Isagogical Crossroads from the Early Imperial Age to the End of Antiquity (Philosophia Antiqua, 164) 2021054786, 9789004506183, 9789004506190, 9004506187

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Isagogical Crossroads from the Early Imperial Age to the End of Antiquity

Philosophia Antiqua a series of studies on ancient philosophy

Editorial Board F.A.J. de Haas (Leiden) K.A. Algra (Utrecht) J. Mansfeld (Utrecht) C.J. Rowe (Durham) D.T. Runia (Melbourne) Ch. Wildberg (Pittsburgh) Previous Editors J.H. Waszink† W.J. Verdenius† J.C.M. Van Winden†

volume 164

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

Isagogical Crossroads from the Early Imperial Age to the End of Antiquity Edited by

Anna Motta Federico M. Petrucci

leiden | boston

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at https://catalog.loc.gov lc record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021054786

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 0079-1687 isbn 978-90-04-50618-3 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-50619-0 (e-book) Copyright 2022 by Anna Motta and Federico M. Petrucci. Published by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill nv incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Hotei, Brill Schöningh, Brill Fink, Brill mentis, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Böhlau Verlag and V&R Unipress. Koninklijke Brill nv reserves the right to protect this publication against unauthorized use. Requests for re-use and/or translations must be addressed to Koninklijke Brill nv via brill.com or copyright.com. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

This volume is dedicated to the memory of Andrew Barker

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Contents Acknowledgements ix Contributors x Introduction: Towards the Isagogical Crossroads 1 Anna Motta and Federico M. Petrucci 1 Isagogical Conceptions in the Peripatetic Exegesis of the Post-Hellenistic Age: Aspasius and the Others 16 Federico M. Petrucci 2 A Middle-Platonist Plato: Introductory Schemata and the Construction of a System in Diogenes Laertius 33 Franco Ferrari 3 The Nature of Apuleius’ De Platone: An Isagoge? 49 Justin A. Stover 4 Isagogical Patterns in Porphyry (Isagoge and Vita Plotini) 72 Irmgard Männlein-Robert 5 From the Stoic Division of Philosophy to the Reading Order of Plato’s Dialogues 91 Anna Motta 6 Interpretive Strategies in Proclus’ Isagogical Remarks on the Timaeus 110 Gerd Van Riel 7 Eusebius and the Birth of Christian Isagogical Literature 125 Sébastien Morlet 8 Prolegomena to Medicine: The Role of the Hippocratic Aphorismi 159 Giulia Ecca 9 Isagogical Questions in Hipparchus’ Commentary on the Phaenomena 177 Victor Gysembergh

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Contents

10 Musical Eisagōgai 183 Eleonora Rocconi Appendix: Gaudentius, Introduction to Harmonics. Introduction and Translation 205 Andrew Barker Bibliography 227 General Index  251 Index Locorum 258

Acknowledgements This volume has its roots in a conference held at the Freie Universität Berlin in December 2018, and generously funded by the Deutsche Forsc­hungs­ gemeinschaft in the framework of the project “Didactic Platonism: A System of Thought and its Metaphysical Patterns” (dfg-Eigene Stelle, Project n. 394776507). Some of the papers given at that conference were selected as the core of the present volume, while others were added upon invitation. As editors, we wanted different areas of European scholarship to be represented, and we especially sought to combine chapters by younger researchers with ones by more experienced scholars. We thank the editorial board of Philosophia Antiqua for including this volume in the series, and we are grateful to the anonymous reader for the very important remarks s/he has provided. We also wish to thank Fenja Schulz, Helena Schöb and Christina Sargent for their continuous support during the publication process. We would like to warmly thank Sergio Knipe for his qualified proof-reading. Support from the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft, the Institut für Griechische und Lateinische Philologie of the Freie Universität Berlin, and the Department of Philosophy and Educational Sciences of the University of Turin has been fundamental for the realisation of this volume.

…

As a rule, we will be quoting words and sentences in the original Greek  – except in the case of words in brackets in a translation, where we have opted for a transliteration. All references are gathered into a single consolidated bibliography at the end of the volume (critical editions are indexed by editor). If possible, we avoid indicating editions in the text or in the footnotes, while ambiguous cases are clarified in the Index Locorum.

Contributors Andrew Barker was Emeritus Professor of Classics at the University of Birmingham (UK), and an Emeritus Fellow of the British Academy. He has published eight books and many articles on ancient Greek music and musical theory; he was the Founding President of Moisa (The International Society for the Study of Greek and Roman Music and its Cultural Heritage) and Founding Editor of the journal Greek and Roman Musical Studies. Giulia Ecca is Assistant Professor of Greek Language and Literature at the ‘La Sapienza’ University of Rome, where she arrived after being awarded with the national Rita Levi Montalcini grant. From 2010 to 2019, she worked within different research projects at the Humboldt University of Berlin, the Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften, the University of Hamburg and the University of Sorbonne – Paris iv. Her research interests mostly focus on ancient medical texts. Her publications include Die hippokratische Schrift Praecepta. Kritische Edition, Übersetzung und Kommentar (2016) and Etica medica sulle orme di Ippocrate (2018). She is currently preparing critical editions of other Hippocratic and Galenic treatises. Franco Ferrari is Full Professor of Ancient and Late Antique Philosophy at the University of Pavia. He was an Alexander von Humboldt Stipendiat at the University of Münster, where he took part in the project “Der Platonismus in der Antike” directed by Matthias Baltes. He was granted a Long-Term Fellowship by the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation for a project focused on the Ancient Commentaries on the Timaeus. He has published extensively in all major academic journals on Plato, Plutarch, Plotinus and several topics pertaining Ancient Philosophy. His books include: Dio, idee e materia. La struttura del cosmo in Plutarco di Cheronea (Napoli 1995); Platone, Menone (Milano 2016); and La via dell’immortalità (Torino 2019). A new commented edition of Plato’s Timaeus is forthcoming (Milan 2022, with Federico M. Petrucci). Victor Gysembergh is Associate Research Professor at the Léon Robin Centre for Research on ancient thought (umr 8601, cnrs/Sorbonne Université, Paris). He has been a research scholar of the Thiers Foundation and of the Alexander von Humboldt

Contributors

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Foundation. His work is at the crossroads between the history of philosophy and of the sciences. Together with A. Schwab he has co-authored a collection of papers on Le travail du savoir. Philosophie, sciences exactes et sciences appliquées dans l’Antiquité (Trèves, 2015). His publications include: Émendations dans le Commentaire d’Hipparque, Revue de philologie, de littérature et d’histoire anciennes 86, 2012, 43–51; A Synoptic Study of the Number of Stars in the Constellations of Hipparchus’ Star Catalogue, in: A. Hadravová, P. Hadrava et K. Lippencott, eds., The Stars in the Classical and Medieval Traditions, Prague, 2019, 13–23. Irmgard Männlein-Robert studied Classical Philology and German Philology in Würzburg and London. After earning a doctorate from Würzburg in 2000 with a thesis on the Platonist Longinus, in 2005 she completed her Habilitation on Hellenistic poetics and aesthetics (venia legendi). She was appointed to the Chair of Greek Philology at the University of Tübingen in 2006. Since 2016 she is an ordinary member of the Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften. Her research focuses on Plato and late antique Platonism (in literary and philosophical terms), especially Porphyry, but also on Hellenistic poetics and aesthetics, as well as religious studies. Sébastien Morlet is Professor at Sorbonne Université and Director of the research team ‘Antiquité classique et tardive’. He is scientific secretary of the commentary project on the Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius of Caesarea. His work is devoted to late antique and Christian literature in Greek. He has published a number of books and articles on the reception of Classical culture, including: Christianisme et philosophie. Les premières confrontations (Paris 2014), Les chrétiens et la culture. Conversion d’un concept (Paris 2016), and Symphonia. La concorde des textes et des doctrines dans la littérature grecque jusqu’à Origène (Paris 2019). Anna Motta is Assistant Professor of Ancient Philosophy at the University of Naples ‘Federico II’. She was Research Fellow and Principal Investigator of the dfg projects ‘Didactic Platonism: A System of Thought and its Metaphysical Patterns’ and ‘Anti­dogmatic Patterns’ at the Freie Universität Berlin. She was Marie Curie Co-Fund Fellow at the Dahlem Research School of the Freie Universität Berlin in the focus area of the Excellence Cluster topoi. She has published the first Italian translation of, and commentary on, the Anonymous Prolegomena to Platonic Philosophy (Roma 2014), λόγους ποιεῖν. L’eredità

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platonica e il superamento dell’aporia dei dialoghi (Napoli 2018), along with several papers on Middle Platonism and Neoplatonism. She is currently preparing a monograph on isagogical issues in the Platonist tradition. Federico M. Petrucci is Associate Professor of Ancient Philosophy at the University of Turin. He was Humboldt Stipendiat at the University of Würzburg, and Research Fellow at the Scuola Normale Superiore and at the Institute of Advanced Studies of the Durham University. His research interests include Plato, Middle Platonism and ancient science, especially music and astronomy. He is the author of a commentary on Theon’s Expositio (Sankt Augustin 2012) and of a monograph on Taurus of Beirut (London & New York 2018). His new commented critical edition of Plato’s Timaeus is forthcoming (Milan 2022, with Franco Ferrari). Eleonora Rocconi is Associate Professor of Classics at the Department of Musicology and Cultural Heritage of the University of Pavia (Italy). Her research interests focus on ancient Greek music and theatre. For the series Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World she has recently co-edited the Companion to Ancient Greek and Roman Music (Wiley-Blackwell 2020). She is currently editor in chief of the journal Greek and Roman Musical Studies, the first academic journal dedicated to music in the Greek and Roman civilisations, published by Brill. Justin A. Stover is Senior Lecturer in Medieval Latin at the University of Edinburgh. His interests include Latin manuscripts, the transmission of the Latin classics, Late Antiquity, Medieval Latin, and the Latin Platonic tradition – from Apuleius to the twelfth-century reception of the Timaeus. He is the author of A New Work by Apuleius: The Lost Third Book of the De Platone (Oxford 2016), along with dedicated studies of the manuscript transmission of Apuleius’ works and the manuscripts of the Calcidius’ translation of the Timaeus. Gerd Van Riel is dean of the Institute of Philosophy at ku Leuven, and studied Classics and Philosophy (PhD Leuven, 1997). His research focuses on Plato and the Platonic tradition, with monographs on Plato’s Gods (Ashgate, 2013), Pleasure and the Good Life (Brill, 2000), and critical text editions of Damascius’ In Philebum (Les Belles Lettres, 2008) and Proclus’ In Timaeum (Oxford up, forthcoming, 2022). Van Riel was the 2017 Thomas F. Martin Saint Augustine Fellow at Villanova University (PA, USA). He was Chair holder of a Francqui research professorship from 2015 until 2018. He is a member of the Royal Belgian Academy for Sciences and the Arts.

Introduction

Towards the Isagogical Crossroads Anna Motta and Federico M. Petrucci 1

Premiss

Isagogics concerns introductory methods and exegetical rules for what are considered classic texts in various fields. And it is precisely the use of isagogical methods across various fields that reveals the pervasiveness of isagogics, making it difficult to define it as a literary genre. This characteristic, together with the role it plays in schools, must not lead us to dismiss isagogics as an arid didactic practice with no theoretical basis.1 The study of the isagogical crossroads, i.e. the intersection of philosophical, philological, literary, and scientific concerns in relation to the issue of introductory methods, texts, aspects, and questions, can provide new knowledge of the theoretical and philosophical principles shaping the way in which authoritative texts were read and thought of in Antiquity. This makes it all the more astonishing that very few studies so far have reviewed exegetical patterns and schemata isagogica in a comparative way: in particular, comprehensive research on how literary, scientific, and philo­ sophical aspects of different disciplines complement one another is still lacking. With the exception of Marian Plezia’s volume published in 1949,2 interest in isagogical themes and writings probably reached its apex with Jaap Mansfeld’s seminal book Prolegomena. Questions to Be Settled Before the Study of an Author, or a Text, and its ‘spin-off’, Prolegomena Mathematica.3 More than twenty years have now elapsed since the publication of these volumes, and scholars have been exploring new texts and issues, especially with respect to early Imperial and late antique philosophy,4 and developing Mansfeld’s groundbreaking research in a number of directions.5 On the 1 2 3 4

See e.g. Proclus’ defense of the use of isagogical schemes in exegesis in R. 1.5.12–25. Other noteworthy, albeit more specific, works are Hadot (1982) and Hadot (1990). Mansfeld (1994) and (1998). See, for instance, D’André (1987); Manning (1994); Algra et al. (1999); Adamson, Baltussen and Stone (2004); Sorabji (2004); Sorabji and Sharples (2007); Tuominen (2009); Gerson (2010); Hadot (2015). 5 For instance, on commentary literature, see esp. Sluiter (1999) and Hoffmann (2006). Among existing studies on isagogical literature in other fields, see esp. Spallone (1990) and Oser-Grote (1998). © Anna Motta and Federico M. Petrucci, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004506190_002

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other hand, some aspects of Mansfeld’s Prolegomena have been submitted to criticism. For instance, Harold Tarrant6 referred to it as “a picture of unity in diversity”: according to Tarrant, it is impossible to find and compare fixed schemata; instead, it is possible to speculate on the practical needs of the students who had to learn certain things and of the mentors who has to teach them. With this volume we wish to reopen the debate and to shed new light on isagogical topics, especially by exploiting recent discoveries pertaining to the aforementioned philosophical contexts and by framing isagogical writings in a wider interdisciplinary framework – most notably, that of scientific, religious, and doxographical texts. This is even more important given that a mutual influence (the ‘crossroads’) between different schools and perspectives from the early Imperial age to Late Antiquity has been widely and authoritatively acknowledged over the last thirty years:7 this does not imply that literary and philosophical commentators all employ such patterns in the pursuit of the same goal, but it encourages us to take the nature, forms, and goals of this crossroads seriously into account. This is our main goal: through a selection of case-studies, we aim to show that introductory schemata and isagogical forms can reveal both essential connections and intriguing contrasts between different fields, and that the interaction between these fields had seminal implications also from a theoretical point of view. By avoiding compartmentalisation, we provide a detailed yet comprehensive picture of the crucial intellectual approach represented by isagogical literature, which will prove to be not just a didactic or introductory tool, but a formally codified means to address intellectual, scientific or philosophical issues. We too have an isagogical question to address, which stems from our main goal: this question is whether it is possible to find any standard conception of isagogics transcending the field of philosophical isagogical texts. Investigating this issue means providing some test cases in the field of philosophical writings, and then comparing the results with isagogical writings in other fields. In turn, this implies first establishing a methodological premiss, and then addressing some related questions. As to the former aspect, we do not aim to produce an ossified picture, in which the same isagogical patterns occur over and over again. Rather, what the volume highlights is that crucial issues and exigencies related to the introduction of certain authors or disciplines, or of discussions on important problems, are regularly addressed in isagogical 6 Tarrant (1995). On this criticism, see Mansfeld (1998), 5. 7 See e.g. Barnes (1993); Donini (1994); Eigler (1999); Cribiore (2001).

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writings, which also reveal a consistent theoretical outlook. This leads to further questions: what are the origins of these shared aspects? How are they chosen and proposed, or – conversely – how and why are they modified in specific cases? More particularly, what is the deep cultural meaning of isagogical writings? What is their ‘ideological’ import? On the basis of the chapters collected in this volume, we will provide some general answers to such questions in sections 4 and 5 of this introduction. First, however, let us briefly outline the Hellenistic background to our research (section 2) and unravel our narrative from the early Imperial age to the end of Antiquity by referring to the contents of each chapter (section 3). 2

The Background. A Quick Survey

Hellenistic literature and philology had a considerable impact on the classification of literary genres and hence of isagogics, a ‘genre’ which was given a significant boost in the Alexandrian age, when scientific, grammatical, and philological studies became widespread. As a matter of fact, Alexandrian philology marks a decisive moment not only for the choice of ‘canonical’ authors – and the conservation and loss of works from the past – but also for the definition of interpretative rules and the constitution of the philologicalexegetical apparatuses of texts.8 Although many of the writings produced in this context have been lost, it is quite evident that the work of editing and interpreting the texts of Alexandrian philologists paved the way for the creation of isagogical texts and schemes in Late Antiquity. Moreover, the activity of the Alexandrian philologists enabled the creation of a common educational path in schools, under the control of grammatici,9 which is to say teacher of rhetoric and philosophers. It was precisely the school milieu – or, rather, a school path common to literary, juridical, scientific, and philosophical disciplines and involving grammarians, rhetoricians, and philosophers  – that promoted the

8 See Montanari (1993), with further bibliographical references. 9 The specialization of the term γραμματικός, which evolved from meaning a simple primary school teacher to indicating a philologist, took place in the first decades of the 3rd century bc. According to one tradition, the Peripatetic Praxiphanes, a pupil of Theophrastus’, was the first γραμματικός in the sense of philologist: this is probably related to the fact that Aristotle was considered the initiator of γραμματική and hence the ideal teacher of Alexandrian γραμματικοί. Aristotle and the Peripatetics’ role as the true predecessors and inspirers of Alexandrian philology is well-known. On all this see esp. Schironi (2009).

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intersecting of rules contained in handbooks, which in Late Antiquity came to be defined as isagogical schemes.10 In particular, the training offered by the school or παιδεία system managed by municipalities or via Imperial decrees is a Hellenistic legacy that developed in tandem with the development of a general literary culture, once grammar, rhetoric, and philosophy had become part of the school system in the era of ἐγκλύκλιος παιδεία, with grammar, rhetoric, and philosophy running along parallel tracks.11 The study and teaching of different disciplines, which included the detailed exegesis of the great masters12 and an analysis of the aesthetic components of classic texts, took place within the same cultural traditions. Accordingly, the background of isagogics is characterised by the historical evolution of the relationship between the compositio of an oral or written text and school praxis, which is to say the analysis of the best way to give unity and consistency to a text, which progressively  – and more precisely in the Hellenistic age – led to the literary criticism of the Alexandrian philologists, i.e. to the analysis of how texts had been composed.13 The following step concerns the encounter of Alexandrian literary criticism with philosophy and especially Platonism: this encounter made it possible for the Platonists to demonstrate the consistency of Platonism and to read Plato’s dialogues as an image of the unity of their own metaphysical system.14 In fact, this crossroads between rhetoric and philosophy is, in a sense, the development of a more ancient link: the one between the rhetorical rules of discourse composition and philosophy already established by Plato. In a wellknown page of Plato’s Phaedrus, Socrates explains to Lysias that the rhetor (or sophist) has little real awareness of the overall process of composition in terms of the development of a coherent structure or plot, because “every discourse must be organised, like a living being, with a body of its own, as it were, so as not to be headless or footless, but to have a middle and members, composed in fitting relation to each other and to the whole” (264c). Not only in the Rhetoric, but also – and especially – in the Poetics (8.1451a30–35), Aristotle appears to be consistently interested in the organic unity of what constitutes a whole and 10 11 12 13 14

See Bloomer (2015) and Motta (2018b), part. 145–149, with further bibliographical references. However, it is not always possible to speak of uniformity in the organisation of schools: see Cribiore (2001), 36–44. The exegetical literature dealing with philosophical classics – and hence bound up with the teaching of philosophy – emerged in the 1st century bc or even earlier, for instance in Epicurus’ school. See Sluiter (1990). See Motta (2018a) and esp. the chapters by Ferrari and Männlein-Robert in this volume.

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in the realisation of its potential. By assimilating Aristotelian tragic criteria to the whole of poetic literature and making it more radical, the Epicurean Philodemus highlights an aspect of the approach to the arrangement of a discourse as an organic whole. He stresses the fact that a piece of rhetorical art, like any work of art, can only be understood when it is perceived in the totally of its component parts.15 The Stoics introduced the concept of syntax into the discussion of the rhetorical arts by emphasising the notion of a natural or right, that is logical, order (τάξις). According to Stoic theory, all reflection about the arrangement of a discourse falls within the system of dialectics, which is also how it tended to be defined in the Socratic-Platonic critique of the sophist tradition and in Aristotle’s discussion of the arrangement of parts. Traces of the development of the rules for parts of speeches are found in authors ranging from the early Stoics to the Alexandrian grammarians.16 Consequently, there is evidence that the ancient rhetorical theories of discourse provided the basis for the literary criticism of Alexandrian philology to flow into isagogical texts. And it is only possible to detect these developments by reflecting on the isagogical crossroads, as this emerges from an overview of the narrative of the present volume. 3

An Overview of the Narrative

Each chapter in this volume has a twofold nature. It is, of course, a study of an author or a piece of writing, but at the same time its focus on isagogical aspects contributes to defining our crossroads. The dawn of the early Imperial age coincided with a new stage in the contest for philosophical supremacy: the dominant position of Stoicism was challenged by the comeback of dogmatic Platonism and a new use and circulation of Aristotle’s esoteric writings.17 This is the dynamic and fascinating framework for the first three chapters, which explore case-studies revealing how post-Hellenistic Peripatetics and Platonists dealt with the issue of developing isagogical material for the new philosophical agenda of their traditions. In the first chapter, Federico M. Petrucci provides an attempt to grasp the isagogical approach of pre-Alexandrian Peripatetics (chapter 1). This is a somewhat daunting task, as the transmitted evidence for 15 16 17

See Obbink (1995), part. 222–223. See Schenkeveld (1990) and Ax (1993) on the Stoics and on the Peripatetic influences on Stoic linguistic theories. See esp. Frede (1999); on the alleged ‘rediscovery’ of Aristotle’s esoteric writings see now Hatzimichali (2013).

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Peripatetic isagogai is extremely scarce, though we know that such writings existed and circulated. Rather than simply giving up on the possibility of grasping them, in this chapter Peripatetic isagogics is reconstructed by referring to traces of it which may be found in commentary writings by authors such as Andronicus, Boethus, and Aspasius. This will reveal that such texts attest to the existence of isagogical patterns, and even to something more, that is an overall conception of Aristotle’s corpus and writings: these authors present Aristotle’s corpus as a continuous progression of philosophical steps, corresponding to a series of writings and a series of goals to be achieved; in turn, each piece of writing is developed according to a continuous argumentative style, which is distinctive and determines both Aristotle’s obscurity and the need for readers to become specifically acquainted with it. The study of exegetical patterns in the Platonist tradition instead touches upon the debate surrounding the perfectissima disciplina platonica and the need to develop a ‘system’: this is indeed the goal which the Middle Platonists pursued by establishing and employing isagogical patterns useful for reading Plato. This is what emerges from Franco Ferrari’s enquiry into the third book of Diogenes Laertius’ Lives (chapter 2). Exegetical proposals, such as the λύσις ἀπὸ προσώπου, the classification of dialogues and the reading order, suggest intriguing remarks about the (important, yet not decisive) stimulus which the πολλὴ στάσις between the Sceptics and the Dogmatists provided for the development and the application of hermeneutical criteria.18 In addition to Greek Middle Platonism and its introductory texts and patterns, we need to take into consideration another crucial testimony from the Latin world, which provides important isagogical material: Apuleius’ De Platone. This is still a very puzzling text, and before assessing its isagogical content, it is necessary to really understand what kind of work it was. This is precisely what Justin A. Stover sets out to do in chapter 3. Through an analysis of the manuscripts containing the text of Apuleius’ De Platone and philological and philosophical observations on isagogical questions, it is possible to set this Platonist introduction in relation to other authors, such as Alcinous and Atticus, so as to come up with the picture of a new De Platone – that is, a text with a different structure and title – and, above all, to reconsider its introductory role. More specifically, this kind of isagogics aims to produce a specific outline of Plato’s corpus as a whole: Apuleius’ introduction to Plato’s corpus is a joint description of Plato himself and of the body of his philosophy in terms of the body of his work. All this paves the way to the Neoplatonist development of the isagogical technique and outlook. The first author we need to take into account in this 18

See e.g. Bonazzi (2003); Flückiger (2005); Ferrari (2012).

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respect is certainly Porphyry, whose writings play a crucial role in this narrative. It is tempting to think that most of what we can grasp about Porphyry’s isagogics comes from the Isagoge. But this is only partially true, as Irmgard Männlein-Robert shows in chapter 4. Through a joint examination of the Isagoge and the Life of Plotinus, she reveals how, even after the full establishment of Platonism as a systematic philosophy, isagogical patterns served not only as didactic instruments, but also as hermeneutic ones in Porphyry’s pursuit of his philosophical aims. Indeed, Porphyry’s isagogics is implicitly used to support two strong philosophical projects: on the one hand, to harmonise Aristotle with Plato in terms of logic, physics, ethics, and especially metaphysics; on the other, to bridge the gap between Middle Platonism and Plotinian Platonism by adapting philological devices and literary features well-known from Middle Platonist teaching  – e.g. composing an introduction or a vita with lists of works to be appended to the beginning of a complete edition – and then using them to further one’s own philosophical agenda. Porphyry’s writings, however, are only the starting point of this enquiry, for later Neoplatonist works highlight further features of the isagogical genre, particularly with regard to the role of pedagogical concerns and their philosophical functions. Interestingly enough, the theoretical development of the genre proceeds in parallel to a refinement of its formal construction, which owes much to the consideration of pedagogical concerns and needs shared by rhetoric and philosophical schools. This emerges from Anna Motta’s discussion of the development of the division of the parts of philosophy and the construction of a reading order for a philosopher’s writings (chapter 5). As a matter of fact, a comparison between rhetorical isagogics and the development of Platonist isagogics shows how Platonists (especially Albinus, Iamblichus, and Proclus) appropriated specific aspects of the rhetorical debate, namely ones allowing them to make the cosmos of Plato’s dialogues fit within the unitary cosmos of Plato’s doctrine, and hence to overcome the problems associated with the image of Plato as a swan, “darting from tree to tree and causing great trouble to the fowlers, who were unable to catch him.”19 All this sets the stage for an outstanding – and hitherto understudied – case of isagogical patterns embedded in commentary writings, namely that provided by Proclus. As Gerd Van Riel shows (chapter 6), Proclus further developed isagogical tendencies in two ways: on the one hand, he maintained the need to establish a consistent and systematic representation of an authority (namely, Plato); on the other, he allowed ‘controlled’ contradictions to appear in his isagogical sections. This produced a consistent new isagogical 19

See Anon. Proleg. 1.38–41 and Olymp. In Alc. 2.17–21. On the interpretation of this image see Swift Riginos (1976), 186–187 and Motta (2018a), 71–77.

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strategy, which Proclus exploited in order to support his own philosophical agenda  – as Porphyry had done before him  – which included a straightforwardly theological reading of the Timaeus. The first six chapters represent the philosophical core of the project, exploring crucial case-studies in philosophical isagogics: in some respects, this is a narrative in itself. For the very same reason, however, this section is an effective starting point to broaden our perspective to the reciprocal influence between philosophical writings and other fields of research. Hence, the next chapters have the aim of shedding light on isagogics across different fields, from theology to medicine, from astronomy to musical theory – or, in brief, to outline our crossroads. In the last few years, increasing attention has been paid to the relation between early Imperial and late antique philosophy, on the one hand, and the formation and development of Christian thought, on the other: scholars have emphasised not only the significant degree of proximity between the two as far as theoretical tools and arguments are concerned,20 but also a mechanism of appropriation of ideological perspectives and methods that appears to be at work.21 Sébastien Morlet’s enquiry (chapter 7) confirms this trend by detecting isagogical schemata and perspectives in a Christian author, namely Eusebius, and by emphasising their continuity with respect to previous Greek, and especially Platonist, literature. At the same time, Morlet highlights how Eusebius’ appropriation is shaped by specific exigencies, which led to a new way of interpreting the schemes: Eusebius has his own agenda, one implying a polemic against the Jews, and, as part of his isagogics, develops an introductory discourse designed to help the reader make spiritual progress, as well as an attack on his opponents. Interestingly, a similar double pattern of appropriation and targeted rethinking also emerges from a very different field, that of scientific isagogical writings – namely medical, astronomical, and musical ones. Late antique medical isagogics, analysed by Giulia Ecca (chapter 8), displays astonishing general parallels with philosophical isagogics. These concern not only isagogical literary genera (the presence of introductions to specific texts and general prolegomena) and patterns, but also ideological aspects  – for instance, the representation of a curriculum according to progressive degrees of ‘authoritativeness’ (namely, from Galen to Hippocrates). On the other hand, medical isagogics also introduces specific patterns in order to exploit their didactic nature, and this is clearly based on the nature of the discipline, which has to 20 21

See esp. Karamanolis 2013; for a recent case-study, see Pelosi 2021. Boys-Stones (2001), 151–202.

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be practically applied – obvious as this may seem, medical isagogics is meant to produce physicians! While Ecca’s study is focused on rather late texts, Victor Gysembergh’s research on the prefatory letter in Hipparchus’ Commentary on the Phaenomena gives us the opportunity to return to the Hellenistic age (chapter 9). As the author clearly explains, this is justified by the fact that Jaap Mansfeld has widely enquired into later mathematical isagogics in his 1998 book. Hipparchus’ work strengthens the case made there for isagogical patterns in mathematical writings and, at the same time, crucially contributes to our narrative in a particular way. On the one hand, Hipparchus’ Hellenistic isagogical treatment of Aratus’ Phaenomena already reveals the presence of certain introductory issues that were to be discussed by later authors; on the other, it highlights the tendency to use isagogics in order to bestow new authority on particular theoretical readings. Interestingly, in this case the heading in question is the one formulated by Hipparchus himself, who attempts to establish his own astronomy as authoritative. Hence, as in relevant philosophical cases, isagogics here becomes an instrument combining introduction and scientific advancement, teaching and research. However, the plausibility of the hypothesis that such complex use was made of isagogic texts also depends on the historical development of given disciplines at the time in which these texts were produced: while Hipparchus’ aim may have been to establish his own ‘astronomy’ as authoritative, later technical isagogical works often merely acknowledge the authority of some predecessors. This does not mean that such texts do not have an agenda, though, as the case of the musical introductions by Cleonides and Gaudentius show. Writers of musical introductory works were in a position to rely on a stable technical authority, Aristotexenus, and this also conditioned the formal structure of their works. After providing a wide-ranging survey of early Imperial and lateantique musical introductory writings, Eleonora Rocconi shows (chapter 9) that Cleonides’ main aim was to preserve all the basic notions of Aristoxenian harmonics by following a more or less standard ‘Aristoxenian’ pattern of topics. In other words, teaching harmonics, in his view, meant teaching Aristoxenian harmonics, and doing so according to a rational introductory path and specific instruments, namely a selection of capital points and simplification. This scenario is enriched by the analysis of Gaudentius’ musical isagoge, which Andrew Barker presents in the Appendix, along with an introduction to the text and a new English translation of it. Gaudentius would indeed appear to have pursued a similar didactic plan, with the aim of providing not so much a challenging discussion, as a clear (and clearly arranged) system of notions to be absorbed by the reader. Furthermore, while the core of Gaudentius’ introduction confirms the primacy of Aristoxenian harmonics, the text also

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includes a section which transmits a different version of harmonics, namely a ‘Pythagorean-Platonist’ one. By embedding this material too into his work, Gaudentius assigns his text an even wider goal, namely to preserve, “for the benefit of his contemporaries and of posterity, as much of the harmonic ‘wisdom of the ancients’ as he could within a restricted compass.” 4

The Crossroads of Isagogical Methods

In skimming the chapters of this volume, readers will not find something that it would indeed be unreasonable to expect from a book like ours, namely: perfect unity. Of course, in outlining an isagogical crossroads, we cannot simply aim to flatten out the differences springing from the wide number of disciplines, historical settings, and even intellectual features of introductory writings. What we do find at the crossroads of these different perspectives, however, is a series of formal affinities, revealing some significant forms of communication and cultural exchange across the centuries. This is in itself a first feature shared by isagogical writings, for our chapters frequently and recurrently acknowledge the mutual indebtedness between different fields: philosophical isagogical writings draw on the legacy of literary and rhetorical ones, just as Eusebius draws on philosophical introductory writings (especially Porphyrian, or Porphyrian-like, ones); medical isagogical texts seem to present strong ideological similarities with philosophical ones (especially as regards the establishment of an authoritative corpus of texts to be read); finally, astronomical and musical isagogical works share with philosophical ones a specific concern as to the establishment, or preservation, of an authoritative version of a discipline. On the other hand, this kind of fluid communication is also reflected by the literary genres incorporating isagogical material. As a matter of fact, the wide-ranging analysis conducted in this volume shows that isagogical forms are present in both relatively short introductory writings (as in the case of Cleonides and Gaudentius, but also Porphyry) and quite extensive ones (Eusebius), but also in commentaries (Aspasius, Hipparchus, Proclus, Galen, and Stephanus), handbooks (Apuleius), and even biographies (Diogenes Laertius and, even more specifically, Porphyry). In other words, isagogics is not only a literary genre in itself, but a sort of literary form, which can be adapted to suit different literary contexts and meet specific needs. Most importantly, this protean quality of the genre can be detected across all fields we have taken into account.22 22

Not by chance, it is very hard to include isagogical writings in a precise literary and philo­ sophical genre without encompassing other categories  – as clearly emerges from the

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It is within this already rich framework that one should search for more specific formal affinities. First, there is a crucial point emerging from the chapters, which strongly confirms Mansfeld’s seminal research: isagogics takes the form of patterns of questions to be settled.23 This does not mean that all introductory writings deal with the same questions,24 but that – first of all and more generally – in order to have a good introduction, it is of primary importance to develop relevant contents according to an orderly pattern of questions. This point granted, it is also true that some of the standard isagogical issues which are famously detectable in the most renowned philosophical introductory writings are well-attested in almost all isagogical texts taken into account here: 1) the aim or purpose of a work (σκοπός), 2) its place within an author’s corpus (τάξις), 3) its usefulness (χρήσιμον), 4) the explanation of its title (αἴτιον τῆς ἐπιγραφῆς), 5) the issue of its authenticity (γνήσιον), 6) its division into parts (διαίρεσις or τμήματα or μέρη), 7) the question of what section of a particular (sub)discipline or literary (sub)genre it belongs to (ὑπὸ ποῖον μέρος … ἀνάγεται), 8) the clarity or lack of clarity (ἀσάφεια) of the author or text, 9) the qualities required of the student and/or the teacher, 10) in the case of a canonical corpus, what the first work to be studied is. Either implicitly or explicitly, topical issues systematically recur in philosophical, theological, medical, and astronomical introductions.25 The (partial) exception of musical isagogical texts can easily be explained by referring both to their nature as technical introductions and to the nature of the readership or audience these works are intended for.26 However, it should also be noted that these writings too follow a pattern for introductory issues, although this differs from the ‘mainstream’ one, and

23 24 25 26

attempt made in Untersteiner (1980), 92–101 to draw a clear boundary between different species of εἰσαγωγαί. Given the arbitrariness of any cataloguing operation, confirmed by the subtle margins of difference between one species and another, and considering the interaction between texts and therefore the possibility that a text might belong to more than one genre, Motta (2021) has nevertheless tried to envisage a new classification of writings falling with in the isagogical genre. The advantage of such a new classification is that it does not simply provide a convenient survey of similarities and differences between different texts, but a way to interpret philosophical requirements from a literary point of view. Although the preliminary questions varied in content and number, some common ones were identified (see infra). Among them, a special role must certainly be ascribed to the σκοπός issue, which Plezia (1949) showed to be a sort of unavoidable item to be discussed. See e.g. Procl. in R. 1.5. 6–12. See Mansfeld (1998), 4–5. See e.g. Barker’s Appendix, particularly as regards the preamble to Gaudentius’ Introduction to Harmonics, with its initiatory language. Introductions to musical treatises should display a very high level of education and philosophical specialisation: certainly, a beginner in philosophy does not yet have the mathematical knowledge to investigate musical problems in greater depth. This implies that musical isagogical works serve a

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that this pattern was in turn used in philosophical writings including sections devoted to technical isagogics and exegesis.27 A further recurring formal feature is related to the intrinsic tension between the aim of systematisation (whose import we will explore in the next section) and didactic requirements. On the one hand, a good introduction is meant to encompass everything that is needed to outline a ‘system’ of knowledge related to a text, a discipline, or a specific topic. On the other, it can neither dwell on minute points or provide a full examination of relevant topics. Even in the case of very extensive introductory writings (such as Eusebius’ work, which can be taken as an extreme case in this respect), what an isagogical piece of writing provides ideal readers with is therefore a systematic selection of what they would need, in order to be effectively introduced to the knowledge of a discipline – and, if applicable, to its practice (this is particularly evident in the case of medical introductory texts). Of course, this ‘methodological map’ of the isagogical crossroads must also be considered in the light of the historical development of each discipline. This is crucial, for the chapters show to what extent the production and shaping of isagogics also depends on the specific way in which authoritative backgrounds came to be produced for each discipline. As we shall more boldly emphasise in the next section, introductory writings can serve as a means both to establish the grounds of a discipline (in the specific sense we will clarify), if no orthodoxy can be found (this is the case with Hipparchus, who revolutionised Hellenistic astronomy), and to transmit a body of knowledge which has already been recog­nised as authoritative (as in the case of late antique medical and musical introductions). The same tension between the establishment of new grounds for a discipline and the transmission of existing knowledge can after all be also found in philosophical introductory texts. The Peripatetics and Platonists of the Imperial age (but this also applies to Eusebius) had to lay the foundations for a new systematic approach to their philosophical systems on the growing market, whereas later thinkers – especially Platonists, such as Proclus – aimed to strengthen specific views within a system whose foundations and authoritativeness had already been established. Interestingly, this historical progression is mirrored by formal aspects of isagogical writings, especially with respect to their specialisation and the increasing number of questions which were usually dealt with.28 However, this is not just a methodological point: we are

27 28

more immediate didactic purpose and are addressed to an even more select student readership. On this aspect see Petrucci (2018a), with further references. See Festugière (1963), 77–100; Dillon (1973), 64–65; Westerink (1990), xlviii; Motta (2019), part. 74–82.

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already approaching a deeper aspect, which rather concerns the ‘theory’ of isagogical writings. 5

The Crossroads of Isagogical Theory

Obvious as this may be, from what has been argued so far it should already be clear that introductions were not merely introductions. This even applies to a function of these texts which might be regarded as self-evident, namely their didactic aim. As all chapters of this book show, isagogical writings did indeed pursue such an aim, yet they did so to varying extents and at different levels. Sometimes this didactic scenario was just ‘virtual’, and in any case ‘teaching’ a body of knowledge was never the only theoretical pay-off of writing an introduction. The main pay-off rather consisted in the establishment, or transmission, of an authoritative body – or, better, system – of knowledge in such a way as to effectively guide students or, more generally, one’s target-readership. The fact that isagogics is also related to the establishment of a system of knowledge is of primary importance, for it ensures that introductory writings proceed in parallel with it and exploit it in different intellectual contexts. In this sense, integrating and improving didactic-exegetical suggestions within a philosophical or technical system meant establishing a theoretical standard: this applies both in the case of models that no longer had any rivals or anything to prove, but only needed to preserve their (textual and doctrinal) unity,29 and in the case of the establishment of new authoritative paradigms. In turn, establishing such standards also had the function of demonstrating, for each individual discipline, that in a number of respects it satisfied the theoretical and technical conditions for being properly scientific and reliable, and hence of ensuring its prestige and of attracting pupils and followers. A very effective example of the establishment of new authoritative paradigms is represented by Hipparchus, whose specific astronomical agenda and research is embedded within isagogical remarks on Aratus. Similarly, Eusebius’ introductions are meant not only to convey basic Christian notions, but also to outline an overall ‘theoretical model’ for Christianity against a specific adversary, namely the Jews. However, 29

As the chapters of this volume show, this especially applies to philosophy, music, and medicine. For more details concerning the purpose of Porphyry’s Isagoge, see Barnes (2003) and Chiaradonna (2008). Porphyry’s Isagoge seems to clarify the process that leads from the systematisation of Platonism to Proclean schematisation: it is conceived of as a preparation for the study of all logic that is not alien to Neoplatonic metaphysics. So the Isagoge is an introduction to the study of logic, which in turn is an introduction to Platonic philosophy, and therefore only accidentally an introduction to Aristotle’s Categories.

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Eusebius was in a position to use previous pagan (especially Platonist) isagogics as a model for this. In effect, post-Hellenistic philosophical isagogics may be interpreted as an attempt to shape the philosophies of Plato and Aristotle as systems able both to compete with, and defeat, the dominant philosophical system of the Hellenistic age, that is Stoicism  – a philosophy which, not by chance, had little need for isagogics, as is shown by the simplifying function of Chrysippus’ εἰσαγωγικαὶ τέχναι30 – and to avoid the risk of scepticism.31 It is within this framework that we should interpret the isagogical writings by Peripatetics (such as Andronicus, Boethus, and Aspasius) and Platonists (such as Apuleius and Diogenes Laertius’ sources). After a system had been established, however, isagogics could still help reinforce or re-orientate it. This is the case with late Neoplatonist introductions, which were made compatible with the core theoretical tenets of Neoplatonism and used to justify certain doctrinal innovations; but it is also (and already) the case with Porphyry, who aimed to bridge an apparently puzzling gap between the Middle Platonists and Plotinus, and with Proclus, who was even willing to introduce alleged contradictions into his isagogical remarks on the Timaeus in order to support his own overall reading of Plato’s dialogues. Interestingly, a similar ‘systematic’ orientation also emerges from lateantique medical introductions: albeit within a relatively complex scenario, medical isagogical works seem to share with Platonist ones the precise aim of outlining medicine as a system of knowledge encompassing  – in due order and according to a theoretical progression – Galen’s and Hippocrates’ writings. Finally, a similar point emerges – though on the basis of very different requirements – from late antique musical introductions: neither Cleonides nor Gaudentius felt the need to establish a system – for Aristoxenus was already a widely acknowledged authority, at least as far as musicology was concerned – but their introductions reflect a desire to systematically and suitably present a standardised system, which could potentially even prove inclusive with respect to more marginal trends in musicology. In the light of what has emerged from this and the preceding section, it is clear that isagogical writings are intrinsically related not only to the tension between theoretical production and didactic transmission, but also to that between the attempt to make an individual contribution to a discipline 30 31

For Chrysippus’ Introductions see Diog. Laert. 7.193, 195, 196. See also Sext. Emp. Math. 8.223. In this sense, our narrative confirms and strengthens what already Donini (1994) had realised; on the post-Hellenistic contest for supremacy between philosophical schools, see more recently Reydams-Schils (1999), Boys-Stones (2001), Bonazzi (2012), and Petrucci (2018b), 76–145.

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and the reception and strengthening of a shared standard. The latter tension manifests itself through oscillations within a spectrum ranging from strong individual theoretical contributions  – as in the case of Hipparchus  – to the complete lack of any individual theoretical contribution (as in the case of Cleonides and Gaudentius); but in most cases one encounters a compromise, whereby individual contributions strengthen existing models. This applies to medical models,32 to Eusebius’ appropriation of philosophical isagogics from the perspective of his own constructive yet at the same time polemical Christian isagogics, and especially to philosophical introductions, which sometimes also encompass considerable theoretical innovations (as in the cases of Porphyry, Proclus, and late antique Neoplatonists more generally) within a well-established system of doctrines, which is meant to be enriched, and not just reaffirmed, by these theoretical contributions.33 This also explains why the didactic function of isagogics often consists in an effort to help ideal readers progress along their path. It is not just a matter of conveying notions: the point is rather to allow readers to improve in the relevant field, and this is possible only if they are provided with the most effective systematic presentation of the fundamental notions in the relevant discipline. 32

33

On mathematical models, instead, see Mansfeld (1998), esp. 92 and 94: “Ancient mathematics, and especially the teaching of mathematics, did not proceed in splendid isolation, but developed along lines parallel to the development of general literate culture.” In the mathematical texts “abundant parallels are found for ways of presentation and methods of teaching known from various other fields, and some among these parallels are quite early.” As Proclus (in R. 1.5.9–12) suggests, isagogical issues contribute to drawing a path marked by tracks (ἴχνη).

Chapter 1

Isagogical Conceptions in the Peripatetic Exegesis of the Post-Hellenistic Age: Aspasius and the Others Federico M. Petrucci

Premiss*

The overall conception of an author’s corpus emerges most directly from certain texts, namely isagogical ones, which specifically aim to provide the reader with an introduction to the author, his writings, and his thought. The use of this literary genre cuts across various disciplines  – its application ranging from literature to science, from philosophy to religion1  – and was of course crucial in the context of the philosophical schools of the post-Hellenistic age, when philosophy started taking the form of an exegetical activity that implied a strong notion of a master’s authority.2 Not by chance, a scholar wishing to focus on this topic in relation to the Platonist tradition of the postHellenistic age can draw upon a relatively large set of texts: Diogenes Laertius’ Life of Plato (on which see Ferrari’s chapter); Alcinous’ Didaskalikos; Albinus’ Isagoge; Apuleius’ De Platone; the so-called Compendiosa Expositio (on which see Stover’s chapter); and the work on Plato’s writings ascribed – wrongly, in my view – to Theon of Smyrna.3 This is quite a rich corpus, and almost all of these writings have received considerable attention (especially over the last few years, mainly thanks to Justin Stover). When it comes to other philosophical traditions, however, the situation is much less encouraging. In particular, no post-Hellenistic Peripatetic Isagoge to Aristotle’s philosophy has really * I am grateful to all participants at the Isagogical Crossroads conference for their valuable feedback. I am also much indebted to Anna Motta, who has provided fundamental suggestions, and to the anonymous reader of the press, whose remarks have greatly helped me to improve this chapter. 1 This aspect, effectively illustrated by the composition of this volume, was already made clear in Jaap Mansfeld’s seminal researches on Prolegomena (1994 and 1998). One important recent study on the isagogical genre is Motta (2019). 2 On Platonist and Peripatetic philosophy in the post-Hellenistic age, see esp. Sharples (2010) and Boys-Stones (2018). On the notion of authority in the Platonist tradition, see now Erler, Heßler, Petrucci (2021); on the relation between philosophy and exegesis in the Platonist tradition, see Ferrari (2000) and Petrucci (2018b), chap. 4. 3 See Petrucci (2012), 13–15.

© Federico M. Petrucci, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004506190_003

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been preserved, and the scarce extant testimonies can hardly be regarded as solid bases for an assessment of an overall Peripatetic conception of Aristotle’s corpus. Indeed, the fragments of both Arius Didymus’ Summary of Peripatetic Philosophy and Nicolaus of Damascus’ On Aristotle’s Philosophy are notoriously puzzling for a series of reasons,4 but both encompass a topic which is isagogical in nature – albeit grounded in a Hellenistic commonplace – namely the idea that Aristotle’s philosophy is articulated into ‘parts’. It is widely known that Arius isolates ethics, and detects various parts within it, while Nicolaus clearly regards metaphysics as occupying a specific ‘place’ within Aristotle’s thought, which is reflected by his corpus (Nicolaus Damasc. In Arist. 4.1; transl. Drossaart Lulofs 1965):5 His writing is useful to manifest the nature of the man: how he surpassed in sagacity those who have studied philosophy before him and after him. Philosophy is divided in two parts: into a discourse on principles and into a discourse on those things which come after the principles. Therefore we must first by nature arrange a differentiation concerning principles. This aspect was also dealt with by other authors, as a celebrated witness provided by Philoponus (In Cat 1.5.15–20; transl. Sharples 2010) shows: Next is the third heading, where in Aristotle’s writings one should start. Well, Boethus of Sidon says that one should start from the treatment of physics, since this is more familiar and knowable for us, and one should start from the things that are more clear and knowable. But his teacher, Andronicus of Rhodes, examining [the issue] more exactly, said that one should first begin with logic, which is concerned with demonstration. This text clearly states that the Peripatetics used to start either from physics or from logic, the former being Boethus’ approach, the latter Andronicus’. As is widely known, the need to systematically distinguish the ‘parts’ of philosophy and to use this distinction in order to outline a didactic path explicitly emerged in the Old Academy (see esp. Xenocr. fr. 82 i.p.), was crucial for the 4 On Arius Didymus see esp. Hahm (1990), Görannson (1995), 182–226, and now Algra (2018). On Arius Didymus’ role as a source for later doxography see esp. Mansfeld & Runia (1997), 238–264. A recent reconstruction of Nicolaus’ profile is provided by Toher (2017), 1–21; see also the texts collected in Sharples (2010), 15–16. 5 As is widely known, only fragments of an abridged Syriac version of Nicolaus’ introductory text have been transmitted.

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Stoics, and continued to represent a fundamental issue throughout the course of the Platonist tradition.6 On the other hand, apparently there are some passages in Aristotle’s own writings which already reflect this concern, if only implicitly: cross-references within the treatises apparently imply some sort of reading order, and methodological sections are sometimes provided that deal (in a rather puzzling way) with the relationship between philosophical topics, research methods, and objects of enquiry.7 It is such passages that Aristoxenus probably has in mind when he ascribes to Aristotle himself the explicit aim of providing some introductory remarks concerning the method and specific objects of his research (El. harm. 31.4–15 M. = 39.4–40.15 d.r.). Consistently, a later doxographical testimony (Aët. 1.3.273a25–274a17)8 ascribes to “Aristotle, Theophrastus and almost all the Peripatetics” a further division of philosophy, namely that between theoretical and practical philosophy. The specific distinctions of the parts of Aristotle’s philosophy and the proposals of related order of study by Boethus and Andronicus must of course be interpreted within this wider philosophical framework; furthermore, in these cases one could try to trace these classifications back to the interests and exigences of those authors who first established them (for instance, it has been argued that Boethus’ preference has to do with his conception of forms).9 However, at this level detecting such exigences and outlining their background would add almost nothing to our understanding of the way in which pre-Alexandrian Peripatetics conceived of Aristotle’s corpus as a whole: in brief, direct isagogical testimonies are too scarce and puzzling to provide a reliable and (above all) philosophically effective understanding of how a Peripatetic of the post-Hellenistic age would have conceived of Aristotle’s corpus in isagogical terms.10 These are the reasons why in this chapter I set out to address the problem of post-Hellenistic isagogical views of Aristotle’s writings from an ‘indirect’ 6

7 8 9 10

See Motta’s and Ferrari’s chapters in this volume. A well-known case of recovery and reworking of these aspects as to the activity of systematisation of a corpus of writings is that of Porphyry’s Life of Plotinus (esp. 24). See also Männlein-Robert’s chapter in this volume. Especially concerning the articulation of his physics, see the well-known prologue to the Meteorologica (1.1.338a20–339a9), but also, e.g., Part. an. 1.1.639b6–11; a very valuable discussion in Rashed (2005), cxl–clii. To be dated to the first century of our era: a valuable in-depth analysis can now be found in Mansfeld (2020), 113–121, who also sheds light on the reception of this distinction in later Neoplatonism. See Tarán (1981), 743. On Boethus, after the classic pages in Moraux (1973), 143–180, see now the monumental collection by Chiaradonna and Rashed (2020). The same point is explicitly made by Sharples (2010), chap. 5, devoted to “The Starting-point and Parts of Philosophy”.

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point of view, namely by focusing on extant witnesses of pre-Alexandrian commentaries. More specifically, by relying on the scarce extant sources, and above all on Aspasius, I shall identify some structural features characterising Peripatetic commentaries in order to detect what conception of Aristotle’s texts they imply. In this way, we will be in a position to address the following questions, which would usually find answers in isagogical writings: how should one read Aristotle’s texts? What, if any, is their specific nature? Why are Aristotle’s writings shaped the way they are? Are they clear or obscure, and why so? To be clear, the point is not that in Peripatetics before Alexander one can already discover later isagogical schemata: this had been suggested by Moraux with reference to Andronicus, but I take Mansfeld to be right in saying that exploring isagogical issues does not imply adopting isagogical schemata.11 My point is that we should focus neither on the presence of isagogical schemata (since, quite simply, they are not attested), nor on partial ways of addressing them (since this would imply taking later structures as absolute parameters). Rather, we should focus on the possibility of outlining an overall conception of Aristotle’s texts even without isagogical writings, whose goal is – theoretically – to display such a conception and to determine the best approach to the texts within its framework. The limited number of extant sources and their narrow focus might of course discourage us from applying my conclusions to Aristotle’s corpus as a whole. However, by making these sources interact and by discovering their methodological consistency, we can at least consider the conclusions drawn from them to represent specific instances (the only known ones) of a wider scenario that is lost to us. 1

Andronicus and Boethus

Let us start with Andronicus and Boethus. In a famous passage, Simplicius informs us that at the very beginning of the Peripatetic commentary tradition there were two approaches to Aristotle’s text, one ascribed to Boethus, the other to Andronicus (In Cat. 29.30–30.6, transl. Sharples 2010):12 11

12

Moraux (1973), 66–70, detected in Andronicus the treatment of typical isagogical aspects, such as the reading order of Aristotle’s writings, their telos, explanations of a text’s title, and the discussion of a text’s authenticity. As Mansfeld (1994), 40–41, effectively noted, however, the presence of topics which are usually dealt with in isagogical writings does not imply the use of isagogical schemata. On this passage see Sharples (2010), 44 and 56–57, and now Chiaradonna and Rashed (2020), 114–116. On the Peripatos in the first century bc see Falcon (2011). On the Peripatos in the post-Hellenistic age see now Riedweg et al. (2018a), 255–456.

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καὶ ἐξηγούμενος δὲ ὁ Βόηθος καθ’ ἑκάστην λέξιν τὸ ‘τῆς οὐσίας’ παραλέλοιπεν ὡς οὐδὲ γεγραμμένον. καὶ ὁ Ἀνδρόνικος δὲ παραφράζων τὸ βιβλίον ‘τῶν ἄνευ συμπλοκῆς, φησί, λεγομένων ὁμώνυμα μὲν λέγεται ὧν ὄνομα μόνον ταὐτόν, ὁ δὲ κατὰ τοὔνομα λόγος ἕτερος’. Boethus, who interprets each expression, left out ‘of the being’ as not written [in his text]. And Andronicus, who paraphrases the book, says ‘of things which are said without combination those are called homonymous of which only the name is the same, while the account corresponding to the name is different’. The remark on Boethus’ exegetical attitude is not to be underestimated, for Simplicius uses it as the basis for his deduction about the Peripatetic interpretation of a crucial passage: since Boethus submitted each lexis of Aristotle’s text to exegesis, if we do not find any trace of τῆς οὐσίας in his interpretation, this means that Boethus did not have it in his text, for otherwise he would have mentioned it. At the same time, scholars have sometimes taken this statement to be clearer and stronger than it really is. After all, in this specific case Simplicius is not necessarily implying that Boethus commented each lexis throughout the Aristotelian text at stake: it is also possible that Simplicius is stating that Boethus used to provide an exegesis of each expression encompassed by the lemmata he was considering. In other words, this passage does not necessarily testify to the fact that, when commenting on Aristotle’s text, Boethus commented on every single line, but rather that he provided a fairly detailed and deep analysis of all passages he took into account. So, for now I shall assume – consistently with a common scholarly view13 – that Boethus produced a continuous commentary, but this will be just a working hypothesis until we will find clearer confirmation – confirmation which, as we shall see, will be discovered in Aspasius. What about Andronicus?14 In this case too, Simplicius’ report cannot be taken at face value, for we do know that Andronicus provided some critical discussion of Aristotle’s doctrines and engaged with important aspects of his philosophy. Unfortunately, we cannot know in what way Andronicus presented his views, but in general we can envisage two styles of exegesis taking the analysed text into account to different extents. On the one hand, a commentator could propose an interpretation by focusing on each word of a 13 14

See, most recently, Chiaradonna and Rashed (2020), 6, who emphasise the extension and prolixity of Boethus’ commentary. See now Hatzimichali (2016) for an overview.

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text, clarifying it, and using the overall results to argue in favour of a general interpretation of a passage. This is the procedure called ‘exegesis κατὰ λέξιν’ in post-Hellenistic Platonist scholarship.15 On the other hand, a commentator could simply outline a general explanation of a passage without carefully making it emerge from its lexis. I would suggest that this is the actual difference between Boethus’ approach and Andronicus’. In fact, these styles are not properly in opposition, for one can take the former to be a more complex and refined version of the latter, insofar as both rely on the same ideological foundation: both progressively reveal the content of a passage and clarify it, albeit with different degrees of attention to Aristotle’s own words. We now have the following information. First, Peripatetics felt free to apply different degrees of attention to the words Aristotle himself employed. Second, both approaches are related to the need to clarify the content of Aristotle’s text, which implies that the text is somewhat obscure in itself. However, Simplicius’ testimony is unhelpful for understanding this conception of obscurity, and its specific relation to a text’s contents. Finally, one can reasonably assume that both kinds of exegetes interpreted texts by following their unfolding and progression, and – but this is only a working hypothesis – by producing a running commentary. However, we are still far from either having a secure basis for the last claim or grasping the deeper conceptions underlying the aforementioned aspects – that is, to put it briefly, the continuous and somewhat paraphrastic treatment of each lemma, the continuous treatment of a text, and the notion of Aristotle’s obscurity. Discovering these conceptions is crucial for the present enquiry, and I shall submit that some intriguing answers can be obtained by turning to a better preserved text, that is Aspasius’ Commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics. 2

Aspasius

Aspasius’ Commentary is indeed an exception in the fragmentary scenario characterising our access to the post-Hellenistic Peripatos.16 This is particularly important, for the transmitted text also offers an introduction  – albeit a short one – to the commentary itself, which could prove crucial in order to detect the presence of isagogical nuclei. This introduction starts by defining the place of ethics within the system of Aristotle’s philosophy (1.1–15), and 15 16

See Petrucci (2019) for an overview and a critical discussion. On Aspasius’ Commentary, after the classic study by Moraux (1973), 226–293, see Alberti and Sharples (1999); Konstan (2006); and Kupreeva 2018.

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especially with respect to contemplative philosophy (θεωρητικὴ φιλοσοφία). Aspasius distinguishes between priority with respect to necessity (κατὰ μὲν τὸ ἀναγκαῖον) and with respect to value (κατὰ δὲ τὸ τίμιον): in relation to the former ethics has priority over contemplation, while in relation to the latter contemplation has priority over ethics. At first, one would tend to associate these two levels, respectively, with a didactic and an absolute point of view. Things are slightly different, however. Aspasius clarifies that having knowledge about ethics is prior with respect to contemplative philosophy since, if one does not acquire virtue, one cannot καλῶς ζῆν either.17 There is no further explanation about this point, but Aspasius’ reasoning seems to run as follows: contemplation is the perfect way of life; but it would be unreasonable to say that this can be attained without having a good character, and possessing moral virtues; so, it is necessary to become acquainted with ethics – that is, to learn how to acquire virtue – before approaching contemplation. Indeed, when Aspasius explains what contemplation is, he points out that σοφία deals with nature, contemplates its objects, and hence is more valuable with respect to the study of moral virtue. This perspective must stem from a specific reading of the continuity between Nicomachean Ethics 1–9 and 10 – and, of course, from a post-Aristotelian notion of the study of nature.18 From all this, therefore, one can infer that Aspasius indirectly  – and partially  – indicates three aspects which were commonly addressed in later isagogical sections, that is, the place of a text within the corpus, the goal of the text, and its utility. As to the first, Aspasius implies that the Nicomachean Ethics represents the last mile of ground to cover before the checkpoint leading people to gain access to theoretical philosophy. One could push this view even further: given the content of Nicomachean Ethics 10, it is likely that this book is regarded as the link between the two levels of ethics and theoretical philosophy. So, the correct approach to Aristotle’s philosophy consists in becoming acquainted with ethics by progressively studying the Nicomachean Ethics until its apex, that is book 10; at this point, one has reached the relative goal of this study and is in a position to proceed to the following step, namely the study of the contents of contemplation.19 As to the second and third aspects, it is quite clear that, in Aspasius’ view, learning ethics has a specific usefulness, for it allows people to understand what virtue is, and how to attain 17 18 19

It is worth noting that an ethical aim (albeit a far from satisfactory one for a philosopher) can also be detected in the Progymnasmata: see esp. Atherton (1998) –, I owe this reference to Anna Motta. The same issue lies at the basis of Aët. 1.3, quoted above (at 18). Again, Aspasius’ method seems to draw upon contemporary ‘non-philosophical’ schools (such as Aelius Theon’s: see e.g. Progymn. 17.16–18.25 and 8.8–11).

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it. This runs parallel to the previous point, for if one is supposed to aspire to a good life, then studying the Nicomachean Ethics has the intrinsic advantage of both making people virtuous and leading them towards the goal of a happy life. This must be the meaning of the last two lines of the introduction, in which Aspasius explicitly states (2.12–13; transl. Konstan 2006, here and elsewhere): λέγει δὲ αὐτὴν εἶναι περὶ τοῦ ἀνθρωπίνου τέλους, ἥτις ἐστὶν ἡ εὐδαιμονία. Aristotle says that it concerns the goal of mankind, which is happiness. Thus, the goal of the work is to progressively lead mankind to its ultimate aim. Aspasius further expands on this by taking a different point of view. Indeed, he also insists (1.14–2.4) on the fact that our concern with ethics depends on our being lower than God, inasmuch as we possess a body and are subject to bodily passions. The argument, which has a clear Platonist flavour,20 can be summed up as follows: if we did not have a body, we would be like God, who is always absorbed in contemplation; but we do have a body; hence, before devoting our life to contemplation, we must achieve control over our passions, which are strictly dependent on the body. So, Aspasius is stating under what conditions ethics is necessary and important for us – or, in other words, the reasons for the usefulness of the Nicomachean Ethics as a philosophical text. One could even detect here confirmation of the goal of the work: after all, if the best life is to be identified with contemplation, everyone should strive to reach this condition; accordingly, the goal of the Nicomachean Ethics would be to put people in a position to devote their lives to contemplation, for it ensures control over the passions, limiting the damage implied by our bodily nature. All in all, in this introduction we find traces of typical isagogical problems; however, just as in the case of the dispute between Moraux and Mansfeld on Andronicus’ use of schemata, I wish to emphasise that this cannot amount to saying that Aspasius already employed schemata as such in his introduction. On the contrary, he felt the need to focus on certain aspects, which later on were to be made an object of focused discussion according to a standard pattern, that of the schemata. On the other hand, it is noteworthy that at least one aspect which emerges from Aspasius’ introduction is constantly attested in isagogical remarks by certain pre-Alexandrian Peripatetics, namely Andronicus, Nicolaus, Arius, and Boethus: just as these Peripatetics insisted on the reciprocal arrangement of the parts of philosophy to which the texts they were 20

See Alc. Did. 1.152.8–16. On the Platonist background of some of Aspasius’ positions, see esp. Donini (1974), 98–125.

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dealing with had be ascribed, so Aspasius was the first to insist on the relation between ethics and theoretical philosophy. From all this it emerges that a core idea among Peripatetics before Alexander was that Aristotle had developed a systematic plan for his writings. Indeed, according to this interpretation, each Aristotelian work finds a specific place along a continuous philosophical path – whatever the nature and structure of this path may be – mainly depending on its object. Just as ethics, in Aspasius’ view, is preliminary with respect to contemplative philosophy, since its usefulness and goal are to be achieved preliminarily in order to approach contemplative philosophy, so the reciprocal position of logic and physics in Boethus and Andronicus’ view depends on the fact that each part is meant to lead to specific goals. If this is the case, Aristotle himself may be seen to lead the reader along a continuous philosophical path, which one can recognise by detecting both the place of each work within it and the goals that this particular text serves. From this, however, two further questions arise. First, whether such an idea of continuous progression can also be applied to each piece of writing, and not just to the corpus as a whole; second, what style Aristotle adopts in guiding his readers towards philosophical perfection.21 In this case too, we do not find any answer in extant isagogical fragments, but in Aspasius we do. I am going to argue that Aspasius’ answers are as follows: to the first question, he answers that yes, the principle of continuity and gradualness is also applied within each text – or, at least, within the Nicomachean Ethics; to the second, he answers that Aristotle’s text is still characterised by a particular feature, namely obscurity, although this obscurity is just the superficial appearance of Aristotle’s characteristic argumentative chain. The first issue is whether each of Aristotle’s writings is conceived as a continuous textual stream. At first sight, an affirmative reply seems like the obvious option, for writing a commentary apparently implies such a background conception. Things are more complicated, however, for the commentaries produced by post-Hellenistic Platonists imply a different conception of the master’s text. I cannot enter here the debate concerning the structure of Middle Platonist commentaries; anyway, whether they had a peculiar wavelike structure,22 or were instead Spezialkommentare,23 the fact remains that there is wide evidence that Middle Platonist commentaries were thematically arranged, and usually disregarded significant portions of the dialogue they

21 22 23

For the background of this aspect in Plato and Aristotle see Introduction, 4–5. As I have argued elsewhere: see esp. Petrucci (2018c). This is the position which Franco Ferrari has argued for (see e.g. Ferrari 2001).

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were discussing.24 In other words, following a text in its entirety and according to a continuous structure, without omissions or selections, was no standard practice in the post-Hellenistic age. If we look back at our discussion about Aspasius, we will realise that we have already found a possible general reply: if book 10 is the apex of the Nicomachean Ethics, it is likely that Aspasius conceived of the previous books as a continuous path leading towards it. Although no such claim is explicitly made, strong confirmation can derive from the exegetical structure of Aspasius’ commentary, which is very close to a running one, albeit in a peculiar way. Indeed, Aristotle’s text is taken into account from the first page onwards, and virtually all textual sections are commented upon. The reason why Aspasius’ exegesis does not look like a running commentary is that he isolates quite extended lemmata,25 and  – as Jonathan Barnes has emphasised26 – his exegesis is more similar to a paraphrase than to a proper commentary. One extreme example is the commentary on book 2: although a lacuna prevents us from having a clear picture of its structure, it probably consisted of only four lemmata, covering the whole book. Moreover, Aspasius’ focus is almost regular: apart from natural and limited fluctuations, the length of each commentary is proportional to that of the text it discusses, and only rarely do limited thematic digressions occur (e.g. at 2.16–3.18; 5.23–34; 42.27– 47.2). This approach only makes sense if the work at issue is conceived as a sort of continuous argument leading the reader towards a philosophical goal: just as Aristotle’s corpus is characterised by continuity and progressiveness, so each individual text must be read progressively and continuously. To this argument one could object that a commentary isolating only very extensive lemmata can only be said to be a ‘running commentary’ virtually, for such extended lemmata implicitly lead to some form of selection. Even if this might be the case in practice, for of course Aspasius does not devote the same attention to all aspects of the lemmata he isolates,27 there is clear proof that in Aspasius’ view everything Aristotle says needs to be explained – for it is part of a continuous argument – except in a few, very specific cases. The crucial passage occurs in the commentary on book 4.3.1123a34–1125a34. Aspasius quite

24

25 26 27

The clearest cases are represented by the Atlantis myth, which Severus entirely ignored in his Commentary on the Timaeus (3T Gioè), and the so-called ‘medical parts’ of the Timaeus, which, according to Galen’s complaint (php 8.5.13–16), were scarcely (and poorly) taken into account in Middle Platonist commentaries. On the lemmata of Aristotle’s text as presented in Aspasius’ Commentary, see Wittwer (1999). See Barnes (1999), 23–25. As rightly noted again by Barnes (1999), 24.

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carefully comments on Aristotle’s text until 1123b11, and then states (110.22–24; Konstan 2006): τὰ δὲ ἑξῆς, ἐπειδὴ καὶ καθ’ αὑτὰ δῆλά ἐστι καὶ ἐκ τῶν εἰρημένων, οὐκ ἀνάγκη πάντα ἐπιέναι, ἀλλ’ εἴ τινα ἔχει ἔνστασιν κατὰ τὴν λέξιν ταῦτα θεωρετέον. It is not necessary to go over all the things that follow, since they are both self-evident and a result of what has been said, but if any points in the text give rise to objections, they must be considered. This is indeed a sort of general methodological statement, which clarifies the conditions under which a passage requires no exegesis, that is clarification, and the same idea is applied, without any methodological claim, in at least six other cases in which Aspasius briefly states that a section is, in some parts or in its entirety, clear (56.12; 56.24; 98.33; 107.31; 117.28; 141.11). Hence, the passage just quoted represents a sort of programmatic claim, whose analysis will shed light on Aspasius’ overall attitude. The treatment of what follows 110.22–24 (i.e., τὰ ἑξῆς in the quoted passage) confirms the application of this approach: Aspasius selects some passages of Aristotle’s argument, and progressively reaches the end of the lemma, but in doing so he leaves some sentences out. Hence, Aspasius feels free not to comment on a particular sentence or passage if, in his view, it is clear in itself, or directly implied by what precedes it. From this, a first conclusion can be drawn, which is directly related to the potential objection I mentioned above: if Aspasius clearly states that he is disregarding certain passages from Aristotle’s text, we should take him to be engaged in a continuous exegesis of Aristotle’s work, unless otherwise stated. Aspasius’ commentary is, at least programmatically, a proper running commentary, and Aristotle’s Nichoma­ chean Ethics is characterised by strict continuity. As further confirmation of this, one can also refer to the very limited papyrological evidence provided by an Anonymous Commentary on the Topics, dated to the first century ad. We have only one fragment of this text, displaying a commentary on three consecutive lemmata (Top. 109a34–35; 109b4–9, b9–12, b13–15). This definitely confirms the fact that Peripatetic commentaries were proper running ones, but it also shows that the length of the selected lemmata was quite irregular: while Aspasius’ lemmata are very extensive, here we find lemmata of just two or three lines. Another important and related point on which the quoted passage sheds light is the extent to which Aristotle is obscure. Indeed, Aspasius’ methodological claim seems to imply that he will comment upon all passages which are unclear. If this is the case, we have a good criterion to detect the range of

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passages which Aspasius regarded as obscure: given that he pays attention to almost all parts of Aristotle’s text, passages which are καθ’ ἁυτὰ δῆλα must be extremely rare in this view. So, one might say that Aristotle’s text is obscure in quite a homogeneous and regular way. All this leads to a further  – and fundamental  – question. If Aspasius’ ‘selection criterion’ is related to the notion of clarity, which in turn is framed within the issue of Aristotle’s philosophical style, what style does Aristotle apply to his writings? Or, to put it in terms which are very familiar to those interested in isagogical issues, is Aristotle clear in his writings?28 And, if not, why? In the very compressed statement quoted above, a first criterion is explicitly spelled out: clarity is (or, at least, can be) something which pertains to a passage καθ’ αὑτό. It is tempting to compare this position, for instance, to Galen’s famous distinction29 between texts which are obscure in themselves, hence to any reader, and those which are obscure just to some readers. Regardless of whether the underlying conceptions are similar or not, I would say that David Konstan is right in his translation of Aspasius’ passage, according to which καθ’ ἁυτὰ δῆλα simply means ‘self-evident’: although the point made is somewhat circular – ‘I will not interpret this passage, since it is self-evident’ – Aspasius seems to take some passages to stand in need of no explanation at all, inasmuch as they are absolutely clear. A better grasp on what Aspasius means, however, can be gained by referring to the second criterion: a passage is clear if it follows ‘as a result of what has been said’. Such a description can be read in a more or less strict way, but a passage from Galen might suggest that a stricter and more technical meaning is at stake. In the treatise On fallacies 585.5–11 Galen says that: it is the Philosopher’s custom to speak with such velocity (τοιοῦτον τάχος) and to express many of his points as it were by signs, because he writes for those who have already listened to him (διὰ τὸ πρὸς τοὺς ἀκηκοότας ἤδη γράφεσθαι). Galen is apparently referring to a typical case in Aristotle’s school: Aristotle speaks in a certain way, and he writes for those who ‘have already listened to him’, that is his students. This notwithstanding, the same evaluation a fortiori 28 29

On the issue of Aristotle’s obscurity in Antiquity (with a special focus on the Neoplatonists and Galen), see Barnes (1992). In Hipp. fract. xviiib 319–320; cf. Comp. Tim. 1.8–23, for an application of this principle to Plato’s style. On Galen’s complex notion of obscurity, see esp. Mansfeld (1994), 148–176 and Ferrari (1998), 16–20; for a new reading of the Middle Platonist debate on Plato’s obscurity, see Petrucci (2018b), 57–61.

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applies to a standard reader of Aristotle: it is possible to understand Aristotle’s language and style, hence his thought, if one is already acquainted with what he has said. Significantly, Galen’s statement is less general than it might seem, and probably should be applied in a specific way to Peripatetic exegetes: Aristotle’s style is so obscure that – Galen continues, talking about a passage from the Sophistic Refutations (165b27–30)  – some exegetes did not even attempt to explain it.30 Moreover, he tells us what the specific source of the obscurity of the passage at issue is: the Aristotelian passage συλλογιμοῦ συμπεράσματι μᾶλλον ἔοικεν ἢ συλλογισμῷ, and for this reason the section is παντάπασιν ἀσαφές. This explanation is entirely consistent with the idea that only those who are already acquainted with Aristotle’s style and thought are able to understand his arguments. Not by chance, Galen also says that Aristotle usually produces syllogisms not merely by assuming certain premises – as is usual for most philosophers – but by implying premises which are to be understood starting from the conclusion he points out. All this has a clear methodological implication: Aristotle’s obscurity is due not to linguistic aspects, or to the philosophical content, but to the very argumentative structure of Aristotle’s text, which proceeds in a specific way. The application of this model has a crucial impact on Aspasius’ second criterion and, through it, on the first one too. For a start, it makes it easier to understand why Aspasius associates things which are self-evident with things which are immediately implied by what comes before. Indeed, one can make sense of this claim by assuming that Aspasius regards Aristotle’s text to be clear if it proceeds in a straightforward way from the argumentative point of view: Aristotle is not tacitly assuming certain premises, or implicitly inferring any statements; rather, what he says is explicitly derived from what comes before. If this is the case, a further conclusion follows, namely that Aristotle’s text is structured as a continuous argumentative stream, which however is often based on assumptions, implications, and logical difficulties: the scarceness of passages which are clear leads to the idea that, in some sense, Aristotle’s argumentative style is hard to decode unless one is already acquainted with it. This new version of Meno’s paradox can be solved only by taking the Peripatetics to have assumed at least that Aristotle’s corpus must be approached progressively, for one needs to become acquainted with its σημεῖα step by step. Put in this way, the issue of Aristotle’s obscurity seems to transcend the classic issue of its being voluntary or not. Scholars usually project onto post-Hellenistic writings the famous Neoplatonist view, according to which Aristotle is intentionally 30

On this passage see Mansfeld (1994), 174–175, who also notes that Galen was indeed acquainted at least with Aspasius’ and Adrastus’ writings.

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obscure.31 According to my reconstruction of Aspasius’ conception of clarity, however, Aristotle’s obscurity is voluntary in a very specific sense, namely inasmuch as it depends on a demonstrative style that is employed for specific argumentative schemes and patterns. Interestingly, this reading is entirely consistent with Atticus’ famous attack on Aristotle’s ἀσάφεια, which has been used as a parallel for the Neoplatonic view32 (fr. 7, transl. Boys-Stones 2018): He [scil. Aristotle] presumably has his own answer to the questions of what the essence and the nature of the intellect is, where it comes from, how it enters people, and where it goes off to again – if, that is, he understands anything about his own discussions of the intellect, and wasn’t just avoiding refutation by wrapping up the difficulty of the matter in the obscurity of his language (καὶ μὴ τὸ ἄπορον τοῦ πράγματος τῷ ἀσαφεῖ τοῦ λόγου περιστέλλων ἐξίσταται τὸν ἔλεγχον), like cuttle-fish which produce darkness making them hard to catch. Atticus’ accusation is not just that Aristotle is unclear, but that he misleadingly produces refutations and arguments by combining factual inconsistencies with the obscurity of his λόγος. Again, therefore, the point seems to be that Aristotle builds up his philosophical narrative according to very specific and peculiar argumentative patterns, which one must fully become acquainted with before approaching his texts – and which, of course, a Platonist may not accept in principle. Therefore, according to Aspasius, a passage does not require any exegesis – hence, is not obscure – if it is clear in itself and if it follows from preceding arguments straightforwardly, that is without any of the argumentative constructions which characterise Aristotle’s style. In all other cases, which are the vast majority, in order to understand Aristotle’s text it is necessary to be already acquainted with this argumentative style, that is to have already been progressively introduced to it and to have reached the passage at issue through a definite step-by-step education. If my analysis is sound, a rather interesting point follows. The issue of Aristotle’s obscurity is addressed by Aspasius not in terms of intentional obscurity, and hence by referring to Aristotle’s will to prevent certain readers from accessing his text, but according to two 31 32

This approach might be supported by some parallels between the Neoplatonists’ perspective and some non-Peripatetic testimonies (see again Barnes 1992, 367–374); this does not imply, however, that such a view was also held by post-Hellenistic Peripatetics. See again Barnes (1992), 267–268.

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ideological cornerstones: on the one hand, the systematic and progressive nature of Aristotle’s corpus and the specific place of certain writings within it; on the other, the argumentative continuity characterising Aristotle’s writings, a continuity which is produced through a peculiar – and philosophically effective – argumentative style. This does not exclude that each work pursues an overall goal, but rather specifies that this goal is achieved by the reader by effectively following Aristotle’s arguments. To sum up, Aspasius’ commentary leads us to detect at least three intertwined aspects shaping the Peripatetics’ conception of Aristotle’s corpus and texts. First, each piece of writing has a goal and a specific usefulness within a more general philosophical plan, which Aristotle has conceived for his readers. Second, each piece of writing deserves continuous exegesis, for it is structured in a continuous way in the form of a series of progressively linked arguments. Third, this structure is peculiar to Aristotle’s style, and the specific form of Aristotelian arguments makes them obscure to readers who have not already become acquainted with other writings according to the aforementioned progressive order. 3

Some Conclusions

This survey has revealed that extant commentary sources confirm one aspect which had already emerged from the scarce extant witnesses of Peripatetic isagogical texts, namely the fact that Aristotle’s corpus is arranged according to a continuous and progressive path, encompassing different steps, that is different parts of philosophy; these steps are in turn associated with specific writings which must be read according to a specific order. To this, however, we are now in a position to add the following aspects. First, this continuity also characterises individual Aristotelian writings, each of which is conceived as a continuous argument, leading to a goal. This goal is important in itself, but also because its achievement allows the reader to make progress within the development of Aristotle’s philosophy. Second, the continuity within each piece of writing is ensured by Aristotle’s argumentative style, which determines his texts’ obscurity, but also secures a correct development of the philosophical reasoning. This also implies that a good reader of Aristotle’s texts must be fully acquainted with this style and able to clarify Aristotle’s peculiar arguments along with the contents of his philosophy. If my analysis is sound, these features, taken altogether, shape an overall conception of Aristotle’s corpus: Aristotle’s corpus is a continuous progression of philosophical steps, corresponding to a series of writings and a series of

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goals to be achieved and then to be overcome; in turn, each piece of writing is developed according to a continuous argumentative style, which is distinctive and determines both Aristotle’s obscurity and the need for the reader to become specifically acquainted with it. This conception has a strong impact from both an exegetical and an isagogical point of view. From an exegetical point of view, it stands at the basis of the widespread ‘paraphrastic’ style of Peripatetic commentaries before Alexander, of their running structure, and of a specific attention to Aristotle’s arguments. From an isagogical point of view, the aforementioned aspects, which emerge from commentary writings, do anticipate at least eight out of the ten standard isagogical questions which later introductory writings regularly ask,33 as the following table shows: 10-step schema

Post-Hellenistic Peripatetic exegesis

1. Origin of the names of various philosophical schools 2. Classification of Aristotle’s writings 3. Starting point (from different points of view) 4. The final goal 5. The path to the goal

Aristotle’s philosophy is divided into various parts, to which his writings correspond: each part has a specific goal, but the parts, taken together, lead to an overall goal, also determining the usefulness of Aristotle’s philosophy. This determines the need to establish a specific reading order.

6. Qualifications for students 7. Qualifications for the exegete (acquaintance with Aristotle’s style and doctrines) 8. Aristotle’s style 9. Aristotle’s obscurity and its function

Aristotle’s argumentative style is characterised by continuity, which leads the reader toward the goal. This style is articulated as a series of arguments, and this determines its obscurity. All readers, at all levels, must be acquainted with this argumentative style in order to deal with Aristotle’s obscurity: skilled students must become progressively acquainted with Aristotle’s style, while a good exegete must be able to explain Aristotle’s obscurity by referring to his argumentative style.

10. Preliminaries to each work

33

See Westerink (1990), xliii–lvi; a different order but more or less same items in Hadot et al. (1990), 21–47.

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One could go even further, for the paradox that one must be already acquainted with Aristotle’s style in order to properly approach Aristotle’s writings can be regarded as the very reason for the need for isagogical texts. Thus, we now have an isagoge without schemata, coinciding with a conception of Aristotle’s writings which also shaped the structure of Peripatetic commentaries. This might further suggest that the development of both lite­ rary genres was characterised by a reciprocal influence: after all, exegetical and isagogical writings appear to apply and exploit the same conception.

Chapter 2

A Middle-Platonist Plato: Introductory Schemata and the Construction of a System in Diogenes Laertius Franco Ferrari 1

The Systematisation of Plato’s Philosophy*

The Sitz im Leben of Book 3 of Diogenes Laertius’ Lives of Eminent Philosophers,1 which is entirely devoted to Plato, is no doubt represented by the process of systematisation and ‘dogmatisation’ of Platonism that occurred in the Mediterranean cultural world at least from the 1st century bc. It involved figures such as Antiochus of Ascalon, Eudorus of Alexandria, Gaius, Albinus, Alcinous, Atticus, Harpocration, Severus, Calvenus Taurus, Maximus of Tyre, and Numenius, but also – to some extent – Plutarch of Chaeronea and Apuleius. This is the phase in the history of Platonism which scholars, starting from Karl Praechter, have usually described using the term ‘Middle Platonism’.2 Although it is a somewhat ambiguous historiographical notion – arguably like all historiographical categories3 – it can continue to be used with some caution, bearing in mind that the authors in question always thought of themselves simply as πλατωνικοί. Besides, some caution must also be exercised when employing another historiographical category by which scholars have referred to this phase in the history of Platonism, namely Vorbereitung des Neuplatonismus, an expression which Willy Theiler coined in his landmark monograph. In my view, however, this category has not yet fully exhausted its heuristic value.4 Be that as it may, the history of Platonism in the period ranging from Antiochus to Plotinus’ immediate predecessors can be viewed as a grand attempt to systematise Platonic philosophy, which is to say to give Platonism * I am grateful to Tiziano Dorandi for having read a first draft of this work. 1 The reference edition is Dorandi (2013). 2 Praechter (1926), 524. A good overview of the general features of Middle Platonism is provided by Boys-Stones (2018), 2–6. 3 On the origin and historiographical significance of the category ‘Middle Platonism’, see Ferrari (2018); see also Catana (2013). An overview of the historiographical problems connected to this phase of ancient philosophy may also be found in Donini (1982), 9–30. 4 Theiler (1930). © Franco Ferrari, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004506190_004

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a systematic and constructive profile capable of establishing it as a credible rival to the admirabilis compositio disciplinae incredibilisque ordo rerum (Cic. Fin. 3.74) of which the Stoics could boast from as early as the 1st century bc.5 The process which led to the transformation of Platonism into a systematic philosophy was a far from unitary and homogeneous one, because the authors involved drew different, and often contrasting, pictures of Platonic philosophy. This also depends on the fact that they struck different alliances, turning to different philosophers and doctrines in their effort to build a Platonic system. Thus, alongside a Stoicising Platonism such as that of Antiochus and Atticus, a Pythagorising one took shape, represented by Eudorus and later Numenius. However, the most widespread (and hence possibly most widely disputed) current was perhaps the Aristotelianising, which in a way was inaugurated by Antiochus (according to whom the teachings of both Aristotle and the Stoics could directly be traced back to Plato).6 This current is exemplified by authors such Alcinous and Apuleius (and partially by Plutarch too), and from Porphyry onwards it was destined to acquire a dominant position, turning into a genuine κοινή of late Imperial philosophy.7 The existence of different tendencies within early Imperial Platonism, however, should not lead us to overlook the presence of common features pertaining to both doctrinal and methodological and hermeneutic aspects. As regards the more strictly doctrinal elements, Middle Platonists shared, first of all, a polemical attitude towards the sceptical and aporetic interpretation of Platonic philosophy which had been dominant throughout the Hellenistic period. With the partial exception of Plutarch and Favorinus,8 the Middle Platonists staunchly rejected sceptical-Academic exegesis, at times adopting the ἀπὸ τοῦ διδασκάλου label of πλατωνικοί, in opposition to the ἀπὸ τοῦ τόπου label of ἀκαδημαϊκοί, which they instead used to describe the representatives of Hellenistic scepticism.9 Moreover, from a doctrinal point of view, the Platonists of this period shared a tendency to assign a central role to the sphere of transcendence, which sceptical philosophers had largely overlooked, and to attribute a kind of primacy to the divine, apparently subordinating even the world of ideas to it, albeit in different ways. For some authors, like Alcinous, Taurus10 and Numenius, 5 6 7 8 9 10

Donini (1994) is a crucial work on the ways in which this process of systematisation of Platonism (and Aristotelianism) took shape. The peculiar position of Platonism, regarded as the source of the truth found in other schools, has been investigated by Boys-Stones (2001), 99–150. On Aristotle’s presence in Imperial Platonism, see Karamanolis (2006). On the endurance of sceptical-Academic elements in Middle Platonism, see Opsomer (1998). On this, see Bonazzi (2003), 208–211 and Ferrari (2012), 72–73. On Taurus’ attitude see Petrucci (2018b), 76–145.

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the divine and intelligible sphere of reality was subject to a process of hierarchisation centred on the distinction between a ‘first god’, assimilated to Plato’s idea of the Good and to Aristotle’s first unmoved mover, and ranked above the Demiurge, and a ‘second god’, identified with the craftsman of the cosmos.11 The theoretical heritage shared by all Middle Platonist philosophers also extended to the notion of the immortality of the soul, although this was assigned different features and meanings by different authors.12 The Middle Platonists further credited Plato with the formulation of an ontological hierarchy that included intermediate entities – numbers and geometric figures or immanent forms of Aristotelian derivation – whose function it was to transmit the order and rationality of the intelligible world within the cosmos.13 In the field of psychology and ethics, the Middle Platonists rejected Stoic monism and the related doctrine of ἀπάθεια, bringing back the Platonic (and Aristotelian) doctrine of the tripartition of the soul and the idea of controlling rather than suppressing passions; unlike the Stoics, moreover, they identified the telos not with ‘living according to nature’, but with the famous doctrine of ‘assimilation to god’ (ὁμοίωσις τῷ θεῷ).14 Undoubtedly, however, beyond these doctrinal tendencies, which present a considerable degree of divergence, the unifying element of Middle Platonism is to be found in its method, and particularly in its general approach to Plato’s philosophy. The latter was regarded as unitary, organic, and coherent  – in one word, as a systematic whole. From the early 1st century bc onwards, the sceptical-Academic image of Plato started losing ground, and a different way of conceiving Platonic thought emerged with thinkers like Antiochus and Eudorus. The founder of the Academy began to be credited with positive doctrines (δόγματα) in the fields of metaphysics, psychology, anthropology, cosmology, and ethics. From this moment onwards, Platonism naturally came to be conceived of as a system.15 The plan to transform Platonism into a compact and consistent sum of doctrines ran up against at least one apparently insurmountable obstacle: the nature of Platonic writings, which seem bound to thwart any attempt at 11 12 13 14 15

On the different forms taken by Middle Platonic theology, see Ferrari (2015). On the conception of the soul and its immortality in Middle Platonism, see Boys-Stones (2018), 250–267. Ferrari (2017), 52–59. On the Middle Platonic doctrine of assimilation to god and on the complex conception of the end (τέλος), see Boys-Stones (2018), 460–461. Significant evidence of the positive outcome reached by the process of systematisation of Platonic philosophy may be found in Atticus, according to whom Plato was the first to bring all the various parts of philosophy together into a unitary whole, which he presents as σῶμά τι καὶ ζῷον ὁλόκληρον, i.e. as a perfect body and living being (fr. 1.19–23 des Places). See also Donini (1994), 5033.

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systematisation. The Platonic dialogues feature a wide variety of characters, existential attitudes, and cultural styles; they present contrasting outcomes (some are apparently inconclusive and aporetic, while others are unequivocally constructive); and they promote different and often contradictory philosophical conceptions. Hence, tracing this remarkable complexity back to an organic and coherent whole is a daunting task. When, according to Cicero (Acad. post. 1.17 = Baust. 21 Dörrie-Baltes), Antiochus states that Plato varius et multiplex et copiosus fuit, he is merely voicing an opinion that must have been widespread among Plato’s readers at the time, and which might even justify the charge of inconstantia (ἀσυμφωνία)  – that is, of incoherence and contradictoriness  – levelled against Plato by rival schools: de Platonis inconstantia longum est dicere (Cic. Nat. D. 1.30).16 The range of hermeneutic strategies by which the Platonists sought to systematise the philosophy developed by the founder of their school is centred on the rule according to which τὸ δέ γε πολύφωνον τοῦ Πλάτωνος οὐ πολύδοξον (Stob. Flor. 2. 49.25–50.1), meaning that Plato’s thought presents many voices but only one doctrine: behind the many voices expressed in the dialogues there lies a single, coherent doctrine, which is to say a systematic philosophy.17 This hermeneutic principle underlies the methods by which Middle Platonists attempted to systematise Plato’s philosophy. Indeed, the whole exegetical project shaping Platonism in the two centuries leading up to the composition of the Enneads can be interpreted as the enactment of a grand strategy designed to neutralise the anti-systematic potential of the dialogue form.18 It was not merely a matter of identifying a unitary and coherent philosophy behind the range of characters and theoretical and dramatic outcomes of the dialogues. It was also necessary to show, in an analytical way, how the apparently contradictory conceptions in the dialogues could be reconciled. It was necessary, then, to present the man Plato as someone acting coherently with regard to his own philosophy (σύμφωνος ἑαυτῷ), and also of tracing an educational path that would enable pupils to gain access to the writings and thought of the great philosopher easily, or at any rate without too much trouble – in other words, it was necessary to establish a reading order of the dialogues. It is precisely in such a context that we should view Book 3 of the Lives of Eminent Philosophers, whose Sitz im Leben is represented by the process of systematisation of Platonic philosophy carried out by Middle Platonism. Indeed, as I aim to show, Diogenes Laertius’ treatment of Plato provides much valuable 16 17 18

On the so-called inconstantia Platonis see Ferrari (2010), 56–59. On the significance of this important exegetical principle, which may be traced back to Eudorus via Arius Didymus, see Dörrie (1976), 159 and Ferrari (2012), 81. On the systematic programme underlying Imperial Platonism, see Motta (2018a).

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information that helps trace the outline of this process, namely the transformation of Platonism into a system.19 2

The Classification According to Character

In Book 3 of his work, presumably composed in the first half of the 3rd century ad,20 Diogenes presents – sometimes in detail, other times in a more cursory manner – almost all those elements (procedures, questions, methods, doctrinal expositions, etc.) that contributed to bringing about the transformation of Platonic philosophy into a system. In this book we find: an exposition of Plato’s βίος; a description of the dialogical nature of his writings; a rather detailed presentation of the various forms of classification of these texts (with reference to the vexata quaestio of the reading order and of which dialogue one should start from when approaching the corpus); a mention of the issue of the authenticity of the Platonic works; a suggestion of the main points to be touched upon when interpreting these writings; a list of the diacritical marks used for the dialogues; and, finally, a systematic exposition of Plato’s philosophy.21 As scholars have not failed to note, the material set out by Diogenes pre­sents considerable divergences. Incongruities between one section and another, and at times even within the same section, are quite numerous. This no doubt depends on the fact that Diogenes drew upon different sources, without combining them into a consistent whole, or perhaps without aiming to present a unitary picture. Here I do not wish to address the issue of Diogenes’ sources, with regard to which I will only distance myself from the hypothesis according to which Book 3 is entirely based on Thrasyllus’ famous and mysterious work on Plato (1st cent. ad).22 Actually, as Tryggve Göransson has shown in detail, the only section in which Diogenes certainly depends on Thrasyllus – possibly via an intermediate source – is the one pertaining to the tetralogical classification of the dialogues (3.56–61).23 Diogenes presents the general outline of the book on Plato in his wellknown homage to the ‘philoplatonic’ (φιλοπλάτων) lady to whom the work is dedicated (3.47). The fact that the dedication occurs in Book 3 has led some 19 20 21 22 23

According to Gerson (2013), 3–34, Plato’s philosophy already had a systematic character (Plato was already a Platonist!). On this issue see Ferrari (2012), 71–77. Brisson (1992), 3620–3621 and Dorandi (2018), 461. On the structure of this book, see Gigon (1986). An extensive discussion of the various hypotheses concerning Diogenes’ sources can be found in Tarrant (1993), 22–30. Göransson (1995), 79–81. On Thrasyllus, see also Mansfeld (1994), 63–71.

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scholars to conclude that it was the first book to be composed.24 Be that as it may, the words which Diogenes addresses to his dedicatee very clearly bring out the ‘plan’ of the book (3.47; transl. Hicks 1925): Φιλοπλάτωνι δέ σοι δικαίως ὑπαρχούσῃ καὶ παρ’ ὁντινοῦν τὰ τοῦ φιλοσόφου δόγματα φιλοτίμως ζητούσῃ ἀναγκαῖον ἡγησάμην ὑπογράψαι καὶ τὴν φύσιν τῶν λόγων καὶ τὴν τάξιν τῶν διαλόγων καὶ τὴν ἔφοδον τῆς ἐπαγωγῆς, ὡς οἷόν τε στοιχειωδῶς καὶ ἐπὶ κεφαλαίων, πρὸς τὸ μὴ ἀμοιρεῖν αὐτοῦ τῶν δογμάτων τὴν περὶ τοῦ βίου συναγωγήν· Now, as you are a philoplatonic lady, and rightly so, and as you eagerly seek out that philosopher’s doctrines in preference to all others, I have thought it necessary to give some account of the character of his works, the ordering of his dialogues, and the method of his inductive procedure, as far as possible in the manner of an elementary introduction and restricting myself to the main points, in order that the material concerned with the life may not suffer by the omission of his doctrines. This dedication therefore provides a general outline of the book on Plato. The presentation of the philosopher’s biography is accompanied by a discussion of the nature and structure of his writings and by a rather schematic and very partial summary of Plato’s doctrines (δόγματα).25 This structure has an introductory character and no doubt falls within the constellation of schemata isagogica that started spreading precisely in those centuries. In the presentation of an author, and particularly of a philosopher, this juxtaposition between his life and his doctrine was designed to show the essential harmony between his thought and his bios, which is to say the fact that the philosopher in question was σύμφωνος ἑαυτῷ. Certainly, the motif of symphonia in Diogenes does not emerge explicitly, and the bios takes a rather desultory and patchy form. Nevertheless, for anyone wishing to present a philosopher, the juxtaposing of his life and doctrine was an almost inevitable topos, as is shown – to keep to Plato’s case – by Apuleius’ De Platone et eius dogmate. Actually, the presence of a section devoted to the nature and order of the dialogues (φύσις καὶ τάξις τῶν διαλόγων) is also typical of prolegomena to the study of an author or corpus. It is likely that the combination of ‘biographical’ and ‘bibliographical’ elements, which can be traced back to Alexandrian philology, was a feature of Thrasyllus’ work, whose title can reasonably be

24 25

See e.g. Gigante (1986), 64–67. See Baltes (1993), 240–242.

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reconstructed as Τὰ πρὸ τῆς ἀναγνώσεως τῶν Πλάτωνος διαλόγων.26 The bestknown example of the juxtaposition between a philosopher’s life and an analysis of the nature and order of his corpus is Porphyry’s Vita Plotini, which in all likelihood was based on a well-established tradition (and one not exclusively associated with Platonism either). I do not wish here to deal with Plato’s biography and with the exposition of the ἀρέσκοντα Πλάτωνι. With regard to the latter, it may nonetheless be noted that they reproduce theoretical and doctrinal schemes typical of Middle Platonism, starting from the centrality assigned to the Timaeus  – the dialogue around which Diogenes or his source develops the exposition of Plato’s thought – and from a degree of dependence on the doxographical repertoires circulating in philosophical schools.27 I will instead focus on the section on the nature and order of the dialogues (3.48–66), particularly because it provides a considerable amount of information pertaining to the issue of introductory schemata. This section too is marked by a degree of inconsistency, which – as already anticipated – is due to Diogenes’ reluctance to combine his sources into an organic whole. Besides, the very coexistence within the same presentation of two different ways of ordering the dialogues, through a rather clumsy attempt to reconcile them (due to Diogenes or – more likely – to his source), bears witness to the biographer’s disinclination to present a truly consistent picture. Therefore, after providing a definition of the dialogue genre in which he recalls both the role of the question-and-answer form and the importance of the characters (πρόσωπα) and style, Diogenes sets forth his famous classification of the dialogues ‘according to character’. This is a diairetic-dichotomic scheme which is also partially present in Albinus’ Prologue. Diogenes, however, provides the most complete surviving version of it. The two most general ‘characters’ are the ὑφηγητικός or instructive character, which is functional to the transmission of knowledge (the verb ὑφηγέομαι means to show or teach), and the ζητητικός or investigative character, connected to the research phase. Although these terms are not at all synonymous, there is no doubt that the ‘instructive’ kind entails the transmission of doctrines (δόγματα) and can therefore be regarded as being of the δογματικός type, whereas the ‘research’ kind belongs to the elenctic and aporetic categories, if for no other reason but the fact that it admits of outcomes of this sort.28 26 27 28

Mansfeld (1994), 98. A detailed reconstruction of the doctrines which Diogenes attributes to Plato can be found in Centrone (1987). Opsomer (1998), 29 rightly writes that “the division [between] the zetetic and the hyphegetic character seems to coincide with the distinction between positive doctrine and the aporetic mode of philosophy.”

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This is confirmed by Albinus’ Prologue, which explains that the ‘instructive’ kind ἥρμοσται πρὸς διδασκαλίαν καὶ πρᾶξιν καὶ ἀπόδειξιν τοῦ ἀληθοῦς, whereas the ‘investigative’ one is functional πρὸς γυμνασίαν καὶ ἀγῶνα καὶ ἔλεγχον τοῦ ψεύδους (Prol. 3.148.25–28).29 Starting from the most general characters, the classification unfolds according to a diairetic scheme of a dichotomous sort (Diog. Laert. 3.49; transl. Hicks 1925): Of the Platonic dialogues there are two most general types, the one adapted for instruction and the other for inquiry. And the former is further divided into two types, the theoretical (θεωρηματικόν) and the practical (πρακτικόν). And of these the theoretical is divided into the physical (φυσικόν) and logical (λογικόν), and the practical into the ethical (ἠθικόν) and political (πολιτικόν). The dialogue of inquiry also has two main divisions, the preparatory (γυμναστικός) and the competitive (ἀγωνιστικός). Again, the preparatory includes the maieutic (μαιευτικός) and the evaluative (πειραστικός); the competitive includes the epideictic (ἐνδεικτικός) and the refutative (ἀνατρεπτικός). The classification ‘according to character’ can be represented as follows: ὑφηγητικός θεωρηματικός πρακτικός λογικός φυσικός ἠθικός πολιτικός Plt. Ti. Ap. Resp. Cra. Crit. Leg. Prm. Phd. Min. Soph. Phdr. Epin. Symp. Criti.

Διάλογος

ζητητικός γυμναστικός ἀγωνιστικός πειραστικός μαιευτικός ἐνδεικτικός ἀνατρεπτικός Euthphr. Alc. i–ii Prt. Euthyd. Men. Theg. Grg. Io Lys. Hp. mai./mi. Chrm. Lach. Tht.

While the general outline of this classification is Platonic, at any rate as far as its dichotomic structure is concerned,30 the presence of Stoic and especially Aristotelian elements is undeniable. Besides, Middle Platonism is also marked by a widespread tendency to borrow elements from other schools.31 The 29 30 31

See Reis (1999), 56–71, who focuses on the differences between Albinus’ classification and Diogenes’. Brisson (2013), 55: “La division bipartite était considerée comme un instrument philo­ sophique typiquement platonicien.” For the systematics of the ‘Aristotelian’ division, see Diog. Laert. 5.28. On the presence of originally Aristotelian and Stoic terminology in this classification, see Brisson (1992), 3701–3703.

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adjective θεωρηματικός, for example, appears to be of Stoic origin, whereas the theoretical/practical opposition, as well as the ethical/political one, and the physical/logical dichotomy probably find their origin in similar distinctions drawn by Aristotle, and which by then had become common in Platonist schools too. In particular, the physical/logical opposition, which some scholars have traced back to the classification of philosophical disciplines systematised by Stoicism, might actually have been borrowed from Aristotle: for the content of the dialogues falling within the ‘logical’ category – Statesman, Cratylus, Parmenides, and Sophist – is largely metaphysical or, rather, ‘dialectical’, in the sense that Aristotle gives the term when presenting Plato’s position and his investigation ἐν τοῖς λόγοις (Metaph. 987b31–33), and which evokes the wellknown καταφυγὴ εἰς τοὺς λόγους of Phd. 99e–100a. What can certainly be traced back to Aristotelian principles of classification is the whole ‘zetetic’ section in Diogenes’ scheme: excepting the ‘maieutic’ kind, which is unquestionably Platonic in origin, the ‘evaluative’ (πειραστικός), ‘epideictic’ (ἐνδεικτικός), and ‘refutative’ (ἀνατρεπτικός) types may be traced back to similar notions formulated in Aristotle’s logical works. Even the more general dichotomy between γυμναστικός and ἀγωνιστικός – where the first term recalls the positive aim of an exercises that pursues knowledge without any forced outcome, and the latter refers to an attempt to refute erroneous opinions – ought to recall distinctions found in Aristotelian works. In terms of its general functioning, the classification ‘according to character’ represents a remarkable tool designed to de-absolutise and neutralise the sceptical value of the aporetic dialogues and of those not presenting any positive doctrines. A classificatory scheme of this sort makes it possible to assign a positive function even to the ‘aporetic’ works within a general project that is conceived as unitary, systematic, and on the whole constructive. As Harold Tarrant has rightly noted, “the purpose of the classification is more to show how all Plato’s works contribute to philosophy’s ends than to emphasise a rift between opposing groups of dialogues.”32 In the light of the parallel provided by Albinus, Prol. 6, it is also possible to appreciate the function of this classification as a means to establish a reading order for the dialogues. The aim of eliminating false opinions was pursued in the elenctic and refutative dialogues, which thus ranked first in the pedagogical order, presumably developed for teaching purposes. The typological division constituted an excellent resource for any reader of the dialogues. It enabled him or her to navigate a steady course across the vast sea of Plato’s works, and hence to master the ‘polyphony’ of this corpus. The anti-sceptical consequences of this kind of classificatory model are quite 32

Tarrant (1993), 47.

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evident: even apparently ‘inconclusive’ dialogues play a specific role within an overall strategy marked by a unitary and systematic profile. Alongside dialogues in which the pars construens is dominant, we find texts in which the pars destruens, which is to say the elenctic-refutative aspect, plays a crucial role. As Quintilian had written a few centuries earlier, alii sunt eius sermones ad coarguendos, qui contra disputant, compositi, quos ἐλεγκτικούς vocant, alii ad praecipiendum, qui δογματικοί appellantur (Inst. 2.15.26). 3

The Exegetical Strategies

The centrality of the opposition between constructive and refutative dialogues emerges throughout the section on the nature and arrangement of Platonic writings. This also constitutes the framework for the bizarre insertion (3.53– 55) on inductive reasoning (ἔφοδος τῆς ἐπαγωγῆς), already announced in the dedication to the philoplatonic lady. According to Diogenes and his source, induction takes different forms depending on whether it is used ‘for laying down positive doctrines’ (πρὸς τὸ δογματίζειν), which is to say εἰς τὴν τῶν ἑαυτῷ δοκούντων κατασκευήν, or ‘for refutation’ (πρὸς τὸ διελέγχειν).33 In this case too the presence of dialogical (and methodological) sections characterised by a refutative and elenctic style is traced back to a broader picture that presents a unitary, systematic, and obviously also dogmatic profile. A scheme of this sort makes it possible to de-absolutise the aporetic elements found in the Platonic corpus, and to regard them as devices designed both to refute false opinions and to test the soundness of the doctrine advanced in each particular case. Diogenes’ awareness of a close engagement within the Platonist tradition between dogmatic interpreters, on the one hand, and the champions of sceptical-aporetic exegesis, on the other, finds confirmation in a famous passage where the biographer mentions an important form of interpretation, which remains quite common even today. After having presented the division ‘according to character’ and having mentioned the existence of a ‘literary’ division of the dialogues (“some dialogues they call dramatic, others narrative, and others again a mixture of the two”) – which is nonetheless regarded as τραγικῶς μᾶλλον ἢ φιλοσόφως, i.e. more tragic than philosophical (3.50)  – Diogenes recalls the dispute between Dogmatists and Sceptics, or rather antidogmatists (Diog. Laert. 3.51–52 = Baust. 10.4 Dörrie-Baltes; transl. Hicks 1925): 33

On the twofold, critical-destructive and constructive, role of induction, see Reis (1999), 102–104.

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Ἐπεὶ δὲ πολλὴ στάσις ἐστὶ καὶ οἱ μέν φασιν αὐτὸν δογματίζειν, οἱ δ’ οὔ, φέρε καὶ περὶ τούτου διαλάβωμεν. αὐτὸ τοίνυν τὸ δογματίζειν ἐστὶ δόγματα τιθέναι ὡς τὸ νομοθετεῖν νόμους τιθέναι. δόγματα δὲ ἑκατέρως καλεῖται, τό τε δοξαζόμενον καὶ ἡ δόξα αὐτή. Τούτων δὲ τὸ μὲν δοξαζόμενον πρότασίς ἐστιν, ἡ δὲ δόξα ὑπόληψις. ὁ τοίνυν Πλάτων περὶ μὲν ὧν κατείληφεν ἀποφαίνεται, τὰ δὲ ψευδῆ διελέγχει, περὶ δὲ τῶν ἀδήλων ἐπέχει. καὶ περὶ μὲν τῶν αὐτῷ δοκούντων ἀποφαίνεται διὰ τεττάρων προσώπων, Σωκράτους, Τιμαίου, τοῦ Ἀθηναίου ξένου, τοῦ Ἐλεάτου ξένου εἰσὶ δ’ οἱ ξένοι οὐχ, ὥς τινες ὑπέλαβον, Πλάτων καὶ Παρμενίδης, ἀλλὰ πλάσματά ἐστιν ἀνώνυμα ἐπεὶ καὶ τὰ Σωκράτους καὶ τὰ Τιμαίου λέγων Πλάτων δογματίζει. περὶ δὲ τῶν ψευδῶν ἐλεγχομένους εἰσάγει οἷον Θρασύμαχον καὶ Καλλικλέα καὶ Πῶλον Γοργίαν τε καὶ Πρωταγόραν, ἔτι δ’ Ἱππίαν καὶ Εὐθύδημον καὶ δὴ καὶ τοὺς ὁμοίους. Again, as there is great division of opinion between those who affirm and those who deny that Plato was a dogmatist, let me proceed to deal with this further question. To be a dogmatist in philosophy is to lay down positive dogmas, just as to be a legislator is to lay down laws. Further, under dogma two things are included, the thing opined and the opinion itself. Of these the former is a proposition, the latter conception. Now where he has a firm grasp Plato expounds his own view and refutes the false one, but, if the subject is obscure, he suspends judgement. His own views are expounded by four persons, Socrates, Timaeus, the Athenian Stranger, the Eleatic Stranger. These strangers are not, as some hold, Plato and Parmenides, but imaginary characters without names, for, even when Socrates and Timaeus are the speakers, it is Plato’s doctrines that are laid down. To illustrate the refutation of false opinions, he introduces Thrasymachus, Callicles, Polus, Gorgias, Protagoras, or again Hippias, Euthydemus and the like. This text clearly examines the existence of a range of stylistic registers (the constructive, the refutative, and the suspensive) from an explicitly unitary and systematic perspective: according to Diogenes, the Platonic writings feature passages in which judgment is suspended, but this does not mean that Plato lacked well-defined philosophical opinions. The truly interesting aspect, however, is the presence of the most explicit formulation we have of the hermeneutic rule ἐκ (ἀπὸ) προσώπου, which binds the degree of adherence to a given doctrine on Plato’s part to the nature of the character (πρόσωπον) to whom it is attributed. Evidently, this is a forerunner of the modern exegetical principle known as the Mouthpiece Theory.

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The λύσις ἐκ προσώπου offers the systematic interpreter an excellent means to bring order to Platonic affirmations and to explain, and hence eliminate, the apparent ἀσυμφωνία found in the dialogues. Our hypothetical exegete can easily make sense of the existence of contradictory theses by explaining that only those assigned to certain characters – Plato’s ‘spokespersons’ – can rightfully be attributed to the author of the dialogues, whereas all other theses are only expounded in order to be later directly or indirectly refuted.34 In any case, the surviving Middle Platonic texts would appear to confirm that this was a rather widespread way of proceeding. The need to acknowledge and at the same time to downplay the presence of anti-systematic elements in the dialogues is further confirmed by what Diogenes writes with regard to the exegetical procedure required in order to embark on a reading of the Platonic texts. Diogenes mentions an exegetical scheme articulated into three ‘stages’ (Diog. Laert. 3.65 = Baust. 97.1 Dörrie-Baltes; transl. Hicks 1925): Ἔστι δὲ ἡ ἐξήγησις αὐτοῦ τῶν λόγων τριπλῆ πρῶτον μὲν γὰρ ἐκδιδάξαι χρὴ ὅ τι ἐστὶν ἕκαστον τῶν λεγομένων ἔπειτα, τίνος εἵνεκα λέλεκται, πότερα κατὰ προηγούμενον ἢ ἐν εἰκόνος μέρει, καὶ εἰς δογμάτων κατασκευὴν ἢ εἰς ἔλεγχον τοῦ προσδιαλεγομένου·τὸ δὲ τρίτον, εἰ ὀρθῶς λέλεκται. The [right] interpretation of his dialogues includes three things: first, the meaning of every statement must be explained; next, its purpose, whether it is made for a primary reason or by way of illustration, and whether to establish his own doctrines or to refute his interlocutors; thirdly, whether it is right. The first point pertains to the definition of the meaning of the terms occurring in the text one wishes to interpret; the second point concerns the (literal or metaphorical) nature and (constructive or refutative) aim of the statement; and the third aspect concerns the truthfulness of what Plato is arguing. It seems as though the scheme provided by Diogenes summarises some of the main interpretative procedures adopted by Middle Platonists in order to remove the murky areas and apparent incongruities to be found in the dialogues, and hence to furnish a unitary and coherent picture of Platonic thought.35 34 35

On the exegetical tool of λύσις ἐκ προσώπου see Mansfeld (1994), 12 n. 7 and 80–82, and Ferrari (2012), 82. A detailed analysis of Diogenes’ exegetical scheme is provided by Baltes (1993), 352–355. See also Barnes (1993), 135 ff.

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Indeed, the first point in the ‘exegetical programme’ illustrated by Diogenes corresponds to what the Neoplatonists were to call the κατὰ λέξιν interpretation (also known as τὸ λεκτικόν), and which the Middle Platonists referred to as κατὰ ὀνόματα. This consists in the definition of the precise meaning according to which Plato employs certain terms. This is a particularly useful procedure in the case of so-called πολλαχῶς λεγόμενα, which is to say terms that can have different meanings.36 One example of this hermeneutic approach may be provided by Diogenes himself when he points to the different meanings according to which Plato employs certain nouns (e.g. σοφία), or when he lists the terms by which Plato designates the Platonic forms (3.63–64). The second step aims to establish whether a given statement must be understood in its proper, i.e. literal, sense or rather as an image, i.e. in its metaphorical sense. There is no doubt, moreover, that the reference to the purpose for which an assertion is made still pertains to the question of the distinction between a constructive, i.e. ‘dogmatic’, perspective and a refutative, i.e. ‘elenctic’, perspective. Within this framework, it is crucial to understand why Plato makes a given claim and what function this has within the overall strategy of the dialogue or of the whole corpus. Generally speaking, the first two points in Diogenes’ ‘programme’ have the function of eliminating the obscurity (ἀσάφεια) often associated with Platonic texts: the examination of the meaning, use, and function of a term or proposition serve precisely the purpose of clarifying the text, by removing the causes of obscurity. As regards the third point, it can only be observed that the reference to it bears witness to the Middle Platonic origin of Diogenes’ exposition, insofar as for a Neoplatonist philosopher it would be meaningless to enquire about the truthfulness of Plato’s doctrines.37 Naturally, this ‘exegetical programme’ was applied in a relatively flexible way in schools and in the practice of interpretation more generally, as Matthias Baltes rightly notes: “Was bei Diogenes wie ein starres Interpretationsschema erscheint, wurde in der Praxis natürlich variabel gestaltet. Jeder Text bot ja sehr unterschiedliche Probleme; so könnte z.B. die Stufe der λέξις ausfallen, wenn der Wortlaut problemlos war; aber auch die anderen Anweisungen wurden nur dann beachtet, wenn der Text Anlass dazu bot. Was Diogenes vorliegt, ist also ein Ideal-Schema, das den Realitäten angepasst werden konnte und sollte.”38 36 37 38

According to Petrucci (2018d), however, Diogenes’ schema was not used in written commentaries, but its function was limited to school activity. A cautious, if not openly critical, approach to the issue of the truthfulness of Plato’s statements is particularly understandable in the case of strictly ‘scientific’ contexts, such as the medical sections of the Timaeus commented on by Galen. Baltes (1993), 355.

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The prolegomena to the reading of a corpus also included an explanation of the diacritical marks to be found within it (3.65–66 = Baust. 49.2 Dörrie-Baltes).39 These devices helped the reader understand the text. One particular mark was the diple (>), indicating τὰ δόγματα καὶ τὰ ἀρέσκοντα Πλάτωνι, which is to say Plato’s own doctrines and opinions. In such a way, the author’s thought was distinguished from conceptions formulated for the sole purpose of being refuted. The asterisk too seems to fall within the context of systematic exegesis, as it indicates the συμφωνία τῶν δογμάτων, which is to say the intrinsic consistency of Platonic doctrines. By providing a list of all diacritical marks, Diogenes offers the reader a valuable tool, whose relevance for the reading of the dialogues in schools is all too evident. 4

The Tetralogical Arrangement

The section on the nature and order of the dialogues also includes the famous report on the arrangement of Plato’s writings into tetralogies (3.56–61 = Baust. 48.1 Dörrie-Baltes).40 Diogenes here calls on Thrasyllus, who was probably responsible for the final systematisation of an ordering procedure that must have originated in the Hellenistic age, if not in the Old Academy. It is quite clear that in arranging Plato’s writings into nine groups of four works each, Thrasyllus was operating on the basis of numerological criteria, as is shown by the relevance he assigns to the numbers 4 (22) and 9 (32), the squares of the first two numbers. A procedure of this kind, which is certainly related to the mixing of Platonism and Pythagoreanism, must have been widespread in the early Imperial age, as is most strikingly suggested by Porphyry’s arrangement of Plotinus’ treatises into six groups of nine. Diogenes draws a bizarre parallel – yet one not devoid of a systematic and unitarist quality – between the development of tragedy and that of philosophy (3.56 = Baust. 101.6 Dörrie-Baltes), which are said to have reached their peak respectively with Sophocles (responsible for introducing the third actor) and Plato (the inventor of dialectic).41 Diogenes then presents the tetralogical order that was broadened and systematised by Thrasyllus, who was also responsible for introducing a second title, ἀπὸ τοῦ πράγματος, alongside that of 39 40 41

Dörrie (1990), 349–356, according to whom it is likely – yet impossible to prove – that Diogenes depends on Thrasyllus. On the tetralogical order and on his relationship with the arrangement into trilogies, see Mansfeld (1994), 59–63. See Dörrie (1990), 338–341. The idea of a gradual progress in the development of the tragic form is proposed by Aristotle (Poet. 4.1449a7–22).

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ἀπὸ τοῦ ὀνόματος. The addition of the type of each dialogue (derived from the ordering ‘according to character’)42 may instead be attributed to Diogenes or, more plausibly, to an intermediate source. Be that as it may, before listing the 36 titles arranged into groups of four, Diogenes mentions the criterion bringing together the dialogues of the first tetralogy, namely the intention of showing the τοῦ φιλοσόφου βίος (3.57). No doubt, the tetralogical disposition of the dialogues was also designed to fulfil introductory purposes and thus fully belonged to the schemata isagogica preliminary to the reading of the corpus platonicum. It is not entirely clear to me whether, and to what extent, it was connected to the question of the reading order. However, no one – I believe – can seriously maintain that it was completely unrelated to such a problem.43 In any case, at the end of his presentation of the tetralogical order, after briefly recalling the existence of a classification by trilogies developed  – among others  – by Aristophanes of Byzantium (3.61–62 = Baust. 47 Dörrie-Baltes), Diogenes refers to the question of which dialogue one should start reading the corpus from, mentioning a few of the suggestions made in this regard (Baust. 50.2 Dörrie-Baltes).44 The two classifications, the typological and the tetralogical, seem to be mutually independent and – at least initially – competing. The fact remains that both are functional to presenting the Platonic corpus as a unitary and organic collection of texts expounding a systematic and essentially ‘dogmatic’ philosophy. 5

Conclusions

Finally, it is worth mentioning a brief hermeneutical consideration made with regard to a theme that was destined to play a prominent role in Neoplatonic exegesis, but traces of which can also be found in interpretations advanced in the first centuries of the Imperial age. This is the motif of Platonis obscuritas (ἀσάφεια). The theme in question seems to me to be reflected in the statement we read in 3.63 (Baust. 97.1 Dörrie-Baltes), where Diogenes attributes to Plato the 42 43 44

Compared to the classification ‘according to character’, the only divergence in the assignment of the different categories is found with regard to the Critias, which is assigned to the ‘political’ category in 3.50 and to the ‘ethical’ one in 3.60. See Dunn (1976). The question of which dialogue one should start reading Plato’s writings from, and of the reading order to be followed, is addressed in detail in Alb. Prol. 4.149.1–5.150.12 (Baust. 50.1 Dörrie-Baltes). See Dörrie (1990), 356–360 and Reis (1999), 105–121.

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intention – fulfilled by resorting to a wide range of terms (ὀνόμασι δὲ κέχρηται ποικίλοις) – of not allowing ignorant people (τοῖς ἀμαθέσι) to understand his philosophical conception (πραγματεία): “Plato has employed a variety of terms in order to make his system less intelligible to the ignorant.” I do not believe that these words warrant assigning Diogenes or his Middle Platonist source a hermeneutic conception wholly identical to that formulated in the great Neoplatonic commentaries, where Plato’s intentional ἀσάφεια is regarded as a means to select the recipient by separating real readers from superficial and unfit ones. Indeed, although according to Middle Platonist interpreters the dialogues’ obscurity is chiefly due to the matter discussed and does not represent a device consciously adopted by the author, certain statements indeed seem to go in this direction. The most explicit example is probably offered by Plutarch, who in De Iside et Osiride argues that Plato concealed (παρακαλυπτόμενος) his doctrine (the dualism of principles) by usually presenting it in an enigmatic (δι’αἰνιγμάτων) and symbolic (συμβολικῶς) form, only expounding it in an explicit way in the Laws (370F). There is no doubt that for Middle Platonist interpreters Plato’s obscurity – be it intentional or determined by intrinsic factors – constituted one of the factors that might hamper the plan to attribute a unitary philosophical system to him, free from any contradiction. As Jonathan Barnes has noted, “obscurity demands treatment – and the treatment lies in the hands of scholarship and of the commentator.”45 The philological orientation of Middle Platonism can partly be explained in the light of this observation. Book 3 of the Lives of Eminent Philosophers no doubt represents the richest and most sophisticated repertoire of schemata isagogica we have concerning the corpus platonicum before the Neoplatonic commentaries. Diogenes’ unoriginality makes this repertoire all the more valuable, because it may be regarded as an almost neutral, and hence reliable, testimony on the exegetical activity undertaken in previous centuries. The guiding thread running through the complex range of Middle Platonic prolegomena to the corpus, as attested in Diogenes, would appear to be the aim of neutralising the anti-systematic potential of the dialogues, which is to say of making Plato a thinker πολύφωνος μὲν πολύδοξος δὲ οὐδαμῶς. 45

Barnes (1992), 270.

Chapter 3

The Nature of Apuleius’ De Platone: An Isagoge? Justin A. Stover Apuleius is a puzzling author, and amid his vast output, his introduction to Plato is a puzzling text. So puzzling, indeed, that almost a century of scholarship was unwilling to accepts its attribution to the sophist of Madauros.1 In the first stage of the renaissance of Apuleian studies of the past few decades, his Plato remained overlooked, in the shadow of his brilliant Metamorphoses and his dazzling rhetorical works, his Apology, the Florida, and the De deo Socratis.2 The last years have seen a turning of the tide, with renewed attention to both the ‘whole Apuleius’ and his specifically philosophical work.3 One important development has been the conclusive demonstration of the work’s authenticity. But this, just because it has been demonstrated to be authentically Apuleian, does not mean that we have actually comprehended the nature of the work. In this study, I return to the manuscripts of the text commonly known as the De Platone to show how little we actually know of its structure and nature. It has been taken for granted for more than a century of scholarship that the work is entitled De Platone et eius dogmate, and that it was structured in two books covering physics and ethics respectively, with a prolegomenon on Plato’s biography, and that it may have lost a third book in transmission, which would have covered logic. None of these assumptions, in fact, are well founded. I first demonstrate that De Platone et eius dogmate is not the archetypal title of the work. I then show that the first book was subject to a codicological mutilation, and show that the idea of a third book goes back to the archetype of the corpus. Hence all we know for certain is that the work’s title is not De Platone et eius dogmate, that book 2 is complete, and that it originally had a third book. I then make a tentative suggestion toward a new 1 The lineaments of the debate have been traced by Harrison (2000), 174–180. The most substantial analyses remain those of Redfors (1960), who concludes that the problem is an unlösbares Echtheitsproblem, and Marchetta (1991), who supported the authenticity of the De mundo. Kestemont and Stover (2016) is a computational sylometric study demonstrating definitively the authenticity of the philosophica. 2 E. g. Winkler (1985); Marangoni (2000); Carver (2007); Gaisser (2008). 3 Pioneering in this regard were Hijmans’s two lengthy (1987), 395–475 and (1994), 1708–1784; followed by Sandy (1997); and Harrison (2000). The last few years have seen Fletcher (2014); Moreschini (2015); Stover (2016); Fowler (2016); Hoenig (2018).

© Justin A. Stover, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004506190_005

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understanding of the work’s nature and architecture, grounded in what the text actually says. Finally, I conclude with a brief consideration of the impact of this theory on the Latin summary of fourteen Platonic dialogues which I edited and attributed to Apuleius in 2016.4 All of these arguments together buttress the idea that Apuleius’ work is an isagogical text, and one that is able to be fruitfully compared to other (Greek) introductions to Plato, both extant and lost, and that comparison to other isagogical texts offers a surer guide for understanding the nature and structure of Apuleius’ treatise than the transmitted paratextual frame.

…

First, a summary of the manuscript evidence.5 The work on Plato, which I will refer to as De Platone as an accurate enough description of the contents, is transmitted as part of a corpus of Apuleian and ps-Apuleian philosophical works, consisting of the De deo Socratis, the work under discussion, the De mundo, and the pseudonymous Asclepius. Unlike Apuleius’ literary works, which are transmitted by the slimmest of threads, this corpus has a fairly robust and early transmission. The manuscripts fall into three families, as I have argued elsewhere. The first, α, is the earliest, consisting principally of: B – Brussels, kbr 10054–56.6 Dating to the ninth century, this is the oldest and long held to be the most authoritative manuscript of the corpus. M – Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 621, s. xii7 V – Vatican, bav Vat. lat. 3385, s. x8 The second family, δ, is later, less reliable, although more widely disseminated. F – Florence, bml S. Marco 284, s. xi9 L – Florence, bml plut. 76,26, s. xii/xiii10 4 5

6 7 8 9 10

Stover (2016). See also Stover et al. (2016); Bonazzi (2017); Stover (2020). I rely on the catalogue Klibansky and Regen (1993), for the manuscripts I have not personally examined. On the text and transmission of the philosophica, see Thomas (1907), 103–147; Reynolds (1983), 16–18; Magnaldi (2011a), (2011b), (2012a), (2012b), (2012c), (2012d), (2013), (2014), (2016), Magnaldi and Stefani (2016). My own views are laid out in Stover (2015) and (2016). Klibansky and Regen (1993), 60–62, n. 8. Klibansky and Regen (1993), 90–91, n. 51. Klibansky and Regen (1993), 119–120, n. 100. Klibansky and Regen (1993), 74–75, n. 27. Klibansky and Regen (1993), 71–72, n. 23.

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N – Leiden, vlq 10, s. xi11 P – Paris lat. 6634, s. xi12 U – Urb. lat. 1147, s. xiii13 C – Cambridge, ccc 71, s. xiii14 H – London, Harley 3969, s. xii/xiii.15 C and H are both contaminated and related to one another. There is a third family of a manuscripts, φ, which consists solely of one manuscript and its two derivatives. This family is distinguished by alone including the summary of fourteen Platonic dialogues after the De mundo (in R, the first lines only in Z, omitted in z). R – Vatican, Reg. Lat. 1572, s. xiii16 Z – Venice, Marciana, lat. vi. 81 (3036), s. xiv.17 Z is an apograph of R, but with numerous omissions, which were later supplied from a δ manuscript. z – Venice, Marciana, lat. Z. 467, s. xv (1557).18 z was copied from Z, supplements and all, and hence offers a hybrid φδ text. This, in general, is the manuscript basis on which the recent critical edition of the text, Giuseppina Magnaldi’s 2020 oct, was produced.19

…

We can learn less from these manuscripts than is generally thought. The first myth is that we know the original title of the treatise. We have no explicit reference to the text from antiquity, and therefore no secure knowledge of the title under which the text was known for the first centuries of its circulation. Instead, we are dependent on the manuscripts. The text has been edited for a long time under the title De Platone et eius dogmate, including in Magnaldi’s edition. This is not, however, an archetypal title. It occurs first in the oldest and most authoritative manuscript, B. This ninth-century codex is remarkable 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

Klibansky and Regen (1993), 83–84, n. 42. Klibansky and Regen (1993), 99–100, n. 65. Klibansky and Regen (1993), 112–113, n. 92. Klibansky and Regen (1993), 63, n. 10. Klibansky and Regen (1993), 85–87, n. 47. Klibansky and Regen (1993), 110–111, n. 90. Klibansky and Regen (1993), 120–122, n. 102. Klibansky and Regen (1993), 122–123, n. 103. Magnaldi (2020).

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for its fidelity to its exemplar, including, for example, scriptura continua for most of the De Platone. As a scribal production, it was carefully thought out. The main scribe left four lines blank at the beginning of the De deo Socratis on f. 2r, to leave space for the rubricator to add the title and first line, which he did capitals and uncials respectively. After the so-called ‘False Preface’, he left another four lines, for the explicit/incipit and the first line of the text proper (f. 3v). Three lines are then left blank at the end of the text on 16v, into which the explicit of the De deo Socratis and the incipit of the Asclepius was subsequently added, either by the scribe, the rubricator, or another corrector (the ink is the same dark brown as the main text). The end of the Asclepius comes just four lines into f. 38r. The rest of the folio is left blank, and later hand has added a simple Explicat [sic] to the last line of the text. That brings us to the De Platone (f. 38v). The scribe left no space whatsoever for a title, beginning the first line of the text with uncials. It seems likely that these were executed by the main scribe, since he left no indentation for the initial P, as he had for the initial on f. 2r. In the top margin, however, we find a fairly crude rubricated title in rustic capitals, de platone et eius dogmate. Importantly, the writing of this title slopes slightly downward, as it is not written on a ruled portion of the page. The hand is also absolutely not that of the rubricator of the De deo Socratis: every letter-form is different, especially the L, the T, the D, the I, and the S. What this means is plain: the archetype from with B was copied and which B faithfully represents did not have a title or incipit at the beginning of our text. When we arrive at the end of book 1 on 47r, there is no division whatsoever or signal that a new a book has begun, a feature that we will discuss further below. At the end of book 2, however, on f. 60v, the main text ends just five lines into the page. The rest is devoted to a large and calligraphic explicit/incipit: APULEI MADAU RENSIS DE HABITU di NE PLATONIS LIBER II EXPLICIT INCIPIT LIBER III FELICITER Unlike the title at the beginning, this was undoubtedly a planned feature of the manuscript. It must also be archetypal: there is no way anyone could have known that this represented the end of book 2, since at the time the manuscript was written there was no evidence whatsoever for the beginning of book 2. (Note also that that the H of habitudine has the archaic K form). Two manuscripts related to (and likely derived from) B, V and M transmit the same

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title. Hence, we do have an archetypal title transmitted in α, but it is not De Platone et eius dogmate, but rather De habitudine Platonis. This is backed up by other manuscripts. First we have Reg. lat. 1572 (R), whose status remains under considerable debate. I have argued that it represents an independent witness to the archetype of the corpus; Moreschini saw it merely as a ‘learned recension’; and Magnaldi views it as the work of an editor, but one who must have had some access to the archetype.20 Moreschini’s view is clearly untenable, for the reasons adduced by both Magnaldi and me. Whether or not we count R as truly independent is not relevant to the discussion at hand, since it must have had access in some form to the archetype and shares some unique features with B alone. At the beginning of the text (f. 47r), it contains a planned and rubricated title Apuleii Madaurensis liber de Platonis dogmate.21 On f. 64r, at the end of book 2, R contains (once again planned and rubricated) the same explicit/incipit as B: Apulei maudarensis [sic] de habitudine platonis liber secundus explicit. incipit liber tertius feliciter. R confirms what we had deduced about the archetype from B: it did not contain the title De Platone et eius dogmate at the beginning, while the explicit of book 2 transmitted the title De habitudine Platonis along with an incipit for a mysterious book 3. Let us turn now to the δ tradition. This tradition, which encompasses the majority of manuscripts, is independent of B and its relations. It offers us no additional clarity. Of the seven manuscripts of this family used by Magnaldi, one is imperfect at the start, H, and four offer no title at all in the original hand, NPUC. That leaves only L which transmits Incipit apuleus de dogmate platonis, and the deeply contaminated and extensively emended F, which has apuleii madaurensis de habitudine doctrinaque et nativitate platonis philosophi liber .ii. [sic] incipit feliciter. F shares material and readings with both B and R. On the surface it looks very much like this is a learned carryover from their explicit to book 2, with the word habitudine, with the clever idea of solving the third book problem by making the whole of the text book 2, or a sequel to the book 1 of the De deo Socratis. Taken together, all of this evidence suggests that there were no titles, incipits or explicits present in the exemplar of the δ tradition. At any rate, it certainly did not have the title De Platone et eius dogmate. Hence, there is no reason whatsoever to believe that the archetype of the tradition generally transmitted the title De Platone et eius dogmate, but instead probably transmitted no title 20 21

Magnaldi (2000), xi–xii. See also Stefani (2017). Incidentally, this title is not in capitals as presented in Magnaldi’s (2000), 37 apparatus criticus.

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at all the beginning. Indeed, it may well have been mutilated at the beginning of book 1, since it contains no address to Faustinus, unlike the openings of book 2 and the De mundo; but if it was supposed to transmit a title, that title was De habitudine Platonis, as found in the undoubtedly archetypal explicit to book 2. De Platone et eius dogmate, De dogmate Platonis, and the like, probably all came from deduction from the text itself, namely the important passage toward the beginning of book 1 (1.4): Quae autem consulta, quae δόγματα graece licet dici, ad utilitatem hominum vivendique et intellegendi ac loquendi rationem extulerit, hinc ordiemur. So far we have established that De habitudine Platonis is the only transmitted archetypal title. Is it the original? It is obviously derived from the first two words of the transmitted text (1.1): Platoni habitudo, although that in and of itself does not entail that it is not authentic. We ultimately have no way of knowing whether De habitudine Platonis is the title Apuleius gave his work, or if the text was already lacking its original title at the time the archetype was copied, and either the scribe of the archetype or that of a prearchetypal manuscript confected a new title from the incipit of the work. At any rate, it provides another indication that the text may have been mutilated at the beginning of book 1, given its lack of preface: a minor calamity which cut off a short preface addressed to Faustinus could well have eliminated the title as well. The foregoing discussion may well seem to be merely niggling and pedantic, but it has broader ramifications for our understanding of the text. Thinking of it as the De Platone et eius dogmate has naturally lead readers into thinking of the text as a two-part production: a section on Plato’s life (De Platone) and a section on his doctrine ([de] eius dogmate). If however there is no way that that title is original, there is consequently no reason to assume that the text takes that structure.

…

Let us turn now to a closely related question, the division of books 1 and 2. Indeed, perusal of Klibansky and Regen’s catalogue reveals that the division of the De Platone into two books is rare across the manuscript tradition. B is not as helpful a guide here, as it has suffered evident textual tampering. As it stands now, the text of the ending of book 1 and beginning of book 2 reads as follows:

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f. 47r: verumenimverotuncexitio conrumpit; Mora lisphilosophiae The characters in italics are a later addition, replacing a text which has been thoroughly abraded and replaced (to judge from the script) at a considerably later date. The other α manuscripts give us a clue as to what B originally contained. M, f. 58v: enim vero tunc ex initium copo (with ris added in a much later hand to make corporis) and then a new line with Moralis beginning with a capital letter. V, f. 50r: vero tunc exitium cōpo·Moralis … What all the α manuscripts share is the capital M as the sole mark of division, and MV suggest that the abraded text in B was umcopo. The δ manuscripts contain the same reading: P, f. 90v: copomoralis philosophię caput est fasutine fili F, f. 24r: Verum enimvero tunc exitium copomoralis philosophię caput est faustine fili Significantly, P and F do not even preserve the relic of a division with the nonsense word copomoralis. Just as we saw with the later hand in B, some δ manuscripts attempted to restore some sense. To give one example: L, f. 51r: Verumenimvero tunc exitum cupio moralis philosophie caput … Obviously the suicidal exitum cupio does not make a tremendous amount of sense, but at least it is construable Latin phrase. More radically, the unreliable pair CH do transmit a division between the books, but not a book division. At the end of book 1, H transmits a sort of explicit/incipit, albeit one which deletes the last four and a half words of book 1: Superior de naturali philosophia locutus est. Et modo de philosophia morali (f. 77v).22 But it is clear that this is not intended to be a book division, since it has Apuleius’ liber on Plato end with the conclusion to book 2 (f. 83v): explicit liber primus de secta Platonica, followed by the De mundo beginning Incipit secundus secundum Theophrastum. This clarifies that the earlier quasi-explicit of book 1 was not in fact an explicit at all, but a mere transitional statement, meant to divide what the editor thought was two different sections of a single book. 22

C only transmits a hinc before the moralis with which the text begins (f. 32r).

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The only stemmatically significant manuscript that preserves some form of division between the two books is R (54ra): tib; dividitur.verumenimvero tunc exitium corporis. [3 lines blank] /f. 54rb/ Moralis philosophiae caput Est faustine filii Corporis instead of the nonsense copo is likely scribal innovation, of the sort we have seen with cupio in L. The fact that the beginning of book 2 commences with a new column is not on its own significant, but only when paired with the fact that the manuscript leaves three blank lines following corporis. Such lacunae generally indicate either missing rubrics or missing material in the exemplar.23 Since all the other rubrics in the manuscript are in fact supplied, the latter explanation is preferable. The only manuscripts to actually transmit a book division are late. Leiden, Gronovius 108, which Klibansky and Regen claim is closely related (if not derived from) B,24 contains on f. 33v the title to book 1: apulei madaurensis platonici discipuli de platone et eius dogmate liber incipit i, This is followed by an explicit primus. Incipit secundus on f. 42v, and apulei madaurensis de habitudine platonis liber secundus explicit. incipit tertius on 56v. Zz, the two Venice manuscripts, both contain an actual explicit/incipit marking the book divisions, but Z is derived from R, and z from Z. What then was in the archetype? The δ manuscripts’ reading is most suggestive: nonsense on the order of copomoralis can hardly be attributed to scribal incompetence. Instead, meaningless portmanteaux of this sort are a particular manuscript feature. Compare, for example, a line in our principal Carolingian manuscript of the historian Ammianus Marcellinus (Vat. lat. 1873, f. 92r, at Amm. 22.8.14) tur. Imbusquem admaxionem bosporithracuexcepit bithyniae latus … 23 24

See Stover (2017). Klibansky and Regen (1993), 81–82, n. 37.

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Maxionem at first blush looks vaguely like it could be a Latin word, but no such word is attested. Fortunately, this manuscript had a contemporary corrector with access to the exemplar, who deleted ad maxionem and supplied in the top margin with a signe-de-renvoi the following ad mare ionium permeavit dextrum igitur in fle. What this means is that the exemplar read as follows: … ad ma re ionium permeavit; dextrum igitur infle xionem … The eye of the manuscript’s copyist had skipped the line beginning -re ionium and thereby confected the nonsense word maxionem with the ma from mare and xionem from inflexionem.25 Similar problems also resulted from larger scale omissions and dislocations. For example, as is well known, our chief manuscript of the Historia Augusta (Pal. lat. 899) was copied from an exemplar in which the gatherings were disarranged. On f. 120r, we come across the following line: He]liogabalo ubiprimumfecisset &templarereliqua deserenda While these are all Latin words (with the exception of the simple mistaken duplication of re), they do not offer any sort of cogent sense. This because the two halves come from completely different parts of text, lives of two different emperors: Maximin. 5.3: … Heliogabalo ubi primum … Alex. 43.7: … fecisset et templare reliqua … A similar phenomenon is found in our early manuscripts of Sallust’s Jugurtha which contain a long lacuna from 103.2 to 112.3.26 For example on f. 87v of Paris lat. 6085 we find: iugurthareliquerat ex omni copia necessariorum pacemvell& No amount of ingenuity can extract sense from these words, since Iugurtha … necessariorum comes from Jug. 103.2 and pacem vellet picks up from 112.3, a loss of more than eight thousand words, that is, a gathering in the archetype. 25 26

See Kelly and Stover (2016), 116. On the lacuna, see Reynolds (1984–5), 59–69 and Stover and Woudhuysen (2015), 93–134.

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Returning, then, to Apuleius, the most likely solution is that the archetype was physically mutilated at the end of book 1. Moralis would have been capitalized in the archetype as the beginning of a new book. α recognized this, and simply left copo with a capitalized Moralis as a separate word. δ, by contrast, recognized that copo was not a complete word, and so ignored the capitalization to make a single nonsense portmanteau, copomoralis. The scribe of R or its exemplar – with access to the archetype itself – recognized that something was physically missing from the manuscript, left the remainder of the column blank and began with a capitalized Moralis on the next column, perhaps in the hope of finding another source that would complete the sentence.27 This explains why there is no explicit to book 1 and incipit to book 2. If we turn back to f. 60v of B, discussed at length above, we see how, after just five lines of text, the rest of folio is taken up simply with the calligraphic explicit/incipit. The beginning of what we know of as the de mundo proper has just an initial C in Consideranti and the first line in uncials, but no other indication of a new book. To give a contrafactual, if f. 60, which covers Plat. 2.27 to the end, had been lost due to some mishap, we would have the following text (f. 59v–61r): … si consilio et suadela de//Consideranti mihi et diligentius intuenti … Copyists and readers would thus be in the unenviable position of either going with the vaguely plausible but non-existent word deconsideranti or punctuating after de and neither would result in sense. Hence an astute scribe might note in addition the different script of the first line indicating a textual division, and leave a blank space before Consideranti. This is what most likely happened to the end of book 1, and explains the different readings across the three manuscript families. And this, in turn, has significant ramifications for the text. If B and R in their original form had no book division between books 1 and 2, how can both of them transmit an incipit liber tertius? Just as we saw with the titles above, this must be an inherited archetypal feature. Considerable ingenuity was expended to solve the problem. The α manuscripts MV solve this problem by manipulating the book numbers, transmitting for our book 2 the explicit apulei madaurensis de habitudine platonis liber primus explicit. incipit liber secundus. H, as we have seen, makes a similar move (explicit primus de secta Platonica. Incipit secundus secundum Theophrastum), as does Gronovius 105 (explicit primus. Incipit secundus). This makes the whole work a sort of anthology of philosophy, with the De Platone 1 and 2 as merely its Platonic section (a comparand might be the third book of Diogenes Laertius), and the De mundo its Theophrastan section, 27

Stover (2017).

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based on the mention of Theophrastus in the preface. The most radical solution, adopted by F and its apograph Bern 136,28 was to simply make the whole De Platone book 2. This was simple enough, since the archetype did not transmit a title, and B itself gave no indication of the book numeration in the title, as we have seen. Book 1 would thus be the work that precedes the De Platone in these manuscripts, that is the De deo Socratis. Accordingly, the copyists have created a three-book corpus philosophicum: the De deo Socratis is book 1, the whole De Platone book 2, and the De mundo book 3.29 These solutions scribes devised show that the existence of a third book has left a deep impress on the manuscript tradition. Indeed, all we really know for certain about the textual architecture of the work and its paratextual apparatus – now that we have shown that neither the transmitted title nor the ending of book 1 is authorial – is that book 2 is complete and is followed by a third book. It is worth stressing that this third book is a codicological feature – there is no external evidence witnessing its existence nor is it directly attested or mentioned in the transmitted text.

…

Let us summarize our findings thus far. The α hyparchetype (whether or not it is identical to B) contained the title De Platone et eius dogmate (with no book indication), at the beginning of the work, no division between books 1 and 2, De habitudine Platonis explicit liber II as explicit of book 2, and incipit liber tertius as the incipit of the De mundo. R has nearly all the same features. The δ hyparchetype probably had no title: only two of the principle δ manuscripts transmit titles, F and L, and these share nothing in common (De dogmate Platonis in L, De habitudine doctrinaque et nativitate philosophi in F). F, at any rate was contaminated, and shows signs of extensive manipulation and editing, as in the structuring of De deo Socratis, the De Platone and the De mundo into a three-book corpus. The rest of the principal δ manuscripts (NPU) have no title at all. None of the δ manuscripts show any original division between books 1 and 2, save CH which are both extensively reworked and contaminated and are, at any rate, explicit that it is not a book division. The δ hyparchetype also probably had no explicit of book 2/incipit of De mundo. FNPUC transmit no division at all, while L has a simple Incipit Apuleus de philosophia, and H has the secundum Theophrastum title discussed above. The same might be said of explicits. Only HZ offer a subscription: H has a parallel explicit to that of 28 29

Klibansky and Regen (1993), 58–59, n. 6. E.g. Bern 136 f. 7v: apulei maduarensis de deo socratis liber primus incipit; f. 23r: apulei madaurensis de habitudine doctrinaque et nativitate philosophi platonis liber secundus incipit; and f. 34r: apulei madaurensis de habitudine doctrinaque platonis liber ii explicit. incipit iii de eadem re.

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the De Platone: EXPLICIT LIBER SECUNDUS DE SECTA PLATONICA, while Z has Explicit apuleus de dogmate platonis liber tercius.30 Hence, even though in terms of content, the De mundo is almost certainly complete, we do not have codicological certainty as to its ending, nor do we an archetypal title transmitted in the explicit. This leads to some rather radical conclusions, but ones consistent with our analysis of B: the archetype did not transmit any title at the beginning. Stemmatics (NP vs. LU) suggests that it is unlikely that L’s title is archetypal, and its identity with the title in R could be chalked up to independent derivation from the text itself. The archetype likewise transmitted no book division between 1 and 2. At the end of book 2, however, the archetype did transmit the full Apulei Madaurensis de habitudine Platonis liber ii explicit Incipit tertius, on the evidence of BR, but this was not copied into δ. As a result, the archetype transmitted no title for the De mundo beyond Liber III, and δ transmitted no title at all for the work. This bears a brief excursus. If the title De mundo is not a transmitted feature of the Apuleian text, where did it come from and what explains is wide diffusion in later manuscripts and in later additions to earlier manuscripts? The transmitted title of the Pseudo-Aristotelian treatise it translates is Περὶ κόσμου, although the earliest manuscripts of the texts are from the twelfth century. We have external evidence that the text was known under this title at least from the sixth century.31 In addition, we have the evidence from Augustine, who is the first (and only) ancient Latin author to cite the Apuleian translation (civ. 4.2): Apuleius … in eo libello quem de mundo scripsit. It is not immediately clear from the Latin whether this is a title or a description (liber de … scriptus can be used for either), but given that this is a translation of the plausible title of the Greek text, it seems likely that Augustine considered De mundo the title of the work. This is important because of the influence of Augustine on the formation and reception of the Apuleian corpus. I have discussed elsewhere how the Asclepius was inserted into the Apuleian corpus in the Middle Ages under the influence of Augustine. It is very likely then that the title De mundo was imported from Augustine. That Apuleius titled his translation De mundo is likely enough, if not entirely certain; at the least, this title was attached to the treatise by the time Augustine read it. But due to the vicissitudes the Apuleian corpus suffered during the protohistory of its text, this title was entirely lost, only to be restored to some much later and derivative copies from the text of Augustine. (Something similar can be 30 31

z does as well, although it has no stemmatic importance: L. APULEII PLATONICI MADAURENSIS PHILOSOPHI COSMOGRAPHIA FINIT. Mansfeld (1992a), 391–411.

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said for the other common title of the work, Cosmographia: no extant examples of this title predate the influential prosimetrum of Bernardus Silvestris entitled the Cosmographia from the first half of the twelfth century, and it is likely that it was transferred to the De mundo from Bernardus given the similarity of the scope of the two treatises). What we learn from the De mundo is the weight of different species of evidence. The title De mundo is likely correct, and certainly the title under which modern scholarship should treat the work. But this is not because of the work’s manuscript transmission, but in spite of it: it is what we know of the Greek original and the way in which Augustine refers to it that warrants us to use this title. For the De Platone we have no such evidence, and while it is necessary to use some title to refer to the work, it is essential to bear in mind that whatever title that is does not tell us anything about the nature of the work distinct from what we can deduce from the manuscripts. What then of book 3? Modern scholarship is also probably correct to reject as impossible the manuscript arrangement which makes the De mundo the third book of Apuleius philosophical work. While the fact that it is a translation/adaptation of an existing Greek work is not itself dispositive, nor is the fact that it does not treat Plato’s doctrines, since we do not know the scope of the original work, the fact that Augustine seems to cite it as a separate libellus carries more weight. But rejecting that the De mundo is the third book leaves unexplained how it came to be transmitted as the third book in the manuscripts. Fortunately, a plausible solution is ready at hand. I have already discussed at some length the calligraphic explicit/incipit on f. 60v of B. This, as I have argued, must represent an archetypal feature, due to its well-planned layout and the archaic features it transmits. What this means is that in the archetype book 2 terminated with a page division. All we need to hypothesize is physical damage to the archetype in which the next book was lost, leaving the beginning of the De mundo as the next item following this explicit. What might that third book have contained? Here scholars have (rightly) had recourse to the text itself to deduce something about its architecture. The first essential passage is De Platone 1.4.3: Nam, quoniam tres partes philosophiae congruere inter se primus obtinuit, nos quoque separatim dicemus de singulis, a naturali philosophia facientes exordium. Apuleius clearly claims that he is going to cover all three branches or partes of philosophy. And yet between them, the two books of the De Platone only cover physics and ethics, or natural and moral philosophy. Hence, what at first blush seems a reasonable conclusion: the missing third book covered logic.

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But even leading aside the almost certainly spurious Perihermeneias, there are problems. First, this is not a programmatic statement about the work as a whole, but only about the dogmatic section. This is clear from its placement, after the initial sections on Plato’s life. Hence the three-fold division of philosophy does not correspond to the three books, even in what survives of the work. The first book covers Plato’s life and his doctrines on natural philosophy, while the second is wholly devoted to moral philosophy. While the extensive treatment of philosophia moralis is more than justified, a roughly equivalent treatment of Platonic logical doctrines would be vastly disproportionate. Further, the order: when Apuleius had first introduced the threefold division of philosophy at 1.3.5, he had given them in the order of naturalis, which Plato learned from the Pythagoreans, rationalis, from either the Eleatics or the Heracliteans  – the text is corrupt  – and then moralis from Socrates himself.32 This must be a deliberate arrangement since just a few lines above, when Apuleius had traced the contours of Plato’s education, he says that he studied with the secta Heracliti first, and then with Socrates, and only then, after his master’s death, with the Pythagoreans, with a particular study of the doctrines of the Eleatics at an unspecified point. Hence the order at 1.3.5 cannot represent the ‘historical’ order in which Plato studied the disciplines. Further, the fact that Apuleius makes the specific point that he is beginning with philosophia naturalis (1.4.3: a naturali philosophia facientes exordium), which is the branch he had listed first at 1.3.5 suggests that his arrangement there has a programmatic function. Careful reading, then, of Apuleius’ own claims about the work reveals (a) that the three parts of the dogmatic section do not correspond to the three books of the work and (b) that the order of treatment in the dogmatic section ought to be physics, logic, and then ethics. These conclusions accord perfectly with what we can independently deduce about the structure of the work from the codicological features of its transmission.

…

As discussed above, we are missing the end of book 1. The general assumption – even if rarely stated – seems to be that we are not missing much material. There is some good evidence for this, since the treatment of philosophia naturalis does seem to be generally complete. The problem is that the sort of codicological problem that would give rise to the two books being run together suggests a

32

While the text is undoubtedly corrupt (see Magnaldi 2000, apparatus ad loc.), the order is not in dispute.

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larger amount of material is missing.33 We can rule out mutilation that affected a single folio, since that would have led to a loss of material either before or after the missing text (depending on whether our final sentence was on a recto or a verso) and there is no evidence for this in our text. Instead, what we seem to be looking at is the loss of a physical part of the manuscript. That part could be a mere folio, but it is more likely on codicological grounds that a whole textual unit, i.e. one or several gatherings, was lost. Fortunately, we are not left entirely to speculation. Instead, we can have recourse to what we know about the Apuleian book. Apuleius lived in what may have been the last era of the book-roll. The practical exigencies of circulating long works when the medium of circulation were scrolls is what lead to the adoption of book division. Only so much material could be contained in a roll that was still usable, durable, and safe. Originally such divisions were ad hoc – as soon as a scribe ran out of papyrus on one roll, he simply moved on to the next. From the Hellenistic period onward, however, book division became an integral part of the composition and transmission of works. The Flavian-Antonine period – or roughly the second century ad – saw the greatest standardization of book lengths, and Apuleius’ own booklengths illustrate this standardization clearly. We are in the fortunate position of having fourteen books by Apuleius transmitted integrally – the 11 of the Metamorphoses, De Platone 2, De mundo and De deo Socratis. Apul. Met. 1 Apul. Met. 2 Apul. Met. 3 Apul. Met. 4 Apul. Met. 5 Apul. Met. 6 Apul. Met. 7 Apul. Met. 8 Apul. Met. 9 Apul. Met. 10 Apul. Met. 11 Apul. Met. 1 Apul. Plat. 2 Apul. Mund. Apul. Soc.

33

24382 29749 25869 33309 28910 28337 26624 31618 42728 37645 32834 22218 33169 40945 28430

4046 4846 4132 5193 4637 4545 4117 4855 6567 5745 4980 3449 5413 6546 4656

This argument expands on the brief treatment in Stover (2016), 55–6.

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In simple terms, we can see that these books average 31754 characters, with a median of 30683.5, and have a standard deviation of 5515.34 But we can examine the data in a more granular fashion. We only have two philosophical books of Apuleius which we can be reasonably assumed to be complete: De Platone ii and De mundo. (Both, one might add, begin with an address to Faustinus). For these purposes, we exclude the De deo Socratis, both because of its hybrid genre, and because we cannot be certain that it circulated as independent book. These two books, at 33169 and 40945 characters respectively, average 37057. Books of the Metamorphoses are shorter than the philosophical books, at an average of 31913 characters per book. This is probably due to genre, since novels tended toward shorter books: the two books of Lucian’s True History average 30483 characters and the four of Longus just 26316. This is exactly what we see in other contemporary Latin authors as well. Frontinus, who wrote two technical works in a total of five books perhaps five or six decades before Apuleius, has an average book length of 39030 characters, and the nine books of Pliny the Younger’s letters, written a couple decades after that, average 38065 characters. (Book 10 is excluded since it was only added to the collection later). Closest of all to Apuleius, in terms of both chronology and genre, is Aulus Gellius, who was probably writing in the 170s: the 18 books of his Noctes Atticae which are preserved complete average 38029 characters. Among Greek philosophical or technical writers, Plutarch is obviously the best comparand to Apuleius. The question of his book lengths, however, is compromised by the fact that few of his works are transmitted as individual books or longer works with book divisions. The exception is the Symposium, whose seven complete books average 39780 characters. So we have ample justification for thinking that a philosophical book of Apuleius ought to be around 37000 characters in length, and somewhere in the range of roughly 28000 to 49000 (the range of Plutarch’s books), or even 26000 to 59000 (the range of Frontinus and Gellius). That brings us to De Platone 1. It has 3449 words, comprising only 22218 characters. This is even shorter than any of the books of the Metamorphoses and shorter than any of the books we have looked at of Plutarch, Gellius, Frontinus, and Pliny. Hence two independent indications – the evident codicological disruption at the end of book 1 and the length of book 1 as a whole – converge to suggest that some substantial amount of material is missing from this book. 34

I have used easily available electronic texts: given differences in processing (treatment of editorial deletions and supplements, for example, or choice of readings) different editions will give rise to slightly different totals; but these differences have no impact on the analysis presented here.

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At a minimum, it seems, we are missing some four thousand characters, or perhaps a bifolium. But we could be missing quite a bit more: book 1 could be twice the length it is now, and it would still fall within the range we expect. Some of that material might have been lost at the beginning, both on codicological grounds, due to the lack of an incipit, and structural, since we might have expected an address to Faustinus and perhaps a general introduction to the work. But given that our surviving treatment of Plato’s life does begin with his birth, indeed with his name, parentage and conception, it was probably not a substantial amount of text. A gathering could still have been lost at the end, and with it, a substantial amount of Apuleius’ philosophical teaching. Further, based on the analysis of De Platone 1.3.5, we have a very good idea of what that teaching consisted of: the missing exposition of Platonic logic, which ought to have been placed after the treatment of physics in what survives of book 1 and before the treatment of ethics in book 2. The problem of the transmitted Incipit liber III thus remains as formidable as ever. If book 3 did not contain the treatment of logic, what might it have held? Before we can venture an answer to this question, one more manuscript feature needs to be discussed: the additional text in R after the De mundo.

…

The De mundo, as shown above, has no archetypal subscription. In most of the manuscripts, the text simply ends with the words dedit atque permisit, and we know that this is the end since it corresponds to the conclusion of the Περὶ κόσμου. One of the only manuscripts to contain an explicit is Z, but in point of fact, it does not actually follow the words dedit atque permisit. Instead these words are followed by a paraph, and then the following text (f. 130v): Quod virtutem habenti non remordeat itaque nec comedias acturum. nec traedias. nec corrupta oracione usurum. et omnem modulationem quam canora compositio formaverit et nūs tunc esse recipiendam cum ad virtutem referatur. explicit apuleius de dogmate platonis liber tertius. This text – albeit corrupt and acephalous – is recognizable as a résumé of Rep. 3.394c and 399a. It is no mystery as to where this text came from: in Z’s parent, R, this text continues for nine more folios, providing a summary of thirteen (or fourteen) Platonic dialogues: Republic, Euthyphro, Menexenus, Apology, Crito, Phaedo, Laws + Epinomis, Epistles, Parmenides, Sophist, Statesman, Timaeus, Critias. Elsewhere I have provided the editio princeps of this work, and a full

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discussion of its contents.35 Here instead I would like to focus on the codicology of R. The work is acephalous, necessarily so, since it begins with a mere sentence fragment, and introduced in R (as in Z) by a simple paraph, separating it from the last words of the De mundo. As we have already discussed, this kind of nonsense is usually codicological in origin: the reason why a text would begin this way, with no title and without even a coherent sentence is that in R’s parent, its beginning was lost. Given that the De mundo had no explicit in that parent manuscript, someone copying it serially would simply move directly from dedit atque permisit to quod virtutem habenti, although the fact of the paraph suggests that there may have been some empty space in between the two. Now this text is undoubtedly ancient, and R must have gotten it from somewhere. Since R had access to the archetype – as now generally acknowledged – the most economical solution is that it came from the archetype itself. One might object to this on the basis that it is found in neither of the other two families, but one just needs to look at the fate of this text in R’s descendants over two generations to see what might have happened. In Z the text is reduced to a mere rump of thirty-two words, and by the time we get to Z’s child z even that is gone. Acephalous fragments were fragile: unsecured by a title or other paratextual indications, copyists were understandably perplexed as to how to treat them. Given the chaos affecting the whole philosophical corpus we have documented here, with its missing titles, incipits, and incomplete texts, it would hardly surprising to find one more incomplete and untitled element. It also offers a certain symmetry. One of the very few things we can be certain of about the archetype of the corpus is that it had an incipit for a third book, and that that third book cannot be the one that follows it in the manuscripts, the De mundo. At same time, in R, we have a book or part of a book that itself needs an incipit, and somehow got transmitted after the De mundo in R. It is possible that these two facts are unrelated, but given the evident proximity of some of R’s readings to the archetype, it is far more likely that these two problems are connected.36 Indeed, they solve each other. If the additional text in R originally came after book 2 of the De Platone, it could have been displaced in the general chaos 35

36

Stover (2016). In this edition, I used the convenient term Expositio compendiosa which has some slight manuscript support to refer to the work, even though I argued that it was actually the liber tertius of the De Platone. Without prejudice to that title, I am here discussing the text as a manuscript feature of R, which gives the work no title at all, and so only refer to with a description and not a title to avoid confusion. At least one medieval reader of the text, Roger Bacon, did indeed consider the Platonic summaries book 3 of the De Platone: see Stover (2020).

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that precedes the archetype, and which we have everywhere demonstrated. Perhaps it lost its beginning, just as book 1 lost its end. We know that material in the archetype must have been disarranged, since the De mundo cannot be book 3 of the De Platone; it seems plausible that in this disarrangement, the De mundo (itself lacking a title in the archetype) displaced the original book 3. This suggests that the presence of this text is archetypal, even if it does not prove that it authentic. To deny that this addition is archetypal would require believing in a whole sequence of improbabilities and impossibilities – that the text in R came from somewhere other than the source of its good readings, that the Incipit liber tertius is some sort of scribal nonsense, or that the third book covered logic and is now lost, or that the De mundo is itself the third book, and that book 1 is not missing a substantial amount of material. Instead, regardless of what one thinks about the authorship of the Platonic summaries, it is reasonable to hold that they were transmitted originally as the third book of the De Platone. In this connection, then, it is worth pointing that even what we have of the acephalous text is very much within the range of an Apuleian book, at 28328 characters, or 4892 words.

…

To summarize the argument thus far, we know very little about the structure of the text from the archetype, beyond the inauthentic title De habitudine Platonis, the full extent of book 2, and that there was a third book. To go beyond these unsatisfying conclusions, we need to turn with fresh eyes to see what the text itself actually communicates to us to glean something about the nature of the work. Our text of De Platone 1 begins in a rather unusual way (1.1.1): Platoni habitudo corporis cognomentum dedit; namque Aristocles prius est nominatus. Before discussing the philosopher’s parentage, conception, and birth, Apuleius first draws attention to his name, and specifically how one feature of his body gave rise to it. This is not an especially rare fact: found before Apuleius in Seneca (ep. 58.30), and after him, in a large number of sources.37 What is unique is its placement in the De Platone. Diogenes Laertius, for example, brings it up in connection with Plato’s education (3.4), and begins his treatment of Plato’s life in a normal and conventional fashion (3.1): Πλάτων, Ἀρίστωνος καὶ Περικτιόνης ἢ Πωτώνης, Ἀθηναῖος, ἥτις τὸ γένος ἀνέφερεν εἰς Σόλωνα. The Anonymous Prolegomena begins its life in almost exactly the same way, and only brings up the origin of the name Plato after discussing his parentage (Anon. Proleg. 37

See Notopoulos (1939); and Swift Riginos (1976), 35–38.

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1.19–25), and the same can be said for Olympiodorus. So too, presumably, in whatever source Apuleius was drawing on for Plato’s biography. Apuleius’ displacement of this anecdote to so prominent a position needs explanation. One reason might be deduced from his equally curious summary of Plato’s philosophical achievement. quamvis de diversis officinis haec ei essent philosophiae membra suscepta, naturalis a Pythagoreis, de Eleaticis rationalis atque moralis ex ipso Socratis fonte, unum tamen ex omnibus et quasi proprii partus corpus effecit. Although these limbs of philosophy have been taken from different workshops, natural philosophy from the Pythagoreans, rational from the Eleatics, and moral from the founder himself, Socrates, he made a single body out of all them, as if they were his own productions. Apuleius’ Plato is, one might say, Victor Frankenstein, using body parts (membra) he has acquired from elsewhere to stitch up a new body. While the idea that Plato drew on the Pythagoreans, the Eleatics, and Socrates, is hardly novel, expressing it in such somatic terms is. So once again we have something out of the ordinary which requires explanation, and just like the previous example, it has to do with Plato’s body. This may tell us something about the nature of the work. Now that we have dispensed with our notions about the nature of Apuleius’ work which arose from the paratextual frame his treatise acquired in the course of its transmission, and have instead looked at internal features, it is clear that Apuleius is using the idea of Plato’s corpus as a structuring motif. He begins with Plato’s physical body – its name, its origins, its vicissitudes – and then proceeds to the intellectual body that Plato had fashioned. This intellectual body is a system of philosophy which integrates natural, rational, and moral philosophy into a harmonious whole. There is another sense of the word corpus. A corpus is a collection of books – Vitruvius calls his ten-book work a corpus architecturae (e.g. 2.1.8), Quintilian calls the fifteen books of Ovid’s Metamorphoses a corpus (4.1.77), Justin calls his epitome of the forty-four books of Pompeius Trogus a corpusculum (praef.), we have a legal work transmitted under the title of the Tituli ex corpore Ulpiani.38 Similarly, Cicero tells Atticus how he has put together a dozen little speeches ‘as a body’ for him, using the Greek word σῶμα (Ep. Att. 2.1.3). Hence, if corpus in its various senses is the guiding principle of the De Platone, it would make 38

Cf. tll 4 1020.62–1021.39 (L.).

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perfect sense for the third book to contain an exposition of Plato’s third body, the body of his work. Such a text we have in R, as we have seen, albeit following the De mundo and not the De Platone. Just like the corpus of Plato’s doctrines, this corpus is also divided into three, the Socratic dialogues, the Platonic, and the Pythagorean/ Parmenidean (14.1–6.110): Socraticae igitur philosophiae, quae eadem est uerae philosophiae, in his maxime libris quos supra nominaui auctorem habuimus Platonem. in reliquiis autem quamquam sub nomine aliorum et alio more disputantium decreta posita sunt nihilominus consensus intelligitur: sunt autem mixta de Pythagorae et Parmenidis praeceptis. Legum uero tresdecim libri ab ipsius Platonis persona uidentur induci. We have held therefore that the author of the Socratic philosophy – which is the same thing as true philosophy  – found especially in the books I have named above is Plato. But in the remaining books, even though the doctrines are places under the names of other speakers who argue in different ways, nonetheless a common thread is detected: they are a mixture of the precepts of Pythagoras and Parmenides. But the thirteen books of the Laws seem to be conducted under the persona of Plato himself.39 Whether this threefold-division of Plato’s corpus is meant to signify the speakers in the dialogues (as Rheins has interpreted it)40 or the philosophical influence (as I have), the links between this passage and the account of the development of the intellectual corpus of Plato’s doctrines in the De Platone are strong. This suggests an internal solution for understanding how this fragment could fit into the De Platone as a whole: De Platone 1 – Plato’s physical body De Platone 1–2 – Plato’s doctrinal body De Platone 3 – Plato’s literary body This would mean that Apuleius was using a preexisting tripartite convention in isagogical works – found, for example, in book 3 of Diogenes Laertius41 – of 39 40 41

This is my translation (2016) but modified in accordance with the suggestion of Tarrant (2017), 158. Rheins (2017), 377–391. Possibly derived, according to Tarrant (1993), from Thrasyllus. On the genre see, besides the other chapters in this volume, Mansfeld (1994), and Plezia (1949), which emphasizes

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life, doctrine, and works, but adapting it with a new and original conceit, of Plato’s three bodies.

…

This provides a new understanding of both the nature of Apuleius’ work, and the possible way that the summary of Platonic dialogues might fit into it. It is not, and cannot be, definitive, but that is not of itself a weakness. Too many strident and bald propositions have been on the basis that we in fact know what Apuleius is doing in this work and how he is going about it. These propositions have arisen not from careful analysis of the text or examination of the manuscript tradition, but from sheer inertia. As recently as 2017 one scholar could claim that “the reason for postulating a third book was that it was meant to discuss Platonic logic,” confusing a transmitted manuscript feature with a nineteenth-century hypothesis.42 And that brings with it a broader point, with which I would like to conclude. As I mentioned at the beginning, the new attention to Apuleius’ philosophica is a welcome development in Apuleian studies. At the same time, it has brought its own risks of distortion regarding the nature of Apuleius’ De Platone. In the discussions since 2016 on the authenticity of the Platonic summaries, a number of scholars have commented on the philosophical disjunctions between the summaries and the two books of the De Platone.43 These are real, just as real as the philosophical connections between the two works, and if our frame of reference was Alcinous, for example, an author whose only surviving work is an introduction to Plato, or Olympiodorus, who was a professional philosopher and commentator, these disjunctions would incline us against authenticity. But the author of the De Platone is Apuleius – author of a myriad of works in every genre, as he tells us (Florida 9.27–28), just as capable of virtuosic originality as banal epitomizing. Are we right to expect the same level of philosophical consistency? This is a genuine question. But it is one that we must consider carefully if we want to understand the nature of Apuleius’ project. The same might be said of style. Much of the discussion about the Platonic summaries has focussed on individual words or expressions found in the text, and not in the two books of the De Platone, and vice-verse. Hays, for example, notes their lack of ac, while Jones noted their marked preference for placet

42 43

the tripartite structure, covering life, doctrine, and works of some isagogical texts. Cf. Stover (2016), 47–48. Jones (2017). E.g. Lucarini (2019), 64–69.

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illi.44 On the surface these look damning, but one needs to consider lexical evidence with particular care. Tam, for example, does not occur in the two books of the De Platone even though it is found 154 times elsewhere in Apuleius’ corpus. This fact might look impressive, but as an isolate it has no probative value. The only way to determine through lexical means whether two texts are written by the same author is to look at their most frequent words in the aggregate. In other words, one needs stylometry, and preferably computational stylometry, which can count a far broader range of features than any manual method. Stylometric analysis has turned up compelling (indeed, dispositive) links between these summaries and the two books of the De Platone.45 And if that is the case, what would that mean for our understanding of Apuleius’ style? While no one can deny the extraordinary vigour and power of the Metamorphoses and the Apology, a number of the other probably genuine fragments we have of Apuleian works look suspiciously like summaries of Pliny the Elder.46 Perhaps, then, Apuleius’ style was more expansive than we give him credit for. All of these questions examined in detail would take us too far beyond the scope of the present study. It has had two more modest goals: the first, the pars destruens, was to tear down what we think we know about the nature of Apuleius’ De Platone which is not based on a rigorous analysis of the transmitted texts and paratexts, while the second, the pars construens, was just to point forward to how one might rebuild based solidly on what the text itself tells us. This has bearing on the most important question regarding the nature of the work – are the Platonic summaries in R an integral part of the work, or not? I do not pretend to have answered that question to satisfaction here, but answering it at some point will be necessary to understanding the nature of the De Platone. 44 45 46

Hays (2018), 246; Jones (2017). Stover and Kestemont (2016). See Harrison (2000), 26–27.

Chapter 4

Isagogical Patterns in Porphyry (Isagoge and Vita Plotini) Irmgard Männlein-Robert The Platonic philosopher Porphyry is a key figure in the historical and systematic field of Platonism in the late 3rd century ad. As a long-time student of the Middle Platonic philosopher and philologist Longinus in Athens and as an adept of the charismatic Plotinus, his writings reflect numerous philosophical and methodical characteristics of both of his two teachers. However, he distinguishes himself from both by his distinct philosophical interest profile, which encompasses themes of religious philosophy as well as appreciation and systematic examination of the logical writings of Aristotle.1 The  – still insufficiently recognized – mediator position of Porphyry between Longinus and Plotinus and also between Middle Platonism and Neoplatonism can be seen in the textual practices that become manifest in several philosophical texts of this philosopher: Porphyry, in his philosophical writings and treatises, uses the method of didactization and systematization of complex philosophical issues, which is specific for the Middle Platonists’ teaching in many cases. The phenomenon of composing introductions and the set of methods of isagogical writings, which in terms of philosophy for us today is mainly to be seen in imperial time and Late Antiquity, belongs to a tradition, which can be derived from Alexandrian philology and Hellenistic traditions in grammar and rhetoric.2 Thus, numerous Middle Platonic (pagan and Christian) texts contain some elements of the so-called ‘schemata isagogica’, which were systematized in Late Antiquity mainly in the field of the Neoplatonic commentaries on Aristotle and Plato: e.g. ὑπόθεσις or σκοπός (theme, aim or purpose), χρήσιμον (utility), τάξις (position in a corpus), διαίρεσις (division), ἐπιγραφή (title), βίος (life), γνήσιον (authenticity).3 Regardless of the discussion, if it is correct to talk about a ‘schema isagogicum’ or not, we may be allowed to say that we do surely have philosophy-related texts earlier than Late Antiquity, which form a 1 For Porphyry’s biography is still useful Bidez (1913), 1–139, for Porphyry’s preserved or via testimonies known texts see Goulet (2012), 1289–1314, esp. 1290–1311. 2 Plezia (1949), 30–59; Pfeiffer (1978), 123f. 3 For details see Mansfeld (1994), 10–14; 29–31; 179–191.

© Irmgard Männlein-Robert, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004506190_006

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loose group and community of texts sharing common characteristics in form, content and purpose.4 The focus in this chapter is on two quite different writings of Porphyry as case studies: On the one hand the independent treatise titled (since antiquity) Isagoge, in which he presents an introduction to the understanding of predicables as a preliminary level to the (Aristotelian) categories, and on the other hand Περὶ τοῦ Πλωτίνου βίου καὶ τῆς τάξεως τῶν βιβλίων αὐτοῦ, usually (and here in the following) called Vita Plotini, which he prefixed to his own editorial arrangement and edition of Plotinus’s writings. The focus here is not on these texts’ philosophical meanings in detail, but on the isagogical genre, the specific mode of writing on philosophical issues or a philosopher’s life and works, for the purpose of guiding those readers not yet familiar with them. On the basis of these two texts I would like to examine which isagogical elements, patterns, tendencies or practices we can identify and what Porphyry as a philosopher may have intended with the isagogical design of these texts. My thesis is as follows: the isagogical patterns recognizable in both texts serve not only concrete didactic purposes but may also be read as hermeneutic instruments for Porphyry’s underlying own philosophical aims. This is on the one hand the project of harmonizing Aristotle with Plato in terms of logic, physics, ethics and “especially in metaphysics”,5 a project Porphyry was committed to in quite a few texts. The other project – in both of the texts this chapter focuses on – is bridging the gap between Middle Platonism and Plotinian Platonism by adapting philological devices and literary features, well-known from teaching in the field of Middle Platonism, e.g. by composing an introduction or a vita with worklists to put in front of a complete edition, and by using them for his own philosophical agenda. 1

Porphyry, Isagoge

Let us start with the critical assessment given by Carl Prantl, who called Porphyry’s Isagoge a “höchst läppisches Compendium”, and said, “[sc. sie wolle] aus der peripatetischen Lehre jene Annahmen auswählen, welche den meisten Syncretismus mit stoischer6 Doctrin enthielten,” “[sc. sie] gehöre zum Schlamm 4 For scepticism about the strict term schemata isagogica see Skeb (2006), 4–6; cf. Barnes (2003), xiii n. 21 with doubt, “if ancient introductions form a genre or Literaturgattung.” For the existence of such a genre see Plezia (1949) and Motta (2014), esp. 26–30. 5 For these in detail see Karamanolis (2006), 245–330, the quote comes from ibid. 244. 6 For a defense of a strong Stoic component in the Isagoge see De Libera, Segonds (1998), esp. xxvii–xxx; xlv–lxi, contra see Barnes (2003), 312–317.

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der verstandslosen Produkte des Porphyrius,” “[sc. welcher] der bei weitem einflußreichste Verderber der Logik [sc. sei].”7 Contrary to this obviously hostile opinion and to similar negative voices of German scholars from the 19th century, since Late Antiquity the Isagoge of Porphyry enjoyed greatest esteem and enormous interest, got a quick reception and was extremely widespread in the Latin West and also in the Greek (and later Arabic) East: especially since the Latin translations of Marius Victorinus in the 4th century8 and of Boethius9 in the 5th and 6th centuries,10 it was used extraordinarily often, commented on and translated into various languages in the European, Arabic and Syrian Middle Ages. The Isagoge quickly became a schoolbook. The useful aspects of this short text, apparently recognized very soon, are therefore beyond question, even if the text itself – decidedly composed as an introduction – is quite demanding in itself and has therefore already provoked its own commentaries since Late Antiquity.11 The Isagoge is focused on the praedicabilia, which belong to the broad context of the Aristotelian categories, which Porphyry discussed in two other treatises: On the Categories of Aristotle in Question and Answer (in the following as In Categorias)12 and (lost, but preserved in fragments and testimonies) On the Categories of Aristotle in Seven Books to Gedaleios (in the following: Ad Gedalium), which survived in some fragments and testimonies.13 In comparison with the other Porphyrian treatises on categories his Isagoge differs in terms of selectiveness, as he concentrates on only five predicables. On the other hand it shares with his In Categorias its decidedly preparative purpose and for the fact that it is aimed at beginners in philosophy (or nonprofessionals, see below).14 The structure of Porphyry’s Isagoge is simple: After a short, but – as we will see, programmatic – praefatio five chapters (c. 1–5) follow on the five praedicabilia (in Greek: κατηγορούμενα) and in the following 7 8

9 10 11 12 13 14

Prantl (1855), 626f.; cf. slightly more positive Zeller (1881), 641–643. For Marius Victorinus’ Latin translation of the Isagoge see Hadot (1968), 13–55. Perhaps Julian the emperor, studying logic, hints with his ‘Tyrios’ at his use of Porphyry (44 T. = Julian. Ep. 12.17–20), but in this case he would probably hint at his seven books on the categories for Gedalius, and not at his Isagoge. For Boethius, Porphyrii Introductio in Aristotelis Categoriae, which traditionally is taken to be the starting point for the famous Universals controversy during the Middle Ages see Bidez (1923), 189–201 (for a German version see in: Fuhrmann and Gruber (1984). Porphyry’s Isagoge in Latin literature was mainly known as quinque voces, see Barnes (2003), xii n. 14. E.g. see Ammonius, In Isag.; Elias, Proleg.; In Isag.; David, In Isag.; Ps.-Elias, In Isag.; for more see Plezia (1949), 59–69 and Militello (2010). For the text see In Cat. 1.55–142. Mainly by Simplicius, see 45 T.–74 F. De Haas (2001), 498f.; 519 and also Chiaradonna (2007), 5.

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chapters (c. 6–26) these are presented in a more detailed way and with illustrating examples in their relationships and demarcations.15 In the following we concentrate on the praefatio of the Isagoge, where we find the most important remarks and features relevant to our topic in this chapter (Porph. Isag. Praef. 1.1–16; transl. Barnes 2003, modified): Ὄντος ἀναγκαίου, Χρυσαόριε, καὶ εἰς τὴν τῶν παρὰ Ἀριστοτέλει κατηγοριῶν διδασκαλίαν τοῦ γνῶναι τί γένος καὶ τί διαφορὰ τί τε εἶδος καὶ τί ἴδιον καὶ τί συμβεβηκός, εἴς τε τὴν τῶν ὁρισμῶν ἀπόδοσιν καὶ ὅλως εἰς τὰ περὶ διαιρέσεως καὶ ἀποδείξεως χρησίμης οὔσης τῆς τούτων θεωρίας, σύντομόν σοι παράδοσιν ποιούμενος πειράσομαι διὰ βραχέων ὥσπερ ἐν εἰσαγωγῆς τρόπῳ τὰ παρὰ τοῖς πρεσβυτέροις ἐπελθεῖν, τῶν μὲν βαθυτέρων ἀπεχόμενος ζητημάτων, τῶν δ’ ἁπλουστέρων συμμέτρως στοχαζόμενος. αὐτίκα περὶ τῶν γενῶν τε καὶ εἰδῶν τὸ μὲν εἴτε ὑφέστηκεν εἴτε καὶ ἐν μόναις ψιλαῖς ἐπινοίαις κεῖται εἴτε καὶ ὑφεστηκότα σώματά ἐστιν ἢ ἀσώματα καὶ πότερον χωριστὰ ἢ ἐν τοῖς αἰσθητοῖς καὶ περὶ ταῦτα ὑφεστῶτα, παραιτήσομαι λέγειν βαθυτάτης οὔσης τῆς τοιαύτης πραγματείας καὶ ἄλλης μείζονος δεομένης ἐξετάσεως·τὸ δ’ ὅπως περὶ αὐτῶν καὶ τῶν προκειμένων λογικώτερον οἱ παλαιοὶ διέλαβον καὶ τούτων μάλιστα οἱ ἐκ τοῦ Περιπάτου, νῦν σοι πειράσομαι δεικνύναι.16 Since it is necessary, Chrysaorius, even for a schooling in Aristotle’s predications, to know what is a genus and what a difference and what a species and what a property and what an accident, and also for the presentation of the definitions and generally for matters concerning division and proof, – because the theoretical reflection on these things is useful – I shall attempt, in making you a concise guide, to rehearse, briefly and as in the manner of an introduction, what the older masters say, avoiding deeper inquiries and aiming suitably at the more simple. For example, I will avoid to discuss about genera and species, whether they subsist or whether they exist in bare thoughts alone or whether they are subsisting bodies or whether they are incorporeal and whether they are separable or are in perceptible things and subsist about them, as a subject of this kind being very deep and demanding another, a larger investigation. But how the old masters treated them and the (sc. other) categories in question rather dialectically, and among them especially the Peripatetics, I will try to show you now.17 15 16 17

For the structure see Chiaradonna (2012), 1338. The text is quoted after the edition of Busse (1887), 1–22. Barnes (2003), 3.

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1.1 Isagogical Elements and Tendencies Only one title for this writing is handed down in the authoritative Manuscripts (abl): Eisagoge of Porphyry from Phenicia, pupil of Plotinus from Lykopolis.18 This title is also confirmed in the late antique commentary by David.19 The language of this introductory passage is rhetorically stylized, as effectively placed rhetorical stylistic devices prove: e.g. the drastic and asyndetic beginning of the sentence in line 8f. with αὐτίκα, i.e. the praeteritio-sentence (l.9–14) in which he says what big and far-reaching issues he does not want to explain because it would come ‘too suddenly’; besides, we find many polysyndeta (καί-καί, ἤ-ἤ), antitheseis with μὲν-δέ (e.g. l.7 f.; 9; 14). The reason for this rhetorical shaping lies not only in the fact that Porphyry has been trained in rhetoric since an early age and is author of some texts on rhetorical issues,20 but it can also be explained by the fundamentally didactic, more precisely even propaedeutic aim of the text which makes a significant difference and represents an exclusive feature compared to other texts by Porphyry on logic (e.g. Porph. On the Categories of Aristotle in Question and Answer; On the Categories of Aristotle in Seven Books to Gedalios). Porphyry underpins the didactic purpose of this treatise also by emphasizing its shortness and abridged character: he explicitly says that his teaching communication (cf. Isag. παράδοσις, l.6) is in abridged form (σύντομος, l.6), and short and concise (διὰ βραχέων, ibid.) since it is a form of introduction (ὥσπερ ἐν εἰσαγωγῆς τρόπῳ, l.6 f.). Here, Porphyry describes very clearly the genre of his text as εἰσαγωγή with its most characteristic feature: precise and concentrated shortness. From the sentence τῶν μὲν βαθυτέρων ἀπεχόμενος ζητημάτων, τῶν δ’ ἁπλουστέρων συμμέτρως στοχαζόμενος (l.7 f.) we learn that this is a text in which only basic knowledge will purposely be presented in a well-designed and well-balanced manner (cf. συμμέτρως, l.8). We also learn what this text is not meant to be: it is neither an exhaustive ζήτημα (cf. l.8) nor a scientific and scrutinizing discourse (cf. πραγματεία, l.12 and ἐξέτασις, l.14). The educative aim of the treatise is clearly expressed in this preface with the emphatic verb δεικνύναι (l.16). As we know from other writings by Porphyry, he quite often is not only teaching philosophy, but also revealing and acting like a priest or hierophant in ‘showing’ and ‘pointing to’ a knowledge that would otherwise have remained hidden.21 18 19 20

21

Busse (1887), v n. 1. Dav. Proleg. 91.23–26. From the Suda we know about Porphyry’s defense of Minucianus’ rhetoric (Εἰς τὴν Μινουκιανοῦ τέχνην, Soud. Π 2098.178. 29 (iv) = 414 T.), from other authors like Syrianus we learn about his Περὶ τῶν στάσεων τέχνη (see 416 F.) and (via a scholion on Hermogenes) about his Συναγωγὴ τῶν ῥητορικῶν ζητημάτων (417 F.). For more see 407 T.–422a T. Smith and Heath (2003), 141–166. See also Porph. De statuis 351 F. and Plot. 15.4–6; see Männlein-Robert (2017), 183–185.

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1.2 The Addressee According to the testimony of the late ancient Aristotle commentator Ammonius (In Isag. 22.13–22), Porphyry wrote the Eisagoge in his time in Sicily, in the period 268–270 ad, as a reply to a plea for help sent by Chrysaorius, an aristocratic Roman senator (Elias, In Isag. 39.8–11; 93.17–19) and suffect consul (David, In Isag. 92.18; 93.13f.; 107.26f.) of the family of Symmachi, to whom the writing is dedicated. In this context, it is particularly relevant that Chrysaorius is a Roman politician with interests in philosophy who Porphyry helps in the role of a philosophical expert. Porphyry dedicated two further works to Chrysaorius: his fragmentarily preserved Τὸ ἐφ’ ἡμῖν / On Free Will (Stob. 2.8.39–42 = 268 F.–271 F.) and his (now lost) treatise on Plato and Aristotle Περὶ διαστάσεως Πλάτωνος καὶ Ἀριστοτέλους πρὸς Χρυσαόριον. The latter is said to have contained many similarities with the Isagoge for their introductory style and Chysaorius as addressee with special needs (Elias, In Isag. 39.4–8).22 Therefore, we can reconstruct that this senator had rather strong interests in logic, in the discussion on free will and in the difficult relation between Plato’s and Aristotle’s philosophy. The declared ‘orality’ in the text of the Isagoge (e.g. line 1.13) suggests a personal familiarity between Porphyry as teacher and Chrysaorius as disciple, even if Porphyry might have been in Sicily and far away from Rome at the time of writing.23 1.3 What This Text Is About: Roots, Traditions, and Footprints In his praefatio Porphyry first names his teaching (διδασκαλία) of Aristotle’s predicates (κατηγορίαι) immediate opportunity and context. Here, it is by no means certain that Porphyry is talking about his own writing on the categories.24 It is possible to read Porphyry’s Isagoge like that, but not compelling. The only, but in fact programmatic and obvious reference to Aristotle’s categories, not on his text about them, occurs already in the first line of Porphyry’s Isagoge. We have to keep in mind that Aristotle also, for instance, in his Topics, in the most confined space declares four of the five praedicabilia treated in the Isagoge to be fundamental concepts (Top. 1.101b17–25; cf. 37: ἴδιον, γένος, συμβεβηκός, διαφορά, ὅρος). The reason, why Porphyry is not more precise here, may be due to his general and perhaps broad approach to the topic. According to Porphyry, it is essential to know γένος, εἶδος, διαφορά, ἴδιον and συμβεβηκός as well as definitions (ὅροι), division (διαίρεσις) and evidence (ἀπόδειξις) as precondition for 22 23 24

See in detail on these dedications Goulet (2012), 1295. See also Becker (2016), 39. For Porphyry’s affiliations with Roman politicians see Männlein-Robert (2019), 343–345. This would be the so-called ‘traditional interpretation’, see De Libera (1998), xii–xxvii; Barnes (2003), xiv–xvi. For the ancient discussion on the meaning of κατηγορία see Karamanolis (2006), 312.

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understanding the Aristotelian categories (wherever they are being discussed). Porphyry here formulates clearly the following targets of his text: the problems of Chrysaorius, whom Porphyry has apparently been teaching for a longer time and who is thus philosophically a priori socialized in a Platonic context, are obviously fundamental and may be taken as even representative, because the systematic occupation with Aristotelian logic is not yet self-evident for Platonic philosophers (up to the time of Porphyry; see below). Porphyry thus takes the problems of Chrysaorius with the Aristotelian categories as a starting point and as an occasion to offer an introductory, as it were propaedeutic explanation of the predicables. This is to be identified with the isagogical element of σκοπός (διδασκαλία). However, the didactic goal of this Isagoge does not seem to be exclusively (but in my opinion: mainly) related to the categories (or the organon) of Aristotle.25 For the terms ὅρος, διαίρεσις and ἀπόδειξις chosen here have been traditionally established in rhetoric and logic since Aristotle at the latest.26 These three methods are already mentioned together in the Middle Platonic Didaskalikos of Alcinous as logical or dialectical methods (Did. 3, see below).27 Also, the much-discussed adverb λογικώτερον (Porph. Isag. 1.15)28 seems to oscillate between rhetorical, dialectical and logical semantics. Porphyry probably wants to say that earlier philosophers, especially Peripatetics, have already dealt with this in a very differentiated way. We may identify Porphyry’s explicit reference to the benefit and gain of the knowledge of praedicabilia as an isagogical element of χρήσιμον. Besides the ongoing discussion, if we may (as Barnes says)29 reduce Porphyry’s Isagoge to a philosophically neutral introduction of the mere conceptual foundations and basics of logic in general or not (this is e.g. Chiaradonna’s position),30 we first have to realize the following: Porphyry explicitly emphasizes that he does not refer to complex facts and discussions (βαθύτερα ζητήματα, cf. Isag. 1.7f.), which obviously exist and whose knowledge he implies here, but rather limits himself succinctly to the most important issues ‘in the style of an introduction’ (ὥσπερ ἐν εἰσαγωγῆς τρόπῳ, ibid. 1.6f.). With his praeteritio, Porphyry emphatically proves that he could provide much more in terms of philosophy and ontology, but that he is currently only proceeding according to the occasion (διδασκαλία) and the addressee. With regard to the praeteritio formulated in the praefatio, 25 26 27 28 29 30

For this see De Libera (1998), xii–xxvii. Cf. Evangeliou (1985) and Barnes (2003). For references see lsj s.v. Did. 3.153.30–32; 5.156.31–33; see Chiaradonna (2012), 1340. See already Strange (1987), 961, and Chiaradonna (2008), 2f. and 29f. and Chiaradonna (2012), 1340f. Barnes (2003), xiv–xix. For critical discussion of Barnes’ extreme position see Chiaradonna (2008), 1–30.

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however, and by the mere fact that he formulates these – later on not-treated – questions in this way,31 the assumption arises that Porphyry here alludes to discussions in (Middle) Platonist circles, which centered around the compatibility of Aristotle’s philosophical doctrines with the Platonic ones,32 and were therefore also about differences in their ontology and metaphysics. Since early Middle Platonism Aristotle’s categories were examined for their reference to the physical or the intelligible world, as we can see from testimonies by the (critical) Middle Platonists Eudorus, Atticus or Nicostratus – just to mention a few out of many –,33 so obviously Porphyry was the first Platonist who was able to make Aristotelian logic and categories acceptable for later Platonists and to legitimate its relevance for Platonic exegesis.34 We may get a glimpse of such a discourse in Porphyry’s formulated questions: on the subsistence character of genera and species, whether they are purely thought, i.e. thought concepts, and whether they are material or immaterial, or whether they are ‘separate resp. transcendent’ (χωριστά) or ‘sensually perceptible’ (αἰσθητά, ibid. 1.8–14), in short: in what way the predicables are instruments for mapping the structure of reality. Both of these questions and the terms used are easily to recognize as semantically Platonic,35 so that, in my opinion, a Platonic ontological context of discussion appears here that clearly transcends the (linguistic) logical one.36 While Porphyry in his dialogical commentary on Aristotle’s Categories (in the explanation of the title Κατηγορίαι) ascribes ontological themes to the categories (Porph. In Cat. 57),37 in his Isagoge he at least lets Platonic thought patterns shine through – while he explicitly leaves them out for the treatises and the addressee’s limited purposes, he clearly alludes to their debated (but in general probably defensible) value for mapping ontological realms.38 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

For Porphyry’s set of questions see further Chiaradonna (2008), 20–22. For Porphyry taking Aristotle’s philosophy as elaboration or development of Plato’s philosophy, see Karamanolis (2018). For details see Boys-Stones (2018), 419–426. Dillon (1996), 236. Girgenti (1995), 28; Karamanolis (2004), 110; cf. Chiaradonna (2008), 10f. This is the case according to De Libera (1998), LIIIff., also De Haas (2001), 499 and passim. I agree here with Chiaradonna (2007), 5 and passim and Chiaradonna (2008 and 2012) 1341f.; cf. ἐπίνοια in Porph. Isag. 1.11. Porph. In Cat. 57.20–58.20; 91.14–27; Karamanolis (2004), 104 and 106. This is definitely remarkable as Aristotle in his Categories (nr. 5: on οὐσία) denies the Platonic meaning and the transcendence of the Platonic ideas. An indication for this is to be seen in his hierarchical treatment of the relation between genus and species as he “presents his genus as a ἀφ’ ἑνός hierarchical relation”, so Chiaradonna (2007), 17. See e.g. the so-called ‘arbor Porphyriana’ i.e. the representation of higher genres and their subordinate genres as hierarchical ontology, for a diagram see

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Not only Aristotle is explicitly named in the very first line of the opening of the Isagoge (1.1), which has to be interpreted as a programmatic gesture of respecting Aristotelian theories and logic, but also Plato himself is even explicitly mentioned in the Isagoge, where a sketch of Plato’s division between genus and species vs. individuals – in the very context of a genealogical and hierarchical structure – is given (Porph. Isag. 6.13–23, esp. 14). So presumably we should interpret this text in the context of an older (Middle) Platonist discussion, in which some Platonists39 refuse to attribute any relevance to the Aristotelian logic (including categories and predicables) for the exegesis of Plato’s texts, whereas some other Platonists40 argue for its relevance and try to include Aristotelian logic into the set of hermeneutic tools to be used by Plato’s exegetes. Porphyry surely played for the pro-Aristotelian party, as we learn from the title of his (not preserved) work Περὶ τοῦ μίαν εἶναι τὴν Πλάτωνος καὶ Ἀριστοτέλους αἵρεσιν ζ’,41 where we may assume some efforts to harmonize the teachings and dogmata of Plato with those of Aristotle.42 By doing so, Porphyry moves in the footprints of Middle Platonist tradition, when he identifies and didactically prepares Aristotelian logical concepts and logic as an introduction for beginners and learners in Platonic philosophy. But as far as we can see, he is apparently the first Platonist to comment Aristotelian logical works systematically and completely, as he did in his In Categorias in short and in Ad Gedalium in detail.43 Against this background, Porphyry’s two references to earlier philosophers who had dealt with these praedicabilia before turns out to be interesting (Isag. 1.7: πρεσβύτεροι, ibid. 1.15: παλαιοί): in particular, Porphyry refers to the group of those from Peripatos, which of course may be the case, but there is more tradition than he explicitly says: although he places himself with his Isagoge in an initially predominantly Peripatetic tradition, the later Platonist Ammonius will claim that Porphyry here is literally based on takeovers ‘from Plato and Taurus’.44 While the reference to Plato because of the suspected general agreement between Plato and Aristotle and because

39 40 41 42 43 44

Mansfeld (1992b), 98, for a more detailed discussion on his (metaphysically based) concept of genus see De Haas (2001), 522f.; Chiaradonna (2012), 1343. E.g. Atticus, Lucius, Nicostratus, see Männlein-Robert (2018), esp. 599f. E.g. Alcinous or the Anonymous Commentary on the Theaetetus, see literature in note 39 above. For the whole discussion in deep and detail see Karamanolis (2004). Soud. (s.v. Πορφύριος) Π 2098. 178. 21f. (v). Girgenti (1995), 7f.; Karamanolis (2006); Hadot (2015), 54–65. So with Karamanolis (2004) and Chiaradonna (2008), 27f. See also Untersteiner (1980), 220 and Plezia (1949), 60. Ammonius, In Isag. 22.14–22: Taurus is not absolutely certain here from a text-critical point of view: Barnes (1993), 143 n. 44 is very sceptical; see also Gioè (2002), 375f. and Petrucci (2018b), 5f.

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of Plato’s use of categories e.g. in the Parmenides can be easily explained,45 the reference to Taurus, if authentic, could be taken as a hint at his text titled Περὶ τῆς τῶν δογμάτων διαφορᾶς Πλάτωνος καὶ Ἀριστοτέλους.46 1.4 Middle Platonic Didactics up to Longinus But there is much more Middle Platonic ground Porphyry stands on in his Isagoge: even if Porphyry strongly emphasizes the Peripatetic tradition with regard to the contents to be treated, he seems to have chosen a literary form for his Isagoge that fits particularly well with the didactic concerns of Middle Platonism, which is often rebuked as ‘School’ Platonism.47 Although the first known logical work titled Isagoge is ascribed to the Stoic philosopher Chrysippus (Diog. Laert. 7.193),48 and although teaching (Aristotelian) logic with a positive approach was by no means generally accepted among the Middle Platonists,49 we can get a glimpse of the Middle Platonic teaching in logic from some preserved texts: after Thrasyllus, probably influenced by the Peripatetic Andronicus from Rhodes, who not only edited Aristotle’s œuvre, but also composed a technical treatise Περὶ διαιρέσεως, Albinus, too, used terminology originally derived from Aristotelian logic for the systematic classification of Plato’s dialogues (e.g. the systematic διαίρεσις, cf. Alb. Prol. 6) and therefore demonstrated the relevance of logic for Platonic philosophy.50 In Alcinous’ Didaskalikos we find passages on dialectic mentioning its ‘division’ (cf. Did. 3.153.30: διαιρεῖται) into τὸ διαιρετικόν, τὸ ὁριστικόν, τὸ ἀναλυτικόν, τὸ ἐπαγωγικόν, and τὸ συλλογιστικόν (ibid. 3.153.30–32),51 or explicitly hinting at the ten categories (ibid. 6.159.43–45),52 but without direct reference to Aristotle.53 Another testimony for the increasing interest among Platonists is Ps.-Apuleius’ De interpretatione (Περὶ ἑρμηνείας) with its treatment of Peripatetic logic, a book believed by some scholars to be the possible third part of Apuleius’ introduction into Platonic philosophy (De Platone et eius dogmate, cf. ibid. 45 46 47 48

49 50 51 52 53

Cf. also Alc. Did. 6.159.43–45; see Chiaradonna (2008), 24–29. Suda s.v. Ταῦρος (Τ 166) p. 509, 13f. (iv), see Lakmann (1995), 210. See Petrucci (2019), 37–39. See for another Stoic introduction in logic e.g. Sextus, Adv. Math. 7.428, cf. Aulus Gellius na 16.8; for the medical ones see Gal. Syn. Puls. 9.431f.; Meth. med. 10.53, for further testimonies see Untersteiner (1980), 92–94 and Barnes (2003), xiii with n. 21; on metrics see Longinus’s Prolegomena (see below). See above note 34. Mansfeld (1994), 95f.; 74–89; Reis (1999), 85–96. Cf. ibid. 5.156.30–33. For further references see Dillon (1993), 58f.; 72f. Cf. also Alc. Did. 6.158.17f. Chiaradonna (2008), 24. For Alcinous and Apuleius (see below) cf. especially Boys-Stones (2018), 394–436.

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1.4.189).54 Galen (2nd cent. ad) is an important eyewitness close to, but not at home among Platonists and seems to be well informed about the logical training necessary for further (philosophically based) medical studies in his time.55 Clement of Alexandria reports as well – from a Christian point of view – current Middle Platonic school doctrines on definitions, genera and species (Strom. 8).56 What was apparently not known to the Neoplatonic philosopher Ammonius (and many modern scholars of Platonism) is the fact that the predicables treated by Porphyry in the Isagoge are already used by his first teacher Longinus, with whom he studied for about then years in Athens before his Plotinian period and with whom was still in contact during his Sicilian years.57 Longinus’s Prolegomena for the metrical Encheiridion of Hephaistion is a rhetorically shaped text, composed for beginners, for whom the Encheiridion in itself would be quite a hard push. It is meant to be a systematical introduction not only to Hephaestion’s Encheiridion on metrics, but also generally to the theory of metrics, its underlying theoretical concepts, its theoretical reflection in general: θεωρία (Proleg. ad Ench. Heph. § 1.1), as Longinus explicitly says at the very beginning of his text. Metrics traditionally belong to the field of grammatical studies, which is why we know about isagogical structures since Alexandrian philologists.58 Longinus’s introduction is isagogically composed, as we find explanations on his subject, its context and the usefulness of the text.59 But we also find in Longinus’s introductory text to metrical theory the praedicabilia γένος, εἶδος, διαφορά, σεμβεβηκός and ὅρος explicitly used for structuring his explanations and distinguishing the relevant phenomena (ibid. § 5; 7). It is interesting that these praedicabilia are used for the conceptual and logical differentiation of metric phenomena like rhythm, metre and syllable, in a primarily linguistic context (metrics), in regard to which Longinus, however, underlies Middle Platonic ontological semantics (God – Idea – Matter).60 Similarly to the discussion of homonyms he undertakes elsewhere,61 in his 54

55 56 57 58 59 60 61

Männlein-Robert (2018a), here 620 (with references); Dillon (1996), 310f. Against this assumption see chapter 3 in this volume, esp. 67–70, wherein Stover shows that it would make sense for the third book “to contain an exposition of Plato’s third body, the body of his work.” On the recent attempt to draw attention to a third book written by Apuleius other than the De interpretatione, see also Stover (2016). Galen. De demonst. 82.5f. and Mansfeld (1994), 169, cf. ibid. 121. See Mansfeld (1992b), 62f. and Havrda (2016). Bidez (1913), 51–64; Männlein-Robert (2001), 26f.; 152; cf. 260–268. Pfeiffer (1978), 123f. See Mansfeld (1994), 10–19; Männlein-Robert (2018b), 78. See Männlein-Robert (2018b), 73–90. E.g. in a testimony given by Damascius, De princ. 2.172.18–173.8 and ibid. 2.316.6–12, see also Männlein-Robert (2001), 74f.; 547–551 and Männlein-Robert (2018c) on the discussion of λεκτά and Männlein-Robert (2018d), 1315f.

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Prolegomena he also postulates an analogy between signifying words and the intelligible realm. Longinus’s systematic methodology there, with many summaries and recapitulations, his well-designed choice of examples as well as his decidedly Platonic use of Aristotelian predicables in a primarily linguistic context62 clearly proves that in his Isagoge Porphyry is still committed to Longinus, not only methodologically and philologically (cf. his use of the term θεωρία in the preface of the Isagoge: χρησίμης οὔσης τῆς τούτων θεωρίας, Isag. 1.5), but also because of the allusions to the Platonic semantization of the praedicabilia. With regard to this hardly known text of the Middle Platonist, it becomes even more plausible that Porphyry places the inherent logical value of the praedicabilia in the foreground of his Isagoge, but also points to their fundamentally given onto-logical, i.e. Platonic metaphysical potential for interpretation – which is left out here, but alluded to. Therefore, Porphyry does not only extend Plotinus’s interpretation and harmonization of Aristotle’s categories with Platonic metaphysics,63 but he is also still affiliated with his other master’s, Longinus’s, didactics and isagogical methods in the very same field and with very similar aims. 2

The Vita Plotini of Porphyry

According to the formal function of this text, the Vita Plotini (in the following Plot.) is meant to be a praefatio or a Prolegomenon composed by the editor Porphyry, i.e. in the first instance a paratext, which precedes the actual text edition of Plotinus.64 As I have tried to show elsewhere,65 this text is of singular literary shape, since not only the protagonist Plotinus is presented as a pagan ‘holy man’, but the biographer and editor Porphyry as well inscribes himself autobiographically into this text in his role as adept and editor. He is not only the legitimate editor of Plotinus’s writings authorized by the master himself, but also a historical eyewitness and a man of assurance involved in narrated episodes. In addition, however, there is an important aspect relevant for our context in this chapter, namely the blending of philological and philosophical concerns: In the Vita Plotini, we can identify a specific isagogical tendency that, in my opinion, can be ascribed both to Middle Platonic philological practices and to philosophical concerns of Porphyry himself. Let us take a closer look at this. 62 63 64 65

For the Alexandrian roots of this see Männlein-Robert (2001), 74f. Cf. Plot. Enn. 6.1–3 (42–44). More detailed on this is De Haas (2001). Still useful for many aspects of this text are Brisson et al. (1982) and Brisson (1992). Männlein-Robert (2002 and 2016).

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2.1 The Title and Its Program First, let us focus on the traditional title of the writing Περὶ Πλωτίνου βίου καὶ τῆς τάξεως τῶν βιβλίων αὐτῶν. The traditional double title, confirmed by the text itself (cf. Plot. 24.1f.), formulates the double aim of this text, namely to offer a biography of Plotinus together with an explanation of the arrangement of his writings. We already know similar double titles from the Middle Platonist and New Pythagorean Thrasyllus, who had designed two (not preserved) essays, one on Plato and one on Democritus, as ‘Bios and catalogue of writings’ of both philosophers,66 as well as from the third book of Diogenes Laertius, in which he dedicates the τάξις τῶν διαλόγων and the βίος of Plato (3.47) to a Plato-friendly lady.67 Later ancient grammarians such as Donatus and Servius (4th century) also applied this practice in their editions of Vergil, and the biographer of Augustine of Hippo, Possidius, still refers to the same practice when he follows his Vita Augustini with an indiculus, i.e. a catalogue of the writings of the church father.68 The significant double title chosen by Porphyry thus refers to a common philological practice used by editors. It may be important that by doing so Porphyry joins a tradition of editing ancient and famous philosophers (like Plato), but he applies this to a contemporary, Plotinus, probably to ensure his fame. 2.2 Βίος – and Beyond Now just a few words on the βίος of Plotinus, which is not in my focus here:69 a special feature of the Vita Plotini is that the βίος here does not refer to a conventional biographical sketch. Rather, it shows a singular, quasi ‘thanatographic’ framing, since the text does not open (as usual in biographies) with the hero’s birth, but with his hostility to his body and why he refused a portrait (Plot. 1), and instead narrates his death (Plot. 2). At the end, a poetic oracle text depicts the whereabouts of Plotinus’s soul after his physical death (Plot. 22). With this frame the deification of the charismatic and ‘holy’ Plotinus is made unmistakably clear. The entire text proves Plotinus to be a definitely Platonic ‘holy man’, since he acts as an extreme, but authentic and exemplary Platonist, who stands in life, but whose clear orientation towards the intellect and the One, i.e. metaphysical principles, always remains relevant and evident. Porphyry never gets tired of documenting this in many episodes, anecdotes or apothegmata 66 67 68 69

Mansfeld (1994), 63–71; 108. For Diogenes Laertius see Ferrari’s chapter in this volume. See Männlein-Robert (2002), 582 and Mansfeld (1994), 43–48. 108.117f. For more on this see note 65 and Edwards (2000), xxxvif. and his commentary in notes ibid. 1–53.

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by Plotinus. In the literary version of Plotinus’s life as presented by Porphyry (which is presumably not always identical with the historical Plotinus’s life) the protagonist proves to be a programmatic figure in terms of the exemplary embodiment and life-worldly realization of basic (ethical as well as metaphysical) Platonic convictions (above all ὁμοίωσις θεῳ and μελέτη θανάτου). The biographer Porphyry shows in many episodes how Plotinus’s philosophical convictions are mirrored in this very individual, but nevertheless exemplary way of life. 2.3 Plotinus’ Life, Works, and More The Vita Plotini by no means presents Plotinus’s βίος and writings as separate and successive parts (as it was the case with Thrasyllus or Apuleius),70 but they are in fact closely mixed and interwoven. This is an obviously unconventional feature and we should ask for the reasons: Porphyry’s strategy probably consisted in describing Plotinus’s single treatises as results of certain situations in (phases of) his life or even of historical events.71 Thus, he documents the place of Plotinus’s philosophical writings historically, ‘in life’. Instead of an outline of Plotinus’s philosophical teaching, Porphyry explains in detail his new taxis of Plotinus’s scripts, which he does not arrange historically, but systematically (see below). But not only the arrangement of the treatises is new: they are also diligently corrected and edited. Porphyry makes emphatically and repeatedly clear that Plotinus himself had authorized him, Porphyry, to do so.72 He thus legitimizes his edition by referring to the explicit wish of the admired teacher himself. Porphyry has written the Vita Plotini in 301 ad. Possibly, another edition by another adept of Plotinus, the physician Eustochius, circulated already at that time (probably not a critical or philologically satisfactory edition),73 eventually also another one of Amelius, the other close pupil.74 In any case, Porphyry insists that his edition of Plotinus’s treatises is philologically meticulous and thus absolutely credible and authentic in its wording. In order to prove this he quotes his previous teacher, the critic and philologist Longinus, for his 70 71

72 73 74

For Apuleius see references provided in footnote 54 above. For example, after the invocation of Plotinus’s daemon in the temple of Isis in Rome, Plotinus composed a treatise On the demon who has allotted us (Porph. Plot. 10.28–33) or during his discussions with Roman Gnostics he wrote Against the Gnostics, as Porphyry says (Plot. 16.9–12); for further examples see Männlein-Robert (2016), 202. Porph. Plot. 7.49–51: ἔσχε δὲ καὶ ἐμὲ Πορφύριον Τύριον ὄντα ἐν τοῖς μάλιστα ἑταῖρον, ὃν καὶ διορθοῦν αὐτοῦ τὰ συγγράμματα ἠξίου (“And also among his closest friends he had me Porphyry the Tyrian, and he also requested me to correct his writings”). Goulet-Cazé (1992), 71–76, see also Edwards (2000), xxxvi. So Brisson (1987), 808f. and Männlein-Robert (2018d), 1320.

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explicit recognition of Porphyry’s editorial virtues.75 Furthermore, because of the insistence of other fellows, he had written additional texts (Plot. 26.29–37), i.e. ὑπομνήματα (commentaries) on some (not all) texts of Plotinus, κεφάλαια (short summaries according to main aspects in the treatises) and ἐπιχειρήματα (an argument structure) on all treatises which he had added to his edition of Plotinus. Kephálaia and Epicheirémata themselves belong into the field of late antique isagogical texts (a famous example would be Simplicius’s Encheiridion). They turn out to be διαίρεσις-techniques in the context of edition and commentary, which we can undoubtedly trace back to the practices of Alexandrian philologists (as do the closely related text types Aporiai-kai-Lyseis, Problemata or Zetemata).76 Porphyry certainly became familiar with these techniques while studying with Longinus, who himself had acquired them during his years of studies in Alexandria.77 Basically, we can attribute such didactically and isagogically motivated exegesis practices to the Alexandrian tradition. 2.4 Τάξις – and Further Tendencies Let us now look at Porphyry’s explanation of his τάξις τῶν βιβλίων first (Plot. 24.1–21; transl. Edwards 2000, slightly modified):78 Τοιοῦτος μὲν οὖν ὁ Πλωτίνου ἡμῖν ἱστόρηται βίος. ἐπεὶ δὲ αὐτὸς τὴν διάταξιν καὶ τὴν διόρθωσιν τῶν βιβλίων ποιεῖσθαι ἡμῖν ἐπέτρεψεν, ἐγὼ δὲ κἀκείνῳ ζῶντι ὑπεσχόμην καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις ἑταίροις ἐπηγγειλάμην ποιῆσαι τοῦτο, πρῶτον μὲν τὰ βιβλία οὐ κατὰ χρόνους ἐᾶσαι φύρδην ἐκδεδομένα ἐδικαίωσα, μιμησάμενος δ’Ἀπολλόδωρον τὸν Ἀθηναῖον καὶ Ἀνδρόνικον τὸν Περιπατητικόν, ὧν ὁ μὲν Ἐπίχαρμον τὸν κωμῳδιογράφον εἰς δέκα τόμους φέρων συνήγαγεν, ὁ δὲ τὰ Ἀριστοτέλους καὶ Θεοφράστου εἰς πραγματείας διεῖλε τὰς οἰκείας ὑποθέσεις εἰς ταὐτὸν συναγαγών οὕτω δὴ καὶ ἐγὼ ν̅δ� ὄντα ἔχων τὰ τοῦ Πλωτίνου βιβλία διεῖλον μὲν εἰς ἓξ ἐννεάδας τῇ τελειότητι τοῦ ἓξ ἀριθμοῦ καὶ ταῖς ἐννεάσιν ἀσμένως ἐπιτυχών, ἑκάστῃ δὲ ἐννεάδι τὰ οἰκεῖα φέρων συνεφόρησα δοὺς καὶ τάξιν πρώτην τοῖς ἐλαφροτέροις προβλήμασιν. ἡ μὲν γὰρ πρώτη ἐννεὰς ἔχει τὰ ἠθικώτερα τάδε αʹ Τί τὸ ζῷον καὶ τίς ὁ ἄνθρωπος οὗ ἡ ἀρχή ἡδοναὶ καὶ λῦπαι. βʹ Περὶ ἀρετῶν οὗ ἡ ἀρχή· ἐπειδὴ τὰ κακὰ ἐνταῦθα. Such then was the life of Plotinus, as I have recounted it. But since he entrusted me the task of ordering and editing his (corrected) treatises, 75 76 77 78

See e.g. Porph. Plot. 19; 20. For more on this see Männlein-Robert (2017), 171f. Männlein-Robert (2001), 210. Edwards (2000), 46f.

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and since I both promised this to him while he was alive and announced to our other friends that I would do this, [let me say] that, first, I did not think it right to leave the books in the chronological order of their sporadic distribution, but have imitated Apollodorus the Athenian and Andronicus the Peripatetic, the first of whom brought together the works of the comic poet Epicharmus and put them into ten volumes, while the other divided the works of Aristotle and Theophrastus according to subject, bringing the relevant theses together under the same heading. Thus I too, having fifty-four treatises of Plotinus, have divided them into six Enneads, happy to discover the perfection of the number six along with the nines, and, putting the relevant matters into each Ennead, have then put these together, giving the first place to problems of less weight. The First Ennead contains these, the more ethical treatises: What is the living creature and what is a man? Of which the opening is: “Pleasures and pains.” On Virtues. Of which the opening is: “Since evils are here.” With this text, we not only gain precious information about the plan behind Porphyry’s edition of Plotinus, but we can also grasp some isagogical patterns: the order of Plotinus’s treatises (τάξις) is not chronological, but systematic. However, there is to be seen even something more. It is highly relevant in this respect that Porphyry mentions his models for his edition explicitly: they are Apollodorus of Athens’ edition of Epicharmus (from the 2nd century bc) and Andronicus the Peripatetic’s edition of Aristotle and Theophrastus. Probably Epicharmus’s edition is exemplary for him in terms of distributing existing texts in (many) volumes. Perhaps the mention of the Sicilian comedy author Epicharmus here has also to do with the appreciation reported for Plato and with his claimed affinity with Pythagoras and his philosophy, a branch extremely important for Platonists since early imperial times. Perhaps for this reason Apollodorus, a philologist socialized among the Stoics and a pupil of the famous Alexandrian critic Aristarchus from Samos, in Platonic circles was considered to be a ‘Pythagorean’?79 In any case, Porphyry is familiar with Apollodorus’s edition or at least its systematics. The second example he mentions is Andronicus the Peripatetic’s edition of Aristotle and Theophrastus which was structured according to topics and subjects, therefore not chronologically, but systematically. This edition was accompanied by a catalogue with systematic and introductory features, such as explication of titles, authenticity,

79

E.g. Anon. In Tht. 71.12ff.; Plut. Num. 8.17 (65D); Diog. Laert. 8.78; Mansfeld (1994), 115 n. 201; Münzel and Schwartz (1894), 2856–2875.

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content and structure of every treatise, together with Aristotle’s testament and perhaps some biographical information.80 We may conclude that the very aspect of putting together existing texts according to systematic (thematic) principles as testified for Apollodorus’s and Andronicus’s editions was relevant for Porphyry and his philological and also his philosophical purposes with his edition of Plotinus: besides technical philological aspects, on the one hand it may be taken as programmatic when a Platonist like Porphyry turns to Aristotelian examples and texts (as we have already seen above in terms of logic). On the other hand, as Porphyry hints at a famous author like Epicharmus (to whom Platonists felt close) or at famous philosophical authors like Aristotle and Theophrastus, whose œuvres were edited for reasons by their editors, it becomes obvious that with his edition he intended to bring the admired Plotinus on the same level of prominence. This must be interpreted as a singular initiative, as Plotinus was not yet a historic, but a close contemporary philosopher, who should be immortalized via Porphyry’s edition. Following these models, Porphyry creates theme-related groups of Plotinus’s treatises:81 treatises on Ethics (Enn. 1), on Physics and Kosmos (Enn. 2), Kosmos in a broader sense (Enn. 3), Soul and psychology (Enn. 4), on the Intellect and Ideas (Enn. 5) and finally on the highest entity, the One (Enn. 6). Porphyry seems to adapt a rhetorical scheme.82 We know from the Prolegomena of the rhetorician Aelius Theon83 that τάξις has to be modelled after the respective problem; therefore, at the beginning the simpler questions are accentuated and in progress increasingly the more difficult and complex ones. This rhetorical practice may still be used by Porphyry but, in my opinion, he definitely uses it in a philosophically motivated and functionalized way. This can be seen on the one hand in the numerical structure used by him, as he combines groups of nine treatises each (Enneads). We know from Thrasyllus and Albinus (Prol. 3 and 6) as well as from Diogenes Laertius (3.49f.), that arithmetically based editions of Plato were established meanwhile and presumably produced according to Pythagorean numerical semantics. Following this more Pythagorico, Porphyry chose Ennead groups for his edition of Plotinus’s writings. He himself subdivided these Enneads into three volumes (σωμάτια, 80 81 82 83

Porphyry’s testimony is confirmed by Plut. Sull. 26.2. Here I rely on Goulet (1989), 201. Cf. also Diog. Laert. 3.57; Mansfeld (1994), 112. For a discussion on the Porphyrian philosophical criteria of arrangement of previous materials, see also Motta’s chapter in this volume, esp. 104–108. Mansfeld (1994), 112. Ael. Th. Progymn. 90.28–91.35 = Rhet. Graec. Min. 2.125.27ff.

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i.e. volumes or codices, Porph. Plot. 26.1–7):84 thus, a numerical symbolic structure emerges in the micro- and in the macrostructure of the Enneads. With an eye to the fact that Porphyry opens his edition with Plotinus’s ethical treatises and ends it with these on the One in the last group, we see that an anagogical development, movement and reader guidance  – in line with Plotinus’s philosophy  – is created. This guidance is designed via an ideal anagogical reading curriculum for Plotinus’s treatises, as the recipient should become familiar and get deeper into Plotinus’s philosophy systematically. So the special structure and order (τάξις) of treatises in this edition must be interpreted as programmatic in philosophical and didactic respects. In the Vita Plotini, Plotinus’s constantly spiritual urge upwards to the divine, his psychological and intellectual ‘assimilation to God’ during his lifetime is narrated by Porphyry in scenic terms,85 but he also maps this phenomenon by creating the very structure of the Ennead edition, as it were, via arranging Plotinus’s treatises teleologically.86 In its amalgamation of philological and philosophical isagogical concerns, the Vita Plotini must be interpreted as a ‘hermeneutic key’87 which Porphyry composed for the best reading and understanding of Plotinus’s treatises (of course, all through Porphyry’s glasses!). This text has got a set of isagogical tools and practices which later on would be established in late antique commentaries or Prolegomena:88 besides the fact that Porphyry begins with a (really unconventional) βίος, he explicitly discusses the τάξις as well as the διαίρεσις of the treatises’ arrangement (i.e. the Enneadic structure). He also refers to the title of his own writing (ἐπιγραφή) and even the aspect of γνήσιμον (authenticity) we find, for instance when he reports, how Plotinus was accused of plagiarism of Numenius, which he proves to be groundless (Plot. 21). However, all these philological and isagogical devices are decisive for shape and structure of this introductory text, placed in front of a complete edition. But they turn out to be more than only isagogical practices, as they must be taken as programmatic features communicating the deeper philosophical 84 85 86

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Tardieu (1992), 524–527. Cf. the famous scene (Plot. 2.23–31) when Plotinus is about to die and Porphyry reports his ultima verba: καὶ φήσας πειρᾶσθαι τὸν ἐν ἡμῖν θεῖον ἀνάγειν πρὸς τὸ ἐν τῷ παντὶ θεῖον; cf. also ibid. 8.19–23. Cf. (pace) Mansfeld (1994), 115f., who sees the lack of Plotinus’s doctrines in the Vita Plotini and refers to ibid. 26 where Porphyry speaks of his own commentaries on Plotinus. For the very Porphyry’s annotation of Plotinus’s treatises extant in the Arabic tradition see D’Ancona (2012), 37–71, esp. 50–69. Männlein-Robert (2002), 587. See the rich study by Motta (2014) on the late antique anonymous Prolegomena to Platonic Philosophy.

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purposes of the author Porphyry. With this special preface, Porphyry intends to prepare and to tune the future readers not only for the treatises, but also for the intellectual orientation of the Platonist Plotinus. This is the final philosophical σκοπός of the whole Ennead project. 3

Conclusion

Porphyry’s Isagoge is an isagogical writing on a philosophical topic, but as it were in a sort of porch: It proves to be a systematic, didactically conceived, dogmatic explanation of praedicabilia, which at his time are predominantly treated in Peripatetic circles. It serves as an aid for later studies of the categories of Aristotle and as propaedeutic for logical studies in general. The possible onto-logical interpretation of the terms is not explained, but hints at a Platonic discussion about the Aristotelian praedicabilia going on in the background. Besides, the Isagoge of the Platonist Porphyry is a distinctly independent, and therefore transferable writing to introduce and assist a Roman politician in a complicated philosophical field. What Porpyhry is doing with his Isagoge is not only bridging Aristotelian logics and Platonic metaphysics, but also bridging Middle Platonism and Plotinus’s Platonism, as he adapts his first teachers Longinus’s isagogical teaching, who deliberately included predicables with inherent metaphysical value. So Porphyry may be the first to transfer this isagogical pattern with a didactic purpose into the very field of logical studies for Platonists. The Vita Plotini, on the other hand, is an isagogical text for the new systematic and complete edition of a contemporary philosopher, the Platonist Plotinus, and its content is extremely closely related to this. For reasons βίος and τάξις are closely interwoven. This literary text has a clear philosophical objective: Plotinus is presented as a ‘holy’ and perfect Platonic philosopher in life and the circumstances of his writings and his basic doctrines are reflected. This reading of the thematically and anagogically designed Enneads is prepared by Porphyry. The elaborate arrangement of his eyewitness accounts, his scene reports, work lists, stylized episodes and inserted documents proves a programmatic Platonic substructure, but it also proves Porphyry to act as biographer as creative and freehand as he acts as editor of Plotinus’s Enneads. For both isagogical writings, as different as they may be, I want to emphasize Porphyry recalling explicitly to Peripatetics or Aristotelian traditions, but we must be very aware of Porphyry’s intention to harmonize Middle Platonic philological practices and logical and editorial tools of the Aristotelian tradition with outreaching genuine Platonic interests.

Chapter 5

From the Stoic Division of Philosophy to the Reading Order of Plato’s Dialogues Anna Motta 1

Introduction

Sextus Empiricus explicitly states that the Stoics – along with those Peripatetics whom Cicero regards as not differing from the philosophers of the Old Academy1 – divided philosophy into three parts (τρία μέρη). Although according to Diogenes Laertius, the first (πρῶτος) to divide philosophy into three parts – logic, physics, and ethics2 – was Zeno, he does not explicitly state that Zeno was the first philosopher to adopt this division (Diog. Laert. 7.39.2–7; transl. Hicks 1925): οὕτω δὲ πρῶτος διεῖλε Ζήνων ὁ Κιτιεὺς ἐν τῷ Περὶ λόγου καὶ Χρύσιππος ἐν τῷ α′ Περὶ λόγου καὶ ἐν τῷ α′ τῶν Φυσικῶν καὶ Ἀπολλόδωρος καὶ Σύλλος ἐν τῷ πρώτῳ τῶν Εἰς τὰ δόγματα εἰσαγωγῶν καὶ Εὔδρομος ἐν τῇ Ἠθικῇ στοιχειώσει καὶ Διογένης ὁ Βαβυλώνιος καὶ Ποσειδώνιος. Zeno of Citium was the first to make this division in his Exposition of Doctrine, and Chrysippus too did so in the first book of his Exposition of Doctrine and the first book of his Physics too Apollodorus and Syllus in the first part of their Introductions to Stoic Doctrine, as also Eudromus in his Elementary Treatise on Ethics, Diogenes the Babylonian, and Posidonius. This list of names of Stoic philosophers suggests that, according to Diogenes, Zeno was merely the first Stoic philosopher to draw this distinction.3 The Stoics, whose interest in pedagogy is well-known  – as shown by Quintilian, who invokes only Chrysippus’ authority with regard to pedagogy4 – speak of a logical order to the various disciplines and of an order in spiritual progress: 1 2 3 4

See Sext. Emp. Pyr. 2.13, and Cic. Acad. post. 18. See Diog. Laert. 7.40. See Mansfeld (2003). See Grilli (1996).

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what Goldschmidt describes as ‘logical time’ and ‘pedagogical time’.5 This was precisely the innovation made by the Stoics to the way of conceiving the division of philosophy into various parts. So the Stoic innovation does not lie in the division of philosophy per se. Besides, Sextus Empiricus mentions Xenocrates as the first author to actually divide philosophy into three parts.6 Likewise, Cicero states that Antiochus had already attributed this division to Plato.7 So the sources are in agreement as regards this aspect of the history of philosophy. Sextus writes (Sext. Emp. Math. 7.16; transl. Bury 1935): ὧν δυνάμει μὲν Πλάτων ἐστὶν ἀρχηγός, περὶ πολλῶν μὲν φυσικῶν, [περὶ] πολλῶν δὲ ἠθικῶν, οὐκ ὀλίγων δὲ λογικῶν διαλεχθείς· ῥητότατα δὲ οἱ περὶ τὸν Ξενοκράτη καὶ οἱ ἀπὸ τοῦ Περιπάτου, ἔτι δὲ οἱ ἀπὸ τῆς Στοᾶς ἔχονται τῆσδε τῆς διαιρέσεως. Of these Plato is, virtually, the pioneer, as he discussed many problems of physics and of ethics, and not a few of logic; but those who most expressly adopt this division are Xenocrates and the Peripatetics, and also the Stoics. Plato is ‘the pioneer’ because he bequeathed his doctrine to two disciples, Xenocrates and Aristotle, who – according to Antiochus in Cicero’s Varro – were steeped in their Master’s rich teachings (ubertate completi) and formulated a well-defined system, shaped by Platonic thought. In this chapter it will be crucial to examine not just the relation between Stoicism and Platonism by analysing the far from neutral strategy adopted by Antiochus in order to draw a connection between the Stoic system and Platonism, which had yet to be systematised, but also – and especially – to investigate how the Stoic way of conceiving logical time and/or pedagogical as a representation of the system influenced the definition of the τάξις of Plato’s dialogues – one of the most important elements in late antique isagogical schemata. I will discuss how and why the tripartition of philosophical knowledge had such a crucial impact on Neoplatonist isagogical speculation, as the very basis of the τάξις developed 5 See Goldschmidt (1979). 6 See Math. 7.16; Xenocr. fr. 1 Heinze = 82 Isnardi Parente. 7 See Acad. post. 43. For Xenocrates, just as for Plato, no more than a divisio utens can be claimed. A divisio docens is projected backwards; it was first worked out by Plato and Aristotle and further developed by Plato’s early pupils: this interpretative technique, called ‘elaboration’ (ἐξεργασία) in rhetorical theory, significantly influenced handbooks and treatises. See Mansfeld (1992b) and Patillon (1997), cvii–cviii.

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by Iamblichus,8 a philosopher who in the Prolegomena to Platonic Philosophy is credited with the establishment of two cycles for the reading of twelve dialogues.9 For these purposes, I will set out to examine: 1) the relation between the Platonic perfectissima disciplina and the ratio triplex mentioned by Cicero, thereby assessing the need for – and consequences of – the division of the doctrine; 2) the elements that make up the division into the various orders suggested by different philosophers or philosophical schools, and the logical and pedagogical order of the various disciplines; 3) finally, the issue of the reading order of the dialogues, where the logic introduced by the Stoics is suppressed as a discipline, whereas Platonic dialectic  – which in turn had been suppressed in the Stoic order  – acquires a mystagogical function. My ultimate aim is to show that, although it is difficult to determine how interpretative questions and strategies emerged – and in particular whether this occurred before or after the development of the doctrine –, narrowing down the field of enquiry to passages from introductory texts and isagogical elements – in this case τάξις – might more clearly show that in Neoplatonism exegetical suggestions presuppose a certain doctrine10 and in what sense the systematic Platonism of Late Antiquity moved beyond the admirabilis compositio disciplinae incredibilisque rerum ordo of the Stoics.11 2

The Ratio Triplex and the Logical and Pedagogical Order of the Parts of Philosophy

As Sextus Empiricus suggests, a systematic investigation must proceed κατὰ τάξιν, according to an order that is expressed by the division and arrangement of the various parts of philosophy, understood as disciplines (Sext. Emp. Math. 7.2; transl. Bury 1935).

8 9 10

11

See Dalsgaard Larsen (1972). See Anon. Proleg. 26.13–44. See Donini (1994), 5062 and Hoffmann (1998), 209–245. The texts just mentioned are intended to lead students towards the most acceptable interpretation according to the goals of Platonic doctrine (or the way in which such doctrine has been defined), by succinctly presenting the final outcomes of the attempts made across the ages to interpret Plato’s texts – i.e. by including such outcomes within specific reading schemata. Cic. Fin. 3.74.

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ἀλλ’ ἐπεὶ ποικίλον τι χρῆμα φιλοσοφία, δεήσει πρὸς τὸ κατὰ τάξιν καὶ ὁδῷ ζητεῖν ἕκαστον ὀλίγα περὶ τῶν ταύτης μερῶν διαλαβεῖν. Since, however, Philosophy is a complex affair, for the sake of an orderly and methodical inquiry into all its parts, we must first discuss briefly the question what its parts are. As already noted, according to Antiochus this possible division, which lies at the basis of the process leading to the systematisation of Platonic doctrine, had already (iam) been accepted by Plato himself. The master had set physics after ethics, and dialectic after physics (Cic. Acad. post. 19; transl. Rackham 1933): Fuit ergo iam accepta a Platone philosophandi ratio triplex, una de vita et moribus, altera dc natura et rebus occultis, tertia de disserendo et quid verum quid falsum quid rectum in oratione pravumve quid consentiens quid repugnet iudicando. There already existed, then, a threefold scheme of philosophy inherited from Plato: one division dealt with conduct and morals, the second with the secrets of nature, the third with dialectic and with judgement of truth and falsehood, correctness and incorrectness, consistency and inconsistency, in rhetorical discourse. In Cicero’s account, Plato is the source of both the Academy and the Peripatetics,12 and the Stoics differ from the Academics more in terms than in their actual opinions.13 Indeed, Zeno’s thought is merely a modified version of that of the Old Academy, rather than a new philosophical system.14 In the light of this, it is evident that Antiochus was able to trace the idea of a ratio triplex back to the undisputed auctoritas of Plato, whose doctrine constituted the source which his disciples Xenocrates and Aristotle drew upon, not without some dissupationes.15 The first distortion that the idea of a ratio triplex entails is the claim that Plato left behind a complete and perfect doctrine, on the basis of which the Peripatetics and Academics developed an ars of philosophy with an intrinsic ordo rerum and descriptio disciplinae. In the light of this, it is possible to posit a 12 13 14 15

Cic. Acad. post. 18. Cic. Acad. Pr. 15. Cic. Acad. post. 43. Cic. Acad. post. 33.

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link between the birth of the system to which Plato’s earliest heirs contributed, and the method used to introduce this system to students: when Platonism became an actual system, which is to say with Neoplatonism, isagogical value came to be assigned to the descriptio disciplinae and ordo rerum, which came together in the reading τάξις of the dialogues. Indeed, the τάξις of an author’s writings occupied such an essential place among the τρόποι τῆς διδασκαλίας of late antique Neoplatonist schools that, together with the σκοπός, it was among the crucial questions used to introduce the author, his works, and his doctrines. A decisive step towards the establishment of the system and the inclusion of the τάξις among the preliminary exegetical questions is certainly constituted by the encounter between Platonism and Stoicism, in the form of an influence exerted first by the former over the latter – as Antiochus would seem to suggest – and then by the latter over the former – as is instead shown by the systematisation of Platonism in Late Antiquity. However, it was not easy to establish this contact. Antiochus attempts to downplay the opposition between Stoicism and Platonism, in order to prove the equivalence between two systems focusing on different objects. But this operation is rather problematic, as it entails not just the introduction of elements foreign to Plato’s philosophy,16 but also the distortion of many doctrines. These first attempts to appropriate Plato’s thought hindered the creation of a truly powerful image of Platonism, one capable of rivalling and genuinely opposing the logical coherence and systematic unity of Stoicism – acknowledged not just by the Stoic Cato in De finibus,17 but also by his opponents. More in particular, when it comes to the division of philosophy and the order of its parts, the greatest difficulty lies in reconciling Platonic dialectic and Stoic logic, by conceiving both as disciplines that are part of the doctrine: according to the model of spiritual progress illustrated by Plato through two metaphors indicating the various stages in the acquisition of knowledge  – namely, the metaphor of the cave and that of Diotima’s mysteries – Platonic dialectic may be seen as the science of the Ideas; as such, it ought to be the first of all disciplines. But in the logical order established by the Stoics, physics is superior to dialectic, a discipline that they replace with ‘logic’,18 which stands at the basis of the pyramid of disciplines, as it belongs to the human sphere. This idea of logic might be traced back to Aristotle, although according to him the term ‘logic’ describes not a discipline, but a formal procedure consisting in the analysis of a definition. It was the Stoics, therefore, who introduced the 16 17 18

Cf. Numen. fr. 18.14. Cic. Fin. 3.74. Cf. svf 2.35.

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λογικὸν μέρος as one of the parts of philosophy, in place of dialectic. This redefinition of one of the original elements of Plato’s ratio triplex  – apparently a merely terminological change – which placed the dialecticae disciplina at the summit of the pyramid of disciplines, while ruling out logic as defined by the Stoics, shows just how complex the operation of absorbing Platonism within Stoicism actually was19 (Cic. Acad. post. 30; 32–33; transl. Rackham 1933): Tertia deinde philosophiae pars, quae erat in ratione et in disserendo, sic tractabatur ab utrisque. Quamquam oriretur a sensibus tamen non esse indicium veritatis in sensibus. mentem volebant rerum esse iudicem, solam censebant idoneam cui crederetur, quia sola cerneret id quod semper esset simplex et unius modi et tale quale esset (hanc illi idean appellabant, iam a Platone ita nominatam, nos recte speciem possumus dicere). […] In qua tradebatur omnis dialecticae disciplina id est orationis ratione conclusae; huic quasi ex altera parte oratoria vis dicendi adhibebatur, explicatrix orationis perpetuae ad persuadendam accommodatae. Haec forma erat illis prima, a Platone tradita. Then the third part of philosophy, consisting in reason and in discussion, was treated by them both as follows. The criterion of truth arose indeed from the senses, yet was not in the senses: the judge of things was, they held, the mind – they thought that it alone deserves credence, because it alone perceives that which is eternally simple and uniform and true to its own quality. This thing they call the Idea, a name already given it by Plato; we can correctly term it form. […] And under this head was imparted their whole doctrine of Dialectic, that is, speech cast in the form of logical argument; to this as a ‘counterpart’ was added the faculty of Rhetoric, which sets out a continuous speech adapted to the purpose of persuasion. This was their primary system, inherited from Plato. Cicero’s text clearly states that the alterations made by Zeno chiefly concern this third part.20 Zeno had to introduce some new terms to explain his theory (e.g. in relation to the imagination), terms which actually are also, and most notably, bound to reveal – as the use of the λογικὸν μέρος shows – the innovative quality of the theory itself (logic can take neither the role of dialectic, 19 20

The Stoic theory of knowledge, which assigns such great importance to sensible experience, can hardly be seen to agree with any form of Platonic epistemology: after all, anti-empiricism would appear to be one of the hallmarks of the Platonic tradition. Cic. Acad. post. 40.

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nor its place). Antiochus is able to downplay the opposition between Stoic empiricism and Platonic innatism through his theory of knowledge, by showing that according to the Platonists (i.e. the Old Academics) the senses have a certain importance and that according to the Stoics sensations are not the only criterion for true knowledge. Nevertheless, the whole theoretical activity represented by the dialecticae disciplina is absorbed within Stoic physics which, in turn, includes theology. What I have shown so far, then, are, on the one hand, the difficulties faced by the Stoics in restructuring their ratio triplex and, on the other, the difficulties faced by the Platonists in incorporating into their budding system a ‘Platonic’ tripartition that the Stoics had modified and employed in such a markedly anti-Platonic fashion. Logic, ethics and physics represent the three aspects of the spiritual exercises performed by the Stoic sage, who fortifies himself through logic, betters himself through ethics, and attains his goal through physics. Yet, these three aspects would not appear to constitute a didactic hierarchy valid for all students, i.e. they do not represent a stable pedagogical order.21 In the context of teaching, what matters for the Stoics is not so much to establish a hierarchy, as to assert the fact that the issue of λόγος can be addressed according to different perspectives, and that the system they are presenting is therefore a dynamic whole. The gap between logical time and pedagogical time in Stoicism would appear to be confirmed by the different orders according to which it is possible to start studying the λόγος. Plutarch accuses Chrysippus of slipping into self-contradiction, insofar as he accepts two different orders (logic, ethics and physics vs. logic, physics and ethics).22 Diogenes Laertius instead writes 21 22

Besides, Plutarch (St. rep. 1035A–D) maintains that the various orders have nothing to do with the philosophical importance of the individual disciplines. Plut. St. rep. 1035D5–F5: “According to Chrysippus, then, physical theory turns out to be ‘at once before and behind’ ethics, or rather the whirligig of the arrangement is utterly bewildering if the former must be placed after the latter, no part of which can be grasped without it; and the inconsistency is obvious in the man who, while asserting that physics is the beginning of the theory about good and evil, still orders it to be taught not before but after the latter. Still, Chrysippus, it may be said, in the treatise on Use of Discourse has written that one taking up logic as the first subject is not to abstain altogether from the rest but is to take such part of them also as opportunity offers. If anyone say this, his assertion will be true but will confirm the accusation, for Chrysippus is at odds with himself in here ordering theology to be taken up as last and terminal, on the ground that for this reason it is called ‘confirmation’ also, and elsewhere again saying that part of this too should be taken along with the first subjects. In fact, there is nothing left of the arrangement, if in all subjects part of all will have to be taken; but, what is more, after having taken theology to be the beginning of the theory of good and evil, his order is not that people begin with the former and thence proceed to take up ethical theory but that in taking up the latter they take such part of the former as opportunity offers and then pass

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that certain Stoic philosophers, including Zeno, Chrysippus, Archedemus and Eudromus, rank logic first when it comes to teaching, whereas Diogenes of Ptolemais starts from ethics, and Panaetius and Posidonius from physics (an order that, according to Sextus, takes account of the history of philosophy, which began as an investigation into physical matters).23 The fact that these various orders are to be associated with the pedagogical context24 – which is more flexible than the logical one when it comes to the division of the various disciplines – would appear to be confirmed, once more, by a Plutarchean testimony about Chrysippus.25 Here we clearly read that Chrysippus was among the first philosophers to invite young people to attend classes on logic (δεῖν τῶν λογικῶν πρῶτον ἀκροᾶσθαι τοὺς νέους), followed by ones on ethics, then physics and, finally, the teachings about the gods.26 There might indeed be a certain ‘flexibility’ to the order of the various parts to be studied, owing not to the way in which the doctrine and its logical hierarchy is conceived, but rather to a dynamic conception of teaching. Besides, this flexibility is a feature of introductory textbooks and educational texts on Platonism, which in this respect may have been influenced by Stoicism. The Didaskalikos – which, in addition to bringing together elements of Stoic origin, features Aristotelian doctrines  – starts from logic (which is called di­alectic, meaning the science of discourse27); it then continues with physics

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to the former from the latter, though to the latter he says there is no beginning at all or any access apart from the former” (transl. Cherniss 1976). Chrysippus’ definition of the telos, sc. “to live according to what happens in nature” (Diog. Laert. 7.87–88, κατ᾽ ἐμπειρίαν τῶν φύσει συμβαινόντων ζῆν) shows that ethics as put into practice also depends on the results of the study of nature, i.e., on one’s familiarity with physics. Chrysippus therefore placed physics before ethics, only because from the point of view of logical understanding physics precedes ethics. See Ioppolo (1980), 60–61 and Mansfeld (2003). Sext. Emp. Math. 7.20–21. Setting out from a different analysis – namely from the use of the expression division of philosophy and of the discourse surrounding philosophy (κατὰ φιλοσοφίαν λόγος), as well as from the distinction between διαίρεσις and μερισμός – Ierodiakonou (1993), 70 rejects the argument on the basis of which Hadot points to a Stoic exposition for educational purposes, and reaches instead the following conclusion: “The different orders of philosophical discourse could be said to reflect simply their interest in a clear exposition of the Stoic doctrines.” According to Ioppolo (1980), 62–63, Ariston of Chios radicalised Zeno’s position on the unity of the parts of philosophy, and hence did not admit the tripartition of philosophy even for pedagogical-didactic reasons. On the way in which teaching must be delivered and acquired as a whole according to Ariston, see Sen. Ep. 94.3 and 94.48. See Plut. St. rep. 1035A1–4 (= svf 2.42): “Chrysippus thinks that young men should hear lectures on logic first, on ethics next, and after that on physics and should get theology last as the termination for these studies” (transl. Cherniss 1976). Cf. Diog. Laert. 7.40–41. See Alc. Did. 3.153.30.

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and finally ethics. Apuleius instead starts from physics28 and Atticus proceeds from ethics to physics and then logic29 (where the last of these disciplines is studied in order to critically evaluate the first two and make their research more effective). On the one hand, as far as Stoicism is concerned, this flexibility reflects the dynamic unity of the system. On the other, however, in as far as post-Hellenistic Platonic philosophy is concerned, it appears to reflect a system that is still in the process of being developed, and which influences the ways in which teachers seek to introduce the doctrine: in their quest for unity, and in virtue of the relation between the different parts of philosophy and their logical order, Middle Platonists such as Albinus, before embarking on their exegetical work, must first clarify the fact that Plato’s doctrine – which is perfect and resembles the figure of a circle – makes it impossible to determine from the very beginning a starting point for students in the reading order of the dialogues. By contrast, with Neoplatonism, which gives the Platonic system a welldefined form in terms of its metaphysical-theological doctrinal hierarchy, not only does the logical order of the various disciplines become firmly established, along with the corresponding hierarchy of virtues, but so does pedagogical time. The pedagogical time of the reading τάξις of the dialogues is not the representation of a dynamic unity; rather – by virtue of the close relation between doctrine and teaching, the system and the schemata – it represents the doctrine and the system, and hence the fixed movement of ἐπιστροφή to the One, as the principle from which everything originates and to which everything returns. The τάξις, an analogical reflection of the cosmos, makes it possible to interpret the validity of the fixed circularity of the principle of causality according to the cosmo-literary theory: from the point of view of metaphysical reality, the hierarchy of Principles proceeds from the summit via differentiation, through a progressive increase in multiplicity; but from the point of view of the logical, which is to say ‘ascending’, order of the tendency towards assimilation via progressive degrees of virtue – as also illustrated by the pedagogical order in which the dialogues are to be read – it is actually directed towards the One.30 Before we come to Neoplatonism, however, it is worth considering the consequences of the addition of logic to Platonic dialectic in the Imperial age, and/ or of the replacement of the latter with the former. Antiochus exerted a considerable influence on post-Hellenistic and late antique authors of grammatical handbooks, who did not overlook ethical problems in favour of ones related 28 29 30

Apul. De dog. Plat. 1.4. Attic. fr. 1.2. See Anon. Proleg. 26.16–44 and Procl. In Ti. 1.12.30–13.10 Diehl (1.18.22–19.10 Van Riel).

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to expression, which is to say language. As we have seen, Quintilian quotes Chrysippus in relation to his theory of elementary education, yet his source is certainly an earlier one, and may probably be identified with Antiochus, who not only endorsed the doctrine of διαστροφή or depravatio rationis, but also manipulated it. Quintilian does not acknowledge the Platonic origin of certain statements borrowed and manipulated by his source. By contrast, in Imperial-age handbooks of Platonism – which share with later ones the use of isagogical schemata, an approach also common to grammatical handbooks – Antiochus’ influence is noticeable, but Stoic doctrine is interpreted in conformity with Platonic philosophy, which also sought other allies. It is in some of these texts that we can best appreciate the results of this operation, whose consequences cannot be reduced to a trivial eclecticism, as might be suggested by the absorption – in this case – of Stoicism into school Platonism. In Platonic texts influenced by the admirabilis ordo of the Stoics, dialectic ceases to be the highest science, and becomes the art used to distinguish and select the various topics in a discourse. In other words, it appears to be replaced by logic in the Stoic sense, although – unlike in Stoicism – it is not treated as a philosophical discipline.31 This would appear to be confirmed by Albinus’ Prologue, which reveals the difficulties associated with the integration of the Stoic discipline of logic into the framework of school Platonism. However, this text – precisely within the context of the question of the reading order of the dialogues (i.e. in the fourth and last isagogical question raised by Albinus) – also offers a solution that makes it possible to combine the ratio triplex with ‘Platonic dialectic’ (which is referred to as theology) and Stoic logic. When defining the parts of philosophy as δόγματα, Albinus presents politics as being separate from ethics, and theology as being separate from physics; and he leaves logic out of this doctrinal discourse, only to return to it when he must connect the various disciplines to the order of the dialogues and their educational purposes.32 When teachers of philosophy set out to turn Platonism into a system, they realised that Plato’s ‘logical’ writings were incapable of offering any real doctrinal teaching: their role – as Albinus explains – was rather to bind together all the various doctrines in the soul of the learner, just like Aristotelian analytics, which was identified with Stoic logic. Consequently, logic was not included among the disciplines featured in the hierarchical classification of the parts of philosophy33 (Alb. Prol. 6.151.4–9; my transl.):

31 32 33

See Diog. Laert. 7.83. Alb. Prol. 6.150.21–28. See Hadot (1990).

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ἵνα δὲ τὰ δεθέντα ἄφυκτα ἡμῖν ὑπάρχῃ, τοῖς τοῦ λογικοῦ χαρακτῆρος διαλόγοις, ὄντος καὶ αὐτοῦ ζητητικοῦ, δεήσει ἐντυγχάνειν· ἔχουσι γὰρ τάς τε διαιρετικὰς καὶ ὁριστικὰς μεθόδους καὶ πρός γε ἀναλυτικὰς καὶ συλλογιστικάς, δι’ ὧν τὰ μὲν ἀληθῆ ἀποδείκνυται, τὰ δὲ ψευδῆ ἐλέγχεται. In order for these doctrines to stably reside in us, it is necessary to read the logical dialogues, which are investigative: for they present the methods of division and definition, of analysis and syllogism, which demonstrate the truth and refute falsehood.

3

The Representation of the Doctrine

One of the chief concerns of Imperial-age Platonists would appear to have been unity, which was not yet understood in metaphysical terms (and with the cosmo-literary implications it entails), as was later the case with Neoplatonism. We find the superiority of Platonic philosophy being affirmed by authors such as Atticus, who states that Plato was the first philosopher to successfully bring together the various parts of philosophy into a single whole, without leaving any part out, in such a way as to turn philosophy into a well-ordered unity.34 The logical division of philosophy into various parts, which are brought together through the pedagogical reading order of the dialogues, does not undermine the unity of the doctrinal corpus of Platonism, precisely because its various parts are bound together by logic. Unity – understood as doctrinal unity rather than as the first principle of the Neoplatonists – thus stands at the centre of the discussions of Imperial-age philosophers, and it does not rule out an acknowledgement of the usefulness of envisaging a progressive pedagogical order to recompose the various parts of philosophical doctrine. Aulus Gellius bears witness to how important it was for Taurus to structure teaching according to a fixed order (and so the importance of a pedagogical time).35 Numenius seems to explicitly stress the importance of the relation between logical time and pedagogical time, when suggesting that young students avoid delving into Platonic theology too soon, and start instead by adequately classifying the various parts of philosophy, distinguishing them according to a specific order.36 Having shown that for the Stoics the logical order of the parts of phi34 35 36

Cf. Attic. fr. 1.34: ὁλόκληρος. Gell. na 1.9 = Taurus T8, T11 Petrucci. See Numen. fr. 11.

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losophy and the pedagogical one do not coincide, what I am now suggesting is that the ‘Platonic’ division of philosophy into various parts and the logicalhierarchical succession of its disciplines came to be included among the other isagogical elements in an effort to represent the unity of the doctrinal corpus of the Platonic system in an educational context. My underlying hypothesis is that the construction and definition of the Platonic system influenced the method of teaching and hence the exegetical strategies adopted; and that the logical order of the disciplines is directly reflected on the didactic level by the pedagogical order, while showing that according to the cyclical theory of causation37 analysis (the division of philosophy) is followed by synthesis (the reading order). It is no doubt problematic to affirm the perfect unity of Platonic doctrine, only to then divide it into parts – as Albinus shows. Yet this difficulty can be overcome precisely by presenting the unity of the doctrine according to a pedagogical time that recomposes logical time (Sext. Emp. Math. 7.20; transl. Bury 1935): ἀλλὰ γὰρ τριμεροῦς οὔσης τῆς φιλοσοφίας οἱ μὲν πρῶτον μέρος τάττουσι τὸ φυσικόν, ἐπεὶ καὶ χρόνῳ μὲν πρεσβυτάτη ἐστὶν ἡ περὶ τὴν φυσικὴν πραγματεία ὡς καὶ μέχρι νῦν τοὺς πρώτους φιλοσοφήσαντας φυσικοὺς καλεῖσθαι, τάξει δέ, ὅτι πρῶτον ἁρμόττει περὶ τῶν ὅλων διαλαβεῖν καὶ τότε περὶ τῶν ἐπ’ εἴδους καὶ τἀνθρώπου σκέπτεσθαι. Regarding Philosophy, then, as tripartite, some put Physics as its first division since it holds first place both in point of time – seeing that even up till now the earliest philosophers have been called ‘physicists’ – and also in natural order, as it is fitting to begin by discussing the Whole before we go on to investigate the particulars and Man himself. Sextus’ words suggest the existence of what are almost natural orders, since – as may be inferred – every order naturally reflects the doctrine of the school that established it. Sextus goes on to say that (Sext. Emp. Math. 7.21–22; transl. Bury 1935): οἱ δὲ ἀπὸ τῶν ἠθικῶν κατήρξαντο ὡς ἀναγκαιοτέρων καὶ πρὸς εὐδαιμονίαν ἐπισπώντων, καθὸ καὶ ὁ Σωκράτης παρήγγελλε μηδὲν ἄλλο ζητεῖν εἰ μὴ ὅττι τοι ἐν μεγάροισι κακόν τ’ ἀγαθόν τε τέτυκται. οἱ δὲ Ἐπικούρειοι ἀπὸ τῶν λογικῶν 37

See Gersh (1978), 45–57.

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εἰσβάλλουσιν τὰ γὰρ κανονικὰ πρῶτον ἐπιθεωροῦσιν, περί τε ἐναργῶν καὶ ἀδήλων καὶ τῶν τούτοις ἀκολούθων ποιοῦνται τὴν ὑφήγησιν. Others have begun with Ethics, as a more necessary subject and one which invites to happiness; just as Socrates gave out that his only subject of inquiry was “Whatso of evil and good within these homes is enacted.”38 The Epicureans start off with Logic, for they expound ‘Canonics’ first, treating of things evident and not-evident and allied matters. Therefore, although the Stoics too, like the Epicureans, assign logic first place in logical time – yet not always in pedagogical time – the reasons why they do so lie in their particular hierarchical conception of the philosophical system, a system which revolves around the λόγος. Logic is an inferior discipline compared to physics, because it is governed by the rules of human discourse: it includes the theory of the criteria and demonstrations at the basis of a safe (ἀκίνδυνος) reception of ethics, i.e. of the doctrine of moral perfection. The object of ethics is the λόγος of the rational nature of man, whereas physics – the culmination of this hierarchy – has the λόγος of the universal nature as its object. The three parts of philosophy according to the logical order represent not just three aspects of the system, but also – and most importantly – the three aspects of the spiritual attitude of the wise man who practices these three disciplines constantly and simultaneously.39 In Platonism these three parts are not an exercise for the wise man, but rather a pedagogical exercise for aspiring philosophers. They mark the various stages of an inner journey, a virtuous journey unfolding – along the lines of the better-known scala amoris of the Symposium40 – by successive degrees and according to a fixed order designed to purify the student’s soul through the avoidance of any form of excess.41 The purpose of this journey is to firmly establish an image of the system in the purified soul of the learner, by providing a ‘practical’ representation of it. 38 39

40 41

Hom. Od. 4.392. This is an oft-quoted line, sometimes also found elsewhere in the context of the division of philosophy and the relations between its parts: e.g., Ariston svf 1.353. M. Aur. Med. 8.13: “Continually and, if possible, on the occasion of every imagination, test it by natural science, by psychology, by logic” (transl. Farquharson 1989). The methods and aims of the teaching appear to be different in Platonism: Marcus Aurelius scorns the fictitious world of books and we have no evidence of Stoic exegetical works; by contrast, Plato lived on through his writings, legitimate heirs capable of giving rise to a new form of philosophy, an essentially exegetical one in which the interpretative strategies reflect the degree of systematisation of the doctrine. Pl. Symp. 211b7–d1. See Marin. Procl. 13.6–10.

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The Neoplatonist System and the Fixed τάξις of the Dialogues

The first example of the coincidence of logical and pedagogical time in a Neoplatonist context is to be found in Porphyry’s Life of Plotinus, which provides some indications with regard to the method of exegesis. Whereas Plotinus shows little interest in technical didactic questions, and hence in the development of a reading order, Porphyry’s careful ordering of the Enneads according to specific logical and pedagogical criteria marks a significant shift.42 Within the systematic arrangement adopted by Porphyry for the Enneads,43 it is possible to identify the various parts in which philosophy is divided and, at the same time, some pedagogical suggestions for making spiritual progress through the various treatises. The first Ennead brings together ethical treatises; the second and third correspond to the physical part of philosophy; finally, the fourth, fifth and sixth deal with the divine. Significant analogies are to be found with Albinus’ Prologue, which explicitly criticises the ‘dramatic’ order of the dialogues.44 Albinus had rejected this order, which is remote from any didactic aim,45 insofar as it displays none of the features of the unitary Platonic system that was then taking shape. Drawing upon the Chrysippean order, as the culmination of physics and an initiation and as the last subpart to be taught,46 Albinus invokes the usefulness of reading in class the First Alcibiades, Phaedo, Republic and Timaeus, which enables progression towards an awareness of divine things through the acquisition of the various virtues. The Timaeus, to quote Barnes, is the “cardiological text” of Imperial Platonism, whose heart was shaped by its physics.47 This dialogue was seen to allow students to learn about divine realities and to assimilate themselves to them, insofar as it supported the construction of the theory of principles and of a hierarchy of deities. However, already Plutarch,48 before Proclus49 – and apparently Plato and Aristotle too – had referred to that part of philosophy which concerns the first, simple and immaterial being, and hence comes after physics, as τὰ ἐποπτικά (that which concerns the mysteries), rather than

42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49

See Lamberton (2001), 444–445. See Goulet-Cazé (1982), 303–306, Saffrey (1992), Hadot (1999), 318 and Männlein-Robert’s chapter in this volume, esp. 83–90. See Mansfeld (1994), 70; 95–97 and Tarrant (2014). See Dunn (1976) and Reis (1997). See svf 2.42 and 2.1008. Barnes (1993), 140. Plut. De Is. et Os. 382D. Procl. Theol. Plat. 1.1 6–7.8.

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as ‘theology’. As Donini notes,50 in De facie Plutarch does not assign theology merely axiological primacy, because he cannot preserve the autonomy of the other theoretical disciplines like the Aristotelians.51 Given the idea that the Divinity itself is directly responsible for the order of the sensible world, those disciplines which study this world and physical objects cannot be fully independent: their first principles must be sought in the divine world; as such, they properly belong to theology. Origen’s Prologue to his Commentary on the Song of Songs52 is also influenced by these discussions and identifies the three parts of philosophy as ethics, physics, and epopteia.53 However, theology, or epopteia, finds no place in the writings of the Middle Platonist Galen. While ‘persecuting’ Stoicism precisely with regard to the issue of its ‘alleged’ systematic coherence, and denouncing the errors and contradictions of Chrysippus – particularly those in the treatise On the Doctrines of Hyppocrates and Plato – Galen on the one hand invites aspiring physicians to study logic, as the diairetic tool at the basis of all empirical investigations,54 and on the other hand acknowledges a correspondence between the various parts of philosophy (logic, physics, and ethics) and the various parts of medicine (diagnosis, anatomy, and treatment).55 This parallel, given the way in which it is formulated, actually reflects the instability of the Platonic system in the 2nd century ad. While medical texts feature the same questions presented in the prologues to philosophical texts – besides, Galen himself was a Platonist philosopher – medicine ignores the metaphysical-theological component, i.e. that particular relation which the Platonists established between physics and metaphysics. This is only present in embryonic form in certain Middle Platonist authors, but was later fully developed by the Neoplatonists, when the system to be taught became a metaphysical-theological one and dialectic came to be conceived as ἀναγωγή. This is precisely what the ascending order in which Plotinus’ treatises were arranged shows:56 the fact that the new doctrinal achievements of Neoplatonism influenced the teaching of philosophy, and that the relation between physics and theology is one of subordination rather than inferiority, where the former enjoys logical-pedagogical priority over the latter.57 The 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57

See Donini (1994). Plut. De fac. 942D1–9. In Cant. 75.6. See Hadot (1982), 117 and Dorival (2013), 85–102. See Gal. Opt. Med. 1.53–63. See Oser-Grote (1998), 95–120. On the relation between physics and metaphysics in Plotinus, see Linguiti (2014). See Procl Procl. In Ti. 1.204.8–11 Diehl (1.302.7–10 Van Riel).

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point already noted by Plutarch and which also found its way into the Enneads was then further emphasised by Iamblichus and subsequent Neoplatonists. To be more precise, according to the Theology of Plato, physics is propaedeutic to theology.58 If nature falls among the objects of the discipline of theology, this means it depends on the gods; hence, its study cannot be abstracted from the metaphysical field, which is to say from the core of Platonic doctrine  – contrary to what Aristotle had suggested, according to the Neoplatonist reading of the Metaphysics.59 No doubt, the order of the Enneads was influenced by the thematic arrangement of Aristotle’s acroamatic writings, as acknowledged by Porphyry himself.60 But equally evident is the influence of Neoplatonist doctrine on the idea of how one is to ‘correctly’ embark on exegesis. Another interesting aspect of the late Neoplatonist use of these isagogical questions is the fact that – as already mentioned – it entails the mystagogical characterisation of dialectic as ἀναγωγή.61 The recovery of dialectic, as that discipline which studies relations within the intelligible world, shows that what is new about the Iamblichean curriculum is not its contents, but what it represents and aims to attain. Chrysippus too uses the metaphor of initiation into the Eleusinian Mysteries and describes physics – or, rather, that part of physics devoted to theology  – as an initiation (τελετή) concerning the gods.62 In Neoplatonism the association between dialectic and mysteries reveals something more, since it provides a preliminary clarification of the object of study, which  – all metaphors aside  – constitutes a mystagogy,63 an initiation into divine mysteries.64 To be more precise, in Proclus the mystagogical characterisation of dialectic represents the upward direction of the cyclical theory, a mode of learning that moves from effect to cause, in parallel with the psychic and metaphysical ἐπιστροφή of the soul towards the Intellect and of being towards the One.65

58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65

See Procl. Theol. Plat. 1.2 10.25–11.7. Aristotle’s Metaphysics failed to sufficiently distance itself from the strictly physical study of the cosmos: see Steel (2003). See Porph. Plot. 24. See too Mansfeld (1994), 113. See Gritti (2008), 150. Plut. St. rep. 1035B1–3. Marin. Procl. 13.9: ἡ Πλάτωνος μυσταγωγία. It may be argued that Platonic theology transcends the theology of the ‘daemonic’ Aristotle, because the First Principle it contemplates, the One, transcends the Intellect and is the First God: see Procl. Theol. Plat. 1.3 13.6–23. The downward direction of the cyclical theory – the metaphysical order – instead manifests itself in dialectic as the expository and didactic discourse illustrating the truth according to the ontological πρόοδος.

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An aspiring Platonist philosopher will first (πρῶτον) read the Alcibiades, the first of the ten dialogues of the first cycle, because it encompasses the whole range of (practical, theoretical, physical and theological) disciplines, which are then reconstructed in the Philebus, the last dialogue of the first cycle, according to the psychic ἐπιστροφή. The order to be established (δεῖ τάττειν) is therefore that of the middle dialogues, which, when studied according to a scale (κατά βάθος) of virtues (i.e. the scale of post-Porphyrian virtues) contribute to elucidating the doctrine according to which the One-Good is the principle of all virtue – for in Neoplatonism we find a clear correspondence between the various virtues and the various disciplines into which philosophy is divided.66 In order to legitimately be included among the isagogical questions, the τάξις must be connected to that theory that makes the only σκοπός of each individual dialogue the literary image of the One, and the order of the dialogues the image of the theory of the unity of virtues. Thus a student will first read the Gorgias, which teaches political virtue and practical science, and then the Phaedo, which promotes the attainment of the cathartic virtues, while he will learn the theoretical virtues through the specific teachings on names, things, nature and theology to be found in the Cratylus, Theaetetus, Sophist, Statesman, Phaedrus, and Symposium. And the stage of analysis will be followed by the stage of synthesis: as shown by the use of the verb συναιρέω,67 the physical and theological disciplines are brought together in their natural relation by the Timaeus and Parmenides, the dialogues which make up the second reading cycle. Their complementary nature reveals the perfect way in which physics and metaphysics are expressed in an isagogical context.68 This succession of disciplines or sciences, as schools of virtue, might indeed be traced back to Iamblichus. In his Commentary on the First Alcibiades, Proclus states that according to Iamblichus the Alcibiades contains the whole

66

67 68

This has been shown by O’Meara (2003), 52: “The notion that a scale of sciences corresponds to a scale of virtues and that progression in the former brings progression in the latter may seem strange, if we think of scientific training as unrelated to the moral life. However, it may be of help in reaching the point of view of a Neoplatonist in Late Antiquity to recall, for example, that the division between practical and theoretical sciences in Aristotle corresponds to a division between moral and intellectual virtues, and that excellence in theoretical science represents the highest human virtue, a divine-like life. For the Neoplatonist too, theoretical knowledge at its best constitutes a perfection of human life at its highest level, that of intellect. Moral virtue, in Aristotle, also involves a form of intellectual excellence, practical wisdom, an aspect stressed also, we have seen, in the later Neoplatonic distinction between ‘ethical’ and ‘political’ virtue.” See Anon. Proleg. 26.19. The verb συναιρέω already occurs in Pl. Phdr 249c. See Anon. Proleg. 26.13–44.

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of philosophy in embryonic form.69 He then goes on to state that philosophy consists of a range of theorems built around four themes: logic, ethics, physics, and theology.70 However, the logic mentioned by Proclus is a residue of the Aristotelian curriculum of the ‘lesser mysteries’ and, before that, of the attempt at didactic systematisation attested by Middle Platonist texts: Proclus understands logic as an ‘aid’ to learning.71 This Neoplatonist interpretation is also confirmed by Aristotelian commentators: in his Commentary on the Categories,72 Ammonius draws upon the theory that works on logic must be read before the natural sequence ethics-mathematics-theology,73 because – as Simplicius confirms – they create within us the faculty of judgement.74 5

Concluding Remarks

In its late years, the Platonic system shows a greater degree of consistency compared to the Stoic one. If what we mean by ‘system’ is a kind of thought that is perfectly coherent in all of its various parts, and where all these various parts are well-connected and logically consistent, so as to offer a range of concepts to explain all that needs to be explained, then Neoplatonism is undoubtedly a system. We find no divergence between doctrine and teaching; and, besides, the course that students are offered is structured in such a way as to follow the order of the Neoplatonist universe: if – as we read in the Prolegomena75 – the dialogues are the cosmos, just as the cosmos is the dialogue, by extension it may be argued 69 70 71 72

73

74 75

Iambl. fr. In Alc. 1 = Procl. In Alc. 11.12–17. See Procl. In Alc. 11.4–11. Procl. In Alc. 13.20–22: “For the secondary and instrumental must always adhere to the primary and principal parts and to be treated so as to harmonise with them” (transl. Westerink 1954). Leaving aside the role played by logic, the Aristotelian curriculum is closely related to the Platonic one, as all the various disciplines serve the same aim: to help the student ascend towards the First Principle – for the Aristotelians, the Unmoved Mover, which in a way corresponds to the Neoplatonic One. Amm. In Cat. 6.1–9: “The natural sequence would be to begin with ethical treatise, so that after first disciplining our character, we might in that way get to the other writings. But he has used demonstrations and syllogisms in that , too, and we are likely to be ignorant of them, being untutored in this kind of discourse. So, for this reason, we must begin with logic, having first, of course, disciplined our own character without the ethical treatise. After logic we must go on to the ethics, and then take up the physical , and after those the mathematical ones, and finally the theological ones” (transl. Cohen – Matthews 1991). Simp. In Cat. 5.1. See Anon. Proleg. 16.3–4.

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that Platonic doctrine is the cosmos, just as the cosmos is Platonic doctrine. Within this context, the τάξις proves not just a requirement for the system, but also its ‘natural’ representation, an element which contributes to the didactic representation of an aspect of the Neoplatonist cosmos. To sum up the points discussed so far: 1) An investigation of the division of philosophy into parts has helped bring out one aspect in the process of systematisation of Platonism; 2) In particular, this aspect, which takes the form of a search for and acknowledgement of a specific reading order for the dialogues, is one of the defining features of a later Platonism that is more systematic than Stoicism; 3) The reading order of the dialogues represents the late antique Platonic system and therefore makes it possible to observe this system at work on the literary level, i.e. within the isagogical reading schema, which may be seen to function like the metaphysical cosmos. For all the above reasons, it is not enough to say – as Pierre Hadot does in a landmark contribution – that, unlike in Stoicism, in Neoplatonism the order of the various parts of philosophy corresponds to the inner journey towards the divine.76 It is also crucial to argue and show that, while being indebted to Stoicism, the Platonic system is not dynamic but cyclical. Therefore, its teaching programme reflects not so much a dynamic unity, as the stability of a scale of virtue that unfolds according to fixed stages, while representing the cyclic theory of causation, and hence influences not just the logical order of the disciplines – as in Stoicism – but also the pedagogical order. Consequently – as Porphyry explains77 – in order for the isagogical elements, such as the τάξις of the dialogues, to be rightfully included among the reading schemata of Platonist philosophy, they must serve as an essential starting point to understand the doctrine, which is to say that they must intrinsically be part of the metaphysical system they represent. 76 77

Hadot (1979). See Porph. Isag. 1.3–5.

Chapter 6

Interpretive Strategies in Proclus’ Isagogical Remarks on the Timaeus Gerd Van Riel It would be a bit redundant to start this contribution by pointing out that Proclus is one of the most systematic thinkers to have ever existed. In his version of Platonic philosophy all is brought under the broad scope of the entire system, and no detail is left unaccounted for. In light of this, any contradiction or incongruity, however small, one may still find in Proclus’ works, becomes of great significance. Such a contradiction would normally be explained in two different ways: it may either reveal that, despite Proclus’ own efforts, part of the system has remained unexplained, or that our interpretation of the system is not advanced enough to explain away the contradiction. But there seems to be a third way, which is often times neglected by interpreters: it might be the case that Proclus did indeed allow for a contradiction to persist in view of safeguarding the systematicity of more important elements of the doctrine. In other words, that his overall strategies of explaining reality and interpreting Plato allow for small incongruities, if that means that the incongruity helps to achieve the broader scope of establishing a system. In this latter case, if no harmonizing explanation can be found, one gets to see interesting things. For this kind of lacuna in the system is the place where Proclus’ methodology and interpretive strategies, or even his hidden agenda, can be laid bare. If a contradiction remains unsolved, Proclus must have had good reasons to leave it untouched, obviously because he did not want to give up the basic premises that produced this incongruity in the first place. A rare example of this kind of contradiction can be found, I believe, in Proclus’ discussion of the nature and character of Plato’s Timaeus at the beginning of his monumental Commentary on this dialogue. The isagogical points Proclus discusses before tackling the commentary proper, are the dialogue’s target or focal point (πρόθεσις or σκοπός: In Ti. 1.1.1.4–4.5 Diehl [1.1.4–5.10 Van Riel]), its plan (οἰκονομία: 1.4.6–7.16 Diehl [1.5.11–10.18 Van Riel]), its genre or character (εἶδος or χαρακτήρ: 1.7.17–8.29 Diehl [1.11.1–12.19 Van Riel]), the occasion for the discussion (ὑπόθεσις: 1.8.30–9.13 Diehl [1.12.20–13.14 Van Riel]), and the dialogue’s participants (πρόσωπα: 1.9.13–24 Diehl [1.13.15–14.5 Van Riel]). On top of this rather conventional list of isagogical points, Proclus adds a very specific issue related to the dialogue’s contents: the question of the © Gerd Van Riel, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004506190_008

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nominal definition and status of “nature” (τὸ τῆς φύσεως ὄνομα: 1.9.25–14.3 Diehl [1.14.6–20.10 Van Riel]). In this context, he also raises the question of how the Timaeus relates to that other dialogue in which the study curriculum culminates: the Parmenides.1 This additional isagogical discussion will be important for present purposes, and we will come back to it in due course. In his isagogical discussion of the genre or character of the Timaeus (In Ti. 1.1.7.17–8.29 Diehl [1.11.1–12.19 Van Riel]), Proclus is arguing for a double characterization of Timaeus, as Pythagorean and Socratic at the same time. From the very first page of his Commentary, Proclus has been pointing out the dialogue’s Pythagorean imprint. It is evident by the fact that Plato emulates, or so Proclus believed, the treatise De natura mundi et animae by Timaeus of Locri, which led earlier interpreters to say that Plato wanted to τιμαιογραφεῖν (Procl. In Ti. 1.1.1.8–16 Diehl [1.1.8–14 Van Riel]; transl. Tarrant 2007, slightly modified): Indeed, the Pythagorean Timaeus’ own work has the title on Nature in the Pythagorean manner. This was, in the sillographer’s [i.e. Timon of Phleious] words, ‘Plato’s starting point when he undertook to do Timaeus-writing’. We used his work as an introduction to our commentary, so that we should be able to know which of the claims of Plato’s Timaeus are the same, which are additional, and which are actually in disagreement with the other man’s – and make a point of searching for the reason for the disagreement.2 Despite the fact that he got the chronology entirely wrong here, it is clear that Proclus considers the bare fact that Plato wrote a dialogue called Timaeus as a confirmation of his Pythagorean pedigree. Proclus further explains the Pythagorean nature by indicating that the dialogue “is filled throughout with all the finest rules of physical theory” (1.1.17–18 Diehl [1.1.17–18 Van Riel]) and that Plato has perfected this Pythagorean character of the study of nature, by applying a threefold division of natural philosophy, one part busying itself with matter and material causes, the next including investigation of the form as a cause, and the third part postulating (ὑποτιθεμένης) that three causes are at play in physics: the productive, the paradigmatic and the final cause (1.2.1–9 Diehl [1.2.7–14 Van Riel]). Thus, while his predecessors only focused on matter, 1 Cf. Anon. Proleg. 26.17–21. 2 καὶ γὰρ καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ τοῦ Πυθαγορικοῦ Τιμαίου γράμμα Περὶ Φύσεως τὸν Πυθαγορικὸν τρόπον διατάττεται, “ἔνθεν ἀφορμηθεὶς”, ὁ Πλάτων “τιμαιογραφεῖν ἐπιχειρεῖ” κατὰ τὸν σιλλογράφον, ὃ καὶ προὐτάξαμεν τῶν ὑπομνημάτων ἵν’ ἔχοιμεν γινώσκειν τίνα μὲν ὁ Πλάτωνος Τίμαιος λέγει τὰ αὐτὰ ἐκείνῳ, τίνα δὲ προσέθηκε, τίνα δὲ καὶ διάφωνα· καὶ τῆς διαφωνίας ζητῶμεν τὴν αἰτίαν μὴ παρέργως.

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Plato was the only one to apply the Pythagorean principles to a full understanding of the physical world (1.2.9–4.5 Diehl [1.2.14–5.10 Van Riel]). The Pythagorean nature of the Timaeus can thus hardly be denied. Yet, in a next phase of the introductory remarks, while dealing with the dialogue’s general character and approach, Proclus states that, in addition to being Pythagorean, the Timaeus is also Socratic. He repeats the point on τιμαιογραφεῖν (Procl. In Ti. 1.1.7.18–21 Diehl [1.11.2–5 Van Riel]; transl. Tarrant 2007): There is universal agreement that Plato took over the book of the Pythag­ orean Timaeus, the one that had been composed by him on the subject of the universe, and undertook to ‘do Timaeus-writing’ in the Pythagorean manner.3 and then immediately adds the following (Procl. In Ti. 1.1.7.21–26 Diehl [1.11.5– 10 Van Riel]; transl. Tarrant 2007): Moreover, this too is agreed by those who have had a mere fleeting encounter with Plato, that his character is Socratic  – both considerate and demonstrative. So if there’s anywhere else that he has combined the distinctive features of Pythagorean and Socratic, then he obviously does this in this dialogue too.4 It is important to add Proclus’ reasons for pointing at this double characterization of the Timaeus. For indeed, he does not fail to provide us with a list of peculiarities of both the Pythagorean and the Socratic way of investigating.5 The Pythagorean approach consists in the following characteristics (1.7.26– 31 Diehl [1.11.10–15 Van Riel]): – loftiness of mind (τὸ ὑψηλόνουν) – discursive understanding (τὸ νοερόν) – divine inspiration (τὸ ἔνθεον) – linking everything with the intelligibles (τὸ ἀπὸ τῶν νοητῶν πάντα ἐξάπτον) – depicting the whole in terms of numbers (τὸ ἐν ἀριθμοῖς τὰ ὅλα ἀφοριζόμενον)

3 ὁμολογεῖται δὴ παρὰ πάντων ὅτι τοῦ Πυθαγορικοῦ Τιμαίου τὸ βιβλίον ὁ Πλάτων λαβών, ὃ περὶ τοῦ παντὸς αὐτῷ σύγκειται, τὸν τῶν Πυθαγορείων τρόπον τιμαιογραφεῖν ἐπεχείρησεν. 4 ὁμολογεῖται δ’ αὖ καὶ τοῦτο παρὰ τῶν καὶ σμικρὰ τῷ Πλάτωνι συγγεγονότων, ὅτι τὸ ἦθος αὐτοῦ Σωκρατικόν ἐστι καὶ φιλάνθρωπον καὶ ἀποδεικτικόν. εἴπερ οὖν ἄλλοθί που ξυνεκεράσατο τήν τε Πυθαγόρειον καὶ Σωκρατικὴν ἰδιότητα, κἀν τῷδε τῷ διαλόγῳ τοῦτο φαίνεται ποιῶν. 5 The idea that Plato held the middle between Socrates and Pythagoras was also put forward in Numenius’ work on the fidelity (or lack thereof) of Plato’s successors: Numen. fr. 24.

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– giving an indication of things in a symbolic and mystical fashion (τὸ συμβολικῶς τὰ πράγματα καὶ μυστικῶς ἐνδεικνύμενον) – leading upwards (τὸ ἀναγωγόν) – surpassing the study of particulars (τὸ ὑπεραῖρον τὰς μεριστὰς ἐπιβολάς) – proceeding by revelation (τὸ ἀποφαντικόν) The Socratic considerate style (φιλανθρωπία), on the other hand, includes the following (1.7.31–8.1 Diehl [1.11.15–18 Van Riel]): – approachability (τὸ εὐσυνουσίαστον) – gentleness (τὸ ἥμερον) – providing demonstrations (τὸ ἀποδεικτικόν) – studying reality through images (τὸ δι’ εἰκόνων τὰ ὄντα θεωροῦν) – a focus on moral issues (τὸ ἠθικόν) Now it is in this list of Pythagorean and Socratic characteristics that lies the contradiction or incongruity we want to focus attention on. The peculiarity of indicating things in a symbolic and mystical fashion (τὸ συμβολικῶς τὰ πράγματα καὶ μυστικῶς ἐνδεικνύμενον) is here said to be Pythagorean, while the Socratic endeavour is to study reality through images (τὸ δι’ εἰκόνων τὰ ὄντα θεωροῦν). However, at the beginning of his Platonic Theology, Proclus says something different. At Platonic Theology 1.4, in the isagogical remarks to his systematic treatise on Plato’s theology, he famously declares that Platonic theological speculation is elaborated in four different ways: two ways of talking about the highest principles in an allusive way (δι’ ἐνδείξεως): either (1) in a symbolic and mythical way (συμβολικῶς καὶ μυθικῶς), or (2) by using images (δι’ εἰκόνων); and two ways of using an unveiled speech about those principles (ἀπαρακαλύπτως), either (3) by using scientific language (κατ’ ἐπιστήμην), or (4) by giving a revelation under divine inspiration (κατὰ τὴν ἐκ θεῶν ἐπίπνοιαν).6 He then clearly identifies the principal adherents to those four methods: (1) the symbolic and mythical way is typical of the Orphic Poems, and in general of divine myth makers, (2) the study of reality through images is typical of the Pythagoreans, (3) the divinely inspired expression is mainly used by the most initiated (i.e. the Chaldaean Oracles), and (4) the scientific mode is most typical of Plato himself.7 Thus, strikingly enough, Proclus states explicitly that the Pythagorean way of doing theology is δι’ εἰκόνων, whereas the character of proceeding in a

6 Procl. Theol. Plat. 1.4 20.1–5. On this passage and its context, see Pépin (2000) and Gersh (2000). 7 Procl. Theol. Plat. 1.4 20.6–25.

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symbolic and mystical fashion8 is typical, not of the Pythagoreans but of the Orphic Hymns. Equally interesting are the reasons Proclus adduces for these identifications in his Platonic Theology. Proceeding through images is typical of the Pythagoreans, he says (Procl. Theol. Plat. 1.4 20.8–12; my transl.), because they discovered mathematics in view of the recollection (ἀνάμνησις) of the divine principles, and through mathematical insights, as images, they tried to gain access to them; for indeed, they devoted the numbers and geometrical figures to the gods, as is testified by those who studied the history of Pythagoreanism.9 One might thus say that the typicalities of Pythagorean speculation as depicted in In Timaeum, namely the endeavour to link everything with the intelligible, the study of the whole in terms of numbers, and the anagogic character, are now (in Theol. Plat.) linked to using mathematics as images, whereas at In Timaeum these characteristics were seen as connected, not with mathematics, but with the symbolic and mystical way of proceeding that was said to be typical of the Pythagoreans. Proclus, moreover, explicitly refers to the Timaeus right before this general typology, emphasizing the fact that the Timaeus (alongside the Statesman) proceeds through images.10 The direct inference, in this context of the Platonic

8

9

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There is a slight terminological difference between the characterization in the two passages: at In Ti. 1, the Pythagorean way is described as συμβολικῶς καὶ μυστικῶς, while at Theol. Plat. 1 the Orphic Poems are said to theologize συμβολικῶς καὶ μυθικῶς. This obviously has a bearing on how things were presented (in mythical form, in the case of the Orphic Hymns, or rather as mystic revelations, in the case of the Pythagoreans). It should be noted, in addition, that Proclus indicates at In Ti. 3 (2.246.6–9 Diehl [3.333.11–16 Van Riel]) that the theologians make use of myth, and the Pythagoreans of symbols, by way of curtains (παραπετάσματα) that cover (but allow us to uncover) the truth of things, and that one can also get to the transcendent reality through images. But these distinctions do not do away with the general categorization that underlies the two typologies, namely that there is a symbolic revelation of higher reality, i.e. an access way to the divine through the use of symbols and myth/mystic speech. Neither does this do away with the fact that, in all cases, from In Ti. as well as Theol. Plat., this categorization is placed over against the method of proceeding through images (δι’ εἰκόνων). Ὁ δὲ διὰ τῶν εἰκόνων Πυθαγόρειος, ἐπεὶ καὶ τοῖς Πυθαγορείοις τὰ μαθήματα πρὸς τὴν τῶν θείων ἀνάμνησιν ἐξηύρητο καὶ διὰ τούτων ὡς εἰκόνων ἐπ’ ἐκεῖνα διαβαίνειν ἐπεχείρουν. καὶ γὰρ τοὺς ἀριθμοὺς ἀνεῖσαν τοῖς θεοῖς καὶ τὰ σχήματα, καθάπερ λέγουσιν οἱ τὰ ἐκείνων ἱστορεῖν σπουδάζοντες. Procl. Theol. Plat. 1.4 19.6–22.

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Theology, can only be that the Timaeus owes this method of operating through images (δι’ εἰκόνων) to its Pythagorean character. We are, thus, facing a real contradiction. How could a systematic thinker like Proclus leave these incongruous statements in? One could try the strategies of explanation I have referred to before, first by accepting that Proclus himself was not aware of the problem. But it would be very hard to accept that he did not notice the contradiction himself, given the emphatic expression in both texts, and given the fact that the introduction to Theologia Platonica pretends to be a general survey of all Platonic theology through all the dialogues (and explicitly mentioning the Timaeus). Second, could it be that we have to explain the incongruity away, by finding a solution that smoothens the problem? One might consider Stephen Gersh to make an attempt in this direction. To be sure, Gersh does not deal with the contradiction we revealed, but rather with the fact that in his Theologia Platonica, Proclus seems to have forgotten the “predominantly dialectical tone” of his own treatment of the Timaeus, whilst highlighting only the imagistic mode of exposition. Gersh then declares the following: The solution to the difficulty is probably that the Neoplatonist is referring in the passage of the Platonic Theology mainly to the prefatory materials of the Timaeus.11 That is to say, the characterization of Timaeus as δι’ εἰκόνων is referring to the Atlantis myth and the recapitulation of the Republic at the beginning of the dialogue, while the rest, in Gersh’s words, remains “predominantly dialectical”, and thus, presumably, scientific in a Platonic vein (the fourth way of doing theology). This explanation, however, does not do away with the contradiction I have highlighted (in fact, I have not seen anyone address it), nor does it take into account that even in the introduction to his Timaeus Commentary, Proclus is characterizing the dialogue in its entirety, not just the prefatory material, and hence, that both the characterization of a Pythagorean symbolic and mystical approach, and of a Socratic approach through images, apply to the dialogue as a whole, even omitting the Platonic scientific approach which he discerns at Theol. Plat. 1.4.12 11 12

Gersh (2003), 144. Another possibility might be to accept that Proclus changed his mind in the course of his intellectual career. It can be argued, by examining the presence of cross-references, that In Timaeum is composed at an earlier date than Theologia Platonica. It is generally accepted, however, that Proclus’ works do not really bear traces of diachronic evolution. The reason seems to be that Proclus kept revising and editing his previous works

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At the end of the day, as we cannot accept the contradiction to be an oversight, nor explain it away, we should, I think, accept that Proclus left it in for a very specific reason, namely that other interpretive strategies prevailed in this case, and that the incongruity had to be accepted as an accident de parcours, in order to safeguard more important exegetical principles. In any case, the place of mathematics, geometry and arithmetic as typical features of Pythagoreanism (and hence also of the Timaeus) is not questioned here. Proclus does recognize at all instances that this is what gives the Timaeus its Pythagorean flavor. The point is, really, about whether the imagistic character of the dialogue is due to its being Socratic or Pythagorean, and about whether the Pythagorean endeavour includes a symbolic and mystical approach. I believe the clue to understanding the contradiction is to be found in Proclus’ overall interpretive strategy of the dialogue. In recent works, the question has been raised more than once whether Proclus’ reading of the Timaeus is predominantly theological or physical. In his groundbreaking work, Alain Lernould has argued that Proclus’ interpretation is overwhelmingly theological, that, in other words, Proclus’ real interest in dealing with Plato’s cosmology and physics lies with theology: La philosophie platonicienne est essentiellement une théologie, et ce caractère théologique est, selon Proclus, reconnaissable dans toutes les parties de la philosophie et dans tous les dialogues platoniciens. C’est pourquoi Proclus définit ce qui est propre à la physique pythagoricienne de Platon (et qui l’oppose en particulier à celle d’Aristote) par ‘l’habitude de mettre tout en dépendance des Intelligibles’.13 This means that, according to Lernould, Proclus’ Commentary should be read as a work on theology, and that every detail of Plato’s Timaeus needs to be interpreted from a theological viewpoint. This interpretation takes as a starting point that Proclus only envisages what in the Timaeus is called the works of intellect (Ti. 29d–47e) and stashes away (escamote) the works of necessity (Ti. 47e–69a), whereas the third part of the dialogue, on the collaboration of reason and necessity (Ti. 69a–92c) seems to have been reduced to being a mere appendix (which according to Lernould also explains the loss of this part of the Commentary). Moreover, in line with this, Proclus downplayed the mathematical character of Plato’s Pythagorean physics in favor of the theological

13

throughout his career. If that is true, one would prima facie have to accept that Proclus could equally have eliminated the contradiction, which he obviously did not. Lernould (2001), 12.

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way of arguing, which is also attributed to the Pythagoreans, in that they connect the sensible with the intelligible. Lernould himself focuses on the second book of Proclus’ Commentary, arguing that Proclus’ hypotheses and demonstrations (more on which see below) serve as a way to elaborate a Platonic dialectics, and hence, as an ascent towards the divine causes of the universe: the Demiurge, the Paradigm, and the Good.14 Over against this position, Marije Martijn argued for a different perspective, namely that Proclus does not subsume physics under theology, but that in his view, there is a clear continuity between physics and theology. In an Aristotelian vein, Martijn takes the following as her leading principle: According to Proclus, all sciences are theology in some manner, since they all discuss the divine in its presence in some realm or other, just as all Aristotelian sciences study some aspect of being. Only pure theology, however, studies the divine per se, just as for Aristotle only metaphysics studies being per se. The other sciences study some aspect of the divine, with the appropriate methods and subject to the appropriate limitations.15 Proclus’ interpretation of Platonic physics would thus by nature have to include some views on the divine and the way in which the physical world coheres with the realm of the highest principles, without, for that matter, denying the specificity of dealing with the divine principles at the level of the physical world. As far as I see things, Martijn is right in criticizing Lernould’s rather peculiar idea on the escamotage, the stashing away, of the second part of the dialogue. For one, just by the loss of Proclus’ Commentary from Ti. 44d, it is impossible to judge whether, indeed, Proclus did underestimate this part of the dialogue. On the other hand, Martijn’s alternative seems overly Aristotelian, denying the fact that to a (Neo)Platonist’s mind, recognizing divine principles at every single level of reality is part and parcel of theology – that theology is not just a separate scientific approach, but a basic way of viewing reality that imbues all possible viewpoints. In that sense, without insisting on this point, it would be safe enough to say that physics, as any other science, is part of theology, and that to Proclus the study of nature only makes sense when put within this perspective of revealing the divine principles that govern reality. This explains, for instance, how Proclus, in his preliminary digression on the definition of nature (In Ti. 14 15

Lernould (2001), 14–15. Martijn (2010), 7.

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1.9.25–12.25 Diehl [1.14.6–18.17 Van Riel]), explicitly attempts to determine the place of nature within the entire system (Procl. In Ti. 1.1.11.9–14 Diehl [1.16.12–16 Van Riel]; transl. Tarrant 2007): So nature is the last one of those causes that construct this sensible bodily world and the limit of the plane of bodiless substances, but it is full of formal principles and properties through which it directs immanent things, and while it is a god, it is a god through its having been divinized and does not have its being a god from itself.16 That is to say, in defining the “nature” of nature, one cannot limit oneself to determining its operations, its faculties and effects, but one needs to establish how it connects with the entire structure of the universe as deployment of the first principle.17 This also explains why Proclus, after defining nature, feels the need to explain how the Timaeus relates to the Parmenides. As these dialogues were the culmination point of a student’s initiation to Platonic philosophy, Proclus would have to discuss the relation between these two dialogues anyways, but the reason why he chose to do this here, at this particular place, upon defining nature, and recapitulating the definition (1.12.26–30 Diehl [1.18.18–22 Van Riel]), reveals how he saw the definition of φύσις to be primarily theological. At the end of book one of In Ti., Proclus expresses the same idea by way of conclusion (Procl. In Ti. 1.1.204.8–12 Diehl [1.302.7–10 Van Riel]; transl. Tarrant 2007): True natural science must depend on theology, just as nature depends on the gods, and is divided up according to their overall grades, in order that words too should be imitators of the things they are supposed to signify.18 In line with this, wherever the occasion permits, Proclus makes his interpretation of the Timaeus climb up to a theological reading. Reviewing the instances of this procedure, one can detect a clear and constant strategy behind this. The obvious transition from a physical reading towards a theological explanation 16 17 18

ἡ τοίνυν φύσις ἐσχάτη μέν ἐστι τῶν τὸ σωματοειδὲς τοῦτο καὶ αἰσθητὸν δημιουργούντων αἰτίων καὶ τὸ πέρας τοῦ τῶν ἀσωμάτων οὐσιῶν πλάτους, πλήρης δὲ λόγων καὶ δυνάμεων, δι’ ὧν κατευθύνει τὰ ἐγκόσμια, καὶ θεὸς μέν, τῷ δὲ ἐκθεοῦσθαι καὶ οὐκ αὐτόθεν ἔχουσα τὸ εἶναι θεός. See Martijn (2010), 19–65 for an excellent analysis of the originality of Proclus’ definition of nature. δεῖ γὰρ τὴν ἀληθινὴν φυσιολογίαν ἐξάπτειν τῆς θεολογίας, ὥσπερ καὶ ἡ φύσις ἐξήρτηται τῶν θεῶν καὶ διῄρηται κατὰ τὰς ὅλας τάξεις αὐτῶν, ἵνα καὶ οἱ λόγοι μιμηταὶ τῶν πραγμάτων ὦσιν ὧν εἰσι σημαντικοί.

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is the backbone, but equally often Proclus first renders an ethical reading of the lemma, before expounding the physical or the theological meaning of the text. In all those cases, theology gets the final word, without, however, contradicting or undoing the previous ethical and/or physical interpretation. One is reminded here of the classical exegetical theory of the quadriga, which lists and promotes four different and complementary levels of interpreting a text (the literal or historical reading, the allegorical, the moral, and the anagogical). The situation is different, though, as in Proclus’ case, the successive readings concern different scientific disciplines or approaches. It is not just a matter of making the text speak to us in different ways, but rather of applying the text to different ways of understanding reality, at different ontological levels. In any case, the bottom line always is that the moral or the physical reading is encompassed within a more general (“higher”) view put forward in the theological reading. The connection between the meanings may at times seem far-fetched, but that does not refrain Proclus from reducing them to a common ontological structure. To name just one example, the lemma Ti. 17b7, where Socrates is referring to the discussions of the previous day (on the Republic), and introducing the recapitulation of these conversations, reads as follows (Pl. Ti. 17b7): Some we remember, and what we do not, you will stand by and remind us of.19 In his explanation of this lemma, Proclus surveys four possible meanings (Procl. In Ti. 1.1.27.20–28.13 Diehl [1.41.11–42.6 Van Riel]; transl. Tarrant 2007): In this you can find a moral principle (ἠθικόν), as Porphyry notes, the mean between false modesty and boastfulness. For he claimed to know neither all nor nothing, but to know some things rather than others. Its lesson in reasoning (λογικόν) is that one should provide an excuse for the summing up of one’s deliberations; this is a matter of dialectical procedure. Its lesson in physics (φυσικόν) is that physical principles are both permanently fixed and in flux, just as the present memory is in a way preserved, but in another way lost. For those things that are said of man should be transferred also to the whole of nature. The theological lesson (θεολογικόν) is that the one creation, even of its own self, retains the unswerving and immaculate character among its offspring, but that through the secondary and tertiary powers it is supported 19

Τὰ μὲν μεμνήμεθα, ὅσα δὲ μή, σὺ παρὼν ὑπομνήσεις.

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as it advances and is given an escort by them as it were, as they calm the confusion among generated things in its path; though it is transcendent of itself, it is even further removed on account of its setting secondary powers over the realm that it manages.20 Unlikely as this may seem (and terribly over-interpreting the short passage), Proclus first relates Socrates’ words to his moral attitude, then to logical principles of dialectics, and to rest and motion on the level of physics, with the explicit claim that what can be said of the human condition, must also be transferred to nature as a whole. The theological meaning, finally, sets this physical tension between rest and motion in the perspective of the layered structure of causes, the primary cause always retaining its steady character, and the subsequent causes dealing with lower beings as the transmitters of the first onto a realm where confusion needs to be ordered. The ultimate message seems to be no less than that Socrates’ reference to the incompleteness of his memory of the discussions of the other day is in fact brought forward by the structure of the universe that is unraveled in the theological reading. Proclus, moreover, indicates that this layered reading (which he probably took over from his teacher Syrianus), is a step forward compared to his predecessors: the suggestion is there that Porphyry limited himself to just explaining the text on a moral level, while Proclus is going well beyond that. To cut things short, one may thus conclude that Proclus was adamant to read the Timaeus from a theological perspective, as an access way to understanding the highest principles of reality, which Proclus, whenever he sees fit, defines as the efficient, the paradigmatic and the final cause. When, in the second book of his Commentary, Proclus discusses Plato’s methodology, he is enthusiastic to conclude the following (Procl. In Ti. 2.1.226.26–227.3 Diehl [2.31.20–32.6 Van Riel]; transl. Runia 2008): … just as in the case of geometrical hypotheses, the account will advance to the examination of the consequents and will discover the nature of 20

Ἐν οἷς ἠθικὸν μὲν εὕροις ἄν, ὥς φησιν ὁ Πορφύριος, τὸ μέσον εἰρωνείας τε καὶ ἀλαζονείας – οὔτε γὰρ πάντων ἔφατο μεμνῆσθαι οὔτε μηδενός, ἀλλὰ τῶν μέν, τῶν δ’ οὔ –· λογικὸν δὲ τὸ πρόφασιν παρασχέσθαι τῇ τῶν προβλημάτων ἀνακεφαλαιώσει – διαλεκτικῆς γὰρ τοῦτο μεταχειρίσεως –· φυσικὸν δὲ τὸ καὶ τοὺς λόγους τοὺς φυσικοὺς μένειν τε ἀεὶ καὶ μεταρρεῖν, ὥσπερ ἡ μνήμη ἡ παροῦσα πῇ μὲν σῴζεται, πῇ δὲ ἀπόλωλεν – ἃ γὰρ ἐπὶ τοῦ ἀνδρὸς λέγεται, ταῦτα καὶ ἐπὶ τὴν ὅλην φύσιν μετενεκτέον –· θεολογικὸν δὲ τὸ τὴν μίαν δημιουργίαν ἔχειν μὲν καὶ παρ’ ἑαυτῆς τὸ ἄτρεπτον καὶ ἄχραντον ἐν ταῖς ἀπογεννήσεσι, διὰ δὲ τῶν δευτέρων καὶ τρίτων δυνάμεων ἀνέχεσθαι προϊοῦσαν καὶ οἷον δορυφορεῖσθαι προκαταστελλουσῶν τὸν ἐν τοῖς γινομένοις θόρυβον, καὶ ἐφ’ ἑαυτῆς οὖσαν χωριστὴν ἔτι μᾶλλον εἶναι τοιαύτην διὰ τὸ δευτέρας ἐπιστῆσαι δυνάμεις τοῖς διοικουμένοις.

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the universe and its paternal and paradigmatic cause. For if the universe is generated, it has come into being through a cause. There is, therefore, a demiurgic cause of the universe. If there is a Demiurge, there is also a Paradigm of the cosmos, to which the constructor referred when he fashioned the universe. In this way the account concerning these subjects is sequentially introduced. The investigation of nature truly culminates in theology and for us that is a fine development!21 This obviously requires a clear methodology, which Proclus expounds in his Platonic Theology and applies in his Elements of Theology. This methodology is based on the procedures in geometry (hence the title Elementatio), and, as Lernould has amply demonstrated, it is underlying the entire second book of the Timaeus Commentary. In this book, Proclus defines – more geometrico – five presuppositions (ὑποθέσεις, In Ti. 2.1.236.14 and 355.24–25 Diehl [2.45.22 and 219.14–15 Van Riel]), i.e. basic assumptions that will underlie the demonstration, and three propositions (λήμματα, 2.1.348.14 and 355.24 Diehl [2.208.9 and 219.14 Van Riel]) or demonstrations (ἀποδείξεις, 2.1.276.18 Diehl [2.105.11 Van Riel]) that follow from them. What these principles and demonstrations are (e.g., the first hypothesis, “there is true being, which is comprehended by intuitive knowledge together with a reasoned account”, 2.1.236.21–22 Diehl [2.46.7–8 Van Riel]) is less important for present purposes. What is important, is the function they have in the methodology, which Proclus explains as follows (Procl. In Ti. 2.1.236.15–21 Diehl [2.46.1–7 Van Riel]; transl. Runia 2008): It seems to me that Plato, just like the geometers, precedes his demonstrations by first assuming definitions and basic presuppositions, which he uses to make the demonstrations, establishing them in advance as principles of the whole of natural philosophy. For just as there are principles for music and different ones for medicine, and the same goes for 21

… ἵν’ ὥσπερ ἐκ γεωμετρικῶν ὑποθέσεων ἐπὶ τὴν τῶν ἀκολούθων ἐξέτασιν ὁ λόγος προϊὼν τήν τε τοῦ παντὸς ἀνεύρῃ φύσιν καὶ τὴν πατρικὴν αὐτοῦ καὶ παραδειγματικὴν αἰτίαν· εἰ γὰρ γενητὸν τὸ πᾶν, ὑπ’ αἰτίου γέγονεν· ἔστιν ἄρα δημιουργικὸν αἴτιον τοῦ παντός. εἰ ἔστι δημιουργός, ἔστι καὶ παράδειγμα τοῦ κόσμου, πρὸς ὃ δεδημιούργηκεν ὁ ξυνιστὰς τὸ πᾶν. καὶ οὕτως ἐφεξῆς καὶ ὁ περὶ τούτων εἰσάγεται λόγος, καὶ τελευτᾷ δὴ καλῶς ἡμῖν εἰς θεολογίαν ἡ φυσικὴ θεωρία. Cf. also In Ti. 2.1.217.22–25 Diehl (2.19.4–9 Van Riel): “Timaeus for his part examines the nature of the universe not only along these lines [i.e., body-soul-intellect, parts-whole], but especially in terms of the procession from the Demiurge. In this respect natural philosophy is seen as a kind of theology, because entities that come into existence naturally, inasmuch as they are generated from the gods, also have a kind of divine existence.” (ἀλλ’ ὅ γε Τίμαιος οὐ κατὰ τούτους μόνον τοὺς τρόπους ἐπισκέψεται τὴν τοῦ παντὸς φύσιν, ἀλλὰ διαφερόντως κατὰ τὴν ἀπὸ τοῦ δημιουργοῦ πρόοδον. οὗ δὴ καὶ ἡ φυσιολογία φαίνεται θεολογία τις οὖσα, διότι καὶ τὰ φύσει συνεστῶτα, καθόσον ἐκ θεῶν ἀπογεννᾶται, θείαν πως ἔχει τὴν ὕπαρξιν.)

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arithmetic and mechanics, so too indeed there are certain principles for natural philosophy in its entirety, which Plato now teaches us.22 And after listing them, he gives some additional general information (Procl. In Ti. 2.1.236.30–237.3 Diehl [2.46.16–47.2 Van Riel]; transl. Runia 2008, modified): This is the case for the geometer too, who recalls to mind what the point is and what the line is but does not explain the existence of each of them. For how could he remain a geometer if he entered in a discussion on the principles of his own science? In the same way, then, the student of nature will also state what the always-existent is for the sake of the demonstrations that are about to be made, but he will at no stage demonstrate that it exists, for he would be passing beyond the limits of natural philosophy.23 The underlying idea is Aristotle’s interdiction of μετάβασις, denying each scientific discipline the possibility to ground its own principles. That is to say, in physics, the presuppositions (ὑποθέσεις) function as some kind of axioms,24 that cannot be demonstrated by the student of physics himself. Marije Martijn rightly points out that in this characterization of the methodology, ‘geometrical’ does not just mean ‘scientific’25 or ‘rigorously syllogistic’.26 For indeed, the most appropriate way to argue for a discipline’s being scientific would have been to characterize it as ‘dialectical’, which for a Platonist denotes the highest science. In its stead, Martijn argues that ‘geometry’ is chosen as a model, just because of its hypothetical nature, “in the strong sense that it does not reach an anhypothetical starting point,” and because the sensible world, 22

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ἔοικεν ὁ Πλάτων ὥσπερ οἱ γεωμέτραι πρὸ τῶν ἀποδείξεων ὅρους προλαμβάνειν καὶ ὑποθέσεις δι’ ὧν ποιήσεται τὰς ἀποδείξεις, καὶ ἀρχὰς προκαταβάλλεσθαι τῆς ὅλης φυσιολογίας· ὡς γὰρ ἄλλαι μουσικῆς ἀρχαὶ καὶ ἄλλαι ἰατρικῆς, ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ ἀριθμητικῆς ἄλλαι καὶ μηχανικῆς, οὕτω δὴ καὶ φυσιολογίας ἀρχαί τινές εἰσι τῆς ὅλης, ἃς νῦν ὁ Πλάτων παραδίδωσιν. καὶ γὰρ ὁ γεωμέτρης τί μέν ἐστι σημεῖον καὶ τί γραμμὴ πρὸ τῶν ἀποδείξεων ὑπέμνησεν, ὅτι δὲ ἔστι τούτων ἑκάτερον οὐδαμῶς ἐδίδαξε. καὶ πῶς γὰρ ἂν εἴη γεωμέτρης περὶ τῶν οἰκείων διαλεγόμενος ἀρχῶν; κατὰ τὰ αὐτὰ δὴ οὖν καὶ ὁ φυσικὸς τί μὲν τὸ ἀεὶ ὂν ἐρεῖ τῶν ἀποδείξεων ἕνεκα τῶν μελλουσῶν, ὅτι δὲ ἔστιν οὐδαμῶς ἀποδείξει. πέρα γὰρ ἂν ὁδεύοι φυσιολογίας. Referring to Festugière (1966–68), ii 66 n. 2 Marije Martijn points out that “the difference between axiom and hypothesis is a functional one: the term ‘axiom’ is used to indicate a fundamental and general proposition, regardless of context. ‘Hypothesis’ on the other hand is a term used to indicate the function of a proposition as the foundation of a de­monstration. An axiom may be used as an hypothesis.” (Martijn 2010, 112). As stated by Lernould (2001), 11–13. As O’Meara (1989), 182 maintains.

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the subject matter of philosophy of nature, is a combination of the perceptible and the intelligible.27 Even though Martijn’s reaction against her predecessors is right, I believe she is also missing the point here. It is true that from the text quoted just now, one may deduce that Proclus subscribed to the interdiction of μετάβασις, and that indeed, in itself, natural philosophy is unable to demonstrate its own basic principles. Yet Proclus does go further than this, by constantly placing the natural philosophy within the context of more encompassing, more fundamental, theological principles. This means that, even though natural philosophy in its own right does not surpass the boundaries of its axiomatic starting points, the theological inferences, laid bare by a theological reading, do allow the Platonic student of nature to understand where these axioms or hypotheses come from. What Martijn misses is, as argued before, the intrinsic interwovenness of physics and theology in Proclus’ interpretation. Viewed from this angle, geometry is not just bouncing back at the boundaries of the anhypothetical, as Martijn believes, but allows a reader of Plato to make firm demonstrations on the basis of the hypotheses, while at the same time understanding these hypotheses as the effects of higher principles. With all this information, we should now go back to the contradiction at the beginning of the Commentary. Just to summarize it again, at Theol. Plat. 1.4, Proclus indicates that the Pythagorean way of doing theology is δι’ εἰκόνων, whereas at In Ti. 1, he calls “Pythagorean” the peculiarity of indicating things in a symbolic and mystical fashion (τὸ συμβολικῶς τὰ πράγματα καὶ μυστικῶς ἐνδεικνύμενον), a characteristic he had reserved for the Orphic hymns at Theol. Plat. 1.4. On the other hand, the endeavour to study reality through images (τὸ δι’ εἰκόνων τὰ ὄντα θεωροῦν) is said to be Socratic, and not Pythagorean, at In Ti. 1. Let us suppose for one moment that Proclus had followed the scheme of Theol. Plat. when interpreting the Timaeus. What would have been the outcome of that? We would be able to describe the Timaeus as a Pythagorean dialogue by the fact that it uses images, through which the Pythagoreans tried to gain access to the divine principles (Theol. Plat. 1.4 20.8–12, quoted above). We would not get any further than the affirmation that Socrates and Timaeus are giving demonstrations on the basis of hypotheses that may open a perspective on the divine, without for that matter allowing to firmly access the realm of the highest principles in its own right. Instead, Proclus now emphatically states that the Pythagorean character of the Timaeus includes divine inspiration (τὸ ἔνθεον), the endeavour to link everything with the intelligibles (τὸ ἀπὸ τῶν νοητῶν πάντα ἐξάπτον), to lead upwards 27

Martijn (2010), 66.

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(τὸ ἀναγωγόν), and above all, to give an indication of things in a symbolic and mystical fashion (τὸ συμβολικῶς τὰ πράγματα καὶ μυστικῶς ἐνδεικνύμενον). This means that the Timaeus can now be read like the Orphic hymns, as revelatory of the divine in a more direct way. The imagistic expression, on the other hand, is now attributed to the Socratic character of the dialogue, which allows for a moral reading of the work, but also for its demonstrative approach. That is to say, the geometrical demonstrations are Socratic, while the view of the divine these demonstrations provide is due to the Pythagorean tenets of the Timaeus. The point of this, summa summarum, is that this combination of the Pythagorean and Socratic modes is the way par excellence to integrate natural philosophy within theology  – a point that would have been way more difficult to make on the basis of the characterization of Pythagoreanism within the fourfold classification of theology in the Platonic Theology. Proclus had to stretch his own classifications up in order to achieve this goal, but he needed to do so in order to allow for a straightforwardly theological reading of the Timaeus.28 Or, in other words: Proclus approaches the Timaeus from his own basic assumption that, even though it is mainly a dialogue on natural philosophy, it can and should be read from a theological angle as well, yielding insights in the nature of the efficient, the paradigmatic and the final cause. The contradiction, or so it seems, was a prize Proclus was willing to pay, as long as he could maintain his basic interpretive premise. 28

On the other hand, the question should be raised why, if the Pythagorean character of the Timaeus needs to be anagogical, symbolic and mystical, Proclus maintained the typo­ logy of theological speech in the Theologia Platonica. Couldn’t he just have eliminated the contradiction there, by bringing Pythagoreanism under the category ‘symbolic and mystic’ as well? But the point of the typology at Theol. Plat. is to show a progress (see Gersh 2000, 17–19), whereby the indirect access to the divine through images is attributed to the Pythagoreans, and not to Socrates, probably because that might jeopardize making Plato’s own dialectical approach the culmination point of the classification. On the other hand, as only one of four alternatives, Proclus seems to have specified the role of Pythagoreanism in one direction only, whereas at In Ti. the Pythagorean character is the most prominent one, and thus had to be invested with a more encompassing role.

Chapter 7

Eusebius and the Birth of Christian Isagogical Literature Sébastien Morlet Very few Christian works in Antiquity seem to have been entitled Εἰσαγωγή. In Greek, one could only mention, among the surviving texts, Eusebius of Caesarea’s General elementary introduction, Καθόλου στοιχειώδης εἰσαγωγή (gei)1 and Adrian’s Introduction to divine Scriptures.2 The former was a general introduction to Christian doctrines (focused on the question of Christ); the latter was a guide to reading the biblical text – Old and New Testaments. Other “introductions” may have disappeared. For instance, Eusebius mentions ten books of Arithmetical introductions (ἀριθμητικὰς … εἰσαγωγάς) written by Anatolius,3 but he may be describing the content of the work instead of giving its actual title. Other works had a pedagogical, if not isagogical, content without bearing the title “Introduction(s)”. For instance, the 2nd century ad “apologies” written by Aristides, Justin and Athenagoras are presented by their authors as petitions to the emperors of Rome, but this framework is very probably a fictitious and practical device aimed at making an exposition about elementary Christian doctrines to a Christian or pagan audience, a fact which does not exclude their polemical dimension.4 Indeed, Eusebius describes Theophilus of Antioch’s three books to Autolycus as elementary writings, στοιχειώδη συγγράμματα, and he ascribes to the same writer some catechetical books, κατηχητικὰ βιβλία.5 Some works written against the Jews, especially the dialogues, also probably had an isagogical dimension. As with the apologetic texts, these dialogues were long read by critics as fully polemical works, really aiming at refuting an adversary and maybe converting him. However, even though the polemical character of these texts cannot be discarded, they also 1 The books 6–9 (the Prophetic Extracts = ep) are edited by Gaisford (1842) and reproduced in the pg 22.1021–1262. As far as I know, it was never translated into English. I am preparing a new edition. The whole Introduction is lost apart from five fragments (see n. 17). The title of the gei is given in ep 3.Pr.5–6 and 4.35. All references are to Gaisford’s edition. 2 See the edition and translation of Martens (2017). 3 he 7.20. 4 For this kind of interpretation applied to Justin’s Apology, see Munnich (2012). 5 he 4.24.

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exhibit an obvious pedagogical intention. The problem then becomes: do we have to account for this pedagogical intention in terms of polemical “strategy” (in this case, the pedagogy would be dependent on the polemical intention), or, to invert the question, should we say that the polemical dimension in such texts is dependent on a fundamentally pedagogical ambition? Some cases are clearer than others. In a late antique dialogue such as the Dialogue of Timothy and Aquila (6th–7th century ad), the author’s intention to refute Judaism comes up against his deep ignorance of the adversary and is contradicted by his far more obvious desire to offer, through a fictitious discussion between a Jew and a Christian, an elementary exposition about Christian doctrines.6 In such a text, the Christian plays the role of a master, and the Jew is an unconvincing adversary, always refuted, who easily mutates into a pupil. Very often, such dialogues end on the baptism of the Jew, a scene which retrospectively gives to the dialogue the dimension of a prebaptismal instruction. The Christian, in Timothy and Aquila, states that he will “catechize” (κατηχεῖν) the Jew,7 and that he will do so by following the order of Scripture8 – which is a well-known principle of ancient catechesis.9 Maybe these dialogues were intended for Jews who wanted to convert to Christianity, or simply for new candidates to baptism, and aimed at explaining to them what they must think of Judaism, along with introducing them to basic Christian teachings. The genre of the dialogue is related to that of the Questions and Answers, which was frequently used during Christian Antiquity from Eusebius onwards – questions on Scripture, or questions on theology  – and a few Christian “Ques­tions and Answers” (Erotapokriseis) were probably isagogical texts, though others may have been works of research.10 Other works which were not designed as introductions may have been perceived and used as such. Beside Theophilus’ three books to Autolycus, already mentioned, Eusebius states that some Christians considered the Shepherd of Hermas as “very necessary for those who need the most an elementary introduction” (ἀναγκαιότατον οἷς μάλιστα δεῖ στοιχειώσεως εἰσαγωγικῆς).11 One should also mention 6 7 8 9 10 11

See my recent translation of the long form of the dialogue in Morlet (2017) and my analysis in Morlet (2017), xxiii–xli. The long form is edited by Robertson (1986). There is also a shorter form edited by Lahey (2000). See the dialogue (long recension), 4.4. See supra n. 7. See for instance Egeria, Itin. 46. On this literary genre, see the still useful overview of Bardy (1932–1933) and Bussières (2013). he 3.6.

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the catechetical literature properly speaking, composed of homilies delivered during concrete catecheses,12 and treatises or speeches whose relation to real catecheses remains problematic.13 “Protreptics” may also fall in the isagogical category.14 All the texts which may be called “pedagogical” in the widest possible sense raise the same cluster of problems: how and for whom were they used? Do they operate in a concrete schoolroom context, as a catechesis or for a more advanced theological instruction? Or should we interpret this pedagogical dimension as a literary choice only? Eusebius of Caesarea’s pedagogical works illustrate the complexity of these problems. 1

Eusebius’s General Elementary Introduction (gei)

Eusebius of Caesarea (c. 260/264–339/340 ad) has long been read only as the Father of ecclesiastical history, and only recently has his importance in a variety of other literary genres and fields of knowledge become better appreciated. For instance, Eusebius wrote two commentaries, on the Psalms and on Isaiah, which are the first commentaries on those books which have been transmitted to us.15 Sometimes considered as the founder of “political theology”, he was also the first Christian to write a work entitled “history” (the Historia ecclesiastica), the first Christian to compose a Questions and Answers collection (the Evangelical Questions), maybe the first writer to compose a chronicle in tabular format. Finally, of critical relevance to this study, he was the first Christian to leave a work entitled “Introduction”, the gei. This work, then, must be situated within the context of a literary and intellectual project which is often oriented towards the production of new kinds of Christian books and the adaptation of traditional pagan genres to new Christian topics. The gei, however, remains a mysterious work, badly transmitted to us. Preserved in only one manuscript (Vienna, önb, Theol. gr. 29), copied in five 12 13 14 15

See for instance the catechetical homilies composed by Cyril of Jerusalem (Bouvet 1993), John Chrysostom (see Wenger 1970 for the first edition) or Theodore of Mopsuestia (Debié, Couturier and Matura 1996). See Gregory of Nyssa’s Catechetical speech, and also Augustine’s De catechizandis rudibus. Scherbenske (2010) suggested that Marcion’s Antitheses may have been an isagogical work. Clement of Alexandria’s Protrepticus, for instance. The commentary on the Psalms is partially transmitted in the manuscript Paris, bnf, Coislin. 44 (pg 23.441–1221) and through excerpts (pg 24.9–76). The commentary on Isaiah is edited by Ziegler (1975).

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apographs, only books 6 to 9, the Prophetic Extracts (ep) can be read today, and in an incomplete way.16 Five fragments from the lost books may be added.17 Except the first five books, the gei contained a tenth book designed as a refutation of heresies.18 The Prophetic Extracts, which contain a collection of Old Testament proof texts about Christ, may be dated a little before the end of the persecutions in 313.19 The date of the gei as a whole must be the same, unless we assume that the Prophetic Extract were written first, and that they were integrated into the gei at a later date.20 Apart from its title and the content of the Prophetic Extracts, which is, roughly speaking, that of a catechesis (introducing Christ through the old prophecies), the isagogical character of the work may be first illustrated by the prologue of the Prophetic Extracts. It is a pity that we do not have the general prologue of the gei, where Eusebius must have given precious indications about his intentions, his method, and maybe a few hints about possible Greek models. The prologue of the Prophetic Extracts, however, is partially preserved and gives significant indications about what Eusebius dealt with in the previous books, and what he intended to do from book 6 onwards. I give here a tentative reconstruction of the Vienna manuscript, partly inspired by its apographs, which sometimes try to fill in its gaps (italics correspond to passages which are damaged and not readable in the Vienna manuscript; lectiones which are not sustained by a manuscript are my own conjectures). I cannot be sure that this reconstruction is totally correct, but it gives a more readable text than the one Gaisford edited in 1842 (cf. 1.1–25). Wien, önb, Theol. gr. 29, s. xi. (V) London, Lambeth, 0763, s. xvii (L) Cambridge, University Library, Ll. V. 02–03 (2200–2201), s. xvii (U) Oxford, Bodleian Library, Cherry 01, s. xvii (C) Oxford, Bodleian Library, Grabe 11, s. xvii–xviii (G) Leiden, Bibliotheek der Rijksuniversiteit, Periz. Q° 049, s. xviii (P) 16 17 18 19 20

The beginning of the prologue, a few passages from book 1 (= gei 6) and a long section of book 2 (= gei 7) are lacking. On the latter, see Mercati (1948) and (for a tentative reconstruction) Dorival (2004). See A. Mai’s collection (pg 22.1271–1274), taken from the Sacra parallela: see Holl (1899), 121 and 213–214. These fragments may also be found in the new edition of the Sacra parallela (Thum 2018). The content of book 10 is described at the end of book 9 of the gei (236.6–9). See my discussion in Morlet (2012), 15–16. Conversely, Wallace-Hadrill (1960), 50 thought Eusebius composed the gei first, before 303, and then detached the Prophetic Extracts in a second stage (between 303–312).

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21 … λόγου τε καὶ βίου διεξοδευθεῖσα τὰς περὶ τοῦ Κυρίου καὶ Σωτῆρος ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ μαρτυρίας, δι’ ἐναργῶν καὶ πιστῶν καὶ ἀληθῶν22 ἀποδείξεών τε καὶ συλλογισμῶν ἐπιστοῦτο, βραχείαις κομιδῇ ταῖς ἀπὸ τῶν παρά τε23 Ἰουδαίοις καὶ ἡμῖν πεπιστευμένων θείων γραφῶν ἐπὶ τέλει χρησαμένη μαρτυρίαις· ἐπεὶ μηδὲ ἄλλος ᾕρει λόγος τοῖς ἔτι πάντη ταῖς θείαις ἀπιστοῦσιν γραφαῖς δαψιλεῖς ἐξ αὐτῶν παρατίθεσθαι τὰς συστάσεις. Τά24 γε μὴν ἐν χερσὶν τοῖς ἐκ τῆς ἐκείνων ἀποδείξεως οἷα δὴ θείαις ἤδη καὶ θεοπνεύστοις πιστεύειν ὀφείλουσιν ταῖς ἱεραῖς γραφαῖς τὸ25 λεῖπον26 ἐκείναις ἀποπληροῦντα πεπόνητο, συναγωγὴν περιέχοντα συλλήβδην ἁπασῶν τῶν περὶ τοῦ Κυρίου καὶ Σωτῆρος ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ προφητειῶν,27 ἃς ἀπὸ πάσης28 ἡμῖν τῆς παλαιᾶς29 διαθήκης ὑφ’ ἓν συναγεῖν ἔδοξεν.30 Πῆ μὲν λευκότερον, πῆ δὲ31 καὶ δι’ ὑπονοιῶν32 τὰ περὶ33 αὐτοῦ προειρήκαμεν παριστᾶν34 αὐτὴν35 καὶ τὰς κατ’αὐτὸν οἰκονομίας. Οὐχὶ δὲ καὶ εἰς ἕτερον ἐφαρμόζομεν36 ἃ πέρας εἰληφότα37 δείκνυται. Τὰς δὲ τοιαύτας38 παραθέσεις πολλὰς ὑπαρχούσας39 καὶ σποράδην οὐ μόνον προφητείας40 ἀποφανοῦμεν περιεχούσας41 ἱστορίαις ἐναποκειμένας οὐκ ὀλίγαις42 καὶ πραχθείσαις43 ἔσεσθαι χρησίμοις44 ἐπεὶ μὴ45 ῥάδιον ἀλλ’ ὡς ἐκ τῆς ἐκτάδην46 τῶν γραφῶν 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46

The following words (ἐπιστοῦτο … χρησαμένη entails the use of a feminine noun (βίϐλος?) which probably designated the former book unless we think of πραγματεία, which could refer to a wider section. ἀμυθῶν L U C G P παρ᾽ αὐτοῖς L U C G P τό L U C G P τὸν U C P (τὸ corr.sl U P) λοῖπον U P pc προφητείαν Gaisford: προφητειῶν codd. πάσης L U C G P παλαιὰς L U C G P ἔδοξεν· δ Gaisford: ἔδοξεν codd. δὲ: coni. Gaisford ὑπομοίων L U G P ὑπομόνην C τά περ ἐξ U C P τάπερ ἐξ L G mutil. (τsl) ον V τὸν L C G U P αὐτὸν codd. Gaisford μόζομε V μόζομεν L U C G P λεληφότα L U G P λεληφύτα C τοιαύτας L U C G P ὑπαρχούσας conieci: απαρχουσας L G απαρχοῦσας C απαρχούσας U ἀπαρχθούσας P προφητείας L U G P: προφητείαις C uacat ούσαις L G C U P ὀλίγοις codd. Gaisford συναχθείσας L U G P συναχθείαις C χρησίμους codd. Gaisford καὶ L U C G P ἐκτάδην L U C G P

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συναναγνώσεως τὰς πάσας ὑποπίπτειν τοῖς ἀνὰ στόμα καὶ διὰ μνήμης φέρειν αὐτὰς βουλομένοις. The preceding books (?), reviewing the doctrine and the life , have confirmed the testimonies of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ by obvious, reliable and true demonstrations and syllogisms, using in the end the very short testimonies quoted from the Scriptures which are believed to be divine among the Jews and us, since there would have been no other reason, for those who totally disbelieve the divine Scriptures, to present from them long argumentations. However, the present books have been elaborated in order to complete what remains, for those who, after the preceding demonstration, must now believe in the sacred Scriptures as divine and divinely inspired. They contain a general collection of all the prophecies about our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, which we decided to gather from all the Old Testament. We have already said that the latter presents, sometimes clearly, sometimes also through insinuations, what is related to him and his economies. And we do not apply to another one that which has reached his fulfilment, as we show. From such numerous and scattered passages, we will demonstrate that, far from only containing prophecies, they are inserted in stories which are not few in number, and which were accomplished in order to be useful, since it is not easy, except by reading Scriptures throughout, for those who want to bear them to their mouth or in their memory, to have them on hand. This text alludes to a few isagogical patterns which are well attested in Greek literature. The first words suggest that, before book 6, there was an exposition on the doctrine (λόγος) and life (βίος) of Christ. The association of the life and doctrine of a philosopher belongs to a certain doxographical tradition first attested from Thrasyllus onwards (in the case of Plato) and then taken over by Diogenes Laertius.47 The singular used in the first sentence suggests that only book 5 dealt with these issues, unless the lacking word (πραγματεία?) referred to a longer section. Eusebius’s habit, however, is to refer to the preceding book in his prologues.48 It is thus probable that only book 5 is here described.49 From the five fragments from the gei, two (470 and 498 Holl) are taken from book 1, 47 48 49

See Diog. Laert. 3.1–42 (Life of Plato) and 48–109 (doctrines), and Ferrari’ chapter in this volume. See, in the Demonstratio evangelica, the prologues of books 2, 4, 6, 7, 8 and 9. Guignard (2011), 427 has the same opinion.

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and one (= 471 Holl) from book 4. They all deal with ethics, which suggests that, before the exposition on Christ contained in book 5, there was probably a preliminary exposition on Christian ethics, which may have run from books 1 to 4. It is thus possible that the gei as a whole contained at least four parts: – A preliminary exposition on Christian ethics (books 1–4?) – A first demonstration on Christ, essentially from non-biblical arguments, except in the end (book 5) – A second demonstration on Christ, from the prophecies (books 6–9) – A refutation of heresies (book 10) These four parts may have been designed according to the logic of a spiritual progression. The second isagogical pattern alluded to in the prologue of book 6, indeed, is the clear distinction which is made between what preceded and what will follow – the Prophetic Extracts. Before book 6, Eusebius states that he addressed a reader who was not supposed to believe in the divine Scriptures. He sought to confirm the “testimonies” about Christ, certainly those of the Gospels, thanks to “demonstrations” and “syllogisms”, which he completed, in the end, by short quotations from the Old Testament (according to the Septuagint text). From book 6 onwards, the reader, now prepared and convinced that the Scriptures are divinely inspired, may receive, on the same topic (Christ) a different kind of demonstration, this time from the prophecies of the Old Testament. Eusebius’s method is clearly based on the idea of spiritual progress. The distinct spiritual levels (beginners and more advanced readers) correspond to two expository methods: the first one is exoteric, grounded on proofs which are non-biblical (the obvious, reliable and true “demonstrations” and “syllogisms”), and only at the end, on short biblical quotations; the second one is esoteric, and consists in making the demonstration from Scripture itself. What were these “demonstrations” and “syllogisms” by which Eusebius confirmed the Gospels? We will see that he probably used the same material in books 3 and 4 of the Demonstration evangelica (= de). In these books, designed “as if it were for the unbelievers” (ὡς πρὸς τοὺς ἀπίστους),50 that is to say readers who, like those who are described in our passage, are not supposed to believe in Scriptures, Eusebius seeks to answer two accusations against Christ: the evangelists would be liars and, even if they said the truth, he performed his miracles as a sorcerer, not as a divine being.51 In order to answer these accusations, 50 51

de 2.3.178. See de 3.4.31. Both accusations stem from Celsus, according to Origen, C. Cels. 1.38 and 68: see Morlet (2009), 276.

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Eusebius makes extensive use of rational and syllogistic argumentation,52 and also quotes from Josephus and Porphyry,53 two non-biblical writers who spoke about Christ. Books 3–4 of the de are completed by a short dossier containing Old Testament quotations about the names “Christ” an “Jesus”.54 It is reasonable to think that the book (or books) preceding the Prophetic Extracts in the gei already dealt with the same problems and contained the same, or at least the same kind of material. The “demonstrations” and “syllogisms” must be references to a logical argumentation and maybe also to the use of non-biblical quotations. The short quotations from the Old Testament must be a reference to a dossier about the names “Christ” and “Jesus”.55 The Prophetic Extracts (= gei 6–9) deal with the same topic, but in a different manner. The collection of proof texts (testimonia) is organized in an orderly way. Following the order of the Bible, from Genesis to Daniel – a catechetical principle, as we saw56 –, Eusebius first gathers passages from books in prose (book 1 = 6 of the gei), then the Psalms (book 2 = 7 of the gei), other poetic books (book 3 = 8 of the gei) and eventually Isaiah (book 4 = 9 of the gei)  – Eusebius makes here an exception to his linear reading of the Bible because of the importance of Isaiah as a provider of proof-texts. In the core of the collection, each biblical proof-text is followed by a commentary. Each book is preceded by a pinax (a table of content) which gives, in the form of kephalaia, a list of the biblical books quoted, but also, in the form of arguments (ὑποθέσεις),57 a short overview of Eusebius’s commentaries. Eusebius describes a collection of prophetic texts which will be complete as far as it contains all the prophecies about Christ, but this collection will also inevitably be selective since not every text in Scripture speaks about 52 53 54 55

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de 3.3–7 and my analysis in Morlet (2009), 250–83. Josephus: de 3.5.104–106 (Testimonium Flavianum); Porphyry: de 3.6.39–7.4 = fr. 345F. From Josephus, the he also quotes a testimony on John the Baptist along with the Testimonium Flavianum (1.11.4–6) which might have been quoted in gei 5. de 4.15–17 and my analysis in Morlet (2009), 369–374. This dossier recurs, in a shorter form, in the preliminary section of the he (1.3). Guignard (2011), 425–427 thinks that this section (he 1.2–4) was inspired by the lost sections of the gei. It is possible, however, only in the case of the dossier on the names “Christ” and “Jesus” since there is no indication that the other themes of he 1.2–4 were treated in the lost parts of the gei. Eusebius explicitly refers to the Prophetic Extracts, and probably to the de (1.2.27). I then suggested that he 1.2–4 might be a summary of several passages from the latter, esp. books 3–4, with a more indirect influence of the Prophetic Extracts. See Morlet (2006). See n. 9. A list of arguments on the Psalms (ὑποθέσεις) has also been transmitted under the name of Eusebius (pg 23.68–72).

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Christ. This selective reading, designated in the prologue by the word σποράδην, is opposed to a reading ἐκτάδην (probable conjecture). This is another isagogical pattern: the master will not deal with all the questions he could deal with, but will only speak about what is related to his topic. When he says that these prophecies are inserted in useful stories, Eusebius seems to allude to a more moral and homiletic kind of commentary, which will not be his focus in the work. The status of the testimonia in the isagogical logic of the gei merits particular attention. Generally speaking, we now consider that testimonia collections could be used during concrete catecheses and had a pedagogical dimension more broadly.58 The gei confirms this view: the testimonia play an important role in a work that is presented as a still elementary exposition of Christian doctrines. However, they only appear in a second step, after a first introduction which is even more “elementary” than the one they will offer (book 5) – and, as we saw, was probably preceded by another one, still more elementary, on ethics (books 1–4). This fact may be related to the presence of long commentaries after each testimonium. Indeed, collections of testimonia generally contain no commentaries. The instruction is given through the testimonia themselves. The presence of long commentaries is an indication that what Eusebius has in view is a more scholarly method, designed for a slightly more advanced readers. The conclusion is that, even if the Prophetic Extracts play an isagogical role, they do so in a very particular way and already represent, in the general economy of the gei, a further step. If Eusebius constructed his work according to the spiritual progression of the reader, it is possible that he also did so according to different polemical intentions. Clearly, the Jews are the most direct adversary named in the Prophetic Extracts – which is consistent with the generally anti-Jewish dimension of the testimonia collections.59 Book 10 is intended against heretics, who are already alluded to, but more in passing, in books 6–9. Book 5, as we saw, engaged in a demonstration about Christ primarily designed for a pagan audience, and it is possible that books 1–4 already addressed the same kind of audience. We would then reconstruct a polemical strategy, Eusebius’s most direct adversaries being first the pagans (1–5), then the Jews (6–10), and eventually heretics (10). Once again, this strategy consists in bringing the reader from 58

59

A few collections of this type survived: see Albl (1999). Before Eusebius, however, the only collection preserved as an autonomous work is Cyprian’s Ad Quirinum in 3 books (ed. Weber [1972], 1–179). Apart from a collection ascribed to Epiphanius (ed. Hotchkiss 1974) and another one attributed to Gregory of Nyssa (Albl 2004), other collections have been edited (de Groote 2005a and 2005b) or identified (Andrist 2000 and Falcetta 2001). See the preceding note.

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the most exoteric approach to the most esoteric one (intra-Christian polemics in book 10), and maybe, each time, with the same topic, Christ.60 The three adversaries are named at the beginning of the he (1.1–2), in the reverse order (heretics, Jews, pagans), because Eusebius’s intention is here to enumerate, after his main topic (the Church), the different adversaries of Christians from the closest ones to those who are the most spiritually remote from them. The logic of the enumeration is similar to the logic which may have structured the gei, though in the reverse order. Beyond the prologue of the Prophetic Extracts, the core of the text exhibits other isagogical patterns. For instance, Eusebius does not quote from all the biblical books. In book 3, a few minor prophets are not quoted. In this case (Joel, Naum, Habbakuk, Aggai), we find, under the introducing lemma (Ἀπὸ τοῦ followed by the name of the prophet), the phrase: σαφὲς οὐδέν, “nothing clear”.61 These indications illustrate another isagogical aspect of the work: the concern for clarity and simplicity (what is too difficult is rejected from the work). The same principle accounts for the fact that, in his commentaries, Eusebius leaves out not only what is not related to his topic (Christ, the Jews, the nations), but also what would need a longer and difficult elaboration on the topics he does address. Quite regularly, his commentaries end with passages which I have elsewhere called “concluding formulas”,62 and where Eusebius rejects what would need some ἐξέτασις,63 some ἐρευνή,64 a “more profound”, “more precise”, a “very complete” elaboration, or what is “mystical” or “ineffable”.65 This type of commentary, excluded from the work, is sometimes named θεωρία,66 and is connected to the interpretation of the deeper meaning, the νοῦς of the text.67 Other phrases suggest that the temporality of the isagogy is not the temporality of a more detailed commentary. “It is not the time” (οὐ τοῦ παρόντος 60

61 62 63 64 65 66 67

Book 10 was probably not a general refutation of heresies, but rather a discussion on heretical christologies, and even if the fragments from books 1–4 do not explicitly mention “Christ”, they name the Logos (n. 471 Holl, from book 4) and probably introduced what was supposed to be “Christ’s” ethics. ep 3.13.115.1 (Joel); 3.20.120.7 (Naum and Habbakuk); 3.21.120.19 (Aggai). Morlet (2013). ep 3.27.130.11–12; 4.23.206.26. ep 1.12.46.22; 4.27.224.4. See ep 2.9.81.5–7; 3.6.107.1–5; 3.33.135.12 (βαθυτέρας θεωρίας); 4.11.191.13. On the notion of precision, see 3.14.115.20–21. On the “very complete” exegesis which would be needed, see 3.6.107.3. On the “more mystical” and “more ineffable” interpretation, see 1.2.6.15. ep 1.3.14.9; 3.33.135.12. ep 4.4.179.1; 4.26.216.20; 2.14.90.25 (νοησείας). Eusebius may also use διάνοια to convey the same idea (4.11.191.13).

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τυγχάνει καιροῦ),68 it would need a commentary ἐπὶ σχολῆς.69 The latter phrase is intriguing. Is it an indication of a “leisure”, of a long time, or does it suggest the notion of “school” – the scholastic context which should theoretically be the location of the most scrupulous study?70 Maybe both at the same time. What is certain is that such formulas convey a dichotomy between the isagogy and what could come next, and this dichotomy is justified, not only by the author’s concern to respect his own intention, his σκοπός, but also by the idea that the reader is not yet ready to hear what is “mystical” and “ineffable”, that is to say the most esoteric parts of the teaching. The idea that isagogy must lead to θεωρία echoes a principle which is well-known in the philosophical and especially Aristotelian tradition.71 Of course, in the latter, the word designated contemplative life and not the thorough examination of a text as in Eusebius, but the vocabulary and the general idea implied by this vocabulary are similar. In a few cases, Eusebius refers, not to potential commentaries, but to commentaries which have already been written (2.1; 7; 3.6; 4.4; 4.7). I have shown elsewhere that Eusebius here alludes to Origen’s commentaries, his major exegetical reference.72 In other words, the models of the detailed commentary which is excluded from the gei are Origen’s tomoi. Generally speaking, I do not believe, contrary to what the word εἰσαγωγή implies in the philosophical tradition, that the gei is an introduction to a text or to a corpus of texts. More generally, and this is implied by the word καθόλου in its title, the gei is an introduction to Christianity. The Prophetic Extracts, however, also constitute, in a way, an introduction to the Old Testament, and Eusebius’s references to Origen also suggest that they may have been designed as an introduction to the reading of Origen’s commentaries – not because Eusebius would give to his reader keys to understand the master, but because the trajectory suggested by Eusebius leads from his own selective commentaries to the more detailed commentaries of Origen. Eusebius himself composed two long and thorough commentaries on Psalms and Isaiah, which may have been designed 68 69 70

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ep 2.2.72.26. For other references to the καιρός, see ep 1.2.6.16; 1.12. 46.22; 3.27.130.12; 4.11.191.14; 4.18.197.25. ep 3.14.115.20; 4.17.197.9. Philo (Contempl. 76) ascribes to the “president” of the Therapeutes a type of explanation of Scriptures which he describes as a σχολαιτέρα διδασκαλία (“il enseigne en prenant tout son temps;” tr. P. Miquel). I mention further Cicero’s use of the word schola to designate the rhetorical type of exposition (n. 185). See the prologue of Aspasius’ Commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics (1.15–16: οὐδὲν ἂν ἔδει τὴν φύσιν ἡμῶν ἄλλο ἔχειν ἔργον ἢ τὴν θεωρίαν). Morlet (2013).

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to complete the selective commentaries contained in book 7 and 9 of the gei (and also, in a more scattered way, in the de).73 Conversely, a passage in the prologue of the Prophetic Extracts refers to a previous work, the Chronological canons, in which, Eusebius says, the antiquity of Moses and the prophets has been demonstrated, and of which the present work (the gei? or only the Prophetic Extracts?) will be the logical continuation (ἀκόλουθον).74 This passage conveys the idea of a curriculum inside Eusebius’s literary production, but, if the “continuation” of the Canons is only the Prophetic extracts, and not the gei as a whole, it could also suggest a certain gap between the Prophetic extracts and what preceded in the gei. Such a passage could also stem from a previous stage of the Prophetic extracts, maybe first designed as an autonomous work, before being integrated in the gei, or, on the contrary, if the gei included the Prophetic Extracts from the start, from a later stage during which the latter circulated as an independent work, and in which Eusebius may have inserted this reference to the Canons.75 The audience that he is addressing is described in another passage of the prologue of the Prophetic extracts. Here again, I give a tentative edition, with a few reconstructions (cf. 2.9–3.22; I could not check the manuscript C for this part): Ἣν76 περιέπειν ἀναγκαῖον οὐ μόνους τοὺς τὴν ἕξιν προβεβηκότας βασιλεῖς ὀνομαζομένους, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοὺς ὑποβεβηκότας77 καὶ πρῶτον ἄρτι τῷ θείῳ προσιόντας λόγῳ· οἷς καὶ διαφερόντως ἐπιτηδείαν ἔσεσθαι νομίζω τὴν ὑπόθεσιν, ὡς ἂν ἀκριβοῦν ἐξ αὐτῆς δύναιντο τὴν περὶ ὧν κατηχήθησαν λόγων ἀσφάλειαν· τότε μᾶλλον τῆς78 ἁπλῆς79 καὶ ἀκεραίου πίστεως80 πεῖσμα81 βέβαιον ἰσχούσης,82 ἐπειδὰν τῷ λογισμῷ τοὺς δι’ ἀποδείξεως προεγκαταβαλὼν τίς θεμελίους83 τὴν ἀκριβῆ τῶν πεπιστευμένων κατάληψίν τε καὶ γνῶσιν84 προσεπικτήσηται.85 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85

See n. 15. ep 1.1.1.27–2.2. See n. 20. καὶ G U P βασιλεῖς ὀνομαζομένους, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοὺς ὑποβεβηκότας om. P τοῦ U om. P ἁπλοῦς U P post πεῖσμα P ἔρεισμα corr.mg U P ἐχούσης U P θεμελίους L U G P Gaisford γνῶσιν L U G P Gaisford προσεπικτήσηται conieci: προσεπικτήσαιτο L U G P

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τούτων86 γοὖν ἕνεκέν ϕημι δὲ τῶν ἔτι87 στοιχειώσεως δεόντων88 ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι παρέστη μετὰ τὴν ἑκάστης προφητείας89 ἀνάγνωσιν,90 ὡς ἐν εἰσαγωγῆς τρόπῳ διήγησιν βραχυτάτην91 καὶ ὡς92 ἔνι μάλιστα συντομωτάτην παραθέσθαι περιεχούσην μὲν ἔλεγχον τῶν πιστεύειν μὲν ὡς θείαις τε καὶ ὄντως ἱεραῖς93 αὐχούντων γραϕαῖς, μὴ μὴν προσιεμένων τὸν94 κύριον ἡμῶν95 ’Ιησοῦν ὡς ἂν αὐτὸν ὄντα τὸν προϕητευόμενον, ἐπαπορήσιν96 δὲ πρὸς αὐτοὺς,97 λέγω98 δὲ τοὺς ἐκ περιτομῆς, καὶ τοὺς ἀπὸ τῶν αἱρέσεων, ὁμοῦ99 δὲ καὶ ἀνατροπὰς ὧν ἂν εἴποιεν μυθικώτερον ἐπιλύειν πειρώμενοι τὰς θείας ϕωνάς. To follow this (orthodoxy) is necessary, not only for those who are superior in their disposition (they are called “kings”), but also for those who are inferior and who just came, for the first time, to the divine Word. I consider that this work will be suitable especially for the latter, so that they could, thanks to it, obtain a solid knowledge of the doctrines which they were taught – the simple and pure faith gains a firmer conviction when one first lays in his reason the foundations of a demonstration and acquires besides the understanding and the exact science of what one believes. For them, indeed, I mean for those who still need an introduction, it seemed necessary, after the text of each prophecy, in the manner of an introduction, to add a very brief and, as far as possible, very short explanation containing, on the one hand, a denunciation of those who, though they claim to believe in divine and really sacred Scriptures, do not accept our Lord Jesus as the one who was prophesied; on the other hand, an accusation against them, I mean those of the circumcision and those

86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99

τούτων L ἐτι L στοιχειώσεως δεόντων L G U P προφητειας L G U P ἀνάγνωσιν L G U P βραχυτάτην L G U P καὶ ὡς L G U P τε καὶ ὄντως ἱεραῖς conieci: τε καὶ ἱεραῖς L G U P (the lacuna is larger in V and implies an extra word: cf. he 1.3. 12; another possibility could be ὅλαις instead of ὄντως). τὸν: τὸν σωτῆρα καὶ L G U P ἡμῶν L G U P ἐπ´ἀπόρησιν L G U P ἐπαπορήσιν Gaisford προσαγομένους G U P παραγομένους L προς- corr.sl L παρ- corr.sl G λέγω V P Gaisford corr.sl U: λόγῳ L G U ὁμοῦ L G U P

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of the heresies; and at the same time, refutations of what they might say in quite a fanciful manner in their attempt to solve the divine words. This passage describes the aim of the Prophetic Extracts (and maybe of the gei as a whole) in Eusebius’s view: to offer a confirmation (a πεῖσμα βέβαιον, Eusebius adds)100 of the elementary teachings of the catechesis, above all for those who just came to the Church. Eusebius describes very clearly an isagogical project, but this project remains ambiguous: while addressing to the less advanced readers, to those who just came to the Church, Eusebius promises not the “simple and pure” faith, but instead, a complement which must confirm the latter in a scientific way (an ἀκριβῆ τῶν πεπιστευμένων κατάληψίν τε καὶ γνῶσιν, grounded on demonstration, ἀποδείξεως), but which will confine itself to something “very brief”, “very short”, “in the manner of an introduction”, only aiming at a) making a denunciation (ἔλεγχον) of the Jews, and of the heretics who divide the two Testaments b) raising questions (ἐπαπόρησιν) against them c) writing refutations (ἀνατροπάς) of their explanations, which Eusebius describes through the word μῦθος. Reminiscences from Irenaeus101 here meet the idea of “scientific faith” (ἐπιστημονικὴ πίστις) described by Clement of Alexandria,102 but circumscribed to the limits of an introduction. Right after these words, Eusebius describes again the type of commentary he has in mind – this time, the Vienna manuscript is intact: Ἔσται δὲ καὶ διὰ βραχέων μετρία103 τὶς ἡμῶν ἐξήγησις, ὅτε μὲν ἀπόδειξιν104 περιέξουσα τοῦ κατὰ μόνον τὸν ἡμετέρον Σωτῆρα πεπληρῶσθαι τὰς ἱερὰς τοῦ Θεοῦ προρρήσεις, ὅτε δὲ τὴν ἡμετέραν γνώμην ἣν ἐχόμεν περὶ τῶν ἐκτεθησομένων σημαίνουσα.105 100 ep 1.1.3.7. 101 The title of Irenaeus’ heresiological work was Denounciation (ἔλεγχος) and Refutation (ἀνατροπή) of the falsely called gnosis. About Eusebius and ἔλεγχος, see further n. 131. 102 Str. 8.3.5.3. What we call the Eighth Stromateus is a series of notes, probably written by Clement himself, which are found right after the Seventh Stromateus in the codex Laurentianus which transmits the work. See Le Boulluec (2017), 143. See also Havrda (2016). 103 μετρίων G. 104 ἀποδείξειν L G U P 105 ep 1.1.3.22–27.

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And our interpretation will be short and moderate. On the one hand, it will contain a demonstration that the sacred predictions of God have been accomplished only at the time of our Saviour. On the other hand, it will show the opinion we have concerning the passages we will quote. Brevity, conciseness: the text describes another isagogical pattern, in a style which may be reminiscent of Porphyry’s Isagoge.106 Eusebius clearly alludes to a short commentary devoted to a demonstration (ἀπόδειξις) about the fulfillment of prophecies and aiming at indicating (σημαίνειν) his own opinion. This last precision is not very clear. Does Eusebius distinguish between two distinct operations, or does he mean that the demonstration will imply the presentation of his personal opinion? And, if both operations are distinguished, what is their relationship? In the body of the text, Eusebius happens to use, not the verb σημαίνειν,107 but σημειοῦσθαι, sometimes παρασημειοῦσθαι,108 in order to say that he “indicates”, that he “remarks” something. Generally, these indications concern the biblical text; more rarely, they refer to Eusebius’s commentary.109 In this case, what is “indicated” is not alien to what is “demonstrated”. But the verb σημαίνειν, in the prologue of the Prophetic Extracts may refer to the incidental remarks which are sometimes added to the Christological commentary. The verb σημειοῦσθαι is interesting, since Origen had composed short selective commentaries on Scriptures called Σημειώσεις. These commentaries are lost – only a few fragments survived. They contained selective commentaries on a particular biblical text, aiming at clarifying exegetical problems.110 If Eusebius 106 The phrase διὰ βραχέων is also used by Porphyry (Isag. 1.8–9): πειράσομαι διὰ βραχέων ὥσπερ ἐν εἰσαγωγῆς τρόπῳ τὰ παρὰ τοῖς πρεσβυτέροις ἐπελθεῖν. Likewise, Porphyry uses the adverb συμμέτρως to refer to the dimensions of the Isagoge (1.8). On this topic see Männlein-Robert’s chapter in this volume. In a similar way, Eusebius writes, at the end of book 2, that the exposition on the Psalms has reached measured and sufficient dimensions (μετρίαν καὶ αὐτάρκη περιγραφήν, 2.16.92.14–15). 107 This verb (or his compounds) is frequently used by Eusebius, but to refer to what Scriptures “indicate” (ep 1.3.13.1; 1.12.41.28; 47.26 etc.). 108 ἐσημειωσάμεθα (1.6.18.1; 2.8.79.17; 2.14.90.9; 3.5.104.23; 3.15.116.1; 3.16.116.12–13; 3.27.130.10–11; 3.28.130.18; 3.43.148.24); σεσημειώσθω (3.25.127.7); σημειωτέον (4.29.226.24); παρασημειούμεθα (1.21.60.13); παρασημειώσασθαι ἔδοξεν (2.15.91.3–4); σημειωσάμενοι (1.23.61.26–62.1). 109 See ep 4.29.226.24 (σημειωτέον). 110 See the ancient testimonies in Nautin (1977), 246–248. The title Σημειώσεις, sometimes referred to in ancient testimonies by the word “Scholia”, is also translated by Jerome by excerpta (cf. Com. Isag. prol.: Et σημειώσεις, quas nos excerpta possumus appellare). The list of Origen’s works transmitted in Jerome’s Letter 33 stems from the one which could be found at the end of Eusebius’s Life of Pamphilus, today lost. It thus cannot be excluded, I think, that the word excerpta was chosen by Jerome because Origen’s Σημειώσεις, or at

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had this model in mind – I do not see how he could not – he took up the general form, but not the deep intention: he does not really deal with “problems”, but comments only on the passages which he considers prophecies of Christ, and he seeks to show that they were fulfilled. We may say in that respect that Eusebius reinterpreted the traditional genre of the testimonia collection in the light of Origen’s practice of the “short” commentary. The Greeks knew well the distinction between “lengthy” and “short” commentaries. Porphyry, besides the Isagoge, had composed a short commentary on the Categories (by Questions and Answers), and a long one. Eusebius composed an Isagoge which included a section of short commentaries. Origen’s Σημειώσεις were certainly not isagogical but scientific works devoted to clarifying difficulties in the biblical text. The possible connection between them and Eusebius’s Prophetic Extracts justifies the “scientific” dimension of the latter, Eusebius’s originality being to produce a work which is at the same time scientific and isagogical. We should eventually say a word about book 10 of the gei, which is devoted to heresies. Apart from 2 fragments (= 472–473 Holl), this book is entirely lost. We might, however, speculate on its content thanks to Eusebius’s passages against heretics in the Prophetic Extracts (adoptianists and monarchianists and those who separate both Testaments)111 and maybe in the de112 and the he.113 It is now well admitted that Christian heresiology emerged from the models of philosophical treatises Διαδοχαί or Περὶ αἱρέσεων.114 I do not know if such treatises had an isagogical function. In the Christian tradition before Eusebius, treatises against heresies – Justin’s lost Syntagma, Irenaeus’s treatise and the Refutation against the heresies sometimes ascribed to ‘Hippolytus’ – were long works and did not belong to the category of isagogical writings. It seems then that book 10 of the gei included the first antiheretical treatise of isagogical nature. After Eusebius, catechetical texts which survived imply a demonstration against heresies.115 It is then possible that Christian catechesis already included, in the time of Eusebius, if not long before, an antiheretical dimension, but it is not possible, I think, to be absolutely sure about that.116 It is then difficult to evaluate Eusebius’s originality here.

111 112 113 114 115 116

least a part of them, circulated under the title Ἐκλογαί, the very word used by Eusebius to refer to his Prophetic Extracts. On Origen’s Σημειώσεις, see Junod (1995). ep 1.3; 3.19. See my analyses in Morlet (2009), 37–40. See the study of Willing (2008). See Le Boulluec (1985), 44–48. This is the case, for instance, in Cyril of Jerusalem’s Catechetical homilies. Unless we assume that apologetic writings which sometimes include a discussion on heresies had a pedagogical dimension (see n. 4–5).

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In order to understand the genesis of the gei, a last model must probably be put forward. Apart from parallels already mentioned, Eusebius’s programmatic passages exhibit several very close parallels with Porphyry’s vocabulary in the Isagoge.117 These parallels cannot be a coincidence: either Eusebius knew Porphyry’s text, or both authors depended on a common tradition. The first possibility cannot be excluded, and it would even be very appealing to assume that Eusebius intended, among other things, not only to write what may be the first Christian Eisagoge, but to offer a Christian counterpart to a work written by the author of a treatise against the Christians who was also one of the most prominent intellectual figures during Eusebius’s early career.118 Eusebius’s project in the gei appears to be very original and at the same time replete with references to literary genres or implicit allusions to Christian or pagan predecessors. In the case of the gei, these two facts are not contradictory, since the GEI’s originality consists in the way Eusebius tried to merge different approaches and different traditions with a view to write what is probably the first Christian “Introduction”. The work, including a trajectory from 117 I already referred to Eusebius’s intention to reject from the work explanations which would belong to a “more (or too much) profound examination” (n. 37). In his Isagoge, Porphyry excludes, likewise, “questions which are more (or too much) profound, βαθυτέρων ζητημάτων” (1.8–9; see again the phrase βαθυτάτης οὔσης τῆς τοιαύτης πραγματείας, 1.13). The philosopher also writes that a certain matter has been rejected from the work, because it “needs another, longer examination” (ἄλλης μείζονος δεομένης ἐξετάσεως, 1.13–14) which is very close to Eusebius’s manner (3.27: ὃ πολλής δεόμενον ἐξετάσεως). Other parallels may be found in the prologue of the Prophetic Extracts: ὡς ἐν εἰσαγωγῆς τρόπῳ, ep 1.1.3.13–14 (see Porph. Isag. 1.7–8: ὥσπερ ἐν εἰσαγωγῆς τρόπῳ); διήγησιν συντομωτάτην, ep 1.1.3.14–15 (see Porph. Isag. 1.7: σύντομόν σοι παράδοσιν). On this aspect see Männlein-Robert’s chapter in this volume. 118 The Souda, Π 2098, writes that Porphyry lived until the reign of Diocletian (who abdicated in 305). He wrote an important treatise against the Christians from which Eusebius gives at least two fragments in the pe (1.9.21 and 5.1.10), and one fragment in the he (6.19.4–9) (other fragments collected by Harnack from Eusebius have no indisputable reason to come from Porphyry’s antichristian treatise). Eusebius’s intention to beat Porphyry on his own field, so to say, is very obvious, I think, in the way, for instance, in the de, he tries to demonstrate the superiority of Hebrew prophecies, which he sometimes called λόγια, over pagan prophecies defended by Porphyry in his Philosophy from oracles (λογίων) (pe 4–6), and to show, in a way similar to what Porphyry sought to show in the case of pagan oracles, that there was a “philosophy” in the prophetic scriptures (pe 7, then 11–13). In Morlet (forthcoming), I suggest that the importance of θεολογία in Eusebius  – and his insistence on the Hebrews as θεολόγοι, agreeing with Plato – had probably something to do with the importance of theology among the first Neoplatonists, and with Porphyry’s own appeal to the ancient θεολόγοι and their supposed agreement with Plato. Though I several times tried to show that Porphyry’s Contra Christianos was certainly not Eusebius’s main ‘target’ in his preserved works (he composed a specific Against Porphyry to answer this treatise), one cannot deny the existence of a polemic against the philosopher in Eusebius’s work, especially the Praeparatio evangelica.

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paganism to Christianity through a polemic against Judaism, already illustrates a very important feature of Eusebius’s literary profile: his tendency to produce totalisations – a ‘corpus’, to take the image of the body to which Eusebius refers to in the he – of both Christian doctrines and preceding literary traditions. 2

The Praeparatio evangelica (pe) – Demonstration evangelica (de)

Sometime after the gei,119 Eusebius composed a more ambitious work, the pe, followed by the de.120 This sizable work (15 books in the pe, 20 books in the de, of which only the first ten survived, along with fragments from book 15), is presented as a polemical text, written against the Greeks (pe), then the Jews (de).121 However, after reproducing supposed accusations from both sides, Eusebius describes a pedagogical project which echoes the GEI’s programme: Ταύτῃ γάρ μοι δοκῶ τὸν λόγον ἐν τάξει χωρήσειν εἰς τὴν ἐντελεστέραν τῆς εὐαγγελικῆς ἀποδείξεως διδασκαλίαν εἴς τε τὴν τῶν βαθυτέρων δογμάτων κατανόησιν, εἰ τὰ τῆς προπαρασκευῆς ἡμῖν πρὸ ὁδοῦ γένοιτο, στοιχειώσεως καὶ εἰσαγωγῆς ἐπέχοντα τόπον καὶ τοῖς ἐξ ἐθνῶν ἄρτι προσιοῦσιν ἐφαρμόττοντα·τὰ δὲ μετὰ ταῦτα τοῖς ἐνθένδε διαβεβηκόσι καὶ τὴν ἕξιν ἤδη παρεσκευασμένοις εἰς τὴν τῶν κρειττόνων παραδοχὴν τὴν ἀκριβῆ γνῶσιν παραδώσει τῶν συνεκτικωτάτων τῆς κατὰ τὸν σωτῆρα καὶ κύριον ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦν Χριστὸν τοῦ θεοῦ μυστικῆς οἰκονομίας.122 For in this way I think my argument will proceed in due order to the more perfect teaching of the Demonstration of the Gospel, and to the understanding of the deeper doctrines, if my preparatory treatise should serve as our guide, by occupying the place of elementary instruction and introduction, and suiting itself to the recent converts from among the nations. But to those who have passed beyond this, and are already in a disposition prepared for the reception of the higher truths, the subsequent part 119 Between 313 and 325. See Morlet (2009), 18. 120 The pe was edited by Mras (1954–1956). It is reproduced with a French translation in the collection of the Sources chrétiennes (ed. des Places et al. 1974–91). English translation by Gifford (1903). The de was edited by Heikel (1913). English translation by Ferrar (1920). All translations of the pe are taken from Gifford, sometimes modified. All translations from the de are taken from Ferrar (1920), sometimes modified. 121 The DE’s prologue will name the Jews as principal adversaries, but will also mention pagans and heretics (1.1.11–13). 122 pe 1.1.12.

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will convey the exact knowledge of the most stringent proofs of God’s mysterious dispensation in regard to our Saviour and Lord Jesus Christ. Like the prologue of the Prophetic Extracts, this text, punctuated with phrases belonging to the field of isagogy, suggests a distinction between two kinds of readers: beginners and more advanced, corresponding to both parts of the diptych. And, as in the gei, this distinction implies a two-step progression: first, an exoteric approach in the pe (demonstration based on non-biblical texts); then a more esoteric method, in the de (from Scripture itself). Eusebius obviously repeats phrases already used to describe his project in the gei, with a few differences. For instance, he spoke, in the gei, of “those who just came to the divine Word”. Here, he adds ἐξ ἐθνῶν, “from the nations”, specifying that the first step of the apology will be addressed to former pagans – which was not explicitly presupposed in the gei. Eusebius’s project is partly different. First, according to this programmatic text, only the first part of the diptych, the pe, is supposed to be isagogical. The de must introduce to “a more perfect teaching”, and bring readers to the “understanding of deeper doctrines”, to “higher truths”, and to the “exact knowledge of the most stringent proofs of God’s mysterious dispensation”. Some of the phrases used here designated, in the Prophetic extracts, what would be rejected from the isagogy. The diptych is then presented, initially, as the association of an isagogy (the pe), and a deeper teaching (the de). Both groups of readers mentioned by Eusebius refer to the readers for which he designs the pe (beginners), then the de (more advanced). It happens that the latter were, according to the Prophetic Extracts, not totally excluded from the expected audience (of the Extracts, or the gei in general), but at least described as a non-primary audience. And even if the gei contained a distinction between a more introductory part (books 1–5) and a more “scientific” section (6 to 9), the latter was still described as an introduction (ὡς ἐν εἰσαγωγῆς τρόπῳ). Besides, the trajectory designed by Eusebius is not the same anymore. The diptych now implies a clear thematical progression, in a wider theological and historical frame which involves a more ambitious reflection on Eusebius’s part. In the pe, Eusebius intends to show why Christians left Hellenism to embrace the books of the Jews. In the de, he wants to show why Christians, while using their books, have decided not to adopt Judaism.123 In this now wider frame, the question of Christ, which seemed to be the main, if not the only, topic of the gei is dealt with only in the last books of the trajectory (de 3–10). It now finds its place in a general exposition on the historical and 123 See pe 1.2.5–8.

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doctrinal relations among Hellenism, Judaism and Christianity. We may underline the flexible point of view of Eusebius: the dossier on Christ now belongs to the “scientific” part of the diptych, it constitutes the culmination point of the work, after being treated, in the gei, in the context of an isagogy. We will see that this dossier is dealt with, indeed, in a more scholarly manner in the de. But Eusebius’s programme, as described in the prologue of the pe, or in other programmatic passages, is not totally consistent. If the de appears as the “scientific” part of the diptych, it remains, compared to other possible commentaries on Scriptures, an introduction … Another obvious difference between the gei and the pe/de consists in the title of the diptych. Eusebius does not use the term εἰσαγώγη anymore, but the vocabulary is still pedagogical. I showed elsewhere that the couple preparation  – demonstration finds a parallel in Albinus’s Εἰσαγώγη.124 The platonist distinguishes between Plato’s “zetetic” dialogues, designed for unprepared readers, and “hyphegetic” dialogues, devoted to “the demonstration of truth”.125 According to Albinus, the form of the teaching must take into account the pupil’s disposition, ἕξις.126 Eusebius takes over the same concept in the passage commented on above. Eventually, Albinus describes a curriculum which is very close to the one Eusebius has in mind: For as it is necessary to become a spectator of his own soul and of things divine, and of the gods themselves, and to obtain the most beautiful mind, one must cleanse out the false opinions of his conceptions. For not even have physicians deemed the body capable of enjoying the food brought to it, unless a person shall have previously cast out what was in it in the way of an obstacle. But after the cleansing out, it is requisite to excite and call forth the natural notions, and to cleanse out these too, and to exhibit them pure, as principles. In addition to this, through the soul being thus previously prepared, it is necessary to introduce into it its peculiar doctrines, according to which it is perfected; now these relate to physics, and theology, and ethics, and statesmanship.127 124 125 126 127

Morlet (2009), 54–56. Alb. Prol. 3. Alb. Prol. 5. Ἀναγκαίου γὰρ ὄντος θεατὰς γενέσθαι καὶ τῆς ἑαυτοῦ ψυχῆς καὶ τῶν θείων καὶ τῶν θεῶν αὐτῶν καὶ τοῦ καλλίστου νοῦ τυχεῖν, δεῖ πρῶτον μὲν ἐκκαθᾶραι τὰς ψευδεῖς δόξας τῶν ὑπολήψεων οὐδὲ γὰρ οἱ ἰατροὶ νενομίκασι, πρότερον τῆς προσφερομένης τροφῆς ἀπολαῦσαι τὸ σῶμα δύνασθαι, εἰ μὴ τὰ ἐμποδίζοντα ἐν τούτῳ τις ἐκβάλλει. Μετὰ δὲ τὸ ἐκκαθᾶραι ἐπεγείρειν καὶ προκαλεῖσθαι δεῖ τὰς φυσικὰς ἐννοίας, καὶ ταύτας ἐκκαθαίρειν καὶ εὐκρινεῖς ἀποφαίνειν ὡς ἀρχάς. Ἐπὶ τούτοις ὡς προκατεσκευασμένης τῆς ψυχῆς δεῖ αὐτῇ τὰ οἰκεῖα ἐμποιεῖν δόγματα, καθ’ ἃ τελειοῦται, ταῦτα

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This text suggests a distinction between a two-stage time of preparation (a: purification from false ideas; b: awakening and introduction to natural ideas) and a time devoted to the introduction of “doctrines”. Eusebius’s programme could be inspired by this text. Even the structure of the pe itself echoes Albinus’s description of the first time. Indeed, the pe exhibits a dual structure: first, refutation of paganism (books 1–6), followed by an initially positive exposition of the “Hebrews” and their “philosophy” (books 7–15, or books 7–10), which may be compared to a first elementary presentation of truth, devoted to the ideas that Albinus describes as “natural” – Eusebius insists on the “natural” ideas of the Hebrews, before concluding with the theological core of the work (de).128 In other passages, Albinus underlines the “elenctic” dimension of the “preparation” and stresses the solidity of the “demonstration” by the word βεβαίως.129 It just so happens that, according to Photius, Eusebius described the pe as an ἔλεγχος and the de as a βεβαίωσις, both at the beginning of book 15 of the pe and again at the end of the de.130 If Photius is here reliable, he would transmit another common point between Albinus and Eusebius.131 A last difference between the gei and the pe/de consists in the way the title Preparation/Demonstration now resonates with a specific representation of history. “Hellenism” is presented as the lowest form of piety.132 Judaism, that is to say the observance of Moses’ law, would, according to Eusebius, be a “first step” towards real piety.133 Several times, in a very Paulinian spirit (cf. Ga 3.24), Eusebius writes that the Law contained εἰσαγωγαί, introductions to piety, designed for still imperfect souls.134 In Eusebius’s view, the isagogical character

128 129 130 131

132 133 134

δέ ἐστι φυσικὰ καὶ θεολογικὰ καὶ τὰ ἠθικὰ καὶ πολιτικά (Alb. Prol. 6.150.15–26; transl. Burges 1894, modified). pe 7.8.21. Alb. Prol. 3 and 6. Bibl. cod. 9. Photius (cod. 13) also knew a work ascribed to Eusebius called Refutation and apology. See Morlet (2009), 55–56. I would add that this vocabulary, contrary to what Photius writes, is not found at the beginning of book 15, though Eusebius describes what just preceded (book 14) as an ἔλεγχος (15.1.10). Photius may be dependent on another recension of the work, or, more probably, reformulates in his own way what Eusebius writes in this passage (15.1.9–10). But he may here be influenced by the end of the de, which he also alludes to, and which we have no possibility to check, since this part is lot. See de 1.6.62, on the three forms of piety. de 1.6.32: πρῶτον ἐκεῖνον βαθμὸν εὐσεβείας ὡς ἐν εἰσαγωγαῖς καὶ προθύροις τῶν τελεωτέρων προβεβλημένος. he 1.2.22: Μωυσέως εἰκόνας καὶ σύμβολα σαββάτου τινὸς μυστικοῦ καὶ περιτομῆς ἑτέρων τε νοητῶν θεωρημάτων εἰσαγωγάς, ἀλλ’ οὐκvαὐτὰς ἐναργεῖς παρεδίδου μυσταγωγίας; de 4.10.8: τοιαῦτα μὲν καὶ μυρία ἄλλα θεοσεβῆ διδάγματά τε καὶ παραγγέλματα διὰ Μωσέως αὐτοῖς ὁ θεὸς λόγος τὸ πρὶν ἐνομοθέτει, ὡς ἐν εἰσαγωγαῖς τοῦ κατὰ εὐσέβειαν βίου παραδιδοὺς αὐτοῖς στοιχεῖα

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of the Old Testament lies in its literal sense, but, more generally, it corresponds to its non-Christological understanding, whether literal or spiritual. In that respect, Eusebius compares the biblical text to the Greek myths according to Plato (Resp. 376a–377a), saying that it is designed for spiritual children while also including a deeper meaning, a βαθυτέρα θεωρία as the Jews themselves admit.135 Likewise, the anthropomorphisms used by Moses to describe God were only a device used to introduce the divine souls to the uninitiated who were still imperfect and unable to grasp them otherwise.136 In the de, Eusebius intends to reveal the deeper meaning of the Old Testament, which in his view is Christological. At the beginning of book 8, he explains that the Law, relayed by Greek philosophy and laws, served as a spiritual preparation to the Incarnation.137 Judaism and Hellenism had then played the role of introducing Christianity. Eusebius’s historical conception then justifies from a different perspective the title of the first step of the diptych, which is supposed to introduce readers to what they must retain first from Hellenism, and then Judaism. In a way, the readers are thus invited to experience, from their individual point of view, the great pedagogy which is at work in history. This superposition of historical and individual pedagogy is not so clear in the gei,138 and its very principle seems alien to Greek pedagogical tradition. How is isagogy displayed in the work itself? A first important isagogical element is the continuous progression, not only between both steps of the diptych, but across the work as a whole, or even, inside each of both steps. I have already mentioned the progression which Eusebius suggests inside the pe: first, an elenchtic part (books 1–6), then, a positive presentation of the Hebrews (7 to 15). This second part may be subdivided into a first exposition about the Hebrews (from the Bible in book 7; from Jewish authors in

135 136 137 138

διὰ συμβόλων καί τινος σκιώδους καὶ σωματικῆς λατρείας, ἐν σώματος περιτομῇ καί τινων ἄλλων τοιουτοτρόπων ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς συντελουμένων; 8.Pr.10: νόμοις τοῖς παρὰ Μωσέως εἰσαγωγικοῖς καὶ βιωφελέσιν … In other works, see Theol. eccl. 2.14.16: ὁ μὲν οὖν παιδαγωγὸς νόμος διὰ Μωσέως ἐν τῇ κοσμοποιίᾳ τὸν θεὸν ποιητὴν τοῦ παντὸς εἰσάγων στοιχεῖά τε καὶ εἰσαγωγὰς θεοσεβείας παραδιδοὺς ἐδίδασκεν, λέγων «ἐν ἀρχῇ ἐποίησεν ὁ θεὸς τὸν οὐρανὸν καὶ τὴν γῆν» καὶ τὰ τούτοις ἑξῆς; Com. Isai. 1.93: τοιοῦτοι δὲ ἐτυγχάνετε, ὅθ’ «ὑπὸ παιδαγωγὸν» τὸν Μωσέως ‹νόμον› ἦτε γαλουχούμενοι ταῖς πρώταις εἰσαγωγαῖς τοῦ θεοσεβοῦς λόγου; Com. Ps. (pg) 23.216.55: τέως μὲν ὥσπερ ἐν εἰσαγωγαῖς καὶ προθύροις γιγνόμενοι τῆς κατὰ Θεὸν γνώσεως … The singular is also attested (see ibid. 1345.24: ἡ μὲν εἰσαγωγὴ διὰ φόβου κατορθοῦται, τὸ δὲ τέλος δι’ ἀγάπης; Com. Ps. [pg] 24.29.25: στάσιν ἔχειν ἐν οἴκῳ Θεοῦ τῶν αὐτοῦ προπύλων, ἀλλ’ οὐ τῶν ἐνδοτάτω τυχόντας· εἰσαγωγὴν γὰρ ἔσχον, ἀλλ’ οὐ τελείωσιν). pe 12.4. pe 12.31. de 8.Pr.6–11. A parallel exposition may be found in he 1.2.21–23. It is at least more discrete, and limits itself to the fact that Eusebius uses once the phrase “elementary introduction” – two words which echo the title of the gei – to designate the Law, ep 1.12.45.8: ἐδέοντο γὰρ οὗτοι στοιχειώδους εἰσαγωγῆς ἔτι τῆς περὶ Θεοῦ μοναρχίας …

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book 8; from the Greeks in book 9), and a second exposition, in which, this time, the “philosophy” of the Hebrew is compared to Greek philosophy (10 to 15). This last section of the pe, introducing Greek philosophy in its doctrinal dimension – after being presented as an allegorical exegesis of myths in book 3  – is also subdivided into two parts: first, a comparison of Plato and Scriptures (books 11 to 13, 13), and then a demonstration of the contradictions of philosophers first, with Scripture, and eventually among themselves (books 13, 14 to 15). The first subpart establishes the concord (συμφωνία) of the Bible and Greek philosophy; the second part shows the superiority of the former on the latter. The construction of the text is grounded in an obvious axiomatic and dialectical logic. The same type of progression by successive stages can be observed inside the de. Although it is described in the prologue of the pe as the “scientific” part of the diptych, it is first introduced by two books of “prolegomena”139 dealing with the relations between the Gospel and the Law (book 1), then, between the Jews and the nations (book 2). The dossier on Christ is then introduced, but once again according to a twofold logic: first, “as if it were for unbelievers” (books 3–4),140 that is to say with logical arguments and testimonies from non-biblical texts (except in the very end, as we saw, with a small collection of biblical passages on the names “Christ” and “Jesus”); then, from book 5 onwards, from Scripture itself. I have already indicated that this Christological part, grounded on the same topic, but dealt with according to two different logics, must be the repetition, on a broader scale, of the corresponding part of the gei (maybe book 5, then 6 to 9). A new detail, however, is added to the matter dealt with in the gei. Regularly, Eusebius appeals to the mysteric vocabulary. First, in order to introduce the Christological dossier, at the end of book 2 (de 2.3.178): ἤδη ποτὲ καιρὸς ἀπορρητοτέρων ἅψασθαι λόγων, τῶν περὶ τῆς κατὰ τὸν σωτῆρα καὶ κύριον ἡμῶν Ἰησοῦν τὸν Χριστὸν τοῦ θεοῦ μυστικῆς οἰκονομίας. it is high time to attack more mysterious subjects, those which are concerned with the mystical dispensation relating to our Saviour and Lord, Jesus the Christ of God. Then, in order to announce the “theology” of Christ, dealt with in book 4 (de 3.2.78 and de 3.7.40):

139 See de 2.3.178 and 3.Pr.1. 140 See n. 50.

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οἷς ἀκολούθως καὶ τὰ τῆς κατ’ αὐτὸν θεολογίας, ὡς οἷόν τέ ἐστιν ἡμῖν ἐποπτεῦσαι, ποιησόμεθα. And after that we will deal with his theology, so far as we can contemplate it. Ἀλλὰ γὰρ τῶνδε κατὰ καιρὸν προγεγυμνασμένων, καιρὸς ἤδη καλεῖ τῆς μυστικωτέρας περὶ αὐτοῦ θεολογίας ἐφάψασθαι, καὶ τὸν θεὸν λόγον, ὅστις ποτ’ ἦν ὁ διὰ τοῦ φαινομένου ἀνδρὸς τὰς θαυματουργίας ἐκτελῶν, ἐποπτεῦσαι. And now that these preliminary topics are concluded, in their right order, the moment now urges to handle the more mystical theology about Him, and contemplate the God Logos, who he was that performed miracles through the visible man. Eusebius here takes over a series of metaphors which are well attested in Platonist tradition and designates the “theology” of Christ, dealt with in book 4, then in book 5 onwards from Scripture, as an “epopteia” – literally the moment when mysteries are revealed by the priest(s). The very idea that teaching must lead to “theology”, considered as an “epopteia”, brings us back, once again, to Platonist tradition, adapted by Eusebius to a new object, following predecessors like Philo or Clement of Alexandria.141 Another Platonist image recurs with Eusebius in the image of the vestibule (προπύλαια or πρόθυροι) of truth,142 which he uses to refer to Hellenism or Judaism as “introductions”,143 or to the vestibular parts of the basilica of Tyre.144 He does not appear, however, to use it to describe any of his literary works – although others did it for him.145 The pattern of the “three parts” of philosophy, very well attested in philosophical tradition, and implicitly suggested by Eusebius’s identification of “theology” to an “epopteia”, is often used by Eusebius. His comparison of Plato and Scripture (books 11–13.13) is thus grounded on a clear tripartite division of logic  – physics  – ethics.146 When he introduces Christ’s supposed doc141 On both writers, see Riedweg (1987). 142 On this Platonist theme, see Van Opstall (2018). 143 The first use of the image is to be found in pe 8.14.19 (on philosophers, according to Philo). Then, Eusebius applies it to Plato, who remained in the introduction of truth (13.14.3), and eventually, to Judaism (de 1.6.32). 144 he 10.4.40: τοῖς τε τῶν πρώτων εἰσαγωγῶν ἔτι δεομένοις. 145 Schrœder (1975), 15–16 compares the PE’s structure to that of a basilica. 146 After a brief survey on the three parts of philosophy (pe 11.3), and a first overview of the Hebrews’ ethics (11.4), Eusebius first deals with logic (11.5–6), then physics (11.7–38) and

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trine, reproducing the philosophy of the Hebrews, Eusebius, this time, first deals with ethics, then physics and theology.147 Each time, Eusebius’s logic is a “descending” one: he starts from God, then mentions reasonable creatures, the world, and eventually men. This is another isagogical principle, attested in Alcinous or Diogenes Laertius.148 The status of “theology” towards “physics” is ambiguous in Eusebius. Sometimes, theology is included in physics.149 Sometimes, Eusebius detaches it from physics, in his way to announce the philosophy of the Hebrews, for instance,150 or in the way he isolates the “theology” of Christ as the culmination point of the curriculum (books 4 to 10 of the de). In the first books of the pe (book 1–6), however, Eusebius had presented the same topic – “theology” – in another form. His refutation of Hellenism is indeed a refutation of Greek (and more generally pagan) theology, according to the pattern of the theologia tripertita: first, the theology of the poets (1–2), the theology of philosophers (3), the theology of cities (4–6). This other scheme emerged in a philosophical, maybe stoic, tradition, and was very well known in Antiquity, including Christian Antiquity.151 What is more interesting for us is that it was also used in philosophical manuals.152 It may thus have been used by Eusebius, at least in part, for its isagogical dimension.153 To sum up, “theology” is dealt with three times on the whole scale of the diptych: first, from the (exoteric) perspective of the theologia tripertita (pe 1–6), second from the point of view of the philosophy of the Hebrews (which is compared to Plato’s philosophy) along with a strong connection between physics and theology (pe 11), before thirdly being treated as a field of knowledge in itself in a more esoteric way, a “theology of Christ” that is introduced

147 148 149 150 151 152

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eventually ethics (12–13.13). On the three parts of philosophy in Eusebius, see Dal Covolo (1988). On the division of philosophy into parts see Petrucci’s and Motta’s chapters in this volume (esp. 17–19, 21–24, 101–108). de 3.3–19 and my analysis in Morlet (2009), 251. Alc. Did. 8; Diog. Laert. 7.134–157. This is the case in pe 11, essentially devoted to physics, but including many chapters on “theology” which are given, not at the end, but at the beginning. pe 8.1.1 (Eusebius distinguishes between τά τε θεοσεβῆ δόγματά τε καὶ παιδεύματα and the θεολογίαι of the Hebrews). But it could be a mere stylistic distinction. For a few references, see Pépin (1956), (1958) 276–392, and (1978); Lieberg (1973) and (1982). See also Morlet (forthcoming), for further references. Aët. 1.6 (svf 2.1009: Chrysippus?): διόπερ οἱ τὸν περὶ τῶν θεῶν παραδόντες σεβασμὸν διὰ τριῶν ἐξέθηκαν ἡμῖν εἰδῶν, πρῶτον μὲν τοῦ φυσικοῦ, δεύτερον δὲ τοῦ μυθικοῦ, τρίτον δὲ τοῦ τὴν μαρτυρίαν ἐκ τῶν νόμων εἰληφότος. [διοικεῖσθαι del. Reiske] διδάσκεται δὲ τὸ μὲν φυσικὸν ὑπὸ τῶν φιλοσόφων, τὸ δὲ μυθικὸν ὑπὸ τῶν ποιητῶν, τὸ δὲ νομικὸν ὑφ’ ἑκάστης ἀεὶ πόλεως συνίσταται. Other Christians before Eusebius, especially Tertullian, have already used the same scheme: see Fredouille (1988).

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basically from reason (de 4) and then from Scripture (de 5–10). This is another aspect of the “successive stages” logic displayed by Eusebius, and, for this reason, another aspect of the pedagogical progression which is at work in the diptych. It is also interesting to see how the second presentation of theology (devoted to the Hebrews) plays an intermediary role between the first and the third ones – and that here Eusebius seems to hesitate between two ways of situating theology towards physics is probably symptomatic of this intermediary situation. Likewise, we may remark that, despite the clear thematical distinction which Eusebius suggests between pe and de, he may sometimes deal with the same questions several times throughout the diptych. The “philosophy” of the Hebrews, for instance, is introduced a first time in pe 7 through a paraphrase of the Bible (strongly indebted to Philo), before being compared to Plato in books 11–13.13, and before being dealt with a third time in a more esoteric way in de 3.3 (comparison with Christ’s “philosophy”), then 4.1–6 (cosmology). Their doctrine of creation is then described three times (pe 7; pe 11; de 4), but in pe 11, then de 4, Eusebius adds a new element: pe 11 compares the Hebrews’ supposed doctrine of creation with Plato’s hypothesis of the forms and suggests, more clearly than pe 7, an idea of “double creation” (spiritual, then material).154 In de 4, he does not allude explicitly to Plato anymore, but introduces in passing the (Origenian) doctrine of the preexistence of souls.155 Eusebius’s logic is then again grounded in a progressive introduction from elementary to more esoteric aspects of Christian doctrines – and this progression sometimes implies that, each time a stage is reached, some elements may be left aside (for instance, the explicit references to Plato, which disappear in the de). Inside the “scientific” core of the work, the de (which is, as we said, “scientific” compared to the pe, but still isagogical, though less explicitly than the Prophetic Extracts in the gei), Eusebius also displays a progression. Sometimes, he announces that he will postpone the treatment of a topic or of a commentary, because it is not the right time to do so (de 6.9.3 and de 6.20.22): And when there is a fit opportunity we will show that we must understand the descent and ascension of God the Word not as of one moving locally, but in the metaphorical way Scripture calls economies of this kind.156 154 pe 11.23. 155 de 4.1.4. 156 Ὅπως δὲ κάθοδον χρὴ νοεῖν καὶ ἄνοδον, τοῦ θεοῦ λόγου οὐ τοπικῶς μεταβάσεις ποιουμένου, τροπικῶς δὲ τὰς τοιάσδε οἰκονομίας αὐτοῦ τοῦτον τῆς γραφῆς ἀποκαλούσης τὸν τρόπον, ἐπ’ οἰκείας ἀποδώσομεν σχολῆς.

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And after this the prophecy proceeds to darker and disguised sayings, which require longer and more profound figurative interpretation, which in the proper place shall receive their proper exposition at leisure when with God’s help I treat of the promises.157 These passages echo similar passages in the gei already mentioned, except that Eusebius here suggests that what is postponed will be achieved in the work itself. The importance of the καιρός remains the same, however  – Eusebius intends to go ahead ὁδῷ καὶ τάξει, “in a methodical and orderly manner”.158 Besides, as we saw, the Christological dossier (de 3–10) is organized according to two steps: a first introductory part (de 3–4), in which this “esoteric” topic is treated as if it were not esoteric, that is to say, in an exoteric way, for readers who may be assimilated to “unbelievers”; then a more esoteric part, designed for more advanced readers (de 5–10). However, like in the gei, and this remark illustrates the fact that the de remains an isagogy, Eusebius, even in the most “scientific” part of his demonstration, regularly rejects, out of the work, explanations which would belong to another time, or to another kind of work (de 7.2.27 [on Mi 5.4] and de 10.2.19 [on Ps 54.10ff.]): It is not the right time to deal with that, which would entail a long inquiry.159 And immediately after the prediction of the conspiracy against him, he continues also about the mother city of the Jews, Jerusalem, and says, ‘I saw iniquity and strife in the city’, and that which follows, the meaning of which there is no time now to expound.160 As in the gei, the commentary which is rejected is often designated by the phrase ἐπὶ σχολῆς.161 And as in the gei, this method had already been justified in the prologue of the work (de 1.1.14):

157 Μετὰ ταῦτα προφητεύεται τούτοις ἑξῆς σκοτεινότερά τινα καὶ δι’ αἰνιγμάτων, μακροτέρας καὶ βαθυτέρας τῆς κατὰ τροπολογίαν δεόμενα ἑρμηνείας, ἃ δὴ ἐπὶ σχολῆς κατὰ τὸν προσήκοντα καιρὸν τῆς προσηκούσης τεύξεται διηγήσεως ἐπὰν σὺν θεῷ τὸν περὶ τῶν ἐπαγγελιῶν ἀποδώσωμεν λόγον. 158 de 5.Pr.2. See also pe 7.10.1 for the same phrase. Before Eusebius, it can only be found in Galen and Origen. 159 Ταῦτα δὲ πλείστης ἐρεύνης δεόμενα οὐ νῦν πολυπραγμονεῖν καιρός. 160 Πλὴν ἀλλὰ καὶ περὶ τῆς τῶν Ἰουδαίων μητροπόλεως, αὐτῆς δὴ τῆς Ἱερουσαλήμ, ἀκολούθως μετὰ τὴν κατὰ τῶν ἐπιβουλευσάντων αὐτῷ πρόρρησιν ἐπιλέγει ἑξῆς «εἶδον ἀνομίαν καὶ ἀντιλογίαν ἐν τῇ πόλει», καὶ τὰ τούτοις ἀκόλουθα, ἃ καὶ ὁποίας ἔχεται διανοίας, οὐ νῦν σχολὴ διηγεῖσθαι. 161 de 7.1.68; 7.3.27; 8.1.81.

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My argument will dispense with a longer systematic interpretation of the prophetic words, and will leave such a task to any who wish to make the study, and are able to expound such works. And I shall take as my teacher the sacred command which says ‘sum up many things in few words’, and aspire to follow it. I shall only offer such starting points in regard to the texts, and to the points which bear on the subject under consideration, as is absolutely necessary for their clear interpretation.162 Eusebius once uses in that respect the interesting phrase διαδραμεῖν ἀκροθιγῶς, “to review with fingertips”.163 A few scholars thought that, when Eusebius rejects a certain kind of commentary, he announces his late commentary on the Psalms.164 I do not think that it is the case, but one may well assume that this commentary, like the commentary on Isaiah, was written to complete what was lacking in the de. The commentary on the Psalms, indeed, makes at least two references to the de – another work in which same topics were dealt with “in a demonstrative manner”, ἀποδεικτικῶς.165 The commentaries of the de are very similar to the parallel commentaries in the ep in terms of form and content. But sometimes, Eusebius is more thorough and he also does not refrain from commenting on prophecies which he had described as “unclear” in the gei,166 which seems to confirm that, even if the de still belongs to an isagogical work, it represents, compared to the ep, a step which is a bit more advanced. Some differences have been noticed by critics concerning the use of literal and spiritual interpretations in both works. They remain difficult to assess. Carmelo Curti thought that Eusebius had moved to a more literal exegesis in the de,167 but, if he is right in underlining the importance of literal sense in this work, it is also true that, sometimes, the de contains spiritual interpretations which are absent from the Prophetic extracts.168 Instead of speaking of an evolution of Eusebius, these differences 162 τὴν μὲν οὖν μακροτέραν καὶ διεξοδικὴν τῶν προφητικῶν φωνῶν ἑρμηνείαν τὰ νῦν ὁ λόγος ὑπερθήσεται, τοῖς βουλομένοις τὰ τούτων ἐξετάζειν καταλιπών, ὃν οἷοί τ’ ἂν εἶεν εἰπεῖν [τὸν] τρόπον, διδασκάλῳ δὲ χρώμενος παραγγέλματι θείῳ φάσκοντι «κεφαλαίωσον ἐν ὀλίγοις πολλά», τοῦτο ζηλῶσαι φιλοτιμήσεται αὐτὸ μόνον ἀφορμὰς τῆς εἰς τοὺς τόπους θεωρίας καὶ τῶν εἰς τὸ προκείμενον κατεπειγόντων τὴν εἰς τὸ σαφὲς ἑρμηνείαν παραθησόμενος. 163 de 10.8.112. 164 See Heikel (1913), 244, Rondeau (1982), 471, n. 76, and Carrara (2000), 74. 165 pg 23.601.47–51; pg 23.1173.40–48. 166 See quotations from Habbakuk in de 4.16.34 and 6.14–15. Joel, Naum and Aggai are still absent from the preserved books. 167 Curti (1985). 168 In de 9.12.4–5, for instance, Eusebius assimilates the “see” of Jb 9.8 as the see of life, a spiritual explanation which he had not given in ep 3.7.

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have probably something to do with the somewhat different status of the de compared to the Prophetic extracts: on the one hand it continues the same isagogical demonstration, while on the other it constitutes a more scientific approach of the same topics. As in the Prophetic Extracts, the Christological dossier, like each book of the diptych, is preceded by a table of contents which gives indications about the topics dealt with, and also the names of the biblical books from which extracts are given. The logic, however, is different: in the gei, Eusebius followed the biblical order (except for Isaiah). Now, the testimonia are gathered according to the life of Christ, according to a method which is well-attested before Eusebius.169 First, his divinity (de 5), then his coming (book 6), the manner of his coming, his place of birth, his family (book 7), the time of his coming (book 8), his deeds during his life time (book 9), then the circumstances of his Passion (book 10). In each book, however, the testimonia are generally given according to the biblical order. As in the gei, the commentary limits itself, most often, to indicating what is important (that is to say, what refers to Christ, the Jews or the nations in the text commented on), with a similar use of the verb (ἐπι)σημειοῦσθαι.170 Sometimes it takes more clearly the form of a demonstration  – like in the gei, Eusebius seeks to refute competing interpretations.171 We find similar demonstrations in pedagogical texts, like Cyrillus of Jerusalem’s catecheses. A last pedagogical aspect deserves attention: Eusebius often acts as a master guiding the reading of his pupil. Directly addressing the reader – theoretically Theodotus of Laodicea, to whom the work is dedicated, but, in reality, every potential reader –, he incites him to “notice” (σημειοῦσθαι),172 to “pay attention” (προσέχειν),173 to “observe” (τηρεῖν,174 ἐπιτηρεῖν175), to “focus” (ἐφιστᾶναι),176 phrases which are sometimes specified by the adverb ἐπιμελῶς, “with care”,177 in a style which is reminiscent of Origen. 169 170 171 172

173 174 175 176 177

In Cyprian, Ps.-Epiphanius and Ps.-Gregory of Nyssa (see n. 58). Books 6/8/9/10 Pin. 1; 9.4.2: ἐπεσημειωσάμην. See Morlet (2009), 432–438. de 5.1.28: Σημείωσαι πρῶτον, ὡς ἀγαπητὸν οἶδε τοῦ θεοῦ, δεύτερον ὡς «εἰς σύνεσιν» τῶν λεχθησομένων τὸν ἀκροατὴν παρορμᾷ, τρίτον «ὑπὲρ τῶν ἀλλοιωθησομένων» εἴρηται διὰ πλείστας αἰτίας, διά τε τὴν ἐκ θεοῦ εἰς ἀνθρώπους τοῦ δηλουμένου ἀγαπητοῦ ἀλλοίωσιν καὶ διὰ τὴν τῆς ἐν ἀνθρώποις αὐτοῦ μεταβολῆς μετὰ ταῦτα εἰς θεὸν ἀποκατάστασιν, ναὶ μὴν καὶ διὰ τοὺς ἐκ πλάνης εἰς τὸν κατὰ εὐσέβειαν τρόπον διὰ τῆς αὐτοῦ διδασκαλίας ὅσον οὔπω μεταβληθησομένους. de 4.17.22; 5.3.16; 6.13.22; 7.3.49. de 4.16.8; 9.7.14; 9.15.4; 10.1.38; 10.8.65. de 5.17.5; 9.16.4. de 1.10.5; 2.3.33; 4.16.8; 5.1.28; 5.3.7; 5.3.33; 6.20.20; 7.1.44; 7.1.89; 9.7.12. de 4.15.50; 4.17.22; 5.3.8; 5.3.16; 6.13.22; 7.3.40; 7.3.49; 9.7.14; 9.15.4.

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As a conclusion, we may say that Eusebius’s great apology, pe/de, repeats several elements of the gei, but his endeavour is partly different, and more ambitious, implying a longer curriculum and, in the de, a more “scientific” approach of the topics dealt with in the Prophetic extracts. The status of the de is ambiguous, since it remains roughly speaking an isagogy, especially when it is compared to the longer commentaries on the Psalms and Isaiah. The pe/de, finally, exhibits a feature which is already at work in the gei, but in a less obvious manner: Eusebius’s exposition by successive stages, which often implies that, inside the very isagogy, there are introductions, and sometimes, introductions of introductions. 3

Classroom Texts?

The gei like the pe/de raise a problem. It is usual to speak of such works as “scholastic” or “school” texts. But what was their relation to a concrete teaching? Can we imagine that they could be used in the context of a classroom – by a master, or a pupil, or both?178 – or should we rather think that their pedagogical form is only literary and that they reflect very little of Eusebius’s possible teaching? There existed in Caesara a “school” (διατριβή) under Pamphilus, Eusebius’s master.179 This school has probably nothing to do with the school opened in 233 by Origen in the same city. But like Origen’s school, it was not a catechetical school, but a school in which pupils received a thorough training in exegesis and theology. The major difference between both schools is that, according to our sources, nothing indicates that Greek paideia and philosophy played any role in Pamphilus’ teaching. Besides, nothing indicates that this school survived after Pamphilus’ death in 310. There was necessarily a catechetical teaching delivered at Caesarea under the supervision of the bishop, but we have no information about it. It is then very difficult to evaluate the relations between literary works and a specific schoolroom context. However, the idea that there could be a connection, even a slight connection, might be suggested by a passage of the he (6.15) in which Eusebius describes the catechetical school of Alexandria in terms that are very similar to the way he describes his own programme in gei and pe/de. Speaking about Origen choosing Heraclas as his colleague, he writes: 178 Barnes (1981), 169 considered that the gei “replaced the formal, organized instruction of catechumens which was now forbidden by law”. I do not see how this hypothesis could be sustained. 179 On this “school”, see Morlet (2011).

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He entrusted to him the first introduction of those who were just receiving an elementary teaching, but reserved for himself the instruction of those who were farther advanced.180 This text is punctuated by terms which Eusebius, as we saw, uses to describe his own pedagogical projects. I mentioned above the passage from his panegyric for the Tyre basilica, where in order to suggest that the vestibular parts of the church are adapted to the less advanced Christians he uses a phrase which also echoes his own programme (τοῖς τε τῶν πρώτων εἰσαγωγῶν ἔτι δεομένους).181 But are such passages sufficient to suggest a real connection between his pedagogical texts and a historical reality? It is not possible to answer this question categorically. I do think, however, that at least three remarks may be made which negate, or at least undermine, the possibility that the gei and pe/de could be “real” school handbooks. These three remarks all tend to show that none of these works is simply an isagogy. But maybe one should make a distinction between the gei and pe/de. First remark: at the beginning of the pe, Eusebius briefly answers the accusation of irrational faith. The faith of Christians is not irrational, since it can be demonstrated.182 But – and this is a crucial detail – not everyone is able to follow a demonstration. The divine Logos, Eusebius says, adapts himself and uses appropriate remedies, “and invites the unlearned and simple to the amendment of their ways, naturally in the introductory teaching of those who are beginning with the simpler elements, women and children and the common herd, we lead them on gently to the pious life, and adopt the sound faith to serve as a remedy, and instill into them the right opinions on God’s providence, and the immortality of the soul, and the life of virtue.”183 Eusebius here seems to describe the most common catechesis, which he precisely distinguishes from the work he has in view. The latter is designed for another audience, which, compared to the audience of the common catechesis, represents a sort of cultured elite. If the pe/de has any connection to a real schoolroom setting, then it cannot be the context of the most common catechesis.

180 Τῷ μὲν τὴν πρώτην τῶν ἄρτι στοιχειουμένων εἰσαγωγὴν ἐπιτρέψας, αὐτῷ δὲ τὴν τῶν ἐν ἕξει φυλάξας ἀκρόασιν (transl. McGiffert 1890, modified). 181 See n. 144. 182 pe 1.5.3. 183 Καὶ τὸν ἀμαθῆ καὶ ἰδιώτην ἐπὶ τὴν τῶν τρόπων θεραπείαν παρακαλοῦντος, εἰκότως ἐν εἰσαγωγῇ τοὺς ἀρχομένους τῶν ἰδιωτικωτέρων, γύναια καὶ παῖδας καὶ τὸ τῶν ἀγελαίων πλῆθος, ἐπὶ τὸν εὐσεβῆ βίον χειραγωγοῦντες ὡς ἐν φαρμάκου μοίρᾳ τὴν ὑγιῆ πίστιν παραλαμβάνομεν, ὀρθὰς δόξας περὶ θεοῦ προνοίας καὶ περὶ ψυχῆς ἀθανασίας καὶ περὶ τοῦ κατ’ ἀρετὴν βίου ἐντιθέντες αὐτοῖς.

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Second remark: both parts of the diptych constituted by the pe and the de are encyclopedic works, containing numerous, long and precise quotations from a variety of books (Jewish, Greek, Christian, biblical). To read it, one must have a certain cultural knowledge and be among the philomatheis, the lovers of learning whom Eusebius is addressing at the beginning of the he (1.1.5). The de contains erudite and long commentaries on Scripture, including comparisons with other translations of the Bible, or references to Hebrew language; Eusebius sometimes mentions the manuscripts and suggests several interpretations, according to the “zetetic” style of his spiritual master, Origen.184 The whole diptych exhibits, then, a scholarly look which seems contradictory with a real isagogy. Once again, it is clear that not everyone could indulge in such a long and difficult reading. My last remark is about Eusebius’s style. Very often in pe/de, it is very rhetorical. Each book is preceded by a prologue. The exegetical commentaries in the de remain “introductory” compared to the long commentaries, but they are written in the same (often oratorical) style. Of course, the rhetorical character of the diptych does not in itself contradict the possibility that it was connected to a real schoolroom setting. Pierre Hadot has shown how the rhetorical mode of exposition became prominent at the end of Antiquity in the philosophical tradition, along-side the old dialectical method of questions and answers.185 However it seems difficult to me to imagine how such a long and rhetorical work could have been used by any master or any pupil in the context of any classroom. Can we apply these remarks to the gei? Yes and no. First, the expected audience in the gei is also a cultured audience, able to follow quite a long exposition in ten books, but the prologue of the Prophetic Extracts clearly referred to new converts. The pe is theoretically intended for a similar audience, but this only concerned the first part of the diptych, not the whole apology (the de is designed for a more advanced audience). Second, the gei exhibits the same kind of erudition as in the de, but to a lesser extent, and – the difference here being a difference of degree, rather than of kind. Finally, the prologue of the Prophetic Extracts contains an element which is lacking in pe/de: the phrase τὴν περὶ ὧν κατηχήθησαν λόγων ἀσφάλειαν,186 inspired by Luke 1.4 and containing the verb κατηχεῖν, which could designate a concrete catechesis. But, 184 See Morlet (2009), 477–479 (“une exégèse en recherche”). 185 Hadot (1980), commenting on Cic. Fin. 2.1.1–3, who opposes schola (rhetorica exposition) and dialectical exposition; see also Porph. Plot. 13. On this topic see also the Introduction to this volume esp. 3–5 and 10–15. 186 ep 1.1.3.5–6.

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when Eusebius says that he seeks to offer a confirmation of the catechesis, how should we understand what he means? That the gei still belongs to the catechesis? Or that it operates in a different teaching context? Or that it functions in a purely literary context? To sustain this last possibility one could observe that, even if the gei was shorter than the pe/de, and a bit less erudite than the latter, Eusebius in the Prophetic Extracts alludes to the ἀντίγραφα. He uses the “revisions” of the Septuagint and even if the prologues of each book are shorter than in the de, his style is roughly the same. And Eusebius’s project already exhibits a “scientific” dimension, similar to what he intends in the de. We then probably have a few reasons to connect the gei to a real catechetical context, but: a) it was not concerned with the most common catechesis; b) this connection may well be very loose (Eusebius’s statements do not absolutely convey the idea of a teaching context, whatever may be this context, and the continuation to the catechesis which he has in view may well be left to the reader’s initiative). Such a connection must probably be excluded in the case of the pe/de, which testify to a greater literary elaboration, unless we assume that, beyond the dedication to Theodotus, Eusebius composed this work for a circle of disciples able to follow such an erudite work – the Evangelical Questions are dedicated to two unknown men, a certain Stephanus and a certain Marinus, who might well belong to such a circle. It remains clear, however that such a circle could not be Eusebius’s only expected audience, and that he designed his work to be read by the largest possible number of readers. 4

Conclusion

Eusebius’s work offers a good example of the Nachleben of a few isagogical patterns in Christian literature. Such a study reveals, I think, another aspect of Eusebius’s creativeness, and at the same time, his debt to Greek philosophy. Eusebius sought to construct a Christian pedagogical project. His first proposal was the gei, later re-elaborated in the pe/de, in a longer and more ambitious manner. The notion of isagogy is particularly relevant in both works, and directly operative in the production of what appears today as two original pieces of literature. But this is also a flexible notion. In the gei, whose title suggests that it is entirely an isagogy, there was an isagogy (books 1 to 5) within the isagogy, and maybe an even more complex progression including a first exposition on Christian ethics (books 1–4?), a second step about Christ (book 5), and a more complete and esoteric exposition on the same topic (books 6–9) before a refutation of heretical christologies (book 10). In the longer work, the question of Christ is treated in the “scientific” core of the text (the de): it is first

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dealt with in an introductory manner (books 3–4), then in a more esoteric way (5–10), but the exposition remains broadly isagogical compared to the longer commentaries on the Psalms and Isaiah. The problem of a possible connection between those works and a specific teaching context is difficult to resolve. Obviously, none of them could be connected to the most common catechesis. And it remains possible that they have no connection at all with any concrete teaching context. It is possible, though, that the gei had some relation with an advanced catechesis (or a concrete advanced teaching relaying the catechesis). If there was a connection between the pe/de and a teaching context, it would seemingly only concern a very small circle of students, and therefore it is probably safer to assert that Eusebius primarily designed these texts to be read by a large number of readers.

Chapter 8

Prolegomena to Medicine: The Role of the Hippocratic Aphorismi Giulia Ecca 1

The Role of Galen’s De sectis in the Late Antique Medical Curriculum*

Even though Hippocrates was considered to be the founder of medicine, the medical curriculum in late antique schools usually began with lectures on Galen’s treatises.1 In particular, Galen’s isagogical treatise De sectis ad eos qui introducuntur, in which he discusses the different characteristics of each school of medicine, became a fixture at the start of the medical curriculum. Indeed, in his De libris propriis (chap. 1: 137.4–10 Boudon-Millot = xix 12.2–7 Kühn), Galen himself recommends that students should first read De sectis. He is not, however, completely consistent on this point, for in De ordine librorum suorum he distinguishes between two different orders for reading his texts (chap. 2: 92.7–10 Boudon-Millot = xix 54.7–10 Kühn). On the one hand, those students who want to gain a scientific and rigorous knowledge according to the demonstrative method (κατ’ ἐπιστήμην ἀκριβῆ τῶν πραγμάτων) should begin with De demonstratione, today lost. On the other hand, those who would like to acquire a medical knowledge simply “according to correct opinion” (κατὰ δόξαν ὀρθήν), without receiving an education in logic, should read De sectis first. In Late Antiquity, medical teachers unanimously granted priority on the curriculum to De sectis. According to the testimony of Johannes Grammaticus (6th century), the didactic canon of Galen’s texts consisted of 16 works: the first four were ‘introductions’ (εἰσαγωγαί) to the medical art, and De sectis was

* I wrote the first draft of this chapter in the course of a project financed by the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (dfg-Eigene Stelle: Projektnummer 411684113), and I completed it during the period of my Montalcini grant, financed by the Italian Ministero dell’istruzione, dell’università e della ricerca (miur): I sincerely thank both institutions for supporting my research. I warmly thank Daniela Manetti, Anna Motta and Federico Petrucci for reading this chapter and for their valuable suggestions as to how it could be improved. 1 The predominance of lectures on Galen in Late Antiquity is usually referred to via the notion of ‘Galenism’: see Temkin (1973), 51–94.

© Giulia Ecca, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004506190_010

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considered to be the introductory medical treatise par excellence.2 Arabic sources also cite De sectis as the first Galenic writing to be read by medical students.3 The so-called Summaria Alexandrinorum summarizes De sectis first among Galen’s works.4 Similarly, the Tabulae vindobonenses, schematic versions of ten Galenic writings collected in a manuscript that relies on lateantique Alexandrian material, devote their first διαιρέσεις to the explanation of De sectis.5 Even Photius (9th century) wrote that De sectis should be read before any other of Galen’s texts (Bibl. 107a17–23). Lectures and commentaries on medical treatises usually included an introduction to the text – which discussed the treatise under its eight ‘main-points’ (κεφάλαια), that is, by reference to the most important questions it dealt with  – and a word-by-word commentary (κατὰ λέξιν).6 Besides commentaries on single treatises, we also find general prolegomena to the whole medical art, which were expected to introduce students to the most important features of medicine.7 Some general prolegomena can be found before the introductions of commentaries on De sectis, such as those by Johannes Alexandrinus and Agnellus of Ravenna (both from the 6th century).8 In the ms Laurentianus Pluteus 74.11 (13th century), at folia 200r–211v, and just before Galen’s De sectis 2 See Garofalo (2000), which edits the following schema outlined by Johannes: εἰσαγωγαί: De sectis, Ars medica, De pulsibus ad tirones, Ad Glauconem de methodo medendi; κατὰ φύσιν: De elementis, De temperamentis, De facultatibus naturalibus, Anatomia (= De ossibus ad tirones, De musculorum dissectione ad tirones, De nervorum dissectione, De venarum arteriarumque dissectione); παρὰ φύσιν: De causis et symptomatibus (= De morborum differentiis, De morborum causis, De symptomatum differentiis, De symptomatum causis); διαγνωστικά: De locis affectis, De pulsibus (= De pulsuum differentiis, De dignoscendis pulsibus, De causis pulsuum, De praesagitione ex pulsibus); προγνωστικά: De febrium differentiis, De crisibus, De diebus decretoriis; προφυλακτικόν: De sanitate tuenda; θεραπευτικόν: De methodo medendi. 3 On the late antique medical curriculum, which can be reconstructed from Greek and Arabic sources, see Iskandar (1976) and Irmer (1987). More recently, Walbridge (2014), xix–xxxi, Manetti (2015), 1197–1215 and the introduction by Overwien (2019), 9–34. Very recent is a new edition of “A Literary History of Medicine” by Ibn Abī Uṣaybiʿah in 5 volumes, which is one of the most important sources: Savage-Smith, Swain, and Jan van Gelder (2020). 4 See Garofalo (2003), Walbridge (2014), and Overwien (2019) on the Tabulae Vindobonenses and Summaria Alexandrinorum derived from the lectures on De sectis. Cf. also Ieraci Bio (2003) and Overwien (2014) for general remarks on the late antique didactic context. 5 The manuscript is the Vindobonensis Med. gr. 16, ff. 329r–359r, from the end of 13th century. For a general overview of the Tabulae Vindobonenses, see Gundert (1998). 6 On the general structure of late antique medical commentaries see Mansfeld (1994). 7 A first overview of the general prolegomena to medicine, related to Galen’s De sectis, is given in the fundamental article by Temkin (1935). 8 On Johannes Alexandrinus’ Commentary see Pritchet (1982). On Agnellus of Ravenna see Westerink (1981), Palmieri (1991) and Palmieri (2001): one of the most important witness for Agnellus’ lectures is the ms. Ambrosianus G 108 inf.

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(in this case, the manuscript does not preserve any late antique commentary on the treatise), we find a prolegomenon on medicine ascribed to Palladius.9 The famous Bononiensis gr. 3632 (15th century), ff. 43r–45v, preserves a unique introduction to medicine based on material derived from De sectis and its late antique commentaries.10 Similarly, in the Berlin papyrus 11739A (7th century) we find another prolegomenon on medicine which is clearly based on Galen’s De sectis.11 It is remarkable that such general prolegomena are attested only in the tradition related to De sectis and do not appear in relation to any other of Galen’s treatises. While the position of primacy given to Galen’s De sectis has clearly captured the attention of many scholars, important questions remain about the reading of Hippocratic texts on the medical curriculum. It is plausible to suppose that lectures on Hippocrates came after those on Galen in the medical curriculum, and that Galen’s theoretical and well-structured treatises played a propaedeutic role for the reading of the more obscure and condensed Hippocratic writings. Venturing a parallel with the late antique philosophical tradition, we can fruitfully compare the Galen–Hippocrates order to that of Aristotle–Plato. De sectis represents in the medical curriculum what the Isagoge of Porphyry represents in the philosophical schools, and it seems likely that the general prolegomena transmitted before De sectis had a similar function to the prolegomena philosophiae transmitted under the names of David and Elias.12 Once students had completed the lectures on Aristotle, philosophical teachers would typically present general prolegomena to the lectures on Plato’s dialogues.13 Drawing inspiration from this feature of philosophical teaching, the main question I intend to focus on here is whether, in addition to the general prolegomena based on De sectis, there were also introductions to Hippocratic medicine to be absorbed before moving onto the study of the Hippocratic texts themselves. In order to answer this question, it will be useful to focus our attention on a 9 10 11 12

13

The text is edited by Baffioni (1958). See Baffioni (1954). The first edition of the papyrus is by Nachmanson (1925), but it was later revised by Manetti (1992), who provided a new edition and a new translation of the text: see Manetti (1995) and (2019). On the commentaries on the Isagoge by Porphyry and their role in the philosophical curriculum, see Militello (2010). For the Prolegomena philosophiae by David and Elias, see the dated critical editions by Busse (1900) and (1904) and especially the studies by Westerink (1962), xx–xxiv and Westerink (1964), and the recent translation by Gertz (2018). The writings of Elias and David should not be confused with those of Pseudo-Elias (pseudoDavid), edited by Westerink (1967). On the prolegomena to Plato’s philosophy, see the edition by Westerink (1962); an Italian translation with exegetical remarks is to be found in Motta (2014).

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group of texts in which the Hippocratic Aphorismi clearly play a central role. In particular, I will try to shed light on the importance that the introductory character of the Aphorismi assumes in some prolegomena to medicine. 2

The Hippocratic Aphorismi and Late Antique Medical Commentaries

The Hippocratic Aphorismi are a collection of short sentences, heavily laden with meaning and mostly concerned with the diagnosis, prognosis, and ther­ apy of different diseases.14 From the Hellenistic period onwards, this treatise, which was believed to be the repository par excellence of Hippocratic thought, attracted the attention of many ancient authors. These writers tried to understand what exactly Hippocrates meant and how the meaning of the Aphorismi could fit with their own medical theories.15 Unfortunately, no Hellenistic commentaries have come down to us and we have just a few fragments and quotations. Most of these are preserved in Galen’s Commentary on the Aphorismi, which is itself the most important source from antiquity for better understanding the meaning of the Hippocratic text. In Late Antiquity, the Aphorismi acquired a central place in the canon of Hippocratic treatises that were read in medical schools. We have evidence for a rich practice of commenting on the Aphorismi during this period, although only the late antique commentaries written by Stephanus and Theophilus have survived. The biographies of these men are still very uncertain. In the manuscripts, Stephanus is sometimes called ‘Athenian’ and at other times ‘Alexandrian’. He was a physician and (perhaps) also a philosopher who lived around the end of the 6th century and the beginning of the 7th century.16 14

15 16

The most recent critical edition, not officially published but available as a doctoral dissertation, is that by Magdelaine (1994), which also contains a detailed introduction and a commentary. The arrangement of the Aphorisms in seven books seems to be arbitrary: it is impossible to establish a specific criterion of composition. For a general overview of the commentaries on Hippocratic texts, see Ihm (2002). Wolska-Conus (1989) identified him with Stephanus of Alexandria, the Christian philosopher and commentator on Aristotle; for an overview of this individual, see Boudon-Millot (2016). Stephanus’ Commentary on the Aphorismi was critically edited by Westerink (1985), although a new analysis of the manuscript tradition has led me to point out the necessity of making some improvements to the edition. For the constitutio textus of book 1, Westerink took three manuscripts into account. Two of these (Ambrosianus S 19 sup., 14th cent., and Parisinus gr. 2222, 15th cent.) only transmit the Commentary from Aph. i 1 to Aph. iii 25. The same text is to be found in a copy of the Parisinus gr. 2222, that is Parisinus gr. 2223 (16th cent.). The third is Vaticanus gr. 279 (14th cent.), which is a miscellaneous

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Similarly, the sources for the life of Theophilus are too unclear to allow any definite conclusions to be drawn. While most scholars think that Theophilus lived much later than Stephanus – probably in the 9th century – some argue that the two were more or less contemporaries and that Theophilus was probably Stephanus’ pupil.17 The most important late antique canon of Hippocratic lectures is to be found in the prooemium of Stephanus’ Commentary on the Prognosticum (30.31–34 Duffy with transl. slightly modified): δεῖ ἐν τοῖς Ἱπποκρατείοις συγγράμμασι πρότερον τὰ καθόλου ἀναγινώσκειν τῶν μερικῶν. διὸ δεῖ τοὺς Ἀφορισμοὺς ἀναγινώσκειν πρότερον, ἐπειδὴ πάντων τῶν μερῶν τῆς ἰατρικῆς διαλαμβάνουσιν, καὶ εἶθ’ οὕτως ἐπὶ τὰ μερικὰ ἰέναι. Among the writings of Hippocrates, the universal works must be read before those on particular subjects. This means that one ought to read first the Aphorisms, since these cover all the parts of medicine, then move to the writings concerned with particular topics. Immediately after these words, Stephanus presents a list of twelve Hippocratic works with the Aphorismi appearing first, since they have a ‘universal’ (καθόλου) character, which is to say that they are ‘general’ and therefore introductory. Stephanus’ version of the canon of Hippocratic writings is also divided into a number of groups, in a sort of διαίρεσις. The distinction between καθόλου works and μερικά works goes back to the Neoplatonic commentaries on Aristotle, which divided the Aristotelian corpus into particular (μερικά), intermediate (μεταξύ), and universal (καθόλου) writings. Stephanus stresses the need to begin the study of medicine from the ‘general’, and the Aphorismi are fitting for this purpose since they cover all the parts of medicine. He then divides medical works into those that are κατὰ φύσιν, i.e., that follow the regular order of nature, and those that are παρὰ φύσιν, or contrary to the natural order. In his Commentary on the Aphorismi, Stephanus adopts another criterion in order to explain the priority of the Aphorismi in the didactic canon. He distinguishes a ‘natural order’ (ἡ πρὸς τὴν φύσιν τάξις) from a ‘logical order’ (ἡ πρὸς τὸν λόγον τάξις). According to the natural order, De natura hominis and De natura

17

manuscript and transmits the Commentary from Aph. i 1 to Aph. i 11. Westerink was not aware of another manuscript, Parisinus Suppl. gr. 447, which is the model for Vaticanus gr. 279 and should be considered in its place when reflecting on the constitution of the text see Ecca (2018b). The text of Theophilus is available only in the old, non-critical edition by Dietz (1834), which considered only a few manuscripts.

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pueri take the first and second positions, since they show how our bodies are formed and grow. But Stephanus then emphasizes that the Aphorismi are to be read first according to the logical order. Moreover, he suggests that the student should also read Iusiurandum and Lex as introductions to Hippocrates (Steph. In Hipp. Aph., prooem. 28.4–5 and 30.23–25 Westerink, with transl.): Σκοπός ἐστι τῷ συγγραφεῖ πάντα τὰ τῆς τέχνης ἡμῖν παρέχειν κεφάλαια καὶ φύσεως ἔργα […] ἡ δὲ τοῦ λόγου τάξις πρότερον τοὺς Ἀφορισμοὺς παρακελεύεται ἀναλέγεσθαι διὰ τὸ καθολικὸν καὶ κεφαλαιῶδες καὶ σύντομον τῶν ἐνταῦθα παραδιδομένων. The author’s intention is to instruct us in all the essentials of the art and in the works of nature […] The logical order prescribes that we read the Aphorisms first because of the universal, summary and concise character of its content. In addition to Stephanus’ testimony, we are informed by Ibn Riḍwān, an Arabic physician and astronomer of the 11th century, about a smaller canon of four Hippocratic works that were read in the Alexandrian schools. Aphorismi are mentioned first in this set of texts as well: The most eminent physicians of Alexandria confined [medical courses] to four of the books of Hippocrates: Aphorisms, Prognostic, Regimen in acute diseases, and Airs, waters, and places.18 To summarize, in most late antique canons of Hippocratic works the Aphorismi hold an introductory position. The standard explanation is that they are ‘comprehensive’ or ‘universal’, since they cover all the parts of medicine. In this regard, the first Aphorism, in particular, played a fundamental role in the late antique canon (375.1–4 Magdelaine = iv 458.1–3 Littré; my transl.): Ὁ βίος βραχύς, ἡ δὲ τέχνη μακρή, ὁ δὲ καιρὸς ὀξύς, ἡ δὲ πεῖρα σφαλερή, ἡ δὲ κρίσις χαλεπή. δεῖ δὲ οὐ μόνον ἑωυτὸν παρέχειν τὰ δέοντα ποιεῦντα, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸν νοσέοντα, καὶ τοὺς παρεόντας, καὶ τὰ ἔξωθεν. The life is short, the art is long, the opportunity is fleeting, the experiment is treacherous, the judgement is difficult. The physician must be 18

See Iskandar (1976), 248–249.

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ready not only to do his duty himself but also to secure the co-operation of the patient, of the attendants, and of externals. The first Hippocratic Aphorism is one of the most frequently quoted texts in the history of ancient medicine.19 On the one hand, its first part (Ὁ βίος βραχύς … ἡ δὲ κρίσις χαλεπή) represents an ideal introduction to the art of medicine, since it presents the most important elements with which a physician has to deal (i.e. the time-knowledge relationship, experience, and theoretical elaboration of the data). On the other hand, the second part of the Aphorism (δεῖ δὲ οὐ μόνον … καὶ τὰ ἔξωθεν) stresses the role that other people (such as assistants, friends, and the family of the patient) and factors (such as the equipment of the room and the chirurgical instruments) play in medical practice, alongside the physician. From antiquity onwards, the first Aphorism had an incredibly broad circulation in both medical and non-medical literature, as it not only represented the summa of Hippocratic thought but also set the general rules for every kind of art and expertise. However, despite its widespread circulation, the meaning of this Aphorism is anything but immediately clear. For this reason, Galen devotes many pages of his Commentary to it. Without any introductory preface, he immediately launches into a word-by-word explanation. In fact, the first Aphorism – he explicitly says – has a proemial function for the whole art of medicine (Gal. In Hipp. Aph. i 1: XVIIb 346.1–3 Kühn; my transl.):20 Ὅτι μὲν οὖν οὗτος ὁ λόγος, εἴθ’ εἷς ἀφορισμός ἐστιν εἴτε δύο, προοίμιον ὑπάρχει τοῦ παντὸς συγγράμματος ὡμολόγηται σχεδὸν ἅπασι τοῖς ἐξηγησαμένοις αὐτόν. Almost all its interpreters agree on the fact that this account, whether the aphorism is one or if they are two, is a preface to the whole treatise. The only proper late antique Greek prolegomenon to the text of the Aphorismi is to be found in Stephanus’ Commentary, which discusses the usual eight main points (κεφάλαια) of the treatise in question: σκοπός (aim), χρήσιμον (utility), γνήσιον (authenticity), αἰτία τῆς ἐπιγραφῆς (reason for the writing), τάξις τῆς ἀναγνώσεως (order of study in the curriculum), εἰς τὰ μόρια διαίρεσις (division into parts), ὑπὸ ποῖον μέρος ἀνάγεται τὸ παρὸν σύγγραμμα (to which part

19 20

Cf. Nachmanson (1933). For this reason, I think that the hypothesis of Mansfeld (1994), 135, which argued that Galen’s proem to the Aphorismi ‘may have been lost’, may not be necessary.

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this text belongs), τρόπος διδασκαλικός (way of teaching).21 By contrast, we do not find such a prolegomenon according to the eight κεφάλαια in Theophilus, which follows more closely the Commentary by Galen. Theophilus offers just a short prologue, which is divided into two parts. The first part presents the definition of the word ἀφορισμός, which reveals a clear similarity with pseudoGalen’s Definitiones medicae (xix 349.14–17 Kühn). The second section of Theophilus’ prologue corresponds in content to Galen’s Commentary, which divided the first aphorism into two parts with different introductory functions: a first declaratory part and a second hortative part (XVIIb 347.9–14 Kühn). The Commentaries of both Stephanus and Theophilus reveal a complex and interesting structure. This is especially so with regard to the first part of the first Aphorism, since we are immediately given the impression that the lines encapsulate a sort of general introduction to medicine. In interpreting the words τέχνη μακρή, for example, Stephanus and Theophilus both give long explanations of the ‘extensiveness of medicine’ by way of detailed διαιρέσεις.22 These divisions into different categories and notions have a textual form, but the explanation was combined with a graphical schema in didactic praxis as the text would, otherwise, have been rather unclear and difficult for students to learn from. Stephanus shows a certain familiarity with the didactic use of diagrams in other commentaries as well, such as in his Commentary on Galen’s Ad Glauconem, which was also considered to be an isagogical work.23 Very similar διαιρέσεις appear in the prologue of the pre-Salernitan anonymous Commentary on the Aphorismi, conventionally called ‘Lat.A’ and dated around the 6th–7th century.24 It is plausible to suppose that this Latin Commentary is a product of the medical school of Ravenna and, significantly, it shows many affinities with Stephanus’ prologue, composed in an Alexandrian context. It is not a coincidence that most of the similarities in this first section of Stephanus’ Commentary on Aphorismi are also to be found in late antique Commentaries on Galen’s De sectis (such as, for example, the Prolegomena to 21 22 23 24

See Stephanus’ Commentaries on the Hippocratic Prognosticum (26–34 Duffy) and on the Hippocratic Aphorismi (28–32 Westerink). See Steph. In Hipp. Aph. i 1 (34.17–38.17 Westerink) and Theoph. In Hipp. Aph. i 1 (ii 246.21– 247.12 Dietz). On the use of διαιρέσεις by Stephanus, see Duffy (1984), 21–27 and Wolska-Conus (1992) 15–16. On this Latin Commentary, see Beccaria (1961), 26–63 (the edition of the prologue at 35–37), who dates it to “un tempo non anteriore al secolo vii,” since he believes that the author used Isidore of Seville as his source. The first part of the text has been edited by Kühn (1981) and studied by Fischer (2002) – on the prologue, see in particular 288–290 – and (2005), who established that Lat.A was rather used as a source by Isidore for his Etymologiae: for this reason, Fischer proposed to date it to the 5th–6th century.

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De sectis ascribed to Agnellus of Ravenna in ms Ambrosianus G. 108), which was read first in the medical curriculum. Stephanus’ διαιρέσεις clearly recall the section of the Tabulae Vindobonenses that is devoted to the introduction to De sectis and relies on late antique Alexandrian material. Such analogies between the Prolegomena to the Commentaries on De sectis and the first part of the Commentary on Aphorismi are unique: no other Galenic or Hippocratic text shows similar parallels. 3

Four Independent Prolegomena Based on the First Aphorism

In addition to the Ravennate-Commentary Lat.A and Stephanus’ prolegomenon and explanation of the first Aphorism, we also have another kind of source, which points in an even more striking manner towards the importance of the Aphorismi as an introductory text in late antique medical schools. These are texts that are constructed around the first Aphorism, and, in particular, around its first part. In these texts, which are transmitted independently from the commentaries on the whole Hippocratic work, the first Aphorism serves as the core, with quotations, paraphrases, and comments all revolving around it. When analyzing these texts and their formats in the manuscript tradition, scholars are faced with three key – possibilities: (a) these texts might simply be commentaries on the first Aphorism, which had an independent manuscript tradition; (b) they might be introductions to the Hippocratic Aphorismi more broadly; or (c) they might, perhaps, be more general prolegomena to Hippocrates or to the medical art as such. I have identified and collected four examples of such texts which are either completely unedited and unknown or have not yet received sufficient attention. All four are anonymous and show some interesting common patterns. 1) The only well-known example is transmitted as a prologue to the Hip­ pocratic Aphorismi in some manuscripts, and as a prologue to the Aristotelian Problemata (ascribed to Alexander of Aphrodisias) in a number of others. For this reason, it has been studied both as a medical and as a philosophical text, and the possible cultural context in which it was produced has long been debated.25 On the one hand, Hellmut Flashar, by underlining the thematic 25

The most recent edition is that by Kapetanaki and Sharples (2006), but the text was edited for the first time by De Yriarte (1769), 322, who printed the text transmitted by the Matritensis gr. 4616 (olim cod. 84), 14th cent. Dietz (1834), 244–245, edited the text as transmitted by the Vindobonensis med. gr. 49, ff. 1–2; Usener (1859), 1–2, presented a critical edition according to the analysis of different manuscripts.

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affinities of this prooemium with the Aristotelian Problemata following it, identified a Neoplatonic commentator of the school of Olympiodorus as the author of the text.26 On the other hand, Owsei Temkin and Ineke Sluiter have claimed that this text was a prologue to a late antique commentary on the Hippocratic Aphorismi.27 A few years after the publication of Jaap Mansfeld’s pioneering monograph on Prolegomena in 1994, Amneris Roselli revised the text and updated the earlier studies of it, examining more closely its language, content, and structure.28 She convincingly argued that what we have here is an isagogical text and she considered it to be a prolegomenon, an introduction, not just to the Hippocratic Aphorismi but to the study of medicine in general. Indeed, after a short introduction to the history of pre-Hippocratic medicine, the text praises the figure of Hippocrates as saviour of human beings, drawing a sort of βίος of the ancient physician through an account of his main values, according to a division between ars and artifex that is typical of isagogical texts. The compiler then illustrates the features of the medical art, using categories and patterns that are common in late antique commentators on the Aphorismi. He explicitly mentions the first Aphorism, which stands as symbol of Hippocrates’ medical heritage and aims to introduce students to the medical art. The compiler explains the meaning of the first Aphorism (and especially of the expression πεῖρα σφαλερή, “experiment is treacherous”), reworking some sentences extracted from Galen’s Commentary on it and paraphrasing the Aphorism through the words of Hippocrates himself, who seems to speak in the first person in the text (88.8–19 Kapetanaki and Sharples = 2.244.25–245.4 Dietz; my transl.):29 ἴσως γὰρ καὶ τοῦτο αἰνίττεται κατὰ τὸ προοίμιον τῶν Ἀφορισμῶν λέγων ὡς ἐπειδὴ κατὰ τὴν πεῖραν ἡ ἰατρικὴ σχεδὸν ἀκατάληπτός ἐστιν (οὔτε γὰρ ὅτε βουλόμεθα, τοῖς πάθεσιν τῶν ἀνθρώπων ἐντυγχάνουσιν οἱ ἰατροί, τύχῃ γὰρ καὶ τῷ σπανίῳ τῆς γενέσεως δουλεύει ταῦτα), ἔτι γε μὴν καὶ ἐπικίνδυνος τῷ ἐν σώματι ῥευστῷ μὲν διὰ τὴν ὕλην καὶ ἀβεβαίῳ […] ἐν ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ διδάξω καὶ διὰ τοῦτο καὶ ἐπιστημονικὸν λόγον ἔχειν ποιήσω.

26 27 28 29

Flashar (1962). Temkin (1991), 251 and Sluiter (1994). Cf. also Oikonomopoulou (2020), 57–60, who, however, seems to consider this prologue as part of the collection of the Supplementa Problematorum and to date it to the 2nd century ad. Roselli (1998), who also provides a word-by-word commentary for the first lines of the text. See the grammatical reconstruction and the translation provided by Sluiter (1994), which in some points diverges from that of Kapetanaki and Sharples (2006).

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For maybe he [scil. Hippocrates], in the prologue to the Aphorisms, alludes to this fact when he says: “Since medicine is practically impossible to grasp by means of experiment (for we doctors do not encounter people’s afflictions at the time we wish to, for these things are subject to chance and to the infrequency of their occurrence), and, moreover, it is risky, because the art of medicine is practiced on a body which is subject to flux, because of matter, and unstable […] I will teach it in a short time and, thereby, I will make it to possess a scientific account.” The sentence on the instability of the human body, taken from Galen’s Commentary (XVIIb 346.16–347.1 Kühn), was in broad use among late antique commentators such as Stephanus (38.25–26 Westerink) and Theophilus (ii 247.20–21 Dietz). It also occurs in two other anonymous texts related, respectively, to the Hippocratic Aphorismi and Praecepta.30 The primary and universal role of the first Aphorism, which offers a general overview of the art of medicine through a list of its major components and their functions, is further underlined as well (88.23–25 Kapetanaki and Sharples = 2.245.8–11 Dietz; my transl.): Τὸ δὲ μέγιστον τοῦ ἀνδρός, ὅτι οἱ παρ᾽ αὐτοῦ λεγόμενοι Ἀφορισμοὶ οὐχ ἁρμόζουσι μόνῃ ἰατρικῇ ἀλλὰ καὶ κοινῶς παντὶ τῷ βίῳ. νόμοι γάρ εἰσι καθολικοὶ θεσπίζοντες καὶ κανονίζοντες τὰ γινόμενα. The greatness of the man [i.e. Hippocrates] [scil. is clear] from the fact that the Aphorisms he uttered are appropriate not only to medicine but in general to the whole of life: for they are universal laws foretelling and regulating the things that happen. After these words, literal quotations of a number of Aphorisms appear. Significantly, among them the anonymous compiler quotes Aphorism ii 10 – τὰ μὴ καθαρὰ σώματα ὁκόσῳ ἂν θρέψῃς μᾶλλον βλάψεις, “The more you nourish bodies that are not pure, the more you will harm them” – putting it into explicit relation with a passage from Plato’s Phaedo (67b). In fact, the same connection between this Aphorism and the Platonic passage is to be found in the 6th century Commentary on Galen’s De sectis ascribed to Palladius in the Laurentianus Pl. 74.11.31 This combination of medical and philosophical material is perfectly in line with the cultural framework of late antique commentarial activities. 30 31

These are the third and fourth case studies of this contribution. On this text, see Baffioni (1958). Roselli (1998), 12, already notes the parallel.

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2) Another anonymous text that is interesting for our purpose is transmitted in ms Parisinus gr. 2237, which can be dated around the end of the 13th and the beginning of the 14th centuries. This manuscript can be linked to the erudite circle of Johannes Argyropoulos in Constantinople, who was particularly interested in collecting both medical and philosophical (in particular Aristotelian) writings.32 The anonymous text, preserved at folia 315v–319v, is unedited as yet, and the only investigation of its content and structure has been made by Anna Maria Ieraci Bio.33 After the title (ἑρμηνεία πάνυ καλὴ εἰς τὸ α’ τμῆμα τῶν ἀφορισμῶν [add. supra lin. Ἰπποκράτους] κεφάλαιον α’ εἰς τὸ ὁ βίος βραχύς), the text begins immediately with a commentary on every single expression found in the first part of the first Hippocratic Aphorism, without introducing the Aphorism with any other prologue. The compiler divides the text into Hippocratic lemmata and related commentaries, introducing them with the words κείμενον and ἑρμηνεία, respectively. The first commented lemma is ὁ βίος βραχύς, ἡ δὲ τέχνη μακρά (f. 315v), the second καιρὸς ὀξύς (f. 316r), the third ἡ πεῖρα δὲ σφαλερή (f. 317v), the fourth ἡ δὲ κρίσις χαλεπή (f. 318r). The compiler of the text made consistent use of the earlier commentaries on the Hippocratic Aphorismi that were available to him (Galen, Stephanus, and, especially, Theophilus), reworking this exegetic material in order to compose his own commentary. However, he used not only the Aphorismi but also other Hippocratic works, such as Prognosticum and Epidemiae, upon which late antique medical schools frequently commented as well. The didactic character of the text emerges clearly from the very beginning, where the compiler addresses the exegesis to a student: Δεῖ γινώσκειν, ὦ φιλομαθέστατε, ὅτι ὁ νῦν λόγος ὁ παρὰ τοῦ σοφοτάτου ἡμῶν διδασκάλου Ἱπποκράτους.34 Expressions typical of a school context (such as δεῖ γινώσκειν, δεῖ εἰδέναι, ἰστέον ὅτι) recur frequently throughout the text. Moreover, in pursuit of his exegetical purposes, the compiler resorts to certain patterns that were common in late antique iatrosophistic schools, such as the question-answer structure (ἐρωταπόκρισις).35 In order to explain the temporal extension of the art (τέχνη μακρά), the compiler uses διαιρέσεις similar to the ‘divisions’ that we have already found in the commentaries of Stephanus and Theophilus on the first Aphorism. The 32 33 34 35

See Mondrain (1999), 411–413; on Johannes Argyropoulos, see Mondrain (2000). See Ieraci Bio (2006). To the best of my knowledge, there has been no further investigation of this text. Cf. the observations by Ieraci Bio (2006), 257. On this structure, see Ieraci Bio (1995).

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same division of medicine into five parts (φυσιολογικόν, παθολογικόν, διαιτητικόν, ὑλικόν, θεραπευτικόν), along with the usual general bipartition into theory and praxis (θεωρία and πρᾶξις), is common to late antique iatrosophistic texts and, in particular, to the exegetical activity on Galen’s De sectis.36 The text only deals with the first Aphorism and closes with the Aphorism’s final sentence. It is worth highlighting that this anonymous text is to be found on the last folia of the manuscript, which otherwise does not preserve any commentary on the Hippocratic Aphorismi. From this fact it seems safe to argue that the text was transmitted independently. One might, though, wonder whether it should simply be considered to be the first part of a longer commentary on the Aphorismi or an exegetical introduction to Hippocratic thought, or, perhaps, an introduction to the whole art of medicine. Indeed, it may be – although it is impossible to securely establish such a conclusion – that the text was originally composed as nothing more than a commentary on the first Aphorism but was then later used as a general prolegomenon to medicine. 3) In ms Harleianus 6295 (ff. 157r–157v, 15th cent.) and its apograph, the Parisinus gr. 1884 (ff. 158r–159r, copied in 1503), we find an anonymous text that serves as prologue to a mixed commentary on the Aphorismi, combining Theophilus’ Commentary (In Hipp. Aph. prooem. – i 1: ii 245.32–248.4 Dietz) with that of Galen (In Hipp. Aph. i 1–vii 81: XVIIb 355.13–XVIIIa 195.5 Kühn).37 In both manuscripts, the text bears the simple title of Ἀφορισμοὶ τοῦ Ἱπποκράτους, without any mention of a commentator. In the first part of the text (§ 1–3), the compiler introduces his Commentary on the Aphorismi by explaining the title of Hippocrates’ treatise (an explanation that constituted one of the eight κεφάλαια of the schema isagogicum typical of medical texts) and by offering a definition of medicine. In this regard, the title Ἀφορισμοί is said to derive either from the word ὅρος or from the word ὁρισμός. As for the word ὅρος, the compiler offers four possible meanings: 1) the first is con­crete and indicates ‘fixing the boundaries’ (τὸ ὁροθέσιον); 2) the second is political and means an ‘imperial judgment’ (ἡ βασιλικὴ ἀπόφασις); 3) the third is philosophical and pertains to the field of logic: it means ‘term’ in a syllogistic sense (ὁ κατὰ φιλοσοφίαν ὅρος); 4) the fourth sense is more general and corresponds to the meaning of ‘definition’ (ὁρισμός). This passage of the text shows clear similarities with the Prolegomena philosophiae by David, a Neoplatonic 36 37

Cf. Ieraci Bio (2006), 259. The first critical edition of this text with translation and exegetical notes has been published in Ecca (2021). I will quote the sections and words of the text according to my edition.

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commentator of the school of Olympiodorus who discusses and defines the notion of ὁρισμός.38 However, it is even more striking that the compiler of our medical text offers the same re-elaborated version of David’s Prolegomena as is presented by John of Damascus (7th–8th cent.) in his Dialectica, in particular in the eighth chapter, entitled Περὶ ὁρισμοῦ.39 Even though it is certain that John used David’s Prolegomena philosophiae as one of the main sources for his Dialectica,40 only John of Damascus presents the same structure with the four definitions that we find in our text. This might lead us to suppose that, at least in this case, the compiler of our medical text used John of Damascus as his source, rather than David. As for the definition of ὁρισμός – “a concise account, which explains the nature of the thing in question” (λόγος σύντομος δηλωτικὸς τῆς φύσεως τοῦ ὑποκειμένου πράγματος) – our text seems to draw on pseudo-Galen’s Definitiones medicae (xix 349.6–8 Kühn). This definition was very widespread in Late Antiquity and the middle byzantine period: it often occurs in introductions to different arts, in particular in philosophical, medical, and rhetorical texts. Among the various introductory writings that use such a definition, it is worth mentioning the 7th-century Berlin papyrus 11739A, which contains the prolegomenon to the Commentary on Galen’s De sectis; the Prolegomena philosophiae by Elias (4.5); the Prolegomena philosophiae by David (11.17–18); and chapter 8 (Περὶ ὁρισμοῦ) of the Dialectica by John of Damascus (69–72, in particular lines 83–88 Kotter). By way of concluding the first section, the compiler uses the definition of medicine as “an art which deals with human bodies and procures health (ἰατρικὴ ἐστὶ τέχνη περὶ τὰ ἀνθρώπινα σώματα καταγινομένη ὑγείας περιποιητική)”, a definition which has its origins in pseudo-Galen’s Definitiones medicae (xix 350.17–18 Kühn). Exactly as in the case of ὁρισμός, this definition of medicine also became very popular in the Neoplatonic schools: it occurs in the Commentary on Porphyry’s Isagoge by Ammonius (2.6–9), in that by Elias (5.34–6.3), and in David’s Prolegomena philosophiae (17.33–18,6; 19.3–4); it was also quoted in the above-mentioned eighth chapter, Περὶ ὁρισμοῦ, of the Dialectica by John of Damascus (70.24–26 Kotter).

38 39 40

See especially πρᾶξις ε′: 11.15–15.9. Johan. Damasc. Dialect. rec. fus. 8.83–88 (71–72 Kotter). See Richter (1964), 102–109 on chapter 8 of John of Damascus’ Dialectica and its sources. However, the exact nature of the link between the late antique Prolegomena philosophiae and the Dialectica is not entirely clear. Roueché (1974) assumes that chapter 8 of the Dialectica, as well as other parts of the text, was composed from logical compendia circulating in the 7th century and not from complete lecture texts.

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In support of his declared aim to explain the Hippocratic text concisely and clearly, the compiler quotes a sentence from the treatise In sanctum baptisma by the Cappadocian Father Gregory of Nazianzus (4th century), who compares an excess of words, which restrains one from hearing the word of God, to an excess of food, which is bad for the body: κόρος λόγου πολέμιος ἀκοαῖς, ὡς ὑπερβάλλουσα τροφὴ σώματι (Orat. 40: xxxvi 360.24–25). He thus reveals his Christian religion. It is rather significant that the only other quotation of this sentence is found in John of Damascus’ Sacra Parallela (xcv 1345.27–28). In the second part of the text (§ 4–7), the compiler provides a word-by-word commentary on the text of the first part of Aph. i 1 (i.e., ὁ βίος βραχύς, ἡ δὲ τέχνη μακρή, ὁ δὲ καιρὸς ὀξύς, ἡ δὲ πεῖρα σφαλερή, ἡ δὲ κρίσις χαλεπή). Here, he reworks material taken extensively from Galen’s Commentary on Aphorismi. Given the numerous similarities with other late antique prolegomena to both philosophy and medicine, it would not be odd to suppose that this text too was constructed as an independent prolegomenon to the medical art. One should not be surprised that the compiler closed his text with the commentary on the first part of Aph. i 1, without further commenting on the Hippocratic text. In fact, from the time of Galen onwards, Aph. i 1 was considered to be a prologue that was somehow independent from the seven books of the Aphorismi. 4) The fourth and last text in question is a scholion that has been transmitted at the margins of a single manuscript (Vaticanus Urbinas gr. 68, ff. 26v–27r). This text deserves particular attention, since it is a commentary not on the first Aphorism but on the incipit of another, much less famous and quite late, Hippocratic treatise: the Praecepta, plausibly written around the first or second century ad.41 A key feature of the Praecepta is that its author reworked and re-contextualised some sentences taken from famous Hippocratic writings, which at his time were already canonized under the name of Hippocrates. The first sentences of the Praecepta clearly assume the first Hippocratic Aphorism as a model and rework it, thus aiming to be the summa of medical knowledge (110.4–7 Ecca = IX 250.3–6 Littré; my transl.): χρόνος ἐστί ἐν ᾧ καιρός, καὶ καιρός ἐν ᾧ χρόνος οὐ πολύς. ἄκεσις χρόνῳ, ἔστι δὲ ἡνίκα καὶ καιρῷ. δεῖ γε μὴν ταῦτα εἰδότα μὴ λογισμῷ πρότερον πιθανῷ προσέχοντα ἰητρεύειν, ἀλλὰ τριβῇ μετὰ λόγου. Time is that wherein there is opportunity, and opportunity is that wherein there is no great time. Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also 41

I edited and commented on this text in my book on the Praecepta: Ecca (2016), 315–370; on the manuscript and the scholion in particular, see Ecca (2018a).

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a matter of opportunity. Therefore, knowing this, in the medical practice one must attend not to a reasoning that has been previously made plausible, but to experience combined with reason. Since the Praecepta did not belong to the group of canonical works of Hippocrates in the medical schools of Late Antiquity, the compiler of this scholion explained its meaning by commenting on the more famous first Aphorism. Following a pattern that is typical of Neoplatonic commentaries, the text of the scholion begins with a sentence alluding to a previous introduction to the work (which has not been preserved). The compiler then comments on the first words of the Praecepta, putting the temporal notions of χρόνος and καιρός into relation with the two parts that essentially constitute the medical activity, i.e., reason (λόγος) and experience (πεῖρα), which are at the core of both the first Aphorism and the incipit of the Praecepta. The compiler composes a sort of doxography by introducing fictive interpretations of physicians and philosophers who came before Galen (Chrysippus and the Stoics, Archigenes, the Empiricists) in the way in which Galen would have presented them. He admits to using exegetical material taken from the Aphorismi when he claims that the correct interpretation of the first sentence of the Praecepta implies the interpretation of the first Aphorism. In this passage (336.5–10 Ecca), we find the same re-elaboration of Galen’s Commentary on the mutability of the “matter” – i.e., of the human body – that we previously found in the text edited by Kapetanaki and Sharples:42 ἄλλοι δέ τινες τῆς ἀληθείας ἐγγυτέρω προβαίνοντες πρὸς τὸν νοῦν τοῦ α’ κεφαλαίου τῶν Ἀφοριστικῶν συγγραμμάτων ἀναφέρουσι τὸν λόγον καί φασιν·χρόνος ἐστὶν ἐν ᾧ καιρός, ἤτοι ἑκάστου ζωῆς διάστημά ἐστιν, ἐν ᾧ θεωρεῖται ὀξὺς ὁ καιρός – διὰ τὸ ῥευστὸν δῆλον τῆς ὕλης καὶ εὐαλλοίωτον. Some others [scil. interpreters] come closer to the truth, since they explain the meaning according to the sense of the first chapter of the aphoristic treatises, and they say: chronos is that wherein there is kairos. That means it is the period of each life, in which the right moment is considered fleeting, obviously because of the transience and the mutability of the matter. As in the anonymous text of the Harleianus ms examined above (text n. 3), in this scholion we again find a quotation of the Cappadocian Father Basilius 42

Cf. text nr. 1 above.

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of Caesarea (xxxi 425–428) which was later used by John of Damascus in his Sacra Parallela (xcv 1273). The compiler uses the metaphor of the sweetness of philosophy with reference to Hippocrates, who is said to ‘philosophize’ (334.5–7 Ecca; my transl.): προιὼν μὲν φιλοσοφεῖ, τὸ τῆς φιλοσοφίας γλυκὺ γεῦσαι θέλων τοὺς ἐντυγχάνοντας. τίς γὰρ ἀναγγελεῖ τὴν ταύτης γλυκύτητα τοῖς μὴ γευσαμένοις; He goes on philosophizing, since he wants to let the readers taste the sweetness of philosophy. For who could disclose its sweetness to those who did not taste it? This quotation shows that the compiler of the text was probably Christian: for this reason, a plausible terminus post quem for the redaction of the text is the 6th century, when the Christian religion began to penetrate into the Neoplatonic schools of philosophy and medicine. Having presented the different interpretations of the first sentences, the compiler does not go further with his comment on the text of the Praecepta: it is clear that he is only interested in the incipit of the text, which immediately recalls the first Aphorism in its vocabulary and content. In this way, the compiler creates a new prolegomenon to the reading of medical texts, essentially presenting a general overview of the two parts (theory and practice) of which medicine consists. 4

General Conclusions

Each of the texts examined above has its own peculiarities. The first, transmitted in many manuscripts in both the philosophical and the medical traditions, presents the ars – artifex bipartition in order to introduce students to medicine and quotes the Aphorismi as the most representative of Hippocrates’ works. The unedited text in ms Parisinus gr. 2237 is a word-by-word commentary on the first part of the first Aphorism, and it seems reasonable to suppose that it was used (perhaps after the composition of the text) as an introduction to the medical art per se. The Harleianus 6295 preserves both a general prologue, which contains many parallels with late antique Prolegomena philosophiae, and a word-by-word commentary on the first part of the first Aphorism. Finally, the compiler of the scholion in ms Urbinas gr. 68 used the parallelism between the incipit of the Praecepta and the first Aphorism in order to write a general prolegomenon to medicine.

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The analysis of these four prologues clearly shows that the first Hippocratic Aphorism was used as a basis for writing isagogical texts to the study of medicine or to the reading of Hippocratic thought. Their authors reworked ancient material (Galen’s Commentary, for the most part) in accordance with shared patterns and definitions which show close similarities with those used in the philosophical Neoplatonic commentaries in Late Antiquity. All four texts have a Christian character and, even if it is impossible to establish the centuries to which they date, it is reasonable to infer that they have their origins sometime between the 6th century and the middle byzantine period (ca. the 10th century). We can, thus, argue that the Aphorismi played a similar role in late antique medical teaching to that of Galen’s De sectis. On the one hand, Stephanus commented on the first Aphorism according to criteria that were appropriate for the general prolegomena to medicine which introduce the commentaries on De sectis. On the other hand, some manuscripts preserve anonymous general introductions to the medical art which are clearly based on re-elaborations and quotations of the first Aphorism. As far as I am aware, such general prolegomena, which are transmitted as discrete texts separated from both Hippocratic commentaries and the introductions to them based on the eight κεφάλαια, are not attested for any other Hippocratic treatise. The only striking parallel is with Galen’s De sectis. If we assume that these prolegomena based on the first Aphorism served as introductions to the reading of Hippocratic texts, their role raises a further question concerning the relationship between the Galenic and Hippocratic curricula. Were the texts of Galen and Hippocrates always read one after the other? Or might they have been read separately and independently from each other? In the first case, we might suppose that the prolegomena constructed around the first Aphorism served as introductions only to the study of Hippocrates’ work and thought. In the second case, we might think that such prolegomena worked as general introductions to the whole of medicine, exactly as the prolegomena to the Commentaries on De sectis did. The parallelism with the philosophical curriculum, in which lectures on Aristotle were propaedeutic to those on Plato, provisionally seems to give more weight to the first hypothesis. In any case, the prologues analysed above shed new light on the significance of the role that the Hippocratic Aphorismi played in the late antique medical curriculum. As a consequence of their universal and gnomic character, they became the ideal starting-point for the study of Hippocratic medicine.

Chapter 9

Isagogical Questions in Hipparchus’ Commentary on the Phaenomena Victor Gysembergh The* earliest known evidence for systematic consideration of the so-called isagogical questions is to be found in the proems of Apollonius of Perga’s Conics (especially the proem to Book 1).1 Moreover, both Pappus of Alexandria in his Mathematical Collection and Eutocius of Ascalon in his Commentary on the Conics appear to have paid special attention to this aspect of Apollonius’ writing.2 Indeed, the overwhelming majority of evidence for ancient isagogical literature and for reference to the isagogical questions comes from after the Hellenistic age, which may have sparked Pappus and Eutocius’ curiosity. Therefore, Hipparchus of Bithynia’s Commentary on the Phaenomena, written in the 2nd cent. bc mere decades after Apollonius’ heyday, also commands special attention in this regard.3 This text has all the attributes of an ancient commentary, and in particular its didactic purpose is established by the identity of the Commentary’s addressee, a certain Aischrion who is described in the opening sentence as a persistently eager student (τὸ ἐπίμονόν σου τῆς πρὸς φιλομαθίαν οἰκειώσεως, p. 2 Manitius) – which places it firmly within the realm of what is here called ‘isagogical writings’. Due perhaps to the main text’s seemingly dry content  – rife with polemics on the exact coordinates of the fixed stars –, relatively little notice has been given to the Commentary as belonging to the isagogical genre. In Jaap Mansfeld’s seminal study of the schemata isagogica, the commentary literature on Aratus is included, but Hipparchus’ commentary takes a back seat to * My thanks go to the organizers and participants of the “Isagogical Crossroads” workshop (Berlin, December 2018) for their useful questions and answers. 1 Mansfeld (1998), 36–40, 92 and 95. Apollonius was active a few decades before Hipparchus wrote his Commentary on the Phaenomena (on the dates of Apollonius, see Decorps-Foulquier and Federspiel 2008, x–xiii). 2 Mansfeld (1998), 38–39, 40–43 and 92. 3 Edited by Manitius (1894). References are to the page number and, where necessary, line number in Manitius’ edition. On Hipparchus’ life and works, see Toomer (1978). It appears rather unlikely to the present author that Hipparchus’ Commentary was a work of his youth, as has often been claimed, because its astronomy presupposes an accurate catalogue of stars; hence it was probably written in the third quarter of the 2nd cent. bc.

© Victor Gysembergh, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004506190_011

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other ‘Aratea’.4 This is due in part to Jean Martin’s misleading earlier attempts to reconstruct an original Phaenomena commentary from which all extant ‘Aratea’ derive, except Hipparchus’ Commentary.5 Therefore, the aim of this chapter is to draw attention to the underlying presence of the standard isagogical questions, or “questions to be settled before the study of an author or a text” (to borrow Mansfeld’s apt phrase), in Hipparchus’ prefatory letter to Aischrion (2.5–8.7). Hipparchus attests that by his time there was already an abundant literature of commentaries on Aratus’ Phaenomena.6 He quotes only one of his predecessors, Attalus of Rhodes. Rather than an introduction to the poem, Attalos’ work seems to have been a work of textual criticism – an editio correctior, as Mansfeld put it.7 Although he considers Attalus to be the most careful of his predecessors (ἐπιμελέστατα p. 4 Manitius), Hipparchus generally criticizes him in matters of astronomy. About his other predecessors nothing positive is known: several ancient lists of authors who purportedly wrote commentaries on the Phaenomena are preserved, but none of these authors can be securely dated to before Hipparchus (and in many cases it is not at all certain whether they wrote a general introduction to astronomy or a specific treatise on the poem).8 Hipparchus’ Commentary also bears witness to an already existing school tradition of dividing the Phaenomena into sections.9 Yet, however much Aratean scholarship was penned by Hipparchus’ predecessors and contemporaries, the scanty evidence does not shed any light on the matter of the schemata isagogica. The ten standard isagogical questions were summarized by Mansfeld as follows:10 1- Theme, aim or purpose (σκοπός, πρᾶγμα, ὑπόθεσις) 2- Position in a corpus (τάξις) 3- Utility (χρήσιμον, ὠφέλεια, etc.) 4- Explanation of title if necessary (αἴτιον τῆς ἐπιγραφῆς) 5- Authenticity if in doubt (γνήσιον) 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Mansfeld (1994), 49–52. Mansfeld (1998), 1 n. 1 writes that he has ‘nothing’ to add on the Aratea. Martin (1956). Mansfeld (1994), 49 is aware of the problems with Martin’s reconstruction, but does not entirely detach himself from the belief that inferences can be made about Hellenistic introductions to the Phaenomena from the later ‘Aratea’ material. Mansfeld (1994), 197. Mansfeld (1994), 138. Martin (1956), 182–191. Mansfeld (1994), 51. Mansfeld (1998), 4–5; cf. further the Introduction to this volume, esp. 11–12.

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6- Division into parts (διαίρεσις/τομὴ εἰς κεφάλαια/τμήματα/μέρη) 7- Relevant field of knowledge or genre (ὑπὸ ποῖον μέρος … ἀνάγεται) 8- Clarity or lack thereof (ἀσάφεια) 9- Qualities required of the student and/or the teacher 10- First work to be read in the corpus There is no indication that the Phaenomena were ever considered part of a larger corpus in Antiquity,11 or that their authorship was in doubt; consequently, questions 2, 5 and 10 did not apply to this poem. Arguably, all other questions are addressed with reference to the Phaenomena, albeit in cursory fashion, in the prefatory letter: 1- The purpose of the poem was to imitate Eudoxus’ description of the fixed stars (τῇ γὰρ Εὐδόξου συντάξει κατακολουθήσας, 6.9–11 M.). 3- Its usefulness was severely limited by Aratus’ many inaccuracies (ἐν τοῖς πλείστοις καὶ χρησιμωτάτοις διαφωνοῦντα τὸν Ἄρατον πρὸς τὰ φαινόμενα τε καὶ γινόμενα κατὰ ἀληθείαν, 4.12–14 M.). 4- Its title did not call for explanations, as the phrase τὰ φαινόμενα was already used in its technical sense (‘celestial phenomena’) in the 4th c. bc (cf. e.g. Arist. Cael. 293b7), and was commonly used in this sense by Hipparchus himself. Nevertheless, it is notable that Hipparchus used the phrase repeatedly in the prefatory letter: 4.9, where the context shows that it is synonymous with τῶν οὐρανίων at 4.8; 4.13–14, where it is paraphrased as ‘that which truly comes-to-be’ (τὰ φαινόμενα τε καὶ γινόμενα κατὰ ἀλήθειαν) to avoid any misinterpretation of the phrase as meaning ‘the appearances’; 4.25; and 6.5.12 Thus, these instances served as an implicit explanation of the poem’s title. 6- Reference is made to the ‘Simultaneous risings’, i.e. Arat. Phaen. 451–732, the part of the poem pertaining to the risings and settings of constellations (Συνανατολαῖς, 2.9). 7- The poem is described as poetic in form (ποιήματα 4.5 and 4.26; ποίησις 6.7), and astronomical in content (τὰ λεγόμενα περὶ τῶν οὐρανίων, 4.8). 8- Its style is described as simple, concise and clear (ἁπλοῦς τε γὰρ καὶ σύντομός ἐστι ποιητής, ἔτι δὲ σαφής, 4.6–7). 9- The reader need only follow the poem moderately well (καὶ μετρίως παρηκολουθηκόσι, 4.7–8).

11 12

Assuming it is accurate, the ascription of Ἀστρικά to Aratus in Tzetzes’ Schol. Hes. 1.47–49 Gaisford more likely refers to a lost poem rather than a corpus of astronomical poems including the Phaenomena. This does not include references to the work by its title at 2.15; 4.1; 6.10; and 6.14.

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Remarkably, the same questions are also addressed in the prefatory letter with reference to Hipparchus’ Commentary itself: 1- Its purpose is to indicate what is right and what is wrong in the Phaenomena (περὶ δὲ τῶν ὑπὸ Ἀράτου λεγομένων ἐν τοῖς Φαινομένοις νῦν προτέθειμαί σοι γράψαι, πᾶν καθόλου τὸ καλῶς ἢ κακῶς λεγόμενον αὐτοῖς ὑποδεικνύων, 2.14–16), and to list the mistakes it contains (ἔκρινα … ἀναγράψαι τὰ δοκοῦντά μοι διημαρτῆσθαι, 4.16–18; προεθέμην, 4.19, referring back to 4.16–18). 3- This is claimed to be very useful for the community, and to have many implications for the mathematical sciences (ὠφελιμώτατον, 4.10; τῆς κοινῆς τῶν ἄλλων ὠφελείας, 4.17; ἕκαστον τούτων συντείνει πρὸς πολλὰ καὶ χρήσιμα τῶν ἐν τοῖς μαθήμασι θεωρημάτων, 8.5–6). 4- The title of the Commentary as it is transmitted by the manuscript tradition (Τῶν Ἀράτου καὶ Εὐδόξου Φαινομένων ἐξήγησις) is first paraphrased (τὸ μὲν ἐξηγήσασθαι τὴν ἐν τοῖς ποιήμασι διάνοιαν, 4.4–5), then expanded upon with special insistence on the correcting of mistakes (τὸ δὲ συνεῖναι τὰ λεγόμενα περὶ τῶν οὐρανίων ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ, τίνα τε συμφώνως τοῖς φαινομένοις ἀναγέγραπται καὶ τίνα διημαρτημένως, 4.8–10). 6- Its structure is laid out in detail (6.14–7.5). 7- Its content is described as mathematical (μαθηματικῆς ἴδιον ἐμπειρίας, 4.11; ἕκαστον τούτων συντείνει πρὸς πολλὰ καὶ χρήσιμα τῶν ἐν τοῖς μαθήμασι θεωρημάτων, 8.5–6). 8- The clarity given by the Commentary is stressed repeatedly (ἔσται σοι φανερὰ πάντα, 2.17; διασαφῶ, 6.21 and 8.3). 9- Reading the Commentary requires love of science and learning (φιλοτεχνίαν, 2.10; φιλομαθίαν, 4.16; φιλομαθούντων, 4.24), and constant attention (παρακολουθῶν ἑκάστοις ἀκριβῶς, 6.19). Thus, all of the relevant questions from the canonical list are answered twice in the prefatory letter: once for Aratus’ poem, and once for Hipparchus’ commentary. While the canonical questions are not the ordering principle of his prefatory letter, in the sense that each question is not taken up one after the other, they can certainly be said to provide (some of) its structure. Strikingly, there are lexical parallels between both answers to some of the questions, such as the use of διασαφῶ in the context of the text’s clarity (question 8),13 and of παρακολούθω with reference to what is expected of the reader (question 9). These parallels provide some basis for the claim that the two series of cursory 13

The Ringkomposition with διασαφῶ used first for the poem, then for the commentary, further signifies the dynamics of Hipparchus surpassing his predecessors, as suggested by Gerd van Riel during the conference.

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answers to all of the relevant isagogical questions were intentionally built into the prefatory letter by Hipparchus as an elegant literary device. In some cases, the contrast between both answers serves to underscore the originality of Hipparchus’ contribution: this is visible, in particular, with respect to the fields of knowledge that each work is relevant for (question 7), as Hipparchus implies that his own treatment of the subject matter is based on his mathematization of astronomy, whereas his predecessor Eudoxus’ work was of a more descriptive nature. The main text of the Commentary contains very little exegetical material in the narrow sense of the term. This was presumably justified, in Hipparchus’ eyes, by the clarity of Aratus’ style. However, the claim that Aratus’ style was simple and clear is contrived at best, considering for instance the allusiveness of Aratus’ mythological references; but it served Hipparchus’ interest, since it allowed him to focus almost exclusively on astronomical content. On the other hand, the unusually large amount of technical, in this case astronomical and mathematical, material can be explained by the fact that Aratus was not a good astronomer according to Hipparchus. It is only with this in mind that the modern reader can fully understand, in particular, why the second half of the Commentary, consisting of a study of simultaneous risings and settings, never quotes or comments Aratus’ lines on the same topic. The commentary here is almost a mere vehicle for Hipparchus to expound, apparently in an epitomized form, the results of his investigation of the fixed stars. In recent years, Hipparchus’ Commentary has received interest not only as a document for the history of astronomy, but also as a part of Greek scholarly and didactic literature.14 In particular, Jessica Lightfoot has highlighted Hipparchus’ use of didactic authority throughout the commentary  – for instance in the openings of Books 2 and 3, with the addresses to Aischrion containing short summaries of what has been done up to then and what is to come in the next book. Hipparchus’ show of didactic authority confirms that not only the prefatory letter, but the Commentary as a whole is permeated by a duality between isagogical form and technical content. Incidentally, although Aischrion is not known from other sources, it is beyond reasonable doubt that he really existed, as evidenced by the prefatory letter, and particularly by the reference to his personal circumstances, i.e. the premature death of his brothers (πεπλεόνακας ἐν ταῖς βιωτικαῖς ἀσχολίαις διὰ τὴν τῶν ἀξιολογωτάτων ἀδελφῶν ὠμὴν τελευτήν, 2.4–5). However, he is used, so to speak, as a prop for Hipparchus to set forth his discoveries. 14

See e.g. Bishop (2015); Lightfoot (2017). Francesca Schironi is preparing a monograph on the Commentary, with introduction, edition, translation and commentary.

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To conclude, these traits of Hipparchus’ auctorial strategy in the main text of his Commentary  – the duality between the predominance of technical material and the insistence upon didactic authority – suggest that the double set of answers to standard isagogical questions that was included in the prefatory letter was intended by Hipparchus to present his own work both as the reference commentary to a classical text and as a new classic in its own right. Indeed, one might add that doing so ‘paid off’ remarkably well, since it allowed his commentary to pass the test of time, contrary to his other works. In any case, the presence of isagogical questions as a subtext of Hipparchus’ prefatory letter makes it all the more plausible, in turn, that standard lists of isagogical questions, that is, schemata isagogica, existed in one form or another in Hipparchus’ time. Subsequently, it is tempting to infer that these schemata isagogica circulated among Alexandrian scholars, perhaps even before Hipparchus’ time; however, Hipparchus’ biographical ties to Alexandria are a matter of debate, the evidence for such a connection being some observations made at Alexandria that he may not have conducted himself, and an anecdote about him sitting in a cloak in the theater of Alexandria.15 A case could be made that Hipparchus’ approach of the text he was commenting smacks of Alexandrian scholarship: namely, his distinction between κακῶς and καλῶς λεγόμενα (2.14–16, quoted above) and his readiness to assume that the poet’s text is sometimes ignorant, wrong and at odds with reality (ἀγνοῶ, διαμαρτάνω, διαφονέω etc., passim) bring to mind, for instance, the Alexandrian method of ‘judgement of poems’ (κρίσις ποιημάτων).16 Be that as it may, such a family likeness does not warrant inferences about the use of schemata isagogica, and more generally the writing of isagogical texts, in Alexandrian scholarship – but perhaps it gives cause for a reappraisal of the evidence. 15 16

Toomer (1978), 208. On κρίσις ποιημάτων see Schironi (2018), 413–542 with further literature.

Chapter 10

Musical Eisagōgai Eleonora Rocconi 1

Introduction

In Graeco-Roman antiquity, the basics of music theory (i.e., the act of observing and speculating upon the essential components of μουσική)1 were already well-established in the Classical period, as shown by some passages in Plato and Aristotle mentioning a large number of concepts and technical terms related to it.2 The first ‘treatise’ on music can be traced back to the sixth century bc, when Lasus of Hermione, lyric poet and music theorist, wrote a Περὶ μουσικῆς, whose form and content, however, are mostly unknown.3 According to a much later author, Lasus was the first who distinguished the harmonic, rhythmic and metrical aspects of musical compositions that would soon become objects of music theorization.4 Whether it was his work or not, the identification of these three fundamental components, reaffirmed by Plato in his famous definition of μέλος (Resp. 398d: “song is put together out of three things, words, harmonia, and rhythm”), led theorists to develop the three main varieties of science (ἐπιστήμη) concerned with music: metrics, harmonics and rhythmics (μετρική, ἁρμονική, and ῥυθμική).5 Ideas on musical issues were, for a long time, mostly elaborated and disseminated through public speeches or demonstrations before an audience (δείξεις 1 Θεωρία comes from the verb θεωρέω, “to inspect, to observe”: see Palisca and Bent (2001). Translation of Greek texts, unless otherwise noted, are from Barker (1984, 1989 and 2015). 2 Pl. Phlb. 17c–d (quoted infra), Resp. 530d–531c; Arist. Cat. 11a24–32, An. post. 78b–79a, Metaph. 1087b. 3 Soud. Λ 139: Λάσος, Χαρβίνου, ‘Ερμιονεύς … πρῶτος δὲ οὗτος περὶ μουσικῆς λόγον ἔγραψε. On Lasus’ activity as music theorist, see also Aristox. Harm. 3.21–24 Meibom = 7.20–21 Da Rios and Theon Smyrn. 59.7–21. Hereafter, Meibom is abbreviated as M and Da Rios as dr. 4 Mart. Cap. De nupt. 9.936. 5 To these three sciences we could add the ὀργανική quoted by Aristoxenus (Harm. 32.7 M = 41.11 dr, “the science of instruments”) of which, however, we have no extant example (if not for scattered information throughout literature: see, e.g., Ath. 14.634d–e, where a work of Aristoxenus titled Περὶ αὐλῶν καὶ ὀργάνων is mentioned).

© Eleonora Rocconi, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004506190_012

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or ἐπιδείξεις),6 as Plato clearly implies in some passages of the Republic, both in book 3 – where Socrates claims to have heard (ἀκηκοέναι) Damon classifying rhythms and their psychagogic effects7 – and in book 7 where, mentioning theoretical knowledge “about harmonia”,8 he describes two different approaches to the measurement of sounds and intervals (“Their behaviour is quite ridiculous, when they name some things … and incline their ears … those worthy persons who bully the strings and interrogate them with torture …”).9 Still two generations later, in the first technical work specially designed for illustrating the fundamentals of harmonics, Aristoxenus of Tarentum alludes to public lectures as one of the means of exchanging ideas on these issues (“they have misunderstood what we said in our public lectures …”).10 When this body of knowledge started to be organized through written language and gradually (but not completely) crystallized in prose ‘texts’, many kinds of scientific writings were produced for a variety of didactic and scholarly initiatives. Among the possible formats, the genre of musical εἰσαγωγαί, “introductions” to the topic of music or harmonics – the most important of the three theoretical disciplines mentioned above – stand out for a fair number of the surviving examples. In this chapter, I will first give an overview of the different approaches to harmonic science and of the genres of didactic literature which developed around it and music theory. I will then focus on the surviving specimens of musical εἰσαγωγαί, pointing out their contents, their goals, and their importance for the modern reception of ancient Greek music. Finally, I will present a case study on a specific text (Cleonides’ Introduction to Harmonics) that slightly differs from other examples of the same genre. 2

The ‘Medialization’ of Music Theory in Didactic Environments

Ancient harmonics is the science that identifies, classifies and describes the regular and repeated patterns underlying melodic sequences in musical 6

7 8 9 10

See especially Barker 2007, 68–104. We know, for instance, about musical ἐπιδείξεις on technical subjects from the pseudo-Platonic dialogue Sisyphus (387b1–4), which describes a public exhibition, involving speeches as well as practical demonstrations (καὶ λόγῳ καὶ ἔργῳ), of the famous kithara-player Stratonicus of Athens, mentioned by later sources as being the first to take on students in musical theory (Ath. 8.352c–d, quoting Phaen. fr. 32 Wehrli). See also n. 16. Pl. Resp. 400b4 ff. Pl. Resp. 531b8 (cf. ibid. 531a1): “Or don’t you realise that in harmonics too (καὶ περὶ ἁρμονίας) they do something quite different, like this: they measure heard concords and notes against one another, and so labour to no purpose, just like the astronomers.” For the whole passage see Resp. 530d–531c. Aristox. Harm. 31.22 M = 40.16 dr.

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compositions. The term ἁρμονική (sc. ἐπιστήμη) derives from ἁρμονία, which means “attunement, scale”:11 literally, harmonics is “the knowledge concerned with scales”. The first author to use the word ἁρμονική is Aristotle, who talks about two sciences with this name: “mathematical harmonics” (ἁρμονικὴ ἡ τε μαθηματική) and the harmonics “based on hearing” (ἡ κατὰ τὴν ἀκοήν). They are complementary, he says, since the task of those who use perception is “to know the fact (τὸ μὲν ὅτι), and that of the mathematical scientists to know the reason why (τὸ δὲ διότι). For the latter possess the demonstrations which provide the explanations, and often do not know the fact, just as people who study universals often do not know some of the particular facts, since they have not examined them.”12 We know that, from the beginning of their development, these two branches of harmonic science conceived of musical sounds and represented the relations between them in a sharply distinct way, even if they are not described as direct competitors until much later periods (see infra). According to the mathematical approach (mostly adopted by the Pythagoreans), when two notes differ in pitch, they differ ‘quantitatively’: two sounds an octave apart, for instance, are represented by the ratio 2:1, i.e. by a mathematical relation between two quantities standing to one another in the same ratio as the physical objects (strings, pipes, disks, or whatever) that may produce them. According to the empirical approach, instead, the relationships between pitches are conceived as gaps or distances between dimensionless points (literally διάστημα means “distance”), whose length is determined by the number of times this unit fits into the gap: on this basis, intervals are described as more or less dense, that is, closely packed together on a quasi-linear dimension.13 Ideas and methods of both these ‘schools’ of thought have been documented since the Classical period in sources of various kinds. On the first approach, we are informed by some fragments of Philolaus and Archytas (only in some cases derived from works specifically concerned with music),14 while details on the views and the 11 12 13

14

Cf. the ἐπιστήμη περὶ ἁρμονίας mentioned by Plato at Resp. 531b8 (quoted at n. 8). In Pl. Phdr. 268e6, the topic is labelled τὰ ἁρμονικά. An. post. 79a2–6. This distinction reflects the Aristotelian view according to which there are three branches of theoretical science: physics, mathematics and metaphysics (or πρώτη φιλοσοφία): see Arist. Metaph. 1026a6–23. On the procedure called καταπύκνωσις (i.e., “densification” of the intervals on a linear diagram) adopted by these theorists see Aristox. Harm. 7.32 M = 12.15 dr and 28.1–2 M = 36.2–3 dr. The difference between these two methods of measuring intervals has already been sketched in Plato’s Resp. 530d–531c. Cf. Barker (2007), 23–30, 34–36. The first evidence describing the structure of the octave-scale is in Philolaus fr. 6a dk, which derives from a cosmological work (Barker 2007, 278–286). Archytas was probably the first who wrote a work on harmonics (Huffman 2005, 30; cf. Nicom. Intr. arith. 1.3.4: ἀλλὰ καὶ ’Αρχύτας ὁ Ταραντῖνος ἀρχόμενος τοῦ ἁρμονικοῦ τὸ αὐτὸ οὕτω πως λέγει· …).

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procedures of the empirical tradition (which will culminate in Aristoxenus) are provided only by secondary sources,15 which do not mention any specific work in which they recorded their ideas in writing.16 The first treatise specifically concerned with harmonics is Aristoxenus’ ‘Αρμονικὰ στοιχεῖα (late fourth century bc), which survived in three books in the manuscripts. The connection of this work with a teaching context of some kind is reflected in the style of its writing and in the organization of its material. Στοιχεῖα (lit. “elements”) were usually aimed not at a broad readership, but at specialized students of harmonics, perhaps also at aspiring composers who, thanks to theoretical study, could improve their technical abilities.17 Aristoxenus’ work stands out for its scientific method, clarity of exposition and conceptual refinement. For him, harmonics has the scope of picking out musical phenomena grasped by “perception” (αἴσθησις) and of discovering, by means of “reason” (διάνοια), the principles governing the ways in which elements are combined to form melodic or unmelodic sequences (with the help of “memory”, μνήμη, since melodies are processes occurring over time). His reasoning is always carefully articulated: both in the Elements of Harmonics and in the Elements of Rhythmics (the latter focusing on rhythm), Aristoxenus is very careful to clarify the items he is about to discuss, paying attention to word-sense disambiguation before giving any technical definition.18 He is the first theorist to set up a musical investigation using arguments and principles that are specific to music, that is, not borrowed from physics or mathematics. His writings have certainly played a crucial role in developing scientific 15

16

17 18

Aristoxenus terms these theorists ἁρμονικοί and claims to have dedicated a work to the study of their opinions (Harm. 2.25–30 M = 6.19–7.3 dr; Barker 2014, 58). The same term is used also by Theophrastus (fr. 716.17–18 FHS&G) and by the author of P.Hibeh 1.13, a papyrus of the mid-third century bc whose content, however, can be dated around the fourth. In P.Hibeh 1.13, the ἁρμονικοί are criticized for their ἀλλότριαι ἐπιδείξεις, i.e., demonstrations not belonging to [their own areas of expertise], while in Theophr. Char. 10, the ἁρμονικοί are said to perform ἐπιδείξεις (ἐνεπιδείκνυσθαι) on musical matters. On the possibility of the existence, in the fourth century bc, of competitive speeches on technical musical subjects which were judged by an audience see especially Pelosi (2017). For this fascinating hypothesis see Barker (2007), 229 ff. Aristox. Harm. 4.9–10 M = 8.11–12 dr: “Then we must give a general account of melody, and a sketch of its nature, the nature, that is, of the melody proper to music; for melody has several different natures …” Aristox. Rhythm. 2.1: “In the preceding passage we explained that there are many kinds [φύσεις] of rhythm, what each of them is like, for what reasons they came to acquire the same name, and what it is that underlies [is the ‘matter’ for] each of them. Now we must speak specifically of the rhythm that is located in music” (cf. Arist. Quint. De mus. 1.13, based on Aristoxenian material: “The term rhythm is used in three ways …”).

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argument and a prose style on technical issues related to music, not only providing future harmonic scientists of the non-mathematical approach (who would soon be called ‘Aristoxenians’) with their vocabulary, method and goals, but also influencing to a great extent the Pythagorean (or Pythagorizing) branch of harmonics. Thanks to Aristoxenus, theoretical knowledge of music also became more easily teachable: as a consequence, ideas and notions on the matter started to be conveyed through other types of texts besides στοιχεῖα, which may be worth briefly investigating before focusing on εἰσαγωγαί. Recent studies have, in fact, pointed out the importance of studying the formats through which scientific ideas and methods were communicated to their distinct audiences,19 as they may tell us a lot about the purpose and the targets of individual texts. Thus, a survey on the compilers of musical “introductions” throughout antiquity may help us to identify their own specificity (in terms of form and content) and, more broadly, to understand the role they played in spreading ancient musical culture. The most popular type of scientific text on music might be the ‘systematic treatise’20 on a specific topic (περί + genitive), a type of work that aims at tackling any subject in an orderly manner through definitions and related subdivisions. Περὶ μουσικῆς, Περὶ μελοποιΐας, Περὶ τόνων, Περὶ ἀρχῶν were all Aristoxenian works – of which only titles or fragments have survived – that might fit into this pattern. This kind of treatise was developed for many centuries, leading in later times to more ambitious and comprehensive works, such as Aristides Quintilianus’ Περὶ μουσικῆς in three books (third-fourth century ad), which aims at putting in a single text everything that was relevant to the study of music. Other formats reflect more closely the discussions which occurred within pedagogical settings of various kinds. Oral teaching is recorded, for instance, in the genre of ἀκρόασις:21 see, e.g., Aristoxenus’ lost work Μουσικὴ ἀκρόασις, lit. “musical lecture, hearing”. Much more modest in scope and less refined in style is the question-and-answer textbook: among the possible examples, see the collection of the Pseudo-Aristotelian Problems (whose books 11 and 19 are concerned with musical matters), gradually assembled by some Peripatetic students in the late fourth century bc, or Bacchius’ school text titled Introduction to the Art of Music (fourth century ad, see infra). Another way to present theoretical matters in an appealing manner is the didactic symposium: the most famous 19 20 21

See especially Taub (2017), summarizing previous bibliography. For this definition see especially Fuhrmann (1960). Taub (2017), 132.

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example of this kind of work is the Περὶ μουσικῆς attributed to Plutarch (first century ad), a sympotic conversation dedicated to music in which theoretical issues are also discussed (especially in chs. 33–36, summarizing various technical works of Aristoxenus, see infra).22 On the most basic educational level, the corpus of ancient Greek music theory presents examples of: – ἐγχειρίδια (lit. books to be kept “in the hand”), like Nicomachus of Gerasa’s Ἁρμονικὸν ἐγχειρίδιον (second century ad), a very brief Pythagorean manual of harmonics in the form of didactic letter, to which “a longer and more accurate introduction (εἰσαγωγή) to these matters connected together with a fully reasoned argument” should have followed;23 – ‘open’ texts intended for practical use in formal teaching, like the so-called μουσικά (lit. “musics”) quoted by Gaudentius (fourth–fifth century ad),24 texts more liable to be updated through adaptations and rewritings, provided with practical tools like notational symbols; – finally, εἰσαγωγαί, i.e. “introductions”, more methodical handbooks25 that, because of a fair number of surviving examples, played an important role in transmitting ancient music theory to the Modern Era. Most of this didactically oriented literature derives from the Roman Imperial period, when harmonics had already become part of what would be later called quadrivium and music was taught at different levels. The four isagogical writings on music theory that have come down to us all date from the second to the fifth centuries ad. They are: the Εἰσαγωγὴ ἁρμονική of Cleonides (probably second cent. ad), the Ἁρμονικὴ εἰσαγωγή of Gaudentius (fourth–fifth cent. ad), the Εἰσαγωγὴ τέχνης μουσικῆς of Bacchius Geron (fourth cent. ad or later) and the Εἰσαγωγὴ μουσική of Alypius (fourth–fifth cent. ad).26 Their forerunners, however, are probably much earlier, as there are valid reasons for believing that writers and readers of didactic works on music theory existed 22 23 24 25 26

See esp. Barker (2007), 235–259; Barker (2014), 57–73. According to the words of the author himself, see Nicom. Ench. 238.8–10 von Jan: … μείζονα καὶ ἀκριβεστέραν εἰσαγωγὴν περὶ αὐτῶν τούτων καὶ πλήρει τὸ λεγόμενον συλλογισμῷ διηρθρωμένην καὶ ἐν πλείοσι βιβλίοις. Gaud. Isag. 349.3 von Jan. On this kind of texts see especially Hagel (2018). If we are to believe Nicomachus’ reference to “a longer and more accurate (by comparison, presumably, with the ἐγχειρίδιον) introduction to these matters” (Ench. 238.8 von Jan, quoted n. 23). For details on the transmission of these texts see Mathiesen (1999), 366–90, 498–509, 583–93, 593–607. In this chapter I do not take into account the short theoretical treatise on music composed by a certain Dionysus in the 10th century ad (cf. Terzēs 2010), which has sometimes been interpreted as an Εἰσαγωγή by virtue of its appearing (with no title of its own) in the manuscripts as an addendum to Bacchius’ text.

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since the late Classical age and that texts of a similar kind were produced throughout the whole Hellenistic period. 3

The Introductions to Music Theory (and Practice)

The first “introduction to music” of which we are informed is the Εἰσαγωγὴ μουσική attributed to a certain Heraclides, a work that can probably be dated to the fourth century bc, if we agree in identifying its author as Heraclides of Pontus.27 Unfortunately the full text has not survived, but a long excerpt of it may be read in a much later source, the Commentary on Ptolemy’s Harmonics by Porphyry of Tyre (third century ad).28 In Porphyry’ text, the quotation has the aim of supporting the Pythagorean opinion that differences of pitch are differences of quantity, not quality, for higher-pitched and lower-pitched sounds are the product of swifter or slower impacts (πληγαί) on the air.29 Sounds travel from the impact until they arrive at the organ of hearing, moving it and creating a sense-impression in it (30.15–19 D = 36.25–37.1 R). The reason – Heraclides says – why we do not perceive every single impact made by a string periodically oscillating back and forth on the surrounding air is that these multiple impacts occur in a portion of time that our hearing cannot perceive because of its weakness (30.27–8 D = 37.10–11 R):30 as a consequence, we get the impression of a unique single sound (ἦχος, 31.14–21 D = 37.28–38.5 R).31 We can deduce that one of the main concerns of Heraclides’ εἰσαγωγή (at least in this specific passage) was to explain how the sounds travel and are perceived by the human ear. An interest in acoustic issues was shared by many philosophers from the Classical period onwards, as other technical writings on music, dating to the 27 28

29 30 31

The authorship of this text has been debated, but a number of scholars agrees in attributing it to Heraclides of Pontus: von Jan (1895), 51–56, 134–140, Barker (2009b), 275–278, Pöhlmann (2020), 250. Contra Burkert (1972), 380–381 n. 53, Gottschalk (1968), 450–452. Porph. In Ptol. 30.1–31.26 and 32.23–33.4 Düring = 36.9–38.10 and 39.8–22 Raffa (hereafter Düring is abbreviated as D and Raffa as R). I follow Barker (2015) in attributing all these portions of Porphyry’s text to Heraclides’ Εἰσαγωγή: in Düring’s edition the quotation ends at 31.21. The beginning of the entire quotation is the report of a work of Xenocrates (fourth cent. bc) about Pythagoras’ discovery that “the intervals in music do not arise without number”, which serves as an introduction to Heraclides’ statements. For more on sound and hearing in general see Ax 1986. Heraclides illustrates this phenomenon through a visual analogy: when a cone, marked with a white or black spot or a perpendicular line, is set in motion, the spot appears as a circle on the cone, for the sense of sight “is not capable of attaining accuracy” (διακριβοῦν οὐ δύναται, 30.28–31.7 D = 37.12–20 R).

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fourth–third century bc, attest (none of them has the title of εἰσαγωγή): see, for instance, Archytas fr. 1 DK (from a work on mathematics), the introductory section of the Pseudo-Euclidean Division of the Canon (Sect. can. 148.5–149.3)32 and a passage of the Peripatetic work On Things Heard (Ps.-Arist. De aud. 803b34–40). No autonomous theoretical discipline called ἀκουστική, however, was ever developed by ancient Greek scientists. The second example of musical εἰσαγωγή is cited, once again, by Porphyry when presenting a number of treatises, presumably dating to the late Hellenistic period, that summarize the disputes between Pythagoreans and Aristoxenians in matters of harmonics. Among the authors he mentions is Ptolemaïs of Cyrene, an otherwise unknown female theorist quoted with a certain Didymus “the musical” (ὁ μουσικός), who needs to be distinguished from the homonymous Alexandrian grammarian: since this Didymus presumably lived around the middle of the first century bc33 and his work was probably used by Porphyry as a source for quoting Ptolemaïs’ writings,34 scholars agree in attributing her activity to a slightly earlier date.35 According to what is reported in these excerpts, these two writers mostly focused on the criteria (i.e., perception and reason) adopted by the various theorists when evaluating musical data, identifying not only differences between opposing ‘schools’ of thought but also nuances and intermediate positions on both sides. Ptolemaïs affirms that all these theorists are μουσικοί (23.8–9 D =27.8–9 R)36 and, in so far as they talk about attunement, ἁρμονικοί (23.6–7 D = 27.5–6 R): Pythagorean ἁρμονικοί are called, in turn, κανονικοί (23.8 D = 27.8 R, since it is through the science of κανονική that “the reason discovers what is correct”, 22.29–30 D = 26.24–5 R), while those who set off from perception are called μουσικοί in the narrower sense of the word (23.7–8 D = 27.6–7 R). Furthermore, among the latter we can include more moderate theorists (like Aristoxenus) who, although giving precedence to perception, treated the two criteria as equals (25.16–19 D = 30.24–27 R) as well as theorists (such as the ὀργανικοί, “instrumentalists”, whose expertise relied on instruments, 26.2–3 D = 31.12–13 R)37 who “gave either no 32 33 34 35 36 37

Heraclides’ theory of sound as consisting of multiple impacts has close affinities with what we are told at the beginning of the Sectio canonis (cf. Barker 2015b, 135 n. 110). Soud. Δ 875. Düring (1934), 144; Barker (2009a), 181. The title of Didymus’ work is On the Difference between the Aristoxenians and the Pythagoreans. On Ptolemaïs see also Creese (2010), 214–20. I.e. “musical theorists”: this meaning of μουσικός reminds us of the use of the term in Pl. Phdr. 268d–e and Aristox. Harm. 2.6 M = 6.5 dr. In Didymus’ account (26.13–15 D = 31.24–26 R), these theorists are paired with the φωνασκικοί (“vocal-trainers”).

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thought at all or only feeble thought to theory” (25.15–16 D = 30.23–24 R). Among the Pythagoreans, instead, those who argued most strenuously with the empiricists relied – as far as possible – on reason alone (25.10–14 D = 30.17–22 R), while others believed that perception can initially play a role in the process of evaluation but, in the end, it must surrender to the authority of reason (25.23– 26.1 D = 30.21–31.10 R). The title of Ptolemaïs’ treatise is Pythagorean Elements of Music (Πυθαγορικὴ τῆς μουσικῆς στοιχείωσις)38 and, as far as we know, it was for the most part in the question-and-answer form (κατ᾽ἐρώτησιν καὶ ἀπόκρισιν),39 the typical structure of didactic handbooks. On a couple of occasions, Porphyry explicitly describes it as an “introduction” (εἰσαγωγή): “Ptolemaïs writes as follows about these matters in the introductory treatise I have mentioned (ἐν τῇ εἰρημένῃ εἰσαγωγῇ) …” (23.24 D = 28.8 R); “Ptolemaïs of Cyrene wrote briefly about these matters in her introductory treatise (ἐν τῇ εἰσαγωγῇ) …” (25.3–4 D = 30.11–12 R). This detail may lead us to formulate one of these two different conclusions: 1) even in didactic works on music of a more modest kind, such as the question-and-answer kind of texts, one could find methodological concerns that were, presumably, a subject of debate in Hellenistic times, for the polarization of harmonics into two mutually exclusive ‘schools’ had not yet fully developed;40 2) labelling it as an ‘introduction’, Porphyry (or his source Didymus) is here underestimating the value of this στοιχείωσις, a treatise perhaps addressed to an audience of more specialized students, potentially interested in philosophical discussions on criteria. The two examples mentioned so far suggest that, at least in these earlier examples of introductory texts to music theory, there was no fixed model of musical εἰσαγωγή and that this title could be generically attributed to any technical work that aimed at summarizing basic notions on music. If we now move to the first centuries of the Christian era, we encounter the four specimens of εἰσαγωγαί mentioned above, which more clearly show some common aspects: the Εἰσαγωγὴ ἁρμονική of Cleonides, the Ἁρμονικὴ εἰσαγωγή of Gaudentius, the Εἰσαγωγὴ τέχνης μουσικῆς of Bacchius the Elder and the Εἰσαγωγὴ μουσική of Alypius. The first two of them are specifically concerned with harmonics, while the others define their topic, more broadly, as ‘music’. 38 39 40

For the meaning of στοιχείωσις as “elementary introduction”, see also Alyp. Isag. 367.18 (with Hagel 2018, 134). Porph. In Ptol. 23.10 D = 27.10 R: “To these remarks Ptolemaïs adds, returning to the question-and-answer form …” For the hypothesis that the increasing polarization between the mathematical and the empirical branches of music theory was influenced by the debate on the ‘criteria’ of knowledge occurring within Hellenistic philosophy, see Barker (2009a), esp. 182.

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Their authors are mostly unknown: these texts have reached the Modern Era via composite manuscripts, the vast majority of which were produced between the 15th and the 16th centuries. During the Renaissance, in a cultural climate that (especially in Italy) looked at the classics as models, the diffusion of big scriptoria met the growing demand for authoritative evidence on ancient Greek music theory, known until then only through Boethius’ authority and mediation. It is precisely in these contexts that such collective manuscripts, quoting many musical texts that span over a long period (from the late Classical to the Byzantine times), were produced in several copies.41 This aspect needs to be kept in mind when examining ancient handbooks on music: the way they were assembled, gradually becoming a ‘corpus’, might have altered some of their details, such as, for instance, their titles. Let us have a closer look at them. Cleonides’ Introduction to Harmonics is a purely Aristoxenian handbook that systematically summarizes Aristoxenus’ main doctrines in matters of harmonics. The seven parts of harmonic science are listed in chapter 1 and individually addressed in the following 13 chapters: note (φθόγγος), interval (διάστημα), genus (γένος), system/scale (σύστημα), tone (τόνος), modulation (μεταβολή) and, finally, melodic composition (μελοποιΐα). I will deal with this treatise in more detail later in the chapter. An important issue that is worth mentioning right away is the peculiar definition of the field of competence of harmonics that appears in its very first lines: “Harmonics is both the theoretical and practical science of the nature of the attuned melody.”42 We do not know if this wider and more inclusive formulation (which takes into account also the practical applications of the discipline) derives from Aristoxenus43 or reflects the specific connotation that harmonics acquired in didactically oriented literature, usually provided with ready-to-use practicalities. Texts used in oral teaching were often equipped, for instance, with notational symbols, explicitly rejected by Aristoxenus as unnecessary in harmonic investigations44 41

42 43 44

See, e.g., Ms Venetus Marcianus Gr. Z. 322 (=711), third quarter of the 15th century, comprehensive of nearly the entire set of what has been preserved in the field of ancient music theory. This codex shows a close relationship with several later manuscripts, in whole or in part clearly based on it (or on lost copies of it). For a detailed reconstruction of the transmission of this corpus, see especially Mathiesen (1992). On possible explanations of the reasons behind this selection of ancient theoretical texts on music see Meriani (2016). Cleon. Isag. 179.3–4 von Jan: ‘Αρμονική ἐστιν ἐπιστήμη θεωρητική τε καὶ πρακτικὴ τῆς τοῦ ἡρμοσμένου ϕύσεως (italics mine). As it would be reasonable to assume if we accept the suggestion that Aristoxenus’ treatise on harmonics was addressed to composers too. In a long passage of the Elements of Harmonics (Harm. 39.5–41.10 M = 41.10–51.13 dr), Aristoxenus strongly argues with some unspecified theorists (called ἁρμονικοί at 40.26 M = 51.1 dr) who, “aiming to please the general public and to give them some end-product

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but regarded as didactically effective by later theorists (see, on this point, Alyp. Isag. 367.16–17 von Jan, quoted infra). If we now focus on the second example of εἰσαγωγή in the aforementioned list, Gaudentius’ Introduction to Harmonics, we find an explicit reference to the use of notation in writings of this type: “But the homotonic signs45 serve another purpose as well, for by means of them, set out in succession, people indicate the dieses in the enharmonic and the chromatic genus. That matter is discussed in the Introductions” (Isag. 21.350.17–18 von Jan, transl. Barker in this volume). This allusion to εἰσαγωγαί as a specific genre that, besides displaying notational symbols, also explained the rationale behind their functioning, confirms that, in Roman times, practical notions were regarded as essential prerequisites for familiarity with music theory.46 This same allusion, however, may also throw up some doubts about the authenticity of the title of this work: if Gaudentius here alludes to Introductions as texts other than his, perhaps his handbook was labelled εἰσαγωγή only later, maybe by a copyist who found an analogy with similar works occurring in the same manuscript.47 Indeed, the only information we have about this writer may be read in the Institutiones by Aurelius Cassiodorus (sixth century ad). In book 2, where Cassiodorus deals with the seven liberal arts, he claims to know Gaudentius’ treatise, without mentioning its title, only through its Latin translation of an otherwise unknown Mutianus: “A certain Gaudentius, writing on music, says that Pythagoras discovered the elements of this subject (i.e., the subject of music) from the sound of the hammers …”48 As far as its content is concerned, Gaudentius’ text is quite eclectic and cannot be considered a purely ‘Aristoxenian’ handbook. It begins by advocating the importance of sense perception for anyone who wishes to study harmonics and it then proceeds (up to chapter 9) following Aristoxenus’ agenda. In

45 46 47 48

visible to the eye” (40.31–33 M = 51.4–6 dr), “affirmed that the objective (πέρας) of the science called harmonics was the notation of melodies (τὸ παρασημαίνεσθαι τὰ μέλη).” I.e., the symbols for sounds that are part of a πυκνόν, the small structure formed by the two intervals (whose sum does not exceed a whole tone) at the bottom of a chromatic or enharmonic tetrachord. The preface of Gaudentius’ handbook (327.8 ff. von Jan) points out that, in his opinion, a well-trained ear, developed through an elementary musical education, was an indispensable prerequisite for approaching harmonics. Interestingly, in some later manuscripts the text of Gaudentius is copied, for obvious reasons of similarity of content, together with Alypius’ Εἰσαγωγή (Mathiesen 1999, 500). Cassiod. Inst. 2.5.1 (cf. ibid. 2.5.10): Gaudentius quidam, de musica scribens, Pythagoram dicit hujus rei invenisse primordia ex malleorum sonitu et chordarum extensione percussa. Quam amicus noster vir disertissimus Mutianus transtulit in Latinum, ut ingenium ejus assumpti operis qualitas indicaret.

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chapter 10 the theme of “concords” gives the author the excuse for a long digression (up to chapter 16) in a perfect Pythagorean style, where intervals are analysed as ratios of numbers and we may read the famous tale of Pythagoras and the ‘Harmonious Blackmith’ (i.e., the discovery of the numerical ratios governing musical concords by chance in a blacksmith’s shop).49 In chapter 17, the author returns to the topic of scalar systems, describing their compounding notes (stationary and mobile) and the forms of their arrangements in a clearly Aristoxenian vein. In chapter 20 he introduces the issue of musical notation, whose tables of signs (limited to the diatonic scale, the only one still used in the imperial age, as Gaudentius himself asserts)50 occupy the remaining chapters (21–23). The Εἰσαγωγὴ τέχνης μουσικῆς of Bacchius the Elder broadens the topic encompassing μουσική more generally (defined as “the knowledge/εἴδησις of μέλος and what is associated with it”): but the presentation of subjects is here more synthetic and drier than the examples mentioned so far. This school-text, clearly addressed to an elementary basic education,51 displays a series of 101 short and simple questions and answers, the greatest part of which define common concepts in harmonics (up to question 88, excluding 55–57, where the topic of ‘modulation’ is extended to rhythmical matters), while the remaining parts focus on basic metrical (89–92) and rhythmical notions (93–101). Sometimes different explanations of the same term are given: see, for instance, question 65, where seven definitions of μέση are listed, as if the various answers provided by the pupils in response to a teacher’s question had been recorded.52 The bulk of the material is primarily derived from the Aristoxenian theories, both in the part dealing with harmonics (with no reference to any mathematical measurement of musical intervals) and in the section dealing with rhythmics (where, however, we also find references to earlier authorities, mostly compilers, among whom we can perhaps identify the same Didymus quoted by Porphyry).53 Overall, this handbook seems to reflect more closely than others the practice of oral teaching, appearing as a collection of ready-to-use answers to be instilled in very young students, without any ambition of exploring new interpretations of the topics at issue, as it was usual in this kind of text. 49 50 51 52 53

Cf. Creese (2010), 90–91. Gaud. Isag. 331.27–332.3 von Jan (transl. Barker in this volume): “the diatonic … is the only one of the three genera which is widely performed nowadays. The other two, in practice, are virtually extinct.” This is confirmed also by the frequent use (in questions 11, 13 to 18, 29 to 34, 38, 39, 41 and 42) of signs of melodic notations to exemplify intervals or notes. Bacch. Isag. 306.6–15 von Jan. Bacch. Isag. 313.9–10 von Jan: “… and according to Didymus (sc. rhythm) is a configuration (σχηματισμός) of a certain sound.”

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The last work handed down with the title of ‘introduction’ is Alypius’ Εἰσαγωγὴ μουσική, whose fame is due to the fact that it preserves the most complete series of symbols of melodic notation of Greek antiquity, and was one of the principal sources used by Latin authors throughout the Medieval Period. After a brief introductory section, this work consists solely of a series of tables displaying the ancient notational symbols divided according to the 15 tonalities (τόνοι or τρόποι) of Aristoxenian derivation into three types (diatonic, chromatic, and enharmonic), for a total of 39 tables (the last six tables of the enharmonic type are lost). After a definition of μουσική that reduces it to three essential sciences (harmonics, rhythmics and metrics, 367.3–4 von Jan), the preface affirms the priority of harmonics (using a formulation very close to the incipit of Aristoxenus’ Elementa harmonica)54 and lists its traditional seven parts. The usefulness, from an educational point of view, of describing the fifteen keys through their melodic symbols is explicitly stated in a sentence that, despite the difficulty in interpreting its syntax, confirms the teaching purposes of Alypius’ work.55 The production of these synthetic texts, equipped with practical information, seems to have stopped in the Neoplatonic milieu of Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, when music was strictly conceived of as one of the mathematical branches of the quadrivium, propaedeutic to philosophy. In this intellectual climate, when Latin translations became the only vehicle for transmitting ancient music theory and culture in Western Europe, the teaching environments preferred more specialized treatises embracing the Pythagorean (i.e., mathematical) approach (such as Boethius’ De institutione musica, c. 510 ad) or encyclopedic works on the liberal arts including sections on music (such as Cassiodorus’ Institutiones, quoted above, and Isidore of Seville’s Etymologiae, early seventh century ad).56 From the beginning of the fifteenth century, however, probably thanks to the rediscovery and circulation throughout Europe of a greater variety of ancient Greek musical writings, the title Isagoge occasionally reappears in texts used for teaching music: see, e.g., the Isagoge in musicen of Henrichus Glareanus 54

55

56

Alyp. Isag. 367.5 von Jan: “the first in order and the one most concerned with elements” (πρώτην τε τάξει καὶ στοιχειωδεστάτην). Cf. Aristox. Harm. 1.16–17 M = 5.6–7 dr: “in order it is the first, and its character is like that of an element” (τῇ τε τάξει πρώτην οὖσαν ἔχουσάν τε δύναμιν στοιχειώδη). Alyp. Isag. 367.16–21 von Jan: “This being arranged in that way, it is useful for us – and at the same time necessary for those who set out in a more didactic manner (διδασκαλικώτερον) – to communicate the elements of harmonics and, above all, divide it into the so-called τρόποι or τόνοι, of which there are fifteen” (transl. Hagel 2018). For the difficult interpretation of the syntax of this sentence see Hagel (2018), 133–134. Cf. Barbera (1990) and Panti (2020).

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(Basel 1516), the Isagoge de compositione cantus di Johannes Galliculus (Leipzig 1520), the Isagoge in libros musicae poeticae of Johannes Avianius (Erfurt 1581), Crusius’ Isagoge ad artem musicam (Nürnberg 1592), etc.57 4

Cleonides’ Introduction to Harmonics

The panoramic view that I have sketched so far has led us to identify some features shared by the εἰσαγωγαί of the Roman period, e.g. their close adherence to oral teaching and their extensive use of practical information. I will now focus my analysis on the most systematic example among these ‘introductions’, as regards the theoretical orientation and the organization and treatment of the topics: Cleonides’ Introduction to Harmonics. We know nothing of Cleonides apart from his name, which is found on ten of the 40 manuscripts (dated between the 12th and the 16th century ad) that preserve this text and identify him as the author of the work. The other manuscripts ascribe it to Euclid, along with the Sectio canonis, or to the mathematician Pappus of Alexandria; in a single case this work is ascribed to a certain Zosimus, not otherwise known. The definitive attribution to Cleonides is relatively recent and is due to von Jan (1895), who was the first to have edited the text identifying him as the author.58 The Introduction to Harmonics is a brief but comprehensive compendium of Aristoxenian harmonics: it is precisely because of the information on topics that are missing in the surviving text of the Harmonica (especially keys, modulations and melodic composition) that scholars have turned their attention to this text. In chapter 1, after the unusual definition of harmonic science discussed above (179.3–4) and the list of its topics (179.6–8),59 we may read a short set of concise definitions, variously rephrased, that recall Aristoxenus’ original work, as the following examples clearly show: ϕθόγγος μὲν οὖν ἐστι ϕωνῆς πτῶσις ἐμμελὴς60 ἐπὶ μίαν τάσιν. 57 58 59

60

Cf. Niemöller (2003). Hereafter, Cleonides’ text is quoted according to von Jan’s page numbers. “The study of harmonics consists of seven parts: on notes; on intervals; on genera; on systems; on tones; on modulation; on melodic composition.” The translations of Cleonides are from Solomon (1980) – sometimes slightly modified –, who also provides detailed information on the transmission of this text. The intrusion of this adjective in reference to πτῶσις may be explained by Cleonides’ intention of qualifying the resulting sound as ‘melodic’, i.e. in agreement with the nature of musical μέλος (see Aristox. Harm. 37.2 M = 46.13 dr).

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A note is the melodic incidence of musical sound on one pitch (Cleon. Isag. 179.9–10). συντόμως μὲν οὖν εἰπεῖν ϕωνῆς πτῶσις ἐπὶ μίαν τάσιν ὁ ϕθόγγος ἐστί· To put it briefly, a note is the incidence of the voice on one pitch (Aristox. Harm. 15.15–16 M = 20.16–17 dr). τόνος δέ ἐστι τόπος τις τῆς ϕωνῆς61 δεκτικὸς συστήματος ἀπλατής.62 A tone is a certain compass of the voice which can contain a system and which is without breadth (Cleon. Isag. 180.4–5). Πέμπτον δ’ ἐστὶ τῶν μερῶν τὸ περὶ τοὺς τόνους ἐϕ’ ὧν τιθέμενα τὰ συστήματα μελῳδεῖται. The fifth part concerns the tonoi in which the systēmata are placed when they occur in melody (Aristox. Harm. 37.9–10 M = 46.17–18 dr). In chapter 2, the author briefly focuses on what he calls “the quality of voice” (φωνῆς ποιότης), that is, on the famous distinction between the two ways in which the human voice can move from one pitch to another:63 “continuous and speaking” (συνηχὴς τε καὶ λογική) and “intervallic and melodic” (διαστηματικὴ τε καὶ μελῳδική, 180.11–19). Hereafter, the text systematically proceeds to describe each of the aforementioned topics (chs. 2–4: notes and genres; ch. 5: intervals; chs. 6–7: genres; chs. 8–11: systems; ch. 12: τόνοι; ch. 13: modulations; ch. 14: melodic composition), up to the conclusion: “This is the end (ὅρος) of the study of the harmonized melody” (207.16–17). As we may notice from this brief outline, the most extensive part of the handbook is dedicated to systems, i.e. scales: chapters 8 to 11 are the widest Aristoxenian account on this topic which survives from antiquity. From at least 61 62

63

On the Aristoxenian τόπος τῆς φωνῆς, in which scales are placed, see Aristox. Harm. 7.12–13 M = 12.1–2 dr: “Each of the συστήματα are placed in some particular region of the voice (ἐν τόπῳ τινὶ τῆς ϕωνῆς) …” On the concept of ‘breadth’ (that is, on Aristoxenus’ polemics against the quantitative conception of sounds) see Harm. 3.20–25 M = 7.19–22 dr: “Anyone who does not want to be forced into the position of Lasus and certain of the followers of Epigonus, who thought that a note has breadth (πλάτος), must say something rather more precise about it.” Whose earlier account is in Aristox. Harm. 8.13–20 M = 13.7–11 dr (on which see Barker 2007, 140–150).

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the early fourth century bc, the word σύστημα started to replace the older term ἁρμονία. The earliest account of this semantic shift is in Plato’s Philebus, where we are told that, in order to be a musical expert, a person must understand several technicalities, among which the intervals (διαστήματα) of sound in respect to high and low pitch, their boundaries and “the number of systems (συστήματα) which have come into being from those intervals, that our predecessors examined and passed down to us, their successors, under the title ‘harmoniai’ …” (Phlb. 17c–d). Clearly, it is not Aristoxenus who gave a specific musical meaning to this term, but he is certainly the one who made its technical use more consistent by sketching a theoretical picture in which each component of melody had a specific role and technical explanation: pitch (τάσις), structure (σύστημα), range (τόνος), and so on. Aristoxenus deals with συστήματα quite extensively in the surviving text of the Elementa harmonica, both in the so-called Book 1 (5.32–7.4 M = 10.10–11.16 dr and 15.33–18.4 M = 21.6–23.8 dr)64 and in Book 2, where he announces that systems will be discussed at length as the fourth topic of the treatise (36.15–37.6 M = 45.19–46.16 dr).65 Unfortunately, such a systematic explanation has not survived and it is preserved only partially in Book 3 (see infra). If compared with Aristoxenus’ material, Cleonides’ account on systems appears much more restricted in scope and less accurate in presentation,66 but equally useful. After having listed all the seven distinctions among συστήματα67 (whose definition had been previously given in ch. 1),68 chapter 9 expands 64

65 66

67

68

Harm. 5.32 ff. M = 10.10 ff. dr (“When we have demonstrated the way in which the incomposite intervals are put together with one another, we must discuss the συστήματα which are constructed out of them …”); ibid. 15.33 ff. M = 21.6 ff. dr (“a σύστημα is to be understood as something put together from more than one interval …”). Harm. 36.15–19 M = 45.19–46.1 dr: “The fourth part is the study of συστήματα – how many there are, what they are like, and how they are put together out of intervals and notes.” E.g., despite the length of the section, there is no mention to any ‘natural’ principle or rule governing musical scales and their classifications (φύσις and τάξις are briefly mentioned only in ch. 1, see 179.3–6), while Aristoxenus had repeatedly insisted on the great and fine “order” displayed by musical compositions, clarifying that systems do not allow any combination of intervals that is “contrary to nature” (παρὰ φύσιν, Harm. 36.24–5 M = 46.4–5 dr, cf. 16.16 ff. M = 21.17 ff. dr). Isag. 193.3–9: “Systems differ in seven ways: four of these differences are the same as the differences in intervals – difference by size and by genus and by being consonant and dissonant and by being rational and irrational. Three of the differences are particular to systems  – the differences between consecutive and non-consecutive systems, that between conjunct and disjunct systems, and that between non-modulating and modulating systems.” Isag. 180.2–3: “a system is that which is composed from more than one interval.” This is very close to Aristoxenus’ definition, see Harm. 15.33–34 M = 21.6–7 dr: “a σύστημα is to be understood as something put together from more than one interval.”

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the issue of consonant systems exploring all the possible “forms” (σχήματα) or arrangements of scales. Since σχῆμα is the last topic mentioned in Aristoxenus’ text before it suddenly comes to an end in the manuscripts,69 this part of Cleonides’ handbook appears particularly relevant, especially as far as the seven species of the octave (εἴδη τοῦ διὰ πασῶν) are concerned. These systematized arrangements of the octave are easy to identify on the Unchanging Perfect System (ἀμετάβολον τέλειον σύστημα), the structure spanning two octaves that forms the background to any Aristoxenian analysis of melodic patterns, making it possible to identify the relations between them within a single scheme. From approximately the later decades of the fifth century bc, when one theorist named Eratocles made the first attempt to enumerate different forms of συστήματα by a regular process of cyclic rearrangement of intervals,70 these octave-scales started to replace the older modal scales (ἁρμονίαι),71 adopting their same ethnic names. Cleonides and other Aristoxenian epitomists72 carefully list all these systematic sets of octachords, that are closely related – in one way or another  – to earlier scales, as some scholars have recently demonstrated.73 The last point of this long passage on συστήματα that is worth mentioning is in chapter 11 (201.14–202.5 von Jan), where the difference between nonmodulating and modulating systems is discussed. Here Cleonides explains why the Unchanging or Non-modulating (ἀμετάβολον) Perfect System got its name: despite the possibility of modulating between conjunct or disjunct tetrachords within it, in fact, it is “simple” (ἁπλοῦν), that is, it has only one μέση, while systems that have two or more μέσαι are called “multiple systems” (πολλαπλάσια συστήματα). This leading position of the μέση (sc. χορδή, lit. the “central string” of a well-defined set of lyre tunings) and its role in clarifying the function of 69

70 71 72

73

In Aristoxenus’ Harmonics, we are told only that a difference in σχῆμα (or εἶδος) “occurs when in the same magnitude, composed of incomposite parts that are the same in magnitude and in number, the order (τάξις) of these parts is altered” (Harm. 74.15–17 M = 92.9–11 dr). This procedure (generating each octave by removing the interval at its top and replacing it at the bottom) is due to Eratocles, as we are told by Aristoxenus (Harm. 6.14–31 M = 10.19–11.10 dr). The only description of ἁρμονίαι has been preserved by Aristides Quintilianus’ On Music 1.9, probably based on a genuine Aristoxenian source. In Cleonides’ text, the whole passage runs from 197.4 to 199.3: “There are seven figures of the dia pasōn. The first  … was called ‘Mixolydian’ by the ancients. The second figure … was called ‘Lydian’. The third figure…. was called ‘Phrygian’. The fourth figure … was called ‘Dorian’. The fifth figure  … was called ‘Hypolydian’. The sixth figure  … was called ‘Hypophrygian’. The seventh figure  … was called ‘Common’ and ‘Locrian’ and ‘Hypodorian’….” Cf. also Bacch. Isag. 77.308.17–309.9 von Jan. West (1992), 227, Barker (2007), 43–55; Hagel (2009), 371 ff.

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each note in any given melody74 are mentioned in earlier sources (e.g. Ps.-Arist. Problems 19.20.33 and 36) and, as Stefan Hagel has clarified, they reflect tuning practice.75 In theoretical systems, however, μέση may also assume a specific modulating role. The implications of this aspect are better clarified in the following chapters, when Cleonides talks about keys and modulations: by changing the functional role of a specific sound (e.g., by giving the role of μέση to a different pitch), it is possible to shift from one key to another, i.e. to set a musical composition (and, consequently, its scale) at different pitch-levels, as – roughly speaking – in modern tonal music. Chapter 12 continues the discussion of the seven parts of harmonics. Instead of immediately tackling the issue of τόνοι as ‘keys’, however, as we might expect on the basis of the definition given in ch. 1,76 Cleonides enumerates the four different meanings that the Greek word τόνος has in a musical context: note (φθόγγος), interval (διάστημα), region of the voice (τόνος φωνῆς), tuning/pitch (τάσις). The reasons for these preliminary remarks may be quite diverse: students making their first steps in matters of harmonics could have been confused by the plurality of meanings of the term or scared by the difficult issue Cleonides was about to discuss; but a summary of these meanings might also betray a closer adherence to the original text since, as I said above (186), Aristoxenus in his writings paid a lot of attention to word-sense disambiguation before dealing with any specific subject. The core of chapter 12 is the part discussing τόνος “as a region of the voice” (203.4–204.15): here Cleonides describes the 13-keys system elaborated by Aristoxenus with the purpose of placing different scales at different levels of pitch,77 providing also information on the revised system (reaching 15 keys) that appeared in later sources. The Aristoxenian theory of τόνοι, however, is not a mere exposition of scales at different levels of pitch. In chapter 13, which deals with modulation, the issue is raised again and other implications are explored. 74 75 76 77

Cleon. Isag. 202.3–5: “the functions of the remaining notes are also recognized from the μέση, for the function of each note becomes clear with respect to μέση.” Hagel (2009), 117–122. The way of tuning the lyre remained the same until at least the second century ad: cf. Dio Chrys. 68.7. Cleon. Isag. 180.4–5: “a tone is a certain compass of the voice which can contain a system and which is without breadth.” According to Aristoxenus, τόνοι have to do with fixed arrangements of intervals placed at different levels of pitch: “The fifth part [of harmonics] concerns the τόνοι in which the συστήματα are placed when they occur in melody” (Harm. 37.9–10 M = 46.17–18 dr). A fixed relation between the locations of these various arrangements developed most probably from polymodal αὐλοί, as Aristoxenus seems to confirm (cf. 37.10–38.4 M = 46.18–47.15 dr), even if it took a long time before theorists found an agreement upon their exact position and number.

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It was probably Aristoxenus who coined a specific term for musical modulation, giving a technical meaning to the word μεταβολή and addressing the topic for the first time, as he says in Harm. 38.11–16 M = 47.19–48.3 dr: “by ‘modulation’ I mean what happens when the order belonging to the melody undergoes a certain kind of qualification – and then how many modulations there are in all, and at how many intervals they occur. No one has said anything about any of these matters, with or without demonstration.” The most significant kind of modulation of which we are informed by Cleonides is the modulation between tonoi (205.6–206.2). The main argument of this fairly long passage is as follows: in order to modulate ‘melodically’ (ἐμμελής vs ἐκμελής, that is, in agreement with the nature of musical μέλος, cf. Aristox. Harm. 37.2 M = 46.13 dr), two τόνοι must share something: a note, an interval or a σύστημα. This concept of κοινωνία is further expanded towards the end of the paragraph, where a specific example clarifies what Cleonides is talking about (205.20–206.2, see below). The whole section shows a great conceptual similarity with the series of propositions about melodic routes in Aristoxenus’ Book 3 which, according to recent interpretations, is the starting point of his treatment of the theory of modulating τόνοι.78 Some of these theorems discuss all the melodic routes that may possibly start from notes participating in a πυκνόν.79 There are three possible positions in a πυκνόν: at the bottom (βαρύπυκνοι), in the middle (μεσόπυκνοι) or at the top (ὀξύπυκνοι) of the πυκνόν. As we are told in the last sentence of Cleonides’ passage, “whenever, in modulations, notes that are alike (ὅμοιοι) in respect of their positions in the πυκνόν (κατὰ τὴν τοῦ πυκνοῦ μετοχήν) coincide on the same pitch, the modulation is melodic” (205.20–206.2). This happens, we have been told earlier (205.20), when modulations are made through concordant intervals: in tonoi which are a fourth apart, for instance, notes coinciding in pitch are also similar, since they have exactly the same relation to the πυκνόν – even if each πυκνόν belongs to a different tetrachord.80 If, instead, the notes are ἀνόμοιοι, that is, “are unlike in respect of their positions in the pyknon” but, despite this, coincide on the same pitch, “the modulation is not melodic (ἐκμελής)” (206.1–2). This is exactly the same thing that we read in proposition 25 of Aristoxenus’ Harmonica (with a slightly different wording): “It is to be shown that two notes which differ in respect of their positions (ἀνόμοιοι) in a πυκνόν cannot melodically (ἐμμελῶς) be placed on the same pitch” (Harm. 72.14–16 M = 90.1–3 dr). This comparison confirms the conceptual 78 79 80

For these considerations see especially Barker (2007), 197–228. E.g., the fourth group of theorems at Harm. 69.29–72.11 M = 87.3–89.18 dr. For a definition of πυκνόν see n. 45. See Barker (2007), 215–228, esp. 218–21.

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continuity between Cleonides’ summary and the genuinely Aristoxenian thought, allowing us to have an idea of the direction taken by Aristoxenus’ treatise in its lost part, where he seems to have focused his inquiry on the more or less melodic modulating sequences that may be used in musical composition. Finally, chapter 14 focuses on μελοποιΐα, defined by Aristoxenus (Harm. 38.24–26 M = 48.8–10 dr) as the “goal” (τέλος) of harmonic science (Isag. 206.19–207.7): Melodic composition is the employment of the aforementioned harmonic parts and of its established properties which have some function. Melodic composition is accomplished through four methods: succession (ἀγωγή),81 weaving (πλοκή), repetition (πεττεία), and prolongation (τονή). Succession is a melodic progression through consecutive notes. Weaving is the non-consecutive and parallel placement of intervals. Repetition is the playing of one tone again and again. Prolongation is the holding of one utterance of the voice for a greater amount of time. A larger picture of Aristoxenus’ program on this topic may be read in Aristides Quintilianus’ On Music 1.12,82 probably based on a genuine Aristoxenian source. By comparing these two passages, we may infer that all that remains in Cleonides’ handbook are some details on the “putting in usage” (χρῆσις) of μελοποιΐα, i.e., on the ways in which a melody is realized: remarks on “selection” and “mixture”83 of elements (which, in compositional processes, are preliminary to the construction of any melodic design) have clearly been lost. According to Aristoxenus, it is especially χρῆσις that plays a fundamental role 81

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On ἀγωγή (i.e. the melodic progression through ‘consecutive’ notes) see also Aristoxenus’ Harm. 29.31–33 M = 38.4–6 dr, where we may read similar description of the possibility, for a melody, to proceed through what we would call ‘conjunct motion’ (a passage proving that Cleonides’ terminology is Aristoxenian). De mus. 28.10–29.21 W.-I.: “Melodic composition is the capacity for constructing melody. It is divided into ὑπατοειδής, μεσοειδής and νητοειδής [i.e. into a low, intermediate and high range], corresponding to the characteristic properties of sound which we mentioned previously. Its parts are selection (λῆψις), mixture (μίξις) and use (χρῆσις)…. Use is the production of a melody in a particular way. It in turn has three forms, consecution (ἀγωγή), distribution (πεττεία) and interweaving (πλοκή)….” On the Aristoxenian notion of μίξις see Ps.-Plut. De mus. 35.1144B–C: “mixis is a certain combination of incomposite elements [note, duration and syllable] in practice”. In another Aristoxenian passage of the same dialogue, we are told that the character of a musical piece should not be assigned to any distinguishable element of a musical performance, but to their combination in composition: “I say that the cause of this [i.e., of the ēthos of a composition] is either some combination (σύνθεσις) or some mixture (μίξις) or both” (33.1143B–C).

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in building the ἦθος of a particular piece of music, going beyond the choice of a specific scale. As he points out in the Harmonica, if “many forms of melody, of all sorts, come into existence in notes which are themselves the same and unchanging, it is clear that this variety depends on the use (χρῆσις) to which the notes are put: and this is what we call melodic composition” (38.20–24 M = 48.5–8 dr).84 More evidence on this issue may be read further in chapter 13, where μεταβολαί in composition are directly connected to the ἤθη and πάθη that are expressed (206.6–7: δι’ οὗ σημαίνεται) and induced (206.11: δι’ οὗ συνάγεται ἡ ψυχή) by any piece of music (Isag. 206.3–18): Modulation by melodic composition occurs when there is a modulation from the diastaltic ēthos into the systaltic or hesychastic, or from the hesychastic into one of the other ēthē. The diastaltic ēthos of melodic composition is that through which magnificence, the manly elevation of the soul, heroic deeds, and the emotions (πάθη) proper to them are indicated (σημαίνεται). Tragedy especially employs these, as does any other genre displaying this character. The systaltic ēthos is that through which the soul is directed (συνάγεται) toward dejection and an unmanly condition. Such a state agrees with amorous feelings, lamentations, wailings, and the like. The hesychastic ēthos of melodic composition is that which peace of the soul and a leisurely and peaceful condition accompany. Hymns, paeans, encomia, advisories, and the like correspond to this ēthos. In order to evaluate the extent to which this summary reflects Aristoxenus’ original ideas on the topic at issue, we need to point out that, in his works on harmonics, Aristoxenus is not concerned with the moral character of music and its use in therapy or education,85 but rather with its ‘aesthetic’ dimension. To put it differently, his analysis of μελοποιΐα seems to have the purpose of indicating how melodic elements may be selected and put together in composition, in order to convey the most appropriate ἦθος for a specific style or genre (tragedy, hymns, paeans, and so on), with no concern for their ‘ethical’ dimension. This goal is clearly reflected in the first definition of μελοποιΐα at the beginning of Cleonides’ work: “melodic composition is the employment of the established properties of harmonic practice with regard to what is proper (πρὸς 84 85

Since “the sound of a systēma is different from that of a composition constructed within that systēma” (Ps.-Plut. De mus. 33.1143A, again based on Aristoxenus). Even if he may well have explored these possibilities in other contexts, as we may infer from Harm. 31.19–27 M = 40.13–41.2 dr.

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τὸ οἰκεῖον) for each subject” (ch. 1.180.8–10). The quality of οἰκειότης (quoted only once in the Harmonica 7.21–28 M = 12.7–12 dr) is mentioned quite often in the Aristoxenian chapters of the pseudo-Plutarchean De musica,86 where we are told that ‘appropriateness’ is inextricably linked to the musical expression of a specific ἦθος, and that this ἦθος relies on the way in which the composer worked with his melodic and rhythmic material (cf. De mus. 33.1143A–B). This strongly suggests that the original text of Aristoxenus on melodic χρῆσις included practical suggestions for composing melodies with a view to obtaining specific aesthetic results. Moreover, it is also consistent with the definition of harmonics given by Cleonides in ch. 1, where both the adjectives πρακτική and θεωρετική are mentioned (179.3–4): “Harmonics is both the theoretical and practical science of the nature of the attuned melody.” An echo of this wording is still in the Byzantine writer (13th century ad) Manuel Bryennius (Man. Bryennius Harm. 2.6. 172.27–29, cf. Anon. Bell. § 29): Now, to begin with, the science of harmonics is the faculty conveying direct discernment of the difference in pitch between sounds; or, to put it another way, the theoretical and practical knowledge of the nature of harmonic scales. So long as it reflects upon its own constituents and is engaged in distinguishing them and treating them systematically, it is called theoretical; it is called practical, however, when it utilizes these elements appropriately (πρεπόντως) to compose a melody. From what has been said on Cleonides’ text, we may conclude that, although deprived of many methodological reflections characterizing Aristoxenus’ original works, this handbook roughly preserves all the basic notions in matters of harmonics that were relevant to the students to which it was originally addressed (probably more mature pupils than those who used, for instance, Bacchius’ school text). We cannot, however, take it as an exemplary model for any didactic text that was labelled as ‘musical εἰσαγωγή’: a term that defined fairly generally any introductory manual to music to be used in teaching contexts of various kinds, where a certain degree of simplification was necessarily required, sometimes also implying a sort of hybridization between contrasting music theories. Moreover, the peculiar modes of transmission through which these εἰσαγωγαί have come down to us leave open the possibility that some of them have received such a title only at a later time, when they were grouped and became a corpus in manuscripts because of their broad similarities in scope and contents. 86

On these see especially Barker (2007), 243–249.

appendix

Gaudentius, Introduction to Harmonics. Introduction and Translation Andrew Barker 1

Introduction1

In his discussion of the four mathematical sciences, probably written around 540 ce, Cassiodorus begins the section on music by referring to ‘a certain Gaudentius’, whose treatise on the subject, he says, has been translated into Latin by his friend the ‘most learned’ Mutianus (Inst. 2.5.1). This is our only unambiguous indication of Gaudentius’ date; he must have written the work no later than the early sixth century. He should probably be located, in fact, somewhere in the fourth or fifth century, when the name Gaudentius seems to have been particularly common – its bearers include at least three saints and a plethora of bishops, military men and other notables – and the tag ‘the philosopher’ was presumably attached to our author’s name in the manuscripts to pick him out from among his multitudinous namesakes (mainly, we may guess, to distinguish him from the prolific and widely read St. Gaudentius of Brescia). That is all we know or can safely infer about Gaudentius himself. The manuscript headings refer to his treatise as an εἰσαγωγή, an ‘introduction’ to harmonics. The title seems appropriate, but it is unlikely to have been applied to this work by Gaudentius himself. At the end of Chapter 21 (and at the end of the previous chapter if Meibom’s textual supplement is correct), he tells us that certain diagrams and other details, which he is deliberately excluding from the present essay, will be found ‘in the εἰσαγωγαί’ (‘in the musical εἰσαγωγαί’ in Chapter 20). Whatever these εἰσαγωγαί may have been, Gaudentius’ treatise is evidently not among them, and we do not know what he would have called it. Perhaps would have referred to it as an ἐγχειρίδιον, a ‘handbook’, in which case we might infer that in his time an ἐγχειρίδιον was a heavily condensed, elementary work, while an εἰσαγωγή was expected to be

1 There are two other modern translations of which I am aware: in Italian, Zanoncelli (1990), 307–369, including introduction, Greek text, translation and commentary; and in English, Mathiesen (1998), 66–85.

© Andrew Barker, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004506190_013

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more expansive and technically detailed. Unfortunately, however, we have no evidence to support this hypothesis.2 The treatise, as we have it, consists of 23 chapters of which the last is incomplete, preceded by a short preamble which deserves a little attention. It starts in an unusually rhetorical register for a work of this sort, with a resounding quotation from the beginning of an Orphic cosmogony dating back to at least the fifth century bc (frag. 1a Bernabé): “I sing for initiates; shut the doors, O ye unsanctified!” In its original setting it was probably intended to be taken literally – non-initiates were to be physically excluded from what followed. But in the verse’s frequent quotations from Plato onwards (Pl. Symp. 218b), it is always metaphorical; the ‘doors’ represent the ears of people who, for some reason, are unfit to hear what the speaker has to say. That is clearly the case here. Towards the end of the passage Gaudentius picks up the image again, this time evoking another famous episode in Greek literature; the allusion to ‘blocking the ears’ is an obvious reminiscence of the encounter of Odysseus and his crew with the Sirens (Hom. Od. 12.36–54, 181–200). But Gaudentius is not just indulging in a little literary fun. In the main part of his preamble we find, first of all, a list of the main topics with which the propositions of harmonics must concern themselves: ‘with notes, intervals and scale-systems, and with keys, modulations and melodic composition in all the genera of attunement’. It is much the sort of list that one would expect of an ‘Aristoxenian handbook’ in this period. But it is the subsequent assertions that explain the point of the Orphic injunction at the beginning and its counterpart at the end. They can be paraphrased as follows. When you set out to study harmonics, unless you have already gained experience, by training and exercising your hearing in ways that enable you to identify notes and assess the sizes of intervals by ear, and to detect by ear whether an interval is concordant or discordant, the science’s propositions will mean nothing to you. That is, if you cannot match the subjects which the speaker addresses with items in your own perceptual experience, you will not even be able to grasp what the propositions are about (cf. Pl. Meno 80d5–e5). If, on the other hand, you can attach each proposition to a specific phenomenon with which your hearing is familiar, the combination of sensory experience with reasoned discourse will result in ‘complete understanding’. Despite its affinities with the passage in Plato’s Meno, the original ancestor of this line of thought in the context of harmonics is not Plato but Aristoxenus.3

2 Cf. Rocconi’s chapter in this volume, 193. 3 For points set out by Aristoxenus as essential preliminaries to the study of harmonics, see Harm. 30.10–34.32 M = 39.4–44.9 DR, and cf. Rocconi’s chapter in this volume, 186–187.

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He too insists that you must approach the science equipped with auditory experience that has trained your hearing to make accurate perceptual discriminations (Harm. 33.10 M = 42.13 DR). But there is a difference. According to Gaudentius, the ear’s training must have been sufficient to enable the student ‘to hear notes and recognise intervals accurately, both the concordant and the discordant’, and that seems to be all. For Aristoxenus, on the other hand, a great deal more is involved: if we combine a well-known passage of Harm. 1 (22.26– 23.16 M = 29.7–30.4 dr) with remarks in Harm. 2 (33.1–34.32 M = 42.8–44.8 dr), we find that if we are to study harmonics properly and draw reliable conclusions, our ears must have been trained to recognise a much more extensive and sophisticated range of musical phenomena. They must have become thoroughly familiar, for instance, with all the χρόαι (‘shades’) of all the genera and with every variety of melodic composition; they must have become capable of distinguishing, within a single perceptual impression, the aspects of the perceived phenomenon that change from those that remain constant; they must have become habituated to hearing works performed in the ancient as well as the modern manner; and so on. The preliminary training that Gaudentius calls for is thus a radically pareddown version of Aristoxenus’, so substantially reduced, in fact, that it seems to place his project in an entirely different category. That is, the kind of training that he prescribes will prepare readers for a very different kind of intellectual task from the one that Aristoxenus has envisaged, not just the same enterprise on a smaller scale; and this carries implications about the nature of the readership or audience for whom he intended his work. Thus if we ask what the purpose of this preliminary ear-training is, Gaudentius’ answer is that it will equip people who read or hear what he says to fit his propositions to items in their own experience. The application of Gaudentius’ λόγοι to prior episodes of sense-perception, αἴσθησις, will result in ‘complete understanding’; and so far as we can tell from his remarks, nothing more complex is involved. Aristoxenus would no doubt have agreed that people need this sort of experience if they are to understand what the propositions of harmonics are about. But his students, as we have seen, need much wider experience than Gaudentius suggests, and the reason why they need it is different. The reason why they must habituate their ears to discriminate the minutiae of all these phenomena with very great accuracy is not just so that they will grasp what the science’s propositions refer to; it is to prevent them from forming erroneous opinions on these matters or ones based on inadequate evidence, or – to put it in more positive terms – to equip them to make sound and reliable judgements about them (see particularly Harm 33.4–26 M = 42.10–43.2 dr). Gaudentius’ readers, it appears, need only be in a position to understand and passively

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absorb what the author is saying. The audience whom Aristoxenus is addressing seem, by contrast, to be more like research students setting out on an enquiry within which they will be expected to form their own opinions, and to which, perhaps, they might in due course be able to contribute valuable thoughts of their own. The position I am attributing to Gaudentius is fully consistent with the ideologically neutral, non-combative and unargumentative character of his exposition, which will be obvious to anyone who reads the text, and contrasts strongly with the combative manner of Aristoxenus. It also seems consistent with a second remark in Cassiodorus’ Institutiones. In this work he set out the educational curriculum he planned for the monks in the monastery he had founded on his estate on the East coast of Calabria, who were often deplorably uneducated when they arrived. They knew little about the Bible, let alone the subtleties of theology, and they were equally ignorant of the ‘wisdom of the ancients’, the knowledge and the indispensable tools for thinking that had grown up among the Greeks in earlier times. Accordingly, the Institutiones is in two parts. Book 1 discusses matters to do with the Bible and the Christian religion; Book 2 propounds a programme of secular education, rooted in Greek writings of the past. It follows the course of what became known as the seven liberal arts, in which the humanities were represented by the trivium of philology, rhetoric and philosophy, while arithmetic, geometry, astronomy and music (i.e. harmonics) comprised the scientific or mathematical qua­ drivium. Cassiodorus, then, is not trying to train specialists or controversialists in harmonics or astronomy or anything else, only to give his monks some acquaintance with the ancient disciplines; and for this purpose he suggests that Gaudentius’ treatise will serve well. After first recommending Albinus’ Latin treatise on harmonics (now lost) as a suitable text, he adds: ‘but if by chance it was destroyed during the barbarian invasion, you have Gaudentius; and if you read and re-read him with careful attention, he will open up for you the entrance-halls of the discipline’ (Inst. 2.5.10). Rather similarly, I suggest, Gaudentius himself designed his work as a contribution to an educational programme that would provide people with an all-round, though fairly superficial knowledge of their cultural and intellectual heritage – the sort of knowledge that would give a person the social polish of a cultivated gentleman, and enable him to engage creditably in highbrow conversations, like those of the symposiasts of Plutarch and Athenaeus in earlier centuries. Not much need be said here about the main body of Gaudentius’ treatise. Much of it corresponds quite closely to the Aristoxenian orthodoxy of later antiquity, as represented, for instance, in Cleonides’ Introduction to Harmonics and the first Book of Aristides Quintilianus; this is broadly true of Chapters 1–9

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and 17–19, and also, with some qualifications, of the last surviving stretch of the text, from Chapter 20 to the incomplete Chapter 23. Here and there in the course of these chapters we find minor (but sometimes intriguing) deviations from the familiar tradition, which together with various internal inconsistencies provide persuasive evidence that Gaudentius’ work is patched together from several different sources. I cannot pursue all these details here, but there is one passage in the chapters I have mentioned which calls for particular attention. It comes in Chapter 8, where Gaudentius offers definitions of concordance, discordance and certain related phenomena. Among other features, it includes a very unusual and enigmatic definition of concordance: notes, he says ‘are concordant when, if they are struck or piped simultaneously, the μέλος of the lower in relation to the high and of the higher in relation to the low is always the same’. Correspondingly, notes are discordant ‘when, if they are struck or piped simultaneously, nothing at all of the μέλος of the lower in relation to the high, or of the higher in relation to the low, is perceived as being the same’. In each case Gaudentius follows this definition with another which is quite readily understood, versions of which are common in the relevant literature. The ones I have quoted, however, are not only unusual; I find them wholly unintelligible. It would be very interesting to know where they originated, and – more importantly – what they are supposed to mean. I simply do not know; but perhaps others will be able to solve the riddle. Here I note only that any adequate interpretation must satisfy at least the following three conditions: (a) it must specify precisely the relation indicated by the preposition πρός, here translated as ‘in relation to’; (b) it must provide a satisfactory explanation of the sense in which the writer is using the word μέλος in this context; and (c) it must take account of the fact that whereas the comparative expressions ‘the higher’ and ‘the lower’ refer unambiguously to notes, straightforward grammatical considerations dictate that the absolute expressions ‘the high’ and ‘the low’ do not; they appear to designate height and depth of pitch in general. These are not the only troublesome problems posed by the definitions, but if these three could be resolved we might, perhaps, be on the way to an overall solution.4

4 It is possible that πρός is to be understood in the sense ‘towards’, so that ‘the μέλος of the lower towards the high’ means ‘the melodic movement of the sound upwards from the lower note’. But even so, problems will remain, first because the preposition normally used to mean ‘towards’ in contexts of this sort is not πρός but ἐπί, and secondly because the sense of the definition as a whole remains almost as mysterious as before.

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An even more striking oddity in this chapter is its inclusion of a fourth kind of relation between notes, alongside three that are very familiar. Some notes (that is, some pairs of notes), Gaudentius says, are in unison with one another (ὁμόφωνοι), others are concordant (σύμφωνοι), and others are discordant (διάφωνοι); and in addition to these, others again are ‘paraphonic’ (παράφωνοι). The adjective παράφωνος appears in other texts too, for instance in a passage of Thrasyllus quoted by Theon of Smyrna, and in the writings of Philo of Alexandria, but never in a sense akin to the one that Gaudentius describes: ‘paraphonic notes are those which are intermediate between the concordant and the discordant, but which are perceived as concordant when struck; examples are perceived in the case of the three tones from παρυπάτη μέσων to παραμέση, and in that of the two tones from διάτονος μέσων to παραμέση’. No other writer seems to recognise the existence of these relations, in which the two notes do not, properly speaking, form a concord, but which – under certain conditions – sound as if they did. Just what these conditions are is a little unclear; ἐν τῇ κρούσει, translated above as ‘when struck’, might mean more specifically ‘in the accompaniment’, indicating that the relation is restricted to those between a note in the accompaniment and one sounded simultaneously in the melody. Or just conceivably, it might be intended in the sense ‘in instrumental music’, though I think this improbable. But whatever we are to make of that expression, Gaudentius’ description of the relation may perhaps be a sign that by the period to which his work (or that of his source) belongs, the category of relations which people’s ears would register as smooth and comfortable, by contrast with the harshness of discords, had begun to expand beyond the limits of the traditional concords. In that case Gaudentius’ second example, exemplifying what we would call a major third, would be relatively unsurprising; its ‘closeness to the concords’ was already recognised by Ptolemy in the second century ce (Harm. 16.12–21). But his first example, in which the interval is a tritone, the notorious diabolus in musica of medieval theorists, is very surprising indeed and very hard to account for. (Luisa Zanoncelli’s interesting and valuable notes on this chapter5 do not appear to resolve this particular problem.) I have so far said nothing about Chapters 10–16, where Gaudentius, with no warning and no apparent awareness of its awkwardness, disrupts the Aristoxenian tenor of his exposition with a substantial stretch of material taken from the ‘Pythagorean’ or ‘mathematical’ tradition. In one sense the passage is appropriately located, since writers in that tradition themselves typically introduce the identification of musical intervals with numerical ratios 5 Zanoncelli (1990), 359–364.

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in the context of a discussion of the concords, just as Gaudentius does here. In a broader sense, however, the passage is plainly alien to its Aristoxenian environment. It is radically inconsistent with the principles of Aristoxenian harmonics, and with some specific details of its doctrines; it must have been taken wholesale from a very different source, one that we can no longer confidently identify. Its version of the tale of Pythagoras and the smithy, and of his subsequent experiments, is close to that of Nicomachus, but sufficiently different to guarantee that it is not taken directly from that author – nor indeed from Iamblichus, who follows Nicomachus much more closely. We therefore have good evidence that several slightly different variants of the story were current by the time at which Gaudentius compiled his work. Though the remaining ‘Pythagorean’ chapters are more severely technical, and lack the narrative interest of Chapter 11, it seems likely that they came from the same source. The writer whom Gaudentius was following when he wrote these chapters was drawing, in his turn, on a tradition of which parts may be based, indirectly, on calculations set out in Ptolemy’s Harmonics, while others can be traced back at least as far as the Euclidean Sectio canonis (around 300 bc). With the possible exception of ideas embedded in his colourful preamble, nothing in Gaudentius’ treatise is likely to be a product of his own original thought. It is a compilation of doctrines he has summarised, paraphrased, perhaps even sometimes quoted verbatim, from a number of earlier writings; and Gaudentius seems oblivious to the fact that their positions are not always compatible with one another. It looks as if he was trying to preserve, for the benefit of his contemporaries and of posterity, as much of the harmonic ‘wisdom of the ancients’ as he could within a restricted compass – a project which would have made good sense in the turbulent, culturally and politically uncertain atmosphere of the fifth century. Perhaps Cassiodorus’ friend Mutianus was similarly motivated when he set out to translate Gaudentius’ work into a language more widely understood than Greek in the Latin West.

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Preamble ‘I sing for initiates; shut the doors, O ye unsanctified!’ – an appropriate prelude for anyone striking up on the propositions of harmonics. They are concerned with notes, intervals and systems, and with keys, modulations and melodic composition in all the genera of attunement. But a person who is to hear the

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reasoned propositions dealing with these things must have trained his hearing in advance, through experience, to hear notes and recognize intervals accurately, both the concordant and the discordant, so that by adding the reasoned propositions as a supplement, in a way that corresponds to his sensory perception of the attributes of the notes, he will achieve complete understanding, brought fully to maturity through experience and reason. As for the person who has come to hear these reasoned propositions while being unable to hear a note accurately and without having trained his hearing, let him shut the doors of his ears and depart. For he will be blocking his ears even if he is present, by not recognizing in advance, through sense-perception, the things that the propositions are about. Let us then set out on our address to those who have been accurately trained through experience, starting by speaking on the subject of sound. Chapter 1: The space inhabited by sound is the interval from low pitch to high, and the converse. For it is within this that the movement of every sound winds its course as it is tensed and relaxed, no matter whether the sound is spoken or intervallic. But the notes of spoken sound, that through which we talk to one another, spread through this space continuously with themselves; they are subject to something like a flow, upwards and back again, and never stand still on one pitch. What is called ‘intervallic’ sound, by contrast, cannot by any means become continuous with itself, nor is it subject to anything like a flow; rather, by detaching itself from itself and crossing a small space unperceived, it is perceived when it stands still on the boundaries of the spaces it crosses, and makes its own pitch plainly perceptible by remaining immobile at the limits of the spaces it crosses. It is as a consequence of this that it has been given its name, being called ‘intervallic’ by contrast with that which is spoken. Attributes peculiar to intervallic sound are the melodic and the unmelodic. That which uses rational intervals and does not fall short of them or exceed them at all is melodic, while that which is deficient or exceeds the defined intervals by a small amount is unmelodic; and the melodic and the unmelodic are perceived as opposites. The movement of a sound as it goes from a lower place to a higher, and its movement in the opposite direction, are called ‘tension’ and ‘relaxation’ respectively, and that is what they are. Thus tension is productive of high pitch, and relaxation is productive of low. But low pitch differs from relaxation and high pitch differs from tension, not only because the former in each case arises as a consequence of the latter, but also because when the tension has ceased and no longer exists, high pitch has come into being and does exist; and low pitch is related in the same way to relaxation.

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Pitch, however, is a property of both of them, for both the high and the low are perceived as having some pitch. Chapter 2: Notes A note is the incidence of a sound on a single pitch, and a pitch is a sound’s persisting motionlessness. Thus when a sound is perceived as standing still on a single pitch, we say that the sound is a note capable of being deployed in a melody. Attributes of notes are colouration, place and time. Time is that in respect of which we utter longer notes in a greater time and shorter notes in a lesser, so that rhythm, too, may be perceived as occupying a space, for it is necessarily in correspondence with the time belonging to the notes that melodies are made rhythmical. The place of a note is that in respect of which we emit some lower notes and some higher. For we give the name ‘homophones’ to those that are perceived as being in the same place, and we say that higher or lower notes are in different places. Colouration is that in respect of which notes may differ from one another while being perceived as identical in place and in time, as for instance the nature of what is called the melos in a voice,6 and similar things. Chapter 3: Intervals An interval is that which is bounded by two notes. These notes must obviously differ from one another in pitch, for if they had the same pitch, the sound would be perceived as staying in the same place, and would contain no interval at all. Hence that by which a higher note differs from a lower or a lower note from a higher may be called an interval. A tonos is both the size of an interval and a feature distinguishing different systems, for the word tonos is ambiguous. When it is an interval that is meant, it is divided into semitones and into dieses, and in combination, conversely, it goes to make up intervals larger than itself, such as trihemitones, ditones and so on. When it names a feature distinguishing different systems, however, it indicates a system’s overall level of pitch. Some intervals are melodic, some unmelodic. Among melodic intervals, some are concordant and some non-concordant, some are larger and some smaller, some are primary and incomposite while others are neither primary nor incomposite. It is the task of the hearing to recognise which intervals are melodic or concordant and which are the opposite, for the difference between 6 The sense of this clause is uncertain. Mathiesen’s version is broadly similar to my own; Zanoncelli’s ‘come la melodia del parlare’ misconstrues the Greek, and since Gaudentius stipulates that this feature of a sound distinguishes it from others that are identical in pitch and duration, melos cannot mean ‘melody’ here in quite the usual sense. I suspect that Gaudentius is alluding to each individual voice’s characteristic tonal quality or timbre.

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concordant and discordant notes, and between melodic and unmelodic notes, resides principally in the difference in the sound.7 A few small things will nevertheless be said about this matter from the standpoint of reason. Chapter 4: Systems Intervals are incomposite when between the notes that bound them not even one note can be melodically produced [melōideisthai] that is melodic in relation to them, in the genus in which incompositeness is being considered. Intervals are composite when a note or notes can be melodically produced in between; and these same intervals are also called ‘systems’. For a system, to put it briefly, is an interval put together from more intervals than one. The intervals that are incomposite and primary in each genus are common measures of the remaining intervals or systems in that genus. Chapter 5: Genera A genus is a specific kind of division or disposition of a tetrachord. There are three genera, diatonic, chromatic and enharmonic, and there are several species or ‘shades’ of the genera. In the enharmonic the primary and incomposite interval is a quarter of a tone, known as the enharmonic diesis. In the chromatic it is a third of a tone,8 known as the smallest chromatic diesis. In the diatonic, specifically what is called the ‘tense’ diatonic, the semitone is primary and incomposite. The melody of the diatonic genus, that is, the tense variety, runs upwards through semitone, tone and tone, and downwards, obviously, in the reverse order. The chromatic too includes several species of melodic sequence, in one of which, by way of example, it proceeds upwards by semitone, semitone and trihemitone, downwards in the opposite way. In the enharmonic genus the melody advances by quartertone, quartertone and ditone. Chapter 6 What we have said is enough for the present on the subject of genus. Let us now go back and speak of the number and order of the notes, and the intervals between them, giving our account, for the present, in the context of just one 7 The text is uncertain. If von Jan’s emendation (τῇ ἀκοῇ for τῇ τοῦ ἤχου) is correct, the sense is ‘in the hearing’, which may well be right. Otherwise, perhaps read e.g. τῇ τοῦ ἠχοῦ ; this is the version I have translated above. 8 This interval occurs in ‘soft’ chromatic of Aristoxenus; but contrary to Gaudentius’ statement at the end of Ch. 4, it is not a common measure of all other intervals in the chromatic genus, or even of all the intervals in the ‘shade’ of that genus to which it belongs.

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genus, the diatonic, since it is the only one of the three genera which is widely performed nowadays. The other two, in practice, are virtually extinct. To the lowest note of all, from which they started to form an attunement upwards, the ancients gave the name proslambanomenos. They did not always intend this, however, as the lowest by nature, but rather by position; for the note proslambanomenos was not the same in each of the tropoi, but was different in different ones, as will be explained shortly. Following it in order they placed hypatē hypatōn, which is always separated from proslambanomenos by the interval of a tone, in all the genera of attunement. Next they placed parhypatē hypatōn, a semitone higher than hypatē, and then lichanos hypatōn, which in the diatonic genus was also called diatonos hypatōn, at a distance of a tone above parhypatē. After this was set hypatē mesōn, again at a distance of a tone from lichanos or diatonos. Up to here the tetrachordal system hypatōn was being filled out, starting from hypatē hypatōn and ending when it reached hypatē mesōn. From this note they also began the tetrachord mesōn, so that the note hypatē mesōn was common to both the tetrachords, being the highest of the first tetrachord, the tetrachord hypatōn, and the lowest of the second tetrachord, mesōn. After this note, parhypatē mesōn is higher than hypatē by a semitone; and after it, lichanos or diatonos mesōn is higher by a tone than parhypatē, as before. After this is mesē, differing from lichanos mesōn again by a tone. Up to this point they were filling out the second tetrachordal system, the tetrachord mesōn. But starting from here they sometimes added the tetrachord synēmmenōn, once again making mesē itself the beginning of the succeeding tetrachord, which is called ‘conjunct’ [synēmmenon]; and that is why the term ‘conjunct’ is applied to it. Sometimes, however, they added the tetrachord diezeugmenōn [‘of disjoined notes’], which no longer had its starting point at mesē, but at what is called paramesē, which always – that is, in all the genera of melody – was separated from mesē by a tone. Thus the ancients used to make two complete systems, one called the system of conjunction, and the other the system of disjunction. When they made the system of conjunction, they placed tritē synēmmenōn nētōn next in succession to mesē, separated from mesē by a semitone. Next to tritē they placed paranētē synēmmenōn nētōn, a tone higher than tritē. Next to them they placed nētē synēmmenōn nētōn, a tone higher than paranētē. They called this tetrachord nētōn synēmmenōn, nētōn because it is the final limit of the upwards progression, and synēmmenōn because it is not separated from the tetrachord mesōn, but is conjoined with the preceding tetrachord at a shared note, mesē. They spoke of the note close to mesē as tritē because it is third from the end,

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the one set next in order as paranētē, and the last one as nētē because it is the limit of the upwards movement, as we have said. When they made the system of disjunction, they set paramesē next in succession to mesē, always separated from mesē by a tone in all the genera, just as was said in the case of proslambanomenos and hypatē hypatōn; and they called this tone the tone of disjunction. From paramesē they began the te­trachord nētōn diezeugmenōn, and set tritē nētōn diezeugmenōn, in the same way as before, a semitone higher than paramesē. , and next in succession, a tone higher than paranētē, they placed nētē diezeugmenōn nētōn. This note they also made the beginning of the tetrachord hyperbolaiōn nētōn, so that it is both the last and highest note of the tetrachord diezeugmenōn nētōn and the first and lowest note of the tetrachord hyperbolaiōn nētōn. Next to it, and a semitone higher, they placed tritē hyperbolaiōn nētōn. They placed paranētē next to tritē, separated from tritē by a tone. Then they placed nētē hyperbolaiōn nētōn, separated from paranētē by a tone upwards. And this is the limit of the second system, the one called the system of disjunction. Chapter 7 In the smaller system, that of conjunction, there are thus three tetrachords, conjoined with one another at two shared notes, mesē and hypatē mesōn, and outside them is proslambanomenos. The note-functions brought together here are eleven in number: proslambanomenos, hypatē hypatōn, parhypatē hypatōn, lichanos hypatōn, hypatē mesōn, parhypatē mesōn, lichanos mesōn, mesē, tritē synēmmenōn nētōn, paranētē synēmmenōn nētōn, nētē synēmmenōn nētōn. In the larger system, the one called the system of disjunction, there are four te­trachords, the tetrachord hypatōn, the tetrachord mesōn, and two tetrachords nētōn. Of these, those of hypatōn and mesōn are conjoined with one another at the shared note hypatē mesōn, and are disjoined from the rest by the tone from mesē to paramesē. The remaining two tetrachords are of course disjoined from the first ones by the same tone, and are conjoined with one another at the shared note nētē diezeugmenōn nētōn, while in this case, as before, proslam­ banomenos lies outside the tetrachords. The note-functions brought together here are fifteen in number: proslambanomenos, hypatē hypatōn, parhypatē hypatōn, lichanos hypatōn, hypatē mesōn, parhypatē mesōn, lichanos mesōn, mesē, paramesē, tritē diezeugmenōn nētōn, paranētē diezeugmenōn nētōn, nētē diezeugmenōn nētōn, tritē hyperbolaiōn nētōn, paranētē hyperbolaiōn nētōn, nētē hyperbolaiōn nētōn. Hence the note-functions brought together when the two systems are combined are twenty-six in number, of which the eight up as far as mesē are common to both. The total number of note-functions remaining

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is therefore eighteen; and on these all singing, piping and string-playing, and in a word all melody-making is done. What has been said will be perfectly clear from the diagram laid out below,9 which represents the two systems together, that of conjunction and that of disjunction. This, then, is the way the notes are combined and arranged in the diatonic genus. The names of the notes are the same in all the genera, except that a name specific to each genus is attached, along with the shared name, to those that shift with a modulation of genus, as for instance ‘enharmonic’ parhypatē, ‘chromatic’ lichanos, ‘diatonic’ lichanos. This statement will be clarified in what follows. Chapter 8 Some melodic notes are homophonic, some concordant, some discordant and some paraphonic. Notes are homophonic when they do not differ from one another in depth or height. They are concordant when, if they are struck or piped simultaneously, the melody of the lower in relation to the high and of the higher in relation to the low is always the same, or when in the presentation of the two notes a blending, as it were, and something like a unification is perceived as well; for it is then that we call them ‘concordant’. They are discordant when, if they are struck or piped simultaneously, nothing at all of the melody of the lower in relation to the high or of the higher in relation to the low is perceived as being the same, or when they are not perceived as simultaneously presenting any blending of the one note with the other. Paraphonic notes are those intermediate between the concordant and the discordant, but which are perceived as concordant when struck; examples are perceived in the case of the three tones from parhypatē mesōn to paramesē, and in that of the two tones from diatonos mesōn to paramesē. Chapter 9 The number of concords in the complete system is six. The first is the concord of the fourth, and the second is that of the fifth, which is greater than the fourth by a tone. Hence some people defined the interval of a tone as the difference in size between the first two concordant intervals. The third, put together from these two, is a composite concord, the octave (dia pasōn); for when the fifth is added to the fourth it makes the extreme notes concordant, and this form of concord is called the dia pasōn. The fourth concord is the octave together with a fourth; the fifth is the octave together with a fifth; and the sixth is the double octave. It is indeed possible to think of more concords when these ones are 9 None of the diagrams originally attached to this text appear in the surviving manuscripts.

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put together with one another, but instruments could not sustain the pitch [or perhaps ‘the tension’]. Hence in relation to the capacities of instruments or of the human voice we have only six concords in all. The concord of a fourth, in every genus of melody, consists of four notes, three intervals, two and a half tones, five semitones. The concord of a fifth, again in every genus, consists of five notes, four intervals, three and a half tones, seven semitones. The concord of the octave consists of eight notes, seven intervals, six tones, twelve semitones. The octave and a fourth consists of eleven notes, ten intervals, eight and a half tones, seventeen semitones. The octave and a fifth consists of twelve notes, eleven intervals, nine and a half tones, nineteen semitones. The double octave consists of fifteen notes, fourteen intervals, twelve tones, twentyfour semitones. Chapter 10 Ratios of numbers have been found to belong to the concords, and have been accurately and thoroughly demonstrated. That of the fourth is epitritic, the ratio of 24 to 18. That of the fifth is hemiolic, the ratio of 24 to 16. That of the octave is double, the ratio of 24 to 12. That of the octave and a fourth together is diplasiepidimoiric,10 the ratio of 24 to 9. Again, that of the octave and a fifth is triple, the ratio of 24 to 8. That of the double octave is quadruple, the ratio of 24 to 6. Chapter 11 The first step in the discovery of these ratios was taken by Pythagoras, so the story goes, when he happened to be near a smithy and perceived both the discordant and the concordant clangs of the hammers on the anvil. He immediately went in and tried to discover the cause of the difference between the clangs, and of their concordance, and he found it when he saw that the hammer-heads were of different weights, and that it was the ratios of the sizes of the weights that were responsible for the difference between the sounds, and of their concordance. He found that the hammer-heads whose weights were in epitritic ratio [4:3] were concordant in their sounds at the interval of a fourth; he observed that those weighing amounts in hemiolic ratio [3:2] produced in their clanging the concord of a fifth; and he perceived that the reverberations of those that were double in weight were concordant at the octave. On this basis he took it as a principle that concordances are correlated with numbers, and he shifted his enquiry to a different procedure. He suspended 10

I.e. the greater term is twice the smaller plus twice the smallest factor of the smaller, 24 = (9 × 2) + (3 × 2).

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two strings, equal and similar and of the same workmanship, and to one he attached a three-unit weight, to the other a weight of four units; and when he struck each of them he found that they were concordant in the concord that is called the fourth. Again, when he attached weights in hemiolic ratio, he found that they were concordant with one another in the concord of a fifth; and when he attached weights in double ratio, he found that the strings were concordant at the octave. By making them triple he observed the octave together with a fifth; and so on for the others. Not satisfied, however, by an assessment carried out on these things alone, he tested his procedure in another way too. He stretched a string over a measuring rod; and after dividing the rod into twelve parts he struck first the whole string and then the half, that consisting of six parts, and found that the whole was concordant with the half at the octave, which he had found to be in double ratio by the first procedure too. Then he struck the whole and three parts [i.e. ¾] of the whole string, and perceived the concord of a fourth. By sounding the whole and two parts [i.e. ⅔] of the whole string he found the concord of a fifth, and he found the others in the same way. Later he tested these matters in many other ways too, and found that the same ratios of the concords were in the numbers that have been specified. Chapter 12 It follows from what has been said that the interval of a tone has an epogdoic ratio [9:8]. For given that the tone is that by which the concord of a fourth differs from that of the fifth, let us assume that the fourth is in the numbers 6 and 8, and the fifth in the numbers 6 and 9. Then the hemiolic ratio exceeds the epitritic in the ratio in which 8 stands to 9, and that by which the fifth exceeds the fourth is the tone. Hence the tone will have the ratio in which 8 stands to 9. Chapter 13 The so-called half-tone is not exactly a half-tone. It is generally called a halftone, but its technical name is leimma, and it has the ratio 256:243. It must therefore be grasped, first that the so-called half-tone does indeed have the ratio 256:243, and then that numbers in the ratio 256:243 enclose an interval smaller than half a tone. Let some note-function be represented by the number 64, and let a note be placed beside it at the distance of a tone, that is, a note of 72 units. Again, let there be placed beside these a note at the distance of a tone from the second, that is, a note of 81 units. When a fourth note is taken to complete the tetrachord, it must be concordant with the first at the interval of a fourth, and will be in epitritic ratio with 64; that is, it will consist of 85⅓ units. , which in whole numbers is that of 256 to 243. And all notes consisting in larger numbers that fill out the remainder of the tetrachord after two epogdoics will fill it in accordance with this ratio, that of 243 to 256. Chapter 14 Now that this has been grasped, it must again be said that this ratio is smaller than a half-tone. For 256 is smaller than the ephektakaidekatic of 243 [i.e. than the number standing to 243 in the ratio 18:17], and two epheptakaidekatics taken together do not fill out an epogdoic, so that the epheptakaidekatic ratio falls short of being half an epogdoic. Since the ratio of 256 to 243 falls short even of being the epheptakaidekatic, it must fall short still more of being half of the epogdoic. Thus what is called the half-tone is smaller than a true halftone, and hence it is called the leimma; and it has the ratio in which 243 stands to 256. The interval left after the leimma to fill out a tone is called apotomē, but generally it too is called a half-tone, so that among half-tones there will be a greater and a smaller. The diatonic genus uses the smaller, and the chromatic uses both. Chapter 15 Now that these points have been established, let us set out the diatonic diagram of the notes, along with the numbers that belong to the notes, while in the second diagram,11 using different numbers, the smaller number is assigned to proslambanomenos. Thus in the first diagram, where proslambanomenos is represented as 2304, hypatē hypatōn, which is a tone away from proslambanomenos, in the ratio of 8 to 9, consists of 2048 units. Parhypatē hypatōn, a half-tone away from hypatē – or properly speaking, a leimma in the ratio 256 to 243 – is evidently assigned to the number 1944; and the remaining intervals are set out in the same way according to the ratios of tones and half-tones.12 In the second diagram, where proslambanomenos is represented as 648 units, hypatē hypatōn consists, correspondingly, of 729 units, and parhypatē hypatōn of 768. All the others are 11 12

Reading ἐν τῷ δευτέρῳ for the mss ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ. Near the end of the chapter Gaudentius states clearly that this construction is shown in a second diagram. The diagrams themselves are missing. The numbers completing the sequence for the first octave (up to mesē) will be 1728, 1536, 1458, 1296, 1152. The numbers for the higher octave can most easily be found by simply halving the numbers in the lower octave, beginning with the 2048 assigned to hypatē hypatōn.

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added in correspondence with the tones and half-tones in the same way as those in the first diagram, except that the numbers progress from the smaller to the greater.13 Chapter 16 Next, I shall set out a diagram of the chromatic genus, containing the notes together with the numbers that belong to them. In this it also becomes clear that the chromatic genus has made use of both the half-tones, the smaller and the greater (that is, the leimma and the apotomē). Proslambanomenos begins from the greatest of the numbers, 20736, and next …14 Chapter 17 Of the eighteen notes, some are stationary and some mobile. The stationary notes are these: proslambanomenos, hypatē hypatōn, hypatē mesōn, mesē, nētē synēmmenōn, paramesē, nētē diezeugmenōn nētōn, nētē hyperbolaiōn nētōn. The mobile notes are these: the parhypatai and lichanoi, and the tritai and paranētai, since in modulations of genus these notes change their pitches. That is why, in addition to its common name, each has a specific name related to the name belonging to its genus. They are called, for instance, ‘enharmonic lichanos mesōn’, ‘chromatic lichanos mesōn’, ‘diatonic lichanos mesōn’, and the same goes for the paranētai and parhypatai and tritai. Chapter 18 I shall now return to the subject of systems. There are three forms or arrangements of tetrachords. They arise when the size of the tetrachord is held constant, as is the number of intervals,15 and only the order in which they are put together undergoes a change. Thus the first form is that from hypatē hypatōn to hypatē mesōn, in which the half-tone comes first, at the bottom. The second is that from parhypatē hypatōn to parhypatē mesōn, in which the half-tone comes third, at the top. The third is that from lichanos to lichanos, in which the half-tone is in the middle. The other tetrachords are similar to these. 13

14 15

The sequence will continue with the two tones completing the tetrachord hypatōn, giving 864, 972. These are followed by a leimma and two tones, for the tetrachord mesōn, giving 1024, 1152, 1296. For the numbers in the higher octave, simply double those of the first, starting with the 729 assigned to hypatē hypatōn. A portion of the text here is missing, as of course is the diagram. The sequence will begin as follows: proslambanomenos 20,736 – tone – hypatē hypatōn 18,432 – leimma – parhypatē hypatōn 17,496 – apotomē – lichanos hypatōn 16,384 – tone + leimma – hypatē mesōn. Here the word συστήματα, ‘systems’, printed by the editors is evidently a mistake for διαστήματα, ‘intervals’.

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There are four forms or arrangements of the fifth. The first is that from hypatē mesōn to paramesē, in which the half-tone comes first, at the bottom. The second is that from parhypatē mesōn to tritē diezeugmenōn, in which the halftone comes last, at the top. The third is that from lichanos mesōn to paranētē diezeugmenōn, in which the half-tone is second from the end. The fourth is that from mesē to nētē diezeugmenōn, in which the half-tone is second from the beginning. Chapter 19 There are in all twelve forms or arrangements of the octave, since it has been shown that there are three arrangements of the fourth and four forms of the fifth, and the octave is put together from the two of them. Nevertheless, the melodic or concordant forms or arrangements of it are seven; we shall explain later why this is so. The first is that from hypatē hypatōn to paramesē, put together from the first of the fourths and the first of the fifths. The second is that from parhypatē hypatōn to tritē diezeugmenōn, put together from the second of the fourths and the second of the fifths. The third is that from lichanos hypatōn to paranētē diezeugmenōn, put together from the third of the fourths and the third of the fifths. The fourth is that from hypatē mesōn to nētē diezeugmenōn, put together from the first fifth and the first fourth. The fifth is that from parhypatē mesōn to tritē hyperbolaiōn, put together from the second fifth and the second fourth. The sixth is that from lichanos mesōn to paranētē hyperbolaiōn, put together from the third of the fifths and the third of the fourths. The seventh is that from mesē to nētē hyperbolaiōn, or from pro­ slambanomenos to mesē, put together from the fourth of the fifths and the first of the fourths, or again from the third of the fourths and the fourth of the fifths. The first form of the octave is called Mixolydian, the second Lydian, the third Phrygian, the fourth Dorian, the fifth Hypolydian and the sixth Hypophrygian, while the seventh used to have the alternative names Locrian and Hypodorian. Chapter 20 The ancients used names to refer to the eighteen notes, and also used written symbols, called musical ‘signs’, which we must now discuss. The series of musical signs came into being for the purpose of indicating the notes, so that the names need not be written out for each one, and a person could read or indicate a note by means of a single sign. But since the notes move to a different pitch and do not always stay in the same place, it was evidently necessary for there to be not just one but several different signs for each of the notes, so as to indicate each of its pitches as well. For in each tropos or tonos, all the notes of all of them become different in pitch. Sometimes, for instance, as in the

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Hypodorian tropos, we make the note that is lowest by nature proslambano­ menos, and make mesē the note related to this one in the octave, and we name the others in accordance with their relation to these. Sometimes, however, we put in the role of proslambanomenos the mesē that was here an octave away from proslambanomenos, and we make the note an octave away from it mesē, and the others in correspondence with these, and treat the whole system like that. Often we adopt some one of the notes between proslambanomenos and mesē as the beginning of the system, and use it as proslambanomenos, and we attune the pitch of the whole system in relation to that note. And in each system, when several systems have already been set out, it is necessarily the case that as mesē is to mesē, or as proslambanomenos is to proslambanomenos, so is any note with a given name to the note with the same name, and the whole system to the whole system. It was therefore plainly necessary for there to be not just one but several signs corresponding to each of the notes, the same number of signs as the number of half-tones by which each of the notes could be augmented. Now the number of half-tones by which each of the notes can be augmented is not something easily decided, for matters of this sort are determined in relation to the construction of instruments and the power of the human voice. But the way in which each, when it is augmented, is indicated by different signs, is something we can easily and thoroughly learn from the diagrams found in the Musical Introductions. Chapter 21 All that needs to be grasped at present is the way in which the series of signs spaced by half-tones is constructed. Let there be some note-function that is the lowest and the first that is audible. The ancients designated this by a half-phi on its side, and made this the origin and the first of the sounds: f. It is obvious that in respect of its function one could treat this as proslambanomenos and not as any of the other notes; for if we took it as a different one, where would we put proslambanomenos, given that the function belonging to the half-phi is assumed to be lowest in order? Then let there be a note successive with this one, higher than it by a half-tone. The ancients indicated this one by the sign tau, t; and it is clear that the pitch of the note will fit only a proslam­ banomenos. For if it fits hypatē hypatōn or any of the other notes, where else will proslambanomenos be, given that it ought to be a tone lower than hypatē hypatōn? For only the space for a half-tone has been left below it. But now let there be some note higher again by a half-tone than the note designated by t, a note that the ancients indicated by a double sigma, s. This one too can be the proslambanomenos of some system, but it can also be hypatē hypatōn, since it

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is a tone away from the first and lowest note. Thus by always indicating by some sign, in this way, the note a half-tone higher than the one before, they went on up to the thirtieth rank of the half-tones. The continuation by half-tones of the notes beyond them they indicated by the same signs again, with the addition of an acute accent, starting from the nineteenth rank, occupied by the signs omicron and kappa. They assigned to each rank a pair of signs, of which the upper indicates the vocal part, the lower the accompaniment. They also set out what are called ‘homotonic’ signs, which one can use as equivalents instead of the others, and it makes no difference which of the distinct but homotonic signs one uses for the purpose. But the homotonic signs serve another purpose as well, for by means of them, set out in succession, people indicate the dieses in the enharmonic and the chromatic genus. That matter is discussed in the Introductions. Chapter 22 Let us now set out in a table the sounds spaced by half-tones, along with the homotonic signs, with the homotonic signs lying in the same column, while those that proceed upwards by half tones lie in a continuous series. Then the first rank of signs, indicating the lowest function among the notes, has the sign of the half-phi on its side, f, and a reversed half-phi , f. The second rank, higher by a half-tone than the first note, has the sign of a reversed upsilon on its side, and a upsilon on its side: < u u >. The signs homotonic with these, that is, those indicating the same function among the notes, are a reversed tau on its side, and an upright tau: t t. The third rank, a half-tone higher than the second, in accordance with the principle governing the succession of ranks, has the sign of a reversed double sigma and a double sigma: s s. The fourth note has an inverted16 rho and the omega:17 r W. Homotonic with these, in the fourth rank, are an inverted pi and a reversed double sigma: p p. The fifth rank, which is similarly a half-tone higher than the fourth (since all adjacent notes differ from one another by a half-tone) has the signs of an omicron with a stroke below it and an eta: o o. The sixth rank has a reversed18 double xi and an inverted double pi, c c, and homotonic with these are an antinu and a double pi: n n.

16 17 18

Reading ἀνεστραμμένον, ‘inverted’, with Alypius, instead of the mss ἀπεστραμμένον, ‘reversed’. This, according to Alypius, is really an inverted double sigma or a double sigma on its side. This should be ‘on its side’, πλάγιον, as in Alypius.

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Chapter 23 The signs of the Hypolydian tropos in the diatonic genus proslambanomenos: omicron with a stroke below it, and eta o o hypatē hypatōn: inverted mu, and defective eta m m parhypatē hypatōn: inverted alpha, and defective eta on its back a l diatonos hypatōn: defective zeta, and tau on its side z z hypatē mesōn: reversed gamma, and correct gamma g g parhypatē mesōn: defective beta, and inverted gamma b b diatonos mesōn: phi, and digamma F F mesē: sigma, and sigma S S tritē synēmmenōn: rho, and inverted sigma R R diatonos synēmmenōn: mu, and elongated pi M M nētē synēmmenōn: iota, and lambda on its side I I paramesos: omicron, and kappa O O tritē diezeugmenōn: xi, and inverted kappa C C diatonos diezeugmenōn: iota, and lambda on its side I I nētē diezeugmenōn: zeta, and pi on its side Z Z tritē hyperbolaiōn: square epsilon, and inverted pi E E diatonos hyperbolaiōn: square omega on its back, and zeta p Z nētē hyperbolaiōn: phi on its side, and careless eta Å X The signs of the Hyperlydian tropos in the diatonic genus proslambanomenos: phi, and digamma F F hypatē hypatōn: sigma, and sigma S S parhypatē hypatōn: rho, and inverted sigma R R diatonos hypatōn: mu, and elongated pi M M hypatē mesōn: iota, and lambda on its side I I parhypatē mesōn: theta, and inverted lambda Q Q diatonos mesōn: gamma, and nu G N mesē: square omega on its back, and zeta p Z trite synēmmenōn: down-turned psi, and right-hand half-alpha Ø Ô diatonos synēmmenōn: inverted tau, and right-hand up-turned half-alpha19 e Ø nētē synēmmenōn: mu, and elongated pi, with acute accents M´ M´ paramesos: phi on its side, and careless elongated eta Å X tritē diezeugmenōn: down-turned upsilon, and left-hand up-turned halfalpha Ô × 19

There seems to be no difference in sense between ‘turned upwards’ (anō neuon) here (cf. also tritē diezeugmenōn below), and ‘turned downwards’ (katō neuon) in the case of tritē synēmmenōn above.

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diatonos diezeugmenōn: mu, and elongated pi, with acute accents M´ M´ nētē diezeugmenōn: iota, and lambda on its side, with acute accents I´ I´ tritē hyperbolaiōn: theta, and inverted lambda, with acute accents Q´ Q´ diatonos hyperbolaiōn: gamma, and nu, with acute accents G´ N´ nētē hyperbolaiōn: square omega, and zeta, with acute accents p´ Z´ Signs of the Aeolian tropos in the diatonic genus20 proslambanomenos: defective eta reversed, and square epsilon reversed hypatē hypatōn: inverted delta, and tau on its side reversed parhypatē hypatōn: reversed gamma, and correct gamma diatonos hypatōn: chi, and right-hand half-mu hypatē mesōn: tau, and digamma reversed parhypatē mesōn: sigma, and sigma diatonos mesōn: omicron, and kappa mesē: kappa, and elongated half-delta tritē synēmmenōn: iota, and lambda on its side diatonos synēmmenōn: zeta, and pi on its side nētē synēmmenōn: alpha, and grave accent paramesos: eta, and lambda on its side reversed tritē diezeugmenōn: zeta, and pi on its side diatonos diezeugmenōn: alpha, and grave accent nētē diezeugmenōn: cancelled chi, and down-turned half-alpha tritē hyperbolaiōn: phi on its side, and elongated careless eta diatonos hyperbolaiōn: omicron, and kappa, with acute accents nētē hyperbolaiōn: kappa, and elongated half-delta, with acute accents Hypoaeolian tropos in the diatonic genus proslambanomenos: inverted pi, and reversed double-sigma hypatē hypatōn: antinu, and double-pi parhypatē hypatōn: inverted mu, and defective eta diatonos hypatōn: defective eta reversed, and square epsilon reversed hypatē mesōn: inverted delta, and tau on its side reversed [Here the manuscripts break off.] 20

From here to the end of the text, the notational symbols are missing.

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General Index References to passages of an author’s text are indexed in the index locorum. Academy 35 Old 17; 46; 91; 94; 97 Sceptical 34–5 Adrian (author of the Introduction to divine Scriptures) 125 Aelius Theon 88 Aggai 134; 152n.166 Agnellus of Ravenna 160; 167 Aischrion (addressee of Hipparchus’ Commentary) 177–8; 181 Aim (see also Intention, Goal, Purpose, Target, Telos, Theme, σκοπός) 6–7; 9; 11; 13; 22n.17; 23; 41; 44; 72–3; 76; 83–4; 103n.39; 104; 138; 165; 173; 178 Albinus (Middle Platonist) 7; 16; 33; 39–41; 81; 88; 99–100; 102; 104; 144–5 Albinus (author of a lost Latin treatise on harmonics) 208 Alcinous 6; 16; 33–4; 70; 78; 81; 149 Alexander of Aphrodisias 19; 24; 31; 167 Alypius 188; 191; 193n.47; 195; 224n.16–18 Amelius 85 Ammonius (Neoplatonist) 74n.11; 77; 80; 82; 108; 172 Anatolius 125 Andronicus of Rhodes 14; 16–21; 23–4; 81: 87–8 Anonymous Commentary on the Theaetetus 80n.40 Anonymous Commentary on the Topics 26 Anonymous Papyrus Hibeh I 13 186n.15–16 Antiochus of Ascalon 33–6; 92; 94–5; 97; 99–100 Aphorism 164–71; 173–6 Apollodorus of Athens 87 Apollodorus (Stoic) 91 Apollonius of Perga 177 Aporetic dialogue 36; 39; 41 elements (of Plato’s philosophy) 42 Apuleius 6; 10; 14; 16; 33–4; 38; 49–71; 81n.53; 82n.54; 85; 99

Aratus 9; 13; 178–81 Archedemus 98 Archigenes 174 Archytas 185; 190 Aristarchus (Alexandrian scholar) 87 Aristides (Christian author) 125 Aristides Quintilianus 87; 202; 208 Ariston of Chios 98n.25 Aristotle 3n.9; 4–7; 14; 16–32; 34–5; 41; 46n.41; 72–3; 75; 77–81; 83; 87–8; 90; 92; 94–5; 104; 106; 107n.66; 117; 122; 161; 162n.16; 163; 176; 183; 185 Aristoxenus 14; 18; 183n.5; 184; 186–8; 190; 192–204; 206–8; 214n.8 Aristoxenian handbook 192–3; 206 Aristoxenian harmonics/views 9; 186n.18; 196; 199–200; 202; 210–11 Aristoxenians 187; 190 Arithmetic 116; 122; 208 Arius Didymus 17; 23; 36 Arrangement (see also Classification) harmonic 194; 199; 200n.77; 221–2 of a discourse 5 of Aristotle’s writings 17–18; 30–2; 106 of Hippocratic Aphorisms 162 of parts of philosophy 5; 21; 23; 93; 97n.22 of Plato’s writings (general) 42; 73 of Plotinus’ writings 84–5; 89; 104 tetralogical (Plato’s dialogues) 46–7 trilogical (Plato’s dialogues) 46n.40; 47 Ars 94; 168; 175 Artifex 168; 175 Aspasius 6; 10; 14; 19–31; 135n.71 Astronomy (astronomical) 8–13; 177n.3; 179; 181; 208 Athenaeus 208 Athenagoras 125 Attalos of Rhodes 178 Atticus (Cicero’s friend) 68 Atticus (Middle Platonist) 6; 29; 33–4; 35n.15; 79; 80n.39; 99; 101

252 Augustine of Hippo 60–1; 84 Authenticity (see also γνήσιον) 11; 19n.11; 37; 49; 54; 67; 70; 72; 85; 87; 89; 165; 179; 193 Authority/authoritative (Auctoritas) 1; 7; 9–10; 12–14; 16n.2; 91; 181–2; 191–2 Autolycus 125–6 Bacchius Geron 187–8; 191; 194; 204 Bible (Old and New Testaments; see also Scripture) 128; 130–2; 135; 146–7; 150;   156; 208 Biography 38–9; 49; 68; 72n.1; 84 biographer 42; 83–5; 90 biographical elements/information 38; 88 Boethius 74; 192; 195; Boethus 6; 14; 17–21; 23–4 Calabria 208 Canon of Galen’s texts 159 of Hippocratic texts 162–4 Cassiodorus 193; 195; 205; 208; 211 Catechesis 126–8; 133; 138; 140; 153; 155–8 Cato the Younger (or Minor) 95 Causality 99 Character in moral sense 22; 108n.73 of Gaudentius’ Isagoge 208 of Hippocratic Aphorisms 162–4; 170; 176 of music 203 of Platonic dialogues 39–43; 47; 110–16; 119; 123–5 of Porphyry’s Isagoge 76 Christianity 13; 126; 135; 142; 144; 146  Christ 125; 128; 130–4; 140; 143–4; 147–50; 153; 157 Chrysaorius 75; 77–8 Chrysippus 14; 81; 91; 97–8; 100; 105–6; 149n.152; 174 Church 134; 138 Cicero 36; 68; 91–3 Clarity 11; 27; 29; 134 Classification (see also Arrangement) of Aristotle’s writings 31 of isagogical writings 11n.22 of literary genres 3 of musical scales 198n.66

General Index of parts of philosophy 18; 100; 124 of Plato’s dialogues 6; 37–42; 47; 81 of theology 124 Clement of Alexandria 82; 127n.14; 138; 148 Cleonides 184; 188; 191–2; 196–204 Commentary (ὑπόμνημα) 1n.5; 6–7; 10; 19; 20–1; 24–6; 30–32; 45n.36; 48; 72; 74; 76; 79; 86; 89; 110–11; 127; 132–6; 138–40; 144; 150–4; 156; 158; 160–3; 166–8; 170–8; 180–2 Composition (melodic) 192; 196–7; 200; 202–3; 206–7; 211 Consistency 4; 19; 46; 70; 94; 108 Contemplation 22–3  contemplative life 135  contemplative philosophy 22 Continuity 8; 24–6; 30–1; 117; 202 Corpus 10–11; 16; 68–9; 72; 102; 178–9; 204 Apuleian 49–50; 53; 59–60; 66; 71 Aristotle’s 6; 17–19; 22; 24–5; 28; 30; 163 of ancient Greek musical writings 188; 192 of astronomical poems 179n.11 of Platonic doctrines 101–2 Plato’s 6; 37–9; 41–2; 45–8; 68–9 Crusius 196 Curriculum 8; 89; 106; 108; 111; 136; 144; 149; 154; 159–161; 165; 167; 176; 208 Cyprian 133n.58; 153n.169 Cyril of Jerusalem 127n.12; 140n.115 Damon of Oa 184 David (Neoplatonist) 74n.11; 76; 161; 171–2 Demiurge 35; 117; 121 Democritus 84 Demonstration 17; 49; 121; 122n.24; 130–1; 133; 137–40; 143–5; 147; 151; 153; 155; 201 Descriptio disciplinae 94–5 Dialectic 46; 81; 93–96; 98–100; 105; 106 Dialogue 4; 6–7; 14; 25; 36–42; 44–8; 50–1; 65; 69–70; 81; 92–3; 95; 99–101; 104; 107–112; 115–18; 123–6; 144;161; 202n.83 Didactics 81; 83; 89; 106n.65; 109; 160n.4; 170; 181; 184–9 didactic authority 181–2 didactic aim 13; 22; 73; 76; 78; 90; 98n.25; 104; 177; 195n.55 didactic canon 159; 163 didactic texts/handbooks 191; 204

253

General Index didactic hierarchy 97 didactic plan/path 9; 17; 102; 108 didactic practice 1; 166 didactic tool 2; 7 Didymus (“musical expert”) 190–1; 194 Diogenes Laertius 6; 10; 14; 16; 36–48; 58; 67; 69; 84; 88; 91; 97; 130; 149 Diogenes of Ptolemais 98 Diogenes of Babylon 91 Dogmatist 6; 42  Plato as a 43 Donatus (Aelius) 84 Eleatics 68; 68 Elias (Neoplatonist) 74n.11; 161; 172 Empiricists 174; 191 Epicharmus 87–8 Epicureans 103 Epiphanius 133n.58 Ethics 7; 17; 21–6; 35; 40; 47; 49; 61–2; 65; 73; 85; 87–9; 91–2; 94; 97–100; 103–5; 107–8; 119; 131; 133–5; 144; 148–9; 157; 203; 227 Eudorus 33–5; 36n.17; 79 Eudoxus 179; 181 Eudromus 91; 98 Eusebius of Caesarea 8; 10; 12–15; 125–8; 128n.20; 130–6; 138–58 Eustochius 85 Eutocius of Ascalon 177 Exegesis 1n.1; 4; 12; 16; 20; 21; 25–6; 29–30; 34; 42; 46–7; 79; 80; 86; 104; 106; 134n.65; 147; 152; 154; 170



19; 22; 23; 24; 25; 30; 31; 78; 93n.10; 97; 184; 187; 203 God 23; 35; 82; 89; 98; 106; 114; 118; 121n.21; 139; 143–4; 146–51; 155; 173 Gospel 131; 142; 147 Grammar 4; 72 Gregory of Nazianzus 173 Gregory of Nyssa 127n.13; 133n.58 Habbakuk 134; 152n.166 Harmonic science 184–5; 192; 196; 202 Hebrews (see also Jews) 141n.118; 145–6; 148n.146; 149–50 Henrichus Glareanus 195 Hephaistion 82 Heraclas 154 Heraclides (author of an Εἰσαγωγὴ μουσική)  189; 190n.32 Heracliteans 62 Hierarchy 35; 97–9; 103–4 Hipparchus 9–10; 12–13; 15; 177–82 Hippocrates 8; 14; 159; 161–4; 167–9; 171; 173–6 Hippocratic treatise/text/work 161–4; 167; 170; 173; 176 Hippolytus 140

Iamblichus 7; 93; 106–7; 211 Ibn Abī Uṣaybiʿah 160n.3 Ibn Riḍwān 164 Idea (i.e. form) 34–35; 79n.37; 82; 88; 95–6 Inconsistency (inconstantia, ἀσυμφωνία) 36; 44 Initiation 104; 106; 118 Faith 137–8; 155 Intention (see also Aim, Goal, Purpose, Faustinus (addressee of Apuleius’ De Platone)  Target, Telos, Theme, σκοπός) 47; 126; 54; 64–5 128; 134–5; 164 Favorinus 34 Interval (musical) 194; 210 First Principle(s) 101; 105; 106n.64; 108n.72; Irenaeus 138n.101; 140 118 Isaiah 127; 132; 135; 152–4; 158 Isidore of Seville 166n. 24; 195 Galen 8; 10; 14; 25n.24; 27–8; 45n.37; 82; 105; 151n.158; 159; 160–2; 165–6; 168–74; 176 Jews (see also Hebrews) 8; 14; 125–6; 130; Gaudentius 9–10; 11n.26; 14–15; 188; 191; 133–4; 138; 142–3; 146–7; 151; 153 193–4; 205–11; 213n.6; 214n.8; 220n.11  Judaism 126; 142–6; 148 Geometry (geometrical) 114; 116; 120–24; Joel 134; 152n.166 208 Johannes Alexandrinus 160 Goal (see also Aim, Intention, Purpose, Johannes Argyropoulos 170 Target, Telos, Theme, σκοπός) 2; 6; 10; Johannes Avianius 196

254 Johannes Galliculus 196 Johannes Grammaticus 159 John Chrysostom 127n.12 John of Damascus 172–3; 175 John the Baptist 132n.53 Josephus 132 Justin 68; 125; 140 Lasus of Hermione 183; 197n.62 Legacy 4; 10 Lemma (λῆμμα) 20–1; 25–6; 119; 121; 134; 170 Lexis (λέξις) 20–1; 26; 45; 160 Life (βίος) 7; 16; 18n.6; 22–3; 37–9; 47; 54; 62; 65; 67; 70; 72–3; 84–6; 89–90; 104; 107n.66; 130; 135; 139n.110; 152n.168; 153; 155; 163–5; 168–70; 173–4; 177n.3 Logic 7; 13n.29; 17; 24; 49; 61–2; 65; 67; 70; 73; 74n.8; 76–81; 91–3; 95–101; 103; 105; 108; 131; 133–4; 147–50; 153; 159; 161 Longinus 72; 81–3; 85–6; 90 Main Points (see also κεφάλαια) 36; 38; 86; 160; 164–6; 170–1; 176; 179 Manuel Bryennius 204 Marcion of Sinope (Evangelist) 127n.13 Marinus (addressee of Eusebius’ Evangelical Questions) 157 Marius Victorinus 74 Master (see also Teacher) 4; 16; 24; 41; 62; 75; 83; 92; 94; 126; 133; 135; 153–4; 156 Matter 29; 82; 98; 103; 111; 169; 174 Medicine 8; 13n.29; 14; 105; 121; 159; 160–6; 168–73; 175–6 Metaphysics 7; 13n.29; 17; 35; 73; 79; 83; 90; 105–7; 117; 185n.12 Modulation (musical) 192; 194; 196n.59; 200–1; 203; 217 Monism 35 Moses 136; 145; 146 Mutianus (latin translator of Gaudentius’ Introduction) 193; 205; 211 Natural philosophy 62; 68; 111; 121–4 Naum 134; 152n.166 Nicolaus of Damascus 17; 23 Nicomachus of Gerasa 188; 211 Nicostratus 79; 80n.39 Notation (musical) 188; 193–5 Numenius 33–4; 89; 101; 112n.5

General Index Obscurity (ἀσάφεια) 6; 11; 21; 24; 27nn.28,29; 28–31; 45; 47–8; 179 Olympiodorus of Alexandria 68; 70; 168; 172 One (Principle) 84; 88–9; 99; 106–7 Order (see also τάξις) logical 91; 95; 99; 101–3; 109; 163–4 natural (ordo rerum) 34; 94–5; 102; 163 pedagogical 41; 93; 97; 99; 101–2; 109 reading (see also Arrangement, Classification, τάξις) 6; 7; 18; 19n.11; 31; 36–7; 41; 47; 91; 93; 99–102; 109; 104 Origen 105; 131n.51; 135; 139–40; 151n.158; 153–4; 156 Ovid 68 Palladius 161; 169 Pamphilus 139n.110; 154 Panaetius 98 Pappus of Alexandria 177; 196 Parmenides of Elea 43; 69 Pattern (isagogical) 2; 6–7; 9; 72–3; 87; 90; 130–1; 133–4; 139; 157 Perception (faculty) 185–6; 190–1; 193; 207; 212 Peripatos 19n.12; 21; 80 Peripatetic(s) 3n.9; 5; 12; 14; 17–19; 21; 23–4; 28; 29n.31; 75; 78; 91–2; 94 Philo of Alexandria 150; 210 Philodemus 5 Philolaus 185 Philology 3; 5; 38; 72; 208 Philoponus 17 Photius 145; 160 Physics 7; 17; 18n.7; 24; 49; 61–2; 65; 73; 88; 91–2; 94–5; 97–100; 102–8; 111; 116–17; 119–20; 122–3; 144; 148–50; 185n.12; 186 Plato 4; 6; 7; 14; 16; 24n.2127n.29; 33–9; 41; 43–50; 54–5; 61–2; 65; 67–70; 72–3; 77; 79n.32; 80–1; 82n.54; 84; 87–8; 91–2; 93n.10; 94–6; 99–101; 103n.39; 104–6; 110–13; 116; 120–3; 124n.28; 130; 141n.118; 144; 146–50; 161; 169; 176; 183; 184; 185nn.11,13; 198; 206 Platonism 4; 5; 7; 13n.29; 33–7; 39; 46; 72–3; 81–2; 90; 92–3; 95–6; 98; 100–1; 103–4; 109 Middle Platonism 6; 33; 34n.8; 35–6; 39–40; 48; 72–3; 79; 81; 90

255

General Index Middle Platonist(s) 6; 14; 33–6; 44–5; 72; 79; 81; 99 Neoplatonism 14; 18n.8; 72; 93; 95; 99; 101; 105–9 Neoplatonist(s) 15; 27n.28; 45; 101; 105; 107n.66; 115; 141n.118 Platonist(s) 4; 5; 7; 12; 14; 24; 29; 34; 36; 37n.19; 79; 81–2; 87–8; 90; 97; 101; 105; 122 Pliny the Elder 64 Pliny the Younger 64; 71 Plotinus 7; 14; 18n.6; 33; 46; 72–3; 76; 83–90; 104–5 Plutarch of Chaeronea 33–4; 48; 64; 97; 104–6; 188; 208 Polemics 134; 177; 197n.62 Polyphony 41 Pompeius Trogus 68 Porphyry 7; 8; 10; 13n.29; 14–15; 18n.6; 34; 39; 46; 72–4; 76–90; 104; 106; 109; 119–20; 132; 139–41; 161n.12; 172; 189–91; 194 Posidonius 91; 98 Possidius 84 Praedicables (Praedicabilia) 74; 77–8; 80; 82–3; 90 Predicates (κατηγορίαι) 77; 79 Praefatio 74–5; 77–8; 83  Prefatory Letter 9; 178–82 Principle 17; 48; 84; 99; 101; 104; 105; 106n.64; 107; 108n.72; 112; 113; 114; 117; 118; 119; 120; 121; 122; 123; 144 Proclus 1n.1; 7–8; 10; 12; 14–15; 104; 106–8; 110–21; 123–4 Progress (spiritual) 8; 91; 95; 104; 131 Prolegomenon (prolegomena) 1; 2; 8; 16n.1; 38; 46; 48–9; 67; 81n.48; 82–3; 88–9; 93; 147; 159; 160–2; 165–8; 171–3; 175–6 Prologue 18n.7; 105; 128; 131; 133–4; 135n.71; 136; 139; 141n.117; 142n.121; 143–4; 147; 151; 156; 166–71; 173; 175 Propaedeutic 90; 106; 176; 195 explanation 78 role 161 Prophecies 128; 130–3; 139–40; 141n.118; 152 Protreptics 127 Ps.-Apuleius 81 Ps.-Aristotle 60; 184

Ps.-David 161n.12 Ps.-Elias 161n.12 Ps.-Epiphanius 133n.58; 153n.169 Ps.-Euclides 190 Ps.-Galen 166; 172 Ps.-Gregory of Nyssa 153n.169 Ps.-Platonic 184n.6 Ps.-Plutarch 204 Psalm 127; 132; 135; 139n.106; 152; 154; 158 Ptolemaïs of Cyrene 190; 191 Ptolemy 189; 210–11 Purpose (see also Aim, Goal, Intention, σκοπός, Theme, τέλος) 11; 12n.26; 13n.29; 41; 44–7; 64; 72–4; 76; 79; 88–90; 93; 98n.24; 100; 103; 111; 121; 163; 170; 177–80; 184n.8; 187; 193; 195; 200; 203; 207–8; 222; 224 Pythagoreanism 46; 114; 116; 124  Pythagoras 69; 87; 112n.5; 189n.29; 193–4; 211; 218  Pythagoreans 62; 68; 113–14; 117; 123; 124n. 28; 185; 190–1 Quadrivium 188; 195; 208 Quintilian 42; 68; 91; 100 Ratio  of musical intervals 185; 218–20  triplex 93–4; 96–7; 100 Reason (faculty) 11; 42; 44; 96; 116; 119; 150; 165; 174; 186; 190–1; 212; 214 Representation 7; 8; 79n.38; 92; 99; 101; 103; 109; 145 Rhetoric 3; 4; 7; 72; 76; 78; 96; 208 Rhetorical arts/theories 5; 92n.7 isagogics 10 issues 76 schemes 88 works 49; 156 Rhythmics 184; 194–5 Sallust 57 Scale (musical) 185; 192; 194; 197; 198n.66; 199–200; 203–4; 206; 207  (of virtue) 107; 109 Scepticism 14; 34; 73n.4  Sceptics 6; 42

256

General Index

Scheme(s) 1n.1; 3–4; 39–42; 44; 56; 88; 94; 123; 149; 199 Scripture (see also Bible) 125–6; 130–2; 135n.70; 137; 139; 141n.118; 143–4; 146–8; 150; 156; 208 Servius (grammarian) 84 Sextus Empiricus 81n.48; 91–3; 98; 102 Simplicius 19–21; 74n.13; 86; 108 Socrates 4; 43; 62; 68; 103; 112n.5; 119–20; 123; 124n.28; 184 Sound 184–5; 189; 190n.32; 193; 194n.53; 196n.60; 19–8; 200; 202n.82; 203n.84; 204; 207; 209n.4; 210; 212–14; 218; 223–4 Spiritual exercises 97 Stephanus (addressee of Eusebius’ Evangelical Questions) 157 Stephanus of Alexandria 10; 162–7; 169–70; 176 Stoicism 5; 14; 41; 92; 95–100; 105; 109  Stoics 5; 18; 34–5; 87; 91–7; 100–1; 103; 174 Stratonicus of Athens 184n.6 Style 6; 24; 27–32; 39; 42; 70–1; 77–8; 113; 139; 153; 156–7; 179; 181; 186–7; 194; 203 Syllogism 28; 108n.73; 101; 130–2 Syllus 91 Symmachi 77 Syrianus 76n.20; 120 System (σύστημα/συστήματα)  of Knowledge 4; 12–4 of Philosophy, of doctrine / metaphysical 4; 6; 12–15; 21; 33–4; 48; 68; 92; 94–7; 99–100; 102–5; 108–10; 118 musical 9; 192; 194; 196n.59; 197–201; 203n.84; 206; 211; 213–7; 221; 223 Systematisation 12; 13n.29; 18n.6; 33; 34n.5; 35n.15; 36; 46; 94–5; 103n.39; 108–9

135; 138; 142–4; 148; 153n.172; 154–5; 157–8; 161; 166; 176; 186–8; 192; 194–6; 204 Telos (τέλος; see also Aim, Intention, Goal, Purpose, Target, Theme, σκοπός)  14; 19n.11; 35; 98n.22; 146; 202 Theme (see also Aim, Intention, Goal, Purpose, Target, Telos, σκοπός) 1; 47; 72; 79; 88; 108; 132n.55; 148n.142; 178; 194 Theodore of Mopsuestia 127n.12 Theodotus of Laodicea 153; 157 Theologia tripertita 149 Theology 8; 35n.11; 97; 98n.26; 100–1; 105–8; 113–19; 121; 123–4; 126–7; 141n.118; 144; 147–50; 154; 208 Theon of Smyrna 16; 22n.19; 183n.3; 210 Theophilus of Antioch 125–6; 162–3; 166; 169–71 Theophrastus 3n.9; 18; 55; 58; 59; 87; 88; 186n.15 Thrasyllus 37–8; 46; 69n.41; 81; 84–5; 88; 130; 210 Timaeus of Locri 111–12 Title 6; 11; 19n.11; 38; 46–7; 49; 51–4; 56; 58–61; 66–8; 72; 76; 79–80; 84; 87; 89; 111; 121; 125; 128; 135; 144–6; 157; 170; 178–80; 184; 190–3; 195; 198; 204–5 Tone/key 115; 192; 193n.45; 195–7; 200; 202; 206; 210–11; 214–21; 223–4 half-tone 219–24 ditone 213–14 tritone 210 trihemitone 213–14 semitone 213–16; 218 quartetone 214 Trivium 208

Target (see also Aim, Intention, Goal, Purpose, Telos, Theme, σκοπός) 78; 110; 141n.118; 187 Taurus of Beirut 33–4; 80–1; 101 Teacher (see also Master) 3; 11; 17; 72; 77; 82; 85; 90; 99–100; 120; 152; 159; 161; 179; 194; teaching (διδασκαλία) 4; 7; 9; 13; 15n.32; 34; 40–1; 65; 72–3; 75–8; 80–1; 85; 90; 92; 95; 97–102; 103n.39; 105; 107–9; 126;

Unity 2; 4; 10; 13; 95; 98n.25; 99; 101–2; 107; 109 Utility/usefulness (χρήσιμον) 11; 22; 72; 78; 165; 178 Vergil 84 Virtue 22; 86–7; 99; 104; 107; 109; 155 Vitruvius 68 Xenocrates 17; 92; 94; 189n.29

General Index Zeno of Citius 91; 94; 96; 98 Zetemata / Problemata 86; 167–8 Zosimus 196 αἴτιον (τῆς ἐπιγραφῆς) 11; 178 ἀκρόασις 187 ἀπόδειξις 121; 122n.22 βεβαίωσις 145 γνήσιον (see also Authenticity) 11; 72; 165; 179 διαίρεσις 11; 72; 77–8; 81; 86; 89; 98n.24; 163; 165; 179 ἐγχειρίδιον 188; 205 ἐπιστήμη 183; 185; 192n.42

257 ἐπιστροφή 99; 106–7 μετάβασις 122–3 πυκνόν 193n.45; 201 σκοπός  (see also Aim, Intention, Goal, Purpose, Target, Telos, Theme) 11; 72; 78; 90; 95; 107; 110; 135; 164; 178 στοιχεῖα 146n.134; 186–7  στοιχείωσις 191 τάξις (see also Arrangement, Classification, Order) 5; 11; 38; 72; 84; 86–90; 92–3; 95; 99; 104; 107; 109; 163–5; 178; 198n.66; 199n.69 τμῆμα 11; 170; 179

Index Locorum As a rule, we indicate editions only in the case ambiguity may occur. Aelius Theon Progymnasmata (Patillon) 8.8–11 22n.19 17.16–18.25 22n.19 90.28–91.35 88n.83 Aëtius Placita (Diels) 1.3.273a25–274a17 1.6

18; 22n.18 149n.152

Albinus Prologus 3 88; 144n.125; 145n.129 3.148.25–28 40 4.149.1–5.150.12 47n.44 5 144n.126 6 41; 81; 88; 145n.129 6.150.15–26 145n.127 6.150.21–28 100n.32 6.151.4–9 100 Alcinous Didaskalikos 1.152.8–16 23n.20 3 78 3.153.30 81; 98n.27 3.153.30–32 78n.27 5.156.31–33 78n.27 6.158.17 81n.52 6.159.43–45 81 8 149n.148 Alexander Aphrodisiensis Problemata (Kapetanaki & Sharples = Dietz) 88.8‒19 = 2.244.25‒245.4 168 88.23‒25 = 2.245.8‒11 169

Alypius Introductio harmonica 367.3–4 195 367.5 195n.54 367.16–17 193 367.16–21 195n.55 367.18 191n.39 Ammonius In Isagogen 2.6–9 172 22.13–22 77 22.14–22 80n.44 In Categorias 6.1–9 108n.73 Anonymi Commentarius in Platonis Theaetetum (Bastianini-Sedley) 71.12 87n.79 Anonymi Prolegomena philosophiae Platonicae (Westerink) 1.19–25 67–68 1.38–41 7n.19 16.3–4 108n.75 26.13–44 93n.9; 107n.68 26.16–44 99n.30 26.17–21 111n.1 26.19 107n.67 Apollonius of Perga Conics 1 177 Apuleius De mundo 3 60

259

Index Locorum De Platone et eius dogmate 1.1 54 1.1.1 67 1.3.5 62; 65 1.4 54; 81–2; 99n.28 1.4.3 61–2 2.27 54 ?Expositio Compendiosa 14.1–6.110 69 Florida 9.27–28 70

Meteorologica 1.1.338a20–339a9 18n.7 Poetica 4.1449a7–22 46n.41 8.1451a30–35 4 Topica 1.4.101b17–25 77 1.4.101b37 77 2.2.109a34–35 26 2.2.109b4–9 26 2.2.109b9–12 26 2.2.109b13–15 26

Aratus Phaenomena 451–732

179

Sophistici Elenchi 4.165b27–30 28

Archytas (DK) fr. 1

190

[De audibilibus] 803b34–40 190

Aristides Quintilianus De musica 1.9 199n.71 1.12 202 1.13 186n.18

[Problemata] 11 187 19 187 19.20.33 200 19.20.36 200

Aristoteles Analytici posteriores 1.13.78b–79a 183n.2 1.14.79a2–6 185n.12

Aristoxenus Tarentinus Elementa harmonica (Meibom = Da Rios) 1.16–17 = 5.6–7 195n.54 2.6 = 6.5 190n.36 2.25–30 = 6.19–7.3 186n.15 3.20–25 = 7.19–22 197n.62 3.21–24 = 7.20–21 183n.3 4.9–10 = 8.11–12 186n.18 5.32–7.4 = 10.10–11.16 198 6.14–31 = 10.19–11.10 199n.70 7.12–13 = 12.1–2 197n.61 7.21–28 = 12.7–12 204 7.32 = 12.15 185n.13 8.13–20 = 13.7–11 197n.63 15.15–16 = 20.16–17 197 15.33–34 = 21.6–7 198n.68 15.33–18.4 = 21.6–23.8 198 16.16 = 21.17 198n.66 22.26–23.16 = 29.7–30.4 207 28.1–2 = 36.2–3 185n.13 29.31–33 = 38.4–6 202n.81 30.10–34.32 = 39.4–44.9 206n.3

Categoriae 8.11a24–32

183n.2

De caelo 2.13.293b7 179 De Partibus Animalium 1.1.639b6–11 18n.7 Ethica Nicomachea 4.3.1123a34–1125a34 25 4.3.1123b11 26 Metaphysica 1.6.987b31–33 41 6.1.1026a 6–23 185n.12 14.1.1087b 183n.2

260 Elementa harmonica (cont.) 31.4–15 = 39.4–40.15 31.19–27 = 40.13–41.2 31.22 = 40.16 32.7 = 41.11 33.1–34.32 = 42.8–44.8 33.4–26 = 42.10–43.2 33.10 = 42.13 36.15–37.6 = 45.19–46.16 36.24–25 = 46.4–5 37.2 = 46.13 37.9–10 = 46.17–18 37.10–38.4 = 46.18–47.15 38.11–16 = 47.19–48.3 38.20–24 = 48.5–8 38.24–26 = 48.8–10 39.5–41.10 = 41.10–51.13 40.26 = 51.1 40.31–33 = 51.4–6 69.29–72.11 = 87.3–89.18 72.14–16 = 90.1–3 74.15–17 = 92.9–11

Index Locorum 18 203n.85 184n.10 183n.5 207 207 207 198 198n.66 196n.60 197; 200n.77 200n.77 201 203 202 192n.44 192n.44 193n.44 201n.79 201 199n.69

Elementa Rhythmica 2.1 186n.18 Aspasius In Ethica Nicomachea 1.1–15 21 1.14–2.4 23 1.15–16 135n.71 2.12–13 23 2.16–3.18 25 5.23–34 25 42.27–47.2 25 56.12 26 56.24 26 98.33 26 107.31 26 110.22–24 26 117.28 26 141.11 26 Athenaeus 8.352c–d 184n.6 14.634d–e 183n.5

Atticus (Des Places) fr. 1.2 fr. 1.19–23 fr. 1.34 fr. 7

99n.29 35n.15 101n.34 29

Augustinus De civitate dei 4.2 60 Aulus Gellius Noctes Atticae 16.8 81n.48 1.9 101n.35 Bacchius Geron Introductio harmonica 306.6–15 194n.52 308.17–309.9 199n.72 313.9–10 194n.53 Basilius Caesariensis Homiliae in Psalmos 31.425–428 Biblia Sacra Ad Galatas 3.24 Iob

9.8

145 152n.168

Evangelium secundum Lucam 1.4 156 Michaeas 5.4 151 Psalmi 54.10 151 Cassiodorus Institutiones 2.5.1 2.5.10

193n.48; 205 193n.48; 208

261

Index Locorum Cicero Academica Posteriora I (Varro) 17 36 18 91n.1; 94n.12 19 94 30 96 32 96 33 94n.15; 96 40 96n.20 43 92n.7; 94n.14

Damascius De principiis (Ruelle) 2.172.18–173.8 82n.61 2.316.6–12 82n.61

Academica Priora II (Lucullus) 15 94n.13 De finibus 2.1.1–3 156n.185 3.74 34; 93n.11; 95n.17

Prolegomena Philosophiae 11.15–15.9 172n.38 11.17–18 172 17.33–18.6 172 19.3–4 172 91.23–26 76n.19

De natura Deorum 1.30 36

Dio Chrysostomus 68.7 200n.75

Epistulae ad Atticum 2.1.3 68

Diogenes Laertius 3 48; 69 3.1 67 3.1–42 130n.47 3.4 67 3.47 37–8; 84 3.48–66 39 3.48–109 130n.47 3.49 40; 88 3.50 42; 47n.42 3.51–52 42 3.53–55 42 3.56 46 3.56–61 37; 46 3.57 47; 88n.81 3.60 47n.42 3.61–62 47 3.63 47 3.63–64 45 3.65 44 3.65–66 46 5.28 40n.31 7.39 91 7.40 91n.2 7.40–41 98n.26 7.83 100n.31 7.87–88 98n.22 7.134–157 149n.148

Clemens Alexandrinus Stromata 8.3.5.3 138n.102 Cleonides Introductio harmonica 179.3–4 192n.42; 196; 204 179.3–6 198n.66 179.6–8 196 179.9–10 197 180.2–3 198n.68 180.4–5 197; 200n.76 180.8–10 204 180.11–19 197 193.3–9 198n.67 197.4–199.3 199n.72 201.14–202.5 199 202.3–5 200n.74 203.4–204.15 200 205.6–206.2 201 205.20–206.2 201 206.1–2 201 206.3–18 203 206.19–207.7 202 207.16–17 197

David In Isagogen 92.18 77 93.13 77 107.26 77

262 Diogenes Laertius (cont.) 7.193 14n.30; 81 7.195 14n.30 7.196 14n.30 8.78 87n.79 Egeria Itinerarium peregrinatio 46 126n.9 Elias In Isagogen 5.34–6.3 172 39.4–8 77 39.8–11 77 93.17–19 77 Prolegomena Philosophiae 4.5 172 Euclides [Sectio canonis] 148.5–149.3 190 Eusebius Caesariensis Demonstratio evangelica 1.1.11–13 142n.121 1.1.14 151 1.2.27 132n.55 1.6.32 145n.133; 148n.143 1.6.62 145n.132 1.10.5 153n.176 2.3.33 153n.176 2.3.178 131n.51; 147; 147n.139 3. Pr. 1 147n.140 3.2.78 147 3.3 150 3.3–7 131n.52 3.3–19 149n.147 3.4.31 131n.51 3.5.104–106 131n.53 3.6.39–7.4 131n.53 3.7.40 147 4.1.4 150n.155 4.1–6 150 4.6.14–15 152n.166 4.10.8 145n.134 4.15–17 131n.55

Index Locorum 4.15.50 153n.177 4.16.8 153nn.174,176 4.16.34 152n.166 4.17.22 153nn.173,177 5. Pr. 2 151n.158 5.1.28 153nn.172,176 5.3.7 153n.176 5.3.8 153n.177 5.3.16 153nn.173, 177 5.3.33 153n.176 5.17.5 153n.175 6.9.3 150 6.13.22 153nn.173, 177 6.20.20 153n.176 6.20.22 150 7.1.44 153n.176 7.1.68 151n.161 7.1.89 153n.176 7.2.27 151 7.3.27 151n.161 7.3.40 153n.177 7.3.49 153nn.173, 177 8. Pr. 6–11 146n.137 8. Pr. 10 146n.134 8.1.81 151n.161 9.7.12 153n.176 9.7.14 153nn.174, 177 9.12.4–5 152n.168 9.15.4 153nn.174, 177 9.16.4 153n.175 10.1.38 153n.174 10.2.19 151 10.8.65 153n.174 10.8.112 152n.163 Eclogae propheticae (Gaisford) 1.1–25 128 1.1.1.27–2.2 136n.74 1.1.3.5–6 156n.186 1.1.3.7 138n.100 1.1.3.13–14 141n.117 1.1.3.14–15 141n.117 1.1.3.22–27 138n.105 1.2.6.15 134n.65 1.2.6.16 135n.68 1.3 140n.111 1.3.13.1 139n.107 1.3.14.9 134n.66

263

Index Locorum 1.6.18.1 139n.108; 1.12.41.28 139n.107 1.12.45.8 146n.138 1.12.46.22 134n.64; 135n.68 1.12.47.26 139n.107 1.21.60.13 139n.108 1.23.61.26–62.1 139n.108 2.1 135 2.2.72.26 135n.68 2.8.79.17 139n.108 2.9–3.22 136 2.9.81.5–7 134n.65 2.14.90.9 139n.108 2.14.90.25 134n.67 2.15.91.3–4 139n.108 2.16.92.14–15 139n.106 3. Pr. 5–6 125n.1 3.5.104.23 139n.108 3.6 135 3.6.107.1–5 134n.65 3.6.107.3 134n.65 3.7 152n.168 3.13.115.1 134n.61 3.14.115.20 135n.69 3.14.115.20–21 134n.65 3.15.116.1 139n.108 3.16.116.12–13 139n.108 3.19 140n.111 3.20.120.7 134n.61 3.21.120.19 134n.61 3.25.127.7 139n.108 3.27.130.10–11 139n.108 3.27.130.11–12 134n.63 3.27.130.12 135n.68 3.28.130.18 139n.108 3.33.135.12 134nn.65, 66 3.43.148.24 139n.108 4.4 135 4.4.179.1 134n.67 4.7 135 4.11.191.13 134nn.65, 67 4.11.191.14 135n.68 4.17.197.9 135n.69 4.18.197.25 135n.68 4.23.206.26 134n.63 4.26.216.20 134n.67 4.27.224.4 134n.64 4.29.226.24 139nn.108, 109

4.35 125n.1 4.35.236.6–9 128n.18 Generalis elementaria introductio (Holl) fr. 470 130 fr. 471 131 fr. 472–473 140 fr. 480 130 Historia ecclesiastica 1.1–2 134 1.1.5 156 1.2–4 132n.55 1.2.21–23 146n.137 1.2.22 145n.134 1.3 132n.55 1.3.12 137n.93 1.11.4–6 132n.53 3.6 126n.11 4.24 125n.3 6.15 154 6.19.4–9 141n.118 7.20 125n.3 10.4.40 148n.144 In Isaiah 1.93

146n.134

In Psalmos (PG 23) 216.55 146n.134 601.47–51 152n.165 1345.24 146n.134 1173.40–48 152n.165 In Psalmos (PG 24) 29.25

146n.134

Praeparatio evangelica 1.1.12 142n.122 1.2.5–8 143n.123 1.5.3 155n.182 1.9.21 141n.118 5.1.10 141n.118 7.8.21 145n.128 7.10.1 151n.158 8.1.1 149n.150 8.14.19 148n.143 11.3 148n.146

264 Praeparatio evangelica (cont.) 11.4 148n.146 11.5–6 148n.146 11.7–38 148n.146 11.23 150n.154 12.4 146n.135 12.31 146n.136 13.14.3 148n.143 15.1.9–10 145n.131 15.1.10 145n.131 Theologia ecclesiastica 2.14.16 146n.134 Galenus Compendium Timaei (Kraus-Walzer) 1.8–23 27n.29 De captionibus penes dictionem (Kühn XIV) 585.5–11 27 De Demonstratione 82.5 82n.55 De methodo medendi (Kühn X) 53 81n.48 De libris propriis (Boudon-Millot = Kühn XIX) 137.4–10 = 12.2–7 159 De optimo medico cognoscendo (Iskandar) 1.53–63 105n.54 De ordine librorum suorum (Boudon-Millot = Kühn XIX) 92.7–10 = 54.7–10 159 De placitis Hippocratis et Platonis (De Lacy = Kühn V) 8.5.13–16 25n.24 In de Fracturis (XVIIIb Kühn) 319–320 27n.29 In Hippocratis Aphorismos (Kühn XVIIb-XVIIIa) 346.1–3 165 347.9–14 166

Index Locorum 346.16–347.1 169 355.1 –195.5 171 Synopsis De pulsibus 9.431 81n.48 Gaudentius Introductio harmonica 327.8 193n.46 331.27–332.3 194n.50 349.3 188n.24 350.17–18 193 Gregorius Nazianzenus Orationes 360.24–25 173 Hipparchus Commentary on the Phaenomena 2.4–5 181 2.5–8.7 178 2.9 179 2.10 180 2.14–16 180; 182 2.15 179n.12 2.17 180 4.1 179n.12 4.4–5 180 4.5 179 4.6–7 179 4.7–8 179 4.8 179 4.8–10 180 4.9 179 4.10 180 4.11 180 4.12–14 179 4.13–14 179 4.16 180 4.16–18 180 4.17 180 4.19 180 4.24 180 4.25 179 4.26 179 6.5 179 6.7 179 6.9–11 179

265

Index Locorum 6.10 179n.12 6.14 179n.12 6.14–7.5 180 6.19 180 6.21 180 8.3 180 8.5–6 180 Hippocrates Aphorismi (Magdelaine = Littré IV) 375.1–4 = 458.1–3 164 Praecepta (Ecca = Littré IX) 110.4–7 = 250.3–6 173 Scholion ad Praecepta (Ecca) 334.5–7 175 336.5–10 174 Historia Augusta Alexander Severus 5.3 57 Maximini duo 43.7 57 Homerus Odyssea 4.392 103n.38 12.36–54 206 12.181–200 206 Iamblichus In Alcibiadem (Dillon) fr. 1

108n.69

Iohannes Damascenus Dialectica (Kotter) 69–72 172 70.24–26 172 71–72 172n.39 83–88 172; 172n.39 Sacra Parallela 1273 175 1345.27–28 173

Julianus Imperator Epistulae 12.12–20 74n.8 Longinus Prolegomena ad Hephaestionis Enchiridion (Consbruch) 1.1 82 5 82 7 82 Manuel Bryennius Harmonica 2.6.172.27–29 204 Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Imperator 8.13 103n.39 Marinus Vita Procli (Saffrey-Segonds) 13.6–10 103n.41 13.9 106n.63 Martianus Capella De nuptiis 9.936 183n.4 Nicolaus Damascenus De philosophia Aristotelis 4.1 17 Nicomachus Encheiridion 238.8 188n.25 238.8–10 188n.23 Introductio arithmetica 1.3.4 185n.14 Numenius (des Places) fr. 11 101n.36 fr. 18.14 95n.16 fr. 24 112n.5 Olympiodorus In Alcibiadem (Westerink) 2.17–21 7n.19

266

Index Locorum

Origenes Contra Celsum (Borret) 1.38 131 1.68 131 In Canticum canticorum (Brésard-Crouzel) 75.6 105n.52 Phaenias (Wehrli) fr. 32

184n.6

Philo Alexandrinus De vita contemplativa 76 135n.70 Philolaus (DK) fr. 6a

185n.14

Philoponus In Categorias 1.5.15–20 17 Photius Bibliotheca (Henry) cod. 9 cod. 13

145n.130 145n.130

Plato Meno 80d5–e5 206 Phaedo 67b 169 99e–100a 41 Phaedrus 249c 107n.67 264c 4 268d–e 190n.36 268e6 185n.11 Philebus 17c–d

183n.2; 198

Respublica 2.376a–377a 146 3.394c 65 3.398d 183 3.399a 65

3.400b4 ff 184n.7 7.530d–531c 183n.2; 184n.9; 185n.13 7.531a1 184n.8 7.531b8 184n.8; 185n.11 Symposium 211b7–d1 103n.40 218b8 206 Timaeus 17b7 119 29d–47e 116 44d 117 47e–69a 116 69a–92c 116 [Sisyphus] 387b1–4 184n.6 Plotinus Enneades (Henry-Schwyzer) 1 88 2 88 3 88 4 88 5 88 6 88 6.1–3 83n.63 Plutarchus Chaeronensis Numa 8.17 87n.79 Sulla 26.2

88n.80

De facie quae in orbe lunae apparet 942D 105n.51 De Iside et Osiride 370F 48 382D 104n.48 De stoicorum repugnantiis 1035A1–4 98n.26 1035A-D 97n.21 1035B1–3 106n.62 1035D5–F5 97n.22

267

Index Locorum [De musica] 1143A 203n.84 1143A–B 204 1143 B-C 202n.83 1144B-C 202n.83 Porphyrius Fragmenta (Smith) 44T. 74n.8 45T–74F. 74n.13 268F.–271F. 77 345F. 132n.53 351F. 76n.21 407T.–422T. 76n.20 414T. 76n.20 416F. 76n.20 417F. 76n.20 In Categorias 1.55–142 74n.12 57 79 57.20–58.20 79n.37 91.14–27 79n.37 In Harmonica (Düring = Raffa) 22.29–30 = 26.24–5 190 23.6–7 = 27.5–6 190 23.7–8 = 27.6–7 190 23.8 = 27.8 190 23.8–9 =27.8–9 190 23.10 = 27.10 191n.39 23.24 = 28.8 191 25.3–4 = 30.11–12 191 25.10–14 = 30.17–22 191 25.15–16 = 30.23–24 191 25.16–19 = 30.24–27 190 25.23–26.1 = 30.21–31.10 191 26.2–3 = 31.12–13 190 26.13–15 = 31.24–6 190n.37 30.1–31.26 = 36.9–38.10 189n.28 30.15–19 = 36.25–37.1 189 30.27–28 = 37.10–11 189 30.28–31.7 = 37.12–20 189n.31 31.14–21 = 37.28–38.5 189 32.23–33.4 = 39.8–22 189n.28 Isagoge 1.1 80 1.1–16 75

1.3–5 109n.77 1.5 83 1.6 76; 78 1.7 76; 78; 80; 141n.117 1.7–8 141n.117 1.8 76; 139n.106 1.8–9 139n.106; 141n.117 1.8–14 79 1.9 76 1.9–14 76 1.11 79n.36 1.13 77; 141n.117 1.13–14 141n.117 1.14 76 1.15 78; 80 1.16 76 3.27 141n.117 6.13–23 80 6.14 80 Vita Plotini 1 84 2 84 2.23–31 89n.85 7.49–51 85n.72 8.19–23 89n.85 10.28–33 85n.71 13 156 15.4–6 76n.21 16.9–12 85n.71 19 86n.75 20 86n.75 21 89 22 84 24 18; 106n.60 24.1 84 24.1–21 84; 86 26 89n.86 26.1–7 89 26.29–37 86 Proclus In Alcibiadem (Segonds) 11.4–11 108n.70 11.12–17 108n.69 13.20–22 108n.71

268

Index Locorum

In Rempublicam 1.5.6–12 11n.24 1.5.9–12 15n.33 1.5.12–25 1n.1 In Timaeum (Diehl = Van Riel) 1.1.1.8–16 = 1.1.8–14 1.1.4–4.5 = 1.1.4–5.10 1.1.7.17–8.29 = 1.11.1–12.19 1.1.7.18–21 = 1.11.2–5 1.1.7.21–26 = 1.11.5–10 1.1.11.9–14 = 1.16.12–16 1.1.17–18 = 1.1.17–18 1.1.27.20–28.13 = 1.41.11–42.6 1.1.204.8–12 = 1.302.7–10 1.4.6–7.16 = 1.5.11–10.18 1.7.17–8.29 = 1.11.1–12.19 1.7.26–31 = 1.11.10–15 1.7.31–8.1 = 1.11.5–18 1.8.30–9.13 = 1.12.20–13.14 1.9.13–24 = 1.13–15–14.5 1.9.25–12.25 = 1.14.6–18.17 1.9.25–14.3 = 1.14.6–20.10 1.12.26–30 = 1.18.18–22 1.12.30–13.10 = 1.18.22–19.10 1.204.8–11 = 1.302.7–10 1.2.1–9 = 1.2.7–14 1.2.9–4.5 = 1.2.14–5.10 1.217.22–25 = 2.19.4–9 2.1.226.26–227.3 = 2.31.20–32.6 2.1.236.14 = 2.45.22 2.1.236.15–21 = 2.46.1–7 2.1.236.21–22 = 2.46.7–8 2.1.236.30–237.3 = 2.46.16–47.2 2.1.276.18 = 2.105.11 2.1.348.14 = 2.208.9 2.1.355.24 = 2.219.14 2.1.355.24–25 = 2.219.14–15 3.2.246.6–9 = 3.333.11–16

111 110 110; 111 112 112 118 111 119 118 110 110 112 113 110 110 117–118 111 118 99n.30 105n.57 111 112 121n.21 120 121 121 121 122 121 121 121 121 114n.8

Theologia Platonica (Saffrey-Westerink) 1.1 6–7.8 104n.49 1.2 10.25–11.7 106n.58 1.3 13.6–23 106n.64 1.4 113; 115; 123 1.4 19.6–22 114n.10 1.4 20.1–5 113n.6

1.4 20.6–25 1.4 20.8–12

113n.7 114; 123

Ps. Galen Definitiones medicae (Kühn XIX) 349.6–8 172 349.14–17 166 350.17–18 172 Ptolemaeus (Claudius) Harmonica 16.12–21 210 Quintilianus Institutio oratoria 2.15.26 42 4.1.77 68 Sallustius De bello Iugurthino 103.2–112.3 57 Seneca Epistulae ad Lucilium 58.30 67 94.3 98n.25 94.48 98n.25 Severus (Gioè) 3T

25n.24

Sextus Empiricus Adversus Mathematicos 7.2 93 7.16 92; 92n.6 7.20 102 7.20–21 98n.23; 120 7.428 81n.48 8.223 14n.30 Pyrrhoniae hypotyposes 2.13 91n.1 Simplicius In Categorias 5.1 108n.74 29.30–30 19

269

Index Locorum Stephanus In Hippocratis Aphorismos (Westerink) 28.4–5 164 28–32 166n.21 30.23–25 164 34.17–38.17 164n.22 38.25–26 169 In Hippocratis Prognosticum (Duffy) 26–34 166n.21 30.31–34 163 Stobaeus 2.8.39–42 77 2.49.25–50.1 36 Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta 1.353 103n.38 2.42 98n.26; 104n.46 2.35 95n.18 2.1008 104n.46 2.1009 149n.152 Suda Δ 875 190n.33 Λ 139 183n.3 Π 2098 76n.20; 80n.41; 141n.118 Τ 166 81n.46

Taurus of Beirut (Petrucci) T8 101n.35 T11 101n.35 Theon of Smyrna 59.7–21 183n.3 Theophilus In Hippocratis Aphorismos (Dietz II) 245.32–248.4 171 246.21–247.12 166n.22 247.20–21 169 Theophrastus Characteres 10 186n.16 Fragmenta (FHS&G) 716.17–18

186n.15

Tzetzes Scholia Vetera in Hesiodi Opera et dies 1.47–49 179n.11 Vitruvius De architectura 2.1.8 68 Xenocrates (Isnardi Parente) fr. 82 17; 92n.6