The Reception of Plato's Phaedrus From Antiquity

The Reception of Plato’s Phaedrus from Antiquity to the Renaissance
Beiträge zur Altertumskunde
Herausgegeben von
Susanne Daub, Michael Erler, Dorothee Gall,
Ludwig Koenen und Clemens Zintzen
Band 384
The Reception of
Plato’s Phaedrus
from Antiquity
to the Renaissance
Edited by
Sylvain Delcomminette, Pieter d’Hoine
and Marc-Antoine Gavray
ISBN 978-3-11-068363-9
e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-068393-6
e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-068397-4
ISSN 1616-0452
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020933299
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Contents
Introduction 1
Nicolas Zaks
The influence of Plato’s Phaedrus on Aristotle’s Rhetoric 9
Teun Tieleman
Galen’s Self-Understanding and the Platonic Phaedrus 25
Alexandra Michalewski
The Causality of the Self-Moving Soul: Platonic Responses
to the Objections of De Anima I 3 41
Suzanne Stern-Gillet
Beauty and Recollection: from the Phaedrus to the Enneads 61
Claudio Moreschini
The Phaedrus as Testimony of a Theology of the Gentiles according
to the School of Alexandria 87
George Karamanolis
The Reception of Plato’s Phaedrus in Early Christianity 103
Gerd Van Riel

Echoes of the Phaedrus in Augustine’s Discussion with Porphyry 119
Pieter d’Hoine
Plato’s Phaedrus as a Manual for Neoplatonic Hermeneutics: The Case
of the Anonymous Prolegomena to Plato’s Philosophy 131
Marc-Antoine Gavray
Plato’s Phaedrus as a Manual for Neoplatonic Hermeneutics: Inspired
Poetry and Allegory in Proclus 153
Saskia Aerts
How to Lead Souls to Beauty: Hermias on the Unity of the Phaedrus 173
VI Contents
Simon Fortier
Proclus on the Climax of the Phaedrus (247c6–d1) 199
Pantelis Golitsis
Michael Psellos’ Exegesis of the Expedition of Gods and the Chariot
Flight of the Soul 219
Guy Claessens
The Phaedrus in the Renaissance: Poison or Remedy? 229
Bibliography 249
Index Locorum 265
Index Nominum 283

Introduction
Plato’s Phaedrus is an extremely rich dialogue. It covers themes as diverse as
the value of myth and allegory, religion and theology, love and beauty, the es-
sence and condition of the soul, teaching and learning, metaphysics and episte-
mology, rhetoric and dialectic, as well as the role and the limits of writing. It is
also a literary masterpiece, and although up to now commentators still debate
about the unifying theme of the dialogue, it is hardly doubted that it at least
aims to live up to the famous canon it itself introduces for any valuable dis-
course, namely to display organic unity (Phaedrus 264b–c).
It thus comes as no surprise that this dialogue has had a tremendous influence
on Western culture since Antiquity. Especially its famous myth of the charioteer
and its account of love have had an extraordinary afterlife in the West; yet the dia-
logue’s views on the nature of the soul, on beauty, on rhetoric and on writing
have also provoked numerous reactions and reflections. The commentary on the
Phaedrus attributed to the fifth-century Platonist Hermias of Alexandria, the only
extant commentary from Antiquity,1 bears the traces of a long exegetical tradition,
which began with the Middle Platonist Atticus (2nd century CE), if not earlier.2
Before Atticus, Philo of Alexandria (1st century BCE-1st century CE) treated the
Phaedrus as one of the keys to understanding Plato’s philosophy.3 The Phaedrus’
influence, however, was hardly limited to those whom we would now call
Platonists. The dialogue’s ambition to lay the foundations for a philosophical rhet-
oric was further developed by Aristotle and later picked up by a number of Latin
authors. Literary writers alluded to the Phaedrus’ dramatic setting and treated it as
a model for the locus amoenus. The psychological ideas of the dialogue were
known and discussed not only among Platonists, but also by the Church Fathers
and by physicians like Galen, who even drew inspiration from Socrates’ teachings
on the arts in general, and on medicine in particular. Its views on beauty were
elaborated by Plotinus and had a profound impact on Renaissance artists and art
theorists. Its religious content was reanimated and adapted in the Renaissance, a
time when the criticism of writing developed in the dialogue also met with re-
newed interest thanks to the emergence of mechanical printing.
The influence of the Phaedrus from Antiquity to the Renaissance thus offers
an excellent perspective from which one can assess the diverse and profound
influence of Plato on the history of ideas. Until now, however, no attempt has
1 See the new critical edition by Lucarini & Moreschini 2012.

2 See Proclus, In Timaeum III 247.12–15 Diehl = Atticus fr. 14 des Places.
3 See Runia 1986, 374.
https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110683936-001
2 Introduction
been made to study the tradition of the Phaedrus from Antiquity up to the Early
Modern period in a comprehensive way. Studies on this subject are usually lim-
ited to specific authors or texts that have played a prominent role in this story
(such as Plotinus, Hermias, or Ficino), to particular areas of study (i.e. the his-
tories of philosophy, literature, religious studies or medicine), or to a specific
period (i.e. classical Antiquity, late Antiquity, the Byzantine period, or Early
Modern times).4 As a follow-up to a previous conference on the reception of
Plato’s Phaedo,5 we therefore decided to explore the rich and multifarious re-
ception of the Phaedrus from Antiquity to the Renaissance at a conference orga-
nized jointly by KU Leuven, the Université de Liège (ULiège) and the Université
libre de Bruxelles (ULB) at the Royal Academy of Belgium.6 The present volume
gathers most of the contributions presented at this occasion, often substantially
revised.7 We do not claim that it exhausts the history of the reception this major
text, but we do hope that it will place it in a broader perspective than is usually
done.
Our volume opens with the Phaedrus’ first known reader and critic, Aristotle.
It is mainly in the field of rhetoric that the Phaedrus left its mark on Aristotle’s
work. Nicolas Zaks shows that, contrary to a widely held view, Aristotle’s recep-
tion of the dialogue is far from being merely critical, as is apparent in all three
books of the Rhetoric. In Rhetoric III, Aristotle not only explicitly refers to the
Phaedrus, but also draws on key points of Plato’s dialogue, such as the comparison
between a speech and a living being and the criticism of divisions of speech made
in the rhetorical tradition. As a matter of fact, the very existence of Rhetoric III
seems to be justified in terms of Socrates’ distinction between invention and ar-
rangement at Phaedrus 235e–236a. As for Book II, Nicolas Zaks argues, controver-
sially, that the study of passions and characters in chapters 2 to 17 accomplishes
4 It was only after completing our manuscript that the volume Studies in Hermias’
Commentary on Plato’s Phaedrus, ed. by J.F. Finamore, C.-P. Maneola and S. Klitenic Wear,
Leiden: Brill, 2019, was published. This volume testifies to the renewed interest in Hermias’
commentary, but could unfortunately not be taken into account in the present publication.
5 Published as Delcomminette, d’Hoine & Gavray 2015.
6 The conference received funding from the Belgian Fonds National de la Recherche
Scientifique (FNRS), the Institute of Philosophy at KU Leuven, the Faculté de Philosophie et
sciences sociales of the Université libre de Bruxelles (ULB), and the Faculté de Philosophie et
lettres of the Université de Liège (ULiège). The conference also received financial and logistic
support from the Royal Flemish Academy of Belgium (KVAB), and was organised as a ‘Contact
forum’ of the Academy.
7 Two other papers were delivered at the conference: “Plato’s Phaedrus and the Idea of
Literary Scholarship”, by Richard Hunter (University of Cambridge), and “The Phaedrus in
Philostratus and the Second Sophistic”, by Danny Praet (Universiteit Gent).
Introduction 3
Socrates’ program for a scientific rhetoric exposed at Phaedrus 271a–b. Finally,

Book I notably studies the relationships between dialectic and rhetoric in a way
that might be less critical than is usually thought, since, in the end, Aristotle en-
dorses rather than criticises Plato’s view according to which being a competent di-
alectician entails being a competent rhetorician.
There are clues that the Phaedrus was read by the Hellenistic philosophers,
but they are scarce and rather marginal.8 Matters change from the 2nd century ACE
onwards, when the Phaedrus became a widely cited work even outside institution-
alized Platonism, as Teun Tieleman shows with Galen of Pergamum. Galen’s proj-
ect consisted in the foundation of a medical philosophy and his admiration for
Plato is well-known. Against this backdrop, it should come as no surprise that the
Phaedrus, in which Plato lays an explicit claim on Hippocrates (270c–d), became a
central text for Galen’s self-understanding as both a physician and a philosopher.
This is illustrated by Teun Tieleman with reference to passages in various Galenic
treatises. In the ninth book of his On the Doctrines of Hippocrates and Plato, Galen
draws extensively on Phaedrus 261a–274b, which he takes to be dealing not only
with rhetoric but with the correct method of any art. In addition, Galen considers
this section particularly relevant from an epistemological point of view, because of
the attention Plato pays here to such key-concepts as truth and verisimilitude, un-
clarity and disagreement. The moral and religious dimension of the art of medicine
emerges from a passage in Book III of Galen’s Exhortation to Medicine, which, as
Teun Tieleman argues, alludes to the Phaedrus myth, i.e. the procession of the
gods and human souls (247d–248a). It thus seems that Galen’s self-understanding
as a philosophically educated medical scientist and practitioner was in many
ways informed by his engagement with the Phaedrus.
Turning to the tradition of Platonism in a more narrow sense, Alexandra
Michalewski analyses some key aspects in the debates between Platonists and
Aristotelians of the imperial era. The focus of her paper, in which Atticus and
Plotinus are the main protagonists, concerns the reception of the definition of the
self-moving soul, presented at the beginning of the palinode of the Phaedrus
(243e–257b). In the long fragment 7 (des Places) preserved by Eusebius, Atticus
systematically uses the Phaedrus definition of the self-moving soul in a polemical
way to highlight the consequences of the Peripatetic doctrine of the soul.
Plotinus, who is equally critical for the conception of the soul as an entelechy,
does not limit himself to a simple opposition of Plato to Aristotle: he also shows
how the soul, being an impassible substance, is at the same time a self-moving
principle, a source of the bodily motions.
8 See however the interesting study of Brouwer 2008.

4 Introduction
Suzanne Stern-Gillet tackles Plotinus’ reception of the Phaedrus from an en-

tirely different angle. She argues that, contrary to a widespread claim in the
scholarly literature, Plotinus does not depart from Plato in (mostly) dispensing
with the concept of ἀνάμνησις (recollection). After a brief outline of the role
that recollection plays in the Phaedrus, a dialogue to which Plotinus returns
time and again, she offers a critical reading of the most salient passages in the
Enneads where Plotinus makes use of the notion. She then shows that the func-
tion of ἀνάμνησις, in Plotinus’ understanding of the term, enables the embod-
ied human soul to become aware of the presence in itself of riches she had
previously been unaware of possessing, namely logoi of a reality higher than
itself. In building a normative element into the concept of ἀνάμνησις, Plotinus
made it a key factor in the inward process through which human souls can re-
verse the self-forgetfulness that had led them to become alienated from their
ontological source in Intellect. In the end, despite having profoundly modified
Plato’s concept of ἀνάμνησις, Plotinus remained at one with him in presenting
the apprehension of beauty as the stimulus most likely to lead the human soul
back to her true self in Intellect.
The reading of the first Platonist interpreters had a huge impact on the ap-
propriation of the Phaedrus by contemporary Christian thinkers, which is the
focus of the next three papers. Claudio Moreschini provides a survey of the re-
ception of various aspects of the dialogue in the School of Alexandria, whose
main representatives were Clement and Origen and which was contemporane-
ous with some of the so-called Middle-Platonists. In this context, the Phaedrus
was studied, above all, for certain doctrines that appeared important to both
the Middle-Platonists and the Christians: the immortality of the soul and its fall
to earth after its creation by God; the nature of God Himself; His transcendence
and His existence in the world beyond the heavens. The same problems were
also of interest to Methodius of Olympus and Eusebius of Caesarea, who fol-
lowed Origen in this respect.
George Karamanolis pursues the investigation on Clement and Origen and
extends it to Gregory of Nyssa. The evidence regarding the reception of Plato’s
Phaedrus by these early Christians shows that the dialogue greatly influenced
both the language and the thought of these thinkers, especially the Socratic cri-
tique of writing and the psychology suggested by the myth of the charioteer. A
typology of the reception of the Phaedrus by early Christians includes not only
the integration of citations, images, and doctrines, but also a dialectical en-
gagement with several aspects of the dialogue and their Christian appropria-
tion, as is the case with Clement’s reaction to Socrates’ critique of writing in the
beginning of his Stromateis and Gregory’s assessment of the psychology of the
partite soul in his De anima et resurrectione.
Introduction 5
Among the Latin Church Fathers, Augustine did not know the Phaedrus di-
rectly, except for the proof of the immortality of the soul (245c–246a) which he
read in Cicero’s translation. Augustine disagrees with the proof, probably be-
cause he took its emphasis on the self-moving nature of the soul as contradict-
ing the immutability of the soul which is so important to him, as Gerd Van Riel
suggests. However, when one digs deeper into Augustine’s continuous discus-
sion with the Platonists, one recognizes the Phaedrus in a number of quotes,
which reveal that the dialogue did have a very distinct place in Augustine’s
thought, even though the author himself must have been unaware of the fact
that he was referring to the Phaedrus. In particular, the Phaedrus myth seems
to have played a fundamental role in Augustine’s discussion of Porphyry’s De
regressu animae. In the course of this text, Augustine develops his own specifi-
cally Christian view on eschatology and on the resurrection of the body. It thus
appears that Augustine gained some important insights, although unwittingly,
from the Phaedrus, which were made part of his own version of Christian
Platonism.
Turning to the commentary tradition on Plato from late Antiquity, Pieter
d’Hoine shows that the Phaedrus played a vital role in the development of the
later Neoplatonists’ hermeneutics of Plato’s dialogues, by focusing primarily on
the Anonymous Prolegomena to Plato’s Philosophy, which he supplements with
information drawn from Hermias’ Commentary on the Phaedrus and from the
methodological introductions to the extant commentaries on Plato from the
fifth and sixth centuries. As it turns out, the later Neoplatonic commentators on
Plato scrutinized the Phaedrus in an attempt to find Plato’s own reading in-
structions for the dialogues, and many of their hermeneutical strategies can be
traced back to the Phaedrus. This holds true not only for the Neoplatonic theory
of skopos, which drew its inspiration from Plato’s comparison of speech with a
living being, but also for the Neoplatonic views on the division of Plato’s dia-
logues, for Plato’s choice for the dialogue form, for the dialogues’ components,
and finally for Plato’s very choice to commit his thought to writing.
Marc-Antoine Gavray continues this study of Neoplatonic hermeneutics. He
shows that the Phaedrus taught the Neoplatonists not only how to read a
Platonic dialogue, but also how to read myths and inspired poetry, so as to rec-
oncile Plato with the poets, in spite of Plato’s criticism of Homer in the Republic.
From Plato’s analysis of inspired poetry (245a), Proclus draws four general princi-
ples: 1) inspired poetry is directly related to the gods (the Muses), 2) the soul of
the poet no longer belongs to itself but to them, 3) it has undergone an awaken-
ing that elevates it beyond the level of human reasoning, and 4) it has assimi-
lated its light to another light that transcends it. Using these rules of thumb for
reading poetry allows one to get rid of the apparent contradictions. Furthermore,
6 Introduction
in Socrates’ criticism of the allegorical interpretation of the story of Boreas and

Oreithyia (229c–230a), Proclus finds justification to interpret (inspired) myths in
a strictly theological manner, and to reject physicalist and ‘likely’ readings. Thus
Plato’s Phaedrus is not only a key to the Neoplatonist’s hermeneutics of Plato’s
own dialogues, but also to their understanding of poetry.
The next two papers study the way the late Neoplatonists apply these her-
meneutical tools to the Phaedrus itself. From Antiquity onwards, readers have
been struck by the contrast between the claim made in the dialogue that every
text should hang together in a meaningful unity like a living being and the ap-
parent lack of unity of the Phaedrus itself. The dialogue is obviously about love,
and about rhetoric, but what unifies these themes and the many other themes
discussed is far from obvious. The Neoplatonists address this question of unity
when looking for the dialogue’s skopos, its main theme or purpose. Saskia
Aerts provides an original interpretation of Hermias of Alexandria’s answer to
the question of the skopos of the Phaedrus by focussing on the notion of ‘soul-
leading’. Hermias indeed interprets the themes of love and rhetoric as leading
the souls to different manifestations of beauty, while taking these manifesta-
tions of beauty as the dialogue’s skopos. This paper thus sheds light on the
Neoplatonic reception of the Phaedrus with an emphasis on the crucial role that
the dialogue plays in the ascent of the soul.
Simon Fortier takes a different approach by focussing on Proclus’ exegesis
of a very short piece of text. The passage in question, Phaedrus 247c6–d1, is
just one sentence. Prima facie, with these lines Plato may have meant nothing
more than that the immaterial Forms are contemplated by the soul’s mind or
intellect and that it is from them that we derive true knowledge. However,
Proclus finds here a great deal more. According to him, the phrase not only re-
veals the Phaedrus’ most profound theological teachings, but also offers a de-
scription of the nature of contemplation. He therefore takes it to be the very
climax of the dialogue. The reconstruction of Proclus’ interpretation of these
lines, in the absence of his lost commentary on the Phaedrus, is therefore of
crucial importance, and gives a good illustration of how the late Neoplatonists
deployed their hermeneutical tools in specific cases.
The last two texts of our volume turn to the reception of the dialogue beyond
Antiquity. Pantelis Golitsis explores the comments that the eleventh-century
Byzantine scholar Michael Psellos offered on the images of the expedition of gods
(Phdr. 246e4–247a2) and of the chariot flight of the soul (Phdr. 246a3–246b7),
which Socrates included in his palinode, in relation to erōs as a madness (μανία)
that comes to the human soul from the gods. The choice to concentrate on these
two isolated passages from the Phaedrus might appear puzzling, but is in keeping
with Psellos’ selective exegetical activity. Pantelis Golitsis shows that although
Introduction 7
Psellos’ comments are heavily (but tacitly) dependent on Hermias’ commentary on

the Phaedrus, they are interesting in that they illustrate Psellos’ general approach
to Hellenic philosophy.
Finally, Guy Claessens examines the reception of Plato’s criticism of writing
by Renaissance readers and assesses the extent to which the focus on Plato’s
so-called condemnation of writing is a modern invention originating in Jacques
Derrida’s seminal study. The Renaissance reception of the Phaedrus is traced
through various interconnected discursive formations, ranging from rhetoric
and the art of memory to philosophy. Guy Claessens shows that during the fif-
teenth and sixteenth centuries the Phaedrus primarily served as a starting point
for the investigation of the relationship between memory and writing, and that
Renaissance thinkers such as Petrus Ramus and Giordano Bruno tried to blur
the sharp distinction drawn by Plato between memory and reminding in order
to save a particular kind of writing. It is certainly no coincidence that such an
interest in Plato’s comments on writing arises in the context of the invention
and immense success of the printing press, which might be deemed as a crucial
victory of writing over speech.
We hope that this brief survey, to which the papers that follow will add much
more substance, gives a glimpse of the richness and the variety of the impact the
Phaedrus has had on Western thought, from Antiquity to the Renaissance. Many
other aspects are still to explore; we would be pleased if the present volume
should prompt other researchers to pursue this project.9
9 We would like to thank Simon Fortier for his revision of this introduction, as well as Thanos
Kiosoglou for preparing the index locorum.
Nicolas Zaks
The influence of Plato’s Phaedrus
on Aristotle’s Rhetoric
Reading Aristotle’s Rhetoric, one does not immediately think of the Phaedrus.
In the opening line of his treatise, Aristotle indeed states that rhetoric is the
‘counter-part’ (ἀντίστροφος) of dialectic (Rhetoric I 1, 1354a11). For any reader
of Plato, this statement echoes not the Phaedrus, but the Gorgias, more pre-
cisely Socrates’ famous analogy according to which rhetoric is to justice what
cookery is to medicine: not an art, but a part of flattery (Gorgias 464b1–465e12).
Beyond the first chapter of his treatise, it is the Philebus that Aristotle adds to
the inter-textual space surrounding the Rhetoric. At Rhetoric I 11, Aristotle more
or less restates Plato’s definition of pleasure as the recovery of a natural har-
mony (compare I 11, 1369b33–35 and Philebus 42d5–7). At this point, no obvious
trace of the Phaedrus or borrowing from this dialogue has struck the reader.
This seeming absence of the Phaedrus is all the more surprising when one re-
calls that, besides the Gorgias, the second part of the Phaedrus (after 257b7) is
one of the longest and philosophically most sophisticated treatments of rhetoric
that one can find in Plato’s dialogues. In his course on the Sophist, Heidegger
notices the same problem and sees no way to clear up Aristotle’s ‘undeniably
puzzling silence’ concerning the Phaedrus.3
Besides Aristotle’s silence, there is another problem for those interested in
the influence of the Phaedrus on the Rhetoric. Despite the fact these two works
both deal (at least in part in the case of the Phaedrus) with rhetoric, they seem to
approach this topic from opposite points of view. Specialists of Aristotle some-
times suggest that, in his Rhetoric, Aristotle inverts the priority of truth over the
probable established by Plato in the Phaedrus in the field of rhetoric.4 Did not
Plato famously subordinate the rhetorical use of probability to the dialectical
search for truth in the second part of the Phaedrus? On the other hand, did not
1 On this “antistrophic” relation, see Brunschwig 1996 and Rapp 2016, 162–168. In this paper,
I use the Greek text from Ross’s edition of the Rhetoric, cf. Ross 1959.
2 I quote the Oxford Classical edition of Plato’s texts, see Duke et al. 1995 for the first volume
and Burnet 1901–1907 for the next ones. As Rapp 2016, 164 notes, Plato’s own use of the ex-
pression ἀντίστροφος could be an allusion to Isocrates.
3 See Heidegger 1997, 234.
4 See e.g. Crubellier & Pellegrin 2002, 149.
Nicolas Zaks, FWO/KU Leuven – FNRS/ULB
https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110683936-002
10 Nicolas Zaks
Aristotle make the probable, rather than the necessary, the source of enthy-
memes, i.e. of rhetorical deductions (see e.g. I 2, 1357a30–33)? In this perspective,
the influence of the Phaedrus is purely negative: in the Rhetoric, the down-to-
earth Aristotle overturns his master’s impossibly demanding conception of rheto-
ric and proposes a type of logic suited for our human, all too human, needs.
While there is undeniably some truth in these readings, my objective in
this chapter is to complicate the story of the relationship between the Phaedrus
and the Rhetoric. I will argue that, although Aristotle himself does not say it in
so many words, the Phaedrus has a deep influence over the three books of
Aristotle’s Rhetoric. I will also show that this influence is not only negative, as
some scholars believe, but that Aristotle draws and expands on some results
and propositions of the Phaedrus. After demonstrating how influential the
Phaedrus is for the Rhetoric, I will come back, in my conclusion, to the differ-
ence between these two works.
1 The Influence of the Phaedrus on Rhetoric III

Even if it has an air of paradox, I will start my enquiry with the last book of the
Rhetoric. Despite being the last book, scholars argue that Rhetoric III was com-
posed before and/or separately from the first two books. Consequently, they
maintain that Rhetoric III was attached to the first two books at a later date, per-
haps not by Aristotle himself.5 In this paper, I will refrain from considerations
about dates of composition. I will content myself with examining the influence of
the Phaedrus on the Rhetoric as it was transmitted to us, i.e. as three books dis-
playing a more or less consistent project. To put it very generally, according to
this perspective, while the first two books are concerned with what is best to say
in rhetorical arguments, the third deals with the best way to say it, that is, the
style (λέξις) required for the presentation of the speech and the organisation of
the speech itself (τάξις).6 In order to detect the influence of the Phaedrus on this
project, I will start with Aristotle’s discussion of the organization of speech and
style in book III, for it is in this discussion that the traces of the Phaedrus are the
most obvious.7 I will organize the evidence of an influence of the Phaedrus on
Rhetoric III from the clearest case to the most speculative one.
5 See, for instance, Fortenbaugh 2006, 383–387.

6 See Rapp 2018.
7 Here I agree with Fortenbaugh 2006, 357 who contends that “(. . .) Rhetoric III is very much
influenced by Plato”.
The clearest case of influence is the only explicit quote of the Phaedrus in the
entire treatise. In his discussion of style, at Rhetoric III 7, Aristotle explains that
an enthusiastic style that triggers emotions in the hearers is mostly appropriate
to poetry. He adds that it can also be used in a rhetorical speech, but only ironi-
cally as Plato does in the Phaedrus (see τὰ ἐν τῷ Φαίδρῳ at III 7, 1408b20). The
allusion is to Phaedrus 238c5–d5 and 241e1–5 where Socrates justifies his dith-
yrambic and epic style by ironically attributing his inspiration to the Nymphs in-
habiting the banks of Ilisos.8 Aristotle’s reference here is very precise. It shows
that Aristotle knew well the content of the Phaedrus and was interested not only
by the second ‘rhetorical part’ of the dialogue, but also by the one containing the
different speeches about erōs and the long Socratic palinode.
This first-hand knowledge of the Phaedrus is confirmed by a second borrow-
ing, which, although not explicit, almost certainly refers back to the Phaedrus.
A bit later in book III, Aristotle switches from a discussion of style to a discussion
of the organisation of speech and of the different parts of speech. He starts by ana-
lyzing the introduction of speech (προοίμιον). After discussing the different func-
tions of an introduction in two species of rhetorical speech (epideictic and forensic
or judicial), Aristotle explains that formal introductions are needed only if the
hearer is a man whose judgement is poor (φαῦλον). If the hearer is not such a per-
son, formal introductions are not needed. What is needed is only a brief summary
that gives its head to the body of the speech (see ἵνα ἔχῃ ὥσπερ σῶμα κεφαλήν at
III 14, 1415b8–9). This comparison between a discourse and a living being has a
Platonic origin. In the Phaedrus, Socrates compares any logos to a living creature
whose limbs fit each other and the whole (Phaedrus 264c1–5; the metaphor is re-
sumed by Phaedrus at 268d3–5; see also 269c2–3). As is known, this metaphor did
not only impress Aristotle, it also influenced the Neoplatonic interpreters who
used it for elaborating their hermeneutic doctrine of the skopos. I cannot engage
here on the importance of this passage for the doctrine of skopos,9 or even for our
interpretation of Plato’s dialogues, but I only note in passing that, neither in
Aristotle’s nor in Plato’s versions, the metaphor of speech as a living being implies
the idea of unity that will be so central for the Neoplatonic theory of the skopos. On
the face of it, there seems to be no talk of organic unity in Plato and Aristotle’s
shared metaphor.10 Be that as it may, what is important in this context is that
Plato and Aristotle do share this metaphor in the Phaedrus and in the Rhetoric.
8 Note that Socrates uses the same kind of rhetorical strategy at Cratylus 396d2–8 where he
attributes tongue in cheek his etymological inspiration to Euthyphro.
9 See the contribution by Pieter d’Hoine in this volume and Coulter 1976, chapter 3.
10 This point is also made by Heath 1989, 18–19. On how the single skopos assumption can
(and cannot) be justified from the Neoplatonic point of view, see Baltzly 2017.
12 Nicolas Zaks
The third trace of the influence of the Phaedrus on Rhetoric III is less direct.
Before analyzing the different parts of speech, Aristotle himself distinguishes two
parts of speech: the presentation of the case (πρόθεσις) and the argument or the
proof for the case (πίστις). For Aristotle, these two parts of speech are sufficient
because other parts of speech can be reduced either to the presentation of the case
or to the argument for the case (for instance, the so-called ‘refutation of the oppo-
nent’ (ἀντίδικος) is still part of the argument). Both are also necessary, for a proof
must be a proof of something and no one presents a case if not for proving it.
Aristotle complains that rhetoricians of his time do not understand this simple di-
vision and instead divide speech in an absurd (γελοίως), pointless (κενός) and
silly (ληρῶδες) way. He gives the example of Theodorus and his school, which dis-
tinguishes between ‘narration’ (διήγησις), ‘supplementary narration’ (ἐπιδιήγησις),
‘preliminary narration’ (προδιήγησις), ‘refutation’ (ἔλεγχος), and ‘supplementary
refutation’ (ἐπεξέλεγχος) (see Rhetoric III 13, 1414b13–18). This text certainly paral-
lels Plato’s criticism of rhetorical procedures at Phaedrus 266e2–267a2 where
Socrates attributes similar far-fetched divisions of speech to Theodorus.11
Moreover, both Aristotle’s and Plato’s criticisms of traditional rhetoric under-
line its randomness and its lack of systematisation. At III 13 for instance,
Aristotle admits that narration belongs to the judicial species of the rhetorical
speech, but notices that it does not belong to the epideictic and deliberative spe-
cies of the rhetorical speech (III 13, 1414a37–38; for the difference between these
three kinds of rhetorical speech, see Rhetoric I3.). Therefore, narration does not
belong to the rhetorical kind as such or qua rhetorical kind. At I 1, Aristotle’s crit-
icism of logographers is slightly different, but not incompatible. His point there
(see I 1, 1354b16–22) is that those who have composed treatises on the Art of
Speech have focused on peripheral aspects of the topic (τὰ ἔξω τοῦ πράγματος)
and have missed the authentic body of persuasion, i.e. the enthymeme or rhetori-
cal syllogism.12 If multiplying the parts of speech in order to convince the hearers
is pointless, it is because people are mostly convinced when they think that
something has been demonstrated (I 1, 1355a5–6). It is then on these convincing
demonstrations and not on the parts of speech that logographers should have
focused in order to develop a genuine rhetorical art.13
11 As is noted by Cope & Sandys 1877, 160.

12 I will come back to the enthymeme in the next section of this paper.
13 Note that even if Aristotle later extends (at I 2) artistic proofs to the state of mind of the
hearers and to the character of the speaker, he remains critical of the strategy of traditional
rhetoric, which focuses on producing emotions rather than on the different kinds of technical
proofs such as rhetorical deductions. See I 2, 1356a16–17. On Aristotle’s criticism of handbook
The gist of Plato’s attack on traditional rhetoric in the Phaedrus is also that all
these rhetorical techniques alone do not make an art or a technē. For Socrates, it
seems that there are ‘some holes’ in the fabric of rhetorical procedures (see
διεστηκός, 268a6). He argues that these lists of procedures are, at best, antece-
dents and preliminaries to the art of rhetoric (269b4–c5), exactly as the ability to
make someone vomit or defecate, or to induce warmth and coolness in a body is
nothing else than a preparation to the acquisition of medical art (268a8–c4). The
actual possession of a rhetorical technē implies the ability to determine exactly
how, when and to whom the different rhetorical procedures must be applied. It
also implies that the person who uses the logographic techniques sees how they
fit together in an organized whole. In absence of these conditions, one cannot
speak of a genuine rhetorical technē. Both for Plato in the Phaedrus and for
Aristotle in Rhetoric III (and I 1), then, traditional rhetoric is flawed because it fails
to meet the criterion of a genuine technē.
As this discussion reveals, the influence of the Phaedrus on Rhetoric III is
diverse: Aristotle does not only refer to specific passages of the Phaedrus (the
irony justifying a pathetic style; the metaphor of the speech as a living being),
but also draws and expands on Plato’s criticism according to which the divi-
sions of speech by traditional logographers do not constitute a technē. Before
examining the second book of Aristotle’s treatise, I want to suggest a bolder hy-
pothesis. I contend that the very existence of Rhetoric III, or at least the justifi-
cation for the existence of this book, owes something to the Phaedrus.
In order to justify the transition from Rhetoric II to Rhetoric III, Aristotle – or
whoever wrote the transition between these books14 – explains that after examin-
ing thought (διάνοια) in the first two books, one must deal with the style (λέξις)
and the arrangement or organisation (τάξις) of speech (II 26, 1403a34–1403b3).
Similarly, at the beginning of book III, Aristotle distinguishes between the study of
the sources of persuasions (ἐκ τίνων αἱ πίστεις ἔσοντα), on the one hand, and the
study of the style required in rhetoric and of the arrangement of the parts of speech
(πῶς χρὴ τάξαι τὰ μέρη τοῦ λόγου), on the other (III 1, 1403b6–8). While the former
constitutes the core of book I and II, the latter is carried out in book III. I suggest
that this distinction between the content and the form, the thought and the dispo-
sition of the rhetorical speech can be traced back to the categories mobilized by
Socrates to assess Lysias’ speech in the Phaedrus. At 235e5–236a6, Socrates rea-
sons that since the content of Lysias’ speech about love necessarily derives from
writings in rhetoric and on his defence (or assumption) of a proof-centred conception of rheto-
ric, see Dow 2014a, 25–31.
14 Perhaps Andronicus of Rhodes, see Fortenbaugh 2006, 383, 386–387.
14 Nicolas Zaks
his standpoint (anyone who argues that the non–lover should be favoured over
the lover will praise the prudence of the former and blame the foolishness of the
latter), one must assess the quality of Lysias’ arrangement (διάθεσις) not of his in-
vention (εὕρεσις) (for invention, see also Phaedrus 278a7). This distinction between
εὕρεσις and διάθεσις seems to match the one used at the beginning of Rhetoric III
between the things to say and the right way to say them, between διάνοια and the
couple λέξις/τάξις. For that matter, Aristotle himself sometimes uses the word
διάθεσις for describing the type of topics he studies in Rhetoric III (see τὸ
ταῦτα τῇ λέξει διαθέσθαι at III 1, 1403b20) and the verb εὑρίσκω to describe
the type of topics he studies in Rhethoric I and II (see the use of τὰ δὲ εὑρεῖν
for referring to technical proofs at Ι 2, 1355b39). If I am right, then, Aristotle –
or the person who wrote the transition between Rhetoric II and III after him –
justifies the existence of Rhetoric III with conceptual distinctions also used by
Plato in the Phaedrus.
2 The Influence of the Phaedrus on Rhetoric II

After having reviewed the various influences of the Phaedrus on Rhetoric III, let
us turn to the second book of Aristotle’s treatise. As I will maintain in this sec-
tion, in Rhetoric II, Plato’s influence is less scattered and more programmatic.
With other commentators,15 I take it that, in chapters 2–17 of Rhetoric II, Aristotle
develops the program exposed by Plato in the Phaedrus for transforming rhetoric
into a genuine art. But what, exactly, is the program exposed by Plato and in
which sense these chapters of Rhetoric II can be said to accomplish it?
As we have seen in the previous section, in the Phaedrus, Socrates criticizes
traditional logographic procedures for their lack of systematization. In order to
establish a genuine rhetorical technē, Socrates suggests a three-way method:
a) One must first determine the nature of the soul, i.e. say if it is one or many;
b) One must then determine on what souls act and by what souls are acted
upon;
c) One must moreover classify (διαταξάμενος) the kinds of speeches and the
kinds of souls in order to teach which speech is able to persuade which
soul (271a4–c1).
At 271c10–272b4, Socrates repeats these points and adds a fourth one:
15 See for instance Havet 1846, 11; Gomperz 1907, 341; Dufour 1932, 16; Düring 1966, 141;
Grimaldi 1972, 21–22; Schütrumpf 1994, 104.
d) One must finally master the kairos, i.e. one must know when to use and when
not to use such type of speech to influence such type of soul (271e2–272a8).
According to Socrates, then, studying the nature of hearers and the different types
of souls is a necessary condition for establishing a genuine rhetorical technē (in
addition to (b) and (c), see 273d7–e4). I propose to interpret the study of emotions
(πάθη) such as anger, fear or shame at Rhetoric II 2–11 and the study of social and
generational characters (ἤθη) at Rhetoric II 12–17 as Aristotle’s contributions to the
enquiry on the nature of souls required by Plato. Someone who studies emotions
knows how “souls are acted upon”, as Plato puts it (Aristotle’s emotions involve
phantasia and therefore the soul: see II 2, 1378b9–10 for anger and II 5, 1382a21–22
for fear). For instance, if I know the nature of anger, I am able to determine what
kind of people or what kind of souls gets angry, for which reasons and against
whom (II 1, 1378a22–24). Similarly, studying how – beyond emotions – age, social
status and even political constitutions (see I 8) influence people’s moral character
contributes to a better understanding of the nature of the hearers of a rhetorical
speech. To be sure, Aristotle does not say explicitly that he is elaborating on
Socrates’ program, but one can note that he presents his study of different emo-
tions at 2–11 as a form of division (see διαφέρουσι at 1378a20 and διέλωμεν at
1378a28). For each emotion, he proposes to distinguish, (i) the state of mind of the
person experiencing this emotion; (ii) the type of person towards which this emo-
tion is directed; (iii) the reasons for which this emotion is experienced (II 1,
1378a22–24). This use of division for studying emotions in a rhetorical context
might be a decisive clue of a Platonic heritage, for Socrates in the Phaedrus argues
that dividing the object one wants to study is a necessary condition for speaking
and thinking (265c5–266c5), and makes clear that applying division to the soul is
a prerequisite for a genuine rhetoric (271c10–d4, 277b8–c1).
However, the thesis according to which, in Rhetoric II 2–17, Aristotle ap-
plies the program exposed by Plato in the Phaedrus for creating a genuine rhe-
torical technē is not uncontroversial. Some commentators argue that Aristotle’s
conception of rhetoric is too different from Plato’s to have been influenced by
the program of the Phaedrus.16 As such, this objection does not seem decisive:
it might very well be the case that Plato and Aristotle have different views on
rhetoric, but that does not in itself prevent Aristotle from recognizing that some
parts of Plato’s program for elaborating a genuine rhetoric (such as the study of
the different types of souls) are valid and worthy of systematic development.
16 See Woerther 2007, 262–267.

16 Nicolas Zaks
Moreover, the often-alleged oppositions between Aristotle’s and Plato’s concep-

tions of rhetoric can be qualified.
To begin with, Plato does not completely dismiss probability in rhetoric, as
one sometimes reads.17 As far as I can see, Socrates’ point in the Phaedrus is rather
that mastering the use of probability in a rhetorical speech requires mastering the
art of using similarities, which in turn requires a knowledge of truth (261a7–262c4,
cf. 273d2–8). Truth and persuasion based on probability cannot be separated, con-
trary to what traditional rhetoric suggests (259e7–260a4, 260d4–9).18 In the open-
ing chapter of his Rhetoric, Aristotle actually makes the same point: he contends
that it is one and the same capacity that leads men to truth and to what is similar
to truth (I 1, 1355a14–15).19 So, far from disagreeing on the use of probability in
rhetoric, Plato and Aristotle both underline a relation of entailment between
knowing what is true and knowing what is probable.20
Regarding the so-called ‘imprecision’ of rhetorical deductions (or enthy-
memes) that would be irreconcilable with Plato’s quest for precision and exact-
ness,21 one can concede that Aristotle often highlights the poor intellectual skills
of the hearers who judge the quality of a rhetorical speech (see I 2, 1357a11–12; III
1, 1404a7–8; III 14, 1415a25–26). However, strictly speaking, audience limitations
impact less the precision of the enthymemes than the length of the deductive
chains acceptable in rhetorical deductions (I 2, 1357a1–4; II 22, 1395b25–26). It is
also true that, in enthymemes, a premise is often (πολλάκις) omitted (see I 2,
1357a16–17). But, here again, this omission increases the convincing power of an
enthymeme rather than affecting its precision: when a member of an audience is
able to provide the missing premise, she feels pleasure (see I 2, 1357a17–21; II 23,
17 Woerther 2007, 263: “(. . .) la définition que Platon prétend fournir de la rhétorique dans le
Phèdre est en revanche tout entière fondée sur le vrai, et son rejet du vraisemblable est
catégorique”.
18 Whether or not one finds Socrates’ reasoning convincing does not directly affect the issue:
for Plato, it seems that knowing what is true implies knowing what is probable.
19 See particularly Aristotle’s τὸ ὅμοιον τῷ ἀληθεῖ at Rhetoric I 1, 1355a14, which seems to
point to Plato’s ὁμοιότητα τοῦ ἀληθοῦς at Phaedrus 273d4.
20 Note also that both Plato and Aristotle criticize the use of probability in the earlier rhetori-
cal tradition: compare the criticism of Tisias’ use of probability at Phaedrus 273b3–d8 and of
Corax’s use of probability at Rhetoric II 24, 1402a17–23 (Tisias and Corax might actually be the
same person, see Cole 1991). While the details of Plato’s and Aristotle’s accounts may differ,
they are not incompatible and offer a complementary (critical) vision of probability in the ear-
lier traditional rhetoric, see Goebel 1989, 51.
21 See Woerther 2007, 266.
1400b29–33) and is therefore more complacent towards the speech presented (see
I 2, 1356a15–16).22
One might retort that since, for Aristotle, rhetoric is concerned with what
happens for the most part, it follows that the premises of enthymemes are not
always necessary (although they can be necessary) but are mostly true for the
most part (I 2, 1357a23–33).23 This contingency characterizing the field of rhetoric
and of rhetorical deductions in Aristotle’s treatise would then be a decisive de-
parture from Plato’s view in the Phaedrus in which rhetoric is conceived as an
epistēmē concerned with what is necessarily true. However, as we have seen, in
the Phaedrus, Plato does not dismiss the field of what is probable, but rather ar-
gues that knowing what is true is a condition for knowing what is probable.
Moreover, Plato is perfectly aware that efficient persuasion requires the ability to
adapt to a given situation: Socrates lists the mastery of kairos among the necessary
conditions of the mastery of rhetoric (see (d) above and Statesman 304d4–10).
Much like a doctor (see the comparison between the doctor’s and the rhetorician’s
skills at 268a8–c4 and 270b1–10), a true rhetorician does not automatically apply a
scientific deduction but is able to adjust her acquired knowledge to the situation at
hand (which is of course contingent), even if that means refraining from speaking
(271e2–272a8). This ability to adapt one’s knowledge to the situation at hand
means that rhetoric is not only a science based on dialectic, but also a practice
that goes with a specific nature (cf. εἰ μέν σοι ὑπάρχει φύσει ῥητορικῷ εἶναι, ἔσῃ
ῥήτωρ ἐλλόγιμος, προσλαβὼν ἐπιστήμην τε καὶ μελέτην, 269d4–5). So, rather than
ignoring the contingency of the field of rhetorical persuasion and of the type of
hearers that must be persuaded, Plato gives it an important place in the establish-
ment of his true art and practice of speaking.
Since Plato’s rhetoric does not simply dismiss the contingency of the rhetori-
cal field, there is no relevant difference between Plato and Aristotle’s view of rhet-
oric that prevents the study of emotions and characters in Rhetoric II 2–17 from
being an elaboration of the program exposed by Plato in the Phaedrus. The tradi-
tional view that detects an influence of the Phaedrus on the psychology of the
Rhetoric is therefore warranted.
22 As Burnyeat 1996, 101 notes: “(. . .) the fact that brevity is a virtue in enthymemes tells us
nothing about the standards of validity to be expected of a rhetorical speech, nor does
Aristotle ever suggest that it does. A premise suppressed is still a premise of the argument.”
23 Since certain premises in rhetorical arguments are true for the most part, it is possible that,
for Aristotle, the inference from these premises to a conclusion also holds for the most part
rather than necessary. In this sense, enthymemes could be conceived as “relaxed” deductions.
For discussion, see Burnyeat 1996, 101–105.
18 Nicolas Zaks
3 The Influence of the Phaedrus on Rhetoric I

Rhetoric I is dense and complex. An exhaustive study of this book is outside the
scope of this paper. In this section, I only want to call attention to a passage
where Aristotle conceives of the relation between rhetoric and dialectic in a
way similar to Socrates in the Phaedrus, as I will argue.
At the beginning of his treatise (I 1, 1355a3–18), Aristotle explains that, since
an enthymeme is a kind of deduction and that studying deduction is the business
of dialectic – or at least of one of its parts24 – the person who is the most able to
perceive the sources of deductions, i.e. the dialectician, is also the most able to
construct enthymemes. Hence, for Aristotle, being a dialectician seems to be a suf-
ficient condition for being a rhetorician.25 It is not completely clear from the text
whether or not it is also a necessary condition, but Aristotle seems to hint that it is:
he says that it is exactly the same ability that leads men to truth (in deductions in
general) and to what is probable (in rhetorical deductions), so that it is difficult to
imagine someone who is able to construct an enthymeme but not a deduction.
Moreover, even when orators use examples for supplying the lack of argument,
Aristotle suggests that philosophical skills are still involved in their rhetorical per-
suasion (see II 20, 1394a4–5). Therefore, for Aristotle, the skills required for rhetori-
cal persuasion are the same as the one required for philosophical enquiries and
dialectical deductions.26
24 Perhaps Aristotle refers here to the “peirastic”, agonistic and didactic uses of dialectic dis-
tinguished at Topics VIII 5, 159a25–36 and at Sophistical Refutations 2, 165a38–165b11. On this
distinction between parts of dialectic, see Moraux 1968, 287–290. Another option is that
Aristotle refers here to a “logical branch” of dialectic that goes beyond the discovery of dialec-
tical topoi and is concerned with the analysis of deductive arguments as such: see Rapp 2016,
183–189.
25 Provided that the dialectician is aware of the contingency of the topics treated in rhetoric
(on this contingency, see section II above). This relation of entailment between dialectical
skills and rhetorical skills can explain why Diogenes Laërtius recounts that Aristotle taught
his pupils dialectic and rhetoric simultaneously (see Vit. V 3: καὶ πρὸς θέσιν συνεγύμναζε τοὺς
μαθητάς, ἅμα καὶ ῥητορικῶς ἐπασκῶν). If being skilled at dialectic implies being skilled at
rhetoric, to train someone in dialectic is also to train this person in rhetoric.
26 I do not mean to suggest here that ‘rhetoric’ and ‘dialectic’ are two names for the same
thing. As Aristotle says in the first line of the treatise, the relation between rhetoric and dialec-
tic is ‘antistrophic’ or one of analogy. For most commentators, the main difference between
rhetoric and dialectic is that rhetoric is practised in public places, whereas dialectic is not (cf.
Crubellier & Pellegrin 2002, 142–143; Chiron 2007, 60). However, at different points of his trea-
tise (e.g. I 3, 1358b9–10 and II 18, 1391b8–12), Aristotle seems to consider that deliberative rhet-
oric can be private (Plato in the Phaedrus makes the same remark for rhetoric in general, see
261a7–9 and Pernot 2002, 231). The specificity of rhetorical contexts has less to do with them
Now, even if the argument of the second part of the Phaedrus is particularly
intricate, I take it that Plato argues for a similar relation between the dialectician
and the rhetorician. At 269b5–7, Socrates suggests that it is impossible to de-
fine rhetoric without knowing what dialectic is. As we learn shortly afterwards
(271a4–272b4), this requirement means applying the method of division, i.e.
dialectic27, to the different types of souls and to the different types of speeches.28
In the summaries of 273d2–274a5 and 277b5–c6, Socrates repeats the point: ap-
plying the method of division to the soul and to the subject matter at hand is a
necessary prerequisite for the aspiring orator. To become an orator, the dialecti-
cian only needs to add the mastery of kairos and a good deal of practice
(269d4–5 and section II above). For Plato, then, dialectical skills are the basis of
a genuine rhetorical technē and of every art of writing (276e4–277a4).
My exegetical suggestion is that Aristotle endorses Plato’s position when he
argues in Rhetoric I that the rhetorical ability is the same as the dialectical one.
An important objection to my reading must be discussed in some detail.
Even if we grant that rhetorical skills and dialectical skills are the same in the
Phaedrus and in the Rhetoric, it remains possible that ‘dialectic’ actually means
two completely different things. For instance, it could be the case that, for Plato,
the dialectical skill is the ability to reach the truth about the subject matter,
whereas for Aristotle, dialectical skill only means the ability to draw good infer-
ences from plausible starting points. In this case, the different understandings of
the word ‘dialectic’ between the two authors would be such as to reduce the par-
allel noted between Rhetoric I and the second part of the Phaedrus to a mere ver-
bal echo or even to an implicit Aristotelian criticism.29
However, let us focus on the passage of Rhetoric I where Aristotle discusses
the relationship between dialectic and rhetoric (I 1, 1355a3–18). In this passage,
Aristotle does not seem to restrict dialectic deductions to deductions with plausible
or accepted starting points as he does elsewhere: rather, he seems to understand
dialectic as the study of deductions in general (see περὶ δὲ συλλογισμοῦ ὁμοίως
ἅπαντος τῆς διαλεκτικῆς ἐστιν ἰδεῖν at 1355a8–9), including, then, deductions that
being private than with the fact that they are exoteric, so to say. By contrast with dialectic,
which broaches every topic (Top. I 1, 100a19) but not with everyone (Top. VIII 14, 164b8), rhet-
oric broaches only certain topics (deliberative, epidictic and judiciary) with everyone, even if
the judge is a simple person (I 2, 1357a11–12; III 1, 1404a7–8; III 14, 1415a25–26). For other dif-
ferences between dialectic and rhetoric, see Rapp 2018.
27 For the identification between the method of division and dialectic in the Phaedrus, see
265c5–266c5.
28 The use of the word διῃρημένων at 271d4 makes clear that the classification of souls and
speeches is an application of the method of division and of dialectic.
29 In this perspective, see Dow 2014a, 34–35.
20 Nicolas Zaks
start from true starting points.30 In addition, he makes clear that he understands
dialectic as the ability to identify the source of deductions and the way they come
about (ἐκ τίνων καὶ πῶς γίνεται συλλογισμός, at 1355a11) – a description that
strongly recalls the project of the Analytics (see e.g. Prior Analytics I 4, 25b26–27; I
26, 43a16–24; I 31, 46b38–40), which of course encompasses the study of and the
ability to generate any type of deductions, not only deductions that start from plau-
sible starting points.31 The type of dialectic that enables one to be a good rhetorician
according to Aristotle seems then closer to the study of deductions carried out in the
Analytics than to the study of deductions with plausible starting points carried out
in the Topics.32 Finally, note how Aristotle justifies (see γάρ at 1355a14) his claim
according to which it is the same person who studies the sources of deduction (the
dialectician) and who constructs enthymemes (the rhetorician): by saying that the
same ability enables one to see the truth and what it is similar to the truth. But
that is very close if not identical to Plato’s understanding of the relationship be-
tween what is true and what is probable in the Phaedrus (see section II above).
Perhaps one might retort that Aristotle uses dialectic in a broad sense in this
passage of Rhetoric I. Perhaps what he really means is that the rhetorician and the
dialectician are the same person because they both start from accepted opinions
or endoxai (and no more than that). This understanding of what dialectic means in
the Rhetoric would be in keeping with Aristotle’s conception of dialectic in the
Topics (which is cited shortly afterwards at Rhetoric I 1, 1355a26–29). For the sake
of the argument, let us grant that Aristotle’s conception of dialectic in Rhetoric I is
the same as that presented in the Topics and that both deduce from acceptable
30 In connection to dialectic, Aristotle also speaks of ‘logical’ deductions (τοὺς λογικοὺς

συλλογισμούς, 1355a13–14). This last expression is controversial. Some (e.g. Grimaldi 1980, 22;
Chiron 2007, 119, n. 23) suggest that, in this context where “logical” deductions are meant to
discriminate dialectic ability that reaches the truth from rhetorical ability that reaches what is
similar to the truth, ‘logical’ deductions are deductions with true starting points, or even scien-
tific demonstrations; others (see Dow 2014a, 34, n. 66) suggest that ‘logical’ deductions imply,
more than enthymemes, a focus on the validity of the argument. A good study of the “logical”
argument in the Aristotelian corpus (see Mosquera 1998) concludes that Aristotle calls ‘logical’
the type of topic broached not by his own dialectic (as it is described in the Topics) but by
Plato’s dialectic or by his own science of being qua being (for instance, whether or not there is
one single science of a pair of contraries is a ‘logical’ topic).
31 Ι cannot see on which grounds Dow 2014, 17 interprets ἐκ τίνων at 1355a11 as referring to
the ability to select premises that are acceptable to the listener (rather than referring to the
ability to find any type of premise for a given conclusion). Compare Aristotle’s method for find-
ing premises for a given conclusion at Prior Analytics I 27–29.
32 This is why Rapp 2016, 191 believes that there was “an elementary pre-syllogistic logical
theory quietly at work in the background of both the Topics and the Rhetoric” and that this
logical theory belonged to dialectic: see n. 24.
premises. Since Plato’s conception of dialectic in the Phaedrus implies the actual
knowledge of the subject matter rather than a good deduction from premises that
are merely acceptable, one can be led to believe that Aristotle actually does not
agree with Plato’s position in the Phaedrus when he argues in Rhetoric I that the
rhetorical ability is the same as the dialectical one. But in fact, the difference be-
tween Aristotle’s conception of dialectic in the Topics and perhaps in the Rhetoric,
on the one hand, and Plato’s conception of dialectic in the Phaedrus, on the other,
might not be as important as it seems at first glance.
Different commentators of the Topics interpret the Topics as a “methodology
for establishing definition”.33 They mean that dialectical discussions enable to
assess the generic status of some candidate properties that could belong to the
essence of the subject considered in a given dialectical problem (see e.g. Top. I 6,
102b27–35). The conjunction of the generic properties that pass the different dia-
lectical tests then provides the definition of the subject at hand.34 According to
this interpretation of the dialectic in the Topics, dialectic helps to establish defi-
nitions. Now, even if in the Phaedrus, the method of division has classificatory
purposes, Plato also says that it enables to provide a definition of the subject
about which one might want to say something.35 More importantly, Plato says
that this definition might be right or wrong, as long as the criterion of consistency
is fulfilled.36 The method of division or dialectic does not even need to provide
definitions that are true in the sense of correctly describing the empirical world.
It only needs to provide definitions that are consistent and enable one to talk
and think. In this interpretation of the dialectical method in the Phaedrus, one
goal of dialectic is to provide consistent definitions. But that is also the goal of
the “methodology for reaching definition” that we have seen is taking place in
the Topics according to some commentators. Therefore, even if we understand
dialectic in Rhetoric I as concerned with deductions that start from acceptable
33 See De Pater 1965; Brunschwig 1967, XLVIII–L; Delcomminette 2018.

34 See Delcomminette 2018, 238, who adds that, for Aristotle, “l’articulation et la formulation
rigoureuse de celle-ci [i.e. of the definition] requièrent en plus l’usage de la méthode de
division”.
35 See 265d4–5: “(. . .) the purpose [of the first procedure of dialectic, i.e. collection] being to
define so-and-so, and thus to make plain whatever may be chosen as the topic for exposition
(ἵνα ἕκαστον ὁριζόμενος δῆλον ποιῇ περὶ οὗ ἂν ἀεὶ διδάσκειν ἐθέλῃ).” (The translation is from
Hackforth 1972, 132).
36 See 265d5–7: “For example, take the definition given just now of love: whether it was right
or wrong, at all events it was that which enabled our discourse to achieve lucidity and consis-
tency (ὥσπερ τὸ νυνδὴ περὶ Ἔρωτος ὃ ἔστιν ὁρισθέν εἴτ' εὖ εἴτε κακῶς ἐλέχθη, τὸ γοῦν σαφὲς
καὶ τὸ αὐτὸ αὑτῷ ὁμολογούμενον διὰ ταῦτα ἔσχεν εἰπεῖν ὁ λόγος).” (I am again quoting
Hackforth’s translation and the text he translates).
22 Nicolas Zaks
premises (as consistency with the Topics suggests), there exist interpretations of
Aristotle’s dialectic and Plato’s dialectic that allow one to read Aristotle’s view
on the relationship between dialectic and rhetoric in Rhetoric I as an endorse-
ment (rather than a criticism) of Plato’s view in the Phaedrus.
4 Conclusion
In this chapter, I have shown that Rhetoric III is full of explicit and implicit referen-
ces to the Phaedrus (the metaphor of speech as a living being, the criticism of the
parts of speech, the distinction between form and content, etc.). I have explained
and defended the position according to which the psycho-sociology of Rhetoric II
2–17 develops the program exposed by Socrates in the second part of the Phaedrus
after his criticism of the traditional logographers. Finally, I have argued that in
Rhetoric I.1, Aristotle endorses rather than criticises Plato’s view on the relation
between dialectic and rhetoric. If I am correct on these points, it follows that
Plato’s Phaedrus has a deep, various and positive influence on Aristotle’s Rhetoric,
contrary to what it is often argued.
To conclude, I would like to pause and reflect on the exact nature of the dif-
ference between the two perspectives. The first difference that might strike the
reader is that while Plato reduces the empirical diversity of rhetorical contexts to
the mastery of similarities (261a7–e4), Aristotle not only maintains a distinction
between deliberative, juridical and epidictic rhetoric but also studies separately
their argumentative topoi (see I 4–15). Nevertheless, this difference is probably a
red herring, since, after the study of emotions and characters in book II, Aristotle
also reduces the empirical diversity of rhetorical contexts to argumentative topoi
that are common to the three kinds of rhetoric and, for that matter, to dialectic
(see II 18–26 and singularly II 23–24).
The real difference between Plato’s and Aristotle’s conceptions of rhetoric
rather lies in the goal of rhetoric according to each author.
For Plato and for Aristotle, rhetoric is meant to convince souls. But whereas
Aristotle focuses on the verb: ‘to convince’, Plato focuses on its object: ‘soul’. At
Phaedrus 270e4–271a1, he identifies souls as the genuine object of rhetoric. A bit
later, he characterizes rhetoric as a way to lead souls, a psychagogy (see 271c10
and already 261a7–9). Finally, at 273e5–8, he makes explicit that this psychagogy
enables one to speak and to behave in a way that suits not the other men, but the
gods themselves. This brief allusion to theology at the end of the dialogue must
remind us that the ‘rhetorical’ part of the Phaedrus belongs to a whole that also
contains a long Socratic palinode revealing the mythical destiny of human souls
and their relationship to the gods. Speaking correctly is for Plato essentially a way
to lead a good life, a life that is divine rather than tyrannical or bestial.
By contrast, in Aristotle’s treatise, the finality of rhetoric is very different: rhet-
oric is above anything else a way to convince, that is, a way to win over the judg-
ment of the hearer (I 3, 1358b1–2; II 1, 1377b20–21; II 18, 1391b7–8). That is why,
according to Aristotle, rhetoric is not in itself oriented towards a good life as it is in
Plato’s Phaedrus, but is morally neutral.37 Used unjustly, rhetoric can inflict the
greatest harm. Nevertheless, like strength, health, wealth and power, rhetoric can
be useful provided that it is used with a sense of justice (I 1, 1355b2–7). At any rate,
rhetoric remains the only systematic tool that enables one to convey science, truth
and justice in an exoteric context (I 1, 1355a21–29). With some indulgence for the
specificity of this exoteric context, the Socrates of the Apology would probably not
have been condemned and executed.38
37 Which does not prevent rhetorical proofs to incorporate some norms, but these are episte-
mic, not ethical, see Dow 2014a and Dow 2014b.
38 I would like to thank Simon Fortier for polishing my English.
Teun Tieleman
Galen’s Self-Understanding and the
Platonic Phaedrus
1 Introduction
Galen’s (129–c. 216 CE) double role of physician-cum-philosopher did not mean
that he alternated between two different roles but should be taken to represent a
project of a medical philosophy, or philosophical medicine, aimed at human
well-being, both physical and moral.1 In his charming little tract The Best
Doctor is also a Philosopher he argues that the ideal physician is well-versed
in all three parts of philosophy (physics, logic, ethics) – an ideal he projects
onto the legendary Hippocrates, whom he reveres as not just the founder but
the paragon of medicine.2 At Hippocrates’ side Galen places, as the philosoph-
ical fountainhead of his medical philosophy, Plato. He devoted his great trea-
tise On the Doctrines of Hippocrates and Plato (hereafter PHP after its Latin
title De placitis Hippocratis et Platonis) to showing that the intellectual heroes of
its title were correct and in harmony on the main issues of philosophy and medi-
cine.3 Here Galen produced a highly personal synthesis, including, in so far as
possible, reputable successors of Hippocrates and Plato such as Aristotle4 in the
1 Galen himself speaks of ‘medical philosophy’ (ἰατρικὴν φιλοσοφίαν) once: Prop. Plac. 15,
190.5 Boudon/Pietrobelli. Garofalo & Lami in their less conservative edition give ἰατρικὴν <τε
καὶ ἠθικὴν> φιλοσοφίαν, presumably in view of the occurrence of the expression ἠθικὴν
φιλοσοφίαν a bit further on (190.15 B–P). Galen usually links the two nouns, speaking of
ἰατρικὴ τε καὶ φιλοσοφία much to the same effect, e.g. Nat. fac. II 27, Praen. XIV 629 and 649
K., PHP VIII 1, 3 and 9, 13 De Lacy; Lib. prop. Prol. 4, 135.5–6 Boudon (and passim). In what
follows references to PHP give book, chapter and section number in De Lacy’s edition.
2 For Galen’s relation to Hippocrates see Diller 1933; Diller 1974; Harig & Kollesch 1975; Smith
1979, 61–176; Manetti & Roselli 1994; Jouanna 2012 (where see note * on p. 313 for further
references).
3 E.g. the tripartition and trilocation of the soul known from such Platonic works as the Republic,
Phaedrus (tripartition) and Timaeus (trilocation) (PHP I–VI), the virtues and the senses (VII), ele-
mental theory (VIII) and methodology (IX). The Arabic tradition according to which PHP originally
comprised ten books is confirmed by Lib. prop. V 4, 155.10 in the new edition by Boudon (who
could draw on the recently discovered MS Vlatadon) but we know nothing about the contents of
book X. For an analysis of books I–VI see Tieleman 1996b and 2003, ch. 1–2.
4 For Galen and the Aristotelian legacy see the overview by Moraux 1984. See also the obser-
vations by van der Eijk 2009.
Teun Tieleman, Utrecht University
https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110683936-003
26 Teun Tieleman
tradition of good philosophy-cum-medicine as he saw it.5 Progress consists in

further developing the basic insights of the distinguished members of this tradi-
tion.6 But Galen did not suffer from a negative self-image. In addition to past au-
thorities, he held out himself as the embodiment of his ideal. The numerous
biographical episodes he relates are stylized in such a way as to fit some of his
most deeply held convictions as to what may count as good science and philoso-
phy, what its epistemic foundations are and how the philosophical doctor should
act. In this chapter I will argue that the Platonic Phaedrus, with its explicit link-
ing of Hippocrates and Plato (270c–d), but also in other respects, occupied a spe-
cial position in creating his persona as a physician-cum-philosopher.7
2 Galen and Plato. Galen and Platonism

Galen may have placed Hippocrates before Plato: Hippocrates was born before
Plato, who, Galen believed, had derived some important ideas from the great doc-
tor. Being no medical expert, Plato had been mistaken on certain anatomical and
physiological issues, though not the really important ones. But overal he stressed
the broad agreement between the two authorities. In fact, Galen studied philoso-
phy before he started his medical studies. Among the representatives of the four
main schools (Platonism, Stoicism, Aristotelianism, Epicureanism) whose classes
he took in his native Pergamum, Galen tells us most about his Platonist professor,
‘a pupil of Gaius’ with whom, however, he studied only for a brief period of time.8
This Platonist, he explains, had become unavailable after the citizens of
Pergamum had pressured him into assuming political office because he seemed to
them ‘just, incorruptible, accessible and mild’.9 Later Galen would make up for
what he had missed by going to Smyrna to study with the Platonist Albinus (who
may have been a pupil of Gaius too).10 The few pages in question suggest an early
5 See the pioneering study by Vegetti 1986; also available in an English version (see Bibliography).
6 See Hankinson 1994, 1779–1781 (“The Hippocratic Tradition of Medicine”).
7 Tieleman 2015. In section 3, I deal with Phdr. 270c–d from a different angle, viz. Galen’s
notion of art (applied science, τέχνη) as combining the study of the universal and the
individual.
8 On Gaius see the fragmentary evidence presented and discussed by Gioè 2002, 47–86;
Dillon 1977, 266–267.
9 On Galen’s philosophical studies in Pergamum see Aff. Dign. VIII 3–4, p. 28.9–15 De Boer
(= Gaius 3 T Gioè).
10 Lib. prop. II 1, 140.15–17 Boudon (= Albinus 1 T Gioè, T 10 Göransson). Albinus is on record
as having published an outline of Platonism ‘based on the lectures by Gaius’: see 4 and 5 T
preference for Platonism, or at least Plato. After his studies Galen combined an ad-
miration for Plato with keeping his distance from Platonism as a school, in line with
his general attitude towards schools, or sects, with their reliance on the principle of
authority and dogmatist speculation. Plato could count as the most eminent philos-
opher, not because he was Plato but because he could be proven to be correct, or at
least on the right track. Galen likes to present himself as directly and independently
conversing with Plato and to criticize the Platonic readings of his self-styled fol-
lowers (e.g. PHP IX 9).11 But this self-positioning, or perhaps rather posturing,
should not lead us to discount in advance any influence of the exegetical tradition
concerned with the Platonic dialogues, including the Phaedrus, to which he had
been exposed when studying with the likes of ‘the pupil of Gaius’ and Albinus.12
Galen composed summaries of all Platonic dialogues, summaries on which
the Arabic world of later times came to rely for its knowledge of Plato.13 His own
works are full of Platonic echoes showing that his admiration for Plato extended to
language and style. Clearly, then, we are dealing with an author who is intimately
familiar with all of Plato’s work. Of course, he has his preferences among the dia-
logues. He reflects the dominant role played by the Timaeus in the Platonist tradi-
tion, taking a particular and unsurprising interest in physical and medical matters.
Apart from the Compendium Timaei (one of the summaries, extant in Arabic only)
he dedicated a separate commentary to the medical passages in this dialogue.14
Gioè (= Gaius 7 and 8 T Gioè). On Albinus’ life, works and philosophy, see Gioè (2002) and
Dillon (1977) 267–305. The anonymous ‘pupil of Gaius’, a citizen of Pergamum, mentioned in
Aff. Dign (see previous note) probably cannot be identified as Albinus for whom Galen moved
over to Smyrna according to Prop. Lib. Taken together, the two testimonies indicate that Galen
went from one Platonist teacher (who became unavailable) to the other.
11 On Galen’s attitude toward his Platonist contemporaries see De Lacy 1972, 28–29; cf.
Rocca 2006, 49–50.
12 Galen’s Platonist contemporaries have come to be called ‘Middle Platonists’ in modern
scholarship: apart from its being a modern term of periodisation it is good to realize that be-
hind the appeal to Plato rather different views could lurk. Even so, what sets Galen apart from
most of them is his principled refusal to take a stand on those metaphysical issues from which
the Platonists (and other dogmatist schools) derived their distinctive positions. For explora-
tions of Galen’s thought against the Middle Platonist backdrop see (very briefly) Dillon 1977,
339–340; Donini 1980 and 1992; Singer 1991; Tieleman 1996b, xvii–xxii; Chiaradonna 2009,
with further references, who arrives at a rather emphatically negative conclusion (260); cf.
also Tieleman 1996. Galen’s use of Aristotle cannot be subtracted from the status he accorded
to Plato in so far as Aristotle could be taken to have further developed Platonic thought, as
many Platonists at the time held.
13 Galen includes them in his list of writings concerning the philosophy of Plato at Lib. prop.
XVI 1–3, 170.15–171.5 Boudon, with Boudon’s note (17).
14 See Schröder 1934.
28 Teun Tieleman
Galen quotes extensively from a group of twelve dialogues and in particular from
the Timaeus, the Republic and, to a lesser extent, Phaedrus, which, as we shall see,
added ideas to the other dialogues that were of special importance to him.
According to Michael Trapp, who has specifically studied this topic, “few works
were more firmly entrenched in the ‘cultural syllabus’ of Hellenic paideia by the
2nd century AD than Plato’s Phaedrus”.15 So given Galen’s education and response
to Plato’s work, it is only to be expected that the Phaedrus is to a greater or lesser
extent present in his work. Indeed we find ten direct quotations from this work,
including seven in PHP book IX, some of them quite extensive (see § 4 below),
which are to be supplemented with equally relevant allusions and echoes.
3 Phaedrus 270c1–d7: Plato and the Hippocratic

Method
The first passage we turn to is from the proem of Galen’s commentary on the
Hippocratic Nature of Man citing Phaedrus 270c1–d7, a passage that links Plato
and Hippocrates in a way that illuminates Galen’s self-image as a scientist and phi-
losopher. In the proem Galen discusses, among other things, the title of the
Hippocratic tract at issue and in particular the notion of nature (φύσις). He distin-
guishes between perceptible nature and ‘higher and primary’ nature as corre-
sponding to the attributes and the ‘being’ (οὐσία) of the thing under investigation
respectively. This distinction counts as one of the possible forms of diaeresis (i.e.
division) and can be operationalized by using an inquiry into the attributes as a
way of getting to being in the sense of essence – a principle of method that can be
paralleled from Middle Platonist literature.16 Here are Galen’s own words:
For in these (scil. attributes) resides the perceptible nature of each of the things that are;
but the other (scil. kind of nature) is higher than these and primary, about which both I
have spoken before and Plato advises the person who wants to deal methodically with
whatever matter to know it. I will cite for you also the passage in Plato: “Do you think,
15 Trapp 1990, 141. Trapp does not study Galen’s references to Phdr. though he lists the ones
to be found in PHP IX.
16 This distinction can be paralleled from Middle Platonist literature: see Alcinous, Didasc. 5,
156.24–33 with Tieleman 1996b, 30–31 (in relation to the argument of PHP II). Alcinous empha-
sizes the need to know the essence (οὐσία), ‘what each thing is’. Cf. Plato, Phdr. 237b7–c3. If
the essence is unknown one may start from the perceptible attributes and investigate whether
any of these provides an indication as to the essence of the thing: see e.g. the way that Galen
starts his inquiry into the essence or function of the heart at PHP II 4, 5–6.
then, that it is possible to gain insight into the nature of soul in a noteworthy manner with-
out the nature of the whole? — Well, if we should believe Hippocrates of the Asclepiad fam-
ily, we cannot even inquire into the body without this method. — Yes, he speaks well, my
friend; however, we should put Hippocrates’ line of reasoning to the test and see whether it
agrees with the facts. — Yes. — Regarding nature, what, then, do Hippocrates and the true
account say?17 Do we not have to consider any nature in the following way? First whether
that about which we want to be experts ourselves and be able to make others experts,
whether it is either simple or pluriform, and next, if it is simple, consider what natural
power it has for acting on what or what power for being acted upon and by what; but if it
has more forms, to enumerate them and then observe in the case of each what we did in
the case of the single one, namely what it by nature does to what, or how it is acted upon
and by what?” Here, then, you have the passage from Plato’s Phaedrus teaching both the
meaning of the word ‘nature’ and how one should study its being methodically (In
Hippocratis de natura hominis, Proem. 4.18–5.9 Mewaldt = XV 4–5 Kühn).18
In the preceding context of the passage quoted by Galen Plato had referred to
the art (or science, τέχνη) of medicine as involving not just knowledge but the
ability to actually bring about changes in the patient’s state (268a–b).19 Here
Hippocratic medicine is taken to illustrate dialectical method and in particu-
lar the best way to start one’s inquiry.20 On Plato’s authority Hippocrates is
17 The MSS of Galen omit a phrase that is in Plato and is unjustifiably printed by Mewaldt for
that reason, viz. (say) “that an examination of nature consists in?” Cf. Hankinson ad loc. The
phrase is however found in the parallel quotation at MM X 14 K. for which see infra, p. 31.
18 ἐν τούτοιϲ (scil. sensible attributes) γὰρ ἡ αἰϲθητὴ φύϲιϲ ἑκάϲτου τῶν ὄντων ἐϲτίν· ἡ δὲ
τούτων ἀνωτέρω καὶ πρώτη· περὶ ἧϲ ἐγώ τε προείρηκα καὶ Πλάτων ἐπίϲταϲθαι ϲυμβουλεύει
τὸν βουλόμενον ὁτιοῦν πρᾶγμα μεθόδῳ μεταχειρίζεϲθαι. παραγράψω δέ ϲοι καὶ τὴν ῥῆϲιν
αὐτοῦ (270c1–d7)· “ψυχῆϲ οὖν φύϲιν ἀξίωϲ λόγου κατανοῆϲαι οἴει δυνατὸν εἶναι ἄνευ τῆϲ τοῦ
ὅλου φύϲεωϲ; — εἰ μὲν οὖν Ἱπποκράτει τῷ τῶν Ἀϲκληπιαδῶν δεῖ τι πείθεϲθαι, οὐδὲ περὶ
ϲώματοϲ ἄνευ τῆϲ μεθόδου ταύτηϲ. — καλῶϲ γάρ, ὦ ἑταῖρε, λέγει· χρὴ μέντοι πρὸϲ τῷ
Ἱπποκράτει τὸν λόγον ἐξετάζονταϲ ϲκοπεῖν εἰ ϲυμφωνεῖ. — φημί. — <τὸ τοίνυν περὶ φύϲιν
ϲκοπεῖ> τί ποτε λέγει Ἱπποκράτηϲ τε καὶ ὁ ἀληθὴϲ λόγοϲ; ἆρ’ οὐχ ὧδε δεῖ διανοεῖϲθαι περὶ
ὁτουοῦν φύϲεωϲ; πρῶτον μὲν εἰ ἁπλοῦν ἢ | πολυειδέϲ ἐϲτιν, οὗ πέρι βουληϲόμεθα εἶναι αὐτοί
τε τεχνικοὶ καὶ ἄλλουϲ δυνατοὶ ποιεῖν, ἔπειτα δέ, ἂν μὲν ἁπλοῦν ᾖ, ϲκοπεῖν τὴν δύναμιν αὐτοῦ,
τίνα πρὸϲ τί πέφυκεν εἰϲ τὸ δρᾶν ἔχον ἢ τίνα εἰϲ τὸ παθεῖν ὑπό του, ἐὰν δὲ πλείω εἴδη ἔχῃ,
ταῦτα ἀριθμηϲάμενον, ὅπερ ἐφ’ ἑνὸϲ, τοῦτο ἰδεῖν ἐφ’ ἑκάϲτου, τὸ τί ποιεῖν αὐτὸ πέφυκεν ἢ τὸ
τί παθεῖν ὑπό του;” αὕτη ϲοι καὶ ἡ τοῦ Πλάτωνοϲ ῥῆϲιϲ ἐκ τοῦ Φαίδρου διδάϲκουϲα τοῦ τε τῆϲ
φύϲεωϲ ὀνόματοϲ τὸ ϲημαινόμενον ὅπωϲ τε χρὴ μεθόδῳ τὴν οὐϲίαν αὐτῆϲ ἐπιϲκοπεῖϲθαι. The
Platonic passage is cited again 54.13–25 Mewaldt = 103–115 Kuhn.
19 Galen at PHP IX 2, 25–32 similarly argues that in order to master an art (τέχνη) it is essential
to train and become practiced in its method and thus become a competent practioner of the art,
saying that Hippocrates and Plato provide many examples (IX 2, 31). For Galen’s stress on train-
ing as part of an art see PHP II 3, 17, De opt. doctr. III 1, 46–47 K., MM XIII 11 and X 901 K.
20 The way Plato appeals to Hippocrates indicates that he was a famous physician at the time
of writing; see Jouanna 1999, 6. Plato’s reference to Hippocrates as guide on how to start one’s
30 Teun Tieleman
taken to have applied this method to the study of the body just as the theory
of philosophical discourse the dialogue’s interlocutors are looking for in-
volves the study of the soul with a view to teaching and convincing others.
Thus a link is forged, and an analogy drawn, between the study of soul and
that of body as represented by Plato and Hippocrates. At least, this, I would
like to suggest, is how Galen is most likely to have read these passages in
which philosophical procedure is modelled on medicine and his two intellec-
tual heroes are found in agreement on the central issue of correct method. As
we shall presently see, Galen returned to the method proposed by Plato, divi-
sion, and other relevant passages from the Phaedrus in PHP book IX (where,
surprisingly given the purpose of PHP, Phdr. 270c1–d7 is not quoted).21
Galen’s reading of the Phaedrus and what it says about the method of the arts
was no doubt conditioned by the exegetical tradition concerned with the
Phaedrus and other relevant dialogues and reflected in manuals on Platonic
philosophy such as the one preserved under the name of Alcinous.22 Galen
rarely refers to his use of that kind of literature, although he does, crucially,
at On the Method of Healing (hereafter MM after its Latin title De methodo me-
dendi) II 10, 145 K. Having spoken about the need to correctly define and di-
vide one’s subject-matter, he says:
But you have not practiced in these things, so as to come to an understanding of

them, even though they are among the first things taught in introductions to logical the-
ory. (tr. Hankinson, italics mine)
Here ‘these things’ refers to points he has made about logical methods such as
definition and division with respect to notions of special concern to him such
as disease. But elsewhere he includes terse passages of the schoolbook type,
such as the one on division found right at the end of PHP, viz. IX 9, 43–46,
where he provides a brief overview of kinds of division distinguished by dialec-
ticians (a ‘division of division,’ as one might say) and including that between
being (albeit ‘underlying unqualified’ οὐσία) and its attributes and that be-
tween being and its powers reminiscent of the Phaedrus passage he cites in
HNH. In sum, passages such as these confirm that Galen used or at any rate
was influenced by the Platonist tradition and its literature on the notion of
inquiry is taken up by Galen in the first two chapters of PHP IX, with reference to Hippocrates’
Prognostic and Surgery and, on Plato’s side, the Phaedrus and other dialogues. See infra, p. 31–37.
21 It is tempting to speculate whether it had been mentioned in the lost part of book I or the
lost book X; cf. supra, n. 3. On this see further infra, p. 36 with note 43.
22 See supra, n. 16.
division and related dialectical tools, just as he turned to the doxographical tra-
dition when it came to dividing the available options in a given debate.23
The modern interpretative controversy24 as to how to read the reference to the
whole as the required starting point (i.e. the body as a whole or nature as a whole,
i.e. the cosmos) seems absent from Galen’s treatment. But the fact that he takes
Plato to refer to the (authentic part of) On the Nature of Man indicates that he un-
derstood it as the individual object of inquiry, given the Hippocratic author’s dis-
quisition on the elemental constitution of the human body. A correct diaeresis
starts from a complete view of the thing under investigation (in this case the
human body) before considering whether one is dealing with one or more forms.
As we have seen, Galen went further than drawing an analogy between phi-
losophy and medicine as others had done before him but developed a synthesis
between them, a synthesis embodied by himself. There can be no doubt that
Phaedrus 270c1–d7 was a key text for him, providing as it did welcome confir-
mation and further encouragement for how he understood his own position in
intellectual history, notably this double role as physician-cum-philosopher.
This is also clear from On the Method of Healing X 13–14 K., where Galen cites
the same passage, or, more precisely, its second half giving Socrates’ explana-
tion of Hippocrates’ method (270c9–d7, see above). Galen continues:
You hear, my noble friend (scil. his adversary, the Methodist physician Thessalus – TT),
that Plato thinks it proper to use in the investigation of the soul the same method as that
employed by Hippocrates in the case of the body. Or would you prefer me to quote many
passages from many different parts of his works in which he particularly exalts
Hippocrates of all those who came before him?25 However, I have already done this in
another work in which I comment on the doctrines of Hippocrates and Plato, to which I
refer anyone interested. The complete agreement between the two men in many of their
views, particularly the most important of them, has in my view been absolutely and
plainly demonstrated. (X 14 K., tr. Hankinson, slightly modified)26
23 Cf. Tieleman 2018.

24 On which see Jouanna 1999, 59.
25 The only other occasion on which Plato refers to Hippocrates of Kos, ‘the famous physi-
cian’, by name is at Prot. 311c. But here Hippocrates features simply as an expert, to whom one
might expect to pay fees for his teaching. Thus Galen may be exaggerating, though one cannot
exclude the possibility that he takes on board passages such as Charmides 156c–157c, where
‘certain eminent doctors’ are referred to as holding that in order to cure the eye one must cure
the whole body – an idea that certainly appealed to Galen, who may even have connected it
with Plato’s point about starting from the nature of ‘the whole’ at Phdr. 269c–270d.
26 ἤκουσας, ὦ γενναιότατε, Πλάτωνος ὁμοίᾳ μεθόδῳ τὰ κατὰ τὴν ψυχὴν ἀξιοῦντος εὑρίσκειν,
οἵᾳ περ Ἱπποκράτης τὰ κατὰ τὸ σῶμα· πότερον ἔτι βούλει πολλὰς πολλαχόθι αὐτοῦ τῶν
συγγραμμάτων ἐκλέξω σοι ῥήσεις, ἐν αἷς ζηλοῖ τὸν Ἱπποκράτην πάντων μάλιστα τῶν
ἔμπροσθεν αὐτοῦ γεγονότων; ἢ τοῦτο μὲν ἐν ἑτέρᾳ πραγματείᾳ πεποιηκὼς, ἐν ᾗ περὶ τῶν
32 Teun Tieleman
In the context Galen heaps scorn on Thessalus of Tralles, who had been active in
the time of the emperor Nero but was still influential enough to feature as the
quintessential culprit in Galen’s complaint about the decline of medicine with
which On the Method of Healing opens. In some of his writings Thessalus had
seen fit to denounce Hippocrates and the other Asclepiads, proclaiming himself
the victorious founder of a sect with a novel physiological theory, viz. Methodism
(X 7–8 K.). In particular, he rejected the theory of the four physical elements or
elementary qualities defended by Galen. In doing so, Galen points out, Thessalus
opposes a long and powerful tradition starting from Hippocrates and including
eminent philosophical authorities who followed in Hippocrates’ footsteps: not
only Plato, but also Aristotle and the Peripatos (X 14) and Chrysippus and the
other Stoics (X 17–18) belong to it, at least with regard to elemental theory: so
how can Thessalus be victorious over Hippocrates when judged by a tribunal
consisting of these big names?27 For our purposes it suffices to note that this po-
lemic provides Galen with another opportunity to present his great tradition of
medicine–cum-philosophy, with Phaedrus 269c–270d as a key witness.
4 PHP IX: The Phaedrus and the Methods

of the Arts
I now turn to the work that has already been mentioned and is referred to by
Galen himself in the passage from MM book I we have just cited: On the
Doctrines of Hippocrates and Plato.28 Its ninth book is designed to demonstrate
the basic agreement between Hippocrates and Plato on the question of the cor-
rect method to be followed in science, in particular medicine, and philosophy
alike (PHP IX 1, 1–3). Galen presents method as essential to the construction
(σύστασις)29 of any art or (applied) science (τέχνη), with the important addition
Ἱπποκράτους καὶ Πλάτωνος δογμάτων ἐπισκέπτομαι, εἰς ἐκείνην ἀναπέμψω τὸν βουλόμενον;
ἀποδέδεικται γὰρ, ὡς ἐγὼ νομίζω, πάνυ σαφῶς ἡ περὶ πλεῖστά τε καὶ μέγιστα δόγματα
συμφωνία τῶν ἀνδρῶν.
27 Galen’s polemic invites comparison with Pliny the Elder’s in his Natural History
XXIX 5.9; 8.26–27, from which we learn that the epitaph on Thessalus’ memorial among the
select graves on the Appian Way referred to him as ἰατρονικής, ‘conqueror of physicians’ or
‘champion physician’ (Nutton 2013, 191).
28 See supra, p. 25.
29 Galen later devoted a separate monograph to this subject entitled Περὶ συστάσεως ἰατρικής
(De Constitutione Artis Medicae I 224–304 K.). Modern editions by Boulogne/Delattre 2003 and
Johnston 2016.
that practice and experience are no less indispensable (IX 1, 26; 2, 23; 5, 37),
just as practice and experience on their own cannot constitute an art either
(IX 5, 24).30 The method, or methods, Galen has in mind and which he illus-
trates with extensive quotations from Hippocrates and Plato, are the method of
distinguishing between similars and the method of diaeresis (including the op-
posite procedure of synthesis, or composition, IX 5, 13).31 He deals with the first
method in the book’s first half (IX 1, 1–5, 10), with, on the Platonic side, the
Phaedrus as his main witness, especially Plato’s disquisition on the true art of
rhetoric, i.e. on the dialectical method as the tool of the philosophically respon-
sible type of rhetorician, which stretches from Phdr. 261a to 274b, and from
which Galen provides sometimes extensive quotations. Indeed, Galen takes
Plato’s account to pertain to the construction of all the arts in general, not just
rhetoric (IX 5, 27). As Julius Rocca observes, “Galen’s reading concentrates
rather on mastering a skill per se”.32
Galen starts by quoting Phdr. 262a5–7: “Therefore the person who intends to
deceive another and not be deceived himself must know accurately the similarity
and difference in things” (IX 1, 4). For Plato (or Socrates taken as his persona) this
requires knowledge of the truth about a thing: one cannot discern any similarity,
great or small, to the thing one is ignorant about (Phdr. 262a9–b1, quoted IX 1, 5).
For Galen this holds a lesson about where to start one’s inquiry, viz. from truths
that can be, without any doubt, known by our natural or common criteria, viz. the
human senses and mind in their ordinary, sound state, starting from larger and
more easily discernible similarities (IX 1, 10–17). On the basis of the natural criteria
scientific or ‘technical’ criteria may be developed for dealing with the harder cases
that lie within the remit of philosophers and scientists with the specialized logical
and experiential procedures that mark out any art worthy of the name (IX 2, 14–16,
30 See also supra, n. 19 with text thereto.

31 De Lacy 1966 claims that for Galen the two methods amount to exactly the same thing, but
this is incorrect (and would have been problematic anyway): Galen, PHP IX 5, 11 merely says
division resembles (is adjacent to, γειτνίᾳ) the distinction between similar things.
32 Rocca 2006, 54. Rhetoric in the common sense – as is also implied by Plato in the
Phaedrus – is insufficient for the seeker after truth. Galen regards rhetoric in this sense as in-
appropriate to scientific discourse and inferior to demonstrative and dialectical modes of argu-
ment (only sophistical forms of reasoning rank lower) according to the fourfold classification
of types of premises at PHP II 1–4, esp. 2, 5 and 3, 11; cf. Tieleman 1996b, 12–23. According to
Galen, rhetorical arguments are not derived from the actual attributes of the thing under ex-
amination but rely for their persuasiveness on the principle of authority; cf. supra, p. 27. In
Galen’s case it certainly makes sense to distinguish between rhetorica docens and rhetorica
utens. As to the latter, see Petit, Galien de Pergame ou la rhétorique de la Providence: Médecine,
Littérature et Pouvoir à Rome 2018; Curtis 2009.
34 Teun Tieleman
with 261e–262e). Indeed, these experts typically deal not with obvious similarities
and differences, but issues that are unclear and marked by disagreement and con-
troversy, as explained by Plato, Phdr. 263a2–d1, quoted in its entirety by Galen,
IX 2, 18–22. According to the Platonic Socrates this calls for methodical investiga-
tion aimed at establishing whether one is dealing with the clear kind of issues or
the unclear and controversial one (IX 2, 20–21, i.e. Phdr. 263b6–c5). Galen explains
this again in terms of the natural criteria, taking Plato to have taught us that con-
troversy does not arise about things that fall under these criteria, whereas it does
arise about those that do not fall under them at all or in an unclear, dim way
(ἀμυδρῶς) (IX 2, 23). The last expression reminds one of the characterization of the
non-obvious impressions technically called akataleptic in Stoic epistemology, to
which Galen was hospitable (for an example from PHP see IX 7, 1–5).33 It is one of
the marks to be taken into account in judging a particular proposition or position:
an unclear idea may not be qualified as certifiably true but could qualify as similar
to or resembling truth (as opposed to the ones that lie beyond our natural and
technical criteria and belong with the type of issues that are definitely insoluble)
(IX 7, 9–15).34 That is to say, the class that Plato seems to distinguish at 262a9–11
(quoted PHP IX 1, 5; 2, 15) when he says that one needs to know the truth or reality
of something in order to be able to decide whether and how far something else is
similar to it. In fact, Plato had marked out his own argument in the Timaeus as a
likely or verisimilar account (εἰκότα λόγον)35 or myth or perhaps rather story
(εἰκότα μῦθον, at Tim. 29c–d quoted by Galen IX 9, 6, and elsewhere).36 For Galen
this showed Plato to be epistemologically sensitive and well aware of the fact that
the cosmological issues addressed in his work were not amenable to empirical test-
ing (πεῖρα), e.g. whether the world has been created or is ungenerated, or not yet
33 SVF II 70; 458; Sextus M VII 177 (not in SVF); cf. Gal., Mot. Musc. IV 445 K.
34 On this passage see Tieleman 2018, 454–458.
35 Plato, Tim. 29e, 30b, 48d, 55d, 56a, 57d.
36 For Galen’s interest in the Phaedrus myth (246e–257b), see infra, p. 27. Galen shares Plato’s
rejection of traditional (as opposed to Platonic) myths in scientific or philosophical discourse.
Thus Stoics like Chrysippus are wrong in assuming that they contain useful insights waiting to
be uncovered through ingenious interpretive moves: see PHP III 8, 33, where he supports this
point citing Phaedrus 229d3–e4: “Now, Phaedrus such explanations are otherwise charming,
but as the work of a man who is excessively ingenious and laborious and not entirely enviable,
for no other reason than that after this he must straighten out the form of the hippocentaurs
and then the Chimera; and a multitude of such shapes comes flooding in, Gorgons and
Pegasuses and an absurd crowd of other impossible and fabulous natures; anyone who does
not believe in them, who wants to explain them away and make them plausible by means of
some rough kind of ingenuity, will need a great deal of time” (tr. Nehamas & Woodruff,
modified).
but possibly amenable to it, e.g. the location of the soul-parts (IX 9, 7; cf. III 1, 20).
In the context, Galen refers to the epistemic status of the arguments in question as
‘plausible and likely’ (τοῦ πιθανοῦ καὶ εἰκότος, IX 9, 6; 7 = p. 598, ll. 20, 26 De
Lacy; cf. On My Own Opinions (Prop. Plac.) 13 186.35–38 Boudon-Pietrobelli). The
addition of the ‘plausible’ here reflects the post-Platonic, Hellenistic epistemologi-
cal debate in which the Academics and Stoics were dominant and to which Galen
refers at PHP IX 7, 1–5.37 So Galen connects Plato’s comments on truth and similar-
ity to truth on controversial and uncontroversial issues at Phdr. 262a–263d to the
Hellenistic notion of the plausible. The upshot is that Galen’s use of it appears to
have full backing from Plato. In addition, the true/plausible/unknown distinction
is made part of the notion of an art (τέχνη) as understood by Plato:
It is not surprising, then, that some consider the precise knowledge of similars and dissim-
ilars sufficient for the methodical construction of every art, if indeed it is also an adequate
guide to the resolution of disputed points. For as some arguments that are plausible but
false have much similarity to those that are genuinely true, the person trained to distin-
guish between them will know clearly which opinions he is to trust as true and which to
reject as false; and in the case of the plausible (τὸ πιθανόν) that resembles the implausible,
the relation to truth being obscure, as also of opinions that are on an equal footing,
whether they extend to two or three or more, he will know that none is to be considered
more trustworthy than the rest. (PHP IX 7, 1–2, tr. De Lacy, slightly modified)38
At PHP IX 5, 11 Galen turns to the second method essential for the construction of
the arts, namely division, together with synthesis, or composition (the former de-
scends from the first and most general class to units that are no longer divisible;
the latter goes from the lowest species to the first genus, IX 5, 13). Its use has
been demonstrated most clearly in the Philebus and the Phaedrus. He first cites
three passages from the Phaedrus where the method is explained and called es-
sential for the ‘science of discourse’ (τέχνη τῶν λόγων), viz. Phdr. 265c8–e3 (IX 5,
14–16), 271c10–272b2 (IX 5, 18–23), 273d6–e4 (IX 5, 26), before turning to what he
characterizes as the more detailed account in the Philebus (which is also repre-
sented by a long quotation, Phil. 17b3–18d2 at PHP IX 5, 28–35). The second of
37 On which see further Tieleman forthcoming. On Galen’s concept of the plausible (πιθανόν)
see also Debru 1991; Chiaradonna 2014.
38 Εἰκότως οὖν ἔνιοι τὴν τῶν ὁμοίων τε καὶ οὐχ ὁμοίων ἀκριβῆ γνῶσιν αὐτάρκη νομίζουσιν
ὑπάρχειν εἰς μεθοδικὴν σύστασιν ἁπάσης τέχνης, εἴ γε καὶ πρὸς τὴν τῶν ἀμφισβητουμένην
κρίσιν ἱκανὴ ποδηγός ἐστιν. ὁμοιότητος γὰρ οὔσης πολλῆς ἐνίοις τῶν πιθανῶν μέν, οὐκ
ἀληθῶν δὲ πρὸς τοὺς ὄντως ἀληθεῖς λόγους, ὁ γεγυμνασμένος διακρίνειν ἀπ’ ἀλλήλων αὐτοὺς
εἴσεται σαφῶς ὅσοις τε χρὴ δόγμασι πιστεύειν ὡς ἀληθέσιν, ὅσων τε καταγιγνώσκειν ὡς
ψευδῶν, ὅσων τε τὸ πιθανὸν ἄδηλον ὅπως ἀληθείας ἔχον προσέοικε τῷ ἀπιθάνῳ, ὥσπερ γε καὶ
τῶν ἐπίσης ἀλλήλοις, εἴτε ἐν δυσὶν εἴτ’ ἐν τρισὶν εἴτε ἐν πλείοσιν ἡ ἀλλήλοις, εἴτε ἐν δυσὶν εἴτ’
ἐν τρισὶν εἴτε ἐν πλείοσιν ἡ ἔκτασις γένοιτο, μηδὲν ἡγεῖσθαι πιστότερον.
36 Teun Tieleman
these comes right after the crucial passage linking Hippocrates and Plato with re-
spect to the best method of inquiry (Phdr. 270c1–d7) and provides the application
of the method to the soul: the orator, whose job it is to influence the soul, should
know about its structure and so be able to make different kinds of speeches
geared to people’s character. Galen returns to this passage at IX 6, 62–63, now
providing a summary including, it seems, what follows from 270c9 onwards:39
Therefore that account also in which Plato says that we must know accurately the nature
of the essence of every entity about which we wish to construct an art, is closely allied to
the methods just mentioned40 and makes common cause with them. For a person who
knows that there is not one simple form of soul in us, such as the desiderative in plants
or the rational in gods, but that men have both of these and the spirited besides as a
third, knows along with this the number and the nature of the virtues and how they are
acquired, just as the person who knows the natural constitution of our bodies – that the
natural state of every animate body results from the right proportion of the elements in
the homoeomerous41 parts, and in the organic members from the quantity and size of the
homoeomerous parts, and also from the conformation and position of each, the propor-
tion of the things mentioned being of course preserved in every animal in the way that is
appropriate to it – that person unaided will succeed in finding the right treatment and
prophylaxis for every disease. (IX 6, 62–63, tr. De Lacy)42
In sum, the technique of division is absolutely basic, as is demonstrated here

by reference to the moral philosopher and the practicing physician, both of
whom ply a useful art. Why Galen does not seize the opportunity to present ver-
batim quotations from, or at least refer to, the passage in which Plato refers to
Hippocrates, must remain a moot point. It may seem surprising not to find an
explicit reference to or indeed presentation of it here.43 But possibly, given its
39 Rather than Phdr. 261–262, as De Lacy ad loc. suggests.

40 Scil. examples of division from Hippocratic works he has cited in the preceding context.
41 Or ‘uniform’: bone, flesh, hair, etc.
42 ὥστε κἀκεῖνος ὁ λόγος ἐν ᾧ φησιν ὁ Πλάτων <ὡς> ἑκάστου τῶν ὄντων περὶ ὃ τέχνην τινὰ
συστήσασθαι βουλόμεθα τὴν φύσιν τῆς οὐσίας ἀκριβῶς χρὴ γνῶναι, συνῆπταί τε καὶ κοιωνεῖ
ταῖς νῦν εἰρημέναις μεθόδοις. ὁ γὰρ γνοὺς οὐχ ἁπλοῦν ἓν εἶδος ἐν ἡμῖν εἶναι ψυχῆς, ὥσπερ ἐν
τοῖς φυτοῖς μὲν τὸ ἐπιθυμητικόν, ἐν θεοῖς δὲ τὸ λογιστικόν, ἐν ἀνθρώπῳ δ’ ἄμφω τε ταῦτα καὶ
τρίτον ἐπ’ αὐτοῖς τὸ θυμοειδές, ἔγνω σὺν τούτῳ τῶν ἀρετῶν τὸν ἀριθμὸν καὶ τὴν δύναμιν καὶ
τὴν κτῆσιν, ὥσπερ ὁ γνοὺς τὴν φυσικὴν κατασκευὴν τοῦ σώματoς ἡμῶν, ἐν μὲν τοῖς
ὁμοιομερέσι συμμετρίαν τῶν στοιχείων, ἐν δὲ τοῖς ὀργανικοῖς ἐκ τῆς τῶν ὁμοιομερῶν
ποσότητός τε καὶ πηλικότητος ἔτι τε διαπλάσεως ἑκάστου καὶ θέσεως ἀποτελεῖσθαι τὸ κατὰ
φύσιν ἐν ἑκάστῳ σώματι ζῴου, τῆς συμμετρίας δηλονότι καθ’ ἕκαστον ἐν ἑκάστῳ σώματι
ζῴου, τῆς συμμετρίας δηλονότι καθ’ ἕκαστον ζῷον τῶν εἰρημένων φυλαττομένης οἰκείας,
αὐτὸς δὲ τῶν νοσημάτων εὐπορήσει τῆς προσηκούσης ἑκάστῳ θεραπείας τε καὶ προφυλακῆς.
43 Rocca 2006, 57n13 argues “(. . .) although it (scil. Phaedrus 269c–d) provides Galen with an
example of Hippocrates and Plato in accord, it does not give Plato’s own views on division and
importance, he had done so right at the outside of the entire work, which is no
longer preserved (only about the last third of PHP book I is extant).
5 Galen’s Protrepticus and the Phaedrus Myth

Galen’s engagement with the Phaedrus in PHP IX has further borne out the im-
portance of this dialogue for him as the champion of the arts and of the art of
medicine in particular.44 It should therefore not be considered too far-fetched
to look for more cases of inspiration from the Phaedrus in Galen’s Protrepticus
or Exhortation to Medicine, which opens with a general praise of the arts in gen-
eral. Its patron deity is Hermes, who is described as leading a procession of
worshippers, i.e. the craftsmen and scientists, who never complain about him
(unlike the devotees of Fortune, who do complain about their god), are never
abandoned by or separated from him, but keep following him (Protr. III 1–3,
87.3–18 Boudon):
You could see his devotees being as cheerful as the god who leads them and never
complaining about him as the adherents of Fortune do, and never being left behind or
separated (scil. from him), but following him and constantly enjoying his providence.
(Protr. III 3, 87.13–18 Boudon)45
More than anything else this end of Galen’s hymnic description recalls the pro-
cession of the gods from Phaedrus 247d–248a, where the souls who more or less
successfully join the procession try to become like the gods. This last point
makes this one of the passages that later was to give rise to the notion of ‘becom-
ing like god as far as possible’ (ὁμοίωσις τῷ θεῷ κατὰ τὸ δυνατόν) as the
Platonist end (τέλος) of life.46 But nothing less is at issue in this Galenic passage:
becoming a practitioner of one of the arts transforms, or should transform, one’s
life, for which one may seek divine support and confirmation. It stands to reason
to select one particular god who is appropriate to one’s chosen profession. This is
synthesis, which is what Galen needs in book IX of PHP”. But this seems beside the point
given that book IX is concerned not only with Plato but also with Hippocrates and the agree-
ment between them concerning method in line with the overall purpose of PHP; cf. Rocca’s
own comments 2006, 50–51.
44 This is brought out powerfully by Vegetti 1986.
45 ἴδοις δ’ ἂν τοὺς θιασώτας αὐτοῦ φαιδροὺς μὲν ὁμοίως τῷ καθηγουμένῳ θεῷ, μεμφομένους
δ’ οὐδέποτ’ αὐτὸν ὥσπερ οἱ τὴν Τύχην, οὐδ’ ἀπολειπομένους ποτ’ οὐδὲ χωριζομένους, ἀλλ’
ἑπομένους τε καὶ διὰ παντὸς ἀπολαύοντας τῆς προνοίας αὐτοῦ.
46 The clearest statement of this ideal is Theaet. 176a–b. See e.g. the study by Sedley 1999.
38 Teun Tieleman
in fact indicated by Plato at Phdr. 252c–d. Thus he writes at 252d1–2: “So it is

with each god: everyone spends his life honouring the god in whose chorus he
danced, and imitates that god as far as possible. . .” Indeed, Galen actually de-
scribed the artisans, being the followers of Hermes, as being like him especially,
he writes, through their radiant (φαιδρός!) appearance. When Galen focuses on
medicine as one of the arts (though for him of course the most important one)
the god that belongs with his life and career cannot be other than Asclepius, as
is attested by many passages throughout his works.47
6 Conclusion
Plato in Phaedrus 269c–270d presented the relation between Hippocrates and
Plato in a way that was exquisitely suited to support Galen’s project of a philo-
sophical medicine, or medical philosophy, aimed at human well-being. Indeed,
this passage and its context in this Platonic dialogue may have stimulated and
guided him in developing this project in the first place, alongside other influen-
ces and experiences connected with the applied sciences (τέχναι). Galen’s proj-
ect was highly individual in character but no less in need of a venerable
ancestry than competing ones were. With Platonic support he could present
Hippocrates and Plato as the founders of a tradition of good philosophy-cum-
medicine. As we have seen, he could appeal to this tradition, including the
Phaedrus passage, in polemical contexts such as his broadside against the
Methodist Thessalus of Tralles in On the Method of Healing. Galen fleshed out
this view of the intellectual past in his great work On the Doctrines Hippocrates
and Plato, in book IX giving prominence to Phaedrus 261a–274b as teaching us
about the methods that, together with training and practice, constitute not just
the art of rhetoric but any art. With Phaedrus 269c–270d lurking in the back-
ground, Galen in PHP IX provides several quotations, some of them substantial,
from the Phaedrus as well the Hippocratic corpus to substantiate his claim that
the two authorities were agreed on the subject of methodical procedure, focus-
ing on the distinction between similarities and on the method of division (diaer-
esis). We have found some evidence that Galen’s reading of Platonic-style
division combines original features with reflections of his philosophical educa-
tion and in particular its Platonist component.
The distinction between similarities raises certain epistemological issues,
most notably that of the criterion of truth, addressed by Galen in a way that
47 See Tieleman 2016, where I already pointed to the Phaedrus myth (29).
reflects Hellenistic debates such as that between Stoics and Academics on the
notion of the plausible (πίθανον). Here Galen found support in the notion of
verisimilitude as found in the Phaedrus (together with the idea of the ‘likely ac-
count’ of the Platonic Timaeus), which he aligned with the Stoic and Academic
concept of the plausible. If we are correct about the intertextuality between the
third chapter of the Protrepticus and the Phaedrus, Galen also derived some re-
ligious inspiration from this dialogue. Clearly, Galen’s self-understanding as a
philosophically educated medical scientist and practitioner was in many ways
informed by his engagement with the Phaedrus.
Alexandra Michalewski
The Causality of the Self-Moving Soul:
Platonic Responses to the Objections
of De Anima I 3
According to Atticus, the one thing that holds the Platonic hairesis1 together is the
theory of the immortality of the soul as it is found at the beginning of the palinode
of the Phaedrus (245c–246a). There, the argument concerning the soul’s perpetu-
ally self-moving nature is presented. Atticus’ fragment 7 (des Places), which is
dedicated to the study of the individual soul, as well as fragments 8 and 9,
which deal with the world-soul and the Forms, are filled with references to
the palinode. Atticus’ analyses concerning the self-motion of the soul, or its
prenatal contemplation of the intelligible Forms, are supported by constant
references to this passage of the Phaedrus, which is central to his exegesis of
Plato.2 Yet, this passage was not viewed in isolation. Developing a typically
Middle-Platonic exegetical method, the palinode was read together with parts
of other key passages of the Platonic corpus, taken mainly from Book X of the
Laws, from the Phaedo, or the Timaeus.3
The fragments of Atticus, quoted by Eusebius in the Praeparatio Evangelica
(Praep. Ev.), are taken from a treatise especially written to stress the incompatibility
1 Rather than to a philosophical institution as such, the term αἵρεσις usually refers to a school
of thought, a philosophical lineage. On this, see Karamanolis 2006, 249–251.
2 Proclus, In Tim. III 247.15, discussing the nature of the mixing-bowl, mentions Atticus in
passing as τὸν Φαῖδρον ἐξηγούμενος. On the strength of this allusion, scholars generally agree
that Atticus devoted a commentary to the Phaedrus. See Dörrie & Baltes (†) 1993, 197–198 and
Van den Berg 1997, 151. On the importance of the Phaedrus in Atticus’ fragments, cf. the paper
of Moreschini in this volume, and Moreschini 1993. Even more than a dialogue concerning the
beautiful or love, here, the Phaedrus is considered to be a text providing essential teachings
on the soul, defined as a self-moving and immortal reality.
3 For a status quaestionis, see Ferrari 2010.
Note: I would like to thank the editors of the volume, as well as the members of the Centre
Léon Robin, Chad Jorgenson, Jan Opsomer and Riccardo Chiaradonna for their insightful
comments and suggestions. I am also grateful to Simon Fortier for his proofreading of this
paper.
Alexandra Michalewski, CNRS, Centre Léon Robin
https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110683936-004
42 Alexandra Michalewski
of the theses of Plato and Aristotle.4 In this, their radically different conceptions of
the nature of the soul were considered to be at the heart of their antagonism.
Chapters 4 to 13 of Praep. Ev. XV, in which eight excerpts of Atticus are quoted,
constitute a circle which begins and ends with a presentation of the telos of man.
This goal is the realisation of a good and virtuous life,5 which is made possible by
knowledge of the intelligible order. If the theory of the soul’s immortality is what
holds the whole body of Platonism together (thus being its συνέχον), its chief and
determining feature (τὸ δὲ κεφάλαιον καὶ τὸ κῦρος τῆς Πλάτωνος αἱρέσεως)6 is the
theory of Forms, insofar as the Forms are principles of epistemology, ethics, and
cosmology. The self-motion of the soul, by which it perpetually tends to contem-
plate the Forms, is linked to its incorporeal character, a sign of its kinship with the
divine. Chapter 9 (= fr. 7), concerned with the defence of the immortality of the
individual soul, establishes a series of oppositions between the theses of the
Phaedrus and those of the De Anima. According to Atticus, in the Phaedrus, Plato
proves that the soul is immortal because it is self-moving – only an incorporeal
soul can move itself and, in doing so, move bodies. Aristotle, therefore, by making
the soul an immobile entelechy, inseparable from the body, deprives it of its sub-
stantiality, reducing it to a mere quality without any causal power. Atticus’ objec-
tions concerning this decisive point are presented by Eusebius in the framework of
a broader polemical perspective. In fact, within the general structure of chapters
4 to 13, we can see a sort of parenthesis, an argumentative micro-structure regard-
ing the question of the soul, composed of chapters 9 to 12, in which Eusebius re-
ports arguments provided by other Platonists. There, he composes an anti-
Peripatetic triptych bringing together Atticus, the early Plotinus – with an excerpt
from Enn. IV 7 (2)7 – and Porphyry, with an excerpt from Against Boethos on the
Soul.8 The polemical unity of these chapters shows, from Eusebius’ point of view,
4 The phrase Πρὸς τοὺς διὰ τῶν Ἀριστοτέλους τὰ Πλάτωνος ὑπισχνουμένους is to be found in
Praep. Ev. XI 1. According to Karamanolis 2006, 151–153, it is probably an indication, given by
Eusebius, about the target of the treatise rather than the actual title of Atticus’ work.
5 On the central place of ethics in Atticus’ thought, cf. Karamanolis 2006, 159–163.
6 Eusebius, Praep. Ev. XV 13.1 (= fr. 9.1 DP).
7 Enn. IV 7 (2) is well-known to Eusebius, who cites it again in what follows, when he criticises
the Stoic psychology (Praep. Ev. XV 22 = Enn. IV 7 (2) 1–84).
8 In their introduction, Chiaradonna/Rashed 2020, 7, conjectured that the book of Boethos tar-
geted by Porphyry was probably not a commentary on the De Anima, but a psychological work in
which Boethos addressed the arguments of the Phaedo. In this book, Boethos takes position in
the Peripatetic debates of the Hellenistic era on the nature of the soul and articulates his defini-
tion of the soul through an exegesis of the Categories. Boethos’ position is quite subtle since, un-
like a Dicaearchus, who reduces the soul to a harmony of the body, and also unlike Strato, who
takes the soul to be material, Boethos claims the soul has an affinity with the divine. However,
The Causality of the Self-Moving Soul: Platonic Responses 43
the devastating consequences of Aristotelian psychology, which inevitably leads to

a deflationist conception of the soul, making it lose its substantiality and reducing
it to nothing more than a mere quality. This selection, which juxtaposes Atticus,
Plotinus and Porphyry in order to criticise the Peripatetic definition of the soul, tes-
tifies to Eusebius’ deep understanding of contemporary debates on the nature of
the soul. Furthermore, it attests to a true philosophical vision on his part. These
three chapters present different facets of the difficulties which arise once the soul
is defined as the “actuality” or “entelechy” of a certain kind of body and as “some-
thing belonging to a body”.9
The question of the self-motion of the soul, as a basis for its immortality, is no
longer a central issue in Plotinus, and the chapter devoted to this question in
Enn. IV 7 (2) is an exception in the Enneads. Indeed, Plotinus offers several analy-
ses of the problem in a passage which immediately follows the one reported by
Eusebius, but he does not return to the question later.10 One reason for this is that
the soul is first and foremost defined as an essentially intelligible reality, being
both incorruptible and impassible. Thus, if the soul is an intelligible reality, this
also means that it is a being in motion – motion being one of the essential features
of the life of the intelligible world according to the reading that Plotinus develops
of Sophist 249a sq.11 To some extent, this settles the question of its indestructibility,
but the way in which the soul differs from the Forms still poses many difficulties,12
and it is precisely this point which the Neoplatonic tradition after Porphyry will
attempt to clarify. Like the Forms, the soul is defined as a substance belonging to
the intelligible realm. Also, in the Enneads, the analysis of the operations of the
soul is developed in the context of an unprecedented articulation of kinesis and
energeia at the level of incorporeal realities, one which goes far beyond the criti-
cism of the soul as the “first actuality of an organic natural body”.13 If Plotinus can
thus broaden the framework of the polemic, this may be explained not only by his
stylistic difference to Atticus who, in the excerpts chosen by Eusebius, appears
against Plato, he stresses that this affinity is not sufficient to demonstrate the eternal character of
the soul (see Praep. Ev. XI 28). For a detailed account and a contextual setting of the reception of
Boethos’ psychical theses, cf. Trabattoni 2011 and Trabattoni 2020. In particular, Trabattoni high-
lights that the position of Boethos, unlike that of Peripatetics who have a more material concep-
tion of the soul, constitutes an excellent starting point for Porphyry's strategy of inciting the
Peripatetics to join the Platonic camp.
9 Aristotle, De an. II 1, 412a21–22; II 2, 414a21.
10 Enn. IV 7 (2) 9.1–10.
11 See e. g. Enn. VI 2 (43) 5–7. For a status quaestionis, see Michalewski 2014, 142–145.
12 There is substantial literature on this topic. I will only refer to Blumenthal 1974 and
D’Ancona Costa 1999, 81–82.
13 Ar., De an. II 1, 412b5–6.
essentially as a polemical rhetorician, but also by the internal evolution of the

Peripatetic school. One of the reasons why Atticus (who did not have a deep
knowledge of the Aristotelian corpus) is so invested in defending the incompatibil-
ity of Peripatetic theses with those of Platonism is that the Peripatetic exegetes of
his time stripped the notion of form of its substantiality. Plotinus’ situation was
entirely different: the Aristotle that he is targeting is, to a large extent, that of
Alexander of Aphrodisias, who attempted to give back ontological consistency to
the hylomorphic eidos. In response to Alexander, Plotinus defends the existence of
transcendent Forms and argues for a definition of ousia as a reality that wholly
subsists by itself, independently of the body.
Actually, the question of the self-moving character of the soul is closely re-
lated to the debate on the criterion of ousia. Atticus had pointed out that the
Aristotelian definition of the soul as “something belonging to the body” natu-
rally led to the soul losing its substantial features. Plotinus takes a step further
than Atticus. Indeed, if Atticus blames the Peripatetics for ignoring the substan-
tial nature of the eidos, the Peripatetic exegetes have a strong weapon against
the Platonists: even if they draw a line between the incorporeal and the corpo-
real level, they are not able to make a clear distinction between the movements
of the soul and those of the body. As Aristotle indicates in De an. I 3, a theory of
a self-moving soul implies that the soul departs from itself. Plotinus, by con-
structing an ontology which clearly distinguishes the categories of the sensible
from those of the intelligible, attempts to take up the challenge through a
thoroughly renewed definition of the concepts of “movement” and “activity”.
As we will see, for Plotinus, there is no incompatibility between a definition
of the soul as a self-moving reality and a definition of the soul as an unaf-
fected substance.
First, Atticus’ fragment 7 will be examined in the context of the Eusebian se-
lection. Particular attention will be paid to how the definition of the self-moving
soul in the Phaedrus is systematically used in a polemical way to highlight the con-
sequences of the Peripatetic doctrine of the soul. Afterwards, it will be shown how
Plotinus, while also criticising this conception of the soul, is not content with sim-
ply opposing Plato and Aristotle. Indeed, he also shows how the soul, being an
impassible substance, is at the same time a self-moving nature, source of the
bodily motions.
1 The Criticism of the Peripatetic Conceptions

of the Soul in PE XV 9–11
The aim of Praep. Ev. XV 9 (= fr. 7) is to show that, at the individual level, the
human soul is, like the world-soul, a divine and immortal reality, exerting its cau-
sality over the body which depends on it. This chapter, dedicated to the defence of
the soul’s immortality, is the one that contains most of the allusions to the palin-
ode of the Phaedrus.14 It is part of a long list, compiled by Eusebius, which aims at
showing that, with regard to the most significant doctrines – namely the genera-
tion of the world, the immortality of the soul, the theory of Forms – Plato is always
in basic agreement with the Revelation, while Aristotle systematically disagrees
with it. Before examining how Atticus addresses the question of the motions of the
soul in chapter 9 (in paragraphs 8 to 12), let us first look at its general structure.
Paragraphs 1 to 5 briefly remind us of the importance of the theory of the immortal-
ity of the soul, which brings together the three parts of philosophy which Plato
was the first to unify.15 It is the cornerstone of epistemology, for only an immortal
soul can contemplate the Forms before incarnation; it is at the basis of cosmology,
for it is the world-soul which assures the regularity of the cosmic motions; finally,
it is at the core of ethics, for it allows for the retribution of vices and virtues after
death. The immortality of the individual soul, which is at stake here, is that of the
rational soul, demonstrated by the argument of the automotricity of the soul as
presented in Phaedrus 245c.16 Thus, to refuse it, as Aristotle does with his defini-
tion of the soul as the form of the body, leads to overturn the whole of Plato’s phi-
losophy.17 Paragraphs 8 to 12 aim at showing that arguing for such a position
amounts to considering that the soul is neither immortal nor thinking nor substan-
tial – three features that are closely related to one another. From paragraph 13 on,
Atticus deals with the last aspect of his polemic: the separated character of the
14 According to Baltes 1993, Atticus’ programme represents the quintessence of the “Ancient
Platonism” – which is interpreted as a hierarchical system of theses depending on one su-
preme dogma. He stresses the importance of this fragment which indicates how the whole
Platonic edifice is based on the immortality of the soul. For an accurate discussion of Baltes’
view, see Chiaradonna 2017, 30–31.
15 Praep. Ev. XI 1.2.
16 Harpocration, his disciple, does not follow him on this point, but maintains that all souls,
even irrational ones, are immortal. On this issue, Deuse 1983, 9.
17 Praep. Ev. XV 9.5–6 (= fr. 7): “So absolutely all of Plato’s doctrines are fixed to and depen-
dent on the divinity and immortality of the soul – and anyone who does not agree with this
overturns the whole of Plato’s philosophy. So who was it who first tried to develop proofs
against the idea, and deprive the soul of immortality and every other capacity? Who else but
Aristotle!” Tr. Boys-Stones 2018, 9Jj.
Aristotelian intellect is not an argument in favour of a conciliatory reading of Plato

and Aristotle regarding the immortality of the soul. Instead, Atticus distinguishes
the rational functions (which include soul and intellect) from the others, which con-
stitute the ‘irrational life’, linked to the body, which does not survive after death.18
After having emphatically designated Aristotle as Plato’s main adversary,
paragraph 8 scrutinizes the definitions of the other schools in order to show that,
of all of Plato’s dissidents, Aristotle is the most extreme.19 Surely, he admits that
the soul is not a body, but this is not enough to find conciliatory ground with the
Platonist definition of the soul, for an entelechy is not an incorporeal either.20 In
a very elliptical way, Atticus suggests that, in divesting the soul of its incorporeal
character, Aristotle divested it of its self-motion. An immobile soul is incapable
of exercising both primary motions, such as thought and deliberation, and of be-
getting secondary motions in bodies. This leads to a contradiction in terms, to a
paradoxical ‘inanimate soul’ (ψυχὴ ἄψυχον).
For he said that it could not be breath [πνεῦμα] or fire, or any kind of body; but it could
not be incorporeal either, such as to exist and move on its own account; but then neither
was it unmoved, so far as the body was concerned; it is, as it were, inanimate. (Praep. Ev.
XV 9.8 (= fr. 7); tr. Boys-Stones 2018, 9Jj, slightly modified)
Thus, the soul’s immobility entails multiple disastrous consequences,21 as it abol-

ishes the essential features of the soul: immortality and thought. How could an
18 According to Proclus, Atticus distinguishes the rational functions from the other ones, linked
to the body, which constitute ‘the irrational life’ (fr. 15 = Procl., In Tim. III 234.9–18) and dissolve
after death. The latter, properly speaking, do not belong to the essence of the rational soul, which,
by nature, contains the logoi (Syrianus, In Metaph. 105.36–106.2). The ‘irrational life’ could corre-
spond to the principle of animation of the embryo originating in a part of the world-soul, and to
which the ‘pneumatic vehicle’, which Proclus mentions, refers – cf. Baltes 1983, 53–56. This point
is a little obscure. Rashed 2011, 373, draws attention to the fact that if Atticus had theorised the
existence of an ὄχημα (although the fragments preserved by Eusebius do not report this), he
would have mentioned it to address the question as to how the celestial soul may distribute itself
in bodies and enter them. This question of the εἴσκρισις of the divine soul into a mortal body and
of its departure from it when the individual dies, has served as a basis for Alexander’s criticism: if
the soul is incorporeal and has no parts, how can it move with a local motion and thus leave the
body after death?
19 Cf. Trabattoni 1993, 301–303.
20 Cf. De an. II 2, 414a15–17.
21 In Praep. Ev. XV 11.4, a similar argument is given by Porphyry – although in Against Boethos
the criticism is not aimed at Aristotle himself, but at ‘the Aristotelians’, that is, Boethos and his
followers. The similarities between Porphyry and Atticus in this passage are so striking that the
issue of the attribution of the last paragraph is, even now, subject to controversy. My hypothesis is
that this paragraph is not Atticus’, but much more likely Porphyry’s. This is not the place to go
immobile entelechy account for psychic operations such as learning or thinking,

the primary motions of the soul, as stated in Laws X (897a1–4)? According to
Atticus, it is simply impossible to attribute operations to the soul while also main-
taining that it does not move: if Aristotle says that the soul is immobile, it is be-
cause he ignores that his own soul thinks.22 By making the soul an ‘inanimate’
principle, he reduces it to something corporeal – even if he refuses to define it as
such. Aristotle’s inability to cross the threshold of a genuine materialism echoes a
criticism which had already been made regarding providence: so long as we con-
sider that God cannot exert his providence on human affairs, we might as well be
bold enough to completely deny divine providence as such, as Epicurus does,
rather than relegating it to the superlunary region.23
This plea in favour of the incorporeal character of the soul goes hand in
hand with a defence of the substantial and divine character of the soul:24 the
independence of the psychic substance is only guaranteed by its incorporeity,
to which its self-motion testifies.25 And claiming, as Aristotle does in De an. I 4,
408b13–15, that it is not the soul that learns, pities, or thinks, but rather the
man with his soul, is equivalent to simply refusing to attribute to the soul any
autonomy regarding the composite – that is, all substantiality.26 Further, ac-
cording to Atticus, if we completely unravel what this definition of the soul as
an entelechy implies, we end up directly at the monism of Dicaearchus, who
defines the soul as a mere product of corporeal organisation.
Οὐ γὰρ ἡ ψυχή, φησίν, ἀλλ’ ὁ ἄνθρωπός ἐστιν ὁ τούτων ἕκαστον ἐνεργῶν, ἡ ψυχὴ δὲ
ἀκίνητος. [10] Τούτῳ τοιγαροῦν ἑπόμενος Δικαίαρχος, καὶ τἀκόλουθον ἱκανὸς ὦν θεωρεῖν,
ἀνῄρηκε τὴν ὅλην ὑπόστασιν τῆς ψυχῆς27.
into detail concerning this question. Briefly, the status quaestionis begins with Mras 1936, who pro-
poses to attribute this passage not to Eusebius himself, as it had been done before, but to
Porphyry. In 1967, Philip Merlan started to question this hypothesis, advancing the hypothesis
that those few lines could be Atticus’, and he was followed by des Places, in his 1977 edition.
Karamanolis 2006 and 2014 dedicated many pages to this problem, to substantiate the hypothesis
of Merlan 1967. Hadot 2015, 55–56, advanced some convincing arguments for the attribution of the
passage to Porphyry, as Zambon 2002, 162–163, did as well.
22 Fr. 7.9. This ironic remark recalls the one made by Cicero, in the Tusculanae Disputationes I
41, regarding Dicaearchus (qui animum se habere non sentiat).
23 Fr. 3.8–12. For more on this aspect, see Michalewski 2017.
24 Dörrie 1959, 183.
25 Fr. 7.8 notes that: ἀσώματον, οἶον εἶναί τε ἐφ’ αὑτοῦ καὶ κινεῖσθαι.
26 Gottschalk 1971, 185.
27 Fr. 20 (tr. Mirhady). The mss. have: ἡ ψυχὴ δὲ ἀκίνητος οὕτως. τοιγαροῦν ἑπόμενος.
R. Estienne’s editio princeps (1544) correct it to ἡ ψυχὴ δὲ ἀκίνητος. τούτῳ γὰρ ἑπόμενος. For a
discussion on this emendation, see Sharples 2001, 154n50.
For it is not the soul, says <Aristotle>, but the man that actualizes each of these (mental
processes), and the soul is in this way immobile. [10] Dicaearchus followed accordingly,
and since he was competent at observing what was entailed (sc. in Aristotle’s view), he
rejected the entire existence of the soul.28
There are only few elements left which allow us to precisely reconstitute the
thought of this disciple of Aristotle. In the ancient tradition, his definition of
the soul is frequently associated with that of his classmate Aristoxenus.
Diogenes Laërtius (Vit. III 38) alludes briefly to the fact that Dicaearchus
criticised the Phaedrus for being crude. Cicero, who probably had first-hand
access to his works,29 summarises Dicaearchus’ theses on the soul in the follow-
ing way: there is not one reality which would be called ‘soul’ (it is an empty
word ‘nomen totum inane’) and which would be distinct from the body, for life
and consciousness are nothing but effects of the body. The force (vis) by which
we live, we think, we act, would simply be a property of the body, the expression
of its good condition. In other words, the psychic activity is merely a secondary
manifestation of the corporeal activity – which cannot subsist after death. It is a
product of the interactions between the components of the body – an effect of
the body itself disseminated in the body.30 This means that it is nothing but an
epiphenomenon of the organism;31 the principle of life and thought does not pre-
cede the individual, but is a result of the harmony of the four elements.32 Thus,
Dicaearchus does not reject the existence of the intellect or of the soul as such.
What he dismisses is the possibility that they exist in a separate state and that
the soul, as an independent substance, rules over the body.33 What causes life
and thought is not distinct from that in which it manifests itself. Dicaearchus def-
initely does not go from that to saying that every distinction between the living
and the non-living is abolished, but this is a claim which is attributed to him by
28 For an analysis of the term hypostasis, see Dörrie 1976, 42–43.

29 Cicero, Tusculanae Disputationes I 21 (= fr. 19 Mirhady). On this point, see Mansfeld 1990, 3129.
30 On the specificity of this definition of harmony as the result of a certain state of the body,
in its relation to Aristotle’s definition, see Sharples 2001, 147.
31 Caston 1997, 313–315, clearly distinguishes Dicaearchus’ position, which is akin to an epi-
phenomenalism, from Aristotle’s, which he interprets as an ‘emergentism’: if in both cases the
soul ‘supervenes’ in the body, in the former case it has no causal power, while it is a full-
fledged cause in the latter.
32 This definition is given by Nemesius (fr. 11 Wherli = 21A Mirhady) who opposes Thales’,
Pythagoras’, and Plato’s definitions (these three considering the soul to be a self-moving reality) to
Dicaearchus’ and Aristotle’s definitions, which, although conceding that the soul is an ἀσώματον,
deny that the soul has any substantial feature. For more on Nemesius, see Emilsson 1994,
5343–5345.
33 On this aspect, I refer to Caston 2001, 178.
dualist thinkers.34 To go back to the polemical association established by Atticus

between Aristotle and Dicaearchus in fragment 7, there is no middle term be-
tween Aristotelism, interpreted as a materialistic monism, and Platonic dualism,
which is based on the substantiality of the incorporeal soul: what cannot subsist
without the body is reduced to the rank of a mere epiphenomenon, deprived of
all causal power.35 In his view, the definition of the soul as entelechy inevitably
falls into that category: the soul, whether it be entelechy or harmony, does not
have an existence of its own, but always exists in something else, as is the case
for qualities or accidents.
By putting Aristotle and Dicaearchus on the same side, Atticus tackles a
very precise issue: the Aristotelianism of that time is essentially conveyed by
Peripatetics who, following exegetes such as Boethos of Sidon,36 leave aside
the definition of form as substance. Out of the three candidates for the title of
substance listed in book Z of the Metaphysics – form, matter, and the compos-
ite –, only the latter two may be selected.37 Since the form-matter relation is in-
terpreted as a particular case of the relation of inherence, the form cannot be a
substance, for it exists ‘in another thing’. This way of reading Metaphysics Z in
the light of the definition of the individual substance, taken from the Categories,
is a way of sharply separating it from Platonism.38 Besides, what Atticus strongly
emphasises in this treatise is that the desubstantialisation of the eidos, yielded
by the Aristotelianism of his time, is fundamentally incompatible with the
Platonist theses.39 The devaluation of the notion of eidos, characteristic of
early Peripateticism, is linked to the devaluation of the definition of soul, an
exemplary case of form,40 which is reduced to a mere harmony or quality.41
34 A thread of thought including Cicero, Nemesius until Pierre Bayle at the very end of the
17th century. This ‘eliminativist’ reading is still defended by Annas 1992, 31. For an overall per-
spective on the history of Dicaearchus’ reception, see Movia 1968, 76–82. Caston 2001, 178,
notes that describing Dicaearchus as an eliminativist “functions less as a description than as a
critique – an unacceptable consequence to which the view is thought to lead inexorably”.
35 Sharples 2001, 156.
36 For an in-depth account of the work of Boethos, see Chiaradonna/Rashed 2020.
37 Simplicius, In Cat. 78.14.
38 Rashed 2007, 23.
39 Trabattoni 1993, 301–302.
40 Ar., De an. II 1, 412a19–21.
41 Menn 2018, taking up the discussions of Griffin 2015, and certain points raised by
Chiaradonna/Rashed 2020, has recently produced an extensive study of this problem which jux-
taposes the exegeses of the definition of eidos provided by Boethos, Porphyry, and Alexander. He
shows how Boethos, by centring his analysis on an exegesis of the Categories, is able to argue
that eidos is not a substance. Relating eidos to the structure or configuration (skhèma, morphè)
of Physics VII 3, he makes form something that, without being substantial, is nevertheless
The criticism of the non-substantial feature of the Aristotelian eidos, which

we find in Atticus’ fragment (= Praep. Ev. XV 9), is close enough to the one
which will be more broadly developed by Plotinus in the following chapter of
Praep. Ev. XV, aimed at showing that ousia as such is necessarily independent
of the body.42 After having mentioned, via Atticus, that the Aristotelian defini-
tion of the soul leads directly to Dicaearchus’ conceptions, in chapter 10,
Eusebius goes on to present Plotinus’ arguments, which come from a long in-
dictment of chapter 85 of Enn. IV 7 (2), in which the aporias following from the
definition of the soul as ‘something belonging to the body’ are examined.
Plotinus’ arguments, however, are deeply distinct from those of Atticus, not
only because his knowledge of Aristotle is incomparably more precise,43 but
also because they unfold in the framework of a discussion with the essentialist
interpretation of Alexander of Aphrodisias, who opposes Boethos’ reading,
underlining that the Categories, a text considered to be propaedeutic, addresses
only one kind of substance, namely the sensible substance. For Alexander, say-
ing that the form is ‘in’ the substrate does not indicate a relation of inherence,
but means that the form needs the sensible substance to realise itself.44 The
corollary of this interpretation is a valuing of the natural form to the detriment
of the forms of artefacts.45 Only the form of the living composite, which incho-
ately contains the individual’s features, is substantial, while the form of artefacts
is only an external configuration, a qualification among others. Also, Alexander
proposes a dangerous alternative to Platonism by defining the immanent form as
responsible for substantial generation: a stone which receives human form becomes a statue. It is
no longer “marble” but “marble statue”. As Menn suggests, if for Boethos, form remains on the
side of accident, it is nevertheless that by which the composite, which is substantial, comes to
be. Soul is therefore essential to the composite. It is the essence of the composite, without being
itself a substance. Menn relates this position to that defended by certain philosophers of the 17th
century (such as De Raei), according to whom Aristotle made the soul an essential form, and not
a substantial one.
42 This passage is absent from the Enneads manuscripts. Most of Plotinus’ editors, from
Creuzer to Henry & Schwyzer, have presented the hypothesis that Eusebius has had access to
a Plotinus edition prior to Porphyry’s, that is, maybe Eustochius’ or Amelius’. Goulet-Cazé
2007, replying to the arguments of Kalligas 2001, maintained that one should not discard the
possibility that this passage was indeed present in the Porphyrian edition and was lost later,
due to a mechanical accident. For a more detailed presentation of the issue, I refer to the pref-
ace to the translation of Enn. IV 7 (2): Longo 2009, 33–37 and D'Ancona 2017, 161–163;
272–274.
43 On this point, Moraux 1984, 568–569 and 580.
44 Rashed 2007, 177.
45 Alex., De an. 6.3–6; Quaest. I 21, 35.6–7.
a substance which, despite being inseparable from matter, still remains immate-
rial and gives the sensible reality coherence. Indeed, if we manage to show that a
hylomorphic eidos suffices to guarantee the unity of the composite, what would
we still need the transcendent Forms for?46 The lynchpin of the Plotinian criticism
of entelechy consists in putting tacitly the reading of Boethos’ disciples and that of
Alexander side by side. In Enn. IV 7 (2) 85.1–9 (which corresponds to the beginning
of Praep. Ev. XV 10), Plotinus polemically considers the hylomorphic form not as
an internal principle of development but rather as a shape, an external configura-
tion of the body (such as the form of a bronze statue).47 Thus, although he never
directly mentions Alexander, he points out that the exegetes who consider that
eidos is always linked to matter have not yet come up with a sufficient criterion
allowing to really distinguish matter from that which qualifies it. By voluntarily
putting the Peripatetic eidos back in the position of a mere shape (μορφή) of artifi-
cial objects, he suggests that the only true essentialism is Plato’s – which posits
separated Forms – and not Alexander’s.48
Thus, chapter 9 of Praep. Ev. XV forms a unity with the two following chapters:
after having cited Atticus and then Plotinus, Eusebius, in chapter 11, provides an
excerpt from Porphyry’s Against Boethos, which develops some criticism which is
very close to that expressed by Atticus, highlighting that the operations proper to
the soul, such as thought and will, cannot be attributed to an immobile entity. In
Praep. Ev. XV 11.3, Porphyry criticises Boethos for confusing the soul, a substance
independent of the body, with ἐμψυχία (the ensoulment of the body);49 the follow-
ing paragraph insists on the impious and shameful character of this corporealising
definition of the soul, a shame which culminates in the refusal of the αὐτοκίνητον
feature of the soul. These three passages are chosen by Eusebius so as to form a
polemical triptych aimed at showing that Aristotelianism – broadly speaking, that
is, be it Aristotle himself or the panoply of his exegetes – develops an unworthy
conception of the soul. In reporting the arguments of these three Platonists, he
sheds some light on the fact that a well-understood Aristotelianism results in
the negation of the reality of the soul, insofar as it is not a substance
46 Chiaradonna 2008.
47 D'Ancona 2017, 337–339, provides a complete status quaestionis on the polemical associa-
tion of the eidos with a mere configuration established by Plotinus in IV 7 (2) 85.1–9.
48 Chiaradonna 2016, 160–162.
49 Rashed 2016b, in his study on the lost commentary on the palinode of the Phaedrus (which
he attributes to Proclus), shows how Porphyry polemically connects entelecheia to empsychia
in order to highlight the misleading conceptions of the Peripatetics on the nature of the soul:
“ils ont confondu l’animation du corps (qu’ils appellent entélechie, et qui n’est qu’empsychie)
avec son âme” (p. 518).
independent from the body. Now, many Aristotelian exegetes, from Alexander
of Aphrodisias to Themistius, have responded to these critiques by turning
many of the Platonists’ arguments against themselves. A passage from the Essai
sur la Métaphysique d’Aristote by F. Ravaisson, concerning Praep. Ev. XV 9, per-
fectly summarises the status quaestionis.
Mais comme eux tous, aussi, il [scil. Atticus] se refuse à retrancher, avec Aristote, l’idée
du mouvement de celle de l’âme. Ôter à l’âme le mouvement, c’est, dit-il, la réduire à
rien. Et nul doute qu’avec tous ses prédécesseurs, il n’étendît de même le mouvement à
l’intelligence. Comme eux tous, il assujettit donc la nature intelligible à des conditions de
mutabilité et de diversité au-dessus desquelles Aristote l’avait voulu placer. Ainsi les
Platoniciens veulent remettre la nature dans une plus grande dépendance de Dieu
que l’aristotélisme ne paraissait l’avoir fait; ils veulent rendre Dieu et l’âme plus
indépendants de la nature (. . .) ils ne savent toujours pas comment concevoir et l’âme, et
l’intelligence, et Dieu même que sous des conditions de mouvement et de multiplicité,
caractères de l’existence naturelle. (Ravaisson 1837, 347–348)
Atticus, as we have seen, attacks Aristotle for advancing a doctrine systemati-

cally opposed to Plato’s, precisely to court controversy, for the sheer pleasure
of producing new theses, to the point of maintaining the most flagrant contra-
dictions. Hence, he (1) made the soul inseparable from the body only because
Plato, in the Phaedo, showed that it may leave it, (2) rejected its self-motion,
and (3) separated the soul from the intellect. Now, the Peripatetics criticise
Platonists on similar grounds: they accuse them of conceiving the soul in a
mode improper to its nature and of transferring qualities of the sensible onto
it.50 The argument, taken from the first chapter of the De anima, dismisses the
psychological theories of both the Atomists and Plato. Even if Plato has the
merit of decorporealising the soul, he still maintains that it is in motion. So,
Plato fell into error by not managing to conceive the soul without that which it
communicates to the body: motion.51 In fact, at the beginning of chapter 3,
50 As Gertz 2010, 75–76, rightly points out, “when Aristotle revisits the question of self-motion in
his On the Soul I 3, he summarizes his earlier position in the Physics with the claim that it is not
necessary to suppose that soul qua principle of motion is self-moving. Since Aristotle had argued
in the Physics that a principle of motion does not itself have to be moved, and that even so-called
self-movers are really composites of unmoved and moved parts, there is no necessity to attribute
motion to soul. In On the Soul, however, Aristotle adds to this criticism a much stronger rejection
of self-motion in souls, as being both false and impossible, as well as unnecessary”.
51 Menn 2002 has challenged the communis opinio according to which the Aristotelian defini-
tion of the soul, as found in the De an., offers “a via media between dualism and materialism”
(83). According to Menn, this perspective “distorts Aristotle’s aims in defining the soul as the
first actuality of an organic natural body” (84). As Menn points out, (1) what Aristotle opposes
is a materialistic dualism (according to which the soul is distinct from the body but it is never-
theless a body which initiates movement); (2) his aim in De an. I 3 is not to highlight the
Aristotle reminds us of the four types of motion, and he suggests that, if the
soul is self-moving, it should move either according to one of these motions or
some or all of them.52 The dangerous and absurd consequences which follow
from the attribution of motion to the soul are (1) the reversibility of motion: if
the soul moves the body while being in motion itself, it will be moved and
shaken by the body in return; (2) that motion implies an alteration, a passage
from one state to its opposite, a departure from itself, and that a self-moving
soul will lose its essence (ὥστ’ εἰ πᾶσα κίνησις ἔκστασίς ἐστι τοῦ κινουμένου ᾗ
κινεῖται, καὶ ἡ ψυχὴ ἐξίσταιτ’ ἂν ἐκ τῆς οὐσίας). Claiming that a self-moving
soul departs from its ousia could be seen, as S. Menn suggests,53 as a direct
reply to the Platonic statement of the Phaedrus (245c 7–8): “only what moves
itself, since it does not depart (ἀπολείπειν) from itself, never ceases to be
moved, but is a source and principle of motion”. So, according to Aristotle, the
soul does not move itself, except by accident: if it were in motion, it would
be subject to all changes linked to motion and it would never be itself. There is
no need for a mover to be moved itself.54
But, even more than self-motion, it is actually the ‘being in motion’ of the soul
which is targeted by Aristotle. As S. Menn has shown in a very illuminating way,
this critique is the heart of the Aristotelian “programme” directed against the
Platonic definition of the soul. According to De anima I 3, Platonists have no other
causality-model than a corporealistic one to understand the psychic operations:
“For Plato and Xenocrates, as for Democritus, the soul moves the body by first
moving itself and then communicating its own motion to the body and this expla-
nation depends on the soul’s being moved with the same kind of locomotion that
the body is: the soul must be co-extended or ‘interwoven’ with the body (. . .).
Aristotle takes this description to show that the Platonists are conceiving the soul
as body-like”.55 This criticism is repeated throughout the Peripatetic tradition: we
see it at work in what can be reconstructed of the Commentary on Aristotle’s
Physics provided by Alexander, a text which will serve as the basis for the indict-
ment that Themistius hands down against Porphyry’s self-moving soul.56
contradictions between Plato and the Atomists, but, on the contrary, to present their positions
in order to show their similarity.
52 Ar., De an. I 3, 406a12–15.
53 Menn 2002, 97.
54 Ar., De an. I 2, 404a21–25.
55 Menn 2002, 85.
56 Rashed 2011, 428, schol. 435: “Platon en admettant que tout mû est mu par quelque chose,
suppose que l’automoteur est principe de mouvement. Mais Aristote prouve que si tout ce qui
est mû est mû par quelque chose et qu’on ne procède pas à l’infini mais qu’il y a un certain
principe de mouvement, alors ce principe, à savoir le premier moteur, doit être immobile. Car
2 The Causality of the Plotinian Soul

This line of opposition, which runs through the entire history of the relation-
ship between Aristotelianism and Platonism in Antiquity, is rooted in the fun-
damentally different ways of interpreting the origin and the nature of motion.
J. Vuillemin, in a seminal article, has shown how the differences in the interpre-
tation of the theory of motion shed light on the fundamental differences be-
tween Plato and Aristotle:
Spiritualism dissociates dynamics from kinematics, while hylomorphism results in subor-
dinating all dynamical manifestations to kinematics. The theology of the immovable
Prime Mover does not produce the same consequences as the theology of self-moving
gods. (Vuillemin 1991, 201)
The first five points of opposition between Platonic and Aristotelian physics
listed by Vuillemin concern precisely the question of the motions of the soul.
While, for Plato, the mechanical movements of the body depend on the incor-
poreal movements of the soul, according to Aristotle there is no other move-
ment than sensible movement which is the actualisation of a potentiality.57
Within this long history of conceptual oppositions and mutual critiques amongst
Platonists and Peripatetics over the question of the motion and self-motion of the
soul, Plotinus was one of the first philosophers to take the content of these
criticisms of Plato seriously and, to quote R. Chiaradonna, to propose a “réponse
s’il devait être mû par quelque chose, il serait lui aussi mû, mais ainsi il ne serait plus lui-
même premier moteur”. For a detailed account of these issues and of Themistius’ polemic
against Porphyry, I refer to Lecerf 2017.
57 Vuillemin 1991, 197–198:
(1) P: The first origin of any motion or change is self-motion, called also soul or life.
A: There is no self-motion. Every motion is ab alio.
(2) P: Being without external cause, self-motion is indestructible and perpetual (immortality
of the soul).
A: If there exists a perpetual motion, it is caused and its perpetuity is due to the sempi-
ternality of the action of its cause.
(3) P: Self-motion in itself precludes any distinction between mover and moved or action and
passion.
A: Every motion results from the affection of a moved by a mover.
(4) P: Self-motion is a purely spiritual motion without relation to space or to any motion
which proceeds in space and is a possible object of sensation. Time is an image of eter-
nity.
A: Every motion is sensible. Its necessary condition is a trajectory in space during a given
time. Time measures motion.
P: Self-motion is pure actuality.
systémique à la doctrine aristotélicienne de l’energeia”.58 Many new exegetical

parameters with regard to the earlier Platonic tradition appear in his treatment of
the analysis of motion – and particularly in its articulation to energeia: motion
does not have the same definition when it is related to the sensible world, to the
soul, or to the Forms and intellect. For intellect, to be is to live a purely contem-
plative life, in which we find the perfect unity of being, life, and intellection.59
Taking the five highest kinds of the Sophist (248d–256e), as structuring principles
of the architecture of the intelligible world, Plotinus indicates that being is the
first kind which characterises the intelligible and that motion is derived from the
life of the divine intellect.60 Unlike sensible movement, incorporeal motion does
not involve any change, corruption, or becoming, but is a perpetual remaining in
actuality.61 The hierarchy between the different kinds of movement is rooted in
an ontology that clearly separates the categories of the sensible from that of the
intelligible realm.62 In the intelligible realm, motion has full ontological dignity;
it is no longer, as Aristotle defines it, an ἐνέργεια ἀτελής, but rather a structuring
principle of the intellectual life of the intelligible world. In the sphere of being,
“movement appears not as changing the nature of being, but rather in being as if
making it perfect”.63
The soul, although not being an intelligible Form, belongs to the intelligible
realm. Consequently, it is a simple and unmixed reality. Thus, the Aristotelian
objections concerning the automotricity are not valid in the case of the soul be-
cause an ἀσύνθετος reality cannot be affected by itself.64 As for saying that the
nature of the soul is self-moving, this means that its perpetual activity, which is
internal and impassive, allows it to be the cause of the local and quantitative
movements of bodies. From chapter 4 of Enn. VI 2 (43) on, Plotinus ascends to-
wards the intelligible, starting from the lowest level of existence, that of inert
bodies, and making his way through living bodies, which borrow their life from
the soul. Now, ‘being’ at the level of the soul is, primordially, ‘living’. The soul,
by its essence a living and self-constituting reality, is also a principle of life for
58 Chiaradonna 2008, 471.

59 Montet 1996, 128.
60 Enn. VI 2 (43) 7.2–5. There is an abundance of scholarly literature on this well-known
issue. I will merely refer to Collette 2007, 205–214, and to Aubry 2009.
61 Enn. VI 3 (44) 23.1–5.
62 For an excellent and detailed analysis of this question, I refer to O’Meara 1986.
63 Enn. VI 2 (43) 7.24–27 (tr. Armstrong).
64 On how Plotinus articulates different theories of Aristotle concerning the impassibility of
the unmoved movers and their capacities to remain unaffected in order to develop his own
theory of the impassibility of the soul, Emilsson 1994, 53–56.
what depends on it: “Now this being of soul must be within, like a source and
principle, or rather must be all that is so; so it must be life; and both must be
one, being and life”.65 The formula ‘source and principle’ is a reiteration of
Phaedrus 245c, which evokes the internal dynamism of the self-moving soul. The
coupling of πηγὴ καὶ ἀρχή is frequent in Plotinus.66 However, this passage is the
only one in which it is used to describe the activity of the soul, that is, to illustrate
the activity of the soul as a self-constitutive principle which connaturally possesses
life in itself. For Plotinus, the soul is self-constitutive insofar as it stems from the
One. Thus, in other treatises, the phrase πηγὴ καὶ ἀρχή is related to higher-order
principles, namely the intellect and the One, the ultimate source of all power and
causality. If the soul is the source and principle of life and movement, this is ulti-
mately because it derives from the One. The soul, as cause of movement and of life
in bodies, possesses its own life, different from the one it gives to bodies. Its life
and its movement are superior and more unified67 – a cause always being, by na-
ture, different from what it brings into existence and what depends on it.68
Now, according to Plotinus, it is precisely in defining the soul as an incor-
poreal substance always remaining in activity/actuality that we can grasp the
difference between cause and effect, between the primary movements of the
soul and the sensible movements, a difference which is presented in Book X of
the Laws. Insofar as it is an incorporeal substance that is always in activity, the
soul can be a true cause, producing effects that are different from what the soul
itself is. This sharp distinction between psychical and physical motions is
clearly set out in the following excerpt from Enn. III 6 (26).
Καὶ γὰρ ὅταν λέγωμεν κινεῖσθαι αὐτὴν ἐν ἐπιθυμίαις, ἐν λογισμοῖς, ἐν δόξαις, οὐ

σαλευομένην αὐτὴν λέγομεν ταῦτα ποιεῖν, ἀλλ’ ἐξ αὐτῆς γίγνεσθαι τὰς κινήσεις. Ἐπεὶ καὶ
τὸ ζῆν κίνησιν λέγοντες οὐκ ἀλλοίωσιν μέν, ἑκάστου δὲ μορίου ἡ ἐνέργεια ἡ κατὰ φύσιν
ζωὴ οὐκ ἐξιστᾶσα.
In fact, whenever we [i.e. Platonists] say that the soul is in motion in its appetites, reason-
ings, and opinions, we do not mean that it does these things by being shaken about, but
65 Enn. VI 2 (43) 6.6–8.

66 In Enn. II 5 (25) 3.40, the formula is related to the intelligible world; in Enn. VI 6 (34) 9.38,
to the intelligible number and in Enn. I 6 (1) 9.41; I 7 (54) 1.15; VI 7 (38) 23.21; III 8 (30) 10.27; VI
9 (9) 9.2; 11.31, to the One.
67 Enn. I 1 (53) 13.4–5.
68 O’Meara 1986, 256–257, has insightfully examined how the Plotinian rethinking of the
Aristotelian categories of ποιεῖν and πάσχειν and the careful “isolation of actuality from the
bodily change”, “could be considered a rather unusual development of Aristotle’s anti-
Platonic position in the De Anima”.
in the sense that its motions come to be from itself. For we also say that life is motion, not
of what is [thereby] different, but that the activity of each part is its connatural life, which
does not cause [it] to depart [from its nature]. (Enn. III 6 (26) 3.22–26; tr. Noble 2016, 244)
By defining the soul as a reality which, while being life and movement, does
not depart from itself (οὐκ ἐξιστᾶσα), since it moves with a non-physical
movement, Plotinus opens a way to respond to the objections of De an. I 3
concerning the Platonic self-moving soul.69 Indeed, according to Plotinus,
no bodily feature can be attributed to the soul, which is not extended
through the body, nor moved by it. Remaining absolutely impassible, the
soul is not affected by physical changes.70 However, the question of the self-
motion of the soul is, in itself, fairly marginal in the Enneads. As we have previ-
ously seen, Plotinus dedicates a chapter to it in Enn. IV 7 (2) – a treatise from the
first period, in which Plotinus still relies on the Middle Platonic scholarly tradi-
tion.71 In Enn. IV 7 (2) 9, in the chapter which, in the Enneads, immediately fol-
lows the one reported by Eusebius in Praep. Ev. XV 10, he establishes a
distinction between the corporeal, which receives its being from superior princi-
ples, and the soul, which is as a self-constitutive principle. The soul, as a sub-
stance that is primordially alive, is the source of motion and the origin of life in
sensible things. If the soul is physically unmoved and unaffected, this is not be-
cause it is an entelechy, but because it is an incorporeal and thus impassible sub-
stance. In fact, when Aristotle defines the soul as ‘the form of a natural body
having life potentially within it’ (De an. II 1, 412a20), he wants to illustrate the
inseparable unity of the soul and the body: it is in virtue of the soul that the body
is truly what it is, that is to say, a living body – a dead body being a body only by
homonymy – and, by the same token, it is only insofar as it is united with a body
that the soul can exert its activities. Plotinus, on the contrary, wants to underline
the soul’s capacity to subsist and to be active without the body – i.e., in his view,
its substantiality – and, therefore, its capacity to truly be a cause.72 If the soul is
the cause of life, it is not because it allows the actualisation of the bodily func-
tions, but rather because it possesses its own life, different from the one it gives
to the body. Now, in this new conceptual framework, the soul, while being the
source and principle of the bodily life, at the same time acquires it from an even
69 Noble 2016, 244.

70 Noble 2013, 261–263, who accurately analyses how the developments provided by Alexander
in his De Anima were decisive for the Plotinus, who endorse the view that the soul is neither ex-
tended nor subject to passive change.
71 On how Plotinus, in this treatise, both relies on the scholarly tradition and distinguishes
himself from his predecessors, see D’Ancona 2017, 181–182.
72 Aubry 2004, 124–126.
higher form of life, that of the intellect, in which ‘life’, ‘actuality’ and ‘motion’
are not different.73 The question of the immortality of the soul is then moved to-
wards the analysis of the soul as an essentially living reality that communicates
life.
Ἀρχὴ γὰρ κινήσεως ἥδε χορηγοῦσα τοῖς ἄλλοις κίνησιν, αὐτὴ δὲ ἐξ ἑαυτῆς κινουμένη, καὶ
ζωὴν τῷ ἐμψύχῳ σώματι διδοῦσα, αὐτὴ δὲ παρ’ ἑαυτῆς ἔχουσα, ἣν οὔποτε ἀπόλλυσιν,
ἅτε παρ’ ἑαυτῆς ἔχουσα.
For soul is the ‘origin of motion’ and is responsible for the motions of other things, and is
moved by itself and gives life to the ensouled body, but has it of itself, and never loses it,
because it has it of itself. (Enn. IV 7 (2) 9.6–9; tr. Armstrong)
Connecting his analysis of the Phaedo to his reading of the Phaedrus – and, to a
certain extent, to those of Laws X – Plotinus maintains that the life of the soul is
essentially a motion, but not a spatial or physical motion.74 While Atticus, utilising
the Platonic equivalence between psychic operations and the motions of the soul,
purely and simply rejects the Aristotelian distinction between motion and activity,
Plotinus goes further. Dissociating the incorporeal cause of movements from the
movements derived from it, he can say that the motion of the soul does not
imply a departure from itself; and in this way he replies to the objection of De
Anima I 3.75
Self-motion is not an affection of which the soul is the substratum. The
soul has the capacity of staying in itself – while also being, in a way, in mo-
tion – to the extent that, just like the intelligible intellect from which it stems, it
is an incorporeal ousia. As Ch. I. Noble rightly pointed out, “by attributing
Peripatetic views on the extensionless and motionless character of the soul to
Plato himself, Plotinus disarms the Peripatetic critique against him”.76 But he
goes even further. According to Plotinus’ interpretation of the Sophist, at the
intellective level, the motion of intellect is an attempt to apprehend its origin,
the One, and, indissociably, to move towards itself: hence, intellect is to remain
in itself, in the perfection of the first being.77 The soul, just like the intelligible
realities, never leaves itself.78 Thus, the issue of the self-motion of the soul is
73 For an articulation of the double heritage of the Sophist and of Metaphysics Λ 7 in Plotinus,
I refer to Aubry 2007, 174.
74 For an analysis of how Plotinus combines these comparative readings in Enn. IV 7 (2) 11,
see Chiaradonna 2015.
75 Noble 2016, 244.
76 Noble 2013, 262.
77 E.g. Enn. V 6 (24) 5.9–10.
78 O’Meara 1976, 121–124.
subordinated to the analysis of motion in the intelligible world. From Plotinus’

point of view, if Plato indicates, at Phaedrus 245c7, that the self-moving soul
never departs from itself, this is because it has essentially an intelligible nature:
that which does not leave itself is a perfect and unchangeable being.79
3 Conclusion
The selection of citations offered by Eusebius in Praep. Ev. XV 9–11, which dem-
onstrates a real philosophical perspective due to the choice and organisation of
the excerpts, allows us to see that there is a real proximity between Atticus, the
early Plotinus, and Porphyry concerning the criticism of the soul’s definition as
the first entelechy of a natural body. The soul is a cause: for that, it must be an
incorporeal substance, something which all the Peripatetics, following Aristotle,
fail to grasp. However diverse the interpretations of the nature of the soul devel-
oped by different Peripatetics may be, from Eusebius’ point of view, they run into
one and the same error: latent materialism. This hindsight should not let us for-
get that Middle Platonists, building particularly on the Timaeus, which describes
the soul as being interwoven with the body, did not have a hard time conceiving
that certain movements of the soul can be extended.80 This is precisely the point
that allows Aristotle to develop his objections against the Platonic theory of the
psychic movements. However, at the 3rd century AD,81 with the renewed analysis
that Plotinus devoted to the causality of the soul, the meaning of the self-motion
of the soul starts to change. This shift, initiated by Plotinus, has two main as-
pects: (1) a very clear distinction between the motions of incorporeal realities and
the movements of bodies, which is evoked in response to the Peripatetic objec-
tions against the Platonic definition of a self-moving soul; (2) a redefinition of the
relations between ‘activity’ and ‘motion’ in the intelligible realm. It is their identi-
fication which, according to Plotinus, justifies the definition of soul as a sub-
stance, that is to say, as constituting a separate reality, and not an entelechy:
only this conception can guarantee the causal influence of soul over body and
account for the Platonist definition of the soul as a principle of life and
movement.
The hermeneutical decision, according to which the meaning of the mo-
tion of the soul cannot be read in physical terms linked to extension, first
79 Enn. VI 4 (22) 2.14–15.

80 Plat., Tim. 36e2. On this point, Noble 2013, 261.
81 Opsomer 2012.
occurs in Plotinus and Porphyry and is systematised by Iamblichus. This

process is accompanied by the assumption that what we call self-motion of
the soul is, in reality, a turning of the soul towards itself. With a view to har-
monise rather than oppose the theories of motion of Plato and Aristotle,
Proclus associates Aristotle’s theory of movement with Plato’s by subordi-
nating self-moving souls to intelligible unmoved movers. As. J. Opsomer
rightly points out, “radically different as they may be, Plato’s and Aristotle’s
theories of motion were integrated into an encompassing theory by Proclus
and other late Neoplatonists. In a nutshell, whereas Aristotle substituted the
notion of an unmoved mover for Plato’s self-moving soul, Proclus incorpo-
rates both principles of motion and makes the self-movers subordinate to
unmoved movers, assigning them to the levels of soul and intellect respec-
tively”.82 These analyses are framed by the vast enterprise of reconciling83
Plato’s and Aristotle’s initially opposed definitions of the soul, culminating
with Simplicius for whom what Aristotle calls “immobile act” is the same as
what Plato calls “movement” because there is only a difference of words and
not of concepts.84
82 Opsomer 2009, 189.

83 The study of this long history of reconciliation and harmonisation of the Platonic and
Aristotelian meanings of movement is a long history. A. Longo, in a paper devoted to lexical
and conceptual triad ἀκίνητον-αὐτοκίνητον-ἑτεροκίνητον – which was established in the
Neoplatonic School of Athens, in the context of the exegesis of Phaedrus 245c–246a and of the
definition of the soul as a self-moving reality – studied the exegetical strategies of Hermias,
who attended with his classmate Proclus the teaching of Syrianus, and of Simplicius, by
highlighting their differences. According to Longo, “whereas Hermias just hinted at Platonic
or Aristotelian passages, or hastily referred to them, Simplicius gives full quotations and en-
larges the canon of Plato’s and Aristotle’s standard texts. Rather than re-stating the principles
of Neoplatonic metaphysics and reducing Aristotle’s doctrines to them, as Hermias did,
Simplicius sympathizes with the Stagirite, whose works he knows perfectly and discusses ex-
tensively in his commentaries. He attempts to produce an essential definition applicable to
any kind of change, i.e. to both psychic movements (Plato’s chief concern) and bodily ones
(Aristotle’s focus), by means of Aristotle’s opposition between potentiality and actuality”
(Longo forthcoming). See further Gertz 2010 and Menn 2012.
84 Simplicius, In Phys. 1248.23–30, notes that, when Aristotle says that it should not be said
that the soul is self-moving, this is only in order to prevent wrong interpretations of self-
motion that would reduce movement to mere spatial or physical movement. Thus, Aristotle
does not contradict Plato but, in a way, purifies his expressions, reserving the concept of ener-
geia for the motions of the soul.
Suzanne Stern-Gillet
Beauty and Recollection:
from the Phaedrus to the Enneads
In memoriam
Gordon C. Neal (1936–2019)
Is τὸ καλόν (the beautiful) a Form? How is it related to τὸ ἀγαθόν (the good)? To

answer these questions, Plato often relied on myth and allegory to suggest what
philosophical argument was powerless to demonstrate. Plotinus, who had neither
gift nor much taste for such stylistic devices, systematised Plato’s unsystematic an-
swers and integrated them in the framework of his emanative ontology.
1 Platonic Antecedents
Plato consistently presented both τὸ καλόν and τὸ ἀγαθόν as Forms, but was
far from univocal on the relationship between the two. At times he intimated
that they are identical (e.g., Meno 77b6–7 and Timaeus 87c4–5) while, at other
times, he implied that they are different (e.g. Philebus 64e5–6).1 In book VI of
the Republic he left the Form of Beauty altogether out of account in his descrip-
tion of the Form of the Good. In the Symposium, by contrast, he gave Beauty the
key role, presenting it as the apex of the scala amoris and the supreme object of
human love. In the Phaedrus, which contains his most extensive reflections on
the issue, he had Socrates argue that the universal power of attraction that
beauty exerts on human beings makes it the paradigmatic object of the soul’s
desire (247d).
Such power of attraction, Socrates proceeded to explain, manifests itself at
both the sensory and the incorporeal levels, and is experienced by all souls,
whether they are virtuously disposed or not. In his first speech, which he meant
as an improvement on Lysias’ eulogy of the non-lover, Socrates characteristically
1 See, e.g., Barney 2010 and Riegel 2014, to whom I am here indebted.
Note: I should like to express my gratitude to José Baracat Jr., John Dillon and Marc-Antoine
Gavray for doing me the great favour of reading, and commenting on, the final draft of this
essay.
Suzanne Stern-Gillet, University of Bolton and University of Manchester
https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110683936-005
62 Suzanne Stern-Gillet
embarks on a comparison between the various ways in which the human suscep-
tibility to beauty manifests itself. He compares carnal love, which responds to
the beauty of body, to a frenzied compulsion that takes hold of the epithumetic
element in the soul and leads it to dominate the rational element (238b7–c4).
When that happens, carnal love harms both lover and beloved.2 Not all attractive
sensory objects, however, as we are soon made to understand, are similarly dam-
aging; physical beauty, being directly apprehended by the keenest and clearest
of all the senses, namely sight, has unmatched power to charm the human soul
and to induce it to look beyond her immediate environment.3 The central part of
the dialogue is devoted to a vindication of the anagogic power of beauty, in both
its sensory and otherworldly guises.
The power of attraction of sensory beauty, Socrates explains, is not inherent
in the beautiful object itself, but comes from the discarnate source of which it is
a likeness (ὁμοίωμα), namely the Form of Beauty. Being the brightest star in the
firmament of the Forms (250d2–4), Beauty transmits some of its radiance and
unique power of attraction to its ὁμοιώματα in the world of sense, making them
shine more brightly than the ὁμοιώματα of other Forms, such as Justice and Self-
Control. As we know from the Symposium, it was Plato’s view that the human
soul has the capacity to bridge the ontological gap between the beauties of sense
and their preternatural source. In the Phaedrus the view is developed through
the allegory of the charioteer. To account for the different erotic predispositions
and cognitive abilities of embodied human souls, Socrates compares the soul to
a charioteer who finds himself in charge of two winged steeds of unequal resil-
ience and stamina. His task is to lead them on a voyage around the rim of the
heavens, a voyage which may – or may not – lead them to the dwelling place of
“true Being” (οὐσία ὄντως οὖσα, 247c7). To account for the cognitive abilities
specific to human souls, Plato has Socrates integrate into the allegory the con-
cept of ἀνάμνησις, of which there are variants in other dialogues.
Charioteer and horses symbolize the tripartite human soul as described in
books I to IX of the Republic, and the tribulations of the voyage represent the
likely difficulties caused by the “dark” horse, which stands for the epithumetic
part of the soul. Unlike the chariots/souls of the gods, which are well-balanced
and therefore able to climb effortlessly “to the summit of the arch of heaven”
(247a8–b1), human chariots/souls are prone to be held back in their progress.
The unruly steed’s refusal to trot obediently alongside its “noble and good”
2 See also the strongly-worded condemnation of carnal love in 250e.

3 The same point is developed at greater length in the Timaeus 47a–d, where sight and sound
are singled out for having greater affinity to the soul than the other senses.
companion causes many an equipage to fall by the wayside. Hindered in their

attempt to lead their chariot upwards, charioteers cannot avoid clashes with
other, similarly hampered, chariots. Stampedes inevitably ensue in the course
of which most steeds have their wings broken and most charioteers are frus-
trated of a full vision (φάσμα) of the “plain of truth”. There are, of course, ex-
ceptions, of which Socrates mentions two. Some “dark”, epithumetic, steeds,
showing greater docility than their fellows, remain winged long enough to
make it possible for their charioteer to lead the chariot upwards so as to enjoy a
glimpse of the Form of Beauty. More rarely even, there are chariots/souls,
whose progress is not impeded and whose vision, therefore, is on a par with
that of the gods; these will be spared the troubles of embodiment and forever
remain on the summit in full contemplation of true Being.
All other souls, once they become wingless, fall down to earth, associate with
a body and henceforth feed on “the food of semblance”. Their ability to recover
the vision enjoyed by their discarnate selves depends on how close to the summit
they were able to get and how long they could feast their eyes on the vision.
Those who had the longest vision remember (ἀναμιμνῄσκειν) the Forms more
keenly and become “lovers of wisdom (φιλόσοφοι) and beauty (φιλόκαλοι), or
devoted to the Muses and to love” (248d2–4).4 Leading a philosophic life, they
prove capable of loving chastely and well. All other souls lead the kind of life
proportionate to the keenness and duration of their discarnate vision, with
the second or third best of those leading one or the other of the worthier kinds of
life listed later in the dialogue (248d–e). At the dissolution of the compound, the
great majority of these souls enter a cycle of re-incarnations, each one of which is
determined by the merit, cognitive and moral, of their former life. Those who had
led an altogether unworthy life are liable to be re-incarnated in non-human ani-
mal bodies.
Ἀνάμνησις, therefore, as presented in the Phaedrus, is an enabling condition
that reverses the loss of memory suffered by the soul at the time of its fall to
earth and embodiment. In the soul’s first incarnation, the extent of the recollec-
tion is determined by the level of control that the charioteer exercised over the
steeds; in subsequent incarnations, it depends on the worthiness of the life led
by the soul up till the death of its associated body. At whatever level it occurs,
ἀνάμνησις itself is not entirely self-induced, but needs to be triggered by some
feature of the physical environment in which the embodied soul finds herself.
The benefits that ἀνάμνησις brings to the embodied human soul are of two
kinds. First, on a general level, it reminds the soul of her discarnate acquaintance
4 All quotations from the Phaedrus are drawn from Rowe’s 1986 translation.
with ontological realities external to, and higher than, herself. Typically, the
sight of a “godlike face” or a beautiful body (251a2–3) reminds her of the radiance
of the Form of Beauty and causes the wings to begin to re-grow (245c1), thus
stimulating philosophical development. To be sure, the occurrence of ἀνάμνησις
does not always prevent the recollecting ἐραστής from becoming frenzied with
erotic passion at the sight of his ἐρόμενος’ beautiful body. In those cases, the
madness of sexual passion calls for a renewed intervention on the part of the ra-
tional element in the soul to initiate a process of what post-Freudians call subli-
mation, a process that transforms sexual passion into the kind of spiritualized
relationship that Plato took to be the preserve of philosophers.5
The second, more specific, benefit that the recovered vision of the plain of
truth brings to the soul is the ability to perform basic intellectual operations on
the data received by the senses. Such operations include the formation of con-
cepts and judgments as well as the drawing of inductive generalisations:
a soul that has never seen the truth will not enter this shape (man’s). A man must com-
prehend what is said universally, arising from sensations and being collected together
into one through reasoning.6
For other, worthier, souls, who had enjoyed a better or longer sight of the vi-
sion, ἀνάμνησις gives access to a higher truth, a truth which remains hidden to
other souls:
it is not easy for every human soul (πᾶσα ἀνθρώπου ψυχή) to gain from things here a rec-
ollection of those other things, either for those which only briefly saw the things there at
that earlier time, or for those which fall to earth and have the misfortune to be turned to
injustice by keeping certain kinds of company, and to forget the holy things they saw
5 Phdr. 256a7–b3: “if the better elements of their minds get the upper hand by drawing them
[the lovers] to a well-ordered life, and to philosophy, they pass their life here in blessedness
and harmony, masters of themselves and orderly in their behaviour, having enslaved that part
through which evil attempted to enter the soul, and freed that part through which goodness
enters it.”
6 Phdr. 249b5–c1: οὐ γὰρ ἥ γε μήποτε ἰδοῦσα τὴν ἀλήθειαν εἰς τόδε ἥξει τὸ σχῆμα. δεῖ
γὰρ ἄνθρωπον συνιέναι κατ᾽ εἶδος λεγόμενον, ἐκ πολλῶν ἰὸν αἰσθήσεων εἰς ἓν λογισμῷ
συναιρούμενον· See also “every human soul has by the law of its nature observed the things that
are, or else it would not have entered this creature, man: but it is not easy for every soul to gain
from things here a recollection of those other things” (249e4–250a2). The above interpretation sets
me at variance with Scott 1999, who takes ἀνάμνησις, in this dialogue as well as in the Meno and
the Phaedo, to be the preserve of philosophers. Although a detailed discussion of the issue would
go beyond the remit of this essay, it seems to me that Socrates’ twice repeated assertion that all
human beings are capable of a basic range of intellectual operations goes a long way to support
my interpretation.
then. Few (ὀλίγαι) souls are left who have sufficient memory; and these, when they see
some likeness of the things there are driven out of their wits with amazement and lose
control of themselves, though they do not know what has happened to them for lack of
clear perception. Now in the earthly likenesses of justice and self-control and the other
things that are of value to souls, there is no illumination, but through dulled organs just
a few (ὀλίγοι) approach their images and with difficulty observe the nature of what is im-
aged in them.7
The contrast between πᾶσα ψυχή and ὀλίγαι/ὀλίγοι is telling: while the many,
who lead pedestrian lives and feed on the food of semblance, cannot be made
to remember the Forms they once saw, the few, who become lovers of beauty
and philosophers, can descry the Forms through the haze of their earthly simu-
lacra. A similar contrast would appear to be drawn again later in the dialogue
when Socrates describes the complementary methods of collection and divi-
sion, collection consisting in “bringing into one items that are scattered in
order to define each thing” and division consisting in cutting the definition up
“again, form by form, according to its natural joints” (265d–e and 266b–c).
Admittedly, Plato does not here state that while every human being – πᾶσα
ψυχή – is proficient in the method of collection, philosophers – ὀλίγοι – are the
only ones capable of using the method of division. However, his claim that who-
ever has the capacity “to look to one and to many” is worthy to be followed “as if
he were a god” (266b5–7) shows the high value that he places on the exceptional
ability to map out definitions inductively obtained onto the structure of the real-
ity that rare souls contemplated in “the region beyond the heavens” (247c3). If
this assumption is correct, it would explain why, for those select few, ἀνάμνησις
is not only a cognitively enabling condition, but also a mystical experience that
encourages them to lead the best life that is possible for a human being to lead.8
Because it is embedded in an allegory, Plato’s conception of ἀνάμνησις in-
evitably leaves a few loose threads and open questions, one of which is directly
relevant to the focus of this essay. The description of the soul’s vision of the
Forms, fall to earth and subsequent embodiment as sequential suggests that
7 Phdr. 250a1–b5: ἀναμιμνῄσκεσθαι δὲ ἐκ τῶνδε ἐκεῖνα οὐ ῥᾴδιον ἁπάσῃ, οὔτε ὅσαι βραχέως
εἶδον τότε τἀκεῖ, οὔθ᾽ αἳ δεῦρο πεσοῦσαι ἐδυστύχησαν, ὥστε ὑπό τινων ὁμιλιῶν ἐπὶ τὸ ἄδικον
τραπόμεναι λήθην ὧν τότε εἶδον ἱερῶν ἔχειν. ὀλίγαι δὴ λείπονται αἷς τὸ τῆς μνήμης ἱκανῶς
πάρεστιν· αὗται δέ, ὅταν τι τῶν ἐκεῖ ὁμοίωμα ἴδωσιν, ἐκπλήττονται καὶ οὐκέτ᾽ <ἐν> αὑτῶν
γίγνονται, ὃ δ᾽ ἔστι τὸ πάθος ἀγνοοῦσι διὰ τὸ μὴ ἱκανῶς διαισθάνεσθαι. δικαιοσύνης μὲν οὖν
καὶ σωφροσύνης καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα τίμια ψυχαῖς οὐκ ἔνεστι φέγγος οὐδὲν ἐν τοῖς τῇδε ὁμοιώμασιν,
ἀλλὰ δι᾽ ἀμυδρῶν ὀργάνων μόγις αὐτῶν καὶ ὀλίγοι ἐπὶ τὰς εἰκόνας ἰόντες θεῶνται τὸ τοῦ
εἰκασθέντος γένος· (250a5–b5).
8 As Scott 2006, 94, notes, “in the Phaedrus”, recollection is presented as “the process of expi-
ation that ultimately releases us from the cycle of incarnations”.
Plato conceived of ἀνάμνησις as an extended form of memory. So much is con-

firmed by Socrates’ repeated use of “μνήμη” (memory)9 to refer to the soul’s vi-
sion of Beauty and his description of the soul at the point of its fall as still
ignorant of the evils that awaits it “in later time” (ἐν ὑστέρῳ χρόνῳ, 250c2). The
assumed continuity of consciousness between (discarnate) vision and (incar-
nate) recollection suggests that, at the time of writing the Phaedrus, Plato’s con-
ception of the soul as “deathless” (ἀθάνατος) and as being “forever in motion
(ἀεικίνητος, 245c5)” is best understood as implying that the soul is sempiternal
in the sense of existing “at all moments of time”.10
Enter Plotinus.
2 Plotinus on Beauty
One of Plotinus’ most significant departures from Plato’s concept of beauty was to
do away with the Form of Beauty.11 As will now be seen, his reasons for doing so
include a concept of beauty so semantically wide that no single Form could encom-
pass it and a conception of ἀνάμνησις as an inward turn on the part of the soul.
Plotinus’ most stylistically accomplished tractate, I 6 (On Beauty), which
Porphyry claims to be the first in the chronological order, presents a carefully
structured argument in support of a thesis that is as original as it is counter-
intuitive. It opens with an attempted refutation of a view that was as widely
shared in antiquity as it is today, namely that beauty stems from measure
(μετριότης) and proportion (συμμετρία) between component parts.12 The view
soon comes under fire on the ground that it excludes “the simple and the sin-
gle” (τὸ ἁπλοῦν and τὸ μόνον) from the field of beauty. At first, we might find
the objection to be so obviously wrong-headed as to verge on the preposterous,
and it is probably because he realised this that Plotinus took care to qualify
and nuance it in later tractates.13 But he never changed his mind on the
9 Phdr. 249c5–7; 250a5; 253a3; 254b5 and 244d3.

10 As the term is defined by Kneale 1969, 223. The evidence of Timaeus 37c sq. may suggest
that Plato would later draw a distinction between sempiternity and eternity.
11 For a detailed justification of the claim, see Stern-Gillet 2000.
12 See, e.g. Plato, Gorgias 503–504; Cicero, Tusculan Disputations IV 31 and, more generally,
the Stoics, as evidenced in Graeser (1972, 62; SVF III 278).
13 See, for instance, tractate II 9 (33) 16 (Against the Gnostics) Plotinus criticises the Gnostics
for failing to appreciate “right relation, proportion and order” in music, pictures and the world
of sense. The qualifications that Plotinus later introduced to his anti-symmetry argument are
discussed in Narbonne 2012, CCCIII–CCCX, and Iozzia 2015, 60–64.
substance of the refutation. Indeed, as we shall see, claim and refutation con-
tain in ovo his whole philosophy of beauty.
Plotinus’ first move to uphold the beauty of the single and the simple is to
dissociate beauty from perceptible appearances. His argument proceeds in
seven stages: (1) Since physical objects can appear now beautiful and now ugly
to the beholder, they cannot be held to be beautiful either in themselves or
through their outward appearance, taken to include proportion and symmetry.
Instead, we are then told, participation (μέθεξις) in Form is the norm of beauty
for both object and beholder (2.13). The more closely an object reflects the
Forms, the greater its beauty and ability to please human souls, who bear within
themselves traces (τύποι) of both the Forms and the “first beautiful” (πρῶτον
καλόν);14 (2) The embodied soul judges of the aesthetic merit of external objects
by fitting (συναρμόττουσα, 3.3) them to the traces of the Forms within her, in the
same way as “we use a ruler for judging straightness” (3.4–5); (3) In making
Form the guiding principle of artistic production and aesthetic appreciation,
Plotinus widened the concept of beauty so as to make it applicable also to non-
corporeal objects such as states of the soul and ways of life.15 The extension
comes at no loss of consistency since a virtuously disposed soul, as he would
claim later in the tractate, is a soul so shaped by Intellect as to have herself be-
come “form and formative power” for her own products (6.14);16 (4) There is,
however, as Plotinus takes care to point out, a difference between the two classes
of beauties: the beauties of sense may owe their shape or definition to the inter-
vention of an outside agency, such as a craftsman, while the beauties beyond
sense possess beauty intrinsically or from their own agency. As a result, their
beauty is truer (cf. κάλλος ἀληθινώτερον, 1.49–50); (5) Ugliness (τὸ αἰσχρόν), a
contrario, stems from deficiency in coherence or shape. When it affects an em-
bodied soul, ugliness stems from too close an engagement with the body and re-
sults in the soul being disfigured by “a form other than her own” (5.42). (6) By
the mid-point in the tractate, the beauties of sense, having ceased to be the priv-
ileged objects of aesthetic judgments, have faded into the background and the
distinction between the aesthetic and the ethical has become blurred. From there
on, Plotinus’ focus is on the beauties recognised as true by the soul who has dis-
carded “all the ugliness which came from the other nature” (5.57–58). Having the
light of Intellect shining upon them, these beauties intensify the soul’s own
beauty and bring it closer to the divine. It is unclear at that stage what Plotinus
14 Enn. I 6 (1) 2.2.

15 Enn. I 6 (1) 2.4.
16 The point receives a fuller though still concise explanation in V 3 (49) 7. 29–31.
takes the divine to be: is it Intellect, as he suggests in lines 6.16–18, or is it the

One, as he intimates three lines later, in 6.21–25? (7) The tractate ends with
Plotinus seeking to motivate his audience, present and future, to find their way
to the divine. “Wake to another way of seeing”, he apostrophises them, and “ab-
solute beauty” (αὐτὸ τὸ καλόν) will be within your reach. The way is arduous, he
continues, and must be walked step by step: first detach yourself from external
beauties, so as to come to appreciate the exemplary works of the virtuous souls
of others, then measure your own inner achievements against theirs, and if, as
seems not unlikely, you find yourself lacking by comparison:
Go back into yourself and look; and if you do not yet see yourself beautiful, then, just as
someone making a statue which has to be beautiful cuts away here and polishes there
and makes one part smooth and clears another till he has given his statue a beautiful
face, so you too must cut away excess and straighten the crooked and clear the dark and
make it bright, and never stop “working on your statue” till the divine glory of virtue
shines out on you.17
This purple passage suffers from over-exposure and is often cited à tort et à tra-
vers. To give it the attention it deserves, it must be set alongside two passages in
the Phaedrus. In the first passage Plato describes the effect that love has on dif-
ferent kinds of lovers: “each selects his love from the ranks of the beautiful ac-
cording to his own disposition, and fashions and adorns him like a statue (οἷον
ἄγαλμα), as if he were himself his god” (252d7–9). The contrast between the two
philosophers could not be more striking at that point: while Plato has the lover
fashion and adorn his beloved as one would the statue of a god, it is our own
soul/statue that Plotinus urges us to work on, so as to enable the divine light to
shine from it. While the master describes a process in which a beloved other is
beautified, the disciple, more sternly, tells us to beautify ourselves. However, at
the end of the dialogue, Plato - as Plato would - casts doubt over the propriety of
adorning another as a statue by having Socrates pray the gods to grant him inner
beauty (259b9). Since Plotinus alludes to the Socratic prayer in an earlier chapter
of the tractate (5.5), it seems likely that the two passages got coalesced in his
mind. By using Plato’s analogy of the statue to develop Socrates’ request to the
gods, Plotinus hit upon a highly memorable conclusion to his argument that
17 Enn. I 6 (1) 9.7–14: Aναγε ἐπὶ σαυτὸν καὶ ἴδε· κἂν μήπω σαυτὸν ἴδῃς καλόν, οἷα ποιητὴς
ἀγάλματος, ὃ δεῖ καλὸν γενέσθαι, τὸ μὲν ἀφαιρεῖ, τὸ δὲ ἀπέξεσε, τὸ δὲ λεῖον, τὸ δὲ καθαρὸν
ἐποίησεν, ἕως ἔδειξε καλὸν ἐπὶ τῷ ἀγάλματι πρόσωπον, οὕτω καὶ σὺ ἀφαίρει ὅσα περιττὰ καὶ
ἀπεύθυνε ὅσα σκολιά, ὅσα σκοτεινὰ καθαίρων ἐργάζου εἶναι λαμπρὰ καὶ μὴ παύσῃ τεκταίνων
τὸ σὸν ἄγαλμα, ἕως ἂν ἐκλάμψειέ σοι τῆς ἀρετῆς ἡ θεοειδὴς ἀγλαία. Unless otherwise speci-
fied, all quotations from the Enneads are in A.H. Armstrong’s rendering, with occasional mod-
ifications, flagged as such.
beauty rightly conceived has the potential to lead the soul to fulfil her destiny in
the higher world.
Although Plotinus’ general indebtedness to the Symposium and the Phaedrus
is obvious at this point, it should be noted that he departs from the Platonic line
in two respects. First, he does not follow Plato in presenting beauty as a single
form (μονοειδής) or as the apex of the lover’s quest (211e3–4). Second, although,
like Plato, he claims for beauty a privileged role in stimulating recollection, he
ascribes it, not only objects and properties external to the soul, but also and
more importantly, to realities borne within her, realities that include the πρῶτον
καλόν. The identity of the πρῶτον καλόν remains vague at this point, Plotinus
confining himself to describing the response that it elicits from the embodied
soul:
The soul speaks to it [the πρῶτον καλόν] as if it understood it, recognises it and welcomes
it and as it were adapts itself to it. But when it encounters the ugly it shrinks back and
rejects it and turns away from it and is out of tune and alienated from it. Our explanation of
this is that the soul, since it is by nature what it is and is related to the higher kind of reality
in the realm of being, when it sees something akin to it or a trace of its kindred reality, is
delighted and thrilled and returns to itself and remembers herself and what is of herself.18
The passage, in which Plotinus presents beauty as the privileged intermediary be-
tween soul and the πρῶτον καλόν, repays careful reading. The occurrence of
ἀναμιμνῄσκειν suggests that he has in mind the role that recollection plays in the
Phaedrus to account for the soul’s attraction to beauty. However, a shift of view-
point has clearly taken place. The Plotinian soul “recognises” beauty in the world
of sense, not so much as a reminder of a sight enjoyed in her pre-incarnation
state, as Plato had held, but, more significantly, as a trace of something that is
“συγγενής” (akin) to her. The use of συγγένεια and συγγενής provides a further
clue since, in Plotinus’ usage, both words regularly denote the relation between
the human soul and Intellect, the higher reality from which she receives the im-
prints (τύποι) or reasons (λόγοι) that enable her to think and to act discursively.19
Should we then take Plotinus here to mean that Intellect rather than the Good is
the referent of τὸ πρῶτον καλόν? Although the evidence points that way, it is to
be set against chapter six of the same tractate, in which it is suggested that the
18 Enn. I 6 (1) 2.3–11: ἡ ψυχὴ ὥσπερ συνεῖσα λέγει καὶ ἐπιγνοῦσα ἀποδέχεται καὶ οἷον
συναρμόττεται. Πρὸς δὲ τὸ αἰσχρὸν προσβαλοῦσα ἀνίλλεται καὶ ἀρνεῖται καὶ ἀνανεύει ἀπ᾽
αὐτοῦ οὐ συμφωνοῦσα καὶ ἀλλοτριουμένη. Φαμὲν δή, ὡς τὴν φύσιν οὖσα ὅπερ ἐστὶ καὶ πρὸς
τῆς κρείττονος ἐν τοῖς οὖσιν οὐσίας, ὅ τι ἂν ἴδῃ συγγενὲς ἢ ἴχνος τοῦ συγγενοῦς, χαίρει τε καὶ
διεπτόηται καὶ ἀναφέρει πρὸς ἑαυτὴν καὶ ἀναμιμνήσκεται ἑαυτῆς καὶ τῶν ἑαυτῆς.
19 For such use of συγγένεια and συγγενής, see, e.g., I 1 (53) 12; I 2 (19) 2.24 and 4.14; IV 4 (28)
45.15; IV 7 (2) 10.1.
One is the “first beautiful”. The issue remains inconclusive in this early tractate
and will have to be considered further in section IV below. What is clear, how-
ever, is that recognition of the kinship charms the soul, draws her in and, when
she is suitably disposed, causes her to return to herself and “what is of herself”
(2.10–11). In a late tractate, V 3 (49) (On the Knowing Hypostases), Plotinus would
go as far as claiming that, as a result of her συγγένεια with Intellect, the embodied
human soul may even achieve “self-knowledge”, albeit intermittently, when not
prevented from doing so by her habitual orientation to what is outside her.20 As
for “her possessions (τῶν ἑαυτῆς)”, they are the τύποι or traces of the Forms that
the soul holds within herself, even when an excessive engagement with the world
of sense, or a depraved way of life, prevents her from taking notice of them. The
use of the reflexive pronoun (ἑαυτῆς) to denote the object of recollection further
highlights the gap between Plotinus and Plato: it is her true self that the Plotinian
soul “remembers”, not a vision of realities descried in an elsewhere that Plato
located in “the region beyond the heavens”.
If, as already seems certain at this stage, Plotinian ἀνάμνησις serves the func-
tion of reminding the soul in us of her true self and high lineage, why does the
notion not play as prominent a role in the Enneads as it does in the Phaedrus?
3 Plotinian Ἀνάμνησις
A possible answer, given by Henry Blumenthal nearly fifty years ago and endorsed
by most scholars who have considered the question, is that Plotinus, having postu-
lated the existence of an undescended element in the human soul, saw no need of
introducing ἀνάμνησις to account for the soul’s cognition of the higher realities.21
20 Enn. V 3 (49) 6.26–28: “it could happen to it, since it (the soul) is a rational principle and
receives things akin to it, and fits them to the traces in itself, in this way to know itself”. On
this point, see Ham 2000, 147–148.
21 Blumenthal 1971, 96; forty-five years later, Fleet 2016, 279, makes the same point for the
same reason as Blumenthal. More prudently, Hadot 1990, 36, accounts for what he takes to be
Plotinus’ scant use of the notion of ἀνάμνησις by his lack of interest in the Platonic version of
it: “la théorie platonicienne de la réminiscence est peu developpée chez Plotin”. Flamand
(2009, 445n17) and Kalligas (2014, 199) express the same view. In their recent commentary on
Ennead IV 3-4.29 (2015, 287–88), Dillon & Blumenthal note that Plotinus “would seem to hold
that ἀνάμνησις really consists” in the accessing of the Forms or their logoi in the embodied
soul. In private correspondence with A.H. Armstrong, Jesús Igal s.j. was more outspoken:
“Blumenthal’s statement that ἀνάμνησις is replaced by the doctrine of the undescended intelli-
gence cannot, I think, be accepted without any reservation. Perhaps the doctrine of ἀνάμνησις
Blumenthal’s answer, I shall now argue, rests on an unwarranted simplification

of the evidence. Lexical data of occurrence show, not only that Plotinus is not re-
luctant to bring in ἀνάμνησις whenever it serves the need of his argument, but
also that his concept of ἀνάμνησις significantly differs from Plato’s. To demon-
strate how this is so, I shall proceed in three stages, first highlighting the bias in
Plotinus’ account of Plato’s conception of ἀνάμνησις in the Phaedrus, then show-
ing him to be openly critical of Plato on the issue, before finally proceeding to a
detailed analysis of the passages in which he evolved his own, fully rounded, con-
ception of ἀνάμνησις.
Take, to begin with, the opening chapter of tractate III 5 (50) (On Love), in
which Plotinus purportedly outlines Plato’s views on the origin of love. Rather
than faithfully reproducing the description given in the Phaedrus of love as a
manifestation of the human attraction to beauty, which itself stems from the
recollection of a pre-incarnation vision of the corresponding Form, Plotinus
writes:
if someone assumed that the origin of love was the longing for beauty itself which was there
before in men’s souls, and their recognition of it and kinship with it and unreasoned aware-
ness that it is something of their own, he would hit, I think, on the truth about its cause.22
The unmistakably Plotinian flavour of these lines comes from the verbal and the-
matic reminiscences of tractate I 6 (I) 2.3–11 that they contain.23 By highlighting
the kinship between human souls and the Intelligibles, here described as “some-
thing of their own”, Plotinus is subtly adapting to his own system the conception
of ἀνάμνησις he found in the Phaedrus. His only nod in the direction of the
Platonic account is the use of “before” to refer to the time gap between discar-
nate vision and incarnate memory. Furthermore, unlike Plato, who had distin-
guished two tiers of recollection, one of which all human souls are capable and
another, which is the preserve of an elite amongst them, Plotinus merely draws a
distinction between human souls who do not appreciate the true cause of their
loving what they love and those who trace it to the Intelligibles to which their
has not yet received sufficient attention by scholars”. Igal’s letters, together with letters by the
editors of the editio maior and the editio minor, as well as documents from the Armstrong ar-
chives, are currently being edited by Suzanne Stern-Gillet, José Baracat and Kevin Corrigan under
the title of An Edition Worthy of Plotinus. The letters of A.H. Armstrong, P. Henry, J. Igal, H-R.
Schwyzer and J. Trouillard, 1953–1980, Leuven University Press, forthcoming.
22 Enn. III 5 (50) 1.16–19: Ἀρχὴν δὲ εἴ τις θεῖτο τὴν αὐτοῦ κάλλους πρότερον ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς
ὄρεξιν καὶ ἐπίγνωσιν καὶ συγγένειαν καὶ οἰκειότητος ἄλογον σύνεσιν, τυγχάνοι ἄν, οἶμαι, τοῦ
ἀληθοῦς τῆς αἰτίας. See also 9.42–44. For a study of Plotinus’ adaptations of the concept of
love in the Phaedrus, see Lacrosse 1994, chapter 1, passim.
23 See note 19 supra.
soul is akin.24 Rather than ascribing ἀνάμνησις to the antenatal condition of the
soul, therefore, as Plato had done, Plotinus presents it as the result of an arduous
cognitive and moral exercise which the human soul should attempt, but which it
may not succeed in completing. So much is suggested by his expression “those
who come to the recollection of the archetype”25; ἔρχεσθαι, a verb of movement,
followed by the preposition εἰς and the accusative, is regularly used in the
Enneads to denote the undertaking of difficult spiritual exercises.26 It is unsur-
prising therefore that Plotinus should not have endorsed the description given in
the Phaedrus of the occurrence of ἀνάμνησις as accompanied by a sudden shock
of recognition (251 sq.).27
In the tractates of his middle period Plotinus does not shy away from ex-
plicitly criticizing the Platonic concept. He does so, for example, in tractate IV 3
(27) (Problems concerning the Soul I), where he deplores the failure on the part
of “ancient thinkers” to distinguish recollection from memory. In contrast with
memory, which “is of something acquired (ἐπικτήτου τινὸς), either learned or
experienced”, he wrote, ἀνάμνησις is of notions within the soul:
the soul must not be said to remember (. . .) the things which it possesses as part of its nature,
but when it is here below it possesses them and does not act by them, particularly when it
has just arrived here. But as for its activity, the ancients seem to apply the terms “memory”
and “recollection” to the souls which bring into act what they possessed. So this is another
kind of memory; and therefore time is not involved in memory understood in this sense”.28
Plato, the “ancient thinker” at whom Plotinus is here pointing an accusing fin-
ger, did indeed describe ἀνάμνησις as a form of memory.29 In line with his own
philosophy of the soul, Plotinus here points out that while memory enables the
24 Enn. III 5 (50) 1.30–36.

25 Enn. III 5 (50) 1.34–35: εἰς ἀνάμνησιν μὲν ἐκείνου ἀπὸ τοῦδε ἐλθοῦσιν, tr. modified to bring
it closer to the original. For a more faithful rendering, see Hadot 1990: “ceux qui parviennent à
se ressouvenir du beau archétype”.
26 See Sleeman & Pollet 1979 on ἀνάμνησις and ἔρχεσθαι, s.v. f, and eis, s.v. e.
27 In presenting ἀνάμνησις as resulting from a demanding cognitive and moral exercise,
Plotinus comes closer to the version of the concept that Plato gives in the Meno and the
Phaedo. In the former dialogue recollection is presented as the outcome of a didactic step-by-
step process while in the latter it is said to stem from the recognition of the dissimilarities be-
tween the sensible world and the intelligible realm.
28 Enn. IV 3 (27) 25.27–34: Οὐ τοίνυν οὐδὲ ψυχὴν φατέον μνημονεύειν τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον οἷον
λέγομεν τὸ μνημονεύειν εἶναι ὧν ἔχει συμφύτων, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπειδὴ ἐνταῦθά ἐστιν, ἔχειν καὶ μὴ
ἐνεργεῖν κατ᾽ αὐτά, καὶ μάλιστα ἐνταῦθα ἡκούσῃ. Τὸ δὲ καὶ ἐνεργεῖν ἤδη—ταῖς ἐνεργούσαις ἃ
εἶχον μνήμην καὶ ἀνάμνησιν προστιθέναι ἐοίκασιν οἱ παλαιοί. Ὥσθ᾽ ἕτερον εἶδος μνήμης τοῦτο·
διὸ καὶ χρόνος οὐ πρόσεστι τῇ οὕτω λεγομένῃ μνήμῃ.
29 See p. 66 supra.
embodied soul to preserve from oblivion lived events and experiences external to
herself, recollection retrieves notions and realities which lie deep inside her, but
have been forgotten through over-engagement with the world of sense. From
Plotinus’ point of view, the semantic confusion had the unfortunate consequence
of obfuscating the ontological chasm that separates time, in which the objects of
memory occur, from timelessness, which is the mode of being of the realities
present in the soul. His insistence on the conceptual distinction, which will be
the object of a later tractate, seems to have tolled the knell of Platonic ἀνάμνησις.
If it were to survive as a philosophical method, it had to be re-interpreted.
Re-interpreting ἀνάμνησις was precisely what Plotinus does when he comes
to deal with the notion in his own name. From the tractate On Beauty onwards, he
consistently introduces the notion to account for the embodied human soul’s abil-
ity to lift herself up to the intelligible level. In tractate IV 7 (2) (On the Immortality
of the Soul) he relies on ἀνάμνησις to refute various Stoic arguments aimed at de-
nying the immortality of the soul. In support of his own view, he began by claim-
ing that each and every soul is a reality that:
lives of itself, and each of them apprehends the same things by the same means, thinking
the things in heaven and the things beyond heaven and searching out everything which
has substantial existence, and ascending to the first principle.30
The soul’s ability to think the higher realities through the practice of ἀνάμνησις,
in turn, shows her to be everlasting. As he wrote,
the intellection of the authentic reality of each thing which the soul derives from herself
comes to her from contemplations within her, that is, from recollection, and gives it an
existence prior to body and makes it everlasting because it has everlasting knowledge.
(tr. modified)31
As presented in those lines, ἀνάμνησις is the endpoint of the process through

which embodied souls, having overcome the lure of the world of sense and suc-
cessfully turned their attention inwards, gain awareness of the higher realities
lodged within themselves.
Admittedly, my reading of the passage can be challenged on the ground
that the Greek is not unambiguous since the first καί can be interpreted as
30 Enn. IV 7 (2) 12.4–8: ζῇ παρ᾽ αὑτῆς ἑκατέρα, καὶ τῶν αὐτῶν τῷ αὐτῷ ἐφάπτεται νοοῦσα τά
τε ἐν τῷ οὐρανῷ τά τε οὐρανοῦ ἐπέκεινα καὶ πᾶν ὅ ἐστι κατ᾽ οὐσίαν ζητοῦσα καὶ μέχρι τῆς
πρώτης ἀρχῆς ἀναβαίνουσα.
31 Enn. IV 7 (2) 12.8–11: ῞Η τε δὴ παρ᾽ αὐτῆς ἐκ τῶν ἐν αὐτῇ θεαμάτων κατανόησις
αὐτοεκάστου καὶ ἐξ ἀναμνήσεως γιγνομένη πρὸ σώματός τε αὐτῇ δίδωσι τὸ εἶναι καὶ ἀιδίοις
ἐπιστήμαις κεχρημένην ἀίδιον καὶ αὐτὴν εἶναι.
either a run-of-the mill connective or an epexegetical particle.32 The syntactical

difficulty is reflected in the variety of renderings offered by the most frequently
quoted translations; some translators leave γιγνομένη untranslated, others take
ἀνάμνησις to be the trigger of κατανόησις while others regard the two as alto-
gether different stages in the upward journey of the soul. If καί is taken to be a
connective, the sentence means that the embodied soul has two ways of lifting
herself up to Intellect, the one by relying on the intellection of visions held
within her, the other by recollection. If, on the other hand, the first καί is taken
to be epexegetical, ἀνάμνησις, rather than an alternative route to inner contem-
plation, denotes the soul’s journey into her interior, a journey that leads her to
apprehend the everlasting realities within her. While both construals are syn-
tactically possible, the epexegetical construal is consonant with Plotinus’ re-
interpretation of the concept of ἀνάμνησις that he found in the Phaedrus. Since
he states explicitly in the above-quoted lines that the object of the soul’s recol-
lection is within her, there would appear to be no relevant difference between
what would, on the alternative interpretation, be two different routes to what
lies within the soul. Construed as epexegetical, therefore, καί has the double
advantage of avoiding an unnecessary repetition and of yielding an insight into
Plotinus’ early view on the nature and capabilities of ἀνάμνησις.
Taking stock at this point, it may be seen that three features of Plotinus’
conception of ἀνάμνησις have so far become apparent. First, unlike Plato,
who regarded it as directed outwards, to transcendent realities existing out-
side the human soul,33 Plotinus took it to be an inward-directed process that
enables suitably disposed souls to be re-acquainted with eternal realities pres-
ent in themselves. Second, from the contribution that the above-quoted lines
make to his argument for the immortality of the soul, it may be inferred that,
unlike Plato, Plotinus held ἀνάμνησις to be a capability present in all human
souls, although not to the same extent or at the same depth. The point had
already been made in tractate I 6 (1), where it is explained that, in order to
rise to the higher realities, “we must wake to another way of seeing, which
32 Harder 1937, Armstrong 1984 and Fleet 2016 translate καί as a simple connective while
Brisson/Pradeau 2002 take it to be epexegetical. Igal, it seems to me, interprets καί as apposi-
tional (Denniston 1950, 291): “Furthermore, the intuition of each thing in itself that comes to
her from herself, from the objects of contemplation that are in her, and that originates by vir-
tue of reminiscence, gives her an existence prior to the body and makes her be eternal herself,
since she makes use of eternal sciences”. I am grateful to José Baracat Jr. for his help in clarify-
ing the syntax of the passage.
33 As earlier noted by Wallis 1972, 80, Sinnige 1975, 148, and Armstrong ad loc.
everyone has but few use”.34 On one point of this early tractate, however,
Plotinus follows Plato: he describes the soul as ἀΐδιος (sempiternal) and inde-
structible (ἄφθαρτος).35
He would later change his mind on this particular point, as testified by trac-
tate III 7 (45) (On Time and Eternity), in which he stresses the distinction be-
tween sempiternity (ἀιδιότης) and eternity (ὁ αἰών), defining the former as
“unending time” and the latter as “partless and unextended completion”. As
appropriate to the soul’s mediating function between the world of the Forms
and the physical cosmos, she can in one sense be said “to be in time” and, in
another sense, “not to be in time”. Her higher element, which does not de-
scend, leads the life of Intellect, to which time is foreign and ἀνάμνησις redun-
dant. So much had indeed been pointed out by Blumenthal. The human soul’s
lower element, whose precise identity is not made clear in the tractate, is a
“restlessly active nature which wanted to control herself and be on her own”,36
and who, for that reason, projected herself outwards “to transfer (μεταφέρειν)
what it saw There (ἐκεῖ) to something else”:
Soul, making the world of sense in imitation of that other world, moving with a motion
that is not that which exists There, but like it, and intending to be an image of it, first of
all put herself into time, which it made instead of eternity, and then handed over that
which came into being as a slave to time, by making the whole of it exist in time and
encompassing all its ways with time.37
These lines raise a host of issues. What can Plotinus mean by claiming that the
descending soul “put herself in time”? Does he not repeatedly state elsewhere
that, as part of the Intelligible world, the soul is eternal, impassible and indivis-
ible? In any case, how can temporalisation “occur” in the framework of eter-
nity? Is the identification of time with “the life of the soul in a movement of
passage from one way of life to another” to be understood as referring to the
amphibious nature of the soul? Which in any case is the manifestation of hypo-
stasic Soul that has “put herself in time”? Is it the world-soul, the human soul
or a distinct power in either the one or the other? Plotinus’ handling of these
34 Enn. I 6 (1) 8.26.

35 For ἀΐδιος, see IV 7 (2) 10.15–16 and 34 as well as note 20 above. For ἄφθαρτος, IV 7 (2) 12.
19–20; for ἄπαυστος, IV 7 (2) 13.19.
36 Enn. III 7 (45) 11.15–16: Φύσεως δὲ πολυπράγμονος καὶ ἄρχειν αὐτῆς βουλομένης καὶ εἶναι
αὐτῆς
37 Enn. III 7 (45) 11.27–32: οὕτω δὴ καὶ αὐτὴ κόσμον ποιοῦσα αἰσθητὸν μιμήσει ἐκείνου
κινούμενον κίνησιν οὐ τὴν ἐκεῖ, ὁμοίαν δὲ τῇ ἐκεῖ καὶ ἐθέλουσαν εἰκόνα ἐκείνης εἶναι, πρῶτον
μὲν ἑαυτὴν ἐχρόνωσεν ἀντὶ τοῦ αἰῶνος τοῦτον ποιήσασα· ἔπειτα δὲ καὶ τῷ γενομένῳ ἔδωκε
δουλεύειν χρόνῳ, ἐν χρόνῳ αὐτὸν πάντα ποιή σασα εἶναι.
questions is not altogether satisfactory, even if it is borne in mind that the intro-
duction of the prosopopoeia of time accounts for his uncharacteristic switch
from a metaphysical to a mythical mode of discourse, with the complications
that inevitably ensue.38 Fortunately, there is no need in the present context to
go into these questions, which, in any case, did not appear to have much trou-
bled Plotinus, who went on to advise embodied souls that ἀνάμνησις would en-
able them to overcome the limitations inherent in their time-bound condition
and to access the timeless life of Intellect:
if someone, before contemplating eternity, should form a mental picture in his mind of
what kind of thing time is, it would be possible for him, too, to go from this world to the
other by recollection and to contemplate that which time is a likeness.39
The advice given in those lines would appear to stretch to the utmost the capa-
bilities of the human soul. How can she be able, not only to evolve a concep-
tualised version of what makes her thinking what it is, namely sequential and
discursive, but also to contrast it with the “all at once” thinking of her higher
manifestation? How can the soul “in time” become wise to the manner in
which she would think if she were to think differently from the manner in
which she does think? How can a representation of discursive thinking yield
the insight necessary to access the totum simul of eternity?
To deal with such questions, Plotinus brought in a concept of ἀνάμνησις
more developed than the one he had relied upon so far. He presented it as a by-
product of the faculty of imagination (φαντασία, τὸ φανταστικόν), whose func-
tion is to serve as an intermediary between the lower and the higher soul in us.
Imagination, he explained, can exercise its function in different ways, depend-
ing on the data it operates on.40 At a lower level, φαντασία processes the raw
data received by the sense organs so as to make them accessible to the soul in
38 For a more accessible answer to the questions, see IV 4 (28) 15, in which Plotinus asks why
the descending soul generates time since she is not herself in time. He replies: “It is because
the things which it generates are not eternal, but encompassed by time; since even the [indi-
vidual] souls are not in time, but such affections as they have are, and the things they make.
For the souls are eternal, and time is posterior to them, and that which is in time is less than
time; for time must encompass what is in time.” For a clear and thorough discussion of the
issues involved, see Karfik 2012.
39 Enn. III 7 (45) 1.20–24: Εἰ δέ τις πρὸ τοῦ τὸν αἰῶνα θεάσασθαι τὸν χρόνον ὅς ἐστι
φαντασθείη, γένοιτ᾽ ἂν καὶ τούτῳ ἐντεῦθεν ἐκεῖ κατὰ ἀνάμνησιν ἐλθόντι ᾧ ἄρα ὡμοίωτο ὁ
χρόνος θεάσασθαi, εἴπερ ὁμ οιότητα οὗτος πρὸς ἐκεῖνον ἔχοι.
40 For a convincing argument purporting to show that Plotinian φαντασία consists, not in
two faculties as is commonly assumed, but in “being the meeting point of two representa-
tions”, see Perdikouri 2016.
us, whose impassibility prevents her from receiving them directly.41 At a higher
level, it assists the embodied soul by unfolding, separating and conceptualising
what is partless (ἀμερής) in the intuitive thinking of Intellect and her unde-
scended element.42 When the two levels come into play together, the resulting
harmony between them favours the practice of ἀνάμνησις. Through its lower
side, imagination enables the soul to evolve a conceptualised version of lived
time as sequential and discursive while its higher side brings within the soul’s
compass the thinking of her undescended element, which eternally contem-
plates the Forms. At that point recollection can take place and the soul can ele-
vate herself:
when one soul is in tune with the other, and their image-making powers are not separate,
and that of the better soul is dominant, the image becomes one, as if a shadow followed
the other one and as a little light slipped in under the greater one; but when there is war
and disharmony between them, the other image becomes manifest by itself, but we do
not notice what is in the other power, and we do not notice in general the duality of the
souls.43
Normative considerations are here brought to bear on ἀνάμνησις since the kind
of harmony that Plotinus describes cannot but take the form of dominance of the
higher soul over the lower one. Whether or not we recollect, therefore, is now
subject to ethical norms not dissimilar to those that govern the achievement of
well-being or happiness (εὐδαιμονία), namely the kind of independence of the
soul from the body that is achieved through self-purification and the practice of
the virtues.44 In Plotinus’ understanding of the word, therefore, ἀνάμνησις is a
good merited by souls who orient themselves to the higher realities.
The norms that Plotinus built into his version of ἀνάμνησις reflect his con-
viction that the higher soul in us can never be completely and irreversibly alien-
ated from the lower one; however deep in the world of sense the soul may have
sunk, it never loses the “transcendent something” (ὑπερέχον τι) that ties her to
the higher realities. Whatever her lapses of attention to her prior, philosophical
enlightenment and self-purification will always enable her to re-orient herself
and to recollect what is within her. The clearest expression of Plotinus’ opti-
mism in that respect is to be found in tractate IV 8 (6) (On the Descent of Souls
into Bodies), where a summary of Plato’s account of the fall of the soul is fol-
lowed by the claim that it is possible for the soul:
41 Enn. IV 4 (28) 23. See also Emilsson 1988, 82–91.

42 Enn. IV 3 (27) 30.5–11 and 31.
43 Enn. IV 3 (27) 31.9–16.
44 See Enn. I 2 (19) 2 passim.
to be freed from its fetters and to begin to ascend, through recollection, to the contempla-
tion of reality: for, in spite of everything, she always possesses something transcendent
in some way. Souls, then, become, one might say, amphibious, compelled to live by turns
the life There, and the life here.45 (tr. modified)
These lines are exegetically helpful in two ways. Firstly, they suggest that the dis-
crepancy noted earlier between chapters one and eleven of tractate III 7 (45) is
less problematic than might at first appear. Although the prosopopoeia of time
may leave the reader with the impression that in temporalising herself the soul
loses the transcendent properties that had tied her to the Intelligible Principle, the
above lines show that such is unlikely to have been Plotinus’ meaning. Secondly
and more relevantly to the present essay, the lines highlight Plotinus’ life-long
conviction that it is possible for an embodied soul “to go from this world to the
other by recollection”.46
Tractate III 7 (45), it may be concluded at this point, makes a twofold con-
tribution to Plotinus’ concept of ἀνάμνησις. It presents ἀνάμνησις as a deliber-
ately undertaken and disciplined effort on the part of the embodied human
soul to reach out to the superior element in her. The effort requires of her, not
only that she makes herself aware of the discursive nature of her own thinking
(διάνοια), but also that she recognises the superiority of a different mode of
thinking, namely νόησις, which apprehends its objects “all at once and to-
gether”. To fulfill its anagogic funtion, ἀνάμνησις, as conceived by Plotinus, is
normatively charged since it presupposes harmony between the lower and the
higher elements in the soul.
Ἀνάμνησις makes a final appearance in V 3 (49) (On the Knowing Hypostases),
a didactic and largely analytic tractate dealing with self-knowledge and self-
45 Enn. IV 8 (6) 4.28–33: ἐπιστραφεῖσα δὲ πρὸς νόησιν λύεσθαί τε ἐκ τῶν δεσμῶν καὶ
ἀναβαίνειν, ὅταν ἀρχὴν λάβῃ ἐξ ἀναμνήσεως θεᾶσθαι τὰ ὄντα· ἔχει γάρ τι ilἀεὶ οὐδὲν ἧττον
ὑπερέχον τι. Γίγνονται οὖν οἷον ἀμφίβιοι ἐξ ἀνάγκης τόν τε ἐκεῖ βίον τόν τε ἐνταῦθα παρὰ
μέρος βιοῦσαι.
46 For the full-quotation, see note 37 supra. A similar lesson may arguably be drawn from the
famous Gedankenexperiment described in V 8 (31) 9.7–22, in which Plotinus directs us in the
use of φαντασία to de-spatialise our mental representation of the physical cosmos and thus to
apprehend the spacelessness of Intellect and the Forms in a single act of intuitive thought. To
assist in the process, he suggests that the soul pray to Intellect, the god in question, of which
she holds an image in herself, to ask for help in overcoming the hold that space has upon her.
Although there is no mention of ἀνάμνησις in the passage, the thought experiment itself as
well as the prayer that is to precede it both presuppose that it is thanks to the presence of
Intellect in herself that the human soul is able to rise above the discursivity that characterises
her ordinary mode of thinking and thus free herself from the limitations that she had brought
upon herself in “putting herself in time”.
thinking. While it would be absurd (ἄτοπος), Plotinus here writes, to deny self-
knowledge to Intellect, a hypostasis that knows everything else, it would not be
unreasonable to deny self-knowledge – or even self-thinking47 – to the soul, a hy-
postasis whose main function is to “observe what is outside her and busying her-
self with it” (3.16–17). To engage his audience in the issue, Plotinus takes the
example of an embodied soul who has to handle external and internal data. Upon
seeing something moving along the street, for instance, the embodied soul uses
her perceptive and imaginative powers to identify the object as a man and to won-
der who the man is. If it so happens that she has met the man before and knows
him, her faculty of memory tells her that the man in question is Socrates. The pro-
cess of recognition is more complex than appears at first sight; discursive reason
(διάνοια) collects data from sense-perception, unfolds (ἐξελίττειν) them before
separating them into their constitutive elements (μερίζειν) and, finally, grouping
these elements together (συναιρεῖν) so as to form a concept – this is a man – and,
once the man’s form (μορφή) has been recognised, to make a judgment – this is
Socrates. Up to that point, the embodied soul deals solely with mental images,
both perceived and recollected, of external data.
The issue becomes more complex when the reasoning soul asks herself
whether Socrates, the man in question, is good. Norms are now involved, and
questions about norms cannot be settled solely by appeal to external data. Like
all norms properly so called, “the norm of the good” (κανόνα τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ)
comes from intellect as an imprint (τύπος) in the soul. Judgements of value
such as the one we form when we jugde that “Socrates is good”, therefore, are
made by applying norms held in the pure or higher part of the soul, which in
that tractate he occasionally refers to as the “intellect of the soul’, to objects
and beings existing outside her:48
the perceptive power (. . .) perceives the experiences in the body by its own agency, but
the reasoning power in the soul makes its judgment, derived from the mental images
present to her which come from sense-perception, but combining and dividing them;
and, as for the things which come to it from Intellect, it observes what at one might call
their imprints, and has the same power also in dealing with these; and it continues to
47 Plotinus distinguishes γνῶσις σεαυτοῦ, which the embodied soul may sporadically be ca-
pable of, from νοεῖν ᾗ αὐτό, which is the preserve of Intellect.
48 As spelled out by Ham 2000, 113, to whose insightful commentary I am here indebted:
“Sans doute s’agit-il encore seulement d’un jugement qui utilise les données de la sensation
mais il s’agit d’appliquer à ces données extérieures une règle intérieure: le jugement ne vient
pas d’elles, il est prononcé ‘sur elles’”. A parallel process of applying norms to sensory objects
is described in similar terms in the tractate On Beauty I 6 (1) 3, where the norms are aesthetic.
See also Kuhn 2009, 74.
acquire understanding as if by recognizing the new and recently arrived impressions and
fitting them to those which have long been within it: this process is what we should call
the recollections of the soul.49
Plotinus is here translating the example into his own epistemic vocabulary, leav-
ing in the background the complex process through which the combined inter-
vention of imagination and memory makes perceptions and bodily affections
accessible to the soul in us. All that he says here about that part of the process, of
which a detailed account is given in the example itself, is that it presupposes reli-
ance on what Plato had called the method of collection and division. He then pro-
ceeds to consider in greater detail the way in which discursive reason (διάνοια)
interprets and assesses the data received from the perceptive power. At that
point Plotinus introduces ἀνάμνησις, describing its function as that of bringing to
the soul’s attention what he calls, somewhat gingerly, the “so to speak imprints
(οἷον τύποι)” of Intellect that have long been within her, but of which she may so
far have remained unaware. In such cases, ἀνάμνησις brings two benefits to the
embodied soul: (a) it enables her to make τύποι from the sense organs interact
with “the so-called τύποι” inscribed by Intellect in the higher part in her; (b) it
gives her an increased understanding (σύνεσις) of herself as discursive reason ca-
pable of functioning “in accord with Intellect” (ch. 4 passim). Does this mean that
the soul in us is capable of (a degree of) self-knowledge?
Plotinus’ answer to the question, first raised in the opening chapter of the
tractate, is cautiously affirmative, the need for caution arising, as he points out,
from the fact that ἀνάμνησις can occur at two different levels.50 The embodied
soul, which applies the “laws” (or norms) that Intellect has inscribed in her to
guide her everyday existence in the world of sense, is relying on discursive rea-
son. In taking the further step of attending to the norms in question, discursive
reason may become aware that they do not originate in herself. She might thereby
realise that her lack of epistemic self-sufficiency shows her dependence upon a
reality higher than herself. Illumination of a kind may thus come from the data of
sense-perception when, taking on the role of messenger (ἄγγελος), they point the
49 Enn. V 3 (49) 2.2–14: Τὸ μὲν οὖν αἰσθητικὸν . . . τῶν γὰρ ἐν τῷ σώματι παθημάτων ὑφ᾽
ἑαυτοῦ αἰσθάνεται. Τὸ δ᾽ ἐν αὐτῇ λογιζόμενον παρὰ τῶν ἐκ τῆς αἰσθήσεως φαντασμάτων
παρακειμένων τὴν ἐπίκρισιν ποιούμενον καὶ συνάγον καὶ διαιροῦν· ἢ καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ἐκ τοῦ νοῦ
ἰόντων ἐφορᾷ οἷον τοὺς τύπους, καὶ ἔχει καὶ περὶ τούτους τὴν αὐτὴν δύναμιν. Καὶ σύνεσιν ἔτι
προσλαμβάνει ὥσπερ ἐπιγινῶσκον καὶ ἐφαρμόζον τοῖς ἐν αὐτῷ ἐκ παλαιοῦ τύποις τοὺς νέους
καὶ ἄρτι ἥκοντας· ὃ δὴ καὶ ἀναμνήσεις φαῖμεν ἂν τῆς ψυχῆς εἶναι.
50 In Enn. V 3 (49) 4.1–4 in a disjunct Plotinus spells out the two manners in which ἀνάμνησις
can lead the soul upwards: κατ᾽ ἐκεῖνον δὲ διχῶς, ἢ τοῖς οἷον γράμμασιν ὥσπερ νόμοις ἐν ἡμῖν
γραφεῖσιν, ἢ οἷον πληρωθέντες αὐτοῦ ἢ καὶ δυνηθέντες ἰδεῖν καὶ αἰσθάνεσθαι παρόντος.
recollecting soul in the direction of the source of the imprints and thereby provide
her with a measure of self-knowledge. So informed, the attentive soul knows her-
self to be both discursive reason and reflection of Intellect. However, this is no
self-knowledge in the full sense of the word since the part of the soul that knows
is other than the part of the soul that is known.51
If Plotinus thus held that full self-knowledge eludes most human souls, he
did not rule out that there might be rare souls who “live” the presence of
Intellect in themselves and, as a result, become “as if filled with it and . . . able
to see it and be aware of it as present” (4.3–4). Since full self-knowledge re-
quires identity of knower and known, the full self-knowledge enjoyed by such
rare souls presupposes that each of them, as a knowing subject, has become
identical with the object known, which is herself. Is that possible? Does not the
very fact that Plotinus entertains that possibility run counter to his earlier claim
that the embodied soul has “the task of observing what is outside it and busy-
ing herself with it”? Aware of the risk of inconsistency, Plotinus introduces a
caveat at this point: it is not in so far as they are souls that they come to know
themselves, but in so far as they have succeeded in returning to their prior and
live its life. As introduced in this late tractate, therefore, ἀνάμνησις empowers
the soul in various ways and to various degrees; it can bring home to her that
she is epistemically dependent upon Intellect or, in exceptional cases, it can
enable her to transcend herself.
4 Ways of inwardness: ἀνάμνησις and τὸ πρῶτον

καλόν
Tractate V 3 (49) thus brings an extra element to the concept of ἀνάμνησις de-
veloped in tractates IV 7 (2) and III 7 (45). To the benefits of ἀνάμνησις spelled
out in those earlier tractates, it adds cognitive empowerment. The Plotinian ver-
sion of ἀνάμνησις, it can now be concluded, crucially differs from its Platonic
counterpart in the following respects: (1) it is a self-initiated inward movement
on the part of the human soul who turns to her ontological priors; (2) it has an
ethical dimension in so far as it corrects the human soul’s propensity to self-
forgetfulness, which Plotinus consistently deplored;52 (3) it apprises the human
51 Enn. V 3 (49) 1–2 passim and 3.44–45. See also Emilsson 2007, 209–211.
52 See Enn. V I (10) 1.1–3: “What is it, then, which has made the souls forget their father, God,
and be ignorant of themselves, even though they are parts which come from the higher world
and altogether belong to it?”
soul of her dependence on Intellect and may even, albeit rarely, lead her back
to it.
Different though their views on ἀνάμνησις were, Plotinus and Plato were at
one in holding beauty to be the trigger most likely to set off the embodied soul
on the way to recollection. The agreement between them, however, was limited
in so far as Plotinus was more suspicious of earthly beauty than Plato had
been. In tractate I 6 (1) (On Beauty), as will be recalled, he had consistently
urged the embodied soul to distance herself from physical beauty so as to
attend to the beauties of “ways of life and kinds of knowledge”.53 Perceiving
in them imprints of the Forms, the soul can then reach out to what he there
called, somewhat elusively, τὸ πρῶτον καλόν, “the first beautiful” or fount of
all beauty.
What exactly is τὸ πρῶτον καλόν? Is it Intellect, as Plotinus unequivocally
states in some contexts, or is it the One, as he states, just as unequivocally, in
other contexts? The issue will now, by way of a conclusion, be addressed.
To clear the ground for the investigation, let us first dispose of the long-lived
assumption that Plotinus takes the Intelligible Principle to include an individual
Form of Beauty corresponding to what Plato had called the “final vision of the
mysteries” (Symp. 210a1) and described as “the most manifest [Form] to sense
and most lovely of them all” (Phdr. 249d1–2). The longevity of the assumption is
surprising in view of the fact that Plotinus himself had done his best to kill it in
advance: “the soul will come in its ascent to intellect and there will know the
Forms, all beautiful, and will affirm that these, the Ideas, are beauty” (I 6 (1)
9.34–36).54 He reiterated the point many times, most explicitly at the end of his
writing life, when he wrote in tractate III 5 (50) (On Love) that: “the eternal is . . .
akin to the beautiful, and the eternal nature is that which is primarily beautiful,
and the things which spring from it are all beautiful too.”55 Is Intellect the
πρῶτον καλόν then?
In tractate V 8 (31) (On the Intelligible Beauty) Plotinus encourages us to
think that it is:
Who, then, will not call beautiful that which is beautiful primarily, and as a whole, and
everywhere as a whole when no parts fail by falling short in beauty? . . . Or if that
[Intellect] is not beautiful, what else is? For that which is before it does not even want to
53 Enn. I 6 (1) 4.8.

54 Enn. I 6 (1) 9.34–36: ῞Ηξει γὰρ πρῶτον ἀναβαίνων ἐπὶ τὸν νοῦν κἀκεῖ πάντα εἴσεται καλὰ τὰ
εἴδη καὶ φήσει τὸ κάλλος τοῦτο εἶναι, τὰς ἰδέας.
55 Enn. III 5 (50) 1.44–46: Καὶ γὰρ καὶ τὸ ἀίδιον συγγενὲς τῷ καλῷ καὶ ἡ ἀίδιος φύσις τὸ
πρώτως τοιοῦτον καὶ τὰ ἀπ᾽ αὐτῆς τ οιαῦτα πάντα.
be beautiful; for it is this which first presents itself to contemplation by being form and
the contemplation of Intellect which is also a wonder to see. (tr. modified)56
And a chapter later:
where would the beauty of intellect be if it was deprived of its being? And where would
its reality be if it was stripped of its being beautiful? For in deficiency in beauty it would
be defective also in reality. For this reason being is longed for because it is the same as
beauty, and beauty is lovable because it is being.57
In the first of these two passages, Plotinus ascribes superlative beauty to

Intellect; in the second he identifies the being of Intellect with its beauty,
which he then presents as the object of desire and love.
This, however, did not prevent him from defending the opposite view in a
later tractate, VI 7 (38) (On the Forms and the Good), in which he describes the
One as the fount of beauty: “The primarily beautiful, then, and the first is with-
out form, and beauty is that, the nature of the Good”.58
Can the discrepancy be accounted for or even ironed out? It can, I suggest,
through attention to the respective contexts of the conflicting pronouncements.
In V 8 (31), as seen above, the focus is on the beauty of Intellect itself while in
VI 7 (38), as will now be seen, it is on the origin of beauty and the motivation
that leads the human soul to discard the beauties of sense for reaching out to
the remoter beauty of Intellect and beyond.
Plotinus deals with the issue of the origin of beauty in tractate VI 7 (38) (How
the Multitude of Forms Came into Being, and on the Good) by demonstration and by
what he calls “persuasion”, aimed at easing the task of reason. He argues that
Intellect, qua such, is powerless to draw the embodied soul in and that the Forms,
for all their beauty, must be graced by an outflow (ἀπορροή) of the Good before
they can exert a force on the embodied soul. To make the argument “persuasive”
(πειθώ), he borrowed metaphors from the Phaedrus59 and introduced an analogy.
56 Enn. V 8 (31) 8.1–7: Καλὸν οὖν πρώτως, καὶ ὅλον δὲ καὶ πανταχοῦ ὅλον, ἵνα μηδὲ μέρη
ἀπολείπηται τῷ καλῷ ἐλλείπειν. . . ῍Η εἰ μὴ ἐκεῖνο καλόν, τί ἂν ἄλλο; τὸ γὰρ πρὸ αὐτοῦ οὐδὲ
καλὸν ἐθέλει εἶναι· τὸ γὰρ πρώτως εἰς θέαν παρελθὸν τῷ εἶδος εἶναι καὶ θέαμα νοῦ τοῦτο καὶ
ἀγαστὸν ὀφθῆναι.
57 Enn. V 8 (31) 9.37–41: Ποῦ γὰρ ἂν εἴη τὸ καλὸν ἀπο στερηθὲν τοῦ εἶναι; Ποῦ δ᾽ ἂν ἡ οὐσία
τοῦ καλὸν εἶναι ἐστερημένη; Ἐν τῷ γὰρ ἀπολειφθῆναι τοῦ καλοῦ ἐλλείπει καὶ τῇ οὐσίᾳ. Διὸ καὶ
τὸ εἶναι ποθεινόν ἐστιν, ὅτι ταὐτὸν τῷ καλῷ, καὶ τὸ καλὸν ἐράσμιον, ὅτι τὸ εἶναι.
58 Enn. VI 7 (38) 33.21–22: Ἀνείδεον ἄρα τὸ πρώτως καὶ πρῶτον καὶ ἡ καλλονὴ ἐκεῖνο ἡ τοῦ
ἀγαθοῦ φύσις.
59 These Platonic allusions are carefully noted and referenced by Armstrong in ad loc.
comments.
Starting with “persuasion”, he notes that the outflow of the Good prompts
the soul to “dance wildly” and to become “all stung with longing (οἴστρων
πίμπλαται)”, before adding that the soul who has been so stung “rises to some-
thing greater which appears to be ‘in her memory’”.60 Lastly, so as to boost the
argument, he brought in an analogy with an experience likely to be familiar to
his hearers:
if it [the soul] remains in Intellect it sees fair and noble things, but has not quite grasped
what it is seeking. It is as if it was in the presence of a face which is certainly beautiful,
but cannot catch the eye because it has no grace playing upon its beauty. So here below
also beauty is what illuminates good proportions rather than the good proportions them-
selves, and this is what is lovable. For why is there more light of beauty on a living face,
but only a trace of it on a dead one, even if its flesh and its proportions are not yet wasted
away? (. . .) the living is more desirable; and this is because it has more the form of the
good; and this means that it is somehow coloured by the light of the Good, and being so
coloured wakes and rises up and lifts up that which belongs to it, and as far as it can
makes it good and wakes it.61 (22.21–36)
The claim made in these lines is largely theory-driven. Since it is a keystone of

the Enneads that the One is the productive power of all things (δύναμις πάντων),
consistency requires that it be presented, as it is here, as both giver of beauty
and ultimate object of desire/love. But Plotinus was too good a philosopher not
to spell out the theory behind the claim. The argument in tractate VI 7 (38) relies
on a central point of his philosophy, namely that the One, in its overflowing su-
perabundance, generates a product that reflects its radiance and. The product, in
turn, passes a less intense degree of radiance to its own product, Soul. Human
souls, although handicapped by their embodiment, have the redeeming capacity,
through their attraction to beauty and their capacity for recollection, to reach
out to the ultimate source of beauty, which is the One. This is the reason why in
the above-quoted lines Plotinus identifies the πρῶτον καλόν with the One by
60 Enn. VI 7 (38) 22.17: πρὸς ἄλλο οἷον τῇ μνήμῃ μεῖζον κουφίζεται. The use of μνήμη here
strongly suggests that Plotinus has in mind Plato’s description of recollection in the Phaedrus
rather than his own conception.
61 Enn. VI 7 (38) 22.21–36: Ἐὰν δὲ μένῃ ἐν νῷ, καλὰ μὲν καὶ σεμνὰ θεᾶται, οὔπω μὴν ὃ ζητεῖ
πάντη ἔχει. Οἷον γὰρ προσώπῳ πελάζει καλῷ μέν, οὔπω δὲ ὄψιν κινεῖν δυναμένῳ, ᾧ μὴ
ἐμπρέπει χάρις ἐπιθέουσα τῷ κάλλει. Διὸ καὶ ἐνταῦθα φατέον μᾶλλον τὸ κάλλος τὸ ἐπὶ τῇ
συμμετρίᾳ ἐπιλαμπόμενον ἢ τὴν συμμετρίαν εἶναι καὶ τοῦτο εἶναι τὸ ἐράσμιον. Διὰ τί γὰρ ἐπὶ
μὲν ζῶντος προσώπου μᾶλλον τὸ φέγγος τοῦ καλοῦ, ἴχνος δ᾽ ἐπὶ τεθνηκότος καὶ μήπω τοῦ
προσώπου ταῖς σαρξὶ καὶ ταῖς συμμετρίαις μεμαρασμένου; . . . ῍Η ὅ ὅτι τοδὶ ἐφετὸν μᾶλλον·
τοῦτο δ᾽ ὅτι ψυχὴν ἔχει· τοῦτο δ᾽ ὅτι ἀγαθοειδέστερον· τοῦτο δ᾽ ὅτι ἀγαθοῦ ἀμῃγέπῃ φωτὶ
κέχρωσται καὶ χρωσθεῖσα ἐγήγερται καὶ ἀνακεκούφισται καὶ ἀνακουφίζει ὃ ἔχει, καὶ ὡς οἷόν τε
αὐτῷ ἀγαθοποιεῖ αὐτὸ καὶ ἐγείρει.
describing it as the power that “generates beauty and makes it more beautiful by
the excess of beauty which comes from it, so that it is the principle (ἀρχή) of
beauty and the term (πέρας) of beauty.”62
The claim, which has the ring of a definitive pronouncement, is consonant
with the description in tractate V 5 (32) (That the Intelligibles are not Outside the
Intellect. and on the Good) of the ontological dependence of Intellect upon the
One. It is a necessity of our nature, Plotinus there argues, that we should have
an innate (σύμφυτον) longing for the One, upon which our very existence ulti-
mately depends. The longing is present whether we are conscious of it or not,
whether we are awake or asleep. By contrast, the love that beauty arouses in
our soul is supervenient upon a prior conscious encounter with it: “the passion-
ate love of beauty, when it comes, causes pain, because one must have seen it
to desire it”.63 Further to emphasize the superiority of the One over Intellect in
truth and power64, Plotinus points out that while human beings often satisfy
themselves with the appearance of beauty, they do not want to have the Good
in seeming only. Lastly, so as to settle the point, he explains that the One can-
not be an object of ἀνάμνησις since it is not “a this something” in the sense of
having a definable essence.65 Being a form-less and boundless nature (ἄπλετον
φύσιν), the One is “beyond being” (ἐπέκεινα ὄντος) and cannot, as such, be
“encompassed” (περιλαμβάνειν) or “named” (ὀνομάζειν) in the strict sense of
the word, by embodied human souls, although it is ever present to them.66
Only of Intellect and the Forms can there be ἀνάμνησις.
We infer, a contrario, that the Plotinian soul engaged in ἀνάμνησις grasps a
specific “this something”, which in an ideal case is Intellect or a Form in relation
to other Forms. Such grasp, although cognitive in nature, is not propositional,
but gives the soul direct acquaintance – or re-acquaintance – with her higher self,
which is in eternal contemplation of Intellect. Ἀνάμνησις, therefore, rather than
an occurrence likely to be sudden or to take the soul unaware, is better under-
stood as a self-induced and effortful process on the part of the soul who, upon
realising the illusory nature of physical beauty, purposefully seeks to purify
62 Enn. VI 7 (38) 32.31–34.

63 Enn. V 5 (32) 12.16–17. The importance of this point has been noted by commentators in
their ad loc. comments. Thus Dufour 2006, 179: “l’amant de la beauté n’éprouve du désir
qu’après avoir perçu le beau et avoir désiré de le poursuivre. C’est un désir acquis, par opposi-
tion au désir inné ou connaturel du bien”. Thus Gerson 2013, 182: “we can only be conscious
of that which we cognize. This requires a differentiation of subject and object. The fact that we
can be conscious of beauty shows that beauty is not the primary Good or object of desire”.
64 Enn. V 5 (32) 12.38.
65 Enn. V 5 (32) 6.5–6: Ἀνείδεον δὲ ὂν οὐκ οὐσία.
66 Enn. V 5 (32) 6.15 and 12.13.
herself and to come within reach of her originating principle. Although ἀνάμνησις
may well stop short of its goal, the fact that it is sustained by the soul’s concen-
trated attention on her prior makes it unlikely to fail altogether. What the recol-
lecting soul cannot do, however, is to grasp the principle from which Intellect is
originated. If she is to be privileged with a vision of the Good, the occurrence will
be as unexpected as it is sudden (ἐξαίφνης, 7.34). All the soul can do, Plotinus
explains, is to “wait quietly till the One appears”.67
Even at its lowest and most physical level, it can now be concluded, beauty
is the stimulus most likely to set off the recollecting process as Plotinus de-
scribes it. Once the embodied human soul recognises that the physical beauties
in the world outside, ephemeral though they be, are reflections of enduring re-
alities of which she holds traces within herself, she embarks on a process that
can lead her to the Forms in Intellect. Such is the power of ἀνάμνησις that it
could even prepare her to receive the vision of the fount of all beauty, the
πρῶτον καλόν, which, after a certain amount of tergiversation, Plotinus identi-
fied with the One. As he wrote tersely in tractate VI 7 (38): “The primarily beau-
tiful, then, and the first is without form, and beauty is that, the nature of the
Good”.68
67 Enn. V 5 (32) 8.3–4: ἡσυχῇ μένειν, ἕως ἂν φανῇ.

68 Enn. VI 7 (38) 33.21–22: Ἀνείδεον ἄρα τὸ πρώτως καὶ πρῶτον καὶ ἡ καλλονὴ ἐκεῖνο ἡ τοῦ
ἀγαθοῦ φύσις. For further discussion of Plotinus’ conception of the prōton kalon, see Stern-
Gillet 2000 and Smith 2016, 103–104 and 120–121.
Claudio Moreschini
The Phaedrus as Testimony of a Theology
of the Gentiles according to the School
of Alexandria
It is long-established that Christian culture, and in particular Christian theology,
cannot be separated from the movements of thought of its time. The so-called
school of Alexandria constitutes a very interesting example of the development of
philosophical thought on the part of Christian theologians. The School of
Alexandria was already established in the second half of the second century. It
was a catechetical school, that is, a school dedicated to the instruction of pagan
converts to Christianity:1 Eusebius briefly speaks of it (Hist. Eccl. V 10.1), informing
us of the fact that it was led, in the time of the emperor Commodus (180–192 AD),
by a renowned teacher, Pantaenus. At Alexandria, the Christians had to confront
not only non-Christian culture, but also other religious communities, like those of
the Hebrews, the Gnostics, and followers of mystic cults. In his narration of the
history of the Christian Church, Eusebius tells us that Pantaenus “was distin-
guished among more brilliant philosophers of that time, insofar as he came from
the philosophical school of the so-called Stoics”. Even if it is not possible to con-
firm the report of Eusebius, because we know little of Pantaenus, and what we
know has nothing to do with Stoicism, it seems, therefore, that the school of
Alexandria was interested in Greek philosophy from the beginning. Origen, in a
letter cited by the same Eusebius (Hist. Eccl. VI 19.3), justifies himself in having
employed Greek culture to debate with the heretics, and for that he quotes the ex-
ample of Pantaenus, who had been educated in philosophy. The Christian’s use of
philosophy was, therefore, already controversial. It is not necessary to repeat the
long and complex discourse of the cultural formation of the Christians, which
took place in the same schools of the pagans, and their desire to express them-
selves, addressing the pagans with a certain language and with certain themes
that could be well-understood and well-accepted by them.2
1 See, inter alios, Mondésert 1987 and Perrone 2003.

2 For instance, “Christian apologetics introduces us, in the same way as the Jewish apologet-
ics that preceded it, to a new era in which the great Athenian theatre is no longer, it can be
said, represented on the stage, that is, substantially it is no longer theatre, but constitutes a
Claudio Moreschini, Università di Pisa
https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110683936-006
88 Claudio Moreschini
Naturally, as always occurs in the relationships between Christian thought

and Greek philosophy, Christians were selective in their adoption of philosophical
themes. The doctrine of the cosmic soul, for instance, was of fundamental impor-
tance for Middle Platonism, but the Christian writers could not find anything of in-
terest in what Plato or the contemporary Middle Platonic schools had taught about
it. From the end of the second century in cosmogony an interpretation of the
Genesis story was increasingly imposing itself. According to this interpretation, the
‘creation’ of the world was considered as a creation ex nihilo, an idea which is of
course extraneous to Platonic cosmogony. The Christian theology on the contrary
approached the Platonic doctrines where, according to the interpretations of the
Middle Platonists, they expressed a tendency toward the transcendent, which
Christians also shared.
To examine the presence of the Phaedrus in the works of Clement or of
Origen does not mean to gather allusions or uses of single words.3 In order to
do this, it is enough to do a cursory reading of the apparatus fontium of the
modern critical editions or of certain studies that focus on the presence of
pagan philosophy in the school of Alexandria.4 What interests us are not the
details5 (which often have only stylistic and rhetorical value), but the doctrines
that constitute part of the Christian thought of those authors, and to see if for
them the Phaedrus proves useful, and in what way.
1 The Transcendence of God

The description of the supercelestial place, a fundamental passage of the myth
of the Phaedrus, was the subject of exegesis by the Platonists of the imperial
part of the wider legacy of the ‘classics’.” (Moreschini 2004, 153) (all translations are ours un-
less otherwise noted).
3 Elsewhere (Moreschini 1992a and Moreschini 2020) we have tried to reconstruct the presence
of the Phaedrus in Middle Platonism. The present contribution complements them.
4 See for this method Wyrwa 1983.
5 The details may also have a certain importance, but in isolation from their context they are
not very informative. For example, in Contra Celsum 1, 57 we read that Celsus accuses the
Christians – through the words of the fictional Jew – of not distinguishing between the Son of
God and any man, who is the son of God too. In response to this accusation Origen argues that
while any man becomes the son of God thanks to the spirit of adoption, as Rom. 8.14–15
teaches, the Son of God is the source and principle of virtue – a definition that derives from
Phdr. 245c, where it is said that the soul is the ‘source and principle of movement’. Many other
such examples can be found in the works of Origen and, especially, in those of Clement.
The Phaedrus as Testimony of a Theology of the Gentiles 89
age, but with a specific intent: that of attributing to god what Plato had mythol-
ogized about Ideas and their transcendence.
1. In Middle Platonism
The Middle Platonists affirm that the Ideas are the thoughts of god, and they
attribute to him the transcendence of the world of Ideas. This is often stated
through the citation of a fundamental passage of the Phaedrus (247c):
τὸν δὲ ὑπερουράνιον τόπον οὔτε τις ὕμνησέ πω τῶν τῆδε ποιητὴς οὔτε ποτὲ ὑμνήσει
κατ’ἀξίαν. Ἔχει δὲ ὦδε – τολμητέον γὰρ οὖν τό γε ἀληθὲς εἰπεῖν, ἄλλως τε καὶ περὶ ἀληθείας
λέγοντα. Ἡ γὰρ ἀχρώματός τε καὶ ἀσχημάτιστος καὶ ἀναφὴς οὐσία ὄντως οὖσα, ψυχῆς
κυβερνήτῃ μόνῳ θεατὴ νῷ, περὶ ἣν τὸ τῆς ἀληθοῦς ἐπιστήμης γένος, τοῦτον ἔχει τὸν τόπον.
But the region above the heaven was never worthily sung by any earthly poet, nor will it
ever be. It is, however, as I shall tell; for I must dare to speak the truth, especially as truth
is my theme. For the colourless, formless, and intangible truly existing essence, with which
all true knowledge is concerned, holds this region, and is visible only to the mind, the pilot
of the soul. (tr. H.N. Fowler)
The tendency toward so-called ‘negative theology’, which is a characteristic of

the Platonic philosophy of the imperial age, resulted in the attribution to god,
considered as transcendent to material reality, of “the colourless, formless, and
intangible truly existing essence” conceivable only by the intellect, and the rest
of the passage of the Phaedrus underwent a similar change.6
The interpretation that is most accurate and consistent with the original
meaning of this Platonic passage, that is, with the attribution of transcendence
to the world of Ideas, is still affirmed by Atticus. In his polemic with Aristotle
(fr. 5 des Places = Eus., Praep. Ev. XV 7.1–7) Atticus accuses Aristotle of having
construed his absurd doctrine of the existence of a body that is not subject to pas-
sion (that is, ether) on the basis of two Platonic doctrines that are quite distinct.
One of them was that of the substance that is intelligible in its essence, devoid of
body, color, and touch (a clear allusion to the passage of the Phaedrus), the other
is that of celestial bodies, which are impassible7 and incorruptible. Atticus, there-
fore, attributes to the intelligible reality, located in the supercelestial place, and
6 Plutarch, who again proves to be the most free and independent of the Platonists before
Plotinus, must, however, be excluded from this tendency: Plutarch presents his doctrine of god
not so much according to the Phaedrus nor to Plato, but, if anything, to neo-Pythagoreanism.
7 Ἀπαθῆ is in the text: Theiler (see critical apparatus) rightly suspected that the adjective had to
be excised and reinserted after ἀχρώματος καὶ ἀναφής (‘devoid of color, and touch’), because it
contradicts the thought of Atticus. The text printed by des Places cannot be preserved.
not to god, the very same negative characteristics that the Phaedrus had listed. In
doing so, he is very different from the other Middle Platonists, and his attitude
seems to be (here as in other parts of his philosophy) unique.
The ‘negative theology’ of the Middle Platonists has been extensively studied,
and it is of interest to us here only insofar as the Phaedrus, interpreted in this
sense, may have contributed to it. God, says for instance Alcinous (Didasc. 10,
165, 4), is inexpressible and comprehensible only with the intellect: Alcinous at-
tributes the definition of the Phaedrus to god.8 That the Phaedrus is to be read in a
context that is explicitly concerned with the doctrine of god, was also made evi-
dent by a passage of Apuleius, even if Apuleius does not make reference to exactly
this definition, but to another passage (though still of the Phaedrus), to present
negative theology. In de magia (ch. 64), in fact, he says that the Platonica familia,
to whom he himself belongs, because of the desire to reach higher realms, “has
studied certain matters more sublime even than heaven itself and has stood on the
very circumference of the universe. Maximus knows that I speak the truth,9 having
attentively read about ‘the supercelestial regions’ and ‘the heaven’s back’ in the
Phaedrus.”10 Apuleius explains in the second part of his statement what he has
said in the first: the investigation, the search for more sublime doctrines than
heaven itself, means, precisely, the search for the supercelestial place, and in this
search the true Platonist stays ‘on the back of the world’, that is, where he can
8 Michelangelo Giusta thinks that this affirmation of the Didascalicus does not make sense, insofar
as it would put together two per se contradictory statements, that is, that of the ineffability of god
and that of the possibility of knowing him (Giusta 1987, 149–201 and 187–188). Moreover, he adds,
in conformity with his radical devaluation of the Didascalicus: “As I understand it, the Platonic tra-
dition is, rather, very steady in believing that god is at once ἄρρητος and ἄγνωστος. . . The associa-
tion of ἄρρητος to νῷ ληπτός should therefore be counted, together with the μικροῦ δεῖν ἄρρητος
of 10.1 (namely, of the Didascalicus itself), among the (. . .) originality of Alcinous.” Here, could not
a tentative agreement take place between the conception of the ineffable god, dating back to the
Timaeus and its famous judgment at 28c (present in almost all of the Middle Platonists), and the
interpretation in the religious sense – according to the characteristics that this work intends to illus-
trate – of the passage of the Phaedrus? Moreover, this apparent inconsistency between the ineffabil-
ity of god and the possibility of understanding him, even if only in the mind, is not only attributed
to Alcinous, but also to Justin, who (Dialogus cum Tryphone 3) first says that the divine being is
μόνῳ νῷ καταληπτόν, and then attributes ineffability to him (Dial. 4: οὔτε ῥητὸν οὔτε ἀγορευτόν).
God is unspeakable as he is, but we can have an idea of him thanks to our mind.
9 Claudius Maximus was the Roman governor of the provincia Africa; Apuleius’ trial for magic
was discussed in his presence at Sabratha. Apuleius describes Claudius Maximus as well-
learned in Plato and cultivated in every field most likely attempting at a captatio benevolentiae.
10 Etiam caelo ipso sublimiora quaedam vestigavit et in extimo mundi tergo restitit. Scit me vera
dicere Maximus, qui τὸν ὑπερουράνιον τόπον et οὐρανοῦ νῶτον legit in Phaedro diligenter (tr.
C.P. Jones 2017).
contemplate, at an ideal height, the superhuman reality. Since Apuleius speaks

of the supercelestial place in a theological context, it is justifiable to conclude that
for Apuleius too this place is not to be identified with the place of the Ideas, which
he does not name here, but rather with the place in which the transcendent god
is found.
Similar is the interpretation given by Justin, who was contemporaneous with
the Middle Platonists and who took many Platonic doctrines and their interpreta-
tion from them. In the Dialogus cum Tryphone, in the context of discussing the
nature of God and the possibility of seeing him (Dial. 4, 1), the old stranger (that
is, the Christian) affirms that the human intellect will not be able to see God, un-
less it has been anointed with the Holy Spirit. Justin, who is a future adept of
Platonism, confirms that the soul of good nature and good education will be able
to see with the mind’s eye “that very Being, having no colour, no form, no great-
ness, which is the origin of all intelligible realities” (αὐτὸ ἐκεῖνο τὸ ὂν οὐ χρῶμα
ἔχον, οὐ σχῆμα, οὐ μέγεθος, ὃ τῶν νοητῶν ἁπάντων ἐστὶν αἴτιον). This being is
beyond all substance (ἐπέκεινα πάσης οὐσίας11), unutterable and inexplicable,
but only honourable: if the beginning of the passage could give the impression
that Justin was speaking of the Idea, which must be contemplated with the pure
eye, the conclusion leads, beyond all doubt, to the god of the Platonists. Indeed,
after Justin’s statement, the old man asks: “what then is our kinship with God?”.
Close to these deformed exegeses, suggested by the desire to make use of the
words of the Phaedrus to explain the transcendence of the God of the Christians,
there exist other Christian interpretations, certainly tendentious, but equally sug-
gestive of the attempt to see positive content in the words of Plato. This is the
attitude of Athenagoras, who in the Legatio (23, 9–10) cites Phdr. 246e, and as-
serts (Leg. 23, 7) that “Plato came to understand the eternal God apprehended
by mind and reason and singled out his attributes: true being, oneness of nature,
the good which is truth flowing from him, and spoke concerning the first power:
‘Related to the King of All are all things, and for his sake they are, and of all
things fair He is the cause. And related to the Second one the second things; and
related to the Third, the third’” (cf. Epist. II 312e; tr. Schoedel).12 Athenagoras
11 It is clear that, besides the Phaedrus, the famous passage of Resp. VI 509b is also echoed
here. The prologue of the Dialogus cum Tryphone is an important example of the influence of
Middle Platonism on Christian culture of the second century (see, among others, Andresen
1952–1953, 165 sq., and for the present passage Hyldahl 1966, 193 sq., Van Winden 1971, 73 sq.,
and Joly 1973, 47 sq.).
12 It is interesting that Athenagoras is, together with Apuleius, the first who knows and
quotes the second Platonic epistle, which is presently considered to be a Neopythagorean forg-
ery of the second century.
could compete with Justin for being considered the Christian ‘philosopher’ par
excellence of the second century. Pouderon recently proposed to regard him as
the true headmaster of a Christian philosophical school in Athens, which was of
course the hometown of philosophy.13 In his use of the Phaedrus passage,
Athenagoras asserts that Plato employs the name of Zeus to indicate the creator
of the universe, not because it was proper to God, but for the sake of clarity,
since it is not possible to bring God to all men (ὅτι μὴ δυνατὸν εἰς πάντας φέρειν
τὸν θεόν). Here Athenagoras refers to a famous sentence of the Timaeus (28c).14
2. In the School of Alexandria

If Justin and Athenagoras know contemporary Middle Platonism, the philoso-
phers of the Catechetical School of Alexandria know it even better.15 Clement
cites (Strom. V 3, 16, 3–4) the above quoted passage of the Phaedrus, in the first
part of which he identifies the Idea with the essence that is without colour,
without shape, and intangible (ἔχει δὲ τὰ τῆς λέξεως ὧδε· τολμητέον γὰρ οὖν
τό γε ἀληθὲς εἰπεῖν, ἄλλως τε καὶ περὶ ἀληθείας λέγοντα. Ἡ γὰρ ἀχρώματός τε
καὶ ἀσχημάτιστος καὶ ἀναφὴς οὐσία ὄντως οὖσα). However, the Idea is, accord-
ing to the Middle Platonic interpretation, the thought of god; therefore, accord-
ing to Clement, the Platonic idea corresponds to the Logos of God.16
This passage of the Phaedrus is also interpreted by Origen with reference to
God, and not to the supercelestial substance (Contra Celsum VI 64). Origen af-
firms that, contrary to the allegation of Celsus, no Christian ever said that “God
participates in shape or colour; nor does he partake of movement”.17 Exactly
like Celsus, the Christians assert that God is absolutely indescribable. A little
later, Origen cites a statement of Celsus (“God does not even participate in
being”) with approval, thus affirming that God does not participate in anything
but is participated in by those who possess the Spirit of God.
An important passage of Contra Celsum (VI 19) contains an interweaving of in-
terpretations and opinions of Celsus and of his critic, that is, Origen, both of whom
propose an exegesis of the Phaedrus, but Origen in polemic with Celsus. Celsus
had accused certain Christians of having misunderstood what the Phaedrus says
about the supercelestial place, because they think that there exists a supercelestial
God, and they rise above the sky of which the Jews (that is, scripture) speak.
13 Cf. Pouderon 1997.

14 This reference has been missed by Schoedel 1972.
15 See Lilla 1971.
16 So also Strom. IV 24, 155, 2 (Le Boulluec 1981, 84–85).
17 Tr. Chadwick 1953.
Celsus captures with clarity the displacement, in the exegesis of the passage of the
Phaedrus, from the supercelestial place to the supercelestial god. Borret observed
that Justin, in fact, had spoken of a God who went to Abraham at the Oak of
Mamre, of a God “who remains ever in the supercelestial places (τοῦ ἐν τοῖς
ὑπερουρανίοις ἀεὶ μένοντος (Dial. 56, 1))” and of a “God, who is above the world
(τῷ ὑπὲρ κόσμου θεῷ), above whom there is no other (Dial. 60, 5)”.18 As A. Méhat19
and Ch. Markschies20 observe, this distinction already occurs in the Valentinian
Gnostic system, for which the ‘supercelestial place’ designates the pleroma, while
the heavenly place indicates the demiurge, and it is taken up by Clement (Protr. IV
56, 4), according to whom the supercelestial place is the Father and the celestial
place is the Son.
This interpretation of Celsus (which, as we said, was already that of Justin,
influenced by Platonism) could not satisfy Origen, for whom the God of the Jews is
the God of the Christians. Origen objects, therefore, that Celsus does not clearly
explain whether those Christians also think of rising above and beyond the God of
the Jews (something unacceptable), and not only above the heaven of the Jews
(something permissible). The question, Origen continues, is not whether there is
another god than the God of the Hebrews. He rather wants to defend the Christian
religion and show that the prophets of the Hebrews, whose authority was also rec-
ognized by Christians, could not have learnt anything from Plato (for which reason
the distinction of the two gods and of heaven as opposed to the supercelestial
place is erroneous). The prophets, in fact, were older than the Greek philosophers.
Least of all Christians have inferred from Plato the famous maxim of the second
epistle (312e1-2): “Related to the King of All are all things, and for his sake they
are”.21 On the contrary, it was Plato who stole from the Hebrews what he says in
the Phaedrus, and surely he has deduced it from the prophetic discourses (proba-
bly from Psalms 148.4–5, which Origen cited a little earlier). Origen must therefore
cite the passage of the Phaedrus. The text of the citation has some slight modifica-
tions, one of which is most significant: περὶ ὃν τὸ τῆς ἀληθοῦς ἐπιστήμης γένος,
instead of περὶ ἥν, scil. οὐσίαν, as in Plato’s text. This means, according to Origen,
that true science concerns the intellect, while Plato said that true science concerns
the transcendent substance. Should one consider this as an oversight or rather as
a deliberate change? Perhaps Origen, not recognizing the existence of a transcen-
dent substance, but of a transcendent God, attributes the true science to the in-
tellect that is the only ‘pilot’ of the soul, and does not believe that God can be
18 See Borret 1969, ad locum.

19 See Méhat 1975, 282–294.
20 See Markschies 2001, 98, n. 8 (= 2008, 92, n. 8).
21 Quote not recognized by Borret.
the object of science.22 Even Clement (Strom. V 3, 16, 4 sq.) had made recourse
to this Platonic passage: the supercelestial substance, he states, is μόνῳ νῷ
θεατή. Μόνῳ νῷ θεατή was a correction of Stählin, who adjusted the text of
Clement to that of Plato: the codex unicus that contains the Stromata
(Laurentianus V 3) has μόνῳ θεῷ θεατή, which must be considered a genuine
reading, as a Christian variation of the Platonic text that Clement cited, thus
coming to mean that the supercelestial place (that is, the paradise of the
Christians, as we shall see) could only be contemplated in its fullness by God.23
Therefore it was Clement himself who deliberately modified the Platonic expres-
sion, which Origen cited more correctly.
2 The Celestial Vault and the Supercelestial Place

Having transformed the definition of the transcendent substance, both Clement
and Origen make use of the supercelestial place in order to explain the Christian
doctrine of paradise and of the contemplation of God, which the blessed souls will
attain in that place. Celsus had stated that the Christians are attracted to vain
hopes about life in paradise and the communion with God (Contra Celsum III 80);
but Origen objects that in that case even the hopes of those who accept the
Pythagorean-Platonic doctrine are ‘vain’. They hope, in fact, that the soul will as-
cend “to the celestial vault” and will contemplate the visions that the blessed view-
ers have in the supercelestial place – here, Origen unites Phdr. 247a8 with 247c3
and Phd. 111a3. The supercelestial place, which indicates the region in which the
transcendent God dwells, is cited also in Contra Celsum VI 59, where Origen identi-
fies the invisible realities of God, which are the objects of thought (cf. Rom. 1.20),
with the supercelestial place. The divine Logos (i.e. Christ’s doctrine) carries those
who are detached from the world to that place, so that they can contemplate the
beauty that is there. In this same context (VI 20), which aims to describe the super-
terrestrial reality, Origen goes on to employ the words of Celsus, which contain
other references to the text of the Phaedrus: “We hope that ‘after the trouble and
strivings’ (cf. Phdr. 247b) here we shall come to the topmost heavens and according
22 According to Andresen 1955, 157 sq. the modification of which we are speaking would have
been performed only by Celsus and not by Origen. However, the context of the quote is very
clear: Origen accuses Plato of plagiarism precisely because of his doctrine in the Phaedrus,
which is why the change, which is found in that polemical context, must be due to Origen.
The significance of the change had already been seized upon by Festugière 1936, 107, n. 3.
23 I am not convinced by Le Boulluec (1981, 85), according to whom the error of L (θεῷ)
would have been caused by the closeness of the word νῷ to the word θεατή.
to the teaching of Jesus (cf. John 4.14) will receive springs of water springing up to
everlasting life”. Plato had said (247c): “and when they (the souls) have taken
their stand, the revolution carries them round and they behold the things outside
the heaven”. These words are quoted by Celsus and then by Origen, who explains
them in a different way: “As long as we praise Him, (in Paradise) we shall not be
‘carried about away from the circumference of the heaven’, but we shall always be
engaged in the contemplation of the invisible things of God”. All these brief allu-
sions serve to confirm and better explain what Origen had argued more briefly in
the De Principiis (II 11, 6), where he had asserted that the souls of the just go up to
heaven and reside there.24 It is probable, therefore, that in Contra Celsum Origen
makes use of Platonic conceptions (the souls dwelling in the vault of heaven) to
illustrate, in controversy with Celsus, what he believed and had argued in the pre-
vious De principiis.
In paradise we shall contemplate, states Clement (Strom. V 14, 138, 3), the
transcendent reality together with God. Clement cites a long passage of the
Phaedrus (250b: ὅτε σὺν εὐδαίμονι . . . δεδεσμευμένοι) in support of his claim.
He repeats Plato’s words (ἑπόμενοι μετὰ μὲν Διὸς ἡμεῖς, ἄλλοι δὲ μετ᾿ἄλλων
θεῶν) to explain what Christian paradise is. Clement does not provide any exe-
gesis of the passage. Yet Origen, who is much more hostile to Greek philosophy
than Clement, while not knowing it any less than Clement,25 presents an exege-
sis, albeit rapidly, at the end of Contra Celsum VIII 4. Here he puts together the
passage of the Phaedrus that describes the procession of the gods and of the
demons in the supracelestial place (Phdr. 246e: τὸ δὲ ἕπεται . . . κεκοσμημένη)
and the present one (Phdr. 250b: μετὰ μὲν . . . ἄλλου θεῶν). Origen first observes
that the words of Plato were suggested by the Prince of this world, who is trans-
formed into the angel of light, to give them only the appearance of truth which
the words of Plato have. Correctly interpreting the second part of the citation,
he notes that Plato refers the words of that passage to himself and to those who
are philosophers like him. However, to confirm that he does not see any accept-
able doctrine in the words of Plato, he substitutes the words μετ᾿ ἄλλων
δαιμόνων (“with other demons”, evidently understood in the Christian sense)
for Plato’s words μετ᾿ ἄλλου θεῶν (Clement had written μετ᾿ ἄλλων θεῶν, which
is more faithful to the Platonic text and not polemical).26 After all, the passage
24 In fact, in my view, it is not so much the passage of De principiis (cf. the note of Crouzel &
Simonetti 1978), but the numerous allusions of Contra Celsum that refer to Plato.
25 Cf. Crouzel 1985, 207 sq.
26 Not interpreting the Platonic passage, but citing it literally, Clement remains obscure, be-
cause he does not explain who these ‘gods’ are; there is a similar uncertainty in the citation of
this passage in Strom. VII 2, 5, 6.
from the pagan θεός to the Christian δαίμων is well known and explicitly af-
firmed by Clement as well, when, citing Phdr. 240a10, he identifies the demon
of which Plato speaks with the Christian demon.27
In Contra Celsum V 4 Origen agrees with the demonological doctrine of
Celsus – which is quite normal, given the effective similarity between Middle
Platonic and Christian demonology. As confirmation he cites the scriptural pas-
sage of Heb. 1.14, according to which the angels are “spirits sent to serve, for the
sake of those who are to inherit salvation” (NAB). Following, therefore, the doc-
trine of Symp. 202e, on which the demonology of the Middle Platonists is based,
according to which demons bring the prayers of men to the gods, Origen identi-
fies the demons mentioned by Plato with Christian angels and affirms that they
bring the prayers of men to God and “ascend to the purest celestial regions of the
world, or even to the supercelestial worlds, which are even purer”. Origen there-
fore distinguishes the ‘supercelestial place’ of Phaedrus 247a–c, where the
blessed souls are, from the material sky, which he identifies with ‘the celestial
vault’. Also in Contra Celsum VII 44, Origen resumes the distinction of the
Phaedrus 247a–c28 and affirms that even the simplest among the Christians prays
by concentrating on himself, and in his concentration is not stopped at the vault
of the heavens, but reaches the supercelestial place, where, evidently, God is.
3 God is Not Envious

Very rich in other references to the Phaedrus is Contra Celsum, in which Origen is
pushed by the necessity of challenging Middle Platonic philosophy point by point.
One very famous Platonic sentence, also in non-philosophical contexts, was that
of Phdr. 247a: φθόνος γὰρ ἔξω θείου χωροῦ ἵσταται (“jealousy is excluded from
the celestial band”). Celsus, in tune with his social and political interests, which
were (aside from being philosophical) anti-Christian, believes that this dogma
must invite Christians not to desert civil feasts, insofar as god does not have a
preference for anyone (Contr. Cels. VIII 21). This interpretation of the Platonic sen-
tence by Celsus is very interesting for its political meaning. Not even Plutarch
27 Strom. V 14, 93, 1: ἔστι μὲν δὴ καὶ ἄλλα κακά, ἀλλά τις δαίμων ἔμιξε τοῖς πλείστοις ἐν τῷ
παραυτίκα ἡδονήν.
28 If in Contra Celsum V 2, Origen affirms, without giving other explanations, that “the wise
among men rise, thanks to their virtue, to the vault of heaven”, I think that this affirmation
has above all a value of imagery, in the sense that the wise are elevated above and beyond
human and concrete reality.
employs it in a philosophical context, but in a ritual and religious context: “when

we sacrifice to a god, we do not offer prayers to all the other gods, but to those
especially who share the same temple or altar: having mixed three bowls of wine,
we offer a libation out of the first to some gods, out of the second to others, and
out of the last to still others, for jealousy is excluded from the celestial band”.29
Clement applies this phrase to a famous sentence of the apostle Paul (Gal. 3.28): if
it is true that, as the apostle says, in Christ there is no free person, slave, Greek, or
Jew, this occurs because envy, and thus jealousy and anxiety, are far from the di-
vine chorus (Strom. V 30, 5). Elsewhere he attaches to the phrase an entirely differ-
ent function: he who is not converted to the true religion is blind and deaf and is
then estranged from the divine chorus, like a layman is estranged from mysteries
(V 4, 19, 2). We will speak of the mysteries according to Clement soon. Finally,
Origen refutes (Contra Cels. IV 14) the opinion of Celsus, who asserts, according to
that sentence of Plato, that god is good and fine and happy and in the most fine
and best place (ἀγαθός ἐστι καὶ καλὸς καὶ εὐδαίμων καὶ ἐν τῷ καλλίστῳ καὶ
ἀρίστῳ). Celsus had said this in polemic with the Christian doctrine of the descent
of God into earth and of His incarnation, which is unacceptable to the Platonists,
insofar as it implies a change in the nature of god himself.30
4 The Fall and the Wings of the Soul

Well-known was the mythical doctrine of the Phaedrus (cf. 246d), according to
which the soul that did not have the possibility of contemplating the true reality
in the supercelestial regions loses its wings and falls to the ground, but by prac-
ticing philosophy and philosophical love could again become winged and re-
turn to the heavens. Plutarch discusses it more than once. The first time, in the
sixth of the Platonicae quaestiones (1004C–D), he asks in what sense “the pin-
ion’s nature, by which what is heavy is raised on high, is among things of the
body most closely akin to the divine”.31 He means by ‘wing of the soul’ the rea-
soning and intellectual faculty (δύναμις), which participates more than others in
the nature of god; it is not without reason that this faculty was called ‘wing’, he
says, insofar as it lifts the soul of humble and mortal things. In this way, Plutarch
transfers the Platonic image onto the plane of intellectual knowledge, and he adds
29 Cf. Plut., Quaest. Conviv. 679E (tr. H.B. Hoffleit).

30 Cf. on this passage Andresen 1955, 299.
31 Tr. Cherniss.
that it is not useful to belabor oneself on the problem of whether or not the wing
of the soul is relevant to love – precisely the opposite of what Plato stated.
Similar to this (at least with respect to intellectual knowledge) is the interpre-
tation that Plutarch gives in Quaestiones Convivales (718F), where he affirms, in
line with the Phaedrus (249c), that only the mind of the philosopher is winged.
This is true because, insofar as it is possible, the soul is joined, thanks to memory,
to those realities in virtue of which God is always God. Plutarch reads πρὸς αἷσπερ
instead of πρὸς οἷσπερ in Plato’s text, as he explicitly refers the affirmation of
Plato to the ideas, according to the typically scholastic habit of clarifying and sys-
tematizing what in Plato had only been briefly mentioned. Thus in this passage,
Plutarch highlights the intimate essence of geometry, which “lays hold of the eter-
nal and immaterial images (εἰκόνες), thanks to which God is always God”.32
This image, for which the ‘wings’ are what allow the soul to rise from the
sensible to the supersensible, is employed also by the Gnostics. In fact, as al-
ready reconstructed in detail by A. Orbe,33 the Gnostics made recourse precisely
to this passage to explain not only the fall of Sophia as ‘loss of wings’, but also
her return to the Pleroma. Plotinus reports that it is in this way that they under-
stand the fall of the Soul of the world;34 Basilides, in the report of Hippolytus,35
believes that the second filiality (υἱότης), that is, the spiritual or savior Christ,
is raised to the supreme God by the third filiality, that is, the Holy Spirit, as by
wings; finally, Tatian, in a passage which, according to A. Orbe, would clash
with the Gnostics, reports that the fall of the soul/Sophia would be caused by
the loss of the perfect wings/Spirit.36
Clement makes use of the image of the souls that lose their wings many times:
he refers to it as an opinion of the ‘barbarians’, and more specifically of Plato
(Strom. I 15, 67, 4), which, however, he characterizes in a Christian way (the souls
descend from the supercelestial place in this ‘hell’ on earth). Elsewhere he attrib-
utes a moral meaning to the image (Strom. I 1, 4, 3), and, more precisely, he insists
on the fact that the soul can take on wings or can lose them when it is risen up to
32 Here is the text: πρὸς αἷσπερ ὢν ὁ θεὸς ἀεὶ θεός ἐστιν (tr. E.L. Minar, Jr., slightly modified).
33 See Orbe 1954.
34 Plot., Enn. II 9 (33) 4: εἰ δὲ οἷον πτερορρυήσασαν τὴν ψυχὴν φήσουσι πεποιηκέναι, οὐχ ἡ
τοῦ παντὸς τοῦτο πάσχει.
35 Ps.-Hipp., Ref. VII 22, 10: ἐπτέρωσεν οὖν αὑτὴν ἡ υἱότης ἡ παχυμερεστέρα τοιούτῳ τινὶ
πτερῷ, ὁποίῳ διδάσκαλος ὢν Ἀριστοτέλους Πλάτων ἐν Φαίδωνι τὴν ψυχὴν πτεροῖ, καὶ καλεῖ
τὸ τοιοῦτο Βασιλείδης οὐ πτερὸν ἀλλὰ Πνεῦμα ἅγιον, ὃ εὐεργετεῖ ἡ υἱότης ἐνδυσαμένη καὶ
εὐεργετεῖται (GCS 26, 199.6–10).
36 Tat., Orat. ad Gr. 20, 2: πτέρωσις γὰρ ἡ τῆς ψυχῆς πνεῦμα τὸ τέλειον, ὅπερ ἀπορρίψασα διὰ
τὴν ἁμαρτίαν ἔπτηξεν ὥσπερ νεοσσὸς καὶ χαμαιπετὴς ἐγένετο, μεταβᾶσα δὲ τῆς οὐρανίου
συνουσίας τῶν ἐλαττόνων μετουσίαν ἐπεπόθησεν.
the contemplation of God, thanks to the spirit, or falls into the prison of the body
and in sin (V 13, 83, 1; VII 7, 40, 1 and 46, 7).
Origen adopts the Platonic image, but he insists on its negative meaning
(the loss of the wings), and – what is especially interesting – he uses it to enun-
ciate his theology of the fall to earth of the pre-existing souls.37 This is evident
in Contra Celsum VI 43, where Origen explains that “one would learn not a little
about evil, of the character of its origin and beginning, and how that evil came
to exist because of some who lost their wings and followed the example of the
first being who lost his wings”. In IV 40, Origen takes the loss of the wings to
refer to the fall of souls following their satiety of seeing God. The Christian doc-
trine of the fall of souls is far superior to that of Plato, who said that “the soul
looses its wings and is carried hither ‘until it finds some firm-resting place’”
(τῆς ψυχῆς πτερορρυούσης καὶ δεῦρο φερομένης ἕως ἂν στερεοῦ τινος
λάβηται). The solid thing to which the soul must attach itself, as Plato says,
are, according to Origen, the ‘leather garments’ (Gen. 3.21).
5 De principiis
A passage of Princ. III 3, 3 is especially interesting. There are in the world,
according to Origen, certain forces (energiae), which are spiritual powers;38
among these are certain spirits that produce the wisdom of this world. For ex-
ample, a certain energia ac virtus inspires poetry, another geometry, and this
happens for all the arts and disciplines. Lastly, many Greek writers have held
the opinion that the art of poetry cannot exist without madness. Hence it is sev-
eral times related in their histories that those whom they call poets were sud-
denly filled with a spirit of madness.39 Similarly, the pagan prophets (divini) give
their responses by means of verses modulated with art, due to the effect of the
demons ruling over them. Those persons, too, whom the Greeks term Magi or
Malevolent (malefici), frequently, by invoking demons over boys of tender years,40
have made them repeat poetical compositions which were the admiration and
37 In certain passages, however, the image is employed without any doctrinal meaning (for
example in I 20, where it illustrates the myth of metensomatosis).
38 Sunt praeterea etiam aliae praeter hos principes speciales quaedam mundi huius energiae,
id est virtutes aliquae spiritales, certa quaeque inoperantes . . . ex quibus sunt isti spiritus, qui
inoperantur sapientiam huius mundi.
39 Opinati sunt artem poeticam sine insania non posse constare, unde et in historiis eorum re-
fertur aliquotiens eos, quos vates appellant, subito insaniae cuiusdam spiritu esse suppletos.
40 A practice of prophesizing the future testified also by Apuleius, Mag. 42.
amazement of all. The work of these soothsayers is similar – but opposed –

to that of the holy and immaculate souls, which, once they are purified from all
defilement, have dedicated themselves to God and have been preserved uncon-
nected with any infection with demons, participate in the divine nature and obtain
the grace of prophecy and other gifts of divination of the future.
Therefore, Origen, in accordance with Christian tradition, attributes the
prophecy and divination of the future that was carried out by the prophets to
the influence of heavenly powers or direct contact with God, while he attributes
the prophecy of the pagan soothsayers to the inoperatio daemonum. But even
the arts and sciences are an activity produced by the inoperatio of certain
virtues, which are not defined as demonic by Origen; and many Greeks thought
that poetic art could not exist without insanity.41 Origen references the famous
passage of Phdr. 244a, in which Plato distinguishes between the various types
of mania, among which he also places poetic madness. This theme was illus-
trated by the comment of Hermias to the Phaedrus and was picked up in the
fifteenth century by Marsilio Ficino.
6 Methodius of Olympus
The Symposion or On Virginity is a dialogue composed by Methodius, the bishop
of Olympus in Lycia around the turn of the third to the fourth century. It de-
scribes a ‘symposium’ in which many virgins were present and delivered a
speech in honour of virginity. Among them was Thecla, a virgin who, according
to the Acta Pauli et Theclae, had been baptized by St. Paul and who was partic-
ularly revered in Asia Minor.
Thecla’s speech is the richest in learned and philosophical references, over
and beyond that of Christian doctrine. Such references manifest the complexity of
the doctrine that she is explaining. The strong ascetical application is filtered
through a careful stylistic re-elaboration: “Those who have lost their wings – she
asserts – and have fallen into pleasures never put an end to their pains and to
their anguish, before having first satisfied – with the desire of the passions – all of
the necessities of their debauchery and dissolution. They are excluded from the
Christian mysteries and are foreign to their initiation [into the mysteries]” (Symp.
8, 12). This language is that of the pagan mysteries, which is not unknown either
41 Crouzel & Simonetti (1980, 76–77) observe that there was a certain ‘slip’ in the thought of
Origen, in which the mention of the poetic art led him to consider the aspects of demonic action,
like spells and magic.
to Clement of Alexandria or to Origen, who both use it to indicate the mystery of

the true religion. In this passage the image of ‘loosing the wings’ or, more gener-
ally, the image of ‘the wings of the soul’, finds its origin in the Phaedrus (246c,
246d–e). On the other hand, the souls that keep and preserve their wings, which
souls are light in weight and stretch out in order to see the place that is superior to
the world wherein we live this life, see from afar that which no human being has
ever contemplated, namely the pastures of immortality. The supercelestial regions
in which they arrived are represented as a pasture, as in the Phaedrus (248b:
ἀληθείας πεδίον), wherein the perfect soul can behold the eternal and transcen-
dent realities, and contemplate the awe-inspiring beauty: justice in itself, temper-
ance in itself, agape or charity in itself (Phdr. 247d) and truth and prudence and all
the other splendid flowers and fruits of wisdom, about which things we on this
earth have only some shadows of phantasms, in our dreams (Symp. 8, 3). Here the
language used by Methodius echoes that of Plato, and the “wings of the soul” are
interpreted according to Origen’s doctrine of the fall of the souls and their return
to heaven.
7 Eusebius of Caesarea
Eusebius of Caesarea is also well-known as an Origenist, especially in terms of
theology. Of course, we are not mentioning him here because in his scholarly
works he collects abundant citations of pagan philosophers, but only for a work
that is not doxographical, but polemical, namely the Contra Hieroclem. Hierocles
had been one of the most insistent advocates of the anti-Christian persecution of
Diocletian, and wrote a work that reverberated that of Celsus’ Ἀληθὴς Λόγος: the
Φιλαλήθης (A Friend of Truth). Eusebius responds to him, probably at the end of
the persecution, in 313 AD. This is a work that is only superficially Christian, be-
cause, targeting a pagan public to challenge a pagan intellectual, Eusebius most
likely did not want to present those elements of the Christian faith that educated
pagans would have found hard to accept, but gave a philosophical aspect to his
treatise, which could have been accepted, at least in part, even by those who did
not share his faith. Similar to this was, probably, the teaching of Origen in his
school at Caesarea. Eusebius completed his cultural formation in Caesarea, as
disciple of Pamphilus, a fervent Origenian. The school of Caesarea seems to have
been very open to the reception of educated pagans of classical training. Origen
introduced them to Christianity after having studied the different Greek philo-
sophical doctrines, with the exclusion of Epicureanism.
Eusebius includes in his work a defense of free will and a critique of fatalism,
which was asserted by Apollonius of Tiana in the Life of Apollonius of Tyana writ-
ten by Philostratus. Hierocles had presented Apollonius as a pagan sage and thau-
maturge who could be opposed to Christ. Apollonius had defended the traditional
doctrine of destiny, of the Fates, and of Necessity, and had argued that the
strength of destiny is insuperable for humans. Eusebius objected to these consider-
ations of Apollonius and Philostratus, approved by Hierocles, arguing that if things
were so, the free will of man would completely disappear (Contra Hieroclem 45).
Eusebius recalls Platonic philosophy, from which he cites two famous phrases:
one is from the Republic (617e: αἰτία ἑλομένου, θεὸς ἀναίτιος)42 and the second is
what describes the nature of the soul, which is moved by itself as a consequence
of its immortality (Phdr. 245c: ψυχὴ πᾶσα ἀθάνατος· τὸ γὰρ ἀεικίνητον ἀθάνατον,
τὸ δ᾿ἄλλο κινοῦν καὶ ὑπ᾿ἄλλου κινούμενον παῦλαν ἔξον κινήσεως παῦλαν ἔχει
ζωῆς).43 If the soul is free in its movements, how can it submit to destiny?
8 Conclusion
The Middle Platonists’ exegesis of the Phaedrus is of a particular kind. They are
usually concerned with simple allusions and quotations of a single word or sen-
tence and then focus on doctrines that are instrumental in constructing their own
version of Platonic philosophy. When the Middle Platonists took up the doctrines
of the Phaedrus, they certainly did not attach the same importance to all its parts:
wo do not know any Middle Platonist who wrote a running commentary on the
dialogue. The Middle Platonists were selective in their reading of Plato; while they
dedicated great attention to some doctrines, others were only mechanically and
dryly explained, with hardly any personal engagement with the text. The same
can be said for the Christian School of Alexandria: Clement and Origen choose
some meaningful sentences or words from the Phaedrus, which they use to confirm
important tenets of their own theology. After Clement and Origen, at the end of the
third (Methodius) and the beginning of the fourth century (Eusebius), the use of
the Phaedrus became somehow rhapsodic and no longer touched the most impor-
tant theological questions: neither Methodius nor Eusebius were up to that task.
42 “The blame is his who chooses: God is blameless” (tr. P. Shorey).

43 “Every soul is immortal. For that which is evermoving is immortal; but that which moves
something else or is moved by something else, when it ceases to move, ceases to live.”
George Karamanolis
The Reception of Plato’s Phaedrus in Early
Christianity
1 Introduction
Plato had a tremendous impact on the intellectuals, orators, philosophers, poets,
and scientists of late antiquity. Christians were not an exception in this regard.
Quite the opposite, early Christian thinkers were extremely well read in Plato and
did not hesitate to acknowledge it.1 Justin Martyr, for instance, claims that he was
content with Plato’s philosophy before his conversion to Christianity (2 Apol. 12, 1)
and makes frequent use of Plato’s work in order to substantiate his own
views.2 Plato had a particularly strong impact on Clement of Alexandria, on
Origen, Eusebius, and the Cappadocians, to mention some of the most promi-
nent early Christian thinkers. Clement, for instance, makes constant reference
to Plato’s dialogues and many more allusions to them have been found.3
G. Butterworth is justified in saying that Clement “uses the language of Plato
as unconsciously as he uses that of the Scriptures”.4 This of course is hardly
accidental; it rather reflects Clement’s view that pagan philosophy paved the
way for Christian truth5 and that Plato is the most prominent representative of
the pagan philosophical tradition. In his work, Clement refers frequently to the
Timaeus, the Phaedo, the Theaetetus, the Republic and the Laws.6 Quite notice-
ably, he speaks about the descent of the Christian God into the underworld, his
1 The standard work on the Platonism of early Christian thinkers (which also includes the
later church Fathers) is that of Ivánka 1964. Most useful are the recent contributions of
Bradshaw 2014 and Ramelli 2017.
2 E.g. in Dialogue with Trypho 5, 4, where he refers to Timaeus 41b. Some of Justin’s references
and allusions to Plato are discussed by Rankin 2006, 97–103.
3 Stählin in his edition of the Stromateis lists 618 borrowings from Plato.
4 Butterworth 1916, 205.
5 Strom. I 5, 28, 1; I 6, 37, 1; VI 5, 41, 5–44, 1; VI 6, 44, 4; VI 8, 68, 1 and the discussion in
Karamanolis 2013, 40–41.
6 See Rankin 2006, 127–130, Karamanolis 2013, 36–44, Gibbons 2017, 65–63.
Note: The paper has been benefited much from the care of the editors and from the stylistic
improvements suggested by my assistant, Anthony Kroytor.
George Karamanolis, Universität Wien
https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110683936-007
104 George Karamanolis
resurrection, and about the separation of soul and body after death by referring
the reader to the allegory of the cave and the myth of Er in the Republic (Strom. V
14, 105, 2–106, 2).
Origen also presents himself as an inspired reader of Plato. He calls Plato
“a more effective teacher of the theological truth” (C. Cels. VII 42, 1) and finds
the famous passage of Timaeus 28c about the God’s creation of the world
“sublime and impressive” (C. Cels. VII 42); yet, he adds, in Scripture the same
point is made in a way kinder for mankind (φιλανθρωπότερον), that is, more
clearly. It is this same view that we find in Justin Martyr and in Clement,
namely that Hellenic philosophy is a partial revelation and a preparation for
the truth of Christianity, which brings Origen to assimilate Plato’s myths to
Biblical narratives, such as the Poros myth of the Symposium to the story of
Eden (C. Cels. IV 37–39), in order to compare the Christian paradise to the as-
cent of the soul that Plato describes in the Phaedrus (247a–c, 250b–c; C. Cels.
III 80) and, like Clement, to relate Jesus’ resurrection to the revival of Er in
Republic X (C. Cels. II 16).7 Origen’s use of Plato’s Symposium in his Commentary
on the Song of Songs is more systematic. Origen follows the Symposium in regard-
ing love as motivating the soul to transcend the body and ascend to God.8 Origen
follows an exegetical practice here (and also generally) of focusing on the
spirit of a text, regardless of whether it originates from Plato or the Scriptures.
Furthermore, he accuses the pagan Platonist Celsus of systematically misun-
derstanding Plato as a result of his general strategy to stick to the letter of the
texts, neglecting the intention of the author (C. Cels. VII 18, VII 43).9 Origen,
then, is not only well read in Plato, but he also points to an exegetical method
of appreciating Plato that stands in tension with, and is allegedly more chari-
table than, that of some pagan Platonists.10
Origen’s high esteem of Plato, evident throughout his work, also shapes
the attitude of his follower, Eusebius of Caesarea.11 Eusebius builds on the view
explicit in Origen’s work12 that Plato agrees with the philosophy of the Hebrews
in his most important doctrines (Praep. Ev. XI, proem. 2, XI 8, 1). Eusebius goes
7 See Ramelli 2017, 1–20. Origen also refers to the myth at the end of the Phaedo (110d–e) in
C. Cels. VII 31; cf. C. Cels. IV 23, to Crito 49b–e (C. Cels. VII 58).
8 Commentary on the Song of Songs Proemium 2, 1–3. See Torjesen 1986, 54–57, 93–96 and the
recent edition by Fürst & Strutwolf 2016, 15.
9 Origen accuses Celsus of misunderstanding the myth of Poros in the Symposium and also by
implication the doctrine that it conceals (C. Cels. IV 39, 47–51). Cf. also C. Cels. VI 8–9.
10 On Origen’s relation to Platonism see further Ramelli 2009.
11 See Karamanolis 2014.
12 e.g. C. Cels. IV 39; VI 15–16.
on to specify what these doctrines are (Praep. Ev. XI 9–38), and he singles out
one in particular, that of the existence of intelligible entities, which, Eusebius
claims, the admirable Plato (ὁ θαυμάσιος Πλάτων) espoused, “either as a result
of hearing himself these doctrines. . . or because he himself discovered the nature
of these things” (XI 8, 1).13 Eusebius concludes that Plato is superior to all pagan
philosophers (XI 1, 3) and can be read by Christians to their benefit (XII 5, XII 31,
XIV 10, 7), a conclusion we have already seen in Origen (C. Cels. VI 2). Multiple
such statements can be found. The Cappadocians were well acquainted with
Plato’s dialogues as well, and they often refer or allude to them, despite their
occasional, and often rhetorical, criticisms of Plato.14 Particularly striking is
Gregory of Nyssa’s work in dialogue form On the Soul and Resurrection, which is
modelled on Plato’s Phaedo.15
What is quite impressive about the reception of Plato in early Christianity is
how Plato is singled out, in one or the other way, from among all other pagan
philosophers, such as Aristotle, the Epicureans, and the Stoics, and is often ex-
plicitly praised. Christians would sometimes criticize Plato, but this criticism
was much milder than that launched against all other ancient philosophers.
The main reason for this attitude is the belief that I mentioned above, that Plato
was one of those eminent Greek thinkers who somehow had access to truth, ei-
ther through Scripture or directly, and thus paved the way for the advent of the
Christian doctrine.16 Clement, for instance, calls Plato the “friend of truth”
(φιλαλήθη; Strom. V 10, 65, 3) and often wonders “From where, Plato, do you
hint at this truth?”17 Both Clement and Origen quite systematically see in
Plato’s work (but also in that of other Greek authors such as Pythagoras or the
tragic poets) views that occur in Scripture and emphasize their agreement with
each other. The only difference that they point out is that Plato speaks enigmat-
ically, that is in riddles, while Scripture makes truth plain, explicit, rendering
in a more humane way.18 The belief that Plato hints at truth in his writings, al-
beit through riddles, accounts for the close engagement of early Christians with
13 On this passage see Frede 1999, 223–250 and Karamanolis 2014, 177.
14 See Bradshaw 2014, 193–210.
15 On this see Apostolopoulos 1986 and also below, section 3, p. 110–118.
16 On the argument concerning the share of pagans in logos see Boys-Stones 2001, 176–202
and Karamanolis 2013, 38–53.
17 πόθεν, ὦ Πλάτων, ἀλήθειαν αἰνίττη; (Protr. VI 69, 4–70, 1, citing Plato, Leg. IV 715e–716a;
cf. Strom. I 25, 165, 3; I 28, 180, 5; II 22, 133, 2; V 10, 65, 1. See the relevant discussion in Ward
2017. On Clement’s debt to Plato more generally, see Butterworth 1916, Wyrwa 1983, and
Gibbons 2017, 54–87.
18 For reference to Clement see n. 17, cf. also Strom. I 25, 165, 3–4, and Origen, C. Cels. VII 42.
Plato, including passages in Plato which are allegedly enigmatic, such as the
Platonic myths and metaphors. Such passages are fertile territory for the appli-
cation of Christian exegesis. Early Christians sometimes interpret these pas-
sages from a Christian point of view; at other times, however, they engage with
them and alter them in interesting ways; they either construe Plato’s passages
as fitting Christian doctrine or they make use of the imagery of such passages
while arguing against the point that Plato seeks to make. This variety and inten-
sity of engagement with Plato’s work by the early Christians distinguishes their
approach to Plato from that to any other pagan philosopher.19 Plato appears to
be the starting point for many of the philosophical considerations of early
Christian thinkers, which often led to a revision of a Platonic concept and to
the justification of the equivalent Christian view.
I mentioned above the Christian engagement with the myth of Poros in the
Symposium, with the myth of Er in the Republic, with the psychology of the
Phaedo and with the cosmogonic account of the Timaeus. We find a similarly
strong engagement with Plato’s Phaedrus, a dialogue that had a strong impact
in late antiquity, partly because of its considerable literary merit.20 We actually
find similar patterns in the reception of the Phaedrus by contemporary pagan
and Christian intellectuals alike, as we will see below.
The Christian engagement with the Phaedrus is seen very early on in the
writings of Clement of Alexandria. G. Butterworth has found a number of allu-
sions and references to the Phaedrus that Clement integrated in his work.21 Two
aspects of the Phaedrus in particular exerted a strong influence on early
Christian thought: the Socratic critique of writing and the myth of the chariot-
eer, which is invoked to illustrate the special, partite, nature of the human
soul. I will comment on both these aspects below. My aim, however, is not to
exhaustively collect all relevant references; rather, I seek to focus on some
cases of the Christian reception of the Phaedrus which reveal the various ways
in which Christians engaged with Plato’s work more generally.
19 Even when early Christians are quite critical of Plato, as is the case with Tertullian, for in-
stance, who in his De anima criticizes Plato’s theory of the soul and the doctrine of immortality, it
is clear that Plato is their starting point in the discussion. See Tertullian, De anima 4–6, 14, 28–9,
where he engages with the Phaedo. See Karamanolis 2013, 194–197.
20 See Trapp 1990.
21 Butterworth 1916, 205.
2 Plato’s account of writing in the Phaedrus and

its Christian reception
Clement of Alexandria’s Stromateis is a voluminous and idiosyncratic work.
Clement presents us with a plan in the beginning of his work (in I 1, 15, 2).
According to this plan, Clement distinguishes between a preparatory and cleans-
ing part of the Stromateis on the one hand and a part described as a progression
towards knowledge on the other, a progression whose summit is called epoptikē
theōria.22 It is true, however, that Clement does not explicitly state his overall
aim in the Stromateis, and this has led scholars to think of it as “a lengthy, ram-
bling series of obscurely arranged ruminations on Christianity as the true gno-
sis”.23 But the work clearly has, in my view, a concrete plan and a clear direction,
i.e. to show what it means to be a wise Christian and how such a Christian should
make use of pagan learning and, more specifically, pagan philosophy.
Clement quite noticeably begins this work with a defence of writing; he
wishes to explain why he set out to write at all and what that can achieve. I
quote the relevant passage from the (fragmented) beginning of the Stromateis.24
. . . so that you may read them at once and you may be able to guard them [Shepherd of
Hermas, Visions 5.5]. Should written works in general be left behind or only by some? And
if the former, what is the need of the writings? And if the latter, should they be left by those
who are worthy or those not? It would be laughable indeed for someone to reject the writ-
ing of excellent men and permit those such men who are not worthy to compose. Are
Theopompus and Timaeus, who compose fictions and slanders, and Epicurus, leader of
atheism, and even Hipponax and Archilochus, permitted to write so shamefully, while the
one heralding the truth is to be prevented from leaving behind compositions beneficial for
posterity? But I think it is noble to leave behind good children for those to come. And in-
deed children are progeny of the body, while words are progeny of the soul. Therefore we
say that those who instruct are fathers, and wisdom receptive and a lover of human kind.
Therefore Solomon says, “Young man, if you accept the words of my commandment, and
hide it within yourself, your ear will hear wisdom” (Prov. 2:1). He reveals that the sown
word is hidden in the soul of the learner like that which is sown in the ground, and it is a
spiritual planting. (Strom. I 1, 1, 1–3; tr. Gibbons)
Although we do not find an explicit reference to the Phaedrus here, we do find

Clement conversing with the Socratic view stated in the Phaedrus (278a6–b3)
that only oral discourse produces real, legitimate spiritual offspring, not the
22 On this notion, see now Havrda 2016, 50–51.

23 Dawson 1992, 222.
24 See Früchtel 1985, Einleitung p. XL and the apparatus criticus ad loc. The first leave of the
ms. L is missing.
written word. The idea here, and also in the Platonic Seventh letter (341b–345c),
is that writing produces only the image of a discourse, and, as a result, offers
only the appearance of a dialectical partner. The written word, Socrates claims,
is no more capable of replying than a portrait of a person; it rather carries one
and the same message, unable to choose the appropriate audience.25 The art of
dialectic is, according to Socrates, far superior to writing, since the speaker
can select his partner and tailor his speech correspondingly (276a–e). In the
Phaedrus Socrates holds that only such a manner of discourse can help the
soul generate its own further discourses. As Socrates claims:
the dialectician chooses a proper soul and plants and sows within it discourse accompa-
nied by knowledge—discourse capable of helping itself as well as the man who planted it,
which is not barren but produces seed from which more discourse grows in the character
of others. (Phdr. 276e4–277a2; tr. Nehamas-Woodruff)
Socrates not only argues in favour of oral discourse, of the dialectician, but also
voices a warning about a potential danger—that of trusting the written word.
Clement argues against that Socratic view advanced in the Phaedrus;26 he claims
instead that written words rather than oral discourses beget real “children”, that
is, children of the soul, and he suggests that there is a duty on the part of those
who hold the truth to produce writings in order to leave something valuable
behind for posterity and by doing so contradict the falsehoods written by atheists
and slanderers. Clement invokes the testimony of Solomon Prov. 2:1 against Plato,
although this clearly does not support his argument. Presumably by this reference
Clement only means to imply that Scripture itself is a justification for the written
word. In the same context Clement further suggests, in support of his defence of
the written word, that it also serves as a reminder (ὑπόμνημα), as a remedy for
forgetfulness (Strom. I 1, 11, 1; I 1, 14, 2), which is how Socrates justifies writing in
the Phaedrus (275c5–d2) after all. I quote the relevant passages below.
Ἤδη δὲ οὐ γραφὴ εἰς ἐπίδειξιν τετεχνασμένη ἥδε ἡ πραγματεία, ἀλλά μοι ὑπομνήματα εἰς
γῆρας θησαυρίζεται, λήθης φάρμακον, εἴδωλον ἀτεχνῶς καὶ σκιογραφία τῶν ἐναργῶν καὶ
ἐμψύχων ἐκείνων, ὧν κατηξιώθην ἐπακοῦσαι, λόγων τε καὶ ἀνδρῶν μακαρίων καὶ τῷ ὄντι
ἀξιόλογων.
This work is not crafted for exhibition, but my reminders (ὑπομνήματα) are stored away
for my old age, a remedy against forgetfulness, an artless image and shadow-painting of
the splendid and living words of blessed and indeed illustrious men I was deemed worthy
to hear. (Strom. I 1, 11, 1; tr. Gibbons)
25 See Ferrari 1987, 204–232, Werner 2012, 203–215.

26 For a discussion of this passage of the Stromateis, see Osborn 1959, Wyrwa 1983, 30–32
and Gibbons 2017, 38–44.
And a little further on Clement adds:
ἐπαγγέλεται δὲ οὐχ ὥστε ἑρμηνεῦσαι τὰ ἀπόρρητα ἱκανῶς, πολλοῦ γε καὶ δεῖ, μόνον δὲ
τὸ ὑπομνῆσαι, εἴτε ὁπότε ἐκλαθοίμεθα εἴτε ὅπως μηδ᾽ ἐκλανθώμεθα. πολλὰ δὲ εὖ οἶδα
παρερρύηκεν ἡμᾶς χρόνου μήκει ἀγράφως διαπεσόντα. ὅθεν τὸ ἀσθενὲς τῆς μνήμης τῆς
ἐμῆς ἐπικουφίζων, κεφαλαίων συστηματικὴν ἔκθεσιν μνήμης ὑπόμνημα σωτήριον πορίζων
ἐμαυτῷ, ἀναγκαίως κέχρημαι τῇδε τῇ ὑποτυπώσει.
This is not a promise to explain fully the secrets – indeed far from it – but only to remind,
for either when we forget or lest we forget. And I know well that many things have slipped
away from us, lost on account of having been unwritten for a long stretch of time. For this
reason, I, ameliorating the weakness of my memory and providing a systematic exposi-
tion in chapters as a reminder [ὑπόμνημα] preservative of memory, necessarily relate
these things in this sketchy outline. (Strom. I 1, 14, 2; tr. Gibbons)
Here Clement defends writing as a valuable practice on the grounds that it pre-
vents forgetting important things, while Socrates in the Phaedrus appears to
understand the preservation of memory that written works provide as having
little value compared to oral discourse and to philosophical dialectic. Clement
then uses the Platonic imagery of writing as a remedy for forgetfulness in order
to argue against the Socratic position in the Phaedrus. In the Phaedrus Socrates
states that the fact that writing is a remedy for forgetfulness merely justifies our
use of it27 but it does not add value to it; writing remains only a substitute for
oral discourse, a game (παιδιᾶ, Phaedrus 276b5), which in itself is unreliable
and sterile. For Clement, however, the written word has quite some value pre-
cisely because it functions both as a reminder and as a means of storing truth
in such a way that it remains unaltered and readily available to all. In that re-
spect Clement aligns himself with a group of authors of the same period, such
as Dio Chrysostom, Lucian, and Justin Martyr, who also vindicate the value, not
just the usefulness, of writing, and in this manner defend their own use of it.28
Clement’s engagement with the Phaedrus at the beginning of his Stromateis
highlights his debt to pagan philosophy; he begins his work by taking the
Socratic account of writing as a starting point for his presentation and justifica-
tion of his own writing plan. Yet his engagement with the Phaedrus also testifies
to his general commitment to transcend pagan philosophy and ultimately side
with Scripture. The same picture also emerges from other parts of Clement’s
work and is manifested in the way he makes use of the Phaedrus.29 For instance,
27 On the idea that written word operates as a reminder, see Ferrari 1987, 207–209.
28 For references and discussion see Trapp 1990 and also Gibbons 2017, 39–40. Further simi-
larities between Clement and Dio Chrysostom are spotted and discussed by Emmett 2001.
29 See Butterworth 1916.
he underlines the base side of erotic love (Protr. III 44, 2)30 with a reference to
the relevant passage in the Phaedrus (252b), yet he also reminds us of the higher
kind of eros, which he associates with the love of the divine, and he again is
inspired by the Phaedrus (Protr. XI 117, 1–4). Clement is clearly indebted to Plato
for his awareness of the existence of two kinds of erotic love, one base and one
sublime. Yet the Christian picture he draws of them presents itself as a transfor-
mation of the relevant, and at the time classic, Platonic concept of the two kinds
of erotic love that we find in the Phaedrus and the Symposium, a transformation
in the sense that Clement presents the love of the Christian God as the higher,
more sublime kind of love.
3 The myth of the Charioteer and Christian

Psychology
I will now consider another side of the Phaedrus that Christians appreciated
and engaged with, namely the myth of the charioteer and the psychology that it
implies. Clement makes frequent use of this image. In the Phaedrus, the chariot-
eer is clearly identified with reason, the allegedly ruling principle of man.
Clement gives the analogy an interesting twist; he identifies Christ with the
charioteer in the passage quoted below.
Σπεύσωμεν, δράμωμεν, ἄρωμεν τὸν ζυγὸν αὐτοῦ, ἐπιβάλωμεν ἀφθαρσίᾳ, καλὸν ἡνίοχον
ἀνθρώπων τὸν Χριστὸν ἀγαπήσωμεν. τὸν πῶλον ὑποζύγιον ἤγαγε σὺν τῷ παλαιῷ. καὶ
τῶν ἀνθρώπων τὴν συνωρίδα καταζεύξας, εἰς ἀθανασίαν κατιθύνει τὸ ἅρμα, σπεύδων
πρὸς τὸν θεὸν πληρῶσαι ἐναργῶς ὃ ἠνίξατο, πρότερον μὲν εἰς Ἱερουσαλήμ, νῦν δὲ
εἰσελαύνων οὐρανούς, κάλλιστον θέαμα τῷ πατρὶ υἱὸς ἀίδιος νικηφόρος.
Let us hasten, let us run; let us take up His yoke; let us take upon ourselves incorruption; let
us love Christ, the noble charioteer of men. He led the foal and its parent under the same
yoke, and now having yoked together the team of mankind, He shapes the course of his char-
iot for the goal of immortality. He hastens to God that he may fulfil clearly what before He
darkly hinted at; for He drove first into Jerusalem, but now into heaven, a most noble specta-
cle for the Father, the eternal Son bringing victory. (Protr. 121, 1; tr. Butterworth)
Clement projects the gospel story of Jesus leading the colt and the donkey upon
entering Jerusalem (Matthew 21.1–7) onto the Phaedrus’ myth of the charioteer.
Christ is portrayed as the charioteer of men whose yoke is said to be easy and
noble, for Christ aims to save and immortalize man. In the same context, near
30 Clement may well allude here also to Symposium 178b–c, 193a–b.

the end of the Protrepticus, Clement continues to explore the Phaedrus; he de-
scribes the human ignorance of the truth as madness (μανία), a word much used
in the Phaedrus, and he quotes the proverb cited at the end of the Phaedrus,
“the goods of friends are common” (κοινὰ τὰ τῶν φίλων; 279c), thereby pointing
out that all things will become ours if we become the friends of God (Protr. XII
122, 3). Clement’s Protrepticus then ends like Plato’s Phaedrus with the idea of a
community of friends’ shared goods.
Clement also uses the image of Christ as the charioteer in his Paedagogus (I
5, 15). Elsewhere, however, he presents not Christ, but rather Christians, as
charioteers who are advised to avoid bad habits that can yoke us (Protr. 89, 3).
And elsewhere he again applies the same imagery to the Logos which orders all
things according to the Father’s will (Strom. VII 2, 5, 6). The fact that Clement
uses the same image of the charioteer in different ways and in order to illustrate
different points shows the extent to which he was under its influence. However,
we do not find in Clement, as far as I can see, a critical appreciation of the psy-
chology suggested by the image of the charioteer or in the Phaedrus. Origen re-
fers us explicitly to Phaedrus 247c, where it is said that the ruler of the soul is
the intellect, which alone can contemplate the intelligible realm (C. Cels. VI 19).
Yet it is in Gregory of Nyssa’s De anima et resurrection that we find a more con-
crete and extensive engagement with the psychology of the Phaedrus.
This work of Gregory’s is a dialogue between his sister Macrina and
Gregory himself.31 The topic of the work is the immortality of the soul. More pre-
cisely, Gregory aims to demonstrate that the soul survives the death of the body
and reincarnates in a resurrected body. Both the topic and the setting of the
work is strongly reminiscent of Plato’s Phaedo: Macrina speaks of the soul and
its immortality on her deathbed, like Socrates does in the Phaedo when facing
death. Gregory, however, sets himself in dialogue with Plato’s psychology as
presented not only in the Phaedo, but also in the Republic, in the Timaeus, and
in the Phaedrus. Gregory advocates a view of the soul according to which it
consists of three parts: reason, spirit and appetite. Nonetheless, he maintains,
the soul is primarily an intellect which shapes and molds the human body.
The question is how the soul is both divided and unified by being an intellect.
I will address this issue below.
Gregory sets out to argue against the materialist psychologies of the
Epicureans and the Stoics, according to which the soul has a nature similar to
that of the body (ὁμοφυές; De anima 24A). Macrina argues that “the soul is a
created substance, living, intelligible, which through itself introduces a faculty
31 On this work of Gregory’s see Apostolopoulos 1986, Pottier 2011, Karamanolis 2013, 203–213.
of life and a faculty of cognition of perceptible things in a body equipped with or-
gans and potentially perceiving as long as the nature that can receive these facul-
ties subsists.” (De anima 29B). Noticeably, soul and body are very closely connected
in this definition of the soul. Gregory also makes this clear in his De hominis opifi-
cio, a work written two years before De anima (i.e. in 379), where he argues that
neither can the soul exist without the body nor the body without the soul (De hom.
opif. 253B; cf. De an. 29A). Drawing probably on Aristotle, Gregory claims that there
is no way of separating soul and body, just as there is no way of separating form
and matter (De hom. opif. 253C). Soul and body never lose their bond, even in
death, Gregory claims; they rather remain closely connected, which allows the soul
to shape, inform, and, in the resurrection, to reconstitute the body (De an. 48B,
72C–76B). Gregory’s thesis is highly original. The nature of the soul is shaped by its
bond with the body, yet this is not a concession to the soul’s intelligibility. The
soul, Gregory claims, is an intelligible entity and is immortal.
The question, however, is how the soul shapes and informs the body with
which it is tightly linked. One answer is given by the following analogy in De
hominis opificio. The soul, Gregory says, shapes the body in the same way that a
sculptor molds the matter of his or her sculpture. The sculptor carves form onto
matter gradually, until he perfects it (253BC). What guides the perfection of the
form is mainly the form itself, which exists in the sculptor’s intellect. But the
soul shapes the body not only in a developmental sense, i.e. until it perfects
the body, but also while the body is perfect. Gregory claims that the soul
shapes the body as reason or intellect. For, as already mentioned, the soul, or
the soul proper, as Gregory says (κυρίως ψυχή; De hom. op. 176B), is of an in-
tellectual nature, that is, it is an intellect (cf. De an. 29B, 36D–40A, 44A). In that
capacity the soul shapes the body so that it can be used by the soul as an instru-
ment of reason (De hom. opif. 148C). Therefore humans, unlike other animals,
Gregory suggests, have an upright posture, have hands instead of another set of
feet and so on (De hom. opif. 136B, 144AC).32 Furthermore, the soul as intellect
shapes the body by informing the senses. Let me explain this below.
Following Plato’s suggestion in the Theaetetus (184d–185b), Gregory insists
that the intellect perceives through the senses, that is, the intellect sees and
hears through the eyes and the ears (De an. 32A). Gregory implies, I suggest,
first that the cognition made by our senses is due to the work of the intellect
operating through the senses. Gregory tries to specify how this happens by
means of the city analogy, according to which the senses are analogous to the
32 On the human upright posture perhaps Gregory draws on Plato, Timaeus 45a–b, 90a–b
and Aristotle, De part. an. II 10, 656a7–13; Hist. an. I 15, 494a20–b1.
many entrances in a city; as with all the entrances leading into the same city,
so are the sense data channelled into, and collected by, the intellect (De hom.
op. 152C–D, De an. 32B–C). Cognition is intellectual, that is, it is administered
by the intellectual soul in the sense that we cognize by means of concepts,
Gregory suggests; that is, the soul transforms the sense data or the affections of
the senses into concepts or logoi. When we see the sun, the moon or a vessel
floating in a lake, Gregory says, our perceptions are shaped by concepts (epi-
noiai), which transform material affections into mental events, so to speak (De
an. 36C–37B).
The soul, however, is not only an intellect that permeates the entire body;
it also develops parts which result from the its affinity with the body. The soul
has, then, Gregory suggests, a non-rational part as well, the part responsible
for human emotions and non-rational desires. The question is, as I already indi-
cated above, how these two parts of the soul are joined together. Gregory him-
self points out this issue. Since we admitted that the soul proper is intellectual,
he says, then the question is whether the spirit and the appetite are other souls
within us or whether we are mistaken in considering the intellect in us as being
the soul (De an. 49B). As Christian thinkers often do, Gregory takes Plato as his
starting point, specifically the imagery of the Phaedrus. Gregory criticizes Plato
for speaking in riddles about the soul, yet, as we will see, he also draws heavily
on Plato’s conception of the divided soul. Gregory makes explicit reference to
the image of the charioteer in the following passage in which Macrina speaks.33
Ἡ δέ, πολλοῖς, φησίν, ἤδη καὶ ἄλλοις ἐζητημένον τὸν λόγον τοῦτον ἀκολούθως καὶ αὐτὸς
ἐπεζήτησας, ὅτί ποτε χρὴ ταῦτα νομίζειν εἶναι τὸ ἐπιθυμητικόν τε καὶ τὸ θυμοειδὲς εἴτε
συνουσιωμένα τῇ ψυχῇ καὶ παρὰ τὴν πρώτην εὐθὺς τῇ κατασκευῇ συνυπάρχοντα εἴτε τι
ἄλλο παρ᾽ αὐτὴν ὄντα καὶ ὕστερον ἡμῖν ἐπιγινόμενα. τὸ μὲν γὰρ ἐνορᾶσθαι τῇ ψυχῇ ταῦτα
παρὰ πάντων ἐπ᾽ ἴσης ὁμολογεῖται, τὸ δὲ ὅτι χρὴ περὶ αὐτῶν οἴεσθαι οὔπω δι᾽ ἀκριβείας
εὗρεν ὁ λόγος, ὥστε βεβαίαν τὴν περὶ τούτων ὑπόληψιν ἔχει, ἀλλ᾽ ἔτι πεπλανημέναις οἱ
πολλοὶ καὶ διαφόροις ταῖς περὶ τούτων δόξαις ἐπιδιστάζουσιν. ἡμῖν δὲ εἰ ἱκανὴ πρὸς
ἀπόδειξιν ἀληθείας ἦν ἡ ἔξω φιλοσοφία ἡ τεχνικῶς περὶ τούτων διαλαβοῦσα, περιττὸν ἂν
ἦν ἴσως τὸν περὶ ψυχῆς λόγον προτιθέναι τῷ σκέμματι. ἐπεὶ δὲ τοῖς μὲν κατὰ τὸ φανὲν
ἀκόλουθον κατ᾽ ἐξουσίαν προῆλθεν ἡ περὶ ψυχῆς θεωρία, ἡμεῖς δὲ τῆς ἐξουσίας ἄμοιροι
ταύτης ἐσμέν – τῆς τοῦ λέγειν φημί, ἅπερ βουλόμεθα – κανόνι παντὸς δόγματος καὶ νόμῳ
κεχρημένοι τῇ ἁγίᾳ γραφῇ, ἀναγκαίως πρὸς ταύτην βλέποντες τοῦτο δεχόμεθα μόνον, ὅτι
περ ἂν ᾖ σύμφωνον τῷ τῶν γεγραμμένων σκοπῷ. οὐκοῦν παρέντες τὸ Πλατωνικὸν ἅρμα
καὶ τὴν ὑπεζευγμένην αὐτῷ ξυνωρίδα τῶν πώλων οὐχ ὁμοίως ταῖς ὁρμαῖς πρὸς ἀλλήλους
ἐχόντων καὶ τὸν ὑπὲρ τούτων ἡνίοχον, δι᾽ ὧν ἁπάντων τὰ τοιαῦτα περὶ ψυχῆς φιλοσοφεῖ
δι᾽ αἰνίγματος. . .σκοπὸν τοῦ λόγου τὴν θεόπνευστον γραφὴν ποιησώμεθα, ἣ μηδὲν ψυχῆς
ἐξαίρετον νομίζειν εἶναι νομοθετεῖ, ὃ μὴ καὶ τῆς θείας ἐστὶ φύσεως ἴδιον.
33 I use the recent edition of Spira 2014.

Many people have made a research on this issue and you also seek to know how we should
think of the spirit and the appetite, whether they are part of the substance of the soul that
are present from the beginning of our constitution or they are something different from the
soul that has come into being later on. That they are present in our soul is admitted by
everyone. How exactly we should think of them, however, is not specified by reason yet, in
a way that a clear conception of these aspects can come about. The majority take mistaken
views which disagree with each other. Now, if the outside philosophy, which examines all
that closely, was capable of true proof, it would be redundant to consider the question of
the soul. Since the investigation into the soul proceeded as it seemed good to them and
according to the liberty they enjoyed, we however do not have share in that liberty of say-
ing that is what we want, as we use the Holy Scripture as a rule and law for every view we
take, we necessarily look to it and this is what we only accept, namely what agrees with the
intention of the written words. We should then leave aside the Platonic chariot and the sub-
jugated pair of horses, which do not have the same desires, and the charioteer and all this
which he [Plato] uses to philosophize with riddles. . . We should make measure of our rea-
soning the divinely inspired Scripture, which legislates that there is no feature in the
human soul that is not proper to the divine nature. (De an. 49B–52A)
Macrina does two things here; she maps out the territory of possible answers to
the question of how we should regard the spirit and the appetite while also mak-
ing a suggestion as to how the Christian should proceed on that front, namely
not by following Plato’s perplexing and obscure treatment of the matter but by
taking Scripture as the standard. Gregory takes up the stance of early Christians
like Clement and Origen, who also accuse Plato of speaking in riddles while
maintaining that the message of Scripture is presented in clear terms. Gregory,
however, also follows the earlier Christian thinkers in taking Plato as his starting
point in the investigation. For despite his criticism of Plato and his alleged sid-
ing with Scripture regarding the soul, Gregory is much inspired by Plato’s psy-
chology, especially the psychology of the partite soul presented also in the
Phaedrus. There is substantial evidence for this, which I will examine next.
Before proceeding, though, let me first point out that Macrina makes an impor-
tant suggestion regarding the nature of the soul in the passage cited above,
namely that there is nothing in the human soul that is not proper to divine na-
ture. This, however, is hardly more lucid than Platonic imagery. The question
which then remains is how, according to Gregory, spirit and appetite relate to
the intellectual nature of soul.34
In his later work The Life of Moses, Gregory likens the passions of the soul
to the Egyptian army that chases the Hebrews. He goes on to assert that the bib-
lical story of the Exodus alludes to the tripartite division of the soul, that is, as
34 There is a substantial amount of scholarly debate on this topic with regard to Gregory’s
position. See Pottier 2011, 37–47.
consisting of a rational, appetitive and spirited part.35 The source of the analogy
is clearly the myth of the charioteer in the Phaedrus. Gregory speaks in terms of
a tripartite division of the soul and explores the imagery of the chariot allegory
elsewhere as well (On the Beatitudes 1216C, On Ecclesiastes 692C, On Psalms
477B–C).36 Interestingly enough, it is exactly this kind of Platonic imagery that
he criticizes in the passage cited above as obscure and inadequate. Yet Gregory
clearly sides with Plato in acknowledging that the soul has parts and that one
part of it is the source of our passions, just as he acknowledges the same with
respect to the intelligible and immortal nature of the soul. For as I have said
earlier, Gregory rejects the materialist psychologies of the Epicureans and the
Stoics, mainly agreeing with Plato.
Of particular interest is Gregory’s use of the myth of the charioteer in his work
On Virginity. There Gregory argues on the one hand that Christians should abstain
from bodily pleasures, yet on the other hand that they should also neither neglect
their bodies nor lead an excessively ascetic life. Gregory refers us to the right bal-
ance of qualities that doctors recommend and he goes on to illustrate the point
with an image inspired by the myth of the charioteer. I cite the passage below.
Προνοητέον τοίνυν τῆς ἰσοκρατείας τῶν ποιοτήτων πρὸς τὴν τῆς ὑγείας διαμονήν, εἴπερ τι
ἀληθὲς αὐτῶν ὁ λόγος ἔχει, μηδενὶ μέρει τῶν ἐξ ὧν συνεστήκαμεν ἢ πλεονασμὸν ἢ
ἐλάττωσιν ἐκ τῆς κατὰ τὴν δίαιταν ἀνωμαλίας ἐπάγοντες. Ὥσπερ γὰρ ὁ τοῦ ἅρματος
ἐπιστάτης, εἰ μὴ συμφωνούντων ἐπιστατοίη τῶν πώλων, οὔτε τὸν ὀξὺν ἐπισπέρχει τῇ
μάστιγι οὔτε τὸν βραδὺ κατάγχει ταῖς ἡνίαις, οὐδ᾽ αὖ πάλιν τὸν ἐνδιάστροφον ἢ δυσήνιον
ἄνετον ἐᾶ ταῖς οἰκείαις ὁρμαῖς εἰς ἀταξίαν ἐκφέρεσθαι, ἀλλὰ τὸν μὲν εὐθύνει, τὸν δὲ
ἀνακόπτει, τοῦ δὲ καθικνεῖται διὰ τῆς μάστιγος, ἔως ἂν μίαν τοῖς πᾶσι τὴν πρὸς δρόμον
σύμπνοιαν ἐμποιήσῃ, τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον καὶ ὁ ἡμέτερος νοῦς ὁ τὰς τοῦ σώματος ἡνίας ὑφ᾽
ἑαυτὸν ἔχων οὔτε πλεονάζοντι τῷ θερμῷ κατὰ τὸν καιρὸν τῆς νεότητος τὰς τῆς
πυρώσεως προσθήκας ἐπινοήσει, οὔτε κατεψυγμένῳ διὰ πάθος ἢ χρόνον τὰ ψύχοντα καὶ
τὰ μαραίνοντα πλεονάσει. . . ἀλλὰ τὸ ἐν ἑκατέρῳ ἄμετρον περικόπτων τῆς τοῦ ἐνδέοντος
προσθήκης ἐπιμελήσεται καὶ ἐπίσης τὴν ἐφ᾽ ἑκάτερα τοῦ σώματος ἀχρηστίαν
φυλάξεται. . .
If there is any truth in this doctrine [i.e. that of the balance of qualities], then we need to
pay attention to the balance of qualities in order to remain in good health, and we should
not favour either an excess or a defect in any part of these constituent elements by an
irregularity of diet. For like the charioteer who drives a chariot with young horses that do
not have the same pace, does not urge the fast one with the whip and rein in the slow
one, nor again does he let the horse that is vicious and unruly go his own way to the con-
fusion or orderly driving, but he quickens the pace of the first, holds the second and
35 εἰς τὸ λογιστικὸν καὶ ἐπιθυμητικὸν καὶ θυμοειδὲς ἀναπέμπων τὸ νόημα (Life of Moses 361D).
36 Basil also endorses the tripartite division of the soul, yet does so more implicitly, e.g. De
opificio hominis 277A.
reaches the third with his whip until he makes them move together in a straight way; sim-
ilarly our intellect which holds the reins of the body will not devise ways of increasing
the fever in the time of youth, when heat of youth is abundant, nor will it increase the
cooling and thinning when the body is already chilled by the affections or time. . .but it
will curtail what is immoderate in either direction and will take care to avoid harming the
body in the one or the other way. (On Virginity 404B–405A)
The above passage is instructive in many regards. It shows that Gregory commits
himself to the partite nature of the soul as presented in the image of the charioteer.
But the question is how he interprets it. According to the allegory of the chariot, the
human soul consists of three parts, which correspond to the charioteer and the two
horses, one noble and the other unruly. The noble, well-behaved horse presumably
represents the spirited part of the soul, the unruly the appetitive, while the chariot-
eer represents reason (Phdr. 246a–250c); it is the charioteer who holds the reins
and tries to restrain the desires of the two horses, especially of the unruly one.37
But here in Gregory’s passage, the difficulty that the charioteer experiences is not
due to the conflicting desires of the horses or the conflict between the desires of the
horses and himself, but rather due to the fact that the two horses are different, that
is, they not only move at different speeds, but the unruly horse is also disobedient.
In the above passage Gregory does not use the image of the charioteer in order to
refer to the conflicts in the human soul but rather to the difficulties that our intel-
lect experiences in controlling certain aspects or sides of our nature, the heat of the
youth and the coolness of old age, and also our tendencies for too much or too lit-
tle. Gregory certainly appreciates that the point of the myth of the charioteer is to
highlight how the soul is constrained by the body and its needs, which affect the
human soul even in its disembodied state, as I will explain presently.
We should remember here that in Gregory’s view the soul is tightly connected
to the body and does not lose its bond with it even at the time of death, when the
body perishes, but rather retains a memory of it, so to speak, which helps the soul
reconnect with the body when it is resurrected. As I said above, Gregory takes the
view that the soul proper is intellectual, an intellect, yet its bond with the body
brings about the non-rational parts, the spirited and the appetitive. They attach
themselves to the soul (προσπεφυκέναι) like parasites (oἷον μυρμηκίαι), but they
do not belong to the essence of the soul (De an. 56E).38 The essence of the soul is
in his view the intellect which can dominate over the non-rational parts, but this
does not necessarily mean that the non-rational parts of the soul come about later
than the intellectual soul.
37 See further the discussion in Ferrari 1987, 185–203.

38 See further Corrigan 2009, 140–145 and Poittier 2011, 40–42, who also reviews the relevant
scholarly debate.
Gregory steers away from the Platonic psychology of the Phaedo, the
Phaedrus, and the Republic, in which the soul exists in a disembodied state
before its incarnation, and the non-rational part of the soul comes into being
only when the soul enters the body. The following passage is indicative of
Gregory’s critique.
ἥκουσα γὰρ τῶν τὰ τοιαῦτα δογματιζόντων, ὅτι ἔθνη τινὰ τῶν ψυχῶν ὑποτίθενται ἐν
ἰδιαζούσῃ τινὶ πολιτείᾳ πρὸ τῆς ἐν σώματι ζωῆς βιοτεύοντα ἐν τῷ λεπτῷ τε καὶ εὐκινήτῳ
τῆς φύσεως ἑαυτῶν τῇ τοῦ παντὸς συμπεριπολοῦντα δινήσει, ῥοπῇ δέ τινι πρὸς κακίαν
πτερορρυούσας τὰς ψυχὰς ἐν σώματι γίνεσθαι, πρῶτον μὲν ἀνθρωπίνοις, εἴθ᾽ οὕτως διὰ
τῆς πρὸς τὰ ἄλογα τῶν παθῶν ὁμιλίας μετὰ τὴν τοῦ ἀνθρωπίνου βίου ἐκχώρησιν
ἀποκτεινοῦσθαι κακεῖθεν τῆς φυτικῆς ταῦτης καὶ ἀναισθήτου καταπίπτει ζωῆς, ὡς τὸ τῇ
φύσει λεπτὸν καὶ εὐκίνητον, ὅπερ ἐστὶν ἡ ψυχή, πρῶτον μὲν ἐμβριθές τε καὶ καὶ
κατωφερὲς γίνεσθαι τοῖς ἀνθρώπινοις σώμασι διὰ κακίας εἰσικοιζόμενον, εἶτα τῆς
λογικῆς δυνάμεως ἀποσβεσθείσης τοῖς ἀλόγοις ἐμβιοτεύειν, ἐκεῖθεν δὲ καὶ τῆς τῶν
αἰσθήσεως χάριτος μεταλαμβάνειν, ἀπὸ τούτου δὲ πάλιν διὰ τῶν αὐτῶν ἐνιέναι βαθμῶν
καὶ πρὸς τὸν οὐράνιον χῶρον ἀποκαθίστασθαι. τὸ δὲ τοιοῦτον δόγμα τοῖς καὶ μετρίως
κρίνειν ἐπεσκεμμένοις αὐτόθεν ἐλέγχεται μηδεμίαν ἔχον ἐν ἑαυτῷ στάσιν.
For I heard from the partisans of such views, that there exist certain hosts of souls in a
kind of special state, living there before their embodied life, and that they wander while
whirling given their fine and flexible nature. These souls enter the bodies because of a cer-
tain tendency of theirs towards baseness shedding their feathers. And first they enter
human bodies and then, because of their association with the non-rational affections, they
abandon the human life, since that which is fine and flexible, namely the soul, first has a
propensity and a tendency to enter the human bodies because of badness, and then, when
the rational power ceases, they move to non-rational animals. There they enjoy the gift of
perception. From this stage again they return gradually to the heavenly space. This doc-
trine is proven to be without foundation even by those with limited powers of judgment.
(De an. 112C–113D)
Gregory mainly rejects the view of the pre-existence of the soul and of its transmi-
gration, which we find in Plato—the term πτερορρυούσας refers reader directly to
the Phaedrus (246b). It is reasonable to assume, however, that Gregory would
also reject the view that the non-rational parts of the soul are developed when
the soul becomes embodied, a view that we find in Platonists like Numenius, for
instance (fr. 43 des Places). Gregory rather suggests that the non-rational parts
always exist in the soul given its strong bond with the body, yet they do not be-
long to the essence of the soul, to the soul strictly speaking. The human soul is
essentially an intellect but it is an intellect inseparably connected to the body.
Gregory takes a highly original position on the soul, which he develops in dia-
logue with Plato’s texts. In a sense Gregory re-interprets Plato; he is inspired
by Plato but also maintains a critical distance from him.
Gregory’s position has an interesting consequence. The image of the chariot-

eer in the Phaedrus fits his position about the nature of the soul well, because it
suggests that the soul always has parts and yet forms an everlasting unity, a
unity that never goes away. The soul always retains its bond with the body and
remains body-like, partite, yet the essence of the soul is intellectual, an intellect
which dominates over the non-intellectual parts attached to it. Gregory often
stresses the attachment of the soul to bodily elements even after the dissolution
of their conjunction, and it is the attachment of the soul to bodily elements that
accounts for the individuation of the soul during the time between death and res-
urrection (De hom. op. 225). This is why in the passage from On Virginity Gregory
applies the image of the charioteer, which in the Phaedrus concerns the disem-
bodied soul, to the soul in body, because for him the soul is in a sense always
joined to body. Despite his criticism, Gregory is much inspired by this image
because it illustrates not only the unity of the soul despite its partition but also
the dominant role of the intellect, symbolized by the charioteer, over the non-
rational parts at all times. This, in Gregory’s view, is what is distinctive about
human nature, and it is in this respect that we resemble divine nature. In this
regard Gregory closely follows the platonic myth which suggests that only the
charioteer, that is reason, is similar to God (Phdr. 246e), and with its vision of
the Forms can guide the two horses (Phdr. 247c-e).
4 Conclusion
Let me sum up. The evidence presented above, further examples of which could
easily be found, quite clearly shows that Plato’s Phaedrus had a strong formative
effect on both the language and thought of early Christian thinkers. This does
not necessarily mean a Christian acceptance of the key points found there. For
as we have seen, Clement rejects Socrates’ disparagement of the written word,
and Gregory of Nyssa criticizes Plato for speaking in riddles in the myth of the
charioteer. Both, however, take Phaedrus as the starting point of their consider-
ations and their final positions result from their often critical engagement with
ideas advanced in the Phaedrus. Christians of course emphasize their commit-
ment to Scripture, but this does not change the fact that in the end their posi-
tions were decidedly shaped by their dialogue with Plato. In this respect, they
did not differ essentially from their pagan contemporaries.
Gerd Van Riel
Echoes of the Phaedrus in Augustine’s
Discussion with Porphyry
A paper on the direct references to the Phaedrus in Augustine would, at first
glance, have to be a very short one: Augustine did not know the Phaedrus di-
rectly, except for the proof of the immortality of the soul, Phdr. 245c–246a.
Augustine knew the latter text through Cicero’s translation in De Republica
b. VI (quoted again in Tusculanae I 53), but he did not agree with it, as he
rejected its basic premises. Thus, the harvest of direct references seems to be
fairly unpromising.
Yet when one digs deeper into Augustine’s constant discussion with the
Platonists, one will recognize the Phaedrus in a number of quotes, which reveal
that the Phaedrus does have a place in Augustine’s thought, and a very distinct
one at that, even though the author himself was unaware of the fact that he was
referring to the Phaedrus. In order to make this point, I will first try and show
how much and through which ways Augustine knew of Plato; next, after a brief
discussion of the proof of the immortality of the soul, I will argue that the
Phaedrus myth plays a fundamental role in Augustine’s discussion of Porphyry’s
De regressu animae. From this discussion, Augustine gained some important in-
sights to build his own version of Christian Platonism, which is thus, unwittingly,
influenced by the Phaedrus.
1 Augustine’s Plato
Plato has always been one of Augustine’s favourite philosophers, even though,
obviously, Augustine would always stress the distance between pagan philosophy
and Christian doctrine. Yet, despite all differences, Augustine subscribes to large
parts of Platonic philosophy: the emphasis on the intelligible nature of true real-
ity, the immortality of the soul, the higher destination of the human soul, away
from the lures of the corporeal world, the divine reward for moral excellence, etc.
(cf. Uera Rel. III 3). Hence, it is more than clear enough that Augustine had a very
good knowledge of Plato. Truth is, however, that Augustine knew of Plato rather
Gerd Van Riel, Francqui Research Professor, KU Leuven
https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110683936-008
120 Gerd Van Riel
than that he knew Plato directly.1 His main source for knowledge about Plato was
Cicero, whose eclectic version of academic Platonism moulded Augustine’s un-
derstanding. This involved a predilection given to the Timaeus, which Augustine
knew directly through Cicero’s translation, and it involved taking the ideas as
‘reasons’ contained in the divine intellect.2 Apart from the Timaeus, Cicero pro-
vided the Latin readers with a translation of the Phaedrus’ proof of the immortal-
ity of the soul, and a number of direct or indirect references scattered through his
philosophical dialogues.
However, Cicero was not the only Platonic source which Augustine took into
account. One of the characteristic features of Cicero’s translation, as highlighted
by Carlos Lévy, is that Cicero downplays the role of the Demiurge, by, for in-
stance, omitting the word maker (ποιητής) in his translation of Tim. 28c. Cicero
apparently wanted to subordinate the Demiurge to a higher, transcendent princi-
ple.3 If one then looks at Augustine’s version of the Timaeus, there is not the
slightest hint at the Demiurge being anything else but the supreme God and
maker of the universe. The reason for this has to be that Augustine’s interpreta-
tion also relies on another Platonic source, identifiable as Apuleius of Madaura’s
De Platone and De deo Socratis, as well as his Summarium librorum Platonis, dis-
covered by Klibansky in 1949, and recently edited by Justin Stover as the “lost
third book of Apuleius’ De Platone”.4 In these works by his fellow North African
(from the city where Augustine went to study) Augustine will have found the –
admittedly simplified – description of the Demiurge as the highest God and crea-
tor, thereby, on the other hand, neglecting the role of the transcendent Good in
Plato.
This earlier layer of Augustine’s knowledge of Plato was complemented
by Augustine’s reading of the libri Platonicorum, a collection of translations,
probably of excerpts or anthologies, taken from Plotinus’ Enneads and treatises
by Porphyry.5 These texts gave Augustine a new insight in Plato, with different
accents and new sets of doctrines. He now got to know the transcendence of
the One Good, which, owing to his Ciceronian formation in Plato, he ascribed
to the Platonici rather than to Plato.6 From the Platonists, Augustine also inher-
ited many direct references to Plato, which in some cases he seems to have col-
lected in specific hermeneutic clusters. Thus, Augustine’s knowledge of Plato is
1 This part of the paper summarizes the conclusions of Van Riel 2018.
2 Cf. Gersh 1986, I 412, referring to Cic., De Rep. III 33; De Leg. II 8 and Orat. 10.
3 Lévy 2003, 100–103.
4 Stover 2016.
5 For a roundup on the identification of these libri Platonicorum, see Madec 2001, 130–131.
6 See Aug., Ep. 118.3, referring to the unum atque summum bonum of the Platonici.
solid and sound, even though, in large part, the full context of most quotes was
unknown to him – except for the Timaeus. Apart from this dialogue (from
which he likes to quote the speech of the demiurge to the young gods, the de-
scription of the divine as intellect, the theory of the elements and the role of
number in creation), the most frequent references are to the tripartition of the
soul, its immortality, the transmigration of souls, the theory of reminiscence,
the philosophers’ constant struggle with the opinions of the crowd, the expul-
sion of the poets from the ideal state, and the horrible idea that women should
be held in common among the leaders of the ideal state. Those sets of doctrine
are brought together from different sources, often from Cicero, but also from
other authors. The latter point, for instance, on the sexual relations among the
guardians in Plato’s state, comes from Jerome, who compares this practice with
the habit of the barbarian Scoti who also, like cattle (pecudum more), share
their wives among each other.7 The point about the expulsion of the poets, on
the other hand, stems from Tertullian, Ad nationes II 7. All of this suggests
that Augustine, in his reading, collected references to Plato (as he would do
with other authors) and brought them together in cards, or hypomnemata, thus
systematizing his second-hand information to reconstruct Platonic doctrine.
In other cases, the information Augustine dwells on was brought together by
his sources. From them, Augustine took over hermeneutic clusters as sets of
Platonic doctrine, without realizing that he was repeating a ruminated version of
Platonism rather than referring to Plato himself. One such cluster is to be found
at Soliloquia I 14, where the young Augustine puts together the Theaetetus’ de-
vice to flee from this world (Theaet. 176a–b) with the allegory of the cave (the
beginning of Resp. VII) and the loss of feathers of the soul as described in the
Phaedrus (246c–d):
I can give you only one advise, for I know no other: we ought to flee entirely from these
sensible things, and we should carefully beware, while we bear this body, that our
feathers are not hindered by their glue. For we need to have our feathers intact and per-
fect, in order to fly away from this darkness, towards the light over there. That light
does not even deign to show itself to those imprisoned in this cave, unless they were
capable of breaking it open or destroying it, so that they can evade to the rays of that
light. (Sol. I 14, 24)
From the Retractationes (I 4, 3) we know that Augustine got this from Porphyry,
and that he later deplored the anti-worldly sentiment expressed by these words.
7 Hieronymus, Adu. Iouin. II 7: Scotorum natio uxores proprias non habet: et quasi Platonis
Politiam legerit, et Catonis sectetur exemplum, nulla apud eos coniux propria est, sed ut cuique
libitum fuerit, pecudum more lasciuiunt. Ep. 69.3: Scottorum et Aticottorum (a Celtic tribe in
Gaul) ritu ac De republica Platonis promiscuas uxores, communes liberos habeant.
122 Gerd Van Riel
The young Augustine enthusiastically subscribed to the escape from this world,
in order to “leave the cave”, and to join the true light outside the sensible world.
To a reader of Plato, the different Platonic source texts, including the
Phaedrus, immediately jump to the eye. Yet Augustine quotes all of this, appar-
ently unaware of the fact that he is dwelling on a hermeneutic cluster that
combines different texts of Plato. And there are other such clusters, like the jux-
taposition of the purification of the soul through virtue (as in Phaedo 69c) with
the assimilation to God (Theaet. 176b) and with Plato’s premises that god must
be good (Resp. II 378b–380c, and Laws X 897b–d), that God is not envious (Tim.
29e), nor responsible for evil (Resp. X 617e). The source of this particular cluster
can be proven to be Porphyry’s Letter to Marcella.
All of this amounts to saying that Augustine knew enough of Plato to make
well-informed statements about him, but that his direct access to Plato’s works
was rather limited.
The main aim of this contribution is to investigate more in detail the spe-
cific role of the Phaedrus within the cluster of eschatological doctrines. First,
however, I want to take a few moments to discuss the way in which Augustine
deals with the one passage from the Phaedrus which he did have direct access
to, namely Cicero’s translation of the proof of the immortality of the soul.
2 The Immortality of the Soul

Plato’s proof of the immortality of the soul in the Phaedrus (245c–246a) hinges
on one main argument: that which moves itself must of necessity be eternal. Or
in Cicero’s version: Quod semper mouetur, aeternum est. (Cic., Tusc. I 53, re-
peated, as Cicero himself indicates, in the sixth book of his De Republica). The
interesting thing is that Augustine, who must have known this text, does not
take over the argument in his own analysis of the immortality of the soul (ex-
pounded, among others, in his early philosophical treatise De Immortalitate
animae). His point, briefly, is that the soul is immortal because and in so far as
it is attached to the unchanging truth of knowledge (disciplina) that inheres in
it (Imm. an. 1.1; Sol. II 19, 33). To be sure, the Augustinian soul is also in motion,
both as the mover of the body, and as having its own motions in the will, etc.
(Imm. an. 5.7). Yet all of these motions are in the soul as in subiecto, i.e. they
are accidental qualities that do not affect the soul’s substantial nature of being
contemplative reason or intellect (Imm. an. 6.11). In order to make this point,
Augustine obviously has recourse to the Aristotelian distinction between sub-
stance and accident, and, more importantly, he needs to accept that the soul is
only immortal in so far as it is immutable, i.e. intellectual, without for that mat-
ter coinciding with the divine intellect. That is to say, the soul is not eternal in
the way the divine intellect is eternal. The soul is, rather, sempiternal: linked to
the temporality of the material world, and moving the body. It is bound to pu-
rify itself, by striving for the eternity of truth, which it may be given to contem-
plate after death (Trin. IV 18.24).8
The soul’s immortality is thus linked to its immutability, rather than to its self-
movement, thereby reversing the Phaedrus’ first premise. Moreover, Augustine
does echo the Phaedrus account on other points, for instance, by referring to
the statement that moving the body is a burden to the soul’s immortality (in
Cicero’s translation: quod autem motum affert alicui quodque ipsum agitatur
aliunde, quando finem habet motus, uiuendi finem habeat necesse est. Cic.,
Tusc. I 53). But Augustine only mentions the point in order to reject it, by re-
plying that “not all that is set into motion, let alone all that sets into motion,
is mutable” (non omne quod mouetur, aut certe non omne quod mouet, muta-
bile est. Aug., Imm. an. 3.3). On the other hand, Augustine subscribes more
than once to the argument from opposites from the Phaedo (105c-e, which he
did not know directly): if life defines the soul, then the soul can never be char-
acterized by the contrary of life.9
Augustine thus seems to resist particularly the Phaedrus’ proof of immortal-
ity of the soul, and we may speculate why he would have done so. I presume
the main reason is that the – Neoplatonic – emphasis on the essentially intel-
lectual nature of the soul, and on the soul’s true orientation towards the divine,
intellectual realm (maybe in part influenced by Plotinus’ theory of the unde-
scended soul) will have led Augustine to take the soul’s immutability as a prem-
ise. Again, we see how the different layers of Platonic influence on Augustine
lead to different sets of doctrine. On the other hand, Augustine obviously
needed to observe the crucially Christian doctrine of the resurrection of the
body, which prompted him to take into account the relation between body and
soul, even in the soul’s disincarnate state.
3 The Platonic Eschatology

For our present purposes, it is important to note that the Phaedrus (apart from
the Ciceronian translation of the proof of the immortality of the soul) was also
8 Cf. O’Daly 1994, 328–330.

9 Aug., Trin. X 9; Imm. an. 3.4; 4.5; 5.9; 7.12; 9.16.
124 Gerd Van Riel
part of a hermeneutic cluster, in which – in a not too farfetched way – the dif-
ferent myths of the destiny of the soul in the afterlife are combined: the myth of
Er (Resp. X), the myth of the Phaedo and the myth of the Phaedrus are read to-
gether, forming one integrated version of Plato’s eschatology. At Ciu. Dei X 30,
Augustine refers to elements pertaining to this cluster (and in this case, mainly
the myth of Er, with the millenary revolution of the heavens, the river Lēthē
and the erasing of the souls’ memories, linking it to Virgil as a Platonic poet).
Augustine is aware that this is Platonic material (quod esse Platonicum maxime
perhibetur (. . .) Platonice uidetur dixisse), but he seems to think this was a poetic
makeup by Virgil himself, as an interpretation of Plato. The reference stems
from Porphyry, and Augustine (or another source of his) seems to have made
the connection with Virgil’s Aeneid.
Augustine apparently had no further information on the exact provenance of
these doctrines in the Platonic corpus. That amounts to saying that we will not
find the Phaedrus among Augustine’s direct references to Plato. Yet the Phaedrus
is present, as we have seen in the first text we discussed. Moreover, the Phaedrus
plays a very important role as a sub-text underlying the discussion with Porphyry
which Augustine presents in book X of his De Ciuitate Dei. A number of points
made in the discussion, both on the side of Porphyry and on the side of Augustine,
could not have been made without reference to the Phaedrus, be it a direct refer-
ence (as it will have been in Porphyry), or an indirect one (as in Augustine’s case).
The cluster of Plato’s eschatological theories is presented by Augustine in
his Sermon 240, which (together with the subsequent sermons 241 and 242) con-
tains a popularized version of exactly the same ideas the author wrote down in
his De Ciuitate Dei XIII 16–20. The summary of the theory runs as follows, with
obvious reminiscences of the Phaedrus:
There have been great and learned philosophers of this world, better than the rest, who
have realized that the human soul is immortal. In fact they not only realized it, they ar-
gued in its favor with the best arguments they could, and left their proofs in writing for
the benefit of subsequent generations (. . .).
So those who realized and said that human souls are immortal, looked for the causes
of the griefs and errors of mortals to the extent that mere men were able to; and they said,
as convincingly as they could, that heaven knows what sins had occurred in another pre-
vious life, sins for which souls deserved these bodies as a kind of prison. Next they were
asked what will happen later on, when people die. And here they cudgeled their brains;
and they made great efforts to give people, themselves or others, a reasonable account;
and they said that the souls of people who have lived bad lives, rendered unclean by the
most depraved habits, after leaving their bodies are immediately shunted back to other
bodies, and here pay the penalties we are familiar with; while the souls which have lived
good lives go, on leaving their bodies, to the highest heavens, there to rest among the
stars and these lights we can all see, or else in whatever other kinds of hidden and secret
heavenly places; and that they forget all the evils of the past, and are again delighted to
return to bodies and come once more to undergo all these things. This then was the differ-
ence they maintained between the souls of sinners and the souls of the just: that they say
the souls of sinners straightaway, immediately they have left their bodies, are shunted
back to other bodies, while the souls of the just spend a long time at rest; not forever,
though, but once again they take delight in bodies, and after all that justice of theirs tum-
ble down from the highest heavens to these evils here. (Aug., Sermon 240, 4, tr. Hill)
Here and at De Ciuitate Dei XIII 16–20, Augustine’s point is the resurrection of the
body, which has obviously not been envisaged by the Platonic philosophers. But
he shall argue that based on the arguments of the Platonists, it is in fact more con-
clusive to accept the resurrection of the body than to deny it. Augustine’s main
target in this discussion is Porphyry, and Augustine will do his best to trap this
anti-Christian author in his own words, especially by hammering on Porphyry’s
phrase that “every kind of body is to be shunned” (quoted at Sermon 241, 6–7).
Augustine’s argument relies on an apparent contradiction between the hos-
tility towards the body that appears from this eschatology, and Plato’s friendli-
ness towards the body in the Timaeus. For how can the supreme god decide to
make a bodily world, and to bind together soul with body, if the body is in fact
a bad thing to undergo? At ciu. Dei, Augustine points out the following:
When Plato asserted that lesser gods, who were created by the supreme God, were the
makers of the other living creatures, he doubtless meant that they took the immortal part
from God himself and themselves did no more than to joint the mortal part to it. He did
not mean, then, that they are the creators of our souls but only of our bodies. But
Porphyry states that, for the sake of purifying the soul, we must flee all bodies, and he
holds, along with Plato and the other Platonists, that as punishment for those who live
unbridled and dishonorable lives they return to mortal bodies (even to the bodies of
beasts in Plato’s view, but only to the bodies of men in Porphyry’s). It follows, then, that
the very gods – as they call them – whom they want us to worship as our parents and
creators are, in fact, nothing more than the makers of our shackles and prisons. They are
not our creators but our jailers and warders, who incarcerate us in bitter prisons and bind
us with heavy chains. The Platonists, therefore, should either stop threatening us with
our bodies as the punishment for our souls or stop proclaiming that we ought to worship
gods whose only contribution to our make-up they urge us to flee and to shun as far as
we possibly can (. . .) And if our creation is a divine gift, even if we are created mortal,
how can it be punishment to return to these bodies – to return, that is, to benefits divinely
bestowed on us? And if God, as Plato repeatedly states, contained in his eternal intelli-
gence not only the form of the whole world but also the forms of all living creatures, how
could it not be true that he himself created them all? Or are we to think that he was un-
willing to be the maker of some of them, even though his inexpressible – and inexpress-
ibly praiseworthy – mind held the art of producing them all? (Ciu. Dei XII 27, tr. Babcock)
The basic text that underlies this passage is Plato’s Timaeus, which Augustine
knew well. He refers to the operations of the Demiurge and his subsequent
126 Gerd Van Riel
retreat, and to the creation of lower reality by the younger gods. Moreover, the
positive account of corporeality in the Timaeus is contrasted with the negativity
of the device to flee from this world (as in Theaet. 176a–b) and the soul’s duty –
from an eschatological perspective – to leave behind the body (as in the
Phaedo). Augustine thereby does not shy away from using rhetorical argu-
ments, such as the point that, in choosing a new body, the disincarnate (and
hence, happy) souls are either looking forward to their own woes, or they do
not know them, and thus, they live a happy life owing to ignorance:
This is the pass, philosophers, that you have brought us to; that souls are purged, they at-
tain to the highest purity, and as a result of that purity they forget everything, and as a
result of forgetting their woes, they return to the woes of their bodies. Tell me, please, even
if all this rubbish were true, wouldn’t it be better not to know it? (. . .) Next, I want to know,
do these souls in heaven know they are going to endure the woes of this life all over again,
or don’t they? Choose whichever you like. If they know they are going to endure such
dreadful woes, how can they be happy, thinking about their future woes? How can they be
happy, where they are not without anxiety? But I see which you’re going to choose; you’re
going to say, “They don’t know.” So you applaud this ignorance there, which you won’t
allow me to enjoy here, since you teach me on earth what you say I’m not going to know in
heaven. “They don’t know,” you say. If they don’t know, and don’t think they are going to
endure them, it’s being mistaken that allows them to be happy. After all, they think they
are not going to endure what in fact they are; thinking something that’s false – what else is
that but being mistaken? So it’s by being mistaken that they will be content; they will be
happy, not with eternity but with falsity. (Sermon 241, 5, tr. Hill)
This critique is further substantiated by referring to the Platonic belief that the
world soul is permanently attached to its body, as are the souls of the celestial
bodies. If indeed the perfect soul shuns the body, it becomes incomprehensible
that the perfect and divine souls of the universe and the celestial bodies have
never left their body behind (Ciu. Dei X 29).
However, in all of this, there is one point of light, which Augustine will not
fail to stress – thereby again revealing contradiction within the Platonic philo-
sophical breed –, namely, Porphyry’s statement that some souls do not return
to a corporeal state. In making this point, the Phaedrus is going to play an im-
portant role in the background.
4 The Phaedrus
As argued by Michael Simmons, in a recent monograph on how Porphyry pre-
sented a theory of salvation over against his Christian opponents, the Phaedrus
myth provided Porphyry with a number of decisive elements to make his claim
that philosophers may be permanently disembodied in the afterlife, with an

eternal relief from the rebirth cycles which all other souls need to endure.10 The
idea of permanent escape from incarnation is not envisioned in the myth of Er,
but the Phaedrus seems to hint at it:
Of all these, any who have led their lives with justice will change to a better fate, and any
who have led theirs with injustice, to a worse one. In fact, no soul returns to the place
from which it came for ten thousand years, since its wings will not grow before then, ex-
cept for the soul of a man who practices philosophy without guile or who loves boys philo-
sophically. If, after the third cycle of one thousand years, the last-mentioned souls have
chosen such a life three times in a row, they grow their wings back, and they depart in the
three-thousandth year. As for the rest, once their first life is over, they come to judgment
and, once judged, some are condemned to go to places of punishment beneath the earth
and pay the full penalty for their injustice, while the others are lifted up by justice to a
place in heaven where they live in the manner the life they led in human form has earned
them. In the thousandth year both groups arrive at a choice and allotment of second lives,
and each soul chooses the life it wants. (Phaedrus 248e–249b)
Personally, I do not believe that Plato is saying here that a genuine philoso-
pher’s soul is permanently detached from the cycle of rebirths, but that is at
least how Porphyry read the passage.11 Augustine is our primary witness to the
claim Porphyry made in his De regressu animae:
Porphyry also says that God put the soul into the world so that, having come to recognize
the evils of matter, it might return to the Father and never again be held down in the defil-
ing pollution of such things. And here again, even if he has not got things quite right – for
the soul was actually put into the body to do good, since it would not learn about evils if it
did no evil – he corrects the opinion of other Platonists on a matter of no small importance:
he acknowledges that the soul, once cleansed from all evils and established with the
Father, is never again going to suffer the evils of this world. (Ciu. Dei X 30, tr. Babcock)
Augustine then explains how Porphyry’s statement goes counter to other

Platonists like Virgil (as quoted above), who made the souls go back into bodies
after passing through the river Lethe. Porphyry was certainly right to reject
this, he adds, as it would be absurd that souls would want their own misery
(with the argument he also develops in Sermon 241, as we have seen). He then
concludes:
Porphyry saw this, and for this reason he said that the purified soul returns to the Father
precisely so that it may never again be held down in the defiling pollution of evils. Thus
the view held by certain Platonists is false, the view that there is a necessary cycle of
10 Simmons 2015, 134–158; 159–186. Alfeche 1995 was the first one to recognize the Phaedrus
as a sub-text in this discussion.
11 Cf. Bussanich 2013, 271n85; Wilberding 2011, 11; Simmons 2015, 163.
128 Gerd Van Riel
departing from and returning to the same things. (. . .) we must obviously prefer
Porphyry’s view over that of people who imagine a cycle in which souls forever alternate
between happiness and misery. And if that is so, then we have here a Platonist whose
position is better than Plato’s. We have here a Platonist who saw what Plato failed to see;
and even though he came after such a great and distinguished teacher, he did not shrink
from correcting him. He put truth ahead of the man. (Ciu. Dei X 30, tr. Babcock)
That is to say, Porphyry’s point makes him a better Platonist than Plato himself
was. Unbeknownst to Augustine, the Phaedrus provided Porphyry with exactly
this point, and thus underlies the doctrine with which Augustine now agrees, de-
spite his general hostility towards Porphyry. At the same time, however, this sin-
gle agreement is just one ray of sun within a densely clouded sky. As Augustine
indicates later in Ciu. Dei, the main issue remains the resurrection of the body:
In Christian times, as I have already indicated in the previous books, Porphyry was em-
barrassed at this Platonic teaching, and he not only rejected animal bodies for human
souls but also insisted that the souls of the wise are set free from all bodily ties and, flee-
ing from all bodies, are preserved with the Father in happiness without end. Thus, in
order to keep from seeming to be outdone by Christ, who promised everlasting life to the
saints, Porphyry also established purified souls in eternal happiness without any return
to their former miseries. But, in order to oppose Christ, he denied the resurrection of in-
corruptible bodies and asserted that these souls would live for all eternity, not only with-
out earthly bodies but without any bodies at all. (Ciu. Dei XIII 19, tr. Babcock)
Augustine concludes this discussion on what is once more a thoroughly rhetori-

cal note. What we need, conceptually, he says, is a combination of Porphyry’s
eternally happy soul with Plato’s apparent appreciation of the body, when he
maintains that souls cannot exist without returning to the body:
If Plato and Porphyry had been able to exchange with each other some of the assertions that
each made separately, they might both have become Christians. Plato stated that souls can-
not exist for eternity without bodies. That is why he said that even the souls of the wise, after
some indefinitely long period of time, will return to bodies. Porphyry, on the other hand,
claimed that the fully purified soul, once it has returned to the Father, will never again return
to the evils of this world. Thus, if Plato had provided Porphyry with the truth that he saw –
namely, that even the fully purified souls of the just and the wise are going to return to
human bodies – and if Porphyry had provided Plato with the truth that he saw – namely,
that holy souls are never going to return to the miseries of the corruptible body – they would
each have made their claims not separately but together, each holding both truths. And in
that case I think they would have seen what follows – both that souls return to bodies and
that they receive the kind of bodies in which they may live in happiness and immortality.
For, according to Plato, holy souls will not return to the evils of this world. Therefore, let
Porphyry say with Plato, “They will return to bodies,” and let Plato say with Porphyry, “They
will not return to evils.” Then they will be in agreement that souls return to bodies, but to
bodies in which they will suffer no evils. And these bodies will be none other than the bodies
that God promises when he says that blessed souls will live for all eternity with their own
eternal flesh. For, so far as I can see, both Plato and Porphyry would now readily grant us
this – that anyone who acknowledges that the souls of the holy are going to return to immor-
tal bodies would also permit them to return to their own bodies, in which they endured the
evils of this world and in which they devoutly and faithfully worshiped God in order to be
free from these evils. (Ciu. Dei XXII 27, tr. Babcock)
It is clear that Augustine values Porphyry’s statement in De regressu animae as

a good basis for further exploration of the Christian doctrine of the resurrection
of the body, provided one reads it together with Plato’s obvious sympathy for
the body, as expressed in the Timaeus. For the World-soul would never stay to-
gether with the body of the world, nor would the divine souls remain with the
celestial bodies, etc., if indeed the body were evil in itself, i.e., if, as Porphyry
says elsewhere, every kind of body is to be shunned. All of those intra-Platonic
contradictions are welcomed by Augustine with a good deal of Schadenfreude,
but at the same time, Augustine extracts from them a theory that allows him to
give a consistent argument for the soul’s final destination and for the resurrec-
tion of the body. In this exercise, the Phaedrus provided one of the crucial argu-
ments, even though Augustine did not know this.
Apart from the role the Phaedrus thus played in eschatology, one may high-
light the way in which another quote from the Phaedrus allows Augustine to
summarize his views on the soul, namely by referring to the expression τὸ τῆς
ἀληθείας πεδίον (Phdr. 248b), which does not figure in the extant works of
Porphyry, but which Augustine may have read in Plotinus (Enn. I 3 (20) 4.11
and VI 7 (38) 13.34). The later Augustine is here reflecting on how the soul is
enlightened by God:
(The human soul) has no light of its own, no power of its own. The only beauty the soul
has consists of power and wisdom (uirtus et sapientia), but it is not wise of itself, nor
strong of itself, nor is it the source of its own light, or its own power. There is another
source and wellspring of strength (origo fonsque uirtutis), there is a root of wisdom (radix
sapientiae); there is a country of immutable truth (regio incommutabilis ueritatis), if I may
so express it. When the soul departs from that country it is darkened, but it is illuminated
as it approaches. Draw near to him and receive his light (Ps 33.6 [34.5]), for by moving
away you are darkened. (En. Ps. 58 1.18, tr. Boulding)
The context is partly epistemological, partly moral and eschatological. Most im-
portantly, in a typical move, the later Augustine now adds to his previous state-
ment about the soul’s ascent (as put forward, e.g. in his Sol.), that the human
soul can never attain its highest destination solely by its own forces. In order to
be saved, the soul needs God’s light, God’s power and God’s wisdom. This dis-
cussion is also part of Augustine’s reaction against Porphyry’s De regressu ani-
mae, where Augustine points out that Porphyry’s theory of eternal salvation of
the philosophers’ soul presupposes a doctrine of grace:
130 Gerd Van Riel
Still, you acknowledge the existence of grace, since you say that it has been granted to
only a few to attain to God by the strength of their intelligence. For you do not say: ‘a few
decided to attain’ or ‘a few chose’; no, when you say: ‘it has been granted,’ you are un-
doubtedly bearing witness to the grace of God, and not to any self-sufficiency of man.
(Ciu. Dei X 29, tr. Babcock)12
What Augustine adds to this in his Exposition of Psalm 58 is, then, a creative com-
bination of Scriptural evidence and implicit Platonic reference, arguing for the
need of God’s grace in order for any soul to be allowed eternal happiness. The “re-
gion of immutable truth” thus neatly wraps up our story, by recanting the first
echo from the Phaedrus in the Soliloquia, by becoming a conclusion of Augustine’s
discussion with Porphyry, and by providing a summary of Augustine’s teaching
on the enlightenment of the soul through God’s grace, over against the pride
of the pagans who believed that the soul could accomplish this on its own. Once
more, Plato is used against Plato, or, to quote Augustine’s version of the
Ciceronian device, “truth is put ahead of the man”.
12 Aug., Ciu. Dei X 29: Confiteris tamen gratiam, quando quidem ad Deum per uirtutem intelli-
gentiae peruenire paucis dicis esse concessum. Non enim dicis: ‘paucis placuit’ uel ‘pauci uoluer-
unt’, sed cum dicis esse concessum, procul dubio Dei gratiam, non hominis sufficientiam
confiteris.
Pieter d’Hoine
Plato’s Phaedrus as a Manual for
Neoplatonic Hermeneutics: The Case
of the Anonymous Prolegomena to Plato’s
Philosophy
1 Prolegomena
Plato’s Phaedrus was a central dialogue in the later Platonic discussions on the
destiny of the soul, on intelligible beauty, and on the attributes of the gods, as
various contributions in this volume show. In this paper, however, I will direct our
attention to the methodological use that the later Neoplatonic commentators
made of the Phaedrus in their development of a hermeneutical strategy to cope
with Plato’s dialogues. For a number of reasons, many of these dialogues consti-
tute a particular challenge for their readers. Not only does the dialogue form allow
Plato to hide behind his characters, it also enables him to expose his great literary
skills by invoking myth and metaphor as well as philosophical concepts and argu-
ments, within an often meandering conversation that touches upon a variety of
topics in the artful imitation of a more or less spontaneous discussion. This typical
genre of writing, as well as the status that it had acquired among the later
Platonists, called for a special hermeneutics. I will argue that the later Platonists
turned to Plato’s Phaedrus as one of the main source-texts for the development of
such a hermeneutics. The commentators on Plato from late Antiquity indeed scru-
tinized the Phaedrus in an attempt to find in this work Plato’s own reading instruc-
tions for the dialogues, and many of the hermeneutical strategies that they
applied to the dialogues can be traced back to the Phaedrus. I will focus here on
Plato’s comparison of speech with a living being, the repercussions of which for
Neoplatonic hermeneutics will be illustrated mainly with reference to the
Anonymous Prolegomena to Plato’s Philosophy, even though I will occasionally
compare this text with material from Hermias’ Commentary on the Phaedrus, as
Note: The research for this paper was conducted as part of the research project on “Epistemic
authority in the late ancient commentators on Plato,” funded by the KU Leuven Research
Fund. I thank Jeremy Hovda for his revision of my English and Anna Motta and Marc-Antoine
Gavray for their remarks on earlier drafts of this paper.
Pieter d’Hoine, KU Leuven
https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110683936-009
132 Pieter d’Hoine
well as from the methodological introductions to the extant commentaries on vari-

ous Platonic dialogues from the fifth and sixth centuries CE.
The Prolegomena to Plato’s Philosophy is an introduction to the study of
Plato that was most likely written, as Westerink has compellingly argued,1 in
the second half of the sixth century CE, by an anonymous author who must
have been a close follower of the Alexandrian Olympiodorus and who could
rely on material from the fifth-century Athenian Proclus. The work testifies to
the later Neoplatonic school practice, where after a first cycle of studies devoted
to Aristotle, students proceeded to the ‘greater mysteries’ of Plato, in which
they were instructed through reading and commenting on a canonical set of
twelve dialogues, starting from the First Alcibiades and culminating with the
Timaeus and the Parmenides.2 Much in line with a practice that is still common
today, the reading of Plato’s dialogues was preceded by a discussion of a num-
ber of preliminary points, which in the course of time had become standard-
ized, probably under the impulse of Proclus.3 Apart from a biography of Plato,
the Prolegomena contain a set of ten preliminary points,4 ranging from general
considerations about the peculiar character of Plato’s philosophy and literary
production, over methodological issues concerning the interpretation of the
dialogues, to a discussion of their most appropriate order of reading. One could
consider the Anonymous Prolegomena to Plato as a concise manual or guide-
book for the novice reader of Plato, in which besides realia about Plato’s life
and thought a number of hermeneutical and exegetical issues are addressed.
1 For the authorship of the Prolegomena, see Westerink 1962, XLI–L (the dependence on
Proclus is discussed at XLI). A revised (and translated) version of Westerink’s introduction is
published in Westerink & Trouillard 1990 (esp. LXXVI–LXXIX). My references to the Greek text of
the Prolegomena will be to the line numbers of the Budé edition (Westerink & Trouillard 1990).
For a more recent bibliography on the Prolegomena, see also Motta 2014a, 156–176.
2 See the famous tenth chapter of the Prolegomena, in which the so-called ‘Iamblichean
canon’ is discussed, the reading order of the dialogues that formed the basis of the Platonic
curriculum in the post-Iamblichean schools. For a discussion of the canon, see Westerink &
Trouillard 1990, LXVII–LXXIV and Festugière 1969, 281–296. For the Neoplatonic curriculum, see
also Hoffmann 2006.
3 The Anonymous Prolegomena to Plato is the only extant specimen of what must have been a
widely practiced genre in the later Platonic schools: for a systematic study of the extant mate-
rial and evidence, see Mansfeld 1994. For a study of the introductions to Aristotle, see Hadot
1990, 19–182.
4 Westerink & Trouillard 1990, LXXV (cf. Westerink 1962, XLI) argue that the biography of Plato
has a special status, as it was not included in the set of ten preliminary points proposed by
Proclus, and Olympiodorus’ Life of Plato shows that it has a somewhat separate status. For the
status of Plato’s biography, see also Hadot 1990, 32.
The Anonymous Prolegomena to Plato 133
The title of my paper should therefore not be taken too literally. No Platonist
ancient or modern was so bold as to consider Plato’s Phaedrus as a made-to-
measure hermeneutical manual. In fact, this puzzling dialogue required quite
some philosophical and interpretive effort to be made useful for the Neoplatonic
hermeneutics of the dialogues. I will attempt to show, however, that what one
may call the ‘hermeneutical sections’ of the Anonymous Prolegomena can all be
traced back, directly or indirectly, to discussions that were either elicited by the
Phaedrus or else were deemed to find their most satisfactory answer in that dia-
logue. Some of the connections that I will establish are obvious enough and have
been sufficiently studied, such as the importance of the Phaedrus for the
Neoplatonic skopos theory,5 while other examples will urge us to dig somewhat
deeper into the sources and parallels of the Prolegomena. By systematically look-
ing at the various chapters of the Prolegomena in view of their connection to
Plato’s Phaedrus I hope to expose the importance that this dialogue has had for
the later Neoplatonic hermeneutics of the dialogues.
The problems that I will tackle stem from two vexed questions raised by both
ancient and modern readers of Plato, and which can be rendered in the form of
two paradoxes to which the rhetorical doctrine of the Phaedrus is often thought to
be committed. The first can be put as follows: even though Plato in the Phaedrus
for the first time formulated the idea of the organic unity of speech by comparing
it to a living being, the dialogue itself falls short of its own criterion of composi-
tional unity in that it lacks an overall theme – or at least fails to make its readers
understand where to look for such an all-encompassing theme.6 The second para-
dox is equally connected to Plato’s ability as a writer: even though Plato in the
last section of the dialogue extensively discusses the limits of writing and criticizes
the adequacy of written texts to transmit philosophical ideas, this very criticism is
put into writing and thus rendered in an a priori deceitful medium. More broadly
this criticism stands in sharp contrast to Plato’s own voluminous literary produc-
tion. My story will set out from the Neoplatonic discussions of the unity of Plato’s
dialogues, to which Plato’s conception of organic unity is absolutely central. By
following the thread of the various Neoplatonic interpretations and applications of
the speech-animal image, however, we will have occasion to see how the later
Platonists also take it to provide a solution to the second puzzle that I have raised,
namely that of the justification of Plato’s literary production.
5 For the connection of the skopos theory with the Phaedrus, see e.g. Dalsgaard Larsen 1972,
367–368 and Dillon 1973, 248–249.
6 The unity of the Phaedrus is one the most frequently discussed problems of the dialogue:
see recently e.g. Moss 2012 (and the literarure quoted in Moss 2012, 1n2). For the Neoplatonic
discussions on the unity of the Phaedrus, see the paper by Saskia Aerts in this volume.
2 The Organic Imagery of Plato’s Phaedrus

In his seminal work on Neoplatonic literary theory, The Literary Microcosm.
Theories of Interpretation in the later Neoplatonists, James Coulter (1976, 73) refers
to Plato’s Phaedrus as the ‘earliest known discussion of literary unity’. It is mainly
from Phaedrus 264c that a host of later discussions on literary unity and organi-
cism have drawn their inspiration. In this famous passage Socrates states that
speech (λόγος) must resemble a living being (ζῷον), with a body, head, and feet,
which are all proportionate to one another and to the whole. The image is intro-
duced in a discussion of Lysias’ speech, which obviously falls short of this
standard.
This association of logos with organic features is by no means an isolated
case, for upon closer inspection organic imagery pervades the entire discussion
on rhetoric in the final part of the dialogue. Only a little further, at Phaedrus
265e–266a, Socrates talks about the dialectic procedure of division (διαίρεσις).
Unlike the bad butcher, who cuts at random, breaking through bones, a correctly
performed division dissolves a form along its natural joints (κατ’ἄθρα). And in
the long discussion on the value of writing, which starts at Phaedrus 274b, or-
ganic imagery is never far from Plato’s mind. As opposed to the spoken word, the
written work is called a lifeless object, which can be compared with the product
of painting – ζωγραφία, i.e. ‘the drawing of living beings.’ Just as the offspring
(ἔκγονα) of this art appear to be alive (ὡς ζῶντα), but are unable to answer ques-
tions put to them, so the written work is unable to defend itself against objections
and is therefore in need of its father’s support (275d). This defect stands in sharp
contrast with the lively, spoken word, which is called the legitimate brother of
the written work (ἀδελφὸς γνήσιος, 276a; cf. also 278a), and which will persist as
living and ensouled logos (276a) once it has been written in an animated being,
namely in a fitting soul (276e).
This comparison of logos, in its various ramifications (as speech or discourse
in general, as dialectical reasoning, or as spoken word), with a living being was
central to the later Neoplatonic developments in literary theory, as Coulter has
abundantly shown. What I want to argue for here, is that it was also from this
crucial image that the hermeneutical strategies developed by the later
Neoplatonic commentators for deciphering Plato’s dialogues took their inspira-
tion. By exploiting the many different interpretations that this image allowed for,
the later Neoplatonists managed to break as it were the code of Plato’s dialogues.
3 Speech as a Living Being and the skopos

of Plato’s Dialogues
When Hermias, in his Commentary on the Phaedrus (242.18–29 L–M), discusses
Plato’s analogy between speech and a living being (264c), he takes the image to
be concerned with a comparison between logos and ‘the natural constitution of
animals and plants’ (τῇ φυσικῇ κατασκευῇ καὶ ζῴων καὶ δένδρων). Hermias in
this context mentions three aspects for which the comparison holds: continuity
(συνεχές), unity (ἥνωται) and order (τάξιν). For the commentator, it is especially
the unity of discourse that turns out to be fundamental, for it is the point that he
immediately elaborates in further detail, explaining that beauty and goodness
are bestowed upon things by virtue of the illumination from the One (ἀπὸ τοῦ
ἑνὸς ἐπιλάμπεται). The Neoplatonic theme of the priority of unity over multiplic-
ity looms large in the later commentators’ applications of this passage.7
The most prominent application of the analogy between speech and a living
being is to be found in the Neoplatonic discussions on the ‘aim’ or skopos of
Plato’s dialogues.8 The idea is that each dialogue, or in general any well-composed
text, has a single goal or target, at which the entire discussion aims. The careful
determination of the skopos is therefore a preliminary task for any commentator
who wants to proceed methodologically. In the course of the exegesis, the sko-
pos can be used as a criterion to choose between various alternative interpreta-
tions of a passage, or as a justification for the symbolic interpretation of, for
instance, the prologues and setting of Plato’s dialogues.9 The determination of
the skopoi of Plato’s dialogues is further instrumental in establishing their cor-
rect reading order and thus also contributes to discovering the systematic philo-
sophical project behind the dialogues. The doctrine, which in the classical
application adopted by the later Neoplatonic commentators can be traced back
to Iamblichus,10 is arguably the most important hermeneutical principle of
7 In the introduction to his commentary, Hermias had also insisted on the unity of the dia-
logue, by claiming that like a living being a dialogue can only have a single skopos: see In
Phdr. 10.4–7 and 12.14–16 L–M.
8 For the central role that the skopos plays in the Neoplatonic exegesis of Plato’s dialogues, as
well as for its limitations, see now Baltzly 2017, which came to my attention only after complet-
ing this paper.
9 See e.g. Procl., In Remp. I 6.7–12; In Parm. I 630.15–25 and 659.9–17 (where Phdr. 264c3 is
alluded to in support of this practice); In Alc. 18.15–20; In Tim. I 77.24–78.1 (where Iamblichus
is credited for this practice).
10 For the Iamblichean origin of the theory, see esp. Dalsgaard Larsen 1972, 435–446 and
Dillon 1973, 56 and 248–249. The evidence for this attribution includes Hermias, In Phdr. 10.
Neoplatonic exegesis. It is discussed, at greater or lesser length, in nearly all

extant commentaries on Plato from the fifth and sixth centuries.11 Its most sys-
tematic presentation, however, can be found in the ninth chapter of the
Anonymous Prolegomena to Plato, where the author also introduces a set of
rules or canons to establish the skopos of the dialogues. This text alone would
suffice to prove the importance of the Phaedrus for the later Platonic hermeneu-
tics of the dialogues. The opening lines of the chapter run as follows:
The ninth point for consideration is: how many rules have we to go by in establishing12
the skopos of each dialogue? The necessity of finding the skopos follows from Plato’s own
words in the Phaedrus: “My boy, there is only one way to plan a thing well, namely, to
know what the planning is about; otherwise complete failure is inevitable.” When he him-
self says this, we cannot shirk the task of deciding what the subject of each of his own
writings is (περὶ τίνος ἐν ἑκάστῳ διαλέγεται). (Anon. Proleg. 21.1–7, tr. Westerink)
The passage quoted by the Anonymous stems from Socrates’ first speech in the
Phaedrus (237b7–c2), which had constituted a first advancement as compared
to Lysias’ speech. For unlike Lysias, Socrates proceeded methodologically, first
determining the general theme on which he was about to discourse. This plan-
ning is the first task of the rhetorician or writer who is about to compose his
piece, but insofar as the process can be reversed, the determination of the sko-
pos by the audience or reader is indispensable for an adequate understanding
of any well-composed speech. It is worthy of note that the Anonymous clearly
assumes that Plato’s dialogues must live up to the set standard – i.e., that they
are instances of well-composed speech, and hence result from prior planning.
This is why a commentator is justified in assuming that there is a precise skopos
embedded in each dialogue. Plato thus provides his commentators with guide-
lines for their reading of the dialogues.
The Anonymous continues by elaborating on a set of ten rules that allow
one, in his words, to ‘chase’ (θηρᾶσαι) the skopos (21.16–17; cf. 21.2). The first on
his list concerns the problem of unity and multiplicity, which is the fundamental
canon on which all the others depend, and it is significant that the rule is estab-
lished on the authority of Plato’s analogy between speech and living being:
4–9 and 12.14–13.5 L–M (= Fr. 1 a and b Dillon), where Hermias relies on Iamblichus’ determi-
nation of the Phaedrus’ skopos, and Elias, In Cat. 131.10–13, where the single skopos rule is
explicitly attributed to Iamblichus.
11 Procl., In Alc. 5.15–9.18; In Crat. §1; In Tim. I 1.4–4.5; In Parm. I 630.15–645.6; In Remp. I 7.
5–14.14; Herm., In Phdr. 9.13–13.27 L–M; Dam., In Phil. §§1–6; Ol., In Alc. 3.3–9.19; In Gorg. Proem.
§4, 3.1–20.
12 The term used by the Anonymous here is actually ‘θηρᾶν’, ‘to chase’.
One or many: we must maintain that a dialogue has one skopos, not many. How indeed
could Plato treat more than one skopos in a dialogue, when he praises the deity for the
very reason that it is one?13 Besides, he says himself that the dialogue is like a living
being, because every literary work is (ὅτι ὁ διάλογος ζῴῳ ἔοικεν, ἐπειδὴ καὶ ὁ λόγος); any
well-written piece of literature (πᾶς . . . λόγος ἄριστα γεγραμμένος) can be compared to a
living being; if, then, the dialogue is comparable to a living being, and a living being has
only one purpose (ἓν τελος), the Good (for the sake of which it has been created), the dia-
logue must also have one purpose (τέλος), that is, one skopos. (Anon. Proleg. 21.18–25, tr.
Westerink)
This passage again dwells on the unity of the living being as the relevant point of
comparison between speech and living being and further supports the importance
of unity in the hunt for the skopos by relating it to the superiority of an absolutely
simple, divine first principle, and hence to the general Neoplatonic notion of
the priority of unity over multiplicity. In his application of Plato’s analogy, the
Anonymous establishes the importance of unity for discourse by relying on the
idea of final causality (τέλος) in living beings. This suggests an intimate link be-
tween the teleology of living beings, which in Neoplatonic speculation consists in
their reversion to the higher and more unitary principle from which they derive,
and the unified skopos of the dialogue as a living being.
Plato’s analogy between speech and a living being thus constitutes the main
exegetical basis for the Neoplatonic theory of the skopos, and this is also the rea-
son why it is quoted regularly in the introductory sections to the commentaries on
Plato.14 When the Anonymous suggests that the ‘single skopos’ rule applies to
‘any well-written piece’ he may have Socrates’ complaint in the Phaedrus in mind,
where the latter and Phaedrus agree that Lysias’ speech is really a mere jumble of
thoughts put together randomly (Phdr. 264ab).15 On the other hand, the remark
also implies that Plato’s dialogues, which settle for nothing less than perfection,
must meet the highest standard of unity – something which the commentators
save no efforts to demonstrate in the prologues to their commentaries.
13 As Westerink & Trouillard 1990, 32n180, remark in their note ad loc. (cf. Westerink 1962,
39), at 8.24–31 the Anonymous has praised Plato for the fact that he puts the One before being.
The present passage is probably to be understood against the backdrop of that particularity of
Plato’s philosophy.
14 Like in the Anon. Proleg., usually Phdr. 264c is quoted in support of the single skopos rule:
see e.g. Procl., In Remp. I 9–12; Herm., In Phdr. 10.4–7; 12.14–16 L–M.
15 Cf. also Herm., In Phdr. 38.18–22, where Hermias, in his discussion of the opening lines of
Lysias’ speech at 231a, anticipates Socrates’ criticism by relying on the analogy between
speech and living being.
4 The Divisions of Plato’s Dialogues

Yet if the dialogue as a literary artefact can be compared to a living being,
then it seems natural to consider the different sections of the dialogue as the
natural parts of which the animal is composed. The question of the correct di-
vision (διαίρεσις) of the dialogues is indeed a traditional topic discussed in
the preliminary sections of the Plato commentaries, and the seventh chapter
of the Prolegomena is devoted to it.16 Even though a reference to the analogy
between speech and a living being would hardly have been surprising in this
context,17 explicit organic imagery is absent from this short chapter. The
Anonymous limits himself to the observation that the correct division of the
dialogue is not carried out on the basis of the plot (ἱστορία) or the characters
(πρόσωπα), nor of the dialectical development (διαλεκτική) or the argumenta-
tive structure (συλλογισμοί) of the dialogue, which are elsewhere identified
with the ‘matter’ (ὕλη) and ‘soul’ of the dialogue respectively.18 The correct
division must instead focus on the doctrines (δόγματα) of the dialogue and
articulate the different sections (τμήματα) in view of them.19 To the best of my
knowledge it has never previously been observed that this problem of the divi-
sion of the text is however related to the analogy between speech and a living
being in the introductory sections of a number of Neoplatonic commentaries,
which address the problem of the division as one of the traditional issues to
be discussed. The exegetical motivation for linking them together seems to de-
rive from Plato’s image of the bad butcher in his explanation, at Phaedrus
265e, of the dialectical procedure of division (διαίρεσις). Unlike the bad
16 For the discussion of this point in the commentaries on Plato, see Procl., In Alc. 11.22–18.12;
In Tim. I 4.6–7.16; In Remp. I 6.25–7.1; In Parm. I 634.5–13 (division carried out by the advo-
cates of the ‘logical’ interpretation of the dialogue); Herm., In Phdr. 13.6–14 L–M; Dam., In
Phil. §7; Ol., In Alc. 11.7–13.8; In Gorg. prooem. § 6, 5.19–22.
17 See e.g. Syr., In Peri stas. 10.20–11.2, who associates the division (διαίρεσις) of speech
(λόγος) according to its different chapters (κατὰ κεφάλαια) with that of an animal along its
joints (κατ’ἄθρα) – as opposed to a randomly and confusedly exercised συγκοπή. This picture
of the division of logos is of course highly reminiscent of Plato’s description of dialectic divi-
sion at Phdr. 265e. Moreover, the very word τμῆμα, which is often used to denote the different
‘sections’ of the dialogue, is of course not entirely foreign to the organic imagery either, as it
primarily signifies the piece that results from the (litteral) cutting of, for instance, an animal,
and it can also be used for the incision or wound that results from the cutting (see LSJ s.v.
τμῆμα, 1800–1801).
18 For the matter of the dialogue (=πρόσωπα, τόπος, χρόνος), see Anon. Proleg. 16.8–59; for
the soul (=ἀποδείξεις), Anon. Proleg. 17.30–31. Cf. also below, section 6.
19 Procl., In Alc. 13.20–28 (cf. fr. 2 Dillon) suggests that this view on the division of Plato’s
dialogues may well be traced back to Iamblichus.
butcher, who breaks the bones, the dialectician should divide his subject
along its natural joints. In the Neoplatonic commentaries on Aristotle’s
Categories, for instance, the correct division of the text is often compared with the
anatomical division of the human being,20 as in the following passage from
Simplicius’ Commentary on the Categories:
The division of books into chapters (κεφάλαια), which cuts up [a work], as it were, ac-
cording to its articulations (κατ’ἄθρα), imitates the anatomical theory [in use] among
doctors. Just as anatomy uses dissection to discover the usefulness which each limb
contributes to the whole, providing us with more accurate knowledge of the composite
whole by laying bare the simple [parts], so dividing a work brings the whole better into
view, and presents the usefulness of each element towards the overall skopos. (Simpl.,
In Cat. 8.25–30, tr. M. Chase)
Like the experienced doctor – and unlike the bad butcher of the Phaedrus – the
exegete should seek to divide the living being – in this case: the text – along its
natural joints. It is interesting to see that Simplicius’ image employs a doctor rather
than a butcher. The former is of course a far better example of someone whose
experience and expertise allows her to handle the organism carefully and who has
the practical knowledge to carry out the correct dissection.21 This expertise is not
limited to a simple knowing how to naturally divide the body, but also includes
accurate knowledge about the contribution of the different parts of the body to
(the proper functioning of) the whole. Where we have previously seen that a clear
grasp of the overall target (skopos) of the dialogue is indispensable for understand-
ing its different parts, we are now told that an assessment of the contribution of
the different parts is instrumental in acquiring adequate knowledge of the whole.
The idea of the hermeneutical circle looms large in the background.
A passage from Proclus’ Commentary on the Republic confirms that the
Neoplatonic speculations about the correct division of the dialogues were deter-
mined by the Phaedrus’ analogy between speech and a living being. The first of
the essays of which this commentary is composed – and which unfortunately has
been transmitted in a highly mutilated form – introduces seven preliminary points
20 This comparison of the division of the text with the anatomical dissection of the human
being is used by nearly all the commentators on the Categories: see, apart from the Simplicius
passage quoted in the main text, also Amm., In Cat. 8.6–10; Phil., In Cat. 8.1–6; Elias (olim
David), In Cat. 128.27–129.1. Only Olympiodorus forms an exception to this rule: see Hadot
1990, 156.
21 The example may of course well be inspired by the analogy that Plato draws between the
good rhetorician, who cares for the soul, and the physician, who has expert knowledge about
the body, at Phdr. 270b sq. Cf. Phdr. 268ac, where it was suggested that the good physician not
only knows which treatments affect the body, but also understands their purpose (to whom,
when and to what extent it is necessary to apply such treatments).
to be dealt with before reading the Republic. In the extant text, we first get the
complete list of seven topics, only the first two of which are treated at length in the
remainder of the text. Apart from a few points of specific interest to the Republic,
the list also contains general hermeneutical issues such as the determination of
the skopos and the dialogue’s division into parts. The discussion of this last issue,
of which the elaboration is no longer extant, is announced in the following terms:
The seventh point consists in making apparent the coherence of doctrines (τῶν δογμάτων
ἀκολουθίαν) that pervades throughout the entire work and in showing, as Plato himself
says in the Phaedrus, that the entire work has been elaborated as it were into a composi-
tion of a single animal that has22 parts and limbs coordinate with one another. (Procl., In
Remp. I 6.24–7.1)
Even though this passage must concern the problem of the correct division of the
dialogue,23 the focus is first of all on the contribution that the different parts or
chapters make to the organic unity of the dialogue as a whole. Like the author of
the Prolegomena, Proclus believes that the division into ‘parts and limbs’ (μέρη
τε καὶ μέλη) must primarily be conducted on the basis of the doctrinal content
(δόγματα) that pervades the dialogue as a whole, which presumably means that
the division is determined by the articulation of the skopos throughout the dia-
logue.24 If this is correct, we have no reason to doubt that the problem of the divi-
sion of Plato’s dialogues, at least from Proclus onwards, found in the Phaedrus’
analogy between speech and living being its main exegetical support.
5 The Dialogue as a Literary Microcosm

All the instances of the comparison between the speech and a living being that
we have considered so far were concerned, as Plato is in the Phaedrus, with the
particular living beings that populate the sensible world. Yet when an educated
Platonist thinks of a living being, it is likely that his thoughts turn to the
22 I am adopting here Kroll’s suggestion to read ἔχοντος before πρὸς ἄλληλα at In Remp. I 6.28.
23 Cf. Mansfeld 1994, 32, who after recalling that the seventh and final point addressed by
Proclus concerns the question of how many chapters one must distinguish, continues that ‘It
is however clear from the summary at the beginning that the last issue included a discussion
of the division of the dialogue into its natural and coherent parts’. Hadot 1990, 33–34, did not
include Proclus’ In Remp. in her analysis of the preliminary points dealt with in the commen-
taries on Plato.
24 This is confirmed e.g. by Procl., In Alc. 13.20–14.27, where in a discussion of the division of
the dialogue it is suggested that this should be carried out in view of the overall skopos.
intelligible Living Being that Plato discusses in the Timaeus. This, as everyone
knows, is the paradigm upon which the demiurge models yet another compre-
hensive living being, namely the visible cosmos, which contains all kinds of liv-
ing beings and which in the very last lines of the Timaeus (92c) is said to be
superior to any other living being in goodness, beauty and perfection. Now if
this cosmos of ours is indeed the most perfect of living beings, and if speech
must resemble a living being, it is only a small step to conclude that the most
perfect speech or text must closely resemble the most perfect sensible living
being that is the cosmos.25 This remarkable analogy between a text and the cos-
mos as a living being – or, in Coulter’s words, between the macrocosmic organ-
ism of the universe and the literary microcosm – forms the basis of a most
remarkable apology for Plato’s use of the dialogue form in the later commen-
tary tradition on Plato. To this problem the fourth chapter of the Anonymous
Prolegomena is devoted.26
The Anonymous first provides the traditional definition of the dialogue,
which we also find in Albinus (Isag. 1.16–19) and Diogenes Laertius (Vit. III 48),
as ‘a piece of writing in prose consisting in questions and answers by various
persons, each properly characterized’ (14.3–5, tr. Westerink). He then proceeds to
formulate the problem more cogently by contrasting Plato’s use of the dialogue
form with, for instance, his condemnation of comic and tragic poetry in the
Republic because of the use they make of a variety of characters.27 After answer-
ing this objection, he moves on to present a positive defence of Plato’s choice for
the dialogue as a genre, providing seven arguments. The first three arguments
explicitly rely on the analogy between the dialogue and the cosmos, comparing
the variety of characters in the dialogue with the enormous diversity of living
beings in the cosmos (15.3–7), and the intermediate nature of the soul, which can
associate with the higher or lower natures, with the reader of a dialogue, who
can identify with the different interlocutors (15.7–13). The third argument makes
the connection with the famous Phaedrus passage and with the notion of the cos-
mos as a perfect living being explicit (15.13–16). This remarkable comparison can
hardly be original, and we do indeed find it also in Olympiodorus’ Commentary
25 For a most illuminating discussion of this doctrine and its sources, see Coulter 1976,
95–103.
26 For this analogy, see also Brisson 1987, Motta 2014b and, more recently, Motta 2018 (which
only came to my attention after finishing this paper). For another elaborate defense of the dia-
logue form, see Procl., In Alc. 170.1–171.6.
27 Prol. 14.11–19. For Plato’s criticism, see Resp. III 394b3–398b7. For discussions of this criti-
cism, see Procl., In Remp. I 49.13–54.2 and Ol., In Gorg. 33 §3, 172.6–23. For the defence of
Plato’s dialogue form against this objection, see also Ol., In Gorg. Proem. §1, 1.7–19.
on the First Alcibiades, in another vigorous defence of Plato’s choice for the dia-
logue form. Olympiodorus’ fourth argument nicely summarizes the line of rea-
soning behind this influential comparison:
Alternately, <our third reply is> that, as he says in the Phaedrus, ‘it is necessary for the
speech to resemble a living being’ (δεῖ τὸν λόγον ἐοικέναι ζῴῳ); and it follows that the
best-constructed speech must resemble the best of living beings.28 And the best living
being is the cosmos: just as this <world> serves as a meadow for a diversity of living
beings, the speech should likewise be full of all kinds of characters. And <this is also the
case> in other ways, since, just as in this <cosmos> all things speak and act (for the activi-
ties of beings are like their voices), so too in the speech it is appropriate for all of its char-
acters to speak, just as it is for everyone to act. (Ol., In Alc. 56.14–22, tr. M. Griffin)
Just like in the Timaeus the visible cosmos, which contains a great variety of
living beings, is modelled upon an intelligible Paradigm, so here the dialogue,
which contains a wealth of characters, is modelled upon the visible cosmos.
The best-composed speech, the dialogue, is thus like a living being that is mod-
elled upon the best of living beings in the visible realm, which is the cosmos.
Unlike the Timaeus, the passage does not make explicit the connection with the
intelligible Living Being upon which the cosmos as an encompassing living
being is itself modelled. Yet if we are allowed to make this connection, we are
left with three hierarchically ordered types of all-encompassing living beings:
the intelligible Living Being, the cosmos, and the dialogue, all three of which
contain on their own a whole world of living beings. Moreover, it cannot escape
our notice that these three types of living beings are posited in a relation analo-
gous to the three types of items that Plato mentions in his discussion of mimetic
art in Republic X (Form, sensible particular, and its artistic imitation).29 If that
is correct, then one could object that the line of reasoning adopted by
Olympiodorus and the Anonymous entails that Plato’s dialogues too should
be considered as ‘three steps removed from the truth’, as painting is in the
Republic. In an entirely different context, namely in his defence of Homer in the
28 καὶ τὸν οὖν ἄριστα κατεσκευασμένον λόγον δεῖ τῷ ἀρίστῳ τῶν ζῴων ἐοικέναι. The pas-
sage, as we have seen, alludes to Tim. 92c4–9, which itself takes up again an idea first devel-
oped in Tim. 27d5–29d3, where Timaeus discusses what kind of paradigm the visible cosmos is
modelled on. Note that unlike Olympiodorus, who calls the living being upon which speech is
modelled ‘ἄριστον’, Anon. Proleg. 15.19–20 instead calls it ‘κάλλιστον’. One recalls that
Timaeus infers from the fact that the visible cosmos is κάλλιστος τῶν γεγονότων that it must
be modelled upon an eternal paradigm, which is the best of causes (ἄριστος τῶν αἰτίων, Tim.
29a). However, at 30b5–6 and 92c8 both κάλλιστος and ἄριστος are attributed to the visible
cosmos itself. This may explain the two alternative formulations of the same idea.
29 See Plat., Resp. X 597b.
sixth essay of his Commentary on the Republic, Proclus actually addresses this
objection.30 Proclus’ answer is that an author should be judged by the standard
of his most noble achievements, not by his most base preoccupations. So even
if the dialogues provide imitations of particular characters with all their de-
fects – and in this respect Plato is indeed ‘three steps from the truth’ –, this is
mere literary ornament; it does not detract from Plato’s status as such, since
that is primarily to be determined on the basis of his philosophical doctrine,
which comes much closer to the divine truth (In Remp. I 199.3–10). The idea
that an author should be judged by his most noble achievement may well be,
once again, a far cry from Plato’s Phaedrus, where it is said that only those who
consider their writings as their highest achievements should properly be called
poet, speech writer, or law writer, since a philosopher properly so called should
always be able to go beyond his own writing (Phdr. 278c–e).
6 The Components of the Dialogue

Let us briefly consider one final consequence of the comparison between the
dialogue and the cosmos, which ultimately relies on the Phaedrus’ comparison
of speech with a living being. I am referring to the problem of the different con-
stituents of which a dialogue consists, which is the fifth problem dealt with in
the Anonymous Prolegomena (16.1–17.48). Since the dialogue is an imitation of
the cosmos, so the author argues, the dialogues must contain as many compo-
nents as the cosmos does.
The Anonymous then reports two ways in which one could understand this
analogy, both of them very akin to one another. The first (16.6–7) approaches the
analogy in terms of the different layers of reality that are to be distinguished
within the Neoplatonic universe – from the bottom upwards: matter, form, na-
ture, soul, intellect and the divinity (here presumably designating the One).
These various layers of reality are all telescoped within the sensible cosmos, in
the sense that the causal role exerted by the different hypostases results in their
presence within the visible cosmos, as the effect somehow remains in the cause.
It is presumably in this sense that the different levels of reality can be called
30 See Procl., In Remp. I 198.25–199.14. The context of Proclus’ remarks is of course very dif-
ferent: in the sixth essay of In Remp. his concern is to defend Plato against the charges that he
directed against mimetic poetry in Resp. II and III, which raises the question why Plato’s dia-
logues, which themselves contain a great deal of imitation, can escape his own criticism. For
the resemblance between Plato and Homer on this point, see e.g. In Remp. I 159.10–163.9.
‘components’ or ‘constituents’ of the universe (τὰ συνιστῶτα τὸν κόσμον; Anon.

Proleg. 16.4–5). Thus the various layers of the Neoplatonic system all leave their
traces in the magnificent living being that the cosmos is, and hence also in the
dialogue, which is an imitation of that cosmos. In the fifth chapter of the
Prolegomena, the Anonymous explains how these components are to be con-
ceived of within Plato’s dialogues: while the characters and spatio-temporal cir-
cumstances of the dialogues (πρόσωπα, τόπος, χρόνος) constitute their matter
(16.8–59), the particular style (χαρακτήρ) of each dialogue constitutes its form
(17.1–18), the way in which the encounter is presented (ὁ τρόπος τῆς συνουσίας)
its nature (17.19–29), the arguments or demonstrations its soul (17.30–33), the
problem dealt with its intellect (17.33), and the overall good that the dialogue
aims at is the analogue of the divinity (17.38–39).
In his Commentary on the First Alcibiades (10.6–23), Proclus too relies on the
idea that the dialogue must have as many constituents as the universe (το πᾶν)
in his discussion of the various components of the Alcibiades I. With the excep-
tion of nature, which is lacking, Proclus’ list of components is identical to that of
the Prolegomena.31 In the same context, Proclus refers the reader to another work
of his where this analogy is further expounded (In Alc. 10.4–5). We can thus be
fairly sure that Proclus was the first to develop this line of thought in his own
introduction to Plato, which must have been, as we have seen, an important
source for the Anonymous Prolegomena. Even though the discussion of the com-
ponents of the dialogue only indirectly derives from the Phaedrus’ comparison
between speech and a living being – mediated by the analogy between dialogue
and cosmos –, there does seem to be a way to tighten the connection between
these thoughts. The idea that the particular living being, especially the human
being, is itself a microcosm, is of course far from alien to Greek thought. In his
Commentary on the Timaeus, Proclus twice refers to the analogy between the
macrocosm of the universe and the microcosm of the particular human being in
order to explain why Timaeus first discusses the causes of the universe, and then
proceeds to deal with the particular human being.32 The reason behind the com-
parison between the human microcosm (μικρὸς κόσμος) and the cosmos is, it
seems, the structural analogy between their causal components: intellect, ratio-
nal soul, the aetherial vehicle (which is elsewhere identified with nature), and
the ‘earthly body composed of the four elements’ (which presumably consists of
a combination of matter and form) (In Tim. I 5.13–17). If we were to press this line
of thought, it would turn out that both the dialogue and the individual human
31 Cf. the detailed comparison in Westerink & Trouillard 1990, LXIV–LXV.

32 See In Tim. I 5.11–17; cf. 202.25–28, where the idea is traced back to Plato’s Philebus (29c sq.).
being are particular microcosms that are both structered by analogy with the sen-
sible cosmos as a whole. By implication, the Platonic dialogue, as perfect speech,
and the human being, as the most perfect particular living being, would resem-
ble one another, as the Phaedrus had already suggested.
At any rate, the Anonymous Prolegomena also reports a second way –
closely connected to the first – of understanding the analogy between the com-
ponents of the dialogue and those of the cosmos. This second way tackles the
problem not from the perspective of the different layers of reality, but from the
causal functions usually associated with them:
It is possible to show in another way how the constituents of the dialogue are analogous
to those of the universe. Since for each reality that comes to be there are six causes – the
material, the formal, the productive, the final, the paradigmatic and the instrumental
cause –, the characters and the time and the place are analogous to the material cause,
the style to the formal cause, the soul to the productive cause, the arguments to the in-
strumental cause, the problems to the paradigmatic cause, and the good (i.e. of the dia-
logue) to the final cause. (Anon. Proleg. 17.40–48, my tr.)
The six platonic causes mentioned here are often associated with the different
levels within the Neoplatonic ontological hierarchy, where the One (as final
cause), Intellect (as paradigmatic cause, since it contains the Forms), Soul (i.e.
the World Soul, as productive cause), and Nature, as the instrument which
transmits the causal efficacy of the three genuine hypostases, all contribute to
the constitution and change of hylomorphic compounds.33 Thus this classifica-
tion has a one-to-one correspondence with the previous list of components of
the dialogue. With respect to the third and fourth items in the new list the au-
thor of the Prolegomena seems to be confused, as he here identifies the produc-
tive cause with the soul (which was the fourth component in the first list),
rather than with what corresponds to it in the dialogue, namely the arguments,
and the instrumental cause with the arguments (the analogue of soul), rather
than with the way in which the conversation is presented (which corresponded
to nature in the previous list). I am not aware of any passage in the prologues
to the extant commentaries on Plato where the different components of the dia-
logue are referred to with reference to this causal taxonomy. In his Commentary
on the Gorgias, however, Olympiodorus uses the sixfold classification of causes
in an analysis of what he considers to be the skopos of the dialogue, namely
‘constitutional happiness’ (πολιτικὴ εὐδαιμονία), before taking some of these
33 See e.g. Procl., In Parm VI 1059.3–15; for the history of this causal taxonomy, see e.g.
d’Hoine 2017a. In cosmological contexts, Proclus sometimes associates the paradigmatic cause
rather with the Timaeus’ Living Being and the efficient or productive cause with the demiurge
(see d’Hoine 2017a, 236–240).
components as a basis for the division of the dialogue.34 Both this passage and
the Anonymous’ confusion may suggest that the distinction between the two
different ways of understanding the components of the dialogue is a somewhat
unfortunate development (or rather mistake?) of the Anonymous himself, who
mingles the Proclean components of the dialogue (One, Intellect, Soul, Nature,
form, matter) with the causal taxonomy usually associated with them.
7 Plato’s Justification of Philosophical Writing

The comparison between the dialogue and the universe brings us to the second
problem that I mentioned at the outset of this paper: the justification of Plato’s
literary production, especially in the context of his own criticism of writing in
the Phaedrus. The problem, which owes its raison d’être to Plato’s Phaedrus
where the value of writing was deemed worthy of a lengthy discussion (Phdr.
274b-278e), must have raised considerable interest among Plato’s ancient read-
ers, as the Anonymous devotes the third point on his list to this issue. His dis-
cussion is introduced in the following words:
First we must solve the much-discussed problem (ἀπορία) why he (sc. Plato) thought it nec-
essary to commit his own teachings to writing (διὰ τὸ συγγραφῆς ἀξιῶσαι τὰ οἰκεῖα
δόγματα). For he himself in the Phaedrus, it is remarked, criticizes writers of books (τοὺς
συγγραφομένους) because their works (συγγράμματα), being lifeless, cannot defend them-
selves when doubts are raised, as they always say the same thing and cannot answer a dif-
ficulty brought against them; therefore, he says, we should not write books (συγγράφειν),
but leave pupils, who are living books. This was also the practice of his predecessors: thus
Socrates and Pythagoras left only pupils, not writings (συγγράμματα). (Anon. Proleg. 13.
4–14, tr. Westerink, slightly mod.)
That the Anonymous’ justification of Plato’s literary production stands in a

long tradition is not merely suggested by the scholastic nature of this work, but
also by what the Anonymous writes elsewhere. In fact, in his tenth chapter, the
Anonymous discusses the order of Plato’s dialogues. Before introducing the
Iamblichean canon, he first considers a number of other criteria to order the dia-
logues, including the chronological order of writing, the chronology of the dia-
logues’ characters, and the tetralogic division (24.2–25.36). It is in the context of
the chronological order that the Anonymous refers to the view of some unnamed
predecessors – also referred to by Diogenes Laertius (Vit. III 38) – according to
whom the Phaedrus was the first dialogue written by Plato – a judgement which
34 Ol., In Gorg. prooem. §§ 5–6, 3.21–5.18.

Diogenes famously connected with the ‘youthly’ content of the dialogue

(μειρακιῶδές τι τὸ πρόβλημα), but others, like Dicearchus, may have been
led to the same conclusion upon consideration of the Phaedrus’ ‘vulgar’
(φορτικός) style. The Anonymous is clearly informed by this tradition, for
both in his biography of Plato and in the tenth chapter he takes the dialogue
to be chronologically the first to have been written, on the basis of its pre-
sumed ‘dithyrambic’ style,35 from which one might have been tempted to
infer that it was written shortly after Plato had abandoned his poetic career.
In the tenth chapter, the Anonymous also advances another argument,
which is more interesting for our purposes: according to some, the Phaedrus
must have been the first dialogue chronologically since in writing it Plato
had clearly not yet made up his mind about whether or not one should com-
mit one’s thoughts to writing – which is presumably not the kind of worry
that would occur to an experienced writer.36 The Anonymous merely reports
the argument, without insisting on it, and one may easily understand why
he doesn’t. In fact, he has no need to hide behind this shaky chronology to
account for Plato’s copious literary production, for in chapters three and
four of the Prolegomena he had already developed a line of interpretation ac-
cording to which Plato’s dialogues are themselves not affected by the
Phaedrus’ critique of writing.37
35 Anon. Proleg. 3.3–5 and 24.10–12. The argument, which derives from Phdr. 238d2–3, can
also be found in Ol., In Alc. 2.63–65.
36 Anon. Proleg. 24.7–10. It is interesting to see that a similar argument was also adopted by
Schleiermacher in his introduction to the Phaedrus, in which he argues at length that the
Phaedrus must have been the first dialogue written by Plato. One of the most important argu-
ments for this chronology is, according to Schleiermacher, “die echt sokratische erhabene
Verachtung alles Schreibens und alles rednerischen Redens”: see Schleiermacher 1804, 70 (=
Schleiermacher 1996, 82). Cf. also Schleiermacher 1804, 75 (= 1996, 86): “(. . .) so ist hier die
Herabsetzung des Schreibens im Vergleich mit der wahren lebendigen philosophischen
Mitteilung volkommen durch sich selbst zu verstehen, als Rechtfertigung des Sokrates über
sein Nichtschreiben, und als Begeisterung von seiner Lehrart, welcher in Schriften ähnlich zu
werden Platon damals noch verzweifelte, es aber hernach doch lernte, und nicht damit en-
digte, an eine so weitgehende Unmittelbarkeit der Philosophie zu glauben, wenn gleich er,
wie wir sehen, von Anfang an wohl wusste, dass sie historisch nicht könne erlernt werden.”
Jacques Derrida refers to Schleiermacher’s argument (without reference) in Derrida 1972, 74.
37 Cf. Herm., In Phdr. 271.10–23 L–M, who argues that Plato does not condemn writing as
such (and how could he, if even Orpheus and Hermes have left us writings), but only those
who make bad use of writing. In spite of the many affinities between their projects, an impor-
tant difference between modern scholars working in the tradition of the Tübingen–Milano
school and the Neoplatonic commentators concerns precisely this question whether or not
But let us first return for a moment to 13.4–14 (quoted above) to see how
precisely the Anonymous understands Plato’s criticism in the first place, before
we direct our attention to the question of how he thinks Plato can escape his
own criticism. The problem with written works (συγγράμματα) – a word trans-
lated rather emphatically by Westerink in this context as ‘books’, i.e. writings
of a rather systematic and self-contained nature – is that they, being devoid of
soul and life, are unable to defend themselves against objections that are raised
or to answer questions that are asked – as Plato himself told us in the Phaedrus
(275d): written words always repeat the same answer over and over again. That
is precisely the reason why Plato had recommended not putting one’s thoughts
on paper, but instead writing them in the pupil’s soul. In the words of the
Anonymous, Plato’s recommendation is not to leave writings, but to leave pu-
pils, and he calls these pupils ‘ensouled writings’ (ἔμψυχα συγγράμματα).38 By
considering one’s pupils as it were as living books, the Anonymous pushes
Plato’s analogy between spoken and written words a tiny step further. Plato
had opposed the ‘living’ (ζῶντα) and ‘ensouled’ (ἔμψυχος) logos of oral speech
with that which is recorded in writing (ὁ γεγραμμένος; cf. 276a). The metaphor
of ensouled writings makes explicit what in Plato’s imagery had remained im-
plicit: by writing in the interlocutor’s soul, the latter himself becomes a living
book! The criterion for sound speech (λόγος) is here again its resemblance – or
now even its metaphorical identification – with the living being.
Hermias’ interpretation of Plato’s imagery adopted in the critique of writing
is consistent with this (In Phdr. 272.7–15 L–M). Just as a painting can only give
the illusion of life without ever being able to possess it – for being unable to
answer questions or to move on its own it does not have the characteristics of a
genuinely living being –, so too written words may well appear to be living but
they really are devoid of life (καὶ ἐν τοῖς γράμμασιν οὐδὲν ζωῶδες ὁραῖς, ἀλλὰ
μόνον τὸ φαινόμενον). The standard by which the written work is judged is
Plato’s own dialogues are affected by the Phaedrus’ criticism of writing – which the former
accept and the latter deny. This point is well made by Motta 2015, 102–107.
38 In the general introductions to philosophy, a very similar argument, ultimately deriving
from the Phaedrus, is usually attributed to Pythagoras: see e.g. Ol., Prol. 13.36–14.1: ὁ γὰρ
Πυθαγόρας οὐκ ἀπέλειψεν οἰκεῖον σύγγραμμα, λέγων ὅτι οὐ δεῖ ἄψυχα καταλιμπάνειν
συγγράμματα, ἐπειδὴ μὴ δύναται ὑπὲρ ἑαυτῶν ἀπολογεῖσθαι, ἀλλὰ δὴ καταλιμπάνειν ἔμψυχα
συγγράμματα, τοῦτ’ ἔστι μαθητάς, οἵτινες καὶ ὑπὲρ ἑαυτῶν καὶ τῶν ἰδίων διδασκάλων
δύνανται συμμαχεῖν. Cf. David, Proleg. 25.27–26.4 and Elias, In Isag. 10.13–17. See also Herm.,
In Phdr. 272.2–7, who illustrates the notion of the ensouled logos, which is the legitimate
brother of the written word and which results from the writing in a pupil’s soul, by referring to
Plato, Xenocrates and Polemo as the pupils of Socrates, Plato and (accepting Ficino’s conjec-
ture) Xenocrates respectively.
once again that of its resemblance to a living being. Since written words are as
lifeless as their material bearer, they must fall short of the standard set by Plato
in the Phaedrus for judging sound speech. It is no longer the living being’s or-
ganic unity, but rather its very liveliness that is relied upon in understanding
Plato’s criticism of writing. Plato’s criticism exposes the choice not to leave be-
hind any written works as a viable option for the philosopher – and the exam-
ples of Pythagoras and Socrates, which are mentioned in this context also by
Hermias, could serve as models.39 Yet this need not be the only option, as nei-
ther Hermias nor the Anonymous think that Plato’s own works are affected by
the criticism in the first place. As far as the Anonymous is concerned, his ac-
count of the function of Plato’s dialogue form, which we have discussed earlier,
could indeed face the criticism. For in his view, by choosing to write dialogues,
which is the literary form most closely resembling the most perfect living
being – that is: the cosmos –, Plato found a way to escape the criticism that he
himself had raised in the Phaedrus. The dialogue is the liveliest of genres and
as such urges the reader to move beyond what is written and to identify with
the interlocutors, thus inviting her to participate in the quest for truth. In other
words, the dialogue invites the reader to participate in the philosophical in-
quiry of which it is an imitation.40
This dialogical theory is, however, in the structure of the Prolegomena only
introduced afterwards: the chapter about the dialogue form immediately follows
the one where Plato’s reasons for writing are discussed. I do think, however, that
our Anonymous author in answering Plato’s own criticism anticipates the com-
parison between dialogue and cosmos that would be made explicit only later on.
This should be clear from the words immediately following 13.4–14 (i.e., the pas-
sage quoted above on p. 146):
Such is the objection (ἀπορία); our answer to it is that this is another point on which
Plato strove to imitate the divine (τὸ θεῖον), and in choosing to write he let a greater good
prevail over a lesser evil. For just as it (i.e. τὸ θεῖον) has made some parts of its creation
invisible, namely all incorporeal beings: angels, souls, intelligences, etc., others, how-
ever, subject to our perception and visible, such as for example the heavenly bodies and
39 Herm., In Phdr. 271.12 L–M. Pythagoras and Socrates are almost proverbial examples of phi-
losophers who didn’t leave any writings: see, in addition to the Pythagoras quotations in the
previous note, e.g. El., In Cat. 128.1–5.
40 See e.g. the arguments brought forth to justify the dialogue form in Anon. Proleg. 15.10–17
(second argument: when reading a dialogue, our soul is invited to associate sometimes with
the characters who are refuted, at other times with those who are refuting, and thus it operates
as a kind of judge in the discussion) and 15.40–48 (the dialogue imitates a dialectic encounter,
urging the reader to assent to what has been said).
the world of coming-to-be and passing-away, so Plato too has handed on some of his
ideas in writing and some by word of mouth, like incorporeal entities, imperceptible to
the senses, namely what he said in his lectures (τὰ ἐν συνουσίαις εἰρημένα αὐτῷ). It is a
known fact that Aristotle has written about Plato’s oral discourses (περὶ τῶν ἀγράφων
συνουσιῶν). Therefore, to show his friendship with the divine even in this detail, he en-
deavoured to imitate it, as friends will try to imitate each other. (Anon. Proleg. 13.15–29,
tr. Westerink slightly mod.)
It is well-known that the later Platonists identified the goal (τέλος) of ethics with
the ideal that they found expressed in Plato’s Theaetetus and Timaeus: assimila-
tion to God.41 Now Plato, who was himself invested with an almost divine status
by the later Neoplatonists and who apparently was very dear to the Gods, is now
said to have imitated the divine (τὸ θεῖον)42 even in his choice to commit his
thoughts to writing. Just as the divine created a visible cosmos in addition to an
invisible one, so Plato, in addition to his oral teaching, which presumably because
of its ephemeral character is called ‘imperceptible to the senses’ (μὴ ὑποπίπτοντα
τῇ αἰσθήσει),43 decided to leave behind written traces of his teachings. This argu-
ment puts Plato as a writer in a position analogous to the demiurge,44 and thus
anticipates the comparison in the next chapter between dialogue and cosmos,
which we have discussed in the previous sections and which draws its inspiration
from the understanding of speech as a living being.
It is perhaps no coincidence that the offspring of the divine mentioned by
the Anonymous are all living beings, either of a higher nature (such as angels,
souls and intelligences), or of a perceptible nature (the heavenly bodies and
earthly creatures subject to generation and decline). It may not be that far-
fetched to take this comparison to mean that oral and written speech correspond
41 See Theaet. 176a5–b3 and Tim. 90b1–d7. On the importance of this ideal for the later
Platonists, see e.g. Baltzly 2004.
42 Even though the Anonymous here uses the neutral (τὸ θεῖον) and suggests that it is the
cause of all incorporeal beings (including intellects), I assume that he must be primarily think-
ing of the demiurge (and not some higher cause), since that divine ‘craftsman’ would arguably
be the most appropriate analogue for the human artist.
43 Or should one understand the imperceptibility of spoken words merely in the sense that
they are imperceptible to future generations?
44 One could compare this with the analogy that Proclus draws at In Remp. I 68.3–69.19 be-
tween the divine poet of the universe (Apollo) and the genuine human poet who is his imita-
tor. Cf. also In Tim. I 339.22–29, where Timaeus’ speech is said to imitate the two stages of the
demiurge’s creation of the cosmos, in that he first provides a method for his account (the ana-
logue of the creation of the cosmos’ invisible principles) before actually describing the genera-
tion of the cosmos in accordance with it (which could be compared to the creation of the
visible cosmos). In this latter case, the distinction is not between oral and written account, but
between the principles on which the account is based and its actual expounding.
to two different kinds of living beings, the one superior to the sensible and invisi-
ble, the other its visible image, which is subject to decay along with its material
bearer. One may wonder what then, according to our Anonymous author, is the
greater good that Plato is hunting for at the cost of committing the lesser evil of
writing? Apparently writing, even in its most perfect form represented by the
Platonic dialogues, will never be a philosopher’s preferred means of communica-
tion, since it will always remain an imitation of oral speech, which is the ana-
logue of a higher form of life. Yet Plato is prepared to commit this lesser evil in
view of the greater good. My conjecture is that Plato, with his written dialogues,
which engage the reader in a lively discussion and put her on the track to the
discovery of the intelligible reality, is thought to disclose a path that for many
readers would otherwise have remained unnoticed.
8 Conclusions
By way of conclusion one could say that the image of speech as a living being has
received in the Neoplatonic reflections on Plato’s literary production, as presented
in the Anonymous Prolegomena, a versatility that assured it a central place in
Neoplatonic hermeneutics.45 The living being not only functions as a model for the
organic unity of speech – as we have seen in our presentation of the Neoplatonic
discussion on the skopos and the division of Plato’s works –, but also supplied the
basis for the later Platonic justifications of Plato’s own authorship and for his
choice of the dialogue form. If one considers the ten preliminary points treated by
the Anonymous author of the Prolegomena, it is striking that the Phaedrus plays a
primordial role in nearly all of the ‘hermeneutical’ chapters of the treatise46 – ei-
ther by putting the issues dealt with on the agenda, or by providing crucial
45 Brisson 1987, 216, argues that the relation between logos and cosmos, which is suggested
in Phdr. 277c1–2 by the verbs τίθημι and διακοσμέω, is the comparison on which all the inter-
pretative rules of the Anon. Proleg. depend, without however working this hypothesis out in
detail for all the different chapters. Brisson is certainly right in insisting on the importance of
this comparison for the Proleg., but I think he overstates his case. In my view, the comparison
discussed by Brisson is only one possible articulation of the more general analogy between
speech and living being, which is the fundamental comparison underlying the hermeneutics
of the Proleg., as I am arguing here.
46 For the special status of the biography, see above, n. 4. In this discussion I also leave
the second chapter, about the character of Plato’s philosophy, out of consideration, as it is of a
more general nature (Westerink & Trouillard 1990, LXXV, deem it probable, but not certain that
it formed part of Proclus’ list of preliminaries).
elements for their solution. This is the case for the third chapter, on Plato’s criti-
cism of writing; for the fourth chapter, on the dialogue form; for the fifth chapter,
on the components of the dialogue; for the seventh chapter, on the division of the
dialogues; and of course for the ninth chapter, on the skopos.47 In the remaining
chapters, which are often of a more technical nature – dealing, for instance, with
Plato’s choice of titles (ch. 6), with the order of the dialogues (ch. 10) and with the
employed modes of instruction (ch. 11) – the Phaedrus always figures prominently
among the dialogues that illustrate the issues raised. This confirms the importance
of Plato’s Phaedrus for the development of the later Neoplatonic hermeneutics of
the dialogues.
The point is not merely that the Phaedrus stands at the origin of a long tradi-
tion of speculations about the organic unity of literary works, but also and pri-
marily that it allows for a hermeneutics made to measure Plato’s own dialogues.
It is in this restricted sense that the later Platonists can be said to have used the
Phaedrus as a ‘manual’ for Platonic hermeneutics. That the dialogues were in
need of such a manual hardly needs to be argued for. The vividness of Plato’s
conversations, which rarely reach agreement about the issues raised and in
which the author hides behind his characters, make Plato’s thought genuinely
elusive for his readers. If Plato himself were to be compared to a non-rational
living being, a suitable candidate would perhaps be an agile bird, uncatchable
for those who want to pin him down. For that very reason, he has kept his inter-
preters alive and alert over the past 2400 years. He is indeed like the bird men-
tioned in the famous anecdote told by Olympiodorus and the Anonymous in
their lives of Plato, according to which Plato shortly before he passed away had a
dream in which he was transformed into a swan that flew from tree to tree, im-
possible to catch for his hunters.48 We are told that Simmias the Socratic too
found this a suitable image for the way in which Plato would remain ungraspable
for future generations of readers.
47 Perhaps a case could also be made for the eighth chapter (Anon. Proleg. 20.1–22), on the
presentation of the conversation (τρόπος τῆς συνουσίας), where the narrative frame of the dia-
logues is interpreted as analogous to the procession of reality – which again relies on the anal-
ogy between cosmos and dialogue.
48 Ol., In Alc. 2.155–162; Anon. Proleg. 1.37–46. For the use of this image, see also Motta 2015,
93–112.
Marc-Antoine Gavray
Plato’s Phaedrus as a Manual
for Neoplatonic Hermeneutics:
Inspired Poetry and Allegory in Proclus
As H.D. Saffrey points out in a famous article, the attempt to harmonise theologi-
cal traditions is characteristic of Athenian Neoplatonism.1 Whether they originate
from Homer, Orpheus, Plato, or the Chaldean Oracles, all traditions lead us to the
same truth about the gods, whatever the diversity of their ways of talking about
the divine. The result is a balancing act that involves, amongst other things, recon-
ciling Plato and the epic poets. When opening his sixth essay on the Republic,
Proclus indeed raises the following issue:2
It recently occurred to me, in my address on Plato’s birthday, to examine the problem of

how one might compose an appropriate response, on Homer’s behalf, to the Socrates of the
Republic, and show Homer’s teachings to be perfectly in harmony with the nature of things,
and most of all, with the positions taken by the philosopher himself, about both divine and
human matters, and [so] save Plato from his self-contradictions and show, in sum, that
both what he wrote in praise of Homer’s poetry and what he says in criticism, all of this
comes from a single body of wisdom, a single intellective position, a single marvellous
plan. (I 69.23–70.7 Kroll, tr. Lamberton)3
In the Republic, Plato seems opposed to Homer and to poetry in general, a position
which disrupts the accord between the theological traditions. Why does Plato so
harshly refute a poet whom the Neoplatonists see as one of the great educators on
divine subjects? Are they wrong to consider him an authority? Or, on the contrary,
does Plato contradict himself when he sometimes declares Homer to be a ‘divine
1 Saffrey 1992.
2 Contrary to Proclus’ other Commentaries, that on the Republic does not follow the lemmatic
form. It consists of a set of seventeen thematic studies of variable length (some of which are
incomplete), written at different times. The fifth and sixth essays both deal with books II and
III, but from contrasting perspectives.
3 As noted by Sheppard 1980, 141, the sixth essay aims to resolve this contradiction.
Note: This article is a continuation of that of Pieter d’Hoine in the present volume, of which it
shares the theoretical perspective and the methodological reservations. I thank Simon Fortier
for revising my English, as well as for his thought-provocative suggestions. All mistakes are
evidently my own.
Marc-Antoine Gavray, FRS-FNRS/ULiège
https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110683936-010
154 Marc-Antoine Gavray
poet’, and at other times holds him to be thrice removed from the truth?4 For
Proclus, solving this difficulty involves adjusting reading strategies by setting up a
hermeneutics adapted to the different registers of authority. With regard to in-
spired poetry and myth, the key is not found in the Republic, but in the Phaedrus.
This dialogue plays a major role in later Neoplatonism. It not only furnished nu-
merous doctrinal points, e.g. on intellection or on metempsychosis,5 but was is
also held to answer the following question: how are we to read poets and, accord-
ingly, how are we to reconcile them with Plato? It is this latter role that I shall ex-
amine here.
1 Poetic Inspiration in the Phaedrus

Plato constantly refers to the poets in the dialogues, whether it is the debate
around Simonides in the Protagoras, the chain of poetic inspiration in the Ion,
the dispute between comedy and tragedy in the Symposium, the identification
of poetry with flattery in the Gorgias, or the examination of mimesis and the
status of the poet in the Republic.6 However, he reserves the Phaedrus the role
of placing poetic inspiration amongst the divine inspirations – alongside
prophecy, the telestic art, and love – capable of providing us with something
that sanity alone cannot procure (244a–245c). Thus, at the beginning of the pal-
inode, Plato writes that
Third comes the kind of madness (μανία) that is possession (κατοκωχή) by the Muses,
which takes an unresisting and inviolate soul (ἁπαλὴν καὶ ἄβατον ψυχήν) and awakens
(ἐγείρουσα) it to a Bacchic frenzy (ἐκβακχεύουσα) of songs and poetry that sets in
order the myriad deeds of the ancients and instructs posterity (τοὺς ἐπιγιγνομένους
παιδεύει). If anyone comes to the gates of poetry and expects to become an adequate
poet by acquiring expert knowledge of the subject without the Muses’ madness, he
will fail, and the poetry of the man who is sane will be eclipsed (ἡ τοῦ σωφρονοῦντος
ἠφανίσθη) by the poetry of men who have been driven out of their minds. (Phdr.
245a1–8, tr. Nehamas & Woodruff, slightly modified, I use italics for the elements that
Proclus highlights.)
This passage affirms the superiority of the poet whose verses come directly from
the divine over the one who simply exercises an art, which resonates like the re-
habilitation of poetry. Compared to other dialogues, the Phaedrus establishes
4 See Plato, Phd. 95a, and Resp. X 597e.

5 Besides his contribution to this volume, I refer the reader to Fortier 2018a.
6 For an overview of these issues, see Destrée & Herrmann 2011.
Inspired Poetry and Allegory in Proclus 155
less the ignorance of the poet than the need to go beyond art through inspiration.
The Ion confronts the rhapsodist with his passivity, which reduces him to the
vector of divine power (θεία δύναμις, 533e).7 The Republic challenges all true
knowledge of the poet and lowers him to the level of a copy of a copy (X 601a–b).
The Phaedrus on the other hand legitimates poetry by attributing to it a knowl-
edge of divine origin that goes beyond technique. It is in this context that, ac-
cording to the decree of Adrasteia, the dialogue places the technician-poet at the
sixth rank amongst the types of lives, hardly more worthy than the artisan or the
farmer, whereas it places the μουσικός, the one who is penetrated by the
Muses and love, at the first rank, alongside the philosopher and the lover of
beauty (248d–e). Thanks to the image of the erotic mania, which seizes the
philosopher as the Muses seize the poet – Socrates claims to be possessed by
local deities (νυμφόληπτος)8 –, the Phaedrus goes beyond the too clear-cut
division between divine possession and the exercise of the intelligence: by
combining reminiscence with dialectic, it allows the philosopher to reach a
knowledge of the truth in a way which closely resembles inspiration.
The connection between the inspired poet and the philosopher will greatly
influence Proclus. In his eyes, this passage of the Phaedrus allows us to restore
the harmony between Homer and Plato, as it provides a point of entry for the
poet and for poetic inspiration.
2 The Characteristics of Inspired Poetry:

The Lesson of the Phaedrus
In the Commentary on the Republic, Proclus distinguishes three forms of poetry,
which he arranges in a descending order: inspired, scientific, and mimetic, the
last of which he subsequently divides into art of copying and art of appear-
ance.9 From this perspective, he follows the Phaedrus in asserting the superior-
ity of inspired poetry. He also draws from the theory of the image in the
Republic (X 601b–602b, 603b–d) and the Sophist (235b–236d) to add the genre
7 Cf. Ion 534b–c. On the relationship between Ion and Phaedrus, see Gonzalez 2011. As this
author shows, the comparison between the Ion and the Phaedrus emphasises the philosopher’s
superiority over the poet, as the first is not only the vehicle of a divine message but an inter-
preter capable of giving it a meaning (i.e. reminiscence).
8 Plato, Phdr. 238d1; cf. 241e3–5 : ὑπὸ τῶν Νυμφῶν. . . σαφῶς ἐνθουσιάσω.
9 Proclus, In Remp. I 178.6–179.32.
of mimetic poetry.10 Proclus’ poetic theory does not come from a single source
in Plato, but is the result of the cross-pollination of several dialogues. However,
to describe inspired poetry, Proclus considers our passage from the Phaedrus
(245a) central. He extracts several ideas from it, paraphrases them, and com-
ments its words very closely in order to identify four essential characteristics.
Firstly, as inspired poetry finds its original and primordial cause in the Muses,
Proclus considers that it instils the mark of the divine proportion into the pos-
sessed soul, since its rhythms and measures come directly from the divine (I 180.
17–181.2; 178.28–29). Poetic inspiration is a possession (κατοκωχή), in the sense
that it takes possession of what it moves, and a madness (μανία) in the sense that
it draws the soul out of itself: it brings about a contact with the divine in which
the soul goes out of itself and settles in its cause. The superiority of this poetic
form is thus the result of the self-transcendence that it brings about for the soul.
This, at least, is how Proclus understands the assertion that “madness from a god
is finer than sanity of human origin, according to the testimony of the ancients,”
and the degree of reality with which the soul is brought into contact.11 As a result,
inspired poetry provides a means of accessing higher realities.
Secondly, the ‘unresisting and inviolate soul,’ the one which undergoes inspi-
ration according to Plato, becomes in Proclus the soul receptive to divine illumina-
tion, as opposed to the ‘hard and resistant soul’ which hinders it.12 Proclus retains
from the Phaedrus that it is this receptivity that allows certain souls to contemplate
the true realities during their divine stay. He associates this property with an
ἐπιτηδειότης (I 181.17–19), which, in the Neoplatonic vocabulary, refers to a first
power and a disposition towards a given capacity.13 He does not exclude a priori
that every soul undergoes poetic inspiration. However, only the soul which has
already acquired this disposition (προειληφέναι: I 181.13), i.e. only the soul that
has made an effort to get out of itself and to turn away from what is foreign to the
10 According to Sheppard 1985, 85–103, the theory of three types of poetry is an original de-
velopment of Proclus from a simpler division in Syrianus between inspired poetry and unin-
spired poetry. I refer to her chapter 5 (162–202) for a detailed analysis of the three poetic forms
in Proclus.
11 Plato, Phdr. 244d3–4: κάλλιον μαρτυροῦσιν οἱ παλαιοὶ μανίαν σωφροσύνης τὴν ἐκ θεοῦ τῆς
παρ' ἀνθρώπων γιγνομένης; 245a8: ἡ τοῦ σωφρονοῦντος ἠφανίσθη. Compare with Proclus, In
Remp. I 178.24–25: μανία μέν ἐστιν σωφροσύνης κρείττων. The idea comes again at the very
end of the passage, in In Remp. I 182.16–20.
12 In Remp. I 181.5: σκληρὰ καὶ ἀντίτυπος, which reminds Tht. 155e8: σκληρούς γε λέγεις καὶ
ἀντιτύπους ἀνθρώπου.
13 On ἐπιτηδειότης in a Neoplatonic context, see Aubry 2008, 141–147. Van Riel 2009, 238,
cleverly suggests that ἐπιτηδειότης also refers to the receptivity of something to the operations
of the higher realms.
divine, is susceptible to a divine inspiration. For Proclus, the soul should not be
satisfied with being ‘unresisting and inviolate’ by nature. It must become so by
getting rid of everything that distracts it from the divine cause (e.g. external im-
pressions, or even itself). The difficulty of this task explains why poetic inspiration
is limited to a few individuals, because it not only supposes that one possesses a
natural disposition towards divine inspiration, but also implies that one has put in
the work to actualise this disposition by getting rid of all that is likely to obscure it.
Thirdly, Proclus stresses that Plato indicates that this disposition and the in-
spiration from the Muses work together to awaken and enrapture the soul
(ἀνεγείρειν τε καὶ ἐκβακχεύειν: I 181.20). By adding the prefix ἀν- to Plato’s origi-
nal ἐγείρω, Proclus emphasizes the conversive aspect of awakening. Inspiration
turns the soul from becoming and raises it to the divine. As for the Bacchic exal-
tation, it illustrates the procession in which the soul moves around the divine
and keeps its attention fixed on it. These two joint effects keep the soul of the
inspired poet in contact with what transcends him, from which we can deduce
that inspired poetry operates at this higher level.
Fourthly, Proclus highlights the didactic aspect of inspired poetry, turning
to its listeners:
As far as ‘setting in order the myriad deeds of the ancients’ (Phdr. 245a3–4) is concerned,
and through these ‘instructing posterity’ (245a5), it is clear in advance that he is saying
that this kind of poetry renders human things more perfect (τελειότερα) and more radiant
(λαμπρότερα) through the divine and that true education comes from this poetry for those
who hear it. This inspired kind of poetry should by no means be deprived of its capacity
to educate. (In Remp., I 181.30–182.4, tr. Lamberton, I add the quotation marks)
Before any aesthetic considerations, the primary purpose of inspired poetry is

education (παιδεία). While scientific poetry participates in virtue through its
counsels and remembers the revolutions of the soul (I 179.9–15), and imitative
poetry produces no more than representations (I 190.20–25), inspired poetry
offers the highest παιδεία, by virtue of the principle of procession according to
which all power that a lower form possesses also belongs more eminently to
the higher form.14 The reasoning behind this is epistemological. Inspired poetry
goes beyond strictly human discourse because “human conceptions (ἐπιβολαί)
are in every way inferior to the gift of the gods” (I 182.19–20). It is in these terms
that Proclus translates the superiority of divine madness over sanity: inspired po-
etry captures divine principles in a way that transcends human intelligence, that
is, in a mode closer to union with the divine principles. And to the extent that it
14 Deceptive poetry aims only at the pleasure by deforming the representation, In Remp., I
191.19–25.
is full of the gods, it spreads the higher truth. Also, unlike other forms of poetry,
it addresses adults who have already received the initial education and now feel
the need “to hear a more mystical teaching about the divine.”15 In fact, it expects
the listener to put himself in a state of mind similar to that of the poet himself in
order to access his message. For this reason, everything in it must be interpreted
not only in view of its educational aim but also in accordance with the idea that
its stories, while apparently human, in fact refer to the divine whose illumination
they aim spread.
Proclus draws his manner of reading inspired poetry from this short pas-
sage of the Phaedrus. This poetry, he holds, is an act that transcends human
reason and discourses. This is the hermeneutic filter that he will systematically
invoke in his interpretation of inspired myths.
3 A Useful Complement: The Ion

Although Proclus attributes a central role to the Phaedrus with regard to inspired
poetry, he does not exclude another dialogue, the Ion, whose contribution he
takes to be threefold. First, it justifies the superiority of inspiration over technique
(533d) in the name of the Neoplatonic privilege of the one over the many: the unic-
ity of the products of inspiration attests to a divine power (θεία δύναμις) and ex-
ceeds the ability of technical poetry to produce the same effects in similar cases (I
182.21–183.8). Secondly, the Ion (533e) relates divine inspiration to a single monad
generating the series, what Socrates indicates when speaking of the Muse in the
singular, whereas in the Phaedrus (245a1) he uses the plural (I 183.27–184.2).
Poetry ultimately goes back to a single, first, driving cause of the chain. Finally,
the Ion celebrates the superabundant fertility of the principle and describes the
mechanism of participation (I 184.7–10): the metaphor of the stone of Heraclea
sets out the transmission of inspiration to its last echoes. Participation is carried
out step by step, by means of a progressive dissemination: a single god inspires
several poets, poets communicate their inspiration to many rhapsodes, and rhaps-
odes tell their stories to a larger number of listeners. Proclus deliberately avoids
going into too much detail on this question, but his reading at least highlights the
need to be part of the chain of inspiration to interpret the poet’s words. This is the
15 Proclus, In Remp. I 182.6–13. Cf. I 140.14–17 (where Proclus paraphrases Phdr. 245a, on be-
half of poets); I 79.18–26; I 161.30–162.2. Again, Proclus justifies it by the superiority of divine
delirium over sanity, I 84.12–19 (cf. Phdr. 245a8).
only way to return to the first principle because, to understand Homer and to seize
the secret good concealed in his verses, one must be divinely inspired (I 79.18–26).
The Ion offers a useful complement to the Phaedrus in the lesson on inspired
poetry, but its contribution is more limited. Nothing is said about the disposition
of the soul, the effect of possession, or even of the content to be transmitted.
Similarly, other dialogues confirm that inspired poets are the main messengers
of ‘divine and mystical thoughts,’ stressing the need to legislate to keep young
people away from stories whose understanding is inaccessible to them (a mea-
sure of public safety which does not diminish this poetry’s value or relevance).16
The Phaedrus remains Proclus’ privileged source regarding the interpretation of
inspired poetry, the only dialogue to explain why one should not exclude the
poets definitely from the city and to describe the nature of the poet’s contact
with the divine. Therefore, to interpret the poet’s message, one must grasp the
nature of this contact. Once again, it is the Phaedrus that allows this.
4 Lives of the Soul, Poetic Forms

In the Commentary on the Republic, Proclus introduces his theory of poetry through
a distinction between three lives (ζωαί) or three states (ἕξεις) of the soul, in order
to associate each poetic form with one of these lives (I 177.14–178.5). He concludes
by asserting the superiority of inspired poetry less on formal or stylistic grounds
than on psychological and epistemological ones. Here is what he says about the
first life, which he immediately associates with inspired poetry. It is
the best and the perfect life, in which the soul is contiguous with the gods and lives the life
that is most closely related to them and made one by its extreme resemblance to them. The
soul belongs not to itself but to them, surpassing its own intellect and awakening in itself
the secret symbol of the unified substance of the gods, and attaching like to like, the soul’s
own light to the transcendent light and the most unified element of its own being and life
to the One beyond all being and life. (In Remp. I 177.15–23, tr. Lamberton slightly modified)
In the light of the four rules we have set forth, we immediately see how the soul
of the inspired poet lives the most perfect life: 1) it is directly related to the gods
(the Muses), 2) it no longer belongs to itself but to them, 3) it has undergone an
awakening that elevates it beyond the level of human reasoning, 4) it has assimi-
lated its light to that other which transcends it. If the poet can tell the truth about
the gods, it is because his psychic way of life is similar to them, though not
16 Proclus (In Remp. I 185.8–186.21) quotes Leg. III 682a; Tim. 40d; Resp. II 378d; even Alc. 2
147b–c.
because he has knowledge of them. The life proper to inspiration implies that the
soul goes beyond its own intellect, beyond knowledge even, and settles into an
ineffable unity with the divine.17 With these words, Proclus attempts to account
for an experience that goes beyond reason: inspiration is for the poet the confron-
tation with a supra-human reality. It is a non-discursive experience, but one
which pushes him to express in words this unitary symbol of which he now bears
the mark. The interpreter must, therefore, draw from the poet’s words the trace of
this primordial unity.
The status of poetic inspiration raises the question of its relation to philoso-
phy. In what way does the psychic state of the poet differ from the philoso-
pher’s if they both reach the highest principles? Does the poetic life exceed the
philosophical life or are they of the same rank? In other words, what is the sta-
tus of their respective discourses? The answer emerges in the following set of
equivalencies proposed by Proclus: what prophecy is to truth, erotic madness is
to beauty and poetry to proportion.18 There is a parallel passage in the Platonic
Theology, where Proclus associates truth to the φιλόσοφος, beauty to the
ἐρωτικός, and proportion to the μουσικός (III 13, 63.16–21). These passages
echo the Phaedrus, though with a slight rewording of the dialogue’s contents.
On the one hand, Proclus blends the list of inspirations (244a–245c) with the
decree of Adrasteia, according to which the μουσικός (who is also ἐρωτικός) oc-
cupies the first rank together with the φιλόσοφος and the φιλόκαλος (248d). On
the other hand, he omits an element in order to arrive at a convenient triad, the
telestic, and identifies the φιλόκαλος with the ἐρωτικός. This modification al-
lows him to insert another cardinal doctrine of Neoplatonism, that of the three
monads derived from the Philebus: truth (ἀλήθεια), beauty (κάλλος) and pro-
portion (συμμετρία).19 It is to these that the types of inspiration correspond,
and it is, therefore, these that make the order possible.
As Joseph Combès has shown, these three monads in Proclus fulfil a dual
ontogenetic and theophanic function, in the sense that they not only compose
the first mixture (the Being) but also constitute the first effects of the One,
which can be observed in all things and make all things intelligible. The link
17 In agreement with Sheppard 1985, 174. The epistemological status of divine inspiration, be-
yond the domain of inspired poetry, was studied by Fortier 2015.
18 Proclus, In Remp. I 178.29–179.3: ὥσπερ οὖν κατὰ μὲν τὴν ἀλήθειαν τὴν μαντικήν, κατὰ δὲ
τὸ κάλλος τὴν ἐρωτικὴν μανίαν ὑφίστασθαι λέγομεν, οὕτως ἄρα καὶ κατὰ τὴν συμμετρίαν τὴν
θείαν τὴν ποιητικὴν ἀφωρίσθαι φαμέν.
19 Plato, Phil. 64c–65b: Having reached ‘the threshold of the good,’ Socrates states the three
characters by which it will be possible to grasp it (κάλλει καὶ συμμετρίᾳ καὶ ἀληθείᾳ, 65a2) if it
cannot be grasped directly.
that Proclus draws with the triad of the Philebus thus emphasizes that inspira-
tion, in its main forms, goes back, if not to the One itself, then at least to its
first manifestations at the level of Being, as it is intelligible.20 And, from this
viewpoint, poetry shares the first rank with the other two forms of inspiration.
For its part, it attaches itself primarily to proportion, i.e. to the productive prop-
erty of unity within the mixture that is hypostatic Being (Theol. plat. III 11, 43.
12–22). Nevertheless, according to the principle that “all things are in all things,
but in each according to its proper nature” (El. theol. § 103), poetry also has ac-
cess to truth and beauty. These two ideas may be central in determining the
relative rank of poetry, depending on the level of reality it gives access to. This is
without taking into account the fact that Proclus hesitates about their hierarchy,
probably because his source texts offer two distinct sequences: φιλόσοφος,
φιλόκαλος, μουσικός and ἐρωτικός in the Phaedrus; κάλλος, συμμετρία, and
ἀλήθεια in the Philebus.21
In an essential chapter of the Platonic Theology (III 13, 62.14–63.21), Proclus
uses alternately the two series: συμμετρία, ἀλήθεια, κάλλος and ἀλήθεια, κάλλος,
συμμετρία (the second one being that of the Phaedrus). With the first series,
Proclus insists on the causal dimension, as the series describes the constitution
of the intelligible: “For the mixture, proportion is the cause of the unity of its
being, truth is the cause of its reality, and beauty is the cause of its intelligibil-
ity.”22 In the second series, he follows the order of the manifestation or expres-
sion, i.e. the order of the perception of intelligible properties in the mixture.23
Proclus’ ambiguity on the subject therefore prevents us from giving priority to
philosophical inspiration or poetic inspiration. We may say, at most, that the
poet appears to be more closely associated with the constitutive series and the
unity of the mixture, and the philosopher with the series of the manifestation
and its existence. This at least explains why the discourse of the latter is clearer,
while that of the former is at first glance more obscure and confused, insofar as
20 Proclus wrote a monobiblos ‘On the three monads,’ of which Combès 1996 offers a recon-
struction on the basis of Platonic Theology III.
21 Unlike Damascius, for whom the hierarchical sequence is firm: “From this the nature and
order of the three monads is clear: highest is (in a series that is, nevertheless, coordinate)
Truth; after it comes Beauty, for a thing has to be what it is, and only so can it be desirable to
others and inviting; third is Proportion, because it manifests itself rather in differentiation and
in the harmony of things mixed.” (In Phil. §236.21–27, tr. Westerink) Damascius follows the
order of the Phaedrus.
22 Proclus, Theol. plat. III 11, 43.20–22; cf. III 13, 62.14–20; 63.9–16.
23 Cf. Proclus, In Remp. I 175.29–179.3; I 295.18–28; Theol. plat. III 13, 62.20–63.9; 63.16–21.
The nuance is highlighted by Combès 1996, 236.
he adopts the viewpoint of the intelligible mixture. In this sense, neither prevails
over the other. They simply adopt different perspectives.
The comparison with the fifth essay on the Republic adds further confusion.
In the examination of Plato’s notion of μουσική, Proclus argues that the term
designates a genus whose four species are not situated on the same plane and
concludes bluntly that philosophy is superior to poetry.24 With the help of the
Phaedo, he identifies philosophy with the highest μουσική, insofar as it harmo-
nizes the soul, commands the human and celebrates the divine.25 Μουσική thus
belongs first and foremost to the philosopher, who is capable of educating by
his ‘intellective songs’ (I 57.17). The next two species come from the Phaedrus.
The second is the inspired μουσική of the poet, the one that teaches by the ex-
ample of past deeds (unlike the lawgiver who teaches by universal models).26
Without being inspired by the gods, the third one “nevertheless leads upward
from perceived harmonies to the invisible beauty of divine harmony” (I 58.
28–59.1). This μουσικός is identified with the φιλόκαλος of the decree of Adrasteia
and associated with the ἐρωτικός, both of whom raise themselves from the sensi-
ble beauties to the intelligible ones, the one through hearing, the other through
sight. For this reason, they are related to the philosopher, who passes from the
sensible to the intelligible forms (I 59.3–16).27 This third species in the order of pre-
sentation is, therefore, the second in the order of the ascent to the principles. The
fourth kind is the didactic poetry of Republic II-III, which, when submitted to poli-
tics, educates by harmonies and rhythms (I 59.20–60.6).
The description contrasts sharply with the sixth essay since Proclus here
differentiates what he identifies there. Inspiration is no longer the assimilation
to the divine principles, and inspired poetry is reduced to what Proclus else-
where calls scientific poetry. The whole scale of inspiration is thus devalued, in
favour of another access to the divine, the one that characterizes philosophy
more properly. Why such a variation? Because of the context, Anne Sheppard
answers.28 In the fifth essay Proclus acts as an exegete of the Republic who
takes care to give a clear account of the Republic for a large and diverse audi-
ence, remaining on the surface of the text, while in the sixth essay he develops
his own theory of poetry, where inspiration plays an essential role in the access
24 Proclus, In Remp. I 42.28–43.3; 56.20–60.13. This is the fifth question.

25 Cf. Plato, Phd. 61a3: φιλοσοφίας μὲν οὔσης μεγίστης μουσικῆς; and Proclus, In Remp. I 57.
8–9: λέγομεν οὖν καὶ τὴν φιλοσοφίαν αὐτὴν μεγίστην εἶναι μουσικήν.
26 At In Remp. I 57.25–29, Proclus quotes Phdr. 245a5–8, then paraphrases 245a3–5.
27 Hermias gives the same association, considering the φιλόκαλος as the genus of which the
μουσικός and the ἐρωτικός are the species, In Phdr. 174.1–7 L-M.
28 Sheppard 1985, 18–20 and 25–29.
to the highest divine principles. According to this reading, the fifth essay con-
tains only a provisional hermeneutics, intended for readers incapable of grasp-
ing the truth about inspiration and accurately interpreting Homer, readers in
the position of the philosophers of the Republic during the process of educa-
tion, not yet able to understand these remarks according to the secret doctrine
(κατὰ τὴν ἀπόρρητον θεωρίαν) inspired by the Muses, but only according to
their apparent meaning (κατὰ τὸ φαινόμενον: I 140.11–19). Thus the fifth essay
would not fundamentally call into question the idea that inspired poetry shares
the first rank with philosophy. According to Proclus, Plato’s treatment of poetry
in the Republic is largely unconcerned with divinely inspired poetry.
5 Saving Homer (1): The Way of Inspiration

If the Republic insists on the need to conceal violent stories from the young and
liberally rewrites famous episodes from lyric poetry, it provides neither the key to
decipher them nor the reason as to why they should not be dismissed entirely.
Only the four principles established in the Phaedrus allow Proclus to justify the
value and function of these stories. These four principles alone restore the har-
mony between Homer and Plato, and remove the difficulty raised at the begin-
ning of the sixth essay. They thus provide the theoretical framework for reading
not only the inspired poets, of which is Homer amongst the foremost, but also
the passages of the dialogues where Plato deals with Homer and inspired poetry.
Let us see how Proclus applies them by looking to an example taken from
Homer’s Nekyia, where Odysseus recounts seeing Heracles, or rather
his image; he himself, among the immortal [gods]

is happy in the midst of good cheer, and has Hebe of the pretty ankles29
which Proclus, when he discusses the Platonic criticism of the poetic represen-
tation of death and the kingdom of Hades (Resp. III 386a–387c), comments as
follows:
How is this as well not part of the inspired Homeric tradition (ἐνθέου παραδόσεως), to dis-
tinguish the soul both from its ghostly image (εἴδωλον) and from its intellect (τὸν νοῦν τὸν
τῆς ψυχῆς) and to say that the soul makes use of the image and that the intellect is more
divine than the other two? And furthermore, that the image and the soul are in some
29 Hom., Od. XI 602–603 (tr. Lamberton): εἴδωλον· αὐτὸς δὲ μετ' ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσι / τέρπεται
ἐν θαλίῃς καὶ ἔχει καλλίσφυρον Ἥβην. Proclus quotes theses verses in In Remp. I 120.15–16;
172.14–16.
sense knowable and while she is still contained in bodies, [the soul] also appears as care-
taker of the ostraceous body and, even when the object of this providence no longer ex-
ists, she desires to exercise providence on its behalf. The intellect, on the other hand, is
impossible to grasp with the shape-imparting impulses of our imaginations. (Proclus, In
Remp. I 120.22–121.3, tr. Lamberton, I underline)
The interpretative key is given from the outset. We must understand Homer’s
words as inspired.30 He is the first to have distinguished soul qua soul from the
intellect and the instrumental body to which the εἴδωλον is attached (I 172.9–12).
According to Proclus, this passage testifies to Homer’s awareness of our ability to
access various levels of realities. He acknowledged the possibility for the soul,
through its intellect, to remain with the divine principles or, through its image,
to exercise its providential activity vis-à-vis the body. This observation allows
Proclus to support why Plato, when writing the dialogues, used Homeric themes
(Proclus compares Homer’s Nekyia to those of the Phaedo, Gorgias, and Republic,
at I 168.3–169.24). Plato grasped these principles by the same inspiration as
Homer and “established these things solidly by the irrefutable methods of sys-
tematic thought,” and making them clearer for us (I 158.30–159.6).31 In a word,
inspiration helps to remove the contradictions through a systematic reference to
the higher principles that are attained by both the philosopher and the poet,
whom the decree of Adrasteia places in the highest rank of incarnations. In the
same way, when Proclus interprets these passages of Homer and their discussion
by Plato, he also mentions the divine inspiration common to both authors.
6 Saving Homer (2): Homer Against Stesichorus

The Phaedrus raises an additional issue on the status of Homer, whom it seems
to consider as inferior to another poet, Stesichorus. But how can the most in-
spired of poets be inferior to a much less famous one?
Now for those whose offense lies in telling false stories about matters divine, there is an
ancient rite of purification – Homer did not know it, but Stesichorus did. When he lost his
sight for speaking ill of Helen, he did not, like Homer, remain in the dark about the rea-
son why. On the contrary, true follower of the Muses that he was, he understood it and
immediately composed these lines:
There’s no truth to that story (Plato, Phdr., 243a4–9, tr. Nehamas & Woodruff)32
30 E.g. Proclus, In Remp. I 101.30–102.10; 110.7–10.

31 On Homer as a source for Socrates, In Remp. I 166.12–167.9.
32 Proclus quotes this passage in In Remp. I 173.11–17.
In Proclus’ eyes, this passage could imply the superiority of Stesichorus, to the ex-
tent that the latter would have understood the motive of demonic anger (τὴν
αἰτίαν τῶν δαιμονίων μηνιμάτων), which he appeased by his palinode. However,
he recommends interpreting the difference between the two poets through the lens
of inspiration. In the case of Stesichorus, blindness describes a state of insensitivity
to inspiration. It is for having given a historical, sensible interpretation of the ab-
duction of Helen that Stesichorus loses his sight, and it is thanks to the divine in-
spiration that it recovers it, because he has arrived at the right interpretation of the
episode (I 173.26–174.4). In the case of truly inspired poets, the deprivation of a
sense means allegorically its passing into a higher mode of thought. For example,
the dismemberment of Orpheus means the assimilation of the poet to his divine
principle (according to the model of inspiration explained above, I 174.21–175.3).
Similarly, the blindness of Homer – or of Demodocos in the Odyssey, a character
through which Homer signals that he is aware of his own inspired state – corre-
sponds to his turning away from sensible beauties towards true beauty (I 174.5–21
and 175.3–22). By activating the intellect of the soul, inspiration blinds sense-
perception, insofar as it turns the poet towards the intelligible principles and al-
lows him to partake of the mode of thought, as the Phaedrus teaches us (250d).
Homer’s misrepresentation of Helen expresses nothing more than the poet’s con-
tempt for all the beauty of the world of becoming, and the ten years of war symbol-
ize the duration of the souls’ stay on earth, the tenth signifying their return to the
world of gods (in reference to Phaedrus 248e). Plato therefore neither contradicts
Homer nor devalues him.
Again, it is the Phaedrus itself that offers the solution to the problem it
raises, which more broadly concerns the status of inspired poetry. But
Proclus’ four rules help us above all to understand the disposition in which
the poet finds himself and the pedagogical objective at which he aims. They
turn the interpreter away from a reading that is as obvious as it is inexact.33
On the other hand, they are probably insufficient to provide a clear interpreta-
tion of the poet’s words, as evidenced by the controversy around Stesichorus
and Homer, where the same fact is interpreted in two different, even contra-
dictory, ways. What guarantee is there then that the reader will formulate the
right interpretation? Proclus’ answer will consist in distinguishing different
modes of theological discourse, i.e. different ways of speaking of the gods,
33 At the very least, when Homer speaks as an inspired poet, and not as a learned or mimetic
poet, since, as Proclus notes at the end of his sixth essay, Homer obviously makes use of to the
three modes, In Remp. I 192.6–195.12. Only the lowest form of poetry is rightly banished by
Plato (I 196.14–199.28).
and thus different ways of considering theological texts. With regard to the
poets and their myths, the solution comes again from Phaedrus.
7 Coping with the Myth

In the prologue of the Platonic Theology, Proclus divides the dialogues accord-
ing to the four theological modes he identifies in Plato, each of which he then
associates with an illustrious predecessor. The first two proceed by allusion
(δι' ἐνδείξεως), either in the form of symbols and myths (συμβολικῶς καὶ
μυθικῶς), or by means of images (δι' εἰκόνων). The last two operate without a
veil (ἀπαρακαλύπτως), one according to science (κατ' ἐπιστήμην), the other ac-
cording to a divine inspiration (κατὰ τὴν ἐκ θεῶν ἐπίπνοιαν).34 The division re-
sults in a manner of reading the dialogues which divides them according to the
appropriate type of theological discourse:
δι' ἐνδείξεως ἀπαρακαλύπτως
συμβολικῶς καὶ μυθικῶς δι' εἰκόνων κατ' ἐπιστήμην κατὰ τὴν ἐκ θεῶν ἐπίπνοιαν
Orpheus Pythagoras Plato (Chaldean Oracles)
Gorgias, Symposium, Timaeus, Sophist, Parmenides Phaedrus
Protagoras Statesman
To investigate the Platonic recourse to myth and symbols, Proclus invokes two
sources, the Republic and the Phaedrus.35 From the former, he draws a general
rule of composition, the one which Plato recommends and observes in his own
myths: the myth aims at education and, therefore, aims to convey “the beautiful
and the good.”36 The reader must therefore keep in mind that, in his myths, Plato
has avoided all disagreement between the surface meaning and our natural con-
ception of the gods (the gods cause the good alone and undergo no change). In
this way he has adapted to the young audience the myths of his predecessors, by
34 Proclus, Theol. plat. I 4, 17.9–20.25. Only the scientific mode is specific to Plato. The list
should be compared to Anon. Proleg. 27.1–83, where the author distinguishes fifteen modes of
teaching adopted by Plato.
35 As shown by Fortier 2015, 229, the use of symbols is not restricted to myth, because all the
theological modes use them, but with various degrees of mimesis. On σύμβολα, see Trouillard
1981 and Cardullo 1985.
36 The phrase comes from Resp. V 462a3–4, and it is quoted by Proclus, Theol. plat. I 4, 21.
1–22.11.
bringing order to the apparent disorder, so as to restore harmony between the

true nature of the gods and the way in which they are presented.
If this rule makes it possible to understand the general purpose of Plato’s
myths, it is of little use in discovering the meaning behind Plato’s symbols.
Hence the necessity of the other source: the Phaedrus, the inspired dialogue
par excellence.37 This time, the rule that Proclus draws from it is hermeneutic:
But there is another which he offers in the Phaedrus, thinking it fit to guard the divine my-
thology always unmixed with natural explanations and neither to confound nor to intermix
theology and physical theory. For, in effect, the divine itself transcends the whole of nature,
and in this way, I suppose, it is proper for the discourses concerning the divine to be en-
tirely free of considerations concerning nature. (Theol. plat. I 4, 22.11–17, tr. Fortier 2014)
Reading a myth properly demands that we keep in mind the clear distinction be-
tween the gods and nature. This does not mean that studying nature and reading
(or writing) a myth are two totally incompatible activities. Myths and physics,
however, refer to two levels of reality, to which correspond two modes of expla-
nation that should not be confused. Because they speak of the gods, the myths
refer to a higher level of reality than physics. This argument may seem far removed
from Plato, yet it is from the Phaedrus that Proclus explicitly borrows it, referring
to the passage where Socrates explains the removal of the nymph Oreithyia by the
wind-god Boreas.
Actually, it would not be out of place for me to reject it, as our intellectuals do (σοφιζόμενος)
(. . .). Now, Phaedrus, such explanations are amusing enough, but they are a job for a man I
cannot envy at all. He’d have to be far too ingenious and work too hard (λίαν δὲ δεινοῦ
ἐπιπόνου καὶ οὐ πάνυ εὐτυχοῦς ἀνδρός) – mainly because after that he will have to go on
and give a rational account of the form of the Hippocentaurs, and then of the Chimera
(Χιμαίρας); and a whole flood of Gorgons (Γοργόνων) and Pegasuses and other monsters, in
large numbers and absurd forms, will overwhelm him. Anyone who does not believe in
them, who wants to explain them away and make them plausible (κατὰ τὸ εἰκὸς) by means
of some sort of rough ingenuity (σοφίᾳ), will need a great deal of time. (. . .) This is why I do
not concern myself with them. I accept what is generally believed, and, as I was just saying, I
look not into them but into my own self: (. . .) am I a tamer, simpler animal with a share in a
divine (θείας) and gentle nature? (Phdr. 229c4–230a6, tr. Nehamas &c Woodruff; I underline
the phrases quoted by Proclus)
This passage offers three different perspectives on the myths and their interpre-
tation. To propose an allegorical explanation of all myths results from a misun-
derstanding of their likely surface meaning, in the sense that it amounts to
considering that all mythical theophanies symbolize natural phenomena. This
37 Proclus, Theol. plat. I 4, 17.25–18.12: Socrates, Proclus says, declares himself to be

νυμφόληπτος (Phdr. 238d1).
kind of sophisticated explanation leads us to an endless and painstaking quest

for hidden meanings, forcing us to look for a natural correspondence for each
and every mythical figure. Finally, it is an obstacle to self-knowledge, insofar
as it draws our attention towards objects other than ourselves (τὰ ἀλλότρια).
From this point of view, myths are to be regarded as fictions of which it is use-
less to seek a secret or symbolic explanation. It is better to be satisfied with tradi-
tional interpretations. Proclus, however, proposes a completely different reading
of these few lines:
For Plato says such a hard-working and not altogether good man to make natural occur-
rences the end of the hidden meaning of myths, and to identify both the Chimera, for ex-
ample, and the Gorgon and any such mythological personages with natural forms. (. . .)
For it is necessary, I suppose, for the mythological narratives concerning the gods to have
hidden conceptions [τὰς ἀποκεκρυμμένας ἐννοίας] more venerable always than those ap-
parent. (. . .) Therefore [would anyone declare] to be exegetes of the truth in these myths
only those of the interpretations, which, in so far as they aim at the divine, immaterial,
and separate hypostasis, and by looking to this, both compose and interpret the myths
proper to the preconceptions in us [ἐν ἡμῖν προλήψεσιν] concerning the gods. (Theol.
plat. I 4, 22.17–23.11, tr. Fortier 2014)
Paradoxically, Proclus considers words originally intended to distance us from

mythical exegesis as an encouragement to interpret (inspired) myths in a strictly
theological manner. As his classmate Hermias confirms, Socrates’ criticism cannot
be equivalent to an absolute rejection of myth, since he uses it himself for demon-
strative purposes. It deals only with allegorical exegeses that lead to “histories (εἰς
ἱστορίας), likelihoods (εἰκοτολογίας) and material causes (εἰς ὑλικὰς αἰτίας),” i.e.
to physicalist and likely readings (In Phdr. 32.14–33.10 Lucarini & Moreschini).38
This physicalist allegory is just as obvious as it is false and endless, since it focuses
on realities characterized by indeterminacy. It can even be dangerous, Hermias
says, insofar as the surface meaning represents something perishable, following it
condemns us to a similar fate, while the hidden and enigmatic meaning raises us
up to the imperishable world of true Being (In Phdr. 68.27–69.9).39
Hermias shows perhaps better than Proclus how the hermeneutical rule pro-
ceeds to reach the hidden meaning. Far from considering the creatures evoked
by Socrates (Centaurs, Gorgon, and Pegasuses) as natural forces, it relates them
38 Hermias stresses the same elements and quotes the same sentences as Proclus does. He
also emphasizes the distinction between material and divine realities. Traditionally, the kind
of interpretation rejected here by the two Neoplatonists had been practiced by the Stoics. See
Brisson 1996, 64–70 (on the Stoics) and 110–112 (on Plotinus).
39 Hermias refers to the ἐπιμύθιον, a term absent in Proclus which describes the head of the
μῦθος, what gives it its truth (see Olympiodorus, In Gorg. 4 §3, 33.8; 34 §4, 176.8–9 and 49 §3,
260.7–8.).
to powers superior to the material world, which implies going beyond appear-
ance and likelihood and rising to a level of reality impossible to convey in words
because of its radical transcendence. The good exegesis of the myth is that which
transcends the nature portrayed in the story and whose source lies in the
Intellect that raises the soul. It is guaranteed by the fact that it expresses a truth
already contained within us, and it is correct because it agrees with the precon-
ceptions of the divine which belong to us naturally and which refer to the right
notion of the gods. In these conditions, interpreting a myth is no longer a waste
of time. Whereas Socrates contrasted the interpretation of divine myths with self-
knowledge, Proclus and Hermias reconcile them by basing the first on an agree-
ment with a preconception in us. Interpreting Plato’s myths, and inspired myths
in general, is another way of interpreting oneself, in the sense that the soul must
reflect back on to the principles from which it originates.
The difficulty lies in finding out how the correspondence between the gods
and their symbolic representation works. For example, concerning the myth of
Oreithyia, Hermias gives three interpretations. The first, more ethical, is from a
historical perspective (ἐκ τῆς ἱστορίας): the abduction of Oreithyia is an allegory
for her inspiration and her possession by the god during the rite she was leading
nearby the river (30.14–26). Without being incorrect, this interpretation is incom-
plete because it remains at the obvious level. It is limited to the ethical effects of
the rite, without seeking a correspondence with divine principles. We must go
beyond it, leaving history behind. Even though poets often refer to historical
events, we must understand how they use them in fiction. The second interpreta-
tion is from the perspective of the universe (ἐπὶ τὰ ὅλα μεταφέρων). Oreithyia
symbolizes the fertile sway of the earth under the action of divine providence,
which makes her revert or proceed according to the rhythm of the seasons (30.
27–31.14). This more theological interpretation reveals the divine powers hidden
below the surface of history. It remains, however, exterior. Finally, the third in-
terpretation is based on the fact that Socrates speaks to Phaedrus of a sanctuary
whose ritual he wants to learn. Oreithyia symbolizes the soul that desires higher
things and converts from this world to the world beyond (31.24–30). This third
interpretation is the right one, not only because it analyzes Plato’s myth in rela-
tion to the plot of the dialogue, but above all, because it refers to the triple crite-
rion formulated by Hermias: to go back to the soul, to the intellect and to the
gods, as philosophical life does. Note that it is perhaps as much psychological as
strictly theological, which differs from the purpose of the Platonic Theology.
The allegorical rule from the Phaedrus saves myth. Proclus regularly calls
upon it when he wants to reject bad readings of Plato, as he does with regard to
the heaven of the Phaedrus palinode. Against those physical readings that iden-
tify it with our heaven, Proclus draws up a list of the absurdities in which such
an interpretation results (Theol. plat. IV 5, 21.6–22.8). But the rule also applies to
the readings of Homer, which fill Proclus’ Commentary on the Republic. Proclus
multiplies the passages in which he rejects the physical interpretations in favour
of a theological exegesis, whether it be the castration of Ouranos, the fight of
Achilles and the Xanthos, or the pyre of Patroclus.40 But the reference to the
Phaedrus is not limited to Proclus. When Olympiodorus criticizes the historical
readings of myths, he holds that Socrates denounces the readings that focus on
the Minotaur (sic) and the apparent meaning. On the contrary, Socrates invites
us to know ourselves, that is, to use our common notions to produce a truly theo-
logical and properly educational reading of myth.41 Together, the two rules
drawn from the Phaedrus, namely that myths, by their inspired origin, 1) go back
to the divine principles and 2) transcend all physical explanation, govern the ex-
egesis and found the allegorical reading of the Neoplatonists.
8 Conclusion
The purpose of this article was not to provide a general theory of myth according
to Proclus, which would require much longer analysis.42 It was a matter of show-
ing how the Phaedrus assures the junction between myth and rational thought,
reconciling not only Plato and Homer, but also different theological modes that
Plato himself uses in his dialogues. If we follow Proclus, the Phaedrus is the in-
spired dialogue par excellence: Socrates speaks with an inspired mouth (ἐνθέῳ
στόματι), reveals secret doctrines (ἀπόρρητα δόγματα), and is seized a divine
madness, more profound than the human intelligence, which he attributes to the
local gods (Theol. plat. I 4 17.25–18.12) – so many of the traits by which Proclus
also characterizes inspired poetry. No wonder the Phaedrus solves the apparent
disagreement between Homer and Plato. Not only does what Socrates says about
inspired theology prove compatible with Homer’s discourses and makes them ad-
missible, but it illustrates Plato’s own use of inspired discourse, not in the sense
40 Proclus, In Remp. I 81.27–86.23 (in particular 82.20–83.7); I 148.25–149.13; I 151.24–153.20.

41 Olympiodorus, In Gorg. 44 §§3–7. Olympiodorus talks of the Minotaur, while Socrates says
‘Hippocentaur’ (229d6). We can add two passages in Philoponus, In de an., 69.30–70.2 and
116.23–26, qualifying as ridiculous (καταγέλαστον) the reading limiting itself to the obvious
meaning of myths. But thanks to an inspired soul (ἐνθουσιώσης ψυχῆς), one has to seek the
hidden meaning. The explicit reference to Plato, without any further mention, is probably to
the Phaedrus (229e6), where Socrates qualifies as γελοῖον the natural readings.
42 Elements can be found in Trouillard 1977b; Athanassiadi 2009; Sheppard 2017, 278–280.
of the philosopher’s natural inspiration in any of his theological discourses or

the initiate in his exposition of divinity, but the inspiration proper to the practice
of myth.
The Phaedrus is certainly not the only source of the Neoplatonic reading of
inspired poetry and this interpretation of myth. These were the fruit of a long
history, at the end of which the Neoplatonists, such as Proclus, found an a pos-
teriori justification in Plato’s dialogues. At the very least, this dialogue offers
the key to saving myths and making them consistent with Plato’s philosophy,
but perhaps also to founding the principle of an inspired exegesis, the ultimate
key to hermeneutics.
Saskia Aerts
How to Lead Souls to Beauty: Hermias
on the Unity of the Phaedrus
In the Phaedrus, Plato claims that every text should be put together as a living
creature with all of its parts suiting one another and the whole (Phdr. 264c2–5).
This comparison implies that all parts of the text must hang together in a mean-
ingful unity – a unity that ironically the Phaedrus itself seems to lack. The dia-
logue starts with Socrates and Phaedrus delivering rhetorical speeches on love,
but then radically changes into a dialectical inquiry into the art of rhetoric. Other
important Platonic themes, such as the life of the soul and the realm of Forms,
are discussed in passing. For this reason, both ancient and modern commenta-
tors have been haunted by the question of what, if anything, unifies all of these
themes.
Recently, a convincing answer to this question has been proposed by Jessica
Moss, who argues that the unifying theme of the Phaedrus is the serious kind of
persuasion that Plato calls ‘soul-leading’ (ψυχαγωγία, Phdr. 261a8). Moss claims
that the two main themes of the dialogue, love and rhetoric, are connected by
their ability to lead the soul towards truth and the good life. For this reason, the
theme ψυχαγωγία has what is necessary to unify the different features of the dia-
logue: not only are love and rhetoric revealed to be potential soul-leaders but also
the dramatic plot can be interpreted as a demonstration of Socrates’ successful at-
tempt of leading Phaedrus’ soul away from rhetoric to philosophy by means of ex-
ploiting his love for speeches.1 The question of the unity of the Phaedrus is also
posed, though in a somewhat different form, in the only extant Neoplatonic com-
mentary on the dialogue by the fifth century philosopher Hermias of Alexandria.2
1 Moss 2012.
2 The extent to which Hermias’ commentary on the Phaedrus is a literal transcript of the lec-
tures on the Phaedrus by his teacher Syrianus, has been the subject of much scholarly debate.
Several scholars have claimed that the commentary provides a more or less verbatim transcript
of Syrianus’ lessons (e.g. Praechter 1912; Saffrey & Westerink 1968–97, vol. IV, XXXI and vol.
VI, XX; O’Meara 1989, 124–128; Manolea 2004, 47–58). Others have tried to defend the view
that Hermias added his own ideas and interpretations to the commentary (particularly
Bielmeier 1930, 30–35; Bernard 1997, 10–12; Moreschini 1992b; 2009; Fortier 2018b). Although
a discussion of the work’s authorship goes far beyond the scope of this paper, I admit that I
Saskia Aerts, KU Leuven
https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110683936-011
174 Saskia Aerts
Neoplatonic commentators such as Hermias strongly believed in the hermeneutical

principle based on the Phaedrus that each Platonic dialogue can be unified by one
main theme or purpose, the so-called skopos, to which all aspects of the dialogue
lead.3 It is thus no surprise that Hermias starts his commentary with the question
what the skopos of the Phaedrus could possibly be.
Hermias’ answer is that all parts of the dialogue are unified by the theme
beauty, which manifests itself at different levels. At first sight, Hermias’ interpreta-
tion seems to differ radically from Moss’ proposal sketched above. However, what
both readings have in common is that they take Plato’s interest in the notion of
soul-leading very seriously. In fact, when we follow Hermias’ reading, it becomes
clear that the different manifestations of beauty unify the dialogue insofar as the
two other main themes, love and rhetoric, lead the soul towards it. But, unlike
Moss, who takes soul-leading metaphorically, Hermias interprets the themes of
love and rhetoric as soul-leaders in the literal sense of the word, that is, as setting
the soul in motion toward different manifestations of beauty.4 In order to fully un-
derstand and do right to Hermias’ interpretation, it is, in my view, essential to ac-
knowledge the important function of soul-leading in his discussion.
In what follows, I will examine Hermias’ answer to the question of the unity
of the Phaedrus and show how the commentator carefully interprets every aspect
of the dialogue as contributing to the whole. After having provided an outline of
Hermias’ interpretation of the skopos in the first section, in the second section I
will turn to a discussion of how love provides the vertical bonds between souls
and the different manifestations of beauty, leading souls away from lower kinds
of beauty to Beauty itself. In the remaining part of the paper, I will examine
Socrates’ two speeches and show how they lead the soul away from the world of
becoming, first back to itself, and then all the way upwards to the gods. Overall,
this paper intends to go beyond a straightforward discussion of Hermias’ an-
swer to the question of the skopos of the Phaedrus by focusing on the role of
tend to favour the last option, since Hermias’ interpretations of several passages seem to di-
verge from those reported in Syrianus and Proclus, as has been recently argued by
Fortier 2018b.
3 For a discussion on how the Phaedrus served as a guide to Neoplatonic hermeneutics, in-
cluding the theory of the dialogue’s skopos, see the contribution by Pieter d’Hoine in the pres-
ent volume.
4 Whereas Moss interprets soul-leading metaphorically in the sense of persuading or influenc-
ing souls, Hermias has its literal meaning in mind: it is a real moving of souls back to their
intelligible cause.
Hermias on the Unity of the Phaedrus 175
soul-leading.5 It aims to provide an original interpretation of how the Neoplatonic

commentators tended to relate Plato’s dialogues to the ascent of the soul, and as
such grant a unique perspective on the Neoplatonic reception of the Phaedrus.
1 Skopos: Beauty of Every Kind

In the prologue to his commentary, Hermias addresses the question of the
Phaedrus’ skopos, the overarching theme that unifies all the aspects of the di-
alogue. He remarks that there is no consensus among commentators on the
skopos of the dialogue: some say its main theme is love, others say that it is
rhetoric, whereas yet others think it is the soul, the Good, or first Beauty.
Hermias himself, however, rejects all of these options on the ground that they
may represent the main theme of a certain part of the dialogue but they do
not capture the meaning of the whole. The skopos, in turn, should be the over-
all theme that unifies all of these different parts, just as all parts of the animal
are adapted to fit the whole. For this reason, Hermias follows the interpreta-
tion of Iamblichus who defined the skopos of the Phaedrus as ‘beauty of every
kind (τὸ παντοδαπὸν καλόν).’6
Even though Socrates’ palinode clearly discusses how love can lead lovers to
intelligible beauty, it is not immediately clear in what way beauty in different
kinds is present throughout the whole dialogue. Even more, it is far from obvious
how this theme is capable of unifying all the other elements discussed. Hermias’
explanation reads as follows:
T1. This skopos is, to put it briefly, on beauty of every kind. Thus he (i.e. Plato/Socrates, SA)
begins from the phenomenal beauty (ἀπὸ τοῦ φαινομένου κάλλους) present in the bodily
form of Phaedrus, whose lover is Lysias, who is a licentious lover because of his declension
from the true lover. Then he goes on to the beauty in speeches (τὸ ἐν τοῖς λόγοις καλόν), of
which Phaedrus is presented as a lover, and Lysias or the speech of Lysias as the beloved.
For this reason, Lysias and Phaedrus are mutually in love, and both are lovers and beloved,
but not with the same love (. . .) Then in steps, Socrates ascends from the beauty in speeches
to the beauty of souls (τὸ ψυχικὸν κάλλος), that is, the virtues and types of knowledge.
Then to the beauty of the encosmic gods in the palinode (τὸ τῶν ἐγκοσμίων θεῶν ἐν τῇ
5 Straightforward discussions of Hermias’ interpretation of the skopos of the Phaedrus can be

found in Bernard 1997, 23–26, in Moreschini 2009, 524–527, and recently in Baltzly & Share
2018, 23–25 and Tarrant & Baltzly 2018, 487–489.
6 Hermias Alexandrinus, In Platonis Phaedrum scholia 9.13–10.9. All references to Hermias’
scholia are to the edition by Lucarini & Moreschini 2012. The passage in which Hermias dis-
cusses the skopos of the Phaedrus is included in Dillon 1973 as Iamblichus, In Phdr. fr. 1.
176 Saskia Aerts
παλινῳδίᾳ), then to intelligible beauty, the very source of beauty, the god Love, and
Beauty itself (τὸ νοητὸν κάλλος καὶ αὐτὴν τὴν πηγὴν τοῦ καλοῦ καὶ τὸν θεὸν Ἔρωτα καὶ
αὐτὸ τὸ καλόν).7 From there he descends again by means of division to the beauty of souls,
of virtues and types of knowledge, then again back to the beauty in speeches, thus connect-
ing the end with the beginning. (Hermias, In Phdr. 12.18–13.5)8
In this passage, Hermias argues that the successive parts of the Phaedrus repre-
sent a progression of different kinds of beauty, from (1) phenomenal beauty in
bodies to (2) beauty in speeches via (3) beauty of souls to, finally, (4) divine
beauty as discussed in the palinode; then back again via (3) beauty of souls to
(2) beauty in speeches (see Figure 1). The metaphor of Socrates ascending in
‘steps’ is inspired by the ladder of love from the Symposium: the lower manifes-
tations of beauty which make their appearance in the Phaedrus before the pal-
inode provide the steps that lead upwards to divine beauty. After the palinode,
these steps are used again to descend in the remaining part of the dialogue.9
But in which passages exactly does Hermias recognise these different manifes-
tations of beauty, and what role do they play in the dramatic plot of the dia-
logue as a whole?
In Hermias’ interpretation, the dramatic plot of the dialogue is set in motion
by the phenomenal beauty found in the good looks of Phaedrus, which inspires
Lysias to deliver a speech on love in order to court the beloved Phaedrus.10
Whereas modern commentators point out that the pederastic relationships
to which Plato alludes, should at best be interpreted metaphorically or even
7 It is far from clear if in this clause ‘intelligible beauty,’ ‘the very source of beauty,’ ‘the god
Love,’ and ‘Beauty itself’ should be distinguished as different steps in the ascent or not. It is,
however, unlikely that the divinities are presented in ascending order, not only because the
difference between ‘intelligible beauty,’ ‘the very source of beauty,’ and ‘Beauty itself’ is am-
biguous, but also because of the strange position of the god Love in the middle of this list. I
think that in this passage Hermias is simply not all too precise, but merely lists the names of
the divinities discussed in the palinode, which he considers to belong to the final step in the
ascent. This makes the most sense considering that after naming the last element Hermias
says that Socrates descends again one step to psychic beauty, which would not be the case if
multiple steps were involved.
8 All translations are my own. This paper was written before the first English translation of
Hermias’ scholia was published, and thus could not immediately benefit from it. Nonetheless,
I would like to draw the reader’s attention to this translation by Baltzly & Share 2018.
9 For the so-called ‘ladder of love,’ see Symposium 209e5–212a7. As noted by Lucarini &
Moreschini 2012, Hermias’ ἐπαναβιβασμοῖς χρώμενος (In Phdr. 12.30) is a verbal echo of
ἐπαναβασμοῖς χρώμενον at Symp. 211c3 and also the description of the beauty of souls seems
to be inspired by the Symposium.
10 Lysias is thus identified by Hermias with the ἐραστής of his speech: In Phdr. 1.14–21.
(4) Divine
beauty
(3) Beauty of
souls (virtues
(2) Phenomenal and types of
beauty: knowledge)
(1) Phenomenal immaterial
beauty: material (speeches)
(bodies)
Figure 1: The different kinds of beauty in the Phaedrus.
facetiously, Hermias takes these hints very seriously.11 He depicts Lysias as

the lowest kind of lover, who is driven by lust and sexual desire and is only
interested in the corporeal beauty found in the outward form of Phaedrus. In
turn, Phaedrus also pursues phenomenal beauty. However, he is not inter-
ested in the beauty of Lysias’ body but in that of his speech. The fact that
Phaedrus’ love is not aimed at mere corporeal beauty but at the incorporeal
beauty present in speeches makes him in Hermias’ view a better kind of
lover than Lysias.12
For this reason, Hermias claims in the passage quoted above that Lysias
and Phaedrus love each other, although they do so in different ways. Whereas
Lysias’ love or, rather, desire for Phaedrus’ body is harmful for the young man,
Phaedrus’ love for the immaterial beauty of speeches opens the way towards
the higher immaterial manifestations of beauty.13 In fact, according to the com-
mentator, the name ‘Phaedrus’ reveals that we should conceive of the young
man as capable of seeing the concealed traces of intelligible beauty through
lower, phenomenal beauty. It is Phaedrus’ striving for lower forms of beauty
that makes him receptive of the higher.14 Even in the smallest details of the
11 For the modern interpretations of the pederastic hints, see for instance Yunis 2011, 109;
Moss 2012, 7–8. Yunis (2011, 7) stresses that Phaedrus, though younger than Socrates, is not
an adolescent but an adult, and thus rather a potential ἐραστής himself.
12 In Phdr. 12.18–30.
13 Hermias follows Plato’s considerations regarding the harmfulness of corporeal love by
claiming that the lover destroys the beloved’s body, soul, and relations to the external world.
Cf. In Phdr. 60.22–30.
14 In Phdr. 16.3–15. Hermias seems to play with the literal meaning of the name ‘Phaedrus’
(from φαιδρός, ‘bright’) which would point at the possibility of ‘seeing through’. As Bernard
1997, 94n62 points out, also the resemblance of the name ‘Phaedrus’ to the combination of the
words φαίνομαι and ἔρως (‘love for appearances’) seems to play a role in the background.
178 Saskia Aerts
dramatic plot, Hermias finds hints of Phaedrus showing himself to be ready for
the proposed journey from lower to higher kinds of beauty. In the prologue, for
instance, Phaedrus’ intention to leave the city is interpreted by Hermias as his
desire to pursue a better and higher life, away from the life of the masses con-
fined within the city walls.15
Phaedrus’ love for beauty of speeches thus offers the starting point for the
ascent that Hermias sees described in the Phaedrus: a metaphorical path taken
by Phaedrus with the help of Socrates, closely followed by the readers of the dia-
logue. In the first part of the dialogue, Socrates, who is presented by Hermias as
a divinely sent saviour of mankind, recognises that Phaedrus is excited by the
bad sophistic rhetoric of Lysias.16 This encourages Socrates to deliver speeches of
his own, aimed at rescuing the young man from this soul-destroying rhetoric and
leading him to the true rhetoric, that is philosophy.17 In Hermias’ interpretation,
Socrates’ first speech is meant to draw Phaedrus’ attention to the beauty of souls,
found in virtues and types of knowledge, while his second speech, the famous
palinode, discusses the divine beauty of the gods. After having reached this
peak, Socrates descends again to the beauty of souls, which I assume Hermias
sees portrayed in the description of the virtuous lover, back to the beauty in
speeches, as it is discussed in the inquiry into philosophical rhetoric in the second
part of the dialogue.18 In this way, Plato carefully joins the end of the Phaedrus to
its beginning, thus creating a ring composition.
2 Love: Leader of Souls to Beauty

So far we have seen that Hermias agrees with Iamblichus that the skopos of the
Phaedrus is beauty of every kind, since the commentator recognises expres-
sions of different kinds of beauty throughout the dialogue. However, one must
admit that this is not the most obvious choice for the dialogue’s main theme –
15 In Phdr. 15.6–19.
16 Hermias rejects Lysias’ speech not only for its harmful influence on the soul, but also for
its bad arrangement and composition, poor diction, contradictory and false statements, and
its ambiguous subject: In Phdr. 238.3–5; and especially 239.13–240.2.
17 In Phdr. 1.5–10.
18 Hermias does not make explicit in which passage he thinks that the beauty in souls is dis-
cussed after the revelation of divine beauty, but one might think of the distinction between
the virtuous and licentious lover resulting from the violent conflict in the soul, discussed at
the end of the palinode (Phdr. 253c7–256e2), which Hermias specifically connects to virtues
and evils (In Phdr. 205.1–17).
love or rhetoric seem to be more suitable candidates. In this section I will show
that for Hermias the importance of love consists in its capacity to lead souls to
beauty. In the following sections I will argue that the same holds for the philo-
sophical rhetoric employed by Socrates in his two speeches.
Following Plato’s observations on the topic, the Neoplatonists considered
love (ἔρως) to be a medium between the lover and the object of love, leading
the soul towards beauty.19 While the Symposium explains how the lover can as-
cend from particular kinds of beauty to Beauty itself, the Phaedrus discloses
how, after the fall of the soul, love nurtures the regrowth of the soul’s wings,
thus stimulating the recollection of Beauty itself.20 Hermias distinguishes differ-
ent kinds of love, which are the subject of the dialogue’s three speeches and
lead to the different types of beauty discussed above. These kinds of love corre-
spond to three kinds of life, since the kind of life that someone lives immedi-
ately reflects the way in which a person loves.21 Schematically, this results in
the following table:
Table 1: Relation speeches – love – life – beauty.
Speeches (λόγοι) Love Life Beauty
) Lysias’ speech Licentious Licentious Phenomenal beauty
) Socrates’ first speech Self-controlled Self-controlled Beauty of souls: types

of knowledge and virtues
) Palinode Divine and Inspired Divine beauty: gods

(Socrates’ second speech) enthusiastic and intelligible beauty
The lowest kind of love, licentious love, which is presented in Lysias’ speech,
amounts to lust and sexual desire, though it is wrongly called ‘love’ by the
masses.22 This kind of love is disgraceful, since it is only an apparent benefit for
the lover and a great harm to the beloved.23 According to Hermias, Socrates rec-
ognises that Phaedrus, who is actually fit for philosophy, is being harmed by
his association with the rhetorician Lysias, who wrote a dishonouring speech to
master him. For the sake of the young man, Socrates then turns to deliver
19 See T2 below. Cf. Proclus, In Alc. 51.1–6.

20 Especially Symp. 209e5–212a7; Phdr. 246d2–256e2.
21 In Phdr. 13.6–14.
22 In Phdr. 55.8–10.
23 In Phdr. 105.14–20.
180 Saskia Aerts
speeches on the same topic as Lysias’ in order to refute the latter’s speech and
lead Phaedrus up “from outward and phenomenal beauty in empty and godless
words to psychic and intellective beauty.”24 Socrates’ first speech deals with the
self-controlled love of the soul that leads to psychic beauty as present in types of
knowledge and virtues. This kind of love is important as a first step in the ascent
of the soul because it turns the soul back to itself: it gives order to the soul and
the life of the man who has it.25 The highest, enthusiastic kind of love, which is
presented in Socrates’ palinode, has the capacity of leading lovers upwards to
the contemplation of divine beauty.26 This is love in the purest sense, showing
that “Love is not an affection but a god, who saves the souls and leads them up-
wards.”27 Since the lover is possessed by the god, Hermias defines love as a “di-
vine madness with regard to the recollection of Beauty itself.”28
Hermias also reads the four madnesses (μανίαι) discussed by Plato (Phdr.
244a3–245c2) – the musical, the telestic, the mantic, and the erotic – as repre-
senting different steps of the path that brings the soul to perfection and recon-
nects it with the gods.29 The highest step is erotic madness: it connects the
highest part of the soul, the one of the soul, with the gods and intelligible beauty,
achieving the most perfect kind of unification.30 At the same time, erotic mad-
ness causes an external effect: the person possessed by it aims at leading young
men from sensible to psychic and intelligible beauty.31 The prime example of this
is provided by Socrates himself, who not only speaks about erotic madness but is
himself possessed by it, leading Phaedrus away from apparent beauty to superior
kinds of beauty by means of his speeches.
Indeed, Hermias describes Socrates’ love for Phaedrus as ‘anagogical and
saving’ (53.29: ἀναγωγὸν καὶ σωτικόν) and his actions as ‘healing and purify-
ing’ (19.4: ἰατρικοὶ καὶ καθαρτικοί).32 For Hermias, Socrates is a godlike figure
24 In Phdr. 10.29–11.10 (the quote is from In Phdr. 11.9–10).

25 In Phdr. 53.32–54.3.
26 Cf. In Phdr. 183.11–12: “[the lover] being led to intelligible beauty and beauty itself, and
taking his beloved with him (. . .εἰς τὸ νοητὸν κάλλος καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ καλὸν ἀναγόμενος καὶ
συνανάγων τὰ παιδικά).”
27 In Phdr. 9.4–5: “. . . οὐ πάθος ἐστὶν ἀλλὰ θεὸς ὁ Ἔρως σωτὴρ καὶ ἀναγωγεὺς τῶν ψυχῶν.”
Cf. 10.24–26. The positions of predecessors regarding the essence of love are discussed by
Hermias at 35.19–36.9.
28 In Phdr. 5.26: “. . . θείαν μανίαν εἶναι κατὰ ἀνάμνησιν τοῦ αὐτοκάλλους.”
29 In Phdr. 88.15–105.14. For a discussion of how the proposed hierarchy of the divine mad-
nesses presents different steps in the ascent of the soul, see Helmig & Vargas 2014.
30 In Phdr. 94.11–13.
31 In Phdr. 96.20–24.
32 For a discussion of Socratic love in Hermias, see the excellent discussion by Roskam 2014.
who takes providential care (πρόνοια) for the young Phaedrus, by leading his
soul away from phenomenal beauty to the philosophical life and the gods.33 In
fact, Socrates, who is himself already active at the intellective level of the palin-
ode, descends out of providential care to the lower, dianoetic level of the soul
to deliver his first speech, only in order to help Phaedrus in his ascent. The fact
that Socrates covers his head while delivering this speech is for Hermias a sign
of shame for acting on a level inferior to his own activity, metaphorically repre-
sented by the head.34
Divine providence in the sense of caring for others and helping them in their
ascent is thus regarded by Hermias as an external effect of love in its function as
divine madness, next to the internal effect that it connects the soul of the pos-
sessed with the gods. This specific interpretation of erotic madness reflects how
Neoplatonists understood love in a metaphysical framework, or more specifi-
cally, in the framework of their theory of causation. In this framework, love does
not only make the lover revert upon the cause Beauty, but it also proceeds from
the lover with the aim of benefitting others.35 Both Hermias in his commentary
on the Phaedrus and Proclus in his commentary on the Alcibiades (which in-
cludes an important discussion of love) show that the ascending, reversive love
of the lower levels for the higher is accompanied by a descending, providential
love of the higher levels for the lower, which helps them to ascend.36
Thus, from a Neoplatonic perspective, love plays an even more crucial part
in the plot of the Phaedrus than we might have expected: not only does love as
soul-leader provide the bonds to bring Phaedrus’ soul back to divine beauty,
but it also establishes the providential care that Socrates takes of Phaedrus,
thus creating the possibility for the dialogue to develop as it does. For this rea-
son, Hermias feels the need to explain why love, despite its importance in the
dialogue, is not the skopos:
33 E.g. In Phdr. 13.29–14.1: “. . . Socrates is the one who cares for the young and takes provi-
dential care (προνοῶν) for Phaedrus and leads him away from phenomenal and external
beauty in speeches to psychic and intellective beauty.” The direct opposite of the godlike
Socrates is Lysias, who is accused by Hermias of ἀπόνοια, ‘lack of sense,’ and even κακουργία,
‘wickedness,’ for trying to deceive Phaedrus (In Phdr. 42.21–23; cf. 1.14–21).
34 In Phdr. 51.4–11. The head as representation of intellective activity is based on the chariot
image of the palinode, in which the charioteer lifts only his head up into the intelligible place.
35 The model of causation, which might be expressed in the three moments of remaining, pro-
cession, and reversion, is most emphatically expressed by Proclus in Elements of Theology
§§33–35. For a discussion of this model of causation and other important aspects of Proclus’
system, see Martijn & Gerson 2017.
36 Proclus even speaks of ‘providential love’ (In Alc. 45.4: ἔρως προνοητικὸς) as inspired by
the gods. Cf. In Alc. 32.9–16.
182 Saskia Aerts
T2. Those who said that the dialogue was about love did not stray far from the skopos,
since love (ἔρως) is seen in virtue of its leading upwards to the object of love (τὸ ἐραστὸν).
Indeed, even the closely related differences should not go unnoticed, since also Plato him-
self has given to us quite important distinctions between love and the object of love. But
that the leading skopos here is not love, is clear; for he (i.e. Plato, SA) is not giving an ac-
count of his (i.e. Love’s, SA) essence nor about his power, but he discusses his activity di-
rected to the cosmos and the souls, namely that he leads everything up towards the
object of love and Beauty. Yet, whenever Plato gives a principal account of anything, he
discusses those three: its essence, power, and activity. Therefore, in the Symposium, since
the principal account there is about him (i.e. Love, SA), he sets forth his middle position
and rank, and calls him a ‘great spirit’ (δαίμονα μέγαν), as the one who ties the secondary
to the primary beings. Here on the other hand, since the account is principally about
Beauty, to which Love leads everything up, he is called a god. (Hermias, In Phdr. 13.12–27)
In this passage, Hermias explains why love cannot be the skopos of the Phaedrus,
namely because it is only discussed insofar as it leads the lover to the object of
love, beauty. In technical terms, only love’s activity (ἐνέργεια) is discussed, that
is, how love leads everything up towards beauty. In order for love to be the skopos,
there should have been a full account of all of its aspects: not only of its activity,
but also of its essence (οὐσία) and power (δύναμις), as is in fact the case in the
Symposium. For this reason, Hermias claims, the Symposium discloses that Love is
in essence a spirit (δαίμων), whereas the Phaedrus calls Love a god. In contrast to
the Symposium, what is under consideration in the Phaedrus is not Love’s essence
as spirit but rather its activity as soul-leader, for which he might be called a god.
So, within the context of the Phaedrus the emphasis lies on love’s activity as soul-
leader, since it provides the vertical bonds between us and the divine in order to
ascend to beauty, the true skopos. Now, let us turn to rhetoric in its role as soul-
leader and examine how Socrates’ two speeches lead Phaedrus’ soul to psychic
and divine beauty, respectively.
3 Socrates’ First Speech: Soul’s Reversion

upon Itself
As has become clear above, Hermias argues that Socrates’ first speech is con-
cerned with self-controlled love (ὁ ἔρως σώφρων) which aims at the psychic
beauty present in types of knowledge and virtues (τὸ ψυχικὸν . . . κάλλος τό τε
ἐν ἐπιστήμαις καὶ ἀρεταῖς).37 However, as the careful reader of the Phaedrus
37 See T4 below.
knows, this claim is not as self-evident as the commentator presents it to be. In

fact, Socrates’ first speech resumes Lysias’ in speaking against love altogether.
Plato actually presents it as if this is the reason why Socrates feels urged to de-
liver the palinode, namely because he fears that he has offended the god of love
by rebuking love in all its forms.38 After Socrates has finished his first speech,
Phaedrus asks him why he has left off in the middle, considering that he has
only spoken against the lover, but not in favour of the non-lover.39 Socrates agi-
tatedly answers that he felt that he was getting possessed by nymphs, as revealed
by his poetic composition, and that he fears that he will be completely possessed
if he continues to speak. Besides, he insists that the speech delivered so far actu-
ally suffices, since the arguments in favour of the non-lover are the exact oppo-
site of those presented against the lover.40
Hermias reads Socrates’ remark very literally and attempts to clarify why
Socrates refrains from being possessed by nymphs. The nymphs, Hermias ex-
plains, are deities that preside generation, for which reason they inspire the pos-
sessed only with respect to this specific level. Concretely, this means that Socrates
in his first speech receives divine inspiration from the nymphs with regard to en-
mattered, sensible beauty, which results in a rebuke of the licentious love present
at this level. If Socrates would have continued his speech under the guidance of
the nymphs, he would indeed have spoken about the self-controlled love, directed
at the psychic beauty present in knowledge and virtues.41 But why, then, did
Socrates refrain from reciting that part of the speech, and on what grounds can
Hermias still hold that, despite the absence of that part, the speech is about self-
controlled love?
Socrates, Hermias answers, is himself already active and inspired in the
highest domain, which implies that he has already left both the phenomenal and
psychic domain behind him, thus contemplating the intelligible Forms. As appro-
priate to the saviour that Hermias presents him to be, Socrates has descended to
a lower level than his own in order to assist Phaedrus in his ascent. This first
speech is thus meant to unfold some ‘middle-level concepts’ (μὲσοι λόγοι) about
licentious love that would help Phaedrus’ soul to purify itself. After having puri-
fied Phaedrus’ soul from a wrong conception of licentious love, Socrates returns
38 Plato, Phdr. 242b8–243e8.

39 Plato, Phdr. 241d4–7.
40 Plato, Phdr. 241e1–242a2.
41 In Phdr. 66.16–30.
184 Saskia Aerts
as it were to his own intellective activity, leaving it to Phaedrus to put forth similar
middle-level concepts, already present in his soul, about self-controlled love.42 But
what exactly are these middle-level concepts?43
Based on Plato’s theory that all knowledge is recollection, the Neoplatonists
insist that the essence of our soul comprises a plurality of λόγοι or ‘reason princi-
ples,’ the reflections of the intellective Forms in the soul. Intellect brought Soul
into existence as an image of itself, though at an inferior level. Whereas Intellect
is thus all Forms in a unified way, Soul is all Forms in a discursive way, bound
by time: Forms (εἴδη) manifest themselves as reason principles (λόγοι). Since
Soul lacks the unity of essence and activity that exists in Intellect, it must intelli-
gise these λόγοι in its typical discursive activity in order to become aware of the
innate knowledge residing in its essence. Neoplatonists define this act of articu-
lating one’s innate knowledge by means of thinking as προβάλλειν τοὺς λόγους
(‘to put forth the reason principles’).44 By unfolding its own essence, the soul be-
comes aware of its own being as a dianoetic entity and may eventually recognise
that its λόγοι are images of the intellective Forms, thus returning to its cause.45
The projection of innate λόγοι is therefore a crucial step in the ascent of the soul:
it is only through reverting upon its own essence that the soul can revert upon its
cause, Intellect, and achieve a higher degree of perfection and unity.
By relating the passage in the Phaedrus to the Neoplatonic theory of projec-
tion, Hermias explains ingeniously why Socrates did not simply speak in favour
of self-controlled love. According to Hermias, Socrates deliberately only spoke
against licentious love in order to stimulate Phaedrus to recollect for himself
the different virtues and types of knowledge that make up psychic beauty, thus
putting forward the truth existing in his own soul. In this respect, Socrates re-
sembles the Demiurge: just as the Demiurge withdraws to his own higher level
after having instructed the lower deities in their tasks, Socrates returns to his
intellective activities after having stimulated Phaedrus to project the concepts
42 In Phdr. 66.30–67.4.
43 The term μέσοι λόγοι is difficult to translate unambiguously. In this context, μέσοι signifies
‘middle’ or ‘middle-level’ in the sense of the level of soul that typically constitutes the medium
between the material and the immaterial realms. The term λόγοι has a wide spectrum of mean-
ings, but refers here to the so-called ‘reason principles’, the traces of the Forms in the soul.
However, the translation ‘concepts’ fits better in this context because what is under consider-
ation is the unfolding of these principles. Thus, after struggling for some time to find a fitting
translation, I gladly adopted the phrase ‘middle-level concepts’ from Baltzly & Share 2018.
44 Hermias himself explains this so-called theory of projection in In Phdr. 178.30–179.23.
45 For an elaboration of the theory of projection in Proclus, see the article by Steel 1997.
related to self-controlled love through his own agency.46 Another famous meta-
phor that Hermias employs is that of Socrates as doctor of the soul:
T3. Since he (i.e. Socrates, SA) stipulates that all learnings are recollections (ἀναμνήσεις),
and that the eye of the soul, because of (its entrance into the realm of) becoming, be-
comes darkened as it were by discharges, therefore he merely removes the impediments
so that the young man himself may put forth the truth from within himself. (. . .) That is
why he says that he is nobody’s teacher, because like a doctor he only removes the im-
pediments, that is, the discharges from the eyes, but for the rest the soul, by means of its
own power of self-motion, puts forth from within itself the truth that it has received from
the Demiurge and contains in its essence. (Hermias, In Phdr. 67.14–17; 22–26)
So, the fact that Socrates does not deliver arguments in favour of self-controlled
love is actually an act of providential care. After having removed the most sig-
nificant false δόξαι about licentious love that hinder Phaedrus’ soul in its activ-
ity as self-mover, Socrates leaves it to him to save himself by means of ‘putting
forth the truth’ that consists of the λόγοι that make up his soul’s essence.
Nevertheless, in the Phaedrus, it seems that Socrates eventually regrets to
have delivered his first speech, since he has to come up with a palinode to rec-
tify the blasphemies it contains about love.47 Hermias, however, interprets
Socrates’ dismissive attitude towards his first speech differently: although the
first speech does not have the power that the palinode has, it is still important
for Phaedrus’ ascent. The speech purifies the young man’s soul from false no-
tions, and turns it back to itself and the psychic beauty it contains.48 Hermias
systematically compares and evaluates Socrates’ two speeches as follows:
T4. Let us consider what is the same and what is different about this speech (i.e. the pal-
inode, SA) and the one delivered before. Shared and the same in them is that they both
deal with love and the contemplation of beauty: for both speeches are erotic. They differ,
however, in that the one delivered before considered the psychic beauty found in types of
knowledge and virtues and the self-controlled love that belongs to the soul when contem-
plating itself, whereas the one that is about to be delivered examines intelligible beauty
and celebrates the super-heavenly place and the divine and anagogic love. On the whole,
the former revolves around the middle-level concepts of the soul, whereas the latter
reaches to the Forms beyond the soul. Again, they share in common that both are purify-
ing; but they differ in that the former steered away from every phenomenal and external
46 In Phdr. 66.30–67.4.
47 Plato, Phdr. 242d4–243b9. Socrates iconically refers to his speech in 242d7 as ‘simple-
minded’ (εὐήθη) and ‘somewhat impious’ (ὑπό τι ἀσεβῆ), which leads him to the striking rhe-
torical question ‘what speech would be more terrible than this?’ (οὗ τίς ἂν εἴη δεινότερος;).
48 For example, Socrates’ remark that his first speech contained ‘nothing healthy nor true’ is
interpreted by Hermias as valid only in comparison to the palinode, not per se: In Phdr. 77.
9–15.
186 Saskia Aerts
beauty, and cleansed the distorted love – for it wanted to make him (i.e. Phaedrus, SA)
revert upon himself and turn him towards psychic beauty – whereas the present speech
sets psychic beauty and everything plurified aside, and sends up to the unified, to
Intellect, and to the one of the gods itself. (Hermias, In Phdr. 85.14–28)
Both speeches, then, deal with love: the first with the self-controlled love of the
soul, the second with the divine and anagogic Love. Another characteristic that
they share is that they are both purifying. The first speech purifies Phaedrus from
the phenomenal beauty of bodies and speeches and from the licentious love rep-
resented by Lysias. Then it turns him back to himself to contemplate the beauty
of the knowledge and virtues existing in his soul. Phaedrus needs to become
aware of his own psychic beauty by discursively projecting the λόγοι that he has
within his soul, the reflections of its divine father Intellect, in order to be able to
see himself through them. The second speech, in turn, purifies Phaedrus’ soul
from the psychic beauty that it has just obtained, which is still characterised by
plurality. Phaedrus’ soul now needs to leave his individuality and discursive es-
sence behind in order to ascend to “the unified, to Intellect, and to the one of the
gods itself.”
In what follows, I will turn to an investigation of the third and last speech of
the Phaedrus, the so-called palinode. In section 4, I will focus on Hermias’ inter-
pretation of the contents of the palinode, in particular the myth of the soul as
winged chariot. It will become clear that Hermias interprets the myth as revealing
the divine truth about soul’s life before its embodiment, namely how the human
souls by following the divine souls joined the intellectual thinking of the gods in
order to get a glimpse of the divine causes abiding above them. The descended
soul, in turn, can follow the same path in order to become intellectually active
again, progressively ascending to its divine causes. Then, in section 5, I will
argue that the palinode as a divinely inspired speech not only discloses how love
leads souls to the gods, but that it is also itself a form of soul-leading.
4 The Palinode (1): The Ascent to Divine Beauty

After having delivered his first speech, Hermias continues, Socrates is con-
vinced that his job is done, considering that he has stimulated Phaedrus to put
forth the innate knowledge present in his soul, which provides the first step in
his ascent. As a result, Socrates prepares to leave when his daimonion stops
him.49 The daimonion, capable of knowing “the states of mind and suitabilities
49 Cf. Plato, Phdr. 242a1–d2.

of the souls, and the right moments” (In Phdr. 68.4–5), recognises that
Phaedrus is ready to “participate in the words” of Socrates’ speech on anagogic
love and divine beauty, which will lead him upwards “to a higher and more
sublime form of life.”50 In Hermias’ interpretation, the palinode not only serves
to offer compensation for the offense of Love in Socrates’ first speech, but it
also provides a crucial step in the ascent of Phaedrus’ soul.
Before having a closer look at Hermias’ reading, let me shortly recall the
contents of the palinode (Phdr. 243e9–257b6) with special attention for the
myth. Plato’s so-called palinode, literally ‘recantation,’ is a grand speech in po-
etic style and diction meant to praise the god Love by showing love’s beneficial
effect on human souls. It begins with an argument to prove soul’s immortality,
followed by Socrates’ famous depiction of the soul as a winged chariot. This
winged chariot consists of a charioteer and two horses, one of which is good
and obedient to the charioteer, while the other is bad and disobedient, pulling
the whole chariot downwards in its drive to follow its own appetites. The divine
souls have their horses under full control of the reins and thus proceed easily
in the course around the heavens under the guidance of their leader Zeus. The
human souls, by contrast, engage in an epic struggle to follow them. Plato then
recounts in detail the path that this procession of divine and human souls takes
around the parts of the heavens, imagined as the inside of a sphere, where the
souls apparently contemplate different things. First, the souls enjoy the blessed
sights and pathways within the heavens (247a4–5: διέξοδοι ἐντὸς οὐρανοῦ).
Then, they ascend to the summit of the arch under the heavens (247a8–b1: τὴν
ὑπουράνιον ἁψῖδα), the highest point of the inside of the heavenly sphere, after
which they proceed outside (247b7: ἔξω). Standing on the back of the heavens
(247b7–c1: ἕστησαν ἐπὶ τῷ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ νώτῳ) the souls go along with the
heavens’ rotation (περιφορά) while trying to contemplate as much as possible
of true Being that resides in the super-heavenly place (247c3: τὸν ὑπερουράνιον
τόπον). Since most human souls only get a glimpse of the Forms residing in the
super-heavenly place, their wings lack the nourishment to continue this heav-
enly journey, and the whole soul falls towards the earth. After the soul’s fall, it
is love that nurtures the regrowth of soul’s wings by stimulating the recollec-
tion of intelligible beauty and lifts the soul back up to the gods.
Although the imagery of the soul’s life before embodiment is clearly mythical
and some parts of the palinode lend themselves for metaphorical interpretation,
the myth contains much that one should probably take literally rather than meta-
phorically. The most important idea in the myth that deserves consideration is
50 In Phdr. 70.2–3.
188 Saskia Aerts
that of the soul contemplating true Being before its embodiment – an idea that
provides justification for the claim that the soul, once incarnate, possesses innate
knowledge that it can recollect. Indeed, Neoplatonists like Hermias and Proclus
took the contents of the Phaedrus myth, which they considered to be the product
of divine inspiration, very seriously. The inspired type of theological teaching,
unlike the mythical type that needs interpretation in order to disclose its true
meaning, reveals the divine truth directly without any veils.51 In section 5, I will
examine more closely in what ways Plato, according to Hermias, teaches its di-
vine insights in the palinode. Now, let us focus on the contents of the palinode
and ask ourselves the following: what exactly are the divine insights that Plato
reveals in the palinode?
In Hermias’ reading, Plato has organised the contents of the palinode sys-
tematically by first discussing soul’s essence (οὐσία), then its powers (δυνάμεις),
and, finally, its activities (ἐνέργειαι).52 According to Hermias, Plato first discusses
soul’s essence in the proof of the immortality of the soul (Phdr. 245c5–246a2),
since the conclusion that the soul is immortal is drawn from soul’s essential na-
ture as self-mover.53 Then, the short description of the elements of the winged
chariot (the charioteer, the good horse, and the bad horse: Phdr. 246a3–b4) is in-
terpreted by Hermias as a metaphor for soul’s powers that can refer to different
powers depending on the perspective that one takes to interpret the analogy.54
Lastly and most importantly for our purpose, Hermias finds a discussion of
soul’s activities in the mythical image of soul’s heavenly journey and fall, which
he reads literally.55 According to Hermias, the myth provides a direct insight in
the activities of the soul before embodiment, specifically in the visions that it at-
tained of the divine causes when travelling through the different parts of the
heavens. The different parts of the heavens distinguished by Plato are meant to
represent different levels of the divine hierarchy, which the soul encounters be-
fore its fall into becoming. Consequently, the myth not only explains how the
soul acquired its innate knowledge in the first place, but it also provides an out-
line of the path that the fallen soul has to follow in order to ascend again. It is
51 On the different types of theological teaching and the place of the Phaedrus myth in this
division, see Proclus’ Theol. Plat. I 4. Also Proclus interprets some important elements of the
myth as a literal truth, as clearly explained by Buckley 2006, 128–129.
52 In Phdr. 135.15–19.
53 Hermias’ discussion of the proof of soul’s immortality stretches from 107.17–125.23.
54 In Phdr. 127.9–135.13. Hermias specifically relates his different interpretations of the soul’s
powers to what Plato says about the soul in the Timaeus.
55 In Phdr. 135.15 sq.
love as divine soul-leader that inspires the soul to progressively recollect what it
has contemplated before it was born.
For this reason, in order to understand what steps the soul has to take to
become intellectually active, we should have a closer look at the different levels
of gods that the souls are said to contemplate in their journey around the heav-
ens.56 As the following passage shows, Hermias divides the soul’s ascent in
three steps, each corresponding with a vision of a certain order of gods:
T5. They contemplate what is outside the heavens: He also makes a threefold division of
the ascents themselves and the happy and blessed views: (1) he mentions the views in-
side the heavens, which are those that are in the kingdom of Kronos and in the middle
of the shining appearance of the intellective gods, which he also called ‘discursive path-
ways’ (διέξοδοι) since they are more diverse than those prior to them. (2) Then, he names
the views in the arch of the heavens itself, and (3) the views outside above the heav-
ens (ἔξω ὑπὲρ τὸν οὐρανὸν), just as we say that those who are possessed by a god are
outside of themselves. (. . .) Those outside of the heavens are the Nights, which he also
calls the super-heavenly place (ὑπερουράνιον τόπον). (Hermias, In Phdr. 152.20–26 and
152.35–153.2, numbers and emphasis added by me)
The first sights for the ascending souls are those ‘in the kingdom of Kronos,’ son of
Ouranos (Heaven), in the order of the intellective gods, an order that is still rather
plurified compared to the more unified orders prior to it. For this reason, Hermias
explains, Plato calls these sights διέξοδοι: according to their own peculiarity, the
souls contemplate these sights, as it were, discursively.57 Prior to this order and
next in the ascent comes Ouranos, Heaven, represented as a sphere with arches
that Hermias defines as the ‘summit of the intellective gods (τὸ<ν> ἄκρον τῶν
νοερῶν θεῶν).’58 Running from Ouranos down to Zeus, there are many orders of
intellective gods, all of which contain multiple levels of Forms and are differenti-
ated according to their level of unity. Zeus, in turn, has the power to lift the proces-
sion of souls up to the higher orders of gods through these levels.59
Then, through the heavenly arch, the ascending souls are led to the back of
the heavenly sphere, the summit of the ‘convex circumference,’ which as heav-
en’s outer surface comprises and unifies the ‘whole kingdom of Ouranos.’60
Heaven, as summit of the intellective gods, is characterised by the typical
56 For Proclus’ interpretation of the different levels of gods represented by the parts of the
heavens, see especially Theol. plat. IV 9.
57 That is, discursively in comparison to the sights at higher levels. In a way, soul already
transcends its own discursivity when it becomes intellectually active.
58 In Phdr. 149.21.
59 In Phdr. 149.22–26.
60 In Phdr. 151.29–152.6. Hermias distinguishes between the summit of the convex circumfer-
ence, i.e. the back of the heavens, and the concave circumference, i.e. the sub-celestial arch.
190 Saskia Aerts
activity of νόησις or intellective thinking, which the souls join when they stand
on the back of the heavens:
T6. Standing and resting in their own activities: such is the state of the souls that Heaven
(Ouranos), that is, the νόησις of Heaven, carries around; for he makes them grasp the in-
telligibles above him and makes them think according to the νόησις of Heaven. (Hermias,
In Phdr. 152.33–35)
The souls are said to put their own typical activity, discursive thinking, to rest
when they stand on the back of Heaven. This implies that the souls transcend
discursivity in order to join the intellective thinking of Heaven, which carries
them along in the eternal celestial rotation (περιφορά). While contemplating
the intelligibles in the super-heavenly place, the souls transcend their own pe-
culiar activity and become intellectually active like the gods. Nevertheless,
Hermias emphasises that the ascending souls cannot completely escape their
own being. While moving along with Heaven in its circular thinking activity,
they contemplate the one complete sight after the other – even their intellective
thinking is in a way still discursive, that is, caught in time.61
In this way, the νόησις of Heaven serves as a medium between the intellec-
tive orders posterior to it and the intelligible orders prior to it. The νόησις pro-
vides, as it were, the connection that makes it possible for all the posterior
beings to contemplate the intelligible preceding it, just as sight connects what
sees and what can be seen.62 So, when partaking in the νόησις of Heaven, the
souls get the opportunity to contemplate the super-heavenly place, which is
normally far beyond their understanding. In this realm the souls contemplate
true Being, specifically Justice, Moderation, and Knowledge. Hermias stresses
that the Forms mentioned by Plato in this passage are not the Forms present in
the divine Intellect (νοῦς), in which there is still a distinction between the intel-
ligible Forms and the Intellect grasping them. Rather, the Forms described are
the more complete Forms belonging to a higher level of the divine.63
61 In Phdr. 152.6–14; 160.11–17. For Hermias, thinking in time is not identical with thinking in
intervals, although the human souls think both in time and in intervals. Whereas the intellects
eternally grasp the intelligibles at once, the divine souls contemplate in time but not in inter-
vals: their intellective eye is as it were continuously focused on the intelligibles, but this action
does not transcend time (In Phdr. 159.30–160.6).
62 For this reason, Proclus defines Heaven, following the Cratylus, as ‘sight that looks at the
things above’ (Theol. plat. IV 5, 21.21–22).
63 In Phdr. 160.17–161.6. Hermias deduces this distinction from Plato’s choice of words: instead
of using the usual terminology of the intellective Forms (αὐτοδικαιοσύνη, αὐτοσωφροσύνη etc.)
Plato refers to the Forms discussed here as αὐτὴν δικαιοσύνην, αὐτὴν σωφροσύνην etc. Hermias
takes this to mean that in each case Plato speaks of Forms on a different level of the divine.
Hermias explains that in the super-heavenly place the triad of the three god-
desses Justice (δικαιοσύνη), Moderation (σωφροσύνη), and Knowledge (ἐπιστήμη)
abides, a triad known in Orphic theology under the name the three ‘Nights.’64
Plato celebrates these goddesses first in three negations (‘colourless, shapeless, im-
palpable’) and then in three affirmations (“Being that truly is” which is “observ-
able only by the soul’s pilot” and “about which the class of true knowledge is
concerned”).65 In Hermias’ view, Plato speaks in both negations and affirmations
in order to show both what the super-heavenly realm is not in comparison to the
lower orders and what it is in the sense of what it has received from the higher
ones. In other words, the super-heavenly place is characterised both by transcen-
dence, in which it is like the transcendent One, and participation, which focuses
on its being.66
This close reading of Plato’s text gives us some insight into what the com-
mentator thinks the souls actually see when looking into the super-heavenly
place. Since the three negations show its triadic nature with respect to its one-
ness, and the three affirmations its triadic nature with respect to being, Hermias
concludes that the super-heavenly place has to be identified as One and Being.
This level of the divine has to be distinguished from the complete entanglement
of One and Being in the primary intelligibles, which might be described as One-
Being.67 The super-heavenly place is, as it were, the receptacle that “contains the
divine Forms.” It transcends Intellect as the place of the essential Forms due to
its higher degree of unity, but it stands below the primarily intelligible One-Being
because of its division into a multiplicity of Forms.68
This ‘Being that truly is’ is only visible for what Plato calls ‘the pilot of the
soul’ (Phdr. 247c7: ψυχῆς κυβερνήτῃ). Hermias identifies this pilot of the soul
as the soul’s highest and most divine part, the one of the soul.69 Only this part
64 In Phdr. 161.7–13.
65 Plato, Phdr. 247c4–d1.
66 In Phdr. 154.10–157.5.
67 In Phdr. 157.2–5. According to Proclus, the celestial topography of the Phaedrus deals with
what he calls the intelligible-intellective gods (νοητοί καὶ νοεροί; Theol. plat. IV 1–4). Hermias
is not as strict in his divisions and not as consistent in his terminology as Proclus, although
his description of this order of gods would fall into what Proclus calls the intelligible-
intellective gods.
68 In Phdr. 158.4–9. Proclus tells us that the super-heavenly place is the receptacle (ὑποδοχή)
of the intelligible causes (Theol. plat. IV 10, 33.17–24).
69 In Phdr. 157.7–16. In this respect, Hermias’ interpretation differs radically from that of
Proclus, who identifies the ‘pilot of the soul’ with a particular intellect established above the
soul (Theol. plat. IV 6, 22.19–23.4; IV 13, 42.23–43.22). This might be due to the fact that Hermias
follows and maybe even reworks the interpretation of Iamblichus, not of Syrianus. On the issue
192 Saskia Aerts
of the soul is capable of uniting itself with the gods of the super-heavenly
place, since it is receptive of the divine inspiration (ἐνθουσιασμός) that the soul
needs to contemplate “the meadow of truth.”70 This divine inspiration is the
erotic madness that leads the fallen souls back to the intelligible source of all
beautiful things through the recollection of different manifestations of beauty.
5 The Palinode (2): A Poetical Hymn to Love

So far it has become clear that Socrates’ palinode discloses how love may in-
spire the human souls after their fall into becoming to recollect divine beauty,
of which they got a glimpse before their embodiment while following the gods
in their rotation around the heavens. In this way, the myth of the winged char-
iot not only recounts the life of the souls before their embodiment – how they
tried to assimilate the gods, contemplated true Being, and fell into becoming –
but also represents the different stages that the souls need to go through after
their fall in order to ascend again and rejoin the heavenly procession. The pal-
inode praises the power of love, the first and foremost soul-leader, but it has
not yet become clear how the palinode itself is a form of soul-leading, as I have
claimed above. For this purpose, it is important to understand the different
modes of teaching that Hermias discerns in the palinode and what kind of ef-
fect these modes have on the soul of those who participate in its words.
While delivering the first speech, Socrates felt that he was getting divinely
inspired, first by uttering sentences close to dithyrambs (Phdr. 238c9–d3) and,
at the end, even by giving voice to epic verses (241e1–5).71 Hermias takes these
statements to mean that Socrates slowly becomes possessed in the middle of
his speech, as is shown by his sudden use of dithyrambs. However, Socrates is
not yet enthusiastically active until the moment that he is actually uttering epic
verses.72 Hermias regards the dithyramb as an expression, not of divine
of the soul’s pilot, see the recent article by Fortier 2018b, who takes it as an example for his
claim that Hermias’ commentary is not a mere transcript of Syrianus’ lectures. For Proclus’ inter-
pretation of the same passage and its relation to Iamblichus, see Van den Berg 1997.
70 In Phdr. 158.24–159.3.
71 The epic verse is probably Phdr. 241d1: “ὡς λύκοι ἄρνας ἀγαπῶσιν, ὣς παῖδα φιλοῦσιν
ἐρασταί (as wolves cherish lambs, so do lovers love boys).” As Yunis 2011, 120 notes, we may
assume that the clause was composed by Plato as hexameter verse, but later in the textual
tradition transmitted in non-metrical prose. Hermias gives the metrical reading: “ὡς λύκοι
ἄρν’ ἀγαπῶσ’, ὣς παῖδα φιλοῦσιν ἐρασταί” (In Phdr. 66.3).
72 In Phdr. 65.24–66.3.
enthusiasm, but of divine experience (θεῖον πάθος) manifested on a lower

level of reality, related to the nymphs and Dionysus, the guardians of be-
coming.73 The epic verse, on the other hand, is considered to be a typical
expression of divine enthusiasm, a real possession of someone by a god, in
this case the god Love. In Hermias’ interpretation, Socrates and Plato are
truly enthusiastic philosophers, who share their recollection of the divine
truth concerning love with us through this inspired speech.74 This makes the pal-
inode nothing less than an initiation and instruction in divine mysteries.75
When we consider what divine truth is revealed by the palinode, the first
thing that comes to mind is the heavenly procession of souls and their contem-
plation of true Being, as described in the previous section. Nevertheless, the
palinode also contains completely different elements such as the discussion of
the different types of divine madnesses and the proof of the immortality of the
soul in the beginning of the palinode. In Hermias’ view, everything that Plato
teaches in the palinode is true, although his mode of teaching changes radi-
cally when he moves from the proof of the immortality of the soul to the image
of the soul as a winged chariot:
T7. He (i.e. Plato/Socrates, SA) establishes the [account about the] immortality of the soul
through indisputable demonstrations (δι’ ἀναμφισβητήτων ἀποδείξεων), since he derives
the demonstrations from the essence of the soul itself. But when he leads the soul upwards
to the accounts on Zeus, the leading gods, and the gods following them, and on spirits, and
the divine and human souls, and to the contemplation of intelligible beauty and the super-
heavenly place, he does not think it fit anymore to demonstrate (ἀποδεικνύναι) these, but
he displays them in a revelatory way (ἀποφαντικῶς ἀποφαίνεται περὶ αὐτῶν), since he is
truly enthusiastic. (. . .) Since he does not consider it appropriate, because of these things
and many such others, to use all too logical demonstrations, but does consider it appropri-
ate that the soul itself sees these things itself (αὐτοπτεῖν) as from itself, he says: “The dem-
onstration will be untrustworthy for the clever ones, but trustworthy for the wise: therefore,
regarding the nature of the soul, both divine and human, one must first see its experiences
and deeds in order to arrive at an intellectual grasp of the truth.” (Hermias, In Phdr. 105.
33–106.13)
In this passage, Hermias uses Aristotelian logical terminology to identify a re-

markable difference in the mode of demonstration between the proof of the im-
mortality of the soul in the first part of the palinode and the description of the
view of the super-heavenly place afterwards. According to Hermias, Plato first
73 In Phdr. 58.1–59.31. The hymns to Dionysus were composed in dithyrambs.

74 On the enthusiasts as revealing the truth: In Phdr. 132.10–12; on Plato/Socrates as enthusi-
asts sharing their recollection: 187.4–9.
75 The different steps of the initiation into divine mysteries are discussed by Hermias at In
Phdr. 186.7–20.
194 Saskia Aerts
establishes the immortality of the soul “by means of indisputable demonstrations

(δι’ ἀναμφισβητήτων ἀποδείξεων).” In the Posterior Analytics, Aristotle defines
ἀπόδειξις as a συλλογισμὸς ἐπιστημονικός: a syllogism which produces necessar-
ily true knowledge (ἐπιστήμη).76 For a Platonist, this kind of reasoning is con-
fined to the level of διάνοια or discursive reasoning – the level of Soul proper –
since it consists of the actual unfolding of the truth in different steps. This type of
reasoning convinces every person, “whether he wants it or not,” since true prem-
ises necessarily force a true conclusion.77 By contrast, Plato does not consider
the use of logical demonstrations appropriate for describing how the divine and
human souls contemplate the super-heavenly place. Instead, he “displays them
in a revelatory way (ἀποφαντικῶς ἀποφαίνεται περὶ αὐτῶν).” Because it follows
from divine inspiration, Plato's description of the souls contemplating the super-
heavenly place is more like a revelation than a logical proof.
For this reason, Hermias explains, this type of reasoning will not be believed
by the “all too logical and eristical of the dialecticians” who demand a proof for
every statement. By contrast, it will be immediately accepted by “those who know
and apprehend directly” since they are “in need of only a brief recollection
(βραχείας μόνον ἀναμνήσεως δεομένοις).”78 This consideration explains what the
commentator has in mind when he remarks that in this kind of understanding the
“soul itself sees these things itself as from itself.” Socrates’ inspired words trigger,
as it were, a recollection of the divine causes in the souls of those who participate
in them. The recollection results in an intuitive insight brought forth by the souls
from their own memory, as if it suddenly appears in front of their eyes.79 These
souls thus transcend in a way discursive thinking (διάνοια) and embrace a higher
type of thinking: the intellective thinking (νόησις), peculiar of the intellective
orders.80
76 Aristotle, An. post. I 2, 71b17-9: “ἀπόδειξιν δὲ λέγω συλλογισμὸν ἐπιστημονικόν· ἐπιστημονικὸν

δὲ λέγω καθ’ ὃν τῷ ἔχειν αὐτὸν ἐπιστάμεθα.”
77 In Phdr. 105.25–27.
78 In Phdr. 105.28–31.
79 Also Olympiodorus contrasts syllogistic knowledge with the higher intellective understand-
ing of ‘seeing reality with one’s own eyes’ (αὐτοπτῶν τὰ πράγματα; In Phd. 10 §3, 141.1–6).
Damascius makes an important observation by combining the participle αὐτοπτῶν with the
faculty of νοῦς, indicating that this direct vision is a peculiar ability of the intellect of the soul
(In Phd. §391).
80 In his description of the descent of the soul through the different hypostases (In Phdr. 93.
18–27) Hermias characterises intellective thinking as the grasping by means of ‘simple appre-
hensions (ἁπλαῖς ἐπιβολαῖς),’ which he sets against dianoetic thinking as grasping “syllogisti-
cally and discursively, the one from the other, since it comes from propositions to conclusions
Precisely because of the divine truth revealed by the image of the soul as a
winged chariot, Hermias considers it inappropriate to call it a myth. In his view,
the term ‘myth’ refers to a reality removed from truth, which might have a higher
meaning when interpreted allegorically.81 For instance, when Plato reintroduces
the chariot image later in the palinode to portray the conflict that the incarnated
soul has between moderation and lust when faced with a beloved, he refers to
this story as a ‘myth’ (Phdr. 253c7). Hermias emphasises that Plato calls that
story a ‘myth,’ since the term perfectly reflects the state of the soul when caught
in a body. The soul is living as in a myth, that is, in a level of reality that is much
less real than its life separated from a body. According to Hermias, Plato would
not have called the previously discussed chariot image a myth, since the image
represents a literal truth of the soul’s powers and activities when it dwelled with
the gods before its embodiment.82 So, although Plato uses imagery to unfold his
mystic truth, this truth is not veiled in some fantastic story that should be inter-
preted allegorically in order to find its real meaning. Rather, it is a fairly straight-
forward expression of divine inspiration.83
Instead, Hermias refers to the palinode as ‘hymn-singing to Love,’ which sug-
gests that he regards the speech as poetical rather than mythical.84 Indeed,
Socrates’ inspired palinode resembles inspired poetry in significant ways and
Hermias stresses this connection by continuously quoting texts of the inspired
poets or by referring to their insights in order to back up Plato’s claims. The first
and obvious resemblance to poetry is that the palinode is characterised by its po-
etic diction and style, defended by Hermias as being appropriate to the high and
sublime matters discussed.85 Moreover, Hermias praises Socrates for praying to the
gods at the beginning and end of his speech, which probably refers to the invoca-
tion of the Muses at the very beginning of Socrates’ first speech (237a7-b1) and the
prayer to Love at the end of the palinode (257a3-b6). In this way, he associates
Socrates’ speeches in the Phaedrus with inspired poetry, which always contain in-
vocations of gods.86
(συλλογιστικῶς καὶ μεταβατικῶς καὶ ἄλλο ἐξ ἄλλου, ἀπὸ προτάσεων ἐπὶ συμπεράσματα
ἐρχομένη).”
81 E.g. In Phdr. 68.28–69.5; 275.3–6.
82 In Phdr. 202.1–12.
83 For the different modes of theological teaching in Plato, see Proclus, Theol. plat. I 4.
84 E.g. In Phdr. 5.1: “. . . τὸ ὑμνῆσαι τὸν Ἔρωτα . . .”; 83.29–31: “τὸ νοητὸν κάλλος εἰς ὃ ἀνάγει
ὁ ἔρως, ὃ καὶ ὑμνήσει ἐν τῇ παλινῳδίᾳ ὁ Σωκράτης”; 85.20–21: “τὸν ὑπερουράνιον τόπον
ἀνυμνεῖ καὶ τὸν θεῖον καὶ ἀναγωγὸν ἔρωτα”; 138.14: “πρόκειται γὰρ ὑμνῆσαι τὸν ἔρωτα.”
85 E.g. In Phdr. 11.11–20; 216.9–14.
86 In Phdr. 215.11–4.
196 Saskia Aerts
Hermias even emphasises that the matter discussed and the imagery used
in the myth are already identifiable in the texts of the inspired poets, despite
the fact that Plato’s considerations as a philosopher differ from those of the
poets:
T8. Plato is not the first who employs [the image of] the charioteer and horses, but before
him the inspired poets, Homer, Orpheus, Parmenides, did so too. But they spoke about it
without naming a cause, since they were inspired: for they spoke while being enthusias-
tic. But since Plato does not take up anything into his philosophy that he could not also
establish with a cause, we have to name these causes, even if he himself puts forward
utterances with higher worth and refrains from naming the causes, and then up to this
time since also those before him seem to have used the charioteer and the horses for its
(i.e. soul’s, SA) powers. (Hermias, In Phdr. 127.31–128.3)
Unlike the poets, the philosopher cannot reveal his insights about the gods ar-
tistically, since he is required to present his thoughts in a λόγος, which lacks
poetry’s artistic freedom.87 Nevertheless, philosophy has the advantage that it
is much more precise, which is reflected by the fact that Plato only accepts ob-
servations of which the causes can be named. Accordingly, a careful study of
Plato’s philosophical texts can provide the attentive reader with a deeper un-
derstanding of divine reality than the texts of the poets could offer.
Moreover, the connection between the palinode and inspired poetry is en-
hanced by the striking similarities that Hermias’ division of the three kinds of
speeches bears to Proclus’ division of poetry in the sixth essay of his commen-
tary on Plato’s Republic. In this essay, Proclus distinguishes between three
types of poetry: a lowest, mimetic kind that arouses emotions, and which was
banned from Plato’s ideal state for being based on opinions and phantasies; a
middle, scientific kind about knowledge and moral deeds that turns the soul
back to itself; and then a highest, inspired kind in which the poet is possessed
by a divine madness comparable to that of love.88 The resemblance to Hermias’
division of speeches is remarkable: whereas Lysias’ speech is said to arouse
only bad emotions, Socrates’ first speech turns the soul back to itself, while his
palinode completes the process by unifying the soul with the gods.89
Proclus explains that these three kinds of poetry are based on three kinds
of life of the soul, which are exactly the same kinds as Hermias distinguishes
87 In Phdr. 160.27–31.
88 Proclus, In Remp. I 177.7 sq. On Proclus’ discussion of poetry, see, among others, Sheppard
1980, Lamberton 2012, and Van den Berg 2001, 115–117.
89 Moreover, just like Proclus, Hermias distinguishes between the inspired and the mimetic
poets, arguing that Plato accepts the inspired ones, but bans the mimetic poets from the ideal
state: In Phdr. 103.1–8; 173.12–13.
and relates to the three types of love and the three speeches in the Phaedrus.
According to Proclus, the lowest kind of life is turned away from the intellectual
life and preoccupied with material things, whereas in the middle, psychic life
the soul turns back to itself, elaborating the multiplicity of its λόγοι. The best
and most perfect life is the godlike life in which the soul does not belong to
itself but to the gods: the soul surpasses its own intellect and unites its highest
part, the one of the soul, with the gods.90 As a result of this godlike life, the
inspired poetry that originates from it has the capacity of leading the soul up to
the divine and establishing it in its causes.91
Proclus even names the Phaedrus as an example of a work in which Plato
emulates the inspired poets: Socrates, “speaking in an inspired and poetic man-
ner,” uses the “symbolic mode of discourse” to describe the souls’ contempla-
tion of the intelligible realm.92 The symbolic mode of discourse gets its name
from the immaterial symbols of the divine that these texts contain as the result
of divine inspiration. These symbols have the power to attract the divine and
thus help the souls to return to their divine causes.93 Indeed, in his discussion
of divine enthusiasm Hermias explains that this inspiration may nestle in the
soul of the enthusiast and in external symbols (τὰ ἔξωθεν σύμβολα). These ex-
ternal symbols can be statues but also arts and types of knowledge, which actu-
ally keep their divine power as long as the bond with the divine remains.94 In
this way, the palinode does not only describe the ascent of the souls to the di-
vine, but it also assists the souls in their ascent with the symbols it contains,
which connects them with the divine.95
90 Proclus, In Remp. I 177.14–178.5.

91 Proclus, In Remp. I 178.11–179.3.
92 Proclus, In Remp. I 166.12–24. The fact that Proclus refers in this passage to the Phaedrus
myth as both divinely inspired and symbolic does not, as one might think, conflict with the
distinction of the two as different modes of theological teaching in Theol. Plat. I 4 since the
modes of teaching are not mutually exclusive. In fact, Plato often combines different modes,
as also Hermias’ interpretation of the palinode has shown. For some important observations
regarding the theological modes of teaching, see Opsomer 2018, 506–509.
93 As Van den Berg 2001 explains, it is characteristic of inspired texts like poetry and hymns
to contain these symbols (especially pp. 91–107).
94 In Phdr. 90.11–14; 97.20–28.
95 For Proclus’ interpretation of the Phaedrus myth and its theurgic function, see Sheppard
2000 and Van den Berg 2017, 228–231.
198 Saskia Aerts
6 Conclusion
In this paper I have argued that soul-leading plays a crucial role in Hermias’
understanding of the unity of the Phaedrus. Hermias defines the Phaedrus’ sko-
pos, the unifying purpose for which all elements of the dialogue strive, as
beauty of every kind. The other main themes, love and rhetoric, are interpreted
in light of this purpose, that is, as leading souls to these different kinds of
beauty. Whereas Lysias’ speech pulls the soul down to the material realm,
Socrates’ speeches have an elevating power and turn the soul first back to itself
and then upwards to the gods. Moreover, Hermias conceives of the palinode as
a divinely inspired speech that, just as inspired poetry, has the power to con-
nect the souls of those who participate in it with the divine. This means that for
Hermias Plato wrote the Phaedrus not only to recount how Socrates leads
Phaedrus’ soul to the gods, but also with the pedagogical purpose of leading
the souls of its readers on the same path. Yet, it is beyond doubt that without
love and inspired rhetoric as soul-leaders this aim could never be met.
Simon Fortier
Proclus on the Climax of the Phaedrus
(247c6–d1)
1 Introduction
It was at the Neoplatonic School of Athens that the Phaedrus received its richest, if
not to say most imaginative treatment in all of Antiquity. The later Neoplatonists’
deep reverence for this dialogue stemmed from their conviction that it, along with
the Symposium, treated of certain ‘theological realities (πράγματα).’1 These reali-
ties, in the case of the Phaedrus, constituted no less than five separate orders of
gods that were all to be found in the first half of Socrates’ palinode (Theol. plat. I
4, 17.25–18.9). These two dialogues were held, however, to teach not only of the
gods, but also of the penultimate step in the soul’s journey towards unification
(ἕνωσις) with them.2 While the Symposium was held to teach of the soul’s contem-
plative ascent to Intelligible Beauty via the scala amoris (Symp. 209e–212a), the
same ascent was understood to be taught in the Phaedrus via a scala pulchri-
tudinis (In Phdr. 14.9–12), beginning with the physical beauty of one’s beloved
and culminating in the soul’s vision of the region beyond heaven (Phdr.
247c3–e8).3 Therefore, like the encomium of the indescribable Beauty in the
1 See Anon. Prol. 26.16–44; Festugière 1969, 290–292.

2 I.e. they describe the contemplation of the intelligibles, and perhaps even, in the case of the
Symposium (see Theol. plat. I 4, 19.1), the unification with Intelligible Beauty, but not yet the
unification with the gods per se (i.e. the divine henads) by means of the ὕπαρξις of the soul. For
Proclus’ conception of the steps of the inner journey towards unification, see, inter alia, Theol.
plat. I 3, 15.6–17.7; II 11, 64.11–65.26.
3 “Intelligible Beauty and the participation extending thence to all beautiful things” is said by
Proclus to be the σκοπός of the Phaedrus (Theol. plat. I 7, 31.3–5). Nevertheless, he seems to con-
sider the Intelligible Beauty to be beyond the divine orders of which the Phaedrus treats and to
be only implicitly treated in the dialogue: “and how then is the unification with the primary in-
telligibles, Plato did not reveal this in words; indeed, the unification with these intelligibles is
ineffable and operates by ineffable means” (Theol. plat. IV 9, 28.24–27). Although we know little
of Proclus’ interpretation of the Symposium, it is likely that he understood this ineffability to
have been made explicit in the apophatic description of Beauty at Symp. 211a (the presence of
this apophatic description would also explain why the Symposium succeeded the Phaedrus in
the Neoplatonic curriculum). Proclus holds that this Intelligible Beauty is located in the third
intelligible triad (see, inter alia, Theol. plat. III 15, 53.9–10; 18, 63.22–24; 22, 80.7–27).
Simon Fortier, FRS-FNRS/Université de Liège – FWO/KU Leuven
https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110683936-012
200 Simon Fortier
Symposium, the description of the soul’s vision of the region beyond heaven
was seen as the highpoint of the Phaedrus.
One sentence of this description in particular held the Neoplatonists’
attention:
For the colourless, shapeless, intangible Being that truly is, observable by the soul’s
pilot, intellect, alone, around which is the class of true science, holds this place. (Plato,
Phdr. 247c6–d1)4
Here, in this willfully opaque depiction of the region beyond heaven, Proclus
found not only the Phaedrus’ most profound theological teachings,5 but also a de-
scription of how these teachings may be confirmed by experience. In other words,
he found here a description of the nature of contemplation. This was therefore,
one could argue, the very climax of the Phaedrus for the later Neoplatonists.
Although no formal Proclean commentary on the Phaedrus has survived,6
the passage at 247c6–d1 was of such importance to his thought that we find allu-
sions to his exegesis of it, and even summaries thereof, scattered throughout his
remaining works, most notably in the fourth book of his Platonic Theology. It is
on the basis of these and others passages that I therefore propose to reconstruct,
as far as possible, Proclus’ interpretation of Phaedrus 247c6–d1, proceeding, as
he would himself have in a commentary on the dialogue, lemma by lemma.7
4 ἡ γὰρ ἀχρώματός τε καὶ ἀσχημάτιστος καὶ ἀναφὴς οὐσία ὄντως οὖσα, ψυχῆς κυβερνήτῃ
μόνῳ θεατὴ νῷ, περὶ ἣν τὸ τῆς ἀληθοῦς ἐπιστήμης γένος, τοῦτον ἔχει τὸν τόπον. All transla-
tions are my own, unless otherwise indicated. I translate here and throughout Phaedrus 247c6-
d1 according to Proclus’ understanding of it, which we shall examine in detail below.
5 While Proclus technically holds that the assertion that “the divine is beautiful, wise, and
good” (Phdr. 246d8–e1) describes not only three universal divine attributes (Theol. plat. I 22–24),
but the three intelligible triads (Theol. plat. III 22, 78.16–20), he seems to understand this as an
aside rather than part of the dialogue’s principal theological teachings. This, at least, is the im-
pression he gives when he orders the dialogues (other than the Parmenides) hierarchically ac-
cording to the orders of gods of which they treat (Theol. plat. I 5, 25.3–23). Here, as elsewhere
(e.g. Theol. plat. I 4, 17.25–18.12), Proclus states that the highest divine order of which the
Phaedrus teaches are the intelligible-intellective gods.
6 On Proclus’ lost Phaedrus commentary or commentaries, see Luna e.a. 2012, 1573. There may
also have been a commentary specifically on the palinode (Luna e.a. 2012, 1573). Proclus also
mentions certain “researches on the divinely inspired intuitions of Socrates in the Phaedrus”
that he co-authored with Syrianus (In Parm. IV 944.15–16 Steel (= 944.16–18 L–S)). On the hy-
pothesis that Proclus’ commentary (or one of his commentaries) may still have existed during
the Byzantine Middle Ages, see Rashed 2016a.
7 Although it undoubtedly contains certain teachings of Syrianus on Phaedrus 247c6–d1 that
were later adopted by Proclus, I have chosen not to use Hermias’ Scholia to ‘fill in’ the gaps in
our knowledge of Proclus’ exegesis. There is still a great deal of uncertainty regarding what
2 “The Colourless, Shapeless, Intangible Being

that Truly Is”
Plato, as many would argue today, is here referring to the immaterial nature
of the Forms, those things which are said to exist, metaphorically, in the
mysterious ‘region beyond heaven.’ Proclus, however, takes this lemma to be
far richer than meets the eye. For him, the myth of the Phaedrus palinode is a
thinly veiled double-allegory for what he describes in the following passage:
Whenever a particular soul attaches itself to a universal soul, its vehicle also accompanies
the vehicle of the divine soul, and just as the particular soul imitates the intellection of
the divine soul, so does its body imitate the movement of the divine body. (Proclus, In
Tim. III 276.19–22)
On the one hand, the myth is an allegory for a real, physical journey under-
taken by human souls: attached to their luminous vehicles, our souls follow the
movements of the vehicles of the gods, the celestial bodies.8 On the other hand,
the myth is also an allegory for the soul’s imitation of the gods’ intellective life.
According to this allegorical reading, the physical movement and ‘places’ de-
scribed in the myth should be understood as moments in an intellective jour-
ney. For example, Proclus holds that the ‘heavens (οὐρανός)’ through which
the soul charioteers are said to journey in the palinode is not the physical heav-
ens, but the intelligible heavens (Theol. plat. IV 5). Socrates is therefore describ-
ing in the palinode both an outer journey across the heavens and an inner
journey through the intellect.
In keeping with the second of these two allegorical readings of the palinode,
Proclus, following Syrianus (Theol. plat. IV 23, 69.12–15), takes three of the pla-
ces mentioned in the palinode, namely, the vault below heaven (ὑπουράνιον
ἁψῖδα), heaven (οὐρανός), and the region beyond heaven (ὑπερουράνιος τόπος)
to be symbols of three different orders of divine intelligible beings who are at
once intellects, Forms, and gods. While the last of these qualifications may sur-
prise readers unfamiliar with Proclus, they need only keep in mind that as a
teachings from the Scholia belong to Syrianus and what belong to Hermias alone and I am
unconvinced by the arguments (or lack thereof) for treating the Scholia wholesale as a mere
transcript of Syrianus’ lectures (see Fortier 2018b). Rather than use Hermias to clarify Proclus,
it seems far more prudent to establish as far as possible Proclus’ exegesis via his own texts
and then to use this as a basis for clarifying the provenance of the Scholia’s content.
8 On the soul’s journey through the cosmos according to Proclus, see Fortier 2018a.
202 Simon Fortier
Greek polytheist, he is willing to ascribe different degrees of godhead or divinity

to certain beings is the order of procession.9 He therefore calls the more univer-
sal degrees of Forms gods.
These beings are the highest orders of what he calls the ‘intellective (νοεροί)’
gods, specifically the ‘intelligible-intellectives (νοητοί καὶ νοεροί).’ This technical
terminology requires some explaining. Proclus offers multiple ways to look at
the vast procession of gods from One-Being (ἓν ὂν), the reflection of the First
Principle in the world of Being,10 down to the gods who inhabit the sublunary
world alongside us. One way, which he adopts as the backbone of his Platonic
Theology, is to divide the gods into universal gods and particular gods (Theol.
plat. VI 2, 11.9–30). As Proclus writes, “a god is more universal the nearer he is
to the One, more particular the more removed he is” (El. theol. §126, 113.14–15).
Placing the gods along a spectrum relative to their proximity to the First princi-
ple, Proclus divides the spectrum in two at the level of the universal Demiurge of
the Timaeus. The Demiurge is, according to him, the last of the universal gods, or
the lowliest god in the order of procession possessed of truly universal causal
power (Theol. plat. V 13, 43.18–44.17).
In order to describe the internal order of the category of universal gods,
Proclus turns to the Timaeus’ image of the demiurgic Intellect that contem-
plates the Intelligible Model. The most universal of the universal gods are the
objects of contemplation for the less universal gods. The former are therefore
referred to by Proclus as the intelligible gods, while the latter are appropri-
ately referred to as the intellective gods. There are, however, some gods that
are universal enough so as to be the objects of contemplation of some beings,
but not so universal as to be without any object of contemplation beyond
themselves. It is to these gods that Proclus refers when he speaks of the intel-
ligible-intellectives.11
9 We shall examine the relation between intellects and Forms below. On what the appellation
‘god’ means for Proclus, see Fortier 2018c.
10 According to his reading of the Parmenides, Proclus holds that the order of procession
from the first principle may be conceived of as the gradual estrangement of One and Being.
What Proclus calls the ‘primary intelligibles’ (e.g. Theol. plat. IV 6, 23.11) may therefore be de-
scribed as One-Being, while at the level of the intelligible-intellectives, One and Being have
become sufficiently estranged that their distinction becomes actual (Theol. plat. IV 27, 79.
15–80.6). On the difference between the primary intelligibles and the intelligible-intellectives,
see Theol. plat. IV 3, 16.1–17.14.
11 As Proclus writes, “amongst the intellective [gods], some are intelligible and intellective,
i.e. those which while thinking are thought, according to the Oracle, while others are only in-
tellective” (Theol. plat. IV 1, 6.10–12).
In sum, the intelligible-intellective gods are simply the most universal or-
ders of intellective gods, and are sufficiently universal so as to be the object of
contemplation for all intellects below the Demiurge. The appellation ‘intelligi-
ble-intellective’ is, of course, especially merited by the very highest orders of
the intelligible-intellective gods, which Proclus takes to be symbolized by the
‘region beyond heaven’ in the Phaedrus, insofar as they are at once the most
universal of the intellective orders of gods, and in a certain way, the most par-
ticular of the intelligible orders:
the region beyond heaven is doubtless intelligible, and it is for this reason that Plato says
that it is a Being that truly is and observable by the intellect of the soul, but at the same
time it is the unique extent and unification of the intellective gods. For it is not intelligible
in the same way as the Living-Being-in-Itself, nor as the very first Eternity, nor as the pri-
mary One-Being itself. For these, being primary intelligibles, transcend all the other intel-
ligibles and pre-exist according to themselves, while the region beyond heaven is
established immediately above the heavenly revolution and is its intelligible, but not an
intelligible pure and simple. (Proclus, Theol. plat. IV 10, 31.23–32.6)
Here the liminal position of the gods represented by the region beyond heaven
is made abundantly clear. These gods are intelligible, insofar as, like their sym-
bol – the region beyond heaven – they are the objects of an intellect, yet unlike
the Living-Being-in-Itself, the very first Eternity, and the primary One-Being,
the symbols of the three intelligible triads which make up what are called the
‘primary’ intelligibles (i.e. the intelligible gods mentioned above) (Theol. plat.
III 8–27, 30.15–102.6), Proclus considers these intelligible-intellective gods to
be only a ‘secondary’ or ‘derivative (δεύτερος)’ intelligibles (Theol. plat. IV 10,
32.27).
There is, however, no sharp separation between the intelligible and the
intellective gods, for the gods as a whole form a unique and unbroken series
characterised by both continuity (συνέχεια) and community (κοινωνία) (Theol.
plat. IV 11, 35.20–36.13). There is therefore a necessary ‘overlap’ of the intelli-
gible and the intellective gods. The highest triad of the intelligible-intellective
gods thus overlaps with the lowest order of the intelligible gods and shares in
some of its properties. It is, for example, like the intelligible gods, “unknowable
and ineffable according to its specific character (ἰδιότητα), and known only
through intelligible symbols (συνθήματα)” (Theol. plat. IV 11, 35.17–20). These
symbols are evidently those, both apophatic and cataphatic, revealed by Plato in
the Phaedrus. Plato describes the highest triad of the intelligible-intellective gods
apophatically as ‘colourless, shapeless, and intangible.’ He also uses three differ-
ent sets of cataphatic symbols, including the triad which we find at Phaedrus
204 Simon Fortier
247c6–d1, namely, the 1) ‘Being that truly is,’ which is 2) ‘observable only by the
soul’s pilot’ and 3) ‘around which is the class of true science.’12
Insofar as the first intelligible-intellective triad has a “transcendent su-
premacy over subsequent beings” (Theol. plat. IV 11, 37.25–26), “extends be-
yond the intellective gods” and is “the highest and most unitary [of them]”
(Theol. plat. IV 11, 38.25–26), it is revealed apophatically. Just as the First
Principle may be known through the negations of all the orders of reality that
proceed from it, the first intelligible-intellective triad may be known through
the negations of the attributes of the three divine orders immediately succeed-
ing the region beyond heaven (Theol. plat. IV 12, 39.4–19). ‘Colourless’ therefore
refers to the second intelligible-intellective triad, the ‘heaven’ of the Phaedrus,
which is filled with intelligible light just as the sensible heaven is filled with
sensible colour (Theol. plat. IV 12, 39.22–40.12). ‘Shapeless’ refers to the third
intelligible-intellective triad, since the ‘vault below heaven,’ as a vault, is a
shape (Theol. plat. IV 12, 40.13–17).13 ‘Intangible,’ finally, refers to the first triad
of strictly intellective gods, whose attribute, according to the second hypothesis
of the Parmenides, is ‘tangibility’ (Theol. plat. IV 12, 39.2–42.12).
By contrast, insofar as it “participates those things that precede it” (Theol.
plat. IV 11, 37.26-7) and “is filled by the first causes” (Theol. plat. IV 11, 38.22), the
first intelligible-intellective triad is revealed cataphatically. In the cataphatic triad
of Phaedrus 247c6–d1, for example, Plato reveals the general nature of this order
and how it is known (as opposed to the other cataphatic descriptions, which reveal
its triadic nature). Regarding its nature, the first intelligible-intellective order is de-
scribed by Plato as the ‘Being that truly is.’ Proclus describes why it is so called in
the following two passages, which are as close to a Proclean gloss on Phaedrus
247c6–7 as has come down to us:
He (sc. Plato) therefore calls [the region beyond heaven] the ‘Being that truly is,’ because
it participates primary Being. Indeed, in all beings, what is (τὸ εἶναι) and what truly is (τὸ
ὄντως εἶναι) are the offspring of intelligible being (τῆς νοητῆς οὐσίας). For just as unity
(τὸ ἕν) [draws its existence] from the very first principle, that prior to the intelligible, so
too does the nature of being [draw its existence] from the intelligible, since it is there that
One-Being [is to be found]. (Proclus, Theol. plat. IV 13, 42.18–22)
12 The other two sets of cataphatic symbols are ‘Knowledge Itself,’ ‘Temperance Itself,’ and
‘Justice Itself’ (see Theol. plat. IV 14, 43–45), and ‘the Plain of Truth,’ ‘the Prairie’ and ‘the
Nourishment of the Gods’ (Theol. plat. IV 15, 45–48). The name ‘region beyond heaven’ is, of
course, also a cataphatic symbol of this order.
13 See also In Parm. VI 1127.29–1128.28 Steel (= 1127.30–1128.36 L.–S.).
Proclus explains here that the highest intelligible-intellective triad is called the
‘Being that truly is’ because it participates the ‘primary Being,’ i.e. the primary
intelligibles. Elsewhere, he even goes so far as to say that this participation in
the intelligibles is reflected in the very expression ‘Being that truly is,’ as
‘Being’ signifies that it is intelligible, while ‘truly is’ signifies that it participates
intelligible Being (Theol. plat. IV 6, 23.16–20). The appellation ‘Being that truly
is,’ however, is not specific to the highest intelligible-intellective triad. All
being that participates the primary intelligibles, or, in other words, the entire
‘intelligible plane’ (In Tim. I 233.2-3),14 from the Living-Being-in-Itself to the par-
ticular intellects,15 is composed of Being that truly is.
Continuing with his discussion of Phaedrus 247c6–7, Proclus then goes on
to explain that
[Plato writes] ‘observable by the soul’s pilot,’ because [this order] has received an intelli-
gible superiority with regard to the other intellective gods. He therefore clearly distin-
guishes the intelligible good of this [order] from the intellect that knows it. And thus, this
intelligible, like the Being that truly is, reaches this [order] from the unitary gods. For
those are intelligibles in a primary and unparticipated way and the primordial causes of
all the intelligibles; and the Being that truly is and the intelligible coincide with one an-
other. For indeed all the intelligible is truly Being and all the Being that truly is, is intelli-
gible. For indeed the intellect is intelligible by the being that is in it, and is an intellect
according to its faculty of knowing. For this reason, all intellect is a dispenser of knowl-
edge, while all intelligible is a dispenser of being; for that is what each one has primarily,
and what it irradiates onto the lower strata of reality. (Proclus, Theol. plat. IV 13, 42.
23–43.13)
That the summit of the intellective gods is an intelligible is, according to

Proclus, made evident by Plato when he makes it the ultimate intelligible object
of a certain type of intellect, whose nature we shall examine in a moment. Yet if
they are intelligibles, these gods are only ‘secondary’ or ‘derivative (δεύτερος)’
intelligibles (Theol. plat. IV 10, 32.27) and, like all of the intelligible plane, are
Being that truly is only through their participation in the primary intelligibles
(Theol. plat. IV 3, 16.1–17).
In sum, where contemporary readers of Plato may find a general description
of the immaterial nature of the intelligible Forms, as far as Proclus is concerned,
14 The ‘planes (πλάτα)’ of reality seem to be one of the broadest divisions employed by Proclus
for describing the procession from the First Principle. These planes correspond roughly to the
Plotinian hypostases, and the intelligible plane therefore contains all genuine intellects.
15 It is important to note that, despite their name, the triads of intelligible gods beyond the
Living-Being-in-Itself (i.e. One-Being and the very first Eternity mentioned above), are beyond
the intelligible plane, as they are beyond the scope of any form of intellection (Theol. plat. III
28, 100.1–9).
206 Simon Fortier
this first assertion in Phaedrus 247c6–d1 is a description of specific class of

Forms both universal in scope and divine in character.
3 “Observable by the Soul’s Pilot, Intellect,

Alone”
For a modern commentator such as C. J. Rowe, the second assertion of
Phaedrus 247c6-d1 is fairly clear: the Forms ‘are graspable only by the mind’ or
intellect, which Plato here calls the ‘soul’s pilot’ and elsewhere its charioteer.16
Proclus would agree but not without certain qualifications. According to him,
the ‘soul’s pilot’ is not our human intellect but a ‘particular intellect (μερικὸς
νοῦς).’17 Proclus tells that he was not the first to so identify it, writing that “in
the Phaedrus, Socrates says that it is the particular intellect which contemplates
the region beyond heaven, for this is the ‘soul’s pilot,’ as it is rightly said by our
predecessors” (Theol. plat. IV 6, 22.21–22). As neither Iamblichus nor Theodore
of Asine made this claim,18 by ‘predecessors,’ Proclus must be referring to his
teachers at the School of Athens, perhaps to Plutarch, and most certainly to
Syrianus.19
There are passing references to the particular intellect scattered throughout
Proclus’ works.20 In the Elements of Theology, the particular intellect is men-
tioned as the particular (i.e. the least universal) member of the intellective
order, which, according to the mechanics of participation (El. theol. §108, 96.
9–22), “participates the first henad, which is beyond intellect, both through the
universal Intellect and through the particular henad coordinate with it” (El.
theol. §109, 96.23–25). In the Commentary on Plato’s First Alcibiades, on the
other hand, Proclus tells us that the particular intellect is not to be confused
with the soul’s guardian daemon, for
souls enjoy intellect only when they revert upon it, receive the light therefrom, and unite
their own activity with it, while we receive the care of the daemon throughout our entire
16 Rowe 1986, 179.

17 See Theol. plat. IV 6, 22.24–23.4; 10, 31.23–25; 13, 43.14–22; In Alc. 77.10–11; In Tim. I 245.
26–27.
18 On Iamblichus, see In Phdr. 157.6–11. As for Theodore, Proclus tells us that his interpreta-
tion of the palinode ignored the entire section on the region beyond heaven (Theol. plat. IV 23,
69.16–25).
19 Of the two, Syrianus is the only one known to have taught the Phaedrus to Proclus.
20 For an earlier, much condensed version of this reconstruction, see Fortier 2018b, 455–457.
existence and for our whole life, in all that we receive from fate and from universal provi-
dence. (Proclus, In Alc. 76.26–77.4, tr. O’Neill modified)
Even the amplest Proclean definition of the term ‘particular intellect’ to have
come down to us is little more than a reference to another discussion of the
subject in one of Proclus’ lost works, perhaps in a commentary directly on the
palinode itself:
the particular intellect is established directly above our essence, guiding it and perfecting
it, being that to which we turn when we have been purified through philosophy and have
connected our own intellective power to the intellection of this intellect (. . .). What this
particular intellect is and how it is not unique for a single particular soul and how it is
not participated in directly by particular souls, but through the mediation of angelic and
daemonic souls who are always active in accordance with that intellect and through
whom particular souls too sometimes share in the intellective light, these questions have
been thoroughly examined at considerable length elsewhere. For the present let it be un-
derstood to this extent, namely, that the entire particular intellect is directly participated
by other, daemonic souls, but it also illumines our souls, whenever we turn towards it
and we make the λόγος in us intellective. (Proclus, In Tim. I 245.13–25, tr. Runia & Share
modified)
André-Jean Festugière, on the strength of this passage and those previously

cited, concluded that the particular intellect is synonymous with what might be
called the ‘intellective intellect’ described in the Elements of Theology.21 In the
Elements, Proclus initially distinguishes between two different types of intellects:
those that are ‘self-perfecting beings (οὐσίαι αὐτοτελεῖς)’ and those that are only
‘intellective perfections (νοεραί τελειότητες)’ (El. theol. §64, 62.6–7). The former,
as the name suggests, are genuine independent beings, while the latter are only
‘irradiations’ or ‘illuminations’ (ἐλλάμψεις) generated by these beings. When
Proclus speaks of human souls as possessing an ‘intellect,’ it is, as we shall see,
to our participation in just such an illumination that he is referring, since we can-
not directly participate a genuine intellect (El. theol. §175, 154.1–2).
In the latter parts of the Elements, the genuine intellects are divided accord-
ing to Proclus’ triadic model of participation. There is therefore an unparticipated
Intellect and two types of participated intellects, namely, divine intellects and
purely intellective intellects (El. theol. §166, 144.11–21; §181, 158.29–33).22 Each of
these two types of participated intellects is participated by a different type of
soul (El. theol. §166, 144.9–21). The divine intellects, for example, are perpetually
participated by divine souls, while the intellective intellects are perpetually
21 Festugière 1966–1968, vol. 2, p. 81–82n5.

22 See also Dodds 1963, 294.
208 Simon Fortier
participated by certain souls that are “neither divine, nor yet subject to a change
from intellect to non-intellection” (El. theol. §183, 160.13–15), a description which
undoubtedly applies to certain daemonic souls (El. theol. §§183–185).23
This three-fold classification of the genuine or substantial intellects is by
no means the only scheme that Proclus presents. He sometimes offers a simpler
model that does not distinguish between the various types of participated intel-
lects (e.g. In Alc. 65.15-19), and, at least once, offers a more complex classifica-
tion of these intellects than that found in the Elements:
If one wishes to contemplate the intellective orders (νοερὰς διακoσμήσεις), some of these
impose order upon the universal souls and the more divine beings in the cosmos. . . others
upon the souls of the superior genera, and are participated directly (προσεχῶς) by those
who command amongst these genera, and in a derivative manner (δευτέρως) by the more
particular beings; and thirdly there are those set over particular souls, and their power is
diminished insofar as their participation is more diversified and composite than that of
the intellects which precede them. (Proclus, Theol. plat. III 5, 19.16–24)
Here we find a list of not two, but three different types of participated intellects:
1) the participated intellects of universal souls, 2) the participated intellects of
certain souls which “command” amongst the “superior genera” (a Proclean
metonym for certain types of daemonic souls)24, in which other more particular
beings of these genera also participate in a secondary manner, and finally 3)
the participated intellect set over particular, human souls. There therefore seem
to be two different types of non-divine participated intellects.
Although it is more elaborate than the list of intellects in the Elements,
there is no reason to believe that this classification of the participated intellects
from the Platonic Theology represents some sort of doctrinal shift. Proclus has
likely offered us just a closer look at the somewhat ambiguous genus of intellec-
tive intellects and shown that it in fact contains two separate species. It also
takes no great stretch of the imagination to fit the particular intellect described
in the Commentary on Plato’s Timaeus into this new model of two participated
non-divine intellects.
If the participated intellect described as being set over human souls (no. 3
above) is a genuine intellect, as its place alongside the intellects of gods and the
‘commanding’ daemons would seem to suggest, then, like the particular intellect
described in the Commentary on Plato’s Timaeus, it is not directly participated by
23 I say ‘certain’ daemonic souls (a category which itself embraces angelic, daemonic, and he-
roic souls) as Proclus distinguishes between divine daemonic souls and purely intellective
daemonic souls (In Alc. 71.3–15).
24 See, inter alia, Theol. plat. III 27, 98.22–99.9.
the human souls over which it presides. Its primary participants must instead be
certain non-divine yet perpetually intellective souls. The ideal candidates would
be those ‘more particular beings’ that are said to only indirectly participate intel-
lect (no. 2 above), for as they appear to be lesser daemonic souls, they must still
perpetually participate an intellect. This once again reminds us of the above-
cited description of the particular intellect, which, as we saw, is directly partic-
ipated by daemonic souls. There is therefore no reason to suppose that Proclus
changed his mind on the number or nature of participated intellects over the
course of his writings. He simply offered more or less detailed overviews of his
theory as the circumstances dictated.
The particular intellect is therefore particular insofar as it is the least uni-
versal of the substantial intellects. This particularity, as the following passage
makes clear, colours every aspect of its being:
The fourth rank is held by intellection of the particular intellects, since each of these as
well has both a certain intelligible which is coupled with it above all and also an intellec-
tion, or rather each of them possesses all these things particularly – intellect, intellection,
intelligible – by means of which each of these intellects is not only connected with the
universals but also intellects the entire intelligible cosmos. (. . .) It is the object of cogni-
tion in a particular way and indeed sees the universals through the particular. (Proclus,
In Tim. I 244.11–29, tr. Runia & Share modified)
Like the unparticipated ‘divine Intellect itself’ (In Tim. I 244.6), a particular in-
tellect is its own intelligible content and its intellection is ἀθρόος, ‘holistic,’ i.e.
it intelligize the entire intelligible cosmos at once (In Tim. I 244.26–30).25 It is
also, in itself, coordinate (σύστοιχος) with the eternal (In Tim. I 245.6–7).
However, unlike the unparticipated Intellect, both its intelligible content and
its manner of intelligizing this content are particular rather than universal.
“Every intellect,” Proclus writes, “is a plenitude of Forms, yet some of them
embrace more universal Forms and others more particular” (El. theol. §177, 156.
1–2). The Forms, like all other things in the order of procession, become more
particular, more numerous, and more diverse the farther removed they are from
the First principle. Different degrees of intellect are therefore composed of dif-
ferent degrees of Forms:26 for example, a particular intellect is therefore com-
posed of more particular, numerous, and diverse instantiations of the Forms
than those that make up the more universal intellects.
25 See also, inter alia, Theol. plat. III 27, 94.5–10.

26 On this, see d’Hoine 2017b, 109.
210 Simon Fortier
Nevertheless, despite the particularity and diversity of its contents, the par-
ticular intellect is still able to grasp the more universal intelligibles,27 such as
the highest of the intelligible-intellective Forms, which are, as Proclus tells us,
its intelligible object:
If therefore one must, from this analogy, hunt for the distinction between objects of intel-
lection, I would say that just as the demiurgic Intellect is unparticipated, while the partic-
ular intellect is participated, so too with regard to the intelligible, that of the demiurge,
which is the very first paradigm, is one of the primary intelligibles, while that of a partic-
ular intellect is one of the secondary intelligibles, which are undoubtedly intelligibles,
but which have received an intelligible superiority only with regard to the intellectives.
(Proclus, Theol. plat. IV 6, 22.22–23.4)
How a particular intellect should have so exalted an intelligible object is ex-

plained by Proclus in the Elements of Theology:
Every intellect intelligizes itself. But the very first intellect only intelligizes itself and in
it intellect and intelligible object are numerically one. On the other hand, each of the
subsequent intellects intelligizes at once itself and its priors, and what is intelligible for
it is in part what it itself is and in part that from which it comes. (Proclus, El. theol. §167,
144.22–25)
Intellection, according to Proclus, is always an intellect’s intellection of itself,

i.e. of its own intelligible contents. It is by intelligizing these contents that an
intellect may know more universal intelligible objects. In other words, as we
saw above, a particular intellect “is the object of knowledge in a particular way
and indeed sees the universals through the particular” (In Tim. I 245.29). A par-
ticular intellect therefore knows of the intelligible-intellective Forms indirectly
by intelligizing its own particular intelligibles.
Although we now know something of the identity of the ‘soul’s pilot,’ there
remains the question of how Proclus took Plato’s qualification that it ‘alone’
contemplates the Being that truly is. The answer seems to lie in the following
passage:
Plato says that ‘the class of true science’ is established around this [i.e. the Being that
truly is]. Indeed, these two things ascend to the contemplation of this Being: the intel-
lect, which is the ‘soul’s pilot’ (i.e. the particular intellect established above the souls,
leading them towards the paternal harbour), and the ‘true science,’ which is the perfec-
tion of the soul. This ‘true science’ therefore operates around this [i.e. the Being that
truly is], since it dances around Being transitively (περιχορεύουσα τὸ ὂν μεταβατικῶς),
while the intellect contemplates it, since it uses a simple intellection. (Proclus, Theol.
plat. IV 13, 43.14–23)
27 On this idea, see El. theol. §167, 144.22–146.15 and infra.

Here we see that of the two things that Proclus holds to ascend to the contem-
plation of the Being that truly is, i.e. the soul’s pilot and the class of true sci-
ence, the latter ‘dances around’ this Being, while the former, the pilot, alone
contemplates it, since it uses a simple intellection. The intellect, after all, as
Proclus writes, “is what, properly speaking, contemplates the Forms (. . .) since
the Forms are also intellective by nature and everywhere like is known by like”
(In Parm. IV 924.26-28 Steel = 924.32–34 L–S). This answer, of course, leads to a
further question, namely, what does the ‘class of true science’ represent for
Proclus?
4 “Around which is the Class of True Science”

While we might literally translate the final part of Phaedrus 247c6–d1 as
“around which is the class of true science,” it has often been understood by
contemporary commentators to mean “which is the object of the class of true
science,” i.e. that the Beings that truly are, are the object of this class of true
science.28 As for Proclus’ interpretation of this lemma, the passage cited imme-
diately above from the Platonic Theology offers three pieces of information: 1)
the class of true science ascends to the Being that truly is with the soul’s pilot,
2) it is the perfection of the soul, and, 3) unlike the soul’s pilot, which contem-
plates the Being that truly is, the class of true science is said to ‘dance around’
this Being transitively.29 As we shall see, Proclus holds the class of true science
to be synonymous with the λόγος of the ‘intellection together with λόγος’ men-
tioned in the Timaeus.
The expression ‘intellection together with λόγος’ is drawn from the follow-
ing passage in the Timaeus:
What is the Being that always is (τὸ ὂν ἀεί), and has no part in becoming, and what is it
that becomes, but never is? That which is grasped by intellection together with λόγος
(νοήσει μετὰ λόγου) is the Being which is always self-identical, while on the other hand
the object of opinion together with irrational sensation is that which becomes and passes
away but never truly is. (Plato, Tim. 27d6–28a4)30
28 E.g. Yunis 2011, 141.

29 I earlier discussed Proclus’ interpretation of this lemma at Fortier 2018b, 457–461. What
follows contains many important nuances.
30 While keeping the pagination of Rivaud, I here translate the text as transmitted in the In
Tim. (see In Tim. I 227.4–5; 240.13–16) and as understood by Proclus. On Proclus’ understand-
ing, see In Tim. I 227.6–234.3; 240.28–241.30; Festugière 1966–1968, vol. 2, 73n1.
212 Simon Fortier
According to Proclus, ‘the Being that always is’ is synonymous with the Being
that truly is31 and refers to “all that eternally is, beginning from the nature of
Living-Being-in-Itself – for this is eternity in a primary sense – and ending with
the particular intellects” (In Tim. I 231.20–23).32 This Being is grasped by ‘intellec-
tion together with λόγος,’ an expression which Proclus takes, in his Commentary
on Plato’s Timaeus, to refer to the intellection of a particular intellect joined to-
gether with the intellection of our intellective λόγος, i.e. when the intellect ‘illu-
mines our souls’ (In Tim. I 245.24) through the intermediary of angelic and
daemonic souls.33
Our λόγος is, for Proclus, ‘the summit of the soul’ (In Tim. I 246.28–31), or,
more precisely, the summit of the soul’s faculty of διάνοια (In Tim. I 246.26–28).
It is our master cognitive faculty, which sits at the core of our cognitive pro-
cesses, manifesting itself as the other faculties, both higher and lower.34 The
above-mentioned illumination occurs, as Proclus writes, “whenever we turn to-
wards [the particular intellect] and we make the λόγος in us completely intellec-
tive” (In Tim. I 245.24–25) and when the soul begins “to move itself around the
intelligible” (In Tim. I 247.4–5). In other words, when we make our λόγος intel-
lective by turning the soul away from imagination, opinion, and ‘variegated
and indeterminate knowledge’ (In Tim. I 247.11–12), towards the particular intel-
lect directly above us, we can receive an illumination from this particular intel-
lect. This illumination, as Proclus describes elsewhere, functions as an intellect
that we can directly participate:
For scientific knowledge is not the highest of the forms of knowing, but rather the intel-
lect that precedes it — I do not mean the intellect that transcends the soul [i.e. the partic-
ular intellect], but the actual illumination therefrom that reaches the soul. (Proclus, In
Alc. 246.18–247.2, tr. MacIsaac)35
31 See, inter alia, In Tim. I 233.2–3; I 236.20–21.

32 The Neoplatonists refer to the ‘complete Living Being’ of Tim. 31b1 as the ‘Living-Being-in-
Itself (αὐτόζῷον).’ See also In Tim. I 234.13–235.1.
33 On the intermediary role of daemonic souls in this illumination, see, inter alia, In Tim. I
245.19–20; III 269.15–270.16; In Alc. 76.20–78.6; MacIsaac 2011.
34 Its ‘use’ of intellection, however, is nuanced by Proclus: “This [λόγος], restricting itself to
the contemplation of intelligibles, uses both itself and intellection, not that intellection is its
instrument, and [λόγος] what uses it, (. . .) but that intellection is the light of λόγος, perfecting
it and leading it upwards and illuminating the cognitive power in it. Proceeding toward judg-
ment of the intermediary λόγοι, it uses διάνοια and not itself alone, and it reverts toward itself
through this, but when judging objects of opinion it moves opinion, and likewise for imagina-
tion and sense-perception” (In Tim. I 254.29–255.3).
35 On an illumination of the particular intellect functioning as an intellect for us, see also In
Alc. 65.11–15; 65.20–66.6; Segonds 1985–1986, vol. 2, 294n5; MacIsaac 2011, 45–51.
By participating this illumination, our intellective λόγος is able to exercise in-

tellection. This initial form of intellection, however, also opens the way for an-
other, even more powerful form. For the soul can “join [its intellective] activity
to the intellection of this [particular] intellect” (In Tim. I 247.13–14) and “intellect
with it the Being that always is” (In Tim. I 247.14–15). “In fact,” Proclus tells us,
it is precisely [when we join our intellective activity to that of the particular intellect] that
the intellection of the soul becomes more holistic (ἀθροωτέρα), and comes closer to the
eternal realities, so that it too grasps the intelligible together with the [particular] intellect
and acts like a lesser light together with a greater one, since the λόγος in us insinuates
itself into the intellection of the [particular] intellect, the intelligible is grasped by intel-
lection together with λόγος. For our λόγος grasps the intelligible together with intellec-
tion, whereas the intellection of the [particular] intellect always both is and sees the
intelligible, but it connects the λόγος to the intelligible, when the λόγος has taken on the
form of an intellect (νοοειδής). (Proclus, In Tim. I 247.17–25, tr. Runia & Share modified)
The intellection together with λόγος that grasps ‘the Being that always is’ there-
fore refers to “an activity that is at once single and double, as there is both
sameness and differentiation in the intellections” (In Tim. I 247.15–17). In other
words, it refers to the combined activity of two simultaneous intellections, each
of a different nature: 1) the intellection of the particular intellect, which, as we
have seen, “is the object of cognition particularly, but also sees the universals
through the particular” (In Tim. I 244.28–29), and 2) that of our intellective
λόγος, which is ‘transitive (μεταβατική)’ (In Tim. I 244.17), i.e. it “moves from
one thing to another (μεταβαίνων ἀπ’ ἄλλων ἐπ’ ἄλλα)” (In Tim. I 246.8),36 and
sees the wholes “but only in parts together and not all at the one time (μερικῶς
ἅμα καὶ οὐκ ἀθρόως)” (In Tim. I 244.29–30, tr. Runia & Share). When these two
intellections act together, it is, as Proclus says, “like a lesser light together with
a greater one.” In other words, we see the intelligibles more holistically when
we see them together with the particular intellect.
Having established the nature of intellection together with λόγος, we may
now see what role this concept plays in Proclus’ interpretation of Phaedrus
247c6–d1. The transitive intellection of our λόγος is described by Proclus as a
‘dance’37 around the intelligible:
Perhaps he [sc. Plato] also wishes to indicate that the λόγος, circling round the intelligible,
exercising its activity and movement just as around a central point, thus contemplates
36 It is interesting to note that Proclus’ ultimate textual support for this description of psychic
intellection as transitive is the Phaedrus, specifically 246b8–c1 (see Theol. plat. I 19, 93.9–12).
37 On the recurrent metaphor of the choral dance of the souls in Proclus, see Moutsopoulos
2004 and Trouillard 1977a.
214 Simon Fortier
it, since intellection knows the intelligible intransitively (ἀμεταβάτως) and indivisibly,
whereas the λόγος dances around (περιχορεύοντος) the essence of the intelligible in a circle
and unravels the substantial unity of all things in the intelligible. (Proclus, In Tim. I 248.
1–6)
This description of intellective λόγος is identical with that of the class of true
science in Proclus’ above-cited passage, where he says that this class “dances
around Being transitively.” It also resembles Proclus’ description of the powers
of the divine souls, which
According to their intellective powers (. . .) are attached to an intellect and dance

around it, while according to their dianoetic powers (. . .) know themselves and their
own being purely and develop their own λόγοι. (Proclus, In Parm. VI 1080.14–17 Steel =
1080.17–20 L–S)38
All the souls depicted in the Phaedrus, in fact, seem to partake in this dance
around the intelligible:
The universal souls always form a dancing chorus around the intelligible, the superior
genera [i.e. daemonic souls] follow in the trains of the gods, and amongst our souls, those
which have the happiness to be delivered from the wandering in the world of generation
reach upwards towards their proper source. (Proclus, Theol. plat. VI 3, 16.24–27)
This image of the psychic dance around the intelligible evidently represents not
just the nature of human intellection, but the nature of psychic intellection in
general, which for all souls “occurs in time and comes to exist in a more partic-
ular manner [i.e. than the intellection of an intellect] and is not holistic grasp of
the intelligibles” (Theol. plat. IV 20, 59.11–12) and functions “transitively (. . .)
for it is in this that soul differs from intellect” (In Tim. II 289.30–290.1). The
dance of our λόγος around the intelligible therefore follows in the steps of the
λόγοι of our superiors, daemonic and divine.39
Thus, we see that the threefold description of the class of true science in
the Platonic Theology corresponds exactly to that given of our intellective λόγος
in the exegesis of “intellection together with λόγος” in the Commentary on
Plato’s Timaeus. Just as the class of true science is said to ascend to contem-
plate Being with the “soul’s pilot”, so too does our intellective λόγος intellect
this Being together with the particular intellect. Moreover, the soul is said by
38 See also Theol. plat. I 19, 90.23–26, where Proclus states that the divine souls do not always
have their intellections turned towards the same intelligibles, but move from one intelligible
to another, acting in time.
39 On our souls imitating the ‘revolution’ of the divine souls and thereby intellecting the intel-
ligibles, see, inter alia, Theol. plat. V 6, 26.12–15.
Proclus to be perfected through its participation in intellect,40 and the transi-

tive dance of the class of true science around Being described in the Platonic
Theology corresponds to that of our soul’s intellective λόγος around “the essence
of the intelligible”. And were these parallels not proof enough, Proclus elsewhere
openly assimilates the intellection together with λόγος of the Timaeus to the vi-
sion of the Being that truly is of the particular intellect and our soul described in
the Phaedrus:
And just as in the Phaedrus he (scil. Plato) called this [particular] intellect ‘the soul’s
pilot’ and declared that it alone intellects the Being [that truly is], but [said] that the soul
intellects together with this [particular] intellect when it is ‘nourished with intellect and
knowledge’ (Phdr. 247d2), in the same way here (Tim. 28a1-4) too he states that intellec-
tion is prior to the soul and that this is the only real intellection, but that this intellection
is participated in by the soul when its λόγος acts intellectively (νοερῶς). (Proclus, In Tim.
I 245.25–31)
It is therefore clear that Proclus takes the class of true science to be our intellec-
tive λόγος, which joins together with the soul’s pilot to exercise intellection to-
gether with λόγος and contemplate the Being that truly is.
There remains, however, an important caveat in this explanation: while
both the particular intellect and the human soul may be said to contemplate
the Being that truly is together, their contemplations of this Being are of two
different orders. As we have seen, the intelligible-intellective Forms are the in-
telligible objects of a particular intellect. They are the most universal objects a
particular intellect can grasp through its own particular Forms. However, while
these Forms may be the intelligible objects of the particular intellect that pre-
sides over us, they are, as Proclus tells us, totally beyond our intellective grasp:
The intelligible-intellectives are superior to the partial cognition proper to immanent

beings such as us, whence comes their specific character of being unknowable because of
their transcendent superiority; indeed, we cannot now produce the cognition proper to
them (. . .) for these beings are absolutely beyond to our cognition. (Proclus, In Parm. IV
925.17–25 Steel = 925.19–28 L–S)
And again:
The transcendent Forms are unknowable to our science. And justly so, for they are con-
templated by the divine Intellect alone; and [it is thus] for all the Forms, but particularly
for those that are beyond the intellective gods; for neither sensation, nor opinionative
cognition, nor pure λόγος, nor our intellective cognition can connect our soul to these
40 See, inter alia, Theol. plat. III 6, 21.26–27; In Parm. IV 853.19–20 Steel (= 853.23–24 L–S); In
Alc. 65.17–21.
216 Simon Fortier
Forms, but only an illumination shining forth from the intellective gods can connect us to
these intelligible-intellective Forms, as it is perhaps said that a certain someone says [as
much] in a divinely inspired way; therefore, the nature of these Forms is unknowable for
us, insofar as they are superior to our intellection and the particular intuitions (ἐπιβολῶν) of
our soul. And this is why, in the Phaedrus, Socrates, as we said before, compares the contem-
plation of them to initiations (τελεταῖς), mysteries (μυήσεις), and epopteias (ἐποπτείαις).
(Proclus, In Parm. IV 949.15–27 Steel = 949.18–33 L–S)41
In these passages Proclus is clear: the intelligible-intellective Forms of the

Phaedrus are beyond the scope our intellection. Yet, in the same breath, he
writes that
one must say that it is by remaining in our proper order and possessing essential images
of the totality of beings, that, through them we turn ourselves to them [i.e. the intelligi-
ble-intellectives] and from the symbols we possess we intellect the beings not in a coordi-
nate manner (συστοίχως), but in a derivative manner (δευτέρως) and according to our
proper dignity, while the things native to us, [we intellect them] in a coordinate manner,
because we have grasped in unity both the things known and the knowledge. (Proclus, In
Parm. IV 948.26–30 Steel = 948.31–36 L–S)
A claim that appears to be echoed in the Commentary on Plato’s Timaeus:
But how is the Being that truly is grasped by the particular intellect or by the λόγος? For
this is something that is even more remarkable. For surely, even if the intelligible itself
cannot be grasped by the intellect and the λόγος, because it is superior to all comprehen-
sion (περιοχῆς) and has grasped all things transcendently, nevertheless, the intellect,
having its own intelligible, is said to grasp through this the whole as well, while, by
means of the intellect, the λόγος obtains in a coordinate manner (συστοίχως) conceptions
(ἐννοίας) of the beings in itself and thus by means of these is said to grasp Being.
(Proclus, In Tim. I 247.27–248.1)
41 The mention here of the divine Intellect that alone contemplates the intelligible-intellective
Forms and of an “illumination shining forth from the intellective gods” has led some (e.g. Van
den Berg 2000 and 2001, 48–61) to argue that this passage alludes to the soul’s “unification
with the demiurgic Intellect” (In Tim. I 302.14), of which Proclus briefly speaks elsewhere
(In Tim. I 301.22–302.25). In other words, “the human soul can contemplate the Forms if it
manages to return to the Demiurge” (Van den Berg 2000, 436). This thesis is entirely plausible if
we take Proclus’ talk of ‘unification’ and of the soul “establishing [itself] immaculately in the
demiurgic intellections” (In Tim. I 302.20–21) to refer to the soul’s contemplation of the intellec-
tive Forms, which constitute the demiurgic Intellect. Were, however, Proclus to be implying in
these passages that we can intelligize the Intelligible Intellect together with the divine Intellect
itself as we do the intelligible-intellectives together with the particular intellect, he would be
contradicting, inter alia, his earlier assertion that the intellection of the divine Intellect tran-
scends our knowledge (In Tim. I 245.8–9).
While these passages may at first appear to contradict Proclus’ statements about
the transcendence of the intelligible-intellective Forms with regard to our intel-
lection,42 the contradiction is only apparent. Proclus indeed draws a firm distinc-
tion between two types of Forms: transcendent Forms and what we might call
‘non-transcendent’ Forms. The transcendent Forms, of which the intelligible-
intellective Forms are the lowest manifestations, are superior to our intellective
knowledge (i.e. intellection together with λόγος) and can only be directly con-
templated by the divine Intellect itself. Those Forms more particular than the in-
telligible-intellectives, on the other hand, beginning with the degree immediately
inferior, the purely intellective Forms,
even if they are transcendent in relation to us, nevertheless, since we have come into ex-
istence immediately from them, are in some way in us, and there is for us a cognition of
these [Forms] and, through them, also, [a cognition] of the unknowable superiority of the
more divine [Forms]. (Proclus, In Parm. IV 945.3–6 Steel = 945.4–8 L–S)
The intellective Forms transcend us, yet by intelligizing our own intelligible
contents, we can know them indirectly or derivatively, as Proclus puts it, just
as the particular intellect can know the intelligible-intellective Forms through
its own Forms. What is more, Proclus tells us here that through our derivative
knowledge of the intellective Forms, we can know something of the ‘unknow-
able superiority’ of the more divine Forms. In other words, Proclus seems to
imply here that we can know the intelligible-intellective Forms in what we
might call a ‘doubly-derivative’ or ‘third-hand’ way: we can know them through
our derivative knowledge of the intellective Forms.
5 Conclusion
While Phaedrus 247c6–d1 may have originally meant simply that the immate-
rial Forms are contemplated by the soul’s mind or intellect and that it is from
them that we derive true knowledge, Proclus, with his allegorical reading of
the palinode, found there a great deal more. According to him, Phaedrus
247c6–d1 reveals, firstly, the nature of not just the Forms in general, but of a spe-
cific class of universal and divine intelligible beings, the highest of the intelligi-
ble-intellective Forms. These intelligible-intellective gods are, like those which
succeed them, Beings that truly are, yet, as they stand on the threshold of the
primary intelligible gods, they are also, like the divinities that precede them,
42 E.g. Luna & Segonds 2007–2017, vol. 4, 137n6; 168n3; vol. 5, 30n1.
218 Simon Fortier
intrinsically unknowable to us. Secondly, this sentence reveals how, despite

their transcendence, we can still contemplate these gods, albeit in a doubly-
derivative manner. This contemplation occurs by means of intellection together
with λόγος, which Proclus transposes from his reading of the Timaeus onto
Phaedrus 247c6–d1, taking the soul’s pilot to be a particular intellect and the
class of true science to be our intellective λόγος. According to Proclus’ reading,
this single sentence therefore reveals the Phaedrus to be a dialogue of the highest
theological importance, describing both one of the most universal orders of
gods and the means by which we may come to know them. It is thus not difficult
to see how this was, for him, the climax of the entire dialogue.
Pantelis Golitsis
Michael Psellos’ Exegesis of the
Expedition of Gods and the Chariot Flight
of the Soul
According to his own testimony, the eleventh-century Byzantine scholar Michael
Psellos engaged twice with explaining the expedition of gods described by
Socrates in Plato’s Phaedrus (246e4–247a2) as part of his palinode with regard to
erôs as madness (μανία) that comes to the human soul from the gods.1 Some eru-
dite friend had once asked Psellos to enlighten him as to the meaning of this par-
ticular myth, and Psellos satisfied his demand by writing a letter which, as he
says, has been recorded in his books.2 Unfortunately, no such letter by Psellos
survives but we should not think of this as a real loss. The Byzantine philosopher
later returned to the interpretation of the expedition of the gods. This second
interpretation was probably advanced in a teaching context, where Psellos
combined it with an explanation of the image of the chariot flight of the soul
(246a3–246b7).3 The choice to concentrate on these two isolated passages from
the Phaedrus might appear puzzling, but one should keep in mind that Psellos
was a rather eclectic commentator. With the exception of his two Aristotelian par-
aphrases that deal exhaustively with On interpretation and the Prior Analytics,4
Psellos appears to have been primarily a commentator of selected passages in
Plato and Aristotle, as well as in the Church fathers (especially Gregory of
1 Cf. Plato, Phdr. 244a5–6: Νῦν δὲ τὰ μέγιστα τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἡμῖν γίγνεται διὰ μανίας θείᾳ μέντοι
δόσει διδομένης.
2 Cf. Michael Psellos, Philosophica minora II 7, 12.3–9: Τὰ Πλατωνικὰ ταῦτα ῥητά “ὁ μὲν δὴ
μέγας ἡγεμὼν ἐν οὐρανῷ Ζεὺς ἐλαύνων πτηνὸν ἅρμα πρῶτος πορεύεται, διακοσμῶν πάντα καὶ
ἐπιμελούμενος· τῷ δ᾽ ἕπεται στρατιὰ θεῶν τε καὶ δαιμόνων κατὰ ἕνδεκα μέρη κεκοσμημένη·
μένει γὰρ Ἑστία ἐν θεῶν οἴκῳ μόνη” καὶ πρότερόν μοι προεβλήθη παρά του τῶν λογίων καὶ
ἔτυχε διαίτης καὶ ἐξηγήσεως. καὶ ἔστιν ἐπιστολὴ ἐμὴ ἐν τοῖς ἐμοῖς κειμένη βιβλίοις τὸν ἐν τοῖς
ῥητοῖς ἀνιχνεύσασα νοῦν καὶ ἐξακριβώσασα. (“. . . there is a letter of mine recorded in my own
books, in which the meaning of those passages is examined and explained.”)
3 Michael Psellos, Philosophica minora II 7: Ἐξήγησις τῆς Πλατωνικῆς ἐν τῷ Φαίδρῳ διφρείας
τῶν ψυχῶν καὶ στρατείας τῶν θεῶν.
4 On the Aristotelian paraphrases of Psellos see Ierodiakonou 2002.
Note: I thank Pieter d’Hoine for polishing my text and for his helpful comments.
Pantelis Golitsis, Aristotle University, Thessaloniki
https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110683936-013
220 Pantelis Golitsis
Nazianzus and Basil of Caesarea). It seems that, in addition to his formal teach-
ing duties (mostly concerned with the teaching of Aristotelian logic), also par-
ticular questions or problems raised by erudite friends or advanced students
determined his choice of particular passages, as did his own wish to introduce
them to specific topics in ancient philosophy (including pseudo-Chaldean theol-
ogy). It is against this backdrop that we should also read Psellos’ exegesis of the
two passages of the Phaedrus.
The Phaedrus, with its lively setting and its powerful image of human and
divine souls as winged chariots moving in a heavenly procession, must have
made quite an impression on Psellos. In a letter sent to his close friend John
Xiphilinos, he aptly alludes to the setting of the Phaedrus and this particular
myth:
For if you have just descended, let my discourse, in the place of the Platonic melilot and
plane tree and myrtle, give you rest. But if you are still attached to the spectacles and the
divine hearings, my letter will wait, so that you can read it when you will have turned
toward us.5
The ‘divine spectacles and hearings’ are those set in ‘the meadow over there,
which nourishes the best part of the soul’ and are thus offered to the ‘winged
intellect of the philosopher,’ as stated in the Phaedrus.6 Elsewhere, in discussing
the five genres of philosophical discourse – Chaldean, Egyptian, Greek, Jewish
and Christian –, Psellos illustrates Plato’s particular mode of philosophizing
within the Hellenic tradition with the example of the Phaedrus and particularly
of the two images of the winged chariots and the expedition of the gods:
Having received the teachings of Pythagoras [which did not transmit the causes of the
things Pythagoras said], Plato envied the honour [that was granted to Pythagoras], ad-
mired the courage of [his] knowledge and effaced some of [his] doctrines; and [contrary
to Pythagoras] he proves everything he goes through in accordance with the beliefs of the
Hellenes. But when he thinks in Egyptian manner, he fabricates self-acting horses,
5 Michael Psellos, Scripta minora II 216.14–18: Εἰ μὲν γὰρ ἄρτι που κατελήλυθας, ἀντὶ τοῦ
Πλατωνικοῦ λωτοῦ τῆς τε πλατάνου καὶ τῶν μυρρινῶν ὁ ἐμὸς λόγος ἀναπαυέτω σε· εἰ δ᾽ ἔτι
ἀνήρτησαι τῶν θεαμάτων καὶ τῶν μακαρίων ἀκροαμάτων, τὸ γράμμα περιμενεῖ, ἵν᾽, ἐπειδὰν
στραφῇς πρὸς ἡμᾶς, ἐντύχῃς αὐτῷ. Cf. Phaedrus 230b2–5: Νὴ τὴν Ἥραν, καλή γε ἡ καταγωγή.
ἥ τε γὰρ πλάτανος αὕτη μαλ᾽ ἀμφιλαφής τε καὶ ὑψηλή, τοῦ τε ἄγνου τὸ ὕψος καὶ τὸ σύσκιον
πάγκαλον, καὶ ὡς ἀκμὴν ἔχει τῆς ἄνθης, ὡς ἂν εὐωδέστατον παρέχοι τὸν τόπον. Note that
Psellos’ reference to the ‘myrtles’ (μυρρίναι) is an allusion to the deme of Myrrhinus, to which
Phaedrus belonged (244a1–2: λόγος Φαίδρου τοῦ Πυθοκλέους, Μυρρινουσίου ἀνδρός). Psellos
refers to the Phaedrus, in particular to the homonymy of the word μανία, also in his Oratio
forensis 1 (“Πρὸς τὴν σύνοδον κατηγορία τοῦ ἀρχιερέως”), 236–263.
6 Cf. Phdr., 248b7–c2 and 249c4–5.
Psellos’ Exegesis of the Expedition of Gods and the Chariot Flight 221
obedient chariots for the gods, a sprouting of wings and, in turn, their loss, and Hestia as
remaining [in the house of the gods], whilst the eleven [gods] are moving.7
As Psellos explains later in the same opusculum, to ‘think in an Egyptian way’

means to express oneself symbolically.8 It is presumably this ‘Egyptian’ pecu-
liarity of Plato, which required clarification, which led Psellos to engage selec-
tively with Plato’s work.
There is, however, in Psellos’ exegeses not much that his students could
not discover by themselves. As was rightly seen by A. Jahn in 1899,9 almost ev-
erything that their master says about the two images of the Phaedrus is taken
from Syrianus’ exegesis, as recorded by Hermias.10 Thus, what I present here
has no genuine interest as a contribution to Platonic exegesis nor as a contribu-
tion to Byzantine philosophy. Still, it may be worthwhile to consider Psellos’
brief exegesis both as an account of Hermias’ commentary and as an illustra-
tion of Psellos’ general approach to Hellenic philosophy.
Psellos adheres to the principle Platonem ex Platone, stating from the very
outset of his exegesis that “an interpreter should not provide by himself the
principles of the interpretation, but should interpret Plato according to Platonic
hypotheses.”11 This may appear as a declaration of loyalty towards Plato but in
reality it is a statement of intellectual neutrality and, moreover, of personal
distantiation:
7 Michael Psellos, Philosophica minora I 3 (Πρὸς τοὺς ἐρωτήσαντας πόσα γένη τῶν
φιλοσοφουμένων λόγων), 42–48: Πλάτων δὲ τοὺς ἐκείνου [sc. τοῦ Πυθαγόρου] λόγους
δεξάμενος τὸ μὲν ἀξίωμα ἠγάσθη, τὸ δὲ θάρρος τῆς ἐπιστήμης ἐθαύμασε, τῶν δὲ δογμάτων
ἔστιν ἃ παρεγράψατο· πάντα δὲ ἀποδείκνυσιν ὅσα κατὰ τὸ δοκοῦν τοῖς Ἕλλησι διέξεισιν· ἐν οἷς
δὲ τὰ Αἰγυπτίων φρονεῖ, ἵπποι αὐτόματοι πλάττονται καὶ ὀχήματα θεῶν εὐήνια πτερῶν τε
βλάστησις καὶ τούτων αὖθις ἀπορροή, Ἑστία τε μένουσα τῶν ἕνδεκα κινουμένων.
8 Phil. min. I 3, 100–103: Σοφία δὲ Αἰγυπτίων τὸ πάντα λέγειν συμβολικῶς τά τε τῶν θείων εἴδη
ἐν κιβωτίοις ἀποκρύπτειν, τὴν Σφίγγα δὲ μόνην ἀπὸ τῶν τειχῶν ἀποκρεμμανύειν. περιττοὶ δὲ
διαφερόντως τὴν σοφίαν Αἰγύπτιοι, ὡς καὶ ὁ λόγος φησίν (cf. Aristotle, Metaphysics A 1, 983a2).
See also Michael Psellos, Theologica I 23.56–60 (commenting on a passage of Gregory of
Nazianzus’ Oratio 29): Τὰ δὲ τῶν Αἰγυπτίων οὐ πάνυ σαφῆ (οὐδὲ γὰρ οὐδὲ τούτων ἀπεσπούδασα),
ἀλλὰ πάντα συμβολικά· σφίγγες γὰρ ἐν αὐτοῖς καὶ ἴβιδες καί τινα περιφερῆ σχήματα ἐν ταμείοις
ἀποκρυπτόμενα, καὶ ἄλλ᾽ ἄττα, ὧν τὸ μὲν φαινόμενον οὐχ ὑπερβαίνει τὴν αἴσθησιν, ἐκεῖνοι δὲ διὰ
τούτων εἰκονίζειν τὰ νοητά.
9 Jahn 1899.
10 There is some controversy as to whether Hermias simply records Syrianus’ teaching. See
Aerts in this volume.
11 Phil. min. II 7, 12.12–13: Περὶ τούτων δὲ οὐ χρὴ τὸν ἐξηγούμενον ἑαυτῷ ἐπιτρέπειν τὰς τῆς
ἑρμηνείας ἀρχάς, ἀλλ᾽ ἀπὸ τῶν Πλατωνικῶν ὑποθέσεων.
But we are not now exercising our own intuition [about these matters] but are closely fol-
lowing Plato himself and the theologians among the Hellenes; and we say, revealing their
belief, that. . .12
The words that are not printed in italics are Psellos’ additions to Hermias’
phrasing, which give Hermias’ words a completely different twist. Psellos
makes clear that he will not speak in his own voice (that is, as a philosopher in
his own right), but as an exegete who does not necessarily endorse the views
that will be introduced – a crucial distinction for a Byzantine thinker, who
could be easily accused of adherence to Hellenic polytheism.13
Tacitly following the commentary of Hermias,14 Psellos discards the cosmo-
logical interpretation of the expedition of the gods in favour of a theological
interpretation, which takes into account Plato’s claim that “each of the twelve
gods is a guardian of the entire world (ὅλον τὸν κόσμον ἐπιτροπεύειν).”15 How,
then, could those gods be identified with the twelve spheres of the world – the
sphere of the fixed stars, the seven planets, and the four elements – as claimed
in the cosmological interpretation, or with the souls of those spheres or even
the intellects of those souls, as assumed in the more refined versions of it?
“Those who interpret the passage in this way,”16 Psellos says, “will say some-
thing [about it], but they will not arrive at the [true] purpose of the myth.”17
Each soul together with its sphere makes one single living being. Such a living
being, which does not necessarily take care of the rest, is itself dependent on its
superior spheres, whereas each of the gods that take part in the expedition is a
cause of the world and is, therefore, in charge of the entire world according to
his or her own peculiar nature. (Hermias, or rather Syrianus, compares the differ-
ent gods to an army’s general, who is in charge of the entire city στρατηγικῶς,
and to a judge, who is also in charge of the entire city, albeit δικαστικῶς.18)
12 Phil. min. II 7, 12.21–23: Ἀλλ᾽ ἡμεῖς οὐ τὴν ἡμετέραν ἐπιβολὴν γυμνάζοντες νῦν, ἀλλ᾽ αὐτῷ
Πλάτωνι κατακολουθοῦντες καὶ τοῖς παρ᾽ Ἕλλησι θεολόγοις φαμὲν τὴν ἐκείνων δόξαν
ἀνακαλύπτοντες ὅτι . . . Cf. Hermias, In Phdr. 142.24–25 (Lucarini & Moreschini).
13 One need only think of Psellos’ student John Italos, who was accused of heresy some years
later; see Clucas 1981.
14 Cf. Phil. min. II 7, 12.13–18 and Hermias, In Phdr. 141.26–142.2.
15 Cf. Hermias, In Phdr. 141.31–142.2: ἕκαστος τῶν δώδεκα λέγεται ὅλον τὸν κόσμον
ἐπιτροπεύειν, ἑκάστη δὲ ψυχὴ μετὰ τῆς ἑαυτῆς σφαίρας ἓν ζῷον ποιοῦσα κατ᾽ αὐτό γε τοῦτο
οὐκ ἀναγκάζεται τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιμελεῖσθαι, ἀλλὰ καὶ αὐτὴ τῶν ὅλων ἐξῆπται.
16 Following Hermias, who refers to τινές, Psellos does not have any particular exegete in mind.
17 Phil. min. II 7, 12.19–20: καὶ ἐροῦσι μέν τι οἱ οὕτως ἐξηγούμενοι τὰ ῥητά, ἀτὰρ οὐκ εἰς τέλος
τοῦ μύθου ἀφίξονται. This would actually include also modern interpreters, who privilege the
cosmological interpretation.
18 Cf. Hermias, In Phdr. 136.4–10.
To account for each god as a guardian of the entire world one needs to as-
cend to a transcendent interpretation, such as provided by the Greek theologians.
Neither Psellos nor Hermias says who these theologians are, but since the
Hellenic theology is generally distinguished from the theology of the Barbarians
(i.e. the Chaldean Oracles), they must be the founders of the Hellenic theology,
that is, Orpheus and Pythagoras among others.19 This means that the myth of the
Phaedrus should be read against the background of the Hellenic divine hierar-
chies, as established by the ancient theologians. Although Psellos, following
Hermias, does not make use of the terminology introduced by Proclus in his
Platonic Theology, the latter may help us to articulate Psellos’ account of the
myth more clearly. As the Phaedrus chiefly concerns the intermediate order of
the divine realm, i.e. the intelligible-intellective realm (and not the intelligible
nor the intellective) in Proclus’ technical vocabulary,20 the twelve gods who take
part in the expedition can accordingly be neither hypercosmic nor encosmic but
they are intermediate, i.e. hypercosmic-encosmic, gods. Their upper part, so to
speak, is united by the three hypercosmic gods, i.e. Zeus, Poseidon and Pluto (or
Hades),21 whereas their lower part is multiplied into the plurality of the encosmic
gods, i.e. the divine intellects or souls of the twelve cosmic spheres:
After the demiurgic monad, i.e. the one and transcendent Zeus, there are for the Hellenes
three Jovian gods, whom they call ‘Zeus,’ ‘Poseidon’ and ‘Pluto.’ Four [further] gods are
placed under each of those three: one of them gives existence to beings, another [gives
them] life, another abiding permanence, and a last one [gives them] conversion to the
proper principles. There are, therefore, three [gods] that are causes of existence for all
bodies, souls and intellects, three [gods that are causes] of their being guarded and hav-
ing abiding permanence, three [gods that are causes] of life, and three [gods that are
causes] of conversion to the proper principles. So, multiplying four to three, you get
twelve [gods]. The first among them is Zeus; for he is coordinated with the remaining
eleven and has a commanding rank [among them] as within a coordination. These twelve
are for the Hellenes gods-commanders of all encosmic gods, angels and all the rest [of
immortal beings].22
19 See Abbate 2008, 153n26.

20 See Sheppard 2000. On Proclus’ interpretation of the Phaedrus see also Fortier in this volume.
21 Psellos’ interpretation reflects Syrianus’ teaching (as recorded by Hermias). It should be
noted that, according to Proclus, the hypercosmic gods are not three but are themselves
twelve. I am indebted to Luc Pfister for pointing this out to me.
22 Phil. min. II 7, 12.23–13.5: Μετὰ τὴν μονάδα τὴν δημιουργικὴν [καὶ delevi : habent codd.] τὸν
ἕνα καὶ ἐξῃρημένον Δία τρεῖς εἰσι παρ᾽ αὐτοῖς θεοὶ δίιοι, Ζεύς, Ποσειδῶν καὶ Πλούτων
ὠνομασμένοι· ὑφ᾽ ἑκάστῳ δὲ τῶν τριῶν τέτταρές εἰσιν τεταγμένοι θεοί, ὁ μέν τις τὸ εἶναι
παρέχων τοῖς οὖσιν, ὁ δὲ τὸ ζῆν, ὁ δὲ μονὴν ἄτρεπτον, ὁ δὲ ἐπιστροφὴν ἐπὶ τὰς οἰκείας ἀρχάς·
ὡς εἶναι τρεῖς μὲν αἰτίους τοῦ εἶναι τοῖς πᾶσι σώμασι καὶ ψυχαῖς καὶ νοῖς, τρεῖς δὲ τοῦ
φρουρεῖσθαι καὶ ἄτρεπτα μένειν, τρεῖς δὲ τοῦ ζῆν, τρεῖς δὲ τοῦ ἐπιστρέφειν ἐπὶ τὰς οἰκείας
The Zeus, therefore, who leads the divine expedition in the Phaedrus is neither
the transcendent Zeus nor the hypercosmic Zeus, but the hypercosmic-encosmic
Zeus, the first in hierarchy among the twelve gods that directly govern and take
care of the encosmic gods23 and the rest of the cosmos, each of them command-
ing his or her own squadron (τάξις). Zeus is the first god of the existence-giving
(or demiurgic) divine triad (Zeus, Poseidon, Hephaestus), which presides over
the guarding divine triad (Hestia, Athena and Mars), the life-giving divine triad
(Hera, Demeter, Artemis) and the converting triad (Hermes, Aphrodite, Apollo).24
Following Hermias, Psellos explains that, despite the fact that the hypercosmic-
encosmic Zeus presides over the entire world, he is said by Plato to be a com-
mander ‘in the heaven’ because the heavens most appropriately participate in
god.25 Further, the ‘chariot’ and the ‘horses’ represent the second and the third
powers of the gods, by which Zeus holds together respectively the expedition of
gods and everything else that depends on him, whereas with his first power he
holds together himself.26 If Zeus is in need of a vehicle, this must be Olympus,
i.e. the firmament above the fixed starts.27 Plato says, moreover, that the squad-
rons that follow Zeus are eleven and not twelve (including the squadron that pro-
ceeds from Zeus himself) because Hestia resides in stability and is immutable –
she is the first in hierarchy within the guarding divine triad – causing each thing
to stay in the squadron to which it belongs.28
ἀρχάς· ὡς γίνεσθαι τρὶς τέτταρας δώδεκα. ὧν πρῶτός ἐστιν ὁ Ζεύς· συντεταγμένος γὰρ ὢν τοῖς
λοιποῖς ἔνδεκα [scripsi : δώδεκα codd.] ἡγεμονικὴν ἔχει ὡς ἐν συντεταγμένοις τάξιν. εἰσὶ δὲ
οὗτοι οἱ δώδεκα παρ᾽ Ἕλλησι θεοὶ ἡγεμόνες καὶ θεῶν ἐγκοσμίων καὶ ἀγγέλων καὶ πάντων
<τῶν> λοιπῶν γενῶν. I have corrected the transmitted text of Psellos according to the commen-
tary of Hermias (cf. Hermias, In Phdr. 142.26 and 143.13).
23 These correspond to the ‘younger gods’ of the Timaeus (41a7 sqq.).
24 Only the first gods within the first three triads (Zeus, Hestia, Hera) are mentioned by
Psellos and Hermias. For the rest see Proclus’ Platonic Theology VI §18–22, with Abbate 2008,
158–161.
25 Phil. min. II 7, 13.5–7: τὸ δὲ “ἐν οὐρανῷ” εἰρήκει, ὅτι, εἰ καὶ ὅλος ὁ κόσμος αὐτοῦ ἀπολαύει,
ἀλλὰ πολλῷ μᾶλλον ὁ οὐρανὸς ἅτε συγγενέστερος ὢν καὶ ἐπιτηδειότερος πρὸς τὸ μετασχεῖν
τοῦ θεοῦ. Cf. Hermias, In Phdr. 146.2–4.
26 Phil. min. II 7, 13.7–11: ἅρμα δὲ καὶ ἵππους τῶν θεῶν τὰς δευτέρας αὐτῶν καὶ τρίτας
δυνάμεις ἀκουστέον, ἃς αἱ πρῶται κατευθύνουσι, δι᾽ ὧν ὁ Ζεὺς καὶ ἑαυτὸν συνάγει καὶ πᾶσαν
τὴν ὑποβεβλημένην αὐτῷ στρατιὰν θεῶν καὶ δαιμόνων καὶ πάντα ἁπλῶς τὰ ἐξημμένα αὐτοῦ.
Cf. Hermias, In Phdr. 146.4–8.
27 Phil. min. II 7, 13.11–13: εἰ δὲ καὶ ὄχημά τις θέλοι ὑποβάλλειν αὐτῷ, τὸν Ὄλυμπον ἂν αὐτῷ
ὑποβάλοι, τουτέστι τὰ ὑπὲρ τὴν ἀπλανῆ στερεώματα, ἃ καὶ τῆς ἀπλανοῦς ἐστι πτηνότερα. Cf.
Hermias, In Phdr. 146.8–10.
28 Phil. min. II 7, 13.13–25: δώδεκα δὲ ὄντων ἡγεμόνων καὶ δώδεκα τάξεων, τῆς δὲ Ἑστίας μιᾶς
οὔσης τῶν ἡγεμόνων καὶ τῆς στρατείας αὐτῆς ἐν μονῇ καὶ ἀκινησίᾳ λαμβανομένης εἰκότως
With regard to the chariot flight of the soul, Psellos once again tacitly follows
the commentary of Hermias. He centres his exegesis upon Plato’s speaking about
‘the idea of the soul’ (περὶ τῆς ἰδέας αὐτῆς). The soul being neither absolute unity
(as Nous is) nor fragmented plurality (as the bodily world is) but one and many (ἓν
καὶ πολλά), Plato meant to refer by ‘idea’ not to the ‘semblance’ of the soul as op-
posed to what it really is, as in modern interpretations, but to the ‘many’ that char-
acterize the soul.29 These ‘many’ within the ‘one’ soul are the ‘elements’ of the
soul, which are here represented by the charioteer and the horses.30 Psellos’ expla-
nation remains somewhat obscure, if it is not read against the background of the
Timaeus and, in particular, as assuming the soul’s constitution of the three genera
of being, namely ‘Essence’, ‘the Same’ and ‘the Other’:31 “[the Demiurge] took the
three of them,” Timaeus says, “and blended them all together into one idea (καὶ
τρία λαβὼν αὐτὰ ὄντα συνεκεράσατο εἰς μίαν πάντα ἰδέαν).” Each of these three
genera being (or having, in the case of Essence) a power, the charioteer, the supe-
rior horse and the inferior horse represent the powers of the Essence, the Same,
and the Other within the soul respectively. Whereas the essence of the soul, either
human or divine, is good, its powers may turn bad in the case of human beings:
The essence of our soul remains unharmed, but the horses, that is, its powers, are dis-
torted and sometimes also lazy. Now, the power of the essence, i.e. of one of the three
genera, is the charioteer; the power of the same is the superior horse; and the power of
εἴρηνται αἱ ἕνδεκα τάξεις “ἕπεσθαι” τῷ Διί. εἰ γὰρ καὶ ἡ Ἑστία ἀνάγεται καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι θεοὶ
μένουσι καὶ ἑστίαν ἔχουσι καὶ μονήν, ῥητέον, ὡς ἀμφότερα μέν ἐστιν ἐν ἑκάστῳ τῶν θεῶν,
μᾶλλον δὲ τὰ τρία· ἕκαστος γὰρ αὐτῶν καὶ μένει καὶ πρόεισι καὶ ἐπιστρέφει πρὸς τὰς οἰκείας
ἀρχὰς ἀναγόμενος. ἄλλος δὲ κατ᾽ ἄλλο χαρακτηρίζεται, καὶ ἔστι τοῦ μὲν πάντως ἀνάγεσθαι
αἴτιος ὁ Ζεύς, τοῦ δὲ πάντα ἑδράζεσθαι ἡ Ἑστία, τοῦ δὲ προϊέναι ἡ ῞Ηρα καὶ αἱ ζωογόνοι θεαί·
πάντα γὰρ τὰ ὄντα καὶ μένει ἐν τοῖς ἑαυτῶν αἰτίοις καὶ πρόεισιν ἐξ αὐτῶν καὶ ὑποστρέφει
πάλιν εἰς τὰς οἰκείας ἀρχάς, καὶ διὰ μὲν τῆς Ἑστίας τὸ μόνιμον καὶ αἴτιον τῆς ἐνιδρύσεως
αὐτῶν λαμβάνει, διὰ δὲ τοῦ Διὸς τὴν αἰτίαν τῆς ὑποστροφῆς καὶ ἀνόδου. Cf. Hermias, In Phdr.
146.24–147.2 and 147.29–34.
29 Thus, ‘idea’ does not have its standard Platonic sense of Form, which is a single entity and
guarantees the identity of the thing that participates in it, but rather refers to something
πολυειδές. Neither Psellos nor Hermias comment on this. We may say that, since there is no
difference between the soul and the essence of the soul (for there is no difference between
‘soul’ and ‘being a soul’, as there is a difference between ‘human being’ and ‘being a human
being’, which necessitates the existence of a Form, or Essence, of human being), no Form of
soul is needed and, therefore, ‘idea’ in such contexts must have a different meaning.
30 Phil. min. II 7, 14.4–8: ἑρμηνευτέον δὲ πρότερον, τίς ἡ τῆς ψυχῆς ἰδέα ἐστίν. λέγομεν οὖν,
ὅτι οὐσία μὲν ἑκάστου πράγματός ἐστι τὸ ἓν τὸ ἐν αὐτῷ καὶ τὸ οἷον ἑνικώτατον, τὸ δὲ εἶδος τὸ
πλῆθος καὶ τὰ οἱονεὶ στοιχεῖα· ἡ γὰρ ψυχὴ καὶ ἕν ἐστι καὶ πολλά, καὶ ἰδέα ψυχῆς τὸ πλῆθος καὶ
τὰ στοιχεῖα. τοῦτο γὰρ βούλονται οἱ ἵπποι καὶ ὁ ἡνίοχος. Cf. Hermias, In Phdr. 126.11-15.
31 Cf. Plato, Tim. 35a.
the other is the inferior horse. Now, if we imagine two horses and a charioteer and unite
them into one, the generative power of both the charioteer and the horses is the idea of
the soul. We should understand this ‘power’ according to the geometers, who are accus-
tomed to say that the straight line has the power of the rectangle.32
Strictly speaking, it is the power of the Other, i.e. the inferior horse, that may be
distorted and lead the soul downward to the bodily world, while the power of the
Same, i.e. the superior horse, which is in accordance with the soul’s essence and
leads the soul upward, and the nous of the soul, i.e. the charioteer who drives
both horses, remain inactive (ἀργοῦσι, literally ‘do nothing’). Hence, whereas in
the Timaeus the multi-faceted ‘idea’ of the soul includes the soul’s essence, accord-
ing to the more refined interpretation of the Phaedrus endorsed by Psellos, the es-
sence of the soul is not comprised in the ‘idea’ of the soul. ‘Idea’ refers here to the
multiplied power of the soul’s essence, which may lead our soul either upward, to
the contemplation of the intelligible realm, or downward, to the bodily world.
Psellos finally explains Plato’s saying that the soul “comes to be in different
[places] at different times” as concerning the particular souls that discursively
survey the intelligibles,33 before repeating at the end of his exegesis his initial
statement, namely that the Platonic things, words, or images, must be inter-
preted ‘platonically’. But this time his statement is followed by a surprisingly
harsh stance toward Plato:
The Platonic things [must be interpreted] platonically; in other words, ridiculous things
[must be interpreted] ridiculously.34
Is it possible that Psellos’ initial neutrality turned at the end into derision against
Plato? I seriously doubt it. Psellos calls Plato a σοφός35 and presents him else-
where as having modelled his symbolic way of expression – his ‘Egyptian’ man-
ner – upon the (presumed) writings of Moses and Solomon’s Song of Songs:
32 Phil. min. II 7, 14.8–16: Ἔστι δὲ ἡ μὲν οὐσία τῆς ψυχῆς ἡμῶν ἀκάκωτος, οἱ δὲ ἵπποι ἤτοι αἱ
δυνάμεις αὐτῆς διαστρέφονται, ἔστι δ᾽ ὅτε καὶ ἀργοῦσιν. ἡ μὲν οὖν τῆς οὐσίας δύναμις, τοῦ
ἑνὸς τῶν τριῶν γενῶν, ὁ ἡνίοχός ἐστιν· ἡ δὲ ταὐτοῦ δύναμις ὁ κρείττων τῶν ἵππων, ἡ δὲ τοῦ
θατέρου ὁ καταδεέστερος. ἐὰν τοίνυν νοήσωμεν δύο ἵππους καὶ ἡνίοχον καὶ συμφύσωμεν
αὐτούς, ἡ μία δύναμις ἡ γεννητικὴ τοῦ τε ἡνιόχου καὶ τῶν ἵππων, αὕτη ἐστὶν ἡ ἰδέα τῆς ψυχῆς.
δύναμιν δὲ ἀκουστέον κατὰ τοὺς γεωμέτρας, ὡς εἰώθασι λέγειν τὴν εὐθεῖαν δύνασθαι τὸ
τετράγωνον. Cf. Hermias, In Phdr. 127.23–24 and 128.24–30.
33 Phil. min. II 7, 14.16–19: τὸ δὲ “ἄλλοτ᾽ ἐν ἄλλοις εἴδεσι γιγνομένη” τοῦτό ἐστιν ἀντὶ τοῦ κατ᾽
ἄλλους καὶ ἄλλους ἑαυτῆς λόγους ἱσταμένη, οἷον σεληνιακοὺς ἢ ἡλιακούς· ἡ γὰρ μερικὴ ψυχὴ
τοσοῦτον ἀμείβει τὸ εἶδος, ὡς καὶ ἀνεπίγνωστος λοιπὸν γίνεσθαι. Cf. Hermias, In Phdr. 136.10–15.
34 Phil. min. II 7, 14.19–20: Πλατωνικῶς τὰ Πλατωνικά. [τοῦτο δὲ ταὐτόν ἐστι τῷ τὰ γελοῖα
γελοίως delevi : habent codd.].
35 Or. for. 1.239: Πλάτωνά φημι τὸν σοφόν.
Whereas Aristotle puts forward the intensity of his own philosophy, [Plato] puts forward alle-
gories and images. For, having partaken of the books of Moses and of the poetry of Solomon,
he transferred from there and practised diligently the imagistic figure of discourse.36
Psellos does not hesitate elsewhere to compare Gregory of Nazianzus’ experience

of the ‘life hidden in Christ’ (τὴν ἐν Χριστῷ κεκρυμμένην ζωήν, as Paul says in
his Ad Colosseos),37 i.e. Gregory’s experience of the Holy Spirit and contempla-
tion of the ineffable to Plato’s own experience of the soul’s essence and the sym-
bolic discourse that is related to it. More precisely, while commenting on a
passage of Gregory’s Oratio 38, he appeals to the Phaedrus and, in particular, to
the image of the soul as a chariot with horses in order to make sense of the cryp-
tic manner of the Church father, when he speaks of the eternal afterlife in God:
[The Theologian] says “[the eternal afterlife is] like a sort of temporal movement and ex-
tension.” He became an imitator [not only of the Apostle Paul but] also of Plato. For,
being about to talk about the soul, Plato says in the Phaedrus that, what [the soul] really
is, let it be ineffable; but it is like a chariot with two yoked horses. He doesn’t use these
very words but this is what he means.38
I can only conclude that the clause ‘τοῦτο δὲ ταὐτόν ἐστι τῷ τὰ γελοῖα γελοίως’
is nothing else but an interpolation into Psellos’ text by a malicious reader,
which should have been bracketed by the editor. It is probable that this interpo-
lation took place quite early in the transmission of the Psellan opera minora,
that is, in the aftermath of John Italos’ trial, in which not only Italos but also
the Platonic Ideas were anathematized.39
36 Phil. min. II 29 (“Τίνα τρόπον ὁ Πλάτων οἴεται εἰσοικίζεσθαι τὰς ψυχὰς τοῖς τῶν ἀλόγων
ζῴων σώμασι, πρὸς τὸν εὐσεβέστατον βασιλέα κῦρ Ἀνδρόνικον”), 106.30–107.3: τοῦ γὰρ
Ἀριστοτέλους τὴν δεινότητα τῆς οἰκείας φιλοσοφίας προβεβλημένου, οὗτος τὰς ἀλληγορίας
καὶ τὰς ἐμφάσεις προβάλλεται· τῶν γὰρ Μωσαϊκῶν βιβλίων μετεσχηκὼς καὶ ὅσα τῷ Σολομῶντι
πεποίηται, ἐκεῖθεν καὶ τὸ ἐμφατικὸν σχῆμα τοῦ λόγου διαμεμελέτηκεν.
37 Cf. Michael Psellοs, Theologica Ι 88 (Εἰς τὸ “αἰὼν γὰρ οὔτε χρόνος οὔτε χρόνου τι μέρος”),
lines 67–70: Ὁ δὲ μέγας ὑπερβὰς τὴν ὕλην καὶ ἐν θεωρίᾳ τοῦ ἀρρήτου γενόμενος καὶ τὴν “ἐν
Χριστῷ κεκρυμμένην” κατὰ τὸν ἀπόστολον ζήσας “ζωήν,” ἐμυήθη κατ᾽ αὐτὸν τοῦτον τὸ
ἀπόρρητον τοῦτο μυστήριον καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις κεκρυμμένως μετέδωκε, κἀν τούτῳ τοῦτον ζηλῶν.
38 Michael Psellοs, Theologica Ι 88.74–78: “Οἷόν τι χρονικόν” φησι “κίνημα καὶ διάστημα.”
μιμητὴς ἐγένετο καὶ τοῦ Πλάτωνος· κἀκεῖνος γὰρ ἐν τῷ Φαίδρῳ, ψυχῆς πέρι μέλλων
διαλαβεῖν, ἥτις μὲν αὕτη, φησίν, ἐν ἀπορρήτῳ κείσθω, ἔοικε δὲ ἅρματι ὑφ᾽ ὃ ἵπποι
ὑπεζεύχθησαν δύο, οὐ ταύταις μὲν οὕτω φήσας ταῖς λέξεσι, τὴν αὐτὴν δὲ ἔννοιαν ὑπειπών.
39 See Synodicon Orthodoxiae, lines 220–225: Τοῖς μετὰ τῶν ἄλλων μυθικῶν πλασμάτων . . .
καὶ τὰς πλατωνικὰς ἰδέας ὡς ἀληθεῖς δεχομένοις, καὶ ὡς αὐθυπόστατον τὴν ὕλην παρὰ τῶν
ἰδεῶν μορφοῦσθαι λέγουσι . . . ἀνάθεμα.
Guy Claessens
The Phaedrus in the Renaissance: Poison
or Remedy?
Introduction
The reception history of a text is not something that can be erased. Historical
tracks left by different interpretations cannot be wiped out or covered up.
When we look at Plato’s Phaedrus, we are always looking back from our point
in history. Our vision will always be blurred and coloured by preceding recep-
tions, without necessarily respecting an original, chronological order. Even if
we try to peel off these various interpretative layers and put them aside, they
continue to serve as inescapable intertexts. They remain ever-present. This his-
toricity partly explains why certain receptions, or non-receptions, seem very bi-
zarre and puzzling to twenty-first-century readers of the dialogue and prompt
questions such as: “How is it possible that ancient commentators are largely
silent on a specific passage that we now find so fascinating, or vice versa?” and
“How can it be that some of Plato’s claims were not conceived as problematic
while others were?” It is exactly this historical prejudice that opens up the pos-
sibility of the unexpected, of being surprised.
The very same historicity also explains the central topic of this chapter: the
Renaissance reception of Plato’s condemnation of writing. The goal of this chap-
ter is to put a modern prejudice, our focus on Plato’s criticism of writing, to the
test. I will examine the extent to which this focus is a modern invention by ex-
ploring a phase in the reception history of the Phaedrus that is simultaneously
close and far enough to generate a broader, more objective perspective.
In regard to Plato’s criticism of writing, Jacques Derrida’s La pharmacie de
Platon1 probably serves as one of the most significant and inescapable intertexts
for contemporary readers of the Phaedrus. However, in peeling off and putting
aside Derrida’s text as one of the many layers of interpretative history, we only
notice its absence and, paradoxically, reconfirm its presence, willingly or un-
willingly. Even if one is not particularly convinced by Derrida’s poststructuralist
reading, it is nearly impossible not to share his fascination for this specific part
1 Derrida’s La pharmacie de Platon was first published in the journal Tel Quel (Nos. 32 & 33) in
1968.
Guy Claessens, KU Leuven
https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110683936-014
230 Guy Claessens
of the dialogue, a part that appears to make the whole of Plato’s philosophical
project slightly ambiguous and problematic. Moreover, an examination of the
early modern reception of Plato’s criticism of writing seems especially relevant
given that this period witnessed the full rediscovery of the Phaedrus as well as
the invention and immense success of the printing press – the latter of which
can be seen as a crucial victory of writing over speech. If Plato’s scrolls already
ran the risk of turning into defenceless orphans, what to think of printed books?
Surely it cannot be the case that fifteenth- and sixteenth-century readers of
the Phaedrus did not recognize the controversial and problematical nature of
this passage, or can it? The initial question of how early modern readers cope
with Plato’s criticism of writing soon turns into a more fundamental and prelim-
inary one: Was this so-called condemnation of writing for early modern readers
something to cope with at all?2 Is it truly a paradox, a symptom of a metaphysi-
cal breakdown, or something entirely different? In other words, is it really a con-
demnation of writing?
In his Essais, Michel de Montaigne (1533–1592) highlights the ‘schizo-
phrenic’ character of the Phaedrus by labelling it a ‘bigarrure,’ the front devoted
to love, the back to rhetoric:
This padding is rather off my subject. I get lost, but more from license than carelessness.
My ideas do follow on from each other, though sometimes at a distance, and have regard
for each other, though somewhat obliquely. I have just looked through one of Plato’s dia-
logues. It is particoloured, a motley [bigarrure] of ideas: the top deals with love and all
the bottom with rhetoric. They were not afraid of such changes, and have a marvellous
charm when letting themselves be blown along by the wind, or appearing to be so.3
In spite of, or perhaps thanks to, its Janus-faced nature, the Phaedrus acted as
a blueprint for the Essais themselves. Generally though, Renaissance readers
felt drawn to the first part of the dialogue,4 with its poetic passages on love,
2 One could perhaps say that the same goes for the reception of the Phaedrus in antiquity:
where are all the pages that one would expect with regard to this issue? For the interpretation
of Plato’s criticism of writing in the Neoplatonic tradition, see the contribution by Pieter
d’Hoine in this volume.
3 Montaigne, Essais III 9, De la vanité (= Saulnier 1988, 994, tr. Screech 2003): “Cette farci-
sseure est un peu hors de mon theme. Je m'esgare, mais plustot par licence que par mesgarde.
Mes fantasies se suyvent, mais par fois c'est de loing, et se regardent, mais d'une veue oblique.
J'ay passé les yeux sur tel dialogue de Platon mi party d'une fantastique bigarrure, le devant à
l'amour, tout le bas à la rhetorique. Ils ne creignent point ces muances, et ont une merveil-
leuse grace à se laisser ainsi rouler au vent, ou à le sembler.”
4 For a concise overview of the “medieval and modern reception” of the Phaedrus, see Yunis
2014, 29. Similarly, with regard to the Renaissance reception of the Phaedrus, scholars have
divine madness, the immortality of the soul, and the famed chariot allegory.5
For example, at the beginning of the fifteenth century, the famous humanist
Leonardo Bruni (c. 1370–1444), who omitted all references to pederasty in his
translation of the dialogue6 and stopped translating at 257c, was already capti-
vated by the notion of Platonic love, which would become hugely popular later
in the century. In a letter to the poet Marrasio Siculo, he dwells on the alienat-
ing effect of divine love:
Now however it must be shown that these four kinds of madness are not evil. (. . .) The
madness of the poets is from the Muses, but that of lovers is from Venus. It arises from
the contemplation of true Beauty, whose image we gaze at with penetrating and furious
sight, our senses numbed, and, as though besides ourselves, we are drawn to it with
every passion. So it is no less truly than elegantly said that the soul of the lover spends its
life in another body. This violent seizing and capture of the mind is called Love, a kind of
divine alienation and forgetfulness of self, a transferal into that whose beauty we admire.
If you call this madness and insanity, I would wholly agree, so long as you understand
that no poet can be any good who is not seized by a “madness” of this sort, nor can God
be well and perfectly worshipped, except through this kind of mental alienation.7
In sixteenth-century France, François Rabelais (1483/1494–1553) makes a similar

allusion to Plato’s account of divine possession.8 In his well-known Pantagruel,
Rabelais describes the terrible desire that the Form of wisdom would arouse if it
were directly visible to the eyes:
What Plato, the prince of philosophers, states is quite true: if the figure of knowledge-and
-wisdom were to assume a body visible to human eyes she would excite the whole world
to wonder: for if the mere rumour of her spreads through the air and strikes the ears of
her studious lovers whom we call philosophers, it allows them neither to sleep nor to rest
mainly concentrated on the first part of the dialogue. The same goes for the ancient reception
of the dialogue, as may be clear from other chapters in this volume.
5 E.g. McGrath 2009, 213, 217; Poncet 2010.
6 Hankins 1990, 68.
7 Bruni, Ep. VI 1: “Nunc autem illud ostendendum est, has furoris species, de quibus supra dixi-
mus, non esse malas. . . . Poetarum ergo furor a Musis est, amantium vero a Venere. Oritur autem
hic ex verae pulchritudinis contemplatione, cuius effigiem visu intuentes acerrimo ac violentissimo
sensuum nostrorum stupentes, ac velut extra nos positi totis affectibus in illum corripimur, ut non
minus vere quam eleganter dictum sit, amantis animam in alieno corpore vitam ducere. Haec igitur
vehemens occupatio animi atque correptio amor vocatur, divina quaedam alienatio ac velut sui
ipsius oblivio et in id, cuius pulchritudinem admiramur, transfusio. Quem si furorem ac vesaniam
appellas, concedam equidem atque fatebor, dummodo intelligas, neque poetam bonum esse ullum
posse, nisi huiuscemodi furore correptum, neque perfecte atque eximie Deum coli, nisi per huiusce-
modi mentis alienationem.” Quoted in Hankins 1990, 70–71, translation slightly modified.
8 On Rabelais’ reception of Plato, see Menini 2009.
232 Guy Claessens
at their ease, so much does it spur them on and inflame them to run to the place and see
the person in whom learning is said to have built her temple and promulgated her oracles.9
Furthermore, as Michael Allen has demonstrated,10 what most fascinated the

Florentine Neoplatonist Marsilio Ficino (1433–1499) about Plato’s Phaedrus was
the mythical hymn of the charioteer. In contrast with Bruni, however, Ficino did
justify the text’s homosexual passages as allegories for the concept of Platonic
love.11 This allegoric reading runs through the opening pages of Ficino’s com-
mentary on the dialogue:
Among the ingenious aspects of the dialogue are the following: the description of the
spot stands allegorically for the Academy; the plane tree for Plato; the agnus castus bush
for the chastity of Platonic and Socratic love; the fountain for the overflowing of the wis-
dom to be shared; and the rest of the embellishments stand for the oratorical and poetic
flowers that fill Plato’s Academy. (. . .) In all this, take note of the modesty of Socratic
love; for Socrates begins with his head veiled since he is about to say something less than
honourable.12
This does not mean that the Phaedrus was warmly welcomed by all Renaissance
readers. For instance, Georgios Trapezuntius (1395–1472/1473) refers to the
Phaedrus as the Foedrus (a not-so-subtle word-play on the Latin foedus, mean-
ing ‘filthy’)13 for the exact same reason why Bruni censored and Ficino allego-
rized certain passages. But what happens when we put our modern prejudice,
the focus on Plato’s criticism of writing, to the test? Is the Phaedrus in the fif-
teenth and sixteenth century understood as a condemnation of writing as well?
9 Rabelais, Pantagruel, ch. 18 (=Demerson 1973, 289, tr. Screech 2006): “Bien vray est-il, ce dit
Platon, prince des philosophes, que, si l’imaige de science et de sapience estoit corporelle et
spectable ès yeulx des humains, elle exciteroit tout le monde en admiration de soy. Car seulle-
ment le bruyt d’icelle espendu par l’air, s’il est reçeu ès aureilles des studieux et amateurs d’i-
celle qu’on nomme philosophes, ne les laisse dormir ny reposer à leur ayse, tant les stimule et
embrase de acourir au lieu et veoir la personne en qui est dicte science avoir estably son tem-
ple et produyre ses oracles.”
10 Allen 1981, 2.
11 Hankins 1990, 70.
12 Ficino, Commentarium in Phedrum I ii (ed. and tr. Allen 1981, 72–73): “Inter hec artificiosis-
sima loci descriptio allegorice signat Academiam, platanus Platonem, castum arbustum amoris
platonici et socratici castitatem, fons in communicanda sapientia largitatem, ornamenta cetera
oratorios poeticosque flores quibus Academia Platonis abundat. . . . Considera inter hec amoris
socratici pudicitiam, nonnulla enim minus honesta pronuntiaturus obvoluto capite exorditur.”
13 Trapezuntius, Comparationes Philosophorum Aristotelis et Platonis, book III, ch. 1 “de sce-
leribus Platonis ab his quae scriptis sunt in Phedro et cupidine.” The work was written in 1464 –
I quote from the 1523 Venice edition.
Part I: Druids, Games, and A Critique of Language

The gist of Plato’s alleged condemnation of writing (Phdr. 274b–278e) is as fol-
lows: Socrates tells us how Theuth, the inventor of writing, presented his inven-
tion to the Egyptian king Thamus, claiming that it would be a remedy (the
ambiguous Greek word φάρμακον) for memory and make the Egyptian people
wiser. Thamus disagrees and responds that it is not a remedy for memory
(μνήμη), but for reminding (ὑπόμνησις). In the ensuing conversation between
Phaedrus and Socrates, memory is described as an internal process, directly
linked to knowledge, and seems closely related to the Platonic idea of recollec-
tion. Reminding, however, is presented as something external that involves in-
formation, not knowledge. True knowledge is said to be internal and active and
can only be attained by means of dialogue and the method of dialectics.
Writing cannot teach and is merely passive. What is more, the written word is
weak and dangerous because it cannot defend itself and always needs the assis-
tance of its father. Thus, writing does not produce knowledge. It only reminds
us of something that we have learned before by means of the spoken word.
In the In calumniatorem Platonis (1469), a monumental work written by the
Greek exile Cardinal Bessarion (1403–1472), in response to Georgios Trapezuntius’
fiercely anti-Platonic comparison between Plato and Aristotle,14 we find the
first in-depth discussion of Plato’s ideas about memory and writing in the
Renaissance. Plato’s criticism of the written word is mentioned in the second
chapter of the first book, in the context of the so-called unwritten doctrines.15
Implicitly present here, but explicitly present elsewhere in the In calumniatorem,
is the idea of a meaningful bond between the Old Testament Scriptures and
Plato’s writings, an idea that would be further developed by Marsilio Ficino.
Building on testimonies of the church fathers (e.g. Justin Martyr, Eusebius,
Lactantius, and Clement of Alexandria) Bessarion believed that Plato had derived
his philosophy from the Hebrew prophets during his visit to Egypt:16
It is certain that it was a custom among learned men to observe most of all this precept of
the Pythagoreans (whom Plato has followed): Nothing of the things that were taught in
their school should be spread among the masses. (. . .) And this seems to be the same as
14 Trapezuntius’ Comparatio and Bessarion’s In calumniatorem were the central texts of the
famous Plato-Aristotle controversy of the fifteenth century, see Monfasani 2002.
15 Bessarion, In calumn. I 2 (=Mohler 1967, 11–13): “Quam ob causam Plato de summis rebus
aut nihil aut per aenigmata scripserit.” / “Why Plato wrote either nothing or by means of enig-
mas on the highest matters.”
16 Hankins 1990, 234–236. For Bessarion’s view on this so-called ancient theology, see Walker
1972, 13–14.
234 Guy Claessens
the evangelical precept: “Give not that which is holy to dogs; neither cast your pearls be-
fore swine.” It was indeed allowed to pass on these things from teachers to students and
to share them amongst students, not by means of writing, but by speech alone. As if these
opinions on divine matters could be guarded more safely if they were contained in souls
and not in books. As if people studying these matters would come out more learned, as
long as they relied on the aid of memory rather than writing and would commit the in-
structions of philosophy to their soul and not to books. After all, as that famous Thamus
claims in Plato, writing was not invented by Theuth as an aid to memory, but to remind-
ing. (. . .) Besides, we read a similar thing in Julius Caesar: “ (. . .) Nor do they [i.e. the
Druids] regard it lawful to commit it [sc. their discipline] to writing, though in almost all
other matters, in their public and private transactions, they use Greek characters. This
practice, it seems to me, they have adopted for two reasons: because they neither desire
their doctrines to be divulged among the mass of the people, nor desire students, by rely-
ing on writing, to devote themselves less to the efforts of memory – since it generally oc-
curs to most men that, in their dependence on writing, they thoroughly relax their
diligence in learning and their employment of the memory.”17
According to Bessarion, there are two important reasons why Plato chose not to
write about certain matters: (1) secrecy or protection (tutius custodiri) and (2) in-
tellectual development connected to the use of memory. Writing only leads to re-
minding (reminiscendi) and not to better memory (memoria). Bessarion connects
the passage from the Phaedrus with Pythagoras – with regard to the Pythagorean
precept, Bessarion refers to the (spurious) letter of the Pythagorean Lysis to
Hipparchus –,18 a proverb from the Bible, and Caesar’s De bello Gallico (VI 14.4).
In each case, the emphasis lies on secrecy (neque in vulgum disciplinam efferri
velint) and the potential harmful effect of writing on memory. Hence, there is no
17 Bessarion, In calumn. I 2, 1–6 (=Bessarion 1967, 11–13): “Constat profecto inter omnes doctos
praeceptum illud Pythagoreorum, quos secutus est Plato, imprimis observari solitum, ne quid ex
iis, quae in eorum schola dicebantur, in vulgum emitteretur. . . . Quae res similis esse praecepto illi
evangelico videtur: ‘Nolite dare sacra canibus, nec proiiciatis margaritas vestras ante porcos.’
Quin etiam haec non litteris, sed voce tantum et praeceptores discipulis tradere et discipulos inter
se communicare fas erat, quasi tutius custodiri altiores illae de rebus divinis sententiae possent, si
animis non libris continerentur, et studiosi earum rerum doctiores evaderent, dum memoriae potius
quam litterarum praesidio freti instituta philosophiae animo, non codicibus commendarent.
Reminiscendi enim, non memoriae remedium litteras esse a Theut inventas Thamus ille apud
Platonem refert. . . Simile illud etiam apud C. Iulium Caesarem legimus: ‘. . . Neque fas esse existim-
ant ea litteris mandare, cum in reliquis fere rebus publicis privatisque rationibus Graecis litteris
utantur. Id mihi duabus de causis instituisse videntur, quod neque in vulgum disciplinam efferri
velint neque eos, qui discunt, litteris confisos minus memoriae studere, quod fere plerisque accidit,
ut praesidio litterarum diligentiam in perdiscendo ac memoriam remittant.’”
18 Bessarion, In calumn. I 3. See Robichaud 2018, 74. The connection between Pythagoras and
Socrates is also found in Hermias’ commentary on the Phaedrus. Hermias, In Phdr. 271.10–18,
see Tarrant & Baltzly 2018, 495.
actual condemnation of writing, but simply a reference to two potential threats,

those of vulgarization and intellectual decline.
The most famous Renaissance work on the Phaedrus is the commentary
written by the Italian humanist and Neoplatonist Marsilio Ficino.19 The text is
comprised of an eleven-chapter long commentarium followed by fifty-three
more detailed summae capitulorum. Ficino begins by echoing Bessarion’s refer-
ence to Plato’s unwritten doctrines, especially through his mention of the sev-
enth letter where Plato (or whoever wrote it)20 claims with regard to the highest
principles that “there is no writing of mine about these matters, nor will there
ever be one. For this knowledge is not something that can be put into words
like other sciences.”21 The link with Pythagoras reoccurs in Ficino’s commen-
tary as well:
On the function of writing, he [sc. Plato] adds that letters were invented in Egypt along
with the other disciplines by a certain demon called Theuth. Socrates laughs at the person
who studies writing in the belief that through letters he can reveal indubitable truth to
posterity. In the manner of the Pythagoreans, he affirms that the contemplation and
transmission of truth occurs in souls rather than in books. Plato also asserts this in his
Letters.22
Later on, Ficino stresses the intrinsic neutrality yet potential danger of the writ-
ten word, the latter of which mostly follows from overconfidence:
Finally, Socrates concludes that we can either use the discipline of writing and any other
discipline correctly or, likewise, misuse them; and thus that the practical knowledge of
writing, which can help to serve memory and wisdom, sometimes also declines to the op-
posite because of human negligence or overconfidence in it.23
19 On Ficino’s commentary, see Allen 1981.

20 Obviously, for Ficino Plato was the author of the seventh letter.
21 Plato, Ep. VII, 341c4–5 (tr. Morrow): “οὔκουν ἐμόν γε περὶ αὐτῶν ἔστιν σύγγραμμα οὐδὲ
μήποτε γένηται: ῥητὸν γὰρ οὐδαμῶς ἐστιν ὡς ἄλλα μαθήματα.”
22 Ficino, Commentarium in Phedrum III (ed. and tr. Allen 1981, 80–81): “Subdit ob ipsum scri-
bendi officium litteras in Egypto a demone quodam Theuthe una cum ceteris disciplinis inventas
fuisse. Deridet preterea scribendi studium in eo videlicet qui per litteras indubitatam posteris
confidat patefacere veritatem. Atque Pythagoreorum more probat contemplationem traditionem-
que veritatis in animos potius quam in libros. Quod in Epistolis quoque confirmat.”
23 Ficino, Commentum cum summis capitulorum XXXXVIIII: “Concluditur denique nos disci-
plina scribendi et qualibet alia recte uti posse pariter et abuti; atque ita scribendi peritiam re-
cordationi sapientieque servituram nonnunquam etiam posse propter humanam negligentiam vel
confidentiam ad opposita labi.”
236 Guy Claessens
Interestingly, Ficino also alludes to the historical context of Plato’s dialogues

and the ethical nature of Plato’s philosophical project as an answer to the shal-
low and fame-oriented rhetoric of the Sophists:
Socrates looks to the god Love for the art of love and for philosophy. But should an out-
standing man write down speeches in the manner of the Sophists? Socrates shows that all
choose to do so in order that posterity might celebrate them for their writings. He con-
cludes that to write is not shameful in itself, only to write badly.24
For Ficino, the central concept is confidence (confidat and confidentiam) and
what is at stake is the thin line between correct assessment and misjudgement.
Meaning, writing is not shameful in itself, only to write badly (non esse turpe
scribere sed male scribere). Once again, there is no strict condemnation of writ-
ing as such and Ficino explicitly stresses this point. He considers writing a tool
that can be used and abused (recte uti posse pariter et abuti) depending on the
one who handles it. To further illustrate this point, Ficino uses a wonderful
metaphor from the Phaedrus itself: Writing is ‘the most beautiful of all games’
(ludus ludorum omnium est pulcherrimum), no more, no less.25 The relationship
between writing and memory is only briefly touched upon, and once more writ-
ing is approached in a very neutral way. It can serve memory (recordatio) and
wisdom, but also their declination.
For Ficino, the textual status of Plato’s writings is radically different than it
was for Bessarion. According to the Florentine humanist, Plato was the culminat-
ing point of an ancient theology (prisca theologia) given to mankind by God and
passed on to Plato via Hermes Trismegistus, Orpheus, Aglaeophemus, Pythagoras,
and Philolaus.26 From this perspective, the similarity between Plato’s writings and
the Old Testament Scriptures reveals the fundamentals of a shared Truth.
Plato’s writings now run parallel to the Old Testament Scriptures instead of
being merely derivative. The belief in an ancient tradition of pagan theolo-
gians profoundly changes the status of the texts – as written texts – ascribed
to these theologians. This also explains in part why Plato’s criticism is not
Ficino’s main concern.
Both Bessarion and Ficino understand the final part of dialogue as a criti-
cism of writing. However, Ficino, more than Bessarion, underlines the intrinsic
24 Ficino, Commentum cum summis capitulorum XXXIIII: “Socrates ab amore deo amatoriam
artem philosophiamque petit. Queritur utrum prestantem virum deceat orationes sophistarum
more conscribere. Probatur omnes id optare ut ex scriptis apud posteros celebrentur. Concluditur
non esse turpe scribere sed male scribere.”
25 Ficino, Commentum cum summis capitolorum LI.
26 For the development of Ficino’s ancient theology, see Hankins 1990, 460–464.
neutrality of writing as a tool that can be handled both correctly and incor-
rectly. In the end he decides not to take Plato’s criticism too seriously.
In his Praise of folly Erasmus (1466–1536) uses the Phaedrus in a very differ-
ent way. In discussing the arguments put forward by ‘cunning word artists’
(logodaedali, a word directly taken from Phaedrus 266e), Folly’s stinging mock-
ery depicts Theuth as an evil genius (infensus genius) and wicked demon whose
inventions have led humankind into ruin by standing in the way of natural hap-
piness (felicitas):
Then these verbal wizards produce another argument. Man, they say, is especially gifted
with understanding of the branches of learning so that they can help him to compensate by
his wits for what nature had denied him. But does it seem likely that nature would be so
alert and careful about things like midges and grasses and flowers and yet be caught nap-
ping over man alone, so that he needs the kinds of learning which the notorious Thoth, the
evil genius of the human race, devised to be its greatest curse? These are quite useless as
regards happiness, they are in fact an obstacle to the very thing for which they were spe-
cially invented, as that sensible king in Plato neatly proves in discussing the invention of
letters. And so the branches of learning crept in along with all the other banes of human
life, introduced by the same evil spirits who are responsible for every wickedness, namely
the ‘demons’ who were given their name because it means ‘those who know’ in Greek.27
The etymology of the word “demons” is also taken from Plato, this time from the
Cratylus (398b). In the passage above, writing is not particularly singled out but
instead dismissed together with all other branches of learning as something un-
natural. Strikingly, Thamus’ judgment is not nuanced by Folly at all.
In his De lingua of 1525 Erasmus once again uses the Phaedrus as an impor-
tant intertext. Not only do the opening lines contain a verbal echo of the dia-
logue (asini umbra, the shadow of a donkey),28 but the subsequent description
of the ambiguous nature of the tongue also incorporates numerous elements
from Plato’s dialogue. Erasmus calls the tongue an instant poison, both a drug
and a cure, a deadly poison and a life-giving remedy:
27 Erasmus, Moriae encomium 433 (tr. Radice in Levi 1986, 106–107): “Verum rursus urgent logo-
daedali. Est, inquiunt, homini peculiariter addita disciplinarum cognitio, quarum adminiculis id
quod natura diminutum est, ingenio penset. Quasi vero ullam veri faciem habeat, naturam, quae in
culicibus, atque adeo in herbis ac flosculis tam sollicite vigilaverit, in uno homine dormitasse, ut
disciplinis opus esset, quas Theutus ille humano generi infensus genius, in summam perniciem ex-
cogitavit, adeo non utiles ad felicitatem, ut illi quoque ipsi officiant, ad quod proprie repertae di-
cuntur, ut eleganter arguit apud Platonem, rex ille prudentissimus de litterarum invento. Igitur
disciplinae cum reliquis humanae vitae pestibus irrepserunt, iisdem auctoribus, a quibus omnia
flagitia proficiscuntur, puta daemonibus, quibus hinc nomen etiam inventum, quasi daêmonas, hoc
est, scientes appelles.”
28 Plato, Phdr. 260c.
238 Guy Claessens
Imagine that one of you brought an instant poison, strong enough to inflict sudden death
on contact, and had it sealed in a phial so that he could not throw it away. He might be
careless enough in other matters, but surely he would take the greatest precautions in
case by accident or negligence it caused death either to the possessor or to others whom
he loved, like his wife and children. How carefully he would put away that container,
how scrupulously he would prevent anything seeping out, or any poisonous vapours,
and ensure that no one touched it inadvertently. Suppose instead that someone was car-
rying about a drug which was a ready cure for all sicknesses, which could restore youth
or avert imminent death. Would he not be most anxious in case any fraction of this valu-
able substance was wasted, when its careful use could bring such great benefit to its pos-
sessor and everyone with whom he chose to share it? I doubt that anyone would be so
indifferent as to be casual in these circumstances. Then how is it that men are so careless
of their tongue – more indeed than of any other possession? For we carry around with it
both deadly poison and a life-giving remedy.29
Erasmus transfers the ambiguity anticipated by Plato of the Greek word

φάρμακον from the written word to the tongue and thus to language as a
whole. The potential harm of language is directed not at memory (which is
not mentioned at all by Erasmus) but instead at human society. Plato’s phar-
makon turns into a social drug instead of an intellectual one. Ironically, Plato
was right to believe that the written word, including his very own Phaedrus,
would not be able to defend itself against transformations by later adoptive
parents, including Erasmus.
Part II: Memory and Hieroglyphs

During the sixteenth century, a significant shift in the reception history of the
Phaedrus can be witnessed when Plato’s condemnation of writing is reassessed
29 Erasmus, De lingua 1–2 (tr. Fantham in Fantham et al. 1989, 262–263): “Atque illud in primis
suo quisque cum animo perpendat, si quis vestrum venenum deferat praesentaneum, quod vel ipso
contactu subitam mortem afferret, idque sic deferat inclusum vasculo, ut non posset abiicere,
nonne is quamlibet aliis in rebus incurius, hic summa solicitudine caveret, ne per imprudentiam
aut incuriam exitium conscisceretur, vel ipsi, qui teneret, vel aliis quibus bene vellet, veluti liberis
aut uxori? Quanta cura seponeret eam pyxidem, quam religiose caveret, ne quid efflueret, aut ne
quis spiritus letalis exhalaret, ne quis imprudens attingeret. Rursus si quis pharmacum circumfer-
ret, adversus omnia morborum genera praesens habens remedium, quo vel iuventus revocari pos-
set, vel mors iam urgens propelli, an non is anxie solicitus esset, ne qua pars rei tam pretiosae
periret, ex qua bene dispensata tam admirabilis utilitas esset reditura, non solum ad ipsum qui
teneret, verum etiam ad omnes quibus vellet communicare? Non arbitror quenquam tam socordem
esse, ut hic sit futurus incogitans. Qui fit igitur, ut mortalibus nullius rei cura minor sit quam lin-
guae, cum in hac circumferamus utrumque et letale venenum et saluberrimum pharmacum?”
in the context of the art of memory. In this new approach, Plato’s criticism is
downplayed and countered, or ingeniously reinterpreted as targeting a specific
kind of writing.
In his De moribus veterum Gallorum the French logician Petrus Ramus
(1515–1572) tackles the question of why the Druids left no written records.
Although the second part of the passage merely repeats Bessarion's references
to Caesar and the Druids, the opening lines suggest another reason as to why
the Druids did not commit their teachings to writing, i.e. the problem of au-
thority and interpretation:
All the liberal and refined arts are generally learned from written books. Teachers of the
arts explain them to their students, students learn them, and, very frequently, in holding
onto the great authority of the men whose books are presented to the youth, a difficulty
arises, since men (it does not matter how much they surpass other men) nonetheless are
human and have the habit to drowse now and then. Thus, when their writings are pre-
sented as orthodox, they sometimes entail difficult explanations. On the other hand, in-
numerable practical disciplines practiced by farmers, architects, sailors are learned
without writing and by speech alone. No contradiction arises in the ambiguity of words
and no difficulty in committing sentences to memory. The only rule in a discipline is that
which has been approved by use and usefulness. Therefore, it was the habit of those
learned men and our teachers to write not a single discipline down, and pass on only by
speech everything they transmitted to the youth.30
The combination of the rigidity of writing with an excessive respect for auctori-
tates inevitably leads to interpretative problems. Ramus then goes on to de-
scribe the opinion of Socrates and contrasts it with the arguments of secrecy
and intellectual development put forward by the Druids:
In the Phaedrus, Plato has beautifully explained the opinion of Socrates in the following
words, which Socrates used in his conversation with Phaedrus. (. . .) This is Socrates’ opin-
ion, but it is a bit milder and kinder than the opinion of our Druids. Socrates prefers
being skilled in the living word and memory above being skilled in dead writing, but he
still permits writing as a cure for the weakness of oblivion. I wish that the same opinion
30 Ramus, De moribus veterum Gallorum 79–80: “Omnes artes liberales et ingenuae e scriptis
libris ediscuntur, hos magistri artium discipulis suis interpretantur, hos discipuli cognoscunt, mag-
naque plerumque in retinenda hominum (quorum libri illi iuventuti proponuntur) authoritate, diffi-
cultas oritur, quoniam homines quantumlibet caeteris hominibus excellentes, attamen sunt humani
et nonnunquam dormitare soliti. Itaque cum eorum scripta tanquam catholica ponuntur, difficiles
nonnunquam explicatus habent. At contra nullo scripto, voce sola, innumerabiles opificum artes
ediscuntur, agricolarum, architectorum, nautarum, nec ulla in ambiguitate verborum repugnantia,
sententiarum in ediscendo difficultas oritur. Id solum est in arte praeceptum, quod usus et utilitas
approbarunt. Ergo doctores illi professoresque nostri nullam disciplinam scribere, quicquid iuven-
tuti traderent, voce tantum tradere consueverant.” I quote from the 1559 Paris edition.
240 Guy Claessens
had been held by the Druids. We would not need the external gifts of the Greeks, but
would have an abundance of native ones. And we would not learn disciplines via Roman
and Greek translators with the enormous effort and study that foreign languages require,
but we would take in each one of these with great pleasantry and sweetness of the soul
almost together with our mother’s milk.31
Ramus does not fully agree with the arguments presented by the Druids and he
carefully downplays certain aspects of Socrates’ criticism as well. Despite all of
its shortcomings, writing can still be a cure for the weakness of oblivion (scrip-
turam tamen adversus oblivionis infirmitatem permittit). Of course, Ramus had
plenty of reasons to attack the authority given to writers, instead of writing it-
self, and to stress the usefulness of writing to memory. After all, he was the in-
ventor of a dialectical method for memory which was intended to replace the
traditional art of memory based on loci and imagines,32 e.g. the traditional
memory palace, an imaginary architectural structure filled with pictures of
things to remember, which the subject can retrieve by walking through the vir-
tual lay-out. This reform was expressed in a very literal way through print.
Subjects are memorized by means of a dialectical order that is visualized on the
printed pages of a book. In Ramus’ system, tree diagrams materialize and mir-
ror the natural memory.
From a Platonist’s perspective, Ramus’ art of memory is probably the most
reasonable combination of writing and reminding since it follows the natural,
dialectical order of things. It is perhaps a good example of what Plato would
allow as reminding (ὑπόμνησις) even if Ramus tries to blur the lines between
mnēmē and hypomnēsis as much as possible. Nonetheless, Ramus’ tree struc-
tures remain dead, sterile, and most of all external. In the end, they are still in-
capable of replacing the vividness of an actual dialogue leading to knowledge.
In the marginal notes added to the famous Stephanus-edition of Plato’s
Opera omnia (1578), the French priest and humanist Jean de Serres asserts that
“the invention of writing is a very great and powerful remedy for oblivion, as
31 Ramus, De moribus veterum Gallorum 80–85: “Socratis sententiam hac de re Plato in Phaedro
magnifice declaravit his verbis, quibus Socrates cum Phaedro colloquitur. . . . Haec Socratis est opi-
nio, sed opinione nostrorum druydum paulo mitior atque humanior: Anteponit Socrates vivae vocis
ac memoriae scientiam, mortuae scripturae, sed scripturam tamen adversus oblivionis infirmitatem
permittit: quae utinam sententia druydibus perinde placuisset, nec enim externis Graecorum bonis
egeremus, sed patriis abundaremus, neque per latinos graecosque interpretes, disciplinas maximis
peregrinarum linguarum laboribus ac studiis audiremus, sed magna suavitate animi ac voluptate,
pene una cum lacte nutricis hauriremus.”
32 Yates 1966, 231–242.
well as a very useful aid to wisdom.”33 In a longer comment, de Serres once

again explicitly dismisses the criticism voiced by the Egyptian king Thamus
and only pays attention to the position of Theuth:
He shows that the same thing that he had said about speech should be applied to writing:
one should know the truth of the matter and, in the same manner, hold onto the order
taken from the art of dialectic with the help of definition and division. And, in executing
this task, the highest industry and effort is required. For that reason, one should not write
thoughtlessly, but, like trees that are to be useful for the next generation are meticulously
planted, writing should be planted with the highest judgment and effort in order to sur-
vive. He demonstrates that the usefulness of writers of this kind is not ordinary, after de-
bunking and refuting the opposite opinion of those who claim that writers are of no use
at all and, moreover, hinder memory and increase the carelessness of men. He illustrates
the matter by means of the authority of a certain Egyptian Theuth, who maintains that
the invention of writing is a remedy for memory and wisdom.34
According to de Serres, writing is a very useful aid to wisdom (adiumentum sa-

pientiae longe utilissimum) and does not hinder memory at all (allata et refutata
eorum opinione qui existimant obesse memoriae). The only caveat is that the
written word should respect the dialectical method. Moreover, the potential
harm of writing is not mentioned at all. Plato’s criticism is entirely ignored. Of
course, the idea that writing is beneficial to memory has always been part of an
equally important tradition running parallel to Plato’s condemnation. For ex-
ample, Mary Carruthers refers to passages from Alcuin and Quintilian, where
Alcuin stresses practice in writing as one of the disciplines of memory and
Quintilian tries to counter Plato’s claim in the following way:35
On the other hand, I find that Plato asserts that the use of written characters is a hin-
drance to memory, on the ground, that is, that once we have committed a thing to writ-
ing, we cease to guard it in our memory and lose it out of sheer carelessness. And there
33 De Serres, Phaedrus 226: “Literarum inventio maximum et praesentissimum est remedium

adversus rerum oblivionem, et adiumentum sapientiae longe utilissimum.” I quote from the 1578
Geneva edition.
34 De Serres, Phaedrus 274: “Quod de oratione dixerat, idem de scribendo statuendum docet,
nimirum rerum veritatem esse cognoscendam atque adeo peraeque adhibendum esse illum ordi-
nem ex arte dialectica petitum, definitionis et divisionis ministerio, qua in re efficienda opus sit
summa industria et labore: ob eamque rem non esse temere scribendum, sed veluti arbores quae
futuro saeculo prosint, accurate seruntur, ita et victurum scriptum maximo et iudicio et labore
complantandum est. Non vulgarem autem huiusmodi scriptorum utilitatem esse docet, allata et
refutata eorum opinione qui existimant nullam esse scriptorum utilitatem, imo obesse memoriae,
et hominum incuriam augere. Rem autem Theuthis cuiusdam Aegyptii authoritate illustrat, affir-
mantis literarum inventum esse memoriae et sapientiae remedium.”
35 Carruthers 1990, 92, 179.
242 Guy Claessens
can be no doubt that concentration of mind is of the utmost importance in this connex-
ion; it is, in fact, like the eyesight, which turns to, and not away from, the objects which
it contemplates. Thus it results that after writing for several days with a view to acquiring
by heart what we have written, we find that our mental effort has of itself imprinted it in
our memory.36
Ironically, Quintilian’s reply does not offer a refutation of Plato’s argument. It

merely shows that Plato was right in making a distinction between memory
(μνήμη) and reminding (ὑπόμνησις).
Almost at the same time as de Serres made his remarkable comments
Plato’s criticism is interpreted in a radically different way too. In his De umbris
idearum of 1582, the Italian philosopher Giordano Bruno develops his highly
original hermetic art of memory, called as such because it was based on a book
allegedly handed over by Hermes Trismegistus.37 Bruno’s art of memory is
based on the concept of shadows of ideas38 and is built on the belief “that the
images of the stars are intermediaries between the ideas in the super-celestial
world and the sub-celestial elemental world.”39 In Bruno’s opinion, these shad-
ows are nearer to the Platonic Forms than the objects in the sensible world and
when manipulated by memory they can affect the physical world below, just as
stellar constellations influence physical objects. The crucial difference with tra-
ditional, artificial memory systems is the real and essential relation between
the memory images and the realities they signify. Consequently, Bruno’s art of
memory is much more than mere mnemotechnics in which any image can be
turned into a memory image.
In a brief passage from Bruno’s De magia, we catch a glimpse of this occult
and hermetic art of memory and its relation to writing:
Of that nature were letters, more conveniently defined by the Egyptians, who called them
hieroglyphs or sacred characters. In order to designate individual things, they had particular
images taken from things in nature or their parts. Such writings and words then originated
by means of which the Egyptians tried to converse with the gods for the accomplishment of
marvellous things. Afterwards, when letters of the kind we use today with another sort of
36 Quintilian, Inst. XI 2 (tr. Butler 1968, 217): “Quamquam invenio apud Platonem obstare me-
moriae usum litterarum? Videlicet quoniam illa quae scriptis reposuimus velut custodire desini-
mus et ipsa securitate dimittimus. Nec dubium est quin plurimum in hac parte valeat mentis
intentio et velut acies luminum a prospectu rerum quas intuetur non aversa; unde accidit ut quae
per plures dies scribimus ediscenda sint, cogitatio se ipsa contineat.”
37 On Bruno’s art of memory, see Yates 1966, 199–230.
38 It is difficult not to think of Plato’s famed allegory of the cave in this context.
39 Yates 1966, 216.
industry were invented by Theuth or someone else, a great fracture was brought about in
both memory and divine science and magic.40
Though Theuth is credited with the invention of letters, he is also held respon-
sible for the disappearance of a more original and sacred (sacri) form of writing,
hieroglyphs. Hieroglyphs consisted of images taken from things in nature and
were thus, in Bruno’s perspective,41 more intimately related to physical things
and to memory. Also, they were at least one step higher on the ladder of shad-
ows, as symbols of direct communication with the gods. Perhaps Bruno’s magi-
cal art of memory is very much a Platonic memory system after all. It does not
require the assistance of (phonetic) writing and uses images not as images, but
as shadows of ideas. It uses memory not to memorize, but to understand. It is
truly μνήμη, memory linked to learning.
Bruno’s interpretation is only made possible by a particular reading of
Phaedrus 274b–278e. In the Phaedrus, Theuth is said to be the inventor of writ-
ing, but it is not specified whether this type of writing is hieroglyphic, as the
historical and geographical setting could suggest, or phonetic. Still, it is safe to
say that Plato is opposing writing in general to oral communication and that
there is no real hint at an opposition between hieroglyphs and the phonetic al-
phabet since the distinction would not be relevant. However, there is a similar
passage in the Philebus, which may have influenced Bruno’s interpretation:
When someone, whether god or godlike man – there is a story that in Egypt it was some-
one named Theuth – observed that sound was infinite, he was the first to notice that the
vowel sounds in that infinity were not one, but many, and again that there were other
elements which were not vowels but did have a sonant quality, and that these also had a
definite number; and he distinguished a third kind of letters which we now call mutes.
Then he divided the mutes until he distinguished each individual one, and he treated the
vowels and semivowels in the same way, until he knew the number of them and gave to
each and all the name of letters.42
40 Bruno, De magia, III 411–412: “Tales erant litterae commodius definitae apud Aegyptios,
quae hieroglyphicae appellantur seu sacri characteres, penes quos pro singulis rebus designa-
ndis certae erant imagines desumptae e rebus naturae vel earum partibus; tales scripturae et
tales voces usu veniebant, quibus deorum colloquia ad mirabilium exequutionem captabant
Aegyptii; postquam per Teutum vel alium inventae sunt litterae secundum hoc genus quibus nos
hodie utimur cum alio industriae genere, maxima tum memoriae tum divinae scientiae et magiae
iactura facta est.” The passage is quoted in Yates 1964, 263 (the translation is my own).
41 Bruno’s interpretation of hieroglyphic writing is based on the belief that Egyptian hiero-
glyphs were symbols with hidden moral and religious meaning, instead of pictographic and
phonetic signs. See Yates 1964, 163.
42 Plato, Phil. 18b–d (tr. Fowler 1925, with modifications): “Ἐπειδὴ φωνὴν ἄπειρον κατενόησεν
εἴτε τις θεὸς εἴτε καὶ θεῖος ἄνθρωπος—ὡς λόγος ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ Θεῦθ τινα τοῦτον γενέσθαι λέγων
244 Guy Claessens
Most scholars understand the first sentence to say that the god or godlike man
(τις θεὸς εἴτε καὶ θεῖος ἄνθρωπος) and Theuth are one and the same person.43
This would mean that Theuth was also the inventor of the Greek phonetic al-
phabet. However, as Sylvain Delcomminette suggests,44 it makes more sense to
assume that Plato distinguished between Theuth as the inventor of Egyptian
phonetics and an unnamed deity as the inventor of the Greek alphabet. Though
such discussion may seem rather technical, the obscure nature of the sentence
could explain why Bruno considered Theuth the inventor of the Greek (and
Latin) alphabet, as do many modern scholars. Bruno’s reasoning might have
been: (1) Plato does not specify in the Phaedrus whether Theuth’s invention in-
cludes hieroglyphs, (2) Plato writes in the Philebus that Theuth invented the al-
phabet, (3) the Phaedrus only describes the invention of the alphabet. Therefore,
(4) Plato’s criticism of writing in the Phaedrus is a criticism of phonetic writing.
According to Bruno, the core of Plato’s argument is not the opposition between
memory and reminding, but rather the nature of the things that remind us
(ὑπομνήματα). If these ὑπομνήματα are not mere representations but resemblan-
ces, then the problem disappears and Plato’s criticism is no longer valid.45
At first sight, a similar approach appears to be taken by one of Bruno’s stu-
dents, Alexander Dickson. In his De umbra rationis et iudicii of 1583, the title of
which clearly echoes Bruno’s De umbris idearum, Dickson also provides the
—ὃς πρῶτος τὰ φωνήεντα ἐν τῷ ἀπείρῳ κατενόησεν οὐχ ἓν ὄντα ἀλλὰ πλείω, καὶ πάλιν ἕτερα
φωνῆς μὲν οὔ, φθόγγου δὲ μετέχοντά τινος, ἀριθμὸν δέ τινα καὶ τούτων εἶναι, τρίτον δὲ εἶδος
γραμμάτων διεστήσατο τὰ νῦν λεγόμενα ἄφωνα ἡμῖν· τὸ μετὰ τοῦτο διῄρει τά τε ἄφθογγα καὶ
ἄφωνα μέχρι ἑνὸς ἑκάστου, καὶ τὰ φωνήεντα καὶ τὰ μέσα κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον, ἕως ἀριθμὸν
αὐτῶν λαβὼν ἑνί τε ἑκάστῳ καὶ σύμπασι στοιχεῖον ἐπωνόμασε·”
43 They do not insert a dash between λέγων and ὃς, and directly link the relative pronoun to
Theuth.
44 Delcomminette 2006, 144–145n178.
45 In the first half of the eighteenth century, the English theologian William Warburton pro-
posed the exact same reading in his Divine Legation of Moses IV 4: “That this was, indeed, the
fact, appears from Plato’s account of Theuth’s inventions. He tells us that when Theuth came
to consult his master, king Thamus, about communicating his discoveries to the people, the
king declared particularly against communicating the invention of letters. But the reason he
gives for the prohibition, we see, was not the principal and more immediate, (as it rarely is
amongst politicians) but only a secondary, and more remote; namely, a regard to the interests
of hieroglyphic learning: for the king tells his secretary, that, if this secret should be divulged,
men’s attention would be called away from things, to which hieroglyphs, and the manner of
explaining them, necessarily attached it, and be placed in exterior and arbitrary signs, which
would prove the greatest hindrance to the progress of knowledge.” I quote from the 1765
London edition. This interpretation of hieroglyphs was based on Plotinus’ Enneads V 8 (31) 6
and Iamblichus’ De mysteriis Aegyptiorum 8.1: see Giehlow 1915, 23.
reader with an art of memory based on shadows of ideas. The opening pages of
Dickson’s work consist of a long dialogue between Thamus and Theuthates (the
Celtic version of the Egyptian Theuth) and largely reproduce the conversation
from the Phaedrus. Thamus repeatedly emphasises that writing is not a remedy
for memory, but for oblivion. According to him, the true art of writing consists
of writing in the soul with knowledge (in animo cum scientia scribere). After a
lively discussion between Thamus and Socrates, who is jokingly described as a
pedantic Sophist (sophista ille), Socrates asks Thamus to prove that people who
put their trust in written words study memory less:
SOC. “But, even if other people falsely accuse me, Thamus should be easier and friendlier.
Perhaps I could even ask your gratitude for my strong determination.”
THAM. “What do you mean, Socrates?”
SOC. “Obviously, persuaded by your authority, I have written nothing in my lifetime.”
THAM. “That is a malicious charge, since I did not claim that one should not write by any
manner or means, but that the study of memory should again take the place of the study
of writing. This man commits his thoughts to writing. That is something. Another man
does not, but relies instead on the study of memory. That is something greater. But I have
never approved of someone who does neither this, nor that.”46
Socrates then asks Thamus to reveal the real remedy for memory, if it is not
writing. It comes as no surprise that Thamus’ remedy appears to be the art of
memory developed by Dickson himself:
SOC. “Is it not the task of the same Thamus who has detected the cause of oblivion, to
also provide the remedy for memory? (. . .)
THAM. “But let it be as you wish, and I shall do what I have never been used to doing in
my life, and dispute about those matters that are contained within learning and reason.
And I shall revive on this earth the memory of memory, practiced, as you say, for so
many centuries, with you as a messenger (if that is what you want). For it is natural, in-
nate in our souls through the efficient power of this virtue, and it was born together with
thinking. When men observed it before the invention of Theutatus, they modelled it, and
46 Dickson, De umbra rationis et iudicii: “SOCRATES. “At, ut alii calumnientur, Thamus tamen
facilior et aequior esse debebat: tuamque fortasse gratiam, pro meo quodam et certo iudicio re-
petere possem.” – THAMUS. “Unde hoc o Socrates?” – SOCRATES. “Nempe tua authoritate in-
ductus, nihil in vita scripsi.”– THAMUS. “Calumnia est: neque enim absolute non scribendum,
sed in literarum locum memoriae studium reponendum esse contenderam. Hic igitur, sua sensa
literis commendat, aliquid est: non commendat, sed memoriae studiis incumbit: hoc etiam
maius. At qui nec hoc, nec illud, nulla hunc ratione probaverim.”
246 Guy Claessens
it was not the case that they needed writing and letters. It was brought about by the arts
of that teacher, that men would prefer it to be him whom they followed and of whom the
protection of memory had to be asked, rather than nature. Nonetheless, its decline fol-
lowed and human industry fell short of nature.47
According to Dickson, we should go back to the natural art of memory as it was

practiced before the invention of writing, an art that did not require writing and
letters and was based on shadows of ideas.
However, the question of what that original art of memory looked like re-
mains. Dickson’s introductory remarks look very promising, and initially even
make the reader believe that he could be dealing with a new Ficino or Bruno.
He describes the mind as ‘residing in the shadow of the light,’ but it immedi-
ately becomes clear that, as Dana Sutton puts it,48 Dickson’s ‘mystical lingo’ is
only a discursive strategy without philosophical content. Apparently, Dickson
merely uses Bruno’s terminology to embellish what is basically a very tradi-
tional mnemotechnical system. For instance, the ‘shadow’ or memory image of
a sword can be employed to represent the abstract idea of justice. In Dickson’s
system, a shadow is an eidetic image that stands in relation to its subject in the
same way as a metaphor to its object correlative and nothing more. The essential
and ontological bond between shadow and idea that was so central to Bruno’s
memory system is replaced by an artificial and superficial construction. Bruno’s
hermetic art of memory gives way to a collection of mnemotechnical tricks.
Conclusion
At first glance, Plato’s so-called condemnation of writing is not a major concern
of Renaissance readers of the Phaedrus whose interest lies more in the dia-
logue’s vast reservoir of myths and poetic images. In many instances, Plato’s
47 Dickson, De umbra rationis et iudicii: “SOCRATES. ‘An non igitur, eiusdem Thami est qui ob-
livionis materiam deprehenderit, memoriae quoque pharmacum exhibere? . . .’ – THAMUS. ‘. . .
Verum fiat sane quod exigis: faciamque, quod ne in vita quidem facere solebam, ut iis de rebus,
quae doctrina et ratione contineantur, disputarem: memoriaeque memoriam, tot, ut inquis, secu-
lis exactae, te etiam internuncio (siquidem hoc ita vis) in terris excitemus. (. . .) etenim naturalis
est, animis nostris insita virtutis huius efficientia, eaque simul cum cogitatione nata. Quam cum
ante Theutatis inventum homines intuerentur, expresserunt illi quidem: nec erat, ut literas et ele-
menta requirerent. Postea vero, quam doctoris illius artibus effectum esset, ut illum quam na-
turam, homines esse mallent quem sequerentur, et a quo memoriae praesidium petendum esset:
secuta declinatio est, defuitque naturae industria humana.’”
48 Sutton 2012.
criticism is downplayed, countered, or used as a transposable metaphor and an-

ticipations of the (post)modern emphasis on the paradoxical and self-referential
nature of this critique are clearly lacking. Instead, in the fifteenth and sixteenth
century the Phaedrus mainly appears to serve as a starting point to reassess and
revaluate the relation between memory and writing. One option, the one chosen
by Petrus Ramus, is to blur the sharp distinction drawn by Plato between mnēmē
and hypomnēsis within an art of memory that identifies the spatiality of writing
and printing with the divisional nature of dialectics. Since writing and printing
use the method of dialectics, they are virtually interiorized and the problem of
their externality disappears. Another option, preferred by Giordano Bruno, is to
reinterpret Plato’s condemnation of writing as a criticism of a particular kind of
writing. If the hypomnēmata are intrinsic and divine resemblances such as shad-
ows and hieroglyphs instead of artificial and phonetic representations, the oppo-
sition between mnēmē and hypomnēsis can be overcome. Bruno’s hermetic art of
memory wishes to restore an original form of writing from a time when writing
and memory coincided, before the pharmakon of Theuth.
Finally, even if the modern focus on the paradoxical and self-referential na-
ture of Plato’s condemnation of writing, which is not limited to Derrida,49 was
absent in Renaissance interpretations, it did provide the historical prejudice re-
quired to create the possibility of the unexpected.
49 Ferrari 1987, 204–232.

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David A. Russell (ed.) Antonine Literature, Oxford, 141–174.
262 Bibliography
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Index locorum
ALBINUS I 3, 406a12–15 53n
Isagoge in Platonem (Isag.) (ed. Reis) I 4, 408b13–15 47
1.16–19 141 II 1, 412a19–21 49
Testimonia et fragmenta (ed. Gioè) II 1, 412a20 57
T1 26n II 1, 412a21–22 43n
T4 26n II 2, 414a21 43n
T5 26n II 1, 412b5–6 43n
II 2, 414a15–17 46n
ALCINOUS De partibus animalium (De part. an.)
Didascalicus (Didasc.) (ed. Whittaker) II 10, 656a7–13 112n
5, 156, 24–33 28n Historia Animalium (Hist. an.)
10, 165.5 90 I 15, 494a20–b1 112n
Metaphysica (Metaph.)
ALEXANDER APHRODISIENSIS A 1, 983a2 221n
De Anima (De an.) Λ7 58n
6.3–6 50n Physica (Phys.)
Quaestiones (Quaest.) VII 3 49n
I 21, 35.6–7 50n Rhetorica (Rhet.) (ed. Ross)
I 21
ALEXANDER DICSONUS I1 22
De umbra rationis et iudicii 245n,246n I 4–15 22
I 1, 1354a1 9
AMMONIUS I 1, 1354b16–22 12
In Categorias (In Cat.) (ed. Busse) I 1, 1355a3–18 18, 19
8.6–10 139n I 1, 1355a5–6 12
I 1, 1355a8–9 19
I 1, 1355a11 20, 20n
APULEIUS
I 1, 1355a13–14 20n
De deo Socratis 120
I 1, 1355a14 16n, 20
De magia (Mag.)
I 1, 1355a14–15 16
42 99
I 1, 1355a21–29 23
64 90
I 1, 1355a26–29 20
De Platone 120
I 2, 1355b39 14
I 2, 1356a15–16 17
ARISTOTELES
I 2, 1356a16–17 12n
Analytica posteriora (An. post.)
I 2, 1357a1–4 16
I 2, 71b17–19 194n
I 2, 1357a11–12 16, 19n
Analytica priora
I 2, 1357a16–21 16
I 4, 25b26–27 20
I 2, 1357a23–33 17
I 26, 43a16–24 20
I 2, 1357a30–33 10
I 31, 48b36–40 20
I 3, 1358b1–2 23
De anima (De an.)
I 3, 1358b9–10 18n
I 2, 404a21–25 53n
I 11, 1369b33–35 9
I3 41, 44, 52, 53, 57, 58
https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110683936-016
266 Index locorum
II 14, 22 15 46n
II 1, 1377b20–21 23 20 47n
II 1, 1378a20 15
II 1, 1378a22–24 15 AUGUSTINUS HIPPONENSIS
II 2–17 14, 15, 22 De Civitate Dei (Civ. Dei)
II 2–26 15 X 29 126, 130, 130n
II 2, 1378b9–10 15 X 30 124, 127, 128
II 5, 1382a21–22 15 XII 27 125
II 18, 1391b7–8 23 XIII 16–20 124
II 18, 1391b8–12 18n XIII 19 128
II 20, 1394a4–5 18 XXII 27 129
II 22, 1395b25–26 16 De immortalitate animae (Imm. an.)
II 23, 1400b29–33 16–17 1.1 122
II 24, 1402a17–23 16n 3.3 123
II 26, 1404a34–1403b3 13 3.4 123n
III 1, 1403b6–8 13 4.5 123n
III 1, 1403b20 14 5.7 122
III 1, 1404a7–8 16, 19n 5.9 123n
III 7, 1408b20 11 6.11 122
III 13, 1414a37–38 12 7.12 123n
III 13, 1414b13–18 12 9.16 123n
III 14, 1415a25–26 16, 19n De Trinitate libri quindecim (Trin.)
III 14, 1415b8–9 11 IV 18.24 123
Sophistici elenchi X9 123n
2, 165a38–165b11 18n De vera religione liber unus (Vera rel.)
Topica (Top.) III 3 119
I 1, 100a19 19n Enarrationes in Psalmos (En. Ps.)
VIII 5, 159a25–26 18n 58 130
VIII 14, 164b8 19n 58, 1.18 129
Epistulae (Ep.)
ATHENAGORAS 118.3 120n
Legatio (Leg.) (ed. Schoedel) Retractationes
23, 7 91 I 4, 3 121
23, 9–10 91 Sermones (Serm.)
240 124
ATTICUS 240, 4 125
Fragmenta (ed. des Places) 241 124, 127
3.8–12 47n 241, 5 126
5 89 241, 6–7 125
7 3, 41, 44, 49 242 124
7.8 47n Soliloquia (Sol.)
7.9 47n I 14, 24 121
8 41 II 19, 33 122
9 41
9.1 42n BASILIUS MAGNUS
14 1n De opificio hominis
277A 115n36
Index locorum 267
BESSARION I 15, 67.4 98

In calumniatorem Platonis I 25, 165.3 105n
(In calumn.) I 28, 180.5 105n
I2 233n II 22, 133.2 105n
I 2, 1–6 233n IV 24, 155.2 92n
I3 233n V 3, 16.3–4 92
V 3, 16.4 sq 94
C. IULIUS CAESAR V 4, 19.2 97
De bello Gallico V 10, 65.1 105n
VI 14.4 234 V 10, 65.3 105
V 13, 83.1 99
CICERO V 14, 93.1 96n
De Legibus (De leg.) V 14, 105.2–106.2 104
II 8 120n V 14, 138.3 95
De Republica (De rep.) V 30, 5 97
III 33 120n VI 5, 41.5–44.1 103n
VI 119 VI 6, 44.4 103n
Orator (Orat.) VI 8, 68.1 103n
10 120n VII 2, 5.6 95n, 111
Tusculanae disputationes (Tusc.) VII 7, 40.1 99
I 21 48n VII 7, 46.7 99
I 41 47n
I 53 119, 122, 123 DAMASCIUS
IV 31 66n In Phaedonem (In Phd.)
§391 194n
CLEMENS ALEXANDRINUS In Philebum (In Phil.)
Paedagogus (Paedag.) §1–6 136n
I 5.15 111 §7 138n
Protrepticus (Protr.) §236.21–27 161n
III 44.2 110
IV 56.4 93 DAVID
VI 69.4–70.1 105n Prolegomena Philosophiae (Proleg.)
X 89.3 111 25.27–26.4 148n
ΧΙ 117.1–4 110
ΧΙΙ 121.1 110 DICEARCHUS
XII 122.3 111 Fragmenta (ed. Mirhady)
Stromata (Strom.) 19 48n
I 1, 1.1–3 107 20 47n
I 1, 4.3 98 21A 48
I 1, 11.1 108
I 1, 11.2 108 DIOGENES LAERTIUS
I 1, 14.2 108, 109 Vitae Philosophorum (Vit.)
I 1, 15.2 107 III 38 48, 146
I 5, 28.1 103n III 48 141
I 6, 37.1 103n V3 18n
268 Index locorum
ELIAS Matthaeus
In Categorias (In Cat.) 21.1–7 110
128.1–5 149n
128.27–129.1 139n GAIUS
131.10–13 136n Testimonia et fragmenta (ed. Gioè)
In Porphyrii Isagogen (In Isag.) T3 26n
10.13–17 148n T4 26n
T5 26n
ERASMUS
De lingua GALENUS
1–2 238n De constitutione artis medicae (CAM)
Moriae encomium (ed. Kühn)
433 237n I 224–304 32n
De libris propriis (Lib. prop.)
EUSEBIUS CAESARIENSIS (ed. Boudon-Millot)
Contra Hieroclem (C. Hier.) Prol. 4, 135.5-6 25n
45 102 II 1, 140.15–17 26n
Historia Ecclesiastica (Hist. Eccl.) V 4, 155.10 25n
V 10.1 87 XVI 1-3, 170.15-171.5 27n
VI 19.3 87 De methodo medendi (MM) (ed. Kühn)
Praeparatio evangelica (Praep. Ev.) I 32
XI Proem. 2 104 II 10, 145 30
XI 1 42n, 104 X 7–8 32
XI 1.2 45n X 13–14 31
XI 8.1 104, 105 X 14 29n, 32
XI 9–38 105 X 17–18 32
XI 28 43n X 901 29n
XII 5 105 XIII 11 29n
XII 31 105 De motu musculorum (Mot. musc.)
XIV 10.7 105 (ed. Kühn)
XV 4–13 42 IV 445 34n
XV 7.1–7 89 De naturalibus facultatibus (Nat. fac.)
XV 9 45, 50, 51, 52 II 27 25n
XV 9–11 45, 59 De optima doctrina (Opt. doc.) (ed. Kühn)
XV 9.5–6 45n III 1, 46–47 29n
XV 9.8 46 De placitis Hippocratis et Platonis (PHP)
XV 10 51, 57 I 37
XV 11.3 51 I-VI 25n
XV 11.4 46n II 28n
XV 13.1 42n II 1–4 33n
XV 22 42n II 3, 17 29n
II 4, 5–6 28n
EVANGELIA III 1, 20 35
Joannes III 8, 33 34n
4.14 95 VII 25n
Index locorum 269
VIII 1 25n In Hippocratis De natura hominis (ΗΝΗ)

VIII 3 25n (ed. Mewaldt)
VIII 9 25n 4.18–5.9 29
VIII 13 25n 54.13–25 29n
IX 25n, 28, 28n, 30, 30n, 32, 37, 37n, 38 Protrepticus (Protr.) (ed. Boudon)
IX 1, 1–3 32 III 1–3, 87.13–18 37
IX 1, 1–5, 10 33
IX 1, 4 33 GENESIS (Gen.)
IX 1, 5 33, 34 3.21 99
IX 1, 10–17 33
IX 1, 26 33
GEORGIUS TRAPEZUNTIUS
IX 2, 14–16 33
Comparationes Philosophorum Aristotelis et
IX 2, 15 34
Platonis (1523 Venice edition)
IX 2, 18–22 34
III 1 232n
IX 2, 20–21 34
IX 2, 23 33, 34
IX 2, 25–32 29n GREGORIUS NAZIANZENUS
IX 2, 31 29n Orationes
IX 5, 11 33n, 35 29 221n
IX 5, 13 33, 35 38 227
IX 5, 14–16 35
IX 5, 18–23 35 GREGORIUS NYSSENUS
IX 5, 24 33 De hominis opificio (De hom. opif.)
IX 5, 26 35 136B 112
IX 5, 27 33 144AC 112
IX 5, 28–35 35 148C 112
IX 5, 37 33 152CD 113
IX 6, 62–63 36 176B 112
IX 7, 1–5 34, 35 225 118
IX 7, 9–15 34 253B 112
IX 9 27 253C 112
IX 9, 6 34, 35 253BC 112
IX 9, 7 35 De virginitate
IX 9, 43–46 30 404B–405A 116
De praenotione ad Epigenem (Praen.) De vita Mosis
(ed. Kühn) 361D 115n
XIV 629 25n Dialogus de anima et resurrectione
XIV 649 25n (An. et res.) (ed. Spira)
De propriis placitis (Prop. plac.) (ed. Boudon/ 24A 111
Pietrobelli) 29A 112
13, 186.35–38 35 29B 112
15, 190.5 25n 32A 112
15, 190.15 25n 32B–C 113
De propriorum animi cuiuslibet affectuum et 36C–37B 113
peccatorum dignotione et curatione 36D–40A 112
(Aff. Dign.) (ed. De Boer) 44A 112
VIII 3–4, 28.9–15 26n 48B 112
270 Index locorum
49B 113 51.4–11 181n

49B–52A 114 53.29 180
56E 116 53.32–54.3 180n
72C–76B 112 55.8–10 179n
112C–113D 117 58.1–59.31 193n
In Inscriptiones Psalmorum 66.3 192n
477B–C 115 60.22–30 177n
In Ecclesiasten 65.24–66.3 192n
692C 115 66.16–30 183n
Orationes VIII de beatitudinibus 66.30–67.4 184n, 185n
1216C 115 67.14–17 185
67.22–26 185
HERMIAS 68.4–5 187
In Phaedrum (In Phdr.) (ed. Lucarini– 68.27–69.9 168
Moreschini) 68.28–69.5 195n
1.5–10 178n 70.2–3 187n
1.14–21 176n, 181n 77.9–15 185n
5.1 195n 83.29–31 195n
5.26 180n 85.14–28 186
9.4–5 180n 85.20–21 195n
9.13–10.9 175n 88.15–105.14 180n
9.13–13.27 136n 90.11–14 197n
10.4–7 135n, 137n 93.18–27 194n
10.4–9 135–136n 94.11–13 180n
10.24–26 180n 96.20–24 180n
10.29–11.10 180n 97.20–28 197n
11.9–10 180n 103.1–8 196n
11.11–20 105n 105.14–20 179n
12.14–16 135n, 137n 105.25–31 194n
12.14–13.5 136n 105.33–106.13 193
12.18–13.5 176 107.17–125.23 188n
12.18–30 177n 126.11–15 225n
12.30 176n 127.9–135.13 188n
13.6–14 138n, 179n 127.31–128.3 196
13.12–27 182 132.10–12 193n
13.29–14.1 181n 135.15–19 188n
14.9–12 199 136.4–10 222n
15.6–19 178n 136.10–15 226n
16.3–15 177n 138.14 195n
19.4 180 141.26–142.2 222n
30.14–26 169 142.24–25 222n
30.27–31.14 169 142.26 224n
31.24–30 169 143.13 224n
32.14–33.10 168 146.2–10 224n
35.19–36.9 180n 146.24–147.2 225n
38.18–22 137n 147.29–34 225n
42.21–23 181n 149.21–26 189n
Index locorum 271
151.29–152.6 189n HOMERUS

152.6–14 190n Odyssea
152.20–26 189 XI 602–603 163n
152.33–35 190
152.35–153.2 189 IAMBLICHUS
154.10–157.5 191n De mysteriis Aegyptiorum
157.2–5 191n 8.1 244n
157.7–16 191n In Alcibiadem I (In Alc.) (ed. Dillon)
158.4–9 191n Fr. 2 138n
158.24–159.3 192n In Phaedrum (In Phdr.) (ed. Dillon)
159.30–160.6 190n Fr. 1 175n
160.11–161.6 190n Fr. 1a-b 136n
160.27–31 196n
161.7–13 191n IOANNES SERRANUS
173.12–13 196n In Phaedrum (1578 Geneva edition)
174.1–7 162n 226 241n
178.30–179.23 184 274 241n
183.11–12 180n
186.7–20 193n IUSTINUS MARTYR
187.4–9 193n Apologia secunda (2 Apol.)
202.1–12 195n 12.1 103
205.1–17 178n Dialogus cum Tryphone (Dial.)
215.11–14 195n 3 90n
216.9–14 195n 4 90n
238.3–5 178n 4.1 91
239.13–240.2 178n 5.4 103n
242.18–29 135 56.1 93
271.10–18 234n 60.5 93
271.10–23 147n
271.12 149n LEONARDUS BRUNUS
272.2–7 148n De magia
272.7–15 148 III 411–412 243n
275.3–6 195n Epistulae (Ep.)
VI 1 231n
HIERONYMUS
Adversus Jovinianum Libri Duo (Adv. Jovin.) MARSILIUS FICINUS
II 7 121n Commentarium in Phedrum
Epistulae (Ep.) I ii 232n
69.3 121n III 235n
Commentum cum summis capitulorum
(PSEUDO-)HIPPOLYTUS XXXIIII 236n
Refutatio Omnium Haeresium (Ref.) XXXXVIIII 235n
VII 22, 10 98n LI 236n
272 Index locorum
METHODIUS OLYMPIENSIS Proem. §6, 5.19–22 138n

Symposium decem virginum (Symp.) 4 §3, 33.8 168n
8, 3 101 33 §3, 172.6–23 141n
8, 12 100 34 §4, 176.8–9 168n
44 §§3–7 170n
MICHAEL PSELLUS 49 §3, 260.7–8 168n
Orationes forenses et acta In Phaedonem (In Phd.) (ed. Westerink)
1.236–263 220n 10 §3, 141.1–6 194n
1.239 226n Prolegomena (Prol.)
Philosophica minora (Phil. min.) 13.36–14.1 148n
I 3, 42–48 221
I 3, 100–103 221n ORIGENES
II 7 219n Contra Celsum (C. Cels.)
II 7, 12.3–9 219n I 20 99
II 7, 12.12–13 221n 1 57 88n
II 7, 12.13–13.5 223n II 16 104
II 7, 13.5–25 224n III 80 94, 104
II 7, 14.4–8 225n IV 14 97n
II 7, 14.8–20 226n IV 23 104n
II 29, 106.30–107.3 227n IV 37–39 104
Scripta minora IV 39 104n
II 216.14–18 220n IV 39.47–51 104n
Theologica IV 40 99
I 23.56–60 221n V2 96n
I 88.67–70 227n V4 96
I 88.74–78 227n VI 2 105
VI 8–9 104n
MONTAIGNE VI 15–16 104n
Essais VI 19 92, 111
III 9 230n VI 20 94
VI 43 99
NUMENIUS VI 59 94
Fragmenta (ed. des Places) VI 64 92
43 117 VII 18 104
VII 31 104n
OLYMPIODORUS VII 42 104
In Alcibiadem (In Alc.) (ed. Westerink) VII 42.1 104
2.63–65 147n VII 43 104
2.155–162 152n VII 44 96
3.3–9.19 136n VII 58 104n
11.7–13.8 138n VIII 4 95
56.14–22 142 VIII 21 96
In Gorgiam (In Gorg.) (ed. Westerink) De principiis (De princ.)
Proem. §1, 1.7–19 141n II 11.6 95
Proem. §4, 3.1–20 136n III 3.3 99
Proem. §§5–6, 3.21–5.18 146n In Canticum Canticorum (ed. Fürst/Strutwolf)
Proemium 2, 1–3 104n
Index locorum 273
PETRUS RAMUS 110d–e 104n

De moribus veterum Gallorum (1559 Paris 111a3 94
edition) Phaedrus (Phdr.)
79–80 239n 229c–230a 5
80–85 240n 229c4–230a6 167
229d3–e4 34n
PHILOPONUS 229d6 170n
In Categorias (In Cat.) 229e6 170n
8.1–6 139n 230b2–5 220n
In De anima (In de an.) 231a 137n
69.30–70.2 170n 235e–236a 2
116.23–26 170n 235e5–236a6 13
236b6–c5 34
PLATO 237a7–b1 195
Alcibiades II (Alc. II) 237b7–c2 136
147b–c 159n 237b7–c3 28n
Charmides (Charm.) 238b7–c4 62
156c–157c 31n 238c5–d5 11
Cratylus (Crat.) 238c9–d3 192
396d2–8 11n 238d1 155n, 167n
398b 237 238d2–3 147n
Crito (Crit.) 240a10 96
49b–e 104n 241d1 192n
Epistulae (Epist.) 241d4–7 183n
II 312e 91 241e1–5 11, 192
II 312e1–2 93 241e1–242a2 183n
VII 341b–345c 108 241e3–5 155n
VII 341c4–5 235n 242a1–d2 186n
Gorgias 242b8–243e8 183n
464b1–465e1 9 242d4–243b9 185n
503–504 66n 242d7 185n
Ion 243a4–9 164
533d 158 243e–257b 3
533e 155, 158 243e9–257b6 187
534b–c 155n 244a–245c 154, 160
Leges 244a1–2 220n
III 682a 159n 244a3–245c2 180
IV 715e–716a 105n 244a5–6 219n
X 897a1–4 47 244d3 66n
X 897b–d 122 244d3–4 156n
Meno (Men.) 245a 5, 156, 158n
77b6–7 61 245a1 158
Phaedo (Phd.) 245a1–8 154
61a3 162n 245a3–4 157
69c 122 245a3–5 162n
95a 154n 245a5 157
105c–e 123 245a8 158n
274 Index locorum
245a5–8 162n 248e 165

245c 45, 56, 88, 102 248e–249b 127
245c–246a 4, 41, 60n, 119, 122 249b5–c1 64n
245c1 65 249c 98
245c5 66 249c4–5 220n
245c5–246a2 188 249c5–7 66n
245c7 59 249d1–2 82
245c7–8 53 249e4–250a2 64n
245c–246a 4, 41, 60n, 119, 122 250a1–b5 65n
246a3–246b4 188 250a5 66n
246a3–246b7 6, 219 250a5–b5 65n
246b 117 250b 95
246b8–c1 213n 250b–c 104
246c 101 250c2 66
246c–d 121 250d 165
246d 97 250d2–4 62
246d–e 101 250e 62n
246d2–256e2 179n 251 72
246d8–e1 200n 251a2–3 64
246e 91, 95, 118 252c–d 38
246e–257b 34n 252d1–2 38
246e4–247a2 6, 219 252d7–9 68
247a 96 253a3 66n
247a–c 96, 104 253c7 195
247a4–5 187 253c7–256e2 178n
247a8 94 254b5 66n
247a8–b1 62, 187 256a7–b3 64n
247b 94 257a3–b6 195
247b7 187 257b7 9
247b7–c1 187 257c 231
247c 89, 95 259b9 68
247c–e 118 259e7–260a4 16
247c3 65, 94,187 260c 237n
247c3–e8 199 260d4–9 16
247c4–d1 191n 261–262 36n
247c6–7 204, 205 261a–274b 3, 33, 38
247c6–d1 6, 200, 200n, 204, 206, 211, 261a7–9 18n, 22
213, 217, 218 261a7–e4 22
247c7 62, 191 261a7–262c4 16
247d 61, 101 261a8 173
247d–248a 3, 37 261e–262e 34
247d2 215 262a–263d 35
248b 129 262a5–7 33
248b7–c2 220n 262a9–11 34
248d 160 262a9–b1 33
248d–e 63, 155 263a2–d1 34
248d2–4 63 264a–b 137
Index locorum 275
264b–c 1 273d2–274a5 19
264c 134, 135, 137n 273d4 16n
264c1–5 11 273d6–e4 35
264c2–5 173 273d7–e4 15
264c3 135n 274b 134
265c5–266c5 15, 19 274b–278e 146, 233, 243
265c8–e3 35 275c5–d2 108
265d4–5 21n 275d 134, 148
265d5–7 21n 276b5 109
265d–e 65 276e4–277a4 19
265e 138, 138n 273e5–8 22
265e–266a 134 276a 134, 148
266b–c 65 276a–e 108
266b5–7 65 276e 134
266e 237 276e4–277a2 108
266e2–267a2 12 277b5–c6 19
268a–c 139n 277b8–c1 15
268a6 13 277c1–2 151n
268a8–c4 17 278a 134
268d3–5 11 278a6–b3 107
269b4–c5 13 278a7 14
269b5–7 19 278c–e 143
269c–d 36n 279c 111
269c–270d 31n, 32, 38 Philebus (Phil.)
269c2–3 11 17b3–18d2 35
269d4–5 17, 19 18b–d 243n
270b 139n 29c sq 144n
270b1–10 17 42d5–7 9
270c1–d7 28, 29n, 30, 64c–65b 160n
31, 36 64e5–6 61
270c–d 26, 26n Politicus (Pol.)
270c9 36 304d4–10 17
270c9–d7 31 Protagoras (Prot.)
271c10–272b2 35 311c 31n
270e4–271a1 22 Respublica (Resp.)
271a–b 2 I-IX 62
271a4–c1 14 II 378b–380c 122
271a4–272b4 19 II 378d 159n
271c10 22 III 386a–387c 163
271c10–d4 15 III 394b3–398b7 141n
271c10–272b4 14 V 462a3–4 166n
271d4 19n VI 61
271e2–272a8 15, 17 VI 509b 91n
273b3–d8 16n VII 121
273d2–8 16 X 104, 124
276 Index locorum
X 597b 142n 87c4–5 61

X 597e 154n 90a–b 112n
X 601a–b 155 90b1–d7 150n
X 601b–602b 155 92c 141
X 603b–d 155 92c8 142n
X 617e 102, 122 92c4–9 142n
Sophista (Soph.)
235b–236d 155 PLINIUS
248d–256e 55 Naturalis Historia
Symposium (Symp.) XXIX 5.9 32n
178b–c 110n XXIX 8.26–27 32n
193a–b 110n
202e 96 PLOTINUS
209e–212a 199 Enneades (Enn.) (ed. Henry-Schwyzer, editio
209e5–212a7 176n, 179n minor)
210a1 82 I 1 (53) 12 69n
211a 199n Ι 1 (53) 13.4–5 56n
211c3 176n I 2 (19) 2 77n
211e3–4 69 I 2 (19) 2.24 69n
Theaetetus (Theaet.) I 2 (19) 4.14 69n
176a–b 37n, 121, 126 I 3 (20) 4.11 129
176a5–b3 150n I 6 (1) 66, 82
176b 122 I 6 (1) 1.49–50 67
184d–185b 112 I 6 (1) 2.2 67n
Timaeus (Tim.) I 6 (1) 2.3–11 69n, 71
27d5–29d3 142n I 6 (1) 2.4 67n
27d6–28a4 211 I 6 (1) 2.10–11 70
28a1–4 215 I 6 (1) 2.13 67
28c 90n, 92, 120 I 6 (1) 3 79n
29a 142n I 6 (1) 3.3 67
29c–d 34 I 6 (1) 3.4–5 67
29e 34n, 122 I 6 (1) 4.8 82n
30b 34n I 6 (1) 5.5 68
30b5–6 142n I 6 (1) 5.42 67
31b1 212n I 6 (1) 5.57–58 67
35a 225n I 6 (1) 6.14 67
36e2 59 I 6 (1) 6.16–18 68
37c 66n I 6 (1) 6.21–25 68
40d 159n I 6 (1) 8.26 74, 75n
41a7 224n I 6 (1) 9.7–14 68n
41b 103n I 6 (1) 9.34–36 82n
45a–b 112n I 6 (1) 9.41 56n
47a–d 62 I 7 (54) 1.15 56n
48d 34n II 5 (25) 3.40 56n
55d 34n II 9 (33) 4 98n
56a 34n II 9 (33) 16 66n
57d 34n III 5 (50) 71, 82
Index locorum 277
III 5 (50) 1.16–19 71n V 5 (32) 8.3–4 86n

III 5 (50) 1.30–36 72n V 5 (32) 12.13 85n
III 5 (50) 1.44–46 82n V 5 (32) 12.16–17 85n
III 5 (50) 9.42–44 71n V 5 (32) 12.38 85n
III 6 (26) 3.22–26 56–57 V 6 (24) 5.9–10 58n
III 7 (45) 78, 81 V 8 (31) 82, 83
III 7 (45) 1.20–24 76n V 8 (31) 8.1–7 83n
III 7 (45) 11.15–16 75n V 8 (31) 9.7–22 78n
III 7 (45) 11.27–32 75n V 8 (31) 9.37–41 83n
III 8 (30) 10.27 56n VI 2 (43) 4 55
IV 3 (27) 25.27–34 72n VI 2 (43) 5–7 43n
IV 3 (27) 30.5–11 77n VI 2 (43) 6.6–8 56n
IV 3 (27) 30.31 77n VI 2 (43) 7.2–5 55n
IV 3 (27) 31.9–16 77n VI 2 (43) 7.24–27 55n
IV 4 (28) 15 76n VI 3 (44) 23.1–5 55n
IV 4 (28) 23 77n VI 4 (22) 2.14–15 59
IV 4 (28) 45.15 69n VI 6 (34) 9.38 55n
IV 7 (2) 42n, 43, 81 VI 7 (38) 84
IV 7 (2) 1–8 42n VI 7 (38) 13.34 129
IV 7 (2) 8 50 VI 7 (38) 22.17 84n
IV 7 (2) 8.1–9 51, 51n VI 7 (38) 22.21–36 84n
IV 7 (2) 9 57 VI 7 (38) 23.21 56n
IV 7 (2) 9.1–10 43n VI 7 (38) 32.31–34 85n
IV 7 (2) 9.6–9 58 VI 7 (38) 33.21–22 83n, 86n
IV 7 (2) 10.1 69n VI 9 (9) 9.2 56n
IV 7 (2) 10.15–16 75n VI 9 (9) 11.31 56n
IV 7 (2) 11 58n VI 7 (38) 83
IV 7 (2) 12.4–8 73n VI 7 (38) 33.21–22 83n
IV 7 (2) 12.8–11 73n
IV 7 (2) 13.19 75n PLUTARCHUS
IV 7 (2) 19–20 75n Platonicae quaestiones (Quaest. Plat.)
IV 8 (6) 77 1004C–D 97
IV 8 (6) 4.28–33 78n Quaestiones convivales (Quaest. conv.)
V 1 (10) 1.1–3 81n 679E 97n
V 3 (49) 78, 81 718F 98
V 3 (49) 1–2 81n
V 3 (49) 2.2–14 80n PORPHYRIUS
V 3 (49) 3.16–17 79 De regressu animae 119, 127, 129
V 3 (49) 3.44–45 81n
V 3 (49) 4.1–4 80n PROCLUS
V 3 (49) 4.3–4 81 Elementatio theologica (El. theol.)
V 3 (49) 6.26–28 70n (ed. Dodds)
V 3 (49) 7.29–31 67n §§30–35 181n
V 5 (32) 85 §64, 62.6–7 207
V 5 (32) 6.5–6 85n §103 161
V 5 (32) 6.15 85n §108, 96.9–22 206
V 5 (32) 7.34 86 §109, 96.23–25 206
278 Index locorum
§126, 113.14–15 202 VI 1127.29–1128.28 204n

§166, 144.9–21 207 In Rempublicam (In Remp.) (ed. Kroll)
§166, 144.11–21 207 I 6.7–12 135n
§167, 144.22–25 210 I 6.24–7.1 140
§167, 144.22–146.15 210n I 6.25–7.1 138n
§175, 154.1–2 207 I 6.28 140
§177, 156.1–2 209 I 7.5–14.14 136n
§181, 158.29–33 207 I 9–12 137n
§183, 160.13–15 208 I 42.28–43.3 162n
§§183–185 208 I 49.13– 54.2 141n
In Alcibiadem (In Alc.) (ed. Segonds) I 56.20–60.13 162n
5.15–9.18 136n I 57.8–9 162n
10.4–5 144 I 57.17 162
10.6–23 144 I 57.25–29 162n
11.22–18.12 138n I 58.28–59.1 162
13.20–28 138n I 59.3–16 162
13.20–14.27 140 I 59.20–60.6 162
18.15–20 135n I 68.3–69.19 150n
32.9–16 181n I 69.23–70.7 153
45.4 181n I 79.18–26 158n, 159
51.1–6 179n I 81.27–86.23 170n
65.11–15 212n I 82.20–83.7 170n
65.15–19 208 I 84.12–19 158n
65.17–21 215n I 101.30–102.10 164n
65.20–66.6 212n I 110.7–10 164n
71.3–15 208n I 120.15–16 163n
76.20–78.6 212n I 120.22–121.3 164
76.26–77.4 207 I 140.11–19 163
77.10–11 206n I 140.14–17 158n
170.1–171.6 141n I 148.25–149.13 170n
246.18–247.2 212 I 151.24–153.20 170n
In Cratylum (In Crat.) (ed. Pasquali) I 158.30–159.6 164
§1 136n I 159.10–163.9 143n
In Parmenidem (In Parm.) (ed. Steel) I 161.30–162.2 158n
I 630.15–25 135n I 166.12–24 197n
I 630.15–645.6 136n I 166.12–167.9 164n
I 634.5–13 138n I 168.3–169.24 164
I 659.9–17 135n I 172.9–12 164
IV 853.19–20 215n I 172.14–16 163n
IV 924.26–28 211 I 173.11–17 164n
IV 925.17–25 215 I 173.26–174.4 165
IV 944.15–16 200n I 174.5–21 165
IV 945.3–6 217 I 174.21–175.3 165
IV 948.26–30 216 I 175.3–22 165
IV 949.15–27 216 I 175.29–179.3 161n
VI 1059.3–15 145n I 177.7 196n
VI 1080.14–17 214 I 177.14–178.5 159, 197n
Index locorum 279
I 177.15–23 159 I 245.6–7 209

I 178.6–179.32 155n I 245.8–9 216n
I 178.11–179.3 197n I 245.13–25 207
I 178.24–25 156n I 245.19–20 212n
I 178.28–29 156 I 245.24 212
I 178.29–179.3 160n I 245.24–25 212
I 179.9–15 157 I 245.25–31 215
I 180.17–181.2 156 I 245.26–27 206n
I 181.5 156n I 245.29 210
I 181.13 156 I 246.8 213
I 181.17–19 156 I 246.26–31 212
I 181.20 157 I 247.4–5 212
I 181.30–182.4 157 I 247.11–25 212–213
I 182.6–13 158n I 247.27–248.1 216
I 182.16–20 156n I 248.1–6 214
I 182.19–20 157 I 254.29–255.3 212n
I 182.21–183.8 158 I 301.22–302.25 216n
I 183.27–184.2 158 I 302.14 216n
I 184.7–10 158 I 302.20–21 216n
I 185.8–186.21 159n I 339.22–29 150n
I 190.20–25 157 II 289.30–290.1 214
I 191.19–25 157n III 234.9–18 46n
I 192.6–195.12 165n III 247.12–15 1n
I 196.14–199.28 165n III 247.15 41n
I 198.25–199.14 143n III 269.15–270.16 212n
I 199.3–10 143 III 276.19–22 201
I 295 18–28 161n Theologia platonica (Theol. Plat.)
In Timaeum (In Tim.) (ed. Diehl) (ed. Saffrey/Westerink)
I 1.4–4.5 136n I 3, 15.6–17.7 199n
I 4.6–7.16 138n I4 188n, 195n, 197n
I 5.11–17 144n I 4, 17.9–20.25 166n
I 5.13–17 144 I 4, 17.25–18.9 199
I 77.24–78.1 135n I 4, 17.25–18.12 167n, 170, 200n
I 202.25–28 144n I 4, 19.1 199n
I 227.4–5 211n I 4, 21.1–22.11 166n
I 227.6–234.3 211n I 4, 22.11–17 167
I 231.20–23 212 I 4, 22.17–23.11 168
I 233.2–3 205, 212n I 5, 25.3–23 200n
I 234.13–235.1 212n I 7, 31.3–5 199n
I 236.20–21 212n I 19, 90.23–26 214n
I 240.13–16 211n I 19, 93.9–12 213n
I 240.28–241.30 211n I 22–24 200n
I 244.6 209 II 11, 64.11–65.26 199n
I 244.11–29 209 III 5, 19.16–24 208
I 244.17 213 III 6, 21.26–27 215n
I 244.26–30 209 III 8–27 203
I 244.28–30 213 III 11, 43.12–22 161
280 Index locorum
III 11, 43.20–22 161n IV 15, 45–48 204n

III 13, 62.14–63.21 161 IV 20, 59.11–12 214
III 13, 63.16–21 160, 161n IV 23, 69.12–15 201
III 15, 53.9–10 199n IV 23, 69.16–25 206n
III 18, 63.22–24 199n IV 27, 79.15–80.6 202n
III 22, 78.16–20 200n V 6, 26.12–15 214n
III 22, 80.7–27 199n V 13, 43.18–44.17 202
III 27, 94.5–10 209n VI 2, 11.9–30 202
III 27, 98.22–99.9 208n VI 3, 16.24–27 214
III 28, 100.1–9 205n VI 18–22 224n
III 30.15–102.6 203n
IV 1, 6.10–12 202n
PROLEGOMENA IN PLATONIS PHILOSOPHIAM (Proleg.)
IV 3, 16.1–17 205
(ed. Westerink–Trouillard)
IV 3, 16.1–17.14 202n
1.37–46 152n
IV 1–4 191n
3.3–5 147n
IV 5 201
8.24–31 137n
IV 5, 21.6–22.8 170
13.4–14 146, 148, 149
IV 5, 21.21–22 190n
13.13–23 150
IV 6, 22.19–23.4 191n
14.3–5 141
IV 6, 22.21–22 206
14.11–19 141n
IV 6, 22.22–23.4 210
15.3–16 141
IV 6, 22.24–23.4 206n
15.10–17 149n
IV 6, 23.11 202n
15.19–20 142
IV 6, 23.16–20 205
15.40–48 149n
IV 9 189n
16.1–17.48 143
IV 9, 28.24–27 199n
16.4–5 144
IV 10, 31.23–25 206n
16.6–7 143
IV 10, 31.23–32.6 203
16.8–59 138n, 144
IV 10, 32.27 203, 205
17.1–18 144
IV 10, 33.17–24 191n
17.19–29 144
IV 11, 35.17–20 203
17.30–31 138n
IV 11, 35.20–36.13 203
17.30–33 144
IV 11, 37.25–27 204
17.38–39 144
IV 11, 38.22 204
17.40–48 145
IV 11, 38.25–26 204
20.1–22 152n
IV 12, 39.2–42.12 204
21.1–7 136
IV 12, 39.4–19 204
21.16–17 136
IV 12, 39.22–40.12 204
21.18–25 137
IV 12, 40.13–17 204
21.2 136
IV 13, 42.18–22 204
24.2–25.36 146
IV 13, 42.23–43.13 205
24.7–10 147n
IV 13, 42.23–43.22 191n
24.10–12 147n
IV 14, 43–45 204n
26.16–44 199n
IV 13, 43.14–22 206n
27.1–83 166n
IV 13, 43.14–23 210
Index locorum 281
PSALMI (Ps) STOICORUM VETERUM FRAGMENTA (SVF)

33.6 129 (ed. von Arnhim)
148.4–5 93 II 70 34n
II 458 34n
QUINTILIANUS III 278 66n
Institutiones (Inst.)
XI 2 242n SYNODICON ORTHODOXIAE
220–225 227n
RABELAIS
Pantagruel SYRIANUS
ch. 18 232n Ιn Hermogenis librum Peri staseon
(In Peri stas.) (ed. Rabe)
SANCTI PAULI APOSTOLI 10.22–11.2 138n
Epistula ad Galatas (Gal.) In Metaphysicam (In Metaph.) (ed. Kroll)
3.28 97 105.36–106.2 46n
Epistula ad Hebraeos (Heb.)
105.14 96 TATIANUS
Epistula ad Romanos (Rom.) Oratio ad Graecos (Orat. Ad Gr.)
1.20 94 20, 2 98n
8.14–15 88n
TERTULLIANUS
SEXTUS EMPIRICUS Ad Nationes
Adversus mathematicos (M) II 7 121
VII 177 34n De anima
1–3 106n
SIMPLICIUS
In Categorias (In. Cat.) WILLIAM WARBURTON
8.25–30 139 Divine Legation of Moses (1765 London
78.14 49n edition)
In Physicam (In Phys.) IV 4 244
1248.23–30 60n
Index nominum
Abbate, M. 223n, 224n Crouzel, H. 95n, 100n
Alfeche, M. 127n Crubellier, M. 9n, 18n
Allen, M.J.B. 232, 235n Curtis, T.A. 33n
Andresen, C. 91n, 94n, 97n
Annas, J. 49n D’Ancona, C. 43n, 50n, 51n, 57n
Apostolopoulos, C. 105n, 111n Dalsgaard Larsen, B. 133n, 135n
Athanassiadi, P. 170n Dawson, D. 107n
Aubry, G. 55n, 57n, 58n, 156n De Lacy, P.H. 27n, 33n, 35–36
De Pater, W.A. 21n
Baltes, M. 41n, 45n, 46n de Serres, J. 240–242
Baltzly, D. 11n, 135n, 150n, 175n, 176n, Debru, A. 35n
184n, 234n Delcomminette, S. 2n, 21n, 244
Barney, R. 61n Demerson, G. 232n
Bernard, H. 173n, 175n, 177n Denniston, J.D. 74n
Bielmeier, P.A. 173n Derrida, J. 7, 147n, 229, 247
Blumenthal, H.J. 43n, 70–71, 75 Destrée, P. 154n
Borret, M. 93 Deuse, W. 45n
Boys-Stones, G. 45n, 46, 105n d’Hoine, P. 2n, 5, 11n, 145n, 154n, 174n,
Bradshaw, D. 103n, 105 209n, 219n, 230n
Brisson, L. 74n, 141n, 151n, 168n Dickson, A. 244–246
Brouwer, R. 3n Diller, H. 25n
Brunschwig, J. 9n, 21n Dillon, J.M. 26n–27n, 61n, 70n, 133n,
Buckley, T. 188n 135n–136n, 138n, 175n
Burnet, J. 9n Dodds, E.R. 207n
Burnyeat, M. 17n Donini, P.L. 27n
Bussanich, J. 127n Dörrie, H. 41n, 47n, 48n
Butler, H.E. 242n Dow, J. 13n, 19n, 20n, 23n
Butterworth, G.W. 103, 105n, 106, Dufour, M. 14n
109n, 110 Dufour, R. 85n
Duke, E. 9n
Cardullo, L. 166n Düring, I. 14n
Carruthers, M. 241
Caston, V. 48n, 49n Emilsson, E.K. 48n, 55n, 77n, 81n
Chadwick, H. 92n Emmett, L. 109n
Chiaradonna, R. 27n, 35n, 41n, 42n, 45n,
49n, 51n, 54, 55n, 58 Fantham, E. 238n
Chiron, P. 18n, 20n Ferrari, F. 41n
Clucas, L. 222n Ferrari, G.R.F. 108n, 109n,
Cole, T. 16n 116n, 247n
Collette, B. 55n Festugière, A.-J. 94n, 132n, 199n,
Combès, J. 160, 161n 207n, 211n
Cope, E.M. 12n Flamand, J.-M. 70n
Corrigan, K. 71n, 116n Fleet, B. 70n, 74n
Coulter, J.M. 11n, 134, 141 Fortenbaugh, W.W. 10n, 13n
https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110683936-017
284 Index nominum
Fortier, S. 6, 41n, 153n, 154n, 160n, 166n, Jahn, A. 221n

167–168, 173n–174n, 192n, 201n, 202n, Joly, R. 91n
206n, 211n, 223n Jouanna, J. 25n, 29n, 31n
Fowler, H.N. 89, 243n
Frede, M. 105n Kalligas, P. 50n, 70n
Früchtel, L. 107n Karamanolis, G. 4, 41n, 42n, 47n, 103n,
Fürst, A. 104n 104n, 105n, 111n
Karfik, F. 76n
Gavray, M.-A. 2n, 5, 61n, 131n Kneale, M. 66n
Gersh, S. 120n Kollesch, J. 25n
Gerson, L.P. 85n, 181n
Gertz, S.R.P. 52n, 60n Lacrosse, J. 71n
Gibbons, K. 107–109 Lamberton, R. 153, 157, 159, 163n,
Giehlow, K. 244n 164, 196n
Gioè, A. 26n Le Boulluec, A. 92n, 94n
Giusta, M. 90n Lecerf, A. 54n
Goebel, G.H. 16n Levi, A.H.T. 237n
Gomperz, T. 14n Lévy, C. 120
Gonzalez, F.J. 155n Lilla, S.R.C. 92n
Gottschalk, H.B. 47n Longo, A. 50n, 60n
Goulet-Cazé, M.-O. 50n Lucarini, C.M. 1, 168, 175n, 176n, 222n
Graeser, A. 66n Luna, C. 200n, 217n
Griffin, M. 49n, 142
Grimaldi, W.M.A. 14n, 20n MacIsaac, D.G. 212
Madec, G. 120n
Hackforth, R. 21n Manetti, D. 25n
Hadot, I. 47n, 132n, 139n, 140n Roselli, A. 25n
Hadot, P. 70n, 72n Manolea, C.P. 173n
Ham, B. 70n, 79n Mansfeld, J. 48n, 132n, 140n
Hankins, J. 231n, 232n, 233n, 236n Markschies, C. 93
Hankinson, R.J. 26n, 29n, 30–31 Martijn, M. 181n
Harig, G. 25n McGrath, E. 231n
Havet, E. 14n Méhat, A. 93n
Havrda, M. 107n Menini, R. 231n
Heath, M.F. 11n Menn, S. 49n–50n, 52n, 53, 60n
Heidegger, M. 9 Merlan, P. 47n
Helmig, C. 180n Michalewski, A. 3, 43n, 47n
Hermann, F-G. 154n Mohler, L. 233n
Hoffmann, P. 132n Mondésert, C. 87n
Hunter, R.L. 2n Monfasani, J. 233n
Hyldahl, N. 91n Montet, D. 55n
Moraux, P. 18n, 25n, 50n
Ierodiakonou, K. 219n Moreschini, C. 1n, 4, 41n, 88n, 168, 173n,
Igal, J. 70n–71n, 74n 175n, 176n, 222n
Iozzia, D. 66n Mosquera, G. 20n
von Ivánka, E. 103n Moss, J. 133n, 173–174, 177n
Index nominum 285
Motta, A. 131n, 132n, 141n, 148n, 152n Schütrumpf, E. 14n

Moutsopoulos, E.A. 213n Scott, D. 64n, 65n
Movia, G. 49n Screech, M.A. 230n, 232n
Mras, K. 47n Sedley, D.N. 37n
Segonds, A.-P. 212n, 217n
Noble, C.I. 57–58, 59n Share, M. 207, 209, 213
Nutton, V. 32n Sharples, R.W. 47n, 48n, 49n
Sheppard, A. 153n, 156n, 160n, 162, 170n,
O’Daly, G.J.P. 123n 196n, 197n, 223n
O’Meara, D.J. 55n, 56n, 58n, 173n Simmons, S.B. 126–127
O’Neill, W. 207 Simonetti, M. 95, 100n
Opsomer, J. 41n, 59n, 60, 197n Signer, P. 27n
Orbe, A. 98 Sinnige, T.G. 74n
Sleeman, J.H. 72n
Pellegrin, P. 9n, 18n Smith, A. 86n
Perdikouri, E. 76n Smith, W.D. 25n
Pernot, L. 18n Spira, A. 113n
Perrone, L. 87n Stählin, O. 94, 103n
Petit, C. 33n Steel, C. 184n, 200n, 204n, 211, 214–217
Pollet, G. 72n Stern-Gillet, S. 3, 66n, 71n
Poncet, C. 231n Stover, J.A. 120n
Pottier, B. 111n, 114n Strutwolf, H. 104n
Pouderon, B. 92 Sutton, D. 246
Praechter, K. 173n
Tarrant, H. 175n, 234n
Ramelli, I. 103n, 104n Tieleman, T. 3, 25n, 26n, 27n, 28n, 31n, 33n,
Ramus, P. 7, 239–240, 247 34n, 37n, 38n
Rankin, D. 103n Torjesen, K.J. 104n
Rapp, C. 9n, 10n, 18n, 19n, 20n Trabattoni, F. 43n, 46n, 49n
Rashed, M. 42n, 46n, 49n, 50n, 51n, Trapezuntius, G. 232–233
53n, 200n Trapp, M.B. 28n, 106n, 109n
Ravaisson, F. 52 Trouillard, J. 132n, 137n, 144n, 151n, 166n,
Riegel, N. 61n 170n, 213n
Robichaud, D.J.-J. 234n
Rocca, J. 27n, 33, 36n, 37n Van den Berg, R.M. 41n, 192n, 196n,
Roskam, G. 180n 197n, 216n
Ross, W.D. 9n Van der Eijk, P. 25n
Rowe, C.J. 63n, 206 Van Riel, G. 5, 120n, 156n
Runia, D.T. 1n, 207, 209, 213 Vargas, A.L.C. 180n
Vegetti, M. 26n, 37n
Saffrey, H.D. 153, 173n Vuillemin, J. 54
Sandys, J.E. 12n
Saulnier, V.-L. 230n Walker, D.P. 233n
Schleiermacher, F.D.E. 147n Wallis, R.T. 74n
Schoedel, W.R. 91, 92n Warburton, W. 244n
286 Index nominum
Werner, D.S. 108n Woerther, F. 15n, 16n

Westerink, L.G. 132, 136–137, 141, Wyrwa, D. 88n, 105n, 108n
144n, 146, 148, 150, 151n,
161n, 173n Yates, F.A. 240n, 242n, 243n
Wilberding, J. 127n Yunis, H. 177n, 192n, 211n, 230n

The Reception of Plato's Phaedrus From Antiquity

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The Reception of Plato’s Phaedrus from Antiquity to the Renaissance

Beiträge zur Altertumskunde

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020933299

Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek

© 2020 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston

Gerd Van Riel

Index Locorum 265

Index Nominum 283

1 See the new critical edition by Lucarini & Moreschini 2012.

Socrates’ program for a scientific rhetoric exposed at Phaedrus 271a–b. Finally,

8 See however the interesting study of Brouwer 2008.

Suzanne Stern-Gillet tackles Plotinus’ reception of the Phaedrus from an en-

in Socrates’ criticism of the allegorical interpretation of the story of Boreas and

Psellos’ comments are heavily (but tacitly) dependent on Hermias’ commentary on

Nicolas Zaks, FWO/KU Leuven – FNRS/ULB

1 The Influence of the Phaedrus on Rhetoric III

5 See, for instance, Fortenbaugh 2006, 383–387.

11 As is noted by Cope & Sandys 1877, 160.

2 The Influence of the Phaedrus on Rhetoric II

At 271c10–272b4, Socrates repeats these points and adds a fourth one:

16 See Woerther 2007, 262–267.

Moreover, the often-alleged oppositions between Aristotle’s and Plato’s concep-

3 The Influence of the Phaedrus on Rhetoric I

30 In connection to dialectic, Aristotle also speaks of ‘logical’ deductions (τοὺς λογικοὺς

33 See De Pater 1965; Brunschwig 1967, XLVIII–L; Delcomminette 2018.

Teun Tieleman, Utrecht University

tradition of good philosophy-cum-medicine as he saw it.5 Progress consists in

2 Galen and Plato. Galen and Platonism

3 Phaedrus 270c1–d7: Plato and the Hippocratic

But you have not practiced in these things, so as to come to an understanding of

23 Cf. Tieleman 2018.

4 PHP IX: The Phaedrus and the Methods

30 See also supra, n. 19 with text thereto.

In sum, the technique of division is absolutely basic, as is demonstrated here

39 Rather than Phdr. 261–262, as De Lacy ad loc. suggests.

5 Galen’s Protrepticus and the Phaedrus Myth

in fact indicated by Plato at Phdr. 252c–d. Thus he writes at 252d1–2: “So it is

Alexandra Michalewski, CNRS, Centre Léon Robin

the devastating consequences of Aristotelian psychology, which inevitably leads to

essentially as a polemical rhetorician, but also by the internal evolution of the

1 The Criticism of the Peripatetic Conceptions

Aristotelian intellect is not an argument in favour of a conciliatory reading of Plato

Thus, the soul’s immobility entails multiple disastrous consequences,21 as it abol-

immobile entelechy account for psychic operations such as learning or thinking,

28 For an analysis of the term hypostasis, see Dörrie 1976, 42–43.

dualist thinkers.34 To go back to the polemical association established by Atticus

The criticism of the non-substantial feature of the Aristotelian eidos, which

Atticus, as we have seen, attacks Aristotle for advancing a doctrine systemati-

2 The Causality of the Plotinian Soul

systémique à la doctrine aristotélicienne de l’energeia”.58 Many new exegetical

58 Chiaradonna 2008, 471.

Καὶ γὰρ ὅταν λέγωμεν κινεῖσθαι αὐτὴν ἐν ἐπιθυμίαις, ἐν λογισμοῖς, ἐν δόξαις, οὐ

65 Enn. VI 2 (43) 6.6–8.

69 Noble 2016, 244.

subordinated to the analysis of motion in the intelligible world. From Plotinus’

79 Enn. VI 4 (22) 2.14–15.

occurs in Plotinus and Porphyry and is systematised by Iamblichus. This

82 Opsomer 2009, 189.