and we begin with its more generalized Stoic version. If we were to understand time as the temporal interval over which a movement extends, it would follow that there exist an infinity of times, because every movement has its own duration. But this would eliminate any possibility of comparison between movements on a temporal basis, as they would possess no common element. Furthermore, it would breach the fundamental theoretical requirement of time’s uniformity. 8.30–32. εἰ δὲ . . . ἡ κίνησις αὕτη εἴη:In its most developed form, T5—which, as we saw, enjoyed broader acceptance (see above, my comment on 7.17–27)—defined time as “the interval of the motion of the universe.” P. organizes his criticism—as Igal points out ad loc.—under four points. The first is that (a) if this interval is the particular temporal duration characterizing the movement in question, then there is nothing to it besides the movement itself, which brings us back to T2; cf. my comment on 8.8–13. 8.32–35. τοσήδε μέντοι . . . ἀλλὰ τόπος:Again, (b) if the duration of this movement were held to be determined by the length of the arc traversed by the circumference of the universe, this would be tantamount to a reduction of time to space. 8.35–53. ἢ αὐτὴ ἡ κίνησις . . . ἐν χρόνῳ:A third possibility entertained is (c) that we might take the interval of the motion to be something like the quantity of the movement concerned; cf., in this connection, the view of Strato fr. 76, and the pertinent observations of Boethus of Sidon apud Huby 1981, 399 (= Anon. Schol. in Arist. Org. 20.17–22, 1:45 Waitz). By way of clarification we are offered the image of the flow of water, but this, unfortunately, proves even more resistant to comprehension than the theory it is called upon to elucidate. Indeed, Ferwerda 1965, 64, goes so far as to suspect that P. is possibly engaging in humor here, but this would represent a rare exception, and would moreover be entirely out of place in context. My own view is that we should understand the example as referring to the functioning of a clepsydra, then the most common instrument for the measurement of time; cf., e.g., the mechanism described in a preserved fragment of Heron of Alexandria’s De horoscopiis, fr. 2, 1: 506, where the measured interval is expressed as the “ratio” (logos) of two quantities “of flowed water” (rhuentos hudatos). The flow of water within it was computed utilizing certain measured markings yielding numbers indicative of temporal intervals, for example, hours; in the theory under examination, these would correspond to temporal periods such as years. The total quantity of water present in the clepsydra would here represent, as it seems, the total movement of the heavens in the temporal interval of a single cosmic cycle. It is obvious that the duration of the flow will depend directly on the available quantity of water, but also that time will only “flow” during the interval of the water’s flowing. Con-



III 7. On Eternity and Time

sequently, the existence of time will be indissolubly tied in with the motion of the universe, and its duration absolutely correlated with the “interval” (diastēma) covered by the universe in its progression. P.’s objection is again (cf. my comment on 8.8–13) that in this manner time is taken, in the end, to be the quantum traversed by the cosmic sphere (or the “quantity” of its motion), instead of that within which this motion is accomplished. We are thus faced once again in essence with a reduction of time to space. See further Verbeke 1973, 202. As for the secondary issue, whether there is such a thing as “instantaneous” motion, that is, motion “that occurs all at once” (athroa), P. could have invoked (as he had at VI 1 [1].16.33–36) the authority of Aristotle, who admitted its existence (Ph. I 3, 186a15–16 and VIII 3, 253b23–26), the Stoics having apparently held a different view; see Goldschmidt 1969, 38. In any case, P. seizes on it here as further evidence that time is something independent of motion. 8.53–62. εἰ δὲ . . . ἔξω τιθέμενος:The last case to be examined (d) seeks to connect time even more immediately with the “extension” (paratasis) of motion. But this is either tautological (if we understand extension as temporal extension) or entirely indistinct, as long as we have not previously clarified which element of motion—other than the distance it has traversed (cf. b) and its “quantity” (cf. c)—determines its duration. 8.63–67. καὶ γὰρ αὖ . . . ἀμφοῖν ὄντα:One further argument is brought in to complete the rebuttal of T5, version (d): the rigid correlation of time with motion fails to account for the case of motionlessness in time. For, as Aristotle Ph. IV 12, 221b7–9 had maintained, “since time is the measure of motion, it will also be the measure of rest; for all rest is in time.” Indeed, it appears that the Peripatetic Strato of Lampsacus had argued with particular insistence for the disconnection of time from motion; see fr. 77–79. His objective had probably been to rid time of “the kinematical aspects of physical phenomena” (see Sambursky 1959, 101), and would undoubtedly have been shared by P. For to the latter’s way of thinking, time was not something relative, a mere accident of motion, but an element independent of, and removed from, the events occurring within it. 8.67–69. τί οὖν . . . ἔξωθέν ἐστιν:Cf. 8.32–35, with my comment. Just as time is independent of motion, so also is “place” or “location” (topos). It might well be said that we have here an early prefiguration of the concepts of “absolute” time and space, which were slated to provide the foundation for the Newtonian theory of motion. 9.1–2. Ἀριθμὸς δὲ . . . σκεπτέον: We move on to examine T6, which is initially formulated in the terms of Aristotle’s classic definition—Ph. IV 11, 219b1–2: “for this is what time is: the number of motion in respect of the before and after”; cf. also Cael. I 9, 275a14–15—but is then modified in line with the critique that Strato, fr. 75, had directed against it: “for he [sc., Strato] does not admit time to be the number of motion, since a number is a discontinuous quantity (diōrismenon poson), while motion and time are continuous (sunechēs), and the continuous is not numerable (to de suneches ouk arithmēton).” Cf. Alex. Aphrod. Mund. A 69.

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Third Ennead 9.2–15. πρῶτον μὲν . . . μέτρον ὄντα:The first point to which P. devotes attention is that time, as a concept, ought to cover—as we saw to apply with regard to “interval” (diastēma: cf. above, 8.23–24)—all cases of motion, irrespective of whether these are “regular” or “irregular,” or even, more generally, of the “disorderly” kind; cf. on this, Eudemus fr. 86. This point assumed particular importance in the light of the distinction introduced by T8. For if time is the measure of any motion, even of the disorderly kind, then there is at least a theoretical possibility that time existed even before the establishment of the orderly movements of heaven; cf. Eudemus fr. 82b, but also the view of Galen as reconstructed by Sharples 1982b, 74–75. But this implies that, on the basis of the definition provided, time will consist in an independent temporal measure, with reference to which the measurement of all the varied motions may be effected—yielding, of course, not a mere number, but a number accompanied by a specific unit of measure. Thus, for example, we could employ a common temporal measure in order to measure two different movements, exactly as we might employ “yoked pair” as our unit of measure in order to count both horses and cows. Whereupon, of course, although we will have explained how time is employed to measure motion, we will not yet have said what time is in itself; see also Clark 1944, 344–45. 9.15–17. εἰ μὲν . . . μοναδικοῦ: On the other hand, time cannot be an absolute, entirely abstract number, because it would not then differ in any way from the purely mathematical numbers. (The term monadikos here means “consisting of mathematical units”; see LSJ, s.v. I; and cf. VI 3.13.5–7; and Pl. Phlb. 56d4–e3.) 9.17–31. εἰ δὲ . . . ὅση ἡ κίνησις:We return to the modified version of the Aristotelian definition, where “number” has been replaced by “measure,” which can of course be continuous, allowing time to be reckoned as a measurable magnitude and not as a numerable multiplicity. We thus obtain the image of time as a length—a length measured by another, determinate length that serves as unit of measure. This simile raises a number of problems that are only briefly touched upon (the particular one mentioned in l. 21, whether time is the measure of motion or vice versa, seems to derive from Arist. Ph. IV 12, 220b14–18), but the chief one is the following: to what does time correspond? To the measurable length, which stands in for the measurable movement, or to the measure by means of which we effect the measurement? The first alternative would take us back to T1, while the second would preclude time from being measured, as it would instead be that which measures. P. therefore hints in passing at a third solution, reserving his detailed exposition of it for chapter 12: time is what results from the application of a measure on a movement with a view to its measurement. This does not, of course, reveal to us the nature of time, but it does at least afford us the possibility of approaching it as a measurable magnitude, and at the same time points to the presence of someone effecting such a measurement as a necessary precondition of time’s existence. 9.31–35. ἀλλ’ ἐπὶ μὲν . . . μέτρον γίνεται:A reminder of the difficulties that, as was stated at 9.5–6, will need to be overcome by anyone attempting to apply any measure (temporal or other) to an irregular movement. The reason behind them is, as Aristotle, Ph. V 4,



III 7. On Eternity and Time

228b16–18, had suggested, that such a movement will not be uniform (so as to be susceptible of a single measurement), but “divisible” (diairetē), that is, made up of a multitude of particular movements. 9.35–50. εἰ δὲ δὴ . . . ὃ τοσόνδε ἐστίν:A possible variant of T6, following all that has been said, would be for time to be conceived not as the measure of motion, but as the quantitatively determined movement itself. But what, then, is the measure on the basis of which this determination has been made? The temporal unit of measure must be some magnitude that accompanies the movement and measures it, attributing to it a number expressive of its temporal magnitude. Now, is this number time? Or is it perhaps the magnitude that the unit of measure represents? Neither of these two responses in isolation appears satisfactory, but for the present P. avoids combining them and thereby arriving at the conclusion that time is this number along with the unit of measure—their product, as we would put it today. Perhaps the reason for this is that such a combination can only be realized in the consciousness of a measuring soul—an element that at this stage of the discussion remains to be introduced. 9.51–55. ἀλλ’ ὁ ἀριθμὸς . . . ἡ δεκάς:P. dwells a little longer on the question of whether time can be an absolute number (cf. above, 9.15–17), which, however, is employed to measure the temporal magnitude of a movement. The reason why he does so may have something to do with the persistence of a Peripatetic tradition that held—against the categorical declarations of Aristotle, Ph. IV 11, 219b7–8 and 220b8–9—that time is not a numerable entity, but something by means of which we number. Indeed, Aspasius had gone so far as to alter the text of the second of the above Aristotelian passages in order to lend justification to this thesis; see Simpl. In Ph. 714.32–34. But Alexander had also gone along with this line of interpretation (and had in fact cited, as P. does as well, the example of the ten horses, which also derives from Aristotle, Ph. IV 12, 220b10–12, 20– 22, and 14, 224a12–15); see Simpl. In Ph. 729.7–15; Philop. In Ph. 738.24–32. Such a view, however, depicts time as a product of intellective abstraction applied to a movement unfolding within the natural universe, and consequently as something essentially nonexistent as an autonomous natural magnitude. Whereupon, of course, the question that arises is to what extent movement in the external world is necessary in order for there to be time, or whether time does not rather subsist independently of movement, solely as a product or factor of psychical life. On this whole subject, see Strange 1994, 43–47. 9.55–68. ἢ οὗτος . . . ὁ χρόνος:But the Aristotelian definition of time (see above, my comment on 9.1–2) indicates which aspect of motion is measured by time: namely, “the before and after.” And the latter come to be determined whenever in the progression of a movement we successively employ two different temporal points to mark off as many “instants” or “nows” (nun: cf. Arist. Ph. IV 11, 219b12–18). Yet, as Aristotle pointed out (op. cit. 219a14–15), the primary significance of the terms proteron and husteron is a locative one. For, as Themistius In Ph. 145.27–148.2, explains, if we take the motion of a runner in a stadium as our example, it will be his break from the starting line that will be

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Third Ennead regarded as the “before,” and his arrival at the finish line that will be regarded as the “after.” Thus when we distinguish two different positions or “points” (sēmeia) in the progression of a movement, we also acquire cognizance of the temporal interval between these two instants or “nows”; “so when we divide movement and cut it up by ‘nows’ into many segments, are we doing anything else than speaking of time and of parts of time? For the past and the future of which time consists are nothing else than the before and after of movement, which are always determined by ‘nows’ and numbered as distinct from one another. Therefore time is identical with the before and after in movement, when these are determined and numbered; and they are determined in no other manner, than when ‘nows’ impinge upon the soul in twos, one as ‘before’ and limit of a prior movement, the other as ‘after’ and limit of a posterior movement, i.e., just as when we conceive of these as extremities and as different from the middle.” And a few lines later (150.19–23) Themistius goes on to conclude: “for the before and after of movement are numbered according to the passage of that which is moving, . . . and because that which is moving comes to be at one time at the place before, and at another time at the place after, for this reason too there come into being on the one hand the before, and on the other the after, of movement.” P.’s objection to this view lies in the consideration that the criterion for the determination of the “before” and “after” cannot be simultaneously locative and temporal, but must be one of the two. Indeed it must, perhaps, in the first instance be temporal, if we take into account (as P. himself points out; cf. also, however, Arist. Ph. IV 13, 222a33–b2) that both the before and the after are determined with reference to the “now”; see also Callahan 1979, 113. Hence, when we are dealing with the time in between, which corresponds to a movement’s duration, we cannot but employ time as our standard of measure, rather than spatial location. But of course what any particular measurement will yield will not be the time that was employed as the standard of measure, but only a determinate temporal interval. This line of approach reminds us somewhat of Galen’s, as reported by Themistius (op. cit. 149.4–7), according to which time “is demarcated” (aphorizetai)—that is, measured—“through itself ” (di’ hautou). But what principally concerns P. at this juncture is to liberate the concept of time entirely from any necessity of recourse to space, or to spatially extendible corporeal magnitudes. 9.68–75. ἔπειτα διὰ τί . . . τοῦτο λάβοι:Here P. turns against the purely “idealistic” theory of time that, as we saw in the comment on 9.51–55, had been promoted by certain prominent Peripatetics. For whenever there is a movement, and in consequence a prior and posterior stage within it, how can we say (as does Aristotle, Ph. IV 14, 223a21–29) that its temporal duration—its “number”—does not exist before it is measured by some observer? Cf. on this question Sorabji 1983, 89–93. Alexander had in fact gone so far as to maintain that even the “now”—and by extension the “before” and the “after,” which depend on it—exist only in our intellect; see De temp. § 20. But P. holds that motion is inconceivable without a “before” and an “after,” the distinctness of which is sufficient ground for the existence of time (cf. my comment on 7.17–27). The point being, of course, that by the term “motion” we are not required to understand solely movement in the natural world; see also Arist. Ph. IV 11, 219a4–6.



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9.75–78. ἀπείρου δὲ . . . πρὶν μετρηθῆναι:If time is “unbounded” or “infinite” (apeiros)— as admitted by Aristotle, Ph. VIII 1, 251b19–26—and every number is necessarily “determinate” (hōrismenos: cf. VI 6.2.1–10 and 17.3) or finite, then time cannot be number. This argument helps to illuminate the difference between (a) time as a universal concept of infinite duration, and (b) particular time, that is, a finite temporal interval. Themistius In Ph. 148.2–6, employs to this purpose the image of an infinite (time-­)line, on which a particular time is marked off by means of two temporal points or “nows.” But, as P. points out, (b) presupposes (a), which is where we need to look for the essence of time—or perhaps, to adapt a term taken from Verbeke 1973, 203, of “temporality.” Cf. VI 1.5.15–19. 9.78–84. διὰ τί δὲ . . . πρὸς ἔννοιαν χρόνου:The foregoing critique of the pertinent Peripatetic theories leads to the recognition of the importance of the soul in the emergence of time as a phenomenon. Yet the soul’s contribution is not limited to the role it plays in its measurement. For temporality, as the temporal dimension within which every movement is accomplished, exists prior to any particular measurement of any movement whatsoever. What still remains, of course, to be clarified is in what manner the soul is responsible for the generation of temporality. 10.1–8. Τὸ δὲ παρακολούθημα . . . ἐν χρόνῳ:The final thesis P. turns to concerning the nature of time is T7, which he proceeds to examine summarily, in its most general form; cf. VI 3.3.23–25. In order to rebut this thesis, P. chooses to understand its term parakolouthēma in the temporal sense of “co-­occurrence” rather than the logical sense of “concomitant” (with which he is, of course, intimately familiar; see, e.g., VI 3.2.6, VI 6.4.3), thus forcing it into circularity. But see below, at 11.60–61. 10.9–17. Ἀλλ’ ἐπειδὴ . . . τὸν χρόνον εἶναι:As he concludes the critical part of his treatise, P. adds the suggestion that the arguments he had adduced against T6 will apply a fortiori to a definition of time as measure of the motion of the universe, such as Alexander seems to have had in mind in his treatment of the subject; see De temp. § 10; and Sharples 1982b, 69–70. There is an even more direct correspondence with a view put forward in a fragment (Anon. Schol. in Arist. Organon 21.14–18) that Huby 1981, 398 ff., has identified as deriving from a work by Boethus of Sidon (end of the first century CE): “Hence in measuring circular motion (tēn kuklophorikēn)—which is the first and foremost of all motions—according to itself, time also measures the others, so that time will be the number of circular motion both as numbering and as numbered, while of the remaining motions only as numbering, but not also as numbered.” However compendious and uneven this critique of earlier theories of the nature of time may have been, it has nonetheless prepared the ground for the introduction of P.’s own. Certain points that were brought out mainly during the discussion of the Peripatetic theses in chapter 9, such as, for example, the essential role played by the soul in the constitution of time, or the latter’s release from its obligatory correlation with movements occurring in the natural world, will prove to be of crucial importance to setting the foundations of P.’s own views. Nevertheless, as will become apparent at 13.9–18, P.

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Third Ennead was in the end quite willing to acknowledge his debt to the Stagirite and his earlier commentators. Concerning the distinction between two ways of studying philosophical texts— whether “for the sake of philosophy or of general knowledge” (philosophias ē historias heneka)—see Albinus Is. 5, 149.28–29; and Sen. Ep. 108.6. 11.1–6. Δεῖ δὴ . . . τοῦ ὑστέρου:Commencing on the exposition of his own doctrine— the theōria—of time, P. reverts once again to the findings of the discussion concerning its archetype, eternity (which he summarizes employing characteristically Parmenidean expressions; cf. principally fr. B8.4–6 DK; and, regarding the term aklinēs (“without declination”), II 9.2.3, VI 8.9.33; and Plut. De E ap. Delph. 393a), obeying his own methodological recommendation, which he had formulated at 1.16–20 and reminded us of at 7.12–13. Yet it is made clear from the start (mainly through the use of past and future inflections in l. 5; cf. my comment on III 5.9.24–29) that its description will also include, apart from philosophical analysis, some mythological elements—that it will consist in “a mixture of ontology and drama,” as Jonas 1971, 52, expresses it. The view that time is “generated” was in any case already regarded as a peculiarity of Platonic philosophy by Aristotle, Ph. VIII 1, 251b17–19. 11.6–11. τούτων δὴ . . . ὧδέ πως:The depiction of the “generation” of time, that is, the stipulation of its ontological identity and derivation, is effected by means of a mythologizing narrative modeled on the old theogonies. Normally it would be appropriate to commence with the conventional invocation of the Muse(s); but P., barely concealing “a faint shadow of a smile” (Cilento ad loc.), points out that at this stage of things, the Muses, as symbols of the cosmic “music of the spheres” (cf. my comment on VP 22.16–17; and Plut. Quaest. conu. IX 14.4, 745b and 14.6, 746a), would not yet have come into being. (Cf. the reverse figure in Max. Tyr. XV 6, 190.17–191.1.) But there is a further association with the invocation of the Muses in the Homeric citation in l. 9, which derives from the introduction to the dramatic peak of the Iliad (16.113), the scene in which the Trojans begin setting fire to the ships of the Achaeans. It is in a context similarly redolent of catastrophe that Plato too cites this very phrase when, in book VIII of the Republic, 545d8–e1, he begins to describe the “internal dissension” (stasis) that leads to the overthrow of a just and well-­ordered state and to the misadventure of “bad and misguided” (op. cit. V 449a2–3) forms of government. Slightly amending the original—the Homeric verse reads hoppōs dē prōton pur empese nēusin Achaiōn (“how fire first fell in upon the ships of the Achaeans”)—P. presents the emergence of time as a result of its lapse from the undisturbed completeness of intelligible Substance, of its having “fallen off from” There (exepese: Armstrong’s “came out” and McGuire and Strange’s “issued forth” miss the point; cf. the earlier katebē (“came down”) at 7.10), and not of the irruption of some factor from outside, as would be fitting for a dualistic system; cf., e.g., CH I 4–5, 7.17–8.7. The somewhat irregular syntax of this whole passage intensifies the mystagogical style that P. seeks to impart to his narrative, while its mythological accoutrement assumes a dramatic quality with the personification of time, which gives the sequel an aura of divine revelation; cf. my comment on III 2.3.20; and Ferwerda 1990, 204–6.



III 7. On Eternity and Time

11.12–14. ὡς πρότερον . . . ἡσυχίαν ἦγε:The description opens with the word “before” (proteron), in blatant contradiction to the claim of Aristotle, Metaph. Λ 6, 1071b8–9, that “there can be no before and after if there is no time”; cf. Alex. Aphrod. Mund. A 68–69. What this is intended to convey, of course, is the nontemporal character of time’s dependence on the eternity inherent in beings (cf. Strange 1994, 47–48); for in any mythological narrative, the representation of events in temporal sequence serves merely to signify the presence of a synchronic causal connectedness between them (cf. III 5.9.24–29, with my comment). The initial state of “tranquillity” (hēsuchia) that prevailed in the pre-­time of Being corresponds to the perfect unity of the intelligible, within which there can be no differentiation of “before” and “after”; cf. my comments above on 3.27–36 and 4.12–28. 11.15–20. φύσεως δὲ . . . εἰργάσμεθα:What we have here, seemingly, is the real drama of a “fall.” Its protagonist is the (lower: see my comment on II 3.17.18–25) Soul, which is responsible for distancing itself from the complete identity that pervades the region of the intelligible, and of thus provoking the generation of time. Three causes are cited for the Soul’s apostasy: (a) its “restless activity” (polupragmonēsis: cf. III 2.1.42–4 and VI 3.23.4), a notion very close to that of curiositas—generally recognized to have played a crucial role in bringing about the fall of both Lucius and Psyche in Apuleius’ Metamorphoses—or else periergeia, the “prying” or “meddling” denounced for its soul-­destroying influence by both Plutarch, De Is. et Os. 352b, and the Hermetic Korē Kosmou = CH Exc. XXIII 24 (cf. Festugière 1944–54, 3:83–85; Lancel 1961, 31–37; Baladi 1970, 11–12; and my comment on I 3.4.16–18); (b) its “wishing” (boulēsis) after “self-­rule” (to archein autēs) or “self-­determination” (to autexousion: cf. IV 8.5.26 and V 1.1.3–9)—a kind of “revolt” against the intractable law of the Intellect—which renders the Soul vulnerable to the vagaries of deliberation and chance (see further III 1.9.1–9, with my comments); (c) its avidity, which makes the Soul seek for something beyond what properly belongs to it, the “adjunct” (prosthēkē) it acquires having its own “lessening” (elattōsis) as a result (cf. IV 7.13.4–13 and my comment on I 1.12.18–21). The consequence of the Soul’s venturing forth from its place of origin is its extension toward something different, and then toward something else again, such that there comes to be forged a passage composed of successive stages, each one different from its predecessor; cf. III 8.5.14–17. This “otherness” (heterotēs) in respect of the before and after has the concomitant effect of fashioning time, a temporally extended image of atemporally compact eternity; cf. the classic Platonic definition at Ti. 37d5. Similarities can certainly be found to exist between this description and some of the Gnostic narratives of Sophia’s cosmogonical adventures; cf. my comments at II 9.10.19– 32; and Iren. Adu. haer. I 17.2, 270.1: “Further, they [sc. the Marcosians] affirm that when the Demiurge wanted (thelēsanta) to imitate the boundless, eternal, indefinite and timeless nature (to aperanton kai aiōnion kai aoriston kai achronon mimēsasthai) of the upper Ogdoad, but could not express its permanence and everlastingness (kai mē dunēthēnai to monimon autēs kai aidion ektupōsai), since he was himself the fruit of defect, he spread out its eternity into times and seasons and years in great numbers (eis chronous kai kairous arithmous te polueteis to aiōnion autēs katatetheisthai), imagining

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Third Ennead that he might imitate its boundlessness in the profusion of times (oiomenon en tōi plēthei tōn chronōn mimēsasthai autēs to aperanton). It is at this point, they say, that the truth having eluded him, he went in pursuit of falsehood.” What is important to note, however, is that as Rist 1983, 137–38, has pointed out, the extension in time of the Soul—or, more precisely of its “power” (dunamis: see below, 11.49; and Armstrong 1978, 120– 21)—is from P.’s point of view not something in itself evil—it does not constitute a sin—but is instead, in the final analysis, a necessity (see further Beierwaltes 1967, 250– 52; and Pigler 1999, 49–50), even though it makes possible the existence of evil in the world by establishing the preconditions for the Soul to become diverted from its endeavor to regain the unity of the intelligible. One interpretative difficulty that has inspired considerable controversy—but also certain alterations to the text, presumably by puzzled copyists—is that posed by the subject of the verb eirgasmetha (“we constructed”). As H-­S note ad loc., it is fairly obvious that this must coincide with the subject of the verb gennēsomen (“we shall produce”) in l. 5—but also, may it be added, with the referent of hēmas autous (“we ourselves”) in l. 1. It seems rather implausible, however, that P. should have in mind here an actual generation of time by “us”—that is, by individual souls—in light of his repeated assertions that time is the progeny of the cosmic Soul; cf. below, 13.65–66 and IV 4.15.13. Hence, the interpretation that emerges as the more credible one is that we have to do here with a form of pluralis auctoris parallel to what we find (e.g.) at 7.9, and that it is simply the subject of the mythological narration who is being referred to, himself also obliged to introduce temporal succession in order to relate to us the atemporal production of time. See also Manchester 1978, 119–21; and Strange 1994, 49–50. 11.20–23. ἐπεὶ γὰρ . . . οὐκ ἤθελεν:The originative cause of time is thus the Soul, which, in distancing itself from the self-­sufficient “tranquillity” prevailing in Intellect (cf. 11.14), becomes “a hetero-­consciousness amicably inclined towards all and sundry others of its own creation” (Koutras 1966/67, 152), and thereby lapses into a state of privation. The latter—which for P. is virtually synonymous with materiality, or at least with a predisposition toward such (cf. III 5.6.43–45, with my comment)—incites the Soul into a kind of restless desire in which it seeks to replenish the perfection of intelligible Being that it has lost by projecting an image of this Being externally, as a portend of its presence. Thus—in the words of Trouillard 1961, 131—“presence is transformed into representation”; cf. II 5.5.2–5, IV 7.13.2–8; and Simons 1985, 60–61, 72–73. Inasmuch as this seeking is in essence directed toward that Being which the Soul has rejected, it may properly be characterized as a case of “willing” (boulēsis: cf. boulomenēs in l. 22), while the Soul’s rejection of Being and its venturing away from it is to be credited to its more egocentric and thoughtless “wanting” (thelēsis: cf. ēthelen in l. 23); see my comment on I 4.6.13–21 (while noting, however, that the distinction made here—which passes unnoticed by either Armstrong or McGuire and Strange in their respective translations—was not observed by P. at 11.15 above). At any rate, the generation of temporality is to be attributed to the Soul’s distress at the gap separating it from the object of its seeking, a gap that makes it transfer the attainment of this object to the future in the form of expectation.



III 7. On Eternity and Time

It should be mentioned here that Simplicius In Ph. 708.27–32, ascribes to Galen an interpretation of a passage of Aristotle’s (Ph. IV 11, 218b21) according to which any thought of ours, even of “altogether motionless [or changeless] things” (pantapasin akinēta), is accompanied by some “motion” or “change” (kinēsis), and consequently transpires in time: “for we think of nothing with motionless intellection” (ouden gar hēmeis akinētōi noēsei nooumen). We can see that P. would have had no substantial objection to the foregoing thesis, provided, of course, that it concerned our discursive cognitive function and not primary intellection as such, which, being pure activity, transpires outside of time; cf. my comment on 6.9–21. 11.23–30. ὥσπερ . . . τοῦτον ποιήσασα: The process of time’s generation by the Soul is compared to that of the “unfolding” of the spermatic logos into its fully developed form; cf. III 5.9.1–5, with my comment. Just as its extension in space leads to the partitioning and enfeeblement of the formative principle, so also the Soul’s protraction in time results in the formation of shapes that are subject to temporality and execute movements that imitate, in their cyclicality, the timeless Motion of Being’s procession from the One, but also of its reversion to It; cf. my comments on II 2.3.20–22 and II 4.5.28–31. We thus observe that whereas in Plato’s Timaeus, 37d5–e3, the generation of time is “simultaneous” (hama) with, and indistinguishable from, the creation of the celestial spheres, in P. the former comes “first” (prōton: l. 29) and the latter second, and we see why only “subsequently” (epeita: l. 31) is time called upon to regulate heavenly movements. P.’s originality of approach obliges him to coin the one-­use term echronōsen in order to designate the operation by which the Soul introduced the temporal order within itself, before inducting those other movements into it; see also Jonas 1971, 52. This does not imply, however—as Manchester 1978, 129–30, believes—that there are two kinds of time, one psychical and the other natural, notwithstanding that Simplicius In Ph. 792.11–16, appears to have held some such notion. For P. makes it clear that although the Soul begins by generating time within itself, it then places within this internalized time (cf. l. 35: en tōi ekeinēs chronōi) the “ways” or “circuits” (diexhodoi) of the sensible universe; cf. also the criticism of Simons 1985, 71n.66. Thus, the universe is encompassed by time, which in turn is compassed by the soul; cf. Pl. Ti. 36d9–e1; as well as IV 3.9.34, IV 4.15.12–19. 11.31–35. ἔπειτα δὲ . . . ἐκινεῖτο χρόνῳ:The sensible world being thus subordinated to time, it is by the same token subject to continuous becoming. The term diexhodos employed to designate the movements or “circuits” of the celestial bodies is derived from Pl. Phdr. 247a4 (but cf. [Pl.] Epin. 977b4 and 986e4, with Tarán’s comment; as well as Turcan 1975, 48–50), but already in Num. fr. 12.16, we find it used in parallel to designate the passage of the intellect from the perfect stillness surrounding the first god to the discursiveness of all those entities that by their movements enter into communion with it; see also de Ley 1972, 35–36. Cf. IV 4.1.11–16. 11.35–45. τὴν γὰρ ἐνέργειαν . . . δοκοῖ τι λέγειν:In contrast to the conspective vision of the intellect, the discursive activation of reasoning (dianoia) occurs in stages, progress-

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Third Ennead ing step by step from one meaning to another, thus parceling out into a concatenation of thoughts that which in nous is unitary and seamless: cf. I 8.2.9–19, III 9.1.34–37, V 3.17.21–29, VI 9.5.8–10; Beierwaltes 1967, 57–58; Blumenthal 1971a, 107; and Porph. Sent. 44, 50.10–22. Also, Max. Tyr. XI 9, 139.14–17: “Whereas the divine intellect, like the sun beating down, has sight of every place on earth at once (athroōs: cf. above 11.22), the human intellect is like the sun in its progress, passing at different times over the different parts of the whole.” Hence, the life of the soul observes this succession of discrete activities, and thus from this “spreading out” or “protraction” (diastasis: cf. 6.15– 16) there arises the distinction between different points in time (this being the significance of the phrase chronon . . . allon in l. 41, pace Manchester 1978, 129), that is, between the “before” and the “after” (a distinction we have already seen to be of fundamental importance to the conception of time), without recourse to any corresponding spatial pattern; see above, my comment on 9.55–68. Time is consequently a product of the internal protraction of the life of the Soul—it consists, we might even say, in the concatenation of its thoughts; cf. Mossé-­Bastide 1959, 189. Because each of its states represents, as far as the Soul is concerned, a different “mode of living” (bios), which is to say a different way of apprehending things and itself, we end up with a definition of time based on the psychical transition from one such state to another. At this point, we are once again reminded of Kant, who in the second of his conclusions with respect to the concept of time observed: “Time is nothing other than the form of inner sense, i.e., of the intuition of our self and our inner state” (see Kant 1998, 180 [A 33 = B 49] trans. Guyer and Wood). See also Sorabji 1983, 138–39. 11.45–59. εἰ γὰρ αἰών . . . τὸ ἐκείνου μιμήσεται:We are by now in a position, based on the definition of eternity (primarily as restated at 11.2–4; but cf. also Pl. Phd. 78d2–3) to which we were led by the investigation in the first part of the treatise, to understand the definition of time that Plato had proposed in the Timaeus, 37d5–7 (on which, see my introduction). The emphasis lies on the consideration that time (and indeed the universe; cf. Pl. Ti. 38b8–c1, 92c6–7; and my comment on II 9.4.25–26) constitutes a true “image” (eikōn: cf. Pl. Soph. 235d6–236b2) of eternity and hence reflects—albeit at a lower level of being and unity—some of the latter’s basic characteristics. (Cf. the correspondences that, as Festugière 1949, 186–87, observed, are already present in the Platonic definition.) P. consequently works out quite a detailed set of correspondences between their respective characteristics (or groups of characteristics) as follows: (a) To the Life There (see 3.4–23) corresponds the lower life, a dynamic manifestation—or, to be precise, a secondary activity (see 12.6–8, IV 4.15.3–4; and Igal 1982–98, 1:76) of the Soul, which animates and moves the celestial bodies; cf. my comments on I 4.3.15–24, II 1.4.14–25, and 5.5–14. (b) To the intellective, atemporal Motion of Being there corresponds the ceaseless revolution in time of the universe, which, as we have just noted, stems from a concomitant operation of the Soul; cf. above, 4.28–31 and 11.28–29. (c) Instead of that perfect self-­identity that is the essence of eternity (see my comment on 4.12–28), what distinguishes time is its constant progression toward the future; see 4.24–28; and Gloy 1989, 317–18.



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(d) Instead of the seamless unity of Being (see my comment on 3.36.8), we find as its image the unbroken continuity of time’s passage (cf. 8.35–36; and Arist. Ph. IV 11, 220a5–26). (e) Instead of the compact and integral unboundedness of the Life of the Intelligible (see 5.23–28), time possesses the infinitude in span of its extension (cf. Pl. Ti. 37d6–7 and 38c2–3). (f ) Finally, instead of the “everything at once” nature of intellective life, time consists in the most perfect attainable imitation of eternity, mimicking in its incessant protraction into the future the latter’s imperturbable presentness. On this, see Beierwaltes 1967, 65–67; and Gloy 1989, 319–22; and cf. Alex. Aphrod. Mund. A 23. 11.59–62. δεῖ δὲ . . . ὁ αἰών:Time, then, is an intrinsic concomitant of the nature of the Soul, just as eternity is a concomitant of the nature of intelligible Being; see my comments on 2.10–19, 31–36 and 4.1–5. It cannot, therefore, consist in a mere “accompaniment” or “co-­occurrence” (parakolouthēma in the temporal sense), whether of the Soul or of its motion, as purported by T7—of which we thus have here the conclusive rebuttal; cf. my comment on 10.1–8. 12.1–4. Νοῆσαι δὲ . . . τὸ τῆς ἐνεργείας ἔχον:A further brief observation, one that would have fitted in better at the end of the previous chapter: inasmuch as the progression of time is a product of the ceaseless and uniform activity of the Soul, it will be smooth and undisturbed, and hence also imperceptible. For only motion—motion, which transpires in time—can become perceptible. 12.4–22. εἰ δὴ πάλιν . . . τὸν χρόνον γεννᾷ:In order to substantiate the Soul’s essential contribution to the existence of time, P. invites us to attempt a thought experiment (inspired, perhaps, by the myth in Plato’s Statesman; cf. 272d6–273a4; and Num. fr. 12.17–22). We are to imagine a situation in which the Soul would have ceased its activity and would have reverted in its entirety to the intelligible realm of eternity (as was predicted to happen by some of the eschatological myths of the Gnostics; cf. my comments on II 9.4.17–19 and 6.2). Of course nothing of the kind could possibly occur in reality, given that the “outflow” of this secondary activity from the Soul is a necessary consequence of its nature, but also of the more general ontological principle respecting “the procreativeness of the perfect” (on which see my comments on II 9.3.7–12 and 8.21–26), which is also what ensures the perennial duration of time. Hence, in such an entirely unrealistic case, time—and more generally, temporality—would be abolished, and all that would remain would be the eternal “abiding in one” (cf. 2.35 above), without the otherness presupposed by the “before” and “after” (cf. my comment on 9.55–68). Even the cosmic sphere would cease to exist or, at any rate, to move, because time—just like its own movement (see my comment on II 1.4.14–25)—is not connate with it, being a product of the action of the Soul. Conversely, if the Soul were to persist in its activity, then even if the cosmic sphere were to remain motionless, its motionlessness would have duration in time. This argument is certainly older than P., as it was already known to Alexander of Aphrodisias, De temp. § 5, and may derive from Galen; cf. further Sharples

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Third Ennead 1982b, 72–75; and cf. above, my comment on 8.1–8. What it aims to demonstrate is that both the Soul and time are entities that are independent of the existence and movement of the sensible universe. For while the latter may serve as an indicator and a measuring instrument of time, it does not in any wise produce it, but—quite the reverse—presupposes it: see also Gloy 1989, 325–26; Strange 1994, 51; and Smith 1996, 213. 12.22–25. διὸ καὶ εἴρηται . . . ὁ δὲ ἐν χρόνῳ:See Pl. Ti. 38b6–7: “Time, then, came into being along with the heavens, in order that as they were begotten together, so might they be dissolved together. . . .” This crucial passage (see, e.g., Plut. Quaest. Plat. VIII 4, 1007c; and the other references provided by Beierwaltes 1967, 277) must now be interpreted in a manner compatible with what has just been stated, even though it is clear that Plato directly correlated the generation of time with the creation of the celestial spheres; see also my comment on 11.23–30. The solution P. settles on is to regard their relation as one of simultaneity, while choosing momentarily to overlook that hermeneutical method of his, according to which simultaneity in a myth should normally be indicative of ontological parity; cf. my comment on 11.12–14. The world comes into being through the same activity that produced time, but the latter is a constitutive condition of its formation, a condition created by the Soul on deflecting its attention from the perfection of Being; cf. Trouillard 1955b, 28. And this is what is meant by saying that the sensible universe exists “in time”; cf. above, 11.31–35, and IV 4.15.15–20. 12.25–36. εἰ δέ τις λέγοι . . . τοῦ χρόνου:The interpretation of the Timaeus opens out toward such other passages of the dialogue as might give one the impression that Plato identified time with the “courses” of the celestial bodies; cf. 39d1: “ . . . their wanderings are time.” P. instead maintains, marshaling evidence from various points in the Timaeus, that the only role Plato acknowledged to celestial phenomena was to act as the measure of time (cf. my comment on 12.4–22), in the exact same manner as day and night in their alterity submit to us the notion of the number 2 (cf. Ti. 39b6–c1, 47a4–6; and [Pl.] Epin. 978d1–4), which naturally precedes them in existence. Thus is it that the repetitive cycle of day and night also constitutes a serviceable unit of temporal measurement, without of course being either time itself or what is responsible for its generation, but merely that which measures it. As Callahan 1979, 137, observed, the continuous and undifferentiated character P. ascribes to the life of the Soul leads him to deny any intrinsic relation between time and the number that measures it, thereby putting him at some distance from the more numerically based picture of time conveyed by Plato (cf., e.g., Ti. 37d6, 38c6, 39b6). 12.37–40. οὐ γὰρ . . . καὶ μὴ μέτρον:In putting forward this argument—a whimsical postlude to the personification of time at 11.11—P. is seeking to turn the Aristotelian definition on its head: instead of time being the measure of motion (cf. 9.1–2), it is here portrayed as something that is measured by employing as unit of measure the particular temporal interval of a given movement. It is true that Aristotle himself acknowledged (Ph. IV 12, 220b14–16) that “not only do we measure motion by time, but also time by



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motion”; yet the definition he has previously offered makes it clear that the second kind of measurement is in his view merely incidental. 12.40–49. ἡ οὖν κίνησις . . . τῆς δηλώσεως:The temporal duration of a recurring movement may accordingly constitute a unit of measure of time (here P. seems to be employing Aristotle’s own words to attack his position; cf. Ph. IV 12, 220b12–14), but only “incidentally” (kata sumbebēkos) will it also constitute a unit of measure of motion. One would therefore be correct in saying that the circuit of the heavens measures and displays time in the guise of a cosmic clock, but this does not mean, of course, that it is time; contra, cf. Guthrie 1962–81, 5:299–300. 12.49–55. τὸ οὖν μετρούμενον . . . κατὰ συμβεβηκός:Thus, time is not generated by the circuit of the heavens but is simply made manifest by it. And it is on the basis of this same movement that time is measured, for insofar as it is “something that measures” (metroun), this movement provides us with a standard for the measure of time; but insofar as it is “something that is measured” (metroumenon), it is itself measured temporally—albeit incidentally—by the selfsame standard. An example will make this clear: a complete revolution of the sphere of the fixed stars may be employed as a unit of measure of time (= one day); subsequently, however, we can employ this temporal duration of a single day in order to measure, for instance, the time of some other revolution, which thereby becomes something that is measured (incidentally). On this, see Matter 1964, 198–99. 12.55–61. καὶ οὕτως ἂν . . . ὅσος ὁ τόπος:P. seeks to clarify his last observation—without much success, it must be admitted—by deploying examples of a spatial nature; cf. Arist. Ph. IV 12, 221a2–4. In the first such example we are given a certain “magnitude” (megethos: in point of fact, a length) measured by a “cubit”—something that in itself, however, is of determinate length. Consequently, if we have not previously defined what “length” is, the expression “This is three cubits” will have no specific meaning. In the second example a movement is measured on the basis of the interval of space it traverses. And once again if we have not previously made explicit what “movement” is, the expression “a movement (or path) of a hundred feet” will only signify a determinate spatial extension, not its traversal. So is it also with respect to time: if we have not defined what “time” is, an expression such as “an interval of three days” will convey nothing specific, because a day is defined as a temporal interval. 13.1–13. Χρόνον οὖν . . . καὶ ταῦτα ἐνηλλαγμένως:The precise meaning to be assigned to the expression “in time” (en chronōi) was a question that had seriously preoccupied Aristotle; see primarily Ph. IV 12, 220b32–221b23. P.’s own view of the matter, already adumbrated more than once (see 11.31–35 and 12.25), is that all motion, and more generally all becoming, and even, indeed, all rest transpire in time, and that in so doing they make manifest the passage of time, otherwise inconspicuous by reason of its evenness (see 12.2–4), just as the shaking of leaves on a tree reveals to us the rush of wind. By the same

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Third Ennead token, motion, being more conspicuous than rest, lends itself better to the disclosure of time; cf. also Sext. Emp. Math. X 180. On the other hand, there is nothing corporeal “in which” (en hōi) time resides in turn, for it constitutes an activity of the Soul, which is even less conspicuous than itself. Hence the Peripatetics, according to P., had fallen victim to confusion, mistaking what is primary in knowledge—motion—for what is primary in nature, and thereby reversing the true relation between what measures (i.e., movement) and what is measured (i.e., time); see also Callahan 1979, 141. 13.13–18. ἀλλ’ ἴσως . . . γράφοντες:Having completed his rebuttal of the Peripatetic theory of time by standing it on its head, P. now extends a sympathetic hand to his opponents: “Perhaps at the end of the day you yourselves wanted to say the same things as we do, only your way of expressing them was unclear.” For just as we use the word “number” to designate both what we measure with and what we measure (as when we say “There took part a large number of demonstrators”; cf. Arist. Ph. IV 12, 220b19), so we can also use the word “measure” to refer to what is subject to measurement (thus we might say, for instance, “The measure of increase in expenses is large”). This conciliatory gesture is essentially tantamount to recognition of his indebtedness to those who, through their own investigation, had contributed very significantly toward the formation of his own views on the subject. 13.18–28. ὁ μέντοι . . . ἐργάζεται:Nevertheless, P.’s principal concern is to show that his theory is in harmony with what Plato says in the Timaeus. For the latter had declared (at 39b2) that the Demiurge established the orbits of the sun and the moon as measures for the reckoning of time, while having of course stressed in parallel that time was brought into being “according to the pattern of the ever-­enduring nature” (kata to paradeigma tēs diaiōnias phuseōs: 38b8), and that consequently what it is in its essence is “a moving likeness of eternity” (37d5). As regards the “simultaneous” (hama) creation of time and the heavens, see my comment on 12.22–25. 13.28–30. ἐπιστραφείσης οὖν . . . οὐκ ἔχων:Cf. above, 12.4–22. 13.30–40. εἰ δέ τις . . . τὴν μετάβασιν αὐτῶν:P. does not deny the importance ascribed by the Peripatetics to the “before” and “after” in the constitution of the concept of time; see my comments on 9.55–68 and 11.35–45. What he does deny categorically is that the terms in question have a primarily locative meaning. For in his view the notions of anteriority and posteriority—or, more generally, of disposition—are in the first instance associated with the succession of psychical states and activities, and are only derivatively attributed to objects in space or time; cf. IV 4.16.1–16; Beierwaltes 1967, 285; and Smith 1996, 211. They have their origin in the movement inherent to the Soul as a hupostasis imitative of the one above it, the Intellect; see further my comment on 11.23–30. As Porphyry was to formulate the matter, Sent. 44, 58.10–14, “it was collaterally to what thinks progressively and in motion that time came to subsist; for it is collaterally to such a movement that futurity and the past subsist (parhuphistatai).” The Stoicizing termi-



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nology of this paraphrase (cf. Blank 1982, 32–4) helps us better to grasp that the “before” and the “after,” just like the future and the past themselves (cf. my comment on I 5.1.1–3), are here meant to be understood not as elements of physical reality, but as by-­ products of the soul’s characteristic cognitive intervention, which “derives” them from its connate movement; cf. Smith 1998, 337–40. The same could thus equally be said concerning time in general. 13.41–47. διὰ τί οὖν . . . αὐτῆς ἔχει:Because, however—as was stated earlier (see 13.1–4, with my comment)—all movement is “in time,” why would it not be equally correct to state that this connate movement of the Soul is itself “in time”? Cf. IV 4.15.12–3: “the soul of the universe generates time, but is not in time.” The answer to the question is that in this particular case the movement (logically) precedes time, being a precondition of its existence, and essentially amounts to a “lapsed” or “degraded” expression of the atemporal and more generally interval-­less movement of Being (regarding which, see also VI 2.7.20–28). 13.47–49. πῶς οὖν . . . ἡμῶν μέρους:Cf., e.g., IV 9.1.1–8, V 1.2.30–40, and VI 4.1.1–8. 13.49–53. εἰ δέ τις . . . τρόπος λόγων:Who are the opponents P. has in mind here? The terminology he ascribes to them—and it should be noted that the noun huparxis (“existence”) is to be encountered nowhere else in the Enneads—points ultimately to a Stoic derivation. Yet our most reliable pertinent testimony (SVF 2:509; cf. 2:519) attributes to the Stoics the view that “only the present exists (monon d’ huparchein . . . ton enestōta); the past and the future subsist (ton de parōchēmenon kai ton mellonta huphestanai men), but in no way do they exist (huparchein de oudamōs).” The only thinker about whom there survives specific testimony to the effect that he refused to attribute even so much as “subsistence” (hupostasis) to time was the Peripatetic Critolaus (fr. 14; if the Antiphon there cited alongside him is the well-­known bearer of that name, it seems rather improbable that he would have employed this term. Cf. however note 14 of my introduction), who held it to be simply “a concept or measure, not something subsistent (ouch hupostasin)”; see also Glucker 1994, 20–23. But the rather contemptuous aside with which he concludes the present passage suggests that P. regarded this extreme viewpoint as entirely sophistical (cf. Sext. Emp. Math. X 192; but also Num. fr. 5.9–13) and unworthy of any serious rebuttal, beyond the dialectical argument ek peritropēs (i.e., “by turning about” the opponent’s claim, showing it to be self-­refuting) that he provides. It is at any rate worth noting that the latter seems to admit as an assumption the position of Aristotle (Ph. IV 12, 222a2–3) that whatever has neither past nor future is entirely nonexistent. 13.53–62. ἐκεῖνο δὲ . . . τὰ ἴσα διειστήκει:The movement of an ensouled body is traceable to the movement of the soul that moves it. Consequently, by measuring the elapsed time of a bodily movement we also obtain the interval of the corresponding psychical movement. And the temporal duration of the former is determined by the latter.

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Third Ennead 13.62–66. τὴν οὖν κίνησιν . . . τοῦ παντός ὡσαύτως:So the question now is, What determines the movement of the soul? Answer: nothing, because the soul’s movement is a primary one, having no ulterior cause; cf. my comment on III 1.8.4–8. 13.66–69. ἆρ’ οὖν . . . τοῖς ὁμοειδέσι πᾶσιν:One last question concerns the problem of the unity of time. If time is generated by each individual soul, how is it uniform for all? To this thorny issue we are given only a summary response, limited to a simple reference to that unity that pervades all souls and makes of them a unitary multifariousness; cf. IV 2.2.40–49, VI 4.4.34–45, and, above all, treatise IV 9 [8] “If All Souls Are One.”

III 8 [30]. On Nature and Contemplation and the One Synopsis 1 Inaugural proposition: Everything aspires to contemplation. Problem: How does Nature contemplate? 2 Nature as an unmoved and creative rational formative principle. 3 This logos is contemplative in character. 4 Hence Nature creates as it contemplates, and action is a weakened form of contemplation. 5 The soul: each one of the different levels of its life is also a level of contemplation. 6 Action and reasoning in relation to contemplation. 7 Summary. 8 Contemplation in its primary form: the Intellect. It is unitary, but also inherently multiple. 9 The highest principle: the One. It transcends multiplicity of any kind. It can only be grasped by that within us which is like it. It is present in all things, as cause of all things. 10 The One as universal possibility. 11 As the ultimate end to which all things aspire, the One is also the supreme Good.

Introduction As R. Harder has persuasively shown, the present “treatise” is in substance the first section of a far lengthier work, composed by P. around 265 CE with the primary aim of drawing up against those Gnostic apocalyptic treatises that were circulating at the time in Rome the “sublime mysteries” of the true philosophy, and more particularly of authentic Platonism.1 A central theme running through the whole of this “tetralogy” is the attestation of the presence of the higher hypostases of the Plotinian ontology at all 1 

See Harder 1936, 1–10; my introduction to II 9 [33] “Against the Gnostics,” the work that had once



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inferior ontological levels, and especially within those reflections of theirs on matter, which comprise the sensible world of becoming. By this means, the beneficial effect of the principle of all things is shown to embrace, illuminate, and beautify everything, even the faintest reverberations of Being—to the extent, of course, that these are in a position to participate in Its intelligible harmony, and so to become Its communicants. Accordingly, prominence is here given to those elements that manifest the cohesion prevailing among the various gradients of the ontological hierarchy—elements such as unity, beauty, and truth—while attention is also paid to the operations that allow the individual soul to negotiate each of these gradients successively in the course of its ascent toward union with the One. A crucial role in the soul’s upward progression devolves on “contemplation” (theōria), its turning toward and concentration on the intelligible beings, which simultaneously functions as a mechanism for the diffusion of the higher truth, that is, as a vehicle for its formative “advance” (proodos) upon the lower natures. For just like life and activity in general, so too contemplation, while being ontologically grounded at the level of Intellect, spreads out to all other gradations of reality and infuses them with the unquenchable dynamism of the supreme principle, thus mobilizing them for their return There.2 Virtually throughout antiquity, the notion of contemplation was inextricably interwoven with that of philosophy itself, and we even find it incorporated in the founding “myth” having to do with the origin of the term “philosopher” (philosophos).3 The historical ties of theōria to the institution of spectatorship at religious, dramatic, and athletic events, together with its associated connotations of visual enjoyment of beauty,4 indubitably contributed early on to enriching its range of meaning with those overtones that consecrated it as the highest and noblest activity of man, the one that leads him in the most secure and comprehensive way toward “well-­being” (eudaimonia). Thus did the model of the “contemplative mode of life” (bios theōrētikos) come to take shape, and gradually, during the classical period, to become firmly established as a philosophical ideal.5 There can be no doubt that the prime impetus for this shift in content of the term theōria—from the field of (mainly) religious experience, to that of philosophical intuformed the concluding section of “The Great Treatise”; and Igal’s “Introducción,” 231–32. Cf. also Wundt 1919, 18 ff. 2  In the evocative words of Shaw 1999, 122, “to enter the world of Plotinian contemplation . . . is to enter an immense vortex whose life is permeated by the magnetism of the One at its core.” 3  According to this myth, Pythagoras, on being questioned by Leon, the tyrant of Phlius, concerning the nature of his peculiar expertise, “was the first to give philosophy its name (philosophian prōtos ōnomase) and to call himself a philosopher (kai heauton philosophon)” (Diog. Laert. I 12 = Heraclid. Pont. fr. 87), going on to explain that philosophy consists in the disinterested pursuit “of contemplation and knowledge of reality (contemplationem rerum cognitationemque)” (Cic. Tusc. V 3.9 = Heraclid. Pont. fr. 88). See further Burkert 1960, 159–77; and cf., e.g., Herod. I 29.1–30.2. 4  The various aspects of this meaning of the word theōria have been exquisitely analyzed by Festugière in the first chapters of his 1950 monograph, Contemplation et vie contemplative selon Platon. See also Rausch 1982; and Nightingale 2004. 5  On this see appendix II, “On the Origin and Cycle of the Philosophic Ideal of Life,” of Jaeger’s classic study, Aristotle: Fundamentals of the History of His Development (= Jaeger 1962, 426–61).

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Third Ennead ition and an all-­encompassing and profound understanding of the truth—was due to Plato. In the great dialogues of his middle period, theōria is proclaimed the highest cognitive state, the one in which the soul comes into direct confrontation with the intelligible Forms and grasps their Being with complete certainty through the conspective contemplation of all the relations that interconnect and constitute them.6 Nevertheless, as Festugière 1950, 226–27, has pointed out, contemplation of the individual Forms does not represent for Plato the end of the philosophic quest, which is consummated only when “vision” of the supreme principle itself, source of their illumination, is attained through “an inexpressible union in which the intellect, losing itself in its object, touches it without being able to define what it touches, and has no other feeling beyond this feeling of touching.” In Aristotle’s philosophy, contemplation retained for the most part its centrality of position.7 Indeed, given the absence from the Stagirite’s mature writings of those mystical elements that, as we saw above, surround cognition of the transcendent principle in Plato, theōria, as an activity of the intellect, comes to occupy therein the summit of the cognitive hierarchy, and to reflect the superlative and eternal self-­intellection of god himself.8 Yet the domain in which it is seen to play an especially important role is that of ethics. For although Aristotle does display a tendency to develop the latter into an autonomous theoretical branch, nevertheless, where the higher virtues are concerned, he remains faithful at heart to the Platonic model. Thus he, too, presents the “contemplative mode of life” as the most perfect one, identifying it with “well-­being” itself.9 It must immediately be noted, of course, that this is not intended as an encouragement for people to withdraw from the “practical mode of life” (praktikos bios); it only means that if they are to attain true well-­being, their actions ought to be regulated by “the thoughts and contemplations (theōriai) that are independent and complete in themselves.”10 Yet, as Jaeger has pointed out, some of Aristotle’s successors forged a much more radical distinction between the contemplative and the practical mode of life, placing particular emphasis on the self-­sufficiency of the latter, and casting contempt on “those who discourse from a chair and write lectures in books,” because “they overlook the regular See, indicatively, Pl. Phd. 109e6, Symp. 210e3, 211d2, Resp. VI 511c4–8, VII 516b6, 517d4–5, 518c8–10, Phdr. 247c7–e4, 250b5–c4; and also Festugière 1950, principally, 185–89. On the other hand, Justin Martyr (in his dialogue Trypho, 2.6) reports that when, in the course of his quest for enlightenment among the various philosophical schools, he came to frequent a certain Platonist, “I received a powerful uplift (ēire: reading Hyldahl’s correction for the MSS. ērei or hērei) from reflecting on the incorporeals, and the contemplation of the Forms (hē theōria tōn ideōn) gave new wings to my understanding . . . and out of stupidity I grew to expect that at any moment I would look on God; for this is the goal of Plato’s philosophy.” 7  The same might be said as well of certain other “intermediate” texts, such as the pseudo-­Platonic Epinomis, 977b1–2 and 986d3–4, or some early works of Aristotle’s (on which see Festugière 1944–54, 2:168–75), where what is posited as object of theōria is, however, the visible heavens, and not supraheavenly Being. 8  See Metaph. Λ 7, 1072b19–25, and De an. III 4, 430a2–5. 9  See, primarily, Eth. Nic. X 7, 1177a12–27 and 8, 1178b20–32. In Eth. Eud. VIII 8, 1249b10–23, one finds the highest good described as “the service and contemplation of god” (ton theon therapeuein kai theōrein). 10  Arist. Pol. VII 3, 1325b20–21, trans. ROT; in the lines immediately following (22–23, trans. Barker), the practitioners of the most excellent mode of life are described as “those who, by their thoughts, are the prime authors of outward acts” (tōn exōterikōn praxeōn tais dianoiais architektones). See further Cooper 1999, 234–36. 6 



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practice of politics and philosophy that is seen alike in deeds and actions.”11 Such a stance was bound to find a special resonance among the ever practically-­minded Romans, as it did with Cicero, for instance, but also possibly with some within P.’s more immediate circle.12 Against this background, P.’s approach takes on quite a radical aspect. On the one hand, although for him, too, theōria constitutes the highest expression of man’s intellective life, he himself avoids correlating it with the culminating stage of union with the One, given that in the latter any differentiation between agent and object of contemplation is annulled. On the other hand, however, the actual practice of contemplation extends, in his view, to all life-­forms, even the most reduced, with the result that “action” (praxis) itself turns out to be an attenuated form of it. Thereby is achieved the unification of the entire hierarchy of forms constitutive of the world, a world that is now revealed to be wholly dominated and vitalized by its contemplative aspiration toward its originating principle.13 This of course entails that the term “contemplation” (theōria)— and the same applies equally to the term “life” (zōē)14—will be employed in a manner that, though certainly homonymic, is nevertheless hierarchically ordered so as to correspond to all levels of formative and, more generally, creative action.15 It thus comes to represent a precondition for the activation of even the lowest psychical manifestations, such as the growth-­impulse or “nature” (phusis), which for the rest is entirely devoid of any cognitive function (cf. IV 4.13.3–12). Nevertheless, its primary form remains the one occurring at the level of the Intellect as an internal activation of its own self toward itself (cf. V 3.7.13–20). P.’s second important innovation is his thesis regarding the creativity of contemplation. Whereas Aristotle clearly implied that theōria does not entail any form of “production” (poiēsis),16 P. holds the view that the latter is a necessary concomitant of the former. And this is the reason why every poiēsis, according to him, is contemplative, for not only does it invariably derive its formative principles from the Intellect, but it does so in many cases even without the intervention of any intellectual processing.17 It is unquestionably difficult for us to determine by what route P. arrived at this thesis,18 which is See Dicaearchus fr. 25 and 29, trans. Mirhady (cf. Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.24, 144.19–20); and Jaeger 1962, 444–53, who maintains that the tendency toward “increasing dispossession of the metaphysical and intellectual element (historically speaking, the Platonic element) from Aristotle’s ethics” is also clearly to be discerned in the pseudo-­Aristotelian Magna Moralia, where an effort is made to separate completely “phronesis, as specifically moral and practical reason, . . . from pure theoretical sophia, the knowledge of the highest and most general principles,” thus placing in doubt (or at least under discussion) the latter’s absolute primacy over the ethical life of the individual; see [Arist.] Mag. Mor. A 24, 1197a32–1198b20. Be that as it may, Jaeger’s further attempt to detect traces of this rupture even within Aristotle’s mature work (which is to say, within the Nicomachaean Ethics) has been rebuffed by Aubenque 1963, 15–30, and others. 12  See Dicaearchus fr. 27–28 and 31; and cf. VP 7.17–35. 13  Cf. Gerson 1994, 220–23. 14  See further my comments on I 4.3.15–24, 33–40; Deck 1967, 26–27; and cf. also Arist. De an. II 3, 414b28–415a11. 15  See O’Meara 1975, 72–79. 16  And indeed runs completely counter to it: see, e.g., Eth. Nic. X 8, 1178b20–22. 17  See II 3.17.11–17, with my comment, IV 3.10.14–19; and Deck 1967, 25 and 45–46. 18  From within the ambit of Middle Platonism we possess no trace, so far as I am aware, of any deter11 

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Third Ennead directly linked to some of the fundamental theoretical principles of his philosophy, such as the theory of the “two activities” and that of the “procreativeness of the perfect.”19 A substantial contribution may have come, however, from an important development in Peripatetic thought, which had been prompted by the question of divine Providence. More particularly, Alexander of Aphrodisias appears to have expended considerable effort in demonstrating that Aristotelian philosophy did not ignore Providence entirely as a subject, nor did it downgrade it to a wholly fortuitous, mechanical by-­product of the world’s functioning.20 According to the line of thought suggested by the various pertinent testimonies,21 Providence is exercised—in Alexander’s view—by the divine celestial spheres, as they move unceasingly “by their propensity and appetition for being.”22 That this aspiration of theirs is purely contemplative in character is attested by the fact that the being it is directed toward is described as “the first intelligible, and to the highest degree.”23 On the other hand, providential action does not constitute their principal aim, for this would make of the gods the servants of “those who are subject to becoming and are mortal.” Hence, Providence cannot be part of the primary “activity” of the gods,24 but must represent a secondary consequence flowing out from it—a kind of “emanation” (aporrhoia)25—which nevertheless does not lie outside the scope of their intentions. This clears the way for the view that the celestial gods exert an influence on whatever transpires in the sublunary region—and consequently that they “make” or “produce” (poiousin)26 the things within it—but without turning thereupon their attention, which remains eternally devoted to contemplation of the intelligibles. And the fact that their interest is focused exclusively on the intelligible forms explains why Nature’s concern is for the preservation and welfare of natural kinds, and not of the indimined effort to correlate these two concepts. “Alcinous” Didasc. 2, 152.30–153.24, stresses the “accessory” character of the practical mode of life with respect to the theoretical, and notes that “wisdom” accrues to men as a consequence of their contemplation of the divine and its thoughts, but he does not appear to believe that “production” (poiēsis) is a necessary concomitant of wisdom. (As the references supplied by Whittaker 1990, 76n.20, indicate, the term anankaios that “Alcinous” employs at 153.1 in connection with the praktikos bios refers to its being “constrained by necessity” in that it is subject to external hindrances; it says nothing about its relation with the theōrētikos bios. Cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. X 7, 1177b6–24.) Cf. also Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.24, 143.24–144.8. 19  See further my comment on I 1.2.7–9, V 1.6.37–38; and Igal 1982–98, 1:30–32. 20  The second book of Alexander’s Quaestiones (II 21, 65.17–71.2) includes a relatively brief text in dialogue form on the theme “That Providence is not accidental according to Aristotle,” which was patently written in response to certain Platonists (Atticus being a likely candidate; see Merlan 1969b, 90–91) who had accused Aristotle “of having said nothing concerning Providence.” See also Quaest. I 25, 39.8–41.19. In addition, a treatise of Alexander’s “On Providence” is known to us from two (quite dissimilar) Arabic translations; see Ruland 1976; and, more recently, Fazzo and Zonta 1999. 21  My reconstruction essentially follows the one attempted by Sharples 1982a, 198–211. 22  See Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. I 25, 40.23–28; and cf. my introduction to treatise II 2. 23  See Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. I 1, 3.25–4.17 and I 25, 40.8–19. 24  See op. cit. II 21, 68.19–69.6, and Prou. 135.16–137.6, 141.27–143.15. 25  See Alex. Aphrod. Prou. 139.4–9 and 19–27; and Sharples 1982a, 201. The latter lays stress on the “contrast . . . between God’s own activity and its effect on other things, the heavens and the earth alike.” The term aporrhoia is employed by Atticus, fr. 3.63, in the course of criticizing a comparable theory. 26  See Quaest. II 3.2, 49.33–50.24.



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vidual entities that fall under them.27 Thus theōria and poiēsis—“contemplation” and “production”—are subsumed within a broader theoretical scheme, where the former constitutes the primary activity of the divine, while the latter represents one of its by-­ products: but not a wholly contingent one, because for an Aristotelian such as Alexander, the contemplation of the forms can only be accomplished by means of their abstraction from compound sensible entities.28 I regard it as quite probable that the above analysis significantly influenced P. in the formulation of his own view concerning theōria and the affinity it enjoys with poiēsis, especially in the domain of Nature, and I see further evidence for this in the markedly Aristotelian terminology he employs. Of course, the overarching Platonic framework into which he consolidates this analysis endows it with a much broader significance, as the combination of the two provides the primary conduit through which the supra-­ sensible entities act on the sensible universe and fashion it into a superb and harmonious kosmos.

Commentary Title:In the chronological listing of P.’s writings (VP 5.26), the present treatise appears with the title “On Contemplation” (Peri theōrias). Porphyry feels the need to justify its inclusion in the third Ennead, and he explains (VP 25.8–9) that this was settled upon “because of the section on Nature.” It thus seems highly likely that he is also the one responsible for supplementing the title with the references to Nature and the One; cf. Cilento 1971, 121. In this connection, Schwyzer 1976b, 448n.3, has advanced the plausible hypothesis that because the four individual parts that formerly constituted “The Great Treatise” appear in this chronological listing with distinct titles, their separation must have preceded Porphyry’s edition of the Enneads. Yet some indications are available that the latter was not always above “coining” titles to serve his editorial purposes, and then retroactively inserting them into his chronological table: cf. the case of the miscellany compiled as “treatise” III 9 [13] (VP 4.47). On the contrary, then—and in light also of the special importance that the notion of “contemplation” (theōria) retains for P.’s overall undertaking in this larger work of his—I believe it quite probable that the succinct title given at VP 5.26 was the title of choice (cf. 4.18–9: kratēsasa epigraphē) for “The Great Treatise” itself while it circulated within P.’s school, until it came to be dismembered by Porphyry. The titles of the next two “treatises” (V 8 [31] and V 5 [32]) appear to have been derived from their respective opening passages, while for that of II 9, Porphyry himself seemingly claims paternity at VP 16.11; see my comment ad loc. 1.1–2. Παίζοντες . . . σπουδάζειν:Being fully aware of just how unorthodox the theory is that he is about to defend, P. resorts to the—not entirely original (cf., e.g., Plut. Quaest. conu. I 1.3, 613f–614a)—rhetorical device of presenting his first thesis in the form of a playful jest, thereby securing the indulgence of his audience. At the same time, however, 27  28 

See Quaest. II 21, 68.5–7; Prou. 155.17–157.14; and Sharples 1982a, 205. See Quaest. I 1, 4.15–16.

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Third Ennead by alluding to the famous aphorism of the Scythian wise man Anacharsis that “one must jest in order to be serious” (paizein dei, hopōs spoudasēis: fr. 22, FPG 1:233. Cf. Euphorus fr. 43, FGrH 2A:55–56)—an aphorism explicitly cited by Aristotle, Eth. Nic. X 6, 1176b33 (and cf. [Pl.] Epin. 992b3)—he connects what follows with the discussion concerning the notion of contemplation in the final book of the Nicomachean Ethics. But whereas Aristotle had in mind a contrast between jest and that which is truly “valuable” (timion) because it is constitutive of well-­being, namely, “contemplation” (theōria), P. begins his theoretical survey of the question by so broadening the latter concept as to embrace all manifestations of life, even jest or play. At this juncture it is possible, of course, that he is also making use of another well-­known rhetorical commonplace, according to which an alternation of “seriousness” (spoudē) and “playfulness” (paidia) is indispensable to any exacting endeavor; cf. Herod. II 173; Aelian VH XII 15, 134.1–18. Besides, a (pseudo-­)Platonic Epistle VI 323d1–2, goes so far as to characterize these two attitudes as “sisters” (adelphai). Cf. also, however, my comment on III 2.15.53–58 for a differing approach to the subject. In any case, the resumption of seriousness is explicitly flagged below, at 6.16. 1.2–7. εἰ λέγοιμεν . . . λαμβάνοντα:The view expounded here bears some analogy to the one Aristotle ascribes to Eudoxus (fr. D 3 = Arist. Eth. Nic. X 2, 1172b9–15), according to which the propensity for the good (equated by Eudoxus with pleasure) is common to all animals, rational and irrational—provided of course that we understand “contemplation” (theōria) as a tendency for reversion to the Good. Yet it presents even closer similarities with the theory of Stoicizing inspiration set forth at the beginning of his treatise “On Well-­Being” (I 4.1.1–2.33), which holds that all living beings—even plants—are capable of flourishing, and hence of enjoying the “good life” (euzōia) pursuant on the full realization of their natural “end” (telos); cf. my comments on I 4.1.15–28. That even the earth itself is a living organism represents a firm tenet of P.’s thought; cf. above all IV 4.22.14–42. The claim here, however, is that whatever possesses life and is, in consequence, endowed with an innate proclivity toward its own “proper end,” is also engaged, however faintly or unconsciously, in contemplation of this goal; cf. my comments on III 5.2.39–46 and 3.11–15. (And indeed it is possible that the paradoxical generalization of this claim, in combination with the playful mood of the passage, provided Odysseus Elytis with the inspiration for his poem “The Garden Sees”—from his collection Three Poems under a Flag of Convenience, accessible to English readers in Elytis 1997, 371; on first publication it bore the apposite subtitle “Poem-­Theory”—in which, as a critic has noted (see Berlis 1992, 14), “not only does the poet philosophize ­theorize, but a (Neo-­) Platonic aura accompanies his theoretico-­poetical utterances.”) 1.8. ἆρ’ ἄν τις . . . τοῦ λόγου:The paradox here lies, of course, in the fact that for Aristotle contemplation consisted solely in the activation of the intellect, our highest and most divine faculty; see, e.g., Eth. Nic. X 8, 1178b3–28, where it is clearly stated that for this very reason “none of the other animals enjoys well-­being, because in no way do they share in contemplation.”



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1.8–10. ἢ πρὸς ἡμᾶς . . . γενήσεται:A rare reminder that P. is addressing a limited circle of students to whom he is bound by ties of mutual understanding and trust. We come across this intimate tone once again toward the end of the “Great Treatise,” at II 9.10.3– 10. What we also observe here, however, is that this intimacy of surroundings leads to an interesting reversal: in place of a technique of ironic dissimulation of a speaker’s real beliefs—such as the anonymous commentator of the Theaetetus (Anon. In Tht. 14.34– 42) takes “jesting” to have amounted to in the case of Socrates, who engaged in it “because he did not want to reveal himself ”; cf. also my comment on III 2.15.58–59—what we encounter is the peirastic formulation of the author’s novel and, conceivably, more private views. Thus, instead of inducing a defensive strategy, it acts as a spur toward greater freedom of thought and expression. 1.10–18. ἆρ’ οὖν . . . ἐφέσει θεωρίας γινομένη:Paradox is here pushed to its limit: even philosophical contemplation itself, the most sublime, perfect, and solemn form of activity attainable by man (see Eth. Nic. X 6–7, 1177a1–27), is here equated with play, because every kind of pursuit, whether serious or not, amounts in the final analysis to some sort of contemplation. Concerning the distinction of “actions” (praxeis) into ones that are “necessary” (anankaiai) and others that are “voluntary” (hekousiai), cf. III 1.9.1–16, with my comments. The former require the soul to exert, through “deliberation” (prohairesis), a heightened degree of intervention and effort in order for any practical difficulties and resistances to be surmounted, whereas the latter correspond to the soul’s self-­determined propensity for its proper good, the locus of which resides, however, outside the bounds of the practical life; cf. my comment on I 2.3.10–13; VI 8.5.1–27; and Kristeller 1929, 92–94. 1.18. ἀλλὰ . . . ὕστερον:See below, 4.31–47 and 6.1–9. 1.18–24. νῦν δὲ . . . ἣν οὐκ ἔχει:The first issue that needs to be clarified is in what sense we may be permitted to speak of “contemplation” (theōria) when it comes to living beings devoid of any intellective or even representational faculty, such as plants or the earth. For these are in possession only of the lowest psychical faculty, the so-­called vegetative one, which endows the body with its powers of nutrition and generation, and conceivably also, by way of pleasures and pains, with desires; see III 4.1.3–5, with my comment, IV 4.28.10–18, and, in respect to the earth, IV 4.22.14–15. Plato, Ti. 77a3–c5, also attributed to plants a kind of soul—to which in fact he too attached the name of phusis (“nature” or “growth”)—corresponding to our desiderative one, and explicitly noted that it “has nothing to do with belief or with reasoning and understanding,” while Aristotle, De an. II 3, 414a32–3, likewise declares unambiguously that “in the case of plants only the nutritive one is present,” identifying the latter some lines further on (op. cit. II 4, 416a19) with “the generative one” (to gennētikon). In what way, then, are we invited to envisage the existence of contemplation in all of these, at the same time, moreover, as phusis is taken to represent no more than a faint projection of the soul upon the body, and to be incapable therefore of forming even the simplest representa-

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Third Ennead tions, being restricted to the possession of a kind of “uncritical representational faculty” (anepikritos phantasia)? See further III 6.4.21, with my comment; and Igal 1979, 324–27. The answer to this question will be given below, at 3.7–17. 2.1–3. Ὅτι μὲν . . . δῆλον:“Nature,” in its capacity as a shadow, trace, or image of the soul (cf. my comment on I 1.7.1–6), springs forth not from any specific, voluntary, creative action of the latter’s (as would be the case with the product of a craftsman; cf. IV 4.13.3– 12 and V 8.7.8–12), but in an almost automatic fashion, merely in virtue of the soul’s presence, albeit of course to the extent that the material body in which it appears is capable of taking in this image, and thus of participating—at least phenomenally—in the life of the soul; cf. VI 4.15.1–17. 2.3–9. δεῖ δὲ . . . οἷς ποιοῦσιν:The effective action exercised on bodies by the soul in the process of natural creation is not of a mechanical or violent kind, but more like an act of illumination, which bestows upon them the different shapes and colors that characterize the variety of living organisms; cf. V 8.7.10–12, V 9.6.20–24. The comparison of the creative power of nature with that of a wax-­modeler is familiar from Pl. Ti. 74c6; yet the somewhat casual, if not dismissive, tone in which it is introduced—cf. ōiēthēsan (“they thought” or, better, “they supposed”) in l. 7—indicates, in my view, that P. here probably did not have the specific Platonic passage in mind. Cf., besides, Marc. Aurel. VII 23.1; and Apul. De Plat. I 6, 193. It deserves mention that for the case in point “Alcinous” Didasc. 8, 163.1–3, employs a pair of similes: that of wax, but also that of clay. This may constitute evidence that we ought here to preserve in its entirety the text handed down to us, with only immaterial disparities at that, by a unanimity of MSS, and not to consider the reading koroplathai (“figurine-­modelers”)—along with Müller and H-­S2—as a variant of kēroplastai (“wax-­ modelers”). Further support for this hypothesis is perhaps lent by the plural of the expression “crafts of this kind” (tas technas tas toiautas), in ll. 10–11. That the modelers of clay figurines provided a ready paradigm for Nature’s fashioning of bodies is attested, for example, by the relevant passages in Luc. Prom. es in uerb. 1–2 (and cf. the related scene on the Louvre “Prometheus” sarcophagus referred to in my comment on II 3.15.9– 12); in Atticus fr. 28.6; and in Alex. Aphrod. De mixt. 11, 226.24–30, while yet another passage in Lucian, Lex. 22, reminds us of the importance of colors for the practitioners of this craft. 2.9–12. ἀλλὰ γὰρ . . . αὐτῶν ἔργα:But even for those craftsmen who make their works by hand, what first stimulates and guides their creative activity—the form that they desire to impress on matter—must be something stable and unmoved, as must be that within themselves which apprehends this form and sets in motion the members and instruments involved in the creative process. Cf. Arist. De motu an. 1, 698a7–17; and Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 106.5–15. 2.12–22. ἐπὶ τὸ τοιοῦτον . . . τοῦτο καὶ ὁ λόγος:In an analogous fashion, the creation of things made without hands, as is accomplished by Nature, requires that the primary



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formative (and hence motive) principle, the logos, must itself be unmoved; cf. III 2.4.12– 16. The source of inspiration for this thought cannot in my view be Stoic, as H-­S4, 300, believe; I consider it more probable that it derives from the Middle-­Platonic theory of the eidopoios logos—the postulation of a principle possessing both a “formative” function and a “rational” or “discursive” one—into which certain Aristotelian elements had also been incorporated. Cf. further the passage I cite in my comment on III 5.9.1–5. Of course, an important difference is that the logos here does not unpack or unfurl to occupy matter, but being immaterial in itself, remains immobile, regulating whatever occurs in it as a kind of “unmoved mover” (akinēton kinoun); cf. also Alex. Aphrod. De an. 17.9–10, 21.22–22.6, Quaest. II 2, 47.6–11. 2.22–34. καὶ γὰρ . . . ἐν τῷ γενομένῳ:Nature does not itself possess the properties that it bestows on matter by way of the “rational formative principles” (logoi). It is the cause of the formation of bodies—the natura naturans—not their actual form. Consequently, we can distinguish between two kinds of logoi: the first and higher kind is essentially identical with Nature as an unmoved formative principle, while the second is an image of the first that appears on sensible bodies as a shape and “colors” them by the light of the intelligible Forms, lending them a show of vitality, whereas in reality they remain forever dead; cf. II 4.5.7–18; and Num. fr. 4a.17–19. See also Santa Cruz 1979, 109–10; Turlot 1985, 522–23; and Fattal 1998, 42–43 (who overlooks, however, that Nature does not produce both types of formative principles, but is identical with the higher of the two: see ll. 28–29, tēn phusin einai logon). 3.1–6. Πῶς οὖν . . . θεωρία: The higher Logos, the one that creates by giving shape to bodies without entering into them, is wholly contemplative in being: it is the “reason” why they become what they become, but it never shares their identity, retaining as it does its generality. Because in order for the Logos to be actualized, finding expression in the domain of sensible reality, certain other, contingent factors must also intervene so as to render matter amenable to the reception of this manifestation. Corrigan 1981, 116n.72, was the first to remark that the role played here by the logos is analogous to that of the major premise in a practical syllogism, especially as this is explained by Aristotle in De an. III 11, 434a16–21. The premise in question—to which in the passage just cited Aristotle refers by the term logos—has a universal scope, is described as “quiescent,” and can become known solely through contemplation; the other premise, the minor one, is particular in scope in that it asserts “that this [sc., specific state of affairs] is of the sort [sc., calling for the action predicated by the major premise], and that I [sc., the agent involved] am such a person [sc., as would be required to take such action]” (hoti tode toionde, kagō de toiosde), and is obtained from perception; cf. Eth. Nic. VII 3, 1147a25– 26; and Hicks 1907, 571–72. The conclusion of the syllogism is, of course, the action, which is naturally different from the logos, but which must nevertheless be regarded as a consequence of the latter. It is very probable that this was the model on which P. based his analysis of the ontological relation between contemplation and action—a relation that will be seen to be crucial in determining the further course of the present discussion.

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Third Ennead 3.7–12. καὶ ἐπὶ παντὸς . . . καὶ θεωρήσαντός τινος:We return to the investigation of the two logoi. The higher one is pure “contemplation” and is accessible to the soul by means of contemplation. The other is “an outcome of contemplation,” and is made manifest in nature as natura naturata. The question now is this: what is the subject of this contemplation that results in natural shapes appearing on matter? 3.12–20. πῶς δὲ αὕτη . . . ᾗ ταῦτά ἐστιν:The answer to the above question must of course be: “Nature.” But in what sense can Nature be said to contemplate? And does its own peculiar contemplation constitute some kind of reasoning, that is, does it involve something external to itself that it must endeavor to grasp, thereby running the risk, of course, of committing some error? (This point assumed a particular importance in the context of P.’s anti-­Gnostic campaign, given that most Gnostic cosmogonies admitted that the power responsible for the creation of the world is akin to the higher entities on which its vision is fixed, but akin only “according to substance,” not “according to knowledge,” and hence incapable of “grasping” their light, with the result that its creation proves to be deformed and abortive; see, indicatively, Iren. Adu. haer. I 4.1, 100.18–101.1.) The answer here to the second question is that, no: Nature’s contemplation does not constitute any kind of “reasoning,” but rather an “intellection” (cf. IV 8.8.13–16, contrasting what is ek logismou with what is nōi) of things already in its possession by virtue of its descent from Intellect. (Concerning the character of this “universal intelligence” (phronēsis kosmikē), see IV 4.10.6–13, 11.23–28, 12.43–49; and Igal 1982–98, 1:58–60.) And consequently its creation is a fruit of its substance, which is in the fullest sense contemplative. In other words, both contemplation and creation represent direct manifestations of what Nature truly is: that is, of the fact that it is a conveyor of rational formative principles; cf. II 3.18.8–22, and my comments on II 3.17.9–17 and III 2.2.18–33. 3.20–23. ἡ ποίησις ἄρα . . . ποιησάσης:It follows that the creation accomplished by Nature is contemplation, but only in the sense that it is a by-­product, or concomitant effect, of the contemplation that constitutes its primary activity; cf. my comment on III 2.1.34–45. (In my view, Arnou 1972, 57–64, failed to give this proviso the attention it deserves.) Nature’s creations are “external” to it, inasmuch as they are not fashioned by any deliberate action of its own, but emerge in an almost automatic manner, solely as a result of its contemplation—its contemplation being, moreover, directed elsewhere. We thus begin to acquire a view of the relations, as P. sees them, that interconnect the three basic concepts he is concerned with in the present “treatise.” To the extent that it is governed by “deliberation” (prohairesis), “action” (praxis) represents a consequence of contemplation (see my comment on 3.1–6, but also III 1.9.1– 4)—and being, like it, a self-­willed operation (cf. my comments on III 1.4.20–28 and 10.2–10), it is in equal measure a primary and self-­complete “activity” (energeia) of the soul; cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. VI 5, 1140b6–10; and [Arist.] Mag. Mor. A 34.9–10, 1197a8–11. Conversely, “production” (poiēsis) is a “result” (apotelesma)—a secondary outcome or concomitant effect—of theōria, having its end outside itself; cf. Kalligas 2000, 32. It may be useful to recapitulate our findings up to this point with the help of a diagram, where arrows designate causal relations:



III 8. On Nature and Contemplation

contemplation

theoretical way of life om

isd

w al)

c

ti ac (pr

Nature

action

primary activity

practical way of life

(cr

aft

) production

secondary activity

This diagram makes it clear that both praxis and poiēsis presuppose theōria (cf. V 3.7.30–34), but whereas natural creation occurs immediately, without the mediation of reasoning, human creation requires the intervention of a two-­stage process in which concepts are first subjected to discursive analysis, and then resynthesized by means of technē. (I should note that the appeal to “craft” in this context rests on a broader interpretative initiative of mine that it would be impracticable for me to defend here in detail.) 4.1–4. Καὶ εἴ τις . . . οὐκ εἴθισμαι λέγειν:This magnificent personification of Nature is one of the best-­known passages in the Enneads. On the employment of this rhetorical figure by P., cf. my comment on III 2.3.20, while for other, comparable cases of personification in ancient literature, see Hadot 2004, 44–45. The pronouncement to which a habitually silent Nature (temporarily breaking her silence in order to urge that it be respected!) gives voice is infused with an unmistakably vivid hieratic tone. It was commonly assumed in antiquity that, as Plutarch put it (Quaest conu. VIII 8.1, 728f trans. after Minar), “the gods reveal their wishes by acts and deeds, without speech (aneu phōnēs), to those who can understand them,” and this because (De Is. et Os. 75, 381b trans. Griffiths) “the divine reason does not need a voice”; cf. also the remaining references provided by Theiler 1954, 436. Concerning Nature in particular, cf. the beautiful phrase of Manilius, Astron. II 60: canam tacita naturae mente potentem . . . (which in Goold’s fine translation becomes: “For I shall sing of God, silent-­minded monarch of nature . . .”). It cannot be excluded, however, that P. is also addressing here an indirect response to those Gnostics who spoke depreciatively of “Nature’s garrulity”; see, e.g., Paraph. Shem = NHC VII 1, 42.27–28. Over and above all this, however, the silence of Nature must be understood as a consequence of the “nondiscursive” (alogos) character of its activity; cf. above, 3.13–14 and IV 4.16.13–17. The fact that it remains in uninterrupted contact with the objects of its contemplation, and that it produces in an immediate fashion, without the interposition of calculated plans or syllogistic arguments,

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Third Ennead renders any form of linguistic expression redundant in its case. Hence, in order for someone to gain insight into Nature’s way of creating, what is required is not words, but sunesis, a kind of intuitive capacity to “catch on” or “follow”—cf. Pl. Cra. 412a7–b1: “for sunienai (literally, ‘to go along with’) means for the soul to sumporeuesthai (‘keep pace’) with things”—which defies the possibility of verbal formulation; cf. III 5.1.18. 4.5–14. ὅτι . . . ἐγὼ γεγέννημαι:The creations of Nature are thus theōrēmata, “objects of contemplation” resulting directly from its own contemplative activity, without intermediary discursive analysis. But Nature is also in turn a product of the contemplation engaged in by a power higher than itself, for it is through the Soul’s devotion to the intelligibles that rational formative principles come to devolve upon Nature; cf. my comment on III 2.2.18–33. Nature’s heredity explains why it is “fond of contemplation” (philotheamōn: cf. Philo Her. 79). The example of the geometers is obviously influenced by the description of their method of working in Pl. Resp. VI 510c2–511a1. What this comparison serves to bring out is the concomitant and imperfect character of created bodies. 4.15–25. ἡ μὲν . . . προσεικάσειε:Commenting on the above “pronouncement,” P. clarifies that Nature has its origin in the Soul—which explains why it is not “motherless” (amētōr: cf. III 5.2.19–27, with my comment)—and itself constitutes a kind of derivative and embodied soul, though not, as Zeller 1923, 3.2:593–95, among others, believed, a second, independently existing cosmic Soul. He concludes by saying that its contemplation is directed exclusively toward the rational formative principles that reside within it, and of which, as we saw earlier (see my comment on 2.22–34), it essentially consists. Here, then, is the reason why it is nondiscursive in character, that is, why it fails to possess contemplation “from reasoning” (ek logou: cf. above, 3.13). The only type of apprehension it is left with is a kind of nonrational and “nonrepresentational” (aphantastos) self-­awareness; cf. above, 1.22 and III 6.4.21–23, with my comments; as well as Bergson 2000, 56–58 and 72; and Mossé-­Bastide 1959, 44. This “apperception” (sunaisthēsis), which is a much weaker form of awareness than true sunesis (“integral understanding”: cf. IV 4.13.7–15; Graeser 1972, 136–37; Smith 1978, 297–98; and Gatti 1996, 31–33), brings the various parts of the world into communication and holds them together; its unconscious character causes it to be compared to a state of sleep; cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. I 13, 1102a32–b11; as well as my comments on I 8.13.14–26, II 3.13.34–35, III 4.4.10–13, and III 6.6.65–71. The fact remains, however, that because of this mutual and entirely instinctive reciprocity of its parts, the world constitutes a unity, forming a certain kind of integral organism: cf. on this point Sen. Ep. 121.10–13; Hier. El. Eth. 2.1–3; Sext. Emp. Math. IX 80; and my comment on I 1.11.8–15. This brings it closer to the higher hypostases, at the same time as it endows it with beauty and a semblance of life, making it a moving “image of the intelligible gods” (cf. II 9.8.15–16). 4.25–31. θεωροῦσα γὰρ . . . θεώρημα ποιεῖ:This instinctive contemplation of Nature’s, which is essentially nothing more than the sum of individual apperceptions binding together the various living parts of the world and causing them to be co-­affected accord-



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ing to their natural affinities and disaffinities, is not directed toward anything beyond herself, with the result—further assured by her admixture with matter—of being rendered weak and dim; cf. my comment on II 3.11.1–13; and Müller 1916, 237–40. 4.31–44. ἐπεὶ καὶ ἄνθρωποι . . . τοῦ ἀληθινοῦ:We have here a clear and decisive defense of the superiority and priority of the contemplative mode of life over the practical one; cf. VP 7.20–46. But at the same time we are also given an exceedingly penetrating (although to some it may, nonetheless, seem “primitive”; see Bussanich 1990, 168) analysis of human actions on the basis of their motives and the associated “reification” of the individual’s aspiration to the divine. Action is never entirely independent of contemplation: rather, it serves as the latter’s surrogate, seeing that it is determined and given meaning by it. As Tatakis 1967, 158–62, has observed (drawing on Bergson), P. shows himself faithful here to the tradition of Greek intellectualism, refusing as he does “to consecrate contemplation in action,” because “the theoretical path, which rewards man with the truth, simultaneously constitutes a purification and salvation of the human soul.” Hence, action can only be subordinate to contemplation, or, what amounts to the same, can only seek to imitate it. Thus virtuous action comes to represent—not just for the agent, but for others as well—a living impression and paradigm of an even more vital truth, which, however, only intense intellective contemplation is able to grasp. Something analogous might be said also concerning that other expression of the practical mode of life, “production” (poiēsis), and more particularly with respect to artistic creation. But this issue will be examined later: see 7.21–22 and V 8.1.32–40. 4.45–47. μαρτυροῦσι δὲ . . . καταφέρονται: Consequently, the well-­established contempt of the ancients for the so-­called banausic crafts (cf., e.g., Pl. Resp. IX 590c2–4; Arist. Pol. III 5, 1278a20–22; and, in a more comic vein, Luc. Somn. 9–11; see further Nightingale 2004, 118–26, 241–45) is here warmly endorsed. 5.2–9. ἐπὶ τὴν ψυχὴν . . . καὶ θεωρήματα:The discussion now turns to the cosmic Soul, of which Nature constitutes, as we have seen, an “object of contemplation” (theōrēma). The reservations expressed at this point by Deck 1967, 49–51, who seizes on the allusions to its “love of learning” (philomathes) and its “spirit of inquiry” (zētētikon)—characteristics that do, indeed, seem inappropriate for the cosmic Soul; cf. Philo Migr. 216— to suggest that P. must here be talking about individual human souls, are in my view unjustified: just like the allusion to “craft” or “art” (technē), which comes next, the ones in question form part of a broader comparison between the creativity of the Soul and that of craftsmen, the purpose of which is to delineate the place of the former between what precedes it and what follows it. The cosmic Soul is itself a product of the contemplation engaged in by the intelligibles (see, e.g., V 1.7.36–38, V 2.1.16–21, and cf. my comment on III 2.2.15–18), but at the same time by its own contemplation it produces Nature, which comes after it (see above, my comments on 2.1–3 and 4.5–14). And just as the “toys” (paignia: cf. IV 3.10.17–19 and my comment on III 6.7.23) that art produces do, so too does its own creation reflect the beings that it contemplates in all their richness; cf. Pl. Resp. X 596b12–e4, Soph. 234b1–10.

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Third Ennead 5.9–25. τὸ πρῶτον . . . καταβαῖνον γίγνεσθαι:It is here made clear that Nature does not constitute a separate hypostasis, but that it is intimately related to the Soul, being something like a part of it. What happens, simply, is that in the course of its procession and its dispersal into the multiplicity of sensibles, Nature becomes to some extent detached from it (cf. my comment on II 3.17.18–25), while the primary Soul itself remains devoted to the contemplation of the intelligibles. By the action it exerts on bodies, Nature confers upon them certain basic functions, and in this respect grants them a first, life-­ giving “participation” (metalēpsis). But the creation of higher forms of life undoubtedly also requires a second metalēpsis, their participation in individual souls, through which they come also to acquire the higher psychical functions. The creative action of Nature, therefore, is nothing other than the secondary activity of the Soul, an offshoot of the latter’s primary activity, contemplation—given that in its own particular case action, like craft, is not intellective—and consequently it too, in an indirect and derivative way, can be characterized as a (likewise weakened, to be sure; cf. above, 4.39–40) contemplation. 5.25–34. ἀψοφητὶ μὲν δὴ . . . ὁμοίως:Hence, natural creation is the result of a progressively weaker succession of contemplations, extending from the primary self-­intellection of Intellect down to the feeble and unconscious “apperception” (sunaisthēsis) that binds together all animated beings—a succession that naturally occurs in an unbroken and soundless manner; cf. IV 3.4.21–28; and Eurip. Tro. 887–88, a passage P. cites at IV 4.45.27–28. 5.34–38. διὸ ὁ ἡνίοχος . . . ἐκεῖνο:P. reveals to us here the other source of inspiration (besides Aristotle’s Eth. Nic.) for his doctrine of contemplation: the myth of the Phaedrus. Plato describes there how the driver of the soul-­chariot, having completed his celestial journey after gazing directly upon the intelligible Forms of Justice, Temperance, and so on, descended once more to earthly things, and “resting (stēsas) his horses by the manger, threw in ambrosia, and gave them nektar to drink besides” (Phdr. 247d1–e6). P. chooses to interpret this idyllic image allegorically, as depicting the relation that holds between, on the one hand, contemplation, and, on the other, the creative activity by which the Soul imbues irrational Nature with life and assures her preservation through the “rational formative principles” (logoi) with which it “nourishes” her (cf. III 5.9.16–18 on nectar and its symbolism). 6.1–10. Ἡ ἄρα πρᾶξις . . . εἰς θεωρίαν:Cf. above, 4.31–44, with my comment. 6.10–21. ὃ γὰρ . . . οἰκεῖον εὕρῃ:The soul’s contemplation of the intelligibles transpires in silence, but in a silence different from that which characterizes Nature (cf. above, 4.4, with my comment). In the present instance, it is the soul’s approach toward, and approximation to, the object of its contemplation—attaining total identification on those rare occasions when its intellective powers are fully activated (cf. my comment on I 1.11.2–8, and IV 8.1.1–8)—which makes the intervention of linguistic expressions redundant, if not actually impossible; cf. also my comment on I 3.5.10–13. Thus the more



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its contemplation becomes active, the more does the soul gain consciousness of possessing within itself all that it contemplates and seeks after, with the result that it arrives at a state of plenitude and “quietude” or “tranquillity” (hēsuchia); cf. I 3.4.9–18; and Hunt 1981, 74–77. 6.21–36. ἡ μὲν οὖν . . . αὐτῆς μέρει:For the soul as a whole, however, intellection is something acquired, which is why it is obliged to process its intellective apprehensions discursively and to convert them into rational thoughts and sentences (Tzavaras 1995, 79n.33, has discerned here, behind the verbs “to become disposed” (diatithesthai) and “to utter” (propherein), a reference to the “inward” (endiathetos) and the “spoken” (prophorikos) “word” (logos), on which, see my comment on I 2.3.27–30), thereby rupturing that total unity that characterized the intelligibles as long as they resided in the Intellect. Thus, those of the intelligibles that come to occupy the soul exhibit discursiveness and multiplicity, and the soul contemplates them one after the other, giving rise by this “outgoing” (diexhodos) to the generation not just of logical successions, but of temporal ones as well; cf. III 7.11.20–23, with my comment. Or again, the soul strives to apply its discursive thinking in the world through its “actions” (praxeis); cf. above, my comment on 3.1–6. Consequently, as Trouillard 1955a, 29, observes, the practical mode of life is nothing but a “detour” of the soul, which by the enfeeblement of its contemplation has become alienated from its own (intellective) self. Or finally, as Dodds 1973, 134, puts it, “the statesman and the artist . . . are philosophers manqués, who project their dream [sc., onto the world] precisely because they cannot live it.” 6.36–40. ἡ δὲ στᾶσα . . . καὶ πάντα εἴσω:By contrast, the soul that persists in its contemplation is distinguished by the steadiness of its disposition and behavior, while its self-­ concentration enables it to remain uninfluenced by external circumstances and associated affections; cf. I 4.12.6–10, IV 4.12.9–13; but also VP 8.19–23; and my comments on I 6.9.17–23. The importance of “rest” (stasis) in respect to the disposition of the soul of one who contemplates had been emphasized already in the Phaedrus myth; see 247b6– c2; and above, my comment on 5.34–37. Yet, as Williams 1985, 70–102, has shown, it acquired a particular significance for the Gnostics, mainly in connection with the description of the stages through which the soul must pass on its return to the higher spheres; see, characteristically, Zost. = NHC VIII 1, 6.2–7.20. 7.1–15. Ὅτι μὲν οὖν . . . δῆλόν που:Reviewing his findings up to now, P. seizes the opportunity to try to generalize their import so as to display the universality of contemplation and establish it as the basic model to which creativity at all ontological levels conforms. Both intellection and the lower cognitive powers such as discursive reasoning and perception, but also the soul’s practical manifestations, and indeed even the desire for the propagation of offspring or for artistic creation, down to the unconscious creativity of Nature herself—all tend toward contemplation. Whether directed toward the intelligible models themselves, or toward their natural or artificial facsimiles, all aspire ultimately to the enjoyment of contemplation, which is the soul’s principal activity and the one most proper to its nature. And whatever is created becomes in turn an object of

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Third Ennead contemplation, either on the part of the soul that created it, or on the part of others that discern in it the traces of its divine origins; cf., on this particular point, Deck 1967, 52– 55. With this, the question that had been raised at the beginning of the “treatise” as to whether all living beings participate in contemplation has in substance been answered. 7.15–22. ἐπεὶ κἀκεῖνο . . . πληρῶσαι θεωρίας:Thus contemplation operates in a quintessentially anagogical manner: it orients all things toward its own primordial form, which is the self-­intellection of intelligible beings. Hence, every act of creation as well, consisting as it does in the molding of an object so as to render it the bearer of some form, produces shapes that draw souls to contemplation of the intelligible principles residing within. 7.23–27. καὶ αἱ ἁμαρτίαι . . . σπευδόντων:Cf. I 6.2.13–18, 5.25–31, and I 2.2.1–4 with Pl. Phdr. 250d3–251a1. 8.1–10. τῆς δὲ θεωρίας . . . ἓν ὄντως ἄμφω:At the end of the anagogical journey that contemplation prompts us to undertake, we arrive at its highest form: intellection. There the distinction between subject and object of contemplation is entirely abolished, and the “intimacy” (oikeiōsis) that the soul had previously felt toward its object (cf. 6.19– 26) is replaced by total identification, such that Intellect, intellection, and intelligible are one and the same; cf. V 3.5.26–28, 41–48, V 9.5.1–7. For Intellect “produces” its intellection and the object of its intellection by being what it is. See also Deck 1967, 25. 8.11–30. τοῦτο δέ ἐστι . . . ὁμοῦ τὰ δύο:Yet this “involution” of Intellect’s into eternal self-­intellection is nothing other than primordial Life, the archetype and source of all other forms of life; cf. I 4.3.33–40 and III 7.3.11–23, with my comments. That is why Intellect does not just have life, but is Life itself, and by its collateral action bestows life on whatever comes after it; cf. IV 7.9.10–15. And just as the primary activity of Intellect is simultaneously life and intellection, so too do all other lives somehow constitute intellections, given that life and intellection are simply different ways of acceding to the same reality: life referring to the unifying effect that the higher entities devolve upon the lower ones, intellection to the anagogical aspiration that the lower ones direct toward the higher; cf. Hadot 1960, 132–40. We have already found Aristotle, De an. II 3, 414b28–415a13, displaying an awareness of such a scala uitae, where every form of life of a higher grade (e.g., discursive reason) presupposes the ones ranked lower (e.g., the nutritive and the perceptive). For P., however, the direction of ontological dependence is reversed: the lower avatars of life are weakened versions of its highest form, the intellective one. Thus, for example, perceptions are “dim intellections” (amudrai noēseis: see VI 7.7.30–1), and even the unconscious “apperception” (sunaisthēsis) of Nature represents a kind of elementary and virtually imperspicuous intellection. 8.30–40. ἓν οὖν ὂν . . . τὸ ἀφ’ οὗ μόνον:Hence, because the powerful unity that binds all intelligibles to each other also conjoins the objects of intellection to their subjects, Intellect constitutes the model of both life and contemplation. All the same, in spite of its



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high degree of unity, Intellect continues to be composed of a multitude of beings, that is, to be a “multiple unity” (hen polla: see V 3.15.10–22, V 4.1.20–21, VI 7.14.1–18, etc.). And its self-­intellection is also a comprehensive kind of sunaisthēsis, an “integral awareness” that allows each of its parts to be present to all the others; cf. V 3.13.12–19. Consequently, Intellect, although unitary, is not to be identified either with the distinctive unity it possesses, or, naturally, with the One itself, from which having originally sprung forth—like the figure of Poros/Plenty, drunk with nectar, of Plato’s Symposium 203b7— it spreads abroad, inundating everything with the seed of striving for the Good; cf. III 5.2.32–38, 9.1–23 and 37, with my comments. For although Intellect had at first been nothing more than a unitary and inchoate aspiration of reverting to its own origin (cf. II 4.4.17–20, with my comment on II 4.5.31–37), in its intoxication with the One it becomes aware of itself as something different from It, and in this manner comes to self-­ constitute itself as a multiple intelligible universe; cf. VI 7.15.20–24, 16.10–14, and 35.19–32. A serious problem of interpretation that arises here, especially in light of the parenthetical remark in ll. 35–36, is the extent to which Intellect is to be blamed for distancing itself from the One, as appears also to be the suggestion at VI 9.5.28–29; cf. Merlan 1960, 124. Yet as the context—at least—makes plain, the culpability of Intellect consists not in its “procession” (ekbasis) from the One, but rather in its “having wanted to possess everything,” a turn of events that led to its becoming multiple after this initial procession, during which, as is clearly asserted, Intellect was still something that was “one” (hen); cf. also Rist 1965, 341–42; and Bussanich 1988, 82–83. A second problem of interpretation is the precise content to be assigned to the geometrical example through which the formation of Intellect by the One is illustrated in ll. 36–38. The passage Bussanich 1988, 84, cites as a parallel (VI 8.18.7–18) goes some way to help us understand that what is involved here is the formation of a circle through the “dilation” of a point, such that the latter becomes its center. During this process, then, the radii and circumference of a circle acquire subsistence at the same time as the surface is determined on which the circle itself comes to be formed and its various parts become distinguishable. What in this analogy corresponds to the One, although not explicitly mentioned here, is of course the point—but the point at the start of the process, before it becomes the center of the circle. On the other hand, once the circle is formed, its center simply comes to represent, as Procl. In Remp. II 46.18–27, also observed, the object of Intellect’s contemplation—an object that by now, however, is intelligible, and is indeed the totality of intelligibles: for only thus is Intellect in a position to confront the One; cf. Crystal 1998, 271. 8.40–48. καὶ ἄλλως δὲ . . . ἐκ μορίων:As was stated above (8.34), it is one of Intellect’s constitutive characteristics that it contains all things—or, in other words, that it is universal. Yet every partial intellect as well (which is to say, every member of the intelligible universe, i.e., every Form), insofar as it is an intellect, must also—potentially, at least— contain all things; cf. VI 7.8.27–29. This follows on from the all-­encompassing reciprocal circumincession of the intelligibles, which is their characteristic way of being a “multiple unity” (hen polla); cf. my comment on III 2.1.26–34 and VI 2.20.1–23. We also

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Third Ennead come across the same idea in Numenius fr. 41.3–5, but P. in other parts of his work (IV 4.2.12–14; cf. VI 5.7.4–8) provides justification for it principally on the strength of the experience of intellective contemplation, during which “a man in this state, by his intuition of himself, and when he actually sees himself, has everything included in this seeing, and by his intuition of everything has himself included.” As regards the “unbounded” (apeiros) character of Intellect, see my comment on III 7.5.22–28. 9.1–3. διὸ οὐ πρῶτος . . . ἑνὸς ὕστερον:On the basis of the recognition (cf. 8.42–43) that Intellect is necessarily—in some degree—multiple, and of the fundamental assumption (cf. V 3.12.9–10, 15.11–18, V 6.3.21–22; cf. also Alex. Aphrod. Mund. A 63) that every multiplicity presupposes—logically, and hence ontologically—the one, P. draws the conclusion that Intellect cannot be the first ontological principle. At the same time, he urges that this absolute principle must by the same token be an absolute One; cf. V 4.1.5–16; and Deck 1967, 8. 9.3–11. καὶ ἀριθμὸς δὲ . . . τῷ νῷ:The constitution of the intelligible world follows the same basic pattern as the formation of numbers from their principle, the arithmetic “one.” The fundamental duality of “thinking subject / object of thought” (nooun/nooumenon: cf. III 9.7.3–5, V 3.10.23–26, V 4.2.10–11, V 6.6.9–11, VI 7.8.21–29, and VI 9.2.36– 37), an outgrowth of Intellect’s otherness with respect to the One (see V 3.15.37–39), is the beginning of multiplicity, which, when the measure of the one is applied to it, comes to be articulated as the series of (natural) numbers, and simultaneously also as the multitude of intelligible beings; cf. V 1.5.6–17 and V 5.5.2–14. See further Krämer 1967, 317–19 (who a few lines later, 324, points to some parallels from the domain of Gnosticism); and Szlezák 1979, 120. Because it is impossible, therefore, that intellect should exist without the intelligible, but equally because the intelligible—as intelligible—can have no existence independently of intellect, the principle must be something “beyond” (epekeina) Intellect (cf. I 7.1.19–24), and also something different from each of the two constituents we saw that it possesses; cf. V 5.4.9–15. 9.11–22. εἰ οὖν . . . ἐπιβολῇ ἀθρόᾳ:Nevertheless, the recognition that the first principle lies beyond Intellect raises a plausible question: if this principle is not even in a position to think its own self, then how can we come to know it, and hence accurately ascribe to it such attributions as “Good” (agathon) or “One” (hen)? Is it then something entirely inaccessible and inert, as if suspended in eternal sleep? Cf., on this last point, Arist. Metaph. Λ 9, 1074b17–18. Or are we perhaps able to accede to it only through a visionary grasp that transcends normal thought, such as might be characterized either as a kind of “pre-­intellectual contact” (cf. V 3.10.42–44: thixis anoētos), or as “intellect become crazed” (nous aphrōn: see VI 7.35.19–25)? The term epibolē—as pointed out by Rist 1967b, 49–51—derives from Epicurean epistemology, but it also acquired wider currency, and was employed by authors such as Philo, Post. 20, Ebriet. 71, Migr. 32, to designate the purely intuitive kind of intellective apprehension; cf. also Iren. Adu. haer. I 2.2, 163; and Sext. Emp. Math. VII 370, 383–84. By now, however, the same term can



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be applied here by P. to a kind of apprehension that surpasses even intellection in immediacy; cf. VI 7.39.1–4, where it refers to that quasi knowledge the Good has of itself. 9.22–26. πρὸς ὃν . . . ἔχεις ἐκεῖθεν:P., however, is not so much concerned here to explain in what manner the One can be known, as he is to show that something of this order is actually feasible. And what does make it possible is the presence within us of an element that is “like” (homoion) It; cf. VI 9.4.26–28, 11.30–32; but also Origen C. Cels. VII 38; and note 12 of my introduction to III 4. The reference can of course be to none other than to “the god in us” (ton en hēmin theon), whom P., on the verge of death, recommended to his companions that they should try “to bring back to the divine in the All” (VP 2.26–27; but see now D’Ancona Costa 2002, 519–21). Besides, at V 1.11.6–7, it is clearly stated that we ought to regard as being present “in us” not only Intellect, but also “the principle and cause and God of Intellect.” As noted by Rist 1964, 80–82, expressions of this type do not in any way detract from the transcendence of the One, but on the contrary, serve to point out the transcendent character of our own inner self. Similarly, although the One, as the primary cause of all things, is somehow “present” in everything, it can only become known by man through a mystical union in which the distinction of viewer and vision is entirely abrogated; cf. VI 9.11.6: “not really seen, but united.” 9.26–28. ὥσπερ εἰ . . . οὐ πᾶσαν:Cf. VI 4.12.1–18, where the phenomenon of the transmission of sound, such that the whole of it is found everywhere throughout a single space, is employed as an analogy for the omnipresence of the soul in the body. Sound may be present everywhere, but it only becomes perceptible where there is an ear capable of hearing it. 9.29–32. τί οὖν ἐστιν . . . νοῦν εἶναι:In order to be able to grasp the One, Intellect must cease being an intellect. For that to happen, it must withdraw from its normal intellective activity and turn exclusively “backward” (toupisō), that is, “[re-­]ascend” (anachōrein: cf. my comment on I 1.12.18–21) to where it came from. The capacity of Intellect to see in two directions is illustrated by the somewhat unusual adjective amphistomos (“dual-­ mouthed”), thus possibly echoing, as Bussanich 1988, 99, surmises, the ascription of an analogously dual orientation to the soul in the theology of the Chaldaean Oracles, where it is said to be, like Hecate, “dual-­faced” (amphiprosōpos); see Procl. In Ti. II 246.19 and 293.23; and cf. also Num. fr. 11.13–19 and 16.10–12; as well as Lewy 1978, 115; and Merlan 1969a, 42–43. 9.32–39. ἔστι μὲν γὰρ . . . καὶ τῶν πάντων:In itself, however, Intellect is a unitary living organic whole (cf. above, 8.11–14, with my comment), with Life simultaneously coursing through every one of its parts and composing them into a “complete living thing” (panteles zōion). P. hastens to emphasize that this “outgoing” (diexhodos: a term usually referring to the discursive function, which P. categorically denies to the Intellect—see III 7.11.24, 13.43, IV 4.1.11–16, V 8.6.3–4—so its employment here is possibly due to the influence of Numenius; cf. fr. 12.14–16) is not accomplished in time (the point being

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Third Ennead signified through the use of the perfect tense; cf. my comment on I 3.1.12–16 and, e.g., VI 7.13.16), nor is it indefinite and confused, as was the original “outpouring” from the One (cf. my comment on II 4.3.1–3), but it does presuppose some kind of multiplicity, and hence also a prior principle. 9.39–54. οὐ γὰρ ἀρχὴ . . . πρὸ τῶν πάντων:One of the most categorical affirmations of the transcendence of the One, its absolute simplicity and complete ontological priority over all things. The One is present to whatever things are derived from it as their cause and as the precondition of their being, yet at the same time it remains radically different and separate from them all; cf. III 9.4.3–9, V 2.1.1–2, V 3.11.14–21, 13.2–3, V 4.2.39–42, V 5.13.33–36; and Bussanich 1996, 58–61. It is the One in itself, and as such is preclusive of any multiplicity; cf. V 3.15.15–18, V 5.4.6–10. It is the first principle, with nothing else coming prior to it; cf. V 3.12.18–27 (incorporating the textual emendations I proposed in Kalligas 1988, 102), V 5.9.5–8, VI 8.10.18–21. In the hierarchy of hypostases, whatever is prior is also simpler and more unitary, while anything lower will also be more multiple. Consequently, the principle of all things must also be simpler than anything else; cf. V 1.8.25–26 and V 3.16.5–16. The phrase that introduces the final argument—ll. 44–45: “but if anyone should think” (ei de tis oioito)—suggests that P. may have here had in mind certain specific opponents who conceived of the One’s presence in the world in a distinctively pantheistic manner. As Norden 1923, 248n.4, observed, the formula auto to hen kai ta panta (“the One itself and all things”) appears to allude to magico-­religious beliefs that had gained currency among the Gnostics and were circulating within P.’s own environment; cf. Chald. Or. fr. 21; and my comment on II 3.15.5–8. The hypothesis would also explain the somewhat—for him—unusually fastidious exposition of the argument at this juncture. 10.1. Τί δὴ . . . πάντων:In his celebrated description of the Form of the Good in book VI of the Republic, Plato characterizes it (509b9–10 trans. Cornford, my emphasis) as “even beyond being (eti epekeina tēs ousias), surpassing it in dignity and power (presbeiai kai dunamei huperechon).” The sense of dunamis in that passage is unquestionably an active one: it designates the capability of the supreme principle for unimpeded action and production; cf. my introduction to II 5. In precisely the same sense, P. also repeatedly characterizes the One-­Good as dunamis pantōn (“the [productive] power of all things”); see V 1.7.9–10, V 3.15.32–35 (where this “power” is explicitly distinguished from the passive potentiality of matter), V 4.1.36, 2.38, and cf. V 5.10.10–22 and VI 8.1.10–11, where the term dunamis applied to the One is glossed by the expression panta dunasthai (“to be omnipotent”), possibly echoing a well-­known phrase of Homer’s (Od. 14.445). 10.1–4. ἧς μὴ οὔσης . . . οὖσα πρώτη:Here P. elaborates somewhat on the observation he had made at 9.40–41, namely, that the One is the principle of all things, but is not all things. Life, the characteristic feature of intelligible Being (cf. above, my comment on 8.11–30), has its own cause in the One, which must lie above life, not being distinguished by the multiplicity that is necessary to the latter’s existence; cf. I 6.7.11–12, with my com-



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ment, V 3.16.35–38, and VI 7.18.16–31. Thus, all things are present to the One, but in a unitary, undifferentiated, and inchoate “spermatic” form, such that they only arise from it as posterior entities; cf. VI 7.32.12–14. 10.4–19. ἀλλ’ ὥσπερ . . . ἑτέρας οὔσης:The issuance of intellective Life from the One is illustrated by two of P.’s best-­known and most characteristic similes: the flowing spring and the rooted plant, both of which had accumulated, as it seems, a considerable prehistory within the Pythagorean tradition. First of all, they crop up in the archaic Oath— known to us from a multitude of testimonies (see Anon. Pyth. fr. 58B15 DK; Delatte 1915, 249–53; and Burkert 1972, 186–87—P. seems to have this text in mind at VI 6.9.38)—that the Pythagoreans swore By him who bestowed on our generation the tetraktus, which holds the fount (pagan) of ever-­flowing nature (aenaou phuseōs), and its root (rhizōma). The spring in particular is also deployed as a symbol of the generation of “Forms” (ideai) from the primordial “Father” (patēr) in an excerpt from the Chaldaean Oracles (fr. 37) preserved by Proclus (In Parm. 800.20–801.5), who elsewhere (In Cra. 63, 59.3) reports that the Oracles also ascribed to the divine progenitor the attributes amistulleutos (“irrefragable”) and pasōn sunocheus tōn pēgōn (“sustainer of all the fountains”), which are suggestive of a broadly similar image to the one P. has in mind in the present passage; see also Lewy 1978, 82–83 and 338–40. Cf. also Philo Opif. 21; and Cher. 86; and, from the ambit of Gnosticism, Hippol. Haer. V 26.2; and Allog. = NHC XI 3, 47.26 and 48.21. It is important to note that the emphasis here lies in the fact that the “outflow” brings about no diminution of its source, which remains entirely unaltered and “tranquil” (hēsuchos); cf. VI 9.5.36–37, 9.1–6. This notion of “undiminishing bounteousness” holds a wider significance within P.’s ontology (cf. my comment on III 4.3.24–7), and has already been met with in Numenius, fr. 14.6–16, albeit in the context of a different simile: that of a flame’s transmission from one lamp to another; see Henry 1969, lx; but also Ferwerda 1965, 43–45. An even closer parallel noticed by Zandee 1961, 33, is a passage in the Tripartite Tractate from Nag Hammadi (= NHC I 5, 60.11–15) that describes the generation of the Aeons from the intellect of the Father, who is in turn compared to “a spring, which is not diminished by the water which flows abundantly from it” (trans. Robinson). A little further on (op. cit. 66.17–18; cf. also 51.17–19, 74.6–13), this Father is called “the fountain who caused to flow out of himself, the root of them who have been planted . . .” (trans. Zandee), thus conjoining the same two images we find in the lines under consideration. The second of these images underlines the One’s position as primordial life-­giver and as fundamental and unitary cause of all things (cf. III 1.4.5–9, III 3.7.9–16, VI 8.15.33–36; but also PGM I 205 and IV 1189–90), while simultaneously reminding us that It “remains” (see menousan . . . menousēs . . . emeine . . . menousēs, and cf. Pl. Ti. 42e5–6) stable and unaltered, but also imperceptible, hiding as it does behind the variety of intelligible shapes that spring from it, without becoming dispersed or dissolving altogether inside them; see also Tzavaras 1995, 97n.54.

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Third Ennead 10.20–28. διὸ καὶ . . . τὸ μηδὲν ὑπονοήσομεν:The priority of the one is discernible at all ontological levels, because nothing can come to be something without first being one— without having, that is, a unitary starting point of its existence, such as the soul is for living beings; cf. V 3.15.11–15, VI 6.9.11–13, VI 9.1.1–4. Hence, the archē (“origin” or “principle”) of every multiple entity is necessarily some “one.” If we apply this general rule to the case of intelligible Being, which contains the totality of Forms, then corresponding to that, too, there must exist some One that will constitute its origin and will not be identical with any of its component entities. In referring to this ultimate principle, P. frequently invokes the expression pēgē kai archē (“source and origin”) that Plato had employed in the Phaedrus, 245c9 (see the Index fontium in H-­S2 III, 353), but that there concerned the perpetually mobile nature of the soul. Yet the One is also, to P.’s way of thinking, a kind of prime mover, a primordial and ingenerate provenance, fons et origo not only of movement, but of the very being of all things. 10.28–35. ἤ ἐστι μὲν . . . δι’ αὐτὸ οὖσιν:The ultimate principle and origin of beings must, in accordance with all that has been said, be both unitary and distinct from all of them: it must consequently be—in some sense—“nonbeing” (mē on). Will it, then, be the absolute “nothing” (mēden)? (Cf. VI 9.3.4–6 for the psychological dimension appertaining to this question.) To affirm as much would leave P. exposed to the principle ex nihilo nihil (“nothing comes to be from nothing”), which had been formulated by Parmenides (fr. B8.7–13 DK; cf. Melissus fr. B1 DK, and Arist. Ph. I 8, 191a27–31), and had been respected by virtually the entire tradition of Greek thought. For how could all things arise out of nothing? On the other hand, neither could this archē be something determinate, something having any “substance” (ousia) whatsoever, for having a substance would mean being limited to it, and hence being bound and enslaved by it; cf. VI 8.19.5. What remains, therefore, is that it should be an indeterminate principle transcending all predications and having as its sole characteristic an unquenchable creative dynamism, which is of course only discernible, however, through its results, namely, the universe of the intelligible constituted as an organic whole. Hence, its existence may be inferred from the reality of whatever is generated from it but may not be directly ascertained by any act of immediate intellective apprehension, which will always and exclusively have beings as its objects; cf. Bréhier 1919, 445–54; and D’Ancona Costa 1992, 111. And as principle of the intelligibles, it will transcend not only the attribution of whatever particular characteristics correspond to them, but all of their categorial (or Type A; on which see my comment on II 6.1.8) properties as well. Consequently, in order for us (intellectively) to grasp this principle, we must eliminate from our thought all manner of “is.” This can be accomplished by means of the operations P. enumerates at VI 7.36.6–8: “analogies” (analogiai) and “abstractions” (aphaireseis) and “knowledge of the things that come from it” (gnōseis tōn ex autou) and “ascent by degrees” (anabasmoi). All of these represent methods of preparation for the mystical union with the One, and they are of a strictly discursive nature, in contrast to the ethical and, more generally, purificatory preparations (ibid. 8–10), which are also required for the purpose; cf. Hadot 1987, 348–49. By means of these exercises and preliminaries the soul is at last made ready to approach the One directly and be united with



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it; cf. VI 7.34.2–20. It is worth drawing attention to the insistence with which the present passage deploys a vocabulary suggestive of visual perception: cf. balōn pros auto (“throwing oneself upon it,” but also “aiming toward it” or “fixing one’s gaze upon it”); tēi prosbolēi (“by intuition,” i.e., “by insight” or “immediate vision”); sunorōn (“becoming conscious of ” or “being able to see”). This has the effect, first of all, of drawing a certain parallel between this union and the activity of contemplation that was discussed in the initial part of the treatise. But it also lends weight to the interpretative approach of those who understand P.’s mysticism as being “theistic” rather than “monistic,” in the sense that in spite of its experience of unity with the One, the soul preserves its individual character and identity, and is not abolished within It; see further Rist 1989, 184–90. Nevertheless the fact remains that this union bears a closer resemblance to contact than it does to contemplation, seeing that it has none of the latter’s typical features; cf. V 3.17.33–37, VI 7.39.17–20. And the repeated use of words beginning with the prefix sun-­ (“with” or “along with”) is undoubtedly intended to highlight the firm unity that on these occasions connects the soul to the object of its “observation”; cf. Bussanich 1988, 116; and 1987, 170. 11.1–11. ἐπεὶ γὰρ . . . ἢ αὐτό:The use of expressions derived from the field of vision to describe contact with the One was imposed by yet a further consideration: the analogy between this experience and certain well-­known encounters of a religious nature. In order, for example, to describe his personal vision of the god Asclepius in an Egyptian temple, a pilgrim-­worshiper who was a rough contemporary of P.’s resorted to similar wording: “for my mind was stricken with amazement and made replete (katepeplēgmēn gar kai epeplērōmēn ton noun) as I gazed upon the figure of the god”; see Thess. De uirt. herb. 26, 55a5–6 = b7–8. Consequently, there was a need to provide some additional clarifications at this point: for like vision, intellection also presupposes the activation of the pertinent psychical function; cf. my comment on I 1.11.2–8. But this implies two things: (a) That this function must at some earlier stage have been inactive, somewhat like a “material intellect” that comes to be illuminated and activated by the object it has in prospect. This of course entails a corresponding activation of the intelligible object, which comes to be configured out of shapeless and uniform “intelligible matter” into the unified multiplicity of intelligible forms; cf. my comment on II 4.4.2–7. The derivation of this view from Peripatetic noology is relatively easy to ascertain, but apart from the overall modifications he brings to it, P. also invokes it here in order to contrast it with what occurs in the case of union with the Good: cf. my introduction to II 5; Rist 1962a, 103–4; and Schroeder 1984, 245–46. For the latter case offers no field for activation of the Good, which contains its “end” (telos) within itself, or rather which is identical with the ultimate telos of all things; cf. I 7.7–10, with my comment. (b) That intellection is like vision in presupposing some form of—functional, at least—differentiation between subject and object, thinker and thought, which cannot of course be applicable in the case of genuine union with the Good. For when someone is himself made One with It, “having joined, as it were, center with center” (VI 9.10.14– 15), there no longer subsists any duality by which he and It might be distinguished. But

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Third Ennead when the Intellect confronts It as intellect (which is to say, as primordially unitary intelligible matter; cf. above, 8.32; and Szlezák 1979, 84), the resulting “vision” assumes an intellective character with the concomitant emergence of multiplicity: see further Rist 1962a, 102; Bussanich 1988, 116–18; and cf. my comment on III 9.9.5–12. Another who attempted to explicate this view was Michael Psellus, in one of his Epistles to Joannes Xiphilinus (apud Sathas 1876, 449): “having arrived above intellect (huper noun), we shall attain the vault above it—I mean that of illumination (tēs ellampseōs); this . . . is . . . cessation of all thinking (katapausis pasēs noēseōs); for once we have arrived there, what we do is see (horōmen), not think (ouchi nooumen), or rather not think that we are thinking (ē mallon ouchi nooumen hoti nooumen); for that would be a degradation of knowledge, i.e., an apprehension of partial substance (katabasis . . . gnōseōs kai merikēs ousias antilēpsis); for he who is conscious that he became conscious is parted in two in respect of knowledge (dusi merizetai gnōsesin), and partition is a kind of turning away from the better and a demotion.” 11.12–13. φθεγξάμενος οὖν . . . ἐνδεὲς ποιήσεις:What makes the Good ontologically prior to all things is its absolute simplicity. Consequently, adding anything to it would be tantamount to demoting it to some lower rank of the ontological scale; cf. V 3.16.5– 16 and VI 7.41.14–17. That is also why it is—in principle—impossible to attribute any predicate to it; cf. 10.29–31 above, VI 7.38.1–9, and my comment on II 9.1.7–8. 11.13–26. διὸ οὐδὲ . . . πρὸς τὸ εἶδος αὐτοῦ:Hence, the Good cannot be thought of—in the proper sense of the verb—even by itself, because every act of thinking presupposes some kind of duality. The question now is: does the Good, then, possess no knowledge of itself (cf. my comment on 9.11–22 above, and V 3.13.6–17)? Although P. is consistent in denying to the Good the attribution of any self-­intellection, such as Aristotle accorded to the divine Intellect (see, e.g., Arist. Metaph. Λ 9, 1074b33–35; and cf. V 6.6.31– 32, VI 7.38.10–40.56), he does on certain occasions appear to admit that It has a kind of immediate apprehension of itself: see VI 7.39.1–2, “it will have a simple concentration of attention on itself ” (haplē tis epibolē autōi pros auton estai); and cf. Schwyzer 1960, 374– 75; Deck 1967, 17–21; Arnou 1972, 66–70; and Gatti 1996, 41–46. Conversely, Intellect, being in need of the Good, turns toward It in aspiration (cf. V 3.11.1–16), but given that the only way in which it can come to know it is through intellection, it will apprehend it as a multiple intelligible universe, that is, as itself; cf. V 6.5.5–17. And although Intellect is thus “conformed to the Good” (agathoeides), it nevertheless remains radically different, of course, from the Good itself: cf. Pl. Resp. VI 508e6–509a5; Hunt 1981, 75– 76; and Bussanich 1996, 53–54. 11.26–33. τοῦ δὴ νοῦ . . . γενόμενον ἕνα:We are afforded a foreglimpse of the subject that will occupy P. in the next part of his “Great Treatise,” namely, intelligible beauty, described here in terms that once again hark back to the myth of Plato’s Phaedrus; cf. there the whole of 250a6–e1. The impression P. seeks to convey is reinforced by the verbal reminiscence of Il. 3.342–43, where Homer recounts the astonishment wrought on the opposing armies by the stunning appearance of Paris and Menelaus, as they stepped



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forward to their place of combat dressed in their shiniest armor: “wonder possessed those who looked on (thambos d’ echen eisoroōntas), horse-­breaking Trojans and well-­ greaved Achaeans alike. . . .” 11.33–35. ὡς δὴ . . . καὶ ζητεῖ:The observation of celestial phenomena represented in antiquity the best-­known form of “contemplation” (theōria: see, e.g., Anaxag. fr. A1 §10 DK), and was frequently accompanied by intense feelings of religious awe and of a profound affinity with the tranquil and harmonious world of the stars. Furthermore, in the work of Plato we already come across repeated references to the anagogical function that the study of the stars can perform for the soul; see, indicatively, Resp. VII 529a1– 530a7, Ti. 46e7–47c4, 90a2–d7, Leg. X 897c4–9; and cf. [Pl.] Epin. 991c6–992b2, as well as the analysis of Festugière 1944–54, 2:132–49, who underlines the propaedeutical character of this study by contrast to the real science of dialectics, which has the intelligible Forms as its only objects. 11.35–45. οὕτω χρὴ . . . τὸ ἀγαθὸν ἦν:The deletion of ē pou (“or where”) in l. 38, which was proposed by Dodds and adopted by H-­S2 and Armstrong, loses its justification—as Bussanich 1988, 129–30, rightly observes—when the mythological nature of the passage is properly taken into account. Cf. VI 7.32.1–2 (as recommended by Theiler, 379 ad loc.), but also the birth of Eros in the garden of Zeus (III 5.9.19–23). And so we come to a characteristic application of the uia analogiae (cf. VI 7.36.7; and “Alcinous” Didasc. 10, 165.20) as a method of rational approximation to the Good: just as contemplation of the heavens leads the observer to reflect on their “maker” (ton poiēsanta) and on the eternal laws that govern them, so also does contemplation of the intelligible Forms lead us to reflect on the infinite power that generated them and on the cause that regulates their composition into a unitary and harmoniously ordered “universe” (kosmos). The completeness of the latter, which is symbolically conveyed through its identification with the mythical Kronos-­koros (exploiting an etymology of the name that was contrived from the word meaning “plenitude” or “satiety” and which is known to us from Pl. Cra. 396b3–7: cf. V 1.4.8–10 and my comment on III 6.14.15–18; Pépin 1955, 22, has shown that a comparable false derivation of “Saturnus” from satur was familiar to Cicero, Nat. D. II 64), is due to the fact that the Intellect, just like that Titan who swallowed all of his offspring and thus kept them inside himself (cf. III 5.9.18; there is also an evident play here on koros in both of its meanings: that of “satiety,” but also that of “son”), contains within itself all of the intelligible Forms; cf. V 8.12.3–7. But Intellect’s very same completeness simultaneously represents an expression and a reminder of its derivation from a higher and absolutely unitary principle, an unquenchable source of plenitude and dynamism; see the detailed analysis of the allegory by Hadot 1981b, 127–32. It should be pointed out here that this attempt at an allegorical interpretation of the Hesiodic Theogony can be attached to a longstanding pertinent tradition within the context of Middle Platonism; cf. Brisson 1974, 61–65. But what P. is seeking to exhibit through it is that the supreme Good is free of any necessity for completion and fulfillment because, as the ultimate object of every aspiration, it does not itself aspire to any-

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Third Ennead thing, nor does it have any grounds for deficiency—even if replenished—or for thought—even of its own self.

III 9 [13]. Various Considerations Synopsis 1 Explication of a passage in the Timaeus with respect to the relationship between the Demiurge and the Forms. 2 The unity of knowledge as a model for the ethical constitution of the individual. 3 The relation between particular souls and universal Soul. 4 One and multiplicity. 5 The soul as vision of Intellect. 6 Two kinds of self-­intellection. 7 One and Intellect. 8 Being potentially and being actually. 9 The transcendence of the first principle.

Introduction The present treatise would seem to be a product of Porphyry’s editorial ministrations in the course of arranging his teacher’s works into Enneads.1 It consists of nine brief “notes” varying in both subject matter and importance, and bearing a greater resemblance to material for classroom discussion (“handouts”) than to fully worked-­out expressions of his views.2 Most of the subjects they touch on are much more fully discussed and enlarged on in other parts of the Enneads. In terms of their content, although they show some indications of having been composed early, they display no divarications from the main course of their author’s teaching, and thus they may be used to supplement whatever image we form of it from his other works. Their placement at the end of the third Ennead3 is unquestionably to be imputed to the overall editorial scheme pursued by Porphyry, who had resolved on devoting the next three Enneads to the three Plotinian hypostases.4 Hence, in spite of the fact that only the first and the Although Porphyry, VP 4.47, records it as a unitary work among those that “I, Porphyry, found already written when I first came to him,” it seems rather improbable, especially at this early stage in P.’s writing career, that someone would have set about to compose a single “treatise” (biblion) out of such heterogeneous material. See, however, Schwyzer 1951, 485.12–26. 2  See the description given by Harder, 527: “It is a loose bundle of notes, or, more precisely, of trial essays. . . . There is no unity of reflection between them, only meandering into various theoretical regions.” Indeed, as Igal ad loc., 261, remarks, there are no signs even of any effort having been made to at least place notes having a broadly similar subject matter in proximity to one another. 3  And also at the end of the first of the three “volumes” (sōmatia) into which Porphyry’s edition was divided; see VP 25.1–2. 4  See my comment on VP 24.14–16. 1 



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eighth of these notes bear some relation to cosmological issues,5 they were inserted at this point as a kind of appendix to the first three Enneads, the subject matter of which is in any event somewhat less rigorously prescribed than that of their successors. In point of fact, it seems that at some stage of his editorial endeavors Porphyry decided to extend this series of notes by adding one more: the “treatise” titled “On the Essence of the Soul,” which in the end, however, was incorporated within the fourth Ennead, where it features as Enn. IV 1 [21] in most modern editions (an exception being the Loeb; see Armstrong, 4:7). Nevertheless, in consequence of an unaccountable oversight, this same note was also preserved as the last of the “Various Considerations,” so that the majority of manuscripts offer two slightly dissimilar versions of it at separate locations.6 In conformity with the practice of P. Henry and H.-­R . Schwyzer, my own edition will include this controversial note as an independent treatise in the position Porphyry finally chose for it, namely, as the second in order of the next Ennead.

Commentary 1.1–5. Νοῦς, φησὶν . . . τὸν νοῦν:The citation to be examined here is derived from Pl. Ti. 39e7–9, one of this dialogue’s most actively debated passages in the Platonic schools of the ancient world. It comes at the point in Timaeus’ narration where he discloses the Demiurge’s intention to establish within the different regions of the sensible universe the four kinds of living beings that are to inhabit and animate it: the celestial gods (i.e., the stars and planets), the creatures capable of flight, the aquatic animals, and their terrestrial counterparts; cf. my comment on III 2.3.24–29. As the sequel shows, the Demiurge goes on to create only the first of these kinds, delegating to the lesser gods the responsibility for fashioning the remaining ones, always in accordance with the instructions he confides to them in his celebrated address. The passage here cited lays out the “rationale” on the basis of which the Demiurge carries out his project, thus supplementing the programmatic remarks enunciated earlier at 29e3–30c1 (cf. also 37c8– d2). Given that P.’s manner of citation leads him to introduce several not insignificant discrepancies—mainly in the form of added epexegetical comments—from the text of the dialogue, I consider it useful to quote the passage here in its original form (alongside a literal translation that preserves as much as possible of Armstrong’s rendition of the corresponding passage in P.): “and so just those Ideas that the intellect clearly sees existing, in such kinds and numbers as they do exist, in the real living creature (hēiper oun nous enousas ideas tōi ho estin zōion, hoiai te eneisin kai hosai, kathorai), he [sc., the Demiurge] planned that this too should have, in the same kinds and numbers (toiautas kai tosautas dienoēthē dein kai tode schein).” A first observation has to do with the deletion by P. from the cited version of the terms on the basis of which a correspondence is established between the created entities 5  Which, as the editor responsible for their publication declares (VP 24.59–60), formed the subject matter of the third Ennead. 6  More details concerning these misadventures of Enn. IV 1 are forthcoming in the pertinent introduction to that “treatise.” See also Goulet-­Cazé 1982, 298–301.

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Third Ennead and their models, these terms being denoted in the original by the two pairs of expressions hoiai kai osai (“in such kinds and numbers”) and toiautas kai tosautas (“in the same kinds and numbers”). The result of this omission is to make the Demiurge’s enterprise now seem a trifle vain (that his creature should possess the Forms themselves!), while the correspondence between original and impression is rendered—potentially—problematic. Of even greater importance is the differentiation introduced between the subject of the verb (kat)horai (“[clearly] sees”)—which in both versions is the intellect, obviously that of the Demiurge—and the subject of the verb dienoēthē (“planned”), which in the present one is specified as the Demiurge or Maker himself. This discrepancy is of little concern, as long as we admit—as does, e.g., Taylor 1928, 222, commenting on these very lines of the Timaeus—that there is here “a formal identification of the Creator with nous,” a view with which P., moreover, is generally in alignment as well; cf., e.g., II 3.18.15, IV 4.10.1–4, V 1.8.5, etc. Nevertheless, it does leave open the possibility for any who did not happen to share this view, and who maintained for instance that the Demiurge is the cosmic Soul (as was the belief of certain Gnostics whom P. had well in mind; see II 9.6.61), to introduce a differentiation between the things that intellect discerns and those that the Demiurge resolves to bring into existence in the world. This differentiation could indeed be sharpened further by the temporal separation of the two actions, as is effected here by the addition of the word eita (“then”). Yet P. chooses not to direct his critique to these points. He prefers to focus it on the question of whether, on the sanction of this particular Platonic text, the intelligible Forms do exist—or not—prior to being contemplated by Intellect. We know that this question had become a subject of vivid contention between P. and other Platonists, even within his own school; see my comments on VP 18.8–19 and 20.92–96. And certainly any theory that would posit Intellect as something posterior with respect to the intelligibles that it contemplates would be tantamount, in P.’s view, to a severe demotion of its ontological status, and would at the same time expose Intellect to the danger that its contemplative activity might prove unstable or imperfect, as only its complete identification with its objects could ensure for it the perfect possession of their truth. Thus, he himself consistently argues elsewhere for the complete identity of intellect and intelligibles; see further Emilsson 1996, 234–38. As was pointed out by Dillon 1969b, 63–65, the way in which the particular passage of the Timaeus is presented here brings to mind what was regarded as the most distinctive doctrine of P.’s student, Amelius (on which, see my comment on VP 7.2–3). For according to the testimony of Proclus In Ti. III 103.18–23 = Amelius fr. A.III.LV (and cf. op. cit. I 306.1–14 = fr. A.III.XLIV), “It is for the most part out of these very words that Amelius constructs his triad of creative intellects, calling the first ‘[the] Being [one]’ from ‘the real living being,’ the second ‘[the] Possessing [one]’ from ‘existing in’ . . . , and the third ‘[the] Seeing [one]’ from ‘discerns.’ ” But immediately afterward, Proclus also cites the interpretation that this same passage had been given by Numenius (op. cit. III 103.28–32 = Num. fr. 22), of whom Amelius, as we know, had been a fervent admirer (see VP 3.44–46, with my comment): “As for Numenius, he correlates the first with ‘the real living being,’ and says that it intelligizes by the ancillary use of the second (en proschrēsei tou deuterou noein); the second [he correlates] with the intellect, and [says] that



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instead it creates by the ancillary use of the third; and the third [he correlates] with that which plans discursively (kata to [per one MS. and Leemans; Diehl, Des Places, and others prefer ton] dianooumenon.” It thus becomes obvious from a comparison of these two passages that at the time P. was composing this note there was a trend among some Platonists to draw a sharp distinction among: (a) the Demiurge’s model, which Amelius called “Being” (on), and Numenius regarded as engaged in intellection not primarily, but by ancillary means (en proschrēsei: on which, see Dodds 1960b, 15); (b) the Intellect, which Amelius called “Possessing” (echōn); and (c) the effective Demiurge, whom Amelius called “Seeing” (horōn) and Numenius “that which plans discursively” (to dianooumenon). In these distinctions P. perceived a danger that the action of the Demiurge might lose its cohesiveness and its unity, and would thus become deficient and inconclusive. His intention, therefore, is to justify in what follows the negative response he proposes to the question raised. 1.5–10. πρῶτον οὖν . . . αὐτὸ ἕκαστον:In order to understand the course followed by the argument at this stage, it is important to realize that what comes first is the dialectical analysis of the thesis directly opposite to the one P. wishes to defend, and which would emerge from a positive response to the stated question: if the intelligible Forms exist prior to Intellect, then it apprehends them as something outside itself, and the truth— which, according to Plato, Resp. VI 508d4–6, abides in real beings inasmuch as they are illuminated by the brilliance of Good—will again be something outside itself, so that its grasp of it will be inherently uncertain; cf. V 5.1.19–32. As the testimony quoted in the previous comment indicates, Amelius had attempted to apply the term nous (“intellect”) to all three of his “Creators.” Hence, it would appear that P. is here calling his student to order, reminding him that only what contemplates intellectively can be characterized as nous, while the object of its contemplation should be referred to as noēton (“intelligible”). 1.10–15. ἤ, κἂν ἕτερον . . . τὸ νοητὸν ἔχειν:By now P. is ready to offer his own response to the question: the Intellect is “different” (heteron) from the intelligible, but not in its essence, only as to its function. Both of them refer to the same ontological hypostasis, but this hypostasis happens to be innately dual, because it is constituted by the self-­ intellection of Intellect, and every act of intellection presupposes the distinction (in thought, at least) between intelligizing subject and object of intellection; cf. III 8.9.5 and V 6.1.3–23. In defense of his view, P. seems to be calling on Plato himself as witness, to go by the phēsin (“he says”) in l. 14. But the passage in the Timaeus (30c7–8) to which H-­S advert does not appear, in spite of the verbal similarities it presents, to conform to P.’s expectations. For there it is the model Living Being “which comprehends within itself (ekeino en heautōi perilabon echei) all intelligible living beings,” and not the Intellect, as he would have wished. Unless, perhaps, he had in mind a variant reading of the text at this point, which might have gone something like this: “who comprehends within himself (ekeinos en heautōi perilabōn echei) etc.” Such a reading would be compatible with a uaria lectio, which actually occurs a little further along in the text of the dialogue (31a6: peri ekeinōi for peri ekeinō), while its ideological basis might have something to do with

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Third Ennead the perplexity expressed by such authors as Atticus, fr. 34, concerning whether the Demiurge “is contained within” (periechetai) the intelligible Living Being or vice versa. As is well known, corrections of this kind were not unusual among the commentators of the Timaeus; see also my comment on II 9.6.14–21. 1.15–22. ἢ τὸ μὲν . . . γένη τέσσαρα:Having exerted his criticism, P. now displays some degree of conciliatoriness. He shows himself willing to admit the basic thesis of Numenius (see mainly fr. 15) regarding the existence of a first Intellect—a first theos (“god”), his predecessor called him—who is “at rest” (hestōs) and “concerned with the intelligibles” (peri ta noēta), and of a second one who is “in motion” (kinoumenos) and “concerned with the intelligibles and sensibles” (peri ta noēta kai aisthēta). This second Intellect would correspond, according to what we find stated here, to the third of Amelius’ creative intellects: the “Seeing” one (cf. tou horōntos). This means that the first two—the “Being” (on) and the “Possessing” (echōn) ones—have by now become conflated, on the basis of the rationale laid out previously: they constitute in essence a single and unique self-­intellecting Intellect; cf. Krämer 1967, 88. Let us now compare this with V 4.2.13–26, where “the intelligible” (to noēton) is explicitly distinguished from “that which sees and thinks” (to horōn kai to nooun), and is described as being “in everlasting rest” (en stasei aidiōi); it is said to possess a kind of self-­understanding, albeit one differing from the normal thinking of intellect, while intellect emerges from the intelligible as a (secondary) activity: “it becomes intellect (nous gignetai: Armstrong has ‘Intellect’), like another intelligible and like that Principle (allo hoion noēton kai hoion ekeino), a representation and image of it (kai mimēma kai eidōlon ekeinou).” The correspondences between the latter passage and the one we are examining here are so patent as to leave not the slightest doubt that the intelligizing entity—the nooun—which entered the discussion earlier is not the regular Intellect-­hypostasis of the Plotinian ontology, but rather something derived from it, something that is manifested in the lower hypostasis of the soul, and hence (pace Holzhausen 1992, 254) is in fact a dianooumenon, that is, an entity engaged in discursive planning or reasoning. Conversely, at II 9.6.16–24, P. forcefully denounces certain Gnostics who made a distinction among three creative factors: (a) “the one which contains in it in repose all realities” (ton en hēsuchiai echonta en autōi panta ta onta), (b) “the intellect” (ton noun), and (c) “the one which plans” (ton dianooumenon). This has frequently been taken to represent a retreat on P.’s part from the more yielding stance he adopts in the present note; see principally Dodds 1960b, 19–20. Yet it ought to be pointed out that the objections he raises in that “treatise” of his “Against the Gnostics” are focused on: (i) the fact that his opponents set the intellect, that is, (b), completely apart from the intelligible, that is, (a), as being something “different from it, which contemplates” (heteron par’ auton theōrounta)—a view he has also explicitly repudiated here, at 1.11; (ii) the fact that the Gnostics identified the Demiurge with the dianooumenon, that is, with the cosmic Soul—which contravenes the standard Plotinian position regarding the identity of the Demiurge with the pure Intellect; cf. above, my comment on 1.1–5. There is consequently no need for us, in my opinion, to give credit to the existence of any contradiction between the two treatises, or to assume that while composing this note P. found



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himself closer to the views of Numenius than the remainder of his work would lead us to presume. His fundamental difference from the latter remains, as always, that whereas Numenius regards the “second” and the “third” of his gods (i.e., the nooun and the dianooumenon) as ultimately two aspects of one and the same entity (see fr. 11.13–14, 16.10– 12, and 21.4; as well as Festugière 1944–54, 3:91n.2; and Tarrant 1979, 26), namely, the Demiurge, P. reciprocally identifies the intelligible (corresponding to the “first” god of Numenius) with the intellect (corresponding to his “second” one, the nooun) in respect to their essence. It is merely that he chooses here to adopt a more conciliatory tone in laying out his position. See also my comment on II 9.1.25–33. 1.23–26. δοκεῖ γε μὴν . . . τρία εἶναι:The basic conclusion P. wishes to elicit from the interpretation of the Timaeus passage is the essential otherness that sets apart the pair “Intellect-­intelligible” (nous-­noēton), on the one hand, from “the planning principle” (to dianooumenon), namely, the Soul, on the other. Clearly, in order for such a conclusion to emerge, considerable interpretative elaboration is required, which only goes to show just how “obscurely” or, better, “cryptically” (epikekrummenōs) Plato had expressed his meanings. (On the difficulty of establishing what Plato’s real doctrine is, cf. IV 8.1.23–28.) P. points out to us that many and sundry construals had been proposed, including even the complete unification into a single entity of the three factors contributing to the creative process. It would seem that this was the direction Porphyry eventually struck on, if the terms employed to describe his position by Proclus, In Ti. I 306.32–307.4, are accurate: “Porphyry, believing himself to be in tune with Plotinus, gives to the hypercosmic soul the name of ‘Demiurge,’ and to its intellect, to which it has reverted, the name of ‘the living being itself ’ (ton de noun autēs, pros hon epestraptai, to autozōion), so that the Demiurge’s model is—according to him—this intellect.” Hence, what we have here is a characteristic instance of Porphyrian conflation—“telescoping” is the felicitous expression for it introduced by A. C. Lloyd 1967, 288—of the hypostases at the level of soul. 1.27–37. καὶ τὰ μὲν . . . ἐν μεριστῇ φύσει:P. moves on to the point that is of more pressing interest to him than the precise attribution of roles in the creative endeavor. For he takes a characteristic outcome of the creative process to be the apportionment of reflections from the intelligible domain within the universe (cf. Pl. Ti. 39e10–40a7), which is to say their partition and distribution in space (on account of matter, which confers volume on them; cf. my comment on II 4.11.13–19) and in time (by way of the Soul; cf. III 7.12.22– 25). And this apportionment cannot be the work of Intellect, which is entirely “undivided” (ameristos: cf. I 1.8.5, IV 2.1.17–24, V 9.8.21–22, VI 4.8.34–38, etc.). Consequently, the responsibility for this must be laid on a lower hypostasis, to wit, the Soul; cf. Gurtler 2002, 104–5. Naturally, the terms on which this partitioning and allocation are effected are ultimately regulated by Intellect through the “rational formative principles” (this theory of logoi being one that P. would fully develop at a considerably later period; see III 2.2.15–33, with my comments), and hence it is Intellect that deserves the title of real Demiurge. Yet the divided aspect that the sensible universe finally assumes is to be attributed, first of all, to the discursive nature of psychical life, but also to the lesser degree of unity

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Third Ennead (by comparison with that of Intellect) holding the many souls together in a unitary multifariousness, the result of their having been constituted by the composition of “undivided” (ameristos) and “divided Being” (meristē ousia); cf. IV 2.2.49–54 and IV 1.7–22, which in turn draw on the psychogony of the Timaeus, 35a1–6. 2.1–4. Οἷον γὰρ . . . καὶ τέλος:For P., epistēmē (“science” or “a scientific discipline”) as an integral, complete, and logically articulated set of theōrēmata (“propositions” rather than “single subjects of study”), each of which presupposes—but also contains, potentially—all the others, was a favored example of the way Intellect is constituted; cf. V 9.8.3–7, VI 2.20.10–16, VI 9.5.12–20. At the same time, however, it also represented a model of the way in which the soul ought to acquire harmony internally while also becoming attuned with its sister-­souls, so that all together they might approximate as much as possible to the unity and concord of the Intellect; cf. IV 3.2.44–58, IV 9.5.1–26; and Tornau 1998b, 91. 2.4–8. καὶ οὕτω χρὴ . . . ἅψεται ἐκείνου:Hence, what the philosopher enjoins us to do is to conform ourselves to that model, thus attaining the coordination of all our individual goals with the intellective principles of our existence—which is what Alcmaeon, too, seems to have been recommending with that cryptic saying of his (fr. 24B2 DK): “That is why men perish, because they are unable to connect the beginning with the end.” In such a manner, one achieves identification with one’s higher, intellective part and becomes part of the intelligible, “at once contemplator of oneself and all the rest, and object of contemplation” (VI 7.36.11–12); cf. also I 6.1.51–53. 3.1–4. Ἡ πᾶσα ψυχὴ . . . εἰς αὐτήν:Being, as it is, incorporeal, the Soul is nowhere to be found in the world, nor does it come into it by “descending” or otherwise changing place. Hence, it does not enter into the body of the universe, but merely irradiates it with a kind of “luminosity,” thanks to which the latter participates in the former, and an image thereby comes to take shape upon it, animating it and vivifying it; cf. II 9.11.1–17. It is erroneous, then, to say that the Soul is in the body; on the contrary, the body of the universe is somehow in the Soul, partaking—to the extent it can—of its life; cf. Pl. Ti. 34b3–4, 36d9–e1; V 5.9.29–31, VI 4.16.7–17; and my comment on III 7.11.23–30. 3.4–12. αἱ δ’ ἄλλαι . . . ἀοριστοτέρα γινομένη:As for the other souls, the particular ones, they originally are with the cosmic Soul and take part in the management of the universe, obviously by being fully coordinated with it. But whenever they turn toward the world and manifest their interest and concern for some specific body within it, which they proceed to “illuminate” (and which constitutes, of course, an image, i.e., a nonbeing), then they become detached from the totality and are to some extent “isolated” from it—this isolation being what their “descent” consists in, while their release from it entails their reversion to the original condition in which they found themselves. Conversely, the cosmic Soul remains forever uninfluenced and unaffected by the images it projects upon the world, being devoted to eternal contemplation of the intelligible beings; see mainly IV 8.4.1–25 and 7.17–31, but also my comment on III 4.2.1–6.



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3.12–14. καὶ τούτου . . . ἀποστατοῦν: Here it seems that we have a reference to matter, which lies at the furthest extreme of remoteness from the luminosity of Being, and is accordingly totally dark (cf. I 8.4.28–32, 9.14–26, with my comments), lacking any kind of formative logos (cf. II 7.3.7–14, with my comment, and III 6.15.5–11) or intelligence (cf. II 4.10.7–11). It is therefore entirely unconfigured (cf. I 6.2.13–18, with my comment, III 6.7.28–29, V 9.3.19–20) and indefinite (cf. II 4.10.3–4, 11.40, III 4.1.11–12), a true apostate from intelligible Substance (ousia)—which, as Plato Prm. 144b1–3 tells us, is present in all “beings” (onta), from the smallest to the largest—and hence really “nonbeing” (mē on: cf. II 5.5.20–27). If, as H-­S recommend, we retain the reading toutou (“of this”) in l. 12—Kirchhoff having instead proposed its emendation to touto (“this”)—it is nevertheless rather difficult to go along with them in thinking that it must refer to the Soul. It appears more likely that the reference is to the “image of itself ” (eidōlon autēs), which was mentioned in the previous line. If this is the case, matter is being presented not as an image of the Soul, but rather as an image of an image, a formulation that P. seems, however, to denounce at II 9.10.26. Be that as it may, the formulation corresponds exactly, as O’Brien 1993, 57–58, has shown, to descriptions of matter offered elsewhere in the Enneads. Schwyzer 1973, 276, has, of course, claimed that the expressions mē on (“nonbeing”), to eidōlon (“the image”), and pantē skoteinon (“every way dark”) do not even refer to matter, but to the bodies taking shape on it. Yet this interpretation goes against the multitude of parallels to the characterizations employed here by P., which I mentioned previously, and has been rebutted with—to my mind—convincing arguments by O’Brien in a series of publications; see, ultimately, O’Brien 1993, 24–27; and 1999, 67–68; but also the review of the question by Corrigan 1986, 168n.5. We must, therefore, agree that here P. admits matter to be somehow a product of the individual soul when it turns toward itself and thereby comes to be isolated from its sisters and to lose its dedication to what is There; on this, see Rist 1974, 500–501. Such a viewpoint is, moreover, readily shown to be in harmony with many other declarations of his on the same subject; cf. III 4.1.5– 12, with my comment. 3.14–16. εἰς δὲ . . . εἰς αὐτό:After projecting its image, the soul remains as per normal at its proper place, which is the “frontier” between the sensible and the intelligible; cf. IV 4.3.11–12. Nevertheless, should it cast a second glance at what emerged from it, it may find itself deceived and seduced by it, so that it will allow itself to be pleasurably led astray; cf. I 6.8.8–12. This is the initial condition for the emergence of ethical evil, which keeps the soul bound to corporeal nature; cf. my comments on I 8.4.20–22 and 14.51– 54. See also O’Brien 1971, 139–43; and 1993, 47–48. 4.1–9. Πῶς οὖν . . . ἃ ποιεῖ:We have here an early formulation of the thesis concerning the omnipresence and simultaneous transcendence of the One—a thesis that was to be developed further at III 8.9.39–54, V 1.6.4–53, V 5.9.8–26, VI 5.4.1–24, and VI 8.16.1– 12; cf. also Porph. Sent. 31, 21.9–22.13; and Dodds 1963, 251–52. The latter maintains that its origins are to be traced to an idea proposed by Socrates at Pl. Prm. 131b1–6, where the discussion revolves around the participation of the “many” in one Form. There is, how-

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Third Ennead ever, another passage in the same dialogue, Prm. 160b2–3, which not only seems more obviously apposite, but which P. actually cites at V 2.1.1–2. The presence of the One in all things arising from It does not imply that It is contained in them, but only that It constitutes their fundamental ontological presupposition, the primary conditio sine qua non of their existence. See also D’Ancona Costa 1996, 361–68, regarding some later survivals of this thesis. 5.1–3. Τὴν ψυχὴν . . . πρὸς νοῦν:This brief note touches on the issue of the soul’s relation to the Intellect, seen through the prism of Aristotelian noology: the faculty by which the soul engages in intellection or discursive reasoning, the “passive intellect” (pathētikos nous), is potentially all the intelligibles it is in a position to think of, but “actually none, before it actually thinks”; see Arist. De an. III 4, 429b30–31. Hence, it constitutes a kind of psychical matter, which is illuminated and configured by the “active intellect” (poiētikos nous): cf. op. cit. III 5, 430a10–19; Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 106.19–107.20; and my comments on I 1.8.1–3 and III 8.11.1–11. But what is striking here is the normative tone adopted: the soul must become like an eye directed towards the Intellect. This means that it must acquire the necessary predisposition that will allow it to receive its illumination from the Intellect, coming to be what Alexander calls “intellect with the disposition” (en hexei nous), that is, intellect that has reached the state in which it “is already thinking and possesses the disposition of thinking (kai hexin echōn tou noein), and is able to apprehend the forms of intelligible things by its own power, etc.” (op. cit. 107.21–28 trans. Sharples). Consequently, what P. is calling for here is that the soul should by means of its purification (cf. my comment on I 4.10.9–21) be rendered a congenial recipient of intellective apprehensions. Cf. also V 1.3.12–23. 6.1–9. Νοοῦντες αὑτοὺς . . . τὴν εἰκόνα φέρει:This note looks like a hasty recording of thoughts on the theme of self-­intellection, without any particular effort having been expended on their systematic arrangement; hence one can readily comprehend the despair felt by Harder ad loc., 533: “the mode of expression is so concentrated, that one cannot be sure of the meaning.” At any rate, the course of the argument seems to be roughly as follows: 1. Whoever thinks himself, thinks something that thinks. (What we have here is an argument of the cogito type in unelaborated form.) 2. Therefore, the thinking subject is (logically) prior to thinking. 3. But because it is already a thinking subject, the activity of self-­intellection must be preceded by some other, “tranquil” intellection (cf. above, 1.14–17), which will contain both Substance and Life. 4. Therefore, intellective activities innately aspire to that Substance and that Life. 5. Therefore, the real object of our self-­intellection is our intellective self (on which see O’Daly 1973, 73–76; and Kalligas 1997b, 219n.48), 6. while our (usual, discursive) self-­intellection is concerned only with a likeness of it.



III 9. Various Considerations

The basic themes of this syllogistic are mainly developed at V 3.4.4–7.34. Cf. also my comment on II 9.1.33–40. 7.1–6. Τὸ μὲν πρῶτον . . . ἐν τῇ ὑποστάσει:The One, as “the [productive] power of all things” (dunamis pantōn: cf. III 8.10.1, with my comment), is beyond both Substance (ousia: cf. Pl. Resp. VI 509b9) and the “greatest genera” (megista genē) that comprise it (cf. my comment on II 6.1.1–8), among which are included Motion and Rest; cf. Pl. Prm. 146a6–7. Hence, it is hierarchically first, while Intellect, being—as it is—dual, will come second. Cf. III 8.9.1–11; and, of course, [Pl.] Ep. II 312e3. This order of priority is also made obvious by the fact that Intellect, in order to be an intellect, needs to be active, that is, to think. By contrast, the One needs nothing, not even so much as its activation, as it is “beyond activity” (epekeina energeias: see I 7.1.19–20, VI 7.17.8–11). 8.1–5. Τὰ ἐνεργείᾳ . . . κατ’ ἄλλο εἶναι:A brief meditation on the Aristotelian distinction between being “potentially” (dunamei) and being “actually” (energeiai). Potentiality is associated with materiality, while any formation of a sensible entity in actuality will be due to the external intervention of some Form; cf. my comment on II 5.2.26–35. Hence, no matter how “complete” or “perfect” (teleion) may be the configuration of a sensible body, it will unavoidably be temporary and fleeting because of the unceasing fluidity and irremediable impassibility of matter, which make it impossible for any stable and permanent compounded entities to take shape upon it; cf. III 6.7.23–8.10, with my comments. Conversely, uncompounded substances are always actualized and unchanging: cf. Pl. Phd. 78c6–8; Arist. Metaph. Θ 10, 1051b17–30; and II 5.3.4–8. 9.1–5. Ἀλλ’ οὐ νοεῖ . . . ἀκρότατον:Cf. above, 7.1–4. Of course, the way P. formulates his view here emphasizes even more clearly its anti-­Aristotelian character; cf. I 7.1.7–10, with my comment. 9.5–12. οὐ νοεῖ οὖν . . . τἀγαθόν:Every act of intellection, including even self-­intellection, presupposes a distinction between the subject of intellection and its object. But nothing of the kind could possibly be the case where the absolute One is concerned; cf. III 8.11.1–26, with my comments. Hence, even the primal act of intellection, the first “activity” and “actuality” of Being, is posterior to the One, which is thus posited “beyond intellection and activity” (epekeina noēseōs kai energeias; cf. I 7.1.19–20; and Blandin 2000, 130–32). This is not to imply, however, that the said act of intellection is not directed toward the One, that it does not “look” at It: but, precisely because it does not possess It (Blandin 2000, 139, aptly remarks that at this point we have a clear contradiction with the position of Aristotle; cf. Metaph. Λ 7, 1072b23)—owing to the otherness that sets them apart—what it ultimately apprehends is the intellective reflection of the One, that is, its own self; cf. my comment on III 8.11.1–11. The assertion that intellection is not “the primarily venerable” (to prōtōs semnon) is also clearly aimed at the Stagirite; cf. Metaph. Λ 9, 1074b17–18, and my comment on III 8.9.11–22.

655



656

Third Ennead 9.12–17. ἀλλ’ οὐ . . . μὴ οὖσα ἀγαθοῦ:It would appear, then, that the Good cannot have any knowledge or consciousness of itself whatsoever; cf. V 3.13.6–8, V 6.5.4–5, 6.30–32, VI 7.41.26–27, VI 9.6.48–52, and my comment on III 8.11.13–26. The argument P. adduces here in support of this thesis has the form of a dilemma: In order for the Good (= G) to have consciousness of itself, it must be the case: either (a) that G already exists prior to this consciousness, or (b) that it becomes G as a result of it. But, if (a), then G will be independent of its consciousness, which will consequently represent an adjunct to It; but this would contravene the absolute unity G must possess as a principle. If again (b), then the consciousness will not be consciousness of itself, inasmuch as beforehand it will not have been G. From the structure of this argument, it emerges that what P. is claiming is that the Good cannot possess any kind of consciousness that would be something other than itself. This leaves room for the possibility that It is somehow to be identified with its own self-­consciousness. Some such notion appears to be hinted at at VI 9.6.52–53: “we must not put him [sc., the Good] on the level of the thinker, but rather on that of the thought (alla mallon kata tēn noēsin).” For we must of course understand (along with Meijer 1992, 212–13) the expression kata tēn noēsin as referring in that passage not to the activity of Intellect, nor to the object or the content of its intellection, but to that which is the cause of intellection, and which, as stated at V 1.7.12–13, “has of itself a kind of intimate perception of its power (hoion sunaisthēsin tēs dunameōs), that it has power to produce substantial reality.” Hence, one could say that the Good has “something like” self-­awareness, but only to the extent that it is totally identified with it. On this whole difficult subject, see above all the ultimately rather inconclusive, but nonetheless meticulous and interesting investigation by Rist 1967b, 40–52. 9.17–23. τί οὖν . . . καὶ ἔλλειψιν ποιεῖ:What applies to “conscious awareness” (parakolouthēsis) applies equally to all the other characteristic features of Intellect: none of them must be attributed to the Good. It is only by virtue of its causal relation to Intellect as bestower of Life and self-­understanding that the Good can be conceived at all, in a “super-­eminent way” (uia eminentiae); cf. V 5.13.9–20; and Wolfson 1952, 125–26.

List of Variant Readings

This list contains all the instances where the text of my modern Greek edition, upon which my commentary relies, differs from that in H-­S2, even concerning punctuation. It includes those cases where I adopt the reading proposed by the editors in their Addenda et Corrigenda (H-­S3–5). The sigla used are those of H-­S.

H-S2

My text

2.2

του

τοῦ Vita, H-S4

2.26

πειρᾶσθαι Vita

πειρᾶσθε de Strycker, H-S4

3.3

ἀπιόντα Vita

ἀνιόντα Igal, H-S5

3.42

τέσσαρα Jy

τέτταρα wBR Goulet

3.44

καὶ σχεδὸν πάντα

seclusi: καὶ [σχεδὸν πάντα] H-S5

3.45

καὶ σχεδὸν τὰ πλεῖστα

καὶ σχεδὸν ‹πάντα› [τὰ πλεῖστα] H-S5

5.8

τί τὸ wBR

τὸ JS

7.4

αὐτὸν Vita

αὑτὸν Creuzer

7.11

περιεβάλλετο BJy

περιεβάλετο wR Goulet

7.31

Ὀρρόντιος AKy Perna

Ὀρόντιος Ex Pugliese

8.1

μεταλαβεῖν Dübner

μεταβαλεῖν Vita H-S5

9.1

σφόδρα wRy

σφόδρα φιλοσοφίᾳ BJ H-S3

9.11

ἓν x

deleui

9.13

[ἐν] Perna

ἐπ᾽ correxi

14.3

† καὶ τὸ

καὶ ‹εἴχε›το conieci

14.8

οὐτ᾽ ἀριθμητικόν Ps.-Eudocia

οὐκ ἀριθμητικόν Vita Goulet-Cazé

15.25

πολλὰ τῶν y

πολλαχοῦ κατ᾽ αὐτῶν H-S3

18.23

Ἀμέλιον xy

Ἀμέλιος A H-S3

18.23

ἐποίησα Cpc Dobler

έποίησεν Vita H-S3

VP

657



658

List of Variant Readings H-S2

My text

19.33

ἄξια Vita

ἀξίου Dübner, H-S4

20.102

αὐτὸ μόνον

del. Segonds

20.104

αὐτὸ

αὐτὸ ‹μόνον› Segonds

21.16

ἑλομένου Vita

Πλάτωνος Tollius

22.13

ἀναβάλλομαι

ἀναβάλλομαι, interpunxi ut Wolff

22.27

ἄπο νόσφιν Perna

ἀπονόσφιν Wolff, H-S5

22.58

ἐυφροσύνῃσιν Vita

ἐυφροσύνῃσί τ᾽ Dübner, H-S3

23.8

ἐνάγοντι Vita

ἀνάγοντι Kirchhoff, H-S5

23.34

τούτοις

deleui

23.35

οὗτοι Vita

τούτοις scripsi: τοιοῦτοι H-S3

26.40

σημαίνει Vita

σημανεῖ Kirchhoff

5.2

ἢ ἕτερόν τι

[ἢ] ἕτερόν τι scripsi

7.1

ἔστω

ἔστω, interpunxi

8.19

πᾶν ἄλλο

πᾶν ‹ὃ› ἄλλο Igal, H-S4

9.3

τὸ κοινὸν

τὸ [κοινὸν] scripsi

12.10

αὐτὴ wxUQD

αὕτη SNMC Volkmann

1.11

ἀνδρείῳ

‹ἢ› ἀνδρείῳ Kirchhoff

1.28

κἂν εἰ μὴ τοιαύτας

del. Müller, H-S4

2.16

μετροῦσαι

om. Marinus, del. Kirchhoff

2.18

καὶ τὸ Enn.

κατὰ τὸ H-S3

4.3–4

ἡ ἀρετὴ ἢ ἐν τῷ κεκαθάρθαι

ἡ ἀρετὴ [ἢ ἐν τῷ κεκαθάρθαι] Igal, H-S5

4.4–5

‹ἡ ἐν τῷ καθαίρεσθαι· τὸ γὰρ κεκαθάρθαι›

‹ἢ ἐν τῷ κεκαθάρθαι› Igal, H-S5

5.2

τίνι φανερὰ

τίνι ‹θεῷ› φανερὰ H-S3

5.2

τίνι θεῷ

del. H-S3

5.14

τὸ δὲ ἀπροαίρετον

τὸ δὲ ἀπροαίρετον ‹καὶ ἐνταῦθα› scripsi

5.16

τὸ δὲ ἀπροαίρετον καὶ ἐνταῦθα

deleui

7.2

αἱ

del. Kirchhoff, H-S3

7.5

ἀυλότης Enn.

αὐτότης Blumenthal

7.16

μένει

μενεῖ Harder

7.17

φύσει wy

φήσει xQ

7.20

ἕξει;

ἕξει. interp. Igal

5.2

ψυχῇ Harder

ψυχή Enn. H-S5

5.8

ἡ φιλοσοφία

‹οὐχ› ἡ φιλοσοφία Igal

I1

I2

I3



List of Variant Readings H-S2

My text

2.9–10

ἢ καταστάσει

del. Harder, H-S4

2.35–36

προσλαμβάνεται Enn.

προσλαμβάνετε ApcRpc Perna

3.25

εὐδαιμονεῖν Enn.

εὖ H-S4

4.23

καὶ Harder

κἂν Enn., H-S5

4.24

σπουδαῖος ᾗ Harder

σπουδαῖος ᾖ H-S5

8.3

ἐν τῷ ἀλγεῖν

‹καὶ› ἐν τῷ ἀλγεῖν H-S4

8.3–4

καὶ ἐν τῷ

del. H-S4

8.12

οὔτε ἀλγεινὰ

del. Page, H-S3

12.11

περὶ τὸν σπουδαῖον βίον

περὶ τὸν [σπουδαῖον] βίον H-S4

2.13

εἶναι ἤδη.

εἶναι. [ἤδη] scripsi

6.14

αὐξανομένης wU

αὐξομένης xSCQ H-S5

7.11

παρεῖναι

del. H-S3

7.12

συμβεβηκέναι Enn.

συμμεμενηκέναι H-S3

10.7

εἰ μᾶλλον τὸ

εἰ μᾶλλόν ‹ἐστι› τὸ H-S4

10.8

μᾶλλόν ἐστι

del. H-S4

1.51–52

σύμμετρα· καὶ … ὄντων, ἐν

σύμμετρα καὶ … ὄντων. ἐν interp. Igal

3.28

ὅλου Enn.

ὅλον conieci

6.23

κἀκείνῳ y

κἀκεῖνο wxQ Perna

7.34

[οὗτος]

ὄντως Vitringa

1.18

αὐτῇ μονῇ

αὐτῇ ‹τῇ› μονῇ Creuzer

3.2

ὄμμα τι

ὄμμα τῷ Volkmann, H-S3

3.6

οὐδ᾽ οὕτω Enn.

οὐ τούτῳ Bury, H-S4

3.6

κακὸν

κακὸν ‹οὐδέν, ὥσπερ οὐδὲν κακὸν› Igal, H-S4

5.14

κακόν τῳ. χρὴ δὴ

κακόν. τῷ χρὴ w H-S3

6.41

τὰ ἄλλα

del. Dodds, H-S3

6.46

καὶ τὸ

καὶ τὸ ‹μὴ› H-S3

6.53

ἐναντίον καὶ ἐνταῦθα

del. Igal, H-S5

6.54

ἐναντίον ‹καὶ ἐνταῦθα›

Igal, H-S5

8.26

οἵπερ Sleeman

ἅπερ H-S3: ὑπὲρ Enn.

9.15

εἶδος

‹πᾶν› εἶδος Schröder, H-S3

9.21

του

τούτου Dodds

I4

I5

I6

I7

I8

659



660

List of Variant Readings

14.39–40

H-S2

My text

λαβεῖν· οὐ … παροῦσαν, ὅτι

λαβεῖν—οὐ … παροῦσαν—ὅτι interp. Igal

15.8

αὐτὴ Ficino

αὕτη Enn.

15.18

πληγὴ Enn.

πληγῇ Igal, H-S4

15.26

ἵνα οὕτω Schröder

ἵνα παροῦσα O’Meara: ἵνα οὖσα Enn.

1

ἐξίῃ· ἐξελεύσεται γὰρ

ἐξίῃ [ἐξελεύσεται γὰρ] scripsi

2

ἐξέλθῃ,

ἐξέλθῃ· ‹οὐκ ἐξελεύσεται γὰρ,› scripsi

3

τόπον. ἀλλὰ μένει wxy

τόπον, ἀλλὰ μενεῖ Q Perna

14

ἐξαγωγὴ Q

προσαγωγὴ Jγρmg y Perna, H-S1

1.14

μηδὲ τὸ Enn.

μηδέ τι Ficino, H-S3

1.36

καὶ Enn.

κατὰ Igal, H-S5

2.9

σώματα Enn.

σῶμά τε Marcovich, H-S5

2.11

καὶ τὸν Enn.

καινὸν H-S3

3.11

τούτων Enn.

τούτῳ Perna

3.20

ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ

del. Müller, H-S3

4.14

κινουμένην Enn.

κειμένην Creuzer, H-S3

4.15

κειμένην Enn.

κινουμένην Creuzer, H-S3

5.23

συνεκλαμβανομένη w

συλλαμβανομένη xyQ H-S3

7.7

πυρός· μετέχειν δὲ Enn.

πυρός, μετέχοι δὲ scripsi

7.8

—ἔχειν δέ—

[ἔχοι δὲ] del. Kirchhoff, H-S3

7.19

πυκνότητα Enn.

πυρότητα Gollwitzer, H-S3

7.24

οὐδετέρων wxy Perna

οὐδέτερον Gollwitzer, H-S3

8.8

εἴη, ἀὴρ

εἴη· ἀὴρ interpunxi

1.6

κύκλῳ. ἢ Enn.

κύκλῳ, ᾗ Harder

1.11

καὶ Enn.

κατὰ Kirchhoff, H-S4

1.44

παντὸς Enn.

πάντη H-S3

2.19

λεπτὸν

λεπτὸν ‹ὂν› H-S5

1.6

πλανήτας S Perna

πλάνητας wxUCQ H-S4

3.24

γὰρ ἑκάστῳ ἐφ᾽ αὑτοῦ, ἑκάστῳ

γὰρ [ἑκάστῳ] ἐφ᾽ αὑτοῦ ἑκάστῳ, scripsi

5.21

inter αὐτὸν et ταῦτ᾽ ut Ficino et al. τὸ … ἁρμονία ex 12.12–32 transposui

6.5

πέρας Enn.

ἑτέραν conieci: πέρα Igal, H-S4

9.36

εἰσὶ Enn.

ἐστὶ Igal, H-S4: † H-S5

Ι9

II 1

II 2

II 3



List of Variant Readings H-S2

My text

9.37

καὶ σῶμα ἐμψυχωμένον Müller

‹τὸ› σῶμα καὶ ἐμψυχωμένον Igal

9.37

τὸ σῶμα μέρος

[τὸ σῶμα] μέρος Igal

12.17

ἢ πρὸς

ἢ ‹τὸ› πρὸς scripsi

12.31

ἀλόγῳ Enn.

ἀναλόγῳ Orth, H-S4

13.10

πάντα

‹τὰ› πάντα Theiler, H-S3

13.11

τὰ πάντα

del. Theiler, H-S3

13.14

ὠθούμενα Α1γρmgxyQ

ἐξωθούμενα w Kirchhoff

13.14

ἔξω

deleui

14.13

καί τι

καὶ ‹ὅ› τι H-S3

14.27

ἑτέρων

‹ἕτερον δ᾽› ἑταίρων H-S4

16.34

καὶ φυτεύσας wxQ

καταφυτεύσας y

1.12

αὐτῶν

ἀυτεῖν suspic. H-S2, scr. H-S3

1.13

εἶναι Enn.

θεῖναι Igal

2.9

ὑπέστη;

ὑπέστη. interpunxi

5.34

καὶ τὸ Enn.

καθὸ Bury, H-S4

10.10

μετὰ τοῦ

μετὰ τοῦ ‹τοῦ› Vitringa

10.12

ἄγνοια Enn.

ἄνοια Igal, H-S4

II 4

12.10

δὲ [ὅμως] Harder

δ᾽ ὅμως Enn.

13.22

ἄλλου

‹ὁτουοῦν› ἄλλου Igal, H-S4

13.22

οὐ ψόφου

τοῦ ψόφου Igal, H-S4

13.22

ἢ ὁτουοῦν ἄλλου

del. Igal, H-S4

14.28

τῷ ἀορίστῳ wBy

τὸ ἀορίστῳ RJQ Creuzer, H-S5

15.6

οὐδὲ τάξις

del. Harder, H-S5

15.26

ὡς ἄπειρον wRJyQ

ὣς ἄπειρον B Kirchhoff, H-S3

16.8

[οὐκ] del. Heintz

οὐκ H-S4

16.13

ὅταν σπείρηται·

ὅταν σπείρηται, interp. Igal

16.14

τοῦ ἄρρενος †

‹ὑπὸ› τοῦ ἄρρενος. Bury

16.27

καλῷ Enn.

κακῷ Igal, H-S4

II 5 1.2

δέ τι Enn.

δ᾽ ἔτι scripsi

1.4

ἐνέργεια2 Enn.

ἐνεργείᾳ Harder, H-S3

καὶ ἐνεργείᾳ Enn.

καὶ ἐνέργεια Bac Harder, H-S3

1.9

†οὐ τῷ

‹τῷ› τῷ οὐ scripsi

2.24

καὶ Enn.

κατ᾽ Igal, H-S4

3.5

μηδ᾽ ἔτι wxQ

μηδέ τι y H-S5

3.30

ἐνέργεια Enn.

ἐνεργείᾳ Kirchhoff

661



662

List of Variant Readings H-S2

My text

3.31

ἐνέργεια Enn.

ἐνεργείᾳ Kirchhoff

3.34

ἐνέργεια Enn.

ἐνεργείᾳ Kirchhoff

1.7

[ἡ] οὐσία Müller

[ἡ οὐσία] Kalligas, H-S5

1.8

οὐσία

‹ἡ› οὐσία Kalligas, H-S5

1.40

ἄρα wJ SM

ἆρα BRJpcUQ Kirchhoff, H-S4

1.42

οὐ τί.

οὔ τι; H-S4

1.47

καὶ Enn.

ὡς Harder, H-S3

1.50

οὐσία.

οὐσία; interp. Roussos

2.5

εἶναι,

εἶναι. interp. Igal

2.23

πὴ

πῇ Enn. H-S4

1.30

τὸ ὑγρόν

del. Creuzer

1.46

κατὰ

‹τῷ› κατὰ Theiler, H-S3

2.16

† ὄντα

ὄντος Ficino

2.35

τοῦτο;

τοῦτο. interp. Igal

1.37

καθ᾽ ἕκαστον

‹τοῦ› καθ᾽ ἕκαστον Theiler, H-S3

1.37–38

τοῦ καθ᾽ ἕκαστον

del. Theiler, H-S3

1.38

εἶδος Enn.

ἡ ὄψις Theiler, H-S3

2.17

τοῦ Enn.

τῷ Igal

1.20

τούτων, τίνες … παρ᾽ αὐτάς.

τούτων. τίνες … παρ᾽ αὐτάς; interp. Kirchhoff

1.36

γὰρ Enn.

δὲ Harder

1.39

ὄντος, ἀλλ᾽

ὄντος ἀλλ᾽ scripsi

3.10

ζωὴ Enn.

ζῴη Perna, H-S3

4.4

μένει Enn.

μενεῖ Dodds

4.27

βελτίων Heigl

βέλτιον Enn.

5.16

ἑλομένης Enn.

ἐφιεμένης H-S3

6.5

σύστασιν τῆς wy

σύστασιν xQ

6.55–56

γνωσθήσεται· τὰ δ᾽ Enn.

γνωσθήσεται τάδ᾽ H-S3

6.57

ἔν τε

ἔν γε Müller, H-S3

6.62

τοῖς Enn.

ταῖς conieci

9.19

τὴν Enn.

κατ᾽ Roussos, H-S4

9.60

ἄλλοι;

ἄλλοι— interpunxi

ΙΙ 6

ac

II 7

II 8

II 9



List of Variant Readings H-S2

My text

9.61

post ἀκούοι, transp. ‹

μόνον δὲ φαντάζοιτο ὡς τὰ χίλια ἀριθμὸς μέγας› Theiler, H-S3

9.61

ἄν, εἰ w

ἂν ἢ Q Creuzer, H-S4

9.62

τοὺς ἄλλους

τοὺς ‹δ᾽› ἄλλους Kirchhoff, H-S3

9.62–64

εἶναι … μέγας

del. Theiler, H-S3

9.67

κάτω

κάτω, interpunxi

9.68

βλέπει καὶ

‹δὲ› βλέπει καὶ scripsi

9.68

δὲ βλέπει

deleui

9.77

πάντα

del. Kirchhoff, H-S3

9.80

ἐπαγγέλλει, τὸ ExyQ

ἐπαγγέλλοιτο, A Kirchhoff, H-S4

9.80

ἔχειν Enn.

ἔχει H-S4

9.81

πολλὰ Enn.

πολλοὶ Volkmann, H-S4

10.32

λέγουσιν Enn.

ἕλκουσιν Theiler, H-S3

11.13–14

ποιήσαντας.

ποιήσαντας; interpunxi

11.26

ποεῖν;

ποιεῖν. interpunxi

12.2

εἶδεν.

εἶδεν; interpunxi

12.6

ἐλθόντας

‹καὶ› ἐλθόντας Heigl, H-S3

12.11

κόσμου λαβεῖν

κόσμου ‹ἐκείνου› λαβεῖν H-S3

12.11

ἔννοιαν καὶ J

ἔννοιαν Enn. H-S3

12.11

κόσμου ἐκείνου ἀλλὰ

[κόσμου ἐκείνου] ἀλλὰ H-S3

14.4

λέγουσι καὶ

λέγουσιν ὡς Müller, H-S5

15.13

τό τε

‹ἀνεῖλε› τό τε scripsi

15.15

ἀνεῖλε τό τε σωφρονεῖν

del. Beutler, H-S4

16.4

πάγκακος Heigl

[πᾶς κακὸς] del. Kirchhoff, H-S3

16.14

ὅτι

del. Kirchhoff, H-S3

17.8–9

†τοῦ … τὸ†

cruces tollendae apud H-S4

s

17.9

τὸ ExyQ

τῷ A Perna

17.17

ἔχειν

del. H-S5

17.18

τοσούτῳ Enn.

τοσοῦτον Heigl, H-S5

17.52

ὡς Enn.

ὣς Kirchhoff

17.53

προιόν τι

προσιόν τι H-S3

18.13

† ποιεῖται

crux tollenda apud H-S3

1.23

ἤ, εἰ

ἢ ‹οὐδ᾽ ἂν ὅλως ἐκινήθη›, εἰ Igal, H-S4

1.24

ἢ οὐδ᾽ ἂν ὅλως ἐκινήθη

del. Igal, H-S4

4.5

εἱμαρμένην

εἱμαρμένην ‹εἶναι› Orelli, H-S4

4.6

διοίκησιν Enn.

διήκουσαν Kirchhoff, H-S4

1

III 1

663



664

List of Variant Readings H-S2

My text

4.19

ἐχούσας,

ἐχούσας· interpunxi

5.50

ἡ ἐπὶ ἑκάστου σχέσις Kirchhoff

ἡ ἑκάστου σχέσις ἐπὶ Enn. H-S4

5.56

καὶ ἅμα

καὶ ἅμα ‹γίνεσθαι› Igal, H-S4

5.57

ἅμα γίνεσθαι

del. Igal, H-S4

6.4–5

γινομένοις Enn.

γειναμένοις Grotius, H-S4

10.12

σπουδαίους πράττειν

σπουδαίους ‹τὰ καλὰ› πράττειν H-S3

10.12–13

τὰ καλὰ πράττειν

del. H-S3

10.13

ἀναπνεύσωσι Enn.

ἀνανεύσωσι scripsi

2.27

ἀλλήλοις Enn.

ἄλλοις Harder, H-S3

4.39

τροπὴ Enn.

ῥοπὴ Theiler, H-S3

7.4

ἰέναι

ἰέναι ‹τι› Kirchhoff, H-S3

7.5

ἀπαιτεῖν Enn.

ἀγαπᾶν Harder, H-S3

8.31

παλαῖστραι

παλαίστρας Igal, H-S5

13.23

ἐμφύτων Enn.

φυτῶν ἐν Volkmann

13.26

ταῦτα Enn.

ταὐτὰ Theiler

16.17

λόγον

del. Theiler

16.20

μὴ Enn.

ζωὴ MacKenna, H-S3

16.35

εἰ δράματος

εἰ ‹εἷς ὁ τοῦ› δράματος Theiler, H-S5

16.36

εἷς ὁ τοῦ δράματος

del. Theiler, H-S5

III 2

17.1

οἷος καὶ πάντως Enn.

οἷα καὶ πάντα conieci

17.38

ταύτας Enn.

ταύταις conieci

17.55

τοῦ ποιητοῦ

τοῦ ποιητοῦ ‹τοῦ› Creuzer

17.88–89

δεῖ δὲ καὶ ἀνθρώπου τοιούτου πολλάκις

del. Müller, H-S5

18.11

[τοὺς] del. Volkmann

τοὺς H-S5

18.18

οὖν Enn.

οὐκ H-S4

3.12

τοῦτο Enn.

τούτου Heintz

4.11

κἀκεῖνα Enn.

κἀκεῖνος Igal

4.21

ἐνεργεῖ.

ἐνεργεῖ; interpunxi

4.39

ἢ Enn.

μὴ Igal, H-S4

5.8

πληγέντα Enn.

πληγέντος Harder, H-S5

5.24

τὰ τοιαῦτα

τὰ ‹μὴ› τοιαῦτα Heintz, H-S5

5.25

γενόμενα

‹τὰ› γενόμενα scripsi

5.26

τὰ γενόμενα

deleui

6.5

ὅ τι Enn.

ὅτι ‹ὁ› Creuzer, H-S4

6.15

ὅσα

ὅσα ‹τε› Igal, H-S4

III 3



List of Variant Readings H-S2

My text

[ὑποκείμενον] Bréhier

ἐπικείμενον Igal, H-S4

3.2

ἑκάστου ERJyQ

ἕκαστον ΑΒ Perna, H-S3

4.6

ἐνοχλοῦν οὐδὲ Müller

ἐνοχλοῦν μὲν οὐδὲ H-S3

5.16

†ἔπειτα ταῖς τύχαις†

ἔπειτα ταῖς ψυχαῖς Β Igal

6.15 III 4

5.16

‹ὡς δαίμονα αἱρήσονται› post ψυχαῖς e Platone suppleui

5.19

ἔξω—ἀλλ᾽

ἔξω, ἀλλ᾽ interpunxi

5.20

μὴ συνδεδεμένος—οὐδ᾽

μὴ συνδεδεμένος οὐδ᾽ scripsi

5.21

οὐχ ὁ Enn.

οὐχὶ conieci

6.16

ἢ Enn.

ἣ scripsi

6.28

τοιούτῳ

del. Theiler, H-S4

6.29

τούτῳ Enn.

τοιούτῳ H-S4

1.28

ἐρώντων Harder

ἐρώτων Enn. H-S1

1.49

αὔταρκες Enn.

αὐταρκείας Theiler, H-S5

1.49

ποιήσει Enn.

ποιήσειν Harder, H-S5

1.56

καὶ

del. Volkmann, H-S4

1.56

διὰ

‹μὴ› διὰ Ficino, H-S3

1.59

καὶ

del. Volkmann

2.8

‹Ἀφροδίτης φησὶν αὐτὸν γενέσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἐν› Kirchhoff

‹Ἀφροδίτης αὐτὸν εἶναι, ἀλλὰ γεννηθῆναι ἐν τοῖς› H-S5

2.14

τὸν αὐτὸν τὸ Enn.

τὸ αὐτὸν [τὸ] Igal, H-S4

2.31

ἐξ ἑαυτοῦ Enn.

‹τὸ› ἐξ αὐτοῦ Igal, H-S4

2.32

τὸ ἐξ αὐτοῦ

del. Igal, H-S4

3.5

πρὸς ἐκεῖνο

‹ζῶσα› πρὸς ἐκεῖνο Igal, H-S5

3.26

μόνον

μόνον ‹οὖν› Igal, H-S5

4.7

ἑκάστης τῆς ψυχῆς

deleui

4.8

ἑκάστης

ἑκάστης ‹τῆς ψυχῆς› scripsi

5.4

γεγενημένος wSCQ

γεγεννημένος xU Creuzer, H-S4

6.32–33

συμπληροῦσι καὶ συνδιοικοῦσι Kirchhoff

συμπληροῦσαν καὶ συνδιοικοῦσαν Enn.

7.6

συμμιχθείσης ὡς

συμμιχθείσης, ὡς interpunxi

7.16

ὡς ἐξ

ὡς ‹ἀρχῆς› ἐξ H-S4

7.16

ὡς ἀρχῆς

del. H-S4

7.22

ὁ δὲ Enn.

ὃ δὲ Ficino, H-S3

7.24

εὐμήχανον Enn.

ἀμήχανον Kirchhoff, H-S4

7.51

ἔχοντα

ἔχοντα, interpunxi

III 5

665



666

List of Variant Readings H-S2

My text

7.52

ὄντως

ὄντως· interpunxi

7.53

καὶ νοῦν τὸν ἐν ἑκάστῳ

del. Igal, H-S4

7.53

εἰ δεῖ Dodds

εἰ ‹δὲ› δεῖ conieci

7.53

καὶ ἐν

καὶ ‹νοῦν τὸν› ἐν Igal, H-S4

7.56

τινος Enn.

τινες H-S4

7.57

θεωρεῖ

θεωρεῖ ‹τις, θεωρεῖ› H-S4

9.20

αὐτοῦ Enn.

αὑτοῦ Ficino, H-S4

9.27

ἀγεννήτων wy

ἀγενήτων xQ

9.53

πρὸς αὐτὸ

πρὸς αὑτὸ Wolters

1.24–25

μεταβαλλούσης.

μεταβαλλούσης; interpunxi

1.34

τῶν σωμάτων

τῶν σωμάτων ‹καὶ κατ᾽ ἀναλογίαν› Theiler, H-S4

1.35–36

καὶ κατ᾽ ἀναλογίαν μετενηνεγμένα

del. Theiler, H-S4

2.35

τῇ οὐσίᾳ

τὴν οὐσίαν Theiler, H-S4

3.25

ἀλλοίου μὲν ExyQ

ἀλλοιοῦμεν Aac Theiler

4.14

δοξάζειν wxy

δοξάζον Q Faggin, H-S5

6.62

πληγαί,

πληγαί, ‹τῷ› scripsi

6.62

ἀλλὰ Enn.

ἄλλα Igal

7.2

ἢ τὰ Jγρmg

καὶ τὰ Volkmann

8.13

ψυχρότητας, μυρίας

ψυχρότητας μυρίας scripsi

9.9

ἐλλείψεις [ἐκεῖνο]

ἔλλειψις ἐκείνῳ Theiler e Ficino

11.14

τοῦ Enn.

του Igal, H-S5

11.14

ἢ ἀπελθόντος

del. Bréhier, H-S5

11.25

τὸ Enn.

τῷ Kirchhoff

12.7

ζητοῦσα Enn.

ζητῶν Cizensis e corr. Kirchhoff, H-S3

III 6

12.29

ὡς χρὴ

ὡς ‹οὐ› χρὴ

12.30

τὴν Enn.

φῇ correxi: ‹φῇ› τὴν Igal

13.24

ἀνάγκη δὴ αὐτὴν

del. Igal, H-S4

13.25

ἀνάγκη

ἀνάγκη ‹δὴ› Igal, H-S4

13.35

εἰ ὁρῷτο

[ἐνορῶτο] Theiler

13.36

ἐνορωμένων Enn.

ἐνορώντων Dodds

15.21

καί τι αὐτὴν

καὶ τοιαύτην Kirchhoff, H-S4

17.15

μετὰ Enn.

μέγα suspic. H-S1

17.15

τό τι μέγα

deleui

17.20

τοῦτο Enn.

τοσοῦτον scripsi: τοσοῦτο Fleet



List of Variant Readings H-S2

My text

18.14

ἐν σμικρῷ

[ἐν] σμικρῷ scripsi

18.14

[τὸ]

τὸ ‹τοῦ μεγάλου εἴδωλον› Igal, H-S4

18.14–15

τὸ τοῦ μεγάλου εἴδωλον

del. Igal, H-S4

18.23

ἡ τοσαύτη wxUS

ἢ τοσαύτη CQ Perna

19.39

κεχωρηκὸς πρὸς αὐτὴν wBJy

κεχωρηκὸς RQ Perna, H-S4

III 7 2.7

ὁποτερονοῦν Enn.

ὁποτερουοῦν Frede

2.32

ἐν ἑνί· εἶτα Enn.

ἐν ἑνί τε Frede

3.5

νόησιν,

νόησιν; interpunxi

3.7

πολλὰ οὖσαν;

πολλὰ οὖσαν. interpunxi

3.12

ἓν ὁμοῦ εἶναι

ἕν, ὥστε εἶναι Theiler

4.2

ἐκείνη Enn.

‹ἐν› ἐκείνῃ Perna

4.3

παρ᾽ αὐτῆς Enn.

παρ᾽ αὐτῇ Kirchhoff

4.39

τὸ μηδὲν

[τὸ] μηδὲν H-S3

6.8–9

καὶ τὸ οὕτω μένον αἰὼν εἶναι

del. Theiler, H-S3

8.9

καὶ αὕτη

καὶ αὕτη ‹περιφέροιτο ἂν εἰς τὸ αὐτό,› Igal, H-S4

8.10–11

καὶ αὕτη περιφέροιτο ἂν εἰς τὸ αὐτό,

del. Igal, H-S4

8.32

ἂν Enn.

αὕτη scripsi

8.50–51

τὸ δὲ μὴ ἀθρόα εἰς τὸ ἀθρόον ἐν χρόνῳ.

del. Beierwaltes, H-S3

8.51

τὸ μὴ

τὸ ‹δὲ› μὴ H-S4

9.13

τὸ μέτρον μέτρον

τὸ μέτρον [μέτρον] scripsi

9.19

μέγεθος μέγεθος

[μέγεθος] μέγεθος Kirchhoff, H-S3

9.43

ἔσται

ἔσται ‹τοῦ› Kirchhoff, H-S3

9.70

μετροῦν

μετροῦν— interpunxi

9.70

αὖ

[ἂν] Theiler, H-S3

11.34

τοῦδε τοῦ παντὸς

[τοῦδε τοῦ παντὸς] suspic. H-S2

11.55

ἐσόμενον

del. H-S4

12.13

ἢ μέλλον Page

[ἢ μᾶλλον] Beutler, H-S3

12.14

μᾶλλον

‹ἢ› μᾶλλον H-S3

12.16

ἣ οὐ

ᾗ Igal, H-S4

12.17

[χρόνος]

χρόνος Enn. H-S4

12.40

μέτρον; Cilento

μέτρον. interpunxi

12.54

εἰ Enn.

ᾗ Kirchhoff

13.1

αὕτη Enn.

αὐτὴ Kirchhoff, H-S3

13.50

† καὶ τὸ θεὸν

καταθετέον H-S3

13.64

ἔν τῳ Dodds

ἐν ᾧ Enn. H-S4

667



668

List of Variant Readings H-S2

My text

2.6–7

[ἢ κοροπλάθαι] Müller

ἢ κοροπλάθαι Enn.

3.8

πᾶς ὁ

πᾶς, ὁ interpunxi

3.19

θεώρημα,

θεώρημα· interpunxit Roussos

4.5

σιώπησις Enn.

σιωπώσης Coleridge, H-S3

4.19

καὶ οἷον συναισθήσει

del. H-S4

4.19

ταύτῃ καὶ

ταύτῃ καὶ ‹οἷον› H-S4

4.22

χαρίεν

χάριεν H-S3

4.24

τοῦ ὕπνου Enn.

καθύπνου H-S3

4.43

τί Enn.

τίς Ficino, H-S3

5.7

παιδίῳ Enn.

παιγνίῳ Theiler, H-S3

5.10

τὸ λογιστικὸν

del. Kirchhoff, H-S3

5.12

μεταλαμβάνον

μεταλαμβάνον ‹πρόεισι› Theiler, H-S3

5.13

ἐνεργείᾳ x

ἐνέργεια wy H-S3

5.14–15

τὸ ἑαυτῆς πρόσθεν

del. Dodds, H-S3

5.16

τὸ πρόσθεν

τὸ ‹ἑαυτῆς› πρόσθεν H-S3

5.31

διὰ τοῦτο δὲ

deleui

5.31

τοῦτο πανταχοῦ

τοῦτο ‹δὲ› πανταχοῦ scripsi

6.6

δῆλον ὅτι

δῆλον ὅτι, interp. Igal

6.27

γὰρ οὐ

γὰρ εὖ Theiler, H-S3

7.9

ποιοῦντα Enn.

‹τέλος› ποιούμενα scripsi

7.9

τέλος ποιούμενα

deleui

7.24–25

παραφορᾷ

παραφοραὶ Müller, H-S4

8.12

ζῶν τι

ζῶν δι᾽ Dodds, H-S3

9.24

τῷ Kirchhoff

τὸ Enn. H-S4

9.25

παραστήσας Enn.

παρὸν στήσας Theiler, H-S3

9.31

ὄντα † κἀκεῖνα,

ὄντα, κἀκεῖνα Enn.

9.32

ἐκεῖνο

del. Theiler

10.6

πᾶσιν Enn.

πᾶσαν Mras, H-S3

10.28

τὸ μηδὲν

[τὸ] μηδὲν Ficino

11.3–4

οἷον καὶ ἡ κατ᾽ ἐνέργειαν ὅρασις

del. Theiler, H-S3

11.24

ἐκεῖ

ἐκεῖνος Theiler, H-S3

11.38

[ἢ ποῦ] Dodds

ἢ ποῦ tenendum

1.19

ἐκεῖνον οἷον [ἐκεῖνον] εἶναι

ἐκεῖνον ‹εἶναι› οἷον [ἐκεῖνον εἶναι] H-S3

2.6

ὁ γενόμενός ἐστιν

ὃ γενόμενός ἐστιν Kirchhoff

9.21

εἶναι αὐτοῦ

[εἶναι] αὐτοῦ Kirchhoff, H-S5

III 8

III 9

Key to the Chronological Order of Plotinus’ Treatises

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

1

53

40

3

21

10

42

2

19

14

47

4

11

43

3

20

52

48

27

49

44

4

46

12

15

28

7

22

5

36

25

50

29

32

23

6

1

17

26

41

24

34

7

54

37

45

2

18

38

8

51

35

30

6

31

39

9

16

33

13

8

5

9

669

Suggested Further Readings on Individual Treatises

First Ennead I 1 [53]. What Is the Living Being, and What Is Man? Armstrong, A. Hilary. 1948–­49. “Studies in Traditional Anthropology, II: Plotinus.” DR 66:405–­ 18, and 67:123–­33, 406–­19. Aubry, Gwenaëlle. 2004. Plotin: Traité 53 (I, 1). Paris: Cerf. Blumenthal, Henry J. 1971a. Plotinus’ Psychology. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. de Vogel, Cornelia J. 1976. “Plotinus’ Image of Man. Its Relationship to Plato as well as to Later Neoplatonism.” In Images of Man in Ancient and Medieval Thought: Studia Gerardo Verbeke ab amicis et collegis dicata, ed. Fernand Bossier et al., 147–­68. Leuven: Leuven University Press. (Rev. version in de Vogel 1988, 213–­32.) Igal, Jesús. 1979. “Aristoteles y la evolución de la antropología de Plotino.” Pensamiento 35:315–­46. Marzolo, Carlo. 2006. Plotino: Che cos’è l’essere vivente e che cos’è l’uomo? I 1 [53]. Pisa: Edizioni Plus–­Pisa University Press. O’Daly, Gerard J. P. 1973. Plotinus’ Philosophy of the Self. Shannon: Irish University Press. Pépin, Jean. 1971. Idées grecques sur l’ homme et sur Dieu. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Rich, Audrey N. M. 1971. “Body and Soul in the Philosophy of Plotinus.” In Essays in Ancient Greek Philosophy [I], ed. John P. Anton and George L. Kustas, 620–­36. Albany: State University of New York Press. Rist, John M. 1967a. “Integration and the Undescended Soul in Plotinus.” AJPh 88:410–­23.

I 2 [19]. On Virtues Barnes, Hazel E. 1942. “Katharsis in the Enneads of Plotinus.” TAPhA 73:358–­82. Bréhier, Émile. 1940. “Aretai katharseis.” REA 42:53–­58. Clark, Gordon H. 1943. “Plotinus’ Theory of Empirical Responsibility.” New Scholasticism 17:16–­31. Dillon, John M. 1983. “Plotinus, Philo and Origen on the Grades of Virtue.” In Platonismus und Christentum: Festschrift für H. Dörrie, ed. Horst-­Dieter Blume and Friedhelm Mann, 92–­ 105. Münster: Aschendorffsche Verlagsbuchhandlung. (Repr. in Dillon 1990b.)

671



672

Further Readings Lieshout, Henri van. 1926. La théorie plotinienne de la vertu: Essai sur la genèse d’un article de la Somme théologique de saint Thomas. Fribourg: Studia Friburgensia. Plass, Paul C. 1982. “Plotinus’ Ethical Theory.” ICS 7:241–­59. Schissel von Fleschenberg, Othmar. 1928. Marinos von Neapolis und die neuplatonischen Tugendgrade. Texte und Forschungen zur byzantinisch-­neugriechischen Philologie 8. Athens: P. D. Sakellarios. Schwyzer, Hans-­Rudolf. 1974. “Plotinisches und Unplotinisches in den Ἀφορμαὶ des Porphyrios.” In Plotino e il Neoplatonismo in Oriente e in Occidente, Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei. Atti del convegno internazionale sul tema (Roma, 5–­9 ottobre 1970), 221–­52. Rome: Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei.

I 3 [20]. On Dialectic Leroux, Georges. 1974. “Logique et dialectique chez Plotin: Ennéade 1.3 (20).” Phoenix 28:180–­92.

I 4 [46]. On Well-­Being Himmerich, Wilhelm. 1959. Eudaimonia: Die Lehre des Plotin von der Selbstverwirklichung des Menschen. Würzburg: K. Triltsch. Linguiti, Alessandro. 2000. La felicità e il tempo: Plotino Enneadi, I 4–­I 5. Milan: LED. McGroarty, Kieran. 2006. Plotinus on Eudaimonia: A Commentary on Ennead I.4. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rist, John M. 1967b. Plotinus: The Road to Reality. Chapter 11. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schniewind, Alexandrine. 2003. L’éthique du sage chez Plotin: Le paradigme du spoudaios. Paris: Vrin. Schroeder, Frederic M. 1997. “Plotinus and Aristotle on the Good Life.” In The Perennial Tradition of Neoplatonism, ed. John J. Cleary, 207–­20. Leuven: Leuven University Press. Thedinga, F. 1925. “Plotins Schrift über die Glückseligkeit.” RhM 74:129–­54.

I 6 [1]. On Beauty Bourbon di Petrella, F. 1956. Il problema dell’arte e della bellezza in Plotino. Florence: Le Monnier. Brennan, Rose Emmanuella. 1940. “The Philosophy of Beauty in the Enneads of Plotinus.” New Scholasticism 14:1–­32. Creuzer, Georg Friedrich. 1814. Plotini Liber de pulcritudine. Heidelberg: Ex officina Mohrii et Zimerii academica. (Repr., Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1976.) de Keyser, Eugénie. 1955. La signification de l’art dans les Ennéades de Plotin. Recueil de travaux d’histoire et de philologie de Louvain 4e série, fasc. 7. Louvain: Publications Universitaires de Louvain. Mathias, P. 1991. Plotin, Du Beau: Ennéades I, 6 et V, 8. Paris: Havas. Rist, John M. 1967b. Plotinus: The Road to Reality. Chapter 5. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schöndorf, Hildegard. 1974. Plotins Umformung der platonischen Lehre vom Schönen. Bonn: Habelt.



Further Readings

Vizyinos, Georgios M. 1884. Ē philosophia tou kalou para Plōtinōi. Athens: Typographeion Attikou Mouseiou. (Repr., with an introduction by Paul Kalligas, Athens: Harmos, 1995.)

I 7 [54]. On the Primal Good and the Other Goods Pigler, Agnès. 2004. Plotin: Traité 54 (I, 7). Paris: Cerf.

I 8 [51]. On What Are and Whence Come Evils Costello, Edward B. 1967. “Is Plotinus Inconsistent on the Nature of Evil?” IPQ 7:483–­97. Fuller, Benjamin Apthorp Gould. 1912. The Problem of Evil in Plotinus. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hager, Fritz-­Peter. 1962. “Die Materie und das Böse im antiken Platonismus.” MH 19:73–­103. O’Brien, Denis. 1971. “Plotinus on Evil.” In Le Néoplatonisme, Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique. Colloque International (Royaumont, 9–­13 juin 1969), 113–­46. Paris: Éditions du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique. O’Meara, Dominic J. 1999. Plotin: Traité 51 (I, 8). Paris: Cerf. Rist, John M. 1961. “Plotinus on Matter and Evil.” Phronesis 6:154–­66. ———. 1965. “Monism: Plotinus and Some Predecessors.” HSPh 69:329–­44. ———. 1974. “Plotinus and Augustine on Evil.” In Plotino e il Neoplatonismo in Oriente e in Occidente, Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei. Atti del convegno internazionale sul tema (Roma, 5–­9 ottobre 1970), 495–­508. Rome: Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei. Schröder, Ernst. 1916. Plotins Abhandlung Pothen ta kaka (Enn. Ι,8). Inaugural-­Dissertation, Rostock. Borna-­Leipzig: Druck von R. Noske. Volkmann-­Schluck, Karl-­Heinz. 1967. “Plotins Lehre vom Wesen und von der Herkunft des Schlechten (Enn. I, 8).” PhJ 75:1–­21.

I 9 [16]. On Going out of the Body Dillon, John M. 1994. “Singing without an Instrument: Plotinus on Suicide.” ICS 19:231–­38.

Second Ennead II 1 [40]. On Heaven Clark, Gordon H. 1949. “Plotinus on the Eternity of the World.” PhR 58:130–­40. Wilberding, James. 2006. Plotinus’ Cosmology: A Study of Ennead II.1 (40). Oxford: Oxford University Press.

II 2 [14]. On the Movement of Heaven Bréhier, Émile. 1950. “La ‘mécanique céleste’ néoplatonicienne.” In Mélanges Joseph Maréchal, 2:245–­48. Brussels: Édition Universelle; Paris: Desclée de Brouwer. (Repr. in Bréhier 1955, 244–­47.)

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Further Readings Merlan, Philip. 1943. “Plotinus Enneads 2.2.” TAPhA 74:179–­91. (Repr. in Kleine philosophische Schriften, ed. Franciszka Merlan, 396–­408. Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 1976.)

II 3 [52]. On Whether the Stars Are Causes Long, Anthony A. 1982. “Astrology: Arguments Pro and Contra.” In Science and Speculation: Studies in Hellenistic Theory and Practice, ed. Jonathan Barnes et al., 165–­92. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press; Paris: Éditions de la Maison des Sciences de l’Homme.

II 4 [12]. On Matter Armstrong, A. Hilary. 1954/55a. “Spiritual or Intelligible Matter in Plotinus and St. Augustine.” In Augustinus Magister. Congrès International Augustinien (Paris, 21–­24 sept. 1954), 277–­ 83. Paris: Études Augustiniennes. Baeumker, Clemens. 1890. Das Problem der Materie in der griechischen Philosophie. Münster: Aschendorff. Benz, Hubert. 1990. ‘Materie’ und Wahrnehmung in der Philosophie Plotins. Würzburg: Königshausen und Neumann. Bruni, Gerardo. 1963. “Introduzione alla dottrina plotiniana della materia.” GFIC 42:22–­45. de Vogel, Cornelia J. 1959. “La théorie de l’apeiron chez Platon et dans la tradition platonicienne.” RPhilos 149:21–­39. (Repr. in de Vogel 1970, 378–­95.) Narbonne, Jean-­Marc. 1993. Plotin: Les deux matières [Ennéade II, 4 (12)]. Paris: Vrin. Rist, John M. 1961. “Plotinus on Matter and Evil.” Phronesis 6:154–­66. (Repr. in Rist 1996.) ———. 1962a. “The Indefinite Dyad and Intelligible Matter in Plotinus.” CQ 12:99–­107. (Repr. in Rist 1996.) Schwyzer, Hans-­Rudolf. 1973. “Zu Plotins Deutung der sogennanten platonischen Materie.” In Zetesis: Album amicorum door vrienden en collega’s aangeboden aan Prof. dr. É. de Strycker, gewoon hoogleraar aan de universitaire faculteiten Sint-­Ignatius te Antwerpen, ter gelegenheid van zijn vijfenzestigste verjaardag, ed. Théodore Lefèvre, 266–­80. Antwerp: Nederlandsche Boekhandel. Sorabji, Richard. 1988. Matter, Space and Motion. London: Duckworth; Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

II 5 [25]. On What Exists Potentially and What Actually Buchner, Hans. 1970. Plotins Möglichkeitslehre. Epimeleia 16. Munich: Anton Pustet. Rutten, Christian. 1956. “La doctrine des deux actes dans la philosophie de Plotin.” RPhilos 146:100–­106.

II 6 [17]. On Substance, or on Quality Kalligas, Paul. 1997c. “Logos and the Sensible Object in Plotinus.” AncPhil 17:397–­410. Rutten, Christian. 1961. Les catégories du monde sensible dans les Ennéades de Plotin. Bibliothèque de la Faculté de Philosophie et Lettres de l’Université de Liège, fasc. 160. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Wurm, Klaus. 1973. Substanz und Qualität. Berlin: De Gruyter.



Further Readings

II 7 [37]. On Complete Transfusion Sorabji, Richard. 1988. Matter, Space and Motion. Chapters 5–­7. London: Duckworth; Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

II 9 [33]. Against the Gnostics Abramowski, Luise. 1983. “Nag Hammadi 8,1 ‘Zostrianus,’ das Anonymum Brucianum, Plotin Enn. 2,9 (33).” In Platonismus und Christentum: Festschrift für Heinrich Dörrie, ed. Horst-­ Dieter Blume and Friedhelm Mann, 1–­10. JbAC Ergänzungsband 10. Münster: Aschendorffsche Verlagsbuchhandlung. Alt, Karin. 1990. “Philosophie gegen Gnosis: Plotins Polemik in seiner Schrift II 9.” AAWM 7:1–­74. Baruzi, Jean. 1951. “Le Kosmos de Plotin en face des Gnostiques et les données scripturaires.” RHR 139:5–­13. Harder, Richard. 1929. “Plotins Abhandlung gegen die Gnostiker.” Die Antike 5:53–­84. Igal, Jésus. 1981. “The Gnostics and ‘The Ancient Philosophy’ in Plotinus.” In Neoplatonism and Early Christian Thought: Essays in Honour of A. H. Armstrong, ed. Henry J. Blumenthal and Robert A. Markus, 138–­49. London: Variorum. Jonas, Hans. 1954–­93. Gnosis und spätantiker Geist. 2 vols. (Vol. 1, 2nd ed.) Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht. Katz, Joseph. 1954. “Plotinus and the Gnostics.” JHI 15:289–­98. Lameere, William. 1939. “Un symbole pythagoricien dans l’art funéraire de Rome.” BCH 63: 43–­85. Layton, Bentley, ed. 1980–­81. The Rediscovery of Gnosticism. 2 vols. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Nédoncelle, Maurice. 1956. “Altérité, altération et aliénation dans la philosophie de Plotin.” In Mélanges offerts à Octave et Melpo Merlier à l’occasion du 25e anniversaire de leur arrivée en Grèce, 2:173–­83. Athens: Institut Français d’Athènes. O’Brien, Denis. 1993. Théodicée plotinienne, théodicée gnostique. PhA 57. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Orbe, Antonio. 1954. “Variaciones gnósticas sobre las alas del Alma (a proposito de Plot. II 9,3,18–­ 4,12).” Gregorianum 35:18–­55. Orlandi, Tito. 1979. “Plotino e l’ambiente dei trattati di Nag Hammadi.” RAL 34:15–­25. Phillips, John F. 1981. “The Universe as Prophet: A Soteriological Formula in Plotinus.” GRBS 22:269–­81. Puech, Henri-­Charles. 1960. “Plotin et les Gnostiques.” In Les sources de Plotin. Entretiens sur l’Antiquité Classique (= EH) 5:161–­74, followed by “Discussion,” 175–­90. Vandoeuvres: Fondation Hardt. (Repr. in Puech 1978, 1:83–­116.) Remus, Harold E. 1983. “Plotinus and Gnostic Thaumaturgy.” LThPh 39:13–­20. Robinson, James M. 1977. “The Three Steles of Seth and the Gnostics of Plotinus.” In Proceedings of the International Colloquium on Gnosticism (Stockholm Aug. 20–­25, 1973), ed. Geo Widengren and David Hellholm, 132–­42. Kungl. Vitterhets, Historie och Antikvitets Akademiens Handlingar. Filologisk-­Filosofiske Serien 17. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Runia, David T., ed. 1984. Plotinus amid Gnostics and Christians: Papers Presented at the Plotinus Symposium Held at the Free University of Amsterdam on 25 January 1984. Amsterdam: Free University Press. Schmidt, Carl. 1900. Plotins Stellung zum Gnosticismus und kirchlichen Christentum. Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altchristliche Literatur 5. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs.

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Further Readings Tardieu, Michel. 1992. “Les Gnostiques dans la Vie de Plotin.” In Porphyre: La Vie de Plotin, ed. Luc Brisson et al., 2:503–­63. Paris: Vrin, 1982–­92. Wallis, Richard T., ed. 1992. Neoplatonism and Gnosticism. Albany: State University of New York Press. Wolters, Albert M. 1981. “Notes on the Structure of Enneads II, 9.” In Life Is Religion: Essays in Honor of H. Evan Runner, ed. Henry Vander Goot, 83–­94. St. Catherines, Ont.: Paedeia Press. Zandee, Jan. 1961. The Terminology of Plotinus and of Some Gnostic Writings, Mainly the 4th Treatise of the Jung Codex. Istanbul: Nederlands Historisch-­Archaeologisch Instituut in het Nabije Oosten. On “The Great Treatise” Cilento, Vincenzo. 1971. Plotino: Paideia antignostica; Ricostruzione di un unico scritto da Enneadi III 8, V 8, V 5, II 9. Florence: Le Monnier. Elsas, Christoph. 1975. Neuplatonische und gnostiche Weltablehnung in der Schule Plotins. RGVV 34. Berlin: De Gruyter. Fowden, Garth. 2008. “The Great Treatise.” In Contextualizing Late Greek Philosophy, ed. E. Key Fowden and G. Fowden, 101–­12. Meletēmata 54. Athens: Ethniko Idruma Ereunōn. García Bazán, Francisco. 1981. Plotino y la Gnosis. Buenos Aires: Fundación para la Educación, la Ciencia y la Cultura. Harder, Richard. 1936. “Eine neue Schrift Plotins.” Hermes 71:1–­10. (Repr. in Harder 1960a, 303–­13.) Roloff, Dietrich. 1970. Plotin: Die Grossschrift III, 8–­V, 8–­V, 5–­II, 9.” Berlin: De Gruyter. Tzavaras, Yiannis. 1995. Plōtinos: Enneadōn Vivlia 30–­33 (To “Megalo Vivlio”). Athens: Dodoni.

Third Ennead III 1 [3]. On Destiny Brisson, Luc, et al. 2002. Plotin: Traités 1–­6. Paris: Flammarion. Hannemann-­Haller, Irmgard. 1977. Plotins Schrift III.1 Über das Schicksal: Quellen und Entwicklung seiner Schicksalslehre. Inaugural-­Dissertation Bern. Basel: N.p. von Kleist, Hugo. 1886. “Zu Plotins Enn. III, 1.” Philologus 45:34–­53.

III 2–­3 [47–­48]. On Providence Armstrong, A. Hilary. 1938. “The Gods in Plato, Plotinus, Epicurus.” CQ 32:190–­96. Boot, Pieter. 1983. “Plotinus’ On Providence (Ennead III 2–­3): Three Interpretations.” Mnemosyne ser. 4, 36: 311–­15. ———. 1984. Plotinus over Voorzienigheid: Enneade III 2–­3. Amsterdam: V. U. Boekhandel. Dragona-­Monachou, Myrto. 1994. “Divine Providence in the Philosophy of the Empire.” ANRW, ser. 2, 36.7:4417–­90. Früchtel, Edgar. 1970. Weltentwurf und Logos: Zur Metaphysik Plotins. Philosophische Abhandlungen, vol. 33. Frankfurt on the Main: Klostermann.



Further Readings

Parma, Christian. 1971. Pronoia und Providentia: Der Vorsehungsbegriff Plotins und Augustins. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Schubert, Venanz. 1968. Pronoia und Logos: Die Rechtfertigung der Weltordnung bei Plotin. Epimeleia 11. Munich: Anton Pustet. Sharples, Robert W. 1994. “Plato, Plotinus, and Evil.” BICS 39:171–­81.

III 4 [15]. On Our Allotted Guardian Spirit Rist, John M. 1963b. “Plotinus and the Daimonion of Socrates.” Phoenix 17:13–­24. (Repr. in Rist 1996.)

III 5 [50]. On Love Dillon, John M. 1969a. “Enn. III 5: Plotinus’ Exegesis of the Symposium Myth.” Agōn 3:24–­44. Hadot, Pierre. 1990. Plotin: Traité 50 (III, 5). Paris: Cerf. Harrington, K. W. 1975. “Plotinus’ Allegorical Approach to Platonic Myth in Ennead III. 5 and Its Antecedents.” Diotima 3:115–­25. Lacrosse, Joachim. 1994. L’amour chez Plotin: Érôs hénologique, érôs noétique, érôs psychique. Brussels: Ousia. Mortley, Raoul. 1980. “Love in Plato and Plotinus.” Antichthon 14:45–­52. Rist, John M. 1964. Eros and Psyche: Studies in Plato, Plotinus and Origen. Phoenix suppl. 6. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Romano, Francesco. 1984. “La passione amorosa in Plotino.” Discorsi 4:7–­21. Ucciani, Louis. 1998. Sur Plotin: La Gnose et l’amour. Paris: Kimé. Wolters, Albert M. 1984. Plotinus “On Eros”: A Detailed Exegetical Study of Enneads III, 5. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

III 6 [26]. On the Impassibility of Things without Body Fleet, Barrie. 1995. Plotinus: Ennead III.6, On the Impassivity of the Bodiless. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Laurent, Jérôme, et al. 2004. Plotin: Traités 22–­26, 159–­240. Paris: Flammarion.

III 7 [45]. On Eternity and Time Aubenque, Pierre. 1976. “Plotin, philosophe de la temporalité.” Diotima 4:78–­86. Beierwaltes, Werner. 1967. Plotin über Ewigkeit und Zeit (Enneade III 7). Frankfurt on the Main: Vittorio Klostermann. Blandin, Jean-­Yves. 1999. “Du temps comme ordre et nombre, au temps comme chute : Plotin et la diastasis de l’âme.” Kairos 15:33–­60. Callahan, John Francis. 1979. Four Views of Time in Ancient Philosophy. Rev. ed. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Clark, Gordon H. 1944. “The Theory of Time in Plotinus.” PhR 54:337–­48. Gloy, Karen. 1989. “Die Struktur der Zeit in Plotins Zeittheorie.” AGPh 71:303–­26. Guitton, Jean. 1959. Le temps et l’éternité chez Plotin et Saint Augustin. 4th ed. Paris: Vrin. (Orig. publ., Paris: Boivin, 1933.)

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Further Readings Jonas, Hans. 1962. “Plotin über Ewigkeit und Zeit: Interpretation von Enn. III 7.” In Politische Ordnung und menschliche Existenz: Festgabe für Eric Voegelin zum 60. Geburtstag, ed. Alois Dempf et al., 295–­319. Munich: Beck. Koutras, Demetrios N. 1966–­67. “Aiōn kai Chronos kata Plōtinon.” Athēna 69:141–­56. Lassègue, Monique. 1982. “Le temps, image de l’éternité, chez Plotin.” RPhilos 107:405–­18. Manchester, Peter B. 1978. “Time and the Soul in Plotinus, III 7 [45], 11.” Dionysius 2:101–­36. McGuire, James E., and Steven K. Strange. 1988. “An Annotated Translation of Plotinus Ennead III 7: On Eternity and Time.” AncPhil 8:251–­71. Pigler, Agnès. 1996. “Plotin exégète de Platon? La question du temps.” RPhilos 121:107–­17. ———. 1999. Plotin: Ennéade III, 7 [45] “De l’éternité et du temps”; Traduction et commentaire. Paris: Ellipses. Plass, Paul C. 1977–­78. “Timeless Time in Neoplatonism.” ModSch 55:1–­19. Ramphos, Stelios. 1996. “Plōtinou, Peri Aiōniotētos kai Chronou, III 7 (45).” Erourem 4:8–­43. Simons, John. 1985. “Matter and Time in Plotinus.” Dionysius 9:53–­74. Smith, Andrew. 1996. “Eternity and Time.” In The Cambridge Companion to Plotinus, ed. Lloyd P. Gerson, 196–­216. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sorabji, Richard. 1983. Time, Creation and the Continuum. London: Duckworth; Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Strange, Steven K. 1994. “Plotinus on the Nature of Eternity and Time.” In Aristotle in Late Antiquity, ed. Lawrence P. Schrenk. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Trotta, Alessandro. 1997. Il problema del tempo in Plotino. Milan: Vita e Pensiero. Verbeke, Gérard. 1973. “Le statut ontologique du temps selon quelques penseurs grecs.” In Zētēsis: Album amicorum door vrienden en collega’s aangeboden aan Prof. Dr. É. de Strycker, gewoon hoogleraar aan de universitaire faculteiten Sint-­Ignatius te Antwerpen, ter gelegenheid van zijn vijfenzestigste verjaardag, ed. Théodore Lefèvre, 188–­205. Antwerp: Nederlandsche Boekhandel. Wagner, Michael F. 1996b. “Real Time in Aristotle, Plotinus and Augustine.” JNS 4:67–­116. Weiss, Helene. 1941. “An Interpretative Note on a Passage in Plotinus’ On Eternity and Time (III 7.6).” CPh 36: 230–­39. Whittaker, John. 1971. God Time Being: Two Studies in the Transcendental Tradition in Greek Philosophy. Symbolae Osloenses fasc. suppl. 23. Oslo: Universitetsforlaget.

III 8 [30]. On Nature and Contemplation and the One For a selection of works on “The Great Treatise” see my introduction to II 9 [33].

Arnou, René. 1972. Praxis et Theōria: Étude de détail sur le vocabulaire et la pensée des Ennéades de Plotin. 2nd ed. Rome: Presses de l’Université Grégorienne. (Orig. publ., Paris: Alcan, 1921.) Bussanich, John. 1988. The One and Its Relation to Intellect in Plotinus. PhA 49. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Cilento, Vincenzo. 1946. “Contemplazione.” PP 1:197–­221. (Repr. in Cilento 1973, 5–­27.) Deck, John N. 1967. Nature, Contemplation, and the One: A Study in the Philosophy of Plotinus. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Gatti, Maria Luisa. 1996. Plotino e la metafisica della contemplazione. 2nd ed. Milan: Vita e Pensiero. Hunt, David P. 1981. “Contemplation and Hypostatic Procession in Plotinus.” Apeiron 15:71–­79. Müller, Hermann Friedrich. 1916. “Phusis bei Plotinos.” RhM 71:232–­45.

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Figure 1. Bust of a philosopher, ca. 260 CE. Portrait of Plotinus(?). Museum of Ostia, cat. no. 68.

Figure 2. Sarcophagus depicting a philosopher teaching, ca. 270 CE. Designated by Rodenwaldt 1936, 104–5, as the “Sarcophagus of Plotinus.” Gregorian Museum, Vatican. © Photo Vatican Museums.



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Figure 3. Bust of a philosopher, ca. 300 CE. Portrait of Porphyry(?). Athens Archaeological Museum, cat. no. 581.

Figure 4. “Prometheus Sarcophagus” from Arles, ca. 240 CE. Louvre Museum, cat. no. MA 339/95DE3916. Described by Cumont 1942a, 318–24, as depicting the soul’s sojourn on earth. Prometheus is shown on the left molding human bodies under the guidance of Athena, a solar deity, and the astrological horoscopos. Next comes Hermes conducting the soul. The embodied soul is then seen proceeding under the supervision of the three rulers of Fate, the Moirai, and their enthroned mother, Adrasteia, under the watchful eye of the sea-god Poseidon. On the far right, the soul is escorted away from the clasp of Earth toward an otherworldly region of unperturbed bliss. Cf. Festugière 1957, 195–202.

Index of Passages Cited With Their Abbreviations and Modern Editors

Ach. = Achilles [Tatius] Intr. Arat. = Introductio in Aratum (P. Maass) 5, 34.26–29: 266; 14, 41.13–22: 282 Ach. Tat. = Achilles Tatius Leuc. et Clit.= Leucippe et Clitophon I 4.4: 515; V 13.4: 547; 16.7: 550; VIII 5.7: 550 Acta: see Apocrypha Adrastus apud Theon Sm. 128.5–129.9: 459; 148.13–22: 474; 149.10–150.18: 445 Aelian = Claudius Aelianus NA = De natura animalium I 28: 500 VH = Varia historia (M. Dilts) XII 15: 626 [Ael. Arist.] = pseudo-­Aelius Aristides Or. = Orationes (B. Keil) XXXV 8: 32; 14: 3n Aen. Gaz. = Aeneas Gazaeus Theophr. = Theophrastus (M. Colonna) 51, 45.4– 9: 91 Aesch. = Aeschylus Ag. = Agamemnon 913: 419 Eum. = Eumenides 658–66: 326 Pers. = Persae 601: 482n Supp. = Supplices 521: 517; 574–84: 578n ?Aesch. = Aeschylus? PV = Prometheus vinctus 59: 527 “Aëtius” De placitis reliquiae (H. Diels in Dox. Gr.) 228.4–6: 217; 307.21–308.2: 255; 308.4– 9: 305n; 308a6: 237; 308.17–18: 303; 318a2–10: 601; 323: 460; 325.5–8: 417n; 325.31–32: 416n; 330: 445n, 458; 386b8–10: 542; 388b16–20: 269; 403b8–11: 362–63; 432.14: 141; 432a15– 22: 127 Agathon fr. = Fragmenta (A. Nauck) 29: 515

Albinus Is. = Isagoge (C. F. Hermann) 5, 149.28–29: 41, 610; 5, 149.35–37: 90; 6, 151.4: 132n “Alcinous” Didasc. = Didascalicus ( J. Whittaker) 2: 191, 624n; 4: 87, 308, 599; 5: 202, 312, 537n; 8: 229, 237, 305n, 309, 318, 556, 628; 9: 217, 385; 10: 202, 370–72, 385, 595, 645; 11: 538n; 12: 385, 480; 13: 302, 480; 14: 388, 586, 601; 15: 254, 524; 17–22: 42; 16: 106; 17: 537n; 24: 103n; 25: 103n, 223, 261, 409, 423; 26: 436, 460; 28: 132, 137, 484n; 29: 136, 544; 30: 160, 161; 32: 106, 547; 35: 556 Alcmaeon DK fr. B2: 652 Alex. Aphrod. = Alexander of Aphrodisias apud Simpl. In Cat. 99.19–20: 336n apud Simpl. In Ph. 760.1–3: 580n De an. = De anima (I. Bruns) 1.3–2.4: 105n; 3.23–27: 309, 556; 3.28–4.2: 229; 4.1–2: 236; 4.11–18: 240, 316; 5.19: 556; 12.20: 182; 17.9–15: 112, 629; 21.22–22.6: 629; 23.18– 24: 118; 23.24–24.23: 111; 27.15–28.2: 127; 32.10: 165; 39.13–14: 119; 43.11: 201; 46.1–3: 221; 47.14–24: 263; 67.13–18: 116; 71.26– 72.1: 123; 80.20–81.12: 200; 81.28–82.10: 121; 84.4–6: 539; 85.10–86.1: 312; 85.20– 86.4: 121; 88.3–17: 120; 89.1–6: 221; 97.2–3: 108 De an. mant. = De anima libri mantissa (I. Bruns) 102.20–27: 115; 103.11–20: 334; 104.34–105.2: 115; 106.5–15: 628; 106.19– 26: 307n, 333; 106.19–107.20: 654; 107.10: 121; 107.21–34: 121; 108.26–29: 122; 110.17– 20: 120; 111.22–25: 373; 112.25–113.2: 186; 113.4–12: 221; 115.37–116.1: 352; 117.9–16:

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Index Alex. Aphrod. cont. 112; 117.15–18: 106, 119; 121.21–22: 342; 123.12–13: 352; 124.25–33: 340; 125.7–35: 262; 127.27–139.28: 355n, 362; 133.2–4: 263; 135.14–15: 358; 138.3–139.28: 201; 139.29– 141.28: 348; 140.10–23: 349, 350; 141.29– 150.18: 355n; 142.21–29: 561; 145.13–16: 561; 145.34–146.29: 355, 361; 146.17–34: 362; 146.20–29: 355n, 361; 146.30–35: 357; 147.1–4: 360; 150.28–151.27: 167; 151.20– 23: 206; 151.30–34: 166, 188; 152.17–22: 165; 153.28 ff.: 147; 155.15–17: 103; 159.15– 168.20: 163n; 159.18: 174; 159.19–22: 243; 160.4–31: 163; 160.27–29: 243; 161.3–13: 180; 161.40–162.3: 180; 162.3–16: 173, 197; 163.1–164.9: 185; 164.21–24: 185; 167.4–9: 185; 168.1–20: 243; 171.31–33: 459; 172.25– 173.3: 417; 173.7–17: 436; 177.35–178.3: 423; 181.14–22: 417n, 421; 185.11–14: 431; 186.28–30: 416n De mixt. = De mixtione (I. Bruns) 213.16: 316; 218.24–27: 350; 219.13–18: 350; 220.3–10: 349; 220.14–16: 350; 220.27–35: 347n; 220.27–221.15: 348; 221.9: 349; 221.34– 222.3: 349; 225.30–34: 285; 226.15: 229; 226.24–30: 628; 228.34–37: 348; 229.8: 536n; 231.10–12: 349; 233.2–5: 349; 234.7– 9: 350 De princ. = De principiis (apud Badawi 1967) 135.21–136.17: 269n; 136.36.39: 175; 138.7– 11: 270n; 138.11–18: 273; 146.32–37: 269n; 150.14–24: 172; 151.36–40: 254 De temp. = De tempore (apud Sharples 1982) 5: 615; 10, 15, 19: 603, 609; 16: 580n, 581n; 20: 608 Fat. = De fato ad imperatores (I. Bruns) 21.3–4: 132n; 164.4: 33; 168.11–19: 423, 437; 169.2– 170.27: 417, 431; 169.18–28: 281n; 172.25– 30: 423; 173.5–7: 423; 180.9–12: 437; 182.6–13: 422; 182.22–24: 436; 183.3–184.5: 436; 184.3–20: 417; 185.15–21: 436; 192.8– 11: 422; 192.22–24: 425; 194.26: 420 In An. pr. = In Aristotelis analyticorum priorum librum I commentarium (M. Wallies in CAG 2.1) 1.8–9: 158; 4.18–21: 155; 4.31–32: 158; 17.2–3: 159 In Metaph. = In Aristotelis metaphysica commentaria (M. Hayduck in CAG 1: 1–439) 55.5– 8: 312; 56.13–20: 557; 59.1–8: 307n; 59.27: 307n; 89.18–20: 336n; 90.21–91.16: 336n; 91.31–92.18: 339; 107.9–10: 575; 421.30–36: 329; 430.1–9: 312

In Mete. = In Aristotelis meteorologicorum libros commentaria (M. Hayduck in CAG 3.2) 7.9–14: 281n; 18.17–19: 570; 33.23–35.18: 266; 143.13–14: 355n In Top. = In Aristotelis topicorum libros octo commentaria (M. Wallies in CAG 2.2) 1.14–19: 156; 134.18–19: 197; 236.14–16: 197; 331.10–11: 155 Mund. = De mundo (C. Genequand) A4–7: 269n; A13: 175; A23: 270n, 615; A24–25: 273; A63: 638; A67: 378; A68: 611; A69: 605, 611; A76–78: 452; A81: 470; A96: 269n; A126: 590; A136: 254 Probl. eth. = Problemata ethica (I. Bruns) 122.17–20: 126; 140.27–31: 148; 142.22 ff.: 147; 143.9–144.4: 189, 219, 220; 143.21–23: 162; 146.2–7: 111; 146.14–25: 139; 148.29– 30: 165; 159.11–26: 436; 157.22–25: 160; 160.23–24: 423 Prou. = De prouidentia (M. Zonta) 99.1–25: 426; 97.9–12: 117; 135.16–137.6: 624n; 139.4–9, 19–27: 624n; 141.27–143.15: 624n; 155.17–157.14: 625n; 155.23–157.9: 453; apud Cyril Al. 596b: 407; 621c: 475 Quaest. = Quaestiones et solutiones (I. Bruns) I 1, 3.7–14: 251, 269n, 624n; I 1, 3.25–4.3: 269n; I 2, 5.1–7.17: 355n; I 9, 19.29–20.1: 232; I 10, 20.20–21.7: 251n; I 15, 27.21–23: 316; I 18, 30.23–32.19: 250n; I 24, 37.26–31, 38.15–19: 324; I 25, 40.10–23: 269n, 273; I 25, 41.9–19: 453, 624n; I 26, 41.25–28: 326; I 26, 42.1–2: 106; I 26, 42.10–14: 342; I 26, 42.25–43.5: 323; I 116, 23.8–11: 171; II 2, 47.6–11: 629; II 3: 462; II 3.1, 48.12–19: 296; II 3.2, 49.30–50.17: 284– 85, 624n; II 4–5: 417n; II 7, 52.25–53: 324; II 7, 53.9–17: 324; II 10, 55.15–16: 131; II 12, 57.7–30: 348; II 12, 57.16–22: 318, 351; II 17, 61.29–33: 259; II 17, 62.5–13: 259; II 18, 62.23–63.2: 269n, 452; II 19, 63.13– 26: 269n, 272, 452; II 19, 63.26–28: 453; II 20, 64.15–21: 315, 452; II 21, 65.34–66.2: 445n, 624n, 625n; III 2: 544; III 2, 106.36–107.4: 257; III 5, 89.18–21: 254; III 9, 97.9–12: 117 [Alex. Aphrod.] = pseudo-­Alexander of Aphrodisias In Metaph. = In Aristotelis metaphysica commentaria (M. Hayduck in CAG 1) 696.33–36: 207 Quaest. medic. = Quaestiones Medicae ( J. L. Ideler in PMGM 1) 48.12–14: 205

Alex. Lycop. = Alexander of Lycopolis C. Manich. = Contra Manichaei opiniones disputatio (A. Brinkmann) 2, 40.20: 31; 3, 5.18: 259; 6, 10.19–20: 556 Alex. Pol. = Alexander Polyhistor apud Diog. Laert. VIII 25: 224n, 306n, 307n; 26–27, 32: 452, 484n Alex. Trall. = Alexander Trallianus Therapeutica (Th. Puschmann) VIII 2, 2: 22 Ambrose De Isaac (C. Schenkl) 4.11, 650.16–20: 85 Amelius apud Eus. PE XI 19.1: 466 apud Procl. In Remp II 29.14–15: 425 apud Procl. In Ti. I 306.1–14: 648; III 103.18–23: 384, 648 Amm. Marc. = Ammianus Marcellinus Res Gestae XII 16.15–16: 45; XXI 14.3–5: 486n; 16.18: 97; XXII 16.16: 28; XXIII 5.7: 31 Ammon. = Ammonius Hermiae In An. pr. = In Aristotelis analyticorum priorum librum I commentarium (M. Wallies in CAG 4.6) 8.20–22: 150n; 9.1–35: 150n; 10.38–11.7: 149n In De int. = In Aristotelis de interpretatione commentarius (A. Busse in CAG 4.5) 71.7–22: 311 In Porph. Isag. = In Porphyrii Isagogen sive V voces (A. Busse in CAG 4.3) 22.15: 95; 22.20–22: 251n Anaxag. = Anaxagoras DK fr. A1, 5.17–18: 213, 645; A33: 177; A41: 263; A54: 348; A107: 575; B1: 122, 227, 315, 340; B4: 315; B5: 315; B11: 263, 315; B12: 227, 263; B13: 315; B17: 315 Anaxim. = Anaximander DK fr. A1, 11, 14: 315; B1: 315, 413n, 577n; B2, 3: 578n [Andron.] = pseudo-­Andronicus of Rhodes De pass. = De passionibus (A. Glibert-­Thirry in CLCAG Suppl. 2) 1: 107, 547 Anon. = Anonymous Authors CCAG VIII 1, 200–217: 287 Cod. Bruc. = Codex Brucianus (C. Schmidt): 401; 3: 382; 7: 66; 9: 373; 11: 378; 12: 381, 399; 20: 382; 21: 399; 24: 378; A330: 395 Descent of Inanna (in ΑΝΕΤ) 100–160: 207 Descent of Ishtar (in ANET) 38–62: 207 Epic of Gilgamesh (in ANET) XI 237–55: 207 Excerpta rhetorica (Rabe 1931, 6B) 60.21– 61.1: 56 In Eth. Nic. = In ethica Nicomachea commentar-

Index 683 ium (G. Heylbut in CAG 20) 149.34– 150.4: 417n; 210.9–10: 203 In Tht. = Commentarium in Platonis Theaetetum (G. Bastianini and D. N. Sedley in CPF III) 7.16–20: 132n; 9.41: 161; 11.12–22: 160; 47.34–42: 627; 59.46–49: 120 Intr. Art. Rhet. = Introductio in Artem Rhetoricam (Rabe 1931, 2) 14.13–15.5: 56 Lond. = Anonymi Londinensis Iatrica (W. H. S. Jones) XIV 12–26: 347 Orac. Sibyll. = Oracula Sibyllina ( J. Geffcken) XIII 19–20: 32 PDerveni = Derveni Papyrus (T. Kouremenos—­G. M. Parássoglou—­K . Tsantsanoglou) XIX 1–4: 263; XXI 5–10: 512 PFlor = Florence Papyrus (apud Barigazzi 1949) 60.23: 229; 61.58–65: 274 PGeneva inv. 203 = Geneva Papyrus inventory number 203 (W. Burkert) 269n; 8– 16: 274 PHerm = Papyri Hermopolitani (C. Wessely) 124, 125: 50 Pistis Sophia (C. Schmidt) 31: 400 PLouvre 7733 R0 = Louvre Papyrus inventory number 7733 R0 (F. Lasserre) 539: 354n, 357 POxy 1609 = Oxyrhynchus Papyrus inventory number 1609 (in CPF III 5) II 6–12: 517 POxy 2390 = Oxyrhynchus Papyrus inventory number 2390 (in CPF III 1) 527 POxy 2892–2940 = Oxyrhynchus Papyri inventory numbers 2892–2940 ( J. R. Rea) 25 Prol. Plat. = Prolegomena philosophiae Platonicae (L. G. Westerink) 6.16–18: 26; 10.26.12– 20: 90; 10.26.21–23: 91; 10.26.34: 91; 10.53– 55: 216 Pyth. = Pythagorean DK fr. B15: 641 Res Gestae Diui Saporis (W. Ensslin): 32 Theos. Tubing. = Theosophia Tubingensis (H. Erbse) 85, 693–99: 97 Visio Dorothei = PBodmer 29 175: 81 VPach. = Vita S. Pachomii (T. Halkin) I 60: 47 VPyth. = Vita Pythagorae (apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 249) 438b17: 75; 439b33–36: 417n; 439b36–38: 416n; 440b14: 106, 121; 440b16: 484n VSecundi = Vita Secundi philosophi (B. E. Perry) 70.5–6: 27 VSophocl. = Vita Sophoclis 11: 53 Antagoras On Eros (I. U. Powell in Coll. Al.): 26



684

Index Antioch. Ath. = Antiochus of Athens Intr. = Introductio (F. Cumont 1934) 149.10–11: 285; 151.3–6: 286 Anthologia Palatina: see Pal. Anthol. Apocrypha Acta Ioannis (M. Bonnet in AAA 2) 29: 20 Acta Petri (R. A. Lipsius in AAA 1) 17: 53 Acta Thomae (M. Bonnet in AAA 2) 42–46, 159.13–163.16: 403; 222.16–17: 208 Book of Enoch (R. H. Charles) 42, 213: 395 Apollodorus De dis apud Porph. De Styge apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.50, 420.15–20: 123 Apoll. Tyan. = Apollonius Tyanensis Ep. = Epistulae (R. Hercher) 43: 22 Apul. = Apuleius Ap. = Apologia = De magia 64.7: 373 De deo Socr. = De deo Socratis 10: 487n; 11: 486n, 524; 13: 523; 15: 485n; 15–16: 486n; 24: 483n De Plat. = De Platone et eius dogmate ( J. Beaujeu) I 3, 186: 29; 5: 305n, 309, 325, 335, 556; 6: 598, 628; 10: 586; 12: 416n, 444n, 460, 482n; 15–18: 42; II 6: 160; 23: 132 Flor. = Florida 15.12, 147: 84 Met. = Metamorphoses: 505n; IV 35: 501; V 22– 23, 25: 507; IX 21: 178; XI 5, 6, 15: 418n; 24: 215 [Archyt.] = pseudo-­Archytas Cat. = Categoriae (H. Thesleff in PTHP) 24.16: 601; 24.19–25: 344; 26.8–10: 538n De princ. = De principiis (H. Thesleff in PTHP) 19.5–18: 508 De uir. bon. = De uiro bono (H. Thesleff in PTHP) 11.4–5: 104; 11.4–10: 173 Ar. Did. = Arius Didymus Epitome (apud Stob. Ecl. II 7) 1, 38.3–15: 53; 38.18–19: 107; 39.1–2: 107; 3f, 49.9–10: 132n, 507; 3g, 50.11–51.14: 188; 51.2–8: 161; 4a: 507; 5, 63.1–5: 196; 65.1: 106; 7a, c–f: 457; 13, 117.11–18: 103; 14, 126.6–11: 243n; 16, 129.6–17: 176; 17, 129.19–21: 192; 129.21–22: 185; 18, 130.19–21: 162, 219; 132.3–8: 188, 192; 132.21–22: 132n; 133.11– 19: 179; 20, 142.7–10: 147; 24: 623n, 624n fr. ph. = Fragmenta physica (H. Diels in Dox. Gr.) 2, 448.3–4: 229, 309; 448.8–9: 556; 4, 449.1– 3: 347; 28, 463–64: 346; 464.1–4: 347n Arist. = Aristotle An. post. = Analytica posteriora 73a37–b3: 323; 76b24–25: 141; 78a22: 479; 100a15–b2: 120

An. pr. = Analytica priora 24a16–17: 159; 24a21: 226; 27a18–19: 585; 47b30–36: 43 Cael. = De caelo 268b27–269a10: 257; 269a5–7: 257; 269b14–17: 333; 270a13–b4: 256; 270b1–3: 257, 333; 270b21–22: 256; 275a14–15: 607; 278a9–15: 254; 278b24– 279a17: 257; 279a6–28: 255, 272, 578n, 590, 595; 279a28–30: 210; 279b1–3: 257; 279b32–280a2: 251n; 282a25–283a3: 259; 282b4: 250n; 284a2–6: 603; 284a14–18: 233, 260; 284a27–35: 273; 284a30–b1: 388; 285a18–35: 268; 289b30–33: 388; 290a27– 35: 284; 297b30–32: 459; 300b9 ff.: 426; 306b17–20: 229, 305n Cat. = Categoriae 1a1–4: 213; 1a24–25: 319; 1b16–17: 338; 3a21–32: 336, 342; 3b24–25: 234; 5b15–22: 317, 361; 6a17–18: 234; 8b29–10a15: 344; 11b17–23: 234; 13a37–b5: 234; 14a15–25: 234; 14b33–15a1: 170 De an. = De anima 403a2–28: 107, 300, 108, 112, 116, 124; 404b17–18: 226; 405b15–19: 226; 406b26–407b11: 271, 272, 273; 407b25– 26: 111; 407b34: 549; 408a3–5: 550; 408a30: 546; 408b1–13: 107, 115, 541; 408b13–15: 104, 130; 408b24–29: 115, 537; 408b32–33: 542; 409a3–5: 590; 410b28– 30: 501; 411a3–6: 237; 412a14–16: 126, 165; 412a21–23: 115, 143; 412a25–26: 555; 412a27–b1: 115, 334; 412b5–6: 102; 412b11–15: 114; 412b18–25: 111; 412b23– 413a3: 117; 413a9: 112; 413b2: 106; 413b23– 24: 107; 413b24–29: 107, 108, 112; 414a19– 28: 102; 414a29–32: 103; 414a32–33: 627; 414b2: 175; 414b4–5: 106, 107; 414b28– 415a11: 623n, 636; 415a26–b7: 255; 415b1: 207; 415b18–19: 111; 416a19: 627; 416a33– 34: 559; 417b2–16: 544; 417b7–9, 14: 543; 418a11–21: 359, 361; 418b14–17: 201; 420a7–9: 263; 421a20: 109; 422b26–27: 521; 424a17–24: 110, 358, 119, 544; 424b10–11: 560; 425a15: 359; 426b8–22: 539n; 427b5–6: 226; 428b18–25: 359; 429a13–27: 544; 429a15: 108; 429a27–28: 143, 218; 429b23: 108; 429b30–31: 654; 430a2–5: 374, 622; 430a10–19: 654; 430a14–19: 221, 518; 430a19–20: 159; 430a23–27: 103; 431a16–17: 181; 431a20: 123; 431b21: 492; 432a2–3: 226; 432a3–9: 181; 432b5–6: 175; 433a21–29: 175, 423; 434a16–21: 629; 434a30: 106; 434b12: 106 De bono fr. = De bono, fragmenta (W. D. Ross) 2: 306

De int. = De interpretatione 18b16: 437 De motu an. = De motu animalium 698a7–17: 628; 700b23–29: 423; 701a34–35: 423; 703a29–34: 476 De phil. fr. = De philosophia, fragmenta (W. D. Ross): 249n; 12b: 474; 15: 207; 19a: 255, 260; 19c: 260 De prec. = De precatione, fragmentum (V. Rose3) 49: 217, 221 De Pyth. = De Pythagoriis, fragmenta (V. Rose3) 203: 603 Eth. Eud. = Ethica Eudemia 1217a24–29: 165; 1219a38: 172; 1219a35–38: 187; 1219b1: 162; 1222b18–20: 436; 1224a16–26: 275; 1224b11–15: 436; 1241b18–23: 111; 1248a27: 484n; 1249b10–23: 622n Eth. Nic. = Ethica Nicomachea 1094a1–3: 151, 226; 1095a20: 162; 1096a16–17: 394; 1097a25–b7: 162, 175; 1097b7–20: 173; 1097b30–33: 222; 1097b33–1098a1: 166; 1098a16–20: 162, 172, 187; 1098b12–15: 232; 1098b14: 174; 1098b20–22: 162; 1099a4–7: 162; 1099a31–b8: 162, 174; 1099b33–35: 165; 1100a4–9: 174, 187; 1100b2–3: 189; 1100b18–20: 187; 1100b25– 30: 176, 187; 1100b30–31: 178; 1101a6–14: 174, 176, 187; 1102a5–6: 162; 1102a32–b11: 632; 1102b5–8: 179; 1102b34–1103a1: 144; 1103a4–20: 132; 1104b30–31: 168; 1105b20–25: 537n, 547; 1106a2–3: 143; 1106b36: 160; 1108a27–28: 125; 1108b11– 18: 230; 1108b33–34: 234; 1110a15–18: 436; 1110b18–23: 438; 1111a22–24: 438; 1111b20–29: 175; 1112a29: 423; 1112a32–33: 417n; 1113a10–11: 437; 1115b2–3: 194; 1116a12–15: 242; 1120b2–3: 194n; 1122b6– 7: 194n; 1124a20, b5–6: 206; 1129b28–29: 202; 1138a6–14: 242; 1138b35–1139a5: 132; 1139b1–2: 448; 1140a10: 448; 1140b6–10: 448, 630; 1141a16–20: 146; 1141b10–16: 146; 1142a23–27: 146; 1144a5–6: 180; 1145a25–27: 132n; 1145b2–7: 583; 1147a25– 26: 629; 1147b24: 143; 1153b10–15: 162, 166, 189; 1153b16–19: 174, 176; 1155a4: 125; 1155b19–26: 126; 1166a16–17: 121; 1170a12: 160; 1170a16–20: 180; 1171b29–31: 515; 1173b8–15: 110; 1174a15: 189; 1175a10–18: 188; 1175a12–13: 468; 1175a15–21: 166; 1176a18: 189; 1176a31–32: 165; 1176a33–35: 179; 1176a33–b6: 188; 1176b1–8: 184; 1176b30–32: 162; 1176b33: 626; 1177a1–27: 162, 627; 1177a12–27: 162, 180, 220, 518,

Index 685 622n; 1177a13–21: 170; 1177a17–19: 132, 191; 1177a20–22: 220; 1177a23–26: 183; 1177b6–24: 624n; 1177b24–34: 172, 187, 484; 1177b26–1178a8: 103n, 126, 133, 143, 220; 1178a16–19: 146; 1178a20: 126; 1178b3–28: 626; 1178b7–9: 189; 1178b8– 18: 132, 135, 172; 1178b19–20: 334; 1178b20–32: 165, 172, 515, 623n; 1178b26– 27: 133, 189; 1178b28–33: 162, 183; 1178b30–31: 132 Eud. fr. = Eudemus, fragmenta (W. D. Ross) 1: 213; 8: 109 Gen. an. = De generatione animalium 724a22– 27: 328–29; 727a26–30: 326; 729a9–11: 575; 736a30–737a1: 275; 761b16–23: 263– 64; 763b32–33: 575; 769b12: 200; 770b9– 17: 200, 472; 778a7–9: 489; 780b16– 781a11: 354n Gen. corr. = De generatione et corruptione 317b23–33: 334; 318a23–25: 453; 319b8–14: 332, 535n, 538, 562; 320a2–6: 308, 314; 320b16–17: 538; 321a35–b1: 263; 323b25– 30: 114, 561; 323b29–324a3: 559; 324a7–8: 561; 324a21: 560; 324a34–b9: 535n; 324b18: 229; 325a24 ff.: 426; 327b29– 328a4: 346, 348; 328a10–12: 349; 328a24– 28: 348, 349; 329a15–33: 315, 316, 328; 329a33: 309, 556; 329b1–3: 315; 330b25–29: 258; 335a18–21: 202; 335b10–16: 563; 338b13–8: 254, 453 Insomn. = De insomniis 456a30–b34: 47; 461a3– 29: 182 Mem. = De memoria et reminiscentia 449b31: 181; 450a27–32: 544 Metaph. = Metaphysica 982b30–31: 479; 983a2– 3: 407; 983b8–18: 377; 983b17: 305n; 984b14–18: 446; 986a22–26: 508; 987a32–b1: 256; 987b18–27: 224n, 320, 557; 988a7–15: 224n, 307n, 320; 988a26: 320; 990b22–34: 336n; 990b28–991a8: 339; 999a6–7: 171; 1000b5–6: 226; 1004b17–26: 598; 1012a28: 315; 1016a24– 28: 311; 1016a28: 316; 1016b31–36: 254; 1019a1–4: 447; 1019a19–23: 328; 1020a33– b21; 1021b20: 169; 1023a26–29: 329; 1023b1–2: 330; 1023b6: 328; 1024b8–9: 306n, 308, 311; 1025b30–34: 323; 1027a26–28: 423; 1029a2–7: 556; 1029a11–27: 319, 320, 338n, 343, 538n; 1029a20–21: 316; 1029a25–26: 322; 1029a29: 343; 1030b21–23: 323; 1030b28– 32: 323; 1031a17–b3: 109; 1032a24: 433;



686

Index Arist. cont. 1036a9–12: 306n; 1037a4–5: 306n; 1037a6: 104; 1037a27: 310, 489; 1038a5– 9: 311; 1041b8–9: 343; 1041b18–35: 597; 1042b9–10: 328; 1043b1–2: 108, 109; 1044b6–8: 333; 1044b27–29: 310; 1045a14–35: 311; 1045a34–36: 306; 1046a19–28: 328; 1047b3–6: 330; 1048b18–25: 330; 1049a18–b2: 330; 1050a15–16: 328, 329; 1050b1–2: 169; 1050b7–18: 330; 1051b17–33: 124, 655; 1055a4–5: 470; 1058a23–24: 306n; 1069b3–9: 314; 1069b9–14: 562; 1069b20–23: 315, 316; 1070a6–8: 417n, 433; 1071a13–16: 296; 1070a29–30: 423; 1070b30–34: 433; 1071b8–9: 611; 1071b19–22: 220; 1072b3–4: 207, 273; 1072b13–14: 210; 1072b19–25: 227, 374, 622n; 1072b21: 146; 1072b23: 655; 1072b24–28: 172, 468; 1072b26–30: 171, 191, 227, 334, 511, 590; 1072b30–1073a3: 69; 1074b17–18: 584, 638, 655; 1074b21– 1075a5; 227, 644; 1074b33–1075a5: 374; 1075a14–19: 474; 1075a18–23: 445n; 1078a36–b1: 196; 1078b13–15: 256; 1081a14: 306n; 1087b1–3: 234; 1091a29– 36: 69; 1091b35–1092a5: 225; 1092a1–3: 557, 564; 1092a11–17: 69; 1093b11–14: 508 Mete. = Meteorologica 339a37–b2: 312; 339b6–9: 459; 340b23: 258; 341a36: 265; 341b2: 258; 341b6–35: 259; 352a27–28: 459; 354b34– 355a20: 258; 374b12–20: 354, 360; 377b23: 265; 378a29–31: 263; 379b6–8: 500; 389a7–9: 263 Part. an. = De partibus animalium 641b24–26: 165; 642a10–11: 235 Ph. = Physica 184a12–14: 424; 186a15–16: 605; 187a16–18: 557; 187a17: 320; 187a23: 315; 187b1–7: 263; 189b10–16: 557; 189a33: 342; 190a13–b5: 567; 190a17–20: 332; 190a25– 26: 332; 190a31–191a5: 314; 190a21–26: 329; 191a7–8: 318; 191a12–13: 316; 191a27– 31: 642; 192a3–12: 238, 320, 322; 192a16– 22: 225, 326; 192a23–25: 326; 192a31: 308; 192b21–23: 594; 193b16–18: 594; 194a11– 12: 354n; 194b13: 296; 196a20–35: 454; 196a24–b5: 446; 196b3–4: 423; 196b11– 13: 437; 197a23: 239; 197a31: 174; 198a26– 27: 433; 201a10–11: 332; 201a30: 330; 201b18–28: 314; 203a16: 320; 204a8–16: 315; 204a20–24: 325; 204a29–30: 325;

204b22–29: 316; 205b30: 426; 206b27–29: 320; 208b8–12: 257; 209a35: 320; 209b9: 310; 209b11–13: 305n; 209b33–210a2: 568; 214a13: 320; 217a10–b20: 351; 218a33–b1: 601; 218b1: 584; 218b5–9: 604; 218b8: 601; 218b9–18: 601, 602, 603; 219a1–10: 580, 581, 586, 601, 608; 219a33–b1: 600; 219b1– 10: 580, 605, 607; 220a5–26: 615; 220b8– 9: 607; 220b10–12: 607; 220b12–14: 617; 220b14–18: 606, 616; 220b19: 618; 220b20–22: 607; 220b32–221b23: 617; 220b32–221a1: 332, 601; 221a2–4: 617; 221a4–7: 603; 221a24–25: 602; 221b3–7: 595, 601; 221b7–9: 603, 605; 221b21–22: 603; 222a2–3: 619; 222a33–b2: 608; 223a21–29: 580, 608; 224a12–15: 607; 226a26: 562; 226a27–29: 337; 228b16–18: 606–7; 233b33–234a24: 590; 237b9–11: 590; 244b11–245a5: 544; 245b6–246a9: 565; 245b13–246a1: 538n; 246a13–b3: 169; 247a2: 169; 251b17–26: 609, 610; 253b23– 26: 605 Poet. = Poetica 1450a17–20: 188 Pol. = Politica 1153a14–15: 162; 1254a34–35: 106; 1254b8: 537n; 1261a17–24: 462; 1277a5– 10: 462; 1278a20–22: 633; 1281b11–15: 469; 1286a18: 537n; 1325b20–21: 622; 1326a32–33: 255; 1327b24–30: 430 Protr. fr. = Protrepticus, fragmenta (Ι. Düring) B8: 111; B11: 417n; B28: 491; B53: 214, 261; B59: 111; B60–63: 220; B108: 103, 484n; B110: 484n Rh. = Rhetorica 1360b14: 173; 1361b39–1362a1: 176; 1369a2–3: 116, 175; 1404b1–2: 76 Sens. = De sensu 436b3–4: 108; 442a12–13: 361 Somn. = De somno et uigilia 454a9–10: 118; 454b8–9: 180; 454b24–25: 106; 455a16: 179; 455b3–10: 180 Top. = Topica 101b17–25: 149n; 112a32–38: 80; 116b21–22: 196; 122b25–31: 348; 130b32: 202 fr. = Fragmenta (V. Rose3) 79: 139; 192: 51; 193: 50, 484n [Arist.] = pseudo-­Aristotle Mag. Mor. = Magna Moralia 1182a24–29: 103n; 1184b9–10: 162; 1197a8–11: 630; 1197a32– 1198b20: 623n; 1200b14–15: 132n; 1206b32–35: 176 Mund. = De mundo 391b13: 264; 392a28: 530; 396a33–b34: 449, 469, 470; 398a2–b10: 392; 398b6–14: 450; 399a36–b11: 474; 399b1–11: 297; 399b11–23: 392; 398a10 ff.:

444n; 400b8: 297, 474; 400b9–11: 260; 400b11–33: 472 Phgn. = Physiognomonica 805a1–10: 115; 805b1– 9, 806a30: 53 Pr. = Problemata 11.7, 899b19–20: 570; 15.6, 911b3–34: 354n; 30.1, 954b35: 53 [Aristaios] = pseudo-­Aristaios De harm. = De harmonia (H. Thesleff in PTHP) 52.21–53.2: 260 Aristarchus = Aristarchus of Samos De magn. = De magnitudinibus et distantiis solis et lunae (T. L. Heath) 352.5–6: 459 Aristarchus = Aristarchus of Tegea fr. = Fragmenta (A. Nauck) 2.4–5: 527 Arist. Quint. = Aristides Quintilianus De mus. = De musica (R. P. Winnington-Ingram) II 17, 87.14: 81; 17, 86.25–88.22: 245; 17, 87.16: 114; 18, 89.23–90.8: 153; III 8, 105.27–31: 197; 18, 118.19–28: 197; 23, 125.15–20: 153 Ariston of Alexandria apud Porph. De animae facultatibus apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.24, 348.1–9: 120 Aristoph. = Aristophanes Au. = Aues 695ff.: 507 Eq. = Equites 759: 527 Nub. = Nubes = Clouds 498: 207; 766–72: 570 Ran. = Ranae 1429: 527 Aristotle: see Arist. Aristox. = Aristoxenus fr. = Fragmenta (F. Wehrli) 35: 194n Arius Didymus: see Ar. Did. Arnobius Adu. nat. = Aduersus nationes (A. Reifferscheid) I 1, 3.2–8: 97; I 52, 35.20–21: 65; II 14, 58.29–59.19: 239 Artem. = Artemidorus of Daldis Onirocritica (R. A. Pack) I 7, 108.11: 212; IV 30, 264.12–13: 208 Asclepius In Metaph. = In Aristotelis metaphysica commentaria (M. Hayduck in CAG 6.2) 309.15–18: 215 In Nicom. = In Nicomachi Introductio arithmetica (L. Tarán) I 45.3: 42 Aspas. = Aspasius In Eth. Nic. = In ethica Nicomachea quae supersunt commentaria (G. Heylbut in CAG 19.1) 9.7–11: 165; 15.17–16.5: 165; 19.3–11: 188; 21.27: 174; 24.3–5: 185; 25.18–25: 160; 30.34–35: 132n; 34.23–24: 132n; 40.11–12: 161; 42.20–24: 550; 42.23–24: 139, 321; 42.27–43.2: 107, 547; 43.7–8: 189; 44.21–

Index 687 24: 107, 547; 45.2–13: 548; 45.21–22: 548; 46.7–12: 106, 107; 46.13: 189; 80.14: 147; 99.4: 132n; 151.28–33: 166 Ath. = Athenaeus Deipnosophistae IV 157c: 81; IX 507d: 208 Athan. = Athanasius Alexandrinus VAnton = Vita Antonii 45: 19 Atticus fr. = Fragments (É. des Places) 1: 90; 2: 163, 174; 3: 442n, 447; 4: 69, 250, 254, 383, 444n; 5: 197, 333, 538n, 552; 6: 258, 262; 8: 280n, 284, 417, 427, 442n; 15: 551; 19: 59, 250n; 23: 59, 250n; 25: 254; 26: 250n; 28: 70; 32: 254; 34: 650; 38a–b: 59 Aug. = Augustine Conf. = Confessiones III 7.12: 456; XI 14.17: 582; 26: 581n De ciu. D. = De ciuitate Dei I 11: 456; V 2: 424; 2–6: 433; VII 6: 521; 13: 485n Ep. = Epistulae ( J.–P. Migne in PL 33) 118, 5.33: 64 Aul. Gell. = Aulus Gellius NA = Noctes Atticae XIV 4.4: 204; XVII 11: 42 Aur. Vict. = Aurelius Victor Caesares 26.6: 62; 32.33–34: 45; 33.33–34: 45 ?Auson. = Ausonius? Nomina Musarum (R. Peiper) 10–11, 412: 80 Bacch. = Bacchylides fr. (Ch. Diehl) 5.9: 79 Bard. = Bardaisan apud Ephr. Syr. Ref. Bard. 2.lxxvii: 62 apud Eus. PE VI 10.1–4: 418n apud Porph. De Styge fr. 376F31–47: 465 The Book of the Laws of Countries (apud Drijvers 1965): 417n, 418n, 426, 427; 37: 283; 41: 291 Basil = Basilius of Caesaria C. Eun. = Contra Eunomium (B. Sesboüé—­ G.-­M. de Durand—­L. Doutreleau) III 6, 12–22: 363 Hom. Hex. = Homiliai in Hexaemeron (S. Giet) VI 9, 23–41: 354, 359; 9, 61–62: 361; 15, 19– 29: 292 Basilides fr. = Fragments (apud Foerster 1972) 5: 384 Bion of Borysthenes fr. = Fragmenta (F.G.A Mullach) 8: 467 Boeth. = Boethius De consol. philos. = De consolatione philosophiae (L. Bieler in CCSL 94) I 4: 226; V 6: 587, 597



688

Index Boeth. cont. De diff. top. = De differentiis topicis ( J.–P. Migne in PL 64) I, 1178c: 312 De trin. = De trinitate 4.64–77: 597 Diu. = De diuisione ( J.–P. Migne in PL 64) 875–76: 60; 880a–b: 156 Boethus of Sidon In Categorias apud T. Waitz, Scholia in Arist. Org. 604, 609 Calc. = Calcidius In Ti. = In Timaeum (H. Waszink) 24: 257; 25: 586; 131: 523; 143: 428; 143–59: 416n; 144: 428; 145–47: 478; 176–79: 416n; 177: 478; 204, 223: 255; 238: 355n, 362; 278: 307n; 309: 560, 562; 315: 567; 316: 305n Callim. = Callimachus Epigr. = Epigrammata (D. L. Page) LIII 1378–81: 135, 242n Carneades apud Cic. Fat. 23–25: 436; 31: 425 apud Sext. Emp. Math. IX 152–77: 132n Cassianus Bassus Geoponica (H. Beckh) XV 2.21–32: 500 Celsus apud Origen C. Cels. IV 57: 500; 62.4–10: 233; 65.3–4: 231–32; V 6: 405; VII 38.1: 221; 39.17–19: 215; 39.18: 210; 45.24–25: 221; VIII 33–34: 488; 55.9–11: 233; 60–65: 52 Celsus Medicus De medicina (F. Marx) III 18.23: 54 Censorinus DN = De die natali (E. Hultsch) 3.1: 485n; 8.6, 14: 287 CH = Corpus Hermeticum (A. D. Nock—­A.-­J. Festugière in NF 1–4) I–XVIII = Hermetic Treatises I–XII (in NF 1) and XIII–XVIII (in NF 2) I 2: 50; 4: 318, 426, 610; 5: 118; 12: 213; 14: 213; 15: 82, 104, 213; 18: 504n; 22–26: 280n; 26: 208; 30: 215; II 12: 373; IV 8: 82; VI 3: 233, 551; VII 2: 208; VIII 3: 396; IX 6: 301; X 5: 211; 16: 208; 19: 84, 127; 21: 264; XI 20: 211; XII 1: 221; 2: 166; 4: 113; 5: 129; 5–7: 280n, 419n; 8: 340; 22: 396; XIII 12: 83; XIV 10: 301; XVI 13–16: 280n; XX 2: 126 Ascl. = Asclepius (in NF 2) 1: 35; 2: 266; 6: 24, 127; 7: 128; 11: 121; 13: 463; 16: 86; 28: 82; 31: 586; 32: 82; 33: 354; 37: 50; 39–40: 419n Exc. = Excerpta Stobaei I–XXII (in NF 3) and XXIII–XXIX (in NF 4) IIA: 83; III 91: 575; V 4: 83; VIII 5–7: 419n; XII, XIII:

491; XIV, XVIII 3–5, XIX 1–4: 419n; XIX 2–3: 109; XXII: 575; XXIII 3: 266; XXIII 34: 83; XXIV 10: 208; XXV 12: 266; XXXIII 24: 611 fr. = Fragmenta varia (in NF 4) 21: 205; 25: 216 Chaer. = Chaeremon fr. = Fragments (P. W. van der Horst) 2: 281n, 430 Chald. Or. = Chaldaean Oracles fr. = Fragments (É. des Places) 21: 640; 34–35: 224n; 37: 641; 102–3: 419n; 116: 208; 120: 275; 129: 302; 136: 82; 153: 418n; 160: 127 CIC = Corpus Iuris Ciuilis Codex Iustinianus I 1.3: 4n Digesta XXVI 7, 3.2: 48 Novellae 45, 1, 279: 387 Cic. = Cicero apud Aul. Gell. VII 2.15: 415n Acad. = Academica I 19: 90; I 27: 317, 335; I 29: 417n, 442n; I 34: 327; I 39: 535n; II 82: 354n; II 120: 146 Brutus 51.191: 44 De opt. gen. orat. = De optimo genere oratorum 17: 507 Diu. = De diuinatione I 34: 434; 64: 479; 70: 103n; 86: 479; 88: 479; 117: 479; 127: 435, 479; 127–28: 479; 130: 479; II 3: 479; 33: 423; 33–34: 293; 34: 285; 89: 286, 287; 90: 433; 91: 286; 94: 285, 432; 95: 433; 97: 424 Fat. = De fato 22–23: 422; 31 ff.: 415n; 41: 423; 43: 415n; 45: 415n Fin. = De finibus bonorum et malorum III 20– 22: 543; V 3: 21; 18: 167; 23: 132n; 25–26: 170; 34: 104; 39: 166; 40: 169; 48–50: 169 Inu. = De inuentione I 94: 44 Leg. = De legibus I 25: 135; 30: 141 Nat. D. = De natura deorum I 18–23: 442n; II 57: 442n; 64: 645; 73–167: 442n; 82: 480; 85: 474; 98 ff.: 442n; 119: 284; 161: 461; III 29: 109; 29–34: 541; 38.9: 132n; 59–60: 512; 79–85: 457 Sen. = De senectute 70: 467 Somn. Scip. = Somnium Scipionis 16: 459; 24: 393 Top. = Topica 59: 414; 63–64: 415n Tusc. = Tusculanae disputationes I 57: 599; 79: 109, 541; II 17: 184; IV 31: 197; V: 163n; 24: 174 Clearchus of Soli fr. = Fragmenta (F. Wehrli) 38: 81, 241

Clem. Al. = Clement of Alexandria (O. Stählin) Ecl. proph. = Eclogae propheticae 28.2: 84; 55.1.1– 4: 282n Exc. = Excerpta ex Theodoto 6.1–3: 373; 27: 208; 33.3: 399; 42.1: 377; 48.2–50.1: 380; 48.6: 398; 54: 152; 54.3: 390; 55.1: 208; 69–78: 281n; 70.1: 287; 71.2: 283; 78.2: 405; 80.1: 504 Hypotyposes apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 109, 475 Paed. = Paedagogus I 6, 26.1–2, 28.1: 82 197; III 64.2: 197; 9, 46.1–48.3: 22; 12, 101.3: 27 Protr. = Protrepticus I 2.3: 82; XII 118.1–2: 214 Strom. = Stromateis I 15, 69.6: 65; 16, 74.4: 52; 28, 176.1–3: 90; 177.1: 150n; II 4, 13.3: 196; 19, 100.3: 132n; 20, 112.1–2: 127, 239, 491; 112.1–113.4: 381; 114.5–6: 406; 22, 131.4–5: 132n, 484n; III 2, 5.2: 52; 4, 30.1–32.1: 370n, 393; IV 3, 9.4: 104n; 6, 38.1: 179; 13, 89.2–3: 385; 90.1–2: 378; 23, 151.3: 216; 25, 155.2: 218; 26, 165.2: 83, 246; V 6, 39.2– 40.3: 208; 8, 48.8: 27; 51.3: 205; 11, 73.3: 218; 12, 81.5–82.2: 370–71; 13, 88.2: 449; VI 6, 53.2–3: 50; 15, 124.5: 62; 16, 143.1: 293; 17, 158.4: 155; 159.6: 155; 23.3: 181; VII 2, 5.4: 475; 12.2–3: 477; 3, 20.3–6: 84; 7, 43.1: 239; 75.3: 378; 16, 103.1: 393; VIII 3, 18.1: 158; 6, 19.5: 155 fr. 23: 449 Clem. Rom. = Clement of Rome Ep. Cor. I = Epistula ad Corinthios I 33.2: 276 [Clem. Rom.] = pseudo-­Clement of Rome Hom. = Homiliae (B. Rehm—­J. Irmscher—­F. Paschke in GCS 42) I 11: 61; II 8: 61; V 8–28: 505; IX 9: 264; XVI 12: 224n; XX 8: 35 Cleom. = Cleomedes Cael. = De motu circulari corporum caelestium (R. B. Todd) I 1.11–15: 292; 8, 69–78: 459; 79–99: 266; II 1.1–268: 363; 1.60–78: 357; 70–72: 459; 111–12: 409; 257–58: 362 Conon Diēgēseis apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 186, 134b30– 135a3: 212 Cornutus Theol. Graec. = Theologiae Graecae Compendium (C. Lang) 1: 515; 13: 300; 16: 576; 25: 512, 521 Corpus Hermeticum: see CH Cratippus apud Cic. Diu. I 70: 103n; I 71: 207 Critolaus fr. = Fragmenta (F. Wehrli) 14: 619; 19–20: 175

Index 689 Cyril Al. = Cyril of Alexandria C. Jul. = Contra Julianum ( J.-­P. Migne in PG 9) VIII, 936a3–4: 42 Cyprian = Cyprianus Ep. = Epistulae 80, I 2: 45 Dam. = Damascius Hist. Philos. = Historia Philosophica (P. Athanassiadi) fr. 43A: 73; 97I: 44; 98E: 83–84 In Phd. = In Platonis Phaedonem commentarii (L. G. Westerink) I 9: 203; 138–44: 134; 149: 133n; 177: 491, 497; II 105: 497 David In Porph. Isag. = In Porphyrii Isagogen commentarium (A. Busse in CAG 18.2) 91.24–25: 19; 149.6–11: 574 Prol. = Prolegomena philosophiae (A. Busse in CAG 18.2) 4, 92.3–5: 4n; 6, 16.4–5: 326; 10, 30.31–31.2: 177 Demetrius Lacon apud Sext. Emp. Math. X 219–27: 602 Democr. = Democritus DK fr. A47: 427; A64: 348; B9: 566; B15b: 353n; B37: 83; B125: 566; B147: 205; B170–71: 484n; B187: 83; B279: 27 Demophilus Simil. = Similitudines seu uitae curatio (F.G.A. Mullach in FPG 1) 5, 485: 215; 23, 486: 214 Dexippus In Cat. = In Aristotelis categorias commentarium (A. Busse in CAG 4.2) 23.17–24: 337n Dicaearchus fr. = Fragmenta (F. Wehrli) 25, 27–29: 623n; 49: 301 Dio Cass. = Dio Cassius 78.7.3: 29 Dio Chr. = Dio Chrysostom = Dion of Prusa Orationes 1, 12, 36: 35; 25: 486n, 491; 79: 240 Diodorus of Tarsus apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 223, 241b1–20: 285 Diod. Sic. = Diodorus Siculus Bibliotheca historica II 30.3: 283; III 14.1–4: 205 Diog. Apoll. = Diogenes of Apollonia DK fr. B3,5: 441n Diog. Laert. = Diogenes Laertius Vitae (H. S. Long) I 1–2: 29; 11: 284; II 37: 78; 55: 177; 87–88: 166; III 2: 26; 9–17: 88; 56: 76; 62: 105n; 67: 385; 69: 556; 72: 254; 73: 601; 78: 132n, 173; IV 5: 503n; 12: 414n; V 32: 458; 46: 500; VII 2: 27; VIII 11: 84; 48: 253; IX 48: 353n; 85: 354n; X 28: 420; 41, 43: 424; 63: 424



690

Index Diog. Oen. = Diogenes of Oenoanda fr. = Fragments (C. W. Chilton) 32: 423; 42: 178 [Dion. Areop.] = pseudo-­Dionysius Areopagita Ep. = Epistulae ( J.-­P. Migne in PG 3) V 1074: 313 Myst. theol. = De mystica theologia ( J.-­P. Migne in PG 3) 1000–1001: 313 [Diotogenes] = pseudo-­Diotogenes De piet. = De pietate (H. Thesleff in PTHP): 417n De regno (H. Thesleff in PTHP): 462 [Ecph.] = pseudo-­Ecphantus De regno (H. Thesleff in PTHP): 79.9–13: 293 Elias In Cat. = In Aristotelis categorias commentarium (A. Busse in CAG 18.1) 179.1–13: 574 In Porph. Isag. = In Porphyrii Isagogen commentarium (A. Busse in CAG 18.1) 27.3: 68; 39.12–14: 95; 85.14–17: 574 Prol. = Prolegomena philosophiae (A. Busse in CAG 18.1) 15.23–16.2: 243n; 23.24–26: 83 [Elias] In Porph. Isag. = (L. G. Westerink) 12.10–12: 243n; 12.15: 177; 27.3: 19 Emped. = Empedocles DK fr. A1.77: 208; A28: 315; A90, A92: 517; B6: 521; B8: 315; B17.7–8=B26.5–6: 448; B84.1–6: 178, 517; B109: 211; B112.3: 80; B112.4: 393; B115.5: 488; B117: 491; B126: 208; B127: 491 Ennius apud Cic. Rep. apud Sen. Ep. 108.34: 210 Ephr. Syr. = Ephraim Syrus Ref. Bard. = Prose Refutation of Mani, Marcion and Bardaisan (C. W. Mitchell, A. A. Bevan, and F. C. Burkitt) xv: 361; xix–xx: 354n, 360 Epict. = Epictetus Diss. = Dissertationes ab Arriano Digestae (H. Schenkl) I 4.18–21: 183; 6.1–22: 443n; 6.13–18: 179; 9.1–6: 20; 14.12–14: 484n, 485; 25.21: 208; 28.14: 176; 28.26: 176; 29.29: 243; II 1.1: 404; 1.15–19: 179, 467; 1.19–20: 178; 5.18.20: 468; 8.11–14: 484n; 11.13–18: 600; 17.7–13: 600; 18.22–28: 455; 26.3: 179; III 2.5: 179; 26.19: 159; 26.28: 455; IV 1.127: 459; 7.31: 177; 7.32: 179 Ench. = Encheiridion 17: 467

Epicurus Ep. Her. = Epistula ad Herodotum (H. Usener) 41: 424; 60–61: 426; 72–73: 602; 77: 284 Ep. Men. = Epistula ad Menoeceum (P. von der Mühll) 128: 166; 128–29: 404; 134: 422 RS = Ratae Sententiae 4: 178 fr. = Fragmenta (H. Usener) 247: 358; 267: 424; 279: 424; 279–80: 426; 280: 423; 294: 602; 319: 358; 368: 404; 390: 21; 410, 430–31: 536n; 436–37: 191; 446–48: 178; 601: 184 Epigr. = Epigrammata Graeca (G. Kaibel) 97.3: 83; 168: 81; 243.5–8: 80; 502.11: 83; 594.8: 81; 594.12: 232; 651.6: 208 Epimenides DK fr. B19: 513 Epiph. = Epiphanius Adu. haer. = Aduersus haereses = Panarion (K. Holl) 7.1: 465; 19.2.10: 66; 25.3.2: 519; 26.3.1: 203; 26.13.2: 203; 31.5.5: 382; 37.4.4: 302; 39.5.1: 66; 40.2.2: 66; 40.7.1: 66; 48.4.1: 82 Et. Magn. = Etymologicum Magnum (T. Gaisford) s.v. Aphroditē: 529; s.v. erōs: 517; s.v. Ōkeanos: 62 Eucl. = Euclid El. = Elementa I Def. 1: 590; I Comm. Not. 8: 464; VII Def. 23: 89 Opt. = Optica ( J. L. Heiberg) 2.2–9: 355n; 2.10– 12: 354n; 6.11–13: 362; 8.6–7: 362 Eudemus fr. = Fragmenta (F. Wehrli) 60: 314; 82b: 606; 86: 606 [Eudoc.] = pseudo-­Eudocia Iōnia (A. de Villoison) s.v. peri tou Plōtinou: 18, 20; s.v. peri tou Porphyriou: 69 Eudorus apud Ach. Tat. Intr. in Arat. 13, 40.25: 106 apud Simpl. In Ph. 181.10–30: 224n, 306n apud Stob. Ecl. II 7.3c: 167; II 7.3f: 143, 145, 468; II 7.4a: 468; Eudoxus = Eudoxus of Cnidus fr. = Fragmenta (F. Lasserre) D3: 626; 343: 278; Eun. = Eunapius VS = Vitae philosophorum et sophistarum (G. Giangrande) III–IV: 18; III 1.1: 19; IV 1.1: 46; 1.3: 61; 1.4: 68; 1.5: 61; 1.7–9: 53, 243n; 1.12: 22; 2.1: 42, 64; 2.2–3: 4n; 2.6: 96; 9.11–19: 4n; V 1.8: 86; VI 11.11: 51; VII 2.12: 27; IX 1.6: 73 Eur. = Euripides Andr. = Andromachē 98: 482n; 265: 92 Antiopē fr. 222: 578n Bacch. = Bacchae 72–75: 162n; 746: 208

HF = Hercules Furens 1269: 208 Ion 585–86: 353n Med. = Medea 1229–30: 176; 1347: 482n Melanippē fr. 486: 202 Phoen. = Phoenissae 623: 92 Tro. = Troades 887–88: 634 fr. 547: 503; 1018: 484 [Euryph.] = pseudo-­Euryphamus De uit. = De uitae (H. Thesleff in PTHP) 86.15– 20: 186 Eus. = Eusebius HE = Historia Ecclesiastica IV 30.2: 417n; VI 9.9: 4n; 18.3: 58; 19.2: 96; 19.5–7: 28; 19.8: 72; 19.10: 28; 43.11: 64; VII 22.10: 23; 32.6: 29; 32.7–11: 45 PE = Praeparatio Euangelica (K. Mras in GCS 43.1 and 43.2) IV 8.1: 35; 20.1: 51; V 1.10: 97; IX 7.1: 29, 75; 18: 35; XI 19.1: 373; XIII 17.6: 537n; XV 21.1–3: 74 VConst. = Vita Constantini II 50: 96 Eutropius Breuiarium IX 2.3: 31 Euxitheus apud Clearchos of Soli fr. 38: 81 Favorinus apud Aul. Gell. NA XIV 1.5: 354n, 359; 1.9–10: 286; 1.23: 431; 1.31: 433 Omn. hist. = Omnigena historia (E. Mensching) fr. 25: 443n Firm. Mat. = Firmicus Maternus Math. = Mathesis (W. Kroll—­F. Skutsch) I 7, 13–22: 18, 93–94; 7.18: 281n, 429; 7.20–21: 23; 8.2–7: 429; II 19.4–6: 285; 20.7: 286; 22–23: 283; 24: 291; 25: 192; V 3–6: 286, 288; VI 1.1: 284; 15.4–11: 288; VII 9, 11, 12– 14, 16–18: 432 Fronto Ad amicos (C. R. Haines) I 4, 288–90: 64 Galen Comp. Ti. = Compendium Timaei Platonis (P. Kraus—­R . Walzer) 41.7–12: 255 De an. aff. et pecc. = De propriorum animi cuiuslibet affectuum et peccatorum dignotione et curatione ( J. Marquardt in Scr. mi. 1) 32.2– 4: 49 De moribus (apud R. Walzer 1962) 166: 111 De semine (C. G. Kühn) II 2, 611.17–615.14: 575 De ther. = De theriaca ad Pamphilianum (C. G. Kühn) XIV 298: 22 Lib. prop. = De libris propriis (I. Mueller in Scr.

Index 691 mi. 2) 88.5–7: 42; 89.3–4: 46; 92.13–16: 39; 93.12–13: 39; 119.1–2: 60 Loc. aff. = De locis affectis (C. G. Kühn) VIII 32: 190 Nat. fac. = De naturalibus facultatibus (A. J. Brock) I 2: 347n; I 13: 293 Opt. med. = Quod optimus medicus sit quod philosophus (I. Mueller in Scr. mi. 2): 42 PHP = De placitis Hippocratis et Platonis (Ph. De Lacy) IV 1: 547; V 3.15–17: 196; VI 2.5– 17: 103; VII 4.4–5.41: 355n; 5.2–3: 358; 5.4: 362; 5.7: 362; 5.33–35: 355n, 359; 6.31: 119; 7.8: 358 San. Tu. = De sanitate tuenda (C. G. Kühn) I 8: 432 Sub. nat. fac. = De substantia facultatum naturalium (C. G. Kühn) IV 762: 34 Temp. = De temperamentis (C. G. Kühn) I 521: 232; 563: 348; II 1: 432 UP = De usu partium (G. Helmreich) III 10: 217; X 2: 355n; 12: 362; XIV 3: 575 [Galen] = pseudo-­Galen Phil. Hist. = Historiae Philosophiae (H. Diels in Dox. Gr.) 615.5–6: 371 Qual. Incorp. = Quod Qualitates Incorporeae Sint (M. Giusta) 9–14, 109–93: 352; 24, 346: 352 Gem. = Pompeius Geminus apud Procl. In. Eucl. 40.9–16: 354n Elementa astronomiae (G. Aujac) II 12: 429; 13– 15: 283; XII 1–2: 429; XVII 16: 459 George Syncellus Chron. = Chronographiae collectio (G. Dindorf ) 680.9–11: 73 Gorg. = Gorgias Hel. = Encomium in Helenam 15: 391; 19: 515 Greg. Naz. = Gregory of Nazianzus Or. = Orationes IV 5: 387 Greg. Nyss. = Gregory of Nyssa In Cant. = In Canticum Canticorum (H. Langerbeck) I 3, 33.12–35.14: 27 Greg. Thaum. = Gregorius Thaumaturgus of Neocaesaria In Orig. = In Origenem oratio panegyrica 3: 208; 6: 20; 8: 58 Harpocration fr. = Fragmenta ( J. M. Dillon) 5: 133n Hegem. = Hegemonius Acta Archelai (C. H. Beeson in GCS 16) 10.1–10: 259, 474; 67.5: 504n; 67.7–11: 504n



692

Index Heliod. = Heliodorus Aeth. = Aethiopica I 2.9: 211; 18.4: 542; 26.4: 488; II 29.5: 241n; III 5.4–5: 199, 515; V 2.7: 488; VII 7.2: 208; IX 1.5: 241 Hephaest. = Hephaestion Apot. = Apotelesmatica (D. Pingree) II 10.23–27: 38; 18.69–71: 429 Heraclid. Pont. = Heraclides Ponticus fr. = Fragmenta (F. Wehrli) 6: 44; 87: 621n; 88: 621n Heraclit. = Heraclitus of Ephesus apud Arist., Mete. II 2, 354b33: 258 DK fr. A9: 523; B3: 357; B6: 256; B8: 469; B10: 302, 473; B11: 297; B13: 205; B26: 555; B30: 253, 258, 376; B31: 258; B33, 41: 441n; B50: 340, 428; B52: 578n; B53: 448, 466; B54: 202; B62: 204; B73: 555; B88: 555; B90: 258; B91: 474; B92: 408; B108: 441n; B111: 175; B112: 544; B115: 542; B119: 484n Heraclit. = Heraclitus Homericus All. = Allegoriae = Quaestiones Homericae (F. Buffière) 33.1: 130 Hermas Pastor (M. Whittaker) 4: 526 Hermeias In Phdr. = In Platonis Phaedrum scholia (P. Couvreur) 214.19–24: 214 [Hermes Trism.] = [Hermes Trismegistus]: see CH Hermod. = Hermodorus fr. = Fragmenta (M. Isnardi Parente) 7: 224n, 320, 325, 557 Hermog. = Hermogenes Id. = De ideis (H. Rabe) I 2: 76 Inu. = De inuentione (H. Rabe) III 4: 92; 5–7: 92 Herod. = Herodotus Historiae I 29.1–30.2: 621n; 32.7: 187n; 120.3: 446; II 173: 626; III 22.2: 240; 108–9: 441 Heron of Alexandria De horoscopiis, fragmenta (W. Schmidt) 2, 1: 604 Hes. = Hesiod Cat. = Catalogus mulierum = Catalogue of Women (R. Merkelbach—­M. L. West) fr. 204.55–63: 478 Op. = Opera et Dies = Works and Days 109–26: 83, 301; 115: 84; 122–23: 50, 84, 483n; 255: 524 Theog. = Theogonia = Theogony 35: 77; 120: 507; 188–201: 512; 977: 80 fr. = Fragmenta (R. Merkelbach—­M. L. West) 198.2: 84; 217.1: 80

Hier. = Hierocles of Alexandria In CA = In Carmen Aureum (F. W. Koehler) 13.6: 121; 13.9–15: 215; 26.7: 82; 60.21–23: 111; 83.24–27: 215; 113.1: 82 Prou. et Fat. = De prouidentia et fato (apud Phot. Bibl.) cod. 214, 172a4: 28; 172a5: 34; 172a7–9: 29; 173a34–38: 83; 173a39–40: 34; cod. 251, 461a24–39: 29; 461a28–30: 34; 461a36–38: 61; 466b7: 488 Hier. = Hierocles the Stoic El. Eth. = Elementa Ethica (G. Bastianini—­A. A. Long in CPF I 1**) II 1–3: 128, 632; III 52–56: 128; IV 5–13: 541, 549; IV 6–8: 349; IV 10–22: 115, 182; IV 39–52: 106; IV 49– 53: 120 [Hippoc.] = pseudo-­Hippocrates Genit. = De genitura II 3: 423 Nat. pueri = De natura pueri (É. Littré) VII 498: 261 Nutr. = De nutrimento 23: 293 Vict. = De victus ratione 35: 432 Hippol. = Hippolytus C. haer. Noeti = Contra haeresin Noeti (R. Butterworth) 10.4.4, 11.1.3: 265 Haer. = Refutatio omnium haeresium (M. Marcovich) I Prol. 11: 383; 19.3: 139, 556; 19.17: 132n; 19.18: 147; IV 8.7: 290; V 6.2: 383; 6.4: 67; 6.6: 390; 7.27–30: 576; 7.29: 141; 7.39: 381; 7.40: 385; 9.14: 384; 10.2: 383; 13.3–13: 281n; 15.1–16.6: 281n, 402; 15.2– 3: 261; 16.6: 402; 17.1–2: 372; 17.8: 382; 19.4: 400; 19.9: 373; 21: 347n; 26.11–13: 384; VI 6.1: 394; 9.2: 373; 9.3–10: 398; 9.5–6: 379; 14.4–6: 379; 14.8–15.4: 384; 17.1: 405; 18.2: 373; 18.3–7: 375; 21.3: 383; 29.1: 365n; 29.5: 378; 29.7: 375; 30.6 ff.: 395; 30.9: 381; 31.2: 376; 31.5–6: 377; 32.2– 6: 378; 32.4: 376; 32.6: 379, 382; 32.7: 397; 32.9: 376, 381, 400; 33.1: 385, 396; 34.3–4: 381; 35.5–6: 365n; 36.1: 376, 378; 37.1–6: 365n; 38.6–7? 397; 42.2: 401; 42.4–8: 374; VII 30.1: 65; 31.7: 383; 32.5: 402; 32.7–8: 384; IX 13.1: 66; 13.6: 394; X 9.1– 3: 390 Historia Augusta: see SHA Homer Il. = Iliad 2.2: 82; 2.140: 213; 2.158–59: 213; 2.216–19: 450; 3.230–33: 478; 3.342–43: 644; 5.341: 525; 7.212: 204; 8.19: 83; 8.204: 82; 8.282: 63; 8.555–56: 83, 294; 9.43: 177; 9.599: 82; 10.62, 65: 178; 11.792: 482n; 14.216: 83; 16.113: 610; 16.453: 578n; 16.856:

80; 19.27: 578n; 20.95: 486n; 22.65: 177; 23.104: 20; 24.725: 578n Od. = Odyssey 1.33 ff.: 391; 1.155: 78; 2.230: 85; 2.409: 84; 3.26–27: 482n; 4.567: 83; 5.8: 85; 5.37: 213; 5.204: 213; 5.264: 209; 5.321: 209; 5.343–47: 209, 245; 5.356–63: 245; 5.372–73: 209; 5.396: 482n; 5.399: 81; 5.421: 483; 5.429–30: 81; 6.156: 84; 6.172: 483n; 7.29: 82; 8.266 ff.: 78, 291; 8.429: 78; 9.29–36: 214; 10.222–23: 214; 10.483–84: 214; 10.493–95: 213; 11.61: 482n; 11.83: 20; 11.94: 213; 11.521: 559; 11.601–2: 129–30; 12.363–70: 201; 12.421: 82; 13.79: 82; 14.445: 640; 19.163: 77; 20.355: 83; 24.306: 483n [Hom.] = pseudo-­Homer Hymn. Apoll. = Hymnus ad Apollinem 185: 79 Hymn. Dem. = Hymnus ad Demeter 8–18: 212; 216–17: 419; 436: 274 Hymn. Herm. = Hymnus ad Hermem 42: 578n Iambl. = Iamblichus apud Simpl. In Cat. 351.33–353.2: 227 Ad Mac. = Ad Macedonium (apud Stob. Ecl.) II 8.45: 436 Comm. Math. = De communi mathematica scientia (N. Festa) 9: 542; 16: 159 De an. = De anima (apud Stob. Ecl. I 49) 2: 113; 32: 542; 33: 115; 36: 115; 39: 74, 275, 498; 66: 128 In Nicom. Ar. = In Nicomachi arithmeticam introductionem 57.7–12: 590 Myst. = De mysteriis (É. des Places) II 4: 51; 6: 51; 7: 51; VIII 3: 224n; 6–7: 281n; IX 1–2, 5, 8: 487n VPyth. = De uita Pythagorica (L. Deubner) 2.9– 10: 84; 3.13: 47; 6.30–31: 51; 7.34: 230; 8.13–22: 84; 10.11–15: 47; 18.83: 22; 20.13– 17: 230; 26.119: 196; 29.161: 57; 31.188: 47; 33.240: 24; 48.18: 22; 68.23: 196; 91.1–14: 57; 104.18: 47; 129.1: 24 Iren. = Irenaeus Adu. haer. = Aduersus haereses (A. Rousseau—­L. Doutreleau) I 1.1: 218, 372; 1.78: 373; 2.2 ff.: 240, 395, 398, 526, 638; 2.4: 396; 3.1: 379, 382; 3.4: 399; 4.1–2: 377, 380, 385, 396, 398, 399, 471, 630; 4.3: 401; 5.1, 3: 379, 381, 396, 399; 5.3: 398; 5.4: 380, 382, 398; 5.5: 208, 261; 5.6: 382, 406; 6.2–3: 133, 205, 370n, 404, 408; 7.1: 62, 377, 408; 7.2: 399; 7.5: 390; 9.3: 383; 11.1, 4: 383, 394, 396; 13.1– 25.5: 402; 17.2: 611; 21.3: 62; 23.2: 384; 23.3:

Index 693 369n; 24.3: 261; 25.4: 384; 25.5: 369n; 29.4: 302, 396, 398, 519; 30.5: 302; II 30.2, 8: 393; 33.1: 384; III 24.2: 405 Isocr. = Isocrates Hel. = Helenae encomium 52, 218c: 419 Jerome In Ep. ad Galat. = Commentariorum in Epistolam Beati Pauli Ad Galatas libri tres ( J.-­ P. Migne in PL 26) 309a: 64 Joannes Galenus Ad Hes. Theog. schol. = Ad Hesiodi Theogoniam scholia (T. Gaisford) III 471.20: 291 John Gospel According to St. John 15, 4–6: 388 Rev. = Revelation = Apocalypse 1, 17–18: 451 John of Antioch fr. = Fragmenta (in FHG 4) 151: 22 John Doxapatres In Aphthonii Progymnasmata (Rabe 1931, 9) 104.18–19: 92 John Lydus Mens. = De mensibus (R. Wünsch) IV 76: 64, 307n; 85, 135.2–7: 79 Ost. = De ostentiis (I. Bekker) 59–70: 52 John of Scythopolis Commentarius in [pseudo-­] Dionysii Areopagitae de diuinis nominibus ( J.-­P. Migne in PG 4) 313c: 591 John Tzetzes Exeg. in Il. = Exegetica in Homeri Iliadem (I. Lolos) I 97, 11: 25 Josephus Ap. = Contra Apionem I 255: 177 Jul. = Julianus Imperator Or. = Orationes 4, 132c–133c: 295 [ Jul.] = pseudo-­Julianus Imperator Ep. = Epistulae ( J. Bidez and F. Cumont) 184, 187: 48 Julius Cassianus apud Clem. Al. Strom. III 14, 95.2: 208 Justin = Justin Martyr Trypho = Dialogus cum Tryphonem 2.6: 622n; 3.3: 61; 4.2: 35; 4.3: 205; 4.5: 145 [ Justin] = pseudo-­Justin Martyr Cohort. ad Graec. = Cohortatio ad Graecos 8: 186 Lact. = Lactantius De ira Dei XIII 9: 442n De mort. = De mortibus persecutorum XI 7: 96 Diu. inst.= Diuinae institutiones V 2–7: 96–97



694

Index Libanius Or. = Orationes (R. Foerster) I 43: 50 Longinus apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.25, 351.15: 106 Rhet. = Ars Rhetorica (L. Spengel in Rhet. Graec. 1) 301.15–18: 76; 310.21–312.22: 56; 321.6: 72 fr. = Fragmenta (M. Patillon—­L. Brisson) 20: 74; 49.21–28: 76 Luc. = Lucian Dem. = Demonax 9–10: 49; 27: 53 De mort. Peregr. = De morte Peregrini: 59, 242 Dial. mort. = Dialogi mortuorum (M. D. Macleod) 16: 130 Eun. = Eunuchus 3: 63 Fug. = Fugitiui 6–8: 29 Lex. = Lexiphanes 22: 628 Men. = Menippus 16: 471 Nigr. = Nigrinus 20: 467; 34: 22 Prom. es in uerb. = Prometheus es in uerbis 1–2: 628 Somn. = Somnium siue uita Luciani 9–11: 633 Symposium 36–37: 163n Ver. hist. = Verae historiae II 12: 208 Zeuxis 5: 197 Lucr. = Lucretius De rerum natura I 459–60: 602; 1021–28: 454; II 63, 84–94, 98–104: 424; 216–93: 422, 424, 426; 241–71: 424; IV 397–99: 354n, 357; 404–13: 357; 489–99: 359; 752–56: 427; 877–91: 427; V 218–20: 461; 419–31: 454 Luke Acta Apostolorum 17.29–30: 24 Gospel According to St. Luke 16.19ff.: 504n LXX = Old Testament, Septuagint version Exod. = Exodus 20.2–3: 396; 33.20: 51 Gen. = Genesis 1.14: 282, 434; 3.21: 208; 23.4: 382; 47.4: 397 Isa. = Isaiah 34.4: 434; 45.5: 396; 65.17: 381; 66.2: 381 Lev. = Leviticus 16.3–4: 207 Prov. = Proverbs 8.22–31: 395 Ps. = Psalms 38.13: 382 Wisd. of Sol. = Wisdom of Solomon 7.12–29, 9.1: 395 [Lys.] = pseudo-­Lysias Or. fun. = Oratio funebris 78: 488 Macrob. = Macrobius In Somn. = Commentarius ex Cicerone in Somnium Scipionis ( J. Willis) I 6.37: 263; 8.5:

133n; 11.10–12: 209, 498; 13.5–17: 54, 243n; 14.15: 302; 52.15–31: 54; II 12.7: 57 Manichaean Hymns (W. Henning) M 7: 393; M 299a: 66 Kephalaia (H.-­J. Polotsky—­A. Böhlig) 18.41: 474 Psalms (C.R.C. Allberry in MPB) II 182.11–12: 214; CCLXI, 75.31–76.1: 82 Manil. = Manilius Astron. = Astronomica (G. P. Goold) I 247–54: 293; II 60: 631; 270–432: 283; 466–642: 287 Marc. Aurel. = Marcus Aurelius Meditationes II 4: 449; 13: 214, 484n; 17: 484n; III 4: 455; 6, 7: 484n; 10: 188; 16: 484n; IV 3: 459; V 8: 425; 26: 540; 27: 484n; VI 36: 443n; 42: 179; VII 23: 628; 49: 189; IX 9: 545; X 8: 245–46; XII 36: 467 Marinus Neapolitanus Proclus (H. D. Saffrey, A. Ph. Segonds, and C. Luna) 23.15–17: 26 Mart. Cap. = Martianus Capella De nupt. = De nuptiis Mercurii et Philologiae II 211–13: 84 Max. Planud. = Maximus Planudes Prol. = Prolegomena Rhetorices (Rabe 1931, 7) 69.1–56 Max. Tyr. = Maximus Tyrius Or. = Orationes (H. Hobein) IV 4: 204; V 4–6: 416n, 450; V 5: 297; VIII–IX: 486n; VIII 5: 483n, 8: 488; IX 1–2: 522; X 1: 82, 555; 2: 111; XI 5: 470; 7: 255; 8: 372, 484n; 9: 614; 10: 81, 209, 215; 11: 204, 208; 12: 444n; XIII 3: 449; XV 6: 610; XVI 6: 214, 388; XVIII 3: 503n; XXV 3: 53; XXXI 1: 264; XLI: 226 Melissus DK fr. B1: 642 Menander Epitr. = Epitrepontes (C. Jensen) 661–64: 484n fr. = Fragmenta (F. H. Sandbach) 714: 483n fr. CAF = Fragmenta (T. Kock) 550: 50 Menon Iatrica apud Anon. Lond. Method. = Methodius De resurr. = De resurrectione 18: 275 Mich. = Michael of Ephesus In Eth. Nic. = In ethica Nicomachea commentaria (G. Heylbut in CAG 20) 598.20–599.5: 165 Min. Fel. = Minucius Felix Oct. = Octauius V 4, XII 7: 391

Minuc. = Minucianus De epicheirematibus (L. Spengel in Rhet. Graec. 1) 417.26–27: 76 Moderatus apud Porph. VPyth. 48–50: 155 apud Simpl. In Ph. 231.4: 307n; 231.8–21: 229, 231, 316 Montanus apud Epiph. Adu Haer. 48.4.1: 186 Musonius Rufus fr. = Fragmenta (O. Hense) 12, 66.5, 66.16, 87.18: 454 Nemesius De nat. hom. = De natura hominis (M. Morani) 3, 40.22–41.8: 114; 7, 60.10–11: 363; 7, 179: 358; 36, 106.15–17: 281n; 38, 109.10–11: 428; 38, 109.16–18: 478; 38, 303–8: 416n; 40, 116.18–22: 437 NHC = Nag Hammadi Codices 1 Apoc. Jas. = The (First) Apocalypse of James (V 3): 302, 393, 395 Allog. = Allogenes (XI 3): 66, 208, 211, 373, 398, 589, 641 Ap. John = Apocryphon of John (II 1, III 1, IV 1, and Anon. BG 8502.2): 65, 119, 302, 307n, 366n, 371, 374, 382, 392, 395, 398, 400, 452, 475, 526 Auth. Teach. = Authentic Teaching (VI 3): 407 Bk. of Thom. = The Book of Thomas the Contender (II 7): 84 Disc. = Discource on the Eighth and Ninth (VI 6): 23, 89 Ep. Pet. Phil. = The Letter of Peter to Philip (VIII 2): 398 Eugnostos = Eugnostos the Blessed (III 3, V 1): 250, 399, 401 Exeg. Soul = The Exegesis on the Soul (II 6): 214, 240, 378 Gos. Eg. = The Gospel of the Egyptians (III 2): 366n, 383, 395, 399 Gos. Phil. = The Gospel of Philip (II 3): 62, 208, 379, 386, 395, 399, 453 Gos. Thom. = The Gospel of Thomas (II 2): 27, 208, 327 Gos. Truth = The Gospel of Truth (I 3): 73, 378, 398, 400, 408, 521 Great Pow. = The Concept of Our Great Power (VI 4): 383 Hyp. Arch. = The Hypostasis of the Archons (II 4): 213, 287, 366n, 379, 382, 395, 396, 400 Marsanes (X 1): 66, 366, 382, 398, 400, 402

Index 695 Orig. World = Origin of the World (II 5): 390, 395, 399, 416n, 503–4 Paraph. Shem = The Paraphrase of Shem (VII 1): 398, 631 Pl. Resp. = Plato Republic 588b–589b (VI 5): 67 Pr. of Thanksg. = Prayer of Thanksgiving (VI 7): 23 Steles Seth = The Three Steles of Seth (VII 5): 366n, 374, 393 Teach. Silv. = The Teachings of Silvanus (VII 4): 106 Thund. = The Thunder: Perfect Mind (VI 2): 386 Treat. Seth = The Second Treatise of the Great Seth (VII 2): 396 Trim. Prot. = Trimorphic Protennoia (XIII 1): 366n, 375, 379, 380, 395, 396 Tri. Trac. = Tripartite Tractate (I 5): 67, 372, 374, 378, 379, 382, 383, 386, 390, 395, 398, 400, 407, 455, 641 Val. Exp. = A Valentinian Exposition (XI 2): 373, 395 Zost. = Zostrianos (VIII 1): 24, 65, 67, 259, 374, 375, 381, 382, 395, 396, 398, 400, 584, 635 Nicom. = Nicomachus of Gerasa apud Phot. Bibl. cod. 187, 143a39: 398 Ar. = Introductio arithmetica (R. Hoche) I 1.1: 83, 582; 1.3: 229, 310; 6.1–3; 469; 23.4: 139; II 19.1: 469; 24.6–7: 262; 129.16–130.3: 262 Harm. = Harmonicum Enchiridium (C. Jan) 6, 248.13: 196 Num. = Numenius fr. = Fragments (É. des Places) 1a: 75; 2: 122, 210, 211; 3: 255; 4a: 230, 535n, 586, 629; 5: 304, 586, 590, 591, 619; 7: 582; 8: 304, 586; 11: 255, 639, 651; 12: 35, 214, 215, 613, 615, 639; 13: 301, 598; 15: 304, 586, 592, 650; 16: 379, 639, 651; 18: 500; 21: 401, 513, 523, 651; 22: 384, 648; 24–28: 69; 30: 204; 32: 27; 33: 81, 214; 34–35: 281n, 498; 35: 63, 499; 37: 498; 41: 638; 42a: 325; 43–44: 104; 45: 182; 52: 224n, 226, 238, 255, 256, 325, 335, 398, 450, 556, 569, 576 [Ocell.] = pseudo-­Ocellus Lucanus De uniu. nat. = De uniuersa natura (H. Thesleff in PTHP) 251n; 22: 538n; 127.26–27: 345; 128.15–24: 255 Old Testament: see LXX Olymp. = Olympiodorus In Alc. = In Platonis Alcibiadem comentarii (F. Creuzer) 2.94–96: 95; 11.3–6: 105n; 23.2– 9: 487n; 70: 73



696

Index Olymp. cont. In Grg. = In Platonis Gorgiam commentaria (L. G. Westerink) 18.9: 177; 48: 532 In Phd. = In Platonis Phaedonem commentarii (L. G. Westerink) 1.8.17–18: 242; 6.2.7: 214; 7.10.3–8: 203 Origen apud Eus. PE VI 11.71–72: 434 C. Cels. = Contra Celsum (M. Borret) III 41: 237; IV 39: 505n; 40: 208; 56: 237, 333; VI 3: 401; 41: 49; VII 9: 393; 38: 111, 639; 66: 21; VIII 30: 111; 49: 391 In Cant. = In Canticum canticorum (O. Rousseau) II 8, 132.7–9: 208 In Ezech. = In Ezechielem ( J.-­P. Migne in PG 13) 9.1, 732: 216 In Gen. = Commentarii in Genesim, fragmenta ( J.-­P. Migne in PG 12) 69.33–77.15: 282n; 72.10–36: 285; 73.10–16: 292; 73.47– 76.20: 285 In Joann. = Commentarii in euangelium Joannis (C. Blanc) II 6, 51.3, 52.4: 147 In Matt. = Commentarium in euangelium Matthaei (XII–XVII, E. Klostermann in GCS 40.1–.2) XIII 6, 62–89: 403 In Prou. = Expositio in Prouerbia ( J.-­P. Migne in PG 17) 2, 165.53–168.2, 16, 196.27–30: 593 Orig. Plat. = Origen the Platonist fr. = Fragmenta (K. Weber) 7: 35; 12: 35, 498 Orph. = Orphici DK fr. B13: 578n PBon. 4 = Bologna Papyrus no. 4 (R. Merkelbach) III v. 8: 208 fr. = Fragmenta (O. Kern) 27: 501; 28: 507; 32a: 368n; 32c: 393; 66: 511; 74: 507; 83, 85: 507; 105: 463; 154: 514; 163: 62, 529; 168: 465; 179–81: 465; 184: 517; 209: 203; 210: 203; 211: 203; 228a: 480; 245.13: 35; 246: 511; 340: 511; 351: 529; test. 190: 130 [Orph.] = pseudo-­Orpheus Hymn. = Orphei hymni (G. Quandt) 66.6–7: 465; 3*: 291 Ovid Met. = Metamorphoses III 318–38: 213; 339–510: 212–13 P = Papyri: see Anon. Pal. Anthol. = Palatine Anthology = Anthologia Palatina I 118–81; VII 472b: 81; IX 51: 578n; 80: 394; 577: 463; X 72: 467 Palladius Historia Monachorum (A.-­J. Festugière) I 1, 9: 19

Parm. = Parmenides DK fr. B1: 413n; B3: 181, 528; B4: 474; B7: 594; B8.4: 124, 596, 610; B8.5: 586; B8.5–10: 553, 578, 598; B8.7–13: 594, 642; B8.9–10: 378; B8.14: 413n; B8.19–20: 591; B8.29: 590, 596; B8.30–32: 553; B8.32: 596; B8.42–44: 552, 590, 594; B8.42–46: 594; B8.56–57: 259; B10: 413n; B13: 507 Paul = Paul of Tarsus 1, 2 Cor. = 1, 2 Corinthians 1, 13.12: 210; 2, 4.16: 104; 2, 5.1: 83; 2, 5.17: 381 Eph. = Ephesians 5.30: 395 Gal. = Galatians 4.26: 381 Heb. = Hebrews 12.22: 381 Rom. = Romans 11.17–29: 388 Paul Al. = Paul of Alexandria Elementa Apotelesmatica (Ä. Boer) 6: 285, 286, 288; 9: 287; 8: 284; 10: 283; 15: 286; 23: 299; 24: 284, 286, 288; 25: 288, 429; 27: 286; 34: 283; 36: 286 Paus. = Pausanias Graeciae descriptio I 37.4: 207; III 13.9: 530; IV 32.4: 29; IX 27.1–2: 507; 32.7–9: 212; X 24.6: 79 Petr. = Petronius Sat. = Satyricon 112.1: 520 PGM = Papyri Graecae Magicae (K. Preisendanz) I 26–27: 301; I 205: 641; I 214–6: 418n; IV 162, 222, 930, 953: 51; IV 448: 83; IV 1189–90: 641; V 55: 51; Va 3: 51; VII 167–78: 557; VII 319, 335, 727: 51; VII 505–28: 487n; VII 766– 94: 402; XII 39–89: 402; XII 254–55: 266; XII 941–46: 402; XIII 351–64: 73; XIII 633– 35, 708–14: 418n; XVIIIa, b, XX, XXIIa, XXXIII, XLIII, 5a, b, c: 403 [Phalaris] = pseudo-­Phalaris Ep. = Epistulae (R. Hercher) 122, 445.42–43: 184 Pherekydes fr. = Fragmenta (H. S. Schibli) 60: 577n; 73: 529 Philetas of Cos test. = Testimonia (G. Kuchenmüller) 13: 43 Philo = Philo Judaeus Agr. = De agricultura 64–65: 397; 65: 213 Cher. = De Cherubim 14: 307; 42–52: 62; 86: 641; 120–21: 382 Conf. = De confusione linguarum 77: 382; 81: 132, 382 Dec. = De decalogo 74–75: 52 Det. = Quod deterius potiori insidiari soleat 22: 125; 23: 496

Deus = Quod Deus sit immutabilis 32: 587, 592; 56: 208 Ebriet. = De ebrietate 61: 514; 71: 638; 101: 106; 183: 354n Fug. = De fuga et inventione 5–6: 496; 92: 210 Gig. = De gigantibus 60–61: 152 Her. = Quis rerum diuinarum heres sit 79: 632; 84: 484n; 231: 125; 274: 213 Ins. = De insomniis I 165: 82 Ios. = De Iosepho 126: 555 Leg. alleg. = Legum allegoriae I 45–49: 531; 72– 73: 544; 106: 223; II 6: 103n; 56: 207; III 69: 208; 207: 141 Legat. = Legatio ad Gaium 5: 206 Migr. = De migratione Abrahami 32: 638; 63: 132n; 71: 125; 178: 293; 192: 208; 216: 633; 219: 141 Mos. = De uita Mosis I 110–11: 456; II 27: 141; 140: 197; 163: 210 Mut. = De mutatione nominum 267: 582, 592 Opif. = De opificio mundi 8–9: 538n; 16: 381; 19– 20: 307, 312, 381; 21: 641; 38: 263; 49: 590; 58: 434; 69: 120, 484n; 71: 82; 134: 104; 138: 197; 143: 463; 153–54: 531 Post. = De posteritate Caini 20: 638 Prou. = De prouidentia: I 21: 392; 23: 443n; 33: 443n; 46–48: 456; II 3–33: 457; 31: 472; 82: 472; 91–92: 461; 98–102: 456; 102–4: 443n; 103–4: 461; 104: 500 Quaest. in Ex. = Quaestiones et solutiones in Exodum (R. Marcus) II 66: 35 Quaest in Gen. = Quaestiones et solutiones in Genesin (R. Marcus) I 16: 54; 53: 208; II 59: 103n; III 3: 200; IV 8: 35 Somn. = De somniis I 21: 259; 34: 484n; 45: 382; 127: 239 Spec. leg. = De specialibus legibus I 13–20: 280n, 434; 16: 293; 37: 82; 298: 124 VC = De uita contemplatiua 28: 45 Philod. = Philodemus Academicorum Historia (= Academicorum Index Herculanensis) (T. Dorandi) 35.15–16: 120 De signis (Ph. and E. A. De Lacy) 36.13, 54: 423 Philodamus Scarphaeus Paean (I. U. Powell in Coll. Al.) V 58–62, 167: 79 Philolaus DK fr. A29: 211; B6: 469; B13: 102n; B15: 241n Philop. = Johannes Philoponus Aet. mund. = De aeternitate mundi contra Proclum (H. Rabe) 145.10–147.25: 252n; 146.2–149.6: 313; 186.17–189.9: 252n; 228.10–230.11: 254; 409.20–28: 316, 319;

Index 697 418.25–26: 321; 424.9–11, 425.6–13, 428.5– 24, 434.4, 440.6–8: 319; 425.25–426.4: 320; 427.28–428.1: 320; 520.4–521.24: 252n; 521.25–526.23: 256; 524.19–26: 252; 524.27: 253; XI passim: 319 C. Arist. = De aeternitate mundi contra Aristotelem (C. Wildberg) fr. 70: 333 In An. post. = In Aristotelis analytica posteriora commentaria (M. Wallies in CAG 13.3) 61.4–7: 323 In Cat. = In Aristotelis categorias commentarium (A. Busse in CAG 13.1) 66.7–12: 338n; 83.14–17: 320; 98.1–35: 338n In De an. = In Aristotelis de anima libros commentaria (M. Hayduck in CAG 15) 77.30– 78.5: 590; 335.4–7: 356n In De int. = In de intellectu = In Aristotelis de anima III 4–9 (G. Verbeke) 67.9: 307n In Mete. = In Aristotelis meteorologicorum librum primum commentarium (M. Hayduck in CAG 14.1) 37.18–19, 97.4–5: 267 In Nicom. = In Nicomachi arithmeticam Introductionem (R. Hoche) I 45.2–3: 42 In Ph. = In Physica 738.24–32: 607 In Porph. Isag. = In Porphyrii Isagogen sive V voces (A. Brandis in Schol. in Arist.) 11a43: 327 [Philop.] = pseudo-­Johannes Philoponus (= ?Stephanus) In De an. = In Aristotelis de anima libros commentaria (M. Hayduck in CAG 15) 524.6– 8: 218; 528.34–529.12: 108 Philostr. = Philostratus Gymn. = Gymnasticus 25: 53 Imag. = Imagines I 23: 212 VApoll. = Vita Apollonii Tyanensis I 16: 22; II 30: 53 VS = Vitae Sophistarum II 2, 566: 63; 27, 618: 74 Phocylides fr. = Fragmenta (E. Diehl) 16: 483n Pind. = Pindar fr. = Fragmenta (C. M. Bowra) 111: 578n Nem. = Nemean Odes VII 50–70: 79; VIII 55– 56: 162n; 187n Ol. = Olympian Odes I 29–32: 401; II 16: 578n Pyth. = Pythian Odes I 95–96: 184; III 108–9: 483n; VIII 95–97: 578n; X 29–30: 214 Pistis Sophia: see Anon. Pl. = Plato Ap. = Apologia = Apology 20b4–5: 136; 20e6– 21a7: 78; 31d2–4: 485n, 487n; 40b1–c4: 485n; 40c5–9: 222, 245; 41d1–2: 456; 43a3–4: 84



698

Index Pl. cont. Cra. = Cratylus 396b3–7: 513, 645; 396c1: 515; 397e2–398c4: 83, 84, 497; 398b5–c4: 80, 484n; 400c1: 83; 400c6–7: 272; 402a4– b3: 576; 403b5–6: 208; 405c6–d5: 80; 407e3–408a7: 576; 412a7–b1: 632; 420a9–b4: 515, 517; 437a3–9: 586 Cri. = Crito 44a10–b4: 213; 46c4–6: 179; 47d7: 173; 48b5–6: 261 Grg. = Gorgias 464c5–d1: 598; 474d3–475a2: 195; 477b3–4: 239; 491e2: 198; 492c1– 194n; 493a3: 83; 512a2–5: 173; 512e3: 419; 523a1 ff.: 383; 523c3–e4: 208; 523e1–6: 128; 523e7–527a4: 84; 524b2–4: 223; 524d5–7: 208; 525a2–6: 204; 527e2: 439 Hp. mai. = Hippias maior = Hippias Major 288a8–289d5: 195; 289c3–6: 198; 294c3–7: 457; 297e5–299b4: 83, 196 Ion 533e3–534b6: 62 Leg. = Leges = Laws 625e5–626a5: 466; 641e5– 7: 57; 644d7–9: 467, 468; 688b5–6: 468; 709b7–c1: 416n; 713c5–e3: 50, 482n; 715e8–716a1: 406; 716a2–b5: 293, 455; 716b8–c3: 132n; 716c4–5: 226; 716c6–7: 143; 716d2: 138; 721c2–6: 139, 255; 731c2– 3: 461; 732c4–6: 484n; 757a1–c6: 477; 761d5: 468; 775b–d: 504n; 803c4–5: 467; 808b3–c2: 47; 817b1–8: 467; 821c7: 535; 828d4–5: 387; 836c2–e4: 511; 837b4–6: 510; 837c3–d1: 510, 515; 838e6: 510, 511; 840e2–7: 511; 858a1–5: 176; 860d1–9: 230; 870d4–e3: 463; 872d7–e9: 463; 873c3– d8: 242, 419; 877a2–7: 484n; 887d4–5: 468; 888b4–c7: 441n; 888e4–889a8: 417n, 423; 896e4–897d1: 224n, 436; 896e9–897a4: 107; 897c4–9: 268, 645; 898a8: 267; 898d3–899b9: 401; 899d4– 905d3: 441n, 444n; 900e10–14: 459; 903b4–e1: 392, 434; 903b4–904a4: 450; 903b7: 368n; 903c1–5: 394; 903e4–5: 457; 904a6: 227; 904a8–9: 597; 904c2–e3: 471; 904c6–9: 414n, 419; 905e5–906d4: 460; 905e8: 113; 959a7: 102; 959b2–4: 20; 961e1–5: 113; 962d2–4: 157; 963a2–b2: 157; 966d9–967e2: 441n Men. = Meno 84a1: 155; 84a7–b6: 154; 84e4– 85a1: 155; 85b1–2: 155; 100a4–6: 213 Phd. = Phaedo 61c9–62c8: 241–42; 61d4: 245; 62b5: 245; 62b7: 442n; 64c2–65a3: 205; 64d2–7: 144; 64e8–67b4: 406; 65a9– c10: 230, 298; 65d7: 124; 66a5: 182; 66b1: 87; 66b5: 204; 66d6: 124, 182; 67c5–6:

295, 550; 67c8–9: 203; 67d1–2: 81, 388; 67d4–10: 129, 223; 67d8–10: 385; 68b8– c3: 140, 409; 69c1–6: 205; 69c6: 238; 74d1: 138; 77e5: 179, 186; 78c1–8: 126, 377; 78c6–d8: 267, 655, 336n; 78d2–3: 614; 78d10–e4: 573; 79c3: 111; 79c7: 205; 79d3: 142, 199, 206, 439; 79d4–5: 156; 79d6: 146; 80d5–82c1: 384; 81a4–8: 156; 81b1– c7: 490; 81b1–82b8: 127, 133, 136, 491, 554; 82a11–c1: 139; 82e1–7: 81; 83a6–8: 129, 203; 83b6–9: 106; 84b2: 206; 85e3–86d4: 245, 549; 87b4–e5: 208; 87d9: 81; 93e8–9: 543; 97d3–5: 226; 98b8–c2: 315; 99a4–b4: 424; 100c10–103c1: 196; 101c2–6: 563; 103c11–d12: 345; 103d2–3: 324; 107d1: 232; 107d2–4: 128; 107d5–e4: 50, 483, 488, 491, 492, 497; 109c2: 302; 109e6: 622n; 110a5– 7: 205; 111a3: 162; 112e5–113c9: 384; 113d1– 114b6: 383; 114b6–c5: 499; 115a6: 419; 115c4–d3: 102 Phdr. = Phaedrus 240d1: 527; 242c2–3: 485n; 242d9: 507, 511; 244a6–245a8: 62, 427, 479; 245a1–8: 79; 245c5: 488; 245c9–d7: 218, 293, 300, 642; 246b1–4: 297, 552; 246b6–7: 409, 490; 246b7–c2: 154, 172, 239, 269; 246c5–d2: 103n, 106, 110; 246e4–247a4: 120, 145, 392, 474, 529; 246e6–247a7: 278, 297; 247a3: 368n; 247a4: 501, 613; 247a6–7: 212, 407; 247b1–3: 500, 552; 247b3–5: 258, 297, 492; 247b5–6: 84, 211; 247b6–c2: 635; 247c1– 2: 154, 501; 247c7: 133, 336n,; 247d1–e6: 268, 622n, 634; 248a1–b1: 132n, 227, 297, 300; 248b6: 156; 248c2 ff.: 415; 248c3–5: 227, 499; 248d1–4: 151; 249b1–3: 298; 249b3–5: 127; 249b7–8: 157; 249c4–5: 154; 249c7–8: 172; 250a1–5: 106, 533; 250a6–e1: 509, 644; 250b5–c4: 162, 622n; 250c5: 83; 250d3–251a1: 211, 515, 636; 250e1–251a5: 511; 251a1–5: 406; 251b2: 376; 251e3: 83; 252b1–3: 507; 252c3–d2: 278; 252d7: 215; 253a1–5: 124, 132n, 143, 517; 253d4: 586; 254b7: 215; 255c5–d3: 515; 255d4–e1: 213; 256a7–b3: 510; 256b2–3: 230; 256e1–265c2–3: 511, 522; 265d3– 266c1: 155, 156; 269b7–8: 157; 270d3–5: 328; 275b5–8: 77; 277e5–278b2: 47; 279b9–c1: 408 Phlb. = Philebus 16a7: 211; 16c7–8: 301; 16d1–7: 156; 20d8–10: 207; 21a1–2: 528; 22d6: 186; 24d2: 594; 26e2–5: 422; 28d8–9: 113; 30a5–6: 521; 30d1–2: 35, 529; 31c2–11: 115;

31c2–39c6: 240; 33d2–10: 167, 575; 34a3–5: 115; 35c6–d3: 107; 45c1–e7: 175; 50b3: 467; 50e6: 110; 51b1: 111; 51b3–52a1: 196; 52c2: 110, 183; 52c3–d1: 230; 53a5–b7: 201; 53c6: 596; 54c2: 305n; 56d4–e3: 606; 58d6–7: 158; 59c4: 110; 60b10–c4: 218, 371; 63b2– e7: 516; 63b6–7: 562; 63e3: 110; 64d9–e7: 139; 64e5–7: 196; 65d5–10: 183, 191; 67a6– 8: 371 Plt. = Politicus = Statesman 269c6–270a8: 224; 269d5–270a6: 254; 271d4: 442n; 271d5: 368n; 271d6–8: 50, 482n; 272d6–273a4: 615; 272e3–273e4: 224, 259, 414n, 419, 500; 273a7: 442n; 273b4–c2: 235, 259; 273d4–e4: 254; 284a8–e8: 139; 285b2: 156; 287a3–4: 155; 309c3: 103 Prm. = Parmenides: 91; 130c1–4: 341; 130e5– 132b2: 317; 131b1–6: 653; 132d5–133a5: 133; 133c9: 336n; 140e1–141e7: 579n; 143b1–8: 305n, 306; 144b1–3: 552–53, 653; 144e5: 596; 145b6–e5: 371; 145e7–146a7: 277, 314; 160b2–3: 654; 162a4–b3: 228 Prt. = Protagoras 341e3, 344c2–3: 479; 345d5: 413n; 356d1–357b3: 139, 157; 392e2–4: 147 Resp. = Respublica = Republic 334b4–c7: 222; 342b3–4: 301; 347b5–d4: 461; 348c11–12: 198; 353d14–e5: 224n; 365e1442n; 376b8– c2: 155; 379c2–7: 413n; 380d1–381c9: 260; 380e5: 239; 382a4: 335; 382b9–10: 141; 387d5–e1: 173, 177; 387e3–4: 173; 387e9– 388b7: 174; 398b6–d9: 195; 403c6–7: 153; 404b1: 239; 411b7–c2: 296; 420c4–d5: 462; 426d8–e2: 394; 427d5–6: 186; 429c9–d1: 106; 430a7–b1: 106; 430b9– d2: 135, 139; 430e3–4: 543; 433b8–c2: 135; 434c7–9: 135, 476; 435b5–7: 476; 436d5– e4: 272; 441d12–442b3: 544; 443b2: 135; 443c9–444a2: 544; 444b1–8: 545; 444e1–2: 239; 449a2–3: 610; 451c2: 88; 452e5–6: 468; 469a1: 84; 476c2–d4: 82; 477a3: 594; 485b2: 336n; 496d6–8: 178; 498b1: 256; 500c9–d1: 132n; 500d1: 143; 505a2: 184; 505d11–e4: 207, 526; 508a4–9: 523; 508b5: 216; 508b12–c2: 295; 508c1: 218; 508d4–6: 649; 508d9–509b10: 221; 508e1–509b10: 554, 644; 509a1: 216; 509a6: 211; 509b9: 158, 218, 221, 640, 655; 509d2: 227; 509e1–510a2: 561; 510c2– 511a1: 632; 511c4–8: 622n; 514a1 ff.: 383; 515e1–516a8: 215; 516b6: 622n; 516c6: 162; 517a5: 151; 517b5: 218, 385; 517d4–5: 622n; 518c8–10: 622n; 518d4: 125; 518d9–e2:

Index 699 160; 518e2–3: 147; 519b1–2: 490; 519b2–5: 52; 521c2: 151; 522c1–8: 159; 523b4–8: 155; 524d9–531e7: 155; 524e4: 123; 525b5: 336n; 526e3–4: 162; 529a1–530a7: 645; 530b2–3: 256; 531d7–535a1: 155; 532e3: 152; 533d1–2: 239, 515; 533d2–3: 52, 151; 534a3–4: 336n; 534b3–4: 155; 534c6–7: 555; 534c7–d1: 239; 534d8–c6: 156; 535e4–5: 205; 545d8–e1: 610; 546a2: 250n; 560d2–3: 198; 564b10: 239; 566a4: 459; 571c3–7: 550; 583e9–11: 183; 585b12–d3: 336n; 588c7: 121; 589a7– b1: 124; 589c4: 484n; 590a9–b1: 121; 590c2–4: 633; 590d1: 484n; 591b3–6: 158; 595b9–10: 394; 596b12–e4: 633; 596e5– 598d5: 20; 597e7: 35; 602c7–d4: 353n; 603a10–b5: 20; 604d8–e6: 303; 607c5–6: 472; 608e6–609a1: 222; 611b: 126; 611c7– d1: 128; 611e1–612a4: 128, 206; 613a7–b1: 206; 613b1: 143; 613d1: 186; 614b3: 65; 616c ff.: 414; 616c4: 294; 616e8–617a4: 266; 616e9: 265; 617a3: 265; 617b4–6: 298; 617d4–618a3: 298; 617e1: 483; 617e2– 618e2: 460, 474, 488, 492, 494; 617e3: 295; 617e4–5: 82, 391, 415, 458; 618a1–b6: 300; 618a3: 127; 619c1: 419; 620a2–d5: 127, 491; 620c2–3: 450; 620d6–e6: 50, 208, 298, 483, 488, 494; 621a4: 83 Soph. = Sophista = Sophist 228c1: 139; 234b1–10: 633; 235a1–2: 598; 235d1–236c7: 379; 235d6–236b2: 196, 614; 237d3: 339; 238b2– 3: 322; 240b3–12: 568; 240b7: 228; 246a8– b3: 554; 247d8–e3: 328, 535, 554, 569; 248a11: 122, 343; 248c5: 328; 248e6–249a1: 171, 553, 594; 249a9: 592; 250c1–4: 556; 253d1–e6: 155, 156; 254a10–b1: 52; 254d1: 335; 254d4–255a2: 277, 339, 587, 589; 256c5–e3: 314; 256d5–259b1: 335, 556; 256d11–e6: 228; 257b3–10: 234; 258b1–3: 234; 258d6–7: 228, 322; 258e2–3: 325; 259e5–260b2: 156; 263e3–8: 141; 266e10: 234 Symp. = Symposium 175a7–b2: 86; 175d6–7: 351; 180d7–8: 511; 180e2: 512; 190e7–8: 49; 195b7–c6: 507; 196a4–8: 196; 197d7: 83; 197e7: 468; 200d3–6: 189; 202b5: 515; 202d1: 521; 202d13–e7: 295, 451, 515, 524, 527; 202e3–204b5: 504n, 515; 203b1–c4: 520, 531, 533, 569, 637; 203b4: 239; 203b5– 6: 529, 531; 203c3–5: 511; 203c6–d3: 527; 203d1–5: 522; 203d6–8: 527, 569; 203e2: 533; 204b7: 527; 205e5–206a4: 508; 206b1–e9: 509; 206b6–c4: 203; 206c4–



700

Index Pl. cont. d7: 199, 206, 508; 206d4: 196; 206d8: 203; 206e7–208e1: 510; 208a7–b4: 255; 208e1– 209e4: 62, 115; 210a4–211e1: 85, 154, 195, 196, 528; 210b6–d1: 202; 210c3–7: 198; 210e3–211b2: 507, 622n; 211a8: 210; 211b2– 5: 493; 211b7–d1: 407; 211c3–8: 196; 211c5–6: 198; 211d2: 622n; 211d8–e2: 210; 212a4–5: 146, 203; 216b4–219d2: 62; 217b3–4: 210; 218e2: 211; 219a2–4: 215 Tht. = Theaetetus 148c9: 216; 153c9–d5: 83; 158b2–4: 393; 174b1–6: 106; 176a2–b3: 134, 178, 185, 233, 235, 250, 405, 456, 490; 176a8–b3: 24, 143, 206, 295, 385, 393; 176b8–c1: 135; 176c2: 138; 176c4–d1: 139; 176d1–2: 132; 177a5: 233; 184d4: 111; 186c2, d2: 539; 189e6: 141; 191c8–192c6: 540; 198d5–8: 124; 204a7–b9: 594; 206d1–4: 141; 208d2: 265; 208e7–10: 583 Ti. = Timaeus 27d6–28a4: 582; 28b8: 253; 27d6– 28a2: 481, 552; 28a4–6: 422; 28c3: 35, 214; 29a3: 588; 29b2: 379; 29b4–5: 141; 29b6: 596; 29d2: 262; 29e1–30a3: 135, 377, 407, 413n, 599, 647; 30a2–7: 378; 30a4–5: 230, 274; 30b3: 529; 30b7–8: 256, 272, 521; 30c1: 442n; 30c7–31a1: 451, 454, 649; 30d3: 290–91; 31b1: 447, 592, 594; 31b4–8: 262, 263, 264; 31b8–32c4: 262, 480; 31d3: 585; 32a7–b3: 262, 493; 33b2–d3: 255, 259–60; 33c1–34a7: 494; 33c6–34b8: 450; 33d2: 521; 34a1–4: 268, 271; 34b1–6: 276, 521, 523, 652; 34b7: 452; 34b8: 521; 35a2–3: 500, 552, 598; 36d8–e5: 276, 388, 407, 613, 652; 36e2: 122; 36e3–4: 268; 36e6–37a1: 542; 37a2–c3: 276; 37a5–6: 146, 268; 37c6–7: 214, 389, 465; 37c8–d2: 647; 37d1–38a2: 191, 578–79, 583, 587, 588, 596, 602, 611, 613, 616; 37d5–7: 614, 618; 37e4– 38a2: 188, 599; 38b6–7: 616; 38b8–c1: 614, 618; 38c6: 616; 38d6: 290, 591; 39b4–5: 265; 39b6–c1: 616; 39c5–d7: 603; 39d1: 616; 39e4–40a7: 451, 647; 39e7–9: 384, 592; 39e10–40a7: 651; 40a2–3: 262; 40a3– 4: 201; 40a7–b2: 276; 40b5: 252; 40c4: 429; 40c9–d2: 278; 40d: 35; 40d6–9: 451; 41a7–d3: 260, 293; 41b2–6: 235, 253; 41b7–c2: 250n; 41c5: 261; 41c7: 120, 484n; 41d5–7: 476; 41d8–e1: 498; 41e1– 2: 500, 552; 41e2–3: 419, 444n; 42a1–b2: 476; 42a3–4: 113; 42a5–7: 106, 108; 42c1– d8: 123, 127, 145, 476, 498; 42d2–e4: 260, 301, 368n, 391; 42e3: 113; 42e5–6: 493, 641;

42e8: 261; 43a4–c5: 261, 408; 43b5–c5: 497, 541; 43c4–7: 118; 44a8–b1: 126; 44c2–4: 222; 44d3–e2: 258, 275, 458–59; 45b3–6: 217, 265; 45c4, 7: 216; 45d1–2: 118; 46c7–e2: 258; 46d7–e2: 439; 46e1–2: 113; 46e7–47c4: 645; 47a4–6: 616; 47c6– d7: 79; 47e5–48a1: 235, 295; 48a1–5: 414n; 48a6–7: 224; 49a6: 305n, 489, 575; 49d4– e7: 559, 560, 567; 50a1–2: 571; 50a4–7: 565, 599; 50b7–8: 328, 562; 50c1–2: 305n, 565; 50c4–5: 558, 563; 50d2–4: 326, 574; 50d7: 200, 310, 565; 50e4–51a3: 562, 565, 599; 51a4–52b5: 305, 310, 318, 559; 51b2–6: 565; 52a1–3: 211, 553; 52a5: 573; 52b1–3: 305n, 565, 568, 569; 52b3–5: 567, 574; 52b6–c3: 334, 555; 52c2–5: 557, 568; 52d4– 53a8: 224, 229, 566; 52e1–5: 302, 565, 572; 53a7, b1: 564; 53c4 ff.: 565; 56a5–b1: 257; 56d6–e2: 262; 56e7–57a6: 262; 57c3: 257; 57d7–58a1: 314; 58a4–b2: 270, 271, 297, 388, 560; 58c5–d2: 201, 258, 265, 266; 58d1–4: 452; 59b1–4: 263; 59d6: 264; 60b7–c1: 264; 64e6–65a1: 199, 541; 65a5: 102; 67c7–8: 102, 123; 69a1–2: 143; 69a6: 305n; 69c3–5: 260; 69c5: 261; 69c7–d4: 431, 455; 69d1–4: 106; 69d5: 103; 70a2–7: 544; 70b3–5: 116; 70e4: 106; 71a5–b5: 181; 72d4: 103; 73b3–d7: 81; 73c2–d7: 578n; 73e6: 551; 74a5–7: 314; 74c6: 628; 77a3– c5: 106, 627; 77d5: 423; 80b6–7: 202; 86d7–e2: 230; 86e1–87a7: 235, 545; 87c4– d8: 196; 87e5–6: 106, 115; 88b2: 484n; 88d6–e3: 302; 89b1–d1: 246; 90a2–c6: 52, 484, 496, 645; 90d4–6: 132n; 91d6–92c3: 491; 92c6–7: 615; 92c7–d7: 379, 463, 523 ?Pl. = Plato? Alc. = Alcibiades 1: 90; 116c1–2: 219; 124c5–10: 487n, 497; 128c9–e2: 121; 129c5–130a1: 107, 111, 112; 130a9–c1: 115; 130c3: 102, 173, 521; 131a2–b11: 121; 133c1–6: 484n; 192a2– 3: 105 Ep. = Epistulae = Epistles II 312e1–4: 35, 227, 365, 371, 385, 400, 529, 655; VI 323d1–2: 626; VII 335b3–6: 511; 338d3: 43; 340b6: 43; 340c5: 154; 340c7: 154; 341a6: 154; 341b7– e5: 47; 343b8–c5: 342 [Pl.] = pseudo-­Plato Ax. = Axiochus 365e6: 119; 366a1: 83; 371b8: 84 Def. = Definitiones 411b3: 602; 412d10–11: 165 Epin. = Epinomis 980d2: 442n; 981a7–9: 106; 981c5 ff.: 451; 981d3–e1: 262, 264; 982a4– e6: 276, 452, 463; 982c7–d3: 260; 983b7–

c7: 277; 983e5–984a1: 389, 465; 986a8– d4: 267; 987b2–c7: 290; 988e1–4: 224n; 991b6–d5: 392; 991c6–992b2: 645; 992b3: 626 Theages 128d3: 487n Pletho = Georgios Plethon Gemistos De diff. = De Differentiis (B. Lagarde) 326.33– 327.4: 333 Orac. mag. = Oracula magica Zoroastris ( J.-­P. Migne in PG 122) 1191a: 244 Plin. = Pliny the Elder HN = Naturalis historia II 6.37: 530; XXXV 5: 21; XXXVI 199: 570 Plut. = Plutarch Adu. Col. = Aduersus Colotem 1119a: 112 Amat. = Amatorius 755e: 25; 764b: 516; 765d–766a: 212; 765f–766b: 510 An seni resp. = An seni respublica gerenda sit 797f: 576 Caesar 69.1: 26 Cato 68, 792d: 242n Cleom. = Cleomenes 39.5: 500 Comm. not. = De communibus notitiis aduersus Stoicos (H. Cherniss) 1076d–f: 429; 1078c–e: 350 De an. proc. = De animae procreatione in Timaeo (H. Cherniss) 1013b: 251; 1015a: 414n; 1015b: 237 De def. or. = De defectu oraculorum 414d: 231; 414f: 305n; 415c: 208; 415c–416c: 523; 428f: 325; 431b–c: 467 De E ap. Delph. = De E apud Delphos 393a–b: 582, 587, 597, 610 De esu carn. = De esu carnium orationes 996c: 105n, 203, 398 De ex. = De exilio 601c: 459 De fac. = De facie quae in orbe lunae apparet (H. Cherniss) 927a–928d: 444n; 942c–e: 275; 943a–d: 103n, 484n; 943c: 214; 944f–945a: 130 De gen. = De genio Socratis 580c: 483n; 580c–d: 487n; 580d–e: 485n; 585f: 497; 588d: 124; 591d: 103n; 591e: 123, 182, 300; 593d–594a: 482n; 593f: 81 De Is. et Os. = De Iside et Osiride 351e: 592; 352a– b: 50, 611; 364f–365a: 203; 365b–c: 576; 371a: 224n; 371f–372a: 576; 372b: 515; 373b: 576; 373c–d: 450; 374c–e: 504n, 515, 520, 527, 569; 377e–378a: 444n; 381b: 631; 381f: 398 De prim. frig. = De primo frigido (H. Cherniss) 948b–c: 424; 952b: 263

Index 701 De Pyth. or. = De Pythiae oraculis 398b: 423 De sera = De sera numinis uindicta: 391, 445n; 550d: 132n; 563e: 113; 563f–564a: 216, 275; 566a: 129 De uirt. mor. = De uirtute morali 441d–442c: 103n, 145, 537n; 444e–445a: 543; 448c: 145; 451a–b: 104, 540, 549; 451f: 543 Lysandrus 18, 443d: 44 Quaest. conu. = Quaestionum conuiualium I 1.3: 625; V 1: 536n; 7.5: 190; VIII 1–2: 26; 8.1: 631; IX 14.4: 610 Quaest. Plat. = Quaestiones Platonicae 1000e: 599; 1007c–d: 602, 616; 1007d: 594; 1007e–1009b: 543 Quaest. Rom = Quaestiones Romanae 266e: 208, 484n Quomod. adol. = Quomodo adolescens poetas audire debeat 19f: 291 Quomod. adul. = Quomodo adulator ab amico internoscatur 71e–f: 145 Sulla 26, 468b: 88 Terr. an aqu. = Terrestriane an aquatilia animalia sint callidiora 960d: 199 fr. = Fragments (F. H. Sandbach) 144: 104; 157: 504n, 530; 177: 129 [Plut.] = pseudo-­Plutarch De lib. educ. = De liberis educandis 2a: 160 Epitome (H. Diels in Dox. Gr.) 305a8–13: 268 Fat. = De fato 568c–d: 421, 460; 568e: 416n, 428; 569b: 428; 570b: 416n; 570c–f: 435; 570d–e: 421; 572a: 423; 572f–573a: 482n; 573b: 478; 574b–c: 482n; 574e: 293 Lib. = De libidine et aegritudine 5: 536n; 7: 104, 106, 115; 9: 115 Parsne an. fac. = Parsne an facultas anima sit uita passiua (K. Ziegler—­M. Pohlenz) 2: 103; 4: 121; 5: 119; 6: 117, 118; 7: 115, 123, 126, 449 Vit. Hom. = De uita et poesi Homeri 2, 123: 130; 2, 126: 214; 2, 212: 427 Pontius De uita S. Cypriani (PL 3) 9: 23 Porph. = Porphyry apud Eus. PE IV 16.5: 88 apud Procl. In Ti. I 63.29: 9; II 11.10–12: 524 apud Zos. Alch. Peri Iou 205.13–14: 342 Abst. = De abstinentia (I–III: J. Bouffartigue—­M. Patillon, IV: M. Patillon—­P. Segonds) I 1.1–3.1: 44; 2.1: 46; 2.3: 45; 27.2–28.2: 47; 31.3–5: 84, 209; 38.2–3: 245; 42.75–76: 405; 53.3: 46; II 1.1: 44; 39.1–2: 523; 42.3–43.1: 52; 47.1: 50, 241n; 52.3: 97;



702

Index Porph. cont. III 1.1: 44; 4.7: 97; 20.3–6: 442n; IV 1.1: 44; 8.4: 50; 16.2: 29, 63; 17.1–18.3: 29 Ad An. = Epistula ad Anebo (A. R. Sodano) 1.3– 4: 51; 2.9: 51; 5.4–7.13: 51; 21.6: 51; 41: 292 Ad Gaurum = Ad Gaurum quomodo animetur fetus (K. Kalbfleisch) 2.5: 261; 6.1: 525; 10.4: 113 C. Christ. = Contra Christianos (A. von Harnack) fr. 1: 387; 39: 28, 72; 43: 68; 49.15: 64; 76.18–21: 20; 80: 9789.5: 64 De animae facultatibus apud Stob. Ecl. I 49.24: 120 De antr. nymph. = De antro nympharum (L. G. Westerink et al.) 5, 8.3–6: 255; 5–9, 59.1– 62.22: 383; 6, 8.13–23: 29; 10, 12.15–16: 209; 14, 16.2–13: 209; 34, 32.8–13: 209; 34, 32.13–21: 81; 35, 34.3–6: 209 De phil. = De philosophia ex oraculis haurienda (A. Smith) fr. 329F: 51; 340F: 292; 315F: 531 De quod nostr. = De quod in nostra potestate (A. Smith) fr. 271F 84: 283, 292, 294, 299, 433, 499 De reg. an. = De regressu animae (A. Smith) fr. 285F: 52; 293F: 52, 264; 297F: 87; 302F: 29 De Styge (A. Smith) fr. 373F: 88; 376F: 29 In Cat. = In Aristotelis categorias expositio per interrogationem et responsionem (A. Busse in CAG 4.1) 94.29–96.1: 338n; 95.17–33: 340; 95.33: 342; 129.10: 338n In Categorias ad Gedalium (apud Simpl. In Cat.) 30.16–17: 60; 68.12–70.6: 517 In Harm. = Commentarius in Ptolemaei harmonica (I. Düring) 12.14–20: 477; 13.16: 526 In Soph. = In Platonis Sophistem commentarii (A. Smith) fr. 169F: 60 Intr. Ptol. = Introductio in Ptolemaei apotelesmatica (CCAG V 4) 33: 284; 41–42: 292 Isag. = Isagoge siue quinque voces (A. Busse in CAG 4.1) 1.1–2: 19; 1.3–7: 91; 1.11: 375; 11.2–5: 338n; 11.12–17: 311; 11.14–16: 306n; 15.6–7: 306n Marc. = Ad Marcellam (É. des Places) 1: 97; 2: 467; 4: 96, 387; 10: 203, 216; 11: 215; 12: 82; 16–17: 53; 28: 97 Philologos Akroasis (apud Eus. PE X 3) 1: 26, 33, 61; 24–25: 68 Sent. = Sententiae ad intelligibilia ducentes (E. Lamberz) 9: 54; 18: 539, 550; 20: 558; 29:

130; 31: 653; 32: 133, 138, 140, 142, 144, 147, 203; 44: 595, 618 SZ = Summikta Zētēmata (H. Dörrie): 348 VP = Vita Plotini 1.3–4: 431, 516; 1.7: 208; 2.3–5: 246, 551; 2.10–13: 243n; 2.10–16: 164; 2.11–31: 6; 2.12: 97; 2.14–15: 111; 2.16: 236; 2.17–20: 463; 2.18–22: 467; 2.26–27: 639; 2.27–28: 486n; 2.39–40: 486n; 3.6–13: 147; 3.44–46: 648; 4.9–16: viii; 4.12–16: 144, 193; 4.17–18: 308; 4.21–22: 193; 4.45: 308; 4.47: 625, 646n; 4.49: 270; 4.53: 242, 243; 4.56–67: 144; 5.26: 625; 5.37: 357; 5.47: 253; 6.1–16: 164, 446; 6.16–21: 282; 6.22: 102; 6.24–25: 219; 6.34–37: 503n; 7.6–7: 434; 7.9: 97; 7.17– 35: 623n; 7.20–21: 133, 185, 633; 7.22–23: 129, 463; 7.31–46: 133; 7.40–46: 143; 8.1– 4: 144, 360; 8.11–22: 551; 8.16–17: 144, 360; 8.19–23: 184, 186, 635; 8.21–22: 144, 236; 9.1–3: 95, 467; 9.5–22: 370n; 9.12– 16: 467; 9.16–20: 186; 9.18–22: 126, 391; 10.1–5: 280n; 10.14–30: 487; 10.24: 497; 10.29: 178; 10.33–38: 208, 215, 393; 11.1–8: 293; 11.11–16: 243; 11.18–19: 243n; 12.3– 12: 176, 461; 13.10–17: ix, 348, 395; 14.1–2: 219; 14.3: 137; 14.4–5: ix; 14.7–10: 155, 355n; 14.10–18: ix; 14.11: 537n; 14.13: 118; 14.14–15: 583; 14.18–20: 395; 15.1–6: 530; 15.6–12: 364, 511; 15.21–26: 281n; 16.1–9: 365n, 367, 384, 387; 16.3: 307n; 16.5–7: 398; 16.9–10: 179; 16.11: 625; 16.12: 395; 16.14–18: 383, 387; 18.6–8: 137, 150; 18.18– 19: 648; 18.20: 193; 19.18–22: 298; 19.21– 23: 144; 19.27–28: 298; 20.7: ix; 20.40, 45: 212; 20.92–96: 217, 384, 648; 22.23: 497; 22.24–25: 245, 388, 408; 22.31: 302; 22.40: 555; 22.59: 179; 23.9–10: 195, 202; 23.13–14: 4; 23.24–27: 145, 244; 24.11–15: 446; 24.14–16: 646; 24.16–7: 105; 24.34: 242; 24.36–37: xiv, 105; 24.37–39: xiv; 24.40: 253; 24.42: 270; 24.46: 308; 24.54: 357; 24.56–57: 370; 24.59–60: xiv, 647; 25.1–2: 646; 25.2–9: xiv, 482n; 25.8– 9: 625; 26.33–34: 193; 26.37–40: 4; 32.9: 185 VPyth. = Vita Pythagorae (É. des Places) tit.: 68; 12, 41.17–20: 65; 19, 44.22: 127; 31, 50.20– 51.3: 79; 54, 62.6–18: 53 fr. = Fragments (A. Smith) 236F: 571; 259F: 236; 263F: 74; 268F: 488; 275F: 467; 298F: 499; 359F: 576; 382F: 81; 416F: 56; 439F: 539; 440F: 542

Posid. = Posidonius fr. = Fragments (L. Edelstein—­I. Kidd) 31, 33: 537n; 34: 107, 239; 49: 430; 85: 217; 103, 107: 415n; 111–12: 279; 118: 267; 145–46: 103; 154: 536n; 158: 537n; 161: 106; 169: 106, 432; 173: 186; 187: 106, 169, 484n; T97: 507 Possidius Vita Augustini ( J.-­P. Migne in PL 32) 28.11: 177 Priscian = Priscianus Lydus Solut. ad Chosr. = Solutiones ad Chosroem (I. Bywater) 42.9–10: 59; 42.15–16: 44 Procl. = Proclus De sacr. = De sacrificio et magia ( J. Bidez in CMAG 6) 149.6: 51 ET = Elementa Theologiae (E. R. Dodds) 80: 535 In Alc. = In Platonis Alcibiadem commentarii (F. Creuzer) 4.19–8.12: 105n; 5.4–5: 216; 11.3– 15: 105n; 71.1–72.12: 487n; 73.4–5: 52 In Cra. = In Platonis Cratylum commentaria (G. Pasquali) 63: 641; 183: 512, 513 In Enn. = In Plotini Enneadas commentarii (apud Westerink 1959) 9, 12: 126 In Eucl. = In primum Euclidis Elementorum librum commentarii (G. Friedlein) 29.14: 69; 55.20–23: 214; 97.6–17: 590 In Prm. = In Platonis Parmenidem (V. Cousin) 800.20–801.5: 641; 816.18–20: 228; 990.34–991.1: 82; 1061.22–23: 69 In Remp. = In Platonis rem publicam commentarii (W. Kroll) I 57.13–16: 80; 69.23–70.7: 26; 234.1–9: 74; 251.1–4: 48; 253.1–255.28: 48; II 46.18–27: 637; 96.13: 72; 203.15–20: 294; 258.13–20: 293; 263.17–18: 299 In Ti. = In Platonis Timaeum commentarii (E. Diehl) I 20.7: 74; 76.21–77.24: 44; 76.30– 77.24: 35; 90.20–24: 44; 204.24–27: 506n; 239.2–6: 597; 276.31–277.7: 250n, 602; 289.77–13: 254, 259; 304.22–305.2: 513; 306.32–307.5: 384, 651; 322.1–7: 384; 322.23–24: 77, 90; 381.26–382.3: 224n; 386.9–13: 224n; II 11.10–12: 264; 154.9: 28, 38; 213.9–13: 36, 70; 246.19: 639; 276.16– 277.24: 73; 277.28–30: 36; 293.23: 639; 300.25–32: 41; III 114.31–33: 267; 146.7–9: 429; 153.24–25: 524; 212.9–10: 250; 273.25–274.2: 414n; 275.26–33: 501; 324.8–235.9: 103n TP = Theologia Platonica (H. D. Saffrey—­L. G. Westerink) I 1, 6.19–20: 19; 3, 16.13–16: 215; 7, 31.10: 69; II 4, 31.4–11: 35

Index 703 Psellus = Michael Psellus Epistles (apud Sathas 1876) 10: 644 Opusc. psych. = Opuscula psychologica, theologica, daemonologica (D. J. O’Meara) 14, 73.27– 31: 109; 38, 128.18–28, 129.7–10: 244; 136.6: 51 Oratio de miraculo in Blachernais patrato (M. Lamertin in CMAG 6) 201.28–33: 486n [Psellus] = pseudo-­Psellus De oper. daem. = De operatione daemonum ( J. F. Boissonade) 21.2: 22 Ptol. = Ptolemy = Claudius Ptolemaeus Apot. = Apotelesmatica (W. Hübner) I 1.1–2: 425; 2.1: 266, 279n; 2.1–11: 281n; 2.2–5: 284, 293; 2.4–20: 266, 285; 2.14–16: 292; 2.18: 296, 402; 2.19: 433; 3.6–7: 279n, 417n, 425; 3.10: 429; 4.1–7: 258; 4.3: 285; 5: 283, 290; 14.1: 283, 429; 14.3: 288; 23.2: 434; II 1.2: 429; 2.1: 430; 3: 431; III 3.1–2: 292; 5: 432; 10: 292; 11.4: 258; 11.5–6: 299; 13.4–5: 291; IV 2.1–3: 299, 429; 4: 287 Hypoth. = Hypothesis planetarum ( J.-­L. Heiberg) II 7, 119.21–31: 269 Opt. = Optica (A. Lejeune): 355n; 13.17–14.1: 359; 22.17–23.2: 359 Synt. math. = Syntaxis mathematica ( J.-­L. Heiberg) I 6, 20.3–19: 459 [Ptol.] = pseudo-­Ptolemy Cent. = Fructus siue Centiloquium (Ä. Boer) 8, 39.6–8: 301 Ptolemy the Gnostic Ad Floram apud Epiph. Panarion 33.3.1: 408 [Pyth.] = pseudo-­Pythagoras CA = Carmen aureum = Golden Verses 61–62: 499; 63: 216; 70–71: 80 Rufus Ephesius fr. = Fragmenta (C. Daremberg and C. É. Ruelle) 128.5: 54; 458.21–22: 54 Sappho fr. = Fragmenta (D. L. Page) 16: 508 Schol. = Scholia In Ammon. Porph. = In Ammonii In Porphyrii V voces (A. Busse in CAG 4.3) xlvi: 54 In Aristoph. = In Aristophanem (F. Dübner) 61a8–10: 527; 88.23–29: 78; in Nub. 75: 558 In Dion. Thr. = In Dionysii Thracis Ars Grammatica (A. Hilgard) 165.16: 74 In Hes. Theog. = In Hesiodi Theogoniam (L. Di Gregorio) 35, 10.5–6: 77 In Luc. = In Lucianum (H. Rabe) 142.13–14: 168 In Paul Al. = In Pauli Alexandrini Elementa



704

Index Schol. cont. Apotelesmatica (Ä. Boer) 48, 118.24–119.3: 299; 76, 125.17–127.10: 285 In Plot. = In Plotini Enn. IV 4.29.55: 88 Sen. = Seneca (the Younger) Ben. = De beneficiis V 17.6: 187 Consol. ad Marc. = De consolatio ad Marciam 25.1: 208 De ira I 8.3: 541; II 1.3–5: 548 Ep. = Ad Lucilium epistulae morales 9.2–3: 540; 24.14: 178; 26.10: 177; 31.11: 484n; 32.3: 187; 41.1–5: 118, 484n; 65.12: 424; 65.21: 408; 73.13: 187; 76.31: 467; 77.20: 471; 88.14: 287; 90.44–46: 301; 92.10–13: 208, 457; 92.14–26: 456; 108.6: 610; 108.23: 61; 110.1: 485n; 116.2: 455; 121.10–13: 632; 124.8–13: 169 Nat. quaest. = Naturales quaestiones I Praef. 8, 11: 459; 3.10: 354; II 32.4: 293; 32.7: 283; 37.2: 280n; 45.2: 442n; III 10.4–5: 263 Prou. = De prouidentia I 1: 443; 2: 426; II 1: 456; 2–9: 443n; 4–12: 459; 5–7: 303; 10: 177; III 1–4: 443n; III 1–IV 4: 456; VI 6: 178; 7: 177 Severus apud Eus. PE XIII 17: 541 apud Procl. In Ti. II 153.21–25: 542 Sext. Emp. = Sextus Empiricus Math. = Aduersus Mathematicos I 60–61: 74; 72: 74; 303: 132n; V 4: 293; 15–19: 286; 21–22: 291; 29–30: 283; 39–40: 286, 287; 43–44: 291; 52: 292; 73–74: 292; 84–85: 286; 88: 433; 94: 433; 101: 285; VII 122: 87; 183: 357; 207–8: 360; 218: 158; 276–78: 338n; 359– 60: 126; 370: 638; IX 28: 301; 73: 266; 79– 84: 293, 430, 632; 139–47: 541; 167–71: 448; 208–9: 354n; 310: 464; 371–72: 352; X 170: 601; 180: 618; 192: 619; 248–83: 76; 255: 375; 261–62: 224n, 306n; 273–75: 557; 281: 590; XI 97: 165 Pyr. = Pyrrhonei Hypotyposes I 10: 159; 32: 442n; 41: 500; 85: 20; 118: 354n; 196, 198: 159; 221: 468; III 9–12: 442n, 446; 31: 237; 57– 58: 347n; 59–61: 350; 230: 555 Sextus Sent. = Sententiae 114: 82; 430, 431: 57; 449: 208 SHA = Scriptores Historiae Augustae Aurel. = Diuus Aurelianus 30.3: 71 Firmus 3.1: 45; 3.2–3: 44; 4.2: 45; 5.1–3: 45 Gall. = Gallieni duo 7.4–9.8: 37 Gord. = Gordiani tres 5.5: 31; 7.1: 31; 25.6: 31; 26.3: 31; 34.2: 31

Hadr. = Vita Hadriani 25.9: 208 Valer. = Valeriani duo 5.4–8: 54 Simonides fr. = Fragmenta (E. Diehl) 4.7: 479; 4.21: 413n; 70: 512 Simpl. = Simplicius In Cael. = In Aristotelis de caelo commentaria ( J. L. Heiberg in CAG 7) 12.12: 253; 20.10–23: 267; 21.35–22.17: 272; 22.16–17: 267; 289.10–26: 260; 358.27–360.3: 250; 379.1– 4: 114; 380.1–5: 269n; 380.29–381.2: 269n; 382.15: 270n; 660.19–31: 347n; 661.10–12: 349 In Cat. = In Aristotelis categorias commentarium (K. Kalbfleisch in CAG 8) 48.1–11: 319, 337; 48.11–33: 320; 73.27–28: 60; 76.13–14: 60; 78.17–20: 337; 154.3–4: 88; 207.28– 208.4, 211.5–212.11: 340; 254.3–9: 137; 271.25–31: 344 In De an. = In Aristotelis de anima libros commentaria (M. Hayduck in CAG 11) 59.14– 15: 537n In Ph. = In Aristotelis physicorum libros commentaria (H. Diels in CAG 9–10) 154.30, 155.24: 315; 226.25–227.2: 237; 231.34–37: 302; 306.31–307.2: 423; 429.4–7: 231; 430.13–21: 314; 432.16–17: 314; 546.13–16: 568; 700.17–21: 601; 700.31–701.1: 584; 701.2–4: 585; 701.5–8: 584; 705.5–7: 601; 708.27–32: 613; 714.32–34: 607; 722.30– 34: 590; 729.7–15: 607; 736.23–35: 601; 760.12–761.9: 581n; 792.11–16: 613; 964.19–23: 276; 1218.27–30: 269n [Socr.] = pseudo-­Socrates apud Stob. Ecl. III 1.89, 35.16–17: 215 Socr. Schol. = Socrates Scholasticus Hist. Eccl. = Historia Ecclessiastica ( J.-­P. Migne in PG 67) III 22, 440a: 97 Solon fr. = Fragmenta (M. L. West) 36: 578n Soph. = Sophocles Aj. = Ajax 536: 446; 646–47: 578n El. = Electra 221: 70; 1015: 446 OC = Oedipus Coloneus 54: 239 OT = Oedipus Tyrannus 828: 483n; 1194: 482n Trach. = Trachiniae 169: 419; 910: 483n fr. 297: 531; 592: 483n Speus. = Speusippus fr. = Fragments (L. Tarán) 1: 26; 38: 305n; 42, 43, 44: 69; 45: 305n; 73: 146 Stob. = Stobaeus Ecl. = Anthologii libri duo priores qui inscribi so-

lent Eclogae Physicae et Ethicae (C. Wachsmuth) I 8.40b: 580n; 41.2: 113; 49.60: 81, 214 Flor. = Anthologii libri duo posteriores (O. Hense) III 1.115, 71.16: 139 Strabo Geogr. = Geographica XIV 657: 43 Strato fr. = Fragmenta (F. Wehrli) 32–34: 442n; 77– 79: 605; 111: 536n; 112: 575 Suda Lexicon (A. Adler) s.v. Fronto: 61; s.v. Homer: 44; s.v. Hypatia: 73; s.v. Iamblichus: 48; s.v. Longinus: 61, 73; s.v. Plotinus: 18, 19, 28; s.v. Porphyry: 3n; s.v. Taurus: 251n; s.v. Thettalē gunē: 558 Sulpicius Victor Inst. orat. = Institutio Oratorica (K. Halm) 4, 315.6–7, 14, 320.9–11: 56 SVF = Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta ( J. von Arnim) 1: 85: 237, 308, 309, 424, 538n; 87: 308, 309; 89: 419; 93: 601; 98: 425, 564; 99: 419; 102: 564; 107: 564; 120: 252; 121: 267; 141: 540; 142: 541; 145: 110, 112; 146: 484n; 158: 427; 162: 463; 172: 435; 174: 427; 175–76: 414n, 419, 442n; 179: 544; 183: 166; 184: 485n; 187: 163; 202: 424, 541; 205: 107; 351: 467; 377: 120; 475: 565; 484: 540, 544; 493: 237, 538n; 495: 427; 497: 473, 564; 501: 267; 504: 267; 518: 115, 432, 541; 528: 278n; 529: 135; 537: 340, 443, 480; 554: 163n; 564: 135; 579: 252 2: 49: 150n; 52, 54: 539; 53–59: 540, 544; 56: 540; 60, 65: 547; 72–75: 540; 83: 599; 96: 540; 125: 159, 232; 130: 159; 135: 141; 155: 112; 163: 595; 300: 237, 309, 424, 552; 303: 317, 552; 309: 309, 552; 310: 309, 427; 311: 424; 316: 308; 318: 229, 309, 344; 320: 308; 323, 323a: 319; 326: 309; 329: 308; 346, 348: 423; 363: 535n; 413: 202; 416: 427; 439–42: 255, 427; 447–49: 255; 458: 544, 549; 463–64: 347; 467: 352; 471–72: 348, 350; 473: 112, 255, 350, 427; 479: 348, 350; 480: 350; 482: 552; 505, 507: 321; 509: 188, 602, 619; 510: 601; 514: 601; 515: 601; 518: 188; 519: 619; 525: 308; 526: 564; 528, 442n, 532: 428; 543: 293; 552–53: 272; 558: 459; 579: 267; 580: 308; 583: 459; 611: 564; 616, 620–21: 564; 773–75: 376; 780: 541; 785–86: 376, 541; 790: 541; 797: 352; 863: 354n; 879: 539; 886: 494; 900: 494; 913: 420; 914–15:

Index 705 428; 917: 425, 428; 918: 414n, 425, 428; 919–20: 425, 428; 928–29: 424; 933: 414n, 442n; 939, 941, 943: 425, 426; 945: 424; 946: 424; 948: 425, 428; 949, 962: 425, 428; 956: 435; 974: 414; 976: 428; 978: 425; 979: 428; 991: 414n; 997: 414; 998: 435; 999: 391; 1000: 415n, 425, 428, 442n; 1016: 426; 1018: 427; 1027: 427, 434; 1045: 376; 1054: 552; 1071–74: 529; 1102: 485n; 1118: 442n; 1163: 463; 1169: 233, 480; 1170: 303, 443n, 456, 480; 1173, 1175–76: 456; 1181: 303, 442, 456, 462, 473 3: 3: 165; 4: 485n; 16: 166, 188; 17: 165; 21: 404; 30: 194n; 38: 194n; 40: 194n; 49: 163; 54: 187, 456; 65: 165; 73: 163n; 83: 194n, 197; 84–85: 535n; 117–18: 369n; 119: 185; 122: 168, 185; 126: 186; 172: 239; 175: 147; 178: 166, 494; 191: 457; 193: 163; 195: 185; 197: 169, 215, 543; 200: 543; 238: 173; 278: 194n, 196; 279: 197; 295: 147, 155; 299: 147; 311: 327; 316: 463; 355: 437; 371: 467; 378: 107; 378–82: 536n; 380: 539; 386: 548; 415–16: 179; 446: 245; 459: 116, 540, 541; 460–63: 540; 468: 245; 471–72: 197; 471a: 199; 491: 543; 496: 148, 184; 500–502: 145; 524: 187; 548: 239; 570, 575, 578: 456; 585: 174; 586: 184; 587: 456; 606: 484n; 657: 552; 712: 246; 758: 242; 759: 243n; Diog. Babyl. 44–46: 168; 65: 507 Synesius De ins. = De insomniis (N. Terzaghi) 6: 354n, 551 Ep. = Epistulae (R. Hercher) 139: 24 Syrianus In Meta. = In Aristotelis Metaphysica (W. Kroll in CAG 6.1) 105.29: 38 Tatian = Tatianus Ad Graec. = Oratio ad Graecos 13: 395 Tert. = Tertullian Adu. Marc. = Aduersus Marcionem (E. Evans) I 8.1: 369n; 14.5: 368n; 25.3: 373; V 19.7: 373, 405 Adu. Valent. = Aduersus Valentinianos 4.1: 365n; 7.4: 405; 7.4–5: 373; 9.2 ff.: 395; 24.3: 208 Apol. = Apologia 39.8–10: 408 De an. = De anima ( J. H. Waszink) 16.1: 103n; 17.6: 357; 23.5: 406 De carne Chr. = De carne Christi 16–17: 64; 20: 365n De praescr. Haeret. = De praescriptione haereticorum 7.3, 30.1: 365n



706

Index Themist. = Themistius In De an. = In libros Aristotelis de anima paraphrasis (R. Heinze in CAG 5.3) 17.25–29: 539; 120.14–20: 580n, 581n In Ph. = In Aristotelis physica paraphrasis (H. Schenkl in CAG 5.2) 35.2–7: 423; 91.15–16: 602; 145.27–148.2: 607; 148.2–6: 609; 149.4–7: 608; 150.19–23: 608 Theocr. = Theocritus Id. = Idyllia IV 40: 488 Theod. Asin. = Theodore of Asine test. = Testimonia (W. Deuse) 6: 73; 24: 586; 40: 48 Theod. Cyr. = Theodoretus Cyrrhensis = Theodoret Graec. aff. cur. = Graecorum affectionum curatio (I. Raeder) 6.60, 169.11–12: 28 Haer. fab. = Haereticarum fabularum compendium ( J.-­P. Migne in PG 83) I 15, 368b: 65 Theodore bar Konai Scholia 11: 66 Theognis Elegiae (M. L. West) 525–26: 456; 833–34: 391; 967: 578n; 1033–34: 391, 419 Theology of Aristotle in H–S1 2, 225: 85; 2, 488: 92; 7, 52: 332 Theon Sm. = Theon of Smyrna De ut. math. = De utilitate mathematicae (E. Hiller) 138.9–142.5: 80; 148.13–149.15: 279 Theophl. = Theophilus of Antioch Ad Autol. = Ad Autolycum I 2.19: 182 Theophr. = Theophrastus Caus. pl. = De causis plantarum II 19.4: 291, 430 Char. = Characteres Proem.: 416n Lap. = De lapidibus I 1: 263 Metaph. = Metaphysica (A. Laks—­G. W. Most) 5b26–6a5: 462; 9b15: 146; 11a27–b12: 224n fr. = Fragments (FHSG) 161A: 252; 194: 278; 359A: 500; 507: 207; 584A: 484n Thess. = Thessalus of Tralles De uirt. herb. = De uirtutibus herbarum (H.-­V. Friedrich) 51.2: 51; 53.8: 210; 55.5–6: 210, 643 Thras. Trall = Thrasyllus of Tralles fr. = Fragments (apud Tarrant 1993) T23: 530; T25a: 429 Thuc. = Thucydides Historiae (H. S. Jones—­J. E. Powell) II 46: 84, 455; 49: 23 Ti. Gram. = Timaeus Grammaticus Lexicon Platonicum (C. F. Hermann) 404–5: 70

[Ti. Locr.] = pseudo-­Timaeus Locrus De nat. = De natura mundi et animae (W. Marg in PTHP) 4: 305n; 26: 530; 31: 264; 32: 305n; 39–41: 262; 43: 379; 78: 194n Trag. adesp. = Tragica adespota fr. = Fragmenta (A. Nauck) 17: 488; 432: 70 Tyrtaeus Elegiae (E. Diehl) 9.43: 464 Valent. = Valentinus fr. = Fragments (apud Foerster 1972) 5: 398 Varro apud Aug. De ciu. D. VIII 6: 524 Rust. = De re rustica (H. Keil) III 16.4: 500 Vett. Val. = Vettius Valens Anthologiae (D. Pingree) I 19: 284, 287; II 18: 429; 37: 291; 38: 291; III 5: 286, 288; IV 11: 27; 17: 429; V 6: 418n, 429, 467; VI 9: 280n; VIII 9: 287; IX 19: 292 Virg. = Virgil = Vergilius G. = Georgica I 336: 285; IV 309–13: 500 Vitr. = Vitruvius De arch. = De architectura VII Prol.: 353n Xenocr. = Xenocrates fr. = Fragmenta (R. Heinze) 1: 90; 5: 416n; 15: 264, 482; 18: 482; 23: 522; 24, 57: 482; 60: 542; 67: 535; 81: 80, 484n Xenophanes DK fr. B7: 127; B15, 17: 523; B25: 260; B26: 590 Xenophon Ap. = Apologia Socratis 12–13: 485n Cyr. = Cyropaedia I 6.6: 460; V 1.16: 515 Mem. = Memorabilia I 1.4: 485n; 4.4–13, IV 3.3–12: 441; 3.12, 8.1: 485n Symp. = Symposium 8.9–10: 512 Zon. = Zonaras Chron. = Chronicon (M. Pinder) XII 17: 32; 18: 32; 21: 22; 25: 54 Zoroaster fr. = Fragments (Bidez and Cumont 1938) O12, O13: 65 Zos. Alch. = Zosimus Alchemicus Panopolitanus Lett. Omega = Peri tou ō stoicheiou = On the Letter Omega (M. Winand-­Mertens) 8.75–79: 141; 10.98–103: 504n; 10.101: 66; 11.106–7: 208; 18.188: 327 Tel. apoch. = Teleutaia apochē (M. Berthelot—­ C.-­É. Ruelle in CAlchGr 2) 8, 244.17– 245.7: 53, 214–15 Zos. Hist. = Zosimus Historicus Historia noua (F. Paschoud) I 14.1: 30; 56.2–3: 71