Body and Soul in Hellenistic Philosophy 1108485820, 9781108485821

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Body and Soul in Hellenistic Philosophy Edited by Br ad Inwood and James Warren

B O D Y A N D SO U L IN HE L L E N I S T I C PHILOSOPHY

Philosophers and doctors from the period immediately after Aristotle down to the second century ce were particularly focused on the close relationships of soul and body. Such relationships are particularly intimate when the soul is understood to be a material entity, as it was by Epicureans and Stoics; but even Aristotelians and Platonists shared the conviction that body and soul interact in ways that affect the wellbeing of the living human being. These philosophers were interested in the nature of the soul, its structure, and its powers. They were also interested in the place of the soul within a general account of the world. This leads to important questions about the proper methods by which we should investigate the nature of the soul and the appropriate relationships among natural philosophy, medicine, and psychology. This volume, part of the Symposium Hellenisticum series, features ten scholars addressing different aspects of this topic. brad inwood is the William Lampson Professor of Philosophy and Classics at Yale University. His major works include Ethics and Human Action in Early Stoicism (1985), The Poem of Empedocles (2nd ed. 2001), Reading Seneca: Stoic Philosophy at Rome (2005), Seneca: Selected Philosophical Letters (2007), Ethics after Aristotle (2014), and Stoicism: A Very Short Introduction (2018). He has edited or co-edited several volumes, including The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics (Cambridge, 2003), and from 2007 to 2015 he was the editor of Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy. He is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Canada and a member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. james warren is Professor of Ancient Philosophy at the University of Cambridge and a Fellow of Corpus Christi College. He is the author of Epicurus and Democritean Ethics (Cambridge, 2002), Facing Death: Epicurus and His Critics (2004), Presocratics (2007), and The Pleasures of Reason in Plato, Aristotle, and the Hellenistic Hedonists (Cambridge, 2014). He is the editor of The Cambridge Companion to Epicureanism (2009), with Frisbee Sheffield; The Routledge Companion to Ancient Philosophy (2014); and with Jenny Bryan and Robert Wardy, Authors and Authorities in Ancient Philosophy (Cambridge, 2018).

BODY AND SOUL IN HELLENISTIC PHILOSOPHY edited by BRAD INWOOD Yale University, Connecticut

JAMES WARREN University of Cambridge

University Printing House, Cambridge cb2 8bs, United Kingdom One Liberty Plaza, 20th Floor, New York, ny 10006, USA 477 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne, vic 3207, Australia 314–321, 3rd Floor, Plot 3, Splendor Forum, Jasola District Centre, New Delhi – 110025, India 79 Anson Road, #06–04/06, Singapore 079906 Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge. It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of education, learning, and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781108485821 doi: 10.1017/9781108641487 © Cambridge University Press 2020 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2020 Printed in the United Kingdom by TJ International Ltd, Padstow Cornwall A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data names: Inwood, Brad, editor. | Warren, James, 1974– editor. title: Body and soul in Hellenistic philosophy / edited by Brad Inwood, Yale University, Connecticut, James Warren, University of Cambridge. description: Cambridge, United Kingdom; New York, NY, USA: Cambridge University Press, 2020. | Includes bibliographical references and index. identifiers: lccn 2019058313 (print) | lccn 2019058314 (ebook) | isbn 9781108485821 (hardback) | isbn 9781108641487 (ebook) subjects: lcsh: Soul. | Ancient philosophy. classification: lcc b187.s6 b63 2020 (print) | lcc b187.s6 (ebook) | ddc 128/.10938–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019058313 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019058314 isbn 978-1-108-48582-1 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Contents

List of Contributors List of Abbreviations

page vi vii 1

Introduction Brad Inwood and James Warren

1. Hellenistic Medicine, Strato of Lampsacus, and Aristotle’s Theory of Soul

9

Sylvia Berryman

2. Herophilus and Erasistratus on the Hēgemonikon

30

David Leith

3. Galen on Soul, Mixture and Pneuma

62

Philip van der Eijk

4. The Partition of the Soul: Epicurus, Demetrius Lacon, and Diogenes of Oinoanda

89

Francesco Verde

5. Cosmic and Individual Soul in Early Stoicism

113

Francesco Ademollo

6. Soul, Pneuma, and Blood: The Stoic Conception of the Soul

145

Christelle Veillard

7. The Platonic Soul, from the Early Academy to the First Century ce

171

Jan Opsomer

8. Cicero on the Soul’s Sensation of Itself: Tusculans 1.49–76

199

J. P. F. Wynne

231 252 262

Bibliography Index Locorum Subject Index v

Contributors

francesco ademollo, Associate Professor of the History of Ancient Philosophy, University of Florence sylvia berryman, Professor of Philosophy, University of British Columbia brad inwood, Professor of Philosophy and Classics, Yale University david leith, Senior Lecturer in Classics, University of Exeter jan opsomer, Professor of Philosophy, University of Leuven philip van der eijk, Alexander von Humboldt Professor of Classics and History of Science, Humboldt University, Berlin christelle veillard, Maître de Conférences, University of Paris Nanterre francesco verde, Assistant Professor of the History of Ancient Philosophy, Sapienza University of Rome james warren, Professor of Ancient Philosophy and Fellow of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge j. p. f. wynne, Associate Professor of Classics, University of Utah

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Abbreviations

For abbreviations of ancient authors and works, see the Index locorum. DG DK EK FHS&G

K. LS LSJ OLD PHerc. POxy SSR SVF Us.

H. Diels (1879) Doxographi graeci, Berlin H. Diels and W. Kranz (1952) Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, 6th edition, Berlin L. Edelstein and I. G. Kidd (1988–99) Posidonius 3 vols., Cambridge William W. Fortenbaugh, Pamela M. Huby, Robert W. Sharples and Dimitri Gutas (1993) Theophrastus of Eresus: Sources for His Life, Writings, Thought and Influence 2 vols., Leiden C. G. Kühn (1921–33) Claudii Galeni Opera Omnia 22 vols., Leipzig A. A. Long and D. N. Sedley (1987) The Hellenistic Philosophers 2 vols., Cambridge H. G. Liddell, R. Scott, and H. S. Jones (1925–1940) A Greek-English Lexicon, 9th edition, Oxford Oxford Latin Dictionary, 2nd edition, Oxford, 2012 Herculaneum Papyrus Oxyrhynchus Papyrus G. Giannantoni (1990) Socratis et socraticorum reliquiae, Naples H. von Arnim (1903–5) Stoicorum veterum fragmenta, Stuttgart H. Usener (1887) Epicurea, Leipzig

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Introduction Brad Inwood and James Warren

The relationship of soul to body was one of the earliest and most persistent questions in ancient thought. It emerges in the Homeric poems, where the psuchē is a breath-like stuff that animates the human being until it departs at death for the underworld, leaving the corpse (sōma or nekros) behind. In the Odyssey these souls are found lurking wraith-like in the underworld until they are revitalised by a sacrifice of blood which gives them a temporary power to think and speak again. Among Pythagoreans and others, the soul lives imprisoned in the body until it is liberated at death, only to be reincarnated for a new life in a new body in accordance with its merits. Plato embraces this theory in several of his dialogues, but even though the soul is a relatively autonomous substance it is nevertheless deeply affected by the conditions of the body it inhabits during life and the choices this embodied soul makes. Other early Greek thinkers regarded the soul as little more than the life force animating a body, a special kind of material stuff that accounts for the functions of a living animal but then disperses at death. Democritean atomism embraced this notion of soul, which was also common in the medical tradition. Aristotle’s analysis of all substances into form and matter facilitated the identification of soul with the form of a suitably organised body, a form responsible for all of the abilities and capacities (dunameis) that constitute the life of any living thing (both plants and animals). It may appear, in that case, that once Aristotle came to offer his view, the general landscape of accounts of the relationship between body and soul was more or less fully mapped out. On one side there are those accounts which hold that the soul is itself a kind of body, perhaps a particularly volatile or rarefied body but a body nonetheless. On the other side there are those who insist that there is a radical difference in kind between souls and bodies. Bodies are perceptible, physically extended, and resistant to touch, while souls are to be understood as lacking all of these features and instead being intelligible and, on some views, able to exist entirely independently 1

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of any body. Somewhere between these two broad camps there are those thinkers who follow Aristotle in his hylomorphic analysis and his view that ‘the soul is neither without a body nor is it a body’ (De Anima 2.2, 414a19– 20). And we can perhaps also add as a distinct group those thinkers who made the soul dependent on a body or a certain arrangement of bodily matter but not itself a body, including those ‘harmony’ theorists invoked by Socrates in Plato’s Phaedo (85e–86d) and then again by Aristotle in the De Anima (1.2, 407b27–408a28). All of these views had been presented, revised, attacked, and defended by the beginning of the Hellenistic period and the various authors on whom the essays in this collection concentrate were all well-informed about the relatively long history of the problems they continued to discuss. The essays gathered in this volume explore Greek and Roman theories about the relationship of soul and body in the centuries after Aristotle. All the essays have their origin in papers presented at the fourteenth triennial Symposium Hellenisticum, held at the University of Utrecht in July 2016. They cover connected issues that arise among philosophers and doctors from the period immediately after Aristotle down to the second century ce. Doctors from Herophilus to Galen are covered, as are representatives of the Peripatetic, Epicurean, Stoic, and Platonist traditions. Building on the achievements of earlier Greek thinkers, these doctors and philosophers were particularly focused on the close relationships of soul and body; such relationships are particularly intimate when the soul is understood to be a material entity, as it was by Epicurean atomists and by Stoics; but even hylomorphists (such as many Aristotelians) and substance dualists (such as many Platonists) share the conviction that body and soul interact in ways that affect the well-being and moral condition of the living human being. These philosophers continued to pursue the question of the relationship between the soul and the body by considering it in a variety of different but interrelated philosophical contexts. They were interested in the central question of the nature of the soul, its structure, and its powers. They were also interested in the place of the soul within a general account of the world. This leads to important questions about the proper methods by which we should investigate the nature of the soul and the appropriate relationships among natural philosophy, medicine, and psychology. Insofar as questions about the world as a whole may sometimes also involve questions of theology, as they certainly did in the case of the Stoics, it is also easy to see how an account of the relationship between the body and the soul will easily lead into considerations of the relationship between the individual human soul and a divine soul or the soul of the cosmos (‘the

Introduction

3

world soul’). Likewise, since these philosophers were often engaged in a project that had at its centre the concern to provide an account of the best possible human life, the relationship between the body and the soul would also lead inevitably to concerns of a more generally ethical nature: how is the soul to be cultivated, soothed, and improved? How is it that bodily changes can affect the soul in positive and negative ways? Once again, it is important to emphasise that these questions were not inaugurated in the Hellenistic period and the centuries that followed. And the philosophers of that period were under no illusions about that. However, there are some important characteristics of the way in which they were pursued in that period that we want to highlight here and which can be seen in a variety of ways in the individual contributions. First, it is precisely because these philosophers were writing in what was by now an acknowledged and long tradition of thinking about these questions that their discussions are often particularly subtle and arresting. That is to say: Platonists, Epicureans, Stoics, and Peripatetics were often self-consciously writing as part of an ongoing philosophical tradition. This is most obviously the case within the dogmatic philosophical schools and some of the essays in this collection highlight the ways in which Epicureans and Stoics dealt with the demands of an allegiance to an earlier foundational authority while managing new objections or concerns. But the philosophers of the past could be used for other purposes too. Consider, for example, Galen’s clever use, in his That the Capacities of the Soul Follow the Mixtures of the Body (QAM), of quotations from a wide range of authorities, from Homer through Plato and Aristotle to the early Hellenistic philosophers. He gathers evidence from this wide range of thinkers in support of his central thesis of psychosomatic interaction, a thesis which not coincidentally supports the conclusion that someone with a close and detailed knowledge of the workings of an organic body, someone like Galen himself perhaps, must also be a significant authority on matters concerning the soul. Second, the relationship between philosophical discussion and medical discoveries is one of the important features of this period of reflection about the relationship between the body and the soul and features in a number of the contributions. As various anatomical discoveries were made about the location within the body of various structures that had clear connections with different aspects of psychological functioning, certain previous accounts of the location of the soul or parts of the soul sometimes had to be revisited and revised. This in turn sometimes put pressure on school orthodoxy and on the authority of its foundational

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texts, as in the case of the Epicureans, and more generally added a further dimension to the question of who could claim to be the most authoritative and helpful guide to the nature of the soul and its relationship to the body. This level of disagreement and sometimes outright conflict should not be a surprise. It is fair to say that to this day there is no stable accommodation between the competing claims of philosophers of mind and of empirical studies of human psychology and neurology. The individual contributions to the volume are as follows: Sylvia Berryman (‘Hellenistic Medicine, Strato of Lampsacus, and Aristotle’s Theory of Soul’) examines the approach to body/soul relations in the work of Strato of Lampsacus (c. 335–269 bce), the third head of the Lyceum. She argues that Strato embraced the results of new medical research in his theory of the soul and preserved the empirical tradition of Aristotle’s school, though doing so put him in the position of challenging certain features of Aristotle’s own theory. Berryman argues that Strato incorporated anatomical discoveries made by Hellenistic doctors and on that basis revised Aristotelian views on the location of the central organ of the soul, the material basis of the soul, and the number of seeds involved in reproduction, because these new findings provided answers to Aristotle’s criticisms of earlier theories of the soul. This enabled Strato to locate the psychic centre in the ‘mid-brow’ (not the brain as a whole) and to argue that the ‘mind’ is closely involved in all acts of perception rather than being a distinct receiver and adjudicator of the results of perception. Berryman argues that Strato’s increased emphasis on pneuma as an internal material basis for psychic activities owes more to medical and other scientific advances than it does to Stoicism. Further, Aristotle famously argues that ‘seed’ comes only from the male parent, but Strato relies on new empirical research to argue that both parents provide ‘seed’. Strato emerges not as a renegade, but as part of an ongoing Peripatetic tradition of dialectical engagement with earlier theories in the light of the best available empirical science. David Leith explores overlapping issues in his ‘Herophilus and Erasistratus on the Hēgemonikon’. Through a careful analysis of the complex evidence about these early Hellenistic doctors and medical researchers, Leith argues that the familiar narrative which attributes to them the doctrine that the hēgemonikon is located in the brain is mistaken. In their view, the living body involves ‘complex processes spanning multiple organs and mediated by multiple fluids’. Some of these are centred in the heart, some in various parts of the head, others elsewhere. The oversimplified standard narrative was, he argues, the result of the doxographical tradition

Introduction

5

being influenced by the response of Chrysippus to their discoveries about the physiology of the nervous system. Herophilus had a complex theory of different kinds of powers and movements in the body and was the first to recognise the ‘nerves’ (neura) as a distinct anatomical structure. But neura should not be equated with nerves in the modern sense; they include a range of ‘cord-like’ structures, including tendons and ligaments. Erasistratus recognised a ‘nervous’ system alongside the arterial and venous systems in the body; the first two have forms of pneuma flowing in them. Together these three systems and their capacities account for the complex functions of the organism. Both doctors were interested in complex physiological processes rather than in the theories of philosophical psychology which came to dominate debates and doxographical reports on them once Chrysippus reacted to the Hellenistic doctors. The Stoic commitment to a ‘unified, corporeal soul converging on a single, governing command centre’ made the medical theories seem like a challenge; Chrysippus’ reaction to them and Galen’s to Chrysippus created the deceptive appearance of a debate between doctors and philosophers in the Hellenistic period. This construct then became the standard picture as reflected in most of our indirect evidence. Leith’s article is a study in the methodology of intellectual history as well as a contribution to medical and philosophical history in the Hellenistic and early imperial periods. Philip van der Eijk (‘Galen on Soul, Mixture and Pneuma’) carries forward the study of medical influence on theories of the body/soul relation to the great philosophical doctor Galen of Pergamum. With careful attention to the internal variety of Galen’s theories on the topic, van der Eijk emphasises the flexibility and empiricism of his work. Whether it be Galen’s well-known agnosticism about the nature and essence of the soul, his theories of the soul’s parts and the corresponding forms of pneuma, the various material blends that correlate with psychological phenomena and even the direction of causation (mind to body or body to mind), or the pragmatic variety of his prescriptions for treating psychic diseases, van der Eijk lays out the range of views Galen presents and explores their relationships with insight and sympathy. The major focus of his essay is an extended analysis of the important but challenging work That the Capacities of the Soul Follow the Mixtures of the Body. What it means for features of the soul to ‘follow’ the condition of the body and how such a claim can be compatible with the stance he takes elsewhere, that bodily parts are instruments used by the soul, are vexed questions in Galen. They raise issues that lie in the general area of problems that continue to challenge philosophers today; van der Eijk brings out with great clarity

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the philosophical and historical complexities found across Galen’s huge corpus. Some Epicurean sources, notably Lucretius’ poem De rerum natura, work with a distinction between two parts of the soul, one rational (Lucretius’ animus) and the other non-rational (Lucretius’ anima). But this distinction is not present in Epicurus’ own Letter to Herodotus. Francesco Verde (‘The Partition of the Soul: Epicurus, Demetrius Lacon, and Diogenes of Oinoanda’) shows that attempts to insert the distinction into the Letter through various ingenious textual emendations are misguided. Using evidence from Demetrius of Laconia and Diogenes of Oinoanda, Verde shows that there is good reason instead to think that the distinction is likely to be a later Epicurean innovation, perhaps inspired by a closer engagement with certain medical theories and supported by more detailed scrutiny of the independence of various psychological capacities as revealed in cases of localised bodily injury. This change may have taken place during Epicurus’ own career. Epicurus famously rejected an encephalocentric view of the principal rational part of the soul but this is not a result of simple ignorance of the relevant medical material; there is good reason to think that Epicurus did engage with the encephalocentric theory but thought there was better evidence for placing that part of the soul in the chest. Lucretius follows his master’s views on this matter. Francesco Ademollo (‘Cosmic and Individual Soul in Early Stoicism’) deals with one of the most important features of the Stoic theory of soul and its nature, its relationship with the soul of the cosmos, to which it is analogous and of which it is a part. These relationships between the individual soul and the cosmic soul are problematic in a number of ways; Ademollo analyses the tensions by distinguishing different senses of soul and concludes that whether or not the Stoics themselves made the relevant distinctions explicit they nevertheless retained a strong thesis of integration between the human soul and the cosmic soul while retaining distinct agency for humans. Ademollo also analyses the influence of Xenophon’s Memorabilia 1.4 and of Plato’s Philebus and Timaeus on Stoic theories of the relationship between the human soul and the cosmos, which put increased emphasis on the part-whole relationship. He also devotes an extended discussion to the actual arguments deployed by the Stoics to support their claims; these are mostly known from Cicero and Sextus Empiricus and some of them are problematic, while all provide important insight into the sense in which human souls, in the Stoic theory, are both parts of and distinct from the soul of the cosmos.

Introduction

7

Christelle Veillard (‘Soul, Pneuma, and Blood: The Stoic Conception of the Soul’) presents an account of the development and gradual elaboration of Stoic psychological theories, which over time begin to outline a more detailed view of the relationship between the soul’s rational capacities, its physical nature, and the connection between it and the rest of a person’s body. While some accounts of Stoic psychology have found in Posidonius’ views a rejection of an earlier, strict, intellectualist model, Veillard argues instead that his account should be seen as a gradual unfolding of the earlier Stoic position. Close attention to the earlier Stoics’ conception of pneuma and its association with more general cosmological processes such as anathumiasis may have encouraged Stoics like Posidonius to offer a more detailed account of the relationship between the soul’s rational capacities and its relationship to bodily impulses and affections. While Posidonius may have made use of Platonic material to help in this account, there is no reason to think that he is intending to be anything other than faithful to the earlier Stoics’ overall conception of the soul. Panaetius and Diogenes of Babylonia show a similar interest in the physiological aspects of psychological development and moral education, in ways they likely thought perfectly consonant with the position of Chrysippus. Jan Opsomer (‘The Platonic Soul, from the Early Academy to the First Century ce’) considers the reception of Plato’s famously difficult account of the composition of the soul in the Timaeus. When Plutarch turns to this part of Plato’s text in his De animae procreatione, he notes that he is following in what is already a long tradition of commentary and interpretation but will concentrate on the views of Xenocrates and Crantor, which attempt to make sense of the Timaeus in a way that explains the soul’s motor and cognitive powers. Plutarch’s own discussion then offers criticisms of Xenocrates, Crantor, and others, including Eudemus and Posidonius; Opsomer argues that this is strongly suggestive not only of a tradition of dedicated commentaries on the Timaeus in the earlier Hellenistic period—a conclusion that other evidence from Iamblichus certainly supports—but also that some of these were produced by dogmatic Platonists working in the period in which the dominant Academic position, at least of the Academy in Athens, emphasised a sceptical approach. These dogmatic Hellenistic Platonists are the predecessors of Plutarch’s own approach and it is perhaps they who first emphasised a Pythagorean interpretation of the Timaeus. J. P. F. Wynne (‘Cicero on the Soul’s Sensation of Itself: Tusculans 1.49–76’) looks in detail at part of Cicero’s argument in Tusculan

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Disputations 1 in support of the conclusion that the soul is eternal. He offers a new interpretation of this part of the argument that does not involve attributing to Cicero the view that the soul has immediate experience of itself—a view that would be an anticipation of a view that can be found, for example, in Augustine. Augustine may well have read Cicero as holding such a view and Wynne shows how such an interpretation might have arisen. Nevertheless, Wynne argues, this ‘Augustinian’ interpretation is ultimately not sustainable. Instead, we make best sense of Cicero’s argument if we agree that it holds that the soul’s conception of itself is provided indirectly; the soul does not sense itself but comes to a view of its nature through rational inferences about its sensations and its interactions with the cosmos at large. In this way, the soul ‘sees’ the soul through inferences based upon bodily interactions; we not only infer the presence of other minds through our interactions (including bodily interactions such as conversations) with other people but also infer things about our own minds. In this way, Wynne’s interpretation remains faithful to Cicero’s general epistemological stance.

***

The Symposium was held in Utrecht from 18 to 22 July 2016, with generous financial support from the University of Utrecht and the C. J. de Vogel Foundation. In addition to the speakers who have contributed essays to this volume, the following were in attendance: Gábor Betegh, Mauro Bonazzi, Ada Bronowski, Charles Brittain, Dorothea Frede, Maarten van Houte, Katerina Ierodiakonou, Brad Inwood, Marwan Rashed, David Sedley, Teun Tieleman, and Sharon Weisser. brad inwood and james warren

chapter 1

Hellenistic Medicine, Strato of Lampsacus, and Aristotle’s Theory of Soul Sylvia Berryman*

οὐκ ἔστι γὰρ ἄνευ πολλῆς δυσχερείας ἰδεῖν ἐξ ὦν συνέστηκε τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένος, οἷον αἷμα, σάρκες, ὀστᾶ, φλέβες καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα μόρια. For no one can look at the elements of the human frame—blood, flesh, bones, vessels, and the like—without much repugnance. (Aristotle, Parts of Animals 1.5, 645a29 (trans. W. Ogle))

Although Aristotle’s thought became a byword in the early modern period for a rigid and inflexible system impervious to empirical evidence, it seems to have been quite otherwise in the practice of Aristotle’s own school. In reconstructing the psychological theory of the third head of the Lyceum, Strato of Lampsacus,1 I argue that we can best understand his departures from Aristotelian doctrine by looking to new medical theories in the Hellenistic period, which had implications for our philosophical understanding of the soul’s functioning. Aristotle, who was interested in the natural processes underlying even the most abstract aspects of human functioning, had lampooned the notion that the soul might exist apart from the body:2 his psychology posited an intimate connection between form and function, and was informed by empirical studies of living organisms. Strato was known even in antiquity both for a revisionist attitude and his focus on natural philosophy.3 It would thus be unsurprising for him to be interested in new medical research. The interpretation I offer supports a picture of the Peripatos as a school sensitive to new *

1 2 3

For helpful comments on earlier versions of this paper, I wish to thank Alex Mourelatos, Jim Hankinson, Stephen White, Richard Sorabji, Philip van der Eijk, Heinrich Von Staden, Richard Sorabji, R.W. Sharples, and the editors of this volume. Here I am using the terms ‘psychology’ and ‘psychological’ to refer to a theory of psuchē, including all of the operations of the living principle, not only the mind or personality. DA 1.3, 406b18–20. Diogenes Laertius 5.58 = fr. 1 Sharples; cf frr. 3, 8, 10–11. Although many of the surviving texts reporting Strato’s ideas concern physics, others relate to biology and medicine: see note 18.

9

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evidence and reasoned critique, even while its members sought to respect the central commitments of Aristotle’s programme of investigation. Reconstructing Strato’s views is tricky, since no works by him survive.4 Following Hermann Diels, Strato’s views were once understood as a radical departure from Aristotelianism in favour of a ‘compromise’ with the materialism of Democritus.5 This line of argument depends on Diels’ ascription to Strato of a particle theory apparent in the work of Hero of Alexandria:6 Diels’ inference depends on a mistaken assumption that mechanical analogies form a natural alliance with atomism. In 1988, Luciana Repici initiated a different approach, challenging Diels’ thesis that Strato rejected Aristotelian teleology in favour of a ‘meccanicismo biologico’.7 She argues that Strato’s view of the soul is essentially continuous with Aristotle’s, retaining many central metaphysical commitments.8 Repici rightly challenges the tendency to read Strato as a heretic or an atavist reverting arbitrarily to discredited theories, but overlooks the focus of the present discussion, which is the potential of Hellenistic anatomy for motivating modifications of Aristotle’s psychology. Aristotle developed an account of the soul that avoids the dualism characteristic of Platonism, without embracing the eliminativist materialism of his atomist rivals. The notion of the soul as the functioning form of a living body is surely too central a claim to have been abandoned by anyone claiming Aristotelian credentials. A figure who revised Aristotelian views in the light of new arguments or evidence could well have been orthodox in spirit, yet easily miscast by uncharitable critics as an errant ‘eclectic’ or a haphazard innovator.9 The reported theories of Strato of Lampsacus, I argue, make sense if he is revising certain Aristotelian tenets in the light of empirical evidence from Hellenistic medicine, even while retaining central methodological commitments of the Aristotelian research programme. Solmsen indeed suggested that Strato might have arrived at his views on the basis of new evidence from medicine.10 It is this possibility that I wish to establish, by showing how the 4

5 6

7 9

10

Desclos and Fortenbaugh 2011, a recent collection of scholarship on Strato by Project Theophrastus, shows that no consensus has yet emerged on how to piece together the scattered evidence. It also includes the new edition and translation by R. W. Sharples of the surviving texts concerning Strato’s thought. Diels 1893 and Gottschalk 1965 made important contributions to this line of reasoning. I question Diels’ assumption that Hero’s treatise constitutes a unified theory, since it cites multiple, incompatible explanations, in Berryman 2011. See Berryman 2009 on the relationship between atomism and mechanistic thought. 8 Repici 1988: 1. Repici 1988: 5–11. Cf. Sharples 1989. Stephen White noted in conversation the possible polemical motivations behind the claims of Cicero regarding Strato’s ‘deviations’ from school orthodoxy: De finibus 5.13; Academica 1.4; 2.38, 121; De natura deorum 1.35. Solmsen 1968: 577.

Hellenistic Medicine, Strato, and Aristotle’s Soul

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new medical theories would have answered existing philosophical arguments about the nature of the soul. We cannot discount the possible impact of competing contemporary philosophical schools on Strato’s thought: some scholars have seen parallels to the ideas of Epicureans or Stoics.11 However, views of his competitors might have prompted either a positive or negative reaction, as Peripatetics either adopted or distanced themselves from the views of their contemporaries.12 The method I adopt here is to assume provisionally that Strato is working within an Aristotelian framework, and to look for new arguments or evidence that might have motivated departures from Aristotle’s views on particular issues. I shall argue that several otherwise puzzling aspects of Strato’s views on psychology are readily understandable if they are seen as philosophical responses to the views of the Hellenistic doctors. There is less compelling reason to think that contemporary philosophical developments prompted his revisions. The third century bce saw remarkable advances in anatomy by the physicians Erasistratus and Herophilus. Although reasonable doubt surrounds Hermann Diels’ argument that Erasistratus adopted a theory of void from Strato,13 there are clearly biographical connections between Erasistratus and the early Lyceum.14 The Erasistrateans of Galen’s day placed great stock in the relationship between their founder and Aristotle’s school.15 While Galen disputes their right to do this, his polemics are directed against Erasistratus’ orthodoxy rather than his connections to the Lyceum.16 The work of Aristotle and his students, especially Theophrastus and Meno, offers ample evidence of their interest in human biology and physiology.17 Diogenes Laertius lists ten titles of works by Strato of Lampsacus on various aspects of organic functioning;18 he is 11 12 13

14 15 16 17 18

For Stoic connections, see Longrigg 1975; Repici 1988. On Strato’s relationship to the Epicureans, cf. Warren 2006. I thank David Sedley for the reference. I thank Thomas Bénatouil for urging me to consider this possibility. Diels 1893. Diels took this theory to represent a substantial concession to atomism and evidence of a ‘positivist’ commitment. This has not gone unchallenged: Capelle 1931; Schmekel 1938; Gatzemeier 1970: 28; Furley 1989: 149–60, 157–8; Berryman 2011. Diels is defended by Gottschalk 1965 and Lehoux 1999. Diogenes Laertius 5.58 = fr. 1 Sharples. Susemihl 1891: 782–800; Fraser 1972: 341. Galen Nat. Fac. 2.4, 88–93; Rose 1854: 174; Zeller 1897: 453n. See esp. Lonie 1964; von Staden 1997. E.g. Jaeger 1913; Annas 1992: 17–33; van der Eijk and Francis 2009. Meno’s work is thought to be the source for the Anonymous Londiniensis manuscript: cf. Jones 1947. Diogenes Laertius 5.59–60 = fr. 1 Sharples. The titles are On Pneuma, On Animal Reproduction, On Sleep, On Dreams, On Vision, On Perception, On Diseases, On Crises, On Vertigo and Dizziness, On Nutrition and Growth.

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paired with Diocles of Carystus in a report on embryology.19 We don’t know who wrote the treatise On Pneuma that survives in the Aristotelian corpus:20 it denies that there is pneuma in the nerves, yet echoes Erasistratus’ view that flesh is composed of veins, arteries, and nerves.21 It may be an alternative contemporary response to new medical evidence, showing Peripatetic awareness of Erasistratus’ theories, but not Strato’s work. Either way, the circumstantial evidence for Strato’s medical interests is strong. If the new ideas from Hellenistic medicine had been available to an empirically minded philosopher of the early Lyceum, who was known to have lived at the Alexandrian court as royal tutor and to have written on medical subjects, it is prima facie implausible that he would have missed their significance. David Leith discusses the key developments in the history of medicine in this volume. Most relevant for present purposes is the use of pneuma in Hellenistic medicine and its connection to the new theory of neura as a distinct system of hollow vessels leading to the brain, responsible for perception and motor functions. The Athenian philosophical schools are sometimes said to have been quite distant from Alexandrian science, intellectually as well as geographically. Such a ‘separation’ thesis might seem to draw its strongest support from an issue like this, where medical theory changed considerably and yet the major philosophical schools continued to adhere to cardiocentrism.22 However, disagreement about the location of the central organ of the soul was widespread in the third century bce; even the Stoic Chrysippus acknowledges that dispute about the location of the hēgemonikon was engendered by the nerves leading to the brain. He argues that the heart is nonetheless in control: it works by conveying powers of perception and deliberation that are then disseminated via the brain.23 This invocation of imperceptible powers looks like a defensive manoeuvre, countering apparent evidence for the centrality of the brain. 19 20

21

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Philip van der Eijk suggested to me in correspondence that some of Strato’s debt to medicine may be due to Diocles: van der Eijk 2000: II, 99–102, 2005b; Jaeger 1960; Edelstein 1967; von Staden 1992. The work was attributed to Strato as early as 1581. Wehrli 1950: 70 disputes this on the grounds that it uses teleological explanation; cf. Jaeger 1913, 1960: 222; Roselli 1992: 13–18. MacFarlane 2007 and Bos and Ferwerda 2008 argue that it is Aristotle’s, but their reasons do not seem to me to outweigh the Erasistratean terminology. τὸ δὲ δέρμα ἐκ φλεβὸς καὶ νεύρου καὶ ἀρτηρίας: Spir. 5, 483b13–16. Aristotle uses arteria to refer to the windpipe (DA 2.8, 420b29; Resp. 2, 471a21; Resp. 7, 473a19), while this text distinguishes the windpipe (Spir. 5, 483a25) from the web of vessels (Spir. 3, 482b8; 5, 483b5). Hett 1936: 485 thinks the author is unaware that arteries contain blood, but this may be a deliberate denial following Erasistratus: cf. Roselli 1992. E.g. Garofalo 1988: 37. Galen PHP 2.7.5–7, 2.6.17. See also Tieleman 1996. Hankinson 1991: 218–24 shows how the issue depends on argumentative analysis as well as experimental data.

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It is not only possible but prima facie reasonable to conclude that Strato, who taught in Alexandria, whose very nickname stressed his interest in physical investigation, and who wrote on medical topics, would have been aware of such significant evidence and would have seen it as a strong reason to revise Aristotle’s views. By contrast, purely disputatious motivations—such as a desire to distinguish his views from those of competing schools—hardly seem to justify a change of doctrine. I shall argue that Strato’s views on three issues reflect Hellenistic medical theories: the location of the central organ, the material basis of the soul, and the two-seed theory of animal reproduction. His views on the role of the central organ in perception, while not necessarily based on the theory of the nervous system, would seem at least congruent with it.

Location of the Central Organ Much of the doxography on Strato’s psychology concerns the location of a central or governing organ. The doxographies typically list a variety of views on the location of the centre. There is consensus on the location Strato hypothesised: he is associated with the idea that the mesophruon or ‘mid-brow’ is the centre.24 Plutarch reports Strato’s views on nous;25 other reports use the term hēgemonikon.26 As doxographers are apt to impose a uniform terminology on all their subjects, we cannot be sure that hēgemonikon is Strato’s own term: in particular, it is not necessarily evidence of Stoic influence.27 Given several reports that Strato treats the ‘mid-brow’ as the centre of psychic activity, especially thought, it is important to consider why. Aristotle views the heart as the archē or source of animal self-motion, perception, and the nutritive psuchē.28 Noting that neither blood itself nor bloodless parts are capable of sensation, but only those containing blood, Aristotle treats the heart as the primary organ of sense.29 The 24 25 26 27

28 29

frr. 57–8 Sharples. Plutarch De sollertia animalium 3, 961a = fr. 62 Sharples; cf. Pollux 2, 226. Ps.-Plutarch Placita 4.5; cf. 4.23.3 = fr. 63A Sharples; Plutarch De libidine e aegritudine 967B = fr. 63B Sharples. These passages alone do not show that Strato draws on Stoic views. Long and Sedley 1987: II, 313 allow that, if the reports do indeed reflect Strato’s usage, then Strato and Zeno would contest the honour of inventing the term. Repici 1988: 10 suggests that Strato may have used Aristotle’s term kuriōtaton, the ruling faculty, and that the doxographers assimilated this to terminology that later became common. PA 3.3, 665a12; Somn. 2, 456a6; cf. Iuv. 469a11, 469a5; Resp. 8, 474a29. PA 3.4, 666a35. Verbeke 1978 explains the primacy of the heart as a claim that the heart is the source of both blood and pneuma, which are essential for perception. On the importance Aristotle accords to the material structure, see van der Eijk 1997: 233.

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head might be a convenient location for some sense organs, he concedes, but there is no need to locate them there.30 Because the brain itself is insensitive, Aristotle reasons that it could not be responsible for sensation.31 Theophrastus’ account of Presocratic theories of perception provides more detail of Peripatetic criticisms, and shows what objections a braincentred theory of perception would need to address.32 Alcmaeon seems to have been credited with an encephalocentric theory because of his assertions that there are passageways attaching the sense organs to the brain, and that perception is disrupted when the brain is moved.33 Theophrastus finds Alcmaeon’s position either vague or unsupported: he does not have many details available, either because Alcmaeon’s views were lost or because they were never well developed.34 The most significant complaint is that Alcmaeon does not say how or in what organs touch occurs.35 Visible, vascular passageways in the head might be the basis for sight, hearing, taste, and smell, but do not offer an analogous explanation of touch.36 This is also Theophrastus’ criticism of Diogenes of Apollonia, another Presocratic theorist who takes the brain as central.37 Against this background, Repici is right to question whether Strato would have merely revived a discredited position.38 However, the criticisms Aristotle and Theophrastus raise against earlier encephalocentric theories are precisely answered by new medical discoveries in two ways. One is that the nervous system—in Erasistratus’ theory—extends to all the sense organs, including that of touch. The other advantage of recognising the nervous system is that it undermines Aristotle’s otherwise plausible inference that perception depends on the blood. Aristotle and Theophrastus infer that the heart must account for the sense of touch, since blood vessels are the only apparent causal pathway ubiquitous throughout the flesh. But a nervous system that extends to all the same body parts reached by blood vessels could unsettle such an inference. The discovery of the nervous system, then, precisely addresses Peripatetic criticisms of brain-centred theories. If Strato adopted this new theory of the nervous system, he would have strong evidence against Aristotle’s view that 30 31 32 33 34 35 38

PA 2.10, 656b29. Fish can hear and smell although they lack appropriate organs in the head: Aristotle PA 2.10, 656a34; Resp. 7, 473a22; Sens. 5, 443a4. PA 2.7, 652b2–7; 2.10, 656a23–25; 656b27. Baltussen 1993: 219 infers from its organisation that Theophrastus’ account is based on Aristotle’s. Sens. 26.4 = DK 24.5. Neither Aristotle nor Theophrastus addresses the latter argument. Lloyd 1991: 173–8 examines Theophrastus’ report and finds little evidence that Alcmaeon used dissection; Mansfeld 1975: 33–4 warns against retrojecting later developments onto Alcmaeon. Sens. 26.4–7. 36 Cf. GA 2.6, 743b36–744a6. 37 Sens. 39–40. Cf. Baltussen 1993: 76. Repici 1988: 9.

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the centre is located in the heart, not the head. Moreover, he would have reason for identifying the physical basis of perception with the nervous system and its contents, not with the heart and blood vessels. Even among those aware of the importance of the nervous system, however, there was still disagreement about the precise location of the centre. Mansfeld analyses the structure of the doxographical reports:39 he hypothesises that Strato’s view is distinguished from those of the doctors by the fact that they locate the hēgemonikon in the brain, whereas Strato doesn’t. Mansfeld infers from the doxographical divisions that the mesophruon is contrasted to the brain. This challenges Rodier and Wellmann’s conclusion that mesophruon means ‘a part of the brain between the eyebrows’. There is, moreover, no obvious structure of the brain to which this could be referring.40 Mansfeld’s reading of the contrast thus seems plausible. Nonetheless, the modern term ‘brain’ suggests a unified organ. By contrast, the ancient opinions cited in the doxographies locate the centre in some part connected to, yet distinct from, the enkephalos or cerebrum, the main part of the brain.41 Herophilus is said to have located the centre in the parenkephalis, the cerebellum, or ‘ventricle at the base’;42 Erasistratus and his pupil take the membrane around the brain to be the centre.43 These views share the assumption that the psychic centre is not in the main ventricle. The cerebrum or enkephalos had already been assigned the function of transforming vital pneuma into psychic pneuma.44 Strato’s claim that the centre is located between the eyebrows would make sense if he, like the doctors, were seeking a distinct organ near to but distinct from the main ventricle of the brain. Several reports concur that Strato located the elusive psychic centre in the ‘mid-brow’. But why choose this region? Strato noted that we draw our eyebrows together when we are hurt.45 This kind of evidence may seem 39

40 42

43 44

45

Mansfeld 1989: 319. Mansfeld takes Theodoretus’ report that Plato and Democritus put the centre in the enkephalos, the cerebrum, as abbreviating pseudo-Plutarch’s report that they locate it in the entire head, kephalē. Tertullian’s report lends some support to this. Rodier 1890: 92; Wellmann 1924: 70–3. 41 Cf. Drabkin 1950: 34–7; Mansfeld 1990: 3099. Theodoretus’ report that Herophilus puts the centre in the ‘ventricle’ evidently drops the qualifying phrase ‘at the base of the brain’: there is other evidence that Herophilus takes the parenkephalis as the locus of psuchē: Galen UP 8.11 distinguishes parenkephalis from the ‘whole enkephalos’. On Erasistratus’ supposed change of mind, see Leith’s essay in this volume. Galen indicates that Herophilus thought the parenkephalis to be the more important part, apparently because it receives the psychic pneuma after it is concocted in the enkephalos: UP 1.484 = Kühn 3.665. cf. Dobson 1925: 20. Pollux, who cites Strato’s views on the mesophruon, notes a passage from the tragedies associating the drawing together of the brows with pain: Onomasticon 2.49–50. The surviving work of Demetrius of Phaleron includes a reference to the importance of the eyebrows: Diogenes Laertius 5.82. I thank Michael Sollenberger for discussion.

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similar in style to the Stoic inference from the fact that we point to our chests when naming ourselves.46 Much stronger reasons for this location can be found in medical research, however. The optic nerves—large, prominent, and obviously hollow—likely shaped Alexandrian views on the nervous system: Herophilus was particularly interested in the eye. Dobson infers from a report in Galen that the Alexandrians knew of the chiasma where the optic nerves cross behind the eyebrows.47 Strato might plausibly suppose that the optic chiasma forms a focal point for the nervous system.48 The junction of the two most prominent nerves—nerves responsible for the most important of the senses—might well appear to be the centre of the entire nervous system, located as it is in close proximity to the main cerebral organ. Calcidius’ commentary on Timaeus provides support for this conjecture. Because Calcidius thinks that anatomical research vindicates Plato’s view, he describes research into these passageways in some detail and says that the optic nerves cross at the inner brow.49 And in connection with this discovery he mentions Alcmaeon, a student of Aristotle named Callisthenes, and Herophilus.50 Calcidius does not say explicitly that the optic chiasma was known to Callisthenes and Herophilus—he is interested in anatomy here, not medical history—but this is the implication of the passage.51 The new theory of the nervous system would explain at once Strato’s reasons for disagreeing with Aristotle about the role of the heart and blood vessels in perception, and for locating the centre between the brows.52

The Material Basis of Soul Although there is no direct textual evidence that Strato discussed neura, a number of passages suggest that he based his theory of the soul on the substance pneuma. Strato, like Theophrastus, wrote a book on pneuma,53 46 48 49 50

51 52 53

Galen PHP 2.2.9, 2.7.10–11. 47 Galen Loc. Aff. = Kühn 8.212; Dobson 1925: 20. I wish to thank Richard Coulon, who suggested this to me. coniuncta sint in frontis intimis, Calc. In Tim. 279 = DK24 A10.28. Galen’s report in UP 10.12 names only Herophilus. Calcidius names ‘Callisthenes, a student of Aristotle’, in connection with Herophilus’ research on the optic nerve. Mansfeld and Lloyd regard this reference as unconfirmed: Mansfeld 1975: 27; Lloyd 1991: 170 n. 19. Lloyd cautions against concluding that Calcidius attributes the practice of dissection to Alcmaeon, doubting that Alcmaeon knew of the optic chiasma (1991: 176). While Calcidius may not be immune from anachronism, anatomy fell into disfavour after its heyday in Alexandria: Fraser 1972: I, 360–9; cf. Mansfeld 1975: 31. On awareness of this medical evidence by Demetrius of Laconia, an Epicurean of the late second and early first century bce, see Sedley 1998: 70. Diogenes Laertius 5.58 = fr. 1 Sharples.

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and other reports of Strato’s views mention pneuma or spiritus in connection with sleep. Of two reports, one by Tertullian refers to ‘Strato’, while the other is a passage in pseudo-Plutarch referring to ‘Plato’.54 Diels made the persuasive conjecture that the source for the latter is actually Strato: not only are the two reports similar, but pseudo-Plutarch also uses the distinctive term associated with Strato’s views, the ‘mid-brow’.55 The claim is that sleep is a partial relaxation of the pneuma or spiritus which, if completely relaxed, results in death. Some scholars have doubted that references to pneuma show that Strato had in mind the nervous system, since arteries are also thought by some to contain pneuma.56 However, if Strato thought arteries were the crucial passageways of the soul, it would make no sense for him to be insisting that the centre is in the head. The notion that the soul functions by transmitting impulses and information between core and periphery via the tension of the pneuma in the nerves accords well with the claim that sleep and death involve relaxation of the pneuma. Thus there is good reason to suppose that his view reflects the Hellenistic theory of the nervous system. Tertullian’s De anima compares Strato’s views of the soul to ‘Archimedes’ water organ’,57 inasmuch as a single spiritus is dispersed through a vast array of pipes, yet nonetheless retains a unity throughout its divisions.58 The use of analogies to new devices by third-century doctors has been well documented in other contexts by von Staden.59 The moral Tertullian draws is that a unique material diffused through a network of channels retains its unity despite the various ways in which the individual sense organs adapt to the body. The view that spiritus—Latin for pneuma—is confined to specific channels would make sense if Strato thought that the nervous system connects sense organs to the central organ. Pneuma appears in a report by Plutarch making the general claim that, in Strato’s view, pain involves the transfer of sensation between the part affected and the central organ: [S]ome attribute all these things [sc. affections] together to the soul and place them there, like Strato the natural philosopher who says that not only 54 56 57

58 59

55 Placita 5.24.4 = fr. 66 Sharples. Diels 1879: 436n.; Wehrli 1950: 38n. Zeller 1897: 470; Capelle 1931: 304. For the conjecture that the water organ is that invented by Ctesibius—and thus potentially known to Strato—cf. Drachmann 1948: 36–8. On the tendency to ascribe all ancient inventions to Archimedes, see Jaeger 2008. Tertullian De anima 14 = fr. 59 Sharples. Heraclitus and Aenesidemus are also said to hold similar views. von Staden 1998.

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sylvia berryman desires but pains, and not [only] fears and jealousies and Schadenfreude, but also [physical] pains and pleasures and sufferings and in general every sensation has its being in the soul, and all such things belong to the soul; it is not in our foot that we feel the pain when we stub our toe, nor in the head when we break it, nor in our finger when we cut it off. For the other [parts], apart from the ruling part, are without sensation; it is when the blow is transmitted quickly to this that we call the sensation pain. Just as we think that the voice which sounds in our ears is outside, adding to the sensation the distance from the sound to the ruling [part], in a similar way we think that the pain from the wound is not where the sensation has been received, but where it had its origin, the soul being drawn to that [part] from where it was affected. And for this reason when we bump into something we immediately draw our eyebrows together, when the ruling [part] quickly assigns sensation to the part that has been struck, and we sometimes interrupt the pneuma (?), and if our limbs are held by bonds . . . we press hard with [our] hands,60 obstructing the transmission of the affection and compressing the blow in the parts that are without sensation, so that it should not, by reaching the [part] that has intelligence, become pain. Well, this is what Strato [says], reasonably, in many such cases.61

The text is uncertain here. Sharples accepts Madvig’s emendation of παρεγκόπτομεν to παρεγκάπτομεν, reading this to mean that we ‘swallow our breath’. This emendation seems unnecessary: given the notion of pneuma as a fluid transmitting sensation, a perfectly sensible reading exists that retains the sense of παρεγκόπτομεν as an interruption.62 While pneuma could refer to ordinary breath, it could also refer to the contents of the nerves. Sandbach and Sharples read the passage as saying only that we are affected in different parts of the body than the location that is struck, drawing together our eyebrows and gasping.63 However, given that Strato accords a particular role in psychic activity to the mid-brow and to a vascular system, a more technical interpretation seems justified.64 Read against the background of the new theory of the nervous system, the point being made would be quite a significant theoretical claim. The fact that we 60

61 62 64

διὸ καὶ προσκόψαντες αὐτίκα τὰς ὀφρῦς συνάγομεν, τῷ πληγέντι μορίῳ τοῦ ἡγεμονικοῦ τὴν αἴσθησιν ὀξέως ἀποδιδόντος, καὶ παρεγκόπτομεν ἔσθ᾽ ὅτε τὸ πνεῦμα, κἂν τὰ μέρη δεσμοῖς διαλαμβάνηται, ***χερσὶ σφόδρα πιέζομεν . . . Duebner supplies ταις before χερσὶ; Pohlenz, who thinks the limbs are shackled so as to prevent squeezing, suggests a larger lacuna. However, a plausible picture is that of bandaged wounds squeezed to numb the pain. De libidine et aegritudine 4 (967B) = fr. 63B Sharples. Translation by R. W. Sharples in Desclos and Fortenbaugh 2011; slight modification in italics mine. 63 I thank Charles Brittain for noting this. Sandbach 1969; Desclos and Fortenbaugh 2011. Cf. Capelle 1931: 303–4: ‘weil die Seele dem betroffennen Körperteil sofort die Empfindung übermittelt, und zuweilen sperren wir das Pneuma ab, und wenn die Teile des Körpers durch Binden abgeschnürt werden, drücken wir sie mit den Händen fest zusammen . . . ’.

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can block pain by squeezing wounds may be offered here as evidence that the sensation of pain requires a physical transfer between the part affected and the central organ: when the transfer of pneuma is interrupted by pressure, we do not experience the sensation. We try to ‘contain’ the pain of an injury by stopping the communication of impact. The immediate, external reaction of the brows indicates the speed with which pneuma normally transfers the impact to the central organ. John Philoponus, an Aristotelian commentator in late antiquity, echoes this argument, making explicit reference to the role of neura. He notes that only the part of a limb above a tourniquet remains sensitive.65 It is unfortunate that one of the most promising passages on Strato’s use of pneuma is so contested. Repici sees no reason to credit Strato with a new, technical theory of pneuma, finding antecedents for his references to pneuma in Aristotle.66 Radical disagreement surrounds the importance of this material within Aristotle’s work, where its use is somewhat ad hoc.67 Aristotle ascribes various phenomena to pneuma: epileptic seizures during sleep and the ill effects of wine on the young are attributed to its excess, as are the effects of melancholia and fever.68 ‘Innate pneuma’ is invoked to explain how the functions attributed to breath extend to non-breathing animals.69 Theophrastus’ incidental remarks on pneuma make clear that it is normally present in the body, but that in certain cases excess quantities rise to the head, with no evidence that it is thought to be contained in conduits.70 The effects of pneuma are associated with occasional rather than continuous metabolic processes.71 Pneuma is directly related to strength, and a deficiency or loss of pneuma is the cause given for 65 66 67

68 69 71

Philoponus in DA 19.14; 238.32–5; 201.8. In his commentary on this passage, van der Eijk 2005c: 125 n. 202 refers to Galen’s vivisection experiments. Repici 1988: 9. Rose and Zeller thought the concept so un-Aristotelian as to show that De motu animalium must be spurious: Rose 1854: 162–74; Zeller 1897: I, 93 n. 2. Jaeger 1960 considers pneuma to be an idea Aristotle adopted from medicine late in his career; Nuyens 1948, a fellow developmentalist, allocates pneuma rather to a middle period before Aristotle formulated the conception of soul as form. Nussbaum 1978: 163 describes pneuma as ‘a hypothetical gap-filler whose workings cannot be scrutinized too closely’. Peck 1979: 576–93 attempts to organise and systematise Aristotle’s sundry discussions of the term, as does Verbeke 1978. Balme 1972 doubts that there is a theory at all and argues that the passages where Aristotle appears to conjure a new substance are fully compatible with things he says elsewhere about ordinary breath. I discuss its use to explain the otherwise inexplicable in Berryman 2002a. Cf. Clark 1975; Freudenthal 1995; Bos and Ferwerda 2008. Aristotle Somn. 3, 457a10–18; Insomn. 3, 461a21–5. I have not tried to do justice to the complexity of Aristotle’s views here. Aristotle PA 2.16, 659b14–19. 70 Theophrastus De sudore 32–3; De vertigine 1. Theophrastus De sudore 25–6. The reference to sumphuton pneuma in Wimmer’s text of De sudore is, however, an emendation by Schneider: noted by Sharples in Fortenbaugh, Sharples and Sollenberger 2003: 40.

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paralysis.72 Photius reports Theophrastus’ view that paralysis and numbness are ascribed to the stoppage of pneuma. This is emphatically not because pneuma is responsible for sensation: rather, once blocked, pneuma chills the blood, which is then unable to perform its functions fully.73 Theophrastus seems to use the term neura to refer to sinews,74 and shows no awareness of the nervous system. While there are certainly antecedents in Aristotle and Theophrastus for the use of pneuma, the reports about Strato’s use make far better sense if interpreted in the light of new medical theories. The idea that pneuma exhibits a tension that is relaxed during sleep fits well with the reports that pneuma has a function of relaying impacts from one part of the body to another by means of changes in tension rather than by a spatial relocation of material. And the idea that pressure on a part of the body can interrupt the transmission of impact and prevent us from feeling blows makes sense if pneuma is understood as the medium by which sensation is transmitted, a tensed substance connecting centre to periphery and capable of transmitting impacts. The Aristotelian background alone does not provide the basis for such a view; medical theories do. We also, of course, find extensive use of pneuma and wave-like transmission of information in Stoicism. While we cannot rule out the possibility that Strato was simply borrowing the emphasis on pneuma from Stoicism, it seems much more likely that both philosophical schools were responding to advances in medicine and mechanics. We see this most sharply when focusing not on the term pneuma—which had been used to name quite different substances throughout its chequered past—but rather on the ascription of the property of elasticity or eutonia to pneuma. The capacity to deform and rebound (i.e. to ‘remember’ and return to its original shape) is essential to the notion that information is relayed by impact. Elastic substances can transmit various pieces of information without losing their essential properties because they return to their initial state after temporary deformation, thus allowing different temporary deformations to be transmitted without being conflated. Common observation tells us that some bodies both bend and spring back, as in the action of a bow or plucked string. But there is little evidence before the third century that this property of recoil was recognised by natural philosophers as a fundamental property of matter. Discussions of materials like sponge, sinew, or horn in the fourth 72 73 74

Theophrastus De sudore 34; De nervorum resolutione. Photius Bibliotheca 278 525b22 = FHSG 346, II, 131; cf. Sharples 1995: 28–9. Theophrastus De lassitudine 1.

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century focus only on its capacity to deform, not its capacity to recoil and resume its former shape.75 It was Chrysippus, and not Zeno, who developed the notion that the eutonia of matter allows it to transmit wave-like impulses without lasting deformation.76 Chrysippus was still a child at the time of Strato’s death. The Stoicism of Strato’s day seems to have offered little compelling reason to regard pneuma theory as worthy of renewed emphasis, or to offer reasons for developing it beyond the role it played in Aristotle’s work. Mechanics, however, offered evidence of a new property: Ctesibius invented devices based on pistons whose operation can only be explained by ascribing a kind of elasticity to the compressed air that springs back forcefully when the piston releases.77 The prominent aspect of this process is the forcefulness of the recoil, not merely the ability to deform. This property of elasticity supported the conception of pneuma in medicine (i.e. that of a substance transmitting impacts by wave-like impulses from periphery to core, deforming and quickly resuming its original shape). There is thus more evidence suggesting that both Strato and Chrysippus were following this empirical work than that Strato, in extending the role of pneuma, took his cue from the early Stoicism of Zeno of Citium.

The Involvement of Mind in Perception Strato seems to posit a high degree of dependence of the parts of the perceptual system on the central organ. In the report by Plutarch cited above, Strato claims that all operations of psuchē, including perception, depend on the operation of a central organ.78 The bodily organs that suffer the impact are described as conduits, neither themselves sensing nor even contributing any peculiar stamp to the affections they transmit. Repici points to Aristotle’s talk of bodily organs as instruments of the soul, to show that Strato’s view on the relationship of the organs of perception to the centre has precedent in Aristotle.79 Nonetheless, the reports indicate that Strato put a greater stress on the involvement of the central organ in perception and he seemed to some reporters to have erased the distinction between the non-rational perception by the sense organs and the rational judgement or thought that takes place in the central organ. 75 76 77 78

See Berryman 2009: 201ff. Berryman 2009: 204. Zeno of Citium survived Strato by about a decade. Vegetti 1993; Berryman 2009. Ps.-Plutarch De libine et aegritudine, 5; cf. also Ps.-Plutarch Placita 4.23.3.

79

Repici 1988: 19.

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While Aristotle recognises the distinction between perception and judgement, Strato is sometimes reported as assimilating the two, elsewhere as diminishing the independence of the sense organs by distinguishing the sites where an impact is received and where sensation actually takes place. The central organ, for Strato, does not merely adjudicate the claims of different senses. It—rather than the sense organs themselves—is cast as the part that perceives. This latter thesis was taken to weaken the independence of perception from thought or judgement. In the passage by Plutarch discussed above, our ability to discern the location of the original impact is treated as secondary and inferential. After the impact has been transferred to the central perceptive faculty, the central organ refers the sensation back to the part that was impacted, so that pain seems to be located there. The perception itself includes the information by which we infer the location from which it originated. Scholars have recognised the originality of Strato’s view, insofar as it acknowledges the ability of psuchē to project a sense perception to a specific spatial location.80 The case of hearing illustrates this well. Although the sensation of a bell ringing occurs internal to a listener, we do not make the mistake of thinking that the bell is actually ringing inside us. We calibrate automatically, projecting the sounding back to its point of origin. Strato argues that the same process happens with ‘contact senses’ like pain. Although we seem to feel pain at the site of a wound, in actuality the hēgemonikon interprets the impact in such a way that the sensation appears to take place at the place affected. The central organ’s referral of the sensation to the point of initial impact on the body is described as ‘drawing’ the psuchē to the part affected.81 The notion seems to be a metaphorical one: the injured limb becomes a focus of attention for the psuchē. One reason why perceptions and affections are attributed to a central organ rather than to the sensory systems as a whole is that Strato thinks not only desires and feelings but even perceptions require judgement. The distinction between reception of impact and sensation is compared to the contrast between the reception of a sign by sight and our awareness of it, in the case of someone reading. The actual impact is merely a preliminary: And indeed there is an argument of Strato the natural philosopher which shows that not even sensation is present at all in the absence of mind 80 81

Poppelreuter 1892: 52; Capelle 1931: 304. This is read as mere façon de parler for the fact that attention becomes focused on a particular part of the body by Gottschalk 1965: 164, and Repici 1988: 10. The ‘dragging down’ is taken literally by Rodier 1890: 93.

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[aneu tou noein]. For frequently we fail to notice letters when we traverse them with our sight and words that fall on our ears, because we have our mind on something else; and then again [the mind] returns and runs after and pursues and gathers up each of the things that it cast away. This is why it is said that ‘Mind [nous] sees and hears, the rest are deaf and blind,’ since the experience in the eyes and ears does not produce sensation if what thinks [to phronoun] is not present.82

This passage states that in Strato’s view the mere reception of impacts by the appropriate organs does not constitute perception.83 The model suggests that impacts can be received but only processed at a later time, without any additional external stimulus present. The implication of the quotation is that Strato equates sensation with awareness of sensation: he seems to be denying that we have seen if we are not aware of having done so. He does not, unfortunately, consider what may seem like a decisive criterion in this debate, which is whether such unconscious impacts could have causal effects (e.g. if we might swerve to avoid a tree we have not been aware of seeing). Strato’s discussion suggests only that the impacts are somehow retained in the body for later processing,84 and not that we might be able to respond to them without this reaching the level of awareness. Of three potentially distinct steps—receiving the impact, feeling the sensation, and noticing that we perceive—Strato seems to equate the second and third. A fourth step—referring the sensation to the original site of injury—seems to be said to happen simultaneously with sensation, but is classified analytically as a distinct process. Epiphanius reports that Strato thinks ‘every animal is a recipient of mind [nous]’.85 De libidine et aegritudine likewise attacks the Stoic restriction of rational capacities to human beings and cites Strato against this, stressing that perception cannot occur in isolation from mental faculties.86 Repici, quite plausibly, doubts that Strato is identifying perception and thought.87 Because Aristotle denies that animals have reason, he needs to understand the perceptive faculty as including some inferential abilities, in 82 83

84 85 86

De sollertia animalium 3, 961A = fr. 62 Sharples. Translation by R. W. Sharples. The claim is echoed in Prob. 2.33, 903a19–21, which also cites Epicharmus’ verse; Plutarch De Alexandri fortuna 336B (= DK23 B12). Gottschalk 1965: 123 refers the Problemata passage to Strato. Capelle 1931: 306 points to a comparable remark by Diogenes of Apollonia about the need for attention: Theophrastus Sens. 42 = DK64 A19. Cf. Sorabji 1993: 79. See Coltheart 1980 for a survey of modern research into related phenomena. I thank Christopher Mole for references and discussion. Epiphanius Adversus haereses 3.33 = fr. 48 Wehrli. Strato’s view on this point is very different from Alcmaeon’s: cf. Capelle 1931: col. 306. Cf. Zeller 1897: 469; Wehrli 1950: 71; Gatzemeier 1970: 135. 87 Repici 1988: 3–4.

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order to account for the discriminatory decisions that animals seem to make.88 Theophrastus, by contrast, argues that animals have certain reasoning abilities: he takes animals to be akin to people in the nature of their constituent parts and their functions.89 Strato seems to accept this revision of Aristotle, according a greater degree of mental involvement even in perception. Strato seems to be ‘upgrading’ the degree of mental involvement required for perception, rather than ‘downgrading’ thought by somehow reducing it to a kind of perception. The only evidence that Strato identifies mind and sensation is a report by Sextus that ‘thought [dianoia] is the senses, peeping out the sense organs as if through windows’.90 This is an odd claim, and perhaps hyperbolic. The notion that sense organs can receive impressions when the mind is distracted shows that the sense organs have a distinct and independent function, thus resisting any straightforward identification of perception and mind.91 Sextus is perhaps overstating Strato’s notion that judgement is required for perception, wrongly taking him to have denied the difference between perception and thought. Although the surviving texts do not, collectively, provide a full picture of Strato’s views on perception or the soul, a few tentative conclusions may be drawn. One is that he offered an image of the psuchē as working via a complex and diffused organ, with its centre at the mid-brow but extending through a number of passageways that reach to the sense organs. A single substance, pneuma, spreads throughout these passageways and is the means by which impacts are communicated to and from the centre. The transmission of impact takes place through tension in this medium, a tension that can be slackened or completely severed as well as interrupted by external pressure. The involvement of the central organ is essential to any psychic activity, including perception, which requires a degree of judgement. It seems likely that, in insisting on the role of mind or thought in perception, Strato is following the lead taken by Theophrastus, weakening Aristotle’s sharp distinction between animal and human mental activity. As Theophrastus’ argument for positing a similar account of perception in humans and other animals is based on similarities in anatomy, it may be that Strato also thought that conceding the involvement of mind in perception was justified by our biological similarities. A robust theory of 88 89 91

For this thesis and its consequences cf. Sorabji 1993. Porphyry De Abstinentia 3.25; Sorabji 1993: 177–8. 90 SE M 1.350 = fr. 61 Sharples. Hankinson 1995: 129–31 suggests that the attribution of positive views to Aenesidemus, reported by most sources to be a sceptic, is a reason to suspect the report.

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the nervous system like Herophilus’, showing how motor and sensory functions required the coordination of centre and peripheral organs via channels that could be severed, would support such a view.

Animal Reproduction One final issue has a less definitive textual basis, but supports the idea that Strato’s revisions are based on medical research. Galen reports a rival theory to Aristotle’s idiosyncratic dogma that the male transmits only form to the resulting embryo, the female supplying the matter. A rival view credits both parents with producing seed. Although some manuscripts say that this is the view of ‘Stratonikos’, scholars since Fabricius have supposed that the reference is really to Strato.92 The use of the tag ‘the natural philosopher’ is a strong argument for suspecting a textual error;93 moreover, as the two-seed theory was held by a number of later thinkers, it would be odd for Galen to single out an obscure doctor from his own time to represent the view. The context makes much more sense, however, if Galen is drawing attention to the fact that even a member of the Lyceum came to revise Aristotle’s oneseed theory.94 The two-seed theory attributed to Strato—there seems no reason to doubt the scholarly consensus that he is the person named—takes the seed from one parent to dominate the other in determining the gender and characteristics of the embryo. Unlike Aristotle’s theory of generation, this view allows that the female produces seed; it thus shows how maternal characteristics could be inherited. Lonie believes that Strato’s theory is similar to Alcmaeon’s;95 Rodier thinks this is a reversion to the materialism of Democritus.96 Although there are earlier two-seed theories, we need to show how Aristotle’s criticisms had been answered, lest Strato’s view seem like a throwback to a rejected position.97 We also need 92 93

94

95 97

It is adopted by Wehrli 1950: 31; De Lacy 1992: 182; Sharples 2011: 157–9. Galen once mentions a ‘Stratonikos’, student of Sabinos, one of Galen’s teachers in Pergamon. ‘Strato the natural philosopher’ is mentioned at De tremore, palpitatione, convulsione et rigore 616.1 = fr. 75 Sharples. Galen uses the tag ho phusikos only rarely otherwise, once in connection with Empedocles, SMT = Kühn 11.460, and twice in the plural: De simpl. med. temp. = Kühn 11.513 and HNH = Kühn 15.7. Galen’s attribution of a two-seed theory to Strato has led to speculation about whether Historia Animalium 10, which claims that there must be seed from both parents (HA 10.6, 637b30–2), is Stratonian: cf. Rudberg 1951: 31–4; Düring 1966: 506–8; van der Eijk 1999: 490–502. 96 Lonie 1981: 126. I am grateful to Andrew Coles for the reference. Rodier 1890: 90. The view of Rodier 1890: 93, that Strato’s theory of pneuma stems from his ideas about the nature of seed, is equally groundless.

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to consider the possibility that Strato offered a two-seed theory that retained a commitment to hylomorphism, in contrast to earlier materialist theories of reproduction. Once again, Hellenistic anatomical theories would justify Strato’s revisions of Aristotle’s views. In Aristotle’s day, the view that females produced seed stood on less-than-firm ground. Aside from inferences from the fact that children inherit characteristics from their mothers—a phenomenon that Aristotle explained in other ways—the direct evidence cited for female seed was that females experience pleasure during intercourse.98 Much stronger evidence was available in the Hellenistic period. Herophilus discovered the ovaries, which he called ‘female testicles’, since he saw that they were structurally analogous to the male organs that produce seed.99 The discovery of analogous organs in both male and female would have seemed to vindicate the view that females produce seed.100 If Strato knew of Herophilus’ research, then, he would have ample reason to revise Aristotle’s view. According to Galen, ‘Strato’ claims that male and female animals differ, not only in the generative parts, but also ‘in veins and arteries’.101 What differences are at issue is not clear. Galen admits the general point that the sexes differ in more than just genitalia, since we can distinguish someone’s gender at a distance from general differences in form. He faults the author for ‘inexperience in precise anatomy’, on the grounds that veins and arteries are the same in males and females throughout the entire body in position and constitution as well as number.102 Galen makes comparable remarks about the inaccuracy of Erasistratus’ earlier views. This needn’t mean that Strato thinks the entire vascular system exhibits gender differences: given the state of anatomy at the time, there may have been uncertainty whether the vascular systems in the generative parts differ between the sexes. Herophilus’ dissections of the female reproductive organs included identifying the uterine and ovarian arteries and veins, depending heavily on assumptions based on analogy between the sexes. He mistakes the routing of the fallopian tubes because of this.103 Strato’s error may reflect debate about the congruency of blood vessels in the reproductive area of the two sexes. 98 99 100 101 103

Aristotle GA 2.20, 727b33–6; cf. Lonie 1981: 120. Galen De semine 2.1; cf. von Staden 1989: 230–4; Lloyd 1983: 108–11. Cf. von Staden 1989: 230–1. Following Lesky 1950, von Staden takes reports that Pythagoras or Democritus held a two-seed theory as an anachronistic reflection of Herophilean views. Galen De semine 2.5. 102 Galen De semine 2.5. Galen De uteri diss. = Kühn 2.894–8; von Staden 1989: 230–4.

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If Strato is the author credited with a two-seed view, as seems likely, we need to consider how such a revision—empirically grounded or not— could be reconciled with Aristotelianism. The location of the centre or the material associated with perception and other functions of soul may seem like relatively minor details that could be assimilated within a basically Aristotelian system. However, a two-seed theory seems to strike at the heart of the form-matter analysis. What is important to note, however, is that the kind of two-seed theory need not be the ‘sampling’ view of the earlier materialist tradition. The ‘sampling’ view tries to explain generation as a process of replication: the seed is a composite of samples from each part of the body which, when the samples from both parents are mixed, attracts similar material to enlarge each organ until a complete organism is formed. No explanation of the organisation of material into functional form is offered. Aristotle lists a number of objections to this approach in Generation of Animals 1.18.104 Most prominently, the sampling view tries to explain the reproduction of organs by the collection of a material sample from each organ but fails to show how this material sample could reproduce the structure and function of the organ in question.105 Strato’s theory, by contrast, takes the seed from one parent to predominate. The strength of this approach is that it can regard the dominant seed as acting in Aristotelian terms as a formal whole, and not as a collection of samples from various organs. Thus, it can retain the advantages of a formmatter analysis, presumably treating the seed as a formal blueprint for the organism as a whole. This approach could show why females are different from males in more respects than merely their generative organs. Its limitation, as Galen notes, is explaining the inheritance of characteristics from the parent of the opposite sex: it suggests that we would largely resemble one parent or the other. A further account would be needed for the ability to ‘mix-and-match’ individual characteristics from the other parent’s seed without destroying the cohesion of a formal view of inheritance.106 While a ‘two-seed’ theory might seem like a significant departure from Aristotelian metaphysics, the ‘dominance’ version Strato articulates is broadly compatible with a form-matter explanatory structure, and could be accommodated within Aristotelianism without abandoning its most basic metaphysical commitments. How other details were worked out is unclear: this position might require revising Aristotle’s claim that the 104 105

On Aristotle’s theory of generation, see esp. Preus 1970; von Staden 1989; Berryman 2007. Berryman 2007. 106 Sem. 2.5, 15–19.

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female is an imperfect manifestation of the human form.107 Yet, as a response to medical evidence that respects hylomorphism, this revision too would be philosophically justifiable.

False Dichotomies? In interpreting Strato as retaining a fundamentally Aristotelian outlook even while responding to new evidence, I am rejecting two dichotomies that characterise earlier scholarship. One is that between orthodoxy and innovation. Repici’s reading of Strato as an Aristotelian rightly rejects the notion that Strato merely borrowed ideas haphazardly from other schools, but does not consider whether new evidence might have motivated intellectually responsible revisions. Someone working within a basically Aristotelian framework might have been receptive to new medical evidence, and have sought to incorporate it within a hylomorphic analysis of psychic functioning. The other dichotomy I resist is the assumption of a divide between ‘mechanistic’ and teleological natural philosophy.108 I accept Diels’ supposition that Erasistratean medicine is important background to Strato’s thought, and also consider the possible impact of Hellenistic mechanics. As von Staden has shown, there is considerable evidence of crosspollination of ideas between mechanics and doctors in the third century.109 Nonetheless, we need to be wary of Diels’ assumption that appeals to mechanics, medicine, and other sources of naturalistic explanations go hand in hand with a particulate matter theory.110 Cicero tells us that Strato explicitly rejected atomism;111 apparent evidence that he abandoned or ‘compromised’ on the commitments of Aristotelian continuum physics is controversial.112 While Strato is known as a revisionist, his position could be seen as one natural line of development of Aristotelian 107

That doctrine sits uncomfortably with the distinction between ‘always or for the most part’ regularities and unpatterned defects: we don’t know whether Strato recognised this. For more on potentially misleading aspects of this dichotomy, see Berryman 2009. 109 von Staden 1998. 110 The dangers of importing modern ideas about the ‘mechanistic’ were first raised by David Balme in connection with our understanding of Democritus: see Balme 1941; Berryman 2009. 111 Cicero Academica 2.121. 112 Those who approach the material with an exhaustive dichotomy between atomism and continuum physics are inclined to see any concession to void as anti-teleological. But Philoponus shows us why continuum physics needs to concede the possibility of void, in order to account for the pressure apparent in pneumatic devices: Sedley 1987. Even poroi (passageways) for light and heat might be accommodated along the lines of the claim in Meteorology 4 that poroi could refer to fissure lines throughout matter: Lehoux 1999; Berryman 2011; Sanders 2011. 108

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thought, resisting the attempt to take Aristotle’s thought in the direction of ineliminably teleological properties.113 Yet the fundamental commitment to teleological explanation and hylomorphic analysis remains. The bigger picture is still emerging. But if one of the apparently most unorthodox of the early Peripatetics can be shown to be revising Aristotelian doctrine in the face of empirical counter-evidence, the account of school practice emerging from recent scholarship has one less ‘maverick’ to explain. The thesis of the separation of philosophy and the Hellenistic sciences is further eroded, and the story of the dialogue between ancient Greek medicine, philosophy, and mechanics gains a significant paragraph. While argumentative reconstruction may seem like scant evidence in the absence of firm textual evidence, reliance on isolated textual parallels between authors can be misleading if the argumentative context is unknown. In some cases, philosophical reconstruction may be our best route to understanding. 113

Berryman 2007.

chapter 2

Herophilus and Erasistratus on the Hēgemonikon David Leith

Introduction In Alexandria at some point in the early third century bc, Herophilus of Chalcedon identified the nerves as a distinct system within the body, traced their origins to the brain, and recognised their role in transmitting sensation and voluntary motion. His discovery was based on dissection and vivisection, not only of animals, but also of human beings. Herophilus’ younger contemporary Erasistratus also integrated these findings into his rather bolder physiology. The implications of this discovery were of course wideranging. From a modern perspective, it is now widely celebrated as having established, for the first time on something like a scientific basis, that the brain has more or less the functions that we now ascribe to it. Likewise, in antiquity, Galen relied heavily on Herophilus’ discovery in his proof that the rational soul is located in the brain. As we shall see, it also had an impact on Stoic psychology. What exactly Herophilus and Erasistratus saw as its implications, however, is a different question, and the difficulties in answering it are considerable given the state of the evidence.1 The Aëtian Placita tradition reports that Herophilus and Erasistratus each had answers to the question of the location of the hēgemonikon: On the hēgemonikon. Plato and Democritus [say that it is] in the whole head. Strato [says that it is] in the ‘mid-brow’. Erasistratus [says that it is] in the membrane of the brain, which he calls the epikranis. Herophilus [says that it is] in the cavity of the brain, which is also its base . . .2 1 2

The fragments of Herophilus and Erasistratus are collected in von Staden 1989 and Garofalo 1988, respectively. Ps.-Plut. Plac. 4.5: Περὶ τοῦ ἡγεμονικοῦ. (1) Πλάτων Δημόκριτος ἐν ὅλῃ τῇ κεφαλῇ. (2) Στράτων ἐν μεσοφρύῳ. (3) Ἐρασίστρατος περὶ τὴν μήνιγγα τοῦ ἐγκεφάλου, ἣν ἐπικρανίδα λέγει. (4) Ἡρόφιλος ἐν τῇ τοῦ ἐγκεφάλου κοιλίᾳ, ἥτις ἐστὶ καὶ βάσις. See too Theodoret 5.22: ὅσα δὲ καὶ περὶ τῆς τοῦ ἡγεμονικοῦ χώρας διηνέχθησαν πρὸς ἀλλήλους ῥά ͅ διον διαγνῶναι. (1) Ἱπποκράτης μὲν γὰρ καὶ Δημόκριτος καὶ Πλάτων ἐν ἐγκεφάλῳ τοῦτο ἱδρῦσθαι εἰρήκασιν. (2) ὁ δὲ Στράτων ἐν μεσοφρύῳ. (3) Ἐρασίστρατος δὲ ὁ ἰατρὸς περὶ τὴν τοῦ ἐγκεφάλου μήνιγγα, ἣν καὶ ἐπικρανίδα λέγει. (4) Ἡρόφιλος

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The membrane mentioned in the Erasistratean entry presumably refers to both the pia and dura mater together, which he certainly distinguished.3 In the Herophilean report, the ‘base’ of the brain refers to the cerebellum. These testimonia have been highly influential in recent assessments of the broader theoretical contexts in which the newly discovered nervous system played a role for these doctors.4 In this essay, however, I shall argue that the Placita testimonia on Herophilus and Erasistratus are significantly misleading in a number of ways. A closer look at the remaining evidence reveals a rather more complicated picture, and there are indications that their particular concerns were in some respects different from what has often been assumed. Specifically, I shall try to show that neither doctor singled out the brain or its meninges as the location of the hēgemonikon, as the Placita testimonia tell us, and that in fact they did not have a theory of a hēgemonikon at all. The functioning of the human body for them involved complex processes spanning multiple organs and mediated by multiple fluids. Voluntary motion and sensation were only two among a wider array of fundamental physiological functions; other, no less fundamental, functions were also closely associated with the heart. Nor do mental phenomena such as rational thought, memory, emotions, etc., appear to have been associated with the brain or its meninges, or indeed any bodily organ. The functions which were associated with the nerves (and through them the brain or its meninges) were all thought to be mediated by the physical substance of pneuma, but there is no sign that Herophilus or Erasistratus attempted to account also for other mental functions. Such functions, I shall suggest, may have been thought to belong properly to the soul, and as such were of questionable relevance to the medical art, at least according to Herophilus and Erasistratus. The reports on their views regarding the hēgemonikon will have arisen, not from their original writings, but from Chrysippus’

3

4

δὲ ἐν τῇ τοῦ ἐγκεφάλου κοιλίᾳ. Tert. DA 15.5 and Cael. Aur. De morb. ac. 1.53 offer additional witnesses to the Placita reports. For a detailed overview of the Placita tradition on this question, see Mansfeld 1990: 3092–108. See below on Erasistratus’ anatomy of the brain. The term ἐπικρανίς attributed to Erasistratus here has been suspected by some, but I do not think that the emendation suggested by Diels 1879: 207–9 is warranted. E.g. von Staden 2000: 87: ‘Herophilus’ remarkable anatomical explorations . . . not only allowed him to confirm that the brain is the centre of all psychic activity, as several predecessors had claimed, but also to specify more precisely than any precursor the location of the soul’s central “ruling part”’; Cambiano 1999: 601: ‘Thanks to this (dissection) Herophilus was able to observe the ventricles of the brain and to show in one of these the site of the central psychic organ’; Solmsen 1961: 192–3: ‘[Erasistratus] evidently, like Herophilus, placed the hēgemonikon or organ of thought in the cerebellum.’

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response to the physiology of the nervous system in his treatise On the Soul. Chrysippus will have addressed the nervous system only insofar as it had a bearing on the question of the location of the hēgemonikon. The fact that this Stoicising version of Herophilus’ and Erasistratus’ views has in some ways been taken at face value is perhaps also connected to a tendency to assimilate early Alexandrian neurology too readily to a modern understanding of the brain. I shall begin by examining the evidence we have for Herophilus’ and Erasistratus’ analysis of the brain and nervous system separately, before attempting to assess the general character of their theories and their principal concerns. I shall also consider the degree to which they believed that the inquiry into the soul and its interaction with the body properly belonged to the medical art at all. The subsequent section will take a close look at how Chrysippus responded to the physiology of the nervous system in his treatise On the Soul, and will argue that his discussion is a plausible source for the erroneous attribution to Herophilus and Erasistratus of opinions on the location of the hēgemonikon. Finally, I shall consider how a similar fate may have befallen Strato of Lampsacus in regard to his views on the same subject.

Herophilus Studies by Friedrich Solmsen and Heinrich von Staden have put it beyond reasonable doubt that Herophilus was indeed the first to isolate the nerves as a distinct anatomical structure within the body, and to ascertain their function in mediating both sensation and voluntary motion.5 He regarded the nerves, however, as basically similar to the various cords, tendons, and ligaments for which the term neuron had previously been used, but differentiated them by their sensory and motor function. This is attested for example by Rufus of Ephesus: ‘according to Herophilus, some neura are voluntary , which grow from the brain and spinal marrow, while some grow from bone to bone, others from muscle to muscle, which also bind together the joints’.6 Galen refers to the same division of types of neuron, where he probably has Herophilus in mind: ‘but if you want to confuse the names, as most have done since Hippocrates’ time, call them all 5 6

See esp. Solmsen 1961 and von Staden 1989: 159–60. Herophilus T81 von Staden = Rufus of Ephesus, Anatomy of the Parts of the Body 75 (pp. 184–5 Daremberg-Ruelle): κατὰ δὲ τὸν Ἡρόφιλον ἃ μέν ἐστι προαιρετικὰ , ἃ καὶ ἔχει τὴν ἔκφυσιν ἀπὸ τοῦ ἐγκεφάλου καὶ νωτιαίου μυελοῦ, καὶ ἃ μὲν ἀπὸ ὀστοῦ εἰς ὀστοῦν ἐμφύεται, ἃ δὲ ἀπὸ μυὸς εἰς μῦν, ἃ καὶ συνδεῖ τὰ ἄρθρα.

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neura but say that there is a three-fold distinction among them, those from the brain and spinal cord being sensory and voluntary, those without sensation being ligamentous, and third, in addition to these, are those that grow from the muscles as they become cord-like’.7 The focus on specifically voluntary motion, that is, motion κατὰ προαίρεσιν (literally ‘in accordance with choice’) stems from Herophilus’ recognition, as we shall see, of the separate, natural motion involved in such phenomena as the arterial pulse, which is not under our control.8 As for the brain, Herophilus distinguished its four ventricles, and believed that the one in the cerebellum has greatest significance: ‘Those who consider this cavity [sc. the fornix] to be a fourth ventricle say that, of all the ventricles in the entire brain, it is most dominant. Herophilus, however, seems to think that not this ventricle, but the one in the cerebellum [parenkephalis], is more dominant.’9 This of course immediately recalls the Placita reports which have Herophilus locating the hēgemonikon ‘in the ventricle of the brain, which is its base’. Nonetheless, Galen is not suggesting here that the ventricle in the cerebellum is the most important part of the body, but only that it is more important than the brain’s other ventricles. It is a crucial point for understanding the subsequent debate that, as noted, Herophilus used the term neuron not only for what we would recognise as nerves but also for the various other ‘cord-like’ structures in the body, such as tendons and ligaments. The confusion this has caused is certainly regrettable, but Herophilus may well have had good reasons for using the same term for all such structures. Direct continuity between the nerves, tendons, and ligaments seems to have been envisioned. Galen describes the composition of such structures as follows: ‘the nerve in each muscle separates into fibres and mixes and intertwines with the fibres from the ligaments, and then a single nerve-like structure, the product of their union, grows out from the body of the muscle, the so-called tendon’.10 It 7

8

9

10

Gal. PHP 1.9.10 (p. 96 De Lacy): εἰ δὲ καὶ συγχεῖν βούλοιο τὰς προσηγορίας ὡς οἱ πλεῖστοι τῶν μεθ’ Ἱπποκράτη, κάλει μὲν ἅπαντα νεῦρα, διαφορὰς δὲ ἐν αὐτοῖς λέγε τριττάς, αἰσθητικὰ μὲν καὶ προαιρετικὰ τὰ ἐξ ἐγκεφάλου καὶ νωτιαίου πεφυκότα, συνδετικὰ δὲ τὰ ἀναίσθητα, καὶ τρίτα ἔτι πρὸς τούτοις τὰ ἐκ τῶν μυῶν ἀπονευρουμένων φυόμενα, after De Lacy. A similar terminological distinction is made, for example, by Aristotle, at PA 2.13, 657a 37–b 1, on non-voluntary blinking to prevent things getting in the eyes: καὶ τοῦτο οὐκ ἐκ προαιρέσεως, ἀλλ’ ἡ φύσις ἐποίησε. T78 [T138] von Staden = Galen UP 8.11 (i 484 Helmreich): καὶ οἷς γε τετάρτη τις αὕτη κοιλία νενόμισται, κυριωτάτην εἶναί φασιν αὐτὴν ἁπασῶν τῶν καθ’ ὅλον τὸν ἐγκέφαλον. Ἡρόφιλος μὴν οὐ ταύτην, ἀλλὰ τὴν ἐν τῇ παρεγκεφαλίδι κυριωτέραν ἔοικεν ὑπολαμβάνειν. PHP 1.10.14 (p. 98 De Lacy): λυόμενον γὰρ εἰς ἶνας ἐν ἑκάστῳ μυῒ τὸ νεῦρον ἀναμίγνυταί τε καὶ διαπλέκεται ταῖς ἐκ τῶν συνδέσμων ἰσίν, εἶτα ἐξ ἀμφοῖν ἕν τι νευρῶδες σῶμα γεννηθὲν ἐκφύεται τοῦ σώματος μυὸς ὁ προσαγορευόμενος τένων, trans. De Lacy.

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seems plausible that this idea of tendons being made of nerve fibres fused together with ligamentous tissue could, in its essentials, go back to Herophilus. Galen attributes to him the concept of a ‘nerve-like’ or, perhaps better, ‘tendon-like class’ (τὸ νευρῶδες γένος) of bodily parts, which included the nerves, ligaments, and tendons: all were of the same type.11 In what follows, I shall reserve the term ‘nerves’ for what modern biology would recognise as nerves; otherwise, I shall speak of neura in general. A key issue here is how Herophilus analysed the nervous system’s basic functions of mediating perception and voluntary motion in the broader context of human physiology. How exactly did these fit in with the body’s other functions? According to an offhand remark made by Galen, Herophilus believed that there are four capacities (δυνάμεις) which regulate living things: Then they [i.e. Archigenes and his followers] inquire which cause moves the arteries, and they omit nothing Herophilus wrote on this; but when his theories make a difference for the practice of the art, they no longer mention at all whether what Herophilus wrote is correct or incorrect. For God’s sake, wouldn’t it be much better not to inquire about the fact that four capacities were said by Herophilus to govern living beings, or to argue bitterly and to speak against him concerning those things at least, but rather, if they did wish to revile and refute him for talking idle nonsense, to mention such of his views as are clearly in conflict with what is evident?12

This specific number of four is striking. Unfortunately, however, only one of these capacities is clearly identified in our sources. The passage quoted is important for context: the physician Archigenes and his followers13 are being criticised by Galen for getting embroiled in tangential and arbitrarily chosen doctrinal disputes with Herophilus over pulsation. Galen makes it clear that they had attacked Herophilus’ basic analysis of four capacities specifically in relation to the question of what causes arterial motion. Our evidence, 11 12

13

See von Staden 1989: 255–6. T184 von Staden: εἶτα τίς μὲν ἡ κινοῦσα τὰς ἀρτηρίας αἰτία ζητοῦσι καὶ τῶν εἰς τοῦθ’ Ἡροφίλῳ γεγραμμένων οὐδὲν παραλείπουσι, τῶν δ’ εἰς τὰ ἔργα τῆς τέχνης διαφερόντων θεωρημάτων, οὔτ’ εἰ καλῶς οὔτ’ εἰ μὴ καλῶς ἔγραψεν Ἡρόφιλος, οὐδενὸς ἔτι μέμνηνται· ὦ πρὸς τῶν θεῶν, οὐ πολὺ μέντοι βέλτιον ἦν μὴ περὶ τοῦ τέτταρας ὑφ’ Ἡροφίλου λέγεσθαι τὰς διοικούσας τὰ ζῷα δυνάμεις ζητεῖν, μηδὲ πικρῶς ἐρίζειν τε καὶ ἀντιλέγειν αὐτῷ περί γε τούτων, ἀλλ’ εἴπερ ἐβούλοντο καταβάλλειν τε καὶ διεξελέγξαι αὐτὸν εἰκῇ ληροῦντα, τῶν τοιούτων αὐτοῦ μνημονεύειν, ἃ φανερῶς τοῖς ἐναργέσι μάχεται; Soranus independently uses the same terminology in another Herophilean testimonium, in a way which tends to confirm this analysis of regulating faculties as a core aspect of Herophilus’ theory, at T193 von Staden: ‘In his Midwifery Herophilus says that the uterus is woven from the same things as the other parts and regulated by the same faculties [ὑπὸ τῶν αὐτῶν δυνάμεων διοικεῖσθαι].’ Cf. also Anon. Lond. XXII.36–49. For the identification of Galen’s opponents as the followers of Archigenes, see earlier at Dig. Puls. 2.2 (8.853 K.), where Archigenes is named as the doctor who states that the pulse of a child is small, like those later at T184 von Staden just before the passage quoted.

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though scanty, offers some indication of why they should have done so. Herophilus believed that the arteries, being continuous with the heart, dilate thanks to a capacity which flows from it throughout their coats.14 But the Aëtian Placita identifies in Herophilus’ theory a basic ‘motive capacity’ (κινητικὴ δύναμις) which is responsible not only for arterial motion but also for the motion associated with neura and muscles; to quote: ‘Herophilus recognises a motive capacity in bodies, in the neura, arteries and muscles.’15 The hypothesis that this motive capacity represented one of the four fundamental capacities would also immediately explain why Archigenes, in the restricted context of arterial motion, should have discussed the general, fourfold division of capacities which regulate living things. Thus Archigenes’ discussion will have begun from Herophilus’ positing a fundamental motive capacity as part of his explanation of arterial motion, and moved from there to criticism of his overall account of the four capacities. It is easy to see why Galen might have objected to Archigenes’ misguided choice of target, especially since, from Galen’s point of view, there were more glaringly mistaken aspects of Herophilus’ doctrine which Archigenes apparently left untouched—such as his refusal to acknowledge that children have a small pulse, which is the subject of the discussion in the immediate context of Galen’s complaint here. So it seems clear that a motive capacity was one of the four fundamental capacities in Herophilus’ analysis of human functioning. However, Herophilus introduced a subdivision, positing different kinds of motion in the animal body, transmitted by different means. Within the motive capacity, he distinguished two types: voluntary (or prohairetic) motion and natural motion. Natural motion included arterial pulsation, whereas voluntary motion was carried out by the nerves (and through them the ligaments, tendons, and muscles). This opposition between natural and voluntary motion is clearly set out in another Herophilean testimony. According to the author of a Synopsis on Pulses, possibly Rufus of Ephesus, Herophilus believed that: the pulse at all times attends us involuntarily [ἀπροαιρέτως], since it also exists naturally [φυσικῶς], whereas the others [i.e. palpitation, spasm, 14

15

T144 von Staden: τοῖς δὲ περὶ τὸν Ἡρόφιλον ἀρέσκει τὰς ἀρτηρίας συνεχεῖς οὔσας τῇ καρδίᾳ διὰ τῶν χιτώνων ἐπιρρέουσαν ἔχειν τῆν παρ’ αὐτοῖς δύναμιν, ᾗ χρώμεναι παραπλησίως αὐτῇ τῇ καρδίᾳ διαστελλόμεναι μὲν ἕλκουσι πανταχόθεν, ὅθεν ἂν δύνωνται, τὸ πληρῶσον αὐτῶν τὴν διαστολήν. See also T145a, T155 von Staden, with von Staden 1989: 270–1. Herophilus’ teacher Praxagoras, by contrast, believed that the arteries themselves had their own innate and independent faculty to pulsate: Praxagoras frr. 9–10 Lewis = fr. 28 Steckerl = Gal. Diff. Puls. 8.702 K. and PHP 6.7 (pp. 404–6 De Lacy); see Lewis 2017: 222–9 for discussion. T143b von Staden: Ἡρόφιλος δὲ δύναμιν ἀπολείπει περὶ τὰ σώματα κινητικὴν ἐν νεύροις καὶ ἐν ἀρτηρίαις καὶ ἐν μυσί.

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david leith tremor] obey our volition [προαιρέσει], when the parts are pushed outwards often and depressed.16

Hence, in identifying the nerves as mediators only of voluntary motor function, Herophilus was forced to offer a different account of the nonvoluntary motions in the body: as we have seen, the pulsation of the heart and arteries was due to their own innate, ‘natural’ faculty. According to Herophilus, voluntary motion functions by means of the pneuma that flows through the nervous system.17 This pneuma is derived ultimately from respiration, as confirmed by a chapter from Aëtius’ Placita on whether the foetus is an animal: Herophilus recognises only natural motion [κίνησιν φυσικήν] in foetuses, not pneumatic. [He thinks that] the nerves are responsible for motion; and that [foetuses] become animals at the point when, having been brought forth, they take in some air.18

Foetuses cannot be classed as animals since they possess only natural motion, and not the pneumatic motion that is taken to characterise this class of living being. Given Herophilus’ distinction between natural and voluntary motion elsewhere, it makes excellent sense to identify this pneumatic motion with voluntary motion, which was certainly transmitted by the nerves, and to take this voluntary type of motion as the criterion that separates animals from lower classes of living being.19 The 16

17

18

19

T149 von Staden = Rufus (?), Synopsis on Pulses 2 (p. 221 Daremberg-Ruelle): καὶ τὸν μὲν σφυγμὸν ἀπροαιρέτως ἡμῖν πάντοτε παρακολουθεῖν, ἐπεὶ καὶ φυσικῶς ὑπάρχει, ταῦτα δὲ εἶναι καὶ ἐν τῇ ἡμετέρᾳ προαιρέσει, ἀποπιεσθέντων πολλάκις καὶ βαρυνθέντων τῶν μερῶν. von Staden 1989: 257 and 2000: 89 is doubtful concerning the presence of pneuma in the motor nerves, based on a passage in T141 von Staden = Gal. Trem. Palp. 5 (vii 605–6 K.), where Galen criticises Herophilus for not recognising that ‘the body of the nerves is not itself the cause of motion but rather its instrument, whereas its moving cause is the faculty which extends through the nerves. Here I reproach him for not having distinguished faculty from instrument.’ von Staden argues at 1989: 257 that ‘[i]f Galen’s criticism is accepted as valid, Herophilus attributed voluntary motion to the motor nerves, ligaments, tendons, and muscles . . ., but did not introduce another faculty or medium such as motor pneuma’. But this rests on a conflation in what von Staden refers to as the ‘faculty or medium such as motor pneuma’: while pneuma can be a medium, it cannot be a faculty. So Galen cannot have been talking about pneuma at all in Herophilus’ account here, its absence or otherwise, and therefore this passage does nothing to cast doubt on the conclusion drawn from other testimonia that Herophilus’ motor nerves contain pneuma. T202 von Staden = Aët. Plac. 5.15.5: εἰ τὸ ἔμβρυον ζῶ ͅ ον· . . . Ἡρόφιλος κίνησιν ἀπολείπει φυσικὴν τοῖς ἐμβρύοις, οὐ πνευματικήν· τῆς δὲ κινήσεως αἴτια νεῦρα· τότε δὲ ζῶ ͅ α γίνεσθαι, ὅταν προχυθέντα προσλάβῃ τι τοῦ ἀέρος. Others have suggested (cf. von Staden 1989: 257–8), on the other hand, that ‘pneumatic motion’ might alternatively refer merely to respiration, but this ignores Herophilus’ attested distinction between types of motion. Nor does it make sense of the argument, since it would no longer be clear why foetuses should be disqualified as animals: as Aristotle had observed, not all animals respire (e.g. Resp. 1, 470b 9–10). For deliberate motion as a unique capacity of animals, see e.g. Pl. Tim. 77b–c;

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point here must be that although foetuses have a nervous system, it is not active since it has not yet been filled by the pneuma drawn from respiration, which first occurs at birth. Hence they cannot move themselves deliberately, as animals do, yet they certainly possess the natural motion of pulsation, and presumably the various other motions which foetuses can be observed to make in utero—for Herophilus, these must have been involuntary. For present purposes, the main thing to observe is that the motive capacity, present only in the arteries, neura, and muscles, was subdivided into two types of motion, each with a distinct source: voluntary motions, mediated by the nervous system, originate in the brain, while natural motions begin in the heart. As noted, we have no direct evidence naming the other three fundamental capacities in Herophilus’ physiology, and any suggestions must remain entirely speculative. Nevertheless, given that Herophilus assigned perceptual function as well as voluntary motion to the nervous system, the inclusion of a fundamental perceptive capacity in his system looks like an obvious possibility. Its origin he would presumably have located in the brain, insofar as the nerves issue from there. Similarly, the fundamental importance of the digestive process to medical accounts of human physiology and pathology might recommend a nutritive capacity as another of Herophilus’ four. Possible connections with Aristotelian biology, according to which living creatures are characterised principally by nutritive, locomotive, perceptive, and intellective capacities, may offer further support for these particular suggestions. Whatever the case, however, the fundamental importance of the heart must have been recognised. The Anonymus Londinensis papyrus reports that Herophilus believed nutrition to occur by means of blood transmitted mostly through the arteries and to a lesser degree through the veins.20 For Herophilus, the arterial system, and possibly also the venous, originated in the heart.21 The importance, especially

20

21

Arist. DA 2.3, 414a 29–b 2 and 3.9, 432b 8–19; Gal. Nat. Fac. 1.1 (2.1 K.). Herophilus believed that the lungs do not themselves partake of the motive capacity, but merely ‘grasp at’ dilation and contraction, according to T143 von Staden = Aët. Plac. 4.22.3. T146 von Staden = Anon. Lond. XXVIII.46–9 (p. 66 Manetti): ὁ μέντοι γε Ἡρόφιλος ἐναντίως διείλη|φε̣ ̣[ν]· ο ̣ἴε̣ ̣τ ̣α ̣[ι] γ(ὰρ) πλείονα μ(ὲν) γί(νεσ)θ(αι) ἀνάδοσιν | ἐ ̣ν τ ̣αῖς ἀρτηρίαις, ἥσσο ̣ν ̣α δὲ ἐν | ̣ ταῖς φλεψὶ διὰ δύο ταῦτ[α]· (‘Herophilus, however, has taken the opposite view. For he thinks greater distribution [of nourishment] occurs through the arteries and less through the veins for the following two reasons.’) Galen reports that Herophilus felt at a loss as to which organ should come first in his exposition of the venous system (T115 von Staden = Gal. PHP 6.5.22 (CMG V 4, 1, 2 p. 392 De Lacy)).

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diagnostic, which the pulse held in his medical system would certainly have emphasised the significance of the heart.22 It is also worth emphasising that Herophilus undertook a comparative anatomy of humans with various animal species. In fact, it seems likely that the availability of human bodies will have been highly restricted, and the majority of his dissections may have been carried out on animals.23 But any phenomena connected with the nervous system that Herophilus might have observed in his dissection and vivisection of human beings would have been equally observable in animals. The nervous system’s responsibility for voluntary motion and perception, each transmitted by pneuma, will have been the same across human and animal species. It is not surprising, then, that our evidence shows no sign of any interest on Herophilus’ part in the physiology of higher rational functions, such as thinking, memory, etc. Herophilus’ conception of the functioning of animals was a highly complex one, comprising processes which spanned multiple organs and vessel systems. There were four fundamental capacities, one of which was the motive. The motive capacity itself encompassed different forms of motion: ‘natural’ motion, such as the arterial pulse, had its origins in part of the heart, while voluntary motion was mediated by nerves arising from within the brain. But these major organs played only a partial role within system-wide processes. The lungs and thorax, for example, were responsible for drawing in the pneuma and distributing it to the nervous system, which then transmitted sensation and voluntary motion. The media by which these capacities functioned varied considerably too: fluid substances, such as blood and pneuma, were required for mediating processes involved in nutrition, voluntary motion, and sensation, while other types of bodily motion could be transmitted directly, through a natural capacity, to solid anatomical structures such as the arteries. These various processes were clearly integrated, with the different systems closely interacting, and their malfunction of course led to the pathological phenomena which it was the doctor’s job to correct.

Erasistratus Erasistratus’ physiology was based on the interaction between three principal systems in the body, the arterial, venous, and nervous.24 Each had its 22 23 24

See von Staden 1989: 262–88 for Herophilus’ views on the pulse. See von Staden 1989: 140 n. 3, 158–9, 179: Herophilus regularly referred to animal anatomy alongside that of humans, and his anatomy of the rete mirabile must be based on an ungulate. For Erasistratus’ physiology, see esp. Lonie 1964; Harris 1973: 195–233; Garofalo 1988: 22–58; Vallance 1990: 62–79; Vegetti 1998; von Staden 1997 and 2000: 92–6; and Leith 2015a.

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own origin, proper fluid content, and distinct functions: the arterial system originated in the heart’s left ventricle and naturally contained only ‘vital’ pneuma; the venous originated in the heart’s right ventricle and naturally contained only blood; and the nervous system had its source apparently in the brain’s meninges, and contained only ‘psychic’ pneuma. The arterial system was responsible for basic physiological functions such as digestion, the venous system for transmitting nutriment, and the nervous system for transmitting voluntary motion and perception, just as Herophilus believed. These three systems, which Erasistratus apparently referred to as a triplokia, or ‘threefold network’, permeated the entire living body, while the remaining organs, bones, etc., formed its basic structure, to which Erasistratus gave the general term ‘parenchyma of nutriment’. For Erasistratus, as for Herophilus, the pneuma which is contained in the arterial and nervous systems is ultimately derived from breathing. According to his physiology, air or pneuma passes into the lungs and from there into the heart; then the heart pumps the pneuma from its left ventricle throughout the arterial system, including the carotid arteries which lead to the head. Some of this ‘vital’ pneuma thus makes its way into the nerves and there becomes the ‘psychic’ pneuma with which we sense and move ourselves voluntarily. According to Galen, Erasistratus believed that it is specifically in the brain’s meninges that the transfer of pneuma takes place between the ends of the arteries and the beginnings of the nerves: But Erasistratus and his followers do not say that the psychic pneuma is nourished by what is breathed in, in the same way as do Hippocrates and his followers. For to the former the pneuma appears to come from the heart through the arteries to the meninges [of the brain], to the latter, to come directly through the nostrils into the ventricles in the brain.25

It is worth comparing Aristotle’s contrast between the presence of blood vessels in the brain’s meninx and their absence in the brain itself.26 Galen also specifies that, in Erasistratus’ view, loss of motor function is caused by 25

26

Fr. 112 Garofalo = Gal. Ut. Resp., after Furley: ἀλλ’ οὐδ’ ἐκ τῆς εἰσπνοῆς ὁμοίως οἱ περὶ τὸν Ἐρασίστρατον τοῖς Ἱπποκράτην τρέφεσθαί φασι τὸ ψυχικὸν πνεῦμα· τοῖς μὲν γὰρ ἐκ καρδίας διὰ τῶν ἀρτηριῶν ἐπὶ τὰς μήνιγγας, τοῖς δὲ εὐθὺς διὰ τῶν ῥινῶν εἰς τὰς κατὰ τὸν ἐγκέφαλον κοιλίας ἔρχεσθαι τὸ πνεῦμα δοκεῖ. Arist. HA 1.16, 495a 4–9: ἄναιμος δ’ ὁ ἐγκέφαλος ἅπασι, καὶ οὐδεμίαν ἔχων ἐν αὑτῷ φλέβα . . . ἡ δὲ περὶ αὐτὸν μῆνιγξ φλεβώδης· ἔστι δ’ ἡ μῆνιγξ ὑμὴν δερματικὸς ὁ περιέχων τὸν ἐγκέφαλον (‘In all animals the brain is bloodless; there is not a single blood vessel in it . . . The membrane which surrounds it is patterned with blood vessels: this is the skin-like one which surrounds the brain’, trans. Peck).

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damage to the brain’s meninges, rather than to any underlying structures.27 Likewise Erasistratus maintained that phrenitis and lethargy, which involve impairment to motor and sensory capacities, are affections of the brain’s meninges, plausibly again because they involve blockages or other interferences with the normal transmission of pneuma there.28 All this obviously also aligns well with the Placita testimony that he located the hēgemonikon in the meninges. So it may be that, for Erasistratus, the brain itself contributed little to perceptual and motor function. This would also conform easily to his conception of brain matter as a parenchyma of nutriment. This parenchyma is a sort of fleshy or fatty filling found in between, and distinct from, the three primary vessel systems.29 Elsewhere in Erasistratus’ physiology, the parenchyma which forms other organs plays no active role, merely providing a structure for the various vessels of the body, and acting as a container or conduit for the different fluids passing through it. Hence the brain matter itself is not part of the three main functional systems. Such a conception of the brain should warn against taking Erasistratus’ views as anticipating in any straightforward sense the findings of modern neurology. However, Galen claims elsewhere that Erasistratus had in fact revised his earlier view that the nerves issue from the meninges, and late in life came to 27

28 29

Fr. 42 Garofalo = Gal. PHP 7.3.32–33 (5.609–10 K. = p. 446 De Lacy): καί τις ἄλλος εἷς ἀζυγὴς ἐμβάλλει τῇ πρώτῃ γενέσει τοῦ νωτιαίου, καθ’ ὃ μέρος μάλιστα τῆς παχείας μήνιγγος τρωθείσης ὁ πόρος ὅλος γίγνεται γυμνὸς ἅμα τῶ ͅ πέρατι τῆς ὄπισθεν ἐγκεφάλου κοιλίας, ὅπερ οὐχ ἥκιστα τὸν Ἐρασίστρατον ἠπάτησεν, ὡς οἰηθῆναι διὰ τὴν τῆς μήνιγγος τρῶσιν ἀκίνητον αὐτίκα γίγνεσθαι τὸ ζῶ ͅ διαιρεθῆναι ͅ ον· ἑώρα γὰρ ἐπὶ τῶν κατὰ τὸν πρῶτον σπόνδυλον τιτρωσκομένων βοῶν ἅμα τῶ τὴν μήνιγγα ἀκίνητον αὐτίκα τὸ ζῶ ͅ ον γινόμενον. ἀλλ’ οὐ τῶ ͅ πάθει τῆς μήνιγγος, ἀλλὰ τῶ ͅ γυμνοῦσθαι τὴν ὀπίσω κοιλίαν γίγνεται τοῦτο (‘Another passage, which is single and unpaired, empties into the first beginning of the spinal medulla; and here especially, when the dura mater is cut at this point, the entire passage is laid bare, along with the end of the posterior ventricle of the brain. This was not the least reason why Erasistratus mistakenly believed that the animal immediately becomes motionless when the meninx is cut; for he saw that oxen wounded at the first vertebra become motionless as soon as the meninx is severed. But this results not from the injury to the meninx but from the exposure of the posterior ventricle’, trans. De Lacy). Frr. 176–7 Garofalo = Anon. Paris. Morb. Ac. et Chron. 1.1.1, 2.1.1 (pp. 2, 10 Garofalo). Fr. 86 Garofalo = Ps.-Gal. Int. 9.3–4 (14.697–8 K. = p. 21 Petit), καὶ Ἐρασίστρατος δὲ ὡς ἀρχὰς καὶ στοιχεῖα τοῦ ὅλου σώματος ὑποτιθέμενος τὴν τριπλοκίαν (or τριπλέκειαν) τῶν ἀγγείων, νεῦρα καὶ φλέβας καὶ ἀρτηρίας . . . . πολλὰ δὲ καὶ ἄλλα σωμάτων εἴδη εὑρίσκεται, οὐκ ἐκ τῆς τριπλοκίας (or τριπλεκείας) συγκείμενα, οἷον εὐθὺς ὁ ἐγκέφαλος καὶ ὁ μυελὸς καὶ πάντα τὰ ὀστᾶ. τὸν μὲν οὖν ἐγκέφαλον ἢ τὸν μυελὸν παρέγχυμα τροφῆς τολμᾷ λέγειν, ὡς τὴν πιμελὴν, καὶ τοῦ ἥπατος καὶ σπληνὸς καὶ πνεύμονος τὴν σύστασιν (‘Erasistratus posited as principles and elements of the whole body the triple web of vessels, that is the nerves, veins, and arteries . . . And many other kinds of bodies are found which are not composed of the triple web, such as, for example, the brain, the marrow, and all the bones. So he dared to call the brain and marrow a parenchyma of nutriment, just like fat and the substance of the liver, spleen, and lungs’).

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see the brain itself as their source. Galen makes it clear elsewhere that his claim is a controversial interpretation of Erasistratus’ position that he himself developed: Erasistratus, who for a long time saw only the outer part of the nerve, [the part] that comes from the dura mater, thought that the whole nerve grows from that source, and most of his writings are full of statements that the nerves grow from the meninx that encloses the brain. But when, late in life and at leisure to devote himself entirely to the study of the art, he performed his dissections with greater care, he recognised also that the heart-wood,30 so to speak, of the nerves grows from the brain. He writes as follows: ‘We viewed the structure of the cerebrum, and it was bipartite, as in the other animals, and there were ventricles lying there, elongated in form. The ventricles were united by a perforation at the point of contact of the parts. From this point a passage led to the so-called cerebellum, where there was another small ventricle. Each of the parts had been partitioned off by the meninges. For the cerebellum had been partitioned off by itself, and also the cerebrum, which is similar to the jejunum and has many folds; and the cerebellum, even more than the cerebrum, was provided with many varied convolutions. So the observer learns from these that as it is in the other animals—deer, hare, and any other that far excels the rest in running being well provided with the muscles and sinews useful for this activity—so in man, since he is far superior to the other animals in thinking, this [member] is large and has many folds. And the outgrowths of the nerves were all from the brain; and speaking generally the brain appears to be the source of the nerves in the body. For the sensation that comes from the nostrils passed to this through apertures, and also the sensations that come from the ears. And outgrowths from the brain went also to the tongue and the eyes.’ In these words Erasistratus admits that he then saw clearly a thing that he had not known earlier, that each nerve grows from the brain. And he wrote accurately about its four ventricles, which he had also failed to see the year before.31 30 31

On the fact that ‘heart-wood’ is Galen’s term, and implies nothing about Erasistratus’ views on the hollowness of the nerves, see Solmsen 1961: 188–90. Fr. 289 Garofalo = Gal. PHP 7.3.6–12 (5.602–4 K. = pp. 440–2 De Lacy), after De Lacy: Ἐρασίστρατος δ’ ἄχρι πολλοῦ τὴν ἔξωθεν μοῖραν ὁρῶν μόνην τοῦ νεύρου τὴν ἀπὸ τῆς παχείας μήνιγγος ὁρμωμένην, ἀπ’ ἐκείνης ὤ ͅ ετο πεφυκέναι σύμπαν τὸ νεῦρον καὶ μεστά γε τὰ πλεῖστα τούτου τῶν συγγραμμάτων ἐστὶν ἀπὸ τῆς περιεχούσης τὸν ἐγκέφαλον μήνιγγος πεφυκέναι φάσκοντος τὰ νεῦρα. ἀλλ’ ὅτε πρεσβύτης ὢν ἤδη καὶ σχολὴν ἄγων μόνοις τοῖς τῆς τέχνης θεωρήμασιν ἀκριβεστέρας ἐποιεῖτο τὰς ἀνατομάς, ἔγνω καὶ τὴν οἷον ἐντεριώνην τῶν νεύρων ἀπ’ ἐγκεφάλου πεφυκυῖαν. ἔχει δ’ ἡ ῥῆσις αὐτοῦ τόνδε τὸν τρόπον· ‘ἐθεωροῦμεν δὲ καὶ τὴν φύσιν τοῦ ἐγκεφάλου καὶ ἦν ὁ μὲν ἐγκέφαλος διμερής, καθάπερ καὶ τῶν λοιπῶν ζῴων, καὶ κοιλίαι παραμήκεις τῷ εἴδει κείμεναι· συντέτρηντο δ’ αὗται εἰς μίαν κατὰ τὴν συναφὴν τῶν μερῶν· ἐκ δὲ ταύτης ἔφερεν εἰς τὴν ἐπεγκρανίδα καλουμένην καὶ ἐκεῖ ἑτέρα ἦν μικρὰ κοιλία. διαπέφρακτο δὲ ταῖς μήνιγξιν ἕκαστον τῶν μερῶν· ἥ τε γὰρ ἐπεγκρανὶς διεπέφρακτο αὐτὴ καθ’ ἑαυτὴν καὶ ὁ ἐγκέφαλος παραπλήσιος ὢν νήστει καὶ πολύπλοκος, πολὺ δ’ ἔτι μᾶλλον τούτου ἡ ἐπεγκρανὶς πολλοῖς ἑλιγμοῖς καὶ ποικίλοις κατεσκεύαστο. ὥστε μαθεῖν τούτων τὸν θεωροῦντα ὅτι ὥσπερ ἐπὶ

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Now in the quotation Erasistratus certainly speaks of the nature of the brain in relation to humans’ superior capacity for thinking (διανοεῖσθαι), and refers to the outgrowths of the nerves as coming from the brain. I shall argue presently, however, that care is needed in interpreting these statements, and that there are further contextual details that must to be taken into account, so I shall leave the content of the Erasistratean quotation aside for a brief moment, and concentrate on how Galen presents his claim. Firstly, despite what he says about it, Erasistratus offers no hint in the passage quoted that what he is stating constitutes a revision of an earlier position that he had adopted. There is no reference to any alternative views at all. Moreover, Galen is elsewhere more forthcoming about just how controversial his interpretation of Erasistratus’ position is. In his Commentary on Aphorisms, we learn that the Erasistrateans themselves failed to take account of the fact that their founder had changed his mind about the origin of the nerves. In fact, they continued to adhere to the view that other sources attribute to Erasistratus himself, namely that the meninges are the source of the nerves. As Galen tells us: The Erasistrateans, since they posit the meninges as the origins of the nerves, will say that because of its own nature the thick meninx [i.e. dura mater] brings about these symptoms [i.e. fever and vomiting bile] when it alone has been pierced. But if the piercing should reach to the brain, they will say that the generation of the aforementioned affections follows in this way, namely by the piercing of both meninges first. I said that the Erasistrateans will say this, and not Erasistratus himself, since when he was an old man, at the time when they themselves say that he wrote the books On Divisions, he declared that the brain was the origin of the nerves. I have spoken in greater detail on this in the books On Hippocrates’ Anatomy.32

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τῶν λοιπῶν ζῴων, ἐλάφου τε καὶ λαγωοῦ καὶ εἴ τι ἄλλο κατὰ τὸ τρέχειν πολύ τι τῶν λοιπῶν ζῴων ὑπεραίρει τοῖς πρὸς ταῦτα χρησίμοις εὖ κατεσκευασμένον μυσί τε καὶ νεύροις, οὕτω καὶ ἀνθρώπῳ, ἐπειδὴ τῶν λοιπῶν ζῴων πολὺ τῷ διανοεῖσθαι περίεστι, πολὺ τοῦτ’ ἔστι πολύπλοκον. ἦσαν δὲ καὶ ἀποφύσεις τῶν νεύρων αἱ πᾶσαι ἀπὸ τοῦ ἐγκεφάλου, καὶ καθ’ ὅλον εἰπεῖν ἀρχὴ φαίνεται εἶναι τῶν κατὰ τὸ σῶμα ὁ ἐγκέφαλος. ἥ τε γὰρ ἀπὸ τῶν ῥινῶν γιγνομένη αἴσθησις συντέτρητο ἐπὶ τοῦτον καὶ αἱ ἀπὸ τῶν ὤτων. ἐφέροντο δὲ καὶ ἐπὶ τὴν γλῶσσαν καὶ ἐπὶ τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς ἀποφύσεις ἀπὸ τοῦ ἐγκεφάλου.’ ἐν τούτοις ὁ Ἐρασίστρατος ὁμολογεῖ τὸ πρότερον ἀγνοούμενον ἑαυτῶ ͅ σαφῶς ἑωρακέναι τηνικαῦτα, τῶν νεύρων ἕκαστον ἐξ ἐγκεφάλου φυόμενον. ἀκριβῶς δὲ καὶ περὶ τῶν τεττάρων αὐτοῦ κοιλιῶν ἔγραψεν, ἃς οὐδ’ αὐτὰς ἔτει τῶ ͅ πρότερον εἶδεν. Fr. 288 Garofalo = Gal. Hipp. Aph. 6.50 (18/A.86 K.): οἱ δ’ Ἐρασιστράτειοι τὰς μήνιγγας τῶν νεύρων ἀρχὰς τιθέμενοι, διὰ μὲν τὴν ἑαυτῆς φύσιν ἐροῦσι τὴν παχεῖαν μήνιγγα ταῦτα ἐπιφέρειν τὰ συμπτώματα μόνην τρωθεῖσαν. εἰ δὲ καὶ πρὸς τὸν ἐγκέφαλόν ποτε ἡ τρῶσις ἐξίκοιτο, τῶ ͅ φθάνειν ἀμφοτέρας προτιτρώσκεσθαι τὰς μήνιγγας, οὕτω φήσουσι τὴν τῶν εἰρημένων γένεσιν ἀκολουθεῖν παθημάτων. Ἐρασιστρατείους δ’ ἔφην ἐρεῖν ταῦτα καὶ οὐκ αὐτὸν Ἐρασίστρατον, ὅτι πρεσβύτης ὢν ἤδη καθ’ ὃν χρόνον αὐτοί φασι τὰ τῶν Διαιρέσεων αὐτῶ ͅ γεγράφθαι βιβλία, τὸν ἐγκέφαλον

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This passage also confirms, which might be expected in any case, that Erasistratus’ followers had access to the relevant work, On Divisions, in which Erasistratus allegedly recanted his position, yet they evidently saw no reason to revise their own views in light of this. Moreover, it seems that Galen’s knowledge of the relative chronology of Erasistratus’ writings was due to the Erasistrateans, rather than to anything in Erasistratus’ works directly available to Galen himself. So Galen accuses them of holding a view on the origin of the nerves that was different from their master’s. At this point in The Doctrines of Hippocrates and Plato, of course, it is to Galen’s advantage to have Erasistratus on side. Galen is reviewing his proof, based on the anatomy of the brain and nervous system, that the rational soul is located within the brain. In second-century ad Rome, Erasistratus’ acknowledged authority in anatomy could have been a problem if he had in fact denied that the brain was the origin of the nerves at all, but would obviously add weight to Galen’s case if he had been in agreement. Perhaps most significantly, Galen is also engaged here in a personal dispute with a contemporary Erasistratean physician named Martialis, against whom the (lost) treatise On Hippocrates’ Anatomy, explicitly mentioned in the passage above, was directed. As Galen states in his treatise On my Own Books, not at all and he declared the superiority of Erasistratus in all areas of the art, but especially in this. So it was because of him that I wrote the six books On Hippocrates’ Anatomy and the three On Erasistratus’ Anatomy in this rather combative vein.33

So Galen’s strategy will have been to accuse Martialis of being ignorant not only of the anatomical truth, but also of the fact that the founder of his own school had himself come to realise this truth at the end of his life. We are forced to wonder, then, why Martialis and other Erasistrateans did not adopt Erasistratus’ mature view concerning the source of the nerves, which Galen claims he set out clearly in his late work On Divisions. Why is Galen the only figure who recognises that Erasistratus changed his mind? It seems difficult to answer this question without further evidence. On the one hand, the meninges clearly played a key role according to many sources, including Galen. When Erasistratus stated in the above quotation that ‘the

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ἀπεφήνατο τῶν νεύρων ἀρχὴν ὑπάρχειν. λέλεκται δὲ περὶ τούτων ἐπὶ πλέον ἐν τοῖς Περὶ τῆς Ἱπποκράτους ἀνατομῆς ὑπομνήμασιν. Libr. Prop. 1.9–10 (19.14 K. = p. 138 Boudon-Millot). On Martialis, and his identification with the doctor named Martianus in the MSS of Galen’s On Prognosis, see Boudon-Millot 2007: 185–6.

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outgrowths of the nerves were all from the brain; and speaking generally [καθ’ ὅλον εἰπεῖν] the brain appears to be the source [ἀρχή] of the nerves in the body’, it is perhaps possible that he meant loosely the brain as including its meninges, rather than the brain as opposed to the meninges, as Galen took it.34 On the other hand, the passage clearly appears to substantiate Galen’s interpretation, and the Erasistrateans could have preferred to prioritise a theory which privileged the meninges over the brain, a theory which may have been more closely integrated with the rest of Erasistratus’ doctrine of the triplokia. The passage also correlates the superior ability in rational thought (διανοεῖσθαι) of humans with the greater size of the brain and its greater number of convolutions: just as fast-running animals are well provided with parts (sinews and muscles) that are useful for this activity, so apparently the size of the human brain and its convolutions contribute to its superior ability to think. This might be taken to suggest that thinking actually takes place in the brain’s convolutions, but only if one believed that thinking must take place in a physical organ. Aristotle, for example, correlates watery blood with a keener intellect (dianoia), and this is explained in part by some animals’ improved perception.35 However, this was certainly not meant as evidence that thinking occurs in the blood. Similarly, Erasistratus’ thought might have been that the greater number of convolutions makes the overlying meninges more convoluted and the pattern of arteries and nerves more complex, which could have 34

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It may be noted that Erasistratus observes that the meninges also extend within the body of the brain. Thus the cerebrum and cerebellum, and apparently each of the ventricles, ‘had been partitioned off by the meninges’. This should refer at least to the tentorium cerebelli, the fold of the dura mater which separates the cerebellum from the cerebrum, but perhaps also the falx cerebri, the fold separating the two cerebral hemispheres. So Erasistratus recognised that the meninges not only cover the exterior of the brain tissue but also penetrate deep into its structure. Nor does Erasistratus show signs here of wishing to be precise about where the nerves originate at all. The brain, after all, is a large organ, and the passage has just carefully distinguished between different parts of its structure. There is also a good chance that Erasistratus had in the back of his mind Aristotle’s claim, at HA 3.5, 515a 27–8, that the heart is the source of the body’s neura, and was here rejecting it: the neura are to be traced not to the heart but to the brain, specifically to their membranes. PA 2.4, 650b 19–23: συμβαίνει δ’ ἔνιά γε καὶ γλαφυρωτέραν ἔχειν τὴν διάνοιαν τῶν τοιούτων, οὐ διὰ τὴν ψυχρότητα τοῦ αἵματος, ἀλλὰ διὰ τὴν λεπτότητα μᾶλλον καὶ διὰ τὸ καθαρὸν εἶναι· τὸ γὰρ γεῶδες οὐδέτερον ἔχει τούτων. εὐκινητοτέραν γὰρ ἔχουσι τὴν αἴσθησιν τὰ λεπτοτέραν ἔχοντα τὴν ὑγρότητα καὶ καθαρωτέραν (‘Some at any rate of the animals with watery blood have a keener intellect. This is due not to the coldness of their blood, but rather to its thinness and purity; neither of which qualities belongs to the earthy matter. For the thinner and purer its fluid is, the more easily affected is an animal’s sensibility’, trans. Ogle). Also PA 2.2, 648a 2–4: ἔστι δ’ ἰσχύος μὲν ποιητικώτερον τὸ παχύτερον αἷμα καὶ θερμότερον, αἰσθητικώτερον δὲ καὶ νοερώτερον τὸ λεπτότερον καὶ ψυχρότερον (‘The thicker and the hotter blood is, the more conducive is it to strength, while in proportion to its thinness and its coldness is its suitability for sensation and intelligence’, trans. Ogle).

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consequences for the refinement of pneuma as it passes from the arterial terminations into the nerves, and hence for the transmission of perceptions.36 In any case, Erasistratus shows no intention of developing his suggestion in the quotation: he has observed a peculiar feature of the human brain and, given his broader teleological commitments,37 this demands an explanation of its purpose if possible. But he does not offer a physiology of thinking. However Erasistratus worked out these details, there are general parallels here with Herophilus’ approach: for Erasistratus, too, the body’s principal capacities were carried out by complex and integrated processes that converged upon, but were by no means restricted to, the heart and the area of the brain. Erasistratus reduced physiological function to three main systems, two originating in the heart and one in the brain’s membranes, or perhaps, in a modified version, in the brain itself. This coheres well with Galen’s report that Erasistratus ‘clearly stated in his On Fevers that there is not only a vital capacity in the heart, but also a psychic one’.38 Common to Herophilus and Erasistratus, too, is the view that all of these different functions are performed by different fluid substances: blood within the venous system, and pneuma, which was derived from respiration but found at different levels of elaboration, throughout the arterial and nervous systems. There is no sense of a hierarchy of systems here, or of the privileging of particular organs; if anything, it is the vessels that are functionally most significant, but the emphasis generally seems to be on the balanced and integrated working of all systems simultaneously throughout the body.

Herophilus and Erasistratus on the Soul? A more fundamental question that arises is just how far Herophilus and Erasistratus were interested in questions concerning the nature of the soul and its interaction with the body at all. Some have argued that both had developed views on the soul’s corporeality, and believed that its substance was pneuma.39 The evidence, however, does not seem to bear this out. For 36

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Most, if not all, processes in Erasistratus’ account of the body’s functioning appeal to the dynamics of certain kinds of fluids, blood, pneuma, and so on, travelling through distinct conduits. Although Erasistratus’ term eligmoi can refer to hollow convolutions (e.g. of labyrinths or intestines), in the case of the solid brain matter the image should be more in line with the plies of a knotted rope, for example. For Erasistratus’ teleology, and its relation to Aristotle’s, see von Staden 1997 and Cambiano 2000. Fr. 205 Garofalo = Gal. Diff. Puls. 4.17 (8.760 K.). E.g. von Staden 2000: 87: ‘[Herophilus] shares [Epicurus’ and the Stoics’] belief that the material substance of the psychē is, in some respects, different from that of the body; and, like the Stoics, he claims that the substance of the soul is pneuma’; and ibid. 94: ‘[according to Erasistratus,] the arterial

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Herophilus, the only potentially relevant testimonium was found in a Latin translation of an Arabic translation of Galen’s work On my Own Opinions, but the original Greek text resurfaced in 2005, and shows that it was in fact Empedocles who was referred to, not Herophilus (nor is Empedocles attributed a view on the pneumatic nature of the soul).40 Similarly, there is no evidence that Erasistratus actually identified the psychic pneuma which flows through the nerves with the soul itself, nor indeed that he made any claims at all about the substance of the soul per se. Galen is our main source for Erasistratus’ theory of psychic pneuma, and he never suggests that Erasistratus actually identified it with the soul.41 Galen himself adopts the concept of psychic pneuma in his own system, which was directly influenced in various ways by Erasistratus’, but he repeatedly clarifies that his use of the concept carries no implications about the soul’s substance, of which he declares himself ignorant.42 In fact, we have testimonia attributing to Erasistratus the view that pneuma is just a tool (σύνεργον) of the body’s natural faculties.43 There is no sign that either Herophilus or Erasistratus put forward, or even assumed, a fully fledged theory of the soul. In their theories, as far as we can tell, pneuma was merely the physical substance by which certain bodily functions were mediated, not only sensation and voluntary motion, but also, for example, the digestion of food. More general considerations concerning their conception of the medical art point in the same direction. Both doctors were concerned to define carefully the proper domain of medicine in relation to natural philosophy. For them, one of the things that belonged to natural philosophy, but not to medicine, was

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system carries some of the vital pneuma to the brain . . ., where it becomes still more highly refined, namely into soul-pneuma, which is the soul’. T145b von Staden = Gal. Prop. Plac. 7.4 (CMG V.3, 2 p. 80 Nutton): see now the text edited in Boudon-Millot and Pietrobelli 2005, at p. 179.23, based on the recently discovered manuscript Vlatadon 14. Galen’s attribution to Erasistratus of the phrase πνεῦμα ψυχικόν is corroborated once in the treatise De Morbis Acutis et Chronicis by the so-called Anonymus Parisinus, though it is there also attributed, certainly anachronistically, to Hippocrates (fr. 174 Garofalo = Morb. Ac. et Chron. 4.1.2 (p. 26.7 Garofalo)). E.g. Gal. PHP 7.3.30 (5.609 K. = CMG V 4, 1, 2 p. 446 De Lacy): ἐδιδάχθημεν, ὅτι τε τὸ ψυχικὸν πνεῦμα μήτ’ οὐσία ψυχῆς ἐστι μήτε οἶκος αὐτῆς, ἀλλ’ ὄργανον πρῶτον (‘we learned that the psychic pneuma is neither the substance of the soul, nor its home, but its first instrument’); Ut. Resp. 5.1 (4.501 K. = p. 120 Furley and Wilkie): εἴπωμεν δὲ πρότερον, πῶς καλοῦμεν τι ψυχικὸν πνεῦμα, ἀγνοεῖν ὁμολογοῦντες οὐσίαν ψυχῆς (‘Let us state first the way in which we call a thing “psychic pneuma”, since we concede that we are ignorant about the substance of the soul’); also Prop. Plac. 7 (CMG V.3, 2 p. 80 Nutton = p. 179 Boudon-Millot and Pietrobelli). Fr. 86 Garofalo = ps.-Gal. Int. 9.3 (14.697 K. = p. 21 Petit): δυσὶ γὰρ ὕλαις ταῦτα διοικεῖσθαι λέγει τὸ ζῷον, τῷ μὲν αἵματι ὡς τροφῇ, τῷ δὲ πνεύματι ὡς συνεργῷ εἰς τὰς φυσικὰς ἐνεργείας (‘For he says that these [i.e. fluids and pneumata] regulate the animal with two materials: blood as nourishment and pneuma as a synergon for the natural activities’).

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the inquiry into the elements: according to both Herophilus and Erasistratus, doctors need only study the human body from the level of the uniform parts up, and do not have to know about its constitution at the elemental level; that, rather, is for philosophers to be concerned with. There was an apparently wellknown dictum attributed to Herophilus which was intended to describe this distinction, quoted independently by both Galen and the Anonymus Londinensis papyrus. He is said to have made the stipulation: ‘Let the apparent things be called primary, even if they are not primary.’ Here both Galen and Anonymus understand the apparent things as the uniform parts of the body, being the most fundamental perceptible parts; the elements, even though more primary by nature, do not fall within the purview of medicine.44 Anonymus openly aligns himself with Herophilus over this restriction, and prefaces it with another one, which rules out the study of the soul for doctors: ‘the human being is composed of soul and body . . . Regarding the soul, I defer to others, but we must be concerned with the body, since medicine is especially focused on this.’45 This restriction on the soul is not attributed explicitly to Herophilus, or to Erasistratus, but the run of the passage suggests that it would have been fully consistent with their more stringent restrictions regarding the study of the elements. So it is doubtful whether a theory of the soul would have been of any interest to their narrowly defined medical aims.46 I suggest that the inquiry into the soul and its functioning is likely to have been another topic which the Alexandrians doctors left to the philosophers. This is not to say that Herophilus and Erasistratus are likely to have been against the study of the soul in principle; rather, from their point of view as doctors, it was irrelevant to the aims of the medical art. Herophilus and Erasistratus, then, will have been interested only in basic bodily functions—functions such as nutrition and digestion, motion, and sensation, which are clearly associated with (often newly identified) bodily structures,47 and are mediated by the bodily fluids, especially blood and pneuma. It is precisely these functions which, firstly, need to be understood in order to preserve human health and prevent disease, and which, secondly, 44 45

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For full discussion of Herophilus’ and Erasistratus’ methodological pronouncements regarding the study of the elements, see Leith 2015b. Anon. Lond. XXI.13–18 (p. 45 Manetti): [σ]υνέστη[κεν δὲ] ὁ ἄνθρωπος | ἐκ ̣ [ψυ]χῆ[ς] καὶ σώμ[α]τ[ο]ς . . . [καὶ πε]ρὶ̣ μ(ὲν) ψυχῆς | [ἄλλοι]ς ̣ ἀν ̣[α]βάλλομα[ι, ἡμῖν δὲ] τοῦ σώμα|[τος μ] ελητέον ἐπεὶ [μάλιστα] περὶ τοῦτο [σπου]δ ̣ά ̣ζει̣ ἡ ἰατρικ[ή. ̣ This is not to suggest that ancient doctors in general were uninterested in the soul per se: later physicians, such as Asclepiades of Bithynia and Galen, were of course directly interested in such matters. But these doctors also believed, significantly, that the inquiry into the elements was a necessary part of medicine. Note that the arteries were first distinguished from the veins by Herophilus’ teacher Praxagoras.

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are within the doctor’s power to influence using medical treatments. From this perspective, both the brain and the heart play different but similarly fundamental roles. But there is no sign that this physiological analysis was meant to be applied to any more fundamental psychology: there is no inquiry into the soul’s materiality implied here, or its structure, or the question of how it interacts with the body. Within this general context, it seems to me to make little sense to describe Herophilus’ and Erasistratus’ theories in terms of locating a hēgemonikon in a single part of the body. They show no sign of having assumed a unified, corporeal soul. Nor is there the idea of a central ruling part in control of all other basic functions, or of a single substance mediating these functions simultaneously. Their analysis is simply not comparable to the Stoic theory. Yet the discovery of the nervous system was evidently of interest to the Stoics in this connection, Chrysippus in particular. In the next section, I shall look at the evidence for Chrysippus’ engagement with Herophilus and Erasistratus, and speculate on how his discussion might have influenced subsequent accounts of their views.

Chrysippus on the Nervous System Our knowledge of Chrysippus’ response comes from Galen’s treatise On the Opinions of Hippocrates and Plato, which contains extensive verbatim quotations from the Stoic’s treatise On the Soul. Chrysippus began his inquiry into the location of the hēgemonikon in the second part of On the Soul book 1, as Galen specifies. Here he observed that various doctors and philosophers had previously proposed locations for the hēgemonikon. Some had proposed different locations within the head, and it is highly likely that Herophilus and Erasistratus will have been among the doctors Chrysippus had in mind. Galen gives the following verbatim quotation from Chrysippus’ On the Soul book 1: But about the governing part of the soul there is disagreement, some placing it in one region, others in another. For some say it is located in the chest, others in the head. And there are differences even within these locations, as they do not agree among themselves where in the head or chest it is located. Plato, who said that the soul has three parts, placed the rational part in the head, the spirited in the region of the chest, and the desiderative in the region of the navel. Thus the place seems to elude us, since we have neither a clear perception [of it], as we had with the others, nor sure signs from which this matter might be inferred; otherwise

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disagreement among physicians and philosophers would not have grown so great.48

In the course of Chrysippus’ subsequent discussion, the nervous system and its origin then came up, as Galen tells us on several occasions,49 specifically in the context of the Stoic speech argument. Galen reports Chrysippus’ version of the speech argument as follows: It is reasonable that that to which the meanings in this go and out from which discourse [λόγος] comes is the sovereign part of the soul. For it is not true that the source of discourse [λόγος] is other than the source of thought [διάνοια] or, to state the whole matter simply, that the source of speech is other than the sovereign part of the soul.50

Chrysippus evidently saw the function of the nervous system as a potential threat to his cardiocentrism, which needed to be countered: the fact that the nerves issue from the brain and mediate voluntary motion might be taken to conflict with his view that speech, and conation in general, arise in the hēgemonikon in the heart. Galen offers a single excerpt51 from Chrysippus’ broader response to this potential problem: ‘But as I said, it is more important for them on all counts if perhaps this too should be granted, that according as they travel about, the source is from the head to the parts mentioned. Let us examine [the matter] further. Surely the same sort of statement that they might make about 48

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PHP 3.1.12–15 (p. 170 De Lacy), trans. De Lacy: περὶ δὲ τοῦ ἡγεμονικοῦ μέρους τῆς ψυχῆς διαφωνοῦσιν ἄλλοι ἐν ἄλλοις λέγοντες αὐτὸ εἶναι τόποις. οἱ μὲν γὰρ περὶ τὸν θώρακά φασιν εἶναι αὐτό, οἱ δὲ περὶ τὴν κεφαλήν. κατὰ τὰ αὐτὰ δὲ ταῦτα διαφωνοῦσι, ποῦ τῆς κεφαλῆς καὶ τοῦ θώρακός ἐστιν, οὐ συμφωνοῦντες αὐτοῖς. Πλάτων δὲ καὶ τριμερῆ τὴν ψυχὴν φήσας εἶναι τὸ μὲν λογιστικὸν ἔλεγεν ἐν τῇ κεφαλῇ εἶναι, τὸ δὲ θυμοειδὲς περὶ τὸν θώρακα, τὸ δὲ ἐπιθυμητικὸν περὶ τὸν ὀμφαλόν. οὕτω φαίνεται διαφεύγειν ὁ τόπος ἡμᾶς οὔτ’ αἰσθήσεως ἐκφανοῦς γενομένης, ὅπερ ἐπὶ τῶν λοιπῶν συντετύχηκεν, οὔτε τῶν τεκμηρίων δι’ ὧν ἄν τις συλλογίσαιτο τοῦτο· οὐδὲ γὰρ ἂν ἀντιλογία ἐπὶ τοσοῦτον προῆλθεν καὶ ἐν ἰατροῖς καὶ ἐν φιλοσόφοις. See PHP 3.5.35 (p. 208 De Lacy): ἑξῆς δὲ περί τε φωνῆς μνημονεύει καὶ νεύρων ἀρχῆς, ὑπὲρ ὧν ἀμφοτέρων εἴρηταί μοι κατὰ τὰ πρόσθεν ὑπομνήματα (‘Next he takes up speech and the source of the nerves, both of which I discussed in the preceding books’); PHP 3.7.55 (p. 222 De Lacy): μετὰ δὴ τὸ πλῆθος τῶν ἐπῶν ἐφεξῆς ὁ Χρύσιππος περί τε φωνῆς καὶ λόγου καὶ νεύρων ἀρχῆς ὅσα τε τούτοις συνέζευκται διῆλθεν, ἃ δὴ καὶ μόνα τῶν κατὰ τὸ βιβλίον ἔπρεπεν ἀνδρὶ φιλοσόφῳ (‘After the spate of hexameters, Chrysippus next took up the source of speech, discourse and nerves, and matters related thereto. These are the only things in his book that befit a philosopher’). PHP 2.5.15–16 (p. 130 De Lacy). Galen also records Zeno’s and Diogenes of Babylon’s versions of the argument at PHP 2.5.7–13 (pp. 128–30 De Lacy). Note e.g. in the following quotation that there is no plausible antecedent in the surviving fragments for Chrysippus’ reference to a previous discussion (‘As I said, . . . ’). Similarly, who ‘they’ are in the passage quoted is never explicitly stated, though of course Galen implies that they are Herophilus and Erasistratus; perhaps these figures were indeed named by Chrysippus in the earlier discussion to which he has just referred. Again, the passage in which he cites Praxagoras’ views on neura (see below) is not quoted by Galen.

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david leith speech, that it is carried out of the chest through the windpipe with an initiation of some kind coming from the head, can be made if the governing part is in the heart but the beginning of the movements is from the head.’ What Chrysippus means in this passage is this: even if a person should concede that the head is the source of nerves, he will not necessarily concede that the governing part is also in the head. For the kind of statements that those others can make about speech being carried out of the chest through the windpipe while the head sends the beginning of action to the parts, may be made to us about the nerves, that they start from the head but receive their activity from the heart.52

At this point in his argument, Chrysippus appears to have accepted, at least provisionally, the premise that the source of voluntary motion may be in the head.53 But he argues that, even if it were, this need not threaten his cardiocentrism. Speech, he takes it, unquestionably arises from the chest. So on the account of those who believe that motions are initiated in the head, there must be some subordinate centre in the chest from which the motions involved in speech arise. But once this notion of a subordinate centre is introduced, there seems no reason why it should not also complicate his opponents’ model. Identifying the source of the nerves, he argued, cannot straightforwardly tell us where the hēgemonikon is. So in this context Chrysippus was not calling the anatomists’ findings into question; rather he wanted to show that the functioning of the motor nerves issuing from the brain would be compatible with his cardiocentrism. Elsewhere, however, Galen tells us that Chrysippus adduced the account of Herophilus’ teacher Praxagoras of Cos54 against the Herophilean/ Erasistratean view:

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PHP 2.5.69–70 (p. 140 De Lacy): “ἔχει δ’ ὡς ἔφην πλείονα αὐτοῖς ἐπὶ πᾶσι, μή ποτ’ εἰ καὶ τοῦτο δοθείη, καθάπερ ἐπιπορεύονται, ἀπὸ τῆς κεφαλῆς εἶναι τὴν ἀρχὴν ἐπὶ τὰ εἰρημένα μέρη. ἐπιζητήσωμεν· σχεδὸν γάρ, οἷα ἄν τινα λέγοιεν περὶ τοῦ τὴν φωνὴν ἐκ τοῦ στήθους φέρεσθαι διὰ τῆς φάρυγγος, ἀπὸ τῆς κεφαλῆς ποιᾶς τινος καταρχῆς γιγνομένης, τοιαῦτ’ ἔξεστι λέγειν, ἐν τῇ καρδίᾳ μὲν τοῦ ἡγεμονικοῦ ὄντος, τῆς δὲ τῶν κινήσεων ἀρχῆς ἀπὸ τῆς κεφαλῆς οὔσης.” ὃ γὰρ δὴ βούλεται λέγειν ὁ Χρύσιππος ἐν τῇδε τῇ ῥήσει, τοιοῦτόν ἐστιν· εἰ καὶ συγχωρήσειέ τις ἀρχὴν εἶναι νεύρων τὴν κεφαλήν, οὐ πάντως ἐν αὐτῇ συγχωρήσει καὶ τὸ ἡγεμονικὸν ὑπάρχειν. ἃ γὰρ ἐκεῖνοι δύνανται λέγειν ὑπὲρ τοῦ τὴν φωνὴν ἐκ τοῦ στήθους διὰ τῆς φάρυγγος ἐκφέρεσθαι τὴν ἀρχὴν τῆς ἐνεργείας τοῖς μορίοις ἐπιπεμπούσης τῆς κεφαλῆς, τοιαῦτ’ ἔξεστι λέγειν ὑπὲρ τῶν νεύρων ἡμῖν, ὡς ἐκ μὲν τῆς κεφαλῆς ἀρχομένων, ἀπὸ δὲ τῆς καρδίας τὴν ἐνέργειαν ἐχόντων. For discussion, see Tieleman 1996: 51–2. Chrysippus does not mention voluntary motion or the nerves specifically in the quotation, but Galen notes elsewhere that he discussed ‘speech and the source of nerves’ in the same context (see n. 49 above), and it seems very likely that this argument was directed at those who located the origin of the nervous system in the head, as Galen claims. For Praxagoras, Steckerl 1958 should be used with some caution; see now Lewis 2017 for Praxagoras’ physiology.

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But since I have this once become engaged in examining all views, I wish to argue briefly with Praxagoras, especially because Chrysippus too mentioned the man, opposing him to those who hold that the nerves take their beginning from the head.55

It is plausible, as Teun Tieleman has argued, that Chrysippus’ engagement with such scientific views was dialectical in nature: he need not have accepted Praxagoras’ views as true, but merely wished to emphasise the disagreement among experts (though Tieleman is also happy to accept that Chrysippus actively took on various aspects of Praxagoras’ physiology in other contexts).56 Chrysippus himself, it may be noted, disavowed any detailed knowledge of human anatomy: You might nevertheless put up with Chrysippus, who modestly declared that his heart did not vouchsafe to him either the knowledge that it is the source of the nerves, or any other answer to the questions that arise in connection with this problem; for he admits that he is ignorant of anatomy.57

He thus conceded the authority of the doctors on technical issues, and so he needed such an authority, in this case Praxagoras, to counterbalance Herophilus’ discovery of the nervous system.58 Galen describes Praxagoras’ anatomy of neura, which presumably constituted at least part of what Chrysippus opposed to those who hold that the nerves begin in the head: [Praxagoras] ventured on no inconsiderable fiction: he said that as the arteries advance and divide they become constricted and change into neura; for since their body is neuron-like but hollow, and the hollows get so small with the progressive divisions in the animal that the tunics (of the 55

56 57

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PHP 1.7.1 (p. 82 De Lacy): ἐγὼ δὲ ἐπειδήπερ ἅπαξ κατέστην εἰς τὸ περὶ πάντων διασκέψασθαι, βραχέα τῶ ͅ Πραξαγόρᾳ διαλεχθῆναι βούλομαι καὶ μάλισθ’ ὅτι καὶ Χρύσιππος ἐμνημόνευε τἂνδρος ἀντιθεὶς τοῖς ἀπὸ τῆς κεφαλῆς ἄρχεσθαι τὰ νεῦρα νομίζουσιν. For Chrysippus’ engagement with scientific material, see Tieleman 1996: 189–95; for his use of Praxagoras, Tieleman 1996: 83–5. PHP 1.6.13–14 (p. 80 De Lacy): καίτοι Χρύσιππον μὲν ἄν τις ἀποδέξαιτο μετρίως ἀποφηνάμενον ὡς μήθ’ ὅτι τῶν νεύρων ἀρχὴ ἡ καρδία τὴν γνῶσιν αὐτῶ ͅ χαρίζεται μήτ’ ἄλλο μηδὲν τῶν κατὰ τὸ πρόβλημα τοῦτο ζητουμένων· ὁμολογεῖ γὰρ ἀπείρως ἔχειν τῶν ἀνατομῶν. Cf. Plut. Stoic. Rep. 1047C: ‘In the Physical Propositions, [Chrysippus] has exhorted us to be quiet about matters requiring scientific experience and research if we have not something of greater force and clarity to say, “in order,” he says, “not to make surmises either like Plato’s that the liquid nourishment goes to the lungs and the dry to the belly or other errors like this”.’ Plato was criticised on the former point by Aristotle (PA 3.3, 664b 2–35) and Erasistratus (Plut. Quaest. Conv. 697F ff.), who both pointed to the function of the epiglottis. Praxagoras similarly described the epiglottis, though we do not know whether he linked this to an explicit criticism of Plato (fr. 10 Steckerl). See further Tieleman 1996: 191–4.

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david leith artery) come together, as soon as this happens, the vessel then appears as a neuron.59

Galen portrays this as a fantastical account of the origins of the nerves, that is, of the nervous system as we would recognise it. But this is clearly not what Praxagoras had in mind: his remarks concerning the arteries becoming neura need amount only to the Aristotelian observation that at their extremities blood vessels become like neura in that their cavity disappears.60 This is what Aristotle has to say in History of Animals: The neura of animals are arranged as follows. The starting point of them, as of blood vessels, is the heart: the heart has neura within itself, in the largest cavity; and the aorta as it is called is a neuron-like blood vessel; indeed, its extremities are wholly neuron-like, for they are not hollow, and it can be stretched in the same way as the neura where they terminate at the joints of the bones. Nevertheless, the neura do not constitute a continuous system from one starting point, as the blood vessels do.61

Both Praxagoras and Aristotle seem to think of the arteries and the neura as similarly elastic structures; what distinguishes them is the fact that arteries are hollow, while neura are solid.62 But the arteries get narrower as they ramify, until their coats finally come into contact and become solid and uniform, at which point this distinction disappears and they become basically neura themselves. Praxagoras, then, was not talking about nerves, but about neura, that is, about generic cord-like structures in the body that might include tendons and ligaments. Hence his observation about the connection between neura and arteries does not in fact conflict with Herophilus’ and Erasistratus’ location of the origin of the nerves in the brain, though Chrysippus evidently 59

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PHP 1.6.18 (p. 82 De Lacy): οὐ σμικρὸν ἀπετόλμησε ψεύσασθαι τὰς ἀρτηρίας φάμενος ἐν τῶ ͅ προϊέναι καὶ κατασχίζεσθαι στενὰς γιγνομένας εἰς νεῦρα μεταβάλλειν· τοῦ γὰρ δὴ σώματος αὐτῶν ὑπάρχοντος νευρώδους μὲν ἀλλὰ κοίλου, κατὰ τὴν ἐπὶ πλέον ἐν τῶ ͅ ζώ ͅ ῳ σχίσιν οὕτως γιγνομένων μικρῶν τῶν κοιλοτήτων ὡς ἐπιπίπτειν ἀλλήλοις τοὺς χιτῶνας, ὁπόταν τοῦτο πρῶτον γένηται, νεῦρον ἤδη φαίνεσθαι τὸ ἀγγεῖον. For full discussion of this point, see Lewis 2017: 235–6, 280–3. HA 3.5, 515a29–32 (after Peck): τὰ δὲ νεῦρα τοῖς ζώ ͅ οις ἔχει τόνδε τὸν τρόπον. ἡ μὲν ἀρχὴ καὶ τούτων ἐστὶν ἀπὸ τῆς καρδίας· καὶ γὰρ ἐν αὑτῇ ἡ καρδία ἔχει νεῦρα ἐν τῇ μεγίστῃ κοιλίᾳ, καὶ ἡ καλουμένη ἀορτὴ νευρώδης ἐστι φλέψ, τὰ μέντοι τελευταῖα καὶ παντελῶς αὐτῆς· ἄκοιλα γάρ ἐστι, καὶ τάσιν ἔχει τοιαύτην οἵανπερ τὰ νεῦρα, ᾗ τελευτᾶ ͅ πρὸς τὰς καμπὰς τῶν ὀστῶν. οὐ μὴν ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἔστι συνεχὴς ἡ τῶν νεύρων φύσις ἀπὸ μιᾶς ἀρχῆς, ὥσπερ αἱ φλέβες. Cf. also HA 3.3, 513b7–11: καὶ ἔστιν ἡ μὲν μεγάλη φλὲψ ὑμενώδης καὶ δερματώδης, ἡ δ’ ἀορτὴ στενοτέρα μὲν ταύτης, σφόδρα δὲ νευρώδης καὶ ἀποτεινομένη πόρρω πρός τε τὴν κεφαλὴν καὶ πρὸς τὰ κάτω μόρια στενή τε γίνεται καὶ νευρώδης πάμπαν (‘The Great Blood-vessel is membranous and skin-like in appearance, whereas the Aorta is narrower, and very neuron-like; and as it continues on further towards the head and the lower parts of the body it becomes narrow and entirely neuron-like’, after Peck).

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wanted his audience to believe it did. Neither Praxagoras nor Aristotle had a conception of the nervous system per se—that was born only with Herophilus’ identification of the nerves as a distinct structure issuing from the brain and spinal cord, and with his recognition of their function in mediating sensation and voluntary motion. Insofar as Praxagoras’ anatomy linked the neura with the heart, it did so only by emphasising the importance of the arterial system. There is no question here of the neura themselves originating in the heart. But Chrysippus, writing in the latter part of the third century bc, knew Herophilean/Erasistratean descriptions of the neura as a unified and continuous network issuing from a single organ. This was quite different from the disunited and non-continuous conception of neura that Aristotle and Praxagoras held. So Chrysippus knew two distinct types of description of neura. An obvious difference between these was that the Herophilean/Erasistratean version located the origin of the neura in the area of the brain, while the Praxagorean/ Aristotelian version seemed to link them (albeit indirectly) with the heart. Therefore, a selective conflation of the two could yield, at least prima facie, a medically respectable description of the nervous system originating in the heart. Evidence that just this conflation later became an established part of Stoic doctrine may be found in Cicero’s On the Nature of the Gods, where the Stoic spokesman Balbus offers human physiology as an argument for divine providence. In the course of his description, he refers to the structure of the neura: ‘Add to this the nervi, by which the limbs are held together, and their network which stretches out through the entire body; just like the veins and arteries which proceed continuously from the heart as their starting-point, they pass to all parts of the body.’63 This Stoic physiology,64 I believe, can best be made sense of as appealing to a fundamentally Herophilean conception of the nervous system, but one which has been anachronistically superimposed on a Praxagorean view regarding the arteries and neura. Here we have the idea that neura form a unitary network ramifying throughout the body, one which represents, together with the arteries and veins, the third major such network in human physiology. This is undoubtedly post-Herophilean. As we have seen, Praxagoras’ neura were not ‘nerves’, but rather the solid, ‘cord-like’ 63 64

Cic. ND 2.139 (trans. Rackham): huc adde nervos, a quibus artus continentur, eorumque inplicationem corpore toto pertinentem, qui sicut venae et arteriae a corde tractae et profectae in corpus omne ducuntur. For association with Chrysippus in particular, see Hahm 1977: 162–3 and 181 n. 68; Tieleman 1996: 86 n. 82.

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extremities of the arterial system, and they did not form a unified network spanning the entire body. On the other hand, although Balbus does not directly compare the nerves to the veins and arteries with regard to the latter’s origin in the heart,65 one could nevertheless receive that impression from the report,66 and there is certainly no mention of the brain or head. This physiology appears to run together a basically Herophilean/ Erasistratean conception of a unified nervous system with a more Praxagorean association of the nervi with the arteries and veins arising from the heart. Such a conflation is very similar to the one made by Galen in his refutation of Praxagoras’ account in book 1 of The Doctrines of Hippocrates and Plato. All this makes perfect sense for Chrysippus, who was fully aware of the Alexandrian anatomy of the nervous system, found it a potential threat to his unified, cardiocentric psychology, but was also aware of Praxagoras’ anatomy. While self-confessedly avoiding any direct investigation into the anatomical reality, he exploited (perhaps not fully consciously) the ambiguity in the terminology for neura in the medical tradition, and opposed Praxagoras’ account to that of Herophilus and Erasistratus, although the two accounts did not in fact conflict (at least not in the way he required).67 For present purposes, one of the main points to emphasise is that the problem of the nervous system became acute for Chrysippus only because of the broader Stoic commitment to a unified, corporeal soul converging on a single, governing command centre. It is important to observe that Chrysippus devoted the first part of his On the Soul to establishing the substance of the soul before he came to discuss its structure.68 (Note that this progression mirrors the sequence of topics in Placita 4.3–5.) At this point in his argument, it was already confirmed that the soul is a unified material substance, with parts that are internally connected and collectively converge on a central location that regulates and governs the whole. So, given this theoretical background, the view that the nerves are responsible for mediating sensation and voluntary motion, and originate in the head, obviously points to the head as housing this central location (though not 65 66

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I am grateful to J. P. F. Wynne for impressing this point on me at the symposium. As many have done: cf. e.g. Walsh’s translation, ‘Like the veins and arteries, they issue from the heart, and they spread to every part of the body’; Hahm 1977: 181 n. 68 writes, ‘In Cic. Nat. D. 2.139 the nervi seem to be ligaments, at least primarily, and in addition originate in the heart.’ This would also be fully consistent with Chrysippus’ claim that ‘all the organs of sense extend to this part (sc. the hēgemonikon in the heart)’ (quoted at PHP 3.5.31 (p. 206 De Lacy)): he could make this claim based on his revised anatomy of the nervous system, according to which the nerves issue from the heart. Gal. PHP 3.1.9–17 (p. 170 De Lacy).

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conclusively, as Chrysippus correctly pointed out). But if one does not conceive of the soul as a unified material substance with a single, central governing location, then the anatomy and physiology of the nervous system is hardly likely to point to the same sort of conclusion. For Herophilus and Erasistratus, the nervous system showed that the brain, or its meninges, played an important role in mediating sensation and voluntary motion, but that was basically all. The evidence suggests that Herophilus and Erasistratus were only interested in explaining fundamental physiological processes, and that these had their sources in both the brain and the heart. They had no motivation to posit a single organ or structure in the body that governed all fundamental functions. Nor, as doctors, were they interested in explaining such basic mental phenomena as thinking, emotion, etc., which may have had for them no clear physical basis, nor any clear relevance to the goals of medicine.69 Herophilus and Erasistratus seem to have been interested rather in the fundamental processes connected with digestion, perception, and voluntary motion, all of which were mediated by the physical substances of blood and pneuma derived from respiration. But it was not just the brain and/or its meninges that played a crucial role in mediating these basic processes: the heart was fundamental not only to digestion and nutrition but also, for example, to natural motion, and it supplied the brain and its meninges with the pneuma which made its way into the nervous system. Herophilus and Erasistratus simply did not analyse bodily functions in terms of a corporeal soul with a central command centre. Chrysippus, then, was forced to deal with the nervous system, not because physicians presented the nervous system as evidence for an encephalocentric conception of the soul’s functioning, but because it seemed to him to undermine his own, peculiar brand of cardiocentrism, and in particular the Stoic speech argument. If there could be only a single organ regulating all functions associated with the soul, then he needed an account of the nervous system that could be integrated with his broader psychology (especially the Stoic argument that rational speech comes from the chest), and at the same time had some anatomical respectability. Because Chrysippus’ immediate concern was to establish the location of the hēgemonikon, he naturally addressed the issue of the nervous system 69

Again, this is not to suggest that ancient doctors in general could never have any interest in such mental phenomena—Galen is a clear counter-example—but, as we have seen, Herophilus and Erasistratus appear to have been more restrictive than most physicians about the proper domain of medicine, as evidenced in their views on the inquiry into elements, and they were certainly criticised by Galen on this account.

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only insofar as it impinged on that particular question. Since it became a threat given Chrysippus’ own theory, it makes sense that he should have considered the nervous system within that theory’s framework. He was not interested in what Herophilus and Erasistratus thought about the functioning of the nervous system, but only in the (unforeseen) implications it had for his own analysis of the soul.

The Source of the Placita Reports The question remains why we have the Placita testimonia attributing to Herophilus and Erasistratus views regarding the location of the hēgemonikon, as if they adhered to a Chrysippean psychology. I suggest that a plausible source for these testimonia is Chrysippus’ own treatise. As we know from Galen’s quotation, Chrysippus gave a doxographical overview of various views of doctors and philosophers as if they too were concerned with identifying the location of the hēgemonikon. Some of these, he tells us, located it in different parts of the head. To quote again from the passage above: ‘For some say it is located in the chest, others in the head. And there are differences even within these locations, as they do not agree among themselves where in the head or chest it is located.’70 Given Chrysippus’ anxieties about the nervous system, he will certainly have had in mind here (perhaps among other views) Herophilus’ tracing of the nerves to the base of the brain, and Erasistratus’ tracing of them to the brain’s meninges. And it is clear from his wording here and his argumentation discussed earlier that he would have taken ‘location of the origin of the nerves’ as a proxy for ‘location of the hēgemonikon’. In defending his theory against the broader implications of their views, Chrysippus may well have given the impression that Herophilus and Erasistratus themselves were actually promoting a view which located the hēgemonikon in the brain or its meninges. The sort of material upon which the Placita entries on Herophilus and Erasistratus regarding the location of the hēgemonikon were based could have been available in Chrysippus’ On the Soul. Of course, these correspondences could alternatively be accounted for by positing a common source for the Aëtian Placita and Chrysippus’ treatise. Jaap Mansfeld has argued that Chrysippus must have had access to a Vetustissima Placita, which was current in the third century and already contained various views, including those of Herophilus and Erasistratus, on the location of the hēgemonikon.71 That certainly cannot 70

PHP 3.1.12–13 (p. 170 De Lacy).

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Mansfeld 1989: 334–8 and 1990: 3167–77.

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be ruled out. But there are perhaps some reasons for looking to Chrysippus’ On the Soul itself. An earlier source should likewise have attempted to give a peculiarly Stoic interpretation of Herophilus’ and Erasistratus’ views in the way described above. But to my knowledge there is no sign that Cleanthes or any early Stoic engaged with the medical tradition in any such way before Chrysippus. Mansfeld objected that Chrysippus’ short outline of the disagreements regarding the location of the hēgemonikon, which mentions Plato but no other authority by name, could not have been the source.72 But Chrysippus had dealt with those who located the origin of the nerves in the head in another part of his text in more detail.73 We have every reason to believe that Chrysippus’ introductory outline of the disagreement was not the only place in which he discussed individual views. My suggestion is only that Chrysippus’ exposition inspired the inclusion of the topic of the location of the hēgemonikon, and at least some of the entries: the Placita chapter had obviously been altered and updated in various ways by Aëtius’ time, and Chrysippus’ influence on its preserved content may have been relatively limited. I also doubt that it follows from the way in which Chrysippus introduces the disagreement that he must have expected his audience to be familiar with a specific text which listed the separate views with the name labels.74 As Mansfeld also observed, on the other hand, the entries at Placita 4.2–5 proceed from the definition of the soul to the issue of its corporeality, then the number of its parts, and finally to the location of the hēgemonikon, in precisely the same sequence as in Chrysippus’ On the Soul. Of course, this could just as well represent Chrysippus’ direct influence on the Placita tradition as the other way around.

Strato of Lampsacus If this is accepted, it might also help to account for what I regard as another peculiarity, namely the view that the Placita attributes to Strato of 72

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Mansfeld 1989: 337 n. 97: ‘I am not prepared to consider the possibility that Chrysippus’ remark about the disagreement inspired the author(s) of the Plac. to compose the chapter on the hēgemonikon; it is far too succinct to attract this kind of attention.’ We know that he discussed the view that the nerves originate in the head, and that he referred to the upholders of this view in a passage which has not survived (see above n. 51). He might even have staged a dialectical opposition between Herophilus and Erasistratus on this point, i.e. regarding their privileging of the cerebellum or the meninges, as a way of undermining their authority, at the same time as he opposed Praxagoras’ view to theirs. As suggested by Mansfeld 1989: 334.

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Lampsacus on the location of the hēgemonikon, immediately before the entries on Erasistratus and Herophilus (see introduction). We are told that Strato placed it in the ‘mid-brow’ (μεσόφρυον), the space between the eyebrows.75 It is hard to see, however, what on earth could have made Strato wish to focus on this particular spot: there is nothing as far as I can tell in the medical or philosophical traditions which would recommend it as having any particular psychic importance.76 There is another testimonium for Strato which mentions both the space between the eyebrows and the hēgemonikon close together, but there is no sign that this space holds any unique significance: Just as we think that the voice which sounds in our ears is outside, adding to the sensation the distance from the source to the hēgemonikon, in a similar way we think that the pain from the wound is not where the sensation has been received, but where it had its origin, the soul being drawn to that part from where it was affected. And for this reason when we bump into something we immediately draw our eyebrows together [αὐτίκα τὰς ὀφρῦς συνάγομεν], when the hēgemonikon swiftly assigns sensation to the part that has been struck, and we sometimes swallow our breath, and if our limbs are held by bonds, < . . . >, we press hard with our hands, obstructing the transmission of the affection and compressing the blow in the parts that are without sensation, so that it should not, by reaching the intelligent part, become pain.77 75

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Sylvia Berryman discusses Strato’s psychology in detail elsewhere in this volume, though her views on his relation to the medical tradition differ from mine. On the hēgemonikon, the relevant Stratonic testimonia are frr. 57–8 Sharples = frr. 119–21 Wehrli (ps.-Plut. Plac. 4.5; Tert. DA 15.4–5). See also fr. 66 Sharples = fr. 128 Wehrli (ps.-Plut. Plac. 5.24), which likewise mentions the space between the eyebrows as the location of the hēgemonikon, but the emendation of Plato’s name to that of Strato is a modern conjecture, and the account of sleep it gives differs from that explicitly attributed to Strato in fr. 67 Sharples = fr. 129 Wehrli (Tert. DA 43.1–2). The view is normally taken to represent a basically encephalocentric theory, placing Strato at least loosely in the same camp as other thinkers such as Plato and the Hellenistic doctors. Yet the plain fact is seldom acknowledged that the space between the eyebrows, the μεσόφρυον, is not a part of the brain; Mansfeld 1989: 318–19 is surely quite correct to distinguish Strato’s doxa from the encephalocentric views on the hēgemonikon. Modrak 2011: 391–2 suggests that ‘[p]erhaps, he was influenced by such considerations as the simultaneous visual perception through each eye, or the apparently simultaneous perception of sound through both ears, or odor through both nostrils’, such that ‘Strato would be inclined to situate the hēgemonikon equidistant from each eye or ear or nostril.’ But such speculation serves only to highlight the inappropriateness of the space between the eyebrows for any theory of perception: that spot is certainly equidistant from the eyebrows, but not from the sense organs. Fr. 63B Sharples = fr. 111 Wehrli (Plut. (?) Lib. 4): ὡς δὲ τὴν φωνὴν τοῖς ὠσὶν αὐτοῖς ἐνηχοῦσαν ἔξω δοκοῦμεν εἶναι, τὸ ἀπὸ τῆς ἀρχῆς ἐπὶ τὸ ἡγεμονικὸν διάστημα τῇ αἰσθήσει προσλογιζόμενοι, παραπλησίως τὸν ἐκ τοῦ τραύματος πόνον οὐχ ὅπου τὴν αἴσθησιν εἴληφεν, ἀλλ’ ὅθεν ἔσχε τὴν ἀρχὴν εἶναι δοκοῦμεν, ἑλκομένης ἐπ’ ἐκεῖνο τῆς ψυχῆς ἀφ’ οὗ πέπονθε. διὸ καὶ προσκόψαντες αὐτίκα τὰς ὀφρῦς συνάγομεν, τῷ πληγέντι μορίῳ τοῦ ἡγεμονικοῦ τὴν αἴσθησιν ὀξέως ἀποδιδόντος, καὶ παρεγκάπτομεν ἔσθ’ ὅτε τὸ πνεῦμα, κἂν τὰ μέρη δεσμοῖς διαλαμβάνηται,

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In the context of this list, the physical phenomenon observed in connection with the eyebrows does not appear to be privileged or regarded as any more significant than those connected with breathing or squeezing with the hands. All of these examples appear intended to illustrate how, when we are struck, we instinctively try to disrupt the continuity between the affected part of the body and the part in which stimuli are registered and become perceptions. So we would expect all these phenomena to concern locations somewhere between the affected part and the central location. If the central part compressed itself, it would be too late for the stimulus to be prevented from reaching it. The possibility should be taken seriously that Strato was merely elaborating, and providing further support for, Aristotle’s view that sensation properly occurs only in the common sensorium (in the heart).78 Several other Stratonic testimonia on the soul show interest in the same issue. The Placita elsewhere records that ‘Strato [says that] the emotions of the soul too, and the sensations, have their being in the hēgemonikon and not in the places that are affected. For it is in [the soul] that they are undergone, as with fearful and painful things.’79 In his On the Intelligence of Animals, Plutarch argues against the Stoic denial that animals are intelligent or rational beings. He takes it that pursuit or avoidance of the objects of sensation requires the rational functions of calculating, judging, remembering, and so on. If animals were irrational, they would be unable to pursue or avoid what they perceive, and hence, in conflict with the Stoic conception of providence, Nature would have given them sensation not only pointlessly, but also cruelly, since they would actually be better off without it in the absence of rationality. Having set out this argument, Plutarch next brings in Strato: And indeed there is an argument of Strato the natural philosopher which shows that not even sensation is present at all in the absence of mind. For frequently we fail to notice letters when we traverse them with our sight and words that fall on our ears, because we have our mind on something else; and then again [the mind] returns and runs after and pursues and gathers up each of the things that are uttered.80 This is why it is said that ‘Mind sees and

78 79 80

< . . . > χερσὶ σφόδρα πιέζομεν, ιστάμενοι πρὸς τὴν διάδοσιν τοῦ πάθους καὶ τὴν πληγὴν ἐν τοῖς ἀναισθήτοις θλίβοντες, ἵνα μὴ συνάψαι πρὸς τὸ φρονοῦν ἀλγηδὼν γένηται. Arist. Sens. 2, 438b 9–17. See Johansen 1997: 67–95, esp. 74–94, for full discussion of Aristotle’s view concerning the heart as locus of perception. Fr. 63A Sharples = fr. 110 Wehrli (Ps.-Plut. Plac. 4.23). Sharples translates τῶν προϊ εμένων ἕκαστον as ‘each of the things that it cast away’. For προϊ ́εμαι in the sense of ‘utter’ when used of sounds, which I prefer here, see LSJ9 s.v. B I 2.

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david leith hears, the rest are deaf and blind’, since the experience in the eyes and ears does not produce sensation if what thinks is not present.81

Given Strato’s reliance on phenomena associated with reading and listening to spoken discourse (λόγοι), he can hardly have been talking about animals in the original context from which this testimonium was taken. Taken by itself, Strato’s argument seems to point in the same direction as the one we have just been looking at, using evidence from everyday experience to support the notion that a common sensorium is needed to turn external stimuli into true perceptions: whereas he focused on phenomena associated with pain before, here he adduces the registering of meaning in rational discourse. Plutarch believes that Strato’s argument works against the Stoics in that, since perception cannot occur without the intellective faculty, and since animals have perception, they must also have the intellective faculty and therefore must be rational. But there is no reason to think that Strato believed that all animals have to be rational: in this case, he has evidently just selected human experiences as examples, and we should not conclude that he thought animals could read or talk. Again, it looks as if he is just interested in the common sensorium as the true locus of perception. All this ties in well with an additional report that he likened the sense organs to openings through which the soul peeps out, an idea that is interestingly picked up by Lucretius.82 Again, I suggest the possibility that a Stoic discussion, framed in terms of an account of the hēgemonikon, was the source for the Placita entry on Strato concerning the space between the eyebrows. The idea that the true locus of perception is not the sense organ in which the stimuli are received, but a central location where the stimuli are actually registered, is of course shared by the Stoics. In fact, this Stoic view is recorded elsewhere in the Placita, at 4.23, just before the entry on Strato and the location of the emotions and sensations in the hēgemonikon mentioned above.83 On my 81

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Fr. 62 Sharples = fr. 112 Wehrli (Plut. Soll. Anim. 960E–961A), after Sharples: καί τοι Στράτωνός γε τοῦ φυσικοῦ λόγος ἐστὶν ἀποδεικνύων ὡς οὐδ’ αἰσθάνεσθαι τὸ παράπαν ἄνευ τοῦ νοεῖν ὑπάρχει· καὶ γὰρ γράμματα πολλάκις ἐπιπορευομένους τῇ ὄψει καὶ λόγοι προσπίπτοντες τῇ ἀκοῇ διαλανθάνουσιν ἡμᾶς καὶ διαφεύγουσι πρὸς ἑτέροις τὸν νοῦν ἔχοντας· εἶτ’ αὖθις ἐπανῆλθε καὶ μεταθεῖ καὶ διώκει τῶν προϊ εμένων ἕκαστον ἀναλεγόμενος· ͅ ἧ καὶ λέλεκται, “νοῦς ὁρῇ καὶ νοῦς ἀκούει, τἄλλα κωφὰ καὶ τυφλά,” ὠς τοῦ περὶ τὰ ὄμματα καὶ ὦτα πάθους, ἂν μὴ παρῇ τὸ φρονοῦν, αἴσθησιν οὐ ποιοῦντος. Fr. 61 Sharples = fr. 109 Wehrli (SE M 7.348–50); cf. fr. 59 Sharples = fr. 108 Wehrli (Tert. DA 14.3–5). Lucretius argues against the view at 3.350–69, without naming Strato. Ps.-Plut. Plac. 4.23: Περὶ παθῶν σωματικῶν καὶ εἰ συναλγεῖ τούτοις ἡ ψυχή. οἱ Στωικοὶ τὰ μὲν πάθη ἐν τοῖς πεπονθόσι τόποις, τὰς δὲ αἰσθήσεις ἐν τῷ ἡγεμονικῷ (‘On bodily affections and whether the soul shares in suffering these. The Stoics [say that] the affections [take place] in the

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account, this is no accident: the Stoic source will have borrowed Stratonic arguments, but only for the conclusion that it is properly not the sense organs that perceive, but the central location in which they are registered. A later doxographer, reading the Stratonic argument in a Stoic framework, and searching (because of that Stoic framework) for doxai regarding the location of the hēgemonikon, mistakenly picked up on the mention of the space between the eyebrows and jumped to the wrong conclusion. This is just the sort of thing that I suggest happened to Herophilus and Erasistratus, and once again Chrysippus’ On the Soul seems an eminently plausible candidate for this source. affected places, but the sensations [take place] in the hēgemonikon’). Strato’s compatible view (fr. 63A Sharples = fr. 110 Wehrli) is then listed after the contrasting Epicurean one.

chapter 3

Galen on Soul, Mixture and Pneuma Philip van der Eijk*

Introduction Galen of Pergamum (129–215 ce), the influential Greek doctor and philosopher, had much to say about the soul and its relationship to the body. In developing his views on psychophysical interaction, Galen used and combined ideas and concepts derived from the philosophical traditions of Platonism, Aristotelianism, and Stoicism. He also took medical views on board, ranging from the earliest fifth-century bce writings of ‘Hippocrates’, the fourth-century doctor Diocles of Carystus, and Hellenistic medical writers such as Herophilus and Erasistratus, to the works of his older medical contemporaries, such as Rufus of Ephesus and the Pneumatist writer Archigenes of Apamea; these were especially relevant when it came to the anatomy and physiology of the soul and the diagnosis and treatment of mental disorder in its somatic aspects. In addition, Galen drew on extensive empirical and experimental observations derived from his own practice as a medical doctor, investigator and dissector of (non-human) animal bodies. On these foundations, Galen tried to create a new synthesis that combined conceptual sophistication, explanatory power and practical clinical experience. Yet Galen’s psychophysical ideas are not free from difficulties and apparent contradictions. They include a number of tenets, each of which makes sense in its own right, but which in combination do not seem to add up to a fully consistent theory. Let me mention here some of the more salient difficulties in broad outline (which have been identified and *

Earlier versions of this paper were presented at the Symposium Hellenisticum in Utrecht, at the Philosophy Department of Tokyo University and at the Alexander von Humboldt Colloquium for Classics and History of Science at the Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin. I am grateful for the comments made by the audiences on these occasions and for further exchange of ideas with Sean Coughlin, Matyas Havrda, Orly Lewis, Julius Rocca and Peter Singer (who kindly gave me access to his 2017 chapter ‘The essence of rage: Galen on emotional disturbances and their physical correlates’ prior to its publication).

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discussed in various degrees of depth by others),1 before turning to one specific problem in more detail. First, there is Galen’s well-known ‘agnosticism’ about certain aspects of the soul, his non-committal attitude to philosophical questions about the nature, substance or essence of the soul, about its material composition, about the presence of a divine principle in the soul and its (im)mortality. The reason why he prefers to abstain from judgement on these questions, as Galen says on several occasions, is that he cannot provide a solid scientific demonstration (apodeixis). In addition, he considers these questions of no practical relevance to the business of a medical doctor.2 On the other hand, there is Galen’s ‘teleological instrumentalism’, his frequently expressed idea that the soul uses the body as its instrument (organon) and that the body has been providentially made suitable for the exercise of this instrumental role. The agency responsible for this arrangement is Nature with a capital N, the all-embracing, allpervading providential Phusis that Galen sometimes also refers to (following Plato’s Timaeus) as ‘craftsmanlike’ or ‘divine’. Here, Galen does not shy away from making bold claims on metaphysical questions about the nature and role of the soul and the body as parts of a divinely arranged scheme; and he vigorously defends the existence of this divine arrangement against rival views, such as the Epicureans and their medical counterparts, the followers of Asclepiades of Bithynia, who denied purpose and design in the natural world.3 Secondly, when we come to the ‘embodied’ mind, Galen uses a number of different models that are not easily reconciled with each other. Throughout his work, he adopts the Platonic tripartition of the soul, for which he provides a much more detailed anatomical and physiological description than the sketchy picture offered in the Timaeus. For Galen, the three parts of the soul are lodged in the bodily parts constituted by the brain, the heart, and the liver respectively, and connected to the rest of the body through the three systems of 1

2 3

For earlier accounts of Galen’s psychology see García Ballester 1972; Donini 1974, 1980, 1988, 1992, 2008; Manuli and Vegetti 1977, as well as the essays assembled in Manuli and Vegetti 1988; Vegetti 1984, 1999a, 1999b; Manuli 1986, 1993; Lloyd 1988; Hankinson 1991a, 1991b, 1992, 1993, 2006, 2014; Singer 1997, 2013, 2017 and 2018; Tieleman 1996, 2003b; Gill 1998, 2007, 2010, 2018a, and 2018b; Bazou 2011; van der Eijk 2013; Jouanna 2009; Rosen 2009; Schiefsky 2012; Devinant 2016; Pietrobelli 2013; von Staden 2000 and 2012; Marechal 2019; Vinkesteijn 2019. On Galen’s ‘agnosticism’ about the soul, and the reasons given for it, see the discussion by Pietrobelli 2013 and Havrda 2017. This debate is central in Galen’s major works on natural philosophy, The Natural Faculties (Nat. Fac.) and The Function of the Parts of the Human Body (UP). In these works, Galen argues at great length that the teleological assumption makes much better sense of the phenomena than the mechanist position; yet it is doubtful whether this means of inferential reasoning could count as demonstration (apodeixis) in the strict sense. On Galen’s theology and its epistemological foundation see Frede 2003, esp. 109–11.

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nerves, arteries, and veins. To these three systems correspond three kinds of pneuma, which are responsible for the transmission of the various psychic and vital capacities (dunameis) throughout the body: psychic pneuma (pneuma psuchikon), vital pneuma (pneuma zōtikon), and natural pneuma (pneuma phusikon). Yet alongside this tripartite scheme, Galen also uses the Stoic division between soul (psuchē) and nature (phusis), reserving the former for cognition and voluntary movement, whereas the latter stands for all processes in the body that are not subject to rational control, such as digestion, pulsation and respiration.4 Thirdly, in discussing the physiology of psychological processes, Galen refers to a number of different material agents that are involved in the exercise of specific capacities of the soul or that influence the quality of their performance. Thus he attributes a major role to the ‘mixture’ (krasis) of the four elementary qualities hot, cold, dry, and wet in enabling and bringing about psychological activity. He also ascribes an important psychological function to the psychic pneuma, just mentioned, and to the body’s ‘innate heat’ (emphuton thermon). Furthermore, he occasionally attributes a psychological significance to the four humours, blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm. He also refers to a number of factors, processes and mechanisms, such as blockage or obstruction of pneuma, or corruption of the blood, that account for disturbances of psychological functions, such as memory loss, hallucination, insanity, or emotional disorders such as clinical anxiety or despondency. Yet he nowhere systematically combines all these factors into a unitary picture and many details about their respective roles and their interconnections remain unclear. Similarly unclear are the mechanisms by which, according to Galen, bodily conditions and mental states are correlated and how the several explanations he provides are related to each other.5 Fourthly, when it comes to psychophysical interaction, there appears to be considerable variation in Galen regarding what we would consider the direction of causation. Sometimes, he seems to be arguing that somatic factors exercise a causal influence on mental states from the bottom up, while on other occasions he appears to be envisaging an efficient causal role for mental states—especially emotions such as anger, anxiety, or distress—from the top down, acting on somatic parts or structures or leading to the formation of harmful quantities of bodily fluids. It seems that Galen envisages both possibilities, and one may say that this is fair enough; but it is not entirely 4 5

See e.g. Nat. Fac. I.1, 101.1–15 Helmreich, 2.1–2 K. On Galen’s use of these two schemata in his account of emotions see von Staden 2012: 68–72. On these problems see von Staden 2000 and 2012, and Singer 2013: 30–41.

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clear why and in what sort of circumstances the causation is in one direction rather than the other, and how one can assess this.6 Fifthly, and finally, Galen’s strategies for the management of the soul and for the therapeutic correction of disturbances in the psychological domain reveal different approaches, varying from somatic, medical diagnosis and treatment to more psychological, philosophical analysis and therapy. Thus in book three of Affected Places, he discusses the diseases of ‘the ruling part of the soul’ caused by physical agents and processes such as excessive heat or moistness, by blockage of the flow of pneuma through the vessels due to phlegm or by yellow bile invading parts of the brain, all leading to damage to sensation, thought, memory and voluntary motion. Therapeutically, Galen addresses these states by means of a range of somatic treatments involving regimen, venesection and drugs. Yet alongside this somatic approach, and apparently unconnected with it, there is, in other contexts or treatises (especially in Affections and Errors of the Soul, in Character Traits, and in the recently discovered work7 Avoiding Distress), a more philosophical discourse, centred especially on management of the emotions (such as anger, fear, or envy), which are described in psychological terms referring to states of mind and behaviour, but without reference to bodily factors; and here Galen’s therapeutic strategy accordingly consists of ‘psychotherapeutic’ measures such as mental training and counselling, apparently without any physical therapy of diet and drugs (at least such physical measures are not mentioned in the relevant contexts).8

Materialism Versus Teleological Instrumentalism? Against the background of these difficulties, I would like to concentrate in this paper on a specific tension that can be perceived in Galen’s discussion of the soul: the tension between what has sometimes been described as Galen’s ‘material determinism’, advocated in his treatise That the Capacities of the Soul Follow the Mixtures of the Body (QAM), and his ‘teleological instrumentalism’ (already mentioned) developed in other treatises. For, on the face of it, Galen’s views on the dependence of mental states on bodily conditions do not seem to sit easily with his ideas expressed in other contexts, notably in The Function of the Parts of the Human Body (UP), about the soul using the body as its instrument 6 7 8

See the discussion by Singer 1997 and 2018. For details about this text, a translation and discussion, and extensive bibliography, see Nutton 2013 and Petit 2019. On the coexistence of these two approaches see Gill 2010, 2018a and 2018b.

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(organon), this instrument having been made ‘appropriate’ or ‘suitable’ (oikeion, epitēdeion) by Nature for the exercise of psychological functions.9 In addressing this problem, I wish to look at one particular aspect of Galen’s ideas about the soul that has received less attention in scholarship, viz. his specific claim that it is on the mixture (krasis) of the body that the capacities of the soul are said to depend (or, as some passages suggest, that the soul is this mixture). In examining the specificity of this role of the mixture, we will also consider its relationship with another ‘materialist’ claim that Galen sometimes makes, viz. that the soul is pneuma, or at any rate that pneuma is the primary bodily instrument (organon) of the soul; and we will also have occasion here to consider some of Galen’s remarks about other material agents involved in psychophysical interaction. The reason for this focus on the role of mixture in Galen is that mixtures play a fundamental role in Galen’s view of human nature as a whole, not only as causal agents in a large number of psychological and physiological activities but also, as we shall see, as instruments in a wider, teleological perspective. Galen’s claim that the capacities (dunameis) of the soul ‘follow’ (hepontai, akolouthousin) the mixtures (krasis) of the body, or indeed (as some passages suggest)10 that the soul is the mixture of the body, is argued for at great length in the treatise that bears this claim in its title (Quod animi mores corporis temperamenta sequantur, QAM).11 Yet the claim, and its discussion, is referred to on several occasions elsewhere in Galen’s œuvre,12 and the position Galen defends here can therefore not be dismissed as a later development in his thinking or as a departure from earlier positions. Galen himself, at least, seems to have thought that it was perfectly compatible with the instrumentalism of 9

10

11

12

For a clear statement of this position see the passage from UP 1.2–3 discussed below, p. 81–82. For a brief discussion of this difficulty, and an attempt at a solution, see Donini 2008: 184–5. See also the discussion by Devinant 2016: 32–53. E.g. Loc. Aff. 3.9, 8.181 K., where he mentions the two alternatives: (1) the soul is the mixture of the ‘active’ qualities, or (2) it is subject to alteration by their mixture (ἐπεὶ γὰρ ἤτοι κρᾶσίς ἐστιν ἡ ψυχὴ τῶν δραστικῶν ποιοτήτων, ἢ ὑπὸ τῆς κράσεως αὐτῶν ἀλλοιοῦται), without saying which one he prefers. The word mores in the Latin title suggests ἤθη as Greek equivalent, yet on palaeographical grounds, the reading δυνάμεις is probably to be preferred. For a discussion of variations in this title, and in Galen’s own references to the claim in other contexts (e.g. in Temp. 1.9, p. 36.6 H., 1.566 K. and PHP 5.5.27, p. 322,15 De Lacy, 5.465 K., where we find ἤθη, or Sem. 2.2.5–7, p. 162.10 De Lacy, 4.611 K., where we find both ἤθη and δυνάμεις), see Jouanna (2009): 192 and Singer (2013): 410. The ethical dimension of QAM, concerned with the way in which character traits are influenced by the body’s mixture, is present throughout the work, and the relation between the cognitive and the ethical is expressed very clearly towards the end, in chs. 9 (quoted below, p. 73) and 11. E.g. in the Commentary on Hippocrates’ The Nature of Man (HNH) 1.40, p. 51.9–18 Mewaldt, 15.97 K., discussed below (p. 77), and in Loc. Aff. 3.9, 8.191 K.

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other works,13 and so did later authors such as Philoponus and Proclus,14 who attribute both claims to Galen, as does Nemesius in The Nature of Man,15 or who refer to the thesis of QAM as the typical view on the mind-body relationship held by ‘the doctors’ (hoi iatroi), as does Philoponus, who clearly has Galen in mind,16 yet at the same time is well aware of Galen’s instrumentalist position in UP and even wrote a commentary on book eleven of that work.17 There has been a good deal of scholarly discussion as to what Galen’s claim actually amounts to, how strong or weak it is, and whether there is a deliberate vagueness about this in Galen’s argument as part of a rhetorical strategy.18 Much attention has been devoted to the verb hepesthai in the work, both in its title and in the actual discussion, though there are still many puzzles here. What seems clear is that more is involved in Galen’s use of this term than just temporal sequence, and probably also something different from what would be referred today as ‘emergence’ or ‘supervenience’. But does it express causal determination? Or does it, more loosely, refer to an influence of the one on the other, a kind of being affected? Or does it refer to a connection, correspondence, or correlation between the two that is not necessarily causal in nature? And is the connection necessary, in the sense of a guarantee (‘if mixture X, then capacity Y will follow under all circumstances’), or rather, for the most part, the mixture being an enabling, facilitating, or conditioning state without necessarily leading to the existence of the corresponding capacity? Or is the point rather that the mixture is a necessary (but not sufficient) condition for the capacities of the soul to be present and activated? And is the connection a very direct one, in the sense that a specific bodily state may or will lead to a specific mental state (e.g. a specific mixture of hot, cold, dry, and wet leading to a specific thought or a specific memory or act of recollection), or is the 13

14 15 16

17 18

That Galen regarded the two views as compatible is clear, for example, from a passage in Sem. 2.2.5–7, p. 162.9–12 De Lacy, 4.611 K.: ‘Nature prepares the body to suit the soul’s traits of character and capacity. The inborn traits and capacities that the soul possesses come from the mixture of its substance, and from this they have their first beginning’ (τοῖς γὰρ τῆς ψυχῆς ἤθεσί τε καὶ δυνάμεσιν ἡ φύσις ἐπιτήδειον παρασκευάζει τὸ σῶμα. τὰ δ’ ἤθη καὶ τὰς δυνάμεις ἔχει συμφύτους ἐκ τῆς κατὰ τὴν οὐσίαν κράσεως, ὅθεν καὶ πρώτη γένεσις αὐτῶν, trans. De Lacy, modified). See also Nat. fac. 2.3, pp. 160.10–162.23 Helmreich, 2.83–4 K., and the discussion by Devinant 2016: 39–40. For a discussion of the relevant passages see Singer 2013: 366–9 and van der Eijk 2014: 125–33. Nemesius, Nat. hom. 2, p. 23.23–26.9 Morani. Philoponus, In DA 1.1, 51.1–52.4 Hayduck; the claim is also referred to more briefly at 1.3, 138.5 H., at 1.4, 155.33–4 H. and at 1.5, 183.27–34 H. For a discussion see van der Eijk 2005c: 133–4 n. 371 and 2006: 1–3. Philoponus, In DA 2.4, p. 274.8–10 Hayduck. For more detail on the commentary on UP book eleven (which survives in Arabic) see van der Eijk 2005c: 9 n. 36. For a detailed survey of the scholarship and a careful analysis of the treatise, see Singer 2013: 335–42. See also Lloyd 1988, especially 33–5.

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connection rather at a broader, more structural or generic level of potentiality, suitability, or performance (e.g. a certain mixture of hot, cold, dry, and wet leading to good functioning of sensation, memory, or thought), without determining the precise content of these mental states? (This is what some passages in QAM suggest when they talk of varying degrees of shrewdness of thinking or of sharpness of perception following upon variations in the mixture).19 And even if mental states are causally dependent on, or connected with physiological mixtures of hot, cold, dry, and wet, is this the whole story, or is it just that while the mixtures make a vital contribution, there are, in addition to them, other somatic factors that play a role here as well, such as the state of the pneuma, anatomical peculiarities of the person, the person’s psychological history, etc.? Unfortunately, Galen’s text does not provide clear answers to these questions. What does seem clear, however, is that Galen’s chief concern in the work is of a rather pragmatic nature. I take it that he is primarily interested in the variability and, on a practical medical level, the manageability of psychological performance. Capacities of the soul, and the exercise of these capacities, may vary in degrees of quality between individuals or even between different times or states in one individual; and these variations are due to differences in the person’s (or persons’) mixture(s). His message seems to be: ‘How well or how poorly your soul performs depends on whether your mixture is in a good or bad state.’ These differences admit of positive or negative manipulation by measures that act upon the mixture of the relevant person. Galen is confident that such medical measures (dietetics, drugs, or, in some cases, surgery) will lead to changes in a person’s psychological capacities and actions. In this connection, it is important to note, also for our question about the mechanisms of psychophysical interaction, that the claim of connectivity or correlation is not phrased in general terms of the soul’s dependence on the body but in the more specific terms of the dunameis of the soul following the kraseis of the body. The former concept, dunamis, is defined by Galen here as ‘a kind of efficient cause of each thing that happens, conceived according to its relation to something’;20 the text’s main claim is later rephrased in terms of the soul’s ‘actions and affections’ (erga kai pathē) following the mixtures;21 and, as we have already seen, sometimes it is the ‘character traits’ (ēthē) of the soul that are said to follow the mixtures.22 These are important qualifications, as they show that the claim of dependence on the mixtures pertains not 19 20 21

E.g. QAM 11, p. 87.12 Bazou, 4.821 K. τῶν γινομένων ἑκάστου ποιητική τίς ἐστιν αἰτία νοουμένη κατὰ τὸ πρός τι (p. 9.14–15 Bazou, 4.769 K.). 22 p. 32.3–4 Bazou, 4.787 K. See above, n. 11.

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so much to the soul as such or to the content of specific mental acts, but specifically to the soul’s capacities and their performance, both cognitive (e.g. shrewdness of thinking, accuracy of perception, quality of memory) and ethical (e.g. stability of emotions), both of which admit of degrees of goodness or badness. The other term used in this connection is krasis.23 This refers to the mixture or proportion of the elementary qualities hot, cold, dry and wet in the bodies of living beings.24 In his work dedicated to the topic of mixtures (Peri kraseōn, or De temperamentis), Galen defines the nature (phusis) of a living being as the specific krasis of the four elementary qualities hot, cold, dry and wet.25 This krasis varies from one genus or species to another, dogs having a different natural mixture from horses and lions. But mixtures can also vary between individual members within a species, and even within one individual at different stages of his or her physical development, or simultaneously between the different parts of his or her body. Galen distinguishes nine distinct types of bodily krasis, one ‘good mixture’ (eukrasia), in which the four elementary qualities are in the right proportion to each other (i.e. the proportion that is fitting for that particular species), and eight ‘bad mixtures’ (duskrasiai), in which either one or two qualities are in excess of a certain standard of naturalness or appropriateness for the species of living beings in question, yet without necessarily constituting a state of ill health. The concept of krasis is of central underlying importance to Galen’s physiology, pharmacology, dietetics, and therapeutics, but also to his psychology. Galen holds the mixtures responsible for a large number of bodily but also psychological and ethical features of human beings and animals, both generic features and individual variations. For Galen, it is the body’s mixture—rather than, say, the body’s overall anatomical structure, the bodily organs, or internal substances such as blood or phlegm—in which a large part of the individual nature of a living being, physically as 23

24

25

For a more extensive discussion of Galen’s concept of krasis see van der Eijk 2014, from which some passages in this and the following paragraphs are taken; see also Mirrione 2017 and Singer and van der Eijk 2018. Contrary to what is often believed, krasis in Galen usually and primarily refers to a mixture of elementary qualities rather than a mixture of humours (chumoi, e.g. the four humours blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile), or of one humour (e.g. of black bile, referred to as melancholikē krasis), the latter usages being derived from the former. For a full discussion of these issues, and the terminology of krasis and mixis, see Mirrione 2017 and Boudon-Millot 2011. For an example of the use of krasis in relation to humours see the passage from the HNH 1.40, p. 51.9–18 Mewaldt, 15.97 K., discussed below, p. 76. Temp. 3.1, p. 104.1–3 Helmreich, 1.675 K.

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well as mentally, finds its cause and origin. Furthermore, Galen analyses the efficacy of medical treatment in terms of the interaction between the krasis of the body (or the relevant bodily parts) and the krasis of the material substances that are used in the preservation, maintenance and treatment of living bodies, such as foods, drinks and drugs. Galen refers to these bodily mixtures as hexeis (‘states’ or ‘dispositions’), so evidently they have a certain degree of stability.26 Yet they are not immune to change and can be influenced, for example, by diet and drugs. On the other hand, they are not just incidental, episodic physiological states that change all the time; for if they were, it would not be possible to characterise individuals by reference to their mixtures or to infer someone’s mixture on the basis of their long-term external physical features, which is one of the things that Galen is doing in the work. How do these mixtures come into being? Galen makes a distinction between connate (sumphutoi) mixtures and those that have been acquired (epiktētoi) as a result of long-term habituation. We may gather from this that every human being is born with a certain mixture that may be subject to change as a result of a particular lifestyle (or, possibly, as a result of dietetic and pharmacological treatment). There is a hereditary side to the mixtures as well, which emerges from Galen’s references to the physiology of Egyptians, Arabs and Ethiopians, although this can also be a matter of climate, habitat and environment, or a combination of these factors.27 In using this concept of krasis, and in applying it to the psychological domain, Galen stands in a long tradition going back to the medical writings attributed to Hippocrates, especially Regimen (early fourth century bce), whose chapter thirty-five develops an elaborate theory of variations in psychological performance correlated to variations in the mixture (sunkrēsis) of the elements fire and water and the qualities hot, cold, dry and wet. It further sets out a prophylactic and therapeutic regime for the management and correction of this mixture.28 There are also antecedents of the psychological significance of bodily mixture in Aristotle’s biology,29 and there is some evidence (both in Alexander of Aphrodisias and in later commentators on Aristotle) that in late Hellenistic and early imperial Peripatetic thought, the Aristotelian definition of the soul as the form of the body had been redefined in terms of the soul being the krasis of the body.30 26 27 28 29 30

Temp. 1.9, p. 31.20 H., 1.558 K., and 2.2, p. 60.10 H., 1.604 K. For examples see van der Eijk 2014: 103–4. For discussions see van der Eijk 2011 and 2013, and Hankinson 1991b. See, e.g. GA 2.6, 744a30–2; NE 7.14, 1154b11–14; Pol. 7.7, 1327b35; Phys. 7.3, 246b4–5. See the discussion by Singer 2013: 361–5.

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Yet, for all his dependence on earlier views, the concept of krasis took on a special significance in Galen’s views on the nature of human bodies: it became the key to the doctor’s diagnostic assessment and understanding of individual features of human bodies. For while knowledge of functional anatomy, based on dissection, was relevant for the description and explanation of bodies in general, Galen preferred to approach individual bodies and their differences in constitution, material substance and natural and psychological functioning in terms of varying mixtures of hot, cold, dry and wet. Moreover, he claimed to be able to identify and assess an individual body’s mixture by a skilful and experienced application of the sense of touch and by a sophisticated system of interpretive rules making sense of the external signs of the body as indicators (gnōrismata) of the body’s internal state.31 This is not surprising, for Galen was, after all, primarily a medical doctor who dealt with individual patients on a daily basis. However important universal and theoretical knowledge and philosophical reflection were to medical practice, ultimately, he argued, what matters is the correct practical application of such knowledge to individual cases. These remarks, however brief, about Galen’s concept of krasis and its importance go some way towards helping us to understand the mechanics of psychophysical interaction. First of all, krasis is not so much a physical mixture as such (as the popular notion of a ‘mix’ of humours or liquids might suggest, as if it were a kind of soup to which one might add ingredients and which one might stir), but rather the formal ratio, the specific proportion according to which the relevant bodily factors are related to each other.32 It is this proportion that allows of variation and of manipulation by specific measures. If each bodily part has its own mixture, this means that in bodily parts that house capacities of the soul, the soul’s performance is likely to be significantly affected by variations in that mixture. For example, the brain may require a specific proportion of hot, cold, dry, and wet in order to function well: this proportion may be regarded as ‘appropriate’ (oikeion) or ‘fitting’ (epitēdeion) to the brain and as constituting its healthy condition. Variations in the proportion may affect the brain’s cognitive performance, both in negative and positive ways.33 That this is the mode of interaction between 31 32

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See van der Eijk 2015. In this regard, rather than being a crude form of materialism, Galen’s theory is somewhat similar to the harmonia theory discussed in Plato’s Phaedo and in Aristotle’s De Anima 1.4. Galen himself, in his discussion of the way in which the Stoic view on pneuma supports his mixture theory, refers to the mixture as ‘the form [eidos] of the matter, consisting in a certain good balance of the airy and fiery substance’ (QAM 4, p. 27.14 Bazou). For a similar account of the way in which, according to Galen, variations in the mixture of the heart have varying effects on people’s inclination to anger, see von Staden 2012.

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the mixture and the capacities of the soul is suggested by Galen himself when, in Mixtures, he says on several occasions that the specific, non-manifest mixture of a bodily part can be inferred from the manifest quality of its performance (energeia). Thus in books one and two of Mixtures, Galen points out that the state of good mixture (eukrasia) of a living being as a whole can be recognised on the basis of the optimal performance of the characteristic activity of the living being, such as intelligence (phronēsis) in the case of humans:34 Those [indicators] applicable to animal species, on the other hand, are assessed on the basis of the perfection of the activity [energeias teleiotēti] appropriate to each. It is appropriate for a human being to be very intelligent [sophōtatōi] . . . The best-mixed human being is whichever appears to have a body precisely in the middle of all the extremes, thinness and thickness, softness and hardness, and also hotness and coldness . . . in respect of his soul, similarly, he is precisely in the middle between boldness and cowardice, hesitancy and rashness, pity and envy. Such a person will be cheerful, affectionate, generous, and intelligent. It is from these things, then, that the bestmixed person is recognized primarily and especially; and quite a few others are present in conjunction with them, which belong to those things that depend on the mixtures necessarily. For such a person also eats and drinks in a wellbalanced way, and performs good coction on his nourishment, not just in his stomach but also in his veins, and throughout the whole condition of his body; and, to sum it up, is faultless in all his natural [phusikai] and psychological [psuchikai] activities. For indeed he is in the best state as regards perception and motion of the limbs; he also has a good colour and always has good breathing; he is at a midpoint between somnolence and insomnia, smoothness and hairiness, and the black and white colour; as a child his hair will be blond rather than dark, when he reaches his prime, the reverse.35

These passages show (1) that the influence of the bodily mixture on psychological performance is not confined to cognitive, intellectual activity but also encompasses the ethical and emotional domains, and (2) that the mixture’s role is relevant not only in cases of illness or disturbance (as some of Galen’s rivals, whom he calls ‘the self-styled Platonists’ in QAM, seemed to assume)36 but also in the enhancement and optimisation of psychological 34 35 36

All translations from Mixtures are taken from Singer and van der Eijk 2018. Temp. 1.9, p. 35.27–36.1 H., 1.565 K., and 2.1, p. 42.8–11 and 42.16–43.9 H., 1.576–7 K. Cf. QAM 9, pp. 62.11–63.3 Bazou, 4.805–6 K.: ‘And yet, because of certain self-styled Platonists who hold that the soul, though impeded by the body in sickness, performs its specific activities when the latter is healthy, and is neither assisted nor harmed by it, I shall set down here certain quotations from Plato, in which he declares that, in relation to their discernment [phronēsis], people are assisted and harmed by the mixture of places, even when the body is not sick’ (in this passage, krasis is used in the sense of the external mixture of the environment, as in Aristotle’s Politics and in the Problemata;

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performance: the healthy state allows for a scale of differences in the quality of psychological functioning. This, we may say, is the marketing feature of QAM: if you want to be a clever, virtuous, and emotionally stable person, Galen seems to say, come to me and I shall show you how to manage and manipulate your mixture in such a way as to enhance your psychological performance. Thus medicine is here claiming a role in what used to be seen primarily as philosophy’s area of competence.37 Of course, the negative influence of the body, or specific states of the body, on the operations of the soul is recognised by Galen as well, both in QAM and elsewhere. Numerous passages from his clinical works devoted to pathology explain disturbances of the soul’s capacities in terms of excessive heating, cooling, moistening, or drying of the relevant bodily environment. Among these, book three of Affected Places stands out, as it deals explicitly with diseases affecting ‘the ruling part of the soul’ and disturbing or impeding functions located in the head or brain, such as phrenitis, mōrōsis, lēthargos, melancholia, epilēpsia (e.g. 3.6, explaining the loss of a number of cognitive functions by reference to cooling and heating); other relevant passages can be found in nosological works such as The Causes of Symptoms. This is all hardly surprising, considering that Galen was a doctor. What is more remarkable is that the role of the krasis, and its management, also extends to the healthy domain of good performance and psychological excellence. Thus in specifying the influence of the body on the soul as something arising from the body’s ‘mixture’ (krasis), Galen is primarily concerned with explaining variation in psychological capacity and performance, and with showing how such variation can be managed by medical intervention.38 Krasis is, once again, not so much the physical mixture as such but rather the formal, specific ratio of the elementary qualities characterising the body and

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these mixtures interact with the mixtures within the body, as shown by Hippocrates’ Airs Waters Places, from which Galen quotes in the preceding paragraphs). See also QAM 5, p. 30.12–13 Bazou, 4.786 K.: ‘Those who hold that the soul is a form of the body will be able to say that it is the good balance [summetria] of the mixture, not the dryness, which makes it more intelligent [sunetōteros]’ (all translations from QAM are taken from Singer 2013). Cf. QAM 9, p. 66.11–67.7 Bazou, 4.807–8 K.: ‘So, then, let those who are unhappy with the notion that nourishment [trophē] has the power to make some more self-controlled, some more undisciplined, some more restrained, some more unrestrained, as well as brave, timid, gentle, kind, quarrelsome and argumentative—let them now have some self-control, and come to me to learn what they should eat and drink. They will derive the greatest benefit with regard to the philosophy related to their characters [ēthikē philosophia]; and in addition to this they will make progress in the capacities of their rational souls and gain in excellence here, too, becoming more intelligent and having better memories.’ On the role of education and training in addition to nurturing and physical upbringing see below, p. 87.

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its parts. It is this proportion that allows of variation and of manipulation by specific measures.

Pneuma and the Humours We may now briefly consider the question of how this central role of the mixture, and its psychological significance, is related to Galen’s view that the soul is pneuma, or that pneuma is the primary instrument of the soul. These views are referred to in The Doctrines of Hippocrates and Plato (PHP), where pneuma is said to be the ‘first home’ (prōton oikētērion) of the soul if the soul is incorporeal, or the soul itself if the soul is corporeal,39 and in the Commentary on Hippocrates’ Epidemics VI: I am convinced that the pneuma in the cavities of the brain is the first of the instruments of the soul [organōn psuchikōn], though it would be rash for me in stating this to call it the substance [ousia] of the soul. Yet whether it is through the mixture of the four elements that the whole nature of the brain has reached this peculiar mode of being [ousias idiotēta], in virtue of which it is the director [archēgos] of the animal’s sensation and voluntary motion and imagination and memory and thinking, or whether there is a different, incorporeal power that has been connected [endeitai] with the brain by that which has created us and that will be separated from us when we die, I cannot provide a solid scientific demonstration [for the two alternative explanations set out].40

These remarks testify both to Galen’s hesitation to pronounce on the metaphysical question of the origin and substance of the soul and to his preference for pneuma as the most likely candidate for the role of ‘director’. At the same time, it is clear here, too, that the mixture of the four elements (in this case, in the brain) is, again, of fundamental importance to the functioning of the brain and the pneuma. Similarly, in QAM, Galen refers 39

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PHP 7.3.19–22, pp. 442.36–444.11 De Lacy, 5.606 K.: ‘From these phenomena you might suppose either of two things about the pneuma in the ventricles of the brain: if the soul is incorporeal, the pneuma is, so to speak, its first home; or if the soul is corporeal, this very thing is the soul. But when presently, after the ventricles have been closed up, the animal regains sensation and motion, it is no longer possible to accept either alternative. It is better, then, to assume that the soul dwells in the actual body of the brain, whatever its substance may be—for the inquiry has not yet reached this question—and that the soul’s first instrument for all the sensations of the animal and for its voluntary motions as well is this pneuma; and therefore, when the pneuma has escaped, and until it is collected again, it does not deprive the animal of its life but renders it incapable of sensation and motion. Yet if the pneuma were itself the substance of the soul, the animal would immediately die along with the escape of the pneuma’ (trans. De Lacy). Similar remarks can be found in Ut. Resp.7, pp. 130.5 ff. Furley and Wilkie, 4.509 K., in SMT 2.9, 11.731 K., where he distances himself from the Stoics who hold that the soul is pneuma, and in Caus. Symp. 2.5, 7.191 K. Hipp. Epid. VI 5.5, p. 271.9–18 Wenkebach–Pfaff, 17B.247–8 K.

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to the Stoic position with regard to pneuma but adapts it to his own ‘mixture’ theory.41 The argument is hypothetical and Galen does not endorse all aspects of Stoic doctrine, but he does claim that it is a variant of his own view that the soul is a certain mixture or good balance of matter (poia krasis en summetriāi gignomenē). Pneuma plays an enormously important role in Galen’s thought, and to do justice to its complexity would require a much fuller discussion than can be offered here.42 The psychological significance of ‘psychic pneuma’ (psuchikon pneuma), which is located in the cavities of the brain and flowing through the nerves, thus transmitting the dunameis of cognition and voluntary motion to and from the relevant bodily parts,43 is clearly of crucial psychological importance; but the vital pneuma (pneuma zōtikon), too, in terms of providing dynamic tension (tonos), is a relevant factor in providing emotional stability and a solid basis for locomotion.44 Here, other, older models of explanation of mental or neurological disorder were available to Galen, such as blockage of the flow of pneuma in the relevant passages, mentioned by the author of On the Sacred Disease in his account of epilepsy and by Diocles of Carystus, who attributed several forms of cognitive or motor disturbance to blockage or obstruction (emphraxis) of the passageways through which pneuma or blood would flow.45 Yet for our purposes in this chapter, it is important to realise that pneuma is not immune to change, and its optimal performance depends to a considerable extent on the quality of the mixtures of the bodily parts in which it is lodged. Indeed, several passages in Galen suggest that the quality of pneuma can be affected by external influences such as breath, food and 41

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‘And the Stoics’ belief comes within the same class of substance. For their view is that soul is some kind of breath, as also is nature; but that that of nature is wetter and colder, and that of soul drier and hotter. So that this breath too is some kind of matter proper to the soul, but the form of the matter is a certain mixture, which comes into being in a good balance of the airy and the fiery substance [τὸ δὲ τῆς ὕλης εἶδος ἡ ποιὰ κρᾶσις ἐν συμμετρίᾳ γιγνομένη τῆς ἀερώδους τε καὶ πυρώδους οὐσίας]. For it is not possible to state that soul is either just air, or just fire, because it is not admissible for an animal’s body to become extremely cold, nor extremely hot—nor, conversely, dominated by either in a great excess; after all, even if one of these qualities becomes a little more than the state of good balance, then the animal becomes fevered, in the case of unbalanced excesses of fire; and is cooled down and made livid, as well as suffering poor perception or complete loss of perception, when there is a dominance of air. For this latter element is cold in itself, but becomes well-mixed from the combination with the fiery element. And so by now it has become evident to you how the substance of the soul comes into being in accordance with a certain mixture of air and fire in the view of the Stoics’ (QAM 4, pp. 27.8–28.10 Bazou, 4.783–4 K.). For a discussion see Rocca 2003: 59–66. For a collection of studies on the concept of pneuma in medical and philosophical thought after Aristotle see Coughlin, Leith, and Lewis forthcoming 2020. PHP 7, passim; Loc. aff. 4.9. 44 See the discussion by Trompeter 2016. See Hippoc. The Sacred Disease, chs. 4–7; Jouanna (chs. 7–10 Jones); Diocles of Carystus, frr. 74, 80, 87, 98, 119, 124, 130 (van der Eijk).

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drink, poisons and by sudden, forceful emotional reactions to external stimuli and, furthermore, that there is scope for prophylactic and therapeutic management of one’s pneuma by means of dietetic and pharmacological intervention.46 The mechanism by which this is possible is, again, the mixture of the elementary qualities. By contrast, and contrary to general opinion, the role of the humours (chumoi) as the vehicles or instruments of psychophysical interaction is rather restricted in Galen. More generally, the presence of the theory of the four humours is remarkably low-key in Galen.47 To my knowledge, there is just one passage, from his commentary on The Nature of Man, the classical Hippocratic treatise setting out the canonical theory of the four humours, where Galen refers to a theory about their psychological role, yet without explicitly endorsing or elaborating on it: There is also another physical account, which has no little plausibility, according to which the four humours are proved to be effective in the generation of the states of character which are appropriate to them [ēthōn epitēdeiōn]. In it we first need to establish that the states of character of the soul are consequent [hepomena] upon the mixtures of the body, about which we have written elsewhere. On this basis, sharpness and intelligence in the soul will exist as a result of [dia] the bilious humour, stability and firmness as a result of the melancholic, simplicity and artlessness as a result of the blood. The nature of phlegm is ineffective with regard to the production of 46

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See, e.g. Inaeq. Int. 4 (7.740 K.) and UP 8.13 (Vol. 1, p. 488.24–489.2 Helmreich, 3.675 K.): ‘Hence it would be better to think that intelligence depends on the good mixture of the substance of the thinking body, whatever this body may be, and not an intricacy of structure. Indeed, it seems to me that perfection of intellect should be ascribed not to the quantity of the psychic pneuma but rather to its quality’ (ἄμεινον δ’ ἦν ἄρα τῇ τῆς οὐσίας εὐκρασίᾳ τοῦ νοοῦντος σώματος, ὅ τι ποτ’ ἂν ᾖ τοῦτο, τὴν σύνεσιν ἕπεσθαι νομίζειν, οὐ τῇ ποικιλίᾳ τῆς συνθέσεως. οὐδὲ γὰρ τῷ πλήθει τοῦ πνεύματος τοῦ ψυχικοῦ χρῆναι δοκεῖ μοι μᾶλλόν περ ἢ τῇ ποιότητι τὴν ἀκρίβειαν τῆς νοήσεως ἀναφέρειν, trans. M. T. May, modified). See also the very interesting discussion of the management of pneuma in the MM 12.5 (10.837–43 K.): ‘Since, however, the substance of the capacities controlling us lies in the pneuma and the mixture of the solid bodies, what we must do is preserve these when they are present and restore them when they are weakened. How we must preserve them in times of health has been shown in my work On the Preservation of Health. How we must preserve them in times of disease has already been stated in my earlier works and will also be stated now. . . . And if, in this way, the substance of the various kinds of pneuma governing us were to be at some time thinned further than it should be, it would become weak in both respects, having been changed with respect to its mixture [ἠλλοιωμένη τὴν κρᾶσιν], and having become easy to disperse or easy to evaporate or whatever someone might wish to call it. In the same way, too, if the whole body were to change towards a disproportionate looseness of texture, the substance of the pneuma would be easily dispersed, since it is fine-particled and the containing bodies do not retain it. We must not, therefore, thin the body of the sick person disproportionately if we are proposing to preserve the pneuma in it, nor must we thin excessively those things in it through what is eaten and drunk’ (trans. I. Johnston and G. H. R. Horsley, modified and emphasis added). I am grateful to Sean Coughlin for bringing these passages to my attention. See Jouanna 2012: 338–40.

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character [ēthopoiia], having as it evidently does its necessary generation in the first alteration of the food.48

The reference, in this passage, to ‘the mixtures of the body’ (i.e. mixtures of the qualities hot, cold, dry, and wet) suggests that the humours are considered here in their role of the carriers of these qualities; and this indicates, again, that the causal role the humours play is based on the more fundamental level of elementary qualities, which also accounts for variations and allows for therapeutic or prophylactic manipulation.49 Galen does, of course, recognise the role of bile and yellow bile in the formation of a number of mental diseases, following an earlier tradition of Greek medical thought about the pathological effects of black bile (melancholia) and yellow bile (pikrocholos) on a person’s mental life. Thus in Affected Places III, some diseases affecting the functions of the ruling part of the soul are explained in terms of an imbalance of the humours (chumoi), such as a surplus of phlegmatic and bilious humour in the case of pathological sleeplessness (agrupna kōmata, 3.6, 8.163 K.), or an invasion of the brain (through the veins) by yellow or black bile (3.10, 8.191–2 K.). Furthermore, it is in this context that Galen develops the concepts of sumpatheia, idiopatheia, and prōtopatheia to account for various mechanisms in which disturbance of mental capacities may be explained as a result of other bodily parts being affected, as in the case of hypochondria or epigastric melancholy: these affections may give rise to certain humours or 48

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HNH 1.40, p. 51.9–18 Mewaldt (15.97 K.), transl. R. J. Hankinson. In another passage from QAM 3, wine is said to act upon the soul via the medium of the mixture, which it is said to work upon through the intermediary stage of the humours. ‘It is certainly true that wine, if drunk in moderation, will have a very great effect on digestion, distribution, blood-production and nutrition, while also making our souls gentler, and braver, too, which is, of course, by means of the mixture in the body, which in turn it [i.e. wine] acts upon by means of the humours’ (p. 21.1–6 Bazou, 4.778–9 K.); see also QAM 9, p. 65.5–66.11 Bazou (4.807–8 K.): ‘In this passage he [Plato] clearly states that “breaths” (that is, winds) and “roastings” (that is, the heat from the sun) have power in relation to the capacities of the soul—in case they do not think that individuals can in any way become better and worse in their souls because of the breaths, and the hotness and coldness of the ambient air, and the nature of the waters and nourishment; and that these factors themselves do not produce good and bad effects in the soul by the means of the mixtures. For even this would be a consequence of the understanding and education of the men. We at least, however, know that every foodstuff is brought down first to the stomach, where it undergoes a preliminary “working”, and after this, is taken via the veins leading to that organ from the liver, and produces the humours in the body, from which are nourished all the other parts, and along with them the brain, heart and liver; and in the process of being nourished they become hotter than themselves, or colder, or wetter, being assimilated to the capacity of the dominant humours.’ See also Loc. Aff. 3.10 (8.191 K.): ‘The best doctors and philosophers are agreed that the humours and in general the mixture of the body cause alteration to the activities of the soul. I myself demonstrated this in one treatise, in which I showed that the capacities of the soul follow the mixtures of the body. This is why those who do not know the power of the humours do not dare to write on melancholy, among whom are the followers of Erasistratus.’

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vapours that spread from the stomach or other bodily parts to the brain and thus affect the brain’s activities.50 These passages, then, to which many more examples can be added, all seem to express a kind of ‘causation from the bottom up’, which works through the mechanism of the elementary qualities and their mutual proportions, as constituted by the mixtures, affecting the capacities and their performance in a large number of bodily parts and structures, sometimes directly, sometimes through the intermediary of the humours. These qualities, and their mixtures, inhere both in solid bodily parts—each part having its own mixture—as well as in the humours, which flow through the body and may infiltrate specific bodily parts such as the brain. And, essentially, the mixture of these elementary qualities also affects the pneuma.

Mechanical and Teleological Causation from the Top Down Yet this is just one part of the story. For alongside this seemingly ‘materialist’ tendency, we find other claims made by Galen suggesting that the direction of causation may also be the reverse.51 First of all, Galen sometimes argues that psychological states (such as anger) may have an effect on the body in a purely mechanical, nonteleological sense. Some of these passages can be found in his major work Matters of Health (De sanitate tuenda, San. Tu.), such as at 2.9, where, in a context strongly reminiscent of Aristotle’s discussion in On the Soul 1.1, he discusses formal and material accounts of anger, defining it as ‘a kind of boiling of the hot in the heart’ and suggesting, rather surprisingly, that ‘the appetite for revenge is an incidental feature [sumbebēkos], and not the essence [ousia], of anger’.52 A further passage in the first book of San. Tu. is highly relevant for the question of psychophysical interaction: The character of the soul is corrupted by bad habits in food, drink, physical exercise, things watched and heard, and music as a whole. Indeed, the person who undertakes the art of health should be experienced in all these, and one should not think that it is only the business of the philosopher to shape the character of the soul; but rather that, while it is his [the philosopher’s] business because of something greater, i.e. the health of the soul itself, it is also the doctor’s for the sake of the body’s not readily falling 50 52

For a discussion of these concepts see Holmes 2013: 165–75. 51 See Singer 1997 and 2017. For a detailed discussion of this, and other related passages see Singer 2017.

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victim to sickness. For indeed rage, weeping, anger, distress, worry which is more than it should be, as well as significant insomnia arising from them, set off fevers and become the starting points of major diseases, as too conversely an idle intellect, mindlessness and a soul which is completely lacking in spirit often bring about poor colour and atrophia through feebleness of the innate heat. For above all things our connate heat must be preserved within the bounds prescribed by health. And this is preserved by well-balanced exercise that takes place not just in the body, but also in the soul. Unbalanced motions within desires, arguments and rages, make the animal more bilious when they are excessive and more phlegmatic and colder when they are deficient. Moreover, in the former conditions fevers and all other hotter affections come about, in the latter obstructions in the liver and internal organs and epilepsy and apoplexy and anything else of that sort—to summarize all diseases involving catarrh and flow. And in a considerable number of cases we have restored to health people who were suffering for many years because of the character of their soul, by correcting the imbalance of the motions.53

The passage begins by referring to the damage to the soul caused by a number of psychological as well as physiological factors. But Galen then goes on to refer to the effects of emotional disturbance on the body through the intermediary of innate heat, leading to excessive heat and the formation of bile or excessive cold and the formation of phlegm, as well as fevers, obstructions, and fluxes. The passage is remarkable also because it explicitly addresses the relationship between medicine and philosophy, and it appears to make a kind of division of labour between the two areas, the 53

San. Tu. 1.8, pp. 19.24–20.13 Koch, VI.40–1 K., trans. P. N. Singer. It is worth quoting the Greek of this passage in full: διαφθείρεται δὲ τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς ἦθος ὑπὸ μοχθηρῶν ἐθισμῶν ἐν ἐδέσμασί τε καὶ πόμασι καὶ γυμνασίοις καὶ θεάμασι καὶ ἀκούσμασι καὶ τῇ συμπάσῃ μουσικῇ. τούτων τοίνυν ἁπάντων ἔμπειρον εἶναι χρὴ τὸν τὴν ὑγιεινὴν τέχνην μετιόντα καὶ μὴ νομίζειν, ὡς φιλοσόφῳ μόνῳ προσήκει πλάττειν ἦθος ψυχῆς· ἐκείνῳ μὲν γὰρ δι’ ἕτερόν τι μεῖζον τὴν τῆς ψυχῆς αὐτῆς ὑγείαν, ἰατρῷ δὲ ὑπὲρ τοῦ μὴ ῥᾳδίως εἰς νόσους ὑπομεταφέρεσθαι τὸ σῶμα. καὶ γὰρ θυμὸς καὶ κλαυθμὸς καὶ ὀργὴ καὶ λύπη καὶ πλεῖον τοῦ δέοντος φροντὶς ἀγρυπνία τε πολλὴ ἐπ’ αὐτοῖς γενομένη πυρετοὺς ἀνάπτουσι καὶ νοσημάτων μεγάλων ἀρχαὶ καθίστανται, ὥσπερ καὶ τοὐναντίον ἀργὴ διάνοια καὶ ἄνοια καὶ ψυχὴ παντάπασιν ἄθυμος ἀχροίας καὶ ἀτροφίας ἐργάζεται πολλάκις ἀρρωστίᾳ τῆς ἐμφύτου θερμότητος. χρὴ μὲν γὰρ φυλάττειν ἅπαντος μᾶλλον ἐν ὅροις ὑγιεινοῖς τὴν σύμφυτον ἡμῖν θερμότητα. φυλάττεται δὲ ὑπὸ τῶν συμμέτρων γυμνασίων οὐ κατὰ τὸ σῶμα μόνον, ἀλλὰ κατὰ τὴν ψυχὴν γινομένων. αἱ δ’ ἄμετροι κινήσεις ἐν ἐπιθυμίαις τε καὶ διαλογισμοῖς καὶ θυμοῖς, αἱ μὲν ὑπερβάλλουσαι χολωδέστερον ἀποφαίνουσι τὸ ζῷον, αἱ δ’ ἐλλείπουσαι φλεγματικώτερον καὶ ψυχρότερον. καὶ δὴ καὶ ταῖς μὲν προτέραις ἕξεσιν οἵ τε πυρετοὶ καὶ ὅσα θερμότερα πάθη, ταῖς δ’ ἑτέραις ἐμφράξεις καθ’ ἧπάρ τε καὶ σπλάγχνα, ἐπιληψίαι τε καὶ ἀποπληξίαι ἤ τι τοιοῦτον ἄλλο, καὶ συνελόντα φάναι, τὰ καταρροϊκά τε καὶ ῥευματικὰ νοσήματα συμπίπτει πάντα. καὶ οὐκ ὀλίγους ἡμεῖς ἀνθρώπους νοσοῦντας ὅσα ἔτη διὰ τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς ἦθος ὑγιεινοὺς ἀπεδείξαμεν, ἐπανορθωσάμενοι τὴν ἀμετρίαν τῶν κινήσεων.

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former dealing primarily with the body, the latter with the soul. Yet it is precisely for this reason, Galen argues, that medical doctors should also take an interest in the emotions: for these may be the causes of damage done to the body and lead to ill health and various kinds of disease. The correct diagnosis of the causes of these diseases is obviously of the greatest importance for subsequent treatment. A large number of very similar passages can be found in Galen’s works discussing the effect of emotions such as rage, anxiety and shame on the body, for example in terms of causing an increase of innate heat, a retreat of certain humours back to the depth of the body or, conversely, a rise of the humours to the surface of the body, or fear drawing pneuma and the blood inward, causing the cooling of the surface of the body. Emotional disturbance is described as having a drying effect or a heating effect or as generating yellow bile or fever, and manifesting itself in a variety of abnormal pulse rhythms. In some cases, Galen even reports fatal consequences of emotional disturbances such as excessive anger, fear, and worry.54 54

E.g. in MM 12.5 (10.841–2 K.), discussing cases of death as a result of sudden and strong fears or pleasures acting forcefully on the pneuma of the patient. For a listing and discussion of these passages see Singer 2017 and von Staden 2012: 78–85. Of particular significance is a passage from Caus. Symp. 2.5 (7.191–4 K.), describing in great detail the physiological effects of emotions such as rage and shame: ‘Indeed, the drive, both inwards and outwards, of the innate heat is amongst the primary and (as one might call them) most hegemonic motions; it arises upon many soul affections; and of course along with this motion pneuma and blood, too, are sometimes borne and dragged in towards the source, sometimes pushed outwards and poured. Well, to make a declaration on the substance of the soul itself might perhaps be bold, even in some other work; in the present one it is not only bold but also superfluous. Whatever it actually is, one of two things seems to be the case: that it uses pneuma, blood and the heat that is in both of them as the primary instruments for all its activities, or that it subsists in those things. And it is possible to observe its motions manifestly in many other affections, but especially those of the soul. Fear and rage, to begin with: the former draws and drags in both the pneuma and the blood towards the source, with a simultaneous cooling of the surface parts; the latter pushes outwards, pours and heats. But what is known as anxiety, being a composite of the two, is uneven in its motions. And, certainly, the pulses of the arteries and of the heart are smallest and slackest in those experiencing fear, largest and most violent in those experiencing rage and uneven in those experiencing anxiety. In shame, there occurs first a motion inward of the soul-capacity, but then a concerted return to the surface; if, then, it does not thus return, it is fear and not shame. For shame comes about suddenly, not because the soul-capacity is expecting any ill, but, as one might say, because of some inborn softness and timidity, whereby the soul-capacity cannot endure the society of a much greater person, but is eager to run away and, if at all possible, be somewhere else. Because of this it only retreats to the depth, as though running away, without the cooling. When the reasoning-faculty urges on and encourages the emotive part of the soul—that which experiences fear and shame—it returns and moves to the surface in a similar manner of motion to that involved in the recall of heat after cold bathing. In fear, however, where the reasoning-faculty is not urging on and encouraging the emotive part of the soul at all, the hot is being constantly and increasingly extinguished, so that some of these even experience rigor. And what they undergo in fear in a concerted way, this they undergo to a small extent in distress: these affections differ from each other in size and violence, not in their overall kind. Indeed, there have even been cases of death resulting from sudden fear, when a naturally weak little soul is seized by a strong affection and is all

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Now it could be argued that most of these passages, expressing causation ‘from the top down’, discuss abnormal, pathological situations, whereas the mechanism envisaged in QAM, while not excluding the causation of harm or disease, also seems to envisage the mixture having positive, healthy effects on psychological performance from the bottom up. Furthermore, these passages describe the role of the emotions in entirely mechanistic terms of efficient or material causation bringing about changes in the underlying bodily composition but without indicating any kind of purpose or benefit.55 The picture given by these passages is therefore not necessarily inconsistent with the causation ‘from the bottom up’ referred to in QAM, for the two processes may well coexist side by side. Yet the difficulties get more serious when we consider other passages in Galen expressing top-down causation from a strongly teleological perspective, suggesting that this is the way it should be, naturally speaking. The discussion of the human hand in the first book of UP is particularly striking in this regard: The usefulness of all of them [i.e. the bodily parts] is related to the soul. For the body is the instrument of the soul, and consequently animals differ greatly in respect to their parts because their souls also differ . . . In every case the body is adapted [epitēdeion] to the character and capacities of the soul . . . since the deer and hare are timid animals, their bodies are fleet, but entirely unarmed and defenceless; for swiftness, I think, befits the timid and weapons are for the brave, and so Nature did not arm the one at all or strip naked the other. Now to man—for he is an intelligent animal and, alone of all creatures on earth, godlike—in place of any and every defensive weapon, she gave hands, instruments necessary for every art and useful in peace no less

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at once extinguished and choked. . . . No one has ever died as a result of rage, since neither is the heat cooled down nor the tension dissolved; but some small-souled individuals have died through great joy, as also through fear; for the soul-capacity does not move to the surface with both tension and boiling at once, but, quite the contrary, it now dissolves and relaxes whatever tension it previously had; so, then it is dispersed when, having reached its maximal relaxation, it is borne towards the outside. Pain, which forces the soul to be moved in an opposite way, presents symptoms similar to the greatest fear. In such cases people lose colour, are cooled, experience rigor and tremor, small pulse and absence of pulse, and finally die in the same way as those who have been terrified. For in these latter, too, the innate heat retreats within to the source, being simultaneously both dissolved and cooled down. And since such affections can cause death, there is, surely, nothing remarkable if they also causing fainting—nor, then, should we be surprised if the symptoms consequent on fainting, in particular involuntary evacuation of excretions, also follow. . . . So, when rigor supervenes upon humours which are both hot and biting, there is nothing remarkable in the fact that all the surface parts are all cooled down, as the soul-capacity swims down to the depth together with the blood’ (trans. P. N. Singer). Yet Galen acknowledges the beneficial effect of psychological treatment, e.g. by means of the composition of songs and plays (San. Tu. 1.8, p. 20.13–18 Koch, 6.41–2 K.), in restoring a physiological imbalance.

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philip van der eijk than in war . . . Thus man is the most intelligent of the animals and so, also, hands are the instruments most suitable for an intelligent animal. For it is not because he has hands that he is the most intelligent, as Anaxagoras says, but because he is the most intelligent that he has hands, as Aristotle says, judging most correctly . . . Every soul has through its very essence certain capacities, but without the aid of instruments is helpless to accomplish what it is by Nature disposed to accomplish. In observing newborn animals striving to exert themselves before their parts are perfected, we can see clearly that it is not the bodily parts that lead [anapeithei] the soul to be timid or brave or wise . . .56

This argument, with the explicit reference to Aristotle’s discussion of the human hand in Parts of Animals 4.10, clearly suggests an explanatory priority of formal and final causes over material and efficient causes. It sets the tone for the whole project of UP’s investigation, all through the seventeen books, and its tenor is repeated on numerous occasions, both in UP and in other Galenic works. One may therefore legitimately ask how the claims made here, that ‘the body is adapted to the character and faculties of the soul’, and that ‘it is not the bodily parts that lead the soul to be timid or brave or wise’ are to be related to the claim of QAM that ‘the capacities of the soul follow the mixtures of the body’. Furthermore, Galen’s reference here in UP to newborn animals, echoing Stoic antecedents, seems somewhat difficult to square with his observations in QAM (chs. 2 and 11) of the natural differences in character between young children, which he says explicitly are due to their physical mixtures, and his criticism there of the Stoic view of the human mind as a blank sheet of paper.57 The point gets even more striking when we consider a further passage in Mixtures (Temp.), where Galen argues that the bodily parts, substances, and mixtures are the way they are because they were designed and crafted by Nature in a way that is ‘appropriate’ or ‘suitable’ (akolouthōs) to the ‘character features’ (ēthē) of the soul: The investigation of mixture, then, must always proceed in this way, with a specific examination of each part, rather than the rash venture of making 56 57

Trans. M. T. May, 1.2–3, pp. 2–5 Helmreich, 3.2–7 K. Nor does the QAM position seem easily reconcilable with Galen’s distinction between higher, ‘psychic’ and lower, ‘natural’ functions as developed in Nat. Fac. 1.1 (2.1 K.; cf. also Sympt. diff. 3.1, 7.55–56 K.), or with the tripartition of soul functions as set out more systematically in PHP, where a clear top-down hierarchy is developed in which, at least in the healthy state, the ruling part of the soul is said to be in control of all other psychological functions—even if this ruling part is located in the brain and thus susceptible to influences (both healthy, optimising and pathological, destabilising influences) from the body.

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declarations about all on the basis of one, as some have done by stating, for example, that those with a snub nose are wet, or those with a hooked nose dry; or that those who have small eyes are dry, or those with large eyes wet. This last, in fact, is even a point of dispute between these people. Some, on the assumption that eyes are among the wet parts, take it that in cases where they find these to be large, wetness dominates the mixture. But some state that not only the eyes, but also the mouth, and all other channels, become larger by virtue of the strength of the hot, when, in the first shaping [diaplasis, i.e. of the organism], a high concentration and amount of the hot is producing exhalation, and that therefore this is an indicator, not of wetness, but of hotness. Both miss the truth, first of all, for one general reason, namely that they rashly venture to make a declaration about the whole body on the basis of one part; but also in a second way, in that they do not make mention of the shaping capacity in nature, which is craftsmanlike, and which shapes the parts consequently upon [akolouthōs] the character traits of the soul.58 Regarding this capacity, indeed, even Aristotle raised the question whether it might, in fact, be from some more divine source, rather than in accord with the hot, the cold, the dry, and the wet. Therefore it seems to me wrong when people make rash declarations on the greatest of issues, attributing the shaping to the qualities alone. For it is reasonable to suppose that these latter are only the instruments [organa] by which it takes place, while that which does the actual shaping is something else.59

The passage stands in a polemical context where Galen takes issue with other thinkers who infer the mixture of a whole body on the basis of features of specific parts. Among these are practitioners of physiognomy, the art of reading someone’s character on the basis of external bodily features. The epistemological details of Galen’s argument have been discussed elsewhere and need not concern us here.60 What is of more direct relevance is Galen’s reference to ‘the original formation’ (i.e. the initial shaping of an organism in the embryonic stage). The term is used by Galen to refer to one of the various causes, or modes of explanation, in the understanding of why a human organism is the way it is. To put it briefly: generic, universal features are usually explained by Galen with reference to 58

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Cf. Temp. 1.9, p. 36.3–6 H.: ‘Moreover, that the activities of the body should be appropriate [oikeias] to the character of the soul has been shown by Aristotle in the Parts of Animals, and no less by us too.’ Cf. also the passage from Sem. 2.2.4–7 (4.610 K.) quoted in n. 11 above. Temp. 2.6, p. 79.6–29 H., 1.635–6 K. The Greek of these crucial sentences is as follows: κατὰ δεύτερον δὲ τρόπον, ὅτι τῆς διαπλαστικῆς ἐν τῇ φύσει δυνάμεως οὐ μέμνηνται τεχνικῆς τ’ οὔσης καὶ τοῖς τῆς ψυχῆς ἤθεσιν ἀκολούθως διαπλαττούσης τὰ μόρια. περὶ ταύτης γάρ τοι καὶ ὁ Ἀριστοτέλης ἠπόρησε, μή ποτ’ ἄρα θειοτέρας τινὸς ἀρχῆς εἴη καὶ οὐ κατὰ τὸ θερμὸν καὶ ψυχρὸν καὶ ξηρὸν καὶ ὑγρόν. οὔκουν ὀρθῶς μοι δοκοῦσι ποιεῖν οἱ προπετῶς οὕτως ὑπὲρ τῶν μεγίστων ἀποφαινόμενοι καὶ ταῖς ποιότησι μόναις ἀναφέροντες τὴν διάπλασιν. εὔλογον γὰρ ὄργανα μὲν εἶναι ταύτας, τὸ διαπλάττον δ’ ἕτερον. van der Eijk 2015.

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the design or craftsmanship of nature, which he describes as being present ‘according to the original plan’ (kata prōton logon). This term refers to the primary level of structuring and organisation of the human body as it takes place mainly in the embryonic stage and in the first stages of life and youth. It is, so to speak, the blueprint of the human being as it will be born and develop into a mature living being. Other expressions used by Galen in this connection are diaplasis (‘shaping’ or ‘formation’), dunamis diaplastikē (nature’s ‘shaping capacity’), and kataskeuē (‘constitution’ or ‘structure’).61 These terms apply to the area of functional anatomy, that is the study of the anatomical structures of the body with a view to the purposes that they are intended to serve. These structures and functions are, broadly speaking, common to all human beings (though Galen occasionally comments on slight anatomical variations between humans, the most obvious ones being the sexual reproductive parts, but there are also other less prominent structural variations). And Galen’s reference to the purposes they are meant to serve reflects his teleological approach to the human body. The bodily parts, Galen says, are ‘instruments’ (organa) enabling and facilitating the exercise of these functions. This is the topic of Galen’s major works on functional anatomy, such as On the Function of the Parts and Anatomical Procedures. But Nature’s design is also present in the field of what we call physiology, that is the functions, capacities, processes, and activities happening in the body, such as nutrition, digestion, growth, reproduction, pulsation, sensation, locomotion, emotions and rational thinking.62 And what is particularly striking is that we find a clear statement here in Mixtures to the effect that the mixtures of hot, cold, dry and wet enabling these processes are also ‘instruments’ (organa) in the hands of a more fundamental, higher principle that is responsible for the creation and formation of living beings, both their bodies and their souls. The divinity of this principle is something to which Galen (following Aristotle) does not fully commit himself, but whose existence and agency he regards as beyond doubt.63 61 63

See Havrda 2017: 78–9. 62 See the discussion by Havrda 2017. The passage echoes an earlier, similarly tentative reference to a divine principle in the same work: ‘And indeed, there is a certain statue that is much admired and which is named the Standard [Canon] of Polyclitus; it has acquired this name from the fact that all its parts are in a precise state of good balance with each other. The [standard] that we are now seeking is, broadly speaking, this Standard. For the man who is ‘well-fleshed’ in this way is not just in the middle state with regard to wetness and dryness, but has also got an excellent shaping, something which is possibly dependent on the good mixture of the four elements, but may perhaps have some other, more divine, source, from above. But at any rate, it will necessarily be the property of such a person that he is completely well-mixed; for good balance [summetron] with regard to well-fleshedness is a product of good mixture. It will also

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Thus mixtures too—and, we may safely assume, pneuma, the humours, and innate heat as well64—are part of Nature’s design. Nature ensures that the mixtures of the body are such that they give rise to (i.e. facilitate, enable, bring about, or ensure)65 the appropriate capacities and dispositions of the soul, which in turn are suited to the parts of the body through which they exercise their characteristic activities. There is an interaction that goes in two directions, though not via the same mechanism. Mixtures and pneuma are not products of mechanical causation; on the contrary, they are natural in the teleological sense of the word. Nature governs their coming into being and their development by means of the tendencies and inclinations present in the phusis of the individual organism in which they are found. As Galen puts it, the ‘appropriate nature’ (oikeia phusis) of a genus or species is defined in relation to its characteristic function or activity (ergon, energeia). Thus Nature ensures that the nature of an individual human being, as constituted by the mixture, is appropriate to the job or characteristic activity

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automatically be the property of his body that it is in the best state as regards its activities, as well as being in a well-moderated position with respect to hardness and softness, hotness and coldness’ (καί πού τις ἀνδριὰς ἐπαινεῖται Πολυκλείτου κανὼν ὀνομαζόμενος, ἐκ τοῦ πάντων τῶν μορίων ἀκριβῆ τὴν πρὸς ἄλληλα συμμετρίαν ἔχειν ὀνόματος τοιούτου τυχών. ἐστὶ μὲν οὖν ἐπὶ πλέον, ὃν νῦν ἡμεῖς ζητοῦμεν, ὁ κανὼν οὗτος. οὐ μόνον γὰρ ὑγρότητός τε καὶ ξηρότητος ἐν τῷ μέσῳ καθέστηκεν ὁ οὕτως εὔσαρκος ἄνθρωπος, ἀλλὰ καὶ διαπλάσεως ἀρίστης τετύχηκεν, ἴσως μὲν ἑπομένης τῇ τῶν τεττάρων στοιχείων εὐκρασίᾳ, τάχα δέ τινα θειοτέραν ἀρχὴν ἑτέραν ἐχούσης ἄνωθεν. ἀλλὰ τό γε πάντως εὔκρατον εἶναι τὸν τοιοῦτον ἐξ ἀνάγκης ὑπάρχει· τὸ γὰρ ἐν εὐσαρκίᾳ σύμμετρον εὐκρασίας ἐστὶν ἔκγονον. εὐθὺς δ’ ὑπάρχει τῷ τοιούτῳ σώματι καὶ ταῖς ἐνεργείαις ἄριστα διακεῖσθαι καὶ σκληρότητός τε καὶ μαλακότητος ἔχειν μετρίως θερμότητός τε καὶ ψυχρότητος, pp. 36.16–37.1 H., 1.566–7 K.). For a discussion of the textual variants in this passage, and their consequences for its interpretation, see van der Eijk 2014: 114–15 n. 68; Singer and van der Eijk 2018: 97–100. See UP 10.4 (Vol. 2, pp. 12.5–13.2 Helmreich = 3.699–700 K.; p. 13.6–20 H. = 3.700–1 K.): ‘For wherever Nature wishes material to be completely elaborated, she arranges for it to spend a long time in the instruments concocting it. Now I have already pointed this out in several other places, but for our present needs it will be enough for me to cite one example of the arrangement in question by reminding you of the varicose convolutions in which blood and pneuma are rendered suitable to form the semen. For the veins and arteries there are intricately coiled and in the first part of the coils contain pure blood; in the last part, however, near the testes, the humour contained in them is no longer perfectly red but is already whitish and needs little to complete the change into the substance of semen, a change which is added by the testes themselves. But the retiform plexus is as much more intricately coiled than the varicose plexus as the elaboration needed by the psychic pneuma in the brain is more perfect than that needed by the semen. I was right, then, when I showed in those commentaries [i.e. The Doctrines of Hippocrates and Plato] that the vital pneuma passing up through the arteries is used as the proper material for the generation of psychic pneuma in the brain. . . . I have given the demonstrations proving that the rational soul is lodged in the brain; that this is the part with which we reason; that a very large quantity of psychic pneuma in the brain acquires its own special quality from elaboration in the brain’ (trans. M. T. May, slightly modified, emphasis added). The choice of how to characterise this relationship depends on the interpretation of hepesthai in QAM (see above, p. 67).

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(energeia) that humans are meant to serve (i.e. rational action in accordance with virtuous principles). So how do these passages relate to the claim that the capacities of the soul ‘follow’ the mixtures of the body? One way to account for the apparent tension is to say that akolouthōs here in Temp. p. 79.22–3 H. (and oikeias in Temp. 36.3–4 H., quoted in n. 58) refers to a correspondence or correlation that is mutual and works in two directions: Nature has arranged things in such a way that psychological and physiological features correspond to each other, that the psychological features which belong to a certain type of animal are facilitated by a corresponding physiological make-up, as constituted by the mixture that gives rise to them and, vice versa, that the presence of specific psychological features appropriate to a specific kind of animal presupposes the presence of the corresponding physiological features, as constituted by their mixture. That this idea of mutual interaction, and of a causation running in two directions, is what Galen has in mind is suggested by the fact that it is also found in QAM, the very treatise that advances the ‘bottom up’, ‘materialist’ position in most elaborate form: ‘and the mixtures themselves are consequent [akolouthousin] on the original formation [prōtē genesis] and on daily regimen that produces good humours, and these things mutually increase each other [sunauxanein allēla]’.66 Thus, viewed in this broader context, the arrangement whereby mental states and activities are dependent (in some, unspecified way) on physiological substrates is not denied; but it becomes clear from Galen’s discussions that this is not the whole story. His ‘materialism’ is in turn part of a larger, purposive natural arrangement; and, conversely, the psychological, even if it is superior to the physical, is itself part of the wider, providential natural context in which it fulfils its task for it requires the presence of suitable instruments to exercise its capacities.67 This is the broader framework in which also the ‘instrumental’ view of the body (the soul using the body as its organon), as set out in in De usu partium, finds its place. Thus in Galen’s view of the nature of human beings one has to distinguish between features of a human being that are the product of ‘the shaping capacity’ and features that are the result of the mixtures. And it 66 67

QAM 11, pp. 87.12–88.3 Bazou (4.821 K.): αἱ κράσεις δ’ αὐταὶ τῇ τε πρώτῃ γενέσει καὶ ταῖς εὐχύμοις διαίταις ἀκολουθοῦσιν, ὥστε συναυξάνειν ἄλληλα ταῦτα. See Nat. Fac. 2.3, p. 181.17–23 Helmreich, 2.83–4 K.): ‘every capacity remains inoperative in the absence of its proper material’; and UP 1.3, p. 4.10–13 Helmreich (3.5–6 K.): ‘without the aid of instruments, the soul is helpless to accomplish what it is by Nature disposed to accomplish’ (quoted above, p. 81–2).

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is on this level of the mixtures that there is scope for considerable individual variation (i.e. between the individual members within a certain species) and for prophylactic or therapeutic management by means of lifestyle, dietetics, and medication. Likewise, pneuma, too, is not immune to change, and its optimal performance depends to a considerable extent on the quality of the mixtures of the bodily parts in which it is lodged. In addition, Galen distinguishes a third cause, viz. lifestyle, training and education, which can add features of their own, either directly or through the medium of the mixtures.68 For, as already said, mixtures can change as a result of lifestyle: once a mixture has come into existence, it is up to its individual ‘owner’—if necessary, with the help of parents, professional educators, and medical doctors—to maintain and, where necessary, enhance it. There is no rigid determinism here, and health and disease, good mixture and bad mixture, remain, at least to a very large extent, within human control. Now one might object that there is a certain risk of circular reasoning here, for in saying that health and disease are to a large extent ‘up to us’, we suggest that this ‘us’ might be somehow free from, and independent of, the influence of bodily mixture. In other words, one may ask whether or to what extent our perception of our own potential for prophylactic action, and our decision to act on this awareness (or not, as the case may be)—or in other words: our awareness of our responsibility for our own health and that of other people—is in itself also a consequence of our mixture. Galen is aware of this risk (as QAM 11 indicates), but he does not seem to be bothered by it. His reply seems to be, broadly speaking, that Nature has given each animal species its ‘appropriate’ mixture, which allows it to exercise its ‘characteristic’ function (ergon) or activity (energeia); for humans, that function is reasoning, intelligence, rational deliberation (sophia, logos, phronēsis) and that involves by definition the capacity to take rational decisions and to act accordingly. Admittedly, that capacity can be influenced or even damaged by negative influences (physical as well as cultural); and the fact that young children already show differences in character and intelligence (which Galen emphatically mentions in QAM) shows that this influence may even extend beyond the individual from one generation to the next. Yet presumably Galen would argue that, before it gets to that stage, there is considerable scope for good management 68

See QAM 11 and Ars Med. 11, p. 309.27 Boudon-Millot, 1.336–7 K., with the discussion by van der Eijk 2014: 120–1. See also PHP 5.5.28–35, pp. 322.17–324.23 De Lacy, 5.465–7 K., which spells out the relationship between physical nurturing and education in the moulding of a person’s character.

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preventing things from getting out of hand and, if things are already out of hand, for corrective management by other, well-mixed people, such as doctors.

Conclusion Let me summarise our findings. We have discussed an apparent tension that can be perceived in Galen’s discussion of the soul between his ‘material determinism’, according to which the capacities of the soul follow the mixtures of the body, and his ‘teleological instrumentalism’, according to which the soul uses the body as its instrument (organon). In our investigation of this difficulty, we have paid particular attention to two material agents that play a major role in Galen’s account of psychological activity: the mixture (krasis) of the four elementary qualities hot, cold, dry, and wet; and the pneuma, the airy substance flowing from the brain, the heart, and the liver through the nerves and the blood vessels. We have argued that, for Galen, these material agents, although they are productive of variations in psychological states, capacities, and activities, are themselves part of a teleological arrangement. The agency responsible for this arrangement is the demiurgic Nature, which brings about their coming into being and sets certain generic, normative standards of ‘appropriateness’ (oikeion), enabling them to exercise influence on the psychological capacities (dunameis), functions (erga), activities (energeiai), and character traits (ēthē) suited to the specific kind of living being in which they are present (humans, dogs, lions, etc.). Yet there is no rigid determinism here, for mixtures and pneuma can change as a result of lifestyle, environment, and contingency, and this leads to variations in psychological capacity and performance. Once mixtures and pneuma have come into existence by nature, it is up to their ‘owner’ to manage, maintain and, where necessary or possible, enhance them, if necessary with the help of a medical expert. Thus health and disease—mental as well as physical—are, at least to a considerable extent, ‘up to us’.

chapter 4

The Partition of the Soul Epicurus, Demetrius Lacon, and Diogenes of Oinoanda Francesco Verde*

Introduction Much has been written about Epicurus’ psychology.1 However, despite the enduring popularity of the theme, to the best of my knowledge no contribution has yet specifically been devoted to the reception of Epicurus’ psychology within the Epicurean tradition outside of Lucretius.2 The present essay therefore begins with some paragraphs of Epicurus’ Letter to Herodotus devoted to the soul, in order to ascertain how Epicurus’ psychology was represented by certain later Epicureans, most notably Demetrius Lacon (second to first century bc) and Diogenes of Oinoanda (second century ad), who lived not just in different ages but in very different places (the former, who never became scholarch, lived between Miletus and the mother school of Athens;3 the latter, between Oinoanda and Rhodes).4 In particular, I will set out to determine what the Epicureans made of the so-called bipartition between a rational and a non-rational part of the soul. While this theory is nowhere to be found in the Letter to Herodotus, it is espoused by Lucretius through the distinction between animus (the rational part) and anima (the non-rational part).5 In order to present as comprehensive a picture of the context as *

1 2 3 5

I wish to thank deeply David Sedley for his very generous and helpful remarks on a first version of this paper. My sincere gratitude goes also to Keimpe Algra, Jaap Mansfeld and James Warren for their important comments. For example, Konstan 2007: esp. 21–103 and the English version in Konstan 2008. See also Repici 2008; Gill 2009; Masi 2015; Verde 2015a; Konstan 2015; Verde 2016b; Verde 2017a; Masi and Verde 2018. Annas 1992: 144–7 devotes some limited space to the psychological accounts of Demetrius Lacon and Diogenes of Oinoanda. See Puglia 1983. 4 See Smith 1993: 35–7. This should not, however, be regarded as an absolute distinction. As Mehl 1999: 274–5 notes, ‘For ψυχή, the union of τὸ λογικόν and τὸ ἄλογον, he [scil. Lucretius] uses animus alone, anima alone, animus and anima joined by a connective, and mens and anima joined by connective; for τὸ λογικόν, he uses animus alone, mens alone, or animus and mens joined by a connective; and for τὸ ἄλογον, he uses without exception the word anima.’ From what Mehl writes it is clear that the animus/anima pair in Lucretius cannot be considered the direct Latin counterpart to ψυχή/νοῦς, as Bailey 1947: 1005 believed contra Boyancé 1985: 163–4. See too n. 70 below. On the parallels between Lucretius’ writing

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possible, it is best to start with Epicurus, and in particular with a challenging passage in §§ 63–4 of the Letter to Herodotus. If this historical reconstruction is plausible, it will be possible to conclude that Epicurean philosophy is not a single, static doctrinal corpus but a developing body of thought, so to speak, at least on this one particular point.

The Doctrine of the Soul in the Letter to Herodotus6 The necessary starting point for any attempt to identify the main distinguishing features of Epicurus’ psychology is sections 63–4 of the Letter to Herodotus, which are worth quoting in full: [§ 63] Μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα δεῖ συνορᾶν ἀναφέροντα ἐπὶ τὰς αἰσθήσεις καὶ τὰ πάθη—οὕτω γὰρ ἡ βεβαιοτάτη πίστις ἔσται—ὅτι ἡ ψυχὴ σῶμά ἐστι λεπτομερὲς παρ’ ὅλον τὸ ἄθροισμα παρεσπαρμένον, προσεμφερέστατον δὲ πνεύματι θερμοῦ τινα κρᾶσιν ἔχοντι καὶ πῇ μὲν τούτῳ προσεμφερές, πῇ δὲ τούτῳ· ἔστι δὲ τὸ μέρος πολλὴν παραλλαγὴν εἰληφὸς τῇ λεπτομερείᾳ καὶ αὐτῶν τούτων, συμπαθὲς διὰ τοῦτο μᾶλλον καὶ τῷ λοιπῷ ἀθροίσματι· τοῦτο δὲ πᾶν αἱ δυνάμεις τῆς ψυχῆς δηλοῦσι καὶ τὰ πάθη καὶ αἱ εὐκινησίαι καὶ αἱ διανοήσεις καὶ ὧν στερόμενοι θνῇσκομεν. Καὶ μὴν καὶ ὅτι ἔχει ἡ ψυχὴ τῆς αἰσθήσεως τὴν πλείστην αἰτίαν δεῖ κατέχειν· [§ 64] οὐ μὴν εἰλήφει ἂν ταύτην, εἰ μὴ ὑπὸ τοῦ λοιποῦ ἀθροίσματος ἐστεγάζετό πως. Τὸ δὲ λοιπὸν ἄθροισμα παρασκευάσαν ἐκείνῃ τὴν αἰτίαν ταύτην μετείληφε καὶ αὐτὸ τοιούτου συμπτώματος παρ’ ἐκείνης, οὐ μέντοι πάντων ὧν ἐκείνη κέκτηται· διὸ ἀπαλλαγείσης τῆς ψυχῆς οὐκ ἔχει τὴν αἴσθησιν. Οὐ γὰρ αὐτὸ ἐν ἑαυτῷ ταύτην ἐκέκτητο τὴν δύναμιν, ἀλλ’ ἑτέρῳ ἅμα συγγεγενημένῳ αὐτῷ παρεσκεύαζεν, ὃ διὰ τῆς συντελεσθείσης περὶ αὐτὸ δυνάμεως κατὰ τὴν κίνησιν σύμπτωμα αἰσθητικὸν εὐθὺς ἀποτελοῦν ἑαυτῷ ἀπεδίδου κατὰ τὴν ὁμούρησιν καὶ συμπάθειαν καὶ ἐκείνῳ, καθάπερ εἶπον. [§ 63] After these things, referring to sensations and affections—for so shall we have the surest ground for belief—we must consider that the soul is a body composed of fine parts, dispersed throughout the atomic complex, closely resembling a breath with a certain admixture of heat, and similar in some respects to the former and in other respects to the latter. On account of its fineness, that part [to meros] is also very different from these [the breath and heat] and hence more interactive with the rest of the atomic complex. All this is revealed by the faculties of the soul,

6

on psychology and the Aristotelian and Stoic doctrines of the soul and for a discussion of the abovementioned bibliography, see Mansfeld 2009: 151–3. See Verde 2015a for an initial overview of part of the material examined in this section.

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affections, the correct movements of the mind, thoughts, and all those things the loss of which causes death. Moreover, one must bear in mind that the soul has the greatest share in causing sensation; [§ 64] but it would not have this [causal] function in itself, if it were not in some way protected by the rest of the atomic complex. The rest of the atomic complex, which enables [the soul] to act as a cause in this way, in turn partakes of this accident thanks to the soul, but not of everything which the latter possesses. Hence, when the soul has left it, [the rest of the atomic complex/body] does not have sentience. For it did not possess this faculty in itself, but supplied it to another thing born together with it which, once the faculty in question had been actualized, through movement immediately acquired for itself the accident of sentience and, in virtue of the conjunction and conformity between them, also imparted it—as already stated—to the former [the rest of the atomic complex/body].7

The first and most fundamental piece of information provided by Epicurus is that the soul is corporeal (psuchē sōma esti). But it is also important to note the marked—almost bold—juxtaposition between soul (psuchē) and body (sōma). The soul is a particularly fine (leptomeres) body which, precisely by virtue of its physical condition, is diffused throughout the atomic complex (to athroisma).8 The soul is a body within the body: this may come across as a contradiction, as the idea of a body within another body seems absurd.9 However, the fact that the psuchē is leptomeres—literally, formed by fine parts —on the one hand, ensures that a finer body may exist within one which is less fine and, on the other, accounts for the dispersion of the soul throughout the rest of the atomic complex. In other words, while no doubt a body, the soul possesses a distinctive material quality: it is a ‘fine body’ (sōma leptomeres), similar (yet not identical, of course) to a breath mixed with heat. The reference to heat is interesting, since—as a passage from Aristotle’s De caelo suggests10—fire is the finest (leptotaton) of all bodies; hence, the mingling of the soul with heat explains its deep fineness (even if the soul is said to be 7 8

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For the text and original Italian translation (on which the English is based) see Verde 2010 ad loc. See also Aët. 4.4.6 Dox. p. 390 Diels = 68 A 105 DK = 110a Taylor = 312 Us.: Δημόκριτος, Ἐπίκουρος διμερῆ τὴν ψυχήν, τὸ μὲν λογικὸν ἔχουσαν ἐν τῶι θώρακι καθιδρυμένον, τὸ δὲ ἄλογον καθ’ ὅλην τὴν σύγκρισιν τοῦ σώματος διεσπαρμένον. As is widely known, the ancient Stoics also had a fully materialist psychology; indeed, Calcidius In Plat. Tim. cp. 221 = SVF 2.796 criticises them by arguing that the idea of a body conjoined with another body (corpus corpori sociatum est) is abstruse, if not impossible. (Compare: Arist. DA 1.5, 409a31–b4.) For a similar argument see Plot. Enn. 4.7 2, 82 20–22, with Ninci’s 2016: 144–9 useful remarks. Arist. DC 303b19–21. See too Theophr. De igne 33 and 73 on the leptotes and leptomereia of fire, and Epicur. Nat. XIV PHerc. 1148, col. XXXVII.1–12 Leone.

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much finer than heat and pneuma) and the possibility for it to be diffused throughout the rest of the atomic complex.11 The complete dispersion of the atomic body throughout the remaining athroisma may also be associated with a controversial testimony from ‘Hippolytus’—or, more correctly, the author of the Elenchos12—which, to the best of my knowledge, is not paralleled in any other text. Epicurus is credited with the idea that human souls are composed of blood. It is likely that ‘Hippolytus’ (or, more likely, the unknown source he drew upon) sought to recall the materiality and mortality of the soul, and especially the idea that it is diffused throughout the atomic complex, just like blood.13 To return to the physical characteristics of the soul, it is worth noting that the idea of fineness (leptotēs) also plays an important role in the doctrine of eidōla (Latin: simulacra), the atomic films which constantly peel off the surface of bodies: leptotēs is precisely one of the defining features of eidōla. At the beginning of § 46 of the Letter to Herodotus, Epicurus claims that the eidōla are very different from the things that appear to us (i.e. from sensible objects) on account of their fineness: while eidōla are atomic aggregates, and hence genuine solid bodies, by virtue of their fineness they are very fast and can cover enormous distances in an exceedingly short time, since they do not have the same solid structure as the bodies by which they are constantly emitted. In this respect, it may be argued that simulacra—which Epicurus describes in detail in Book II of On Nature14—are the atomic aggregates which most resemble the body of the soul. The fact that the soul is formed by fine parts explains its invisibility, just as the fineness of the simulacra/eidōla likely accounts for their invisibility too. As the soul is diffused throughout the atomic complex, it is not located in any specific point from which it directs and manages its tasks; rather, its dispersion throughout the atomic complex is what leads Epicurus to regard the psychic 11

12 13 14

It is worth bearing in mind that Epicurus is speaking not of fire but of heat in general. A reference to fire is nonetheless to be found in the scholium to § 66 of the Letter to Herodotus. On the ancient distinction between heat and fire in relation to the specific properties of each, see e.g. Theophr. De igne 5–6 and 44–8. Ref. 1.22.5 = 340 Us. For a first overview of the extremely controversial author of the Elenchos and his relationship with Hippolytus of Rome, see the useful and up-to-date study by Castelli 2012. See Magris 2012: 85 n. 55 and Scalas 2015. A reference to blood within a genuinely psychological context is made in Lucr. DRN 3.249 (see below p. 96) and 789. This book has recently been edited with an extensive commentary by Leone 2012. On Leone’s edition, see also the collected volume edited by Masi and Maso 2015. For the leptotēs of the simulacra see e.g. Epicur. Nat. II PHerc. 1149/993: coll. 92.24 and 93.5–9 Leone.

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body as the main factor responsible for sentience (tēs aisthēseōs tēn pleistēn aitian). In its intrinsic fineness, the soul resembles a breath (pneuma) mixed with heat—without intrinsically coinciding with either the pneuma or heat—that is literally ‘protected’ or ‘covered’ (estegazeto) by the remaining part of the atomic complex (tou loipou athroismatos) enclosing it. This last point is particularly significant: when Epicurus speaks about the rest of the atomic complex, what he is referring to is the body which protects, covers, and encloses the soul. However, this should not be taken to suggest that the body constitutes a hermetically sealed container which prevents any communication between the soul and the outside world. Among the several examples of this permeability (perception, sleep, etc.) a passage from Philodemus’ De morte may help to clarify this issue, insofar as it illustrates how at the moment of death the soul is exhaled through the pores, thereby becoming removed—or, rather, detached—from the body to which it belonged.15 This proves that the body must be understood as a ‘permeable’ entity which, on the one hand, covers the soul but, on the other, is incapable of preventing its exhalation and departure at the time of death. The evidence that the soul is diffused throughout the atomic complex is that every part of the body is sentient. One point which is worth noting in relation to the sphere of perception is that in using the term aitia towards the end of § 63 of the Letter to Herodotus Epicurus does not state that the soul is the cause of sentience, but that it is the main cause (tēs aisthēseōs hē pleistē aitia). In other words, if the soul were not ‘covered’ by the rest of the atomic complex, it could not be the cause of sentience. Ultimately, then, sentience results from the convergence and coexistence of soul and body: while the soul is the main cause of sensation, without the ‘participation’ of the body, the atomic complex could not perceive anything. Sentience is only possible, then, because of the close conjunction of soul and body, even if it does not belong to either the body or the soul. This is why Epicurus speaks of sumptōma aisthētikon, of the ‘accident of sentience’: without wishing to go into the details of the distinction Epicurus makes between sumptōma (an impermanent property that is ‘separable’ from the thing with which it is associated) and (permanent) sumbebēkos (a property inseparable from that to which it belongs),16 it may be noted that sentience possesses this quality of being accidental (i.e. of being a sumptōma) precisely because it is not something which intrinsically belongs to either the soul or the body 15 16

Coll. 8.13–20 and 37.27–33 Henry. For a commentary on this passage, see Gigante 1983: 200–1. See Epicur. Ep. Hdt. 68–71; Lucr. DRN 1.445–58; Verde 2013: 122–9.

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but is rather the (still accidental) outcome of the conjunction of the two. The soul would be incapable of existing and perceiving without the body, and vice versa.

Textual Emendations and the Partition of the Soul The view of psychology offered by the Letter to Herodotus appears to be in many ways if not ‘partial’, then at least different from the ‘parallel’ treatment provided by Lucretius in Book 3 of the De rerum natura. Besides, scholars have long debated the relation between these two texts. As is well known, Lucretius distinguishes two parts of the soul (a ‘partition’ which in all likelihood is not to be understood in a strict sense, but rather in terms of ‘function’), whereas in the Letter to Herodotus Epicurus would appear to endorse a fully unitary conception of the psuchē. Indeed, Lucretius distinguishes the animus (i.e. the rational part) from the anima, which coincides with the ‘irrational’ or, to be more precise, ‘non-rational’ part of the soul. A passage in Book 3 sheds light on this crucial point: Nunc animum atque animam dico coniuncta teneri inter se atque unam naturam conficere ex se, sed caput esse quasi et dominari in corpore toto consilium, quod nos animum mentemque vocamus. Idque situm media regione in pectoris haeret. Hic exultat enim pavor ac metus, haec loca circum laetitiae mulcent: hic ergo mens animusquest. Cetera pars animae per totum dissita corpus paret et ad numen mentis momenque movetur.

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Now, I affirm that the spirit [animus] and the soul [anima] are held conjoined with one another and form a single nature; but that which is the chief, so to speak, and governs the whole body is reason, which we call spirit and mind. And it is located and fixed at the centre of the chest. Here is where anxiety and fear stir, it is in these regions that we are touched by joys; here, then, lie the mind and the spirit. The rest of the soul, diffused throughout the body, obeys and moves in accordance with the nod and motion of the mind.17

Alongside this passage from Lucretius, I here quote the scholium to § 66 of the Letter to Herodotus: 17

DRN 3.136–44. The text of the De rerum natura is quoted from Giancotti 1994. The English translation is based on Giancotti’s Italian one.

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Λέγει ἐν ἄλλοις καὶ ἐξ ἀτόμων αὐτὴν συγκεῖσθαι λειοτάτων καὶ στρογγυλωτάτων, πολλῷ τινι διαφερουσῶν τῶν τοῦ πυρός· καὶ τὸ μέν τι ἄλογον αὐτῆς, ὃ τῷ λοιπῷ παρεσπάρθαι σώματι· τὸ δὲ λογικὸν ἐν τῷ θώρακι, ὡς δῆλον ἔκ τε τῶν φόβων καὶ τῆς χαρᾶς. . . . In other works [Epicurus] states that [the soul] is composed of smooth, spherical atoms18 which are very different from those of fire; and that there is an irrational part of it which is diffused throughout the rest of the body, while the rational part is located in the chest, as is evident from fears and joy . . .19

Both Lucretius and the scholium clearly distinguish between the two parts of the soul. Some interpreters believe that this distinction is already drawn in the Letter to Herodotus (leaving aside the text of the scholium, of course): these scholars read § 63 of the letter in the light of a conjecture proposed by Jan Woltjer (1849–1917).20 As he failed to find any confirmation of the ‘bipartition’ of the soul in § 63 of the letter, Woltjer suggested that to meros (‘the part’), the reading in all of the manuscripts, should be amended to ti meros (‘a part’).21 According to Woltjer, Epicurus is referring not to ‘the part’ (to meros), meaning the soul as a part separate from the body, but to ‘a part’ (ti meros) of the soul.22 Woltjer raises the question of whether τὸ μέρος refers to the soul, understood as part of the athroisma, or to a third part in addition to the breath and heat which are mentioned in the immediately preceding section of the letter as the materials that the soul resembles according to Epicurus.23 Woltjer himself believes that the part in question is the nameless element (nominis expers) mentioned by Lucretius: Iam triplex animi est igitur natura reperta; nec tamen haec sat sunt ad sensum cuncta creandum, nil horum quoniam recipit mens posse creare sensiferos motus, quae denique mente volutat.24 18 19 20

21 22 23 24

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According to Long and Sedley 1987: II, 74, the smooth or spherical atoms ‘could be either all those of the soul . . . or those of the nameless element’. The former view seems to me particularly compelling. Ep. Hdt. 66. Jan Wotjer was the father of the more famous astronomer and in 1877, exactly ten years before H. Usener’s publication of the Epicurea, presented a doctoral dissertation at Groningen entitled Lucretii philosophia cum fontibus comparata (P. Noordhoff, Groningae 1877). Codd. B, P, F, and Φ all read ἔστι δὲ τὸ μέρος. For the sigla and dates of the manuscripts, I am following Dorandi 2013: 1–5. See the aforementioned detailed study by Repici 2008. Succinct yet useful observations are provided by von Staden 2000: 82. Wojter 1877: 61. Lucr. DRN 3.240 is extremely problematic: for an initial discussion, see Giancotti 1994: 473. While following Giancotti’s text quae denique mente volutat, I would like to draw attention to the reading

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Quarta quoque his igitur quaedam natura necessest adtribuatur; east omnino nominis expers; qua neque mobilius quicquam neque tenuius extat nec magis e parvis et levibus ex elementis; sensiferos motus quae didit prima per artus. Prima cietur enim, parvis perfecta figuris, inde calor motus et venti caeca potestas accipit, inde aër, inde omnia mobilitantur: concutitur sanguis, tum viscera persentiscunt omnia, postremis datur ossibus atque medullis sive voluptas est sive est contrarius ardor.25

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The nature of the soul, then, has been found to be threefold; and yet all these elements combined are not enough to create sense, because the mind does not accept that any of these may cause the sense-bearing motions and the thoughts which the mind revolves. It is necessary, therefore, to also add a fourth nature to these. It is altogether devoid of name; and there is nothing more mobile or finer, nor made of smaller and smoother elements; it is the first to transmit the sense-bearing motions throughout the limbs. It is the first to be roused, composed as it is of small atoms; the motions then extend to heat and the blind force of wind, and to air; then everything is put in motion: the blood is stirred, sensation fills all flesh, and finally it is received by the bones and marrow— be it pleasure or the opposite feeling.

What we have, then, is a particularly subtle and mobile element which, while being material,26 is responsible for the diffusion of the motions of sensation (sensiferi motus) throughout the limbs.27 Lucretius’ ‘fourth

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suggested by Flores 2002: ad loc.: sensiferos motus, qui dant quae mente uolutant (‘i moti sensiferi, che dànno ciò che nella mente si rivolta’). Without delving into the thorny problems raised by this passage, I should note that the quarta natura would appear to be responsible not just for the sensiferi motus but also for the rational activity of the mens. If this is the case, on the one hand, the nameless element is not exclusively associated with ratiocination and, on the other, it is plausible that the whole soul is made up of all four elements; see n. 31 below. Lastly, Shearin 2014: 183–96 suggests that Lucr. 3.239–40 should be emended to read as follows: nil horum quia percepit mens possa creare / sensiferos motus, quibus e fit deinde voluptas (bold emphasis my own). I do not completely agree with Shearin’s proposal and general analysis, although one cannot rule out that the topic of voluptas rather than volutat is suggested by the context. Lucr. DRN 3.237–51. I do not find the argument offered by Bailey 1928: 391–2 to be particularly compelling. While claiming that the quarta natura has material features, he believes that in introducing it Epicurus pushed his own materialism to the very limit, yet without overstepping its boundaries by positing an immaterial substance as a component of the soul. See Lucr. DRN 3.238–51. On the ‘unifying’ function of the fourth element, see Annas 1992: 141.

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nature’ (quarta natura) is nothing but the ‘nameless’ (ἀκατονόμαστον) element which is also mentioned by other sources, such as Aetius28 and Plutarch.29 Its theoretical origin may be traced back—according to some scholars—to Aristotle’s Peri philosophias or (less likely, judging from an analysis of the sources) Eudemus.30 Woltjer’s conjecture inserts into Epicurus’ writing an indication of the psychological partition recorded by Lucretius: not the explicit distinction between a rational part of the soul and a non-rational one, nor the ‘triple nature’ of the soul outlined by Lucretius at DRN 3.37—which is to say the idea that the soul materially consists of heat, pneuma or breath, and air—but rather the view that soul is characterised by pneuma, heat, and the ‘nameless’ element or ‘fourth nature’.31 Unlike in Lucretius’ case, no mention could be found of the element of air in Epicurus, but Woltjer solved this problem by suggesting that according to Lucretius (and not, it is worth noting, Epicurus), air is always combined with heat and pneuma. There is an important methodological principle worth noting here. Emendations such as those proposed Woltjer and, more recently, Lapini essentially amount to an attempt to read Epicurus’ text in the light of Lucretius at any cost, without taking into account the possibility that there are genuine differences to be found between Lucretius and Epicurus, including doctrinal differences.32 Only on the assumption 28 30

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29 4.3.11 (Dox. p. 388 Diels) = 315 Us. Adv. Col. 1118D = 314 Us. For a more in-depth discussion of this point, see Verde 2015a: 61. According to Rapp 2006: 189: ‘the fourth element in the report of Aëtius reminds us of the third element that Epicurus himself mentions in the Letter to Herodotus’. See also Runia 2018 on the reliability of Aetius’ doxography for the reconstruction of Epicurus’ philosophy. I will take this opportunity to clarify and further develop a point I made in Verde 2015a: 55–6. Many scholars and interpreters of the past from Reisacker to Eichner, from Brieger—prior to his Epikurs Lehre von der Seele (1893)—to Tohte regarded this quarta natura as the distinguishing element of the animus, which is to say the rational part of the soul. For more detailed references, see Giussani, 1923: 190. More recently, the same view has been endorsed by Conche 1987: 161 and Salem 1993: 67. This interpretation is also explicitly accepted by Woltjer 1877: 69–70, but rejected by Giussani 1923: 190–208. See also Verde 2015a: 62. Lapini 2015: 83. Lapini doubts Woltjer’s emendation but, following in Schneider’s footsteps, is prepared to consider the following text in line with an integration suggested by Crönert 1965: ἔστι δὲ τοῦ ἀέρος πολλὴν παραλλαγὴν εἰληφὸς τῇ λεπτομερείᾳ καὶ αὐτῶν τούτων. Here ἔστι δὲ τοῦ ἀέρος replaces the ἔστι δὲ τὸ μέρος we find in the codices. The integration is already included in the apparatus in Dorandi 2013: 771. Lapini 2015: 86 translates: ‘l’anima è un corpo sottile . . .: ora simile allo pneuma, ora simile al calore. Ed ha proprietà molto superiori a quelle dell’aria, e, quanto a sottigliezza, anche a quelle dei due elementi appena menzionati’. This suggestion enables us to find in Epicurus three of the four constituent elements described by Lucretius and other sources; there is, however, at least one source, albeit a late one, which suggests that the Epicurean soul is made up ex igne et aere et spiritu, with no mention of the fourth element: Macrob. In Somn. 1.14.20 = 315 Us. On Macrobius as a reliable source on Epicureanism cf. Verde 2015b. Ultimately, Epicurus would be

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that there can be no such differences is it legitimate to use Lucretius to correct (or integrate) Epicurus’ text. First of all, I would contend that differences between Epicurus’ text and Lucretius’ poem need not necessarily be resolved in all cases, particularly given that Lucretius’ sources elude us, even though there is considerable debate on the matter.33 And since the complete Peri physeōs is not available (or at any rate available in a less fragmentary form), for Epicurus too the situation is a complex and delicate one: we do not know for sure what the relationship is between the Letter to Herodotus and the Peri physeōs,34 or between the latter work and Lucretius’ De rerum natura, given the rather limited circulation of Epicurus’ major work outside the school.35 To be sure, in no way does this mean that Lucretius should never be used to correct, integrate, or understand Epicurus (and vice versa, of course), but it does mean that this operation should be conducted with the utmost caution. To understand this point, it is necessary to stress one substantial difference between Epicurus and Lucretius concerning the constitution of the soul: Lucretius has no doubt that the nature of the soul is ontologically complex (which is why, after all, the nameless nature which is added is the fourth: quarta natura); the situation is different in Epicurus’ case. He states only that the soul is very similar (προσεμφερέστατον) to pneuma, that it is mingled with heat to some degree, and that it somehow resembles (προσεμφερές) both (i.e. pneuma and heat). According to Lucretius, wind (ventus/aura), heat (calor/ vapor), air (aer), and the ‘fourth nature’ by themselves constitute the soul. At this stage, a reference to the missing element may well come in. However, I am still inclined to believe that we should indeed keep the unanimously transmitted text (ἔστι δὲ τὸ μέρος) provided it gives a plausible meaning.36 In this regard, I find quite convincing the hypothesis that in this case τὸ μέρος indicates a part of the living atomic complex with respect to the body: the atomic complex which Epicurus refers to as the athroisma. To be more precise, within the short space of two paragraphs, Epicurus refers to the ‘remaining atomic complex’ (λοιπὸν ἄθροισμα) no less than three

33 34 35 36

arguing that the soul is similar to pneuma, heat, and air but that it is nonetheless different from and superior to these three ‘elements’, particularly on account of the fineness of its material constitution. On Lapini’s book, see the long and detailed discussion/review by Masi 2016; see also Dorandi 2017. I shall refer here to the ‘classic’ work by Sedley 1998. See also Verde 2017c; Montarese 2012, with Dorandi 2014’s review; Bakker 2016: chs. 3–4; Asmis 2016. The Letter to Herodotus is likely to be an earlier work according to the plausible chronology proposed by David Sedley; see Verde 2010: 65. See now Dorandi 2015. On this ecdotic criterion, see Dorandi 2010, as well as Dorandi 2013: 49–52. See too Verde 2018.

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times. The emphasis here is not so much on the noun as on the adjective: it is precisely because this complex is ‘remaining’ that a close conceptual link is to be found with μέρος.37 The athroisma is the whole atomic complex, which is made up of parts, including the soul; the remaining atomic complex is the body, which is to say the atomic complex apart from the soul.38 It may be objected that μέρος in any case is more likely to be used to denote a particular function of the soul rather than any internal physical complexity.39 However, in this context the notion of function can hardly be distinguished from those material aspects which determine and characterise the function itself. This is clearly documented and confirmed by Demetrius Lacon, especially in the passage from PHerc. 1012 that I will shortly be examining. What emerges from this and other texts is the need to connect the function with the physical-material aspects, which is to say to those areas of the body directly pertaining to it. This kind of partition of the soul (rational/irrational) does not involve the idea of two opposing forces determining our moral psychological makeup, as in Plato, for example, but rather two functional parts working together. The Epicurean tradition would appear to confirm the notion that both the soul as part of the atomic complex and its parts (the rational and the non-rational) are associated with functions that in turn are directly connected to and founded upon well-defined material structures, namely atoms combined in a certain way. After all, if this were not the case, it would make no sense to assign a specific corporeal function of the soul (i.e. ratiocination) to a specific area of the body (the

37

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39

Here it is worth recalling a passage from Galen’s De nervorum dissectione which, albeit within a very different anatomical framework from the one described in the Letter to Herodotus, bears witness to the tight connection between ἄθροισμα and μέρος. Galen Nerv. Diss. 835.2–7 Kühn: οὐδὲν γὰρ διαφέρει λύεσθαι λέγειν ἀπ’ ἀλλήλων τὸ προειρημένον ἄθροισμα τῶν νεύρων, ἢ κατασχίζεσθαι τὸ σύμπαν, ἀποσχιζομένων τῶν μερῶν. οὕτω δὲ εἰ καὶ διακρίνεσθαί τις ἀπ’ ἀλλήλων αὐτὰ λέγει, ἢ τοῦ παντὸς ἀθροίσματος φύεσθαι τῶν μερῶν ἕκαστον, οὐ διοίσει (emphasis my own). On the relation between μέρος and τι, see—among others—Sext. Emp. M 8.100. I wish to thank Mauro Nasti de Vincentis for this useful suggestion. Lapini 2015: 84, however, observes that this hypothesis ‘cozza con un problema linguistico: poiché il μέρος è μέρος dell’aggregato e quindi consiste in pratica nell’intero della già menzionata ψυχή, ciò che occorre . . . non è τὸ μέρος ma τοῦτο τὸ μέρος’. I believe that while ἔστι δὲ τὸ μέρος cannot quite be translated as ‘tale parte/such part’ as I do in Verde 2010, by inserting the adjective yet without accepting it as an integration of the Greek text, it can at least be rendered—if ψυχή is implied—as ‘[the soul] is the part [of the whole aggregate]’, on the basis of Gill’s reading at 2009: 126. According to David Sedley per litteras, ‘Gill’s reading places a new strain on the Greek: normally the definite article is omitted from a phrase which is serving as the complement of “be”.’ Lapini 2015: 85 and n. 16.

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chest), as is well documented by several testimonies, including the one from Demetrius Lacon.40

The Testimony of Demetrius Lacon (PHerc. 1012 coll. XLII–XLVII Puglia) PHerc. 1012 contains a very interesting work by the Epicurean Demetrius Lacon, the exact title of which remains unknown. Demetrius here essentially pursues an apologetic aim: to examine and hence emend those works of Epicurus into which errors have crept, either because of the passage of time and copyists’ oversights or through malicious interpolations. Demetrius corrects these passages in order to restore the genuine and original thought of Epicurus, clearing it of all doctrinal ambiguities. Starting at col. XLII Puglia, Demetrius focuses on Epicurus’ psychology, and in particular on the question of the partition of the soul and the inferential method used by Epicurus to identify the seat of the rational part of the soul. This question was also widely debated by the Stoics (Zeno)41 and in particular by Chrysippus in relation to the cardiac seat of the ruling part (hēgemonikon), as recorded by Galen in The Doctrines of Hippocrates and Plato, which includes quotations from Chrysippus’ Peri psychēs.42 To return to PHerc. 1012, if Demetrius focused his attention on a passage from an Epicurean work concerning the rational part of the soul and its seat, this means that the issue was of primary importance and that, in all likelihood, it had been made the object of (possibly) deliberate misunderstandings, including for polemical purposes. This would appear to be confirmed, among other things, by the mention of ‘many of the doctors’ (πολλοὶ τῶν ἰατρῶν, col. XLVII 9–10 Puglia) who used the inferential method to demonstrate that the seat of reasoning is 40 41

42

The significance of the divergent location that comes with the distinction between animus and anima is effectively illustrated by Boyancé 1985: 168–9. See Galen PHP 2.5, p. 130 1–5 De Lacy = SVF 1.148; according to Galen PHP 2.5, p. 128.33–4 De Lacy = Diog. Babyl. SVF 3.29, Diogenes of Babylon was the author of a work devoted to the governing part of the soul: Περὶ τοῦ τῆς ψυχῆς ἡγεμονικοῦ. See Galen PHP 3.1, p. 170 6–34 De Lacy = SVF 2.885, and the classic study by Tieleman 2003a. The topic of the seat of the hēgemonikon is a very rich one which cannot be investigated in the present essay. Among the key texts on the subject, in addition to Galen’s De placitis, one might mention the final section of the De anima by Alexander of Aphrodisias 94.7–100.17 Bruns, which discusses the cardiac seat of the hēgemonikon within the body. Alexander regarded this as a genuinely Aristotelian question, which rules out the rather unlikely possibility that he may have been blindly repeating Stoic theses. For an initial overview, see Accattino-Donini 1996: 300–3 and Tieleman 1996: xxvi. See also SE M 7.313.

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the head (ἐ ̣ν κεφαλῆι).43 Demetrius’ text is rather long but it is worth quoting it in full, according to Enzo Puglia’s edition of the papyrus (the English translation is based on the Italian one by Puglia himself): XLII 13.— — —]‖ τισὶν μὲν γ[ὰρ ̣ . . . . . . . . .]|ΡΩΝ οὐ ϹΥΜΦ̣[— — —]|ΩΝ ΑΜΑΡΤ[— — —]|ΤΑ μὴ Π[— – —]|5ΤΑ. ΚΑΤ[— — —]| τῆς φύσε ̣[ως . . . . . . τὸν ὀρ]|θὸν τόπ ̣ον ̣ [τοῦ ψυχῆς λογι]|ζομένου μέρου ̣[ς] ὁ Ἐπίκ ̣[ου]|ρος διαλεγόμενος τέθ ̣η|10κέν τινα τῆ[ι δυν]άμει τοι|[αῦτα· “Κατανοεῖν] γὰρ δεῖ ὅ|[τι τὸ λογίζεσθαί] τι ἢ λυ|[πεῖσθαι — — —” XLIII — — — ‖ . . . . . . ] ἄ ̣λλως δὲ καὶ βλ̣ ̣ᾶ|[κες ο]ἷ[σ]περ οὐ φαίνεται ̣ | [τἀκόλου]θον σωζόμενον | [εἴ φη]σιν καὶ ἐκ τῶν παθῶν |5 [καὶ κιν]ημάτων εἶναι σημη|[ώσασθαί] τινων μερῶ̣ν . . |[— — ̣ —]ΩΝ καὶ [. . . . . | — — —]Τ̣Ο[̣ . . . . | — — —]ΕϹ|10[— — —]Δ[. .] γὰ ̣ρ Τ̣Ω[̣ — — — | — — —]Ο[. .] κα ̣τέχε[ι — — — | — — — τὸν] θ[ώ]ρακα [.]Ο[— — — | — — —]ΤΑΙϹ[— — — XLIV — — — ‖ . . . . . . ]Α[.]ΩΝ σημηώσασθαι. | Ὁ δὲ φίλτατος Ζήνων κα|τὰ μὲ[ν] τὸ γένος [συμφ]έρε|τα ̣[ι] τ[ού]τωι, κατ ̣’ ε ̣ἶδ̣ ̣ο ̣ς δ’ οὐ |5 συμπεφώνηκεν αὐτῶ[ι]. | Νεύει δ’ ἐπὶ τὸ τοῦτ’ εἰσ[ά]|γειν̣ τὸ ἁμάρτημα [τοῦ γρα]|φέ[ω]ς ὥστ’ εἶναι [τὸν τόπον] | τοῦτο ̣ν [ὅ]που ̣ [μάλισθ’ ἡ κεί]|10 νησις καὶ [τὸ πάθος . . . . . ]|Η̣[ . . . ]Κ̣[— — — | — — —]| Διὰ τ ̣ί δ̣ ̣[ὲ — — —]|Φ[— — — μακρὸν |15 ν]ῦν διδάσκ[ειν . . . . . . . . | . . . ]Π[— — — | . .]ΝΑΜ[— — — | . .]ΛΑΒΕ̣[— — — | .]Τ̣ΗΝ ̣ [̣ — — —]|20 Ο̣[— – — XLV 11— — —]Ϲ̣[ . . . σημη]ώ̣σασθαι [— — — |13 — — —]Ι[ . . . . ]ΟΥΚΝΩ̣[— — — | — — —]Ε̣ΙΝΟ̣[. . . . .]ΔΟΥΔΟ[— — — |15 — — —] τούτου ΓΡΑΦ[— — — | — — —]ΝΑ[— — — XLVI — — — κα]‖τελέξαθ’ ὁ Ἐπίκουρος καὶ π ̣[ε]|ρὶ τοῦ τόπου τοῦ λογιζομέ|νου μέρους τῆς ψυχῆς ὡς | καὶ τούτου πραγματικὴν τὴν |5 ζήτησιν ἔχοντος κα[ὶ] κατὰ | λόγον· ἦν μὲν γὰρ [τὸ] ζητο[ύ]|μενον τῶν ἐναρ[γ]ῶν, φό[βων | ὄντ]ων ἀδεήτων ̣ ̣ λόγων, τοῦ|[το δὲ] βουλόμενος διδ ̣άσ ̣|10[κειν . . . . ]Τ̣Ω[̣ . . . . . ] ΙΕ̣̣ ΙΟ̣̣ .|[— — —]ΤΕ[ . . . | — — —]Τ̣ΗΙ Δ ̣ [. | — — —]Ο[— — — | — — —]Κ[. . . |15 . . . εἴτ’ ἐν τῶι] ἀ ̣λ ̣ογίστω[ι] ‵ εἴτ’ ἐπὶ λογιστικ[ο]ῦ0 |[— — —] πραγμ[ατι|κὴν . . . ] τὴν ζή[τ]η[σιν | — — —]ΕΡ[— — — ̣ ̣ XLVII — — —]‖ φαμένων ὡς ἐπιβάλ[λε]ιν̣ | δεῖ ἐ ̣ν τῶι λογίζεσθα[ί] τ ̣ι | καὶ λυπεῖσθαι·ποῦ μάλισ|θ’ ἡ κείνησις καὶ τὸ πάθος |5 ἕλκει; Φανερῶς γὰρ ἐπὶ τὸν | θώρακα ἡ ὁλκὴ γείνεται .̣ | Μετὰ ταῦτα δ’ ἀντιπρο̣ ̣φέ|ρεται τὴν σημήωσιν, ἧι | ̣ χρῶνται πολλοὶ τῶν ἰα|10 τρῶ[ν ὑ]πὲρ το[ῦ τὸ]ν λογισ|μὸν ἐ ̣ν κεφα[λῆι ἐστηρ] ίχθαι, | καὶ ἐπιτίθησιν τῆ[ι δυνά]|μει λέγων ὡς κατά τινας | ἐκ τῶν παθῶν κ[αὶ π] 15 αρα| ̣ί ̣ | τ[ι]νων μερῶν, ἔ[στιν δ’ ἐν κε|φαλῆι ὁ λο] ̣ κοπῶν ἔστιν σημ[ηώσασθ]α ̣ 43

See Puglia 1988: 65–72 esp. 71 on the identification of the physicians in question with those of the socalled Cos school.

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γισμὸς [ . . . . . ]ΓΙ|[̣ . . . . . . . . . ] καθὸ κα[τ’ αὐτ]ήν, | ὥ[ς φησι]ν, ἀπολο[γίζοιτ’] ἂν ̣ |20 το ̣[ὐναντίον ἢ Ἐπίκουρος — — — . . . [As nature itself has clearly shown] the exact seat of the rational part of the soul, Epicurus, when discussing this, essentially argued44 along the following lines: ‘It must be observed that thinking about something or grieving [causes a stir in one’s chest . . .45 . . . For they are inexperienced] and also stupid to whom consistency seems to be lost if [Epicurus] claims that it is possible to infer from the affections and stir of some parts [of the soul] . . . occupies the chest . . . . . . infer . . . Our beloved Zeno is generally in agreement with this, but in particular has not assented to him. Rather, he is inclined to adduce this error of the copyist, so that this seat where the stir of affection mostly . . . For this reason [Zeno states this] . . . it is long to explain now . . . Epicurus chose [this kind of inference] also with regard to the seat of the rational part of the soul because in his view this too was suited to an empirical and rational research. The object of research was evident things, because fears do not require any logical explanation;46 if we wished to illustrate this . . . . . . [For he asks] those who state that it is necessary for a stir to occur in thinking about something and grieving, where does the stir of affection exert the greatest pull? Clearly, the pulling power occurs in the chest! After this, however, he replies by adducing the inference which many physicians use to demonstrate that reason is located in the head and puts it forward by essentially stating that, according to some people, it is possible to infer from the affections and deliriums of some parts that ratiocination is located in the head47 . . . so according to that [inference], he states, one would conjecture the very opposite from Epicurus . . .’.

The passage from Demetrius is rather long and complex.48 Given its fragmentary state, the precise nature of the question is difficult to grasp; however, the central issue is to determine the seat of the rational part of the soul through the inferential method (col. XLIII 5–6 Puglia: σημη|[ώσασθαί]) and on the basis of the affections and movements of certain parts (possibly of the soul: col. XLIII 4–6 Puglia: ἐκ τῶν παθῶν |5 [καὶ κιν]ημάτων . . . τινῶν ̣ 44

45 47 48

David Sedley per litteras argues that the expression διαλεγόμενος τέθ ̣η|10κέν (col. XLII 9–10 Puglia) suggests that Epicurus offers ‘a dialectical thesis (διαλεγόμενος τέθηκεν, “he has posited it as a θέσις in the course of dialectical argument”). First, that is to say, Epicurus argues that the rational mind is in the place where we feel the tug of emotions, and of course (although he perhaps doesn’t say so) he means the chest or heart. But then he adduces a medical counter-argument (μετὰ ταῦτα δ᾽ ἀντιπροφέρεται τὴν σημήωσιν ᾗ χρῶνται πολλοὶ τῶν ἰατρῶν . . .). The verb ἀντιπροφέρομαι is a hapax, and the meaning “adduce as a dialectical: counter-argument” is at least as likely as LSJ’s guess, “reply by adducing.” Demetrius’ point would be that those who think Epicurus is arguing here for encephalocentrism don’t appreciate the dialectical nature of the passage, in which Epicurus is contrasting a pair of opposed arguments without necessarily endorsing them.’ 46 See Dem. Lac. Op. inc. PHerc. 1012: col. XLVII.2ff. Puglia. On this point see Verde 2017d. See Alex. Aphr. DA 97.1–4 Bruns. For an overview, see Puglia 1988: 261–7, and the insightful observations by Roselli 1990: 132–6.

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μερῶ̣ν).49 This would appear to coincide with what we read at the end of Ep. Hdt. 63 (‘All this is revealed by the faculties of the soul, affections, the correct movements of the mind, thoughts, and all those things the loss of which causes death’) and in the scholium to Ep. Hdt. 66 (‘the rational part is located in the chest, as is evident from fears and joy’ [emphasis my own]). To be more precise, it is a matter of verifying whether the seat in question is the chest (i.e. the heart area) or the head. What is most important for the purposes of the present essay is the fact that Demetrius uses the term μέρος in relation to the soul (col. XLII.6–8 Puglia and col. XLVI.3 Puglia).50 What is noteworthy is not only the fact that mention is made of parts of the soul but that Demetrius is interested in the place (to be understood in physical-corporeal terms) of the rational part: this suggests that while the soul is always a single whole, it exercises different functions and these capacities are materially located in different physical areas. Particularly interesting are the mentions of Zeno of Sidon and ‘many physicians’.51 The name of Zeno confirms the fact that the philological practice of emending Epicurean texts is to be attributed not just to Demetrius but also to Zeno himself, who contributed to this work.52 Although the context is far from clear, perhaps Zeno criticised another unknown Epicurean philosopher who had probably suggested a different interpretation of Epicurus’ inferential method from his. The ‘many physicians’ (πολλοὶ τῶν ἰατρῶν) are generally identified as the ‘encephalocentric’ physicians of Cos, who maintained that the seat of logismos was the head (ὑ]πὲρ το[ῦ τὸ]ν λογισ|μὸν ἐ ̣ν κεφα[λῆι) by taking affections and deliriums as their starting point.53 It is interesting to examine a passage 49 50

51 52 53

Keimpe Algra plausibly suggested at the conference that Demetrius is referring to the motions of bodily parts, such as the heart. With regard to Puglia 1988’s reconstruction of col. XLII.7–9, [τοῦ ψυχῆς λογι]|ζομένου μέρου ̣[ς] ὁ Ἐπίκ ̣[ου]|ρος διαλεγόμενος, it is important to take account of the suggestion made by Roselli 1990: 132: [περὶ τοῦ λογι]|ζομένου μέρου ̣[ς] . . . διαλεγόμενος. Here I will only refer to Giovacchini 2012, which includes some interesting sections comparing Epicurus’ empiricism and that of the physicians, esp. chs. 2 and 4. On Zeno, see the recent study by Del Mastro 2015. For this identification: Puglia 1988: 71. In some of the works from the Coan school, the brain plays a primary role in the process of sense perception and it is precisely with respect to this specific point that in Demetrius’ passage the Epicureans disagree with the physicians. To take but a couple of examples, consider De locis in homine 2.1 and 2.3 Joly, which makes it clear that hearing and sight somehow depend upon the brain. The relation between the brain and sense perception is especially discussed in De morbo sacro: see e.g. 14.1–2 Jouanna. For a first overview, see Manuli and Vegetti 1977: 56–72. See too Cambiano 1999: 600–1. Puglia’s view replaces those of Crönert 1965: 117, who suggested that the πολλοὶ τῶν ἰατρῶν alluded to Herophilus and Erasistratus, and of De Falco 1923: 39, who suggested Demetrius of Apamea. Mansfeld 1990: 3177–9, not ruling out that the reference may be to Herophilus alone, points out that ‘If the reference to the doctors actually derives from Epicurus himself, this passage is the earliest text which opposes philosophical and medical arguments

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from Tertullian’s De anima ch. 15 (1–3 = T 12 Podolak), which contains a doxographic testimony on the location of the hēgemonikon and the very existence of the soul. It is noteworthy that Tertullian (whose main source is almost certainly the Peri psychēs by the physician Soranus of Ephesus)54 mentions physicians in this context, which further proves just how important this problem was even in the medical domain; on the one hand, Tertullian quotes Dicaearchus,55 the physicians Andreas,56 and Asclepiades who ‘eliminated the ruling part’ (abstulerunt principale, 15.2; cf. SE M 7.202 = Antioch. Ascal. F2 Sedley); on the other hand (15.3), against these physicians, Tertullian invokes the authority of other philosophers (in the following order: Plato, Strato, Epicurus, Democritus, Empedocles, Socrates, and Aristotle) and of other physicians (Herophilus, Erasistratus, Diocles, Hippocrates, and Soranus).57 The passage from PHerc. 1012, then, confirms two significant points: on the one hand, the idea that Epicurus himself (given the direct quotation from one of his works) was interested in localising the rational part of the soul; on the other hand, the notion that, in order to do so, Epicurus— if he is indeed the subject of ἀντιπρο̣ ̣φέ|ρεται τὴν σημήωσιν at XLVII.758 —responded to the inference made by the ‘encephalocentric’ physicians,

54 55 56 57

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to one another’ (p. 3179). I prefer not to adopt a firm position about the precise identification of these physicians. My thanks to Philip van der Eijk for having drawn my attention to this crucial point. See also Aët. 4.5.1 Dox. p. 391 Diels = 68 A 105 DK = 110b Taylor = 27 D135 LM, who testifies that according to Plato and Democritus the directive centre of the soul is located in the head. One cannot rule out the possibility that Epicurus also criticised the Platonic and especially the Democritean view. I thank Gábor Betegh for having brought this text to my attention. On Demetrius’ acquaintance with ancient Hippocratic medicine, see Roselli 1988 and Renna 1992. On Philodemus’ use of medical language, see Fausti 2002. On the relationship between medicine and Roman Epicureanism: Piergiacomi 2019. See Polito 1994, and now Podolak 2010: 62–9. On Dicaearchus’ psychology and for some bibliographic references, see the useful overview by Spinelli 2016: 558 n. 22. On Andreas, court physician to Ptolemy IV Philopator, see Podolak 2010: 145. On the passage from Tertullian, see Menghi 1988: 230–1 nn. 101–2; Podolak’s notes in Podolak and Moreschini 2010: 94–7 nn. 92–5; and Mansfeld 1989: 321–30. Mention is also made of physicians in other contexts discussing the seat of the hēgemonikon, like the passage from Demetrius, ch. 12.4 of Gregory of Nyssa’s De opificio hominis, which preserves arguments from reliable Greek philosophical and medical sources. See Wessel 2009: 32–9 and Roselli 1990: 132–3. On Sextus and Asclepiades, see Verde (forthcoming). According to Puglia 1988: 265, col. XLVII should include the description of the position of a rival of the Epicurean view; then Demetrius’ reply followed. Roselli 1990: 134–5 rightly suggests that the subject of ἀντιπρο̣ ̣φέ|ρεται τὴν σημήωσιν could be Epicurus himself. The alternative is that the subject is Zeno of Sidon (as suggested to me by Thomas Bénatouïl); in discussion Bénatouïl’s suggestion was accepted by Keimpe Algra, who per litteras notices that ‘the subject could equally well be Zeno. Puglia’s reconstruction of the last words of the fragment “the very opposite from Epicurus”—which is entirely speculative, by the way—would rather suggest that Epicurus is here spoken of in the 3rd person, so is not himself the subject’.

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as he was perfectly aware of the fact that, in addition to philosophers, doctors too were concerned with the question of the seat of logismos (cf. DL 7.133). Further confirmation may be provided by the aforementioned passage from Tertullian’s De anima, which could be set in relation to PHerc. 1012: among those philosophers who reject the position of those who deny the existence of the hēgemonikon (including some physicians), the Christian apologist mentions Epicurus, who locates it in the chest (15.5 = 312 Us.).59 It cannot be ruled out that the passage from Tertullian preserves a remote echo of the Epicurean polemic against the ‘many physicians’ mentioned in the papyrus, even if the issue of the seat of the ruling part had become a stock doxographical question. From this point of view, there is no really compelling reason to look for a specifically Epicurean pedigree.

The Testimony of Diogenes of Oinoanda (frr. 37–8 Smith) In his monumental inscription, Diogenes of Oinoanda investigates Epicurean psychology from a perspective which is closer to that of the Letter to Herodotus than it is to Demetrius Lacon’s treatment of the subject. I will here quote Fr. 37 (HK 65 = Ch. 37 = 47 Cas.) in full, using Martin Ferguson Smith’s text and English translation:60 37. [τὴν δ’ ἐσχάτην τοῦ τε ζῆν καὶ τοῦ] I μὴ ζῆν αἰτίαν ἡ ψυχὴ παρέχει τῇ φύσει. καὶ γὰρ εἰ μὴ τὸν ἀριθμὸν ἴσον τῶν ἀτόμων ἔχει τῷ σώματι, μετά τε τοῦ λογικοῦ τιθεμένη μέρους αὐτῆς καὶ τοῦ ἀλόγου, ἀλλ’ οὖν γε τὸν ὅλον ἄνθρωπον διέζωσεν οὕτως καὶ ἀντέδησε δεζμουμένη ὥσπερ τῶν ὀπῶν ὁ βραχύτατος ἄπλατον γάλα. σημεῖον δὲ τοῦ τῆς αἰτίας πλεονεκτήματος ̣ II κἀκ ̣ε ̣ῖνό ἐστιν πολλῶν μετ’ ἄλλων· πολ59 60

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Aetius 4.5.5 Dox. p. 391 Diels = 312 Us. also assigns the same position to Parmenides; on this see more in general Mansfeld 2015. Smith 1993.

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λάκις γὰρ ἐκπολιορκηθέντος τοῦ σώματος ὑπὸ μακρᾶς νόσου, καὶ εἰς τοσαύτην ἰσχνότητα καὶ τῆξιν καταβεβηκότος ὡς μεικροῦ δε ξηρὸν τὸ δέρμα τοῖς ὀστέοις εἶναι προσφυές, κενὴν δὲ τῶν σπλάνχνων δοκεῖν τὴν φύσιν καὶ ἄναιμον εἶναι, ὅμως ἡ ψυχὴ παραμένουIII σα οὐκ ἐᾷ θνήσκειν τὸ ζῷον. καὶ οὐ τοῦτο δὲ μόνον τῆς ὑπεροχῆς σημεῖόν ἐστιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ χειρῶν ἀποκοπαί, πολλάκις δ’ ἀνκώνων ὅλων ἢ βάσεων πυρὶ καὶ σιδήρῳ λῦσαι τὸ ζῆν οὐ δύνανται· τοσοῦτον αὐτοῦ τὸ ψυχικὸν ἡμῶν βασιλεύει μέρος. ἔστιν ὅτε δὲ τοῦ σώματος ὁλοκλήρου τε ὄντος καὶ μηδεμίαν ὑφαίρεσιν τοῦ μεγέθους εἰ-̣ IV ληφότος [λείπει τὸ αἰσ]θητικόν. [οὐδὲν γὰρ ὠ]φέλησ ̣ε[ν εἰ ἡ ψυχὴ μηκέ]τ ̣ι ̣διαμέ[νει καὶ λύεται] ἡ τοῦ σώμ[ατος συνου]̣ σία. εἰς ὅ[σον δ’ ἔτι δια]μένον τα[ὐτὸ μέρος ὁρῶ]μεν ὥ̣σ ̣π ̣[ερ φύλακα, ζῇ ὁ] ἄνθρωπ[ος. οὕτω δ’, ὡς εἶπα, ἡ] αἰτία ἡ ἐσ[χάτη τοῦ ζῆν] ἐστιν ἡ ψ[υχὴ συνοῦ]σα ἢ κεχ[ωρισμένη τοῦ σώ]̣ μ[ατος.] ̣

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Fr. 37. The soul furnishes nature with [the ultimate] cause [both of life and of] death. It is true that the number of its constituent atoms, both its rational and irrational parts being taken into account, does not equal that of the body; yet it girdles the whole man and, while being itself confined, binds him in its turn, just as the minutest quantity of acid juice binds a huge quantity of milk.

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And this too is a sign, among many others, of the primacy of this cause: often, although the body has been beset by a long illness and has come to be so attenuated and emaciated that the withered skin is all but adhering to the bones and the constitution of the internal parts appears to be empty and bloodless, nevertheless, provided that the soul remains, it does not allow the creature to die. And this is not the only sign of its supremacy, but it is also the case that amputations of hands and often of whole arms or legs by fire and iron cannot unfasten life. So powerful is the dominion which the soul-part of us exercises over it. Contrariwise there are occasions when, although the body is intact and has suffered no diminution of its bulk, [the faculty of sensation abandons it; for it is of no avail if the soul no longer remains and its union with] the body [is dissolved. But, as long as we see the same part still remaining as guardian, the] man [lives. Thus, as I said, the ultimate] cause [of life] is the soul [being united with] or [separated from the body].

Diogenes discusses the problem of the soul in relation to the individual by observing that the presence and absence of the soul respectively indicate the life and death of a living being. Diogenes is therefore chiefly interested in discussing the question of the soul’s close relationship with the body, from which it distinguishes itself, even though both the soul and the body are materially made up of atoms. Within this context, where the emphasis is on the supremacy (III.3: hyperochē) of the soul as such (as opposed to its rational part/to logikon)61 over the body, it is noteworthy that Diogenes draws a clear distinction between the rational and non-rational parts of the soul (fr. 37.I.5–7 Smith). In the formulas used by Diogenes we unambiguously find the term μέρος (see fr. 37.III.9–10 Smith: τὸ ψυχικὸν . . . μέρος) as well as the λογικός/ἄλογος pair, which also occurs in the scholium to § 66 of the Letter to Herodotus.62 In addition, the inscription from Oinoanda would appear to provide significant confirmation of the use of μέρος as a reference to the soul (as also in fr. 37): a part of the athroisma. The short text in question, which has been largely ignored by scholars, is fr. 38 Smith (NF 61 = 44 Cas.), discovered in 1975:63 Fr. 38 ὡς μέρος καὶ αὐτὸ [ὂν δέ]ον καταμαθεῖν ἐσ ̣[τιν]. 61 62

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Pace Chilton 1971: 93. To be sure, whereas λογικός/ἄλογος is here used as an adjective for μέρος, in the scholium the term μέρος does not occur and hence the scholiast employs the two substantive adjectives τὸ ἄλογον αὐτῆς and τὸ λογικόν. Nevertheless Lapini’s 2015: 87 n. 220 argument that μέρος is not used to draw a distinction between the rational and the non-rational parts of the soul does not strike me as cogent, for Diogenes clearly employs the above pair of adjectives as attributes of μέρος. See Smith 1993: 488.

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καθ’ ἑαυτὴν μὲν γὰ ̣[ρ ἡ] ψυχὴ οὔτ’ εἶναι δύνα ̣[ταί] ποτε . . .

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Fr. 38 [The soul cannot survive separation from the body], since it is [necessary] to understand that it too is a part. By itself [the] soul cannot ever either exist . . .

In this fragment Diogenes continues to investigate the soul in relation to its separation from the body as the cause of death but he does not deal with every aspect of Epicurean psychology. For example, he mentions the parts, but his focus for the rest is on the body-soul relation. We know that the portico in Oinoanda was built for the explicit philanthropic purpose of assuaging the anxieties that prevent men from making any progress in their pursuit of happiness.64 One of these perturbations—arguably the most troubling one, along with the dread of malevolent actions on the part of the gods—is the fear of death. Diogenes is therefore more interested in explaining what death is and how body and soul relate to one another than he is in delving into all the details which Epicurus almost certainly set out in the books of On Nature devoted to psychology.65 In fr. 38, the key point is that Diogenes notes that the soul cannot survive as an independent entity without the body, precisely because it is part of the athroisma (ὡς μέρος); at the same time, as we can argue from Diogenes’ fr. 37, the soul itself has a rational and a non-rational μέρος. It seems evident, then, that Diogenes considers the soul to be part of the atomic complex (to loipon athroisma), just like the body as such. From this perspective, judging from Diogenes’ text, I believe that in this case too it is rather difficult to distinguish between a function and an actual physicalmaterial part: while the rational part and the irrational one clearly exercise different functions, these functions can only be explained and justified if we posit the existence of an underlying physical-material atomic structure, with certain qualities. The same holds for the soul as such: while, like the body, it is made up of atoms, it certainly differs from it insofar as its atoms are very different in kind from those of the body. Hence the different function and different properties of the soul compared to the body. Finally, I will briefly return to fr. 37 Smith. The content of this fragment may be set in relation to a passage at Lucretius 3.117–20 where it is said that, as the soul (anima) is ‘in the limbs’ (in membris), even when much of the 64 65

See frr. 2 and 29 Smith, as well as Smith 1993: 122–4. Books VI–IX, according to Sedley 1998: 116–19’s reconstruction.

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body has been removed (detracto corpore multo), life still remains there (tamen nobis in membris vita moretur). This argument is designed to stress the superiority of the soul over the body as regards the actual presence of life in the living creature. Presumably already employed by Epicurus, the argument (although the context is completely different) resembles the one which in the De anima (15.2 = T 12 Podolak) Tertullian (or, more likely, his source) attributes to Asclepiades, who—as already noted—rejected the idea of the hēgemonikon, the governing part of the soul.66 It is interesting to note that the argument in question is partly taken up by Alexander of Aphrodisias at the end of his De anima (100 8–12 Bruns). Alexander here resorts to an argument based on the ‘endurance’ of the soul, but does so for different reasons from Lucretius and Diogenes. For the Epicureans, the fact that an animal which has been deprived of some of its parts continues to live is proof of the supremacy of the soul over the body. For Asclepiades, the resection of certain parts shows that the hēgemonikon does not exist: for if it did, the vigor animae would not be preserved once its ‘seats’ have been removed. For Alexander, by contrast, the resection of parts such as the heart and head does not show that either one of these is the seat of the hēgemonikon, since there are some animals who continue to live for a considerable time even after their heart or head has been removed. One may note, therefore, that the same argument of the resection of certain body parts—an argument which the Epicureans in all likelihood derived from Aristotle67—is used to uphold very different theses, even completely opposite ones.

Conclusions A study of the testimonies of Demetrius Lacon and Diogenes of Oinoanda (esp. fr. 38 Smith) helps to shed light on a difficult passage about psychology in § 63 of the Letter to Herodotus. I believe it is legitimate to defend the text transmitted by the codices, ἔστι δὲ τὸ μέρος, which likely constitutes a reference to the soul, understood as part of the athroisma along with the body: an idea which appears to be confirmed by Lucretius (DRN 3.96–7 66

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‘Asclepiades also employs the argument according to which even after the amputation of those parts of the head which are believed to be the seat of the governing faculty, most animals continue to live and have sensation, at least for a certain period of time, as is the case with flies, wasps, and locusts if you sever their head and as occurs with goats, tortoises, and eels if you remove their heart.’ English translation based on Podolak’s Italian translation in Podolak and Moreschini 2010, emphasis my own. See SE M. 7.380, Calc. In Tim. 216 pp. 230–1 Waszink, Cael. Aur. De morb. ac. 1.115, followed by Vallance 1990: 107–8; Polito 2006: 297–307; and Stok 2015: 49–50. Aristot. DA 1.5, 411b19–24. I take this opportunity to correct what I wrote in Verde 2017a: 57.

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and 131). If this is a plausible interpretation, we are to conclude not only that Epicurus had not yet clearly theorised the basic constitution of the soul (heat, pneuma, air, and quarta natura) at the time of drafting the Letter to Herodotus, but that he had not even established a distinction between a rational part of the soul and a non-rational one. This becomes all the more clear when we turn back to consider the scholium to § 66: according to this text, in other works Epicurus claimed that there is a non-rational part of the soul which is diffused throughout the rest of the body (the adjective used is the same as that we find in the Letter: τῷ λοιπῷ . . . σώματι) and a rational part which is located in the chest. I believe that if this distinction had already been drawn in the sections of the letter dealing with the soul, the scholiast—who on other occasions gives proof of sharp and in-depth knowledge of Epicurus’ works (and of the Epicureans too, at least in Pyth. 97, where the Epicurean Diogenes is quoted)68—would not have bothered to outline it by adding an essentially superfluous note. But there is one more proof which may be adduced, based on the content of the epistle itself. If we pay attention to what Epicurus writes at the end of § 63 of the Letter to Herodotus, we will note that the philosopher envisages the soul as a single body (still) devoid of any inner distinctions reflecting different functions. When summing up the fundamental ‘qualities’ or ‘properties’ of the soul, Epicurus speaks of affections (τὰ πάθη), of correct movements of the mind (αἱ εὐκινησίαι), and of thoughts (αἱ διανοήσεις). It is interesting to note that Epicurus here also mentions διανοήσεις,69 which evidently refer to the soul’s capacity to process perceptual data as the content of thought. This task, however, is exercised by the rational part of the soul, the mens to which Epicurus assigns a capacity to process information. No details about this are provided in the letter, where he mentions only the fundamental activities of the soul, regarded as a single whole. In my view, this offers further confirmation of the fact that the question of monism represents a feature of Epicurean psychology, one which Epicurus probably explored and developed in increasing depth, yet always in keeping with his conception of the soul as a single body with 68

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The assumption here, of course, is that the scholiast of the Letter to Pythocles is the same as that of the Letter to Herodotus, as seems likely. On the erudition and reliability of Epicurean scholia, see Dorandi 2010: 277. The use of this term in the context of Book XXV of Epicurus’ Peri physeōs is certainly significant. See PHerc. 1056 6, 3, 5; Laursen, 1997. Finally, also notable is the use of διανοήσεις in Chrysippus (Galen PHP 2.5, pp. 130–1 De Lacy = SVF 2.894) in a context where the philosopher presents the heart area as the seat of reasoning and thought. For the close Lucretian relationship between the materialist account of mind and the cognitivist view of the emotions, see Sanders 2008.

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a variety of functions.70 To sum up, the soul is (or has) a single nature (una natura in Lucretius’ words) despite its (functional) partition. Leaving Lucretius aside, Demetrius Lacon and Diogenes of Oinoanda clearly record the distinction between a rational and an irrational part of the soul. In particular, in Demetrius’ case—as well as in the aforementioned scholium—we find that this distinction is attributed to Epicurus himself. Hence, the analysis of testimonies by later Epicureans not only helps to solve as far as possible a textual problem in Ep. Hdt. but also justifies the notion that Epicurus’ doctrine is marked, as one would expect, by a ‘historical evolution’; in the (rather early) texts which Diogenes Laertius collected in Book 10 of his Lives we find no trace of some important doctrines (such as that of the atomic swerve),71 while other doctrines are only present in an ‘embryonic’ form, so to speak, as in the case of the idea of the partition of the soul. In brief, what this means is that to consider the Letter to Herodotus a compendium of Epicurus’ physics as a whole is wrong on several counts,72 even if this letter is an epitome and Epicurus’ reticence about the details of several doctrines may well be due to his ‘selecting what he sees as the cardinal features of his theory’.73 Of course, the most important question concerns the reasons that eventually led Epicurus to come to maintain the distinction of the locations and the functions of the soul. I believe that one of the most plausible answers has to take into account the debate among the philosophical schools or, as Demetrius clearly testifies, the medical sects: this last view seems to me the most plausible, since we have at least one text (maybe the earliest one which attests a critical debate between philosophers and physicians, as compellingly emphasised by Jaap Mansfeld)74 which points exactly in this direction, namely PHerc. 1012 and the 70

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As rightly noted by Lathière 1972: 123–33, the same notion is also to be found in Lucretius, who while distinguishing between animus and anima in terms of function, employs two adjectives sharing the same ‘unité sémantique’, which reflects the need for ‘unité de l’être, au lien qui unit la pensée et la sensation’ (p. 127). On Lucretius’ frequent use of animus and anima as synonyms, see Wald 1968 and Mehl 1999. Finally, it is important to bear in mind that the two terms in question were already in use in the Latin literary tradition, especially in Accius’ Epigoni = Trag. 296 Ribbeck3 = 589 Dangel, which may have provided an important antecedent for Lucretius’ distinction; see Pizzani 1979 and Verde 2017b. On this point, see my observations in Spinelli and Verde 2014: 65–7. See Paratore 1960: 43. The idea of doctrinal development had already been envisaged as a criterion for studying Epicurus’ thought precisely in relation to psychology by Bignone 1973: II, 429. Bignone’s study ought to be approached with a degree of caution since its main thesis, namely that Epicurus was familiar only with Aristotle’s ‘published’ texts, now appears untenable. On the doctrinal links between Epicurus, the Epicureans, Aristotle, and the early Peripatos, see in general Verde 2016a. Long and Sedley 1987: I, 71. 74 See n. 53 above.

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reference to doctors who promote an encephalocentric theory. So it is very likely that Epicurus himself was directly involved in the debate with some (encephalocentric) doctors and adopted the partition of the soul’s functions in part as a response to the rich medical debate about the seat of the hēgemonikon.

chapter 5

Cosmic and Individual Soul in Early Stoicism Francesco Ademollo*

The structure of this essay is roughly as follows. After an introduction in which I rehearse some of the main elements of Stoic physics and psychology, I set out the evidence for the Stoic doctrine that the individual soul is both analogous to the cosmic soul and a part of it, as was held by the early exponents of the school. I argue that the doctrine threatened to land the Stoics in trouble, unless they were ready to qualify it by applying to it certain distinctions. Then I consider the doctrine’s historical origins, discussing several possible antecedents of it, with a focus on a Socratic report in Xenophon and on Plato’s dialogues, and showing that the Stoics went beyond all their predecessors. After this historical excursus I turn to examine some of the arguments advanced by the early Stoics to prove that the cosmos has a soul, including one which compares the relation between the cosmos and individual human beings to that between a father and his offspring. This leads me to analyse in more detail this comparison, which occurs also in other contexts and is sometimes problematically connected with the notion that the individual soul is a part of the cosmic soul. One of the texts which are relevant to this issue, a report in Sextus Empiricus, is the object of a separate discussion in the final Appendix.

1. Physical Preliminaries and the Three Senses of ‘Soul’ Let us first recall some of the main features of the Stoic conception of the cosmic and the individual soul. According to the Stoics, God, the active intelligent *

This paper was presented first at the Symposium Hellenisticum in Utrecht and then at the Ancient Philosophy Workshop in Oxford, while I was revising it in the course of an extraordinarily happy and productive stay as a Visiting Fellow of All Souls College in Michaelmas Term 2016. Both audiences responded with a flurry of constructive suggestions and stimulating criticism, which I have gratefully tried to take into account as far as possible. Keimpe Algra, Gábor Betegh, and Brad Inwood, in particular, sent me very helpful written comments. Special thanks are also due to Michele Alessandrelli for feedback on an early draft and advice at various stages. I have either reproduced or modified the translation of Long and Sedley 1987 (‘LS’) for the texts contained in their collection. I have made a similar use of Rackham 1933 for Cicero ND and of Bett 2012 for Sextus M 9 = Against the Physicists 1.

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principle which takes the form of fire or pneuma, pervades and shapes passive and amorphous matter. This active principle is variously described as a cosmic ‘reason’ (λόγος), ‘intellect’ (νοῦς), or ‘soul’ (ψυχή): They believe that there are two principles of the universe, the active and the passive. Now, the passive is unqualified substance, i.e. matter, whereas the active is the rational principle in it, i.e. God [τὸν ἐν αὐτῇ λόγον τὸν θεόν]. For this, being eternal, is the craftsman of every single thing throughout all matter . . . God and intellect [νοῦν] and fate and Zeus are one thing, which is called by many other names.1 In other books again he [= Zeno] holds the view that a ‘reason’ which pervades the nature of all things [rationem quandam per omnium naturam rerum pertinentem] is possessed of divine power . . . Again, Cleanthes . . . claims that God is the world itself [ipsum mundum deum dicit esse] and attributes this name to the mind and soul of the whole nature [totius naturae menti atque animo] . . . And then Chrysippus . . . says that divine power resides in reason and in the soul and mind of universal nature [vim divinam in ratione esse positam et in universae naturae animo atque mente]. He claims that God is the world itself and the universal spread of its soul [ipsumque mundum deum dicit esse et eius animi fusionem universam]; also that he is that very soul’s leading part, which is located in intellect and reason [eius ipsius principatum qui in mente et ratione versetur].2 Diogenes and Cleanthes and Oenopides believe that God is the soul of the cosmos [τὴν τοῦ κόσμου ψυχήν].3 Chrysippus too . . . in the first book of On the Gods says that Zeus is the reason [λόγον] that governs everything and the soul [ψυχήν] of the whole.4

The idea that the divine active principle is ‘the soul of the cosmos’ (ἡ . . . τοῦ κόσμου ψυχή) is recorded also in Plutarch,5 who quotes Chrysippus as claiming that it progressively absorbs all matter until the universal conflagration and that, as soon as the cosmos starts to unfold again after the conflagration, the distinction between cosmic body (σῶμα) and soul (ψυχή) is re-formed. 1 2

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DL 7.134–5 = SVF 1.102, 2.300 = LS 44B, 46B. Cic. ND 1.36–9 = SVF 1.161, 1.530, 2.1077 = LS 54B. My main deviations from Long and Sedley 1987 are that I have rendered animus not as ‘mind’ but as ‘soul’ (which seems to me the obvious translation) and at 39 I have taken eius ipsius to pick up not mundum but animi (again the most obvious choice, since the principatus is a part of the soul, see below). On both counts I agree with Rackham 1933 and Dyck 2003: 109–12. Aët. 1.7.17 = Dox. 302b15–16 = SVF 1.532. Philod. De pietate col. 11 = Dox. 545b12–20 = SVF 2.1076. In fact Philodemus is probably the main source of Cicero, quoted above. Stoic. Repug. 1052c–d = SVF 2.604 = LS 46E and 1053b = SVF 2.605 = LS 46 F.

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In accordance with the fact that the universe has a soul, it can be described as ensouled, ἔμψυχος or animans, and as a living being, a ζῷον. It is also possible to attribute to it not only reason but also perceptions and impulses.6 The Stoics explicitly regarded this divine principle as comparable or analogous to the human soul. Thus Sextus Empiricus ascribes to them the view that substance or matter is moved and shaped by a divine ‘self-moving power’ (αὐτοκίνητος δύναμις) ‘which permeates it in the same way as soul permeates us’ (δι᾿ αὐτῆς πεφοιτηκυῖαν, καθάπερ ἡμῖν ψυχὴ πεφοίτηκεν).7 The comparison with the human soul is explicit also in another text which we shall quote more extensively below: The cosmos is directed in accordance with intellect and providence, as Chrysippus says in the fifth book of On Providence and Posidonius in the thirteenth book of On Gods, since the intellect pervades every part of it, as the soul does in our case [καθάπερ ἐφ᾿ ἡμῶν τῆς ψυχῆς].8

This is actually much more than a mere analogy: as will become clearer in what follows, it is grounded in a substantial affinity between the cosmic soul (here referred to as ‘intellect’)9 and the individual soul.10 I shall, however, speak of ‘analogy’ in a generic sense which is meant to cover also this sort of case. The analogy suggests that the doctrine of the former soul and that of the latter may cast light on one another. So it will be helpful for these preliminary remarks to include something about the latter subject. The individual soul was conceived by the Stoics as made up of pneuma and consisting of eight parts: the ‘leading’ or ‘commanding’ part (τὸ ἡγεμονικόν), also called the ‘reasoning’ part in human beings, and seven other parts (i.e. the five senses, the voice, and the reproductive seed). The leading part has a definite location (as most Stoics thought, the heart); the other parts are but extensions of it, they are the leading part insofar as it extends and branches from its location throughout the body to the various organs. This doctrine is ascribed to the Stoics by several sources.11 On this 6 7 8 10 11

DL 7.142–3 = SVF 2.633 = LS 54X; DL 7.147 = SVF 2.1021 = LS 54A; Cic. ND 2.22 = SVF 1.112–14 = LS 54G; Cic. ND 2.30. M 9.76 = SVF 2.311 = LS 44C. Cf. Cic. ND 2.31–2 (probably going back to Cleanthes). Of course the notion of self-motion harks back to Plato’s definition of the soul at Phdr. 245c–e. 9 DL 7.138 = SVF 2.634 = LS 47O. See n. 26. See the useful warning against speaking carelessly of ‘analogy’ in Betegh 2006: 32. DL 7.110, 157 = SVF 2.828; Aët. 4.21.1–4 = SVF 2.836 = LS 53H; Calcidius 220 = SVF 2.879 = LS 53G; Gal. PHP 3.1.9–13 (CMG 5.4.1.2) = SVF 2.885. The doctrine derived from Plato Tht. 184b–e. Calcidius and Galen ascribe it explicitly to Chrysippus and preserve quotations from him; the quotation in Calcidius includes the famous comparison between the human soul—or, more precisely, its leading part—and a spider at the centre of its web.

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basis the Stoics could claim that it is the leading part that, strictly speaking, feels the perceptions transmitted to it through its extensions.12 The sensory inputs travel from the senses to the leading part and are registered there as presentations (φαντασίαι), to which assent is then given or denied.13 In the light of this evidence we can conclude that there is a relevant sense in which the whole soul can be identified with its leading part—and in which the term ‘soul’ can be used to refer specifically to the soul’s leading part.14 We can now transfer our findings about the individual soul to the cosmic level. One aspect of the cosmic doctrine that receives illumination is this: the Stoics referred to God both as a cosmic soul and as a cosmic intellect, or the leading part of a cosmic soul: the intellect or leading part is the soul, properly speaking. We can see this for instance in the passages we read at the outset: Cic. ND 1.36–9 (where principatus is Cicero’s translation of ἡγεμονικόν), DL 7.134–5, and Aët. 1.7.17. We can also better understand why the Stoics assigned to the cosmic leading part a definite location in the cosmos, which was variously identified as heaven, the aether, or the sun.15 So the Stoics conceive of the divine principle as the soul of that special individual living being which is the cosmos—a soul whose leading part resides in a definite place, from which it extends everywhere. Before we examine some of the difficulties arising from this conception, let us finish this preliminary survey by recalling something about the way in which the divine principle spreads throughout the cosmos. As is well known,16 the Stoics hold that pneuma takes different forms according to the varying degrees of its ‘tension’ (τόνος), which determine how tightly it ‘holds together’ or ‘sustains’ (συνέχει) a given portion of matter.17 More precisely, pneuma is present as soul (either rational or nonrational) in animals; it is present as ‘nature’ (φύσις) in plants and in the plant-like parts of animal bodies, where it accounts for the faculty of nutrition; finally, it is present as ‘tenor’ or ‘cohesive force’ (ἕξις) in those inanimate bodies whose unity is not merely artificial, like stones or logs, 12 13 14 15 16 17

Aët. 4.23.1 = SVF 2.854 = LS 53M. For standard accounts of Stoic psychology see Inwood 1985; Annas 1992; Long 1999. See also Inwood 2014 on the parts of the soul. Cf. Annas 1992: 63: ‘they tend to think that the soul is, properly speaking, the hēgemonikon; and we can see why they think this, since it is there that what happens in the rest of the soul is registered’. DL 7.138–9 = SVF 2.634 + 644 = LS 47O; Eus. PE 15.15.7 = SVF 1.499. See Hahm 1977: 163–8; Long and Sedley 1987: I, 289; Annas 1992: 51–5. In the technical terms of the Stoic theory of categories, this seems to mean that each of the different forms pneuma can take can be described as ‘pneuma disposed in a certain way’ (πνεῦμα πως ἔχον, see Plot. Enn. 4.7.4 = SVF 2.443). See Menn 1999, esp. 242–6.

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and in certain supposedly inert parts of animal bodies, such as bones.18 Here are some relevant sources:19 Zeno’s disciples claim that God permeates all substance [διὰ πάσης οὐσίας πεφοιτηκέναι τὸν θεόν] and in one place is intellect, in another soul, in another nature, in another tenor [ποὺ μὲν εἶναι νοῦν, ποὺ δὲ ψυχήν, ποὺ δὲ φύσιν, ποὺ δὲ ἕξιν].20 ‘Sustaining’ [ἑκτικόν] is the pneuma which sustains the stones; ‘natural’ [φυσικόν] that which nourishes animals and plants; ‘psychic’ [ψυχικόν] is that which is found in ensouled beings and makes animals capable of perceiving and of moving in every way.21 Some beings are governed by tenor [ἕξει], some by nature [φύσει], some by irrational soul [ψυχῇ], some by a soul that possesses also reason and thought. The human being participates to some extent in all these things together and is found in all the aforementioned kinds; for he is sustained by tenor and nourished by nature and makes use of reason and thought.22 Tenor [ἡ μὲν ἕξις] is common to soulless things, stones and logs, and our bones, which resemble stones, also participate in it. Nature [ἡ δὲ φύσις] extends also to plants, and in us there are things like plants—nails and hair. Nature is tenor in actual motion. Soul [ψυχὴ δέ] is nature which has acquired presentation and impulse. This is common also to the irrational animals.23

And here is an especially relevant text, which I have already cited in part but which we can now read in its entirety: The cosmos is governed in accordance with intellect and providence, as Chrysippus says in the fifth book of On Providence and Posidonius in the thirteenth book of On Gods, since the intellect pervades every part of it, as the soul does in our case [εἰς ἅπαν αὐτοῦ μέρος διήκοντος τοῦ νοῦ, καθάπερ ἐφ’ ἡμῶν τῆς ψυχῆς]. But it pervades some parts to a greater and others to a lesser degree: through some parts it passes as tenor, as through bones and sinews [δι’ ὧν μὲν γὰρ ὡς ἕξις κεχώρηκεν, ὡς διὰ τῶν ὀστῶν καὶ τῶν νεύρων]; through 18

19 20 22 23

On an alternative interpretation, the higher forms of pneuma subsume or take over the functions of the lower forms, so that pneuma will be present in each individual being in just one form: in particular, the ψυχή of a human being will also carry out the functions characteristic of φύσις and ἕξις. This interpretation is suggested by some testimonies (e.g. Philo Quod deus sit immutabilis 35–6 = SVF 2.458 = LS 48Q; and notice that Philo Legum allegoriarum 2.22–3, before the words quoted in the main text below, says that intellect (νοῦς) ‘has many powers: sustaining, natural, psychic, rational, calculative, and countless others’). It cannot, however, hold for the whole cosmos, which contains all three forms in different parts of itself; and this is the important point for our present purposes. For some discussion see Long 1982: 238–9 and Inwood 2014: 66–7, and n. 21 below. See also SE M 9.81–4 = SVF 2.1013 (on which see section 4 below). Them. in De an. 35.32–4 = SVF 1.158. 21 [Gal.] Int. 13, 726.8–11 = SVF 2.716 = LS 47N. Plut. De virtute morali 451B–C = SVF 2.460. Philo Legum allegoriarum 2.22–3 = SVF 2.458 = LS 47P.

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francesco ademollo others as intellect, as through the leading part [δι’ ὧν δὲ ὡς νοῦς, ὡς διὰ τοῦ ἡγεμονικοῦ]. Likewise also the whole world, which is an animal and ensouled and rational, has the aether as its leading part [οὕτω δὴ καὶ τὸν ὅλον κόσμον, ζῷον ὄντα καὶ ἔμψυχον καὶ λογικόν, ἔχειν ἡγεμονικὸν μὲν τὸν αἰθέρα], as Antipater of Tyre says in the eighth book of On the Cosmos. But Chrysippus in the first book of On Providence and Posidonius in his On Gods say that the world’s leading part is the heaven, while Cleanthes says it is the sun. Yet Chrysippus in the same book has a rather different account, according to which it is the purest part of the aether; this, they also say, passes as it were as primary god perceptually through the things in the air and through all animals and plants, and through the earth itself by way of tenor [ὃ καὶ πρῶτον θεὸν λέγουσιν αἰσθητικῶς ὥσπερ κεχωρηκέναι διὰ τῶν ἐν ἀέρι καὶ διὰ τῶν ζῴων ἁπάντων καὶ φυτῶν· διὰ δὲ τῆς γῆς αὐτῆς καθ’ ἕξιν].24

This report, though peculiar and possibly imprecise in some respects,25 combines a number of important points which were contained also in other testimonies. I state them in a different order from the one in which they occur in the text: (i) The whole cosmos, like a human being, is an individual animal provided with a soul (ἔμψυχον).26 (ii) The cosmic soul or intellect penetrates ‘every part’ (ἅπαν . . . μέρος) of the cosmos, including human beings, animals, plants, and inanimate bodies, where it takes the form of the soul, (nature, or)27 tenor which is responsible for their unity. (iii) There is an analogy between the universal penetration of the cosmic soul throughout the cosmic body and that of the individual soul throughout the individual body. (iv) Both souls, the cosmic and the individual, have a leading part which resides in a definite location: the heaven or aether or sun for the cosmic soul, the head or heart for the individual soul. 24 25

26 27

DL 7.138–40 = SVF 2.634 + 644 = LS 47O. In particular, Diogenes (a) fails to mention φύσις, (b) instead of doing so, at the end of the passage groups plants together with animals, apparently assigning perception to all of them (αἰσθητικῶς here means presumably ‘in a form which has perception’, see LSJ; the translation ‘perceptually’ was suggested by David Sedley). In fact the Stoics take plants to be incapable of perception and pervaded by pneuma in the form of φύσις, not of ψυχή. This twofold problem would be solved if one accepted von Arnim’s supplement, recorded in the apparatus of Dorandi 2013 (the edition whose text I am following): διὰ τῶν ζῴων ἁπάντων καὶ φυτῶν (‘through all animals and plants’). But Diogenes may well be expressing himself loosely. Strictly speaking, Diogenes does not use the word ψυχή in connection with the cosmos: he rather speaks of νοῦς, intellect. But he does say that the cosmos is ἔμψυχον, ensouled. Remember that Diogenes actually omits to mention nature (see n. 25).

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The first lines of Diogenes’ report can also be used to bring to light a distinction in the Stoic use of the term ψυχή.28 This term can apparently refer to one or the other of two distinct things: (A) the pneuma which pervades the whole body of an animal—whether this is the cosmos or a human being or a cat—and takes different specific forms within that body; (B) one of the different specific forms that pneuma can take within the body of an animal (i.e. the soul which consists of the leading part, the five senses, etc.) and is distinguished from nature and tenor. That the term can be used to refer not only to (B) but also to (A) is suggested by several pieces of evidence which we have already encountered: the generic analogy between the divine principle and the human soul at the beginning of Diogenes’ report; the same analogy and the characterisation of the divine principle as a ‘self-moving power’ in SE M 9.76; the testimony of Plut. Stoic. Repug. 1052C–D. But since the Stoics seem to think that, properly speaking, the soul in sense (B) should be identified with its leading part, we get a third possible use of the term ψυχή, (C) the leading part of the soul in sense (B). Further partial confirmation of this threefold distinction comes from another passage in Sextus Empiricus, M 7.234 = LS 53F, who ascribes to some Stoics the view that ‘soul is said in two ways [ψυχὴν λέγεσθαι διχῶς], that which sustains the whole compound and specifically the leading part [τό τε συνέχον τὴν ὅλην σύγκρισιν καὶ κατ᾿ ἰδίαν τὸ ἡγεμονικόν]’. Thereby Sextus is sometimes taken to be reporting an explicit distinction between (A) and (C).29 If this were so, however, it would be somewhat surprising that he did not mention (B), which corresponds to the most natural use of ψυχή. Conceivably, ‘that which sustains the whole compound’ could also be the soul in sense (B)—and that seems indeed to be the most likely interpretation once one considers the context of the passage, M 7.234–7, where ‘that which sustains the whole compound’ is identified with ‘the whole soul’ (ἡ ὅλη ψυχή) of which the ἡγεμονικόν is a part. Therefore the distinction actually seems to be between (B) and (C).30 The various points which I extracted from the Diogenes Laertius passage and listed above are interesting and problematic, and will require discussion in due course. For the moment let us focus on (ii). It entails that the individual soul is a part of the cosmic soul. And this is precisely what a number of sources do ascribe to the Stoics: 28 30

The distinction was first formulated by Long 1982: 224–34. 29 Long 1982: 233. It was Ursula Coope who first suggested to me that the passage could be read in a different way. Perhaps this would harmonise especially well with the interpretation of the relation between ψυχή, φύσις, and ἕξις in individual beings mentioned in n. 18 above, according to which ψυχή in sense (B) can take over the functions of the lower forms of pneuma.

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francesco ademollo Living in accordance with virtue is equivalent to living in accordance with experience of what happens by nature, as Chrysippus says in the first book of On Ends. For our own natures are parts of the nature of the whole [μέρη γὰρ εἰσὶν αἱ ἡμέτεραι φύσεις τῆς τοῦ ὅλου].31 They believe that nature is a craftsman-like fire [τὴν μὲν φύσιν εἶναι πῦρ τεχνικόν], proceeding methodically to generation, i.e. a fiery and craftsmanly pneuma. Soul is [a nature] capable of perception [τὴν δὲ ψυχὴν αἰσθητικήν], and this is the inborn pneuma in us. Therefore it is a body and lasts after death. It is destructible, but the soul of the universe, of which the souls in animals are parts, is indestructible [τὴν δὲ τῶν ὅλων ἄφθαρτον, ἧς μέρη εἶναι τὰς ἐν τοῖς ζῴοις].32 Cleanthes says that . . . the soul pervades the whole cosmos and that we are ensouled by having a share of it [τὴν δὲ ψυχὴν δι᾿ ὅλου τοῦ κόσμου διήκειν, ἧς μέρος μετέχοντας ἡμᾶς ἐμψυχοῦσθαι].33

Thus the individual soul is a part of the cosmic soul.34 It is a part of the cosmic soul in the strong physical sense in which we say that my liver is a part of my body, namely by being physically attached to, and continuous with, other parts of a single body—a body of the kind the Stoics call ‘unified’ (see section 4 below). It is, so to speak, a three-dimensional segment of the cosmic soul. This is the sense of ‘part’ I shall mainly concern myself with in the sequel; it is also the sense of ‘part’ in play when the Stoics say that the soul in sense (B) is articulated into eight parts. But, on the other hand, the individual soul is also analogous to the cosmic soul, as we have seen.

2.

Analogy, Mereology, and the Three Senses of ‘Soul’

The conclusion we have just reached, however, needs to be made more precise in the light of our previous distinction between three uses of the term ‘soul’—(A), (B), and (C). Thus a question arises: what use, or uses, of the term is in play exactly when we say that the individual soul is both analogous to the cosmic soul and part of it? 31 32

33 34

DL 7.87 = LS 63C. I assume that here φύσις = ψυχή. Cf. below on SE M 9.85 = SVF 1.114. DL 7.156 = SVF 2.774. Trans. after Inwood and Gerson 2008: 57. I have hesitantly followed Dorandi 2013 in preserving the MSS text without von Arnim’s supplement, αἰσθητικὴν , which has the right meaning but is perhaps not indispensable. Hermias Irrisio gentilium philosophorum 14 = Dox. 654.26–31 = SVF 1.495. I cannot agree with Alesse’s 2005: 53, 60 claim that early Stoicism conceived of the relation between the two souls only in terms of analogy and that considering the individual soul as a part of the cosmic one was an innovation of the imperial Stoa. I refer to her article, however, as regards the fortune of the doctrine in such authors as Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius—although I shall venture to say something about them below.

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To start with, it seems fairly obvious that the individual soul, in whatever sense of ‘soul’ we understand it, is analogous to the cosmic soul understood in the same sense. We can set this out as follows (for the sake of brevity and simplicity I use the expressions ‘A-soul’, ‘B-soul’, and ‘C-soul’ to refer respectively to the soul in senses (A), (B), and (C), and consider only the case of a human being): • The individual A-soul (all the pneuma which permeates a human being by taking different forms) is analogous to the cosmic A-soul (all the pneuma which permeates the cosmos in different forms). • The individual B-soul (the specific soul-pneuma in a human being, consisting of the leading part plus senses, voice, and seed) is analogous to the cosmic B-soul (the specific soul-pneuma in the cosmos). Here the analogy may be imperfect: the cosmic B-soul does have a leading part, as we have seen, and is also said to have senses, though it is unclear what these might be.35 But it is doubtful whether the cosmic soul also has a voice. As for its possession of seed, we shall deal with this in due course. • The individual C-soul (the leading, reasoning part of the individual B-soul) is analogous to the cosmic C-soul (the leading, reasoning part of the cosmic B-soul). So far so good. But things become more complicated when from the analogy relation we turn to the part-whole relation. It is again obvious that the individual A-soul is a part or segment of the cosmic A-soul. It is also obvious that the individual C-soul is not such a part of the cosmic C-soul: the leading part of my own soul is not a part of the leading part of the cosmic soul, which is located somewhere above in the sky; for there is no physical continuity between the two. But the interesting question is this: is the individual B-soul a part of the cosmic B-soul? It is not clear whether the Stoics raised this question, let alone how they answered it. But there are some reasons to suspect that the answer should have been ‘No’ and that the individual B-soul should be a part of the cosmic A-soul, but not of the cosmic B-soul (i.e. that there should be some physical discontinuity between the cosmic and the individual B-soul). To see why this is so, consider an individual B-soul such as your own. It is a continuous stretch of soul-pneuma which extends with the same tension from the leading part (the C-soul) to the periphery and allows the transmission of information in both directions. Its generic tension 35

See below and n. 44.

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identifies it amidst the cosmic pneuma as a soul in general (i.e. as an instance of ψυχή as distinct from φύσις and ἕξις). Arguably—though this is controversial—its specific tension, or perhaps the tension of some component of it, also identifies it as a human soul specifically and as your soul in particular: your soul, or some component of your soul, is the permanent ‘peculiar quality’ (ἰδία ποιότης) which is signified by your proper name and which characterises you uniquely as long as you exist.36 This soul will remain in existence at least some time after your death (i.e. after its separation from your body), thus ensuring that you survive after death, until it is finally reabsorbed into the cosmic pneuma. According to Cleanthes, this will happen to all souls at the same time (i.e. in the next universal conflagration). Chrysippus instead introduced a distinction: if you are a fool and therefore your soul is ‘weaker’ (i.e. presumably, its tension is looser), then it will persist for a shorter time; only if you are virtuous and wise, and therefore your soul is ‘stronger’, will it persist until the conflagration: They say that the soul is subject to generation and destruction. When separated from the body, however, it does not perish at once, but survives on its own for certain times, the soul of the virtuous up to the dissolution of everything into fire, that of fools only for certain definite times. By the survival of souls they mean that we ourselves [ἡμεῖς] survive as souls separated from bodies and changed into the lesser substance of the soul, while the souls of non-rational animals perish along with their bodies.37

Now, if this B-soul of yours were a part of the cosmic B-soul, then it would have to be part of a larger continuous stretch of soul-pneuma, which would have the cosmic leading part at one end and would presumably allow a broader transmission of information. But it is far from clear whether this is so. For a start, we do not seem to be surrounded by pneuma of this kind: what we are rather surrounded by is primarily air—which was regarded by Chrysippus as the vehicle of ἕξις or tenor, not of ψυχή or B-soul.38 36

37

38

On ‘common’ and ‘peculiar’ qualities, see the texts in LS 28 and Simpl. in Cat. 238.12–20 = SVF 2.393 = LS 47S, with Sedley 1982. On common and proper names signifying common and peculiar qualities, respectively, see DL 7.58 = SVF 3 Diog. 22 = LS 33M. I endorse the arguments of Lewis 1995: 89–105 and Irwin 1996: 470–1 to the conclusion that the ‘peculiar quality’ of an animal is (or perhaps, I add, is contained in) the soul; cf. the discussion in Nawar 2017. Eus. PE 15.20.6 = Dox. 471.18–24 = SVF 2.809 = LS 53W. See the apparatus and notes of Long and Sedley 1987: II, 320–1 for a couple of minor difficulties in the text of this passage. Cf. DL 7.157 = SVF 2.811; Aët. 4.7.3 + Theodoret Graecarum affectionum curatio 5.2.3 = SVF 2.810; Plut. Comm. Not. 1077e = LS 28O. Plut. Stoic. Repug. 1053f–1054b = SVF 2.449 = LS 47M.

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The idea that the individual B-soul is not a part of the cosmic B-soul might also have helped the Stoics to avoid a couple of conceptual problems. Showing what these problems are requires a detour which will enhance our understanding of the Stoic doctrine. Here is a first problem. Is the doctrine that the individual soul is a part of the cosmic soul meant to entail that all individual souls—at least those of adult human beings, whose rationality is fully developed—think the thoughts of the cosmic soul (i.e. God)? Of course not: most if not all human beings lack intelligence and virtue; God’s mental life is way beyond their reach.39 Even the Stoic sage (who could in principle be as virtuous as Zeus)40 could not possibly share God’s knowledge of the whole universal series of causes.41 But even so, we still have to explain why it is so (i.e. what prevents us from thinking God’s thoughts). It may seem that the Stoics had an easy way of coping with this first problem. As they distinguished between the B-soul of animals (whose leading part is devoid of rationality) and that of human beings (whose leading part is rational),42 so they could add an analogous distinction between the B-soul of human beings (the power of whose intellect is limited) and that of God (who knows everything). Thus the individual B-souls could be viewed as not only peripheral but also weaker nodes of awareness and rationality in the divine pneuma, provided with a different degree of tension and incapable of participating in the richer mental life of the central node. This would coincide with something which the Stoics certainly believed: Chrysippus regarded the relation between the cosmos and a human being as analogous to that between a horse and a foal, or a dog and a puppy, or a man and a child.43 As far as I can see, however, our sources seem to be silent on the physical details of this. They tell us that the difference between soul, nature, and tenor depends on differences in (the tension of) pneuma; they strongly suggest that the difference between the soul of a fool and that of a sage also depends on differences in tension (see above); but they do not offer us any comparable explanation of the difference between divine and human soul. A second problem arises if we reverse our perspective and view the matter from the viewpoint of the cosmic soul. Does the cosmic soul (i.e. God) share the inner life of my individual soul? Does he use my senses as 39 40 41 43

Alex. Aphr. Fat. 199.14–22 = SVF 3.658 = LS 61N. So Chrysippus outrageously claimed: Plut. Comm. Not. 1076a = SVF 3.246 = LS 61J. See Brouwer 2014: 33–4. 42 SE M 8.275–6 = SVF 2.223 = LS 53T etc.; see Long 1982: 244–6. Cic. ND 2.38–9 = SVF 2.641 = LS 54H.

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his own and perceive things through me?44 Does he receive my presentations and assent to them as I do? And if so, is he responsible for my own actions, reprehensible as they may be? The Stoic conception of the role of God in human life has always been discussed since antiquity in connection with the Stoic belief in fate and determinism. In that context the question is whether the Stoics (or, more precisely, Chrysippus) can consistently hold that our actions are ‘up to us’ while also holding that they are part of a predetermined chain of causes which coincides with God’s providence.45 But the questions I am asking now are somewhat different, though connected. They are rather (1) whether my mental life is part of God’s mental life right now, as I am experiencing it, and if so, (2) whether God is directly responsible for my actions in the sense that they are his actions as well as mine. An affirmative answer to (2) would pose a threat to the view that our actions are ‘up to us’. Unsurprisingly, our evidence seems to rule out that there was any affirmative answer to (2).46 Cleanthes in his Hymn to Zeus claims that ‘no deed happens without you, god . . . save those that bad men do in their own folly [σφετέραισιν ἀνοίαις]’: the folly and the subsequent foul deeds are their own, not God’s.47 And Chrysippus, who instead included all human actions within the universal chain of fated causes, did so while treating the individual’s assent to his presentations, and the ensuing impulse, as jointly caused by the external circumstances and the 44

45 46

47

For this particular question cf. Bénatouïl 2009: 35. As he points out, August. Civ. Dei 7.23 is evidence that the Stoics considered the heavenly bodies as the senses of God; cf. Cic. ND 2.30–1, 42–3. But this does not exempt them from explaining what the relation between God and my own senses is. See the exemplary discussion in Bobzien 1998. Plut. Comm. Not. 1076e–f = SVF 2.937 seems to take Chrysippus to be committed to (2). For he ascribes to him the view that ‘it is not possible for even the smallest of his parts to be otherwise than in conformity with the will of Zeus, but it is the nature of every animate thing to stay and to move as Zeus guides it and as he turns and stops and arranges it’. This, Plutarch says, is tantamount to saying that ‘there is neither incontinence nor villainy for which Zeus is not responsible’. He contrasts this with an alternative view (possibly Cleanthes’) which it would be no less problematic for the Stoics to hold, according to which ‘Zeus does not have control of his own parts’, which perform ‘their own private activities and actions without impulse given or motion initiated by the whole organism’ (trans. after Cherniss 1976). Plutarch’s interpretation of Chrysippus is echoed by Calcidius in Tim. 294, for whom the Stoics ‘fell into impious opinions, namely that God . . . will be both the origin and also the cause of all things that come into being—not just of evils but also of turpitude and obscenity, and that he does and undergoes everything, even scandalous things’ (trans. after Magee 2016). Some caution is required, however. For part of the reason why both authors regard the Chrysippean God as the agent of every action is that he is supposed to be the initiator of the cosmic motion and of the fated chain of causes (Plut. Stoic. Repug. 1050c–d = SVF 2.937 = LS 54T; Calc. in Tim. 160–1 = SVF 2.943). In this respect God is the agent of every action only indirectly and in the final analysis. Stob. 1.25.3–27.4 = SVF 1.537 = LS 54I, ll. 15–17.

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individual’s own nature.48 There is, and there could be, no suggestion that Chrysippus thereby regarded the individual’s assents as belonging primarily or also to God. But the fact that the Stoics were committed to answering question (2) in the negative does not yet prove that they were not also committed to answering it in the affirmative. In other words, it does not yet prove that their position was consistent—nor, indeed, that they dealt with (1) and (2) at all. Now, one thing which the Stoics might have said if they confronted the problem is this.49 God’s ἡγεμονικόν is reached by my presentations: he sees what I see and hears what I hear; hence, to this extent, he is aware of what is going on in my mind, and the answer to (1) is ‘Yes’. But, nevertheless, God does not share my assent (or lack thereof) to those presentations; therefore he does not share responsibility for my actions either, and the answer to (2) is ‘No’. This is actually the position taken by an author who is too late to fall squarely within the scope of this essay, namely Epictetus, who in Diss. 1.14 claims that our souls are ‘bound up and connected with God’ (ἐνδεδεμέναι καὶ συναφεῖς τῷ θεῷ) in virtue of being ‘parts and fragments’ of him (μόρια . . . καὶ ἀποσπάσματα) in such a way that ‘God perceives each of their motions because it is proper and connatural to him’ (παντὸς δ᾽ αὐτῶν κινήματος ἅτε οἰκείου καὶ συμφυοῦς ὁ θεὸς αἰσθάνεται) and therefore oversees everything, is present in everything, and has some communication with everything (ἀπὸ πάντων τινα ἴσχειν διάδοσιν, literally ‘receives some transmission from everything’).50 The way in which Epictetus expresses himself seems to suggest that what makes us ‘connected with God’ is a continuous stream of B-soul; but he clearly takes this connection not to imply assent to our presentations on God’s part. Still, the idea that presentations should be transmitted from my ἡγεμονικόν up to God’s ἡγεμονικόν, from my C-soul to his C-soul, but that nevertheless his ἡγεμονικόν could assent to presentations to which mine does not assent, and its assent could fail to be transmitted all the way down to my ἡγεμονικόν, is potentially problematic and would seem to require some explanation of the physical mechanism involved—whereas none is recorded. We are essentially confronted with the first problem again.

48 49 50

Cic. Fat. 39–43 = SVF 2.974 = LS 62C, etc. Cf. the other testimonies collected in LS 55 and 62, and Bobzien 1998: 234–71, 310–13. The next paragraphs are indebted to discussion with Keimpe Algra (see also n. 52) and Charles Brittain. Cf. Diss. 2.8.9–14, and Marc. Aur. Med. 12.2 (quoted and discussed in section 6).

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Nor, for that matter, is it completely safe to assume that Epictetus’ view was already the view of the early Stoics.51 So the view that your individual B-soul is not a part of the cosmic B-soul, but just of the cosmic A-soul, would have helped the Stoics to steer altogether clear of these difficulties. For it would have enabled them to hold that there is no physical mechanism in place to bring about a direct sharing of thoughts between you and the cosmic soul: there is no continuity of B-soul that might directly transmit information from your ἡγεμονικόν or C-soul to God’s C-soul—or vice versa. Neither would God directly think your thoughts nor would you think his. Perhaps this would still leave open the possibility that there was, nevertheless, some indirect communication from your C-soul to God’s C-soul, along the following lines. What goes on in your C-soul is encoded in some way into the cosmic A-soul around you and transmitted through it to God’s B-soul, hence ultimately to his C-soul. He can, so to speak, decode your thoughts from vibrations in the air or in some other medium. But you are unable to do the same in the opposite direction and decipher God’s thoughts. Thus your thoughts reach God’s mind, but God’s thoughts do not reach your mind. Thereby the Stoics might have gone at least some way towards providing the explanation which was missing in Epictetus, the physical basis for answering ‘Yes’ to question (1) but ‘No’ to (2). So there seem to be several reasons for suspecting that the individual B-soul, though it is analogous to the cosmic B-soul, is not also part of it— or at least should not be also part of it, whatever the early Stoics may have actually thought and whatever may be the exact purport of the ancient testimonies, which do not clearly state all the subtle distinctions we are drawing. But of course the individual B-soul will in any case be part of the cosmic A-soul (i.e. of the total cosmic amount of all-pervasive pneuma). This is in any case enough to ensure that the cosmos is a unified whole, arranged from the beginning in accordance with providence and fate and consisting of parts mutually connected by ‘affinities’ or ‘reciprocal influences’ (συμπάθειαι).52 51 52

At the very least, with the phrase μόρια . . . και ἀποσπάσματα he harks back to an early Stoic formula but partly changes its meaning: see below, n. 96. On ‘reciprocal influences’ see e.g. SE M 9.78–85 = SVF 2.1013, discussed in section 4 below. Cf. Algra 2009: 367–8, who points out that ‘our rational soul’ (i.e. our B-soul) ‘is a separate, individuated substance, not just a continuous part of god. As two separate substances our soul and god can interact, but how this works at the physical level does not become quite clear, except that we may presume that here, as elsewhere, it is cosmic sumpnoia which secures a form of sumpatheia.’ Algra also detects a connection between this and Plutarch’s ascription to Chrysippus of the claim that ‘Zeus and Dion,

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However we may interpret it, the twofold conception of the individual soul as both analogous to and part of the cosmic soul is one of the distinctive traits of Stoicism. It exerted a significant influence on subsequent philosophers, including Plotinus. In the next sections I shall continue to examine various aspects of it, starting with an inquiry into its historical precedents. We shall return to the conclusions of this section and enlarge on them in section 5.

3.

Antecedents of the Stoic Doctrine

This historical excursus begin start at the beginning. For the Stoics, the beginning was Xenophon’s Memorabilia, for that is reported to have been the work which Zeno encountered on his arrival in Athens and which prompted him to study philosophy. According to the story in Diogenes Laertius 7.2–3 (= SVF 1.1–2), it was actually a reading of Book 2 that sparked Zeno’s interest. But there is evidence that sooner or later he got round to reading Book 1—in particular section 1.4, where Socrates marshals several arguments to convince Aristodemus that the gods take providential care of human beings.53 All these arguments must have influenced Zeno; most have parallels in Stoic material preserved, for example, by Cicero ND 2. One of the arguments is especially relevant for our concerns: Do you think you have any wisdom yourself? . . . Do you think that wisdom is nowhere else to be found? And this even though you know that you have only a small part [μικρὸν μέρος] of earth in your body, while there is a large amount, and a tiny bit of moisture, while there is a large amount, and that your body has been fitted together by acquiring a small part of each of the other things, which are huge? Yet, it turns out, you think that intellect [νοῦς] alone exists nowhere, and you got hold of it by some lucky accident [εὐτυχῶς πως δοκεῖς συναρπάσαι]? And that these very huge masses of infinite amount are well arranged in virtue of some sort of unintelligence?54

On the most charitable interpretation of this argument, its references to Aristodemus have to be understood as references to all human beings. So in the final analysis the argument is this. We know by observation that the earth or water in the body of all human beings taken together is but a ‘small part’ of the total cosmic mass of earth or water. Therefore we should

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given that they are wise, are benefited alike by each other whenever one encounters a movement of the other [ὅταν ἅτερος θατέρου τυγχάνῃ κινουμένου]’ (Comm. Not. 1076A = SVF 3.246 = LS 61J). On Xen. Mem. 1.4 see Sedley 2007: 79–86, 212–19. Xen. Mem. 1.4.8. My translation contains borrowings from both Marchant, in Marchant and Todd 2013, and Sedley 2007: 217–18.

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suppose that the intellect or intelligence of human beings is also a part of some cosmic amount of intelligence; for it would be odd if we had been so lucky as to snap up for ourselves all the intelligence in the cosmos. Therefore, finally, there is a divine cosmic intellect which is responsible for the cosmic order. It is important to be clear about what this argument aims to show. It aims, I think, to show that there is a cosmic supply of intelligence, which is apportioned to individual human beings—including Aristodemus—but is not exhausted by them. So there remains a lot of intelligence around, which is not the intelligence of any individual human being—and which is likely to be a divine intelligence, responsible for the cosmic order. This is not yet to say that in fact the intellect of every individual human being is a part of the divine one or derives from it. Such a conclusion would resemble the Stoic view. But it would be a further step, which the argument does not need to take and does not unequivocally take.55 We can instead ascribe to Xenophon’s Socrates the view that the total cosmic supply of intelligence equals the divine intelligence plus the total sum of human intelligence. Socrates is made to put forward a modified version of the same argument in the Philebus, 29a–30d.56 There Socrates starts out (29b–c) by distinguishing between the portion of each element that is present ‘in our sphere’ (παρ᾿ ἡμῖν), which is both small and impure, and the amount of the same element ‘in the universe’ (ἐν τῷ παντί, i.e. in the remainder of the universe), which is both larger and pure. Then Socrates focuses on the relation between the two portions: But what about this? Is the fire of the universe nourished and generated from this one, and is it ruled by the fire in our sphere [τρέφεται καὶ γίγνεται ἐκ τούτου καὶ ἄρχεται τὸ τοῦ παντὸς πῦρ ὑπὸ τοῦ παρ᾿ ἡμῖν πυρός], or is it not quite the opposite, that your heat and mine, and that of the other animals, owe all these things to the action of that fire?57

The latter alternative is the right one; and the same relation holds in the case of earth and the other elements—and therefore also of the bodies 55

56 57

The view that human intelligence is drawn, not directly from the divine intelligence, but from the total cosmic supply of intelligence which also includes the divine intelligence can be compared with the theory of the Timaeus (see below). By contrast, Sedley 2007: 213–14 claims that, according to Xenophon’s Socrates, ‘our intelligence . . . too must be drawn from cosmic intelligence, whose existence in any case has to be postulated as the ordering factor governing earth, sea, and the other cosmic masses’. I have learnt much about this argument by reading a chapter of the unpublished 2014 Cambridge PhD dissertation by Laura Rosella Schluderer. Plato Phileb. 29c.

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composed of them, those of individual animals and that of the cosmos (29d–e). It is clear what is meant by the claim that the elements ‘in our sphere’ are ‘nourished and generated’ from the elements ‘in the universe’ and our whole body is ‘nourished and generated’ from the body of the universe. The idea is that our body originally comes into being, and is then constantly nourished, by the accretion of portions of the elements which come from ‘out there’ in the universe. It is less clear what Socrates might mean when he adds that the elements in us are also ‘ruled’ by the elements in the universe (and our body is ‘ruled’ by the body of the universe). Perhaps the idea might be that the elements in the microcosm obey laws whose primary field of application is the macrocosm.58 However that may be, Socrates then brings up the case of soul: so. Won’t we say that the body in our sphere has a soul? pr. We’ll clearly say so. so. Whence would it take it [πόθεν . . . λαβόν], my dear Protarchus, if the body of the universe—which contains the same things as it does, and indeed things even more beautiful in every respect—did not happen to be ensouled? pr. Clearly from nowhere else, Socrates.59

And Socrates drives the point home by claiming that it would be absurd if there were soul in our sphere but not in the cosmos (30a–b). So here the idea is that there is soul both in our sphere and in the cosmos, and—as with the elements—the former is somehow derived from the latter. This is compatible with the view that our individual souls are actual parts of the divine cosmic soul, but does not strictly entail it, and is compatible also with other possibilities. In particular, our individual souls might be derived from the divine cosmic soul in the sense of having been separated off from it. The Socratic argument enjoyed considerable success among the Stoics. We find it quoted with admiration by Balbus in Cic. ND 2.18 (cf. 3.27): Yet even from the intelligence of human beings we should infer the existence of some mind [sc. in the universe]—indeed, a sharper and divine mind. For otherwise, whence did the human being ‘get hold’ of this mind of his [unde enim hanc homo ‘arripuit’], as Socrates says in Xenophon? If anyone asks the question, whence we get [unde habeamus] the moisture and the heat diffused 58

59

Actually it is so unclear that ἄρχεται (29c5) was corrected into an innocuous αὔξεται, ‘is augmented’, by Jackson. The correction is adopted by Burnet’s 1901 Oxford Classical Text and Frede 1997, but rejected by Diès in his Budé edition of 1941. Plato Phileb. 30a.

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francesco ademollo throughout the body, and the actual earthy solidity of the flesh, and lastly that breath which animates us,60 it is manifest that we have derived [sumpsimus] the one from earth, the other from water, and the other from the air which we call ‘breath’. But where did we find, whence did we take [unde invenimus, unde sustulimus] that other part of us which surpasses all of these, I mean our reason, and (if you like to employ several terms to denote it) our mind, deliberation, thought, prudence? Is the world to contain all the other elements but not this one, which is the most precious?

Thereby, however, Balbus introduces two small deviations from the passage in Xenophon. First, he makes it clear that the argument is concerned with the material constitution and the mind of all human beings, not just of Aristodemus. Secondly, Balbus ascribes to Socrates the positive claim that we have ‘derived’ or ‘taken’ our mind from the divine mind that rules the universe. This claim was compatible with Xenophon’s text but not at all explicit in it, as we saw above. It might be the result of a conflation between Xenophon and the Philebus in Cicero’s source: Balbus’ rhetorical questions (unde . . . hanc homo ‘arripuit’ . . . ?, unde sustulimus?) are vaguely reminiscent of συναρπάσαι in Mem. 1.4.8, but what they literally correspond to is πόθεν . . . λαβόν . . . ; at Phileb. 30a. The same conflation is likely to lie behind another quotation from Xenophon in a later author. Sextus Empiricus’ Against the Physicists 1 contains a section (M 9.75–122) devoted to Stoic arguments for the existence of the gods on the grounds of the cosmic order.61 This section is apparently based on a Stoic source and contains several close parallels to Cicero ND 2. Among other things, it also includes a quotation and paraphrase of some of the arguments put forward in the passage of Xenophon (M 9.92–100). Here is how Sextus—or his source—reports our argument, omitting its first lines: ‘And this’, he says, ‘even though you know that you have only a small part [μικρὸν μέρος] of earth in your body, while there is a large amount; and that you also have a tiny bit of moisture, while there is a large amount; and similarly for air and fire—and yet whence do you think you got hold of intelligence alone by some lucky accident [εὐτυχῶς πόθεν δοκεῖς συναρπάσαι], though it exists nowhere?’62 60

61

Animum . . . illum spirabilem: in context it seems to be a reference not to breath in the technical Stoic sense or to soul but rather to air: cf. ND 2.91 terra . . . circumfusa undique est hac animali spirabilique natura cui nomen est aer. See OLD s.v. animus, 4—where, however, only this passage is cited. Mayor 1880–5: II, 101 approves of Brieger’s correction of animum . . . illum into animam . . . illam precisely on the grounds that animus normally does not refer to air whereas anima often does (cf. OLD s.v. 1–2). On this section, and on the structure of Against the Physicists 1, see Bett 2015. 62 SE M 9.94.

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In the final clause Sextus replaces the indefinite adverb πως (‘somehow’), which we find in Xenophon, with the interrogative πόθεν (‘whence?’), which corresponds to Cicero’s unde and like it derives, I submit, from the occurrence of the same adverb in the Philebus. Conceivably, both Cicero and Sextus might depend on a common Stoic source, which was responsible for the Xenophon-Philebus conflation as well as for other parallels between ND 2 and M 9.63 So far the outcome of our historical digression is this. The Stoic doctrine that the individual soul is a part of the divine cosmic soul is not to be found exactly either in the earlier texts (Xenophon and Plato), where we have detected at most some suggestion which could be developed in that direction, or in their later Stoic reprises (Cicero and Sextus). To complete our excursus we shall now turn to another Platonic text, the Timaeus. As is now widely recognised,64 the Timaeus contains several precedents of Stoic physical doctrines: an active, benevolent god—the demiurge—who is the author of the order of the cosmos; a cosmos regarded as divine and as a living being, inhabited by a cosmic soul which maintains its order; a passive material (or quasi-material) principle which is the subject of the action of God and the cosmic soul. In the Timaeus, God is described as distinct from the cosmic soul—indeed as its maker. But the literal trustworthiness of the Timaeus’ creation story was questioned by Plato’s first students;65 and the Stoics might well have adopted an interpretation identifying God with the immanent cosmic soul, i.e. conflating them into a single divine principle immanent to the material principle. The existence of such an ancient interpretation is suggested by a fragment of Theophrastus,66 by a doxographical report preserved in Cicero and representing the views of Antiochus of Ascalon,67 and by other testimonies.68 The ancient Stoics were obviously familiar with the Timaeus69 and even paid explicit homage to it by referring to their God as ‘demiurge of the universe and as it were 63 64 65 66 67 68 69

The Stoic source of ND 2 is usually supposed to be Posidonius: see Rackham 1933: xvii, Walsh 1998: xxix–xxx. See already Hahm 1977: 39–48, 136–9, and more recently Reydams-Schils 1999; Sedley 1999: 384–6; Sedley 2002; Betegh 2003; Frede 2005; Ademollo 2012. See Arist. DC 1.10, 279b32–280a10. Fr. 230 FHS&G = Simpl. in Ph. 26.7–15 Diels; see already Long and Sedley 1987: II, 27. Cic. Acad. 1.24–9. Cic. Acad. 2.118; Aristocles ap. Eus. PE 15.14.1 = SVF 1.98 = LS 45G; DL 3.69. See the unmistakable echo of Tim. 74e–75c in a verbal quotation from Chrysippus in Aul. Gell. 7.1.10–11 = SVF 2.1170 = LS 54Q. The parallel is recognised in Long and Sedley 1987: I, 332.

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father of everything’.70 Therefore Calcidius (294) was probably right when he claimed that their conception of the principles was partly drawn from Plato. Now, according to the Timaeus’ creation story, God first prepared a special mixture and made from it the cosmic soul (35a–36e); then he took the remains of the mixture’s ingredients and mixed them again ‘in somewhat the same way, though these were no longer invariably and constantly pure, but of a second and third grade of purity’ (41d);71 and finally he used this new mixture to make the rational part of human souls, which he endowed with the same structure and ‘kindred’ (συγγενεῖς, 47b) motions as the cosmic soul. Thus our souls are akin to the cosmic soul, but are inferior to it and, most importantly, not parts of it. Thereby, as Sarah Broadie says, the Timaeus’ story ‘combines our cosmic kinship with our distinct moral autonomy’.72 So the Timaeus encouraged the Stoics to stress the affinity between the individual souls and the cosmic soul, but not to conceive of the former as parts of the latter. Now, of course the Stoics had other sources of inspiration. Similar views had been held by, or could be read into, Presocratic philosophers like Heraclitus, Anaxagoras, and Diogenes of Apollonia.73 Indeed, I have myself suggested elsewhere that the interpretation of the Timaeus in terms of physical dualism was recommended to ancient readers by a comparison with another Platonic dialogue, the Cratylus, whose etymologies (in which the Stoics were keenly interested) contain a dualist doctrine strikingly similar to the Stoic one in a number of respects: an active principle, fiery or akin to fire, identified with Zeus and ‘the good’, pervades another, passive principle and thus governs and causes everything.74 This Cratylus doctrine does seem to be committed to identifying the individual 70

71 72 73

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δημιουργὸν τῶν ὅλων καὶ ὥσπερ πατέρα πάντων, DL 7.147 = SVF 2.1021 = LS 54A; cf. Tim. 28c τὸν . . . ποιητὴν καῖ πατέρα τοῦδε τοῦ παντός, 41a δημιουργὸς πατήρ τε. For the Stoic God as ‘demiurge’ see also DL 7.134 = SVF 2.300 = LS 44B, DL 7.137 = SVF 2.526 = LS 44F. Trans. Zeyl 2000. Broadie 2012: 20; see also 19–21, 92–104, where she emphasises the importance of this distinction. Heraclitus: see Clem. Strom. 6.16 p. 746 = 22 B36 DK; Hippolytus Haer. 9.10.7–8 = B64–6 DK; Stob. 1.73 = B117; Stob. 1.74–6 = B118, with Betegh’s 2007 reconstruction (for a more recent discussion of Heraclitus, as well as of Anaximenes and other Presocratics, see Laks 2018). Anaxagoras: see Simpl. In Phys. 164.23–4 = DK 59 a11, and Sedley 2007: 11. Diogenes: see Simpl. In Phys. 152.22–153.13 = 64 B5 DK. See, moreover, Betegh’s 2007 discussion of what he calls the ‘portion model’ of the soul-cosmos relation among the Presocratics. Crat. 412c–413d, 417b–c, 418a–419b, etc. See Ademollo 2011 on the Cratylus passages, and Ademollo 2012 more specifically on the connection with the Stoics.

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soul with a part of the active principle, although the point is never made explicitly. Still, despite these antecedents, it is fair to say that the Stoics went beyond their predecessors in two respects. First, they put forward the partwhole view of the relation between the two souls more overtly and emphatically than anyone had previously done. Secondly, they did so while at the same time associating that view with the analogy view of the same relation.

4. Proofs that the Cosmos Is Ensouled So far I have said nothing about the arguments by which the Stoics attempted to prove that the cosmos has a soul. There were several such arguments, and it will be helpful to have some of them at hand as we go on. In particular, I devote this section to three well-known arguments ascribed to Zeno himself by Cicero ND 2.20–2. The first argument is terrible and goes along these lines: ‘What is ensouled is superior to what is not ensouled; but nothing is superior to the cosmos; therefore the cosmos is ensouled.’75 We shall leave it aside.76 The second argument is based on the part-whole relation between individual ensouled beings and the cosmos: Nothing that lacks the ability to perceive can have a part that has the ability to perceive [nullius sensu carentis pars aliqua potest esse sentiens]; but the parts of the world have the ability to perceive; therefore the world does not lack the ability to perceive.77

This looks like a blatant fallacy. Wholes need not share the features of their parts: if X is a part of Y, and X is F, it does not follow that Y too is F. However, something can be said in mitigation if we consider another version of the same argument from Sextus Empiricus, which, together with the Ciceronian testimony, constitutes SVF 1.114. At first glance the parallel is fairly close: The nature that contains the rational natures is certainly rational [ἡ τὰς λογικὰς περιέχουσα φύσεις πάντως ἐστὶ λογική]; for it is not possible for the whole to be worse than the part [οὐ γὰρ οἷόν τε τὸ ὅλον τοῦ μέρους χεῖρον εἶναι].78 75 76 77

Cic. ND 2.20–1, SE M 9.104 = SVF 1.111. See Sedley 2007: 225–30 for a commentary, and Schofield 1983 generally on Zeno’s three arguments. Cic. ND 2.22 = LS 54G. 78 SE M 9.85.

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But the Sextan passage does not stand on its own. It comes at the end of a complex argument, M. 9.78–85, which has to be considered in its entirety.79 There Sextus—or rather his source—argues that the cosmos is a body neither ‘composed of things fastened together’ (ἐκ συναπτομένων), that is, an artificial unity of juxtaposed items, such as a chain or a ship, nor ‘composed of things standing apart’ (ἐκ διεστώτων), that is, a collection of physically discrete items such as an army or a flock. Rather, the ‘affinities’ or ‘reciprocal influences’ (συμπάθειαι) obtaining within the cosmos (e.g. the influence of the moon and the stars on things on earth) prove that the cosmos is a single ‘unified’ (ἡνωμένον) body.80 As such it must be sustained, at the very least, by a single tenor or cohesive force (ἕξις).81 Actually, however, the cosmos cannot be sustained merely by tenor, because it is capable of undergoing autonomous changes; therefore it must be sustained by something stronger, that is, nature (φύσις, here understood in a generic sense inclusive of soul). This nature must be the ‘best’ nature, since it contains the natures of all things; but the nature containing the natures of all things contains also the rational natures. And ‘the nature that contains the rational natures is certainly rational; for it is not possible for the whole to be worse than the part’ (9.85: this is the passage quoted above, included by von Arnim in SVF 1.114). Thus Sextus does not seem to report a general, fallacious inference from the features of a part to those of an unqualified whole. The things that make up a body merely ‘composed of things fastened together’ or ‘composed of things standing apart’ are its ‘parts’ (μέρη, 9.80); hence also bodies belonging to these two classes presumably count as ‘wholes’. In the light of the way the argument proceeds, however, the final inference is likely to be restricted to those wholes which are ‘unified’ bodies, namely to bodies provided with an internal principle of physical cohesion—or even more specifically to those bodies which are unified not just by tenor but by nature. If this is right, then the Stoics are not arguing that, for any X and Y, if X is a part of Y, and X is ensouled (or rational, or capable of perception), then Y is ensouled as well. Rather, the Stoics are arguing specifically that, for any unified bodies X and Y—or, even more specifically, for any naturally unified bodies X and Y—if X is a part of Y, and X is ensouled, then Y is 79 80

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Von Arnim actually did take a comprehensive view of the Sextan passage when he classified it as SVF 2.1013. On the distinction between these three classes of bodies, cf. Plut. Praec. coniug. 142e–f = SVF 2.366; Plut. Def. orac. 426a = SVF 2.367; Achilles Isagοge 14 = SVF 2.368; Simpl. In Cat. 214.24–37 = LS 28M. On ἕξις, φύσις, and ψυχή see section 1 above.

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ensouled as well. The interdependence between the parts and the whole in this kind of body is supposed to justify the transfer of certain features from the parts to the whole. This inference is much more respectable than the one we seemed to detect at first.82 We have encountered the first two of the trio of arguments to the conclusion that the cosmos is ensouled which are ascribed to Zeno in Cic. ND 2.20–2. The first was the dismal ‘Nothing Superior to the Cosmos’ argument; the second was the ‘Part-Whole’ argument. We can now take a look at the third: The same author goes on and presses his point more closely. He says, ‘Nothing which lacks soul [animi] and reason can beget [generare] from itself something which is ensouled and endowed with reason; but the world begets beings which are ensouled and endowed with reason [mundus autem generat animantis compotesque rationis]; therefore the cosmos is ensouled and endowed with reason.’ And he concluded his argument with a comparison, as he often does, in this way: ‘If from an olive tree flutes playing musical tunes were born, would you doubt that the olive tree possessed some knowledge of the art of flute playing? What if plane trees bore well-tuned lutes? Of course you would think the same, namely that there was some music in the plane trees. Why, then, should the world not be judged ensouled and wise, since it begets from itself ensouled and wise beings [cur igitur mundus non animans sapiensque iudicetur, cum ex se procreet animantis atque sapientis]?83

Let us dub this the ‘Father-Offspring’ argument. It too has a parallel in Sextus, M 9—in fact two parallels. The first is placed immediately before Sextus’ version of the previous ‘Part-Whole’ argument and does not mention Zeno: What is capable of generating something rational and wise is certainly itself rational and wise [τὸ γεννητικὸν λογικοῦ καὶ φρονίμου πάντως καὶ αὐτὸ λογικόν ἐστι καὶ φρόνιμον]. But the power mentioned above84 is of a nature to produce human beings; therefore it will turn out to be rational and wise —which was agreed to be a characteristic of a divine nature. Therefore there are gods.85

Thus the cosmos (in Cicero), or its divine soul (in Sextus), is said to ‘generate’ or ‘beget’ individual ensouled beings; and this is considered as a reason for taking the cosmos itself to be ensouled too. To assess this 82 83 84 85

Cf. Moreau 1939: 175 and Schofield 1983: 45–6—who do not, however, argue on the basis of M 9.78–85. Cic. ND 2.22 = SVF 1.112–3 = LS 54G. This is the αὐτοκίνητος δύναμις of 9.75–6 = SVF 2.311 = LS 44C; cf. section 1. SE M 9.77 = SVF 2.1020.

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argument we should of course acquire several missing pieces of information, among other things how literally the reference to generation is meant to be taken. We shall raise such questions, and also read the second version of the argument preserved by Sextus, in sections 5–6 below.

5. More on the ‘Father-Offspring’ Argument The ‘Father-Offspring’ argument belongs to a set of passages in which the Stoics compare the relation between God or the cosmic soul, on the one hand, and the cosmos and the individual beings it contains, on the other, to the relation of generation obtaining between a father and his offspring. A convenient starting point is the well-known comparison between the role of God in the genesis of the cosmos after each conflagration and the role of seed in animal reproduction: God and intellect and fate and Zeus are one thing, which is called by many other names. In the beginning all by itself he turned the entire substance through air into water. And just as the seed is contained in the seminal fluid [ὥσπερ ἐν τῇ γονῇ τὸ σπέρμα περιέχεται], so God, who is the seminal reason [σπερματικὸν λόγον] of the cosmos, stays behind as such in the moisture, making matter serviceable to himself for the genesis of the successive stages.86

Alternatively—but perhaps equivalently—God encompasses ‘all the seminal reasons [πάντας τοὺς σπερματικοὺς λόγους] according to which everything comes into being according to fate’.87 The idea is that God contains the genetic instructions, as it were, which determine the development of that particular animal which is the cosmos and of everything it contains. This is why he can be identified with fate.88 Indeed, God is also said to generate or beget individual beings in the cosmos —more precisely, individual human beings. He was described so in the ‘Father-Offspring’ argument ascribed by Cicero to Zeno, from which I took my cue for this section. After quoting it I mentioned two parallels in Sextus 86 88

DL 7.135–6 = SVF 1.102, 2.580 = LS 46B. 87 Aët. 1.7.33 = SVF 2.1027 = LS 46A. Cf. Aristocles ap. Eus. PE 15.14.2 = SVF 1.98 = LS 46G: ‘The primary fire is as it were a seed [καθαπερεί τι σπέρμα] which possesses the reasons of all things [τῶν ἁπάντων ἔχον τοὺς λόγους] and the causes of the things that have come to be, those that come to be and those that will be.’ Cf. also Stob. 1.17.3 = Ar. Did. Fr. Phys. 38 Diels, Dox. 470 = SVF 1.497: ‘Just as all the parts of some one thing are born out of seeds at the appropriate times, so also the parts of the universe, among which both animals and plants are included, are born at the appropriate times. And just as certain reasons of the parts [τινὲς λόγοι τῶν μερῶν] mix together as they unite into the seed, and then are separated again as the parts come into being, so from one thing all come into being and from all things one is composed, in a cycle which proceeds methodically and harmoniously.’

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and presented the first of them.89 The second parallel occurs a few paragraphs later, after the quotation from Xenophon (M 9.92–4, cf. above) and after various ensuing paraphrases, objections, and replies (M 9.95–100): Zeno of Citium, taking his starting point from Xenophon, argues in this way: ‘What emits seed of a rational thing is itself rational [τὸ προϊέμενον σπέρμα λογικοῦ καὶ αὐτὸ λογικόν ἐστιν]. But the cosmos emits seed of a rational thing [ὁ δὲ κόσμος προΐεται σπέρμα λογικοῦ]. Therefore the cosmos is rational.’90

Here the startling idea of the cosmos emitting seed from which human beings grow has no correspondence in Cicero. It is much more concrete than the other references to generation which we have been reviewing so far. It also seems to be incompatible both with common sense and with Chrysippus’ embryology, according to which the foetus is provided with pneuma in the form of φύσις, which only at birth turns into ψυχή.91 But perhaps the reference to a cosmic emission of seed was not really meant to be taken literally or imply that every single human being is the direct outcome of such an emission. The real point might have been just that the primeval human beings were generated directly from some fragment of the divine principle and could therefore be regarded as God’s offspring. This is ascribed to Zeno also by other sources: Zeno of Citium, the founder of the Stoic school of philosophy, held that the origin of the human race lay at the beginning of the world. The first humans were born of the earth with the support of divine fire, that is, the providence of God [primosque homines ex solo, adminiculo divini ignis, id est Dei providentia, genitos].92

A version of the same idea may be covertly present in a text in which Diogenes Laertius ascribes to ‘Chrysippus, in book 1 of On Providence, and Apollodorus in his Physics, and Posidonius’ the argument that the cosmos is ensouled [ἔμψυχον], as is evident from our soul’s being a fragment derived from there [ἐκ τῆς ἡμετέρας ψυχῆς ἐκεῖθεν οὔσης ἀποσπάσματος].93

This is often quoted as evidence for the Stoic doctrine that the individual soul is a part of the cosmic soul; but such a construal can be accepted only 89 90 91 92

93

Cf. also Epict. Diss. 1.3, claiming that Zeus is the father of both human beings and gods. SE M 9.101 = SVF 1.113. See Hierocles 1.5–30 CPF 1** = LS 53B; Plut. Stoic. Repug. 1052f (cited by Long and Sedley 1987 in their notes on 53B), 1053c–d = SVF 2.806 = LS 53C. Censorinus De die natali 4.10 = SVF 1.124. Trans. after Parker 2007. The connection was suggested by Hoven 1971: 42–3 and n. 1; see also the apparatus of Sallmann 1983, and cf. Varro Ling. lat. 5.59 = SVF 1.126; Cic. Leg. 1.24 = SVF 2.738; Orig. Cels. 1.37 = SVF 2.739. DL 7.143 = SVF 2.633 = LS 53X.

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with certain qualifications. The individual soul is said to be an ἀπόσπασμα ‘from there’, namely from the cosmos. Now, the noun ἀπόσπασμα refers (as its etymology from the verb ἀποσπάω makes clear) to something that has been detached, separated, or even severed from something other. So the individual soul is said to be a detached fragment or part of the cosmos.94 And from this it follows that it is a fragment of the cosmic soul in the first place. But there is more to the term ἀπόσπασμα. We have ample evidence, collected in SVF 1.128,95 that Zeno described the male seed as ψυχῆς ἀπόσπασμα (‘a fragment derived from the soul’) or, according to some versions, ψυχῆς μέρος καὶ ἀπόσπασμα (‘a part and fragment derived from the soul’).96 This can be readily explained: the seed is one of the eight parts of the soul (see the sources cited above in the section 1); when it is emitted, therefore, it becomes a detached part or fragment of the soul. Therefore the description of the individual soul as an ἀπόσπασμα of the cosmic soul, implied in DL 7.143, can be read as implicitly comparing the individual soul to seed emitted by the cosmic soul—whether this is just a metaphor to stress the affinity between the two souls or is also a reference to Zeno’s story, which we read above, about the origins of humankind. Now several comments are in order. First, we have shifted from the notion that God is the seed from which the cosmos and its parts grow to the notion that God contains such seeds, and from this in turn to the notion that God (or the cosmos) emits them. These are different comparisons and it is unclear whether they are all essentially 94

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The ἀπόσπασμα-ἀποσπάω connection is explicit in DL 8.28 (about the Pythagoreans), quoted with other passages in the comments of Pease 1973: 297–8 and Wardle 2006: 373 on the claim, in Cic. Div. 1.110, that our souls were ‘derived and plucked’ (haustos . . . et libatos) from the nature of the gods. My translation of ἐκεῖθεν . . . ἀπόσπασμα follows Inwood and Gerson 2008; cf. Goulet 1999 ‘qui en est un fragment’. Long and Sedley 1987 translate ‘an offshoot of it’, which is potentially misleading, because an ‘offshoot’ is usually a side shoot growing from a plant but not severed from it. NB: I am using ‘detached’ as a past participle equivalent to ‘separated’ or ‘dissevered’, to qualify a part as having been detached from a whole. I am not using it as an adjective to qualify a part which simply lacks physical continuity with the other parts of the whole (e.g. Gibraltar in relation to the United Kingdom). My thanks to Sir Noel Malcolm for lexical advice on this. Cited by Rist 1969: 265 and Long and Sedley 1987: II, 321. See e.g. Eus. PE 15.20.1 = Ar. Did. Fr. Phys. 39 Diels, Dox. 470.17–18; Theodoret Graecarum affectionum curatio 5.25; Aët. 5.4.1 = Dox. 417.19–20; cf. [Gal.] Definitiones medicae 94, 19.370 Kühn (ψυχῆς μέρους ἅρπαγμα, ‘subtraction of a part of the soul’); Plut. De cohibenda ira 462f (τὸ σπέρμα . . . ἀπεσπασμένον). Cf. also the echo in Plut. Plat. Quaest. 1001a. Epict. Diss. 1.14.6 is also harking back to this turn of phrase when he claims that our souls are μόρια . . . καὶ ἀποσπάσματα of God (see section 2 above). But he seems to be actually using it in a way which is different from the original use and even inconsistent with it. For he is insisting that our souls are parts of God in the strong sense I singled out at the end of the first section, namely by being physically continuous with him in such a way as to allow for the transmission of presentations from them to him. And this is at odds with the original meaning of the term ἀπόσπασμα.

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equivalent to each other.97 The common underlying idea seems to be that there is a basic affinity both between God and the cosmos and between God (or the cosmos) and individual living beings; and that this affinity should be understood in biological or quasi-biological terms, on the model of the father-offspring relation. In this connection it may be significant that human beings are the only individual beings considered as the second term of the father-offspring relation. For God, the cosmos, and human beings are the only rational living beings acknowledged by the Stoics. Secondly, we should once more recall and bring to bear the distinction, first formulated in the section 1, between the three senses of ‘soul’, or the three ways of conceiving of the soul: the A-soul, the B-soul, and the C-soul. Which of these is at stake in Diogenes Laertius’ testimony? The metaphor would be more pregnant if it were the B-soul, which is capable of emitting seed. The idea would then be that the individual B-soul can be described as a detached part of the cosmic B-soul. Is this consistent with the hypothesis I proposed in the section 2 above, namely that the individual B-soul is (or should be) a part of the cosmic A-soul but not of the cosmic B-soul? Yes. For a detached part is not—or no longer—a part in the strong physical sense of ‘part’ in which we are interested here. Therefore the Stoics could consistently hold that • • • •

the individual B-soul is a part of the cosmic A-soul, the individual B-soul is not a part of the cosmic B-soul, the individual B-soul is analogous or akin to the cosmic B-soul, the relation between the cosmic B-soul and the individual B-soul is at least comparable to that between a whole organism and a part which has been detached from it and, more precisely, to that between a father and the seed he emits.

6. Appendix: Sextus Empiricus, Adversus Mathematicos 9.102–3 Recall the Zenonian argument which Sextus quoted in M 9.101 and which we read in section 5: What emits seed of a rational thing is itself rational. But the cosmos emits seed of a rational thing. Therefore the cosmos is rational. 97

Among other things, these different comparisons pose the difficult question of what ‘seminal reasons’ are supposed to be exactly and where they are to be found in the fully developed universe. Are they still in God’s mind? Are they somehow present in individual beings? This question is also relevant to the Sextan text we shall discuss in the Appendix.

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After the quotation from Zeno, Sextus adds a passage which clearly derives from his anonymous Stoic source98 and which amounts to a commentary on Zeno’s argument. Here is how it begins: And the persuasiveness of the argument is plain. For in every nature and soul the beginning of motion seems to come into being from the leading part [πάσης . . . φύσεως καὶ ψυχῆς ἡ καταρχὴ τῆς κινήσεως γίνεσθαι δοκεῖ ἀπὸ ἡγεμονικοῦ], and all the powers that are dispatched to the parts of the whole [πᾶσαι αἱ ἐπὶ τὰ μέρη τοῦ ὅλου ἐξαποστελλόμεναι δυνάμεις] are dispatched from the leading part as from a sort of spring [ὡς ἀπό τινος πηγῆς τοῦ ἡγεμονικοῦ ἐξαποστέλλονται], so that every power that belongs to the part also belongs to the whole [ὥστε πᾶσαν δύναμιν τὴν περὶ τὸ μέρος οὖσαν καὶ περὶ τὸ ὅλον εἶναι] because of being transmitted from the leading part in it [διὰ τὸ ἀπὸ τοῦ ἐν αὐτῷ ἡγεμονικοῦ διαδίδοσθαι]. Hence whatever the part is like in its power, such is the whole with a much higher priority [ὅθεν οἷόν ἐστι τὸ μέρος τῇ δυνάμει, τοιοῦτον πολὺ πρότερόν ἐστι τὸ ὅλον].99

On the most natural construal of this passage, Anonymous claims that, generally speaking, in ‘every nature and soul’ (which means nothing more than just ‘every soul’: cf. n. 31 on φύσις = ψυχή) the parts derive not only ‘the beginning of motion’, but also their ‘powers’, from the individual ἡγεμονικόν, ‘as from a sort of spring’, in such a way that they possess secondarily and derivatively the properties which it—and hence the whole organism—possesses primarily and independently. It is as though the individual ἡγεμονικόν ‘were the locus of the “essence” or “nature” of the entity’.100 This is, on the face of it, quite an extreme and problematic conception of the pre-eminence of the ἡγεμονικόν, even though the spring image does go back to Chrysippus (cf. velut ex capite fontis in Calcidius 220 = SVF 2.879 = LS 53G). A remedy is offered by an alternative interpretation, suggested to me by Charles Brittain: ‘every nature and soul’ could actually be an instance of the technical Stoic distinction between φύσις and ψυχή (see the first section above) and hence contain a reference to plants. And then, since plants have no ἡγεμονικόν, Anonymous would be speaking not of every ἡγεμονικόν, but just of the divine cosmic one, and describing it as the ultimate source of motion for every plant and animal. A drawback of Brittain’s interpretation is that it seems hard to read the passage’s initial

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This is because (as Sedley 2007: 211 noticed) the passage’s first sentence, ‘And the persuasiveness of the argument is plain’, cannot have been originally written by Sextus: these are the words of a cardcarrying Stoic, whom Sextus is quoting. SE M 9.102. 100 Brad Inwood, personal communication.

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mention of the ἡγεμονικόν as a specific reference to the divine ἡγεμονικόν. We shall see, however, that other considerations even up the balance. Either way, the anonymous source ultimately aims—as will become clearer in what follows—to construe Zeno’s reference to the emission of seed as a metaphorical reference to the distribution of motion and of ‘every power’ from the divine cosmic ἡγεμονικόν to the parts of the cosmos. In the original Zenonian formulation the transmission of seed from father to offspring (i.e. from God or the cosmos to human beings) ensures that the offspring resemble the father; hence from the rationality of the offspring we can infer that of the father. On the reformulation of Anonymous, the transmission of powers from the cosmic ἡγεμονικόν to the cosmic parts ensures that the parts resemble the ἡγεμονικόν—and indeed the whole cosmos, on the implicit assumption that the cosmos can be identified with its soul and the soul with its ἡγεμονικόν. Hence from the rationality of the cosmic parts we can infer that of the cosmos. (In fact the inference seems to be idle if not question-begging: if we assume that there is a cosmic ἡγεμονικόν in the first place, then it is obvious that the cosmos is rational.) Zeno’s argument, as quoted by Sextus in M 9.101, was a version of the third, ‘Father-Offspring’ argument reported in Cic. ND 2.22. Anonymous is reinterpreting it as actually a version of Cicero’s second, ‘Part-Whole’ argument. And he does so in a way which confirms a hypothesis we made in the fourth section about that second argument: that its inference from a feature of the parts to a feature of the whole was not a trivial fallacy, but was grounded in the specific nature of the whole and parts involved.101 Anonymous’ metaphorical interpretation cancels a distinction which so far we had been able to observe and which seemed potentially important. His reference to the transmission of powers from the cosmic ἡγεμονικόν (the leading part of the cosmic B-soul) to the parts of the cosmos, including the individual soul, and his comparison with the relation between a spring and the physically continuous stream of water flowing from it, suggest that he regards the individual soul as a genuine part of the cosmic B-soul. And that is precisely the view which, I have supposed, the early Stoics did not hold, or at least would have done better not to hold. It is, on the other hand, the view which would seem to be held by Epictetus (see section 2 above), whose teaching is probably 101

As Schofield 1983: 46 says, ‘This interpretation in effect defends the syllogism about wholes and parts in Cicero by a whole-part version of the production syllogism.’ But Schofield seems to think that this corresponded to Zeno’s aims (he goes on: ‘and so clarifies their logical relationship, which is something whose existence is implied but whose nature is not specified in Cicero’s text’). I suspect, instead, that Anonymous might be blurring an important distinction: see below.

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somewhat earlier than Sextus. There are also some possible parallels in Marcus Aurelius.102 In Med. 2.4 he claims that each of us is both a part (μέρος) of the cosmos and an effluence or emanation (ἀπόρροια) of the ruler of the cosmos (i.e. the divine ἡγεμονικόν). Likewise at Med. 12.26 we read that ‘The intellect of each is God and has flowed from there’ (ὁ ἑκάστου νοῦς θεὸς καὶ ἐκεῖθεν ἐρρύηκε). See also 12.2: God sees all ἡγεμονικά stripped of their material vessels . . . with his own intelligence alone [μόνῳ . . . τῷ ἑαυτοῦ νοερῷ] he is in touch with those things alone which have flowed and have welled forth from himself into them [μόνων ἅπτεται τῶν ἐξ ἑαυτοῦ εἰς ταῦτα ἐρρυηκότων καὶ ἀπωχετευμένων].103

Here the ‘things . . . which have flowed and have welled forth from himself into them’ are individual ἡγεμονικά which have occupied ‘material vessels’. These parallels, though not compelling, lend some support to Brittain’s construal of the beginning of the passage as already concerned just with the divine ἡγεμονικόν and with its status as the source of ‘all the powers’ of every part of the cosmos. But however that may be, the parallels also suggest, more importantly, that Anonymous is a later Stoic, whose doctrines might well not be completely in line with those of his early predecessors. Let us get back to the text of Sextus’ passage. In the next paragraph Anonymous makes his exegetical strategy more explicit by focusing on the argument’s second premise and the conclusion: And for this reason, if the cosmos emits seed of a rational animal [εἰ προΐεται λογικοῦ ζῴου σπέρμα ὁ κόσμος], not like a human by way of ejaculation, but insofar as it contains the seeds of rational animals [οὐχ ὡς ὁ ἄνθρωπος κατὰ ἀποβρασμόν, ἀλλὰ καθὸ περιέχει σπέρματα λογικῶν ζῴων], then the all contains them [περιέχει τὸ πᾶν], not as we would say that the vine is capable of containing the grape stones (i.e. independently), but because seminal reasons of rational animals are contained in it [οὐχ ὡς ἂν εἴποιμεν τὴν ἄμπελον γιγάρτων εἶναι περιεκτικήν, τουτέστι κατὰ περιγραφήν, ἀλλ’ ὅτι λόγοι σπερματικοὶ λογικῶν ζῴων ἐν αὐτῷ περιέχονται]. So what is being said is like this: ‘but the cosmos contains seminal reasons of rational animals; therefore the cosmos is rational’ [ὥστε εἶναι τοιοῦτο τὸ λεγόμενον· “ὁ δέ γε κόσμος περιέχει σπερματικοὺς λόγους λογικῶν ζῴων· λογικὸς ἄρα ἐστὶν ὁ κόσμος”].104 102 103

The following texts are cited by Rist 1969: 270. Med. 12.2 is cited also by Algra 2009: 368, who however does not read it as involving continuity of B-soul between God and us. Trans. after Haines 1930. 104 SE M 9.103.

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Suspicions have been raised about the text;105 but its substance is clear. Anonymous states a twofold reinterpretation. First, the claim in the second premise that the cosmos ‘emits seed of a rational animal’ does not refer to a real ejaculation, but rather to the fact that the cosmos contains seeds of rational animals: ‘emits’ (προΐεται) has to be reinterpreted non-literally as ‘contains’ (περιέχει). Secondly, the claim, thus reconstructed, needs a further clarification, concerning the nature of the containment in question. Here it is less clear what Anonymous means. He wants to rule out the way in which a vine contains grape stones;106 and he describes it with the phrase κατὰ περιγραφήν, which seems to mean something like ‘discretely, independently, separately’. That is its meaning in all but one of the other occurrences in Sextus107 and in a couple of testimonies about the Stoic theory of mixtures, where it occurs together with the term παράθεσις to refer to the kind of mixture in which the parts of the ingredients remain ‘selfcontained’ and juxtaposed, as opposed to the kind called ‘blending’ (κρᾶσις), which involves the total interpenetration of two bodies, such as pneuma and matter.108 105

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Bury 1936 emended the apodosis περιέχει τὸ πᾶν to περιέχει {τὸ πᾶν}: ‘if the cosmos emits seed of a rational animal, [it does so] not like a human by way of ejaculation, but insofar as it contains the seeds of rational animals, and it contains [them] not as we would say that the vine . . . ’. Thus Anonymous would be no longer assuming that ‘emits’ = ‘contains’ and proceeding to explain the kind of containment in play, but would be both proposing that ‘emits’ = ‘contains’ and then explaining the kind of containment in play. The emendation is not economical; and the transmitted text can be defended, although the change of subject from ὁ κόσμος in the protasis to τὸ πᾶν in the apodosis is clumsy. The clumsiness would be removed if we could take τὸ πᾶν not as the subject of περιέχει but as the object: not ‘the all contains [them]’ but ‘[it = the cosmos] contains everything’. It is, however, doubtful whether this is linguistically possible: τὸ πᾶν should apparently mean ‘the all’, not ‘everything’, and hence is naturally construed as referring to the cosmos, not to its contents. (In any case the passage has nothing to do with the Stoic technical distinction, reported e.g. by SE M 9.332 = SVF 2.524 = LS 44A, between τὸ ὅλον = the cosmos and τὸ πᾶν = the cosmos plus the infinite void around it.) I translate ἄμπελος as ‘vine’, which I take to refer to the whole plant. Γίγαρτα means ‘grape stones’, not ‘grapes’ as all interpreters except Meijer 2007: 6 translate. They have to be seeds for the contrast with ‘seminal reasons’ to be pregnant. And they are considered as contained in the vine, rather than in a single grape (as might seem more obvious at first sight), because the vine is the plant which grows from them: the vine is to the grape stones as the cosmos is to the seminal reasons. M 3.86, 7.277, 8.161, 387, 394. The only Sextan instance of a different meaning is M 10.15, where κατὰ περιγραφήν means ‘in a narrow sense’ as opposed to κατὰ πλάτος (‘in a broad sense’). DL 7.151 = SVF 2.479 = LS 48A; Alex. Aphr. Mixt. 216.20 = SVF 2.473 = LS 48C. There are also several occurrences of κατὰ περιγραφήν, or sometimes κατὰ περιγραφὴν ἰδίαν, in Galen; there too the phrase seems to characterise something as having definite contours, whether literally (Ars medica 19.3, 1.353 Kühn) or figuratively (PHP 9.8.16). Bett 2012 translates our κατὰ περιγραφήν as ‘individually’, which is not very clear. Bury 1936 has ‘by way of inclusion’, but this does not seem to be a clearly attested meaning for the phrase κατὰ περιγραφήν and does not, moreover, make for a clear contrast with seminal reasons.

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The idea which Anonymous is trying to convey is perhaps that grape stones are physically separate from one another and separable from the rest of the vine which surrounds them. By contrast, he says, the ‘seminal reasons of rational animals are contained in it’. Here the contrast lies essentially in the difference between ordinary seeds, such as grape stones, and seminal reasons (λόγοι σπερματικοί), which are a very special kind of seed. The point—less than clearly expressed—might be that while grape stones are ‘contained in’ the vine in the sense of being merely placed within it, seminal reasons are ‘contained in’ the universe in the sense that they are parts of it. Indeed, they are parts of it in a very strong sense, as constitutive or essential parts. In principle you could enucleate the grape stones from a vine without consequences for the survival of either the grape stones or the vine; but presumably it would be impossible to remove the seminal reasons from the universe. In light of the use of the phrase κατὰ περιγραφήν elsewhere (see above), we may even wonder whether Anonymous could be hinting that the seminal reasons are not merely juxtaposed, but blended somehow with each other and/or with the rest of the universe, or with some relevant portion of it. However that may be, it seems quite reasonable to suppose that the partwhole relation is playing some role here. For that relation is exactly the one on which Anonymous insisted in 102 as allowing the inference from the rationality of the parts to that of the whole. And he returns to the goal of validating that inference at the end of the present section, where he offers an explicit reformulation of Zeno’s second premise together with a reprise of the conclusion: ‘but the cosmos contains seminal reasons of rational animals; therefore the cosmos is rational’. Let this reassuringly false conclusion mark the end of our own inquiry as well.

chapter 6

Soul, Pneuma, and Blood: The Stoic Conception of the Soul Christelle Veillard *

Introduction Throughout its long history, Stoic philosophy was subjected to much criticism, from inside the school as well as from outside. This is particularly true when it comes to psychology. Roughly speaking, the Stoic soul is characterised by two main features. First, it is defined as a single and entirely rational substance which has no parts, in particular no irrational parts as is the case in Platonic and Aristotelian theories. This psychological monism is the ground for what I will call the ‘Stoic pledge’, namely that the moral agent is absolutely responsible for all his mental acts: impressions (phantasiai) and assents (sunkatatheseis), and also passions, virtues and vices, sensations, and so on. All of these are in our power, because we always have the ability to avoid them, to have second thoughts about them, and to put them right if they are wrong.1 Secondly, from the very beginning of the school, the Stoic soul was described in a physical manner. Physically speaking, it is a hot breath linked to all other breaths in the cosmos by the divine breath. As such, it is one and the same tonikē dunamis. Functionally speaking, however, this tonos or tension admits some variability: the functions of the soul, like sensation, impression, reasoning, are different tensions or dunameis taken on by the soul when aiming at specific tasks. In this way, the rational soul is a very particular item: it is a tension called logos, whose perfection is built only through reason. The Stoics stick to the thesis that virtue is reason and is achieved by reason, not by mere habit or exercise. One could therefore think that their psychological pedagogy undermines, as it were, their physical understanding of the soul. Having described the soul *

1

I am very grateful to all participants of the Symposium Hellenisticum, especially to Brad Inwood, Keimpe Algra, Gabor Betegh, and Teun Tieleman, whose objections and advice helped to improve this essay. I do not discuss here the problem of freedom, which is distinct from the problem of attributability and responsibility. For this question, see Bobzien 1998.

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in very specific physical terms, as a pneuma coming from a vaporisation of the blood,2 and influenced therefore by the inherent qualities of the body (which works like the interface between external qualities like climate, temperature, and external air, and internal ones), they nevertheless are reluctant to explain how all these physical conditions could participate in the shaping of a rational soul, which is controlled for the most part by the hēgemonikon (i.e. reason). The purpose of this essay is to start from a conclusion drawn by David Sedley, in his ‘Chrysippus on Psychophysical Causality’. He writes: ‘the Chrysippean theory takes it as obvious from the start, in true Stoic spirit, that the self which is causa principalis of your every action is not a hermetically sealed intellect pitted against the external world, but you in the broadest sense, incorporating your entire genetic and environmental background’.3 Sedley notes that the Stoic explanation somehow leaves us in the dark as to just how material and mental factors interact causally; he also concludes, at the very end of the paper, that it should by now be quite clear that Chrysippus would not feel any special difficulty about what is in effect the reverse process—how such physical factors as the local atmosphere can causally act upon a person’s psychological condition. A psychological condition is a pneumatic state. And what could have a closer bearing on your pneumatic state than the air you breathe?4

This final remark opens two questions: first, if this is true, is the Stoic pledge in danger? Second, can we have a better account of how the physical background shapes the intellectual one? This essay first reviews how the three first scholarchs presented evidence on this problem. It then moves to Posidonius’ psychology, which contains new tools, probably shaped to this very same purpose. Finally, I hope to show that the Stoic school is marked by a strong continuity when it comes to psychology and that there is no need to make the hypothesis of a ‘Platonic turn’ when it comes to Posidonius5. I suggest that the modifications made by Posidonius are not the result of a sudden idiosyncratic shift, but rather are a further step in the progressive, slow, and inevitable unfolding of a flexible theory built by Zeno, Cleanthes, and Chrysippus. Starting from the definition of the soul as a pneuma, I will try in Section 1 to understand how this specific psychic pneuma is produced. Section 2 shows that, early in the Stoic school, a link is made between soul and blood using Heraclitean and Aristotelian tools, especially the idea of vaporisation 2 5

See below, page 148. 3 Sedley 1993: 325. 4 Sedley 1993: 331. This hypothesis was already suggested by Cooper 1999 and Tieleman 2003.

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(anathumiasis). Section 3 suggests that this could help us to grasp the way Posidonius understands the different levels present in the soul and possible non-rational ways of shaping it. Finally, in Section 4 I suggest that the missing link between the early Stoic conception of the soul described in Section 1 and the Posidonian conception could be Diogenes of Babylonia.

1. The Soul as Pneuma: Zeno, Cleanthes, Chrysippus Let’s first see what is going on in the thought of the first three scholarchs. The Stoic conception of soul draws from their cosmology. A soul is a hot breath (pneuma enthermon) by which we become animate and able to move.6 This special kind of breath called soul is produced by the sudden cooling (psuxis) of a dense kind of pneuma called nature (phusis): we can therefore distinguish between a physical pneuma, present in embryos and plants, and a psychic pneuma, present in living beings like animals and men.7 The former is responsible for nutrition and growth, the latter for sensation and movement.8 There is therefore a strong continuity between God (‘a designing fire which methodically proceeds towards production of the world’ and ‘a breath pervading the whole world’),9 Nature, and Soul, each name standing for a particular tension taken by the same substance, the divine pneuma: ‘[God] bound some bodies by tenor [hexis], others by nature [phusis], others by soul [psuchē], and others by rational soul [logikē psuchē].’10 How can we describe a human being? Whereas the embryo is a kind of plant, having only a nature, the newborn baby acquires a soul. This does 6 7

8 9 10

DL 7.157. Hierocles 1.5–33, 4.38–53 (LS 53B): ‘If the seed falls into the womb at the right time and is gripped by the receptacle in good health, it no longer stays still as before but is energised and begins its own activities. It draws matter from the pregnant body, and fashions the embryo in accordance with inescapable patterns, up to the point when it reaches its goal and makes its product ready to be born. Yet throughout all this time—I mean the time from conception to birth—it remains [in the form of] nature [phusis], i.e. breath, having changed from seed and moving methodically from beginning to end. In the early stages, the nature [phusis] is breath of a rather dense kind and considerably distant from soul; but later, when it is close to birth, it becomes finer . . . So when it passes outside, it is adequate for the environment, with the result that, having been hardened thereby, it is capable of changing into soul. For just as the breath in stones is immediately kindled by a blow, on account of its readiness for this change, so the nature [phusis] of a ripe embryo, once it is born, does not hesitate to change into soul on meeting the environment. So whatever issues forth from the womb is at once an animal’ (trans. Long and Sedley, slightly modified). Cf. Galen Adv. Jul. 5. XVIII A, p. 266 K (SVF 2.718): this source attributes nutrition and growth to nature, sensation and movement to soul. Aetius Plac., I.7.33 (SVF 2.1027; LS 46A, trans. Long and Sedley, slightly modified). Philo Quod deus sit immutabilis 35 (SVF 2.458b; LS 47Q, trans. Long and Sedley, slightly modified).

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not mean, however, that the newborn baby is only a soul; if his body is unified by the psychic pneuma,11 it also has some other inner tensions. Besides the psychic pneuma, the body is also pervaded by a ‘hectic’ one (hexis), which gives rigidity to bones and sinews. Some bodily movements are also vegetative ones and are therefore not integrated into the soul, like the growth of the hair and the nails; the fact that I do not feel pain when my hair is cut is evidence that there is no soul inside it. Therefore, if there is a divine pneuma inside my hair, it is under the tension of phusis.12 A human being is in that case the mixture (krasis) of two corporeal substances: a body, identified as a hectic tension and a particular nature (a colder and wetter kind of pneuma), and a soul, identified as a warmer and drier kind of pneuma (it is an enthermon pneuma, according to the first definition mentioned above, even if it comes from a psuxis). This is the reason why the pneuma is called ‘the proper matter of the soul’ (ὕλη μέν τις οἰκεία τῆς ψυχῆς ἐστι τὸ πνεῦμα); the eidos of this matter is a balanced blend of the air and fire.13 Let’s now have a look at the interaction between body and soul: [1] Zeno, like Heraclitus, calls the soul a vaporisation endowed with sensation [αἰσθητικὴν ἀναθυμίασιν]. For Heraclitus, who wanted to show that souls are always becoming intelligent by vaporisation, likens them to rivers in these words: ‘On those who step into the same rivers a succession of different waters flows’, and ‘Souls are vaporised from moisture’. So Zeno like Heraclitus declares the soul to be a vaporisation.14 11

12 13 14

The body is sustained by glue, like an ark being tarred inside and outside. It is glued by its own tenor, that is the phusis and hexis present in the material elements composing the body (which is presented as being tarred outside) but it is also glued by the tenor of the soul, i.e. from the inside, as is explained in Philo, Questions and Answers on Genesis, 2.4 (LS 47R; SVF 2.802, here trans. Long and Sedley): ‘Our body, which is composed of many parts, is united externally and internally, and it holds firm by its own tenor. And the higher tenor of these parts is the soul: being at the centre, it moves everywhere, right to the surface and from the surface it returns to the centre. The result is that a single animate nature is enveloped by a double bond, thus being fitted to a stronger tenor and union’ (corpus autem nostrum, ex multis compositum, extrinsecus et intrinsecus unitum est atque propria habitudine constat; superior autem habitudo conexionis istorum anima est, quae in medio consistens ubique permeat usque ad superficiem deque superficie in medium uertitur, ut unica natura spiritualis duplici conuoluatur ligamine in firmiorem soliditatem unionemque coaptata). On this point, see Long 1999: 560–84; Annas 1992: 51–4. Galen QAM 4, K. 4.783 (SVF 2.787). Eusebius PE 15.20.2 (SVF 1.141 and 1.519): Ζήνων τὴν ψυχὴν λέγει αἰσθητικὴν ἀναθυμίασιν, καθάπερ Ἡράκλειτος. βουλόμενος γὰρ ἐμφανίσαι, ὅτι αἱ ψυχαὶ ἀναθυμιώμεναι νοεραὶ ἀεὶ γίνονται, εἴκασεν αὐτὰς τοῖς ποταμοῖς λέγων οὕτως ‘ποταμοῖσι τοῖσιν αὐτοῖσιν ἐμβαίνουσιν ἕτερα καὶ ἕτερα ὕδατα ἐπιῤῥεῖ.’ καὶ ‘ψυχαὶ δὲ ἀπὸ τῶν ὑγρῶν ἀναθυμιῶνται.’ ἀναθυμίασιν μὲν οὖν ὁμοίως τῷ Ἡρακλείτῳ τὴν ψυχὴν ἀποφαίνει Ζήνων· αἰσθητικὴν δὲ αὐτὴν εἶναι διὰ τοῦτο λέγει). I choose to translate anathumiasis by ‘vaporisation’ instead of ‘exhalation’, because the first term more directly indicates the physical process at hand here: an airy stuff comes from a watery one,

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This text defines the soul as a sort of breath, being a vaporisation of a wet substance. This first statement is contradicted, however, by a second, from the same text: [2] Both [Zeno and Cleanthes] say that the soul is a vaporisation of the solid body [ἄμφω τοῦ στερεοῦ σώματος εἶναι τὴν ψυχὴν ἀναθυμίασιν φήσασι].15

It is unclear whether the vaporisation comes from a wet substance (like a river, or some other source of moisture) or from an earthy one (like the body). A third piece of evidence helps: [3] The Stoics define soul as follows: the soul is a connatural breath and a vaporisation endowed with sensation which rises up from the humidities of the body [οἱ ὁρίζονται τὴν ψυχήν· ψυχή ἐστι πνεῦμα συμφυὲς καὶ ἀναθυμίασις αἰσθητικὴ ἐκ τῶν τοῦ σώματος ὑγρῶν ἀναδιδομένη].16

If the soul is a vaporisation of the body, it is because the solid body contains some watery parts, from which comes the soul. The first statement, that the soul is a vaporisation of a wet substance, is therefore confirmed. This is clear if we read the fourth piece of evidence: [4] Cleanthes, Chrysippus, and Zeno say that the soul is nourished from blood [τρέφεσθαι μὲν ἐξ αἵματος φήσαντι τὴν ψυχήν], but its substance is the pneuma [οὐσίαν δ’ αὐτῆς ὑπάρχειν τὸ πνεῦμα].17

The body (wet and earthy) produces a vaporisation which is soul. In fact, it is the blood (wet) whose vaporisation produces the pneuma of the soul. A question arises: is this vaporisation from blood the source of nourishment for the soul or is it the soul itself? In a way, it is both, if the soul is continuously fed and renewed by the vaporisation of the blood. This seems to be the case in texts devoted to proving that the hēgemonikon18 is located in the heart. According to Galen, who disapproves of this kind of reasoning, Chrysippus or Diogenes of Babylonia used arguments like this: [5] We must not agree with them either when they say that where the supply of breath is, there precisely is the commanding part, then add to this the premise that breath is supplied from the heart [οὐ μὴν οὐδ’ ὅταν εἴπωσιν ὅθεν ἡ χορηγία τοῦ πνεύματος, ἐνταῦθ’ εἶναι τὸ ἡγεμονικόν, εἶτ’ ἐπ’ αὐτῷ

15 17 18

because of a process of rarefaction. This text is carefully analysed by Long 1996: 54 ff. Translations are mine unless otherwise indicated. 16 Longinus ap. Eusebius PE 15.21.3 (SVF 1.139) Scholia in Hom. Iliad 2.857 (SVF 2.778). Galen PHP 2.8.48, p. 166.13–14 De Lacy. Cf. Aëtius 4.21.2 (LS 53H): ‘the hēgemonikon (commanding faculty) is the soul’s highest part, which produces impressions, assents, perceptions, and impulses. They also call it the reasoning faculty’. So this commanding part can be called logos in rational animals.

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If the heart is the organ producing the soul, it is because of the vaporisation of the blood occurring inside it.20 The internal heat is probably the cause of the rarefaction of the wet blood into the breath that is soul. This argument is explicitly used by Diogenes of Babylonia: [6] Diogenes says: ‘What first draws in nutriment and breath, in that is the commanding part; now, what first draws in nutriment and breath, that is the heart’ [ὁ Διογένης εἴπῃ ‘ὃ πρῶτον τροφῆς καὶ πνεύματος ἀρύεται, ἐν τούτῳ ὑπάρχει τὸ ἡγεμονικόν, ὃ δὲ πρῶτον τροφῆς καὶ πνεύματος ἀρύεται, ἡ καρδία’].21

The use of the word ἀρύεται (‘draws in’) demonstrates that the soul drinks at the source of the blood to build itself. At this point, Galen seems to resist the argument, stressing that the blood is the source of nourishment (τὸ τρέφον), whereas breath is the source of motion (κινοῦν).22 He then goes on to attack Diogenes of Babylonia for jumping to the conclusion that ‘the soul is blood’ (αἷμά φησιν εἶναι τὴν ψυχήν).23 The first task is to understand the relation between blood and soul,24 the latter being an emanation of the former. Galen thinks that the pneuma coming from the heart cannot be a soul in a strong sense; it should be understood as a vital pneuma, or a material pneuma, which in a way would be the substrate of the soul.25 The soul is pneuma in its essence, but Galen cannot imagine the soul being identical with pneuma, as it is supposed to be in the Stoic system. This physical pneuma, or vital pneuma, must belong to the body, as we have previously seen, and not to the soul. Then a second question arises: If the soul is a vaporisation of the blood, is it possible for the quality of the blood to be transferred directly to the soul? What exactly happens during the vaporisation process? 19 20

21 22 24 25

Galen PHP 2.8.36, p. 164.8–10 (trans. De Lacy, modified). Galen objects: ‘They are assuming the very matter that is under investigation.’ He is not totally right: having assumed that soul is a breath, the Stoics only have to point at the source of breath to find the location of soul. The syllogism could be understood as follows: Major premise: where the supply of breath is, there precisely is the commanding part Missing premise: the commanding part is formed by breath Minor premise: breath is supplied from the heart Conclusion: therefore the commanding part is located in the heart. Galen PHP 2.8.40, p. 164.21–3 (trans. De Lacy, modified) Galen PHP 2.8.49, p. 166.15 De Lacy. 23 Galen PHP 2.8.47, p. 166.11–12 De Lacy. On this point see Long 1982b: 43–9; Tieleman 1996: 67–87. Galen PHP 2.8.37 and 39: τὸ ψυχικὸν πνεῦμά . . . τὸ ζωτικόν . . . τὸ ὑλικόν.

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The process of vaporisation (anathumiasis)

A survey of all the occurrences of the term anathumiasis in Stoic texts shows that it is first used to describe the feeding of the sun, which permits it to move across the sky. Taking its trophē from the ocean, the sun has a fixed course: it cannot go wandering everywhere but is compelled to stay close to its source of nourishment.26 The same phenomenon is applied to stars, which are fire in their essence, but nourish themselves (aluntur) from vaporisations (vaporibus) of earth, sea, and fresh water, which come up from the fields that the sun has warmed and from bodies of water.27 The feeding of the sun from something wet and probably cold is similar to the shaping of a soul: the plantlike embryo (phusis, wet and cold) suddenly becomes a living being and acquires a soul, that is, something hot and airy, by being chilled when breathing in external air. The theory of anathumiasis is common to the Stoics and Heraclitus, according to text 1 above. Long notes, however, that the term does not appear in the latter, but is used in Aristotle,28 who also distinguishes between two types of anathumiasis.29 26 28

29

Aetius 2.23.5 (SVF 1.501 Cleanthes); cf. 2.17.4 (SVF 2.690). 27 Cicero ND 2.118 = SVF 2.593. According to Long 1996: 38, even if Heraclitus is not the Stoics’ starting point in cosmology, his influence is fundamental, and not only for early Stoics such as Cleanthes. Cleanthes wrote four books of commentary on Heraclitus (DL 7.174), and Sphaerus five books of conversations about him (SVF 1.620). It is also clear that Heraclitus plays an important role for Marcus Aurelius (Long 1996: 56–7; see also Long 2012: 471–2). According to Long 1996: 45, the general basis of Stoic cosmology is best explained as a critical reaction to the Academy and the Lyceum, and evidence for that statement could be the very use of the term anathumiasis, which is not present at all in Heraclitus; consequently, the definition of the Stoic soul as an anathumiasis ‘owes more to Aristotle and medical theory than to Heraclitus’ (Long 1996: 55). Aristotle Meteorology 1.3, analysed by Betegh (2013) 240: ‘dry exhalation arises from the earth heated by the sun and reaches up to the fiery sphere in the sky, situated between the sphere of air and that of aither. Moist exhalation, in contrast, arises from the water in and on the earth and, being heavier, rises only up to the sphere of air’ (Betegh’s translation). Note that we can also find in 2.4, 360a8 and 1.3, 340b28 a distinction between atmitōdēs anathumiasis and kapnōdēs anathumiasis. The first (whose proper name is atmis) is a filthy and watery one, like in a swamp; the second is hot and dry, and its proper name is anathumiasis. On this point cf. Viano 2006: 16, 76, 205, 272 n. 2. In Plato’s Timaeus, the word anathumiasis is not used; we find atmis once (87a): ‘For where the acid and briny phlegm and other bitter and bilious humours wander about in the body, and find no exit or escape, but are pent up within and mingle their own vapours with the motions of the soul, and are blended, with them, they produce all sorts of diseases, more or fewer, and in every degree of intensity; and being carried to the three places of the soul, whichever they may severally assail, they create infinite varieties of ill-temper and melancholy, of rashness and cowardice, and also of forgetfulness and stupidity’ (trans. Jowett 1961). According to Betegh 2013: 241, the Heraclitean anathumiasis comes only from what is watery, which would mean that it matches the Aristotelian atmis. Diogenes Laertius’ testimony (DL 9.8–11) is distorted due to the contamination between Heraclitus and the Aristotelian tradition: Heraclitus is said to distinguish between two kinds of vaporisation. The first are bright and pure exhalations (lampras kai katharas anathumiaseis). This cannot be correct, because it contains elements that are not consistent with the Heraclitean conception of the soul.

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From all this, I conclude that the Stoics used both definitions to construct their own. They use the Aristotelian definition of anathumiasis, which can come from either earth or water. As we have seen above, for the Stoics the sun takes its trophē from the ocean; the stars nourish themselves from vaporisations of earth, sea, and waters; the soul is either a vaporisation of the solid body, of the humidities of the body, or of the blood. So the Stoic conception of anathumiasis is not strictly Heraclitean. But the Stoics combine this Aristotelian definition with something found only in Heraclitus: the anathumiasis is used to explain the production of the soul. Aristotle never does this, even if in Aristotle there is a connection between the quality of an individual soul and blood, as we shall see below. If we follow Betegh’s results,30 the ‘soul stuff’ (the soul as a cosmological product) might be produced on a Heraclitean basis (it comes from an anathumiasis of a watery substance, the sun31 coming from the ocean) but the souls (as individual items) might instead be understood in an Aristotelian fashion: they are produced both by earthy and watery things (like the body); they are closely linked to the heart (central location of the hēgemonikon) and to the blood. Let us first remember that the Stoic conception of soul is consistent with the Heraclitean one; it is not at all contradictory to say that the soul is a hot breath coming from what is wet and cold. As Betegh shows, in Heraclitus ‘the soul stuff must be such that it can manifest opposite physical properties. The soul can be foolish and wise, virtuous and wretched, because it can be both dry and wet.’32 That is the reason why dryness is the cause of intelligence, whereas ‘a man when he is drunk is led by a beardless boy, staggering, not knowing where he steps, having his soul wet’.33 The Heraclitean conception of soul admits that it can be both fire and wet, namely a wet fire. The question is: If the Stoic conception of the soul is clearly very close to the Heraclitean one, is it possible to find clues about the shaping of individual souls in a merely physical and non-intellectual way? In this respect it is highly significant that the Stoics usually offer a very different definition of a drunken man from Heraclitus: Chrysippus says that when he has too much wine, he certainly is staggering, but only Chrysippus’ legs are drunk, Chrysippus himself is not.34 This means that for Chrysippus the soul, the logikē psuchē, is safe from any alteration that may come from the body. But it 30 31 32 34

Betegh 2013: 247. Note that the sun is assimilated to the world’s soul by Cleanthes, whereas Chrysippus identifies it with the sky or the aether (DL 7.139). Betegh 2013: 244. 33 Heraclitus B117 quoted by Betegh 2013: 238. See also Bénatouïl 2005. DL 7.183.

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looks as if, for Stoics like Diogenes or Posidonius, this is no longer the case, because they highlight the physical aspect of the soul, that is to say, its pneumatic essence, and draw from Heraclitus (an authority, thanks to Cleanthes) to explain it. Posidonius explicitly uses the term anathumiasis in a physical context at first to describe the apparently increased size of the sun at sunset and sunrise: this increase can be explained by the fact that there are more vaporisations (anathumiaseis) from the sea at this time of the day.35 The second occurrence is in an account of the unity of the Atlantic Ocean, moved by one and the same movement, the movement of tides (the alternative explanation is that of Hipparchus, who says there should be two different seas to explain the circulation of water). For Posidonius, the greater the mass of water around the Earth, the easier it is to think that the vapours coming from it are sufficient to nourish the celestial bodies.36 The last occurrence, however, one drawn from history, is quite different, and I assume very significant for us, because Posidonius uses the term in its primary and ordinary sense of emanation or perfume coming from a flower: [7] One shouldn’t drink toasts as the Carmanians do, says Posidonius: as marks of friendship in their cups, they open facial veins, mix the dripping blood in their drink and quaff it in the belief that to taste each other’s blood is the ultimate in friendship. After swallowing, he says, they anoint their heads with rose perfume preferably, otherwise with quince or iris perfume or nard, to repel the effects from the potion and avoid harm from the fumes of the wine [ἀπὸ τῆς τῶν οἴνων ἀναθυμιάσεως].37

In his commentary on this passage,38 Kidd highlights the medical context of the text while refusing to apply it to Posidonius; for him, ‘it is . . . extremely unlikely that Posidonius’ context was medical’.39 Posidonius then condemns this custom ‘not for medical reasons but as a barbaric practice’. I suggest, on the contrary, that this medical context fits very well with the use of anathumiasis. It might be precisely for medical reasons that Posidonius frowns at 35 37

38

39

Strabo 3.1.5 (F119 EK). 36 Strabo 1.1.8–9 (F214 EK). Athenaeus 2.24.45F (F283 EK, trans. Kidd). The fragment in EK ends here. The following lines quote a sentence from Alexis, saying that ‘producing smells the brain likes is the most significant contribution to good health’, and then quotes references to Hippocrates and Erasistatus about the potable kinds of water. Kidd 1988: 959. Athenaeus’ discussion on drinking contains a part about drinking toasts (propinein) and especially on the bad digestive effect of too many toasts. This medical context is confirmed by what follows the Posidonian fragment (with the quotation of Alexinus and others). Kidd 1988: 959.

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drinking blood. If we follow the text, the Carmanians themselves were aware of the possible harmful effect of the blend and tried to counteract it with perfumes. The exhalations coming from wine and blood might be too powerful and could introduce into the drinker’s body (and then soul) certain qualities he does not want to ingest. The medical context makes perfect sense here. It could mean that there is indeed a direct influence of the quality of the blood on the quality of the soul, this very quality being transferred by the process of vaporisation. This vaporisation would therefore be a mere transmission of that quality, without any alteration. For the Stoics, there is indeed a relation between the individual soul and the cosmos in its entirety and not only with the cosmic soul.40 This is due to the constant exchanges between what is inside and what is outside. The soul is air and there is a communication between this internal air and external air by means of breath: [8] Everyone who supposes that the soul is breath says that it is preserved by exhalation both of the blood and of the drawn into the body by inhalation through the windpipe [ὅσοι γὰρ οἴονται τὴν ψυχὴν εἶναι πνεῦμα, διασῴζεσθαι λέγουσιν αὐτὴν ἔκ τε τῆς ἀναθυμιάσεως τοῦ αἵματος καὶ τοῦ κατὰ τὴν εἰσπνοὴν ἑλκομένου διὰ τῆς τραχείας ἀρτηρίας εἴσω τοῦ σώματος ].41

This implies some influence of external heat on the hot pneuma that is soul. The Stoics, from the beginning, stressed the influence of climate on men’s psychological qualities: notably Chrysippus, as well as Posidonius, explains how people acquire different moral qualities, different temperaments, according to the place they inhabit. Different physical constitutions (hai tou somatos kraseis) produce different kind of passionate movements.42 The word krasis implies that there are many different tensions inside one living being, mixed together and permeable to one another.43 Cicero disapproved of this connection between inner qualities and outside factors: [9] But let us give Posidonius the polite dismissal that he deserves and return to the subtleties of Chrysippus. And first let us answer him on the actual influence of connexion [contagio]; the other points we will go on to 40 41 42

43

For the link between the individual and the cosmic soul, cf. Ademollo in this volume. Galen Hipp. Epid. VI 270.26–8 (LS 53E; SVF 2.782, trans. Long and Sedley). For the idea of a breathed-in soul, see Betegh 2013: 246. Galen, PHP 5.5.26–7, p. 322.12–14 De Lacy: ‘Different physical temperaments each produce emotional movements peculiar to themselves; “emotional movements” was the term Posidonius habitually applied to them’ (αἱ τοῦ σώματος κράσεις οἰκείας ἑαυταῖς ἐργάζονται τὰς παθητικὰς κινήσεις· οὕτως γὰρ ὁ Ποσειδώνιος ὀνομάζειν εἴωθεν) (F153 EK, trans. Kidd). See the blend described in Galen QAM K. 4.783 (SVF 2.787, mentioned above, note 13).

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afterwards. We see the wide difference between the natural characters of different localities; you notice that some are healthy, others unhealthy, that the inhabitants of some are phlegmatic and as it were overcharged with moisture, those of others parched and dried up; and there are a number of other very wide differences between one place and another. Athens has a rarefied climate, which is thought also to cause sharpness of wit above the average in the population; at Thebes the climate is dense, and so the Thebans are stout and sturdy. All the same the rarefied air of Athens will not enable a student to choose between the lectures of Zeno, Arcesilaus and Theophrastus, and the dense air of Thebes will not make a man try to win a race at Nemea rather than at Corinth. Carry the distinction further: tell me, can the nature of the locality cause us to take our walk in Pompey’s Porch rather than in the Campus? . . . You will say that inasmuch as there are differences in the natures of human beings that cause some to like sweet things, others slightly bitter things, and make some licentious and others prone to anger or cruel or proud, while others shrink in horror from vices of that sort, therefore, we are told, inasmuch as there is so wide a difference between one nature and another, what is there surprising in the view that these points of unlikeness result from different causes? In putting forward this view, Chrysippus fails to see the question at issue and the point with which the argument is dealing. For it does not follow that if differences in men’s propensities are due to natural and antecedent causes, therefore our wills and desires are also due to natural and antecedent causes; for if that was the case, we should have no freedom of the will at all.44

If Cicero is perfectly in accord with Chrysippus when he says that physical constitutions are different, and ultimately shaped by climatic conditions, he nevertheless refuses to conclude that our mind can be determined in the same way and he suggests that Chrysippus himself in fact supported this view. This is not entirely true, if we remember that neither Chrysippus nor Posidonius admits this direct link between climate and moral qualities. According to the latter, geographical factors are not sufficient to explain human capacities: [10] It is not by nature that Athenians like literature and Spartans not . . . but rather out of habit; likewise, it is not by nature that Babylonians and Egyptians like sciences, but rather out of practice and habit; and the excellence of horses . . . as well.45

We do have a character determined by nature, but we are responsible for its use. Nothing in Chrysippus indicates otherwise, according to Gellius: 44 45

Cicero De Fato 7–9 (trans. H. Rackham). The term contagio, here translated by ‘connexion’, matches the Greek sumpatheia. Strabo 2.2.1–3.8 (F49 EK, section F, trans. Kidd).

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[11] Although it is a fact, he says, that all things are subject to an inevitable and fundamental law and are closely linked to fate, yet the peculiar properties of our minds are subject to fate only according to their individuality and quality [ingenia tamen ipsa mentium nostrarum proinde sunt fato obnoxia, ut proprietas eorum est ipsa et qualitas]. For, if in the beginning they are fashioned by nature for health and usefulness [nam si sunt per naturam primitus salubriter utiliterque ficta], they will avoid with little opposition and little difficulty all the force with which fate threatens them from without. But if they are rough, ignorant, crude, and without any support from education, through their own perversity and voluntary impulse [voluntario impetu] they plunge into continual faults and sin, even though the assault of some inconvenience due to fate be slight or non-existent. And that this very thing should happen in this way is due to that natural and inevitable connection of events which is called fate. For it is in the nature of things, so to speak, fated and inevitable, that evil characters [mala ingenia] should not be free from sins and faults.46

This difficult text shows that the impact of fate on our minds absolutely depends on us; it is not the strength or weakness of the blow which make us suffer but rather the quality of our soul. If the soul is strong, it will resist all blows, letting them slide over us without any damage; if the soul is weak, it will be injured and unbalanced by the slightest event.47 A question remains: Is this nature of ours determined by fate? The answer cannot be positive: the example of the rough, ignorant, and crude shows that we are responsible for our lack of education, based on a voluntary impulse towards laziness. Similarly, per naturam at the beginning of the text must be understood as the nature that is the result from our efforts towards intelligence and virtue.48 So, if the condition of our soul surely depends on us, this does not undermine the fact that this soul was born in a particular shape, inherited from our parents, and that it is influenced by physical elements like climate. The Hippocratic tradition could be the source from which Chrysippus and Posidonius take this point, as could Aristotle, given that 46

47

48

Aulus Gellius Attic Nights 7.2: ‘How Chrysippus also maintained the power and inevitable nature of fate, but at the same time declared that we had control over our plans and decisions [in nobis consilii iudiciique nostri arbitrium]’ (trans. Rolfe, Loeb). This is one of Seneca’s favourite topics, treated for example in the De Providentia; see for instance 1.6 or 2.7, where enjoying some rest from fate’s blows is understood as a divine punishment for being too weak to support the obstacles. In 2.8 Seneca even says that the brave should provoke fortune in order to have more obstacles, that is to say, more occasions to train and achieve the virtues. See Gill 2006: 198–200.

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it explains the influence of climate on moral qualities through its effects on bodily temperature and blood.49 Besides, in our Stoics as well as in Aristotle, these features are not sufficient conditions for the achievement of virtues in a strong sense of the term.50 The building of a character (ēthos) made of habits, passions, and virtues, is in fact a complex process which cannot be reduced to the acquisition of knowledge alone. Similarly, when he comes to explaining passions, Chrysippus seems to hold a very careful position. On the one hand, he says that a passion is certainly based on an erroneous judgement, which can occur because of two things: [12] The rational animal becomes corrupted, either by the plausibility of external objects, or by the influence of those who share our lives. For nature gives us starting points with no perversion at all [διαστρέφεσθαι δὲ τὸ λογικὸν ζῷον, ποτὲ μὲν διὰ τὰς τῶν ἔξωθεν πραγματειῶν πιθανότητας, ποτὲ δὲ διὰ τὴν κατήχησιν τῶν συνόντων· ἐπεὶ ἡ φύσις ἀφορμὰς δίδωσιν ἀδιαστρόφους].51

We can have non-cognitive impressions (akatalēptoi phantasiai) when we are fooled either by the very nature of things (e.g. chocolate immediately produces a pleasant sensation, so I naturally incline to take it to be good) or by a twisted education (e.g. the belief that chocolate puts us in high spirits). These errors of judgement can easily be straightened out, according to Chrysippus, by means of a right definition of good. But this definition sometimes happens to be powerless in our soul, as Chrysippus himself says. It seems that sometimes a right judgement, present in the soul, fails to prevent a passion from occurring; this very judgement is therefore impeded in its causal power by the general quality of the soul; it also means that this right judgement fails to change this quality into a more appropriate one). Chrysippus notes the possible disconnection between an emotional state and the presence of a judgement: [13] Posidonius is also right to find fault with Chrysippus’ saying: ‘It might happen that although the impulse persists, the things that follow will not conform to it because of another supervening disposition of some sort’ [τυχὸν δὲ τῆς ὁρμῆς διαμενούσης οὐχ ὑπακούσεται τὰ ἑξῆς διὰ ποιὰν ἄλλην ἐπιγινομένην διάθεσιν]. Posidonius says that it is impossible that the impulse be present and the activity in accord with it be obstructed by some other cause. Therefore, when Chrysippus says: ‘Thus people cease 49 50 51

See Hippocrates, Airs, Waters, Places: see also Aristotle Politics 7.6 and Sedley 1993. Cf. Aristotle NE 6.13, 1144b3–18, starting from blind natural virtues to achieve real virtues, with the acquisition of deliberative reason (phronēsis). DL 7.89 (my trans.).

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christelle veillard weeping, and people weep against their will, when the underlying circumstances create unlike impressions’, Posidonius again asks the reason why ordinary people often weep when they do not wish to and are unable to check their tears, while in others the tears stop before they wish—obviously because the affective motions press so hard that they cannot be mastered by the will, or are brought to so complete a halt that it can no longer arouse them [ διὰ τὰς παθητικὰς κινήσεις σφόδρα ἐγκειμένας ὡς μὴ κρατεῖσθαι πρὸς τῆς βουλήσεως, ἢ παντελῶς πεπαυμένας ὡς μηκέτ’ ἐπεγείρεσθαι δύνασθαι πρὸς αὐτῆς].52

To explain this disconnection between the rise and vanishing of a passion and the presence of the judgement which is supposed to be the cause of it, Chrysippus used two arguments. The first is the example of the runner on a steep slope.53 He can choose to walk or to accelerate, but he cannot choose to slow down; he is indeed the primary cause of his movement, but the effect of this cause is amplified by a secondary cause: the inclination of the ground. Similarly, a passion is caused by a choice (a judgement, an assent), but the swelling of the passion depends also on the quality of the soul, which can increase or reduce the impulse to the point that someone could stop weeping if he were close to being a sage or, conversely, cry his eyes out if he were so weak as to be unable to control the tears any more. Second, Chrysippus makes an argument for the possible weakness of the soul, which could be a clarification of the supervening disposition evoked in the previous text: [14] Now Chrysippus himself admits not once or twice but very many times that some power in men’s souls other than the rational is the cause of affections [δύναμίν τινα ἑτέραν εἶναι τῆς λογικῆς ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς τῶν ἀνθρώπων αἰτίαν τῶν παθῶν]. We may see this in such passages as those wherein he gives softness and weakness of soul [ἀτονίαν τε καὶ ἀσθένειαν τῆς ψυχῆς] as the causes of incorrect actions. These are the names he gives them, and he calls their opposites firmness and strength [τὸ μὲν εὐτονίαν τὸ δ’ ἰσχύν]. Some of men’s incorrect actions he refers to faulty judgement [εἰς μοχθηρὰν κρίσιν], others to softness and weakness of soul [τὰ δ’ εἰς ἀτονίαν καὶ ἀσθένειαν τῆς ψυχῆς], just as right judgement together with firmness of soul guides them to correct actions. In persons of the latter sort, as the judgement is the work of the rational power [ὥσπερ ἡ κρίσις ἔργον ἐστὶ τῆς λογικῆς δυνάμεως], so the firmness is the strength and virtue of a power other than the rational [οὕτως ἡ εὐτονία ῥώμη τε καὶ ἀρετὴ δυνάμεως ἑτέρας παρὰ τὴν λογικήν]. This power Chrysippus himself calls tonos 52 53

Galen PHP 4.7.36–8, p. 288.19–30 De Lacy (trans. De Lacy). Galen PHP 4.2.10–18, pp. 240.18–242.11 De Lacy (SVF 3. 462 part; LS 65J).

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[αὐτὸς ὁ Χρύσιππος ὀνομάζει τόνον]; and he says that there are times when we abandon correct judgements because the tone of the soul yields and does not persist to the end or carry out fully the commands of reason [ἔστιν ὅτε τῶν ὀρθῶς ἐγνωσμένων ἡμῖν ἐνδόντος τοῦ τόνου τῆς ψυχῆς καὶ μὴ παραμείναντος ἕως παντὸς μηδ’ ἐξυπηρετήσαντος τοῖς τοῦ λόγου προστάγμασιν].54

This striking text shows that having right definitions in our mind is not sufficient for acting accordingly. What we need to be good is therefore a right judgement and a good tension of the soul. This tension could explain why different people, having different qualities of soul, develop different reactions to the same judgement. It could also explain why the child raised by a philosopher is not at all guaranteed to become virtuous: [15] But even though they are brought up in good habits and are given the education that they ought to have, yet they are invariably observed doing something wrong; and Chrysippus acknowledges this fact . . . But he did not venture on this particular falsification of the facts; he granted that even if children were raised under the exclusive care of a philosopher and never saw or heard any example of vice, nevertheless they would not necessarily become philosophers. There are two causes (he says) of their corruption; one arises in them from the conversation of the majority of men, the other from the very nature of the things (around them).55

Even if there were only right definitions in the soul, their causal power could, and even would, still be blocked. In other words: the right definitions do not pervade the whole soul of the child to give it an appropriate quality.56 In the Chrysippean soul, therefore, there is a place for a physical description of the soul in terms of tone, but we are not really able to explain the precise role it plays in the shaping of individual qualities. It is time now to investigate that question further. Let us first formulate the problem more clearly. On the one hand, the Stoics always link mental events to judgements, because the soul is entirely rational. This intellectual 54 55 56

Galen PHP 4.6.1–3, p. 270.10–23 De Lacy (trans. De Lacy). Galen, PHP 5.5.11–12, pp. 318.26–320.2 De Lacy, trans. De Lacy (= F169C EK). Cf. also DL 7.89 (text 12 above). This text could mean that the interference of nature would surely block the development of proper conceptions. To my mind, on the contrary, the presence of the philosopher should discourage these misuses; if the child is not virtuous, it is not because he doesn’t have the right definitions in mind (taught by the philosopher), but because these definitions are unable to produce impulses towards right actions, perhaps because of this astheneia of the soul. This text could also highlight the difficulty for a teacher to pass along his knowledge, not because the virtues are not sciences (as is the case in the debate between Socrates and Protagoras in the Protagoras 361a–c) but because no one can ever force me to assent to definitions which I do not want to believe. It is, in a way, the necessary consequence of the absolute control of the mind.

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pattern implies that virtues are kinds of knowledge, and that passions and vices are based on intellectual mistakes (this even leads to the short Chrysippean definition of a passion as an ‘erroneous judgement’). But, on the other hand, having defined the soul as a hot pneuma, they cannot free the soul from the physics governing all types of pneuma. That is why a passion is not a mere judgement, but rather a swelling of the soul based on an erroneous judgement. Every mental event has two sides: one intellectual (or logical description in terms of knowledge, definition, science) and one physical (or pneumatic description in terms of tension). The Stoics need both sides in order to ensure the sumpatheia of all beings inside the cosmos, in the double sense of the term: all items are linked one to another by the divine pneuma in different tensions, the rational items following the order of the world in the sense of a discursive comprehension of it, the nonrational ones simply abiding by the natural law; both senses can be conveyed by the word ‘to follow’ (akolouthein).57

3.

Some New Tools to Shape the Soul

Let’s note at this point that even if from the beginning of their school the Stoics had stressed the importance of the physical quality of the soul in order to produce right judgements, they never came to the conclusion that these very judgements could come from something other than reason, namely, from a mere good tension of the soul. Something here is unclear, as far as reason is concerned. We could argue, drawing from Heraclitus, that if ‘psuchē encompasses a wide continuum of physical states’,58 it is possible to ascribe a very loose sense to the term ‘mental’, namely something involving law, number, or proportion.59 But when Zeno states that virtue consists entirely in reason, and cannot be achieved by nature or habits,60 he surely means something like ‘mental cognitions’.61 Besides, when Zeno draws a parallel between body and soul, 57

58 60 61

The term is everywhere in the Stoic system. The most important text can be found in Epictetus 1.6.13: animals live in accordance with nature (parakolouthein), but this is a mere use (chrēsis) of nature, and not a full understanding (parakolouthēsis); further, at 1.6.18–19, this understanding is more specific: it is the intelligent and critical use of the impressions (tou parakolouthein tais phantasiais kai tautas diakrinein). Betegh 2013: 243. 59 For the Heraclitean definition of logos, see Long 2013. Cicero Academica 1.18. This problem is linked to the definition of virtue as a science or as a power, as Galen puts it (PHP 5.5.36–40, pp. 324.24–325.8 De Lacy), and to the problem of the unity of the virtues. If virtues are different in kind, and not only in name, it is difficult to state that virtue is one and the same substance; that is why Aristo, following Plato’s lead in the Protagoras, said that virtues are different

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he consistently says that the virtuous disposition is a blend of notions, that is to say, of rational items: ‘the health of the soul is a correct mixture of the beliefs in the soul’.62 Perhaps Posidonius abandons this model when it comes to explaining how to achieve virtue and to shape the soul.63 He seems to imply that it is not only a matter of acquiring rational notions in the mind and getting used to applying them to practical situations; it is also, and primarily, a matter of physically bending the mind in a certain way, before this very mind acquires rational notions, in order to have a proper tension of the soul, appropriate for producing these rational items. This could be the reason why Posidonius warned64 against the possible power of exhalations over the quality of our soul. This non-rational training of a pre-rational soul can be seen in the Posidonian advice to read Plato carefully:65 [16] Posidonius admires what Plato said about the shaping of unborn children in the womb and about their rearing and training after birth; and

62

63

64 65

names of one and the same essence, knowledge. See also Iamblichus On the Soul, in Stob. 1.368.12–20 (SVF 2.826 part; LS 53K): some Stoics explain the different faculties of the soul by a difference in the underlying bodies, i.e. different kinds of breath or qualities, just as in the same apple there is sweetness and fragrance. The question here is to understand by what means these different qualities can be produced inside a soul. Stob. 2.7.5b4, pp. 62.20–63.5 W., trans. Pomeroy. According to Galen, this argument was first used by Zeno, then by Chrysippus: ‘[Chrysippus writes] “Therefore Zeno’s argument proceeds as it should. And disease of the body is said to be the lack of proportion [ἀσυμμετρία] in its components, hot and cold, dry and wet”. A little later he says: “Health in the body is a kind of blend and proportion [εὐκρασία τις καὶ συμμετρία] of the things expressly stated”, and then, “for in my opinion the robustness of body is the best blend of the things mentioned”; and after that, “It is not out of place to say this of the body, because proportion and lack of proportion in its components, hot, cold, wet, dry, is health or disease; proportion or lack of it in the sinews is strength or weakness, firmness or softness; and proportion or lack of it in the limbs is beauty or ugliness”’ (Galen PHP 5.2.31–4, p. 300.26–36 De Lacy). My purpose here is not to discuss the Posidonian position on passions or division of the soul. This question has already been discussed at length, and has produced two different conclusions: either Posidonius became a Platonist, getting rid of the monistic definition of the soul and admitting an irrational part in it as a cause of the passions; or Posidonius remained perfectly Stoic, using some Platonic tools in order to reinforce the Stoic position. See Gill 2006: esp. 266–90, working from the results of Cooper 1999 and Tieleman 2003. My purpose is to consider the pedagogical aspect of this discussion, that is to say, the means offered by Posidonius to work on what Gill calls ‘psychophysical inertia’ (2006: 275). An action is produced by the articulation of a judgement and a certain state of the soul. The education of a soul is therefore twofold: at first, a soul needs to contain right judgement (intellectual education); next, these judgements exert their causal power only if there is no psychophysical inertia preventing them. The second part of the pedagogical training is therefore the shaping of the soul in its physical aspect, considering that it is, at first, a breath subject to external and internal physical variations. See above page 153. One might conclude from the following text that Posidonius adopts the Platonist tripartition of the soul. I simply want to highlight the fact that it is not possible to draw such a conclusion, which is contradicted by other passages.

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christelle veillard in his first book On Affections he wrote a kind of epitome of Plato’s remarks about children, how they must be reared and trained in order that the affective and irrational part of their soul may exhibit due measure in its motion and obedience to the commands of reason. ‘For this is the best training for children: preparation of the affective part of the soul in such a way that it may be most amenable to the rule of the rational part [αὕτη γὰρ ἀρίστη παίδων παιδεία, παρασκευὴ τοῦ παθητικοῦ τῆς ψυχῆς, ὡς ἂν ἐπιτηδειοτάτη ᾖ πρὸς τὴν ἀρχὴν τοῦ λογιστικοῦ].’66

Do we have here a Platonic pattern, or can we read this text in a familiarly Stoic fashion? According to Posidonius, the rational part, small and weak, acquires size and strength progressively, up to the fourteenth year. This is perfectly compatible with the description of a child’s soul as being similar to a blank page. This is the reason why a child cannot ‘behave’, because he does not yet possess the right definitions in his mind. The correct notions and definitions of things develop progressively in the soul, and the age of seven is indicated as the moment when the notions are sufficient to produce reasonable judgements. The fourteenth year is the moment ‘which is the proper time for it to take control and to rule, as a kind of charioteer, the team of horses conjoined with it, namely, desire and anger [epithumia kai thumos], so long as they are not excessively strong or weak, sluggish or restive, or in general disobedient or disorderly or lawless, but ready to follow and obey reason in everything’. The progressive education of the rational part is achieved by ‘the knowledge of the nature of things’, whereas the education of anger and desire is achieved by ‘a kind of irrational habituation’ (ex ethismou tinos alogou).67 Two different patterns are at stake here: a rational soul can either function according to a rational pattern (i.e. right definitions, and according to the command of the rationality of the soul) or according to a passionate pattern (i.e. following desire and anger, as if the rational soul failed to act rationally). More precisely, Posidonius says (if Galen is to be trusted) that we either behave according to judgements or to irrational powers. He departs from Zeno and Chrysippus by saying that ‘the passions are not judgements and do not supervene on judgements; they are certain motions of other irrational powers, which Plato called desiderative and spirited’ (οὔτε κρίσεις εἶναι τὰ πάθη δεικνύων οὔτε ἐπιγιγνόμενα κρίσεσιν, ἀλλὰ κινήσεις τινὰς ἑτέρων δυνάμεων ἀλόγων ἃς ὁ Πλάτων ὠνόμασεν ἐπιθυμητικήν τε καὶ 66 67

Galen PHP 5.5.32, p. 324.3–11 De Lacy (trans. De Lacy). For all this, see Galen PHP 5.5.34–5, p. 324.11–23 De Lacy (trans. De Lacy). We can guess that education involves the progressive elaboration of ennoiai in the soul, which provide an accurate account of the world and a correct definition of the good.

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θυμοειδῆ).68 In another passage, Posidonius explains more precisely what he means: The causes of all false suppositions arise in the theoretical sphere through ignorance [ἐν μὲν τῷ θεωρητικῷ διὰ τῆς παθητικῆς ὁλκῆς], but false opinions precede this pull [προηγεῖσθαι δ’ αὐτῆς τὰς ψευδεῖς δόξας], because the reasoning part has become weak in judgement [ἀσθενήσαντος περὶ τὴν κρίσιν [τὴν] τοῦ λογιστικοῦ]. For impulse [(τὴν ὁρμὴν], he says, is sometimes generated in the animal as a result of the judgement of the reasoning part [ἐνίοτε μὲν ἐπὶ τῇ τοῦ λογιστικοῦ κρίσει], but often as a result of a movement of the affective part [πολλάκις δ’ ἐπὶ τῇ κινήσει τοῦ παθητικοῦ]. Posidonius plausibly attaches to this discussion the observations of the physiognomist: men and animals that are broad-chested and warmer are all by nature more given to anger, but those that have wide hips and are colder are more cowardly. And he says that in different localities men’s characters [τοῖς ἤθεσι τοὺς ἀνθρώπους] exhibit no small differences in cowardice and daring, in love of pleasure and of toil, the supposition being that the affective movements of the soul in every case follow the state of the body [ὡς τῶν παθητικῶν κινήσεων τῆς ψυχῆς ἑπομένων ἀεὶ τῇ διαθέσει τοῦ σώματος], which is altered in no small degree by mixture [κράσεως] of elements in the environment. For even the blood in animals differs, he says, in warmth and coldness, thickness and thinness, and in many other properties, which Aristotle discussed at great length.69

Posidonius first seems to stick to the intellectualist pattern, but then assumes again the thesis that the possibility of rational items playing their causal role in the soul is dependent on the quality of the soul, which can be considered apart from these rational items. In other words, the tension of the soul (its tonos) and quality (more or less rational) is in a way disconnected from the possession of rational knowledge. And this is precisely the case in grief: we may possess in our soul a right judgement about death, but nevertheless cannot help weeping. The actual state of our soul prevents the intellectual item from playing its causal role. Therefore, it is necessary to work on ‘the affective part’ that is responsible for the pull of affections. This is the reason why Chrysippean therapy is not effective: Chrysippus tries to fight desires, which come from the alogoi dunameis of the soul, as if they were solely the result of the rational part. Using rational means is obviously inadequate.70 The effective means to fight this level are not theoretical, but irrational: 68 70

Galen PHP 5.1.5, p. 292.20–5 De Lacy. 69 Galen PHP 5.5.21, p. 320.23–8 De Lacy. Galen PHP 5.6.18–19, p. 330.2–6 De Lacy.

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christelle veillard [17] And [Posidonius] says, ‘when the cause of affections was recognized, it distinguished the methods of training’. We shall prescribe for some persons a regimen of rhythms and scales and exercises of such and such a sort, and for others another sort, as Plato taught us. We shall rear the dull and heavy and spirited in high-pitched rhythms and in scales that move the soul forcibly and in exercises of the same kind; and we shall rear those who are high-spirited and who rush about too madly in the opposite kind.71

These recommendations are very similar to those given by Diogenes of Babylonia, which could be used to understand more precisely the way Stoics understood the functioning of an entirely rational soul that is permeable to non-rational elements.

4. The Soul According to Diogenes of Babylonia 4.1. Music and Wine Let us begin by noting that Diogenes and Posidonius have a similar way of using Plato. They consider the Platonic texts as sources of inspiration, providing theses that can be integrated into the Stoic system without producing any incoherence. They do not admit these theses in the way Plato understood them, but they draw from them to produce new arguments.72 This move is striking when it comes to pedagogical recommendations, given by Plato in the Republic and the Laws and used by both Diogenes and Posidonius. They both prescribe the use of music to shape the souls of children. According to Diogenes, it is possible through music to acquire an impulse, to go towards something (like the trumpet calling to war) or to calm down and to be softened, because a melody proper to our individual nature (tēs prosēkousēs melōdias) can change (metakosmein) our inner organisation: it can turn it upside down (apostrephein) from one impulse to another; it can make an impulse grow or diminish.73 We could conclude from this that they both recommend the use of non-rational means in order to temper the non-rational part of the soul, as did Plato. But their use of music is rather different. Music, for a Stoic, contains rational elements, not consciously perceptible but surely effective on human souls.74 If music is useful, it is because it involves certain 71 72 73 74

Galen PHP 5.6.19–20, p. 330.6–13 De Lacy (trans. De Lacy). For Plato’s legacy for Stoicism, see Bonazzi and Helmig 2007. Diogenes in Philod. De musica 4 Col. 36.1–14 Delattre. Philod. De musica 4 Col. 135.24–8 Delattre: ‘Music is very useful for intelligence, for there are many definitions, divisions and demonstrations in harmonics.’

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proportions and harmonies that are transferred directly to a soul, even if this soul does not really know (intellectually speaking) these logoi. It is clear to Diogenes that hearing music is a very different process when I am a musician, with a full awareness of the subtlety of the harmonies played and when I am completely ignorant of music. But it is also very clear that in both cases hearing music has an impact on my soul. This impact can therefore be totally or unconsciously rational. The explanatory model is very different from Plato’s. If music is a kind of hidden rational tool, this enables us to draw the following conclusion: the soul remains thoroughly rational but can be moved unconsciously, as if in a non-rational way, that is to say, by working on the tension of the soul, which is influenced, as we have seen, not only by judgements and intellectual items but also by strictly non-rational elements, like hot and cold. Ample evidence of this is offered by the influence of the climate and of the blood’s temperature. This shaping of the soul on a merely physical basis is confirmed by Diogenes’ advice about the use of wine (which cannot similarly be suspected this time to contain hidden logoi): drinking some wine while listening to music produces a special kind of quality in the soul, called the ‘virtue of the symposium’.75 Furthermore, both Diogenes and Posidonius also recommend the rocking of babies, following Plato. These statements imply a significant modification inside the Stoic system regarding the achievement of virtue. However, they do not seem to imply an extensive modification of the comprehension of the soul. Following Zeno and Chrysippus, Diogenes assumed the link between soul and blood, by means of vaporisation. His alleged shortening of the Chrysippean definition might imply that he insisted on the physical origin of the soul, and the possible contamination of the logos by the corporeal framework in which it develops. While Chrysippus and Zeno stated that ‘the soul is nourished from blood, but its substance is a pneuma’, Diogenes is accused of saying simply that ‘the soul is blood (αἷμά φησιν εἶναι τὴν ψυχήν)’.76 4.2.

The Bridge between Blood and Virtue

To begin with, we have seen in Section 2 and in particular in text 9 that Chrysippus had already made a connection between the anathumiasis and rational motions, namely passions: some people are subject to anger, some are licentious, and others prone to anger or cruel or proud. There is 75 76

Cf. Col. 83 and 138 (music and virtue are linked); the virtue of love is alluded to in Col. 128 and the virtue of the symposium in Col. 130. Galen PHP 2.8.47, p. 166. 11–14 (trans. De Lacy).

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obviously an interference between my inner psychological states and, on the one hand, the external conditions of my living (like climate) and, on the other, my physical condition (namely internal heat). Talking about the location of the commanding part in the heart, Chrysippus argues that it is a view usually admitted by common sense: [32] The multitude of men seem to me to be brought together to this view since they have an inner awareness of the affections of the mind happening to them in the region of the chest, and especially the place assigned to the heart. This is especially so in distress and fear, in anger and inflamed anger most of all; for images77 arise in us as if it were vaporised from the heart and were pushing out against someone and were blowing into face and hands [κοινῇ δέ μοι δοκοῦσιν οἱ πολλοὶ φέρεσθαι ἐπὶ τοῦτο ὡσανεὶ συναισθανόμενοι περὶ τὸν θώρακα αὑτοῖς τῶν κατὰ τὴν διάνοιαν παθῶν γιγνομένων καὶ μάλιστα καθ’ ὃν ἡ καρδία τέτακται τόπον, οἷον μάλιστα ἐπὶ τῶν λυπῶν καὶ τῶν φόβων καὶ ἐπὶ τῆς ὀργῆς καὶ μάλιστα τοῦ θυμοῦ· ἐκ τῆς καρδίας ἀναθυμιωμένου καὶ ὠθουμένου ἐκτὸς ἐπί τινα καὶ ἐμφυσῶντος τὸ πρόσωπον καὶ τὰς χεῖρας γίγνεσθαι ἡμῖν ἐμφάσεις].78

In a very similar way, quoting different definitions of thumos (‘rage’) in Chrysippus, Nemesius says that: [33] Rage is a boiling of blood around the heart, which comes from a vaporisation of the bile or from its murky blend.79 It is the reason why we call this bile anger [ δέ ἐστι ζέσις τοῦ περὶ καρδίαν αἵματος ἐξ ἀναθυμιάσεως τῆς χολῆς ἢ ἀναθολώσεως γινομένη· διὸ καὶ χολὴ λέγεται καὶ χόλος].80

Galen stresses that the vapour coming from the heart (and, therefore, from the blood) and inflating the face in the case of anger, is a direct borrowing from Plato.81 The psychological frame pictured here is also very similar to Aristotle’s De motu: ‘images, sensations and notions produce modifications’, understood as modifications of size in the parts of the animal. These modifications are due to heat and cold.82 Similarly, Diogenes says that not only passions but all types of voluntary movement are vaporisations: [34] Diogenes says: that which causes a man to make voluntary movements is a kind of vaporization; but every vaporization arises from nutriment; therefore, that which first causes voluntary movements and that which 77 78 79 81 82

emphaseis: De Lacy translates this as ‘impressions’. Galen PHP 3.1.25, p. 172.20–6 De Lacy (trans. De Lacy, slightly modified). 80 Cf. Plato Laws 824a. Nemesius Nat. hom. 21 = SVF 3.416. Galen PHP 3.1.30–3, p. 174.5–24; cf. Timaeus 70a7-b8. Aristotle MA 7, 701b13–b24. See also MA 8, 701b33–702a21.

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nourishes us is necessarily one and the same [τό, φησι, ‘κινοῦν τὸν ἄνθρωπον τὰς κατὰ προαίρεσιν κινήσεις ψυχική τίς ἐστιν ἀναθυμίασις, πᾶσα δὲ ἀναθυμίασις ἐκ τῆς τροφῆς ἀνάγεται, ὥστε τὸ κινοῦν πρῶτον τὰς κατὰ προαίρεσιν κινήσεις καὶ τὸ τρέφον ἡμᾶς ἀνάγκη ἓν καὶ ταὐτὸν εἶναι].83

Images arise in us when a movement is produced in the soul, and this movement is explained as a vaporisation from the heart. Besides, we also have an echo of this text in Diogenes’ On Music. Trying to explain voluntary movements (kata prohairesin kinēseis), he argues that: [35] Because, certainly, actions exist according to choice [κατὰ προαίρεσιν], speaking roughly, some passions accompanied by power become choices [four-line lacuna . . .] daring becoming courage, shame and reserve becoming temperance . . . it is by imitation that impulses come to be, impulses which are acquired by the powers.84

Philodemus understands the text as follows: [36] [Diogenes], even if he wants to say that music inspires impulses, will concede that some passions accompanied by powers are choices, because sometimes it is the same thing. Yet, to assume that the principle, by which choices and powers occur, is passion—daring [θάρσος] becoming courage, shame and reserve [αἰσχύνην καὶ κόσμον] becoming temperance, and so on —is ridiculous. And, indeed, instead of saying that the principles by which we obtain powers are passions of this sort, he names them virtues or results of virtues. And yet, daring, shame, reserve, and other things alike, are named by him passions and impulses by which powers are acquired, saying not only that they are born from authoritative actions but also from things similar to them, and so he is wrong . . .85

It is very difficult to make good sense of these texts. My hypothesis is that we should read them in the light of text 34, because they all deal with voluntary movements (kata prohairesin kinēseis). In order to explain the claim that ‘some passions accompanied by power become choices’, Diogenes uses 83 84 85

Galen PHP 2.8.44, p. 166.1–4 De Lacy (trans. De Lacy). Diogenes ap. Philodemus De musica Col. 14.5–10, 15–23 Delattre. This column is a parallel to Col. 89 (Philodemus’ account) and reconstructed from it by Delattre. Diogenes ap. Philodemus De musica Col. 89.29–90.9 Delattre (my trans.): κἄν βούληται [̣ ταύ|την] ὁρμὰς ἐμποιεῖν, καὶ ⋇ | πρ[οαιρ]έσεις εἶναι πάθη τι|[να με]τὰ δυνάμεως, ὅτι πο|[τὲ τα]ὐτ ̣ό ̣ ἐστι. τὸ δ᾿ ἀρχὴν εἶ|[ναι] τοῦ λαβεῖν τὰς ̣προαι|[ρέ]σ ̣εις ταύτας καὶ τὰς δυνά|[μ]εις τὰ πάθη, πρὸς ἀνδρεί|[α] ν μὲν θάρσος, [[σ]] πρὸς σω|φροσύνην δὲ αἰσχύνην ⋇ |[κ]αὶ κόσμον, ἄλλα δὲ πρὸς |[ἄ]λ ̣λα, γελοῖόν ἐστι συγχω|[ρε]ῖν· οὐχ ὅτι γὰρ τοῦ λαβεῖν |[τ]ὰς εἰρημένας δυνάμεις ‛ὡ̣[ς’] ὄν ̣τα τοιαῦτα πάθη δώσει ̣| τ ̣ις ἀρχάς, ἀλλ᾿ ἀρετὰς ἢ τῶν |[ἀ]ρετῶ̣ν [ἀ]ποτελέσματα· || [ἀλλὰ] μὴν ̣ τὰ θάρση καὶ τὰς | [αἰσχύ]νας καὶ κοσμιότητα[ς | καὶ τ]ὰ τοιαῦτα πάθη προσ|[αγορ]εύει καὶ τὰς ὁρμὰς ⋇ δι᾿ |[ὧν λ] αμβάνουσι τὰς δυνά⋇|[μεις], οὐ μόνον λέγων ὑπὸ | τῶν κυρίων γίγνεσθαι πρά|[ξεω]ν ̣, ἀλλὰ καὶ ὑπὸ [[υ]] τῶν ὁ⋇|[μοι]ω̣ματων, ἀγνοεῖ . . .

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various examples which will allow me to hazard an interpretation. How can it be true that daring becomes courage, that shame and reserve becomes temperance? Strictly speaking, daring (tharsos or tharros) does not fit with the definition of virtue: daring is only a final good, whereas a virtue is both a final and a productive good.86 Yet, daring is elsewhere said to be a virtue subordinated to courage, being ‘the science by which we know nothing terrible will occur to us’.87 We could say, then, that it is perfectly possible that having a subordinated virtue enables us, afterwards, to achieve the corresponding cardinal virtue. This move, however, is not possible if daring is not a virtue: a virtue is both an epistēmē and a technē and it cannot be derived from something other than knowledge. Similarly, reserve is close to the virtue of kosmiotēs, subordinated to the virtue of temperance (sōphrosunē). However, ‘shame’ (aischunē) is clearly a passion, whose counterpart eupatheia is ‘reserve’. According to Chrysippus, shame is actually a vice: a passion subordinated to fear.88 We thus have the same wavering between two different statuses (quasivirtues or vices) in both examples. The last part of the text, however, pushes us towards the crucial point: Diogenes claims that impulses are produced by imitation (and not by knowledge, then); he draws a line between imitation, impulse, and powers (dunameis), the latter being components in the achievement of virtues. In this case, it points to a physical acquisition of the virtue, through the idea of dunamis. Philodemus strongly objects that Diogenes is betraying Stoic terminology on that point: daring and reserve should not be called passions, but rather virtues or results of virtues. In any case, their link with virtue is clearly attested. We can nevertheless understand this floating status if we read Plutarch, who makes fun of the distinction between passions and eupatheiai: [37] They call shame reserve, pleasure joy, fear precaution. No one can blame them for these euphemisms, if they give to the same passions these former names when they join reason, and the latter when they fight violently together [ καλοῦσι καὶ τὸ καὶ ταύτην μὲν οὐδενὸς ἂν αἰτιασαμένου τὴν 86 87 88

Stob. 2.7.5, p. 72 W. (SVF 3.106): ‘Joy [chara], affability [euphrosunē], daring [tharros], intelligent walking [phronimē peripatēsis] are final goods [telika agatha].’ Stob. 2.7.5b2, p. 61 W. (SVF 3.264) Stob. 2.7.10b, p. 90 W. (SVF 3.394); ibid. in 2.7.5d, p. 69 W. (SVF 3.86), saying that all vicious things (kaka) are shameful (aischra).

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εὐφημίαν, εἰ τὰ αὐτὰ πάθη προστιθέμενα μὲν τῷ λογισμῷ τούτοις καλοῦσι τοῖς ὀνόμασι, μαχόμενα δὲ καὶ βιαζόμενα τὸν λογισμὸν ἐκείνοις].89

According to all this, Diogenes is twisting Stoic terminology when he puts shame in the same category as reserve and daring. The Platonic definition of shame (legitimate fear of bad reputation) has perhaps something to do with this shift. So, if there is a continuity between the erroneous emotional states called passions, the correct emotional states called eupatheiai, and the perfect mental state that is virtue, it is possible to move from one to another. This is what is suggested in Diogenes’ claim that a virtue can come from an emotional state like daring and shame. If Diogenes makes it possible that some passions become voluntary choices or intentions, then some excessive swellings of the soul, based on false judgement, can become rational choices or voluntary impulses. This would mean that we can make some measured rational moves, starting from a non-rational (nonmeasured) basis.90 If the demonstration given by Diogenes is puzzling and incomplete, it remains clear that he is trying to make this sort of (previously absolutely forbidden) move possible. To put it more radically: some virtues like courage and temperance can be obtained from a passionate starting point like daring, shame, and reserve. This move is possible if we look back to text 34. There, the soul is clearly conceived in a purely physical way. It is not merely a pneuma which is a vaporisation of the blood; it is blood (αἷμά φησιν εἶναι τὴν ψυχήν).91 Accordingly, a judgement or a choice, being a particular pōs echon of the soul, is a quality, a dunamis subject to the direct influence of physical items like blood and temperature. Shortening the transition from blood to soul is a way of acknowledging that vaporisation is a neutral process that directly transmits the quality of the blood to the soul. Further, if the link between soul and blood, soul and external air, becomes very close, we can imagine 89 90

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Plut. De uirtute morali 449A. For a definition of prohairesis, cf. Stob. 2.7.5, p. 87.14 W. (SVF 3.173): prohairesis is defined as one of the species of practical impulse, of which other species are design (indication of accomplishment); preparation (action before action); undertaking (impulsion towards what is now at hand); choice (hairesis, rational wish coming from reasoning (analogismos); rational wish (boulēsis); rational desire (eulogos orexis); will (thelēsis); and voluntary rational wish (ekousios boulēsis). Prohairesis is a ‘choice before choice’ (hairesis pro haireseōs). It can be understood as an isolated intention or a choice of life which gives all other choices their meaning and coherence (see for this general sense Zeno’s description of the spoudaios, who is ‘great, strong, sublime, and powerful’ because he is able to ‘accomplish things which are in accordance with his choice [kata prohairesin]’ (SVF 1.216)). In Epictetus, prohairesis means choice, faculty of choice (Diss. 1.17. 21–4 and Encheiridion, passim), as well as ‘persona’, that is finally the choice in its general sense (Diss. 1.29.47; see Gourinat 2005). In Diogenes of Babylonia, the term stands only for an isolated choice. Galen PHP 2.8.47. Already quoted in note 23.

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a functioning of the soul which is not purely rational. Then it becomes possible to explain the acquisition of virtues simply in terms of rearranging the quality of the soul by impulses, which grow or diminish by rational and also non-rational means. Factors like passions and vices and non-rational elements like the corresponding swellings of the soul produced by blood (in Chrysippus’ rage, for example, or by physical movements like rocking) can thus be used to provoke certain rational and reasonable tensions inside the soul.

Conclusion Posidonius and Diogenes of Babylonia share the same aim: to explain how the Stoic soul, whose functioning is rational, is at the same time a physical entity that can be trained by pre-rational motions. Taking very seriously the physical description of the soul, they come back to the idea of anathumiasis inherited from Heraclitus and Aristotle. They try to clarify how a rational soul, at first very similar to the soul of an animal deprived of any logical function, progressively achieves its rational telos. It is thus necessary to explain clearly the transformation of a pre-rational motion inside a to-be-rational soul into a genuinely rational motion inside a wellconstituted reason. This pre-rational level of the soul is described in terms of pathetikai kinēseis in Posidonius; through this, one can understand why the soul sometimes contains a judgement without being able to follow it. The physical tension of this judgement is unable to pervade the whole soul, because the latter is too weak and operates at a very low level of rationality. With these movements, Posidonius intends to clarify the atonia or astheneia of the soul already pointed out by Chrysippus as a possible cause for wrong action. Posidonius wants to show that the Stoic system is much more complex and flexible than a stark intellectualism. We have seen that Chrysippus himself led the way to a very subtle interpretation of mental events: their cause is not solely a judgement but also a certain quality of the soul which depends on many features (the innate impulses, the outside conditions of living, like climate, and the inner state of the body, like temperature, appropriate or inappropriate blend of hot and cold, wet and dry, and the quality of the blood). This result is no real surprise: the impulses of a rational being admit different qualities according to their high or low level of rationality. But the conclusion drawn is indeed astonishing: if it is the case that a rational soul functions like this, it is surprising to deny that non-rational means are appropriate tools for shaping it.

chapter 7

The Platonic Soul, from the Early Academy to the First Century ce Jan Opsomer

Plutarch and Timaeus 35a For the modern reader, Timaeus 35a counts among the more abstruse passages in Plato’s dialogues. For ancient Platonists, too, it was considered to be obscure, yet also exerted an enduring fascination because it was believed to contain the key to understanding Plato’s concept of the soul. It provides a technical description of the composition and nature of the world soul and can therefore be used better to understand the (rational) human soul, which was held to be structured analogously. Plutarch of Chaeronea is the author of an exegetical work dedicated to this passage.1 Even though it is the oldest extensive treatment to have come down to us, there is strong evidence, as I hope to show, for an older exegetical tradition, going back to debates in the early Academy. This exegetical tradition may not have been continuous, but there are traces of it even in the Hellenistic era. In this essay I offer a reconstruction of the tradition preceding Plutarch.2 Not only will this allow us a better understanding of Plutarch’s own project, but it will also shed some light on some relatively unknown chapters in the history of the interpretation of Plato and on some other issues that are better known, but not fully understood, as for instance Xenocrates’ and Speusippus’ definitions of the soul. As Plutarch reads the passage, Plato specifies four3 ‘ingredients’ or constituents: (a) ‘indivisible and always changeless being’ (‘Indivisible Being’); (b) ‘[being] that becomes divisible in the presence of—or around— bodies’ or also ‘Divisible [Being] belonging to bodies’4 (ἡ περὶ τὰ σώματα γιγνομένη μεριστή [οὐσία] : ‘Divisible Being’); 1 2 4

More precisely, the work is dedicated to the consecutive passages Tim. 35a1–b4 and 35b4–36b5. Some later interpretations are examined in Phillips 2002. 3 See also SE PH 3.189. A. E. Taylor’s translation ‘transient and divisible corporeal being’ is of little use here. Taylor 1928: 108 argues that περί + acc. is here a mere equivalent of a genitive. The ancients clearly disagreed, because they unanimously distinguished this ‘divisible being’ from the being of bodies. See, e.g., Calcidius’

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(c) ‘the nature of the Same’; (d) ‘the nature of the Different’. Understanding the passage, according to Plutarch, involves knowing which entities or powers are denoted by these expressions and what role they play once they have entered into the blend. A further question concerns the steps of the blending process. Plutarch thinks there are two: first the demiurge mixes (a) with (b); subsequently, he adds (c) and (d) to the original mixture. This aspect of his interpretation is not remarkable: most of his predecessors5 appear to have envisaged the mixing process in the same manner, as we shall see. The identification of the different entities was much more controversial. On Plutarch’s view: (a) Indivisible Being is god, that is, the demiurge, or reason. (b) Divisible Being is ‘soul itself’, that is the original, irrational soul, the principle of disorderly motion. (c–d) The Same and the Different are higher metaphysical principles, which derive from the even higher principles, the One and the Dyad. Probably (a) and (b) are held to derive themselves from (c) and (d), respectively. Plutarch’s solution is original especially with respect to his identification of (b), which involves the idea that the original soul is a principle of irrationality, that is, a principle of evil. He moreover insists on the novelty of the view that the blending of the soul by the demiurge is to be understood as an actual event at the beginning of time. The role Plutarch attributes to these constituents6 is much less original: in both the cosmic and the human soul their dualistic influence can be observed in motions and cognitions. What has not previously been recognised is the fact that, regarding these questions and answers, Plutarch inherited several assumptions from the earlier Platonic tradition: • the firm conviction that Tim. 35a–b is the key passage for understanding the Platonic soul;

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translation, 27.8–9 Waszink: alia, quae inseparabilis corporum comes per eadem corpora scindere se putatur. For some exceptions, see infra, n. 83. For an accurate understanding of Plutarch, and possibly of some of the other philosophers discussed here (although in their cases the details of the theory are mostly unclear) it is useful to distinguish between these entities understood as ‘ingredients’, considered as independently existing things, and the same entities as constituents, that is, their nature and role in the mixture.

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• the view that cognition and motion are among the primary functions of the soul; • the understanding of the mixing process as a two-step process starting from four ingredients: it involves first the mixture of (a) and (b) and then the admixture of (c) and (d) to this first blend. This is different from our standard reading of Tim. 35a, which follows Proclus.7 The authors I shall discuss in this essay start from roughly the same assumptions. Besides the kinetic and/or cognitive functions they attribute to the constituents, some authors also give them what I shall call an ontological function, which has to do with the soul as the principle of three-dimensional extension.

Aristotle DA 1.2 404b16–30 The earliest interpretations of Plato’s account are found in an obscure passage from De anima 1.2, which begins with an patent reference to Tim. 35a and continues with a discussion of some apparently related doctrines, the authorship of which Aristotle does not specify. These views are reported in a highly condensed form and are difficult to understand. T1 Ar. DA 1.2, 404b16–30: (a) τὸν αὐτὸν δὲ τρόπον καὶ ὁ Πλάτων ἐν τῷ Τιμαίῳ τὴν ψυχὴν ἐκ τῶν στοιχείων ποιεῖ· γινώσκεσθαι γὰρ τῷ ὁμοίῳ τὸ ὅμοιον, τὰ δὲ πράγματα ἐκ τῶν ἀρχῶν εἶναι. (b) ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ ἐν τοῖς περὶ φιλοσοφίας λεγομένοις διωρίσθη, αὐτὸ μὲν τὸ ζῷον ἐξ αὐτῆς τῆς τοῦ ἑνὸς ἰδέας καὶ τοῦ πρώτου μήκους καὶ πλάτους καὶ βάθους, τὰ δ’ ἄλλα ὁμοιοτρόπως· (c) ἔτι δὲ καὶ ἄλλως, (c1) νοῦν μὲν τὸ ἕν, ἐπιστήμην δὲ τὰ δύο (μοναχῶς γὰρ ἐφ’ ἕν), τὸν δὲ τοῦ ἐπιπέδου ἀριθμὸν δόξαν, αἴσθησιν δὲ τὸν τοῦ στερεοῦ. (c2) οἱ μὲν γὰρ ἀριθμοὶ τὰ εἴδη αὐτὰ καὶ αἱ ἀρχαὶ ἐλέγοντο, εἰσὶ δ’ ἐκ τῶν στοιχείων, κρίνεται δὲ τὰ πράγματα τὰ μὲν νῷ, τὰ δ’ ἐπιστήμῃ, τὰ δὲ δόξῃ, τὰ δ’ αἰσθήσει· (c3) εἴδη δ’ οἱ ἀριθμοὶ οὗτοι τῶν πραγμάτων. (d) ἐπεὶ δὲ καὶ κινητικὸν ἐδόκει ἡ ψυχὴ εἶναι καὶ γνωριστικὸν οὕτως, ἔνιοι συνέπλεξαν ἐξ ἀμφοῖν, ἀποφηνάμενοι τὴν ψυχὴν ἀριθμὸν κινοῦνθ’ ἑαυτόν. (a) In the same manner [sc. as Empedocles], Plato in the Timaeus constructs the soul from the elements; for like, he holds, is known by like, and things are formed out of the principles. (b) Similarly also in the lectures ‘On Philosophy’ it was determined that the animal itself is compounded of the Form itself of the One together with the primary length, breadth, and 7

The ‘modern’ reading (inaugurated by Grube 1932) requires that one read αὐτῶν at Tim. 35a6, whereas Plutarch and several of his predecessors discussed in this essay probably read αὐτήν. Cf. Opsomer 2004: 140–1.

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jan opsomer depth, the other [things/animals] being similarly constituted. (c) And in yet another way: (c1) One is intelligence, Two is knowledge (because it goes to one point in a single way), the number of the plane is opinion, the number of the solid sensation; (c2) for the numbers were commonly identified with the Forms themselves or the principles, and consist of the elements; and some things are apprehended by intelligence, others by knowledge, others by opinion, others by sensation; (c3) and these same numbers are the forms of things. (d) And since the soul was deemed to be originative of both motion and, in this way, of cognition, some thinkers, twining it together from both, have declared the soul to be a number moving itself.

In (a) Aristotle introduces Plato through a comparison with Empedocles: both think that the soul is cognitive and therefore needs to be compounded of the same principles as constitute the things cognised. The fact that these principles are obviously four in number—something Aristotle does not state—explains the connection with sections (b) and (c): in (b) ‘one’ is followed by the three spatial dimensions that are somehow constitutive of the animal itself, and (c) contains a number of reflections on a list of four cognitive faculties or states. Whereas (a) and (c) evidently, and (b) presumably, relate to the cognitive aspect of the soul, whose four constituents are connected to the objects of cognition, the definition in (d), attributed to ‘some’, is said to unite the cognitive with the kinetic aspect and make the former depend on the latter. Section (a) alone is unambiguously connected to a Platonic text. The way the text develops suggests no other author for (b)8 and (c). Iamblichus accordingly understands the doctrine reported in (b–c), too, as Plato’s (cf. infra, p. 180). Yet this is not what all commentators think. M. Isnardi Parente argues that (b) and (c) present the views of Speusippus.9 This view has been challenged by L. Tarán,10 following H. Cherniss,11 who asserted that ‘the passage refers to Xenocrates and no one else’. As for (d), several ancient sources ascribe its definition to Xenocrates, but the doxographic tradition attributes it to both Pythagoras and Xenocrates. Without taking a stance in the debates 8

9 10

The identification of ἐν τοῖς περὶ φιλοσοφίας λεγομένοις is unclear: they could be (a) Plato’s lectures (Viano 1996: 64 n. 30. See also Krämer 1964: 161, 202), (b) lectures by a student of Plato, for instance Xenocrates (as claimed by Them. in DA 11.18–12.33—see Brisson 2000a: 91–8; Finamore and Dillon 2002: 85 n. 11.), or also (c) his own lost work On Philosophy (Pseudo-Simpl. in DA 28.7–9 and Philop. in DA 75.34–76.1 identify this work with On the Good, in which Aristotle supposedly reported non-written doctrines of his master). Only if the reference is to the work of one of Plato’s students, which Aristotle’s intended audience would have known, would (b) mark a shift to doctrines, or interpretations, that are no longer Plato’s own. Isnardi Parente 1971; Isnardi Parente and Dorandi 2012: 296. Krämer 1964: 161, 203–7 considers these doctrines to be Plato’s own. Tarán 1981: 459–60. 11 Cherniss 1962: 565–79; Cherniss 1959.

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regarding the authorship of these doctrines,12 one can safely say that the whole passage exudes a strong Pythagorean flavour, especially regarding the idea that things are composed of numbers.13 It is certainly no coincidence that the Timaeus was perceived as a Pythagoreanising dialogue. This explains why in the later tradition these doctrines could appeal to certain Platonists, and why even an attribution of the definition in (d) to Pythagoras could be attractive to some. The mention, in (b), of the animal itself recalls Tim. 39e7–40a4, where it is also, albeit in a different manner, related to the tetrad. Here it could be a reference to the world soul or more probably to the paradigm, whose structure the soul reflects in its own essence. What is important for later Platonic concepts of the soul is the fact that the text provides very early authority for the view that unity and the three dimensions are somehow constitutive of the soul. In (b) either the paradigm or the soul is seen as containing the principles of the three dimensions.14 Aristotle indeed speaks of the primary length, breadth, and depth. Perhaps the idea is that at the level of soul the four constituents of the tetraktys appear as point-line-plane-solid.15 We will later see the same conception of the soul as principle of dimensionality in Speusippus and Posidonius.16 Section (c) is presented as a different approach to the same issue. In (c1) the numbers are connected to a sequence of cognitive faculties (rather than states): intelligence, knowledge, opinion, and sense perception.17 Moreover, the numbers two-three-four are here aligned with the three dimensions (as in b). In (c2) and (c3) the principle ‘like is known by like’ (from (a)) is recalled and explained: numbers stand for the forms of cognition and are their principles (c2), and they, or rather their principles or ‘elements’,18 are also (c3) the forms of the things19 cognised by the faculties (possibly, as in (b), because they provide the dimensions of senseperceptible things and analogously constitute the objects of the other cognitive faculties). Section (d) differs from (a–c) not only because 12

13 14 16

17 18

Most scholarship on the Old Academy is predicated on the convenient but questionable assumption that each thinker can be connected to no more than one position on any given issue. The evidence presented by Aristotle is perfectly compatible with, and even suggests, a different picture: that of lively debates with participants willing to test different positions. This would also be confirmed by a passage from Theophrastus Met. 6a23–b9. Ross 1961: 179. 15 Dillon 2003: 23, 109 n. 63. See also Gaiser 1998: 46–7. Leg. 10, 896c5–d3 could be read as lending support to this idea, although Plato may be saying no more than that soul is prior to body, which happens to have three dimensions (yet one may ask why Plato mentioned dimensions at all, if not in order to suggest that soul is anterior to threedimensional extension). Compare Tim. 37b8–c2: δόξαι καὶ πίστεις . . . βέβαιοι καὶ ἀληθεῖς . . . νοῦς ἐπιστήμη τε. See also Met. A5, 985b32–986a2. 19 Met. A5, 987a17–22.

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Aristotle explicitly connects it with other thinkers, but also because the definition accounts also for motion.20 Throughout his doxography, Aristotle distinguishes between thinkers who highlight either the cognitive or the kinetic role of the soul, or both.21 Aristotle’s account testifies to discussions in the early Academy. The views he presumably wants to attribute to Plato in (a–c) may indeed have been Plato’s. Sections (b) and certainly (c) go beyond the text of the Timaeus and could just as well be the result of interpretations or new doctrinal efforts on the part of Plato’s followers, who may or may not have presented these as Plato’s own. Starting from Tim. 35a and the debates in the early Academy to which Aristotle bears witness, and in all likelihood also through his account, a tradition was born that looked at this passage and the texts surrounding it for an answer to the question of what the soul essentially is. In particular, the passage should tell us which constituents of the soul or which principles producing its essence explain its functions. Our main later sources for the exegetical tradition will be Plutarch, Iamblichus, the pseudo-Pythagorean corpus, and the doxographic tradition. Only with Iamblichus do we find incontrovertible evidence of the Platonic reception of DA 1.2. The earlier sources point to interpretations that stand in the same tradition: the philosophical issues that they connect to Tim. 35a are the same. Whether these interpreters knew DA 1.2 or had direct access to other texts from the ancient Academy is impossible to determine with certainty.

Xenocrates (or Pythagoras?) The anonymous definition of the soul as self-moving number cited by Aristotle (T1, d) is featured in Plutarch’s treatise. Plutarch attributes the definition to Xenocrates22 and contrasts it with Crantor’s definition (De an. procr. 1012D2–F1): Xenocrates ‘declares the essence of the soul to be number moved by itself’. What was at best implied by Aristotle now becomes crystal clear: this definition is the result of a specific reading of Tim. 35a. Four ingredients are mixed in two steps: (1) Divisible Being is mixed with 20 21

22

See also Aristotle’s criticism at DA 1.4, 409a1–3: πῶς γὰρ χρὴ νοῆσαι μονάδα κινουμένην, καὶ ὑπὸ τίνος, καὶ πῶς, ἀμερῆ καὶ ἀδιάφορον οὖσαν; Important for understanding later developments are the close association of intelligence/intellect with one (cf. Krämer 2014: 145 n. 84), the fact that perception comes fourth (compare Leg. 10, 894a1– 5), and the association of soul with the tetrad (cf. Aët. 1.3, Dox. 282a5–17; Ps.-Iambl. Theol. Arith. 30.2–9; SE M 4.6–9). See also De an. procr. 1025A6–B9, E9–F1, F6–1026A3.

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Indivisible Being; (2) sameness and difference are added to the blend. The mixture of Indivisible and Divisible Being produces number. For number is generated when the One (τὸ ἓν), that is the indivisible, bounds multiplicity, that is the divisible. The divisible is equated with the indefinite Dyad, also called the unlimited (ἀπειρία), upon which the one imposes limit (πέρας). Plutarch explains that Zaratas, the teacher of Pythagoras, calls the One the father of number, and the Dyad its mother. It is not clear whether Plutarch adds this remark about Zaratas on his own account or whether it was already part of Xenocrates’ argument, but it is certainly Xenocrates who is reported to have held that number becomes soul when active and passive motion (τὸ κινητικὸν καὶ τὸ κινητόν) are added through the admixture of sameness and difference, which are the principles of rest and motion, respectively. With respect to both rest and motion, Plutarch carefully distinguishes between their active and passive aspects (ἱστάναι καὶ ἵστασθαι / κινεῖσθαι καὶ κινεῖν), which is also reflected in Xenocrates’ definition (αὐτὸν ὑφ’ ἑαυτοῦ κινούμενον). Soul moves itself and is thereby itself in motion and it is able to halt itself and thereby be at rest. One could even speculate that for Xenocrates the active and passive aspects correspond to indivisibility and divisibility, respectively,23 which would mean that the role of these two ingredients is not limited to the generation of number. I should add that ‘number’ should probably not be taken in the sense of a simple cardinal number, but rather in the sense of an entity characterised by a more complex arithmetic structure, with numbers determining internal harmonic proportions, in the spirit of Tim. 35b1–36d7. Contrary to Aristotle, Plutarch presents Xenocrates’ concept of the soul primarily under its motive aspect, in combination with an account of the origin of number.24 This makes for a nice contrast with Crantor, who ‘mixes the soul from intelligible nature and from doxastic nature belonging to sense-perceptibles’ (1012D8–9), appealing to these ingredients in order to explain the cognitive function of the soul. Yet later in the text Plutarch criticises Xenocrates’ definition for its lack of explanatory power in relation to the soul’s cognitive function: neither number (Xenocrates) nor limit (Posidonius) is of any use to explain the cognition of sense-perceptibles (1023D4–7). By this remark he shows himself to be aware of the fact that for Xenocrates, too, the composition of the soul is supposed to account for cognition as well. 23 24

Compare Arist. Phys. 6.4, 234b10; 8.10, 266a10–11, 267b25–6. Theophrastus apparently did not have in mind this combination of number with movement when he criticised the Academics at Met. 4a21–b5.

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The definition of the soul that Plutarch and many others (e.g. Iamblichus)25 attribute to Xenocrates is also quoted in the Placita, but there it is surprisingly ascribed to Pythagoras: ‘Pythagoras [says the soul is] self-moving number, taking number to stand for intellect.’26 Aëtius’ comment about the word ‘number’ in the definition being equivalent to intellect most probably derives, mediately, from Aristotle DA I.2, 404b16–30, and stems from an attempt to make sense of the view here attributed to Pythagoras and Xenocrates. As we have seen, Aristotle reports that Plato or Platonists identify or at least closely associate intellect with the monad (404b22).27 Aëtius or, more probably, his source presumably took his cue from there and understood the definition of soul as being ‘intellect in motion’, possibly assuming that this was Pythagoras’ definition. In this light it is remarkable that, in the Quaestiones Platonicae 8, 1007c5–6, Plutarch ascribes the same definition not to Xenocrates, but to ‘the ancients’. Possibly Plutarch thought that the definition was not just Xenocrates’, but generically Pythagorean and later adopted by Xenocrates. He would then assume that this is a case of Xenocrates ‘Pythagoreanising’. This is in line not only with how Iamblichus treats this doctrine and with the conclusion at which Aëtius or his source had arrived, but also with the fact that in De animae procreatione Plutarch implies that Xenocrates associated the interpretation on which the definition is based with Zaratas, the presumed teacher of Pythagoras.

Crantor Crantor’s account of the soul, says Plutarch, is motivated by the concern to understand how the soul is able to cognise both sense-perceptibles and intelligibles, forming judgements about their differences and sameness (1012F2–1013A5). Based on the same idea that like is known by like, Crantor lets the Divisible and Indivisible Being stand for the two realms 25 26

27

Xenocrates F85–121 Isnardi Parente; Iambl. DA ap. Stob. 1.49, p. 364.9–10 W. Aët. 4.2.3 (Stobaeus, ps.-Plutarch) = DG 386b8–10 (386a12–14): Πυθαγόρας ἀριθμὸν ἑαυτὸν κινοῦντα, τὸν δ’ ἀριθμὸν ἀντὶ τοῦ νοῦ παραλαμβάνει. Since the same remark is made by Nemesius and Theodoretus, who are independent witnesses for Aëtius, we may infer that it was already in Aëtius. See the ‘revised schema for the transmission’ of the doxographical tradition at Mansfeld and Runia 1997: 328 and also ibid., 294. See also Mansfeld and Runia 2009: 140–2, showing that the way these sections on the soul in Aëtius are structured strongly suggest a Peripatetic context and, more precisely, in this particular case, an influence of De anima 1.2. See also Viano 1996: 51 and Mansfeld 2016: 311. Later, Aristotle alludes to the same definition but substitutes ‘monad’ for ‘number’: DA 1.4, 409a1–3, cf. supra, n. 26.

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that the soul is meant to know, and sameness and difference as the tools for discernment in both of these realms and across realms (cf. Tim. 37a2–b3). This is his explanation for the four ingredients in the soul’s composition. It should be noted that this is essentially the same explanation as that offered by Alcinous (Did. 14, 169.16–31 W.-L.). Crantor’s influence on this text is incontestable, even if it may have passed through intermediary stages.28 Plutarch takes Crantor to understand the blending of ingredients in such a way that they are preserved in the mixture, which would make him liable to the charge of materialism.

Speusippus Two sources from late Antiquity provide additional evidence for early interpretations of Timaeus 35a: Iamblichus De anima (ap. Stob. 1.49, 363.26–365.4 W. = F7-8 Martone = F4-5 Finamore-Dillon and Proclus in Tim. 3, 2.152.25–154.26. The two accounts are similar in the way in which they organise their material and partly report the same views as representing the different dialectical positions. The most plausible hypothesis is that they depend on the same doxographic source or tradition, which used a diaphonic organisation.29 In his doxography on the interpretation of Indivisible and Divisible Being, Proclus distinguishes three groups among the pre-Plotinian interpreters (in Tim. 3, 2.153.16–154.1): (1) mathematical interpretations, divided into (1a) arithmetic and (1b) geometric interpretations, and (2) physical interpretations. The arithmetic interpretation considers the soul to be number, created from the One and the indefinite Dyad. Its advocates are ‘the followers of Aristander, Numenius, and a great many other commentators’. The geometric interpretation is that of Severus and considers the geometric substance of the soul to be constituted by point and extension. Plutarch and Atticus are quoted as proponents of the physical interpretation, as they consider the irrational soul (Divisible Being) to be a physical entity that exists before the rational soul. According to Proclus, they blend the irrational soul with the divine soul (Indivisible Being), the result of this mixture being the rational soul. Whereas the mathematical interpretations make these constituents or principles of soul intermediate between the physical and the transcendent realms, and the physical interpretation even 28 29

See Dillon 1993: 121–2 and Göransson 1995: 182–202, but especially Mansfeld and Runia 1997: 238–44. See also Mansfeld 1990: 3076. See also ibid., pp. 3084–5 on the diaphonic organisation of several doxographies.

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makes one of them belong to nature, the loftier Neoplatonic interpretations situate them among the principles that transcend nature (in Tim. 3, 2.154.1–9).30 Proclus’ account of the arithmetic interpretation would seem to agree with the Xenocratean definition, whereas his report on the geometric interpretation would also fit the view discussed in T1, b, as well as the Speusippean definition as reported by Iamblichus. According to Iamblichus’ classification,31 an important group of interpreters considers the essence of the soul to be mathematical. The mathematical interpretation consists of two subgroups: the numerical and the geometric interpretations. Among those who discuss the soul in numerical terms he lists ‘some Pythagoreans who connect soul to number simpliciter’; Xenocrates, with his definition of soul as self-moved number; ‘Moderatus the Pythagorean’, who thinks the soul is number comprising ratios; ‘Hippasus the acousmatic Pythagorean’, who speaks of ‘[number as] the criterial instrument of the world-creating god’; and finally Plato’s view as reported by Aristotle (cf. T1, a). The proponents of the geometric interpretation are philosophers who hold the soul to be essentially either the shape as extended throughout, that is everything within its borders, or as the borders or limits themselves: Severus advocates the first view; Speusippus, the second.32 A totally different group considers the soul to be harmony (here Moderatus is cited once more). On Iamblichus’ account of Speusippus,33 soul is ‘the form [ἰδέα] of what is extended in every direction [τοῦ πάντῃ διαστατοῦ]’.34 As far as I know, no modern interpreter has connected this definition with Tim. 35a. Yet, on closer inspection, several elements speak in favour of the association of the definition with this precise passage. Not only is its conceptual framework quite close to T1, b–c, but the comparison with Posidonius—who, as we shall see, takes over this definition—also shows that Tim. 35a indeed provides the original context. 30 31 32

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For Aristander, Severus, and Numenius, see Boys-Stones 2018: 229–30. Iambl. DA 4 (Finamore-Dillon) / 7 (Martone), ap. Stob. 1.49, pp. 363.26–364.18 W. Pace Finamore and Dillon 2002: 80. This way of distinguishing the position of Severus from that of Speusippus is confirmed by Procl. in Tim. 3, 2.152.21–30. Compare also: Festugière 1990: 180 n. 1, followed by Martone 2014: 102. There is doxographic evidence for the view that defines the soul as limit. This doctrine predates Philo of Alexandria, who at Somn. 1.30 cites the equation of intellect with limit as part of a doxographic list that is clearly based on a doxography on the essence of soul (Mansfeld 1990: 3070). We have no reason to believe that this description picks out Speusippus’ doctrine of soul, but it is very possible that it was part of the same intellectual debate. Like Xenocrates, Speusippus is reported to have written a treatise on the soul: DL 4.4; 4.13. Iambl. DA ap. Stob. 1.49, p. 364.4–5 W. ‘In every direction’ (πάντῃ) means: in all three spatial dimensions. Cf. Arist. DC 1.1, 268a6–13.

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What is intriguing about the definition ‘form (idea, rational structure) of what is extended in all directions’ is that it is not obviously the definition of anything psychic. One would be forgiven for thinking it applies perfectly to the form of any hylomorphic material body. Yet the definition does not state that that which is defined has three-dimensional extension, but rather that it provides the idea grounding the three spatial dimensions. Speusippus does not accept Plato’s Forms, but it is unlikely that idea here means ‘Platonic Form’. It should rather be taken (as later in Posidonius’ definition) as ‘form’ or ‘formal principle’, in accordance with Plato’s own usage at Tim. 35a7 (εἰς μίαν . . . ἰδέαν).35 We encountered a similar view in DA 1.2, 404b18–21 (= T1, b), a text that many scholars have taken to constitute evidence for Speusippus’ teachings. Even though the definition is not clear about the soul being the source of dimensionality (or at least the proximate source of dimensionality in the physical world, if one thinks the first principles of the three dimensions are to be found at a higher level, as DA I.2, 404b18–21 could suggest), it would make sense of the fact that the soul is called the form (or ‘rational structure’) of three-dimensional extension. This also establishes the link with Tim. 35a and the interpretations reported by Aristotle: by combining form with extension, Speusippus’ definition indeed unites something indivisible with something divisible. If that is the reasoning behind the definition, Speusippus would be closer to Xenocrates than one would think at first blush. Xenocrates and Speusippus both may have thought that the ‘numbers’ of the tetrad (including the monad, which only Speusippus considered to be a number) were associated with the point and the three spatial dimensions.36 The status to be attributed to the definition is not uncontested, however.37 In my view, the evidence suggests that Speusippus seriously entertained the account of the soul that corresponds to the definition attributed to him. There are no sufficient grounds to assume that he was utterly non-committal towards the definition and the doctrine that follows from his interpretation of the Timaeus. That does not mean, however, that we must ascribe to him a strongly dogmatic and rigid account. His 35

36 37

Cherniss 1962: 511 notes that the definition looks like an attempt to defend Plato’s concept of the soul as it appears in the Timaeus against the criticism that the soul cannot be an extended quantity (Arist. DA 1.3, 407a2–3). The definition makes the point that soul is the form of extension, not unlike Aristotle’s form. As a form, it could indeed be considered to be indivisible (Arist e.g. DA 1.1, 402b1, 3.2 427a2–15). Cf. Gaiser 1998: 22, 51, 347 n. 41; Krämer 1964: 33 n. 43, 209 n. 48. Pace Festugière 1990: 180 n. 2. See Cherniss 1962: 509–11; Tarán 1981: 365–71; Isnardi Parente 1980: 338–9; Finamore and Dillon 2002: 80–1.

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interpretation of the soul may rather have been an element in the debates that evolved among the followers of Plato.

Eratosthenes A surprising presence in Proclus’ doxographic list is Eratosthenes (in Tim. 3, 2.152.21–30). The view Proclus attributes to him is remarkably close to what Plutarch tells us about Crantor:38 Eratosthenes understands the soul’s intermediary position (ἐν μέσῳ, Tim. 35a3) between the divisible and the indivisible as the soul having something corporeal and something incorporeal. From Proclus’ testimony, it can be plausibly inferred that Eratosthenes identifies Indivisible Being with the intelligible and Divisible Being with body.39 Proclus objects that there can be no blend of the extended with the unextended or of the incorporeal with body (152.28–9; I take this criticism to be directed against both Eratosthenes and Severus, even though the following phrase pertains to Severus alone). Moreover, he argues that it is wrong to think that the soul can contain a bodily element (2.154.12–13) and that Eratosthenes therefore misconstrues what Plato means by an intermediate nature: according to Proclus, an intermediate nature does not contain the entities between which it is situated (2.151.12–30). This remark has a close parallel in Plutarch’s criticism of Crantor. So Crantor and Eratosthenes are both accused, by different authors but in similar terms, of promoting a materialist interpretation of Plato’s account of the composition of the soul. Some scholars have expressed doubt about the possibility that the Eratosthenes mentioned here is the Hellenistic scientist and polymath.40 But this Eratosthenes attended lectures by the Academic philosophers Arcesilaus and Apelles (which at least shows his interest in Platonism), concerned himself with the elucidation of mathematical, cosmological, and anthropological aspects of the Timaeus,41 and wrote a work called 38 39

40

41

The similarity was already noticed by Hiller 1870: 71 and Solmsen 1942: 198. Proclus connects Eratosthenes’ view with that of the (Middle) Platonist Severus, who is also quoted by Iamblichus. Both consider him as a representative of the mathematical interpretation of the soul. For Severus, see also Eus. PE 13.17.1–7, where he is quoted as saying that the soul is a blend from impassible and passible substance. Boys-Stones 2018: 270–1 discusses the difficult issues raised by this passage. Knaack 1907; Festugière 1990: 218 n. 1; Solmsen 1942: 202 (shows the doubts are unjustified); Dodds 1963: 297, 317–18 (Dodds changed his mind as a result of Solmsen’s article: see the addendum in the second edition, p. 348). Brisson (2000b) remains sceptical. See Aët. 1.21.3, DG 318a6–7, b8–9, on Tim. 38c2–6; Iambl. DA ap. Stob. 1.378.1–18 W. = F26 Finamore-Dillon / Martone, on Tim. 42a3–4.

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Platonicus,42 a few fragments of which have been preserved by Theon of Smyrna. He is also cited, on a different issue (that the soul is always in some kind of body), in Iamblichus’ De anima.43 Since we know that he studied the three types of proportion used by Plato,44 one could even suspect that the information about these that Plutarch claims to have found in Eudorus (De an. procr. 1019E) goes ultimately back to the Hellenistic polymath. The example of Eratosthenes shows that interest in the Platonic doctrine of the composition of the soul and in the interpretation of Tim. 35a did not end all of a sudden when the early Academy was succeeded by the New Academy. Eratosthenes was obviously interested in the interpretation of Plato proposed by Crantor, who was long dead by the time he arrived in Athens.45 We need not suppose that Eratosthenes considered himself a follower of Plato, but he certainly made efforts to advance our understanding of his work. He may not have endorsed the Platonic concept of the soul, but he did offer an interpretation of it.

Posidonius and Posidonians Posidonius deserves a place in the history of early interpretations of Tim. 35a because he adopted and expanded the Speusippean definition in light of the Timaeus and its exegesis. With what intention he did so is a difficult question. We know that Posidonius was interested in Plato’s work and made frequent use of it.46 The account of the soul which Plutarch attributes to him and his followers is, just like the other views we have discussed, based on a reading of Tim. 35a.47 But let us first examine the evidence. Plutarch, who does not mention Speusippus’ account, quotes the Posidonian definition. The context of Plutarch’s treatise shows that this definition, too, is ultimately the result of an exegetical engagement with 42 45

46 47

Hiller 1870. 43 Iambl. DA ap. Stob. 1.378.6–7 Wachsmuth. 44 Solmsen 1942: 197. Eratosthenes was probably born c. 276/5 and died c. 195. He arrived in Athens in the middle of the third century. Arcesilaus became head of the Academy shortly after 276/5, the probable year of Crantor’s death. He was the successor of Crates, who was the successor of Polemo, who died in 270/ 69. Cf. Dorandi 1992: 3777, 3779; Dorandi 1994: 328; Fuentes González 2000: 190–3. Krämer 2004: 114 includes Eratosthenes in the Old Academy, which is bizarre from the point of view of chronology. Tieleman 2003: 208 n. 33, Bonazzi 2012: 315 n. 22, and Ju 2012: 96–7 give short surveys of the evidence. Much has also been made of the fact that Plutarch uses the expression ‘the circle of Posidonius’ (τοῖς περὶ Ποσειδώνιον). Cf. Cherniss 1976: 218 n. g; Tieleman 2003: 210 n. 37; Kidd 1988: 530. Οἱ περί means ‘those around X’, but conventionally it can be used to refer also just to X or to ‘X and his circle’. Plutarch uses the plural τούτους in an anaphorical back reference at 1023C2. I therefore take him to be referring to the circle of Posidonius, without this entailing that the views discussed are not those of Posidonius himself.

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Tim. 35a. Plutarch’s testimony alone will not allow us to infer that Posidonius would also be willing to endorse this definition as his own. I shall, provisionally, take Plutarch to be discussing Posidonius’ understanding of the Platonic concept of the soul, that is, the conception of Plato and his followers according to Posidonius. Soul is, according to Posidonius and his circle, the form of what is everyway extended, constituted according to number that comprehends harmony (ἰδέαν . . . τοῦ πάντῃ διαστατοῦ κατ’ἀριθμὸν συνεστῶσαν ἁρμονίαν περιέχοντα, De an. procr. 1023B9–11). This expanded definition unmistakably includes further ideas from the Timaeus. Plutarch introduces the Posidonian account in the course of his criticism of the materialism, or rather the corporealism, of Crantor and possibly others. Due to a lacuna at 1022E, we cannot establish the exact context. After the lacuna, Plutarch is discussing the meaning of the expressions ‘Indivisible’ and ‘Divisible Being’. He explains that the latter may be called matter in the sense of ‘substrate’, as long as one does not hold it to be ‘corporeal matter’ (1022F3–6), that is, the matter of ordinary, material bodies. Then he turns to those authors who interpret the composition of the soul in a corporeal sense (1022F7–1023A1). One of the arguments is, even in its wording, strongly reminiscent of an argument levelled earlier (1013B9–C4) at Crantor: ‘In what respect will the generation of the soul differ from that of the universe if both are composed of matter and the intelligible?’ (1023A6–9). Plato had no materialistic conception of the soul, so Plutarch argues. For the master treats soul and material body as two different things and puts the latter inside the former (Tim. 34a3–4 and 36d9–e3). Moreover, Plato describes the composition of the soul well before he introduces matter (namely, soul at 35a, and ‘matter’ in the passage on the receptacle at 48e2–49a6).48 The sequence of the narrated creation story is of course very significant for everyone who agrees with Plutarch that it reflects the chronology of events at the beginning of the world. After these remarks, which can be understood as being directed at a position that had already been introduced, namely that of Crantor, Plutarch extends his criticism to another interpretation, namely that of Posidonius and his followers: T2 1023B5–D2: (a) Ὅμοια δὲ τούτοις ἔστιν ἀντειπεῖν καὶ τοῖς περὶ Ποσειδώνιον· οὐ γὰρ μακρὰν τῆς ὕλης ἀπέστησαν· (b) ἀλλὰ δεξάμενοι τὴν 48

See De an procr. 1023A5–8 for the identification of the receptacle with matter.

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τῶν περάτων οὐσίαν περὶ τὰ σώματα λέγεσθαι μεριστὴν καὶ ταῦτα τῷ νοητῷ μίξαντες (c) ἀπεφήναντο τὴν ψυχὴν ἰδέαν εἶναι τοῦ πάντῃ διαστατοῦ κατ’ἀριθμὸν συνεστῶσαν ἁρμονίαν περιέχοντα· (d) τά τε γὰρ μαθηματικὰ τῶν πρώτων νοητῶν μεταξὺ καὶ τῶν αἰσθητῶν τετάχθαι, τῆς τε ψυχῆς, τῶν νοητῶν τὸ ἀίδιον καὶ τῶν αἰσθητῶν τὸ παθητικὸν ἐχούσης, προσῆκον ἐν μέσῳ τὴν οὐσίαν ὑπάρχειν. (e) ἔλαθε γὰρ καὶ τούτους ὁ θεὸς τοῖς τῶν σωμάτων πέρασιν ὕστερον, ἀπειργασμένης ἤδη τῆς ψυχῆς, χρώμενος ἐπὶ τὴν τῆς ὕλης διαμόρφωσιν, τὸ σκεδαστὸν αὐτῆς καὶ ἀσύνδετον ὁρίζων καὶ περιλαμβάνων ταῖς ἐκ τῶν τριγώνων συναρμοττομένων ἐπιφανείαις. (f) ἀτοπώτερον δὲ τὸ τὴν ψυχὴν ἰδέαν ποιεῖν· ἡ μὲν γὰρ ἀεικίνητος ἡ δ’ ἀκίνητος, καὶ ἡ μὲν ἀμιγὴς πρὸς τὸ αἰσθητὸν ἡ δὲ τῷ σώματι συνειργμένη. πρὸς δὲ τούτοις ὁ θεὸς τῆς μὲν ἰδέας ὡς παραδείγματος γέγονε μιμητής, τῆς δὲ ψυχῆς ὥσπερ ἀποτελέσματος δημιουργός. (g) ὅτι δ’ οὐδ’ ἀριθμὸν ὁ Πλάτων τὴν οὐσίαν τίθεται τῆς ψυχῆς ἀλλὰ ταττομένην ὑπ’ ἀριθμοῦ, προείρηται. (a) We can make similar objections to those around Posidonius. Indeed, they did not observe a great distance from matter, (b) but rather, having taken ‘the divisible around bodies’ to mean the being of the limits and having blended these limits with the intelligible, (c) they declared the soul to be the form of what is everyway extended, constituted according to number that comprehends harmony. (d) This is based on the idea that the mathematicals are situated between the primary intelligibles and the sense-perceptibles and that it is appropriate that the soul, which possesses the everlastingness of intelligibles and the passivity of sense-perceptibles, has its being in the middle. (e) For these people, too, failed to notice that god uses the limits of bodies only at a later stage, when he had already completed the production of the soul: by means of them he provides internal structure to matter, by demarcating and enclosing its dispersiveness and unboundedness with the surfaces made of the triangles fitted together. (f) It is even more absurd, however, to make the soul a Form: for soul is always in motion, but Form is immobile; Form does not mix with the sense-perceptible, but soul is conjoined with the body; in addition, god’s relation to Form has become that of the imitator of a paradigm, whereas his relation to soul has become like that of artisan to finished product. (g) And that Plato does not make number the being of soul, but rather presents the soul as being ordered by number: that we have explained earlier.

Plutarch expounds Posidonius’ interpretation in sections (b–d). From (b) we learn that Posidonius engaged with Tim. 35a49 and that, on Plutarch’s understanding, he identified the ingredients Divisible and Indivisible 49

Kidd 1988: 531: ‘This shows that Plutarch at least believed that the definition of soul which follows arose in the context of interpretation of the Timaeus. It does not follow that it occurred in a Commentary on the Timaeus (see F85). Nor is there evidence to show that it did not.’

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Being with the being of the limits and the intelligible, respectively. Posidonius took the ‘Divisible Being around bodies’ clearly quite literally as meaning the surfaces, that is, the limits, surrounding the bodies.50 One wonders how Plutarch could justify his charge of materialism by pointing to the fact that Posidonius composed the soul out of the intelligible and limits.51 Plutarch certainly knew that limits for Stoics are incorporeal.52 I see two possible explanations. The identification of limits with the kind of being that becomes divisible in the presence of bodies (1023B7–8)53 brings them into close vicinity with bodies and may even suggest they are properties of bodies. Being thus called, they seem to be affected by bodies. Regardless of what he thinks is the ontological status of limits, in his reading of Tim. 35a Posidonius has taken an entity that is intimately bound up with matter to construct the soul. This is not to put a material ingredient into the soul, but rather something belonging to matter.54 This would explain why Plutarch says that Posidonius and his followers do not stray far from matter. An alternative explanation would be that Plutarch is aware of Posidonius’ claim that surfaces, being two-dimensional limits of bodies,55 have real existence, taking this to mean that they are corporeal.56 I tend to the first explanation, because it does not need to appeal to doctrines that Posidonius would endorse. Posidonius’ justification of his definition (d) appeals to the intermediate position, between Forms and sense-perceptibles, occupied by the mathematicals and by the soul. Plato explicitly construes the soul in the middle between Divisible and Indivisible Being, which lends support to the mathematical interpretation of the Platonic soul adopted by Posidonius. This interpretation was not just suggested by Timaeus’ account of the harmonic divisions of the world soul but also, and more importantly, by the interpretation(s) of Speusippus and possibly other early Academics (see T1, b–c). The reference to primary intelligibles, that is Platonic Forms, and 50 51

52 53 55 56

The fact that Plato uses the word ousia moreover fits nicely with Posidonius’ view that surfaces have real existence. See below, p. 193. Merlan’s interpretation of ‘the substance of the limits’ (τὴν τῶν περάτων οὐσίαν) as ‘the substance that is inside the limits’, i.e. the substance that is bounded by limits, in other words, matter, fails to convince. Cf. Merlan 1968: 37–8; Thévenaz 1938: 65; Cherniss 1976: 218–19; Kidd 1988: 531. Comm. Not. 1080E9: τὸ δὲ πέρας σῶμα οὔκ ἐστιν. Taking γενομένην, not expressed in our text, from the Timaeus. 54 Cf. Ju 2012: 101–2. Posidonius defines ‘surface’ as ‘the limit of body, or that which has length and breadth only, but not depth’: F16 Edelstein/Kidd = DL 7.135. This is the interpretation offered by Cherniss 1976: 218–19. Kidd 1988: 532 interprets the passage along the same lines. See also Reydams-Schils 1997: 466–7. Posidonius moreover claimed that anything that has real existence differs only notionally from matter: F92 Edelstein/Kidd (Ar. Did. Fr. Phys. 20, DG 458.10–11).

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to mathematicals as, implicitly, secondary intelligibles occupying an intermediate position between the Forms and the sense-perceptibles,57 is a clear indication that Posidonius in the first instance offers an exegesis from within Plato’s, and not his own, metaphysical framework, even though in (b) Plutarch presents the Posidonian definition as that which they declare the soul to be (ἀπεφήναντο τὴν ψυχὴν . . . εἶναι, 1023B9, which is definitely different from stating ‘they declared the Platonic soul to be’). This is not to say that Posidonius could not also, in a second gesture, endorse certain elements of his interpretation for his own understanding of the soul. I shall later argue that this is indeed what he will do. At 1014D9–10 Plutarch had already remarked that it would be misguided to understand ‘Divisible Being’ as some kind of quantity, whether discrete or continuous, because pluralities of unities or points, lengths, and breadths are properly said of bodies, not of souls. This not only confirms my hunch that limits are too close to bodies for them to be included in the soul, but moreover constitutes further evidence for my hypothesis that Plutarch was very much aware of the existence of interpretations that equate one or more components of the soul with numerical or geometrical entities. This is the type of interpretation to which Aristotle also alludes and that underlies Speusippus’ definition of the soul, not cited by Plutarch but integrated into the Posidonian definition58 he does cite and discuss. Posidonius’ definition is not identical to Speusippus’: to the Speusippean core he adds the phrase ‘constituted according to number that comprehends harmony’. This is very much in the spirit of Tim. 35b4– 36b5. Posidonius’ definition is sophisticated in that it combines elements from the ‘arithmetical’ and ‘geometrical’ definitions, without making the soul into either an arithmetical or a geometric entity.59 Indeed, according to the first, Speusippean segment of the definition, the soul is not defined simply as extension, but as the ‘form’ of extension; and in the second part the soul is not called number, but is organised according to numerically 57

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The passivity of the sense-perceptible is a standard Platonic view (cf. e.g. Plut. Plat. Quaest. 3 1002A8–10). Compare Arist. Met. A6, 987b14–18; Ζ2, 1028b19–21. In his account of Crantor’s position, Plutarch calls the nature of bodies τὴν περὶ τὰ σώματα παθητικὴν καὶ μεταβλητήν [sc. φύσιν] (De an. procr. 1013A4) as a gloss on τὴν περὶ τὰ σώματα μεριστὴν, which helps to explain τὸ παθητικὸν in the present passage. The passivity of matter would also fit perfectly with the Stoic concept of the role of the passive principle. Cf. Tieleman 2003: 211–12. Thévenaz 1938: 18 n. 52 already mentioned the possibility that Posidonius drew inspiration for his definition from DA 1.2. The reference to harmony adds a further science. For the relation between the definition and Posidonius’ classification of sciences, see Toulouse 2005.

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expressible proportions.60 The question remains why Plutarch quotes Posidonius’ definition without mentioning Speusippus. This could mean (1) either that Posidonius did not mention Speusippus by name and that Speusippus’ definition was not familiar to Plutarch; (2) that Speusippus was indeed not the author of the definition; (3) or simply that Plutarch did not think it necessary to mention Speusippus in this context. Plutarch is unlikely to be wrong, in (b), either about the fact that Posidonius connected his definition of the soul to Tim. 35a or about the identity of the ingredient ‘Divisible Being belonging to body’. But what could it mean for Posidonius that the latter is mixed with the intelligible, and hence that ‘Indivisible Being’ is the intelligible? Reading Posidonius’ definition, Plutarch apparently understood ‘form’ (idea) to mean the rational structure, itself indivisible, of what is extended, whereas that which is extended is the two-dimensional limits enveloping three-dimensional bodies. That is why, in (f), he could criticise Posidonius for taking the word idea in the definition as equivalent to a Platonic Form, which would entail that the soul is a Form. As I shall argue shortly, Posidonius probably made use of the Timaeus in order to advance the view that the soul is, in its essence, structured according to mathematical principles and that our reasoning faculty, like that of the world soul, is able to grasp intelligible truths by means of number. It cannot be excluded that Posidonius thought that Plato, when talking about form (idea) at Tim. 35a, had in mind the intelligible, that is, the transcendent Form. That was at least Plutarch’s understanding when he learned about the Posidonian definition and interpretation.61 I shall not go into the different points of criticism that Plutarch formulates against Posidonius’ interpretation. What is interesting for our purpose, however, is the criticism levelled later at Xenocrates and Posidonius jointly (1023D4–7): limits and numbers offer no explanation for the soul’s ability to cognise sense-perceptibles. They are more akin to the intelligible, so that their presence in the soul’s composition helps to understand its higher cognitive faculty, which is directed towards the intelligible.62 This remark could be taken as evidence—admittedly weak evidence—for the possibility that Posidonius himself intended the 60 61

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This would certainly please Plutarch, as is obvious from his criticism of Xenocrates at 1013C6–D4. See also T2, g. Scholars unanimously regard Plutarch’s criticism as misguided or disingenuous, as Posidonius’ use of the term ἰδέα should in no way be taken as implying that he is talking about Platonic Forms: Untersteiner 1970: 32–3; Cherniss 1976: 219–20 n. c; Cherniss 1962: 510; Kidd 1988: 537; Tieleman 2003: 211. The simplest explanation is that Posidonius is echoing Plato, who uses ἰδέα in a metaphysically innocuous way at 35a7. See also Reydams-Schils 1997: 468. See also Kidd 1988: 537. For a different reading, see Tieleman 2003: 211 n. 39.

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Platonic definition of soul to account, among other things, for its cognitive powers. Taken together with the evidence provided by some passages from Sextus Empiricus, which I shall discuss below, the plausibility of this suspicion increases considerably: it is indeed highly likely that Posidonius wanted to attribute a cognitive function to the different constituents of the soul individuated in the Timaeus. It is not easy to see how Posidonius’ interpretation of Tim. 35a is to be seen in the light of his own Stoic views. Did he merely want to interpret Plato, or did he in addition want to use the results of his interpretation within his own philosophy? From Diogenes Laertius’ Life of Zeno we know that Posidonius espoused the classic Stoic view of the pneumatic nature of the soul: like Zeno and Antipater, he holds that soul is warm breath (πνεῦμα ἔνθερμον) in virtue of which we live and by whose agency we move.63 But Diogenes Laertius’ Life of Plato offers more glimpses of Posidonius’ engagement with Platonist doctrines of the soul. The whole passage on Plato’s doctrine of the soul (3.67–9) has an undeniably Stoic flavour and contains several traces of Posidonius’ interpretation and views.64 It is therefore likely that Diogenes used an intermediate source that integrated the Posidonian exegesis of the composition of the world soul.65 The definition of the soul here attributed to Plato states that it is the form of breath extending everyway (ἰδέαν τοῦ πάντῃ διεστῶτος πνεύματος). The passage further points out that the soul has a numerical principle (ἀρχήν τε ἔχειν ἀριθμητικήν), contrary to body, which has a geometric principle (3.67).66 The other attributes of the soul mentioned in this passage have more obvious parallels in Plato’s dialogues, the Timaeus particularly, but the formula ‘the form of pneuma extending everyway’ instead combines two ideas that are elsewhere ascribed to Posidonius or to his interpretation of the Timaeus.67 The definition here quoted preserves the Speusippean 63 64

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DL 7.157 = Posidonius F139 Edelstein/Kidd. The Posidonian provenance of the definition provided by Diogenes Laertius was postulated by Schmekel 1892: 430. Untersteiner 1970: 33–5 posits a Posidonian influence for the entire doxography in DL (3.63–80a). Centrone 1987: 106–7 correctly observes that the contents of the doxography are heterogeneous, so that it is unlikely that the entire doxography derives from the same source. For my interpretation I merely need the definition to be of Posidonian origin. Toulouse 2005: 156 n. 9. Untersteiner 1970: 28 tries to construct the Greek in a different but unnatural way. See also Centrone 1987: 108. Centrone 1987: 108–12 does not think that the entire definition ἰδέαν τοῦ πάντῃ διεστῶτος πνεύματος derives from Posidonius, and resorts to the old hypothesis that πνεύματος is a gloss. I maintain that the passage is still consistent with Posidonius’ interpretation of the Timaeus, especially if one understands that it was his intention to co-opt Plato for his own Stoic project. Kidd 1988: 536, suggests that the ‘definition’ reported by Plutarch should be understood as a definition of the form of the soul, whereas ‘fiery pneuma’ is a description of its substance.

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core (cf. T2, c)—the soul as form, and more particularly the form of something that is extended in all [three] dimensions—yet also introduces an element that is definitely not originally Platonic, but is linked to the Stoic view attested in the Life of Zeno that the soul consists of pneuma. To be more precise, the new definition does not state the soul is pneuma, however, but rather that it is the form of pneuma. Another element from the passage in Diogenes could be linked to Plutarch’s account of the Posidonian interpretation of the Timaeus, namely the remark that the principle of the soul is numerical. This is possibly connected with the second part of the Posidonian definition in Plutarch, which states that the form in question is constituted according to number comprehending harmony. The soul may itself be coextended with the body, but the principle that determines its internal organisation is numerical, presumably in accordance with its harmonic division described in Tim. 35b4–36b5. Alternatively, one could think of the numbers cited by Aristotle in DA 1.2, as well as the echoes of this passage in later texts. The Platonic definition at DL 3.67 at any rate agrees with the view going back to the early Academy that soul is the principle of spatiality, bringing forth the extension of bodies. Whether it is itself extended is not clear from this passage. Whether the soul is, according to this definition, itself pneumatic (probably not) and whether it is extended (unclear) is important in view of the question whether or to what extent Posidonius would be willing to endorse it as his own. It is rather unlikely that Posidonius would have given up the Stoic view that the soul is corporeal, and therefore extended in three dimensions.68 But of course it would be misguided to treat the Stoicised Platonic definition from DL 3.67 straightforwardly as Posidonius’ own. To be sure, it is very possible he developed the Stoic expansion of the definition in the form it takes here, but it is equally possible that others used Posidonius’ version of the Platonic definition, enriching it with a reference to the Stoic pneuma and embedding it in a Platonic context, adding extra Platonic features such as immortality, transmigration, self-motion, and tripartition. As for Posidonius himself, we may presume that either he understood the Platonic definition as agreeing with the idea that the soul is extended, or he acknowledged that this is not the case without ever having had the intention to adopt any of the Platonic account of the soul as his own. I do not consider it very plausible, though, that he would have gone 68

Tieleman 2003: 209–10 thinks that Posidonius indeed attempts to reconcile the Stoic and the Platonic accounts of the soul and uses Tim. 35a in order to argue that Plato too leans towards a materialistic concept of the soul.

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to such great lengths to study the Platonic conception of the soul, if that view had not been in line with his own interests to some extent. It is likely that certain aspects of the Platonic view had a genuine appeal for him. This would tie in with his usual strategy of assimilating the ancients, in this case Plato, as thinkers who (imperfectly) anticipated the true Stoic doctrine.69 This suspicion is borne out by looking at the testimony provided by Sextus Empiricus M 7.93–4. Sextus informs us that Posidonius appeals to the principle that like is known by like in order to explain why one of our cognitive faculties, reason, the ‘judge of all things’, can be called ‘number’, because number is also ‘the principle of the constitution of the universe’. Just before this passage, at M 7.92, Sextus relates the Pythagorean view that criterial reason is connected with the mathematical sciences. Although this passage is not about the constitution of the soul, but about its defining power, reason, it allows us better to understand the claim that the principle of soul is numerical. Posidonius clearly thinks that the arithmetic character of reason, no doubt connected to the soul’s very nature, explains its criterial power.70 Posidonius was clearly attracted to the Platonist mathematical interpretation of the soul, more particularly for the role it could play in explaining cognition of a reality pervaded by mathematical structures. This context may also allow us better to understand Plutarch’s claim that Posidonius interprets Plato as saying that the intelligible is blended with limit so as to produce soul. Posidonius was probably referring to number, which establishes a connection with the incorporeal and is at the same time a constituent or principle of soul. The remark quoted thus combines two of the constituents of Tim. 35a and links them to the cognitive power of the soul, based on the idea that like is known by like: in virtue of Indivisible Being, the reasoning aspect of the soul comprehends the arithmetic principles of the universe; in virtue of Divisible Being and as comprising the rational structure of bodily extension, it can grasp the limits of bodies. Posidonius is said to have developed these ideas ‘while expounding the Timaeus’ (φησὶν ὁ Ποσειδώνιος τὸν Πλάτωνος Τίμαιον ἐξηγούμενος, M 7.93).71 This could mean that all he was trying to do was to shed some 69 70

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See Tieleman 2003: 225–6, 251. The same idea is already adumbrated in Reydams-Schils 1997: 469. Ju 2012 profitably connects this passage to the epistemological division of Tim. 27d–28a between ‘intellection along with reason’ and ‘opinion along with reasonless perception’, by which being and becoming, respectively, are grasped (περιληπτόν). Cf. SE M 7.119. The scholarly discussion over whether Posidonius wrote a proper commentary is, in my view, sterile. All we know is that he was seriously engaged in exegesis: this largely suffices for our present purpose. For this debate, see Kidd 1988: 339–40 and Ju 2012: 100. Largely neglected are the arguments of Lasserre 1991, who claims that PGen. Inv. 203 contains a part of the commentary by Posidonius. Decleva Caizzi and Funghi 1998 come to the conclusion that this attribution remains uncertain.

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light on Plato’s dialogue, but it could also imply that he was committing himself to a specific account of cognition, which he elaborated or supported with the help of the Timaeus.72 Explaining cognition was not the only reason why Posidonius was attracted to an early Academic definition of the soul, however. A fragment from Achilles’ commentary on Aratus (Intr. in Ar. 13 = Posidonius F149, partim) shows that Posidonius also sets great store by the idea that the soul ‘holds together’ (συνέχει) body, ‘just as glue controls both itself and what is external to it’. The context of the fragment is antiEpicurean but, as Kidd suggests, Posidonius ‘may have shown particular interest in the soul as the containing concept’.73 Another fragment, preserved in Proclus’ Commentary on Euclid, corroborates this idea: figure (σχῆμα), understood as the enveloping limit, is not quantity but the cause that determines, limits, and contains.74 Proclus distinguishes Posidonius’ view from Euclid’s insofar as the latter includes in a figure the quantity of what is encompassed by the limits, whereas Posidonius restricts it to the external boundaries. It will not have eluded Posidonius that the definition of the soul as the form of what is extended in all directions can be understood as amounting to the idea that the soul provides the three-dimensional extension by virtue of which bodies can exist. As we have seen, this is an idea implicit in DA 1.2 and in Speusippus’ definition. Moreover, Plato was believed to have hinted at this role of the soul when he claims that the soul extends throughout the world and envelops it from the outside (Tim. 34b3–4, 36d8–37a2). Limit for Posidonius apparently combines the roles of

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POxy. 1609 recto col. II mentions a commentary on the Timaeus (περὶ μὲν οὖν τούτων ἐν τοῖς εἰς τὸν Τίμαιον εἴ[ρ]ηται) on the subject of mirrors. Diels originally attributed this commentary to Posidonius, but in DK vol. 1 352.1–6, Kranz thinks that Eudorus is its author. Mazzarelli includes it in the fragments of Eudorus: Mazzarelli 1985: F33. According to the editors of CFP I.1** 1992: 197, who quote Lasserre 1991, the identification with Eudorus has become untenable due to the discovery of a new fragment. Lasserre is in fact not so emphatic. He situates the commentary in the Middle Platonic period. Ju 2012: 115–16 argues that it was Posidonius’ strategy to reclaim for his own thought the Pythagorean insight that mathematical reason is the ultimate principle of cognition, connected with the view that criterial reason in Plato involves mathematicals, as these belong to the realm of intelligible Forms. However, if Posidonius indeed set up Pythagoras rather than Plato as a figure of authority, he probably did so while using texts in which these two traditions were already inextricably blended. This is not to say that every Stoic contact with Pythagoreanism was of this nature. Brad Inwood suggested to me the example of Zeno, who was no friend of Plato or Platonism, but was the author of a work with the title Pythagorean Questions (Πυθαγορικά, DL 7.4). Probably this work dealt with more ancient Pythagorean traditions, uncontaminated by Platonism; possibly it contained criticism of the Pythagoreans. Cf. Gourinat 2018: 387. Kidd 1988: 550. Procl. In Eucl. 143.8–11 = Posidonius F196. As Kidd 1988: 706–7 explains, this is an unorthodox view, as Chrysippus would include both what is contained and the container. For Posidonius’ view of two-dimensional surfaces as limiting bodies, see Rashed 2016: esp. 335–7.

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containing or sustaining and delimiting. Presumably, therefore, Posidonius was attracted to the Platonic idea that the soul is the source of threedimensional extension and thus plays a constitutive role for the existence and persistence of bodies.75 Since the soul has a causal role as gluing together body, for Posidonius it would have to be corporeal and hence extended. This is certainly connected to Posidonius’ unorthodox claim that surfaces, that is, the two-dimensional limits of three-dimensional bodies, have real existence.76 We have seen that Posidonius understands Plato as saying that ‘the being of limits’ is one of the ingredients for the blending of the soul, and that in his definition soul is called the form of extension in all directions. The most plausible hypothesis therefore seems to be that he considers the combination of limiting surfaces, in virtue of being themselves determined by number (this very combination producing the soul), to deliver this form of three-dimensional extension without jeopardising the corporeality of soul, which is required for it to be a sustaining cause. As the comparison with glue shows, however, the containing cause cannot be identical with limit: the surfaces merely surround the body, whereas the containing cause (the pneuma) pervades it. But since the definition of soul does not claim identity between soul and limit, Posidonius could still adopt it without endangering its sustaining causal role. Posidonius evidently engaged in exegesis of the Timaeus. As I have argued, he probably also used it for his own purposes. However, in coming to grips with the dialogue he undoubtedly made use of earlier interpretations, combining them or using a source in which several views were already combined.77 He adopts a definition of the soul that is an expanded version of the definition elsewhere attributed to Speusippus; he relates this most clearly to the cognitive and ontological functions of the soul, but apparently also to its kinetic function (cf. DL 7.157); for its cognitive functions he appeals to the idea that like is known by like, and that the world is structured according to number—by the same numbers as are constitutive of the soul’s composition—an idea which we also encountered in Aristotle’s report of early interpretations and which was popular in Pythagoreanising circles. The combination of these ideas constitutes strong 75 76 77

Pace Dörrie and Baltes 2002: 225; Ferrari and Baldi 2002: 278. For the Stoic notion of the synectic cause, see White 2003: 144–5. The question of the ontological status of limits in classical Stoicism is controversial. For useful surveys of various interpretations, see White 2003: 150–1 and Rashed 2016: 337 n. 45. He may have been acquainted with the view that equates the soul with limit. This doctrine, a variant of which is attested for Severus, predates Philo of Alexandria, as we have seen (supra, n. 32), although we cannot be sure that it had anything to do with the Timaeus.

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evidence for my hypothesis that Posidonius could rely on a source or sources providing information about some sort of tradition of exegesis of Tim. 35a. Whatever his intentions may have been, he certainly contributed to the development of Platonism, if only because Plutarch cites him as one of the many interpreters of the Timaeus and engages with his views.78 As to the problems that his engagement with the Platonic definition of the soul could cause him in his own school, the most likely explanation is that he was able to present Plato as a precursor to Stoicism, which would allow him to retain some aspects while rejecting others.

(Post-)Hellenistic Pythagoreans Iamblichus’ survey of views on the essence of soul contains, as we have seen, references to Moderatus, the Pythagorean-Platonic contemporary of Plutarch, and to Hippasus. The mention of Hippasus is interesting, because it probably leads us back to the pseudepigrapha of either the late Hellenistic or the early Roman period. The corpus of Pythagorean pseudepigrapha is relatively heterogeneous. Most texts probably date from the Early Imperial age,79 but some other texts may predate what is commonly called Middle Platonism.80 The same Hippasus, whom Iamblichus obviously took to be the ancient Pythagorean, is cited also in Iamblichus’ commentary on Nicomachus, where he is reported as defining number as the ‘first paradigm of the creation of the world and also the measuring instrument of the god who creates’,81 which ties in nicely with the testimony from Iamblichus’ own De anima and with the Posidonian view found in Sextus Empiricus. That this information cannot go back to the Presocratic Hippasus is clear from the presence of Platonic concepts and ideas. Hence, we can safely assume that the information derives from a lost pseudepigraphic text.82 Pseudo-Hippasus apparently conceived of the paradigm of the Timaeus in arithmetic terms and possibly equated it 78 80

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Merlan’s idea is thus vindicated. Cf. Merlan 1968: 34–58. 79 See Ulacco 2016: 202–5. Pseudo-Ocellus, On the Nature of the Universe is an early example for the reception of the Timaeus. The text was cited in a doxographic source that was used by Varro (cf. Censorinus De die natali 4.3), which means it cannot have been written later than the third quarter of the first century bc. However, the text is probably older. I intend to provide a fuller argument for this early dating elsewhere. For the doxographic context, see Mansfeld 2002: 651 n. 557; Mansfeld and Runia 2010: 191. Iambl. In Nicom. arithm. 10.20–2. Compare Iambl. DA 4 (Finamore-Dillon) / 7 (Martone), ap. Stob. 1.49, p. 364.11–12 Wachsmuth: ὡς δὲ κριτικὸν κοσμουργοῦ θεοῦ ὄργανον Ἵπασσος, ὁ ἀκουσματικὸς τῶν Πυθαγορείων. See also, for more traces of this text, Thesleff 1965: 91–3.

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with the world soul, or else conceived of the soul as embracing an image of the paradigm in virtue of which it could become a tool for the ordering of the world. An extant text from the pseudo-Pythagorean tradition is Pseudo-Timaeus Locrus, the purported source of Plato’s Timaeus. He not only espouses the same non-literal reading of the Timaeus as Plutarch’s opponents Crantor and Xenocrates, but also uses the same expression as Plutarch in this respect: the world is generated ‘in account (sc. only)’ (λόγῳ γενέσθαι, TL 206.11–12; cf. Plut. De an. procr. 1013A9–10). He moreover (208.13–209.1) describes the same two-step mixture we find in Plutarch, Xenocrates, and Crantor, and which was probably also at the basis of most other interpretations.83 What is more, Timaeus Locrus appears to share Plutarch’s idea that ‘Divisible Being’ derives from Difference (which Plutarch further derives from the Dyad).84 These and other85 parallels show that Timaeus Locrus and possibly an earlier exegetical tradition on which he relies can therefore be considered, in their exegetical activity, to be predecessors of Plutarch. Plutarch was certainly familiar with Pythagorean texts. He mentions some, without further specifications, in his treatise on the creation of the soul (De an. procr. 1028A4–5, C2–3).86 Philo of Alexandria is another author who was well-acquainted with the Pythagorean tradition and in particular with doctrines of the soul like those we have examined here. He was a glutton for numerological speculation and in several works connects the numbers of the tetraktys with the unextended point followed by three dimensions. He calls these numbers 83

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An exception is the Anonymous Klibansky (Apuleius?), 32.17–18 Stover: Deinde mundi animam ait esse concretam ex incorporali substantia quae sit inpartibilis, et [in]dividua et ex mixtura horum. See Stover 2016: 179. Here, the mixture of the first two ingredients is itself the third ingredient for the second stage of the mixing process, during which the same ingredients are again added to the first blend (the same reading of the Timaeus passage is proposed by Taylor 1928: 109, 134). A possible explanation is that the author took Sameness and Difference to be alternative descriptions of Indivisible and Divisible Substance, in which case we would have a two-step mixing process comparable to, but not identical with, the one described in Plutarch and most of his sources. Cicero’s translation (Tim. 8.21), too, is again different: the mixture of Indivisible and Divisible Being produce an intermediate entity that is composed of sameness and difference. What is striking is that he calls the indivisible, the divisible, and the intermediate substances materia. Calcidius’ translation (27.6–15) results in a different structure. Timaeus Locrus 206.3–4; cf. Plut. De an. procr. 1024D9–11 and 1025B3–6. Like Crantor and Eudorus, cited by Plutarch, but unlike Plutarch himself, Timaeus Locrus takes the number, 384, as the basis for the calculations of the proportions of the soul (209.3–6). At 216.20–1 he makes the same remark about the closeness of the dodecahedron to the sphere as Plutarch does in Plat. Quaest. 1003C8–9. Similar observations about other pseudo-Pythagorean texts have been made by Ulacco 2017: 13–15. Alexander Polyhistor speaks of things he reads in the ‘Pythagorean memoirs’ (ἐν Πυθαγορικοῖς ὑπομνήμασιν): see DL 8.25; 36.

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the archetypes of the point and the dimensions (compare T1, b–c).87 That, however, is not all: he does so in the context of cosmogony, connects the numbers with the harmonic division of the heavens, as Plato does in the Timaeus (Philo substitutes the heavens for the world soul),88 and states that the heavens have been created from indivisible and divisible substance.89 The ultimate sources for these speculations certainly have to do with the views reported by Aristotle, but Philo will unquestionably have used Pythagorean sources closer to his day.90

Coda We have been able to show that Plutarch’s De animae procreatione is strongly indebted to an exegetical tradition that started in the early Academy and continued in Hellenistic and post-Hellenistic times. Platonic philosophers, and even one notorious figure from a rival school, were convinced that it was important to define the soul by studying its composition, just as Plato describes it in Tim. 35a. Most of them understood the mixing process as a twofold process, consisting of a first blend of Divisible and Indivisible Being, to which Sameness and Otherness were added. What the names of the ingredients stood for was a matter of controversy. Most thought that the definition had to account for the cognitive, motive, and ontological functions of the soul. The numbers of the tetraktys, which figure prominently in Aristotle’s account, were held to explain the ontological function of the soul as the source of spatial extension in three dimensions. On pp. 196–7 I provide a table where the different positions are characterised from these points of view. The list of thinkers and texts moreover shows that doctrinal Platonism was not extinct in the Hellenistic age.91 Presumably, thinkers attracted to Plato but not to Academic scepticism presented their views as Pythagorean.92 They were justified in doing so to some extent, given the Pythagorean outlook of key parts of the Timaeus and the Pythagorean aura exuded by the early Academy. 87 89 90 91

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De opif. mund. 47–9; De decalogo 26; De numeris 26; 26a; 97. 88 De opif. mund. 48. De opif. mund. 103. Cf. De numeris 52d. For instance, he cites Pseudo-Ocellus: De aet. mundi 12. Older, Hellenistic, strata of the ‘Aëtian’ doxography contain ample information about Plato’s doctrines, and it is not uncommon to find these combined with ‘Pythagorean’ material. I have mentioned some examples in footnotes. It is not my intention to resuscitate the old idea of an esoteric tradition in the New Academy. Cf. SE PH 1.234; Aug. Contra Ac. 3.38. For a discussion of the ancient testimonies, see Krämer 1971: 55, who rejects the idea of an esoteric tradition inside the Academy.

chapter 8

Cicero on the Soul’s Sensation of Itself: Tusculans 1.49–76 J. P. F. Wynne*

1. Introduction In the first book of his Tusculans, Cicero gives two arguments that the soul is eternal. Specifically, he concludes that each human soul’s rational part or ‘mind’ (mens) neither came to be1 nor will perish. I shall argue that in pursuit of this conclusion, Cicero constructs the position that, at least in this life, the human mind does not ‘sense’ itself, but knows about itself only by inference from its ‘sensations’ of other objects. Here are two reasons this topic is important. First, the question of the mind’s sensation of itself is comparable to current debates about consciousness, for example to questions relating to the ‘hard problem’ of consciousness. To put it crudely, the ‘hard problem’ is that we suppose that our minds are conscious of themselves immediately, and that what we seem to learn from this immediate selfconsciousness is that our minds are so different from the natural world we observe through the senses that it is a puzzle to understand how the two could be as intimately related as they appear to be. One response to this problem would be to argue that while our conscious minds are conscious of other things, they are not immediately conscious of * 1

My thanks to the editors, two anonymous readers, Thomas Bénatouïl for extensive comments, and many other participants at the Symposium. All errors are my own. It is clear that part of Cicero’s conclusion is that the soul is ungenerated. For he endorses Plato’s argument that the soul is a self-moving principle of motion that cannot have been generated (Tusc. 1.54). Further, Cicero says, vult enim, quod nemo negat, quidquid natum sit interire, ‘[Panaetius] intends what nobody denies, that whatever was born, dies’ (Tusc. 1.79). If we assume that Cicero means to signal agreement with Panaetius, and that by ‘born’ and ‘dies’ he means ‘was generated’ and ‘perishes’, then, because Cicero holds that the human soul does not perish, this too amounts to a statement that the rational human soul is ungenerated. Cicero also mentions Socrates’ proposal in the Meno about learning before embodiment (Tusc. 1.57). He does not endorse or reject this proposal, and mentions it largely to distinguish Plato’s idea from his own, different point about memory (see pp. 214–9 below). Otherwise, Cicero has little to say about the soul’s eternity before its embodied life, no doubt because his subject is death. His position is therefore ambiguous about our eventual fate: shall we stay in heaven forever, or shall we be reincarnated?

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themselves. If so, then the hard problem would not arise, at least not in the way its proponents usually describe, because it would not be obvious whether the conscious mind seems like the natural world.2 On my reading, the position that Cicero takes in his arguments for the soul’s eternity is similar to this response to the hard problem of consciousness. To make this comparison in detail would be to go far beyond the scope of this essay, so I shall content myself with alerting the reader to it here. Furthermore, in what follows I shall use Cicero’s own terminology to describe his position, and not attempt to translate it into any contemporary language for the philosophy of mind. Second, expert readers have arrived at another interpretation of these arguments, according to which Cicero not only claims that the mind does sense itself, but even relies on this claim as a premise in the arguments. For example, Carlos Lévy wrote, ‘Ainsi s’effectue le passage entre l’immédiateté de la sensation intérieure (sentit igitur animus se moveri) et l’éternité (ex quo efficitur aeternitas).’3 Thus I give here an interpretation radically different from Lévy’s. Which of these two interpretations is correct is a question of historical moment. For, as Charles Brittain has shown, Tusculans 1 helped to form Augustine’s treatment of the mind’s immediate experience of itself. Augustine’s treatment is now seen to be momentous, at least for the Latin tradition of thought on the mind and knowledge.4 Did Cicero anticipate Augustine? Augustine thought so. Brittain writes that, ‘Augustine . . . identified’ some provocative precursors to parts of his own position in Cicero, recognising that ‘going through [Cicero’s] argument is itself a case of self-motion, i.e. an example of psychological activity. As a result, it is something that Cicero or the interlocutor or the reader has immediate access to – it is something that is warranted and felt or 2

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Even if we make allowance for differences in terminology, I am not aware of a similar contemporary position on consciousness as radical as that given by Cicero. The view that ‘self-consciousness’ is an illusion is not similar to Cicero’s view, because Cicero speaks as though the mind ‘senses’ things accurately, and does not say that the sensation of other things gives any illusion of sensation of the self. He does not give this excuse to people who mistakenly suppose themselves to sense their own minds. One family of contemporary positions that are similar to Cicero’s involves the claim that while I can easily attend to the external objects that my conscious experience represents, I cannot, or cannot easily, attend to the intrinsic features of that experience. If that were true, it might well have implications for whether or how I can learn what conscious experience itself is like. For a brief response to such challenges to the view of consciousness that yields the hard problem, with helpful references to some important versions of these challenges, see Chalmers 2013: 345–52. Lévy 2002: 86, with reference to Tusc. 1.55. Brittain 2012. Even Myles Burnyeat, when he argued influentially that this tradition began properly with Descartes, conceded that Augustine may have ‘furnished’ some ‘hints’ (1982: 33).

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experienced directly by performing it.’5 Brittain’s purpose is not to decide in detail whether Augustine interpreted Cicero’s ‘confusing and understudied’ arguments correctly.6 That is what I aim to do in this essay. I shall offer some new reasons to explain why Augustine may have read Cicero as he did. Nevertheless, I shall conclude that he was wrong, and that Cicero says the mind cannot see itself just as the eye cannot see itself: ut oculus, sic animus, ‘as the eye, so the soul’ (Tusc. 1.67). In this respect, Cicero did not anticipate Augustine’s exploration of consciousness. But I find the real basis for Cicero’s arguments strange and refreshing, the world through the eye of an alien mind. I proceed as follows. In Section 2, I give some details of the context in the Tusculans necessary to understand my interpretation of the two arguments for the eternity of the soul. In Section 3, I present the first of the two arguments, and elaborate on why it might appear to favour Augustine’s interpretation. In Section 4, I present the second argument, and show how it rules out Augustine’s interpretation and requires my own. In Section 5, I revisit the first argument to show how it is compatible with my interpretation, and address another objection to my view.

2. The Context of the Arguments for Eternity Many other parts of the Tusculans are relevant to our two arguments. But there is room here to consider only those parts of this context that are necessary to understand the rest of this essay. First, here are the necessary points in my own interpretation of the Tusculans as a whole. I do not think my interpretation of the arguments for eternity depends on my view of the whole Tusculans, but the latter will explain my approach to the former. In each book, Cicero, who is the principal speaker in his own dialogue, argues against a proposition put forward by an interlocutor who is usually labelled A. (Tusc. 1.7–8). A.’s five propositions are (1) that death is bad (Tusc. 1.9), (2) that pain is the worst harm (2.14), (3) that the sage feels distress (3.7), (4) that the sage cannot lack all emotion (4.8), and (5) that virtue is not sufficient for happiness (5.12). These propositions together form a picture of human fragility, whereby our happiness can be broken by causes beyond our control. Cicero’s arguments therefore amount to a case against fragility. But in my view of the dialogue, Cicero does not aim to teach A., or his readers, that any of A.’s claims is false. For in my opinion Cicero was a radical Academic sceptic who recommended 5

Brittain 2012: 110, 117.

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Brittain 2012: 110 says that Augustine was right.

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suspension of judgement on all matters.7 Consequently, I think that he recommends that we should suspend judgement on each of propositions (1)–(5). Now in most of his sceptical dialogues, Cicero promotes suspension of judgement by arguing each side of an issue in turn. But with (1)–(5), this is unnecessary. We are besieged by reasons to believe (1)–(5), troubling though such beliefs may be. Philosophy needs only to offer us the remedy of argument against such beliefs. Note some consequences of my interpretation of the whole Tusculans. First, Cicero has reason to keep his speeches in the five books at least consistent with one another. For if, for example, we are persuaded in book 1 to cease believing that death is an evil, but the speech in book 4 undermines that in book 1, then Cicero undermines his own attempt to help us to deal with death. Second, Cicero the author has reason to try to find the most powerful arguments he can, that is to say, arguments that work for the reader whatever the reader’s antecedent views about matters relevant to (1)–(5). Third, Cicero has reason to respond to the comments and preferences of his interlocutor, because his goal is to change his interlocutor’s attitudes, not to prove a truth. Perhaps for this reason, the Tusculans are written with greater psychological realism, and in prose that is more allusive and natural and thus more difficult to interpret philosophically, than we find in Cicero’s other dialogues of the same period. For example, whereas Cicero usually take pains to preserve consistent terms of art for his speakers, we shall see that in the Tusculans everyday words like ‘see’ and ‘sense’ are used philosophically, but without pedantry, in different ways at different times. Fourth, note that by giving his propositions, A. in effect chooses the conclusions for which Cicero the speaker argues, and that Cicero the speaker does not choose them. Thanks to this dramatic context, Cicero does not assert the arguments he gives, instead he gives them in order to argue against whatever A. has proposed. Thus my essay is not about Cicero’s own position about the soul. It is about a position on the eternity of the soul that Cicero constructed only to help us to cease to believe that death is bad.8 7 8

For this (controversial) perspective on Cicero’s philosophica, see Wynne 2015, or similarly Brittain 2016. Other perspectives on Cicero’s sceptical writing include Schofield 2002 and 2009. I do not agree with Ingo Gildenhard 2007: 22–34, 70–2, who argues that M. represents a teacher figure in general, rather than Cicero in particular. For the author of the Tusculans is obviously Cicero, their prefaces are written in Cicero’s voice, and this voice refers to M. in the first person (e.g. Tusc. 1.7–8). M. is also the author of De Finibus, and is identified with the character Cicero who speaks against Cato in book 4 of that dialogue (Tusc. 5.32–3).

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Next, I shall make use of the principle just given, that Cicero’s speeches in the Tusculans should be at least consistent with each another. For his speech in book 4 clarifies the scope of the arguments for eternity in book 1. At the start of his speech in book 4, he gives the following preface to his report of the Stoic analysis of the emotions. I think it is the fullest description that Cicero makes of the psychology assumed in his arguments for eternity: Since we prefer to name what the Greeks call ‘passions’ as ‘emotions’ [literally, ‘thorough troublings’] rather than ‘diseases’, in giving these arguments I shall follow that old division that was first Pythagoras’, then Plato’s. Plato and Pythagoras divide the soul into two parts: they make one have a share in reason, the other lack it. In the one that has a share in reason they put tranquillity, that is, a calm and peaceful consistency. In the other one they put the troubled movements both of anger and of lust, opposites and enemies to reason. So let this be the source. But let us use the Stoic definitions and divisions as we describe these emotions. The Stoics seem to me to have done the most exact work in this area of inquiry.9 (Tusc. 4.10–11)

Cicero does not mean anything unorthodox by attributing to Plato a soul in two parts, rather than three. He reminds A. of Plato’s three parts at Tusc. 1.20: Plato created a threefold soul, whose leading part, i.e. reason, he put in the head as in a citadel, and whose other two parts, anger and lust, he wished to

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Quoniam, quae Graeci πάθη vocant, nobis perturbationes appellari magis placet quam morbos, in his explicandis veterem illam equidem Pythagorae primum, dein Platonis discriptionem sequar, qui animum in duas partes dividunt: alteram rationis participem faciunt, alteram expertem; in participe rationis ponunt tranquillitatem, id est placidam quietamque constantiam, in illa altera motus turbidos cum irae tum cupiditatis, contrarios inimicosque rationi. sit igitur hic fons; utamur tamen in his perturbationibus describendis Stoicorum definitionibus et partitionibus, qui mihi videntur in hac quaestione versari acutissime. This passage is something of a scandal. Books 3 and 4 of the Tusculans are a celebrated source for the Stoic theory of the emotions, and in particular for Chrysippus’ version of the theory. As such, they are by some distance the part of Cicero’s philosophical corpus that has most influenced philosophy (and other sciences) in recent decades. Yet here Cicero says that the ‘source’ of the view he describes, at least in book 4 and I think also in book 3, is a model of the soul that contradicts directly the keystone of Chrysippus’ psychology, his view that the human mind is wholly rational. Margaret Graver 2002 ad loc. gives a strong response to the problem, venturing that Cicero has not expressed himself well. The distinction he makes in Platonic language, she suggests, he intends to be that between the normative reason of the Stoic sage, which has ‘consistencies’ and no emotions, and the irrational mind of a fool, which has emotions and no ‘consistencies’. Stated thus, the distinction is indeed one that Chrysippus might make. But Graver then says that this does not seem to be the ‘primary’ meaning of the passage. I think it is not the meaning. Cicero does not only use Platonic language, he even says that he follows Plato and Pythagoras in their division (discriptio) of the soul. I think he does so because our arguments for the eternity of the soul were appealing to A. in book 1, and those arguments depend on the Platonic division of the soul. Further, this is not the only time after book 1 that Cicero assumes and elaborates on the Platonic division of book 1. In book 2, he adopts, and dilates on, the same division (2.47–53).

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Thus in Tusc. 4.10–11 Cicero means not that Plato advocated exactly two parts of the soul, but that he advocated at least two parts, one of which is rational. Cicero seems to concentrate on this grouping of Plato’s parts in order to focus on reason or its lack as his criterion of division. Notice that he does not try to cut off some ‘emotional’ part of the soul from a part that lacks emotions. For he does not exclude emotions (πάθη, perturbationes) from the rational part, since he will go on to argue that emotions are rational judgements. Rather, he excludes from the rational part ‘the troubled movements both of anger and of lust’, which presumably are the swellings, liftings, bitings, etc. of the soul, which constitute the ‘feelings’ we associate with our emotions. Let us now apply this psychology to book 1. For Cicero means to argue that only the rational part of the human soul is eternal. We see this some lines after the arguments for eternity have concluded, when Cicero remarks that Panaetius disagreed with Plato on the eternity of the soul. One of Panaetius’ arguments, says Cicero, is that whatever is subject to pain will die, that the soul is subject to pain and thus it will die (Tusc. 1.79). Cicero’s reply is that the eternal soul is not subject to pain: [These arguments] show his ignorance that, when we talk about the eternity of souls, we talk about the mind, which always lacks any troubled movement, not about those parts of the soul in which distress, anger,11 or appetites are found. Plato, against whom Panaetius gives these arguments, thought these latter parts are away from the mind, and cut off from it.12 (Tusc. 1.80)

It seems plain, then, that Cicero has argued for the eternity of the rational part of the soul, as described more fully in book 4, but not for the eternity 10

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Plato triplicem finxit animum, cuius principatum, id est rationem, in capite sicut in arce posuit, et duas partes parere voluit, iram et cupiditatem, quas locis disclusit: iram in pectore, cupiditatem supter praecordia locavit. Our bipartitioning text from (Tusc. 4.10–11) also alluded to the two nonrational parts. For when he mentions anger and lust, Cicero alludes to emotions typical of Plato’s spirited and appetitive parts, respectively, as should be obvious to A., since Cicero has in fact named Plato’s spirit as ‘anger’ and appetite as ‘lust’ in 1.20. In light of the rational account of the emotions in books 3 and 4, strictly speaking, Cicero should not exclude anger from the mind. But, in this context in Tusc. 1.80, it is clear that he does not mean to include the rational judgements of anger in what he means by ‘anger’. He means the painful and troubled motions that follow upon rational judgement, and which are found only in the nonrational part. For it was with these that Panaetius tried to dissolve the soul. [sc. Haec] sunt enim ignorantis, cum de aeternitate animorum dicatur, de mente dici, quae omni turbido motu semper vacet, non de partibus iis, in quibus aegritudines, irae, libidinesque versentur, quas is, contra quem haec dicuntur, semotas a mente et disclusas putat.

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of the other part or parts of the soul in which ‘troubled movements’ are found. For this reason, when I comment on the arguments for eternity, I shall often speak of the ‘mind’ rather than the ‘soul’, by which I mean the rational part of the soul, which Cicero himself sometimes calls the mens (e.g. Tusc. 1.66, 1.70). The arguments for the eternity of the soul appear in the larger part of Tusculans 1 where Cicero pursues what we may call his disjunctive strategy (Tusc. 1.18, cf. 1.25–6). This strategy is to argue as follows: 1. either the soul survives after death, or it does not; 2. if it survives after death, death is good; 3. if it does not survive after death, death is not bad. Therefore, death is not bad.13 Cicero initially pursues his disjunctive strategy with a list of the answers respectable philosophers have given to the questions of what the soul is, where it is, and whence it is (Tusc. 1.18–23). His point is that any of these answers will make true the consequent either of conditional 2. or of 3. (1.23–4). This illustrates that the disjunctive strategy is what I have called a powerful argument. It works for anybody (or at least anybody Cicero considers philosophically respectable), whatever his or her antecedent beliefs about what, where, or whence the soul is. These three questions might at first seem a mere ragbag. But they are a way of posing the big puzzles faced by what today we call the philosophy of mind. What the mind is, is of course a question about the fundamental metaphysics or ontology of the mind, its substance. Examples of answers Cicero takes seriously are: a pure fire; a pure air (1.60, 1.70); Aristotle’s fifth element, termed ἐνδελέχεια, meaning ‘continuous motion’ (1.22, 1.41); a number; Plato’s threefold soul (1.20). The question of where the mind is, is what we less elegantly call the ‘mind-body problem’: how is the mind seated in the body? Whence the mind is, asks again whether the mind is a product or epiphenomenon of the body, or an independent creation, or a principle, not from anywhere. Now, given this disjunctive strategy, Cicero does not need to endorse any answer to these questions. But, being a sceptic, he goes further, to say that none of the answers convinces him of its truth. ‘So some god might see which of these views is true; it is a large question, which of them is most like the truth’ (1.23).14 I think this sceptical conclusion obtains for the remainder of Tusculans. For example, although he will use materialist accounts of the soul for the sake of argument (1.40, 1.60, 1.70), it seems 13

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The disjunctive strategy relies implicitly on the dubious thesis that what is good is not also bad. Although I do not think that the Tusculans are a Stoic or a Stoicising work, I think Cicero’s reliance on this thesis reflects loosely Stoic assumptions in his philosophical world. harum sententiarum quae vera sit deus aliqui viderit: quae veri simillima magna quaestio est.

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to me that Cicero remains agnostic even on the question of whether or not the soul is material. We shall see that in his arguments for eternity, he suggests that we can conclude responsibly that there are minds and some of the mind’s attributes, such as movement or memory, but what, where, and whence the mind is remain unsolved questions. The arguments for eternity appear specifically in Cicero’s treatment of conditional 2. For us, the necessary features of his theory in support of conditional 2. are as follows. Whatever the soul may be, if it leaves the body (as he seems to assume that it must if it is to survive the body’s death), then in some sense the soul travels far from the earth, to its celestial home (Tusc. 1.40–3). Now the rational part of the soul desires one thing: the truth (1.44–5, cf. 1.75). But when in the body, it senses only through the five senses. This limits its access to the truth. But the soul does not need bodily organs in order to sense. Free of the body, it will not be so limited, and will sense much of nature and the cosmos, directly (1.46–7). Thus after death, the desire of our eternal souls for truth will be satisfied, and maximally so. We shall be most happy. Thus, death is good. The theory is universalist. It is not only the wise or the good who go to heaven. All human souls will go.15 We and A. may take comfort from this argument, whatever our frailties. Thus Cicero rebukes those, notably Epicureans, who think that joy and glory lie in proving that death is nothing to us (1.48). Because he adds conditional 2., Cicero’s conclusion is even more comforting than Epicurus’: that if we do find ourselves in an afterlife, there will be no fear of Hades, but rather assurance of heaven. His disjunctive strategy does not require Cicero to address the eternity of the soul. So long as it has the body yield the soul to a better place, Cicero’s theory will make 2. true, even if the soul perishes after it has enjoyed this good. But he addresses eternity because of another contingency, the response he gets from A. (I suggested above, p. 202, that Cicero’s design for the whole Tusculans should make him, as a speaker in the dialogue, sensitive to A.) A. gives his original proposition, that death is an evil, because he thinks that those who have died, or those who will die, are wretched (miser), because the dead, who once were, are not. Thus, since at any time each of us either will die or has died, we are each eternally made wretched by death (Tusc. 1.9–12). Cicero then convinces A. that those who are not, are not wretched. Thus A. need not think that 15

But there is a Calliclean reason to do philosophy in this life: it increases our appetite for the truth, and thus the satisfaction we shall have after death (Tusc. 1.45).

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he is robbed of his happiness by death.16 A. says that he is convinced, but that to be convinced by such a spare argument is ‘coercion’. He wants to hear more. Cicero then presents the disjunctive strategy, and again convinces A. But again, after the disjunctive strategy, A. has a sense of coercion. He says that now he fears not lacking sensation, but ‘to have to lack sensation’ (1.26).17 He wants to hear a fuller description of worlds, where each of 2. and 3. is true. Cicero takes on each task in turn (in Tusc. 1.26–76 and 1.77–112, respectively). As to conditional 2., Cicero mentions the tenuous tradition, passed down through Pythagoras and Plato, according to which the soul not only survives death but also is eternal. But he gets ready to pass over this tradition, presumably because it is a burden of proof he does not need to take on (1.39). To Cicero’s surprise, A., who has read Plato’s Phaedo with excitement but found himself unconvinced (1.24), asks Cicero specifically to succeed where the Phaedo has failed, to convince him that his soul is immortal (1.39). We may ask why A. is so enthused about eternity, and why Cicero wrote the drama this way. We might speculate that Cicero wished to write for people like A., who fear not death specifically, but in general that they must cease to be. To rid such people of their belief that death is bad will cure their fear of mortality, but it will not cure their fear of ceasing to be. To make the case that the soul is eternal will help to cure the latter fear, because it will help people to give up the belief that they must cease to be.

3. The First Argument for the Eternity of the Soul: Tusculans 1.49–55 This argument, although a very dense piece of writing, is too long to present as a block quotation here. But it is short enough that I would like to ask you to read it now. So I have included at the end of this essay my translation, Cicero’s Latin, and Plato’s Greek for the passage Cicero quotes from the Phaedrus. According to Cicero, the view that the soul is eternal was the bequest of a small and rather beleaguered tradition of thinkers, among whom he mentions Pherecydes of Scyros, Pythagoras, Socrates, and Plato (Tusc. 1.38–9, 1.55). Against this we may contrast the other views Cicero catalogues in Tusc. 1.18–23 (cf. p. 205), most of which seem to imply that the soul will not survive forever, even if it survives death. Thus in sections 1.50 and 1.51, 16 17

For a full treatment of this opening exchange, see Warren 2013. ego enim istuc ipsum vereor ne malum sit, non dico carere sensu, sed carendum esse.

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Cicero’s first move is to explain why the majority of philosophers, who ‘sentence the soul to death’, are a plebeian mob (plebei), not a persuasive consensus.18 What explanation does he give? One account of Cicero’s theory about the error of the majority is that it turns on the ‘conceptual poverty’ of his opponents: these opponents are empiricists, and can think only of what they have sensed. They therefore try to imagine the body as they would see it through the eyes, in the body, and cannot imagine it outside the body, as it would need to be if it is to survive the body’s death.19 Now, Cicero has indeed remarked earlier on our tendency to think using the sensory imagination: ‘it takes great character to call the mind away from the senses, and the imagination away from habit’20 (Tusc. 1.38). And, indeed, this is in part what he has in mind in sections 1.50 and 1.51. But there is more to his theory about why so many philosophers kill off the soul. For Cicero supposes himself to be subject to a similar, if slightly lesser, conceptual poverty, and to find it hard to imagine or to understand what the soul is like outside the body. This, then, is not the error that he has avoided and his opponents made. Their error, which he has not made, was to pursue the wrong way out of their conceptual poverty. Because they (wrongly) thought it was easier to imagine the soul in the body than outside it, they tended to think it a conceptual truth that the soul could not continue after the body dies, at least not for long. Cicero replies that these opponents’ habits of thought blind them to the fact that it is harder, if anything, to imagine or to understand what the soul is like in the body than it is to imagine what it would be like in some heaven where it belongs. This is plausible. As with the ‘hard problem’ of consciousness today, one of philosophy’s perennial problems with ‘the mental’ is to understand or imagine how the mental is ‘in’, or interacts with, the body that seems to be its seat, given that the mental and the bodily seem to be of very different kinds. But if we assume that the mental is not in the body, but rather has departed for some realm natural to things of its sort, we remove that difficulty. Now, I find that to remove only this difficulty does not help me very much to understand what the mind is like. This is why Cicero says only that it is easier to understand the soul outside the body, not that it is easy. For he thinks it is difficult for anyone in this life to understand what the soul is, 18

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It is sometimes said that his opponents here are the Epicureans in particular, as they were shortly before, at the start of section 1.49 (see Brittain 2012: 113 and Douglas 1985 on Tusc. 1.55; Dougan 1905 on Tusc. 1.55). But, as I say, many philosophers in Tusculans 1 deny that the soul is eternal, including some who say that it survives death, e.g. the Stoics (1.77). Brittain 2012: 113. magni autem est ingenii sevocare mentem a sensibus et cogitationem ab consuetudine abducere.

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even outside the body. This is the point of the exacting reasoning in the last two sentences of section 1.51. Here we come to Cicero’s other two opponents, Aristoxenus and Dicaearchus.21 I shall concentrate on Dicaearchus, who took the clear and more extreme position. In particular, Dicaearchus argued (at least according to Cicero) that there was no such thing as a soul at all.22 Cicero is on his side in that Dicaearchus is not led astray into imagining that it is easier to imagine the soul in the body, but rather accepts that it is difficult to understand what the soul is like, full stop. This is Cicero’s point about Dicaearchus: so convinced was he of this difficulty that he was ready even to say that there is no soul at all, whether in the body or out of it. But if it is no easier, and perhaps a little harder, to understand or imagine the soul outside the body rather than in it, then (Cicero thinks) there is much less motivation to ‘sentence the soul to death’, because, conceptually, the death of the body need pose no threat to the soul. Let us now turn to the positive part of Cicero’s argument, Tusculans 1.52–5. The bulk of this argument is translated verbatim from Socrates’ argument at Plato’s Phaedrus 245c–246a. First, we shall note the scope of the argument. We have already seen that it applies only to the rational part of the soul. Now we learn that it applies to souls, plural. For Cicero’s opponents punish ‘souls’ (animos) with death, while Cicero will defend ‘the eternity of souls’ (animorum . . . aeternitas, 1.50). The point is significant, because Socrates’ argument is notorious for its ambiguous thesis: ψυχὴ πᾶσα ἀθάνατος, meaning either ‘all soul is immortal’ or ‘every soul is immortal’ (245c). The choice between these interpretations has significant implications for, among other things, our prospects of personal identity after death. From Hermias of Alexandria’s fifth-century commentary on the argument from Plato’s Phaedrus that Cicero quotes, we know that this question was already under discussion in Cicero’s day. For Hermias tells us that Posidonius said that ψυχὴ πᾶσα was the World Soul.23 Cicero avoids retaining or resolving the notorious ambiguity in his translation, because he starts his quotation immediately after it. But he is clear that he thinks that the argument can apply to souls, plural, and that this is how he intends to use it.24 21

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I think Cicero includes Aristoxenus here because Aristoxenus’ harmony theory of the soul might be so construed that he, like Dicaearchus, thought the soul is not a substance, but rather an attribute of the body. Perhaps there was information on this in Dicaearchus’ letter to Aristoxenus, which Cicero requested from Atticus in the months before writing Tusculans (Att. 13.30–3). For Dicaearchus, see pp. 219–20 and n. 38 below. Hermias In Plat. Phaedr. p. 102 Couvreur. See Ju 2009 for more on Posidonius’ comment. Other evidence that Cicero recommends the plural interpretation of Socrates’ words is that he translates ψυχῆς οὐσίαν (‘the essence of the soul’) with naturam animis . . . tributam (‘the nature attributed to souls’; Phaedrus 245e, cf. Tusc. 1.54).

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Why did Cicero use the argument from the Phaedrus in this way? First, there are reasons of convenience. Cicero knew the Phaedrus well,25 and had already made and published a translation of this passage in the climax of his Republic, what we call the Dream of Scipio (De Re Publica 6.27–8). But evidently there are reasons other than convenience. For Cicero reminds us at the start of his argument that Plato submitted many arguments for the eternity of the soul, and that this suggests Plato had convinced himself, if not others, of this conclusion. This remark seems to refer to A.’s admiration for Plato (Tusc. 1.39) and dissatisfaction with the Phaedo (1.24), because it points out that Plato offers arguments other than that in the Phaedo. In the drama, this gives Cicero the speaker a reason to look to the Phaedrus for an argument that might help A. But we can still ask, Why the Phaedrus (rather than, say, Plato’s Republic 608d–611a)? and Why did Cicero the author construct this particular dramatic situation? I suggest that he did so because he was looking for a powerful argument, which could seem cogent on the basis of any reasonable theory of the soul’s nature. For it is plausible that in the Phaedrus Socrates is after something similar. Socrates has said that he does not engage in natural-scientific interpretations of myth, because he (like Cicero in his speech) takes to heart the Delphic maxim, ‘know thyself’. He does not yet know himself: is he a beast more complex than Typhon, or a simpler animal with a share of the divine? (230a). He says that he must resolve these questions about himself before he turns to nature in general. To a reader like Cicero, this might suggest that, since Socrates does not yet know what the human soul is, Socrates’ argument for its eternity must be intended to work whatever the truth about the soul may be.26 Thus Cicero might hope to find in the Phaedrus a powerful argument of the sort he wants. I shall not give my own interpretation of Plato’s argument. Instead, I am going to ask what Cicero makes of it. The data are these. Before the argument, Cicero says that, on the basis of the Delphic maxim ‘know thyself’, we can see that we should (and presumably can) ‘see’ (videre) the soul with the soul (Tusc. 1.52). This is in contrast with his opponents who try to understand the soul with the senses or by sensory imagination, by looking at the body. Cicero then exclaims that though the soul does not know what it itself is like, it knows (scire) that it itself is, and that it itself moves. He says that Plato’s argument is ‘born’ from this (1.53). Then, after 25 26

He had used the Phaedrus as the dramatic model for his De oratore. See De oratore 1.28–9. Indeed, Socrates would seem to know less about himself than does Cicero in the Tusculans. For, over the course of the Tusculans, Cicero answers Socrates’ question: we are simple animals, with a share of the divine, but while embodied, we are in a compound more complex than Typhon.

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Plato’s argument, Cicero remarks that his opponents cannot understand the subtlety of Plato’s syllogising, and concludes with what I have italicised at end of 1.55 in the Appendix, which is either a summary or an interpretation of Plato’s argument. I shall now suggest how an Augustinian interpretation of Cicero’s argument, that it proceeds from the claim that the mind senses itself, can account well for these data. First, what does Cicero mean by saying that the mind should ‘see’ the mind with the mind? It is tempting to think that he means not only that the Delphic maxim omits to prescribe that the mind should see its body, but also that the maxim prescribes that the mind should ‘see’ the mind with the mind and should not do this by ‘seeing’ our bodies. For to try to see the mind by seeing the body was apparently the mistake of many of Cicero’s opponents. But if the mind ought to see itself without seeing the body, this seems to mean that it must see itself immediately, not by seeing the objects of the bodily sense organs. Can it do such a thing? So far as we have heard up to now, Cicero might think so. In his theory that a soul after death, freed from the limitations of the bodily sense organs, would see much, or all, of nature and the cosmos, he has already said that the soul can sense, and indeed sense better, without the body’s organs (Tusc. 1.47, see p. 206 above). What this sensation without sense organs would be like is perhaps mysterious. But it is tempting to think that Cicero means that even when embodied, the mind should, and can, sense itself without using the sense organs. Thus an Augustinian interpretation, according to which Cicero means that mind should, and does, sense itself immediately, is also tempting. On this reading, Cicero means that such a mind perhaps cannot see itself well enough to know what it itself is like – pure fire, number, fifth element? But he means that it does see itself well enough to know that it itself is, and that it itself moves. Cicero presumably mentions that the mind can know that it itself is in answer to Dicaearchus, whom he has just mentioned, and who took the view that there is no such thing as the soul. How does the mind know that it itself is? In context, and understood in the Augustinian way, it seems that the mind knows that it itself is by ‘seeing’ itself. For, understood this way, the mind directly senses its own motion, and also the other mental processes that Cicero will remark on in the second argument, such as memory, invention, and so on. This may not be enough to see what it itself is, but it certainly is enough to say that it is. Not only that, but this sensation amounts to knowledge. On this reading, Dicaearchus’ mistake must have involved ignoring the deliverances of this epistemically privileged self-sensation.

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On the Augustinian reading, Cicero says that Plato’s argument itself was ‘born’ from this insight that the soul can know that it itself is, and that it itself moves, from its immediate sensation of itself. It appears that, for Cicero’s understanding of Plato’s argument, the soul’s sensation specifically of its own movement would be the relevant part of the insight. For consider the text I have italicised at the end of 1.55. Here, Cicero begins his reflection on Plato’s argument from the soul’s ‘sensation’ (sentit) of its own motion, and then says that this gives rise immediately to the opening steps of Plato’s argument. Why might Cicero think this is so? It is tempting to think that he shares an analysis of the Phaedrus argument that we find (mutatis mutandis) in a number of respectable sources, ancient and modern. Representative sources from antiquity are: Hermias of Alexandria’s Commentary, thought in turn to be based on the lectures of his master Syrianus, whose analysis of the early part of the argument seems to be shared by the (apparently independent) commentator behind the ancient scholia in some good manuscripts of Plato.27 From modernity, there is Richard Bett’s analysis.28 Let us look at Hermias’ version of this analysis. Hermias divides Plato’s argument in the Phaedrus into parts that I have numbered 1.–4. in all the texts included at the end of the essay. He calls part 3. a supplementary ‘reduction to the impossible’, which we may leave aside. He thinks parts 1. and 2. are both direct proofs of the immortality of the soul (which he, more faithful to the Greek than Cicero, takes to be Plato’s probandum, rather than the eternity of the soul). Hermias’ (and Bett’s) analysis of parts 1. and 2. is that each of the two is itself an argument with many premises for the same conclusion, that the soul is immortal. Hermias thinks that the two also share a ‘least’ premise, that is, the premise that contains the subject of the conclusion: ‘the soul moves itself’ (In Plat. Phaedr. pp. 108 and 114 Couvreur). Hermias then thinks that part 4. of the text Cicero quotes gives Plato’s argument that the soul moves itself. It is plausible that Cicero shares Hermias’ and Bett’s analysis of parts 1. and 2., because he gives ‘the soul moves itself’ as the first move of Plato’s subtle syllogising. But it is not obvious that Cicero agrees that part 4. is 27

28

On Hermias and his commentary, see Goulet 2000 and Westerink 1990. For the scholia, in the MSS usually labelled T and W, see Cufalo 2007. They indicate Hermias’ syllogisms 1. and 2. as συλλογισμὸς α´ and β´, respectively. But, according to Cufalo, these scholia seem to be independent of Hermias’ tradition, presumably since συλλογισμὸς α´ is attached specifically to ψυχὴ πᾶσα, which Hermias thinks is not part of the first syllogism, but rather a statement of the conclusion of the whole argument. Bett 1986.

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Plato’s argument for the premise that the soul moves itself. For in the italicised text, Cicero seems to give a different basis for this premise. The italicised text runs: i. The soul senses [sentit] that it itself is moved. ii. When it senses the latter, at the same time it senses this, ii.a that it is moved by its own power, not by another’s, and ii.b that it cannot happen that it itself is ever abandoned by itself. From which is produced its eternity. How would the soul, when it senses that it itself is moved, at the same time (una) sense ii.a and ii.b? Do our minds sense immediately that they cannot abandon themselves? That would be news to me, and Cicero has not said so. But perhaps, on the Augustinian view, we should imagine that the move to ii.a and ii.b is an inference from what is given in the soul’s selfsensation. This inference would rely on an implicit principle like: ‘When A senses that B moves, B moves A.’ This principle might not appeal to a Platonist, who thinks that the mind is the agent in sensation, but it might appeal to someone who thinks that the mind is the patient on which the object of sensation acts through the senses. If this were right, Cicero would think that Plato’s mind immediately senses itself moving but not that the mind senses immediately that it moves itself, or that it can never abandon itself. Rather, he would think that Plato’s mind securely infers these latter two points from the fact that it senses itself moving, a fact impressed on it by its immediate sensation of its own motion.29 Perhaps these inferences will be available to a rational mind as part of its experience of its own motion, in that its own motion will fall under the relevant concepts. But somebody like Dicaearchus can evidently fail to notice this aspect of experience or to carry through the proper inferences. Plato, however, having arrived at these inferences, was able to pursue the rest of the argument that Cicero quotes. On this reading, the underlined text is not a summary of Plato’s argument. Rather, it expands on how the argument’s common ‘least’ premise, that ‘the soul moves’ (see p. 212 above), was derived from the insight from which Cicero has said the argument was ‘born’ (i.e. that the soul senses immediately, and thus knows, that it itself moves). This would be the unique subtlety of Plato’s syllogising. 29

Raphael Woolf 2015: 210 proposes a similar interpretation of these lines: ‘It is doubly difficult, Cicero encourages us to conclude, to see how a body could not just move itself, but have its moving self as the object of its own awareness, an awareness that is presumably an exemplification of the very self-motion that is at the same time its object.’

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If this ‘Augustinian’ interpretation of the argument were correct, then Cicero would indeed have an impressively powerful argument for the eternity of the soul, insofar as it would depend on no claim about what or where the soul is, and only on the mind’s self-sensation. Augustine could see an advance here on earlier Hellenistic methods in psychology. For him, Cicero gives due attention to some important facts about themselves of which our minds are aware immediately, namely that they themselves are and move. Augustine would also be right to see that, from Augustine’s own point of view, Cicero’s position has a deficit. For Cicero thinks that there is a foundation of the mind, some quality or quiddity, which the mind itself does not sense immediately (at least in this life), and at an understanding of which nobody has (yet) arrived. This would be why Cicero is open-minded about what the mind is, for example about whether it is material, even though (on Augustine’s reading) Cicero’s view of the mind begins with its direct experience of itself.

4. The Second Argument for the Eternity of the Soul: Tusculans 1.56–76 I turn now to Cicero’s second argument for the eternity of the soul. Once we take this second argument into account, the Augustinian interpretation is not the most satisfying reading of Cicero’s two arguments for the eternity of the soul. Instead, we must find an interpretation according to which the mind does not immediately sense itself. The second argument, although longer, is easier to analyse. Cicero introduces it as, ‘those points . . . that show that there are in human souls certain divine attributes. For were I able to make out how these attributes could be born, I would also be able to see how they die’ (Tusc. 1.56).30 The structure of the argument is as follows: a. Human minds are of a kind or a nature to have certain attributes, such as memory, invention, imagination, sapience, movement, or speed. Cicero calls these attributes ‘divine’, because (so he says) the gods share them. b. Things of a kind or a nature to have these attributes are simple, ungenerated, and indestructible. 30

illa . . . quae declarant inesse in animis hominum divina quaedam. nam si cernerem quem ad modum nasci possent, etiam quem ad modum interirent viderem.

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c. Therefore, human minds are simple, ungenerated, and indestructible. No doubt Cicero thought that to show that minds are indestructible amounts to showing their eternity, which was his goal. He argues for a., and for the gods’ share of the relevant attributes, in 1.56–66. He achieves this first by pointing out that the human soul has powers that plant or animal souls do not (1.56), and then concentrating on examples of the attributes of memory (1.57–61) and invention (1.61–6). Then, in 1.67–70, he considers an objection from one of his many opponents, who think we should ask the questions what and where the soul is: how can Cicero say what kind of thing the soul is, if he does not know what it is like, or where it is? In 1.71, Cicero argues for b. and draws the conclusion c. In 1.72–6, he reconsiders Socrates’ position in the Phaedo, which A. had found unconvincing, in the light of these new arguments, and draws some heartening ethical consequences about how to face death. This argument may seem to have proved too much. For, in attempting to show that the human soul is eternal, Cicero seems also to have shown that it is divine, and thus to flirt with saying that our minds are gods. He acknowledges this: ‘Therefore the soul is divine, as I say, or as Euripides dared to say, it is a god’ (Tusc. 1.65).31 I think that Cicero’s answer to this challenge would be that he claims to have proved that we are much more divine than we thought, but not that we are now gods. Put most strictly, his point is that our minds are of the same kind as are the gods (‘the human mind is of this kind [sc. the same kind as the gods], and of the same nature’, 1.66).32 There is a helpful parallel for this in Cicero’s De Re Publica, where Scipio quotes the same Phaedrus argument for the immortality of the soul as part of what the elder Africanus revealed to him in his dream. Just as in Tusculans 1 Cicero matches the Phaedrus argument with the second argument we are now exploring, so in De Re Publica Africanus introduces the Phaedrus argument with the following comment: So know that you are a god, if a god is that which is alive, which senses, which remembers, which is provident, which rules and moderates and moves this body for which it is responsible, just as that chief god rules this cosmos. And just as the eternal god himself moves a cosmos that is mortal in part, just so your sempiternal soul moves a fragile body. (Cicero, De Re Publica 6.26)33 31 32 33

ergo animus, ut ego dico, divinus est, ut Euripides dicere audet, deus. hoc e genere atque eadem e natura est humana mens. deum te igitur scito esse, siquidem est deus, qui viget, qui sentit, qui meminit, qui providet, qui tam regit et moderatur et movet id corpus, cui praepositus est, quam hunc mundum ille princeps deus; et ut mundum ex quadam parte mortalem ipse deus aeternus, sic fragile corpus animus sempiternus movet.

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The parallel between Scipio’s supplement to the Phaedrus argument in the De Re Publica and his own character’s supplement in the Tusculans, suggests that Cicero had a stable interest in this approach to the Phaedrus argument: our embodied minds are not gods (they do not rule the cosmos, they are cognitively impaired by our bodies, we are perhaps not virtuous), but they share attributes with the gods (memory, invention, etc.) that show that they are of the same kind as the gods. Moreover, Cicero the speaker in the Tusculans is agnostic on the question about what happens to us after death: do we become gods or do we merely go to live with the gods? (1.76).34 Now I return to my main interpretive question: does this second argument depend on the mind’s subjective experience of itself? It is reasonable to argue that it does. For memory, invention, poetic composition, and so forth may well seem to be movements of the mind that the mind experiences directly. We saw that, according to Brittain, this is how Augustine read these examples (p. 200–201 above). But any such interpretation faces an immediate difficulty: Cicero never says explicitly that this is what he intends. Despite this difficulty, I think that Augustine’s interpretation is at least reasonable. For consider that the divine attributes Cicero mentions are attributes we would associate particularly with an orator, or a philosophical speaker, who has a store of memory on his topic, and the ability to come up with arguments. Of course, Cicero himself demonstrates these very abilities as he speaks. It is thus attractive to think that he adverts here to distinctive aspects of his own experience in devising and giving speeches like those in the Tusculans, or of his listeners’ experience in following his speech, and so on. As Brittain puts it, we could call this Augustinian interpretation a ‘performative’ one.35 Nor should we be surprised if Cicero wrote with such subtlety, if indeed he did. As we know from his forensic speeches, he could be a master of indirection, and convince audiences of conclusions for which he had not argued, or which he had not even mentioned. But, though attractive, this attempt to find a merely implicit Augustinian sense in the passage faces two difficulties greater than its lack of explicit support. The first is that, if anything, the examples that Cicero explicitly 34

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Africanus’ position is not exactly that of Cicero in Tusculans 1. For Africanus gives four levels of attributes to the human soul: plantlike (viget), animal (sentit), rational (meminit), and virtuously godly (providet). Cicero in the Tusculans, by contrast, limits himself to the first three. We can guess why: unlike Scipio, A. and readers of the Tusculans may not be ready to see a divine virtue like providence in themselves. Brittain 2012: 116.

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cites seem to frustrate the Augustinian reading. For example, in speaking of memory, Cicero is careful to say that he does not mean recollection, or the mnemonic arts. He means the store of memories that everybody has (Tusc. 1.59–61). Thus he seems to exclude those aspects of memory that involve subjective phenomena (recollection, whether passive or active) in favour of the aspect that does not. Again, in speaking of invention, he says nothing about the subjective phenomena of discovery. His most extended example is the comparison between Archimedes building his mechanical model of the cosmos and god building the cosmos itself (1.63). Here we are to wonder at the remarkable mathematical and mechanical abilities that most of us do not share and whose first-person experience might even be hard for us to imagine. The second and more serious difficulty is this. Cicero explicitly says that the mind does not sense itself. His declaration to this effect comes in the course of his extended struggle with an imagined objector over whether the mind ‘sees’ enough to say with confidence that it itself has divine attributes. The first paragraph of this passage begins with the objector speaking: ‘So where is this mind of yours, and what is it like?’ Where is yours, and what is it like? Can you say? Or, if I don’t have everything that I would like to have in order to understand, will you allow me to use what I do have? ‘The soul is not so able that it itself can see itself. Rather, just as the eye does, it sees other things, but does not see itself.’ But it does not see what is least important, its form (although perhaps it sees this too, but let’s leave that aside). It certainly sees its force, its sapience, its memory, its movement and speed. These are the important things, the divine things, the eternal things. We need not even inquire about what its aspect might be, or where it is. (Tusc. 1.67)36

This paragraph is intensely confusing. For one thing, although it is clear that Cicero imagines, and responds to, some objector, it is not clear which sentences are the objector’s, and which are Cicero’s replies. I have punctuated the passage as seems best to me, but each editor’s punctuation may differ. The objector seems to be one of Cicero’s main body of opponents in the First Argument for eternity, who arrived at false theories about what and where the mind is, sentencing it to death because they cannot imagine it outside the body. Emboldened by Cicero’s claim that the mind is of the same kind as the gods, the objector asks his typical questions: what is the soul like, and 36

‘Ubi igitur aut qualis est ista mens?’ Ubi tua aut qualis? potesne dicere? an, si omnia ad intellegendum non habeo quae habere vellem, ne is quidem quae habeo mihi per te uti licebit? ‘Non valet tantum animus, ut se ipse videat, at ut oculus, sic animus se non videns alia cernit.’ Non videt autem, quod minimum est, formam suam (quamquam fortasse id quoque, sed relinquamus); vim certe, sagacitatem, memoriam, motum, celeritatem videt. haec magna, haec divina, haec sempiterna sunt; qua facie quidem sit aut ubi habitet, ne quaerendum quidem est.

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where is it? Cicero then reasserts his own previous response, that nobody has any idea, because we do not have what we need to understand (i.e. we lack the necessary experience to understand the substance of something we have never seen). His initial defence of his argument is that he has some other data, enough to say with confidence that the soul has attributes. The next move is then most obscure. As I have punctuated it, the objector asserts that the soul is not able to see itself (either because this is his own view or, as I think more likely, because he thinks this is Cicero’s view). Now, one could punctuate the passage so that Cicero says this in his own voice, in which case, this text already makes short work of the Augustinian reading, and I may declare victory. But on balance, such punctuation is implausible. First, the next sentence wonders whether perhaps the soul can see itself, in some sense. The question does not yet seem settled. Second, it would be odd for Cicero to continue to discuss the question for some paragraphs, if it were settled here. Third, the run of the Latin particles, or lack of them, reads to me as though the back and forth is as I have presented it. So let this sentence be the objector’s. Cicero’s reply is that the soul does not see its own form, but does see certain of its attributes. What does this mean? One way to read the passage is the following: just as my body cannot immediately see its own form entirely, due to the nature of the eyes, but can see some bits of itself, so too the soul does not immediately see its own form entirely, but does immediately see some parts of itself, for example, its motion. A second way to read the passage is the following: the soul, like the eye, sees only other things and not itself, but among the other things the soul sees are certain of its own attributes. It seems to me that the paragraphs that follow tell decisively in favour of the latter reading. For Cicero’s next move is to draw a close comparison between the way we arrive at the conclusion that some god presides over the cosmos and the way we arrive at the conclusion that the soul has divine attributes. He gives a long and rapturous account of the design visible in the cosmos, of the sort he would have Balbus expand upon for the Stoics in On the Nature of the Gods book 2 (Tusc. 1.68–70). Then he makes his point: Just as, though you do not see a god, nevertheless you recognise the god from his works, just so, although you do not see a human mind, you recognise its divine force from its memory of facts, its invention, and its speed of motion, and all the beauties of its virtue.37 (Tusc. 1.70) 37

sic mentem hominis, quamvis eam non videas, ut deum non vides, tamen, ut deum adgnoscis ex operibus eius, sic ex memoria rerum et inventione et celeritate motus omnique pulchritudine virtutis vim divinam mentis adgnoscito.

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Here Cicero asserts, without qualification, that the objector does not see the human mind, and moreover, that he does not see the human mind just as he does not see god. This does not seem to leave room for an interpretation whereby the objector sees his own mind in part, but does not see its form. Rather, just as he recognises god from other things that he sees, namely god’s works, so the objector recognises his own and other human minds from other things that he sees, namely the human mind’s attributes. At this point, Cicero’s position seems extremely confusing. If my mind does not see itself, but only other things, in what sense does it see its own attributes? It seems to me that, if these two arguments together are to make sense, Cicero must use the verb videre (‘to see’) in two ways. The Augustinian reading also made such a claim. For in interpreting the first argument along Augustinian lines, we supposed that Cicero meant one thing when he interpreted the Delphic maxim as, ‘see the soul with the soul’, namely, ‘the mind should sense itself immediately’, and another when he said that we have never seen the soul without the body, just as we have never seen god, namely, that we have never seen these things with the eyes (see p. 210–11 above). But on my interpretation, we should make a different distinction. Sometimes, as when Cicero says that the mind does not ‘see’ itself, but ‘sees’ other things, he is talking about the mind’s sensation, whether through the body’s organs of sense or without them. At other times, he is talking about rational inference, as when he says that the mind ‘sees’ some of its own attributes, but not what or where it itself is. On my reading, the latter meaning is what Cicero attributes to the Delphic maxim. The maxim says, ‘know thyself’. This means, says Cicero, ‘see the soul with the soul’, because you yourself are your soul and not your body. On my interpretation, he means specifically that Delphi wants you to use that part of you that is eternally you, your rational mind, to ‘see’ your rational mind. Furthermore, just as, when you see and converse with a human body, you infer from what you see and hear that there is a mind to which you are talking, and which is responsible for that body’s actions, but you do not see or hear this mind, so too, when you try to understand your inner self, you should not hope to sense what your mind is like, but rather you should use your reason to infer what it is like, from what you do sense. It is helpful to speculate how Cicero may have taken an interest in this view about the mind’s sensation and its knowledge of itself. First, it is possible that Cicero may have read it in a text we have lost. But, second, we can tell a story about how he may have composed it himself, out of his reading on other matters. On the one hand, we know that during the summer of 45 bc, before he wrote the Tusculans, Cicero had read several of Dicaearchus’ books. Cicero interpreted what he read to mean that while there are ‘psychological’

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phenomena like sensations, or dreams, or knowledge, there is no such thing as a soul, distinct from the body, to be the unified subject of these phenomena.38 It seems likely Cicero was intrigued by this challenging position. After all, he may have thought, we never ‘see’ the mind the way we see other things, so how do we come to think that there is a mind? On the other hand, Cicero was preparing to write De natura deorum, and Balbus’ Stoic speech in book 2 of that dialogue.39 In Stoic theology, too, we acquire the concept of, and then come to understand, some beings we never encounter in the usual way, namely the gods. We do so from our experience of nature as numinous and rationally designed.40 Perhaps Cicero saw in Stoic theology the sort of evidence he could present to Dicaearchus, to explain how our experience of the motions of human life leads us to conceive of unified, rational, human minds that orchestrate these motions, and by argument even to arrive at a knowledge of the mind’s existence and motion. This evidence would also support the second of Cicero’s arguments for the eternity of the soul. I shall now introduce two texts from beyond Tusculans 1 that support my interpretation. The first is from book 5 of the Tusculans, in which Cicero argues that virtue is sufficient for happiness. He describes another version of the happiness in the afterlife he promised in book 1, one that may be had in this life. He asks us to imagine a philosopher who studies nature, inspired by the wonder of the night sky, investigating the seeds and principles of things, biology, geology, gravity, and so on (Tusc. 5.69): For the soul who studies these matters and thinks of them night and day, there will come about that insight which the god at Delphi prescribes, so that the mind itself apprehends itself and senses itself conjoined with the divine mind, from which bottomless joy it is fulfilled. (Tusc. 5.70)41

38

39 40

41

In addition to Cicero’s many references in Tusculans 1 to the man he calls his ‘darling Dicaearchus’ (Tusc. 1.77), see Letters to Atticus 13.30–3, cf. Academica 2.124. McConnell 2014 ch. 3 shows from Cicero’s letters to Atticus that Dicaearchus was an important thinker for the two friends. For Cicero’s understanding of Dicaearchus’ position about the soul, see Tusc. 1.21, 1.77; Academica 2.124; with Caston 2001: 339–46. Letters to Atticus 13.8 (June 45 bc), where Cicero asks for a copy of Panaetius’ On providence, is evidence that Cicero was already thinking about his theological dialogues in midsummer of 45 bc. Concept acquisition: ND 2.13–15. Theological arguments: the rest of ND 2. There is an important difference between Stoic theology in De natura deorum and Cicero’s position in Tusculans 1. For Balbus in ND 2, although it may seem at first that we have never seen one, it turns out that we cannot open our eyes without seeing a god (the cosmos, ND 2.45–9), and that the sky is full of other visible gods (the heavenly bodies, ND 2.49–56). But Cicero describes the gods as without bodies, and hidden from us, in the same way as our own minds (Tusc. 1.51, 1.70). They are not the cosmos or heavenly bodies, but rather divine minds who move the cosmos and heavenly bodies. haec tractanti animo et noctes et dies cogitanti existit illa deo Delphis praecepta cognitio, ut ipsa se mens agnoscat coniunctamque cum divina mente se sentiat, ex quo insatiabili gaudio compleatur.

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As with the first argument for immortality, this text in isolation at first looks extremely promising for the Augustinian reading of the arguments from eternity. For here we read that the mind fulfils the Delphic requirement to ‘know thyself’ by sensing itself. However, I think that the context again rules out the Augustinian reading. For Cicero does not describe somebody who introspects, and considers her immediate experience of her own mind. Rather, we are to imagine somebody who continually – day and night – thinks of, or keeps in the imagination (cogitanti), questions of natural philosophy. It is by doing this that the human mind grasps and ‘senses’ itself, by turning outward to its experience of other things, things that the divine mind has made. This ‘sensing’ of the self is not literal self-sensation, but rather a grasp of the mind arrived at from the study of the cosmos at large. The second further piece of textual support for my interpretation is from the opening sentence of ND, which contains a phrase that has long puzzled commentators. This is that the inquiry into the nature of the gods ‘is most beautiful for the apprehension of the soul’ (ad agnitionem42 animi pulcherrima est, ND 1.1). One difficulty is that ‘apprehension of the soul’ is ambiguous, between ‘most beautiful for the soul to apprehend’ and ‘most beautiful for apprehending the soul’. Given that Cicero wrote this when he had just finished the Tusculans, I think the latter reading seems more likely: an inference from the beauty of the world to the nature of the gods will also help us to understand our own souls by the same method. Thus, if we interpret Cicero’s position in Tusculans 1 as I suggest, then we can explain this strange remark about inquiry into the gods in ND 1.1. I close this section with a clarification about my interpretation, which is specifically that Cicero says that the mind does not sense itself, at least in this life. Note that, as I see it, Cicero does not hold that the mind cannot sense itself. For, indeed, he never says this, and he even says that perhaps it can sense itself, although he is reluctant to discuss the possibility (Tusc. 1.67, see p. 217 above). Why? I conjecture that this is connected with another mystery that Cicero declines to probe (Tusc. 1.76). This is a question about death raised by his arguments for conditional 2. (see pp. 205–6 above) and for the divine attributes of the human soul, namely, after death do we become gods, who can sense everything (cf. Tusc. 1.66) and therefore can sense themselves? If Cicero has no answer to this question, perhaps that is why he cannot say whether our 42

Some MSS give cognitionem, and many recent editors have printed this, because Cicero does not use agnitio elsewhere, while cognitionem is a helpfully precise term in his terminology, meaning ‘catalepsis’. However, along with editors like Mayor and Davies, I accept agnitio, because it is better attested in the MSS tradition, and because of the parallels with Tusc. 5.70 (ipsa se mens agnoscat) and Tusc. 1.70 (vim divinam mentis agnoscito), along with Leg. 1.24–5 and ND 1.91.

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minds can sense themselves once freed from their bond to the body, and therefore cannot say whether our minds can sense themselves, even though he says they do not do so in this life.

5. The First Argument Revisited, and Another Objection I see at least two serious objections looming over my interpretation of Cicero’s two arguments for the eternity of the soul: that it is contradicted by the first argument for eternity, and that it flies in the face of common sense. I shall deal with each in turn. An objector can try to use at least two parts of the first argument against my interpretation, both of which I pointed to in my own elaboration of an Augustinian interpretation of that argument. First, does not Cicero say, in the italicised text in Tusc. 1.55 (p. 227 below), that the soul ‘senses’ (sentit) itself? I answer, No, he says that the soul sentit that it itself moves, etc. The object of sentit is thus a proposition (or perhaps a fact), and not the soul itself. Is this splitting hairs? No, because sentit can have either of two significantly different meanings. It can mean ‘senses’, a meaning connected for example with sensus (‘sensation’), but it can also mean ‘takes the view that’, ‘thinks that’, a meaning connected for example with sententia, ‘view’ or ‘sentence’. The latter use is common in Cicero. Here are two examples from the Tusculans: fieri autem potest, ut recte quis sentiat et id quod sentit polite eloqui non possit. (1.6) But it can happen, that somebody who correctly takes a view cannot express in a polished way the view that he takes. sed defendat, quod quisque sentit; sunt enim iudicia libera. (4.7) But let each defend the view he takes. For judgements are free.

In the same way, Cicero says that the soul takes the rational view that, or thinks that, it moves, not that it senses itself moving. I think this is why, a few lines above, he says that this view amounts to scientific knowledge (sciet, 1.53). For it is a true belief, rationally inferred from other evidence. On my view, Cicero says that Plato’s argument was ‘born’ not from subjective experience of the self, but from the propositional knowledge that the soul is and that it moves. The text I have underlined in Tusc. 1.55 is then not an expansion of Plato’s argument, with a fresh insight into the basis of Plato’s confidence in his ‘least’ premise that the soul moves itself

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(see pp. 212–3 above). Rather, these lines are a summary of Plato’s argument, agreeing with Hermias (see p. 212 above) that in part 4. of the Phaedrus argument Socrates tells us the basis on which to believe the ‘least’ premise of the two arguments in parts 1. and 2. This basis is that it is part of the concept of a soul that it moves itself. Thus, says Cicero in the italicised text in the appendix, Socrates begins with the thought that the soul moves, points out that given the concept of the soul this thought already implies that the soul moves itself, and thus proceeds with the arguments in 1. and 2. A second objection to my interpretation that arises from the first argument concerns the use of the Delphic maxim. On behalf of the Augustinian interpretation, I suggested that Cicero’s interpretation of ‘know thyself’, as meaning ‘see the soul with the soul’, might imply that we should not ‘see’ the soul with the senses. But now I have argued that Cicero wants us to infer what the soul is like from empirical data. This is not exactly to ‘see’ the soul with the senses, of course, but it does direct us to look at bodies in order to understand the soul, which might seem out of keeping with the spirit of Cicero’s interpretation of the maxim. To this objection, I answer that I think my earlier suggestion, although worth exploring as a way to understand Augustine’s interpretation, is unnecessary to understand what Cicero wrote in this passage about the Delphic maxim. For Cicero says that one should ‘see’ the soul with the soul itself, but does not say that one should do this without looking at the body. At least in this life, when I interact with other minds, I do not ignore bodies. When I see and hear your body, I infer and do not see or hear that there is a mind there. Then I have my body direct utterances at your body, in order to talk to your mind. It is rational for me to do this even though I myself think that minds cannot be seen or heard. I think, then, that Cicero’s purported distinction between his opponents and the author of the Delphic maxim is this. The opponents think that they sense the soul now, when in the body. But the Delphic maxim tells us to use only our rational part (our self) to ‘see’ that rational part (our self), and furthermore means specifically that we should do so by drawing inferences because, although our rational part has sensation, it does not sense itself, at least when in the body. Thus understood, the Delphic maxim does not rule out that our inferences about the mind should rely on other things that we do sense, for example the way human bodies move when human minds act on them. The second looming objection is that my interpretation of the arguments from eternity flies in the face of common sense. For you might say, granted, Cicero does not talk explicitly about subjective experience of our own minds. But we all do have subjective experience of our own minds. In our experience,

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it is immediately obvious that our minds move, that they remember, and so forth. Why would Cicero not intend his readers to reflect on this? Since this objection goes beyond the text, my answer also does so (in part). My answer is to suggest that the account of the soul Cicero builds over the course of the Tusculans could imply that we do not have subjective experience of our own minds. Suppose that Cicero indeed thinks we sense other things, but not our own minds, at least while embodied. Thus, what many of us today would mark as ‘internal sensation’ or ‘subjective experience’ of our own minds, as self-awareness, is in fact sensation of something other than our own minds. But what other things, and where, could we mistake for our own minds? I think Cicero has plentiful resources to answer this question. For example, perhaps the images we see with the mind’s eye are in the world of bodies, perhaps in my body, and not in the soul. Suppose I see the tree outside my window. Here Cicero could say that my mind senses the tree, not itself, nor its own sensation of the tree. Or he could say that the mind senses something outside my soul, but in my body: an image that my mind senses formed, perhaps, on the retina, or in some part of my brain or heart. In cases where my experiences are not sensory, Cicero could say something similar. When I close my eyes and imagine the tree, perhaps this image, too, is outside my soul, but in my brain or heart, and my mind senses it there. And so on, we might say, for everything we can sense or imagine. But Cicero does not even need to locate these images outside the soul. For perhaps they are outside the mind, but in the other, non-rational part of the soul, just as are pain, or the troubled motions of anger and lust. After all, our experiences of pain, or of the troubled motions of the passions, might seem to be excellent cases of the mind’s immediate experience of itself, but we have already seen that, according to Cicero, they are the mind’s sensations of movements outside the mind, in another part of the soul.43 There is evidence in Cicero’s discussion of memory that he does indeed think that the images that our minds sense when they imagine are outside our minds. Memory, he says, cannot be the storage of images in a medium. For what medium could store all that we remember? Thus memory is something much more mysterious, the nature of which, as with the mind, we do not understand (Tusc. 1.59). So what does Cicero think happens when I seem to myself to ‘recollect’ an image of, for example, the American flag? It seems he must think that the mind recollects its memory of what the Stars 43

See pp. 203–204 above. Cicero’s first and second arguments for its eternity both emphasise the mind as mover and agent. Presumably this is because it is from its works, and through changes it makes in other things, that we can infer some of the mind’s attributes.

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and Stripes looks like, which (mysteriously) is not an image, and then acts on a medium in the soul, or body, to produce for itself the image it senses, simulating the appearance it remembers. Thus, similarly, when I experience my own powers of invention, Cicero can say that I experience images that my mind causes in something else. Just as I infer the existence and some attributes of Archimedes’ mind from something other than his mind, such as his model of the cosmos, so too I infer the existence and attributes of my mind from something other than my mind, including from the images of things other than my mind that my mind continually senses. To be clear, this does not mean that imagination, or invention, or movement, and so on, are not in the mind. They are. But, just as we have not learned what or where the mind may be, what these attributes amount to is mysterious. For we see only their works: the images they cast in this or that medium in another part of the soul or in the body; the way they make a human body move; the writing such movements leave on a page; and so on. According to Cicero, in both our ‘outer’ and ‘inner’ lives (though what we call our ‘inner’ lives are in fact no more inner than the ‘outer’), each of us lives surrounded by the luminous works of his or her rational mind, just as we are surrounded by the works of the gods when we see nature and the night sky. But we do not mistake these works for the mind itself. I end with an observation about my contrast between Cicero and Augustine. Augustine’s rallying cry, as a Christian Platonist, was to come to the truth about oneself, and about God, by turning within. Cicero delivers the opposite message in the Tusculans: look outwards, at the rest of the cosmos, in order to understand souls, both divine and our own. Suppose that the change from Cicero’s message to Augustine’s is, indeed, momentous for the history of our engagement with our own consciousness, in that it helped to bring about what many people now accept as an obvious presumption, that we are conscious of our own minds. Then it is perhaps a surprise to find that, as a historical matter, this presumption was brought about, in part, by the transformation of ancient theology. For both Cicero and Augustine accept that what we learn about the divine tells us something about our own minds too – Cicero because he thinks our minds are of the same kind as the gods, and Augustine because he thinks our minds are images of God. From his creed, that God is a Trinity, Augustine supposes that the mind is an image of this Trinity, and thus that the whole mind is available to itself immediately. But Cicero shows us the mind considered much as the Stoics considered the gods, as at first hidden from us, the object not of immediate consciousness but of inference from our awareness of other things on which it acts, by an argument from design.

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Cicero’s First Argument for the Eternity of the Soul, Tusc. 1.49–55 (my translation) CICERO: (49) . . . However, no reason occurs to me why Pythagoras’ and Plato’s view [sc. that the soul is eternal] should not be true. For even if Plato were to bring forward no argument – see what a compliment I pay the man – he would break my resistance by authority alone. Yet he brought forward so many arguments, it seems he wished to persuade others, and certainly had persuaded himself. (50) But many contend against [Plato] and, as though by a capital sentence, punish souls with death. Nor is there any cause why the eternity of souls should be hard to credit, except that they cannot understand, or grasp with the imagination, what a soul is like without a body. As though they could understand what it is like even in the body – what its form is, or its size, or its place! So, if they were able to see everything that is now covered in a living person, does it seem that the soul will fall within their field of view, or is the soul’s subtlety so great that it would elude the gaze? (51) Let those who deny that they can understand the soul without the body ponder these questions. They shall see what they can understand about it in the body. For me, at any rate, when I attend to the nature of the soul, it is much harder, and much more obscure, to imagine what the soul is like in a body, as in a stranger’s home, than to imagine what it is like when it has gone out of the body, and has come to the freedom of heaven, as though to its own home. For no doubt we can hold in the imagination both god himself, and a divine soul set free of the body – unless we cannot understand what something we have never seen is like. Yet, because it was difficult to understand what the soul was, or what it was like, Dicaearchus and Aristoxenus said that there is no soul at all. (52) But this is the most important thing: to see the soul using the soul itself. That is very much the force of Apollo’s precept, in which he warns each to know himself. For I don’t believe he gave this precept to the effect that we should know our own limbs, or stature, or figure. We are not bodies, nor when I say this do I say it to your body. Thus when he said, ‘know you’, he meant this: ‘know your soul’. For the body, on the other hand, is as it were a vessel, or a kind of container, for the soul. Any action done by your soul is done by you. So unless it were divine to know this [i.e. the soul], this precept from some more insightful soul would not have been attributed to the god. (53) But tell me, please: if the soul itself does not know what the soul is like, does it not know even that it is, nor even that it moves? From this was born that argument of Plato, which is expressed by Socrates in the Phaedrus [245c– 246a], and which I included in the sixth book of my Republic [6.27–8]:

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1.

What always moves is eternal. But that which gives movement to something, and which itself is driven from elsewhere, when it has an end of the movement, then necessarily it has an end of its life. Therefore only that which moves itself, because it is never abandoned by itself, never ceases even to be moved. 2. On the contrary, this is the spring, this is the principle of motion even for other things that are moved. (54) But of a principle there is no source. For from a principle everything takes its source, but a principle itself cannot be born from some other thing. For that which was generated from elsewhere would not be a principle. But if it never arises, it also never perishes. 3. For an extinguished principle will neither itself be reborn from another, nor will it create another out of itself, if, at least, it is necessary that everything arise from a principle. Thus it comes about that the principle of motion is out of that which itself is moved by itself. But that principle cannot be born or die, else all the heaven and all nature must necessarily collapse, and come to a standstill, and never obtain any force, to push it to start moving. 4. Since it is clear that whatever is of the sort that moves itself is eternal, who is there who would deny that this nature is an attribute of souls? For an ‘inanimate’ thing is anything which is driven by a push from outside, but whatever is an ‘animal’ is propelled by a motion inside itself that is its own. For this is the proper nature and power of a soul. If the soul, alone of all things, is that which is such as to move itself, it certainly was not born, and is eternal. (55) Let all the plebeian philosophers assemble – for I think all those who dissent from Plato and Socrates and from that tradition should be called ‘plebeian’ – not only will they never express themselves so eloquently, they also will never understand how subtly deduced is Plato’s argument. Thus, the soul senses [sentit] that it itself is moved. When it senses the latter, at the same time it senses this, that it is moved by its own power, not by another’s, and that it cannot happen that it itself is ever abandoned by itself. From which is produced its eternity, unless you have some reply to all this.

Tusc. 1.49–55: Cicero’s Latin (Pohlenz’s text, lightly modified and reformatted)

CICERO: (49) . . . Nec tamen mihi sane quicquam occurrit, cur non Pythagorae sit et Platonis vera sententia. ut enim rationem Plato nullam

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adferret – vide, quid homini tribuam – ipsa auctoritate me frangeret: tot autem rationes attulit, ut velle ceteris, sibi certe persuasisse videatur. (50) Sed plurimi contra nituntur animosque quasi capite damnatos morte multant, neque aliud est quicquam cur incredibilis is animorum videatur aeternitas, nisi quod nequeunt qualis animus sit vacans corpore intellegere et cogitatione comprehendere. quasi vero intellegant, qualis sit in ipso corpore, quae conformatio, quae magnitudo, qui locus; ut, si iam possent in homine vivo cerni omnia quae nunc tecta sunt, casurusne in conspectum videatur animus, an tanta sit eius tenuitas, ut fugiat aciem? (51) haec reputent isti qui negant animum sine corpore se intellegere posse: videbunt, quem in ipso corpore intellegant. mihi quidem naturam animi intuenti multo difficilior occurrit cogitatio, multo obscurior, qualis animus in corpore sit tamquam alienae domi, quam qualis, cum exierit et in liberum caelum quasi domum suam venerit. nisi44 enim, quod numquam vidimus, id quale sit intellegere non possumus, certe et deum ipsum et divinum animum corpore liberatum cogitatione complecti possumus. Dicaearchus quidem et Aristoxenus, quia difficilis erat animi quid aut qualis esset intellegentia, nullum omnino animum esse dixerunt. (52) Est illud quidem vel maxumum animo ipso animum videre, et nimirum hanc habet vim praeceptum Apollinis, quo monet ut se quisque noscat. non enim credo id praecipit, ut membra nostra aut staturam figuramve noscamus; neque nos corpora sumus, nec ego tibi haec dicens corpori tuo dico. cum igitur ‘nosce te’ dicit, hoc dicit: ‘nosce animum tuum.’ nam corpus quidem quasi vas est aut aliquod animi receptaculum; ab animo tuo quicquid agitur, id agitur a te. hunc igitur nosse nisi divinum esset, non esset hoc acrioris cuiusdam animi praeceptum tributum deo.45 (53) Sed si, qualis sit animus, ipse animus nesciet, dic quaeso, ne esse quidem se sciet, ne moveri quidem se? ex quo illa ratio nata est Platonis, quae a Socrate est in Phaedro explicata, a me autem posita est in sexto libro De Re Publica: 1.

44 45

Quod semper movetur, aeternum est; quod autem motum adfert alicui quodque ipsum agitatur aliunde, quando finem habet motus, vivendi finem habeat necesse est. solum igitur, quod se ipsum movet, quia numquam deseritur a se, numquam ne moveri quidem desinit. Pohlenz prints si, and Kühner etsi. All the MSS have nisi. At the end of this sentence, the MSS are confused. Intriguingly, the best seem to specify the message Cicero sees in Apollo’s precept as se ipsum posse cognoscere, ‘that it is possible to know oneself’. But recent editors concur that this is an incorporated gloss.

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2.

Quin etiam ceteris quae moventur hic fons, hoc principium est movendi. principii autem nulla est origo; (54) nam e principio oriuntur omnia, ipsum autem nulla ex re alia nasci potest; nec enim esset id principium, quod gigneretur aliunde. quod si numquam oritur, ne occidit quidem umquam; 3. nam principium extinctum nec ipsum ab alio renascetur nec ex se aliud creabit, siquidem necesse est a principio oriri omnia. ita fit, ut motus principium ex eo sit, quod ipsum a se movetur; id autem nec nasci potest nec mori, vel concidat omne caelum omnisque natura consistat necesse est nec vim ullam nanciscatur, qua a primo inpulsa moveatur. 4. Cum pateat igitur aeternum id esse, quod se ipsum moveat, quis est qui hanc naturam animis esse tributam neget? inanimum est enim omne, quod pulsu agitatur externo; quod autem est animal, id motu cietur interiore et suo; nam haec est propria natura animi atque vis. quae si est una ex omnibus quae se ipsa [semper] moveat, neque nata certe est et aeterna est. (55) Licet concurrant omnes plebei philosophi – sic enim i, qui a Platone et Socrate et ab ea familia dissident, appellandi videntur – non modo nihil umquam tam eleganter explicabunt, sed ne hoc quidem ipsum quam subtiliter conclusum sit intellegent. sentit igitur animus se moveri; quod cum sentit, illud una sentit, se vi sua, non aliena moveri, nec accidere posse ut ipse umquam a se deseratur. ex quo efficitur aeternitas, nisi quid habes ad haec.

Plato Phaedrus 245c–246a, translated by Cicero Tusc. 1.53–4 (Burnet’s text, reformatted)

(Socrates speaking:) (245 c) . . . . 1. τὸ γὰρ ἀεικίνητον ἀθάνατον· τὸ δ’ ἄλλο κινοῦν καὶ ὑπ’ ἄλλου κινούμενον, παῦλαν ἔχον κινήσεως, παῦλαν ἔχει ζωῆς. μόνον δὴ τὸ αὑτὸ κινοῦν, ἅτε οὐκ ἀπολεῖπον ἑαυτό, οὔποτε λήγει κινούμενον, 2.

ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ὅσα κινεῖται τοῦτο πηγὴ καὶ ἀρχὴ κινήσεως. (d) ἀρχὴ δὲ ἀγένητον. ἐξ ἀρχῆς γὰρ ἀνάγκη πᾶν τὸ γιγνόμενον γίγνεσθαι, αὐτὴν δὲ μηδ’ ἐξ ἑνός· εἰ γὰρ ἔκ του ἀρχὴ γίγνοιτο, οὐκ ἂν ἔτι ἀρχὴ γίγνοιτο. ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἀγένητόν ἐστιν, καὶ ἀδιάφθορον αὐτὸ ἀνάγκη εἶναι. 3. ἀρχῆς γὰρ δὴ ἀπολομένης οὔτε αὐτή ποτε ἔκ του οὔτε ἄλλο ἐξ ἐκείνης γενήσεται, εἴπερ ἐξ ἀρχῆς δεῖ τὰ πάντα γίγνεσθαι. οὕτω δὴ κινήσεως μὲν ἀρχὴ τὸ αὐτὸ αὑτὸ κινοῦν. τοῦτο δὲ οὔτ’ ἀπόλλυσθαι οὔτε γίγνεσθαι δυνατόν, ἢ πάντα τε οὐρανὸν (e) πᾶσάν τε γῆν εἰς ἓν συμπεσοῦσαν στῆναι καὶ μήποτε αὖθις ἔχειν ὅθεν κινηθέντα γενήσεται.

230 4.

j. p. f. wynne ἀθανάτου δὲ πεφασμένου τοῦ ὑφ’ ἑαυτοῦ κινουμένου, ψυχῆς οὐσίαν τε καὶ λόγον τοῦτον αὐτόν τις λέγων οὐκ αἰσχυνεῖται. πᾶν γὰρ σῶμα, ᾧ μὲν ἔξωθεν τὸ κινεῖσθαι, ἄψυχον, ᾧ δὲ ἔνδοθεν αὐτῷ ἐξ αὑτοῦ, ἔμψυχον, ὡς ταύτης οὔσης φύσεως ψυχῆς· εἰ δ’ ἔστιν τοῦτο οὕτως ἔχον, μὴ ἄλλο τι εἶναι τὸ αὐτὸ ἑαυτὸ (246a) κινοῦν ἢ ψυχήν, ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἀγένητόν τε καὶ ἀθάνατον ψυχὴ ἂν εἴη.

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Index Locorum

Achilles Isagoge Introduction to the ‘Phainomena’ of Aratus 13 192 14 134 Accius Epigoni Trag. 296 Ribbeck3 = 589 Dangel 111 Aët Aëtius Plac. Placita 1.3 176 1.7.17 114, 116 1.7.33 136, 147 1.21.3 182 2.17.4 151 2.23.5 151 4.2–5 57 4.2.3 178 4.3.11 97 4.4.6 91 4.5.1 104 4.5.5 105 4.7.3 122 4.21.1–4 115 4.21.2 149 4.22.3 37 4.23.1 116 5.4.1 138 5.15.5 36 Alcinous Did. Didaskalikos 14 179 Alex. Aphr. Alexander of Aphrodisias DA On the Soul 94.7–100.17 100 97.1–4 102 100.8–12 109 Fat. On Fate 199.14–22 123 Mixt. On Mixture 216.20 143

Anonymous Klibansky 32.17–18 195 Anon. Lond. Anonymus Londiniensis XXI.13–18 47 XXII.36–49 34 XXVIII.46–9 37 Anon. Paris. Anonymus Parisinus Morb. Ac. et Chron. On Acute and Chronic Diseases 1.1.1 40 2.1.1 40 Antioch. Ascal. Antiochus of Ascalon F2 Sedley Arist. Aristotle DA De anima (On the Soul) 1.1 78 1.1, 402b1 181 1.2, 404b16–30 173, 178 1.2, 404b18–21 181 1.2, 404b22 178 1.3, 406b18–20 9 1.3, 407a2–3 181 1.4, 409a1–3 176, 178 1.5, 4093a31–b4 91 1.5, 411b19–24 109 2.3, 414a29–b2 37 2.8, 420b29 12 3.2, 427a2–15 181 3.9, 432b8–19 37 DC De caelo (On the Heaven) 1.1, 268a6–13 180 1.10, 279b32–280a10 131 3.5, 303b19–21 91 GA On the generation of animals 1.18 2.6, 743b36–744a6 14 2.6, 744a30–32 70 2.20, 727b33–6 26 HA Historia animalium (History of Animals) 1.16, 495a 4-9 39 3.3, 513b7-11 52

252

Index Locorum 3.5, 515a27-28 44 3.5, 515a29-32 52 10.6, 637b30–32 25 Insom. De Insomniis (On Dreams) 3, 461a21–5 19 Iuv. De Iuventute et Senectute (On youth and old age) 469a11 13 469a5 13 MA On the motion of animals 7, 701b13–24 166 8, 701b33–702a21 166 Metaph. Metaphysics A.5, 985b32–986a2 175 A.5, 987a17–22 175 A.6, 987b14–18 187 Z.2, 102b19–21 187 Meteorology 1.3, 340b28 151 2.4, 360a8 151 NE Nicomachean Ethics 6.13, 1144b3–18 157 7.14, 1154b11–14 70 PA De partibus animalium (On the Parts of Animals) 1.5, 645a29 9 2.2, 648a2-4 44 2.4, 650b19-23 44 2.7, 652b2–7 14 2.10, 656a23–5 14 2.10, 656a34 14 2.10, 656b27 14 2.10, 656b29 14 2.13, 657a37–b1 33 2.16, 659b14–19 19 3.3, 664b2-35 51 3.3, 665a12 13 3.4, 666a35 13 4.10 82 Phys. Physics 6.4, 234b10 177 7.3, 246b4–5 70 8.10, 266a10–11 177 8.10, 267b25–6 177 Pol. Politics 7.6 157 7.7, 1327b35 70 Probl. Problems 2.33, 903a19–21 23 Resp. De Respiratione (On breathing) 1, 470b9–10 36 2, 471a21 12 7, 473a19 12 7, 473a22 14 8, 474a29 13

253

Sens. De Sensu (On Perception) 2, 438b9–17 59 5, 443a5 14 Somn. On sleep and dreams 2, 456a6 13 3, 457a10–18 19 Spir. On Pneuma (or On breath): usually thought not to be by Aristotle 3, 482b8 12 5, 483a25 12 5, 483b5 12 5, 483b13–16 12 Ar. Did. Arius Didymus Fr. Phys. On Physics 20 186 38 136 39 138 Athenaeus 2.24.45F 153 August. Augustine Civ. Dei City of God 7.23 124 Contra Ac. Against the Academics 3.38 198 Aul. Gell. Aulus Gellius Attic Nights 7.1.10–11 131 7.2 156 Caelius Aurelianus De morb. ac. De morbis acutis (On Acute Diseases) 1.53 31 1.115 109 Calc. Calcidius In Tim. Commentary on Plato’s Timaeus 27.6–15 195 27.8–9 172 160–61 124 216 109 220 115, 140 221 91 279 16 294 132 Censorinus De die natali (On the Natal Day) 4.3 194 4.10 137 Cic. Cicero (Marcus Tullius Cicero) Acad. Academica 1.4 10 1.18 160 1.24–9 131 2.38 10 2.118 131 2.121 10, 28 2.124 220

254

Index Locorum

Att. Letters to Atticus 13.8 220 13.30–33 220 De oratore On the Orator 1.28–9 210 De Re Publica On the Republic 6.26 215 6.27–8 210, 226 Div. De divinatione 1.110 Fat. De fato (On Fate) 7–9 155 39–43 125 Fin. De finibus (On the ends of gods and evils) 5.13 10 Leg. De legibus (Laws) 1.24 137 1.24–5 221 ND De natura deorum (On the Nature of the Gods) 1.1 221 1.35 10 1.36–9 114, 116 1.91 221 2.13–15 220 2.18 129 2.20–21 133 2.20–22 133, 135 2.22 115, 133, 141 2.30 115 2.31–2 115 2.38–9 123 2.42–3 124 2.45–9 220 2.49–56 220 2.91 130 2.118 151 2.139 53, 54 3.27 129 Tim. Timaeus 8.21 195 Tusc. Tusculan Disputations 1.6 222 1.7–8 201, 202 1.9 201 1.9–12 206 1.18 205 1.18–23 205, 207 1.20 203, 204, 205 1.21 220 1.22 205 1.23 205 1.23–4 205 1.24 207, 210

1.25–6 205 1.26 207 1.26–76 207 1.38 208 1.38–9 207 1.39 207, 210 1.40 205 1.40–43 206 1.41 205 1.44–5 206 1.45 206 1.46–7 206 1.47 211 1.48 206 1.49–55 207, 208, 226 1.50 207, 209 1.51 208, 209, 220 1.52 210 1.52–5 209 1.53 210, 222 1.53–4 229 1.54 199, 209 1.55 200, 207, 208, 212, 222 1.56 214, 215 1.56–66 215 1.56–76 214 1.57 199 1.57–61 215 1.59 224 1.59-61 217 1.60 205 1.61–6 215 1.63 217 1.65 215 1.66 205, 215, 221 1.67 201, 217, 221 1.67–70 215 1.68–70 218 1.70 205, 218, 220, 221 1.71 215 1.72–6 215 1.75 206 1.76 216, 221 1.77 208, 220 1.77–112 207 1.79 199, 204 1.80 202 2.14 201 2.47–53 203 3.7 201 4.7 222 4.8 201 4.10–11 203, 204 5.12 201 5.32–3 202

Index Locorum 5.69 220 5.70 220, 221 Clem. Clement of Alexandria Strom. Miscellanies 6.16 132 Dem. Lac. Demetrius of Laconia PHerc. 1012 (ed. Puglia 1988) XLII–XLVII 100 XLII.6–8 103 XLII.7–9 103 XLII.9–10 100, 102 XLIII.4–6 102 XLIII.5–6 102 XLVI.3 103 XVLII 104 XLVII.2ff. 102 XLVII.7 104 XLVII.9–10 Diocles of Carystus (Frs. from van der Eijk 2000) Fr. 74 75 Fr. 80 75 Fr. 87 75 Fr. 98 75 Fr. 119 75 Fr. 124 75 Fr. 130 75 DL Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers 3.63–80 189 3.67 189, 190 3.67–9 189 3.69 131 4.4 180 4.13 180 5.58 9, 11, 16 5.59–60 11 5.82 15 7.2–3 127 7.4 192 7.58 122 7.87 120 7.89 157, 159 7.110 115 7.133 105 7.134 132 7.134–5 114, 116 7.135 186 7.135–6 136 7.137 132 7.138 115 7.138–9 116 7.138–40 118 7.139 152 7.142–3 115

255

7.143 137 7.147 115, 132 7.151 143 7.156 120, 189 7.157 122, 147, 193 7.174 151 7.183 152 8.25 195 8.28 138 8.36 195 9.8–11 151 Diog. Oin. Diogenes of Oinoanda (ed. Smith 1993) 2 108 29 108 37 105 37.I.5–7 107 37.III.3 107 37.III.9–10 107 37–8 105 38 107, 109 Epictetus Diss. Discourses 1.3 137 1.6.13 160 1.14 125 1.14.6 138 1.17.21–4 169 1.29.47 2.8.9–14 125 Epicur. Epicurus Ep. Hdt. Letter to Herodotus 46 92 63 93, 95, 103, 109 63–4 90 66 95, 103 66 94, 110 68–71 93 Ep. Pyth. Letter to Pythocles 97 110 Nat. On Nature II PHerc. 1149/993: coll. 92.24 and 93.5-9 Leone 91, 92 XIV PHerc. 1148, col. XXXVII.1–12 Leone XXV PHerc 1056 6, 3, 5 Laursen 110 Epiphanius Adversus haereses Against Heresies 3.33 23 Erasistratus (Frs. From Garofalo) Fr. 42 40 Fr. 86 40, 46 Fr. 112 39 Fr. 174 46 Frs. 176–7 40

256

Index Locorum

Erasistratus (Frs. From Garofalo) (cont.) Fr. 205 45 Fr. 288 42 Fr. 289 41 Eudorus F33 Mazzarelli 192 Eus. Eusebius PE Praeparatio evangelica (Preparation for the Gospel) 13.7.1–7 182 15.14.1 131 15.14.2 136 15.15.7 116 15.20.1 138 15.20.2 148 15.20.6 122 15.21.3 149 Galen (for a guide to works and editions see Singer ed. 2013: 428–42) Adv. Jul. Against Julian 5. XVIIIA 266K 147 Ars Med. The Art of Medicine 11 87 19.3 143 Caus. Symp. Causes of Symptoms 2.5 74, 80 Def. Med. Medical Definitions (authorship disputed) 94, 19.370 K 138 De simpl. med. temp. The Capacities of Simple Drugs 11.513 De uteri diss. The Anatomy of the Uterus 2.894–8 26 Diff. Puls. The Different Kinds of Pulse 4.17 45 8.702 35 Dig. Puls. Diagnosis by the Pulse 2.2 34 Hipp. Aph. Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Aphorisms’ 6.50 42 Hipp. Epid. VI Commentary on Hippocrates ‘Epidemics VI’ 5.5 270.26–8 74, 154 HNH Commentary on Hippocrates’ ‘Nature of Man’ 15.7 K 25 15.97 K 66, 69, 77 Inaeq. Int. On uneven mixture 4 76 Libr. Prop. My Own Books 1.9–10 43

Loc. Aff. The Affected Places 3.6, 8.163 K 73, 77 3.9, 8.181 K 66 3.9, 8.191 K 66 3.10, 8.191 K 77 3.10, 8.191–2 K 77 3.14, 8.212 K 16 4.9 75 MM The Therapeutic Method 12.5 76, 80 Morb. Ac. Et Chron. On Acute and Chronic Diseases 4.1.2 46 Nat. Fac. Natural Capacities 1.1 37, 64, 82 2.3 67, 86 2.4 11 2.88–93 11 Nerv. Diss. The Anatomy of the Nerves 835.2–7 K 99 PHP The Doctrines of Hippocrates and Plato 1.6.13–14 51 1.6.18 52 1.7.1 51 1.9.10 33 1.10.14 33 2.2.9 16 2.5 100, 110 2.5.15–16 49 2.5.69–70 50 2.7.5–7 12 2.6.17 12 2.7.10–11 16 2.8.36 150 2.8.37 150 2.8.39 150 2.8.40 150 2.8.44 167 2.8.47 150, 165, 169 2.8.48 149 2.8.49 150 3.1 100 3.1.9–13 115 3.1.9–17 54 3.1.12–13 56 3.1.12–15 49 3.1.25 166 3.1.30–33 166 3.5.31 54 3.5.35 49 3.7.55 49 4.2.10–18 158 4.6.1–3 159

Index Locorum 4.7.36–8 158 5.1.5 163 5.2.31–34 161 5.5.11–12 159 5.5.21 163 5.5.26–7 154 5.5.27 66 5.5.28–35 87 5.5.32 162 5.5.34–5 162 5.5.36–40 160 5.6.18–19 163 5.6.19–20 164 6.5.22 37 6.7 35 7.3.6–12 41 7.3.19–22 74 7.3.30 46 7.3.32–3 40 9.8.16 143 Prop. Plac. My Own Doctrines 7 46 7.4 46 QAM The Capacities of the Soul depend upon the Mixtures of the Body 2 68, 82 3 77 4 71, 75, 148, 154 5 68, 70 9 72, 73, 77 11 68, 82, 86, 87 San. Tu. Matters of Health 1.8 79, 81 2.9 78 Sem. Semen 2.1 26 2.2.4–7 83 2.2.5–7 66, 67 2.5 26, 27 2.15–19 27 Sympt. Diff. Distinctions in Symptoms 3.1 82 SMT The Capacities and Mixtures of Simple Drugs 2.9 74 11.460 K 25 11.513 K 25 Temp. Mixtures 1.9 66, 70, 72, 83, 85, 86 2.1 72 2.2 70 2.6 83, 86 3.1 69

257

Trem. Palp. Tremor, Spasm, Convulsion, and Shivering 605–6 36 616.1 25 UP The Function of the Parts of the Body 1.2–3 66, 82 1.3 86 1.484 15 8.11 15, 33 8.13 76 10.4 85 10.12 16 Ut. Resp. The Function of Breathing 5.1 46 7 74 Gregory of Nyssa De opifico hominis On the Construction of Man 12.4 104 Heraclitus (Fragments as in DK) B117 152 Hermias of Alexandria In Plat. Phaedr. Commentary on Plato’s ‘Phaedrus’ 102 209 108 212 114 212 Hermias (Hermias Philosophus) Irrisio gentilium philosophorum Satire on Pagan Philosophers 14 120 Herophilus (Testimonia from von Staden 1989) T78 33 T81 32 T115 37 T141 36 T143 37 T143b 35 T144 35 T145a 35 T145b 46 T146 37 T149 36 T155 35 T184 34 T193 34 T202 36 Hierocles 1.5–30 137 1.5–33 147 Hippoc. Hippocrates De locis in homine On Places in Man 2.1 103 2.3 103

258

Index Locorum

De morbo sacro On the Sacred Disease 4–7 75 14.1–2 103 Regimen 35 70 Hippolytus of Rome Ref. Refutation of all Heresies 1.22.5 92 9.10.7–8 132 Iambl. Iamblichus DA On the Soul 4 ap. Stob. 1.49 178, 179, 180, 194 ap. Stob. 1.378.1–18 F26 ap. Stob. 1.378.6–7 182, 183 In Nicom. arith. Introduction to Arithmetic 10.20–22 194 Lucr. Lucretius DRN De rerum natura 1.445–58 93 3.37 97 3.96–7 109 3.136–44 94 3.117–20 108 3.237–51 96 3.238–51 96 3.239–40 96 3.240 95 3.249 92 3.350–69 60 Macrob. Macrobius In Somn. On Dreams 1.14.20 97 Marc. Aur. Marcus Aurelius Med. Meditations 2.4 142 12.2 125, 142 12.26 142 Nemesius Nat. hom. On the Nature of Man 2 67 21 166 Orig. Origen Cels. Against Celsus 1.37 137 PGen. Inv. 203 191 Philo of Alexandria De aet. Mundi On the Eternity of the World 12 198 De decalogo On the Decalogue 26 198

De numeris On Numbers 26 198 26a 198 52d 198 97 198 De opif. mund. On the Creation of the World 47–9 198 48 198 103 198 Legum allegoriarum Allegorical Interpretation 2.22–3 117 Questions and Answers on Genesis 2.4 148 Quod deus sit immutabilis On the Unchangeableness of God 35 147 35–6 117 Somn. On Dreams 1.30 180 Philod. Philodemus De morte On Death 8.13–20 93 37.27–33 93 De musica On Music (ed. Delattre 2007) 4 Col. 14.5–10 167 4 Col. 14.5.15–23 167 4 Col. 36.1–14 164 4 Col. 83 165 4 Col. 89 167 4 Col. 89.29–90.3 167 4. Col. 130 165 4 Col. 135.24–8 164 4 Col. 138 165 De pietate On Piety Col. 11 114 Philoponus In DA Commentary on Aristotle’s ‘De Anima’ 19.14 19 51.1–52.4 67 75.34–76.1 174 138.5 67 155.33–4 67 183.27–34 67 201.8 19 274.8–10 67 Photius Bibliotheca 278 525b22 20 Plat. Plato Crat. Cratylus 412c–413d 132 417b–c 132 418a–419b 132

Index Locorum Leg. Laws 824a 166 894a1–5 896c5–d3 175 Phdr. Phaedrus 230a 210 245c 209 245c–e 115 245c–246a 209, 226, 229 245e 209 Phileb. Philebus 29a–30d 128 29b–c 128 29c5 129 29d–e 129 30a 129, 130 30a–b 129 Prot. Protagoras 361a–c 159 Rep. Republic 608d–611a 210 Tht. Theaetetus 184b–e 115 Tim. Timaeus 27d–28a 191 28c 132 34a3–4 184 34b3–4 192 35a 173, 176, 179 35a–b 172 35a1–b4 171 35a–36e 132 35a3 182 35a6 173 35a7 181 35b1–36d7 177 35b4–36b5 171, 190 36d8–37a2 192 36d9–e3 184 37a2–b3 179 37b8–c2 175 38c2–6 182 39e7–40a4 175 41a 132 41d 132 42a3–4 182 47b 132 48e2–49a6 184 70a7–b8 166 74e–75c 131 77b–c 37 87a 151

259

Plotinus Enn. Enneads 4.7.2 91 4.7.4 116 Plut. Plutarch Adv. Col. Against Colotes 1118D 97 Comm. Not. On Common Conceptions against the Stoics 1076A 123, 127 1076E–F 124 1077E 122 1080E 186 De an. proc. On the Procreation of the Soul 1012D 177 1013A 187, 195 1013B–C 184 1013C–D 188 1014D 187 1019E 183 1022E 184 1022F 184 1022F–1023A 184 1023A 184 1023B 184, 186 1023B–D 184 1023D 177, 188 1024D 195 1025A–B 176 1025B 195 1025E–F 176 1025F–1026A 176 1028A 195 1028C 195 De Alexandri fortuna On the Fortune of Alexander 336B 23 De cohibenda ira On the Control of Anger 462F 138 Def. orac. On the Obsolescence of Oracles 426A 134 Lib. De libidine et aegritudine On Desire and Illness (authorship disputed) 4 (967B) 13, 18, 58 5 21 De virtute morali On Virtue of Character 449A–B 169 451B–C 117 Plat. Quaest. Platonic Questions 1001A 138 1002A 187 1003C 195 1007C 178

260

Index Locorum

Praec. coniug. Advice for Brides and Grooms 142E–F 134 Quaest. Conv. Dinner-party Questions 697Fff. 51 Soll. an. On the cleverness of animals 960E–961A 60 961A 13, 23 Stoic. Repug. On Stoic Self-contradictions 1047C 51 1050C–D 124 1052C–D 114, 119 1052F 137 1053B 114 1053C–D 137 1053F–1054B 122 Pollux Onomasticon 2.49–50 15 2.226 13 Porphyry De abstinentia On Abstinence 3.25 24 Pos. Posidonius (Frs. as in EK) F16 186 F49 155 F92 186 F119 153 F139 189 F149 192 F153 154 F169C 159 F196 192 F214 153 F283 153 POxy. 1609 recto col. II 191 Praxagoras Fr. 10 Steckerl 51 Frr. 9–10 Lewis = Fr. 28 Steckerl 35 Procl. Proclus In Eucl. Commentary on Euclid 143.8–11 134 In Tim. On Plato’s ‘Timaeus’ 3, 2.151.12–30 182 3, 2.152.21–30 180, 182 3, 2.152.25–154.26 179 3, 2.152.28–9 182 3, 2.153.16–154.1 179 3, 2.154.1–9 180 3, 2.154.12–13 182 Ps.-Iambl. Pseudo-Iamblichus Theol. Arith. The Theology of Arithmetic 30.2–9 176 Ps.-Gal. Pseudo-Galen Int. Introduction 9.3 46

9.3–4 40 13, 726.8–11K 117 Ps.-Plut. Pseudo-Plutarch Plac. Placita 4.3–5 4.5 13, 30 4.23 59, 60 4.23.3 13, 21 5.24 58 5.24.4 17 Ps.-Simp. Pseudo-Simplicius In DA Commentary on Aristotle’s ‘De Anima’ 38.7–9 174 Rufus of Ephesus Anatomy of the parts of the body 75 32 Synopsis on Pulses 2 36 Scholia in Hom. Iliad 2.857 149 Seneca De Providentia On Providence 1.6 156 2.7 156 2.8 156 SE Sextus Empiricus M Adversus mathematicos (Against the Professors) 1.350 24 3.86 143 4.6–9 176 7.92 191 7.93–4 191 7.119 191 7.202 104 7.234 119 7.234–7 119 7.277 143 7.313 100 7.348–50 60 7.380 109 8.100 99 8.161 143 8.275–6 123 8.387 143 8.394 143 9.75–122 130 9.75–6 135 9.76 115, 119 9.77 135 9.78–85 126, 134, 135 9.80 134 9.81–4 117 9.85 120, 133, 134 9.92–4 137 9.92–100 130

Index Locorum 9.94 130 9.95–100 137 9.101 137, 139, 141 9.102 140, 142 9.102–3 139 9.104 133 9.332 143 10.15 143 PH Pyrrōneioi Hypotupōseis (Outlines of Pyrrhonism) 1.234 198 3.189 171 Simplicius In Cat. Commentary on Aristotle’s Categories 214.24–37 134 238.12–20 122 In Phys. Commentary on Aristotle’s Physics 26.7–15 131 152.22–153.13 132 164.23–4 132 Stob. Stobaeus 1.49 178 1.17.3 136 1.73 132 1.74–6 132 1.25.3–27.4 124 1.368.12–20 161 2.7.5 168, 215 2.7.5b2 168 2.7.5b4 161 2.7.5d 168 2.7.10b 168 Strabo 1.1.8–9 153 2.2.1–3.8 155 3.1.5 153 Strato (Frs. from Sharples 2011) Fr. 1 9, 11, 16 Fr. 3 9 Fr. 8 9 Frs. 10–11 9 Frs. 57–8 13, 58 Fr. 59 17, 60 Fr. 61 24, 60 Fr. 62 13, 23, 60 Fr. 63A 13, 59, 61 Fr. 63B 13, 18, 58 Fr. 66 17, 58 Fr. 67 58 Fr. 75 25 Tertullian DA De anima (On the soul) 14 17

261

14.3–5 60 15.1–3 104 15.2 104, 109 15.3 104 15.4–5 15.5 31, 105 43.1–2 58 Them. Themistius In DA Commentary on Aristotle’s ‘De Anima’ 35.32–4 117 Theodoret Graecarum affectionum curatio Cure for the Greek Maladies 5.2.3 122 5.25 138 Theoph. Theophrastus De igne On Fire 5–6 92 33 91 44–48 92 73 91 De lassitudine On Tiredness 1 20 De sudore On Sweat 25–6 19 32–3 19 34 20 De vertigine On Dizziness 1 19 Fr. 230 FHS&G 131 Met. Metaphysics 4a21–b5 177 6a23–b9 175 Sens. De sensibus (On the Senses) 26.4 14 26.4–7 14 39–40 14 42 23 TL Timaeus Locrus 206.3–4 195 206.11–12 195 208.13–209.1 195 209.3–6 195 216.20–21 195 Varro Ling. lat. On the Latin Language 5.59 137 Xenocrates (Frs. from Isnardi Parente and Dorandi 2012) F85–F121 178 Xen. Xenophon Mem. Memorabilia 1.4 127 1.4.8 127, 130

Subject Index

This is a selective subject index. In order to save space, in each chapter we have not indexed those subjects that are explicitly mentioned in the title of that chapter. Hence, for example, significant instances of pneuma will be found at the locations cited here and also throughout chapters 3 and 6, whose instances are not cited in the index. Similarly, throughout the book we have not indexed all instances of ‘body’ and ‘soul’, which are in one way or another the constant theme of all chapters. Aenesidemus 17, 24 Aether 118, Affections (pathē) 90, 91, 103, 110; see also emotions, mental disorders, passions Air 122, 146, 148, 154, 169 Alcmaeon 14, 16, 23, 25 Alexander of Aphrodisias 70, 100, 109 Analogy 115, 118–19, 120–7 Anaxagoras 82, 132 Andreas (doctor) 104 Anger 78, 79, 155, 162, 163, 165–6; see also emotions, passions Animal(s) 23–4, 36–8, 41–4, 59–60, 115, 122, 131, 170, 173, 175 Antiochus of Ascalon 131 Antipater of Tarsus 189 Antipater of Tyre 118 Apelles 182 Apollodorus 137 Apoplexy 79 Arcesilaus 182 Archigenes 34–5, 62 Archimedes 217 Aristander 179 Aristotelianism 9–29, 62, 90 Aristotle 70, 72, 82, 83, 104, 109, 151–2, 156–7, 166, 170, 173–6, 177, 178, 187, 193, 205 Aristoxenus 209 Arteries (artēriai) 12, 17, 35, 38, 45, 51–3; see also vascular system Asclepiades 47, 63, 104, 109 Assent 116–18, 124–5, 145, 158

Atomism 10, 11, 28 atomic complex (athroisma) 90–4, 95–9, 107, 108, 109 Atticus 179 Augustine 200–1, 211–14, 216–25 Blood 13, 14, 20, 38, 44, 45, 46, 47, 55, 64, 69, 75, 76, 80, 92 Body, soul observing 208–9, 211, 223 Brain 12, 14, 15, 30–2, 33, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41–5, 52, 53–4, 55, 56, 63, 71, 74, 75, 77–8, 88, 103, 224 Breath 18, 19, 36, 149, 154; see also pneuma warm breath 145, 147, 152, 189 breath and heat (Epicurean) 90–2, 93, 95, 97, 110 Calcidius 16, 132 Callisthenes 16 Capacities (dunameis) of the soul 34–5, 37–8, 40, 45, 64, 66, 67, 68–9, 71–2, 73, 77–8, 81–4, 85–6, 88, 103, 155 Cardiocentrism vs encephalocentrism 12, 14, 49–56, 100–5, 110 Causation, bottom-up and top-down 64–74, 78–88 Cerebellum (parenkephalis) 15, 31, 33, 41, 44, 57 Cerebrum (enkephalos) 15, 41, 44 Chrysippus 12, 21, 31–2, 48–57, 61, 100, 110, 114, 115, 117, 118, 120, 122, 124, 125, 126, 131, 137, 140, 146, 149, 152, 154–9, 161, 162–3, 165–6, 170, 192, 203 Cicero’s scepticism 201–7 Cleanthes 57, 114, 118, 120, 122, 124, 146, 149, 151, 153

262

Subject Index Cognition 174, 175, 177, 188–9, 192; see also sensation Cohesion 192–3 Consciousness 199–200, 201, 208, 225 Conflagration 114, 136 Cosmic soul/world soul 154, 171, 172, 195, 209 proofs of cosmic soul 133–44 Cosmogony 198 Crantor 176, 177, 178–9, 182, 183–94, 195, Ctesibius 17, 21–2 Daring and courage 167–8 Death 17, 91, 93, 103, 106, 107, 108, 120, 122, 221; see also ch. 8. Delphic maxim (know thyself) 210, 211, 219, 220–1, 223 Demetrius of Laconia 16 Demetrius of Phaleron 15 Demiurge/craftsman 114, 120, 131, 132, 172, 185, 217; see also god Democritus 10, 15, 25, 26, 30, 104 Dicaearchus 104, 209, 211, 213, 219–20 Diocles of Carystus 12, 62, 75, 104 Diogenes of Apollonia 14, 23, 132 Diogenes of Babylon 49, 100, 114, 147, 149, 150, 153, 164–70 disjunctive argument (for eternity of soul) 205–7 Eidōla, simulacra 92 Elasticity/eutonia and recoil etc. 20–1, 24 Elements (four) 47, 129, 173, 174 Embryo, embryology 137, 147, 151; see also reproduction Emergence 67 Emotions 59, 64–5, 80, 81, 203–4; see also mental disorders, passions, affections Empedocles 46, 104, 173, 174 Encephalocentrism see cardiocentrism Energeia (performance or functioning) 72–3, 85–6, 88 Epictetus 125–6, 141, 160, 169 Epicureanism 11, 63, 206 Epilepsy 19, 73, 75, 79 Eratosthenes 182–3 Erasistratus 11, 12, 14, 15, 26, 28, 62, 77, 104 Eternity of soul 199–222; see also immortality Etymologies (Cratylus) 132–3 Euclid 192 Eudorus 183, 195 Eupatheiai 168–9 Extension in three dimensions 173–4, 175, 180–1, 184, 185, 187, 188, 189–90, 191, 193, 195–8 Eyebrows see mid-brow (mesophruon)

263

Fallopian tubes 26 Fate 114, 126, 136, 156 Father/offspring argument 136–44 Fear 18, 65, 80, 94–5, 102–3, 166, 168 Fever 19, 79, 80 Fineness of atoms 90 Fire 70, 75, 91, 95, 114, 120, 122, 128, 130, 132, 137, 147, 148, 151, 152, 205, 211 Foetus 36–7, 137; see also reproduction Form 173, 174, 175, 180–1, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 189–90, 191 Fragment, soul as a fragment of cosmos 125, 137–8 Functions of soul (kinetic, cognitive, ontological) 173, 193, 198 Geometrical principle 180, 189; see also mathematical interpretation, numerical principle God, Stoic 113–14, 115, 116, 123–7, 131, 136, 147 God and the cosmos (argument from design) 218–19, 225 Gods, mental attributes 214–16 Habituation 70, 162 Hand, human 81–2 Harmony 71, 165, 177, 180, 184, 185, 186, 187, 190, 198, 209 Head 14, 17; see also brain, encephalocentrism Hearing 22 Heart 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 31, 37, 38, 39, 45, 59, 63, 88, 103, 110, 115, 149, 150, 152, 166, 167, 224; see also cardiocentrism Hēgemonikon/central organ of soul, etc. 12, 13–16, 17, 19, 21–2, 27, 65, 73, 100, 104, 105, 109, 112, 115, 116, 118, 119, 121, 125, 140–2, 146, 149 Heraclitus 17, 132, 146, 148, 151–3, 160, 170 Hermias of Alexandria 209, 212, 223 Hero of Alexandria 10 Herophilus 11, 15, 16, 25, 26, 62, 104 Hipparchus 153 Hippasus 180, 194–5 Hippocrates/Hippocratic tradition 39, 62, 70, 73, 104, 156 Humours, four basic 64, 74–8, 80, 85, 86, 151 Hylomorphism 10, 26–8, 29, 181 Hypochondria 77 Iamblichus 174, 176, 178, 179, 180, 194 Images, mental 224–5 Imagination 74, 208–10, 214, 225 Imitation 168 Immortality 190; see also eternity of soul Impressions 24, 145, 157, 158

264

Subject Index

Impulse, voluntary 156, 169 Indivisible and divisible being 171, 172, 176–7, 178, 179, 182, 184, 185–6, 187, 188, 191, 198 Ingredients/constituents of soul (Timaeus) 171–3, 174, 176, 179 Innate/innate heat 64, 79, 150 Instrument of the soul, body is 81, 82, 83, 84, 86 Intellect, intelligence 114, 115, 117, 136, 178, 191 intellect, cosmic and human 127–31 intellect/the intelligible vs sensation/the sensible 174, 178, 185, 188 Invention 211, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 225 Irrationality (as a principle of evil) 172, 179 Judgement 21–3, 24, 157–60, 162–3, 165, 169, 170, 178, 204, 222 Lethargy 40, 73 Like by like (principle of) 173, 175, 191, 193 Limit 177, 180, 185–6, 187, 188–9, 191, 192–3 Liver 63, 88 Lucretius 89, 94–8, 108, 109, 111 Marcus Aurelius 142, 151 Martialis (Erasistratean doctor) 43 Material determinism, see causation, bottom-up and top-down Materialism 10, 25, 179, 205–6 Mathematical interpretation of soul in Timaeus 179–80, 187, 191 Mathematicals 186, 187 Matter, Stoic 114, 115, 116, 117, 131, 143 matter and body 171, 182, 184–7 Mechanism 10, 21, 28, 78; see also teleology, causation Medicine and natural philosophy 46–8, 55, 63, 71, 73, 78–80, 100, 102–5, 111–12, 153–4 Melancholia 19, 69, 73, 76, 77, 151 Membranes of the brain/meninges 15, 30–1, 39–41, 42–5, 55, 56, 57 Memory 31, 38, 65, 67, 68, 69, 74, 199, 206, 211, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 224–5 Mental disorders 62, 64, 75; see also affections, emotions, passions Meno (doctor) 11 Mereology, see part of a whole Mid-brow (mesophruon) and eyebrows 13, 15, 17, 19, 24, 30, 58–60, 61 Mind (rational part of soul) 199, 204–5, 211–14, 219, 223–4; see also hēgemonikon mind, attributes of 214–16 mind, location of 205

Mixtures 70, 143, 148, 172–3, 176–7, 179, 198; see also breath (warm breath) Moderatus 180, 194 Motion 172, 176, 177, 185, 211, 214, 217, 224, 225 motion, voluntary 30–1, 33, 34, 35–7, 46, 49, 50, 53, 54, 55, 65, 74, 75; see also sensation self-motion 119, 190, 199, 212, 223; see number, self-moving Music 78, 164, 167 Nameless element in soul 95–8, 110 Nature (phusis) 59, 63, 64, 66, 67, 69, 75, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 114, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 122, 123, 133–4, 137, 140, 147, 151, 157 Nemesius 67 Nerves 12, 17, 18, 31, 32–4, 37, 40, 43, 50, 51, 54, 88; see also neura Nervous system 13, 14–15, 16, 17, 18, 25, 30–2, 34, 38, 52, 55–6 Neura 12, 16, 19, 20(sinews), 32–4, 35–7, 44, 51–4; see also nerves Nicomachus 194 Number 177, 185, 188 self-moving 174, 176, 178; see also motion (selfmotion) Numerical principle 180, 189–90, 191; see also mathematical interpretation Numenius 179 One (and Dyad) 172, 173, 175, 177, 178, 179, 195 Optic nerves 16 Ovaries 26 Pain 17–18, 19, 22, 58, 60, 148, 201, 204, 224 Panaetius 199, 204 Paradigm 175 Paralysis 20 Parenchyma (of nutriment) 39, 40 Part of a whole (soul as, etc.) 119–31, 133–44 Partition of soul 203–4 Epicurean bipartition of soul 89, 94–9, 100, 104, 107, 108, 110–11 (Platonic) tripartition 63, 82, 161, 190, 203–4 Parts of soul, Stoic 115–16, 145 Passions 145, 157–60, 170, 224; see also affections, emotions, mental disorders Peculiar quality 122 Perception, see sensation Perceptibles 186 Pherecydes 207 Philo of Alexandria 195–8 Philodemus 93 Philoponus 19, 28, 67 Phlegm 65, 69, 76, 79, 155; see also humours

Subject Index Phrenitis 40, 73 Physical interpretations of soul in Timaeus 179–80 Plants and the plantlike 147, 148 Plato 15, 30, 48, 57, 63, 104, 113, 131, 161–3, 164–5, 203–4, 207, 210 Phaedo 207, 210, 215 Phaedrus 209–14, 215–16, 223 Platonism 62, 72, 146 Pleasure 18, 26, 80, 96, 163, 168 Pneuma (spiritus) 12, 13, 16–21, 24, 25, 31, 36–7, 38, 45–6, 47, 55, 80, 114, 115, 116–17, 119, 120, 121–2, 123, 126, 137, 143, 148, 154, 189–90; see also breath innate pneuma 19 psychic, vital, natural 15, 39–40, 46, 64, 75, 85, 117, 146, 147, 148, 150 Pōs echon 169 Posidonius 115, 117, 118, 137, 146, 147, 151–8, 161–4, 165, 170, 175, 177, 180, 181, 183–94, 209 Powers (of the soul) 140–1 Praxagoras of Cos 50–4, 57 Proclus 67, 173, 179–80, 182, 192 Proportion 78, 165, 183, 188, 195; see also harmony Pulse (arterial) 33, 34–6, 38, 80 Pythagoras/Pythagoreans 26, 138, 174, 175, 176–8, 180, 191, 192, 193, 194–8, 203, 207 Qualities, elementary (hot, cold, wet, dry) 64, 67–8, 69, 70, 71, 84, 88, 161, 170 Reason, rationality 114, 133–4, 135, 139, 142–4, 145, 147, 188, 191 reason vs passion 160–4, 165–9, 203–4; see also passions Reproduction 12, 13, 25–8, 135–9; see also embryo, embryology Rufus of Ephesus 62 Same and different 172, 177, 178, 179, 198 Scala naturae 116–18 Scientific knowledge 222 Seeds (reproductive) 121; see also reproduction and embryo, embryology seeds (seminal reasons) 136–44 Sensation (perception) 13, 14, 15, 18, 20, 27, 90, 91, 116, 121, 145 sensation (perception) or cognition and (voluntary) motion 30–1, 32–8, 39, 46, 53, 55, 64, 74, 75, 115, 147, 172, 173, 174, 176 common sensorium 59 senses (perception) and reason 59–60, 206 sensation of self 199–225 sense organs 22 sentience 93–4

265

Severus 179, 180, 182, 193 Shame 168 Sleep 17, 19, 20, 77 Socrates 104, 113, 128–30, 199, 207 Soranus 104 Speusippus 171, 174, 175, 179–82, 183, 186, 187–8, 189, 192, 193 Spinal cord 33, 53 Stars 151, 152 Strato 57–61, 104 Stoicism and Stoic doctrine 11, 16, 20–1, 30, 32, 48–57, 59–61, 62, 64, 75, 82, 90, 91, 189–94, 203, 225 Subjective experience 224 Sumpatheia 77, 126, 134, 154, 160 Sun 77, 118, 151, 152, 153 Supervenience 67 Swerve, atomic 111 Syrianus 212 Teleology 10, 28, 29, 78, 81–6; see also mechanism, causation Teleological instrumentalism 63, 65–74, 88 Temperance 168 Tendons and ligaments 32, 33–4, 35, 36, 52 Tenor (hexis) 116, 117, 118, 119, 122, 123, 134, 147, 148 Tension 20, 24, 75, 116, 122, 123, 145, 148, 154, 158–60, 161, 163, 170 Tetraktys (tetrad: numbers one to four) 174, 175, 195, 198 Theology 225 Theophrastus 11, 16, 20, 24, 131 Therapeutic or prophylactic manipulation 65, 68–70, 71, 73–4, 75–7, 87–8 Thought 42, 44–5, 74, 91, 103, 110, 117 Timaeus Locrus 195 Touch 14 Transmigration 190 Triplokia 38–9, 44, 64 True belief 222 Unity, kinds of 134–5 Up to us 87–8, 124, 145, 155–6 Vaporisation 146–7, 148–54, 161, 165, 166–7, 169 vascular system (veins and arteries) 12, 14, 15, 16, 18, 26, 37, 38, 39, 52, 88 virtues 145, 160–4 Void 11, 28 Voluntary movement 166–7; see also sensation (perception) or cognition and (voluntary) motion

266

Subject Index

Water organ 17 Wine 19, 165 World soul see cosmic soul Xenocrates 171, 174, 176–8, 180, 181, 188, 195 Xenophon 113, 127–131(Memorabilia), 128, 131, 137

Zaratas 177, 178 Zeno of Citium 21, 49, 100, 114, 127, 133–7, 138, 139–41, 144, 146, 148, 149, 160–1, 162, 165, 169, 189, 192 Zeno of Sidon 102, 103