The Enneads of Plotinus: A Commentary | Volume 2 9780691241821

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The Enneads of Plotinus

The Enneads of Plotinus A Commentary Volume 2

Paul Kalligas Translated by Nickolaos Koutras

PRINCE­T ON UNIVERSIT Y PRESS

Prince­ton and Oxford

First published in Greek ­under the titles Plōtinou: Enneas Tetartē and Plōtinou: Enneas Pemptē by The Acad­emy of Athens, Athens, 2009 and 2013 Translation copyright © 2023 by Prince­ton University Press Prince­ton University Press is committed to the protection of copyright and the intellectual property our authors entrust to us. Copyright promotes the pro­gress and integrity of knowledge. Thank you for supporting ­free speech and the global exchange of ideas by purchasing an authorized edition of this book. If you wish to reproduce or distribute any part of it in any form, please obtain permission. Requests for permission to reproduce material from this work should be sent to permissions@press​.­princeton​.­edu Published by Prince­ton University Press 41 William Street, Prince­ton, New Jersey 08540 99 Banbury Road, Oxford OX2 6JX press​.­princeton​.­edu All Rights Reserved ISBN 9780691158266 ISBN (e-­book) 9780691241821 British Library Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data is available Editorial: Rob Tempio and Chloe Coy Production Editorial: Sara Lerner Text and Jacket Design: Jessica Massabrook Production: Lauren Reese Publicity: Alyssa Sanford and Charlotte Coyne Copy editor: Beth Gianfagna This book has been composed in Garamond Premier Pro Printed on acid-­free paper. ∞ Printed in the United States of Amer­i­ca 10 ​9 ​8 ​7 ​6 ​5 ​4 ​3 ​2 ​1

Contents

Preface to the Second Volume   vii Main Abbreviations  xv Fourth Ennead IV 2 [4]. On the Essence of the Soul I   3 IV 1 [21]. On the Essence of the Soul II   15 IV 3–5 [27–29].  On Difficulties about the Soul: Books I–­III   19 IV 6 [41]. On Sense-­Perception and Memory   149 IV 7 [2]. On the Immortality of the Soul  160 IV 8 [6]. On the Descent of the Soul into Bodies   195 IV 9 [8]. If All Souls Are One   215 Fifth Ennead V 1 [10]. V 2 [11]. V 3 [49]. V 4 [7]. V 5 [32]. V 6 [24]. V 7 [18]. V 8 [31]. V 9 [5].

On the Three Primary Hypostases   229 On the Origin and Order of the Beings That Come ­after the First   259 On the Knowing Hypostases and That Which Is Beyond   264 How That Which Is ­after the First Comes from the First, and On the One   293 That the Intelligibles Are Not outside the Intellect, and On the Good   301 On the Fact That That Which Is beyond Being Does Not Think, and On What Is the Primary and What the Secondary Thinking Princi­ ples  323 On the Question ­Whether ­There Are Ideas of Particulars   330 On the Intelligible Beauty   335 On Intellect, the Forms, and Being   355

Appendix: Plotinus in the Arabic Tradition   371 List of Variant Readings  375 Key to the Chronological Order of Plotinus’ Treatises   383 Suggested Further Readings on Individual Treatises   385 Figures  389 Index of Passages Cited   391 v

Preface to the Second Volume

The pre­sent volume continues my commentary on the Enneads by adhering to the format established by the first volume published in 2014. It reflects the arrangement of Plotinus’ works in Porphyry’s original edition, which is further reproduced in the manuscript tradition and is ­adopted by Paul Henry and Hans-­Rudolph Schwyzer in dividing the Greek text for their monumental editions. The commentary pertains to the contents of Enneads IV and V, following the order of the individual treatises as codified by Ficino’s numbering, which is commonly used for referring to them. A minor discrepancy occurs in the numbering of treatises IV 1 and IV 2 for reasons analyzed in the respective introductions. Throughout the commentary, I use the abbreviation “P.” for “Plotinus.” It is relatively clear that in ­these two Enneads Porphyry has included treatises that he regarded as addressing issues related with two of the main “hypostases” of Plotinus’ system, namely, the soul and Intellect. This endows them with a fair amount of thematic unity, thus allowing the reader to form a more or less consistent picture of the author’s overall views on the relevant subjects, albeit Plotinus’ treatises are notorious for interweaving a variety of topics at any par­tic­u­lar part of his work. My commentary aims, in part, to bring to the foreground ­these associations between the vari­ous treatments of a subject, in order to facilitate the reader of the text to reach a reasonably comprehensive understanding of the phi­los­o­pher’s insights. In P.’s ontological system the soul constitutes the lowest of the three modes of being that are known as “hypostases” and, as such, represents the point at which supra-­sensible real­ity is thought to come into some kind of “contact” with the realm of perceptible realities. This position allows it to mediate between the eternal immutability of the intelligible beings and the perpetually changing realm of sensible bodies, making it key to comprehending the structure of this entire system, and more specifically how transcendent entities are called upon to explain the organ­ization and workings of the world of everyday experience. At the same time, psychical life is of course bound up with the level at which our experiences occur, where each of us acts as a cognitive agent, further pursuing all the variegated activities that define one’s overall presence in the world. In this way, the soul constitutes the pole that determines our personal identity, but also our relations to the vari­ous planes of real­ity, acting as a vantage point from which we can discern the diverse manifestations of Being. In antiquity, the debate surrounding the subject of the soul chiefly focused on two par­tic­u­lar groups of phenomena. The first pertains to the biological characteristics that vii

viii  Preface differentiate living organisms from lifeless material objects, positing the soul as the “princi­ ple” (archē) of life, as the organ­izing power that imparts to all living bodies the ability to manifest their vari­ous vital functions, acting as constituted and, to a certain degree, self-­regulating entities. On the other hand, the existence of soul is also correlated with the capacity that certain living organisms, mainly ­humans, have to become aware of themselves and their actions, apprehending themselves as distinct and unitary points of real­ity, as autonomous and self-­determined subjects of creative or merely performative acts, and consequently as moral agents. Plotinus engages with all t­ hese aspects. His first and foremost concern, of course, is with the ontological question of the soul’s nature, the “mode of being” that soul represents. For, as a Platonist, he understood soul as a supra-­sensible substance, an incorporeal, autonomous, and, furthermore, self-­sufficient entity, that depends on nothing else—­especially body—to be what it is; he also conceived it as a “princi­ple of movement,” characterized by an inherent and ceaseless motility, which the soul also imparts on what depends on it, thereby causing all manner of coming-­to-be in the sensible realm, even occasioning the birth of time itself (which, it should be remembered, in ΙΙΙ 7.11.43–45, is defined as the soul’s inherent life in the course of the discursive unfolding of its thoughts). Accordingly, qua entity, the soul cannot become fully integrated in the realm of sensible real­ity, nor in the purely transcendent plain of the intelligible Forms, whose existence is tied with extratemporal eternity. What remains, then, is to clarify its intermediate position, and the manner in which the peculiarity of each soul is defined, on the basis of which it is also determined with re­spect to its individuality, that is, how each discrete soul is distinguished from the rest, thereby acquiring a specific individual identity. In fact the soul, as the unifying ele­ment of its variform experiences, should obviously possess a lasting character, which brings us face to face with the question of its duration and, ultimately, its immortality. Yet, as we have already seen, as a knowing subject the soul can also observe itself and engage in introspection. Through this perspective it is able to discover its deeper ties to the intelligible world, whence it originates and on which it depends, a world that is the foundation of its power, but also of its inherent moral predispositions. Philosophical reflection, then, is the supreme expression of psychical life, whose main constituent is rational investigation of the contents of our experiences and the pro­cesses involved in perceiving and comprehending them, but also of their relation to their corresponding real­ity. This is the path ­toward recognizing the fundamental truths that inform not just the constitution of the world, but also psychical life itself, and culminates with the contemplation of Being in its dynamic multiplicity and, fi­nally, of Being’s unique and ineffable supreme princi­ple. As the princi­ple of motion or change in the world, the soul is not l­ imited to animating the individual organisms but, as Plato diligently argues the Timaeus, it also possesses a cosmic dimension. The cosmic Soul, that mysterious, ancient remnant of animistic beliefs, is put to work to account for the existence of universal natu­ral laws that permeate and regulate the world as a living organism, that is, all the multifarious changes occurring in the cosmos, in a manner that is consonant with the specifications laid down by its intelligible model in the plane of the Forms. Exploring a number of questions

Preface  ix pertaining to the conditions, limitations, and circumstances in which the cosmic Soul carries out its task of arranging and providentially ordering of the natu­ral world, P. pre­ sents his basic princi­ples, which, in his view, determine the constitution, be­hav­ior, and interactions between its vari­ous, celestial or earthly, parts. At the same time, he has the opportunity to examine a series of issues concerning phenomena that can be described as “psycho-­physical,” such as the distribution of the dif­fer­ent psychical functions in the living body, as well as the operation of sense-­perception and memory, both on the level of the individual and on that of the cosmos. In general, the inexhaustible variety of the themes related to the soul renders the fourth Ennead, in which Porphyry collected, as he mentions (VP 25.31–32), “all the treatises whose subject is the soul itself,” exceptionally wide-­ranging, a reflection of P.’s characteristically “psychocentric” perspective. In his engagement with philosophical investigation P. is generally inclined to take as his central point of reference the consciousness of individuals as chiefly psychical beings, which imparts to his entire oeuvre a character of pronounced introversion and introspective meditation. Furthermore, from this perspective P. takes exceedingly bold steps in exploring the innermost facets of psychical life, posing crucial questions, for example, about the intellectiveness and discursiveness of the soul’s thoughts—­its consciousness and unconsciousness; the dif­fer­ent types of apperception, self-­consciousness and self-­knowledge that characterize it; the links and differences between the soul’s sensation, perception, and intellectual judgment on ­things—­but also its notable versatility in adapting its apprehensive faculties to the nature of the objects on which it focuses its “attention” (prosochē). At the same time, studying the soul as an explanatory princi­ple of sensible real­ity allows for a fuller understanding of the powers contributing to the constitution of natu­ral objects and the manner in which ­these powers bind together the vari­ous parts of the universe into a multifarious, albeit stable and rational organic unity. All the above make the fourth Ennead one of the most impor­ tant and exciting in terms of the perspectives for philosophical inquiry that it opens up. On the other hand, the fifth Ennead is more thematically consistent than all the rest. As noted by Porphyry, VP 25.32–33, it comprises chiefly the “treatises on the Intellect,” but it also contains references to other related m ­ atters of psychological and epistemological nature. The Intellect, on which P.’s examination mainly focuses, constitutes the second of his so-­called hypostases; it corresponds, roughly speaking, to what in the history of Platonism is often described as “the intelligible world” or the “world of the Forms.” Yet, according to P., this is not a mere agglomeration of fixed and inert intellective abstractions. On the contrary, it is a densely interconnected synthesis of active intellects vibrant with vital power; ­these intellects articulate and manifest the ceaseless potency of the first and supreme princi­ple of every­thing, the One-­Good. This is b­ ecause Intellect, apart from a system of intelligible objects, constitutes also an organic composite of intelligizing intellective subjects, whose active coexistence renders them mutually dependent on one another through indissoluble relations of coherence of meaning. As a result, if we ­were to take as our point of departure any one of ­these and proceed on the basis of the purely logical, or rather (one could claim), semantic methods of analy­sis and synthesis, we could gradually re-­create the entire structure that sustains and determines intellective subjects.

x  Preface Plotinian theory regarding the hypostasis of the Intellect can therefore be regarded as an entirely unique synthesis of the Platonic theory of the Forms with Aristotelian noology. For, on the one hand, analy­sis of the structure and content of the Intellect can be carried out by employing the Platonic dialectical method, as the multitude of the intelligible beings that constitute it is infused with and governed by the “greatest genera” of Plato’s Sophist, which also perform the function of the most general categories of Being. On the other hand, the description of the operation of intellective activity is further guided mainly by the findings of the Stagirite’s doctrine, expounded both in book Λ of the Metaphysics, and in the third book of his De anima: as a result, intellective activity emerges as a manifestation of an inherent, unquenchable, and self-­determined vital energy. It is noteworthy that the range of themes around which the discussion in the vari­ous treatises of this Ennead revolves is rather ­limited if we consider how vastly impor­tant the Intellect is in the structure of P.’s overall ontological edifice; this is b­ ecause it focuses mainly on points that reveal the tensions under­lying his attempt to combine and harmonize its aforesaid heterogeneous theoretical origins. Most prominent among ­these points are the following: 1. Intellect, qua hypostasis, that is, as a mode of being, is distinguished by the fact that it constitutes a multiple unity or “one-­many” (hen polla) of jointly articulated entities. It is an intelligible realm populated by clearly determined eternal beings that are distinct from one another, and whose overall structure resembles that of the propositions of a theoretical scientific discipline, for example, Euclidean geometry: each of ­these is connected to all the rest through stable and immutable a priori relations, so that it “contains” them in some manner; it also “results” from ­these as their logical, necessary consequence without, however, relinquishing its autonomy and the peculiar character that defines it as an object of intellective apprehension. 2. As already pointed out, the Intellect as a w ­ hole, but also the specific Forms that comprise it, are not mere inert semantic abstractions, but active entities, vitally co-­ articulated in a system of mutually dependent par­tic­u­lar intellects that exist in a state of constant and full activation. Yet, ultimately, the object of their intellective activity is their own self, hence this activity of the Intellect turns out to be an eternal and incessant self-­intellection. 3. The multiplicity that, as we have seen, is a constitutive feature of Intellect viewed as an intelligible world, represents, according to P., the foremost and crucial indication that Intellect cannot be the supreme princi­ple of every­thing, which is what Aristotle held. ­Because, just like the series of numbers, which is the regulatory princi­ple governing any multitude of ­things, necessitates the existence of another princi­ple, the one, which comes before it and operates as the mea­sure of their constitution, so too a supreme princi­ple, the primordial One, must necessarily precede the multiplicity of intelligible beings; this functions as their starting point, but also as the organ­izing princi­ple that constitutes them into a unitary system of interdependent realities. 4. The One must be radically distinct from the beings contained in Intellect; but ­these beings constitute the ­whole of intelligible “Essence” (ousia). This means that the One must be something beyond both Essence and intellection, an ineffable and utterly

Preface  xi transcendent princi­ple that defies any attempt to categorize and delimit it. As such, it ­will be inaccessible to our cognitive and expressive powers. 5. The Intellect derives from this supreme princi­ple by means of a pro­cess that occurs in two distinct stages. During the first stage, an inchoate preliminary version of the Intellect results as a s­ imple and pure otherness vis-­à-­vis the One, something that is absolutely non-­One, that is, a confused and unarticulated multiplicity utterly lacking unity. Subsequently, this is constituted into a unified system of articulated and delineated beings (which, as noted, is the Intellect) by turning t­oward the princi­ple that “gave birth” to it and by having a “trace” of the One imposed on it as its mea­sure. This entire pro­cess (which, of course, is extratemporal) is accomplished on the basis of a peculiar productive system that is fundamental to P.’s ontology and is known as the theory of the “two activities.” The above-­mentioned cardinal themes demarcate the range of issues examined in the fifth Ennead, and, naturally, they are accompanied by a wealth of reworkings and extensions, so as to make up a cohesive, albeit certainly singular, synthetic theory on the nature of the Intellect and the intelligible beings contained in it. Yet, a concomitant of precisely this thematic coherence that links the vari­ous treatises are the regular repetitions and overlaps in terms of their content, which at times also bring to light certain discrepancies that are mainly due to the fact that the relevant passages w ­ ere composed at dif­fer­ent times: ranging from the very early V 9 [5] and V 4 [7], and the ­middle sections of the mature so-­called ­Great Treatise (V 8 [31], V 5 [32]), to the rather bold, in terms of its conception, treatment of the subject in V 3 [49]—­the author’s final and quite ambitious undertaking in the field of epistemology. Hence, in this case I sought to make my explicatory notes briefer and more allusive, emphasizing chiefly the correlations between P.’s dif­fer­ent positions on the questions readers are faced with each time, to provide them with a multifaceted, “stereoscopical” (so to speak), view of ­these from dif­fer­ent, yet mutually complementary, perspectives. The Greek text of the Enneads used as a basis for my commentary is again that of H-­S2, and references to it are given in the customary manner by mentioning the number of the pertinent Ennead (in Roman numerals) followed by treatise number (and occasionally the chronological order of the treatise placed in square brackets), number of chapter and line numbers as in H-­S2. I normally discuss in my commentary the few cases where I have deviated from the standard text, and I provide a list of all such discrepancies at the end of the volume. Certain technical difficulties in the translation of the ancient text, which also come up in the other Enneads, become rather poignant in the case of the fourth and fifth. In my commentary, I capitalize the first letter when referring to the cosmic Soul as opposed to the individual souls inhabiting the sensible universe. I also capitalize “Intellect” as the overall hypostasis, as well as the individual “Forms” that are contained in it as transcendent and purely intelligible universal entities, chiefly when I deem it necessary to underline this aspect of their nature; in other cases, when, for instance, the reference is to the “intellect” that inheres in the soul as a specific cognitive faculty, or to the formative “forms” (eidē) inherent in sensible bodies, I have opted to write ­these in lowercase letters. In some cases, naturally, the decision on which of the two is intended is a m ­ atter of debate, and depends on the interpretation proposed, for

xii  Preface which of course the responsibility is mine. In general, however, I have tried to be frugal with capitalization, resorting to this only where the relevant choice appears rather uncontroversial. Another point that may appear surprising to some readers is the frequent switch between the neuter and masculine when referring to the supreme princi­ple (usually preserved in Armstrong’s translation), which is sometimes described as the One-­Good (i.e., to agathon) and sometimes as God (ho theos). In some cases this vacillation is quite recurrent and per­sis­tent (as, e.g., in chapters 7 to 9 of “treatise” V 5), giving the impression that P. purposefully seeks to emphasize the futility of trying to consistently and precisely discuss something that lies beyond ordinary intellectual distinctions, something that language cannot accurately express. In some cases this may cause difficulty for readers; nonetheless, effort has been made so that this stylistic peculiarity does not also entail semantic ambiguity. The basic princi­ples under­lying my commentary are essentially identical to ­those operative in the first volume, as outlined in my preface ­there. The sole significant technical difference h ­ ere pertains to our ability to utilize the testimony of the Arabic tradition when carry­ing out textual emendations. Recourse to the Arabic tradition is available for the last three Enneads, and I am providing further relevant information in a special appendix to the current volume. A list of suggested further readings, occasionally updated so as to include impor­tant recent additions to the lit­er­a­ture, is also provided for each treatise, mentioning only ­those works that focus on that par­tic­u­lar text. Works of more general import are included in the updated interim general bibliography freely accessible via links at https:// press.princeton.edu/books/hardcover/9780691158266/the-enneads-of-plotinus. A consolidated full bibliography ­will be included at the end of volume 3. Over the years, my debt to many ­people, colleagues, and friends who have in vari­ous ways helped or encouraged me in my undertaking, grows increasingly larger. I was fortunate to be given the opportunity to pre­sent sections of this work while teaching seminars at the universities of Oxford (1998), Athens (2005), and Prince­ton (2007), as well as on other occasions; the contributions of the participants significantly enriched the material for my comments, but also helped me clarify certain points that would have other­wise remained obscure. Furthermore, my participation in a number of international meetings, focusing on the study of specific treatises from P.’s work, proved especially helpful, as many of ­these concerned parts of the current Enneads.1 I would also like to thank the president and the members of the supervisory committee of the Center of Research in Greek and Latin Lit­er­a­ture of the Acad­emy of Athens for their constant support. It is of course difficult to mention all of my specific debts to the many speakers and participants to ­these often very lively and fecund discussions, yet I must single out the advice I have received from Professors C. D’Ancona, J. Dillon, E. K. Emilsson, Ph. Hoffmann, D. J. O’Meara, A. Smith, and, most of all, from the unforgettable Michael Frede. Dimitri 1  More specifically, in 2000 (at Delphi) on treatise IV 2; in 2001 (Padua, Italy) on ΙV 7; in 2003 (Münchenwiler, Switzerland) on IV 9; in 2005 (Vilnius, Lithuania) on IV 6; in 2002 (Paris) on V 4; in 2007 (Diablerets, Switzerland) on V 7; and in 2012 (Paris) V 1.1–6.

Preface  xiii Gutas generously offered his precious expertise on vari­ous ­matters concerning the Arabic tradition of P.’s works. I would also like to thank my Greek colleagues Katerina Ierodiakonou, Vassilis Karasmanis, and Eleni Perdikouri, who helped shed light on specific parts of the text. Fi­nally, I wish to reiterate that my greatest debt is to my wife, Thetis, who even in ­great hardship stood by my side as my most valued support. The proj­ect of translating my commentary into En­glish would be impossible to materialize without the generous support of the Program in Hellenic Studies of Prince­ton University, and in par­tic­u­lar of its director Dimitri Gondicas, of the Foundation for Education and Eu­ro­pean Culture, Athens, and the contribution of an anonymous individual sponsor. I owe par­tic­u­lar gratitude to my translator, Nickolaos Koutras, who has assumed the responsibility of carry­ing out this formidable task with exemplary care and diligence in a spirit of per­sis­tent and fruitful collaboration with an occasionally intractable author. Paul Kalligas Athens June 2021

Main Abbreviations

AAA = Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha = Lipsius and Bonnet 1891–1903. ANRW = Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt, ed. Wolfgang Haase. Berlin/New York: W. de Gruyter. AP = The Arabic Plotinus = the Arabic tradition of the works of Plotinus. This comprises three sources given in En­glish translation by G. Lewis in H-­S1, vol. 2: DSG = Dicta Sapientis Graeci ESD = Epistula de Scientia Diuina ThA = Theology of Aristotle APAW = Abhandlungen der Preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philologisch-­Historische Klasse. BACAP = Proceedings of the Boston Area Colloquium in Ancient Philosophy, ed. J. J. Cleary. BzA = Beiträge zum Altertumskunde, Stuttgart and Leipzig. CAG = Commentaria in Aristotelem Graeca. 1882–1909. Edita consilio et auctoritate Academiae Litterarum Regiae Borussicae. 23 vols. Berolini: G. Reimeri. Repr. 2001, Berlin: de Gruyter. CAH = The Cambridge Ancient History. 1924–39; 1970–2005. 19 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. CAlchGr = Collection des anciens alchimistes grecs = Berthelot and Ruelle 1887–88. CCAG = Cata­logus codicum astrologorum Graecorum. 1898–. Brussels: Lamertin/ Académie Royale. CCP = The Cambridge Companion to Plotinus = Gerson 1996. CCSL = Corpus Christianorum: Series Latina. 1953–. Turnhout: Brepols. CHHP = The Cambridge History of Hellenistic Philosophy = Algra et al. 1999. CHLGEMP = The Cambridge History of ­Later Greek and Early Medieval Philosophy = Armstrong 1967a. CIL = Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum. 1863–. CLCAG = Corpus Latinum commentariorum in Aristotelem Graecorum. 1957–. Louvain: Publications Universitaires de Louvain; Paris: B. Nauwelaerts; Leiden: E. J. Brill.

xv

xvi  Main Abbreviations CMAG = Cata­logue des manuscrits alchimiques grecs. 1924–32. 8 vols. Brussels: M. Lamertin. Coll. Budé = Collection des Universités de France publiée sous le patronage de l’Association Guillaume Budé: Les Belles Lettres. CPF = Corpus dei Papiri Filosofici Greci e Latini. 1989–. Florence: Olschki. DBP = Dörrie, Baltes, and Pietsch 1987–2020. DK = Diels and Kranz 1951–52. Dox. Gr. = Doxographi Graeci = Diels 1965. DPhA = Dictionnaire des philosophes antiques, ed. R. Goulet. 1989–2018. 7 vols. and one supplement. Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique. EH = Entretiens sur l’antiquité classique. Vandoeuvres-­Geneva: Fondation Hardt. Enn. = Enneads. EproEr = Études préliminaires aux religions orientales dans l’Empire romain. Leiden: E. J. Brill. FGrH = Die Fragmente der grischischen Historiker = Jacoby 1923–58. FPG = Fragmenta Philosophorum Graecorum = Mullach 1860–81. GCS = Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten Jahrhunderte. 1887–. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs; Berlin: Akademie-­Verlag/de Gruyter. H-­S  = Consensus of H-­S1 to H-­S5. H-­S1 = Henry and Schwyzer 1951–73 (editio maior). H-­S2 = Henry and Schwyzer 1964–82 (editio minor). H-­S3 = “Addenda et Corrigenda” in H-­S1, vol. 3: 348–407. H-­S4 = “Addenda et Corrigenda” in H-­S2, vol. 3: 304–25. H-­S5 = Schwyzer 1987, 192–202. IndArist = Index Aristotelicus = Bonitz 1961. KP = Der Kleine Pauly. 1964–75. Stuttgart and Munich: Druckenmüller. LexPlot = Lexicon Plotinianum = Sleeman and Pollet 1980. LS = Long and Sedley 1987. LSJ = Liddel, Scott, and Jones 1940. MagH = Magika Hiera = Faraone and Obbink 1991. MPB = A Manichaean Psalm-­Book = Allberry 1938. Le néoplatonisme = Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique. Actes du Colloque international sur le néoplatonisme (Royaumont, 9–13 June 1969). Paris: CNRS, 1971. NF = Nock and Festugière 1945–54. NHC = Nag Hammadi Codices. OCT = Oxford Classical Texts = Scriptorum classicorum bibliotheca Oxoniensis. P. = Plotinus. PG = Patrologia Graeca = Migne 1857–87. PGM = Papyri Gaecae Magicae = Preisendanz 1973–74. PhA = Philosophia Antiqua, a series of monographs on ancient philosophy. Leiden: E. J. Brill. PL = Patrologia Latina = Migne 1844–64.

Main Abbreviations  xvii PLRE = Jones, Martindale, and Morris 1971–92. PMGM = Physici et medici Graeci minores = Ideler 1841–42. PNOO = Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei. Atti del convegno internazionale sul tema: Plotino e il neoplatonismo in Oriente e in Occidente (Rome, 5–9 October 1970). Rome, 1974. PTHP = The Pythagorean Texts of the Hellenistic Period = Thesleff 1965. PTN = The Perennial Tradition of Neoplatonism = Cleary 1997. PVP = Brisson et al. 1982–92. RE = Paulys Realencyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft. 1894–. Rev. ed., ed. Georg Wissowa et al. Stuttgart and Munich: Druckenmüller. RGVV = Religionsgeschichtliche Versuche und Vorarbeiten. Rhet. Graec. = Spengel, Leonhard. Rhetores Graeci. 1853–56. 3 vols. Bibl. Teubneriana. Lipsiae: in aedibus B. G. Teubneri. RLAC = Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum. Stuttgart: Anton Hiersemann Verlag. ROT = Barnes 1984. SHA = Scriptores Historiae Augustae. SMag = Supplementum magicum = Daniel and Maltomini 1990. SSAP = Studi sull’ anima in Plotino = Chiaradonna 2005a. SVF = Stoicorum graecorum fragmenta = von Arnim 1903–24. TGF = Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta = Nauck 1889. VP = Vita Plotini.

Fourth Ennead

IV 2 [4]. On the Essence of the Soul I

Synopsis Introductory: Review of the arguments (cf. IV 7) on the intelligible nature of the soul. The four levels of “being”: (a)  The primarily divisible: bodies (b)  The indivisible Essence: intelligible Being (c)  The secondarily divisible: enmattered forms (d)  The secondarily indivisible: the soul The soul is not solely divisible, nor solely indivisible; as the Timaeus teaches, it is si­mul­ta­neously divisible and indivisible, “one and many.”

1 2

Introduction P.’s first attempt to discuss in detail the—­central to Platonism—­theme of the soul occurs in his rather “early” treatise “On the Immortality of the Soul” (IV 7 [2]), where all the broader, fundamental characteristics pertaining to its nature w ­ ere laid down, such as the soul’s incorporeality and its immortality. In this brief treatise, which can be considered as a complement to IV 7, P. revisits the question of the nature of the soul, approaching it from a more specialized viewpoint: he is interested in specifying its precise place in his ontological system, by clarifying, as much as pos­si­ble, its mode of being, as well as the direct import of its position in the ontological hierarchy. To make headway with this sort of detailed examination of the theme, however, P. cannot rely solely on the rough distinction (inspired mainly by Plato’s Phaedo) between the corporeal and the incorporeal, which he employed in his ­earlier treatise.1 He needs to resort to the more detailed  See mainly IV 7.9.1–10, which also contains allusions to the Phaedrus and the Republic.

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4  Fourth Ennead description of the composition of the soul that is included in the psychogony of the ­Timaeus. ­There, the cosmic Soul is portrayed as composed of three constituents, each of which is the intermediate between an indivisible and a divisible entity: In between the kind of being (ousia) that is indivisible and always changeless, and the one that is divisible and comes to be in the corporeal realm, he [sc., the Demiurge] mixed a third, intermediate kind of being, derived from the other two. Similarly, he made a mixture of the Same, and then one of the Dif­fer­ent, in between their indivisible and their corporeal, divisible counter­parts. And he took the three mixtures and mixed them together to make a uniform mixture.2 P. focuses his attention on the first of ­these three constituents: the one that has to do with ousia. According to the prevalent interpretation, only one intermediate kind of being is mentioned ­here, something “third, derived from the other two” (triton ex amphoin), of which the soul is also constituted.3 Yet P. holds that between the absolutely unitary and indivisible (intelligible) Essence on the one hand, and the utterly multiple and divisible “substance”4 of sensible bodies on the other, ­there are two intermediate ontological levels: ­these are the modes of being that correspond to the souls and to qualities as observed in individual bodies, whose partition is not primary, but dependent on the bodies in which they inhere. Thus, a fourfold subdivision of all the ways in which something can “be” results; four dif­fer­ent degrees of multiplicity correspond to ­these modes of being. If we add two additional gradients to this, such that would correspond to the level “beyond being” of the One-­G ood and the level “below being,” that of formless ­matter, a six-­part schema would emerge,5 one that can accommodate P.’s ontological hierarchy in its entirety: Mode of being (ousia) 1. 2. indivisible

“Formula” one only (hen monon) (cf. Prm. 137c4–5, d2) one many (hen polla) (cf. Prm. 144e5)

Ontological level the One Intellect

2  Pl. Ti. 35a1–7, trans. Zeyl. With re­spect to the text and the interpretation of the citation, I basically follow the analy­sis (which is based on Procl. In Tim. ΙΙ, 156.8–24) in Cornford 1937, 49–66. See also Brisson 1974, 273–75. P. quotes only the first part of the passage, which pertains to the three types of being, and does not discuss the other constituents of the final mixture of which the soul is said to be composed in that dialogue. 3  See, e.g., “Alcinous” Didasc. 14, 169.22–25; Procl. In Tim. ΙΙ, 127.28–130.1, 148.5–20. 4  The derivative and precarious ontic status of the sensible bodies renders somewhat problematic the usage of the term “substance” (ousia) for them (cf. my comment on ΙΙ 6.1.13–22), yet this is founded on Plato’s own practice (cf., e.g., Tim. 37a5; Phlb. 26d8). For this reason it should be understood h ­ ere that P. is employing this term not to designate the real Being (which, of course, for P. is solely intelligible; cf. ΙΙ 6.1.1–8 with my comment), but, broadly, the “mode of being” of any given ontic status. 5  For a variety of reasons, this schema, inspired as noted by a systematic interpretation of the Hypotheses in Plato’s Parmenides, is not pre­sent in this treatise and in general remains rather implicit in P.’s work; in other parts of the Enneads he seems to be moving away from or modifying it somewhat. Cf. indicatively IV 1.19–20 and IV 3.19.11–22, where the formula for level 4 is attributed to lower psychic functions, and Porph. Sent. 5, 2.10–13. See further Hoppe 1965, 134–38.

IV 2. Essence of the Soul I  5 3.  indivisibly divisible 4.  divisible in bodies 5.  primarily divisible 6. 

one and many (hen kai polla) (cf. Prm. 155e5) many and one (polla kai hen) (cf. Prm. 157c6) only many (polla monon) (cf. Prm. 158b3) ­the ­others than one (ta alla tou henos) (cf. Prm. 159b3)

soul enmattered forms bodies matter

The motives that led P. to devise such a schema, especially the distinction between levels 3 and 4, are not immediately obvious,6 but could be correlated, among ­else, with the fact that, according to Iamblichus’ testimony, certain Aristotelians, apparently considering the soul as an indivisible “enmattered form” (enhulon eidos), classified it as a quality (poi­ otēs) of the body.7 Therefore, if P. was aware of such a view, it would be reasonable for him, qua Platonist, to seek to establish that the way in which the soul is pre­sent in the body is radically dif­fer­ent from that of a s­ imple accidental attribute, or even of an essential qualitative characteristic of the body. That is ­because, according to him, the soul constitutes a self-­subsistent and autonomous substance, one that is not dependent on the body in the least.8 Owing to its intellective origins, it is unitary and indivisible wherever it is pre­sent, yet it is expressed through its vari­ous activities. Th ­ ese activities allow it to come into contact with the multiplicity of sensible nature, and thus, in some sense, to become partitioned.9 Therefore, the soul, according to the above analy­sis, appears to be an entity that is si­mul­ta­neously divisible and indivisible: it is divisible b­ ecause its functions are assigned to the body in accordance with its receptiveness and the qualitative differentiation of its parts;10 but also indivisible, inasmuch as it inheres in its entirety in all the parts of the body, a fact that guarantees the body’s functional unity as a living organism. In this way, it can act as an intermediate between the internally interdependent unity of the intelligible world and the disorderly (prior to its intervention) multiplicity of sensible bodies. In all MS families preserving the Enneads, this treatise is placed first in the fourth Ennead. This classification is consonant with its citation in the systematic listing of VP 25.12–13,11 as well as with its title: “On the Essence of the Soul I,” on which the MSS are

6  We know, however, that similar (albeit not identical) and repeated attempts at a systematic scaling of the ways of being had been undertaken by the ­Middle Platonists, as well as ­later by Porphyry: on this, see Hadot 1968, 1:148–67. 7  See Iambl. De an. apud Stob. I 49.32 (363.19–21). 8  Cf. my comments on IV 7.11.3–17. 9  Cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 9.1.27–37. 10  It is the latter that renders a body “such and such” (toionde), i.e., suitable to receive and support the vital functions afforded to it by the soul; cf. IV 4.19.22–28. 11  As results from the incipit cited t­ here. See Henry 1938, 16.

6  Fourth Ennead also in agreement.12 Nonetheless, for reasons pertaining to the peculiar MS tradition of treatise IV 1 [21],13 Ficino placed it second, a­ fter the latter, numbering it as IV 2. This practice was also ­adopted by ­later editors; in fact, from Volkmann onward, its title was likewise adapted to “On the Essence of the Soul II,” so as to reflect its new position. H-­S restored it to its original place in their editions, but retained Ficino’s numbering in order to avoid disturbing the manner in which it is cited. I opted to follow their example, notwithstanding the discrepancies between title and number, so as to avoid compounding the reader’s confusion.14

Commentary 1.1–7. Τὴν τῆς ψυχῆς . . . ​αὐτῆς: In ­these lines, P. is conducting a brief review of the contents of his—­chronologically—­earlier treatise ΙV 7 [2]. Th ­ ere he argued for the incorporeality of the soul, mainly against the Stoics, in IV 7.2–83, while in IV 7.84 he discussed and rejected the theory of the soul as the harmony between the body’s components. In ΙV 7.85 we had a rebuttal of the Peripatetic view of the soul as “actuality” (entelecheia) of the body. In IV 7.9–10 he goes on to establish the soul as a “dif­fer­ent kind of nature” (hetera phusis), that is, “not a body or an affection of body” but purely intelligible and “akin to the diviner nature” (cf. Pl. Resp. X 611e2–3), and therefore belonging to the “divine portion” of higher entities (cf. Pl. Phdr. 230a5–6, and IV 8.7.6). We thus observe that this review covers the better part of IV 7, including sections of it that have come down to us only indirectly, through the Preparatio Euangelica of Eusebius of Caesarea. (For a summary pre­sen­ta­tion of the subject, see Kalligas 2001, 587–88.) Of greater interest is section IV 7.85, whose place in Porphyry’s edition of the Enneads had been previously challenged, the theory being that Eusebius drew on some e­ arlier version of this treatise that did not include this section. This debate partly revolves around the meaning of the participle aphentes (in l. 4), which can be translated as ­either (a) “omitted,” “left out” (Creuzer, Heinemann, Henry); or (b) “dismissed,” “abandoned” (Bouillet, Oppermann, Bréhier, Harder, Armstrong, Igal). For (a) to be true, the passage in contention could not form part of this treatise, while (b) presupposes the opposite; on this, see Henry 1935, 118–25. Although the second interpretation appears more compelling—­more so in view of the precise correspondence, as noted by Oppermann 1928, 425–26, between the course of the argument in IV 7.85 and its summary ­here—it should be noted that ­either view on the question of the participle’s meaning cannot lead to a conclusive resolution of the ­matter of the passage’s exact provenance (notwithstanding the unequivocal 12  The chronological listing in VP 4.28–29 mentions it as simply “On the Essence of the Soul,” while the summary “Pinax” that the MSS preserve ­after the end of the VP (see H-­S2, 1:40) cites the full title but omits the incipit. 13  On this treatise, see the relevant introduction. 14  On the contrary, Cilento and Armstrong managed to exacerbate the confusion: while they do follow H-­S in terms of the order of the treatises, they proceed to switch the numbering of treatises IV 1 and IV 2! Unfortunately, Guidelli follows their example in the most recent Italian collective translation. Igal, on the other hand, numbers and places this treatise second, yet translates its title as preserved in the MSS: “. . . ​Libro I.”

IV 2. Essence of the Soul I  7 tone of, e.g., Goulet-­Cazé 1982b, 293–94), inasmuch as the reference ­here is clearly to a pre-­enneadic version of that treatise. Therefore, the ­whole question should be ultimately examined on the basis of stylistic and broader semantic cohesion criteria. 1.7–9. ὅμως γε μὴν . . . ​τιθέμενοι: That the pure soul is a purely intelligible entity is one of P.’s characteristic doctrines. Cf. indicatively IV 7.10.32–37, and Kalligas, 1997b, 219n.48. 1.9–11. νῦν δὲ . . . ​μεταδιώκωμεν: The method P. is about to employ h ­ ere is entirely dif­ fer­ent from the one in IV 7. ­There, a dialectical examination of alternative materialistic or epiphenomenalistic theories led to the recognition of the intelligible nature of the soul. ­Here, making this thesis his point of departure, P. deduces its concomitants, mainly regarding the relation of the soul with the body and its presence in it. More specifically, ­after announcing an exhaustive fourfold subdivision of all the pos­si­ble “modes of being,” the soul ­will be placed in the relevant grade in the resulting schema. 1.11–17. λέγωμεν δὴ . . . ​ἐν πλείοσι τόποις εἶναι: The examination commences with a description of the nature of bodies, which appear as sensible “magnitudes” (megethē) and “masses” (ogkoi), that is, as res extensae: ­things that have extension, occupy space, and impede (­because of their “re­sis­tance”, antitypia) other bodies from being pre­sent in the same space as them. At the same time, their materiality limits them to that space and, somehow, renders them bound to it. Cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 6.18.24–41; on the meaning of the term ogkos, see Brisson 2000, 100–102. This entails that ­every part of them, inasmuch as it is also bodily, ­will be distinct from ­every other part as well as from the whole—in contrast to the circumincessant nature of the intelligibles; compare my comments on ΙΙΙ 2.1.26–34 and ΙΙΙ 8.8.40–48. Therefore, each body’s extension is connate to it, a direct consequence of its materiality; cf. my comment on ΙΙ 4.11.27–43 and ­Matter 1964, 27. That is why space is logically subsequent to ­matter and bodies; see ΙΙ 4.12.11–12 and Emilsson 1988, 215–16. It is the presence of bodies, their extension and arrangement that, somehow, engenders the local differentiations, and, consequently, space. Thus bodies are primarily divisible (“dispersible” skedasta: cf. Pl., Ti. 37a5; “Alcinous,” Didasc. 25, 177.25–26), and it is with reference to them that space is apportioned to par­tic­u­lar places, and the vari­ous sensible forms to par­tic­u­lar objects. 1.17–24. ἡ δέ ἐστιν . . . ​τῶν ἐφεξῆς: In contradistinction to bodily nature, the intelligible Essence is altogether insusceptible to partition, for it lacks extension and is not apportioned in space and time, but is inherent, or rather through its presence governs all beings, which owe their existence to it and from which they draw their subsistence. 1.24–29. οἷον κέντρον . . . ​αὑτὰς ἐκεῖ: This foundational origin of intelligible beings, their common ontological essence, is wholly without parts and is compared—­with the aid of one of the most celebrated images employed by P. (see the relevant list provided by Tornau 1998, 371–72)—to the center of a circle, on which its radii and circumference depend and, so to speak, “emanate” from. This image is at times used by P. to describe the relation of the Intellect to the intelligible object of its contemplation (see ΙΙΙ 8.8.36–38

8  Fourth Ennead with my comment, and VI 5.5.1–23), and at times for the Intellect’s relation with the Good that lies beyond it (see Ι 7.1.23–26, V 1.11.10–13, VI 8.18.3–25); this adds some validity to the observation in Emilsson 1998, 210–13, that in his e­ arlier treatises, like the current one, P. had not fully elaborated his view on the transcendence of the One with re­spect to Intellect; cf. also below, my comment on 2.52–55. His aim ­here is to underscore the wholly indivisible character of intelligible Essence, which remains undisturbedly unitary and compact, even though a multitude of individual intellects look t­ oward it. 1.29–41. τούτου δὴ . . . ​καὶ τοῦτο θετέον: In between the wholly indivisible, intelligible Essence and the primarily divisible nature of the bodies, and closer to the latter, stands another category of entities, themselves also divisible, yet not primarily as in the case of bodies, but rather, in the words of Timaeus, 35a2–3, “divisible in the sphere of the bodies.” ­These are qualities that are inherent in t­ hese bodies, which become apportioned and individuated on the basis of bodies and are incapable of existing in­de­ pen­dently; on this, see Kalligas 1997c, 398. The “whiteness,” for example, that exists in a par­tic­u­lar piece of paper is numerically dif­fer­ent from the “whiteness” of another piece of paper, although, clearly, they may both be identical in “form” qua qualities, constituting manifestations or images of the same intelligible Form, Whiteness itself, which, nonetheless, according to P., does not constitute a quality, but an essence; cf. ΙΙ 6.1.13–22 with my comment; and Emilsson 1988, 217–19. Should we, therefore, cut that white piece of paper in half, the result ­will be two individual “whitenesses,” one for each part, given that the identity of each is directly dependent on the identity of the “substance” to which it inheres. We could therefore claim that inherent entities of this kind are fully divisible, albeit in a derivative way, correlated with the bodies, on which their existence depends. At the same time, given that the presence of each such quality in each body is complete, and not partial or fragmentary, it could be said that their apportionment is indivisible, ­because a complete entity (holon) results from each part, exhibiting all the distinctive features also borne by the respective universal quality. The origin of this view regarding inherent individual qualities can, of course, be traced back to Aristotle’s Categories, 2, 1a24–29—­according, that is, to at least one interpretation: cf., indicatively, Ackrill 1963, 74–75; Duerlinger 1970, 183–89—­and entails certain difficulties, with which P. sought to deal l­ater in treatise ΙΙ 6 [17]; see the relevant introduction. Yet ­here he is content with demonstrating the existence of an intermediate ontological level, where the respective entities are neither absolutely indivisible—­inasmuch as they are apportioned depending on the bodies to which they inhere—­nor primarily divisible, for their apportionment depends on t­ hese. The use of the phrase “(enmattered) form” for ­these qualities, although alluding to the Aristotelian origins of the concept, had already become naturalized in the Platonic vocabulary by Seneca’s time; see Epist. 58.20–21, and cf. “Alcinous” Didasc. 4, 155.39–41, 10, 166.3– 5; Theiler 1930, 10–12; Chiaradonna 2007, 39–42; and, with re­spect to P. himself, ΙΙ 4.6.10 and my comment on ΙΙΙ 6.17.1–12. It is pos­si­ble that a similar interpretation of the same passage from the Timaeus had been put forward by the earliest systematic commentator of Plato, Crantor; according to Plutarch De an. proc.1, 1012d, Crantor interpreted the mixture as being made up of

IV 2. Essence of the Soul I  9 “the intelligible nature, and that which forms impressions of perceptible objects by means of opinions” (doxastē), provided, of course, that the final phrase can be regarded as referring to the sensible qualities of bodies, which the soul ­ought to be in a position to “know” (gigknōskei, see op. cit. 2, 1012f ). 1.41–53. πρὸς δ’ αὖ . . . ​ἡ αὐτή: ­Here we have the introduction of a fourth ontological level, mediating (en mesōi is the phrase in Timaeus 35a3; cf. Arnobius Adu. nat. II 30–31, 73.27–28: “A certain intermediate, the undecided and ambiguous nature of the soul . . .”) between the indivisible Essence and the secondarily divisible one that was just mentioned, a level that corresponds to the soul’s way of being. P. is firstly concerned with explaining the differences between t­ hese two intermediate levels. A universal quality can be pre­ sent in many dif­f er­ent bodies, yet the specific par­tic­u­lar property of each of ­these is completely individuated and distinct (“cut off ”) from ­those of other bodies; Callias’ bravery or whiteness is altogether distinct from that of Socrates’; and the whiteness of this piece of paper is “cut off ” from the whiteness of another piece, lacking any sort of community of affection (cf. 1.40)—­one of the two can be altered or vanish without the other suffering the least. The soul, on the contrary, although it too is able to be pre­sent in multiple and differentiated parts of a body, is pre­sent as a ­whole everywhere, in each and ­every single one of ­these (cf. V 1.2.35–38 and, with re­spect to this point, Tert. De an. 14.5). In this way, it ensures their homopatheia, that is, the fact that each of ­these parts is influenced and co-­affected by what happens to the other parts through an internal apperception that binds and coordinates them into a unitary synergy of vital functions, what is elsewhere called “nature” (phusis); cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 8.4.15–31 and VI 4.1.17–29 with the comments of Tornau 1998, 26–30. 1.53–59. ἣν δὲ . . . ​τοῦ εἶναι μία: The soul too inheres in bodies, albeit not as a quality but as an autonomous substance, and is apportioned in t­ hese, without forfeiting, however, its indivisible unity with all the other souls, in such a way that they constitute a unitary nature. P. would examine the associated prob­lems that arise in the chronologically not-­so-­distant treatise IV 9 [8]. At any rate, the apportionment of the soul does not constitute a component of its identity but rather a mere “accident” (symbainei: cf. Santa Cruz 1979, 54; and Phillips 2002, 245), which is the consequence of the primary dispersion of the bodies, and does not alter the essential unity that binds the souls and renders pos­si­ble their “concurrent awareness” (sunaisthēsis) and “co-­affection” or “affinity” (sumpatheia); cf. ΙΙ 3.9.39–42; IV 3.8.2–4; IV 4.45.8–19; and IV 9.3.1–9. This unity, of course, does not go as far as annulling the uniqueness and individuality of each soul, for it has its basis in the unitary multiplicity of the intelligible world itself; on this, see Kalligas 1997b, 220–23. It prevents individual souls, however, from becoming detached from each other and isolated, thereby losing their connate “kinship” (sungeneia). That is why each soul is both “one” (hen) and “many” (polla), or as it is claimed elsewhere “par­tic­u­lar without being par­tic­u­lar” (hekastē ouch hekastē); see VI 4.16.33. 1.59–66. οὐχ οὕτως . . . ​αὐτοῦ ὅλη: Bodies that lack a soul do not possess any internal unifying princi­ple. The only t­ hing securing their unity is their natu­ral cohesion and the

10  Fourth Ennead coherence of one part with the other; once this is broken, ­these parts are left unconnected and isolated from one another. Not even possession of a shared property is capable of making two dif­f er­ent bodies become one, that is, to constitute an autonomously unitary entity. Only the soul has the ability to unite disparate bodily parts into a unitary organism, where each part cooperates and collaborates with the rest, thanks to the coordinating presence of the entire soul; see also Emilsson 1991, 155–57. 1.66–76. καὶ ὁ τοῦτο κατιδὼν . . . ​οὐκ αὐτῆς: The singular manner in which the soul is apportioned while remaining undivided suffices to show its incorporeal nature. No material body could exhibit such be­hav­ior, for it would be bound by the space its mass takes up; see below, my comment on 1.11–17. On the other hand, the soul is not essentially apportioned, only the bodies (and their parts); ­these are apportioned in space, and by participating with the soul, make it appear as if it becomes portioned out, whereas in real­ity it remains together, indivisible and unitary; cf. VI 4.4.27–32. Just as in the case of the soul’s affections, the apportionment attributed to it is per extrinsecam denominationem; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 6.4.41–52. 2.2–12. εἴτε γὰρ . . . ​μάταιον: The first argument pertaining to the soul’s incorporeality involves its capacity to perceive: something purely corporeal could not possess a central perceptual faculty, to which all sensations from peripheral sensory organs arrive. Each stimulus would only pertain to the specific affected part, and would remain l­ imited to it, without being capable of becoming perceived by any other part of the body, given that psychic activity is a prerequisite for that—­this is a position to which even the materialist Stoics subscribed; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 6.1.1–4 and ΙV 7.6.1–19. Cohesion, which as mentioned above in 1.60–61, is the sole unifying f­ actor for bodies, does not suffice to impart the capacity to perceive, or their “community of affection” (homopatheia), that is, to render them unitary living organisms. Furthermore, as already noted by Alexander of Aphrodisias De mixt. 10, 223.25–224.14, the cohesive power attributed by the Stoics to “breath” (pneūma) can hardly be reconciled with its purely material subsistence. Even the Stoic Hierocles El. Eth. 6.11–17, admitted that in order to act cohesively on the body, any psychic “hegemonic power” (hēgemonike dunamis) would have to be “cohesive of itself ” (heautēs sunektikē). Yet, according to P., this is above and beyond the capabilities of a ­simple body; cf. VI 9.1.10–14; but also Alex. Aphrod., De an. mant. II, 114.39–115.6. 2.12–18. οὐ γὰρ δὴ . . . ​ὄντος: The argument now comes to the question of the nature of the organism’s cohesive princi­ple that, according to the Stoics, is to be identified with the soul’s “directive faculty” (hēgemonikon; P. ­here prefers the Platonic term hēgemonoun, i.e., “the ruling princi­ple”; cf. Ti. 41c7), which is also the center at which all perceptual apprehensions arrive; see SVF 2:857. If the soul is a material body, the question is how it can be portioned out so that one part of it is the seat of the faculty of seeing, another is that of the faculty of hearing, and yet another part is the hēgemonikon, which apprehends ­these sensations (cf. SVF 2:854 and 860) and memorizes or pro­cesses them in a rational manner.

IV 2. Essence of the Soul I  11 2.18–31. καὶ πότερα . . . ​ἐκεῖ γεγονέναι: A series of aporiai follows, surrounding the way in which sensory stimuli are transmitted from sensory organs to the hēgemonikon, provided we accept the view that the soul is corporeal. The term “transmission” (diadosis) already employed by P. in l. 13, is known to us from Plato (Ti. 45d2; 64b3–­c3, e5; 67b2–5), but it appears that it had acquired a special significance in the context of the so-­called pneumatic theory that emerged mainly among the Peripatetics; on this, see Jaeger 1913, 43ff. Apart from Aristotle (Insomn. 2, 459b2–5), we find it used by Theophrastus to describe the associated theories of Alcmaeon and Diogenes of Apollonia (Sens. 25 and 40; on this, see Solmsen 1961, 151–53), while in Strato it represents a basic constituent of his theory of sensory perception and is illustrated with the help of a characteristic example: “Hence, when we bump into something, we often instantly contract our eyebrows [which, according to Strato, constitute the seat of the “directive faculty”; see frs. 119–21], . . . ​ while the center of command rapidly refers the sensation to the part which received the knock. Again, if our limbs are secured by bonds  we press hard with our hands, resisting the transmission (diadosin) of the injury and squeezing the blow to keep it in the parts that have no feeling, so that it does not become a pain by making contact with the part of us that has understanding” (Strato fr. 111 = [Plut.] Parsne an fac. 4, 40.2–9, trans. Sandbach). Cf. also Alex. Aphrod. De an. 41.5, 63.16; and Galen PHP VII 4, 448.15–17, 452.23; and also SVF 2:882. As may be deduced by a parallel discussion of the subject in IV 7.7.2–28, P. holds that such a materialistic approach is incapable of accounting for the soul’s perceptual functioning. That is ­because only one of the two can be the case: ­either (a) the hēgemonikon alone perceives, without, however, coming into contact with stimuli, for it resides elsewhere, for example, in the heart, as the Stoics believed (see SVF 2:837–39); or (b) certain other parts of the soul also possess perceptual faculties. In fact, (a) formed the main thesis of Strato’s theory, who argued that “nothing has any sensation except the soul’s center of command” (op. cit.), indeed invoking a verse from Epicharmus (fr. 249): “It is the mind which sees, the mind that hears—­all e­ lse is blind and deaf ” (see Strato, fr. 112; but cf. also SVF 2:854). P. adduces three arguments against this: (i) If affection impinges directly, and only to the hēgemonikon, it is impossible to identify its origin, that is, the sense organ responsible for it. (ii) Should affection impinge on some other part of the soul, it ­will go unnoticed, inasmuch as that part ­will lack sensation. (iii) If we regard the hēgemonikon as something composite, then the incidence of affection to one of its parts could not be transmitted to the rest, b­ ecause in such a case ­either only the specific part would have sensation whereas the rest would have no reason to not remain senseless, or other­wise a myriad of successive sensations would arise (a fact underlined through their slightly humorous personification; most of the other brief personifications found in the Enneads are in the same playful vein, e.g., in ΙΙΙ 6.15.28, IV 4.7.14, V 3.3.4, 10.35–37, 13.24, VI 4.6.15, in contrast to the dignified tone informing more extensive personifications, on which see my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.3.20), and it would be impossible to ascertain their starting point. We should note ­here that Strato himself conceded that, in order to identify the source of a sensation, apart from its “transmission,” a further psychic action would be required, which he called “calculation” or

12  Fourth Ennead “appropriation” (proslogizesthai or analegesthai); through this, the soul ascertains “where it originated, as the soul is drawn ­towards the source that has affected it” (fr. 111). 2.31–35. εἰ δὲ μὴ . . . ​γ νώσεται: ­Here P. examines the second branch (b) of the disjunction introduced in 2.18–19. In view of case (iii) discussed above, it becomes clear that h ­ ere P. examines only the possibility that some part of the soul may have sensation without the involvement of the hēgemonikon. In that case, of course, the raison d’être of the hēgemonikon vanishes altogether. Only isolated sensory impressions, sights, sound, ­etc. would exist, without t­ hese being combined in a common perceptual pro­cess, along the lines of Aristotle’s “common sensation” (koinē aisthēsis). Cf. IV 7.6.3–19, and Pl. Tht. 184d1–5. 2.35–39. εἰ δ’ αὖ . . . ​ὄγκον: On the other hand, if the soul is regarded as something completely unitary, it would remain devoted to its intelligible center (cf.1.24–29), lacking the ability to apportion and deploy its vari­ous functions to the dif­fer­ent parts of the body, which would thus remain soulless and unable to operate as an organism, where each part cooperates with and is co-­affected by the rest, thereby contributing to a unitary life. In such a case, the soul would be deprived of its most distinctive property, namely, the provision of life to the body. 2.39–42. δεῖ ἄρα . . . ​πολλαχοῦ εἶναι: The foregoing analy­sis leads to the conclusion that the soul cannot be totally multiple, in the manner of bodies, whose unity is superadded and essentially factitious, yet it cannot be perfectly uniform e­ ither. The remaining option, then, is to regard it as unitary and at the same time multiple, in accordance with the formula in Plato’s Parmenines (155e5: cf. V 1.8.26, and Jackson 1967, 325–27; the same formula was also employed by Alexander of Aphrodisias, De an. 63.13; Quaest. ΙΙΙ 9, 96.16–17, with reference to the “common sensation”); or, according to the equivalent formula in the Timaeus, as partitioned and indivisible: unitary in terms of its essence, which is intellective, yet multiple in terms of its activities, which are apportioned in the multiplicity of bodies. P. is well aware of the paradoxical nature of ­these characterizations, yet he invites us to suppress our reservations, marshaling an expression commonly employed to describe extraordinary or even wondrous events; cf. Festugière 1960, 133– 37. For the presence of the soul in the world and its activity in it constitute a veritable “won­der” (thauma); cf. ΙΙΙ 2.13.20–25, ΙΙΙ 3.3.30–34. At the same time, the terms in which the soul’s unitary presence in the body’s multiple parts is couched suggests that P. had in mind ­here the related aporiai expressed in the first part of Plato’s Parmenides; cf. mainly Prm. 131b3–8. 2.42–49. εἰ γὰρ τοῦτο . . . ​μιμεῖται τοῦτο: This intermediating role of the soul between unity and multiplicity constitutes its characteristic contribution in the world. It allows it to act cohesively and as an organ­izing capacity by subduing the chaotic multiplicity of ­matter into regularities, and imposing a rational order on it; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.4.26–36. Of course, this occurs mainly through the so-­called lower of the soul’s faculties, the perceptive and—­chiefly—­the vegetative; cf. IV 9.3.11–16. This cohesive action of the soul was particularly stressed, according to one testimony, also by P.’s teacher, Ammonius Saccas, who in so ­doing likewise sought to highlight its incorporeality: see

IV 2. Essence of the Soul I  13 Nemesius De nat. hom. 69–70; this is a passage that pre­sents notable similarities to another part of the pre­sent treatise, 1.11–12. It is likely, therefore, that ­here as in other cases, in the words of Porphyry we find P. “basing his lectures on his studies with Ammonius,” VP 3.33–34 (cf. VP 14.15–16). 2.49–52. τοῦτ’ ἄρα . . . ​εἶδος: The final answer with re­spect to the nature of the soul is provided by quoting verbatim a celebrated passage from the Timaeus 35a1–4; this passage, however, is vexed by hermeneutical difficulties that have become proverbial (on this, cf. Sext. Emp. Math. Ι 301, and also Taylor 1928, 106: “the most perplexing and difficult passage of the ­whole dialogue”) and make it seem like a riddle or an oracle, one that requires careful interpretation; cf. my comment on Ι 6.8.19. The view that Plato was being vague deliberately, so as to render his doctrines inaccessible to t­ hose lacking the proper hermeneutical tools, had by the time of ­Middle Platonism become quite widespread; this certainly facilitated the boldest among Plato’s interpreters in resorting to elaborate and, at times, imaginative construals; on this see Baltes 1976–78, 1:125; Tarrant 2000, 19–25; Dillon 2006, 25–26. As regards the text of the citation, the most noteworthy divergence from the version preserved in the MSS of Plato is the omission of the phrase “intermediate” (en mesōi) that occurs ­after “[derived] from the other two” (ex amphoin); this is a phrase, however, that P. seemed to have been aware of e­ arlier, in 1. 45. The motive for this omission was arguably the fact that in 1. 54 the soul was shown to adhere (proschoroūsa) more closely to the intelligible Essence than to its sensible offprints. For the rest, the basic peculiarity of P.’s interpretation, as molded in the preceding discussion, is that whereas the “indivisible and always changeless” denotes (as was customarily accepted; cf., e.g., Procl. In Ti. ΙΙ 147.23–24; Calc. In Ti. 27, 78.4–5) the realm of intelligible Forms (cf. above, 1.30), what is “divisible and comes to be in the corporeal realm” is interpreted not as the nature of ­these bodies (see Procl. op. cit. 148.27; Calcid. op. cit. 78.5–8; and Emilsson 1994, 5340), but as the nature of the qualities inherent in ­these—in other words, of the “enmattered forms”; cf. Schwyzer 1935, 363–64, and above, 1.31–41 with my comments. As we have seen, this interpretation is problematic inasmuch as it introduces two ontological levels mediating between the intelligibles and bodies, which appears to be out of tune with the dialogue’s wording. Similar fourfold classifications of the modes of being had become quite widespread in antiquity; in fact, according to Procl. In. Ti. Ι 257.3–8, Porphyry, prob­ ably relying on Aristotle’s analy­sis in Cael. I 12, 282a4–25, had also put forward such a fourfold subdivision, as follows: 1. the primary eternal being 2. what is both being and becoming 3. what is becoming and being 4. what is only becoming

—­ —­ —­ —­

the intelligible the area of the soul the borderline of becoming [sensible bodies]

By comparing this schema with the one P. has in mind (on this, see the introduction to this treatise) the pivotal role of the phrase “the one that is divisible and comes to be (gignomenēs) in the corporeal realm” in P.’s interpretation becomes evident. ­Because what comes to be and passes away from the bodies, “­those that act” (poiounta) and “are acted upon” (paschonta), ­will be the conflicting images through the alternation of which

14  Fourth Ennead bodies acquire their vari­ous properties; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 6.8.1–11, and 9.20–37. The general advantages this interpretation holds for P. are chiefly the following: (a) It fully ensures the incorporeal character of the soul, inasmuch as both its components are, strictly speaking, non-­bodily. (b) The soul’s composition ­will constitute a substantial basis for the duality of its cognitive capabilities: its indivisible component allows it to know the intelligible beings, while its divisible component affords it access to the qualitative characteristics that characterize sensible bodies; the soul is only able to come to know t­ hese, for their other component, ­matter, remains cognitively inaccessible, at least directly; cf. ΙΙ 4.10.1–10 with my comment, as well as Kalligas 1997c, 400. As is well known, Crantor had worked out similar epistemological extensions for his own interpretation of the psychogony in the Timaeus (see Plut. De an. proc. 2, 1012f–1013a), yet his conclusions differ drastically from P.’s. See also “Alcinous,” Didasc. 14, 169.18–27, with the observations in Deuse 1983, 87–91. 2.52–55. ἔστιν οὖν . . . ​ἓν μόνον: In four concise sentences, the author summarizes the treatise’s conclusions. We are reminded of Porphyry’s account of P.’s teaching style (VP 14.16–18): “He quickly absorbed what was read, and would give the sense of some profound subject of study in a few words and pass on.” Th ­ ere is an ele­ment of surprise in the introduction of ­these final distinctions (Heinemann 1921, 101 describes them as blosse Taschenspielerunterscheidung) that, however, should not bewilder us. This is b­ ecause ­here it becomes clear that the textual substrate b­ ehind this schematic construal is in fact Plato’s Parmenides; the successive Hypotheses in that dialogue systematically correspond to the gradients of the hierarchical ontology expounded thus far; on this, see the introduction. The sole difficulty ­here pertains to the exact meaning of the phrase to hypertaton. Appearing in one more passage in the Enneads (VI 8.16.8), this clearly refers to the One-­ Good, as one would expect keeping in mind the established structure of P.’s ontological system; see also Santa Cruz 1979, 55 with n.6. The absence of any reference to the One in the remainder of this treatise, however, has led some scholars, including Hoppe 1965, 136, with n.1; and Igal 1982, 282, with n.3, to regard it as the hypostasis of the Intellect. As Emilsson 1990, 208–12, has observed, we should note h ­ ere that in P.’s e­ arlier works ­there seems to be no radical distinction between the One and Intellect, something that is first touched upon in treatise V 4 [7].1.1–13, 2.1–3 (not yet in the usual manner) and becomes established through VI 9 [9], and V 1 [10]. If we recall that, according to the available evidence, Ammonius Saccas had not developed the doctrine of the One as beyond the intelligible (on this, see Baltes 1985, 328–30) and that, as we have already noted (see above, my comment on 2.42–49), P. seems h ­ ere to be closely following his master’s thought, one can plausibly assume that the “Supreme” (hypertaton) is to be understood ­here as the unitary originating “center” whence the Intellect springs (cf. above 1.17–29), and to which its primary energy is directed (cf. V 3.4.28–26). This can be described as “intelligible” (noēton, cf. V 4.2.4), but at the same time as “one” (hen op. cit. 2.8), thereby justifying its description above in 1.29–30, as “primarily indivisible being which dominates in the intelligible and among real beings.” Therefore, without being completely identified with ­either the first or the second hypostasis of the mature Plotinian system, it acts as the ultimate intelligible princi­ple of every­thing.

IV 1 [21]. On the Essence of the Soul II

Synopsis At the intelligible level, the souls constitute an indivisible unity. Their descent into the bodies, however, entails their dispersion. For this reason, Plato in the Timaeus describes the soul as composed of two constituent ele­ments, one indivisible and one divisible.

Introduction This brief note in effect discusses a passage from the Timaeus also examined in the immediately preceding treatise IV 2 [4]. More or less, it covers the same themes treated ­there, mainly in IV 2.2.35–52, and could perhaps represent a preliminary draft of it. It certainly does not constitute its sequel,1 nor an alternative rendition of some part of it. It is a somewhat surprising vestige from P.’s remnants, one that affords us a glimpse of his study, at a time when his material was still being formed. An initial prob­lem pertaining to the relation of the soul with the intellect forces P. to seek recourse to the relevant Platonic text. P.’s hermeneutical paraphrase of that passage elucidates, to a certain extent, his theme, but at the same time raises further issues, which, for the time being, remain pending. Strangely enough, this “treatise” had a rather peculiar adventure in the context of the manuscript tradition of the Enneads. It seems that Porphyry had originally included it, without a distinct title, as the last of the “Vari­ous Considerations” (ΙΙΙ 9 [13]).2 Yet he 1  Contrary to what is the case elsewhere in the Enneads, where we have treatises sharing the same title while numbered as separate books: cf. ΙΙΙ 2–3, ΙV 3–5, VI 1–3, and VI 4–5. 2  On this, see the relevant introduction. Th ­ ere, just like ­here, the treatise’s place in the chronological listing provided by the VP, 4.63–65, ­under the title “In What Way the Soul Is Said to Be a Mean between Undivided and Divided Being,” as the last of the treatises of P.’s early period of composition, should be considered factitious. Besides, during its composition Porphyry was not even in Rome; cf. Theiler 1941, 174, whose further suppositions, however, are completely unfounded.

15

16  Fourth Ennead subsequently de­cided to place it as an in­de­pen­dent treatise in the second position of the fourth Ennead.3 An oversight, which evidently occurred during the pro­cess of copying the manuscripts of Porphyry’s edition, led to its text also being preserved at the end of the preceding Ennead; as a result, the majority of the MSS extant ­today contain two slightly divergent versions of it in ­these two places.4 However, the two main MSS of the first f­amily (Α and Ε = w, according to the sigla employed by Η-­S) feature this treatise only at the end of ΙΙΙ 9, obviously b­ ecause of the fact that the copyist of some ancestor noticed the repetition and deemed it unnecessary to cite the same text for a second time.5 Ficino followed the same practice when he published his Latin translation (Florence 1492), although he recognized it as a discrete treatise, thus numbering it IV 1. All subsequent editions of P.’s works preserving their “enneadic” arrangement have followed Ficino’s example, ­until H-­S determined to restore the treatise to the position where Porphyry had placed it, without, however, altering its numbering.6 Notwithstanding a certain inconsistency in numbering, this is clearly preferable to perpetuating the confusion caused by the coexistence of vari­ous other, equally problematic, solutions.

Commentary 1–2. Ἐν τῷ κόσμῳ . . . ​καὶ ἐνταῦθα: P.’s first point of concern is explaining the differences between souls and other intelligible beings. The question, also posed in IV 2.2.35– 39, is approached ­here in a slightly more aporetic manner. Thus, the intelligible world seems to be subdivided into two parts: the higher of ­these is Intellect, while the lower is composed of the souls; although they originate with the Intellect, they extend into the world of becoming. It is this paradoxical position of the souls that ­will be clarified in what follows. 3–8. κἀκεῖνος . . . ​καὶ ἀμέριστος: The highest stage of the souls, which is fully integrated into the intelligible world, bears its distinctive features. It is incorporeal, “all together” (homou pasa: Anaxagoras, fr. Β1 DK; and cf. my comment on Ι 1.8.6–8), and indivisible, without each soul ­there being separable—­that is, discrete—­from the rest; instead, all together they form an indissoluble unity. Given that heavy emphasis is placed on the 3  Perhaps following his choice to pre­sent “On the Immortality of the Soul” (IV 7) as a single treatise; cf. my introduction ­there, as well as Theiler 1941, 174. 4 ­ These are represented in H-­S by the sigla Enn.a (for the one included in III 9) and Enn.b. According to Schwyzer 1951, 489, the latter represents the form of the text as revised and edited by Porphyry, while the former is an ­earlier “pre-­enneadic” version of it, although this cannot be verified. For a detailed comparative pre­sen­ta­tion of the two versions, see Henry 1938, 36–40. See also a survey of the ­whole question by Goulet-­ Cazé 1982b, 298–301. 5  Nonetheless, the scribe of Α, i.e., of the famous Laurentianus 87.3, on the basis of which Ficino produced his edition, rec­ords the text of the treatise also in the margin of the MS, ­after the end of IV 2, while Ioannes Skoutariotes, the scribe of F, a copy of Α commissioned by Ficino, reintroduced it, along with its title, placing it between IV 2 and IV 3. On this, see Henry 1938, 18–19 and 46, as well as figure 1 at the end of the pre­sent volume. 6  On this, see my introduction to the preceding treatise.

IV 1. Essence of the Soul II  17 unity informing the intelligible realm, it appears that the reading en heni (= “in a unitary world”) attested in Enn.a, is preferable to the en aiōni (“in the world which is eternity,” in Armstrong’s translation) of Enn.b. The latter reading, without contradicting what is being claimed in other parts of the Enneads (on the contrary: cf. ΙΙΙ 7.6.3–14, V 9.10.9– 14), appears out of place in this context, a feeling apparently shared by Henry 1938, 38; van der Valk 1956, 133, maintains the same. 8–12. ἔχει δὲ . . . ​καὶ μεμέρισται: Yet apart from its indivisible aspect the soul also has a divisible one (cf. Pl. Ti. 35a1–3), which allows it to be apportioned in the vari­ous bodies, but also, through its activity, to endow the dif­fer­ent parts of each body with their vari­ous functions; cf. IV 2.1.69–75, IV 3.19.8–22. This apportionment is of course brought about by the primary dispersion of the bodies (cf. IV 2.1.11–17) and occurs in accordance with the suitability of the latter to acquire some trace of it. But it presupposes that the soul itself is susceptible to becoming partitioned in this way into vari­ous functions: this is why its description as divisible (meristē) is consonant, to a certain extent, with its nature. 12–17. πῶς οὖν . . . ​ἐκ κέντρου: Certainly the soul is not divisible in its entirety. Especially its higher functions bear very ­little affinity to the body, inasmuch as they do not presuppose the cooperation of some bodily organ; cf. IV 3.19.24–27; and Arist. De an. III 4, 429a24–27. This, however, ­causes a prob­lem in terms of the indivisible part’s relation to its divisible one, which was just discussed. In ­later stages of his work, P. preferred to consider the “divisible in the sphere of the bodies” (peri ta sōmata meriston) as referring not to the soul itself, but to one of the components of the blend of which it is made up. Furthermore, the division of the soul itself is in fact only apparent; cf. IV 2.1.44–46, 69–76, IV 3.19.30–34, and VI 4.4.27–39. But ­here it seems that this view has not yet crystalized, and as a result he interprets the above-­mentioned phrase from the Timaeus as referring to two parts, by which the soul is somehow composed. In order to explain how an indivisible and a divisible part can be combined, P. resorts to the familiar example of the circle and its center, which had already been employed by Alexander of Aphrodisias (see mainly Quaest. ΙΙΙ 9, 96.12–27) to illustrate the unity of the “judging” (krinon) common sensory center vis-­à-­vis the multiplicity of the vari­ous sensory stimuli that, following dif­f er­ent directions, reach it from the “periphery” of the body; cf. IV 2.1.24–29 with my comment; and IV 7.6.3–15. Of par­tic­u­lar interest is the comparison of the projection of the divisible soul from the indivisible one to the production of a line from a point by means of a pro­cess of “outflowing” (rhueisa—cf. Philo Opif. 49; Theon Sm. De ut. math., 83.21–23; Sext. Emp. Math. VII 99; Hippol. Haer. IV 51.3; and Ferwerda 1965, 26– 28). And this is ­because we come across an entirely parallel comparison in a passage from Macrobius (In Somn. I 12.5–6, trans. Stahl, adjusted), where it is generally accepted that the author is drawing on Numenius’ theory concerning the descent of the souls into bodies (see fr. 35; and de Ley 1972, 36–50): “the soul, descending . . . ​is protracted in its downward course from a sphere . . . ​into a cone, just as a line is sprung from a point and passes from this indivisible state into length; from its point, which is a monad, it h ­ ere comes into a dyad, which is its first protraction. This is the mode of being that Plato called

18  Fourth Ennead ‘at once indivisible and divisible’ when he was speaking in the Timaeus about the construction of the World-­Soul ­etc.” In that theory, during the wholly incorporeal, intellective stage of its existence (while it still inhabits the region of the Milky Way), the soul constitutes a sort of indivisible unit; its descent to materiality, however, forces it to acquire extension in space, thereby becoming divisible. P. appears h ­ ere to be u­ nder the influence of such views, but his uneasiness about the soul’s extendibility (albeit only of its lower part), which t­ hese beliefs entailed, seems to have disposed him to abandon this approach and pursue a novel and more comprehensive one, in treatise IV 2. Furthermore, objections such as ­those raised by the Platonist Severus (apud Eus., PE ΧΙΙΙ 17.1–4) against the view that the soul can be “a tertium quid composed of two antithetical ­things” (such as “divisible and “indivisible,” or the “impassible” (apathēs) and the “substance subject to affections” (pathētē ousia)), possibly pushed him ­toward the more stratified ontological analy­sis of the Platonic passage, which is found in that treatise. 17–22. ἐλθοῦσα δὲ . . . ​μεμέρισται: An attempt is made h ­ ere to provide a solution to the above difficulties by seeking a way whereby the partitioning of the “divisible in the sphere of the bodies” nature—­which, based on what has been said thus far, can only be the soul that has “flowed out” to the bodies—­does not cause its partitioning. It is claimed that each of its parts retains something of the nature of the ­whole; that it exists in its entirety in each of ­these, and that, consequently, it is divided “indivisibly” (ameristōs). Yet this oxymoron points to a real prob­lem. For how is it pos­si­ble that something that is extended and partitioned in space can si­mul­ta­neously exist ­whole everywhere? The contradiction rears up its ugly head, and the only solution is to ultimately view the soul as, in real­ity and by its nature, indivisible; cf. above my comments on 12–17, and on IV 2.1.53–76.

IV 3–5 [27–29]. On Difficulties about the Soul: Books I–­III

Synopsis I V 3. 1 A. Prologue B. F  ive arguments (A1–5) in support of the claim that individual souls originate with the cosmic Soul. 2 Critique of A1. 3 Critique of A4. 4–5 Further exploration of A4. 6 Further exploration of A1. 7 Critique of A2, A5, and A3. 8 Conclusions pertaining to the unity and difference between the souls: the question of their apportionment to bodies. C. Unity in terms of space. 9–10 The relation of the cosmic Soul to the body: 11 The cosmos as the ­temple of Nature. 12 The relation of ­human souls to the body: Dionysus’ mirror. 13 The natu­ral necessity of embodiment. 14 Prometheus and Pandora. 15 The pro­cess of embodiment, 16 and its just consequences. 17 The action of the souls as illumination. 18 The consequences of embodiment: reasoning and log­os. 19 The division of the soul in the body. 20 In what manner is the soul pre­sent in the body? Six senses of “in” (en). 21 A further sense: the soul as the body’s “pi­lot.” 22 The model of the “unmixed ­union”: just as fire exists in air. 23 The assignment of psychic functions inside the body. 24 Prob­lem: What becomes of the disembodied soul? D. Unity in time. 25 Memory and embodiment. Memory does not pertain to the intellective part of the soul, 19

20  Fourth Ennead 26 nor to the “living being” through which it comes into contact with the body, but to the soul itself. 27 Dual memory: cosmic and individual. 28 Three suppositions about individual memory. (i)  Each sensation carries its own memory. 29 (ii)  Memory is identified with sense-­perception. (iii)  Memory is rooted in “repre­sen­ta­tion” (phantasia). 30 The memory of thoughts. 31 The two “repre­sen­ta­tions.” 32 The relation of the higher one to recollection. IV 4. 1 The soul does not need memory of the objects of its own intellection; 2 nor of itself; 3 therefore, memory arises when the soul becomes distanced from ­these. 4 Conclusion: Two memories: discursive; 5 and “repre­sen­ta­tional.” 6 Cosmic memory: cosmic beings have no need of memory. 7–8 The stars. 9 Zeus: does his providence require memory? 10 His creative activity is stable and immutable. 11 He does not act as a craftsman, 12 and does so without reflecting. 13 Essentially, he is identified with Nature. 14 Specific issues: (i)  Nature’s l­ imited autonomy. 15 (ii)  Psychical affections and time. 16 (iii)  The diachronic unity of psychical life. 17 (iv)  Reasoning and time in individual souls. E. The unity of the subject of lower psychical functions. 18 What is the subject of psychical affections? 19 Plea­sure and pain. 20–21 Desire. 22 The Earth’s psychical functions. 23–25 The prerequisites of sense-­perception. 26 The Earth’s perceptual faculty. 27 The Earth’s generative power. 28 Rage. 29 What happens when the soul becomes separated from the body? Annex Ι: The memory of the stars: Prayer and Magic. 30 Memory is not a prerequisite for granting prayers. 31 Forms of cosmic interaction. 32 Universal “sympathy” or “co-­affinity” 33 and the “cosmic dance.” 34–35 Astral influences.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  21 3 6–37 Magical influences. 38 The unity of the cosmos. 39 Divinatory and magical practices are rooted in the universality of cosmic Log­os. 40–41 Love magic and the irrational part of the soul. 42 Susceptibility to magical practices is purely automatic and non-­deliberate. 43 The influence of magic on ­human life: the wise man is above magic. 44 The relation of magic to practical life. 4 5 Recapitulation. ΙV 5. 1 Annex ΙΙ: The faculty of visual perception. Does vision presuppose the existence of some medium? 2 Five theories of visual perception. 3 Most of ­these do not entail the existence of a medium. The same holds for the theory of “sympathy” (sumpatheia). 4 The role of light. 5 Digression: Does hearing presuppose a medium? 6 The relation of light to air. 7 Light as activity. 8 The prob­lem of extra-­cosmic vision.

Introduction Soon ­after his arrival at P.’s school in Rome, the novice Porphyry began querying his master about the way in which body and soul coexist. Gentle and patient, P. had been responding to his pressing questions for three consecutive days, “thereby revealing his affability and intellectual vigor,” when some among the audience started growing restless over the delay, asking him to proceed with his lecture. P. responded by saying: “We first need to resolve the prob­lems posed by Porphyry through his questions, other­wise we s­ hall not be able to say anything more.” We cannot be sure ­whether this episode provided the occasion for the composition of this large collection of “prob­lems and solutions” (aporiai kai luseis) on the question of the soul,1 but, at any rate, it encapsulates the climate of intellectual exploration and ­free exchange of ideas from which it sprang, helping us to understand how complex, nonsystematic, and full of digressions and regressions the unfolding of the discourse was. If we also take into account what Porphyry relates in chapter 8 of his VP on P.’s pro­cess of composition, we understand that we are ­here beholding a vivid, fascinating reflection of the way in which research and discussions w ­ ere conducted in the course of the school’s “meetings” (sunousiai), as well as of the associative, at times labyrinthine, yet always per­sis­tent and unbiased philosophical progression of a true thinker. 1  See VP 13.10–17 with my comment, and cf. IV 3.1.1 (aporēsantas), 8.1 (luseōs). It is pos­si­ble that Porphyry recorded the conclusions of the relevant discussion in his Summikta Zētēmata; on this, see Dörrie 1959, 17–18.

22  Fourth Ennead The chief prob­lem of philosophical psy­chol­ogy that occupied P., in all of his written works, is the following: How can we reconcile the transcendent, purely intellective character of the soul with its presence and activity within the body, while preserving the unity of its nature? P. believed that the questions of unity and of the manner in which the vari­ous souls coexist impinge directly on this prob­lem, ­because, for P., the very fact of the existence of multiple souls evinces their departure from their unitary and indivisible intellective origin and constitutes an expression of their concern over the inherently multiple (and mutually antagonistic) material bodies. Thus, he had to tackle wider questions pertaining to the way in which souls inhere in bodies, the function of sense-­perception and memory, as well as the role of the souls in the organ­ization and arrangement of the sensible world. In the context of this core problematic, P. applied himself to questions of the soul in a number of works, extending from his chronologically second treatise “On the Immortality of the Soul” (IV 7 [2]) to the penultimate “What Is the Living Being, and What Is Man?” (Ι 1 [53]). In the former, he provides arguments for the soul’s incorporeal and intellective nature; he was subsequently and repeatedly concerned with the question of its partition and presence in bodies (IV 2 [4],2 IV 8 [6], IV 9 [8], V 7 [18], and VI 4–5 [22–23]), but also with its “impassibility” (apatheia, ΙΙΙ 6 [26].1–5). This stage of his inquiry culminates in the treatise at hand, in which most of the questions treated in the above-­mentioned treatises are posed anew and comprehensively examined. Furthermore, some of their aspects are expanded in ways that clearly go above and beyond his ­earlier pronouncements, but also the established confines of the relevant doctrine as developed in the context of the Platonic tradition. When he l­ ater revisits related themes, his treatment more often resembles supplements or appendixes to questions that have already been introduced and discussed ­here, such as the question of sensation and memory (IV 6 [41]; cf. IV 3.25–­IV 4.5, and IV 5), time (ΙΙΙ 7 [45]; cf. IV 4.15–17), and the identity of the subject of emotions (Ι 1 [53]; cf. ΙV 4.18–21 and 28). The above overview underlines the central importance that the “Difficulties about the Soul” hold in the context of the author’s pursuits in the area of philosophical psy­ chol­ogy. To elucidate the path followed in expounding the questions at hand, we need to spell out the main thematic axes guiding t­ hese and their connection to the central prob­lem mentioned above. In general, we can observe that the treatise as a w ­ hole is subdivided into six sections of unequal length. The first of ­these (IV 3.1–8), following a brief introduction, examines the way in which the souls are partitioned, along with the part-­to-­whole relations that unify and set them apart. It becomes clear that their partition is induced by their correlation with bodies and their concern over ­these; but then, however, and ­because of the dispersion prevailing in the corporeal realm, questions concerning the way in which vital functions become unified, and, a fortiori, how the embodied soul can entertain experiences, acquire renewed urgency. In the following sections of the work the latter is analyzed in three dif­fer­ent directions that are correspondingly informed by three types of unity: 2

­ Here could be mentioned his brief, early “notes,” purportedly found in ΙΙΙ 9 [13].2, 3, 5; and IV 1 [21].

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  23 a. The soul’s unity of functions and experience in space (IV 3.9–24). This is directly correlated with the way in which it is pre­sent in the body; the body, in turn, always occupies a specific place and is extended in space, which is how psychical activity becomes localized (section C in the synopsis). b. The unity of its experience and consciousness in time. This, of course, is examined with reference to memory, both on a personal and on a cosmic level (IV 3.25–­IV 4.17). Yet the continuity of discursive experience in time, in contrast to the extratemporality of intellection, directs the soul ­toward the world of becoming and brings it into closer contact with it (section D). c. The unity of the subject of affections and feelings (IV 4.18–29), whose submission to the judgment of the sentient soul secures their being or­ga­nized into complete repre­ sen­ta­tions and perceptions (section Ε). As I said e­ arlier, for P. qua Platonist phi­los­o­pher, the autonomous existence of the soul as an incorporeal substance constituted a fundamental theoretical point of departure for investigating all questions surrounding psychical life and ­human experience. ­Here we should note, however, that, as pointed out with ­great clarity by P. F. Strawson,3 two problematic implications ensue, and constitute unavoidable hurdles for anyone wishing to earnestly consider the possibility of an individual existing in a disembodied state (the emphasis is the author’s): “The first is that the strictly disembodied individual is strictly solitary, and it must remain for him indeed an utterly empty, though not meaningless, speculation, as to ­whether ­there are any other members of his class. The other, and less commonly noticed point, is that in order to retain his idea of himself as an individual, he must always think of himself as disembodied, as a former person.”4 Thus, it is at any rate remarkable that in a large part of the current treatise (sections C and D, respectively) P. focuses his inquiry on precisely ­these two prob­lems. The treatise is supplemented by two extensive appendixes, the first of which (IV 4.30–45) examines the correlation of cosmic memory with cosmic “co-­affinity” and in general with the action of cosmic forces; the second one (IV 5) examines the role this co-­affinity plays in sense-­perception, more specifically in vision. As the above summary makes clear, the themes that concern P. ­here pertain chiefly to the embodied life of the soul and its activity as a unitary agent of experiences and organ­izing biological functions, through which the, inert in themselves, bodies grow, become sensitized and activated as living organisms. Therefore, we should not be surprised to find that, excluding some references to the Timaeus and the Phaedrus, Plato’s theory of the fully disembodied soul is not mentioned often in the course of the work. On the contrary, the author seems to be keeping constantly in mind the views of Aristotle and his commentators on the presence and the life-­giving action of the soul inside the body, and its role as a cohesive, biological, and perceptual cause—as a pole around which all the vital functions of an organism revolve. Furthermore, P. is trying to adapt his views to the fundamental princi­ples and the conclusions of the predominant theories 3

 See Strawson 1959, 115–16.  With re­spect to the last point, cf. also Pistorius 1952, 95; despite his in­ter­est­ing observations, he is led to unwarranted conclusions about P.’s position. 4

24  Fourth Ennead of his time concerning the workings of Nature in general, and of living organisms in par­tic­u­lar. Foremost among ­these was the theory of “sympathy” (sumpatheia); by the time of the Stoics it had become one of the stanchions in the dominant, basically cosmo-­biological, paradigm employed in explanations of natu­ral phenomena; at the same time it constituted the oldest “causal description of physical phenomena on a cosmic scale.”5 Inasmuch as a definite repre­sen­ta­tion of the natu­ral world’s regularities in terms of mathematical formulas had yet to emerge, the main mode of describing natu­ral interactions and the laws that govern them involved adducing the theory of “sympathy”; this posited the existence of immutable relationships between ­causes and effects in Nature, thereby establishing an austere causality in the natu­ral realm. The recognition of the existence of “breath” (pneuma) initially formed the ontological substrate of this theory; this was thought to be the unseen and rarefied material that pervades every­thing and binds together the vari­ous bodies on the basis of stable relationships of “sympathy” and “antipathy,” thus allowing for their interactions, even over ­great distances. The crucial features of “breath” that allowed it to carry out all ­these functions ­were its continuity6—­the fact that it extended everywhere, lacking any interstices and discontinuities whatsoever—­and, its vitality, which in fact rendered it identical to the cosmic Soul itself.7 Being “fragments” (apospasmata) of the latter, individual souls are in constant and substantial contact with it; this results in the harmonization and full concordance of natu­ral phenomena with a unitary cosmic rhythm.8 In this manner, a number of natu­ral phenomena wherein interactions take place over distance could be explained: tides, the synchronous growth of plants, the attunement of strings, visual and auditory perception, and so forth; it could further be employed to buttress certain widely held beliefs about magical and astrological influences. If ­today such an explanatory model appears arbitrary and irrational, we should recognize its impor­tant theoretical economy: it provided adequate explanations, premised on rationally accessible princi­ples and empirically verifiable observations, for a variety of natu­ral phenomena that ­were instrumental to understanding the workings of the cosmos, and it supported robust claims about the predictability of such phenomena. Notwithstanding the gradual dominance of Platonism and the sidelining of the Stoa’s rigid materialism, the explanatory advantages of the model of sumpatheia ­were such that secured its survival (albeit in a modified form) freed of the “encumbrance” of its materialistic presuppositions. Naturally, its correlation with the concept of the cosmic Soul remained constant, yet the definitive connecting ­factor was no longer the material 5  See Sambursky 1959, 42, who stresses the scientific features of the theory of “sympathy” that has its origins in Ionian physiologia and Hippocratic medicine. Cf. also Moreau 1939, 169n.11. In modern times, J. G. Frazer’s promotion of the relevant theory, also found in P., as an aspect of “primitive man’s” worldview, has given rise to the erroneous impression that it constitutes a remnant of very ancient, pre-­philosophical beliefs; on this, see Graf 1997, 206. On the subject of sumpatheia in general, see Reinhardt 1926, 50–54, and my comments on ΙΙ 3.7.16–28, ΙΙΙ 1.5.7–9, and ΙΙΙ 3.5.1–15. 6  sumphuïa: see SVF 2:543, 546, 1013; and Lapidge 1978, 172–76. 7  See Moreau 1939, 165–73, 182–86. 8  See Cic., Nat. D. II 19; Epict., Diss. Ι 14.1–6.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  25 cohesiveness of “breath,” but rather “affinity” based on similarity and (primarily) mathematical relations and proportions. This move was, obviously, facilitated by the fact that according to the psychogony in Plato’s Timaeus, the cosmic Soul is constituted mathematically; actually, it is based on harmonic relationships that offer fertile ground for explanations involving the harmonic “coordination” between phenomena. In this “de-­materialized” version, the theory of sumpatheia fully retained its explanatory potential, minus the metaphysical prerequisites and limitations imposed by the theory of pneuma, such as the Stoic belief about the requirement for material cohesion between cause and effect. Now the existence of influences over distance could be accepted, without the intervention of any corporeal contact.9 On the other hand, of course, the theory risked becoming ­little more than a mere formalist schema, one that could explain every­ thing—­but also nothing.10 This was due to the fact that it failed to provide the means to ascertain beforehand ­whether two phenomena are indeed connected by a sympathetic relationship. Thus, the only remedy was to draw up exhaustive lists that reflected supposedly empirically verified cases where the forces of sumpatheia and antipatheia ­were seen at work.11 Yet P. showed ­little interest in such detailed applications of the theory of “sympathy”; he was keener on its princi­ple, which was celebrated by his contemporaries and directly linked to the existence of a cosmic Soul. This was supposed to connect and ensure the interdependence of the co-­affected parts without positing the mediation of any pro­cess of volition on its part. In P.’s view, this was nothing e­ lse than the manifestation of the peculiar unifying power that determines the nature of the soul, allowing it to comprise and bind together the multiple bodies in a unity; cf. IV 2.2.40–48.12 Hence, the relevant theory can in many re­spects be regarded as a prefiguration of the notion of natu­ral law, one that redeems it from the capriciousness of divine w ­ ill and renders it directly dependent on the immutable, eternal princi­ples of the intelligible world. 9

 See Sambursky 1962, 102–3.  According to a slightly dif­fer­ent view, “sympathy” could be regarded not as the causal ­factor that explains natu­ral phenomena, but rather as a mere substitute for such an explanatory princi­ple. In other words, its import is purely empirical-­descriptive; it simply declares the existence of some natu­ral connection between certain phenomena, without even attempting to draw causal connections between them. Employing this model, one could easily construct a type of “science” that would be purely empirical in nature: it would consist of exhaustive lists of sympathetic phenomena; wholly absent would be any effort to make causal reductions. This would be so b­ ecause such phenomena would only be linked by their mystifying and inscrutable synchronicity, without presupposing any causal link between them; cf. my comments about divination on ΙΙΙ 3.6.17–38. Some indications suggest that the scientific contributions of pseudo-­Democritus, or Bolus of Mendes, might have formed part of such a program; he was active in ca. 200 BCE and is reportedly the author of a work titled On the Sympathies and Antipathies of  Stones in Alphabetical Order; cf. fr. 68B 300:1 DK, and Wellmann 1928, 10–12. The alphabetical arrangement (kata stoicheion) of the material, just as in the l­ ater Hermetic Cyranides, serves—in my view—to underline the arbitrariness of his mode of recording, deliberately contrasting it with the reductionist model of (Aristotelian, for example) explanatory science; see also Kroll 1934, 231–32, for a few thoughts on the possibly even ­earlier origins of this alternative scientific model; also Kingsley 1995, 298–99. 11  Such cata­logues are known from Pliny’s Naturalis Historia (on this cf. Thorndike 1923, 1:84–86); from the vari­ous collections of lapidaries (cf. Halleux and Schamp 1985: xxiv–­xxxi); from the Cyranides (see the edition by Kaimakis 1976; and Festugière 1944–54, 1:196–216); ­etc. In general, see Röhr 1923, 34–76. 12  On the concept of sumpatheia in P., see mainly Rodier 1976, 307–17; Gurtler 1984, 395–406; and id. 1988, 91–137. 10

26  Fourth Ennead

Commentary IV 3.1.1–8: Περὶ ψυχῆς . . . ​καὶ ἀφ’ ὧν ἐστι: The treatise commences by specifying the genuinely philosophical nature of the ensuing investigation (which is reminiscent of the anecdote mentioned in the beginning of the introduction). Even the s­ imple recognition of the prob­lems surrounding the question of the soul can prove valuable enough to motivate us to investigate it. At the same time, this highlights the subject’s singular importance: even the slightest headway in elucidating it is valuable and worthy of one’s exertion. The reason for it lies with the soul’s intermediate ontological status. Attaining a comprehensive understanding of its nature can impart crucial knowledge about both the soul’s origin in the Intellect, and living bodies, which depend on and are governed by it; cf. ΙΙ 3.8.2, ΙΙΙ 1.8.4–8, IV 6.3.10–19, and IV 7.9.10–13. 1.8–12. πειθοίμεθα δ’ ἂν . . . ​θεαμάτων: Examining the nature of the soul also instills a form of self-­knowledge, inasmuch as the subject actively engaging in philosophical investigation is also a rational soul (based on the Platonic princi­ple that man is to be identified with his soul: on this, see the introduction to Ι 1); cf. Ι 1.1.9–11 with my comment, and V 1.1.31–34. In that sense, practicing philosophy can be regarded as obedience to the Delphic precept “Know thyself.” This correlation is already pre­sent in Plato’s Alcibiades, 129a2– 132c10, as well as in Cicero, De leg. I 58–59, and it is notably repeated in the prologue to Alexander of Aphrodisias’ special monograph, De anima, 1.3–2.4, a work that P. seems to have constantly kept in mind while composing the pre­sent treatise. Nonetheless, self-­ knowledge has a further dimension for P.: it also constitutes knowledge of God, as the kernel of our existence is God himself, and, thereby, the pure soul is, in the wording of the Timaeus (87d7–8) “the most beautiful, the most desirable of all t­ hings to behold.” This dimension is also known to us, among ­else, by Cicero (Tusc. disp. V 70; Somn. Scip. 26; see Boyancé 1936, 123–29), and the Hermetic treatises (Poimandres = CH I 21, 14.1–12; on this, see Betz 1970, 465–70), yet for P. this sets the tenor and determines the orientation of his entire philosophy; cf. V 3.7.1–6, VI 9.7.33–34, and Ι 1.13.1–5 with my comment, but also Zintzen 1965, 87–88, with re­spect to Porphyry’s stance on this par­tic­u­lar question. 1.12–14. ἦν γὰρ . . . ​τὸ δὲ οὕτω: Just as the soul can turn t­ oward and know what precedes it in the ontological hierarchy as well as what follows it (see above, 1.7–8, and cf. V 3.4.4–10), so also the Intellect can ­either turn ­toward the objects of its intellection or to its own source, the One—­that is why it is said “to have two fronts” (amphistomos); see ΙΙ 9.4.22–32 with my comment. 1.14–16. τὰς δὲ ὑποδοχὰς . . . ​ζητῶμεν: Cf. below, 11.8–12.8. This phrase rounds off the treatise’s prologue that introduces the general directions along which it ­will proceed in what follows. 1.16–18. νῦν δὲ πάλιν . . . ​καὶ τὰς ἡμετέρας εἶναι: The first aporia takes as its starting point the view that h ­ uman, and in general individual souls constitute “fragments” (apospasmata), or products of the cosmic Soul, which become detached from it when they

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  27 are embodied; therefore, following their separation from the bodies, t­ hese souls become reintegrated and re-­assimilated ­there, completely shedding their individuating characteristics. This view had already been examined in the chronologically e­ arlier treatise IV 9 [8].1.10–21 and clearly shows some affinity to Stoic attitudes, according to which the soul consists in a “connate breath” (sumphues pneūma) that “pervades the entire cosmos” and animates each and e­ very body by means of a part (or “fragment,” apospasma) of itself inherent in it; cf. SVF 1:495, 2:633, 774; and see the “Pythagorean” doctrine mentioned in Cic. Nat. D. I 27. ­Here, however, P. seems to have in mind certain thinkers who ­were willing to defend this view by adducing specific passages drawn from the Platonic corpus, and who have put forward a series of five arguments, divided by successive “ands”; we ­will examine ­these in detail below. As ­will emerge, the crucial point is the meaning of the prefix ek in the phrase ek tēs toū pantos: it can denote ­either (a) the unitary material, from which a particle becomes detached and constitutes the individual soul; or (b) the ontological origin and cause from which individual souls spring forth; cf. Helleman-­ Elgersma 1980, 189. Version (b) is known to us from Apul. De Plat. I 9, 199 (fontem animarum omnium, caelestem animam), but this renders individual souls ontologically inferior and dependent on the cosmic Soul; in essence, they are l­ ittle more than accessories, or manifestations of it. As we have seen, though, P. has already examined and rejected such a view in ΙΙΙ 1 [3].4, in the context of the prob­lem of Destiny. 1.18–22. οὐδὲ γὰρ . . . ​τοῖς ὅλοις: The first argument (A1) put forth by the opposite side is defensive in character: the fact that individual souls also have the ability to reach where the cosmic Soul reaches (apparently, the place wherefrom they can behold the intelligible world: the echoes from the myth of the Phaedrus, cf. mainly 248c3–4, are already noticeable) does not preclude their being parts of it. This is b­ ecause its parts can be “of the same kind” (homoeidē) as the ­whole, just as a homogeneous material remains the same in its essence, both in its parts and as a ­whole; therefore, we are in the context of version (a). Some ­Middle Platonists had apparently opted for such a solution; they w ­ ere thinkers open to Stoic influences, such as Atticus (fr. 8.3–7 and 24–25: “by participation in some one similar (homoion) princi­ple”) and, possibly, Harpocration (see Dillon 1971, 140–42; cf. Plut. De uirt. mor. 441f.: “the soul of man, since it is a portion or a copy of the soul of the universe”). Furthermore, even Numenius’ doctrines on the soul as a “substance homoiomerous and one and the same” (fr. 41.4, trans. George Boys-­Stones) appears to echo the view that all souls are of the same essence as the cosmic Soul; see Frede 1994, 1058, 1073; Phillips 2002, 238; IV 9.4.11–13, and n. 1 to the introduction to treatise IV 9. If we now accept that indeed P. is referring to the latter, then “­those to which our own souls, also, are said to come along with the soul of the All” must mean the celestial spheres to which, according to Numenius, the individual soul returns a­ fter the death of the body, so as to “regain its integrity in the glow of eternal life” (ad perennis uitae lucem restituta in integrum reuertatur: Macrobius In Somn., I 12.17, 51.14–15). A1 ­will be examined further on, in chapter 2. 1.22–26. παραθήσονται . . . ​ψ υχῆς εἶναι: A2 basically amounts to an invocation of Plato’s authority. This leads us to suspect that the opponents that P. has in mind ­were Platonists as well; they w ­ ere very well versed in Plato’s works and able to combine ele­ments

28  Fourth Ennead drawn from vari­ous dialogues. Thus ­here, in the context of a broader interpretation of the Phaedrus, they bring the testimony of Timaeus 30b7–8, where Plato describes the world as a “truly living t­ hing” (zōion empsuchon), but also Philebus 30a3–8, where he seems to suggest that our bodies receive their souls from ­there. 1.26–30. καὶ τὸ συνέπεσθαι . . . ​λαμβάνειν: With A3 we return to the interpretation of the Phaedrus myth: the revolution (periphora) of individual souls jointly with Zeus, the “­great commander in heaven” (Phdr. 248a2–4; cf. 246e3), is interpreted as an astrological allegory (cf. Kerényi 1923/24, 245–51). We know that according to Numenius, for example, the ēthē (i.e., the lower, and largely irrational, psychical ­factors determining ­human be­hav­ior; cf. my comment on VP 11.1–8) and chance occurrences are directly dependent on the “appendages” the soul acquires during its descent through the celestial spheres; one would be led to expect, therefore, that they are in constant “sympathetic” correlation with the corresponding celestial bodies; cf. Macrobius In Somn., I 12.1–5, 47.30–48.31; and de Ley 1972, 59–61. Of course, with re­spect to this point, one could draw sufficient support from the words of “Timaeus”: “And the motions that have affinity to the divine part within us are the thoughts and revolutions of the universe” (Pl. Ti. 90c7–­d1). 1.30–33. καὶ ὥσπερ . . . ​μεταλαμβάνειν: A4 rests on an analogy: just as the body’s members are animate by participating in the life—­and, therefore, in the soul—of the organism as a ­whole, so individual souls constitute parts of the overall life-­giving power of the universe, which is the cosmic Soul. This view is known to us mainly via testimonies originating from the ambit of Gnosticism (see ΙΙ 9.10.22–23 with my comment), but it was prob­ably much more widespred, at least in the doctrines surrounding contemporart mystery cults; cf. the comment on Ι 6.5.2–8. 1.33–37. καὶ τὸ . . . ​τιθεμένη: A5 is essentially an interpretation of the passage quoted from the Phaedrus (246b6). We know that Posidonius, fr. 290, had argued that this refers exclusively to the cosmic Soul, but it is clear that this reading would have been readily embraced by Platonists who, along with Atticus (fr. 8.17–29), believed that the universe is governed by “some one animate power pervading the ­whole, and binding and holding all ­things together” (trans. Gifford). 2.1–10. Πρὸς δὴ ταῦτα . . . ​κατὰ συμβεβηκός: The appraisal of A1 begins with an observation pertaining to logic: if we regard the cosmic Soul as constituting something like a common homogeneous substrate of all individual souls, it could not at the same time form part of the soul’s essence, but would be identified with its ­whole. Therefore, however, it could not belong to the same genus as them, which are partial. If again it too is one just like the rest, then the cosmic Soul should be subordinated along with them ­under a common, higher-­order genus, which w ­ ill include all souls, irrespective of ­whether ­these animate individual bodies or the universe in its entirety. 2.10–19. ἴσως δὲ . . . ​ἡ λευκότης: P. is not content with his first counterargument and proceeds to a more detailed examination of what “part” could mean in such a context.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  29 This examination falls into two sections: (A) the parts of bodies; and (B) the parts of incorporeal entities. A. Bodies are ­either (i) homoeidē (or homoiomerē, i.e., homogeneous; cf. Arist. Metaph. Δ 3, 1014a30–31); or (ii) “non-­homogeneous” (anomoeidē). Case (ii) is of no interest h ­ ere, for if it w ­ ere true, we would not be dealing with entities belonging to the same kind of “soul.” Now, with re­spect to homoeidē (i), as part we understand a physical part of them, the product of subdividing the total mass of their body, and not just any logical part of theirs. Thus, an accidental attribute, such as whiteness cannot be subdivided to individual whitenesses that inhere in dif­fer­ent parts of milk; rather, the unitary whiteness of milk remains, as a quality, being apportioned only in a secondary manner, ­because of its concomitant existence in the divisible body of milk; cf. VI 3.9.24–27 and my comment on IV 2.1.29–41. 2.20–35. ὅταν δ’ ἐπὶ . . . ​ὁμοειδὲς εἶναι: B. We now turn to the case of incorporeal entities. Three dif­fer­ent models of “part” are considered: (i) In arithmetical figures. ­These, being quantitites made up of units, have parts that are always numerically inferior to the w ­ hole. The cosmic Soul, however, cannot be composed of psychical “units” in that manner (even if, in one sense, it constitutes a number; see the comment on ΙΙΙ 6.1.31–32, and cf. VI 4.4.19–21), ­because (a) the arithmetical grouping of units does not possess the requisite unity that a soul ­ought to have (cf. my comment on IV 2.2.39–42); besides, in that case the “units” that compose it must e­ ither (b) be inanimate, in which case we would have a soul that results from the sum of inanimate parts; or (c) t­ hese units must also be souls (qua homoeideis to the overall one; cf. 1.22), although they are not numbers (as it is well known, “one” (1) was not considered a number; see Nicom. Ar. ΙΙ 6.3, 84.9–11; and Heath 1921, 1:69). 2.35–49. τὸ δὲ . . . ​τοῦ ὅλου: (ii) In continuous, that is, geometrical magnitudes. As such we can regard e­ ither (a) geometrical shapes, which, however, are not homogeneous, inasmuch as their parts are not always similar to the ­whole; or (b) purely geometrical magnitudes, such as the length of a line, where, nonetheless, the part is nothing more than a smaller magnitude, as in case A(i), that is, where we have the physical apportionment of homogeneous materials, such as wine. In such a case though, we w ­ ill have only the individual souls, and the overall, or “cosmic Soul,” ­will be the mere aggregate of all individual ones in an abstract conceptual construct, a kind of impartible mass term that does not refer to any concrete ­thing, but only to all the individual souls that constitute it si­ mul­ta­neously; cf. Helleman-­Elgersma 1980, 247. 2.50–58. ἆρ’ οὖν . . . ​ὁμοειδεῖς οὖσαι: (iii) Yet another model, which one could invoke to explain the supposed relation of parts to ­whole that exists between individual souls and the cosmic Soul, is that of the individual theorems of a science vis-­à-­vis the entire science. In his ­earlier treatises, P. appeared more satisfied with this analogy, chiefly ­because in this way the unity that binds the vari­ous parts to each other is underscored, without negating the peculiarity of each; see mainly IV 9 [8].5.12–23, but also VI 4 [22].4.34–45, 16.22– 36, and, in a normative context, ΙΙΙ 9 [13].2.1–6. ­Here, however, he seems somewhat more cautious, which might have led him to l­ater employ it mainly in connection with the

30  Fourth Ennead constitution of intelligibles within the Intellect; see my comment on ΙΙΙ 9.2.1–4; and Tornau 1998b, 90–94. At any rate, ­here, contrary to the previous case of wine, the ­whole remains unitary notwithstanding its partition in individual propositions; this is so ­because each specific theorem potentially contains all the rest and, therefore, the indivisible ­whole. This is b­ ecause a scientific theorem cannot become fully understood without taking into consideration both what is presupposed and its logical entailments. On the other hand, the entire science contains in actuality all of its theorems (cf. VI 4.4.39–40), ­because other­wise it would be imperfect. As results, however, from the application of the analogy, the overall soul (he hole) cannot be the soul of anything, not even of the entire cosmos, and yet it must comprise all the rest, even the soul of the cosmos. This must be the collective way in which all t­ hese exist, which sometimes scholars of P. call the “soul’s hypostasis” (see, e.g., Blumenthal 1971a, 2 and passim). We thus see our author already gravitating ­toward the triadic solution with which he ­will ultimately try to tackle the question: both the individual souls and the cosmic Soul are at the same level, as they are all subsumed ­under the overall “hypostatic” soul; this can be represented schematically as follows: soul (hypostasis)

cosmic Soul

individual souls

P. arrived at this solution following many vacillations and debates, which are partially reflected in treatise IV 9 [8]; on this, see Blumenthal 1971b, 56–59; and Nikulin 2005, 284–91. 2.58–3.6. ἀλλὰ πῶς . . . ​σ κεπτέον: Although the ontological relation of individual souls (as well as of the cosmic Soul, which turns out to be not unlike them) with the overall one has been clarified, we have yet to receive a complete answer to our original question: what is the relation of individual souls with the cosmic Soul (cf. 1.16–8)? P. senses that it is time to examine the remaining arguments mentioned ­earlier, and he begins with A4 (see 1.30–3). First a general observation: on the basis of this “biological” model for the cosmic Soul, it follows that (a) if it is immanent in the body of the world, individual souls ­will also be always connected with their bodies; other­wise (b) if it is transcendent and governs the universe from above, then individual souls too w ­ ill always be in a state of disembodiment. This is, in princi­ple, an ad hominem counterargument seeking to show to the supporters of this model that it has implications they would be unwilling to accept. Yet P. is prepared to examine it in detail, so as to ascertain its drawbacks, and salvage any advantages to utilize in what follows. 3.6–25. νῦν δὲ . . . ​κατανενοηκότος: This passage is extremely problematic; in the apt description of Igal 1969, 364, it is a locus scopulosus, syrticulis conspersus. In my view,

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  31 however, successive editorial emendations of the text have rather exacerbated its prob­ lems. In the Greek edition I have de­cided to follow the reading of the MSS, with the sole exception of the paleographically tolerable correction of panta dunamenon to pantōn dunamenōn in l. 20: the fact that sense organs “mold” incoming stimuli into forms, which they then transmit to the soul, is at any rate clearly stated in VI 4.23.20–32. For the rest, the entire counterargument rests on the premise—­which was, obviously, accepted by P.’s interlocutors, contrary to certain other thinkers who subdivided the soul into discrete parts, established in dif­fer­ent parts of the body (cf. SVF 2:827–28)—­that the soul apprehends as a w ­ hole the sensations grasped by the vari­ous senses; cf. IV 2.2.33–35; Helleman-­Elgersma 1980, 280–92; and Pl. Tht. 184d1–5. Consequently, on the basis of branch (a) of the proposed analogy, the cosmic Soul too should be pre­sent in its entirety in ­every single living organism. Therefore, any differences between the latter would be purely corporeal, while the souls that inhere in ­these organisms would be absolutely identical, being mere fragments of the unitary psychical “substance.” The example with the magistrate also appears in VI 4.6.8–13. 3.25–31. ἀλλ’ ὅτι . . . ​τοῦ ὅλου: The absurdity is compounded if we turn to the superior, intellective, and ratiocinative functions of the soul. Given that no bodily organs intervene ­there (cf. below, 19.24–26), the sole agent of ­these functions must be the cosmic Soul; consequently, t­here is no room for individual thoughts, only—so to speak—­ collective ones. 4.1–6. Τί οὖν . . . ​τὸ σῶμα: As in several other instances, ­here we can observe that P.’s critique of the views of ­earlier phi­los­o­phers does not aim at their complete and fundamental rebuttal; he rather seeks to identify their shortcomings and revise them accordingly. He pro­cesses and “molds” them carefully, preserving anything he deems useful and expedient for his own theoretical pursuits. Thus, ­here he seeks first to eliminate any thoughts that the individuation of souls results from their coupling with bodies, as in the manner that an organism’s psychical functions are correlated with the members and organs of the body in which they are expressed. Such an eventuality would entail that each soul exists, as a discrete individual substance, only insofar as it is located in a specific body, while the embodiment of the cosmic Soul in the body of the universe would be tantamount to the constant presence of individual souls inside bodies. 4.6–9. καίτοι τινὲς . . . ​ἡ αὐτὴ οὖσα: Some had attempted to overcome this difficulty by positing that, even ­after death, the soul retains an unseen, “ethereal,” or “pneumatic” body of sorts such that would enable it to ascend to the superior celestial spheres, where it gradually shed its finer “accoutrements,” winding up alone with its luminous and “­spherical” vehicle. This belief was possibly already known among the circles of the ancient Acad­emy, and by P.’s era it had certainly gained currency among individuals of very disparate temperaments and intellectual interests, such as Numenius (see Macrobius In Somn. I 12.5, 48.27–30), and Galen (see PHP VII 7.25, 474.22–27); on this, see my comments on ΙΙ 2.2.21–22, and on ΙΙΙ 6.5.25–29; see also Zambon 2005, 305–35. ­Here, however, it is suggested that, even if one ­were to accept something of the sort, the difficulty

32  Fourth Ennead would remain: for what would be the point of claiming that a soul has abandoned worldy ­things and has retired to its heavenly abode, if it is merely a part of a larger soul that extends everywhere, encompassing the cosmos in full? This counterargument is indeed somewhat enigmatic. Igal 1982–98, 2:321n.43, who has suggested the addition of the negative particle ou ­after all’ ei in l. 7, believed it refered not to individual souls, but to the cosmic Soul, which, according to Stoic cosmology, during the periods of conflagration refrained from its function of “ordering the universe” (diakosmēsis), while remaining corporeal though, in the spermatic form of “ethereal fire” (aitherodes pur); see, indicatively, SVF 2:596. If that w ­ ere the case, however, then P.’s argumentation would completely miss the mark; for if the cosmic Soul had the ability to abandon the world lingering in its fiery body, then nothing could ­really inhibit individual souls from ­doing exactly the same. The question is rather how to explain the fact that whereas the cosmic Soul cannot abandon the t­ hings of this world, individual souls—­even though they form parts of it—­can, irrespective of ­whether they remain embodied or not. 4.9–12. ἐπὶ μὲν οὖν . . . ​κατέχοι: The Intellect constitutes a supremely transcendent and completely interrelated ontological region, where the presence of the ­whole in ­every single one of its parts is unproblematic; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 8.8.40–48. This is b­ ecause the differentiation of beings ­there occurs only through their inherent otherness, which, however, does not cancel out their unitary ontological substrate; see my comment on ΙΙ 4.4.2–7. 4.12–14. ἐπὶ δὲ τῆς ψυχῆς . . . ​ἂν ἔχοι ἀπορίας: If, however, we suppose that the Intellect, and consequently the superior, intellective souls, truly constitute a perfect unity, this cannot also hold for the lower functions of the soul, t­ hose that are closely correlated with the body and are distributed in it, in accordance with the celebrated phrase of the Timaeus (35a2–3; cf. IV 1.10–18). 4.14–25. εἰ μή τις . . . ​τοῦ προσδεομένου φροντίσεως: In a patently tentative manner, P. proposes a first response to the above question: Could it perhaps be that the overall, “hypostatic” soul, which was discussed above (see my comment on 2.50–58), remains “undescended” and completely indivisible, without being tied to any body, not even to the body of the world, and yet, in some way, all the individual souls “emanate” from it, as a kind of radiance, or secondary activity? On this, cf. my comments on Ι 1.2.7–9, and Ι 2.1.29–38. The image of the ­things of this world illuminated by a unitary celestial light (arguably inspired by Plato’s Parmenides, 131b3–5) is also found in Seneca’s Ep. 41.5, where he again describes the peculiar presence of the rational soul (animus) in the world. Th ­ ere it is claimed, A ­thing like this cannot stand upright ­unless it be propped by the divine. Therefore, a greater part of it abides in that place from whence it came down to earth. Just as the rays of the sun do indeed touch the earth, but still abide at the source from which they are sent; even so the g­ reat and hallowed soul, which has come

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  33 down in order that we may have a nearer knowledge of divinity, does indeed associate with us, but still cleaves to its origin; that source it depends, thither it tums its gaze and strives to go, and it concerns itself with our ­doings only as a being superior to ourselves (illinc pendet, illuc spectat ac nititur, nostris tamquam melior interest). (trans. Gummere) ­ ere, however, emphasis is given to something dif­f er­ent. P. is interested in showing that, H whereas the cosmic Soul governs “from its lofty abode” and is unaffected by the body of the world (cf. ΙΙΙ 4.4.2–7 with my comment), the souls of individual organisms become isolated from one another and, consequently, from their common intellective origin as well, b­ ecause of their solicitude for and care of the partial and imperfect bodies, which are “illuminated” and animated by them. Once again though, it is clearly suggested that with re­spect to their superior, indivisible part, t­ hese souls are always united, forming an integral ­whole. Or, in the words of Blumenthal 1971b, 61: “at the top all souls are together in the totality of soul, distinct but not separate.” 4.26–37. τῆς μὲν οὖν . . . ​τοῦ σώματος γεγονέναι: Through two successive further similes, the author is seeking to draw our attention to the f­ actor that c­ auses the soul to become isolated and subjugated to the needs of the body: it is its inordinate preoccupation with it, to the detriment of its devotion to its main activity, which, of course, is intellective contemplation; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 8.5.9–25, and 6.36–40, but also IV 4.17.3–21. The first of ­these similes in my view becomes more comprehensible following the textual restoration I have suggested (see Kalligas 1988, 98; and H-­S5 199); it involves a large plant, whose wanning vital power allows for the growth of microorganisms inside it, which no longer benefit the plant’s overall vitality; on the contrary, to a certain degree, they undermine it; cf. ΙΙΙ 4.6.38–44 with my comment, and V 9.14.15–16. Thus, the action of the cosmic Soul on the body of the world also allows room for a multitude of other souls to exert action on individual bodies; ­these souls give shape to and animate the vari­ous organisms. All t­ hese, of course, pertain to the lower parts of the souls, ­those responsible for biological bodily functions; the superior parts remain devoted to their proper task, contemplation; cf. ΙΙΙ 8.5.1–34 with my comments. Therefore, to imagine the cosmic Soul concerned over or engaged with individual living beings would be as if a farmer tending a plant also nurtured the mites that grow on it. That such be­hav­ior is ­here considered irrational is obvious from a parallel passage found in the De prouidentia 119.13–30 of Alexander of Aphrodisias, where it is said that it would be unbefitting God to provide for the ­things of this world, just as “no man provides for every­thing that lives in his h ­ ouse, e.g. mice, ants, e­ tc.”; cf. also Galen De foetuum formatione IV, 701.1–6. The second simile underlines that the superior soul’s concern for the body and its affections is a consequence of its weakness and its related needs. The natu­ral state, where the soul’s activity permeates the body without re­sis­tance, just like health, passes unnoticed. When this is disrupted, then the disturbance that ensues, just like illness, necessitates the cosmic Soul’s concern, or a physician’s attention, respectively; and a physician would naturally prefer that his ser­vices would not have been required; cf. VI 8.5.17–20.

34  Fourth Ennead 5.1–5. Ἀλλὰ πῶς . . . ​ἐν τῷ ἀρίστῳ: Yet, the following question arises: What differentiates souls, allowing us, for instance, to speak of the soul of Socrates and the soul of Callias as two distinct ­things? If this differentiation is tantamount to their dispersion to bodies, that is, the fact that one is embodied in one body and the other in another one, then when disembodied ­there would be nothing distinguishing them, and all would be assimilated into a perfect and undifferentiated unity. But this, apart from being incompatible with the soul’s personal immortality, which is a presupposition in a number of Platonic texts (see, indicatively, Pl. Phd. 115c6–116a1; Resp. 615c5–­e4, 620a3–­d2), would render each soul’s very identity dependent on the body in which it resides; this is patently irreconcilable with the princi­ple that the cause is always ontologically prior to its effect (on this, see Wagner 1982a, 57–58), and with the Platonic worldview in general. On this, see Kalligas 1997b, 222–23; and D’Ancona Costa 2002, 542–43. 5.5–8. ἢ ἀπολεῖται . . . ​ὅ ἐστιν εἶναι: Still, the soul is a substance (cf. IV 7.85.40–46) and, therefore, a being; thus, on the basis of the classic Parmenidean princi­ple (see fr. 28Β 8.19 DK), it can never cease to exist; cf. IV 7.14.13–14. Naturally, so long as it is turned t­ oward and devoted to its intellective origin, its identity ­will be determined, just like that of all intelligible beings, by relations of sameness and otherness, which hold together the entire region of the Intellect and articulate it into a unitary w ­ hole; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 2.1.26–45. 5.8–18. οὕτω τοίνυν . . . ​ὥσπερ: P.’s answer with re­spect to the ontological status of souls and their kinship can be glimpsed at ­here, albeit in a highly abbreviated form. Its main four points are as follows: (a) Each soul is ontologically dependent on some intellect, that is, on an intelligible Form; that soul is a “formative princi­ple” (log­os) or a manifestation of it on an inferior, and therefore somewhat differentiated, level; cf. V 1.6.45–47; and Rist 1967b, 84–85. This view is prob­ably derived from the pro­cession of Zeus described in Plato’s Phaedrus 246e4–247c2, where the souls are said to accompany the “ruler” gods “each god in command of the unit to which he is assigned.” This means that each has a special, privileged connection to a specific region of the intelligible realm. (b) ­Because the connection between souls is looser than between intelligibles, this renders them more “unfolded” and multiple, and therefore more susceptible to division. (c) Their common origin from Th ­ ere coordinates them all into a uniform harmony, so that each of them is at the same time divided and undivided (cf. IV 2.1.71–75); “one and many” (IV 2.2.52–53); “distinct, and, again, not distinct in separation” (VI 4.14.4–5); “when it is altogether apart, it is par­tic­u­lar without being par­tic­u­lar” (VI 4.16.32–33). (d) On ­these, in turn, depend other, inferior “formative princi­ples” (logoi); they configure and or­ga­nize ­matter, so as to create a sensible world that, notwithstanding the contrarieties and conflicts it contains, reflects the unity and order of the intelligible. Cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.4.26–36. 6.1–8. Διὰ τί δὲ . . . ​διοικοῦσιν: We revisit the question that was posed in 2.57–59 and pertains to the “specification” of the action of individual souls on specific bodies, while the cosmic Soul that is “of the same kind” (homoeidēs) as them governs the entire world.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  35 P. hints that the answer to this is related to the adequacy of each body to accept the psychical activity, and the ensuing multiplicity of the result of the same soul’s activity on vari­ous bodies. 6.8–10. ἢ θαυμαστὸν . . . ​ἔχοι τις: A first answer seeks to show that recognizing such a kind of differences in the activity of the souls was acceptable in the context of Platonism. Gods and demons, as well as souls, appear in the myth of the Phaedrus contemplating and “feeding on” the same “pure knowledge” (akēratos epistēmē; see 247d1–­e3), yet they still differ in terms of their “rank” (taxis) and “good feeling” (eupatheia) and, therefore, in terms of the power they wield. Having secured the consent of his interlocutors, however, on the fact that t­ hings occur this way, P. moves on to examine their c­ auses, the “why.” 6.10–25. ἀλλ’ ἔστιν . . . ​αὐταὶ προσῆλθον: He recognizes two kinds of differences between the cosmic Soul and individual souls: (a) the former remains constantly in contact with the overall, collective soul, being serenely devoted to the contemplation of the intelligibles (cf. ΙΙ 3.13.3–10 with my comment), while the latter have to deal with the world as already configured by the former and are therefore forced to adjust their activity to it, which thereby becomes perceived by them as occasional contingency, or Destiny (heimarmenē); cf. ΙΙ 9.4.22–25 with my comment. Its characterization as their (older) “­sister” suggests, as in ΙΙ 9.18.16, its benevolent disposition ­toward them—­notwithstanding any antagonisms, or other contrarieties—­but also its role as a model for their comportment; see also Helleman-­Elgersma 1980, 57–61. Moreover, it is pos­si­ble that (b) the correlation of individual souls with specific regions of the intelligible (see my comment on 5.8–18) limits their viewpoint, affording an advantage to the cosmic Soul, which enjoys a more comprehensive and consequently more direct contanct with the intelligible Beings, thus drawing on more of their dynamism. This provides it with a strong lead when it comes to configuring the bodies where its “­sisters” “dwell” (cf. Pl. Phdr. 246c3); still, she allows them some latitude to pro­cess ­these facts and leave their own imprint on the final results; cf. VI 4.15.8–18, VI 7.7.8–16; and Bergson 2000, 59; Blumenthal 1971b, 60. 6.25–27. ἀπέστησαν οὖν . . . ​εἰς τὸ κάτω εἶναι: The “descent” of the souls into bodies is in fact ­little ­else than their “extension” ­toward them. They themselves remain in essence in the realm of the intelligibles, from where they emit their animating “traces” (ichnē) on the bodies; cf. IV 8.8.2–6 and my comment on Ι 1.7.1–6, along with Pl. Ti. 41d7. Only a change in the focus of their attention, owing to their concern for the bodies, can engender in them the (erroneous) impression that they are located in this world. Cf. ΙΙ 9.2.4–10 with my comment. 6.27–34. τὸ γὰρ . . . ​ἐχόντων: According to the account of “Timaeus,” the Demiurge, ­after completing the creation of the cosmic Soul, turned once more to the same mixing bowl where he prepared it: “He began to pour into it what remained of the previous ingredients and to mix them in somewhat the same way, though ­these ­were no longer invariably and constantly pure, but of a second and third grade of purity.” And from this mixture he fi­nally created the individual souls that inhabit the universe; see

36  Fourth Ennead Pl. Ti. 41d4–42d5 (trans. Zeyl). This account already presupposes an ordering of souls into primary (more specifically, one soul is primary: the cosmic), secondary, and tertiary, which according to P. corresponds to the degree of their approximation to the intelligible. Furthermore, inasmuch as their most profound essence is intelligible, their approximation can be formulated as a gradual activation of their self-­constituting potential, which is elsewhere dubbed “life”; see, e.g., Ι 4.3.18–22 with my comment. 7.1–8. ἀλλὰ τὸ ἐν Φιλήβῳ . . . ​τοῦ παντὸς ὄντος: The discussion moves to the examination of the arguments cited in 1.22–37. First is the reference to the Philebus; see mainly 30a3–­b7. It is true that Socrates is depicted ­there arguing that the ­human soul draws its origin from the soul of the cosmos, ­because “where does it come from, ­unless the body of the universe [. . .], happens to possess a soul?” P., however, opts to interpret this phrase in its broader context, as forming part of an analogy between individual ensouled bodies and the overall body of the universe. Indeed, what follows in that dialogue suggests that it is framed within an argument from analogy, which is aimed at showing that the fourth of the genera (genē) mentioned ­earlier ­there, that is, the one that is the “cause of this mixture and generation” and that “among us imports the soul,” could not be absent from the body of the heaven and its huge parts, which shares the same composition as our own. The fact that the parts are ensouled is an indication that the w ­ hole is animated as well, and yet, according to P., this does not entail that individual souls too form parts of the overall one. 7.8–12. δῆλον δὲ . . . ​τρίτοις διδούς: In order to establish Plato’s real doctrine on this subject, we need to look to the dialogue wherein he treats it ex professo; that dialogue is none other than the Timaeus (note the difference between the “suggestion” (huponoia) in l. 2, and the “especially clear” (dēlon) in l. 8). ­There, as I mentioned above, in my comment on 6.27–34, the Demiurge indeed prepares the individual souls, employing the leftovers of the mixture he used e­ arlier to create the cosmic Soul, in order that they be “of the same kind” as it (cf. 2.58), but not its parts, especially ­because “second and third grade of purity” ingredients went into their creation. 7.12–20. τὸ δὲ . . . ​ἐκείνην ποιεῖ: We now forge ahead with the examination of the passage from the Phaedrus (A5; see above, my comment on 1.33–37). P. observes that, contrary to the simplistic interpretation of his adversaries, Plato immediately afterward draws a distinction between a soul whose “wings are in perfect condition, it flies high, and the entire universe is its dominion,” and another one “that sheds its wings and wanders u­ ntil it lights on something solid, where it s­ ettles and takes on an earthly body. . . . ​The ­whole combination of soul and body is called a living ­thing, or animal” (op. cit. 246b7–­c5). This leads him to hold that the expression “all soul” (psuchē pasa) is used distributively, to denote each soul (cf. ΙΙΙ 4.2.1–2; Helleman-­Elgersma 1980, 400–401), and does not refer to the cosmic Soul, as apparently the proponents of A5 believed (they may also have had in mind the alternative reading pasa ē psuchē, which is preserved in most MSS of Plato’s works at this point in the dialogue; see de Vries 1969, 128). Therefore, she is “perfect” and always “undescended,” whereas individual souls, ­because of their imperfection, are liable to “shedding their wings” and becoming shackled inside bodies.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  37 7.20–29. τὸ δὲ συνέπεσθαι . . . ​δεικνυμένην ἄλλην: The “astrologically” inspired argument A3 is the last to come ­under scrutiny (see my comment on 1.26–30). P. is prepared to accept that cosmic influences are real and can in fact be ascribed to the activity not only of the stars, but also to other environmental f­ actors, such as climate conditions, changes in place of residence (Theiler’s emendation ­here is, in my view, rather redundant; at any rate, P. himself was given to, and sometimes even recommended such changes: see VP 2.17–20, 7.22–23, 11.11–15), or one’s physical condition; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 1.5.20–33. As he has argued in his relevant treatise “On Destiny” (ΙΙΙ 1 [3].8.1–15; cf. also ΙΙ 3.10.6–12.3), such influences are not substantial and pertain not to the soul itself, but to the “trace” that is projected on the body, and which, in combination with the body, constitutes the “living being” that is subject to all sorts of affections; cf. Ι 1.6.12– 7.6. The cosmic Soul, of course, contributes substantially to the formation of the latter; see above, 6.14–15. The individual soul itself, however, always retains the ability to resist them and act autonomously and of its own w ­ ill, given that it is an in­de­pen­dent princi­ ple that “has no master” (adespotos). 7.29–31. τὸ δ’ ὅτι . . . ​τ ὴν ἐπεισιοῦσαν: Our introduction into the world does not mean that we also receive our soul from it, as was mentioned above, in 1.29–30. P. invokes an analogy from the discipline of embryology. The precise moment in time when the “introduction” (eiskrisis) of the soul to the body of the embryo occurs was a hotly debated subject in his time, as can be seen by Porphyry’s relevant monograph Ad Gaurum quomodo animetur foetus; see esp. chap. II (34.11–36.10). In the prevalent Platonic view, the soul itself enters the body of the embryo that has been nurtured by “nature” (phusis) at the time of childbirth (cf. “Alcinous” Didasc. 25, 178.34–35), and in any case does not derive e­ ither from the ­father or the ­mother, but “from outside” (exōthen; see Porph. op. cit. 2.5, 36.4–10, and 17.1, 58.19–29). The ­mother’s soul was treated as a ­simple accessory of phusis in the “constitution” (kataskeuē) of the embryo, endowing it with a kind of vegetative life, or “animation” (empsuchia), but not the “self-­moving soul” (autokinētos psuchē), which ­will ­later render it a complete ­human being (see Porph. op. cit. 16.3–5, 56.18–57.6); cf. ΙΙ 1.5.21–23 with my comment; and Galen De foetuum formatione IV 700.5–12. Therefore, the soul itself was thought to enter the newborn as it left her ­mother’s uterus stemming not from the m ­ other, but from elsewhere. In the same way, individual souls have, according to P., their autonomous origin in the intelligible and do not draw their subsistence from the cosmic Soul. 8.1–4. Ταῦτα μὲν οὖν . . . ​καὶ πολλαί: ­Here the ulterior theoretical motives that spurred this inquiry into the precise nature of the unity that connects all souls are revealed: P. needs to provide grounding for their sumpatheia, that is, their ability to be mutually susceptible to shared affections, thereby becoming jointly aware, without any intervening physical interaction between their corresponding bodies; cf. IV 9.3.1–9. This is precisely the sumpatheia that w ­ ill be employed as an explanatory schema to elucidate a number of phenomena, such as the coordination of vari­ous parts of the sensible universe, magical interactions, and perceptual apprehensions. The fact that all souls are at the same time one and many (see above, my comment on 5.8–18) allows them to become attuned and

38  Fourth Ennead co-­affect one another, without relinquishing their distinctiveness and autonomy, given their status as in­de­pen­dent princi­ples. In this way, P. seeks to overcome, among other ­things, the prob­lems of intersubjectivity by transposing them in a context where the individuality of consciousness was becoming increasingly impor­tant; cf. Gurtler 1988, 93. 8.4–5. περὶ δὲ . . . ​εἴρηται: Dif­f er­ent forms of the relation of ­whole to parts ­were set out above, in 2.12–58, where P. also noted the adjustments required in certain cases if we are to apply them to souls. 8.5–17. εἴρηται δὲ . . . ​ταὐτὸν πάσαις: As was mentioned ­earlier (see 5.1–5 with my comment), differentiation between souls cannot occur on the basis of the bodies in which they are embodied, but must precede bodies. An example of such purely “psychical” differences are t­ hose of character (ēthos) (which, as we seen in 1.28 and 7.21, the soul derives, in part at least, from the revolution of the heavens); between products of the intellect (that find their expression in practical life; cf. ΙΙΙ 8.7.8–12); and e­ arlier choices in terms of ways of life, which, according to the myth of Er (see Pl. Resp. 620a2–3), also determine their f­ uture incarnations. We thus see that all ­these pertain to the conversion of the soul and the concern of the souls for the ­things of this world, which takes on dif­ fer­ent forms in each case, depending on the specific predispositions and predilections of each. This is why ­these are attributed to the “second and third grade of purity” materials from which they are composed (cf. 6.27–34 with my comment), a fact that precisely ­entails their somewhat less immediate, commensurably to the level and the extent to which they have been activated, access to the intelligible realm; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 4.2.1–6. 8.17–21. ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . ​ἐν τοῖς σώμασι: Therefore, all the souls together comprise a unitary, ordered, and hierarchically structured organic composition, which, although deprived of the unassailable synchronic unity of the Intellect, still approximates it through their concerted activity in time, thus producing a succession of logoi and sensible forms that reflect—as much as pos­si­ble—­the Intellect’s perfection. Helleman-­Elgersma 1980, 429– 31, has noted that Aristotle Metaph. Λ 10, 1075a11–25, speaking about the presence of good in the universe, also underlines that it is manifest in the “order” (taxis) that links and holds together all living beings, which thereby contribute, each depending on its abilities, “to one end” (pros hen). 8.22–35. καὶ ἀριθμόν τινα . . . ​τοιοῦτον: This partial isomorphism between the totality of souls and the totality of intelligibles necessitates, inasmuch as they are finite in number (see my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.5.22–28, and cf. VI 6.1.12–24), that souls also be numerically finite. Furthermore, just as each of the intelligibles is to be completely identified with its being, that is, with the essence that it represents (cf. Arist. Metaph. Ζ 6, 1031a28–­ b3), the same holds for souls: b­ ecause they are not composite like sensible t­ hings, they too must be immutable and identified with their being; cf. Ι 1.2.6; and Kalligas 1997b, 216–17. In this way, they are harmoniously ordained in the plane of the intelligible essences and enjoy, at their origin at least, the unity that defines ­these. As it becomes

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  39 apparent, what renders souls an integral part of the intelligible world is their simplicity; cf. Ι 1.2.22–23 with my comment;, IV 7.12.13–1, and, of course, also Pl. Phd. 78c1–9. This means that, like intelligible Forms, they do not take shape through the configuration of some material substrate dif­fer­ent from them, but they too constitute offspring of the One, steadfastly articulated in a permanent order; cf. my comment on ΙΙ 4.3.9–16; and ­Nikulin 2005, 296–302. 8.35–38. πῶς οὖν . . . ​οὐ πεπερασμένος: The unlimitedness of the soul (cf. VI 4.4.34– 46) is the manifestation of the infinite potency of the One (that God’s potency, and therefore his essence, is infinite was also supported by Aristotle; see Metaph. Λ 7, 1073a5– 11), which spreads out everywhere and illuminates every­thing; cf. V 5.10.19–22, and VI 7.32.14–28. Thus, the soul’s power extends and gives life to all sorts of bodies, without being apportioned or ­limited by their dispersion in space. This is why it is pre­sent everywhere in the sensible realm, connecting and coordinating even the most distant bodies. 8.38–47. καὶ αὗται . . . ​πανταχοῦ: Consequently, the so-­called apportionment of the souls into bodies does not mean that the presence of each precludes the rest from occupying the same space, but merely that each soul extends where it wishes to, provided, of course, that ­there is a body suitable to receive it (cf. VI 4.15.1–6, 16.7–12); this it does without relinquishing, however, its fundamental identity and unity with other souls. On this, cf. Phillips 2002, 246. 8.47–60. καὶ σαπέντος δὲ . . . ​μενόντων: The soul’s departure from a specific body, ­because it no longer suitable for it, leaves the field open for other souls to become established in it, making their presence felt by substituting its activity with the manifold activity of the cosmic Soul. This explains the incidence of “worms” (eulai) and other vermin, which w ­ ere mentioned above, in my comment on 4.26–37. Cf. also Porph. Ad Gaurum 16.8, 58.7–11. 9.1–3. Ἀλλὰ . . . ​ζητῆσαι ἄξιον: P. moves to the examination of the second prob­lem, as he has stated in 1.15–16. This is, of course, directly linked with the first; in fact, it constitutes an extension of it, given that the dispersion of the souls depends, to a certain extent, as we saw in 4.12–19, on their entering the bodies. At the same time, the examination of the way in which the soul is pre­sent in the body w ­ ill provide an opportunity to also investigate the unity of its presence in space. 9.3–12. ἐπεὶ τοίνυν . . . ​σώματος φύσιν: Our author makes clear at the outset that the theme he ­will be preoccupied with is the so-­called first generation (prōtē genesis), that is, the one that pertains not to the transition of the soul from one body to another, but its departure from the world of the intelligibles and its original entry to the material realm and—­more specifically, in this case, to ­human—­bodies; cf. Pl. Phdr. 248c5–­e5; and Tim. 41e3–42a3. Among the cases he ­will not be examining he includes ­those of “imperceptible reincarnation,” which had been supported by certain Platonists. As Iamblichus testifies in De an. apud Stob. Ecl. Ι 49.39 (trans. Finamore and Dillon), this view, which had

40  Fourth Ennead been espoused, among o­ thers, by Eratosthenes and Ptolemy the Platonist (see my comment on VP 20.49), posited that “the soul is always in a body and passes from subtler bodies into dense bodies. For it spends time in some portion of the sensible world, and descends into solid body at dif­f er­ent times from dif­f er­ent places in the universe.” Cf. also above, my comment on 4.6–9, and the relevant account found in Plutarch De fac. 28– 29, 943c–944c. P. was not willing to preoccupy himself with such fictions that merely transpose the prob­lem of the soul’s embodiment to an extraterrestrial, and therefore extra-­ empirical, stage of its life. What he is concerned with is how the soul comes into contact with corporeal nature in general. 9.12–20. περὶ μὲν δὴ . . . ​πᾶσαν σύνθεσιν: Concerning the cosmic Soul, the reason for its “embodiment” can only carry an allegorical significance, inasmuch as its presence in the body of the cosmos is eternal and uninterrupted. The expression “for the sake of explanation” (didaskalias charin) appears to be a direct allusion to the explanatory tradition of the Timaeus’ psychogony, which had been established by Plato’s earliest successors in the Acad­emy, and especially Xenocrates; see Xenocr. fr. 33 and 54; Alex. Aphrod. apud Philop. Aet. mund. 217.23; and the other references provided by Cherniss 1976, 168ne; see also Pépin 1964, 86–94; Baltes 1976–78, 1:18–22. Furthermore, see the comments of Atticus fr. 4.23–24. According to that tradition, the entire cosmogony of the dialogue should be interpreted as a purely mythological narrative of a fully synchronic real­ity recounted in temporal sequence; cf. ΙΙΙ 5.9.24–29 with my comment, and VI 7.35.33– 34. Thus, we should not hold that the material universe was ever without a soul or that the cosmic Soul descends to it from some other place, as it was maintained, for example, in the apocalyptic cosmogonies of the Gnostics; cf., indicatively, my comment on ΙΙ 9.10.19–21. 9.20–23. ἐπεὶ τό γε ἀληθὲς . . . ​καὶ σῶμα: The cosmic Soul could not “advance” and “animate” the body of the universe if it did not preexist as an, albeit formless, material substrate suitable to receive the cosmic Soul’s activity. Thus, during an initial phase, the cosmic Soul “creates” this material substrate, which is then articulated by the natu­ral forces that or­ga­nize it into a universe; cf. ΙΙ 9.7.11–14, ΙΙΙ 9.3.10–16 with my comments; and O’Brien 1993, 54–56; Vassilopoulou 2002, 208–9. 9.23–29. τῆς δὴ στάσεως . . . ​τῷ γενομένῳ: The Soul’s presence in the world is completely shadowy (cf. VI 3.8.36), insofar as it essentially consists in the projection of a dim (amudron: cf. Pl. Ti. 49a3) image of it on the already shadowy and even more attenuated and dark material substrate. In any case, this requires no special initiative on the part of the cosmic Soul; the ­simple fact of its “propinquity” to ­matter results in the latter’s illumination; cf. ΙΙΙ 6.14.20–23 and ΙΙΙ 9.3.2. 9.29–36. γενόμενος δὴ . . . ​ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἔχων: In this way, the body of the universe is ordered as a suitable “abode” for the Soul, just as individual bodies are “prefabricated” by Nature to receive the other souls; cf. above, 6.13–15, and also my comment on ΙΙ 9.18.4–6. This “residence” is exquisitely beautiful, given that it reflects, as much as pos­si­ble, the intelligible

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  41 models on which it was created, and justly enjoys the cares of the Soul that also originates from ­There, yet it does not possess it, nor does it keep it bound, b­ ecause the Soul supervises “from above”; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 2.2.36–42. In real­ity, it does not in fact contain the Soul, but is contained in it (cf. ΙΙΙ 9.3.3–4 with my comment), nor does it keep it inside it, but on the contrary the world is held together and sustained by it; on the last part, cf. Posidonius fr. 149 (“Posidonius in fact says . . . ​that it is not bodies which hold together souls, but rather souls which hold together bodies,” trans. Dillon); also Plut. Quaest. Plat. III 2, 1002b–­c ; “Alcinous” Didasc. 14, 170.4–9; Pépin 1964, 58–61. 9.36–48. κεῖται γὰρ . . . ​αὑτὸ ἔχει: In this beguiling simile, the presence of the Soul in the body of the universe is likened to the sea that surrounds completely a net thrown into it; the sea holds it in place, without the net being able to “ensnare,” or limit it; cf. Plut. De gen. 22, 592a. This image accentuates the Soul’s omnipresence and incessant motility, but also its elusive character that animates and sustains living bodies without ever becoming dependent on, or trapped in them. Furthermore, it enables P. to illustrate its ontological priority, the fact that without it the body would have nowhere to be extended, while, on the contrary, an eventual absence of the latter would leave it utterly unaffected. This is ­because its presence and size are prior to anything corporeal; cf. VI 4.1.29–2.4. As Roussos has suggested in an unpublished essay on the “Presocratic tradition in Plotinus,” the participle sōizousan in l. 47 alludes to the familiar Orphic belief, attested, among other ­things, in Plato’s Cratylus 400c1–10 (= Orph. fr. 8), according to which the body is “an enclosure” in which the soul “is securely kept”; cf. IV 7.9.2–5, VI 4.2.37–38, VI 5.9.44–48, and VI 7.25.25–26. But ­here it is the soul that sets limits to the body and its movements, not vice versa. 9.48–51. καὶ τοσαύτη . . . ​ἐργάσασθαι: The “shadow” of the Soul is none other than the sensible universe that is molded by the cosmopoeic formative princi­ples (logoi) emanating from it and flowing ­toward corporeal nature; cf. my comments on Ι 1.7.1–6 and ΙΙΙ 2.2.18–33, as well as ΙΙΙ 6.17.12–21. 10.1–9. Οὕτω δὴ . . . ​παντάπασιν ἀμυδρῷ: Employing an admittedly convoluted formulation, which bears the distinctive marks of orality and of the “automatic composition” described by Porphyry VP 8.8–10, P. suggests two alternative models that can illuminate the way in which the Soul is pre­sent in the world. Both comprise three constituents: the first (A) involves the sun, the light that it emits, and the air through which the light is diffused without, however, the air itself becoming illuminated; cf. ΙΙΙ 6.13.42–43); the second one (B) features the sun, its light, and the moon, which is illuminated by it, “Wandering around the earth shining in the night with a borrowed light” (trans. Tarán), in the celebrated words of Parmenides (fr. B14 DK). Model A is useful in that it underlies the impassibility of the illuminated object (cf. ΙΙΙ 6.16.21–24, IV 5.6.34–38), whereas model B brings out more the derivative character of life in the sensible universe (cf. Plut. De fac. 945c–­d). As explained in Igal 1975, 183, P. is referring h ­ ere to a succession of irradiations emanating from the Soul, of which the first and lowest results in the generation of ­matter (cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 4.1.5–12); subsequent irradiations bring about its

42  Fourth Ennead “illumination” (epiphōtismos) through the projection of the sensible images that shape it as enmattered forms; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 6.17.1–12. 10.10–13. ἐκοσμεῖτο δὲ . . . ​μικρούς τινας κόσμους: Inside it, the Soul contains formative princi­ples (logoi), which it subsequently “sows” in the bodies, wherein they operate as seminal princi­ples, shaping the vari­ous forms of life; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.2.18–33. 10.13–19. ὅ τι γὰρ ἂν . . . ​προσχρωμένη: The Soul’s activity is direct, unimpeded, and wholly “natu­ral,” contrary to artificial constructs that require m ­ ental exertion and physical toil; cf. ΙΙΙ 8.2.1–9 with my comments; and Brisson 1999, 101–3. For this reason, the products of art are presented as even more inferior and less real (“playthings” paignia: cf. ΙΙΙ 8.5.6–9 with my comment) than Nature’s creations. This pejorative conception of artistic creation, even though it does echo standard Platonic doctrine (cf., indicatively, Pl. Resp. X 602b6–8, Plt. 288c1–10, Leg. X 889a4–8, c6–­d4; but also Arist. Ph. II 2, 194a21–22, who is followed by Alexander of Aphrodisias De an. 3.15–16), does not encapsulate the full range of P.’s views on the m ­ atter; cf. V 8.1.34–40. This pertains only to art that is purely mimetic, exclusively dedicated to sensible “exemplars” (paradeigmata), and thus deprived of its anagogical, authentically contemplative function; cf. ΙΙΙ 8.4.39–43 with my comment, V 9.11.1–6; Rich 1960, 234–35; and Halliwell 2002, 318–19. The text of the last phrase is obviously corrupt. The emendation suggested by Perna (eidōlōn for eidōlon) appears, in my view, to be the most eco­nom­ical (as well as the eidōlou, proposed by Igal; see H-­S4 ad loc.), while, as noted by Westerink 1977, 321–22, just as in this passage, the word phusis is also used with its verbal meaning a bit further down, in 13.14 (cf. LSJ, s.v., Ι 2). 10.20–29. ἡ δὲ οὐσίας . . . ​ἄλλα ἄλλοις: Contrary to art, Nature performs its tasks without facing difficulties, or meeting re­sis­tance, ­because the bodies comply immediately with its dictates. Its individual creations may, of course, come into conflict with one another, impede each other, yet this does not annul their unimpeded “growth” (ekphusis) from a unitary root; cf. ΙΙΙ 3.7.10–28. The results of its creative activity are now bodies suitably articulated to receive the presence ­either of gods (as ­will be explained in the following chapter; celestial bodies, however, could be regarded as statues of gods as well: see [Pl.] Epin. 983e5–984b1; and cf. Philo Migr. 159, Quaest. in Gen. 87; cf. also ΙΙ 9.8.15–16), or the souls, from which ­people and the other animals are formed (see below, chap. 12; it is noteworthy that Philo likens even the ­human body to a sacred shrine “for the reasonable soul, which man was to carry as a holy image, of all images the most Godlike” (trans. Colson and Whitaker); see Opif. 137). 10.29–38. τί γὰρ ἔδει . . . ​καθ’ ἣν αὐτὴ ζῇ: This activity of the Soul on bodies is therefore purely “natu­ral,” a by-­product of its nature. More specifically, as revealed by the examples mentioned ­here by P. (cf. Ι 2.1.31–38 with my comment), this is the expression of its secondary “activity” (energeia), which is life; on this, see Caluori 2005, 89–91. As a result, the bodies that are suitable to receive it comport as if they are alive, drawing their vital power from it, thereby acquiring a resemblance to it.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  43 10.38–42. ζῶσα οὖν . . . ​ὁ κόσμος ἔχει: The Soul in this way endows the living bodies with the forms that result from the logoi it contains, as a result of its contemplation (cf. ΙΙΙ 8.4.5–10 and my comments on ΙΙΙ 8.2.22–34, 3.20–23), as well as a semblance of life. For this reason bodies can be regarded as carry­ing in them the Soul’s “images,” just as individual bodies ­were considered images of the souls that inhere in them; cf. Plutarch De fac. 945a with Cherniss’ n. a; see also VP 1.7 with my comment. Now, insofar as its contemplation is universal, permanent, and complete, and the logoi it contains w ­ ill also be the princi­ples of every­thing, it follows that the sensible world w ­ ill be a perfect “image” (eidolon) of the intelligible and ­will encompass every­thing. Furthermore, for this reason the Soul—­and, by extension, potentially individual souls too—­will be in a position to know every­thing, given that from the outset it carries inside it their formative princi­ ples, the logoi; on this, cf. Calc. In Ti. 51–52, 100.16–22, who, as noted by Waszink ad loc., prob­ably echoes Numenius’ views. 11.1–6. Καί μοι . . . ​μοῖράν τινα αὐτῆς: The way in which the cosmic Soul is pre­sent in natu­ral bodies is compared to the presence of divine powers in sacred shrines and statues. The theurgical practices through which the priests of e­ arlier times (it is pos­si­ble, albeit not necessary, that, as hypothesized by Cumont 1921–22, 79, h ­ ere P. had in mind specific rituals performed by Egyptian priests; cf. CH Asclepius 37, 347.10–14: “our first ancestors . . . ​in­ven­ted the art of constructing gods”; cf. also Lévy 1911, 135–37) attempted to secure the presence of such powers relied on the relations of “sympathy” that they believed connected a certain divinity with specific materials, symbols, and situations (such as, for example, the time of day or the astrological circumstance). By proper manipulation of such kind of relations, the theurgist gained the ability to control and direct the activity of the divine power; furthermore, by performing vari­ous sacred rites, he could create the respective “receptacles” that allowed him to incite theophanies and other manifestations of divine presence. More specifically, the method of theurgic sculpting is known to us from vari­ous sources (see, e.g., Porph. De phil. fr. 316F), but perhaps the most characteristic testimony is that found in Proclus’ concise treatise, which has been handed down ­under the title On the Hieratic Art. See mainly the following passage: Hence the authors of the ancient priesthood discovered from ­thing apparent the worship of superior powers, while they mingled some t­ hings and purified o­ thers. They mingled many ­things indeed together, ­because they saw that some ­simple substances possessed a divine property (though not taken singly) sufficient to call down that par­tic­u­lar power, of which they ­were participants. Hence by the mingling of many t­ hings together, they attracted upon us a supernal influx; and by the composition of one ­thing from many, they symbolized that one, which is above many; and composed statues from the mixtures of vari­ous substances, conspiring in sympathy and consent. Besides this, they collected composite odours, by a divine art, into one, comprehending a multitude of powers, and symbolizing with the unity of a divine essence. Considering besides, that division debilitates each of ­these, but that mingling them together restores them to the idea of their exemplar, . . . ​by the mutual relation and sympathy of ­things to one another, they collected their

44  Fourth Ennead virtues into one, but expelled them by repugnancy and antipathy. (Bidez 1936, VI 150.24–151.11, trans. Taylor) Cf. also Proclus In Ti. III 6.8–24 (where hieratic sculpting is likened to the activity of the creator God; see contra Iambl. Myst. ΙΙΙ 28, 168.3–171.1, and On Cult Statues, apud Philop. apud Photius Bibl. cod. 215, 173b6–15), as well as the other references provided by Lewy 1978, 247–48, 495–96; also Mazur 2004, 35n.24. On this theme in general, see also Hopfner 1921, 1: §§ 805–9; Dodds 1951, 292–95. We know about the survival of similar practices in the field of Arabic science (on this, see Kraus 1942, 119–34), and, further, ­there is the Jewish Kabbalistic technique for creating the so-­called golem, which remained in use at least u­ ntil the 1580s (on this, see Ripellino 1995, 131–43); see also Yates 1964, 64–68. Boyancé 1955, 195–209, has rightly argued that the pre­sent passage refers to precisely such rituals; in fact he notes that, according to the testimony of Augustine Ciu. D. VII 5, statue worship was considered a means to attain contemplation of “the soul of the world, and its parts, that is, the true gods” (trans. Schaff ); cf. Num. fr. 53. To P., however, such rituals are impor­tant only as illustrations of the overall phenomenon of universal sumpatheia, and ­there is not the slightest insinuation that ­these could substitute, or even complement or assist in the purely philosophical task of contemplative ascent to the realm of the intelligible; cf. Armstrong 1974, 85, and my comment on VP 10.34–38. 11.6–8. προσπαθὲς δὲ . . . ​δυνάμενον: The material body is a “receiver” that picks up the activity emanating from the Soul, depending on how well it is “attuned” to it. It functions like a mirror that reflects higher entities, although they do not actually inhere in it. Furthermore, in a treatise included in the Corpus Hermeticum, cult statues are compared to “reflections of incorporeals on bodies” (XVII, 243.8–12; cf. Philo Spec. leg. Ι 26), yet ­here the emphasis is on the ability of bodies to reflect a specific aspect of psychical life. 11.8–23. καὶ γὰρ . . . ​χωρὶς ὄν: What we have ­here is a highly compressed account of the pro­cess through which the Soul intermediates during the creation of sensible forms, foreshadowing the more detailed treatment of the theme in ΙΙΙ 8 [30].2.19–3.12. The Soul contemplates the divine beings (which are ­here symbolized by the intelligible Sun) and draws from ­these the contemplative princi­ples, as she is illuminated by them. Subsequently, Nature–­the lower, creative version–­employs the princi­ples deposited in it to proceed to its creative work, “sowing” their imitations in ­matter and giving shape to sensible bodies. In this manner, the Soul succeeds in rendering ­these communicants of the intelligible essence; this occurs while the Soul remains firm in its transcendence. By interpreting the eternal intellectual truths as creative instructions, the Soul conjoins and brings into contact with one another the extremely opposed ontological regions of Intellect and ­matter, thereby producing a universe that is si­mul­ta­neously corporeal and also harmonious and, therefore, comprehensible. On the Soul’s role as an “interpreter,” see also my comment on Ι 2.3.27–30. 11.23–27. θεοὶ δέ εἰσιν . . . ​ἐκεῖ βλεπούσης: Now the discussion turns to the sensible gods, the stars, expanding on the foregoing reference to the Sun. This somewhat abrupt change

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  45 could perhaps be attributed to a lacuna in the text of l. 22, as hypothesized by Westerink 1977, 321–22. The cir­cuit of the fixed stars was always regarded as a privileged region with re­spect to the presence of the cosmic Soul, while the planets performed an interpretative role, according to “Chaldaean” astrological theory; see Diod. Sic. ΙΙ 30.3–4. According to P., however, all astral gods remain forever devoted to intellective contemplation, utterly unencumbered by concerns over sensible t­ hings; cf. my comment on Ι 8.5.30–34. Therefore their “attachment” (prosartēsis) to the cosmic Soul does not bring about any “disturbance and confusion,” as was held, for example, by the Gnostic Basilides (see Clem. Al. Strom. ΙΙ 20, 112.1–113.4); on the contrary, it effected their full conformation to the intellective instructions. 12.1–2. Ἀνθρώπων δὲ . . . ​ὁρμηθεῖσαι: We now come to the question of the presence of ­human souls in the world. They too, in turn (cf. above, my comments on 10.20–29, 38– 42, and 11.6–8) proj­ect their images on bodies, which thereby acquire the individuating characteristics that determine each person, as well as his other vital functions; cf. my comment on Ι 1.8.18–23. This pro­cess of image projection entails the quasi apportionment of the unitary life of the soul in a multitude of functions, some of which act antagonistically to one another. This division of the embodied soul (on this, see my comment on IV 2.1.66–76) is elsewhere likened to Dionysus Zagreus’ dismemberment by the Titans; see my comment on Ι 6.5.2–8. This event is apparently prefigured in the image of the young god gazing at his reflection in the “mirror” (esoptron) crafted by Hephaestus, and which was used by the Titans to distract him; cf. Firm. Mat. De err. profan. rel. VI 2 = Orph. fr. 214; Nonnus Dion. VI 172–73; and Procl. In Ti. ΙΙ 80.19–24, as well as the other passages cited by Kern in Orph. fr. 209. What is hinted at ­here is perhaps that ­these images exert some sort of magical pull on the souls and, by exciting their curiosity (on this, cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.11.15–20), they lead them to become distanced from their proper region, at a grave cost for the souls; see Pépin 1970, 318–20; and cf. Hadot 1976, 102–3; also my comment on Ι 6.8.9–16. The allegorical interpretation of the myth as an allusion to a “discourse about the soul” is known to us from Plutarch De esu carn. 996c, and appears to have been already established by the time of Origen (see C. Cels. IV 17), yet P. correlates it with the fate of individual souls, not with the cosmic Soul, as Proclus In Ti. ΙΙ 145.11–146.22 = Orph. fr. 210a (on this, see Linforth 1941, 322–24; and Pépin op. cit. 309–10), and neatly incorporates it in the broader framework of his theory on the “emanation” (proodos) of lower hypostases from higher ones. At the same time, he draws clear moral implications from it, which become even more manifest in l­ ater Neoplatonists: see, for example, Damascius In Phd. Ι, 128–30. 12.3–8. οὐκ ἀποτμηθεῖσαι . . . ​φροντίσαι: Thus, the presence of the souls in bodies is deceptive. Their superior, intellective nature remains in the “supracelestial realm” (cf. Pl. Phdr. 248a1–5; and Plut. De Gen. 591e, where we again come across the analogy of “objects appearing to be in the mirrors that reflect them”), and only their image comes into contact with the body, whereas their “­middle” reasoning part may be led astray by its care for the body, and thus believe that it is indeed “co-­affected” (sumpaschei) with it; cf. ΙΙ 9.2.4–10 with my comment. Especially in­ter­est­ing is the fact that the obvious allusion

46  Fourth Ennead to the Phaedrus myth is accompanied by a clear reference to the description of Eris in Homer Il. 4.440–43, where she is portrayed watching over a fierce ­battle between the Greeks and the Trojans. Apparently, the author has in mind the contrarieties that the soul’s activity brings about on the corporeal level through its formative princi­ples (logoi), yet this parallelism would have been more apt if he was discussing the Cosmic Log­os (cf. ΙΙΙ 2.2.1–7 with my comment; and [Arist.] Mund. 6, 399b1–25), as is the case in a similar passage from the, at any rate susceptible to Stoic influences, biblical Wisdom of Solomon 18:15–16, where the Word (log­os) of God “. . . ​filled all ­things with death, / and touched heaven while standing on the earth” (trans. Brenton). 12.8–12. Ζεὺς δὲ . . . ​τὰ τῇδε ἐπιστρεφομένη: Zeus, the cosmic Intellect (cf. ΙΙΙ 5.8.1–17 with my comment) and, consequently, the cosmic lawgiver, has ordained the periodic disembodiments of the souls so as they can have the opportunity to remain for a period of time close to the cosmic Soul, ruling the universe together with it; cf. IV 8.4.5–10; and, of course, Pl. Phdr. 249a7–­b1. This can take place ­because their bodily fetters are by design removable (cf. Pl. Ti. 43a1–2); indeed, P. ascribes this to god’s compassion, borrowing a phrase from “Aristophanes’ ” account in Plato’s Symposium 191b5, taking care, however, as noted by Lamberton 1986, 91n.38, to confer a more “Homeric” style on it (cf., e.g., Hom. Il. 15.12), and a dactylic meter, as if it had originated from an epic theogony. Cf., however, as Theiler notes ad loc. (486), Hippol. Haer. VI 31.2. 12.12–14. ὃ γὰρ ἔχει . . . ​περαινόμενον: The universe, as a complete and self-­sufficient complex of stable “princi­ples” (logoi) and laws that govern all changes in it, is something permanent and incorruptible. In this re­spect P.’s thought evinces a certain debt to Heraclitus, as fr. B30 and 31 are prob­ably echoed ­here (see chiefly: “. . . ​but it was ever, is now and ever ­shall be an ever-­living fire, with mea­sures kindling and mea­sures g­ oing out”; “. . . ​and mea­sured into the same proportion,” trans. Burnet). Our author, along with most ancient thinkers, however, interprets ­these as referring to periodic reversals of the cosmic cycle (anakuklēseis), with the term “mea­sures” (metra) denoting temporal duration and not material quantity; cf. Kirk 1970, 317–19; and Roussos 1968, 11–12, who does not mention the passage in question though. On this, see also my comments on ΙΙ 1.1.1–2 and 3.23–30. 12.14–22. καὶ κατὰ χρόνους . . . ​ποιουμένων: Therefore ­here, the Log­os prescribes the times of embodiment and disembodiment for the souls, so as to have them coordinated with the movements of celestial bodies, and also with the ­great recurring cosmic cycles; on this, see my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.8.8–13, and V 7.3.14–18; but cf. SVF 2:599, 625. Thus, the descents and ascents of the souls unfold in an orderly manner and are correlated with the positions and movements of the constellations, and especially the planetary orbs, to which the psychical substance is mainly apportioned (cf. Pl. Ti. 36d2–7); according to Proclus In Ti. ΙΙ 146.9–18, this fact is symbolized by Dionysus’ dismemberment; cf. also Macrobius In Somn. I 12.12. On the other hand, the fact that t­ hese are subject to a steady pace, and that, as we have seen (12.10), their disembodiments constitute but mere temporary “respites,” entails that souls cannot aspire to a permanent disentanglement from bodies. On this, see Dodds 1963, 304–5; and Sorabji 1983, 188.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  47 12.22–24. ὡς καὶ τὰς τύχας . . . ​σχήμασι: Cf. mainly my comments on the following passages: ΙΙ 3.7.4–8, ΙΙΙ 1.5.33–37, and 6.20–24. 12.24–30. καὶ οἷον . . . ​ἐπιστρεφόμεναι: The m ­ usic of the celestial spheres (on which see Pl. Resp. 617b4–7; on the Pythagorean origins of this belief, see op. cit. 530d6–9; also Burkert 1972, 350–63) is employed ­here as an indication of the harmony and order that connects all souls and coordinates their movements to the unitary cosmic rhythm; cf. Cornutus Theol. Graec. 32, 67.17–22). 12.30–39. νοῦς δὲ πᾶς . . . ​ἄλλη ἄλλο: The Intellect is completely transcendent vis-­à-­vis the universe; the latter partakes of and communicates with the Intellect only through the mediation of a soul—­either the cosmic Soul or the individual souls. Yet the souls mold and influence bodies depending on the temporal contingency and the susceptibility, in some way, of the latter to them; cf. above, my comments on 11.6–8, and on Ι 2.2.4–10. Thus, each soul is concerned with one body that befits it, in the sense that it corresponds to that soul’s predispositions. With re­spect to embodiment in animals, see my comment on ΙΙΙ 4.2.16–30 and cf. IV 7.85.38–43. 13.1–12. Τὸ γὰρ . . . ​καὶ φέρεσθαι: So the projection of images from the souls and onto bodies occurs automatically, when the necessary conditions are in place (cf. above, my comment on 10.13–19); as a result it is fair and inexorable. It pays heed to the ineradicable law of “sympathy” that links the predispositions of the specific soul with the characteristics the cosmic Soul has endowed a specific body with. The activity of the individual soul on the body it animates is likened to a magician’s actions, who can move an object from afar by taking advantage of the forces of sumpatheia to this effect, but also by choosing the opportune “occasion” (kairos), that is, the “astrological circumstance” (katarchē) that is auspicious for achieving the desired result. On this, see Festugière 1944–54, 1:101– 2. It is governed, however, by an ineluctable necessity (which is, of course, nothing ­else but a manifestation of the dynamism of the higher hypostases) and not by the desires or the arbitrary choices of the soul or of some “sending” (pempōn) god (as Calvenus Taurus apparently believed; see Iambl. De an. apud Stob. Ecl. Ι 49.39, 378.25–27; and cf. ΙV 8.1.46–48). On this, see O’Brien 1977, 419–20. 13.12–20. οἷον καὶ ἐφ’ ἑνὸς . . . ​κινούμενοι: P. h ­ ere depicts the animating diffusion of psychical activity to the bodies as some veritable élan vitale: he employs a number of similes and images, all of them life-­affirming and brimming with vitality. Th ­ ere is not the slightest trace of the anti-­cosmic rejection of earthly life found in the Gnostics (cf. my introduction to ΙΙ 9, also my introduction to ΙΙΙ 5); on the contrary, we witness an au­then­tic admiration for the majesty of natu­ral creation. Common to all ­these literary devices is the naturalness and spontaneity informing the activities mentioned, as well as a lack of any forethought and planning. This corresponds to a peculiar version of voluntariness, one that is expressly distinguished from “deliberate choice” (prohairesis, which presupposes reasoning; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 1.9.1–16) and is only characterized by self-­impellment for the satisfaction of a primordial vital impulse, thus falling within a superior and more

48  Fourth Ennead comprehensive, albeit intrinsic, necessity; cf. IV 8.5.1–4. More specifically, the example of the “marriages” (gamoi) recalls P.’s generally tolerant attitude regarding sexual desire, provided it is natu­ral (cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 5.1.40–50). ­Doing good without reasoning, however, is not deemed preferable to d­ oing so “by choice” (kata prohairesin); it is simply recognized as a manifestation of inborn “natu­ral goodness” (euphueia: cf. Ι 6.2.13–24 with my comment). In general, the so-­called descent of the souls into bodies is not the result of some coercion, nor their premeditated choice, but of some kind of instinctive, yet at any rate spontaneous activity, similar to the natu­ral stirring of animals; cf. Rist 1983, 145–46. This last simile may in fact originate from Numenius, who, according to Proclus’ testimony, In Remp. ΙΙ, 129.8–11 = fr. 35.11–13, described the overall pro­ cess, introducing “another ­great fantasy in the leaps and movements made by souls from the solstices to the equinoxes, and from t­ hese to the solstices” (trans. Boys-­Stones); also cf., however, Plut. De sera 23, 564a “leaped forth” (ekpēdan). Theiler’s addition of phuseis in l. 14 (on the basis of a parallel passage in IV 4.11.19), which has been accepted by H-­S2, is in my view not necessary, considering that the noun phusis can function as reflecting a verbal capacity; cf. my comments on 10.13–19 and V 4.1.29. On the contrary, the emendation akousai instead of hekoūsai in l. 17, also suggested by Theiler, has been generally accepted (see O’Brien 1977, 408–17; and 1993, 14–17; Rist, op. cit. 137n.2) and restores the text’s semantic coherence given that, following P.’s denying that descent is involuntary, it is plausible that he follows up by elucidating the kind of voluntariness involved. 13.21–32. ἀλλ’ εἱμαρμένον . . . ​φθέγγεται: Thus, ­there is a form of necessity that determines the ensoulment of bodies, and is due to the soul’s intrinsic ability, to its natu­ral tendency to animate what­ever is in a position to receive the (secondary) activity that pours out from within it; cf. Banacou-­Caragouni 1976, 60–61. This is b­ ecause the existence of the soul is, of course, the fundamental and necessary precondition for the formation of a living being. On the other hand, however, the proper constitution of the body so as to receive the vital energy of the soul represents a sufficient condition for this, without the added requirement of any further divine intervention, or choice on the soul’s part. The bond between ­these two ­factors possesses the potency of a law of nature: provided that the appropriate circumstances exist, the soul ­will as­suredly act, thereby bringing about the body’s animation. In this re­spect it resembles Destiny; it too, being the system of natu­ral law, determines a result hypothetically, insofar as the necessary conditions are met. Still, it is not in a position to fully control ­these conditions; cf. ΙΙΙ 1.8.4–14 with my comments. 14.1–5. Τούτων δὴ . . . ​ψ υχὰς διδόντων: Each body, therefore, is illuminated by the soul that animates it, but at the same time it also receives the influence of the sensible gods (cf. my comment on ΙΙ 3.9.31–47), the cosmic Soul, and of the “outflows” (aporrhoiai) from other intelligible gods, which are intermediated by other souls. The combination of all ­these variform actions constitutes the Destiny that governs it. 14.5–11. οἷον εἰκὸς . . . ​γενομένῳ: To illustrate what has been said above, P. pre­sents an intricate allegorical interpretation (“to riddle,” ainittesthai: cf. my comment on Ι 6.8.18–20)

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  49 of the myth concerning the creation of Pandora, passed down by Hesiod Op. 60–89. He carefully declares his abeyance to the Hesiodic version of the myth, quoting and paraphrasing two distinctive lines—­apparently from memory. This concerns the injunction given by Zeus to Hephaestus: “Mix earth with ­water and to put in it the voice and strength of ­human kind, / and fashion a sweet, lovely maiden-­shape, like to the immortal goddesses in face . . .” (ll. 61–62, trans. Evelyn-­White). Our author, however, changes several points of the myth, so as to adapt it to the needs of the preceding theoretical analy­ sis. First of all, instead of Hesiod’s Hephaestus, h ­ ere Pandora’s maker is Prometheus—in this he was apparently influenced by the widespread tradition that credited him with the creation of h ­ uman bodies; cf. Pl. Prot. 320d3–6 (where Prometheus is credited with “assigning to each [mortal race] its appropriate powers and abilities”); [Apollodorus] Bibliotheca Ι 45; Aesop Fabulae 303 and 322; Ovid Meta. I 78–83; Paus. Χ 4.4; Luc. Prom. es in uerb. 11–4; and fig. 4 in the previous volume. In this way, Prometheus is correlated with the higher soul (he was, at any rate, regarded as symbolizing h ­ uman mind; see Dodds 1973, 6–7), through whose activity the body is configured and ­shaped—­together with the rest of the cosmic forces that are represented by the other divinities offering their “gifts” (cf. the similar pro­cess described in CH Exc. XXIII = Korē Kosmou, 28–29, 8.24–9.19, where the astrological symbolism is more palpable)—by blowing into it an image of his own “providential wisdom” (promētheia) rendered in “speech” (phōnē; cf. Cornutus Theol. Graec. 18, 32.1–2 L.), as well as images of other divine models. The gift of Aphrodite must symbolize the contribution of the cosmic Soul (cf. ΙΙΙ 5.5.11–12), while ­those of the Graces, the Horae, and the other divinities mentioned by Hesiod would correspond to the specific temporal contingency. All of ­these together (“Pandora (All-­Gift), since all ­those who have their mansions on Olympus had given her a gift—­a woe for men who live on bread” in Hesiod’s celebrated passage, op. cit. 82) constitute what is called “Destiny” (heimarmenē). We should note that P.’s interpretation assumes that Hesiod’s wording, “had given her a gift” (dōron edōrēsan, l. 82) refers to the gifts offered by the Olympian gods to the ­woman Pandora, not to her being a “gift” to mankind (cf. West 1978, 166–67 ad loc.). The story of the animation of Pandora’s body by Prometheus appears to have been very popu­lar in P.’s time; in fact, according to Porphyry’s testimony, Ad Gaurum 11, 48.10– 14, it had even received theatrical treatment, obviously in the vein of allegorical pantomime. Porphyry himself compares it to the creation of the primeval ­couple as recounted in the Bible, with Origen rushing to adopt this approach in C. Cels. IV 38, with a view to defending the possibility of interpreting the Holy Scriptures allegorically. And yet, the most complete, and heavi­ly syncretistic at that, approach to this theme is to be found, somewhat unexpectedly, in the technical treatise On the Letter Omega by the alchemist Zosimos of Panopolis. ­There, a parallel is drawn between Pandora’s creation and the fashioning of Eve, which is thought to symbolize the bond that keeps the soul bound to the body, whereas “Prometheus and Epimetheus are one man, according to the system of allegory, that is, soul and body” (op. cit. 12, 111–15). It appears that Zosimos derived this interpretation from a work by the Gnostic Nicotheus (who is mentioned twice by him: op. cit. 1, 5; and 10, 101), that was possibly also known to P.; see VP 16.6 with my comment.

50  Fourth Ennead 14.11–13. ὁ δὲ Ἐπιμηθεὺς . . . ​ἀμείνω εἶναι: But whereas the mythological tradition had Epimetheus disobeying his ­brother’s advice and taking Pandora as his spouse, with notorious consequences (see Hes. Op. 89–104), P. has him rejecting his b­ rother’s pre­ sent, thereby revealing the appropriate stance vis-­à-­vis the gift of Destiny. On the contrary, Zosimos remains faithful to Hesiod’s version: “On which account, too, Hesiod introduces Prometheus counselling Epimetheus, and telling him not to take the Gift from Zeus who rules Olympus, but send it back again (= Hes. Op. 86–88)—[thus] teaching his own ­brother through philosophy to return the Gifts of Zeus—­that is, of Fate” (op. cit. 6, 47–53; cf. also 16, 152–55). 14.13–17. δέδεται δὲ . . . ​καὶ ὧς λελύσθαι: P. ­here broadens the scope of the mythological reference, so as to include the myth of Prometheus being bound by Zeus (regarded as a symbol of the soul’s devotion to its image, which can render it bound to the body and its affections; cf. above, my comment on 12.3–8), but also his liberation by Hercules (a celebrated paragon of virtuous be­hav­ior; see my comment on Ι 1.12.31–39); cf. Hes. Theog. 521–28. 14.17–19. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν . . . ​τοῖς λεγομένοις: P. seems to be aware that the version of the myth recounted as well as the interpretation put forward are less than orthodox, yet he declares that he is chiefly interested in providing sufficient illustration to what has been said above; cf. my introduction to ΙΙΙ 5, as well as Armstrong n. 1, ad loc. (82). The point he wished to stress is the determining importance of the soul’s participation and contribution in the creation of the living organism, but also its in­de­pen­dence from it. 15.1–7. Ἴασι δὲ . . . ​ἐβαρύνθη: The account of the “descent” of the souls into bodies is couched in much more traditional terms than usual, even though some of ­those employed seem to be deliberately ambiguous. For example, the participle ekkupsasai does not necessarily entail movement in space, but rather a mere shifting of the souls’ gaze and focus of attention (“when they have peeped out” in Armstrong), like an audience raptly attending to a spectacle from the gallery; cf. the hoīon prokupsasa (“so to speak puts its head outside” in Armstrong) in IV 4.3.3; also Schuhl 1974, 691–92, and Caluori 2015, 138; further, CH I 14, 11.7. With re­spect to the souls receiving a “first,” astral and “ethereal” (aitherōdes) body, see above, my comment on 4.6–9 with the references provided ­there, as well as Verbeke 1945, 359–63; Smith 1974, 152–55; and Zambon 2005, 316–23. Porphyry In Ti., fr. 80 = Procl. In Ti. ΙΙΙ 234.23–26, gives a brief explanation of the relevant belief as follows: “­these [sc., the ‘vehicle’ and the ‘irrational soul’] are compounds (phuramata) made by the celestial spheres and the soul collects them as it descends, so that it both is and is not them, while each of ­these is not and its properties do not remain.” The debate surrounding this question, as well as ­whether the “introduction” (eiskrisis) of the soul into the body entails its spatial transposition, had grown intense at least by the time of Atticus and Alexander of Aphrodisias, as can be seen in a recently discovered fragment of Alexander’s commentary on Aristotle’s Physics; see Rashed 1997, 184, 189–91. At any rate, souls can become embodied in two ways: ­either (a) through their “descent” from the heavens into their earthly abodes; or (b) through their “passage” from

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  51 one body to the other (cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 4.2.16–30), when their powers are insufficient to elevate them up high again, b­ ecause they have grown heavy as a result of “oblivion” or “forgetfulness” (lēthē) and their “vice” or “sin” (kakia); cf. Pl. Phdr. 248c5–8. In both cases, however, it is the stance of the soul that determines the extent of its involvement with and solicitude for its body. 15.7–10. γίνονται δὲ . . . ​ἤ τισιν αὐτῶν: At this point of the discussion our author chooses to leave the question of the ­factor that differentiates souls, and by extension individuates them, pending; cf. above, 8.5–17 with my comment. The range of pos­si­ble answers falls ­under two categories: (a) ­those relating to the differences of embodied life, which may be linked to the peculiar characteristics of each body; influences by environmental f­ actors and contingencies; or even to upbringing; and (b) ­those pertaining to the differences that distinguish the souls themselves, e­ ither all of them, or some of them. The disjunction between ­these two categories cannot be exclusive, b­ ecause all t­hese f­actors may affect, to a varying degree, of course, the soul’s stance vis-­à-­vis the body, and therefore its concern over it. 15.10–23. καὶ αἱ μὲν . . . ​ὡδὶ καῖσθαι: Thus, some souls are fully subjugated to Destiny, which ­will determine, to a large extent, the ­factors of category (a) (cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 1.10.2–10), whereas o­ thers are influenced by it, in part, and to the extent that they are sometimes led astray by bodily affections and are co-­affected along with it; nonetheless, they retain the ability to desist, albeit only transiently, from their engagement with it (cf. ΙΙΙ 1.10.13–15 with my comment); yet again, other souls retain their autonomy and in­de­pen­ dence from all sorts of influences stemming from excessive concern over the body. We can discern h ­ ere the well-­known distinction between three kinds of stances regarding embodied life, that is, three models of life; cf. my comments on Ι 3.1.6–9 and ΙΙ 9.9.6–11. It is noteworthy that only the souls belonging to the third, the higher group, comport in accordance with the model of the cosmic Soul and the astral gods, naturally mediating the rulings of intelligible beings on the plane of sensible ­things; cf. Ι 8.5.30–34 with my comment. 16.1–11. Τὰ μὲν οὖν . . . ​ἢ πατηθῆναι: If, however, every­thing unfolds ­under the guidance of the souls and through the rational princi­ples (logoi) that emanate from them, then how can we account for the presence of all the evils in the world, such as injustice? P. ­will treat this question extensively ­later, in his treatise “On Providence” (ΙΙΙ 2–3 [47–48]). ­Here, he is content with the epigrammatic mention of some of the best-­known arguments for the existence of Providence in the world. First comes the argument “through concomitance” (kata parakolouthēsin), according to which any occurrence of evil is simply a necessary consequence, and such occurrences are not included in their entirety in the overall design of universal Log­os; cf. n. 12 to my introduction to ΙΙΙ 2–3. As a result, they represent concomitants of the combination of the c­ auses that constitute Destiny and, therefore, are incapable of exerting in­de­pen­dent influence on the self-­ruling soul; cf. ΙΙΙ 1.8.9–20 with my comments, but also Ι 4.8.18–27. 16.11–17. ἢ καὶ τὸ ἄδικον . . . ​καὶ συνυφάνθαι νομίζειν: An allusive reference to the classic holistic argument, according to which the existence of a partial evil can be justified

52  Fourth Ennead by its beneficent contribution to the overall good; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.9.31–40. Given that every­thing is arranged by a unitary world-­forming Log­os, the natu­ral causal chain that produces such partial evils should be evaluated as a w ­ hole, not piecemeal, ­because even the slightest ele­ments contribute to the creation of a well-­formed and harmonious ­whole. 16.17–25. καὶ τὸ ἄδικον . . . ​μέμψεως αἰτίας: Each rational soul has the capacity for self-­ impellment, which renders it responsible for its choices. Therefore, it is only fair that one who has erred in his choices should suffer the corresponding consequences, even if he is oblivious to the relations linking the former with the latter; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.7.15–28. In other words, whoever commits unjustifiable wrongdoing c­ auses more harm to himself than to o­ thers. As Rist 1967b, 159–60, notes, we can sense ­here the echo of Socrates’ discussion with Polus in the Gorgias (474c4–475e6), which arrives at the conclusion that it is preferable to suffer than to commit injustice. P.’s citing an apt passage from Homer is also worthy of our attention. This is taken from Eurymachus’ prophetic—as w ­ ill emerge l­ater—­ironic words (Hom. Od. 18, 353): addressing the other suitors, he tells them that the appearance of the beggar in rags (who, in real­ity, is none other than Odysseus) at the palace was the gods’ w ­ ill. The dramatic way in which his words come true stands as an enduring example of ­human inability to grasp the meticulous fairness and inevitability that informs the dispensation of divine judgment. 17.1–12. Ὅτι δὲ . . . ​εἰς πολὺ προϊούσαις: We return to the question of the gradual embodiment of the souls that was posed in 15.1–5. The view of firmament as the most proper domicile of souls was a very ancient Orphic belief, which was incorporated into Platonism early on, and, as it appears, was significantly elaborated on by Numenius; see my comment on ΙΙΙ 4.6.18–30. From this a hierarchical conception of the sensible universe is deduced, according to which the activity of the souls irradiates primarily the celestial sphere, and only secondarily earthly t­ hings, while the intelligible realm extends outside it. 17.12–21. ἔστι γάρ τι . . . ​ἀγλαΐᾳ: For P., however, the topography just described carries a rather symbolic significance. That is why he does not hesitate to complement it with a second image, which is diametrically opposite to the previous. H ­ ere we have a central source of light surrounded by three successive spheres (P. talks of “circles” (kukloi) but it is clear that, just as Plato in the relevant passage taken from the Laws (898a3–­b3), he has in mind the two-­dimensional repre­sen­ta­tion of ­spherical shapes). The first of ­these radiates itself with the light it receives from the source, as when an opaque glass surrounds a flame. This sphere corresponds to the Intellect that draws its luminosity from the One and, at the same time, illuminates every­thing it comes into contact with subsequently. The second sphere that corresponds to the soul draws its light from the Intellect and thereby glows with a light not of its own (cf. model B mentioned above, in my comment on 10.1–9; also, with re­spect to the expression “light from light” (phōs ek phōtos), my comment on ΙΙ 1.7.24–30). A third, the sphere of materiality, is wholly lacking in luminosity, and is perceptible only through the glow projected on it by the previous

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  53 spheres, especially the immediately preceding one, which is called third ­because it holds third place from the center. This image of the world as a kind of planetarium encapsulates its ontological arrangement, and not, of course, its natu­ral order. 17.21–28. εἶτα δεομένων . . . ​φύσεως κηδεμονίᾳ: The bodies, which are “illuminated” by the radiation stemming from the region of the soul, being material and weak, undergo affections and perish. Thus the souls feel the need to be mindful of them, taking care and protecting them from the dangers that surround them, sometimes becoming so closely identified with them that—as suggested by the marvelous simile of the pi­lot of a sinking ship (on this, cf. Ι 1.3.20–21 with my comment; ΙΙΙ 4.6.47–56; and further down, IV 3.21.5–14; the similarity of expression to a passage from Plato’s Ion (540b6–7), pointed out by H-­S ad loc., appears inconsequential to me)—­they run the risk of being swept along with them, in terms of their consciousness at least, to the murky depths of materiality. ­There, they now become bound by the laws of magia naturalis, that is, of natu­ral necessity and its implications. Cf. Pl. Phd. 81b2–6; but also Porph. Abst. Ι 28.1 and 43.1. 17.28–31. εἰ δ’ ἦν . . . ​ἐν τῷ ἄνω: P. strongly emphasizes the differences between the perfect, self-­sufficient, and impassible cosmic “living being” (zōion), on the one hand, and individual living beings, on the other; the latter are constantly pursuing the means necessary for their self-­preservation and protection from outside dangers. On this point he radically departs from Numenius, who accepted that his second god (i.e., the cosmic Soul) “by giving his attention to m ­ atter he becomes heedless of himself ” (fr. 11.18–19). Such an eventuality was utterly inconceivable for P.; in his view, the cosmic Soul is unwaveringly engaged in contemplation of the intelligibles and rules the universe without the slightest effort and concern; see my comments on ΙΙ 1.4.30–33 and ΙΙ 9.18.14–17. 18.1–7. Πότερα δὲ . . . ​ἡ τέχνη: An impor­tant question is w ­ hether the soul possesses reasoning, that is, a discursive-­ratiocinative function, before its embodiment. Yet this function is needed only where ­there is room for ignorance, or prob­lems to be dealt with, decisions to be taken, and re­sis­tances to be overcome; in other words, where learning, solicitude, and care are required. Furthermore, as already argued by Aristotle (Eth. Nic. III 3, 1112a34–­b9), “Deliberation is concerned with ­things that happen in a certain way for the most part, but in which the event is obscure, and with t­ hings in which it is indeterminate” (trans. Ross). In other words, reasoning is an indication of imperfect knowledge, inasmuch as it presupposes that, for the person that engages in it, ­there is something not already clear. Yet nothing of the sort can be true in the region of pure and uninterrupted contemplation where the soul resides before its embodiment, and where every­thing is instantaneously clear and obvious (see IV 9.5.27–28). Wallis 1972, 26–27 and 79–80, has indicated that P.’s support for this position is connected with the fact that the Skeptics had advanced specific arguments against the view that the divine “deliberates” (bouleuetai); cf. Sext. Emp. Math. ΙΧ 167–73. The example of the perplexed craftsman suggests that h ­ ere P. perhaps had Aristotle’s phrase in mind (Ph. II 8, 199b28), that “art does not deliberate,” which he also cites in IV 8.8.15–16. It reveals that, in his view, at the moment of true creation, the craftsman (or, a fortiori, the artist)

54  Fourth Ennead directly contemplates the intelligible model of his creation and acts in an almost automatic fashion, which involves no calculations and no hesitations about what he has to do: he is completely ­under the sway of his art; on this, see de Keyser 1955, 83–85. 18.7–13. ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . ​λογισμῷ χρώμεναι: Consequently, the rationality of the souls ­There is nothing more than a predisposition, which, ­under suitable conditions, ­will manifest itself as reasoning. A prob­lem arises ­here, though: if before becoming embodied the souls are exclusively engaged in purely intellective contemplation, then how do they differ from intellects? This objection appears to force P. into a partial withdrawal, leading him to grant that some form of discursiveness always informs the reception of the intelligibles by the soul, even if it is not directly correlated with the concerns of practical, and in general, embodied life. The precise content, however, of such a discursiveness remains, ­here at least, indeterminate; see Blumenthal 1974, 209–11. The use of the term “reflection” (emphasis) simply indicates that this reception is carried out on the level of “repre­sen­ta­tion” (phantasia), where the intelligibles are “mirrored,” and in that way develop into combinations of concepts and meanings. 18.13–22. οὐδὲ δὴ φωναῖς . . . ​ἐκεῖνος ἔγνω: In a similar manner, disembodied souls w ­ ill lack a voice—­and the context suggests that the spoken word is to be understood h ­ ere. ­Because the spoken word is only used for the purpose of communication between souls, yet ­There such communication is guaranteed thanks to some kind of empathy, which is largely the result of the unity that connects them, given that they are yet to become dispersed in bodies. Furthermore, it had become commonplace to hold that, as Plutarch De Is. et Os.75, 381b, expresses it, “the Divine Word has no need of a voice,” and at that point the souls are still in the most divine stage of their existence. Cf. also Theiler 1954, 433–36; and ΙΙ 3.7.8–10 with my comment. 18.22–24. περὶ δὲ δαιμόνων . . . ​τοιάδε: It seems ­there was a belief, especially widespread chiefly among the Pythagoreans, that the air is home to the souls of the dead and demons alike (see Alex. Pol. apud Diog. Laert. VIII 32; and Porph. De reg. an. fr. 293F), and that the vari­ous sounds heard from ­there, such as, for example, the echo or the wind hissing, are their voices; see, for instance, Aelian VH IV 17, 70.26–27. The question sparked heated philosophical disputes, as attested to by Hermeias, In Phdr. 68.4–69.18, in a comment on the passage in question; our author, however, gives the impression of wanting to keep his distance from this discussion; he contents himself with noting that even if such sounds ­were indeed voices of demons or souls, this would be explained by the fact that they are not fully disembodied, but inhabiting airy bodies; cf. ΙΙΙ 5.6.37–42 with my comment, as well as above, 9.5–6, and VI 7.11.55. 19.1–11. Πότερα δὲ . . . ​καὶ ὅλῳ παρεῖναι: Now the discussion becomes specific to the assignment of the vari­ous psychic functions inside the body. Its cue is furnished by the celebrated passage from the Timaeus’ psychogony (35a1–3), which P. has analyzed on a number of occasions; cf. IV 2.2.49–52, IV 1.10–15, and IV 9.2.26–28. The first remark is that the soul is composed not of an indivisible (i.e., intellective), and a divisible (i.e.,

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  55 corporeal) constituent, but of a wholly indivisible and of a second one that is apportioned in bodies; therefore the latter is not corporeal e­ ither; see my introduction to treatise IV 2, my comment on IV 2.1.29–41, and Schwyzer 1935, 364. Consequently, the nature of the soul does not involve any corporeality. The remaining issue is that, given that the life of a living being depends on the “presence” (parousia) of a soul in it (cf. Pl. Cra. 399d12; Alex. Aphrod. De an. 29.4–5, 31.28, 92.16–17), it needs to be clarified how the soul, as a purely incorporeal entity, can be pre­sent in something corporeal in such a way as to endow it with life. Porphyry had delved into the subject, as revealed, among other ­things, by a fragment from his Summikta Zētēmata preserved by Nemesius (fr. 260aF = Nem. De nat. hom. 3, 139–40, 43.3–8); see also Dörrie 1959, 70–73. 19.11–19. πᾶν μὲν δὴ . . . ​ἐν τῇ ἁφῇ: First we turn to the perceptive faculty. If we accept that the reception of sensory stimuli corresponds to a unitary psychic function, we should also accept that the said function—­and, therefore, the soul too, which is its agent—is assigned variously to the dif­fer­ent sensory organs. This is more evident in the case of touch, where the sensation is apportioned throughout the entire surface of the body, but, to a lesser degree, it can be thought as true for all the other senses as well. Yet the presence of that unitary function that is in its entirety everywhere inside the body provides proof that we are dealing with something noncorporeal; cf. IV 2.2.4–12 with my comment. 19.19–22. καὶ δὴ καὶ . . . ​καὶ ἐπὶ τούτων: Something similar holds for the other irrational functions of the soul, both the purely biological, such as the “vegetative” (phutikon), which comprises the functions of nutrition and growth (cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. I 13, 1102a32–­ b2, De an. II 4, 415b28–416a9; and Alex. Aphrod. De an. 29.2–3, 37.4–38.15, De an. mant. 105.6–12; further down, in 23.41, P. w ­ ill add the reproductive function, just like Alexander), as well as the psychic-­biological, such as “desire” (epithumia) and “spirited impulse” (thumos); according to the Timaeus (70a7–­b3 and 70d7–71b1), they have their seat in the area of the liver and the heart, respectively. This is b­ ecause their action extends over the entire body. 19.22–27. ἀλλ’ ἴσως . . . ​προσχρῷτο: Of course, one could note that the irrational functions are not the result of the original mixture from which the Demiurge concocted the Soul, but emerged from the second blend that, as we have seen (see above, 6.27 with my comment), was of an inferior purity. Therefore, it is pos­si­ble that t­ hese are the result of the soul becoming attached to the body. Something like this is not true of the higher, ratiocinative functions, which do not employ the body as an instrument: on the ­contrary, the latter can only act as an obstacle to ­these functions, as emphasized in Pl. Phd. 65a9–­b1. Cf. V 1.10.13–21. 19.27–34. ἄλλο ἄρα . . . ​ἄνωθεν δυνάμεως: We thus have: (a) the indivisible intelligible constituent, and (b) the in itself divisible—­this is corporeal nature, which, as we have seen (see above, my comment on 19.1–11), is not a constituent of the soul. The second constituent of the soul, the one that becomes divisible in the bodies, is something intermediate between (a) and (b), which can at the same time be both indivisible and divisible; this,

56  Fourth Ennead of course, is not the soul (as certain interpreters have been led to believe, with serious implications; see, e.g., Igal 1979, 323), but the qualities inherent in the bodies, as can be gleaned by analyzing IV 2.1.29–41; on this, see also Emilsson 2005, 91–93. Although P. avoids ­here providing clarifications on the precise nature of the second constituent of the soul’s essence, it is at any rate clear that it cannot constitute a distinct part of it. Besides, this is what allows it to know not only the intelligible models, but also their sensible offprints that inhere in bodies, and which are homologous to it. 20.1–10. Εἰ δὲ καὶ . . . ​ἐν ἡμῖν εἶναι: Now the precise way in which the soul is in the body needs to be clarified, or ­whether only a part of it inheres in the body, while the remaining part is to be found outside it; cf. Arist. De an. II 2, 413b24–28. As a first observation, the entire soul cannot be outside the body, nor can it be nowhere, like the other intelligibles, for in that case the body would be left utterly lifeless (cf. above, my comment on 19.1–11), bodily organs would be no dif­fer­ent from dead ones, and it would be impossible to distinguish between living and nonliving bodies. But in what sense exactly is the soul “inside” the body? 20.10–15. ὅλως μὲν οὖν . . . ​ἢ περιέχον: The following discussion is a characteristic example of the innovative way in which P. pro­cesses the results of his con­temporary school tradition, so as to pursue his special theoretical goals. Schwyzer 1951, 574, has already pointed out that ­here P. seems to have in mind the Peripatetic treatment of the subject of how souls inhere in bodies, which is known to us chiefly through Alexander of Aphrodisias’ De anima. Thus, Henry and Schwyzer in their apparatus fontium cite a significant number of parallel passages, mainly from the De an. 13.24–15.10, which conclusively prove that ­these two thinkers drew on a common tradition of philosophical engagement with the prob­lem. In an impor­tant article, Blumenthal 1968, 255–61, carefully analyzes all ­these parallel passages and concludes, rather moderately, that “­there is some probability, though no certainty, that P. had consulted Alexander’s De anima, and a possibility that he used Aristotle and Alexander together, perhaps with other Peripatetic material on the subject.” See also Chiaradonna 2005, 260–65. I believe t­ here is scope to further the investigation of this relation, especially if we take into account some other discussions treating the related subject of the vari­ous meanings of the preposition en. The most commodious starting point for our examination is the analy­sis of eight meanings of en by Aristotle (Ph. IV 3, 210a14–24). Of ­these, the Stagirite regards the last as the princi­ple, “as a t­ hing is ‘in’ a vessel, and generally ‘in’ place” (trans. Hardie and Gaye). According, however, to the testimony of Simplicius In Ph. 552.18–24, Alexander, in his no longer extant commentary on the Physics, following Eudemus’ suggestion (fr. 77), had perceived of a further meaning, that of “as accident in a subject,” as he also does in De an. 13.20–21; furthermore, a l­ ittle ­earlier in the same work (14.23–24), Alexander seems to be aware that the meaning of the “in a vessel” is somewhat dif­fer­ent from “in a place,” b­ ecause a vessel can be moved around, whereas a “place” (topos) cannot. For the rest, Alexander faithfully adheres to Aristotle’s classification, omitting only the sixth and the seventh of the meanings he mentions, evidently ­because they are of ­little help in elucidating the specific question he is interested in: the soul’s instantiation in the body.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  57 ­ oward the end of his pre­sen­ta­tion, however, he makes two noteworthy additions: T (i) He examines one significance, “as the ingredients are ‘in’ the mixture that results from their blending” (op. cit. 15.5–9), which is not found in Aristotle, but corresponds precisely to the Stoic theory regarding the body and soul relation (cf. especially Hierocles El. Eth. IV 4–10). (ii) He also investigates a further meaning, “as the pi­lot is ‘in’ the ship” (op. cit. 15.9–26), which is obviously influenced by the celebrated Aristotelian passage De. an. II 1, 413a9 (on this, see my comment on Ι 1.3.20–21), where, of course, ­there is a latent criticism of Platonists (cf. Pl. Criti. 109c2–4). It is therefore clear that ­these additions serve the needs of Alexander’s polemic against the other philosophical schools. An in­ter­est­ing intermediary between Aristotle’s analy­sis and that of Alexander can be found in an anonymous text originally included by Th. Waitz among the ancient scholia on Aristotle’s Organon, and identified by Huby 1981, 398–401, as forming part of Boethus of Sidon’s commentary on the Categories. I include the main points advanced in this text in the accompanying ­table for the sake of comparison.

Meanings of en

Arist. Boethus Alex. Ammonius Ph. IV 3, 22.28–34 De an. Plot. ΙV 3. Plot. VI 1. In Cat. 210a 14–24 Waltz 13.12–14.6 20.10–21.6 14.19–23 29.5–17

M1

“as the part in the ­whole”

+

+

+

+

+

+

M2

“as the ­whole in the parts”

+

+

+

+

+

+

M3

“as the species in the genus”

+

+

+

+

+

M4

“as the genus in the species”

+

+

+

+

+

M5

“as the form in ­matter”

+

+

+

+

+

M6

“as in the primary mover”

+

+

M7

“as in the end”

+

M8

“as in place”

+

M9

“as the accidents are in a subject”

M10 “as the components in a blend” M11

“as the pi­lot in a ship”

M12

“as in a vessel”

M13

“as in time”

+

+ +

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+ +

+

+

+

+

58  Fourth Ennead P. treats the question of the meanings of en mainly in two places in his Enneads: ­here, again with re­spect to the inherence of the soul in the body, and in VI 1.14.19–23, in the context of an analy­sis of the Aristotelian category of “where” or “place” (poū). His classifications are very close to t­ hose of Alexander, with certain understandable modifications. For example, his omission of meanings M3 and M4 is explicable only ­here, ­because their inclusion would have been rather pointless in the psychological context of this discussion. The ­table outlines the meanings picked up on by each author, together with the relevant subsequent classification by Ammonius, which can be arguably traced back to Iamblichus (cf. Simpl. In Cat. 46.5–16), where the author apparently attempts a synthesis of the views of his pre­de­ces­sors. Its precursor is, of course, Porphyry’s ninefold classification (In Cat. 77.37–78.5). This juxtaposition clearly shows, in my view, that P. is in fact extending and complementing Alexander’s schema, at the same time adjusting it to the needs of each occasion. He mentions almost all of the additional meanings introduced by Alexander, and adds a further one (M13), which is also found in Boethus, while he omits exactly the meanings (M6 and M7) that are missing from Alexander’s classification. (Let it be noted that M11 and M12, even though mentioned by Alexander, do not constitute in his view distinct meanings but are subsumed ­under M5 and M8, respectively. Furthermore, for M6, Ammonius employs the slightly dif­fer­ent explication “as t­ hose of the ruled in the ruler”; this, however, as explained by Simpl. In Ph. 552.8–11; and Philop. In Ph. 529.7–10, can be traced to it.) Thus, we have the opportunity to find out how well informed P. was about the developments in the Aristotelian school tradition, although, naturally, we see him approaching it with a critical attitude, through his own peculiar perspective. The first meaning to be examined is M8, the one that, as we saw, Aristotle considered to be “the primary sense.” Yet, as noted by Alex. Aphr. De an. 14.17–19 (trans. Caston), this sense cannot be valid in this case, for it would render the soul corporeal, “since anything that on its own is in place is a body”; cf. Arist. Ph. IV 2, 209b1–2. 20.15–19. οὐ μὴν . . . ​ἀπολωλὸς αὐτῇ: The examination moves to M12. Like Aristotle and, to a certain extent, Alexander, P. does not regard it as completely distinct from the previous one, to which he ­will return in what follows. Their difference ­will be lucidly outlined ­later by Ammonius In Cat. 29.8–10: “ ‘in place’ differs from ‘in a vessel,’ ­because the vessel is a movable place, whereas place is an immovable vessel.” The Stoic Hierocles (El. Eth. IV 3–8) also feels obliged to reject the possibility that the soul can be contained “in the body, just like in a vessel . . . ​in the manner that fluids are contained in casks,” apparently ­because other thinkers had supported this; cf., for example, Cic. Tusc. I 52; Philo Migr. 193, Somn. Ι 26; Marc. Aurel. ΙΙΙ 3.6; Diodotus apud [Plut.] Lib. 5, 41.14–17; and Pépin 1971a, 122–25. P.’s objection to this is that the living body possesses precisely what the vessel lacks: motility, and, in general, vital functions. For this reason, the vessel cannot be anything other than inanimate. With re­spect to “transmission” (diadosis), see my comment on IV 2.2.18–31. 20.19–21. ὁ δὲ τόπος . . . ​οὐχ αὑτῷ: We return to the case of the body as the “place” (topos) of the soul. As Blumenthal 1968, 258, has observed, the first of the arguments presented

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  59 ­ ere seems to be directed against the Stoics; they regarded “space” as one of their four h “incorporeals” (asōmata; see SVF 2:331). Thus, we are led to the contradictory conclusion that the body is something incorporeal. The second argument is directed to opponents willing to accept Aristotle’s definition of topos: ­because, if indeed it is “the limiting surface of the containing body” (Arist. Ph. IV 4, 212a6), then the body ­will come into contact with the soul only at its limit, that is, at its surface, whereupon it would remain in its entirety utterly inanimate. 20.22–24. καὶ γὰρ . . . ​περιφέρον: Cf. above, my comment on 20.15–19. 20.24–27. ἀλλ’ οὐδ’ . . . ​τὸ σῶμα: According to another version, the soul’s “place” is not the specific body in which it appears to inhere, but the diastēma, that is, the extension in space that a body happens to have; even though ­there does exist the possibility—in theory, at least—­that this remains “unoccupied” (akathektoumenon as the Stoics said; see SVF 2:505) and lacking a body, that is, void. In fact, according to the testimony of Themistius In Ph. IV 4, 113.11–12, certain thinkers (this prob­ably refers to Galen; see op. cit. 114.9) imputed the existence of diastēma in that sense to Plato; this would explain P.’s interest in this view, which he does not appear to reject outright: he rather correlates it with the question of the existence of void; on this, cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 6.7.27–33. On this basis, of course, the soul would indeed be completely in­de­pen­dent of the body, inasmuch as its topos would amount to that wherein the body is situated, but it would take up a specific place in space; P. would prob­ably find it difficult to accept this. 20.27–30. ἀλλὰ μὴ . . . ​ἡ ψυχή: We move to M9; cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. 14.24–15.1, who raises an objection similar to P.’s: if the soul, given its susceptibility to contraries (enantia), constitutes a substance, it cannot be an accident in something e­ lse. P. refrains ­here from employing the term “substance” (ousia, which perhaps some of his opponents ­were unwilling to accept in the case of the soul), and is content with the property of being separate, which the soul possesses whereas, of course, incidental attributes cannot. 20.30–34. οὐ μὴν . . . ​ἐν αὑτῷ ἔσται: Examination of M1; cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. 14.5– 9. P. puts forth three arguments: (a) The soul is not part of the body, inasmuch as it is incorporeal. (b) Even if one accepts that together with the body the soul constitutes something ­else, the “living being” (zōion, cf. my comment on the title of treatise Ι 1), the question remains: In what way is it pre­sent in the entire organism? (c) The third argument takes its cue from an observation by Aristotle (Ph. IV 3, 210a25–34 and b12–16). The issue has its roots in the use of expressions such as “an amphora of wine” (where a specific quantity of wine is denoted, as, e.g., in a cooking ­recipe): in such cases we can say that an amphora contains “an amphora of wine,” and that in that sense the “amphora of wine” is “in itself ” (en hautōi), ­because one of its “parts” (the wine) is located inside the other (the amphora); cf. Aspas. apud Simpl. In Ph. 558.29–34. This is a peculiarity of expression pure and ­simple, and Aristotle believes it corresponds to the sole instance where it can be said, albeit concessively, of course, (ou prōtōs), that something is “in itself.” Or, as formulated with greater clarity by Themist. In Ph. IV 3, 109.10–11 (trans.

60  Fourth Ennead Todd): “Thus something is by itself in itself only in re­spect to something ­else, i.e. in re­ spect of a part.” The question posed is w ­ hether such an analy­sis can be applied in the case of the embodied soul. If, in other words, we could say that man’s organism (the “living being”), qua composite of body and soul, inheres in itself ­because one of its parts (the soul) is inside the other (the body). P. rejects such a possibility, evidently b­ ecause whereas “amphora” and “wine” are mere parts of the expression “amphora of wine,” the soul and the body are ontological constituents of the “living being.” 20.35–36. ἀλλ’ οὐδ’ . . . ​τὸ δὲ σῶμα μέρη: M2; cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. 14.10–11. 20.36–41. ἀλλ’ οὐδὲ . . . ​οὔπω φανερόν: ­Here M5 is discussed, an argument set out by Alexander in De an. 13.23–14.3 and put forth by him as apposite for describing the relation between body and soul a ­little further along, op. cit. 15.26–16.10. ­Toward the end of his life, P. would come considerably closer to this view, at least as far as the psychical constituent of the living organism is concerned; cf. Ι 1.4.18–27 with my comments. ­Here he simply points out that the form that inheres in the living body is not the soul but something that the soul “creates” (poiei), which is projected on the material substrate of the body, provided that it satisfies the requisite conditions; cf. above, my comments on 9.29– 36 and 11.6–8. On the contrary, the soul itself possesses a purely eidetic nature, and it is, therefore, inconceivable that it can inhere in the body; cf. my comment on Ι 1.2.6–7. 20.41–51. πῶς οὖν . . . ​τὸ ῥέον: Thus it appears that none of the senses of en examined so far adequately describes the relation of the embodied soul to the body. Its presence in it, however, although not vis­ib­ le, becomes manifest in the body’s be­hav­ior. Witt 1930, 203–4, has observed that this argument can be found in the pseudo-­Aristotelian treatise Mund. 6, 399b14–16 (“for the soul whereby we live . . . ​though invisible, is yet seen in its operations”), and ascribes it to Posidonius’ influence; cf., however, Theoph. Ad Autol. Ι 5; Atticus fr. 7.53–57; and Blumenthal 1968, 259–60. Perhaps, therefore, the prob­ lem lies with the fact that this relationship is misperceived. A description that would have the soul containing the body, and not the other way around, would perhaps be more correct. This idea derives from Plato’s Timaeus, as ­will be noted further down, in 22.8–9, but it is also found in Aristotle, De an. I 5, 411b7–9, while it appears that it featured prominently in ­later doxography, as attested to by pseudo-­Justin Cohort. ad Graec. 7; cf. above, my comment on 9.29–36. Nonetheless, P. does not seem to be completely satisfied with this solution ­either. This is ­because it is nothing more than an attempt at entertaining a visual image, in space, of a ­thing that is not only invisible, but in real­ity lies outside space; and, more impor­tant, it does not shed light on the kind of causal relationship that determines the soul’s activity on the body. 21.1–11. Τί οὖν . . . ​ἐν τῷ σώματι: But what can the presence of a ­thing outside place in a body actually mean? P. resorts to yet another image, the one of the pi­lot in the ship (M11), which as we saw above, in my comment on 20.10–15, had also been examined by Alexander (De an. 15.9–26 and 20.26–21.21), adducing a number of reasons on account of which, in his view, it should be considered inapt. One of ­these reasons is that the

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  61 pi­lot constitutes a distinct substance; P. picks up on this and hastens to declare that concerning the soul, in his view, it is right to claim this. A second objection of Alexander was that “whereas the pi­lot does not inhere to the entire ship, the entirety of the living being’s body is animated,” which seems to have given P. pause as well. 21.11–21. ἀλλὰ ἆρα . . . ​προσελθεῖν: Thus, he decides to follow Alexander’s suggestion (op. cit. 15.10–11) and tries to imagine the pi­lot, or rather his “skill” (technē) not as something external to the ship, but as if it inhered in that (“as if the rudder was ensouled” in the words of Iamblichus De an. apud Stob. Ecl. Ι 49.41). Therefore, as Alexander observes, “the soul would be in the body in the way that a disposition and form is in m ­ atter” (trans. Caston), a solution that was perfectly satisfactory to him. Yet not for P., who insists that something along ­those lines does not provide a full account of how ­either the soul, or the art, can inhere in the body. For the latter one might claim that it is instilled t­ here by the shipwright or the rudder-­maker; yet, when it comes to a natu­ral instrument (the expression is, again, Aristotelian: see Arist. De an. II 1, 412b12), such as the living body, what can be the cause—­and, therefore, the mode—of that presence? 22.1–7. Ἆρ’ οὖν . . . ​ἐν τῷ ἀέρι: In a final attempt, P. resorts to a model not included in the relevant school tradition to which, as we have seen, he has been adhering thus far: the presence of “fire” in air. Before we endeavor to interpret this model, we should note that this is precisely the analogy that, according to the testimony of Porph. SZ, fr. 261F apud Nemesium De nat. hom. 3, 40.19–41.10, Plotinus’ teacher Ammonius had employed to solve the aporia “how the soul is conjoined with the inanimate body” (cf. however Max. Tyr. XXVIII 2, 334.15–16). I believe it is worth citing the relevant passage in ­whole: (The soul), being incorporeal, pervades the w ­ hole (of the body) not like the t­ hings that perish together; she rather remains unfailing and uncofused (asunchutos), retaining her proper unity; in what­ever she comes to reside, she converts it to her own life without herself being converted by it. For as the sun by its presence transforms the air into light by making it light-­like, and the light becomes united with air by being itself mingled in an unconfused way, in the same way the soul, while being united with the body, remains completely unconfused, the only difference being that, whereas the sun is a body and, by being confined in a specific place, is not pre­sent wherever its light is (just like fire: for this remains bound in the woods or the wick as in a place), the soul’s light goes through and through the body, and ­there is no part which is lit by it where it is not itself pre­sent as a w ­ hole. Since it is not dominated by the body; it dominates the body, and it is not in the body as in a vessel or in a wineskin; it is rather the body that is in it. In his special monograph, Schwyzer 1983, 51–63 and 70–72, has questioned the authenticity of this passage as a testimony to the doctrines of Ammonius (on this, cf. my comment on VP 3.6–13), yet his arguments appear to me inadequate to make us disregard Nemesius’ explicit reference; furthermore, the eminent Platonist (which could, of course, also be claimed of Rist 1988, 403–5, who failing to find the precise phrase “non-­ commingled ­union” (asunchutos henōsis) in our passage, construes an intricate “conspiracy

62  Fourth Ennead theory,” according to which the relevant doctrine was imputed to Ammonius by a l­ ater, perhaps Christian, source) fails to take into account the parallels to this passage from the Enneads where, albeit employing divergent terminology, P. is clearly giving the impression of “bringing the mind of Ammonius to bear on the investigation at hand,” to use Porphyry’s precise phrase (VP 14.15–16). In my opinion, even though Porphyry explic­itly credits Ammonius only with the passage known as fr. 259F, it is evident that what follows, including the analogy with the sun just quoted, explicates the concept of “non-­commingled ­union,” which is something very similar to what P. describes ­here. As in the quotation from Nemesius, in this passage the presence of light in the air—or more accurately, the presence of air “in the light” (en tōi phōti, cf. above, 20.46–51)—­occurs so as to not produce commingling (asunchutōs, i.e., “mixed with none of it” oudeni mignutai) and in such a way that it is pre­sent in its entirety everywhere, which is what is sought for a­ fter 21.10–11. At the same time, it is stressed that this remains unchanged (“stays still,” hestēke), while the air “flows past” (pararrei), just as in Ammonius’ teaching (apud Porph. fr. 259F) “the soul is not altered by its ­union [with the body]”; cf. Dörrie 1959, 75–77; Emilsson 1994, 5358–61; and my comment on Ι 1.4.12–18. As then emerges from the comparison between the two passages, the characteristics of the asunchutos henōsis P. has in mind h ­ ere are the following: (a) Contrary to the pertinent Stoic viewpoint concerning the u­ nion of soul and body (see the references provided in my introduction to treatise ΙΙ 7), this cannot be described as a “mixture” (mixis) or a “blending” (krasis), ­because at least one of the constituents does not undergo any alteration. (b) One of the constituents is pre­sent in the other by transmitting to it its “activity” (energeia), though without becoming commingled with it, given that its presence can end at once, by ceasing to provide the corresponding energeia on its part. (c) The other constituent is utterly derivative, unable to even contain within it the activity that reaches it. (d) The former is pre­sent everywhere in the latter “all at once.” To conclude, we can claim that this presence in fact constitutes, as observed by Porphyry (fr. 261F44–48), not a material bond, but a “relationship, as when we say that a lover is attached to his partner, not in a bodily, or in a spatial sense, but b­ ecause of their affair.” In fact, this last simile is rather apt, b­ ecause it vividly discloses (i) the nature of the “enchantment” (goēteia) that makes the soul focused on the body (cf. above, 17.27– 28 with my comment); and (ii) the fact that the extent of this devotion depends on the ­will of the soul itself (cf. my comments on Ι 1.11.2–8 and Ι 4.7.1–10). As we s­ hall ­later see, however, P. maintains some distance even from the analogy presented h ­ ere; see IV 4.14.4–10 and 29.1–5. 22.7–11. διὸ καὶ Πλάτων . . . ​τὸ σῶμα: Cf. Pl. Ti. 34d3–8, 36d9–­e3, and above, my comment on 20.41–51. The fact that in ­these passages from the Timaeus the Demiurge is said to have “covered it [sc., the body of the world] all around on the outside” with the cosmic Soul ­were interpreted by P. as signifying that part of the latter remains in the intelligible plane, without ever coming into real contact with the cosmic body; cf. V 1.10.21–22 with the comment by Atkinson 1983, 222.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  63 22.11–17. καὶ δὴ . . . ​ἄλλο ἄλλῳ: Thus in individual souls as well, t­ here are functions that remain wholly in­de­pen­dent of relation or concern over the body, and requiring no bodily organ to become activated; cf. above, 19.24–27, IV 8.8.2–3 and my comment on Ι 1.9.15– 23. On the contrary, the lower psychical functions, which w ­ ere discussed in 19.11–22, have a direct affinity with specific movements and “dispositions” (diatheseis) of the body and its parts. Therefore, it is the latter that should be regarded as pre­sent in the body; ­these become apportioned t­ here depending on the function each organ performs. See also Emilsson 2005, 84–88. 23.1–9. τοῦ σώματος . . . ​τ ῇ ψυχῇ εἶναι: This assignment of psychical powers in the body’s organs is carried out according to the “suitability” (epitēdeiotēs; cf. above, 17.5–6, VI 4.15.1–3; Wallis 1972, 51; also Alex. Aphrod. De an. 12.24–25; Galen QAM III, 38.17– 18) of each of ­these to partake of psychical life. Thus the unitary psychic activity appears divided and differentiated in the vari­ous parts of the body, assuming the form of the dif­fer­ ent sensory and other functions; yet t­ hese are by nature coordinated with one another and contribute in rendering the body a suitable organ wherein the soul can manifest its perceptual powers in full; cf. Ι 1.3.3 with my comment. 23.9–27. τῶν δὲ ἁπτικῶν . . . ​ἐκείνως ἵδρυτο: We know that, as early as the time of the Presocratic phi­los­o­phers, certain thinkers such as Alcmaeon, Diogenes of Apollonia, and the author of the Hippocratic treatise De morbo sacro (cf. also my introduction to treatise Ι 1) believed the brain to be the center that collects (sunesis) apprehensions originating with the dif­fer­ent senses, but possibly also the source of the organism’s movements. Even Socrates in his “autobiographical” retrospective in Plato’s Phaedo (96b5–7) is shown remembering how as a young man he had earnestly investigated the view that “the brain provides our senses of hearing and sight and smell.” Plato himself in the Timaeus assigned the three parts that, according to his mature psychological theory, composed the soul, to three dif­ fer­ent bodily organs: the superior and immortal “ratiocinative” or “rational” (logistikon) part residing in the head; the “spirited” (thumikon) in the heart; and the “desiderative” (epithumētikon) in the region between the pelvic diaphragm and the navel (cf. above, 19.20–21 with my comment). ­These communicated with one another through the “narrow vessels” (stenōpoi) of the circulatory system, with the heart regulating and coordinating the reactions to the vari­ous stimuli reaching it, ­under the guidance of log­os (Ti. 69d6–70c1). The field was truly revolutionized by the inquiries of two prominent Alexandrian anatomists, Herophilus and Erasistratus (fl. in the first half of the third ­century BCE), which led to the discovery of sensory and motor nerves, and the identification of the brain as their “source” (archē). In this way they afforded empirical confirmation of the fact that the sensations and “deliberate movements” (kata prohairesin kinēseis) are conveyed via the ner­vous system to and from the brain and the peripheral bodily organs. On all of the above, see the fundamental work by Solmsen 1961, 150–97, where the relevant references are provided. It is obvious that P. was abreast of con­temporary developments in the field of neurophysiology (which, as attested to by Galen De neru. diss. ΙΙ, 831, w ­ ere unknown to the

64  Fourth Ennead wider public). Yet P. was able to draw on reputable sources on medical issues; see my comment on VP 7.6. In fact Tieleman 1998, 306–24, has convincingly shown that he gathers information and arguments from the recent dispute between Galen and Alexander of Aphrodisias on the mapping of psychical functions in the body; cf. also Igal 1979, 334– 36. Let us note h ­ ere that he allusively refers to certain individuals (ethesan pherontes) who, on the basis of the arrangement of the ner­vous system and the fact that all nerves have their starting point in the brain, reached the conclusion that the “source” of the organism’s sensory and motor functions, that is, the “directive faculty” or “ruling princi­ple” (hēgemonikon), must be located ­there. As Tieleman has pointed out, op. cit. 312–13, this line of argument corresponds precisely to that found in Galen’s oeuvre, for example in PHP, VIII 1.3–5 and 22, and relies on the double meaning of the word archē as signifying the locative starting point of nerves that lead to the vari­ous organs, as well as the original cause of the respective functions, that is, the soul that uses the specific organs; cf. also op. cit. VI 3.5 and VII 8.4, De Caus. Sympt. Ι 8, Comp. Ti. 12.10–11; and also Varro apud Lact. De op. Dei 5. P., who is interested in preserving as the archē a soul that is incorporeal and in­de­pen­dent of bodily limitations and needs, hence focuses his attention on this point and observes that the correct conclusion is that the brain is the source wherefrom each function becomes activated; in a manner of speaking, one might claim that it is the “device” through which the “craftsman” directs and controls the organ performing that function; cf. Wilberding 2006, 53–54. This departure is impor­tant, ­because it allows him to steer clear of the epiphenomenalistic implications of Galen’s position, which had caused Galen serious difficulties, principally with re­spect to the coordination and the interactions between the three parts of the soul; on this, see Tieleman 2003, 155–60. At the same time, P. can in this fashion continue to view the soul as an in­de­pen­dent and autonomous substance, able of becoming completely divested of the body, or directing its activity t­ oward some other body. Thus, what is established in the brain (“at the summit of the ­whole living creature”; cf. Pl. Ti. 70a6, 90a5) is not the soul itself (as even some Platonists had claimed, e.g., “Alcinous” Didasc. 17, 172.23–25 and 173.5–12, and Apuleius De Plat. I 207; cf. Diog. Laert. VIII 30), but only the “origin” (archē) of its sensory and repre­sen­ta­tional faculty (dunamis; on this, see Emilsson 1991, 161), as well as that which regulates the body’s voluntary movements (we should note h ­ ere that Herophilus had already described the relevant nerves as prohairetic, from prohairesis = deliberation, deliberate choice; see Solmsen op. cit. 186). In any case, as we saw above, in 19.24–27, the soul’s higher functions are performed without the use of organs. 23.27–35. τὸ μὲν γὰρ . . . ​εἴρηται: We therefore have the kinesthetic power of the soul, the one that is correlated with practical life and the organism’s relevant drives (on this, cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 105.15–25), which is primarily activated in the brain, and is thence transmitted to the vari­ous bodily organs, and can, therefore, be attributed to the body. On the other hand, the higher logical and intellective functions are active, as we have seen (22.12–14 with my comment) outside the body. The embodied faculty (dunamis), however, is capable of communicating with the other one, and draws from

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  65 it its guiding “apprehensions” (antilēpseis). This means that both sensation and the repre­sen­ta­tional faculty (phantasia), which articulates the senses in deliberations and judgments by subjecting them to concepts that are intellectively apprehended (that is why Aristotle De an. III 10, 433a10, describes it as “some sort of thinking pro­cess”), as well as the practical drive that results as a concomitant of the combination of repre­sen­ ta­tional judgments and reasoning in a practical syllogism (cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 8.3.1–6), require the mediation of apprehensions originating in the mind. On this, see Warren 1966, 280. 23.35–42. τοῦ δὲ φυτικοῦ . . . ​ἐπιθυμεῖν ἀνάγκη: Now, contrary to the sensory and motor functions that are actualized in specific organs and whose activation has its source in the brain, the so-­called vegetative function (on which see above, my comment on 19.19– 22) is diffused throughout the body, and its activity on it is transmitted via the blood from the liver. Since the time of Hippocrates (Nutr. 31), the liver was regarded as the “root of veins,” and Plato (Ti. 70d7–71b1 and d2) believed it to be the principal organ in the anatomical region where the “part of the soul that has appetites for food and drink” resides; cf. Galen PHP VI 8.50–52, 77; and Tieleman 1996, xxx–­xxxi, 57–59. That the nourishing blood is conveyed through the veins and that the liver is “both the starting point and termination of ­every single vein” represented commonly accepted findings in the science of physiology during P.’s time, as can be safely deduced from Galen’s works; see, indicatively, PHP VI 8.5–20; also cf. Plut. De uirt. mor. 450f. Thus ­here we seen him tacitly correcting Plato, who in Ti. 70b1, appears oblivious to the distinction between veins and arteries (in fact, it is believed that it first emerged following the anatomical investigations of Praxagoras in the late fourth c­ entury BCE; see Solmsen 1961, 179); on this, cf. also Galen op. cit. VI 8.48–49; Taylor 1928, 502–3. Let it be noted ­here that P.’s phrasing, archēs de kai phlebōn kai aimatos (“the starting point of veins and blood”) suggests that, in all likelihood, he had in mind the par­tic­u­lar passage from the Timaeus with the reading archēn hama instead of the hamma attested in the most reliable Platonic MSS. 23.42–45. τοῦ δὲ λεπτοῦ . . . ​οἴκησις πρέπουσα: Fi­nally, the heart, which Plato (Ti. 70a7–­ b3) also recognized as “the spring from which blood courses with vigorous pulse throughout all the bodily members,” which further “if spirit’s might should boil over,” was responsive to the requisite control of log­os, is considered the seat of the soul’s spirited part; cf. Galen op. cit. VI 8.36 and 39–41, where it is made clear that the “finest-­ parted, warmest, and pneuma-­like” blood we are speaking about h ­ ere is what is conveyed through the arteries. Thus, we may claim that we have ­here a full mapping of fundamental psycho-­biological functions, which differs from that proposed by Galen, op. cit. VI 3.7, in that the higher among ­those functions remain in­de­pen­dent of the body. ­Here the soul is viewed as a unitary incorporeal substance with manifold powers that activate the corresponding basic bodily organs; this activity is subsequently channeled to the rest of the body via the appropriate network, as laid out schematically in the accompanying ­table.

66  Fourth Ennead Source of activity

Distribution network Medium

Ratiocinative (logizomenon)

—­

—­

Sensory-­representative-­drive (aisthētikon-­ phantastikon-­hormē)

brain nerves (encephalos) (neura)

breath (pneuma) (?)

Spirited (thumoeides)

heart (kardia)

arteries (artēriai)

fine-­parted blood (lepton haima)

veins (phlebes)

nutritive blood (trephon haima)

Desiderative (epithumētikon), or vegetative liver (hēpar) (phutikon), comprising nutritive, responsible for growth, generative (threptikon, auxētikon, gennētikon)

—

In this way, the body’s organs function as mere “receivers” of psychical activity, not as its true agents. Therefore, the soul remains unitary and is apportioned to the organs depending on the ability of each to partake of it, without any need for any organic interconnection and interaction between them (this had represented a serious prob­lem for Galen; see Tieleman 1998, 314), and while its intellective aspect is always in a state of alertness; cf. above, my comment on 22.11–17. 23.45–47. ἔχουσαι . . . ​ἔχουσιν: As correctly pointed out by Ficino, this is in fact a repetition of a phrase encountered in its proper place a bit further down, in 24.20–21. 24.1–6. Ἀλλὰ ποῦ . . . ​καὶ γίνεσθαι: ­After examining the soul’s embodiment, we now turn to the question of its disembodiment. The in­de­pen­dence of the soul itself from the body ensures, in princi­ple, its complete disentanglement from it ­after death. Only an irrational soul, one that is exceedingly devoted to its past embodied life, could retain a kind of shadowy presence in this world, seeking in vain to remedy the emptiness that consumes it; on this, see Rohde 1952, 533–35; also Pl. Phd. 81c9–­d4. According to prevalent popu­ lar beliefs of the time, the souls of ­people left unburied (ataphoi); the “violently deceased” (biaiothanatoi); and the “untimely departed” (ahōroi) all ran the risk of suffering such a fate. If the soul persists in caring for corporeal life, it ­will indeed bring about its reincarnation; cf. above, my comment on 15.1–7. 24.6–21. ὄντος δὲ . . . ​τῶν σωματικῶν κολάσεων ἔχουσι: But the pro­cess of reincarnation is governed by an inexorable divine law; this is none other than the “ordinance” (thesmos) of Adrasteia, which is promulgated in Plato’s Phaedrus (see 248c2–249d3, and cf. Leg. X 904a6–905a1) and ordains the dominance of a comprehensive theodicy in the world; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.13.16–17. It is claimed that the postmortem fate of each soul is determined by its “disposition” (diathesis), which it has apparently ­adopted during its previous embodied life (­there is a reminiscence ­here of Callimachus’ fr. 23.20 Pfeiffer); this might secure a temporary “respite” for the soul; cf. above, my comment on 12.14–22. In any

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  67 case, its reincarnation entails for the soul the prospect of submitting to new corporeal affections, and in this re­spect it can be regarded as a prerequisite for its punishment for its ­earlier comportment; cf. my comment on IΙΙ 2.8.16–31; and Emilsson 1994, 5355. 24.21–28. ταῖς δὲ . . . ​ὡς ζητῶν σώματα: During the periods when the soul is fully disembodied, it cohabits with the divine intelligible beings in a state of supra-­terrestrial well-­being; cf. Pl. Phd. 81a4–10. As ­will emerge below, even then it manages to retain its individuality. Therefore, the question arises: what is it that secures the continuity of its identity, given that the place it is pre­sent in has proven insufficient to this purpose. Thus, P. succeeds in making a transition to the next theme that ­will concern him, the possibility of continuity in time for the experience of the soul through memory. 25.1–10. Περὶ δὲ μνήμης . . . ​ἀκριβέστερον ληπτέον: The question is first posed in the technical form required by the preceding discussion: do disembodied souls—or, some of them at least—­retain (albeit for a specific period of time) memories of their embodied life, or at least of certain specific ele­ments from that life? Apparently, a soul that has no cognizance of its past whatsoever cannot be aware of its distinct individuality; on this, see Strawson’s observation quoted in the introduction to this treatise. P., however, is quick in identifying the ele­ment that ­will allow him to provide an answer from a more general perspective: what is the subject that is called upon to be the agent to this kind of memory? ­Because, as he points out, he has already treated the question of memory in ­earlier works: see chiefly ΙΙΙ 6 [26].2.42–54 (where we are, once more, referred to another, e­ arlier, treatment of the subject) with my comment. He ­will revisit the theme in somewhat greater detail in treatise IV 6 [41].3. 25.10–20. εἰ δέ ἐστι . . . ​ἣν εἶχε πρότερον: The first issue that arises is that, inasmuch as memory presupposes awareness of a “before” and of an “­after,” that is, of temporality (cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 7.11.35–45 and 13.30–40), their agent cannot belong to the purely intelligible beings, which, as is known, are eternal, and therefore atemporal; cf. ΙΙΙ 7.4.12– 43 with my comments. 25.20–27. ἀλλὰ τί . . . ​ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ: Yet why should an intellect be incapable of knowing the changes taking place outside it? B ­ ecause knowledge of mutable states cannot be the result of intellection, which intelligizes only the eternally pre­sent intelligibles. A consequence of this line of reasoning is that the gods (who, according to P., are intelligible) cannot know all the events that occur in the realm of materiality but only their eternal and immutable archetypes, which determine their nature and govern, to a certain extent, their alterations. It follows then, that divine omniscience, if it is not altogether refuted, is at any rate subject to significant limitations, and as­suredly does not involve reasoning or memory of the past, but only the timeless intellection of the princi­ples that inform its formation; cf. VI 7.1.24–28; and Mignucci 1985, 235–37; but also Pl. Prm. 134c10–­e6. This seems to be the “unspeakable” truth Porphyry had in mind when he wrote that “what has no reliability is not reliable in the case the gods” (In Ti. fr. 45 = Procl. In Ti. Ι 352.12– 13, trans. Runia-­Share).

68  Fourth Ennead 25.27–34. οὐ τοίνυν . . . ​λεγομένῃ μνήμῃ: This is a difficult passage, and views differ widely when it comes to its interpretation. I believe that a psychological function corresponding to Platonic “recollection” (anamnēsis) is discussed ­here, during which the “impressions” or “imprints” (tupoi) of the Forms stored in the soul are activated (cf. Pl. Phd. 72e3–5, and my comment on Ι 2.4.20–24). This function, just like pure intellection which was discussed ­earlier, does not involve reversion to a previous temporal moment but rather the activation of a connate power intrinsic to it. Therefore, according to P., this does not even qualify as memory, or, at least, it is a rather special case of atemporal memory, which must be distinguished from memory proper. But in the sequel he wishes to concern himself with the main memory, that which presupposes consciousness of the temporal succession of states or apprehensions that differ from one another in terms of the “before” and the “­after,” not simply as stages in the activation of the one and the same truth, which is already inherent in the soul. Cf. Warren 1965, 258. 25.34–41. ἀλλ’ ἴσως . . . ​ἐξ ἀρχῆς ἐζητοῦμεν: Thus, any confusion between the two types of memory mentioned ­here ­will be the result of a failure to recognize that intellection is utterly incompatible with the concept of recalling the past. Could this perhaps mean that memory proper does not even appertain to the soul itself, and that it manifests itself only during its embodiment, which, as we saw (cf. 17.12–28), is carried out by projecting the soul’s image on the body? Could, in other words, it too belong to the place where the organism’s lower psychical functions reside, that is, the “living being” (zōion)? With re­spect to the term “composite” (sunamphoteron), which points to the latter, see my corresponding comment on Ι 1.5.8. 25.41–45. καὶ εἰ μὲν . . . ​τοῦ ἑτέρου: But even ­after we clarify the agent who does the remembering, we need to further specify the function through which memory occurs. More specifically, if the agent of the sensory apprehensions is the “living being” (zōion; cf. Ι 1.4.20–27 and 6.9–14 with my comments), should not their memory belong to it as well? 26.1–12. Εἰ μὲν οὖν . . . ​ἢ ἀποβαλούσης αὐτόν: The answer to the last question is no. ­Because, whereas sensation indeed occurs in the “living being,” the perceptive faculty that receives it and apprehends the sensory stimuli articulating them into repre­sen­ta­tions and judgments belongs to the soul itself; cf. Ι 1.7.9–14 with my comment; Alex. Aphrod. De an. 84.4–9; and also Pl. Tht. 186d2–187a6. Therefore, it is pos­si­ble that memory too belongs to this superior, purely psychical, level of functions. 26.12–16. εἰ μή τις . . . ​οὐχ ἧττον εἴη: ­Here P. briefly touches on an objection that could be brought up by ­those who argued that memory occurs on the “biological” level of the “living being” (zōion). It is premised on the observation that some changes in the body’s physical state can affect the function of memory (just like other similar psychical powers, such as “comprehensive understanding,” sunesis), a fact noted in con­temporary medical research, which ascribed at least some cases of memory loss (including more general forms of morōsis, i.e., “dementia”) to a “misblending” (duskrasia) of bodily and especially

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  69 brain humors; cf. Galen Loc. aff. ΙΙΙ 5–6, 149.2–5, QAM 3, 39.15–7; and Siegel 1970, 148– 49. P. admits that something like this can indeed happen, but claims that such bodily “misblendings” can only hinder the soul from remembering, apparently b­ ecause they distract it from its activation in its natu­ral domain. 26.16–18. τῶν δὲ δὴ . . . ​ἡ μνημονεύουσα ἔσται: A second argument—­a positive one this time—is adduced in support of the view that memory is the work of the pure soul. As we have seen (chiefly in 19.24–27), the soul’s higher functions are carried out without the mediation of a bodily organ. Yet “acts of learning” (mathēseis) as well as the conclusions attained by ­these, can constitute objects for the soul’s memory. Therefore ­these memories are formed outside the “living being,” in the domain where the soul itself is active. P. obviously has in mind ­here learning pro­cesses dif­fer­ent from Plato’s “recollection” (anamnēsis), which, as we saw above, in 25.27–34, he clearly distinguished from the memory he is examining ­here. We may conjecture that as such he considered occasions where information that cannot be regarded as “inherent” (sumphutoi) is commited to memory; such pieces of information, however, cannot always be viewed as reliant on sensory apprehensions only, like, for example, the verses in a poem or, perhaps, a multiplication ­table; cf. IV 6.3.29–35. 26.18–24. εἰ δὲ τὸ ζῷον . . . ​τοῦτο ἔσται: In any case, if the agent of memory is taken to be the “living being,” which is a compound of the soul’s image and the body, we need to explain which of the two is responsible for this faculty of remembering, given that once put together ­these do not suffer any change in terms of their nature. (­Here P. seems to have in mind two cases of “mixture” (mixis) examined by Aristotle in Gen. corr. I 10, 327b2–31; cf. my introduction to treatise ΙΙ 7. The example of “mead” (oinomeli) is found, though, in Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 116.5–12). And this can be nothing ­else than the psychical constituent, inasmuch as it is the one active. 26.25–34. τί οὖν . . . ​μεθ’ ἧς: The question, though, is posed again, this time on the basis Stoic epistemology; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 6.1.8–14. P. is firmly opposed to the idea that memory can consist in some sort of emplacement of “impressions” on the soul from the senses. ­Because, in his view, sensation (cf. ΙΙΙ 6.1.1–4) as well as memory constitute not affections, but the soul’s activity, analogous to intellection; cf. IV 6.3.38–63, VI 7.7.25– 31; and the in­ter­est­ing observations in de Vogel 1976, 150n.16, with re­spect to the Platonic ancestry of this thesis. 26.34–46. ἀλλὰ μὴν . . . ​καὶ οἷον σύνεσιν: But aside from apprehensions that have reached the soul from the senses, memory has the ability of recalling ­others, which have not taken—­nor could they have—­this route. This is ­because it can remember its older acts, which ­were ­either not manifested or failed to elicit a response from the outside environment; intrinsic intentions; and even unfulfilled pursuits and desires, which for the soul are now a t­ hing of the past. Thus, in this impor­tant passage, P. is posing the prob­lem of the soul’s inner life, which can unfold in­de­pen­dently of the stimuli itself receives from the body’s sensory organs; this life involves only the soul’s consciousness, which is, however,

70  Fourth Ennead capable of establishing relations of temporal priority and anteriority; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 7.11.35–45 and 13.30–40. It is obvious that this sort of consciousness emerges in the soul precisely b­ ecause of the distance separating it from the object t­ oward which its activity tends—­the intelligible. That is why, on the contrary, the intellect grasps the object of its intellection immediately, and this pro­cess is not accompanied by any “conscious awareness” (parakolouthēsis), given that its own activity at the same time constitutes self-­intellection; see my comments on Ι 4.10.21–33, ΙΙ 9.1.33–40; also Arnou 1967, 304–8. In contrast, the distancing of the soul from the intellect ­causes it to understand its life as a succession of psychical acts, which are associated with one another through its discursive reasoning (as regards the meaning of the term sunthesis ­here, see Schwyzer 1960, 368) so as to provide it with just one quasi “comprehensive understanding” (sunesis; contrast, e.g., VI 7.41.19–21), where intellective simultaneity is replaced by temporal duration and succession; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.11.15–20. On the other hand, the fact that the soul’s nature is incorruptible classes it together with the “non-­ flowing” (ou rheonta) beings and secures the continuity of its experience and “apperception” (sunaisthēsis). 26.46–50. οὐ γὰρ δὴ . . . ​καὶ τὰς ἐνεργείας: The vari­ous functions of the soul are not superadded to it ab extra, but constitute manifestations of the unitary psychical life. And we have seen that some of ­these are activated through the embodiment of their images in the corresponding bodily organs, but o­ thers are activated autonomously, without the use of organs. P. would concern himself with this issue in far greater detail in VI 7 [38].3.22–7.31. 26.50–56. τὸ δὲ τῆς μνήμης . . . ​τὸ πάθημα τοῦτο: The body can only act as a hindrance to purely psychical activities; cf. above, my comment on 26.12–16. With re­spect to memory in par­tic­u­lar, as­suredly it had been observed that it can be negatively affected by the presence of certain substances in the body; in fact, some physicians, like Archigenes (apud Galen Loc. aff. ΙΙΙ 5, 150.10–14), went as far as prescribing practices such as bloodletting and even the complete shaving of the patient’s head as remedies for recovering memory! In any case, the body’s mutability contravenes the stability required for the retention of memory, and the soul’s devotion to it results in the soul becoming affected by “forgetfulness” (lēthē) as well. (The etymological correlation of “memory,” mnēmē, with “abiding,” monē, appears to be also implied in Arist. De an. I 4, 408b17–18.) I understand the last sentence as interpreted by Warren 1965, 259: the “affection” (pathēma) mentioned ­here is “forgetfulness,” not memory, as almost all translators have taken it to be u­ ntil now. This is b­ ecause memory constitutes an activity (and not a passive affection; cf. above, my comment on 26.25–34) of the soul, thus forgetfulness is something that is induced, once again, in it on account of the body; cf. Pl. Resp. 621c1–2, and also my comment on 15.1–7. 27.1–6. Ἀλλὰ τίνος . . . ​τὰ τῆς ἑτέρας: As we saw above (see mainly my comments on 6.10–25, 9.29–36, 10.20–29, and 12.1–2), individual souls cooperate with the cosmic Soul in animating the bodies. The question is, therefore, ­whether the function of memory

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  71 belongs to the cosmic Soul, or if it depends on each individual soul alone. Answer: both. In other words, each person has two types of memory, which combine and coexist in the course of embodied life, as long as the two psychical constituents provide their activities to the same body in concert; ­after their separation, however, they retain mutually shared memories only for a short time. 27.7–14. τὸ γοῦν εἴδωλον . . . ​οὐκ εἴρηται: This outlandish theory of double memory is illustrated with reference to the celebrated account of Hercules’ fate in the afterlife in Homer’s Od. 10.601–2; on this, see my comment on Ι 1.12.31–39. Th ­ ere, the hero’s “phantom” (eidolon) recounts his l­ abors to Odysseus (10.617–26), which is interpreted h ­ ere as an indication of his close correlation with the body and practical life, from which are all the memories he carries. On the contrary, he does not mention his other feats, such as Prometheus’ liberation (cf. above, 14.15–16), possibly b­ ecause ­these are the deeds of higher psychical powers that appertain to the soul itself, which in Hercules’ case resides with the immortal gods. We should further point out that the other souls encountered by Odysseus in Hades, such as ­those of Agamemnon, Ajax, Minos, Tityus, Tantalus, and Sisyphus, ­were mere shadows, and that they too w ­ ere chiefly concerned with questions of right and wrong, that is, with the lower “po­liti­cal” moral values; cf. Ι 2.1.16–21; also Porph. De Styge fr. 377F; Pépin 1971, 186. In Lucian’s dialogue Hermotimus 7, on the contrary, the homonymous speaker extols Hercules as a paragon of the philosophical life, ­because “he too cast off what­ever of the ­human he had from his ­mother, and soared up to the gods with his divine part pure and unalloyed,” just as true phi­los­o­phers “reaching the summit have happiness with never a thought [oude memnēmenoi] of wealth and glory and plea­ sure” (trans. Kilburn). All ­these reveal the wider context of commonplaces and literary allusions that two so dif­fer­ent authors inhabited and from which they drew. 27.14–23. τί οὖν ἂν εἴποι . . . ​ἐν λήθῃ: So, the lower, embodied part of the soul w ­ ill be the agent of an inferior “practical” memory that has to do with corporeal life and the moral predispositions that develop during its course, for example, through upbringing and excercise. But ­these gradually fade following the soul’s separation from the body, and thereby allow the surfacing of memories from its previous incarnations; this is a remnant of the very ancient Pythagorean belief that the soul reclaimed its e­ arlier recollections when it became disembodied (cf. Dodds 1951, 152), which Plato also seems to have in mind in Phlb. 34b6–­c2. See also Guidelli 1988, 91–93. 28.1–9. Ἆρά γε . . . ​ἕκαστον λέγεσθαι: In the guise of an aporia, P. puts forth ­here a rather comprehensive view on memory, which exhibits some common characteristics with relevant Stoic positions (chiefly the ascription of memory to the faculty also responsible for sensation; cf. SVF 2:83 and 847), yet appears to have originated in a Platonic milieu. The main idea is that it is pos­si­ble that the soul’s basic functions (“desiderative,” “spirited,” and “ratiocinative”) have their own memory, which also allows them to become activated even in the absence of their object. Thus, we ­will have, for example, sensation, memory, and desire acting in unison, as a unitary psychical power; ­under vari­ous circumstances, one becomes more prominent than the other constituents and, thereby, receives

72  Fourth Ennead dif­fer­ent appelations. Psychical activity w ­ ill remain unitary; it w ­ ill only manifest itself in dif­fer­ent ways depending on the circumstance. 28.9–21. ἢ αἴσθησιν . . . ​ἦν ἄν: P. is opposed to the above theory. In his view, the affections that occur in the body do not affect the soul mechanically, nor is their impact on it invariable. Once apprehended by one of the senses, a sensation is committed to memory “impassively” (apathōs; cf. my comments on Ι 1.6.1–4 and 7.9–14); yet it can also elicit an altogether dif­fer­ent reaction in another part of the embodied soul, in the “desiderative,” for instance. Thus the latter becomes likewise disposed, and a certain predisposition or “state of character” (hexis) can be instilled in it over time; still what it derives w ­ ill be a s­ imple affection, capable perhaps of arousing the organism’s instinctive “reflex” reactions (cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 6.4.18–23), but ­will not create memory. This is why the same stimulus can engender dif­fer­ent, even conflicting reactions in dif­fer­ent parts of the soul, or why remembering something can produce a sensation quite unlike the ­thing itself. Thus, for example, memories of past pleasures are rarely pleas­ur­able in themselves; cf. Ι 5.8.8–9; also Warren 1965, 255. 29.1–8. Ἆρ’ οὖν . . . ​δεῖ ἑκατέρων: If, as discussed above, in 27.7–10, memory does not appertain solely to the soul but also to its incarnate image, then necessarily two memories must exist. Now, if we identify the faculty of memory with that of sensation, we would also have two kinds of sensations, one for each psychical level, which appears absurd, given that both would pertain to the same objects. If, furthermore, as mentioned in 26.32–36, the soul has memory not only of sensory apprehensions but also of its own thoughts, it would be impossible to have such a function carried out by only one faculty, such as the sensory one, which lacks access to ­those thoughts. 29.8–13. ἆρ’ οὖν κοινὸν . . . ​ἂν γένοιτο: A second possibility would be to posit a common perceptual power, which can memorize both sensory and dianoetic repre­sen­ta­tions; cf. my comment on Ι 1.7.9–14. P. does not seem to reject this, not ­here at any rate; on the contrary, such a distinction would entail the incongruous partitioning of memory into four dif­fer­ent functions—­two for the soul itself, and another two for its “image.” 29.13–19. ὅλως δὲ . . . ​ἐν αἰσθήσει γεγενημένοι: It seems then that the close correlation between memory and sensation actually creates more prob­lems than it solves. On the other hand, to claim such a correlation seems unwarranted given that t­ hose who enjoy the strongest memory are not necessarily intellectually superior or more perceptive as observers. Cf. IV 6.3.63–65. 29.19–32. ἀλλὰ πάλιν αὖ . . . ​τῶν τοιούτων ἔσται: The proposed solution is to link memory not directly with sensation, but with the function of the “repre­sen­ta­tional faculty” (phantasia), to which the Peripatetics ascribed perception of sensory and intellective/ discursive repre­sen­ta­tions deposited in the soul (see chiefly Arist. Mem. 1, 450a12–451a2; Alex. Aphrod. De an. 68.4–69.2; but cf. also Pl. Phlb. 39a1–7). This is ­because ­these “residues” (egkataleimmata) linger ­there even when what has caused them is no longer

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  73 pre­sent; and they become perceived by the special power of phantasia, which is some sort of inner sensation. This preserves the unity of the faculty of memory and its correlation with ­earlier repre­sen­ta­tions (on this, see Remes 2007, 104), while a person’s ability to memorize t­ hings can be easily explained as a power in­de­pen­dent of both “reason” (dianoia) and sensation: it depends on the constancy of egkataleimmata that remain, that is, the impressions from ­those repre­sen­ta­tions on the soul. 29.32–36. διαφόρως δ’ ἔχειν . . . ​μὲν ἑτέρωθι: In this way we can explain why the intensity of our focus impacts the formation of a repre­sen­ta­tion, and how bodily “misblendings” can cause memories to become dimmer or vanish altogether, as already suggested by Plato (Ti. 86e5–87a7); cf. also my comment on Ι 4.10.9–21, and above, my comment on 26.12–16. This issue ­will be examined in greater detail in IV 6 [41].3.19–55. 30.1–5. Τὸ δὲ . . . ​ἡ μνήμη: But what can be the content of repre­sen­ta­tions derived from the soul’s thoughts? What can be the form of the “residues” or “impressions” pertaining to the soul’s higher functions, which, as we saw (see 19.24–26), occur without the mediation of bodily organs? A first answer to ­these questions is provided with reference to the celebrated (and controversial) Aristotelian view, that each intellection is necessarily accompanied by a repre­sen­ta­tion, which is something like an image of the activity that provoked it; see mainly Arist. Mem. I, 449b30–450a2 (with an allusion to De an. III 7, 431a16–17), 12–14, b20–451a2. It is known, however, that in general P. rejected this position. In his view, intellective actualizations can be wholly in­de­pen­dent of their conscious cognitive apprehensions by the “repre­sen­ta­tional faculty” (phantasia); cf. my comment on Ι 4.10.3–6. Conversely, given that phantasia is a purely psychical function, and the soul, as incorporeal, lacks extension in space, the repre­sen­ta­tion it forms must also lack magnitude; cf. IV 7.8.24–26; also Emilsson 1988, 108–9. Consequently, they cannot be images, at least not in the usual sense of the term. 30.5–11. εἰ δὲ μὴ . . . ​καὶ ἡ μνήμη: So a second, alternative view is presented with re­spect to the nature of discursive repre­sen­ta­tions that are apprehended by memory. Their objects are no longer images, but logoi “accompanying the intellective act”; ­these logoi develop it from its partless original form to a discursive succession of individual “conceptions” (ennoēmata), and reflect the absolutely unitary intellective apprehension as a combination of linguistically distinct expressions; cf. my comment on Ι 3.5.1–4; also Gerson 1994, 171–72. Through their “mirroring” in the soul’s repre­sen­ta­tional faculty, intellective acts thus acquire a linguistic, propositional form; this is the only way they can enter consciousness (inasmuch as the acts themselves are latent) and become imprinted on memory. Cf. McCumber 1978, 165; and Hadot 1980a, 249. In this way, the uninterrupted activation of intellection, which in itself “escapes notice” (lanthanei), becomes conscious and, thereby “our own”; cf. Blumenthal 1971a, 107–10; McGroarty 2006, 153–54. 30.11–6. διὸ καὶ ἀεὶ . . . ​κατὰ θάτερα: The fact that the soul is constantly activated in terms of its higher, intellective part is connected with its essential ontological affinity to

74  Fourth Ennead the intelligibles, yet the analytical, discursive way in which it apprehends and pro­cesses them is well accomodated to its own (albeit not equally unitary as that of the intelligibles) ontological constitution: therefore, it is subject to periodic vacillations; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 8.6.10–36. On the other hand, its repre­sen­ta­tional faculty (just as memory) receives repre­sen­ta­tions from sensation as well, and as a result ­there is the risk of confusion and competition between conflicting repre­sen­ta­tions; this can only be avoided through continuous “conscious awareness” (parakolouthēsis) and by conforming to the ones originating in the intellect. Thus, its constant contact with the intelligibles may remain unconscious for long periods of time. On this, see Schwyzer 1960, 370–71; Steel 1978, 36; Hadot 1980a, 249–52; Wagner 1982b, 24–27; Gritti 2005, 256–63. 31.1–8. Ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . ​τίς ἡ διαφορά: As it has been said, though, both souls that participate in the body’s animation have memory: the individual soul and the one to which the cosmic Soul contributes; see above, 27.1–6 with my comment. Consequently, two repre­sen­ta­tional faculties ­will obtain, one for each soul. It is hard to ascertain which phenomena of psychical experience P. sought to explain via the (by and large imperceptible) coexistence of ­these two parallel faculties. It is pos­si­ble that he regarded it as responsible for certain cases of inner conflict, where a person’s thoughts and relevant beliefs are at odds with the “natu­ral” dictates of its organism’s biological makeup, to which, as we have seen, the comsic Soul also contributes; see Kalligas 2012a, 159–62. In any case, it is clear that he is opposed to a “horizontal” subdivision of the repre­sen­ta­tional faculty into “sensory” and “intellective” (as Aristotle seems to be d­ oing in De an. III 10–11, 433b29– 30 and 434a5–7; cf. De motu an. VIII, 702a19), ­because that would contravene its role as an intermediary between ­these two forms of perception, while psychical life would emerge as irremediably divided; cf. contra Blumenthal 1976, 54–55, and id. 1996, 141. The correlation proposed by Dillon 1986b, 56–57, seems to me more apt in the case of the distinction drawn in ΙΙΙ 6.4.18–23 between the “first repre­sen­ta­tion” (prōtē phantasia), which is ­there identified with “belief ” (doxa), and a second “unassessed repre­sen­ta­tion” (anepikritos phantasia), which corresponds to the instinctive “concurrent awareness” (sunaisthēsis) of “nature” (phusis) and ordains, to a certain extent, the organism’s “automatic” reactions, although it too is contempletative in character. 31.8–14. εἶτα πῶς . . . ​ἐν ἑτέρῳ: Inasmuch as the repre­sen­ta­tional faculty is, however, the preeminent agent of consciousness, how is it that the coexistence of two such faculties in the same person does not also cause that person’s consciousness to be divided? And why are we unaware of their distinctiveness? P.’s response to ­these questions is rather cryptic, and it is effectively ­limited to providing examples and analogies. ­Under normal circumstances, t­ hese coexist harmoniously, and one is, in some sense, in the shadow of the other; or, at any rate, the activity of the one becomes “absorbed” or is indistinguishable from that of the other, and thereby passes unnoticed. On the contrary, if ­there is disharmony and conflict between them (on this, cf. my comment on Ι 2.5.21–31), then this duality rises to the surface, and the soul is torn between two conflicting drives not realizing, however, that such conflict arises b­ ecause t­ hese drives derive from dif­fer­ent psychical origins. The minor textual emmendation I have made on the addition of Bouillet and

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  75 H-­S3 (reading hoti instead of ho ti) rests on the reasoning that, in the case of inner conflict, the soul is conscious of the countervailing tendency it has to overcome (e.g., the fear kindled by a threat); it is oblivious to the fact that this stems from a dif­fer­ent psychical entity, that of the “living organism” (the zōion, which, in our example, is possibly looking out for its self-­preservation). 31.15–20. καὶ ὅλως . . . ​γεγενημένων πλείω: Something similar also holds with re­spect to the coexistence of two dif­f er­ent psychical hypostases in the same organism; cf. above, 27.1–6 with my comment. The individual one and “more divine” (theiotera) of ­these two naturally prevails and probes the experiences of both, but it retains in its memory only ­those pertaining to the higher beings and values to which it returns following its release from the body. The analogy of “upward social mobility” that our author seems to have in mind ­here, however unsavory to a modern reader, would have been readily understood by the prouinciales, who accounted for the majority of his audience. 32.1–9. Τί δὲ δὴ . . . ​παρὰ τῆς κρείττονος: Memories of nobler feelings that, although associated with bodily life, leave their imprint on psychical life cannot vanish completely ­after disembodiment. They w ­ ill, naturally, be stripped of their emotional characteristics, which at any rate appertain only to the “living organism” and not the repre­sen­ta­tional faculty, which contemplates its objects without becoming emotionally charged, “as persons who are looking at a painting of some dreadful or encouraging scene” in the words of Aristotle (De an. III 3, 427b21–24; trans. Smith). Yet, to the extent that such experiences derive from ideal values rooted in the intelligible realm, the soul ­will be constantly activated by them, and so w ­ ill be, to the degree pos­si­ble, even the soul’s lower avatars in the zōion. Therefore, I cannot concur with Gerson 1994, 181–82, that P. is showing ­here uneasiness with the spirit of Platonism. Quite the opposite, that the soul preserves the memories that are most valuable perfectly illustrates the importance of adhering to the dictates of the Intellect if one is to achieve true well-­being. See also Wagner 1982b, 39–41. 32.9–18. τὴν δὲ δεῖ . . . ​τρόπῳ τοιούτῳ: ­Here the connection between the “memory of superior ­things” and “recollection” (anamnēsis) becomes more evident, as the discussion of anamnēsis had been put aside; cf. above, my comment on 25.27–34. This is ­because “noble” memories preserved by the soul a­ fter its disembodiment are immediately correlated, among e­ lse with the aid of the passage from Pl. Phdr. 249c8–­d1, with the “reminders” (hupomnēseis) of the intelligibles that the “phi­los­o­pher’s mind” elicits from its lived experiences. On the other hand, forgetting lower and incidental experiences is a necessary consequence of the soul’s aversion to the t­ hings of this world and its disengagement from its image, which is the true agent of its affections. This “oblivion” (lēthē) evinces the soul’s conversion to the contemplation of the intelligible and its abandonment of bodily concerns; cf. Kelessidou-­Galanos 1972, 92–93. In this way, P. provides an answer to the question posed in 25.1–5. 32.19–24. ἐπεὶ καὶ φεύγει . . . ​τὰ ἐντεῦθεν: The soul’s post-­disembodiment amnesia is thus a consequence of its overall enfranchisement from wordly concerns, which can,

76  Fourth Ennead however, also be attained during its incarnate life through virtuous comportment; cf. my comments on Ι 2.5.7–14 and 7.10–28. Leaving ­behind the multiplicity of becoming and ascending to the simplicity of Being (cf. the allusion to the reverse course above, in 5.10–11), and seeking refuge in the purity of intellective harmony away from the confusion of numerous conflicting sensory representations—­this for P. entails the radical abandonment of every­thing, even of their temporary memories; cf. VI 9.11.49–51. 32.24–­IV 4.1.2. καὶ εἴποι ἂν . . . ​ἐκείνης γενομένη: We revisit Hercules’ example, which was mentioned above, in 27.7–14. The hero’s “shade” recounts his deeds, but ­will the soul proper (“the Heracles without the shade,” autos ho aneu eidōlou) that resides among the intelligibles (“in the com­pany of the immortal gods,” met’ athanatoisi theoisi), also retain some memories? This introduces the greater question ­whether, apart from the repre­sen­ ta­tional, the soul also featues some form of intellective memory. It is clearly one of Porphyry’s peculiarities as an editor of the Enneads that the transition from “treatise” IV 3 to IV 4 occurs midsentence, without any corresponding semantic divide. (Something similar can also be observed in the transitions between rhapsodies 2–3 and 13–14 in Homer’s Odyssey.) The almost galling manner in which this transition is effected leads us to suspect that perhaps Porphyry wished precisely to underscore the continuity between ­these two parts, believing that this would prevent f­uture readers from regarding the two treatises as autonomous and studying them in­de­pen­dently; cf. my introduction to treatise ΙΙΙ 2–3. The futility of his attempt is demonstrated by the fact that the Arab author of the Theology of Aristotle dutifully reproduces the incision between the two “treatises,” opening the second chapter of his work with a more or less accurate paraphrase of the first lines of IV 4 (see H-­S1, 63); in so ­doing he reveals that he was relying on a model that traced the enneadic arrangement of Porphyry’s edition; see Schwyzer 1941, 223; also Adamson 2002, 8. For a dif­fer­ent attempt at an explanation of Porphyry’s editorial choices (other than that of carelessness, Theiler 1956–71, 506), see Armstrong 1984, 135, ad loc. IV 4.1.2–11. ἢ ἀκόλουθον . . . ​γεγενημένων: Our devotion to contemplating the intelligibles, if it is true, should also be complete: it should erase any memory of worldly ­things, and therefore of the subject itself “as a former person” (to recall Strawson’s wording; cf. the introduction); cf. above, my comment on IV 3.32.19–24. We should note that, in this re­spect, P. goes against a long tradition (already attested in the Aristotelian dialogue Eudemus; see. fr. 5 apud Procl. In Remp. ΙΙ 349.23–26, trans. Ross), according to which “souls that pass from yonder forget the t­ hings ­there, while souls that pass yonder from this world continue to remember the ­things in it,” albeit possibly in a faded “dreamlike” form; cf. Plut. De fac. 944e–945b. This should be attributed to the fact that, according to P.’s view, the soul is purely eidetic in its superior stage, and in this re­spect similar to Aristotle’s “active intellect” that is deprived of memory ­because of its impassibility; cf. Arist. De an. III 5, 430a23–24. In real­ity, having ascended to the realm of the intelligibles, the soul no longer has any need of memory, for Th ­ ere it already knows all intelligible Forms and, thereby, is knowledgeable of all the princi­ples that, among e­ lse, bring about the constitution of the sensible world. This renders it capable of contemplating every­thing

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  77 “synchronically,” which makes recollection unnecessary; see also Warren 1965, 254–55; but cf. also Sen. Epist. 88.34. Yet from the moment the soul begins to apprehend ­these discursively, and therefore in time, intellective contemplation becomes mere “recollection of intelligibles”; cf. McCumber 1978, 164–65. 1.11–16. εἰ δὲ . . . ​ἐπ’ ἄλλο: On the atemporality of eternal intelligible beings, cf. mainly ΙΙΙ 7.6.9–21 with my comment. 1.16–25. τί οὖν . . . ​καὶ τῶν ἄλλων: ­Here, the pervasive synchronic unity does not cancel the multiplicity of the intelligibles. Contemplating them is always a synthetic and generalizing pro­cess. On the other hand, the dialectic pro­cesses of “collection” (sunagōgē) and “division” (diairesis), which constitute its “life,” do in fact occur, in themselves, outside time, but the soul, qua soul, is forced to apprehend them discursively, as compositions of meanings; cf. my comments on Ι 3.4.12–16, 5.1–4, and ΙΙΙ 8.9.32–39. 1.25–38. ἀλλ’ ὅταν . . . ​οὐκ ὄντων: Essentially, the dif­f er­ent order of multiplicity governing ­these two levels, the intellective and the discursive-­psychical (on this, see the introduction to treatise IV 2), is responsible for the slide from the unitary synchronic “order” (taxis) of the intelligibles to their analy­sis in a succession of propositions and syllogisms. Cf. Kalligas 2004b, 73–75. This also accounts for the fact that whereas intellective apprehension occurs instantaneously and “suddenly” (exaiphnēs, through some sort of direct “contact”; cf. Arist. Metaph. Θ 10, 1051b24–33; Plut. De Is. et Os. 77, 382d), vari­ous degrees of approximation to the truth apply to the discursive pro­cessing of meanings. The notion of anteriority “in order” (kata taxin) can prove enlightening h ­ ere: learning a science is accomplished by studying its princi­ples and propositions in the appropriate order, yet scientific knowledge is unitary and is acquired “all at once”; cf. Arist. Cat. 12, 14a35–­b3. Westerink 1977, 321–22, has rightly pointed out the possibility of a lacuna in l. 36 of the text. At this point the Arabic tradition (Theology of Aristotle ΙΙ 20 = Dicta Sapientis Graeci ΙΙ 44) preserves the following paraphrase (according to Lewis’s translation, in H-­S1 67): “Although the soul performs many actions, yet she performs them all together, and it is only in the ­things which receive her activity that her activities become many and divide.” Therefore, it is clear that its Greek model mentioned a unitary power, which unfolds into many activities in the ­things that receive it. My intervention in the text, reading genomenai  instead of ginomenōn, brings it fully in line with this interpretation, with minimal emendations. 2.1–8. ἢ οὐδὲ . . . ​τότε αὐτός: This seems to contradict other passages in the Enneads, where the “returning” or “reversion” (epistrophē) to the activation of intellection is described as “awaking to oneself ” (egersis eis emauton), as an identification with oneself ’s deepest core; cf., indicatively, the celebrated prologue in IV 8.1.1.1–11. Yet the reference to a specific historical figure, such as Socrates, indicates that P. is h ­ ere focusing the discussion not on the transcendent, but the empirical self, the one that becomes incarnate and is perceived as the subject and ­bearer not only of intellections, but also of all

78  Fourth Ennead sorts of diverse manifestations of psychical life; on this, see O’Daly 1973, 25–28. P. wishes to exclude the memory of this empirically ­shaped personality from the soul’s intellective contemplation. At this point he seems to depart from Peripatetic noology, at least in the form it had acquired following the teaching of Alexander of Aphrodisias. This is ­because according to Alexander, “memory” (mnēmē) and “experience” (empeiria) play a decisive role in the formation of what he calls “dispositional intellect” (en hexei nous) that differs between individuals, and which, once activated, intelligizes its own self; see mainly De an. 83.3–13 and 86.14–23. This intellect, given its status as a “first actuality” (prōtē entelecheia), is not a mere material receptacle of intellective activity, but an already or­ga­nized cognitive “power” (dunamis), which is activated by the “light” of the active intellect; cf. Schroeder 1982, 120–23; also my comment on Ι 1.8.1–3. P. appears reluctant to pursue such innovative views and insists on regarding the intellective part of the soul as some kind of utterly shapeless ­matter that is not simply activated, but also “acquires form” (eidopoioumenos) by the Intellect’s effective action; on this, cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 9.5.1–3. Consequently, memory is by no means involved in this pro­cess, not even as the memory of intelligibles, or of intellection itself, which thereby retains its complete autonomy vis-­à-­vis the empirical self of the subject of intellection. 2.8–14. τότε οὖν . . . ​ἐμπεριεχόμενον ἑαυτόν: A dilemma, though, arises ­here: before intelligizing, intellect must ­either be empty in itself, or it ­will already know every­thing, albeit in a latent state, or “potentially” (dunamei, as is claimed of the material intellect in Alex. Aphrod. De an. 84.22), and every­thing becomes “clear” (enargē) upon the intellect’s activation, when it becomes “in actuality” (energeiai) identified with them. It seems that P. is trying h ­ ere to draw the following distinction: the intellect that contains all beings is the “hypostatic” Intellect, constantly devoted to its eternal self-­intellection. But when the soul directs its gaze away from it, it enters a state of privation and vacuity, as true “deficiency” and “Poverty”; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 5.7.19–25. Once the soul, however, is activated and becomes intellective, then it is identified (“subjectively,” of course; on this, see my comment on Ι 1.2.6–7) with the intelligible and, thereby, discovers inside itself the gushing abundance that characterizes that realm; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 8.6.10–21. 2.14–22. ἀλλ’ εἰ οὕτω . . . ​καὶ ἄμφω ἕν: Above, in 1.11–16, it was argued that intellection, inasmuch as it is utterly atemporal, is insusceptible to any sort of development or variation over time. How then are we to explain the shifting of the soul’s “gaze” that was just mentioned? P.’s answer is that this does not constitute a true alteration of focus, but a change in the intensity with which it engages in self-­observation; thus, what r­ eally changes is the degree to which the soul realizes its identification with its intellective core, which comprises every­thing in it; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 8.8.40–48. 2.22–32. ἀλλ’ ἡ ψυχὴ . . . ​ταὐτὸν γενομένη: At the stage of full intellective activation, the soul experiences a perfect identity with the totality of intelligible beings and thereby remains “unchangeable” (ametablētos; on this term, cf. “Alcinous” Didasc. 25, 177.22). That is the reason why it perceives this identity as self-­intellection. In this re­spect, P.’s views seem to coincide with t­ hose of Alexander; cf. mainly De an. 86.18–29. Yet they diverge

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  79 in terms of the implications they draw from this: in P.’s case, the intellective soul remains uninterruptedly and imperturbably engaged in contemplation of the eternal truths, and ­there is no point in time at which it is not activated, even if, somewhat paradoxically, this self-­knowledge is not always conscious; cf. my comment on IV 3.30.11–16 with the clarifications in Schroeder 1987b, 689. On the other hand, it preserves its sense of individuality qua intelligizing subject, and hence it is both one with and distinct from the Intellect; cf. Schwyzer 1960, 376; also D’Ancona Costa 2002, 528–31. 3.1–6. Ἐξελθοῦσα δὲ . . . ​καὶ γίνεται: Cf. IV 3.15.1–7 with my comment. The “exodus” of the souls from the realm of the intelligibles is not real; in fact it consists in a redirection of their attention to the world of sensible bodies; cf. my comment on Ι 1.11.2–8. This ­causes their distancing from the complete unity that pervades intelligible beings—­a kind of “apostasy,” followed by their pro­cession to a form of multiplicity, which amounts to the development of their thoughts in temporal succession; on this, cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.11.15–20. The awareness of this temporal succession entails the emergence of memory, which manifests itself in vari­ous forms, depending on the objects to which the soul directs its attention each time: intellective, sensory, or intermediate, that is, the one that can be described as purely “psychical”; cf. my comment on IV 3.26.16–18; see also Guitton 1959, 118–19. At any rate, memory is always firmly linked with the soul’s “falling away” from the Intellect’s timeless unity; cf. my comment on IV 3.26.34–46. 3.6–10. ἦν γὰρ . . . ​τὸ βάθος: So we arrive at a basic subdivision between the two, purely psychical, memories (this is not to be identified with the one discussed above, in IV 3.27.1–6, b­ ecause in this case memory has as its subject the soul itself ): (a) intellective memory (broadly speaking, this one corresponds to Plato’s anamnēsis, “recollection”; cf. my comment on IV 3.25.27–34); and (b) “repre­sen­ta­tional” memory, which has its seat in the faculty of “repre­sen­ta­tion” (phantasia) and pertains to the succession of both sensory and discursive repre­sen­ta­tions; cf. my comment on IV 3.29.19–32. What is in­ter­est­ ing ­here is that the soul has the propensity to become identified with the objects of its phantasia, and the nature of its repre­sen­ta­tions determines its own identity as a cognizing subject; in many other places in the Enneads this is denoted by the pronoun “we” (hēmeis); on this, cf. my comments on Ι 1.7.6 and ΙΙΙ 4.3.1–4. 3.10–12. ὅτι γὰρ . . . ​ἐπ’ ἄμφω φέρεται: As it becomes extended from the world of intelligibles to the furthest fringes of the sensible, the soul acquires impressions from both and thereby knows every­thing, albeit only in a secondary manner, as repre­sen­ta­tions; cf. ΙΙΙ 4.3.21–27 with my comments; and Gritti 2005, 254–56. Its intermediate position (cf. IV 8.7.1–7) c­ auses it to vacillate between the two (cf. my comment on Ι 1.11.2–8) and determines its identity on the basis of memories originating from ­either of ­these worlds. The soul’s characterization as a “frontier” (methorion) is also attested in other sources: see, for example, Philo Opif. 135, Her. 45; Plut. De def. or. 416c; Max. Tyr. Χ 9, ΧΧΧΙΙΙ 7 and ΧΧΧVΙΙΙ 6; and Nemesius De nat. hom. Ι 39 (note, however, that the latter is prob­ably drawing on Porphyry). It is a reminder of the soul’s mediating role between the purely intelligible Forms and the domain of becoming.

80  Fourth Ennead 4.1–7. Ἐκεῖ μὲν οὖν . . . ​οὐκ ἄριστον: The access that memory affords to the soul can extend to every­thing, even to the Good itself (cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 8.10.28–35), but it never ceases to be possessed of the multiplicity and the discursiveness that characterize it. And just as the intelligible beings are pre­sent in the soul as reflections on the mirror of phantasia (cf. my comment on Ι 4.10.9–21), so it is pre­sent in bodies through the images it proj­ects on them; cf. my comments on IV 3.11.6–8, 12.1–2. Therefore, it does not possess the body, nor is it truly possessed by it. 4.7–14. δεῖ δὲ τὴν μνήμην . . . ​τ ὴν ψυχήν: An extremely in­ter­est­ing observation concerning the power memory can exert on our self-­consciousness: first of all, P. points out the existence of unconscious memory, which is capable, though, of engendering specific dispositions in the soul, which apparently influence it in terms of its actions and choices. In fact, the influence the presence of such memories can exercise on its dispositions is inversely proportional to how conscious that presence is; this is due, as we saw above, to the role memory plays in the way in which the soul apprehends itself. ­These latent memories distort its self-­consciousness, and lead it to think it is what it possesses, that is, its image: thus the soul is led astray and becomes excessively preoccupied with it; cf. my comment on IV 3.12.3–8; Warren 1965, 255–56; and Rist 1983, 147–49. 4.14–20. ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . ​ἰδοῦσα ἦν: The activity of intellective contemplation is such that it enshrouds any mnemonic repre­sen­ta­tions the soul retained from ­There; t­ hese resurface as soon as it ceases to illuminate consciousness. While entertaining such memories of intelligible beings, one can recall, for instance, the propositions of a theorem, but without attaining full scientific understanding. 5.1–9. Τί οὖν . . . ​καὶ ἐγεῖραι ἐκεῖ: On the contrary, the intellective apprehension of true Beings occurs immediately, without activating the pertinent function, or, more accurately, we become conscious of it once the soul directs its attention t­ oward it and thereby “awakens” its intellect’s eye, so as to behold them directly; cf. IV 8.1.1–5 and above, my comment on 2.22–32. The image of waking up (already alluded to in Heraclitus fr. Β26 and 73 DK) was quite widespread among Platonists, usually in the context of interpreting a passage from the Meno (85c9–­d1); cf., indicatively, Plut. Quaest. Plat. I 4, 1000e; Clem. Al. Strom. Ι 19, 93.5; Celsus apud Origen C. Cels. VII 36; Albinus Is. 6, 150.21–22; Max. Tyr. Χ 3, 113.16–114.9. Thus it is directly linked with the theory of “recollection” (anamnēsis), while through it the essential feature of the “remembrance of the intelligibles” is highlighted, differentiating it from common memories deposited in the soul’s repre­sen­ta­ tional faculty: the fact that it is extratemporal, and that it becomes apprehended as a recollection of knowledge that preexists in the soul not having been acquired in time. This knowledge rather forms part of its inherent cognizing “equipment”; in other words, it amounts to “innate concepts” (emphutoi ennoiai); cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.7.7–17; and Merlan 1969a, 76n.2. Now, the repre­sen­ta­tion of ­these intellective sources on the analytical level of the soul’s “discursive reason” (dianoia) takes the form of self-­evident and clear “princi­ples” (archai) on which a demonstrative pro­cess can be grounded; the “innate concepts” themselves, however, are not derived from suppositions or syllogisms;

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  81 cf. my comments on Ι 3.4.18–5.4. To use the expression in Blumenthal 1971a, 88, it constitutes a kind of “discursive sequel” to the intelligible Forms, which evolves into a rational formative princi­ple (log­os); cf. IV 3.30.5–11 with my comment; and Kalligas 2004b, 73–75. 5.9–11. οἷον εἴ τις . . . ​ἀναβεβηκότων: This image is strongly reminiscent of that exquisite analogy encountered in a fragment from Numenius’ On the Good (fr. 2.7–14), where the contemplation of the supreme princi­ple is described; for him, this is tantamount to the totality of intelligible Beings: “Imagine someone sitting at the top of a lookout: he catches a quick glimpse of a small fishing boat—­one of ­those light skiffs, alone, in solitude, caught between waves—­and he recognises it. So must one retreat far from the objects of perception to join alone with the good which is alone, where t­ here is no ­human, nor other animal, nor body large or small, but an ineffable, a completely indescribable, divine solitude” (trans. Boys-­Stones). See also the other references provided by des Places in n. 2 ad loc. 5.11–22. ἡ τοίνυν μνήμη . . . ​ἂν γνωρίζοιεν: The discussion returns to memory proper. Being a repre­sen­ta­tional faculty, it characterizes souls ­after the conversion of their attention away from the intelligible realm and t­oward the “earthlier bodies” (geōdestera sōmata), which occurs in heaven; cf. IV 3.15.1–7 with my comment. Thus, when the souls return ­there following their disembodiment, they can retain some memories from their embodied life; cf., for example, IV 3.32.1–2. Furthermore, given that they continue to possess some sort of an “ethereal” (aitherōdes) body, through it they are able to communicate with and recognize other souls that are in a similar stage in their journey. Such beliefs concerning the ability of a disembodied soul to remember the t­ hings of the sensible world and narrate relevant stories about them to one another (cf. also above, IV 3.27.14–22) are clearly derived ultimately from the myth of Er (see Pl. Resp. 614e3–615a4), yet they had evolved into multifarious and intricately vibrant narratives, like the one contained in Plutarch’s De sera (23–26, 563f–565e). ­There, the souls are shown moving around, each in its “fiery ­bubble” (pompholux phlogoeidēs); when this ­bubble ruptures, they come forth “in the shapes of men and ­women,” and they are therefore able to recognize each other and recount both their wordly and supracosmic experiences. ­Here P. explains that souls can identify each other b­ ecause, even a­ fter shedding their earthly bodies, they retain the peculiar characteristics of their “habits” (ēthē; yet Porphyry De Styge fr. 377F 58–59 specifically mentions the “peculiar nature” of their “wisdom”—­idiotēta phronēseōs) that evidently continue to accompany them. In other words, the “astral body” that envelops souls during their heavenly sojourn is but the carrier, or the equivalent of their moral predispositions that impart a unique character to each. On this belief, see my comment on ΙΙ 2.2.21–22; that “spherically ­shaped” (sphairoeides) body is mentioned in Macrobius, In Somn. I 12.5, and Arist. Quint. De mus. ΙΙ 17, who, in all likelihood, are drawing on Numenius (see de Ley 1972, 48–49); also in Iamblichus In Ti. fr. 49 = Proclus In Ti. ΙΙ 72.14, as well as the anti-­Origen texts cited by Festugière 1959a, 81–86; but cf. SVF 2:815. With re­spect to the ability of disembodied souls to converse with one another, cf. my comment on IV 3.18.13–22.

82  Fourth Ennead 5.22–26. ἀλλ’ ὅταν . . . ​πεποιηκὼς ἔσται: The following question now arises: the souls that have just descended from the intelligible realm to heaven, w ­ ill they also retain memories from their ­earlier incarnations? The answer is affirmative, although such memories ­will fade over time; cf. IV 3.32.9–24 with my comments. 5.26–31. ἀλλ’ εἰ τραπεῖσαι . . . ​ἐπ’ ἔσχατον τόπον: What about the souls that are reincarnated? It is noteworthy that ­here ­there is no mention of the “River of unmindfulness” (Amelēs potamos), whose w ­ aters, according to the myth of Er, w ­ ere responsible for their forgetfulness; see Pl. Resp. 621a5–­b1. It appears that P. wishes to preserve the possibility that some extraordinarily gifted souls hold on to memories from their previous lives, as was also held by an ancient Pythagorean doctrine; on this, see Dodds 1951, 152; cf. also Emped. fr. B129 DK. ­Here, I opt to interpret the infinitive ekdunai as referring to the soul’s emergence from the tumultuous sea of becoming (cf. Pl. Phd. 109d2; also my comment on VP 22.25), and not to the soul’s casting off of its corporeal “garment” (cf. my comment on Ι 6.7.5–7) as reckoned by certain other translators, and also, evidently, in the LexPlot, s.v. ekdunein. 6.1–10. Τὰς μὲν οὖν . . . ​εἴπερ εἰσίν: While with the preceding observations it seems that P.’s answer to the issues posed in IV 3.27.14–25 is complete, the discussion takes a new turn: the question of cosmic memory is brought up, and especially that of the celestial gods. This somewhat unexpected treatment of a rather eccentric, if not positively bizarre, subject helps us, however, in identifying the focus of the author’s interest throughout this protracted treatment of the issue of memory. As I have pointed out in the introduction, he is chiefly concerned with the way in which the soul’s unity is ensured and, thereby, the continuity of psychical activity on a personal basis but also—­primarily—on the cosmic level. This is the only way to assure the consistency of its manifestations and the unity in the organ­ization and functioning of the world. Thus, P. h ­ ere announces the contours of his investigations up to chapter 12. The reading mnēmoneuousi in l. 2 is attested in almost all MSS; it is opted by Volkmann and Bréhier, and is confirmed by the Arabic tradition (on this, see Schwyzer 1941, 227) and the parallel wording in 7.1. Given that the issue is posed diachronically, the pre­sent tense is therefore more suitable to express the author’s intentions. 6.10–16. εἰ οὖν . . . ​εὐθημοσύνης: It is quite obvious that the question of ­whether cosmic forces, represented by the astral gods, operate in a calculating manner, relying on their memories and thoughts, is especially in­ter­est­ing to P. In such a case, they could err, or act with ulterior motives, or even with malicious intent, thus canceling the cosmic order and jeopardizing the workings of Nature itself. Therefore, the arrangement of the world by the cosmic Soul and its providence for it cannot be the upshot of just any repre­sen­ta­ tional or discursive forethought, nor is it pos­si­ble for arbitrariness or uncertainty to intrude t­ here; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.1.21–26; also Wallis 1987, 947–48. I should point out that to denote divine Providence P. is employing ­here the Hesiodic term “good ordering” (euthēmosunē; see Hes. Op. 471), which had also been used by Numenius, fr.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  83 11.4–5, to refer to the ontological order of his three gods—­yet another indication of P.’s extensive engagement with the views of his ­great Apamean pre­de­ces­sor. 7.1–3. Τί οὖν . . . ​πάθος εἴη: Intellection, as a timeless activity, does not admit subdivisions such as past, pre­sent, and f­ uture; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.6.9–21. Therefore, given that the celestial souls are constantly engaged in intellection, they have no reason to remember anything, not even the fact that they ­were so engaged in the past. 7.3–12. τί δέ; . . . ​οὐδὲ τὸ πέρυσιν: A second argument has to do with the unity of the stars’ psychical life: insofar as it is entirely undisturbed and impassible (cf. my comment on Ι 8.5.30–34), without any lapse or solicitude, they w ­ ill be oblivious to the passing of time. At any rate, their revolution is a manifestation of a calm and unitary psychical aspiration for the Intellect (cf. my comment on ΙΙ 2.1.8–19), which is not subject to the temporal subdivisions governing life on earth. This is ­because, as explained in a passage by Philo Fug. 57 (on this, see the comments by Whittaker 1971, 33–34): “for the period of months, and years, and, in short, all the divisions of time, are only the inventions of men ­doing honour to number” (trans. Yonge). 7.12–17. ἀλλὰ τὸ διάστημα . . . ​καὶ μνήμη: We have h ­ ere a rather meticulous aporia that is articulated from the viewpoint of someone positively disposed t­ oward the views of astrologists; more specifically: (a) that the dispositions of the planets are influenced by the section of the Zodiac they happen to be in (cf. my comment on ΙΙ 3.3.4–9); and (b) that the celestial gods monitor and look ­after the be­hav­ior of men on earth. Both ­these ­theses seem to entail that the stars possess some sort of memory. 8.1–7. Ἢ οὐκ ἀνάγκη . . . ​ἐμπεριεχομένων: While momentarily the discussion seemed to be headed ­toward utterly barren regions, P. ­here guides it in a completely new and exciting direction: he focuses his attention on ­whether the apprehensions a soul receives are always conscious or not. Indeed he announces that he ­will be broaching the question from two perspectives: (a) that of the direct apprehension of indifferent sensory stimuli; and (b) that of the “overlaying” of knowledge of the partial by the conception of the universal. The connection with the main subject, memory, lies in the fact that, as it was claimed, the function of memory is directly correlated with the repre­sen­ta­tional faculty (the phantasia; see IV 3.29.22–32 with my comment), and therefore what it ­will contain depends on the soul’s perceptive capabilities. 8.8–13. πρῶτον μὲν . . . ​τ ῆς διαφορᾶς μέλον: With re­spect to (a): if something is apprehended by sense-­perception but is rather uninteresting, it can pass undetected and thus leave ­behind no mnemonic repre­sen­ta­tions. Therefore, ­there might be affections that remain imperceptible, ­because they lack the necessary intensity or significance to attract the soul’s attention. This idea originates in Plato’s Philebus (33d2–10; cf. my comments on Ι 4.2.3–4 and ΙΙΙ 6.19.8–14), it appears, however, that it had been discussed by the Peripatetics in connection with the question of the “magnitude” (megethos; i.e., the intensity) that a sensory stimulus must possess so as to become registered in the soul as an

84  Fourth Ennead “affection” (pathos); on this, see Boethus apud Aspasius In Eth. Nic. 44.24–28; also Ptolemy Opt. ΙΙ 23. The existence of insignificant and, therefore, imperceptible sensory apprehensions is recognized by P. also in V 1.12.1–15, where it is made clear that the transmission of a stimulus so that it can be detected by the soul requires a corresponding conversion of its “attention” (prosochē) ­toward it; see Dodds 1973, 135; also Remes 2007, 112–14. 8.14–16. ὅταν δὲ . . . ​τὴν αἴσθησιν: The soul’s attention can also be distracted by something, and as a result something e­ lse ­will pass unnoticed. As pointed out by the Peripatetic Strato fr. 112 apud pseudo-­Plutarch De sollertia animalium 961a: “Often, it is true, while we are busy reading, the letters may fall on our eyes, or words may fall on our ears, which escape our attention since our minds are intent on other ­things” (trans. Cherniss and Helmbold). Apparently P. wished to account for case (b) mentioned above in a similar manner: focusing attention on the knowledge of the universal may obscure consciousness, and therefore memory, of the particulars that are subsumed ­under it. 8.16–34. καὶ μὴν . . . ​τοῦ ταὐτοῦ: We now revisit case (a): the insignificance of the stimuli that do not register in memory may be imputed to ­either their weakness and imperceptibility or to the fact that they are repeated so often that they become routine. In both cases, to consciousness they are mere accidents, unworthy of its attention; therefore, it forms no corresponding repre­sen­ta­tions. In a similar manner, the passing of time, perceived as it is through motion (cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.13.1–13), could remain unconscious, when our attention is not directed at it, but to the movement that occurs in it. 8.34–52. εἰ οὖν . . . ​οὐδὲ μνήμη τούτων: ­Here we encounter a protracted and rather elusive argument, albeit with a clear conclusion: the movement of the stars is the product of their unitary and undiminishing vital aspiration for the superior beings. Obviously the analogy with a wheeling dance derives from Plato’s Timaeus 40c3–5 (cf. also Phdr. 247a7, Epin. 982e4–6; but also Soph. Ant. 1147; Eur. El. 467), but it had become a commonplace by P.’s time; see, indicatively, Philo Opif. 70; Geminus apud Simpl. In Ph. 292.28; Plut. De def. or. 22, 422b; Luc. Salt. 7; Dio Chrys. 36.22; Sext. Emp. Math. ΙΧ 27; [Arist.], Mund. 6, 399a12–21; Calvenus Taurus apud Philop. Aet. mund. 146.24–147.5; on the subject in general, see Graeser 1972, 78–81; also the monograph by Miller 1986. H ­ ere, however, emphasis is placed on the fact that in their choral dance, the stars are not concerned with their par­tic­u­lar movements and positions but seek to imitate the intelligible model to which they tend; cf. ΙΙ 2.1.1 and 1.39–51 with my comments. In this way P. possibly sought to intervene in the feud between Platonists and Peripatetics on the manner in which divine Providence is excercised; on this, see mainly Alex. Aphrod. Quaest. ΙΙ 21; III 2.16.23–27 with my comment; Wallis 1981, 224–25; and the introduction to treatise ΙΙΙ 2–3. The latter group argued that the agent of Providence (the starry sky, according to some) excercises its providence “recognizing and wishing to benefit it” (i.e., the object of Providence); this, in their view, ensured that this providential activity is not excercised incidentally. P., on the contrary, rejects the claim that the stars consciously carry out some providential role, and thus wants to deny that they are knowledgeable of or concerned over what unfolds on earth.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  85 8.52–61. εἰ μέντοι . . . ​ἔτι μᾶλλον οὔσης: The relations that hold between the heavenly entities and the unity and harmony that results from such relations do not depend on the initiative or the peculiar character of each, but rather echo their mutual coordination and conformation to the dictates of the unitary cosmic Log­os; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.2.18–33. The notion of universal harmony, obviously close to that of the “­music of the spheres,” of course carried unique significance for the Stoics (see, e.g., Cic. Diu. ΙΙ 33), but was chiefly promoted by thinkers of the Imperial period, when its po­liti­cal implications acquired special importance; see chiefly [Arist.] Mund. 5 and 6, 396b4–34, and 399a12–400a10. P. ascribed symbolic meaning to that concept: this harmony was produced by the fact that the laws governing the sensible universe conform to its intelligible model. The sounding together of the chords of an attuned lyre, although t­ here seems to be no apparent mechanical interaction between them, always formed the basic model for explaining the workings of universal “sympathy” or “co-­affection” (sumpatheia); cf., for example, Porph. Ad Gaurum 11.4, 49.22–28; Iamblichus apud Simpl. In Cat. 302.31–303.3; Arist. Quint. De mus. ΙΙ 18, 89.23–90.6. ­Here it is employed so as to set the scene for the introduction of the notion of magia naturalis, the natu­ral necessity that interconnects all the parts of the universe on the basis of involuntary and unconscious relations of “sympathy.” This is ­because such are the relations that coordinate the celestial gods in their wheeling dance. 9.1–13. Ὁ δὲ δὴ . . . ​τὰ αὐτοῦ ἔργα: The question now turns away from the vari­ous astral gods to the cosmic Soul itself; as a ­bearer of universal Log­os, it is responsible for their coordinated activity and acts like an overseeing “king”; cf. Pl. Phlb. 30d1–2. Already in Plato (Phdr. 246e4–6) we find Zeus “looking ­after every­thing and putting all ­things in order” (diakosmōn panta kai epimeloumenos). By the time of Cleanthes’ “Hymn to Zeus” = SVF 1:537, the Stoics had identified Zeus with the cosmic divinity that was equated with the “universal soul” (hē tou holou psychē); cf., indicatively, SVF 1:162, 2:1076; also Festugière 1944–54, 325–32. On the other hand, in the prologue to his Phaenomena Aratus pellucidly describes the manifestation of Zeus’ providential care for the mortals through his arranging of the heavenly formations: [F]ull of Zeus are all the streets and all the market-­places of men; full is the sea and the havens thereof; always we all have need of Zeus. For we are also his offspring; and he in his kindness unto men giveth favourable signs and wakeneth the ­people to work, reminding them of livelihood. He tells what time the soil is best for the ­labour of the ox and for the mattock, and what time the seasons are favourable both for the planting of trees and for casting all manner of seeds. For himself it was who set the signs in heaven, and marked out the constellations, and for the year devised what stars chiefly should give to men right signs of the seasons, to the end that all ­things might grow unfailingly. (ll. 2–13; trans. G. R. Mair) This long-­standing tradition of depicting Zeus as the untiring caretaker of ­humans, but also as a providential philanthropist king (cf. [Arist.] Mund. 6, 398a10–­b15), is represented by the hy­po­thet­i­cal interlocutor P. is introducing h ­ ere. In fact, the illustration of this view

86  Fourth Ennead can be complemented by a passage from the exposition of Stoic theology presented by Quintus Lucilius Balbus in Cicero’s Nat. D. (ΙΙ 43): “Again, the consciousness and intelligence of the stars (sensum astrorum atque intelligentiam) is most clearly evinced by their order and regularity; for regular and rhythmical motion is impossible without design (sine consilio). . . . ​[N]ow the order and eternal regularity of the constellations indicates neither a pro­cess of nature, for it is highly rational, nor chance. . . . ​[I]t follows therefore that the stars move of their own free-­will and ­because of their intelligence and divinity” (trans. Rackham). Cf. also Sen. Ben. VI 23.1–5. I should mention ­here that as early as the pseudo-­Platonic Epinomis, 982c6–8, it is observed that h ­ umans should “admit as evidence of the intelligence of the stars and this entire movement of theirs, the fact that they always do the same t­ hings, ­because they are d­ oing what was de­cided an long time ago,” and so on. What follows h ­ ere can therefore be seen as a systematic and detailed rebuttal of similarly widespred and popu­lar views of that era. 9.13–18. ἢ ὅτι ἕν, . . . ​εἰς τὸ πᾶν: The first response pertains to the unlimitedness of Zeus’ action: this characterizes only its duration in time, for the question of the world’s creation in time does not arise; see ΙΙ 1.4.25–33 with my comments, and cf. IV 3.8.35–38 with my comment. For the rest, the Soul’s activity is unitary and undiminishing, intrinsic to it, and is not the result of calculations or any other rational pro­cess. Thus, the Soul is always in possession of a constant and certain knowledge of the causal princi­ples that govern the rotation of the heavens, but not of the details of the specific positions the heavenly bodies are in at a given time—at any rate, this was something that any astrolabe device could establish with precision; cf. my comment on IV 3.25.20–27; also Wallis 1981, 225–26; and Pépin 1997, 16–17. 10.1–6. Ἀλλ’ ἐπεὶ . . . ​ζωὴν διδόντας: In his customary manner, P. equates the Timaeus’ Demiurge with the Intellect (cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 9.1.1–5) and therefore considers it inconceivable that temporality can exist at this level, that is, a “before” and an “­after,” which is precisely what memory requires; cf. ΙΙΙ 7.4.12–28 with my comment. 10.6–18. ἡ δὲ τοῦ κόσμου ψυχὴ . . . ​ἢ ἀπορίαν: The identification of Zeus with the cosmic Soul may in fact derive from Numenius (see de Ley 1972, 56–59; and cf. IV 3.12.8–12), yet it affords P. the opportunity to underline the nondiscursive nature of cosmic “wisdom” (phronēsis; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 8.3.12–20), and the unity and immutability of the Intellect’s activity, which is inherited from its f­ ather, Kronos-­Intellect; cf. V 1.7.27–37, V 5.3.16–24; also Hadot 1981b, 132–33. The reference to the eternal and constant domination of the “leader” (hēgemōn) in the world is perhaps directed against ­those who, interpreting the myth of Plato’s Statesman literally, held that management of the universe involves successive “reversals of the [cosmic] cycle” (anakuklēseis), where the hegemony of the universal “pi­lot” (kubernētēs) is followed by periods of necessary reversal of his providential work; cf. my comment on ΙΙ 1.4.14–25. 10.18–29. καὶ τὸ διοικοῦν . . . ​ἰούσῃ: The unity of the Soul’s activity entails the unity in the planning of its activity, which is carried out without doubts and vacillations, with

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  87 the certitude provided by its unimpeded and unwavering contemplation of its goal that is located in the intelligible realm. 11.1–11. Ἔστι γὰρ . . . ​τῇ τοῦ ὅλου φυτοῦ: The Soul governs the universe in a completely natu­ral manner, by proceeding from the universal princi­ple to particulars. That is why no “deliberation” (bouleusis), calculations, and planning are required. The cosmic order obtains spontaneously and thoughtlessly, just like the growing of a plant. Contrary to the craftsman, who deliberates and tries out alternative solutions before determining the true path of his craft (which, naturally, also does not “deliberate” in itself; cf. IV 8.8.15– 16 = Arist. Ph. II 8, 199b28), natu­ral creation is nondeliberate and almost automatic, as it already possesses the form that sets it in motion; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 2.1.34–45 and on ΙΙΙ 8.3.20–23. The example of the physician who practices his art starting with the examination of par­tic­u­lar symptoms, before arriving at the “princi­ple” (archē) of the treatment he ­will be implementing, could echo an Aristotelian obserνation, op. cit. 199b30–32, that “nature” (phusis) is like a “doctor doctoring himself.” B ­ ecause, obviously, in that case his “art” is no longer excercised from the outside; see also Moreau 1970, 120–22. With re­spect to the image of the cosmic tree, it can also be found, in a more developed form, in ΙΙΙ 3.7.10–26, with my comments. 11.11–28. τίς οὖν ὁ λογισμὸς . . . ​ἡ φρόνησις: The cosmobiological model helps to highlight the automatic manner in which the vari­ous natu­ral forms are ­shaped, “as if they fell from my contemplation” (ΙΙΙ 8.4.10, with Armstrong’s note ad loc). This automatism is a necessary prerequisite for the subsequent introduction of sumpatheia as the lawlike exegetical princi­ple of almost all interactions between the souls and natu­ral ­things. The formative mandates that are inscribed in the log­os of an organism are expressed automatically and naturally over time, and this reveals the manifold forces incorporated in its unitary nature; cf. V 9.6.10–19. According to P., on the cosmic level the universal Log­os also manifests itself in a similar manner; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.2.18–33. Pépin 1964, 502–4, has argued that P.’s view on the unpremeditated operation of Nature is due to Aristotle’s influence, who had repeatedly concluded that “deliberation” (bouleusis) is an indication of uncertainty and imperfection (see, e.g., Eth. Nic. III 3, 1112a21–­b11), and it is therefore inapt in the case of natu­ral creation; see Ph. II 8, 199b26–33. The relevant distinction, however, was explic­itly formulated in Plato’s work; see Soph. 265c8–­e6, where it is claimed that “nature” (phusis) ­causes t­ hings to come into being “by some spontaneous cause (aitias automatēs) that generates them without any thought (aneu dianoias).” 12.1–18. Ἀλλ’ ἴσως . . . ​τ ὴν φρόνησιν: Therefore, “reflection” (that is how I opt to translate logismos ­here, to emphasise its intentional character) always aspires to the attainment of “wisdom” (phronēsis), and therefore entails its absence. Wisdom is its goal, and once it is achieved, the pro­cess of logismos comes to an end. This “reflection,” just like the main instrument employed by it, logic, h ­ andles ­things from the outside, being as it is devoid of content in itself (cf. Ι 8.2.10–15 and my comment on Ι 3.4.18–23); hence it involves the ele­ment of uncertainty and the possibility of error. Something of the sort would be

88  Fourth Ennead unthinkable in the case of natu­ral creation, which is controlled by the infallible cosmic phronēsis; cf. Guitton 1959, 122. Consequently, in this case memory would be entirely pointless. 12.18–32. εἶτα εἰ μὲν . . . ​τῷ εἰκῇ: Cosmic “wisdom” (phronēsis) constitutes a kind of established state of true belief derived from the direct contemplation of the intelligible ­causes of physical real­ity; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 8.4.5–14. Thus, it pertains dischronically to all physical activities, past, pre­sent, or ­future, albeit in its generality, and insofar as it represents conformity to ­those ­causes; cf. above, my comment on 9.13–18. Thus, the Soul’s ability to know what the f­ uture holds in store is not absolute but is ­limited to the incidentality that characterizes the sensible realm, and introduces an ele­ment of uncertainty in the world, which does not, however, annul the accuracy of its predictions. As we know, the subject of the predictive “weakness” of the divine enjoyed a considerable prehistory, chiefly in the ambit of Aristotelianism: see Aubenque 1963, 84–86; also Sorabji 1989, 255–56. H ­ ere, it helps us to understand why P. employs the term “belief ” (doxa) to describe the Soul’s predictions. No m ­ atter how well-­established and certain they might be, t­ here is always the possibility, in certain cases and u­ nder specific circumstances, that they w ­ ill prove false. Yet this does not annul the certitude with which Nature carries out its work. (From l. 30 onward P. changes the grammatical gender of the subject of his sentences to masculine, thereby implying that he is returning to the allegory of Zeus, with which chapter 10 began.) 12.32–38. μένει ἄρα . . . ​τοῖς ἐφεξῆς λόγοις: This is the main conclusion P. wishes to elicit from what has been discussed up to now: the Soul’s creative activity is stable and immutable, uninfluenced by the contingencies of the moment and the unavoidable vacillations that occur in the sensible domain. The variety of formative princi­ples (logoi), the contrarieties between them, and the vari­ous stages of their manifestation in the world render it the battleground of perpetual war (cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.2.1–7), but the Soul’s providential activity remains always the same, and marshals together all such contrarieties into a unitary harmony; see my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.2.33–36. 12.39–49. ὥστε οὐδαμῇ . . . ​ἐπακτὰ γὰρ ταῦτα: The God of the Stoics, at least in the view of some of their Epicurean opponents, such as Velleius in Cicero’s De natura deorum (Ι 52 = Epicurus fr. 352), ­faces difficulties in carry­ing out his work (laborissimus . . . ​inplicatus molestis negotiis et operosis). Yet the argument h ­ ere seems rather inspired by Aristotle’s criticism, Cael. II 1, 284a27–­b1, directed against t­ hose claiming that the heaven is set in motion by the cosmic Soul and its movement is necessary and “involves constraint” (meta bias oūsan). This is b­ ecause, just as t­ here, h ­ ere the critical ele­ment is ­whether such movement is “its own” (oikeia) or acquired, that is, exogenous. The fact that the activity of the cosmic Soul is the product of its own nature (and its descent; cf. ΙΙΙ 8.4.10–14) ensures its unimpeded duration. It also renders completely meaningless any discussion of its possessing any sort of memory. This completes the excursus launched in chapter 6, which had as its subject the supposed “memory” of the stars and of the Soul that determines their movements. In what

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  89 follows the discussion ­will turn to the characteristics of Nature and its relation with cosmic necessity. 13.1–11. Ἀλλὰ τί διοίσει . . . ​ἐλαττόνως ποιῆσαν: Nature is the image of the Soul that is projected on the body of the world and animates it, endowing it with powers that hold it together, arranging it into a unitary organic ­whole; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 8.2.1–3. Thus, the Soul’s wisdom is expressed on the level of Nature as a kind of “nonrepre­sen­ta­tional apperception” (aphantastos sunaisthēsis), which epitomizes the universal sumpatheia on which it is premised; on this, see my comment on ΙΙΙ 8.4.15–25. Just as the Soul’s cosmic wisdom transcends deliberation and reasoning, Nature falls b­ ehind ­these, being in a state that resembles sleep; on this, see Wallis 1987, 950–51. 13.11–25. διὰ τοῦτό τοι . . . ​οὐ ποιεῖ: We thus arrive at a schema of three levels, the definitive feature of which is that the cosmic Soul lacks a repre­sen­ta­tional faculty (phantasia), which constitutes an indispensable part of the cognitive apparatus of par­tic­u­lar souls. In the (inescapably simplified) accompanying diagram, the arrows indicate cognitive, not ontological, relations.

Intellect phronēsis cosmic Soul

reasoning (dianoia) representation (phantasia)

intellection

particular souls

Nature sensation (aisthēsis)

nonrepresentational apperception sensible bodies (“imitations,” cf. Pl. Ti. 50c5) matter

14.1–10. Τὰ δὲ σώματα . . . ​τ ὴν φύσιν: Nature is not pre­sent in inanimate bodies; it simply configures them. But what about animate bodies, ­those that possess the most

90  Fourth Ennead attenuated form of life, in which “nature” (phusis) appears to be the totality of the lower biological faculties (nutrition, growth, and reproduction)? Could this be b­ ecause a part of universal Nature is pre­sent in them, as the Stoics held (see, e.g., SVF 2:1013, 1138, and 3:4)? P. hastens to clarify that the presence of Nature in the bodies is ficticious. In real­ ity, its presence is no more than the projection of an image or “trace” (ichnos) of the Soul on the bodies; cf. my comment on Ι 1.7.1–6; see also Wilberding 2005, 330–32. At the same time, wishing to describe the manner in which psychical activity is transmitted to the bodies, he resorts to the familiar analogy of the illuminated air, that is, the model of “unmixed ­union” (asunchutos enōsis); cf. IV 3.22.1–7 with my comment. Yet, this time around he is not completely satisfied with it. It does indeed illustrate aptly the omnipresence of its activity throughout the body, without the soul itself coming into direct contact with it (just as the source of light illuminates the air without being necessarily contiguous with it), but it fails to accommodate the qualitative changes that the soul’s presence brings about in the body; cf. IV 5.6.18–31, IV 4.18.4–6, 29.1–7; also Igal 1979, 332–33. So he puts forth another analogy, that of the heated body, which thereby undergoes a specific qualitative change, one that is further preserved even when the heating source that engendered it is no longer close; cf. Galen PHP VII 5.11, 454.27–29. In this way, it is suggested that the life manifested on the level of the organism (the “living being,” zōion) does indeed possess a l­imited degree of autonomy vis-­à-­vis the soul that animates it, although it is, of course, ontologically fully dependent on it, being as it is a secondary activity of the soul; cf. my comment on IV 3.10.29–38. 14.10–13. εἰ δέ τι ἄλλο . . . ​εἴρηται: ­These lines round off the parenthetical discussion that in effect commenced in IV 3.25.34ff., with the demand to examine “critically” (exetastikōs) the question of the b­ earer of memory and the way in which sensory stimuli reach it. Along the way the issue was examined on the personal and the cosmic level, while the difference between the providential wisdom of the cosmic Soul and the shadowy and unconscious, almost instinctive activity of Nature was clarified somewhat; this activity affords the universe a semblance of life, and the absence of any form of deliberation in the manifestation of the logoi that it contains ensures the rigid application of natu­ral law that they express; see mainly above, chapters 11–14. Now a new theme for investigation (zētēteon) is announced, one that was briefly mentioned in the immediately preceding lines: that of the subject of the affections and the lower “self-­concentrated” functions of the organism, which ­will also be examined successively on the personal and the cosmic level, in chapters 18ff. 15.1–15. Ἐκεῖνο δὲ ἄπορον . . . ​ἀλλὰ μὴ αἰῶνα: Before moving on to the next theme, however, answers are required to a few reasonable questions that may arise, based on the discussion of memory thus far, concerning the nature of time and eternity, but also their relation to the Soul. Broadly speaking, the view adumbrated ­here on t­ hese two concepts does not radically diverge from what was expounded in the chronologically ­later treatise ΙΙΙ 7 [45]; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 7.4.12–28 and 11.35–45. Time, being closely tied to the life of the soul, follows on from its acts and ­orders them along the lines of a “before” and an “­after.” How is it, then, that the cosmic Soul fails to recognize its ­earlier acts as belonging to the past, given that this would entail that it possesses memory?

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  91 15.15–20. ἢ ὅτι . . . ​καὶ ἐν ἀριθμῷ: The response provided to the above question appears, ostensibly, to be less that fully compatible with what is claimed in ΙΙΙ 7.11.23–30: for while ­there the Soul produces time through its motion and, in that sense, “put itself into time” (heautēn echronōsen), ­here P. states that souls (and, therefore, the Soul as well) are not “in time” (en chronōi); time is “subsequent” (husteros) to them. This spurred Igal 1982– 98, 76–77, to attempt to reconcile the two versions: he posited that the “time-­creating” activity of the Soul is not its main, primary activity, but a secondary, ad extra activity, one that is not directed to the Soul itself, but to its products, and that, therefore, “time is not the life of Soul as such, but exists among its products; it is the life of the Soul in the sense that it derives from it and b­ ecause the Soul animates its products.” On the contrary, Smith 1998, 337–44, following a suggestion by Manchester 1978, 129–30, believes that ­here we need to draw a distinction between two times: one that is “real,” or psychical, and another “manifested,” or cosmic time. Furthermore, two dif­fer­ent types of ratiocination, both of the cosmic Soul and par­tic­u­lar souls, correspond to ­these. A simpler approach, in my view, would be to pay close attention to P.’s formulation in ΙΙΙ 7.11.27–35, where it is made clear that: (a) the creation of time by the Soul occurred b­ ecause (and when) it de­cided to create the sensible world; and (b) while its creations are “in time,” the Soul itself simply generates time, without being itself in it, in the sense that it is not subject to the becoming that characterizes time; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.11.31–35. The Soul, therefore, is “simultaneous,” that is, homologous, with time; only its creations are subject to it, and thereby, acquire the temporal determinations of “before” and “­after.” Thus, what­ever exists in time is necessarily constrained by the confines of “before” and “­after,” while the Soul, as it covers the entire expanse of time, is not subject to similar limitations, just as absolute space contains all par­tic­u­lar spaces, or number in its totality, which can be regarded as constituted by all par­tic­u­lar numbers; cf. Arist. Ph. IV 12, 221a14–18 and 28–30. It is clear that, in this way, P. seeks to exclude any possibility of vacillations occurring in the Soul’s activity over time. This is b­ ecause its life always remains unitary and changeless; cf. above, 9.13–18 and 10.18–29. 16.1–10. Ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . ​ἄλλον τρόπον: The unity of the Soul’s contemplation results in the unity of its planning and, therefore, the harmonization and marshaling together of all formative princi­ples (logoi) into one; cf. above, 11.23–27. Yet the vari­ous stages of the world’s course (just like ­those in the evolution of an organism; cf., e.g., Arist. Part. an. IV 10, 686b8–20; also Pellegrin 1982, 133), which are harmoniously incorporated into the framework of its unitary design, which is none other than universal Log­os, unfold in the world in continuous temporal succession, thereby engendering relations of temporal priority and anteriority where before t­ here was only s­ imple differentiation amid unity—­just as in a unitary time-­schedule that when implemented becomes unfolded into a series of successive execution phases. 16.10–20. ἢ τὸ μὲν χωρὶς . . . ​ἅμα πάντα: The Soul is not something distinct from the order that is reflected in the well-­organized and concerted arrangement of the world. That is why the universal Log­os is not something that is “uttered” by the Soul and transmitted to something ­else that receives and conforms to it, but is this “directive”

92  Fourth Ennead itself, which contains the order that shapes the world and organizes its functioning in time. This accounts for the “silence” of Nature, which was mentioned in ΙΙΙ 8.4.3–6: its creative activity is mediated neither by words nor by repre­sen­ta­tions, but occurs directly, almost automatically, and consequently is insusceptible of error; cf. above, my comment on 14.10–13. 16.20–31. σεμνὸν γάρ τι . . . ​καὶ κύκλῳ ἄρα: P. resorts to his favorite image of the circle formed by the expansion of its center, thus revealing the continuity that holds between the creative activity of the Soul and the way in which it too derives from the One via the Intellect; cf. IV 2.1.24–29 with my comment. At the same time, it explains the circular motion of the heavens by extending the same image so as to combine it with that of the “cosmic planetarium,” which we encountered in IV 3.17.12–21; cf. also ΙΙ 2.1.31.51 with my comments. 17.1–8. Ἀλλὰ πῶς . . . ​εἶτα τουτί: Why, then, is not the same equally the case for par­tic­ u­lar souls? Is it b­ ecause they are conscious of the passing of time, of the “before” and the “­after,” in which case they also possess memory? How does the need arise for reasoning, investigation, and deliberation before acting on something? Could not our souls too be blissfully oblivious of time? The first answer P. provides has to do with the multiplicity of souls and the fact that they, at times, antagonize one another. Thus, each soul must adapt its activity to external contingencies, which keep fluctuacting owing to ­factors outside the soul’s control. This, however, requires calculation and deliberations on the basis of the current circumstance. 17.8–19. καὶ γὰρ . . . ​τούτων ἄλλα: Another ­factor that may induce puzzlement, uncertainty, and the need for gauging the circumstances are the soul’s internal conflicts. The variegated and conflicting drives that stem from its vari­ous parts can cause it to become confused and uncertain about what ­ought to be done, and this renders the soul restless and “preoccupied” (ascholos), contrary to her older ­sister; cf. IV 8.8.13–22 and IV 3.17.28– 31 with my comments. Now, given that the repre­sen­ta­tions inciting t­ hese drives are formed where memory also has its seat (see my comment on IV 3.29.19–32), we can see that the latter too can decisively contribute to such conflicts and confusions, mainly by rekindling memories of past affections; on this, see Rist 1983, 148–49. 17.19–27. ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . ​τῶν χειρόνων: Does then similar conflict and vacillation occur also in the higher, rational part of the soul? Something of the kind would contradict P.’s standard position that the soul is always in contact with the intelligible beings, drawing unceasingly from them the first princi­ples and the basic rules of proper reasoning; cf.  Kalligas 2000, 30–33. Responsible for any wavering observed is the “living being” (zōion), the ­bearer of “terrible and necessary affections” (cf. Ι 1.7.1–6), which channels to the repre­sen­ta­tional faculty messages that dazzle and obscure the apprehensions of “discursive reason” (dianoia; cf. my comment on Ι 4.10.9–21), thereby becoming open to the risk of erroneous or indeterminate judgments. The vivid simile of the boisterous assembly is arguably inspired by a passage from Plato’s Republic (492b5–­c4; but cf., as

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  93 noted by Igal ad loc., n. 86, Hom. Il. 19.81–82), yet, just as in the parallel passage VI 4.15.23–32, ­here P. emphasizes the ­silent presence of the “wise,” whose advice cannot be heard amid the noise and uproar stirred up by the “disorderly rabble” of bodily affections. Following the publication of the Republic, comparing the relations between the parts of the soul with ­those between po­liti­cal factions or social classes had certainly become almost commonplace, especially among Platonists (cf., e.g., Max. Tyr. VII 2, 76.19–78.13, XI 10, 141.18–142.7, and XXVII 6, 326.12–327.16), but P. exploits it to emphasize that the deleterious consequences of “mob rule” pertain not to the superior soul, which remains unwavering in its views, but to the entire “city-­soul.” 17.27–35. καὶ ἔστιν . . . ​κατὰ τὰ ἄνω κοσμουμένης: Now a parallelism is drawn between three polity arrangements, on the one hand, and the well-­known tripartite anthropological typology, which we have already encountered, for example, in Ι 3.1.6–9; see my comments ad loc. and on ΙΙ 9.9.6–11. The aristocratic polity corresponds to the philosophical way of life, where, of course, the hegemonic intellect is the absolute ruler. At the other end of the scale we have the prevalence of anarchic mob rule that corresponds to the ascendancy of rampant passions. The intermediate state features certain—­ moderate—­ele­ments of a demo­cratic polity (cf. Pl. Leg. VI 756e9–10); t­ hese sometimes allow for the prevalence of reason, which on the level of the soul means conforming to the mandates of its rational part. Through ­these analogies, the discussion is smoothly led to its next stage, which pertains to the unity of the subject of affections on a personal and on a cosmic level. This issue, as we ­shall see, is crucial in ensuring unity and consistency in the manifestation of natu­ral forces in the cosmos. 17.35–37. ἀλλ’ ὅτι γε . . . ​εἴρηται: Cf. above, mainly chapters 10–12. 18.1–10. Περὶ δὲ τοῦ εἰ . . . ​εἰς γνῶσιν ἀπαθῆ ἔρχεται: H ­ ere linkage is reestablished with an issue posed ­earlier, in chapter 14, and pertaining to the manner in which a body becomes vivified, that is, how it acquires the characteristic features of the biologically constituted organism. The question is ­whether the presence of psychical activity suffices to impart life to a body, or w ­ hether the latter also needs to have under­gone certain necessary qualitative changes that ­will allow it to receive the said activity. Already in Aristotle (De an. II 1, 412a21–­b6) it is stressed that the soul’s presence in a body presupposes that the latter is “equipped with organs” (organikon), that is, it must possess all the qualitative characteristics (toioūton) that ­will allow for and support the emergence of biological functions; cf. also Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 104.6–8: “for no body is able to live or to possess soul if it does not have organs or have the parts which w ­ ill serve the faculties of soul.” Thus, the vari­ous biological functions are assigned to the bodily organs depending on their “suitability” (epitēdeiotēs) to acquire the corresponding psychical faculties; cf. IV 3.23.1–9 with my comment. That is why the model of the heated body is once again elected (cf. above, 14.6–8), to underline that it is this network of bodily properties that is responsible for the fundamental bodily affections, such as plea­sure and pain; cf. my comment on Ι 1.1.1–2. The soul, however, becomes aware of ­these affections

94  Fourth Ennead “impassively” (apathōs); cf. Ι 1.7.9–14 and ΙΙΙ 6.1.1–4 with my comments, and IV 3.26.1– 9; also Blumenthal 1972, 354–55. 18.10–19. λέγω δὲ . . . ​εἰσδυόμεθα εἰς αὐτό: The perceiving subject that apprehends t­ hese sensations is the higher and dominant rational part of the soul, which is normally denoted by the pronoun “we” (hēmeis); see LexPlot 480.60; also my comment on Ι 1.7.6. Cf. also IV 7.1.22–25; and O’Daly 1973, 29–30, where it is pointed out that this definition of “I” originates in Aristotle’s work; see Eth. Nic. XX 7, 1178a2–3. On the contrary, the body, although it is correlated with us and the object οf our care, is “ours” not “us”; therefore, we are something distinct from it. This sort of analy­sis, familiar from Plato’s Alcibiades (131a2–­b11; see my comment on Ι 1.7.17–18), retains its resonance to date, as evinced, for example, by what we read in a modern, somewhat popularizing, introductory work discussing the notion of the self: see Dennett 1981, 5. 18.19–25. χρὴ γὰρ . . . ​ἐκφεύγει πᾶν: Both the soul and the body, when considered in their simplicity, in isolation from one another, cannot suffer anything, insofar as to be susceptible to an affection they would have to be composite and non-­unitary. This argument is reminiscent of the one found in Plato’s Phaedo (78c1–9) and aims at ensuring that the pure soul itself is insusceptible of any affection, or change. This is b­ ecause subject to affections are only the body, being as it is a compound of disparate components, and the “living being” (zōion), which is the synthesis of the body and the soul’s “shadow” mentioned above. Cf. also the fragment by the Platonist Severus, cited in Euseb. PE ΧΙΙΙ 17.1–4. 18.25–36. ὅταν δὲ δύο . . . ​τῆς κοινωνίας: Pain, just like the other affections, derives from the imperfect integration of dissimilar t­ hings, when the w ­ hole is in danger of being taken apart; cf. Ι 8.15.15–16. Now, given that the soul proj­ects an image of itself on the body (see Ι 1.7.1–6), the resulting compound ­will be inherently unstable, ­because its components are utterly heterogeneous to one another, lacking even the guarantee of substantiality that the presence of the soul itself could provide. Thus it constantly vacillates ­because of countervailing tendencies that cause it to sometimes become overwhelmed by bodily passions, and at other times excited b­ ecause it is attracted to what generated it, that is, the pure soul. 19.1–4. Τοῦτο δὴ . . . ​πάλιν αὖ: In essence, P. is ­here attempting to summarize the view on plea­sure and pain proposed by Plato in the Philebus (31c2–32b4), according to which: (a) ­these affections arise “in the common kind,” that is, in the region of the mixed entities that, as we have seen, are governed by countervailing tendencies; (b) pain is the product of the dissolution of the harmony that sustains the “nature” (phusis) of a living organism; whereas (c) plea­sure emerges when this harmony is restored, which ensures the preservation of the mixture that constitutes the organism; cf. also my comment on Ι 9.6–7. Consequently, both ­these are inseparably linked to the presence of the soul’s image on the body. 19.4–22. ἐκεῖ μὲν οὖν . . . ​κατὰ τὸ ἐν ὀφθαλμῷ γλαυκόν: See the references provided above, in my comment on 18.1–10. Sensations originate in the body that is susceptible to

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  95 the affections, but becomes sensible ­b ecause of its organic constitution that holds together its parts by some kind of internal apperception; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 8.4.15–25. The soul apprehends ­these sensations cognitively, as repre­sen­ta­ tions (cf. IV 3.29.20–26), not b­ ecause it is “being co-­affected” (sumpaschein) with the body, but ­because, being pre­sent everywhere in it (cf. Max. Tyr. ΧΧVIII 2, 334.5–335.11), it is aware of what happens t­ here. Thus, it is able to discern where the instigating stimulus is located, without being itself directly affected by it; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 6.3.7–24; also Baladi 1970, 93–95. In a similar manner, the Peripatetic Strato of Lampsacus (fr. 111), had argued that sensations such as plea­sure and pain occur “in the soul . . . ​and all such ­things belong to the soul; it is not in our foot that we feel the pain when we stub our toe, nor in the head when we break it, nor in our fin­ger when we cut it off. For the other [parts], apart from the ruling part, are without sensation; it is when the blow is transmitted keenly to this that we call the sensation pain” (trans. Desclos and Forthenbaugh). Except that, for P., claiming that a person—­that is, his soul—­feels something of the sort would amount to a metonymy. This is b­ ecause such sensations pertain only to the zōion, that is, the composite organism; cf. my comment on Ι 1.6.9–10. 19.22–29. ἐκεῖνο μὲν οὖν . . . ​ἢ οὐχ ὑγιὴς ἄγγελος: Thus our author ­here clearly distinguishes his position from that of Strato that was just mentioned: P. locates the sensation that is incited in the organism in an intermediate level between the purely bodily affection and its apprehension by the soul itself, thereby ensuring that the latter ­will remain utterly impassible. See the detailed discussion in Emilsson 1998, 343–48. In what follows, P. ­will be occupied with this intermediate region of psychophysical phenomena. 20.1–10. Καὶ τῶν σωματικῶν δὲ . . . ​εἰ μόνον ἦν: The next grade, above plea­sure and distress, contains the desires and aversions that are attended by the corresponding repre­sen­ta­ tions and, above all, are sufficiently articulated so as to induce “appetitions” (orexeis) and drives that motivate the organism. ­These in turn, although they are directly correlated with the needs of the body, presuppose the existence of an elementary apperception and therefore its animation by the soul’s activity. For an inanimate body is incapable of sensing, desiring, or pursuing anything. Therefore, what is susceptible to all t­ hese ­will be the living organic body, the zōion. 20.10–20. ὥσπερ δὲ ἐκεῖ . . . ​ἐπιτεθυμηκότι: Therefore, ­there are two levels at which the organism receives pleasant or unpleas­ur­able stimuli: (a) that of the utterly immediate, “reflexive” reactions to pleas­ur­able or painful affections; and (b) the organism’s more pro­ cessed response to the corresponding desires and aversions, which take form through repreated exposure to the former, via a pro­cess that is likened to learning, apparently ­because it is effected through some sort of habituation. All ­these desires (epithumiai) and repre­sen­ta­tions, which are formed at the level of the organic “living being” (zōion), are then evaluated by the soul, who decides w ­ hether to act on them or not; on this, see Rich 1971, 630. H ­ ere, the term phusis refers to the psychical power that controls the totality of the organism’s unconscious, or “instinctive” reactions, through which the lower psychical functions, such as nutrition and growth, also transpire; cf. Arist. Part. an. I 1, 641b4–10;

96  Fourth Ennead but see also Emilsson 1998, 360n.21. The entire analy­sis h ­ ere draws on the relevant discussions taking place among the Stoics with re­spect to the pro­cess through which perceptual faculties arise in living organisms. Cf. especially Hier. El. eth. VII 52–61 (unfortunately, the papyrus MS is extremely corrupt at this point): “when the living being has grown considerably in the course of time  .  .  . ​its power of repre­sen­ta­tion (phantasia) becomes clear and articulated . . . ​and its grasp of properties (antilēpsis tōn idiōmatōn) is achieved by means of clear imprints. Whereas at the beginning and at first, just ­after birth, this is not the way pre­sen­ta­tions and perceptions are formed, but rather [. . .] they are confused and derived from imprecise general impressions.” Cf. also Seneca, Ep. 121.11–3. It is worth noting that, a ­little further down, Hierocles imputes the indeterminateness of this initial and “indefinite” (aorisōdēs) “repre­sen­ta­tion” to the fact that the pertinent faculty it is as of yet “unpracticed” (agumnastos), thereby indicating that h ­ ere he has in mind a learning pro­cess similar to the one described h ­ ere by P. Yet our phi­los­o­pher is rather interested in underlining the soul’s autonomy vis-­à-­vis the plethora of impressions and drives, which further allows it to resist, or ignore them. 20.20–36. ἀλλὰ διὰ τί . . . ​ἢ μὴ ἄλλην εἶναι: This reduplication of desires (and aversions) is necessary to clarify, on the one hand, that they derive from the bodily needs of “emptying” (kenōsis) and “filling” (plērōsis; cf. Pl. Phlb. 34e9–35a4), but also, on the other, on the solicitude nature shows for the body in its effort to preserve it in or restore it to its “natu­ral” state, which it has also ­shaped. In other words, the “predisposals” (prothumiai, yet another term of Stoic provenance; see SVF 3:439) constitute the biological underpinning for the manifestation of desires and other natu­ral drives. Fi­nally, the activities required to e­ ither satisfy t­ hese or not are determined and regulated by the soul itself, through “deliberate choice” (prohaireisthai); cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 1.9.1–4; also Emilsson 1998, 346–48. 21.1–6. Ὅτι δὲ . . . ​καὶ τὰς ἐπιθυμίας ἴσχει: The multiplicity of desires that vary with an organism’s age and vigor corresponds, according to the Stoics, to the vari­ous stages of the “appropriation” (oikeiōsis) an organism goes through when it matures; see Cic. Fin. III 20–21, with the observations in Long 1974, 188; also Sen. Ep. 121.14–16. ­Here, this is taken as an indication of their bodily origin. 21.7–14. καὶ τὸ μὴ . . . ​ἐπιστατοῦσαν: This argument is evidently directed against the Stoic view of “­will” or “volition” (boulēsis) as a form of “good feeling” (eupatheia), consisting in the “reasonable” (eulogos) pursuit of what appears as “good”; on this, cf. SVF 3:431, 437, 438. In P.’s view, in its bodily dimension, desire, qua prothumia (see above, 20.33–35), that is, instinctive reaction to a bodily affection, can never be “reasonable” by itself, that is, without the mediation of the operation of reason, whose origin, however, is entirely dif­f er­ent. Consequently, what maters is not w ­ hether desire is “natu­ral” or not, but ­whether it has been subjected to reason’s scrutiny and evaluation. 21.14–21. εἰ δέ τις . . . ​ἀλλ’ ἐκείνου πάντα: This argument complements the one in 21.1– 6: the vari­ous bodily needs do not necessary entail dif­fer­ent desires; perhaps they only constitute dissimilar manifestations of nature’s unitary concern for the body.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  97 22.1–5. Ἐπὶ δὲ τῶν φυτῶν . . . ​τὸ ἀπὸ τούτου: The discussion turns to the most rudimentary form of animation, plants—­which already in Plato are described as “living organisms” (zōia; Ti. 77b1–6)—­and it is stressed that their kind of soul corresponds to the desiderative part, and that their life is utterly passive: the first question is ­whether they too are ensouled, or w ­ hether they possess but a mere “echo” of a soul located outside ­these, e.g. the soul of the earth. See Caluori 2015, 125–28. This notion too derives from Stoicism; cf., e.g., Cic. Nat. D. II 83; also Theiler 1930 71–72. 22.5–12. ζητήσειε δ’ ἄν τις . . . ​γίνεσθαι: The earth therefore lends itself more to study the presence of “nature” on a macrocosmic level. Yet Plato’s doctrine on this issue is less than unambiguous; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 6.12.1–11. In the Timaeus (36e2–6), he appears to indicate that the world’s Soul is primarily established in heaven, and more specifically in the sphere of the fixed stars (at least that is how a number of Plato’s interpreters construed the passage, but also the authors of the Chaldaean Oracles; on this, see Lewy 1978, 86–92), and that it animates worldly ­things through a “radiance” that emanates from it; cf. V 1.2.1–19. Then again, however, that dialogue’s precise wording (34b3 and 36e2), makes clear that the animation of the universe begins “from the center on out . . . ​to the outermost limit of the universe,” which entails that the earth, located at its center (cf. ΙΙ 1.7.3), is primarily an ensouled deity, as also suggested by the phrase from the Timaeus 40c2–3 quoted ­here by P.; see also the relevant comment in Cornford 1937, 130–31; cf. also [Pl.] Epin. 983b7–­c2. 22.14–22. τὴν μὲν οὖν . . . ​ἔχειν οἰκείαν: As the “wet nurse” (tithēnē) of every­thing that lives on it (see Ti. 40b8), the earth must itself also possess the vital power it grants them; cf. Sen. Nat. Quaest. II 5.2, 15.1, VI 16.1. ­After all, its size and position in the world point to the fact that it too, along with the heavenly bodies (cf. Ι 8.5.30–31 with my comment), is ensouled—­a vis­ib­ le god. Cf. ΙΙΙ 8.1.18–21. 22.25. ἡ γῆ . . . ​τῶν σωμάτων: Cf. ΙΙ 1.7.6–17. 22.26. δυσκίνητον: The cumbersomeness of the earth, qua material ele­ment, is attributed (according to Pl. Ti. 55e1; cf. [Ti. Locr.] De nat. 34, 216.10) to the cubic structure of the particles that constitute it. On this, cf. ΙΙ 1.7.3–6 with my comment. 22.27–32. ἀλλὰ τὸ αἰσθάνεσθαι . . . ​τὴν κρίσιν ποιεῖσθαι: We can observe that the arguments employed to claim that the earth possesses some kind of soul are rather superficial and rely on analogies and conjectures (“why not . . .”). At any rate, the author himself has pointed this out in 22.13, and it is prob­ably connected with the fact that the soul’s presence in earth is extremely weak; therefore, it is rather difficult to ascertain it directly. We now move to the main theme that ­will preoccupy us in what follows, that is, w ­ hether this soul also possesses other, superior faculties such as sensation, over and beyond the generative or “vegetative” powers it clearly has. The main princi­ple expounded ­here is that sensitization (as well as the soul’s other abilities) is not due to nor depends on the body it occupies but arises to the degree that the soul becomes concerned with what happens to it; cf. ΙΙΙ 6.1.1–4 with my comment.

98  Fourth Ennead 22.32–42. τίνα οὖν . . . ​καὶ παρ’ αὑτῶν ἡδεῖαι: ­These consecutive questions reveal the serious difficulties the issue is fraught with and w ­ ill force our author to launch into a rather extensive excursus that ­will extend to chapter 27. This is ­because, in one view, the lack of sense organs does not necessarily mean that the soul of the earth is altogether deprived of any sort of perceptive faculty; cf. contra ΙΙΙ 4.4.7–10 with my comment. Yet, of course, any awareness it has of what happens around it ­will not entail any kind of concern or thoughtfulness on its part. The soul of the earth w ­ ill simply be an impassible and disinterested observer, just as we are neutral witnesses to the celestial phenomena; cf., indicatively, [Pl.] Epin. 986c5–­d4. 22.42–47. τοῦτο μὲν οὖν . . . ​γίγνοιτο: The themes that ­will be discussed in the digression that follows are set out h ­ ere: (a) The general characteristics of the earth’s perceptive faculty, and its usefulness; see 24.1–12 (to which 24.12–39 forms a complement as pertains to the respective faculties in other celestial bodies). (b) The specific senses the earth’s soul possesses and how t­ hese are expressed; see 26.5–29. (c) W ­ hether ­these senses require the mediation of organs or other­wise; see 23.1–49. (d) Their usefulness or other purpose they serve; see 24.1–9. 23.1–13. Δεῖ δὴ . . . ​εἰς ταὐτόν: Having indulged in ­these bizarre meanderings, P. tackles the question of perceptual awareness; more specifically, he explores the theoretical under­pinnings that make it pos­si­ble. The main aporia he grapples with and which, as observed by Emilsson 1988, 69, is for the first time in the history of Western philosophy posed so succintly, is how can a supra-­sensible, intellective entity, such as the soul, come to know ­things that are sensible. By itself it is natu­ral that it can apprehend only intelligible ­things and could never become assimilated to the sensible, as required by the princi­ple that “like is known by the like” (on this, cf. my comment on Ι 6.7.27–30; see also Pl. Ti. 45c4). The sensible is located in an entirely dif­fer­ent “dimension,” as vividly suggested by the example of the (dimensionless) point and the line (which is defined by its extension in a single dimension). In any case, the intelligible can never be “applied” to something sensible like a seal is to its imprints, ­because it belongs to an altogether dif­fer­ent ontological order. Nor does the soul, which makes man what he is, come into direct contact with the body; cf. IV 3.22.7–17 with my comments. Something in-­between is therefore needed, such that would act in an intermediating manner and would enable the wholly incorporeal soul to receive the perceptible shapes of bodies. 23.13–19. ἀλλὰ μόνη . . . ​ἐκεῖ ὁρώσης: This is an obscure, yet at the same time critical passage, where P. begins to probe the importance of grasping the intelligibles as a prerequisite for perceptual apprehension. In his view, ­there can be no sensation without the mediating existence of a intelligible form inside the soul (it is this that is “applied” to its intelligible model; cf. Ι 2.4.20–29 with my comments), that the soul “proj­ects,” in some manner, to the outside world, thereby forming its sensory repre­sen­ta­tions; cf. IV 6.3.16–21. 23.19–36. οὐ τοίνυν . . . ​μηδενὸς ἀντιλαμβάνεσθαι αἰσθητοῦ: Accordingly, ­because the soul and the sensible lack any point of contact, ­there must be, as we have seen,

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  99 something intermediate between the two. This must the the sensory organ, which is susceptible to affections deriving from the sensible, given that it too is bodily, but also “in sympathy with” (sumpathes) and “uniformly affected” (homoiopathes; cf. Pl. Ti. 45c7) with re­spect to the sensory stimulus, so as to be receptive to the corresponding qualitative changes (e.g., of the color, or the sound’s pitch). At the same time, the organ has the ability to “take an impression” (apomattesthai; cf. 23.3–4) of their form, that is, their eidetic features that constitute the respective “image” (eidōlon; on this, see my comment on ΙΙΙ 6.17.1–12), and thus to form on itself a disembodied imprint of the stimulus, which is in turn apprehended “impassibly” by the incorporeal soul. Cf. also my comments on Ι 1.7.9–14 and Ι 4.10.2–3. We can observe that positing sense-­organs as an “intermediate analog” between the soul and sensible bodies corresponds to the intermediate rank to which enmattered forms belong (­these are the objects of sensory perception), in accordance with the ontological schema presented in treatise IV 2; see the relevant introduction. In this way, I believe that P.’s epistemology is harmoniously accommodated in his broader ontological schema, pace Emilsson 1996, 219. 23.36–43. τὸ δὲ ὄργανον . . . ​τὸ τεχνητὸν ἔδωκεν: Sensory organs function in the manner of the instruments craftsmen use to take mea­sure­ments (cf. Sext. Emp. Math. VII 226), and each carries out a specific “work” (ergon) that corresponds to its “nature”; cf. Arist. PA I 5, 645b14–20. Th ­ ere, the instrument has been fashioned so as to incorporate the properties that it w ­ ill be called upon to mea­sure, for example, straightness in the case of a ruler. The craftsman then compares the properties of the mea­sured object with t­ hose of the instrument and thus arrives at a judgment on, for example, the straightness (or lack thereof ) of the former. The same holds for perceptual apprehension: the soul evaluates the properties of the bodies on the basis of the qualitative changes imprinted on the bodily organs; cf. Ι 6.3.3–15 and Ι 8.9.3–4. The organ, being bodily, can be “applied to” or “be co-­affected” with the sensible object (on this, cf. Alex. Aphrod. De an. 39.18–21), yet what P. seeks to stress is that t­ here can be no judgment (and therefore no sensation ­either; cf. ΙΙΙ 6.1.1–4) that does not refer to the intelligible models on which it is premised. 23.43–49. εἰ δὲ συνάπτειν δεῖ . . . ​δῆλον: A separate question is w ­ hether some material, affection-­transmitting medium needs to intervene between the organ and the sensible object so as to induce a sensory stimulus. This ­will be examined further down, in IV 5. The conclusion P. is interested in drawing ­here is that sensation would be impossible without the intermediation of a bodily organ. Therefore, only embodied souls are capable of sensation. 24.1–9. Τὸ δὲ . . . ​αἱ αἰσθήσεις: We now revisit the question of the relation between sensation and practical bodily needs, that is, w ­ hether sensations exist solely to attend to and protect the body; cf. above, 22.35–38. Already in the Timaeus, Plato discusses the operation of the senses in the section of the dialogue treating the effects of Necessity (anankē; 61c6ff.), thus indicating their role in catering to the needs of the body. For the

100  Fourth Ennead time being, P. adheres to this line of thought, taking as his starting point the previous conclusion, that it would be impossible to have a body without sensation. In his view, this provides sufficient grounds to claim that the soul acquires the capacity for perceptual apprehension ­because of its embodiment alone. He was to return to this subject in VI 7 [38].1–7, where his treatment would be much more thorough. 24.9–12. καὶ γὰρ εἰ . . . ​μήτε ἐν λήθῃ: ­Here an answer is provided to the objection raised in 22.38–42: even the impassible and disinterested observation for the sake of knowledge alone indicates that the observing subject has yet to attain full knowledge and remains beholden to the “misfortune” (sumphora; P. is employing ­here an unusually pejorative term to refer to the soul’s embodiment; should we perhaps interpret it according to its rarer, etymological meaning, i.e., as alluding to the fact that the soul has been “swept along” by the body’s movements and affections?), b­ ecause that is what embodied life is to him. Hence, in this case too sensation ­will always carry some specific—­albeit not practical—­usefulness: the removal of “forgetfulness” (lēthē), which prevents him from enjoying universal knowledge. 24.12–25. ἀλλ’ εἰ τοῦτο, . . . ​ἀντιλαμβανόμεθα: Following this brief examination of the prerequisites for the existence of sensation in the earth, we move to a broader discussion of what kind of sensation can connect the vari­ous parts of the world. Curious or exotic though such a question might appear ­today, it was of utmost importance to P., for he sought to demonstrate that the natu­ral interactions occurring in the universe take place without the mediation of sensory or other repre­sen­ta­tions and that, accordingly, they are direct and insusceptible to errors and arbitrary choices. Furthermore, he seems to have in mind a discussion concerning the interpretation of a phrase from Aristotle’s De anima (III 12, 434b3–5), which had been ongoing since the time of Alexander of Aphrodisias and was continued even in the works of antiquity’s last Neoplatonic commentators. (On the ­whole issue, see the impor­tant study by Wolfson 1962, 67–93.) ­There, the Stagirite appears to claim that no ensouled body capable of movement can lack sensation: “but it is not pos­si­ble that a body which is not stationary but produced by generation should have a soul and a discerning mind without also having sensation. Nor yet even if it w ­ ere not produced by generation [agenēton]. Why should it not have sensation?” (trans. Smith). To begin with, most commentators on this passage are in agreement that the agenēton ensouled body discussed ­there refers to celestial bodies (cf. Arist. Cael. II 12, 292a19–22; also Guthrie 1962–81, 6:256n.1), which w ­ ere, of course, considered eternal and immutable. According to the testimony of Philoponus In De an. 595.36–596.14, trans. Charlton, Alexander read the final rhetorical question of the passage without the negative particle “not” (ouch; an approach ­adopted in some of the MSS preserving the work as well as by Themistius, and by Hicks among its modern editors), reading it as a denial that celestial bodies possess sensation. Being “impassible” (apathē) and “immortal” (athanata), they have no need of it to survive or “to be led back to the universal accounts pre­sent in them” through “recollection” (anamnēsis), insofar as “they always act intellectually and never desert universals.” Cf. also Alexander apud Simpl. In Cael. 463.3–8. At any rate, it is in­ter­est­ing to observe h ­ ere that P. is clearly siding with Alexander and

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  101 the Aristotelians (cf. Moraux 1973–2001, 1:496, on Nicolaus of Damascus) whereas, as attested by Philoponus, l­ater Platonists, headed by Plutarch of Athens (fourth to fifth centuries CE), interpreted this passage in a diametrically opposed manner, more in keeping with their convictions concerning one’s ability to influence celestial powers through magico-­religious means. On the other hand, although he categorically rejects the existence of “cosmic” sensations among celestial bodies (and the earth), P. appears willing, however, to accept that the universe possesses some inner self-­awareness, like the one enjoyed by all living organisms; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 4.4.10–13; also Remes 2007, 100–103. This is clearly distinguished from sensation, ­because the latter always pertains to something external; on this, see Schroeder 1987b, 682; Violette 1994, 229; and Bergson 2000, 56–57. 24.25–39. ἀλλ’ ὥσπερ . . . ​τὸ ὁρᾶν: An hy­po­thet­i­cal interlocutor, not swayed by Plato’s emphatic statements to the contrary (cf. Pl. Ti. 33c1–2 and d4), perseveres in the view that the heavens, and more specifically the outer sphere of the fixed stars, are able to “see” what takes place in the world, like a huge eye observing from above. Insofar as the pos­si­ble astrological dimension of this credence is concerned, cf. my comment on ΙΙ 3.1.20–24; on the significance of the “lightlike” (phōtoeidēs) constitution of the firmament, see my comment on Ι 6.9.30–31. 25.1–11. Ἢ οὐκ ἀρκεῖ . . . ​καὶ ἐνδεοῦς: As was pointed out ­earlier, in 22.28–30, a body’s sensitization does not so much depend on its sensitivity to the stimuli that reach it, but rather on the presence of a soul that is likewise concerned over all that happens to it, or in general interested in what goes on in the sensible realm; cf. Ι 4.10.21–33 with my comment. Therefore, the stars in heaven should also exhibit such a disposition or solicitude (or perhaps even a noxious curiosity; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.11.15–20), if they insist on observing what takes place down h ­ ere. But that would be contrary to their general impassible character. Cf. also above, 8.8–16 with my comments. 25.11–17. ὀσφραίνεσθαι δὲ . . . ​εἰ μὴ μνημονεύει: The interlocutor now falls back on a more circumspect account of the sense-­perception of the stars, one that appears more compatible with Aristotle’s views (at least as understood by Proclus apud Olympiodorum In Phd. 4.9, 85, where he also cites a Homeric line, Il. 3.277, which P. possibly had in mind h ­ ere too, and Simpl. In Cael. 463.9–12). According to this, stars do not possess any of the “lower” faculties such as smell and taste (it was commonly assumed that they ­were connected with the plea­sure the gods derived from sacrifices), but only the “higher” ones such as vision and hearing, and only incidentally. He also recalls the question of the memory of stars, which was disussed above, in 8.14–52. Sleeman’s emmendation (perispaseis instead of peristaseis) is suggested by the parallelism with the “distractions” (perielkusmoi), and is supported by the fact that a similar combination can also be found in Origen Exhortatio ad martyrium III, 36.13; also apud Methodius De resurrectione ΙΙΙ 18, 174.32. The use of the term “distraction” to denote the subjugation of the rational part of the soul to the lower passions originates with Plato’s Protagoras (352c2); but cf. Arist. Eth. Nic. VIII 2, 1145b24.

102  Fourth Ennead 26.1–4. Γίνονται δὲ . . . ​ἑπομέναις συμπαθῶς: The themes that w ­ ill be discussed below, in chapters 30–45, are touched upon h ­ ere. Both the “white” magic of praying to the astral gods (euchai: the term for “prayers” was always linked with practices aimed at influencing the ­will of the gods, a notion abhorrent to Plato: see, e.g., Leg. X 885b4–9; from an early stage it was also applied to purely magical incantations: see Jordan 1985, no. 91—­a Sicilian curse tablet of the fifth ­century BCE; Pl. Leg. X 909b4; also Graf 1991, 188–89), through which one can conform and become attuned to the rhythm and the mandates of universal Log­os, as well as its darker counterpart, where the practitioner seeks to exploit the cosmic powers and relations for his own gain, or, in general, is driven by insidious motives, require the manipulation of relations and “sympathies” that interconnect the vari­ous parts of the universe. According to P., such affinities are ordained by natu­ral law and operate in an automatic fashion, without the need for any apprehension or willing on the part of the gods. In the words of Esser 1967, 32, “once a prayer is uttered, the divinity does not think, nor does it decide w ­ hether to grant it or not.” The response of the gods is governed by the constant and immutable laws of Nature itself, without the mediation of any consciousness or deliberation; cf. above 40.27–32 and Merlan 1953, 345. 26.5–12. Εἰ δὲ τοῦτο . . . ​μὴ λανθάνειν: P. seems h ­ ere willing to ascribe to the earth something over and above mere participation in cosmic “awareness” (sunaisthēsis), as is the case with the stars (see above, 24.21–23): it somehow senses what takes place on it—­ provided that such occurrences are of sufficient size. Although this retreat can perhaps be explained by the prevalence of popu­lar beliefs concerning “­mother” earth’s ability for sense-­perception, or other relevant Stoic theories (cf. Theiler 1930, 73), it also ties in well with the view expressed in Galen PHP VII, 5.42–44, 462.3–9, according to which touch is the “earthliest” (geōdesteron) of the senses. P. also accepts that, notwithstanding its cumbersomeness (cf. above, my comment on 22.26), the earth cannot be utterly immobile, ­because it has to react to the movements and influences of other heavenly bodies. Cf. Pl. Ti. 40b8; and CH XII 17, 181.3–8. 26.12–17. κωλύει δ’ οὐδὲν . . . ​πρὸς αὑτήν: The earth is depicted as taking an interest in and showing concern for its offspring, as befits any true m ­ other and wet nurse; she listens to the prayers of men and sometimes grants their wishes. This traditionalist image, however, is appropriately modified through parenthetical phrases, which clarify that all this unfolds “in a dif­fer­ent manner” and in par­tic­u­lar “through sympathy,” that is, without the mediation of a normal perceptual pro­cess. 26.17–22. καὶ τἆλλα . . . ​ἀντίληψίς ἐστι ψόφων: This is the response to the objection raised in 25.11–13. As to the natu­ral phenomena our author has in mind ­here, we can only resort to conjecture. I believe, however, that he is partly referring to the odors that rise up from the earth through the vegetation that grows on it: even ­these are regulated by the cosmic rhythm that informs the growth and flowering of plants. Furthermore, Igal ad loc. reminds us that, according to Arist. Hist. an. I 9, 492a29, “the dolphin can hear, but has no ears” (trans. Thompson). In general, however, the issue is that the apprehensions of the earth are characterized by immediacy and the absence of sense-­organs.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  103 26.22–29. περὶ δὲ ὄψεως . . . ​τ ὴν ἐν τῇ γῇ ψυχήν: According to H-­S1 this is a locus desperatus, and following vari­ous attempts to make some sense of the text at this point, they eventually decide to obelize it, considering it beyond restoration; see H-­S4, 322. Igal, 309, has tentatively suggested his own reading for ll. 24–26. Yet, as he avows, ad loc., the argument that results following his interventions is rather incoherent. My suggestion for emending the text relies on Brinkmann’s rule, and although it involves two unsavory genitive absolutes in succession, I believe it preserves the logical consistency of the argumentation: Relying on the premises that (a) the “vegetative” part of the soul inheres in some sort of spirit (cf. my comment on ΙΙ 2.2.21–22), and (b) the most characteristic constituent of the soul of the earth is the vegetative (cf. above, 22.14–15 and ΙΙ 2.3.1–3), we arrive at the clearly bizarre, albeit not entirely unheard of conclusion (cf. Sen. Nat. Quaest. VI 16.1; but also Xenocrates fr. 56 = Plut. De fac. 29, 943e) that the earth is a spirit. From ­there, the remaining steps in the argumentation are more straightforward: given that it is a spirit, the earth must also be transparent (cf. contra Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 148.13– 22), and insofar as it is illuminated by the celestial bodies, it ­will be “actively” transparent. Consequently, all the prerequisites are satisfied so that the soul that inheres in the earth can see what is situated on or outside it. 26.29–30. καὶ δεῖ . . . ​καὶ θεὸν εἶναι: Cf. above, 22.8–10. 27.1–7. Εἰ οὖν . . . ​ἀλλὰ μόνον ξύλου: Cf. above, 22.1–5. The most characteristic property of the earth as a living organism is, naturally, its procreativeness, which it imparts, directly and indirectly, to the plants that grow on it: ­these develop and multiply so long as they are rooted in the earth; once they become cut off, they turn into inanimate wood. 27.8–11. οὐ ταὐτὸν . . . ​ἀφῃρημένοι: Something similar, P. argues, can also be observed in the case of minerals. We know that this view, which is developed somewhat more extensively in VI 7.11.20–32, had been “documented” by Posidonius (fr. 235; on this, see Theiler 1930, 74–75) with reference to the tar (asphaltos) mines in the area of Apollonia, yet it clearly was more widespread; cf., for example, Hippol. Her. V 7.10; Themist. In De an. 41.35–36. 27.11–17. ἕκαστον μὲν οὖν . . . ​χρώμενοι: So this is a unitary “vegetative” power, which belongs to the soul of the earth, but is manifested through the fecundity of the plants and its other parts, and through the generation and development of multifarious forms. Furthermore, however, as was pointed out in 22.15–18, the soul of the earth must also possess higher functions, so that it merits the divine appellations attributed to it, e­ ither in the context of the popu­lar cultic tradition of the goddess Demeter (see, e.g., Eurip. Bacch. 275–76; Cic. Nat. D. II 67; Orph. fr. 302; and Kakridis 1986, 2:130), or through its identification with Hestia by the “wise men”; cf. Eurip. fr. 944; Pl. Phdr. 247a1–2; Cornutus Theol. Graec. 28, 52.4–53.5; Plut. De prim. frig. 954ff.; and, for the expression “divine revelation” (theiai phēmēi) that alludes to the mythological tradition, Pl. Leg. I 644d4.

104  Fourth Ennead 28.1. ἐπανιτέον δὲ πάλιν: This expression rounds off of the excursus on the psychical powers of the earth, which had commenced in chapter 22. The pretext for this was the preceding discussion about lower psychical affections and desires (chapters 18–21). The latter are regarded as directly interconnected with the “vegetative” functions of nutrition, growth, and reproduction; cf. my comment on IV 3.19.19–22. 28.2–18. περὶ τοῦ θυμοειδοῦς . . . ​ἡ ἐνέργεια: As we have seen above, in chapters 19 and 20, the origin of affections and desires lies in the body, which, having been ­shaped accordingly by the relevant qualities, is “animated” by the trace the soul proj­ects on it, thereby becoming an organic “living being” (zōion). The question posed ­here pertains to ­whether the spirited (thumoeides) part of the soul is formed in a similar manner, or if it possesses its own, purely biological under­lying structure, in­de­pen­dent of the soul—­ whether, for example, it could simply arise following a hypersecretion of bile. It is known that the Stoics such as Chrysippus explained the emergence of emotions such as “grief ” (lupē), “fear” (phobos), “wrath” (orgē), and “anger” (thumos) as the result of imbalances in the organism’s natu­ral constitution, especially in the region of the heart (see SVF 2:886, 906); while Nemesius De nat. hom. 20, 81.2–3 = SVF 3:416, provides another definition of thumos (one that exhibits patently Peripatetic features; cf. Arist. De an. I 1, 403a30–31) as “boiling of the blood surrounding the heart that is caused by the exhalation or the turbidity of the bile; this is the reason why it is called ‘bile’ or ‘bilious.’ ” It is such views that P. obviously has in mind ­here, and he contrasts ­these with other, more “psychogenic” explanations. Where the diffused presence of the vegetative everywhere inside the body is concerned, see my comment on IV 3.23.35–42. The liver’s role as the “source” (archē) of the desiderative part simply means that this organ is more thoroughly attuned to the corresponding psychic power, which is channeled through it all over the rest of the body via the network of veins; cf. my comments on IV 3.23.1–9 and 42–45. 28.18–22. ἀλλὰ περὶ τοῦ θυμικοῦ . . . ​τί αὐτό: Now the question is posed in a similar manner about the spirited part: does it consist in the projection of a psychical trace on the organ that is best suited to accept the corresponding activity—­whether it is the heart or the bladder—or could it merely be a bodily disorder? In other words, is its subsistence purely psychical or corporeal? 28.22–28. ὅτι μὲν οὖν . . . ​τ ὴν γένεσιν ἴσχειν: As one would expect, P.’s first move is to establish the contribution of a purely psychological ­factor—­such as perceptual apprehension—in shaping the phenomenon of “wrath” (orgē). In any case, l­ater Stoics, such as Seneca De ira II 1.4–5, for instance, ­were already in agreement that orgē arises only following the volitional approbation of the hegemonic part (animo adprobante) of the sensory repre­sen­ta­tions that have aroused its indignation; cf. loc. cit. ΙΙ 3.5. Yet according to another, Peripatetic, tradition, any “affection” (pathos) that exists should be correlated with “an apprehension (hupolēpsis) of good or evil”; see Peripatetic Andronicus of Rhodes apud Aspas. In Eth. Nic. 44.21–24 = [Andron.] De pass. 1, 223.3–6; cf. also Ar. Did. apud Stob. Ecl. ΙΙ 7.1; and Sorabji 2007, 623–25. This is taken as an indication that “wrath” can be ascribed exclusively to the organism’s vegetative functions.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  105 28.28–41. ἀλλ’ ὅταν . . . ​ἢ τὴν χολήν: In keeping with the Aristotelian tradition, P. admits that “wrath” is firmly linked with specific bodily manifestations and affections (cf. Arist. De an. I 1, 403a16–­b1), and recognizes the existence of instances where its emergence depends on the current circumstance and the body’s peculiar temperament. In fact Alexander of Aphrodisias De an. 13.1–8, adduced this as evidence that the soul is inseperable from the body; cf. also Seneca loc. cit. ΙΙ 19.1–20.1, who is careful enough though to clarify that immediate bodily reactions to an unpleasant stimulus—­such as paleness, tears, goggling of the eyes, and so forth—do not constitute manifestations of orgē in themselves but represent precursory phenomena (principia proludentia adfectibus). As has been said, the concurrence of the hegemonic part is required before t­ hese can become true affections; see op. cit. ΙΙ 2.5–3.5. 28.41–47. αἰσθήσεως δὲ . . . ​τοῦτο ποιεῖσθαι: On the other hand, however, it is clear that wrath is a conscious reaction to its occasioning cause, insofar as it presupposes the mediation of sensation and of the repre­sen­ta­tional faculty, but often also of the rational part itself; when this deems an action is unfair, it enlists the help of “the spirit’s might” to combat against it; cf. Pl. Ti. 70b3–­c1; Resp. IV 440a8–­d2, with the comment by Cross and Woozley 1964, 121–23. 28.47–58. καὶ εἶναι . . . ​κινεῖσθαι πρὸς ὀργάς: Thus we arrive at the conclusion that two types of “wrath” (orgē) exist: (a) one consisting in purely bodily reactions to a stimulus, which are often automatic and nondeliberate—­such as, for instance, blushing and an elevated heart rate—­and, more or less, correspond to the “predisposals” (prothumiai) that ­were discussed above, in 20.33–21.14; and (b) another one, which is the offshoot of conscious indignation over something that is perceived through the body and appears unfair, so as to engender in us a strong disposition to oppose it. (Aspasius In Eth. Nic. 45.2–10, also divides affections into ­those that are “prior to apprehensions” and “subsequent to apprehensions” (hupolēpseis).) As we saw above, in the comment on 28.28–41, Seneca did not recognize (a) as a true form of “wrath.” Yet P. is interested in indicating that both types presuppose and are premised on the the soul’s embodied state, that is on the presence of a psychical trace in the body; on this, see Emilsson 1998, 348–50. In fact he is referring to “another trace of the soul,” which, as observed by Dillon 1990a, 30, must be the effulgence of the “desiderative part” (to epithumētikon), that is, vegetative, which is responsible for the propensity to bodily pleasures; cf. Pl. Ti. 77b3–­c5. 28.59–64. τὸ δὲ τὰ δένδρα . . . ​ὁρμή: The case of the plants is marshaled to help illustrate, through a thought experiment, the distinction drawn between the two kinds of wrath. If plants only possessed the biological basis for feelings of wrath, they would only manifest form (a), that corresponds to the first stirrings of self-­awareness; cf. Pl. Phdr. 251c4–5), b­ ecause form (b) would further require that they are sensitized and—­one might add—­self-­conscious. 28.64–73. ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . ​τ ὴν παρ’ αὑτῆς ἐνέργειαν: ­Here we have some clarification about the relations between the lower functions of the soul. Criticism is leveled against a view

106  Fourth Ennead according to which the desiderative part is identified with the vegetative (cf. the end on my comment on 28.47–58), and the spirited part with the projection, or echo of its reactions on specific ele­ments of the organic body, such as the “a boiling (zesis) of the blood surrounding the heart” mentioned by Aristotle (cf. above, my comment on 28.28–41). Thus, the latter would appear as a by-­product of the operation of the former, a mere symptom of the desiderative part’s disturbances. On the contrary, P. recommends that the two be ascribed the same status, as two dif­fer­ent appetitive powers each with its dissimilar pursuits (cf. Pl. Resp. 439e2–440a7). Yet both stem from the same substance, the soul—­which, it should be noted, possesses more such powers, such as “deliberate choice” (prohairesis) and ­will; cf. Arist. De an. III 9, 432b3–7. In this way, Plato’s tripartite division of the soul (­these parts are dubbed “forms” (eidē) in the passage from the Republic just cited) becomes a distinction between the three dif­fer­ent operations of the unitary and indivisible psychical substance; on this, see Blumenthal 1971a, 21–25. 28.73–76. καὶ τὸ ἐκπεσὸν . . . ​λεγέσθω εἶναι: A brief reminder that the soul, as well as its powers, are not ­really installed in some part of the body: its vari­ous activities are merely expressed primarily in the corresponding bodily organs that are capable of becoming “harmonized” with ­these and receive them; from ­there, they are channeled throughout the rest of the body via the respective organic systems; cf. my comment on IV 3.23.9–27. Thus does the spirited part manifest itself primarily in the heart, and its activity becomes diffused via the arterial blood (cf. my comment on ΙV 3.23.42–45). This, however, does not mean that the soul, or the spirited part, is actually located inside the heart. 29.1–12. Πῶς οὖν . . . ​σ υναπέρχεται: But to what a degree precisely does the psychical trace that is projected onto the body depend on the soul itself ? ­Here our author reminds us of the two models of “unmixed u­ nion” (asunchutos henōsis) that ­were presented ­earlier; cf. 14.4–8 with my comment, and the references provided t­ here. Of ­these, he puts forth again the model of the heated body whereas, it should be noted, Galen PHP VII 5.5–12, 454.8–31, who also invokes t­ hese two analogies, opts for the other, the one of the illuminated air, to describe the be­hav­ior of the nerves and arteries in the context of transmitting the “pneumatic power” (pneumatikē dunamis). As Theiler 1930, 86, has pointed out, the example of hair (and nail) growth in dead bodies is known to us from a testimony about Democritus (fr. A160 DK) passed down by Tert. De an. 51.2, 69.7–8; his conclusion that the coincidence should be ascribed to the mediation of Posidonius, however, remains in the realm of conjecture. The case of animals “cut in two” (diairoumena) that continue to move long ­after the event is known from Arist. De an. I 4, 409a9–10 and I 5, 411b19–22. What P. wants to stress h ­ ere, however, is that even when the psychical trace appears at first sight to retain some kind of autonomy, it proves utterly dependent on the soul itself, and ultimately follows it, albeit with a certain delay. 29.12–31. ἆρ’ οὖν συναπέρχεται . . . ​μὴ μένειν: The next point that needs to be explored is ­whether this psychical trace continues to exist following its departure from the body, or if it simply ceases to exist. The question, as it is posed, is ­whether the qualities that are formed on the body ­because of the presence of the trace are real, or simply phenomenal,

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  107 as is the case with inanimate material bodies (cf. ΙΙΙ 6.13.31–38, 14.4–7 with my comments), or is the case of colors, which in real­ity are mere reflections of the light (cf. IV 5.7.35–41 with my comment). P. appears to gravitate ­toward the view that this trace does not vanish altogether but lingers on at least for some time in an “ethereal” form, deprived of its tangible characteristics and the “density” (puknotēs) it enjoyed previously; cf. ΙΙ 7.3.1–7 with my comment. The comparison of the presence of the soul’s trace to the “sweetness” (glukutēs) and the “sweet scent” (euōdia) that are pre­sent in a body much ­later became unexpectedly popu­lar through a fictive account that depicted a ­dying Aristotle holding an apple and declaring symbolically: “If I did not have this apple, which I hold in my hand and its fragrance gives me strength and briefly prolongs my life, I would already have expired.” On this, see Aristotelis [sic] Liber De Pomo 4, in the translation of M. F. Rousseau, 50. (This is a spurious work that was prob­ably composed originally in Arabic in the tenth ­century and was ­later translated into Hebrew and subsequently into Latin in the thirteenth.) This par­tic­u­lar passage from the Enneads was certainly known in the Arabic world when that work was written, although, unfortunately, at this point the MS preserving the Dicta Sapientis Graeci suffers from a lacuna of six pages (see H-­S1, II, 113); thus, the inspiration for this image in all likelihood derives from reading this passage. Cf. also, however, V 1.6.30–37; also Ammon. In Cat. 28.9–16. 29.32–40. εἰ μή τις λέγοι . . . ​ἐνθαδὶ κειμένη: ­Here P. appears to be briefly “toying” with an alternative view that, if we are to judge also from the allusion to a famous Democretean dictum (fr. B125 DK; cf. ΙΙΙ 6.12.22–24 with my comment), is prob­ably connected with the theory of visual images flowing off from the objects; it was ascribed to the Abderite phi­los­o­pher as well as to other proponents of ancient atomism; see Arist. Sens. 3, 440a15–20; also Alex. Aphrod. In De Sensu 56.10–15 (= Democritus fr. 483 Luria). An in­ter­est­ing piece of evidence adduced h ­ ere is that colors are added to the images that shape visual repre­sen­ta­tions out of the air as t­ hese move ­toward the eye. This is congruent with the testimony of Alexander De an. mant. 136.24 and 137.30–31, according to which such images are “colorless” in themselves; cf. Theophr. Sens. 513.21. Avotins 1980, 453, has in fact argued that in this re­spect Democritus’ and Epicurus’ views diverged, which makes it even more likely that P. ­here had in mind the au­then­tic Democritean theory—­but from which source it is unknown. In personal correspondence, however, Prof. David Sedley expressed the belief that this theory does not correspond to Democritus’ doctrine but represents a purely conjectural reconstruction. In any case, such a conception completely cancels the inherence of qualitative characteristics, such as color, in bodies, and the contribution of corresponding formative princi­ples (logoi) and the shaping of living beings by the latter at least; this means it is incompatible with P.’s analy­sis of the constitution of sensible bodies; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 6.17.1–21; also Kalligas 1997c, 404–7. The author, however, chooses not to delve further into the ­matter h ­ ere. 29.40–50. ἀλλ’ αὕτη μὲν . . . ​ἐν ἄλλοις: We return to the question posed in the beginning of this passage: does the soul’s “trace” possess its own in­de­pen­dent subsistence, or is it directly dependent on it, lacking a true life of its own? The example of the light aims

108  Fourth Ennead at clarifying why the latter of the two possibilities holds true. The trace is a product of the soul’s secondary activity (cf. my comment on IV 3.22.1–7; also Kalligas 2000, 31–34), and hence it is ontologically inferior and utterly dependent on it. The related question of the relation of the souls to one another and of the manner in which ­these comprise a unitary multiplicity constitutes, as we have seen, one of the guiding motifs of the entire work, yet the reference h ­ ere is rather to treatise IV 9 [8], which is given the title “If All Souls Are One.” 29.50–55. ἀλλὰ τί . . . ​ταῦτα σκεπτέον: A per­sis­tent interlocutor poses again the question of ­whether the psychical trace lingers on the body even ­after the soul itself has departed. This is a possibility that remained pending following the “maybe” (isōs) in 29.7, and that helps make the transition to the subject that w ­ ill be expounded in the rest of IV 4: the embodied natu­ral powers that pervade the twilight zone of the Platonic worldview, the realm of magical interactions and practices. A gloss by a Byzantine scholiast on l. 55 a­ fter the word skepteon, attested in the majority of the MSS preserving the Enneads, provides an impor­tant piece of information on the history of the editions of P.’s oeuvre: “­Until this point extends On the Soul book two in Eustochius’ edition; whereas in Porphyry’s what follows continues in book two.” This comment has occasioned an entire debate on the form and content of the editio eustochiana—­unfortunately one that is largely fueled by no more than flimsy conjectures. See indicatively, Henry 1935; the relevant book review by Schwyzer 1976b, 544–45; Blumenthal 1987, 534–35; Brisson 1992, 65–69; Goulet-­Cazé 1992a, 71–76; also D’ Ancona Costa 2007, 64–67. I have elsewhere argued ­there is no reason to correlate the existence of that edition with the Plotinian passages included in Eusebius of Caesarea’s Preparatio Euangelica; see Kalligas 2001, 587–93. Nor is t­ here any other indication that Eustochius had seen to the publication of some other work by P. beyond the one discussed ­here, which, as we have had the opportunity to find out, would have been quite appealing to someone studying physiology, such as the physician Eustochius; on this, see VP 7.8–12 with my comment; also Blumenthal loc. cit. Consequently, the only conclusions warranted from the above comment are that: (a) Eustochius had prepared an edition (or even a copy for his personal use; cf. VP 20.6) of the pre­sent work; (b) in this edition this work was divided into at least three books that prob­ably bore the title “On the Soul” (cf. VP 5.20–24); and (c) the incision between the second and the third book occurred at this point; cf. Schwyzer 1951, 488, who observes that, thematically speaking, Eustochius’ incision is rather more apt than Porphyry’s, given that the rest of IV 4 and the entire IV 5 in fact constitute extended appendixes to the foregoing discussion. 30.1–4. Νῦν δ’ ἐπειδὴ . . . ​ἄλλοι τινὲς ἄνθρωποι: Cf. above, chapters 6–8 (on the memory of the stars), 25.13–26.4 (on their senses and their awareness of our prayers, e­ tc.). The participle kluontas alludes to the stock invocation “Give ear to [me] . . .” (Klūthi . . .) that typically introduced prayer-­hymns, ­after the model of the Homeric priest Chryses (Il. 1.37); cf., indicatively, Orph. fr. 2, 8, 9, 17, 28, 48, 50, 54, 56, 60, 69, 70, 78, 87; Theos. Tubing. 27.5; Procl. Hymn I, IV, VII; PGM I 198, IV 442, ­etc.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  109 30.5–20. καὶ πεπίστευται, . . . ​τὰ ανθρώπεια λέγοι: Faith (by employing the corresponding verb, pisteuein, P. is perhaps seeking to intimate his cautiousness vis-­à-­vis such beliefs; cf. VP 10.33–38 with my comments) in the efficacy of prayers and ritual practices is hard to reconcile with P.’s refusal to accept that the celestial gods have memory—­over and above the known prob­lems pertaining to the complicity of divine powers in the carry­ ing out of unfair or unholy deeds, or their cooperation in fostering erotic relationships (such as, e.g., the “wondrous eros-­binding spell” of the ­Great Magical Papyrus of Paris, PGM IV 297–407, where a number of chthonic deities are invoked to provide their support; see Bernand 1991, 289–302). Concerning the earth as Demeter-­Hestia and its gifts, cf. above, 27.11–17 with my comment. 30.21–32. ἀμφότερα οὖν . . . ​καὶ τὰ τούτων λαμβάνοι: ­Here P. announces the outlines of his investigation that is apol­o­g etic in tenor and w ­ ill revolve around two axes mainly: (a) what are the characteristics of this supposed “memory” of the stars; and (b) how is it pos­si­ble that the gods—­chiefly the celestial ones—­but also certain demons, appear to yield to the commands and aid in the pursuits of malicious men, notwithstanding Plato’s affirmations (Leg. X 905d1–906d7)? Cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.8.31–42. The response to (a) presupposes a meticulous examination of the way in which prayers work and an investigation into which aspect of the natu­ral universe’s constitution allows for their effectiveness. This ­will take place in chapters  31–39. With re­spect to (b), it requires an exploration of magical practices and the field where they are applied, with the aim of highlighting their partiality and limitations: see chapters 40–44. 31.1–24. Καθόλου τοίνυν . . . ​πραγματευτέον: An analy­sis of the external c­ auses for what takes place in the world, based on the tripartite schema phusis / technē / tuchē (“nature” / “science” / “chance”; this last is introduced further down, in 31.44ff.), which also features in Plato’s Laws 888e4–6; cf. n. 21 to the introduction to ΙΙΙ 1, and my comment on ΙΙΙ 1.1.24–36. The works of “nature” are divided in three groups, depending on the universality or partiality of the c­ auses and effects, whereas ­those of “science” according to ­whether the results are artificial or natu­ral (e.g., in the case of restoring a natu­ral state, such as health, by “technical” means; on technē as “help” (boētheia) of “nature,” cf. [Pl.] Epin. 975e1–976b4), or even purely “entertaining,” as in the case of rhe­toric and ­music; cf. Eratosthenes apud Strabo Geogr. I 15, as recommended by Theiler ad loc., as well as the similar division of the “sciences” in V 9.11.13–24. Illuminating examples are provided for all t­ hese cases, with the exception of that where a part exerts influence on the ­whole; this is a controversial case whose examination w ­ ill be postponed in 31.29–30, to be discussed in detail in chapters 40–42. As regards the astrological significance of the term schesis, see my comment on ΙΙΙ 1.2.26–30. 31.25–29. ὅτι μὲν οὖν . . . ​πολλαχῇ δῆλον: The influence that celestial phenomena exercise on earthly affairs, but also on one another, at least at the natu­ral level, constituted a recurring motif in the introductions to con­temporary astrological treatises, as exemplified by Ptolemy’s Apotelesmatica; see loc. cit. Ι 2, 1–5. On the supposed influence of

110  Fourth Ennead constellations on psychical dispositions, see mainly the chapter titled “On Psychical Affections” (ΙΙΙ 15) in the same work. 31.30–48. νῦν δὲ . . . ​καὶ ψυχὰς ἰούσης: If the effective action of the stars was the result of their nature, that is, of the heat (or the cold, although something of the sort would contradict their fiery constitution; cf. my comments on ΙΙ 3.2.2–5 and 5.29–33) they emit, then it would be impossible to account for the variety of their influences, which astrologists asserted they ­were able to ascertain. Mere fluctuations in the heat emitted from the vari­ous regions of heaven (which are, of course, correlated with the presence of correspondingly constituted celestial bodies t­here; cf. Arist. Gen. corr. II 3, 330b3–7, and Mete. IV 1, 378b11–13) would fail to explain the multifarious differences in terms of ­human character, passions, and fates that ­were ascribed to astrological circumstance. As observed by Thorndike 1923, 1:303, perhaps P. is h ­ ere arguing directly against the mechanistic explanation provided for astrological influences by authors such as Ptolemy, who reduced the “powers” (dunameis) of the planets to the primary qualities of heat, coldness, humidity, or dryness that characterize them; see Apot. Ι 4.1–7. Cf. also ΙΙ 3.2.10–16 and ΙΙΙ 1.6.3–10 with my comments. Even when it was acknowledged that external circumstance plays a decisive role (such as, e.g., when finding a trea­sure; cf. ΙΙ 3.14.17—­naturally, such occurrences w ­ ere often the object of astrological prognostications; cf., indicatively, Vett. Val. ΙΙ 14.1 and VII 3.50, 65.13–17, and 259.2–6), it would be impossible to account for it solely on the basis of the natu­ral effective action of such qualities. 31.48–58. οὐ μὴν . . . ​ὠφέλεια ἂν γίγνοιτο: On the other hand, it would be even more absurd to believe that the celestial gods are engaged calculating and regulating the fates of ­humans. P. is consciously employing expressions drawn from the objection of “Thrasymachus” in the first book of the Republic 344b3–4, thereby seeking to accentuate the ill w ­ ill that such a position would attach to them. The astrologers themselves claimed that the “planetary predominance” (oikodespoteia) over a man’s soul by a planet such as Saturn—­especially through the “binding together” (sunoikeiōsis) of other planets, such as Mars, Venus, or Mercury—­could result in a number of negative character traits, such as ­those enumerated by Ptolemy Apot. ΙΙΙ 14.10–19; cf. op. cit. ΙΙ 9.16; Paul Al. 24, 62.19–63.1, and 72.12–14; Firm. Mat. Math. III 7.12, 159.21–29, ­etc. Yet this would be unacceptable, b­ ecause it would entail that they exert a concealed and maleficent influence on ­human temperament, especially ­because they are in no position to reap any benefits from it. 32.1–9. Εἰ οὖν . . . ​καὶ ταύτῃ: If, therefore, we are to admit that such interactions do occur within the cosmos, we would need to ascribe them to ­causes that are not external, such as the ones just mentioned, but—­somehow—­internal to it. This means that, as Plato asserts in the Timaeus passage cited (30d3–31a1, where it is stressed that the unity of the sensible universe makes it resemble, as far as pos­si­ble, its intelligible model), the entire world constitutes a unitary living organism, where the cosmic Soul sustains and animates all par­tic­u­lar bodies that constitute it.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  111 32.10–13. καὶ τὰ μὲν . . . ​ἃ ἔχει: Thus, the parts of the sensible universe fall ­under two categories: (a) ­those whose configuration can be ascribed exclusively to the cosmic Soul, and therefore their be­hav­ior and activity is subject only to its inexorable law; and (b) t­ hose that, apart from the trace of the cosmic Soul, also possess the trace of another, in­de­pen­dent par­tic­u­lar soul, which affords them a certain degree of autonomy, depending on the extent to which that soul has been activated. Yet both, insofar as they constitute parts of the universe, are jointly subject to repercussion of the cosmic Soul’s effective action and, thereby, “co-­affect” one another b­ ecause they are coordinated with a unitary formative princi­ple. 32.13–16. συμπαθὲς δὴ . . . ​τῶν οὐκ ἐφεξῆς: Thus this forms the basis of the sumpatheia that holds together the dif­f er­ent parts of the universe and renders them capable of being co-­affected, given that they are coordinated by a unitary regulatory natu­ral law. This accounts for “interconnectedness (episundesis) of every­thing in the world” (in the words of Marcus Aurelius VI 38.1), thanks to which they operate as parts of a living organism. This is ­because in a living organism all parts and organs are coordinated between them by the unitary soul that animates them; consequently, what befalls one of ­these may directly impact another part, although this does not mean that the affection is transmitted mechanichally from one of the body to the other; cf. my comments on IV 2.2.18–31 and IV 3.8.1–4; also Alex. Aphrod. De an. 100.1–8; Galen UP Ι 8.18, 13.7–9. The origins of this belief can, of course, be traced back to the cosmobiological model of the Timaeus (see 30d3–31d1), yet this doctrine underwent continuous elaboration throughout the Hellenistic and Imperial periods; see my comments on ΙΙΙ 1.5.7–9 and ΙΙΙ 3.5.1–15; also SVF 2:1013; Röhr 1923, 38–76; Zintzen 1965, 83; Taormina 1984, 57–66. 32.16–25. ἀλλὰ διαλείποντος . . . ​τὸ πάσχον ἴσχει: The fundamental characteristics of “sympathetic” interaction—or rather, of the co-­affective interdependence between two phenomena, whose coordination is attributable to the fact that their manifestation is the result of their common dependence on a soul—­mentioned ­here are the following: a. Effective action over distance: The intervening space that seperates the two phenomena has no bearing on their relation to one another, ­because it does not derive from the transference of any qualitative characteristics between them, but is due to the unity of the soul that pervades them and that, qua incorporeal entity, is extraspatial; cf. above, 31.46–48, IV 3.11.21–23, IV 9.3.4–9; also Merlan 1953, 345; and the definition, Stoic in inspiration, of sumpatheia offered in Cic. Diu. II 34: “some natu­ral connexion between objects at a distance (distantium rerum).” b. Any body that may intervene between t­ hese two “sympathetic” phenomena is subject to no influence or change, given that it is not through it that affections are transferred between the two. In this way it is shown that this interaction is not mechanical. c. “Likeness” (homoiotēs) is mentioned as the determinative ­factor allowing for the “sympathetic” correlation between two phenomena; cf. IV 3.11.6–8; also Pigler 2005, 476n.26. As ­will emerge in what follows, this term should be understood in a broader sense, so as to include mathematical (harmonic) relations like ­those that give rise to the attunement of chords in musical instruments, as well as vari­ous types of “kinship” (sungeneia), even contrarieties; see further 41.4–9.

112  Fourth Ennead 32.25–39. βλαβερὰν δὲ . . . ​εὐνοίᾳ τῇ ἑαυτοῦ: From the outset, P. is keen to forestall an objection: if “sympathetic” interactions occur b­ ecause every­thing in the world is coordinated with the cosmic Soul, how can some of ­these be detrimental? The answer provided is a variant of the classic Stoic argument “through concomitance” (on this, see the introduction to chapter ΙΙΙ 2–3, and my comments on ΙΙΙ 2.16.40–58): the multiplicity that characterizes the universe—as also ­every single organism—­inescapably leads to the emergence of oppositions, even contrarieties, within it; t­ hese, however, contribute to the harmonious constitution of the ­whole. Thus, the integration of each part to the w ­ hole on the one hand secures its natu­ral operation and smooth synergy with other parts, while on the other it creates tensions and conflicts, which can prove destructive to e­ ither of ­these. One part’s tendency to become autonomous from the w ­ hole, selfishly seeking to further its narrowly conceived interests to the detriment of the rest (cf. Pl. Gorg. 485a2), ­causes it to clash with them, while at the same time it needs them ­because of its “kinship” to them. On the contribution of “spirit” (thumos) and “bile” (cholē) in the balanced functioning of the organism, cf. ΙΙ 3.5.34–38; also Galen UP V 4, 259.17–265.12; on the offshoots of plants that sometimes obstruct one another, cf. ΙΙΙ 3.7.20–28. 32.39–51. ἔργον τε . . . ​ἀεὶ ἔχειν: The bodily nature of individual animals has as a necessary consequence their preying on one another (cf. ΙΙΙ 2.4.16–17 and 15.15–33, as well as IV 3.16.5–11), and the predominance of the strongest, but in the end the natu­ral law and harmony prevails, which is imposed by the cosmic Log­os; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.4.26– 36. Consequently, the ultimate “end” (telos) that justifies the existence and activity of each of ­these lies not within them but in the overall design of the universe, of which they are part and mere ­factors. On the other hand, from the fact that they are parts it follows that their life—­and survival—­cannot possibly be connected constantly to the unquenchable vitality of the universe as a ­whole, and for that reason they are mortal. 32.51–52. οὐκ ἦν τε . . . ​τὸ μένειν ἔχον: Fi­nally, such preservation of the ­whole requires, insofar as we are talking about the realm of the sensibles, its perpetual motion and change; consequently, it entails the generation and destruction of every­thing it comprises. Cf. ΙΙ 1.1.12–31. 33.1–6. Τῆς δὴ φορᾶς . . . ​τ ὴν διάθεσιν εἶναι: The revolution of the heavens represents the most perfect expression of the orderliness of the cosmic Log­os, the simplest manifestation of the Soul’s vitality whence it stems; cf. my comment on ΙΙ 2.1.8–19. The body of the rest of the universe is necessarily also coordinated by the Log­os, even though movements within it are much less well-­ordered and smooth. Thus an analogy emerges between celestial and subcelestial phenomena, one that even allows for some kind of predictions, thanks to the regularity of the former; cf. ΙΙΙ 3.6.17–38 with my comments. 33.6–25. οἷον μίαν ὄρχησιν . . . ​διαπεραίνοντος: P. ­here has recourse to the familiar, virtually hackneyed, analogy of the motion of the celestial bodies to a dance or, in the formulation encountered in the magical papyri, to an “eternal dancing per­for­mance” (aennaon kōmastērion; see PGM XII 252 = XIII 773 = XXI 10, IV 1608, as well as the references

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  113 provided above, in my comment on 8.34–52) but attaches to it entirely novel extensions and invests it with new dimensions. H ­ ere, the chief coordinating f­actor is ­music; through its harmony and rhythm it governs the dance-­movements, incorporating them in a unitary log­os, that is, the expressive content to which the “deliberate choice” (prohairesis) of each performer aspires; cf. de Keyser 1955, 80–81. The dancer’s body experiences tensions and relaxations, while the position of each body member is determined by the choreography, yet all ­these are subject to and serve a unitary lawlike necessity, that of the specific artistic creation. Consequently, one intimately familiar with that par­tic­u­lar dance might predict the dancer’s par­tic­u­lar motions, not b­ ecause he possesses any knowledge of the partial ­causes ­behind them, but ­because he is conversant with the artistic goal ­toward which they tend. 33.25–41. τοῦτον τοίνυν . . . ​εἰς αὑτὸ ἀνάγκαις: In a similar manner, the motions of the celestial bodies express the natu­ral necessity of the cosmic Log­os, and indeed it does so in the most perfect and unimpeded way; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.14.22–30. Consequently, it is not the stars that exert influence over what happens on earth (as the proponents of “hard” astrology would have it; see my comment on ΙΙΙ 1.5.1–7), but the universal Log­os that ordains both, coordinating them so that together they compose a unitary living organism (cf. Pl. Ti. 30d3), thereby allowing for predictions by ­those acquainted with the proper “grammar” (cf. ΙΙΙ 1.6.18–24 with my comments), just as an experienced physician is able to make diagnoses and predictions about a patient’s health by observing symptoms in his organism (e.g., the patient’s pulse, facial or nail color ­etc.), which are not connected with his condition through (immediately verifiable, at least) causal relations. We realize h ­ ere that, just as e­ arlier to describe the dancer’s movements P. employed expressions also apposite in the case of the stars (“raised” hairetai hupsoū; “hidden” apokruptetai; “degraded” tapeinon ginetai), so ­here too he utilizes terms of specific astrological import (“relations” scheseis; “positions” theseis; “arrangements” schēmatismoi; cf. my comments on ΙΙ 3.1.20–24, ΙΙΙ 1.2.26–30 and 5.1–7), apparently in an effort to underline the analogies between them. 34.1–7. Ἡμᾶς δὲ . . . ​μηδὲ τὸ πᾶν ἄλλου: Whenever the opportunity arises, P. reiterates that our relation to cosmic Destiny, which is reflected in astrological predictions, pertains only to a part of us, and indeed not the most impor­tant and self-­ruling part; cf. ΙΙ 3.10, ΙΙΙ 1.5.20–28 and 6.3–10 with my comments. For, just like the sagacious servant in the example, the rational soul itself remains unfettered by cosmic necessity and its associated affections; cf. ΙΙΙ 1.8.9–20 with my comments. 34.7–17. τὸ δὲ . . . ​τὴν φύσιν δοκεῖ: The discussion now moves on to questions of a more technical nature. The arrangement of astral formations in heaven at any given time depends on the velocity at which each star moves while following its orbit and is determined by the mathematical relations through which the cosmic Log­os is expressed. Sublunar corporeal ele­ments, which are “sympathetically” connected to astral formations, must also be arranged in a similar manner. Yet such a correlation does not pertain to a single star. For

114  Fourth Ennead each star’s significance, although it may carry certain specific characteristics, is determined by its relation to the rest of the stars in the vault of heaven; cf. ΙΙ 3.1.20–26 with my comments. 34.17–27. ἢ ὀρθῶς ἔχει . . . ​καὶ τοῖς σχηματιζομένοις: Just like Ptolemy in the prologue to his Apotelesmatica, P. h ­ ere wishes to stress that the study of the “arrangements” of the stars (the subject of mathematical astronomy) does not suffice to explain astrological influences and significations, with which “effective” (apotelesmatikē) astrology is concerned. This brings him closer to granting that stars indeed exert some influence over earthly affairs, a position he ­will l­ ater try to somewhat distance himself from, in the relevant treatise ΙΙ 3 [52]; see, however, ΙΙ 3.9.35–43, and also ΙΙΙ 1.5.20–28 with my comment, as well as further down, my comment on 35.37–49. 34.28–33. ἐπεὶ καὶ τῶν ὀρχουμένων . . . ​σ υμπαθοῦντα: We briefly return to the image of the dancer. His motion is ­here analyzed on three successive levels: the first (a) is that his dancing figures as a ­whole, as we saw above, in 33.17–19, represent the artistic result to which the performer aspires, and this broadly corresponds to the cosmic Log­os; (b) next are the par­tic­u­lar movements of the members of his body, subordinated to the former, and corresponding to the movements of the stars in heaven; fi­nally (c) we have the smaller anatomical parts of which ­these members are composed, and thanks to which they are motile and operate as members of an organism. The latter apparently represent the natu­ral power that determines and pervades the movements and influences of celestial bodies, being regulated—­like the organism’s parts—by relations of “co-­affection” or “sympathy.” 35.1–8. Πῶς δὴ οὖν . . . ​ποιεῖν ἄτοπα: So where do ­these reciprocal reactions and sympathetic relations with the stars derive from, and how are they delimited? As has been made clear already (see above, 32.1–4), their c­ auses cannot be external (mechanical or volitional) but must arise from the organic nature of the universe and operate systemically, as universal and immutable natu­ral laws that govern the world, like the laws of physiology determine the synergy of the vari­ous organs and functions in a living body. Ptolemy, in Apot. ΙΙ 3, for example, had introduced a detailed system of “four triangular formations recognized in the zodiac,” through which he attempted to establish a kind of “ethnoastrology” by positing correspondences between each of ­these and a specific geo­graph­i­cal region and ascribing to the inhabitants of ­those regions “peculiar natures” (idiotropous phuseis) that determine their customs and psychological predispositions (but loc. cit., “­these traits would be found generally pre­sent, but not in e­ very individual”; trans. Robbins). P. wants to argue that, even if this ­were true, it could not have been due to ­either the ­will of the astral gods (cf. ΙΙ 3.2.16–21), or purely corporeal influences (e.g., the ones exerted by heat; cf. ΙΙ 3.2.2–16). 35.8–21. εἰ δὲ μνημονεύοιμεν . . . ​μέλη ἄλλα: By combining now the image of a living organism with its members (see 32.4–32) and that of a dancer with his movements (see 33.6–25), P. seeks to describe the motion of the stars, as well as the changes and

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  115 conditions in the sublunary region, correlated to the former though relations of “sympathy,” as manifestations of a unitary vital activity, one that is pervaded by the cosmic Log­os. The latter, in turn, is expressed in mathematical relations that make up cosmic order and harmony. Hence, the internal structure of the universe is in essence rational and reducible to mathematical terms and becomes manifest in a consistent and orderly manner. All par­tic­u­lar phenomena need to be understood and explained with reference to that overall design. Cf. also my comments on ΙΙΙ 2.2.18–36. 35.21–34. καὶ εἶναι . . . ​ταύτῃ συμβάλλει: But while the overall cosmic organism is possessed of a unitary and impassible “choice” (prohairesis), its propensity for the Good, its members, precisely ­because they are parts and, therefore, imperfect and deficient, develop their own autonomous tendencies. Indeed, the more imperfect t­ hese are, the more intense t­ hese powers become, sometimes even erupting into conflicts and mutual preying; cf. ΙΙΙ 2.2.1–7 and 4.16–26 with my comments. Just as in the h ­ uman organism desires and anger become expressed as partial tendencies, which often exert a divisive and disor­ ga­niz­ing influence on the organism as a ­whole, so also the universe accommodates inside it the countervailing pursuits of its vari­ous parts, which cause tensions and clashes, without, however, dissolving its overall harmony. Thus, one part may even harm the other, yet such detrimental influences are always imputed to their materiality and their concomitant partiality; cf. ΙΙ 9.4.22–47 with my comment. 35.34–37. ἐπεὶ καὶ . . . ​καὶ ὁ δεσπότης: Cf. above, 34.3–7. 35.37–49. εἰ δὴ δρᾷ τι . . . ​παρ’ ἄλλους: Seeking to explain the “influence” exercised by the stars on earthly affairs, P. h ­ ere marshals the theory of the two “activities”; on this, see my comments on Ι 2.1.29–38 and ΙΙ 3.8.1–9 with the references provided ­there. Although their primary activity is contemplative and directed t­ oward the intelligibles, the multiplicity of logoi they contain “emanates” from the intelligible world and shapes what lies beneath the stars, operating as Nature, that is, involunatarily and unconsciously, thereby also imparting some kind of hypnotic self-­awareness on the universe; cf. ΙΙΙ 8.4.15–31 with my comments. This is the ontological basis of the lawlike necessity that pervades “sympathetic” interactions in world and is experienced as (always subjugated to Providence) “Destiny” (heimarmenē); see my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.9.4–10. Therefore, the stars with their configurations reflect their dedication to the mathematically constituted cosmic Log­os, but at the same time act as intermediaries to Log­os’ formative “instructions” on earth, while each contributes the characteristics of its own peculiar temperament; cf. ΙΙ 3.9.34–42 with my comment. 35.49–59. ἐπεὶ καὶ καθ’ αὑτὰ . . . ​τὴν δύναμιν ἐχούσης: Determining is the importance, however, of each ­thing’s capacity, or lack thereof, to receive the influences of astral configurations. The ­thing itself also needs to possess the requisite “infrastructure,” such that (through its “similitude” (homoiotēs); cf. above, 32.17–20) ­will render it a suitable receptacle; cf. my comment on IV 3.11.6–8. Yet in both, what secures their response is the corresponding mathematical structure of their constitution, a fact that established a kind

116  Fourth Ennead of harmonic relation, which coordinates every­thing making them “attuned”; cf. above, 41.3–6. We see, therefore, that ­these “aspects” (schēmata) correspond to geometrical structures that or­ga­nize ­matter and represent the formative effective action of the cosmic Soul, a conditio sine qua non for the emergence of life in the world in all its diverse manifestations. 35.61–64. ἐπεὶ καὶ ὅλως . . . ​τῶν ἄλλων ἄμφω: The claim that heavenly schēmata, that is, configurations of the stars, exercise some kind of influence (“bring about” (poieīn): cf. ΙΙ 3.1.1–4) is buttressed ­here with an argument drawn from Plato’s Sophist (247d8–248c5; cf. the introduction to treatise ΙΙΙ 6). According to that argument, for something to r­ eally “be” (on), it must possess the “capacity . . . ​to do something to something e­ lse or to have even the smallest ­thing done to it by even the most trivial ­thing.” Given that they are indeed “beings” and yet suffer no affection whatsoever (cf. ΙΙ 1.3.23–30 and 8.1–5 with my comments), then they must as­suredly exert some influence. Sensible t­ hings in the sublunary region, on the contrary, receive this influence but also interact with one another. 35.64–69. καὶ ἐν τοῖς ὑποκειμένοις . . . ​πολλὰ παρέχονται: Yet “sympathetic” interdependencies and “powers” pertain not only to the stars and their configurations, but also to earthly bodies, some of which are connected to one another through “countless powers beyond description” that, as Philoponus explains, Aet. mund. ΧΙΙΙ 17, 530.17–22, are produced “in composite bodies by their distinct mixture, both corresponding and contrasting affections between bodies, infinitely many differences in colour and quality, and dif­fer­ent forms of motion and transformation.” As I have already noted, in my comment on ΙΙΙ 1.5.7–9, in antiquity this view had led to the composition of a multitude of treatises, works that in fact constituted cata­logues detailing such “sympathetic” correspondences and described the magical properties they allegedly entail. See also Röhr 1923, 55–90; Wellmann 1928, 10–14. 36.1–10. Ποικιλώτατον γὰρ . . . ​φερομένοις: The correspondence between the macrocosm and the ­human body’s microcosm (fundamental to the cosmology of the Timaeus; see Olerud 1951, 17–25) is employed to firmly establish the cosmobiological model for the sensible universe, which, as we have seen, forms the theoretical foundation for cosmic sumpatheia; see above, my comment on 32.13–16, and the one on ΙΙ 3.9.31–47. The “powers” that inhere in the vari­ous parts of an organism are dif­fer­ent from one another, but they are determined by their position and contribution to the w ­ hole, without which they would be incapable of acting. Their coordinated operation results in the overall life; thus, although it is unitary, this life takes on multifarious and variegated forms. In a similar way, therefore, the life of the cosmic “living being” is expressed through a fantastic variety of powers, which pervade and hold it together, articulating it into a unity; it also allows the application of correlations and the making of predictions for a part of it on the basis of what occurs in some other part; see above, my comment on 33.25–41. 36.10–15. οὐ γὰρ δή . . . ​ὃ μὴ ἔστιν αὐτῷ: A ­little ­earlier, in IV 3.9.29–36, the body of the universe was likened to the “home” (oikos) of the Soul. ­Here P. explains that the Soul’s

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  117 presence t­ here animates it, makes ­every single part of it brimming with life, even though this life is expressed differently in each. Cf. also ΙΙ 9.18.4–17. 36.15–24. διὸ καὶ ἐνταῦθα . . . ​τὴν οἰκείαν ζωήν: Thus, we realize that all par­tic­u­lar ­things on earth, even ­those that remain immobile, such as stones and plants mentioned above (see 35.686–89), possess life, in the sense that they participate and contribute to the overall life of the universe, just like bones (cf. 36.4–5) contribute their solidity and strength to the life of an organism, although in themselves they appear rigid and inert. Cf. above, 27.1–11 with my comments. 36.24–27. κἂν προαίρεσις . . . ​ταῖς δυνάμεσιν: ­Earlier, in 35.21–34, it was claimed that in fact only the overall “living being” possesses “deliberate choice,” not the particulars that constitute it: they merely contribute to what the w ­ hole aspires; cf. also 33.17–25. On the contrary, h ­ ere it is said that the universe lacks prohairesis of its own. How can this contradiction be explained? I think that h ­ ere “choice” refers to its solicitude for what occurs and lives in it. Something of the kind cannot be true for the cosmic Soul, which reveals no intention to arrange the world, nor does it act following advance planning; cf. above, 6.10–16 with my comment. Its only true prohairesis is directed outside the world, ­toward the realm of the intelligibles. See also above, my comment on 11.1–11; also Phillips 1995, 145. 37.1–6. Οὐδὲν οὖν . . . ​τοῖς ἐν χρήσει λέγοι: All powers in the universe, even the most common ones, can only be understood if we ­factor in the universal laws that govern it, not by treating them as unrelated and capricious phenomena. This basic exegetical princi­ ple carries significant and broad epistemological value, even though h ­ ere it is adduced in order to direct the discussion to the irrational powers of magia naturalis. 37.6–11. ἀλλ’ ἡμεῖς . . . ​τὰς δυνάμεις: In a few and rather densely written lines, our author faithfully encapsulates the spirit prevalent in the then con­temporary trend in dealing with natu­ral and naturalist phenomena: ordinary, daily phenomena ­were treated with indifference, for they ­were regarded as self-­evidently falling within the explanatory schemas of the dominant “paradigm”; unusual and exceptional phenomena, however, beyond a certain guarded distrust invited mainly paradoxographical interest and curiosity; cf., as Theiler points out ad loc., Sen. Nat. quaest. VII 1.1–2; also, as suggested by Bréhier ad loc., Cic. Nat. D. II 96. The theory that w ­ ill be expounded in the sequel aims precisely at bridging this gap by furnishing a broader exegetical model that can account for all kinds of phenomena, ranging from astral and magical influences to ­simple sensory apprehension. Yet the indirect manner in which it is introduced (“if someone presented a detailed account”) arguably suggests that ­here P. had in mind a specific work, which discussed the magical “powers” (dunameis) of the stones and herbs, always in the context of astral influences. This could be the “archaic book” mentioned as a source in the prologue to the Cyranides, the most celebrated of treatises dealing with the “natu­ral powers of sympathies and antipathies”; on this, see Ganszyniec 1920, 357–59. Cf. also pseudo-­Plutarch’s De fluviis (VII, 282–328, in Bernardakis’ edition;

118  Fourth Ennead on this, see Bidez 1935, 25–38) which, of course, exhibits more pronounced paradoxographical characteristics. 37.11–17. ἔχειν μὲν οὖν . . . ​φύσει χρώμενα: In all t­ hings, therefore, inhere powers enabling them to influence one another not only through their manifest natu­ral qualities (such as, e.g., their heat or weight), but also in a more mysterious and arcane way, which is a consequence of the organic constitution of the world; cf. above, 36.15–24 with my comment. But why are t­ hese powers described as “unreasoned” (alogon; l. 12)? Apparently unwilling to believe that P.’s well-­ordered universe could encompass such powers, Kirchhoff sought to emend the text (reading: “similar”—­analogon), yet Τheiler ad loc., is on a rather better path, suspecting that the term refers to the “involuntariness” (aprohaireton) of their origin; cf. above, 13.8–9 and 35.43–44. I believe, though, that P.’s rationale for using this term h ­ ere also involves the fact that t­ hese powers do not flow from the formative log­os, which provides the specific eidetic features that characterize each body and make it what it is, but from the shaping of m ­ atter by the cosmic Soul that precedes the onset of that log­os and renders it suitable to receive it; cf. my comments on IV 3.13.1–12 and 13.21–14.5, as well as below, 39.5–13. See also the citation from John Philoponus mentioned above, in my comment on 35.64–69. Even Galen, when discussing the therapeutic properties of stones, notes that “­those in accordance with the peculiarity of universal substance (i.e., ­those due to the overall cosmic order apparently) are powers intractable by ordinary methods or reasoning, capable to be known only through experience”; see SMT ΙΧ 2.1, ΧΙΙ 192. 37.17–25. καὶ γίνεσθαι πολλὰ . . . ​τὸ μὴ παρακολουθεῖν: What principally concerns P. is to firmly establish that ­these powers do not depend on the “choice” (prohairesis) of the ­thing that exercises them. They emanate from it as secondary activities that echo the cosmic Soul’s effective action on that t­ hing through Nature; cf. above, my comment on 13.1–11. Therefore, such powers do not in fact even belong to it and, hence, they are beyond its control. The comparison with the unconscious and uncontrolled reproductive activity of animals is quite in­ter­est­ing and reminds us of the “passionate natu­ral desire of sexual ­union,” mentioned in IV 3.13.19; see the relevant comment ad loc. Like this desire, so also the sympathetic powers respond to a cosmic necessity, and they can possibly, on occasion, overwhelm a person, rendering him a bondservant of Destiny. 38.1–12. Ἅ τε οὖν . . . ​φύσιν ἔχειν: The basic thesis P. wants to promote is that any cosmic influences should largely be imputed to the person that is subject to them: it is precisely his being in a specific state that allows them to have that par­tic­u­lar effect on him. The implication ­here seems to be that certain kinds of prayers are capable of motivating the cosmic powers, of course not by influencing the “deliberate choice” of their ­bearers but by taking advantage of the “sympathetic” correlations that inform ­these cosmic powers. The “emanations” of the stars, however, are in general beneficent, for they contribute to the preservation of cosmic harmony and order. It is up to each of the smaller terrestrial beings to take advantage of ­these, to the extent permitted by each being’s nature.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  119 38.12–22. πολλὰ δὲ . . . ​εἰς αἰσχρότητα: In addition, we should take into account that the vari­ous “sympathetic” influences coalesce with ­others and become intermingled, in such a manner that their final “mutual blending” (sunkrasis) differs significantly from its originally beneficent constituents; cf. my comment on ΙΙ 3.1.24–26. On “ugliness” (aischrotēs) as the privation of a “form” (eidos), cf. Ι 8.5.23–24. 38.22–39.5. ὥστε τὰ μὲν . . . ​καὶ τοῦδε ἐκείνων: P. is apparently hinting h ­ ere at a tripartite division of c­ auses into astral circumstance, “nature” (phusis), and individual “choice” (prohairesis). Something similar can be found in certain late Peripatetic sources; on this, see the introduction to treatise ΙΙΙ 1. The coalescence of ­these ­factors may bring about imperfections and conflict among the particulars, yet the overall arrangement of contrarieties results in a harmoniously ordained ­whole; cf., indicatively, my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.3.5–18. Virtuous, that is, truly voluntary prohairesis in par­tic­u­lar (on this, see ΙΙΙ 1.9.1–16 with my comments) is completely autonomous and in­de­pen­dent of limitations and compulsions; it is, to use the classic Platonic formulation (Resp. 617e3), “without master” (adespotos); cf. ΙΙ 3.9.17, VI 8.5.31, and the analy­sis in VI 8.6.4–22; also, “Alcinous” Didasc. 26, 179.10. This brings to mind the ­earlier reference to the “sagacious” (emphrōn) servant; see 34.3–7; cf. also Procl. In Remp. ΙΙ 99.1–3 (= Chald. Or. fr. 99). All the same, it contributes to universal order as well; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 1.12.7–12. 39.5–11. γίνεται τοίνυν . . . ​παρὰ τῶν γενομένων: In the context of a brief critique of the Stoic theory of “seminal princi­ples” (spermatikoi logoi; cf. SVF 2:1027, 1074, 1132, ­etc.; also Longinus fr. 27), P. seizes the opportunity to emphasize that the logoi shaping sensible (mainly living) bodies are not isolated mechanical ­causes, cut off from one another and the overall Log­os of the universe; on the contrary, each contains a multitude of powers that represent the vari­ous intelligible origins that compose it; cf. V 9.6.10–20 and my comment on ΙΙΙ 1.7.1–4. Hence, ­these logoi are “eidetic” rather than “active” (cf. ΙΙ 3.16.18–26) and guide the actions of the souls by incorporating within them an entire network of intelligible c­ auses, albeit in a comprehensive form lacking detail. The view that “inclusive princi­ples” (perilēptikoi logoi) inhere in nature, and that our intellection is capable of conceiving t­ hese directly, and therefore “clearly” (enargōs), was particularly widespread in early ­Middle Platonism, chiefly in the context of interpreting a passage of central importance from the Timaeus (28a1–4); see, for example, Sext. Emp. Math. VII 141–43 (= Antiochus?); “Alcinous” Didasc. 4, 156.5–7. 39.11–17. ἀλλὰ μᾶλλον . . . ​εἰς συμφωνίαν χωρούντων: ­Here, the cosmic Log­os is in effect identified with “Destiny” (heimarmenē), at least in the way certain ­Middle Platonists understood the latter. This is an overall regulation of the consequence of ­every action that, operating as “civic law” (politikos nomos) weaves together (following the model of civic art, presented by Plato in the Politicus, 305e2–6) ­human (and other) activity with specific concomitant effects, thereby imposing a kind of ­legal order in the cosmos; cf. mainly [Plut.] Fat. 4–5, 569d–570e. 39.17–23. ἡ δὲ σημασία . . . ​ὁμοῦ ποιῶν: The stars’ capability to act as signs should therefore be explained in this context. This is a consequence of the overall coordination of

120  Fourth Ennead every­thing and is due to the fact that the parts of the sensible universe are interconnected through the “unreasoned powers,” mentioned ­earlier, in 37.12. Cf. ΙΙ 3.7.1–13. This can lead us to the conclusion that the type of semantic relationship P. is thinking about is closer to the Aristotelian paradigm (see An. Pr. II 27, 70a7–9: “Anything such that when it is another ­thing is, or when it has come into being the other has come into being before or ­after, is a sign of the other’s being or having come into being,” trans. ROT) rather than the Stoic one, which further required that the “sign” (sēmeion) should “serve to reveal the consequent” (trans. Bury; see SVF 2:221), and moreover provided complete certainty of inference; on this, see Burnyeat 1982, 234–35. A ­ fter all, elsewhere P. himself employs the argument that the same astrological circumstance may be connected with completely dif­fer­ent events; see ΙΙΙ 1.5.55–59; cf. also Aristotle De divinatione per somnum II, 463b23– 31. And of course, the absence of a definite causal link between the sign and the signified precludes using the one to explain the other; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 3.6.17–20. 39.23–32. εἰ δὴ ταῦτα . . . ​τοῦ δοθέντος: This first section of his treatment of “sympathetic” interactions is rounded off with a brief restatement of the arguments discussed thus far. Our author reveals that his chief concern so far had been exonerating the astral gods (cf. Theologia Aristotelica VI, 6.6–7; also Schwyzer 1941, 227) of any culpability over the evils of the earthly world; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 1.6.10–18. The points summarized are the following: (a) No “deliberate choice” is pre­sent in the parts of the world through which prognostications are carried out (cf. 37.17–21); ­these simply act in unison with what is ­here, being coordinated in a common rhythm by the necessity imposed on them by the cosmic Soul (cf. 37.13–15; also, on the reading “psychical” (psuchikaīs) in l. 25, see IV 5.3.37–38; also Thillet 1999–2003, 11–16). (b) Each ­thing’s peculiar nature contributes to what is due to the par­tic­u­lar components of the world, and it also influences the ultimate outcome (cf. 38.11–12 and 16, as well as ΙΙΙ 1.6.1–3 with my comment). (c) By becoming blended together with overall influences, astral ones are altered and can even turn out to be detrimental for some parts (cf. 38.12–16). We should note ­here that, conversely, in Cicero Nat. D. ΙΙ 119, this mixing of influences staves off pos­si­ble negative consequences stemming from the action of each single star. (d) The life that sets all ­these in motion is overall, and every­thing contributes to it (cf. 38.17–19). Th ­ ese arguments pertain to the characteristic features of cosmic influences. To t­ hese we should add that the material substrate of the universe is not always accommodating to them, as it often resists, inciting upheaval or disorder; cf. ΙΙ 3.16.41–54 with my comment. 40.1–4. Τὰς δὲ γοητείας . . . ​εἰς ἓν ζῷον συντελούντων: Beyond the correlations linking earthly and celestial phenomena, however, cosmic “sympathy” also establishes relations of interdependence and interaction between the ­things in the sublunary realm. ­These make pos­si­ble the effective use of vari­ous magical practices, and their impact extends further than the region of pure materiality, reaching into that of broader psychophysical phenomena. H ­ ere P. employs the term “enchantment” (goēteia), which alludes to lower forms of magic, contrary to “prayers” (euchai) that w ­ ere mentioned above, in 26.1 (see my relevant comment), 15, 30.3, and 38.3; the latter prob­ably belong to the purview of “theurgy” (theourgia; notwithstanding the claim in Mazur 2004, 31 and 34, that

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  121 P. never mentions such kind of practices); on this, see Luck 1985, 21. The same word was used ­earlier to describe the “bond” that brings souls into contact with bodies (see IV 3.17.27 with my comment), so it becomes clear that the phenomena about to be discussed are shrouded in the half-­light of the reflections of psychical activity on m ­ atter: to put it other­wise, they are the offshoots of the “solicitude” (kēdemonia) the cosmic Soul shows for the body of the universe; cf. my comment on IV 3.11.6–8. Consequently, they fall firmly within the operation of Nature, which, as we have seen elsewhere (see mainly ΙΙΙ 8.4.15–31 with my comments, as well as above, my comment on 13.11–25) unfolds in an utterly instinctive and unconscious manner, although it does ensure the “sympathetic” reciprocity between the dif­f er­ent parts of the world, articulating it into a unitary organic w ­ hole. At the same time, P. points out that the basis for the establishment of relations of “sympathy” and “antipathy” between the vari­ous parts of the world, irrespective (as we saw: see 32.13–25 with my comments) of the distance that separates them, always in the context of his cosmobiological theory, is the “likeness” (homoiotēs) or the “unlikeness” (anomoiotēs) that characterizes them. This similarity constituted, of course, the foundation of homeopathic magic, which was believed to act on the basis of the Empedoclean princi­ple “like to like” (similia similibus; see fr. 31A 20a, B 62.6, 90 DK; cf. also Pl. Ti. 53a4–6). A typical application of this princi­ple is often encountered, for example, on “curse tablets” (defixiones in Latin, or katadesmoi in Greek), expressed through the formula “just as . . . ​, so . . .”: see Audollent 1904, lxxiv–­lxxv and 491–92. Röhr op. cit. 115– 24, has remarked that “similitude” (homoiotēs) and “intimacy” or “connection” (oikeiotēs) are often mentioned by medical authors such as Galen as responsible for the potency of vari­ous medicinal substances, which act through “sympathy” (or, in Galen’s own words “in accordance with the peculiarity of universal substance”; cf. above, my comment on 37.11–17; also Scarborough 1991, 150–51). As noted in Proclus In Ti. Ι 412.22–23, trans. Runia and Share, “community of affection (sumpatheia) is the result of sharing in the same nature.” See also Thorndike 1923, 1:86–88. We can observe that, living in an age where superstition and irrationalism had gained almost complete ascendancy, P. was willing, in general, to attribute far greater importance to such occurrences and practices than Plato (on this, cf. Graf 2002, 97ff.). ­Here he lays down some fundamental princi­ples for explaining magical interactions: ­these are largely identical to ­those J. G. Frazer would select much ­later, in the third and more speculative chapter of his monumental work The Golden Bough, where he seeks to codify the phenomena of “sympathetic magic” on the basis of the following polarity: (a) “homoeopathic or imitative magic”; and (b) “contagious magic.” As mentioned ­there, the former “is based [on the notion] . . . ​that like produces like, or that an effect resembles its cause,” while the latter maintains “that t­ hings which have once been in contact with each other continue to act on each other at a distance a­ fter the physical contact has been severed”—­where, in other words (see Bernand 1991, 150–51), “the part is identified with the w ­ hole.” Correspondingly, h ­ ere too the “concord of all t­ hings that are alike,” on one hand, and the “constitution of the life of the one living creature” on the other, are given prominence as necessary preconditions for the effectiveness of all sorts of magic powers.

122  Fourth Ennead We should note that this is the very first time an explanatory schema such as this makes its appearance in ancient lit­er­a­ture, although it has been argued that it is presupposed in works such as t­ hose by pseudo-­Democritus, or Bolus of Mendes; see Wellmann 1921, 21; also Gordon 1999, 234–35. It exercised determining influence on ­later notions of magic, yet it is not pos­si­ble to further analyze it ­here; cf., however, the pertinent critical observations in Hadot 1982, 286–92; and Graf 1998, 205–15. 40.4–6. καὶ γὰρ . . . ​καὶ τὸ νεῖκος αὖ: The magical “sympathies” and “antipathies” pervading Nature are described in terms of the Empedoclean cosmic forces of “Love” and “Enmity” (Philia and Neikos; see fr. B 17.7–8 = 26.5–6 DK; cf. my comment on ΙΙ 3.11.1– 13; also Kingsley 1995, 298–300; Kingsley 2002, 357–58. Pliny HN ΧΧ 1 also speaks of “the hatreds or friendships which are maintained by objects dumb and destitute of sense . . . ​known to the Greeks by the respective appellations ‘sympathia’ and ‘antipathia,’ ” trans. Bostock and Riley). Yet the emphasis ­here is on the fact that ­these are not due to some exogenous f­ actor, or some kind of “divine w ­ ill,” but constitute a s­ imple expression of the stable and immutable—­almost mechanical, in terms of its impersonal and undeliberate character—­natu­ral law; see Merlan 1953, 345; also Taormina 1984, 66. ­These forces act as invisible threads that link and draw the vari­ous bodies to one another, thus triggering their interactions, albeit in an almost automatic manner and with the rigorous consistency of an irrefragable natu­ral law. Thus, the activity of each body engenders certain reactions in some other bodies, which are linked to it through such relations; ­these reactions may have further consequences in the world, resulting in all of its parts being sustained and regulated by the laws of magia naturalis. It would be somewhat helpful ­here, however, to keep in mind that, according to what is claimed in the Timaeus (32b8–­c4), the “friendship” (philia) holding “the body of the world” together is due to the fact that the Demiurge has imposed on it arithmetic relations and “proportions” (analogies), through which its vari­ous parts are linked together in a way that is well-­ordered and “could not be undone by anyone but the one who had bound it together.” Cf. Pl. Grg. 507e6–508a7. 40.6–12. καὶ ὁ γόης . . . ​ἐχούσας ἔρωτα: On the level of my­thol­ogy, this web of powers is expressed, of course, by cosmic Eros (on this, see my comment on ΙΙΙ 5.3.27–38), which is ­here alluded to through the characteristic appellations attributed to him in Plato’s Symposium 203d8; t­ hese attributes (including a third one, omitted h ­ ere: “sophist” (sophistēs)) are notable for their inherent ambivalence: they are qualities that can be used to serve both evil and righ­teous ends; see Hadot, op. cit., 284–86; also the classic analy­sis in Derrida 1972, 109–15. (This is also emphasized by Iamblichus, in an intriguing parallel fragment from his commentary on Plato’s Sophist, apud Scholium In Sophistam 40 = fr. 1 Dillon: “He is also a ‘sorcerer,’ inasmuch as he charms the souls with the princi­ples of Nature, so that they may be hard to separate from the realm of generation. For Love is also a sorcerer, and Nature is called by some a magician by reason of the system of sympathies and antipathies among physical ­things.”) Hence, the ­people capable of understanding the nature and the ways in which ­these forces act can take advantage of and manipulate them to serve their own, possibly even self-­seeking, ends. This arbitrary use

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  123 of natu­ral laws with the aid of a certain type of “technology,” which perverts their normal operation, subordinating them to anyone’s uncontrolled w ­ ill, represents the lowest and most pernicious form of magic; see Taormina 1984, 68. It is this that is reflected in the varied magical “­recipes” preserved in the so-­called magical papyri, the binding spells mentioned ­earlier, and in a plethora of other descriptions we find in many literary sources attributed to witches, magicians, and sorcerers; see, indicatively, the episode recounted by Porphyry VP 10.1–13. In such rituals the “sorcerer” (goēs) succeeds in laying hold of Nature’s powers and subjugating them, sometimes turning them against Nature itself. In this case, instead of Nature’s servant (ministra: see Ficino In Cοnu. VI 10, 220.27), art becomes its master. This pro­cess is pithily summarized in a famous saying ascribed to the legendary Persian magus Ostanes, which by the Hellenistic period had apparently became widely known: “nature delights in nature, and nature conquers nature, and nature masters nature”; see [Democr.] Natu­ral and Mystical Questions 3, CΑlchGr 43.20–21 and 57.13–15 = fr. 68Β 300: 17 and 18 DK = Bidez and Cumont 1938, fr. Α 6; also Festugière 1944–54, 1:228–33. That work reveals the “love” (philia) that interconnects all bodies, the link between natu­ral “activities” (energeiai) and plea­sure, as well as the capability of such “activities” to overcome and ultimately subdue even natu­ral order itself and its inexorable laws. That the underpinning for all such relations and activities was some kind of erotic attraction, which connects every­thing and attracts bodies dif­fer­ent from one another making them behave as one, is divulged, among other t­ hings, by the fact that the most common aspiration in all the variegated magical practices, incantations, and binding spells was securing erotic benefits: beginning or restoring an affair; excluding or annihilating any competitors; securing the partner’s subjugation, and so on. From the seemingly inexhaustible multitude of relevant testimonies, it would suffice h ­ ere to mention Theocritus’ second Idyll (titled “Sorceresses”) and three “­recipes” from the ­Great Magical Papyrus of Paris, PGM IV 296–466, 1496–1595 (“Love spell of attraction over an offering of myrrh”) and 1716–1870 (“Sword of Dardanus”); see also Bernand 1991, 285– 306; Winkler 1991, 214–43; and, of course, the relevant monograph by Faraone 1999, where, however, the attempt to draw a distinction between “eros magic” and “philia magic” (29) seems to be at odds with what P. claims ­here. Even in Plato’s Charmides (155b1–­e8) it is made clear that the “drug” (pharmakon) Socrates offers to his young interlocutor serves not only therapeutic purposes but also erotic ones. Both the magical papyri (e.g., PGM VII 973–80) as well as the Cyranides (e.g., ΙΙ 14.10–13, to which cf. Theocr. ΙΙ 58) provide diverse r­ ecipes for “charms for winning f­ avor acting by means of touch” (parapsima charitēsia): ­these ­were concoctions that, when ingested or in the form of compresses, ­were supposed to excite erotic passion, whereas Dioscorides De Materia Medica ΙΙΙ 126, Euporista ΙΙ 96, mentions the aphrodisiac properties of vari­ous plants, which clearly result from their similarity to ­human reproductive organs. Obtaining an ousia, that is, some part of a person’s body—­for example, a lock of hair from his head (on this, see Preisendanz 1918, 5–8)—to be used in “fetching spells” (agōgai) with the aim of manipulating him erotically was a widespread practice; see Apul. Met. III 16–8; also the binding love spells published in Wortmann 1968, 60ff., 1.19–27, 77–80, 2.19–32, 57– 69. ­There, it also becomes evident that the specific “sorcerer” simply seeks that the object of his desire becomes violently drawn to him: “Drag (helke) Matrona by her hair, by

124  Fourth Ennead her guts, by her soul, by her heart ­until she comes to Theodoros . . .” (trans. Faraone); cf. PGM IV 376–77; SMag 46.23, 47.23, 50.64. That is why I have deemed it necessary to restore the text in l. 10, following the Arabic version and a suggestion by Kirchhoff, by substituting holkē erôtikē for the MSS reading alkē erôtikēs. Cf., besides, VP 10.11, IV 3.13.11, and further down in the pre­sent chapter, 40.18, 22. 40.12–14. καὶ συνάπτουσι . . . ​πρὸς ἄλληλα: As ­will become clear below (see 45.10–24), the souls that are conjoined through sumpatheia are not the real souls, but their embodied images, whose glow, as has been stated, lingers for a period of time in “substances” suitable to be used as materia magica, even ­after the death of the specific animal; cf. above, 29.5–6. The parallelism drawn from plant life is rather apt, more so in view of the fact that, for authors such as Bolus of Mendes, botany and agriculture represented the primary ground for implementing findings from the theory of “sympathies”; see Kingsley 1995, 298–99. Also particularly worth noting is a passage by Achilles Tatius (Leuc. et Clit. Ι 17.3–5) on the “marriage” (gamos) of plants, cited in Hadot 1982, 287n.32. 40.14–20. καὶ τοῖς σχήμασι . . . ​πρὸς ἄλλο ἄγεται: ­Here our author apparently refers to an aspect of ancient magical rituals very l­ ittle known to us. As it seems, through striking specific stances and bodily moves the sorcerer sought to imitate, in some sense, the configurations and motion of heavenly bodies (cf. above, 34.7–27) thereby endeavoring to appropriate from them powers suitable for his work. Clearly it is not by accident that some of the rituals described in the magical papyri involve invocations to the celestial gods, often to the setting sun; see, e.g., PGM IV 1165–225, 1598–715, and cf. the verb “to crush by star-­spells” (astrobolēsai) employed by Porphyry in VP 10.4. This is taken by P. as a confirmation of the universal character of magical powers, which can be drawn from Nature solely ­because of the unity of the cosmos and the soul that informs it; cf. IV 9.3.4–9. This is ­because the sorcerer’s actions (such as the “attractive or binding spells” mentioned by Plato, Resp. 364c3–4) do not overturn, nor are they exogenous to the laws of Nature; on the contrary, they provide the foundation for such actions, although through them he manipulates ­these laws to his interest. We need to understand the verb agein ­here as signifying magical actions, that is, as equivalent to the noun agōgē, the technical term commonly used for such, chiefly erotic, practices; see LSJ, s.v., Ι 8b; also, indicatively, PGM IV 1390, 1928, 2007, ­etc.; Winkler 1991, 224–26; also Faraone op. cit., 25–26. 40.20–27. πέφυκε δὲ . . . ​χρωμένων: At this point, P.’s attention turns to the psychological dimension of the phenomenon of magic. The imposing rituals, the melody and the eerie sounds that accompany invocations (cf. my comment on ΙΙ 9.14.2–8), the supplicating movements and screams captivate, fascinate, and entice onlookers, just as a good musical per­for­mance would; for the latter appeals to the irrational soul, and can readily move the audience (cf. Ι 3.1.20–29 with my comment), thereby pleas­ur­ably sweeping them along almost without their realizing it. From this perspective, magic appears to be a common, almost everyday phenomenon. This is so ­because, as pointed out by Wallis 1983, 501, in P.’s view “the sensible world, penetrated as it is with magical forces, is already a more mysterious place than the ordinary man believes it to be.” Th ­ ings experienced

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  125 routinely, such as love and the attraction of ­music, testify to the dissemination and power of forces associated with magic, albeit not beyond the dictates of universal natu­ ral law; see also Graf 2002, 102–3; and Hadot 2004, 123–24. Yet, just like ­music (see Ι 3.1.28–34), so also magic in itself lacks anagogical potential, it is incapable of liberating the soul from the operation of natu­ral law; on the contrary, it brings the soul into greater affinity with it and exposes it to its own irrational drives. 40.27–41.1. καὶ τὰς ἄλλας δὲ . . . ​οὐκ ἐπαΐει: To stress the irrational and nondeliberate character of magical influences, the supposed ability of certain snakes to beguile and hypnotize their prey, without the victim realizing it at the time, is cited as an example (this is not to be strictly identified with the purportedly fatal power of the mythical basilisk’s gaze; on this, see Plin. HN XXIX 66; Galen Ther. Pis. XIV, 233.15–19; also Goossens 1934, 434–38). P. is chiefly interested in this aspect: magic only acts on and appeals to the unconscious and instinctive level of lower psychophysiological pro­cesses; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 6.4.18–23 and ΙΙΙ 8.4.15–25. This holds true both for the “­humble” spells of plebeian magicians and for the theurgic rituals of high priests. Invocations to the sun (cf. above, my comment on 40.14–20, and, e.g., van den Berg 2001, 145–50) or to any other star cannot be truly accepted, inasmuch as the stars do not possess an autonomous “deliberation”; see above, 36.24–27 with my comment, and my comment on 26.1–4; also Porph. De reg. an. fr. 290F; Zintzen 1965, 84. Their effectiveness relies solely on the irrational and unconscious interconnections inherent in Nature. Therefore, no such technique could contend with, much less substitute for, philosophical “contemplation” (theōria). In ll. 28–31 we have a characteristic example of the oral style that often informs P. writings; cf. VP 8.1–11, 13.2–5, 14.1–4, e­ tc. His brisk phrases and inconsistent use of grammatical number render this passage particularly lively and vivid, without obscuring its meaning. 41.1–9. καὶ γίνεται . . . ​καὶ τῶν ἐναντίων: Seeking to further emphasize the automatic, almost mechanical manner in which magical “sympathy” or “co-­affection” (sumpatheia) operates, P. introduces a second analogy, perhaps the most familiar and arguably most illuminating one extant ­today about this enigmatic doctrine; cf. also above, 8.56–57. The vibration of a section of a taut chord sets in motion the entire chord. This phenomenon corresponds to the “co-­affection” of the ­whole to its part (cf. case (b), mentioned above, in the comment on 40.1–4). At the same time, the motion of a chord can be transmitted to another nearby chord, provided that they have been appropriately “attuned”, that is, they are interconnected through one of the basic harmonious relations constituting the consonant musical intervals (eighth, fifth, and fourth: diapasōn, diapente, and diatessarōn), which are also expressed as s­ imple arithmetic “proportions” (logoi) on the monochord kanōn (2:1, 3:2, and 4:3 or diploos, hemiolios, or epitritos). This phenomenon whereby a body acts on another body over distance on the basis of the mathematical relations interconnecting them had already been a popu­lar model for explaining “sympathetic” interactions for the Stoics; cf. Cic. Diu. II 33; yet cf. also Theon Sm. De ut. math. 50.22–51.20; Iamblichus apud Simpl. In Cat. 302.37–303.3; Asclepius In

126  Fourth Ennead Metaph. 92.21–25, and Synesius De ins. 2.3 (yet the latter, in all likelihood, was also aware of this par­tic­u­lar passage from the Enneads; on this, see Dickie 2002, 170). It is worth noting, however, that while some ­later authors (such as, e.g., Porphyry Ad Gaurum 11.4; Arist. Quint. De mus. ΙΙ 18; and Philoponus In De an. 120.34–121.9) introduce sumpatheia to explain the body-­soul relation, P. only adduces it with re­spect to the mutual interactions between bodies, inasmuch as the soul itself, being a wholly incorporeal substance, is, in his view, insusceptible to any affection; cf. ΙΙΙ 6.1.21–30 and my comments on Ι 1.5.3–5 and ΙΙΙ 6.4.41–52. At any rate, the harmonic relation that interconnects co-­affected bodies is composed of a combination of likeness (cf. case (a), and above, my comment on 32.16–25) and unlikeness; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 2.16.40–41 and ΙΙΙ 3.5.1–15. Furthermore, it necessarily presupposes that they are both ordained in a larger orga­nizational scheme, regulated by a unitary cosmic Log­os; cf. Rodier 1976, 310–11. This last is what differentiates the function of sumpatheia from the purely corporeal interactions between bodies through mechanical “pushings” (ōthismoi). That is why it can occur over distance, without requiring physical contact or the interposition of some medium; cf. above, my comment on 32.16–25. 41.9–15. καὶ ὅσα λωβᾶται . . . ​εἰς ὃν μετηνέχθη: As has already also been pointed out by most editors since Ficino’s time, the text of this passage is manifestly corrupt; in fact, H-­S have at one time or another obelized shorter or longer portions of it; cf. also Cilento’s comment ad loc., 536–37. The emendation I propose echoes an interpretation I believe to be consistent with what has been claimed ­earlier. In my view, P. ­here seeks to argue that, even if it is harmful, magical activity does not upset the succession of natu­ral ­causes, but on the contrary, it is ordained within it. The malevolent magician is likened to an arsonist: but to act, he can only have the fire passed to him from somewhere ­else; only then can he pass it on to something suitable to receive it, that is, something flammable. The point our author wants to emphasize is that magic is not contrary to nor cut off from the ordered course of nature, but it acts within its framework and being subordinated to it, just as the transitorily violent stirrings of the bile owing to states of the spirited part (cf. above, 32.27–30) fall u­ nder the natu­ral functioning of the organism, although they might at times prove harmful. Fi­nally, only ­those who are exposed or vulnerable to it can suffer harm. 42.1–8. Ὥστε οὔτε μνήμης . . . ​ὡς ἐν ζῴω ἑνί: Accordingly, ­because the celestial gods lack (and have no use for) both memory and the lower senses (see above, 30.1–4 with my comment), the fact that they respond to ­human invocations and prayers cannot be attributed to a deliberate intention on their part; rather, it is informed by rigorous and immutable natu­ral laws, whose automatism can indeed be artfully manipulated, yet this does not imply t­ hese gods are conscious accomplices in this. In the words of Rist 1967b, 204–5, “they do not act; they simply react,” in accordance with predetermined and irrefragable pro­cesses. See also Esser 1967, 32. 42.8–14. καὶ ἀπολαύει . . . ​τοῦ αἰτοῦντος ὄντος: The mutual interactions between the parts of the universe is governed by the unitary natu­ral law that pervades it b­ ecause of

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  127 its nature qua a living organism; see my comment on 32.13–16. Consequently, even the arts—­such as medicine, magic, as well as ­every technical application related to the natu­ ral world—­are ordained within this framework and must conform to its mandates. The resulting benefit or harm depends not on any divine intention, as the gods’ intentions have no share, but on the nature of the person who incurs the consequences of the specific action. 42.14–19. εἰ δὲ κακὸς . . . ​τὴν δίκην: The automatism that characterizes sympathetic interactions allows anyone who has studied and comprehends them to employ them for his or her own purposes; cf. 40.6–17. This “technological” employment of the natu­ral laws is morally neutral in itself, yet its consequences fall within the universal design; thus, even actions that might appear harmful, may eventually be vindicated; cf. ΙΙΙ 2.18.13–18. In 18, I am following the reading and punctuation preserved in the MSS, although the meaning appears somewhat paradoxical, especially in view of the implacable theodicy described, for instance, in ΙΙ 3.8.3–4, ΙΙΙ 2.4.20–25, 39–44, and 13.1–15. This is the reason ­behind the repeated attempts to emend the text so as to have it express something more palatable: von Kleist, for instance, deletes the word ou; H-­S1 turn the sentence into a question by adding a question mark at the end, a­ fter the word dikēn; H-­S2 follow Gollwitzer’s suggestion and add one more comma a­ fter the phrase ou deon, taking it to refer to what the “evil one” (kakos) “received” (elaben, i.e., that he got it although he should not have), and not to the consequences of his deed (this is how most recent scholars construe the meaning of the passage). Yet this would render quite meaningless the phrase “what lies at the disposal of all” (ek tōn pāsi keimenōn). Apparently, the author is ­here seeking to stress that the laws that govern Nature are accessible to all, and that exploiting ­these is not something reprehensible in itself. This is also how this phrase was understood by the Arab author who paraphrased it; see Theology of Aristotle VI 41. 42.19–30. οὔκουν δοτέον . . . ​λανθάνοντος: This paragraph effectively concludes a large excursus that commenced in IV 4.6 and pertained to the psy­chol­ogy of the cosmic Soul and the stars or, in other words, Nature. Both the universe in its entirety, as well as its large parts, the celestial bodies, are insusceptible to any kind of affections, ­because nothing extraneous can reach and affect them, nor do they have any need of anything down ­here that they may desire it. This argument is known to us also from Alexander of Aphrodisias Mund. Α 9–10, but it is expounded in much greater detail also by P. in his “On Heaven” (ΙΙ 1 [40]). ­Here it is specifically marshaled to disprove the views of ­those who held that through magical or other rituals they would be able to influence stellar and other cosmic forces, diverting them from their natu­ral order. 43.1–5. Ὁ σπουδαῖος . . . ​τοῦτο πάθοι ἄν: On the level of individuals, what influence can magic and magical potions exert on a wise man? ­After all that has been claimed thus far, it becomes clear that another, larger question is latent b­ ehind this: What could be the appeal of the sensible world and of the natu­ral forces governing it on the wise man? The answer to this is pretty self-­evident, if we consider that he, although not cut off from his body, is exclusively devoted to the contemplative life, the enjoyment of intellective

128  Fourth Ennead contemplation, for he has gained awareness that his true self is the intellective core of his existence. He is, therefore, unaffected by contingencies that can solely impact his corporeal side; cf. Ι 4.13.1–3, 14.11–20, 16.1–22 with my comments, as well as Schniewind 2003, 169–70. Hence, magical influences, too, inasmuch as they are interwoven with the forces of material Nature alone, would be unable to exert action on that which is the exclusive concern of the wise man, his intellective life. 43.5–11. ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἔρωτας . . . ​αὐτὸς δὲ ἀβλαβής: The erotic attraction that, as we have already seen (see 40.6–12 with my comment), provides the foundation of magic, corresponds to the “mixed” type of erotic passion (on this, see ΙΙΙ 5.1.40–65 with my comments; also Hadot 1987, 34–35); consequently, it pertains only to the lower, irrational psychical functions, which are not in a position to influence ­either the life or the well-­ being of the wise man. The same can be said of the corporeal, or even the so-­called psychical affections, which, however, leave the soul itself impassible and indifferent; cf. Ι 4.4.23–5.16. In fact, the wise man, by exercising the lower, so-­called civic virtues, especially “wisdom” (sōphrosynē; on this see Ι 2.1.18–19), can successfully control his desires and other affections, thereby fending off any malicious magical actions directed against him. On this cf. the anecdote recounted in VP 10.1–13 with my comment. See also Wallis 1983, 501; Taormina 1984, 78–81. Let us recall h ­ ere of course that in Ι 4.9.1–4 it is accepted that magical practices can even result in a loss of consciousness; however, this is not regarded as capable of rendering the wise man unwise, and consequently denying him his well-­being. I do believe, however, that the wise man’s “counter-­incantations” (antepōdai) that P. has in mind ­here must be philosophical, just like the one marshaled by Socrates in Plato’s Charmides 155e5ff., to reveal to his young interlocutor, as well as to himself, the path leading to wisdom; cf. Armstrong 1967, 207–8. 43.11–16. τὸ δὲ μὴ εὐθὺς . . . ​πρὸς τὰ τῇδε: But if this magical force acts in a mechanical and automatic fashion (cf. my comment on 41.1–9), then how can we explain the fact that its influence might not be direct, but can take some time to occur? To answer this question, P. recalls one of the most widespread con­temporary views concerning magical activity, that demons (more specifically lower, usually chthonic ones) play some part in it; therefore, t­ hese can be more easily manipulated by the practitioner and thus become his accomplices (“attendants” or paredroi). In fact, to this end they sometimes employ the souls of recently deceased ­humans or even animals (nekudaimones). On this, see, for example, PGM I 195, IV 1331–90, 2006–85, VII 880–912, XII 15–39; SMag 47.1–5; Hopfner 1921, 1:§§ 351–65; cf. also column VI in the Derveni papyrus. Th ­ ese demons possessed, naturally, sense-­perception and passions (cf. Calc. In Ti. 135, 176.11), as well as memory, and so they w ­ ere susceptible to manipulation through psychological means (cf. my comment on 40.20–27). Such an appeal to demonology can appear inconsistent vis-­ à-­vis the up to now somewhat mechanistic approach to magic as a “technological” kind of practice, yet it needs to be understood in the context of the author’s broader views on the subject; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 5.7.30–46. 43.16–24. πᾶν γὰρ . . . ​ἔδωκε φίλτροις: ­Here, at last, in a rather unanticipated generalization, we are confronted with the core of an authentically philosophical prob­lem, one

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  129 that does not relate to magic anymore, but to practical life at large. What is it that leads us astray, away from our real self, making us relinquish the blessedness of intellective life? What can distract us from the self-­determined, f­ ree, and blissful devotion to contemplating the most superb and most incandescent Being, drawing us to the half-­light of its reflections on bodies and ­human deeds and activities? It is the attractiveness of Nature itself that, through the fantastic disparity of its shapes and the harmony of the forces that, as we have seen, hold it together as a unitary and excitingly mysterious organism, exercises an almost irresistible fascination over our consciousness and involves us in its pleas­ur­able yet merciless cycle. The propensity for action, for the ­simple pleasures of life, and for creation is the natu­ral concomitant of contemplation itself, and, to a certain extent, a ­human need. Yet ­because of it, ­humans are ensnared in the tangles of natu­ral necessity and become beholden to a fate over which they have no control; cf. ΙΙΙ 1.8.10–9.7 and VI 8.5.3–22. We o­ ught to notice that P. h ­ ere is not disparaging all t­ hese practical activities; from other passages we know that he recognized them as inseparable from embodied life. He is simply pointing out the dangers entailed by them: deceptiveness and heteronomy of their character that can lead the soul to falsely believing that they involve its own self (cf. Ι 4.4.25–36, 7.8–37, as well as my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.4.36–38). ­After all, P. was an admirer of natu­ral beauty (see, e.g., ΙΙ 9.8.10–20; ΙΙΙ 2.13.20–25), and found some of the joys of ­family life rather appealing (see VP 9.9–12). Furthermore, he fondly harbored certain po­liti­cal visions (see VP 12.3–9), to which he is evidently alluding through the quotation from Plato’s Alcibiades, where Socrates is precisely warning against the dangers of “love of the common ­people” (dēmerastia; cf. Hom. Il. II 547) before concluding with the following summons: “you need to scrutinize them in their nakedness” (132a5). 44.1–16. Μόνη δὲ . . . ​οἰκειώσασαν: Contrary to the deceptions produced by Nature’s magic, “contemplation” (theōria) is the sole activity that is genuinely and authentically ours (on this, see Arnou 1972, 18–21), the only one that does not subordinate us to exiguous and uncontrollable irrational impulses that, as we have seen above in chapters 18–21, have their origin in the body and its needs. Thus, ­those who remain unwaveringly dedicated to the contemplative life w ­ ill be, like the Guardians of Plato’s Republic (413e2), “hard to put u­ nder a spell” (dusgoēteutos) and “apparently gracious in every­thing” (euschēmōn). Through a somewhat cynical analy­sis of ­human activities and pursuits, an effort is being made to show that practical life as a ­whole is, ultimately, a pro­cess that alienates and subjugates us to irrational passions, such as the fears and desires engendered in us by “Nature’s vio­lence.” As a result, one is as a rule vulnerable to magical forces and attractions; see my comment on 40.20–27. Only in its superior form can an action represent a faint echo or imitation of “contemplation” (theōria), as its unpremeditated and insignificant by-­product; cf. ΙΙΙ 8.4.31–44 with my comment; also Trouillard 1955b, 41. 44.16–37. εἰ δέ τις λέγοι . . . ​ἕλκοιτο οὐδαμοῦ: With but a ­couple of broad brushstrokes P. manages to illustrate two entirely contrasting stances t­ oward the challenge of practical living. According to the first, embodied life and any actions contributing to it are viewed as necessary, as something devoid of any intrinsic value, however; they simply serve the organism’s vital and appropriating needs; cf. Ι 4.4.25–30 and 6.13–21 with my comments; also Schniewind 2003, 122–24. The natu­ral “affinity” (oikeiōsis) of the individual

130  Fourth Ennead to his or her body as well as to certain activities, ­human relationships, or even ­simple pleasures is reasonable and not to be repulsed (cf. SVF 3:181; also ΙΙΙ 5.1.36–38), so long as it does not veer off into obsession or avidity and, most of all, into the illusion that ­these are real goods. Consequently, remaining alive is something “reasonable” (eulogon; cf. Ι 9.9–11 with my comment), but even losing one’s life is perhaps not a “harm” (blabē; cf. above, 43.9–11). In this way, the soul remains “unbewitched,” f­ ree of deceptive impressions and irrational attractions ­toward ­things that it has not itself chosen. On the contrary, the second stance involves the soul becoming attracted by the vari­ous reflections of the Beautiful on the forms fashioned by Nature, and its being swept along by its magic potions, so that it ends up feeling bound by its self-­imposed limitations. Thus, what ultimately distinguishes t­hese two stances is the choice on the basis of which something is deemed as good or other­wise. ­Because ­whether or not a soul ­will follow its essential love, the one that leads it ­toward the truly Beautiful, hinges on that choice; other­wise, it w ­ ill become entangled in the snares of a “mixed” love, which ­will embroil it in the adventures, the uncertainties, and the heteronomy of magia naturalis. See my comment on ΙΙΙ 5.4.18–23. 45.1–8. Ἐκ δὴ τῶν εἰρημένων . . . ​ἡ φύσις: Recapitulating the last part of the treatise, P. revisits the theoretical foundation on which his view on Nature rests: It is a cosmobiological model, according to which the entire universe is one organism, and the operation of each part can only be understood with reference to the ­whole that it serves; cf. 32.1–9 with my comment. 45.8–10. καὶ οἷον συναίσθησις . . . ​τῶν τοῦ μέρους: This interconnection and the reciprocity of the parts also entails some sort of mutual interaction and a mutual “apperception” (sunaisthēsis) between them, which is manifested as a universal “sympathy” or “co-­affection” (sumpatheia); cf. above, my comment on 24.12–25. Each in­de­pen­dent animal, of course, apart from its origin in the universal cosmic circumstance, is possessed of its own special nature that determines its organism’s functions; cf. my comment on IV 3.12.1–2. 45.10–18. καὶ δὴ . . . ​ὁποῖοί τινες ἐσμέν: Thus we can answer the original question, posed in IV 3.1.8–14, on ­human nature and the ordination of ­humans in the world. Both the body in itself, and the psychical image projected onto it interact with Nature, inasmuch as, ­because of the affinity connecting them to it, they are tied to it through relations of “sympathy” and to the demonic and higher forces that govern Nature; cf. my comment on ΙΙ 3.9.31–47. 45.18–33. οὐ τοίνυν οὐδὲ . . . ​ὡς μετὰ θεῶν ἔσοιτο: This reciprocity of the world’s parts also acts as “Destiny” (heimarmenē), enforcing a form of theodicy, depending on the choices and endeavors of each soul during its embodied life. The citation from Euripides’ Tro. 887–88 is also employed in Plut. Quaest. Plat. VIII, 1007c, to denote the discreteness through which, over time, universal “order” (taxis) and “proportion” (summetria) are imposed (cf. ΙΙΙ 7.12.1–3). Thus ­here too, Nature’s law apparently arranges every­thing

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  131 consistently and precisely, using invisible threads of “sympathy,” just like God in the famous analogy in the Platonic Laws, 644d7–­e4; cf. also [Arist.], Mund. 6, 398b17–23; Alexander apud Simpl. In Ph. 311.6–16. The main instruments for restoring balance in the world are, naturally, the successive reincarnations, which are always governed in accordance with the timeless order of the Log­os; cf. ΙΙΙ 2.13.1–17. Only the virtuous man, the one who is able to grasp this divine plan for the world in its entirety, can live with the “good hope” (agathē elpis) for a better fortune in the afterlife; cf. Pl. Apol. 41c8–9; Phd. 63b9–­c9, 67b8–­c2, 68a1–­b1, and 81a9. 45.33–47. ἐν μὲν γὰρ . . . ​λαβοῦσα: The arrangement of ­things in the universe is compared to sustaining vital functions in an organism so as to ensure “apperception” (sunaisthēsis) between its parts (cf. Hier. El. Eth. 1.50–2.3 and 3.52–56; see also my comment on Ι 1.11.8–15) and, of course, the synergy between them. The size of the universe and the distances between its parts afford the latter, however, a greater degree of autonomy, similar to what is only exceptionally observed in individual organisms (cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 4.6.37–45 and IV 3.4.26–37), while the universe contains within it a huge variety of regions; thus some are superior, and ­others inferior; see above, 36.1–10, but also ΙΙΙ 2.11.6–12 with my comment. Individual souls are assigned ­there depending on their character and value, ­unless they have attained a level of perfection such that allows them to ­free themselves from the cycle of reincarnations; cf. IV 3.24.6–26. 45.47–52. αἱ δὲ κολάσεις . . . ​τιθεμένου: Therefore, the so-­called punishments of the souls are nothing e­ lse than their rearrangement in the world, so as to restore the overall order and have every­thing in its appropriate place; just as in an organism, when a disease occurs in one of its parts, e­ ither nature, in its smooth and s­ ilent way, or the art of medicine, which employs more forceful means, attempts to restore it to a balanced and healthy state. IV 5.1.1–3. Ἐπεὶ δὲ . . . ​νῦν σκεπτέον: P. is clearly stating that he intends to revisit a question that was put aside during his brief, preceding (IV 4.23.43–48) discussion of sense-­ perception. Thus the unity of the plan that connects this “treatise” with the rest of the “On Difficulties about the Soul” (IV 3–4) is confirmed, although, as Schwyzer, 1951 488.30–39, observes, the reference ­there is made using the phrase “it belongs to another discussion” (heterou logou), which suggests that, to an extent, the author regarded IV 5 as a separate study. Indeed, its structure is sufficiently clear and comprehensive to consider it as an extended appendix to the larger work, whose central theme is the natu­ral preconditions required for the faculty of vision. The subject that w ­ ill preoccupy the author is first and foremost the question of ­whether sight presupposes the existence of some material medium that intervenes between the eye and what is seen, as argued, for instance, by Aristotle and the Peripatetics, who held that the existence of an intervening body that possesses the property of being “transparent” (diaphanes) was necessary for the transmission of light; see Arist. De an. II 7, 419a17–20. Examples of such bodies mentioned by Aristotle are air, “­water, and many solid bodies” (cf. Ar. Did. fr. phys. 17, 456; Nemesius De nat. hom. 7, 61.5–9); in fact he

132  Fourth Ennead defines light itself as “the activity of what is transparent qua transparent” (De an. II 7, 418b4–10). According to Alexander of Aphrodisias’ analy­sis in De an. mant. 141.31– 142.4, trans. R. W. Sharples: “seeing comes about when the sight is affected . . . ​and it is affected . . . ​when the transparent between the sight and the ­thing that is seen is altered in a certain way by the object of sight and reports to the sight the form of the object of sight. For every­thing that is transparent, whenever it is so in actuality, that is when it is illuminated . . . ​is in a way modified and affected by colors in the same way in which the potentially transparent is modified, when it is illuminated, by the presence of that which is of such a nature as to illuminate.” Further down, (op. cit. 144.3–6) Alexander clarifies that “air and as many ­things as are transparent in our region are, before the presence of what is of such a nature as to illuminate, ­matter for the transparent in actuality, that is for light; the presence of what illuminates makes it transparent and colors it in a certain way.” In a similar manner the Stoics also apparently held that the presence of some medium, such as air and ­water, was necessary to allow for the transmission of light; light is defined as “dispersed air” (aera diakrinomenon), while they also argued that sight occurs “through the tension of the air” (dia tēs tou aeros sunentaseōs); see op. cit. 132.30–37 (= SVF 2:432) and 130.14 (= SVF 2:864; cf. 863, 866); also Hahm 1978, 65–68. It is obvious that theories such as the above ascribed to light a material subsistence much more pronounced than P. was prepared to accept; for him, as we ­shall see, light is pure “activity” (energeia). Yet even Galen, whose theory of visual perception exhibits remarkable similarities to P.’s, believed the mediation of air to be necessary (“we see through air”), so that the power of sight can be extended from the eye to the “tinged” (kechrōsmenon) object; see PHP VII 5.31–34 460.1–8 and 7.16, 472.25–29; also Cherniss 1933, 160. In general, the question of ­whether a medium is involved or not in sense-­perception was an intensely debated subject, chiefly among the Peripatetics; on this, see Moraux 1973–2001, 1:303–5. 1.3–13. ὅτι μὲν οὖν . . . ​πρὸς αὐτὰ γινομένης: ­Here, the broader theoretical framework in which the discussion w ­ ill unfold is set out; its main ele­ments have already been introduced in IV 4.23.13–36; see my comments ad loc. and cf. Pl. Ti. 45b2–­d6. The soul, qua incorporeal entity, is incapable of coming into direct contact with sensible forms and consequently, to know them; it needs to employ sensory organs that, as parts of the body, function as “proportional means” between the two, thereby affording the soul cognitive access to them. ­Here, we need to consider that, as explained in IV 4.19.4–22 (see my comment ad loc.), sensory stimuli have as their subject the compound “living being,” which “is similarly affected” to the objects causing the stimuli, whereas the soul itself apprehends ­these impassively; see also Schwyzer 1960, 367. 1.15–16. εἰ δὲ . . . ​ὕστερον: See below, chapter 5. 1.17–23. ἢ νύττοι . . . ​ἄν τις εἴποι: P. does not wish to deny that in many cases t­ here is indeed some material medium that intervenes between the eye and the object being seen. The question is ­whether this is necessary and to what extent it contributes to the pro­ cess of visual apprehension. It is certain that the “denser” the intervening medium, the more it impedes eyesight; yet, does this mean that some “thinner” medium is needed to

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  133 allow the transmission of the sensory stimulus, or could it be that its presence simply does not impede this transmission? The use of the rather unusual verb “prick, impinge upon” (nuttein) has been interpreted by some commentators as an allusion to Stoic theory, at least as adumbrated by Alexander De an. mant. 130.14–17 (= SVF 2:864; cf. also 866): “­There are some who say that seeing comes about through the tension of the air. For the air which is in contact with the pupil is pierced by the sight and s­ haped into a cone. When this is as it ­were stamped at its base by the objects of sight perception comes about, as with contact through a stick.” See, for example, H-­S ad loc. As Emilsson 1988, 39, has pointed out though, P. seems to be aware of a version according to which the “intervening medium” (metaxu; i.e., the air) strikes and thus stimulates the sensory organ (the eye), whereas according to the Stoics the pro­cess occurs in a reverse order; see also Hahm 1978, 66–67. It is of course quite pos­si­ble that the author is h ­ ere distorting somewhat his opponents’ theory; at any rate, when we “feel” something using a cane, our sensation is partly based on the re­sis­tance or the pressure exercised by the stick on our hand. In any case, the point he wishes to stress ­here is that the stimulation caused by the interposed material may obstruct, rather than assist visual perception. 1.23–34. ἀλλ’ εἰ τὸ πάθος . . . ​τὸ ναρκᾶν: The prob­lem is, therefore, that if the visual stimulus ­were an “affection” (pathos), which is transferred from the object to the medium and then to the eye, then that affection must also be pre­sent in the medium, that is, in the intervening material; in other words, in the course of visual perception, the intervening air would also have to be somehow tinged. This is precisely the view attributed by a doxographical testimony to the Peripatetic Strato of Lampsacus (fr. 113). But an objection is raised ­here: the medium need not be affected in precisely the same manner in which the sensory organ is affected. To elucidate this point, P. introduces the example of “numbness” caused by some kinds of fish (narkē, also known from Stoic sources; see SVF 2:863; also Galen Loc. aff. VII 5, 421–22): the “affection” (or, according to Galen the “alteration”—­alloiōsis), that is, the electrical discharge, is transmitted to the fisherman’s hand without influencing—­visibly, at least—­the intervening fishing rod or the line. This is precisely the course of the argument also followed by Alex. Aphrod. In Mete. 18.14–24, to show that “many of the bodies that undergo affections often do not suffer anything themselves but do not prevent some o­ thers to suffer through them.” Cf. also Alex. Aphrod. De an. 62.5–7; also apud Simpl. In Cael. 373.6–12, where it is emphasized that only ­those who are receptive to it are subjected to the “affection.” This ele­ment of receptiveness is what P. wishes to stress, and it is this that brings him to the subject of “sympathy” or “co-­affection” (sumpatheia); cf. my comments on IV 3.11.1–8. 1.34–40. ἀλλὰ γὰρ . . . ​καὶ παθεῖν τι: Thus, in the end the phenomenon of eyesight is once more revealed as an instance of action over distance, where a body (the vis­i­ble object) exercises influence onto another (the eye), while the material intervening between the two can ­either undergo no alteration whatsoever, or it may be affected in a dif­fer­ent way than its ultimate recipient. The theory of “sympathy” or “co-­affection” (sumpatheia), however, has already been introduced as a suitable model for elucidating such phenomena; see IV 4.32.16–25 with my comment. And, of course, the decisive ­factor to ensure a

134  Fourth Ennead connection between two bodies through “sympathy” is “likeness” (homoiotēs). In this manner, P. can also account for the impassibility of the intervening body: if it lacks the required “likeness,” one would be led to expect that it be incapable of undergoing the corresponding affection, and ­will therefore remain unchanged with re­spect to its material subsistence. For P. this means that no ­matter what is transmitted, it is not something material; it is (as ­will emerge further down, in 6.30–31) “a kind of activity.” 2.1–8. Εἰ μὲν οὖν . . . ​πρόσθεν κείμενον: A brief overview of the principal ­earlier theories on eyesight now begins, with the aim of assessing w ­ hether they entail the existence of a medium for the transmission of visual stimuli. The first of ­these (= T1) is the most difficult to ascertain, not least ­because of certain textual prob­lems. Its theoretical framework appears to be Peripatetic, given that the central idea is that light functions as the intermediate, which carries the “alteration” (tropē) incurred by the vis­i­ble object to the eye. This appears to echo Aristotle’s conception, according to which light activates the transparency of the medium and thus allows for the transmission of color through it: “Color sets in movement what is transparent, e.g., the air, and that, extending continuously from the object of the organ, sets the latter in movement”; see Arist. De an. II 7, 419a7–15; cf. also Alex. Aphrod. De an. 43.12–15. In this manner, light functions as a kind of catalyst, rendering the medium (e.g., air) that is potentially transparent, “actually” (entelecheiai) transparent; thus the latter is capable of conveying the “alteration” (tropē) that color amounts to. Cf. Alexander’s passage cited above, in the comment on 1.1–3, as well as further down (De an. mant. 145.3–5), where he adds that “what has been illuminated and is transparent in actuality is in turn given form in a way by the presence of colors, colors coming to be in it in a similar way to light.” It is clear that someone who has in mind the Aristotelian definition of light as “the actuality of what is transparent” (Arist. De an. II 7, 419a11) ­will easily arrive at the conclusion that the medium through which color (which is the “special” (idion) object of eyesight; on this, see my comment on ΙΙ 8.1.12–13) is conveyed is none other than light. Now, the view that the seeing eye possesses its own light, which in the pro­cess of visual apprehension “comes into contact; connects” (sunaptein) with the external light, is ­here introduced into this Peripatetic context. Yet Aristotle and orthodox Peripatetics (see Arist. Sens. 2, 437b10–14; also Alex. Aphrod. op. cit. 136.30–138.2) had rejected this (at least in its Platonic version: see Ti. 45b6–­d3). It seems reasonable, therefore, to assume that P. must have had in mind some deviating version of the Peripatetic theory, one that incorporates ele­ments and terminology of Stoic derivation (such as the verb sunaptein in l. 2; cf. SVF 2:864; and also Galen PHP VII 6.28, 468.4–5). The most likely candidate is Ptolemy’s theory, which—­notwithstanding the loss of the more theoretical first book of his Optics—we know represented a combination of Peripatetic and Stoic notions and was premised on the assumption that a kind of radiation emanates from the eye; this “belongs to the same genus” as light and color. See Ptol. Opt. ΙΙ 22–23, trans. Smith; also Smith 1988, 194–96. According to this theory, “we see any luminosity or color by means of a passion [passio: this could correspond to the “change,” tropē, in our text] arising in the visual flux; illumination is created along with coloring in objects that are struck by light from outside.” If this is indeed the adversary that P. has h ­ ere in mind, then his argument

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  135 needs to be understood as follows: if the colored object colors the medium that extends ­until the eye through the illumination brought about to it, and it is the colored medium that acts on the eye imparting on it the sensation of color, then the transmission of light itself should suffice to this end, given that the material medium does not contribute anything ­else to the ­whole pro­cess. Further down, in chapter 6, it ­will be argued that light does not require air or any other medium to be disseminated. 2.8–11. καὶ οἱ ἐκχέοντες . . . ​εὐθυποροῦν: The second theory (= T2) that is examined also hinges on the key assumption that light emanates from the eye; in this case, however, the medium plays an entirely subordinate role; it merely “supports” the visual ray. The existence of such an emanation is clearly suggested in the first three definitions in Euclid’s Optics (and in ΙΙ 8.2.14); in doxographical sources, however, it is variously attributed to the Academics, the astronomers Hipparchus and Pythagoras, sometimes even to the “Geometers and Peripatetics” (see Dox. Gr. 403b8–11, 404.3–11; Calcidius, In Ti. 238, 250.14–251.10; Hahm 1978, 62–65; and also my comment on ΙΙ 8.2.12–14), while it is meticulously criticized in Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 127.27–130.12. The claim that light “moves in a straight line” (euthuporein) constituted a fundamental axiom of all ancient geometrical optics and is reflected in Euclid’s first definition; cf., for example, Alex. Aphrod. De an. 43.18–20. It is evident that, with re­spect to T2, the claim that some material visual medium exists appears entirely redundant. 2.11–12. οἱ δὲ . . . ​τοῦ μεταξύ: For the time being, P. has very ­little to say about the third theory (= T3)—in essence merely that it necessarily presupposes the existence of some medium. But what is that theory? The expression “­those who regard re­sis­tance (enstasin) as the cause” that the MSS preserve at this point corresponds (as H-­S point out ad loc.) to a wording employed in “Aëtius” apud Dox. Gr. 403.6 and 10; on this, see Diels 1965, ‘Prolegomena’ 55, in the context of presenting the doctrine of the Academics, which I mentioned in the preceding comment. Th ­ ere, the “re­sis­tance” designates the reflection of visual rays from the surface of the object, before their “turning about” (hupostrophē) ­toward the eye; see also LSJ, s.v., V. The difficulty with this version is that this par­tic­u­lar theory does not appear to entail the existence of a medium at all. This is ­because, just as in T2, the dissemination of the rays ­either to or from the object is governed by the law that light travels in a straight line; therefore, no prop whatsoever is required. Thus, on this point I propose emending the text so as to read “tension” (entasin), which would provide a reference to the familiar Stoic theory of (sun)entasis, known chiefly through Alexander’s critical analy­sis, op. cit. 130.13–134.27; cf. SVF 2:863–64 and 866–67; also above, my comments on 1.1–3 and 17–23. According to that theory, the “spirit” (pneuma) that is contained in the eye, transmits its “tensile movement” (tonikē kinēsis) to the air that comes into contact with the eye’s pupil, resulting in the formation of a cone-­shaped area in the air, whose “stretch” (sunentasis) allows it to be employed as a kind of “cane” (baktēria), through which contact with the vis­i­ble object is accomplished, “as if imprinted by the objects of sight on the base [of the cone] in the same way as in touching.” On this, see Hahm 1978, 65–69; cf. also Epict. Diss. ΙΙ 33.3–4. It is evident that this theory becomes inconceivable without the existence of some

136  Fourth Ennead medium that, like air, incurs the required “tension” so that the transmission of the sensation to the eye is effected. 2.12–15. οἱ δὲ τῶν εἰδώλων . . . ​τ ῇ ὑποθέσει: Following a doxographical tradition also known through authors such as Alexander (De an. mant. 127.27ff., 130.13ff., and 134.28ff.); Nemesius (De nat. hom. 7, 178–79); and Calcidius (who, however, introduces them following a reverse order: In Ti. 236–38; cf. also the fragment from Geminus Optics, 24.7–13, published in Schöne (1898); Aul. Gell. NA V 16; Apul. Ap. 15.12–15; and Porph. Ad Gaurum 11.2, 48.22–25), P. continues his overview with the theory of the atomists, more specifically the Epicureans (= T4), on which see mainly Epicurus Ep. Her. 46–47: “­there are images resembling, as far as their form goes, the solid bodies which we see, . . . ​I give the name of images (eidōla) to ­these repre­sen­ta­tions; and indeed, their movement through the void (dia tou kenou) taking place, without meeting any obstacle or hindrance, traverses all imaginable extent in an inconceivable moment of time” (trans. Yonge). Cf. also Dox. gr. 403.2–4; and Galen PHP, VII 5.2–3, 452.34–454.4. We should note that this is the sole instance in which P.’s phrasing comes so close to the original wording of Epicurus himself, although this does not, of course, constitute proof that he had firsthand knowledge of Epicurus’ work. The doxographical context suggests rather the opposite; cf. Dumont 1981, 194, although he does not examine the passage in question ­here. Contrary, however, to Alexander, who engages in a detailed refutation of the theory, our author contents himself with demonstrating that this theory does not entail the existence of a medium, but rather the lack thereof. 2.15–26. ὅσοι δὲ συμπαθείᾳ . . . ​μὴ πάσχειν: The last theory to be cited is that according to which sight relies on the “co-­affinity” or “co-­affection” (sumpatheia) (= T5), that obviously occurs between the object seen and the seeing eye; cf. IV 4.23.19–29. A theory of this kind had been previously attributed to Posidonius; see Reinhardt 1926, 187–92. And indeed, if we combine an explicit doxographical testimony (Dox. gr. 403b12–3 = Posid. fr. 194) with an anonymous reference in Galen PHP, VII 5.41, 460.28–33, trans. DeLacy adapted, according to which “sight . . . ​when it perceives the sense-­object that moves it, uses air as a medium, . . . ​as a homogeneous and connate part (homoeidous kai sumphuous moriou) that forms one body with itself,” this would appear quite probable; cf. also Cleom. Cael. Ι 1, 69–73; and Pigler 2005, 478–81. What is impor­tant ­here, however, is that this theory had apparently been formulated in the context of interpreting a relevant passage from the Timaeus, 45b2–­d6 (see also Posid. fr. 85; cf. also Plut. Quaest. conu. I 8.4, 626c–­e), and, as remarked by Dillon 1991, 103–104, it is pos­si­ble that it originated in a misreading of the word “compacted” (sumpages) in the Platonic text as “sympathetic” (sumpathes). Certainly, therefore, it is connected with the view, which was rather prevalent in the ancient Acad­emy, according to which each of the senses has as its own peculiar object one of the material ele­ments, of which the world is made up: for sight it is “fire” (pur); for hearing it is “air” (aēr); for taste it is the “moist and watery” (hugron kai hudatōdes); for touch it is the earth; and, fi­nally, for smell it is the “vaporous” (atmoeides); on this, see Baltes 1978, 183–96. This also allows us to better appreciate P.’s criticism on this point: if a third body intervenes between two “sympathetic” or

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  137 “co-­affected” bodies, then, if it is also subjected to some affection in the course of transmitting it from one to the other, then that affection w ­ ill be diminished rather than assisted. For, if the medium is completely dif­fer­ent and not “connate” (sumphues), it w ­ ill act as an impediment (see 1.19–20); if, on the other hand, it is “kindred” (sungenes), as it is permeated by it, the medium ­will “absorb” a part of it on its own behalf. Therefore, the best solution once more ­will be to argue that no intervening medium needs to be pre­sent for the transmission of any kind of affection; cf. my comment on 1.34–40. 2.26–34. ἀλλ’ εἰ συμπαθὲς . . . ​διὰ τί φατέον: Proponents of the theory of “co-­affection” raise ­here an objection: if the precondition for the existence of sumpatheia is the subsumption of all phenomena to the functioning of a unitary organism (cf. my comment on IV 4.32.13–16), and the parts of an organism must necessarily be contiguous, without any intervening void, this would appear to entail that, for sumpatheia to occur between two bodies, some kind of material continuity must exist between them. For the Stoics, this continuity was secured through the presence of “breath” (pneuma), which brought into contact even the most distant bodies; on this, see Verbeke 1945, 70–76; cf. also the relevant anatomy experiments described in Galen PHP, VII 5.6–12, 454.10– 456.4. P. responds that this on its own does not represent a sufficient condition for the existence of sumpatheia; something ­else is also needed—we suspect that the additional ­factor required is “likeness” or “similitude” (homoiotēs; cf. IV 4.32.17–25 with my comment), which ­will be discussed further down, in 8.19–33. It remains to demonstrate that it is not even a necessary condition, but this would involve another kind of argument. Instead, the author launches into an excursus, attempting to pass on the burden of proof to his interlocutors: inasmuch as continuity is insufficient to account for sumpatheia, they need to explain why the presence of the medium is necessary (it is indeed regarded as such in the context of T3; P. is now critically revisiting a version of this theory in somewhat greater detail) and, more impor­tant, why it is necessary that the medium too needs to incur an affection in the course of transmitting it. 2.34–48. ἐπεὶ οὐδὲ . . . ​τοῖς εἰς ὄψιν εἴδεσιν: This analy­sis seeks to support the view that, in the course of the transmission of the visual stimulus through air, no transference occurs of a quality or “power” (dunamis) from the object to the air, and then to the eye. The movement of the stimulus ­toward its recipient is compared to that of a body that moves spontaneously, crossing through the air without, however, altering it or imparting to it a power to act capable of engendering an optical impression. In this context, the question of “compensating motion” (antiperistasis) also arises, evidently in view of the possibility that this is the power that accompanies the transmission of light (or, perhaps it would be preferable to say, in this case, of fire) and acts on the eye. This notion is known to us chiefly from Aristotle Ph. IX 10, 267a15–17, where it is rejected as a pos­si­ble account of the phenomenon of motional inertia. This is in essence the notion that a moving body pushes the air in front of it ­until, through the circular transmission of the original movement, the air ­behind the moving body in turn pushes it ­toward the front; as a result, its movement is preserved for a period of time ­after the original launch of the projectile, although no obvious mechanical occasioning cause exists any longer;

138  Fourth Ennead cf. Simpl. In Ph. 1350.31–36. This idea had also been introduced as “pushing around” (periōsis) in Plato Ti. 79a5–81b4, to explain the bio-­physiological phenomena of hearing and respiration, as well as some other more general physiognostic phenomena; in his analy­sis (Quaest. Plat. 7, 1004d ff.) Plutarch, for example, indeed employs the term antiperistasis. With re­spect to the realm of sensation, this idea had apparently been used by some thinkers to explain the transmission of rays of light to the eye (see Alex. Aphrod. In De Sensu 29.15–27, and De an. mant. 128.31–129.7), or even the per­sis­tence of feelings (Arist. Insomn. II, 459a24–33). P. is interested in conclusively ruling out the possibility that the transmission of visual stimuli is somehow accomplished through a medium that incurs successive affections. This is b­ ecause the medium has no active part in causing eyesight: it is simply a passive receiver of disturbances or shapes, which it is utterly incapable of communicating. 2.48–55. εἰ δὲ μηδὲ . . . ​ἁφῇ γὰρ τοῦτο: A more compelling argument against the theory of transmission positing the gradual alteration of the medium relies on a contradistinction of sight to touch. For if we suppose that a tactile stimulus, such as, for example, a body’s heat, is transmitted through the gradual heating of the intervening medium—­ for instance, air—­then it is clear that our sensory faculty w ­ ill only apprehend the part of the medium that is in contact with it. Cf. the similar objections raised in Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 131.22–30 and 133.38–134.2; but see also further down, 4.22–28. 2.55–61. ἐν δὲ τοῖς ὁράμασιν . . . ​καὶ τὴν αὑτοῦ: Yet sight does not operate in that manner, but directly apprehends the object that is situated at a distance. As in fact pointed out in Aristotle De an. II 7, 419a12–13, to function a certain distance from the object is necessary, so that the “illuminated transparent” can intermediate and allow its colors to become revealed; cf. IV 6.1.32–34. The notion that air, in itself, is dark was standard Stoic doctrine; see SVF 2:429–30; Sen. Nat. quaest. II 10.1; cf. also [Arist.] Mund. 2, 392b6–8. ­Here P. is employing it to demonstrate that it renders it unsuitable as a medium for the transmission of the luminosity that sight requires. 3.1–15. Μέγιστον δὲ . . . ​μηδενός: If the transmission of visual stimuli was accomplished through the intervention of a medium that is gradually illuminated in the course of the pro­cess, thereby becoming itself “tinted” (cf. above, my comment on 1.23–34), then instead of facilitating, the dark air should prevent us from seeing faraway bright objects. This argument is developed at length in Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 131.30–132.19, but we also come across it in Cleom. Cael. ΙΙ 1.38–44, and Ephraim the Syrian Against Domnos 32–33. ­Here it is supplemented with the observation that if sight is better accomplished through a dark medium, then the complete lack of any medium should facilitate it even more. ­Because, evidently, the transmission of light w ­ ill not depend on the illumination of the medium itself. 3.15–21. ἀλλ’ ἐκείνῳ . . . ​τ ῆς πόρρω: We now return to the question posed in 2.26–28 and left partly unanswered: in the end, the universe needs to be unitary for “sympathy” or “co-­affinity” to exist between its parts. Therefore, and in accordance with T5, this holds

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  139 also true of sight, or does it? For, as we have seen, the theory of sumpatheia is premised on the view of the world as an organism. 3.21–26. τοῦτο δὴ ἐπισκεπτέον . . . ​ὕστερον: P. of course accepts the unity of the world as the basis of “sympathy” or “co-­affinity” (sumpatheia); indeed he ­will uphold it by enlisting the help of a rather intriguing ­mental experiment (inspired by a phrase in Pl. Phdr. 247b7–­c1), to be discussed in more detail in chapter 8. In his view, however, the decisive ­factor is the organic cohesiveness, not the material continuity between the parts of the cosmos. What ensures their harmonious articulation is the rational order of the cosmos—­which expresses the cosmic Soul’s providential action (on this, see my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.2.18–33)—­and not their natu­ral contact, or the inertness of their materiality; cf. ΙΙΙ 6.6.41–53 with my comment. 3.26–38. νῦν δὲ κἀκεῖνο . . . ​ἀνάγκας: One more argument that takes as its starting point a somewhat extreme materialistic version of the notion of the medium. According to this, the air receives impressions from the object; ­these it transfers to the eye’s pupil, like imprints on wax. This description is quite reminiscent of Theophrastus’ account (De Sensibus 50–51, 513.17–514.5) of Democritus’ theory of vision. It appears, however, that both this theory and the relevant criticism ­were often invoked with re­spect to any such materialistic approach to sight; cf., for instance, Alex. Aphrod. In De Sensu 31.19–29, De an. mant. 135.6–10; Galen PHP VII 5.2–4, 452.34–454.7. As observed by Emilsson 1988, 50–52, as a result, any notion of transmission through visual stimuli becomes utterly invalidated. For, instead of being fragmented into numerous perspectives, the shape of the object seen appears to be pre­sent in e­ very part of the surrounding air, provided t­ here is nothing that prevents its presence ­there. The eye ­will therefore be in a position, once activated, to apprehend that shape in its entirety in ­every point of the surrounding space; cf. ΙΙΙ 6.2.32–41 and VI 4.12.5–12. This, of course, implies, among other ­things, abandoning the rules of linear perspective and substituting them with a kind of “reverse” or “radial” perspective, where the phenomenon of the visual perception is accomplished from the point of view of the object; cf. IV 6.1.14–21; Grabar 1945, 21; also Gurtler 1989, 279–80. 4.1–9. Ἀλλὰ τὸ συναφὲς . . . ​τὸ πόρρω ὁρᾶν: We are now in a position to approach Plato’s theory of sight, as it is expounded chiefly in the Timaeus 45b2–­d6; cf. the doxographical pre­sen­ta­tion of this theory in Dox. gr. 404b14–21. According to the Platonic theory—as interpreted by P.—­the only intermediary required for the transmission of the visual stimulus is external light (cf. above 2.55–61 with my comment); the light, however, as it is incorporeal and impassible (cf. Ι 6.3.18–26 with my comments, and ΙΙ 1.7.26–30), is in itself subject to no affection whatsoever (pace Pl. Ti. 45c7). For the affection is borne solely by the corporeal sensory organ; cf. IV 4.23.20–36 with my comment. 4.9–10. τὸ μὲν οὖν . . . ​ὕστερον: Thus, the crucial ele­ment ­here is that the presence of air (or of any other “transparent” medium) is not indispensable for the transmission of light. But the final examination ­will take place further down, in chapter 6.

140  Fourth Ennead 4.10–17. νῦν δὲ ἐκεῖνο . . . ​τ ῆς ὄψεως φορὰ ἐκεῖ: For the time being, the author is critically appraising an interpretation of the Platonic theory with which he disagrees (pace Clark 1942, 365–66). This interpretation is fully compatible with what has been claimed above, in the context of T1 (see 2.1–8) but is also noticeably similar to Galen’s view, as set out in PHP VII 5.5–11, 454.8–29. It becomes evident that it is drawing a distinction between three kinds of light: (a) the “inner” (endon) light (l. 13) that apparently corresponds to the “fire inside us” in Timaeus (45b6–7), and resides in the inside of the eye; cf. Ι 6.9.30–31 with my comment; (b) the external light (see ll. 1–2), which is emitted by an ambient source of light (e.g., the sun) and illuminates the intervening space, thereby allowing the conveyance of the visual stimulus; (c) the “light of the eye that is connected” (sunaphes, ll. 1 and 10–11), which “connects” (sunaptein) a with b (cf. my comment on 2.1–8) and is extended in the space of the visual cone formed between the eye’s pupil and the surface of the vis­i­ble object. The latter is attributed by Galen (op. cit.) to an “emission of pneuma,” and he observes that the “vision that is carried through the optic nerves has an essence of the nature of pneuma, and when it strikes the surrounding air it produces by its impact an alteration that is transmitted to the furthest distance”; cf. also VII 4.25, 452.25–28. In this manner, the intervening space becomes in a sense an extension of the observer’s ner­vous system, so that visual apprehension can take place where its object is located; on this, see Siegel 1970, 71–76; also Cherniss 1933, 156–58. 4.17–28. οὗ δὴ ζητητέον . . . ​οὐ δι’ αὐτό: Consequently, in that manner, sight becomes a kind of touch, inasmuch as the sensory organ itself is extended ­until it comes into direct contact with its object. P. identifies two pos­si­ble reasons that would lead one to put forward such a claim: e­ ither (i) b­ ecause ­there is a need to cover the distance separating the two; or (ii) ­because some other body is interposed and obstructs transmission. In case (ii), the removal of the interposed body would immediately restore sight, without the need for anything ­else. In case (i), we need to assume, again, that the vis­i­ble object is completely inert, that is, that nothing radiates from it to its environment. Yet this contradicts the observation that even touch has the ability, in certain cases, to receive stimuli from afar, such as, for example, the thermal radiation from a fire, which is much more potent and faster than heat transmission through the air. Cf. above, my comment on 2.48–55. 4.28–38. εἰ οὖν ἔχει . . . ​ἀπευθῦναι: This paragraph develops in somewhat greater detail the counterargument for case (i): if we accept that ­there can be an object capable of acting on something ­else from afar, for instance by radiating on it, and the second object is in a position to receive this activity, then anything e­ lse that intervenes between them can only act as a hindrance. Thus when, before daybreak, the sun lights up a faraway mountain with its rays, our eyes behold the gleaming peaks, although the air around us is still dark. This argument runs parallel to that in 3.1–15; the only difference is that ­here it is explic­itly claimed that it leads to the disproval of T1. 4.38–46. εἰ δὲ μένει . . . ​οὐχ οὕτως: Thus we briefly revisit the criticism of T3 (see 2.11–12 with my comment; the reference to “light stretched out” (tetamenon phōs) is one more

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  141 indication of the need for the textual emendation I proposed ­there), which was presented above, in my comment on 1.17–23; cf. also SVF 2:865, 867. Evidently, the Stoics had intended the example of the “cane” (baktēria) as a mere analogy, so the criticism leveled by P.—­and, a fortiori, by Alexander—is rather unwarranted; as Emilsson 1988, 45–47 notes, however, in his excellent analy­sis of this passage, “it is revealing of Plotinus’ views on vision. We can infer from it that he took visual knowledge to involve some kind of immediate acquaintance with its object that is excluded from knowledge involving memory or reasoning.” His point is evidently that feeling an object with a cane—or any other instrument or apparatus—­can only afford us indirect indications about its shape and properties, which we w ­ ill have to subsequently pro­cess mentally (by resorting, as the Stoics would say, to the respective “conceptions” (ennoiai) and “preconceptions” (prolēpseis)), so that we can arrive at a conclusion on its nature. A ­ fter all, this is precisely the objection also raised by Galen PHP VII 7.20, 474.9–10: “this latter kind of discernment is of resistant bodies, and it is besides more inferential (kata sullogismon) than perceptive.” And he adds: “whereas the perception of our eye is not perceptive of a ­thing as close packed, or of its hardness or softness, but of its color, size, and position, and none of ­these can be discerned by a walking-­stick.” ­Here P. alludes to this latter argument (also found in Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 133.28–32; cf. also Arist. Sens. 4, 442b1–10) by referring to sight’s own object of perception, that is, color; cf. my comment on ΙΙ 8.1.12–13. In other words, we see that the entire argument ­here tends to demonstrate that T3 is incapable of providing us with a convincing explanation of how sight can know what is its primary and more immediate apprehensive object, color. 4.46–49. ἀλλ’ εἰ παθεῖν . . . ​ἐν ἄλλοις ἠπόρηται: Cf. above, 1.23–29. Concerning the broader issues with the notion of the “transmission” (diadosis) of emotions, see IV 7.7.2–27. 5.1–14. Περὶ δὲ τοῦ ἀκούειν . . . ​καὶ ἀκοῆς: In an excursus, the author attempts (as he announced in 1.15–16) a parallel examination of the ­matter of auditory perception, in an effort to correlate it with that of sight. His point of departure is clearly the relevant discussion in chapter II 8 of Aristotle’s De Anima, yet P. also seems conversant with subsequent developments, such as, for example, the definition of “noise” (psofos: as Porphyry explains in his comment, In Harm. 7.24–8.8, this is the “primary and most general of what is audible,” which includes both “voice” (phōnē) and “sound” (phtongos)) at the beginning of Ptolemy’s Harmonics Ι 1, 3.2: “noise (psofos) is the affection of air being struck.” Cf. also Theon Sm. De ut. math. 50.6–7. Of course, the prob­lem that concerns him the most is, once more, the role of air as a medium: could it be that (a) air is necessary also for the production and transmission of sound (as Aristotle claims op. cit. 419b18–22; cf. 419a32, 420a3–4; also [Arist.] De audibilibus 800a1–13); or (b) its presence is a mere accident and plays no part; or could it be that (c) air is necessary to produce sound, but not for its transmission? 5.14–19. ἀλλ’ εἰ ὁ ἀὴρ . . . ​τῷ μικρῷ διαφοραί: The objection to version (a) is that it is unable to adequately explain the qualitative differences between sounds. Ptolemy

142  Fourth Ennead dedicates an entire chapter in his Harmonics to explaining “the differences between noises” (Ι 3, 6.14–9.15), in the context of which he analyzes four ­factors, most impor­tant among which is “that depending on the bodily constitution of the object bringing about the blow,” in other words, the differences in the constitution of the sound-­ emitting body: ­whether it is dense or dilute, thin or thick, smooth or coarse, and so on. In at least two cases in fact, he mentions as an example that copper produces a “sharper noise” than both wood and lead b­ ecause it is thinner and harder; see also Barker 2001, 41–47. The conclusion we are led to, according to P., is that air cannot be “primarily responsible” (kurios), that is, the predominant ­factor, in the production of sound and, consequently, the Aristotelian version must be abandoned. 5.19–27. εἰ δ’ ὅτι . . . ​μὴ ὄντος μεταξύ: We now turn to version (c), which is possibly also derived from an observation in Artist. De an. II 8, 419b21–25: the counterargument invoked is that sound can be produced even in the absence of air, as in the case of sounds coming from inside the bodies of living beings. This reveals that air is not an essential component in the production of sound. 5.28–31. ἀλλὰ περὶ μὲν . . . ​πάθους ὄντος: Consequently, we are left with version (b) as the sole possibility, which is in essence entirely parallel to the conclusion we had arrived at with re­spect to sight: the intervening medium, ­whether it is the air or anything ­else, does not contribute anything ­either to the production or the transmission of a sensory stimulus. All that is required is an active transmitter and the appropriate receiver (cf. ΙΙΙ 8.9.26–28 with my comment); the result comes about in an almost automatic manner, through a kind of sympathetic interaction that the author h ­ ere chooses to describe by employing the term “apperception” (sunaisthēsis), so as to underline that it is akin to recognizing a preexisting bond, which brings the organism into direct contact with something within the cosmos that is akin to it; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 4.4.10–13; Emilsson 1988, 76; also the in­ter­est­ing remarks in Bergson 2000, 71–72. Obviously, such a reaction can also better explain the instinctive nature of m ­ usic’s appeal to us; cf. IV 4.40.23– 27 with my comment. 6.1–13. Εἰ δὲ . . . ​ἐν ᾧ ἔσται σώματι: To proceed to the pre­sen­ta­tion of “his own theory” (idia theōria) concerning the pro­cess of sight, P. needs to clarify his view on the nature of light, which is the b­ earer of visual stimuli. Given that it is something incorporeal (see 4.6 with my comment) but also sensible, before explaining its function, we need to elucidate its ontological status. Thus ­here as an introduction a distinction of fundamental importance is drawn between light itself and luminosity, as a property that is necessarily immanent in a material substrate so that it might become vis­i­ble; cf. my comments on ΙΙ 6.1.22–29 and 2.22–34. This is ­because, just as any qualitative characteristic exists only “in a subject” (en hupokeimenōi; cf. Arist. Cat. II, 1a24–29; also “Alcinous” Didasc. 11, 166.18–19), so luminosity too is a quality that might be immanent as an accident only in some “subject,” which thereby becomes bright, and sometimes even acquires the ability to transmit its colorful brilliance to other bodies, just as a colored piece of glass can, when illuminated properly, transmit its color to other objects around it; cf. Alex.

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  143 Aphrod. De an. 42.11–19 and De an. mant. 145.25–30; Philop. In Ph. 642.14–19. But this light is not identical to ­either the luminous object nor to the luminosity immanent in it, which is simply caused by it. This is ­because light does not need to be immanent in anything ­else nor, as I have said, does it require any medium for its transmission. It does not constitute an “affection” (pathos) or a disturbance of some other t­ hing but possesses its own autonomous, active presence that is diffused in space without presupposing the existence of some ­bearer to convey it; see on this Kalligas 2012b, 55–57. It was especially impor­tant to emphasize this point in view of the evidently widespread Middle-­Platonist teaching, according to which colors can only be perceived ­because of the “mutual blending” (sunkrasis) of light with air; see, for example, Philo Ebr. 190–91. 6.13–27. εἰ δὲ ἐνέργεια . . . ​εἰ παρείη: How can we thus account for this presence of light? Alexander, who had delved deeply into the subject, was forced to admit that sight occurs “not by an affection and alteration of what is in between, but by a relation” (De an. mant. 147.16–17; in this he contradicts his ­earlier claims, cited above, in my comment on 1.1–3, according to which “what intervenes” (to metaxu) “is subject to alteration” (alloiousthai) and “change” (trepesthai) and “suffers” (paschein); hence, in my opinion it would be inopportune to speak h ­ ere of his “standard doctrine” as Sharples 2005, 346n.6 does), whereas just a ­little ­earlier (op. cit. 142.10–13) he had entertained an in­ter­est­ing alternative, though he seems to have failed to utilize it subsequently: “so as the presence of ­things which are of such a nature as to illuminate makes the potentially transparent actually transparent, so again the actually transparent takes on the color of the ­things seen as a sort of second light, through their presence, receiving this as a sort of second actuality.” It is precisely this notion of light as a secondary (i.e., dependent “on something ­else”; cf. my comment on ΙΙ 6.3.11–14) “activity” (energeia) that P. is exploiting ­here to explain the nature of light. Such an activity only needs a source (that which “gives light; shines” (phōtizein)) from which light “emanates” and, beyond that, so long as ­there is the suitable “receptor” to receive it (that which “is illuminated” (phōtizesthai)), then, without any further mediation, this activity occurs and imparts to the receptor the corresponding “affection” (pathos). This, however, means that strictly speaking this activity does not belong ­either to that which occasions it—­inasmuch as it leaves it ­behind and “becomes distanced” from it, without, of course, causing its essence to diminish in any re­spect (on this, see Armstrong 1937, 63–66)—or to that at which it arrives—­insofar as it constitutes but a ­simple and transitory affection or accident (cf. Galen PHP VII 5.8, 454.18–20)—­but constitutes a tertium quid, which mediates between the two, and, although ontologically dependent on the former, its presence becomes manifest chiefly in the latter. We see then that although a certain superficial similarity with the wording in Aristotle’s classic formulation, De an. II 7, 418b9–10, according to which “light is . . . ​the activity of what is transparent qua transparent” (cf. also below, 6.30–31), can indeed be observed ­here, its philosophical import is radically dif­fer­ent, given that P. (i) denies the necessity of the existence of “the transparent” (diaphanes) as a medium; and (ii) for him, the “activity” (energeia) does not mean the activation of an inherent potential capability, but the secondary manifestation of an already active, effective source; cf. Schroeder

144  Fourth Ennead 1984, 243–44. Lloyd 1990, 99–101, has argued for the Aristotelian pedigree of the Plotinian theory, yet, in my view, the differences h ­ ere outweigh the similarities. In this re­spect, the latter theory is a precursor of the radical reversal in the usage of the term energeia, ­later established by John Philoponus; see In De an. 331.1–33, In Ph. 642.9–20; Sambursky 1958, 117–20; also de Groot 1983, 190–94 (who, however, somewhat conflates ­these notions), and Kalligas 2012b, 60–63. 6.27–31. ἀλλ’ ὥσπερ ζωὴ . . . ​ἐνέργειά τις [τὸ φωτεινὸν] εἴη: A brief allusion to the model of the “unmixed ­union” (asugchutos enōsis), which was mentioned in IV 3.22.1–7 (see my comment ­there, and also on IV 4.14.1–10); this time, however, the analogy is turned on its head, as it is employed to account for the presence of light in the illuminated object. 6.31–40. οὐδὲ γὰρ νῦν . . . ​οὑτωσὶ ἐπεσκέφθω: A series of clarifications of specific issues with re­spect to the relation of light with air help complete the picture of this theory: a. The light does not result from the luminosity of air (cf. my comment on 6.1–13), which at any rate is mixed with earth (cf. my comment on ΙΙ 1.6.12–21) and is by its nature dark (cf. above, my comment on 2.55–61); consequently it can only act as an impediment (cf. 1.19–23, 2.17, 2.59, 4.31) to light’s transmission. b. The Peripatetic view according to which light is the “alteration” (tropē) of air from potentially to actually “transparent” (diaphanes; on this, see my comment on 1.1–3; cf. also Alex. Aphrod. De an. 44.9–18), found­ers on the observation that a bright object is more easily observable through dark air; see above, 3.1–15 and 4.36–38. c. An affection, if it is a true affection incorporated in a body’s ­matter, belongs and remains to it for a certain period of time, as in the case of heat; cf. IV 4.14.4–8. But light’s fleeting presence in the air suggests the two are not truly intermixed. It simply happens that the latter is sometimes pre­sent where, in any case, the former radiates. 7.1–13. Πότερα δὲ . . . ​τῷ μεταξὺ ἱσταμένου: An essential feature of this activity is that it is not alienated, so as to end up belonging to something ­else, but it is always dependent on its source and continues to exist so long as it lingers on; cf. VI 9.9.4–11. Precisely for this reason, P. (just like Alex. Aphrod. De an. 42.20–43.1; on this, see Schroeder 1984, 244) wishes to avoid a materialist interpretation of the pro­cess of “emanation” and denies this characterization (“does not flow away” ou rheousa; cf. ΙΙ 1.3.25–26, 8.1–5, and my comments on ΙΙ 1.5.5–14 and ΙΙΙ 5.3.11–15), insisting that the light’s activity remains directly dependent on its source; cf. Ι 7.1.25–28 with my comment, VI 4.9.37–42. Thus, any spatial displacement in the source entails the immediate displacement of the entire activity field that surrounds it; cf. IV 4.29.41–45. 7.13–23. ἔστι δὲ ἡ μὲν . . . ​οὗ φθάνει: The theory of the two activities is set out h ­ ere in general; cf. my comment on Ι 2.1.29–38; also Lloyd 1990, 98–104. According to it, all beings (and as beings h ­ ere we need to chiefly understand real essences: the intelligibles and souls; cf. Rutten 1956, 102–3) possess two kinds of activities, both of which are inseparably intertwined with their essence. The first of ­these activities, which somehow constitutes its “life,” is internal and self-­constituting, in the sense that it is this that makes

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  145 that being what it is in a manner similar to Aristotle’s “actuality” (entelecheia), which determines what its ­bearer is. Thus, for example, being luminous and warm is a constitutive characteristic of fire, without which it would no longer be what it is, that is, fire. Therefore, ­these constitute ele­ments of fire’s first activity, a primary and inalienable manifestation of its proper essence. But fire, apart from the properties mentioned above, which it retains for as long as it is what it is (“remains” menein; cf. V 4.2.19–37 and Schroeder 1992, 28–30), additionally has the ability to illuminate and heat other bodies around it. This stems from its secondary activity, which radiates outward, or “emanates” from it, imparting qualitative characteristics, similar to ­those that fire itself possesses, through its action on ­these. This influence is a necessary and inescapable consequence of its primary activity—­and, thus of its corresponding essence—­but it is not indispensable for it, ­because a fire would still be a fire if ­there was nothing for it to illuminate and heat. Although the secondary activity constitutes a distinct being with its own characteristics and an in­de­pen­dent presence, it is, however, inconceivable if it is not dependent on the primary activity, which continuously feeds it as its princi­ple and “source.” At the same time, it can extend over a g­ reat distance from it, depending on the fire’s potency. This presence can bring about two kinds of consequences in the ­things that receive it: ­either (a) an entirely superficial and transient change, such as when a fire’s irradiation illuminates an object, yet the glow dis­appears at the very moment when the fire becomes distanced or is extinguished. Or (b) it leads to a somewhat more permanent change, an “affection” (pathos), such as the heat that fire ­causes leaving its trace on the heated body, which remains hot for a period of time, even ­after the fire is no longer close. Cf. IV 4.14.1– 10 with my comment. Evidently, the case of light falls ­under (a), but light has further the ability to act over ­great distances, giving rise to the visual stimulus in the eye and thereby activating the pro­cess of sight. 7.23–33. ἔστι δὲ καὶ . . . ​πρὸς τὸ ἔξω: Our author feels obliged to explain his theory by employing an example, albeit one that appears rather exotic nowadays. It rests on the age-­ old notion that the eye’s power of sight is the result of the “fire” (pur) that is pre­sent in it; this fire becomes perceptible ­under certain special circumstances, such as when, for example, it is dark and we press against the eyeball with our fin­ger; cf. Alcmaeon apud Theophrastus De Sensibus 26, 507.1; Arist. Sens. 2, 437a22–26; also V 5.7.22–30, and my comment on Ι 6.9.30–31. Thus, according to what appears to have been a fairly widespread belief, some chiefly nocturnal animals are able to see in darkness thanks to the heightened amount of “fire” in their eyes; in fact, this fire can sometimes be observed by its irradiation; see, for example, Democritus (A157 DK—­“owl”); Plin. HN XI 151; Sext. Emp. Pyr. Ι 45; Galen PHP VII 4.18, 450.36–452.3 (“lions and leopards”); Horapollo Hieroglyphica Ι 17, 49 (“lion”); Damianus Optica 2.1–7. According to P., this light stems from the “fire” that is inside the eyes, and the observable irradiation is due to its secondary activity, which spreads out when the pupil of the animal’s eye becomes dilated. Contrary to Pl. Ti. 45b6–­c1, ­here it is rather unclear how this light of the eye is supposed to contribute in general to sight. 7.33–41. ἔστιν οὖν . . . ​τ ῆς ἐνεργείας ἄπεστιν: The theory of the two activities, which would soon become a plaything in an arena of sterile theological debates and feuds, is

146  Fourth Ennead ­ ere accurately and soberly applied to the case of the natu­ral transmission of light. This h belongs primarily to its source, the luminous body from which it emanates; its commixture with ­matter results in the emergence of color. The other bodies, ­those receiving the irradiation and illuminated by it, become luminous thanks to this glow and acquire a superficial and transitory coloration, which, however, is entirely dependent on the activity reaching ­these bodies from its source. Thus, this coloration is not actually attributable to ­these bodies, but merely to their ability to reflect the light projected on them from an external luminous source; cf. ΙΙ 4.5.6–12, IV 4.29.19–20, V 3.8.20; also Wagner 1985, 277. 7.41–44. ἀσώματον δὲ πάντως . . . ​ὡς ἐνέργεια: As I have argued (see my comment on 6.1–13), light, qua activity—­either primary, which is inherent in self-­luminous bodies, or secondary, which irradiates the non-­self-­luminous bodies—­although sensible, is incorporeal. Notwithstanding the similarities of expression with Aristotle’s (see De an. II 7, 418b9–17) and Alexander’s views (see De an. 43.7–11), P.’s position is significantly dif­fer­ent, in that illumination is not the result of a synergy between the light source and the illuminated medium, but is exclusively attributable to the activity of the illuminant; on this, see Schroeder 1984, 242–46; cf. also above, my comment on 6.13–27. Consequently, one cannot say that it is “pre­sent” or “absent” in the sense that this can be claimed of other bodies; ­these words are meaningful solely as referring to the activity that acts on the bodies and irradiates them. In this sense, light occupies a unique place in P.’s ontological scheme; it is a physical entity at the boundary between the corporeal and the supra-­sensible. It is the vis­i­ble manifestation of the way in which incorporeal activities can act in the world; cf. Ι 6.3.17–26 with my comments. 7.44–49. ἐπεὶ καὶ τὸ . . . ​τὸ ὁρώμενον: The dependent character of the secondary luminous activity is revealed even more clearly in the manner in which the mirror functions. This is ­because the images appearing in a mirror lack their own distinct hypostasis, but are mere activities of what is being mirrored in it, and their presence simply becomes evident when the appropriate mirror is pre­sent; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 6.7.23–27 and 14.4–7. 7.49–56. ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐπὶ τῆς ψυχῆς . . . ​ἄλλης ἔχει: We now must apply the same model to the analy­sis of the body-­soul relation; cf. also IV 3.17.8–21. As we have seen, this relation is repeatedly couched in terms of the projection of a trace or image from the former to the latter, resulting in the formation of a composite image, which constitutes the living organism or the “living being” (zōion); see, indicatively, my comments on Ι 1.7.1–6, ΙΙΙ 4.3.24–27, IV 3.10.29–38, and 12.1–2. Hence, this trace is said h ­ ere to constitute a secondary activity of the soul itself, whose primary activity is none other than life. Therefore, the body’s animation through the image affords the body a semblance of life, which becomes manifest, for instance, through the biological functions; yet ­these abandon it as soon as its constitution is disturbed to such an extent that it becomes incapable of “mirroring” the psychical activity; cf. my comment on IV 3.23.42–45. 7.56–62. ὅταν οὖν . . . ​ἐκεῖ μόνον: The “passing away” (phthora) of the body does not entail the “passing away” of the soul, but simply that the soul’s activity, which lent the

IV 3–5. Difficulties re the Soul  147 body this trace of life, is now directed to something ­else, perhaps leaving on it ephemeral and dim residues of its quasi presence; cf. IV 4.29.12–31 with my comment; also Igal 1976, 333. 8.1–7. Εἰ δ’ εἴη σῶμα . . . ​τάχα ἄν: The introduction of the model of the two activities to explain the transmission of light is somewhat at odds with the model of “mutual affection” (sumpatheia), which was e­ arlier employed to analyze visual perception, chiefly in 3.15–25. In fact, t­ here I spoke of a thought experiment, which we are now revisiting. The question is w ­ hether the transmission of light as secondary activity suffices to account for the production of visual stimuli, or ­whether a sympathetic connection between seer and seen object is additionally required in the context of a unitary organism, as in the cosmobiological conception of psychophysical interactions; cf. IV 4.32.13–25 with my comments, and 40.9–19. The first answer to this question is the—­somewhat wary in my view—­insistence on the celebrated dogma of sumpatheia: No, observing an object that is located outside the cosmic organism, whose part the observer is, would be impossible u­ nder ­these premises; cf. also the similar thought experiment presented in IV 4.40.17–19. As Emilsson 1988, 54, notes, this would seem to entail that the transmission of a visual stimulus is somewhat dif­fer­ent from the s­ imple transmission of light. 8.7–17. εἰ μέντοι . . . ​καὶ δι’ ἄλλων δεικτέον: A per­sis­tent interlocutor now poses the question in its extreme version: would a body sharing exactly the same properties with another body, one that is vis­i­ble in our world, still be vis­i­ble in a dif­fer­ent world? The answer given to this is rather more cautious: Yes, inasmuch as no one seeks, through this question, to rebut the entire theory of sense-­perception through “co-­affection” (sumpatheia). In this way the objections of this interlocutor are arguably quelled (if, for instance, the interlocutor was Porphyry, who was known to have espoused this theory: see Ad Gaurum 11.2, 48.22–28; cf. also fr. 264F, where he seems to construe sensation as a kind of self-­awareness; on this, see Dörrie 1959, 156–57), yet the question itself remains unanswered, and the author recognizes the need for further examination. It is certainly noteworthy that nowhere ­else in his work does P. appear to clearly argue for something of the sort. 8.17–23. τὸ μὲν οὖν ζῷον . . . ​τοῖς ἀντιληπτοῖς: A last argument is adduced to support the theory of “co-­affection” (sumpatheia) against an alternative claiming that sense-­ perception simply occurs through ­things that are alike, that is, ­because the organism employs organs that, in a sense, bear a likeness to the object they are perceiving. Cf. Theophrastus De Sensibus 1 (Dox. gr. 499). This argument is rather complex, and quite difficult to comprehend; ­these difficulties are compounded by a number of serious textual reconstruction issues. In what follows, I ­will build on the rather convincing analy­sis by Bréhier in his “Notice,” 63; cf. also Emilsson 1988, 48–49. 8.23–26. ἐὰν οὖν ζῷον ὂν . . . ​τοῖς ἐν αὐτῷ: The first premise of the argument is introduced as a hypothesis, and it is claimed that it represents the alternative theory ­under consideration. According to this, the world, just like any other organism, has the ability

148  Fourth Ennead to perceive only what is like, akin to what belongs to it, meaning the parts that constitute it. Therefore, w ­ hether something that does not belong to the cosmic organism can be perceived by that organism or not depends on its likeness to one of the parts of that organism. 8.26–28. ἢ καὶ τὰ ἀντιληπτὰ . . . ​οὐ προσήκοντα εἶναι: P. contributes himself a second premise, evidently b­ ecause he holds it to be commonly, or widely at least, acceptable. According to this premise, the only way two t­ hings can r­ eally be the same is if they have been made so by the same (cosmic, in this case) soul. My correction of the text h ­ ere ( autē instead of hautē) intends to clarify this point. We may suppose that the reason for this is that such likeness must be the result of their belonging to the same intelligible Form; for this to be the case, a common psychical contemplation must have taken place. At any rate, we have seen that likeness is a decisive ­factor when it comes to coordinating the parts of a ­whole, which is governed by a unitary soul: see IV 4.32.17–25 with my comment. With re­spect specifically to the likeness of the eye to the luminous object that it beholds, see above, my comment on 7.23–33. 8.28–30. ὥστε εἰ τὸ ποιοῦν . . . ​πρὸς αὐτήν: The conclusion flowing from ­these two premises, that is, that what­ever the world, or some part of it, perceives must have been crafted by the same soul that created the world, directly contradicts the precondition posed by the interlocutor in his thought experiment; see chiefly 3.22–24, where “another universe, that is another living being making no contribution to the life of this one” was mentioned. Thus something of the kind is impossible to exist, inasmuch as the likeness that connects them ensures that it is one and the same cosmic organism. It is not entirely clear ­whether this argument can be connected with the theory on the nature of light, which was set out in chapter 7. If, however, we consider that the second activity constitutes a “likeness” (homoiōma) of the being that produces it (see 7.17–18), on the basis of what has been claimed thus far, light can only be diffused in the context of one and the same world, and it is impossible for light to be transmitted outside that world. 8.30–39. ἀλλὰ γὰρ . . . ​ἐν αὑτῷ ἀναιρεῖν: Consequently, the assumptions for the hy­po­ thet­i­cal scenario invoked by the interlocutor turned out to be incompatible, and his entire thinking needs to be abandoned. Naturally, this does not mean that the claim concerning the contribution of likeness in sense-­perception is unfounded. On the contrary, it has become clear that this is compatible, and is indeed directly connected with the theory of “co-­affection” (sumpatheia) and the unity of the world.

IV 6 [41]. On Sense-­Perception and Memory

Synopsis 1 2 3

Considering that the senses do not entail some kind of “imprint” on the soul, such an explanation ­will also prove inadequate in the case of memory. The senses, qua activities, are comparable to intellective apprehensions. Memory even apprehends ­things the soul has not received from outside. It depends on the activation of an internal “psychical power.” Final rebuttal of the theory of mnemonic “imprints.”

Introduction Having finished addressing “On Difficulties about the Soul” (IV 3–5 [27–29]) several years ­earlier, P. revisits the issue of sense-­perception and memory in the current brief treatise.1 His motives for this reexamination, especially ­after the exhaustive treatment of the subjects, chiefly in IV 5 (for the former), and in IV 3.25–­IV 4.5 (for the latter), are not to be found in some substantive change in his views or in some novel, more in-­depth contemplation of ­these themes. It appears that the ­actual reason was somewhat contingent, and—­something rather rare for a collected and usually inwardly focused phi­los­o­pher such as P.—­related with launching a specific polemic.2 This is ­because the main objective in composing this treatise turns out to be the rebuttal of a specialized materialistic (in appearance, at least) theory of memory, which rests on the notion that sense-­ perception consists in some kind of “impressions” or “imprinting,” which are inscribed on the soul, and whose preservation constitutes memory. We certainly know of similar

1  The time that elapsed between their composition is estimated by Igal 1972a, 103–4, to be two to three years (264/5 to 267) on the basis of the “teaching periods” in the course of which, according to Porphyry’s testimony (VP 5.5–7), such composition took place. Cf. VP 5.20–25 and 49–50. 2  As McCumber 1978, 162–63, appositely points out, t­ oward the end of the work we witness the author expressing himself “in a rare note of emotion.” Yet his polemic disposition has already become evident by the negative wording of the opening sentence.

149

150  Fourth Ennead formulations dating back at least to Plato (in the Theaetetus and the model of the “wax mold”),3 while they had also been incorporated early on in the terminology of most Hellenistic philosophical schools.4 Evidently, however, in the third c­ entury CE, even some Platonists insisted on employing terms such as tupos (“impression,” “imprint”) and tupōsis (“impressing,” “imprinting”) in a way that risked casting doubt on the incorporeality of the soul itself. For what e­ lse can a receptacle capable of being molded through such kind of imprints and one that retains t­ hese for a period of time be if not something wholly corporeal?5 An in­ter­est­ing testimony on this is provided by Nemesius De nat. hom. 13, 68.15–21, who is most likely drawing on Porphyry.6 According to this testimony, Platonic doctrine on memory can be summarized as “preservation of both perception [see Pl. Phlb. 34a10] and intellection; for the soul apprehends sensible objects through the sensory organs and then belief occurs, while on the other hand intellection of intelligible occurs through the intellect; now, when it preserves the imprints (tupous) of the objects it has apprehended through ­either belief or intellection, then this is called memory.” P. himself at times employs similar phrasing;7 however, as a rule, he is careful to point out that any “impressions” formed on the soul lack material subsistence and are not the soul’s affections.8 On the contrary, a noteworthy text, composed by one of his contemporaries, who, however, represented a rather dif­fer­ent conception of Platonism, treats the ­matter of memory from a perspective that emphasizes especially the quasi-­material dimension of its operation. This is Longinus’ brief treatise On Memory; unfortunately, its adventurous manuscript tradition has not to date helped the text attract the scholarly attention it deserves.9 The work aims mainly at displaying the usefulness of memory to 3  See esp. 191d4–­e1: “We may look upon it, then, as a gift of Memory, the ­mother of the Muses. We make impressions upon this of every­thing we wish to remember among the t­ hings we have seen or heard or thought of ourselves; we hold the wax u­ nder our perceptions and thoughts and make a stamp from them, in the way in which we take the imprints of signet rings. What­ever is impressed upon the wax we remember and know so long as the image remains in the wax; what­ever is obliterated or cannot be impressed, we forget and do not know.” On this, see Bonazzi 2005, 206–7. 4  See Arist. De an. II 12, 424a17–24; Arist. Mem. I, 450a27–32; Alex. Aphrod. De an. 83.3–5; with re­spect to the Stoics, see my comments on ΙΙΙ 6.1.8–14, 3.27–35. 5  Some thinkers indeed placed the seat or “instrument” (organon) of memory in the “rear cavity of the brain, which is also called ‘cerebellum,’ and in its psychical spirit”: see Nemesius De nat. hom. 13, 69.18–20. More particularly, see Blumenthal 1971a, 70–71; and Emilsson 1988, 76–77. 6  This becomes pos­si­ble ­because of a reference ­there to Origen the Platonist (fr. 17: let it be noted that in his edition, Morani follows an e­ arlier suggestion by Domansky, and at this point opts for the rather unwarranted reading Aristotelēs—­which is preserved in only one MS, and is evidently a copyist’s overzealous correction—­instead of Origenēs, which is the name attested in all other MSS, but also in the medieval translation of Nemesius’ work). 7  See, e.g., Ι 2.4.19–20 (on sensible objects) and V 3.2.9–10 (on intelligible pre­sen­ta­tions). Cf. also “Alcinous” Didasc. 4, 154.36–40. 8  See ΙΙΙ 6.1.8–14 and IV 3.26.1–12. 9  The text of this work is preserved as the first of two appendixes that accompany the extant section of Ars Rhetorica by the same author; the latter work is, in turn, preserved in the MSS interpolated in a technical treatise by the rhetorician Apsines, a con­temporary and rival of Longinus in Athens. J. Bake, in the introduction to his 1849 edition, is the first to observe that De Memoria bears l­ ittle thematic or stylistic resemblance to the rest of the Ars, and thus questioned its genuineness; in this he was subsequently followed by eminent scholars, such as G. Kaibel and, more recently, M. Patillon and L. Brisson 2001, in their edition of Longinus’

IV 6. Sense-Perception and Memory  151 the orator and describing some basic methods that exercise memory. The treatise, however, opens with a more theoretical section that explains certain philosophical views on the moral advantages memory affords, examining the latter—in contradistinction to “forgetfulness” (lēthē)—­chiefly from an epistemological perspective. ­There, the soul is likened to a moulded wax that is malleable, supple and neither hard, resistant or unyielding nor, on the other side, soft and watery as to render the imprints on it indiscernible due to the confusion of outlines and letters; it receives like a sort of mould and is easily stamped by sense-­impressions (hypo tōn phantasiōn) by being chiselled and engraved by a sort of clear-­cut and well-­carved letters and by the freshly ­etched signs of science. (Longinus De Memoria, 29–38) In what comes next, following a brief citation of Plato’s theory of recollection, the author adduces in comparison the souls of ­those who are “sluggish” or “slothful” (nōthros) and “forgetful” with “parchments stained and effaced by mould or mire”; on the contrary, what­ever is inscribed on the soul “of the better endowed and naturally suited and hence having a good memory, preserve[s] like bronze tablets unaffected by corrosion and decay unsullied and unchanged ­until the end what­ever is inscribed on them” (Longinus, op. cit. 54–58). Fi­nally, a bit further down, the value of repetition as a mnemonic tool is explained as follows: For if someone is willing to listen again and to repeat what­ever he has heard or perceived by any other sense, this w ­ ill produce a memory of the imprint (phantasia) stamped on the receptacle of the soul, the more repeatedly and deeply it is engraved in it. It is like the traces left by carriages, as they become deeper and more hollowed b­ ecause of the multiple, repeated and continuous friction caused by their wheels. Something analogous occurs also in the case of the soul; for a unique and first contact, by being ­limited and transitory, leaves only a very superficial imprint. (Longinus op. cit. 93–102) It is evident that, had he been aware of it, P. would have vehemently rejected such a mechanistic understanding of the workings of memory. Such an approach does not simply render the senses, as well as their ­bearer, the soul, mere receivers that passively reflect some external stimuli; it also depicts it as susceptible to affections that can alter its capacity to apprehend real­ity and ultimately cancels the soul’s autonomy, or even its imperishability.10 Furthermore, the fact that such views w ­ ere promoted by a reputable fragments: 125 ff. Nonetheless Aulitzky 1927, 1412–13, while also recognizing it as an in­de­pen­dent work, has supported its attribution to Longinus, adducing a number of arguments that have yet to be refuted. The stance of Männlein-­Robert 2001, 463, is characteristic: although she apparently accepts Aulitzky’s argumentation, her analy­sis in her aforementioned voluminous monograph completely disregards the De Memoria. In what follows, my references are to the lines of the Patillon and Brisson edition (2001), where the work is not included among the numbered fragments, but appears as “Appendix I,” op. cit., 224–32. With re­spect to Longinus and P.’s attitudes ­toward him, see VP 14.18–20 with my comments. 10  On this, see my comments on ΙΙΙ 6.1.25–30 and IV 4.20.10–20. It should be made clear, however, that Longinus was other­wise opposed to crude (in his view) materialist views on the nature of the soul, such as ­those formulated by the Epicureans and the Stoics; see fr. 20.

152  Fourth Ennead successor of Plato, as the authoritative interpretation of the doctrines of the school’s found­er,11 would have left P. utterly repulsed and indignant. We have no way of ascertaining w ­ hether this Longinian opusculum was indeed known to P. when he was composing the treatise at hand. At any rate, something of the kind would represent a unique novelty in P.’s entire oeuvre, where, as we know, competing theories and doctrines usually remain latent,12 while their specific sources are habitually undeclared and often inscrutable. Moreover, it is of course pos­si­ble that Longinus had expounded this theory of his also in another, more extensive work; nonetheless, the correspondences that can be found in the two texts, both on the semantic and the verbal levels (the most significant of ­these ­will be highlighted in the relevant comments), in my view warrant the claim that a direct connection between the two is eminently probable.

Commentary 1.1–11. Τὰς αἰσθήσεις . . . ​ἐμμείναντος: From the outset, our author wishes to emphasize the close correlation between memory and sensation: if we hold that memory consists in the retention of some sort of “impressions” or “imprints” (tupoi) that have been deposited in the soul (as, for instance, Longinus does in the three characteristic passages cited in my introduction), then we are forced to accept that ­these arise in the course of the pro­cess of sense-­perception, when the “impressions” are first received from the environment. Thus, the discussion is framed in the terms established by Plato in Philebus, 33c8–34a11, where “memory” (mnēmē) is defined as the “preservation of perception” (sōtēria aisthēseōs; cf. Longinus De Mem. 58–60). The expression “since we say” (legontes) suggests that the thesis put forth represents Plato’s au­then­tic doctrine (cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.1.1–3) and is employed to call to order ­those among his interlocutors who had become distanced from it. At the same time, the same form of the verb that occurs again in ll. 8 and 11 arguably functions as a reminder of what has been said on the ­matter in IV 3.26.25–32. At any rate, even Peripatetics such as Alex. Aphrod. De an. 72.5–13, distanced themselves from the model of the seal in the wax, as they insisted that we ­ought to understand the term “impression” as a mere meta­phor. 1.11–14. εἰ δ’ ἐπὶ . . . ​τὸ ζητούμενον: This reference to the Phaedrus 250d2 is t­ here to underline the credentials of the proposed thesis; arguably, it is further employed to counterbalance Longinus’ recurrent allusions to this dialogue (in their notes, Patillon and Brisson point out at least four such instances). It becomes clear, however, that P. is not interested in presenting h ­ ere a comprehensive theory of visual perception (as he did in IV 5), but only to examine w ­ hether it presupposes the existence of “impressions” or “imprints” (tupoi) 11  At least this is what is hinted at by the numerous allusions and references to the Platonic corpus included in De Memoria, something that impressed Bake; see Aulitzky 1927; also Patillon and Brisson 2001, 131. 12  See VP 14.4–7 with my comment. In what follows I s­ hall be referring to Longinus’ treatise by mentioning only his name.

IV 6. Sense-Perception and Memory  153 on the soul. In this manner he seems to be taking advantage of the fact that, as it seems, his opponent, although chiefly inclined to address the question of how we memorize “words” (logoi; see Longinus 24, 70, 129–37, 180–203), attempted to widen his focus and treated all kinds of perceptual repre­sen­ta­tions (phantasiai); see Longinus 36, 47–51, 58–61, 82–98, and so on. With re­spect to the fittingness of vision as a point of departure for studying sensations in general, even memory, cf. Arist. Metaph. A 1, 980a26–­b25. 1.14–18. δῆλον δὲ δήπου . . . ​βλεπούσης: ­Here we see P. taking an unusually realistic position on the m ­ atter of visual perception, which as he claims occurs “­there,” that is, in the object itself. This appears to go against the wording in Ι 1.7.9–11, where the soul is said to be “receptive” only of the “impressions produced by sensation on the living being.” Of the vari­ous interpretative suggestions put forth to resolve this contradiction, the most convincing in my opinion is that of Blumenthal 1971a, 71n.13. According to him, the perceptive faculty P. has in mind ­here incorporates both functions mentioned in the passage from Ι 1, namely, ­those of sensation and perception; see my comment ­there and cf. V 3.3.1–5. That apprehension takes place “­there” and not somewhere “inside” the body is an effortless conclusion from the fact that the soul is incorporeal, which means that it is not actually located in space, but only wherever it happens to focus its attention on. Cf. my comments on Ι 1.11.2–8 and IV 2.1.66–76; see also Dillon 1991, 104–5. 1.18–23. ἅτε μηδενὸς . . . ​τὸν τύπον βλέπουσα: Now the argumentation takes on a more personal tone (“I think” oimai): the popu­lar model of the wax mold (on which see my introduction and cf. Longinus 30–38) and impressions or imprints that are stamped on it must be abandoned; cf. my comments on IV 3.26.25–34 and IV 5.3.26–38, but see also Cic. Tusc., I 61. For if it ­were accurate that imprints are left on the soul, then perceptual apprehension would be a purely internal ­matter of the soul, inasmuch as the objects it “beheld” would already exist within it. Naturally, one can respond by claiming that sensation consists precisely in this emplacement of “impressions.” A response to such an objection is provided further down, in 1.35–40. Then the question becomes the following: Who can diagnose the existence of ­these “impressions” on the soul, and in what manner? Cf. ΙΙΙ 6.1.4–8 with my comment. The rearrangement of the text that I propose owes much to Igal’s suggestions (but ­these require interventions in three separate places), which ­were accepted by H-­S2, yet it is more eco­nom­ical, inasmuch as it takes the phrase “received a seal stamp” (sphragīda lambanousēs) at l. 20 as a correction of the participle blepousēs (which the MSS preserve at l. 21), which, however, seems to have been accidentally incorporated in a wrong place of the text. The awkwardness of the resulting syntax (with the explanatory dative tōi and the ensuing hyperbaton) is not uncharacteristic of P.: cf., for example, ΙΙΙ 8.3.22–23. 1.23–28. τὸ δὲ δὴ διάστημα . . . ​οὐ δυναμένου: Another two arguments against the theory of the “impressions” or “imprints” are adduced ­here: 1. The “distance” (diastēma) seperating the seer and the seen constitutes one of the “common sensibles” (koina aisthēta), which the soul “co-­discerns” (sundiagignōskein) when it beholds an object (cf. Ptol. Opt. ΙΙ 7, 72; Alex. Aphrod. In De Sensu 84.11ff.; Galen

154  Fourth Ennead PHP VII 5.37, UP XVI 3, 383.4–8; also my comment on ΙΙ 8.1.12–13); yet this could not possibly occur if the seen is but a mere “impression” ­etched on the soul. 2. Furthermore, it would be impossible to gauge the a­ ctual size of an object, for we would have to concede that the “impression” is necessarily much smaller than the object; cf. IV 7.6.11–29 and Cic. Tusc., I 61. 1.28–40. τὸ δὲ μέγιστον . . . ​ἵνα ᾖ ὅρασις: A last argument is put forth, the most decisive one: in such a case, what is seen (for the soul) would be the tupoi, not the objects themselves, inasmuch as t­ hese do not act in an intermediating capacity with re­spect to something external, but constitute “impressions” or “imprints” inside the soul. This helps us understand the presuppositions ­under which P. would be disposed to accept the involvement of some kind of tupoi in the pro­cess of perceptual apprehension (as he does in other parts of his work; see note 7 of my introduction): t­ hese would have to be “inscribed” not on the soul, but on the sense organs, which function as “proportional means” between the soul and external objects (cf. IV 4.23.19–36 with my comment); in this manner they can mediate, allowing the soul to cognitively apprehend and form the corresponding judgments and repre­sen­ta­tions; see also Emilsson 1988, 77–78 This, however, presupposes the existence of some distance separating the sense organ both from the object seen (cf. IV 5.2.56–61 with my comment), and from the soul (­here in the form of otherness), so that the soul w ­ ill be able to apprehend and articulate the vari­ous stimuli; cf. IV 7.6.3–15. Therefore, it w ­ ill be the soul that actively apprehends t­ hese “impressions,” which are formed in the vari­ous organs, and it is the soul that evaluates and resynthesizes them, so as to form complete repre­sen­ta­tions. 2.1–6. Εἰ οὖν μὴ οὕτως . . . ​πεφύκασιν: Therefore the emphasis is on the active, and not the passive, character of sensation qua psychical power, which—­although unitary—­ activates differently the vari­ous sense organs, thereby rendering them capable of apprehending the corresponding stimuli and communicate t­ hese to the soul; the soul subsequently draws conclusions about ­these in the form of judgments (legein); cf. ΙΙΙ 6.1.1–4 with my comment; Arist. De an. II 2, 425b26–31; also Benz 1990, 235–36. 2.6–9. ἡμεῖς δὲ ἀπιστοῦντες . . . ​ἀλλ’ οὐ κρατεῖσθαι: Thus, the decisive f­ actor is that sensation is a cognitive power, not an inert passivity, as the image of the seal in the wax suggests. A hint of irony is discernible in the hēmeis (“we”) ­here: it refers to t­ hose of “us” (Platonists?) who are utterly confused about ­matters so basic, such as which ­things in the world are active (and dominant) and which are passive and consequently subservient to the former; cf. my introduction to ΙΙΙ 6.6.33–46. 2.10–16. τὸν αὐτὸν δὴ τρόπον . . . ​πεφύκασιν ὁρᾶσθαι: ­After vision, we now pass to hearing: in this case also, the sound of the speaker’s voice (it is clear that, contrary to IV 5.5, where he spoke of “sounds” (psophoi), ­here P. has in mind articulate speech (phonē)) is “inscribed” on the air, and, in this way, it is transmitted to the ear (whose interior, according to Arist. De an. II 8, 419b33–420a11, also contains “connatural air” (sumphuēs aēr)), where the soul needs to “decipher” auditory stimuli and thus “hear” what has been

IV 6. Sense-Perception and Memory  155 said. Once more, hearing hinges on the soul’s active intervention: the soul “reads” the impressions recorded on the sense organ. 2.16–18. γεύσεως δὲ . . . ​τῶν παθῶν οὖσαι: Something similar is thought to occur when we taste and smell ­things. With re­spect to the olfactory sense, ­there is an in­ter­est­ing doxographical testimony in Elias In Cat. 152.12–15, according to which “Plotinus reconciled Plato and Aristotle claiming that the sweet smell changes part of the air; b­ ecause the sweet smell that lingers in the apple gives rise to a quality similar to it by changing part of the air; it is that quality that we apprehend” (cf. Olymp. In Cat. 49.5–8.). This analy­sis is somewhat reminiscent of that of vision through the theory of the two “activities” (energeiai), which we came across in IV 5.7.33–41, although ­here it seems that the existence of air as a medium is presupposed. What is impor­tant for this discussion is that, in this context, smell must again take action and pick out a change that has come about in the air, since no contact has been made with some outflow originating from the apple itself. And, of course, the “affection” (pathos) occurring in the sense organ must be distinguished from the attendant “judgment” (krisis), which is the work of the soul itself; cf. Ι 1.7.9–14 with my comment, but also Pl. Tht. 186b11–­d3 (this last reference I owe to a suggestion by Eleni Perdikouri). 2.18–22. τῶν δὲ νοητῶν . . . ​ἐνεργοῦσα ἕκαστον: ­After examining perceptual repre­sen­ ta­tions, our author now briefly discusses intellective apprehensions. But as no sense organ is involved ­here, it becomes even clearer that no kind of “­etching” of perceptual repre­ sen­ta­tions can exist on the soul (despite the fact that many ­Middle Platonists claimed the opposite, even in the case of God; cf., e.g., Philo Opif. 18–19; also Runia 1986, 163– 64), but only the activation of a specific “power” or “faculty” (dunamis) of the soul, which brings it into direct contact with the most au­then­tic aspect of its being—­that is, its intellective self; cf. ΙΙΙ 6.2.32–54 and ΙΙΙ 8.6.10–21 with my comments, as well as my comment on ΙΙΙ 5.2.32–38. 2.22–24. πότερα δὲ . . . ​ἐν ἄλλοις: Self-­intellection, however, comes in two forms: when the soul thinks, it is intelligible to itself, as something that intelligizes. In this case, therefore, what carries out the intelligizing (viz., the intellective faculty of the soul) is distinct from what is being contemplated. On the contrary, in the case of the intellect, what the intellect contemplates is what the intellect is, and ­these two are one and the same. This subject is treated in somewhat more detail in V 6 [24].1.1–16, and h ­ ere P. seems to be referring to that passage. Our author, however, would revisit and examine it in much greater detail ­later, in the first six chapters of treatise V 3 [49]. 3.1–5. Νῦν δὲ . . . ​ὧν οὐκ ἔσχε ποιεῖται: Following the preliminary examination of perceptual apprehension and the inference that it does not involve “impressions” (tupoi) that could be memorized, we move on to the principal subject of this treatise: memory. We begin—­more aristotelico (cf. Arist. Metaph. Α 2, 983a12–16)—­with something “marvelous” (thaumaston): the soul’s power and abilities (cf. ΙΙ 9.2.15; IV 2.1.66–9). For the soul has the wondrous capacity to apprehend and possess ­things that it has never acquired; cf. Longinus 42ff.

156  Fourth Ennead 3.5–10. λόγος γάρ ἐστι . . . ​αἰσθάνεται ἀμφοῖν: Owing to its intermediate ontological position (cf. IV 4.3.10–12 with my comment), the soul enjoys equal cognitive access to the intelligibles and to the sensibles. The intelligibles show it the way to the true and happy life (cf. Ι 4.3.15–8; Pl. Phdr. 247d3–4; also “Alcinous” Didasc. 2, 153.3–9), while the sensibles, b­ ecause of the glow of the former that renders them—to a certain extent—­ similar to ­these, exert on it a fascination that sometimes ­causes the soul’s fall; cf. Ι 6.8.6– 16 and IV 3.17.21–28 with my comments; also Guidelli 1988, 90. 3.10–16. ἐν μέσῳ δὲ . . . ​εἰς ἐνέργειαν ἰέναι: Furthermore, given its intellective nature (see above, my comment on 2.18–22), knowledge of the intelligibles—­through recollection—­ constitutes for the soul the most sublime form of self-­knowledge. For one contemplates them simply by activating a power inherent in one’s soul, through some kind of recognition of its true being, without anything being received from outside, such that could become “inscribed,” “impressed,” or “settled” (enizanein; cf. the equally unusual verb enapomorgnunai employed in Longinus De Mem., 97) on it. It is worth noting ­here that, on the contrary, in Longinus’ view, the intelligibles are to be found “outside of the intellect” (see fr. 17 = VP 18.8–19; cf. also Long. De Mem., 20.90–96); therefore they can only become known by becoming somehow “impressed” on the intellect; cf. Frede 1990, 92–93. 3.16–21. τὰ δ’ αἰσθητὰ . . . ​τόσῳ ἀεί: Yet even in the case of sensation something comparable takes place, although in this case we have a much more pronounced otherness, which separates the subject from the object; cf. above, my comment on 1.28–40. For the soul discerns in sensible bodies their intellective origins (cf. Pl. Resp. 490b1–7; also Phdr. 251e3–5; and Long. De Mem. 82–86), which are also its own roots, and thus the soul sees in them its own shadow. The more its gaze becomes fixed on its reflection, the more the soul embraces it and becomes attracted to it, but also comes to identify itself with it. Of par­tic­u­lar interest is ­here the notion of the expansion of time that P. is apparently introducing. The concentration of the soul’s attention to the reflections of the intellective light on the sensibles results in its experiences becoming extended in time; thus, the greater the concentration, the more the sense of temporal duration becomes expanded; cf. ΙΙΙ 7.11.35–45 and IV 4.15.10–17 with my comments. 3.21–27. διὸ καὶ τὰ παιδία . . . ​ἧττον μνήμονας: An additional argument comes to support the connection between attention—­that is, the activation of the soul’s cognitive power—­and memory. While Arist. Mem. I, 450b5–11, had argued that very young (as well as very old) individuals are “defective in memory” (amnēmōn), P. claims—­much more reasonably (cf., however, Pl. Ti. 26b3–4)—­that ­children are much more a­ dept at memorizing, ­because their attention is focused on fewer ­things. In his opinion, this demonstrates that memory is a power of the soul—­which is greater when used sparingly—­ and not a passive accumulation of impressions. Cf. below, 3.51–55. 3.27–29. ἔτι, εἰ τύποι . . . ​ἀναμιμνήσεσθαι κειμένων: The second main argument against the theory of the mnemonic “imprints” (tupoi) has to do with “recollection” (anamnēsis), at least as Aristotle understands it (Mem. II, 451b2–5: “when one recovers some

IV 6. Sense-Perception and Memory  157 knowledge which he had before, or some perception”; cf., however, Pl. Phd. 75e2–7). If memory w ­ ere but mere recording of “impressions” on the soul, loss of memory—­owing to such impressions becoming eliminated or “faded”—­would be definitive and irreversible, and we would be utterly unable to ever recall something to memory again. For, as Longinus describes it (De Mem. 23–26; cf. also 29–38, 55–58, and 110–14), according to this view, memory would consist in “having the power to faithfully imitate and to take the impressions (apomattesthai) of words which one may promulgate and admire, and thus to come to rival one’s masters by being able to speak in a fashion very similar to them and to emulate them” (this was a commonplace in rhetorical teaching; cf., e.g., Theon Progymnasmata 61.30–31), and therefore (following on this an idea of Antiphon recorded by Longinus at 174–79) this would appear to be something “against nature” (para phusin). In fact, a rather in­ter­est­ing extension of this thesis can be found in an argument in Longinus, preserved by Proclus (In Ti. Ι 66.14–23 = fr. 30; on this, see Männlein-­Robert 2001, 461–64), according to which the “impressions” of memory would need to be equated with “science” (epistēmē) itself. Naturally, Longinus could respond to this objection by claiming that one can “revive” the memories in one’s soul, “if one scrapes clean the imprints by the exercise of recollection, by study and care” (De Mem. 90–93), but P. dwells especially on the need we experience whenever we want to recall something, beyond any amount of “practice or rubbing down” (tribē), to also focus our attention on it. This would be pointless if the “impressions” are already pre­sent on the soul as offprints. It necessarily requires some kind of activation of the corresponding psychical power that ­will render the specific repre­sen­ta­tions active again. 3.29–45. καὶ αἱ εἰς ἀνάληψιν . . . ​τ ὴν ῥωσθεῖσαν εἶναι: To support his objection, P. adduces precisely the example of memorization, which, as we have seen, was what concerned Longinus above all. In fact, he had formulated the following relevant definition: “Reminiscence is like the renewal and recovery (cf. Arist. op. cit.) of knowledge that has been effaced (cf. Pl. Symp. 208a3–6) b­ ecause of forgetfulness” (Longinus 63–65). So, the question is how this “recovery” (analēpsis) occurs: h ­ ere Longinus advocated the use of mnemonic methods, similar to ­those sponsored e­ arlier by Simonides (see op. cit. 105–26; also Sorabji 1972, 22–26), but also systematic application (meletē aenaos: op. cit. 127–45), as well as some other, more complex techniques. For P., all ­these look more like gymnastic workouts that aim at keeping one “in good shape” by exercising and bolstering one’s powers, rather than the “practice or rubbing down” (tribē) of some supposed “impressions” (tupoi), which at any rate thus would run the risk of becoming even more faded and “evanescent” (exitēlos). Regular and frequent repetitions (which Longinus recommends: op. cit. 93–102; 129–34) do not involve the “re-­imprinting” of existing tupoi, but are exercises that strengthen memory in general, and not solely the specific memories. Fi­nally, the fact that recollection occurs “suddenly” (exaiphnēs) is yet another piece of evidence that it is an “activity” (energeia), and indeed one with intellective characteristics; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.6.9–21. 3.45–55. οἱ μὲν γὰρ τύποι . . . ​καὶ ἡ μνήμη: The e­ tching of “impressions,” as described by Longinus, who likens it as we have seen to the “traces left by the wheels of carriages”

158  Fourth Ennead (op. cit. 98–101; see my introduction), would not render the soul stronger—­especially if such “impressions” are accumulated over time—­but, on the contrary, would leave it weakened and more vulnerable; cf. also Pl. Tht. 194e3–195a2. But the waning of the soul’s powers—­for instance, ­because of old age—­also entails sensorial and memory impairment; cf. Arist. Mem. I, 450b3–7; my comment on 3.21–27 above; also Guidelli 1998, 83–84. Consequently, memory must constitute a manifestation of the soul’s active power, not a symptom of its passive receptiveness. 3.55–57. ἔτι τῶν αἰσθήσεων . . . ​τὴν ἀρχὴν εἶναι: This précis of the arguments presented in the first two chapters of this treatise serves to make perfectly clear that the adversary P. had in mind from the start was an adherent of the theory of the mnemonic “impressions” or “imprints” (tupoi). 3.57–63. ἀλλ’ εἰ . . . ​ἐργαζομένων: A response to an explanatory aporia: How can we account for the fact that a certain amount of time needs to intervene between the formation of the original perceptual repre­sen­ta­tion and its “recovery” (analēpsis) through recollection? The answer is that the activation of mnemonic power requires some kind of preparation, chiefly by focusing attention on a specific cognitive object; cf. above, 3.27–29 with my comment. The vari­ous training techniques mentioned by Longinus may obviously contribute to this; see my comment on 3.29–45; also Guitton 1959, 113–14. 3.63–70. γίγνονται δὲ . . . ​ἀδυναμίαν κεκτῆσθαι: Nevertheless, contrary to Longinus’ claims (see mainly op. cit. 16–28, 38–44), memory is a discrete psychical power, which is not identified with, or necessarily accompanied by, ­mental agility; cf. IV 3.29.16–17. Arist. Mem. I, 449b6–8, distinguishes between “persons who possess a retentive memory” (mnēmonikoi) and ­those “who excel in power of recollection” (anamnēstikoi), yet for P. an aptitude for recollection alone does not necessarily entail “quick wit” (anchinoia). (Interestingly, the rather obscure—­and of a Homeric pedigree, see Od. 13.332—­ word anchinous that P. employs h ­ ere also appears in both of the passages by Longinus cited above. Cf. also, with re­spect to the uncommon expression “superiority of soul” (pleonexiai psuchēs), Longinus 27.) This is ­because being able to memorize t­ hings does not automatically make one wise (on this, cf. contra Longinus’ view mentioned above, in my comment on 3.27–29); this is why someone “fond of learning and lit­er­a­ture” (philologos) is quite dif­fer­ent from a “lover of wisdom” (philosophos): cf. VP 14, 18–20. 3.70–71. καὶ τὸ τῆς ψυχῆς . . . ​δύναμιν εἶναι: The emendation I have suggested h ­ ere (psychikēn for the MSS reading psychēn: see Κalligas 1988, 98–99) has been accepted by Schwyzer, H-­S5 200; it clarifies the import of this last argument, which is, of course, valid only when used against interlocutors willing to accept that the soul is a “substance without magnitude” (amegethēs ousia); (cf., e.g., ΙΙΙ 6.1.28), that is, incorporeal. Mainly Platonists, such as Longinus, would be counted among such interlocutors. 3.71–79. καὶ ὅλως . . . ​οἱ ἀσώματον: P. faults the proponents of the theory of mnemonic impressions for being frivolous, sloppy, and inconsistent as they conflate

IV 6. Sense-Perception and Memory  159 the supra-­sensibles with the sensibles and are being led astray by the similarity inherent in the similes they employ; as a result, they become trapped by their own words. Their hasty and reckless “conceptual apprehension” (epibolē, a term Longinus cherished especially: see op. cit. 61, 93, 100; cf. also, however, Anon. In Tht. 46.43–49, with the comments in Tarrant 2000, 152) in their reasoning has driven them to entirely false conclusions. B ­ ecause of all this talk of “tablets” and “writing plates” (pinax and deltos, such as in Longinus op. cit. 52–55), they ­were carried away into regarding the soul as a material body, on which impressions are recorded. P. seems to be saying h ­ ere that one could reasonably expect ­those who believe that the soul is something corporeal (for instance, the Stoics; see my comment on ΙΙΙ 6.1.25–28) to hold such views; but it is utterly unacceptable for Platonist phi­los­o­phers to subscribe to such notions.

IV 7 [2]. On the Immortality of the Soul

Synopsis 1 Posing of the prob­lem: The soul is our true self. ­Whether it is immortal or not depends on its essence: ­whether it is corporeal or not. 2 The soul is not corporeal, ­because no body, be it ­simple or composite, is of itself animate. 3 Critical section: The soul is not comprised of material atoms, nor is it an affection of ­matter. It holds bodies together, as well as the entire universe. 4 It does not constitute “spirit in a certain state.” Its action is not univocal, 5 like that of bodies. It does not increase along with the body. Its division is unlike that of corporeal beings. 6 If the soul ­were a body, there would be no sense perception; no memory; 7 no sensation of pain; 8 no intellection; no virtues. 81 The soul is not an active body, nor does it resemble the corporeal “powers.” 82 It can never become entirely blended with the body, 83 nor does it result from ­earlier states of ­matter on the basis of the scheme: “state” (hexis)—­“nature” (phusis)—­“soul” (psuchē)—­ “intellect” (nous). 84 It is not the “harmony” between the body’s components, 160

IV 7. Immortality of the Soul  161 85 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

nor the body’s inseparable “actuality” (entelecheia). The soul’s nature: The soul is an eternal and true substance, the princi­ple of life. It is akin to the intelligible beings and is, therefore, divine, as emerges from an introspective examination of the virtues. The soul’s immortality: The soul possesses life of itself, and, indeed, it possesses intellective life. It is unitary and uncompounded, and therefore imperishable. Prob­lems and solutions: How does the soul become embodied? What of the souls of irrational animals and plants? And what of the irrational parts of the tripartite soul? Supplementary arguments drawn from cultic practices and divination.

Introduction Chronologically, this is the first treatment of the subject of the soul attempted by P. If indeed we take into consideration that Porphyry’s dating of the treatise “On Beauty” (Ι 6) as the earliest of P.’s works might be coincidental,1 then it is rather likely that this is the first treatise to circulate, albeit among members of an inner circle.2 This fact may partly be the cause of the peculiar history of its textual tradition (on this, see further down). Certainly, this is a rather ambitious and untypically systematic, by P.’s standards, work that poses and provides in-­depth discussions of some central issues pertaining to the nature and the chief characteristics of the soul; detailed criticism is leveled against alternative conceptions; and copious amounts of arguments supporting (what is understood as) Plato’s au­then­tic view on the m ­ atter are summarized. The question of the soul’s immortality, although perhaps not the most central of all ­those raised,3 is examined at the beginning and the end of the treatise, and is undoubtedly connected directly to most of the issues that emerge, while it crucially contributes to highlighting the distinctiveness of Plato’s positions vis-­à-­vis t­ hose of the other philosophical schools, mainly the Epicureans, 1  Given that, as Porphyry mentions in VP 26.33–35, it was not available to him from the outset. On this, see the introduction to I 6 [1]. 2  See VP 4.9–16. 3  Nevertheless, as Atticus had pointed out ­earlier, fr. 7.10–28, the relevant doctrine represents a central point of Platonic philosophy (“one that holds together his entire thought”). The treatise’s title, as well as ­those of most other treatises, was obviously selected by Porphyry, who in VP 4.24 mentions it u­ nder the title “On Soul’s Immortality.” P. himself, at the beginning of treatise IV 2 [4], is apparently referring to this treatise by using the general wording “In our enquiry into what the soul’s essential being is . . .”. As we ­shall see further down, judging from the captions of the two portions from book XV of his Preparatio Euangelica, numbered 10 and 22, Eusebius of Caesarea was aware of a version of the work divided in two books, alternatively titled “On the Immortality of the Soul” and “On the Soul.” On this, see Henry 1935, 73–77; Kalligas 2001, 587–88; cf. also contra, Goulet-­Cazé 2007, 67–78 (she is relying, however, on P. Kraus’s rather far-­fetched hypothesis, which presupposes a double ­mistake in the copying of the MSS of the Preparatio Euangelica).

162  Fourth Ennead the Peripatetics, and the Stoics, who attributed to the soul at most a rather impermanent kind of survival ­after its separation from the body. In ancient Greece, the concept of the soul was employed as a justification for mainly two categories of, quite often mutually complementary, phenomena: (a) As the point of origin, or source of vital power, which differentiates living beings from inanimate ­matter and endows them with basic biological functions, such as, for example, nutrition, growth, and procreativeness, but also—at least some of ­these—­with mobility and capability of perception, thus rendering them living organisms. (b) As the seat of consciousness, or “selfhood,” or, in general, as the main pivot of a person’s personality, that is, as the basis for one’s emotional and intellectual constitution, which secures one’s continuity through time and, at the same time, offering a sense of identity and experiential cohesion.4 Naturally, the conception of the soul as immortal pertains chiefly to the latter of the two above-­mentioned aspects of psychical life. The development and dissemination of this notion is usually attributed to the followers of the “Orphic-­Pythagorean” tradition, although the precise import of this claim remains rather vague, if not confusing.5 In Plato’s work this features as a foundational philosophical doctrine, one that carries impor­tant implications for the fields of ontology and epistemology. Nonetheless, the theory’s vari­ ous formulations in Plato’s oeuvre cannot always be easily harmonized. In the Phaedo, for instance, the soul, at least in its pure form, is said to be a supremely unitary being, whose main task is to “think” (logizesthai), while its diverse sensory, desiderative, and emotional functions are attributed to the body, or, at least, are directly dependent on the presence of the body (65b9–67a1). That soul remains immortal, securing for the specific person a kind of afterlife, where some of the person’s character ele­ments are retained and determine the subsequent fate of that person. Furthermore, despite the introduction, in the fourth book of the Republic, of a tripartite division of the soul into a “rational” (logistikon), a “spirited” (thumoeides), and a “desiderative” (epithumētikon) part, the argument for the soul’s immortality in the tenth book (611b9–612a6) suggests once more that its true nature is essentially “­simple” or “uniform” (monoeidēs) and immutable. On the contrary, in the Phaedrus the soul is described as inherently mobile (245c5–9), but also tripartite even in its disembodied state (248a1–249d3).6 Fi­nally, in the Timaeus (69c5–­ e3) only the soul’s superior, rational part is recognized as immortal; this resides in the head, to ensure that it is clearly distinguished from its “other form,” the mortal one, which 4

 On this, see Laks 1999, 250–54; also Kalligas 2000, 26–27, where further bibliography is provided.  For a sober and detailed pre­sen­ta­tion of the prob­lem and the most recent related bibliography, see Kalogerakos 1996, 144–49 and 343–46. Although the doxographical sources mention Thales (11A 1 (24) DK) and Pherekydes (fr. 2, 7, 88; see also Schibli 1990, 104–21) as the first proponents of the doctrine of the soul’s immortality, the earliest unequivocal testimonies available on the continuation of the existence of the soul as an individual entity (and not as a ­simple shadow of its former self ) post mortem pertain to Pythagoras (Xenophanes fr. Β7 DK; see Βurkert 1972, 120–41); Empedocles (see chiefly fr. Β115, 137 DK, with the clarifications by Zuntz 1971, 264–71); and the Orphics (mainly b­ ecause of the content of the so-­called Orphic tablets (lamellae orphicae), the earliest of which dates from the late fifth ­century BCE, although they clearly represent an older tradition; see Pugliese Carratelli 2003, 12–16 and 33–58). 6  On this, see Bett 1986, 20–21. 5

IV 7. Immortality of the Soul  163 is the subject of the “terrible and necessary affections” that are related to desires and “spirited temper” (thumos).7 Faced with ­these disparate versions, P. is mainly interested in discerning a unitary doctrine, one that can preserve the soul’s eidetic character and, hence, its fundamental “kinship” (sungeneia) to the intelligible beings. Such “kinship,” however, presupposes its incorporeality; thus, the first and most extensive part of the treatise at hand is dedicated to defending the soul’s incorporeality vis-­à-­vis alternative materialist or epiphenomenalist theories. The arguments in this part are introduced in close succession and rather schematically, which confers on the work as a w ­ hole a somewhat scholastic character,8 and appears to echo the author’s preoccupation with presenting himself as an au­then­tic exponent of the Platonic tradition.9 It is noteworthy, however, that several of his individual arguments are drawn from the arsenal used by the Peripatetics in their polemic against—­chiefly—­the Stoics,10 ­until his criticism becomes eventually focused on Aristotle’s theory itself, thereby leaving the field open to introduce Platonic doctrine.11 This doctrine rests mainly on the determination of the soul as a distinct “substance” (ousia), in the Platonic sense of the word, that is, as a predominantly intellective entity that shares all of the main characteristics of intelligible beings: its “internal” primordial “activity” (energeia), that is, life, as well as an “external” secondary “activity,” on account of which it is capable of endowing other material t­ hings with life, thereby animating them; an internal propensity ­toward its intellective origins and hence an innate aspiration ­toward “contemplation” (theōria); and, as a result of the latter, an intrinsic tendency to become disengaged and purified from bodily admixtures, and to return to its own divine abode. In this manner, all the main par­ameters that make up psychical life and ensure that it is preserved imperishable and always active are presented. ­These thoughts outline the framework of P.’s philosophical psy­chol­ogy without entering into specific issues, which the author ­will treat in detail in ­later works.12 At the same time, as D. J. O’Meara observes,13 we see that in this treatise, although the doctrine introduced is authentically Platonic at its core, nonetheless the critique of Stoic and Peripatetic views that intervenes before its introduction colors and adds new dimensions to it: ­here the soul is defined as a cosmic vital power that pervades ­matter, imparting to it orderliness, structure, and cohesion; in terms of its internal articulation it is closer to Aristotle’s analy­sis of psychical functions, rather than to the classic Platonic tripartite 7  With re­spect to the evolution of Platonist views on the soul u­ ntil P.’s time, see the very useful survey in Emilsson 1994, 5331–61. 8  See Bréhier, “Notice,” 179. 9  The unusually large number of citations from and allusions to Plato’s work, found in the final, purely theoretical chapters of the treatise also contributes to this. 10  As pointed out exhaustively in Bréhier, “Notice,” 179–84. 11  As has been repeatedly noted, the argumentation in the critical part of the treatise follows a course similar to that found in comparable Platonist surveys on the subject, e.g., in Nemesius’ De nat. hom. (ΙΙ 67– 102); yet the individual arguments employed by P. are usually dif­fer­ent from what we encounter in other sources, which reveals that he was not closely following any specific doxographical source. On this, see Emilsson 1994, 5341–48. 12  On this, see my introduction to the “trilogy” of “On Difficulties about the Soul” (IV 3–5). 13  See O’Meara 1993, 18–19.

164  Fourth Ennead division. In that sense, this treatise represents—­especially its final chapters—­a valuable introduction to the subject and a suitable starting point for anyone wishing to delve into this other­wise exciting and sophisticated area of P.’s thought. This treatise is also rather intriguing b­ ecause of the peculiar MS tradition through which its text has been handed down to us. More specifically, most MSS of the Enneads preserve the treatise in a rather lacunose condition, that is, with the section beginning from the word “courage” (andreia) in 8.28 to the word “being” (ontos) in 85.49 missing. ­Because of this, this section was omitted in the first edition of M. Ficino’s translation, as well as in Perna’s editio princeps.14 Nonetheless, as has already been made clear since the time of Creuzer’s first edition (Oxford 1835),15 we are able to fill in this lacuna thanks to two passages from the Preparatio Euangelica of Eusebius of Caesarea, where sections IV 7.1.1– 84.28 (= Euseb. XV 22.1–67) and IV 7.85.1–50 (= Euseb. XV 10.1–9) of the treatise are cited. Hereafter, I ­will be referring to ­those sections using the letters C and Β, respectively.16 Of ­these, section Β is only extant in Eusebius, who introduces it using the following caption: “From Plotinus’ second book On the Immortality of the Soul, in reply to Aristotle who claimed that the soul is an ‘actuality’ (entelecheia).” The much more extensive section C can be subdivided as follows: C1: Euseb. paragraphs 1–49 = IV 7.1.1–8.28; C2: Euseb. paragraphs 49–67 = IV 7.8.28–84.28. C1 has been bequeathed to us ordinarily also in the MSS of the Enneads, while, outside Eusebius, C2 is only attested in three of the basic MSS of the Enneads,17 all of them dating to the fifteenth ­century; evidently, it was transcribed ­there from some other source drawing on Eusebius’ work.18 Eusebius introduces the entire portion C u­ nder the caption 14

 This is the reason for the peculiar numbering of chapters 81–85.  And indeed even by that of François Vigier’s edition of Eusebius’ work in 1628. 16  This symbolism is introduced in Kalligas 2001. ­There, I explain the reasons for abandoning P. Henry’s ­earlier symbolism. Section Α (= Euseb. ΧΙ 17.1–10) corresponds to selected sections from treatise V 1.4.1–8.14. 17  Both of ­these (codices Μ and V) are copies of codex C, which omits though portion C2, and simply bears at the margin of the line in question a reference to a now-­lost marginalium. By happy coincidence, however, codex Μ, which was produced by the same copyist as codex C, Demetrios Triboles, preserves this marginal comment, where it is observed that this section is superadded to the text and explains the reasons for which it was omitted in codex C. On this, see H-­S1, ΙΙ, XVIII–­XIX and 197 (where part of the marginalium is cited). 18  See Schwyzer 1939, 373–75; also Henry 1941, 326–32. As noted in the latter, the complete absence of section Β from the manuscript tradition of the Enneads suggests that C2’s transcription in this context was carried out using a MS containing only individual fragments from Eusebius’ work. T ­ oday we know of at least three such MSS that preserve section C isolated among vari­ous other collected philosophical texts, and sometimes it is erroneously believed that they represent the tradition of the Enneads, whereas in fact they belong to that of the Preparatio Euangelica. ­These are codex Vaticanus Rossianus 986 (fols. 277v–284r) of the fifteenth ­century (= Τ); codex 209 from the Monastery of Iviron on Mt. Athos (no. 4329 in the cata­logue of S. Lambros, fols. 221r–230v, copied by the scribe Matthaios Kamariotes, who, as it turns out, is also the copyist of Parisinus gr. 2082 (= J), one of the three MSS of the Enneads containing the missing part of the text—­I was 15

IV 7. Immortality of the Soul  165 “Against the Stoics: Rejecting that the soul can be corporeal using the first part of Plotinus’ treatise ‘On the Soul.’ ” Both ­these captions reveal that Eusebius had in front of him a somewhat diverging version of the treatise, one that was divided into two books and possibly (also) titled “On the Soul.”19 This has led e­ arlier scholars to theorize that he had employed the hy­po­thet­i­ cal “pre-­enneadic” edition of the work by Eustochius.20 When it was observed, however, that the Arab tradition of P.’s works, which unquestionably originated with Porphyry’s edition of the Enneads, includes some passages corresponding to portions C2 and Β of this treatise,21 this theory conclusively lost its factual basis; subsequently, it was widely accepted that the absence of ­these portions from the manuscript tradition of the Enneads was the result of a fortuitous oversight that occurred when its archetype or one of its immediate exemplars was copied. The eventful and complex history of the MS tradition of the treatise at hand is unique in all of P.’s oeuvre. Among other ­things, it can help us realize the g­ reat variety of conduits through which the thought of this Neoplatonist phi­los­o­pher managed to reach readers who possibly lacked access to the complete body of the Enneads.22

Commentary 1.1–15. Εἰ δέ ἐστιν . . . ​τοῖς ὄγκοις: Given that one’s body is manifestly perishable, one’s personal immortality is a question that is reducible to our psychical constituent’s capacity for eternal life. Now, the body is perishable owing to the fact that it is a composite of form and ­matter; cf. Arist. De an. II 1, 412a11–16. Furthermore, each constituent is inherently inclined to move t­ oward its “proper place” (cf., e.g., Arist. Ph. IV 4, 211a4–6, made aware of the existence of this MS by my friend J. Demetrakopoulos, to whom I would like to express my sincere gratitude); and codex 3169 of the National Library of Greece in Athens (fols. 58v–62v, where the copyist Parthenios notes characteristically: “I do not know w ­ hether ­there is more from the same treatise”), copied at Galata of Constantinople in the year 1720 (= Athen.). (Could this ­really be a successor of the lost MS, whose presence at Galata, forming part of the collection of a Jewish scholar, was mentioned by Janus Laskaris in an entry in his notebook dating to 1490? On this, see Henry 1935, 320.) Although l­ater, ­these MSS appear to represent an ­earlier tradition, one that is connected with that of P.’s three MSS mentioned above, while it diverges in several places from that of the other MSS of Eusebius. For a more detailed account of the manuscript tradition of the pre­sent treatise, see Kalligas 2019. 19  In Kalligas 2001, 587–97, I support the view that the source of ­these sections should be identified as the treatise “On the Soul,” mentioned by Longinus in his letter to Porphyry (VP 19.25), and that it came into the possession of Eusebius along with V 1 [10], which was known to Longinus ­under the title “On Being,” from the remnants of the library that Longinus had taken with him when he moved to Palmyra. In Goulet-­Cazé 2007, 90–96, an attempt is made to rebut this theory of mine—­which, however, she eventually describes as “ingenious and theoretically pos­si­ble.” 20  Chiefly by Henry 1935, n.3. On this, see my comment on IV 4.29.50–55. 21  This does not necessarily imply though, as it is sometimes thought, that Eusebius was also drawing on Porphyry’s edition. For a detailed critical review of the question as a ­whole, see Goulet-­Cazé 1982b, 289–94. 22  Another similar testimony comes from codex Marcianus Graecus 209 (= D), the earliest (twelfth ­century) of all MSS preserving P.’s work, which includes only treatises Ι 1, IV 2, and IV 7 (without, of course, sections C2 and Β) that are of interest from a psychological point of view.

166  Fourth Ennead and IV 8.2.9–14); as a result, tensions and clashes arise within it that constantly threaten to bring about its dissolution; cf. the cosmic dimension of this phenomenon, as described in ΙΙΙ 2.2.1–7, with my comment. The soul functions as the cohesive power that harmonizes all t­ hese natu­ral tendencies and coordinates them so that they constitute a unitary organic w ­ hole, the h ­ uman being, which continues to be perceived ­here in Aristotelian terms as a compound of body and soul; cf. Arist. De an. I 4, 408b13–16, and my introduction to Ι 1. 1.15–20. κἂν μονωθεῖ δὲ . . . ​ἀθάνατοι: The parts of the body, as they too are corporeal, ­ ill also be perishable, for even the so-­called ­simple bodies (hapla sōmata), that is, the w four ele­ments, are subject to generation and destruction; cf. Arist. Gen. corr. II 4, 331a7–­ b24. Furthermore, a characteristic feature of all bodies is that they are extended in space (cf. ΙΙΙ 6.16.29–31 and IV 2.1.11–17 with my comment); consequently, they w ­ ill be susceptible to partitioning and fragmentation, lacking any true unity, as any unity they enjoy is something superadded to them. Consequently, our body is insusceptible to immortality. 1.20–25. εἰ δὲ ὄργανον . . . ​ἡ ψυχὴ αὐτός: If, again, the body is taken, in accordance with the model of Plato’s Alcibiades (129c5–130a1; cf. Ι 1.3.3 with my comment), to be the instrument of the ­human person, then what­ever is employing the body must be something distinct from it, that is, the soul. Thus we arrive at the conclusion that what rules over the body, the ­human person, should be identified with the soul; cf. Pl. Alc. 130a3–­c3 and d5; also Pépin 1971a, 72–80. See also Ι 1.10.7–11 and IV 4.18.10–19 with my comments. It is telling that even a Peripatetic such as Alexander of Aphrodisias was willing to grant that “a h ­ uman becomes ­human ­because of the soul” (De an. 2.1–2; cf. Quaest. Ι 26, 42.1– 3; and already Arist. Metaph. Ζ 10, 1035b14–16), yet P., through his emphatic use of the personal pronoun autos, seems to be wishing to introduce an additional and novel anthropological category: that of the autonomous and self-­impelled cognitive and moral subject, the “self ”; cf. the points raised in Henry 1960, 448; and also my comment on ΙΙΙ 1.8.4–8. 2.1–4. Τοῦτο οὖν . . . ​ἢ κατ’ ἄλλον σκεπτέον: The ensuing discussion takes as its point of departure a distinguo: the soul is ­either (a) something corporeal (and therefore perishable; cf. above 1.8–11); or (b) something incorporeal. In what follows, chapters 2–83 are dedicated to a critique of option (a), chiefly by highlighting the paradoxical consequences its ac­cep­tance would entail. From chapter 84 onward option (b) is examined, first by rejecting the epiphenomenalist theories of the “Pythagoreans” and Aristotle, then through an exposition of Platonic doctrine. Thus, the structure of the treatise appears ­simple and straightforward, as it includes an extensive section dedicated to the critique of vari­ous materialist views of the soul, with P. subsequently moving to a systematic pre­ sen­ta­tion of “his own theory” (idia theōria). 2.4–15. πρῶτον δὲ . . . ​οὐδὲ ζωὴν ἔχοντα: The author moves to examine the hypothesis that the soul is corporeal by employing his favorite (especially in his early works, at least; cf. ΙΙΙ 1.1.1–8 with my comment) method of exploratory “systematic scrutiny” (diaporē-

IV 7. Immortality of the Soul  167 sis), with re­spect to its relation to one of its generally recognized basic features, namely, life (notice “necessarily” in l. 6: this fundamental premise is supported further down, in 11.14–18). It is further obvious that, at least on the level of stated intentions, P. wishes to be as exhaustive as pos­si­ble when it comes to documenting all the pos­si­ble cases. The dialectical character of the examination that follows means, in my view, that we do not need, at this stage, to identify P.’s opponents as the Stoics (a claim ventured, e.g., in Η-­S2 ad loc.; but see also Graeser 1972, 25–26). For instance, the reference to the nonexistence of other bodies outside the four ele­ments (cf. ΙΙ 1.2.12–17 with my comment) could arguably be aimed at forestalling the attribution of life to some “ethereal” (aitherōdes) body, as some, for example, certain Pythagoreans, appear to have maintained; see Alexander Polyhistor apud Diog. Laert. VIII 27–28; also Burkert 1972, 362–68. As I understand it, his case study runs as follows: If the soul is a body, then (­because all bodies are composite; see 2.2) it ­will be made up of two or more constituents, whereupon connate life ­will ­either belong to: (a) all ­these constituents; or (b) some, but not to all the rest; or (c) none of ­these. The first case to be examined is (b). The question now becomes: what body could be considered as inherently alive? Something of the sort would hark back to the archaic beliefs of the earliest hylozoists, an option clearly unthinkable for P. Cf. also the argument in Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 115.15–20. In any case, even a body such as aether, which is supposed to be distinct from the other four ele­ments (cf. my comment on ΙΙ 1.2.12–17), is introduced by its proponents as a body, not as a soul; see, for example, Arist. Cael. I 2, 269a30–­b17. 2.16–17. εἰ δὲ μηδενὸς . . . ​ἄτοπον: This is case (c): if none of the supposed constituents of the somatic soul is inherently alive, it would be absurd to hold that their ­union gives rise to life. 2.17–20. εἰ δὲ ἕκαστον . . . ​γίγνεσθαι: A brief reference to case (a): not ­every single one of the constituents needs to possess life, for just one would suffice to impart life to the ­whole. Yet, as becomes apparent when examining case (b), this is impossible. Consequently, we are thus led once again to case (c), which appears to be the most absurd of them all. For, if the constituents composing the soul lack life themselves, and furthermore they do not receive life from somewhere ­else, this would mean that a ­simple combination of nonliving constituents can produce life. This is deemed unacceptable, as is to have intellection arise from a random intermixture of constituent ele­ments that are entirely devoid of intellect. 2.20–25. δεῖ ἄρα εἶναι . . . ​ἢ παρὰ ψυχῆς: The conclusion is that ­there must be something that arranges and composes any constituent ele­ments in an orderly manner, allowing for the emergence of an organic w ­ hole; this cannot be anything other than the soul or, at any rate, something psychical, such as the “formative princi­ple” (log­os); cf. ΙΙΙ 2.2.18– 33 and 16.12–17 with my comments. Hence, the formation of any body, be it composite or ­simple, living or nonliving, inasmuch as it meets the requirements of such a “formative princi­ple,” ­will be the result of some soul’s action on ­matter.

168  Fourth Ennead 3.1–2. Εἰ δέ τις . . . ​καὶ ὁμοπαθείᾳ: The atomists’ theory of the soul, which is discussed ­here, is couched in terms more reminiscent of Democritus than Epicurus (“without parts,” amerē: cf. 67A 13 DK), but then the “unity” (henōsis) and “community of feeling” (homopatheia) should pertain to the soul’s relation to the body, which, in Aristotle’s corresponding description (De an. I 2, 403b31–404a9 = 67A 28 DK), is permeated, set in motion, and swept along by the movement of the atoms that compose the soul. 3.2–6. ἐλέγχοιτ’ ἂν . . . ​ἂν γένοιτο: Yet the objection raised by P. appears to concern the unity and cohesion of the soul with itself: in that case, the soul would be but a mishmash of heterogeneous constituent ele­ments unconnected to one another, lacking the requisite coordination and “affinity” (sumpatheia) that would render it a unitary agent of apprehension and consciousness. The soul’s “sympathetic” relation to itself is treated h ­ ere as a necessary aspect of its function, possibly u­ nder the influence of the relevant Stoic notions; see Graeser 1972, 77–78. ­Here, however, the emphasis is on the fact that this sumpatheia— as well as its concomitant “apperception” (sunaisthēsis; on this, see my comments on Ι 1.11.8–15 and ΙΙΙ 4.4.10–13)—­cannot concern anything entirely material, especially if its constituents are not able to become unified “through and through” (di’ holōn; cf. my comment on ΙΙ 7.1.1–4), but only to be juxtaposed against one another (cf. fr. 68A 64 DK), while themselves they remain immutable and impassible. See also Gerson 1994, 129ff. The final sentence seems to be alluding to an argument resting on an Aristotelian premise: that anything without parts ­will also be sizeless; cf. Arist. Ph. VIII 10, 266a10– 11. Accordingly, an agglomeration of such constituent ele­ments without parts w ­ ill also lack volume and size. 3.6–18. καὶ μὴν . . . ​φύσεως ἁπάσης: But what if the soul is some kind of s­ imple—­that is, uncompounded—­body, such as aether (cf. above, my comment on 2.4–15)? The answer is that, in such a case, the soul ­will be identified ­either with the “form” (eidos), which confers on the specific body the peculiar characteristic of being alive, or with that characteristic itself, whose presence must in turn be an outcome of the effective action of some ­factor other than ­matter, as ­matter is in itself “unqualified” (apoios) and inert; cf. Ι 8.10.2– 5, ΙΙ 4.8.1–2, and ΙΙΙ 6.19.14–22 with my comments. Therefore, in both cases, the soul turns out to be something external to the body’s materiality. It is worth noting that a similarly structured infinite regress argument is attributed in Nemesius De nat. hom. 38, 231.23–30, to Ammonius Saccas and Numenius; see Emilsson 1994, 5345. 3.18–25. ἐπεὶ οὐδ’ ἂν . . . ​τὸ παράπαν εἴη: In the absence of the soul as an in­de­pen­dent eidetic and formative princi­ple, neither bodies (for bodies are constituted, as we saw in 2.20–25, by “formative princi­ples” (logoi) that emanate from the soul) nor the realm of becoming in general (as it presupposes the alteration of “forms” in ­matter, which can only be brought about by souls) could exist; not even ­matter, for it too is the product of the soul’s activity (see ΙΙΙ 4.1.5–12 with my comment). 3.25–35. λυθήσεταί τε . . . ​οὐχ ὅτι ἐν τάξει: The preceding ontological argument is followed by a cosmological one; it appears to target chiefly the Stoics, who thought of the

IV 7. Immortality of the Soul  169 soul as a “hot and fiery spirit” (pneuma enthermon kai diapuron; see SVF 2:773–87). The author, however, opts for deliberately vague and unspecific wording, with the aim, perhaps, of rendering his critique effective against all kinds of materialist conceptions of the soul; cf. above, my comment on 2.4–15; also Blumenthal 1971a, 52–53. The crucial feature of the soul is its cohesive power, its ability to conjoin and arrange the vari­ous parts of a body so that they constitute something unitary, possessed of internal arrangement and coherence. Nonetheless, and despite Stoic claims (on this, see Verbeke 1945, 70–79), a purely material body such as the “spirit” (pneuma) is incapable of imparting ­those characteristics to anything on its own, especially if it lacks t­ hose characteristics itself; cf. my comment on IV 2.2.2–12. Hence, the unity and order that exist in the world should be due to the existence of an incorporeal organ­izing princi­ple, the soul. 4.1–7. Μαρτυροῦσι δὲ . . . ​ἱδρῦσθαι: By inverting the natu­ral order of ­things, proponents of materialistic views of the soul failed to account for the emergence of the vari­ous psychical functions. This is b­ ecause it is precisely ­those functions that bestow on the body its characteristics and form, and not vice versa. “Forced by the truth itself ” (cf. Arist. Metaph. A, 984b9–10; as was Empedocles, according to Aristotle Part. an. I 1, 642a19), they ­were impelled to accept as the soul’s “material” something that is superior, more rarified, and intelligible, such as “spirit”; cf. SVF 2:779, 806. The soul, however, can exist without the need for any material substratum. 4.8–21. εἰ δὲ μηδὲν . . . ​καὶ φύσις ἑτέρα: ­Here the argument is directed against a specific standpoint, namely, that the soul is not just any “spirit” (pneuma), but a pneuma “in a certain state” or “disposed in a certain way” (pōs echon: this expression alludes to the third of the so-­called Stoic categories; cf. VI 1.30.1–9; and Rist 1971, 51–53; in fact, according to the testimony of Alex. Aphrod. In De sensu 167.5–7, for the Stoics the dif­fer­ent perceptual “powers” (dunameis) are dif­fer­ent states of the hēgemonikon, the soul’s “ruling part”: pōs echon to hēgemonikon). More specifically, as we ­shall see further down, in 83.1–6, the Stoics argued that the soul is formed when “spirit” is cooled and becomes “hardened” (stomōthēi) in a certain way; cf. SVF 2:806. Just as in VI 1.29.14– 24, P. sets his opponents before a dilemma: ­either (a) this state is simply a “description” (onoma) of ­matter, lacking a discrete existence, and therefore—in accordance with their own analy­sis (cf. Plut. Comm. not. 30, 1073d–­e ; and Rist 1971, 39)—it is a “nonbeing” (mē on), ­because only ­matter is true being; or (b) this state (which is h ­ ere called a schesis in the special sense of a “qualitative relation”; cf. SVF 2:390) is something real and separate from ­matter, in which case though, it must be something self-­subsistent and at the same time incorporeal. An argument similar to branch (b), only this time focused on God’s materiality, can be found in Alexander of Aphrodisias De mixtione (11, 226.10– 22 = SVF 2:1047), where it is argued that God, being the (creative) power of ­matter, must constitute something like a “form of ­matter” (eīdos tēs hulēs). Cf. also Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 115.6–12. 4.21–34. ἔτι δὲ καὶ . . . ​νῦν δὲ πολλά: Another argument against the conception of the soul as something corporeal takes as its starting point the observation that, if the soul

170  Fourth Ennead ­ ere a body, it would have to possess the basic features that characterize all t­ hings corw poreal. Consequently, its presence would necessarily be accompanied by the presence, in a univocal manner, of the corresponding qualities. Thus we arrive at a view that is rather reminiscent of that ascribed to the Peripatetic Boethus of Sidon (second half of the first ­century BCE) by Porphyry in his Against Boethus on the Soul fr. 248F = Eus. PE XV 11.2–3 (on this, see Gottschalk 1986, 250–53). According to that view, the soul acts in a way that is described as analogous to “weight or bodily properties uniform and immovable, by which ­either the motion or the quality of the subject-­matter is determined” (trans. Gifford), that is, in an entirely mechanical manner that is predetermined by its qualitative characteristics. P.’s objection is that the presence of the soul often entails the appearance of contrary, even opposing results in the body; cf. ΙΙΙ 2.16.40–52 with my comments. Furthermore, such a theory would fail to explain the variety and complexity of psychical reactions to the vari­ous external stimuli; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 1.7.17–21. 5.1–7. Τὰ δὲ δὴ κινήσεις . . . ​ἢ ψυχρὸν εἶναι: This argument constitutes an extension of the preceding one. The movements of ensouled bodies exhibit extraordinary variety, which is the result of ­either alternations of the ­will—­when they are intentional (cf. ΙΙΙ 1.8.1–8)—or of the vari­ous seminal princi­ples, which set them in motion and mold them in accordance with the “mandates,” of which the bodies are b­ earers; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.2.18–33. All ­these suggest that they are governed by inexorable laws that transcend ­those informing purely corporeal interactions, like, for example, the s­ imple transmission of a quality such as heat from one body to another. 5.7–11. τὸ δὲ καὶ ἐν χρόνοις . . . ​ἐργαζομένῳ: One of the main faculties of the soul is, of course, growth, which cannot, however, be explained as the purely mechanical pro­cess of adding mass to a body, insofar as (a) the increase in body mass continues up to a certain point, which is determined by the organism’s formative princi­ple; and (b) its occasioning cause is once again to be found in the princi­ple, which directs the organism to take in the requisite ­matter; on this, cf. ΙΙΙ 6.4.38–41; also O’Meara 1985, 254–55. 5.12–24. καὶ γὰρ . . . ​τῇ αὐτῇ ψυχῇ χρωμένων: This argument complements the preceding one: in that case, an increase in body mass would require a commensurate increase in the soul’s size (as already noted by Bréhier ad loc., the Stoic Antipater of Tarsus had been forced to grant this; see fr. 50 in SVF 3); this would entail a host of intractable prob­ lems with re­spect to the soul’s origin and the continuity of its identity and consciousness. Furthermore, if it w ­ ere susceptible to additions and subtractions similar to t­ hose our bodies undergo, we would be hard pressed to explain how an individual’s personal identity is preserved throughout his or her lifespan, given that the soul’s composition would change continuously, with nothing remaining the same over time. 5.24–38. καὶ μὴν εἰ . . . ​τὸ ὅλον ὑπάρχειν: Having examined the soul’s growth, we now turn to prob­lems related to its diminution and partitioning. The first argument appears to hinge on the premise that the diminution of a body brings about the loss of both its quantity and identity: in other words, it ceases to be (numerically) the same body,

IV 7. Immortality of the Soul  171 although it may retain the same qualitative features that also characterized it before (as in the case, for instance, of “homogeneous” (homoiomerē) bodies). By that token, the soul that inheres in each part of the body would be dif­fer­ent from that of the w ­ hole, whose identity is connected with the soul’s overall size. Thus the parts ­will not possess the overall soul, but only parts of it. Cf. Pl. Prm. 131b7–­d2. Yet the characteristic feature of the soul is that it exists in ­whole everywhere in the body; cf. IV 2.1.62–66 with my comment. Something of the sort, however, cannot be true of something corporeal. 5.38–42. εἰ δὲ ἕκαστον . . . ​ψ υχὴ οὐκ ἔσται: Two brief observations complement the preceding argument. If each part of the soul that inheres in some part of the body does not constitute a soul in itself, then the overall soul ­will comprise parts that are not souls—­ and are, therefore, soulless. This argument is not necessarily as sophistical as it might appear at first glance. For if we decline to believe that the soul, qua life-­giving force, is not pre­sent in its totality in each and e­ very part of the organism, we would be, indeed, compelled to accept that each such part is soulless. This, however, negates the conception of the “living being” (to zōion) as a living organism as a ­whole. On the other hand, it is equally absurd to correlate the soul with a specific size, as any increase or diminution in its size would cause it to cease to be a soul. 5.42–52. ὅταν τοίνυν . . . ​καὶ οἱ λόγοι: Twin births had preoccupied the Stoics, who accounted for them by claiming that the sperm was apportioned in vari­ous “places” (topos) inside the uterus; see SVF 2:750. As P. observes, however, for the same seminal princi­ple to configure two (identical) twins, the same part of the sperm would have to act on both, or other­wise the same princi­ple would have to be si­mul­ta­neously pre­sent in two dif­fer­ent places, which is impossible for something corporeal that is merely apportioned quantitatively; cf. V 7.3.1–3. 6.1–11. Ότι δέ . . . ​τῶν αἰσθημάτων ἐλθόντων: We now move to a somewhat more elaborate argument, one that pertains to the unity of the soul’s perceptive faculty: the multiplicity of sensations and our consciousness of them presuppose a unified subject, which receives ­these and is capable of composing or comparing them with one another. The unity of the perceiving subject is a necessary prerequisite for the formation of repre­ sen­ta­tions, as well as for developing and pro­cessing ­these to combine them into comprehensive views and judgments on t­ hings. But the soul’s central role suggests that it cannot be a mere agglomeration of heterogeneous psychical components and powers, devoid of internal unity; on this, see Remes 2007, 93–95. Furthermore, it is precisely this unity of psychical life and experience that shows as clearly as pos­si­ble that the soul cannot be corporeal. In support of this view, two examples in which composite perceptual repre­sen­ta­tions are formed are adduced: (1) the combination of sensations originating from dif­fer­ent sense organs, leading to the emergence of a complete repre­sen­ta­ tion with varied and heterogeneous characteristics, such as color, taste, weight, and so forth. Cf. Arist. De an. III 2, 426b13–21; Sens. 7, 447b26–448a19, 449a5–20. (2) The linking of the varied perceptual ele­ments contributed by a single sensory faculty, so as to form the repre­sen­ta­tion of a composite object, such as, for example, a face, which is

172  Fourth Ennead made up of dif­fer­ent features arranged in a certain way; see the analy­sis of the argument in Schwyzer 1934, 459–60. Both ­these two cases suggest that the perceptive faculty, which combines the vari­ous sensory stimuli, must be something distinct from the body’s sense organs, yet at the same time pre­sent in all of ­these, and capable of apprehending and pro­cessing sensations originating in ­these organs, acting, according to the formulation in Theaetetus, 185e1, “through itself ” (autē di’ hautēs). This would presuppose, as is already granted in Alex. Aphrod. De an. 63.17–19; Quaest. ΙΙΙ 9, 97.12–14, that this “power” (dunamis) must be utterly “incorporeal” (asōmatos). See also the relevant analy­sis in Emilsson 1988, 94–105. 6.11–19. δεῖ τοίνυν . . . ​σ ὺ δὲ ἄλλου αἴσθοιο: ­Here, we have further analy­sis of (1) with the aid of an example, one originally introduced in Arist. De an. III 2, 427a10–14, and further developed in Alex. Aphrod. De an. 63.8–13; Quaest. ΙΙΙ 9, 96.9–27, and 98.10–15. Cf. also Alex. Aphrod. In De sensu 165.13–20; and Themistius In De an. V 2, 86.18–28. As Henry 1960, 431–40, has shown, P. is ­here drawing on the example of the circle from Alexander; he then (ll. 15–17) refers to the image found in Aristotle, which pertains simply to a “point” (stigmē = to meson in P.) that connects two linear segments, and thus “being at once one and two, and thus both indivisible and divisible.” The idea, as expressed by Alexander, is that as all the radii of a circle converge at its center; the only way to see that they are all heading for the same point is to understand that point as unextended and without parts, ­because only in this way can ­these radii be identical in re­spect of their “limit” (peras); “and this limit is both one and many.” However, something of the kind cannot be anything but incorporeal, for all corporeal ­things are necessarily extended in space, and all of their parts are numerically dif­fer­ent from each other. Hence the soul too, being the seat of “common sense” (koinē aisthēsis), must also be incorporeal, for it is si­mul­ta­neously pre­sent as a ­whole in the entire body. On this, see also Emilsson 1991, 150–54. At the same time, the soul is thus revealed to be the center of a person’s consciousness and subjectivity, for the soul is the locus in which all the dif­f er­ent experiences congregate and become unified, thereby imparting cohesion and unity to its perceptual life; cf. Mondolfo 1953, 374; id. 1964, 71–76. Any corporeality of the soul would necessarily entail, among other t­ hings, the fragmentation of consciousness, as it would render it a mere juxtaposition of heterogeneous and un­co­or­di­nated “subjects” of perception, where each would assert its own autonomous identity; cf. Pl. Tht. 184d1–185e2; Arist. De an. III 2, 426b17–21; Alex. Aphrod. De an. 60.19–61.3; id. In De sensu 163.6–16. 6.19–26. καὶ εἰ ἓν εἴη . . . ​τὴν ἀντίληψιν ἴσχειν: We move on to examine case (b). If perceptual apprehension consisted in the s­ imple “impression” of an object’s image on the soul’s “directive princi­ple” (hēgemonikon; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 6.1.8–14), then each part of that object would have to be imprinted on a dif­fer­ent part of the soul, and all the passions would not be concentrated in one specific part of the soul. This means t­here would be no way, however, for the soul to understand the structure that composes the vari­ous ele­ments making up the object; consequently, it would also fail to grasp the harmony that unites, for example, the dif­fer­ent features of a face or the expression that makes ­these beautiful; cf. VI 7.22.22–26. For P., the “contraction” (sunhairesis)

IV 7. Immortality of the Soul  173 that occurs in the course of the sensory perception of objects (cf. ΙΙ 8.2.11–18 with the first of my comments ad loc.) constitutes a precursor of their “dematerialization,” as sense-­perception derives from ­these only their qualitative characteristics, such as their color; cf. Arist. De an. II 12, 424a17–24. Furthermore, all t­ hese varied alterations that are deposited on the sensory organs are recombined, evaluated, and ultimately judged by something unitary—­none other than the incorporeal soul; cf. Arist. De an. III 7, 431a17–20; also my comment on Ι 1.7.9–14. 6.26–37. ἀλλὰ γὰρ . . . ​εἰκόνας: A further argument is adduced to complement the preceding one. If I understand this correctly, its starting premise is the unity of the object of perception (and not its subject, as most of the translators reckon ­here); this object would risk becoming fragmented into a multitude (or athroisma, an “assemblage” to recall the term employed in “Alcinous” Didasc. 4, 156.3 and 12; on this, see Schrenk 1991, 497–500) of unconnected percepts if the soul ­were merely reflecting its varied aspects, being incapable of reconstituting this object by comprehensively contemplating its precepts in a unitary center of perception. For, ­either the “directive princi­ple” (hēgemonikon) ­will carry the imprint of a part of the object that is equal in size to it—­ which would be irrational—or its dif­fer­ent parts ­will apprehend the object in its totality, just like the hēgemonikon does as a w ­ hole. In such a case though, the directive princi­ ple would carry an infinite number of images of the same ­thing. 6.37–49. καὶ μὴν σώματος . . . ​σῶμα εἶναι: The next argument pertains to memory. It falls in two parts: (i) What could be the biological substratum, on which this “imprinting” (cf. my comment above, on 6.19–26; also my introduction to treatise IV 6 [41]) of the apprehensions occurs? If it is one of the fluids that exist in the body, it ­will be incapable of retaining any of ­these apprehensions long enough to account for the existence of memory; on this, see Bonazzi 2005, 208–9. (ii) Any impressions that remain ­etched on the soul w ­ ill ­either hinder the imprinting of new ones or ­will be erased by subsequent impressions; cf. Sext. Emp. Pyr. ΙΙΙ 188, and Math. VII 373. It follows that the faculty of memory cannot be linked with the e­ tching of impressions on something corporeal. Cf. also IV 3.26.25–34 with my comment. 7.1–10. Ἴδοι δ’ ἄν τις . . . ​ἀφίκοιτο: Moving on from perceptual apprehension and memory, we now turn to sensations such as pain. According to the prevailing view among Platonists, pain is caused by an inordinate excitement of sensory organs; see Pl. Ti. 64c7–­ d3; also Galen Caus. Symp. Ι 6, VII 115–18. ­Here, the predominant theory (the so-­called Pneumatic) in the field of physiology explained the transmission of stimuli inside the body and ­toward the “directive princi­ple” (hēgemonikon) by reference to the ner­vous system; it was accepted that the ner­vous system conveys “spirit” (pneuma), a material component akin to air; see Solmsen 1961, 180–84. The “transmission” (diadosis) of an affection from the part of the body experiencing the affection to the sensory center presupposes the unimpeded conveyance of pneuma between the two; this could be obstructed: for example, by severing or freezing the relevant nerve tissue; see ibid. Ι 8, 140 and 144; and, more generally, see my comment on IV 2.2.18–31.

174  Fourth Ennead 7.10–28. ἀνάγκη τοίνυν . . . ​προσήκει: P.’s objection to the theory of “transmission” is that, in its purely mechanistic version propounded by the Stoics at least, the “directive princi­ple” would not directly sense pain in the affected limb, but only the affection on the spirit close to it; cf. SVF 2:854. In this way, knowledge of pain would amount to mere awareness of an affection befalling something e­ lse; cf. Gerson 1994, 133. This is b­ ecause, insofar as “spirit” is regarded as a material body, each of its parts ­will be dif­fer­ent from the ones next to it; therefore, ­every affection would have to be successively transmitted from one to the other before reaching its final destination. Only a sensory power that is si­mul­ta­neously everywhere inside the body could have direct knowledge of the affection in the spirit as it occurs in ­every single one of its parts; but this means that such a power would have to be noncorporeal. Cf. Pl. Resp. 462c10–­d3, but also my comment on IV 3.23.9–27. 8.1–7. Ὅτι δὲ οὐδὲ . . . ​τὸ νοῆσον εἶναι: We now arrive at the culmination of the argumentation that has been advanced thus far with the examination of the superior, intellective faculties of the soul. The main strategy remains unaltered: to show that, if the soul ­were corporeal, ­there could be no intellection. (The development of the investigation up to l. 23 has been analyzed in Kalligas 2005a, 97–112; the conclusions reached t­ here are summarily reiterated ­here.) The first argument is two-­pronged: the first (A1) stems from two characteristics of perceptual apprehension, namely, that (a) its objects are sensibles; and (b) that it employs (“by making use” proschrēsthai: cf. Pl. Phd. 79c3) the body; cf. IV 4.23.1–34. For a Platonist, (a) would suffice to distinguish perceptual from intellective apprehension, yet the same might not be true for the opponents P. has in mind ­here. Thus P. uses the neutral verb “apprehend” (antilambanesthai) that he had used e­ arlier to describe the two kinds of perception (see my comment on Ι 1.7.9–14) and turns his attention to (b): if intellection pertains to the same objects as sensation, and employs the same bodily organs as it does, it would be impossible to differentiate between the two. The second branch of argument (A2) is premised on the conclusion of A1: now insofar as intellection is carried out without using the body, it w ­ ill be “much more necessary” for its subject to also be noncorporeal. Only when it is unfettered by and in­de­pen­dent of the body can the soul act of itself (autē di’ hautēs: see Pl. Tht. 185d6–­e9; cf. Phd. 65e6– 66a8) and thereby gain access to the realm of the intelligible beings. This is ­because, as explained in IV 4.24.1–12, any information obtained through the senses serves solely the body’s practical needs (pros chreian), while such information lacks true cognitive content. 8.7–11. ἔτι εἰ αἰσθητῶν . . . ​τὸ μὴ μεριστὸν νοήσει: The second argument (B: see the comment in Harder, ad loc. 394–95) aims initially at forcing P.’s opponents into conceding that the objects of intellective apprehension are incorporeal (Β1: the Stoics would apparently agree with this point too; see SVF 2:85). Thus, they are compelled to accept a more moderate thesis (which, it should be noted, exhibits considerable similarities with that ascribed by Sextus Empiricus to Theophrastus: Math. VII 217–18 = fr. 301Α), according to which ­there are two distinct “standards” (kritēria) for knowledge: sensation for the sensibles; and intellection for the intelligibles. Through his careful wording (“some objects of thought”) P. reveals that at this point of the discussion he does not seek to

IV 7. Immortality of the Soul  175 introduce all the accouterments of Platonic metaphysics. He is content to elicit the approbation of his interlocutors on the fact that intelligible objects “lacking magnitude” (amegethēs) do indeed exist. The most common argument for the existence of such entities was the method of successive abstraction of the dimensions of a body, such that we end up with an unextended point in space; this can be real and readily identifiable—­and therefore easily noticed—­yet at the same time sizeless; cf. Arist. Metaph. Z 2, 1028b16– 18; [Arist.] De lin. insec. 972a7–9; Philo Ins. Ι 186–87; Plut. Quaest. Plat. III 1, 1001–2; “Alcinous” Didasc. 10, 165.34–37; and Clem. Al. Strom. V 11, 71.2. The question now is: how can such a ­thing be perceptively “apprehended” by something that is corporeal, and therefore spatially extended? For, if one accepts that such awareness presupposes some sort of contact or “touching” (thixis) of the object by the subject, this would be impossible, as Aristotle had shown, De an. I 3, 407a10–22. This last supposition formed an integral part of the materialistic theory of the soul and how it apprehends ­things, so P. does not hesitate to employ it dialectically to bolster his own thesis. Furthermore, I believe it is pos­ si­ble that h ­ ere he had in mind a further argument from Plato’s Parmenides, 138a2–7, where something that is “without parts” (ameres) can be contained “neither in another nor in itself,” as this would render the soul incapable of “apprehending” an object without parts in terms of extension; the same would be entailed if the soul ­were corporeal. 8.12–14. ἢ μέρει τινὶ . . . ​καθ’ ἕν τι: An interlocutor (or the author himself, engaged in his usual pro­cess of “internal dialogue”) proposes an answer to the prob­lem or aporia just raised: perhaps the soul perceives intelligible objects that are “without parts” (amerē) through a part of it that is similarly ameres; this allows that part to come into direct “contact” and identify with it (B2: cf. Arist. Metaph. Θ 10, 1051b24–33; and Merlan 1960, 186), just like the centers of two concentric circles. In that case though, the rest of the soul would play no part in this cognitive pro­cess, and therefore the soul’s existence, given that this pro­cess constitutes its main function, would appear rather superfluous; cf. a similar argument in Arist. De an. I 3, 407a15–17. 8.14–23. εἰ μὲν οὖν . . . ​σῶμα εἶναι: P. can now draw the conclusion he wishes as follows: (Ν1)  The objects of intellection are incorporeal (see B1). (Ν2) What­ever intelligizes is or becomes one with the object it intellegizes see B2). Conclusion: What­ever intelligizes (such as the soul) is necessarily incorporeal. His reference to “primary thoughts” (prōtai noēseis) reveals that ­here he certainly has in mind chiefly Plato’s separate Forms (cf. “Alcinous” Didasc. 4, 155.39–42); however, a noteworthy parallel passage from Alexander’s De anima, 83.8–23, suggests that P.’s argumentation has a wider scope, addressing all ­those willing to grant that “intellection is the grasping of forms without m ­ atter, and differs from sense-­perception ­because while sensation receives sensible forms not as ­matter, nonetheless takes cognizance of them as being in ­matter, . . . ​whereas the intellect receives the forms neither as ­matter nor as being in ­matter and along with ­matter.” This would mean that even if the objects of intellection are enmattered forms, t­ hese are surely perceived not as enmattered, but as separate,

176  Fourth Ennead albeit following a pro­cess of intellective abstraction. Influenced by this thesis of his, Alexander himself had avoided drawing specific conclusions about the nature of the intellect (especially about the so-­called passive intellect, which the above passage concerns), yet it prompted P. to employ it to reach the conclusion he is most interested in: the incorporeality of its vehicle, that is, the soul. In this way, this thesis appears as the sole pos­si­ble one, even in the context of Peripatetic noology. 8.24–38. Ἀμέγεθες δὲ . . . ​τί ἂν αὐτῷ μέλοι: Criticism is now leveled with regard to the issue of the virtues. It is elaborated in two directions, both directly connected with chief tenets of the relevant Stoic theory. (This section of the passage has been analyzed in Linguiti 2005, 115–26.) The first pertains to their well-­known and paradoxical position that virtues are “bodies” (sōmata); see SVF 2:797; 3:84, 305–7. The most plausible explanation for this thesis is that the virtues are states of the “spirit,” of which the soul is constituted (see my comment on 3.25–35; cf. also SVF 3:75, 104; Graeser 1972, 24), and lead to the transmission of the corresponding modes of be­hav­ior to the body as well, thereby investing it with vis­i­ble “signs” (sēmeia) of the psychic beauty that underpins and regulates it; cf. SVF 1:563. The fact that P. includes blood in this discussion suggests that maybe he also had in mind the relevant Peripatetic views that ­were inspired by a passage from Arist. Part. an. II 2, 648a2–11, and attributed virtues such as courage and wisdom to the “heat” (thermon), “fineness” (lepton), and “purity” (katharon) of blood; cf. Galen QAM VII, 51.12–55.7. For a somewhat dif­fer­ent explanation, see also Blumenthal 1971a, 51–52. Courage could indeed be correlated with a certain kind of rigor (cf. Sen. Ep. 106.7) of the soul, yet the rest of the virtues, such as justice (which, according to the Stoics, constitute a “capacity of apportioning to each his due”: see SVF 3:125 and 262–63) ­were obviously less amenable to such a correlation with corporeal qualities. Nonetheless, even some Platonists such as Longinus fr. 36.13–16, interpreting a passage from the Timaeus (24c5–7), ­were apparently willing to grant that, for example, the “wisdom” of the ­people inhabiting a certain place can be positively influenced by the “mildness” (eukrasia) of its environment; cf. also my comment on ΙΙΙ 1.5.28–33. ­There is also an in­ter­est­ing allusion, through the Homeric phrase cited (Od. 9, 555), to the fate of the hapless Elpenor, Odysseus’ comrade. Elpenor was not renowned for his courageousness nor his wisdom—so much so that, as observed by Harder ad loc., 396, in the context of moralizing interpretations of the Odyssey, he had come to be regarded as the epitome of h ­ uman foolishness and self-­indulgence; cf. Ath. I 10f. In P.’s view, such a temperament is the only logical consequence of subscribing to a materialistic theory of the soul, such as the Stoic one! 8.38–45. πότερον δὲ . . . ​σώματος φύσις πᾶσα: The second direction of the critique of the Stoic theory of the virtues focuses on their permanence, a doctrine that was of central importance to most Stoics; see SVF 3:237–41. In P.’s view, permanence is incompatible with corporeality, which is indissolubly bound with mutability and perishability; cf. my comment on Ι 1.1.16–27. The only way to ensure permanence is by grounding virtues in the immutability of the intelligible beings, in the so-­called exemplary virtues; on this, see Ι 2.6.12–27. Only their stability and immutability can guarantee the permanent presence

IV 7. Immortality of the Soul  177 of their “activity” (energeia) in the soul, that is, of the virtues, but also of well-­being; cf. Ι 5.7.20–30 and 10.12–23 with my comments; and Linguiti 2000, 71–76. 81.1–11. Εἰ δὲ . . . ​ἐκείνοις καταλείπουσιν: For the Stoics, corporeality is a necessary prerequisite for something to be active (on this, see my introduction to ΙΙΙ 6); consequently, for them the soul is inevitably corporeal. Thus, for instance Hierocles El. Eth. ΙΙΙ 61–­IV 3, notes that it is subject to the same kind of interactions as other bodies: “Since it is body, then, it admits of touch, as I have said, and of pressure and re­sis­tance, blow and counterblow, and what­ever ­else is similar to ­these” (trans. D. Konstan). P. responds that psychical faculties belong to a dif­fer­ent order and chiefly pertain to the cognitive and volitional manifestations of an individual’s life (cf. Pl. Leg. 897a1–4), which are significantly dissimilar to the automatic and mechanistic mutual interaction of bodies; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 1.7.17–21. Vigier’s addition of  ­after emphronōs in l. 8 appears necessary to me ­because, whereas the parallel asyndeton in the passage alluded to from the Laws suggests a sharp contrast (“opinion true and false” orthōs epseusmenōs; cf. Heraclit. fr. B10, 60, 67 DK), ­here the adverbs “intelligently” and “well” (emphronōs and kalōs) function as parallels; on this, see also Schwyzer 1969, 253–54. 81.11–17. ὅτι δὲ καὶ τὰ σώματα . . . ​εἰ πᾶν σῶμα ποσόν: The first in a series of four arguments in support of the claim that even the powers pre­sent in inanimate bodies, as well as the qualities to which t­ hese are concomitants, are incorporeal. Th ­ ese arguments are marshaled to support the thesis formulated above (81.4–6), that any efficacy the bodies possess is due to incorporeal powers. Consequently, their character is ad hominem, and they fall within the context of the ancient dispute chiefly between the Stoics and the Peripatetics on ­whether the (sensible) qualities are corporeal or not; on this, see SVF 2:376–89; Alex. Aphrod. De an. mant. 122.16–125.4; “Alcinous” Didasc. 11, 166.15–38; and [Galen] Quod qualitates incorporea sint. It should be noted, however, that P. is not content with rehashing some of the numerous arguments mentioned in the other sources (in contrast with VI 1.29.1–14, where cf. Alex. De an. mant. 122.18–25) but modifies them significantly or formulates new ones. The first of ­these arguments relies on the premise that (i) each body is also “quantified” (poson), that is, quantitatively determined. Subsequently he employs two further Stoic t­ heses that (ii) ­matter is a body (see SVF 2:310, 325; and my comment on ΙΙ 4.1.7–11—of course, P. himself does not espouse this view; he merely employs it ­here dialectically; cf. ΙΙΙ 6.7.3–7 with my comment), and (iii) that ­matter is, in itself, “unqualified” (apoios; see my comment on Ι 8.10.1–11; cf. also [Galen] Qual. Incorp. 13, 163–65), to arrive at the contradictory conclusion that quality is both a “quantity” (qua corporeal) and a “non-­quantity” (qua “other” (heteron) than “quantity”). 81.17–23. καὶ μὴν . . . ​καὶ αἱ ἄλλαι: The second argument has to do with the dif­fer­ent way in which bodies and qualities are divided; cf. above, 5.24–38 with my comment. This is ­because qualities, although (in certain cases at least) they continue to inhere in ­every part of the body even ­after it becomes separated from the ­whole, nonetheless retain the

178  Fourth Ennead same common features they possessed before this separation and therefore represent the same universal (and consequently incorporeal) property; cf., as noted by Schwyzer 1983, 69, Calcidius In Tim. 227, 242.20–21, who is apparently drawing on some related doxographical tradition. This argument displays certain correspondences with the one in [Galen] Qual. Incorp. 9–10, 114–33; according to it, when a body is divided, for instance, an apple, its parts retain (some of ) the incidental attributes of the ­whole, such as “the color and fragrance, and the taste of its juice,” while only the ­whole is an apple (and “round”). The dif­fer­ent way in which qualities are divided constitutes, according to P., evidence of their incorporeality. 81.23–28. ἔπειτα . . . ​ἀμεγέθει ἄρα: The third argument proceeds from the premise that the efficacy of bodies is the result of the qualities they possess; cf. my comment on IV 4.31.30–48. It would be reasonable to expect that affective potency would be directly proportionate to mass, as is the case, for example, with chemical or phar­ma­ceu­ti­cal substances. Yet this is not always so; ­there are cases where something of infinitesimal mass can induce huge effects. It is not immediately evident what cases our author has in mind ­here, but it does seem likely that he is referring to, among other t­ hings, the “magical” powers of vari­ous bodies (certain stones, for example). As ­these powers result from relations of “sympathy” (sumpatheia), they are unaffected by quantitative f­ actors; cf. my comments on IV 4.32.16–25 and 35.64–69. Furthermore, the effects of certain drugs—­mainly poisons—­were sometimes deemed so potent that “even the slightest intake is always harmful, as in the case of fern, pine moths, deadly carrots, thorn apples, mercury, certain fungi, and the saliva and bile of venomous beasts” (Galen SMT V 19, XI 767). 81.28–31. τὸ δὲ ὕλην . . . ​καὶ ἀσωμάτους εἶναι: The fourth argument sets out again with the premise that ­matter is a unitary, “unqualified” (apoios), and undifferentiated body (cf. above, my comment on 81.11–17). If what differentiates bodies from one another is their qualities, ­these would need to be incorporeal, other­wise they too would constitute “qualified bodies” (poia sōmata). Furthermore, according to Alexander’s complementary argument (De an. mant. 124.29–32): “that by which qualified body differs from body is quality, which clearly is not body. For body is common to body and qualified body, and qualified body does not differ from body by qualified body, but by quality.” Consequently, qualities must be incorporeal. 81.32–35. μή, διότι πνεύματος . . . ​ψ υχὴ δέ: Following this excursus into the incorporeality of qualities, we return to the theme of the soul. The Stoics ­were misled by the fact that the presence of “breath” (pneuma) and blood is necessary for the existence of life (cf. SVF 2:879), and for this reason they identified the soul with t­ hese bodies. Thus, the discussion now turns to the question of “blending” (krasis) that permeates “throughout” or “the entire body” (dia pantos or di’ holou); on this, cf. my introduction to ΙΙ 7; and Chiaradonna 2005b, 129–37. 82.1–7. Ἔτι εἰ σῶμα . . . ​ἔχομεν ψυχήν: The Stoic theory of complete transfusion had been employed by Chrysippus chiefly to explain the soul’s presence in the body; see SVF

IV 7. Immortality of the Soul  179 2:473; and Gould 1971, 109–12; cf. Hierocles El. Eth. IV 3–10. According to this theory, krasis (“blending” or “coalescence”) is the sole form of mixis (“mechanical mixture” or “mingling”) that occurs when we have “two or even more bodies being extended throughout along each other in such a way as for each of them to preserve its own essence and the qualities residing in it within such a mixture.” Yet P. is skeptical about ­these claims (possibly ­because he had in mind the criticism leveled against them by Alexander: see mainly De mixt. 7, 221.7–25) and prefers to interpret the term so as to render it equivalent to Aristotelian mixis, where the intermixed constituent ele­ments retain their identities only “potentially” (dunamei) and not “in actuality” (energeiai); on this, see my introduction to ΙΙ 7; and Chiaradonna 2005b, 138–41. It is telling that as an example he chooses the admixture of two contrasting qualities, such as “sweet” (gluku) and “­bitter” (pikron), where, of course, one quality cancels out the other. This being the case, the model of complete “mixture” (mixis), or “blending” (krasis) appears utterly unsuitable to describe relation between body and soul. 82.7–20. τὸ δὲ δὴ σῶμα . . . ​τὰ ἄπειρα ἔσται: The critique of the Stoic theory, however, also extends to the natu­ral realm. (Von Arnim has included almost the entire chapter in his collection as SVF 2:799.) The argumentation appears to be drawn essentially from Alex. Aphrod. De mixt. 8, 221.25–222.16, and is set forth in comparable terms also in ΙΙ 7.1.11–19 (see my comment ad loc.). Thus the absurdities to which it leads, the indivisibility of the point (­because a point is not a place, but a “division” (diairesis) of the body) and the impossibility of infinite division “in actuality” (energeiai), are Aristotelian in nature; cf. Arist. Ph. III 6 and 7, 206a14–18, 207b10–12; Gen. corr. I 10, 328a5–17; and cf. SVF 2:482. See also Chiaradonna 2005b, 141–44. 82.20–22. οὐ τοίνυν . . . ​ἀσώματος ἄρα: Therefore, complete “mixture” (mixis), or “blending” (krasis) can never take place, at least not as the Stoics understood it; this can only occur in the composite manner laid out in ΙΙ 7.2.20–29. The fact that in his final syllogism our author employs as a second premise the claim that the soul permeates the body “throughout” (di’ holōn) has led some scholars to the conclusion that P. was ultimately willing to accept a compromise formulation (as, e.g., Alexander is ­doing in De mixt. 7, 220.6–11), that is, that it is pos­si­ble to blend an incorporeal, such as the soul, with something corporeal; see Graeser 1972, 19–20; Emilsson 1991, 160; cf. also, for instance, Ι 1.3.18–4.12, VI 3.1.21–23. Yet, h ­ ere at least, we should not overlook the ad hominem nature of the argument; this allows one to employ the opponent’s premises without being constrained by ­these. Only the conclusion enjoys his unreserved approval. For the rest, if the Stoics ­were to insist on describing the relation between body and soul in terms of “blending,” they would be forced to concede that one of its constituents, the soul, is incorporeal; cf. Chiaradonna 2005b, 147. 83.1–11. Τὸ δὲ καὶ φύσιν . . . ​ᾗπερ πέφυκεν: At this point, P. comes face to face with another facet of the Stoic theory of the soul, namely, that it constitutes an evolutionary stage in the successive gradients of cohesion that pervade the dif­f er­ent bodies. The lower gradients mentioned are “state” (hexis), which corresponds to the compactness of solid

180  Fourth Ennead bodies such as stones; and “nature” (phusis), which corresponds to the level of plant organisms; while the “soul” (psuchē) represents the orga­nizational level of the animals, which are possessed of “repre­sen­ta­tion” (phantasia) and “impulse” (hormē); see SVF 2:458, 714–16, and 1013. The pro­cess of the soul’s formation inside the embryo’s body was sometimes likened to the tempering of metal during the procedure aimed at hardening it; see the vari­ous passages cited in SVF 2:805–6; and Hier. El. Eth. Ι 15–22, where it is explained that “in the first phases of this period of time the ‘nature’ is a kind of particularly dense pneuma and far removed from soul; following this, however, and once it has nearly arrived at birth, it thins out, buffeted and tempered as it is by continuous ­doings, and it is transformed into soul.” As in V 9.4.3–4, P. expands the entire schema, so that “intellect” (nous; of course, the Stoics would say log­os) evolves out of the soul. Something similar was apparently ascribed to the Stoics by Iamblichus (see SVF 2:835), yet van Straaten 1975, 169, voices some well-­founded reservations on ­whether this accurately reflects Stoic doctrine, given that for them the ­human soul is rational from the outset: its rationality simply matures and becomes perfected a­ fter the age of fourteen; see SVF 1:149, 2:764. In any case, for P., such an evolutionary pro­cess is inconceivable: for what is ontologically superior—­and therefore logically prior, as it constitutes the “end” (telos) ­toward which any evolutionary pro­cess is headed—­that is, intellect, must be prior to, at least from an explanatory perspective, what follows from it; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 1.1.8–11. 83.11–23. εἰ οὖν καὶ ὁ θεὸς . . . ​οὐδ’ ὡς σῶμα: If “intellect” (nous; and also God, who the Stoics identified with the rational order of the cosmos) was merely the final stage in an evolutionary pro­cess, it would be pos­si­ble, in theory at least, for it to never come to be. To eliminate such a possibility, P. brings forward the Aristotelian princi­ple of the anteriority of being “actually” to being “potentially”; cf. Metaph. Θ 8, 1049b24–27, 1050b2–8, and also V 9.4.4–6. Only the constant presence of intellect as the final cause can explain why every­thing has the propensity to conform to it. At the same time, he rejects the possibility of the prolongation of a potentiality for intellection to perpetuity, for something of the kind would go against the fundamental “Princi­ple of Plenitude”; on this, see my comment on ΙΙ 5.1.6–10. Therefore, any potentiality must at some point in time move ­toward its activation; yet this presupposes the existence of an “end” (telos) ­toward which it tends, and accordingly the intellect and the soul as ­things that antedate the bodies, which are pervaded by ­these. 83.23–25. ἀλλ’ ὅτι μὲν . . . ​καὶ ταῦτα: At this point the critique of the theories positing the soul as corporeal, a critique that, as we saw, P. also mentioned at the start of treatise IV 2 [4], is completed. His allusion to other similar expositions of arguments by other thinkers underlines the esprit de corps (Harder, ad loc., describes it as Kollegstil) that united Platonists and Aristotelians against the crude materialism of their opponents. On this, cf., for example, Plutarch’s attitude, as described in Karamanolis 2006, 109–15. 84.1–9. Ἐπεὶ δὲ ἄλλης φύσεως . . . ​τὸ ἐπὶ τῇ κράσει πάθημα: This brings us to epiphenomenalist theories that regard the soul as something incorporeal, yet directly dependent on

IV 7. Immortality of the Soul  181 the body (sōmatos ti: cf. Arist. De an. II 2, 414a21)—as something that results from the relations between, or from the way in which its constituent ele­ments are or­ga­nized. The first theory to be examined posits the soul as the body’s “harmony,” known from Socrates’ famous discussion with Simmias in Plato’s Phaedo (see chiefly 85e3–86d3 and 92a6– 95a3), but also from Arist. De an. I 4, 407b27–408a11, and further attested in a number of ­later sources, where it is sometimes associated with Pythagorean doctrine; see mainly Macrobius In Somn. I 14.19 58.32–59.1 = Philolaus fr. Α23 DK; Philop. In De an. 70.5– 16; and Guthrie 1962–81, 1:307–17; Huffman 1993, 323–32; Baltes and D’Ancona 2005, 47–49. ­Here we o­ ught to notice that P. evidently has in mind two distinct relevant theories. He has almost nothing to say about the first, ascribed to the “Pythagoreans,” while he focuses his criticism solely on the second, which pre­sents significant correspondences with Simmias’ exposition (cf. mainly Phd. 86b8–­c1: “as the body is stretched and held together by the hot and the cold, the dry and the moist and other such [sc., dissimilar] ­things, and our soul is a mixture (krasis) and harmony of ­those ­things when they are mixed with each other rightly and in due mea­sure”). We should further note the existence of an ancient tradition, originating in the field of medicine, that connected the presence of the soul (and good health) with the harmonious blending of the body’s constituent ele­ments; see [Hippocr.] Vict. Ι 7–8; and cf. Eryximachus’ speech in Plato’s Symposium (186e6–188a13). It appears that this tradition was also followed by some of Aristotle’s students, who went as far as completely rejecting the (in­de­pen­dent) existence of the soul, rather regarding it as a ­simple epiphenomenon of the body’s organic functions. In fact the celebrated m ­ usic theorist Aristoxenus of Tarentum (fourth c­ entury BCE) “held the soul to be a special tuning-up (intentionem quandam) of the natu­ral body analogous to that which is called harmony in vocal and instrumental ­music; answering to the nature and conformation of the ­whole body, vibrations of dif­fer­ent kinds are produced just as sounds are in vocal ­music” (trans. J. E. King): see Cic. Tusc. I 19 = Aristoxenus fr. 120a; and Gottschalk 1971, 182–90. Alexander of Aphrodisias prob­ably had in mind such a version of the theory as well, when he de­cided to criticize it in De an., 24.18– 26.30, trans. V. Caston. A clear distinction is drawn t­ here between the harmony, which is identified with “a sort of mixture and blend of the bodies under­lying it,” and what Alexander believes the soul to be: “a power that emerges above a par­tic­u­lar kind of blend,” which “cannot be without this (harmony), but is not the same as it.” And he goes on to conclude: “the soul is not the ­things composed simply as such, but instead a power that emerges above a certain sort of blend and mixture of the primary bodies”; on this, see Donini 1974, 152–57; and Blumenthal 1996, 15–16. P., as Galen before him (QAM IV, 44.18–20; on this, see Gottschalk 1987, 1113–14), refused to employ the term “power” (dunamis) in this context, substituting it for the expression “quasi affection” (oion pathēma), yet, as we can see, the theory he describes other­wise corresponds precisely to that of Alexander’s. Thus it becomes clear that the ensuing criticism is targeted at con­temporary Peripatetic views, which claimed the soul to be a mere manifestation, or upshot of bodily functions. Porphyry Sent. 18, 9.3–13, follows a similar tactic, distinguishing between the “separable harmony” (harmonia chōristē), which is the cause setting the chords in motion, and the harmony inherent in ­these chords, an “inseparable harmony” (harmonia achōristos), which renders them susceptible to harmonic affections.

182  Fourth Ennead 84.9–23. ὅτι δὲ ἀδύνατον . . . ​ἄγειν δυνήσεται: P. is h ­ ere citing a list with no fewer than six of the arguments that had been advanced in e­ arlier times (eirētai) against the theory of the soul as harmony; the list is separated each time by a ­simple “and” (kai). (Similar lists can also be found in ­later authors; on this, see Westerink 1977, 195–96.) (i) The first argument, that the soul is “prior” (proteron) to the body, while harmony is “posterior” (husteron), derives from the opening of Socrates’ critique in Phd. 92b1–93a7; cf. Themistius In De an. 4, 24.22–23. (ii) The second one, that the soul rules over, and sometimes clashes with the body (which would be impossible for harmony) is also drawn from the Phaedo, 94b4–­d6; cf. Pl. Leg. 896c1–3; Ti. 34b10–35a1; Themist. In De an. 24.23–25; also Baltes and D’Ancona 2005, 35–37. (iii) The argument that the soul is a substance, while harmony, qua relation, is not, appears to be of Aristotelian origin (but cf. also Phd. 92d7–­ e4), as suggested by Themist. In De an. 24.32; cf. Jaeger 1962, 44n.3; also Blumenthal 1971a, 11n.10. (iv) The next argument had been employed by Aristotle in one of his early, and now nonextant dialogues, the Eudemus (see. fr. 7), and is restated in De an. I 4, 408a1–3: “It is more appropriate to call health . . . ​a harmony than to predicate it of the soul.” P. is ostensibly drawing this from the latter of the sources mentioned; see Baltes and D’Ancona 2005, 40–41. (v) The fifth argument, according to which the dif­fer­ent constitution of the vari­ous organs presupposes a dif­fer­ent “harmony” for each, and consequently a plethora of “souls,” is Aristotle’s chief objection, which he elaborates in detail in De an. 1 4, 408a11–28; cf. Alex Aphrod. De an. 25.4–9; Philop. In De an. 148.32–149.8. (vi) Fi­nally, we have the last and “greatest” (megiston) of the arguments: harmony cannot arise spontaneously but requires someone to impose it on the chords, ­after one has first grasped the mathematical relations that constitute it; its existence, therefore, presupposes another regulating soul. This does not appear to originate in any ­earlier source (but cf. Themist. In De an. 24.32–35) and arguably represents an original contribution of P. himself. Cf. also ΙΙΙ 6.2.1–22 with my comment. 84.23–28. ὅλως δὲ καὶ οὗτοι . . . ​ἡ ψυχὴ ἁρμονία: Yet P.’s fundamental objection to such a conception of the soul lies in a ­matter of princi­ple: he cannot bring himself to think of the organ­izing orderliness that characterizes the presence and activity of the soul as the contingent outcome of fortuitous and disorderly events, such as the coincidental mixture of heterogeneous components. For it is impossible for order to stem automatically from disorder, without the intervention of some governing soul; cf. above, 2.20–22, ΙΙΙ 2.4.26–33, ΙΙΙ 6.4.41–52 with my comments; also Pl. Ti. 30a2–­b3. 85.1–5. Τὸ δὲ τῆς ἐντελεχείας . . . ​ζωὴν ἔχοντος: P.’s critique of the Peripatetics culminates in an all-­out assault on the central proposition of Aristotle’s theory of the soul, as expressed in the well-­known definition he provides at the start of the second book of De anima 412a20–21 and a27–­b1, which is cited ­here verbatim. Atticus, fr. 7.25–31, had already noted that that theory constituted the gravest threat to Platonic philosophy as a ­whole, so for our author this was a task of the utmost importance. Of course, it is not accidental that in his Preparatio Euangelica Eusebius quotes this chapter immediately ­after the aforementioned passage by Atticus, where Aristotle is essentially accused of negating the soul’s autonomy, denying it one of its foremost functions and its “initiating

IV 7. Immortality of the Soul  183 motions” (cf. Pl. Leg. 897a4), such as “counseling” (to bouleuesthai), “deliberating” (to dianoēthēnai), “expecting” (to prosdokēsai), “recalling” (to mnēmoneusai), and “calculating” (to logisasthai). Naturally, the discussion ­here revolves around the concept of corporeal “actuality” (entelecheia), which P. is willing to discuss only in its narrow sense, as inseparable from the body (see below, 85.23, 25, 27, 32), and indissolubly bound to it along its full extent; cf. Arist. De an. II 1, 403a10–16, II 2, 413b27–28; Alex. Aphrod. De an. 17.9–15. See, however, below, my comment on 85.14–18. 85.5–9. εἰ μὲν οὖν . . . ​μόριον εἶναι: Commencing his critique, P. chooses to interpret Aristotle’s formulation of the soul as a form of the body and compares their relation to that between the form of a statue and the material it is made up of—­bronze, for example. Unquestionably this interpretation somewhat simplifies Aristotle’s thought: he had elaborated the nature of the soul as “first actuality”, that is, as a prerequisite for the manifestation of the vari­ous psychical activities and clearly not as an external and superadded form, as in the case of the statue; on this, see the remarks in Verbeke 1973, 199–204; also Karamanolis 2006, 220–21. Nonetheless, as noted in Donini 1974, 10–13, a similar interpretation had already been advanced in Alex. Aphrod. De an. 11.14–12.7; in fact, the controversial analogy with the bronze statue is also used t­ here. P. avails himself of this opportunity to demonstrate that such a view of the soul makes it impossible to account for the peculiar manner in which it is pre­sent in the parts of the body; cf. above, my comment on 3.2–6. 85.9–11. τήν τε . . . ​μηδὲ ὕπνον γίνεσθαι: The second argument stems from a certain view of the nature of sleep, that is, that it is a consequence of a temporary “departure” of the soul from the body; cf. Plut. De an. fr. 178; also Cic. Diu. I 63: “the soul has been withdrawn by sleep from contact with sensual ties” (est somno seuocatus animus a societate et a contagione corporis; trans. Thayer). This could not possibly occur if the soul was an “actuality” (entelecheia) of the body, for in that case it would be entirely inseparable from the body. A similar argument is ascribed in Porph. SZ, fr. 259F 129–41, to P.’s teacher Ammonius Saccas, where the phenomenon of the soul’s temporary separation during sleep is correlated with its ability to foretell the ­future; cf. Arist. De phil. fr. 12a; and already Pl. Resp. 571d6–572b1. 85.11–14. καὶ μὴν ἐντελεχείας . . . ​οὐ διαφωνοῦν ἑαυτῷ: The next argument pertains to the possibility of “incontinence” (akrasia), that is, internal conflict arising between the desiderative and ratiocinative parts of the soul; see, indicatively, Pl. Resp. 439d4–440b4. Such a phenomenon could never occur if a soul w ­ ere a mere “actuality” (entelecheia) of the body, b­ ecause it is impossible for a single, unitary subject to entertain incompatible aspirations and enter into disagreement with itself, nor even can it oppose bodily affections; on this point, cf. argument (ii) from the comment to 84.9–23. 85.14–18. αἰσθήσεις δὲ μόνον . . . ​τούτῳ χρῆσθαι: P. decides to examine the soul’s basic functions one by one to determine ­whether one of ­these fits the description of the soul as the body’s “actuality.” With re­spect to intellection, even Aristotle himself admitted

184  Fourth Ennead that “the part of the soul with which the soul knows” constitutes “a dif­fer­ent kind of soul,” inasmuch as it is unreasonable to hold that it is mixed with the body, and therefore it must be, ­after a fashion, “separable” (chōristos) and “without ­matter” (aneu hulēs); see De an. II 2, 413b24–27, III 4, 429a22–430a9. This had attracted Atticus’ acute criticism, fr. 7.75–78; he had accused Aristotle of being incapable of furnishing answers to ­simple questions such as “what the mind is in its essence and its nature, whence it comes, and from what source it separates itself and enters into man’s nature, and whither it departs again” (trans. Gifford). Thus P.’s view that it is impossible that the “reasoning” (logizomenē) soul constitutes an inseparable “actuality” of the body, as the Peripatetics construed it with reference to the rest of the psychical functions, seems reasonable; cf., for example, Alex. Aphrod. De an. 12.7–24. Nevertheless, the wording employed appears to preserve the possibility that the soul is indeed an “actuality,” albeit in some other manner. It appears that the Arab author who paraphrased this passage in the Theology of Aristotle ΙΙΙ 75–76, accepted and explored precisely this possibility, for he introduces an intriguing distinction between two dif­fer­ent kinds of perfection and “actuality”: “Now we say that ­there is no second soul other than this rational soul which is in the body at the moment, and she it is of whom the phi­los­o­phers say that she is the entelechy of the body, though they speak of her as entelechy and a form of perfection in a way dif­fer­ent from that in which the materialists speak. I mean that she is not a perfection like the natu­ ral perfection, which is passive, but is an active perfection, that is, she produces perfection.” On this, see Zimmermann 1986, 124–25; cf. also my comment on ΙΙΙ 6.2.32–41. 85.19–23. οὐδ’ ἡ αἰσθητική . . . ​ἐντελέχεια: Yet neither can the soul’s perceptive faculty be attributed to bodily “actuality,” for in that case the sensory “impressions” would have to form on something corporeal, which would entail that t­ hing’s gradual “saturation” by the images impressed on it; cf. above, 6.43–45 with my comment (ii). 85.23–25. καὶ μὴν οὐδὲ . . . ​ἐντελέχεια: With re­spect to the desiderative part, the argument put forward is extremely brief: given the existence of non-­bodily desires (cf. Ι 2.5.17– 21), it cannot be a (purely) bodily “actuality.” 85.25–36. λοιπὸν δὲ . . . ​ἐντελέχεια γένοιτο: A more likely possibility is that the vegetative faculty constitutes a bodily “actuality,” ­because the individual functions it comprises (nutrition, growth, and reproduction; see my comment on IV 3.19.19–22), are all closely correlated with the body. This link, however, is not that determinative, something that becomes evident by the fact that the soul can at times “contract” into a small part of the body, where the corresponding “princi­ple” (archē) is established (as is the case with the plant’s root; see also Alex. Aphrod. De an. 94.21–23; cf. also ΙΙΙ 6.4.38–41, ΙΙΙ 8.10.10– 14, V 2.2.11–17, as well as my comment on IV 3.23.9–27), and at other times “expand” along its full extent. This illustrates that its existence is not inextricably bound with the body in its entirety. See also Tornau 2005, 157–60. I regard the last question of this passage as a supplementary argument to the preceding one: the capacity mentioned reveals that the soul is something indivisible, given that it is pre­sent as a ­whole in ­every part of the body; cf. IV 2.1.64–76. But something indivisible cannot be the “actuality” of something divisible, such as the body.

IV 7. Immortality of the Soul  185 85.36–43. ἥ τε αὐτὴ . . . ​τ ὴν ψυχὴν γεννήσει: The last argument rests on accepting the reincarnation of the souls, and as such it is in­effec­tive against the Peripatetics, who naturally rejected the relevant doctrine; see, for example, Arist. De an. I 3, 408a21–25. (This is why Tornau 2005, 164–66, holds that the reference h ­ ere pertains to the phenomenon of spontaneous generation; on this, cf. ΙΙΙ 4.6.37–44 with my comment.) This, however, functions as an indication that we are already moving ­toward the orbit of Platonism, in the context of which the ensuing theoretical analy­sis ­will unfold. See also my comment on ΙΙΙ 4.2.16–30, concerning P.’s overall stance ­toward the subject of reincarnation. 85.43–50. τίς οὖν οὐσία . . . ​αὐτοῦ μεταλαμβάνῃ: We are now in a position to answer the question raised in the beginning of the treatise (1.7–8), concerning the nature of the soul. The fact that it is neither a body (as was shown in chapters 2–83), nor an affection, an epiphenomenon, or a consequence of the body (chapters 84–­85), coupled with the fact that it has the power to engender all kinds of deeds, leads to the conclusion that it is some kind of incorporeal substance (cf. ΙV 9.4.25–26) and indeed a “real essence” (ontōs ousia; cf. Pl. Soph. 247d8–248a13). This substance is clearly distinguished from the “generation” (genesis) of the bodies, which is subject to constant change in the celebrated passage from the Timaeus (28a3–4) that is cited ­here; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.1.1–3. It is pos­si­ble that ­here P. also has in mind a passage from the Phaedrus (247c6–7; he w ­ ill paraphrase it again a bit further down, in 10.3)? In a version differing somewhat in wording and punctuation, in antiquity this was thought to echo the ex professo Platonic definition of the soul: “the untouchable and devoid of color and shape true essence of the soul”; see Stob. Ecl. Ι 41.2, and my comment on Ι 1.3.20–21; see also the unquestionably justified reservations expressed in Szlezák 1979, 571n.175. With re­spect to the ficticious derivation of the word sōma (= body) from the participle sōzomenon, cf. Pl. Cra. 400c4– 10 = Orph. fr. 8; see also IV 4.22.30, V 9.5.46–47, VI 7.25.25–26: each body sustains its existence to the extent that it partakes of the being, thanks to the soul that animates and configures it through “formative princi­ples” (logoi); see further Tornau 2005, 176–78. 9.1–5. Ἡ δὲ ἑτέρα φύσις . . . ​καὶ κεκοσμημένῳ: Therefore, intelligible beings constitute the foundation thanks to which every­thing exists and is preserved: when a body is not “nourished” by the “formative princi­ples” (logoi) furnished by the soul, it w ­ ill tend to disintegrate and w ­ ill be dissolved into its constituent parts, ceasing to be what it was up to that point. On the contrary, they posses their being of themselves (par’ hautēs), in a timeless and unchanging manner (cf. ΙΙΙ 7.3.27–36 with my comment), thereby affording other ­things an ephemeral taste of immortality by participating in them. Cf. Arist. Metaph. Ν 4, 1091b16–18; and Numenius fr. 15.7–10. 9.6–13. ἀρχὴ γὰρ . . . ​καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις οὖσαν: We are thus back to the fundamental princi­ ple, which served as the starting point of the entire analy­sis thus far: that “life is necessarily pre­sent in soul”; cf. above, 2.5–6. But now, having ruled out the possibility that the soul is corporeal, P. is able to build on this princi­ple his arguments for the immortality of the soul. As ­will become apparent in what follows, he is in essence continuing Plato’s strategy in the final argument of Phd. 105b5–107a1: from the fact that the soul, qua ­simple substance

186  Fourth Ennead and provider of life, possesses life inherently, it becomes apparent that it is not susceptible to the opposite of life, death, and is therefore immortal; cf. “Alcinous” Didasc. 25, 177.18–20; also O’Brien 1995, 54–60. In its first steps, this argumentation can be combined with what is claimed in Phdr. 245c5–246a2, where the soul’s capacity for “self-­ movement” (autokinēton) leads to the conclusion that it furthermore is something that “necessarily . . . ​should have neither birth nor death (agenēton te kai athanaton).” Indeed, responding to the need to defend this critical premise concerning the self-­motility of the soul, P. marshals an additional in­ter­est­ing infinite regress argument, essentially a version of a classic argument employed in Arist. Ph. VIII 5, 256a13–21, while introducing the notion of the “unmoved” or “first mover” (kinoūn akinēton). We can reconstruct the entire course of the—­wildly meandering up to chapter 11—­argumentation schematically, as follows: (P1) What­ever possesses something does so ­either (a) “of itself ” (a seipso, i.e., as part of its  essence); or (b) “through borrowing” (per aliud, i.e., as   something originating elsewhere). (P2) If (b), then t­ here must be something other that dispenses it. (P3) What­ever gives life must also “actually” (energeiai) possess life (11.14–18, cf. 2.18–19). (P1+P2+P3)→(P4) ­There is something that possesses life “of itself ” (9.9–18; cf. Arist. Ph. VIII 5, 256a13–21). (P5) What­ever possesses life “of itself ” constitutes a “princi­ple” (archē) of life (9.6–9, 11.2–3). (P6) The soul is such a “princi­ple” (archē) of life (9.6–9; cf. Pl. Phdr. 245c9, Phd. 105d3–4). (P7) What possesses something “of itself ” is insusceptible to its opposite (11.7–14; cf. Phd. 105d10–11). (P8) Death is the opposite of life (cf. Phd. 105d6–9). (P6+P7+P8)→(P9) The soul is “immortal” (athanatos) (11.1–2; cf. Phd. 105e2–7). (P10) The soul is incorporeal (§§ 3–85). (P11) The soul is a “substance” (ousia) (85.43–46). (P12) ­Every incorporeal substance is “akin” (sungenēs) to the intelligible beings (§ 10 passim; cf. Phd. 79d1–­e5). (P1a)→(P13) Intelligible beings possess their being (and life) as part of their essense (9.1–2, 13–23; cf. Parm. fr. Β 8.3, 8–9 DK; Pl. Phd. 106d5–7). ( P10+P11+P12+P13)→(P14) The soul possesses its being as part of its essence (10.40–47). (P14+P7)→(P15) The soul is not susceptible to non-­being, therefore it is “indestructible” (anōlethros) (10.13–16).

IV 7. Immortality of the Soul  187 The entire argumentation is developed and significantly enriched in what follows, yet its basic coordinates are defined in the schema outlined above, which w ­ ill subsequently function as a guide. 9.13–17. ἔνθα δὴ . . . ​εἰς τί ἀπόλοιτο: A series of allusions to Plato (apart from the citation from the Symposium 211a1; cf. also Phd. 95c1, 106d5–9) and Parmenides (fr. Β8.19 DK) emphasizes the soul’s divinity and blessedness, characteristics that render it “akin” (sungenēs) to the primarily living intelligible beings that inhere in it; cf. ΙΙΙ 8.8.11–30 with my comment. A related prob­lem pertains to the way in which we should understand the crucially impor­tant statement that any genuine and blessed being must be “living of itself and existing of itself ” in the context of an ontological system where every­thing derives from an absolutely transcendent first princi­ple, the One; cf., for example, ΙΙΙ 8.9.39–10.19 with my comments, and V 4.1.34–39. As suggested in O’Brien 1997, 43– 54, a response to this should rather be sought in the fact that e­ very genuine successive ontological level, such as the Intellect and the soul, is constituted not solely by its issuance from the supreme princi­ple, but also by its spontaneous and self-­constituting “reversion” (epistrophē) ­There. Consequently, its subsistence, qua what it is, is—to a certain extent—­brought about also by the soul itself. 9.17–25. καὶ εἰ δεῖ ἐπαληθεύειν . . . ​μένῃ μόνον: It is thus made clear that the soul constitutes a primary being, a full-­blown member of the intelligible realm, and that, qua substance, its existence and identity are not dependent on anything else—as is the case with qualities that inhere in bodies; on t­ hese, see my comment on IV 2.1.29–41—­but it is self-­ subsistent and stable in its being. Such an entity, however, cannot be dead and inert—­ like stones and wood, which the “­Giants” alone held to be beings in Plato’s Sophist 246a9–­b1—­but must necessarily possess life, indeed the purest form, intellective life; cf. Pl. Soph. 248e7–249a7; also V 4.2.43–44, VI 9.2.24–25, with the very pertinent observations in Hadot 1960, 108–10. 9.26–29. ὃ δ’ ἂν συμμιχθῇ . . . ​ἀναδραμόν: And yet, notwithstanding the fact that the soul is a “real being,” something deriving from it comes to the realm of the sensibles and is admixed with the body; although the soul itself, of course, does not shed its original divine nature (cf. Pl. Resp. 547b6–7), it is worried and concerned over the body and its affections, as well as over the sensations that are derived from it, and this might hinder it from becoming dedicated to its kindred intelligible beings; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 6.4.1–2, 14–18; and also Pl. Phd. 65a9–­b1, 79c2–­d6. Thus the soul’s re-­ascent ­There (cf. Ι 8.13.24–25, 14.44–49, IV 8.4.25–30, V 2.2.15–18) essentially consists in its turning away and release from the body and its affections, as well as in its concentration on itself; cf. Ι 1. 12.10–28. 10.1–3. Ὅτι δὲ . . . ​ἀναφής τε: The soul’s incorporeality is the strongest indication of its divine nature and its affinity to the intelligible beings; cf. Pl. Phd. 79d3, 84b2, Resp. 490b4, 611e2–3, Plt. 309c1–3. The allusion to a characteristic Platonic phrase from the Phaedrus 247c6–7 (on this see above, my comment on 85.43–50), also reveals

188  Fourth Ennead that the soul is regarded as “consubstantial” (homoousios) to t­ hese, and contributed to the establishment, in ­Later Neoplatonists, of the “supracelestial realm” as the place of origin of the life of the souls, but also of their contact and coexistence with the divine; on this, see Tarán 1969, 261–62. 10.4–27. ὁμολογουμένου δὴ . . . ​διανοοῦνται: What precisely does this “affinity” of the soul to the intelligibles consist in, and how does it manifest itself ? P. answers this question by reference to the issue of the virtues, especially of the “purifying” virtues, through which the soul becomes liberated from bodily affections and becomes assimilated to the divine models of ­these virtues; cf. Ι 2.3.10–6.19. The style of P.’s formulation becomes rather rhetorical, with continuous allusions to Plato (mainly to the last book of the Republic; see Szlezák 1979, 173; and cf. Pl. Resp. 521a4, Symp. 209a3–4), rhetorical questions, antitheticals, and so forth. In this manner the virtuous soul is glorified as divine, as the immediate manifestation of Being’s beneficent life; cf. Ι 6.5.9–17. This state of virtue corresponds exactly to ithe soul’s nature and descendance; to attain that state, it needs to take in nothing outside itself; on the contrary, it must become unencumbered and purified from every­ thing that has been added to it, thereby “corrupting” it (cf. Pl. Phd. 80e2–6, Resp. 611b10–­c5; see also Ι 6.5.25–43), u­ ntil it remains alone with itself and its kindred true beings. 10.27–40. δεῖ δὲ τὴν φύσιν . . . ​ὁμοιότητα ἀτενίσας: Therefore, if through a pro­cess of abstraction (cf. V 3.17.28–38) the soul is observed as being purified of its bodily admixtures, its divine nature becomes apparent. If, furthermore, this is the upshot of self-­ observation and introspection, then the observer, being a pure intellect, sees himself as totally identified with the divine presence, as a true “intelligible universe” (kosmos noētos; cf. ΙΙΙ 4.3.22 and VI 9.5.8–24), which is flooded by the light coming from the Good (cf. Pl. Resp. 508d4–509a5, and my comment on Ι 7.1.25–28), having now achieved assimilation to God; cf. IV 8.1.1–7 and Ι 2.6.4–11 with my comments. In this way, complete self-­knowledge leads to knowledge of and identification with the divine; cf. V 3.7.1–9.22; Pl. Alc. 133b7–­c6; also CH 21, 14.1–10. Moreover, this metaphysical truth thus becomes a lived experience; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.5.7–12. The provocative greeting in the prologue of Empedocles’ Purifications (fr. B 112.4 DK) had, already in antiquity, attracted conflicting interpretations, as some found in it proof of the Acragantine phi­los­o­pher’s “boastfulness” (alazoneia) and “arrogance” (huperopsia; cf., e.g., Hom. Il. 24.460). Sextus Empiricus, Math. Ι 302–3, however, informs us of a more lenient interpretation: “Empedocles called himself a god b­ ecause he alone had kept his mind ­free from evil and unmuddied and by means of the god within him apprehended the god without” (trans. R. G. Bury). P. appears to share this view (cf. also VP 2.26–27) and regards this greeting as an accurate reflection of man’s true inner nature, once it has been purified through pursuing the virtues. 10.40–47. εἰ δ’ ἡ κάθαρσις . . . ​καθαρὰ ποιησαμένη: A direct consequence of the purification of the soul is the appearance of the virtues (Pl. Phdr. 247d6) and their corresponding knowledge (cf. Pl. Phdr. 247e2), which means that the latter preexists in the soul ­because of its descent; cf. Ι 2.4.7–23. As suggested by H-­S, the image of statues within

IV 7. Immortality of the Soul  189 the soul is certainly inspired by the encomium to Socrates delivered by Alcibiades in Plato’s Symposium (see 216e6–217a1; cf., however, Cic. Leg. I 59), but ­here it is enriched by the ele­ment of “rust,” which must be purified to reveal its divine shine. The comparison of the body to rust (ios) is ascribed by the author who compiled the Theology of Aristotle Ι 38, to Empedocles; cf. also CH XIV 7, 224.18–225.4. 10.47–52. οἷον εἰ χρυσὸς . . . ​ἐῴη εἶναι: We encountered the image of gold soiled by earthy admixtures (cf. Pl. Resp. 611e5–612a2) also in Ι 6.5.51–58 (see my comment ad loc.), but it is also found in a fragment from Porphyry’s Against Boethus on the Soul, fr. 244F 14–16. It seeks to emphasize the soul’s inherently divine and immaculate character, susceptible only to superficial and temporary modifications that leave its deepest essence unimpaired; this essence is always awaiting its purification so that it can demonstrate its true nature. 11.1–9. Περὶ τοιούτου . . . ​τὴν ψυχὴν ἀποδεῖξαι: Following this brief rhetorical flourish, we return to sustained philosophical analy­sis in short clauses. The argumentation remains essentially within the framework discussed above, in my comment to 9.6–13. Some clarifications are provided at the start; they pertain to P1 and chiefly to the meaning of the phrase “by itself ” ( par’ hautoū), represented h ­ ere by the equivalent phrase ex heautoū (cf. Pl. Phdr. 245e6; further down, however, in ll. 10 and 13, P. reverts to the original formulation), apropos of an observation in Plato’s Phaedo, 103c11–­e5, that certain bodies, such as fire and snow, admit only one member of a pair of opposite qualities, for instance, the warm and the cold, respectively, being insusceptible to the other. Thus, for example, “fire, as the cold approaches, ­will ­either go away or be destroyed; it w ­ ill never venture to admit coldness and remain what it was (eti eīnai hoper ēn), fire and cold.” Although in the Platonic dialogue this observation is the first step t­ oward the final proof of the soul’s immortality, P. appears to be distancing himself somewhat from it. For that proof presupposes that heat constitutes an essential (a seipso) quality of fire, one that cannot be absent from it so long as it continues to be fire. Yet for P., a material body such as fire can never truly possess essential qualities, inasmuch as it does not constitute a true substance itself, but only a transient “conglomeration of qualities and m ­ atter”; cf. VI 3.8.18–20 and Kalligas 1997, 406. He is thus taking his analy­sis one step beyond Plato’s, holding that the property of heat inheres in fire not anymore as an essential quality, but as an accident in ­matter. B ­ ecause fire is a form of hot ­matter, yet this does not correspond to some substance—­this also explains how it can be dissolved at any moment and turn into some other ele­ment; cf., indicatively, Arist. Gen. corr. II 4, 331a26–29. 11.9–14. ἢ γὰρ οὐσία . . . ​μοῖραν δέχεσθαι: Whereupon the case of the soul-­life pair is contrasted with that of fire-­heat, for in the latter case the bond of the under­lying ­matter with heat is contingent and may be broken, in which case, of course, fire w ­ ill cease to be fire (i.e., it ­will be destroyed); this would be impossible in the first case, ­because the bond pertains to a unitary and genuine subtance, and as such is indissoluble, not a mere contingent compound of form and ­matter. For, insofar as the soul constitutes a true substance, real being, it is something that it is not simply “alive of itself ” but also “being

190  Fourth Ennead of itself ” (see above, 9.14), and is therefore insusceptible to any kind of destruction; cf. O’Brien 1995, 60, and id. 1997, 56–57. Should we, therefore, hold that it possess life in that manner, then its immortality would be guaranteed, hence the soul should be beyond the “taste of death” (­here perhaps we have a verbal reminiscence of the Demiurge’s oration from the Timaeus, 41b4) or, in other words, beyond destruction. 11.14–18. ἢ πάθος . . . ​ἐνεργείᾳ ζῶσα: Again, if we hold that the soul possess life per aliud, then, on the basis of P2, this should lead us to what imparts life to the soul in the first place; this would have to be the “self-­moving” (autokinētos) princi­ple of life (see P4). Yet the soul, as an inseperable part of intelligible substance (cf. my comment on 10.1–3), is indeed the “princi­ple” or “origin” (archē) of life (P6). Consequently, the soul ­will be inherently living by its very nature and be insusceptible to what is contrary to that which is granted by the soul itself (cf. P7 and Pl. Phd. 105d10–11); in other words, it ­will be immortal (P9). In this way a retrospective justification is provided for the assumption made ­earlier, in 2.5–6, that “life is necessarily pre­sent in soul”; as pointed out in my comment on 9.6–13, this plays a pivotal role in developing the entire argumentation. A similar argument is put forth as the first of three proofs (rationes) in Priscian Lydus’ Solutiones ad Chosroem 1, 47.2–12 (only the Latin translation of the work is extant). ­Here’s a brief outline of that argumentation: (L1) The soul always gives life to the body in which it is pre­sent (cf. P6). (L2) What­ever always gives life, must always possess it by nature (cf. P3). (L3) What­ever is something by its very nature (ab eo quod uere est) does not admit anything that could cause its essence to be destroyed (Cf. P7). Therefore, (L4) The soul cannot admit the opposite of what it grants. However, (L5) The opposite of life is death. (Cf. P8) Therefore, (L6) The soul is insusceptible to death. (Cf. P9) It appears pos­si­ble that the entire argument derives from Porphyry’s Summikta Zētēmata (see Priscian op. cit. Proem., 42.16–17; also Dörrie 1959, 15–84). This would also explain a further argument that is mentioned further down in the text (op. cit. 47.12–24); although this is expressely attributed to P. (magnus inquam Plotinus), it does not seem to correspond to anything in the pre­sent treatise of the Enneads, and prob­ably originates in notes taken during his oral teaching, notes that Porphyry had incorporated into his work; cf. Lane Fox 2005, 36–37. According to this additional argument, given that the soul does not receive life (for it already possess life as something intrinsic to it), it cannot, a fortiori, admit its opposite, that is, death. He goes on to mention again and find parallels between the relation between fire and heat (just as in the Phaedo) and the relation

IV 7. Immortality of the Soul  191 between soul and life, ultimately arriving at the following corollary: omnino omne quod semper infert qualemcumque speciem neque quod infert receperit neque contrarium illius. This seems to be a generalization of L4, and hence can be harmoniously incorporated in the overall framework of the argumentation presented above. 12.1–2. Ἔτι εἰ πᾶσαν . . . ​πάντα ἀπολωλέναι: This argument seems to be directed specifically against the Stoics; they believed that ­human souls continue to exist even ­after death for a certain amount of time, although eventually all souls, even ­those of the sages, become lost in the world-­conflagration (ekpurōsis); see SVF 2:809. But cf. also Pl. Phd. 72c6–­d3. 12.2–3. εἰ δὲ τὴν μέν . . . ​τὴν δ’ ἡμετέραν μή: In another version, individual souls indeed perish, whereas the cosmic soul remains incorruptible—­possibly—­receiving in it the other souls; see SVF 2:774 and 821. Some interpreters of Plato have claimed something similar, for instance, Posidonius fr. 290; they interpreted the categorical statement in Phaedrus, 245c5, that “­every soul is immortal,” restrictively, taking it to refer exclusively to the cosmic Soul; on this, see Rist 1969, 216. 12.3–11. λεκτέον αὐτοῖς . . . ​καὶ αὐτὴν εἶναι: This time the Stoics are rebutted using arguments of a purely Platonic pedigree. The chief one is the epistemological argument, according to which all souls are equally capable of coming into intellective contact with both the celestial formations and the eternal mathematical truths that govern them, as well as with the intelligible essences, and even with the first princi­ple that lies beyond them. The cosmic Soul is not privileged in this re­spect, for it is located on the same ontological level as the rest of its “­sisters”; cf. my comments on IV 3.2.50–58 and 6.10–25. The pro­cess of “recollection” (anamnēsis), which was employed in Pl. Phd. 72e1–77a5, to demonstrate that the soul existed before birth, pertains equally to all souls and reveals that all of them partake of the eternal essence; cf. above, 10.30–37; also “Alcinous” Didasc. 25, 177.45–178.12. 12.12–20. πᾶν τε . . . ​εἶναι ἀνάγκη: Three supplementary arguments take their cue from the observation in Pl. Phd. 78c1–4 that only compound ­things can become dispersed and thus perish, while uncompounded t­hings cannot. Yet the soul, qua something s­ imple and uncompounded (cf. Ι 1.2.22–23, VI 2.4.21–28; also Kalligas 1997b, 216–17), cannot possibly suffer something of the kind; cf. “Alcinous” Didasc. 25, 177.22–24; Tert. De an. 14.1, 17.24–28. Furthermore, during its apportionment into bodies, the soul does not become partitioned into smaller pieces but, as we have seen (see above, my comment on 5.38–42, and IV 2.1.59–76 with my comments), in such a manner that it remains indivisibly pre­sent everywhere. This is ­because the soul is not corporeal; cf. above 5.24–51. Fi­nally, if we regard death as some form of alteration, and if we take for granted that alteration presupposes a compound of form and ­matter, it is impossible for it to occur in something incorporeal and uncompounded such as the soul; cf. the introduction to treatise ΙΙΙ 6. 13.1–9. Πῶς οὖν . . . ​τεταμένη: The question now raised is how such an incorporeal, ­simple, and purely intelligible entity can come into contact with the body. The answer

192  Fourth Ennead provided h ­ ere is rather allusive (for a more complete solution we ­will have to wait u­ ntil treatise IV 8 [6]): in contrast to Intellect, the soul manifests an “appetition” (orexis) to create outside Intellect, so as to be able to satisfy its propensity for Intellect through an image of it; cf. ΙΙΙ 7.11.20–30 with my comments. In this way, a restless “power” (dunamis) is added to the soul; this proj­ects an image of the soul on ­matter, thereby animating it; cf. de Vogel 1976, 161; also my comments on IV 3.13.12–32. The existence of such a creative “appetition” in the soul even before it moves ­toward corporeality may be explained by the inherence in it of powers dif­fer­ent from the purely cognitive, such as the “impulsive” (hormētikon) and the “appropriative” (oikeiōtikon), which are attributed to the soul of the gods in “Alcinous” Didasc. 25, 178.39–46. Cf. also Numenius fr. 11.19–20 and 18.10–13; also Merlan 1962, 141–42. H ­ ere, however, the reminder of the pro­cess of “reproduction in beauty” (tokos en kalōi) from Plato’s Symposium, 206c1–­e5, confers on this tendency of the soul not a character of a fall but, on the contrary, of the animating diffusion of life and beauty in the world. As D. Gutas has pointed out to me, the second “and” (kai) is omitted in the Arabic translation of l. 8 of our text; in the same tradition it is also held that the soul’s “eagerness” (spoudē) to create is the result of its propensity t­ oward the sensible world. I believe that this deletion does indeed improve the flow of the text, although, in my view, in this case too it would be more natu­ral to claim that it is precisely the soul’s propensity to create that is responsible for its extension ­toward sensible objects, not vice versa. Cf. my comment on IV 3.13.12–20. 13.9–14. μετὰ μὲν πάσης . . . ​νοῦς ἐμπαθής: In their original, natu­ral state, par­tic­u­lar individual souls are in communion with the cosmic Soul, “patrolling” heaven along with it (cf. ΙΙΙ 4.2.1–4; also Pl. Phdr. 246b6–­c2) ­until they become isolated b­ ecause of their excessive solicitude for a body; this brings about their quasi “descent” to that body; cf. IV 3.15.1–7 with my comment, and IV 8.4.1–24. This, of course, is chiefly an effect of their self-­determined ­will, yet it falls within an overarching propensity of proceeding from higher hypostases to lower ones; cf. V 1.1.3–9. At the same time, however, their primarily intellective part remains always undescended and impassible, ever directed ­toward its intellective origin; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 6.1.18–25; also Szlezák 2000, 182–84. 13.14–20. αὕτη δὲ . . . ​δι’ ἐνεργείας ἀπαύστου: The chief role of the soul, then, is to mediate: it expresses the truth of the Intellect by being a secondary activity of the Intellect (cf. V 4.2.27–37) and is thus extended to form a “third” ontological level, a­ fter Intellect and a­ fter the One; cf. my comments on Ι 8.2.28–32 and ΙΙ 9.6.35. Hence, the ultimate guarantor of the soul’s immortality is its nature as the ceaseless activity of the “eternal” (aei ōn, 19: cf. ΙΙΙ 7.4.37–43; the contrast with the “sometimes . . . ​and sometimes . . .” in ll. 14–15 is noteworthy) Intellect. 14.1–8. Περὶ δὲ . . . ​καὶ οὐσίαι: All t­ hese characterize the soul at the level of its essence and therefore apply to all souls, even t­ hose of irrational animals or even plants. For all souls manifest, however faintly, the animating, formative activity of the nature that is “primarily living” (prōtōs zōsēs), the Intellect (cf. 9.10–13; also Deuse 1983, 117). Also,

IV 7. Immortality of the Soul  193 according to the astute observation in Baltes and D’Ancona 2005, 56, “immortality characterizes not what the soul does (for example, exercising her rationality), but what the soul is” (author’s emphasis). At this point P. is taking a clear position on an issue that was hotly debated even among the Platonists; on this, see “Alcinous” Didasc. 25, 178.24–32 with Whittaker’s n.104; Dörrie [1965] = 1976, 425–28; also cf., for example, SVF 2:809. For in his view, the psychical essence is the same in all its manifestations; cf. also my comment on ΙΙΙ 4.2.16–30. 14.8–14. εἰ δὲ τὴν ἀνθρώπου . . . ​ἐκ τοῦ ὄντος ἀπολεῖται: Nevertheless, the tripartite subdivision of the soul, discussed by Plato in dialogues such as Resp. 439d5–­e4, and Phdr. 253c7–­d2 does not appear to preclude that the soul might be dissolved in the aftermath of death. Yet for P., the soul’s transcendent origins guarantee that it w ­ ill survive eternally in all of its manifestations, not solely in its rational ones. Any “admixtures” added to it (cf. my comment on Ι 1.12.11–18) can only delay, but not prevent its return to its original nature, b­ ecause this nature is predetermined by its affinity with the indissoluble Being. And, a­ fter all, the three supposed “parts” of the soul are nothing more than dif­fer­ent manifestations of a unitary vital power, which pervades all psychical life; the soul regains complete unity once it has become distanced from the body’s engrossing diversions; cf. Blumenthal 1971a, 21–25. 15.1–7. Ἃ μὲν οὖν . . . ​εἰς τοὺς ἀπεληλυθότας: In this, for P., rather unusual closing, our author is attempting to supplement his argumentation with references to the consensus omnium, more specifically to prevalent religious and cultic practices, vis-­à-­vis which, as we know, he other­wise maintained an extremely cautious stance; see VP 10.33–38 with the relevant comments. In a similar manner, his student Porphyry, who was much more given to such inquiries, claimed in his Against Boethus on the Soul fr. 246F 2–4, “The evidence of our thoughts [i.e., of philosophical analy­sis, like the preceding one in this treatise] and that of history unquestionably establish the immortality of the soul” (trans. Gifford). Cf. also Arist. Eud. fr. 3. As pointed out in Rist 1967b, 234–37, the contrast ­here between the “proof ” (apodeixis) and a “confidence (pistis) supported by the evidence of the senses” falls within the traditional philosophical context of the antagonism between cognitive pro­cesses, yet it suggests that the latter’s importance was slightly elevated, at least when it came to questions concerning religious beliefs; cf. also Walzer 1949, 50–56. Moreover, ­today we are aware of a noteworthy antecedent (fourth c­ entury BCE) where pistis already enjoyed elevated importance: see PDerveni V 4–12. Cf. contra, however, IV 4.30.5. Cathartic and apotropaic practices aimed at propitiating and purifying the souls of the deceased, especially t­ hose who had met violent or wrongful death, ­were extremely widespread in antiquity, while oracles, such as the one at Delphi, prescribed “many appeasements of the dead and demands for offering ­great honors and consideration for them”; see, indicatively, Plut. De sera 17, 560d; Rohde 1925, 174–82; Cumont 1949, 18–28; Nilsson 1974, 98–107. Such practices, which had become well-­ established in the context of time-­honored rituals, undoubtedly contributed the most in fostering faith in the survival of the soul a­ fter death, and ultimately in its immortality, in popu­lar belief. Cf. Cic. Tusc. I 27–28.

194  Fourth Ennead 15.7–12. πολλαὶ δὲ ψυχαὶ . . . ​ἀπολωλυῖαι: Apart from customary practices of worship, P. is also adducing phenomena that could be described as preternatural. The souls of the dead sometimes act as “mediums,” which provide guidance and counsel, thereby benefiting the living; cf. Pl. Leg. 927a1–3. We are familiar with the practice of necromancy from a ­great number of ancient sources, where it is clearly distinguished from other, more acceptable religious rituals; on this, see Cumont 1949, 97–108; also Dodds 1973, 206–9. Dodds claims that such spiritualistic phenomena are substantially dif­fer­ent from theurgic practices, ­because they do not presuppose the involvement of divine powers. Nonetheless, to accept and believe in t­ hese phenomena, one would, of course, necessarily also have to believe in the continued existence of the individual soul ­after death.

IV 8 [6]. On the Descent of the Soul into Bodies

Synopsis 1

The experience of identifying oneself with Intellect. Prob­lem: How does the soul descend into the body? Retrospective examination of the views of vari­ous phi­los­o­phers: disagreement and lack of clarity. 2 A. The cosmic Soul: The perfection of the world’s body allows the soul to manage it effortlessly and disinterestedly. 3 B. Individual souls: Their function is dual, both intellective and world-­forming. 4 When they become isolated, they fall. 5 Their descent is both voluntary and necessary. 6 Conclusions: The necessity of “pro­cession.” 7 The dual nature of psychical life. 8 The “undescended” soul and its consciousness. The cosmic Soul’s unpremeditated governance of the universe. Individual souls are partly bound by the partiality of their bodies.

Introduction The descent of individual souls from their heavenly “natu­ral habitat,” as it ­were, to their worldly, perishable abodes, through which they come into contact with all kinds of bodily sensations and affections, was one of the best-­known themes in the history of Platonism, and it usually assumed the form of variations on the interpretation of the relevant passage from the Phaedrus myth (246b6–249b5), where the pro­cess of the “shedding of wings” is analyzed; through this pro­cess, the soul “wanders ­until it lights on something solid, where it ­settles and takes on an earthly body. . . . ​[ T]he w ­ hole combination is called 195

196  Fourth Ennead a living ­thing or animal.”1 In his De anima, Iamblichus provides a doxographical overview of the relevant views, as they ­were adumbrated by his pre­de­ces­sors, repeatedly employing the image of “descent.”2 Yet the most characteristic and exhaustive treatment of this theme is to be found in chapter Ι 12 of Macrobius’ Commentarium in Somnium Scipionis, which is generally believed to echo the views of Numenius.3 According to that text, the souls pass through two “solar gates” in the heavens; t­ hese are to be found where the zodiac circle intersects with the galaxy; the sign of Cancer marks the route leading down to earth, whereas Capricorn’s route leads to their reascent ­toward the heavens.4 As they move down through the planetary spheres, the souls fall into a state of obliviousness and inebriation, also acquiring vari­ous kinds of shells from ­these spheres; t­ hese prepare the souls to become incorporated into their earthly dwellings, where they are established in a state reminiscent of death, ­until they are able to rise again and return to the glow of eternal heavenly life. This adventure evidently combined ele­ments from mystery cults, rituals, and the Orphic-­Pythagorean tradition.5 Yet the main issue in the pre­sent context is to explain how something divine in nature and akin to the intelligible beings can “descend” into the realm of materiality and come into any kind of contact with it.6 P.’s stance on this subject can be described as eccentric and radical: in his view, the purely eidetic nature of the soul precludes any direct contact whatsoever with anything corporeal, hence its “descent” into the body and its “presence” t­ here tends to boil down to ­little more than a figure of speech, while the experience of the affections that originate from anything material is in essence fictitious.7 This is why the manner of his expression, when he is discussing the “arrival” of the souls in “earthlier bodies” (geōdestera sōmata), is sometimes marked by a characteristic ambiguity. They appear to be “peering out” (ekkupsasai) ­toward worldly t­ hings, without ­really moving ­toward t­ hese, except to what­ever concerns the way in which they perceive t­ hings (tais gnōmais: IV 3.6.26–27). Conversely, when the souls become disengaged and distanced from worldly t­ hings, this 1  With re­spect to the general context, see Dillon 1980, 357–64. See also my comments on the title on treatise Ι 1 and on IV 3.7.12–20. 2  Iambl. De an. apud Stob. Ecl. Ι 49.39–41. See especially 377.11, 26–27; 378.5, 14, 20; 379.2, 8; 380.7, 9, 13. See also Festugière 1944–54, 3:216–26. Outside the pre­sent treatise, P. also speaks of the souls’ “descent” (kathodos) and “ascent” (anodos) in IV 3.12.18–21, VI 4.16.2–3; cf. also ΙΙ 9.10.24, ΙΙΙ 9.3.4–5, IV 3.12.6, 35–38, ­etc., as well as my comment on ΙΙΙ 4.6.18–30. 3  It is partially cited as fr. 34 in des Places’s collection; de Ley 1972, passim, has convincingly argued that the entire chapter relies on Numenius; cf. Flamant 1977, 546–65. 4  Macrob. op. cit. Ι 12.2: “per has portas animae de caelo in terras meare et de terries in caelum remeare creduntur. Ideo hominum una, altera deorum uocatur: hominum Cancer . . . ​Capricornus deorum.” Cf. Porph. De antr. nymph. 21 and 27–28. 5  See, e.g., Culianu 1983, 48–57, with the references provided ­there. 6  Addressing the Gnosticizing “new men” (uiri noui), Arnobius Adu. nat. II 37, raises the question rather poignantly: “quodsi essent [sc., animae] dominicae prolis et potestatis animae generatio principalis, nihil eis ad perfectionem defuisset uirtute perfectissima procreatis, . . . ​nec . . . ​imprudenter adpeterent terena haec loca, tenebrosis ut corporibus inuolutae . . .” 7  See Rist 1967a, 420–22, and my comment on ΙΙΙ 6.1.18–25. Also I 1.12.21–28.

IV 8. Descent of Soul into Bodies  197 is equivalent to the redirection of their attention away from fleeting corporeal affections and ­toward the eternal truths of the intelligible beings.8 The experiential perception of the soul’s presence inside the body is, however, the predominant component of ­human experience, and the introduction to this treatise focuses on this, so as to impart dramatic vividness and intensity to the aporia at hand: What precisely does this descent of the soul involve, and how can it be even pos­si­ble? In this way, however, as already noted in Bréhier,9 the author shifts the focus of the discussion away from the mythologizing treatments of the adventures of the soul during its passage through the realm of the heavenly spheres and ­toward an analy­sis of the internal experiences of the individual, and thus in essence ushers in a new type of treatment of philosophical prob­lems: personal—in the first person—­meditation.10 We must not downplay the importance of establishing this new perspective in the examination of the current prob­lem. ­Because through it, both the philosophical and the religious traditions, on the one hand, and Plato’s diverse investigations, on the other, are reinterpreted and imbued with new meaning. It is thanks to this new perspective that P. is ultimately able to provide an answer to the critical question of ­whether the soul’s engagement with the body represents a catastrophic fall from supracelestial blessedness, or ­whether it is a life-­giving diffusion and creative transmission of the soul’s beneficent activity, one that leads to the creation of a better and more beautiful world, a likeness of intelligible beauty that is as perfect as pos­si­ble. For it is in the context of each soul’s personal experience that the soul-­body relation can turn out as ­either beneficial or deleterious; it depends on the soul’s stance w ­ hether it w ­ ill succeed in imparting value to this relation through its philosophical change of mind by also contributing to the providential arrangement of the sensible universe thus enhancing its orderliness, in accordance with its abilities. Hence, the soul’s “descent” into the body does not pertain to its ontological distinctness from it, which is permanent and insuperable, but its lived relationship with it, be it conscious or not.11 In this regard, the treatise represents an extremely impor­tant testimony that sheds light on how P. understood and pursued his philosophical work. The ­earlier philosophical tradition and Plato’s propositions are carefully taken into consideration as ­simple starting points of P.’s own theory, which is s­ haped through a critical analy­sis and pro­ cessing of his personal, internal experience.12 The result is an innovative position on the issue that goes against the opinions expressed by ­others, yet allows one to overcome 8  Cf. VI 4.16.1–17: “. . . ​and in general the ‘coming’ [sc., of the soul; cf. Pl. Phdr. 248e6] the ancient phi­los­ o­phers speak of is not meant spatially, but indicates what­ever the manner of this kind of communion is.” See also Cumont 1949, 355–59. 9  Bréhier, “Notice,” 211–12. 10  This kind of written philosophical discourse became established not too much l­ater by Augustine (Soliloquia, Confessiones), and went on to become the main vehicle of modern philosophical thinking, thanks to Montaigne’s Essais and Descartes’ Méditations. 11  Cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 6.5.19–22, IV 3.12.3–8, and IV 4.4.7–14. 12  In an impor­ tant publication, Armstrong 1974, 171–94, highlights the importance ­ these three ­factors—­tradition, reasoning, and experience—in the formation of P.’s philosophical thought; on p. 191 he underlines the privileged position of experience vis-­à-­vis the other two.

198  Fourth Ennead the shortcomings, the objections, and the contradictions that plagued the relevant teachings of his pre­de­ces­sors. P. introduces them as partial insights about a complex and inaccessible theme, whose treatment requires our comprehensive engagement in the pursuit of philosophy. At the same time, it clearly highlights the fact that any examination of the nature of the soul is essentially reflexive in nature, inasmuch as its object is the subject engaging in philosophical investigation and it is subject to the concomitant experiences of such an investigation.13 Therefore, it must necessarily be conducted on the basis of an analy­sis of the soul’s life-­defining experiences, that is, the adventure of its vacillations, rather than on a dialectical examination of its ontological hypostasis, as was the case in treatises IV 2 and IV 7. In this re­spect, the treatise at hand complements the above-­mentioned treatises by providing the reader with an alternative conception of psychical real­ity, one that “flows from within,” as it ­were, calling us to identify—as much as pos­si­ble—­with the author’s vision; thus it serves rather as an exhortation and less as instruction.

Commentary 1.1–11. Πολλάκις . . . ​ἐν σώματι: This is one of the most celebrated passages of the Enneads, chiefly b­ ecause the author seemingly describes an overwhelming personal experience, one that definitely exercised a formative influence on his philosophical views; in the words of Hadot 1987, 28, this was “Plotinus’ central intuition.” The elevated rhetorical style, with tension rising cumulatively ­because of a barrage of no fewer than ten juxtaposed participles and its near-­dramatic climax with the verb “I am puzzled” (aporō), emphatically underlines the consequence and directness of the philosophical aporia that provided P. with the incentive to compose this treatise. The experience itself points to the existence of a place within us, an inner space where marvelous t­hings occur that can decisively influence how we see ourselves. The precise nature of this experience cannot be easily determined. Indeed, the fact that P.’s description has exerted ­great influence on subsequent writers, who drew on it to recount vari­ous religious experiences involving contact with or even ­union with the divine (indicatively see Ambrosius De Isaac, IV 11), means that it is impossible to impartially compare it with other such testimonies. Porphyry apparently has this passage in mind when, in VP 23.3–17, while commenting on how Apollo had provided an oracle ­after P.’s death, he mentions certain instances in which his teacher succeeded in attaining his “goal” (skopos), that is, “to be united to, to approach the God who is above all ­things . . . ​in an unspeakable actuality.” The textual allusions ­here are numerous. This suggests that the experience involved ­here is ­union with the supreme princi­ple of all ­things, the One. At least this is a conclusion to which some of P.’s most prominent commentator’s have arrived ­earlier; see, for example, Rist 1967b, 195; O’Daly 1974, 159–63. ­After studying the text more closely, Hadot 1987b, 14–16, was led to the conclusion that what is described ­here is “the ­union of the soul with the divine Intellect, that 13

 Cf. my comment on IV 3.1.8–12.

IV 8. Descent of Soul into Bodies  199 is the soul’s ascent to the level of contemplative and visionary activity.” (Rist 1989, 193n.31, appears to have been swayed by Hadot’s arguments. See also Blumenthal 1996, 95–96.) His main arguments pertain to the fact that the soul appears to be engaged in self-­introspection as an intelligible being, that it sees itself established “above every­ thing ­else in the realm of Intellect,” and that its “descent” is subsequently described as arising “from Intellect” (ek noū). Of course P. describes similar situations in other places in his Enneads (see, for instance, V 3.4.3–15 and 6.12–22, V 8.10.32–11.24). Nonetheless, as noted in Hadot 1987b, 20–27, intellective life, in which the soul participates during its “ascent” (anagōgē) ­toward Intellect, involves two phases: in one of ­these phases “Intellect in its right mind” (nous emphrōn) contemplates itself and what is in it; in the other one, Intellect “looks at what transcends it by a direct awareness and reception,” as “intellect in love, when it goes out of its mind” (VI 7.35.20–25). Therefore, the ­union of soul and Intellect also affords the soul the ability to gain visionary access to the One in an “irrational”—­that is, one that transcends intelligizing—­contact with it; cf. ΙΙΙ 8.9.11–22 and IV 7.10.27–40 with my comments. Now if we take into account that the treatise at hand was prob­ably composed before V 1 [10], where the radical differentiation between the first and the second hypostasis of the ontological hierarchy is introduced (see 6.39–7.11; cf. also VI 9 [9].5.24– 29; my comment on IV 2.2.52–55; and, with re­spect to the influence of this innovation on P.’s contemporaries, Kalligas 2001, 589–90), we see that it is pos­si­ble that the author is ­here being deliberately obscure (or noncommittal) concerning the precise content of his experience. This is b­ ecause what this consists in is the identification of the soul with its intellective core (“come to identify”) that can bring the soul itself into direct contact also with the supra-­sensible princi­ple of every­thing. In any case, the soul’s connection with the One is permanent and indissoluble: for it is the soul’s engagement with the body and its affections that leads it to “descend” from its dedication to what lies beyond, and thus coming to be in a state of aporia. As noted in O’Meara 1974, 242–44, and O’Meara 1993, 105, this mystical experience is not introduced, in accordance with that rationale, as an exceptional moment that hinders the course of worldly life. It is rather a primordial state that the soul is constantly in; what does occur “often” (pollakis) is that awareness of this state is interrupted ­because of the soul’s relation with the body and its concomitant “hypnosis”; cf. VP 8.19–38 with the relevant comments. It is precisely the latter that ­will form the subject of this treatise. The theme of rising up “from the body” enjoys, of course, a long Platonic pedigree (cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 6.6.65–77 and IV 4.5.1–9), yet as we ­shall see, it paves the ground for the reference to Heraclitus that occurs further down; cf. fr. Β26 and B73 DK. But while for the sage from Ephesus alertness means participation in the “one and common world” (fr. Β89 DK), for P. it presupposes that the consciousness turns t­ oward itself, where it also discovers its divine nature. Such an attestation of interiority as the main ave­nue for the pursuit of the divine formed indeed part of the Platonic-­Pythagorean tradition (on this, see Haussleiter 1985, 799–803), yet the emphasis given to it ­here is, in my view, exceptional precisely ­because it is correlated with a specific lived experience; cf. VI 9.7.16– 23 and other passages from the Enneads cited in Mazur 2003, 33. Something similar can only be found in the Gnostic apocalyptic treatise Allogenes (NHC ΧΙ 3, 52.9–12). On

200  Fourth Ennead the other hand, admiration for inner beauty also evokes Plato’s work (cf. Symp. 210b6– 211b7, 215a6–­b3; Phdr. 247d1–­e4, 249d4–250c6, 279b8–9; but also, e.g., V 8.10.22–43) and constitutes a guarantee that our inner self belongs to the superior, divine moira (“portion” or “fate”; cf. Phdr. 230a5–6) and participates in the life of the gods (cf. Phdr. 248a1; D’Ancona 2002, 523–24; and also my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.3.11–27). This leads to the installment of consciousness at the “summit of Intellect” (apex mentis), whence it can probe the entire intelligible realm “at a single glance.” Or, as Hadot 1987b, 15, puts it, “the soul rises above all individual Forms, above all individual intelligible beings, reaching up to the universal and primal Intellect.” Nonetheless, the soul’s proper field of activation, qua soul, is discursive reasoning (see Kalligas 2000, 29–30); therefore, it is inevitable that it w ­ ill re-­descend ­there once it has abandoned its “rest” (stasis) in the intelligible world; cf. ΙΙΙ 6.6.19–40 with my comments. Thus, it is precisely this “descent,” that is, the redirection of the soul ­toward its proper region, the realm of reasoning (dianoia), that offers an opportunity and the starting point for the soul to reflexively examine its own nature—in other words, to engage in philosophical research; cf. IV 3.1.8–12 with my comment. 1.11–17. ὁ μὲν γὰρ Ἡράκλειτος . . . ​ζήτήσας εὗρεν: Employing his usual tactic, P. enriches his original philosophical prob­lem by marshaling the views on the ­matter expressed by ­earlier thinkers; cf. VI 4.16.2–7; Eon 1970, 275; and my comments on III 7.1.8–16 and 7.7–17. The first one to be cited is Heraclitus, whose cosmological thought, as aptly observed in Roussos 1968, 17–27, receives a peculiar, psychocentric interpretation. The pre­ sen­ta­tion of the relevant material is overly condensed (note the repeated coordinating conjunctions) and can be subdivided into two sections: the first one takes the form of paraphrase (“who urges . . .”); in the second, however, the Ephesian sage’s own words are supposedly cited verbatim (“and saying”). Fi­nally, in a brief finale, P. comments on the sayings he has just quoted, assessing and, up to a point, attempting to interpret them. The first section evidently pertains to some of Heraclitus’ most celebrated teachings: (i) The exploration of the self (Β101 DK: “I searched out myself ”; see Harder ad loc.; Roussos 1968, 56–61; cf. also V 9.5.31), provided that, as it seems to be the case, the pronoun touto in l. 12 refers to “awaking to oneself ” (egersis eis emauton; l. 1). This appears to be corroborated by the comments in ll. 16–17, where Heraclitus’ maxim is interpreted as an exhortation to engage in introspection and pursue philosophy in an in­de­pen­dent, unbiased, and self-­contained manner; cf. V 8.4.54–55. (ii) The constant and necessary alternation (amoibē: not “exchange” (anatamoibē) as in fr. Β90 DK, which H-­S3 cite as the source) of contraries: cf. Diog. Laert. ΙΧ 8, where Diogenes expresses the same complaint as P., that is, that “nothing is clearly set out.” On this, cf. Roussos 1968, 32–33. In the second section we find (iii) the famous fr. Β60 DK, which is also preserved in the same wording in Diog. Laert op. cit. (but also, in a somewhat longer version by P.’s con­temporary, the anti-­heretical author Hippolytus Haer. ΙΧ 10.4; cf. also NHC VII 5, 127.20–21) and is possibly interpreted in the light of a passage from Plato’s Gorgias (493a4–5: see Kirk 1970, 106); and fi­nally, (iv) the closely related frs. Β84a and 84 b DK, which are known to us only through P. (and, obviously, through ­those who drew on him: Iambl. De an. apud Stob. Ecl. Ι 49.39, 378.21–25; and Aeneas of Gaza Theoph. 9

IV 8. Descent of Soul into Bodies  201 (= PG LXXXV 880A). According to our author, we can only conjecture about the import of this material, yet as results from the interpretation given by P. l­ ater on, in 4.10– 11 and 5.6–7, he believes that it is connected with the necessity that leads the souls to come into contact with the corporeal world and thereby paves the way for raising his main philosophical prob­lem, which is posed in 2.3–6 and w ­ ill be examined further down: Does the soul come into the world (a) of its own accord; (b) following some kind of coercion; or (c) in some other manner? In the context of this debate, the passage cited from Heraclitus seems to point to (b), on the grounds that the relevant pro­cess is ordained in the natu­ral necessity that arises from the arrangement of the universe through the rational princi­ple (log­os). This is how Iamblichus also understands P.’s position; as mentioned ­earlier, he apparently had in mind the pre­sent passage: “Heraclitus holds that changes necessarily occur from opposites and supposes that souls travel both the road up and the road down and that for them to remain in place is toil but to change is rest” (trans. Finamore and Dillon). With re­spect to the latter point, compare the “satiety” (koros), which Philo Judaeus (Her. 240) regards as responsible for the embodiment of the souls. 1.17–23. Ἐμπεδοκλῆς τε . . . ​οὐ σαφεῖ εἶναι: Empedocles is the second thinker to feature in this doxographical survey; contrary to Heraclitus (pace Mansfeld 1992, 302), he is regarded as an exponent of answer (a) to the question discussed in the previous comment, inasmuch as he attributed the embodiment of the souls to a fault of theirs (Β115.4 DK; on this, see also my comment on ΙΙΙ 5.1.36–38), as some kind of punishment for having perpetrated felony murder; see Guthrie 1962–81, 2:249–54. P. again cites Empedocles verbatim (see fr. B115.13–14 DK), yet the syntax of the text preserved in the MSS at this point is problematic, mainly b­ ecause of the nominative autos in place of a subject of the infinitive hēkein that should have been in the accusative case. For this reason I have suggested an emendation that does not alter the meaning of the phrase, while it brings it closer in form to what has been handed down in the works of other authors; see Kalligas 1988, 99–100. It is in­ter­est­ing to note ­here the correlation of Empedocles with Pythagorean teachings, especially with their practice of formulating their teachings using allegory (ēinittonto: “they spoke riddlingly”): cf. my comment on Ι 6.8.18–20; also Saffrey and Westerink 1968–97, 2:xxii–­xxiii; Plut. De Is. et Os. 77, 354e). This, coupled with his poetic style, contribute to the “obscurity” (asapheia) of his words and necessitates their clarification through philosophical interpretation; on this, see Gelzer 1982, 124–26; also O’Meara 2005, 105–6. On “clarity” (saphēneia) as a fundamental literary virtue, see my comment on VP 20.72–73. We should certainly note the similar manner in which Eunapius, VS IV 1.9 extolls Porphyry’s explanatory skills: “while some phi­los­o­phers hide their esoteric teachings in obscurity, as poets conceal their myths, Porphyry praised clear knowledge as a sovereign remedy, and since he had tasted it by experience he recorded this in writing and brought it to the light of day” (trans. W. C. Wright). 1.23–26. λείπεται δὴ . . . ​σαφές τι: Last to appear in this chorus of “ancient and blessed” phi­los­o­phers (cf. ΙΙΙ 7.1.13–14) is “divine Plato” (cf. ΙΙΙ 5.1.6 with my comment; also Alex.

202  Fourth Ennead Aphrod., In Metaph. 18.3), who provides greater assurances as to the clearer formulation of his philosophical views (cf., however, ΙΙΙ 6.12.1–11 with my comment). As has been noted, the citation of Heraclitus’, Empedocles’, and Plato’s views on the ­matter of the soul in sequence can also be found in other authors of the Greco-­Roman period and arguably echoes a common doxographical tradition; see chiefly Burkert 1975, 137–44. Yet it is only ­here, to my knowledge at least, that this sequence is employed to produce a “disagreement” (diaphōnia) schema involving mutually opposing views, which w ­ ill be subsequently overcome, of course, with the aid of the interpretation provided by P. himself; see further down, 5.1ff. 1.27–28. οὐ ταὐτὸν . . . ​εἶδεν: But even Plato does not always appear to be in agreement with himself. This fact had been repeatedly pointed out by his ancient interpreters, often leading to conflicting interpretations (see, e.g., Numenius fr. 24.60–66); in fact Galen in his De foetuum formatione VI, 4.700, mentions that he had composed a special treatise titled On Th ­ ings about Which Plato Gives the Impression of Being at Variance with Himself about the Soul. P. naturally held that any apparent contradictions can be resolved by applying the correct interpretation, which can reveal Plato’s unitary doctrine that is hidden ­behind the wide diversity of his statements in his dif­fer­ent dialogues; on this, see my comment on ΙΙΙ 5.1.3–10; also Charrue 1978, 30–31. The question is, therefore, how a comprehensive examination of Plato’s words can lead to a unitary and coherent doctrine, one that reflects Plato’s true “intention” (boulēma: on the meaning of this word see LSJ s.v. 2; Lampe 1961, s.v. ΙΙΙ; cf. also Longinus fr. 32.1). 1.28–33. ἀλλὰ τὸ αἰσθητὸν . . . ​εἶναι: In a number of his works, Plato exhibits a strongly anti-­cosmic stance, where the presence of the soul in the world in likened ­either to incarceration (see Phd. 62b2–5, 67d1–10, 82e3–7, 114b7–­c1; and, with re­spect to the survivals of this simile in ­later Platonism, Boyancé 1963b, 7–9; cf. also my comment on VP 22.24–25) or entombment (see Cra. 400c2; cf. Grg. 493a2–3; also Courcelle 1966, 101–9, as well as my comment on VP 22.45). Naturally enough, such propositions had a power­ful impact on Gnostic circles (indicatively see Hippol. Haer. V 8.22–23; also my introduction to ΙΙ 9), accentuating the need to reevaluate Platonic doctrine as a w ­ hole. On this, see de Vogel 1981, 85–89. 1.33–36. καὶ τὸ σπήλαιον . . . ​πορείαν: The image of the world that results from the Allegory of the Cave (book VII of the Republic) is in the same vein, especially if we conflate that cavern (Resp. 514a5) with Empedocles’ “roofed-in cave” (hypostegon antron), in which embodied souls descend, lamenting their exile to that “unfamiliar” and “joyless place”; see frs. Β118–124 DK, and also, on the prehistory of this image, Cilento 1960, 267. This correlation (which is by no means self-­evident: see Kingsley 1995, 36–39) facilitates the semantic shift of the allegory from the field of epistemology to that of ontology: instead of a figuration of the “training” (paideia) or “want of training” (apaideusia) that characterize the soul during the vari­ous phases of its cognitive “journey” (poreia; cf. Resp. 532e3) as it rises to contemplate the true beings, h ­ ere it is construed as a description of its adventures during its corporeal life and ­after it is released from it (op. cit. 515c4–5, 517b4–5).

IV 8. Descent of Soul into Bodies  203 In ­doing so, he is essentially inaugurating Platonist allegorical analy­sis, such that can be found, for instance, in Porph. De antr. nymph.: cf., for example, 5–10; but see also Turcan 1975, 25–27 and 65–71. 1.36–41. ἐν δὲ Φαίδρῳ . . . ​πρὸς σῶμα: But the myth of the Phaedrus is also informed by the same spirit, for ­there the souls are said to be pre­sent in the world ­because they “have shed their wings” (246c2, 248c9) and are too weak to steadily follow the revolution of the heavens (248a7–8). At any rate, their postmortem judgment (249a5–7) and their subsequent reintegration following an allotment of the corresponding ways of life (249b2; cf. Resp. 617e6–8), which is determined by a combination of chance and necessity (see Resp. 617e2–3, 619d7), is portrayed as punishment (Phdr. 249a7; cf. Pindar’s verses apud Men. 81b8–10), and hence as something unpleasant and harmful to them. 1.41–46. ἐν Τιμαίῳ . . . ​τοῦτο γενέσθαι: On the contrary, in his Timaeus Plato introduces an entirely dif­f er­ent image with re­spect to the relation of the soul with the world. ­There, the world is not described as a dark and repugnant cavernous prison but rather as an exquisite “shrine of the everlasting gods” (37c6–7), or even a “blessed god” (34b8; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 5.6.14–24), the orderly and most beautiful creation of a benevolent and “­free of jealousy” Demiurge (29e1–30a7, 34b8). This Demiurge then, considering that to attain the best pos­si­ble result, his creation must possess “intellect” (nous; see Ti. 29a3), and given that intellect can only exist along with soul, “put intelligence in soul, and soul in body, and so he constructed the universe” (30b1–8; on this, see Menn 1995, 20–24). 1.46–51. ἥ τε οὖν ψυχὴ . . . ​ὑπάρχειν: According to this version, therefore, the souls (both the cosmic Soul and individual souls) are pre­sent in the world to fulfil a mission. Their presence forms part of the providential planning of the Demiurge-­god and aims at the most perfect pos­si­ble arrangement of the sensible universe, so that its orderliness and harmony can reflect, to the fullest extent pos­si­ble, the imperturbable fullness of the intelligible realm; see Ti. 39e3–40a2, 41b7–­c3, 92c5–9; cf. also my comments on ΙΙΙ 2.2.18–33 and 3.24–29. Thus, for example, “Taurus and his Platonist followers,” apud Iambl. De an. apud Stob. Ecl. Ι 49.39, 378.25–379.1, trans. Finamore and Dillon, “say that the souls are sent to the earth (cf. Pl. Phd. 113a5) by the gods. Some of them, consistently with the Timaeus, teach that this occurs for the completion of the universe so that ­there ­will be just as many living ­things in the cosmos as ­there are in the intelligible realm”; cf. “Alcinous” Didasc. 16, 172.6–7. This “optimistic” version of Platonism found ­favor chiefly among certain theosophic currents such as Hermetism (see CH IV 1–2, 49.9–12; also Festugière 1944–54, 3:73–76) and the Chaldaean Oracles (fr. 94; see also Lewy 1978, 180– 81), inasmuch as it raised the sensible world to the status of the living actualization of divine ­will. 2.1–6. Ὥστε ἡμῖν . . . ​ἄλλος τρόπος: Thus the quest for an answer to a “private” question, one that pertains to the realm of personal experience, is reducible to the universal philosophical prob­lem of the nature of the soul in general. Now, ­because the soul plays a central role in the universe, any examination of the soul gives rise to a number of issues,

204  Fourth Ennead which P. ­here classifies ­under three general rubrics: (A) What does the soul’s bond with the body consist in? This is the central theme of the pre­sent treatise. (B) What is the nature of the world itself ? One’s valuation of the soul’s relation to the body depends on the answer one gives to this question, for if the world is an evil and “joyless” (aterpēs) place, then the soul’s presence in it can only be understood as the result of the soul’s punishment and coercion. The manner in which this issue is articulated does preserve the possibility that the soul’s presence in the world (especially that of the cosmic Soul!) could be the result of neither deliberate choice nor coercion. ­After all, the solution that ­will be put forward further down points to such a direction; see also O’Brien 1993, 17 and n.31. 2.6–14. καὶ περὶ ποιητοῦ δέ . . . ​δεομένων: As noted by Cilento ad loc, 575, the first part of this sentence has been recognized as muddled (a locus turbatus). The main prob­lem is identifying the verb form, which we must understand as being modified by the adverb “rightly” (orthōs). In my opinion, ­here we need to understand the correlative verb of the sentence’s subject, that is, the verb “to bring about” (poieīn; for other examples of construing orthōs not with verbs of speaking, see LexPlot, s.v. orthos, c, 758.55–60). A third group of issues pertaining to the role of the soul in the world (C) concerns the Demiurge of the sensible universe. P. pre­sents two alternative options with re­spect to the Demiurge’s activity: ­either (i) the Demiurge acts “rightly” (orthōs), that is, impassively and unaffected by what befalls his creation; this possibility ­will be introduced in greater detail further down, in ll. 2.14ff.; or (ii) he acts as our own souls do, which are sometimes forced to be extremely mindful of the partial and imperfect bodies they deal with and are thus swept along by their “disturbance” (tarachē) and other affections; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 2.4.36–38, 7.15–28, and ΙΙΙ 4.2.1–6. I am proposing a minor addition to the text ( hēmeterai in l. 7), designed to render more con­spic­u­ous the dilemmatic structure of this passage, without essentially deviating from the interpretation offered in Schwyzer 1941, 229. 2.14–19. τὸ δὲ τέλεόν τε ὃ . . . ​οὐδὲ πρόσεισι: The perfection and self-­sufficiency of the sensible universe (cf. Pl. Ti. 33c6–7, d2) ensures that the soul’s providential care for it does not entail any kind of solicitude or ­labor; cf. ΙΙ 1.1.12–16 with my comment. Thus, the cosmic Soul supervises what­ever transpires ­there “from above,” without apprehending any affections or desires originating from ­there; cf. ΙΙ 3.13.27–34, and my comment on IV 3.9.29–36. The analogy, in which the soul is likened to a king or general (cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 3.2.3–11), who directs “easily by means of a single motion” and who “when . . . ​ [he] gives the sign to e­ very moving t­ hing between heaven and earth, every­thing is moved continually in its orbit and within its peculiar limits, now disappearing, now appearing, revealing innumerable dif­fer­ent forms and concealing them again, all from a single beginning” (trans. Furley), is known to us chiefly via [Arist.] Mund. 6, 398b14 and 399a30–35. As suggested by the terminology employed in what follows, P. might have been aware of this work; the fact that it is a veritable hymn to the orderliness and harmony of the cosmos would have certainly attracted him to it. We have no way of knowing when that work was composed (on this, see Moraux 1973–2001, 2:3–8), but it is certainly e­ arlier than its Latin translation by Apuleius (ca. second ­century CE). It is

IV 8. Descent of Soul into Bodies  205 unclear ­whether P., if indeed he was aware of it, regarded it as a genuine work of Aristotle (as did, for instance, his near-­contemporary [ Justin] Cohort. ad Graec 5, 17.43ff.), yet it appears that P. thought its teachings, partly at least, ­were compatible with what can be found in the Timaeus, which may not be far from the truth; cf. Moraux 1973–2001, 2:47. 2.19–26. διὸ καί φησι . . . ​τὸ προνοοῦν μένειν: Now, in connection with a much-­discussed passage from the Phaedrus (246b7–­c2; cf. my comment on IV 3.7.12–20), P. is led to the conclusion that e­ very soul, so long as it has attained “perfection” (teleiōsis), participates through the cosmic Soul in the blissful and carefree management of the universe; cf. ΙΙΙ 2.4.10–11, V 8.7.33–35, and my comment on IV 3.12.8–12. This means that it is not the soul’s providential disposition and activity per se that can bring about its fall from the “best life” (aristē zōē), but the manner in which it regards the world and carries out its providential task. It is crucial that the soul does not consider itself bound to a partial body and thus trapped in it. The soul’s fall is a descent into partiality and its concomitant passivity; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 6.2.1–22. 2.26–38. διττὴ γὰρ . . . ​οὔποτε ἀρξάμενον: In this rather obscure passage, P. provides an extremely dense outline of the fundamental princi­ples informing the viewpoint he w ­ ill subsequently develop. The divine soul, both the cosmic Soul and the superior part of ­every individual soul, shows solicitude for the world without becoming embroiled in it, issuing, like a king, only general commands. It dispatches to the world a “power” (dunamis) inferior to itself; now that power undertakes to bring into existence the soul’s injunctions by acting directly on individual bodies. The author of the pseudo-­Aristotelian De Mundo speaks of the “God [who] is indeed the preserver of all ­things and the creator of every­thing in this cosmos” who, however, “does not take upon himself the toil of the creature that works and l­ abours for itself, but uses an indefatigable power (dynamis), by means of which he controls even ­things that seem a ­great way off ” (6, 397b20–25); see on this Caluori 2015, 115–19. As noted in Moraux 1973–2001, 2:39–48, this notion of a worldly “power” that is a vehicle of the providential activity of the hypercosmic and transcendental God was equally widespread among Peripatetics, Neopythagoreans, and Platonists (see, e.g., Atticus fr. 8.17–29; also Karamanolis 2006, 224–25). Yet only in P. do we find an attempt to provide a metaphysical explanation for the relation between the soul’s “essence” (ousia) and its “power.” As we ­shall see, he does so by invoking the theory of the two “activities” (energeiai). For only the latter comes into direct contact with the body and is thus “saturated” or “infected” (cf. Pl. Phd. 67a4–5) with corporeality, resulting in the emergence of the affections; cf. my comments on Ι 1.6.1–4 and 7.1–6. 2.38–42. τάς τε τῶν ἀστέρων ψυχὰς . . . ​εὐδαιμονίαν: Cf. Pl. Ti. 38c7–8, and Ι 8.5.30– 34, ΙΙ 2.1.37–39 with my comments. 2.42–53. δύο γὰρ ὄντων . . . ​τὸ πᾶν κοσμοῦσα: In Plato’s Phaedo (65c5–9) it is claimed that the soul “reasons best” when none of the senses and no affection trou­bles it—­when, abandoning the body, it has “no contact or association with it in its search for real­ity.” Could this mean that the body of the stars too can inhibit their soul from exercising its

206  Fourth Ennead intellection (cf. Pl. Phd. 65a10), or that it can transmit its desires and affections to the soul (op. cit. 66c2–3), thereby corrupting its character? P. emphatically rejects this possibility; for the soul, qua incorporeal substance, has no need of anything corporeal; it therefore lacks desire and fear, and does not belong to the body e­ ither—­rather, it is the body that depends on it; cf. IV 3.9.34–36, VI 4.16.16. Furthermore, the perfect constitution of the celestial bodies renders superfluous any solicitude ­toward t­hese; cf. ΙΙ 1.4.1–11. All this suggests that the soul of the stars, as also the cosmic Soul, does not “descend” nor does it “enter” their body, but remains eternally undescended and devoted to its blissful intellective contemplation (cf. Pl. Phdr. 247a4), arranging it through its “untroubled” (apragmōn) oversight; cf. above 2.26–30 and ΙΙ 9.2.11–15 with my comment. The idea is of course derived from Pl. Leg. X 904a3–4. 3.1–6. Περὶ δὲ . . . ​νῦν λέγωμεν: We now turn to the subject of the ­human soul, about which it was chiefly claimed that, once it is embodied, it becomes subject to all kinds of affections (Pl. Phd. 95d3), such as “confusion, ignorance, fear, violent desires” (Pl. Phd. 81a6–7), which, as mentioned above in 1.30–34, cause it to become bound in an inhospitable and enclosed space, “entombed” inside the body. In this re­spect, therefore, the soul’s “descent” should be attributed to reasons not identical to t­ hose ­behind the “descent” of the cosmic Soul, and has dissimilar implications, inasmuch as it is neither carefree nor impassible. 3.6–16. ὄντος τοίνυν . . . ​περιεῖχε θάτερον: We thus begin with a brief account of the ontological origin of the soul, that is, of the hypostasis of Intellect. This is an entire intelligible world, one that encompasses a multitude of intellective powers or manifestations of intellective Life (cf. ΙΙΙ 7.3.5–27 with my comments; also D’Ancona 2003, 163–64) and becomes consolidated as a composite of individual intellects, each of which is distinct from the rest, yet it nonetheless presupposes and, somehow, potentially contains them, as parts of an organic w ­ hole, or “living being” (zōion; cf. Pl. Ti. 30c3–8). Thus the overall Intellect is si­mul­ta­neously unitary and multiple, an indissoluble composite of interdependent parts; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.1.26–34. It remains unclear, however, exactly how we are supposed to understand this “potential” (dunamei) presence of individual intellects in the overall Intellect. Another similarly obscure passage (V 9.8.8–9.8) would make one think that what is intended ­here is that the intellection of individual intellects presupposes—­and therefore is potentially contained in—­the intellection of the overall Intellect. (Nonetheless, the above passage makes clear that the opposite is also true: the totality is contained in each individual intellect; on this, see Smith 1981, 100–101.) This is the reason why the relevant structure, based on the genus-­species relations, can act as a model even for the relations between the dif­fer­ent souls and the overall Soul; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 3.1.12–27 and ΙΙΙ 9.2.1–4; see also VI 2.22.28–29. 3.16–21. οἷον εἰ πόλις . . . ​καὶ ἡ τοῦ παντός: P. is invoking two further models to explain the relationship of unitary multiplicity that connects souls to each other: (a) An ensouled city, which contains a multitude of equally ensouled members; cf. IV 4.39.11–17; also Atticus fr. 8.17–25. (b) “Homogeneous” (homoiomeres) material bodies, where the nature

IV 8. Descent of Soul into Bodies  207 of each part is the same with that of the entire body; cf. my comment on IV 3.2.10–19; but also Pl. Phlb. 29b9–­c8. As suggested by the entire discussion in IV 3.1.18–2.58, neither model is quite apt to accurately reflect this relation. 3.21–30. ψυχῆς δὲ ἔργον . . . ​καὶ τὸ πρὸ αὐτοῦ: Thus the soul is indeed an intellective, although not a purely intelligible, entity, but also a distinct, special hypostasis. Apart from intelligizing, the soul is charged with showing providential solicitude for what lies below it in the ontological hierarchy and with directing and arranging the sensible world. This occurs while its attention is directed not at the intelligibles that lie above it, but to its own self, where the creative rational formative princi­ples can be found discursively analyzed in sequences of events, articulated in comprehensive “time frames” of action; cf. my comment on IV 4.16.1–10 and Caluori 2015, 54–57. This creative activity of the soul is an upshot of the inexhaustible potency of the First Princi­ple, which dictates the continuous “outflow” (aporrhoē) from higher hypostases to lower ones; cf. ΙΙΙ 2.2.9–12 with my comment. 4.1–5. Τὰς δὴ καθέκαστα . . . ​τ ῆς χορηγίας: As in many other instances (cf., e.g., ΙΙ 3.18.19–22, and IV 3.17.12–21 with my comment), the emanation of psychical activity directed to corporeal t­ hings is likened to the radiation of a light-­emitting source, such as the sun, on other objects, which are thereby illuminated thanks to a “power” (dunamis) that reaches them from some other place. 4.5–10. ἀπήμονας μὲν . . . ​ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ τότε: Individual souls, therefore, while they are devoted to the intelligible, rule, “­free from sorrow” (cf. Pl. Phdr. 248c4), the universe together with the cosmic Soul; cf. above, my comment on 2.19–26. With re­spect to the image of the cosmic king with his attendants, see my comment on 2.14–19. 4.10–12. μεταβάλλουσαι . . . ​ἑκάστη: An allusion to Heraclitus fr. Β84a and 84b DK, which ­were cited e­ arlier, in 1.13–15. H ­ ere, they are interpreted as referring to the partitioning of the souls and their identification as a result of their fall from the unity they once enjoyed being all together. This correlation of the partition of the souls with their fall was a theme common to con­temporary Gnosticism and Platonism; see Zandee 1961, 23–24; also my comment on IV 7.13.9–14. Moreover, h ­ ere it is apparently associated with the quest for individuality expressed in Heraclitus fr. Β101 DK and is suggested h ­ ere by the expression “each got to their own way”; cf. Allogenes = NHC ΧΙ 3, 59.9–60.37. The key issue is w ­ hether this quest c­ auses the soul to become isolated (cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 4.2.1–6) or to come to the realization of what it shares in common with the rest of the souls; of course, this can only be accomplished in full in the intelligible realm. 4.12–21. ὅταν δὴ τοῦτο . . . ​εἰς τὸ εἴσω: The soul’s protracted isolation from its source and from the other souls, a result of its devotion to the partiality of the body it inhabits, is equivalent to its fall (or its “descent”; cf. Pl. Phdr. 247e3–4) to materiality and its associated affections; cf. VI 4.16.32–37. The soul’s activity becomes fragmented into a multitude of spasmodic and, more or less, unconnected actions, or rather reactions to

208  Fourth Ennead stimuli that are exogenous to it; this c­ auses it to forfeit its comprehensive theoretical vision of the universe as a unitary organism that operates in accordance with the Intellect’s ordinances; cf. Trouillard 1953, 25; Baladi 1970, 71; Rist 1983, 142–43; also D’Ancona 2003, 35–41. 4.21–30. ἔνθα καὶ συμβαίνει . . . ​θεᾶσθαι τὰ ὄντα: This then is what the “shedding of wings,” which was mentioned above (see 1.37), amounts to; it is the soul’s imprisonment in the cosmic cavernous prison (see 1.32–35) and its entombment in the body (see 1.31). The only way to be released from this state is by a conversion leading to the vision of the universal beings, that is, the Forms; cf. Pl. Phdr. 247e3, 249e5, and my comment on IV 7.9.26–29. The reference to the theory of recollection (anamnēsis) is yet another allusion to the myth of the Phaedrus, 249c1–4. 4.30–35. ἔχει γάρ τι . . . ​ἢ τύχαις ὑπῆρξεν: This capacity for conversion is always pre­ sent in the soul, b­ ecause a part of itself, the superior and normally dominant one, and the one with which “we” chiefly identify, in contrast to what is simply “ours,” remains firmly on the intelligible level; cf. Ι 1.10.7–11 with my comment. It is one of its characteristic features that the soul is located in an intermediate place between the intelligible and the sensible worlds; it vacillates between the two and is able to focus its attention on one or the other direction; cf. my comments on Ι 1.11.2–8, ΙΙ 9.2.4–10, and IV 3.12.3–8; see also the meticulous analy­sis of the pre­sent passage in Schniewind 2005, 181–200. The characterization of the soul as “amphibious” hints at its participation in both the intelligible and the sensible levels (cf. my comment on IV 2.2.49–52), which is due to its nature, and thus “necessary”; hence the latitude it enjoys in deciding on its own orientation; cf. ΙΙΙ 1.8.4–20 with my comments. 4.35–38. ἃ δὴ ὑποδεικνὺς . . . ​μέρη τοιαῦτα: Cf. my comment on IV 3.6.27–34. But ­here, contrary to IV 3.7.10–11 (cf. also V 1.8.6), P. seems to have in mind an interpretation of the passage in contention (Pl. Ti. 41d4–7), according to which individual souls ­were created in a mixing bowl dif­fer­ent (or, at least, employing a dif­fer­ent mixture of ingredients; cf. Themistius De Humanitate (6), 115.9–10; also CH fr. ΧΧΙΙΙ, 16, 5.13–21) from that of the cosmic Soul. A similar interpretation is ascribed by Proclus to Atticus fr. 14, which possibly echoes a tendency t­ oward drawing a more radical distinction between the ­earlier, created cosmic Soul, and supervening individual souls. P.’s manner of expression ­here echoes this interpretation, which does not strictly correspond, however, to his normal teaching; cf. Merlan 1967, 77. 4.38–42. εἰ δὲ λέγει . . . ​καὶ ὄντα: The Demiurge’s successive actions in the Timaeus should not be interpreted literally as temporally prior and posterior (cf. my introduction to ΙΙ 1), and the same holds for the other anthropomorphic ele­ments of the relevant narrative (see, e.g., Ti. 41a5–­e5, 42d4–5; cf. also. Plt. 272e1–5); ­these need to be construed in light of the general princi­ples that should govern how myths are to be understood; on this, see my comments on ΙΙΙ 5.9.24–29 and IV 3.9.12–20.

IV 8. Descent of Soul into Bodies  209 5.1–8. Οὐ τοίνυν . . . ​καὶ τὸ ἀκούσιον αὖ: ­There is, then, a broader perspective in which all the apparent contradictions observed in the philosophical tradition (see above, 1.11–48; also my comment on 1.23–26) can be eliminated. In this perspective, the soul’s “descent” and the consequent animating of the body is governed by the ontological necessity that induces the diffusion of the ineligible’s vital activity ­toward the lower forms of existence, so that the sensible universe can become as perfect as pos­si­ble; cf. above, my comment on 3.21–30. Nonetheless, the fact that the soul itself remains “undescended” and impassible in its essence means it has a choice in terms of the attitude it w ­ ill maintain vis-­à-­vis the body it has animated and the sensible world at large; cf. my comment on 4.30–35. Thus, one could claim that the soul’s presence in the world is governed by a combination of necessity and voluntariness. On the one hand, it brings the soul into contact with the sensible world through its nonvoluntary participation in its providential arrangement; on the other, however, it preserves the soul’s ability to convert and escape from it; cf. my comment on IV 3.13.12–20; Banacou-­Caragouni 1976, 60–63; O’Brien 1977, 405–7. The idea of subsuming and subordinating voluntariness to a framework governed by necessity enjoyed a certain prehistory in ­Middle Platonism (see chiefly [Plut.] Fat. 570e, and 574b; also my comment on ΙΙΙ 1.7.8–12), yet in P. it acquires new significance, for the existence of spontaneous, opposing tendencies within the soul itself is now acknowledged. At this point, the Arab commentator of the Enneads makes a number of digressions to introduce the notion of “voluntary necessity” (al-­iḍṭirār al-­irādī) in an attempt to capture the soul’s peculiar ability to act voluntarily and freely, albeit within the confines of the ordered course of nature that is governed by higher, intellective and supra-­intelligible princi­ples; see Dicta Sapientis Graeci Ι 62–63, 84–86; and Adamson 2002, 147–49. While P. is h ­ ere seeking to reconcile and compose all the dif­fer­ent and conflicting philosophical traditions, Aeneas Gazaeus, at the start of his dialogue Theophrastus 85, 881c–884a, is clearly drawing on this par­tic­u­lar passage to pre­sent a characteristic example of a philosophical “disagreement” (diaphōnia) that leads to an impasse (contrast above, my comment on 1.23–26): “. . . ​I still remain ambivalent, and do not know what is to become of me, since I do not know whom I o­ ught to follow: Heraclitus, whose view it is that the flight to this life is the soul’s rest from the toils above, or Empedocles, who casts the soul out ­here as punishment for wrongs previously committed; or Plato, rather, who sends the soul forth in what­ever way takes his fancy, now as a punishment, now for the perfection of the entire universe, now unwillingly, now willingly, sometimes by force, sometimes by self-­movement” (trans. Dillon). We may therefore conclude that Aeneas Gazaeus’ testimony concerning Heraclitus’ teaching lacks any in­de­pen­dent value; see Roussos 1968, 21. 5.8–16. πᾶν μὲν γὰρ ἰὸν . . . ​εἰς αὐτὴν ἀναφέρεται: The soul’s “descent” into the body cannot be described as something “voluntary” (hekousion), inasmuch as it goes against its primary and intrinsic aspiration, that is, its “reversion” (epistrophē) to the intelligible realm; cf. my comment on Ι 4.4.15–19. Nonetheless, it is the upshot of the soul’s

210  Fourth Ennead spontaneous drive, albeit one that is unintentional and of unknown implications, corresponding to an instinctive inner need that derives from the universal natu­ral law of “pro­cession” (proodos) from higher hypostases to lower ones; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 1.9.4–9, and IV 3.13.1–27 with my comments. See also Rich 1971, 622–23; and D’Ancona 2003, 179–82. Yet even if we attribute it to the providential ­will of god, who in his effort to arrange the sensible universe in the most perfect manner “dispatches” the souls to animate the bodies of the vari­ous organisms (cf. above, 1.47–48), even so, each soul w ­ ill be responsible for its attitude vis-­à-­vis its body ­after its embodiment, and it would be only fair to bear the consequences resulting from its attitude. 5.16–24. διττῆς δὲ . . . ​τινυμένων δαιμόνων: ­There are, therefore, two f­ actors responsible for the soul’s presence in the body, two “failings” that contribute to its embodiment; one is natu­ral, the other moral in nature; cf. Deck 1967, 38–39. The first is a direct consequence of the “bounteousness” of the higher hyspostases and, in certain cases, P. refuses to describe this as an “error” (hamartia); see Ι 1.12.24–27; but cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.4.36–38. The latter pertains to the soul’s responsible attitude during its embodied life; this may incur a punishment, e­ ither through reincarnation (cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 4.2.16–30; and Pl. Phd. 83d7–­e2), or following the intervention of avenging demons; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 4.6.10–17; and Pl. Phd. 113e1–114b6, Resp. 615e4–616a4. 5.24–37. οὕτω τοι . . . ​ταῦτα δρᾶσαι: ­Here we are provided with a fuller account of the soul’s spontaneous tendency to manifest its presence in the sensible world. The main reasons cited are of three kinds: (a) The soul’s providential disposition to “adorn” (kosmein) every­ thing that comes ­after it, arranging ­these in an organic hierarchy; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.3.33–41. (b) The manifestation and revelation of the “powers” (dunameis) that the soul contains, and which would have other­wise remained inactive, and further their expression through specific deeds and creations, which are by-­products of its primary contemplative activity; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 8.3.20–23; and Caluori 2005, 88–91. (c) The knowledge of both the evil that inevitably exists in the world (cf., e.g., Ι 8.7.1–12, Ι 4.14.21–26; also Porph. De reg. an. fr. 298bF) and self-­knowledge, as the soul gazes upon itself in the mirror of its manifestations—so long as it is not misled into regarding t­ hose reflections as its true being; cf. Ι 6.8.8–16 with my comment. Therefore, it becomes evident that ­here (as well as in V 1.1.5) the power of self-­determination is not identified with voluntariness, which alone aspires exclusively ­toward the Good; cf. again my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.4.36–38. 6.1–18. Εἴπερ οὖν δεῖ . . . ​οἷόν τ’ ἦν μεταλαμβάνειν: But the true metaphysical foundations of the diffusion of psychical power in the bodies are to be sought in the “unwearying” (atrutos) and inexhaustible bounteousness of the supreme princi­ple itself, the One. This, in turn, is a consequence of the more general princi­ple pertaining to the “procreativeness of what is already perfect”; see V 1.6.38–39; my comment on ΙΙ 9.3.7–12; Kremer 1965, 243– 47; and Schäfer 2004, 271–72. The Good would not be good if it ­were to grudgingly keep its superabundant power only for itself; see ΙΙ 9.3.8–14 and V 4.1.23–39. This creates for all being the need to “produce from their own essences, in dependence on their pre­sent power, a surrounding real­ity” (V 1.6.31–33) and is correlated with Plato’s recur-

IV 8. Descent of Soul into Bodies  211 rent references to the fact that t­ here is no “envy” (phthonos) among the gods; see Phdr. 247a7, and Ti. 29e1–3; also my comment on ΙΙ 9.17.16–17. And, as acutely observed in Rist 1967b, 75, this necessity does not constitute external pressure on the One; on the contrary, it is a consequence of its own nature. According to Lovejoy 1936, 62, it amounts to an early formulation of the Princi­ple of Plenitude that was fated to play a key role in the world history of ideas; see also my comment on ΙΙ 9.13.3–5. The verb “to unfold oneself ” (exelittesthai) should not lure us into regarding ensoulment as the product of an evolutionary pro­cess from an initial seminal state to a more complete, developed form, as Armstrong 1940, 61–64, believed once. This is b­ ecause, for P., this “unfolding” of psychical activity through formative princi­ples already constitutes a form of fall (albeit, arguably one that is not intrinsically reprehensible); cf. ΙΙΙ 8.8.32–36, and my comment on ΙΙΙ 5.9.1–5. Also, its characteristic feature is that its “origin” (archē), its starting point, remains unchanged and (normally) unaffected by what follows, just like the Demiurge in the Timaeus abides “at rest in his own customary nature” (42e5–6). But the Good, through its infinite power that renders it a dunamis pantōn (“a power to produce all ­things”), expands its activity on every­thing, to the fringes of ­matter, imparting on all the tendency to revert to it, although of course each t­ hing responds in accordance with its capabilities; cf. Ι 7.1.20–26, and ΙΙΙ 8.10.1–4 with my comments. 6.18–23. εἴτ’ οὖν ἦν ἀεὶ . . . ​ἐν χάριτι δόντος: ­These lines have given rise to heated disputes, mainly over ­whether m ­ atter originates from higher hypostases or not; cf. the references provided in my comment on Ι 8.14.51–54; also the review of the vari­ous interpretations and views in O’Brien 1981, 109. Two alternative theories concerning the relationship of ­matter to the Good, and to the ­causes that precede ­matter, emerge from ­these debates. According to the first one (T1), ­matter has “existed forever,” which means it is “ungenerated,” like the intelligible beings, and should therefore be identified with “intelligible m ­ atter,” which is discussed in ΙΙ 4.5.24–28. In that case, it would be impossible for it to not participate in the Good, which imparts to every­thing that exists its being and goodness; cf. Ι 6.7.10–12 with my comment. The presence of the Good ­will be associated with its very existence qua being. The second one (T2), sees m ­ atter as something that is generated, albeit not in time but simply as something dependent on its ontologically prior ­causes. As rightly noted in O’Brien 1981, 114–15, and n.29, the other relevant testimonies in the Enneads (see mainly ΙΙΙ 4.1.5–12 with my comment) suggest that t­ hese ­causes are the individual souls. M ­ atter is indeed incapable of participating in the irradiation of Being; see ΙΙΙ 6.11.15–45 with my comment; also O’Brien 1981, 110 (this interpretation has been criticized by Corrigan 1986, 176–77; also Narbonne 1987, 22–24, and 1993, 140–45; in my opinion, however, neither advances compelling counterarguments). Yet, even so, m ­ atter ­will always be surrounded by the beauty of Being’s images; cf. Ι 8.15.23–28 and ΙΙ 9.3.11–18 with my comments. This is precisely the point that P. is trying to drive home ­here—­that is, that no ­matter how we attempt to understand the nature of ­matter, the activity that flows out of the Good ­will reach it without being hemmed in or restricted by anything: not by external ­factors and not by its own potential incapacity. In this manner, as noted in Armstrong 1984, 394–95, P. sees m ­ atter ­here “as a capacity for good rather than, as he does in ­later treatises, as the princi­ple of evil.”

212  Fourth Ennead 6.23–28. δεῖξις οὖν . . . ​καθόσον δύναται φύσιν: It was standard doctrine for P. that the sensible realm’s beauty and orderliness hint at the perfection of its model in the intelligible realm; cf., for example, ΙΙ 9.8.10–20, 16.48–56, ΙΙΙ 2.13.18–14.6. What is impor­tant ­here is the constant and indissoluble coexistence of intelligible and sensible t­ hings—­for the latter derive their being from the former, which the former provide incessantly ­because of their inexhaustible potency. 7.1–6. Διττῆς δὲ φύσεως . . . ​ἐπισχοῦσαν: The intermediate, “amphibious” character of psychical life has already been broached (see 4.31–35), while in IV 4.3.11–12 the principal faculty of the soul, the repre­sen­ta­tional, is described as a “­thing belonging to the frontier”; it “occupies a corresponding position, it moves in both directions,” that is, sometimes ­toward the intelligible and other times t­oward the sensible objects. This notion is certainly connected with the interpretation of a crucial section of Plato’s Timaeus (35a5–6), where it is said that the soul was crafted by the Demiurge “in between their indivisible and their corporeal, divisible counter­parts”; this interpretation was endowed with epistemological import early on, as it was correlated with the intermediary position of the soul vis-­à-­vis that of the mathematical entities; on this, see Merlan 1960, 34–40. 7.6–17. θείας μὲν μοίρας . . . ​πρὸ πείρας γνῶναι: The soul’s nature, then, belongs to the “divine portion” of real­ity (cf. Pl. Phdr. 230a5–6), yet its ability to extend itself to the sensible realm, to come to know it and show concern for it, affords the soul the option to act providentially, yet at the same time exposes it to the pitfalls of excessive involvement with the body and all that befalls it. Furthermore, experiencing evil, which inheres in all forms of materiality, (cf. Ι 8.5.5–9 with my comment), affords the soul the ability to perceive in contradistinction the opposite of evil, the Good, and the ways in which it manifests itself; cf. above, 5.28–29. Naturally, this does not amount to a direct intellective approach to the manifestations of the Good, but it does assist in their pre-­ philosophical conception, which, if carried out impassively, can contribute to a better understanding of the importance of its presence; see also O’Meara 1999a, 30. 7.17–24. ὥσπερ δὲ . . . ​ἡ θέα τῶν ὄντων: ­Here we have an account of the pro­cess through which the soul is “produced” from the secondary, “external” activity of the Intellect; cf. VI 2.22.23–32. The latter, possibly ­under the influence of Numenius fr. 12.14–16 (cf. also ΙΙΙ 7.11.31–33 and ΙΙΙ 8.9.32–35 with my comments; and Deuse 1983, 67), is described as “the intellectual way of out­going”; this is out of tune with the static compactness of pure Intellect and engenders the “first alterity” with a tendency t­ oward secession and hedonistic autonomy from its source; cf. V 1.1.1–9. In a similar manner, the lower hypostasis, that of the soul, apart from its innate and inherent tendency to revert to the realm of the intelligibles whence it originated, is also distinguished by a necessary outpouring of its external activity directed to what comes ­after it, that is, to the realm of corporeality. In this way, the life-­giving activity of the soul is described as a necessary concomitant of its nature but also of its place in the ontological hierarchy; cf. above, my comment on 5.1–8.

IV 8. Descent of Soul into Bodies  213 7.24–31. ταῖς μὲν παρὰ μέρος . . . ​ψ υχῇ οὔσῃ: Individual souls are subject to the cycle of successive embodiments with parallel periods during which they revert to contemplating the intelligibles; cf. Pl. Phdr. 248a1–­b1. On the contrary, the cosmic Soul is in constant contact with the transcendent beings, remaining unwaveringly focused on them, ­because its solicitude for the world’s body that the cosmic Soul animates is effected in an unhindered and untroubled manner; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 2.1.21–26 and IV 3.10.20–29. Thus its creations too w ­ ill constitute direct results of its contemplative activity; see ΙΙΙ 8.4.5–14 with my comment. 8.1–3. Καὶ εἰ χρὴ . . . ​ἐν τῷ νοητῷ ἀεί: ­Here we find one of the clearest formulations of P.’s fundamental thesis regarding the “undescended” character of the soul—at least with re­spect to its essential part; cf. also ΙΙΙ 4.3.24–27, V 1.10.10–18, VI 7.5.27–30; also Szlezák 1979, 167–98. For the soul’s intellective faculty remains in uninterrupted and, indeed, synchronic contact with the world of the Forms, all of the Forms, ­because the Forms are connected to one another by the indissoluble bond of their eternal co-­presence; cf. ΙΙΙ 7.3.11–27 with my comment; and Hadot 1987b, 10–11. This view, although grounded in the work of Plato himself (see, e.g., Resp. 518e3–4; also Rist 1967a, 410–15 and 422), was deemed by ­later Neoplatonists to be a quirk of P., and was abandoned by most (see Hermeias In Phdr. 160.3–4; Procl. In Ti. ΙΙΙ 323.5–6; ET 211; and In Parm. 948.14–24), with the exception of Theod. Asin. test. 36 (= Procl. In Ti. ΙΙΙ 333.29–30), and Dam. In Parm. IV 15.4–5; on this, see Blumenthal 1997, 273–84; D’Ancona 2003, 47–52; and Edwards 2006, 79–80. It is not, therefore, without good reason that Armstrong 1974, 188–91, claims that beyond the evidence on the hermeneutical tradition of Plato’s texts, and any theoretical grounds that supported this view, P. relies chiefly on his personal experience, the sense of identification with the divine Intellect, which he recounted at the start of the pre­sent treatise, an experience that led him to the “central intuition” (see above, my comment on 1.1–11; Harder 1956, 440, calls it P.’s Kardinalthese) of his philosophy: “that the ­human ‘I’ is not irremediably detached from its intelligible model that exists inside the divine Intellect. That true ‘I,’ the ‘I’ that is full of God, can be found within us.” On the implications of this view on P.’s theory of well-­being (eudaimonia), see Kalligas 2000, 35–37; and McGroarty 2006, 152. 8.3–13. τὸ δὲ ἐν τῷ αἰσθητῷ . . . ​πρὸς νοῦν: But perhaps the single most impor­tant innovation introduced by P. in the area of philosophical psy­chol­ogy is the notion that both intellective contemplation and vari­ous other psychical powers can operate on an unconscious level. ­Because, as he claims, although the superior soul is in constant contact with the intelligible beings, this might go unnoticed by our conscious ‘I.’ The term “sensation” (aisthēsis) is employed h ­ ere to denote the faculty thanks to which t­ hese representations—­ and ­those originating from apprehensions, for example, from the desiderative part—­are perceived, while it is emphasized that any commotion or “tumult” (cf. Pl. Ti. 43b6, and IV 3.29.32–36 with my comment) could hinder the formation of such repre­sen­ta­tions and thus cause intellective activity to remain unconscious and thereby cognitively unapproachable; cf. Ι 4.9.24–10.21 with my comments and V 1.12.5–10. As Hadot 1980a,

214  Fourth Ennead 248–49, observes, the notion that such an inner sense exists derives from the Aristotelian theory of the “common sensation” (see De an. III 1, 425a14ff.; cf. also my comments on IV 7.6.1–19), but ­here it is expanded to embrace all kinds of apprehensions; elsewhere it is claimed that t­ hese are formed on the level of “repre­sen­ta­tion” (phantasia); cf. IV 3.30.1–16 with my comments, and my comment on Ι 1.7.9–14; also Gritti 2005, 262–63. Thus P. arrives at a much more elaborate view with regard to consciousness and the manner in which consciousness mediates and unites as a b­ earer of a multiple, yet at the same time unitary psychical life, founded indeed in its intelligible core, but also amenable to the reception and pro­cessing of assorted experiences. See also Steel 1978, 34–38. 8.13–16. καὶ ἡ μὲν ὅλη . . . ​ὅτι ὅλον: As for the cosmic Soul, the perfection of the body it rules ensures that its oversight ­will be “untroubled” (apragmōn) without requiring mindfulness; cf. above, 2.42–53 with my comment, and my comments on ΙΙ 1.4.30–33, ΙΙ 9.18.14–17, IV 3.17.28–31, and IV 4.11.1–11. For it is precisely ­because the universe encompasses every­thing that it does not need anything, and it is not threatened by anything. This line of argument, which is set forth in ΙΙ 9.18.24–35 (cf. also above, 2.14–19), provides robust support to the emendation I propose (hoti holon instead of ho ti holou), which also brings the text fully in line with the Arabic tradition’s testimony; see Theology of Aristotle VII 47. It also ties in well with the classic Peripatetic argument against the Stoics—­that divine providential solicitude cannot extend as far as the onerous and arduous details of the ordering of the natu­ral world; see, for example, Alex. Aphrod. De Mixt. 11, 226.24–30, with the comment in Todd 1976, 226; [Arist.] Mund. 6, 397b20–25, 398b13–17, 400b9–15; and already Arist. Cael. II 1, 284b13–18. The conclusion we are led to is that the management of the universe is carried out in an unpremeditated manner, as a direct consequence of the Soul’s intellective contemplation, without any calculation and ratiocinative decision-­making pro­cesses; cf. my comment on IV 3.18.1–7; also Pépin 1964, 502–6. It is noteworthy that while in the Aristotelian tradition natu­ral creation is juxtaposed to that of craftsmen (see, e.g., Arist. De phil. fr. 18; Alex. Aphrod. Fat. 4, 168.11–18; cf. also my comment on IV 3.10.13–19; O’Meara 1980, 365–69), P. alludes h ­ ere to an Aristotelian passage (Phys. II 8, 199b28) that emphasizes the similarities between the two, seeking to underline that true artistic creation is akin to that of Nature; cf. ΙΙΙ 8.4.5–10 with my comment; and also Seneca Ep. 121.5–6. 8.16–23. αἱ δ’ ἐν μέρει . . . ​ἡ δὲ διαγωγὴ ὁμοία: Contrary to the cosmic Soul, individual souls, chiefly owing to the partiality and imperfection of their bodies, are possessed of all manner of concerns, solicitude, and pleas­ur­able or painful affections. Their “preoccupation” (ascholia) with the multifarious, conflicting bodily experiences ­causes “disturbance” (tarachē; cf. Max. Tyr. ΙΧ 7, 136.6–8) and, arguably, gives rise to internal conflict (cf. my comment on IV 4.17.8–19); as a result they occasionally become unaware of the constant and undisturbed contact their superior part maintains with the eternal beings.

IV 9 [8]. If All Souls Are One

Synopsis 1 2

Prob­lems pertaining to the unity and multiplicity of the souls. Responses: (a) The unity of the souls does not entail that the ­things to which they inhere cannot vary from one another. (b) It is pos­si­ble that some of our affections might not be readily perceptible. (c) The presence of souls in the vari­ous bodies may be active to a varying degree. 3 The unity of the souls can be gleaned by phenomena such as “sympathy,” love, and interactions that take place over distance. The soul’s activity on the body occurs through its varied powers, but the soul itself remains unitary. 4 Examination of the vari­ous ways in which souls can be both many and one: (a) Could it perhaps be that individual souls constitute shares or “copies” of the soul’s unitary essence? 5 (b) The division of the unitary overall soul into individual ensouled beings takes place in a manner similar to the model of a field of knowledge, which is apportioned into the theorems that constitute it while it potentially inheres as a ­whole in each of ­these theorems.

Introduction This early treatise represents P.’s first systematic attempt to tackle a prob­lem that had been plaguing Platonism since its inception; it was also to mystify P. for the greater part of his philosophical cursus.1 The issue is this: How is it that the souls that constitute a unity, 1  Iambl. De an. apud Stob. Ecl. Ι 49.32, 366.17–24, who examines exhaustively the relevant doxography, refers to Orphic teachings, already known from Arist. De an. (I 5, 410b27–411a1). According to this teaching, the soul of each animal flows into it from the universe through respiration; Aristotle comments: “it seems

215

216  Fourth Ennead and therefore, in a sense, are all one, si­mul­ta­neously retain their individuality as in­de­ pen­dent supra-­sensible substances, even during the disembodied stage of their existence? P. would revisit this theme in the first eight chapters of his “On Difficulties about the Soul” (IV 3 [27].1–8), yet in the pre­sent treatise his treatment is much more aporetic and tentative.2 The solutions proposed in the last two chapters remain crude and schematic, while his call to isolate the ele­ments that define the individuality of each soul, in other words its “identity,” is left essentially unanswered. The point of departure is the conviction that the essential unity that connects all souls to one another forms the basis for the emergence of a multitude of phenomena that characterize psychical life.3 According to P., this unity suggests that all souls represent the same “mode of being”: in other words, they together constitute a unitary ontological hypostasis, without this implying that they are also numerically indistinguishable, that is, that they have been deprived of their unique, individual identity.4 In any case, Plato’s Timaeus and its psychogony seem to also be hinting at something similar; ­there, both the cosmic Soul and individual souls are fashioned by the Demiurge out of the same mixture of ingredients,5 and yet their individuality is taken for granted, even before they come aboard their cosmic “vehicles.” The logical conclusion flowing from such a problematic is that the individuality of each soul should not be made dependent on its relation with the body, but rather needs to be grounded in the intelligible realm. And yet this conclusion is not formulated unambiguously anywhere in the pre­sent treatise. It is first found in the treatise titled “On the Question W ­ hether ­There Are Ideas of Particulars” (V 7 [18]) and would become one of P.’s most controversial teachings.6 It would seem that for the time being, however, the author is content to survey the field and attempt a preliminary examination of the issues and the pos­si­ble solutions,7 which he was to treat ex professo only in other, ­later written works. That is why the pre­sent treatise sometimes gives the impression of an unfinished draft, especially when compared to certain sections of his g­ reat “treatise,” IV 3–4 [27–28] where, as suggested in my comments, much more comprehensive responses to the issues raised ­here can be sought.

certain that Orpheus himself considered that the soul was separate and one, and that out of it t­ here spring many divisions, and that many intermediary ‘breaths’ descended to the individual souls from the universal soul” (trans. Finamore and Dillon). A bit further on (Iambl. De an. apud Stob. Ecl. 37, 372.23–26), it is noted that even in P.’s own school, Amelius (fr. LX) had argued that all souls are numerically identical; cf. my comments on IV 3.1.16–22. 2  In his introduction Harder, 459, emphasizes its “apol­o­getic” tone, which he takes to be a result of its schoolroom origins (Schulmanier). 3  See chiefly IV 9.3.1–9, as well as, e.g., ΙΙΙ 7.13.66–69. 4  See the discussion in Caluori 2015, 23–25. 5  Albeit in two distinct stages, which ­causes them to differ somewhat in terms of their composition; see Pl. Ti. 41d4–42a3; cf. also my comment on IV 8.4.35–38. 6  On this, see Kalligas 1997b, 206–27, but also the more general discussions of this issue in Blumenthal 1971b, 55–59; and Remes 2007, 59–91. 7  See also my comment on 5.26–28.

IV 9. If All Souls Are One  217

Commentary Title: This title does not correspond exactly to the problematic of the treatise. From what can be gleaned from the subsequent discussion, P.’s response to the question, as it is posed, would prob­ably be, “Yes; or rather, both yes and no.” One could not censure him for evasiveness, though, given that he is mainly interested in focusing on how one should understand the unity of the souls. Thus, a perhaps more apposite title would be “On How All Souls Are One” (cf. the reference provided in IV 4.29.49), for this question is raised with greater imperativeness at the start of chapter 4 and constitutes the true axis around which the entire discussion revolves. 1.1–4. Ἆρ’ ὥσπερ . . . ​ἔχουσα: It is one of the characteristics of the soul’s way of being, but also of the way in which the soul becomes apportioned in the bodies, that while it is si­mul­ta­neously pre­sent in many discrete parts, it is nonetheless in its entirety pre­sent, as a total, everywhere, a fact that also reveals its incorporeal nature; cf. IV 2.1.62–76 with my comments; also Numenius fr. 41.4–9. This was P.’s fundamental thesis with re­spect to the nature and the peculiar character of the unity that pervades the ontological level of the soul, that is why it is emphasized with the verb phamen (“we maintain”); cf. ΙΙΙ 7.1.1–3 with my comment, and IV 2.1.11. 1.4–6. ἔν τε τοῖς αἰσθητικοῖς . . . ​ἐν ἑκάστῳ μέρει: Now, since this manner of unity is a constitutive feature of all souls, it ­will define even the lower manifestations of psychical life, such as t­ hose encountered in animals and plants. B ­ ecause ­there too we observe that the totality of the plant’s generative power, for instance, inheres in ­every part of the plant, which is why an entire new plant can grow from a single twig; cf. IV 3.8.44–46, IV 4.11.9–11. 1.6–11. οὕτως καὶ ἡ ἐμὴ . . . ​δεῖ εἶναι μίαν: Could then the unity holding the many souls together be of this kind? Are all individual souls portions, “members,” or “branches” of a unitary overall soul—­for instance, the cosmic Soul—­which is in that manner pre­sent in ­every single living part of the universe? If that ­were the case, however, individual souls would lack genuine individuality, being mere fragments of the one and only psychical substance, which would be constituted by the cosmic Soul; cf. n. 1 to the introduction, and my comment on IV 3.1.16–18, where the significance of the preposition ek (“from”), is discussed: if we interpret it, both ­here and in l. 10, as denoting the relation of a ­thing to the constituent it is made up of (even if that constituent is incorporeal), then we would have no grounds for distinguishing between the souls in themselves, but only as a concomitant of their apportionment into the bodies. 1.11–13. εἰ δὲ . . . ​τίς ἡ μία: An alternative solution would be to hold that all souls, including the cosmic Soul, originate “from” (again the preposition is ek) an overall psychical substance, which does not constitute, however, the soul of anything in par­tic­u­lar, not even of the universe itself. Yet if individual souls are nothing more than shares of this

218  Fourth Ennead unitary psychical constituent (as recounted in Ti. 41d8–­e1, the Demiurge apportions them from a unitary and, more or less, undifferentiated “mixture”), then prob­lems pertaining to their individuation and the peculiarities of their apprehensive state arise once more. Thus h ­ ere it appears that P. is hinting at the prospect of arriving at the solution that he would eventually come to promote, in IV 3.1–8 (see chiefly my comment on IV 3.2.50–58), where the preposition ek is interpreted as indicating the ontological origin of the souls in such a way that, together, they form a unitary hypostasis, albeit constituted by individually distinct and differentiated entities. Nonetheless, this prospect is not developed ­here, as the author is content to simply approach the subject in an aporetic and exploratory manner. 1.13–21. ἀλλὰ πρότερον λεκτέον . . . ​ἡ δὲ ἐν φυτοῖς ἄλλη: Thus we revisit the prob­lems that plague the view that together all individual souls compose a unitary psychical entity, just as in a living organism its individual faculties together form and compose a unitary individual soul. Yet this would entail that experiences and encounters, as well as moral qualities, would be shared by all living beings—­that the sensations and affections of any specific part would be communicated to the rest and the overall organism, and it would be impossible to distinguish them. As w ­ ill emerge in what follows, P. is not fully rejecting this but does indeed admit that it is not consonant with the way in which we ascribe personal affections, desires, and experiences to individuals; assign personal responsibility to them for their intentions and their choices; and ascribe special psychical features and characteristics to them. In other words, such a view would in itself completely preclude any notion of individuality and would run the risk of turning individual living beings into mere accessories of the overall cosmic “living being” (zōion). 1.21–23. πάλιν δὲ . . . ​οὐχ εὑρεθήσεται: On the other hand, of course, each soul is not cut off from the rest, but all souls belong to a harmoniously arranged ­whole, cohabiting, co-­ acting, and co-­sensing—­within a measure—in unison, thereby bearing testament to their shared origin. Cf. my comment on IV 2.1.41–53; also Gurtler 1988, 98–101. This is the dilemma between utter and undifferentiated unity, at one end of the spectrum, and a completely isolating individuality, at the other, which P. is called upon to deal with and overcome. 2.1–12. Πρῶτον μὲν οὖν . . . ​ᾔσθετο ταὐτόν: A first response to the dilemma invokes the fact that the same soul may manifest itself differently at the vari­ous bodily under­lying structures, thus forming dif­f er­ent organic compounds, or organs; cf. IV 3.23.1–9 with my comment. In a similar manner, the one, overall soul could also animate the dif­fer­ent bodies, manifesting dif­fer­ent aspects of itself in ­every one of ­these bodies, all the while preserving its unity. Thus, although every­one’s soul would be one, our faculties, activities, and affections would remain distinct, just as dif­fer­ent organs belong to one and the same organism. According to this version, one and the same “­human” (i.e., a unitary soul: cf. my comment on Ι 1.10.7–11) ­will inhere and bring to life both you and me, but our experiences would be dif­fer­ent inasmuch as our bodies are distinct. This explanation suffers from obvious flaws, which P. seems to be aware of, albeit without making an effort to emphasize them. Most impor­tant, on the basis of this analogy,

IV 9. If All Souls Are One  219 the perceiving subject should only be the overall soul, while individual organisms would not be in­de­pen­dently capable of perception. 2.13–22. ἐνθυμεῖσθαι δὲ . . . ​οὐκ ἀναγκαῖον γίγνεσθαι: The second response complements the first one, providing a first sense of the kind of apprehensive power that could characterize, and thereby hold together, the overall soul. The impressive analogy with the huge marine creatures aptly illustrates P.’s standard position that sensory stimuli that do not produce sensory impressions, and thus go unnoticed, can indeed exist; see my comments on ΙΙΙ 6.19.8–14 and IV 4.8.8–13. ­These stimuli shape an unconscious, instinctive, and “uncritical” (anepikritos) apperception (cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 6.4.18–23), which constitutes the shared, albeit imperceptible, psychological foundation supporting the development of superior, and now individuated, psychical functions. At the same time, their coordination forms the basis for the emergence of the phenomenon of universal “co-­affection” or “sympathy” (sumpatheia), which acts in an almost automatic and quasi-­“associative” manner, without the intervention of some conscious impression or deliberation; on this, see my comment on IV 4.32.13–16. 2.22–28. ἀρετὴν δὲ . . . ​εἶναι μίαν: The third response, which contains an obvious allusion to the second prong of the dilemma as formulated in 1.17–23, relies on the peculiar nature of the unity that conjoins all souls as a “unified plurality” (hen kai polla), and which is epigrammatically reflected in the celebrated phrase from the Timaeus (35a1–3) cited h ­ ere (on the interpretation of this phrase, see my introduction to treatise IV 2 [4]). ­Because this unity does not preclude plurality and apportionment, yet its characteristic feature is that the ­whole is entirely pre­sent in each part; see above, my comment on 1.1–4. The differences that arise are due to the dissimilar extent to which the vari­ous psychical functions in the dif­fer­ent living beings have been activated. Cf. the much more exhaustive pre­sen­ta­tion of this subject in IV 3.19.1–22 with my comments. The observation concerning the coexistence of opposites in the same object, such as movement and rest, is possibly inspired by a similar discussion in Pl. Resp. IV 436c5–­e6. 2.28–33. ὥσπερ δὲ . . . ​πρὸς τὸ ὅλον: Another ­factor is the relative importance of the vari­ous parts, with re­spect to the implications of what befalls t­ hese for the rest of the parts. Thus it is natu­ral that cosmic events influence individual organisms (on this, cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 1.5.20–28), more so than the converse; however, the “community of affection” (homopatheia) connects and coordinates all souls, and integrates them in a common “rhythm”; cf. my comments on IV 2.1.41–53 and on IV 4.33.25–41. 3.1–4. Καὶ μὴν . . . ​διὰ τοῦτο: ­There are, however, strong indications suggesting that individual souls are connected with each other by some kind of power­ful unity: the fact that we show compassion for and empathize with our fellow h ­ umans (although this does not necessarily carry moral value; see my comment on Ι 4.8.12–22), as well as the natu­ ral attraction we experience t­ oward certain individuals (and its concomitant exhilaration: the erotic connotations of “relaxation” (diachusis) and related expressions become more evident if we turn to ΙΙΙ 6.3.17; cf. also, e.g., Heliod. Aeth. ΙΙΙ 5.5), or feelings such

220  Fourth Ennead as friendship and love can be better explained if we regard them as the offshoot of a shared psychical substrate, which conjoins all the souls and allows them shared owner­ship of feelings and passions. This kind of “social”—so to say—­“co-­affection” or “sympathy” (sumpatheia) is related to natu­ral sumpatheia, even if it is not identical to it. This is ­because its source lies in the mutual coordination of the souls, a result of their shared ontological origin; cf. my comment on IV 3.8.1–4; also Nikulin 2005, 282. ­Here we can witness one of the rare occasions where P. is arguing in utramque partem, thereby shedding light on the prob­lems vitiating both sides of the question, irrespective of ­whether we hold that the souls are (only) one, or that they are (only) many. This method seemed so peculiar to Bréhier, “Notice,” 228–29, that he concluded that the pre­ sent passage must be an interpolation. Through this juxtaposition, though, the author is paving the way for the synthetic solution he ­will propose (admittedly without providing any comprehensive analy­sis): the soul is si­mul­ta­neously both one and many (4.3–6). 3.4–9. εἰ δὲ καὶ ἐπῳδαὶ . . . ​μιᾶς οὔσης: Thus, even magical interactions, which can be explained through natu­ral “sympathy” (on this, see my comment on IV 4.40.1–4), point out the unity that pervades all souls and renders the entire universe a unitary organism. As noted in Harder ad loc. (cf. Dodds 1973, 165–66), the expression “a word spoken quietly” apparently alludes to the whispered invocations of magicians—­for ­these w ­ ere not intended to become apprehended by the gods but simply to activate natu­ral “sympathies” (cf. my comment on IV 4.26.1–4)—­and not to phenomena connected with telepathy (as, for instance, could be the case in IV 3.18.13–14 and IV 4.40.16). P. is drawing attention to the “private” and introspective character of magical practices, in contrast to the public rituals of the official cult; cf. Graf 1998, 210–11; also, for example, Eur. El. 803–10. 3.10–18. Πῶς οὖν . . . ​πολλὰ ἕν: Cf. above, 1.20–21. The response provided ­here to this aporia is cursory and somewhat schematic. Yet P. w ­ ill revisit this theme l­ater, offering a much more thorough and methodical treatment: see IV 3.19–23. With re­spect to the use of the term dunamis (“power”) for the (“external”) activity that, originating from the soul, imbues the living organism with its vital functions, such as sensation, growth, and procreativeness, see my comment on IV 8.2.26–38. The variety of the ways in which the soul manifests its activity does not, however, cancel its essential unity. 3.18–23. διὰ τί οὖν . . . ​ἀποστάντα τοῦ σώματος: Thus, the dispersion of the souls in the vari­ous organisms can be regarded as analogous to the distribution of the dif­f er­ent psychical functions in the body. The senses are activated mainly in the corresponding sensory organs; reason—at least insofar as its discursive dimension is concerned, that is, the one that governs its repre­sen­ta­tional and “deliberational” manifestations—­ originates in the brain (cf. IV 3.23.9–35 with my comments), whereas the “vegetative” faculty extends over the entire body (cf. IV 3.19.19–22 with my comment), even in ­those parts that lack sensation, such as nails and hair. Yet ­after the body’s natu­ral death and its release from it, the soul regains the full and undivided unity it enjoyed before embodiment, as the lower functions “hark back” to the superior functions whence they originated; cf. V 2.2.4–13. Now, if we follow the analogy through

IV 9. If All Souls Are One  221 to the end, the conclusion must be that the individuality of each soul ­will vanish a­ fter its disembodiment, albeit with some delay; cf. my comment on IV 4.29.1–12. Apparently P. was not fully satisfied with this conclusion, which forced him to revisit the theme ­later, examining w ­ hether the individuality of the souls can have its foundation in the intelligible realm: see chiefly treatise V 7 [18]. 3.23–29. τὸ δὲ θρεπτικόν, . . . ​ἔδει αὐτὴν εἶναι: Especially with re­spect to the nutritive part of the soul, one could claim that it is a product—­partly at least—of the action exercised by the cosmic Soul, which certainly contributes to the formation of the organic substrate that is necessary to bring about the “descent” of the individual soul into the body, “informing beforehand” the amorphous m ­ atter through “preliminary illuminations” and thereby rendering it receptive to (or “suitable” for) the animating powers of an individual soul; cf. VI 7.7.6–15 and my comment on IV 3.6.10–25. Something of the kind would mean that ­every living organism would be the product of the synergy between two psychical components, an individual and a “cosmic” one, which remain united throughout the course of the organism’s life, but become separated a­ fter death; see Emilsson 1988, 26–27. Even the perceptive faculty seems to be subdivided h ­ ere into: (a) what is “passively apprehensible,” evidently the part that receives unpro­cessed sensory stimuli and thus forms “unassessed” (anepikritos) sensory repre­sen­ta­tions (cf. my comment on IV 3.31.1–8); and (b) the “sense that makes judgments employing the intellect” (cf. ΙΙΙ 6.1.1–4 and IV 3.23.31–33 with my comments), of which only the latter is purely individual. All t­ hese pose a serious threat to the unity of psychical life, a theme that would engage P. u­ ntil the end of his life; cf. my introduction to Ι 1; also Remes 2007, 29–31. On this complex question, see also Kalligas 2012a. 4.2–6. ἀλλὰ γὰρ ζητεῖ . . . ​πολλὰς ποιοῖ ἐξ αὐτῆς: The analy­sis up to this point has revealed that individual souls are multiple—in the sense that each is individually distinguishable from the rest, carry­ing distinctive experiences, emotions, and moral features (see mainly above, 2.7–33)—­but also one—in the sense that they all partake of a shared substrate of vital power that ensures their mutual “co-­affection” and bears witness to their joint origin (“from one”; cf. IV 3.8.2–3). Thus the discussion now focuses on the manner in which they are one: What kind of unity is this that allows the souls to preserve their individuality and be also many? In other words, how can the unitary psychical substance remain one while giving rise to multiple souls? 4.6–8. λέγωμεν οὖν . . . ​τὰς πολλὰς εἶναι: Faced with the above crucial question, P. feels obliged to enlist the support of an “assisting” (sullēptōr) god (possibly his allotted Guardian Spirit: cf. ΙΙΙ 4.3.1–7; also [Pl.] Theages 129e7–8; Max. Tyr. XXXVIII 6, 445.14), which ­will allow him to intellectively discern the solution, before subjecting it to the rigors of discursive philosophical criticism. Such invocations to deities for help when faced with demanding intellectual tasks w ­ ere commonplace in lit­er­a­ture, especially in the Platonic tradition; cf. indicatively Pl. Ti. 27c6–7, 48d4–­e1; Phlb. 25b8–10, 61b11–­c8; Leg. 712b4–6, 893b1; [Pl.] Epin. 980c1–3; Plut. De Is. et Os. 1, 351c–­d ; Num. fr. 11.9–11; see also further references provided in Atkinson 1983, 129. On the contrary, they are not very

222  Fourth Ennead prevalent in the Enneads (Ferwerda 1990, 206, mentions another two such instances: V 1.6.9–12 and V 8.9.13–16), and, at any rate, their aim rather is to emphasize the importance of the question at hand. Perhaps it is not coincidental that in all the three instances cited, the invocation results in a new conception of the unity that pervades the vari­ous ontological levels. This is ­because the deity assisting the extremely hard-­pressed phi­los­o ­ pher in this way is none other than the supreme princi­ple, the One; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 4.6.1–4. And the unity of the souls is revealed to be the ontologically prior, fundamental condition from which the many souls subsequently arise. 4.9–13. εἰ μὲν οὖν σῶμα εἴη . . . ​τοῖς δὲ ὄγκοις ἑτέρας: ­Here we have the beginning of a tentative examination of the ways in which the unitary psychical substance can be apportioned into many souls. The first possibility to be scrutinized is that it is portioned out like something corporeal (a), like a material “of like parts,” which is divided into many parts that differ from one another with re­spect to their mass, being indistinguishable in terms of their qualitative and, in general, their eidetic characteristics. However one apportions a quantity of wine into rations, each of ­these ­will bear the same characteristic features with all other rations and the total quantity of wine, differing from ­those only in terms of its mass. Cf. IV 8.3.19–21 with my comment. 4.13–22. καὶ εἰ μὲν . . . ​ἀσώματον μὲν ἡ ψυχὴ ἐγίνετο: On this basis, the question now becomes ­whether t­ hese rations ­will be souls ­because of their mass—­souls that, as I said, ­will differ radically from one another, inasmuch as they ­will constitute distinct corporeal entities (a1), or ­will owe the fact that they are souls to their eidetic characteristics, which ­will be shared with and refer to a unitary form, such as, for example, the wine’s sweetness, which inheres equally in all wine rations kept in the vari­ous receptacles (a2). As a genuine Platonic phi­los­o­pher, P. holds that a distinct intelligible Form “before the many” must precede this shared property that inheres in the vari­ous bodies-­shares; this Form functions as a model for the appearance of its several effigies on individual bodies. The crucial distinction h ­ ere is between the form-­soul that, although one, “exists in many,” and the other one that, qua Platonic Form, does not exist “in many,” that is, is separate, and allows the former to appear as an effigy, which is indeed also unitary, yet it is apportioned in many manifestations. This distinction had already become well-­established among Platonists even before Seneca’s time; in his Epistles, we find the earliest succinct formulation of this distinction; see Sen. Ep. 58.20–21, 65.4–7; cf. also, for example, the distinction between enmattered Forms (eidos) and “exemplary Forms” (paradeigmatikē idea) in “Alcinous” Didasc. 8–9, 165.35–166.24, with the classic analy­sis in Theiler 1930, 15–21. P. illustrates it by citing an established “scholastic” example, also known from Porphyry, In Harm.14.14–20; it ­later became celebrated ­because it was employed in Ammon. In Porph. Isag. 41.10–42.24, in the context of discussing the notorious prob­ lem concerning the nature of universals (uniuersalia): Let us consider a signet-­ring bearing a stamp, e.g. of Achilles, and many blocks of wax lying next to it, and that the ring stamps all the blocks of wax. If somebody comes in ­after that and examines the blocks of wax, by realizing that all of them

IV 9. If All Souls Are One  223 have been stamped by one and the same imprint, he ­will possess by himself a stamp, which is an imprint in his mind. For the stamp on the ring is said to be “before the many,” whereas the one in the blocks of wax is called “in the many,” and the one in the mind of the perceiver is said to be “over the many” and subsequent. Of ­these three types of Forms, P. h ­ ere has in mind only the first two, to which he places in correspondence two types of souls: the first is wholly separate, incorporeal, and indivisible, whereas the latter originates from the first (thus we can comprehend the meaning of “from this” in l. 8) and is distributed in the bodies, forming on them a series of images. In this way, the soul can be both indivisible and divisible: indivisible in terms of its incorporeal nature, and divisible with re­spect to the powers that are projected on the bodies, animating them. This is prob­ably the passage Iamblichus had in mind, De an. apud Stob. Ecl. Ι 49.37, 372.23–24, when he included P. among “­those who maintain that the soul is one and the same on ­every level ­either generically or specifically” failing to notice that ­here the author does not appear to be completely satisfied with the pre­sen­ta­tion up to this point, which is why he ­will ­later (and, in greater detail still, in IV 3) apply other, more intricate analytical models. 4.22–25. καὶ πάθημα μὲν ὂν . . . ​θαυμαστὸν οὐδέν: Yet even if we suppose the soul to be (b) an affection (of the body)—­which would mean that, even though it is incorporeal in itself, it would necessarily inhere in a body—we could regard it as similar to the sensible qualities that, although portioned out in the bodies, and therefore, many, continue to constitute something that is “one”—­such as, for example, the whiteness that inheres in snow and milk. Of course, as it is made clear in IV 2.2.41–53 (see also my comment), this analogy is incomplete, b­ ecause in the case of qualities the “community of affection” (homopatheia) between the vari­ous instances is absent; this is indissolubly linked with the soul’s nature, yet h ­ ere the author is not interested in entering into any details, being content with merely pointing out that ­there are ways in which something can be si­mul­ta­neously unitary and multiple, and that we should not treat something of the kind as odd or surprising. Something similar could be said in case one claimed that the soul is to sunamphoteron, that is, “the complex” of body and the vital power that animates it; see my comment on Ι 1.5.8. Once more, what affords this power ­will be something unitary, and it ­will also guarantee the essential unity of all souls. 4.25–5.7. νῦν δὲ ἀσώματόν τε . . . ​ἐν πολλοῖς: By now P. has de­cided to clarify his position and put forward, albeit in a highly abbreviated and almost epigrammatic manner, the Platonic view on the question, which is based on the suggestion made e­ arlier, in 4.2–5. The foundational point of departure is the thesis concerning the ontological character of the soul qua incorporeal substance; cf. IV 7.85.43–46, where the confirmatory “we maintain” (phamen; it is similar to what we encountered in the beginning of this treatise) precisely corresponds to the “we posit” (tithemetha) ­here. As I have already mentioned (see above, 1.1–3 with my comment), the soul’s nature is such that it is pre­sent as a ­whole in each of its parts or manifestations. The wording ­here is somewhat paradoxical and strongly reminiscent of

224  Fourth Ennead one of the questions “Parmenides” raises in the first part of the homonymous Platonic dialogue; cf. Pl. Prm. 131b1–2. Thus it is hinted that, to fully grasp the paradoxical manner in which the soul is pre­sent, we need to acknowledge its transcendent character and the fact that it is its power that illuminates every­thing, just as daylight is everywhere, without its parts becoming separated or cut off from their source, which guarantees their unity (Pl. Prm. 131b3–6). This is ­because, as Hadot 1986, 236, puts it, “Despite their multiplicity, the soul of the world, the souls of the stars, and h ­ uman souls are all one soul: they are joined in a single origin which is the essence of the soul.” The oxymoron (“gives [itself ] . . . ​and does not give itself ”; cf. my comment on Ι 6.8.1) intensifies the mystagogical tone of the passage but at the same time accurately intimates the manner in which the soul provides its external activity to the bodies, an activity that forms on ­these images of its vitality, without the soul “losing” anything, incurring any alteration, or becoming attenuated in any way; cf. Emilsson 2007, 28. 5.7. μὴ δή τις ἀπιστείτω: Cf. IV 2.2.40–42 with my comment. 5.7–9. καὶ γὰρ ἡ ἐπιστήμη . . . ​ἀπ’ αὐτῆς τὰ μέρη: P. resorts now to another model seeking to elucidate the relation between the soul’s parts and the ­whole. This is the model of “science” or of “a scientific discipline” (epistēmē) and its parts, that is, the theorems that constitute it. This w ­ ill be analyzed further down. It is worth noting h ­ ere that, according to a testimony in Porphyry, fr. 253F 88–97, in the first ­century Nicolaus of Damascus had already similarly likened the parts of the soul to ­those of “art” (technē; cf. below, 5.20) and “philosophy,” claiming that both are defined “not quantitatively . . . ​but rather qualitatively,” thereby differentiating them from corporeal magnitudes; on this, see Moraux 1973–2001, 1:481–83. 5.9–12. καὶ τὸ σπέρμα . . . ​καὶ πάντα ἕν: A brief allusion to a dif­fer­ent model intervenes; this model was mentioned above, in 3.17–18: this is the model of sperm and the “powers” (dunameis) it contains. In this case too, the w ­ hole is unitary and compact; just like modern-­day stem cells, however, it encompasses a number of dif­fer­ent, possibilities not yet manifested—­when ­these become activated, they reveal the unique character of each, without undermining, though, the unity that coordinates and renders them part of an integrated organic ­whole; cf. V 9 [5].6.10–24. 5.12–23. ἀλλ’ ἐν τῇ ἐπιστήμῃ . . . ​οἷον ἀκολουθίᾳ: We come back to the model of “science” (epistēmē). ­Here each part, each individual theorem of a given discipline is not the ­whole, in the sense that it does not constitute a synthesis of disparate ­things, but represents a unitary noetic conception of a certain truth; cf. my comment on Ι 3.5.1–4. What is more in­ter­est­ing in the context of this analogy, however, is that although each theorem concerns a specific question and activates the ­mental pro­cesses required to tackle it, at the same time it presupposes (and in that sense “potentially” encompasses) all other ele­ments of that scientific discipline (theorems, princi­ples, common concepts, e­ tc.) that contribute to its proof, but also help integrate it in a specific theoretical framework, from which it draws its meaning; cf. Caluori 2015, 78–81. Thus, while the overall discipline comprises all of its clearly and thoroughly formulated theorems so that they constitute a complete, synchronic

IV 9. If All Souls Are One  225 (“at once,” hama) composition of mutually dependent truths, each individual theorem expresses one of ­these truths, but it is not cut off from the rest, ­because without ­these it becomes deprived of its cognitive content (its “­because of which,” dioti, as Aristotle would put it; cf. An. post. I 2, 71b9–12) and its capability to become understood—it remains mere belief, like the beliefs a child may possibly repeat (or mechanichally memorize: cf. my comment on IV 4.4.14–20), without yet understanding them; cf. V 8.4.48–51. P. revisits this analogy in IV 3.2.50–58 (see my comment ­there), where, however, he ­handles it with much greater reserve than ­here; see also ΙΙΙ 9.2.1–4 with my comment; Tornau 1998b, 91–101; also Nikulin 2005, 287–89. The reason for P.’s insistence might be connected with the fact that, apparently, ­there was a ­Middle Platonist tradition of interpreting the epistemological distinction between “belief ” (doxa) and “knowledge” (epistēmē) by relying on specific passages from Plato’s oeuvre (mainly Men. 85c9–­d1, 97e6–98a8, and Resp. 510c2–511c2, 533b3–­e2). According to that tradition, this distinction can be made on the basis of the difference between the partial, fragmentary knowledge of specific theorems of a science that cannot lead to a reasoned account about ­these, on the one hand, and the complete and thoughtful possession of a “composite” and “systematic” scientific discipline, on the other. The most complete testimony is to be found in the anonymous Commentary on the Theaetetus, XIV 45–­XV 18, and pertains to passage 145c7–8 from that dialogue: He [sc., Socrates] does not ask: “Are you studying geometry u­ nder Theodorus?,” but instead “some parts of geometry.” In such cases one does not speak of the composite science, which some p­ eople also call systematic, but of the s­ imple one. The same applies in the case of the knowledge of each par­tic­u­lar theorem of geometry or ­music. A single composite [science] comprises each of ­these par­tic­u­lar [theorems]. So the ­simple is prior to the composit one. On this, see Tarrant 2000, 142–51. Against the background of that reading, it is precisely the synthesis of a science’s theorems in the context of an articulated system of proofs that imparts scientific knowledge, whereas “­simple knowledge of each single theorem”—­ which is what the young “Theaetetus” as well as “Meno’s slave boy” in the Meno (cf. Remes 2007, 153n.99), derive—­cannot rise above the level of the fleeting, and to this extent “dreamlike,” doxa. P. appears to transpose this distinction to the realm of psychological theory, thus attempting to draw conclusions concerning the distribution of the soul’s cognitive faculties into vari­ous, ontologically distinct, levels of psychical life constitution. In this manner, epistēmē becomes the exclusive object of conspective intellective contemplation of the—­unitary, and altogether incorporeal—­soul itself; by contrast, doxa as well as the other, lower faculties, pertain to the vari­ous psychical powers that are distributed inside the body and partake of the body’s affections and experiences. 5.23–26. καὶ ὁ γεωμέτρης . . . ​ἃ ἐξ αὐτοῦ γεννᾶται: It seems that h ­ ere P. is explic­itly referring to the geometrical method of “analy­sis” that Proclus, In Eucl. 211.19–22, trans. G. R. Morrow, describes as “the best” (kallistēn), adding that it “traces the desired result back to an acknowledged princi­ple. Plato, it is said, taught this method to Leodamas.” In recent years, scholars have fiercely debated ­whether this method sought premises, from which the proposition to be proven would result, employing a purely deductive pro­cess

226  Fourth Ennead (in which case the inferences should be bidirectional), or simply intuitive, in which case the inferences would be valid only during the pro­cess of “synthesis” where, commencing from an already known or “mutually agreed” (homologoumenē) point of departure, the requisite conclusions leading to what is sought ­after are derived; on this, see Karasmanis 1993, 177–78. As we know, the second version is what we find in Aristotle’s works (e.g., Eth. Nic. III 3, 1112b20–28, Ph. II 9, 200a15–19) but also in most ­later commentators, who describe this method as a reduction “to princi­ples” (archai; cf., e.g., Procl. In Eucl. 255.18; Alex. Aphrod. In An. pr. 7.17). Yet P. appears to be thinking of a somewhat broader technique, given that he says that the geometer (evidently, a scientist) has in mind not only what is presupposed by the proposition that requires proof (“the one proposition”), that is, “all the prior propositions” (obviously, t­ hese can be pursued intuitively), but also what it entails (“the subsequent propositions that are generated by it”). In this re­spect, P.’s wording is somewhat reminiscent of what we find in Pappus’ Synagoge VII, Prol. 1, 634.10–12, trans. I. Thomas: “Analy­sis is a method of taking that which is sought as though it ­were admitted and passing from it through its consequences in order to reach something which is admitted as a result of synthesis.” An almost identical formulation can also be found in an ancient commentator on Euclid’s Ele­ments; supplementing theorems 1–5 from the thirteenth book of that work, he cites the following definition: “Analy­sis, therefore, is taking what is sought as agreed and reaching through its consequences something agreed to be true” (fr. 8, Prol.). Cf. already Arist. An. post. I 12, 78a6–13; but also an in­ter­est­ing example of philosophical analy­sis in David In Porph. Isag. 18, 103.34–104.11. Furthermore, as noted by Berggren and van Brummelen 2000, 6–10, specific examples of “analy­sis” from Archimedes’ work suggest that this method could be employed to demonstrate simply the equivalence between two prob­lems (such as, e.g., in the case between (a) the construction of a cylinder whose base dia­meter equals its height, which is equal to a given cylinder; and (b) finding two intermediate proportionals between two rectilinear sections: see Archim. De Sph. et Cyl. ΙΙ 1), and that, therefore, “one must, on the evidence, accept the fact that both reduction (a search for preconditions) and deduction (a search through consequences) w ­ ere regarded by ancient writers as being activities included ­under the rubric of ‘analy­sis,’ ” in other words, that it was essentially a method of transformation aiming at the discovery of just an appropriate “resolutory relation” and not necessarily of a comprehensive proof. P.’s approach seems consonant with this view, for it acknowledges the method of analy­sis as a way of ascertaining the unity that characterizes the entire web of scientific knowledge, inasmuch as it turns out that each theorem making up this web, in some manner, incorporates not only the truths it presupposes but also every­thing that follows from it, that is, the entire scientific discipline. 5.26–28. ἀλλὰ ταῦτα . . . ​καὶ ἕκαστον: Our embodied state diminishes and dulls our ability to apprehend ­these truths concerning science, as well as the nature of the soul; cf. Pl. Phd. 107b1–2. This is why we find it hard to blieve them. Hence P.’s repeated appeals, occurring throughout the treatise, urging us to overcome our reservations (see, e.g., 1.15; 2.6–7, 20–24; 4.1, 6–7, 23, 25; 5.7); ­these led Harder 1956, 459, to describe it as an “essay of a primarily apol­o­getic character.” This is b­ ecause complete clarity on both the individual components and the overall doctrine concerning the unity of the souls can only become apparent fom the perspective of the intellect; cf. V 5.2.14–18.

Fifth Ennead

V 1 [10]. On the Three Primary Hypostases

Synopsis 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Why do souls forget God? The reason is their otherness to God; this is followed by their self-­determined distancing from him, their devotion to earthly ­things, and their consequent ignorance of their origins. The soul o­ ught to reflect on its nature, its life-­giving and regulating role in the world. The soul owes ­these to its origin in the Intellect. The nature of Intellect: its perfection and immutability. Its internal arrangement on the basis of Plato’s “greatest genera.” The One as the supreme princi­ple and progenitor of Intellect. The concomitant arithmetic constitution of the intelligible realm. The pro­cess of the Intellect’s generation from the One. What is the relation of Intellect to its princi­ple? The genealogy of the three hypostases: Uranos, Kronos, Zeus. Doxographical excursus: The Platonic credentials of the theory of the three hypostases. Parmenides. Anaxagoras. Heraclitus. Empedocles. Aristotle. Review: The Pythagorean tradition. The hypostases inhere in the “inner man,” the divine soul. The constant activity of intellection, and the presence of the One within us. We are not always conscious of the uninterrupted presence of the hypostases.

229

230  Fifth Ennead

Introduction According to all indications, the pre­sent treatise represents a turning point in P.’s authorial ­labors, for in it he appears for the first time ready to pre­sent the basic metaphysical structure of his philosophical system in its entirety, clearly setting out some of his most controversial positions, which constitute fundamental departures from the previous tradition of Platonism. From this point of view, we could claim that this treatise marks the incipience of what ­later came to be described as Neoplatonism.1 Surely it is no coincidence that Porphyry chose to place it at the head of the fifth Ennead, conferring on it the emblematic title “On the Three Primary Hypostases.” Indeed, h ­ ere we have a clear statement of the theoretical scheme that is generally thought to form the backbone of P.’s metaphysical system, that is, the theory of the three “hypostases,” including the pro­cess whereby each is produced from the other, but also the ways in which t­ hese ontological levels are interconnected and thus together constitute consecutive stages of a unitary, vital manifestation of the limitless dynamism of the supreme princi­ple of all t­ hings. The utter transcendence of this princi­ple vis-­à-­vis the rest of the hypostases, and especially Intellect; the intellective nature of the soul and its concomitant character as something divine, completely in­de­pen­dent and impervious to the manifold bodily affections; the timelessness of Intellect and its mutual correlation to Being, and also the Intellect’s inherent internal arrangement on the basis of the “categories” of the five “greatest genera” (megista genē) of Plato’s Sophist; and fi­nally, the analy­sis of the structure of the three hyspostases based on the systematic establishment of their correspondence to the first three Hypotheses of Plato’s Parmenides, coupled with the application of the theory of the two “activities”—­all ­these represent cardinal ele­ments of the new direction P. gave to con­temporary Platonic philosophy. And it is surely worthy of note how diligently and per­sis­tently P. seeks to substantiate his positions as an interpretation of Plato’s own words. For he was certainly aware of the reactions his newfangled positions would invite among more conventional con­temporary interpreters.2 Nonetheless, what we have ­here is anything but a mere systematic exposition of an abstract metaphysical edifice. In his usual manner, the author is providing us with his entirely personal conception, which bears prominent marks of lived experience.3 In fact, P. is per­sis­tently enjoining us to embrace his self-­reflective search for the innermost aspects of psychical life: taking as his point of departure the experience of the soul’s fall and alienation, a result of its engagement with mortality and bodily affections as well as of its solicitude for the body, the soul is gradually led to realize its true nature and its “kinship” to the higher realities. Treatises IV 7 [2].10.7–40 and IV 8 [6].1.1–11, which ­were composed ­earlier, already discussed this experience of the emergence of the soul’s 1  This term belongs to modern lit­er­a­ture on the history of philosophy. It was introduced in the eigh­teenth c­ entury ­under the influence of Jakob Brucker’s Historia Critica Philosophiae, and it has since become established for the final stage of ancient philosophy. On this, see Halfwassen 2004, 12–13. 2  For some indications of such reactions, see my comments on VP 3.30–32, 14.20–25, 17.1, 20.71–73, 92– 96; also Kalligas 2001, 589–90. 3  In the words of Bréhier from his “Notice,” 8, the treatise “aims to indicate the intimate, or rather indissoluble, link between the soul’s interior life and metaphysics.”

V 1. Three Primary Hypostases  231 inner world and of the discovery within it of all t­ hose ele­ments constituting the system of higher truths and values. This is b­ ecause only ­There can one discover the unchanging princi­ples that explain and at the same time give meaning to the endless variety of the phenomena occurring in the sensible realm. H ­ ere, however, the content of this introspective pro­cess is analyzed in an unpre­ce­dentedly comprehensive manner, closely following through all the stages of the ascent t­ oward the first princi­ple of all t­ hings, the One-­Good. The approach to the One-­Good is couched in uniquely solemn and ritualistic terms, thereby reminding us of the sensational culmination of the immediately preceding, chronologically, treatise VI 9 [9]. At the same time, the question ­whether we are conscious of the constant presence of the higher hyspostases within us is discussed in the final chapter of the treatise as a subject in its own right. The importance attached to this treatise in antiquity is attested, among other ­things, by the fact that it was hugely influential among Christian ecclesiastic authors, chiefly in the fourth and fifth centuries,4 who in fact went as far as seeking in the theory of the three hypostases prefigurations of the Christian dogma of a triadic God.

Commentary Title: The title of this treatise, identically preserved in almost all of the MSS and the indirect tradition (the sole deviation is the omission of the article tōn in Cyril of Alexandria, evidently the result of a copyist’s m ­ istake: on this, see Henry 1938, 20), derives in all likelihood from Porphyry (cf. VP 4.17–19), in whose work, as opposed to P.’s, the term hupostasis carries a special, almost technical meaning; see Dörrie [1955b] = 1976a, 50– 51, who offers a thorough pre­sen­ta­tion of the term’s variegated prehistory in both philosophical and nonphilosophical contexts. P. does employ the term “hypostasis” in this treatise, albeit without placing any par­tic­u­lar emphasis on it, in six passages (3.9, 15; 6.1, 5; and 7.26, 42), chiefly as a correlative of the verb huphistanai, whose active sense denotes that something ­causes the existence of some other t­ hing (see ibid. 4.27, and LexPlot s.v., a; cf., however, my comment on ΙΙ 9.6.1 as well as, e.g., Alex. Pol. apud Diog. Laert. VIII 25; also Codex Manichaicus Coloniensis 66.15 in Henrichs and Koenen 1975, 66). This serves to emphasize the derivative nature of an entity that results as the (secondary) activity of another, ontologically prior and superior entity (naturally, this can not be the case when it comes to the One, which, in this sense, cannot strictly speaking constitute a hupostasis); see Dörrie 1955, 69–70; also Chitchaline 1992, 257–59. This is a peculiar development of the term’s ­earlier meaning, which nonetheless, in other parts of the Enneads occasionally preserves the established M ­ iddle Platonic sense of “real entity”, that is, what is truly something, as opposed, for example, to whamerely appears or gives 4  Such as Augustine, Eusebius, Basil of Caesarea, Cyril of Alexandria, and Theodoretus: the relevant passages have been collected and meticulously examined in Henry 1938, passim. With re­spect to Eusebius in par­tic­u­lar, who in chapter 17 of the eleventh book of his Preparatio Euangelica collects some characteristic passages from this treatise (4.1–9 = Euseb. 17.1, 5.3–7 = Euseb. 17.2, 6.27–44 = Euseb. 17.3–7, 6.50–7.2 = Euseb. 17.8, and 8.1–14 = Euseb. 17.9–10), see my introduction to treatise IV 7.

232  Fifth Ennead the impression of being something, or constitutes an invention of reasoning (emphasis or epinoia: see VI 6.9.13–14, VI 2.13.27–28; and Dörrie 1955, 64–66 and 54–57, with re­ spect to the prefigurations of this distinction in Boethus of Sidon fr. 8, SVF 3:267; and Posidonius, apud [Aetius] ΙΙΙ 5.1 = Dox. Gr. 371–72; also apud Diog. Laert. VII 152). This explains, among other ­things, why sensible ­things are said elsewhere to posses merely an “apparent subsistence” (dokousan hypostasin): see V 5.1.14–15, VI 3.10.15. According to P., a necessary precondition for something to constitute a hupostasis is that it possesses a fully determined identity and, consequently, some kind of singularity and presence, which means it must be something determinate; cf. my comment on Ι 8.3.20 and VI 6.13.50–60. ­There are three main ways in which this may occur, according to P., and ­these correspond to what ­later came to be recognized as the system of the three fundamental (or “principal,” archikai, in the sense that they constitute archai, i.e., the basic building blocks that make up P.’s entire ontological system) hypostases into which real­ity in its entirety is articulated (as opposed, always, to the phenomenality of the sensibles): namely, of the soul, the Intellect, and the One-­Good. It is true, however, that sometimes P. expresses reservations about ­whether the latter can be regarded as a proper hypostasis, opting to describe it as “so to speak, hupostasis” (see, e.g., VI 8.7.47, 20.11) or as “before hupostasis” (VI 8.10.36–38), whereas in other parts of his work he does not hesitate to openly describe it as a hupostasis (e.g., VI 6.10.30; VI 8.13.44, 57). On this, see Horn 1995, 23–24. 1.1–3. Τί ποτε ἄρα . . . ​καὶ ἐκεῖνον: The initial aporia concerns the distancing of the souls from the Intellect, which constitutes their ontological point of departure, their place of origin, to which they eventually, and intrinsically, seek to return. In essence, this is the question that was posed, in a much more dramatic tone, in IV 8 [6]. 1.1–11, where again the soul is said to partake of a “better share” (kreittōn moira; cf. Pl. Phdr. 230a5–6) but is cut off from it. Whereas ­there, however, their fall is couched in terms associated with sleep and awakening, ­here P. speaks of souls that are oblivious and ignorant of themselves and of their origins; cf. IV 3.15.6; also Pl. Phdr. 248c5–8; Resp. 621a5–­b1. See also, on the pos­si­ble Pythagorean derivation of this belief, Carcopino 1943, 287. With re­spect to the affinity between the soul’s self-­knowledge and the knowledge of God, see my comment on ΙV 3.1.8–12. 1.3–9. ἀρχὴ μὲν οὖν . . . ​ἐκεῖθεν εἶναι: A first reason adduced for the forgetfulness and the fall of the souls is “rashness” or “presumption” (tolma), a term that is prob­ably of Neopythagorean provenance (cf. ΙΙ 9.11.22 with my comment), which, among other ­things, carried connotations of impious curiosity and profanation; cf. Paus. Χ 32.17. Plutarch (De Is. et Os. 381f ) indeed mentions that the Pythagoreans had dubbed the dyad “strife” (eris) and “rashness” (tolma), while [Iambl.] Theologoumena arithmeticae 2, 9.5–6, clarifies that this appellation was given to the dyad ­because “it separated itself from the monad”; cf. Alex. Aphrod. In Metaph. 74.12–13; Hermeias In Phdr. 128.4–6; Olympiodorus In Alc. 48.17–18; Et. Magn., s.v. duas, 289.45–47. A testimony derived from Anatolius’ De De­cade 31.1 = [Iambl.], Theol. ar. 2, 7.19–8.1, connects it with an indiscriminate propensity for action, which corresponds to the meaning of the term as signifying inor-

V 1. Three Primary Hypostases  233 dinate self-­confidence or even arrogance (cf. Augustine’s notorious superbia). At the same time, it suggests that the term originally referred to the soul’s turn ­toward practical life and its associated solicitude for it; cf. CH Exc. 23 (Korē kosmou) 24, 44–46; Paul Al. 23, 50.8–9. In keeping with this hermeneutical tradition, P.’s tolma, in its main sense, appears to pertain to the soul’s apostasy from the Intellect, just as in the passage in question; cf. my comment on IV 8.7.17–24; also the analy­sis in Rist 1965, 340; Rist 1971, 82–83. The soul’s removal is thus attributed to a kind of deliberate, and thereby culpable, mutiny against Intellect, its “­father”; this mutiny of course presupposes the soul’s otherness in relation to it, although it is not tantamount with it. (This is apparently overlooked in Iambl. De an. apud Stob. Ecl. I 49, 37, 375.5–6.) This fall of the soul and the attendant “forgetting” of itself and its origin is correlated with the generation of time (see ΙΙΙ 7.11.15–20 with my comment) and, ultimately, instead of liberating it, exposes the soul to the risk of becoming beholden to the affections that surround it; it entraps it in its partiality (cf. my comment on IV 8.4.12–21; also O’Daly 1973, 7–8) as, instead of an active agent, it is transformed into a passive receiver of affections. To recall the apt comment in Baladi 1970, 71, “devenue fragment, chaque âme n’agit plus, elle s’agite.” Contrary to the Gnostics, however, who w ­ ere prepared to ascribe traits such as vanity and arrogance even to the Demiurge (see ΙΙ 9.11.21–22), P. appears to shy away from employing such terms when describing the emergence of the primordial otherness that produces Intellect from the One, and where he does so (see, e.g., VI 9.5.29), we should rather regard the wording as non-­literal. Thus, to me, generalizations such as the one attempted in Torchia 1993, 37–53, which seek to identify a concept of tolma that runs through all of P.’s ontological levels as “a metaphysical princi­ple in its own right, ultimately derived from the One,” appear to be unwarranted by the evidence provided in the Enneads. See, however, Armstrong 1967, 242–43. 1.9–17. ὥσπερ παῖδες . . . ​εἶναι αἰτία: This passage sheds some light on the cryptic wording of ll. 4–5, concerning the ­causes for the fall of individual souls from their intellective origin. The fact that it is correlated with their nurture (traphentes), their admiration for other ­things (talla kai panta . . . ​thaumasasai, ­etc.), and their dedication to t­ hose ­things reveals that this fall is the result of the redirection of their attention and solicitude ­toward the body and its corresponding affections; cf. IV 8.8.16–23 with my comment, and also my comment on IV 8.3.21–30. ­There, the term “generation” (genesis) refers to their embodiment (cf., e.g., Ι 1.12.20–23, Ι 8.14.42–54, IV 3.15.1–10), while the phrase “first otherness” (prōtē heterotēs) pertains to their consequent isolation, both from the other souls and from their intellective origin; cf. my comments on ΙΙΙ 4.2.1–6 and IV 8.4.10–12; also Blumenthal 1998, 118–19. This can further prompt their disorientation and hence their, now culpable, self-­determined and volitional “inclination” (rhopē) ­toward what they perceive as their individuality; cf. ΙΙΙ 9.3.4–16, IV 8.5.24–27, and my comments on ΙΙΙ 2.4.36–38, 7.15–28. It is this hedonic abandonment to the illusion of self-­ rule that Carbonara 1954, 220, dubbed “il peccato dell’ individuazione”; cf. Collette-­Dučić 2007, 249–51. And it is the latter that constitutes a “second” otherness, in the sense that the “first” one is indeed a necessary but not a sufficient condition for it.

234  Fifth Ennead Some scholars see in the story of the boy who grew up ignorant of his parents an allusion to the myth of Oedipus (see Rist 1983, 144; Guidelli 1988, 91; Mansfeld 1995, 154), yet this would be, in my opinion, rather inopportune and pointless h ­ ere. Cf., rather, VI 9.9.29–38 and my comment on V 5 12.33–40. 1.17–22. ἅμα γὰρ διώκεται . . . ​ἐν θυμῷ βάλοιτο: The soul’s disorientation results in a reversal of its value system. The soul admires and becomes fascinated by what is alien to it and thus finds itself ensnared in the continuous pro­cess of coming to be and passing away (cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.1.1–3), while it comes to despise what is its own above all ­else, its own self, ­because in its core it is nothing less than godlike; see above, my comment on 1.1–3. It is pos­si­ble that the elaborate formulation of the last phrase contains a Homeric allusion: cf. Il. 15.566. 1.22–29. διὸ δεῖ διττὸν . . . ​κἀκεῖνον δηλώσει: ­Here a protreptic strategy is foreshadowed, one that can lead the fallen soul to reascend t­ oward the realm of the intelligible. It falls into two parts: a “censure” for what it appreciates and admires while it is fallen (this is postponed for the time being for another occasion; it is difficult, however, to locate it precisely: see, for instance, ΙΙΙ 4.2.12–15, ΙΙΙ 6.6.36–64, 7.23–31, 13.21–38, VI 4.15.18–23) and “praise” for the soul itself, its nature, and its origin (cf. IV 7.9.1–10.52). Cf. Pl. Leg. 726a1–727e3. 1.31–35. τὸ γὰρ ζητοῦν . . . ​καὶ δύναται εὑρεῖν: At any rate, the praise part of the protreptic comes first, for it contains the ele­ment of self-­knowledge. The subject engaged in philosophical research is the soul itself (cf. my comment on IV 3.1.8–12); therefore, it is crucial to ascertain w ­ hether it is capable of discerning the truth and real beings. Yet for this to occur, it must recognize its affinity with ­these, given that knowledge is acquired “by like” (see Ι 6.9.30–31 with my comment), and consequently the soul ­really knows—­ and ­ought to know—­its “kindred” (sungenēs); cf. Ι 1.12.15–17, with a reference to Plato’s Republic. The image of the soul’s eye, which when trained in the right direction can indeed discern what is true, also comes from the Republic; indicatively see 518c4–10, 527d6–­ e3, and 533d2–3. But cf. also, for example, Pl. Alc. 133b7–­c6; [Arist.] Mund. 1, 391a15. 2.1–6. Ἐνθυμείσθω τοίνυν . . . ​καὶ ἃ ζῆν ποιεῖ: The “protreptic” opens with the soul being invited to reflect on its animating power, which arranges and puts in order both the vari­ ous living organisms (cf. Pl. Ti. 39e10–40a2) and the splendid cosmic “living being” (zōion), which is brought to life by the cosmic Soul; on this, see my comment on ΙΙΙ 2.2.18–33. The idea is, of course, patently Platonic: cf. Pl. Phdr. 246b6–7, Leg. X 896e8– 897b4. The emphasis is on the idea that the soul is “other” (hetera), which means it belongs to an ontological order dif­fer­ent from that of the ­things that it arranges or sets in motion and animates. On this, cf. also [Arist.] Mund. 6, 398a1–6. The soul is capable of reflecting on all ­these t­ hings ­because the relevant beliefs already exist within it in the form of innate conceptions, which, at the initial stage, remain inarticulate and nonsystematic, yet they can function as points of departure that can lead it to adopt a proper position on the ­matter; cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.7.7–17; also Eon 1970, 260–61. The imperatives

V 1. Three Primary Hypostases  235 that follow point to the discursive operations required to pro­cess t­ hese original “concepts” so that they can ultimately lead the soul to a complete intellective apprehension. As observed in Phillips 1983, 134–37, the lofty rhetorical style of this passage brings to mind similar encomiastic enumerations of a god’s powers often found in liturgical hymns of late antiquity; in my view, however, this stylistic echo—­perfectly warranted in this protreptic context—­should not be taken as indicative of P.’s religious preferences. Like the reference to ritual ceremonies further down (6.12–15), the allusion to religious practices functions ­here as a ­simple meta­phor. 2.6–9. καὶ τούτων ἀνάγκη . . . ​μὴ ἀπολείπειν ἑαυτήν: A summary reference to the argument in Pl. Phdr. 245c5–9 that the soul is “always in motion” (aeikinēton) and, accordingly, “immortal” (athanatos). Cf. IV 7.9.6–13. 2.11–14. σκοπείσθω δὲ . . . ​ἡσύχῳ τῇ καταστάσει: Our attention focuses on the cosmic Soul, which is the most exquisite model, allowing us to observe the greatness of psychical life and activity. The Soul beholds the intelligibles while being in a state of constant, undisturbed “quietness” (hēsychia); cf. ΙΙΙ 8.5.2–30, 6.10–15. The reason for this is, naturally, that it manages the world in an “untroubled” (apragmōn) and “laborless” (aponos) manner; cf. my comment on IV 8.8.13–16. On the contrary, individual souls are susceptible to the “enchantment” (goēteia) exercised by the bodies with which they are concerned; cf. Pl. Phd. 81b2–4; also IV 4.43.16–20. 2.14–17. ἥσυχον δὲ αὐτῇ . . . ​οὐρανὸς ἀκύμων: This certainly impressive image of Nature in a state of utter stillness before the arrival of the Soul may echo a literary commonplace. Cf. Eur. Bacch. 1084–85 with the comment in Dodds 1960c, 213: “stillness is the traditional response of nature to a divine epiphany.” See also the other parallel passages cited in Phillips 1983, 138–40, and Seng 1996, 256. On the other hand, as noted in Atkinson 1983, 29–30, “quietness” (hēsychia) is the characteristic state of the soul, when it is focused on itself and turned t­ oward the contemplation of the intelligibles. On the contrary, the reference to the body’s “turmoil” (kludōn) brings to mind the description of the tempest the soul experiences when it first comes into contact with the body, as recounted in Plato (Ti. 43a6–­c5), and in vari­ous ­later echoes of that passage: cf., for example, Marc. Aurel. ΧΙΙ 14.4; Num. fr. 33; Porph. VP 22.25, 32–33. The reading preserved in the MSS at this point is apparently meaningless; thus, a number of emendations have been proposed, of which Kirchhoff ’s appears to me to be the least far-­fetched, given that the word akumōn (“tranquil”) also occurs in Ι 6.5.15. At any rate, see also Schwyzer 1980, 179–89. 2.17–27. νοείτω δὲ . . . ​φησί τις: One of the most splendid images in the Enneads is employed to illustrate the life-­giving presence of the cosmic Soul, which sets in motion and imparts beauty to the body of heaven and, by extension, to the entire cosmos. The poetic references (cf. Soph. Aj. 877, Eur. Or. 1259, and Hom. Il. 20.65) and the paratactic syntax (in ll. 10–27) represent features of P.’s “elevated” style. The Soul is presented as enveloping the world (cf. Pl. Ti. 34b4, 36e3) but also as pervading it in the form of

236  Fifth Ennead radiation, investing it with brilliance and life. At the same time, P. is essentially modifying the known ­Middle Platonic analogy of the Soul to a “Sleeping Beauty”; see my comment on Ι 8.13.14–26; cf. also “Alcinous” Didasc. 14, 169.35–41; Deuse 1983, 82–87. This is ­because ­here it is the Soul that wakens from its slumber and activates the body of the universe. The fullest parallels can be found in Gnostic texts discussing how Adam was woken up by a representative of the Plērōma (such as the “Perfect Providence of All” in the Ap. John = NHC II 1, 30.5): see, for instance, NHC II 1, 31.9–20, II 4, 8.11–17, II 5.85–86, 115.30–116.5; also MacRae 1970b, 496–507. The result of the Soul’s activity is the “blessed” (eudaimōn) and “rational” (emphrōn) mode of life of the cosmic organism; cf. Pl. Ti. 34b8, 36e4. Without it, material bodies would remain dark and lifeless; cf. ΙΙ 2.1.16–18. 2.27–40. γένοιτο δ᾽ ἂν φανερωτέρα . . . ​τ ῇ ταύτης δυνάμει: The Soul, therefore, rules and moves the heavens by its “­will” (boulēsis) alone (cf. Pl. Leg. 896e8–897a1), yet its most wondrous characteristic is its ubiquitous presence throughout the universe (cf. VI 4.1.1– 13), which is thus sustained and preserved in unity. In this regard, that is, in re­spect to the cohesiveness that characterizes it, it resembles its “­father,” Intellect (cf. Pl. Ti. 37c7), whose unity, however, is even more complete; cf., for example, ΙΙΙ 7.6.1–21, IV 2.1.41–53 with my comments, but also V 8.4.4–8. In any case, the soul’s presence and activity are also unaffected by the physical distance that may separate the parts of the world it animates or by the “contrarieties” that distinguish ­these (on this, see ΙΙ 3.4.3 and 5.4–5 with my comments); that is why the “sympathetic” phenomena it governs are coordinated directly and instantaneously; cf. my comment on IV 4.32.16–25. 2.40–41. καὶ θεός ἐστι . . . ​καὶ τὰ ἄλλα ἄστρα: Cf. Pl. Ti. 92c6–7 and my comment on ΙΙΙ 5.6.14–24. 2.41–42. καὶ ἡμεῖς . . . ​κοπρίων ἐκβλητότεροι: The soul, when it has reascended ­toward its intellective origin, is a god; cf. IV 7.10.27–40 with my comment and VI 9.9.46–59. Therefore, if we possess something divine inside us, this is due to the presence of the soul. On the contrary, an inanimate body has nothing divine or worthwhile. This somewhat unexpected, ­because of the sharpness of its wording, citation of Heraclitus’ saying (fr. B96 DK) might carry polemic overtones: it could be an attempt to stigmatize certain con­temporary practices, such as the veneration of relics by the Christians. Cf. Celsus apud Origen C. Cels. V 14. 2.42–47. τὴν δὲ θεοῖς αἰτίαν . . . ​ὃ ἂν σωματικὸν ᾖ: The cause of the divinity of the astral gods is the cosmic Soul; our souls are “of the same kind” (homoeidēs) as it (cf. IV 3.2.54–58, 6.1), and the cosmic Soul is their “­sister” (IV 3.6.13); therefore, it is the soul that reveals the divine ele­ment within us, which manifests itself once it is rid of the accretions that obscure it; cf. Ι 1.12.12–20 (with a reference to Pl. Resp. X 611c1–612a3), Ι 6.5.50–58, ΙV 7.10.7–16, and so on. With re­spect to the popu­lar belief that the ­things of the sensible world, that is, corporeal beings, are nothing but earth, cf. Arist. Metaph. A 8, 989a9–12.

V 1. Three Primary Hypostases  237 2.47–51. κἂν πῦρ δὲ ᾖ . . . ​σεαυτὸν ἄγασαι: Ultimately, what imparts value and potency to each ­thing are psychical powers. Material ele­ments alone, as well as their ­simple compositions, lack intrinsic value. Our aspirations spur us to action b­ ecause of the brilliance with which the soul endows t­ hese; cf. Ι 6.5.9–17. And yet, b­ ecause all souls are connected to one another, and together constitute a unity, all of our aspirations are ultimately directed to our own common psychical substrate; cf. IV 9.3.1–4 with my comment. 3.1–6. Οὕτω δὴ τιμίου . . . ​καὶ ἀφ᾽ οὗ ἡ ψυχή: The “praise” of the soul leads us to its origin, Intellect, but furthermore to the supreme princi­ple, God himself. This sense of intimacy with the transcendent hypostases is a characteristic feature of P.’s thought: cf. V 5.8.1–15. And, as ­others have observed, it sets him apart from both the Gnostics and the ­later Neoplatonists; see Puech 1938, 31–32; also Beierwaltes 1973, 128. On the exhortation to ascend ­toward the gods, cf. Ι 6.7.1–4. 3.6–9. καίπερ γὰρ . . . ​εἰς ἄλλου ὑπόστασιν: This marks the launch of an inquiry into the relation connecting the soul to Intellect. Three analogies are employed to describe this relation: (a) that of an image to its original prototype (as noted in Atkinson 1983, 49–50, something like this holds true mostly with re­spect to the reasoning part of the soul; cf. V 3.4.15–21); (b) that between the “internal” (endiathetos) word “in the soul” and the “spoken” (prophorikos) word (cf. Ι 2.3.27–30 and IV 3.5.8–18 with my comments); and (c) that of the activity that radiates from a source, resulting in the production of a new hupostasis (on this, see above, my comment on the current treatise’s title). 3.10–12. οἷον πυρὸς . . . ​ἄλλην ὑφισταμένην: The example of fire illustrates, as elsewhere, the theory of the two “activities,” which plays a pivotal role in P.’s ontology, as time and again it is marshaled to explain the production of the lower hypostases from the higher ones; cf. V 3.7.21–25, V 4.2.27–37, V 9.8.12–14 and my comments on Ι 1 2.7–9, Ι 2.1.29– 38, ΙΙ 9.3.7–12, and IV 5.7.13–23. The first of ­these activities “remains [within itself ]” (sunoūsa: see Schroeder 1987b, 679–80) and is constitutive of the essence of fire, which cannot be what it is without being hot, whereas the latter “emanates” and appears outside the source that produces it: thus it constitutes a new distinct hypostasis, while the former remains undiminished and immutable (menousa: see Dörrie [1955b] = 1976a, 46– 47). On P.’s theory of the two activities in general, see the most enlightening analy­sis in Emilsson 2007, 24–30. 3.12–19. οὖσα οὖν ἀπὸ νοῦ . . . ​καὶ ὅσα οἴκοθεν: Owing to its origin, the nature of the soul is intellective, and therefore its primary faculties and activities have to do with intellection and reasoning. Of course, ­because of its discursive character, the latter is less perfect than direct (intellective) contemplation; nonetheless, this is how the soul can apprehend intelligible repre­sen­ta­tions and thus become “perfect” (cf. V 9.4.8–10). Naturally, this depends on its nature, which is inferior to that of its progenitor, Intellect. On this, see my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.11.35–45 and IV 3.18.7–13 with my comment. At any rate, intelligible repre­sen­ta­tions arise within the soul as if they ­were originating from the soul itself and are thus apprehended as innate concepts, as something preeminently familiar;

238  Fifth Ennead cf. my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.7.7–17. In fact, this is the manner in which the soul can attain self-­knowledge; cf. above, my comment on 1.31–35, and ΙΙΙ 8.8.1–8. 3.19–20. τὰ δὲ χείρω . . . ​τ ῆς τοιαύτης: On the contrary, the so-­called psychical affections (pathē) are not proper to the soul’s nature but originate outside it; indeed, they are not even its own (see ΙΙΙ 6.3.4–19) but are engendered by its embodied image, which forms the zōion (“living being”); see ΙΙΙ 6.4.30–38. 3.20–23. νοῦς οὖν . . . ​καὶ ἁπλῆ: P. stresses ­here the close proximity between soul and Intellect (cf. 3.4–5 and ΙΙ 9.1.30–33, 57–63) and the fact that the only ­thing separating ­these two is (the “first”) otherness, an otherness that has to do with the varying degree of unity characterizing the two; cf. IV 2.1.41–59. Their relation is analyzed in the terms employed by Aristotle to describe the relation between “active” and “passive” intellect, that is, as a “form” (eidos) and a “recipient” (hupodechomenon), where the latter is capable of “becoming anything”; see Arist. De an. III 5, 430a10–15. As in Aristotle, so ­here too the soul occupies the position of m ­ atter, yet of one that is s­ imple and suitable to receive the beauty of the intelligible forms; cf. ΙΙΙ 9.5.1–3 with my comment, V 9.3.20–29, and my comment on ΙΙΙ 5.7.4–9. 3.24–4.7. οἷον δὲ ὁ νοῦς . . . ​καὶ ζωῇ: We now move to a description of the Intellect’s hypostasis, as this ­will enable us to assess more fully the origin of the soul that results from it. We set out following the uia eminentiae, through a comparison with the sensible world, which, for all its magnificence, is but a faint image of the exquisite perfection of its intelligible model; cf. Pl. Ti. 92c5–7, and my comment on ΙΙΙ 5.6.14–24. This is ­because ­There every­thing is pervaded by truth (on this, see my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.4.5– 12), eternity (see ΙΙΙ 7.3.11–27 with my comment), “integral understanding” (sunesis: see Schroeder 1987b, 687–91), and unquenchable vitality (see my comment on ΙΙΙ 7.3.36–38). 4.8–18. καὶ τούτων . . . ​καὶ ὁ ὄντως αἰών: The intelligible realm is portrayed as a place of plenitude, of eternal, pure, and unwavering intellective activity, and is correlated with the paradisiacal kingdom of Kronos, as the latter is recounted in the myth of Plato’s Statesman, 269a7ff., cf. 271c4, 272b1–2; this image, however, is enriched with references to the Cratylus (396b5–7; cf. also Phdr. 241a3), from where the author borrows the “etymology” Kronos