EROS AND PSYCHE

STUDIES IN
PLATO, PLOTINUS,
AND ORIGEN

JOHN M. RIST

PHOENIX
J O U R N A L OF T H E CLASSICAL

ASSOCIATION OF CANADA

S U P P L E M E N T A R Y VOLUME VI

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS

ED IT O R IA L C O M M ITT EE

M A R Y E . W H IT E
CHAIR MAN

A. D A LZELL

G. M. A. G R U B E

L. E . W OODBURY

U N IV E R S IT Y OF TORONTO P R E SS 1964
Printed in Canada
TO ANNA
 PR EFA C E

T
HIS book clearly could never have existed without the unending
inspiration of the Greek philosophers, especially of Plato and
Plotinus. After them, I owe an unrepayable debt to my former
teacher M r. F . H. Sandbach, of Trinity College, Cambridge, on whose
immense knowledge of antiquity I have often called, and whose high
ideals of scholarship have often been a challenge. Professor A. H.
Armstrong has offered a number of valuable and detailed suggestions,
and has drawn my attention to passages in the Enneads which I would
otherwise have overlooked. M y thanks go to him and also to Miss
A. N. M. Rich and others who have read the manuscript. Last but
not least, my wife, to whom this book is dedicated, has been a source
of help both literary and practical at all stages of its composition.
The manuscript was prepared for publication by Dr. R. M. Schoeffel
of the University of Toronto Press. He has lavished much care on it,
and it owes many improvements to him. It has been published with
the help of a grant from the Humanities Research Council of Canada
using funds provided by the Canada Council.
J.M .R .
University College, University of Toronto
 CONTENTS

PREFACE Vll

LIS T OF A B B R E V IA T IO N S 2

INTRODUCTION 3

PAR T ONE

Plato and Neoplatonism 7

The attitude of the Neoplatonists to Plato, 7 -8 . MCfios
and λόγοϊ, 8-13. Modern attitudes to Plato and Neopla­
tonism, 14-15.

π The Good, the Forms, and Eros in Plato 16

i. Anthropomorphism and theomorphism, 16-19. Gods
and Forms, 19. Purification and mathematics, 20-22. The
Forms as the objects of love, 2 2 -2 3 ; "Epws means more
than desire, 23-30. Creation and the goodness of Gods,
3 0 - 31. Overflowing love and the germs of emanation,
3 1 - 34. Two kinds of Έ pws; the view of Markus re­
examined, 35-40.
ii. The relation between Forms and souls, 40-41.
Difficulties arising from the supposedly Platonic Form of
Being, 41-46. The separation of Forms and souls, 46-47.
in. The lifelessness of Forms and the Third Man, 47-50.
iv. The Good and the One, 50-52. The relationship of
the Good and the Forms, 53-54. Platonic contradictions
and the “ unity” of Plato’s thought, 54-55.

hi The One, Eros, and the Progression o f the

Soul in Plotinus 56
i. Plotinus’ attitude to the Platonic writings, 56-59. Self­
predication in Plotinus, 59-60. NoOs and the Forms;
Plotinus’ view different from Plato’s, 60-61. History of
the Forms from Plato to Plotinus; the roles of the early
Stoics, Posidonius, Antiochus of Ascalon, Philo, Albinus,
6 1-67. Plotinus “ humanizes” the doctrine of Forms,
67-68. The One as Being and “ beyond Being” ; the
positive and negative approaches, 68-69. The One as
 cause and “ Father” ; quasi-lifelike terms applied to it,
69-73. Metaphors of emanation, 74. Difficulties in motive
for the One and the Demiourgos, 75-76. The One de­
scribed in voluntarist terms; the view of Trouillard;
the One as’Tpcus, 76-79. Nygren on "Ερως and Ά γ ά τη ;,
79-80. The transcendence, immanence, and “Epa>s of
the One, 80-84. Plato and Plotinus on Έ ρ ω ϊ, 84—85.
Plotinus excludes doctrines of salvation, 85. The One
“supra-personal” rather than impersonal, 86-87.
ii. The mystical union as a clue to the understanding
of the One; two ways of approach; deification, 87-89.
Preliminary studies, including mathematics out of
deference to Plato, 89-91. The via negativa is platonic,
9 1 - 92. Plotinus’ attitude to mystic union and δαίμονβs,
9 2 - 94. Dialectic, 94. Ό μοίω σts θβω, 94. Ecstasy de­
scribed; Έ ρ ω $ as the link between the two approaches
to the One, 95-97. Higher replaces lower in union, 97-99.
No Christian influence, 99. The sublimations of hetero­
sexual and homosexual love, 100-102. The Good and the
Beautiful, 103. Tactual imagery in the description of
ecstasy, 103. The transcendence of self and Plato’s views
on immortality, 104-109. Forms of individuals and the
transcendence of self, 109-110. 'Ομοίωσα and Έ ρ ω ϊ in
Plato and Plotinus, 110-111. Plotinus, his contempor­
aries, and personal religion, 111-112.

PART TWO

i Knowing How and Knowing That 115

The theory of Gould, 115-117. “ Knowing how” in Plato,
117. Τβχνη and βπιστήμη, 118-120. Definitions of
σωφροσύνη, 120-121. Has the Platonic Socrates a theory
of the object?, 121-128. The Memorabilia on “ knowing
how” and “ knowing th at,” 128-130. The priority of
“ knowing th at,” 130-137. Knowing oneself, 137. Gould’s
distinction anachronistic, 138. Learning to “ know how,”
139-141. Virtue as knowledge of the Good, 142.

ii Virtue in the Middle and Late Dialogues 143

True opinion, virtue, and φρόνησα, 143-144. The kinds
of virtue, 144-148. Virtue as health or harmony, 148-150.
Έ τη σ τ ή μ η , φρόνησα, and άρβτή, 150-155. 'Ο μοίωσα
θβω and virtue, 155-156.

hi The Disintegration of the Platonic Doctrine of

Virtue and Knowledge 157
i. Aristotle on the “ theoretical” and practical life; mo­
tives for moral behaviour, 157-160.
 ii. The Stoics on virtue, 160-161. 'Ομοίωσα and
το όμο\θΎονμβνωί ζην, 161-163. Virtue and knowledge
in the Stoa, 164.
h i . ‘Ο μοίωσα and the Epicureans, 165.
iv. Albinus on ομοίω σα, 165-167. Knowledge and
virtue in Albinus, 167-168.

iv Plotinus and Virtue 169

Civic and philosophic virtue, 169-170. No return to the
Cave, 170-171. Platonopolis, 171-173. Contemplation
and action, 173. Knowledge and True Opinion, 174. The
divine spark and natural immortality, 175-180. The
return to the Cave and salvation, 180-181. 'Ομοίωσα
and virtue, 181-184. The Gnostics on ομοίωσα and
virtue, 184-185. The meaning of ομοίωσα, 186. The
Symposium, Albinus, Philo, and Plotinus on ecstasy,
187-190. Virtue, knowledge, and love, 190-191.

PART T H R E E

Origen 195
Polytheism and the cultured elite, 195-196. ’Απάθεια
in Clement and Origen, 197. God as Being and “ beyond
Being,” 197-198. Faith, love, and wisdom, 198-200.
The “spiritual” Christian supplements Faith, 200.
Origen’s neglect of the Dark Night of the Soul, 201.
θεο π ο ιείσ α ι, 202. Bride-mysticism and Plato, 203-204.
’Έ p ω s - Ά y ά π η contrast denied by Origen, who sees
the dual nature of Έ ρ ω ϊ in Platonism; the Symposium
and Philo, 204-207. "Epois, ayaOorps, and φιλανθρωπία,
207. No evidence for Ammonius as source, 208. Creative
contemplation in Origen and Plotinus, 208-209. Origen
and Plato on subsidiary studies, 209. Though Origen does
not regard his work on ’Έρω$ as a new departure, his
emphasis on personality corrects a weakness in Plato, 210.
The significance of Origen’s use of "Epws, 210-211.
”Ε κ σ τ α σ α in Origen and the Plotinian transcendence of
self, 211-212.

Epilogue 213
The salvation-motif in pagan Neoplatonism, 213. Sub-
ordinationism, 213-214. "Epics in Proclus confuses
Nygren, 214-216. Divinization, 216-218. Faith, theurgy,
and the descent of the soul, 218-220.

B IB L IO G R A P H Y 221
IN DICES 229
EROS AND PS Y C H E
 LIST O F ABBREVIATION S

A JP American 'Journal oj Philology

CP Classical Philology
CQ Classical Quarterly
DK Diels-Kranz, Fragmente der Vorsokratiker
DTC Dictionnaire de theologie catholique
GCS Die Griechischen Christlichen Schriftsteller der Ersten Drei
Jahrhunderte.
HTR Harvard Theological Review
JH I Journal oj the History of Ideas
JH S Journal of Hellenic Studies
JR S Journal of Roman Studies
LSJ Liddell-Scott-Jones, A Greek-English Lexicon, 9th ed.
Mus. Helv. Museum Helveticum
PG Patrologia Graeca, ed. J . P. Migne
PR Philosophical Review
Rh. Mus. Rheinisches Museum fiir Philologie
RE Paulys Real-Encyclopddie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft
SVF Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta, ed. von Arnim
Τ Α Ρ Α Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological
Association
 INTRODUCTION

O
F all the philosophies of antiquity, Platonism had by far the
most fluctuations. After Aristotle and Theophrastus, the Peri­
patetics concentrated almost exclusively on commentaries on
their master and on the building up of various fields of specialized
knowledge; the later Epicureans hardly added a word to the Founder’s
teaching, which they professed in the form of a creed; the Stoics only
developed their doctrines when the criticisms of rivals, especially the
Sceptics of the New Academy, made it essential for them to do so.
The theories of the Platonists, however, varied radically. Speusippus,
for example, the successor of Plato himself as head of the Academy,
dispensed with the Theory of Forms. The next head, Xenocrates,
revived it— only to amalgamate it with Plato’s theory of the objects of
mathematics.
Among the reasons for this unusual variety of doctrines even within
the Old Academy is the fact that Plato’s thought could not easily be
reduced to a system or taught systematically. It contained within itself
unresolved, but— as it is the purpose of this study to demonstrate—
philosophically fruitful divergences of opinion on the highest topics:
the Good, the nature of love, the aim of the life of virtue. Plato himself,
by writing in dialogue form, gives an indication that he thought of his
writings largely as compositions ad hominem. What is written here is
intended to suggest that the unity of his thought consists only in cer­
tain general beliefs, such as that there are supra-sensible realities and
that some aspect of the human soul is immortal. It protests, in passing,
against those who look on Plato as the author of a series of tracts:
one on the Theory of Forms, one on Aesthetics, another on Statesman­
ship, and so on.
The Theory of Forms is a faith: a faith expressed in general terms and
not explained in detail. Plato himself, at sundry times in his life, sug­
gested ways of understanding its relevance, but he probably did not
regard even his final opinions as conclusive. Many of his successors,
however, including Plotinus and Origen, assumed that they could
“explain” or “correct” his “system” as though it were a compact
and unified whole. Accordingly, they took parts of that supposed
system out of context and welded them into their own theories. In
doing so, by the very production of a system that was seldom self-
contradictory and indistinct in detail, they were unplatonic even when
expounding parts of the Platonic corpus. To extend the meaning of
“unplatonic” in this direction is somewhat unusual, but none the less
meaningful. To understand in particular instances the way Plotinus and
Origen handled the Platonic originals and developed Platonic themes
is a major object of this book.
PA R T ONE
J
 Chapter One

PLATO AND NEOPLATONISM

W
H E N considering the origin of Neoplatonism, interpreters
have frequently tended to one of two extreme views. Some,
well aware that Platonism and Neoplatonism are not the
same thing, have been led to discover the “origins” of the theories of
Plotinus among the motley of Oriental beliefs which were scattered
throughout the Roman Empire in his day, or to over-emphasize the
Stoic or Aristotelian elements in his system. Others have suggested
that all, or almost all, the distinctive features of Neoplatonism are
already to be found in Plato himself or in his immediate successors at
the Academy, and that Plato clearly intended his works to be inter­
preted in a “ Neoplatonic” sense.
The view to be proposed here is perhaps nearer to the latter, but is
far from going the whole way with those who believe in a Neoplatonic
Plato. It assumes that Plato influenced his successors in the following
important ways: first, certain of his views were repeated and interpreted
as he himself had intended; secondly, many others were repeated, but
logical conclusions which Plato had not always made clear were
brought out; furthermore it can then be shown that the developed form
of these doctrines reveals certain inconsistencies in the Platonic
originals. In these cases, by emphasizing the alternative that their
Master had perhaps adumbrated but not followed up, the Neoplatonists
were, in fact, formulating views which we may call “unplatonic,” in
the sense that they diverge from what is normally regarded as the
M aster’s conscious, positive teaching. In the course of our enquiry into
the development and history of certain of these “enlarged” notions, we
shall also be able to see where Plato himself appeared to suggest too
lofty a view, and where his successors, in enlarging upon certain
aspects of his thought, rendered Platonism less abstract and thus more
to the taste of the majority of men.
Before examining a number of Platonic themes, however, we must
clarify our position on certain general issues of interpretation, and in
particular on the treatment of those sections of Plato’s works which
are generally regarded as myths, for one of the greatest obstacles to an
enquiry into Neoplatonism is the commonly held view that the
Neoplatonists, both Christian and pagan, were unjustified in inter­
preting Platonic “myths” as though they contained dialectical ex­
planations of Plato’s views. The Neoplatonists, say their critics, made
the error of treating all Plato’s writings as a sacred text which could
be expounded as exact philosophy whether their subject-matter was
in a “mythical” or a dialectical form.
Here arises the question of the distinction between myth and
allegory. It is commonly held that Plato used the former regularly and
despised the latter, whereas the Neoplatonists were prepared to use
both indiscriminately. To prove that Plato despised allegorical inter­
pretations, scholars often quote a well-known passage from the
Phaedrus,1 which, however, is irrelevant. Socrates does not say that he
disbelieves the rationalizing statements made by the expounders of
traditional mythology; rather he insists that he himself has no time to
spend on such things since his work in life is to follow the advice of the
Delphic God and learn to know himself. His dismissal of the rational­
izing of mythology in favour of the study of his own soul is similar to
his rejection of the theories of the natural philosophers in the Phaedo.
We are not to assume that Socrates disbelieved such theories and re­
jected all possibility of their value; the truth is rather that he thought
that these theories were the product of irrelevant or unimportant en­
quiries which would divert the mind from the supreme study of
teleology.
In the Cratylus,2 Plato condemns allegories that are based on a
study of etymology, and thus far he would have condemned the
Neoplatonists, but when it comes to the allegorizing of mythology, his
views are more restrained. In the Republic he rejects certain tales on
moral grounds and will not accept a defence of them as allegories. His
objection, however, is not to the allegories themselves, for he never
denies that the myths may have an “undersense” (υπόνοια), but is
based on the fact that young people cannot distinguish what is alle­
gory and what is not, and are thus liable to be corrupted.
As Tate4 says: “Plato does not allegorize ancient myths and fables,”
but “he does not hesitate to make use of them in stating his own
philosophic views.” Tate is right to suggest that those few poets
admitted to the Ideal State may make use of νπόνοιαι, for Socrates
himself frequently invites us to look into the inner meaning of the
words of the poets.5 Thus, in general, to hold that Plato makes use of
1Phaedrus 229C ff. *Crat. 407A. 3Rep. 2, 378D.
4Tate, “ Plato,” 142. 'Apol. 22B C ; Ion 533D -534E ; Prot. 342A -347A .
 myth and condemns allegory is an over-simplification. His hesitations
about allegorizing are caused not by a feeling that the procedure is non­
sensical, but by an unwillingness to prefer it to more important studies
and a fear of its failure to consider the moral welfare of the undis­
criminating young. We can imagine circumstances where neither of
these objections would apply; indeed Socrates’ treatment of the pas­
sage of Simonides in the Protagoras comes near to being such an
instance.
This is not to defend as correct— that is to say, in accordance with
the Platonic spirit— all those Neoplatonic interpretations of Plato
which assume him to be using allegory. Nevertheless a considerable
degree of caution should be employed in condemning the Neoplatonists;
each case should be judged on its merits, and with respect to the
doctrine it teaches rather than to its conformity to an attitude sup­
posed to have been Plato’s.
Furthermore, during the course of this essay I have on occasions
treated Plato’s “mythical” and “dialectical” passages on the same
footing, just as the Neoplatonists did, who, I maintain, should not be
condemned as unplatonic for following this procedure. In order to
defend my view, however, I must look briefly at the role Plato himself
assigns to his myths and also say at once that in general terms I follow
the views o fP . Frutiger, as expressed in his book Les Mythes de Platon.
J . A. Stewart, in his book The Myths of Plato, writes as follows:®
“The Neoplatonists did not understand the difference between myth
and allegory. Allegory is dogma in picture-writing, but myth is not
dogma and does not convey dogma. Dogma is gained and maintained
by dialectic.” This view, it is evident, seeks to maintain a sharp dis­
tinction between μύθοι and \6yoi. Λόγοι are supposed to teach dogma,
that is, the truth according to Plato; so far all is plain. But what are
we to learn from the μύθοι? It is obvious that if this sort of antithesis is
to be maintained, they must tell us something which is, at best, less
than the truth, and certain critics have gone so far as to insist that the
value of the myths for an understanding of Platonism is quite small.
Such procedure has rightly been censured by Frutiger,7 who tells
us that the word “ MD0os est employe sans aucune idee accessoire de
fiction ou de legende” in a large number of Greek authors, both
philosophers and non-philosophers, and that it is perfectly reasonable
to believe Plato capable of the same usage. This should be a starting-
point for a defence of the Neoplatonic method which attempts a semi­
scholastic treatment of dialectic and “ myth” alike.
eStewart, Myths 242. 7Frutiger, Mythes 16, η. 1.
 My own view is that “myths” are a kind of δεύτερο? πλους. When
Socrates uses this expression in the Phaedo, it is to describe his method
of question and answer in contrast with the method of the φυσικοί.
Ideally, we must suppose, he would have preferred the straightforward
authoritative discourse, such as the physical philosophers were
accustomed to give. But only if this discourse (λόγο?), could bring out
the truth. Socrates in the Phaedo chooses the δεύτερο? πλους of the dia­
lectical method in preference to that of exposition, because although a
true exposition is the best possible means to the philosopher’s goal of
truth, a false one is clearly the very worst. Corruptio optimi pessima.
Dialectic, Socrates believes, though not as quick and efficient as a
good exposition, has the great advantage of truthfulness and com­
pleteness over such inadequate “systems” as that of Anaxagoras.
In his commentary on the Phaedo (p. 137), Hackforth suggests that
in the Timaeus Plato takes up the method of the πρώτος πλους and by
its aid gives us “ a discovery of the detailed operations of Mind through­
out the universe.” This opinion, though correct in its recognition of
what a πρώτος πλους should do, is inaccurate in suggesting that this is
what we have in the Timaeus. For Timaeus insists that his audience
must be satisfied with a μύθος.8
This μύθος ought not to be regarded as the πρώτος πλους, although
some of it deals with a subject-matter highly suited to that method.
A πρώτος πλους, however, would be an exact account of facts and
deductions as real and self-evident to Plato as the existence of Forms.
This is not what we have in the Timaeus, which is still a μύθος and thus
only a different variety of δεύτερο? πλους. The δεύτερο? πλους of dialectic,
as Socrates describes it in the Phaedo, does not attempt to deal with
the truth about the universe as a whole in one broad sweep; it deals
with points one at a time. The δεύτερο? πλους of the Timaeus myth does
attempt the broad sweep, but lacks the element of certainty, passing
as it does beyond the sphere where man’s mind can find adequate
proof. Both methods, then, are imperfect; both present the truth as
nearly as Plato can expound it. It is therefore absurd to condemn the

%Tim. 29D. In The Theory of Motion in Plato’s Later Dialogues, Professor Skemp,
following and refining Frutiger, distinguishes (p. xv) two kinds of μύθοι in the
Timaeus. “ The physics of the Timaeus is μύθος and can never be λόγγος: it must
aspire to be €ίκώς μύθος. But in the creation story and the account of the activities
of the Demiurge and the lesser souls we have μύθος striving to become λόγο?-
μΰθος, indeed, which is potentially λόγο? because it concerns όντως όντα (cf. 67,
110).” This distinction is of help towards an understanding of the r61e of the
Demiourgos, and is in no way contrary to our more general remarks which follow.
 Neoplatonists too readily because their interpretations of Plato are
often concerned with the μύθος of the Timaeus.
The view that the myth of the Timaeus and the accounts of the
after-life in the Gorgias, Phaedo, and Republic, as well as that of the
soul in the Phaedrus, are meant to be taken seriously and believed as
the most likely hypothesis, is supported by Plato’s words in Phaedo
114D: “Now to affirm confidently that these things are as I have told
them would not befit a man of good sense; yet seeing that the soul is
found to be immortal, I think it is befitting to affirm that this or some­
thing like it is the truth about our souls and their habitations. I think
too that we should do well in venturing— and a glorious venture it is—
to believe it to be so. And we should treat such tales as spells to pro­
nounce over ourselves, as in fact has been my own purpose all this
while in telling my long story.” (Trans. Hackforth.)
Nothing could be more explicit than this passage. Admittedly, says
Socrates, many details may not be accurate, but the general outline
is most certainly near to reality, so near, in fact, that we should put
implicit faith in it— feed our minds upon it— as being the nearest
possible apprehension of the truth. Nothing could be clearer than that
Plato treats these myths in something like the way in which we regard
a scientific theory. Our experiments have shown, we say, that the
theory is so likely to be true that we ought to put our faith in it unless
and until it can be demonstrated to be incorrect. The onus of proof is
upon the opponent of the accepted theory.
Again, in the Gorgias9, we read as follows: “Listen then, as they say,
to a very fine account (λόγου) which you, I suppose, will think of as a
story (μύθος) but which I treat as an actual account (λόγον). For what I
am about to tell you I offer to you as the truth.” Then follows the
eschatological myth, some details of which the Phaedo encourages us
to treat as inexact (for example, the identity of the judges, Minos and
Rhadamanthys) but which in its broad outline is a λόγος in the form
of a myth, and not a myth in the sense of a fiction or a vague tale
about what is only δοξαστόν. For the existence of our souls and their
fate is not δοξαστόν but a part of reality, and the souls of Minos,
Rhadamanthys and the other gods or θάοι άνθρωποι are akin to the
Forms and therefore real.
Plato’s belief in the likelihood of the myth in the Gorgias is repeated
in 527A. “Possibly,” he writes, “you regard this as an old wife’s tale
and despise it, and there would be no wonder in our despising it if
with all our searching we could find somewhere anything better and
'Gorgias 523A.
truer than this. But as it is, you observe that you three, who are the
wisest of the Greeks in our day— you and Polus and Gorgias— are
unable to prove that we ought to live any other life than this, which is
evidently advantageous also in the other world.” (Trans. Lamb.)
From the above passages and arguments, therefore, it can be seen
that the distinction between μύθοs and \oyos is not as easy to deter­
mine as Platonic scholars sometimes suppose, and that it is un­
justifiable to assume that every time we find Plotinus, for example,
citing and using “mythical” passages he is bound to be going beyond
the Platonic view. This essay, therefore, will not attempt to establish
in each specific case of Plotinus’ quoting a Platonic “ m yth” whether
he is justified in doing so or not. However, such cases only will be
referred to as seem to be interpretations of the Platonic text which
have some definite relation to Plato’s own thoughts; in other words we
shall look to the doctrine which Plotinus produces, and see whether,
or rather in what sense, that is Platonic, rather than examine how he
extracts his interpretations from particular Platonic texts.
The last observation to be made here on the subject of the “ myths”
is that scholars have too often not learned, from the difficulty of
assigning passages to the one group or the other, to avoid drawing
hard and fast lines between μύθοι, and λόγοι. In fact, since Plato’s own
day, disputes have raged as to which passages are “mythical” and
which are not; for example, as to the ontological status of the Demiour-
gos in the Timaeus. Many of these questions are very little nearer being
solved now than they were in 300 b . c . and it is not likely that they
will become clearer in the next two thousand years than they have in
the last, for they are unreal questions and have no definite answer.
They are unreal because the λ&Ύος-μΰθοϊ distinction in Plato is unreal
if these terms are supposed to refer respectively to the spheres of Truth
and Opinion (or something inferior to Truth). Who would be justified
in insisting that the proof of a scientific theory when written out was a
λόγο? but that the application of it was a μΰ0os, if μvθos is to have a
pejorative sense? Y et this is exactly what the critics of Plato’s myths
have done when they have complained that the Neoplatonists have
treated them as factual.
In recent times, very many aspects of Plato’s thought have been
described as “mythical” in a sense more pejorative even than that
used in antiquity, and the difficulty of finding a truly Platonic ex­
planation of Plato becomes greater as his teaching is more and more
dissolved into “untrustworthy” myths. Here is J . A. Stewart again
(p. 344): “ I venture to think that the doctrine of άνάμνησις, in itself,
and in its setting, is not intended by Plato to be taken literally— that
it is not Dogma but Myth. This view, for which I may appeal to the
authority of Leibniz and Coleridge, seems to me to be borne out by the
passage in the Meno (81) dealing with ανάμνηση', ανάμνηση is presented
there, in accordance with Orphic belief, as becoming clearer and
clearer at each incarnation, till the soul at last attains to the blessed
life of a δαίμων. Can it be maintained that Plato is in earnest with all
the Orphic beliefs of this passage? And if net with all, with any?”
Apart from the use of the equivocal word “Orphic” in this passage,
it contains an example of just the sort of reasoning that we have found
Plato warning us against in the Phaedo.10 There he admitted that cer­
tain parts of his account might not be entirely correct, but he insisted
that we should take notice of the main tenor of his suggestions, where­
as here we find Stewart writing “And if not with all, with any?” The
contrast is striking. Stewart goes on to say: “To put the matter
briefly: I regard the whole doctrine of άνάμνηση and of ibtai qua in­
volved in that doctrine, as an Aetiological Myth— plausible, com­
forting and encouraging— to explain the fact that Man finds himself
in a World in which he can get on.” From this it is but a short step to
Couturat’s11 suggestion that the whole doctrine of Ideas is “mythical.”
Once we have taken that step we are obliged to assume, if we accept
the μΟ0ο?-λόγ<κ dichotomy, that of all his theories Plato himself felt
certain only of various logical demonstrations, such as those in the
Sophist. Y et it is inconceivable that he would have troubled to proceed
to logical investigations if he had not felt certain of the Ideas.
Such then is the position into which the λόγοί-μνΑοϊ dichotomy and
the attempts to classify all Plato’s work under one of these two heads
can lead. It is surely time either to abandon the dichotomy or to give
up the study of Plato, for that is what a view such as that of Couturat
implies.
If we choose the former alternative, we are in no position to censure
the Neoplatonists for having done likewise. Indeed, their attitude may
be a confirmation of our own, for we have found that when required to
account for the dichotomy, we can see no Platonic justification for it.
Thus is cleared away an important obstacle to a proper investigation
of the relationship between Plato and Plotinus. Another and more
serious objection, slightly related to the one just discussed, and per­
haps in the remote past an ancestor of it, remains and must be con­
sidered before any more positive views can be expressed.
10Phaedo 114D.
“ Couturat, De Plat. Mythis 81.
 This objection is simply the belief that modern scholarship is able to
demonstrate exactly Plato’s views on every philosophic topic, and
hence to show that in very many cases these views were misconstrued
by the Neoplatonists. Such arguments are often expressed in grandiose
language and adopt a patronizing tone towards the supposedly mis­
guided Neoplatonists. An example which displays these qualities and
this mode of criticism is the following passage from Shorey12 which
deserves to be quoted at length:
The Neoplatonic mind combines with its dialectical impulse certain needs and apti­
tudes vaguely designated by such words as scholasticism, mysticism, enthusiasm,
asceticism, pantheism, symbolism and the imaginative personification of abstractions.
The dialectic yields pleasure from the mere exercise of ingenuity in the process, and
from the cumulative intensity of the emotion of conviction which this semblance of
reasoning generates. This subjective feeling is so strong that it requires little con­
firmation from without. Hence the imperturbable self-assurance of the Neoplatonic
state of mind— the almost comic innocent serenity with which these “ babe-like
Jupiters”, in Emerson’s phrase, Plotinus, Proclus, Olympiodorus, Synesius and the
rest, sit on their clouds and from age to age prattle to each other and to no con­
temporary . . . . Plato, as if in divinatory anticipation of the Neoplatonists and the
Hegelians, calls the pseudo-dialectics of the One and the Many an eternal disease of
language in the human mind.

Generally speaking, scholars pretend to ignore contributions to a

topic couched in this kind of emotive language, believing themselves to
be raised by their critical acumen high enough to be able to separate
facts from partisan interpretation of facts; but in the case of the rela­
tion between Plato and the Neoplatonists, their usual judgment seems
not uncommonly to go astray, and such untested generalities as those
here suggested by Shorey have often been allowed to pass almost
unchallenged.
Shorey, for example, is suggesting that “ scholasticism, mysticism,
enthusiasm, pantheism,” and the rest are in some way Neoplatonic
aberrations of which Plato was innocent. This is plainly incorrect. The
laws of Athens are “imaginatively personified” in the Crito, symbolism
is involved in the illustration of the Good by comparison with the Sun
in the Republic, asceticism is continually in the background of the
Phaedo, enthusiasm and mysticism abound in the Phaedrus and
Symposium, while scholasticism might well be suspected in the second
half of the Parmenides. As for pantheism, it is true that it cannot be
found in Plato; neither can it in Plotinus.
Again, as this passage shows, the Neoplatonists have suffered be­
cause of certain superficial resemblances between the system of
n Shorey, Platonism 40.
Plotinus and that of Hegel, and the opponents of the latter, who
hope perhaps to invoke the authority of Plato against him, find them­
selves compelled to detach Plato from all Neoplatonic associations.
Furthermore, such phrases as “ the imaginative personification of
abstractions” suggest that a serious philosopher such as Plotinus is
being too easily confused with a writer of romance like Apuleius, who
had a certain penchant for the exotic, including Platonism, but whose
tastes ranged far beyond mere philosophy. Such confusion arises from
the vague and perhaps misleading expressions “Platonism” and
“ Neoplatonism,” since these terms tend to imply that all “Platonists”
or “ Neoplatonists” should be lumped together, distinctions in specific
theories being disregarded. That every philosopher should be con­
sidered on his merits is generally admitted, but those who accept this in
theory still avail themselves in practice of the cover afforded by such
blanket terms as “Middle-” or “Neo-Platonist.”
Finally, if the suggestion that the Neoplatonists “prattle to each
other from age to age and to no contemporary” be taken at all seriously,
it must be remembered that similar criticism could very easily be
levelled at Plato himself, and perhaps at all great philosophers. Some
leading contemporaries of Plato in the Academy, such as Speusippus
and Eudoxus, did not accept the M aster’s system; yet Shorey would
not, I think, suggest that this inability to convince them brings Plato
any nearer to being a “babe-like Jupiter.”
 Chapter Two

THE GOOD, THE FORMS, AND

EROS IN PLATO

I
T is a commonplace to point out that the Homeric gods are anthro­
pomorphic. Even in the sixth century this was clear to Xenophanes
of Elea. We know that he maintained1 that if cows and lions had
gods and could describe them, their descriptions, physical and moral,
would be in terms of cows and lions, with only the added attribute of
immortality. The word αθάνατοί would denote this distinguishing
feature.
When the Greeks became self-conscious about their divinities, it
was plain that such “overgrown humans” would prove unsatisfying.
The curious thing is that to philosophers such as Plato the chief objec­
tion to the Olympians was not that they were men writ large, but that
they were only “ordinary” men writ large; that is, that they were not
divine exponents of Platonism. As Werner Jaeger has pointed out, this
authoritarian assumption passed from Plato to Aristotle, whose “ Un­
moved Mover” he2 describes as “ truly a professor’s god.” If Xeno­
phanes had lived in the post-Aristotelian era, he would have been per­
fectly justified in making the same criticism of the Aristotelian as he
did of the Olympian God. Νόΐ7σ« νοήσ^ως νόησις is plainly a translation
into heaven of the ideal Aristotle would have liked to see, or maybe
even to become, here on earth. Despite all objections, anthropo­
morphism had in a sense survived the attacks of the philosophers.
W hat the latter had done, however, was to make the gods moral.3
Plato was a violent critic of the Olympians. If there were to be
gods, they must, he decreed, be admirable. And he not only believed
that gods existed, but desired, at least in his old age, to make his own
belief into a law of the state, to be disobeyed at great peril. This ex­
treme respect, however, does not mean that Plato had a grand vision
of the distant majesty of the Deity which he felt it his duty to protect
from the attacks of mortals. On the contrary, his respect for God goes
1Xenophanes fr. 15, ap. Clement Strom. 5.109.3.
2Jaeger, Aristotle. Cf. Arist. Met. A . 1071B2-1075A 10.
3Rep, 2, and elsewhere.
hand in hand with a sense of the kinship of men and gods, with a
belief that men too can raise themselves to the level of divinity, or
rather can “know themselves” to be in a sense already divine. Plato’s
theology is not so much anthropomorphic as his notion of mankind is
theomorphic. His gods are men as they can be and ought to be.
W hat is the remedy for the world’s ills? is the question that Plato
asks in the Theaetetus.4 It is to try to escape from this world to that of
the gods as soon as we can. In order to escape, we must become like
gods as far as we may, that is, we must become just, holy, and wise.
Now if men and gods were totally different orders of creature, such a
course would be impossible. Plato would call it όμοιον εόχαίς. With the
best will in the world, a garden slug cannot become a butterfly, where­
as a caterpillar can and does become a butterfly simply because it has
the potential of butterflyhood! In the same way men, according to
Plato, have the potentiality of divinity. Perhaps the clearest state­
ment of man’s innate kinship with God occurs in the Timaeus.5 Here
we read that we must suppose that God has given each of us our own
δαίμων. This δαίμων is none other than the most lordly part of our soul,
that rational element which is situated in the head and which has the
power of raising us, if only we give it the scope it demands, from earth
to heaven. In words reminiscent of the Theaetetus, we are invited to
think thoughts which are immortal and divine ( αθάνατα καί θεΐα) and
thus lay hold of our share of immortality (μετασχεΐν αθανασίας) to the
utmost of our capacities.6
But Plato is a man of restraint, and though far from advocating a
belief in the old maxim θνητός &v, θνητά φρονεί, he does not entirely
confound human nature with divine. In the passages quoted above, we
notice that he adds the words κατά το δυνατόν in the Theaetetus and
καθ’ όσον ενδέχεται in the Timaeus. Similarly, in the Republic7 there is the
statement that the real philosopher who lives with what is divine and
orderly will himself gain these admirable qualities so far as man can
do so. In all these passages, Plato seems to be aware of the difficulties
and dangers to man inherent in the notion of self-deification.8 In the

4Theaet. 176AB. Cf. Rep. 10.613B.

6Tim. 90A ff.
6For the notion of δμοίωσις θεφ, see also Laws 4. 716B.
7Rep. 6. 500C. θείιρ δη καί κοσμ'κρ δ *γε φιλόσοφος ομίλων κόσμιός τε καί θείος
εις τό δυνατόν άνθρώπιρ Ύΐ^νεται.
8Ιη Soph. 216C, Plato distinguishes between θε'ιος άνήρ and θεός. The philosopher
is a θείος άνήρ. This implies that he is a δαίμων— not a god, since he is still living
out an earthly existence, but more than man because his “ daemonic” element
(νους) has attained complete possession of his soul. Cf. Mugnier, Le sens du mot
θειος 68 and Van Cam p-Canart, Le sens du mot Hetos 195-196.
myth of the Phaedrus, however, a more lofty claim appears, though
not in a direct form. There we find that the philosopher alone has
wings,9 since he is able to commune with those very things that make
God divine. The implication is that it is the ability to understand and
see the Forms in the ύτερουράνως τότος that constitutes divinity, and
that if man can gain this vision he too will be a god. It is true that here
we find the phrase κατά δύναμιν, but the implication of this is not the
same as κατά το δυνατόν or κσβ’ όσον Ενδέχεται. In the Phaedrus, the im­
plication is that, so far as we can remember the Forms, we can be
gods; elsewhere the emphasis is that we can only be godlike as far as
our human nature permits. As we shall see, the Phaedrus teaches that
a will to Goodness can make anyone in some sense a god.
Perhaps it may still be objected that there is no difference of meaning
between the two phrases κατά δύναμή and κατά το δυνατόν. A considera­
tion of the abilities of the Guardians in the Republic may show that
there is, for it is evident that, in their case, the faculty of άνάμνησι*
reaches its consummation and that they gain the vision of the Forms
and even of the Form of the Good. These Guardians must, then, if we
follow the teaching of the Phaedrus, be no different in essentials from
the Gods, for they are in full communion with what gives the Gods
themselves their divinity. If human nature ( άνθρωττίνη φΰσis) made it
impossible to reach this divine state, but compelled us to approximate
to it (κατά τό δυνατόν), then there could never be such a person as a
Platonic Guardian. If, however, as in the Phaedrus, our grasp of the
Forms depends on the better or worse cultivation of memory and the
faculty of recollection, then a few men, at least, have the power of
becoming gods. The Guardians are such men, and it is probably with
this in mind that Plato decrees that a Guardian at his death shall be
honoured as a δαίμων, if Delphi approves, or at the least as fortunate
and godlike (ευδαίμων re καί 0eios).10 Delphi, we must suppose, is able
to tell whether a Guardian is a “ true” philosopher and therefore a
δαίμων, or whether he is not quite worthy of that degree of respect.
When the best of the Guardians have died, we must suppose that
they return to the train of Zeus, where they were before being involved
with earthly bodies. The Guardians are by nature φιλόσοφοι, καί ηγεμονικοί11
and such pre-eminent souls are, as the Phaedrus tells us, devotees of
the great leader12 and supremely wise divinity. In this passage, Plato

9Phaedrus 249C. i°Rep. 7. 540C. 11Phaedrus 252E.

12In Phaedrus 246E, Zeus is described as the μ'εγας ήγεμών. Hackforth, Plato’s
Phaedrus 99 n.3, reminds us that M ijns is the first wife of Zeus in Hesiod, Theog.
886.
 speaks also of the “ followers” of other Gods: of Hera, Ares, and
Apollo·13 That such persons are inferior to the “ followers” of Zeus is
certain. They are not philosophers, perhaps they are deficient intel­
lectually, but they have practised όμοίωσιχ θίφ as far as their inferior
potentialities allow, and Plato seems, in the Phaedrus at least, not to
exclude them from blessedness. Just as, in the Symposium, he certainly
has some sympathy for the ίρασταί of Phaedrus, so, as Hackforth re­
minds us, he feels admiration for such pairs of warrior-lovers as appear
regularly in Spartan history and composed the famous Theban
“ Sacred Band.”14 Just as, in the Republic, the best of the Guardians are
the followers of Zeus, so the others, and perhaps the ίπίκουροι, may be
the followers of Ares or of Hera. Even the artisans in the Ideal Republic
are possibly the followers of some lesser divinity. So much, we may
assume, can their will to Goodness achieve for them.
There is no megalomania in Plato. His Guardian is not a Superman
who can recklessly set the laws at nought; and this alone is surprising
when we compare him with some of his spurious modern descendants.
Indeed it may seem strange that the Guardian’s actions are in any
way restricted, since he is a kind of god, and we may wonder what saved
Plato from a closer resemblance to other delusions of grandeur. The
answer is simple. It is that even gods are not the supreme elements of
Being; that highest honour is reserved for the Forms. (We have seen
already that it is only the ability to know the Forms that gives the
Gods their divinity.) This belief that non-mental and non-personal
entities are the ultimate Goods is what distinguishes Plato from most
other philosophers and, which is important to our present investigation,
from most of his leading disciples. Few of the later Platonists were able
to maintain their Master’s faith in such static abstracted ultimate
principles. Even the One of Plotinus is, as we shall see, in some ways
nearer to the everyday world. We shall be returning to this question
many times during our study; let us content ourselves at the moment
with saying that this is the feature which chiefly distinguishes the
philosophy of Plato from the systems of the Neoplatonists.
If, according to Plato, we all have divinity within our grasp, why
is the number of true philosophers so small? The answer is that,
although το λογιστικόν in our soul is indeed a δαίμων, it is usually quite
powerless in the face of other more earthly elements and thus gains no
opportunity to live the life it needs and to bring us to that blessedness
for which we crave. This, however, is inadequate, for there is no doubt
15Ares in Phaedrus 252C, Hera and Apollo in 253D.
“ Hackforth, Plato's Phaedrus 101.
that, with every possible advantage of enthusiasm and good instruc­
tion, most men could not complete many of the more elementary
stages in their desired advance to divinity. In other words, most men
are not intelligent enough to satisfy the exacting claims of Platonic
godhead. We can only say that Plato seems to have neglected this
point, and pass on.
For those few who are candidates for the honoured role of philosopher
and god, Plato is able to prescribe the exact syllabus, which is wholly
designed to purify the soul. I t is most appropriate that the clearest
account of the purificatory importance of “Platonic studies” should
be in the Phaedo, for in that dialogue Socrates’ views on the im­
mortality of the soul are pitted against those of two Pythagoreans,
Simmias and Cebes, members of a school to which purification is of
supreme importance and from which some at least of Plato’s own
opinions on the subject are undoubtedly derived. We read here that
any so-called virtue that is separate from wisdom is valueless, and
that in fact truth, moderation, justice, courage, and wisdom are a
kind of purification.15 Without this purification we are uninitiated and
unsanctified (αμύητος καί άτίλεστος) and when we pass on to the other
world we shall be wallowing in the mire (kv βορβόρω). There is an echo
of this also in the Republic16 where we are told that dialectic, which is
the coping-stone of wisdom, is able to draw the soul up to perfection
from that βόρβορος βαρβαρικός where it must dwell until it can be puri­
fied by study.
Moderation, justice, and courage can proceed from one of two things,
according to Plato: they can be the result of the true opinion (αληθής
δόξα) of a disciplined mind, or they can be the clearly visualized
Ideals of the Man of Wisdom. To the end of his life, Plato appears to
have maintained the Socratic position that Virtue is Knowledge; but
he made this advance on his Master’s teaching, that he claimed to
know what kind of knowledge is required. This knowledge, he thought,
must be knowledge of the Forms; let a man once possess that and he
will at once establish his “civic” virtues of moderation, justice, and
courage on a permanent and stable base. Hence the detailed exposition
in the Republic of how those who have, as it were, already passed the
tests set by “ civic virtue” grounded on “ true opinion,” may pass on
to those final purificatory studies which will make their master divine
(0e?os).
We have already spoken of the Greek tendency towards anthropo­
morphism, from which even Aristotle, with his “professor’s God,” was
^ Phaedo 69C. uRep. 7. 533D.
not free. Plato, too, tended to deduce the activities of his Gods from
the activities of himself and his friends. His own primary interest in
the field of study was in mathematics, and, remembering that he for­
bade those ignorant of geometry to enter the Academy, we find him
seeing in mathematics the divine temper and therefore a sine qua non
for the philosopher. This mathematical tendency, so deplored by
Aristotle,17 led Plato to make a mathematical “ Form ,” that of the
One, the equivalent of the Form of the Good, and to insist that the
Gods are the most perfect exponents of this particular branch of
knowledge. Leaving the question of the validity of this kind of egotism
aside, we may turn to enquire in more detail what these mathematical
studies involve.
The preliminary subjects are to be arithmetic, geometry plain and
solid, plus astronomy and harmony regarded as branches of pure
mathematics. These are the prerequisites for the dialectician and
cannot be passed over. Without them, the Republic tells us, dialectic
is valueless, if not meaningless.18 W hat little dialectical method can be
picked up without them can only be used as eristic. Furthermore,
Plato never came to believe that this valuation of mathematics was
unjustifiably high. If anything, a remark in the Laws19 puts an even
higher premium on it. No one, says Plato, can hope to become godlike
(0etos) without a knowledge of arithmetic. Finally, we should consider
the extraordinary remark of Socrates to Callicles in the Gorgias·?0
“Wise men say that heaven and earth, and gods and men, are held to­
gether by communion and friendship, by orderliness and moderation
and by justice . . . . But you, I think, despite your cleverness, pay no
attention to these things and have not noticed how powerful geo­
metrical equality is among men and gods. You think you ought to
practise self-seeking because you neglect the science of geometry.”
Such faith in the power of mathematics to put Callicles back on the
straight and narrow path reveals how much importance Plato attached
to the science as a means to man’s spiritual advance.
In all justice, however, it should be remembered that Plato has
another strong reason for selecting these particular studies apart from
his predilection for them. He explains in the seventh book of the Repub­
lic that all branches of learning are of two kinds. Either the initial
act of sense-perception is sufficient in itself for knowledge, or else it

17Arist. Met. A. 992B. Ά λ λ α yeyove τα μαθήματα tols νυν ή φιλοσοφία.

n Rep. 7. 533Α8. Saipoves (like vovs) come from God θ ά q. μοίρφ. Cf. epcos in
Phaedrus 265B.
18Laws 7. 818C. ^Gorgias 507E-508A .
requires to be completed by analytical or comprehensive thought if it is
to attain to any degree of clarity. Plato is not interested, for example,
in counting the apples in a box and finding that there are one or two or
three. He is particularly interested in the nature of the unit, for he
sees that the same thing presents the appearance of one thing and of a
plurality of things at the same moment,21 and in such notions as “ big”
and “small” and “ double.” Study of these things, he believes, gives
the would-be philosopher a “ synoptic”22 view more developed than
that of the ordinary man, without which dialectic is impossible.
That such mathematical studies have a further value, and that they
appeal to the δαίμων within us, becomes clear from the Timaeus. There
we learn of the kinship between the divine element in our souls and the
Soul of the World. Both contain harmonies and revolutions, but those
in our souls are distorted at birth. If, then, we can study the har­
monies and revolutions of the Universe, we shall be both feeding the
divine part in us and at the same time straightening out those distor­
tions that are inherent in our humanity. When we are thus in accord
with the Universe, we have reached the highest goal of life.23
Mathematical studies, however, will tell us little about the Forms
themselves, which as “lovers of wisdom” we are to make our ultimate
objective. All they can do is prepare our minds and dispositions for the
reception of that science which will allow us to share in the causes of
the divinity of the Gods. This mighty science is, of course, dialectic.
We are not concerned here with the precise meaning of Plato’s
description of the working of this science in the Republic and else­
where.24 W hat we are concerned with is the results which he claims for
it, and which make it the coping-stone of all studies. Plato tells us that
there is no other method of investigation which both tries to grasp
the real nature of each individual Form and is unsatisfied with accept­
ing unexamined axioms such as satisfy the geometers. Dialectic is able
to form a conception of the greatest of all the objects of study, which
is the Form of the Good, and by its light to understand the whole of
the rest of the real world without any aid from studies outside that
world. If it could not do this, Plato insists, it would be valueless. He
asserts25 that the thinker whose dialectic fails to reach the Form of the

ilRep. 7. S25A.
nRep. 7. S37C7. 6 μίν y a p συνοπτικοί διαλεκτικός, ό δί μ η οχ>.
23For this whole passage, see Tim. 90D .
MFor this subject, see especially Robinson, Plato’s Earlier Dialectic, which contains
a summary o f the existing views.
2SRep. 7. 534C.
Good is not a philosopher at all, but a mere lover of “opinion,” and
that he is, as it were, sleeping his life away in a pursuit which will
fail to give him any useful standard of values.
We see, then, that we have become perfect dialecticians; we are as
the Gods. At this point we may pause and wonder what our feelings
towards those Gods are while we are still striving towards their blessed
life. Are we to love them as perfect practitioners of Goodness ? Appar­
ently not, for as Professor Dodds26 has pointed out, the notion of love
directed towards God is absent from the earliest Greek writers. The
word φιλόθεος is unknown in literature before Aristotle and is of rare
occurrence even there. Indeed, the Greeks appear not to have loved
their native Gods, at least as individuals. The Magna Moralia27 tells
us that it would be absurd for a man to claim that he felt love for
Zeus, and Aristotle28 insists that φ ιλία between man and God is im­
possible because of their difference in status. In at least one passage of
Plato we seem to be justified in believing that we have little cause to
love the Gods. After all, they are only doing what we are trying to do.
They are not to be our objects of devotion. That honour is to be re­
served for the Forms. The Good is not good because the Gods love it;
rather the Gods love the Good because it is good. Such is the general
conclusion we can draw from the discussions of “ the Holy” (τό 'όσιον) in
the EuthyphroP
We are not then to love the Gods, but Wisdom and the Forms; and
this, as Plato must have been well aware, is a paradoxical notion. For
to most men love is a very personal emotion. Is it possible to ex­
perience love for realities which are in a sense abstractions? The
history of Platonism in the Ancient World shows, as we shall see, that
this kind of love was too rarefied to last. Plato was demanding an
emotional response beyond the range of most of even the greatest of
his admirers, and with this tacit condemnation many modern scholars
and critics would agree. Let us, for example, cite the words of Professor
Grube, who writes:
In another way too, Plato’s conception of philosophic love is difficult for us to accept.
As we follow the philosopher on his upward journey, we feel that something has gone
wrong, that passionate oratory has somehow left love behind; that in the contempla-

^Dodds, The Greeks 35.

21M .M . 1208B 30. ατοπον y a p αν εΐη εΐ tis φαίη φίλειν τον Α ία . The feeling of
the Athenians for their goddess was probably more national pride than love; it was
felt for Athena as representative of Athens, rather than for her own sake.
28Arist. E .N . 1159A 5ff.
n Euthyphro 10A1F.
tion of supreme beauty the philosopher may indeed find a sublime satisfaction, but
we would hardly call this the satisfaction of love, which must surely be limited to
relations between individuals. If we look closer we shall find that the point when we
should part company with Plato is where Diotima reaches the beauty of “ laws and
institutions.” Love, we feel, must have and retain some sort of physical basis and
Plato has here . . . been carried away on the tide of his own magnificent metaphors.30

If this indictment is true, as I shall suggest is implied by the direc­

tion in which Platonism turned in the hands of Plotinus and Origen,
it is a serious flaw in the Platonic system. What we should first con­
sider is how far Plato himself was aware of the unusual and perhaps
impossible direction of his thoughts and what steps he suggested, if
any, to remedy it. Since this question will be bound up with our pre­
vious remarks on the purificatory studies— for plainly love is the only
motive possible for a man to undertake such an arduous and demanding
course and complete it successfully— we shall require a fairly detailed
examination of the two dialogues in which Plato treats most fully of
the subject of love, namely the Symposium and the Phaedrus.
Despite the fact that Plato was, by ancient standards, a voluminous
author, he followed his master Socrates’ belief in the superiority of the
spoken to the written word, of oral instruction to the reading of books.
In the Phaedrus,31 he goes so far as to insist that the only benefit one
can derive from the written word is that it is an aid to memory. Real
philosophy can only be learned by personal instruction, as is made
clear in the Seventh Letter?1 where we learn that Plato has never written
anything of the highest aspects of his philosophy. He says: “There is
no treatise of mine on these subjects nor will I ever write one.” Indeed
they are not even describable in concrete terms, being above and
beyond mere words. Plato did, however, lecture on these highest sub­
jects (τό μέγιστο? μάθημα), for we know from Simplicius that Aristotle
and Speusippus, among others, published their notes upon them. His
aim doubtless was to lead his pupils to gain from his discourses that
communion with the subject which could arise from long application
and which alone led to an intuitive grasp of the Forms.
If the study of books is valueless for the philosopher and personal
instruction vital, some kind of pupil-master relationship is necessary.
Plato believed that this relationship could be a sublimated form of
love. He wanted to start from this love of individuals and transmute
personal attraction into first a common love of learning, and then per­
haps into a love of the Eternal Verities themselves without reference
s0Grube, Plato’s Thought 114.
3XPhaedrus 275C. **Ep. 7. 341C.
 to the companion of one’s studies, the love of former days. The last
stage is a little doubtful even to Plato, who appears to waver on the
issue of whether the original personal and in some degree physical
elements can be completely discarded, as we shall see.
But first we must define our terms. W hat, we should ask, does
Plato mean by “love” ? The answer Plato gives in the Symposium33
is at first as surprising to us as it was to the assembled company in the
house of Agathon. In general, non-philosophical terms, we are ac­
customed to think of love as a Good-in-itself. This is part of our heri­
tage from Christianity, and as I will later suggest, from Neoplatonism
too. It is not, however, the view of Socrates, who, in the Symposium,
pays much more attention to the odi et amo view of Catullus, to the
feelings of bitter-sweetness that love can bring, to the notion that love
is not a good because it is, in essence, unfulfilled.34 Accordingly, when
he hears it extravagantly praised by Agathon he claims to be amazed
and hurriedly denies any knowledge of love-matters at all. This is,
of course, his accustomed irony, and his friends recognize it as such.
He pretends to have been guilty of the “ foolish” notion that when
eulogizing a particular person or thing it is necessary to adhere closely
to the truth. Finally he owns that he is willing to speak after all, pro­
vided he be allowed to ask Agathon a few questions before he starts.
The next passage is of the utmost importance, for Socrates makes
Agathon admit that if love were good and beautiful, as he has claimed
it is, it would have no desire for union or possession of what is good
and beautiful outside itself. He then hastily adds that it is not, of
course, bad and ugly either, and thus must be an intermediate state.
There follows his account of how he learned this truth from Diotima,
the priestess of Mantinea, who was once his instructress on the sub­
ject of the true nature of love. Diotima insisted that love cannot even
be a God, as most men seem to believe, since it is impossible that Gods
should be deficient in Goodness and Beauty. He must therefore be
something between a mortal and an immortal. He is a great spirit
(δαίμων peyas), a member of that class of semi-divine beings which
includes the human soul, or at least the rational part of it. In the words
of L. Robin, “L a nature synthetique de l’Amour fait de lui un inter­
m ediate entre les qualites opposees que cette nature a pour fonction
d’unir.35
Diotima continues her description of the nature of Love with an
™Symp. 201A -204D .
34For "Epcos as a “lack,” see also Lysis 217.
35Robin, La ThSorie platonicienne de V Amour 129
account of his birth. That his father was Poros or “ Resource” and his
mother Penia or “Poverty” is in itself a sufficient proof of his own
nature. He unites in his own being the qualities of both his parents.
He is, as Plato says, “ always poor and far from being tender and
beautiful. On the contrary he is hard and parched, shoeless and
homeless. He always sleeps on the gound with no bedding, resting on
doorsteps or beneath the stars on the open road.” Such are the charac­
teristics he derives from his mother. From his father, on the other hand,
he inherits his bravery, impetuosity, and desire for wisdom.
Such is love. A doubtful divinity (δαίμων), we may think, and
Socrates is perhaps to be pardoned for asking what use he is to man­
kind. Diotima, however, is able to explain that he alone can supply
the motive by which we may reach out towards the Good and the
Beautiful, that we may attain them and thus reach the happiness and
blessedness of the Gods. When we reach that degree of perfection, we
shall not love the Forms; we shall possess them. No God, says Plato,
is a philosopher. He does not “love” Wisdom; he already possesses it
and has thus lost all sense of desire— "Epcos.36
This violent sense of need is what Plato primarily means by love,
and to the casual reader his analysis of the nature of Έρω? gives little
trace of any non-appetitive ideal. However, when we come to consider
the actions of the Gods and of those perfect mortals who have been
able to follow the path of "Epcos to its end, we find a considerably less
egoistic, and, as the future was to show, more fruitful notion, that of
Creation as a result of “Love perfected.”37 We shall be returning to
this point again in our examination of Plato, and when we turn to the
Neoplatonists we shall speak of Creation in more detail, but for the
time being let us simply remember the possible dichotomy of Plato’s
thought on the nature of love, and the suggestion that, while he nor­
mally regards it as an appetitive emotion, there are traces of a less
egoistic outlook.
With this general view in mind, let us turn to the “lover’s progress”·
as Diotima describes it. First of all, he must love the ephemeral beauty
of'a particular person in this world. No one is able to avoid this pre­
liminary stage, which Plato would like, we may suspect, to be able to
suppress, but is too realistic to do so. From the individual beauty, our
potential philosopher may come to realize that such passing beauty is

s<sSymp, 203E . θβων ούδ*is φιλοσοφεί ονδ’ έιηθυμ€Ϊ σοφοί ytvkadai- Έ στι
yap.
s7For a detailed examination of this view, see pp. 26 -3 4 and compare Markus,
“ The Dialectic of Eros,” 219-230.
more permanently grasped if it be recognized as quite widely distri­
buted. So he becomes a lover of beautiful bodies in general. Next, he
must make a great stride forward and come to set a higher value on the
soul than on the body. This is in itself a considerable advance, and is
probably to be equated with what Pausanias has earlier suggested as
the highest point that love can attain, but for Plato it is still only a
beginning, for from there we must proceed, he says, to contemplate
Beauty, first as it appears in laws and observances (robots καί
βπιτηδβύμασιν), then in the branches of knowledge— by which he
presumably means the studies undertaken by the Guardians in the
Republic and the future philosophers in the Academy— and finally in
Beauty itself. This is the goal that can be attained by those who love
in the right way.38 The philosopher has attained to the blessedness of
the Gods through the mediation of love; he is now able to share with
them the contemplation of the Eternal Forms.
I th as often been claimed that the emphasis placed in the Symposium
on the power of emotion is a counterblast to the simple body-soul
dualism39 and associated intellectualism of the Phaedo. We know how
in that dialogue Socrates is made to declare that the purpose of
philosophy is to provide a practice for death.40 To accomplish this
“ practice” and to achieve any clear and true knowledge, we must, he
insists, be rid of the body and see by the soul alone.41 But even in this
extreme dualist passage, the phrase “lovers of Wisdom” (βρασταί
φρονήσεων) occurs and brings out what is at the back of Plato’s mind
in the Symposium. He is still as certainly opposed to the tyranny of the
body as he is in the Phaedo, but he has grasped more firmly the notion
that if the Soul can, as it were, win the support of love, which has pre­
viously been tied to the things of the “ body,” the “partisans of the
Soul,” that is the philosophers, will the more readily subdue bodily
desires. Soul is willing to accept a purified notion of love; indeed she is
shown to need such a powerful motive-force as the only means of
attaining her ends. She is only willing to accept it, however, on her
own terms, and these terms are that the physical bases shall gradually
3tSymp. 21 IB . διά τό δρθωs τταιδβραστβ'ιν.
S9For the question whether this dualism was superseded by the theory of the
tripartite soul, see, for example, Hackforth’s translation of the Phaedo (Cambridge
1955) 49. Passages such as Rep. 10.611C and Tim. 43BC may show that Plato re­
garded the lower two sections of the soul as ultimately akin to the body, and that
thus the dualism was maintained. Compare below, pp. 105-109.
« Phaedo 64A.
41Phaedo 66D. ei peWopkv ποτβ καθαρω s τι ίσβσθαι, άπαΧΧακτίον αύτον και
αύτ$ τ§ ψνχ§ QeaTeov αύτά τ ά ιτράγματα.
be eliminated. The perfect philosopher appears to outgrow “Epos even
in that “right form” which was the ladder which sustained his ascent.
If the Gods do not “love Wisdom, since they are already wise” it is
plain that they love nothing else. They “have” or “possess” their
wisdom; they do not “love” it. There seems to be an inadequacy in
Plato’s appetitive theory.
Furthermore, if for the Gods, and therefore presumably for the per­
fect philosophers, the “physical basis” and the “love itself’ are by­
passed, we may wonder why such beings still trouble about the Reali­
ties at all. We shall suggest later that this lack of motive at the highest
level is one reason why Origen and other later Platonists reintroduced
the physical basis of "Epcos in the form of the doctrine that the Soul is
the Bride of Christ.
Reverting to the Symposium, however, we find that Plato, at least,
is convinced that purified philosophic love is possible and that his
master Socrates had been a living proof of the fact. This justification of
his position is most admirably conveyed by the introduction of
Alcibiades, who insists on making a speech in praise of Socrates. The
whole tenor of this panegyric, as has often been said, is to portray
Socrates as an ερωτικός in action.42 It is not, Robin points out,43 entirely
accidental that the philosopher is at once compared with Silenus, who
was, after all, a δαίμων. It is with such purified beings that the true
philosopher belongs. Silenus is the recipient of one form of “divine
madness,”44 that of Dionysus, Socrates of another, that of Eros.
Thus far, then, we have seen that under the inspiration of love, the
true philosopher sets out on his course of purification and study which
will culminate, when he sees the true Beauty of the Forms, in his
sharing in the divinity of the Gods. W hat, we may ask, is his reaction
then? Does he pass his time in contemplation freed from all emotion,
desire or action? The answer, surprisingly, and perhaps, in view of
what we have seen, illogically, is No. It is clear that for Plato the con­
templator of the Forms must, as it were, pour out his contemplation
into some kind of action. If he be a God, he will create; if he be “god­
like,” he will do his best to encourage the good life among the less
fortunate mortals; the latter course may perhaps still be described as
a strictly egoistic craving for the immortality of an earthly memorial,4

4SMarkus, “ The Dialectic of Eros,” 227, points out that the “Έρως of Socrates in
the scene with Alcibiades is not a “ sense of need,” but rather a “ completeness.”
Both Socrates and Alcibiades are ερωτικοί (228), but the “Ερως of each is distinct.
43Robin, La Theorie platonicienne de Γ Amour 131.
44Phaedrus 244A if., and for the whole subject see Dodds, The Greeks 64 ff.
but the former can hardly come under this head as Gods are already
immortal.
Let us first consider the life of the Gods.45 The essential part of it is
described in the Phaedrus, naturally enough in mythical form. Gods,
we read, are similar to men in that their souls can be likened to a
charioteer and two horses. It is in the character of the horses that the
difference becomes evident, for the Gods’ horses are both good and
obedient to the charioteer, who is the “reasoning” element { to

λογιστικόν), whereas the men’s are inferior to a greater or lesser degree.

When the souls of the Gods reach the edge of heaven and see beyond
into the inrepovpavios τ ottos, they have no distractions from their pure
contemplation. They are able, therefore, to grasp and know the Forms
in completeness, and as they really are. The Forms so engrain them­
selves in the minds of the Gods that they need no power of ανάμνησή
to recapture them. Form has become immanent in the Gods; we may
almost say that the Gods have become wholly characterized by Form.
They have become wholly good and just and beautiful. Since this is so,
it is open blasphemy even to suggest that they could be the cause of
evil, as the poets have done. This is stated explicitly in the Republic,46
Socrates says: “ Since God is good, he is not the cause of all . . . ; on
the contrary he is responsible for only a small part of human affairs;
for the larger part he is not responsible. For we have far fewer good
things than bad; and we must make God the cause of the good things
while we must look elsewhere for the cause of the rest, and not ascribe
them to God.”
When the Gods reach the inrepovpavios tottos, they come to be wholly
characterized by the Forms. The Forms are immanent in them. This
does not imply, of course, that they are not also transcendent, and
indeed that transcendence is not their primary nature. The Phaedrus
tells us that the Gods travel up to the iirepovpavLos tottos in order to par­
take of the Forms, which have their abode there, beyond space and
time and motion, as is implied. Plato is sure that the Forms have their
existence outside the “ being” or Nous of the Gods and could continue
to exist even if there were no “ minds” to apprehend them. The well-
known passage of the Parmenides47 which insists that the Forms can

45Phaedrus 248. When speaking of the souls of the Gods, I include Nous in my
definition of soul. Similarly, when speaking of a Form-Soul dualism, I include such
examples of Nous qua Nous as the Demiourgos under the general heading “ Soul.”
Mind and Soul, though probably kept distinct, at least in the Timaeus, can con­
veniently be considered together in antithesis with the Forms.
MRep. 2. 379C2. « P arm. 132B.
never be equated with mere concepts is never refuted. As far as we
know, the distinction between thoughts and the objects of thought
always remained a cardinal point in the Platonic system.
So far we have only regarded the Gods as contemplators of the
Forms. Is that, we may ask, all that their perfection allows? The
Timaeus suggests that it is not, and this suggestion was, as will be
seen, one of the most fruitful sources of the future developments of
Platonism. We are told that the Demiourgos, whose outlook is that of
a God even if he himself is a fiction, is the Creator of the order of the
world. This idea, even in the moderate form suggested by Plato, must
have sounded strange to the Greeks who heard it. And when Plato
goes on to assert that he created the world because he is “good and has
no envy (φθόνος),48 thus repeating a belief he had already propounded
in the Phaedrus,49 he sets himself up against almost all Greek religious
thinking. Pindar sums up the prevailing attitude with the words
θνητός ών, θνητά φρόνπ. To think more than mortal thoughts is to en­
croach on the divine prerogative, and such ΰβρις will arouse divine
jealousy (φθόνος). Plato’s assertion is a denial of all this. The Gods are
not jealous; how can they be if they are good? On the contrary he says:
“ God was good and in him that is good no envy can ever arise. And
since He was without envy, He desired that all things should be as
like Himself as possible.” Since the interpretation of this passage has
aroused no little controversy, and since it is most important to our
theme of the developments of Platonism, it is worth considering in more
detail. We are warned by Corn ford50 against introducing “importations
from later theology” and in particular against Taylor, who is said to
have done so. Cornford writes:
Professor Taylor, for instance, after pointing out that Timaeus is thinking of the
common Greek view that the divine (τό ΘΦίον) is grudging in its bestowal of good
things, proceeds: “ So just because God is good, He does not keep his blessedness
selfishly to Himself. He seeks to make something else as much like Himself in good­
ness as possible. I t is of the very nature of goodness and love to ‘overflow.’ This is
why there is a world, and why, with all its defects it is ‘very good.’ ” If this is intended
as a paraphrase of Plato’s words, it is misleading. . . . Still less is there the slightest
kiTim. 29E .
49Phaedrus 247A. φθόνος y a p "όξω θβίου χόρου ΐσ τ α τ α ι. In an article in the
Classical Quarterly, entitled “ The Place of the Timaeus in Plato’s Dialogues,” G. E . L .
Owen has attempted to correct the usual view of the Timaeus as one of P lato’s
latest works. Against Owen, H. Cherniss, “ The Relation of the Timaeus to Plato’s
Later Dialogues,” and J. M. Rist, “ The Order of the Later Dialogues of Plato.”
S0Cornford, Plato’s Cosmology 34. I t will be plain that my discussion here is in
complete disagreement with the view of Timaeus 29Eff. expressed by Goldschmidt,
La Religion de Platon 55-56.
warrant in Greek thought of the pre-Christian centuries for the notion of “ over­
flowing love,” or love of any kind, prompting a god to make a world. It is not fair
either to Plato or to the New Testament to ascribe the most characteristic revelations
of the Founder of Christianity to a pagan polytheist.

This is a damning indictment, and because it is so strong it calls

for examination in detail. We may remark at once that Plotinus was
certainly in a sense a polytheist, and yet the notion of “overflowing
creation” occurs continually throughout his works. The word ύπερρβΐν
is frequently used to describe the “procession” of Nous from the One.
Whether this “overflowing” could be called “love” is a question into
which we must enquire, but that it could occur at all in a “ pagan
polytheist” may make us suspect that Cornford has not hit upon the
complete truth. Nor can we suppose a Christian source for Plotinus’
doctrine. Plotinus lived in the third century a . d . , but for all the
influence Christianity had on his thought, he might as well have lived
before Christ.
Returning to Plato, we may ask what is meant by the notion that
God wanted to bring matter into an orderly form and as like himself
as possible because he is good. Does Goodness imply this desire to
produce perfection? Is this desire instinctive in the being that is good?
If it is, then Taylor’s use of the notion of “overflowing” is justified.
If we do not use this word to describe the relations of the Demiourgos
to the “chaos” outside, what word can we use? Beneath Cornford’s
attack there appears to be an unwillingness to understand what motive
or nature the Demiourgos is supposed by Plato to possess.
Here it may be objected that the Demiourgos creates from motives
analogous to those of a human craftsman (δημιουργό?). This view is a
denial of Plato’s own words, for a human craftsman does not create
“in order that everything may be as like himself as possible” but for
ends which are both practical and, if he be a good craftsman, artistic.
The man whom the Greeks call a δημιουργό? is in the commercial
world; at least part of his motive is to earn a living. Furthermore, he
does not create “ because he is good” ; he may be a rogue and still be
a good craftsman. The goodness of the human δημιουργό? is a relative
good; his moral goodness is irrelevant to his craft. The goodness of
the Demiourgos in the Timaeus, on the other hand, is absolute good­
ness. His motive for creation is that he is good, not that he is good
at his job. It seems that to draw out the parallel between the human
craftsman and the Demiourgos in detail is misleading. All the two
have in common is the fact that they create— and from a pattern;
their motives are quite different.
 Taylor has used the phrase “overflowing love” of the Demiourgos.
We shall discuss later the thoughts of Plato on divine love, but before
doing so it is necessary to consider the notion of “overflowing” a little
further. It may be objected that the application of this word to the
theories of Plato is anachronistic since it suggests an emanation theory
of the Neoplatonic type. However, there seems to be no reason why
such a suggestion should be dismissed without a hearing. Plotinus
certainly thought he found his emanation theory in Plato, and even
if he read more into his M aster’s works than was there, it is unproven
that these passages from the Timaeus do not to some extent fore­
shadow the Neoplatonic view. As Trouillard has said of the Sym­
posium·}1 “On trouverait egalement dans la theorie platonicienne de
l’amour, qui n’est pas seulement aspiration mais generosite au sens
plain, un germe de procession.” We shall speak below of the connec­
tion between the Timaeus and the theory of love in the Symposium,
but Trouillard’s view can perfectly well be accepted without assuming
that the whole Neoplatonic theory of emanation is to be found in
Plato. If this be recognized, there will appear to be no objection to
Taylor’s use of the word “overflowing.”
In the event of its being objected that, if the Demiourgos is only a
fiction, the difficulty of his motive for creation can be shown to be
unreal, one must answer that it cannot, for the Demiourgos’ state of
mind, as a being contemplating the eternal patterns, is clearly that
of the Platonic Gods in general, and few would maintain that all
Plato’s Gods, of whatever kind they be, are fictions. The mere appear­
ance of the Demiourgos in the Timaeus, be he fiction or not, shows
that Plato had thought about the nature of the Gods and had con­
sidered goodness and lack of jealousy as suitable attributes.52 This
being so, we may further take into account two phrases from the
Apology which describe Socrates as a gift from God and add that “ If
he be put to death, the Athenians will be allowed to pass their lives
in ignorance unless God in his care for them (κηδόμβνοτ 31 A) is willing
to send another gadfly to stir them up.” These views may be those
of Socrates, not Plato; they may be purely metaphorical, but they
represent, I believe, a way of thought which is more akin to a God of
“overflowing love” than Taylor’s critics have allowed. It is true that 612

61Trouillard, La Procession plotinienne 60.

62My view of the “ontological status” of the Demiourgos is very like that of
Professor Skemp {The Theory of Motion in Plato’s Later Dialogues 110), who writes:
“ The ultimate άρχη Kivrjaecos (the Demiourgos) though hard to find . . . is as real
as the Form s.”
there is no formal theory here, but it does not follow from this that
we can assume Plato to be using a popular mode of thinking with
which he has no sympathy whatever. However unpleasant it might be
to others, he would not employ it if it did not correspond to his own
thoughts.
Further, if we have here a Socratic manner of thinking or speaking,
since Plato was, after all, a pupil of Socrates, it is not absurd to suppose
that he might have assimilated something of his master’s attitude on
this m atter, however different from his formal theory it might be. We
may surmise then that the action of God in these passages from the
Apology bears a resemblance to the action of the Demiourgos in the
Timaeus, for by sending Socrates into the world, God was sending an
apostle of the life of reason and through him bringing order out of
chaos.
Of our discussion up to this point it may fairly be said that we have
demonstrated the relevance of Taylor’s suggestion that Plato had a
conception of God’s goodness “overflowing,” but that we have not
shown the association of such “overflowing” with love. The nearest
we have come to this is the passage from the Apology, and that, by
itself, is not convincing. However, the passages so far mentioned do
not exhaust the indications of some kind of divine love in the Platonic
writings. We learn from the Republic53 that only good can come from
the Gods, from the Phaedrus5i that Zeus “ arranges all and cares fo r
all,” and from the Laws55 that in the age of Cronos God was φιλάνθρωπος.
Even if we discount the description of the Demiourgos as π α τή ρ ,56 as
I am loath to do, evidence is not entirely lacking that Plato saw the
Gods as actively beneficent and loving.
At this point we should begin to put the results attained so far into
order. We have shown that the Demiourgos is without jealousy and
is good; we have shown that his activities may be called “over­
flowing.” We have seen too a little evidence that Plato was aware,
elsewhere than in the Timaeus, of love shown by God or Gods for
mankind. The question before us is: can we put all this together and
conclude that Plato has, as Taylor suggested, considered the possi­
bility of seeing God as overflowing love? There is no specific mention
of God’s love in the Timaeus·, this we readily admit. The other passages
about God’s love for man may, though I believe should not, be dis­
missed as vague and inadequate. W hat must be accomplished, there­
fore, is an examination of Plato’s doctrine of "Epcos itself in the Sym-
6iRep. 378BC , 380C, 617E. 64Phaedrus 246E.
™Laws 713D . ™Tim. 28C, 37C.
posium and Phaedrus. If it can be shown that in these works there
are indications of an "Epos which is not merely appetitive, and that
such "Epos is the reward of the philosopher’s quest, then it will not
seem too much of a jump to attribute it to Gods as well as to philo­
sophers, since the philosopher-king has attained likeness to God as
far as he is able. Furthermore, if "Epos in the Symposium and Phaedrus
appears in any way non-appetitive, the passages about God’s love for
mankind will have more weight and will have to be considered more
carefully. We shall then be able to say that Έρω* may be down­
flowing and creative, that the Demiourgos (and therefore the Gods in
general) is creative, overflowing, and good, and finally that Taylor’s
description of the Demiourgos as both good and loving should be
considered very carefully, since the nature of Έρω$ may coincide with
the nature of the Demiourgos. As Armstrong has said:57 “ Being good
for Plato means doing good.” If it turns out that Έρω$ may also mean
“doing good,” then it will look as though Έρω$ and “ being good”
have, for Plato, similar implications. Then we may conclude that
although Plato does not say the Demiourgos has overflowing love, he
thinks of him in the same terms as he thinks of love.
Naturally, even to say that Plato thought of God in terms of over­
flowing love does not necessarily imply that he held an emanation
theory of the Neoplatonic type, since the phrase could denote other
modes of creation. The point is that since the Demiourgos must have
some motive for his actions, and Plato suggests that this motive is his
goodness, we are justified in considering the relation of this “goodness”
to similar motives for creation, if they occur, in the rest of the Platonic
writings. It remains therefore to consider the Symposium and Phaedrus.
Have we not already suggested that the idea of “ overflowing love”
is alien to the Platonic notion of "Epws? Does not Έρω$ consist only
in a desire for what we do not possess ? Have we not found Plato saying
that the Gods do not love Wisdom for they are already wise? Indeed
we have, but we must further suggest that over the issue of the nature
of love Plato has not worked out his thought into a fully coherent
system, but left some striking contradictions which it was possible for
his successors to develop. For alongside his theory of love as desire, we
have his definition of its results as ykvmjais καί tokos kv τφ καλώ, the urge
to produce a beautiful offspring as the outcome of a true association
with Beauty.
When this result of the emotion of love is propounded by Diotima,58
Socrates asks for a fuller explanation— as well he might, seeing that it
57Armstrong, “ Platonic Eros,” 109. **Symp. 206B.
suggests that love is something more than desire. But Diotima, seeming
to hold to her principle, replies that the “ begetting and bearing in the
beautiful” is man’s attempt to grasp at immortality— and on this reply
may be based an objection to my thesis. The objection runs thus: “ Dio­
tima says that the desire and need for immortality is the cause of this
Ίεννησις κα.1 τόκος kv τω καλφ; therefore she means that creation is
simply self-perpetuation motivated by an *Epcos which is still wholly
appetitive.” This objection is answered by Markus, who reminds us
that in our admiration for the contribution of Diotima, we tend to
forget the contributions of some of the other speakers. Markus59 points
out, for example, that when Agathon begins his speech, he “simply
ignores what Aristophanes has said” (about love as desire) and
“reaffirms what has been quite lost sight of since the first speech, that
by Phaedrus: the ‘perfection’ of love.” As we have seen, these state­
ments by Agathon are apparently demolished by Socrates, but they
must not be completely forgotten. Love as a “need” is not perfect,
but the love that “is desire to give rather than to receive,”60 that is
“ a kind of generosity rather than a kind of need,” would fit the
eulogies of Phaedrus and Agathon much better, and Diotima herself
speaks of such love after 210A.
We should look very closely at the passage which follows. As Corn-
ford61 points out, “immortality in all the three forms so far described
is immortality of the mortal creature, who may perpetuate his race,
his fame, his thoughts in another. The individual himself does not
survive; he dies, and leaves something behind. This is immortality in
time, not in an eternal world. . . . The disclosure of the other world—
the eternal realm of the Ideas— is reserved for the greater mysteries
that follow.” The culmination of this latter section is the vision of
Beauty. I t is certain that only the philosopher will attain this vision.
He will know the Forms, and that knowledge will carry with it the
conviction of the immortality of the soul. He will not need to crave
immortality; he will know that he already possesses it. Y et he will

MMarkus, “ The Dialectic of Eros,” 222. Cf. Symp. 197C.

MIbid., 227. My attention was drawn to Markus’ article by Professor Armstrong
after I had reached my own conclusions on ’Έρως. Although we differ, in that I am
more inclined than he to see a contradiction in Plato’s mind on the nature of "Epa>s,
where he finds a more consistent advance in the Symposium towards a view of "Epois
as “ a desire to give rather than to receive,” I am glad to find confirmation of my view
that Plato is somehow expanding the meaning of "Epcos beyond that which most
Greeks could accept.
eiCornford, “ The Doctrine of Eros in Plato’s Symposium,” The Unwritten Philosophy
75.
still possess the power of τόκος kv tQ καλώ, for in 212A he is described
as begetting and rearing a true virtue. W hat is the explanation of this
paradox?
In 206E, love is said to be not of the beautiful, but of immortality.
There Diotima is speaking of the less elevated kinds of love. Now, in
211-212, she is considering the higher stages— and here love is of the
beautiful. Thus in the highest "Epcos, love is of the beautiful as well as
being creative. This distinction is most important. Furthermore, the
creativity in 212A is not the same as that in 209D E. In 209D E we
hear of the “immortality” gained by lawgivers and educators— those
who beget virtue according to a noble but inferior kind of "Ερως, an
"Epws not of the beautiful, but of immortality. In 212A, we hear of the
τόκος kv τφ καλώ of the philosopher. His object of love is Beauty itself,
and, since he knows the Forms, he cannot but create and beget true
virtue. Love of Beauty must make the philosopher creative. His
creativity is the outcome of his vision of the world of Form s; it is not
desired for any ulterior motive of obtaining immortality. Is it then
unreasonable to call such creativity “overflowing,” and is not such
overflowing the culmination and effect of "Epcos? There can be no
reasonable doubt that the "Epcos of the philosopher “ overflows” into
creation in a way that cannot possibly be dismissed as simply appeti­
tive. As Festugiere62 has put it: “Ainsi I’amour έgoϊste se transmue-t-il
en un amour qui donne.” Such creativity makes the philosopher dear
to the Gods. Of him, if of any man, it can be said that he is immortal,
since not only does he contemplate the immortal Forms and know his
own immortality, but his works too must, since they derive their
inspiration from what is immortal, themselves share this immortality.
Y et although his works secure a finer immortality than do those of a
Lycurgus, they are not accomplished for this end. They are the
inevitable creations of a man given up to the love of Beauty.
Let us now turn to the Phaedrus. Armstrong63 has pointed to a kind
of Έρωχ in this dialogue akin to that which we have just observed in
the Symposium. This evidence strengthens our case greatly. As
Armstrong puts it:
The true lover’s eras does not lead him to want to possess and use his beloved,
physically . . . or even spiritually. It leads him to try to make his beloved more god­
like, to “ work on him and adorn him” as if he was an image of the patron god (2S2D).
And it is precisely in trying to make his beloved more like the god that he becomes
more like the god himself (253A). Here again we find the idea that eros is not just a

62Festugiere, Contemplation 336.

•’Armstrong, “ Platonic Eros,” 108.
self-centred passion to satisfy one’s own need by acquiring something good or beauti­
ful. It is a desire of absolute good or beauty which is somehow inevitably also a desire
to increase good and beauty, to make someone else better and more beautiful.

Such are Plato’s ideas in the Symposium and Phaedrus when he

formally discusses Έρωι. I t should now be clear that "Epcos can be a
desire, as Armstrong says, “ to increase good and beauty.” And it is
precisely an increase in good that is the aim of the Demiourgos, who
wishes to make everything as like himself as possible. True Plato does
not say “ the Demiourgos has "Epcos,” yet his actions are remarkably
like those of beings motivated by the down-flowing "Ερως we have
described.
The Demiourgos acts from motives akin to, though not actually
called, Έρω*. But surely he is not desirous of immortality! Y et he
might seem to be if a wish to produce goodness is always to be attri­
buted to this self-centred end alone. I f "Epcos must be self-centred,
and the Demiourgos has a motive like that of "Epcos, the dilemma is
unanswerable. Indeed even in the Symposium, as Markus points out,
if 'Epcos is only appetitive, then either happiness is impossible, since
desire can never be fulfilled, or Έρω* is transcended. If this latter
alternative be accepted, then either perfect souls are motiveless, or
they possess another kind of love. It is true that the Gods are not
philosophers, that is, desirous of gaining wisdom, since they already
possess it. It does not necessarily follow that they have no other kind
of love. Our suggestion is that Plato’s thought has an undercurrent
of a non-appetitive ideal which the normal usage of the word "Ερως
tended to stifle. If the non-appetitive arose from the appetitive, this
is no more surprising than the claim that a love of beautiful bodies
can be transmuted into a love of the Beautiful itself. Armstrong has
suggested64 that Plato declined to speak specifically of Έ pcos as an
attribute of God because he always regarded it as a human passion
and was too concerned to avoid anthropomorphism. But, as we have
demonstrated, the dispute here is about words, not things. The highest
Έρω$, that of creation, belongs to the philosopher, the man who has
attained likeness to God as far as possible. His Έρω*, like the rest of
his characteristics, is not merely human, but god-like. It is like the
unnamed desire of the Demiourgos to bring order into the world.
“On the other hand,” we may say, “ although the Demiourgos
might after all be described as overflowing with goodness and a desire
to create, as Taylor appears to suggest, surely the Platonic Guardians,
who in the knowledge of the Forms are the peers of the Gods, are not.”
“ Ibid. 110.
We recall the famous passage in the R ep u b lic where the Guardians
are bidden to go back into the Cave in turns and give instruction in
wisdom to their fellow-men. I f they were filled with “overflowing love”
we should expect them to be only too willing to undertake this task,
but this is very far from being the case. Plato writes: “They must go
back” (καταβαττον), and when Glaucon comes to agree with this
view, he says that the Guardians will obey the summons to return
because it is just, but that they will return cos έπ’ άνα-γκαΐον. They will
follow the just course and become rulers in turn because it is their duty
to do so. We hear nothing of any love they may feel towards the
“ lesser breeds outside the law” who are under their jurisdiction. Y et
although this going back into the Cave will cause them to live an
apparently worse life66 than would be in their power if they were not
duty-bound, they are, by their obedience, enabled to imitate the good­
ness of God by helping to bring order out of chaos. To help mankind
in this way is an act of goodness, even if here Plato does not think of
it as an act of love.
The attitude of the Guardians seems to contradict both the notion
of tokos kv tQ καλφ in the Symposium — for this theory would lead us
to suppose they would be delighted to have the chance to produce and
maintain an ideal society— and also the above-mentioned attitude of
the immortal Demiourgos, who though eminently able to pass his life
in contemplation chooses instead to create an ordered universe. Such
contradictions were, as we shall see, extremely fruitful for the Neo-
platonists. In this case, the contradiction is not only between the life
of contemplation, where the philosopher cannot afford to waste his
time on mundane affairs, and the life of action where he is required or
compelled to do so, but also between two notions of love, that of
contemplating and absorbing into oneself, and that of giving. Some,
or indeed most, Christian writers have distinguished these two varieties
of love under the names of "Epos and ’Αγάπη,61 but Origen, as we shall
see, is more in the spirit of Plato— or at least of Plato’s Demiourgos—
in stating that there is nothing wrong with calling God *Epcos,68 which
word appears in the Rufinian translation as Amor.
That Plato himself was not unaware of this kind of love and of its
value is shown by his denunciations of φιλαυτία or “ love of oneself” in
the fifth book of the Laws69. It would be natural to suppose that, if

B5Rep. 7. S20C. 66See below, p. 180.

67Cf. Nygren, Eros, and later sections of this study.
e8In the Prologue to the Commentary on the Song of Songs.
·»Laws 5. 731D -732B .
love were solely to be regarded as desire and an attempt to grasp and
possess what is good, it would be basically selfish. It would be con­
cerned not with what is Good-in-itself but rather with the possession
of what is Good-in-itself. This is nothing other than the love of a
perfected self, and enlightened self-interest. The passage from the Laws,
which we must now consider at length, shows that Plato had no time
for such self-interest, indeed that he regarded it as the root of all sin.
He writes as follows:
There is an evil, great above all others, which most men have, implanted in their
souls, and which each one of them excuses in himself and makes no effort to avoid.
It is the evil indicated in the saying that every man is by nature a lover of self, and
that it is right that he should be such. But the truth is that the cause of all sins in
every case lies in the person’s excessive love of self. For the lover is blind in his view
of the object loved, so that he is a bad judge of things just and good and noble, in
that he deems himself bound always to value what is his own more than what is
true; for the man who is to attain the title of “ Great” must be devoted neither to
himself nor to his own belongings, but to things just, whether they happen to be
actions of his own or rather those of another man . . . . Wherefore every man must
shun excessive self-love, and ever follow after him that is better than himself, allowing
no shame to prevent him from so doing.

This passage, from Plato’s last great work, demonstrates conclusively

his view that the good man loves not himself, or his own interest, but
the Good. Such love is not self-centred; considerations of self have
become irrelevant. Love is therefore not necessarily a kind of grasping,
for we are justified in assuming that the perfect philosopher (θείος άνήρ)
or the God would not decline to love and admire perfection in others
merely because he himself is already perfect and can grasp no more.
On the contrary, as the Greeks maintained, like loves like, and there­
fore the good love what is good.
So we may conclude that, when speaking of the nature of "Epcos,
Plato usually tends to describe it as a passion directed towards the
supreme Realities and as an upward movement, but that nevertheless
we are justified in seeing him as the source of a second conception,
that of an overflowing of love from higher to lower realities. Was
Iamblichus perhaps to some extent aware of this fact when he declared
that the Timaeus was one of the only two works of Plato that could
be called vital?70
Finally, if for Plato Έρω* could include some such idea as “ over­
flowing love,” we may wonder whether in this case he was uncon­
sciously returning to the original meaning of the word, for Onians has

70The other work was the Parmenides. Proclus, in Tim. 1.13.15.

suggested71 that εράω (“ I love”) is etymologically connected with
εράω (only found in compounds), meaning “ I pour out.” This notion
would perhaps be borne out by the famous passage in the Phaedrus72
which tells us that when madness comes by divine dispensation
{θάφ poipq.) it is a good. One form of “ madness” is of course Έρω*,
and the word μοίρα which we find related to it here is of considerable
importance, for it implies a bond imposed on man constraining him to
act or suffer things beyond his control.7374It is thus an appropriate term
to describe the coming of Έρω* if Έρω* implies etymologically any
sort of physical or spiritual orgasm, a ykvinjois καί tokos εν τω καλώ, or
any other act which is creative rather than appetitive.

II

We have suggested that Plato would not normally call his Gods
philosophers, i.e., lovers of wisdom, for they already know wisdom,
and that a contradiction in his thought is implied in even applying the
word to the Guardians, in so far as they are perfect Guardians. Be
that as it may, there is no doubt that whatever emotions the Gods and
the philosophers feel towards the Forms, they must regard them as
objects outside themselves. The question is how far they are outside
and whether they are all equally distant. In other words, what does
Plato mean by the kinship of souls and Forms that he speaks of in the
Phaedo, and is the Form of the Good so far beyond the other Forms
that it must be regarded as of a different order of nature like the
Plotinian One? We shall treat these questions in turn.
First, what does Plato say are the essential qualities of a Form? We
are told painly in the Phaedo™ He writes: “ Is this substance, which
we describe in our questions and answers as true being, always the
same or can it change? Does Absolute Equality, Absolute Beauty or
any other Form . . . ever admit of any kind of change? Or rather does
not each of the Absolutes, since it is uniform (μονοεώέϊ) and exists
by itself, always remain the same and never in any way admit of any
change at all?” Cebes replies that it does. A little later we read: “ But
when the soul searches alone by itself, it goes away into the sphere of

71Onians, Origins 202. He suggests the possible connection of "Epws with ερση and
compares such phrases as "Epcus δ κ α τ ’ όμμάτων σ τά ζε is πόθον. (E u r. H ipp. 525.)
^ Phaedrus 244C.
730nians, Origins 327, 373, 403, etc. deal with μοϊρα as a “ bond.”
74Phaedo 78 D.
 the pure, the everlasting, the immortal and the changeless, and being
akin to these (<I>s avyyev^s ουσα) it lives with them.”
These two passages provide us with several adjectives for the World
of Ideas. It is pure (καθαρός), everlasting (del ov), immortal (αθάνατον),
changeless (ωσαύτως Ιχον), uniform (μονοβώές) and dwells by itself (αυτό
καθ' αύτό). To all these qualities the soul, when it is contemplating the
Forms, is “ akin,” so that we almost believe that Plato would regard
it as the goal of human life to attain to this perfection. But, whatever
he might have wished, Plato was aware that one most important differ­
ence between souls and Forms could not be ignored. This was the
principle of motion, with its potentialities for good or evil, which was
for him the most distinctive feature of souls.75
We can see from Aristotle’s criticisms of the Platonic philosophy
that Plato at least gave the impression of excluding motion from the
“real” world. Modern historians of philosophy have been in haste to
point out that this criticism is unjustified, citing passages from the
Phaedrus, Philebus, Sophist, Timaeus, and elsewhere. Nevertheless
Aristotle, for some twenty years a Platonist, must have had a good
knowledge of the Master’s teachings and good grounds for his remarks.
This apparent contradiction can to some extent be understood if we
believe that though Plato did, increasingly, admit an efficient cause
as well as the Forms into the “real” world, he was not unduly interested
in it, spoke little of it, and perhaps even regretted the necessity of
assuming its existence at all. The passages from the Phaedo give a
strong impression that motion is just one of the inferiorities of the
world of “ becoming” and thus of little interest to the philosopher.
Aristotle however cannot be acquitted of ignoring a difficult and much
disputed passage in the Sophist76, and we should also remember that
in his remarks on the lack of an efficient cause in Plato he usually
thinks only of “Socrates in the Phaedo.” 77 The statements in the
Sophist, and in particular the outburst at the end of 248E (Τί δ^ τρός
Δίος; ως άληθώς κίνησιν καί ζωήν καί ψυχήν καί φρ&νησιν ή ήφ,δίως πεισθησόμβθα

7BIf Merlan is right in maintaining that the philosophers in the Old Academy
identified Soul with the objects of mathematics, as is generally admitted, and if this
identification was made by Plato himself, which is a more disputed point (cf. Tim.
35A, Cornford, Plato’s Cosmology 60 ff., and Robin, L a Theorie platonicienne des
Idees, then the distinction between souls and Forms is even more apparent, for if
souls equal τά μαθηματικά, they are clearly inferior to Forms. See Merlan, From
Platonism to Neoplatonism, esp. 8-51.
™Soph. 246A ff. See Grube, Plato’s Thought 295, and the other discussions there
cited.
77Arist. Met. A.988A 8; de gen. et corr., 335B 7 ff., etc.
τώ παντελώς δντι μη τταρείναι, μηδέ ζην αυτό μηδό φρονεϊν, άλλα σεμνόν καί
άγιοι», νουν ούκ εχον, ακίνητον έστός είναι), are at the very least a denial
of the exclusion of soul from the most real world, since soul alone is the
origin of thought and motion. Being, we remember, is defined as an
active or passive potentiality.
Here, if anywhere, is a possible source of the Plotinian opinion
ότι ούκ εζω του νού τα νοητά, and Zeller has not been alone in following
the great Neoplatonist in making the Platonic Ideas into active
powers. This theory, however, can only be maintained as Platonic by
what Professor Grube describes as “ a misunderstanding of 248D-249B
and of a passage from the Philebus” (23C-27C). Grube’s analysis78
makes it clear that Plato teaches that the real cannot be limited to
what is immobile. Therefore either the Ideas are active powers, or
souls are active realities distinct from Ideas. Plato prefers the second
alternative. This passage in the Sophist has caused interpreters a good
deal of concern, and Grube has had to cut away many extraordinary
interpretations to clarify its meaning. Plotinus certainly understood
it wrongly79 as teaching that the Forms possess intellection and that
absolute immobility must therefore be attributed to something other
than the Forms, in fact to the One which is beyond intellection. We
may well suspect that Zeller was led to his conclusions precisely from
a desire to tie up the views of Plato and Plotinus into an ordered whole.
I t will be more fruitful if, here as elsewhere, we admit that the view
of Plotinus was in great part derived from a misunderstanding of Plato
which brought the latter more into line with what Plotinus wished
to believe.
I t is possible, however, further to reconcile the passages in the
Phaedo and Sophist about the relationship o f souls and Forms. We
should first remember that in the Phaedo Socrates does not attempt
to draw an absolute defence of immortality from this particular argu­
ment. I should like to suggest, in the light of the Sophist passages,
that this may have been because souls and Forms, although related
(συγγενείς) in so far as they are both part of the “real” world, differ on
the specific point that soul is an active force while the Forms can only
be the indirect causes of action, that is by being π α ραδ είγμ ατα.
The position of Plotinus and of Zeller’s Plato that Nous and the

78Grube, Plato’s Thought 295-6, 302. The phrase το παντελώς ov can quite cor­
rectly mean “ the whole of reality.” Contra Robin, Rapports 107. This is accepted by
Hadot, “ E tre, Vie, Pensee,” 108.
™Enn. 6.7.39. Nebel, Plotins Kategorien der Intelligiblen Welt, also follows Plotinus
in interpreting Soph. 248D ff. as teaching that the Ideas have motion. This view
especially vitiates his discussion on “ Plotin und der Platonische Sophistes” (4 9 -5 4 ).
Forms are united, derives some support from the belief that in the
Sophist and elsewhere Plato posits a Form of Being. If there were such
a Form, it would plainly reduce souls and Forms to manifestations of
the same ultimate principle and thus suggest that they may well, in
some sense, be the same. It is virtually certain that Plotinus believed
that the One of the Parmenides80 is fundamentally the same as his
own First Hypostasis and is thus the principle of Forms and Souls.
The Plotinian One is not a Form of Being, but “ beyond Being,” and
Plotinus treats Being as a “category” of the World of Forms in a
doctrine similar in some respects to that which, as we shall see, is
taught by Plato. Nevertheless, as we have already observed, he is
quite capable of misinterpreting Sophist 248Dff. as teaching that the
Forms are active powers, and the following passages of this very
dialogue are the source of the evidence produced by those who find a
Form of Being in Plato. We may well believe that the Being spoken
of by Plotinus in Ennead 6.2. is less an integral part of each Form
and more an ontological entity than Plato would have allowed.
Plotinus supposed that for Plato Being was a superior Form embracing
all the “real” world and thus resolving the duality of Forms and souls
into a unity. Such a belief may well have encouraged him further to
misunderstand Plato’s teaching. In suggesting that there is no such
thing as a Form of Being in Plato’s works as we know them, we shall
not, of course, be denying that his works contain certain contradictions
which, if expanded, might produce such a Form, nor the obvious fact
that Plotinus derived many of his own views on the One from the
writings of Plato— albeit from a misinterpretation of those writings.
The view that Plato posits a Form of Being, particularly in the
Sophist, is almost universal. It is not however supported by references
in the text to any αυτό 6 ίστιν ον, which would have to be a technical
term for such a Form of Being, but rather seems to be founded on the
plainly shaky notion that in a dialogue as late as the Sophist, the use
of phrases such as etdos and idea necessarily implies the presence of
Forms. Even Sir David Ross, who has explicitly warned81 against the
assumption that eldos or idea must necessarily be technical terms (e.g.
in the Euthyphro) , seems to commit this very same mistake in his
analysis of the Sophist.
This belief in a Form of Being has been contradicted by Dr. Peck,82
who maintains that the μέγιστα γέ^ are not Forms at all but merely
logical expressions. Since his arguments are still a matter of contro-
80Cf. Dodds, “ The Parmenides,” 129-143.
81Ross, Plato's Theory 15.
82Peck, “ Plato and the μέγιστα ykvq of the Sophist,” 32-56.
versy, I shall not use them here but turn to look again at some of the
uses of t o ov and its cognates in the S o p h ist , and follow this by investi­
gating the question whether any other parts of the Platonic writings
lend support to this notion of a Form of Being.
In the S o p h is t , the first of the meanings of τό ov can be deduced
plainly from a passage in 237C, where we read, Ά λ λ ’ ουν τούτο y t
δηλον, ότι των δντων h ri τι τό μη δν ονκ οίστεον, and then, immediately
following, Ούκοΰν επείπερ ονκ επί τδ δν, ούδ’ επί το τί φ'ερων δρθώί αν τι$
φέροι. From this we understand that τό δν in the second of these
sentences is made equivalent to τ α δντα in the first, that is, used to
sum up the whole realm of things that exist. Certainly we should
not suppose that any notion of a Form of Being has been introduced
here. As Dr. Peck points out, τό δν is used at this stage of the discussion
in purely general terms. The Eleatic Visitor is soon to embark on an
analysis of what various earlier thinkers (dualists, monists, etc.) have
had to say about τό δν, and it would be foolish of him to expect them
to be convinced by an argument which assumed a “Platonic” Form
of Being at the start. When he does begin this analysis of previous
thinkers, his object is to show that in whatever way a philosopher may
regard τό δν, he will be led into contradictions if he treats it as any
kind of entity in itself, apart from “ the things that exist.” Such
misuse of the notion of Being would include the Parmenidean Sphere
as well as the supposedly Platonic Idea of αυτό τό δν. The Eleatic
Visitor, then, is not concerned here with whether the monists, dualists,
and the rest have a mistaken view of the world. W hat he is attempting
to show is that the theory that τό δν is an entity in its e lf is fatal to
every philosophical system. We see in fact that his analysis of all the
systems that make this mistaken assumption about τό δν leads him to
declare that both τό δν and τό μη δν appear lost in perplexities (250E ).
At the end of 251C, the Eleatic Visitor makes sure we remember
that we are still using τό δν in a general way (without necessary
reference to any Form of Being and in terms acceptable to all philo­
sophers), by suggesting that his remarks are directed towards all the
theories previously considered (monism, dualism, various materialistic
creeds, and the doctrines of the Friends of the Forms), and also that
of Antisthenes and the others who maintained that all men can
“ validly” say is contained in tautologies such as “ Man is man” and
“ Good is good.” We are meant to assume therefore that the contra­
dictions shown to be involved in these theories, including those caused
by the maintainance of τό δν as an entity separable from “ the things
that exist,” are still being upheld.
 In an article opposing Peck’s position, Lacey83 has asked whether
anyone who maintained Forms of Being, Same, and Other would be
refuted or reduced to contradiction by anything Plato has said in the
Sophist. He asks why, for instance, Plato should wish to defend the
dualist position (p. 46). The answer is that whether Plato wishes to
defend the dualist position or not is irrelevant to the point at issue.
All he wishes to do is to show that any position which makes the tacit
assumption that t o can be regarded as a separate entity and, as it
ov

were, abstracted or left truncated, is bound to be susceptible to attack

on logical grounds.
We have seen then that in the first sense t o in the Sophist means
ov

nothing more than τα όντα. In 248A, however, this meaning is explained

in a more Platonic manner. We read: και σώματι μεν ήμάς ξενίσει δι'
αισθήσεως κοινωνεΐν, διά λογισμοί) δέ ψυχή πρός την όντως ουσίαν, ην άεί κατά
ταύτά ωσαύτως εχειν φάτε, yeveaiv δϊ άλλοτε άλλως. This passage is
directed specifically at the “ Friends of the Forms” and there is little
doubt that we are meant to assume that ουσία is applied to the “real”
world (the νοητά of the Republic) while γένεσις is the sphere of the
αισθητά. We should observe here that Plato is not speaking of a Form
ουσία; he is only referring to his normal doctrine of the division
between sensibles and intelligibles, and saying that intelligibles alone
are worthy of the full value of the word ουσία. “ Being” and “Substance”
here, then, are only general terms used to describe the intelligible
world. I t is in the light of this realization that we should examine the
critical section 253D-254A.
The Eleatic Visitor begins by remarking that while engaged in a
search for the sophist, he seems to have come upon the genuine
philosopher or dialectician. He proceeds to describe the science of
dialectic as that of divisions into definable classes which must not be
confused. Then follows the account of the results a dialectician can
achieve by this method, which has been regarded as proof that Plato
uses a Form of Being as a normal Form, though one of larger scope
than the others. Let us therefore examine the results of dialectic in
turn. We are told that the dialectician can perceive:
(a) One Form extended through many individuals, each of which
lies separate.
(b) Many separate Forms embraced in one greater Form.
(c) One Form made up of the combination of many wholes.
(d) T hat many Forms are entirely separate.

83Lacey, “Plato’s Sophist,” 43-52.

All this is summarized as the ability to distinguish in what general way
individuals can or cannot associate with one another (y re κοινωνεiv
ϊκαστα δΰναται καϊ oiry μη). None of these observable results would be
affected in any way by whether Plato believed in a Form of Being or
not (though it would be interesting to discover which Forms are
“entirely separate” from the Form of Being, supposing such a Form
to exist). They all deal with Forms which are assumed to exist. We
cannot imagine the Platonist working with “non-existent” Forms. The
only question we can ask ourselves is whether Plato is at any time
known to have posited t o ov as a “ Formal Cause of the Form s,” to
use the Aristotelian terminology. If he did not, we are entitled to
assume with Peck that in the case of the Platonic Form τό καλόν, for
example, Being is assumed as part of the nature of the Form and does
not need to be explained as the result of participation in a Form
αυτό τό ov. The full title of the Form τό καλόν, as Peck has pointed out,
is αυτό ό έστι καλόν. Έ σ τ ί is included.
The phrase in 254A, stating that the true philosopher is always
concerned with η ιδέα του ovtos and that this is hard to discern because
of the brightness of the real world, may appear at first a strong argu­
ment against our present position, but we should observe that there
is no necessity, and indeed no justification, for affixing specific meta­
physical status to this t o ov. All the phrase means, as we have seen in
a similar example above (248A), is that the philosopher is concerned
with the intelligible world (τό νοητόν) the world where Being is at its
most perfect and in no way contaminated with τό μη ov or ykveais. In
that world each of the perfect Forms implies and includes as an
integral part of itself what we may call perfect Being. The philosopher
does not speak of a Form as a perfect abstraction but as a perfect
existent.
As a final proof that Being is assumed as an integral part of every
Form, we may cite the phrase 'έκαστον τό ov, which occurs frequently
in the Republic and elsewhere and which can mean no more than
“each Form .” The Forms are each a part of that complex which is
the Ideal World or the World of Realities. We may sum up by saying
that the Neoplatonic view which has been upheld in recent times by
Zeller and which makes the Forms active powers in the Divine Mind
derives no support from the notion that the duality of Forms and souls
may be reduced to a unity in the Form of Being, for Plato does not
posit such a Form. We must be content with believing that both Forms
and souls are realities in the Platonic sense, and that souls, in so far
as they are good and filled with knowledge, have no source for this
goodness and knowledge other than the Forms. In this sense, we can
maintain the traditional view that for Plato the Forms are at the
“head” of the Universe.

Ill

Must we then draw the conclusion that the highest things in the
Universe are lifeless, since if the Forms are not souls nor primarily in
souls, they cannot for Plato be alive? Must we even maintain that the
Ideal Living Creature of the Timaeus is not alive? The question at
once raises an issue fundamental to the student of Plato, namely: In
what sense are the Forms self-predicating? To resolve this question
it is necessary to look at the much discussed problem of the Third Man.
In a most important article, Professor Vlastos84*8presents the Third
Man objection in the Parmenides as follows: If a, b, and c are F , then
there exists a Form F-ness by which «, 3, and c are F . This is the first
step, and the second is that if a, b, c, and F-ness are all F , there must
exist another Form which Vlastos calls F x. He then calls attention to
the obvious fact that this second position assumes that all the Forms
are self-predicating, i.e. that F-ness is F . It is important therefore to
see how far this assumption of Parmenides is justified.
Vlastos has a good deal of evidence in his favour, both from Plato’s
own writings and from Aristotle’s. In the Lysis,65 for example, we read
that white hairs are of the same quality as Whiteness, in the Prota­
goras66 that Justice is just and Holiness holy, while the Phaedo87 gives
the same impression in the phrase “ If anything else is beautiful besides
Beauty itself.” In the Nicomachean Ethics66 Aristotle states that for
the Platonists the Form of Man is man. This looks a very imposing
list, and we may assume from it that Plato’s forms are self-predicating,

84Vlastos, “ The Third Man Argument,” 319-349. See also Sellars, “ Vlastos and the
Third M an,” 4 0 5 -4 3 7 ; Vlastos, "A Reply to Prof. Sellars,” 43 8 -4 4 8 ; Geach, “ The
Third Man Again,” 7 2 -8 2 ; Vlastos, “ A Reply to Mr. Geach,” 8 3 -94; Bluck, “ The
Parmenides and the Third M an," 2 9 -3 7 ; Allen, “ Participation and Predication,”
147-164; and especially Peck, “ Plato versus Parmenides,” 159-184.
™Lysis 21 7D.
tsProt. 330CD.
^ Phaedo 100C.
88Aristotle N .E . 1096B 1. Cf. Π epl 'ώ€ων, quoted by Alexander, in Met. 990B 15,
where Aristotle says that if the “ man” which is predicated of the Form is different
from that of which it is the predicate, then the regress follows. As we have suggested,
this is not necessarily the sense of self-predication that Plato employs.
but the question remains as to what meaning we give the expression
“self-predicating,” for Justice may be self-predicating in at least two
ways. We may either say “Justice is ju st” or “Justice is a just thing.”
It is self-predication of this second kind that we find Parmenides
attributing to the Forms as they are propounded by Socrates. In other
words, Parmenides takes the Forms to be particular things.
Y et other passages in Plato’s works show clearly that he rejected
the notion that Forms are particular things. We learn from the
Republic that God did not make two Forms of Bad, because if he had,
a third Form, necessary to embrace their particularity, would auto­
matically have come into existence. A similar argument establishes the
uniqueness of the Ideal Living Creature in the Timaeus. Thus it is
made clear that if particularity is attributed to the Forms, a regress
is inevitable, and it is therefore not in the least extraordinary that
Parmenides finds one.89 To abolish the regress, we must abolish the
particularity. We must not say “Largeness is a large thing” and
“Justice is a just thing,” but “Largeness is large” and “Justice is
ju st.” Thus Plato, while using the “self-predication assumption” attri­
buted to him by Vlastos, does so only in a tautologous90 sense.
Vlastos further maintains that “ If the Form, Largeness, is super­
latively large, while large mountains, oaks, etc. are only deficiently
large, it must follow that the single word “large” stands for two
distinct predicates: (a) the predicate which attaches to the large
particulars; (b) the predicate which attaches to Largeness. Call {a)
“large” and (b) “largei.” As Bluck points out,91 however, this method
of looking at the question is erroneous, for if we say that Largeness is

89In a recent article in M ind, entitled “ Regress Arguments in Plato,” G. C. Nerlich

suggests that the regresses of the Re-public and Timaeus contain the same assumptions
as do those of the Parmenides. These assumptions are that the objects involved in the
regresses are comparable in kind. He does not make clear, however, that these re­
gresses take place when the things compared are two identical Forms in the other
two dialogues and a Form and a particular in the Parmenides. The Timaeus and
Republic arguments show that to remove the uniqueness from a Form , even to com­
pare it with that to which it is theoretically comparable, leads to a regress and is
therefore impossible. And what Parmenides in fact does is in some sense to detract
from this uniqueness.
90Self-predication is also suggested by the phrase “ the #-itself” to describe a Form .
Ross believes ( Plato’s Theory 88) that this suggests that Plato “ treats the Idea of x
as one x among others and implies an #-ness common to it with others,” and Vlastos
(PR[1954] 337, n.32) appears to agree with this comment. It seems however that the
phrase “ the #-itself” need only imply that the Form is x, whereas strictly speaking
the particulars are not x at all.
91Bluck, “ The Parmenides,” 33.
large and mean anything other than a tautology, it must follow that
in an ontological sense nothing else can be called large except Largeness
itself. Thus Cornford’s remark,92 “The arguments of the Republic and
the Timaeus indicate that Plato was not blind to the fallacy in Par­
menides’ assumption that Largeness is a large thing,” gives rather the
wrong emphasis. The real mistake of Parmenides is to neglect the
uniqueness of Largeness itself. If Largeness itself were large (in any
other than a tautologous sense) then nothing else could properly be
called “large.” Admittedly the so-called large particulars would bear
more relation to the predicate “large” than to any other predicate,
but ontologically they would not be large, since all but Forms are
defective.93 Thus even if the Forms are self-predicating in a non-
tautological sense, Forms and particulars are incomparable not, as
Cornford might have supposed, because of the nature of the Forms,
but because of the inability of the particulars to admit of true
predication.
With these conclusions in mind, what may we truly predicate of the
Ideal Living Creature? Plainly that the Ideal Living Creature is living
creature. Thus if we say that living creatures are alive, we must not
say that the Ideal Living Creature is alive, for that would be to make
it a particular among the other particular living creatures, though
superior to them, whereas the Ideal Living Creature is incomparable.
Now, when discussing Plato’s philosophy we must, to avoid con­
fusion, use accepted terminology where possible, and in accepted
terminology “living creatures are alive.” Since this is so, and we are
using the word “ alive” to describe constituents of the world of becom­
ing, we cannot strictly apply it to the world of Forms. We cannot
therefore make the two statements “ the Ideal Living Creature is living
creature” and “ the Ideal Living Creature is alive” synonymous. While
the former is true, and an example of the self-predication assumption
in the correct sense, the latter is a misleading deduction from an un­
considered interpretation of the relation between Forms and par­
ticulars.
We should therefore appear justified, since the Ideal Living Creature
embraces a plurality of Forms, in excluding life from the Platonic
Forms,94 the objects of the thought of philosophers and Gods. We, as

“ Cornford, Plato and Parmenides 90.

“ Cf. Phaedo 74C, 75A B ; Rep. 529D.
94In De Anima 1.404B20, we learn that Plato analysed αυτό τό ζ$ον, and that its
(presumably abstract) components were “ the One” and the primary length, breadth,
and depth only.
humans, are, when aiming at our best, to be in love with the lifeless.
This, we may object, is a hard task, for it is the nature of man to love
“life.” We may conjecture that Plato’s answer would be that if a man
is really a lover of Beauty, he will not regard the indwelling of life,
with its concomitant yevtats, as the thing most akin to the Good itself.
Plotinus, as we shall see, finds it necessary to correct Plato on this
point, but of Plato’s opinion there can be no doubt.

IV

Discussion of the nature of the Good does not occur frequently in the
dialogues. Plato is unwilling to describe it in th&Republic on the ground
that Glaucon and the rest of his audience will not be able to follow.
He more or less contents himself with calling it μεγιστον μάθημα and
with the analogy that it is the light which shines upon the intelligible
objects of contemplation and thus makes them intelligible. When
pressed, he feels impelled to resort to phrases like the famous
€ΐτ€Κ€ίρα τηs ovatas.95 None of these suggestions give us much inkling of
what the Good is. For that we shall derive much more help from the
Philebus, a work devoted to that purpose. The claimants to the title
of Good are Wisdom or Thought, as proposed by Socrates, and
Pleasure, the ideal of Philebus and Protarchus. We are not concerned
with the details of the discussion, which reveal that both the original
contestants were wrong although the view of Socrates was nearer the
truth. W hat is of importance here is that we are told that “of all
possessions the first is Measure, Moderation and Appropriateness”
(.καίριον) 96 and, what is even more relevant, that “ Beauty and Virtue
always turn out to be Measure (μέτρου) and Proportion (συμμετρία)” ;
finally that if we want to track down the Good, we must call to our
aid Beauty, Proportion, and T ruth.97 These will bring us to the thres­
hold of a knowledge of the Good, presumably giving us what knowledge
is possible of something which is in a sense “ beyond Being.”
Beauty, then, in the Philebus is identified with Measure, as we
might well expect would be the doctrine of so convinced an apostle
of mathematics as Plato. W hat makes a statue beautiful for Plato,
and in this he is an exemplar of the fifth-fourth century spirit, is its
harmonious arrangement. When Plotinus implies that the beauty of a
statue would be inestimably enhanced if it were alive (E n n . 6.7.22),
his remarks are straightforward evidence that the presuppositions of
*sRep. 6. 509B. "P hil. 66A. 97Phil. 65A.
his age and of that of Plato are so radically different that to call them
both classical can be very misleading.
We have suggested that the true lover, in Platonic terms, is a lover
of the Forms as quasi-exemplars of mathematical perfection and
reasonableness. He is a lover of something which can show no response
of any kind. This is sublimation indeed, and we shall suggest that it is
one of the reasons for the failure of the Platonic system in its original
form to secure a hold upon the minds even of powerful thinkers. It is
possible that Plato was demanding a response beyond the human
range, and that by ensuring that the “love” of his Guardians was so
free of contact with any physical notion and even with life itself, he
also ensured that it could not inspire his successors. Speusippus was
perhaps not so far from Plato when he abolished the Ideas and placed
mathematical notions at the head of his system, for to anyone without
the subtlety of his Master the distinction between the two cannot in
practice have been very great. Aristotle’s remark that philosophy has
become mathematics was, we may suspect, valid in a critic’s opinion
against Plato himself as well as against his successor.
But was the Platonic system as mathematical and abstracted as we
have suggested? Surely in the Republic and the Philebus we are told
that the Good is the greatest of the Forms, while in the Symposium
we have Beauty in a similar role. Both Goodness and Beauty, being
“ moral” or “ethical” Forms, are, we may suppose, within the scope
of the emotion of love. Not, however, I would suggest, as Plato under­
stands them. Beauty, we have already seen, has been identified with
Measure and Proportion; and while Measure and Proportion can be
admired and even wondered at, it seems unlikely that they can be
loved, most especially since they are lifeless. W hat about the Good?
The Philebus tells us that mathematical notions can only give us some
idea of it, and do not exactly define it. This is true, and we can find
no closer definition in the dialogues. Furthermore we can recall the
passage from the Seventh Letter, which has already been quoted,98 in
which Plato insists that he has never written about the Good and never
will. It is clear, however, that he spoke about it to his pupils in the
Academy. On this subject Burnet writes:99 “Aristoxenos said that
Aristotle ‘was always telling’ how most of those who heard the lecture
on the Good were affected. They came expecting to hear about some
of the recognized good things, and when they heard of nothing but
Arithmetic and Astronomy and the Limit and the One, they thought
wE p . 7. 341C.
•’ Burnet, Greek Philosophy 221. Cf. Aristox., Harm. Elem. 2.30.
it all very strange. We know from Simplicius that Aristotle, Speusippus
and Xenokrates had all published their notes of this very discourse.”
Aristoxenus adds that Plato declared: “ ayaBov 'ΐστιν tv. ” As Ross ad­
mits,100 this phrase in its context may imply that Plato claimed “ that
there is one Good.” It seems more reasonable, however, to view it in
the light of such passages as Met. 1091B. 13ff., where Aristotle writes:
των 8i τάς ακινήτους ουσίας tlvai XtyovTwv [i.e. the Platonists], ot μίν φασιν
αυτό t o tv
t o ayaBov αύτό βΐναι. ουσίαν μίντοι το tv αΰτου ωοντο tlvai
μ ά λισ τα .101 If this passage refers to Plato and his orthodox supporters,
as many scholars suppose, we find evidence that Plato came in the
end to hold that Goodness consists primarily in the imposition of
Limit (as in the Philebus) and Unity— and we are faced with the
demand that if we are to be Platonic philosophers, this is the nature of
the Goodness, the μέγιστοι μάθημα, that we must love.
It is necessary at this point to refer briefly to the Parmenides. The
Neoplatonists, from Plotinus on, made frequent use of the One of the
first hypothesis which they regarded as equivalent to their own
Supreme Unity. We must therefore consider whether their interpreta­
tion is in any way faithful to Plato’s thought. I have examined the
purpose of the Parmenides elsewhere,102 and it is therefore necessary
here only to state my conclusions and refer the reader to my article
for the argumentation. M y view of the first hypothesis is this: that
Plato demonstrates both that a bare Unity, such as the Parmenidean
One, can admit of no predication of any kind, and that there can be
no Form of Unity comparable with the other Forms. Unity, however,
is not a non-significant abstraction, as Peck has suggested,103 but an
element that must be present in all that is real. It is for this reason
that in the Philebus, Forms are referred to as “Henads” and “ Monads,”
since their unity and distinctness are basic to their existence. In brief,
when Plato wrote the Parmenides, he was coming to realize the prime
importance of the unitary nature of each Form, but could not accept
the view that this Unity had any semblance of reality in its own right,
apg.rt from the Forms. Unity then in the first hypothesis of the Par­
menides has not the independent status of the Good in Republic VI,
although later in his life Plato equated the Good and the One. A
corollary of this interpretation is that Plato cannot be thinking in
terms of a “ negative theology of positive transcendence” in the
Parmenides.
100Ross, Plato’s Theory 224. 101Cf. Met. A, 988B 11-16.
102Cf. my article “ The Parmenides Again,” 1-14.
103Peck, “ Plato’s Parmenides."
 Having considered the philosophers, the Gods, love of the Forms,
and the Ideal World itself, we must now turn our attention to the
status assigned by Plato to the Form of the Good which is the Sun of
the Intelligible World. Could Plotinus find Platonic texts, other than
those from the Parmenides, which might suggest that the Form of the
Good is at a higher stage of reality than the other Forms? He could
certainly cite the famous passage from the Republic:10*104 Καί rots
yiyvcsaκομβνοίί τοίνον μή μόνον τό γιγ?ώσκ6σθαι φάναι υπό τον αγαθού
παρεϊναι, άλλα καί τό βΐναί re καί την ουσίαν αύτοίς προσεΊνat, οΰκ ουσίας δντος
του αγαθού, άλλ’ ere επέκεινα της ουσίας πρεσβείφ καί δυνάμει, υπερεχοντος.
Since τά yιyvωσκόμεva are of course the Forms, does this passage imply
that the Good is not a Form but something higher, something perhaps
more akin to the Plotinian One? From these words taken by them­
selves, we might be justified in holding that view, but the actual
phrase “ Form of the Good” occurs frequently in this metaphysical
section of the Republic, in passages where it is undeniably the highest
of the Forms but still a Form.105 B ut how can it be both an example of
τό δν, for we have seen that the Forms are frequently called ίκαστα
τά δντα, and at the same time επέκεινα της ουσίας? And how can it be
both a Form and the Cause of Forms as it is implied to be in 517BC
(όφθεΐσα δε [ή ιδέα του άγαθοΟ] συλλoyιστία είναι ώς άρα πάσι πάντων αΰτη
ορθών τε καί καλών αίτια . . .)? There seems little doubt that Plato wished
to separate the Form of the Good from the other Forms, just as the
sun is separate from the objects which it illuminates, but was unwilling
to deprive it of the name “ Form ” in the interest of raising it to a
higher level.
We appear to have reached a deadlock on this matter within the
dialogues and can only hope to resolve it from the Aristotelian evid­
ence. We have already indicated support for the view that the Form
of the Good was, in Plato’s latest period, identified with the Form of
Unity. Can we derive any help from what Aristotle has to say about
this One? He writes:106 “ Since the Forms are the causes of everything
else, he (Plato) thought that their elements are the elements of all
things. Thus the material principle is the Great and the Small, and
the substantial principle is the One; for the numbers (that is of course
the Forms as Ideal Numbers) are derived from the Great and the

10iRep. 6. 509B.
105Cf. Rep. 6. 505A. η του άγαθοΟ ιδέα μέγιστο? μάθημα. Rep. 7. 517BC , εν τω
yvωστω τελευταία ή του άγαθοΟ ίδεα καί μ ό γis δρασθαι. For the Good as Being,
see also Rep. 7. 518C, 532C.
105Arist. Mei. A, 987B, 19ff.
Small by participation in the One.” It is worth noting in passing that
this analysis of the Forms does not divide each one into “ Being” plus
“.v-ness in a non-existent state,” i.e., Justice is not Being added to
something that is “ju st” but non-existent, as the partisans of a
Platonic Form of Being might suppose. On the contrary, we have the
One and the Great and the Small, which latter is, of course, the
Great-and-Small, if we discount the Aristotelian misinterpretation.
Here the One is the cause of the existence of the Forms— a role played
in Republic 509B by the Good.
So far, then, we may believe that Plotinus was truly interpreting
his Master in believing that the One is beyond the Forms. But, we
may object, Plato’s analysis of each Form into its elements of the One
and the Great-and-Small is only a piece of abstraction. He did not
actually visualize this One as an independent reality. Furthermore,
are we sure that this One, which is always linked with the Great-and-
Small, is the same as the One which is identifiable with the Form
of the Good?
In answer to the first point, if we accept that the division of Forms
into their elements is possible in the abstract but has no relevance to
ontology, are we not compelled to conclude that for Plato the Form of
the Good, being as it is επΐ-κανα της ουσίας, cannot be said to exist at
all except as an abstraction in the mind of the dialectician? Plato
would plainly refuse to accept this conclusion. As to whether the
One-Good and the One which accompanies the Great-and-Small are
the same, all we can say is that none of our texts appears to suggest
that they are not. It is surely unwise to divide them if the division
cannot be found either in Plato or in passages referring to his work.
On this issue of the status of the Form of the Good or of the One,
as on that of ’'Epws, we appear to have reached an impasse. T ry as we
will, we cannot, even with the aid of development theories, reach a
totally harmonious position to attribute to Plato on either of these
questions. Furthermore, the developments of the system that were
made later by Plotinus and others were often regarded by these thinkers
as expositions of what Plato himself had actually said. And in a sense
they were, for the Master’s position has been shown to involve con­
tradictions, and nowhere more plainly than in this matter of the Good;
for Plato wants it to be both a Form and not a Form, both a kind of
Being and “ beyond Being,” and even within a single work, such as
the Republic, is unwilling to push either of these alternatives to its
logical conclusion. When Plotinus takes the Platonic One or Good and
puts it beyond the Intelligible World of Forms, he has grasped one
side of his master’s paradox. For that he can, and should, be pardoned.
There is no reason why he should not have decided to choose one or
other of the contradictory Platonic positions. Where he appears to
have had a more misleading effect is in his belief, stated or implied,
that he is necessarily interpreting the Platonic system in the way that
Plato really wished. This is not true, as most scholars are agreed,
though it is still not unknown for Plato to be interpreted as if he were,
in all essentials, an inhabitant of Alexandria or Rome and a pupil of
Ammonius Saccas.
In summarizing the effect of Plato on his successors, Burnet107
writes as follows:
It must be admitted that Plato’s immediate followers fell very far short of the ideal
I have attributed to their master. Aristotle was impatient with the mathematical
side of the doctrine and did not even trouble to understand it. The result was that this
did not come into its rights for nearly two thousand years. Even those men who were
really carrying out the work Plato began felt bound to put their results in a form
which Aristotle’s criticism would not touch. The Elements of Euclid are a monument
of that position. Xenokrates confused Plato’s philosophy of numbers with his philo­
sophy of motion, and defined the soul as a “self-moving number.” Speusippus held
that the Good was not primary, but arose in the course of evolution. The Neoplatonists
did more justice to Plato’s doctrine of the Good and of the soul, but they failed to
remember his warning that the detailed application of these could only be “ probable
tales” in the actual state of our knowledge. Y et these very failures to grasp Plato’s
central thought bear witness to different sides of i t . . . .

All this is partially true and shows that it is no novelty to be unable

to pin Plato down to a specific body of doctrine. Burnet, however,
has overlooked two most important points that help to account for
this continual variation in interpretation: first, that the doctrines are
not a consistent logical whole, and secondly that some of them, for
example that of the nature of philosophic love, are found by the test
of experience to be impractical ideals, where Plato demands more of
human nature than is within human capacity. This kind of condemna­
tion is rarely mentioned by the Neoplatonists and perhaps was not
even a conscious reaction. Nevertheless certain demands on human
nature made by Plato were tacitly neglected or replaced by his
successors.
107Burnet, Greek Philosophy 350.
 Chapter Three

THE ONE, EROS, AND THE

PROGRESSION OF THE SOUL
IN PLOTINUS

T
HAT Plato is not the only philosopher to whom Plotinus is
indebted is a commonplace. Modern scholars have devoted great
pains to the demonstration of how much of his thought is de­
rived from other sources, both Greek1 and Oriental. It has been shown,
for example, that apart from his Aristotelian borrowings Plotinus is
deeply indebted at least for terminology2 to Posidonius and to the
Stoics in general, while Brehier3 has gone so far as to suppose that

XA good indication of the results of research in this matter is given by Miss C. J . de

Vogel, “ Neoplatonic Platonism,” 43ff., who, in her attempts to prove the con­
tinuity of the Platonic tradition, reminds us that a hierarchy of Being can be found
in Philo, Plutarch, Albinus, Numenius, and even Valentinus in our era, and that all
these systems are to be traced in certain of their aspects to the Platonism of Speusip­
pus and Xenocrates, and very probably of Plato himself. W hat Miss de Vogel’s
argument does not prove, however, is why these later Platonists differed in their
interpretations of Plato both from each other and from Plotinus. The important point
is that they may have produced different interpretations because the Platonic text
admits of different interpretations. It is true that the school of Plotinus studied the
texts of certain of the Middle Platonists and Neopythagoreans, but this study was for
the sole purpose, we may assume, of clearing up difficulties in the Platonic text.
Where the interpretations of this text differed, the work of the “ commentators”
began. An obvious example of this procedure is given by the treatment of the relation
of the Ideas and the Divine Mind. The text of the Timaeus, which was a starting
pointy was obscure; hence the varying opinions of the commentators. For the Aristo­
telian, Philonic, and Albinian interpretations, see later in this essay and especially
H. A. Wolfson, The Philosophy of the Church Fathers, 257-286. The Philonic inter­
pretation could derive from Rep. 10. 597D , where the Form of Bed is said to be
created by God. Thus it would appear to have two stages of existence: (1) in God’s
mind, (2) as an independent, transcendent entity. This view is maintained by Wolfson,
Philo 204-210, 221-223, 229-233.
*See W itt, “ Plotinus and Posidonius,” 198ff.
3Brehier, Plotin. For a reasoned argument against Br6hier, see Armstrong, “ Plo­
tinus and India,” 22-28.
some elements of his thought can only be traced to an Indian source.
Nevertheless Plotinus and his school are always referred to as Neo-
platonists, not as Neo-Aristotelians, Neo-Stoics,4 or even Neo-Bud­
dhists, and the origin of this designation goes back to antiquity where
both Plotinus’ friends and opponents regarded him as a follower of
Plato. We recall also that Plato is continually referred to in the
Enneads as “H e,” just as the Pythagoreans spoke of their Master
as avros.
That Plotinus professed to follow the Platonic teachings is certain:
certain too that he believed that his own written words were true
Platonism.5 But perhaps he was deceiving himself, for the history of
philosophy teems with examples of those who, while professing to fol­
low their master’s doctrines, have in fact changed those doctrines
radically and set them forth in an unrecognizable form. Let us there­
fore not trust Plotinus himself in this matter, but turn to the greatest
exponent in late antiquity of a system which, though admiring certain
elements in Neoplatonism, was in other ways most heartily opposed to
it. It is St. Augustine who writes: “ The utterance of Plato, the most
pure and bright in all philosophy, scattering the clouds of error, has
shone forth most of all in Plotinus, the Platonic philosopher who has
been deemed so like his master that one might think them contem­
poraries, if the length of time between them did not compel us to say
that in Plotinus, Plato lived again.” 6
Augustine is certain that fundamentally the philosophies of Plato
and Plotinus are the same. Despite this we should be rash indeed to
follow certain of the moderns in believing that such a claim can validly
be made. We should be justified, however, in holding that these words
of Augustine give support to the view that although “Plato’s Thought”
as a whole may be very different from that of his successor, yet it
might be possible to interpret that thought in such a way as to make
it Neoplatonic, provided the right passages were selected; further that
these “right passages” might in some cases be those in which Plato’s
thought has already appeared self-contradictory or ambiguous. They
might include his theory of "Epcos, for example, or that of the nature
of the Good.
That we are justified in speaking of “right passages” in this sense

4Porphyry had no doubts about the presence of non-platonic elements in the

Enneads. Cf. έμμέμικται και τ α Στοικά Χανθάνοντα δόγματα και τ α ΐΐζρ ιπ ατητικ ά,
Vit. Plot. 14.
6Plotinus rejects the idea that his work is a new doctrine. Cf. E nn. 2.9.6.
eSt. Augustine, Contra Academicos 3.18.
appears plain from Plotinus’ remark that the Platonic Parmenides
was a great advance on his historical prototype,7 especially if this be
placed alongside the view of Iamblichus, that of all the Platonic
dialogues only the Parmenides and the Timaeus are absolutely vital.8
Of course, if there is such a thing as a “ Platonic system,” it makes no
difference at all that Plotinus and the Neoplatonists in general only
selected certain passages, because those passages, at the lowest esti­
mate, at least contain nothing that is in complete discord with the
rest. If, however, the Platonic dialogues themselves contain unresolved
contradictions,9 either explicit or implicit, then clearly by enlarging
upon certain portions of the corpus and neglecting the rest, one could
produce a system which, though more consistent than that of Plato,
would by this very consistency be open to the charge of being
unplatonic.
With these observations in mind, we can turn to some passages in
the Enneads where Plotinus himself describes what he regards as his
position vis-^-vis that of Plato. We read: “We must believe that some
of the blessed philosophers of old discovered the truth,”10 and again:
“These theories are neither new nor modern, but were stated long ago,
if not stressed; our present doctrines are explanations of earlier ones
and can show the antiquity of these opinions on the testimony of
Plato himself.”11 These remarks, which could be paralleled from many
other passages, are described by Brehier as “un peu exaggerees”12—
but perhaps they should not be dismissed quite so lightly, unless we
are to credit both Plotinus and his contemporaries and successors with
an extraordinary blindness. While recognizing the fear of novelty
which makes itself evident in almost all the thought of the later
Empire and admitting that Plotinus may not have been free from its
effects, we can none the less hold that there are certain elements in
the thought of Plato himself which, if isolated, will turn him into a
proto-Plotinus, if any notion of a rigid Platonic system be maintained.
Brehier’s comment “Mais les problemes qu’il [Plotinus] se pose sont
des problemes que la philosophie grecque n’a jamais envisages” is true
if we limit “envisages” to its strict sense and do not imply that these
7Cf. Enn. 5.1.8 and Dodds, “ The Parmenides,” 129-143.
8Proclus, in Tim. 1.13.15. Cf. Anon. Prolegomena 26, Westerink ed. 47, and the
discussion by J . H. Waszink is his recent edition of Calcidius (London and Leiden
1962) xcvii.
*Plotinus admits that Plato does not appear to be consistent at all times, and
regards these inconsistencies as a challenge. E nn. 4.8.1. He is, of course, ignorant of
any development of Plato’s thought.
™Enn. 3.7.1. “ £ » » . 5.1.8. 12Br6hier, Plotin 3.
problems were not only not “envisaged” but not even “implicit” in
the statements, especially the apparently contradictory statements,
of Plato.
The most fundamental Platonic teaching is the Theory of Forms.
Plotinus naturally accepts the theory but, as an objector might point
out, he transforms it radically. Before considering certain details of
this transformation, however, it is worth trying to understand how
Plotinus, presumably by comparing the dialogues with one another,
is able to see some of the difficulties inherent in them which modern
critics have also thought of importance. Most particularly is this true
with regard to the question of self-predication. When treating of Plato,
we remarked how much discussion this subject has aroused recently,
and we should bear this in mind while we observe what Plotinus has
to say on the subject.
Plotinus’ own doctrine, however, presents us with a difficulty of
another kind, for it appears to be contradictory. “ *H τοσότης αντη ού
τό σ ο ν ,” he says,13 thus appearing to concede that in some sense certain
of the Forms at least (τοσότης is an elSos) are not self-predicating, and
he goes on to explain that τόσον is not a proper predicate for Quantity
itself, but for what partakes of Quantity itself. This certainly means
not only that Plotinus is denying that ή τοσότης is material and ex­
tended,14 but also that it is a particular quantity in the way that
Parmenides, in the dialogue named after him, suggested, when he
implied that Largeness is a large thing. Furthermore, by refusing to
admit that τόσον can be predicted of both the Form τοσότης and the
particulars that partake of it, Plotinus is refusing to allow a comparison
between Forms and particulars. His refusal is in the fullest sense
Platonic, for Plato always regards the unit of measure as prior to what
is measured.15 Elsewhere in the Enneads,16 however, we find the phrase
ού y a p ά λ λ ο αληθίστίρον αν eupocs τον αληθούς, where Truth, a moral
Form, is self-predicating, just as Plato in the Phaedo tells us that
αυτό τό καλόν and the rest are self-predicating. When discussing Plato,
we found it necessary to point out that so-called “self-predication”
can have one of two distinct meanings, one tautologous, such as
“Justice is ju st,” and the other particularizing, such as “Justice is a
just thing.” We further suggested that Plato means his Forms to be
self-predicating in the former sense and not in the latter, though his

l3E nn. 2.4.9.

MAs Professor Armstrong reminded me in a comment on the original draft of this
essay.
15Cf. Armstrong, Architecture 26-27. 16Enn. 5.5.2.
writings do not make the m atter very clear and are easily misunder­
stood. The former of these senses would also apply to the Plotinian
Form of Truth.
When Plotinus was studying the Parmenidesy he must have come
upon Parmenides’ arguments directed against the Form of Largeness.17
Parmenides asserted that a Form of Largeness involved Plato in an
infinite regress, since the fact that “large” could be predicated of it
reduced it to the level of a large thing. Plotinus was well aware that
Plato did not abandon the Theory of Forms, so he must have assumed
that Parmenides’ understanding of the theory was incorrect, and if it
was incorrect, the most obvious way to “ correct” it probably seemed
to be to maintain that not all the Forms were self-predicating. He
may even have thought that the suggestion of Aristotle that some
Platonists did not posit Forms of relative terms18 meant that Plato
himself regarded ethical Forms differently from such entities as
αυτή ή ποσότης. In any case, the difficulties that meet us in Plotinus’
views on this question are evidence of the detailed consideration he
gave to the Platonic text.
So far, then, we may believe that Plotinus is interpreting Platonic
dogma in a way that is at least suggested by a close study of Plato
himself. When we continue, however, to compare the Plotinian Form
with the Platonic, we find a series of most important differences. Plato
makes it clear in the Parmenides19 that he rejects an interpretation of
the Forms as being ev τη ψ υχή, whereas Plotinus dedicates a whole
treatise to proving a view held throughout the Enneads, that ούκ
ϊξω του νοΰ τ ά νοητά.20 That this latter notion is unplatonic is clear, and
we hear that its adoption by Plotinus caused considerable discussion
within the school itself and was criticized by Longinus.21 Porphyry too
was originally unable to accept it and Plotinus instructed Amelius,
his chief supporter, to compose a treatise which would elucidate the
matter for him.22 Porphyry was convinced and thus passed from the
view of Plato to that of Plotinus.
That Plotinus was diverging from the view of Plato on this matter
is certain; that he was the heir of a long line of misinterpretation is
also certain.23 Whether he was aware of the most important implication
17Parm. 130E.
18Arist. Met. A, 990B 17 ff., and see Ross, Aristotle’s Metaphysics, 192.
"Partn. 132BC. 20£ » » . 5.5.
2lFor Longinus’ view, see Armstrong, “ Background,” 393-395.
22Porphyry, Vita Plotini, 18.
23For the attempt of Plotinus to defend his view by reference to Sophist 248A, see
pp. 42-43 of this study.
of his divergence from Porphyry, and thus unwittingly from Plato,
we shall never know. We shall return to this question later, but for
the moment may be content with saying that the real issue was whether
the Forms are inside or outside the world of life. If they are outside it,
quite apart in their essence from souls, even from the souls of the Gods,
as Plato held, they can only be contemplated; if, however, they are
“ inside,” then an ascent beyond mere contemplation, a mystical union
with the One, is possible, and indeed not only possible but the only
worth-while reXos of the philosophic life.
Before entering upon a discussion of these most difficult points, we
must pause to ask how Plotinus came to believe that his view that
“ the intelligibles are not outside the Divine Mind” is to be found in
Plato. First, we may recall that although there is no doubt of the
dichotomy of Forms and souls in Plato, certain isolated passages may
easily be interpreted as suggesting a different view. In Republic 1024
Plato remarks that the Form of Bed is created by God and although, as
Archer-Hind25 has explained, this is done in order to fit harmoniously
into a scheme in which a carpenter is the creator of a “particular” bed
and a painter of a picture of a bed, yet it has often been interpreted
as meaning that the Forms are “posterior” to God. Furthermore, the
sixth and seventh books of the Republic subordinate the remaining
Forms to the Form of the Good. If then, as has been pointed out by
R. M. Jones,26 the Form of Good was early identified with God, the
misunderstanding we are considering could easily have been
perpetrated.
In Timaeus 29A, we read that the Demiourgos fixes his eyes on an
eternal model, and in 39E , a passage twice examined in detail by
Plotinus,27 Nous is said to see the Ideas in the Ideal Living Creature.
These passages, together perhaps with the description of the cosmos
“ Rep. 10. 597D.
25Archer-Hind, Timaeus 37.
26Jones, “ The Ideas,” 324. It is not unknown, even among modern interpreters, for
the Form of the Good and the Demiourgos to be identified. Cf. Mugnier, Le Sens du
mot Qeios 132. In antiquity, Atticus followed the same course, according to Proclus
{Comm, in Tim. 1.391.7), though it is impossible to say whether this was what led
him to describe the Forms as τα τουθβου νοήματα (Eus. Praep. Ev. 15.13.815 D).
27Enn. 2.9.6; 3.9.1. The exposition of Tim. 39E that the intelligibles are outside
Nous is mentioned in Enn. 3.9.1.— which shows that Plotinus was aware of it and
rejected it. Heinemann, Plotin 19-25, claims that this tractate is spurious, but
Brehier {Plotin), with more reason, believes that Plotinus is merely exposing a
difficulty. Dodds has now shown (“ Numcnius” ) that in 3.9.1 Plotinus hesitantly
accepts a view of Numenius which he later (2.9.6) rejects. In 3.9.1 he accepts, and in
2.9.6 rejects, a vovs ev ήσυχίφ.
at 92C as βίκων τον νοητού θβός αισθητός2* and the theology in the sup­
posedly Platonic Second Epistle, are the most likely sources of the
misunderstanding, though as Miss Rich has said, “ Clearly an inter­
pretation of the Platonic Ideas as the Thoughts of God can only be
elicited from the Dialogues by reading into them more than is actually
there.”29
The theory that the Forms are thoughts has been much discussed
recently. I shall not attempt an account of the various ways in which
it has been proposed to explain its development; instead I shall offer
a summary of the results achieved and a balanced account of the way
in which the doctrine came down to Plotinus, as a preliminary to an
understanding of how he came to reorganize the tradition.
As we have already mentioned, Plato in the Parmenides rejects the
notion that Forms may be iv τ§ ψυχή. Nevertheless, his near contem­
porary Alcimus,30 in what appears to be a reference to this very passage,
claims that the Forms for Plato are in the soul. W itt31 has suggested
that this statement of Alcimus is to be regarded as a serious inter­
pretation of the Forms as Thoughts of God on the grounds that an
eternal thought implies an eternal thinker. This view, though rightly
rejected by Cherniss,32 shows, if nothing else, that even in the fourth
century Plato’s meaning was unclear. Against it Armstrong33 further
suggests that when Alcimus described a Form as a νόημα he may merely
have meant that it was immaterial. Armstrong admits, however, that
this interpretation would attribute to Alcimus a hopelessly imprecise
use of words, and in view of our lack of evidence that he was imprecise
it can only be a surmise.
Miss Rich, following a suggestion of Cherniss,34 provides ample
evidence that the process of misunderstanding began with the inter­
pretation of the Forms in men s minds. Such an interpretation most
probably arose among those who wished to deny the transcendental
aspect of the Forms: in particular among the Stoics.35 Miss Rich points

2aTim. 92C is probably the origin of the comparison of the world to the βίκων of
God'in Plutarch, Quaest. Plat. 1007C. Cf. Plut. Epit. 1.7.4 (in Diels’ Doxographi
Graeci, 299).
«R ich , “ The Platonic Ideas,” 123-133.
30Diog. Laert. 3.13.
31W itt, Albinus 71. Cf. Field, Plato 234.
«Cherniss, in a review of W itt’s Albinus, A J P 59 (1938) 354. Cherniss was the
first to suggest that the words of Alcimus, βστι δέ των βιδών ev βκαστον αιδιόν τβ
καί νόημα, καί προς τούτοι? άπαθβς, are a muddled reference to the Parmenides.
«Armstrong, Entretiens Hardt 5, 399.
«R ich, “ The Platonic Ideas” ; Cherniss, review of W itt, 355 n.4.
36Cf. Zeno in Stobaeus, Eel. 1.12.6; Plut., Epit. 1.10.11; Galen, Hist. Phil. 25.
out that the passages in which the Ideas are interpreted as Thoughts
of God occur frequently in a “demiourgic” context. As Armstrong
says:36 “ The writers who put forward the doctrine that the Ideas are
the Thoughts of God seem very often to be concerned with the ques­
tions O n what pattern did God make the world?’ and ‘W hat is the
relationship between the Maker and the pattern he used in making?’ ”
Unfortunately, however, neither Miss Rich nor Armstrong is able to
find any passage of this kind in an author earlier than Philo,37 which
leaves the history of the doctrine between the early Stoics, who tried
to explain away the Forms as human concepts, and the first century
a . d . to be accounted for.

Philo is the first writer whom we know to have used the Ideas in a
“ demiourgic” context. Our problem is to try to discover how his
position with regard to the Forms was inherited through earlier inter­
preters. To this Miss Rich has supplied a clue by comparing his state­
ment that the Forms have no location other than the Logos38 of God
with the passage in the De Anima where Aristotle shows considerable
sympathy for those philosophers who describe the soul as a τόπος βιδών.
Certain philosophers may well have asked the question, “Where are
the Forms?,” and answered, “ In the human soul.” Despite his occa­
sional use of Stoic language, such an answer would be unsatisfactory
to Philo. For him, the place of the Forms is τον θβΐον \6yov τον ταντα
διακοσμήσαντα, that is, originally at least, in the mind of a transcendent
God.
From thoughts in the human mind to thoughts in the mind of a
transcendent God is a long step, and an intermediate stage is almost
certain. Loenen39 suggests that such a stage is an interpretation of the
Forms as thoughts of an immanent God, such as the Divine Fire of
Stoicism. This intermediate stage would complete the development of
the doctrine as follows: first, Forms are explained away by early Stoics
such as Zeno as concepts in the human mind; from this they become
concepts in the mind of a God in the cosmos, that is the Stoic God;
finally Philo and others raise them to the role of concepts in the mind
of a transcendent God and use them primarily in a “demiourgic”
context. The real difficulty arises when we attempt to discover who
first adopted the intermediate stage. Theiler,40 Luck, and Loenen

38Armstrong, Entretiens Hardt 5, 401.

37Philo, De Op. M und. 4 ; Sen., E p. 65.8 ff.; Chalcid., Comm, in Tim. 361.20.
38Rich, “ The Platonic Ideas,” 130. De Anima 429A 27.
39Loenen, “ Albinus’ Metaphysics,” 44.
40Theiler, Vorbereitung 119. Luck, Antiochus 28-30. Loenen, “ Albinus’ Meta­
physics,” 45.
suggest Antiochus; W itt41 in one place prefers Arius Didymus, and
elsewhere joins Schmekel42 in choosing Posidonius. Armstrong most
recently has said that the study of Antiochus produced by Fraulein
Lueder43 makes it unlikely that he was the originator of the doctrine
and seems to regard the question as almost insoluble. With this welter
of opinion before us we may well hesitate before embarking on the
question, but a re-examination of the sources can do no harm.
The most important text is to be found in Seneca’s Epistles44 and is
not discussed by Theiler. It reads as follows:
His [the Aristotelian causes] quintam Plato adicit exemplar, quam ipse ideam vocat:
hoc est enim, ad quod respiciens artifex id quod destinabat effecit. Nihil autem ad
rem pertinet, utrum foris habeat exemplar ad quod referat oculos an intus, quod ibi
ipse concepit et posuit. Haec exemplaria rerum omnium deus intra se habet numeros­
que universorum, quae agenda sunt, et modos mente complexus est: plenus his
figuris est, quas Plato ideas appellat, immortales, immutabiles, infatigabiles.

In considering this passage, we should remind ourselves of what we

are seeking. We are looking for the man who first understood the
Forms as thoughts of an immanent God. Such a man would almost
certainly be a Stoic or be influenced strongly by Stoicism. Despite
Theiler,45 the above passage of Seneca is probably derived from Posi­
donius. To say so much is not, of course, to show that Posidonius is
the man we are seeking, but his claims should be re-examined. It is
no argument against him, as Loenen46 seems to believe, that he was
apparently unknown to Albinus, in whom the doctrine of Forms as
thoughts of God reappears, though it is treated very differently. If
the doctrine originated with Posidonius it would have many years to
permeate the philosophical milieu before the time of Albinus, to whom
tradition alone could make it well known.
W itt47 has suggested that this passage of Seneca, though probably
Posidonian in origin, came to him through the mediation of Arius
Didymus, but appears to have no grounds for the suggestion. He tells
us that Arius “regarded the Ideas as τταραδίίγματα and (we may con­
jecture) placed them in the Mind of God.” For this latter statement
there is no evidence; indeed Arius, a Stoic, is not known to have had
any reason for paying attention to the Platonic Forms.
41W itt, Albinus 75.
42Schmekel, Die Mittlere Stoa 430-432. W itt, “ Plotinus,” 198.
43Armstrong, Entreiiens Hardt 5, 424 n .l. Lueder, Die philosophische Personlichkeit.
44Seneca, E p. 65.
43Theiler, Vorbereitung 34. Cf. Norden, Agnostos Theos 348. Jones, “ The Ideas,”
321, admits the passage may be Posidonian. Cf. Bickel, “ Senecas Briefe,” 1-20.
46Loenen, “ Albinus’ Metaphysics,” 44—45.
47W itt, Albinus 75. W itt is in opposition to Jones, “ The Ideas,” 325 on Arius.
 We are left with a choice between Antiochus and Posidonius as the
originator of the doctrine. If, as we believe, the passage of Seneca is
derived from Posidonius, this tells in his favour. W hat is perhaps more
important, however, is that there is no doubt from certain passages in
Plotinus which deal with the of the Forms that the most impor­
t o t o s

tant text of Plato to arouse such varied interpretations was Timaeus

39E .48 We know that Posidonius expounded the Timaeus49 and possibly
wrote a commentary on it. What is more likely than that, when he
came to this passage, he transferred the Forms from the human mind—
the doctrine he would have learned from his Stoic masters— to the
mind of God? He may have thought that by taking them from the
human mind he was following Plato correctly, as indeed he was. Then,
being faced with the problem of their , he put them in the only
to tto s

other mind he knew, that of God, the immanent God in whom he

believed. As for Antiochus, the arguments of Theiler, Luck, and
Loenen suggest that he may have held the doctrine, but even if he
did it seems probable that, as Armstrong says, he was not the origi­
nator of it.50 Who that originator was can probably never be known
for certain, but I believe that the evidence points towards Posidonius.
As Loenen suggests, it may be necessary to distinguish between Posi­
donius as historian of philosophy and commentator on the Timaeus,
and Posidonius the Stoic philosopher. For our purposes, however, this
distinction can do no harm, since which of the “ Posidonii” uttered
the doctrine is unimportant so long as one of them did!
So far we have sketched the development of the doctrine down to
Philo, and the name of Aristotle has occurred only in connection with
the question “W hat is the of the Forms?” When we come to
t o t o s

Albinus, however, Aristotelian influence appears in a new form. Jones

was the first to suggest that the doctrine of the Forms as the Thoughts
of God derived from an attempt to reconcile Platonism with Aristotle’s
view that the divine thought is νόησπ vocatus, and although this is an
impossible simplification of the whole history of the doctrine, it is
certainly true for Albinus. The following passage, which is neglected
by Loenen, from whose view of Albinus as an extremely original
" E n n . 2.9.6; 3.9.1; 6.2.22.
4,Sextus Empiricus, adv. Math. 7.93; cf. A. D. Nock, “ Posidonius,” 10, n.51.
According to Plutarch (De A n. Proc. 1013B ), Eudorus also commented on the
Timaeus, and to judge from Eusebius ( Praep. Ευ. 11.23.3), Arius may also have
studied it. There is little reason to suppose, however, that their teachings were
original. Their views would be derived from Antiochus or Posidonius.
60The identification of the Ideas with Minerva mentioned by St. Augustine quoting
Varro is the strongest ground for believing that Antiochus considered the Forms as
Thoughts of God. Aug., De Civ. Dei 7.28 Cf. Theiler, Vorbereitung 18-19.
thinker it detracts, is most relevant. Έττ« δε δ πρώτο* νούs κ άλλισ τοϊ,
δει καί κάΧλιστον αύτω νοητόν ύποκεΐσθαι, ουδόν δε αυτόν κάΧΧιον' εαυτόν αν
ουν καί τα εαυτού νοήματα άεί νοοίη, καί αυτή η kvepyeia αύτού ίδεα
υπάρχει,.51 This tells us that the first NoOs thinks itself and its thoughts.
That it thinks its thoughts (i.e., the Forms) is a version of the view
of Philo in which NoOs stands for God. That it thinks itself is a new
departure, derived beyond reasonable doubt from a close study of
Aristotelian thought.621 cannot accept the suggestion raised tentatively
by Dodds53 that the καί between εαυτόν and τά εαυτόν νοήματα may
merely introduce an “ added explanation” and is equivalent to “id
est.” Armstrong54 suggests that this interpretation may be strengthened
by the phrase καί αΰτη ή ενέρ-γεια αυτόν ιδέα υπάρχει. He regards this as
“ a somewhat clumsy way . . . of bringing the vovs and the νοητόν close
together.” There is no necessity, however, to accept this. “Αυτή ή ενέργεια
could quite naturally refer to τά εαυτού νοήματα and explain that the
ενέρΎεια of vovs (not vovs itself) is an ιδέα. Albinus is thus half way to­
wards an assimilation of Aristotelian doctrine. He believes that NoOs
thinks itself, but is still sufficiently influenced by his predecessors to
add καί τά εαυτού νοήματα.
That Albinus’ Aristotelianism was not immediately accepted is
natural enough. There was considerable divergence of opinion as to
the merits of Aristotle among the Platonists. The Middle-Platonist
Atticus shows no Aristotelian influence in his view of the Forms and
was in fact a vehement opponent of those who wished to reconcile the
two schools. For him, the Ideas are both universal concepts and the
Thoughts of God,65 and the new developments are of no significance.
Nevertheless they prevailed. We do not know that Plotinus read
the works of Albinus. Though Porphyry does not mention his name in
t'Didask. 10.
62Cf. Met.A. 1074B 15ff. Whether Albinus thought that Aristotle believed in the
Ideas is impossible to know. That Iamblichus held that he did can be seen from Scholia
in Cat. 26B 10.
How the Platonic school became interested in the views of Aristotle is not known.
It seems notimpossible that the description of Posidonius as ΆριστοτέΚ ίζω vis relevant
(Strabo 2.3.8). If Posidonius introduced Aristotelian ideas into his commentary on the
Timaeus, it would be easy to understand the renewed interest of the Platonists in the
Peripatetic philosophy. However this may be, we are on surer ground when we come
to Eudorus, who probably wrote a commentary on the Metaphysics.
We know from Alexander of Aphrodisias [in Met. 59.7) that he emended Met.
988A 10-11 by adding the words καί τ \j νλη.
63Dodds, in a discussion of Armstrong’s paper, Entretiens Hardt 5, 416.
^Armstrong, Entretiens Hardt 5 (discussion) 423.
6ECf. Syrianus, Scholia in Met. 1078B 12; Eus., Praep. Eo. 15.13.815D .
 the list of books used by Plotinus as texts, this is not conclusive
evidence. But even if he was not read, which I think unlikely, the new
Aristotelianism would be handed down in the tradition. Furthermore,
it would be emphasized by the great body of works of Alexander. The
subject of this latter’s influence need not be discussed here. We have
already shown how the Platonic Forms came to be interpreted as
Thoughts of God and how Albinus introduced the Aristotelian tendency
to identify God and his Thoughts, though apparently with some hesi­
tation. B y the time we come to Plotinus this hesitation has gone, and
the Forms are both the Thoughts of NoDs and the eternal, unchanging
objects which NoDs contemplates. This development from what we
may call the Middle-Platonic to the Neoplatonic position is the final
stage of a long history. Plotinus’ view is both a more complete assimi­
lation of the Aristotelian noetic and at the same time an understanding
of Plato which is nearer to the Master’s doctrine. For Plotinus, while
holding the exteme Aristotelian view that thought and the thinker are
one in actuality, has also recognized that Plato intended his Forms
to be completely free of subjectivism and to be “objects in them­
selves.”
Plotinus’ interpretation of Timaeus 39E clearly had a long history
of misunderstanding behind it, but in view of the objections of Por­
phyry and Longinus to the doctrine that the intelligibles are not
outside NoDs, we may believe that if Plotinus had looked up the
original passage in its context, instead of leaving the refutation to
Amelius, he would have found that the ideal which are included in the
αύτό τό ζωον are the Forms (a) of Gods, (b) of birds, (c) of creatures
that live in the waters and (d) of those that live on dry land. He would
then have realized, we may suppose, that these are only a small frag­
ment of the whole population of the World of Forms. Where, he might
have wondered, were the others? If he had considered this, he might
have realized that this passage gave no support for his view that
ovk ?£ω τον νοΰ τα. νοητά. Indeed he might have wondered whether the

Ideal Living Creature was itself alive; whether, since ή ποσόt j /s ου τόσον,
if τόσον implies particularity, αύτό τό ζωον is ξων.
The system of Plato is ultimately a dualism, composed of the
motionless, unchanging World of Forms on the one hand and the
world of movement, potential or actual, typified at its highest by the
souls of the Gods and of the θάοι ανθρωτοι on the other. This “separa­
tion” which is the mark of a truly platonizing system is absent in the
world-view of Plotinus where all, ultimately, is in a sense contained in
the One. The substitution of monism for dualism is the direct result
of putting the Forms into the Divine Mind, for although Plotinus has
read the Parmenides carefully enough to be aware that Platonic Forms
cannot simply be equated with concepts in that Mind, he decides
that although they are not concepts, they can be thought of as states
or activities of NoDs provided they be recognized in addition as the
objects which NoDs contemplates. Thus Justice is described as ού
νόησις δικαιοσύνης, άλλα νοΰ οΐον hiaBtais, μαΧΚον δέ kvkpyua.δ8 Although
this definition could never have been given by Plato, yet by such an
interpretation of his Master Plotinus was enabled both to meet some
of the implicit inconsistencies in the Platonic teaching which we have
described, and also to humanize it. By doing so he brought it within
the range of larger numbers of disciples, for although Plato’s own
teaching has been admired by many, very few have even begun the
attempt to carry it into practice. Even in Plato’s own generation, all
his leading pupils gave up certain fundamental propositions of their
Master’s thought. The discipline of Plotinus, however, by teaching
that the human soul has at least the possibility of merging with the
Infinite, makes less demands on human emotions. Plato demands that
we love that Ideal World which we can never feel but only contem­
plate; Plotinus, by introducing a quasi-personal element into the Forms
in the Divine Mind, has provided his followers with a link with the
Good which brings the notion of love of Wisdom closer to their human
capacity for love. Plato’s impossible Ideal has been brought within
the realms of possibility.
In order that this may become clearer, it is necessary here to give a
brief exposition of the nature of the Plotinian One. During this
exposition we must constantly bear in mind that it is most likely, as
Dodds has shown, that we are concerned with a traditional interpreta­
tion, or rather misinterpretation, of the Parmenides of Plato, used to
reinforce the enormous emphasis placed on that passage in the Republic
where the Form of the Good is described as “ beyond Being.”57 That
in the latter point the so-called system of Plato displays one of its
most important unresolved contradictions has already been shown.
For the former we may rely on the words of Plotinus himself that it is
relevant and may back these up by the more recent studies of Dodds,68
KEnn. 6.6.6. See above for the Aristotelian elements in Plotinus’ theory of NoOs,
and p. 42 for Platonic passages which may have encouraged Plotinus to persist in his
erroneous interpretation. Cf. Enn. 6.7.39 and probably 3.6.6.
67Rep. 6. S09B. I cannot accept the view of Heinemann (Plotin) that Plotinus’
“ earlier” writings do not teach the conception of the One, since his rearranging of the
chronology of the treatises has no authority.
68Dodds, “ The Parmenides"; Cornford, Plato and Parmenides·, Hardie, A Study in
Plato.
 Cornford, Hardie and others. With these considerations continually in
mind, we shall pass on to the One of Plotinus which, following the
method of Armstrong,59 we shall examine briefly both in its positive
and its negative aspects.
In our discussion of the Platonic Form of the Good, we came to the
conclusion that it was both a Form and at the same time “ beyond
Being,” which must imply beyond the Forms, since each one of the
Forms is described as 'έκαστον το 6v. Naturally enough, a Form that
is a variety of Real Being is describable in some limited sense at least,
whereas what is “ beyond Being” is also a fortiori beyond mere words.
Since the Plotinian One is not a Form in any sense and is indeed
described as άνάδβος, it is plain that the negative description is more
relevant to it. We must follow the phrase of Trouillard:60 “La negation
est plus importante et plus revelatrice que la dialectique,” because
negation will make our mind more akin to the illimitable aspects of
the Godhead, whereas dialectic is especially designed to speak in
positive terms.
When we look at the Plotinian attempts to describe the One, we
are confronted with an impressive array of superlatives. It is αίτιώτατον
(6.8.18), τίΧ αότατον (5.1.6), δυνατώτατον (5.4.1), άτΧούστατον (2.9.1),
αΰταρκβστατος (6.9.6), ύνέρτατος (6.8.16), άκρότατο s (5.1.1). But these
notions still tend to suggest a superior quality, though similar sub­
stance, to the other parts of the Intelligible World. So Plotinus suggests
it is an activity not merely superior to that of Nous, but of a different
order of reality . . . . kvepyeia ύπέρ νουν καί φρόνησιν καϊ ζωήν (6.8.16).
It is in fact the creator of the Forms. It is ποιητικόν ουσίας καί αΰταρκάας
. . . έπέκβινα ταΰτης (ουσίας) καί έπέκανα αΰταρκβίας (5.3.17). It is true that
the passages describing the One as “ beyond Nous” are usually a direct
answer to the Aristotelian61 assumption that God is Nous, but even
without this incentive to place it έπέκ€ΐνα, Plotinus would probably have
described it as such since it is far superior to a knowledge which is
assimilated with its object. In the ύπ€ρνόησις of the One, consciousness
and self are the same with no qualification and no possible distinction.
The One cannot be called Beauty itself. It is rather ύπέρκαΧος
καί €7τβκβινα των άριστων (1.8.2). Plotinus refers to it as God (θώς),
but since θώς might imply an Aristotelian νους even this is not always
satisfying. For example, he once writes ore yap αυτόν νόησης οιον νουν ή
θών, πΧέον έστι . . . πΧέον έστιν ή θώς (6.9.6). It is possible that at
“ Armstrong, Architecture.
“ Trouillard, La Procession plotinienne 47.
61Cf. Armstrong, Entretiens Hardt 5, 410, 424.
such a time he would have been more satisfied with the phrase of
Pseudo-Dionysius,62 ΰπέρθεον πνεύμα, provided πνεύμα had no quasi­
material implications, but even this may well have been too limited,
for the opinion of Plotinus is best expressed in passages such as 5.3.13,
where he tells us that the One is quite indescribable ( άρρητον τή
αληθείς).63 Every description is an attempt to pin it down to some kind
of limit and it is beyond limit. To describe it is only in effect to detract
from its majestic superiority: ή προσθήκη αφαίρεσιν και ελλειψιν ποιεί
(3.9.9). All we can do is to say what it is not. This does not mean,
however, that we can describe it as Erigena did, as nihil.64 On the
contrary it is everything, or rather, beyond everything. Nor is
Pistorius65 justified in suggesting that for Plotinus and the Neopla-
tonists the One does not exist in the sense that it cannot be considered
apart from Nous and Soul. Pistorius believes that the One is only the
transcendent aspect of the Godhead. This, however fruitful a thought
it may be in itself, does not appear to be the position of Plotinus. For
him it would be truer to say that, whereas Nous and Soul cannot be
understood without some knowledge of the One and cannot exist
without the source of their being, the One itself is quite independent
of the lower hypostases and can, in a sense, be understood apart from
them. In the unio mystica, for example, NoOs and Soul become irrele­
vant and the experience is a linking of the One in us with the One in
the cosmos.
Many passages indicate that we cannot understand the One by
merely appreciating the notion of Form or Limit. The One is rather
the cause of Form or Limit and is itself totally unspecific. In his de­
scriptions of it, Plotinus writes: δει Si μηδi τό εκείνο μι]Si τδ τούτο λε-γειν,66 and
again: avayiaj ανείδέον εκείνο' Άνείδεον Si ον ούκ ουσία . . . επέκεινα αρα
ovtos. τδ y a p έπέκεινα ovtos οΰ τδδε λέyει— ού y άρ τίθησιν— οϋδε όνομα

62Pseudo-Dionysius, Dio. nom. 2, 3 and 4. For the One as God, see Rist, “ Theos,”
169-180.
/ 3Wolfson, in Philo (Harvard 1947) tends to refer the idea of God’s being άρρητοί
to Philo. Katz, Plotinus’ Search 89 n.46, observes that many of the passages with this
idea in them are quotations from Plato’s Parmenides. The truth may be that if
Plotinus knew Philo’s work (either directly or indirectly), he was grateful to find
ideas akin to his own interpretation of the Parmenides. Cf. E nn. 5.5.6; 5.3.10; 6.7.38.
“ Though not nihil, the One is the negation of all number {Enn. 5.5.6). The nearest
Plotinus comes to Erigena is his remark that obSiv όνομα suits the One. {E n n .
6.9.5). For the importance and relevance of the idea of nothingness among the
Neoplatonists from Plotinus to Damascius, see Brehier, “ L ’Idee du n6ant,” 444-475.
“ Pistorius, Plotinus 19.
MEnn. 6.9.3. Cf. Armstrong, Architecture 26.
αυτόν \ k y u , άλλα φερβι. μόνον τό ού τούτο (5.5.6). Thus even the highest
aspects of the lower hypostases cannot be used as terminology to
describe the One. As Arnou has said:67 “ L ’Un est identite pure.”
However, it is plain that no philosophy can be built in negative
terms alone, and Plotinus must have been aware that in some sense
the Platonic Form of the Good could be described as though it were
an existent, even though it is in fact “ beyond Being.” So the more
positive terms return. We have already noticed the superlatives, but
in general Plotinus describes his First Hypostasis as to Iv or τό πρώτον,
or more rarely to ayoBov, although he has said elsewhere that it
transcends ordinary Goodness.68
This might be the furthest point we could reach if we had to philo­
sophize about the One-in-itself. But for Plotinus we ourselves are at
least partially both the results and the kinsmen of the One, and, what
is more to the immediate point, the Forms in the Second Hypostasis
of NoOs are its direct products. Now Plotinus’ misunderstanding of
Plato’s Timaeus, which we have discussed, enables him to introduce
the notion of the Divine Mind into the world of Forms, indeed to
put these Forms into the Divine Mind itself as its thoughts, while
still maintaining their reality as objects. This belief enables Plotinus
to enlarge his theories of the nature of that Good which is the cause
of the Forms, for he is not, like Plato, attempting to account merely
for the roots of non-living beings, but also for the origin of Mind,
which is the noblest form of Life. Because of this, it is inevitable that
quasi-lifelike terms be applied to the First Hypostasis. In other words,
what Plotinus has done with the Platonic Form of the Good is in a
sense to anthropomorphize it. He has combined the functions of the
Form of the Good with those of the Platonic Gods, who, as we sug­
gested at the beginning, are little more than perfect Platonic philo­
sophers. By this solution he succeeds in accounting for some of the
difficulties inherent in the production of the Second Hypostasis, but
he does it at the cost of introducing certain of the inherent contra­
dictions that we noticed in the Platonic Gods into his own Supreme
Principle.
This, however, is moving too fast, and the suggestion that Plotinus
has personalized his Supreme Hypostasis may seem at first difficult to
accept. Indeed, Plotinus himself would almost certainly have denied
it, but by the side of those passages which tell against it, there are a
number that operate in its favour. From this contradiction we must
67Arnou, Le Desir.
6SEnn. 6.9.6.
try and find a synthesis which represents both aspects of Plotinus’
view. The problem may be stated as follows: Plotinus’ awareness that
he must account for the details of the Intelligible World and not be
satisfied with negative generalities about the nature of the One leads
him on to what must be regarded as the attribution to it of quasi­
personal features. Let us then look at a few of these features, keeping
in mind as we do so that the same difficulties may arise about the
motives, if we may call them that, of the One, as arose in our scrutiny
of the motives of the Demiourgos in the Timaeus.
The most extreme example of the trend towards personalizing the
Supreme Hypostasis is the notion of Fatherhood which is frequently
applied to it. We find such passages as π arpis δή ημίν, odev παρήλθομεν,
και π ατήρ έκεΐ,69 and again "Οταν δε eis ykveaiv βλθουσα όίον μνηστ€ΐαι$
άπατοθή, άλλον α λλα ξα μ ίν η θνητόν έρωτα, ίρημία πατρός υβρίζεται* μ ισήσ ασα
δε π άλιν τ ά s έντανθα ftfipeis, ayvevaaoa των Trjde 7rpos τον πάτερα aWis
στβλλομίνη εΰπα0εΐ. 70 The implications of the words “ Father” and
“ Fatherland” in these passages are open to dispute. Henry main­
tains71 that the “conception of father in Plotinus carries, it would
seem, none of the emotional or religious connotations which the
Christian world is accustomed to associate with it, but is rigorously
synonymous with such exclusively metaphysical terms as ‘principle,’
‘cause,’ or even ‘source’ and ‘root.’ ” That the One is all these things
as well as being “ Father” I would readily admit and they will be
discussed later. The question we must try to answer here is whether
any of these other terms could be substituted for “ Father,” where
Plotinus uses “ Father,” without the loss of any “emotional or
religious” meaning.
Armstrong seems to follow the view of Henry, at least in as much as
he denies that the description of the One as “ Father” has “ any
Christian implications,” 72 but their insistence on this point seems
extraordinary in view of their expressed opinions on the nature of the
One. Armstrong again writes:73 “ I agree with Professor Paul Henry
that Plotinus too thinks of the One or Good as a personal God, pos-
**Enn. 1.6.8.
n E nn. 6.9.9.
n Henry, “ Plotinus’ Place,” xlvii.
72Armstrong, Plotinus 30. Professor Armstrong informs me that he is thinking
primarily of the Christian belief in God’s loving care for mankind, his children; and
this is certainly unplotinian. Y et from the fact that Plotinus does not think of the
One as Father in this sense, it does not follow that he does not think of it personally
at all.
^Armstrong, “ Plotinus’ Doctrine of the Infinite,” 57.
 sessed of something analogous to what we know as intellect and will
in a manner proper to his transcendent unity.” We have already spoken
of the possible hyper-intellection of the One and the solution of this
question would not necessarily bring any direct evidence to bear on
Plotinus’ use of the word “ Father,” but it is difficult to see why
scholars who suggest that Plotinus regarded the One as a personal God
overlook such good evidence for their position as the employment by
Plotinus of the word “ Father.” At least it is worth considering whether
it is impossible for the word “ Father” to have any emotional or
religious significance.
In the Timaeusu the Demiourgos is referred to as the “ Father” of
the cosmos, and it must be admitted that here there may be very little
meaning in Plato’s use of the word beyond that of “ cause” or “creator” ;
but between the Timaeus and Plotinus Platonism passes through some
strange heads, including some that believed in a personal God or gods.
It is not impossible that the ideas of some of these later thinkers may
have affected Plotinus’ use of the word πατήρ. Philo, for example, takes
over the phrase πατήρ καί ποιητήν from the Timaeus and makes con­
tinual use of it.75 In his writings, however, there is no doubt that the
word denotes more than mere causality. Philo is speaking of Jehovah
and applying Plato’s language to Him.
The use of the word πατήρ to describe the First vods in Albinus76
can much more easily be explained away as merely causal, but again
in Numenius we are faced with the use of the word77 by a man who
was at least extremely interested in Judaism and whom Bigg and
Puech have thought to have been himself Jewish. It is quite possible
that Numenius’ concept of a First God had in it something of Jewish
personal religion, and Numenius, as we know, was read in the school
of Plotinus.
We should not claim to have proved that πατήρ in any author of
the period, whether or not he is a known worshipper of a personal God,
must have a personal sense. We have, however, tried to show that the
notion that Plotinus’ description of the One as πατήρ contains certain
emotional, religious, and even personal undertones should by no means
be dismissed as easily as it has been.

« Γ /ι» . 28C, 37C.

76Cf. Billings, Philo Judaeas 2 2-23, where a very large number of passages are
cited. Billings stresses the moral implications of the word πατήρ (22).
76Albinus, Didask. 10.
77Numenius ap. Proclum, in Tim. 1.303.27. Dodds, “ Numenius,” 6, seems to be
correct in denying that Numenius was himself Jewish.
 For Plato, the Forms are the exemplars of limit and symmetry, and
symmetry is almost equivalent to Beauty. Not so for Plotinus. His
One is άνείδεοζ; symmetry is irrelevant to it and thus, in a sense,
irrelevant to Beauty as well. Indeed this proves to be precisely his
opinion of the matter when he touches upon it in the sixth Ennead.
He writes: Αίο καί ενταύθα φατέον μαΧλον το κάλλοϊ, το έπί τη συμμετρία
έπιλαμπόμενον η την συμμετρίαν είναι, καί τούτο είναι το εράσμιον (6.7.22).
Such a conclusion, so alien in its analysis to the normal view of Plato,
is another example of the logical result of putting the First Hypostasis
“ beyond Being.” It is not symmetry but this mysterious One, which
we have seen described in positive and concrete terms by the word
“ Father,” that is the source of Beauty. We may be justified in drawing
the conclusion that Beauty is the result of something much more
“lifelike,” if not actually alive, than the mathematical notion of
symmetry.
The One is the source of life of the multiplicity-in-unity which is
the Second Hypostasis, and is compared in a famous simile to the all-
powerful root of an enormous tree:78 “Therefore it has given the whole
abundant life to the tree, but it remains itself not manifold but the
principle of manifold life.” The important thing about a root, thinks
Plotinus, is that it can give of itself without in any way diminishing
itself, and this nature of “undiminished giving” has long been recog­
nized as the most striking feature of the Plotinian One. Besides the
simile of the root, he uses that of a spring which he assumes will
never run dry, and most of all that of the sun, which in his view suffers
no diminution in any way from the fact that it is the continual source
of light to the visible universe. That this metaphor of the sun is com­
mon to many thinkers in the Platonic tradition is evident, and W itt79
is doubtless correct in emphasizing the role of Posidonius in spreading
it, but there is no reason to assume that Plotinus needed any other
source for his theory of the emanation of light than the Sixth Book of
Plato’s Republic, especially since the very foundation of his theology
of the One, that is, the phrase επέκεινα τη$ ούσίαε, is to be found there
aiso.
That the creation of the hypostases of Nous and Soul is the result of
this “undiminished giving” by the One is, we may assume, commonly
agreed by all the interpreters of Plotinus. T hat such giving results

7SE nn. 3.8.10.

79W itt, “ Plotinus,” 198ff. But compare Armstrong, “ Em anation,” 61-66. Arm­
strong rightly points out that emanation in Posidonius is to be understood in a purely
materialist sense. The intellect emanates from the divine fire.
from the “superabundance” of the One is evident,80 and many inter­
preters are content to leave the matter there. Those who go on to ask
why the One “ behaves” in this way almost invariably answer that it
is obliged by its nature or by some kind of necessity. Armstrong81
tells us that the “giving out” of the One is “necessary in the sense that
it cannot be conceived as not happening otherwise” but that “it is
also entirely spontaneous,” for “ there is no room for any sort of
binding or restraint, internal or external, in Plotinus’ thought about
the One. The One is necessarily productive and creative because he
is perfect.” Here we have an attempt to explain what sort of necessity
it is that is somehow involved in the procession of Nous from the One,
and later we shall consider the study of Trouillard,82 which has shed
much light on this problem. Before doing so, we ought to turn back to
the difficulties encountered in explaining the motives of the Demi-
ourgos for creating the order of the world in the Timaeus.
In comparing the respective motives for creation of the Demiourgos
in the Timaeus and the One of Plotinus, I do not intend to extend the
parallel between the two, for it is certain that whereas the Demiourgos
is only the creator of order, the One is the source of Being itself. I
suggest only that similar difficulties of motive arise in the two cases,
and that Plotinus has the Demiourgos in mind when he speaks of the
One in this context.83 The concept of a Demiourgos or creative Mind
is applicable in the context both of temporal and of eternal creation.
The Platonists disagreed as to which sense was understood by Plato,
though most of them thought that he held creation to be extra­
temporal.
With this in mind, we return to the question of what sort of motive
the Demiourgos could have had. Plato tells us that he created because
he is good, but this answer only prompts us to ask the further question
as to what kind of goodness necessitates creation, that is, what does
“goodness” mean in this context? In any case, the answer of Plato
will not exactly suit the One of Plotinus, for the One is strictly beyond
ordinary Goodness.
At this point an objection may be made to our comparison of the
Demiourgos with the First Hypostasis of Plotinus, on the grounds that

80On “superabundance” cf. Enn. 5.2.1; 5.1.6; 6.7.15, δύναμιν els to yevvav
είχε Trap’ enelvov and Trouillard, La Procession plotinienne 71.
81Armstrong, Plotinus 33-34.
82Trouillard, La Procession plotinienne.
u E nn. 5.5.12. There is an allusion here to the denial of φθ6νο$ to the Gods in Tim.
29 E.
the Demiourgos wills to create the ordered world, whereas the One
eternally “overflows” into the Hypostasis of Nous. This criticism, how­
ever, is superficial, for although the Demiourgos may be said to will
creation, he does not choose it as one of two alternatives. He simply
wills it because he is good; being good means doing good, and the
Demiourgos is thus “ beyond” choice. So the dilemma in the Timaeus
seems to bear a striking similarity to that which we now see in the
system of Plotinus, and which we shall shortly investigate further. It
is likely that if one of them can be solved the other will be well on
the way to solution. Let us say for the moment that the One “over­
flows” because he is the One, and the Demiourgos creates because he
too is what he is.
When we were considering certain aspects of the Platonic philosophy,
we suggested that the dilemma about the motives of the Demiourgos
might in some way be linked with that about the nature of Έρω$. To
recapitulate: the normal Platonic theory sees “Έρως as a desire to
obtain some specific end and possess it; this implies that the perfect
philosopher and the Gods will no longer love the Forms when they
have attained to contemplation of them and can fill and refresh their
souls for ever with the perfections of reality. The notion of t 6kos kv τω
καλφ in the Symposium may, however, be invoked to help towards an
understanding of the motives for creativity. In conclusion, the root of
all the difficulties is the lack of an adequate theory of Έρω$, or rather
the contradictions and impossibilities that come to light if Plato be
held to maintain the view that Έρω$ is the spirit of Desire and nothing
else.
Are we to avoid these dilemmas in the Plotinian system by suggesting
that the Good that is the One is Love— and that kind of love which is
undiminished self-giving? We should be very hesitant to do so in view
of the insistence of most of the leading Plotinian scholars over this
issue. Armstrong,84 for example, writes: “Two points of great impor­
tance for the understanding of the Plotinian philosophy are first, that
the production of each lower stage of Being from the higher is not
the result of any conscious act on the part of the latter, but is a neces­
sary, unconscious reflex of its primary activity of contemplation . . . , ”
and Arnou85 has bluntly described the undiminished giving of the One
as “une bonte sans amour.”
These decisive views seem at first sight to be justified by several
passages from Plotinus himself. In the ninth tractate of the Second
84Armstrong, Architecture 111.
85Arnou, Le Desir 226 ff. Cf. Trouillard, La Purification plotinienne 127.
Ennead86 he writes that “ It is of the essence of things that each gives
of its being to another; without this communication, the Good would
not be the Good, nor the Nous a Nous, nor will Soul itself be what it is.”
Again, in the Third Ennead , 87 we find that “The world is a product of
Necessity, not of deliberate purpose.” It would appear that Armstrong
is right to insist that the coming-to-be of the Second Hypostasis from
the One is not the result of any conscious act. This we may admit, but
we are not bound to accept Armstrong’s conclusion that it is therefore
an unconscious reflex. The One is neither conscious nor unconscious:
ovk kdTiv olov άναίσθητον.**
We have already seen how Armstrong modifies his description of
the procession from the One as unconscious by his use of the word
“spontaneous.” Trouillard rightly goes further in this direction by
elucidating the Plotinian distinction between the “ hyper-will” of the
One and the free will of other “conditioned” realities. Speaking of
“ procession,” he tells us that89 “ Ce n’est pas oeuvre de libre arbitre,
d61iberation et selection, production artisanale . . . le generateur pro-
duit par la volonte fondamentale en laquelle il se pose lui-m6me.”
Having explained that Plotinus prefers to describe “procession” in
terms of works of nature rather than works of art,90 since the latter
are not spontaneous, he defines the “ necessity” of procession from the
One as “l’expression d’un vouloir inconditionne.” 91 While we may
believe that Trouillard’s remark that the “engendering” of the Forms
reveals them as “la seule ‘grace’ qui nous soit offerte, mais neces-
sairement offerte,” 92 even when the word “grace” is put between
inverted commas, is going too far, he is certainly right in insisting that

™Enn. 2.9.3.
%1E n n . 3.2.3.
**Enn. 5.4.2. Cf. Trouillard, La Procession plotinienne 19. Plotinus frequently
denies συναισθησία (5.3.13.21; 6.7.41.26; 5.6.5.4) and τό τταρακολουθονν έαυτω
(3.9.9.18) to the One because they seem to involve duality and are more appropriate
to Nous. But he seems to express qualms at the idea of the One’s being άναίσθητον
έαντον και ούδέ τταρακολουθονν έαυτω at 5.3.13.1. In 5.4.2.17 he speaks of η
κατανόησια a£>rou[the One] otovei συναίσθησήουσα and in 5.1.7.12 we find the phrase
olov συναίσθησιν τηs δυνάμβωα. It appears that, while to apply the word συναισθη­
σία directly must involve duality and is therefore impossible, Plotinus finds the notion
of the One’s being άναίσθητον intolerable even if it is άναίσθητον eaurou. Hence
ovk edTL oiov άναίσθητον and olov σνναίσθητον. The olov appears to suggest that
the One is conscious without being conscious of any thing or in the way of conscious­
ness appropriate to lesser hypostases. Cf. Schwyzer, “ Bewusst und Unbewusst,”
374-5.
*’ Trouillard, La Procession plotinienne 62. *°Ibid. 73.
"Ibid. 50. n Ibid. 51.
Plotinus often thinks of the One in voluntarist terms.93 He renders
Plotinus’ ή βο ύλη σ ή αυτός by “ La volonte de l’Un c’est lui-meme.”
We recall that Arnou maintains that not only is procession “of
necessity” but that it is quite unconnected with love. We may well
believe, however, that difficulties have arisen in commenting on
Plotinus through the confusion of the notion of “ a will to give” with
that of a certain kind of unwilled or perhaps “ hyper-willed” love
which results in undiminished giving.
Let us consider the matter again. It is certain that the One is beyond
Will, if Will means merely the faculty of choosing. There is too a
concept of love that is beyond Will, the love that gives without
counting the cost, the love that is spontaneous in its overflowing. Such
is the highest love of the philosopher in the Symposium. There is then
at least a similarity between a particular kind of love and the One that
is beyond Will in that they are both spontaneous and that they both
create. Furthermore, the One does not create mechanically, nor is it
bound by necessity to do so, for we have already observed how Plotinus
thinks of it in voluntarist and quasi-personal terms. One might suppose
that the logical conclusion would have been for him to say that the
One loves all things, but he refuses to take this step. W e must now
investigate this refusal and try to understand the precise relationship
of the One to "Έρως, together with the significance of that relationship.
The most important passage for our present purposes runs as
follows:94 και βρασμών καί βρως ό αυτός καί αυτό 0 βρως, ατβ ουκ άλλω ς
καλός rj π α ρ ’ αύτου καί 'βν α ύ τφ . . . . ταύτό ή βφβσις καί ή ουσία. Insufficient
notice has been taken of this passage. Έρω* has perhaps been regarded
as just one more of those names which give us some inkling of the
First Hypostasis but which, if treated as accurate descriptions, are
more of a hindrance than a help. This supposition may be correct,
and we accept that Plotinus would insist that to say “ The One is
good” or “The One is beautiful” is to give a very inadequate descrip­
tion of it. To attribute “ Goodness” or “ Beauty” to the One is to
attribute qualities to it, and the One is above qualities. But "Epws,
in the ordinary Platonic or Plotinian view, is not a quality but a
δαίμων, that is, a substance. Thus to say that the One is 'Epcos is not
" I iid . 77. Enn. 6.8.21.
9iE nn. 6.8.15. Armstrong (Architecture 6) maintains that the connection between
E nn. 6.8 and Arist. Met.A. is very strong. There is, however, no notion o f God as
“ Love loving itself’ in the Aristotelian passages. In Aristotle, God moves as an
object of love, but is not himself love. And, in general, Armstrong seems to over­
emphasize the Aristotelian elements in the One by insufficiently distiguishing it from
the First Mind of the more Aristotelianized systems of Albinus and Numenius.
to attribute qualities to it; it may even be to utter a tautology, for
it is possible that Plotinus regarded Έρω5 as an all-embracing term.
At this point we are confronted by the opposition of Nygren.
Nygren insists95 that at all costs we must avoid attributing to "Epcos,
as used by the Platonic and Neoplatonic philosophers, the attributes
of the Christian concept of Α γ ά π η . The two, says Nygren, are oppo­
sites. Έρω$ is always a fundamentally selfish desire to grasp what is
good for oneself. It is an upward-looking, self-seeking emotion, and
has no connection with the downward-moving procession of the
hypostases, which is merely a “cosmological process” (p. 196). His use,
however, of the phrase “cosmological process” instead of the less
clinical “process of creation” is very nearly an implication that some
sort of necessity constrains the One to overflow mechanically, an idea
which others as well as I have shown to be erroneous. Turning to
’λ γ ά π η , Nygren speaks of it as the “ Love that seeketh not its own,”
that is, a love which is glad to give of itself without any considerations
of gain, or of what certain theologians call Eudaimonism. Nygren
hammers home his point by the words:96 “There cannot actually be
any doubt that Έρω$ and Α γ ά π η belong originally to two entirely
separate spiritual worlds, between which no direct communication is
possible,” and appeals to the formidable name of Wilamowitz97 for
support.
If we abide by the letter of the formal analysis of the nature of
Έρωϊ in the fifth tract of the Third Ennead, we must admit that Nygren
is partially right, but even here there is an important distinction
which he overlooks. Armstrong98 has called attention to the fact that
in 3.5.4 Plotinus separates two kinds of "Epos— the Eros-God and the
Eros-Daemon. The former alone links the Soul with the Divine. This
Eros-God is specifically stated in 3.5.2 to be the medium between the
object who desires and the object desired ( t o d v a i ev τούτφ ’έ χουσα
μ (τα ξύ ω σπ ep ποθοΰντοs καί ποθουμβνου). It is compared not to the desirer,
but to the eye through which the desirer sees the object desired. Here,
even in Plotinus’ formal treatise on love, is an "Epcos which is not
appetitive. We should further recall that, when speaking of "Epcos and
the motives for the actions of the Gods in Plato, we found indications
that Plato had a second view of love, a view perhaps partly contra­
dictory to his appetitive theory. We suggested that the Demiourgos

i5Nygren, Eros.
"Ibid. 31.
i7Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, Platon2 I, 384.
i8Armstrong, “ Platonic Eros,” 113.
might create out of a motive somewhat more akin to that of the
Christian ’Αγάπη than Nygren, and perhaps Plato himself, would care
to admit. Later, when we consider how Origen is willing to interchange
the words "Epcos and ’Αγάπη, we shall suggest that his investigations
of the Platonic systems have led him to the conclusion that the two
notions have more similarity than Nygren would allow them.
Nygren’s view of the complete separation that should be maintained
between "Epcos and ’Αγάπη assumes, rightly, that the whole Christian
concept of Love implies a gulf between creature and Creator. This is
true, but such a gulf is also present in Neoplatonism between the One
and the others. It has been suggested to m e" that the giving of self
implies “otherness” in the object and that such giving is impossible
for the Plotinian One since it bestows itself on what is simply an
emanation of itself. There is a limited sense, as we shall see, in which
the One is present to the others, but in whatever manner this be under­
stood, it must not lead to any neglect of those statements of Plotinus
which stress the extreme transcendence of the One and the “otherness”
of the Second Hypostasis. We read that the One made all things and
left them to their own being (4φ’ εαυτών είναι)100 and again that after
constructing being (ουσία), he left it outside himself (ποιησαχ ταυτην βξω
ε’ίασεν έαυτοΰ).101 Elsewhere we find that in order that the Divine Mind
may come into existence, “otherness” must be involved.102
But there is a sense in which Plotinus thinks of the One as immanent
as well as transcendent. In general, this has been made clear by
Arnou,103 but since I would wish to express the matter a little differ­
ently, a few words should be said about it at this point. As Arnou
puts it (p. 162): “ II y a dans les Enneades une correlation frappante
entre les formules εν άλλω et ύπ’ άλλου, entre l’idee d’immanence et
celle d’origine, ‘etre dans’ et ‘venir de.’ ” It is well known that for
Plotinus the effect is said to be in its cause (are yap γενόμενον ΰπ’
άλλου . . . διόπερ καί kv άλλω) .104 Thus Soul is in NoGs and NoGs in the
One. Thus, as Arnou points out, it is correct to say that all things are
immanent in the One rather than that the One is immanent in all
things.105 If we may say that all things are in the One, what can we

*9By Miss A. N. M. Rich in a comment on the original draft of this essay.

100Enn. 5.5.12.
101Ertn. 6.8.19. Cf. 6.7.37. Armstrong (“ Platonic Eros,’’ 114) rightly stresses that
the One’s transcendence implies that he cannot love all things.
10iEnn. 6.7.39. For this discussion, compare Trouillard, La Procession plotinienne
49, 63-64.
103Arnou, Le D isir 162-181. m E nn. 5.5.9. 5.5.6.
 say is the relation of the One to all things? The expression Plotinus
favours is “presence” and it is in Enneads 6.4 and 6.5 that the best
account of the doctrine can be found. There, especially in 6.4.3, we
find that Plotinus, in opposition to many thinkers of his day, held that
the One is directly present, not merely present through intermedi­
aries.106 He affirms its presence with the word συνειναι (6.9.7), and
denies its absence with ονκ άνεσην (6.9.4). There are many passages
(such as 6.4.2.20ff.) where he speaks of the higher being “in” the
lower, a rather pantheistic concept if taken out of context, but in view
of his more normal thought, we should understand “in” in the sense
of “present with.” This presence is the presence of the cause “in” its
effects. It does not, in Plotinus’ view, limit transcendence in any way:
εστι yap και παρεϊναι χωρίς δϊ\107
It is in his doctrine of man that Plotinus shows most clearly his
view of the transcendence and “immanence” of the One. In 6.9.7, he
says that “we read that God is outside of none, that he is present with
all, though they do not know it. For men flee outside him, or rather
outside themselves. . . . The man who has learned himself will know
his origin.” Here Plotinus is certainly speaking of the “immanence”
of the One in mankind, and probably, though less certainly, of its
presence in the universe as a whole. In the following essay he continues:
“Thus the Supreme as containing no otherness is ever present with us,
we with it when we put otherness away. It is not that the Supreme
reaches out to us seeking our communion: we reach towards the
Supreme; it is we that become present. We are always before it: but
we do not always look. . . . We are ever before the Supreme— cut offis
utter dissolution. . . .” (Trans. MacKenna-Page.)
This belief in the presence of the One with man leads into the
doctrine of the “infinite self”— the idea that the One is the absolute
self (πρώτως αυτός καϊ ύτερόντως αυτός).108 It is probable too that we
should link the close association of the self with the One— a proximity
that does not exclude the chance of the removal of all barriers between
them and the rejection of all “otherness”— with the theory that part
of the soul never “ descends,” but always remains pure in the intel­
lectual realm.109 This part of the soul is linked to the One that is
ever present.
In concluding these remarks on the relationship between the One
and the others, we may state the case as follows. The others are in the
One, since they are caused by the One. This causation enables Plotinus
loeArnou, Le DSsir 173-4. 107£«w. 6.4.11.
108E»«. 6.8.14. 10S£»«. 4.8.8; 5.1.10.
to say further that the One is always present with the others and to
believe that the progression of the human soul towards union is the
way back from effect to cause, to the final breaking down of barriers
between the ever-present One and the others with which it is present.
It is only man that can enjoy the mystic union to the fullest extent,
and it is only man who has part of himself always “ above.” We may
say then that there is something of the One present with all things,
a something which holds them in existence, and that this presence is
the most strongly felt in the case of man. Nevertheless, despite this
presence, Armstrong110 is right to insist that the transcendence of the
One precludes him from a love of creation or love of mankind. W hat
then is the meaning and sense of the description of him as "Epcos?
Plotinus speaks of the One in 6.8.15 not only as "Epos but as
“Epws αυτόν. This provides the solution to the problem, for since the
One is love of itself, it must love not only “ itself in itself,” but “ itself
as present with its effects.” Furthermore, in the mystic union, at the
time the soul is restored to unity with the One, it must itself be the
object of the One’s love, since the One loves itself, and the elevated
soul is the One’s self. Thus it is fair to say that by loving itself the
One is in effect loving created things in so far as they are itself and
has no care for them in so far as they are not. In the mystic union,
then, the One loves the soul, since the soul is no longer soul.
Thus it is true to say that although there are indications that
Plotinus conceived of the One as in a sense personal, although he saw
it as “giving” to the rest of creation, he did not conceive of this giving
as a love of other things. At first sight this appears a step back from
Plato, whose Demiourgos, as we recall, though not said to have "Epcos
for the created world, accomplishes his function of bringing order into
the universe from a kind of goodness, which, like the highest "Epcos of
the Symposium and Phaedrus, desires to make others as good as
possible. Armstrong111 has pointed out how Plotinus’ interpretation of
a passage in the Phaedrus shows that the idea of creativity in the form
of,directly doing good to others has dropped out of Plotinus’ account
of the ascent of "Epcos, and this, together with the emphasis on the
One’s transcendence, accounts for the fact that the One does not care
for the others, even in the sense that the Demiourgos does when he
wishes them to be as like himself as possible. Y et the presence of the
One with the others— a doctrine that has nothing to do with the
“ “Armstrong, “ Platonic Eros,” 114.
luArmstrong, “ Platonic Eros,” 112; Phaedrus 252D ; E nn. 1.6.9.
 Demiourgos— enables Plotinus to rectify the balance, for although the
One’s "Epcos looks to itself, that very self is the ever-present cause of
Being to the rest of creation.
We may conclude this discussion with the remark that the mere
description of the One as "Epcos is an objection to Nygren’s view. The
"Epcos of the One cannot be an upward motion, for it has nowhere to
which it could ascend. It must be conceded that the "Epcos of the One
is concerned with itself; yet that does not make it appetitive, since it
is by nature perfect and without needs. Furthermore, all things are in
the One. "Epcos looks to the One in itself and to the One present
with its effects. As this presence is the very cause of the existence of
the others, it is clear that Plotinus is not far from equating "Epos with
the power of creation, the undiminished giving, that the One possesses.
The One is the cause of the other hypostases; it is also love of itself.
Therefore the One’s love of itself, with its contemplation of itself,
must be the cause of the other hypostases. Thus although the One’s
"Epws is directed neither upwards nor downwards, it is the cause of a
movement directed downwards, though admittedly indirectly so.
Miss Rich112 has reminded me that in Ennead 3.5.3, Plotinus sug­
gests that the derivation of "Epos is from όρασis. She holds that the
phrase "Epcos αύτον means that the One is simply the object of its own
vision. I do not think, however, that the word “object” has meaning
in discussions of the One. The derivation from δρασκ may shed light
on the Plotinian use of the word "Epcos on some occasions, but not in
the case of the One. The "Epcos of the One must have nothing to do
with any distinction between subject and object, for in the One no
such distinctions exist. As Plotinus113 says in a description of the mystic
union: “ The vision (of the One) floods the eyes with light, but it is
not a light showing some other object; the light itself is the vision.”
We should only employ the analogy of seeing with great care when
speaking of the One.
Father Henry114 aptly reminds us that in accounts of the mystic
union Plotinus, though sometimes speaking of “ vision” and “ con­
templation,” prefers terms “deriving from the theme of unity or those
which indicate presence and contact.” "Ορασκ may be a suitable word
to describe what the προκόπτων can “see” of the One before he has
attained to union, but in the moment of ecstasy it is not a question
m In a comment on the original draft of this essay.
n*Enn. 6.7.36.
114Henry, “ Plotinus’ Place,” 49.
of seeing but of being the One.115 Thus the term ορασις is appropriate
to the soul in ecstasy only with strict reservations, and is a misleading
description of the One itself. The One does not see itself, is not the
object of its own vision; rather it is itself, cause of itself and of all
things. "Ορασis is transcended though 'Epcos is not. The phrase "Epcos
αυτου must then be a tautologous description of the One’s nature—
a nature which, as we have seen, overflows.
At this point we may with profit consider how Plotinus, who is
unwilling to agree with Aristotle that the Supreme Hypostasis knows
itself, is able to maintain that it is love of itself. Plotinus holds that
the One cannot have intellection only of itself, as an Aristotelian might
expect, since intellection of itself must include intellection of all
things.116 He who has a complete knowledge of causes must have a
complete knowledge of effects. But with love the m atter is different.
Since the One loves only itself, if it loved all things, all things would
be itself, and Plotinus would be a pantheist. Therefore to preserve the
One’s transcendence and at the same time show how the One, which
is "Epws, is the cause of the others, he holds that the One loves itself
as something present to the others.
W hat then are we to conclude about the One? We have found it
described as Source, Root, Father and as "Epws, where the word must
be stretched far beyond its normal Platonic and Plotinian meaning.
Plato, we remember, was at one stage of the Symposium unwilling to
describe the Gods as lovers of Wisdom, for they already possessed
Wisdom, and love (Έ ρ ω ϊ ) could only be of that which is not yet
possessed. That Plotinus accepted this aspect of Platonic theory is
beyond doubt. In describing the birth of Έρωϊ, following the Sym­
posium, he describes the union of Poros and Penia and its fruit as
follows:117 Aoyos ovv yevopevos έν οΰ λόγω , άορίστφ δέ έφέσα καί ύ τ ο σ τ ά σ α
άμυδρφ, έποίησβ το ytvbptvov οΰ τέ\ίον ουδέ Ικανόν, έλλΐ7Γ« δέ, are e£ έφέσβως
αορίστου καί λόγου Ικανού “ Imperfect,” “ inadequate,”
ytytvypkvov.
“ deficient” : these are the words to describe "Ερως. Can we possibly
believe that Plotinus would apply them to the One and that such an
idea would not strike him as almost blasphemous ? Is it not much more
feasible to suppose that, like Plato, and partially under Plato’s in­
fluence, Plotinus has been led to see more in "Epcos than mere self-

U6Cf. the remark of Schwyzer, “ Bewusst und Unbewusst,” 376: “ Die beiden
Ausdrucke abveais und συναίσθησή bezeichnen hier die tiefste Verinnerlichung;
der Ausdruck opaais wird in dieser Stelle als zu wenig angemessen, als zu plump, als
zu sinnlich empfunden.”
m E nn. 6.7.39. ™ Enn. 3.5.7.
seeking and desire? In terms of mere statistics Nygren is undoubtedly
correct to hold that both Plato and Plotinus say more about appetitive
Έρω? than about any other variety, but both of them have refined
their concept of love in the direction of Αγάπη to a degree far greater
than Nygren has admitted. It might perhaps be supposed that if
Plotinus— who lived in a society where Christian beliefs were far from
unknown, and who, in his youth, had been the pupil of a philosopher
(Ammonius Saccas) said at one time to have been a Christian— had
been fully aware of any non-appetitive theory of Έρω$, he would have
spoken out clearly in favour of a view that was of increasing signifi­
cance among his contemporaries. The fact that he did not do so can
be accounted for by his desire to depart from the “system” of Plato as
little as possible.
A t this point it should be emphasized that, whatever cosmological
or metaphysical significance be allowed to the One as 'Epcos, Nygren
is quite right to insist that Plotinus never thinks in terms of Salva­
tion.118 This is particularly clear from Ennead 3.2.119 There we read
that “ I t is not right that the wicked should think that their prayers
should make others sacrifice themselves as saviours for their sakes, or
that Gods should lay aside their own life to rule over their daily affairs,
or that good men who are living a different life, one superior to power
among men, should become their rulers.” Armstrong has suggested120
that this passage refers to “ the general belief of unthinkingly religious
persons that their gods ought to help them out of the troubles they
have become involved in through their own bad conduct,” rather than
to any kind of doctrine of salvation in the eschatological sense. I am
inclined to agree with this view against that which believes that
Plotinus is referring here specifically to Gnostic teachings, because
from the beginning of this section he has been speaking against the
Stoic view of Providence as immanent in this world, and not in any
after-life. He has noted that the good will enjoy a good life both here
and hereafter, but the “hereafter” is not strictly relevant to the tenor
of the passage, which insists that the wicked have no right to expect
divine intervention in their daily life (cf. τά καθέκαστα). In any case,
whether the passage refers to this life or to a later one, Plotinus’ main
point, that God will not intervene to “save” mankind, is clear. It is
up to man to save himself by becoming as like God as possible—
which means, if our interpretation is correct, as like Έρω* as possible.
και τοίνυν ψυχή λαβοΰσα ds αυτήν απορροήν κινύται, και άναβακχεΰβται,
I18Nygren, Eros 196. m E nn. 3.2.9.
Ι20Ιη a comment on the original draft of this essay.
καί οίστρω ν π ίμ π λ α τ α ι και ΐρω$ y iv e r a t.” 121 This 'Epcos will not show itself
in granting Salvation; it is rather the creative force of “undiminished
giving.”
“ It is not the One that seeks to be present with us, but we who
seek to be present with the One,” says Plotinus,122 “ for we are always
with it, but we do not look at it.” There is then no επιστροφή of the
One towards us;123 there is no reason for there to be, since the One is
always present. The effort must come from us. Nor is this affected by
the fact that the highest state of man is beyond effort and willing, for
although all living things, reasoning and unreasoning, are striving for
the mystic union as far as they are able,124 in the case of man the desired
end is best achieved as the result of a long process of purifications
involving deliberate intellectual and moral discipline. The One is cer­
tainly beyond all effort and willing in the human sense, and to attain
to union with it a similar simplicity must be achieved by the philo­
sopher. Y et according to Plotinus we reach our highest state beyond
Will and beyond Nous by using the very aids we shall somehow
transcend. Our will and intellect can raise us to the hypostasis of the
Divine Mind, and once there we are prepared for the vision of the One.
The preparation must not be omitted.
Armstrong, in the introduction to his book of selections from
Plotinus, tells us that “ Plotinus sometimes calls the One the Father,
(but without any Christian implications).”125 By this he presumably
means that it would be wrong to describe the First Hypostasis as
personal, and no doubt this is correct. Y et it would be even worse to
describe it as impersonal. Plotinus likes the “ Father” metaphor, and
using his terminology we are justified in describing his One as otov π α τ ή ρ .
If the “ Father” is "Epcos, it is justifiable to believe that it is supra-
personal rather than impersonal. Plotinus seems to stand midway
between Plato and the Christian Platonists. His Absolute is not the
™Enn. 6.7.22. m Enn. 6.9.8.
,23The One can neither “ turn” to its origin, since it has no origin, nor to the other
hypostases, in that it is somehow always before them. Aubin (“ L ’image,” 376)
wishes, wrongly, to attribute to it επ ισ τροφ ή towards itself on the basis of Enn.
5.1.6.18 and 5.1.7.5. For a correct interpretation of these passages, see Henry,
Entretiens Hardt 5, 387.
™Enn. 3.8.1.
126Armstrong, Plotinus introd. 30. It is worth recalling again that the Neopytha-
gorean Numenius described his First God as “ father” (ap. Proclum in Tim. 1.303.27).
He also supposed that in order to contemplate {νοειν), the First God made use of the
Second (ev π ρ ο σ χ ρ ή σ ει τον Sevrepov). This view may have helped towards the
formulation of a downward-flowing motion from the highest Reality. Cf. Procl.
in Tim. 3.103.28-32.
Platonic motionless, lifeless Form (his misinterpretation of the Timaeus
has ensured that it is not lifeless), nor is it simply a personal God with
a Will expressed in the outpouring of divine grace. Plotinus appears
to attempt to have the best of both worlds; he believes his One to be
beyond Will and conscious thought but still wishes to describe it in
semi-personal terms. Some believe that this leaves him between two
stools, having failed to attain either the objective reality of Plato or
the appeal of a personal God. Dean Inge,126 for example, writes: “There
is therefore in Plotinian Mysticism none of that deep personal loyalty,
none of that intimate dialogue between soul and soul, none of that
passion of love— resembling often too closely the earthly love of the
sexes— which is so prominent a feature in later mystical literature.”
That there is no personal loyalty and intimate dialogue is perhaps
true, for in the Plotinian view the element of personality is trans­
cended; that there is none of the passion of love is more doubtful. We
have already seen how the One is a kind of ’Έρως. That being so, it is
hard to see how union with it could be free from the passion of love,
especially since, in the Platonic view, love implies a going beyond the
limits of one’s normal self in a kind of madness.127

II

We have at our disposal yet another method of learning about the

One. We can discover what effect the unio mystica has on individual
souls, and in what condition the souls must be to enable this union to
take place. This will involve an investigation of the πορεία or journey
of the philosopher towards his goal of union, and to that we may
proceed. Before so doing, however, we may claim to have shown that
the remark of Arnou128 that the procession or emanation from the One
is “une bonte sans amour” gives a misleading impression of the
Plotinian system.129

m Inge, Plotinus II. 162.

127Phaedrus 244A. νυν δέ τά peyiara των ayαθών ήμΐν yiyverat διά μανίας,
θείς. μέντοι δδσει διδομένης.
128Cf. η .85.
129For an account of what can be predicated of God, see the important article by
Wolfson, “ Albinus and Plotinus,” 115-134. Wolfson maintains that Plotinus enumer­
ates three methods that lead to a knowledge of God (επιστήμη or νδησις), as distinct
from a vision (θέαμα) of Him. These are as follows:
(1) By negations (αφαιρέσεις) ; and he points out that the Plotinian (and Albinian)
use of this word makes it equivalent to the Aristotelian term άπόφασις, “ which is
 W hat is the nature of the philosopher’s journey? Plotinus sees it as
arduous and difficult, as did Plato. Dodds130 has aptly written that
“W hat makes him (Plotinus) exceptional in the Third Century is his
resolute objection to every short cut to wisdom proffered by Gnostics
or Theurgists, Mithraists or Christians.” This is true, but we must
also bear in mind that Plotinus was always sure that, given due effort,
the necessary vision of God was within his reach. Since every man has
something divine within him, he can be sure that by his own efforts
he can attain the goal of mystic union. We may well conclude that
Plotinus has no notion of Divine Grace precisely because he never
considers it necessary. Man, inasmuch as he contains the element of
Divinity, is of himself capable of the highest things.
The aim of education for Plotinus is to experience union with the
One, which, as we have seen, is partially to be understood in terms of
two somewhat contradictory notions of the Form of the Good. It is
both Being and “Beyond Being”— and we suggested that though
formally Plotinus has removed his One “ beyond Being,” it still retains
certain of the elements of existents and even of a personal existent.
Since, then, it has two different aspects, it is likely enough that the
training necessary to reach it will take two forms at least partially
distinct. In fact this proves to be the case, for the philosopher’s path

used by Aristotle in the technical sense of ‘negation’ in a logical proposition,” and is

thus sharply distinguished from στερη σις. Wolfson cites N E 7, 1045A 25 -2 7 as a
precursor of the Neoplatonic use of negations to describe the Godhead. In this
passage Aristotle claims that to apply the term “ virtue” to a God is an irrelevancy.
This, in Wolfson’s view, means that God is “ above Virtue,” as the Neoplatonists
would phrase it. (Cf. Alb. Didask. 10.5.)
(2) By analogy ( Enn . 6.7.36 and Didask. 10.5).
(3) By grades of perfection ( D idask . 10.6; Enn. 6.7.36 and Symp. 210A ff.).
Wolfson later reduces methods (2) and (3) above to “ actions” (p. 125), by which
he means statements of the causal relationship between the One and the remaining
hypostases. This schematic arrangement is implicit in the Enneads , as we have
shown, but by relegating the various analogies to a somewhat subsidiary r61e, Wolfson
appears to overlook the relationship between the ways of reaching God by knowledge
and the mystic vision. This seems surprising, in view of the fact that he points out
(p. 127) that the vision of God in Plotinus is a culmination of the progress towards
Him by knowledge, whereas in Philo it is only attained by revelation and Grace. The
importance of the way of analogy will appear to be that it gives the philosopher an
idea of the sort of being or super-being with which he strives to obtain όμ οίω σις.
I have therefore concentrated upon it as being the most important road for the
Plotinian philosopher to follow. The via negativa tells him o f the dross he must strip
off; the way of analogy can lead him to become an incarnation of Έ ρ ω χ , that is, to
be at one with the First Hypostasis as far as he can (Cf. Wolfson, 128).
130Dodds, “ The Parmenides of Plato,” 143.
consists both of a positive collection of knowledge, in the Platonic
sense of the word, and also of a via negativa. Is it not at least possible
that the via negativa is to be regarded as an approach towards the
Good qua “ beyond Being,” while the positive training is a result of
the survival of the Platonic doctrine that τό αγ αθόν, though the highest
entity in the intelligible world, is none the less still a Form and to be
approached in the same way as Beauty, Truth, and the rest: that is,
by dialectic?
Plotinus, like Plato, believes that we must resemble God:131 that is,
as he interprets it, the World-Soul, or rather that element in the
World-Soul which is not Soul, but NoOs. This latter stage is not quite
the position to which Plato would bring us, for when Plotinus bids us
become like NoOs, he means that we are to become NoOs as he under­
stands it; and he has adopted the Aristotelian view that mind in act
is the same as the object of its thought. Thus when we are “ assimilated”
to the World of NoOs, we become assimilated to the Forms, for
οΰκ Ζξω του vod τ ά νοητά. Plotinus has lost that distinction between the
transcendent Form and whatever is characterized by Form that Plato
insists upon in the PhaedoP2 This loss, if we may again sum up a
conclusion we have already stated, is a result of the misunderstanding
of the famous passage in the Timaeus.
So we are not so much to resemble as to become Gods. The process,
carried out under the motivation of a desire (*Epcos) given133 to us by
the Good, is one of purification which will make us cbrafcis.134 We must
practice the virtues as naPapaeis, again in the manner that Socrates
recommends in the Phaedo.lu The aim of this purification is to make
us άπλοι, for the One is eminently uniform and free from all notion of
Difference (^repor^s). Παν γ ά ρ τό οΰ π ρώ τον ούχ άπλοΟν.136 These puri­
fications are to be accompanied by prayer,137 presumably because
Plotinus believes this will involve thinking thoughts similar to those

m Enn. 1.2.1. Plato, Theaet. 176AB.

132Phaedo 102B ff. Cf. Hackforth, Plato's Phaedo 153.
133For the relevance of the power of "Epcos as something “ God-given,” cf. E nn.
6.7.31 and Armstrong, “ Platonic Eros,” 113.
luE nn. 1.2.5. Cf. Dani61ou, Platonisme 100. Merki, Ό Μ 0 Ι Ω Σ Ι Σ 20, suggests
that whereas Plato is only urging us to become like God, Plotinus proposes “ cine
Vergottlichung, eine Ruckkehr zur Gottlichkeit.” This is an exaggeration. The real
difference is that involved in Plotinus’ accepting the view that NoOs, which we are to
resemble, is both the Platonic God and the Forms. That Plotinus proposes “ eine
Vergottlichung” is true, but not entirely unplatonic. Cf. Enn. 1.2.5 and 6.
135For Plotinus’ views on the “ civic virtues,” Cf. Enn. 1.2.1.
™ Enn. 2.9.1. ™ Enn. 5.1.6.
of the Divine Mind and will thus help the soul to attain to that state
of mystic love that is the goal of the philosophic life.
The so-called civic virtues are only preliminary. True, the man who
practices them is to some extent worthy of the name “godlike,” but
he achieves assimilation with Divinity only in a very imperfect sense.
When he has mastered them, he must go on to more difficult disci­
plines if he will be perfect. Of those who do not take this next step
Plotinus is critical, and he insists that they cannot completely fulfil the
aspirations of their own divinity, τούτους yovv καί θάονς ή φήμη \eyei και
λβκτϊον άμή'γβτη ώμοιωσθαι, κατά δό τάς μάζονς την δμοίωσιν eivai.133
Nevertheless the civic virtues are necessary, and the possession of the
higher degrees of excellence implies the possession of the lower, at
least potentially.139
Three kinds of men are most likely, in Plotinus’ view, to be able to
attain to the world of NoOj and the Forms: the lover, the music-lover140
and the lover of wisdom or philosopher. Here we come upon yet another
contradiction, for theoretically at least all men are supposed to be able
to attain to the highest things. It is merely, Plotinus often implies, a
question of yvSfii σεαντόν and of bringing out the divine element that
every man has within him. If we can close the eye of our body, he tells
us, we can resurrect another kind of vision, which all of us possess but
few are able to use.141 When he comes to describing how we can begin
to use this vision, however, we find that the necessary training and
mental abilities must limit it to the few. It is true that Plotinus does
not put as much emphasis as Plato on the exact sciences, but he still
insists that they are necessary. For even the philosopher, who is
further advanced towards the Intelligible World than the other candi­
dates, has still to study τά μαθήματα 142— presumably the Platonic
sciences of arithmetic and the rest— before being allowed to go on to
dialectic. So although all possess the divine spark, only those, after all,
who have mathematical ability are able to bring it to perfection. In
view of the general tone of Plotinus’ work and of the age in which he
lived, we can attribute this continued interest in mathematics solely
to Plotinus’ unwillingness to diverge from the Platonic method as he
knew it. That the reason for the insistence on mathematics was its
magical importance and the unphilosophic role it played in Neopy-

m E nn. 1.2.1. For further discussion of civic virtue, see below, pp. 168-169.
m E nn. 1.2.7.
U0E nn. 1.3. For this rarer sense of μουσικός as “musician,” cf.R ep. 10. 620A and
Athen. 4.176E.
inE nn. 1.6.8. “*£»». 1.3.3.
thagorean and Chaldaean systems is unlikely, in view of the almost
total disregard of such aberrations that the whole of the Enneads
displays.
After mathematics the Plotinian philosopher proceeds to dialectic
and apparently spends the rest of his life perfecting himself in this in
the hope that one day he will be rewarded by the mystic vision. There
is no talk of returning to the Cave. Plotinus has no doubt of the
superiority of the contemplative life to the life of action, as it is
normally understood.143
The philosophic goal of the historical Plato is to contemplate the
Forms, but that of the Plato of Plotinus is to become a Form, to be
at one with the Divine Mind and thus to be able to receive the vision
of God when it presents itself. Καϊ ή σπονδή ούκ «£ω αμαρτίας tlvai, άλλα
θών εΐναι.14Α The highest stage we can be sure of reaching is that of
NoOs, the Divine Mind, but we must at least prepare ourselves for the
Good, though we have no guarantee that we shall ever see it. A part
of the method advocated by Plotinus is the via negativa, which many
thinkers believe totally unplatonic. Caird, for example, writes as
follows: “ They (the Neoplatonists) did not observe that Plato reaches
his conception of it (the Good) not by abstraction, but by synthesis,
not by turning away from all the special principles of knowledge but
by thinking them together, that is, by finding the one principle which
shall determine the place and relations of all the others. Nor did they
attach sufficient weight to the passages in which the good is spoken of
as a unity which is always presupposed, though never distinctly
reflected upon in our ordinary consciousness of the word.”145 This
criticism is harsh on Plotinus, but in a sense justified. It depends on
such passages in the Republic as 6 μέν yap συνοπτικός διαλβκτικός, δ δό
μή οί),146 where the synthesis of knowledge of which Caird speaks is
important. But it overlooks an important contradiction in Plato him­
self which we have already had occasion to mention. This is the
duality inherent in his manner of describing the Good now as a Form,
now as beyond the Forms since it is “ beyond Being.” In general, we
suggest, Platonic dialectic is designed to enable the philosopher to
contemplate the World of Forms as a whole: in Plotinian terms, to
attain to the Divine Hypostasis of NoDs. When Plato speaks of the
Form of the Good it is only by analogy. We are, in other words,
supposed to grasp at its nature from its implications in the rest of the
Ideal World. Dialectic can tell us about the Good qua Form, but the
143This is discussed further on pp. 170-171. ME nn. 1.2.6.
146Caird, Evolution 165. wRep. 537A 7.
 Good qua “ beyond Being” must be grasped by an intuition, albeit an
intuition which only the dialectician can hope to possess.
The real difference between Plato and Plotinus here is that although
Plato describes the Good as “ beyond Being” and thus apparently puts
it in a different category from the other Forms, in practice when
speaking of dialectic, he tends to forget this distinction. Plotinus does
not, and by thus seizing upon one aspect of a Platonic paradox he
succeeds in producing a theory which is more coherent than, and
distinct from, that of his Master. Plato usually regards the Form of
the Good as a Form rather than as something “ beyond Being,” and
this means that it is perfectly limited and defined. Accordingly, the
soul that wishes to become a god through obtaining the immanent
character of the Good, must concern itself with what Caird describes
as a synthesis of the special sciences. Plotinus, on the other hand,
realizes that such a synthesis will not make the philosopher “like” the
One which is “ beyond Being” and which, as we have already seen, is
frequently described in negative terms.
If we are to be satisfied with the merely moral virtues, then the
ordinary purifications which, we must remember, are themselves
denials and negations of bodily preoccupations, are sufficient. Soul, for
Plotinus, is a descent from NoOs, and even to begin to make the ascent
back, we must strip off the bodily trappings: άποδυομβνοίς a καταβαί-
povres ήμφΰσμ^θα.147 We must practice for death, as the Phaedo recom­
mends,148 and separate our soul from its wretched body as far as we
can, that it may be able to concentrate upon the divine element,149
the NoOs, that it contains within itself. Indeed, death should be most
welcome to the follower of Plotinus, for, like his Master, he can then
merge what is divine in himself with what is divine in the Universe.150
I t must be remembered, however, firstly that Plotinus himself, by
dissuading his disciple Porphyry from suicide, showed himself a true
follower of Plato and of the Socrates of the Phaedo, and secondly that
just as death, though perhaps desirable in itself, is not to be anticipated
by suicide, so the mystic vision is to be awaited in calmness, without
any of the artificial stimulation by which more materialistic mystics
have attempted to take heaven by storm. Brehier appears to have
supposed that this calmness and hope of divine favour was the cause
of Plotinus’ confidence when he delivered his celebrated rebuke to his
follower Amelius. Amelius had developed an enthusiasm for the out­
ward forms of worship and was frequently to be seen paying his
> «£»«. 1.6.7. usPhaedo 64Aff.
utEnn. 1.2.5 and elsewhere. 150Porphyry, Vita Plotini 2.
respects in the temples of the Gods. Indeed, he became so self-righteous
about his devotions that he asked Plotinus why he did not do the same;
to which the philosopher replied that it was for the Gods to come to
him, not he to them. Br6hier believes that in this passage Plotinus is
alluding to his confidence in attaining to that mystical union with the
One which, according to Porphyry, he enjoyed four times.181 This
interpretation, however, is not the most obvious deduction from
Porphyry’s account. Porphyry says that the words of Plotinus were
eneLvovs Set πpos epe ΐρχεσθαt, ονκ £μέ irpos e/ceffous.182 In view of the
language used throughout the Enneads when Plotinus is speaking of
the One, it seems unlikely that the plural would be suitable or that
Plotinus would use it of the One which is totally free of multiplicity.
Furthermore, it is difficult not to feel that in this sharp rebuff there
is a more arrogant tone than Plotinus would use, if, as Brehier believes,
he were speaking of the One.
These words, then, almost certainly refer to gods or δαipopes far
lower and far less important than the One. Merlan153 supposes that
Plotinus is alluding to his power to compel such lesser divinities to
come to him by the use of theurgy. This solution again appears to
contradict the spirit of the Enneads, where theurgy is unknown.
Armstrong184 seems to be right in believing that the eneivovs “refers to
the crowd of lower gods who are to be found at sacrifices” and that
Plotinus expresses “not an assertion of theurgic power over them, but
at least a sense of social superiority.” To support this “sense of social
superiority,” Armstrong points to a most relevant passage of the De
Abstinentia188 where Porphyry inveighs against men who lay claim to
philosophy but patronize the popular worship. He tells us further that
the “gods” that are present at sacrifices are δαί/xom, and if, as seems
clear, the passage reveals an attitude held by Plotinus himself, namely,
that though δαίμοναs exist, their cult is unworthy of the philosopher,
whose gaze is turned on far higher spiritual things, then we can the
more readily understand why Plotinus rejected the invitation of
Amelius.
It appears then that we cannot use these famous words of Plotinus
to exemplify his calmness in awaiting the mystic vision, and his
absolute refusal to attempt those gross magical acts by which, for

w-Ibid. 23. n2Ibid. 10.

‘“ Merlan, “ Plotinus and M agic,” 341-348.
‘“ Armstrong, “ Was Plotinus a Magician?,” 77-78. Armstrong here agrees with
Henry, “ Derniere Parole,” 115.
‘“ Porphyry, De Abstinentia 2, 34-43.
example, Proclus “was granted the sight of luminous phantoms sent
by Hecate.”156 We can, however, insist that throughout the Enneads
there is no mention of such aberrations. Indeed, if there had been, it
seems unlikely that Plotinus would have succeeded in attaining that
union with the One which he sought. Proclus, the adept in “ Chaldaean
purifications,” failed to attain the mystic vision; Plotinus, on the other
hand, was rewarded for his practice and devotion on at least four
occasions.
We are travelling too fast, and we must return to what Plotinus
thinks of dialectic and how he believes he is expounding the true
thought of Plato. In the seventh tractate of the Sixth Ennead he
defines the position as follows:157 Έστι μίν y a p ή του ayadov eire yvuscis
elre βπαφή pkyiστον και p ey ιστόν φησι (i.e., Plato) τούτο elvai μάθημα, ον
τό 7rpds αυτό ideiv μάθημα Xeyuiv, ά λ λ α πβρι αύτου μαθέίν τι πρότβρον.
Plotinus understands Plato to mean that we can contemplate the Form
of the Good by dialectic; that is, that we can learn about it, but we
cannot merge ourselves with it by thought alone. Union, according to
Plotinus, is attained by another process, that of simplification, the
stripping off of those trappings of “ form” and “limit” which are neces­
sary for our attaining to the Hypostasis of NoOs, but not to that of the
One, which is formless.
Plotinus is still following the Platonic principle of όμοιος όμοίιρ and
it leads him further than Plato has gone. In Plato, we remember, the
aim was to obtain όμοίωσ is ( Theaet. 176A) and thus to contemplate
the Forms, which, however, were still separated from the Gods by the
barrier of lifelessness. In Plotinus, as we have seen, no such barrier
exists between the One, NoOs, and the Forms that are within NoOs; they
are all the result of a single system. Since there is no Platonic dualism
of Forms and souls, we are free to apply the principle of όμοιος δμοίω
to the supreme ambition of the philosophic Έρω$, that of union with
the One, the source and Father of all, that is “ beyond Being.” And,
to do this, we must leave everything behind, even the Forms and the
World of Nous Άποτίθβται πάσαν ήν ‘έχβι μορφήν, τό νοητόν παν άφβις
θβάσεται' όμοιοΰσθαι y a p 8ei.m Everything, even dialectic, is irrelevant
and we are commanded to cast it all away. “ΑφεΧβ π ά ν τ α .15916

16*Cf. below, p. 95 and n.160.

™ Enn. 6.7.36. ™ Enn. 6.7.34.
m E nn. 5 .3 .1 7 .1 do not think that Plotinus’ basic position that NoOs is transcended
in the union with the One is seriously modified by the passage 6.7.35, which speaks
of NoOs as being beyond itself epa>v. The union of the soul with the One is in Noi)s
and with NoOs— but also beyond NoOs.
 We set out with the intention of examining what Plotinus means by
his One, and since we now know that the soul becomes like the One,
or rather becomes merged with it, during the mystic vision, we may
hope, therefore, greatly to increase our understanding of it by observ­
ing what Plotinus has to say about that moment when it can be truly
known, that is, the moment of the mystic union itself. Plotinus, as we
have noted, was rewarded with this experience on at least four occa­
sions, and Porphyry claimed to have enjoyed it once. None of the other
Neoplatonists are recorded to have experienced it, and Dodds, writing
of Proclus, the greatest of them, thinks that when he speaks of it he
is referring to something that he knows of only in connection with the
great men of the past,160 and with the literary tradition. Let us see,
then, what conclusions Plotinus himself reaches about it, and while
doing so let us remember his warnings that his descriptions will never
be able to do justice to the truth. During the experience itself, he says,
a man is unable to speak, and afterwards is compelled to use terms
about it which can never be a truly adequate description.161
Suddenly, says Plotinus, the vision is present. One is not aware of
its coming and cannot detain it for longer than the short time that is
all one can hope for on any occasion. The philosopher always longs for
its presence (This is the philosophic Έρω$ of the Symposium and
Phaedrus) ; but he must wait until he is duly prepared for the vision.
“ Therefore we should not pursue it, but wait quietly until it appears,
preparing ourselves to view it, as the eye awaits the rising of the sun.5’
Dean Inge has justly remarked on the comparative rarity of the visions
of the Neoplatonists as compared with the later mystics of the cloister,
adducing the parallel that “Just as young people in some Protestant
sects experience sudden conversion at the age of adolescence, while
in other Christian churches this is almost unknown or regarded as a
rare phenomenon, so visions and trances come often when they are
looked for, and seldom when they are not expected.”162
B ut when the vision arrives, what is it and what does it tell us
about the One? All experiences which may be called mystical in the
vulgar sense are, as is well known, of two kinds: one is characterized
160Dodds, Elements. In his introduction, p. xxiii, he writes: “ It is significant that
Marinus never claims for his hero (Proclus) that he enjoyed direct union with God,
as Plotinus and on one occasion Porphyry had done; instead he tells us that he was an
expert in weather-magic, and in the techniques of evocation, and that while prac­
tising ‘the Chaldean purifications’ he was vouchsafed personal visions of luminous
phantoms sent by H ecate.” Marinus, Vita Procli 27.
m E nn. 5.3.17.
162Inge, Plotinus 2, 154. Enn. 5.5.8.
 by wild excitement and a loss of control and will, often manifesting
itself in forms of frenzied dancing and bacchanalian revelry; the other
is calm, but intense. This latter kind is the aim of Plotinus. It is
described as a simplification (άπλωσα), an absolute trust in Divinity
and a total merger of the Self within it. But most frequently it is
described in terms that suggest the intoxication of passionate love.
Let us examine two famous passages. The first is in the seventh essay
of the Sixth Enneadt where we read as follows:163 “Intellectual-
Principle, thus, has two powers, first that of grasping intellectively
its own content, the second that of an advancing and receiving whereby
to know its transcendent; at first it sees, later by that seeing it takes
possession of Intellectual-Principle, becoming one only thing with that:
the first seeing is that of Intellect knowing, the second that of Intellect
loving (vovs epaw); stripped of its wisdom in the intoxication of the
nectar, it comes to love (ipQv y iv era i ); by this excess it is made simpler
and is happy; and to be drunken is better for it than to be too staid
for these revels.” (Trans. MacKenna.)
Here are two prominent features: the emphasis on love and the
resulting state of being αφρων. We may wonder why it is right for the
philosopher to become “witless” ; and indeed such a question is at
the bottom of many objections to the via negativa, both from Caird
and others like him who regard it as unplatonic, and from others who
regard it as inhuman. But must we not admit that Plato’s teachings
are equally “ inhuman,” if we are to define as “ inhuman” anything
which demands a degree of restraint and discipline? We must remem­
ber that Plotinus does not insist that the philosopher should be
ignorant; that would be unplatonic. On the contrary, he demands the
same exacting and rigorous training as his Master has demanded. He
goes beyond his Master, however, in his clearer recognition that such
a training is not adequate in itself. A t times even dialectic must be
laid aside, though this in no way detracts from its value as a necessary
preliminary. The one thing that we must not lay aside, however, is
that Έρω* which will in a special way make us “ drunken” and “wit­
less'.” And the reason this should not be laid aside is clearly that it is
the only quality in us that is truly akin to the One. It is the bond of
union of the negative and positive approaches to divinity.
When speaking of the One, we found that Plotinus sometimes uses
the quasi-personal term π α τήρ and is very fond of describing its
nature as that of a spring or source or principle of existence. If we
keep these descriptions in our minds when we turn to those passages
m E nn. 6.7.35.
which make the One equal to "Epojs and 'Epcos αύτοΰ, we shall under­
stand that the reason why the one thing the via negativa cannot deny
is our own “Epcos, is that in some sense Έρω$ is the One that we seek.
The second passage that we must examine in this connection is also
in Ennead 6,164 and here too we must observe carefully what Plotinus
has to say about the intoxication of love and the transcendence of the
will it involves. “That light known, then indeed we are stirred towards
those Beings in longing and rejoicing over the radiance about th e m .. . .
Every one of those Beings exists for itself but becomes an object of
desire by the colour cast upon it from the Good, source of those graces
and of the love they evoke. The soul taking that outflow from the
divine is stirred, seized with a Bacchic passion, goaded by these goads,
it becomes Love” (Trans. M acKenna). When the soul sees the Forms
illuminated by the Good, it rejoices (ευφραίνεται), is stirred (κινείται),
and goes into uncontrolled ecstasies (άναβακχεύεται). No will can chain
the Bacchant and nothing can reach the mind of the goaded creature
except the continual consciousness of the goad. The soul, as Plotinus
says, becomes single, or as we might say, single-minded. It is nothing
but "Epcos; it is nothing but the One.
We have found in Plato two contradictory notions of 'Epcos: the
one that of simple desire, and the other something more akin to giving,
perhaps even to creation, though Plato never follows up this aspect
of his thoughts to its logical conclusion. In Plotinus, too, it is not only
possible to observe these two contradictory notions of Έρωχ, but to
see how the former, inferior variety can be transformed into the latter.
The key to this change is that it is caused by the actual vision of the
One; the soul translates its feelings of desire into those of worship.
Let us consider the following passage:165
Therefore we must ascend again to the Good, the desired of every Soul. Anyone that
has seen this, knows what I intend when I say that it is beautiful. Even the desire of
it is to be desired as a Good. To attain it is for those that will take the upward path,
who will set all their forces towards it, who will divest themselves of all that we have
put on in our descent: so, to those that approach the Holy Celebrations of the Mys­
teries, there are appointed purifications and the laying aside of the garments worn
before, and the entry in nakedness— until, passing, on the upward way, all that is
other than the God, each in solitude of himself shall behold that solitary dwelling
Existence, the Apart, the Unmingled, the Pure [cf. Symp. 211C], that from which all
things depend, for which all look and live and act and know, the Source of Life and of
Intellection and of Being.
And One that shall know this vision— with what passion of love shall he not be
seized, with what pang of desire, what longing to be molten into one with This,

6.7.22. mEnn. 1.6.7.

what wondering delight! If he that has never seen this Being must hunger for It as for
all his welfare, he that has known must love and reverence It as the very Beauty; he
will be flooded with awe and gladness, stricken by a salutary terror; he loves with a
veritable love, with sharp desire; all other loves than this he must despise, and disdain
all that once seemed fair (Trans. MacKenna-Page).

The most significant fact about this passage is that the man who
has not yet been rewarded with a vision of the One still desires it, as
a “good” that he may possess. Plotinus uses the word 6 p ey ea0 ai. The
man who has seen it, however, though admittedly gripped by δριμβΐς
πόθου s for a recurrence of the vision, is now filled with the joy and
wonder of a true love (αληθής ’έ ρω ς).166 The feeling of amazement is
repeated twice (α γ α σ θ α ι, θαμβούς π ιμ π λ α σ θ α ι, έκ π λ ή ττεσ θ α ι). This is the
overwhelming sensation of “ true love” when it has seen what was once
purely the object of desire. Desire gives way to adoration, though the
word used to describe the state of the soul is still the same, that is
"Epcos. Indeed, what other word is possible? Not, surely, Φιλία, for
the culmination of ecstatic “Ε ρω ς·167 Φιλία is too unemotional a word
for Plotinus to be able to use in this context, where nothing that might
suggest a merely rational relationship would suffice. The word Φιλία
suggests the association of two equal or unequal partners working
together out of mutual respect and trust, but, for all their faith in one
another, φίλοι remain two. Plotinus wants to describe a state where
the two (the One and the purified soul) become one. Φιλία would
have sounded to the Greeks inappropriate for this notion of fusion;
it insists too much on the importance of the individual personality,
and in any case “ friendship” between man and God was usually
regarded as out of the question. Plotinus might have made use of the
word Άyάπη for his descriptions of the joy and wonder aroused by the
sight and realization of the One, as he uses it to describe the One
itself in the Sixth Ennead. Here we find:168 'Όδ' eis τό (ΐσ ω olov φ έρ ετ α ι
αυτοί), οΤον έαυτόν α γ α π ή σ α ς αυγήν καθαρόν , αυτός ων τού το, δ π ep ή y ά π η σ e ----
τοί/το δ ’ΐσ τ ίν υ π ο σ τή σ ας αυτόν, eiwep iv kp y t ια μένουσα κ αι τ ό α γ α π η τ ό τ α τ ο υ
olov νους. The feelings of the One towards itself, and thus, we can
assume, of the “soul enraptured” towards the One are here described

16eSince the first draft of this essay, Professor Armstrong has commented on this
passage and offered an explanation similar to my own. Cf. “ Platonic Eros,” 113.
le7In Laws 8, 837A, Plato describes Έ ρ ω * as the intense form of Φιλία. It is true
that Albinus insists that "Ερως must be watered down into Φιλία ( D idask . 23,
τέλος δέ αύτοΐς τ ό αν τί έρ α σ του κ αι έρωμένου γβ νίσθαι φ ίλους), but as W itt
points out ( Albinus 10), this is based on Aristotle’s Nicomacheatt Ethics rather than on
Plato. Cf. Plutarch, Amatorius 758C, 759D .
™Enn. 6.8.16.
in terms of Ά -γ άπ η . Previously we have seen them described as Έρω$
and αυτόν "Epcos.
Plotinus, then, makes little distinction between the two terms and
makes no attempt to clarify the difficulty caused by the two senses of
"Epcos: that of desire and that of joyful union with the self-sufficient
creativeness of the One. He might have used ’Κ^άπη for the latter
idea, as the above passage shows. Why he did not do so we shall never
be certain, but it is not beyond the bounds of possibility that he knew
the word in its Christian connotation and therefore refused to have
truck with it. We have seen how little satisfied he was with the
Gnostics and how he despised those who, as he thought, demanded a
saviour to help them out of the difficulties in which they had involved
themselves. It is quite possible that among these latter he included
Christians and, if so, the dislike that he must have felt for them would
probably have precluded him from the use of Ά γ ά ^ , their peculiar
term for love.169
Ά -γ ά τ η , then, is neglected by Plotinus, though it was a term that
might have been employed for one of the two senses of "Epos, and we
have suggested a possible reason for this neglect. There is a further
reason also: one which Plotinus would have regarded as of the utmost
importance. The two kinds of "Epees are not entirely separate; rather
the higher is the logical and best possible result of the lower. The
"Epcos of the mystic union is the actuality of the ”Epo?s which, as mere
potency, is still at the stage of desire. Nevertheless, there is no short
cut to the higher state. There is only one path to the union with God,
and that is the one we have described, motivated by the lower and
normal Platonic variety of "Epajs.
Plotinus deliberately compares this transference of emotion, this
fulfilment of desire in joy and self-surrender, to physical love. He
writes that the soul suddenly realizes its unity with the One:170 “ She
(the soul) has seen that presence suddenly manifesting within her, for
there is nothing between: Love is no longer a duality but a two in one;
for, so long as the presence holds, all distinction fades: it is as lover and
beloved here, in a copy of that union, long to blend; the soul has now
no further awareness of being in body and will give herself no foreign
name, not man, not living being, not being, not all.” (Trans. Mac-
Kenna-Page.)

169I do not mean to suggest that Plotinus would necessarily have understood or
appreciated the specifically Christian meaning o f the word Ά '/ά π η , only that he
probably knew that it was in current use among Christians. For this subject, cf.
Nygren, Eros, D ’Arcy, M ind an d Heart , and De Rougement, Passion and Society.
™Enn. 6.7.34.
 The physical imagery is not forgotten. Plotinus realizes as well as
Plato that what he is demanding is a sublimation of Aphrodite Pande­
mos, but his demands are much more within the realms of possibility
than are those of his Master. By postulating that the Good is the
source both of the Intelligible World of Forms, themselves now alive,
and of the world of Soul which includes our own individual souls, and
by offering us a quasi-personalized representation of the First Hypo­
stasis with which we must merge ourselves in the mystic union,
Plotinus is presenting his followers with a goal at least within the
powers of the human emotion of love to attain. Plato, in asking us to
love the lifeless Forms which are always separate from us and which
can only be experienced as immanent characteristics, asked, we sug­
gested, what might seem noble but impossible. Plotinus, by avoiding
the dualism of Forms and souls, and by asking us to love his version
of the Good, has shown that if he misunderstood the meaning of his
Master’s teachings, it was because he better understood the nature of
the human spirit in love (vovs kp&v).
That Plotinus recognized the physical basis of 'Epcos and made his
demands on human nature more modest does not imply that he was
any more lax than Plato towards the perversions to which his doctrine
was and always will be prone. Indeed, to our eyes, he may seem more
enlightened in that he speaks of "Epos in a context which may imply
heterosexual rather than homosexual love. This is, indeed, only a
conjecture, for many passages can be cited where he speaks of the
έροστήε and his βρώμβνος in the usual homosexual manner, and Harder’s
suggestion that he shared the specifically Roman dislike of Έρωε τταώικο$
must remain only a surmise. Y et the use of language drawn from the
mystery religions may have led him to believe that heterosexual
relations were as likely to lead to the “philosophic” 'Epo>s as those
between man and boy. Indeed, Plato in his old age may have led the
way to this conclusion too, for perhaps Plotinus had more under­
standing of that mysterious phrase in the Laws, so tantalizing to the
commentators, which briefly expresses the hope that some relation of
φιΚία can exist between men and their wives.171 However that may be,
there is no doubt that the phrase Upds yapos was used in discussions
of the mystic union within the school of Plotinus. For this we have the
express testimony of Porphyry172 who tells us how, when he read a
poem with this title, certain other members of the school thought him
m Laws 8, 839B. Grube, Plato's Thought 118. For Harder’s suggestion on Έ ρ ω $
7Γαιδικ<κ cf. Entretiens Hardt 5, 90.
17SPorphyry, Vita Plotini 15.
demented, but Plotinus himself hailed him as poet, hierophant and
philosopher.
On the positive side, then, we see Plotinus showing interest in
discussion of the lepos yapos, which, even if it involved relations that
were physical rather than sublime— as the Christians, probably un­
justly, alleged— was at least concerned with the male-female relation­
ship. Even the most ardent pederasts of the ancient world would rarely
have described their affairs in terms of a marriage! Furthermore, we
know that Plotinus’ physical imagery was not intended to support
any relaxation of that strict self-control that Socrates displays in the
Symposium. Immediately after the passage describing his poem on the
lepos γά/ios, Porphyry mentions the reaction of his Master to the
behaviour of a certain rhetor, Diophanes by name, who made so bold
as to defend the conduct of Alcibiades in aiming at physical relations
with Socrates, on the ground that the pupil must be all things to his
Master, provided that he is able to derive the virtue that is knowledge
from him. Plotinus was indignant at the idea and could hardly restrain
himself from leaving the room; afterwards, however, he instructed
Porphyry to write an answer to Diophanes and was, we are told,
delighted when it was read out to him.
That Plotinus had more time for women in his private affairs than
had Plato is good evidence that he was more likely to count them
capable of attaining to the philosophic 'Epcos; and whereas it is a
commonplace that women play almost no part in the life of Plato and
that, except for his mother, they are hardly even mentioned in any
connection with him, this is very far from being the case with Plotinus.
The invaluable Porphyry recounts how many women were devoted to
him, and how some of these even engaged in philosophic pursuits.173
This sounds rather different from what we know of the Platonic Aca­
demy, where one of the only two women members is reported to have
worn men’s clothes, presumably because it was thought that, since the
work she was doing was best done by men, she should resemble a man
as far as she was able.174
Plotinus’ more moderate attitude finds support within the Platonic
tradition itself in Plutarch’s Amatorius. Here Plato’s explicit attack175
on physical homosexual relations is repeated,176 and heterosexual love,

™Ibid. 9.
I74Cf. the opinion of Plato that men who had lived unworthily would be rein­
carnated as women.
175See the passage on love in Laws 836B -842A .
17,Plutarch, Amatorius 751E ff.
culminating in marriage,177 is defended at great length against its
traducers, whose chief spokesman is appropriately named Protogenes.
Although, as we have seen, Plutarch’s suggestion that Φιλία must
eventually replace "Ερως is unsuitable in a context of a mystic’s love
of the One, the new doctrine, derived from a hint in the Laws about
men’s being “ friendly” with their wives, and placing especial emphasis
on marriage, must have done much to help the Platonists to an under­
standing of the most natural direction in which the emotion of love
can be channelled. Plutarch is insistent that those who claim that
inspiration can only come from love for boys are mere voluptuaries
seeking to cloak their immorality beneath the garb of philosophy.
From the point of view of inspiration, he says, the sex of the beloved
is irrelevant.178
Reverting to Plotinus, we may say in brief that although he ex­
plained his unio mystica in terms that betray more understanding of
the impulse of love and of its capabilities, we should be unjustified in
believing that this implied any slackening of the high standards in
human relationships and self-control that his Master Plato had set
up. Indeed, his interest in heterosexual relationships, however slight
it may have been, can only be regarded as a great advance, even if one
fraught with very great dangers. But to that subject and to pre­
cursors of the new view in Plato himself we shall return w,hen we speak
of the more explicit contributions made by Origen. For the moment
we must look once more at the following passage from the Enneads,
which describes the physical analogies inherent in "Epcos, be it of the
lower or the higher form, as we have distinguished them. We read
as follows:179
The soul in its nature loves God and longs to be at one with Him in the noble love of
a daughter for a noble father; but coming to human birth and lured by the courtships
of this sphere, she takes up with another love, a mortal, leaves her father and falls.
But one day coming to hate her shame, she puts away the evil of earth, once more
seeks the father, and finds her peace. Those to whom all this experience is strange
may understand by way of our earthly longings and the joy we have in winning to
what we most desire— remembering always that here what we love is perishable,
hurtful, that our loving is of mimicries and turns awry because all was a mistake, our
good was not here, this was not what we sought; There only is our veritable love and
There we may unite with it, not holding it in some fleshly embrace but possessing it
in all its verity. (Trans. MacKenna-Page.)

The soul is likened to a maiden yearning with a noble love. This in

itself is a little strange, since, according to the more usual theory of
Platonic Έρωί, love is an emotion between two men seeking to grasp
the philosophic life together. Clarification is given in a famous passage
in which Plotinus describes the rival loves of the Good and the Beauti­
ful.180*He points out that the Good is gentle and agreeable and tender,
and that it is with us whenever we wish, whereas Beauty, the inferior
love, involves excessive amazement, and in the enjoyment of it we
find pain as well as pleasure. Plotinus links excessive desire with the
pursuit of Beauty, thinks this pursuit can even distract the soul from
the Good, and finds the desire for the Good more spiritual, since it is
αν αίσθη τος. Perhaps he associates "Epcos as male desire with the pursuit
of Beauty, whereas when he speaks of love of the Good, he thinks
rather of the Έρω* of a “noble maiden”— a love which involves both
desire and a peaceful union with God the “ father” which transcends
desire. In conclusion, "Epws as desire unfulfilled and nothing more is
not the "Έρως of the “philosophic lover” and is transcended; we have
already seen that it is not the Έρω? of the One.
With these preliminary matters clear, we can now proceed without
fear of misinterpretation to Plotinus’ description of the mystical union
itself, in so far as he feels himself able to describe it at all. He plainly
expects his readers to have some preliminary notion of it as a kind of
vision or contemplation (θ έα μ α ),161 but rejects this as inadequate. It
is rather, he explains, another kind of vision, a “ being out of oneself”
(jeκ σ τ α σ ις ), “ an act of self-surrender” (έπ ίδοσ ις αυτόν), “ a simplification”
(ά π λ ω σ ις ), “ a kind of sustained thought directed towards conformity”
(π εριν όη σις πρ6ς εφ αρμ ογή ν). These expressions are certainly not purely
visual images, and indeed it would be most surprising if they were,
for we have been taught to suppose that the experience is not one of
the admiration of something inexpressibly beautiful but distant (like
the Platonic Forms, which are χ ω ρ ισ τ ά ) , but rather a total submer­
gence of the Self in the "Epo>s of the One. Accordingly we find a tactual
image (εφ αρ μ ογ ή ) used in the comparison182 (as is fitting, since Plotinus
regards the transports of love as the only possible analogy) and beside
it one of a superior variety of thought: thought that is not only above
mere ratiocination, but even beyond intuition where intuition is of
something outside the Self. For in the unio mystica nothing is outside
the Self, since the Self, by giving itself up, has become both the whole

180£ « « 5.5.12. Cf. Plato, Phaedrus 250 and Armstrong, “ Platonic Eros,” 108.
Kristeller shows, in Der Begriff der Seele 65, how important this passage is for the
relation of the Soul to NoOs and the One respectively.
]81For what follows cf. Enn. 6.9.11.
182For terms of “ contact” cf. Enn. 5.3.10 θΐξις καί olov επ α φ ή ; 6.7.39.
and the part of the One. It is “ the whole” of the One by having no
qualitative έτ(ρ6τη$, although, since Plotinus is not a pantheist, it still
remains numerically distinct.183
For the mystic, led on by the "Ερω$ that is desire to win happiness
for the Self, the end of the journey is to realize that the Self, the
individual personality, is to be abandoned. We have already seen how
the One is beyond Personality, though spoken of in quasi-personal
terms, and we decided that, strictly speaking, the only element of
Personality it may be said to possess is its Έρω$, which shows itself
in spontaneous creation. Accordingly, when the mystic succeeds in
becoming merged with the Absolute, this "Ερως is all that will remain
of his personality.
It is a temptation, as we have seen, to regard the Plotinian Absolute
as totally “determined.” Plotinus, far from concluding this, holds that,
on the contrary, both the Absolute and the philosopher who is at one
with it are “ beyond freedom” (ττλίον ή hXivdepoi, καί ττλίον η avrt-
ξόυσιοι).184 By this he means that mere mortals have some degree of
choice, yet if they are good their goodness makes them bound to choose
the Good, even though the possibility of evil is always before them;
the Absolute, on the other hand, is its own guarantee that it will react
in the form of undiminished giving. Any other activity would be
unthinkable for it. There is no extrinsic factor which compels the One
to make this choice; it is its “ nature” to do so, and Plotinus attempts
to describe such a “nature” by such phrases as TrXeov fj αύτβξουσία.
It is the discarding of Self or of Personality, that the critics of
Plotinus have regarded as his primary unplatonic feature, and for
which they have sought parallels from the exotic cults of the Near
East. These cults were of great influence in Plotinus’ day and, as an
inhabitant of Egypt,185 if not an Egyptian, he cannot but have been
well aware of them. Brehier, as we have already noticed, has even
discovered traces of the effects of Indian thought in the “ depersonali­
zation” of the soul in ecstasy in Plotinus, and he has not been alone
ip doing so. In this m atter, however, as in some of the others that
have already come under review, it may be shown that the difficulty
of understanding how Plotinus could have derived his theories from
Greek origins, and especially from Plato, is not as great as is sometimes

183For eTcp0T77s cf. Enn. 6.9.8 and Arnou, Le DSsir 246.

w E nn. 6.8.15. Cf. Henry, “ Le Probteme,” and Clark, “ Empirical Responsibility,”
16-31.
’“ According to Eunapius, Plotinus came from “ Lyco.” This is generally supposed
to be Lycopolis in Upper Egypt.
supposed. It is quite possible to “ discover” most of the essential
features of the Plotinian system within Plato’s works, and that with­
out necessarily assuming that Plato’s outlook was the same as Plotinus’.
To make this latter deduction would be as unreasonable as to maintain
that because Calvin draws heavily on St. Augustine in certain specific
departments of thought, therefore his general theological outlook is
necessarily similar.
Plato’s views on the immortality of the soul have always posed
considerable problems for his interpreters. In the Apology, where he
is probably giving the view of Socrates rather than his own, he is not
prepared to state categorically that the soul is immortal, though we
may well believe that Socrates thought it to be so. In the P haedo, he
produces three (or four) arguments to prove an immortality of which
he seems convinced, whereas in the Symposium (206C-208C) he does
not formally mention it at all. His silence here is perhaps partly to
be explained by the problems he finds himself compelled to face as a
result of his new theory of the tripartite soul. In the Phaedo (78C),
immortality is seen to depend on the singleness of the soul’s nature,
since all composite objects are liable to destruction. This is admirably
suited to what Plato says of the soul in the Phaedo> but when we come
to the fully-fledged theory of the tripartite soul which is presented in
book four of the Republic, we have the right to ask whether the
“simplicity” of the soul has been abandoned, and, if so, what are
Plato’s thoughts at this stage about immortality.
Plato himself is well aware of the difficulty. He tells us in book ten186
that it is difficult for anything that is composite (as the tripartite soul
appears to be) to be eternal. Nevertheless, he explains, our regarding
the soul as full of π ο ικ ιλ ία , άνομοώ τητ and δ ια φ ο ρ ά is the result of our
only seeing it when harmed by the body. We ought rather to look at
it when it is pure, and then we shall realize that it is akin to what is
divine, immortal, and everlasting.187 If we do this, we shall see whether
its real nature is simple or manifold (την αληθή φύσιν (ir e πολυβιδής eire
μονο€ ιδής) .
Professor Guthrie188 has re-emphasized that “ the only reasonable
conclusion from all this is that the soul for Plato is still in essence simple
and only appears composite as the result of its association with the
body. ” If this is so, then the introduction of the theory of the tripartite

™Rep. 10. 611A ff.

M avyyeviis οδσα τφ re θβίω κ αί άθανάτιο κ αί τφ hei δντι. Cf. Phaedo 79D.
m Guthrie, “Plato’s Views on the Im mortality of the Soul,” 4-22. The references
to Guthrie that follow in the text are to this article.
soul makes no difference to the Platonic view of immortality, for if
the two lower elements are not ψυχή in essence, but only accretions
due to the association of the soul with the body, then it is evident that
the higher part (τό λογιστικόν) is the equivalent of the whole soul in
the Phaedo and is the only part which is immortal. This interpretation
is supported by the doctrine of the Timaeus, where in 72D immortality
is restricted to reason. This element alone is the creation of the Demi-
ourgos; the lesser elements are the work of the lesser gods and
apparently perish with the body.189
The Phaedrus and the tenth book of the Laws, however, pose more
difficult problems, and Hackforth190 sees here one of those contra­
dictions in Plato’s thought to which we have referred so frequently in
this essay. “Plato wavers to the end between the religious, Orphic-
Pythagorean conception of a divine soul essentially (‘in its true nature’)
divorced from all physical functions, all ‘lower’ activities, and a more
secular and scientific conception of soul as essentially a source of
motion both to itself and to τ ά Ά λ λ α .” This latter view implies that
“it can only move the body in virtue of itself possessing ‘motions’
over and above the reason which contemplates the eternal Form s.”
Hackforth believes that these “motions over and above the reason”
are implied in the myth of the Phaedrus, where souls still in heaven
are already composite, their three parts being likened to a charioteer
and two horses, one of which is obedient while the other is not. To
deny Hackforth’s view of this passage, there is no need for us to follow
Wilamowitz and Taylor191 in assuming that Plato’s poetic talent has
outrun his metaphysics, since Guthrie has proposed a less despairing
and perfectly reasonable solution. His view is that Plato’s eschatology
is in origin that of Empedocles and of the tradition sometimes known
as Orphic. “ For one who holds these beliefs, the essential contrast is
not between an incarnate and a discarnate soul. . . . The essential
difference is that between a soul that is in, or destined for, the κύκλος
βαρυτύνθης (i.e., due for reincarnation) and one that has escaped from
it and returned els to αύτό οθβν ί)κίΐ.192
189It is unimportant in this connection whether we believe the Demiourgos to be
merely a useful mythical device or whether we regard Plato in the Timaeus as
attempting a more exact and literal account of the ordering of the Universe. I t is at
least clear that Plato wishes his readers to consider the role of the Demiourgos of
more importance than that of the lesser Gods. This distinction serves to emphasize
the difference between the immortal and mortal parts of the soul.
190Hackforth, Plato’s Phaedrus 76.
191Von Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, Platon I, 467; Taylor, Plato 307.
192Guthrie, “ Plato’s Views,” 11-12.
 This suggestion clears up the difficulties seen by Hackforth in the
interpretation of the “ charioteer” myth. When Plato speaks of the
two lower parts of the soul existing when the soul is outside the body,
he is not speaking of souls that have escaped the wheel of rebirth,
but only of those that are rid of a -particular body. Indeed, as Guthrie
reminds us, indications of this doctrine of the survival of bodily aspects
of the soul are present in the Gorgias193 and, more important, in the
Phaedo194 itself, the dialogue where the simplicity of the immortal soul
in its true nature is most stressed.
Hackforth,195 however, maintains that according to the Phaedrus
even the souls of the Gods are composite. This, as Guthrie shows, is a
misinterpretation. It is true that they too are likened to a charioteer
and his horses, but Hackforth does not enough consider the fact that
the charioteer and both his horses are wholly good (246A). This is
clear evidence that the souls of the Gods and of philosophic men who
have attained to knowledge of the Forms and freedom from the body
are not composite but simple in goodness.
Hackforth claims that a passage in the tenth book of the Laws196
supports his interpretation of the Phaedrus passages discussed above.
We hear there, he says, of an “ attribution to the world-soul (and by
inference to the individual soul ‘in its true nature’) of much besides
reason, viz., ‘affection, reflection, forethought, counsel, opinion true
and false, joy, grief, confidence, fear, hate, love, and all the motions
akin to these.” Hackforth’s translation, however, is seriously mis­
leading. First of all, it is very doubtful whether Plato is referring to
the world-soul. W hat he has said from 896D onwards that is relevant
here is that “ the things of soul (τά φνχψ),” in which he includes the
dispositions and emotions mentioned above, are prior to those of body,
that soul is the cause of things good and bad since it is the cause of all
things, and that involved in the movement and government of the
universe there are at least two souls, one beneficent and the other
capable of causing what is the opposite of beneficent. It is clear that
when Plato speaks of “soul” here, he means not the world-soul but
souls in the world.197 It is absurd to suppose that the world-soul can
m Gorg. 524D E. 19iPhaedo 81A.
1,5Hackforth, Plato's Phaedrus 76.
inLaws 10. 897A. Hackforth, Plato’s Phaedrus IS.
m The bad soul in this passage has resemblances to the evil παράδίΐΎ μα o f Theaet.
176E, and the αιτία διακρίσβω$ of Phil. 23D E which Protarchus wishes to introduce.
It is a soul which forgets its divine origin an d associates with the avaynr] of the
Timaeus. Though its force may be cosmic, it is wholly wrong to speak of it in the
Laws as a bad world-soul. Cf. Gaye, The Platonic Conception o j Immortality 187.
“ associate with folly” (avoig. ζυγγζνομένη 897B), but quite in accord
with Plato’s normal view that an ordinary soul may do so. Obversely,
there is no question of the world-soul’s “ adding vovs to itself” (νουν
προσλαβουσα) since it is already a soul filled with voDs.
Hackforth’s view that Plato is here speaking not only of the world-
soul but by inference of the individual soul in its true nature is even
more surprising, and has rightly been rejected by Guthrie.198 Guthrie
explains that Plato is here describing the behaviour of souls in this
world, not of the souls of the Gods or of purified philosophers. In
addition to Guthrie’s evidence, we can point to the fact that “soul”
in 897A is described as having “hatred” as one of its “motions,” but
that the Gods are once more described as αγαθοί καί αριστοι in 901E.
It is impossible that souls that are αγαθοί καί αριστοι can have anything
to do with hatred since “ all soul that is good is beneficial by nature”
(904B).
The conclusion is clear that Hackforth is unjustified in attributing
to Plato a duality of thought on this issue. For him the vods, the δαίμων
in man, alone is immortal. The other “parts” of the soul are excre­
scences which derive from the contamination of voDs by the wheel
of rebirth. When the philosopher is free from that wheel and truly
godlike, they cease to be. We return to Plotinus.
Plotinus probably held that there is no essential difference between
the state of the soul in the unio mystica and that of a philosophic soul
after death.199 If, therefore, we show that Plato believed that the
element of Self or Personality could be transcended at death, we can
be sure that Plotinus, since he taught that in union with the One
self-identity is lost, could easily have believed that this doctrine was
in accordance with his Master’s thought. For Plato the rational
element of the soul, situated in the head,200 is the sole part that can
198Guthrie, “ Plato’s Views,” 15-16.
199Inge {Phil, of Plotinus 2, 33) and Pistorius {Plotinus 98-99) deny that Plotinus
accepted the Platonic theory of reincarnation. T hat their denials are unwarranted is
conclusively shown by Rich, “ Reincarnation,” 232-238. The most important passages
in the Enneads are 3.4 and 4.3.8. Plotinus refers to Phaedo 82A and Tim. 91 on this
m atter. Miss Rich further shows that not only reincarnation but the transmigration
of human souls into animal bodies is Plotinian doctrine. For Plato’s view of trans­
migration, see Hackforth, Plato’s Phaedrus 88-91. Naturally, for Plotinus as well as
for Plato, the philosopher can clear himself from the cycle of reincarnations {E nn.
3.2.5, Rich, “ Reincarnation,” 234). It is then only for those souls still bound to the
wheel that we should accept Henry’s statement, “ Plotinus clings firmly to the
personal [my italics] individuality of souls and their survival after death (Henry,
“ Plotinus’ Place,” xlii).
200For the importance of this, see Onians, Origins, esp. 118fF.
concern itself with the Forms. The other two elements are only a
hindrance to the faculty that can gain h ηστήμη\ they are, as we have
seen, the unfortunate result of our mortal state, which, however, can
by diligent training be put to good purpose, and of which we shall be
rid at death. Then, if we are philosophers, we shall consist of the
rational element alone and be filled with the immanent character of
the Forms. Since, however, these Forms are always the same, un­
changing and eternal, all the knowledge that will characterize the
rational souls of men will be the same, and since our souls will contain
nothing but the truth, we must suppose that they will all be the same.
The element of variety in the human soul is thus, for Plato, introduced
by the two lower elements, and when we are rid of these elements we
shall be rid, he supposes, of the inferiorities which are inherent in what
we call personality. As Grube writes:201 “We must remember that from
first to last the aim of the Platonic philosopher is to live on the uni­
versal plane, to lose himself [his italics] more and more in the contem­
plation of truth, so that the perfect ψυχή would, it seems, lose itself
completely in the universal mind, the world-psyche. Hence it remains
individual only in so far as it is imperfect, and personal immortality
is not something to aim at, but something to outgrow.” If this estimate
of the teachings of the Timaeus is justified, we have no grounds on
which to charge Plotinus with deviation from Plato if we find him
teaching the transcendence of the self. Our only criticism can be that
perhaps he is more optimistic than Plato in his belief that such a
divine state can be attained during this life.
Here let us consider a possible objection, that to assert with Brehier
and Heinemann that self-identity is lost in the union with the One
and to conclude that this means that Plotinus places little value on the
human personality is to misread the doctrine of the Enneads: that
Plotinus would not posit Forms of individuals if he believed, with
Plato, that the highest state of man is one where he has “outgrown”
his personality. There is no doubt that Plotinus posited Forms of
individuals,202 and it is legitimate to deduce from this that he placed
a higher value on personality than had Plato. For Plotinus, the Form
of the individual constitutes the real personality of which the έμψυχον
ζ$ον living in the spatio-temporal world is only an image, but this
must not make us forget that even the Forms are not, for Plotinus, the
highest of the hypostases nor the final goal of the soul’s quest. Doubt­
less it is true that the soul must always seek its true self in the World
201Grube, Plato's Thought, 148.
ioiE n n . 5.7; 5.9.12; Rist, “ Forms of Individuals,” 223-231.
of Forms, but once "there” it is not at the end of its journey, only at
the place of repose where it can await the mystic vision in which, as
Plotinus himself tells us, "there is neither reason nor intellection nor
self (ουδέ Xoyos ουδέ τις νόησις οϋδ’ δλως αυτός).203
It may be advisable at this stage briefly to summarize the discussion
so far, and to review the comparative positions of Plato and Plotinus
on the questions we have been considering. First of all, for Plato the
Good is both Being and "beyond Being,” while for Plotinus it is
entirely “ beyond Being” in theory, although some qualities derived
from the Platonic Form regarded as t o ov still occur in certain parts
of the Enneads. Secondly, Plotinus is more rigorous than Plato in
applying the Platonic purifications, for whereas Plato only employs
his principle of 'όμοιος δμοίω to making the soul like to the Good qua
Being, Plotinus, by his via negativa, makes it resemble its Source qua
"beyond Being” as well. Thirdly, when the soul, according to Plato, is
purified and has become θειος, it is able to look out upon the World of
Forms which is the object of its contemplation, but essentially outside
itself; for Plotinus, however, the soul, being fused with the One, is
itself the cause of the Forms, which are thus in a sense inside itself and
are a lower hypostasis. In brief, the Platonic dualism has been re­
placed by a Plotinian unity, and that almost entirely by the aid of
texts drawn from Plato’s writings.
Of all the points of comparison between Plato and Plotinus, of the
greatest import is that which concerns the nature of the One and its
relationship with ’Έρως. Both had a low opinion of the ultimate value
of the individual human personality and were hesitant about making
it prominent in their systems. In the Platonic World of Forms it is
neglected altogether, and we have already observed that what makes
the original Platonic system so difficult to accept is the impersonality
and the lifelessness of the Ideal World. Even Aristotle, whose views
of the active element in the human personality are such as to weigh
against personal survival, insisted at least on the necessity for a cause
of motion and criticized Plato for not providing one. Perhaps this
attack is unjustified, as most modern writers on the subject believe,
but Plato’s continual emphasis on the Forms, which are quite remote
from motion and life, is at least an indication that his introduction of
a separate cause of motion was rather the result of an honest apprecia­
tion of hard fact than a fulfilment of his philosophical ideals.
The position of Plato on this matter is simple, if inhuman. T hat of
Plotinus is more complicated but an advance, at least in the eyes of
™ Enn. 6.9.11.
 those who favour a personal religion. His Good may be described as
both “supra-personal” and “ quasi-personal,” but never as personal.
By supra-personal I imply that to speak of conscious love and the
Will of God in connection with the One of Plotinus could be totally
unjustified. The One is above Will and above conscious thought. Y et
he contains, or rather he is, something we should regard as personal,
and that is "Epws, which, however, ordinary mortals possess only when
in some way aroused or awakened out of themselves into what is
beyond themselves by what Plato in the Phaedrus describes as a
“ divine madness.” In order to see what Plotinus has to say about this
awakening, let us turn to a relevant passage of Ennead Four,204 where
in a description of the ascent of the soul to the hypostasis of NoOs we
read as follows: “Many times it has happened: lifted out of the body
into myself; becoming external to all other things, and self-encentred;
beholding a marvellous beauty; then, more than ever, assured of
community with the loftiest order, enacting the noblest life, acquiring
identity with the divine; stationing within It by having attained that
activity; poised above whatsoever within the intellectual is less than
the Supreme.” (Trans. MacKenna-Page.) This awakening is the result
of the perpetual yearning of the soul to regain its “ Fatherland
Yonder,” as Plotinus says, and in brief, the philosophic "Έρως in the
soul is at its fullest development when the soul is nearest to losing its
individuality and personality in the universal perfection of the Divine
Mind. Thus when we say that the Plotinian One is Έρω$ and Έρω?
αντον, we must not deceive ourselves that this implies personality as the
word is normally understood. On the contrary, it implies a trans­
cendence of personality, and we have thus designated the One as
supra-personal.
But the One is also Father, and Heaven is our Fatherland, and Έρω$
itself is not impersonal but supra-personal. The One is thus aptly
described as quasi-personal as well as supra-personal, for analogies to
it are continually drawn from the world of life and from parent-
children relationships. Plotinus, we may conclude, is thus considerably
nearer having a personal God as his First Principle than is Plato, for
the Demiourgos, even if we allow him to be the symbol of a high God
rather than merely a useful contrivance, is still far from being supreme
in the Cosmos and possesses a status immeasurably inferior to that
of the Forms and the Good, which are his models when he strives to
bring order to the world.
Plotinus, then, took a step towards personalizing certain theories of
m E nn. 4.8.1.
Plato, but his changes were insufficient for many of the new “Platon-
ists,” for Platonism had attracted the attention of certain devotees
of religions that accepted a completely personal God. Philo the Jew
attempted a synthesis of Platonic theory with the Old Testament,
though there is little trace of mysticism in his writings. Several of the
Alexandrian Christians were deeply impressed by the Middle Platonist
writers of their day and attempted to incorporate as much of their
work as possible into their own teachings, though often making use
of the idea we can find in the neo-Pythagorean Numenius that Plato
was Moses talking Attic. These thinkers chose Platonism not because
it was the only philosophical system with which they were acquainted
— for Christians such as Tertullian tended to prefer Stoicism and to
teach the corporeal nature of the soul205— but, as St. Augustine says,206
because many of them found that it could be fitted into a Christian
framework with a minimum of alterations.

208Tertullian regrets that Plato is the unwitting cause of all the heresies (“ Doleo
bona fide Platonem omnium haereticorum condimentarium factum .” De anima 23),
and is not alone in this opinion. See below, pp. 179-180.
206“ Itaque si hanc vitam illi viri nobiscum sursum agere potuissent, viderent pro­
fecto cuius auctoritate facilius consuleretur hominibus, et paucis mutatis verbis
atque sententiis christiani fierent, sicut plerique recentiorum nostrorumque temporum
Platonici fecerunt.” Aug., Epist. 118.
PA RT TWO
 Chapter One

KNOWING HOW AND

KNOWING THAT

T
H E Socrates of Plato’s dialogues, whether he be historical or not,
is said to have held that Virtue (αρετή) is Knowledge (επ ισ τήμ η ).
I t has been generally recognized, and more especially in recent
years, that the proposition “Virtue is Knowledge” may cause a different
mental reaction in the hearer from ή αρετή εστιν επ ισ τήμ η ; in other
words, that the expressions “ Virtue” and “ Knowledge” as transla­
tions of these two key Greek terms are so misleading that they can
prevent the doctrine being understood at all.
The ambiguities of the translation “ Virtue” have been more readily
perceived, especially perhaps by those disciplined to recognize that
the Latin word “ virtus” is not as simply rendered in English as the
unsuspecting might believe. “ Knowledge,” however, has been, until
quite recently, regarded as self-evident. In broad terms, the theory
has been understood to mean that if a man is good he can do good
deeds, and that “ to be good” means to be able to distinguish between
good and evil, to know, in fact, what good and evil are. As Cornford
put it:1 “ Socrates had been convinced that all men . . . cannot be just
until they know what Justice is.” Other interpreters might have found
fault with the capital J , but in the main they accepted this definition.
This interpretation is of long standing and is supported by the
authority of Aristotle, who writes in the Eudemian Ethics (1216B 2ff.)
that “ Socrates held it to be the aim to know what αρετή is. . . . He
believed that all the moral virtues were forms of knowledge, in such a
way that when one knew what justice was, it followed that one would
be ju st.” From Aristotle’s day, this interpretation, in all essentials,
has been held until 1955, when Mr. J . Gould, in a book entitled The
Development of Plato's Ethics, produced a certain amount of evidence
designed to show that it was erroneous.2 Gould points out that the

1Cornford, Principium Sapientiae 47.

2A11 further references to this book will be to “Gould."
accepted view implies that επιστήμη in Plato means knowledge of facts,
or as he puts it, that it “is the ‘bit of theory’ which precedes the ‘bit
of practice.’ ” (p. 5) Making use of Ryle’s3 distinction between “ know­
ing that” and “ knowing how,” Gould suggests that επιστήμη is know­
ledge of the latter kind, that it is an ability to act morally to which
Plato is referring. This suggestion, if true, is a great advance in our
study of Plato, and even if false is useful in showing how ancient
modes of thought differ from our own.
Helped by the pioneer studies of Bruno Snell,4 Gould has accumulated
a considerable amount of evidence to show that the meaning of
’ε πίστασθαι, in the pre-Platonic writers, is predominantly “ to have the
ability to perform some action,” in other words “ to know how.” The
meaning “ to know that” occurs as early as the Odyssey,5 as Gould
points out, but this is the rarer sense and clearly not the original. As
with έπίστασθαι, so with επιστήμη itself, the meaning “knowing how” or
“skill” is the more frequent. ’Ε π ισ τή μ η is, in a passage of Bacchylides,
clearly the equivalent of τέχνη.6
The most interesting evidence produced by Gould is that which
leads to his affirmation (p. 10) that in Herodotus επίστασθαι denotes
not “ an awareness of (objective) facts” but “merely a subjective
feeling, which we should have to translate by certainty or conviction.”
This meaning is found by Gould fourteen times in Herodotus and
compared with a fragment of Heraclitus7 which has been given a
similar interpretation by Snell. In brief, as Gould later puts it, (p. 15):
“since επιστήμη does not act, it remains a purely subjective ‘faith.’
I t retains this characteristic . . . in Plato’s early dialogues.”
Gould’s evidence on the pre-Platonic writers is unexceptionable, and
a yet stronger point in his favour is that the words επιστήμη and
επίστασθαι do not occur in the extant fragments of Parmenides. If
Parmenides recognized their normal sense as “ knowing how” rather
than “ knowing that,” it is plain he would have no use for them, at
least in his account of the Real, where action, and therefore “ ability
to act,” have no place. The only objection so far, and it may turn out
to be one based on the prejudices induced by a traditional training, is
that if επιστήμη is subjective in the way that Gould suggests, it would

3Ryle, The Concept of M ind 25-61.

4Snell, “Ausdriicke” and Die Entdeckung des Geistes2 (Hamburg 1948), translated
by T. G. Rosenmeyer as The Discovery oj the Mind.
Odyssey 21, 406; 9, 49; 13, 207, 213. Gould 9.
eBacchylides 10, 38 (Snell). Cf. Gould, 13-14; Schaerer, ’Ε π ισ τή μ η et Τέχνη 5.
’Heraclitus, fr. 57 (DK). Snell, “Ausdriicke,” 83.
appear not to admit of a λόγος. To give a concrete example, if a man
knows how to cure diseases, he cannot, if Gould interprets επιστήμη
correctly, explain the rationale of his treatment in other terms than by
saying “T hat’s how it’s done. I know it is.” If someone were to ask
“ Why do you do it this way?,” he could only answer “ Because that
is the right way. I know it is, because it works.” If this was the sense
of επιστήμη understood by the Platonic Socrates, then he was not a
very energetic enquirer, but one who was content to overlook the
cloudy meaning of the word “right.”
Before proceeding further, we must look at some of the evidence for
επιστήμη as “ knowing how.” Gould supplies little, since he assumes that
“ knowing how” is the rule and that it is only the few apparent cases
of “ knowing that” that require an explanation. But perhaps it is
better to document “ knowing how” first and then examine how far
this meaning, if it occurs, covers the sum total of occurrences of the
word επιστήμη in the early dialogues.
The use of the verb επίστασθαι with the meaning of knowing how is
common throughout the dialogues. Three examples will therefore suf­
fice to prove the point. In the Euthyphro, Socrates speaks of knowing
how to look after horses as being the mark of the ιππικός (13A) and
of knowing how to look after dogs as that of the huntsman. In the
Gorgias, he asks Callicles (511C) if he thinks there is anything of note
in knowing how to swim. In the First Alcibiades, he speaks of knowing
how to speak Greek (111C). A glance at the section on επίστασθαι in
the majority of lexicons will show that this usage is primary, and there
is, therefore, no need to linger on it.
When we pass from επίστασθαι to επιστήμη, the meaning is often
harder to distinguish, but there are certainly several passages which
bear out Gould’s interpretation. One of these is Apology 22D E, where
Socrates is recounting his experience of the knowledge of the hand­
workers (χειροτέχναΐ) . He says that they know many fine things (πολλά
καί κ α λά έπισταμένους) — which looks at first sight perhaps like “ knowing
that,” but it appears that this knowledge of theirs consists only in
“practising their art well” (το τήν τέχνην καλώς έξεργάζεσθαι). If there
is “ knowing that” in this passage, it is certainly subordinate to
“ knowing how.”
Similarly in the Laches, when Nicias breaks in upon the discussion
between Laches and Socrates on the nature of courage, he declares
(194D) that he has often heard Socrates say that every man is good
in that in which he is wise ( απερ σοφός) and bad in that in which he is
unlearned. Socrates understands this as a suggestion that courage is
a kind of knowledge (επιστήμη ) or wisdom (σοφία).* He asks what kind
of knowledge it is, whether it is that of flute-playing or harping. It is
clear that by this he does not mean the knowledge that a certain
combination of notes on a flute or harp produce a tune, but primarily
the knowledge of how to produce that tune on a flute or harp. At this
point the emphasis on “ knowing how” as the predominant aspect of
the knowledge of these τέχναι is certain. Later on we shall return to
this passage to see if this usage is continued, but for the moment we
may assume that the meaning of “knowing how” can be attached to
επιστήμη.
In the next stage of the enquiry, we must look at the relation be­
tween τέχνη and επιστήμη in somewhat more detail. It is generally
agreed that before Plato’s time the two were often almost synonym­
ous.9 Their use as virtual equivalents was adopted but not invented
by Plato. The innovation made by the latter (or by Socrates) was to
extend the use of the word επιστήμη into the realm of morals, and thus
to involve τέχνη also in that realm. Before Plato, έπιστήμη meant pre­
dominantly “knowing how,” and clearly τέχνη, to an unsophisticated
age, would have a similar meaning. Such a meaning would almost
justify the use of the word “ technique” (whose relevant sense is given
by the Oxford English Dictionary as “ a mechanical skill in art” ) as a
translation for τέχνη, and if Plato had applied the analogy between
moral virtue and τέχνη without limitation, one might be able to say
that he regarded αρετή as a technique. In fact, the application of the
analogy is limited in several important ways, even in the early dialogues
with which we are concerned here. This limitation has been discussed
fully by several scholars, and there is no need to do more here than to
quote H. W. B. Joseph’s remark that “ [conduct] differs [from the τέχναϊ\
in not having, as every art has, a special field or subject-matter.”10
It is sufficient to say that if for Plato έπιστήμη means “ knowing how,”
τέχνη must have a similar meaning, but that if it ever means “ knowing
th at,” then τέχνη too may involve more than “ knowing how.” In
short, if there are aspects of τέχνη, as understood by Socrates, which
are inconsistent with the notion of “knowing how,” they may be of
service in formulating a correct understanding of έπ ιστήμη. Two such
aspects must now be investigated: that the τέχνη looks to the good of
its object and that it can give an account (λόγο?).
In the Euthyphro (12E ), after pointing out that the art of a horse-
8For the association of σοφία and έπιστήμη, see Snell, “Ausdriicke,” 86ff.
®Cf. Schaerer, Έ π ισ τ ή μ η et Τέχνη 5; Thuc. 2.87.4.
10Joseph, Essays 9. Cf. Gould, 31-46; Moreau, Construction.
man looks after horses, that of hunting looks after dogs, while the
oxherd, by his art, looks after his oxen, Socrates rams home his
investigation of τέχνη as θεραπεία by saying that the object of every
art is looked after in the same way (12C). Similarly, in the Gorgias, a
distinction is drawn (464-5)11 between arts properly so called and
their images, which latter are not τεχναι but the products of mere
εμπειρία or τριβή. The distinction between these classes is that a τέχνη
knows what is best for its object, whereas its “image” looks only to
what gives pleasure. The true arts, such as politics, medicine, and
gymnastic, know what is best for their objects and prescribe it, while
their “images,” rhetoric, όψοποιϊκή,12 and self-adornment, are careless
of the good, or, to put it more bluntly, are immoral deceivers.
This looking to the good of the object is hardly reconcilable to
“ knowing how.” A man who knew how to cure an illness might or
might not exercise his ability to do so. It is hard to see how the mere
“ knowing how” could exercise a moral force, but could the possessor
of the τέχνη of medicine not look to the good of his patient? As Socrates
would perhaps have put it: could a doctor, in so far as he is a doctor,
look to the good of anything except his patient? Qua doctor, he would
be obliged to treat the sick. If he did not, let us suppose for some
mercenary motive, he would temporarily be acting not qua doctor
(i.e., qua practitioner of the art of medicine) but qua money-maker
(i.e., with the help of the art of money-making). The true τεχνικοί is
morally obliged in so far as he is a τεχνικοί to look to the good of the
object of his τέχνη; the man who merely “ knows how” is under no such
obligation.
The second feature of τεχναι that we should consider here is also
prominent in Gorgias 465. Socrates says that he refuses to give the
title τέχνη to anything which is άλογοί. A proper art must be able to
give a λόγοί of whatever it applies. The λόγοί must explain the nature
(φύσιί) of what is presented by the art as well as the reason (αιτία) for
its presentation. If it cannot do so, it is not an art at all.
We have already noticed the fact that “knowing how” cannot give
this kind of account. To know how to make a public speech is not
necessarily to have the ability to give a λόγοί of the suggestions—
which, though pleasing, may be harmful— which that speech contains.

11Cf. Gorgias 500AB. For τέχνη as θεραπεία, see also Rep. 342A, 346E3.
12The usual translation of όψοποιϊκή as “ cookery” seems in this context to be in­
correct. True cookery might well be an art designed to further the good condition of
the body, whereas όψοποιϊκή must mean the ability to prepare luxurious dishes which
will be attractive to the palate but harmful to the constitution.
Still less does “ knowing how” imply knowledge of an a tria . To “know
how” is, in fact, to possess a technique— a mechanical skill in art—
which one can employ in a given circumstance if the time seems ripe.
Ύεχναι are something much more than this. The man who “ knows how”
qua “knowing how” cannot give a λόγο* of his acts; the τεχνικός must
be able to do so.
To sum up the position so far, we may say that a τέχνη, as understood
by the Platonic Socrates, is something superior to a mere “knowing
how.” It is rational and has some kind of built-in moral force. Even
if it is some sort of ability, it is, when strictly defined, very different
from what we might call “ know-how” or from a technique. Both the
features described above might suggest that it involves a “ knowing
that,” since to seek someone’s good is to know what is good for him,
and a λόγο* is clearly a fact. But this will become clearer later.
At this stage we may pause to wonder in what terms, if any, a
Greek might conceive of the distinction between “ knowing how” and
“ knowing that.” The difference between the average Greek modes of
thought and that of Plato on this subject, as far as it is relevant to
morality, has been clearly demonstrated by Tuckey in the final section
of his book on the Charmides.13 Tuckey points out that in this dialogue
there are two definitions of σωφροσύνη given which contain the word
“good,” and that neither of them is specifically rejected. The two are
“ doing good things” (ή των α-γαθων π ρ α ξ is), suggested by Critias at
163E, and “knowledge of good and evil” (επιστήμη άγα0οθ τε και κακού),
suggested at 174Β. As Tuckey points out, it is likely that a final
definition of σωφροσύνη must embrace both these suggestions, and thus
be that σωφροσύνη is “doing what is good with the knowledge that it is
good.” “ Doing what is good” is a practical virtue and must imply a
“ knowing how.” Gould would presumably assert that this is all that
Critias meant by his suggestion, that “doing what is good” refers only
to the ability to do good. Let this pass, for it may well be correct that
Critias was thinking in this unintellectualized manner— a manner and
attitude to morality which he had learned from the poets. Tuckey
perhaps agrees with Gould over this; but it is clear that he understands
the phrase “with knowledge that it is good” in an intellectualized
sense. If this is right, he is pointing to a distinction between “ knowing
how” and “ knowing th at” which was intelligible to Plato. “ Doing
what is good” would involve “ knowing how;” “ knowledge that is it
good” is “ knowing that.”

uTuckcy, Plato’s Charmides 91.

 Tuckey’s view of the Charmides, however, might be rejected on the
ground that επιστήμη kyadov re καϊ κακού means not “knowledge of good
and evil” but “ knowing how to do good and evil.” This perhaps seems
an absurd objection, but it must be allowed to stand until we have
further investigated the uses of ’ε πιστήμη. Before leaving the point,
however, we should consider whether any light is shed by two passages
of the Euthydemus. In 280-281, Socrates and Cleinias are discussing
the difference between the possession of a skill such as carpentry and
the use of it. Only the use, they agree, is any benefit to the carpenter.
Clearly both the possession and the use of the skill of a carpenter are
επιστήμη — and Plato speaks in 281A of επιστήμη ή τεκτονική. Clearly too
they both involve “ knowing how”— although there is the possibility
that this is not the whole story. W hat is important here is the difference
between “possession” and “use,” for it bears on the interpretation of
the Charmides given by Tuckey. Σωφροσύνη was there described as an
επιστήμη kyaBov τε καί κακού together with a πραξις των ayad&v. Here there
is the distinction between the possession and the use of what is good.
Only the two in combination, as we see from the Euthydemus, are
beneficial, and σωφροσύνη, which every Greek would regard as bene­
ficial, must therefore be this combination. The question is whether we
have a combination of ability with use of ability or whether σωφροσύνη
may more rightly be described as a combination of the knowledge of
what is good with the ability, which must inevitably be exercised, to
put that knowledge into practice. If knowledge is a τέχνη in the sense
we noticed in the Gorgias, then moral knowledge will be some kind of
categorical imperative.
Finally, and before leaving this question of the possession and use
of skills, we should look at one further passage of the Euthydemus, the
section in which Socrates and Cleinias discuss the βασιλική τέχνη. In
290CD, they agree that certain of the τέχναι, such as hunting, are only
concerned with the acquisition of goods, not with their use. The
huntsmen, as they say, hand over their catch to the cooks, and similarly
geometricians, astronomers, and arithmeticians hand theirs over to the
dialecticians. The “royal art” is agreed to be one concerned both with
acquisition and with use. It acquires the products of the other arts
and uses them to make its subjects better men (292C). The phrase
“ better men” leads to difficulties in the argument which Socrates
ironically asks the “heavenly twins” Euthydemus and Dionysodorus,
to unravel, but this does not concern us at the present. W hat is im­
portant for our purposes is that the distinction between the possession
and the use of goods is clearly revealed. The possessor of “ the royal
art” knows that the products of the inferior arts are good. He possesses
this knowledge as well as the ability to use those products for the
good of his subjects.
Let us return to “ knowing how.” If “ Virtue is Knowledge” means
that αρετή is the ability to do good deeds— assuming for the moment
that “ ability” involves inclination— then morality consists in knowing
how to do good deeds and in doing them. But here a difficulty arises.
Is it possible to do good deeds without knowing that they are good?
Is it possible to be able to do good deeds without knowing that they are
good? If αρετή is “knowing how,” understood in this sense, then the
man who does good deeds through his επιστήμη is good because he acts
well even if he has no intellectual grasp of what is good and what is
bad. Such a man’s “knowledge of good and bad” is, as we have already
seen, a purely subjective faith that he is right, grounded on no prin­
ciples whatever. In other words, it is in the action itself that the moral
quality lies, both the motives of the doer and the question of the
recognition and understanding that certain things are good in them­
selves being irrelevant.
The Euthyphro is undoubtedly an early dialogue, yet even there
Socrates believes that what is holy is not holy because the gods love
it, but that the gods love what is holy because it is holy (10A-11B).
What is holy is holy in some objective sense, and thus we may say
that if a man does what is holy, the holiness is not entirely in the
action but in the recognition by the doer that there is some thing which
may be called “holy.” Y et despite all this, the theory that αρετή is
“ knowing how” seems to neglect the possibility for Plato of the good
man’s recognizing that there is some thing which may be called good,
if not to deny this possibility altogether.
I have used the word “ thing” advisedly, for it is Plato’s own. In the
Protagoras (330C), shortly after Protagoras has finished his opening
harangue, Socrates addresses him as follows: “ Come now, let us con­
sider together what kind of thing each of them is . . . Is justice some
thing (ττραγ/χα) or not a thing (ονδέv πραγμα)? I think it is. W hat do
you think?” To this Protagoras agrees without demur, and Socrates,
as if to tell us that he has not used the word 7τραγμα inadvertently,
adds: “ Suppose someone were to put a question to you and me; O
Protagoras and Socrates, tell me, this thing (πραγμα) you named just
now, justice, is it just or unjust?”
In a note discussing the “moral facts” which the traditional theory
of the meaning of επιστήμη takes as the objects of knowledge, Gould
writes (p. 4 η. 1) that “if ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ are taken as applying to
individual actions, not only would this involve a peculiar sort of
mental feat, but it would run counter to the whole of Book One of the
Republic. If, on the other hand, the moral facts are those of the nature
of Right and Wrong, this would seem to involve a metaphysical
theory of the object which few would attribute to Socrates.” It is quite
certain that the Platonic Socrates no more regards his remarks about
το οσιον in the Euthyphro as concerned with “holy” and “unholy” as
applying to individual actions than he does in similar passages in the
Republic and elsewhere. As Joseph14 has commented, in a passage noted
by Gould, the “ false assumptions (in the argument with Polemarchus)
are so many forms of a simple error, that of supposing that the practice
of justice (or righteousness) consists in the performance of specifiable
acts.” Nor is the Socrates of the Euthyphro referring to Holiness and
Unholiness in a metaphysical sense if by this is meant an existence as
entities in themselves outside the realm of particulars. What he appears
to imply is that “ the holy” could be grasped as a universal seen in a
series of particulars but not existing apart from them. The phrase
το όσιον is a shorthand device for naming all the things which are holy
by referring to what they have in common. In the Protagoras passage,
the word πραγμα perhaps indicates that the common element in
all just acts which we call justice is beginning to emerge as an element
in its own right. This may be an advance on the position of the
Euthyphro in the direction of what afterwards became the Theory of
Forms. Thus, in the light of the passage from the Protagoras, Gould
may even be wrong to imply that a metaphysical theory of the object
should not be attributed to the Socrates of these dialogues. This
theory is not the Theory of Forms, and may be merely the recognition
that there is some kind of object of ’επιστήμη, without the understanding
of its nature. There have been many men in the past who have been
convinced that they know that such a thing as goodness exists, without
their knowing precisely what kind of entity it is. The man who led
the way to the Theory of Forms almost certainly passed through this
stage of mental development.
I have already suggested that the theory that αρετή is “ knowing
how” seems to neglect the possibility of the good man’s recognizing
that there is some thing which may be called good. Gould attempts to
avoid this problem (p. 17) by suggesting that “we could say of an
intelligent practioner in any field that he recognized the object of his
activity for what it was: all still depends [he adds] on whether we
regard this as an explanation [his italics] of his activity and its excel-
14Joseph, Essays 6.
lence.” As we shall demonstrate later, this explanation is inadequate;
let us for the present content ourselves with noticing that even if
ίπ ισ τή μ η is primarily “knowing how,” it must, in the hands of the
“intelligent practitioner,” be accompanied by some form of “ knowing
that.” The human mind is such that if a man knows how to swim, he
also knows that he is swimming at the time he is doing so. He may
also be said to know that in some sense “swimming exists.”
Furthermore, if we consider briefly the man who is unable to swim,
we should recognize that his knowledge that there are people who know
how to swim is a considerable, indeed a necessary motive for his having
himself taught. If a man did not know that his fellow humans were
capable of swimming, he might well have serious doubts as to whether
it was possible for him to learn to swim.
We must now return to the question of whether these early dialogues
contain anything approaching what has been described as a theory of
the object, and whether the evidence of the dialogues themselves can
be cross-checked by the accounts of Socrates given by other writers.
And this brings us to the question of definitions. In his account of
Socrates’ place in the history of philosophy, Aristotle15 says that his
interests were ethical, and that one of his main contributions was the
introduction of general definitions. Aristotle’s value as an historian of
philosophy has been under continual attack in recent years,16 and this
may perhaps lead us to give his remarks less credence than they
deserve. In this case, however, he is certainly borne out by the Socrates
of the early Platonic dialogues. In the Euthyphro the speakers are
seeking a definition of Holiness, in the Laches of Courage, in the
Charmides of σωφροσύνη, and in Republic I of Justice. Frequently the
first definition offered by an interlocutor is proof that its propounder
does not understand what Socrates requires in a definition. Thus
Euthyphro defines τό 'όσιον as “ what I am doing now” (5D ), Laches,
mistaking “ bravery” for a brave act, says that it is found when “ a man
is willing to remain at his post and face the enemy and not fly the
field” (190E ), and Charmides’ first attempt to define σωφροσύνη is that
it is “ doing everything in an orderly fashion and quietly, both walking
in the streets and talking and doing everything else in the same
way.” It is worth noticing that all these “ definitions” are in terms of
action, as though the virtues were purely practical matters, and that
all of them are unsatisfactory to Socrates. He does not want to know
how to act σωφρ6νω$ but what σωφροσύνη is, not how to act bravely, but
"M et. Μ. 1078B 28.
leCf. Cherniss, Riddle and Aristotle’s Criticism.
the nature of courage. Thus we may say that even the most casual
glance at the Platonic Socrates of these dialogues is enough to show
that Aristotle was right in suggesting that Socrates was interested in
general definitions, if— as is surely the case— he meant by Socrates the
Socrates he met in the writings of Plato. Indeed in this connection
we should remember the well-known reference to “ the Socrates of the
Phaedo .”17 We may conclude that Aristotle’s reading of the Platonic
dialogues could not but have given him the idea that Socrates was
interested in definitions, and that the kind of definition he required
was a far more “intellectualized” one than that of τό δσιον first given
by Euthyphro. Presumably Euthyphro thought he knew how to be
holy when he defined holiness as “what I am doing now.” Presumably
Socrates wanted to find out whether that “knowing how” was firmly
based on a “ knowing what” τό δσιον is.
I am not competent to dogmatize on the question of whether the
Hippias Major is a genuine work of Plato.18 Since the commentary of
Professor Tarrant appeared, there has perhaps been a tendency to
accept it as genuine. Ross,19 who does so, thinks that it is most likely
that it should be dated after the Euthyphro. But whether a genuine
work of Plato or not, it can be admitted as valid evidence for the views
of the Platonic Socrates. Its main object is thoroughly in line with the
approach of the Euthyphro, Laches, and Charmides, for it is a discussion
of the nature of beauty. In the course of the discussion, as Ross20
points out, one may find a hint of the reason for Socrates’ interest in
definitions. Ross assumes, as is right, that such an interest is present
in all the early works. The passage in question is 286C5, where Socrates
says: “ Recently when I was finding fault with some things in certain
speeches as ugly and praising others as beautiful, a man threw me
into confusion by asking me, in some such way as this, and very
insolently too, ‘Socrates, how do you find out what sort of things are
beautiful and ugly? Come now, could you say what the beautiful
is?’ ” At this, Socrates, so it is said, was angry with himself and
wanted to go and question wise men on the matter.
This incident gives a clear impression of what led Socrates to an
interest in definitions and to an interest in “ things in themselves”

u De Gen. et Corr. 335B 11.

18For a discussion of the views of authorities before 1928, see Professor T arrant’s
edition (Cambridge 1928) ix-xvii. For the authenticity of the dialogue, see Grube,
“ Authenticity,” 134-148, and “ Logic and Language,” 369-375.
19Ross, Plato's Theory 4.
™Ibii. 16.
viewed in abstraction from particulars. Such an interest is plainly
likely to lead to a theory of what these definitions refer to, of what
nature these “ things in themselves” are, a theory of the object.
Finally, to ram the point home from the dialogues, we can turn once
again to the Euthydemus, this time to 300E. Dionysodorus is question­
ing Socrates, and the debate runs as follows:

D io n y so d o r u s: Socrates, have y o u ever seen a fine thing?

S o crates: Certainly I h a v e , m a n y o f t h e m .
D i o n y s o d o r u s : Did y o u find them different from the beautiful, or the same as

th e b ea u tifu l?

At this point Socrates says that he was baffled and felt that he had
received his deserts for interrupting the conversation, but replied that
he thought that beautiful things were different from the beautiful,
though some beauty was present (xapeurt) in each of them. This
answer is mocked by Dionysodorus, or rather used as a peg on which
to hang a preposterous piece of logic-chopping, but it reveals Socrates’
attitude clearly. When forced by an opponent in debate, he has to
admit that he recognizes a thing in itself, “ the beautiful,” apart from
beautiful objects. The whole section, as Taylor points out,21 employs
the “ technical language of the so-called ‘ideal theory,’ ” but there is
no need to assume that the Platonic Socrates held the theory at the
time of this dialogue. The truth would rather seem to be that Socrates’
impulse to define, to speak of “ things by themselves,” to attempt to
built up a theory of the object, was the precursor of the fully-fledged
theory of transcendent Ideas.
The passage of the Euthydemus discussed above leads us to a most
important topic which can only be treated briefly here. Socrates
distinguishes between a series of things that are beautiful and the
beautiful itself. In the Gorgias (474D ), he suggests that beautiful
objects often receive the appellation “ beautiful” in virtue of their use
for some particular purpose. Thus the beautiful may well be useful,
and if something is useful it is good for a particular purpose. Thus, in
conclusion, it may be said that beautiful objects are in a sense good.
Now as there are a series of beautiful objects apart from the
beautiful itself, there must likewise be a series of good objects (i.e.,
objects that are good for something) as well as the good itself. As well
as objects that are “good for” there are, of course, people who are
“good at.” Indeed, being good at something is often the meaning of
“possessing ape-nj” itself. In Apology 18A, the ape-n) of a judge is his
21Taylor, Plato 100.
ability to distinguish what is just and what is not. We have, then, a
distinction between things beautiful and the beautiful, between things
good for (or people good at) and the good. A question which must
have puzzled Socrates when he was asked, in the Hippias Major,
about the beautiful, is “What use is the beautiful?” Does it have a
use, or is it entirely valued for the sake of pleasure? Surely not the
latter, for if so, it must be a mere form of flattery, as are rhetoric and
self-adornment and δφοπούκή in the Gorgias (464-5).
We can think of the Socratic progress to a theory of definitions and
of objects in the following manner. First, in his conversations, he
speaks of justice as good, courage as good, and so on. At this stage he
probably means that these virtues are good for the well-being of the
state or the individual citizen. He fails to see that it is pointless to
re-define a virtue in terms of another still undefined, and possibly
undefinable entity. He could, admittedly, speak of the virtues as being
“good for” the individual, meaning that they are useful to him, but a
persistent enquirer would soon run into the problem of what is really
useful and what only seems so. Thus, in the Gorgias, Polus thinks it is
useful to have power, but Socrates wants to know what benefit such
power is to the tyrant Archelaus, and is then led on to his paradox
that it is better to suffer evil than to do it (474B).
The next stage in the Socratic progress is that represented by the
Hippias Major and the Euthydemus, where Socrates is compelled to
turn to the beautiful itself and ask what it is. Similarly, he wants to
know what is justice, piety, and the rest. The result is the search for
definitions in the early dialogues. As is well known, and as we shall
later investigate, this search led to the re-defining of these “ things in
themselves” in terms of knowledge and Goodness. Hence the search
for a clearer understanding of these things, which leads, via the
doctrine of the unity of the virtues, to the theory of the Good as the
αρχή of the Forms, and of knowledge as the motive force of the philo­
sopher-kings in the Republic. But this must be left aside for the present
in order that once more we may concentrate on the earlier form of the
theory of the object of knowledge. Socrates had to discover that there
is a good before fully understanding what it is. Hence the definitions
of the virtues in terms of knowledge and good lead to a theory of
the good itself.
In the Charmides, as has already been noticed, no formal solution
is offered for the problem of the nature of σωφροσύνη. It is likely enough
that Tuckey’s suggestion that σωφροσύνη is to be defined by a com­
bination of the definitions ή των αγαθών irpa^ts and ή Επιστήμη
ayoBov καί κακού is what Plato intended, but the problem then
arises: Why did Plato not draw this conclusion himself? To this there
can be only one answer, that is: Because Plato was aware that to
define in this way is merely to replace one unknown by another.
Σωφροσύνη, he believes, can perhaps be restated in various ways, but
until one can discover the meaning of the word “good,” the meaning
of σωφροσύνη, defined in terms of what is good, is still obscure.
The sort of puzzle that lack of clarity about the good would have
posed for Socrates can easily be seen. In the first book of the Republic,
he refers to Autolycus (334B) as a man who excelled all others in lying
and perjury. In other words, Autolycus was good at lying and perjury.
In other words, to the unthinking, Autolycus was good. Socrates
plainly could not agree to this. In a similar vein, Thucydides, in the
eighth book of his history, says that Antiphon was the best of his
contemporaries in αρετή.22 Of this αρετή Bury writes: “Thucydides has
used αρετή in his notice of the oligarch Antiphon, to express the intelli­
gence, dexterity and will-power of a competent statesman, in sharp
contradistinction to the conventional αρετή of the popular conception.
The only appropriate equivalent by which we can render in a modern
language this Thucydidean αρετή is a key-word in Machiavelli’s system,
virtii, a quality possessed by men like Francesco Sforza and Cesare
Borgia.”23 ’Αρετή then certainly need not not be moral, but amoral
αρετή was of no real interest to Socrates. In his investigation of the
nature of the good he was looking for a good which could by no
means be morally bad.
Thus once more we find it likely that Socrates was interested in
what we should call a theory of the object, though so sophisticated a
term would hardly have satisfied him. Theories of the object, defini­
tions, and “ knowledge that” are all connected. As a final confirmation
of the previously cited view of Aristotle, that one of the main contri­
butions to philosophy made by Socrates was his search for general
definitions, we may turn to the Memorabilia of Xenophon. In 3.9.5
we find Xenophon offering us his version of Socratic definitions.
Socrates is said to have seen that justice, and every other virtue, is
wisdom (σοφία). Similarly in 3.9.8 he is seen to be “considering what
Envy is,” and in 3.9.9 investigating the nature of Leisure. The parallel
between these facts and what we have already seen in Plato and
Aristotle is clear. We may be justified, therefore, if, before returning
*T A u c. 8.68.
MBury, Greek Historians 145. For αρετή as virtit, see also Murray, Literature of
Ancient Greece 198.
to the Platonic dialogues in our investigation of whether ’ε πιστήμη
means primarily “ knowledge that,” we look more specifically at the
nature of knowledge in the Memorabilia.
In a discussion on the nature of piety in 4.6.1 ff., Socrates asks
Euthydemus what it is, and receives the answer that the sort of man
who is pious is one who worships the gods. In other words, the un­
thinking first reply given by Euthydemus is a definition of piety in
terms of action. This is probably the typical Greek view; we have seen
it represented in the Laches, Charmides, and Euthyphro. Socrates (as
in the Platonic works) is not satisfied, and eventually the disputants
conclude that the pious man is he who knows what is lawful concerning
the Gods (6 τά irepi rous 6eoi>s νόμιμα eiScos). It is agreed by both that the
man who has this knowledge will certainly worship the Gods lawfully.
Perhaps one might quibble that here aperij (for piety is certainly a
virtue) is not associated with the verb βτάστασθαι but with eihkvai, and
that the original significance of the two words was distinct. However,
though eidevai is used in this passage, what matters at this stage is
that, whatever word is used to describe the process, piety is some
kind of “ knowing th at.”
Similarly in 4.6.6, after a discussion of justice and just men, it is
decided that just men are those who know what is lawful in human
affairs. Again βίδβναι is the verb employed. In order to put the debate
between “knowing how” and “ knowing that” in the clearest possible
light, we must now look at 4.6.2-3, where we read as follows:
S ocrates: Is it possible for a man to worship the Gods in whatever way he
wishes ?
E uth ydem us: No, there are laws in accordance with which one must worship the
Gods.
S o c r a t e s : Then will he who knows these laws know how (βίδβίη αν, cos) he must
worship the Gods?

To this Euthydemus agrees, making it common ground between the

parties that “ knowing how” is subordinate to and derived from
“ knowing that.”
It can be seen from these passages and others that the distinction
between “ knowing how” and “ knowing th at” is clear if an ancient
author uses the verb eibkvai. Here the addition of the conjunction cos
makes all the difference either way. But Plato never uses a noun
formed from the word eidevai to express “ knowledge.” "Ειδησις occurs
first in Aristotle, and even there is most infrequent.24 Although it may
have existed in his day, Plato seems to have preferred other terms,
^Cf. Schwyzer, “ Bewusst und Unbewusst,” 353.
including επιστήμη, to express both “knowing how” and “ knowing
th at.”
That Xenophon at least was prepared to switch readily from είδεναι
to επίστασθαι in the sense of “ knowing that” is clear from Memorabilia
3.9.4. He speaks first of recognizing the good and the bad (τά μεν κακά
τε Kayαβά yiyvwaKovra), then of the man who knows the ugly (τόν τά
αισχρά είδότα) and finally of those who know what they ought to do
(επισταμενους μϊν ά δει πράττειν). That all these three words, yiyi>ώσκοντα,
είδότα, and επισταμενους mean some form of knowing which is not
“ knowing how” seems undeniable. Furthermore, if επίστασθαι can have
this sense, when είδ'εναι could well have been used instead, why should
not ’επιστήμη follow suit— especially as ε’ίδησις was extremely rare?
Similar to the above passage is a sentence from 3.9.5: και ούτ αν τούς
ταΰτα είδότας άλλο αντί τούτων ούδεν προελεσθαι ούτε τούς μή επισταμενους
δύνασθαι πράττειν. It is very difficult to translate τούς ταΰτα είδότας
and τούς μή επισταμενους in any other way than as “ those who know
these things” and “ those who do not know them.” ’Έ,ιδίναι and
επίστασθαι are undoubtedly synonymous, whatever be the distinction
between them in earlier writers. Our general conclusion from the
evidence of Xenophon must therefore be that the various uses of
επίστασθαι, είδεναι, etc. tell against Gould’s thesis, and in particular
against his view that no kind of theory of the object is to be attributed
to Socrates and that “knowing how” is prior to “ knowing th at.”
Perhaps all this Xenophonic evidence must be dismissed as irrelevant
to the Platonic Socrates, who is, after all, the object of Gould’s enquiry.
If, however— as does Gould— we are to admit philological enquiries
into the uses of certain key terms for “ knowing” in writers from
Homer to Herodotus, Thucydides, and the tragedians, the evidence of
Xenophon— particularly when it refers to Socrates himself—is not
lightly to be dismissed. As for the question of definitions, it simply
confirms what is amply clear from the Platonic dialogues and repeated
by Aristotle.
Finally, before considering in greater detail various passages from
the dialogues most relevant to the issue, it is worth pointing out that
Gould’s position about “knowing how” does not prevent him from
making a number of interpretations of the dialogues which, on prin­
ciple, he ought not to admit. Thus on p. 42, in a correct analysis of a
section of the Hippias Minor, he writes as follows: “ Socrates questions
Hippias on the merits of the characters of Achilles and Odysseus, and
Hippias replies that Achilles is the finer character, being straightfor­
ward and upright where Odysseus is wily and resourceful. Y et it is the
latter, as Socrates points out, who relies on knowledge for his ability
to deceive; only knowledge could give a would-be deceiver the certainty
of achieving his purpose. This is clearly true, for example, in the case
of arithmetic: we cannot be sure of giving the wrong answer to a sum
without knowing what the right one is. Socrates declares this to be the
case with all techniques.” Had Gould written “we cannot give the
wrong answer, even if we know how to give a wrong answer (i.e., by
lying), without knowing what is the right one (in this case), and
therefore presumably the wrong one also,” he might have wondered
more about his general position.
Again, on p. 29, during a discussion o{Laches 194, the same ambival­
ence arises. Gould writes as follows: “ Courage is like (his italics)
knowing how to play the flute or the harp, but it is only like these:
its sphere of action is different. It is defined as ‘knowing what one must
fear and what one may venture’ (τι)v των δεινών και θαρραλέων ’επιστήμην).
At this point we seem to pass abruptly from a description of know­
ing how to one of knowing that, and itjs noticeable that in the follow­
ing discussion the word γιγνώσκειν appears several times: . . . A doctor
can know what is to be feared, from a medical viewpoint (his italics),
but whether health is worth venturing upon at all is beyond his
awareness, as a doctor.” Gould continues by suggesting that the dis­
tinction between “ knowing how” and “ knowing that” may well “not
fit exactly.” Nevertheless, had he not attempted to make it fit, he
would have interpreted this passage better. The brave man, according
to Nicias, does not know primarily how to face dangers, as the harpist
knows how to play the harp. Rather he knows what is in reality to be
feared and what is not. Courage is not only different from the recog­
nized τέχναι (assuming a τέχνη really is only “ knowing how”) in scope,
but also in kind. We have already seen, however, that a τέχνη, for
Plato, is more than a mere “knowing how.”
Finally, we must look at Gould’s interpretation (pp. 16-17) of
Protagoras 352A 8ff. Socrates enquires of Protagoras whether he re­
gards knowledge (έπιστήμη) as do the majority of men, as something
which can very easily lose its control over a man in the face of the
temptations of pleasure and pain. In 352C 2, he says: “ Is your opinion
of it something of this kind or do you think that knowledge is some­
thing fine and able to rule a man, and that whoever recognizes good
things and bad (γιγ^ώσκ# τάγα0ά καί τα κακά) cannot be mastered by
anything else so as to act otherwise than knowledge bids (κελεύη)?” Of
this passage Gould writes: “ It seems to imply that επιστήμη has the
connotations of knowing that; yet clearly we could say of an intelligent
practitioner in any field that he recognized the object of his activity
for what it was: all still depends on whether we regard this as an
explanation of his activity and its excellence.” This last remark is true
and apposite, but Socrates clearly means that the recognition of “ the
goods and bads” will have such a hold over the knower that he will
not be mastered by pleasure and will only act as knowledge bids.
“ Knowledge how” cannot bid in matters of morals, as we have seen,
for it has no moral force, and in any case the passage refers not to
knowledge of how to do “ the goods and bads” but to knowledge of
what they are. Socrates’ view is that knowledge is strong (ίσχυρότ), a
leader (ήΎεμονικός), and like a ruler (αρχικό*) who gives out his com­
mands. This “knowledge th at,” seen as a commanding force, is the
explanation of action and its excellence.
The three passages from Gould discussed above are of course not
his only evidence for the “Platonic” use of επιστήμη as “knowing
how.” That Plato on occasions admits this use we have already shown.
T hat Gould has failed to prove its priority on several occasions has
been our conclusion so far. Where Gould sees the matter in doubt, as
in the Protagoras passage, we regard the evidence as telling against
him. It is time now to examine those passages of the Platonic corpus
which show clearly how Plato’s attitude to definitions and to his so-
called “ theory of the object” is reinforced by his belief in the efficacy
of “ knowing that,” that inevitable “ bit of theory” which precedes the
“ bit of practice.” As this discussion will have to be related to the
problem of what is the knowledge that the good man has, and later
to the more refined point of the possible difference between “ knowing
th at” and “ knowing what,” it will be necessary to make some pre­
liminary remarks on a topic which recurs with monotonous regularity
in the early dialogues, namely that of the unity of the Virtues. We
can observe this as a particularly Socratic idea in the Memorabilia
(3.9.5). What can we understand of its relevance in the Platonic dia­
logues? Finally, what relation has it to the analogy of επιστήμη
with τέχ ν η?
dn the Charmides, after a number of failures to secure the definition
of σωφροσύνη, the last suggestion made (174C) is that it is knowledge
concerned with good and evil (περί τό ayaSov τε καί κακόν).25 In the
Laches (199C), the final definition proposed for courage is that it must
be a knowledge concerned with all goods and evils. This is a more
25As Tuckey points out ( Plato’s Charmides 87 n .l), “ Knowledge of the Good” and
“ Knowledge of the knowledge of the Good” are in effect the same, since knowledge,
if it really is knowledge, must be certain; otherwise it can only at best be true belief.
 primitive suggestion26 than that of the Charmides, for the speakers do
not seem to have been able to raise themselves from the enumeration
of a number of goods and evils to the discussion of them in terms of a
general notion of what is good and what is bad; but for the moment
this is not our concern. What is our concern is that in the Laches it is
specifically stated that such a definition of courage as that given by
Nicias tends to confuse courage, which is one of the virtues, with
virtue itself. If a man is courageous, in the terms Nicias has suggested,
he must have all the other virtues as well. Socrates claims in the Laches
that this objection is fatal to Nicias’ definition, though perhaps this
is simply his είρωνάα. Be that as it may, the same objection would also
apply to the definition of σωφροσύνη in the Charmides. If a man were
σώφρων in the sense of possessing a knowledge of what is good and evil
or in the sense which Tuckey believes to be implied, that of being able
to do what is good with the knowledge that it is good, then such a
man would no doubt possess all the other cardinal virtues in addition
to σωφροσύνη.
This same idea, that a certain kind of knowledge is the basic in­
gredient in the whole of the good life (not merely with regard to cour­
age, but to all the virtues) occurs in the Euthydemus (281E) where it
is held that wisdom is good, ignorance is bad and, comparatively
speaking, everything else is irrelevant. Thus it is not surprising that
the discussion of the unity of virtue is brought up at considerable
length in the Protagoras. In this dialogue, however, though the words
ίτηστήμη and σοφία occur continually in the discussion of the virtues,
the object of knowledge seems to be neglected. In sections 329C-334A,
Socrates compels Protagoras— at times apparently rather unfairly—
to admit that σωφροσύνη and σοφία must be the same thing, and that
justice and holiness are more or less the same. In 349D, restating his
position, Protagoras admits that justice, holiness, courage, σοφία, and
σωφροσύνη are all parts of virtue and that four of them are reasonably
similar to one another, but that courage is very different from all the
rest. By 360D, however, the argument has gone against him and he is
unwilling to face the conclusion that the courageous man is he who
knows what is dreadful and what is not. Socrates and Protagoras have
previously agreed that the pleasant is good (358C) and that the best
life depends on making a right choice of pleasure and pain (357A).
Hence when the brave man faces what is not really to be feared but
only appears so to the cowardly, he knows that he is choosing a course

26Cf. Alcibiades I, 110C, τ α δίκαια καί τ α αδικα.

which will give the most real pleasure. Such a course will be good and
the brave man will recognize the fact. Thus the notion of the knowledge
of the good is brought into the discussion of the unity of the virtues
in the Protagoras, not explicitly, but still clearly.
The parallel between the discussions of courage in the Laches and
the Protagoras is obvious, and hence we may put the latter side by side
with the earlier dialogues and draw our conclusions as follows. It is the
opinion of Socrates that Virtue is in some way an adequate general
term for courage, σωφροσύνη, and the rest. This Virtue is a kind of
knowledge that has to do with the good and bad. No detailed sugges­
tions are made as to the nature of this good and bad, though, as we
have seen, to do good brings pleasure to the extent that if one could
measure real pleasures, it would be clear that the greater pleasure bore
witness to the greater goodness. Moreover, what is good is shown in
a long, and at first sight rather pointless speech of Protagoras (334A-C)
to be always useful in some context or other, if not for men, then at
least for some other part of the animal or vegetable kingdom. With
these vague hints we must be satisfied for the present— though they
are not so vague as not to suggest that the good may be treated in an
objective way. To this m atter we must finally turn our attention, in
order to show how the claims made earlier about the priority of
“ knowing that” can be fully vindicated.
The simplest manner of proceeding is to enumerate certain passages
from the dialogues. These passages show, with varying degrees of
clarity, the pre-eminence of “ knowing that.” By themselves they are
not all convincing; taken together, they point to an extremely high
degree of probability.
(a) In Alcibiades I, 110C, Socrates asks Alcibiades whether even as
a child he thought he knew which things were just and which unjust
(έπίστασθαι τά δίκαια και τά άδικα).
(b) In Alcibiades I, 111D, we read as follows:

S o c r a t e s : But what if we wished to know (έΐδΐναΐ) not only what men or horses
wqre like, but also which of them were runners and which were not, would the
multitude be adequate to teach this?
A l c i b i a d e s : N o, indeed not.
S o c r a t e s : Have you sufficient proof that they do not know this (βττίστασται) and
that they are not proficient teachers in that they do not agree about it among them­
selves ?

In these passages, despite Gould’s objections, βίδβναι, and Ιπίστασθαι

appear to be interchangeable, as we have seen them to be in Xeno­
phon’s Memorabilia.
 (c) In Apology 21D, comparing himself with the artisans, Socrates
says that neither he nor they knew anything fine and good (ούδϊν καλάν
KayaQov eiSevat,). The implication of the passage is that if either party
had known anything (elShai, not ϊπστασθαι as Gould, p. 15, would have
led us to expect from the connection with σοφία) he or they would
have been σοφοί.
(d) Laches 194E, a passage already referred to, runs as follows:
S o c r a t e s : Come then, tell him what kind of wisdom {σοφία) courage, according
to your account of it, may be. Presumably it is not knowing how to play the flute.

(Here it should be noticed that Socrates does not say ‘ ‘σοφία των
αυλών” or “ σοφία repi των αυλών,” which would mean “ knowledge of
or about flutes,” but “ σοφία αδλητική,” a phrase which seems more
ambiguous but which, as will become clear below, probably has the
meaning I have assigned to it.)
N ic ia s: Certainly not.
S ocrates: Nor knowledge of how to play the harp (i) κιβαριστική).
N i c i a s : N o , indeed not.
S o c r a t e s : B u t w hat is this knowledge then, or o f what? ( ’Α λλά τίςδήαΰτη
ή t 'v
los ϊπ στή μ η ).

Here there are two alternative questions offered by Socrates: (1)

rts ϊπ σ τ ή μ η , the answer to which might have been ή κιθαριστική or
ή αϋλητίκή; (2) ' t ϊ π σ τ ή μ η , the answer to which would seem to be
lv o s

rather objective than in terms of “ knowing how.” It is this alternative

which Nicias chooses to answer when he replies that courage is know­
ledge of what inspires dread or confidence in warfare and in other
circumstances.
(e) In Laches 196D, Plato uses Ύνώναι as the verbal representative
of ϊ π σ τ ή μ η , where, if a meaning of “ knowing how” were required,
ϊτ ίσ τ α σ θ α i might seem more appropriate, for ϊπ σ τ α σ θ α ι can certainly
at times mean to “know how,” but ύνώναι primarily means to
“recognize th at.”
(f ) Protagoras 352BC and Hippias Minor 367A have been discussed
earlier.
(g) Hippias Minor 375D. Here Socrates asks Hippias whether he
would not agree that justice is either a sort of power (δύναμί$ rts), or
knowledge, or both. It is clear that δύναμις and ϊπ σ τ ή μ η are alternatives,
and if δύvaμιs implies something like “capability” or “ ability,” what
else can ϊ π σ τ ή μ η mean but “ knowledge that” ?
(A) Knowledge of good and evil in the Charmides has already been
discussed.
 (i) In Euthyphro 4E , Socrates, puzzled at Euthyphro’s intention of
prosecuting his father, addresses him as follows: “ By Zeus, Euthyphro,
do you think you know about divine things and those that are holy and
unholy with such accuracy that . . . you are not afraid of committing
an unholy act in prosecuting your father?” The italicized words are in
Greek επίστασθαι περί των Θείων ottji εχει, και των οσίων re καί ανοσιών.
“ Knowing about” cannot mean “ knowing how” ; it must mean knowing
facts. This is borne out by Euthyphro’s reply that “ I should be of no
use, Socrates . . . if I did not know all such matters exactly (ακριβώς
είδείην τα τοιαντα πάντα).”
(J) In the “ first act” of the Gorgias, Socrates tries to explain to
Gorgias the difference between the rhetor and the τεχνικόs. The rhetor
has no knowledge, but employs great powers of persuasion as a sub­
stitute for it. In 459C, Socrates speaks as follows: “ But as it is, let us
consider first whether the rhetorician is in the same relation to what
is just and unjust, base and noble, good and bad, as to what is healthful
and to the remaining spheres of the other arts. He does not know
(είδώς) what is good and what is bad but he has devised a persuasion
on these topics so that he seems, among those who have no knowledge,
to know more than the man who really knows. Or is it necessary to
know (είδέναι) and must he who comes to you with the intention of
learning rhetoric have a previous knowledge of these things (προεπι-
στάμενον)?” Once again the alleged distinction between είδέναι and
επίστασθαι appears in contradiction to the facts of the dialogue; once
again it seems to be a question of “ knowing that” rather than “ know­
ing how,” of knowing what is good and bad, just and unjust, rather
than of knowing how to act justly and unjustly.
A little later (460B) in the same discussion, we find the argument
going as follows:
S ocrates: The man who has learnt (μαθεΐν) τα δίκαια is just?
G o r g ia s: Completely so.
S o crates: The just man, I presume, does just things.
G o r g ia s: Yes.

Here again the course of Socrates’ thought is from knowledge of what

is just to the performance of just acts. As he goes on to remark, since
the just man knows what is just and does what is just, he must wish
to do what is just. This wish must be built into the nature of the justice
that the just man possesses. A mere ability to do ju st deeds does not,
as we have already pointed out, imply a wish to do them. Knowledge
of what is just in some kind of objective sense has precisely this power,
as the Protagoras has already taught us.
 We may, I believe, conclude on the testimony of these passages
and the evidence earlier discussed that “ knowing that” is, in the mind
of the Platonic Socrates, prior to “ knowing how.” We know too that
by the time of the Protagoras, if not by that of the Laches, the virtues
were thought to be closely related to one another and to be explicable
as various aspects of the knowledge of what is good. Here we must
revert to the relation between επιστήμη (as Virtue) and τέχνη, and,
stating the conclusion of the following argument in advance, point out
that while επιστήμη (as Virtue) is concerned with “what is good,” or
more fully, what is good in itself and the only good for the soul, the
τέχναι, though concerned to promote the goods of their objects, as has
been shown, deal not in the good, but in one of a number of “goods.”
Socrates makes it plain in the Apology that he is a man who “knows
himself.” In the Charmides, Critias at one stage suggests knowledge of
oneself as a definition of σωφροσύνη (165B). We may wonder what sort
of knowledge knowledge of oneself is, and a partial answer to this
question is given in the First Alcibiades, which, whether genuine or
not, is, I think, illuminating. In 130D it becomes evident that one’s
self is one’s soul. Hence to know oneself means to know one’s soul.
Now plainly if a man “ knows his soul,” he will know what is good and
bad for that soul. Hence knowledge of one’s soul implies knowledge of
what is good and bad. Thus, in the Charmides, it is not surprising that
the discussion of knowledge of oneself leads inevitably to the question
of knowledge of good and bad.
To know oneself, then, implies knowing what is good and bad, and
what is good and bad is good and bad specifically for the soul. Hence
it is the mark of the best soul to know best what is good and bad, and
in the widest sense σοφία is the αρετή of the soul ( A l e . I 133B). Thus,
while the τεχναι are each concerned with their own particular good,
but not with the goodness of the soul, Virtue (which is επιστήμη) is
concerned with the good in general and, as the Hippias Minor tells us
(376B ), the good man is the man with the good soul. Finally, this good
soul, this cause of the various acts of virtue, is good not because it
performs these acts but because it knows what is good and what is
not. While, as we saw earlier, there is a sense in which the τεχναι,
properly so called, are morally superior to “knowing how,” they in
their turn must give place, in the moral sphere, to a correct “ knowing
th at.”
If επιστήμη meant “knowing how,” and “ Virtue is Knowledge”
meant that “ the ability to do what is good” is αρετή, then Socrates’
difficulty about “ Who are the teachers, if virtue can be taught?”
would have been an unreal one. If virtue were a technique, then the
claims of Protagoras or of Pericles, or even of the general public of
Athens, to teach it would have been more feasible, for it would have
been a mechanical skill which could be learned by imitation and
similar methods, but since it is a “ knowing that,” and in particular a
knowledge of good and evil, the lack of teachers can be seen to be due
to the lack of people who know what good and evil are. Cleinias, in
the Euthydemus (282C), is sure that wisdom is teachable, and Socrates
is glad to hear it, but in the Protagoras the visiting sophist’s claim to
teach άρβτή is shown to be unsatisfactory, and the Meno ends with the
conclusion that since so far no one appears able to teach it (100A), we
must assume that it “is neither natural nor taught, but by divine
dispensation.” This is an unsatisfactory position, and Socrates leaves
the question in abeyance as to whether anyone will appear in the
future who is capable of teaching it. The reason for all this would
seem to be that if, as we have suggested, the Socrates of the early
dialogues believes that Virtue is knowledge of the good, its teacher
will need to have such knowledge himself. Socrates himself appears
to be at the stage of knowing that there is a good and that it is beneficial
to the soul, but not precisely what it is. As will later be clear, we
hear no more about there being no recognizable teachers of virtue after
a theory of what is the good has been worked out. One might object
that the distinction between “ knowing th at” and “ knowing what” is
impossible for Plato— if it did not occur in the Charmides (170C).
It should by this time be evident that Plato makes use of notions
both of “ knowing how” and of “knowing that,” but that when he
speaks of the knowledge that is άρβτή, “ knowing that” is prior. Thus,
regardless of the question of the validity of Ryle’s distinction between
these two kinds of knowing as a philosophical truth, we may conclude
that Gould’s application of it to Plato is an anachronism. Despite the
evidence for the primacy of “ knowing how” in the pre-Socratic period,
it must not be assumed, without adequate proof, in the dialogues. It
is a way of thinking which is either “primitive” or ultra-sophisticated.
Its “primitive” nature is well brought out in the following remarks of
Professor Onians:27

Where cognition and thought are so bound up with feeling and tendency to act, the
relation of moral character, of virtue to knowledge, is closer than where cognition is
more ‘pure.’ How emotional and prone to physical expression of their emotions
Homer’s heroes were we have seen. Greeks like Aristotle and we to-day have
apparently attained to greater ‘detachment,’ power of thinking in cold blood without

a7Onians, Origins 18.

bodily movement, as we have to a sharper discrimination and definition of the
aspects and phases of the mind’s activity. It is with the consciousness, the knowing
self, the spectator aware of what happens within and without (emotions, sensations,
etc.) that a man would tend more particularly to identify himself. As this spectator
became more ‘detached,’ the purely intellectual, the cognitive bearing of such words
as οΐδα would naturally prevail.

Our conclusions being clear about the use of “ knowing th at” by

Plato, we may look at one last passage of Gould, this time (p. 18) an
interpretation of the Cratylus. Gould translates Cratylus 390B Iff. as
follows: “ ‘Which man is going to know whether the right shape for a
shuttle is embodied in this or that piece of wood? The carpenter who
has made it, or the weaver, who will use it?’ ‘The man who is going to
use it, I imagine, Socrates.’ ” He believes that this passage indicates
that επιστήμη is “knowing how,” not “knowing that,” or is so expressed
in practice, and conversely that the true ’επιστήμων is he who knows
how to use whatever is in question. We may object, however, that to
say that a weaver knows the right-shaped piece of wood for a shuttle
because he knows how to use the shuttle is at best a half-truth. The
weaver not only knows how to weave, but also what kind of tools he
needs to do so. His knowing about the piece of wood is not merely a
“ knowing how,” but both a “knowing how” and a “knowing th at.”
So much might be admitted, however, by someone who contended
that, although both Plato and Truth admitted that there are two kinds
of knowledge, “ how” and “ that,” nevertheless the former is prior.
Our discussion above of the Laches, Protagoras, and Charmides in
particular, shows that, whether we like it or not, Plato is an “ intel-
lectualist.” The justification of such a position is perhaps strictly
beyond the scope of this essay, but we may look briefly at the question
“How do we learn to know how?”
If I want to learn to play chess, I must learn, among other things,
the knight’s move and the fact that at the beginning of the game the
white Queen stands on a white square and the black Queen on a black.
Having learned these and similar facts I do not, admittedly, know
how to play chess, yet I cannot know how to play chess without know­
ing them. Similarly, if I wish to learn to swim, I must learn that it is
necessary to make certain movements with my arms and legs. Making
these movements, again, is not knowing how to swim, but is an
essential preliminary to it. Of course, it is possible that when I become
“ habituated” to swimming, I shall no longer be able to explain the
things I once learned, since my movements will then be virtually
mechanical, but this will not mean that the theory, the “knowing
th at,” was never present.
 On p. 31 of the Concept of Mind, Ryle points out that “A soldier
does not become a shrewd general merely by endorsing the strategic
principles of Clausewitz; he must also be competent to apply them.
Knowing how to apply maxims cannot be reduced to, or derived from,
the acceptance of these or any other maxims.” That the outstanding
general needs to know more than theory is obvious, but, unless he is
an automaton, his knowing how cannot be viewed apart from his
knowing that. Suppose that General X wishes to capture a town. His
deliberations on the subject might be as follows: “ I know that in order
to relieve this town, the enemy will have to do this and that. I know
how to prevent any such move. Therefore I can reduce the town by
blockade.” General X may never have read, or even heard of, Clause-
witz, but his factual knowledge of the exigencies of war (e.g. that the
enemy will do this or that in given circumstances) will, if he is com­
petent, probably tally with the directions of the theorist in strategy.
The claim that X knows how to win a battle but has no kind of
knowledge that this or the other tactic is expedient is meaningless.
Once again, on p. 33, Ryle adduces an example, this time the per­
formance of a clown. The spectators at the show are said to admire the
clown’s visible performance. This is true, and the clown certainly
“ knows how” to trip and tumble on purpose. But this tripping and
tumbling is like knowing how to swim. It can only be learned by the
clown if he has certain presuppositions that. When learning his art, he
is told by his master that if he falls in a particular way he will hurt
himself. If he is not told this specifically, he realizes from observation
that there are ways of falling which will not break his arms or sprain
his back. Having been told or having realized the fact, he then feels
confident about learning how it is done. As Ryle says (p. 41), we learn
how by practice, schooled indeed by criticism and example, but often
quite unaided by any theoretical lesson. This is true, but even if no
lesson is given on the theory, some prior knowing that is grasped by
the learner.
We must leave this digression into contemporary philosophy, where,
in the matter under consideration, Professor Ryle appears in the guise
of Gorgias, and return to the theories of Plato, where Gould, who has
been detected applying an inadequate theory to a thinker who did not
profess it, has taken upon himself the role of Polus. It must first be
mentioned that Ryle’s debate is, formally at least, about what he calls
“ mental-conduct concepts” (p. 25), such as “clever,” “sensible,”
“ careful,” etc. These words, or some of them, may have “moral”
significance, but are not exclusively concerned with morality. The
words with which Plato, and therefore Gould, are concerned are moral
words: “ju st,” “ temperate,” “ brave,” “good.” Since Plato’s views on
the unity of the virtues leads to his seeing them all in terms of “ knowl­
edge” and “good,” we may say that Gould applies to “good” what
Ryle says of “clever.” Unless one subscribes to an ethical relativism
of the “ Man is the measure” variety, it is hard to understand how
“good” can be understood in terms of a “ mental-conduct concept,”
particularly by Socrates and Plato who, as we have always understood,
opposed ethical relativism. Could Socrates or Plato ever have agreed
that “ at is good” means “I know how to do a;” ? If so, assuming Socrates
knew how to commit a murder, would he therefore assume that
murder was good?
The conclusion of this argument must be that the knowledge which
is virtue is a state of mind, that it is a knowledge of objects and that
it will result in moral action when the circumstances demand. The
Socratic “ knowing that” implied a “ knowing how.” This unusual
feature marks it off from the “knowing that” discussed by Ryle and
Gould. For Socrates, if a man claims to know what is good and does
not act upon his “ knowledge,” his “ knowledge” is not knowledge at all.
Modern philosophy, and indeed most philosophy since Aristotle,
first sets up a distinction between theory and practice and then, in
some cases, tries to show that all theory is really practice, or vice versa.
Aristotle talks about θεωρία being the highest form of πραξις; Gould
wants to adapt the pre-Socratic connection of σωφροσύνη with be­
haviour, not with mental outlook, to the philosophy of Plato; Pro­
fessor Onians’ nephew wants to answer “With my tongue” to the
question “How do you know?”28 All these possibly valid attitudes are,
as we have seen, irrelevant to Plato, as is indeed the whole dichotomy
of theory and practice. For Plato, a man cannot hold a correct moral
theory without being morally upright. If his moral behaviour is
doubtful, it is certain that he does not know what good and bad are.
Hence Gould’s statement (p. 13) that “ Even for Socrates and Plato,
to achieve αρετή is not to arrive at a valid ethical theory, but to attain
valid moral behaviour” is misleading. However, while Plato thought
that a correct moral theory made moral behaviour certain, he came to
realize that moral behaviour does not necessarily imply the under­
standing of a correct moral theory, but merely the acceptance of
guidance. But ορθή δόξα, in the time of the dialogues at present under
review, remains a thing of the future.

™Ibid. 14.
 With the priority of “ knowing that” for Plato clear in our minds,
we can answer the question “ Is the proposition ‘Virtue is Knowledge’
analytic?” If knowledge meant “ knowing how,” then this would be
the case. Since it primarily means knowledge of what is good, however,
the answer is No. Virtue is a state of mind leading inevitably to action.
Knowledge is knowledge of what is for Plato an external fact, namely
the good. Thus “Virtue is Knowledge” is a synthetic, not an analytic
proposition.
Virtue then is a knowledge of the good. It differs from the τβχναι in
that it adds happiness to effectiveness. There is a famous passage in
the Charmides (174D) where Plato makes it clear that the knowledge
of good and evil is the only knowledge that will bring happiness to
society. As Tuckey points out, we have here “ a germ of Plato’s later
doctrine that humanity will only be happy when philosophers are
kings and kings philosophers.”29

**Tuckey, Plato's Charmides 79.

 Chapter Two

VIRTUE IN THE MIDDLE AND

LATE DIALOGUES
τα χρήστ’ kiηστάμβσθα καί γιγρώσκομεν
οίκ ΐκπονοΰμβρ δ’ . . . .
Eur. Hipp. 380-1

I
T is views of morality like Phaedra’s that Socrates, in the early
dialogues, is so anxious to oppose. He is looking for a knowledge that
will determine actions and make men virtuous. Such knowledge of
good and evil as Phaedra had, does not constitute, for him, real
knowledge at all. For Virtue is Knowledge, and Phaedra is hardly
virtuous. By the time of the Meno we can safely assume that Socrates
is aware that knowledge of good and evil brings virtue. He is aware
too, however, that whatever is knowledge must in some sense be
teachable. Y et in the Meno there appear to be no teachers of virtue,
nor pupils either (96C).
Socrates and Meno have been brought to an apparent impasse, but
Socrates succeeds in avoiding the difficulty by suggesting (96E) that
in the sphere of conduct knowledge is not the only guide to right
action, for true opinion will produce the same effect. The distinction,
here drawn for the first time, between knowledge and true opinion is
important for all aspects of Plato’s thought, but we must remember
that it is introduced specifically to deal with a problem in ethics. It
is in the realm of practical life that όρ0ι) δόξα is introduced, and the
implication is that in order to act virtuously we need only understand
that certain things are good, without knowing the reason for their
goodness. It is enough to believe that murder is wrong without knowing
why.
The difference between one kind of knowledge and true opinion is
said to be that the latter may run away out of the human soul and is
of no great value unless it is secured by an airias λογισμοί, a calcula­
tion of cause. This phrase has always appeared rather puzzling, and
the ability to give an airias λογισμό* has often been connected with
that ability which is the mark of the dialectician and which is fre­
quently described in the Republic as that of “giving an account”
(λόγον δούναι). Ά ιτιάς λογισμός is always associated with the
ability to refer to general ideas as the background for particular
statements. It is clearly linked by Plato with ά,νάμνησις (98A), with
the soul’s recollection of such general propositions as mathematical
laws, which it has “seen” in a former life. In the sphere of ethics it is
clear that knowledge includes a “ calculation of the cause” of goods,
while true opinion merely accepts that goods are good and acts
accordingly. In other words, the “ cause” with which we are concerned
here is the good as distinguished from goods. The man who knows,
knows that the good is the cause of the goodness inherent in certain
activities.
We have seen how in earlier dialogues Socrates reduces the virtues
now to knowledge of good and evil (as in the Charmides), now to
knowledge of goods and evils (as in the. Laches). He probably had not
at this stage properly understood the difference between these two
attitudes. At the time of the Meno, however, this difficulty may have
been resolved. The man whose virtue is based on true opinion appears
to recognize goods and evils, but the man who has knowledge recog­
nizes the good. When the slave boy’s true opinion about the geo­
metrical problem has been elicited, Socrates says that by a continual
repetition of such a process of enquiry true opinion can be converted
into knowledge. Similarly, perhaps, he believed that by continual
thought upon goods, one could eventually come to a knowledge of the
good. The implication of this is that everyone could know the good,
and thus become a philosopher in the fullest sense of the term.
Such confidence in the potentiality of the vast majority, if not the
whole, of the human race is typical of the Socrates of the early dia­
logues and lasts at least until the time of the Phaedo. In that dialogue
it is assumed that in a dialectical discussion agreement between the
disputants will certainly lead to the discovery of truth, and that
subjectivism will somehow be avoided. By the time of the Republic
this confidence has vanished. Only a very few gifted individuals are
there considered capable of philosophical discussion.
In the Phaedo, however, the question of the relationship between
virtue and φρόνησις occurs in a much disputed passage (68-69). It is
unnecessary to go into the details of the dispute;1 what concerns us
is that a sharp distinction is drawn between virtue with φρόνησις and
a spurious virtue which may arise on utilitarian grounds. In accordance
1Cf. Hackforth’s Phaedo 191-193.
with the elevated manner of the Phaedo, the latter is described as
“ fit for slaves” ; it is a virtue which paradoxically often arises
δι’ ακολασίαν, since its practitioners abstain from certain pleasures
merely to enjoy others.
The difficulty with this section is, as Hackforth points out (p. 193),
that Plato appears to waver between a simple identification of virtue
with φρόνηση and the regarding of φρόνηση as an indispensable aid to
virtue. The former is of course the view of the early dialogues, the
latter a refinement upon it. In this passage, especially at 69B2, the
latter view is predominant.
Y et another kind of virtue is mentioned in the Phaedo (82AB). It
has certain resemblances to the “spurious virtue” of 68-69, especially
in that it arises without philosophy or reasoning (vovs). But Plato does
not regard it as the product merely of a skilful choice of pleasures, the
abandoning of the immoral because in the long run the moral is more
beneficial, but the result of habit and training. This is clearly very like
the virtue that is equated with true opinion in the Meno. It is a virtue
that men practise (ίπι,τηδενκότη)— which means that its practitioners
accomplish a number of goods without knowing what is the good. Such
virtue is given short shrift in the Phaedo, where the souls of some of
those who pursue it are said to be destined after death for trans­
migration into bees or wasps or ants, creatures which live their lives in
similar unthinking respectability. Nevertheless, Archer-Hind2 is some­
what too sweeping when he holds that for Plato all virtue which is not
based on philosophy can only be practised by the multitude on
utilitarian principles. Plato believes increasingly from the time of the
Meno that such unphilosophic virtue can be practised by men who
have been taught that there is a difference between good and bad, or
perhaps accept this distinction as something given by their conscience,
but who could not justify their ethical position. This attitude is a per­
fectly reasonable one to hold, and should be especially understood at
the present time, when both among the educated and the uneducated
words like “good,” “ better,” etc. are continually bandied. Of those
who use them, some have never thought about them in general terms,
while others have thought, but can give no account of them even to
satisfy themselves. As for Plato, as we shall see, the distinction be­
tween these varieties of virtue is maintained spasmodically throughout
the dialogues from the Phaedo on. The three varieties are: (a) Philo­
sophic virtue, which is either equivalent to or vitally associated with
knowledge; (b) Virtue which is associated with όρϋη δόξα, unthinking
2Archer-Hind, Plato’s Phaedo Appendix I, 181-186, especially 186.
obedience to a standard; (c) A spurious virtue based on a calculation
of pleasures. (It would appear that such calculations, devoid of true
knowledge, must often be mistaken.) It should of course be remembered
that both (a) and (b) will bring pleasure of the highest kind, but are
not governed by it. Pleasure is not merely a concomitant of spurious
virtue; spurious virtue, however, is merely a refined search for pleasure.
There is an important passage in the Protagoras which is most
relevant to the present problem. In 357B, Socrates and Protagoras
agree that since the salvation of our life depends on the ability to
measure quantities of pleasure and pain, even such virtue ought to be
related to some kind of knowledge. The fact that the practitioners of
this kind of virtue often have no skill in judging pleasure and pain
merely means that their “ definition of virtue” is self-contradictory.
Thus, properly speaking, (c) is not virtue but a spurious pretender.
This is seen clearest of all, as Archer-Hind3 has pointed out, in Republic
554C. Here, in the description of the oligarchical man, we are shown a
person who seems to be just and is famed for this, but whose baser
passions are constrained not by knowledge but by a fear that if they
are indulged he will waste money and possessions which, as he values
them highest of all, he is convinced are the sources of the greatest
pleasure. Such a man, having no real title to virtue, need no longer
claim our attention.
Let us now return to the man who is virtuous through the possession
of ορθή δόξα, the man who has learned (or is by nature apt) to recognize
that certain goods are good, but has no understanding of what good is.
It is a commonplace that he comes increasingly to the forefront of
Plato’s thinking as Plato grows older. The tripartite division of the
state and the corresponding division of the soul increase his import­
ance. In Republic 429C 7 we find the old relationship between courage
and a grasp of what things are to be feared. But here Plato is speaking
not of the Guardians but of the Auxiliaries, and thus refers not to
knowledge or wisdom but to an opinion created by law by means of
education. Although it is beyond dispute, as the central books of the
Republic make clear, that Plato at this period postulated a meta­
physical Good as the ultimate source of all goodness, he makes no
allusion to it in this passage. True opinion doubtless could not reach
that far; it must limit itself to the plurality of Setva, and presumably
μή δείνα, in the world of particulars. Plato pretends in this passage of
the Republic that courage is the specific virtue of the warrior-caste,
but it is clear from elsewhere in the dialogue that the Guardians too
Ubid. 181-182.
must be courageous. Their courage, however, could not be merely
ορθή δόξα.
A commentary on the two kinds of courage is given by 4 0 ID 5 if.,
where we read as follows:
Is it then, Glaucon, for these reasons that an education in μουσική is most important,
because rhythm and harmony sink most of all into the inner parts of the soul and,
bringing gracefulness with them, take hold of it most strongly, and make a man
graceful if he has been brought up rightly, but if not, the reverse? And also because
he that has been duly brought up in this way will perceive defects either in art or
nature most acutely, and rightly disdaining them will pursue objects that are beau­
tiful, and rejoicing in them and receiving them into his soul will be nourished by
them and become noble and good. He will rightly blame and hate all that is base even
when he is a child, before he is able to grasp reasoning, and when reason comes, the
man who has been brought up in this way will recognize it by his relationship to it
and be most welcoming to it.

The potential Guardian will “ know” what is to be feared by ορθή δόξα

long before reason comes to explain the why. Before such a man knows
the good, he will have become habituated to “goods.” The underlying
theme in the passage quoted is the production of the right habits and
dispositions. As Plato grew older, he became more and more convinced
that habit is the key to morals for the majority of mankind. As early
as the Meno, he appears to believe that by a continual process of
repeating an experiment or mathematical proof the mind of the prover
will progress from the possession of ορθή δόξα to that of επιστήμη. If
pressed, he would have had to admit that this is not altogether true,
but the basic point is that the continual repetition of όρθαϊ δόξαι leads
the mind to the receptive state which the above passage of the Republic
describes, if and when reason makes its appearance. This kind of
££is, these όρθαϊ δόξαι, are again referred to in S00D 8 as ή δημοτική αρετή.
This is the kind of virtue the philosopher-king can produce among his
subjects. It is not spoken of here in the slighting manner of the Phaedo,
for Plato is now more certain that this is all that the majority of men
can achieve. Y et the earlier view can still be seen at times, even
coupled, as in 619C 6, with a sneer at “habit.” In this passage E r
relates how in the choice of lives the man who chooses an absolute
despotism with all its concomitant evils is one of those who pre­
viously lived in a well-order constitution and who attained a measure
of virtue through habit, and without the sure basis that only philosophy
can supply.
We may assume that this condemnation of habit arises whenever
Plato looks back to his earlier view that virtue by knowledge was
possible for all, and feels how inadequate and second-best is all that
can in fact be maintained. Most of the time, however, he is not remem­
bering the over-optimistic past, but attempting to do the best he can
with human natures as he now sees them. The result is the ever­
growing importance assigned to the cultivation of right habits and
right opinion, under the guidance of those few who can attain to
something higher. In Re-public 602, the man of right opinion is seen to
be he who has associated with the man who knows, and is instructed
about what is to be done. Here the role of authority, which is essential
to the production of right opinion by education, is explicitly
emphasized.
The obverse side of the increasing stress laid on the instilling of
right habits is Plato’s anxiety lest good citizens be corrupted by the
theatre. As we have already noticed, good habits are produced by
repetition of good actions, by continually seeing what is good and by
thus becoming influenced by it. Conversely, the sight of heroes in
tears makes for the bad habit of cowardice and should be forbidden
the stage in the ideal state. If everything in the state is to be sub­
ordinated to the production of όρθη δόξα, Plato’s views on poetry—
given the influence he ascribes to μίμησή— can hardly be disallowed.
However, the new vision of virtue as, for the majority, ορθή δόξα,
must not obscure another, related vision, that of virtue as “health”
or “ harmony.” Precursors of this view appear in the Gorgias, where
Socrates proclaims the importance of geometrical equality among gods
and men (508A), and indeed “health” is the underlying notion behind
the Delphic slogan μηδέν Hyav and the discussion of σωφροσύνη in related
terms in parts of the Charmides. The idea that σωφροσύνη itself means
health of the mind is clearly in Plato’s thoughts at the time of the
Cratylus, where, in 41 IE , he relates it by derivation to σωτηρία and
φρόνησή. Health had, at least since the time of Alcmaeon, been expli­
citly associated with Ισονομία, “ balance” or, in Platonic terms, “har­
mony.” As Aetius records:4 “Alcmaeon holds that the bond of health
is Ισονομία of the powers, wet and dry, cold and hot, bitter and sweet,
etc., while the sole rule of one of them is the cause of disease.” Applying
this physical theory to the virtues, we arrive at the equation of virtue
with health in the Republic (444E ). Plato’s precise words here are
worthy of note, for they will recur. He writes: “Virtue then, it seems,
is some kind of health and beauty and good condition,5 while vice is
a disease (νόσος) and a deformity (αίσχος) and a weakness.” This kind
of virtue clearly need not imply knowledge in the virtuous man; it
4Aetius 5.30.1.
6Eue£ia— “ good condition”— is itself a medical term. Cf. Gorgias 450A.
only requires to be implanted by knowledge. It need not be that
virtue which is directly related to knowledge, but can often best be
understood in the state of mind of the man who is virtuous through
the possession of όρθη δόξα. The pragmatic definitions of justice as the
doing of one’s job (Rep. 443CD) and of σωφροσύνη as the agreement
between the governing and governed parts both of the city and of the
individual soul (431) are in accordance with this relationship of virtue
with αρμονία.
Interesting commentaries are provided upon these doctrines in
certain of the later dialogues. In the Sophist (227E -228E ), all vice in
the soul (κακία) is said to be either νόσος (the immediate source of
evil-doing, of τονηρία) or αίσχος, which is ignorance. Here again the
medical terms occur and νόσος is related to στάσίς, disorder in the soul.
Clearly, for Plato, no philosopher could suffer from either νόσος or
άμαβία, but we may suppose that, although ignorance is the funda­
mental problem, νόσος, disorder of the soul, is in a sense the more
dangerous: for while the soul of the ordinary man is in such confusion,
he must inevitably be guilty of ignorance also, since his reasoning soul
is under bondage to his passions.
This is borne out by the Timaeus. Here (86BC) all evil in the soul is
called άνοια, folly. Of this άνοια there are two varieties, madness and
ignorance. Of ignorance nothing is said, perhaps because Plato believes
that for the ordinary man knowledge in the highest sense is impossible,
and hence it need not be discussed here. Madness, however, it is
implied, can arise either purely in the soul or because of undue in­
fluence exerted by the body.6 Such bodily interference is attributed to
physiological causes such as the possession of too much semen. Plato
is particularly concerned with this “ madness,” and says that he regards
an excess of pleasures and pains as the greatest possible evil for the
soul. The reason for this is that under such influences the ordinary man
(The philosopher cannot possibly be under discussion here since he
is always κρΐίττων έαυτου) is unable “either to see or to hear anything
correctly,” and is then completely incapable of reasoning. Any chance
he might have of avoiding ignorance is gone if he has not the oppor­
tunity even to think about a problem, being completely overcome by
his passions. Here, as in the education of philosophers, the attainment
of αρμονία must precede the recovery of knowledge or true opinion. The
passions prevent the growth of habit, and without good habits no
“ higher” education is possible.
6Cornford is clearly right to remark: “ It is not stated that alt mental disorders are
solely due to bodily states.” Plato’s Cosmology 346.
 With reference to a passage of the Laws (863E -864A ), Grube7
maintains that “we thus find the Socratic formula (that goodness
[αρετή] is knowledge) reasserted to the very last in Plato’s works.” It
is true that virtue is associated with knowledge in this passage, and
a similar association can be seen in the sections of the Sophist and
Timaeus that we have just discussed. But the implications are different
from those dear to Socrates. For Socrates— the Platonic Socrates—
“ virtue is knowledge” was true without much qualification. For
Plato in the later dialogues, there is a direct relationship in the case
of a few men between virtue and knowledge, but the virtue of the
majority is the willingness to accept όρ0ή δόξα, the well-ordered dis­
position (g£is) of the soul, the harmony and balance of psychological
factors which is the result not of personal, direct knowledge but of
training in accordance with a code devised by those who know. It is
well known that in the Laws the director of education is the most
important official in the state, and that Plato there makes great efforts
to raise the general educational level of his citizens. But this education
is not to be like that of the philosopher-kings of the Republic— that
would be impossible— but is to be approached in a practical rather than
theoretical manner (819B). Of all this, and of the increasing import­
ance Plato placed upon the production of harmony in the soul and
good habits, any handbook of Platonic philosophy can provide an
adequate account, and there is no need to say more of it here.
Before leaving the topic, however, it is worth looking at two passages
where Plato is concerned to describe the fate of those who upset the
established belief in a state. Of such a passage in the Laws (952C
5ff.) Gould writes as follows:8 “Perhaps the greatest tragedy of the
Laws is that it sets the final seal of doom on the Socratic approach:
when Plato describes the Nocturnal Council condemning to death the
man who, setting himself outside the tradition of the state, refuses to
keep his views privately to himself, it is not only ironical but tragic
that we seem to hear an echo of Socrates’ judges.” Plato’s attitude
here arises because the tradition of the state is based on the true
knowledge of those who control it. Hence he knows that the man who
“ deviates” from it is certainly in error and insists on trying to lead
others into his own error. A more gloomy picture is presented in the
Politicus, where (299BC) not only is he who openly speculates “con­
trary to the written rules” to be brought to trial, but any kind of
speculation undertaken in a private capacity is to be condemned. From
7Grube, Plato's Thought 229.
*Gould 109.
such passages it looks as though even knowledge is forbidden if it is
not learned “ through the proper channels.”
We may now leave εξη and όρθή δόξα and return to the relation of
άρετή with knowledge. All the above observations will be assumed in
what follows, and only the αρετή of the best of men, the true philoso­
phers, will be under discussion. First of all we must return to the
remark of Hackforth about Phaedo 69.® Hackforth’s point is that in
this passage there is a wavering between the identification of φρόνησή
with virtue and the notion that φρόνηση is a means or aid to virtue.
In the earlier dialogues we saw how επιστήμη that is virtue is a know­
ledge first of goods and then of “good.” We regarded these as the
preliminary stages in the progression of Plato’s thought to the fully-
fledged metaphysical doctrine of the Good as it occurs in the Republic.
In this work, as 506A makes clear, Plato believes both that if a man
does not know in what way just things and beautiful things are good,
he will make a poor Guardian, and that no satisfactory knowledge of
what is just and beautiful is possible for a man ignorant of the good.
This leads to the doctrine that the Good is that which makes every­
thing else knowable, and is in fact the very principle of existence
(50 8 E -509B ). Our problem is: Is virtue to be understood quite simply
as knowledge of the Good, or is some other factor, such as will,
involved?
In the Phaedo, we recall, the difficulty discovered by Hackforth
concerned the relation not of ’επιστήμη but of φρόνηση to αρετή. Hack­
forth seemed to regard επιστήμη and φρόνηση as more or less equivalent.
Our first task is to discover their relationship. In Meno 98CD, φρόνηση
appears to be used as an exact synonym for επιστήμη. In the Symposium
(202A), right opinion is said to be half way between ignorance and
φρόνηση. A possessor of such true opinion is said not to know
(έπίστασθαι). Again, φρόνηση appears to be knowledge rather than
intelligence or the act of knowing, in other words a synonym for
επιστήμη. Again, in 209A, φρόνηση is said to be a product of soul. The
best kind of φρόνηση is said to be that which concerns the management
of cities and homes. It is wisdom, perhaps, of a practical kind; it is not
the ability to understand. In Protagoras 352C, the meaning of
φρόνηση is perhaps unclear: it may be synonymous with επιστήμη;
it may mean intelligence and thus be distinct from knowledge. The
former is perhaps the more likely.
When we read the Republic the situation is even harder to unravel.
At 505A Socrates says that the Form of the Good is the pkyιστόν μάθημα.
•See footnote 1.
He speaks of the possibility of knowing (ε’ιδέναι) this Good. If we know
it (eibkvai.) we can then apprehend what is good and beautiful (φρονεΐν).
He then makes the old observation that the majority of men regard
pleasure as the good, while the more enlightened (κομψοτεροις) select
φρόνησις. When asked what φρόνησis means, these savants reply “ φρόνησή
of the Good.” Socrates thinks this ludicrous, and it is noteworthy
that in this section he does not use φρόνησis when speaking of what he
regards as the right kind of knowledge of the Good (506B 7). The
word κομψοτέροις, too, suggests that Socrates regards such people with
suspicion. Φρόνησή perhaps now seems to him too practical a wisdom,
too much like the Aristotelian φρόνησή— a sense inherent in the remark
in the Protagoras that the best kind of φρόνησή was concerned with
the management of homes and cities. Presumably Socrates believes
that the best kind of επιστήμη is concerned with the Good, and that
when the κομψότεροι speak of φρόνησις of the Good they are wrong.
Φρόνησις for Socrates in the Republic does not seem to imply that
specifically metaphysical kind of knowledge which he regards as the
only true knowledge of the Good.
The suggestion of the κομψότεροι is that φρόνησις is the Good. Socrates
reduces this to nonsense by asking, “ Do you say that φρόνησή of the
Good is the Good?” Perhaps the word φρόνησή was in use among intel­
lectuals who claimed not, as did the Socrates of the earlier dialogues,
that knowledge (επιστήμη) of the good is virtue, but that knowledge
(φρόνησις) is the Good. It is in intellectualist terms that the m atter is
again debated in the Philebus. Admittedly, Socrates begins (11BC) by
putting the problem in terms of whether intellectual activities or
pleasure are better, but the question is soon resolved into the simpler
form (14B) of “whether one must say that pleasure or φρόνησis or
some other thing is the Good for men”— in other words the dispute
between the majority and the κομψότεροι in the Republic. As is well
known, the Philebus concludes that neither φρόνησή nor pleasure is
the Good for men, agreeing in this with the Republic, but that mental
qualities are higher up the scale of goodness than pleasures. The intel­
lectualist heresy thus disposed of, however, we are no nearer to the
relation of φρόνησis or επιστήμη with αρετή. It is time to look at Aristotle’s
comments on the matter.
In the sixth book of the Nicomachean Ethics, during the discussion
on φρόνησις, Aristotle remarks on Socrates’ view that “ all virtues are
φρονήσεις” (1144B 20), and then later (1144B 30) restates this in the
form that “ the virtues are επιστήμαι.” Clearly he holds that Socrates
believed that “virtue is knowledge” and that επιστήμη and φρόνησις
were for him indistinguishable. Aristotle’s own view, of course, is that
moral αρετή is a kind of disposition (e£is προαιρετική) and that φρόνησή
has a relationship with it but is not identical. There is thus a similarity
between Aristotle’s view of moral virtue as a whole and Plato’s view
of the virtue of the ordinary man. For Aristotle there is no Form of
Goodness, and even if there were, it would be beyond human reach,
and so irrelevant to conduct. Hence there cannot be a philosophic
virtue in the Platonic sense of a knowledge of the Good.
When Aristotle speaks of Socratic φρόνησις in the above-mentioned
passage of the Nicomachean Ethics, he is presumably using the word
in his own sense— that of “practical wisdom.” This implies that it is
wisdom about particular goods and bads in the world of contingent
things. Επιστήμη is synonymous with φρόνησις, and this accords with
what we saw to be the case in the earlier dialogues. When in Book One
of the Nicomachean Ethics, however, he speaks of knowledge of the
Form of the Good, he uses words like Ύνωρίζειν (1097A 1), γνώσις
(1097A 6), είδώς (1097A 10). These words should be compared with
those that occur with regard to such knowledge in the Republic',
μάθημα (505A 1), Ισμεν (505A 6), ayvoovvTa (506A 6). Clearly it is to
the doctrines of the Good like those of the Republic that Aristotle refers.
This being so, we can turn to Rep. 534C in the hope that it will
solve the problem. Here, after describing the dialectical advance to
a knowledge of the Good (είδεναi), Plato draws a distinction between
real knowing (now επιστήμη is used) and true opinion. There is no
doubt that ειδεναι and επιστήμη are intended to refer to the same kind
of knowledge. With these words may be associated yvwis and its
cognates, as seen above. Thus yv&ais or επιστήμη are used for knowledge
of the Good; φρονησις is not. If Socrates used φρόνησις and επιστήμη as
synonyms, Plato has corrected him. The correction is shown, as we
have seen, in the Nicomachean Ethics, where φρόνησή is used in a
Socratic context but not in a Platonic, presumably because Aristotle
felt that the sense he gave the word was suitable for Socrates but not
for Plato.
It appears from the Laws, however, that Plato to the last felt himself
able to use φρόνησις with regard to the virtues. In 710A, the Athenian
stranger speaks as follows: “ Yes, Cleinias, ordinary (δημώδης) tem­
perance, not the temperance people doing philosophy speak of in their
high-minded way when they assert that τό σωφρονεΐν is φρόνησις.” It
is hard to tell what is meant by this. It may mean that some people
point out that σωφροσύνη is the prudent course and may therefore be
equated with worldly wisdom; it may be the φρόνησis of the Good
which is discussed in the sixth book of the Republic and for which
Plato there prefers the term επιστήμη. This view is perhaps the less
obvious in view of our previous remarks, but it appears to be borne out
by another passage in the Laws (631C). Here the Athenian is engaged
in distinguishing “human” goods from “divine.” Of “divine” goods,
he holds, the greatest is φρόνησή, the next being a rational, temperate
state of mind (μετά νοΰ σώφρων ψυχής 'έξις). The greatest good we can
possess, then, is φρόνησις, and we must assume that this φρόνησή is in
fact επιστήμη του άγα0ου. In any case it is clear that, whatever be the
appropriate Greek for “knowledge,” in some sense the doctrine that
virtue is knowledge is maintained right to the last of Plato’s written
works.
The question may be asked, however: Does Plato at the end of his
life believe that for the philosopher the equation of virtue with know­
ledge is the whole story? Is virtue knowledge and essentially nothing
else, since true knowledge is an adequate well-spring of virtuous action,
as it is held to be, contrary to popular opinion, in the Protagoras?
Gould10 suggests that in the Politicus Plato depicts the Forms of
Courage and σωφροσύνη as incompatible. If this were true, then know­
ledge of the Forms would be inadequate for virtue; indeed, knowledge
of the Good would be incompatible with knowledge of the Forms of
Courage and σωφροσύνη, if knowledge of these latter was only a cause
of strife— which is not a good. Fortunately Gould is wrong here. Plato
is not speaking of persons who are courageous or temperate in the
highest sense. The man who had courage or temperance in the highest
sense would not need to be bound by true opinion— the bond that
the true statesman applies to hold his city together.
This digression being settled, we may return to the question: In
what sense does Plato in his later work equate virtue with knowledge
for the philosopher? The answer must be that philosophic virtue will
only be attained when the philosopher crowns his earlier training with
the knowledge of the Good. This earlier training is not all a training
of the intellect, as is well known. In the Republic, the trainee philo­
sopher undertakes courses in μουσική and 'γυμναστική . He acquires habits,
learns techniques, learns to obey, and so on. His training is not purely
an amassing of knowledge or even of wisdom; it consists first in pre­
paring the individual by the use of persuasion and ορθή δόξα, and then
in introducing him via the sciences to philosophy in its highest form.
This “ philosophy” culminates in a knowledge of the Good. Thus we
may say that when a man attains to knowledge of the Good— the only
l0Gould 215. Cf. Skemp, Plato’s Statesman 223, n .l.
true knowledge— he is virtuous, but that before he can do this he
must undergo many preliminary disciplines. In this sense, and only
in this sense, is virtue the equivalent of knowledge in Plato.
However, we may still be puzzled. Why is it, we may ask, that Plato
holds that if we know the Form of the Good, we are bound to act
rightly ? For the answer to this problem we must return to the doctrine
of ομοίω σή θεω. At least from the Republic on, as we have observed,
Plato sees the striving for virtue in the form of the attaining of likeness
to God, and believes that to a very considerable degree such likeness
is within the power of mankind. We have seen already that since the
soul of the philosopher is able to grasp the Forms, it is by nature akin
to the souls of the gods, and indeed the pre-existence of souls stressed
in the Phaedo is additional evidence of this. It is the close association
between the soul and God by nature that many Christian writers came
to regard as the most hostile element of Platonism. To this theme we
shall return. Our immediate concern is to show how the kinship of the
soul with God is related to the impossibility of wrong-doing for those
who truly “ know.” To discover this, we need to understand the rela­
tion, as Plato sees it, between God and the possibility of wrong-doing.
Fortunately on this topic the evidence is straightforward, and since
much of it has been discussed earlier, a summary will be sufficient here.
In Book Two of the Republic, Plato rejects the notion, commonly held
by the unthinking, that God is the cause of everything, good or bad,
that happens to mankind. On the contrary, since he is good, he is the
cause only of what is good. As for what is bad, as it transpires in the
myth of Er, God is guiltless, and man brings it down on his own head
(617E ). The goodness of God is alluded to again, by implication, in
the Phaedrus, where at 247A we read that jealousy (φθόνος) is excluded
from the divine realm. Finally, the Timaeus tells us (2 9 E -3 0 B ) that
since the Demiourgos is good, he desired everything else to be as like
himself as possible, that θίμις forbade him who is excellent to do any­
thing but what is finest. In brief, God and the Gods are, for Plato,
naturally good, and such goodness entails the best possible conduct,
if such a word may fitly be used of Gods. We are aware from the
Phaedrus, as has been said above, that it is knowledge of the Forms
which bestows on the Gods their divinity. Hence it is knowledge of
the Forms which makes the Gods act as they act, namely as well as
possible. Our conclusion must be that if a man can attain to knowledge
of the Forms, he will attain, as far as possible for a mortal, to conduct
like that of the Gods. Thus the philosopher who knows the Forms will
be in a sense a god— since he is a purified soul— and will thus be sure
to act virtuously. The guarantee that his acts will be virtuous may be
expressed as follows:
(1) The likeness of the soul to God is shown by its pre-existence and
natural immortality.
(2) Gods are good (and act well) because they know the Good.
(3) Souls, like Gods, can know the Good.
(4) Therefore the philosopher-king acts virtuously.
Clearly the important stage— and that which came in for the most
criticism by later thinkers— is the suggestion that in essence the soul
and God have equal or virtually equal potentialities. The natural
immortality of the soul means that man is a kind of god. Hence his
soul, when purified, cannot err. There is always something in the soul
which by nature is acting for the best, and if this is allowed full control,
sin is impossible. The man who has attained to knowledge of the Good
has, in order to achieve such knowledge, put this divine, sinless element
in control, and hence cannot err.
The kinship of man’s soul with God is thus seen as the final source
of morality. If this natural kinship is called in question, it is hard to
see how Plato could guarantee that the virtue which is knowledge
would result in action. Granted the metaphysical principle, however,
we may conclude that Plato held up to the end of his life that for the
philosopher virtue is knowledge, provided that this maxim be given
all the qualifications that we have seen fit to apply to it.
 Chapter Three

THE DISINTEGRATION OF THE

PLATONIC DOCTRINE OF VIRTUE
AND KNOWLEDGE

T
H E equation “ virtue is knowledge” meant for Plato that he
who knows the Good is bound to act in accordance with it. Such
virtue is the highest life for man. It is a life in which there is no
clash between theory and practice, a life in which the philosopher is
at the same time a man of affairs directing his fellows in accordance
with what is good. Y et already in Plato there are elements of dissension
between theory and practice. In the Republic, when Socrates suggests
that the philosopher must go back into the Cave (519D ), it is objected
that this is to condemn him to a life inferior to that of which he is
capable. This objection is brushed aside. Socrates holds that to return
to the Cave is just, and that the Guardians, being just men, will go. Y et
even so they are said to return as to some unpleasant necessity (ώϊ t r ’
όνα-γκαιον). The clash is there. One feels that “ideally” the Guardians
should not have to return; they should spend their lives in contempla­
tion.
Plato resisted the temptation to separate theory from practice in
the lives of his perfect philosophers. Aristotle did not. For him, in the
Nicomachean Ethics, the man of moral virtue and the man of θβωρία
are rather further apart. Moral virtue is described in book two (1106B 36)
as α'έξΐί προαιρβτική, ev μβσότητι οδσα τ$ ττρόί ι)μα$, ώρισμ&γ) λόγψ, /cat cos αν 6
φρόνιμοί opiaeiev. Moral virtueis a disposition; the prudent man (φρόνιμοί)
is the judge of the principle of action. This prudent man, however, is
not the possessor of the highest wisdom. He is not a philosopher; he
is the man who knows the ways of the world. The true philosopher, for
Aristotle as for Plato, is he who attains to likeness to God as far as
man can; who lives in accordance with what is divine in himself
(1177B 30ff.). This life is purely that of the intellect (vodi). Man at
his best is like the God who is defined in the Metaphysics as “ thought
thinking about thought.” There is no time, and indeed no place, here
for the practical, day by day life of affairs. The philosopher is not a
statesman. Hence the question “ Will knowledge of what is good enable
one to act rightly?” hardly arises for the Aristotelian philosopher,
since he has no interest in action, but only in thought. Whether or not
the Protrepticus of Iamblichus contains large sections of Aristotelian
material, a passage of it describes this aspect of the thought of the
Nicomachean Ethics very well: “We must either philosophize, or say
goodbye to life and leave this world, for everything else seems to be
a lot of babble and idle talk.”1
At the end of Book Six of the Nicomachean Ethics we see Aristotle’s
ideal relationship between the statesman (who possesses φρόνηση) and
the philosopher. It is suggested that just as the state looks after the
temples of the gods, but does not, obviously, command the gods them­
selves, so it is the duty of the φρόνιμοί to look after the interests of the
philosopher. The roles allotted by Plato are to be reversed. Instead of
the philosopher being the ruler and arranging affairs as well as possible,
it is now decided that the realm o f θεωρία is too important to be deserted
for the merely mundane, and that it is the duty of experts in the merely
mundane to look after the best interests of their superiors.
In a sense the formula “The highest virtue is knowledge” is apposite
to Aristotle. The sense is that not knowledge, but rather contemplation
of the known is the highest activity of which man is capable. For
Plato, virtue means the knowing (and consequent doing) of what is
good; in Aristotle it means contemplation. Y et the ομοίω ση θεφ motif
has remained. It all depends on the question “With what kind of God
does one wish to attain ο μ ο ίω σ η ?” For Plato it is ομοίω ση with a
God who is good, in whom there is no envy; for Aristotle, the God has
no moral attributes; he is purely intellectual. Hence he has no role to
play in the sphere of the motives of a man’s ethical theory. God for
Aristotle is above mere virtue, for virtue involves doing what is just,
brave, and liberal, and to attribute such things to God is mere mockery
(1I78B ). Again, in 1145A 25ff., we read that the αρετή of God is more
exalted than ordinary αρετή, a statement which in its context can only
mean that the excellence of God is above mere virtue. This excellence
is pure intellect.
Even Aristotle hesitates over this doctrine of intellect. At 1134B
27ff., it is suggested as a possibility that among the Gods there is an
unwavering justice, and 1179A 25ff., admits, at least as a possibility,
that the Gods to some extent watch over human affairs and reward
those who are most like themselves. This may, in fact, be only a
‘Iamb. Prot. 8 (Ross, Fragmenta Set. 42).
concession to popular ways of speaking, but Aristotle not infrequently
makes concessions about the nature of God which diverge from his
formal theory. We can hardly neglect ό θώ$ καί ή φύσις ούδέν μάτην ποκΐ.
The least we can say is that he felt hesitant or uninterested enough
in the m atter to be inconsistent.
The substitution of God for the Good as the highest metaphysical
entity, and the onslaught on the Good as a unity that accompanied
this substitution in Aristotle’s thought (cf. N .E . 1096A 12ff.) contri­
buted further to the weakening of the relationship between virtue and
knowledge as seen by Plato. For knowledge was understood by Plato
as knowledge of the Good, and such knowledge was certainly relevant
to ethics. But since Aristotle’s God is not the Good (for there is no
Good in this sense), he can hardly be relevant in the same way. In
the seventh book of the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle does not ade­
quately face the problem of why a man who is told what is right
should ever feel obliged to act upon his knowledge. His suggestions
for the practical world in which φρόνησή is the chief virtue must all
depend either on the carrying out from force of habit of the so-called
good acts one has been taught from childhood, or on a mere calcula­
tion of what will bring happiness. Why should the Aristotelian who
knows of the theory of moral virtue as a mean be virtuous? Without
the Platonic Good or the Platonic kinship of man with a moral Absolute
become immanent in God, the necessity of good action is gone. Mere
Aristotelians could quite well “ know the better but do the worse,”
since for them human nature has not the natural associations with
goodness that Plato tried to point out. For Aristotle to deny the
Platonic Good would have been satisfactory provided he had substi­
tuted a moral rather than amoral God. This he failed to do, thus
cutting away the fixed principles for an ethical theory which Plato
had provided. Aristotle would not have defended a relativistic view
of conduct, but he attempted to destroy the design of Plato to prevent
it. As the Laws tells us, not man but God is the measure, and man is
akin to God. While maintaining the kinship with God, Aristotle
denies God’s moral role in the universe. The only defence he can offer
is that conduct is strictly not the concern of the man of deoopia. This
is inadequate, for as he himself admits, no man can live wholly “ out”
of the world, and for the philosopher in the world and the ordinary
man at all times, morality needs to be based on a fixed principle.
As far as Aristotle is concerned, we need say no more here. For his
highest man, the Platonic conception of virtue as a combination of
contemplation and action is rather irrelevant, and without this link
the δμοίωσι,τ theory loses its original significance. We must accordingly
pass on to the Stoa, a school which gave practice far more importance
that it had had even in the days of Plato, while it still sometimes used
notions of δμοίωσιτ as a theoretical support.

II

Unlike the Peripatetics, who in the days after Aristotle and Theo­
phrastus devoted most of their energies to natural science or to com­
mentaries on the founder of their school, the Stoics did not seem to
put much emphasis on learning. Their main concern was with ethics,
and in this they claimed to be going back from the over-learned and
academic Plato and Aristotle to a man with whom conduct was all-
important. Y et, although they were justified in some respects in their
attitude to their predecessors, the outlook of Platonic thought affected
them more profoundly than they often cared to admit. W hat Festu-
giere describes as the “ astral religion”2 is influenced greatly by the
Timaeus, and in general we may say that an alleged “return to Soc­
rates” could hardly avoid emphasizing those points which Socrates
and Plato had in common. One of these was the theory of the relation
of virtue to knowledge.
For the Stoics, as we shall see, there was no dichotomy between
theory and practice. In this they attempted to reverse a tendency
begun by Aristotle. Proper theory implied practice; if it did not, it
was mere juggling with words. As time passed, this attitude towards
theory became ever stronger. It can be seen in Seneca,3 and with
Epictetus one sometimes feels that the master has degenerated from
a philosopher into a moralist whose precepts are repeated and taught
by rote.
The contradiction of Aristotelian accounts of virtue begins almost at
the level of pedantry. Aristotle had defined virtue as a the Stoics
objected to this term, for which they substituted διάθεσιτ on the
grounds that a mere admitted of various changes, whereas a διάθβσις
was rigid.4 This attitude is linked, naturally, with their usual doctrine
that virtue once gained cannot be lost.
The second point at which the Stoics corrected Aristotle was over
the question of the unity of the virtues. Plato had, following Socrates,
2Festugi£re, Epicurus 73-89.
8E.g. E p. 71.6.
4Simplicius, in A r. Categ. 8B26. Kalbfleisch ed., 237 {S V F 2.393).
reduced them all to aspects of knowledge of the Good. The Aristo­
telian treatment had not only abolished the notion of a general Good
but had tended to treat each one of the virtues in isolation, as a mean
between extremes. The Stoics wavered a little on this, but their general
view is given by Plutarch. Zeno, he says, held that the four main
virtues are inseparable (άχωρίστουs) but distinct one from another.5
Aristo of Chios, a heretical Stoic, rejected even this slight distinction,
and holding that the virtues were simply knowledge, refused to divide
them. This view was rejected by Chrysippus, though it does not differ
radically from the generally received opinion of the school.6 Chrysippus’
own opinion is not very far from that of Aristo. Stobaeus reports his
definitions of the primary virtues as follows:7 “ φρόνησι$ is knowledge
of what one ought to do, what one ought not to do, and what comes
under neither of these heads, or it is knowledge of the things that are
good and those that are bad and those that are neither good nor bad
for the nature of a political animal; temperance is knowledge of what
should be chosen, what should be avoided and what comes under
neither of these heads; justice is knowledge of what should be distri­
buted to each man, while courage is knowledge of what is to be feared
and what is not to be feared and what is neither to be feared nor not
to be feared.” Thus, despite disputes over the precise formulation of
the doctrine, the Stoics went a considerable way towards restoring the
relationship of virtue and knowledge.
For Plato, we saw that the guarantee that knowledge will produce
right action is that when a man possesses knowledge he is held to be
god-like. God can do no evil, for his nature is purely good. The human
soul when purified is like God, and hence knowledge— that is, real
knowledge— cannot but produce right action. We have now to look
at the Stoics to see whether they understood that the equation of
virtue with knowledge must, to be significant, be coupled with a
doctrine of the potentialities of man.
As Merki has pointed out, the specific notion of δμοίωσις 0e<3 plays
no part in the doctrines of the early Stoa.8 Y et from the very beginning
we find the text τό δμο\οΎουμΐνω$ ζην, which led to similar ideas. Accord­
ing to Stobaeus,9 this meant, in Zeno’s opinion, καθ' tva \6yov καί
σύμφωνον ζην, but Cleanthes interpreted it as meaning τό δμο\οΎουμίνω%

6Plut., Stoic. Repugn. 7. 1034C.

6Cf. Galen, De Plac. Hippocr. et Plat. 7.2.S91M (S V F 3.256).
7Stob. Eel. 2.59. 4W ( S F F 3.262).
8Merki, 'Ο Μ Ο ΙΩ ΣΙΣ 7.
*Stob., Eel. 2.75.2W . Cf. Merki, Ό Μ Ο ΙΩ Σ ΙΣ 8, Pohlenz, Die Stoa 117-118.
τη φνσβι ζην, which meaning was further elaborated by Chrysippus.
It will be immediately evident that “living in agreement with nature”
is a doctrine that implies that “nature” is the real end of life, and that
man is capable of attaining to this highest reality. Such a view bears
strong similarities to the ομοίωσή doctrine and led inevitably to a
synthesis with it.
For Plato, ομοίωσή θβφ means obtaining knowledge of what makes
the Gods divine, namely the Forms and in particular the Form of the
Good. Stoicism would have no truck with Forms or indeed with any
transcendent realm whatever. Their God is immanent in the cosmos,
indeed in a sense is the cosmos itself. Hence for them δμοίωσις θβω
would seem to have meant not knowledge of the Good but knowledge
of Nature or of God. This δμοίωσι$ θβω comes to look remarkably like
το δμόλοΎονμβνως τη φύσβι ζην.
The precise equation of the two expressions and outlooks was prob­
ably made by Posidonius10 and is found in Cicero, Seneca, and
succeeding writers in their accounts of Stoicism. The belief is that if
we live according to nature (as understood by the Stoics) we are
obtaining likeness to nature or God. Provided we know the facts of
nature, we can obtain this δμοίωσιτ. It is within our powers. As Seneca
puts it in the De Const. Sap. (8.2): “ Sapiens autem vicinus proxi­
musque dis constitit, excepta mortalitate similis deo.” We may be
confident of our ability to possess virtue. We are basically like God;
all we have to do is to remember the fact. “ Remembering the gods”
is the path to virtue recommended by Marcus Aurelius (10.8), and he
accompanies this precept with the observation that man should do
man's work; in other words, that man should live δμολοΎουμβνως
τη φνσβι, in accordance with his best nature, which is like the Nature
of God itself.
Such a life will, for the Stoics, lead to a similarity between man and
God which covers all that is important. “ Inter bonos viros et deos
amicitia est conciliante virtute. Amicitia dico? Immo etiam necessitudo
et similitudo, quoniam quidem bonus tempore tantum a deo differt!”
As'in Plato, the difference between philosophers and gods has been
decreased to a minimum. In loving God man is loving his best self and
encouraging the growth of that self. “Time prius et ama deum, ut
ameris ab eo.” (Sen. fr. 5) Stoicism is the path to knowledge; know­
ledge makes the philosopher like God; God (Nature) can only act
rightly. It is therefore not surprising that the motto of Seneca is:
“ Nec philosophia sine virtute est nec sine philosophia virtus.”11 I t is
10Cf. Theilcr, Vorbereitung 106-107. nSen., E p. 89.8.
the role of philosophy to explain the kinship of man with God which
is so necessary as a firm foundation for conduct.
It would surely be out of the question to suggest that a good God
might cease to be good or that Providence might cease to provide.
One might suppose, then, that it would be impossible for the Stoic
sage, once he had obtained δμοίωσις 0e$ and was living in accordance
with nature, to decline from that happy state. When the sage is per­
fected, he cannot do wrong, any more than God can do wrong; he is
the possessor of all the virtues, for his soul, now that it is like God,
must act like God. Y et the Stoics, irrationally, appear to have been
in some doubt about this. Like Plato, who tells us in the Republic
(546ff.) how the ideal state may come to an end, some of the Stoics
believed that virtue can be lost. This problem, which recurred strangely
among the Neoplatonists (cf. Enn. 1.4.9) was disputed by Cleanthes
and Chrysippus.12 The latter held that drunkenness or melancholy
could take away virtue, though why the sage should succumb to either
of these weaknesses must remain mysterious. Cleanthes’ view that
virtue is unable to be lost was, however, that normally held in the
school, and indeed, considering the premises of the system, the only
one with any logical legs to stand on.
A further interesting inconsistency of the system may be noticed.
This is the dispute within the school about survival after death. It
might be supposed that the sage’s soul must be immortal. For Plato,
δμοίωσί$ θβφ was linked with the belief that man’s soul had always
existed and could never die. It would appear logical for the Stoics at
least to have believed that the sage’s soul survived as long as the
cosmos, or indeed as long as any πνεύμα was left in being.
Cleanthes apparently held that all souls survived until the destruc­
tion of the world by fire, while Chrysippus limited this survival to the
souls of the wise.13 Panaetius held that the soul perished at death,14
while Posidonius, under the influence of the Platonic theory of the
tripartition of the soul, believed that το ηΎβμονίκόν rose up to the ether.
Seneca speaks on several occasions of immortality,15 and this is often
put down to his eclecticism, which allowed him to be much influenced
by Plato. Doubtless this is true, but the ομοίωσή theory, if it is to be
consistent, almost demands a belief in the immortality of the soul.
Without immortality, we might suppose the soul and God to be
different in kind; and if different in kind, then the whole theory of
“ Cf. D .L. 7.127 ( S F F 3.237).
18D .L. 7. 157.
14Cf. Cic., Tusc. Disp. 1.32.79. 16Cf. E p. 65.16; 102.22. A d Marciam 25.
conduct based on the power of knowledge to promote action will
crumble.
I t appears again that in the early Stoa there was a difference of
opinion between Zeno and Chrysippus as to the nature of πάθη.16 It
was certainly the view of Chrysippus that πάθη, emotions, are mis­
guided judgments. To correct them is to prevent irrational impulses
from arising in our reason, for virtue is nothing but a διάθεσις τον
•fiyepoviKov. Our emotions are in our own power; we can withhold assent
to them if we wish. The “ bit of theory” is in a sense prior. In the case
of the sage, of course, emotions will be eliminated or the man would
not be a sage at all. The reduction of πάθη to κρίσεις— so often held up
to ridicule— is an over-simplified logical end of the doctrine that virtue
is knowledge, and depends on the theory of man’s nature which
accompanies that doctrine. Emotions are the struggle that arises in a
man who lacks self-control— and self-control is itself a form of
knowledge.
Pure Stoicism had no truck with the aspirant to virtue, and pre­
sumably none with what might be equivalent to Platonic True Opinion.
Men are of two kinds and two only: the wise and the foolish. The wise
man (σοφός) and thegoodman (σπουδαίος) are identical. Although the path
to virtue was recognized even from the time of Zeno,17 the learner was
regarded as a fool until the moment of truth when he was transformed
into a sage. This view is similar to Plato’s in that it sharply marks off
the sheep from the goats, but it differs in that it looks much less
benevolently upon the goats. Compared with the philosopher-king, the
other inhabitants of the Republic must in the Stoic’s eyes be fools, yet
they are not condemned as such by Plato. The Stoics would not have
recognized the Platonic distinction between knowledge and true
opinion. True opinion could only be held by the man who had knowl­
edge, for the rest would be fools with their emotions sadly in control
of their reason. The rejection of Platonic true opinion, except perhaps
in the case of the προκόπτων, who is in any case a fool, reduces the
Platonic tenet “ virtue is knowledge” to a pious hope, for the Stoics
themselves admitted that the sage is as rare as the phoenix. The Stoics
have restored the joint realm of theory and practice denied by Aris­
totle, but the suggestion that virtue is an almost superhuman quality
and has no degrees, since knowledge can only be complete, is a reductio
ad absurdum of the original Socratic tenet.

18Cf. dc Vogel, Greek Philosophy III. 169-170; Pohlenz, Die Stoa 1.143; Galen, De
Plac. 5.1.405ff. ( S V F 3.461); D .L. 7.111; Plut., De Virt. Mor. 3. 441 Bff. (S F F 3 A 5 9 )·
Cic., Tusc. 4.7.14.
17Cf. Plut., De Prof, in Virtute 12.83Aff. (S V F 1.234).
 III

Very little need be said here about Epicureanism, for the school
subordinated virtue to pleasure. It is true that for them the best life
is the life of virtue, for such a life brings pleasure in its train, but it is
pleasure which is the reXos and virtue is only a means to an end.18 It
is also true that Epicurus puts a high value on φρόνησα,19 for this is
the means of distinguishing lasting pleasures from the pleasures of
sense, but in view of the direction of the whole system towards pleasure,
little good is served in examining the relationship of virtue and know­
ledge. We are aware, of course, that the Epicureans only required such
knowledge as would free them from anxieties about the world in
which they lived.20
All that we need notice for the present purpose is that in a sense
Epicurus shared with the philosophers of his time a conception of
όμοίωσα deep. This appears evident from two passages of Philodemus,
one from the De Deorum Victu21 (where we read too of the wise being
the friends of the gods) and the other, discovered as a fragment of
Epicurus by Jensen,22 in the πepi κακιών. Here we see Epicurus in con­
versation with the god Asclepius, who refers to the philosopher as a
man under divine protection. Jensen himself supposed that this passage
was paralleled by one from the letter to Menoeceus (D .L. 10. 124),
but this seems to be incorrect.23 Nevertheless, the two passages from
Philodemus show an element of the doctrine of ομοίωσα even among
the Epicureans. Thus this doctrine appears to have been partially
shared by all the dogmatic schools of the day, and can be used to
buttress theories of the relationship between virtue and knowledge
when they occur. To criticize such theories without taking it into
account is facile.

IV

Albinus as a Representative of Eclectic Platonism

It is worth looking at the doctrine of virtue taught by Albinus, since

his theories on the subject, though of little real interest in themselves,
are of importance as reflecting the general philosophic substratum of

18Cf. D .L. 10.140; Cic., Tusc. 5.26.73.; Plut., Ado. Col. 1117A.
19D .L. 10.132.
S0Cf. D .L . 10.6 ( A d. Pyth.). Cf. Festugi£re, Epicurus 34-35.
21Vol Here. 6. col. 1. 2SJensen, Ein neuer Brief.
**For a full discussion of this point, cf. Schmid, “ Gotter und Menschen,” 97-155.
his age— and indeed of the whole period from Antiochus of Ascalon
to Plotinus.
In the Didaskalikos, Chapter 29, he defines virtue as a δίαθίσα ψυχής
τέΚάα καί βέλτισ τη . An element of this is found in the “Platonic”
Definitions (411Cff.), though it is not to be found in Plato. W itt24 has
suggested that Arius Didymus25 was correct to attribute a similar
definition to Aristotle, but Siaffeacs is not an Aristotelian term in this
context, and the passages quoted by W itt do not seem to prove the
point. W hat is Aristotelian is the suggestion that virtue is a perfection
of nature, which, deriving originally perhaps from Plato, certainly
appears in the Physics and Metaphysics,26 This notion reappears in a
modified form in Stoicism, though the Stoics take great care to point
out that there is little morality in the πρώ τα κατά φΰσiv. Y et Albinus’
version is probably derived from Antiochus, which explains the Stoic
elements both in the word διάθεσις and in the notion of perfection.
Albinus continues his chapter with a discussion of the various kinds
of perfection that are appropriate to the various aspects of the soul.
The perfection of the rational part is φρόνησis, that of the spirited
element is courage, and that of the appetitive temperance. This divi­
sion of “perfections” is important, and though W itt27 is able to find
good Platonic ancestry for some parts of it, it involves a basic conflict
with the view that virtue is knowledge.
We have already discussed how far Plato’s theory of the tripartite
soul involves a strong emphasis28 on the divisions. The Timaeus, which
locates the rational soul apart from the appetitive and spirited, appears
to emphasize the division, but the evidence is not necessarily con­
clusive. For our purposes we may limit the discussion to the philo­
sopher-king. This man, in so far as he has a grasp of the Forms, is akin
to the Gods. He has attained ομοίωσις θβω. Y et even the Gods, as we
remember from the Phaedrus (246A), have souls which can be likened
to a charioteer and two horses. In their case, both the horses are good
and work in accordance with the charioteer’s directions. With wise
men the position is similar. Their characters have different aspects,
but their knowledge of the Good prevents them from being composite
and hence liable to destruction. It appears almost certain that Plato,
despite his theory of the tripartite soul, held that the souls of philo­
sophers are primarily simple. Since they are primarily simple, their
virtue, too, is one, and this is catered for by the metaphysical doctrine
24W itt, Albinus 89. 25Cf. Stob. Eel. 2.50-51.
i6Phys. 7.3.246A 13-17; Met. 4.1021B 20. Cf. Plato, Laches 190B ; Rep. 353B.
27W itt, Albinus 89. 28Cf. Part One, pp. 105-108.
of the Good. Y et all the talk, in Book Four of the Republic and else­
where, about subsidiary virtues, about a “mean,” or about harmony
and ορθή δόξα apparently distracted the Platonists. In Albinus we see
the definition of virtue, apparently even the virtue of the philosopher,
broken up into segments, among which only φρόνησις seems to have
much to do with knowledge of the Good, and even here Albinus speaks
rather of knowledge of goods and evils.
Let us look briefly at some of the Albinian definitions.29 Φρόνησή is
described as επιστήμη αγαθών και κακών καί ουδέτερων. The καί ουδετέρων
is not Platonic, nor does it occur in the Definitions. W itt compares it
with the view of Antiochus, and it occurs in a passage of Stobaeus
dating back to Chrysippus, which we have already noticed.30 Φρόνησιs
is thus concerned with knowledge of “goods” and “evils.” We seem to
have reverted from the Form of the Good to particular goods. W itt
points out that the treatment of σωφροσύνη is akin to that of Antiochus—
thus inevitably eclectic— while that of ανδρία , taken from the Republic,
became similarly quite widely received. Neither σωφροσύνη nor ανδρία
is defined in terms of knowledge of the Good. The account of Justice
is Platonic, but depends on Book Four of the Republic rather than on
the metaphysical section. Admittedly ανδρία is a form of knowledge;
it is the preserving of a δόγμα έννομον and of an ορθόs Xoyos. I t cannot
arise without φρόνησίί, which is knowledge of goods and evils. Y et the
idea of preserving a “dogma” implies the loss of the theory that true
knowledge is an infallible guide to right action. For Plato, true know­
ledge would be eternal; there would be no need to emphasize the
preserving of it, for once possessed it could hardly be lost. W hat could
be lost, however, is courage based on a δόξα, for it is a perpetual theme
that δόξαι are unstable.
Knowledge, as Plato sees it, is the state of God, and God can hardly
lose his divinity! Y et despite Albinus’ fragmentation of the virtues and
his emphasis on the non-metaphysical varieties which Plato held to be
only second-best, we must not forget that he still retains the doctrine
of όμοίωσις θεφ as the end of life. At the end of Chapter 27, he expounds
the orthodox Platonic doctrine of “human” and “ divine” goods and
explains the good fortune of the man who possesses the latter, while at
the beginning of the next chapter he recalls the consequence drawn
by Plato, that man’s aim must be όμοίωσιs θεφ. This doctrine, which
we have seen appearing to a greater or less extent among Aristotelians,
Stoics, and Epicureans, was not neglected by the Platonists. It appears
™Didask. 29.
8«Stob. E d . 2.59.4W ( S F F 3.262). Cf. Dyroff, Ethik 82.
in the anonymous commentator on the Theaetetus as well as in Albinus.
In a sense its occurrence marks little more than a reflection of the gen­
eral feeling of the age. W hat is more, a genuinely Platonic doctrine of
ομοίωσή would appear to conflict with the fragmentation of the virtues
which has been discussed above. It is true that Albinus adds the
Platonic proviso that ομοίωσή can only be achieved κατά τό δυνατόν. Y et
this limitation probably had little meaning for him, except in terms
of man’s being unable immediately to surmount the obstacle of
physical death.
It has been pointed out again and again that for the true Platonist
the virtue that is knowledge involves a complex of theory and practice.
Albinus, as is well known, is an eclectic. His Platonism is much
influenced by Aristotle and, through the medium of Antiochus in
particular, by Stoicism. It is to an Aristotelian element that we must
revert before leaving him: the emphatic contrasting, to which W itt31
rightly draws attention, of 0€ωρία with ττραξις, and the belief in the
superiority of the former to the latter. In this belief we can see part
of the reason why the individual virtues are in general not closely
associated with the Idea of the Good. Only the intellectual virtues are
truly worthy of the philosopher. Man as a being like to God has been
reduced to Mind, and one might almost say that only mental activities
are truly virtuous. Albinus does not see why or how this is unplatonic.
Ό μοίω σί$ θβω for him means likeness to the Aristotelian God, not to
those Gods of Plato who are active and full of a goodness which is by
its very nature creative. A philosopher who put an Aristotelian vovs at
the head of his system could not, despite all his protestations, remain
true to the Platonic equation of Virtue with Knowledge.
8lW itt, Albinus 8.
 Chapter Four

PLOTINUS AND VIRTUE

T . Augustine said that in Plotinus Plato lived again.1 We must

S now consider how far this is true in regard to theories about the
nature and importance of virtue and its relation to knowledge.
It should be observed from the outset that the word επιστήμη is not
common in the Plotinian corpus. Brehier’s index to the Enneads gives
only three examples of its use. While this fact alone is inadequate to
prove anything, it is yet a certain indication that, compared with
Plato, Plotinus finds επιστήμη of less interest. His normal word for
knowledge is yvcbais, which better emphasizes what is intuitive than
what is rational in the process. However, this difference may be only
a matter of words. Plato, as much as Plotinus, valued intuitive know­
ledge, the “seeing” with the eye of the soul, which is a constant theme
in his works.2 If either of them was negligent of some aspect of knowing,
it was rather Plotinus, who concentrated too much on the intuitive.
But this subject must be deferred for the present.
We recall the Platonic distinction between civic and philosophic
virtue, and note that it is emphasized frequently by Plotinus.3 In
1.2.1 it is pointed out that the Civic Virtues cannot exist in the world
of Nous since they concern the relation of the lower parts of the soul
to the higher, and the question is raised whether they can therefore be
of any real help in attaining to όμοίωσις θε§. The answer given in the
next section is that even these lesser virtues bear with them a certain
trace of the higher Good. They are therefore useful and can be satisfy­
ing to such an extent as even to mislead men into supposing that it is
possible, while still within the hypostasis of Soul, to see God in his
entirety. This is a delusion, but the civic virtues are useful neverthe­
less, although, as 1.2.3. points out, their essence cannot be properly

JSt. Augustine, Contra Academicos 3.18.

2Cf. Soph. 2S4A, etc.
3It should not be forgotten that Plotinus equates the Platonic πολιτική αρετή
with Aristotle’s ήθική δ,ρετή, and Plato’s καθαρτική (higher) with Aristotle’s
θεωρητική. Cf. W. Theiler, Review of Schissel’s Marinos von Neapolis und die neupla-
tonischen Tugendgrade, Gnomon 5(1929)312.
understood save by the man whose virtue is on an altogether different
level. In this chapter, civic virtue is distinguished from virtue seen as
the attaining of likeness to God and is said to be insufficient to achieve
that end. Indeed in 5.9.1 it is shown to be a possible hindrance to the
attainment of ομοίωσα, since it offers a lesser good which can too easily
be accepted for a greater. As Plotinus says: “Others have raised them­
selves a little from things below, under the urge of the better part of
their soul, which moves them from the pleasant to the more noble,
but have not had the power to see what is above, and thus not having
anywhere to stand firmly have been carried down— and taken the
name of virtue with them— to actions and choices among what is
below, from which at first they tried to raise themselves.” Civic virtues
are lesser perfections, and like others of their kind are valuable so long
as they do not distract the mind from those which are superior.
It is inevitable that civic virtue should concern itself with action.
Its very name implies that it is the concern of men in society. To
understand its importance or unimportance in the Plotinian system
more clearly, it is necessary to consider the role of action in the
Plotinian philosophy as a whole. This is expressed in the clearest terms
in Enn. 3.8.4, where we read: “ In the same way, human beings, when
they are weak in respect of contemplation, make for themselves in
action a shadow of contemplation and reasoning. Because their soul is
weak and inadequate for contemplation, because they are unable to
grasp the vision properly and are therefore left unsatisfied, though
[still] desirous of seeing it, they are carried off into action in order that
they may see what they could not see by intellection.” A little further
on, we find that π ρ α ξ α or π ο ίη σ α is either an enfeebling (ασθένεια) o f
contemplation or its “ accompaniment” ( παρακολούθημα ).4 The chapter
is rounded off with the remark that the relation of contemplation to
action can be seen from the fact that those children who are incapable
of μαθήσεις καί θεωρίας take up crafts and manual work. The whole
position is summed up by the opening of 3.8.6: ή apa π ρ α ξ α ένεκα
θεωρίας καί θεωρήματος. Those whose life is given up to action are com­
pelled to achieve by a more indirect route the end which for the
philosopher can be directly attained by contemplation.
It will be clear that Plotinus has little time for the return to the
Cave. Contemplation leading to ομοίωσα θε$ is the only important end
for the philosopher. Earlier it appeared that this stress on θεωρία was
an Aristotelian element in Albinus. Plotinus has taken it up and
fathered it on Plato. He considers all action a feeble attempt to achieve
4Cf. Trouillard, La Procession plotinienne 29.
the end of contemplation. Hence virtue, understood, as Plato under­
stood it, to include the philosopher’s attempt to bring about the good
life in the rest of the human race, is impossible. Virtue is contempla­
tion, and contemplation is the source of creativity in Plotinus’ thought.
Hence virtue will have its effect on the world, but as a by-product and
on a cosmic scale. As Father Cilento has expressed it,5 Plotinus equates
θεωρία with π ο ίη σ η , and the equation enables him to diminish the
importance of both π ο ίη σ η and π ρ ά ξ η in their more normal sense.
θεωρία is the kind of π ο ίησ η which enables man to share in the creativity
of God. Compared with this, the management of merely human
society seems trivial.
Among the Greeks, perhaps the greatest exemplar of noble action in
the world— action leading to apotheosis— was Heracles. Even Plotinus
cannot deny (E n n . 1.1.12) this superhuman service, but he makes a
point of saying that Heracles’ heroism was shown in practical affairs,
not in contemplation, and that the result is that he is not entirely in
heaven, for although he himself is among the gods, his shade remains
in the Underworld. Because of his καλοκάγαθα Heracles was worthy to
be a god, but he took only the second-best way of attaining this end.
This is parallel to what we have seen in 1.2.1, where it is only in such
a grudging sense that civic virtue is admitted to lead to ομοίω ση.
In view of all this, what is one to make of Plotinus’ scheme to found
a city to be named Platonopolis and governed in accordance with
Plato’s Laws? Many suggestions have been made about this. Brehier6
speaks of a city-state “devenue couvent,” Harder7 of “eine Art
heidnischer Klosterwirtschaft,” and K atz8 of a “philosophical school.”
All these suggestions contain elements of truth, but the objection is:
Why did Plotinus think it necessary, if he was interested in monasteries
or philosophical schools, to found not a school but a city? The first
part of this essay offers a strong reason for Plotinus’ abandoning his
normal preference for θεωρία over political activities, namely his desire
to carry out the intentions of his revered master Plato. Given the
opportunity, Plato would certainly not have limited himself to found­
ing a school or monastery. The second would have been out of the
question; the first was carried out in the form of the Academy, but
even this establishment did not prevent its founder from making
attempts to construct a philosophic state at Syracuse. Nor should we

6Cilento, “ La Contemplazione,” 206.

‘ Brehicr, Enneades 1.13.
7Harder, “ Zur Biographie Plotins,” 286. Cf. Entretiens Hardt (1960) 321.
8Katz, Plotinus' Search 72.
forget that the highly practical Laws was the last work of Plato’s old
age, written many years after the foundation of the Academy.
In Chapter 12 of Porphyry’s Life of Plotinus, which is the only
evidence available for the scheme to found Platonopolis, the whole
project is described with tantalizing brevity. Porphyry believes that
it was the spiteful objections of some of the court circle which caused
Gallienus to have the scheme shelved. Be that as it may, the emperor
finally rejected the proposal. We may ask what were the underlying
reasons for this decision, and the answer will show us more about the
project itself. Had Platonopolis been intended merely as a monastery,
it is hard to see what objections could have been raised, and certainly
there would have been none to a philosophical school. But had Plotinus
hoped to found a city, the city would have had to be peopled and a
reasonable amount of land given over to it. Land at this time was
abundant, and Plotinus’ city would have helped repopulate a desolate
area. But who would have been the citizens? The only people available
for land-settlements were veterans, troops largely drawn from the
Balkans, whose mutinous demands were a continual menace to the
Empire. These were men whose wishes were catered for as far as
possible, and it is hard to imagine them choosing to live in a city
governed by a group of philosophers in accordance with Plato’s Laws,
for these Laws would certainly have put Plotinus and his friends in
office. To this it may be objected that a school or monastery would not
need many additional citizens— but as we have said, a school or mon­
astery would hardly have been rejected by the Emperor. In any case,
Porphyry’s words, νόμοις χρησθαι τους κατοικύν μέλλοντας τοΐς ΠλάτωΐΌϊ
καί την ττροσηΎορίαν αυτή ΐΐλατωνόττολιν θβσθαι, βκβΐ re αυτός μβτά των
έταίρων αναχώρησήν υτασχνάτο, hardly imply that Plotinus and his
school would have been the majority of the inhabitants.
It being accepted, then, that Platonopolis was to be a city-state,
the question arises as to what was to be the role of the philosophers.
Had Plotinus given up all chance of permanent θβωρία in favour of the
administration of a city? Was he preparing to go back into the Cave?
This seems unlikely. It is more credible that just as Plotinus’ general
thought contains a mixture of Platonic and Aristotelian elements, so
does his concept of a city. In the Nicomachean Ethics, we remember,
the relation in the best state between the φρόνιμοι and the σοφοί is that
the former run the state for the benefit of the latter, though these
latter are their acknowledged superiors. It seems that in the case of
Platonopolis the state was to exist for the sake of the school, admittedly
an unplatonic notion, though the only one possible for a man so com-
mitted to θβωρία as Plotinus. There is no doubt that this concept of the
state clashes with the ideal of a city ruled in accordance with Plato’s
Laws, yet it seems the only solution. Perhaps Gallienus saw the clash
between Platonic and Aristotelian political theory more realistically
than Plotinus. If Plotinus would not return to the Cave for the benefit
of the Pannonian veterans, would they have acknowledged that the
interests of the school were superior to their own?
We may conclude this survey of contemplation and action in the
thought of Plotinus with the clear statement that contemplation alone
is worthy of the philosopher, and that contemplation is itself a kind
of action— the higher and only valid kind. If we then wish to ask about
the attitude of Plotinus to Plato’s belief that knowledge in the full
sense of the word implies action, since it makes the soul like God, these
are the terms in which we must discuss the matter. Plotinus shows in
at least one passage (E n n . 1.2.4) that he accepts the motivating force
of knowledge. If a man does not act in accordance with the knowledge
he has, this knowledge is alien to him (aXXorptos). He has not fully
taken it into his soul. This is one of the few passages where the word
€πιστήμη occurs in the Enneads. Plotinus is almost certainly not think­
ing of any of the more elevated (in the Platonic sense) kinds of know­
ledge, not of knowledge of the Forms or of the Good, but knowledge
of particular crafts. In such cases action and theory go hand in hand,
or the theory is aXXorptos. Similarly with knowledge of universals,
which Plotinus would more generally refer to as yv&ais, such knowledge
would only go hand in hand with the “higher action,” which is, as we
have recalled, a sharing in the creativity of God. Y et just as for Plato
the truly moral action must be linked with true knowledge, so for
Plotinus the “ higher action” is inextricably linked with contemplation.
The connection between contemplation and creation is familiar to
every reader of Plotinus and has been discussed so frequently by the
commentators that there is no need to examine it again here.
Wisdom and dialectic are shown in Ennead 1.3.6 to be the link
between the “natural” virtues— by this is presumably meant the civic
virtues we have discussed above— and the perfect virtues of the
philosopher. The natural virtues are here said to be imperfect, and
one of the reasons for this imperfection is certainly that they are not
closely associated with wisdom. When wisdom comes, the process of
transforming them into their higher counterparts has begun. Hence
we have some form of that relationship between virtue and knowledge
(seen as dialectic) which we have discussed in Plato. The next stage
is for us to notice what the “higher virtues” are.
 The first claimant to the title “higher virtue” to appear in Plotinus’
treatise on the virtues (E n n . 1.2) is purification. At the beginning of
1.2.4 Plotinus asks whether purification is the same as virtue or
whether virtue merely follows upon purification. He decides in favour
of the latter, though insisting that the former is the essential cause of
virtue’s being brought into existence. Finally he says that the good
for the soul, and therefore the virtue of the soul, is to be found in its
association with what is akin (τό avyyeves) — an obvious echo of the
Phaedo (79D E). It is then in accordance with this attaining of likeness
that all the higher virtues exist. In 1.2.6, wisdom and understanding
(φρόνησή) consist in the contemplation of the contents of the hypo­
stasis of Mind; justice is τό evepyeiv προς νουν, σωφροσύνη is an inward
bending towards vovs; courage is being impassive in the likeness of that
(i.e., vovs) towards which the soul looks. It is evident at once that all
the higher virtues are thus defined as mental states which have no
necessary connection with action in the normally understood sense
of the word.
This conclusion is repeated in Ennead 1.4.2, where virtue is defined
as the perfection of reasoning, and in 6.3.16, where again the higher
virtues are marked off from the practical virtues by their leading of
the soul up to higher things and out of the sphere of action. We shall
now take it as proven.
We have observed the higher virtues and the lower. We have
noticed how dialectic and wisdom are said to raise the soul from the
latter to the former. We might assume, therefore, that the distinction
between knowledge and true opinion, so important for Plato, would
recur in Plotinus, and that true opinion would be confined to the
practical life, as in Plato it is confined to the world of particulars. This
is in fact the case. Perhaps it is expressed most clearly in Ennead
5.9.7. In the reasoning soul, says Plotinus, there are two kinds of
επιστήμη, although one of them, namely that which deals with particu­
lars, hardly deserves the title επιστήμη and should rather be called
opinion.
< < * * >>

A second interesting passage occurs in 3.6.2. Here Plotinus first

adopts a suggestion of the Phaedo (93E) that virtue— he means prac­
tical virtue— is a harmony. Admitting this, he goes on to point out
that the harmony of the whole soul must depend on the harmony of
its faculties. He continues that in the case of the reasoning faculty this
harmony can very easily be upset by the intrusion of false opinions.
It is these false opinions which are the chief cause of vice. Behind this
latter remark is all the Platonic fear of the impossibility of testing
whether an opinion qua opinion is true or false. Opinions are άλογοι.
 Plotinus, then, has refined the Platonic position one stage further.
For Plato (at the time of the Republic), knowledge is of the Forms.
It is the only infallible guide to action, and action is necessary. Such
knowledge is in a sense itself a virtue. Plotinus tacitly corrects this
view. He holds that knowledge properly speaking (perhaps he would
normally use the word yv&ais here) is of the world of Nous, and is
associated with the higher virtues of contemplation and the higher
action of creation. The practical virtues will then be the products of
the right education and of ορθή δόξα. For Plato, the same good act done
by a philosopher and a non-philosopher can be called in the former
case an act of higher virtue, and in the latter an act of civic virtue.
For Plotinus, the higher virtues do not lead men back into the Cave,
but out of the Cave for ever into a higher sphere.
We have already spoken of the “higher action” and “higher virtue”
of the Plotinian philosopher. It has been seen in what sense “ virtue
is knowledge” is intelligible in Plotinian terms. It is translated into
“ contemplation of the Divine mind is the higher action or virtue.”
When treating of Plato, we noticed that it is because the soul of the
philosopher-king becomes like that of God, who can do no wrong, that
there is a guarantee that the philosopher-king will not, like Phaedra,
know the better course but follow the worse. Similarly, in Plotinus we
have met the notion of the kinship of the soul to god, and we must
expand our earlier remarks by a discussion of the Plotinian idea that
even during a man’s unreformed life on earth, even if he is not a
philosopher, some part— indeed the essential part— of his soul remains
“ above” in the realm of Nous.
This notion of the unsullied spark within us is already in Plato. In
the Republic (611 CD) we read of the soul’s likeness to the sea-god
Glaucus, who by living in the ocean has been mangled and deformed
by the action of the water and by the seaweed and other such debris
which clings to his body. Like the soul entangled in the body, Glaucus’
original nature— that of a God— is not easy to see, yet it is continually
present all the same. Similarly for Plotinus, despite the general pre­
occupation of even the best of men with things of the body, even in
the worst of men the divine part remains intact. This doctrine is as
necessary for Plotinus as for Plato, with respect to the doctrine of the
higher virtue. It is because of the innate divinity of man that he can
attain to the higher virtue without external assistance. This theory
was attacked by the Christian apologists, but is, as we shall see,
essential to any validly Platonic ethic. Its abandonment is fatal unless
drastic changes are made in the whole Platonic outlook. For Plato, it
is the guarantee that the man who knows the Good will act for the
best; for Plotinus, it is the prerequisite of any kind of “higher action.”
Furthermore, as we have seen in our brief glance at various non-
Platonic systems, it was a doctrine shared in some form by all the
leading schools of antiquity, a vital part of the Weltanschauung which
could not be abandoned without a permanent and irremediable weaken­
ing of the structure as a whole. Let us therefore look at the doctrine
as it is taught by Plotinus.
There are two passages in which the theory of the undescended part
of the soul is taught most precisely: 4.8.8 and 5.1.10. In the former,
we find Plotinus admitting that other philosophers do not by any
means agree with him on this point— though we have seen that to
deny it altogether must have meant either illogicality, which was the
more usual result, or a transformation of the system. Be that as it
may, it is here the opinion of Plotinus that our whole soul has not
descended (ού τασα ίδυ) but that some part of it remains in the in­
telligible world. Individual souls, he continues, are in general taken
up with the distractions produced by sensation, and this blinds them
to that upper part of themselves which is constantly rapt in con­
templation. This part is unattracted by transitory pleasures and
maintains a smooth, contented, and unchanging tenor of life in the
world of pure intellect. In 5.1.10 the same idea is repeated as follows:
“Therefore our own soul too is a divine thing, and belongs to another
order [than sense], as is everything that is of the nature of soul. But
[above] there is perfected soul which contains intellect, both the in­
tellect which reasons and that which gives the power to reason. This
reasoning part of the soul (τό λο'γι.ζόμβνον) needs no bodily organ for its
reasoning, but it maintains its activity in purity in order that its
reasoning may be pure. We should not be in error if we placed it
within the first intelligible world as separate (χωριστόν) and unmixed.”
Dean Inge remarks of this passage that “ Plotinus tries to father his
doctrine on Plato.” 9 I cannot understand this comment. There can be
no doubt after the preceding discussion that the doctrine is essentially
Platonic. In the sentence before that just translated from Enn. 5.1.10,
Plotinus quotes Plato on the subject of “ the inner man,”10 and the
“divine spark” theory of the soul has already appeared a necessary
concomitant of the doctrine of όμοίωσι* 0ec3. Not only could Plotinus
have found his doctrine in some form in Plato; he could have reinforced
it from Aristotle. It is not impossible that the separable element of the
soul is in part a descendant of the vovs χωριστό* of the third book of the
•Inge, Plotinus 1,262.
™Rep. 589AB.
De Anima (Ch. 5). At any rate, the “inner man” occurs prominently
in the tenth book of the Nicomachean Ethics (1178A)— and, it should
be noticed, in a passage which is full of Platonic echoes and refers
explicitly to the attaining of likeness to God.11
It would seem that no intelligible doctrine of the natural immortality
of the soul could be free of this “ divine spark” theory, and without the
doctrine of natural immortality a Platonic attainment of ομοίωσή θβω
is impossible. And if this is impossible, as we have seen, all basis for
the assumption that the man who knows the Good will act rightly
disappears. On these grounds, Plotinus was right— as against the
“general view” he dismisses in 5.1.10— to insist that the soul does not
wholly descend. He might further have added that to assert the descent
of the soul was to deny the possibility of ascent— a possibility he knew
from experience to be real.
It has recently been suggested by Himmerich12 that even the highest
part of the soul could be affected by ignorance. In Enn. 3.6.2, the
passage he quotes in support of this idea, we read that τό λογιστικόv is
what is marred by ignorance. In view of what has already been said,
we should be hesitant about accepting this as referring to that part of
the soul which does not descend. Armstrong13 has pointed out that
τό λογιστικοί' is here probably identical with the “ discursive-rational
part which in 2.9.2 Plotinus calls τό μέσοι»,” the part which is concerned
not with intuition but with the dialectical prelude to intuition, the
part which in 2.9. is distinguished from that which always remains
above. In Enn. 1.1.7, Plotinus distinguishes διάι>οιαι from δόξαι and
i>οήσεις. ΔιάΐΌΐαι are probably the functionings of that middle part of
the soul that is tied to the earth, while νοήσεις are the sphere of what
cannot descend. Himmerich’s attitude implies that νόησις is the func­
tioning of the λογιστικοί» of 3.6.2 qua λογιστικοί». But it is rather the
culmination of the dialectical process. This being so, Himmerich’s
attempt to moderate the Plotinian doctrine of the undescended part
of the soul must be judged a failure.
For those who declare that the whole soul descends, the only hope
rests in some kind of doctrine of salvation produced or given by
external powers. We have already said something of Plotinus’ attitude
to such doctrines and will return to the topic later. We may profit
first, however, from a consideration of the attitude taken up by certain
of those who believed in salvation towards the Platonic-Plotinian
»C f. N .E . 1166A 15ff., 1169A 2-3.
12Himmerich, Lehre des Plotins 126.
13Armstrong, Review of Himmerich, Lehre des Plotins, Gnomon 36 (1960) 319-320.
theory of the “ divine spark” which does not descend. To this doctrine
these persons were vigorously opposed, though perhaps they did not
realize that in attacking it they were pulling down not only the
Platonic theology and theory of man, but the theory of conduct as
well. It may be objected that the Christian apologists, a few of whose
remarks we shall consider, were aiming specifically at the doctrine of
the natural immortality of the soul and not specifically at the question
of the descent of the soul, but we should remember that if the soul is
regarded as wholly descended, as it was by Iamblichus and Proclus,
its cosmic status cannot but be affected. A natural immortal can
hardly logically “ wholly descend.” The acceptance of a complete
descent is the thin end of the wedge which will introduce the abandon­
ment of belief in the natural immortality of the soul. Hence it is
relevant at this point to discuss attacks on this immortality.
Perhaps the fiercest critic of the Platonic viewpoint was Justin. In
the opening chapters (4-6) of his discussion with Trypho, he relates
how his meeting with a venerable old man caused him to see the
fallacies in the Platonism to which he had previously been committed.
The chief of these fallacies, in the view of the Christian, is that the
natural immortality of the soul leads to the abandonment of mono­
theism, since souls too are thus deified. The soul is not life itself, but
rather it has life. If it were life, it would have the power of producing
life in other things, just as movement has the power of creating
movement in other things rather than in itself (Ch. 6). No, in contra­
diction of the views of the Platonists, the soul is created, as the world
is created, and is similarly liable to death. The soul only partakes of
life when God wishes it to live. It is wholly inferior to God and wholly
dependent on him. If it were immortal and uncreated, it could not sin
( οΰτ’ άν βξημάρτανον) nor (a reductio ad absurdum) could it migrate of
its own choice into an animal body. Hence it follows that the so-called
kinship of the soul with God is, understood Platonically, an illusion
(Ch. 4). Justin’s interlocutor queries both the kinship of the soul with
God and the success likely to attend a search for God under the
guidance of Platonic Eros, without the help of the Holy Spirit.
In his Oration to the Greeks (1.13), Justin’s pupil Tatianus takes up
the same theme, though a somewhat more Platonic line appears in his
speculations. Tatian begins with the emphatic exclamation: Owe ecTLV
αθάνατοί, avdpes 'Έλληνβί, ή ψνχή καθ’ έαυτήν, θνητή δέ. Immortality is
not a natural possession of the soul, but this is fated to perish with the
body “unless it knows the truth.” Y et Tatian continues with some
rather more Platonic remarks about the Holy Spirit’s being present in
the good. The Spirit originally appears to be God, but it becomes clear
that Tatian is thinking rather of the “ divine spark” which is originally
present in the soul but often finds its habitat uncongenial. Not only
that, but this Divine Spirit is not present in the whole of mankind,
but only in a certain number of those who live aright. It seems that
we may say of this passage as a whole that Tatian tries to deny the
natural immortality of the soul, but sees no hope that men, without
a divine spark, will attain the vision of God. Thus Platonism (perhaps
via the Gnostics) has returned at the back door.
The next source to be considered is Tertullian. Tertullian, as is well
known, believed that there must be a great gulf fixed between philos­
ophy and Christianity. Athens and Jerusalem are incompatible. A less
famous, but equally typical outburst is the following from the Apolo-
geticus (Ch. 46): Quid adeo simile philosophus et Christianus, Graeciae
discipulus et caeli, famae negotiator et salutis, verborum et factorum
operator, rerum aedificator et destructor, interpolator erroris et in­
tegrator veritatis, furator eius et custos?” This onslaught, though not
unparalleled among the Christian apologists,14 marks a more deter­
mined opponent of philosophy in Tertullian than in many of his
fellows. Tertullian was particularly uncompromising towards Pla­
tonism. Chapter 23 of his De Anima contains the words: “ Doleo
bona fide Platonem omnium hereticorum condimentarium factum.”
His objections to Plato, both here and elsewhere, centre on Plato’s
views on the nature of the soul, in particular on his belief in the kinship
of a “divine spark” within the soul to God. In Chapter 24, Tertullian
declares that the soul could not forget the Forms (and hence needs the
help of ανάμνησή to attain to knowledge) if it were constituted in the
manner described by Plato, for “illi concessit divinitatem, ut deo
adaequetur.” Christians, says Tertullian, place the soul far below the
level of God.
In his edition of the De Anima, Waszink15 pionts out that Tertul-
lian’s view on this point is unlikely to have been influenced by the
Greek apologists (Justin, Tatian, etc.), and this makes his testimony
especially valuable, since we thus see a universal Christian opposition
to the view of the “philosophers.” It is well known that Tertullian
regarded the soul as material, on lines that are Stoic rather than Pla­
tonic. In Chapter 27 he tells us that the soul and the body are born
at the same time— the implication being that, barring the action of
Divine Grace, they will die at the same time. The extreme position of
I4 Cf. Justin, Dial. 1.3.16.
n De Anim a, ed. Waszink (Amsterdam 1947) 309.
the materiality of the soul is in conscious opposition to Gnostics and
heretics like Tatian who, as we have seen, maintained the existence
of a divine spark in the soul even while accepting the normal Christian
denial of natural immortality. In Chapter 11, the whole notion of a
spiritale semen is rejected as heretical. The context here is a reference
to those Gnostics who spoke of the aeon Sophia, but the remark has
a wider application and is valid for Tertullian against all Platonic or
Platonically-influenced theories of the soul.
The above passages will suffice to show that the Christian opposition
to the essential Platonic doctrine of a divine part of the soul which does
not descend was strong, but that the seductions of quasi-Platonic
positions were great. Tatian’s acceptance of the “ divine spark” theory
arose because he failed to see how, without such an element in its
constitution, the soul could ever be saved. In Platonic terms, this is
expressed by saying that it appeared doubtful how, if the soul had no
natural divinity, it could ever attain ομοίωσή — the necessary
guarantee of the good life.
W hat then, we may ask, are the prerequisites for the good life? For
Plotinus, it is effort and love of one’s spiritual home which alone will
lead to the attainment of happiness. This is the legitimate result of his
doctrine of the inherent divinity of the “higher soul.” As against the
Christians, who insisted that without Divine Grace the salvation of
man is not possible, Plotinus put the onus on man alone. Man needs
no additional “grace,” since the soul is capable of “saving” itself if it
undergoes the proper purifications. To demand a saviour is to demand
that Gods or beings higher than man take up a life which is human
rather than divine, corporeal rather than spiritual.
Before dismissing this point, we should observe again that the
Plotinian position is not only unchristian16 but also unplatonic. Plato
requires his philosopher-kings to go back into the Cave, to become in
a sense the saviours of mankind, to live a life apparently worse than
that of which they are capable. We recall how in the Republic (519D 8),
Glaucon, objecting to Socrates’ insistence that the philosopher return
to the Cave, says: “Then shall we do them an injustice and make them
live a worse life when they have the possibility of a better?” These
words could almost have been uttered by Plotinus. Plato’s answer to
them, however, is: “ You have forgotten that the law is not concerned
to bring it about that any one class live well, but that well-being be
engendered in the whole city.” In Plato’s view, Glaucon is under a
delusion, for he thinks that the life of pure contemplation is the best
18 Cf. Trouillard, La Purification plotinienne 200-203.
possible life, whereas the true contemplative knows that the purpose
of such a life is to help one’s fellows, for by doing so one shares in the
active goodness of God and in his work of bringing order out of chaos.
Plotinus, in his turn, thinks that Plato himself has missed the point.
Certainly, he agrees, the philosopher should be sharing in the work of
God, for he possesses likeness to him, but the creativity of the philo­
sopher is best shown not in arranging the petty everyday concerns of
the state, but in the higher action of contemplation, that action which
is eternally the source and spring of being in the universe.
Finally, before leaving this matter of salvation, there is an important
point to be recalled. This is that the impulse to raise oneself back to
one’s spiritual home is, admittedly, a part of human nature, but it is
also, along with the rest of that nature, itself the result of the exuberant
expansiveness of the One. The power to return to higher realms is
itself the “gift” of the procession from the One. Armstrong17 has
rightly selected a sentence from Enn. 6.7.31 to express this aspect of
the Plotinian position. Plotinus writes here that “ the soul loves the
Good because it has been moved by it to love from the beginning.”
Thus the inherent power to save oneself is given to man in the nature
of things, and once given it can always be used if man is prepared to
make the effort. Man’s existence is always supported by the power of
emanation from the One, and the support is adequate for salvation.
The One is always turned towards mankind; mankind has only to
turn to the One.
We have digressed a little to discuss salvation. It is time now to
return to the question of virtues. We have already seen that the higher
virtues are to be regarded as purifications leading to ομοίωσή QeQ. The
Oe&s here is originally understood (as in Enn. 1.2.1) as “ the soul of the
cosmos and the ruling principle within it, which possesses a wonderful
wisdom” (φρόνησή). This ruling principle is certainly NoOs. Therefore
we might suppose that since we must attain όμοίωσι* θεφ and perfect
ourselves in virtue, the World of Intelligence also must be virtuous.
This Plotinus explicitly denies (1.2.1) by a series of arguments, some
of which are rather strange. First he asks whether, if a fire warms
something, that fire must itself be warmed by another fire. To this
analogy, however, he recognizes objections, especially that which
would state that the fire does not need to be warmed by another fire
since its own nature is already such as to be warm, and must be so.
17 Cf. Armstrong, “ Salvation,” 128. As Armstrong points out, it was Trouillard, in
his two books cited above, who most clearly drew attention to the fact that the power
of the soul to raise itself is something given. See above, p. 89.
A more useful analogy follows. Plotinus is trying to show that virtue
must be regarded as separate and distinct from the source of virtue,
and draws an analogy with house-building. The material house, he says,
is not the same as the house conceived in the mind of the designer,
though it is a “likeness” to it. The material house “partakes of τάξι,ς
and κόσμος,” while the house in the mind does not. So it is, he con­
tinues, that we derive κόσμος and τάξίς from higher regions, and for us
these things are virtues, but the higher hypostases have no need of
them, nor of virtue (άρβτή) at all. Y et it is by means of the presence
of virtue in us that we ourselves attain όμοίωσις. Thus we need to
possess virtue, while the whole notion of virtue is irrelevant to the
higher hypostases.
If it is asked why virtue is irrelevant to them, the answer is simple.
Plainly the civic virtues cannot be current in the hypostasis of NoOs.
But what of the higher virtues and the higher action that we spoke of
before? Surely Nous, being a hypostasis nearer the Supreme than the
Soul, should display these higher virtues to an eminent degree. Plotinus’
denial of this supposition, which at first sight would seem necessary
for his system, arises from his connection of virtue with the life of the
aspirant to divinity, the προκόπτων. Following an idea already noticed
in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, he finds the idea of attributing
“ virtue” to a superhuman world impossible. There is no question of
the Second Hypostasis having virtue and being virtuous, rather, as
appears from Enn. 6.8.6, Sei Se τήν άρβτήν ταΰτην νουν τινα \eyeiv elvcu;
the Second Hypostasis, Nous, is some kind of virtue. And at last we
are back to a quasi-Platonic equation of virtue with some kind of
intellectual condition, but in what different circumstances! Plotinus is
now saying that virtue is mind intuiting the Forms within a realm in
which all action, all merely moral or civic judgment, is irrelevant.
Virtue is no longer a knowledge of the truth coupled inevitably with
the urge to bring that truth into an authoritative position in the
world; rather it is a metaphysical and supra-sensible description of the
functioning and nature of Being. That this transformation is connected
with and indeed necessitated by the transformation of the theory of
Forms and their relation to Mind is obvious and need not be expounded
here. It is sufficient for the present purpose to recognize it and observe
its effects. Virtue is now purely metaphysical and a manner of describ­
ing the Second Hypostasis.
Hence we must proceed to the consideration of virtue surpassed. In
Platonic terms it is impossible to transcend virtue, for in a sense the
Gods may be said to be exemplars of virtues, and man, when he attains
δμοίωσχ, is an exemplar too. For Plato, God and the Good are not
identical; the world is not seen as a fundamentally unified whole.
Hence even Gods have something in a sense “higher” than themselves,
and δμοίωσίί θβφ does not raise man to the pinnacle of existence. For
Plotinus, on the other hand, ομοίωσή θεφ, which starts, as has been
seen, with the attempt by man to raise himself to the level of vovs
seen as the highest level of soul, leads him on till he achieves, through
the essential unity of the Plotinian system, union with the One or
Good. It has already been noticed that even the Second Hypostasis,
the Divine Mind, is not virtuous, but rather is virtue. Virtue, then, is
another name for, or way of looking at, true Being— and the One is
raised above all Being, since it is Being’s source. Hence it might be
expected that in the union with the One, virtue itself should be sur­
passed. Virtue is the Second Hypostasis; it is mind, the intuitive grasp
of object by subject, which makes the knower and the known a unity.
But the One is above all knowledge. Therefore it must be above all
virtue, and when a man attains the mystical experience he will be
above all virtue too.
This is precisely the teaching we find in Enn. 6.9.11, where Plotinus
comes nearest to describing the nature of mystical experience. In line
16 he writes as follows: “He does not belong to the beautiful, but he
has already risen even beyond beauty; he has gone beyond the choir
of the virtues (ό των άρβτων χόρος), like a man who, having penetrated
the inner sanctuary, has left the temple images behind him.” Thus the
highest state leaves virtue behind, for if the Divine Mind is virtue,
the One is something higher.
I have suggested elsewhere that this “something higher” is best
regarded as a kind of Έρα», only an Έρω$ which is not appetitive but
creative, creative of being.18 There is no need to repeat here the argu­
ments used to establish this position; here it may be taken as estab­
lished. Our conclusion, therefore, is that if the “flight of the alone to
the alone” is to be carried to its farthest limits, the soul transcends
virtue and becomes a creative Έρω*. This is the culmination of that
“ higher action” of which we have spoken above.
To arouse one’s virtuous instincts is, as the last few sentences of
E nn. 6.9.11 remind us, the way to begin the long journey of the soul
back to unity with the One. It is virtue that will raise us to the hypo­
stasis of NoCs, which is virtue. Then we shall attain the φρόνησπ of the
Second Hypostasis, which will eventually lead us back to the One.
This return is always possible, human nature being what it is— or,
18See above, pp. 76-86.
more precisely, being created what it is. As 6.9.8 tells us, we cannot
be out of the sight of the One, for such a state would be dissolution.
While we are always before him, however, and within his view, we
often, through our own folly, turn away from him and fix our eyes
upon matter or pleasure or some other distraction. When we realize
our error and proceed to mend our ways, the path to salvation, as we
have seen, is clear before us. At the end of the path is rest.
For Plotinus, both virtue and knowledge are surpassed in the mystic
union. This fact should draw attention to a problem in the whole
notion of δμοίωσιτ 0e<£ as taught by the Platonists. The problem is that
there is a fundamental clash between their doctrine of ομοίωση 0e£ and
virtue in the ordinary sense. Όμοίωσις 0€ψ, as an aim, is originally
formulated by Plato as an exemplification of the principle όμοιοs
δμοίω; virtue is seen as the knowledge of the Good and the con­
comitant desire to act in accordance with it. It has already been ob­
served how these doctrines are inextricably linked, since the guarantee
of right action is the true nature of the soul. Practical virtue can
continue to be an ultimate aim, however, for Plato, since it means the
organizing of the chaos of m atter and society, the action, that is to
say, of the Gods and the philosopher-kings. When the aim of όμοίωσΐϊ0εω
reaches the level of hoping for the mystic union, however, virtue, as
has been seen, is bypassed. Ultimately it comes to be regarded as
somehow inferior: not in any sense the end of life, but a mere stage.
As the emphasis on δμοίωσis increases, so the importance of virtue, and
especially of moral virtue, tends to decline. The logical end of this
process was the antinomianism of certain Gnostic sects, such as the
Carpocratians, who, confident in their likeness to God, found moral
action irrelevant to their lives. Such persons were extremists whose
basic views on morality were wholly alien to the majority of Neo-
platonists, but their existence helps to show up in the clearest light a
process which was making itself felt in more reputable thinkers, such
as Plotinus.
A few examples will help to show this Gnostic viewpoint clearly. In
the first book of his work against heretics, Irenaeus tells (1.6.2) of
various attitudes of the Valentinians. These Gnostics divided mankind
into two classes, “spiritual” and “ animal” men, and agreed that the
lower class was bound to observe the moral law. For the higher,
“pneumatic” group, who are regarded as “ in” the world but not “of”
the world, it is right to be immoral. The “spiritual” men cannot in
their essence take any harm, any more than gold, when dipped in
excrement, loses its essential beauty. A merely moral life, according to
the Valentinians, can never lead to the Pleroma, but is a second-best
which should be taken up only by those incapable of anything better.
Similarly when speaking of the followers of Carpocrates (1.25.3),
Irenaeus tells us that they too believed that all kinds of action, good
and bad, were permissible for themselves. The Carpocratians appa­
rently held that it was only “opinion” current among men which
determined moral laws, and that, being higher than the average of
mortals, they themselves could disallow these absurd conventions.
Finally, in 1.26.3, we hear of the followers of Nicholas, who apparently
taught that it is a matter of indifference whether one commits adultery
or not, or whether one bothers to restrain oneself from eating meat
which has been sacrificed to idols. It is unnecessary to produce further
examples; the trend towards antinomianism is obvious. The importance
of virtue in the moral sense is denied.
I am, of course, far from wishing to attempt to blackguard the
reputation of Plotinus by saddling him with any moral aberrations.
To such excesses we have seen him unreservedly opposed.19 Y e t let
us look again briefly at his brush with Diophanes as Porphyry de­
scribes it. Diophanes suggested that Alcibiades’ attitude to Socrates
is defensible on the grounds that for the sake of obtaining virtue the
pupil should submit to the sexual desires of the teacher. It is worth
noticing here that the submission is to be for the sake of virtue— in
other words, virtue has no connection with a moral life. It is rather
something “higher,” something, we may say, for the elite, although
we know from the sources that the morals of many of the self-styled
teachers of the day were often disreputable. There is quite possibly a
Gnostic influence at work here upon the attitude of Diophanes. His
attitude tallies very well with that of those Gnostics mentioned by
Irenaeus, who held that morals and the moral life are irrelevant to
those who are perfect. Perfect virtue, for Diophanes as for the Gnostics,
is handed down from master to pupil; it is understood only if the pupil,
like Alcibiades, belongs to the “spiritual” group of mankind.
Plotinus has no time for Diophanes, and directs Porphyry to write
and deliver a refutation of his views. He learned to have no time for
Gnosticism either. A link between the views of Diophanes and those
of the Gnostics is that they both associated “ virtue” with knowledge,
albeit a very different form of knowledge from that taught and beloved
by Plato. Y et with the Gnostics, as we have suggested, we see the tug
of war between doctrines of ομοίωσή θφ and virtue, in either the ordin­
ary or the Platonic sense, which in an attenuated form is also visible
19See above, pp. 100-102.
 in Plotinus. 'Ομοίωσή naturally has a different value according to
one’s different conceptions of God. Both for Plotinus and for the
Gnostics the supreme God is above virtue. For Plotinus the One is
above the Virtue that is the Second Hypostasis, since it is above
Being; and since it is above the higher Virtue, it is a fortiori above the
inferior, civic variety. For the Gnostics the ordinary virtue of morals
is not only outgrown but rejected as worthless and fit only for men
scarcely worthy of the name. No higher virtue is demanded; the place
of virtue is taken over by yvciais. In both Plotinus and the Gnostics
there are shadows of Plato, but no more than shadows.
In this connection there is a further point to be noticed. When
Plato speaks of όμοίωσι* 0e<3, he normally adds κατά το δυνατόν,20 as
though very conscious of a greater difference between Gods and men
than one might suppose from his normal attitudes about the soul and
the philosopher-kings. This reserve is also adopted by Aristotle, who,
in a famous platonizing passage of the tenth book of the Nicomachean
Ethics, writes that “We ought not to obey those who suggest that a
man should think the thoughts of man and a mortal the thoughts of
mortality, but we ought as fa r as is possible to become immortal and
do everything in man’s power towards living in accordance with what
is highest in him.” The original formulation of this doctrine, then, was
accompanied by a good deal of restraint— and even Albinus pays lip-
service to this restraint when he refers to the Theaetetus passage (176)
in Chapter 27 of the Didaskalikos. When we come to Plotinus, how­
ever, restraint is far less evident. The nearest he comes to the Platonic
formula is in a section of Enn. 2.9.9, where, refuting the claims of
certain of the Gnostics to be nobler than the Gods and by their very
nature more elevated than the Intellectual Principle, he says that such
notions deprive man’s soul of the chance of becoming god as far as is
possible (καθ' όσον έστϊ δυνατόν ψυχή ανθρώπου θβω yeveadai). There is
no direct reference here to the Theaetetus, but the similarity of doctrine
is clear. Y et in a number of passages where Plato is expressly quoted,
the κατά τό δυνατόν is left out.21
-From Albinus’ apparently conservative position, which is echoed
by Justin’s comments on the reXos of Platonism as the “ sight”22 and
presumably the contemplation of God, Plotinus has made a consider­
able advance. His aim is to become god. He speaks in Enn. 1.2.5 of
ταυτότης r ivi θίφ and, in 1.2.6, there is the famous sentence ή σπουδή ούκ ε£ω
20 Cf.Rep. 613B, Theaet. 176AB, Tim. 90A; also Rep. 500D.
21 E.g. Enn. 1.2.1.4; 1.2.3.S -6; 1.6.6.19-20.
22Justin, Dial, cum Tryphone 2.45.
αμαρτίας είναι, άλλα θεόν a v a l. Plato’s hesitancy in this matter, marked
by the κατά τδ δυνατόν, is partly a reflection of the fact that the Good
and God are separate, that the universe is not wholly derived from a
single principle as it is for Plotinus. Hence, perhaps, arose his realiza­
tion that even at the highest level there still remains a certain weakness
in man. Although in the Phaedo the soul is repeatedly said to be
συγγενής with the Forms, it is never said to he a Form, and indeed it
could not be. Hence, since man cannot, even at his best, rise to the
highest limits of Being, the incentive not to cast away his more
limited capabilities in the sphere of virtue is perhaps increased.
Plotinus’ clear enunciation of the possibilities of man’s attaining to
the mystic vision, an experience which unifies him with the One, the
summit of all that is, radically changes the position. Dodds and
Festugiere have thought that knowledge of God by ecstasy— in a
manner like that spoken of by Plotinus— had already been mentioned
by Albinus in Chapter 10 of the Didaskalikos. Dodds remarks that
“ the other three ways (of knowing God) all form part of the Platonic
tradition before Plotinus, as appears from Albinus . . . where they are
clearly stated and distinguished.”23 This seems to be inaccurate. In
the relevant passage of Albinus, it is true, θεωρία is regarded as the
third way of knowing God, and the progress of the philosopher is
described in the terms of ascent of Plato’s Symposium. But the
Albinian doctrine is no more a doctrine of ecstasy than is the Platonic.
The question before us, therefore, is not whether doctrines of ecstasy
are in Albinus, but whether they are to be found in Plato’s Symposium.
The relevant section in the Symposium is 211. Plato tells us how the
philosophic lover proceeds from the love of a beautiful body to the
love of beautiful bodies in general; how he next proceeds to the beauty
of observances and knowledge; how he finally reaches Beauty itself.
He is then spoken of as contemplating Beauty (θεωμ’ενω αύτδ τδ
καλόν). It is said that when he sees it, lesser beauties will pale into
insignificance. He is said to behold divine Beauty itself in its unique
form (αύτδ τδ θειον καλόν δΰναιτο μονοειδές κατιδεΐν). In this happy
state he grasps reality and “ begets” true virtue. It should then be
evident that this passage gives no support to a doctrine of ecstasy or
of the ecstatic knowledge of God in the Plotinian sense. The Symposium
passage describes the advance to an intuitive knowing or seeing of the
Good or the Beautiful. All the other Platonic passages which speak of
the “ flash” of insight, the “ vision” of the eye of the soul, do likewise.
This is not the Plotinian ecstasy; there is nothing in the Symposium
23Dodds (ed.), Proclus 312. Cf. Festugiere, Contemplation 228.
passage to suggest “ becoming Beauty” ; all the talk is of seeing the
beautiful or of knowing it. And Albinus in the Didaskalikos follows
Plato.
Having disposed of Albinus as a precursor of the Plotinian doctrine
of union with God, we must now consider Philo. In the innumerable
attempts to find “sources” for certain key aspects of the Plotinian
mode of thinking, Philo has often been mentioned, though perhaps in
rather a cavalier fashion. His influence on Plotinus is sometimes sup­
posed to have come through the writings of Numenius, which were
read, Porphyry tells us, at Plotinus’ school.24 Assuming this influence
to be real, our problem is to decide whether doctrines of the unity of
man with God appear in Philo in such a form as to have any meaning
for Plotinus.
Prima facie evidence is against it. Philo is sufficiently Jewish to
recognize the distinctness of Creator from creation. Quoting Genesis,
he says that man is created in the image and likeness of God.25 His
spirit, though immortal by nature, is only made so by Creation. For
Plotinus, however, the soul is eternal because the process of emanation
on which it depends is eternal. In contrast to the Platonists, Philo’s
view is that the soul is created in time. This being so, any doctrine of
man’s becoming God in the Plotinian sense would appear very strange.
Professor Dodds has long since pointed out that ecstasy according
to Philo is very different from ecstasy according to Plotinus.26 Philo
speaks regularly of four kinds of ecstasy, of which only the fourth is
relevant to the present discussion. The fullest treatment of the m atter
occurs in Quis rerum divinarum heres?, and arises in connection with
the following passage from Genesis: “At sunset, ίκστασπ fell on Abra­
ham, and lo, a great, dark terror falls upon him.”2728 This ecstasy,
which is the best form of ecstasy, is described (51.249) as tvdeos κατοκωχή
re καί μανία— clearly a reminiscence of Plato’s Phaedrus?% A little
later (53.263-265) a fuller description is given, which is worth trans-

24Vita Plotini 15.

25Philo, De Opi/. M undi 23.69. Philo holds, of course, that the creation of man
described in Genesis 1.26 as in the image and likeness of God is the creation of an
Ideal Man, whose being is purely intellectual (De Opi/. M undi 46.134). The creation
of a particular man does not come about, for Philo, until Genesis 2.7. Here it is man
as a composite of soul and body that is described. Cf. Legum Allegoria 1.12.31, and
Ladner, “ Philosophical Anthropology,” 81.
26 Dodds, “ The Parmenides,” 142.
i7^uis rerum div. heres? 51.249 (Genesis 15.12).
28 0 n the Phaedrus as source, see Jones, “ Posidonius,” 102.
lating in full so that its difference from Plotinian ecstasy may be
clearly visible. Philo writes as follows:

The word “ sun” he uses symbolically as a name for our mind. For when λογισμοί
is in us, this is the sun in the world, since both sun and mind bring light, the one
sending forth upon the universe a light perceived by the senses, the other sending
mental rays upon ourselves by means of our apprehensions. Therefore while our mind
shines about us and surrounds us, pouring as it were a noonday light into our whole
soul, we are self-contained and not possessed. But whenever it sets, naturally βκστασIS
and divine possession and madness fall upon us. For whenever the light of God shines
on us, the human light sets, and when the divine sets, the human dawns and rises.
This is what normally happens to the prophets. The mind is turned from its home on
the arrival of the divine Spirit, but on its departure returns to its own home; for it is
not right that what is mortal should live with what is immortal. Therefore the setting
of the reason and the darkness associated with this setting produce βκστασ is and
inspired frenzy.

At first sight, there might appear to be some similarity between

this passage and the description of ecstasy in Enn. 6.9.11, where
we find the words άλλ’ ουδέ X&yos ουδέ ns νόησις, ούδ’ oXcos αυτόs, ei
δβί καί τούτο Xeyeiv' άλλ’ ώσττβρ άρπασθβίς και βνθουσιάσας . . . .
In both Plotinus and Philo λόγο5 (λογισμό?) and vovs (νόησις)
are transcended. Y et this similarity is only superficial. There
are two great differences, the one a sequel of the other. The first and
more important is that Philo is speaking of the driving out of the
human by the divine, while Plotinus thinks of the union of the soul
with the One, a union in which man is not superseded by God, but
restored to his proper assimilation with God.29 From this first dif­
ference follows the second. In Philo there is talk of darkness, in
Plotinus there is not. The darkness is the emptying of the soul and
its replacement by the Divine Spirit, a notion unacceptable to Plotinus,
who would rather believe in the stripping off of those encumbrances
which darkened the soul and seduced it from its true home.30 These
two insuperable difficulties should dispose once for all of the suggestion
that Plotinus’ doctrine of ecstasy is indebted to Philo.31

29Armstrong (Architecture 71-73) tries to show a greater similarity between the

Plotinian ecstasy and the Philonic. His proof depends on a playing down of those
parts of the Ertneads which teach the omnipresence of the One, and on a misinterpre­
tation of E n n . 5.5.8, where the presence of the One is affirmed and its coming denied.
30 Cf. E n n . 6.9.9.
31For further discussion of “ ecstasy” and its relation to prophecy in Philo, see
Wolfson, Philo 24—43. For a denial that Philonic ecstasy is mystical, see Brehier,
Idles 204.
 Having rid ourselves of the encumbrances of Philo and Albinus, we
may feel free to return to Plotinus’ understanding of the mystic union.
The first striking fact is his empirical approach. Plotinus knows what
man can achieve in this field because he has achieved it himself. As
Porphyry says of him:32 “The Aim ever near appeared to Plotinus.
For his aim and end was to attain unity and draw near the Supreme
God. And he achieved this Aim four times, while I was with him, not
just potentially but in ineffable A ct.” Plotinus himself, on one of those
rare occasions when he directly describes his personal experiences,
begins Enn. 1.6.7 as follows: “Therefore we must ascend again towards
the Good, which every soul desires. If anyone has seen it he knows
what I mean when I say that it is beautiful.” This expression occurs
again in 6.9.9, which reads: “ If anyone has seen it, he knows what I
mean.” In similar vein are the opening lines of Enn. 4.8.1: “ Many
times has it happened: lifted out of the body into myself; becoming
external to all other things and self-encentred; beholding a marvellous
beauty; then, more than ever, assured of community with the loftiest
order; enacting the noblest life; acquiring identity with the divine;
stationing within it by having attained that activity; poising above
whatever within the Intellectual is less than the Supreme. . . .”
(Trans. MacKenna-Page.)
These passages bear out the statement of Porphyry. Plotinus de­
scribes what he has experienced, and from this we can understand
better precisely how and why he differs from Plato. Plato’s aim is
contemplation of the Forms, the attainment of likeness to God
κατά το δυνατόν; the aim of Plotinus is union, and since he knows from
his own experience that union is possible, the κατά το δυνατόν, as has
been seen, tends to be dropped. It is well known that, with the excep­
tion of Porphyry, no other Neoplatonist claimed mystical experience
of the Plotinian type. And Porphyry almost certainly enjoyed it
through close association with Plotinus and through directing his
contemplation along his master’s lines. The fact of this experience’s
not being repeated may in some way be related to Porphyry’s watering
down of some of the purer elements of Plotinianism in favour of a more
eclectic piety buttressed by borrowings from the mystery religions. Be
that as it may, none of his pagan successors succeeded even to his
limited extent and, as Dodds33 has said of Proclus, union becomes for
them a dogma rather than a personal experience. Lip-service is paid
it, but it is associated with the great men of the past.
i2Vita 23. (Trans. MacKenna-Page.)
SiProclus, Elements xix.
 Plotinus, then, was convinced both by theory and by practice that
όμοίωσις OeQ led to the mystical union. Plato, on the other hand, sup­
posed that it led to contemplation of the Forms and to an intuitive
grasp of the Form of the Good. The difference is obvious. While the
theoretical difference is partly to be accounted for by Plotinus’ inclu­
sion within his system of the Aristotelian noetic— the view that thought
and its object are identical— it should further be remembered that
even without this particular theory to separate him from Plato, he
could never have subscribed to Plato’s dualism of Forms and Gods,
and would have had to find some means of relating them in a monistic
whole. There is all the difference in the world between contemplation
and union in the Plotinian sense. The latter may be a development of
the former, but it is not the same thing. We have already seen how
Plato’s Symposium does not describe the Plotinian ecstasy.
L et us now list our conclusions briefly. When Plotinus speaks of
virtue in its noblest sense, he is adopting the Platonic notion of
“philosophic virtue,” as apart from the virtue of a citizen. But philo­
sophic virtue implies δμοίωσis θβφ, and this has a different connotation
in the two philosophers. For Plotinus the highest virtue is far above
concerns of statesmanship, whereas for Plato it is the guarantee of
statesmanship of the highest kind. For Plato virtue means being like
the Platonic God; for Plotinus it means that state which leads to
union with the One. We have seen in what sense, for Plato, virtue is
knowledge: it is knowledge of the kind that guarantees action. For
Plotinus, virtue— if we may use the word at all of the crown of philo­
sophy— is creativity, since the One is eminently creative. Earlier in
this study an attempt was made to show that in a sense the One is
Έρω*— and "Epcos not directed upwards. Applying such an account
of the One to the present problem, we may conclude that whereas for
Plato virtue is knowledge, for Plotinus it is love, that love which is
the source of all.
PA RT T H R E E
 ORIGEN

I
T is regrettably true that, in the words of Danielou: “ Controversy
continues as to whether Origen is a biblical theologian or a neo-
Platonic philosopher,”1I and it is doubtful whether the controversy
will ever be resolved. This is not because we have insufficient know­
ledge of Origen’s works, but because it is a perpetual weakness of the
scholarly mind to wish to give labels and definitions and to lay down
hard and fast rules. Furthermore, certain writers who themselves
deplore speculative philosophy wish to diminish its importance in
Origen compared with that of the Scriptures, while “pure” scholars of
Neoplatonism go to the other extreme. It would therefore be a much
safer guide to go back to the famous words of Porphyry, as quoted by
Eusebius: κατά μβν τον βίον χριστιανών ζών και παρανόμων, κατά δI τάν
π epi των π ραγμάτω ν καί του Θάου δόξαν Έ λ λ η ν ίζω ν και τ ά Ε λ λ ή ν ω ν τοΐν
In quoting these words, the Christian
όθνβίοιν ύποβαλλόμβνον μύθοιν.2
Eusebius is in agreement with the Neoplatonist Porphyry that there
was at least some intermingling of Christian and non-Christian
elements in Origen’s thought. We must without doubt agree with
Father de Lubac3 that the basis of his thought is the Scriptures, but
this is not to preclude certain elements of a Neoplatonic super­
structure.4 If we concentrate on a few of these Neoplatonic elements,
it does not imply that we are regarding them as the more fundamental;
it is only because we are particularly concerned with certain ways of
thinking about Platonism and with how later thinkers who attempted
to use the Platonic philosophy as a system brought out the latent
contradictions in it and attempted to resolve them.
Returning to the words of Porphyry as quoted by Eusebius, we read
that Origen was always studying Plato and a host of Middle-Platonists
and platonizing Pythagoreans as well. His detailed answer to the anti-

1 Danielou, Origen 339. *Eusebius, H .E . 6.19. 3De Lubac, Histoire.

4 Cf. Crouzel, ThSologie 33. “ Les tl^mes que nous etudions chez Origen ont done,
comme tout I’ensemble de sa pensee, une origine double, hellenique et scripturaire.
II ne les appuie que sur I’Ecriture, mais il les exploite έ l’aide des materiaux que lui
fournissait abondamment la philosophie grecque.”
 Christian polemic of Celsus shows that he knew a good deal of his
adversary’s ground. Dean Inge understates the m atter when he says
that Origen “knows the Stoics fairly well, Plato a little, Aristotle
perhaps not at all,”5 but even if we admit that he has a fair knowledge
of the Platonic systems, it might still be the case that he has studied
the philosophers only to deny the validity of their work. Even the
great work against Celsus, however, filled though it is with argument
and ridicule directed against the Platonists, does not point to the
conclusion that Origen regards Plato as valueless and derives little
from him. No doubt he finds great faults, being especially scornful of
the toleration of polytheism.6 At times he exaggeratedly claims to
regard this as Plato’s only error, though elsewhere he finds other
weaknesses. He is particularly opposed to the aristocratic notion that
the good life is only for the very few. Plato and his followers are, in
Origen’s opinion, like doctors who are only willing to give their atten­
tion to cultured patients7 and have no interest in the vast majority
of mankind. But Origen too, in his own way, has a more esoteric
doctrine, as we shall see, and he does less than justice to certain
aspects of Plato’s thought in suggesting that the philosophers have
in mind only the good of the few. Admittedly only the few shall rule
in Plato’s Republic, but their rule is not to be in their own interest
but to promote the common good and to allow all classes to fulfil
themselves to the best of their capacity.
The Platonic tradition in Origen’s day was not regarded with quite
the same distaste, at least among Alexandrian Christians, as it had
been a few decades earlier, when, for example, it had been held by
Tertullian that the Theory of Ideas was the origin of the Gnostic
doctrine of aeons* Since then, philosophy had to some extent been
tamed by Clement, but in the eyes of the simpler believers it was still
a dangerous occupation. Origen himself met with opposition, and this
opposition was certainly justified, for his Platonism led him into
certain doctrinal vagaries, as was afterwards discovered.9

/ 5Inge, Christian Mysticism 101. *Contra Celsum 5.43; 7.47 and 59.
7Contra Celsum 5.43.
8Irenaeus also asserts that the Platonic writings are the origin of this heresy.
Adv. Haer. 2.14.3; 2.16.1-2.
9On the subject of how the Platonic tradition tended to verge into heresy, see
Arnou, “ Platonisme des Peres,” cols. 2258-2390. Among the chief later objections
brought against Origen were:
(1) That he believed in the pre-existence of souls.
( 2 ) That he tended to subordinate the second and third Persons of the Trinity.
(3) That he held that all souls would eventually be saved.
Plato’s Phaedrus can often be detected behind Origen’s “ errors.”
 Before Clement, Stoicism had often been looked upon with more
favour among Christians than Platonism, and Clement had made use
of the Stoic term απάθεια in his account of God. The Bible, he main­
tained, is not to be taken seriously when it attributes πάθη to God,
who is απαθή*, άθνμο*, ανεπιθύμητο*. As De Faye10 pointed out long ago,
however, when Clement attributes απάθεια to God, he gives it a mean­
ing unacceptable to the Stoics, who called a man άπαθή* if he had freed
himself from irrational impulses, whereas for Clement απάθεια means
“la suppression des passions pecheresses.” To say that God is απαθή*
then is for Clement not to say that He is passionless, but that He is
sinless. In the Paedagogus11 the soul of Jesus is said to be απαθή *, and
Casey12 can properly say of the Christian sage that he “ acquires
απάθεια which is the sign of his union with Christ.”
It is then clear that when Clement declares that God feels pity,13
he is not contradicting his own view of divine απάθεια, though he is
dismissing that of the Stoics, for whom “even divine benevolence was
a passive virtue.”14 When we come to Origen, however, we find that
the opposition to the Stoics, whose materialism was an enemy to
Christianity, has grown stronger. Origen seems unwilling to use the
Stoic term απάθεια freely,15 even with the revised meaning given it
by Clement. In fact, we find direct denials that God is απαθή*. “Quae
est ista, quam pro nobis passus est, passio? Caritatis est passio. Pater
quoque ipse . . . multum misericors et miserator, nonne quodammodo
patitur? Ipse Pater non est impassibilis. . . .”16 Here the Stoicizing
terminology is abandoned and the God of Love is free to be thought of
more directly in terms of Platonism, the only philosophy of the third
century which reckoned with love in any form.
"Epws for the Platonist is normally that sublimation of physical
passion that reaches out for the Good, though we have seen traces of
a different meaning both in Plato and in Plotinus. We have seen also
that the Good for Plato and Plotinus has, at the least, certain affinities
with both Being and “W hat is beyond Being.” It is not surprising,
therefore, that these same difficulties are to be found in Origen.
10De Faye, Clement d’ Alexandrie 276 n.2 . Cf. Merki, Ό Μ Ο ΙΩ Σ ΙΣ 49, andRiither,
Sittliche Forderung 65ff. For the benefits to man of being απαθή*, cf. Osborn, Clement
of Alexandria 105-106.
u Clem. Paed. 1.2.4.1-2. 12Casey, “ Clement of Alexandria,” 76.
13Clem. Strom. 4.151.1. Cf. Irenaeus, Ado. Haereses 2.28.4.
14Casey, “ Clement of Alexandria,” 63.
16Cf. Crouzel, Thiologie 244. When Origen does use απάθεια, he defines it as
καθαρειότη* ψνχή* ’εκ χάριτο* θεού, (in Psalm. 17.12,63).
ΙβHomilies on Ezekiel 6 . 6 . On the superiority o f Love to “ Apathy” in Origen, cf.
Volker, Vollkommenheitsideal 153-156.
 Origen, as a Christian, believes that God is personal, that He is
personal Love; we have already noticed the passage from the homily
on Ezekiel on this theme. Such texts support the view that God is in
the realm of Being, for love, if we know anything of it, is in the realm
of Being. Doubtless Origen would have accepted this, had it not been
for the Platonic tradition and the desire to place Him επέκεινα της ουσίας.
This desire, however, leads him back to the Platonizing phrases about
“ beyond Being” that we find in Clement. The following passage from
the Contra Celsum is representative of his thought:17

Moreover, God does not even participate in being. For He is participated in, rather
than participates; and He is participated in by those who possess the Spirit of God.
Our Saviour also does not participate in righteousness; but being righteous, he is
participated in by the righteous. However, there is much to say which is hard to
perceive about being, and especially if we take “ being” in the strict sense to be un­
moved and incorporeal. We would have to discover whether God “ transcends being
in rank and power,” and grants a share in being to those whose participation is
according to His Logos, and to the Logos himself. . . . (Trans. Chadwick.)

In this passage, Origen leaves it an open question whether he regards

God as “ beyond Being” or as Being, but he toys with the Platonic
phrase, and quite probably is unwilling to appear too lenient towards
Platonism when dealing with his Platonist adversary Celsus. Else­
where, however, he accepts the notion of God’s being επέκεινα της ουσίας
with little hesitation.18
It is likely enough that Origen’s use of the phrase επέκεινα rijs ουσίας
to indicate the nature of God is a product of the syncretistic philo­
sophy of the day and that he would only use it in philosophical con­
texts. Normally he would be content with the Johannine formula that
God is Love (’Ayajn;). But the two did not seem to be contradictory.
Origen probably regarded love in its aspect of diffusivum sui as identical
with what is έπέκεινα της ουσίας since all Being involves acquisitive love.
We are again facing problems like that of the Demiourgos’ motive
for creation and the nature of the "Epcos and "Epcos αύτοΰ that is the
Plotinian Absolute. The One, we remember, though formally “ beyond
Being,” still retains certain of those aspects of the Platonic Form that
makes each of those Forms a perfect example of ουσία. I t is something
“ beyond Being” with which Being is essentially involved. It is "Epcos
and "Epcos in the sense of diffusivum sui. To Plotinus, "Epcos is the
bridge between Being and hyper-Being.
If Plotinus took the step of enlarging the current doctrines of “Ερως
with reluctance and perhaps did not realize the full implications of
17Contra Celsum 6.64.
u Comm. in “Johan. 19.6. Contra Celsum 7.38. Cf. De principiis 1.1.
taking it, we need attribute no such hesitation to Origen. His Christi­
anity already taught him that God is Love, and if some kind of love
has been shown to bridge the gap between Being and what is “ beyond
Being” for a pagan Platonist, it is highly probable that this kind of
rapprochement would be welcome to the Christian. If Origen had been
able to read Plotinus he would have been delighted to find the pagans
being forced by their philosophy to turn to doctrines that Christians
could learn by Faith.
But if the emphasis in φίλο-σοφία is to be transferred from σοφία
to φ ιλία, then the narrowness of the Platonic circle can be abandoned.
Platonism is perhaps only available to a few, but love is available to
all. The Platonic preliminary studies are therefore unnecessary; they
can be replaced by Faith. Such is Origen’s normal belief, and it is one
which, according to the Platonists, excluded Christians from the
society of philosophers. Celsus is full of scorn for this a v e^ ra a ro s βίο$:
“ They [the Christians] use such expressions as ‘Do not ask questions,
only believe and your faith will save you,’” he complains.19 Similarly,
Galen writes: “ If I had in mind people who taught their pupils in the
same way as the followers of Moses and Christ teach theirs— for
they order them to accept everything on faith— I should not have
given you a definition.”20
Origen wavers in his opinions about the Platonic special sciences
and about philosophy itself, as is clear both from his works and his
actions, for at one time he is supposed to have destroyed the manu­
scripts and the materials for scholarship that he possessed. De Lubac
is right in declaring that it was Origen’s opinion that “Quant a la
sagesse de ce monde, qui consiste dans les sciences, et les arts profanes,
poesie, grammaire, geometrie, rhetorique, musique, et peut-etre
medecine, elle est dangereuse.”21 Dangerous it certainly was, if it fell
into the wrong hands— as Plato believed dialectic was dangerous when
handled by the young and inexperienced— but it might, if used with
proper moderation, have some value as a handmaid of Christianity.
The Holy Scriptures teach, urges Origen, that we ought to study
dialectic.22
His view of philosophy as a supplement, valuable but inessential,
is perhaps shown most clearly by a passage recorded in the Philokalia,
where we read as follows:23 “W hat the children of the philosophers say
about geometry and music, grammar and rhetoric and astronomy, that

l9Contra Celsum 1.9. 20 Cf. Walzer, Galen 48-56.

21De Lubac, Histoire 80. 22 Contra Celsum 6 . 8 .
23Philokalia 13.1 (Cf. Rep. 533D ). In this passage Origen appears to grant even
geometry and astronomy some very small value.
they are the handmaids of philosophy, let us say is true about philo­
sophy itself in relation to Christianity.” This passage affords us the
clearest possible evidence both of the relative unimportance of philo­
sophy vis-a-vis faith, and of the relative importance that Origen
assigns to the Platonic system within the general framework of
thought, for it is clearly to Plato that he refers.
Simple faith is enough, though certain more fortunate individuals
will be able to support their faith by the sciences and by philosophical
disciplines. Most of Origen’s Christian contemporaries denied that
this supplement could be of any benefit to its possessor. Origen,
however, placed great value on it, for without it one could not delve
into the allegorical interpretations of Scripture, with the help of
which, he claimed, a man can proceed further in the spiritual life
than his unlearned fellows. And here the learned or philosophic elite
which he had condemned in the Platonic tradition comes back in a
new guise. Not every Christian24 could follow in the steps of Philo, who
interpreted the Song of Songs in terms drawn from Plato’s Symposium.
Origen disregards this contradiction. He explains that, in general,
Scripture has three interpretations, one literal (σωματικόν) for the
“ simple” believers, the second moral (ψυχικόν), and the third spiritual
(πνευματικόν). Only the spiritual sense will illuminate Faith with com­
plete understanding and lead to a true Τνωσις or Σοφία.25
It is not our concern here to go into Origen’s allegorical interpret­
ations of Scripture in general, for they are in the realm of the theologian
rather than of the student of Neoplatonism. Historically they endeared
Origen to many ascetics of a later age, since they acted as a support
for that inner life of the spirit which flourished in a climate of thought
where the creation of Man κατ’ άκόνα του βίου26 was particularly empha­
sized. Doubtless much Platonism, especially that of Philo,27 is involved
in them, but we shall not linger over the details of a spirituality which
is not our immediate concern. For the student of Platonism, what is
important is that Origen resembles Plotinus in his use of the via
negativa as a guide to the spiritual life, and that he is in accordance

24Hanson, Allegory 214, maintains that there is no evidence that the “ simple
believers” will ever for Origen attain to higher knowledge. For a contrary view, cf.
De Lubac, Histoire 8 6 .
MDe Lubac (Histoire, chapter 4, sec. 3), Cadiou (Jeunesse 46), and Bigg ( Platonists
170) all maintain that Origen always preserves the literal sense as well as the spiritual.
This is denied by Hanson ( Allegory 240), whose evidence seems incontrovertible.
2eSee especially Crouzel, Thiologie, passim.
27 Danielou, Origen 164, attributes the three senses of Scripture to Philo.
with the general Platonic tradition of mysticism in saying nothing of
a Dark Night of the Soul. This latter omission is lamented by many
historians of Christian mysticism as a defect, and Danielou28 believes
that it proves that Origen’s “Theology of Spiritual Life” is only
speculation on “ the way the mind is illumined by the gnosis.” “ It is
not,” he thinks, “ a description of mystical experience” which is “ an
account of the way the presence of the hidden God is felt in the dark­
ness by the soul as it reaches out and touches Him.” Danielou and
others lament that there is no explanation of Mount Sinai as an allegory
of the Dark Night of the Soul, but do not attempt to explain the
omission. The darkness, as Danielou points out, had already occurred
in Philo and in Clement, and it is therefore more surprising than we
might otherwise suppose for Origen, writing in a Judaeo-Christian
tradition, to have omitted it. As scholars do not hesitate to adduce
the influence of Greek philosophy in other matters, however, there
seems to be no reason for refusing to do so here.
We know that Plato often thought of the Good metaphorically in
terms of Light. The passage on the Sun in the Republic is the most
obvious instance. We know too that both those philosophers who
derived their Platonism from the Master himself and those who took
it through the mediation of Posidonius29 would have found metaphors
of Light, but never metaphors of Darkness, used to describe the
passage to the Good. Then may it not be justly assumed that the
Dark Night of the Soul is missing from Origen because it is in general
missing from Plato and the Platonic tradition ? It is true that Carlyle’s
remark “Plato is very much at his ease in Zion” and Russell’s addition30
“while Plotinus is always on his best behaviour” remind us of the fact
that by the third century of our era, even the Platonists were begin­
ning to lose their philosophic optimism in the presence of the Divine.
Nevertheless no pagan Platonist could have accepted the association
of Darkness rather than Light with the approach to God or the Good.
That is a tradition apart from Greek philosophy, and it is significant
that Origen ignores it. His unconcern with the Dark Night of the Soul
is in accord with the Plotinian view that a part of man’s soul remains
constantly clear of the plane of material existence and proneness to
sin. Socrates had asserted that no man does wrong “ willingly.” Sin
is an error31 for the Platonists, and to raise oneself is, as Henry has

i&Ibid. 297. Cf. Origen’s homilies on Genesis, Exodus, and Numbers.

« W itt, “ Plotinus,” 198ff.
30 Russell, Western Philosophy 312.
31 Cf. E n n . 5.1.1.
said, a “denudation rather than a sacrifice.”32 That Origen held such
a view of the basic purity of the soul is unlikely, but his belief that all
souls, even those of demons,33 will eventually be saved, probably
derives from such a Platonic way of thinking.
Although the means of ascent proposed by Origen are not always
those of Platonism, there is a marked similarity in the reXos of the
soul’s quest. Merki34 has pointed out that the phrase ομοίωσή θεω does
not occur very frequently in Origen, who prefers to speak of οΐκειουσθαι
θεω but several passages show that he was aware of its importance for
the philosophers and accepted it.35 We even meet the word θεοποιεΐσθαι36
in a description of the achievement of the “spiritual” (πνευματlkos)
Christian. This, according to Merki, need not mean “ Gottwerden” but
“ eine Teilnahme an der Gottheit,, eine unio mystica.” If Origen is
orthodox on this point, a question I am not competent to decide,
θεοποιεΐσθαι means no more than “ attain to eternal life,” since death­
lessness to the Greeks is the prime feature of a god. If he is heterodox,
however, he is probably teaching in the Platonic manner a nearer
kinship between the soul and God than Merki would admit. For
Origen, man is created as an είκών of God, and attains by purification
to ομοίωσή.37
In treating of the culminating stage of the spiritual life, Origen
continually reverts to the Platonic tradition. I refer in particular to
the mystical and allegorical interpretation he gives to the Song of
Songs. Origen is the first to teach that this poem of the love of the
Bride for the Bridegroom is a figure of the Soul’s desire for God. The
particular method of allegorical interpretation is largely unplatonic,
and, so far as concerns Origen, is derived rather from the work of
Philo. Socrates’ refusal to allegorize the story of Boreas38 and Orithyia
in the Phaedrus shows that Plato regards such a method with dis-

32Henry, “ Plotinus’ Place,” xxxvi. Cf. Trouillard, “ L ’impeccabilite,” 19-28, and

pp. 176-178 of this study.
33Comm. in Johan. 13.59. Cf. De Princ. 1.8.3.
,, 34Merki, Ό Μ Ο ΙΩ Σ ΙΣ 61.
36 Cf. In Gen. 1.26: “ Hi qui deum colunt et confidunt in eo, similes ei fiant.” Also
Comm, in Johan. 20.17; De Princ. 3.6.1.
3eMerki, Ό Μ Ο ΙΩ Σ ΙΣ 63. Comm, in Johan. 32.37. Cf. Epilogue.
37Contra Celsum 4.30; De Princ. 3.6.1; Comm, in Rom. 4.5.
33Phaedrus 229D. See T ate, “ Plato,” 142-154 and 24 (1930) 1—10. T ate makes
it clear that Plato, though admitting the possibility of νπόνοΐαi in ancient texts,
since the poets were divinely inspired, assumed that where these υπόνοια,ι are present
they express δόξα rather than επιστήμη. Hence the philosopher need not trouble
much about them. See my comments in the introduction to this essay.
favour, but when this is admitted, we have not shown that the theory-
involved in the allegorization is itself unplatonic. The theory might
still be Platonic, even though the method of illustrating it by the
mystical reading of a text is not.
Certain scholars, however, will not even go as far as that. They
dismiss the whole of Origen’s love-imagery as unplatonic. Here is
Inge once again, in the Bampton Lectures. He writes: “ Erotic mysti­
cism is no part of Platonism. The ‘sensuous love of the unseen’ (Pater)
which the Platonist often seems to aim at has more of admiration and
less of tenderness than the emotion which we now have to consider. . . .
Origen really began the mischief [i.e., that the body as well as the
soul of the individual was involved in the love of things eternal] in
his homilies and commentary on the Song of Solomon.”
Is this, we may ask, strictly true? Even if we accept the body-soul
dualism of the Phaedo which Inge wishes to make the distinguishing
feature of Platonism, we should pause before accepting the above
interpretation of Origen’s contribution. Have we not seen how even
for Plato, who clearly desires to raise 'Epos from its physical forms and
manifestations and to make it purely of the soul, ”Ερω? is grounded in
the Symposium and the Phaedrus on a common search for the Good
and the Beautiful? Much though Plato wishes to be rid of the physical
element, and indeed although he tried to extend the field of "Epos
beyond the scope of human nature when he urged its direction towards
what is lifeless and static, yet he was always too realistic to free himself
entirely from the physical basis of his theory.
Even more relevant to Origen than the lovers’ common search for
the Beautiful under the guidance of "Έρω? in the Symposium are certain
passages of love-imagery from the Republic. Let us consider for
example the following:39
Ά p ’ ovv δη ού μετρίω? άττολοΎησόμεθα δτι ττρό? το ον ττεφυκώ? εΐη άμ ιλλασ θαι 8
>γε δντω? φιλομαθής, καί ούκ εττιμένοι επί rots δοξαζόμενοι.? είναι πολλοί? έκαστοι?,
άλλ’ ιοι και ούκ άμβΧύνοιτο ούδ ’ ύπολήΎόί του ερωτο? πριν αύτοΟ δ εστιν έκαστου
τη? φύσεω? αψασθαι φ π λησ ία σ α ? και μι^ει? τω οντι δντω?, γέννησα? νουν και α λ ή ­
θειαν, Ύνοίη τε και αληθώ? ζφη καί τρεφοιτο καί οΰτω λήγοι ώδιι>ο?, πρίνδ'ού.

Here indeed we have a whole series of terms relating to physical love,

applied to the ψυχή of the philosopher, in the same way as Origen
applies the erotic imagery of the Bride in the Song of Songs to the Soul
in her quest for God. Similarly, a little later, there occurs the personi­
fication of Philosophy herself as the maiden deserted by her true
lovers and insulted by the wooing of unworthy suitors.
39Rep. 490A 7ff. Cf. Louis, MHaphores 39, 200.
0 υτοι μέν δη ούτως εκπίπτοντες, oh μάλιστα τροσήκει, έρημον και άτελί} φιλοσο­
φίαν λε'πτοντες. . . άλλοι εττεισελθόντες ανάξιοι ησχυναν re και ονείδη ιτεριηψαν. ...
τί δέ\ τούς άναξίους ιταιδεύσεως, όταν αύτ§ πλησιάζοντες δμιλωσι μη κατ’ άξίαν, ποΐ
αττα φώμεν ^γένναν διανοήματά τε καί δόξας;

Here again the physical and “ tender” nature of the metaphors, which
Inge seems to fear, are to be seen in Plato himself. It is inconceivable
that Plato was unaware of the force of the metaphor in ττλησιάζοντες,
or that he would have been repelled by the tenderness involved in the
idea of leaving Philosophy “barren and unfulfilled.” This latter passage
is moreover particularly striking because the image used is that of
heterosexual relations rather than those of the 'Epws of the Symposium.
Critics of the passages in Origen who have denied their relationship
with any but the most “debased” forms of Platonism have tended to
do so precisely because the metaphor is from what we should regard
as normal love rather than from the love of man for man. That Plato
should express himself in terms of the former as well as the latter is
clearly important. It shows that the use of such metaphors by Origen
does not in itself put him outside the Platonic tradition, as is implied
by Inge and many others.
Origen is aware that his words may be misinterpreted and perverted
by the literal-minded.40 He says: “You must not understand the left
and right hands of the Word of God in a corporeal sense, simply
because he is called the Bridegroom which is an epithet of male
significance. Nor must you take the Bride’s embraces in that way
simply because the word “ Bride” is of the feminine gender.” And
again, in commenting on the line,41 “His right hand shall embrace
me,” we find Rufinus the translator interpreting Origen as “Although
the ‘Word’ of God is of the masculine gender in Greek and neuter with
ourselves (in Latin), yet all the matters with which this passage deals
must be thought of in a manner that transcends masculine and neuter
and feminine. . . . ‘For in Christ there is neither male nor female but
we are all one in Him.’” (Gal. 3.28.)
We can now understand how Origen regards himself as speaking
within the Platonic tradition when he treats of love. It is certainly
regrettable that his Commentary on the Song of Songs is only preserved

40He is of course justified in his caution, since certain of the Gnostics, who (at
least in Tertullian’s view) had some affinities with Plato, were all too ready to intro­
duce ’Αφροδίτη Π άνδημος into Christianity under the guise of Ά^άττη. Cf. Clem.,
Strom. 3.3.2; Epiphanius, Panarion haer. 26.4; Eus., H .E . 4.7.9; Hipp., Elench.
6.19.5.
41Commentary on the Song of Songs, Book 3. PG 13. 163B.
in the Latin of Rufinus, but provided we remember that the Platonic
term "Epos is normally rendered by amor or cupido, and that Ά·γάπη
becomes dilectio or caritas, we shall not go far wrong. As will be seen,
it will be because of Origen’s scrupulous regard for both the Christian
and the Neoplatonic traditions that he will be led to a denial of the
Έρω5-Άγά7Π7 antithesis that many of the moderns regard as entirely
a Christian innovation. But first let us see how he places himself in the
Platonic tradition. He writes as follows:42
Among the Greeks, many of the sages, desiring to pursue the search for truth in
regard to the nature of love, 43 produced a great variety of writings in this dialogue
form, the object of which was to show that the power of love is none other than that
which leads the soul from earth to the lofty heights of heaven, and that the highest
beatitude can only be attained under the stimulus of love’s desire. Moreover, the
disputations on this subject are represented as taking place at meals between per­
sons whose banquet, I think, consists of words and not of meats. And others also have
left us written accounts of certain acts, by which this love might be generated and
augmented in the soul. But carnal men have perverted these arts to foster vicious
longings and the secrets of sinful love.

Again, later, we find Origen speaking of the inner man who worships
Aphrodite Ourania, and the outer who prefers Aphrodite Pandemos.
“There is one love,” he says,44 “known as carnal and also known as
Cupid by the poets, according to which the lover sows in the flesh;
so also there is another, a spiritual love, by which the inner man
who loves sows in the spirit45. . . . And the soul is moved by heavenly
love and longing when, having clearly beheld the beauty and the
fairness of the Word of God, it falls deeply in love with His loveliness
and receives from the Word Himself a certain dart and wound of love.”
The series of passages quoted above should be sufficient evidence
that Origen often thinks of Plato when he treats of love. References to
banquets and to the distinctions between earthly and heavenly love
cannot but show that his mind was drawn either to Plato himself or
to later writers influenced by him. Origen, however, being well aware
that the Christian tradition was suspicious of Platonic terms, of which
"Epcos was one of the most prominent, writes, in the translation of
Rufinus, as follows:
Videtur autem mihi divina scriptura volens cavere, ne lapsus aliquis legentibus sub
amoris nomine nasceretur, pro infirmioribus quibusque cum, qui apud sapientes
saeculi cupido, seu amor dicitur honestiori vocabulo caritatem vel dilectionem
nominasse.46

a Ibid. Prologue, 64BC . 43The Latin word is amor. 44PG 13, 67AB.
45 Cf. Galatians 6 . 8 ; Contra Celsum 4.39; Plato, Symp. 2 0 3 B -E .
46PG 13, 67D -68A .
He holds that Scripture is careful not to use the word "Epcos where
there is a danger that it may lead the weaker brethren into trouble;
moreover that the word is avoided not because it is unchristian but
because it is too potent and dangerous except for a select few or in
certain harmless contexts. Where it cannot be read with a “carnal”
interpretation, he finds that Scripture is ready to use it, and he cites
Wisdom 8.2, where, referring to the love of wisdom, the Septuagint
reads βραστής eyevoprivS1
Origen, however, cannot see the antinomy between "Epcos and ‘λ^γάττη
that is so plain to Nygren. He notes that St. John speaks of caritas
(Rufinus’ Latin for Άγάπτ;) but adds that he does not think that
anyone could be blamed for calling God amor (i.e., "Epcos) instead, and
he cites a passage from Ignatius to prove that his usage is by no means
an innovation. Ignatius4748 had written “ o epos βρως βσταΰρωται κ.τ.λ.,”
which, as its context almost certainly proves, means “ My earthly
passions have been crucified.” Origen believes that 6 epos epees refers
to Christ and interprets the passage accordingly.
How is it that, at the cost of earning the censure of Nygren and
others, Origen is able to pass so freely between the Christian term
Άγάπί; and that "Epcos which these critics would like to regard as
nothing but grasping desire? There are two alternatives. One is to
regard the treatment accorded the notion of love by Origen as outside
the “ pure” Christian tradition of his day, and a dangerous and
wrong-headed surrender to the forces of Platonism. This solution, in
view of the degree of commitment to things Christian that de Lubac49
is able to exhibit as characteristic of Origen, we should be very cautious
of accepting if it is unnecessary to do so. The other possibility is that
Origen was aware that "Epcos might have a non-appetitive meaning,
a meaning that admittedly does not make it the equivalent of ’Αγάπη
— for the Christian God is personal while the Plotinian One is strictly
beyond Will and Personality— but that at least enables it to imply a
similarly active relationship between the Godhead and the rest of the
Universe. Thus, on our view of the second, non-appetitive meaning
of "Epcos in the Platonic tradition, Origen would be justified as a
Christian in introducing such an "Epcos into his account of God, pro-

470 rigen, however, can only find one other passage where "Epcos is used. This is
Prov. 4.6. In later times Pseudo-Dionysius, faced with the same problem, was also
limited to these two passages (Z W 4 .1 2 ).
48 Ignatius, ad Rom. 7.2. Origen in PG 13, 70D.
49De Lubac, Histoire.
vided that he restored the personal element which the Platonists
denied. Furthermore he must have been encouraged to do so by the
work of Philo, who frequently discusses the Logos in terms drawn from
the Symposium .50 Origen, moreover, speaks in his Homilies and
Commentary on the Song of Songs of the Bridegroom as symbolic of the
Logos, though in this matter he could follow the Christian tradition
without help from Philo. That he knew of Philo’s work and made use
of it is certain; also certain is that he could find passages in it that
refer to the Symposium. Neither certainty, however, proves that his
only knowledge of the Platonic theories of "Epcos must have come from
Philo. There is no possible reason why he must have been unaware of
the duality of the theory from its beginnings in Plato himself.
The above interpretation of Origen’s thought, the suggestion that
he recognized a downward-flowing "Epcos as well as the normal "Epcos
which is desire, and that his chief objection to the Platonic bonum
diffusivum sui was that it is impersonal, is borne out by the terms that
he employs to describe God and His Goodness. Besides the usual
phrases 17 ivhs and τό ayaSov, we find Origen speaking of God as
17 άγα 0 όττ7 ϊ, which, as has been suggested, is probably a conscious con­

trast to the impersonal Neoplatonic τό α·γαθόν.ζι We should compare

Origen’s use of ό ων in preference to the impersonal τό 6vH Further­
more, the downward-flowing love of God is often described by Origen
as φιλανθρωπία, almost certainly because, although the few “spiritual”
Christians would not have rejected or misunderstood the word "Epcos
if it were used in this context, the simple-minded brethren would have
tended to assume from it a God of desire and would thus have been
open to the influence of Gnosticism.53 Certainly Origen’s φιλανθρωπία
is more than the Plotinian ’'Epcos, in that it implies not merely cosmic
love of self manifested in creation, but the love of a Saviour. Never­
theless it includes the cosmic ’'Epcos.

60 Cf. Billings, Philo Judaeus 40-41 for a list of passages showing Philo’s use o f the
Symposium.
61The earliest references L S J can find for ayoSbr 77s are from the Bible and Philo.
Cf. L X X Wis. 1.1; Philo, Leg. All. 1.59. It occurs once in Plotinus (E n n . 4.8.6) and
in Alex. Aphrod., in Met. 695.37. Later it came to be used as an expression of respect:
η ση άγαΑότι7 s, Your Excellency (Jul. E p . 12.86). This usage suggests that η ayadbr 17s
is less impersonal than τό ayadbv. The earlier examples suggest its popularity
with devotees o f a personal God. 60162Cf. De Princ. 1.1.6.
MContra Celsum 4.17. Cf. φιλανθρωπία and ayahbrys in Athanasius (Or. de inc.
verb. 1. PG 25. 97C). For φιλανθρωπία see in general P etr 6 , Caritas 209, and for the
possible influence of φιλανθρωπία in Plutarch, Koch, Pronoia 239.
 It is tempting to suppose that this similarity between the views of
Origen and Plotinus on one of the aspects of "Epcos can be traced directly
to a common source, namely the doctrines of Ammonius Saccas.
Others who have found similarities between the Neoplatonist and the
Christian have had recourse to this elusive master to explain the con­
nection and thus to strengthen their case.54 This procedure is, in view
of our scanty knowledge of the teachings of Ammonius, of doubtful
value; and in any case the work of Danielou55 has made it plain that
it is impossible to come to conclusions about the common origins of
specific teachings that emanated from particular philosophical circles
in Alexandria. We shall, therefore, be satisfied to believe that fre­
quently Origen and the Neoplatonists were dealing with the same or
similar problems, and thus that each was likely to make use of any
advances he considered his contemporaries to have made. Origen, we
may be sure, would have been unsatisfied with the "Epcos that is God
in the system of Plotinus, but in view of the fact that56 “He was
always reading Plato,” and that “The works of Numenius, Cronius,
Apollophanes, Longinus, Moderatus, Nicostratus and experts in the
Pythagorean philosophy were his mainstay,” it is most unlikely that
he would have totally neglected any Platonic theory of "Epcos, since
such theories were fundamental to the whole Platonic view of the world.
Furthermore, although Origen was dead before Plotinus committed
his theories to writing, the fact that the two faced similar problems
lends credence to the possibility of their seeing similar solutions.
Here it may be noted that the comparison of downward-flowing
"Epcos in Origen’s and Plotinus’ doctrines of God and the One is given
added plausibility by another common feature in their theories: the
idea of creation by contemplation. That this is a Plotinian doctrine
does not need to be proved here, as it is evident from the Enneads\
that Origen uses it is his Trinitarian theology, however, is additional
proof of the importance he attached to Platonist views of the One and
NoDs. The most important passage is from his Commentary on St.
John's Gospel, and runs as follows:57
'Αληθινός ούν θεός δ θεός [God], ot δέ κατ’ εκείνον μορφούμενοι θεοί cos εικόνες [the
angels?] πρωτοτύπου- ά λλα π άλιν των πλειόνων εικόνων ή αρχέτυπος είκών ό προς
τον Θεόν έστι λόγος, os εν άρχη ην, τω είναι προς τόν θεόν άεί μενών θεός, ούκ αν

MCf. Wolfson, Church Fathers 254. Langerbeck, “ Ammonius Saccas,” 6 7-74. An

accurate estimate of the small amount of knowledge we have of Ammonius is given
by Dodds, “ Numenius,” 24-32.
“ Danielou, Origen 78.
“ Eusebius H .E . 6.19.8. 67Comm. in Johan. 2.2 Preuschen. ed. 55.
δ’αυτό ίσχηκώς ei μη προς θβόν ήν, καί ονκ &ν μ6ΐνας θβδς, ei μη πapkμeve τη άδια-
λβίπτφ deq. του πατρικού βάθους.
As Arnou has said,88 Origen’s interpretation of the text ό Xoyos ijv
προς τον Oeov is that “ II [le Logos] ne continuerait pas a etre Dieu, s’il
ne perseverait pas dans sa contemplation.” For Origen, the Logos is
continually turned towards God in contemplation and thus from all
time receives the illumination of the Divinity that is "Ερως diffusivum
sui. That Origen— perhaps unwittingly— is here teaching a view which
may rightly be termed “subordinationism” by orthodox Christians is
clear; it is also clear, however, that his view is Platonist, so much so
that it proved unacceptable.
We remember from the seventh book of the Republic how careful
Plato tries to be in his choice of those who are fitted to study dialectic,
which is in his view the highest knowledge. We remember too how in
the Symposium, before Socrates’ description of that noblest form of
"Ερως which has been revealed to him by Diotima, we hear accounts
of the various inferior versions that commend themselves to lesser
men like Pausanias, Phaedrus, and Eryximachus. If we combine these
two observations, we can conclude that what Plato is looking for is
the best possible love directed to the best possible end, which is exactly
the position of Origen in the Commentary on the Song of Songs.59
“ When the passion of love is directed to diverse skills, whether manual
crafts or occupations needful only for this present life— the art of
wrestling, for example, or of running— or even when it is expended on
the study of geometry or music or arithmetic or similar branches of
learning, neither in that case does it seem to me to be used laudably.
The only laudable love is that which is directed to God or to the virtues
of the soul.”
These words may seem a denial of the Platonic position, and so they
are, if that position be taken to extremes. We have noticed how Origen
regards the Platonic “preliminary studies” as of little value, and from
this passage we can see why. They divert the mind from higher things,
just as, in Plato’s opinion, the Pythagoreans60 tended to be distracted
from the true value of harmony, for example, by an excessive concen­
tration on the technicalities of that science treated as ends in them­
selves. Origen’s complaint here is similar to that of Aristotle61 that
for “present-day” philosophers philosophy has in fact turned into
mathematics, although still remaining in theory the end to which all
S8Arnou, “Le th£me nioplatomcien,” 127.
MPG 13, 71BC.
**Rep. 7, 531A ff. “Arist. Met. A 992B 1.
the preliminary studies are directed. Again, Origen’s position is similar
to that which Plato himself would have taken up towards anyone who
was content that love should remain at the inferior or unreal grades
of reality and waste itself there, in company perhaps with the love of
Pausanias or Phaedrus, and refuse to proceed to the World of Forms
and to the Good. The close of this quotation puts Origen at one with
the Socrates of the Phaedo, for whom nothing was so important as
the improvement of the soul by those purifications which were to act
as a peXeri) θανάτου.
We have seen what Origen makes of the term 'Epcos and how he
applies it to his Christianized system. We have seen too how certain
critics have stigmatized his treatment as “erotic” mysticism— meaning
this in a pejorative sense— and how they have regarded it as unplatonic.
Origen, however, does not seem to realize that his work is a specifically
new departure from the philosophical tradition. He shows its kinship
with the Symposium, and we have here related it generally to a non-
appetitive view of Έρα«— a view more akin to the Christian Αγάπη.
W hat the critics of Origen’s method should, perhaps, have studied in
more detail, if they wished to prove him unplatonic, is not the emotion
of love, with its physical basis, which he says must fill the soul of the
Bride, but the nature of the object of that love. Here the difference
between Plato and Origen is that, whereas a love of Wisdom or of the
Form of the Good or of the One is a love of what is impersonal, lifeless,
and essentially unresponsive, Origen’s Bridegroom is personal. Thus
what the critics of Origen are in fact suggesting is that the love he seeks
to inspire in the soul of the Christian who follows his teachings is
insufficiently sublimated, whereas we have already suggested that one
of the disadvantages of Plato’s system was that in demanding love
of the Forms he was making a demand which, if it was not impossible
for all, at least was beyond the capacities of average mortals.
Origen, on the other hand, was generally aware that his creed is
aimed at humanity as a whole, not at a mere elite, and he knew that
whatever Plato’s hopes may have been for gaining large-scale support
for his projected reforms of mankind, he had failed to achieve it. He
mentions this point continually during his retort to the charges of
Celsus, in passages of which the following is typical: “ If I may venture
to say so, the beautiful and refined style of Plato and those who write
similarly benefits but a few, if indeed it benefits anybody: whereas
that of teachers and writers with a meaner style which was practical
and exactly suited to the multitude has benefitted many. At any rate,
Plato can only be seen in the hands of men who seem to be learned,
while Epictetus is admired even by common folk, who have an inclina-
tion to receive benefit because they perceive the improvement which
his words effect in their lives”62 (Trans. Chadwick).
Plato’s style is exclusive, complains Origen. Something more realis­
tic, more in touch with the vast mass of humanity, would have been
more appropriate. Origen’s correction of the doctrine of "Epcos is in
line with this general criticism. Admittedly, building on the dogmatic
foundation of a personal God, he had little alternative to adapting
Έρωϊ as he did. The fact that he discusses it, however, is a proof both
of the strength of the Platonic tradition and of the importance of it
to Origen, and at the same time an indication of some weight that all
"Epcos need not be fundamentally antipathetic to Christianity, at least
in the view of the Alexandrians.
Thus in brief, though admitting with Inge and the others that
Origen introduced certain beliefs into Christianity that in the wrong
hands might have become both unplatonic and unchristian, we hope
to have shown that the beliefs and theories themselves are at least
not entirely unplatonic. Whether they are unchristian is outside the
scope of this essay, but that they are both Platonic in spirit and indeed
in a sense an exposition and elaboration of Plato himself, is a proposi­
tion worthy of reconsideration.63 To condemn Origen because his
doctrine of 'Epcos might be misused by others is equivalent to con­
demning Plato’s Symposium because the unworthy teacher Diophanes64
attempted to derive from it a specious defence of the immorality of
Alcibiades. The disgust felt at this performance by Plotinus was
directed wholly towards Diophanes; no notion of blame is attached to
Plato. Nor is there reason to attach any to Origen.
Besides the Homilies and Commentary on the Song of Songs, there are
other passages in Origen which speak of the culmination of the spiritual
life. From our present point of view, perhaps the most important is
in one of his Homilies on Numbers, where we find the notion of ϊκστασι,ς
occurring. The text, unfortunately only given in the Latin of Rufinus,
is:65
Inde venitur Thara, quod apud nos intellegitur contemplatio stuporis. Non possumus
in Latina lingua uno sermone exprimere verbum Graecum, quod illi ’έκστασήν vocant,
id est, cum pro alicuius magnae rei admiratione obstupescit animus. Hoc est ergo,
quod dicit, contemplatio stuporis, cum in agnitione magnarum et admirabilium rerum
mens attonita stupet.

62Contra Celsum 6.2. Cf. Plutarch, De Alexandri M agni Fortuna vel Virtute 1, 328E.
MThe Platonism of Origen, perhaps overemphasized by Bigg and De Faye, has
been seriously overlooked in recent works, especially by De Lubac.
MPorphyry, Vita Plotini 15.
MHomilies on Numbers 27.12.
The meaning and implications of this passage are much disputed.
Volker66 believes that it implies that Origen himself experienced this
βκστασίϊ and that its meaning is similar to the notion of transcendence
of Self that we find in Plotinus. These claims are disputed by Puech67
and others. Puech holds that ίκστασis in Philo can mean either an
excessive amazement of the mind, or a complete submergence of that
mind such as would be entailed by the transcendence of the vovs ίδιos.68
The latter meaning is more like, though very far from identical with,
the βκστασis of Plotinus, but according to Puech, with whom most
commentators are in agreement, it is the former that applies to Origen.
Danielou writes:69 “Origen stays in the sphere of the gnosis.. . . Or
at any rate, Origen’s description of the mystical life stops short at the
gnosis”— and that is perhaps as far as we can go with certainty.
Volker, indeed, points out a passage from the Commentary on St. John70
where Origen speaks of “divine drunkenness,” another phrase that has
Plotinian echoes. Plotinus, we know, achieved transcendence of the
Self on at least four occasions, so that when he speaks of this feeling
or experience of being “divinely drunk,” we can be more certain about
the nature of the 'έκστασα to which he refers, but in the case of Origen
the problem is more difficult to resolve. Origen does not speak of
“ drunkenness” as a transcendence of the self but as a withdrawal from
human to divine things. We must, to avoid going beyond the evidence,
conclude that the contemplatio stuporis is not ecstasy in the normal
sense of the word, but is probably a precursor of it. Y e t Origen’s
refusal to give a description of ecstasy itself may well be the conse­
quence of a view that such blessedness can only be experienced, never
described. Origen was always a “didaskalos,” as Danielou says. It was
not his business to attempt to describe the ineffable heights to which
the well-instructed could attain. That was a private matter between
the Bridegroom and the Bride, between the Logos and the Soul of
the believer.

eeVolker, Vollkommenheitsideal esp. 6 8 ff.

®7Puech, “ Un livre r 6 cent,” 508 ff.
e8 Danielou, Origen 302. See above, pp. 188-189.
S9Ibid. 303. See also Crouzel, Connaissance 527-535.
19Comm. in Johan. 1.30 Preuschen ed. 37.
 EPILOGUE

tarting with hints and problems in the Platonic text, Plotinus and

S Origen, as we have seen, widened the scope of "Epos to denote a

downward as well as an upward force. This process, so well
adapted to Christianity, was continued in the following centuries as
both Christian and pagan Neoplatonists further shaped the doctrine to
suit their own interpretations. So far as we have followed its history,
God’s "Epott has been connected with creation rather than with salva­
tion. In later times, while the creation-motif was maintained and
expanded in cosmological discussion, Salvationist ideas, fundamental
to Christianity, made their way into pagan Neoplatonism too, Plotinus’
cautions on the subject notwithstanding.
The notion of creative "Epeus, deriving from Plato’s Symposium and
even earlier, became confounded with that of Christian 'Αγάπη, as
Nygren1 shows, among the Gnostics. These, however, interpreted
’Αγάπη as the lowest form of "Epcus and not the most ennobling, and
were therefore disowned by orthodox Christians as well as by pagans.
None the less, by their treatment of ’Αγάπη as a cosmic force of
creation, coupled with the doctrine of downward-flowing "Epcus or
’Αγάπη in Origen, the Christian Gnostics certainly kept creative Έρω*
before the minds of men. Their doctrine, with its similarity to pagan
Neoplatonism, involved one great danger, into which Origen and many
others fell. It invited too close an equation of the Second Person of the
Christian Trinity with the Second Hypostasis of Neoplatonism, and
the corollary of subordinationism. For Origen, where the Father is
αύτόθβοί or ό Oeos, the Son is θώ$; where the Father is avapxos άρχή, the
Son is ό δεύτερος θεός.2 Like the Plotinian Nous, Origen’s Christ-Logos
stands between the uncreated One and the created Many.3 The danger

1Nygren, Eros 303-310.

2Contra Celsum 5.39. For αύτόθεος and θεός, cf. Comm, in Johan. 2.2 Preuschen cd.
54.
*De Princ. 2.2. The Logos is an εΐκών, and for the Platonists this word implies an
inferiority to the παράδειγμα. For fuller textual evidence on Origen’s subordina­
tionism, see De Faye, Origene vol. 3, 122. Cf. Danielou, Origen 254-257. Danielou
to Christianity inherent in the adopting of Neoplatonist views of
creative emanation is here evident.4
The trouble did not end with Origen. All through the fourth century
the disputes between the orthodox and the subordinationists con­
tinues. Arius, the arch-heretic, went much further than Origen in his
subordination of the Second Person of the Trinity to the First. Where
Origen had insisted, 6 σωτήρ ου κατά μετουσίαν, άλλα κ α τ ’ ουσίαν έστι
Geos, and did not envisage a time when the Logos had not existed,
Arius thought that the Son attained to divinity by participation,5 that
there was a time before He came into being,6 and that He was created
from nothing.7 Although Arius probably had little connection with
pagan Neoplatonism, he may have been influenced by Origen. The
orthodox formulation of Trinitarian doctrine as μία ουσία, τρεις υποστάσεις
came out strongly against theories such as the Plotinian doctrine
of emanation, with its application of ουσία to the Second and Third
Hypostases and not to the First, which is superior to all Being.
The creative Έρω$ of the emanation theory could not survive in
orthodox Christianity, unless and until it was cleared of its subordina-
tionist tendencies. In pagan Neoplatonism, however, the direction
taken tentatively perhaps, but still recognizably, by Plotinus was
followed by his successors. ’'Epws is plainly seen as descending from the
higher to the lower hypostases as well as in its original role as the
upward tendency. Naturally, Nygren wishes to find reasons outside
the Neoplatonist tradition for this teaching.8 He declares rightly that
Proclus has been influenced both by Christian 'λ'γάπη and by the
ancient belief in Providence, and though admitting Plotinus' dictum
that “ the higher cares for the lower and adorns it,” he states dog­
matically that since this idea “is never related by Plotinus to the idea
of Eros,” it “ therefore could not influence it.”
It seems to have been one of the achievements of Iamblichus to
have emphasized the triad μόνη, πρόοδος, and επιστροφή in Neopia-

suggests a comparison with Albinus. See also Crouzel, Theologie 111—120, where the
relationship between Origen’s subordinationism and his struggle against the Sabel-
lians is stressed.
4For NoOs as είκών in Plotinus, cf. Enn. 5.1.6.7; for the One as άρχίτυπος, see
Enn. 6.8.18.
6 Athanasius, Or. contra Arianos 1.9. ( PG. 26.28C-32A .).
®Socrates, Hist. Eccl. 1.5. Arius’ view is a direct denial of Origen’s as expressed in
De Princ. 4.4.1.
7For this view as a revival of the teaching of Philo, see Wolfson, Church Fathers
293, 585.
8 Nygren, Eros 569.
tonism.9 These terms denote the “remaining, procession, and return”
involved in Plotinian theory. The One, for example, while itself “re­
maining,” is the continuous cause of Nous, which thus exists by “pro­
cession” and at the same time seeks to “return” to its origin in
contemplation. The expression of this theory in formal terms by
Iamblichus led to its use in other ways than as an account of emanation
and contemplation. It became a general law, with which the whole of
reality was involved. In particular it came to be applied to "Epcos.
We have discussed in detail the Plotinian Έ ρ ω ς as both an ascending
and a creative force. If this doctrine be treated in terms of the Iam-
blichean triad described above, the version of Proclus results. Upward
and downward loves are linked in a great chain of 'Epeus (17 ερωτική σει­
ρ ά ).10 The upward 'Epeus is the normal Platonic love, but Nygren at
least professes himself almost stupefied at the descending.11 “Proclus,”
he remarks, “ says something almost incredible in a Platonist,” when
he writes άνωθεν ουν 6 ερως άπό των νοητών μέχρι των εγκοσμίων φοιτφ,
π άντα επιστρεφων επί τό θειον κάΧΚος.12 If our general interpretation
of 'Epeus in Platonism is correct, the shock to Nygren is unnecessary,
for Proclus is only systematizing the hints of his predecessors. The
phrase Proclus uses for downward-flowing love is 'Epeus προνοητικός, as
contrasted with the "Epeus επιστρεπτικός which leads back to the One.
In Proclus’ system every god or henad, for example, perfects its prod­
ucts by making them into unities. Such unification shows the gods as
gentle and reveals their providential love.13 Nygren has leaped at the
word “Providence” to attempt to explain his amazement at this, to
him, new departure, and it is true that the specific equating of down­
flowing 'Epeus with Providence is unplotinian. He also makes much of
the function of this ’Έ ρω ς as a “ binding” factor in the cosmos, but
“ to bind” for any Platonist involves “ to give unity and form and
coherence,” in a word “ to give Being and Reality.” This is precisely
what the One gives to the Divine Mind in the Plotinian system.
Nygren’s view of "Epeus is that it always ascends. When he finds a
descending Έ ρ ω ς in Proclus, he wishes to explain it away or regard it
as a new departure, outside the Platonic tradition. Proclus, however,
is well read in the works of his predecessors including Plotinus, whom

®Cf. Proclus in Tim. 2.215.5.

10Procl., Comm, in Alcib. 31 Westerink ed. 14. For σειρά, cf. Gregory of Nyssa,
De anima et resurr. PG 46, 89A, and for Έ ρ ω τ ε ς , Plot., E nn. 3.5.
u Nygren, Eros 570.
12Procl., Comm, in Alcib. 52 Westerink ed. 23.
™Ibid. 55, 24-25. Cf. Rosdn, Proclus 134, 206.
he knows thoroughly. At times he disputes the Plotinian position, for
example as to whether the whole soul descends from Nous. Such
opposition, however, is only further evidence of his knowledge of
tradition and acute awareness of the points at which he diverges from
his venerable predecessors. If his view of "Epees was a completely new
departure and a flagrant contradiction of the tradition, it is unusual,
to say the least, that we hear no mention of this. His silence on this
point is not positive proof, certainly, but, coupled with the tradition
of descending "Epees which has been elaborated in this study, it points
very strongly to the conclusion that, though Nygren believes descend­
ing "Epees to be unplatonic, Proclus knew better and was further
expounding his predecessors.
“ Descending love,” says Proclus, “ turns all things towards the
Divine Beauty.” Here then is a reference to the process of the ameliora­
tion of the self that Platonism taught from its inception. The turning
back to the Divine Beauty may be described as όμοίωσ is 0€ω. We have
already discussed this doctrine in Plato and suggested that man can
become a god by being wholly characterized by the Forms that are
the source of the Gods’ divinity. We have further seen how Plotinus
urges us to attain to the Intelligible World, to ταντότης τίνι 0€<5>14 and
to the elimination of all dissimilarities between our souls and the One.15
Man’s soul, for the Platonists, has always existed and is immortal by
nature. We must return to our true divinity. We have found the word
0ίο7ΓοΐίΓσ0αι used by Origen, which leads on to our next point.
As Merki points out,16 the use of the words θ€οποίησις and 0€o7roiee
with reference to the culmination of the process of δμοίωσις 0e<£ occurs
frequently as early as Irenaeus. After Plotinus and Origen, there was
fought out the struggle between the όμoίeeσιs-motif as understood by
the Platonists, involving as it did the belief in the natural immortality
of the soul, and the doctrine of a post-creational immortality imparted
by Grace which the Christians taught in association with the descrip­
tion in Genesis of man as the image and likeness of God. The interpret­
ation of the upward "Epees of the Platonists was thus affected, and
we must see briefly how the doctrine was transformed. In doing so,
however, we must remember a very great difficulty faced by the
theologians of the ancient world. This was that to the Greek mind,
as Burnaby17 reminds us, immortality meant divinization, and things

u E nn. 1.2.5. Cf. Enn. 1.2.6. “ £ » » . 6.9.8.

“ Merki, Ό Μ Ο ΙΩ Σ ΙΣ 131. Cf. Nygren, Eros 410-411.
17Cf. Burnaby, Amor Dei 178. Cf. YVilamowitz ( Platon 1, 348), “ Denn Gott
selbst ist ja zuerst ein Pradikatsbegriff.” The use of 0€0s to mean merely “ immortal
immortal were called Oeos. θεό? should often be translated as “immortal
being” in both Christian and pagan contexts. Thus the Christians
found themselves using the same word θεό? both for God and for the
souls of men after death— an endless source of confusion.
This double usage of the word θεό? can be seen clearly in Athanasius.
While objecting to the view of divinization taught by the Arians on
the ground that it presumes to place man on the same level as God,
Athanasius does not deny the “ ascent” altogether. While Christ is for
him “ God” φύσει και αλήθεια, man only attains to “ divinity” κατά
χάριν. τά yap κατά χάριν διδόμενα tois άνθρωποι?, ταΰτα θέλουσιν [the
Arians] ΐσα τη? τού δίδοντο? είναι θεότητο?.19
The position of Augustine is similar. For him, man has not been
immortal from all time, nor is he by nature of the essence of God.
His spirit is not πνεύμα, which is the Holy Spirit, but a created spirit,
πνοή.19 Nevertheless it is, for Augustine, God’s plan that by grace men
shall become “gods.” “ Deus enim deum te vult facere: non natura
sicut est ille quem genuit; sed dono suo et adoptione.”20 And again:
“Homo propter nos factus, qui nos homines fecit; et assumens hominem
Deus, ut homines faceret deos.”21 It is hardly too much to compare
these passages with those discussed earlier about the fellowship of Gods
and souls in the Platonic tradition, and in particular with the account
in the Phaedrus of the souls in the train of Zeus and the other Gods
on their visit to the ύπερονράvio? τόπο?.
A further means of entry by which Neoplatonic influences of an
undesirable kind might encroach upon the orthodox Christian view of
όμοίωσι? was closed by Gregory of Nyssa. Christianity and Neopla­
tonism had been brought together on this matter because the Platonic
doctrine of όμοίωσι? 0e<£ was associated very easily with the passage of
Genesis which describes man as a creation κατ’ εικόνα καί όμοίωσιν τού
θεού. Theologians before Gregory— for example, Irenaeus, Clement of
Alexandria, and Origen— regarded είκών and όμοίωσι? as distinct.22 Thus
όμοίωσι? θεφ for them was the perfection of the original relationship of
man to God as an είκών. This separation of the terms was abandoned
being” may be one reason for Plotinus’ occasional hesitation to employ the word to
describe the One and his preference in one passage for the phrase πλέον ΐστιν ή
θεόs (Enn. 6.9.6).
18Athanasius, Or. contra Arianos 3.17. PG 26, 360A. For θεοποίησι?, cf. ibid.
2.70. 296A ; 3.33. 393A ; Or. de inc. verbi 54. PG 25, 192B.
19Augustine, De civ. Dei 13.24.
"Augustine, Sermo 166.4.4. “ Augustine, Sermo 344.1.
22Cf. Merki, Ο Μ Ο ΙΩ ΣΙΣ 45, 83ff., and Crouzel, Thiologie 217 ff. Cf. Contra
Celsum 4.30; De Prine. 3.6.1; Irenaeus, 5.6.1; Clem. AI., Strom. 2.131.6.
by Gregory,2324who pointed out that the “divinity” of man is entirely
a product of his creation, lost by original sin but restored by grace
through Christ’s sacrifice. The Neoplatonic view of δμοίωσι$ is that it
is a return of the self to its divine nature by purification; Gregory, on
the other hand, teaches that it is the recovery of the original δμοίωσis
which was “fully existent already in the creational ehccop.^This doctrine
strongly opposes, on Platonic grounds, the more extreme Platonic view
that the object of όμοίωσυ is to raise man to God’s level, for every
Platonist would be bound to admit the inferiority of even the best
possible βίκων to its παράδβΐΎμα. In Plato himself the παράδβ^μα-βίκών
relationship is a relationship between intelligibles and sensibles, not
between Forms and souls or between the Good and the other Forms.25
As Merki says: “ Im Neuplatonismus ist die Riickkehr die Wiederver-
gottung, die Apokatastasis der Gottlichkeit beim Nyssener die δμοίωσις
und die Gottebenbildlichkeit, das ubernaturliche Leben.”26
Gregory, in dealing with δμοίωσίί, is plainly aware both of the
Platonic tradition in general, and of the views of Plotinus in particu­
lar.2728Students of his work frequently speak of him as a Platonist.
Y et we can understand from his treatment of the theme of δμοίωσις
how much Platonism he was prepared to accept and where he found
himself compelled to draw back. While recognizing the value of the
ascent towards Goodness by purification as taught by the Platonists,
he refused their corollary of the essential non-creational kinship of man
and God. ob yap δή ταϋτόν βστι r$ θβω η ψυχή 23
Turning back from the “ Christian Neoplatonists” to the pagan,
here too we find traces of a decline of confidence that the soul can
make its way unaided, relying only on its natural kinship with God.
We have already commented that the mystic union, as described by
Plotinus, is paid lip-service by Proclus, who, however, appears to
make no claim to the experience. He teaches that in order to attain
to it, we must use a “higher kind of theurgy,” namely faith (πίστις)29

23 Cf. Merki, Ό Μ Ο ΙΩ Σ ΙΣ . The distinction between βίκων and δμοίωσίς is not

employed by Athanasius. Cf. Bernard, L'lmage U&.
24Ladner, St. Gregory of Nyssa 64. Farm . 132D.
25Cf. Crouzel, Thiologie 34.
26 Merki, Ό Μ Ο ΙΩ Σ ΙΣ 1 1 1 . Cf. Danielou, Platonisme 54.
27 Cf. Merki, Ό Μ Ο ΙΩ Σ ΙΣ 127. A comparison of Plato, Theaet. 176AB, Plotinus,
Enn. 1.2.1.if., and Gregory, De Oratione Dominica PG 44, 1145A f.
28Gregory of Nyssa, De an. et resurr. PG 46, 28A.
2 , Proclus, Platonic Theology (Hamburg 1618. Reprint. Frankfurt (I960)) 61-63,
193. Since the original version of this essay was written, Professor Armstrong’s paper
“ Platonic Eros and Christian Agape” has appeared in the Downside Review (Spring
1961, 105-121). Professor Armstrong has been kind enough to acknowledge help
This view, strange as it is in Platonism, appears itself to spring from a
lack of confidence. We shall see how Proclus rejects Plotinus’ claim
that a part of the soul always remains in the realm of Nous. In view of
this, the need for πίστις becomes understandable. If the soul keeps
nothing of its divine origin unspotted, it is not hard to understand
how fear could arise that even the purifications might fail to raise its
cosmological status. It has been suggested, by Rosan,30 for example,
that Proclus’ doctrine of πίστις shows the direct influence of Christian­
ity. Although this seems unlikely, there is no doubt that the fallen
nature of man, as understood by Christians, and the fallen soul of
Proclus’ theology are alike in this, that they both feel the need for
the teaching: “Only believe and you shall be saved.” Proclus, in the
introduction to his commentary on the Alcibiades, still piously teaches
7 ΐ>ώ0ι σβαυτόν, but mere knowledge of one’s own nature is no longer
adequate as the path to ΐνωσις. For the soul “wholly descended” the
only hope, if one is to forgo mere magic, is faith in the ’έρως προνοητικός.
Finally we must return to the question of the descent of the soul.
Plotinus teaches that man is a composite being, consisting of soul and
the various lower products of soul. To do evil,31 therefore, is to allow
the inferior side of our nature to take temporary control. On such
occasions, although still possessing the Intelligible World within us
(for we are each a κόσμος νοητός),32 we decline to make use of our posses­
sion. T hat some part of the soul cannot sin, Plotinus believes, is clear
from the fact that if the whole soul could sin, we could never attain
to the pure world of intellect and should be hopelessly bogged down
among material things for all time. Therefore, he thinks, it is a law
of the universe that some part of the soul must remain in the Intel­
ligible World, το γάρ παν αυτής ούκ ήν θίμις καθβλκύσαι.33 Although
this doctrine does not mean— as has sometimes been suggested— that
for Plotinus the will cannot sin, it implies that sin is never the result
of a deliberate choice of evil in the knowledge that it is evil, but rather
the delusion of the mind by evil under the appearance of good. We
are worsted by the inferior part of our nature. We sin under the
influence either of desire or of anger or of an “evil image” which
prompts action before it is properly considered and known for what
it is.

received from this essay in its earlier form. He and I disagree, however, on certain
points of detail, one of which is the role of πίστις in Proclus (cf. Armstrong, 116
n. 15). My position depends on what I regard as the fundamental pessimism of
Proclus about the state of the “ fallen” soul.
30 Ros«in, Proclus 215 n. 152. n E nn. 1.1.9. 33E n n . 3.4.3.
u E n n . 2.9.1. Cf. 5.1.10. For a discussion of this, see pp. 176-177.
 Of the later Neoplatonists, Damascius34 follows Plotinus in this
matter, while Iamblichus, Proclus, and Simplicius refuse to do so.
Iamblichus’ objection is that if the will sins, the whole soul must be
involved.35 He rejects, in fact, the Plotinian view that sin is a delusion
and seems to think of it rather as a deliberate choice of evil. Proclus
rejects the view that each of us is a κόσμοs νοητός. We cannot, he holds,
know the Forms in themselves, as Plotinus taught;36 we can only know
them as images (είκονικώς) and as ούσιώδεις λόγου?.37 Following Iambli­
chus, he maintains that the soul has entirely descended.38
The consequences of this view for man’s ascent are very great.
Dodds39 rightly connects the lower estimate of man’s cosmic worth
directly with the replacement of the Plotinian intellectual and moral
ascent by Iamblichan theurgy— and, he should add, by π ίσ τις. By the
power of his own divinity man no longer claims to ascend the path of
"Ερω?. He can choose between magic and faith in God’s descending
Έ ρ ω ? for his salvation. Fortunately the doctrine of πίστις — comparable
with certain views of the Christians— saved the Platonist, now disil­
lusioned about his natural eternal kinship with the κόσμος νοητός and
the uncreated divinity of his soul, from seeking his salvation entirely
in deovpyia.
The confusion among pagan Neoplatonists as to the possible kinship
of the soul with God provided a weakness which the Christians were
not slow to observe. Attacking the Neoplatonic 'Epcos as taught by
Plotinus with the criticism that it involved the arrogant notion of
self-sufficiency, Augustine maintains that the belief that the soul is by
nature, rather than by creation, divine, is itself the cause of the pagan
philosopher’s failure to know God.40 For divinization, not the superbia
of Neoplatonism but the humilitas that receives the divine Grace is
needed. Proclus’ less hopeful view of the potentialities of the human
soul and his demand for π ίσ τις suit the Christians well, for the π ίσ τις
of a thinker who believes that the soul has “wholly descended” is of
little use without Grace and a Saviour. Proclus’ Έρω? προνοητικός must
now be personalized, just as Origen personalized the cosmic aspects of
the Platonic down-flowing Έρω?.

34Damascius, De Princ. 400(Ruelle vol.2, 254).

3hA p. Proclum in Tim. 3.334.7. ei δε προαίρεσις αμαρτάνει, πώς αναμάρτητος ή
ψυχή;
3iE nn. 6.5.7. νοονμεν εκείνα, ούκ είδωλα αυτών ονδε τύπους εχοντες.
37Procl. Elem. Theol. 194-5. u Ibid. 211.
3*Cf. his edition of The Elements oj Theology (Oxford 1933) xx.
40Cf. Confessions 7.20.26.
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 INDICES

I. G EN ER A L IN D E X

A c a d e m y , 3, 27, 170 Arius Didymus, 64, 65 η. 49, 166

Achilles, 130 Armstrong, A. H., 34, 35 n. 60, 36, 37,
Aetius, 148 56 n. 3, 59 nn. 14,15, 60 n. 21, 62-66,
Ά γάττϊ/, 38, 79, 80, 85, 98, 99, 206. See 69, 70 n. 6 6 , 72, 74 n. 79, 75 n. 81,
also "Epcos 76, 77, 78 n. 94, 79, 80 n. 101, 82,
Agathon, 25, 35 85, 8 6 , 89 n. 133, 93, 98 n. 166, 103 n.
Albinus, 56 η. 1, 64-67, 73, 78 n. 94, 180, 177, 181, 189 n. 29, 218 n. 29
8 6 n. 129, 98 n. 167, 165-168, 170, Arnou, R ., 71, 76, 78, 80, 81 n. 106, 8 6 ,
186-188, 190 104 n. 183, 209
Alcibiades, 28, 1 0 1 , 134, 185, 2 1 1 Asclepius, 165
Alcimus, 62 Athanasius, 217, 218 n. 23
Alcmaeon, 148 Atticus Platonicus, 61 η. 26, 6 6
Alexander of Aphrodisias, 47 n. 84, 6 6 n. Aubin, P ., 8 6 n. 123
52, 207 n. 51 Augustine, 57, 65 n. 50, 105, 112, 169,
Allegory, 8 , 9, 200, 203 217, 220
Allen, R. E ., 47 n. 84 Autolycus, 128
Amelius, 60, 67, 92, 93
Ammonius Saccas, 55, 208 B a c c h y l i d e s , 116
Anthropomorphism, 16, 21 Bickel, E ., 64 n. 45
Antiochus of Ascalon, 64, 65, 166-168 Bigg, C., 200 n. 25, 211 n. 63
Antiphon, 128 Billings, T . H ., 73 n. 75
Aphrodite Ourania, 205 Bluck, R. S., 48
Aphrodite Pandemos, 100, 204 n. 40, 205 Borgia, Cesare, 128
Apollo, 19 Brehier, E ., 56, 58, 62 n. 26, 70 n. 64, 92,
Apollophanes, 208 93, 104, 109, 169, 171, 189 n. 31
Apuleius, 15 Burnaby, J., 216
Archelaus of Macedon, 127 Burnet, J., 51, 55
Archer-Hind, R. D., 61, 145, 146 Bury, J . B., 128
Ares, 19
Aristo of Chios, 161 C a d i o u , R ., 200 n. 25
Aristophanes, 35 Caird, E ., 91, 92
Aristotle, 3, 16, 20, 21, 23, 41, 51-53, 55, Calli cles, 20, 117
60, 63, 65, 6 6 , 78 n. 94, 84, 98 n. 167, Calvin, 105
110, 115, 124, 125, 128, 138, 141, Canart, P ., 17 n. 8
152, 153, 157-160, 164, 168, 169 n. Carlyle, 201
3, 182, 186, 196, 209 Carpocrates, 184, 185
Aristoxenus, 51, 52 Casey, R. P., 197
Arius, 214 Catullus, 25
Cebes, 2 0 , 40 6 8 , 73 n. 77, 8 8 , 95, 187, 188, 190,

Celsus, 196, 198, 210 208 n. 54, 220

Chadwick, H., 211 Dyroff, A., 167
Chalcidius, 58 n. 8
Charmides, 124 E m a n a t i o n , 32, 34, 74, 75, 87, 181, 215
Cherniss, H. F ., 62, 124 n. 16 Emerson, 14
Christianity, 25, 30, 31, 72, 79, 80, 85, Empedocles, 106
8 6 , 8 8 , 112, 178-180, 195-220 Epictetus, 160, 210
Chrysippus, 161-164, 167 Epicureans, 3, 165, 167
Cicero, 162, 163 n. 14 Epicurus, 165
Cilento, V., 171 Erigena, Scotus, 70
Clark, G. H ., 104 n. 184 "Epojs, 23, 38, 76-80, 82-86, 104, 183,
Clausewitz, 140 197, 203-209, 220; between indi­
Cleanthes, 161, 163 viduals, 24, 26; as desire, 2 5 -28, 79,
Cleinias, 121, 138, 153 8 5 ,9 6 , 98, 99; non-appetitive, 3 0-40,
Clement of Alexandria, 196-198, 201, 217 76-79, 85, 97-100, 206, 207, 215,
Coleridge, 13 216; and ’A y am 7, 79, 80, 83, 205,
Contemplation, in Plato, 28, 30; in 206, 210, 213, 214, 220; and homo­
Plotinus, 91, 170-173, 215 sexuality, 100-102, 185. See also
Cornford, F . M., 30, 31, 35, 41 n. 75, 49, Άγάιπ;
6 8 n. 58, 69, 115, 119 n. 6 Eryximachus, 209
Couturat, L ., 13 Euclid, 55
Critias, 120, 137 Eudorus, 65 n. 49, 6 6 n. 52
Cronius, 208 Eudoxus, 15
Crouzel, H ., 195 n. 4, 197 n. 15, 200 n. Eunapius, 104
26, 212 n. 69, 214 n. 3, 217 n. 22, Euripides, 40 n. 71, 143
218 n. 25 Eusebius, 65 n. 49, 6 6 n. 55, 195
Euthydemus, 121, 129
D a m a s c i u s , 70 n. 6 4 , 220 Euthyphro, 124, 125, 136
Danielou, J ., 89 n. 134, 195, 200 n. 27,
201, 208, 212, 213 n. 3 F e s t u g i e r e , A. J., 36, 160, 165 n. 20, 187
D ’Arcy, M. C., 99 n. 169 Friends of Forms, 44, 45
De Faye, E ., 197, 211 n. 63, 213 n. 3 Friendship, between man and God, 23
De Lubac, H ., 195, 199, 200 n. 25, 206, Frutiger, P ., 9
211 n. 63
De Rougemont, D., 99 n. 169 G a l e n , 199
De Vogel, C. J ., 56 η. 1, 164 n. 16 Gallienus, 173
Deification ( ‘Ομοίωσιτ 0eq5), in Plato, Gaye, R. K., 107 n. 197
17-20, 155, 156; in Plotinus, 89, 94; Geach, P., 47 n. 84
' in Aristotle, 157-160; in Stoicism, Glaucon, 38, 50, 147, 180
161-164; in Epicureanism, 165; in Glaucus, 175
Albinus, 165-168; in Plotinus, 169, Gnostics, 85, 8 8 , 180, 184—186, 204 n. 40,
180-191; in Origen, 202; in post- 207, 213
Plotinian Neoplatonism and Christ­ Good, the, in Plato, 23, 40, 50, 51, 53,
ianity, 216-218, 2 2 0 91, 127, 151, 152, 155, 182; and
Dionysodorus, 1 2 1 , 126 measure, 50, 51; and the One, 52, 53,
Diophanes, 101, 185, 211 102. See also the One
Diotima, 25, 26, 34—36, 209 Gorgias, 1 2 , 136, 140
Dodds, E . R ., 23, 58 n. 7, 61 n. 27, 6 6 , Gould, J ., 115-142, 150, 154
Gregory of Nyssa, 217, 218 Ladner, G. B., 188 n. 25, 218 n. 24
Grube, G. M. A., 23, 24 n. 30, 41 n. 76, Lamb, W. R. M., 12
42, 100 n. 171, 109, 125 n. 18, 150 Langerbeck, H., 208 n. 54
Guardians, 18, 19, 27, 37, 38, 40, 51, 146, Leibniz, G.W., 13
147, 157 Loenen, J . H., 63-65
Guthrie, W. K. C., 105-108 Longinus, 60, 67, 208
Louis, P ., 203 n. 39
H a c k f o r t h , R ., 10, 11, 18 n. 14, 27 n.
Luck, G., 63, 65
39, 89 n. 133, 106-108, 144 η. 1 ,1 4 5 ,
Lueder, A., 64
151
Lycurgus, 36
Hadot, P ., 42 n. 78
Hanson, R. P. C., 200 nn. 24, 25 M a c c h i a v e l l i , 128
Harder, R ., 100, 171 MacKenna, S. (and Page, B. S.), 81, 96,
Hardie, W. F. R ., 6 8 n. 58, 69 98, 99, 102, 111, 190
Hecate, 94 Marcus Aurelius, 162
Hegel, 15 Marinus, 95 n. 160
Heinemann, F ., 61 n. 27, 6 8 n. 57, 109 Markus, R ., 26 n. 37, 28 n. 42, 35, 37
Henry, P ., 72, 83, 93 n. 154, 104 n. 184, Mathematics, in Plato, 21, 22, 50, 51;
108 n. 199, 201, 202 n. 32 and Plotinus, 74, 90, 91; attitude of
Hera, 19 Origen to, 199
Heracles, 171 Meno, 143
Heraclitus, 116 Menoeceus, 165
Herodotus, 116, 130 Merki, H ., 89 n. 134, 161, 197 n. 10, 202,
Himmerich, W., 177 216, 217 n. 22, 218
Hippias, 130, 135 Merlan, P ., 41 n. 75, 93
Homer, 130, 138 Minos, 11
όμοίωσκ, see Deification Moderatus, 208
I a m b l i c h u s , 58, 6 6 n. 52, 158, 178, 214,
Moreau, J ., 118 n. 10
Moses, 1 1 2 , 199
215, 220
Mugnier, R ., 17 n. 8 , 61 n. 26
Ignatius, 206
Mysticism, 14, 70, 82, 83, 87, 8 8 , 93, 95,
Inge, W. R ., 87, 95, 108 n. 199, 176, 196,
96, 99, 100, 102, 103, 108, 184, 187-
203, 204, 211
191, 200, 203, 212, 218
Irenaeus, 184, 185, 196 n. 8 , 216, 217
M yth, in Plato, 7 -1 3 ; in Neoplatonism , 8
J a e g e r , W ., 16
Jehovah, 73 N e b e l , G., 42 n. 79
Jensen, C., 165 Neopythagoreanism, 8 6 n. 125, 90, 112
Jones, R. M ., 61, 64 n. 47, 65, 188 n. 28 Nerlich, G. C., 48 n. 90
Joseph, H. W . B ., 118, 123 Nicholas, 185
Justin M artyr, 178, 179, 186 Nicias, 117, 133, 135
Nicostratus, 208
K a t z , J ., 70 n. 63, 171 Nock, A. D., 65 n. 49
Knowledge (and Virtue), in Plato, 1 15- Norden, E ., 64 n. 45
156; in Aristotle, 157-160; in Nous, and the One, 70; and Virtue, 182,
Stoicism, 160-164; in Albinus, 165— 183, 186; and the Forms, 29, 42, 43,
168; in Plotinus, 169-191 60, 67, 6 8 , 71, 89, in Alcimus, 62,
Koch, H ., 207 n. 53 among the Stoics, 63, in Antiochus,
Kristeller, P . O., 103 n. 180 64-65, in Posidonius, 64-65, in Philo,
L a c e y , A. R ., 45 63, in Albinus, 65-66, in Atticus, 6 6 ;
Laches, 124 and Virtue, 182, 183, 186
Numenius, 56 η. 1, 61 n. 27, 73, 78 n. 94, on man of, 50, 55, 6 8 , 96, 110;
8 6 n. 125, 112, 188, 208 knowledge and vritue in, 115-156;
Nygren, A., 38 n. 67, 79, 80, 83, 85, 99 n. nature of soul in, 105-108, 166. See
169, 206, 213-216 also Good, One, Έ poss
Platonopolis, 171-173
Plotinus, 3, 4, 13-15, 19, 24, 31, 32, 42,
O d y s s e u s , 130
43, 50, 53, 54, 56-112, 166, 169-191,
Olympiodorus, 14
197, 200, 207 n. 51, 208, 211-216,
One, the, 19, 43, 69-87, 95; and Being,
217 n. 18, 2 18-220; attitude to
43-46, 54, 80, 8 8 ; and Plato’s Good,
Plato of, 3, 4, 13, 24, 57, 58, 92, 105;
52; personal and supra-personal
deification in, 169, 180-191; un­
characteristics of, 7 1-73, 8 6 , 87, 97,
descended part of soul in, 175-178;
109, 110, 198, 206; transcendence
no influence of Christianity on, 31;
and immanence of, 8 0-92; and Eros,
Forms of individuals in, 109; bias
9 6-97, 102
against, 14, 15. See also Έ ρ ω ? , One,
Onians, R. B., 40 nn. 71, 73, 108 n. 200,
Knowledge, Mysticism, etc.
138, 141
Plutarch, 56 η. 1 , 64 n. 49, 98 n. 167, 1 0 1 ,
Opinion, 20, 141, 143-151, 154, 164, 167
102, 161, 164 nn. 16, 17
Orientalism, 7, 56, 104
Pohlenz, M., 161 n. 9, 164, n. 16
Origen, 3 ,4 , 2 4 ,3 8 , 80, 102, 195-212, 213,
Polus, 12, 127, 140
214, 216, 217, 220; and Bride of
Porphyry, 57 n. 4, 60, 61, 6 6 , 92, 93,
Christ, 28, 202-205, 210, 2 1 2 ;
95 n. 1 6 0 ,1 0 0 ,1 0 1 ,1 7 2 ,1 8 5 ,1 9 0 ,1 9 5
attitude to Plato and Platonism of,
Posidonius, 56, 64, 65, 6 6 n. 52, 74, 162,
3 -4 , 24, 195, 199, 201, 208, 210, 211;
163
Christianity and Platonism in, 195;
Proclus, 14, 61 n. 26, 94, 95, 178, 190,
deification in, 202. See also Eros,
214-216, 218-220
Agape, etc.
Protagoras, 122, 131, 133, 134, 138, 146
Osborn, E . F ., 197 n. 10
Protarchus, 50, 197
Owen, G. E . L ., 30 n. 49
Protogenes, 1 0 2
Ps-Dionysius, 70, 206 n. 47
P a n a e t i u s , 163 Puech, H. C., 212
Pantheism, 14, 81, 104 Purification, 20, 27, 94; in Plotinus, 8 6 ,
Pausanias, 27, 209, 210 89, 92
Peck, A. L ., 43-46, 47 n. 84, 52 Pythagoreans, 20, 57, 195, 209
Pericles, 138
Petre, H ., 207 n. 53 R h a d a m a n t h y s , 11
Phaedra, 143, 175 Rich, A. N. M ., 6 2 ,6 3 , 80 n. 99, 83, 108 n.
Phaedrus, 35, 209, 210 199
Philebus, 50 Rist, J. M., 30 n. 49, 70 n. 63, 109 n. 202
Philo, 56 η. 1, 63, 6 6 , 73, 112, 188-190, Robin, L ., 25, 28, 41 n. 75
200-202, 207, 212, 214 n. 7 Robinson, R ., 22 n. 24
Philodemus, 165 Rosan, L. J ., 215 n. 13, 219
Pistorius, P. V., 70, 108 n. 199 Rosenmeyer, T . G., 116 n. 4
Plato, passim·, and myths, 7 -1 3 ; and Ross, W. D., 43, 48 n. 90, 52, 60 n. 18,
allegory, 8 , 9; lack of system of, 8 ; 125, 158 η. 1
deification in, 17-20, 155, 156; con­ Ruther, T ., 197 n. 10
tradictions in, 38, 54, 55, 57, 58, 92, Rufinus, 204-206, 2 1 1
97, 213; two views of love in, 26, 97, Russell, B., 201
213; contemplation in, 28; demands Ryle, G., 116, 138, 140, 141
S acred B and, 19 Theory of Forms, 13, 59, 60, 62; origins
Schaerer, R ., 116 n. 6 , 118 n. 9 of, 123-128
Schmekel, A., 64 Theurgy, 8 8 , 93, 94, 218, 220
Schmid, W ., 165 n. 23 Third Man, 47-49
Schwyzer, H. R., 77 n. 8 8 , 84 n. 115, 129 Thucydides, 118 n. 9, 128, 130
n. 24 Trouillard, J ., 32, 69, 75, 76 n. 85, 77,
Self-predication, 4 7 -5 0 , 59, 60 80 n. 102, 170 n. 4, 180 n. 16, 181 n.
Sellars, W ., 47 n. 84 17, 202 n. 32
Seneca, 64, 65, 160, 162 Trypho, 178
Sforza, Francesco, 128 Tuckey, T . G., 120, 1 2 1 , 127, 132 n. 25,
Shorey, P ., 14, 15 133
Silenus, 28
Sim mi as, 20 U ndescen ded part of soul , 175-178,
Simplicius, 24, 52, 160 n. 4, 220 219-220
Skemp, J . B., 10, 154 n. 10
Snell, B ., 116, 118 n. 8 V a n C a m p , J . , 17 n. 8

Socrates, 8 , 9, 20, 24, 25, 27, 28, 32-34, Varro, 65 n. 50

41, 42, 50, 105, 117-144, 146, 148, Via Negativa, 69, 89, 91, 92, 97, 110, 200
150, 152, 153, 157, 1 6 0 ,1 8 5 ,2 0 1 ,2 0 2 , Vlastos, G., 47, 48
210 Volker, W., 197 n. 16, 212
Speusippus, 3, 15, 24, 51, 52, 55, 56 η. 1
Stewart, J . A., 9, 12, 13 W alzer, R ., 199 n. 20
Stobaeus, 161, 167 Waszink, J . H., 58 n. 8 , 179
Stoics, 3, 56, 6 2 -6 4 , 112, 160-164, 167, Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U. von, 79,
196, 197 106, 216 n. 17
Subordinationism, 209, 213, 214 W itt, R. E ., 56 n. 2, 62, 64, 74 n. 79, 166,
Synesius, 14 168, 201 n. 29
Syrianus, 6 6 n. 55 Wolfson, H. A., 56 η. 1, 70 n. 63, 87 n.
129, 189 n. 31, 208 n. 54, 214 n. 7

Tarrant, D., 125 X enocrates, 3, 52, 55, 56 η. 1

Tate, J. A., 8 , 202 n. 38 Xenophanes, 16
Tatian, 178-180 Xenophon, 128-130, 134
Taylor, A. E ., 30-34, 37, 106, 126
Tertullian, 112, 179, 180, 196, 204 n. 40 Z e l l e r , E ., 42, 46

Theiler, W., 63-65, 162 n. 10, 169 n. 3 Zeno, 63, 161, 164
Theophrastus, 3, 160 Zeus, 18, 23, 33, 217
 II. IN D E X OF PASSAGES QUOTED OR R E F E R R E D TO

A e t iu s(in Dox. Gr.) n. 53; (192B) 217 n. 18

(5.30), 148 n. 4 Contra Arianos (PG. 26), (28C -32A )
A l b in u s 214 n. 5; (296A) 217 n. 18; (360A)
Didaskalikos (10) 6 6 n. 51, 73 n. 76, 217 n. 18; (393A) 217 n. 18
8 8 n. 129, 187; (23) 99 n. 167; (27) A thenaeus
167 n. 186; (29) 166, 167 n. 29 Deipnosophistae (4.176E ) 90 n. 140
A l e x a n d e r o f A p h r o d isia s A u g u stin e
In Met. (59.7) 66 n. 52; (695.37) Confessiones (7.20.26) 220 n. 40
207 n. 51 Contra Academicos (3.18) 57 n. 6 ,
A nonymous P rolegom ena 169 η. 1
(ed. Westerink) (26. p. 47) 58 De Civitate Dei (7.28) 65 n. 50; (13.24)
A r ist o t l e 217 n. 19
De Anima (404B20) 49 n. 94; (429A27) Epistles (118) 112 n. 206
63 n. 38; (430A10ff.) 176 Sermones (166.4) 217 n. 20; (344.1)
De Gen. et Corr. (335B7ff.) 41 n. 77; 217 n. 21
(335B11) 125 n. 17
De Ideis (ap. Alex, in Met. 990B15) B a c c h y l id e s
47 n. 8 8 (10.38) 116 n. 6
Eudemian Ethics (1216B2ff.) 115
Metaphysics (987B19ff.) 53 n. 106;
C h a l c id iu s
(988A8) 41 n. 77; (988A10ff.) 6 6 n.
Comm, in Tim. (361.20) 63 n. 37
52; (988B llff.) 5 2 n. 101; (990B17ff.)
C ic e r o
60 n. 18; (992B) 21 n. 17, 209 n. 61;
Tusculans (1.32.79) 163 n. 14; (4.7.14)
(1021B20) 166 n. 26; (107lB2ff.)
164 n. 16; (5.26.73) 165 n. 18
16 n. 2; (1074B15) 6 6 n. 52;
C lem ent of A l e x a n d r ia
(1078B28) 124 n. 15; (1091B13ff.) 52
Paedagogus (GCS 12) (1.2.4) 197 n. 11
Nicomachean Ethics (1045A25ff.) 8 8 n.
Stromateis (GCS 15) (2.131.6) 217 n. 22;
129; (1096A12ff.) 159; (1096B1)
(3.3.2) 205 n. 40; (4.151.1) 197 n. 13
47 n. 8 8 ; (1097Alff.) 153; (1106B36)
(5.109.3) 16 η. 1
157; (1134B27ff.) 158; (1144B20)
152; (1144B30) 152; (1145A25ff.)
D a m a sc iu s
158; (1159A5ff.) 23 n. 28;
(1166A15ff.) 177 n. 11; (1169A2AF.) De Principiis (ed. Ruelle, vol. 2) (400)
177 n. 11; (1177B30ff.) 157; (1178A) 220 n. 34
D io g e n e s L a e r t iu s
177; (1178B) 158; (1179A251F.) 158
Physics (246Α13ΑΓ.) 166 n. 26 Lives (3.13) 62 n. 30; (7.111) 164 n. 16;
Protrepticus (Iamblichus, Protrepticus (7.127) 163 n. 12; (7.157) 163 n. 13;
8 ; Ross, Frag. Sel. 42) 158 η. 1
(10.6) 165 n. 20; (10.124) 165;
Scholia in Cat. (26B10) 6 6 n. 52 (10.132) 165 n. 19; (10.140) 165 n.18
[A r is t o t l e ]
Magna Moralia (1208B30) 23 n. 27 E p ip h a n iu s
A r ist o x e n u s Panarion Haereseon (GCS 2 5 ) (26.4)
Harm. Elem. (2.30) 51 n. 99 204 n. 40
A t h a n a siu s E u r ip id e s
De Incam . Verbi ( PG. 25), (97C) 207 H ipp. (380-1) 143; (525) 40 n. 71
E u se b iu s On Romans (PG. 14) (4.5) 202 n. 37
H .E . (4.7) 204 n. 40; (6.19) 195 n. 2, On St. John (GCS 10) (1.30) 212 n. 70;
208 n. 56 (2.2( 208 n. 57, 213 n. 2; (13.59) 202
P .E . (11.23) 65 n. 49; (15.13) 61 n. 26, n. 33; (19.6) 198 n. 18; (20.17) 202
6 6 n. 55 n. 35; (32.37) 202 n. 36
Contra Celsum (GCS 2-3) (1.9) 199 n.
G alen
19; (4.17) 207 n. 53; (4.30) 202 n. 37,
De Plac. H ipp. et Plat, (5.1) 164 n. 16;
217 n. 22; (4.39) 205 n. 45; (5.39)
(7.2) 161 n. 6
213 u. 2; (5.43) 196 n. 69; (6.2) 211
Hist. Phil. (Dox. Graeci) (25) 62 n. 35
n. 62; ( 6 . 8 ) 199 n. 22; ( 6 . 64) 198 n.
G regory of N yssa
17; (7.38) 198 n. 18; (7.47) 196 n. 6 ;
De A n. et Resurr. (PG. 46) (28A) 218
(7.59) 196 n. 6
n. 28; (89A) 215 n. 10
De Princ. (GCS 22) (1.1) 198 n. 8 8 ,
De Oral. Dom. (PG. 44) (1145Aff.) 218
207 n. 52; (1.8) 202 n. 33; (2.2) 213
n. 27
n. 3; (3.6) 202 n. 35, 37, 217 n. 22;
H e r a c l it u s (4.4) 214 n. 6
f r . (57 D K ) 116 n. 7 Horn, on Ezechiel (GCS 33) ( 6 . 6 ) 197
H e sio d n. 16
Theog. ( 8 8 6 ) 18 n. 12 Horn, on Numbers (GCS 30) (27.12)
H ip p o l y t u s 2 1 1 n. 65
Ref. Omn. Haer. (GCS 26) (6.19.5) 204 Philokalia (13.1) 199 n. 23
n. 40
H omer P h il o
Od. (9.49) 116 n. 5; (13.207) 116 n. 5; De Op. M undi (4) 63 n. 37; (23.69) 188
(13.213) 116 n. 5; (21.406) 116n. 5 n. 25; (46.134) 188 n. 25
I g n a t iu s Legum Alleg. (1.12) 188 n. 25; (1.59)
Ad. Rom. (7.2) 206 n. 48 207 n. 51
I renaeus Quis rerum. (51.249) 188 n. 27;
Ado. Haer. (1.6.2) 184; (1.25.3) 185; (53.263) 188
(1.26.3) 185; (2.14.3) 196 n. 8 ; P h il o d e m u s

(2.16.1-2) 196 n. 8 ; (2.28.4) 197 De Deorum Victu (Vol. Here 6 col. 1)

n. 13; (5.6.1) 217 n. 22 165 n. 21
P lato
J u lia n
Ale. I. (110C) 133-4; (111C) 117;
Ep. (12.86) 207 n. 51
(111D) 134; (130D) 137; (133B)
J u st in
137
Dial. (1.3) 179 n. 14; (1 .4 -6 ) 178;
Apol. (18A) 126; (21D) 135; (22BC)
(2.45) 186 n. 22
8 n. 5; (22D E) 117; (31 A) 32
M arcus A u r e l iu s Charm. (163E) 120; (165B) 137;
Meditations (10.8) 162 (170C) 138; (174B) 120; (174C) 132;
M a r in u s (174D) 142
Vita Procli (27) 95 n. 160 Crat. (390A) 139; (407A) 8 n. 2;
O r ig e n (41 IE ) 148
On Genesis (GCS 29) (1.26) 202 n. 35 Euthyd. (280ff.) 121; (281 A) 121;
On Psalms (PG. 12) (17.12) 197 n. 15 (2 8 IE ) 133; (282C) 139; (290CD)
On Song of Songs (PG. 13) (64BC ) 205 121; (292C) 121; (300E) 126
n. 42; (67AB) 205 n. 44; (67Dff.) Euthyphro (4E ) 136; (5D) 124; (lOAff.)
206 n. 46; (70D) 206 n. 48; (71BC) 23 n. 29, 1 2 2 ; (12C) 119; (12E ) 118;
209 n. 59; (163AB) 204 n. 41 (13 A) 117
Gorgias (450A) 149 n. 5; (459C) 136; Polit. (299 BC) 150
(460B) 136; (464-5) 119, 127; Prot. (329Cff.) 133; (330C) 1 2 2 ;
(474B) 127; (474D) 126; (500AB) (330CD) 47 n. 8 6 ; (334Aff.) 134;
119 n. 11; (507Eff.) 21 n. 20; (508A) (342Aff.) 8 n. 5; (349D) 133; (352A)
148; (511C) 117; (523A) 11 n. 9; 131; (352Bff.) 135; (352C) 131, 151;
(524D E) 107 n. 193; (527A) 11 (357A) 133; (357B) 146; (358C) 133;
Hipp. Maj. (286C) 125 (360D) 133
H ipp. M in. (367A) 135; (375D) 135; Rep. (334B) 128; (342A) 118 n. 11;
(376B) 137 (346E) 118 n. 11; (334B) 128;
Ion (533Dff.) 8 n. 5 (353B) 166 n. 26; (378BC) 33 n. 53;
Laches (190B) 166 n. 26; (190E) 124; (378D) 8 n. 3; (379C) 29 n. 46;
(194) 131; (194D) 117; (194E) 135; (380C) 33 n. 53; (401Dff.) 147;
(196D) 135; (199C) 132 (41 IE ) 148; (429C) 146; (431) 149;
Laws (631C) 154; (710A) 153; (713D) (443CD) 149; (444E) 148; (490Aff.)
33 n. 55; (716B) 17 n. 6 ; (731Dff.) 203 n. 39; (500C) 17 n. 7; (500D)
38 n. 69; (818C) 21 n. 19; (819B) 147, 186 n. 20; (505A) 53 n. 105,151,
150; (836Bff.) 101 n. 175; (837A) 153; (506A) 151; (506B) 152; (508A)
98 n. 167; (839B) 100 n. 171; 148; (508ff.) 151; (509B) 50 n. 95,
(863Eff.) 150; (896D) 107; (897A) 53 n. 104, 54, 65 n. 57; (517BC) 53;
107 n. 196, 108; (897B) 108; (901E) (518C) 53 n. 105; (519D ) 157, 180;
108; (904B) 108; (952Cff.) 150 (520C) 38 n. 65; (525A) 22 n. 21;
Lysis (217) 25 n. 34; (217D) 47 n. 85 (529D) 49 n. 93; (531Aff.) 209 n. 60;
Meno (81) 13; (96C) 143; (96E) 143; (532C) 53 n. 65; (533A) 21 n. 18;
(98A) 144; (98CD) 151; (100A) 138 (533D) 20 n. 16, 199 n. 23; (534C)
Parm. (130E) 60 n. 17; (132B) 29 n. 22 n. 25, 152; (537A) 91 n. 146;
47; (132BC) 60 n. 19; (132D) 218 (537C) 22 n. 2 2 ; (540C) 18 n. 10;
n. 24 (546ff.) 103; (589AB) 176 n. 10;
Phaedo. (64A) 27 n. 40, 92 n. 148; (597D) 56 η. 1, 61 n. 24; (602) 148;
( 6 6 D) 27 n. 41; (68-69) 144-145; (611Aff.) 105 n. 186; (611C) 27 n.
(69) 151; (69C) 20 n. 15; (74C) 39; (611CD) 175; (613B) 17 n. 4,
49 n. 93; (75AB) 49 n. 93; (78C) 105; 186 n. 20; (617E) 33 n. 53, 155;
(78D) 40 n. 74; (79D) 105 n. 187; (619C) 147; (620A) 90 n . 140.
(79D E) 174; (81A) 107 n. 194; Seventh Letter (341C) 24 n. 32, 51 n. 98
(82A) 108 n. 199; (82AB) 144; (93E) Soph. (216C) 17 n. 8 ; (227Eff.) 149;
174; (100C) 47 n. 87; (102Bff.) 89 (237C) 44; (246Aff.) 41 n. 76; (248A)
n. 132; (114D) 11, 13 n. 11 45-6, 60 n. 23; (248 Dff.) 4 2 -4 3 ;
Phaedrus (229C) 8 η. 1; (229D) 202 (250E) 44; (251C) 44; (253Dff.) 45;
n. 38; (244A) 28 n. 44, 87 n. 127; (254A) 46, 169 n. 2
(244C) 40 n. 72; (246A) 16, 107; Symp. (197C) 35 n. 59; (201Aff.) 25 n.
(246E) 18 n. 12, 33 n. 54; (247A) 30 33; (202A) 151; (203E) 26 n. 36;
' n. 49, 155; (248) 29 n. 45; (249C) (203B -E) 205 n. 45; (206B) 34 n. 58;
18 n. 9; (250) 103 n. 180; (252C) (206Cff.) 105; (206E) 36; (209A)
19 n. 13; (252D) 36, 82 n. I l l ; 151; (209D E) 36; (210A) 35, 8 8 n.
(252E) 18 n. 11; (253A) 36; (253D) 129; (211) 187; (211B) 27 n. 38;
19 n. 13; (265B) 21 n. 18; (275C) (21 1 C) 9 7 ; ( 2 1 1 - 2 1 2 ) 36
24 n. 31 Theaet. (176A) 94; (176AB) 17 n. 4,
Philebus. (11BC) 152; (14B) 152; 89 n. 131, 186, 218 n. 27; (176E) 107
(23Cff.) 42; (23D E) 107 n. 197; n. 197
(65A) 50 n. 97; ( 6 6 A) 50 n. 96 Tim. (28C) 33 n. 56, 73 n. 74; (29A)
 61; (29D ) 10 η. 8 ; (29E) 30 η. 48, 105; (5.5.8) 95 n. 162, 189 n. 29;
50, 75 η. 83, 155; (35Α) 41 η. 75; (5.5.9) 80 n. 104; (5.5.12) 75 n. 83,
(37C) 33 η. 56, 73 η. 74; (39Ε ) 61, 80 n. 100, 103 n. 180; (5.6.5) 77 n.
65, 67; (43BC ) 27 η. 39; (72D) 106; 8 8 ; (5.7) 109 n. 202; (5.9.1) 169;
( 8 6 BC) 149; (90Α) 17 η. 5, 186 η. (5.9.7) 174; (5.9.12) 109 n. 202
20; (90D ) 22 η. 23; (91) 108 η. 199; Enn. VI ( 6 . 2 ) 43; (6.2.22) 65 n. 48;
(92C) 62 (6.3.16) 174; (6.4.2) 81; (6.4.3) 81;
[P lato] (6.4.11) 81 n. 107; (6.5.7) 220 n. 36;
De/. (411 Cff.) 166 ( 6 . 6 . 6 ) 6 8 n. 56; (6.7.15) 75 n. 80;
P l o t in u s (6.7.22) 50, 74, 8 6 n. 121, 97 n. 164;
Enn. I ( U .7 ) 177; (1.1.9) 219 n. 31; (6.7.31) 89 n. 133, 181; (6.7.34) 94 n.
(1.1.12) 171; (1.2.1) 89 n. 131, 135, 158, 99 n. 170; (6.7.35) 94 n. 159,
90 n. 138, 169, 171, 181, 186 n. 21; 96 n. 163; (6.7.36) 83 n. 113, 8 8 n.
218 n. 27; (1.2.3) 169, 186 n. 21; 129, 94 n. 157; (6.7.37) 80 n. 101;
(1.2.4) 173-174; (1.2.5) 89 n. 134, (6.7.38) 70 n. 63; (6.7.39) 42 n. 79,
92 n. 149, 186,216 n. 14; (1.2.6) 89 n. 6 6 n. 56, 80 n. 102, 84 n. 116, 103 n.
134, 91 n. 144, 174, 186, 216 n. 14; 182; (6.7.41) 77 n. 8 8 ; ( 6 . 8 . 6 ) 182;
(1.2.7) 90 n. 139; (1.3) 90 n. 140; (6.8.14) 81 n. 108; (6.8.15) 78 n. 94,
(1.3.3) 90 n. 142; (1.3.6) 173; (1.4.2) 8 2 ,1 0 4 n. 184; (6.8.16) 69, 98 n. 168;
174; (1.4.9) 163; (1.6.6) 186 n. 21; (6.8.18) 69, 214 n. 4; (6.8.19) 80 n.
(1.6.7) 92 n. 147, 97 n. 165, 190; 101; (6.8.21) 78 n. 93; (6.9.3) 70 n.
(1.6.8) 72 n. 69, 90 n. 141; (1.6.9) 6 6 ; (6.9.4) 81; (6.9.5) 70 n. 64;
82 n. I l l ; (1.8.2) 69 (6.9.6) 69, 71 n. 6 8 , 217 n. 17; (6.9.7)
E nn. II (2.4.9) 59 n. 13; (2.9.1) 69, 89 81; (6.9.8) 8 6 n. 122, 104 n. 183, 184,
n. 136, 219 n. 33; (2.9.2) 177; (2.9.3) 216 n. 15; (6.9.9) 72 n. 70, 102 n.
77 n. 8 6 ; (2.9.6) 57 n. 5, 61 n. 27, 179, 189 n. 30, 190; (6.9.11) 103 n.
65 n. 48; (2.9.9) 186 181, 110 n. 203, 183, 189
E n n . H I (3.2.3) 77 n. 87; (3.2.5) 108 n. P lutarch
199; (3.2.9) 85 n. 119; (3.4) 108 n. Ado. Col. (1117A) 165 n. 18
199; (3.4.3) 219 n. 32; (3.5) 215 n. Amatorius (751Eff.) 101 n. 176; (758C)
10; (3.5.2) 79; (3.5.3) 83; (3.5.4) 79; 99 n. 167; (759D) 99 n. 167; (7 6 6 E f)
(3.5.7) 84 n. 117; (3.62) 174, 177; 102 n. 178; (767D E) 102 n. 177
(3.6.6) 6 6 n. 56; (3.7.1) 59 n. 10; De Alex. Magni Fort. (328E) 211 n. 62
(3.8.1) 8 6 n. 124; (3.8.4) 170; (3.8.6) De A n. Proc. (1031B) 65 n. 49
170; (3.8.10) 74 n. 78; (3.9.1) 61 n. De Prof, in Virt. (83Aff.) 164 n. 17
27, 65 n. 48; (3.9.9) 70, 79 n. 8 8 De Stoic. Repug. (1034C) 161 n. 5
Enn. IV (4.3.8) 108 n. 199; (4.8.1) 58 n. De Virt. Mor. (441 Bff.) 164 n. 16
9, 111 n. 204, 190; (4.8.6) 207; Quaest. Plat. (1007C) 62 n. 28
( 4 . 8 . 8 ) 81 n. 109, 176
[P lutarch]
E nn. V (5.1.1) 69, 201 n. 31; ( 5 . 1 . 6 )
Epit. ( Dox. Gr.) (1.7) 62 n. 28; (1.10)
69, 75 n. 80, 87 n. 123, 89 n. 137,
62 n. 35
214 n. 4 ; (5.1.7) 77 n. 8 8 , 87 n. 123;
(5.1.8) 58 n. 7, n. 11; (5.1.10) 176, P orphyry

177, 219 n. 33; (5.2.1.) 75 n. 80; De Abst. (2.34ff.) 93 n. 155

(5.3.10) 70 n. 63, 103 n. 182; (5.3.13) Vita Plot. (2) 92 n. 150; (9) 101 n. 173;
70, 77 n. 8 8 ; (5.3.17) 69, 94 n. 159, (10) 93 n. 152; (12) 172; (14) 57 n.
95 n. 161; (5.4.1) 69; (5.4.2) 77 n. 4; (15) 100 n. 172, 188 n. 24, 211 n.
8 8 ; (5.5) 60 n. 20; (5.5.2) 59 n. 16; 64; (18) 60 n. 22; (23) 93 n. 151,
(5.5.6) 70 n. 63, n. 64, 71, 72, 80 n. 190 n. 32
P roclus S ocrates

Comm, on Ale. (ed. Westcrink) (31 p. Hist. Eccl. (1.5) 214 n. 6

14) 215 n. 10; (52 p. 23) 215 n. 12 Stobaeus
Comm, on Tim. (1.13.15) 39 n. 70, 58 n. Eel. ( 1 . 1 2 . 6 ) 62 n. 35; (2.50ff.) 166 n.
8 ; (1.303.27) 73 n. 77, 8 6 n. 125; 25; (2.59.4) 161 n. 7, 167 n. 30;
(1.391.7) 61 n. 26; (2.215.5) 215 n. (2.75.2) 161 n. 9
9; (4.103.28-32) 8 6 n. 125; (3.334.7) Strabo

220 n. 35 (2.3.8) 66 n. 52
Elements (194-5) 220 n. 37; (211) 220 S y r ia n u s

n. 38 Scholia in Met. 1078B12 (Berlin

Platonic Theology (ed. Portus) (61—63) Aristotle, vol. 4, ed. Usener) 6 6 n. 55
218 n. 29; (193) 218 n. 29
P s- D io n y siu s
T a t ia n
Div. Norn. (2.3-4) 70 n. 62; (4.12) 206
Orat, ad Graecos (1.13) 178
n. 47
T e r t u l l ia n
Apol. (46) 179
De An. (11) 180; (23) 112 n. 205;
S eneca
(23-24) 179; (27) 179
A d Marc. (25) 163 n. 15
T h u c y d id e s
De Const. Sap. (8.2) 162
(2.87) 118 n. 9; ( 8 . 6 8 ) 128 n. 22
E p . (65) 63 n. 37, 64 n. 44; (65.16)
163 n. 15; (71.6) 160 n. 3; (89.8)
162 n. 1 1 ; ( 1 0 2 . 2 2 ) 163 n. 15 X enophanes
Frag. (5) 162 J r . (15 D K ) 16 η. 1
S im p l ic iu s X enophon
Comm. on Cat. (237.26) 160 n. 4 Mem. (3.9.4) 130; (3.9.5) 128,130, 132;
S e x t u s E m p ir ic u s (3.9.8-9) 128; (4.6.1) 129; (4 .6 .2 -3 )
Ad. Math. (7.93) 65 n. 49 129; (4.6.6) 129