Medieval Greek Commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics (Studien Und Texte Zur Geistesgeschichte Des Mittelalters)

Medieval Greek Commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics

Studien und Texte zur Geistesgeschichte des Mittelalters Begründet von

Josef Koch Weitergeführt von

Paul Wilpert, Albert Zimmermann und Jan A. Aertsen Herausgegeben von

Andreas Speer In Zusammenarbeit mit

Tzotcho Boiadjiev, Kent Emery, Jr. und Wouter Goris

BAND 101

Medieval Greek Commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics Edited by

Charles Barber David Jenkins

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2009

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Medieval Greek commentaries on the Nicomachean ethics / edited by Charles Barber, David Jenkins. p. cm. -- (Studien und Texte zur Geistesgeschichte des Mittelalters; 101) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-17393-4 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Aristotle. Nicomachean ethics. 2. Ethics. I. Barber, Charles, 1964- II. Jenkins, David. III. Title. IV. Series. B430.M43 2009 171’.3--dc22 2008055371

ISSN 0169-8028 ISBN 978 90 04 17393 4 Copyright 2009 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

Charles Barber dedicates this book to his daughters, Cleome and Josephine David Jenkins to his parents, Marv and Joyce Jenkins

CONTENTS Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix Acknowledgements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xiii Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xv Classical Scholarship in Twelfth-Century Byzantium . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anthony Kaldellis

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The Literary, Cultural and Political Context for the Twelfth-Century Commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics . . . . . . . . . 45 Peter Frankopan Aristotelian Ethics in Byzantium. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 Linos G. Benakis Neoplatonic Source-Material in Eustratios of Nicaea’s Commentary on Book VI of the Nicomachean Ethics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71 Michele Trizio Eustratios of Nicaea’s ‘Definition of Being’ Revisited . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111 David Jenkins Eustratios of Nicaea on the Separation of Art and Theology . . . . . . . 131 Charles Barber The Anonymous Commentary on Nicomachean Ethics VII: Language, Style and Implications . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145 Elizabeth A. Fisher Michael of Ephesus on the Empirical Man, the Scientist and the Educated Man (In Ethica Nicomachea X and In de Partibus Animalium I) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163 George Arabatzis Some Observations on Michael of Ephesus’ Comments on Nicomachean Ethics X . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185 Katerina Ierodiakonou Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203 Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223

PREFACE

Most of the papers collected in this volume were first presented at a workshop held in February 2006 at the University of Notre Dame. This meeting was organized by Charles Barber and David Jenkins and was devoted to discussion of twelfth-century Byzantine commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics. This topic gave the participants in the meeting an opportunity both to evaluate the condition of philosophy in twelfthcentury Byzantium and to advocate for the real significance of the often-overlooked contribution of Byzantine thinkers to the medieval reception of classical philosophical texts. Given the enduring importance of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, it is remarkable to find that there is no extensive surviving commentary on this text from the period between the second century and the twelfth century. Our workshop focused on the first of the medieval commentaries: that produced in the early twelfth century by Eustratios, Metropolitan of Nicaea (ca. 1050–ca. 1120), Michael of Ephesus (fl. first half of the twelfth century), and an anonymous author in Constantinople. Under the patronage of the imperial princess Anna Komnene, these Byzantine scholars prepared commentaries on books I, V, VI, VII, IX and X. This endeavor was to have a significant impact on the reception of the Nicomachean Ethics in Latin and Catholic Europe. In the mid-thirteenth century, Robert Grosseteste translated into Latin a manuscript that paired these Byzantine commentators with anonymous ancient commentary on books II, III, IV and V as well as Aspasius’ second-century commentary on book VIII. Both Albertus Magnus and Bonaventure then used this translation as a basis for their discussions of Aristotle’s book. Given the potential significance of this Byzantine project, it is surprising to find that discussion of these commentaries has not been extensive and that the quality of the philosophical enquiry contained within them remains little known and certainly undervalued. In order to go some way towards correcting this situation, the collection of papers contained within the present volume attempts to contextualize the production of these twelfth-century commentaries and, from a variety of disciplinary perspectives, to offer some precise investigations of aspects of the philosophical thought to be found in these works.

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The first three papers, those by Anthony Kaldellis, Peter Frankopan and Linos Benakis, offer some framings for our readings of these commentaries. Kaldellis’ essay positions the work of these twelfth-century philosophers within the compass of a diffuse and creative classical scholarship in twelfth-century Byzantium. In so doing, he not only argues that Byzantine scholarship has provided the defining model for the study of the classics, but that our recognition of the value of this particular legacy can continue to enrich and inform the fields found within Classical Studies today. Frankopan’s paper also considers this philosophical project in light of the classical past. In particular, Frankopan shows that Anna Komnene’s patronage of these scholars was part of her wider interest in Hellenism. For Anna, Hellenism offered a means by which to articulate the distinctiveness of Byzantine culture in an age when its power seemed to have fallen away and into the hands of the Seljuk Turks and the Latin Christians. Benakis’ paper provides the reader with an introduction to the circulation of the Nicomachean Ethics and the production of commentaries on the Ethics in Byzantium. While this survey reveals an extensive interest in ethical questions, the implications of this interest, as Benakis indicates, remain to be fully studied.1 The next three essays focus on the writings of Eustratios of Nicaea. Eustratios had been a student of John Italos in the years around 1080. He had then, perhaps in the early 1090s and while he served as a deacon of Hagia Sophia in Constantinople, written two short discourses on icons. These were directed against Leo the Metropolitan of Chalcedon’s understanding of the image. In the 1110s we find Eustratios acting as a court theologian and engaged in debates with Latin Catholics and Armenian Monophysites. This role came to an end in 1117, when Eustratios was condemned for his theological method and recorded in the Synodikon of Orthodoxy for having been overly attached to syllogisms. It is in the years following this condemnation that Eustratios appears to have written his commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics. Eustratios wrote commentaries on two books of the Ethics, I and VI. He also wrote a commentary on the second book of Aristotle’s Posterior Analytics. Michele Trizio’s paper demonstrates that Eustratios’ commentary on book 6 was profoundly indebted to the language of Proklos. In par1 This paper was originally published in Greek: Linos Benakis, “Η Αριστοτελικ Η ικ στο Βυζντιο”, in Η Αριστοτελικ Η ικ και ο επιδρσεις της, ed. D.N. Koutras

(Athens: 1995) 252–259.

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ticular, Trizio argues that even when Eustratios differs from Proklos’ position, he articulates his own philosophy in the language of his distinguished forebear. David Jenkins’ essay questions whether it is appropriate to describe Eustratios as a nominalist. Jenkins shows that this identification is an oversimplification, even as he demonstrates that Eustratios limited his discussion of being to the formal logic of predication. Charles Barber’s paper examines Eustratios’ extensive writing on art. In particular, Barber argues that while Eustratios’ discussion of art in book VI of the Nicomachean Ethics betrays continuities with his essays on the icons from the 1090s, these later comments also reveal that Eustratios wished to distinguish art from theology. The next study is Elizabeth Fisher’s philologist’s reading of the anonymous commentary on Book VII of the Nicomachean Ethics. The anonymous writer of this commentary has long been considered an incompetent linguist, stylist, and philosopher. Fisher’s essay shows that, while not of the highest philosophical order, Anonymous’ language, style and learning would not have been out of place in a twelfth-century schoolroom. This knowledge does not, however, allow for a more precise identification of this particular scholar. The final two essays are written by George Arabatzis and Katerina Ierodiakonou and are devoted to Michael of Ephesus. Michael was a prodigious Aristotelian commentator, who worked in the first half of the twelfth century and who wrote commentaries on books V, IX and X of the Nicomachean Ethics. In addition to these books from the Nicomachean Ethics he commented on the Metaphysics, the Sophistical Refutations, the Generation of Animals, the Parva naturalia, the Parts of Animals, the Movement of Animals, the Progression of Animals, the De coloribus, the Politics, the Prior and Posterior Analytics, the Topics, the Physics, the De caelo, and the Rhetoric. This breadth of work suggests that there was an extensive interest in Aristotle’s writings in the early twelfth century Constantinople. Our two essays focus on the commentary on book X. Arabatzis argues that Michael of Ephesus draws careful distinctions between the educated man and the scientist. In having drawn this distinction, Arabatzis is able to show that Michael then uses the scientist and the educated man as models of the classificatory process. Ierodiakonou, in turn, argues that it is only by a close reading of particular texts and by attending to the play of particular concepts (such as eudaimonia) that we can begin to characterize appropriately both Michael’s work as a philosopher and the nature of philosophical thought in twelfth-century Byzantium.

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The papers gathered together in this volume remind us that much work remains to be done in the field of Byzantine philosophy. We still have far too many works that remain unedited and far too few communities of scholars who are willing and able to bring the work of these Byzantine thinkers into the wider discourses of intellectual history. For these Byzantine commentators did not simply reiterate or paraphrase an existing and extensive tradition of commentary. Rather, we witness acts of reading and interpretation that both belong to and speak from the Greek world of the twelfth century, voices that open these texts to their world and inform our reading of these texts for our world.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Many institutions and colleagues contributed to the success of the workshop that produced the papers published in this volume. Financial support came from the Graduate School of the University of Notre Dame, from the Medieval Institute at the University of Notre Dame, and from the Institute for Scholarship in the Liberal Arts in the College of Arts & Letters at the University of Notre Dame. Harriet Baldwin provided logistical support. Kent Emery, Andreas Speer, Sten Ebbesen, and Stephen Gersh brought additional lively and intelligent discussion to the workshop and contributed to a roundtable on Byzantine Philosophy that was joined to the Nicomachean Ethics workshop and that was organized by Kent Emery under the auspices of the Société Internationale pour l’Étude de la Philosophie Médiévale. Finally, the organizers of this workshop would like to thank all of the participants for their contributions to this intensive and rewarding weekend of convivial conversation.

ABBREVIATIONS

Mansi PG

Mansi, J.D. Sacrorum Conciliorum Nova et Amplissima Collectio. Florence and Venice: A. Zatti, 1759–1798. Patrologiae cursus completus, Series graeca. Ed. Jacques-Paul Migne. 161 vols. in 166 parts. Paris: Migne, 1857–1866.

CLASSICAL SCHOLARSHIP IN TWELFTH-CENTURY BYZANTIUM

Anthony Kaldellis* This chapter aims to survey what may justly be called classical scholarship in twelfth-century Byzantium, especially the commentaries on ancient texts. By discussing the different methods, goals, audiences, and ideological parameters of these largely neglected works, I intend to situate the commentaries on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics into a vibrant culture of scholarly production and consumption. But the very notion of classical scholarship in Byzantium calls for explanation and requires an ideological accounting. 1. Byzantium vs. the Classics Byzantine “classicism,” both creative and scholarly, has received a mostly negative press in modern discussions. It has been denied its rightful place in the history of classical scholarship largely because its strengths and contributions have been taken for granted by those who have delighted in highlighting its shortcomings. This calls for a swing in the opposite direction. But the ideological obstacles are formidable, especially the notion that has been widely disseminated in the West regarding the position of Byzantium in our “system of civilizations.” This notion is fatally entangled in the ideological construction of the enlightened West itself and its leading nations in opposition to designated Others. The effect can be observed in popular perceptions, where Byzantium stands in conceptual opposition to the classical (both the ancient and its modern “rightful” heirs), and in specialized literature on the history of classical scholarship, which practices a special form of forgetfulness. The two volumes of R. Pfeiffer’s History of Classical Scholarship cover antiquity to the end of the Hellenistic Age and then the years 1300–1850 (of course, in the West). The entries on “schol* The author thanks Niels Gaul for his valuable comments on an earlier draft of this study.

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arship” in the Oxford Classical Dictionary reflect this division while the Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium has no entries on scholarship. Studies of the “transmission” of ancient texts overwhelmingly favor the Hellenistic and modern periods, limiting discussion of the Byzantine period— which was as long as the other two put together and just as crucial if not more so for the formation of the classical “canon”—to just a few pages.1 N.G. Wilson’s Scholars of Byzantium, the only study devoted to the issue, is useful and immensely learned but also condescending: virtually every page contains derogatory comments and unnecessary adjectives. One can stand in awe of its erudition yet find it an unpleasant read delivering an unfair verdict. Wilson takes the Byzantines’ groundbreaking contributions for granted and focuses on their failings. I will do the opposite. In modern scholarship, Byzantium as a cultural system has rarely been studied on its own terms, free of comparison, that is, with its neighbors and antecedents. I will concentrate here on the most influential of these comparisons, the one with classical antiquity. Byzantine literature, philosophy, and society have until recently been measured and basically defined against the yardstick of their classical antecedents— and found wanting. Theology is the one exception among textual genres, though normally the modern scholar has to be a believer for the balance to tilt in its favor. Byzantine art and architecture have established themselves on their own terms. But when it comes to intellectual history and literary culture, antiquity stands for reason, originality, and “literature” while Byzantium is associated with “rhetoric,” imitation, and superstition. Countless quotations can be given to this effect from both Byzantinists and non-specialists. There are historical and disciplinary reasons why this culture has been so closely linked to another and defined in relation to it. Many Byzantinists were and often still are trained in Classics before moving to “later” material. Byzantine history, including the state, society, and language, emerges gradually during the course of late antiquity, allowing for the transference of scholarly skills from one culture to the other, a temptation that occludes many pitfalls. As their written languages were virtually identical, classical Athens 1 E.g., Sandys (1921) devotes 37 pages (out of 1700 in the three volume set) to Byzantium (namely v. 1, 387–424); Groningen (1963) almost none. Reynolds and Wilson (1991) offer 26 pages (48–54, 58–78) out of 240, which is an improvement. Dickey (2007), a major new resource, appeared after this chapter was finished; only targeted citations to it could be included.

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and Byzantium are superficially easy to compare despite being separated by 1,500 years. In part, the Byzantines brought this on themselves by admiring and preserving ancient literature and thought. They drew attention to the inferiority, belatedness, and derivativeness that they often felt in the presence of their classical models. In some respects their cultural practices were fundamentally defined in relation to antiquity. As a result, Byzantium has been dealt with unfairly, especially when it is approached by observers whose expertise and commitments lie elsewhere, and it was precisely such scholars who constructed the field in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and who fashioned the representations of it that hold sway in the general culture. Classicallyoriented scholars were predisposed, even trained, to view it unfavorably in comparison to Greece. Moreover, Byzantium generally gained the attention of Medievalists in the context of its shameful defeats, both military and ideological, to the Crusaders. One such defeat was the insistence of the medieval West that the Byzantines were not true Romans as they claimed but merely degraded Greeks—Greeklings— to be conquered as the ancient Greeks were conquered by the ancient Romans. This suppression of the Roman identity of Byzantium in favor of a model of Greek “degeneration” (whether ethnic, cultural, or linguistic) fundamentally shaped the field and still holds sway.2 Finally, as a culture with a modern progeny, Byzantium was observed indirectly by European travelers to the Ottoman empire, who as ethnographers were prejudiced against Orthodox society in its oppressed and degraded state. They naturally viewed Europe as the legitimate heir of Greece, not Byzantium, which they blamed even for the effects of centuries of Turkish rule. Western travelers sought a genuine encounter with classical Greece, and imagined it by suppressing all that they associated, rightly or wrongly, with the post-classical culture that had so sullied and degraded it.3 For these reasons, and others that have to do with the discipline of philology, Byzantium has been unable to escape from the shadow of ancient Greece. The damage done to our view of Byzantium may prove to be permanent unless a serious concerted effort is mounted. Yet we need not 2 Cf. Kaldellis (2007) c. 2 for a rehabilitation of Byzantium as Romania; c. 6 for the polemic with the medieval West. 3 The contribution of this group to the making of modern notions about Byzantium has been insufficiently appreciated. A good place to start is Augustinos (1994).

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engage in a form of scholarly cultural wars, taking on the values that have created and sustained our basic perceptions of ourselves and others. At this preliminary stage, we are not dealing with irreconcilable differences in “values” but with politically motivated misrepresentations and double-standards, lies, and ignorance. It will suffice for now to state some basic facts and establish a sense of proportion. My topic is classical scholarship. Here too Byzantium has been put down, although in a special way. The problem is this: the Greek classics did not fall out of the sky into the waiting hands of modern Europeans. There was a long process of transmission and a thousand years of it passed directly (and even exclusively) through Byzantium. The Byzantines are occasionally praised for preserving what otherwise might have been lost, but this praise is double-edged for it implies that they have done us a service, not that they were doing anything for themselves, at least not anything that was significant to them (because conceptually Byzantium and the classics are opposites). So they are thanked for serving as a conduit, for inexplicably and against their own values and tastes preserving Greek literature in order that Europe could one day revive the true spirit of antiquity, however that revival is imagined (as the Renaissance; Enlightenment; science; or critical scholarship). In this schema, then, Byzantium is only a vessel, one moreover that is imagined as so well insulated as to leave no permanent mark on its precious contents. “It is as if the classical scholar thinks of our cherished texts as having survived in cold storage for the thousand years between the end of antiquity and the beginning of the Renaissance”;4 or “as if cultural goods existed in a sort of strong box, separated from the process by which one appropriates them.”5 The opposite is in fact true: the Byzantines not only established the canon of what we today regard as the classics but they also set down some of the basic modes and orders of classical scholarship as we practice it today. Many will be surprised by this statement. Yet when we look at the Loeb Classical Library (the green shelves), or the orange Teubners, or the blue OCTs, what we are seeing is basically a Byzantine classical library, that 10 % of ancient Greek literature that the Byzantines chose to keep. For many of the authors in that library, including all those whom we regard as most important today, the choice was a meaningful one, that is they were deemed worth preserving by most educated 4 5

Smith (1996) 395. Brague (2002) 150.

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Byzantines. Others survive due to the decisions and efforts of smaller groups (reflecting an interest in a specialized field or the eccentricities of personal taste), and a few due to chance. Also, there are more surviving ancient authors than are found in the standard collections named above. All in all, the preservation of ancient texts was a massive cultural and economic enterprise, larger than is usually imagined. Moreover, this was a distinctly Byzantine cultural enterprise (there is a striking description of its early phase in one of Themistios’ orations).6 Our classical library is a Byzantine classical library. This is not the only way in which we should gaze upon this corpus, but it is one with which every Hellenist should be familiar, though today most are not. Ancient Greek texts are reconstructed entirely from Byzantine manuscripts with the exception of a small number found on papyri, stone inscriptions, and gold tablets. Yet classicists tend to take the composition of this corpus for granted, as though (to repeat the metaphor) it fell from the sky and was not fundamentally shaped by Byzantine choices. Astonishingly, there has been no concerted effort to determine why the Greek corpus is what it is, an effort that would require long-term and far-reaching collaboration between classicists and Byzantinists. I know of only scattered, partial, and brief inquiries, usually by Byzantinists and a few paleographers.7 The most detailed studies focus on the incidence, the material mechanisms, and the strictly circumscribed contexts of transmission and do not often pose the matter of Byzantine classical scholarship as a cultural problem in its own right. Besides, we are too used to defining the Byzantines on the basis of what they said they believed rather than on what they did (consider, by contrast, how differently we come to terms with ancient Greek culture). This too serves to limit the Byzantines to a separate

Themistios, Oration 4 To Constantius 59d–60c; cf. Lemerle (1971) 56–57. Cavallo (2002) 31–175 is excellent for late antiquity but does not reach far into Byzantium; 206–233 briefly surveys the Byzantine period; also Treadgold (1984) for the period 600–900 and the Byzantine preference for later Greek literature; Dain (1954) for the period 850–950; Lemerle (1971) c. 8 for Arethas’ contribution, and 280–300 for tenth-century encyclopedism; Easterling (2003) for Sophokles; Easterling (1995) and Blanchard (1997) for the comedian Menandros; Brunt (1980) 477–478 and Treadgold (2007) c. 1 for historians and tragedians; Browning (1964) 12 for Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations; Cavallo (2002) 186–194 for Dioskorides; Wilson (1983a) 19–20 on the role of the curriculum, and 41–42 for Epiktetos; Fowden (1986) 8–10 for the Hermetica; Jones (2001) 13 for the loss of ancient local antiquarianism. For transmission as a cultural problem, see Brague (2002) c. 4, who largely omits Byzantium. 6 7

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sphere (defined theologically) and eliminate them as active participants from a different process that has been claimed by others. Among classicists, on the other hand, aloofness and utility tend to prevail: antiquity is surgically extracted from the mechanisms of Byzantine transmission and then treated as a self-standing corpus whose form and content require no explanation. Fragments are cut out from the authors who quote them, and it is assumed that students of pre-Socratic philosophy need not study Simplikios or know his name, and that students of Polybios need not know who Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos was and what his circle did to the History. Moreover, few editors of ancient texts recognize those Byzantines who prepared our best manuscripts as professional counterparts. Most postulate a direct relationship between themselves and ancient authors that is illusory, if not misleading. Not all “scribes” were mere “copyists” who mindlessly preserved (and invariably corrupted) texts that were effectively meaningless to them (see below), for some were diligent scholars.8 In the case of one modern editor of Aristophanes, Victor Coulon, it has even been suggested that “one consequence of his procedure was concealment of the fact that some good emendations attributed by him to editors of the modern era were actually made by Byzantine scholars before 1350, and when the attributions have been corrected we get a much better idea of Byzantine scholarship.”9 2. The Concept of Classical Culture Byzantium was not merely a conduit for classical literature that we can discard given that we have received its contents. Its scribes, scholars, and even the complex ideology of its intellectual culture played a crucial role in the formation of the very notion of classical scholarship and devised many of its basic tools that we take for granted today. 8 E.g., Lemerle (1971) 167–171 and c. 8; Markopoulos (1982); Hunger (1989) 65–69, 132–133; Wilson (1983a) 193–194, 201–202; Reynolds and Wilson (1991) 60–61, 76–77; and Gaul (2007), for various figures of the middle and later period; Cavallo (2006) 71–73 for ecclesiastical texts. The survival in greater numbers of later manuscripts tilts the balance of interest toward the Palaiologan period, as do Demetrios Triklinios’ metrical discoveries. The basic studies of the manuscript traditions of ancient authors are listed by Friis-Jensen et al. (1997) 199–205, but I know of no sustained inquiry into Byzantine textual-critical practices of the middle period. 9 Dover (1994) 77.

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These tools were both practical and ideological. I will briefly discuss the latter first. Modern classical scholarship studies ancient Greece at a huge historical remove. Most of us are not Greeks, we do not believe in the gods of the Greeks, and, despite our interest in or enthusiasm for Greek things, we also feel the pull of modern systems of society, technology, and knowledge. The Byzantines were in fact the first culture to consume classical literature from such a detached albeit respectful perspective. They did not see themselves as Greeks but as Romans and Christians. They did not believe in the gods who figure so prominently in much Greek literature, as Julian had awkwardly pointed out; and they were loyal to different social and political systems, which they did not trace back to the ancient Greeks. Byzantine classical scholarship was, therefore, the study of an admired but foreign society. In the polarities of “inside” vs. “outside,” Greek vs. Christian, “ours” vs. “theirs,” Greece was almost always the Other, and could destabilize Byzantine assumptions if it were not kept carefully in check; this threatening aspect has been a feature of modern classicism too.10 The taming, domestication, and transformation of ancient Greece from a living culture into a discipline of scholarship was a Byzantine achievement, and could in fact only have been accomplished by Greek-speaking Christians, “inside outsiders.” We take it for granted that Homer can be appreciated by those who do not believe in his gods, but this assumption is itself a product of Byzantine technologies of scholarship. It was not held by Julian, or the Neoplatonists, or, for that matter, most ancient readers. For instance, one commonly finds modern summaries of the plot of the Iliad that, like many Byzantine paraphrases of the poems, omit the role of the gods, despite the fact that Homer signals the crucial importance of Zeus in the first verses.11 As we will see, Byzantine summaries of the Trojan War also tended to omit the gods, because one could not regard as literature a text that was religious. But when did it become “literature?” And when did ancient art—largely statues of gods and temples—become “art”? To be sure, such approaches can be traced in antiquity. Julian was wrong that Thucydides was inspired by the Muses, and the aesthetic appreciation of religious art can be documented for most periods of antiquity.12 But 10 11 12

See Goldhill (2002) for some moments; Kaldellis (2007) for Byzantium. E.g., Alden (2000) 13. Bounia (2004).

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these were not the dominant modes of perception in antiquity and, more importantly, they never coalesced into a discipline with interpretive authority over the cultural productions of “the Greeks” defined as an ancient and foreign people. That was a Byzantine moment. We can observe its emergence in the fourth century, for instance in Basil of Caesarea’s Address to young men on how they might profit from Greek literature (ca. 370), which became a standard discussion of the problem in Byzantium and early modern Europe. We also observe the transformation of statues and architecture into “art” in the edicts and practices of the first Christian emperors, who legislated against its religious use and for its preservation on aesthetic grounds, and who put it on display in their capital.13 In short, the idea of classical scholarship (as “outside paideia”) was largely created by the Byzantines. It would be nice to say that this fact is obvious, but the reality is that it their role in this story has been obscured. The Byzantines receive credit for preserving some things but nothing more, and prejudice has managed to drain even that of value. Consider Nigel Spivey on the assemblage of ancient statuary in Constantinople: “beyond whatever good intentions . . . they were, we might say, simply knocking around: components of an urban pastiche which was effectively meaningless.”14 Many statements to the same effect can be adduced regarding the Byzantine attitude toward ancient literature in particular (they are known and need not be rehearsed here). To support this preposterous conclusion Spivey notes that the Byzantines did not try to imitate ancient sculptural art. That they went to all the trouble to gather it from the provinces and transport it to the capital; established special collections; wrote poems and antiquarian works about it; incorporated its architectural elements into their churches; and lamented its destruction by the Crusaders; is all, apparently, “meaningless” by comparison to the absence of imitation. But this is a dubious criterion, perhaps one designed to result in this precise conclusion. And the Byzantines cannot win this fight, for even imitation can easily be turned around and presented negatively as sterility, as happens in the case of their (often very successful) attempts to imitate ancient literature.

13 For Julian, Basileios, and the contest over ancient literature, see Kaldellis (2007) c. 3; for statues and temples, see Bassett (2004). 14 Spivey (1996) 11.

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What is going on here? The ideological imperative has again prevailed according to which Byzantium is—and must be upheld as—the antithesis of all that “we” stand for, e.g., classical antiquity, the Renaissance, Enlightenment, science, scholarship, etc. They had no right to it and their labor of preservation has no claim on us; we may freely plunder what they saved, because we cannot “effectively” steal from one who has no conception of the worth of what is stolen. It was in this way that the conquering West, more broadly, conceived its relation to the New World (to look in one direction) and the Orient (to look in the other). To ameliorate the debt (or deny it), it has become almost mandatory in the case of Byzantium to cite palimpsests where a work of ancient literature was erased to make room for a monastic or liturgical text. The problem is not that this did not happen (though cases where the opposite happened are less frequently noted),15 but rather with the ideological work that this evidence is supposed to do. A critical evaluation of the polarity Classics-Byzantium is long overdue, for in addition to making “antiquity” possible in the first place the Byzantines devised or perfected many of the practical tools of the discipline which “we” took—and still take for granted. In this chapter, I will survey, first, the basic tools of classical scholarship in Byzantium and then highlight the specific forms that they took in the twelfth century. The rich and vibrant picture that emerges from this survey should lay to rest the idea that the classics were “effectively meaningless” for the Byzantines, that they “made no contribution to progress,” or that they “never comprehended the spirit of the pagan classics.”16 It will also, as promised, provide a broader context against which the commentaries on Aristotle can be appreciated more fully. 3. Tools of the Trade Basic things are most easily taken for granted. In the ninth century, the book took on the form that it basically still bears today, namely bound hard-cover pages with margins around a text in minuscule script. The codex had finally replaced the roll during late antiquity, while the minuscule bookscript became established ca. 800 ad. Gradually, surviving texts were recopied (“transliterated”)—at least, all that were 15 16

Cf. Hunger (1989) 20. ˇ cenko, and C. Mango. Treadgold (1984) 95 citing P. Lemerle, I. Sevˇ

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deemed worthy of passing to this next phase of transmission. We know some of the scholars who were involved in this unprecedented project, for example Leo the Philosopher and Arethas of Caesarea in the ninth century. The physical aspects of the learned professions were henceforth unlike those of antiquity, which relied on papyrus rolls inscribed in capital letters. Each ancient roll individually contained only a fraction of what a book could hold, and many were collected together in boxes, taking up much more space and being less easy of access and reference. Minuscule economized on both material and time.17 In this sense, the physical appearance of the edition of classical texts has changed little since the ninth century, certainly in comparison with the changes that were introduced then. Printing has, of course, made crucial changes, among which are cheap mass production, standardization, and conventional numbering systems such as page and line numbers (although the pages of some manuscripts were numbered).18 But otherwise the basic format remains the same. Many of the non-Semitic vowel names (epsilon, omikron, omega, ypsilon) were of Byzantine origin and made possible only by the conflation of sounds in the Byzantine pronunciation: e-psilon had to be differentiated from ai; o-mikron from o-mega; and y-psilon from oi. The iota subscript and regular use of breathing marks and accents were also features of what specialists on Greek scripts name “the Byzantine system.”19 The Byzantines were aware of the Phoenician origin (via Kadmos) of the alphabet, a point on which many ancient Greek, Jewish, and Christian writers had insisted. It is worth noting in this connection a daring hypothesis that was made by the twelfth-century scholar John Tzetzes. In a chapter of his Histories (to be discussed below), Tzetzes reviews many theories about the invention of the alphabet, chiefly those which ascribed it to Kadmos or Palamedes. He claims that they are false. Seizing on Homer, Iliad 6.167–170, the verses on the “baneful signs on a tablet” given to Bellerophontes, and calculating the date of that hero to before both Kadmos or Palamedes, Tzetzes arrived at the correct conclusion that the Greeks had a script before the Trojan War. It would be too much to expect him to know about Linear B, though

17 Basic surveys of these developments are Hunger (1961) and (1989); Lemerle (1971) 109–122; Roberts and Skeat (1983); Wilson (1983a) 63–68; Ronconi (2003). 18 Hunger (1989) 25. 19 E.g., Allen (1987) 20, 41, 69, 84, 125, 130, 173; Powell (1991) 10, 43–44, 123 n. 15. See Mazzucchi (1979); Hunger (1989) 128–129.

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some historians of the Greek Bronze Age take this passage of the Iliad, the only one in Homer in which writing is indicated, as reflecting a memory of the more ancient system. What is important is that Tzetzes was eager and able to propound a new theory about an important philological matter—he called such theories his “Tzetzian inquires”— and that did so successfully on the basis of his detailed knowledge of Homer.20 Next to the ancient texts on our scholar’s desk lay dictionaries. Glancing there, we plunge into the tangled jungle of Byzantine lexicography. Given the near total loss of Hellenistic and Roman-period dictionaries, the partial state of publication of their Byzantine descendants, and the largely unexplored history of this tradition, it would be prudent to avoid discussing its development and focus instead on what was available in the twelfth century. The outline of some high imperial works of Attic lexicography have been reconstructed from the middle Byzantine compilations, for instance Ailios Dionysios and Pausanias from the evidence of Eustathios of Thessalonike’s Commentaries on Homer (see below) and from some of the lexika.21 But the completion of this major labor, which is now in suspension, must await the publication of the Byzantine dictionaries themselves, for which the outlook is bleak: such an effort would require teams of philologists, funding, and can probably not be carried out in the US, given the structure of academic careers. The Lexikon of the patriarch Photios (ninth century) included some 8,000 brief entries. A complete manuscript was discovered in Greece in 1959, but the whole has still not been published. The Lexikon of Zonaras was larger—19,000 entries—and proved to be more popular, supplanting its competitors. Over 100 manuscripts survive, which is in part why we have no comprehensive edition. This massive work dates to the twelfth or the thirteenth century; its ascription to the twelfthcentury historian and canonist John Zonaras still finds defenders. These lexika were used for both reading and composition, as a comparison of rare words in Anna Komnene’s Alexiad and the Lexikon of Zonaras has demonstrated; conversely, the latter cites usages from John Tzetzes and seems to have culled entries from his commentary on Aristophanes. 20 John Tzetzes, Histories 12.29–118 (pp. 469–472). For hints in the classical period regarding a pre-Phoenician script, see Pfeiffer (1968) 21. 21 Erbse (1950). For Byzantine lexicography, the basic survey is Hunger (1978) v. 2, 33–50.

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This dictionary, then, has been described as “the product of a serious and industrious effort to present a source of reference which combines a wealth of entries with brevity and comprehensiveness of expression.”22 It was popular with scholars and put to good practical use. Another class of Byzantine dictionaries were the so-called Etymologika. There is no reason to go into their messy textual and editorial histories.23 The only ones that have been published (both in the nineteenth century) are the Etymologicum Gudianum of the ninth century and the Etymologicum Magnum of the twelfth; we still await the full publication of their ninth-century prototype, the Etymologicum Genuinum (i.e., Magnum). The published Magnum is a massive volume, the size of the LSJ, but with a larger font. It has 2,306 columns of text on 14-inch pages, though about half of each page consists of modern commentary. Each section begins with an entry on the letter itself. Most entries are 3–4 lines long, though sometimes longer. Focusing on etymology, they also offer basic and variant meanings, occasionally synonyms and crossreferences to other entries, and quotations illustrating the word. There are also entries on rare names and places. We do not know who the editors of the Etymologicum Magnum were, but their work was used by Eustathios, a contemporary, for one. These dictionaries are a major source of ancient poetic fragments and continue to yield new words and verses.24 But this “treasure-trove” approach minimizes their importance for the history of scholarship. It was based on these works, brought to the West in the fourteenthfifteenth centuries by Byzantine scholars, that all modern lexika of Greek are ultimately based, given that their ancient sources were long lost by that time. The genealogy of the LSJ, in other words, goes back through Henri Estienne’s (a.k.a. Henricus Stephanus, 1531–1598) great Thesaurus graecae linguae (1572) to the dictionaries that sat on the desks of the scholars who wrote the commentaries discussed in this volume, and were among the first Greek books to be printed (the Etymologicum Magnum in Venice as early as 1499).25

22 Grigoriadis (1998) 183–208, quotation from 208. For the manuscript tradition, see Alpers (1981) 22–35. 23 The key study is Reizenstein (1897), and is not likely to be superseded soon; for a summary, see Hunger (1978) v. 2, 45–47; see now Dickey (2007) 87–92, 99–103. For the concept of etymology, see Robins (1993) 21, 47. 24 E.g., Tsantsanoglou (1984). 25 Hunger (1989) 137.

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Byzantine scholars had more specialized dictionaries and reference works as well, for instance of Attic or legal words. In the eleventh century, for example, Michael Psellos had drawn up a list of Athenian place-names (with commentary) from Strabo; an explanation of Athenian legal terminology; and a list of Roman legal doctrines and Republican leges by name. I note them because Psellos was revered by the twelfth-century humanists.26 There were encyclopedias too. The epitome of Stephen of Byzantion’s Ethnika (sixth century), originally in fifty-five books, provided an exhaustive list of places, peoples, and ethnonyms, along with grammatical instructions on how to use them. Better known is the Souda, a tenth-century encyclopedia with 30,000 entries on prosopography, places, rare words, sayings, and other information that help one understand ancient texts (in all, then, an Oxford Classical Dictionary of sorts). This too was very widely used in the twelfth century.27 Lexicography in motion requires grammar and leads to rhetoric. Scholars were well equipped with ancient and late antique treatises and manuals, which they relied on heavily in their own studies, for teaching, and for writing more commentaries. Some of the scholia and prolegomena to Hermogenes in Walz’s Rhetores Graeci may date from the twelfth century.28 I consider here the works of two early twelfthcentury scholars, both of whom become bishops, Niketas of Herakleia and Gregory Pardos of Corinth. But before looking at these figures we must outline the social background of scholarship in this period. Both men began their careers as professors of rhetoric, possibly affiliated with the sequence of “chairs” established in Constantinople for teaching rhetoric and Scriptural exegesis, which has become known as the “Patriarchal Academy.”29 Holding these posts they were as likely to produce handbooks of classical rhetoric, for lecturing perhaps, as they were to write scholia on the Church Fathers or compile commentaries on the Gospels. Like so many professors, orators, and scholars of the 26

Michael Psellos, On Athenian Place-Names; To his students, on trial terminology; On New Doctrines and Definitions of Roman Legal Terms; see Rhoby (2001) for the first; for Psellos in the twelfth century, see Kaldellis (2007) 225–228. 27 For the genesis and purpose of these works, see Lemerle (1971) 297–299; Hunger (1978) v. 2, 36–37, 40–41; Wilson (1983a) 145–147. 28 For grammatical and rhetorical theory in Byzantium, see Hunger (1978) v. 2, 10–18 and v. 1, 75–91 respectively; Robins (1993) and Schneider (1999) for aspects of grammar, and Kustas (1973) for rhetoric; Conley (1986) focuses on teaching. 29 Browning (1962–1963) esp. 15–17, 19–20; further studies cited in Kaldellis (2005a) 143–144.

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Komnenian age (e.g., Eustathios), they were subsequently appointed bishops in provincial cities, where many felt they had basically been exiled to uncultured backwaters. Still, there is reason to think that they may have continued teaching there. Eustathios’ student in the capital, Michael Choniates, who was appointed to Athens, instructed a local, George Bardanes, who went on to become an important bishop of Kerkyra in the early thirteenth century. So we cannot draw a firm distinction between secular and ecclesiastical careers, authors, or different career “phases,” in this period. To be sure, some men were occupied exclusively or mostly with secular studies and literature (e.g., John Tzetzes, Theodore Prodromos) and others only with theological or liturgical works, but most of the men whom we may call classical scholars fell somewhere in between.30 Niketas of Herakleia, for instance, wrote scholia on orations of Gregory of Nazianzos and a series of catenae on books of the Bible (these were excerpted quotations from different commentaries, arranged in the order of the original text so that one could handily consult everything that had been written on, say, John 18.38). He was also involved in the condemnation of Eustratios of Nicaea in 1117, another bishopscholar and the author of commentaries on Aristotle (whom we will discuss below).31 Niketas wrote mnemonic-didactic poems on grammatical-lexicographical subjects, for the benefit of students mastering Attic composition. One is fascinating, being a list of the epithets used for each of the twelve gods of Olympos, only set to the “tune” of various hymns of the Orthodox Church, for mnemonic reasons most likely. This is a strange mixture of the most pagan and the most Christian elements of Byzantine civilization.32 A set of orthographical poems were also modeled on liturgical kanons.33 Another of Niketas’ works is a synopsis of grammar and syntax in 1,087 verses addressed “to a noble and decent young man,” but this need not refer to a particular student. Niketas claims that he wrote it in one night (v. 5). Most of the material is taken from Dionysios Thrax’s Grammatical Art (of the second century bc), the standard work on grammar and syntax used throughout the Byzantine period. Niketas In general, see Kaldellis (2007) c. 5. Niketas of Herakleia, Apologia; with Joannou (1954). 32 Niketas of Herakleia, Verses on the Epithets of the Twelve Gods; cf. the ancient treatise of Apollodoros on the gods’ names: Pfeiffer (1968) 261–262. 33 See Antonopoulou (2003), citing the latest bibliography on Niketas. 30 31

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refers students to Dionysios for further elaboration on certain topics (vv. 29–30) and lifts examples from him, such as citing “the son of Peleus” as the aristos among heroes, Homer as the “wisest” among poets, and Zeus as the “greatest” among gods, all under the category of superlatives (vv. 41–43). There is no overt Christian editorializing in calling Zeus the greatest among the gods, even if only as an illustration in a grammatical work, except perhaps in the subtle intrusion of the clause “according to Homer.” A few verses later he cites under active nouns the “Judge of the living and the dead, the Maker of all, and Creator and Demiurge, God, He Who was before the Ages” (vv. 50–51). We thus observe the classical (even the pagan) and the Christian sitting side-by-side, a recurring feature of the poem (cf. Saul and Dareios in vv. 156–157) and typical of twelfth-century scholarship.34 Gregory Pardos wrote ecclesiastical works and liturgical commentaries, but much of his scholarly activity focused on language, primarily rhetorical composition. First, let us note a singular treatise that fell from his hand, On the Dialects (of Greek), the most important surviving example of its kind. By printing between 0 and 5 lines of this text per page and filling the rest with his comments, the modern editor (in 1811) managed to extend this treatise to 624 pages! A new edition is desired. Gregory acknowledges as his main authorities Tryphon (late first century bc) and John Philoponos (sixth century ad), then surveys the features of Attic, Doric, Ionian, and Aiolic. He cites authors for each dialect, whom he knew at first-hand (even Synesios of Cyrene is cited for Doric), and uses their scholia as well (except for Aiolic, which section is oddly truncated).35 The treatise was possibly used by Eustathios for the Homeric Commentaries, showing again how interconnected scholarly activity was during this period.36 It also provided the basis for the modern study of the dialects: a Latin paraphrase was appended by Henri Estienne to his Thesaurus graecae linguae, and Gregory even today provides a springboard for the study of the Greek dialects.37

34 Niketas of Herakleia, Verses on Grammar; for the attribution and discussion, Tovar (1969). 35 For Gregory Pardos in general, see Kominis (1960) esp. 61–73 for On the Dialects; also Bolognesi (1953), a positive verdict; Hunger (1978) v. 2, 29–33; Wilson (1983a) 187– 190 (typically negative); Dickey (2007) 82–83. It is preposterous to judge this work by the critical standards of modern linguistics and peer-reviewed publication (though this is frequently done for the purpose of putting down Byzantine scholarship). 36 Kominis (1960) 20 n. 2. 37 E.g., Davies (2002).

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Gregory’s main rhetorical commentary was on Hermogenes’ Περ με δου δειντητος (On Method of Forceful Style). The original treatise is not considered an authentic work of Hermogenes, and Gregory was of course following previous Byzantine scholars in compiling his commentary, but it is worth outlining the nature and goals of this work as it throws light on the practices of commentary-writing in this period. Hermogenes’ work is 43 pages long (in the Walz edition); Gregory’s is 262 (in the same edition). Hermogenes has 37 categories of forceful style, to each of which he devotes roughly a page. Gregory has the same 37 types, but each of his entries is longer by far. His entries are divided into smaller sections that correspond to specific words in the original treatise: these lemmata enabled Gregory to comment on the examples, historical episodes, and texts used by Hermogenes while expanding, elaborating on, and illustrating the main points. The commentary is thus philological, historical, and theoretical-rhetorical. Gregory adds examples and case-studies of his own, many from Scripture, thereby again mixing classical and Christian elements. This is a book for use by scholars, not beginners. The contemporary context of learned debate is again present: Gregory twice cites Tzetzes’ Epitome of Hermogenes’ Rhetoric. On the first occasion he comments derisively (but fairly) on Tzetzes’ “garrulous little verses” (φλυαροστιχδια); the second mention is on the distinction between a hetaira and a pornê. Gregory also quotes some of Tzetzes’ iambic verses on the establishment of public funerals in Athens.38 (It has been suggested that these references are later interpolations, as the chronology of Gregory’s life and the authenticity of the works ascribed to him are still not secure.) Before we discuss Byzantine scholars’ critical engagement with the ancient poets and philosophers, we should note one aspect of this culture that can easily be overlooked because it does not loom as large in modern scholarship, namely imitation. The Byzantines had a far closer and natural relation to the language of ancient Greek literature than we can ever hope to achieve and their scholars were trained to imitate it both in writing and in performance. In his History of Classical Scholarship, 1300–1850, Pfeiffer says this about Henri Estienne: he “was

38 Gregory Pardos, Commentary on Hermogenes’ On Method of Forceful Style, esp. pp. 1098–1099, 1186, and 1157–1158 for Tzetzes. For this work, see Kominis (1960) 73– 77. For the tradition of rhetorical commentaries in Byzantium, Conley (1986) esp. 344– 345 on Gregory’s borrowing from Demetrios’ On Style and 365–366 for some of the rhetorical-theoretical matters he treated.

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imbued with the deepest love for the Greek language and became incredibly familiar with its idiom. He really thought in Greek and could speak it; to him it was simply not a foreign language at all.”39 The pride of modernity in such scholars must be tempered by the realization that Byzantine intellectual life consisted entirely of such people, who took the qualities that are here ascribed to Estienne to a level that few or no Europeans have ever attained. This is not the place to discuss the theory and practice of mimesis in Byzantium or counter the polemical adjectives attached to it (e.g., “sterile,” “artificial”). What is important is that we not forget the practical dimension of the study of ancient literature in Byzantium: it provided models in the sense that they were supposed to be imitated, not only appreciated and studied. Gregory did not write commentaries on Hermogenes merely to make reading Hermogenes easier but so that the dozens of orators at the court and theatra of the capital could better put his prescriptions into effect (on an ethical level, the same may be said of the commentaries on Aristotle’s Ethics; see below). Byzantium under the Komnenoi was one of the great ages of Greek rhetoric, and this was a rhetoric rooted in scholarship. The principles of Hermogenic style have accordingly been detected in Eustathios’ panegyrics, as consciously followed and cleverly adapted guidelines.40 “Students were trained to master the classical language for their own use, not just to be able to read and appreciate the great works of the past.”41 Their level of attainment and command of the language far surpassed our “Greek prose comp.” In a separate brief treatise on style, Gregory Pardos recommended four speeches as models for imitation: Demosthenes’ On the Crown, Ailios Aristeides’ Panathenaïkos, Gregory of Nazianzos’ Funeral Oration for Basil of Caesarea, and Michael Psellos’ Encomium for his Mother, striking, again, a typical balance between Greeks and Christians.42 He goes on to cite various ancient authors as exemplars of “flowery grace,” “sober grace,” “solemnity,” and so on. Many of these same aestheticstylistic categories are employed by Photios in his reviews of ancient

Pfeiffer (1976) 109. Stone (2001). For the apogee of rhetoric in this period, see Magdalino (1993) c. 5; Kaldellis (2007) c. 5. 41 Webb (1994) 84. 42 Gregory Pardos, [On Composition] 31–33, 36, 38 (pp. 320–322); see Kominis (1960) 80–89, 127–129; Donnet (1967) 110–111; Wilson (1983a) 185–187; for the theoreticalgrammatical aspect of this work, see Robins (1993) c. 9. 39 40

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literature in his Bibliotheke.43 These categories remind us that in at least this one respect, that is, in having a feel for the style of the language, Byzantine readers had a definite advantage over us. Our appreciation of Greek is almost one-dimensional by comparison, based on reading rather than on hearing and on content rather than on composition. We can instantly and perhaps instinctively tell the difference in style between, say, Francis Bacon, Edward Gibbon, and A.H.M. Jones, but it is unlikely that we could do the same with Demosthenes, Gregory, and Psellos, or with different orations of Libanios, if we were given a blind test. 4. Scholia and Commentaries: An Introduction Equipped, then, with their editions of the texts, lexika, etymologika, grammatical and rhetorical manuals, encyclopedias such as the Souda, and prosopographical guides to the main ancient writers (typically ascribed to Hesychios of Miletos),44 Byzantines scholars were well prepared for a scholarly engagement with classical literature, chiefly with the ancient poets and philosophers. (I draw a distinction between scholarly and creative engagement with the classics; the latter also calls for fundamental rehabilitation, and is receiving it now on many sides.) First, a word on “scholia,” a tool that lies somewhere between lexika and interpretive commentaries. There were, of course, specialized lexika, keyed to individual authors or genres (e.g., for Plato or the Attic orators), but these were self-standing texts of their own. Most scholia in Byzantium were not. The history of their transmission was roughly as follows. Though ancient papyrus rolls could have short comments on the verso, in the margins, in indented block sections, or interlineally, ancient commentaries were generally written on separate rolls and keyed to the text through lemmata. With the adoption of the codex, scholia and longer commentaries were gradually copied into the margins of new editions (or even interlineally) and could be written in a different “font” or color ink. Toward the end of the eleventh century, scribes found a way of breaking the original text into sections and adding the commentary in the bottom half of the page, which cre43 Cf. Wilson (1983a) 103–109; Efthymiades (2000) 34–39. The best place to start with this vocabulary is rhetorical theory: Kustas (1973). 44 See Kaldellis (2006).

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ated a format similar to our own. Sometimes the commentary took up the bulk of the page, engulfing the few lines of primary text, and often different commentaries were amalgamated in the preparation of a new edition (resulting in brief catenae on a single page). This transfer to the margins was effected partly in late antiquity and partly after the ninth century (one of its casualties were the names of the authors of the nowexcerpted ancient commentaries themselves).45 For the most part, then, Byzantine scholia contained carefully excerpted ancient material, going in some cases as far back as the third century bc, though some scholia on individual words were copied from their etymologika entries and some scholars added original comments of their own, especially after the twelfth century. It was not until the eighteenth century that modern philologists began to systematically reassemble the scholia, most importantly of Homer, into separate editions that we have today (though their state of publication still leaves much to be desired in some cases).46 This procedure had Byzantine precedent. To give one example, in the fourteenth century Demetrios Triklinios collected the scholia on Hesiod’s Works and Days, Aristophanes, and the tragedians.47 For the most part, however, when a Byzantine approached a well-prepared edition of a classical text, its appearance must have made ours seem stripped naked by comparison. There was no apparatus criticus, but the commentary, being on the same page, was more user-friendly in some respects. Scholia clarified various aspects of the text, ranging from the grammatical to the lexicographical and even the historical background of topics mentioned in the primary text (which is why scholia are cited so frequently in discussions of Greek religion). They were typically good for classroom use, or rather for the instructor’s preparation for the classroom, but also facilitated individual study of the text.48 What is distinctive, then, about the twelfth century, is the sudden and unprece45 Wilson (1967); (1983a) 33–36, 136–142; (1984); Irigoin (1984) esp. 99, with a gallery of illustrative plates; additional studies cited by Budelmann (2002) 143–144; Dickey (2007) 11–17. For a list of published scholia, see Friis-Jensen et al. (1997) 215–226; for a study of ancient literary theories in the scholia, Meijering (1987). Wilson (1983b) is an indispensible survey of the ancient scholia; for the scholia, old and new, in Byzantium, Smith (1996). 46 Smith (1996) 395–399. 47 Budelmann (2002) 146. 48 For late Byzantine grammatical scholia on Philostratos and their use, see Webb (1997), an excellent study marred by one instance of prejudice on 16: “an education system whose final aim was the active use of the classical language, rather than the

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dented production of independent commentaries on so many ancient authors, including Homer, Pindar, Hesiod, Aristophanes, Lykophron, Aristotle, and others, by scholars such as Eustratios of Nicaea, Michael of Ephesus, John Tzetzes, Eustathios of Thessalonike, John Galenos, and others who remained anonymous. This movement represented a new direction in classical scholarship whose importance and originality has not been recognized. It was not, however, as coherent as it might appear at first sight: the commentaries on Aristotle were part of a different tradition than those which were now written on the poets, and aimed at different audiences. These differences can partly explain the variety of their forms and methods. Self-standing interpretive commentaries had been the rule since antiquity for philosophical, scientific, rhetorical, and theological works (as we saw in the case of Gregory Pardos’ commentary on Hermogenes). A huge corpus of them had been produced in late antiquity and copied in Byzantium. Scholia were not unknown for thinkers such as Plato who were also regarded as model authors and whose works could be taught to less philosophically advanced students, but they tended to cluster mostly around poets and orators. However, the revival of philosophical commentaries was not an innovation of the twelfth century. It was the original intention of Michael Psellos in the eleventh century to bring Greek philosophy back up from the depths in which he believed it had been buried. He studied Plato, Aristotle, and the Neoplatonists, and infused their thought into the lectures that he delivered on every conceivable topic. Psellos’ authority among contemporaries and succeeding generations was immense, stemming from his awesome polymathy, eloquence, and patronage (as Consul of the Philosophers he was in charge of higher education in the capital, though his duties and powers remain unclear). Psellos’ engagement with ancient thinkers, however, was more philosophical then scholarly: he was more interested in promoting philosophical ways of thinking among his students than in merely “commenting” on ancient thought. His lectures and treatises constitute a training in looking at every aspect of the world philosophically. But he did write paraphrases and scholia on some of Aristotle’s works.49

interpretation of classical texts,” i.e., Byzantine classicism was purely linguistic and had no “meaning.” 49 For Psellos and philosophy, see Hunger (1978) v. 1, 20–22, 32–33 for a summary;

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Psellos was the progenitor of much of the philosophical, humanistic, and literary interests of the twelfth century. There was nothing quite like him in the Byzantine past and he was admired by the twelfthcentury humanists. I do not wish to imply that the twelfth-century commentaries on Aristotle were part of some self-conscious Psellian program, only that Psellos’ attempt to restore Greek philosophy as a viable system of thought spurred later works and was perhaps a necessary precondition for them. Anna Komnene idolized Psellos for “attaining the peak of all knowledge” and for “becoming famous for his wisdom.” Not only did she in some way sponsor the production of at least some of the philosophical commentaries of the twelfth century (see below), she herself wanted to be known for her exact knowledge of Plato and Aristotle, boasting of it in the preface of the Alexiad.50 Moreover, one of the luminaries of her circle, Eustratios of Nicaea, was a student of John Italos, who was in turn Psellos’ famous and controversial student and successor as Consul of the Philosophers. Eustratios was old enough to have known Psellos as a student himself. In short, whatever they owed to the circumstances of the early twelfth century, the Aristotelian commentaries also constituted a revival and extension of a genre that was well represented in the scholarly world since antiquity and had its roots in the revolutionary project of a unique man who tried to resuscitate ancient Greek thought in eleventh-century Byzantium. They were written by and for students of philosophy, and aimed to revive the method and style of the philosophical commentaries of late antiquity. By contrast, the commentaries on the poets were the products of different needs, circumstances, and ideological currents.51 Interest in the Iliad, on the one hand, was deepened by the new Komnenian aristocracy’s need for heroic models that Scripture and the saints could not provide. The Alexiad was a prose Iliad for Anna’s father (thereby making her a rare nexus of the philosophical and literary-Homeric currents of the time). Theodoros Prodromos wrote panegyrical poems for emperors in heroic hexameter verse; in one he declared that Homer would have to be resurrected from the dead and given ten mouths in

and Duffy (2002) and Kaldellis (2007) c. 4 for more interpretive approaches; for paraphrasis, Ierodiakonou (2002). 50 Anna Komnene, Alexiad 5.8.3 on Psellos; for her “circle,” see Browning (1962); Magdalino (1993) 332; and below. 51 For a fuller study of the context, albeit with different emphases, see Kaldellis (2007) c. 5.

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order to praise the emperor John II Komnenos. Such praise was not limited to the emperors and the aristocracy. Michael Choniates, the student of Eustathios and later bishop of Athens, was compared after his death by a nephew to the ancient heroes: “whole new Iliads” would not suffice for him.52 Homer was in the air, fueling a shift in values among rulers and writers. Quite possibly, this warrior-aristocracy knew more about the “spirit” of Homer than do modern philologists in their studies. Their zest for war, sex, the hunt, and exquisite artwork was also reflected in a new form of quasi-vernacular heroic poetry that centered on the frontiersman Digenes Akrites and explicitly tried to rival Homer’s fame.53 Nor was Homer less alive in the imagination of the sophists. In the hands of politically active scholar-bishops such as Eustathios, Homer’s language became a skilful instrument, as praise and blame sat on a razor’s edge of subtle irony.54 The accusation, then, that the classics were “effectively meaningless” in this society, a mere instrument of grammar, is false. On the other hand, the twelfth century witnessed a vast multiplication of the occasions that called for the composition of celebratory orations. The number of orations and honorands swelled out of proportion to precedent in Byzantium. More works survive and more performers can be named for this period than for any other in the history of Greek rhetoric (before the nineteenth century, that is). But the aristocracy was not so boorish as to patronize only its own praises. The sophists indulged in original compositions, such as the romance novels, another genre that was revived toward mid-century, mostly in verse. References abound to the so-called theatra, a word that signified the venues for the performance of new works, whether they were physical assemblies or the collective opinion of the educated class.55 All this, required more teachers—who themselves became the objects of praise by their students—and more textbooks and scholia. In fact, many of the commentaries on the poets that survive from this period had their origin and fulfilled their purpose in the classroom. 52 For Theodore Prodromos’ life and the imperial Poems, see Hörandner’s edition and introduction (here citing Poem 4.251–257; cf. 11.18–19); Choniates: Anonymous, Monodia for Michael Choniates 2 (p. 237). For the “Homeric” twelfth-century in general, see Basilikopoulou-Ioannidou (1971–1972); for Homer in Byzantium in general, see Browning (1975a); Pontani (2005) 137–340. 53 Lasithiotakes (2005). 54 E.g., Sarris (1995–1997). 55 Mullett (1984).

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So both the aristocracy and the class of teachers and orators grew in size and became more self-conscious of their place in society. The sophists depended on the princes for patronage (though exact prosopographical ties cannot easily be worked out today), while the latter depended on the former for the glorification and culture that only Greek paideia could offer. From this mutual, albeit uneven, dependency, sprung a new type of commentary, “Classics for Dummies.” Let us then begin with these and work up to the more technical scholarly productions, before situating the Aristotelian commentaries against this broader background. 5. Classics Made Easy Michael and Elizabeth Jeffreys have identified the sebastokratorissa Eirene—the wife of the sebastokrator Andronikos, the second son of the emperor John II—as the patroness of a large number of contemporary poems. What these works have in common is that they are written in relatively easy Greek, have a simple structure and patronizing didactic tone, and rehearse information that would have been familiar to any educated Byzantine (e.g., a list of the gods and heroes in Homer or, as in Constantine Manasses’ Historical Synopsis, a survey of world history). It is likely that the writers of these works were working on commission and needed the money (they are sometimes frank about that); on the other hand, Eirene was likely a foreign lady, possibly Norman, married into the Byzantine imperial family. Her native language was not Greek and so works such as these would have helped her to catch up with her peers, though certainly not to the level of someone like Anna Komnene. This reconstruction illuminates the nature of some of the surviving works by reference to the specific forms of patronage that produced them. Eirene, after all, was not alone. Other foreign brides also required primers, for example Bertha-Eirene, first wife of the emperor Manuel, commissioned an introduction to Homer from Tzetzes.56 And beyond this class of patrons, there were probably many in twelfth-century Byzantium, both men and women, native and foreign, who required elementary instruction and had the coin to procure it. 56 Jeffreys and Jeffreys (1994); for “struggling poets,” see Beaton (1987); Magdalino (1993) 340–343.

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This explanation allows us to dispense altogether with the contempt that has often been directed against these works. We can now see them in a new light, as classics-cribs for an audience of non-scholars. The first author whom we can discuss here was a member of the Komnenos family, a born-in-the-purple prince named Isaac, a son of Alexios I. He wrote two brief introductions to Homer for general audiences, though for different personal motives, certainly, than did commissioned writers like Tzetzes. As we saw with Anna, some of the princes wanted to be praised by the sophists for their paideia, as Isaac was in fact by Prodromos.57 The Preface to Homer, only 190 lines of text, summarizes the poet’s life, the history of the Trojan War—though carefully excising the gods from the narrative of the Iliad—and the fates of Agamemnon and Odysseus. The second text (30 pages long) consists of two parts: first, a narrative summary of The Events Homer Left Out, mostly the fall of Troy to Herakles and then the later one to the Greeks; and, second, The Physical Properties and Moral Qualities of the Greeks and Trojans, a prosopography of names followed mostly by adjectives—Patroklos, it seems, was fat and had a thick beard. The prose is uncomplicated and Isaac calls his own style “simple and lucid.” It has recently been argued that these brief treatises originally accompanied Isaac’s edition and commentary on the Iliad, the first of its kind by a Byzantine scholar, which survives in a single manuscript and is not yet fully published.58 In compiling his summaries, Isaac followed ancient sources, especially Diktys of Crete, whom he cites at the end apparently accepting the fiction that he was a follower of Idomeneus (the story of the Trojan War ascribed to this man posed as a translation for the emperor Nero of some “Phoenician” tablets found by some shepherds in the ruins of Knossos, the only reference to Linear B tablets found in antiquity). Isaac claims to have consulted other authorities too. He calls Homer “wise” and does not editorialize from a Christian standpoint when talking about the gods. The last question requires further attention, and will recur in this survey. The gods were one of the main stumbling blocks in accepting Greek literature in Byzantium, and the matter had certainly not been cleared up in any decisive way by Isaac’s time. In fact, his own father

57 Theodore Prodromos, Oration for Isaac Komnenos; for Isaac in general, see Kindstrand’s introduction to the Preface; also Hunger (1978) v. 2, 58. 58 Pontani (2007).

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Alexios I Komnenos had enforced hard-line Christian strictures against Greek philosophy, taking down Psellos’ student John Italos in a rigged show-trial and adding the famous condemnations of autonomous philosophy to the Synodikon of Orthodoxy. Alexios may have been prompted more by cynical policy than conviction, but the chilling effect was the same. According to the eulogist of his daughter, Alexios had prohibited his own children from having too much to do with Hellenic studies, especially poetry. Tornikios says that Alexios and his wife Eirene believed that grammar, based as it is on poetry, is characterized by polytheism, or rather atheism; by the qualities of myths, which tell of the love-affairs of infatuated gods; the rape of maidens; and the abductions of boys; and contain other such splendid things that are indecent in both word and speech. All this they deemed dangerous enough for men, but for women and maidens they rightly deemed it utterly pernicious.59

The imperial couple obviously failed to instill this dread in their children, who included two among the leading scholars of the first half of the twelfth century. Isaac wrote prefaces and summaries of Homer while Anna learned all about the myths too (secretly, according to Tornikios), though armored by her faith. Was it subtle revenge on her part to compare her parents throughout the Alexiad to Greek gods and heroes? Certainly, she revered her parents’ memory. In the Preface to her Diataxis, she claims that they did not hinder her from learning, but this statement is oddly defensive, and Anna is an untrustworthy witness when it comes to her family.60 As for Isaac, he may also be the author of some short summaries of the Neoplatonist Proklos, the philosopher who had inspired Psellos and led Italos on the path to condemnation. Even after the stern warnings in the Synodikon, a son of the imperial family was dealing in Proklos. It should be noted that the author of these summaries carefully omits much that was offensive to Christians and somewhat distorts Proklos’ thought to make it more acceptable. Still, the desire to Christianize such a pagan thinker ran counter to the later effort of Nicholas, the bishop of Methone, who, in the spirit of Alexios and the Synodikon, wrote a long refutation of Proklos from an explicitly Christian point of view. There was a debate going on behind the scenes of our texts on 59 George Tornikios, Funeral Oration for Anna Komnene (pp. 243–245). See also Jeffreys (1984) 205 for the monk Iakobos; for the period in general, Reinsch (2000) 87; for the trial of Italos, Clucas (1981); for repression, see Browning (1975b); Magdalino (1991). 60 Anna Komnene, Preface to the Diataxis 16 (p. 99); for the authorship, see Buckler (1929) 9–10.

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this matter that we cannot see. In any case, the evidence for the study of Proklos and the brazen promotion of Platonic philosophy in the spirit of Psellos is scant for the later twelfth century, when scholarly attention turned to the poets and orators.61 The most prolific popularizing classicist in this period was undoubtedly John Tzetzes, whose output was so vast and its publication in modern times still so disordered that we can only discuss a small part of it here. Consider, for example, three short poems: the Events before Homer (406 vv.); the Events in Homer (490 vv.); and the Events after Homer (780 vv.). These summarize the events of the Trojan War, framing the Iliad. They are written in hexameters, which vary from Homeric to modern Greek in vocabulary and style. But Tzetzes’ aim here was not to imitate Homeric morphology, vocabulary, and meter with scholarly precision (which he probably could do). It was, rather, to provide an introduction to the world of the Iliad in verses that could be read by a beginner. Tzetzes tells events from his own point of view and in his own chatty poetic voice, and even adds material to the Homeric section that is not in the Iliad. In the Events after Homer, he often cites Koïntos, i.e., Quintus of Smyrna (ca. third century ad), whose fourteen books of verse Posthomerica survive. His physical descriptions of the heroes are adapted from those in Isaac Porphyrogennetos’ short treatise or, more probably, from a common source. Curiously, Tzetzes wages in these poems a personal polemic against an Isaac, who appears to have been the governor of the city of Berroia and had employed Tzetzes, probably as a secretary. In various places in the poems, the poet alludes to a scandalous episode involving himself and the governor’s wife, as a result of which Isaac had ordered Tzetzes to leave the city on foot. These bitter digressions, dubiously linked to the Trojan War, illustrate Tzetzes’ inability to keep his troubles and comically annoying personality out of his scholarship. It is not known who this Isaac was; it is too premature to identify him with the Porphyrogennetos scholar. An Isaac Komnenos is the addressee of Tzetzes’ unfriendly Letter 6, though it is not clear that this was actually sent (see below); the recipient of the letter (in which Tzetzes mentions Diktys of Crete among other ancient figures) was variously identified 61 Cf. Nicholas of Methone, Refutation of Proclus’ Elements of Theology (and Angelou’s discussion in the introduction of philosophy in the twelfth century) with Isaac, On the Hypostasis of Evil (for Christian editing, see Rizzo’s introduction, iii–xxiv; for authorship, Kindstrand’s introduction to Isaac’s Preface to Homer, 18–20).

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with the Porphyrogennetos, the governor of Berroia, or both, but a recent study dissociates them all.62 Tzetzes does not suppress the gods in his summaries, but he does not make them the central characters that they are in the Iliad either. In one place he alludes to his favored allegorical-Euhemeristic interpretations, here regarding Zeus.63 He does not, on the other hand, intrude Christian material. Tzetzes idolized Homer, believing him to have been perfect in all ways, yet he sang the poet’s praises to a Christian society. This meant that he had to make some sense of the gods, who could not be presented at face value. In other poems, he categorically denies that Homer actually believed in the “demons,” arguing that the gods in poetry are in fact a concession to the entertainment young readers require; or he Euhemerizes them; or he allegorizes them, as natural elements, physic properties, stars, or whatever.64 Tzetzes promoted these approaches in exegetical poems addressed to Komnenian patrons, for instance in his Allegories on the Iliad and Allegories on the Odyssey, written for Manuel I’s foreign wife Bertha-Eirene. The latter work, for instance, is a book-by-book explanation of the gods and monsters in the poem, with between 100 and 200 verses devoted to each book (the Iliad commentaries are typically longer, with between 200 and 400 verses).65 Tzetzes postures here as an expert interpreter of Homer’s wisdom, but allegory was for him not part of a consistent philosophical approach. When he had to—perhaps, in this case, when he was specifically asked to do so—he faced the problem of the gods head-on with much allegory and little apology, but on other occasions he tended to avoid the topic. This is not surprising, given the condemnation that they elicited in some quarters. Still, the court of Manuel was unlike that of Alexios. Moreover, Bertha wanted or needed to know who all these heroes, gods, and goddesses were who were constantly being mentioned in all 62 John Tzetzes, Events in Homer 142 ff.; Events after Homer 284–290, 620–624, 701, 753– 758; Letter 6. Various opinions have been expressed regarding the identity of these men: Wendel (1948) 1961 (still the only survey of Tzetzes’ life) identifies the governor with Alexios’ son; Magdalino (1993) 348–350 implies that identification, but is more cautious; Barzos (1984) v. 1, 286 n. 56 and Grünbart (1996) identify the addressee of the letter with the son of Constantine Komnenos (the son of Alexios’ brother Isaac). 63 John Tzetzes, Events before Homer 102–106. 64 Cesaretti (1991) pt. 2 is the most extensive treatment; more briefly: Hunger (1954) 46–52; Wilson (1983a) 193; Kazhdan and Epstein (1985) 134–135; Budelmann (2002) 156–157; Roilos (2005) 124–127; Kaldellis (2007) 301–307. 65 See also John Tzetzes, Allegories from the Verse-Chronicle.

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the orations that she had to endure for so many long hours. Having a riposte handy for the sophists when they made an allusion would no doubt improve her standing in their eyes; an allegorical comment might even earn her praise for wisdom. An anecdote in Psellos’ Chronographia (6.61) illustrates the scholarly demands that were sometimes placed on imperial women. “A subtle flatterer,” whom Psellos does not name, whispered the following half-verse from Homer to Constantine IX Monomachos’ concubine Maria Skleraina as she passed by: “Surely there is no blame . . .” She then had to ask him to complete the tag: “. . . on Trojans and strong-greaved Achaians if for long time they suffer hardship for a woman like this one” (Iliad 3.156–157; tr. R. Lattimore). Note that Psellos does not quote the end of the verse in his account, assuming that we, his readers, will recognize it, as Skleraina apparently could not.66 There is no reason to list all the poems and short commentaries written in the twelfth-century for the benefit of lay patrons. One last work of Tzetzes must, however, be mentioned, because it has not yet been studied in detail and is odd enough to warrant comment. This is in fact his longest and most cited work, the so-called Histories or Chiliades (Thousands, i.e., of verses). It consists of over 12,000 fifteensyllable (“political”) verses divided into 660 sections, each covering some item from ancient history and literature, including people, events, texts, sayings, facts and words of many kinds, so a chrestomathia of sorts (assemblage of useful knowledge). The Histories remains to this day a major source for fragments of lost authors and otherwise lost antiquarian knowledge (but mythology is mostly absent, conforming to Tzetzes’ habit of either confronting it head-on or largely leaving it out). The style is easy, fluid, and bouncy, and Tzetzes intrudes himself and his name often, posing, arguing, showing off, and pouting. He knew how to write in a lively way. I suppose one could read through the Histories as they are and learn (or review) much about ancient history. But that is not how this huge text was meant to be used. The Histories is in fact a running commentary on Tzetzes’ own 107 Letters, which are crammed with classical allusions and require all this antiquarian lore to be understood.67 The Letters are written in a more elevated For the training and duties of imperial princesses, see Connor (2004) c. 10. The commentary on the Letters proper begins at Histories 4.780; the entries before that are a running commentary on the “letter” to a grammarian that is included in Histories 4.471–779. In general, see Wendel (1948) 1992–2000. 66 67

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Attic style, which suggests an interesting textual relationship. Tzetzes used his own letters, which are brief but dense, to teach Attic prose; he then supplemented linguistic instruction with the content of the more colloquial Histories, which supplied background in an easy format to students struggling with the Attic style of the letters. These works, then, are more “textbooks” than “sources,” and provide a pedagogy in grammar, composition, and classical knowledge. (Tzetzes outdid himself here, adding additional scholia to both the Letters and the Histories!) Based on this relationship, we may speculate that the Letters, or some of them at least, were not real; they may have been epistolary exercises posing as letters but in reality designed to include as many launchingpoints for classical instruction as could be crammed into them (this may explain the lists of ancient figures that they sometimes include). Not that they altogether lack contemporary information—they are, after all, posing as real letters—but perhaps some were not delivered, e.g., the angry Letter 6 to the sebastos Isaac. There are indications, however, that the collection did circulate in Tzetzes’ time. This is a problem that historians may have to examine in detail. 6. Scholarly Commentaries on the Poets It is time to turn to professional scholarship, that which was meant for use by teachers at the higher levels of instruction and by those who wished to deepen their understanding of ancient poetry and thought. Admittedly, it is not always possible to draw a fine line between this group of commentaries and the one that we discussed above, but in most cases a distinction can be made between texts addressed to lay patrons who wanted summaries and texts meant to be used by professional classicists. Eirene sebastokratorissa and Bertha-Eirene were not likely to peruse a commentary on Lykophron’s Alexandra or on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. The twelfth century witnessed the writing of original commentaries on the poets by known Byzantine scholars; in some cases, these were self-standing texts. This innovation in scholarly practice has not been recognized. A list of the most well-known works should give an impression of the extent of this labor. Tzetzes wrote his idiosyncratic commentaries and scholia on the Iliad, Hesiod, tragedy, Aristophanes, Lykophron’s Alexandra, Oppian’s Halieutika, on two poems of Nikander, and others (for example, the scholia on his own letters). Eustathios

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wrote massive commentaries on the Iliad and Odyssey, Pindar, and Dionysios Periegetes. A deacon named John Galenos, who has not been firmly dated, wrote a commentary on Hesiod’s Theogony. Then we also have the commentaries on Aristotle by Michael of Ephesus, Eustratios of Nicaea, Stephanos (possibly Stephanos Skylitzes), and Anonymous.68 The study of their works is still in its infancy, so we can ask only preliminary questions here, some of which have been laid out in Felix Budelmann’s useful study of Tzetzes’ scholia on the Iliad.69 What is the relation between the text and the commentary, and how personal is the commentator’s voice? Is the commentary a single text, i.e., can it be read by itself ? How was it or how could it have been used? The original scholarship of the twelfth century does not follow any one rule in regard to these issues. It includes marginal scholia and commentaries; self-standing commentaries keyed to the original text through lemmata (such as the commentaries on Aristotle); and separate works, such as Eustathios’ Homeric Commentaries. The proportion of comment to text also varies. For example, the Hellenistic poet Lykophron’s Alexandra has 1,474 verses and would, if printed without apparatus, take up 40 pages, while the scholia that Tzetzes compiled (citing over 50 authorities) take up almost 400 pages in the modern edition.70 Tzetzes, moreover, prefaced his scholia with a discussion of the different kinds of poetry, listing the famous ancient poets and the contexts of their works; he then comments on the life of Lykophron, his works, and his Alexandrian context; and gives the background to the plot of the Alexandra. The scholia then go through the text verse-byverse, giving vast amounts of grammatical, lexicographical, dialectical, rhetorical, mythological, and historical information, in addition to literary parallels and illustrations. Some are small treatises in their own right, e.g., on Pegasos and Bellerophontes in v. 17. What we need is an explanation for why all this information is here, an explanation that attempts to work through the pedagogical and scholarly uses of these commentaries, which are not well understood. Grammatical scholia make sense for the classroom, but all this?71 Granted, Lykophron had In general, see Hunger (1978) v. 1, 34–35, and v. 2, 58–67; Wilson (1983a) c. 9. Budelmann (2002); see also Smith (1996). 70 The manuscripts attribute the work to John’ brother Isaac, but Tzetzes claims it as his own in Letter 21, explaining that he had only dedicated it to his brother; see Hunger (1978) v. 2, 62–63; in general, Wendel (1948) 1978–1982. 71 Cf. Webb (1997) for teaching grammar from scholia; Budelmann (2002) 158–161 for Tzetzes on the Iliad. 68 69

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composed a deliberately antiquarian poem that begged for commentary, as the Tzetzian poem at the end of the scholia admits; it baited scholars to show off their knowledge. In his scholion on Aristophanes, Frogs 897, Tzetzes tells a story which implies that text and scholia were read aloud by him to an audience of either students or colleagues, some (or all) of whom had their own copies of the text, and that corrections were made. We need a closer analysis of his account and a better understanding of how all this unsynthesized and unfocused knowledge was used in practice, given that it often goes beyond what is needed to simply understand the text.72 (We will return to this question below, when we look at Eustathios’ Homeric Commentaries.) Questions of scholarly form, moreover, or “format,” are as important as those of content. What we observe emerging in this period are useful scholarly “editions” of the poets that anticipate ours in having a scholarly introduction that discusses the varieties of ancient poetry, the life of the poet, and the style of his work; followed by the text with massive scholia compiled by a “modern” scholar such as Tzetzes who had a distinctive personal voice (today we would put the commentary at the back).73 I gather that nothing like this had existed in antiquity. Even if much of the “content” on which these Byzantine editions was based was culled from ancient sources, the synthesis was original, as was the decision to place all this material together and its precise arrangement. So, for example, we have, besides the preface to Lykophron, Tzetzes’ prolegomena to Hesiod’s Works and Days, which begin with an attack on Proklos’ exegesis, then list the kinds of poetry, and end with a brief life of the poet (focusing on the relation between him and Homer), all in Tzetzes’ typical style and voice; also, Eustathios’ prologue to the Commentary on Pindar, focusing on topics of literary appreciation, especially Pindar’s notorious obscurity (asapheia), and concluding with a summary of what is known about his life; and the preface to Eustathios’ Commentary on the Iliad, which defends the study of the poem against Christian objections (ironically, I believe, as Eustathios considered Homer to be sublime and the objections are rendered irrelevant anyway by the mass of commentary that follows them); he outlines all the benefits con72 John Tzetztes, Scholion on Aristophanes’ Frogs 897 (pp. 951–955). The story is discussed by Wilson (1975) 6 and (1983a) 192–193, but its dynamics elude me, and I think that Wilson has also not entirely understood what happened. For scholarly gatherings in the twelfth century, see also Cavallo (2006) 75–76. 73 Budelmann (2002) 145 for such an edition of Hesiod.

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ferred by Homer; explains his own methods; and ends by summarizing Homer’s life and works.74 These works will hopefully soon be studied in their own right. Usually they are mined for fragments of ancient authors and for information from or about antiquity, and what remains is then discarded as Byzantine. But it should be apparent that no rigid separation can be enforced between Byzantium and antiquity in these works. For one thing, we have to acknowledge the variety of methods followed by the Byzantine scholars, in other words, their scholarly decisions that gave form to everything that they “preserved.” Tzetzes, for his part, made every effort to instill his voice and persona in his commentaries. It has been suggested that he did so to escape the oblivion of anonymity and to prevent plagiarism. The history of the scholia, as he knew, had obliterated their authors’ names, and he was determined not to let this happen to him; moreover, he had experience of students taking notes during his lectures and then publishing them without permission. That is one reason why he keeps sticking his name into his writings, a thesis that improves upon the superficial accusations of vanity and conceit that have prevailed so far.75 These scholars were people, not anonymous “vessels” for the preservation of ancient “content.” So the commentaries differed in voice, scope, approach, and page layout. Whereas Tzetzes’ were attached to the original text, Eustathios’ commentaries on Homer and Dionysios were self-standing continuous prose texts. In fact, he even suggested that one could read his Iliad commentary straight through.76 In contrast to Tzetzes, however, it is more difficult to identify Eustathian elements in Eustathios. But there are some common themes that run through their works, chief among them the imperative to protect the poets from Christian odium. We have seen Tzetzes’ passionate defense of Homer against the charge of believing literally in the pagan gods. Eustathios marshals the same allegorical techniques to defend him, indeed these were a major aspect of his approach and he devotes a section of his preface to the Commentary on the Iliad to the problem of reading the myths against the more

74 For the texts, see the bibliography. For Tzetzes’ Hesiod, see Colonna (1953); for Eustathios’ Pindar, Kambylis (1991); Negri (2000); Hamilton (2003) 132, 176–177; for his Homer, Dickey (2007) 23–24. 75 Budelmann (2002) 150–152. 76 Eustathios of Thessalonike, Com. ad Hom. Il., preface 2.40–42 (v. 1, 3).

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“historical” aspects of the poem.77 On the other hand, he ironically dismissed the idea that Christians should abstain from the pagan wisdom of the ancient poets.78 In the biographical section of his Prologue to the Commentary on Pindar, he reports on Pindar’s (pagan) piety as though it were a virtue; Eustathios and his student Michael Choniates were willing to view pagan piety as praiseworthy and undeserving of Christian condemnation.79 This was genuine humanism. One more scholar should be mentioned in this connection, a deacon named John Galenos, who wrote an allegorical commentary on Hesiod’s Theogony that runs to 70 pages. It is addressed to young students of Hesiod rather than to the non-academic laity, and its chief concern is to protect their piety from the pagan nonsense of the Greeks. In his preface, he praises Plotinos and Sokrates, despite the fact that they were pagans ( ρα εν), for encouraging their listeners to look beyond the literal sense of things and on to higher realities, and that is what he does in his commentary, namely to uncover what he calls the “hidden truths” of the Theogony. In fact, he adds, the poem should not have been called that in the first place, but rather the Physiogonia. The preface is only a page long; the commentary is keyed by lemmata, though there are occasionally large gaps between the verses discussed. This is a problem of the lemma format, but can partly be explained in this case by the fact that Galenos was not writing a thorough study of the poem, but was interested only in ameliorating one aspect of it from a Christian point of view. His Christianization of the Theogony is bold, in some cases turning the gods into Christian figures and concepts, for example Zeus is God, the Titans evil, Herakles Jesus. Anything will do here (Pythagorean number theory, physics, astronomy, psychology) if it saves appearances. He even praises Hesiod for being grateful to the Muses, despite their being goddesses; the virtue of piety again overrides its pagan context. Galenos’ intention, as he puts it, is to “transubstantiate” myth “into a more divine form,” to beautify “the ugliness of Greek myths” by making it look more like “our Truth.” He concludes with an invocation of “Christ the King.”80

77 Eustathios of Thessalonike, Com. ad Hom. Il., preface 3.10 ff. (v. 1, 4); see Cesaretti (1991) pt. 3 for an extensive discussion. 78 Cf. Kaldellis (2007) 314 on Eustathios and Basil of Caesarea. 79 Eustathios of Thessalonike, Prologue to the Commentary on Pindar 27. 80 John Galenos, Allegories on Hesiod’s Theogony pp. 295–296, 336, 365; see Roilos (2005) 128–130.

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I conclude this section by looking more closely at the most impressive scholarly labor of this period, Eustathios’ Homeric commentaries, but these are so vast and have received so little attention in their own right that I must restrict the discussion to a few general comments on their nature and purpose, especially to define their place in the complex world of twelfth-century scholarship. They have been criticized for being enormous, confusing, unwieldy, and unenjoyable for the student.81 The Iliad has 15,600 verses; Eustathios’ Commentary on the Iliad (of which an autograph copy survives) has 3,575 pages in the modern edition: this works out to an average of four and a half verses per page, though some verses receive longer treatment (Iliad 1.1 receives eleven pages) while others are clustered together for collective comment. After writing the first draft, Eustathios added further scholia in the margins and then “on little slips of paper pasted into his copy.”82 But before we groan at the weight of them, let us not forget that the Iliad is in fact a long poem, one of the longest. Four verses discussed per page is really rather dense. Eustathios could have written an even longer commentary. In his comments Eustathios tries to cover, well, everything: etymology, grammar, syntax, meter, dialect, rhetorical theory (largely based on Hermogenic categories), and mythology, the allegorization of which was a chief concern; also the poet’s meanings; the ethical and literary aspects of the plot and characters; the cultural and historical background of words, phrases, and actions; as well as contemporary Byzantine sayings and customs that illustrate the ancient text, all the while citing ancient authorities at first or second hand.83 What purpose could such a work have served? Eustathios provides some hints in the preface, but this must be read carefully. Eustathios claims that he was not instigated to write the Commentary by powerful men but rather by friends (πρς φλων μιλιτν), which are ambiguous words (note that his commentary on Dionysios Periegetes was dedicated to a certain John Doukas). He then modestly (and, I believe, ironically) states that the work will benefit not the learned, who will not be unaware of anything in it (!) but rather young men who are studying as well as those who have studied but need to be reminded E.g., by Browning (1964) 16; Reynolds and Wilson (1991) 70–71. Wilson (1984) 110; in general, Hunger (1978) v. 2, 64–66. 83 For a sample of Eustathios’ literary reading of Iliad, book I, see Lindberg (1985); for the contemporary folkloric aspect, see Koukoules (1950). 81 82

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of certain things—thereby negating his first claim that the learned will not need it! He goes on to say that he has included only necessary and not superfluous things, which perhaps we can take at face value, at least at first. Eustathios then lists the categories of analysis for each verse and explains who will benefit from them, adding that he has also included “ten thousand more things that are useful for life, and not briefly either, but rather in a rich variety”—so again undercutting his initial disclaimer. When he proceeds to talk about how young students should use the book, we need not believe that they were the only readers he had in mind. There is often irony in Eustathios’ style, in this as well as in his other works.84 The Commentary can be used in two ways, he says: one can read through it as a work in itself or read it to elucidate specific passages of the Iliad.85 In the preface, then, Eustathios says much about his methods and intents, but he does not always say exactly what he thinks or all of what he means. We are left with conflicting impressions about the work’s intended audience and use: Is it for those who are now studying or who have already studied? Is it to be read straight through or consulted selectively for individual verses? Eustathios seems to be keeping his options open, presenting the Commentary safely as a work for teaching but implying that it has many more uses as well. After all, on the first page of the preface he makes it clear (at length) that Homer has something good to offer all people, whether they are thinkers or writers or more active in life. He casts his net widely. This, along with the nature of the book itself, suggests to me that we should not see it exclusively or primarily as a teaching textbook. Though its compilation must have been linked to or grown out of Eustathios’ lectures in Constantinople, the finished product was probably not read out to students just as it is (far less “assigned,” given the cost) no more than our own multi-volume commentaries on the Iliad are meant to be read aloud to students. Sections of it may have been recited just as they are, but the Commentaries overall were more of a repertoire of material for teachers to consult before class on any passage of the text or even to have at hand for reference and student questions. But Eustathios may have had something even more ambitious in mind, something that extended beyond the classroom.

84 85

Cf. Sarris (1995–1997). Eustathios of Thessalonike, Com. ad Hom. Il., preface 2.17–46 (v. 1, 3).

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What we are dealing with here is more a labor of encyclopedism than of pedagogy, though it certainly had pedagogical uses. This is nothing less than an Encyclopedia Homerica in commentary form for all future generations to use, as each has, in its own way. The problem with the modern disdain for the work is that, again, we take the benefits conferred by Byzantine scholarship for granted and then criticize it for flaws that appear only after we have built our own edifices upon its foundations. Let us consider what was involved. Eustathios must have collected, sorted through, excerpted, summarized, compiled, and smoothed out vast amounts of knowledge, not merely scholia, epimerismoi, and more philosophical commentaries on Homer, but also texts and information from other authors who, he believed, had something to say that was relevant to the Iliad. Moreover, he made the end product readable by smoothing out the prose into his own Attic standard, so that modern scholars cannot easily tell where the “fragments” begin or end. The list of his sources is long.86 For all we know, the basic building blocks of his Commentaries were inaccessible or in a wretched state in his time. Who had access or leisure to consult them all, and why go through dozens of works to find what could be made available in one? This was basically a work of preservation, compilation, and collation; it was probably intended as a standard reference work. And Homer was not just any poet; we have seen his importance for many classes of Komnenian society. Teachers, orators, scholars, historians, scribes, bishops, philosophers, and government officials would have benefited from such a reference work. Who of them didn’t have something to look up in Homer? A few copies of the Commentaries would have served the needs of the entire capital. And what a delicious rhetorical coup it was for one professor to cast, in his preface, all these people as his young pups! 7. The Commentaries on Aristotle Let us then turn, finally, to the original commentaries on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics.87 They fit well into the patterns of scholarly activity in the twelfth century, despite being slightly earlier in date than the Cf. van der Valk’s introduction, v. 1, lix–cxix. See, in general, Mercken (1973) c. 1 and (1990); Wilson (1983a) 182–184; for all Aristotelian commentaries in Byzantium, Benakis (2002). 86 87

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poetic commentaries, addressing a more specialized audience, and selfconsciously imitating an ancient tradition of philosophical scholarship. They are scholarly works, rather than philosophical, in three important senses. First, in attempting to fill the gap left by the late-antique commentators, Eustratios, Michael, and the rest were subordinating themselves to a larger ongoing project of textual elucidation and clarification; it was this project that defined what and how they wrote. Second, it was a collaborative project, something for which we have little evidence in Byzantium since the days of Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos’ team that produced the Excerpta and other encyclopedic works.88 In a brief section of his long funeral oration for Anna, George Tornikios says that it was she who had commissioned these works. The orator adds that he had personally heard Michael of Ephesus complain that the all-night labor involved had ruined his eyes.89 And in the preface to his commentary on book VI of the Nicomachean Ethics, Eustratios hails and praises his learned royal patron—a woman, though he does not name her—in terms that are very reminiscent of Tornikios’ oration; he says that it was she also who had previously asked him to write the commentary on book I. Anna, in turn, praised Eustratios for his wisdom, “both divine and external ( ρα εν),” in the Alexiad (14.8.9). Third, as a collaborative project the commentaries theoretically (but not fully in practice) subsumed the individuality of the contributors; they were assigned books of the Ethics in a way that made them seem interchangeable as scholars. It is fitting from this point of view that some of the contributors remain anonymous. The new commentaries were placed in manuscripts along with the old, in the order of the Ethics’ books. They were more self-standing texts than the scholia on the poets, but less so than Eustathios’ Commentary on the Iliad, being keyed to the original text through lemmata and not covering every single line of Aristotle. We saw above that John Galenos’ commentary on the Theogony jumped across long sections of the poem. What is the extent of the coverage in the Aristotelian commentaries? Predictably, they vary. Books I and II of the Ethics are roughly as long (about 20 OCT pages), but Eustratios’ commentary on book I has 121 pages in the CAG edition with almost 200 lemmata, while the scholia on book II have 18 pages with 27 lemmata; only the length of the average entry remains the same, at about two-thirds of a page. Michael, 88 89

ˇ cenko (1992). Cf. Lemerle (1971) 280–300; Sevˇ George Tornikios, Funeral Oration for Anna Komnene (p. 283).

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on the other hand, tended to write longer entries for each lemma, twice as long in fact. For example, his commentary on book IX is 68 pages long with only 50 lemmata, thus half in length compared to Eustratios on book I but with only one-fourth the number of lemmata. In other words, Eustratios goes through the text of book I very closely, leaving few lines without comment, whereas Michael makes longer jumps from lemma to lemma. This impression, however, is in part deceptive, because each of Michael’s entries actually goes on to discuss later portions of the text than that quoted at the head. We are dealing with different ways of organizing the material and of breaking the original text into sections. Michael is a lucid writer of philosophical Attic Greek. He prefers short and concise sentences, illustrates the basic points with appropriate and vivid examples, and is a very competent scholar.90 He stays close to the text, avoiding digressions and editorials. Moreover, he sticks to Aristotle’s ideas and eschews grammatical and historical commentary. The standards of relevance in these commentaries are much higher than what we find in, say, Tzetzes: the works are for those who want to understand the ideas of Aristotle’s philosophy. Whether what Michael wrote is useful or not will depend, as always, on who reads him and why. Throughout he maintains a sense that Aristotle is immediately relevant to “us,” creating a textual space in which the moral world of the Ethics and of twelfth-century Constantinople do not differ in their essentials, which is possible to believe on the assumption that in Aristotle we find discussions of perennial problems of human nature. On occasion, Michael makes this relevance direct, as when he refers to “those thrice-damned loan-sharks we have (κα ’ μ ς)” to illustrate a point about contracts (IX; 469.35–36); or when he notes that the education of children in Constantinople is handled haphazardly, by each man as he sees fit, like Homer’s Cyclopes (X; 610.11–16). On the other hand, he does not allow Christian values to interfere with his explication of Aristotle’s virtues and vices, staying close to the philosopher’s spirit and to his text. He sometimes uses Byzantine moral language—e.g., ο!τοι δ" ε#σιν ο$ α%ματα &δελφν κα' συγγενν )κχ"οντες κα' $ερ* συλντες, & "σμος τε γμους γαμο+ντες κα' δονα,ς &λλοκ.τοις κα' α#σχοτταις /αυτο0ς καταρρυπανοντες (IX; 484.18–20)—but there is nothing here that an ancient thinker would take issue with. At 90 For a discussion of Michael’s commentaries on the Politics, see Triantari-Mara (2002) c. 3.

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one point, Michael even mentions the rewards given by “our” God—  &π το+ δημιουργο+ μν εο+ &μοιβ —to support an Aristotelian position (IX; 506.31–32). He uses Greek exempla for illustration, except when he cites Basil of Caesarea and Gregory of Nazianzos as an example of perfect friendship (IX; 462.19–20, 479.5–6; the Christian tradition was wrong about their relationship, but Michael could not have known that). His comments are sometimes opaque. In discussing unequal relationships, he has this to say: “but the friendship of the father for the son or of the son for the father are not simply of the same kind or equal, given that the father is not equal to the son—but consider this in relation to our beliefs ()φ’ μν)—and vice versa” (IX; 462.21–24). What exactly does he want us to “consider”? It may have been something that he could not have said openly in a period when intellectuals were in danger of being tried precisely for “considering” such problems again.91 One final passage from Michael illustrates the verbal skill of these scholars who had to weave together the classical and Christian traditions. Commenting on the phrase that “one does not sacrifice everything to Zeus,” Michael notes that “there were things that the Greeks were not permitted to sacrifice to Zeus . . . who was the father, according to the Greeks (κα ’ 3Ελληνας), of both men and gods; likewise, we do not owe everything to our fathers, for we will not obey if they should call on us to turn away from the living God (το+ ζντος εο+) or betray our fatherland” (IX; 473.7–13). The paradox of a father forcing his son to betray his fatherland is nice, but note also that, having used a famous Homeric verse for Zeus, Michael appropriately then quotes a Biblical expression for the God of his Byzantine readers. In turning from Michael to Eustratios, I want to conclude with a different point about the purpose of the commentaries, one partly linked to this constant juxtaposition of Greek and Christian texts, exempla, and ideas. Eustratios, as is well known, had close personal experience of theological repression. His teacher Italos was condemned in 1082 and he himself in 1117. He probably wrote the commentaries after that; at any rate, in the preface to the commentary on Ethics VI he refers to old age and illness. His condemnation in 1117 involved the charge of employing Greek philosophy to clarify the faith and lapsing into heresy. This is

91 Browning (1975b); Clucas (1981) 3–8, 67–73. For Father-Son rhetoric and the Kappadokian Fathers, see Van Dam (2003).

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not the place to ascertain the truth behind this or to follow Eustratios’ subtle negotiation of (Greek) philosophy and (Christian) theology in his various works. In any case, the accusation of philosophizing according to the Greeks was very unfair in that it was difficult if not impossible to rebut, as the entire intellectual and ecclesiastical class of Byzantium was acquainted with and relied on Greek thought to some degree. For example, in a doctrinal letter against the Armenian Monophysites, Eustratios had cited as his theological sources “the wise thinkers among the Greeks” and “those who dogmatize about God on our side.”92 But, as we have seen, this juxtaposition was common among the scholars, philosophers, churchmen, and humanists of the twelfth century. Consider two of Eustratios’ own enemies within the Church, from different periods. Leo of Chalcedon, a stiff-necked hardliner on the matter of icons and opposed by Eustratios on the emperor Alexios’ behalf in the 1080s, cited the legal status of temples in antiquity in his defense of ecclesiastical property; for his part, Alexios had cited Perikles’ use of the treasury of Athena to justify his confiscations (at least so says Anna).93 And Niketas of Herakleia, one of Eustratios’ chief accusers in 1117, wrote, as we have seen, poems on the epithets of the gods in the form of liturgical hymns. It was not possible to avoid doing such things in an intellectual culture whose roots were so diverse and so tangled. We noted above the same juxtaposition of passages from both pagan and Christian authors in Gregory Pardos’ commentary on Hermogenes as well as in his prescriptions for what authors one should imitate. The study of rhetoric, as we saw, was not entirely theoretical, as it is with us, but was supposed to help Byzantine orators imitate the classics: it was practical. So too ethics. The twelfth-century philosophical commentators hoped and expected that their texts would help readers not merely to understand Aristotle better but also to become better people by applying his Ethics to their lives. Eustratios is explicit about this in the preface to his commentary on book I (2.1 ff.). “Ethics is a branch of practical philosophy” and can morally benefit individuals, cities, or even whole nations. “And one may find many exempla in books, both ours (κα ’ μ ς) and those that are outside ( ρα εν). For many good 92 Eustratios of Nicaea, Refutation (pp. 163–164); for his condemnation, see Joannou (1954); for Christian and Platonic passages in the Ethics commentaries, see Mercken (1973) 12*–13*. 93 Glavinas (1972) 110–111; cf. Alexios in Anna Komnene, Alex. 6.3.3 (this may be an elaboration or addition to the speech by Anna herself).

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men lived well among both the barbarians and the Greeks.” He goes on to name Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Job, Moses, Jesus the son of Nun, “and, if you want, Solon among the Greeks. But enough about them” (I; 3.26–4.8). 8. Conclusions Classical scholarship flourished in twelfth-century Byzantium; it had a diverse and extensive social background; its constituent branches— grammar, rhetoric, philosophy, manuscript editions, etc.—were interconnected at all levels; and it was pursued by serious and intelligent scholars who had a sound knowledge of Greek history and literature. Byzantine scholars, in short, were not interested only in the “preservation” of ancient texts but they wanted to understand them, to come to terms with their otherness, to find a way to integrate their virtues into their Christian society. They were willing to consider a wide range of strategies to make that possible. As a result, one can actually learn much about antiquity by studying the works of these scholars in a way that would not have been possible in the West for many centuries. This was because it was during the middle and late period of Byzantium that the basis for all subsequent Classical Studies was established. Much has been written about how methodologies, critical tools, and scholarly habits were transported from Byzantium to Italy in the Renaissance, “active” skills to complement “inert” manuscripts, the “form” to go along with the “matter.” I will mention here only Robert Grosseteste, a scholar of a slightly earlier period (the thirteenth century), who translated the new commentaries on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics and other Greek works into Latin using, among other aids, the Souda and the Etymologicum Genuinum.94 More importantly, in ways both ideological and practical the Byzantines basically invented what we recognize today as Classical Studies. Whether we like it or not, it was they who made most of the key decisions, and their choices about what to keep and what not were essentially “what ours would have been.”95 In part, that is because we 94 Mercken (1973) c. 2; Dionisotti (1988). For the Byzantine scholars’ role in the Renaissance, see the studies by D.J. Geanakoplos, N.G. Wilson, J. Monfasani, and others. 95 Littlewood (2004) 19.

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are their heirs; as classicists we are all Byzantines. This is difficult to accept if we subscribe to the polarity of Classical vs. Byzantine, but that polarity is not legitimate; it was devised for polemical ideological purposes. Certainly, there were some in Byzantium who were fundamentally opposed to all that the ancient Greek world stood for (or at least what they thought it stood for), but that was precisely how the idea of classical culture as something foreign yet compelling at the same time originated in the first place. Moreover, hard-line elements were never dominant in Byzantium and could be mocked or ignored by scholars. Besides, modernity has likewise defined itself in fundamental ways in opposition to antiquity,96 but most of its scholars have not on that count given up in their endeavor to access or even revive the “spirit” of the ancient world. The implications of this must be as practical for us as scholars as they are challenging ideologically. For example, it is being recognized that “fragments” of ancient authors can no longer be so neatly extracted from the later sources that quote them. We must look more closely at the authorial practices and literary contexts of those sources.97 As has been said about a comparable art-historical topic, “the taste of a later age is as much a part of an ivory’s ‘biography’ as its production and purpose, even if this truth inordinately complicates the job of those who seek to write its history.”98 There are hopeful signs of progress. “Late” antiquity is gradually being reintegrated into the study of antiquity, so that one day we may again enjoy the holistic view that the Byzantines took for granted.99 Diachronic studies of the Greek tradition are also picking up, in different disciplines, which now recognize that the philosophical and scholarly reception of the classics did not jump from antiquity to the Renaissance (the standard western view, with brief nods to the Arabic and Byzantine contributions). But serious obstacles must be overcome before Byzantium can be restored to its rightful place in this history.100 There is a widespread reluctance to engage with untranslated texts, 96 Philosophers such as Nietzsche and others forcefully argued that modern scholarship makes a travesty of classical Greece precisely because it is entangled in the ideological imperatives of modernity. 97 E.g., Flintoff (1976) 365; Brunt (1980); Pelling (2000). Many classicists who rely on collections of fragments are unaware of these problems. 98 Culter (1994) 141. 99 Cf. Treadgold (1984). 100 And the dangers pointed out by Brague (2002) 138 should be carefully avoided.

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especially when they come from a foreign and forbidding culture. On the other hand, there is also too much ignorance about Byzantium among classicists, the very ones who have the linguistic skills with which to approach it. This ignorance is not merely of the esoteric aspects that I have surveyed, but of its basic history and society. In this respect we are now worse off than in the nineteenth century, when modern Altertumswissenschaft was created. The pioneers of that discipline—and not only the likes of Mommsen and Bury—were essentially Byzantinists in that they were conversant with the material, were not afraid of it, and recognized its worth.101 That many of them did not call themselves Byzantinists is an ideological question. Classicists who now work with the basic tools crafted in the nineteenth century, have largely forgotten where it all came from. I will close with a story told about Arnaldo Momigliano by Peter Brown, both rare birds in this respect: He was as active in the early Byzantine period as ever Baynes and Jones had been. . . To a suggestion that the library might cancel its subscription to the Byzantinische Zeitschrift, on the grounds that it was unlikely to be frequently consulted, he replied that he himself consulted it regularly and that, in any case, if this should ever be so, the problem would not be what to do with the Byzantinische Zeitschrift, but what to do with a professor of ancient history who remained ignorant of such a periodical.102

101 102

See the portraits in Momigliano (1994). Brown (1988) 423.

THE LITERARY, CULTURAL AND POLITICAL CONTEXT FOR THE TWELFTH-CENTURY COMMENTARY ON THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS

Peter Frankopan One of the great challenges posed by study of the age of the Komnenian Emperors is that of trying to work out what kind of Empire Byzantium was in the late eleventh and the twelfth centuries. Was this an Empire that was introverted or one which looked to the outside for inspiration? Was it an Empire which was buoyant or one struggling to stave off imminent destruction by the forces which surrounded it? Was it an Empire which was becoming more and more liberal or one which was increasingly repressive and dogmatic? The answer, of course, is that it was both and it was neither. Under the Komnenoi, Byzantium was highly stratified, and yet individuals of low and obscure origin could and did rise to the summit; it was closed in some ways, and yet open to outsiders in others; it was deeply conservative, and yet it was also open to new ideas. One of the reasons for this ambivalence is that there are competing images at play for the period which started with the usurpation of Alexios I in 1081. The evidence for the century or so which followed is abundant and often colorful, and as such allows for a wide range of perspectives. The skill, then, is to set out conclusions which are both suitably nuanced, but which do not simply park contradictory or difficult source material on one side in order to drive home expansive arguments which raise as many problems as they solve. A case in point is that of assessing the interest in, value and importance of philosophy in Byzantium in the twelfth century, a topic that is not as straightforward as might first seem. The aim of this paper is to try to provide a context for the commissioning of Eustratios of Nicaea’s commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics, or, to be more precise, his commentaries on a part of that work. It will seek to provide a literary, cultural and political context for the observations on Aristotle’s work, which proved enormously influential not least in Western Europe and to Western European political thought. Eustratios makes it clear that his commentary on the Ethics was not his own idea. Rather, as he tells us at the start of his observations on

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Book I, he was prompted to write by a person of high status in contemporary Constantinople. Refusal was out of the question, according to Eustratios, since this individual had been his benefactor in the past, including through some very difficult times.1 The author gives little else away as to the identity of his patron, saying nothing more about who this individual was, or what their motivation was for seeking a guide to the Ethics. At the start of his commentary on Book VI, however, he returns to the subject of his patron, whom he describes this time as a high-ranking member of the imperial family, addressing her as ‘βασιλ'ς εοσεβ ς, βασιλ'ς φιλολ.γε, βασιλ'ς φιλγα ε κα' φιλ.καλε’.2 Although Eustratios does not provide the name of the ‘empress’ in question, there is little doubt that he must be talking about Anna Komnene, the eldest daughter of Alexios I Komnenos, sister of John II and aunt of Manuel I.3 Anna was the author of one of the most famous all medieval texts and one of the most celebrated Byzantine histories, the Alexiad, which covers the reign of Alexios I from his seizure of the throne in 1081 to his death in 1118. This cavernous text provides ample opportunity to pick out areas and themes of specific interest to the author. These certainly include philosophy in general and perhaps Aristotle specifically, who is quoted directly or indirectly on a handful of occasions in the Alexiad.4 Coupled with Anna’s own composition is the reputation that she acquired during and shortly after her lifetime from other intellectuals in Byzantium. Theodore Prodromos called her “wise Anna, absolute intellect, home of the Graces”, and referred to her as the fourth Grace and as the tenth Muse, stating that she loved both truth and philosophy.5 We learn of her love of literature, her unquenchable thirst for truth, and, again, her keen interest in philosophy from an oration

1 τινς τν μλιστα λ.γου &ξων μ ς πρς το6ργον &νερε σαντος κα τινα )κ "σ αι σαφ νειαν το+ πρ7του τν 8Αριστοτ"λους 8Η ικν Νικομαχεων )ντειλαμ"νου, :ν ο;κ <ν παραιτε,σ αι δι* τ )ν πολλο,ς α;τν &ναγκαοις ε=ρε,ν μ ς ε6 )ργασμενον> & ετε,ν δ? τν ο@τω πρς μ ς διακεμενον κα' παραιτε,σ αι τι τν δυνατν )πιτττοντα Aγνωμον Bμα κα' &φιλ.σοφον. In EN 1.13–18. On this passage, see also Mercken (1973) 10* f.

In EN 256.3 f. For the full dedicatory passage, see 256.3–257.12. Browning (1962) 1–12, esp. 6–7. 4 Alex. Prologue, I.2.13, p. 5; II.1.26 ff., p. 6; II.4.v.84 f., 89 f., p. 64; III.6.iv.52 f., p. 101; V.8.v.93 f., p. 163; V.9.i, p. 165; V.9.iv.82 f., p. 166; X.11.iv.63 ff., p. 318; XII.5.ii.85, p. 371; XII.5.iv.33 ff., p. 372; XIII.1.iii.32 f.; XIII.4.i.40 f., p. 394; XIV.7.iii.16 f., p. 450. 5 Kurtz (1907), 88.43 f.; Epithalamium col. 1401. 2 3

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delivered by George Tornikios in her honor some time after her death in the early 1150s.6 It is helpful too, then, that Anna’s reputation is confirmed by two authors hostile to the Komnenoi, for this allows us to allay concerns that Prodromos and Tornikios’ praise is biased by their own panegyrical praise for the porphyrogenneta—that is to say, that their record of Anna’s intellectual curiosity should be read primarily as a rhetorical device in the portrayals of the imperial princess. That Choniates praises Anna for her philosophical interests is significant therefore; so too are Zonaras’ comments about her natural intelligence and the sheer hard work which led to her mastery of the Greek language.7 Zonaras also reveals that Anna not only engrossed herself in books, but also surrounded herself with scholars or learned men, and, moreover, took discussions with them very seriously.8 This strikes a chord with Tornikios’ oration too, for the author of this speech specifically talks of a group of scholars who surrounded Anna and who were engaged in intellectual pursuits.9 So striking is this image that modern historians have come to talk of a circle or ‘salon’ of Anna Komnene.10 Tornikios goes further than Zonaras, though, for while the latter presents Anna Komnene as being surrounded by intelligent men, Tornikios suggests that she did not simply allow a circle of intellectuals to gather around her, but lay at the very heart of this group. It was Anna, according to Tornikios, who prompted, cajoled and inspired those around her. It was Anna, says George, who sought out individuals and prompted them to work on Aristotle and Plato, on Euclid and Ptolemy.11 She was no passive patron, therefore, indulging those around her with funds and scholarly comforts; rather, her patronage was active, at times even aggressive. One scholar from Ephesus, certainly Michael of Ephesus, whom she commissioned to work on Aristotle, complained that Anna’s relentless goading to provide commentaries had made him lose his sight, as he had been forced to work through the night by 6 Lettres 221–323. For the dating of the speech to c. 1155 and Anna’s death to c. 1153, see 21 f.; cf. Browning (1962) 4. 7 Historia 10.13–16; Epitome Historiarum v. III, XVIII.26.12–15, p. 754. 8 Epitome Historiarum v. III, XVIII.26.15 f., p. 754. 9 Lettres 281 ff. 10 Browning (1962) 8 (although Browning does not emphasise the word, preferring the less contentious ‘circle’); Magdalino (1993) 332. 11 Lettres 281.

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flickering and weak candle-light, presumably in order to meet deadlines of some kind imposed by his patron.12 We can identify other members too of the circle of intellectuals whom Anna surrounded herself with. To Eustratios of Nicaea and Michael of Ephesus should perhaps be added two scholars who wrote on the Rhetoric, one of whom remains anonymous but the other, one Stephen, most likely Stephen, metropolitan of Trebizond, also taught Theodore Prodromos.13 Whether this identification is correct or not, the fact that we know that Stephanos had previously written on the Ethics (as well as on the Rhetoric) makes him a prime candidate for inclusion as one of Anna’s scholars—even though, as far as we know, his views on the Ethics have not survived to the present day. There is, of course, a reason to seek to identify scholars who were patronized by Anna, other than simple laziness to associate any writer or commentator on philosophy in the mid-twelfth century with a lightning rod patron. This comes from the fact that it is possible to deduce an obvious coherence to what Anna was trying to achieve, and to assert that her choice of texts, if not of scholars, was deliberate and specific. George Tornikios makes much of Anna’s interests in Aristotle, Plato, Euclid and Ptolemy (repeating this grouping of authors’ names twice in his speech).14 It goes without saying that Anna may have sought, commissioned and even received commentaries on works by all these authors, and it is simply a matter of chance that we posses those on Aristotle’s treatises but not on those of any of the others. However, there may be another explanation here, namely that Anna’s interests were primarily directed at the works of Aristotle specifically, an observation not without some significance. The obvious clue here comes from the work of Michael of Ephesus. We know that in addition to providing a commentary on Books V, IX and X of the Nicomachean Ethics, Michael also provided notes on a wide range of other Aristotelian works, including the Organon, the Metaphysics, the Rhetoric and the Politics, as well as on the zoographical and anthropological works.15 It is no coincidence then that it was Aristotle whom Michael of Ephesus was studying as his eyesight failed: he had Lettres 283.9–12. Magdalino (1993) 332; Browning (1975b) 17; Wilson (1996) 182. 14 Lettres 281.15; 301.16. 15 Tatakis (2003) 174; Browning (1975b) 16; Browning (1962) 6; Wilson (1996) 182; Mercken (1973) 24*. 12 13

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been set the task of providing commentaries on all those treatises on which either none existed or which were, for whatever reason, considered inadequate.16 The sheer workload and productivity of Michael of Ephesus and the obvious commissioning of Eustratios of Nicaea to work on the Ethics has perhaps understandably led to the view that Anna had devised a collaborative approach which was focused on providing a new corpus on Aristotle, and on Aristotle alone—a conclusion which quite naturally and obviously begs the questions of how she set about addressing his works, what she hoped to achieve by commissioning commentaries and why this particular author stood out for Anna.17 It is difficult to be precise about the mechanics of how Anna delegated work on the Ethics for there are precious few clues provided in the commentaries as to when they were composed. Moreover, the fact that individual scholars did not address consecutive sections of the text does not make it any easier for us to understand how (or why) Aristotle was parceled out to Anna’s stable of commentators. We know, for example, that Eustratios did his commentary on Book I before turning to deal with Book VI, because he tells us this himself.18 What is more obscure, however, is why this individual did not cover Books II–V, or if he did, why these do not survive. Certainly, in the absence of any meaningful evidence, particularly on Michael of Ephesus (who has been variously placed in the first half of the eleventh century to the 1080s but now seemingly decisively to the first half of the twelfth), it is hard to assert who wrote what when.19 Inferences which we can draw from Eustratios’ career and the apparent start-point of Anna’s patronage of scholars might lead us to conclude that he preceded Michael—which is to say that the commentaries were consecutive, rather than collaborative, with the obvious implication this has for our understanding of the why Anna was seeking to address the text. Eustratios was a deacon, apparently at Saint Sophia by the early 1080s, and so by the time of Alexios’ death must have been in his sixties 16 17 18

Lettres 283.9–12. Browning (1962) esp. 7 f.; Wilson (1996) 181 ff.; Magdalino (1993) 332. In his introduction to his commentary on Book VI, Eustratios writes: τονυν )πε'

πρ χρ.νου τινς )ζ τησας μ ς )κ "σ αι σαφ νειαν ε#ς τ πρτον τν Νικομαχεων το+ 8Αριστοτ"λους 8Η ικν, κα' με,ς σοι πεισ "ντες : &πC τησας πεποι καμεν . . . In EN

256.26–257.3. 19 See Mercken (1991) 13*–17*.

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at the very least.20 Meanwhile, his limited output on Aristotle might sit easily with a hypothesis that he did not have the chance to produce more than the two books that survive, whether because of infirmity, old age or death. In this respect, we might also note that George Tornikios does not mention Eustratios by name. This could be because the latter had been involved in scandal, as we shall see.21 It was not long after Tornikios delivered his oration in the early 1150s, though, that we find Eustratios’ name being used in a context which suggests that the stigma which may have been attached to it had dissipated somewhat.22 So perhaps another explanation for his omission from Tornikios’ speech is that he was not part of living memory (as Michael of Ephesus obviously was), and had been alive too long ago to have a resonance with Tornikios or Tornikios’ audience. If it is difficult to draw any firm conclusions about when the commentaries were commissioned (other than in the first half of the twelfth century), which order they were tackled in, and how or indeed if they were divided up, then at least we can say something about whom Anna turned to in order to address the texts in question. Michael of Ephesus, for one, may not have been an entirely original thinker, and indeed his limitations have been stressed, perhaps a little unfairly, by at least one modern scholar who argues that his interest in the biological works and his unfailing observations on physiology and psychology may indicate that he was a physician.23 However, whatever he may have lacked in vision, he made up for in terms of his diligence, for his output was prodigious, an indefatigable accumulator who paid for his hard work with his eyesight. Eustratios of Nicaea, in contrast, had an impressive pedigree as a theologian, prominent as a leading authority on icons during the trials of Leo of Chalcedon in the 1080 and 1090s, and, later, on the errors of the Latins as well as on the Armenian heresy.24 Eustratios is modest about his abilities in his commentaries, stating that he had turned his

20 Mercken, following Draeseke, gives Eustratios’ dates as c. 1050–c. 1120 (Mercken (1973) 6*), although within this there is room for manouevre. In 1082, at the time of the trial of John Italos, Eustratios and his fellow accused were termed ε;λαβ"στατοι δικονοι. Gouillard (1985) 59.432. 21 Cf. the comments by Mercken (1991) 24*. 22 See above, note 24. 23 Mercken (1991) 16* f. 24 For the various stages of Eustratios’ career, see Mercken (1973) 6* ff.

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hand to them not because of any particular aptitude, but because he had been forced to undertake this task, for reasons he leaves obscure.25 Eustratios, it should be stressed, had been a loyal supporter of Anna’s father, the Emperor Alexios. But he had become a tainted figure in Constantinople: he had saved his skin once in 1082 when he had been tried alongside other pupils of John Italos, only to be acquitted on signing a document denouncing and anathematizing his former master.26 But in 1117, he had not been able to escape the hounding of other members of the clergy, in particular by Niketas Seides. In spite of the efforts of the Emperor and the Patriarch to intervene on his behalf, Eustratios had been anathematized, with his errors promptly added to the Synodikon, the register of Byzantine Orthodoxy—even though he had publicly renounced all the errors of which he had been accused.27 It is true that even the most severe punishments that came with anathematization did not necessarily mean that Eustratios became an outcast. A compelling case has been made, for example, that John Italos was rehabilitated and played a role at Antioch liaising with the Crusaders some fifteen years after his condemnation. But exceptional circumstances—and in this case Italos’ knowledge of southern Italy and his personal involvement in diplomatic relations between Byzantium and the Normans in the 1070s—lay behind John’s re-emergence later in Alexios’ reign.28 It is likely and indeed probable that the stain of Eustratios’ condemnation lived with him for some time. So even though we know that Eustratios’ reputation eventually was restored, or at least was restored sufficiently for him to be cited as an authority at one of the Blachernai councils of 1156, there should be little doubt that Anna’s patronage of and involvement with him should be seen as striking, not least since the commentaries logically post-date Eustathios’ disgrace and for that matter, that of Anna shortly after her father’s death in 1118.29

25

In his commentary on the Posterior Analytics, Eustratios insists that he is not a profesional commentator, but has done the work )ν παρ"ργDω. Mercken (1991) 25*. At the beginning of his commentary on Book VI of the Nicomachean Ethics he is also very coy about his abilities (In EN 256.22–26), but this is very much a topos. 26 Gouillard (1985) 133–174; for Eustratios’ involvement, see esp. 158–161. 27 Gouillard (1967) 1–313; for Eustratios, esp. 68–71. 28 Magdalino (2003) 50 f. 29 For Eustathios’ rehabilitation (at least in so far as being cited positively) see Magdalino (1993) 279. For Anna’s fall following an apparent attempt to seize the throne for herself and for her husband, see for example, Hill (2000) 45–62.

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This is particularly true given the ultra-conservative views that Anna regularly articulates in the Alexiad, and particularly in matters to do with the church. John Italos receives a brutal treatment from the author; Leo of Chalcedon and Neilos of Calabria fare little better.30 Not surprisingly, given her own championing of Eustratios, the trial and condemnation of this individual is not even mentioned in the text, with Anna instead mentioning her favoured scholar in suitably fond and adulatory terms.31 Nevertheless, there should be little doubt that Anna had turned to a figure whose reputation had been tainted in contemporary Byzantium. It may be that it was Eustratios’ disgrace which lay behind his opaque identification of Anna as his patron. Anna is not named by Eustratios, perhaps for fear of embarrassing her or compromising her, or possibly both.32 But while it is tempting to see his reticence as a shield to protect his sponsor, it is also important to stress that Anna too at this time was persona non grata in Constantinople and Byzantine society. According to Anna herself, she had been secluded in a convent and excluded from contact with her friends, family and peers.33 Some modern scholars have tried to pair the scandal of the cleric with that surrounding Anna herself—although the issue of Anna’s apparent disgrace and isolation following her father’s death is perhaps less dramatic and certainly more complicated than is usually assumed.34 The logical extension of the argument here—of seeing Anna and those around her such as Eustratios, and presumably others too, as a concentration of victims of Komnenian power—is too outlandish to take seriously; and in any event leads discussion in a direction which is neither welcome nor useful, since this predicates a view that Aristotle and Aristotelian thought was somehow part of a Komnenian counter-culture— something which should be dismissed out of hand. In fact, the more productive question to ask here is not whether the personal circumstances of Anna Komnene and Eustratios of Nicaea are significant and interesting, but rather why it was that there was a specific focus on Aristotle in the early part of the twelfth century. The answer here lies in the first instance in assessing the philosophical 30 On John Italos: Alex. V.8–9, pp. 161–167. On Leo of Chalcedon: Alex. V.2.iv–iv, p. 144 ff.; VII.4.i, p. 215. On Neilos: Alex. X.1, pp. 281–283. 31 Alex. XIV.8.ix.28 ff. 32 Mercken (1973) 10* f. 33 Alex. XIV.7.vi, p. 452. 34 e.g. Thomas (1991) 294 ff.

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enquiry prompted and funded by Anna in the wider context of a period of profound change in Byzantine social, literary, and intellectual culture in this period. This was, after all, a time that saw increasing experimentation with literary forms. Texts such as the Timarion, Digenis Akritis and even the Alexiad itself are but a small number of writings from the twelfth century which are (rightly) perceived as doing something new in Byzantine literature and Byzantine thought.35 Alongside literary innovation, we can note evidence of increasing social mobility. The founding of the Orphanotropheion, set up with the express intention of educating not only the poor but also foreigners, can be seen as the prime example of the expansion of access to education and the obvious implications that brought with it.36 We can pick up smatterings from the sources about the greater availability of the written word, with Theodore Prodromos noting with approval the efforts of the Patriarch John IX Agapetos (1111–1134) to put more books into circulation—including, it is worth noting here, those by Aristotle—by having teams of scribes make copies of selected texts.37 Even the introduction of schedography, a light-weight short-cut to gaining knowledge of the classics, can be seen as a companion to the increasing dissemination of ideas—even if Anna Komnene and John Tzetzes can barely contain their horror at the impurity of this approach.38 Indeed, we might go even further still and try to place Anna’s desire for commentaries on Aristotle in the context of the multiple heresies that were proclaimed and dealt with in the reign of her father, Alexios, and of her nephew, Manuel I, though apparently not in that of her brother. What the various trials show, of course, is that Orthodoxy was coming under greater scrutiny, that it was being stretched time and again beyond its traditional defense of simply being able to answer theological and Christological questions from authority.39 In the case of Eustratios himself, the offence which he caused stemmed from his claim that Christ had argued with the help of Aristotelian syllogisms, something which provoked a wild reaction from enough senior

35 For an overview of changes in Byzantine literature in the 12th Century, see Kazhdan (1984). Also Magdalino (1993) 1–26. 36 Alex. XV.7.iii–vii, pp. 482–485. 37 Logos 239–241. 38 For Anna’s brief comments on schedography: Alex. XV.7.ix.31 f., p. 485. For Tzetzes, see Chiliades IX.710–715, p. 351; XI.575–576, p. 424. 39 See e.g. Angold (1997) 141 ff., 260–266. Also Browning (1975b) esp. 12–19.

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members of clergy to outgun both Emperor and Patriarch and, of course, the metropolitan of Nicaea, Eustratios himself.40 In this respect, therefore, it only seems natural to seek to place Anna Komnene’s interest in Aristotle within a framework of innovation, of new ideas, of stretching the boundaries and taking theology and philosophy into new territory. But we need to caution excitement about the apparent sudden change in Byzantium in the twelfth century. There should be no doubting that all the indicators pointing towards liberalism, experimentation and innovation are valid. As Paul Magdalino has rightly stressed, though, these can be easily counter-balanced with negatives too. For example, any discussion about an ignition of interest in philosophy should be off-set by at least noting that, as far as we know, the position of hypatos ton philosophon lay vacant for much of the twelfth century, until finally filled by Michael (later Patriarch of Constantinople) towards the end of the 1160s.41 The placing of Theodore of Smyrna firmly in Hades in the Timarion likewise gives an important signal that not everyone in Byzantium was thrilled by change, or at least by philosophical inquiry.42 And we should also add that, while the trials of John Italos, Neilos of Calabria, Leo of Chalcedon, Eustratios and others in this period might at first glance seem to provide examples of reactions by a conservative regime, desperately trying to defend itself, a more convincing case can be made that the condemnation of these individuals had little or nothing to do with their ideas; rather, they tell us more about more practical problems experienced in contemporary Byzantium, principally that of imperial image-making, and, later, of imperial control of the clergy. So what was it about Aristotle that Anna Komnene was so interested in? Why, of all the authors she could have sought enlightenment on, did she choose this one? Was her choice reflective of an attempt to reconcile the pagan world with Christianity, and, if so, why was there a greater effort to do this in the twelfth century than in previous generations? Was Anna’s interest in philosophy in any way driven by her personal experiences, and indeed by her education, where by all

Angold (1995) 73 ff. Browning (1975b) 16; also, for Michael’s presentation of Aristotle, philosophy and theology in his inaugural lecture, see Browning (1961) 181 f., 189 f. 42 Browning (1975b) 16; Timarion 71 ff. 40 41

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accounts—including her own, but also those of her contemporaries— she was remarkable for her curiosity and intelligence; that is to say, was her interest the natural culmination of a life which had seen her study grammar and rhetoric in secret without her parents knowing and which had progressed to take in more erudite and challenging questions? Anna Komnene answers this last question for us emphatically in the Alexiad. According to the author, philosophical inquiry had all but died out before her father took the throne. The result was that most people enjoyed fatuous pursuits, seeking out luxury and pleasure, and wasting their time doing things like catching quail, or playing draughts.43 As Anna makes quite clear on regular occasions in the text, the study of philosophy was the highest prize for an individual to pursue.44 Unfortunately for those concerned, figures like John Italos and John Solomon were simply poor scholars, who in spite of their apparent vast learning had entirely failed to grasp the deepest truths of philosophy—according to Anna Komnene at any rate.45 Both, indeed, were guilty of misunderstanding Aristotle specifically, a point which Anna labors in an obvious attempt to contrast her own aptitude on Aristotle with the failings of these others.46 As a matter of fact, Anna’s study of Aristotle appears in almost the very first line of the Alexiad. Her proud claim to have studied the treatises of Aristotle (τ*ς 8Αριστοτελικ*ς τ"χνας) as well as the dialogues of Plato, appears in the same sentence in which Anna introduces herself in the text. In other words, she chooses at the outset to define herself as an Aristotelian and Platonic scholar, a point she underlines by stressing that she has not only studied these texts, but has done so at great length.47 Indeed, Anna’s affirmation of her own philosophical interests is a theme that runs through the course of the Alexiad. The fact that the theme of authorial objectivity is also pervasive is perhaps no coincidence, then. In each case we can read into Anna’s interests and pre-occupations a desire to parade both her classical training and

Alex. V.8.ii.50–57, p. 162; XV.7.ix.25, p. 485. e.g. Alex. V.9.iii, p. 165 f. 45 On Italos’ inability to grasp the depths of philosophy: Alex. V.8.iii.68 ff., p. 162 ff.; on John Solomon’s philosophical pretensions and inadequacies: Alex. XII.5.iv.33–36, p. 372. 46 Ibidem. 47 Alex. Prologue, I.2.9–17, p. 5 f. 43 44

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her scholarly pretensions, something which is in turn underscored by the frequent allusions to antique literature and imagery which appear in the text.48 This, then, brings to a head Anna Komnene’s promotion of philosophy, her patronage of Aristotle, the funeral oration of George Tornikios and the Alexiad itself. The ideal, of course, would be to find a consistency between Anna’s interests and her life and work, a connection between her patronage of Eustratios of Nicaea and her composition of the Alexiad. However, a reading of the Alexiad proves highly disappointing in this regard. Anna devotes precious little coverage to serious philosophical discussion. Apart from the occasional dismissal of quail hunting or of schedography, coupled with appropriate token comments about the importance of study, of literature and of philosophy, there is almost nothing that would indicate that the author had more than the briefest of interests in Aristotle, let alone had commissioned the first commentaries on some of his works.49 Indeed, Anna deliberately passes up the opportunity to go into any detail, even when offered the perfect opportunity to do so. For example, the author devotes considerable attention to the heresy of John Italos, whom she exposes to a brutal personal attack, which focuses on the shortness of his temperament, the crudeness of his grammar, and the roughness of his style. While noting that he had a particular expertise on Aristotle (indeed, the first of the anathemata proclaimed against him concerned his use of syllogisms), she neither goes into what this expertise was in order to critique it positively or otherwise (as we might have expected), nor considers whether the charges which were brought against him had any merit or intellectual value.50 If Anna’s reluctance to engage is surprising for someone whose avowed interests, according to herself and to George Tornikios, and witnessed to by her patronage of the commentaries, were firmly centered on Aristotle, then so too is the limited use she makes of his work. Aristotle is quoted, directly or indirectly, fewer than ten times in the Alexiad. This is scarcely more than the number of times Anna draws on Euripides, John Chrysostom or Galen, and is similar to her Buckler(1929) 165–221. See for example, Alex. V.8.iii.57–68, p. 162, XV.7.viii.25–34, p. 485. 50 For Anna Komnene’s vitriolic condemnation of Italos, see Alex. V.8.i–V.9.vii, pp. 161–167. The author notes Italos’ specific focus on Aristotle, V.8.v.93–94, p. 163. For the proclamations against him, see Gouillard, (1967) 137–161. 48 49

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use of Plato. In other words, to judge from the Alexiad alone, independent of Eustratios’s dedication and the speech of George Tornikios, it would be fair to say that there is nothing in the Alexiad that would suggest that the author of the text had devoted a considerable amount of time, energy and resources to overseeing work on Aristotle or on the Ethics. The significance of this should be stressed by noting that Anna’s commissioning of the commentaries certainly pre-dates the composition of the Alexiad; that is to say, therefore, that the omission of discussion of Aristotle, of the Ethics and of philosophy in general is all the more surprising. We can assert this time-line with some confidence. First, Tornikios states that Anna brought her intellectual interests fully into the open following the death of her father in 1118.51 Secondly, to judge from the formulaic speech, it would seem that Anna’s philosophical investigations certainly preceded the death of her own husband, Nikephoros Bryennios, at the end of the 1130s.52 Moreover, the presumptions we can make about Eustratios’ age again points clearly to the fact that Anna’s patronage naturally dates to 1120s and perhaps the 1130s. By contrast, then, we learn that Anna only began work on the Alexiad after the death of Bryennios and, indeed, only took up her history of Alexios’ reign following the accession of Manuel I Komnenos in 1143, a statement which sits comfortably with the subtext provided by this Emperor’s reign which runs right through the course of the text.53 That is to say, therefore, that Anna’s interest in and concern with Aristotle were well-established by the time that she came to write an account of her father’s reign. The invisibility of Aristotle in the Alexiad should prompt the question of why Anna had sought out commentaries in the first place, and what she hoped these would teach. One thing is clear: they certainly did not teach her a great deal about Aristotle. Of the seven references to the Nicomachean Ethics in the Alexiad, three are inaccurate. Moreover, in more than one case, Anna has misunderstood the fundamentals of what Aristotle was saying. In the case of John Taronites, for example, Anna seems to equate her cousin’s flattery of the Emperor with Aristotle’s Lettres 269–271. Ibid. 295. 53 There seems little reason to doubt Anna’s comment that she began work in earnest during the reign of Manuel I Komnenos, Alex. XIV.7.v.47–51, pp. 451–452. For the context of Manuel, see Magdalino (2000) 15–43. 51 52

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model of the Magnanimous Man, failing to see that Taronites’ praise of Alexios is precisely the opposite of the quality Aristotle advocates for an independent check on a ruler and his power.54 More troubling still is a quote which comes towards the very end of the Alexiad, which either represents a case of show-boating by the author, or is remarkable for its sloppiness. Returning to the theme that hers is an objective account of Alexios’ reign, she is at pains to note that her first love was not the law of nature (i.e. her father), but rather the truth. In a casual throwaway, Anna notes that a philosopher once said (Eς πο τις Fφη φιλ.σοφος) that both were dear, but of these the truth is the most excellent.55 Perhaps we should understand Anna’s standoffishness in the most generous way we can, that is, as an aside for those who knew whom she was quoting, and an almost ironic nod to Aristotle. The simplicity of the quote does nothing to re-assure us, however, and it is hardly the level of intellectual artistry practiced by skilled performers like Michael Psellos. Indeed, if we advance the argument further, we soon find other hints which support the conclusion that Anna was perhaps not as interested in philosophy or in Aristotle’s philosophy as might be inferred from her sponsorship of the commentaries. There is little, for example, in George Tornikios’ oration which suggests that Anna’s interests were high-powered. If anything, Tornikios says rather the opposite, offering enough to paint a picture of an intellectual butterfly, flitting from grammar and rhetoric one minute, to medicine the next and philosophy the minute after that.56 We can surely read something into his comments about Anna, which even for a panegyric are on the edge of being farfetched: according to George, although Anna was fascinated by Euclid, Ptolemy, Plato and Aristotle, she did not always agree with these sages. Indeed, many a time came that she did not yield to them. In fact, says Tornikios, Anna often took these ancient scholars on, with the implicit suggestion that she was able to out-manoeuvre them with ease. It comes as no surprise that George does not go into detail here, and chooses not

54 Alex. XIII.1.iii.22–28, pp. 384–385. Anna appears to think that by indulging and flattering her father, Taronites was a true dialectician (‘διαλεκτικν’), meaning this approvingly. Not only does Aristotle use this word in a negative sense, but he specifically states that tyrants appreciate weak men—like Taronites in other words—who praise them, EN, VIII.6, p. 1157. 55 Alex. XIV.7.iii.13–17, p. 450. 56 Lettres 269–271, 283.

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to record which points Anna specifically disagreed with, nor what arguments she articulated which dealt with these once and for all.57 But the intention here is not to belittle Anna, whose erudition, curiosity and intellect are patently clear from the Alexiad as well as from her peers. She was emphatically not a cosseted and vacuous patron of imperial blood who allowed herself to be flattered and manipulated by dullard scholars. Rather, a re-evaluation needs to be done of precisely what her interests and indeed her aims were when it came to commissioning commentaries from Eustratios of Nicaea and others. For there is a coherence here that unites the various elements and which we can pull together about her life—her patronage, her intellectual interests, and her own work. The theme that unites these more naturally and credibly than the pursuit of philosophy itself is that of Hellenism. This is the prism that we need to look through if we are to understand Anna’s work and, indeed, her interest in Aristotle. Anna Komnene was not so much interested in the ideas that Aristotle or, indeed, the other classical philosophers was promoting, as in what he and they stood for. And what they stood for was an identity that Byzantium was rapidly coming to embrace as it sought to define itself relative to the peoples around it. The Alexiad is nothing if not a modern re-working of an ancient Greek epic. Its name, self-consciously lifted from Homer, places the narrative from the outset in a classical tradition—something Anna rapidly confirms at the start of the text by reference to the greatest of the scholars of classical antiquity and, specifically, of classical Greece: Plato and Aristotle. Alexios and his actions are repeatedly described in heroic language in the course text, the struggles facing Emperor and Empire routinely compared with those of Herakles, or Odysseus, the qualities and characteristics of the eponymous hero likened to those easily identifiable in classical Greek literature—that is, military prowess, tirelessness, religious orthodoxy (albeit in a Christian context) and above all courage in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.58 Anna’s own interests too fit the mould of the classical scholar, with a focus on rhetoric, style and grammar. For Anna, far more important than Italos’ heresies or even his use of Aristotelian methodology— a charge which led to the condemnation of Eustratios and, more57 58

Ibid. 301. Dyck (1986) 113–120; Buckler (1929) esp. 197 f.

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over, something which she implicitly promoted herself through her own patronage of the commentators—was his improper use of the Greek language, his failure to stick to the rules of grammar, and his lack of literary style. Anna was less interested in the wider philosophical questions about the eternity of matter, or about the relationship between the human and the divine Christ, than she was about the integrity of a Hellenic ideal in Byzantium. This was why she paid little attention to detailed discussion and barely referred to the former in the Alexiad, but focused closely on the latter, repeatedly articulating characteristics that she considered to be truly Byzantine, and those that she did not. In this context, then, there is an obvious and striking consistency to Anna’s account of her father’s reign that is significant here. For the author of the Alexiad, all foreigners, or more specifically, all nonByzantines, were barbarians. The term ‘βρβαρος’ is used indiscriminately about the Turks and steppe nomads; and tellingly, also applies it willingly to Christians, frequently referring to Latins, whether Crusaders or not, as barbarians.59 And in fact, Anna does rather more, for as Jonathan Shepard astutely noted, she identifies characteristics common to all those outside the sphere of Constantinople, regardless of ethnic origin, linguistic or social background, or indeed religious persuasion. Latins, Turks and nomads (the three major groupings of peoples in the text) are all untrustworthy, avaricious, immoral and inconsistent. In other words, then, an important part of the Alexiad is as much about setting up an ideal in terms of the figure of the Emperor Alexios Komnenos, as it is about establishing a strong sense of behavior, ethics and norms which are specifically not Byzantine—and consequently underscoring those which are. And of course, Anna was not alone in her promotion of Hellenism, nor conversely in her treatment of the world outside Byzantium. The attempts to reconcile the classical (pagan) scholars with Christianity had moved on a long way since John Chrysostom dismissed the ancient philosophers’ views uniformly as ashes and dust, comparing their throats to an open grave with everything inside it reeking of foulness, and calling their teachings worm-eaten.60 By the eleventh century, we can even find John Mauropous not just defending Plato, as his friend John Xiphilinos had done, but praying for his soul and that of Plutarch

59 60

Shepard (1988) 97–98. Tatakis (2003) xxii, citing Homily 66 of John Chrysostom, 224 f.

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(though curiously not that of Aristotle).61 Other writers too routinely talk of ‘barbarians’ and barbarianism—even when talking about the Christian west in this period.62 But it was in the twelfth century, at precisely this time, that the concept of Hellenism, the renewed and sustained interest in the classical Greek world, really took off. It is in the context of Hellenic and indeed Hellenistic inspiration behind works such as those of Theodore Prodromos and Constantine Manasses on Rodanthe and Dosikles and Aristandros and Kallithea respectively, that we should place Anna Komnene’s patronage of Eustratios of Nicaea. Anna’s primary interest was in linking the Byzantium of her father, her brother and her nephew with the classical world. And indeed, this is precisely what the Alexiad is—a text where Gods, giants, heroes and impossible quests feature alongside mortals, their struggles, and the protection shown by (a Christian) God. In this sense, then, the references to the authors of classical Greece, and to the imagery of antique Hellenism is significant in so far as it showcases the framework in which Anna sought to present not only Byzantium during the reign of her father, but which also reflects the time of the composition of the text in the 1140s and the context which that in turn provides. That Anna was not concerned with consideration of philosophical analysis, but rather with the promotion of philosophy per se and more importantly, with Hellenistic philosophy, is something which is consistent during the course of the Alexiad, but which also carries a resonance with her promotion of Aristotle through her stable of commentators. For Anna Komnene’s primary concern was with resurrecting or at least promoting scholarship (including but not limited solely to philosophy). In spite of her criticisms of the rich and powerful in Constantinople who had allowed figures like Italos, Theodore Blachernites and even Bogomils into their houses, Anna was herself interested in the promotion of ideas. The fact that it is possible to identify a specific set of ideas that she sought to advance in the Alexiad and beyond through her commissioning of the commentaries on Aristotle is invaluable in so far as it establishes not only what she was trying to promote and also what she was avoiding through her silence. In this way, therefore, the significance of her patronage of Eustratios of Nicaea lies in precisely the act of sponsorship, rather than necessarily the value (or even the understanding) of precisely what was being pro61 62

Tatakis (2003) 129. Shepard (1988) 96–97.

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moted. For Anna Komnene, the age of Classical Greece brought with it parallels with Byzantium in the late eleventh and twelfth centuries that were appropriate and natural. It is no coincidence, then, that Latin scholars of both republican and imperial Rome are entirely ignored in Anna’s own writing as well as by her circle of scholars (at least by implication); not for nothing either, then, that Tornikios too excludes these from her funeral oration. In death, as in life, Anna Komnene was a Hellenist.

ARISTOTELIAN ETHICS IN BYZANTIUM

Linos G. Benakis This paper is primarily technical in nature. It will argue that when one begins to examine a less investigated area of the field of Byzantine Philosophy, research in the primary sources must still precede every interpretative act and critical approach. Here, research in the primary sources means: a. The gathering of texts. This is not always an easy task, although the publication in recent decades of new critical editions of texts by Byzantine philosophers has made it more feasible.1 Older editions of Byzantine philosophers, some of which have been reprinted, also remain useful, some unexpectedly so.2 b. The study of texts in relation to their sources. Namely, the identification of sources—distinguishing between instances of mere borrowing and instances of a more critical incorporation of such sources into Byzantine texts—the identification of original elements, of direct or indirect influences, of tendencies in the use of source materials, etc. Here, the ever-expanding secondary bibliography needs to be consulted with caution, since some studies contain errors of interpretation which may be more or less obvious.3 This paper will, therefore, necessarily consider both the external evidence and, as far as possible, the internal evidence regarding our texts. While its nature and methods remain to be justified, this paper will have served its purpose and satisfied its writer’s aims if it stimulates an interest among new scholars in conducting research and writing about this highly productive area of Greek philosophy, one that has 1

Benakis (1991). One such is the collection of texts by Nikephoros Blemmydes edited by Dorotheos Voulismas and published in Leipzig in 1784, where the treatise On Virtue can be found. 3 There is, for example, the case of the article by Giocarinis (1964), where Eustratios seems to be a defender of the Platonic theory of ideas, when in fact the opposite is true, as is evident from the texts cited. It is also inexcusable for A. Lloyd to speak of nominalism in Eustratios in the article cited in note 10, when he himself concludes that Eustratios’ method may be defined as a form of conceptualism! 2

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been somewhat neglected. I am certain that they will find such research richly rewarding, whether they engage in ‘technical’ research work or a more broadly conceived examination of the most significant problems of Byzantine philosophy. As a starting point, one ‘external’ fact of particular importance to our topic is the large number of manuscripts containing the Nicomachean Ethics which have been preserved from the Byzantine period. There are approximately 120 manuscripts, to which one might add 45 manuscripts of the Major Ethics and 25 of the Eudemian Ethics. In order to put these numbers into perspective I cite the corresponding numbers of manuscripts of other key works by Aristotle. There are 160 manuscripts of the Categories from the Byzantine period, 140 of the De interpretatione, 120 for the Prior Analytics, 120 for the Physics, 60 for the Metaphysics, 60 for the De caelo, and 40 for the Poetics. I have discussed the Politics elsewhere.4 It is, therefore, essential to consider these numbers when considering the knowledge and interest of the Byzantines in the moralpolitical ideas of Aristotle.5 Of even greater importance is an examination of the ‘internal’ elements that constitute this interest, so that one might then understand the relation between our Byzantine authors and the political thinking of the state philosophers of antiquity. The same point can apply to the Ethics, where the identification of elements of Aristotle’s ‘moral’ teaching in the works of Byzantine philosophers might be considered in relation to the presence of moral problems and issues within both academic teaching and within a Byzantine Lebensphilosophie that was firmly embedded in Christian dogma. There are numerous Byzantine commentaries on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. Among the earliest of these was that of Michael of Ephesus (eleventh-twelfth century), who can be found in the circle of philosophers associated with Anna Komnene and who wrote commentaries on book V and on books IX and X of the Nicomachean Ethics.6 A first edition (by contemporary criteria) of these commentaries appeared in

Benakis (1982b) 230–236. See the testimony of Adamantius Korais, who, in his Hellenic Library published Aristotle’s Politics in 1821 as the first volume of the collection. This was followed in 1822 by his publication of the Nicomachean Ethics. He wrote the following in his prologue, claiming that Ethics is a part of Politics: “both are one and the same science, of which Ethics can be considered the theoretical part, and Politics the practical.” 6 In EN 5 and In EN 9–10. For Michael, see Browning (1962). 4 5

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Venice in 1541.7 We must not overlook the fact that Michael of Ephesus was an experienced commentator, with extensive commentaries on Aristotle’s work: including books V–VIII of the Metaphysics, the Parva Naturalia, the Sophistici Elenchi, the De partibus and the De motu animalium, which, fortunately, were included in the publishing endeavor of the Prussian Academy.8 The commentaries by Michael of Ephesus on Physics, De caelo and the Rhetoric have not been preserved. For details of his knowledge and treatment of the Politics see my article mentioned above. In addition, the recent secondary literature on Michael is reliable. In the same period, Eustratios of Nicaea (c. 1050–c. 1120) composed commentaries on books I and VI of the Nicomachean Ethics.9 Eustratios’s commentaries were also included in the 1541 Venetian edition. Parts of them were also, surprisingly, included in E. Pargiter’s 1745 London edition entitled Aristotle of Morals to Nichomachus I. For the importance and impact of Eustratios’ commentaries on Aristotle’s work in the West one should consult a significant series of articles by Mercken, Sorabji, Lloyd, Trizio, and Benakis.10 According to Sorabji, the esteemed scholar of the whole tradition of Greek commentaries on Aristotle, Eustratios of Nicaea introduced Platonic, Christian and antiArabic elements into his texts, whereas Michael of Ephesus can be seen to have mainly followed the existing commentaries by Alexander of Aphrodisias and the Neoplatonic school of Alexandria. Also of significance for any assessment of Eustratios is the study by Lloyd, which argues that Eustratios’ Aristotelian commentaries were the most interesting of any of those produced by a Byzantine philosopher, as the subject of his discussion was not limited to the philosopher’s style or definitions, but rather addressed the philosopher’s views and his teachings. Indeed, Eustratios appears to have been a competent philosopher in the tradition of Michael Psellos and John Italos, whose student he was. One finds within his work a combination of Aristotelianism and Neoplatonism. This is evident in his resolution of the problem of general concepts (the universalia), in which resolution Lloyd also finds

7 Aristotelis Stagiritae Moralia Nichomachia cum Eustratii, Aspasii, Michaelis Ephesii nonullorum aliorum Graecorum explanationibus, ed. B.B. Felicianus, Venetiis 1541. 8 In metaph., In GA, In PN and In PA. 9 In EN. 10 Mercken (1990); Sorabji (1990) 20–21; Lloyd (1987); Trizio (2006); Benakis (1978– 1979).

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that Eustratios has resolved the problem of conceptual realism (conceptualism) that can be found in the Alexandrian commentators, i.e. those of the school of Ammonius and thence of all Byzantine scholars.11 In his study, Lloyd does not treat Eustratios’ work on the Ethics systematically. There is undoubtedly fertile ground for future research here. One strand that remains noteworthy is Eustratios’ influence on Western Christian philosophy. Here, it should be noted that the first Western commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics, that by Albertus Magnus (Cologne 1250–1252), appeared approximately 130 years later than that by Eustratios. Eustratios was already known in the West by that time, first through James of Venice (approx. 1130) and primarily through the translation and use of his commentaries, particularly on Logic, by Robert Grosseteste in England. The latter called Eustratios ‘Commentator Graecus’ or simply ‘Commentator’ (compared to the plain ‘Philosophus’ reserved for Aristotle). On the subject of Eustratios’ influence in the West, we have the reliable studies by H.P.F. Mercken on Robert Grosseteste’s Latin translations of the Greek commentaries.12 Mercken is also the author of a paper, “Ethics as a Science in Albert the Great and Eustratios of Nicaea,”13 where the key issue, as to whether a scientia moralis rather than a practica moralis was possible in the Middle Ages, is examined on the basis of the first Latin commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics, that of Albertus Magnus. Albertus only wrote on books I and VI. It is in these books that Aristotle deals with issues of method in the Ethics and it is where he discusses the intellectual virtues, of which science or scientia is one. Eustratios, of course, had commented on these same books and his authority is invoked by Albertus, who refers to him as Commentator Graecus. Clearly, an area of enquiry that then arises from this relationship and that deserves greater attention would be an investigation of the extent to which Albertus Magnus’s views on the scientific understanding of ethics were influenced by the writings of his Byzantine predecessor. Another Byzantine commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics is the “Anonymous” commentary on books II to V.14 This text is a compilation of mainly Alexandrian commentaries made by a Byzantine scholar, probably of the thirteenth century. There is a further anony11 12 13 14

See Benakis (1978–1979). Mercken (1973). Unfortunately all I know of this article is a short summary. In EN 2–5.

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mous Byzantine commentary on book VII of the Nicomachean Ethics.15 No reliable research has yet been carried out on either of these commentaries. There are also a number of paraphrases that deserve our attention. In 1889 Heylbut published a Late Byzantine paraphrase of the whole of the Nicomachean Ethics.16 This paraphrase is attributed to Heliodoros of Proussa in this Berlin edition. It has also been attributed to Andronikos Kallistos (1400–1486) and to Andronikos Rhodios (!) in a first edition that was published in Cambridge in 1679, and has also been attributed to John Filagrios from Crete (s. Wartelle for cod. Napol. Gr. 335). The most likely case is that this paraphrase was the work of Constantine Paleokappas, a 14th century monastic scholar.17 This work, which was a useful teaching tool for the Byzantines, was widely known. George Pachymeres’ (1242–1310) paraphrase of the Nicomachean Ethics was written as part of his extensive work, the Philosophia, which sought to provide “commentaries” on the whole Aristotelian Corpus in 12 books and 238 chapters. These had only been published in a Latin translation: Venetiis 1545, Lugduni 1547, Parisiis 1547, 1555, and Basileae 1560. A first critical edition of book ten has now been published within the series “Corpus Philosophorum Medii Aevi—Commentaria in Aristotelem Byzantina” of the Academy of Athens.18 This great Byzantine historian and philosopher’s method was to select significant passages from Aristotle’s work and then to provide them with explanations in simpler, more comprehensible terms, using language and ideas drawn from the ancient commentators. Lastly, there is a commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics that is attributed to the emperor John Kantakouzenos, or, under his monastic name, Ioasaph (after 1355), which remains unpublished. This work, however, is identical to the commentary by Pseudo-Olympiodoros (a paraphrase of the commentary by the Alexandrian Olympiodoros). It is believed that Kantakouzenos had probably commissioned a copy of this text and that this was later mistakenly attributed to him.19 It is not difficult to locate both brief and lengthy references, explicit or otherwise, to Aristotle, the Ethics, or commentators on the Ethics in

15 16 17 18 19

In EN 8. Heliodoros of Proussa, Paraphrasis. This paraphrase is known from Hatch (1879). George Pachymeres, Paraphrasis. See Nicol (1968).

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other texts by Byzantine philosophers. For example, we can readily find references in the recent editions of Michael Psellos’s writings: in chapter seven of the Philosophica Minora I and in chapters twelve and thirty-two of the Philosophica Minora II.20 In paragraphs 66–81 of Psellos’s De omnifaria doctrina there are numerous references to book 2 of the Nicomachean Ethics, as well as to the Pseudo-Aristotelean On Virtue and Vice and the Ethica Eudemia.21 These instances suggest that Aspasius’s commentaries on Aristotle’s writings on morality are a common source for Psellos as well as other Byzantines. A further example is offered by the chapter “On moral virtue and other matters,” which is found in the collection Queries and Solutions written by the eleventh-century philosopher John Italos.22 Here, Italos suggests that the ancient philosophers, primarily Aristotle, have given the most exact definition of what might be termed ethical virtue. Italos includes seven passages from books I, II, V and VI of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics in his chapter. The presence of Aspasius’s commentary can also be detected throughout. The philosopher Nikephoros Blemmydes of Nicaea (1197–1272) also wrote a “Discourse on Virtue.”23 This, like his better-known works, Epitome on Logic and Epitome on Physics, follows closely upon the structure and language of Aristotle’s own works and thus cleaves to the model provided by the Nicomachean Ethics. The Miscellanea philosophica et historica by Theodore Metochites (1270– 1337), is accompanied by a brief table of the names of ancient writers.24 This contains approximately forty references to Aristotle, without, however, always referencing the specific work by Aristotle cited in the text. The Nicomachean Ethics, like the Metaphysics, Politics and Rhetoric, does not appear to have been mentioned by Metochites. A fuller investigation of the Miscellanea and his other writings may show that Metochites did, in fact, know and use these works.25 Lastly, in this purely descriptive overview, I would like to mention the pre-eminently moral dissertation by George Gemistos Plethon (1360– 1452), his “On Virtue”. A new critical edition of this text contains an 20 See my critical review for these two valuable volumes from the Teubneriana, Benakis (1995). Phil min. I 22–28 and Phil min. II 23–30, 109–111. 21 Omni. doc. 43–49. 22 QQ 87–95. 23 Nikephorou monastou kai presvyterou tou Vlemmidou Epitome logikes 121–140. 24 Misc. 838. 25 See now the notes in Hult (2002).

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enlightening introduction, from which it is clear that Plethon’s main sources are Plato, Plutarch, Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, and the pseudo-Aristotelian On Virtue and Vice.26 Plethon’s method itself shows the influence of Aristotle, and the Mystran philosopher’s knowledge of the Aristotelian corpus is in any case well-known from his entire body of work (for Nicomachean Ethics, see, for example, De differentiis, V,1–2 and elsewhere.) Here, however, we can draw a significant distinction: while in Aristotle moral philosophy is “phenomenological”, and for that reason largely descriptive, morality in Plethon is the object of science in the strict meaning of the term, and thus is wholly based on the first principles of Metaphysics. Therefore, Plethon’s method can be seen to be Platonic, for it is to a great extent analytical. But in the case of the last great Byzantine philosopher, too, research will need to address other important aspects of his moral teachings, such as his basic belief in the dual nature of man, in absolute providence, and in the moral-political character of free will, and other such areas.

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NEOPLATONIC SOURCE-MATERIAL IN EUSTRATIOS OF NICAEA’S COMMENTARY ON BOOK VI OF THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS

Michele Trizio* Eustratios of Nicaea’s acquaintance with arguments and formulas depending directly or indirectly upon Neoplatonic sources is not entirely a new issue. For instance, Zervos’s famous 1920 monograph on Psellos briefly sketches some notes on Eustratios’ Neoplatonic background and explicitly mentions Proklos as his source while linking this influence directly to the Psellian legacy.1 However, it was with Giocarinis’ and Steel’s studies on Eustratios’ defense of the Platonic ideal Good in his commentary on book I of the Nicomachean Ethics that the Neoplatonic influence on Eustratios became evident.2 In particular, Steel found direct evidence of a dependence upon Proklos’ commentary on the Parmenides, as well as the presence in Michael of Ephesus’ commentary on book X of the Nicomachean Ethics of Damaskios’ commentary on the Philebus, probably one of the few traces of the influence of this latter work in Byzantium.3 Until now scholars have devoted their attention mainly to Eustratios’ commentary on book I of the Nicomachean Ethics, whereas the aim of the present paper is to investigate the role played by Neoplatonic sources in his commentary on book VI of that same work. Here, although the commentator does not deal directly with the Aristotelian criticism of the Platonic theory of knowledge, Eustratios still seems to regard the Platonic and Neoplatonic tradition as a reliable set of sources for the exegesis of the Aristotelian text.

* I would like to thank Charles Barber and Dave Jenkins for their scrupulous editing of the present paper. 1 Zervos (1973) 225–227. 2 Giocarinis (1964). Cf. also Podskalsky (1976) 519; Lloyd (1987) 350; Steel (2002). 3 Cf. Steel (2002) 54–57.

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michele trizio 1. The Objects of Physics, Mathematics and First Philosophy

In a previous article I proved that the influence of the Neoplatonists, in particular Proklos, is evident in both the terminology and the arguments developed by Eustratios. This influence seems to be widespread throughout the three commentaries written by this Byzantine author.4 Focusing on the problem of the Aristotelian distinction between absolute (Gπλς) and conditional necessity ()ξ =πο "σεως), I emphasized that Eustratios interprets this distinction within a non-Aristotelian framework. Despite the complementarity in Aristotle of the two kinds of necessity, he strictly applies the absolute one to what he calls “beings in the proper sense of the term” (κυρως Hντα), which he describes as those beings properly so-called which always remain self-identical (τ* &ε' κατ* τ* α;τ* κα' Iσατως Fχοντα); and the conditional one to “that which is never a proper being” (Hντως ο;δ"ποτε Hν), which he associates with what is subject to coming to be and passing away.5 He also situates this particular interpretation of Aristotle’s different kinds of necessity within the framework of the Neoplatonic distinction between “causes” (αJτια) and “concomitant causes” (συνατια). Only the first can be considered causes properly so-called as they are “the only ones which transcend their effects” (μ.να τν α#τιατν )ξC ρηται).6 In both cases, Eustratios quotes Proklos literally.7 This preference for Neoplatonic sources is reflected in the peculiar argumentative structure which often seems to characterize Eustratios’ commentary on book VI of the Nicomachean Ethics. His comments on the different lemmata are often introduced by an initial “safe” explanation of the Aristotelian text, in which Eustratios seems to simply expand the lemma with material of his own or taken from the tradition of the Late antique commentators. He then introduces a further interpretative level by using a terminology referable to the Neoplatonic tradition, in particular to Proklos, which seems to be more representative of Eustratios’ position.8 4

Trizio (2006). In EN 293.10–20. 6 In EN 267.18–22. 7 Cf. for example Inst. 75: Π ν τ κυρως αJτιον λεγ.μενον )ξCLρηται το+ &ποτελ"σματος = In EN 267.19–22 τLς μ?ν γ*ρ γν7σεως &ρχα' ο$ Mροι κα' τ* &ξι7ματα )π γε τν &ναγκαων, τLς δ? =πρξεως τ* ποιητικ* κα' τ* τελικ. τα+τα γ*ρ μ.να κυρως α τια, Mτι κα' μ.να τν α#τιατν ξρηται. 8 For a sample of this structure, cf. Trizio (2006) 41–53. 5

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Eustratios’ account of the objects and status of the three theoretical sciences can be considered a particular instance of his view on the status and functionning of the cognitive process. The occasion for such a discussion came from a famous passage of book VI of the Nicomachean Ethics, where Aristotle says that a young boy can become a good mathematician (μα ηματικ.ς), but he cannot become a man of wisdom (σοφ.ς) or a natural philosopher (φυσικ.ς).9 The reason is that the principles of wisdom and physics—as well as the knowledge of the particular facts belonging to the field of practical wisdom—derive from experience ()ξ )μπειρας), and experience requires time in order to be acquired (πλL ος γ*ρ χρ.νου ποιε, τNν )μπειραν).10 The commentator does not seem to be particularly concerned with the link established by Aristotle between time, experience and the acquisition of the capacity of dealing with the particulars: he merely expands the Aristotelian lemma, which is in the end a similar strategy to that found in Eustratios’ commentary on another famous Aristotelian reference to this topic, in book I of the Nicomachean Ethics.11 Interestingly, however, a variant in Eustratios’ text of the Nicomachean Ethics appears only in two of the extant manuscripts. Instead of πλL ος γ*ρ χρ.νου ποιε, τNν )μπειραν Eustratios has πλL ος γ*ρ ποι σει )μπειραν, which allows him to remark on the protreptic value of this particular Aristotelian sentence.12 By contrast, he devotes five pages— one of the longest explanations of the whole commentaries on book I and VI of the Aristotelian work at stake—to the status of the objects of physics, mathematics and first philosophy (σοφα). Following Eustratios’ exposition, I shall start from his account on mathematical objects and discuss the objects of physics and the objects of first philosophy. 1.1. The Objects of Mathematics According to Eustratios, mathematical objects are known by abstraction ()ξ &φαιρ"σεως) from the subjects in which they actually exist ()κσπντες α;τ* κα' &φαιρο+ντες &π τν =ποκειμ"νων )ν οOς =φεστ -

9

Aristotle, Ethica Nicomachea VI,9,1142a16–20. Aristotle, Ethica Nicomachea VI,9,1142a14–15. 11 Aristotle, Ethica Nicomachea I,1,1095a2–4; Eustratios, In EN 25.4–26.5. In Aristotle, Ethica Nicomachea II,1,1103a15–16, time and experience are said to be the prerequisites for the acquisition of the intellectual virtues. 12 In EN 344.13–15. 10

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κασι).13 “Abstraction” (&φαρεσις) seems to be the technical term, not immediately identical with “induction” ()παγωγ ), used by Aristotle to

describe the way in which mathematical objects are graspable. It entails a logical separation or “subtraction” of arithmetical and geometrical objects from their subjects.14 This description of the status of mathematical objects seems to be a standard account of the Aristotelian standpoint grounded in the commentary tradition.15 Numbers, magnitudes and figures of magnitudes cannot exist in actuality outside the subjects in which they exist (χωρ'ς τν =ποκειμ"νων κατ’ )ν"ργειαν =φστασ αι μN δυνμενα). They are, on the contrary, abstracted by thought (κατ’ )πνοιαν) from the subjects in which they actually exist ()κ τν =ποκειμ"νων )ν οOς =φεστ κασι).16 Such terminology can be traced back to Alexander of Aphrodisias’ commentary on the Metaphysics where he

13 In EN 344.30–345.10: Fστι δ? τ λεγ.μενον τοιο+τον, Mτι τ* μ?ν μα ηματικ* φανταστικ* κα' διανοητ* κα' )ν φαντασPα κα' διανοPα Fχει τNν σστασιν, )ν μ?ν τCL φαντασPα τυπομενα, =π δ? τLς διανοας )ξεταζ.μενα> τ* δ? τοια+τα )ξ &φαιρ"σεως λαμβνομεν, Qτοι )κσπντες α;τ* κα' &φαιρο+ντες &π τν =ποκειμ"νων )ν οOς =φεστ κασι κα' τυπο+ντες α;τ* )ν τCL φαντασPα &λως κα' &σωμτως δεχομ"νCη τα+τα &π τLς α#σ σεως, R &μ"σως Iς α#σ ητο,ς ο6σι κα' )ν =ποκειμ"νDω α;το,ς )πιβλλουσα, παραπ"μπει τCL φαντασPα το0ς τπους α;τLς,  δ’ )ν /αυτCL τοτους δεχομ"νη κα' συντηρο+σα Eσπερ τις πναξ =ποτ ησι τCL διανοPα α;τος,  δ’ Iς Hμμα τLς ψυχLς α;το,ς )πιβλλουσα )ξετζει περ' α;τν κα' τν /πομ"νων α;το,ς κα' ε=ρσκει τα+τα κα' το0ς λ.γους α;τν &ποδδωσι. το+το δ? γνεται )π' τν &ρι μν κα' μεγε ν, T =ποκεμενα τα,ς μα ηματικα,ς )πιστ μαις ε#σν. 14 Aristotle, Physica II,2,193b36–194a1. The natural philospher and the mathematician deal both with lines, figures and shapes. However, the first must deal with both, matter and form, like a craftsman, while the second does not treat these concepts in so far as they are boundaries of each natural body (ο;χ CU φυσικο+ σ7ματος π"ρας Vκαστον), nor does he deal with their accidental determination as they happend to be in each natural body (ο;δ? τ* συμβεβηκ.τα εωρε, CU τοιοτοις ο6σι συμβ"βηκεν). On the contrary, he separates them (χωρζει), i. e., he treats them as separated by thought from movement (χωριστ* γ*ρ τCL νο σει κιν σε7ς )στι). Cf. Philippe (1948), the excellent Cleary (1985) & (1995). See also Aristotle, Metaphysica XIII,2,1076a32–37; XIII,3,1077b17–20. Here Aristotle uses the elliptic relative subclause CU τοιαδ to justifiy the possibility for a science, in this specific case, mathematics, of investigating its objects as separated (χωρσας) although they do not exist under the status of separation (μN κεχωρισμ"νον). 15 On the commentators understanding of Aristotle’s view on mathematical objects, starting from Alexander of Aphrodisias, cf. Mueller (1990). 16 In EN 345.39–346.7: )ξ &φαιρ"σεως μ?ν ο6ν τ* μα ηματικ* λ"γονται, &ρι μο' Hντα κα' μεγ" η Qτοι σχ ματα μεγε ν, Mτι ποσ* μ"ν ε#σι κα' ποι, κα' )ν =ποκειμ"ναις ο;σαις τNν =π.στασιν Fχουσι, χωρ'ς τν =ποκειμ"νων κατ’ )ν"ργειαν =φστασ αι μN δυνμενα, &φαιρο+νται δ? κατ’ )πνοιαν )κ τν =ποκειμ"νων )ν οOς =φεστ κασι κα' Iς )ν φαντασPα =φεστηκ.τα περ' τLς διανοας τNν )ξ"τασιν δ"χονται παρ* τν /πομ"νων α;το,ς. &φαιρο+νται δ", Mτι μN Vν τι τD γ"νει =ποκεμενον Fχουσιν &λλ’ )ν διαφ.ροις =ποκειμ"νοις δνανται γνεσ αι.

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explicitly rejects the Platonic views on mathematical objects as intermediate entities between the Ideas and the sensible particulars. According to Alexander these objects do not exist per se, independently from the actual conditions (primarily matter and movement) in which they subsist (ο; γρ )στιν α;τ* κα ’ α=τ* =φεσττα) but by thought (&λλ’ )πινοPα).17 Eustratios provides a more detailed and dynamic account—echoing a passage from Ammonius’s commentary on the Isagoge18—that begins the abstractive process in the imprint of sense-perception data on the imaginative faculty ()ν τCL φαντασPα), which has already received them without matter and bodily circumstances (&λως κα' &σωμτως). Senseperception offers those imprints to the imagination, which preserves them in itself, like on a tablet (πναξ), and submits them to the dianoia.19 Here Eustratios refers to Alexander of Aphrodisias’ image of the blank tablet as an analogy for the material intellect ( =λικ.ς νο+ς) to describe the imaginative faculty’s state of receptivity towards sense-perception data.20 Notably, Eustratios’ description of imagination as a blank tablet reflects the Aristotelian analogy between sense and sense-perception data, on the one hand, and intellect and object of intellection, on the other.21 Therefore, Eustratios’ discussion of mathematical objects seemingly corresponds to the standard Peripatetic view.22 Such an interpretation can be found in contemporaries of Eustratios, like the approximative account of it given by his former master John Italos.23 However, there are elements in Eustratios’ description of the status and graspability of mathematical objects which seem to belong to a different tradition. As it has been said, the general cognitive process sketched by our com-

Alexander of Aphrodisias, In Metaph. 52,13–21; In Sens. 12.24–27. Cf. also Flannery (2003). Cf. also Eustratios, Syllogistic Demonstration 159.5–7: Σχ ματα γ*ρ κα' &ρι μο' Fνυλοι /τ"ροις )στ'ν )νυπ.στατα, κα ’ /αυτ* δ? ο;χ =φσταται. 18 Ammonius, In Porph. 11.31–12.6: A circle or a square, claims Ammonius, does not exist by itself (κα ’ /αυτ). However, when we perceive a wooden or a copper or a stone circle we receive the form (εXδος) of the circle in the dianoia, preserving these imprints apart from matter, in the same manner that wax receives the imprint of a signet ring without receiving its matter. The circle, in this specific case, is separable in the sense that it is separarated by thought (κα  τCL )πινοPα χωρζεται). 19 In EN 344.32–345.4. 20 Alexander of Aphrodisias, De An. 84.25 ff. 21 Aristotle, De anima III,4,429A16–18. 22 Another example is John Philoponos, In de An. 57.28–58.6. 23 QQ 63,90.32 ff. 17

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mentator in regard to mathematical objects entails the passage from sense-perception to the imagination, and from the imagination to the dianoia. But there is one more passage in this process that can hardly be traced back to Aristotle or to the Aristotelian tradition: Eustratios’ description of the dianoia as the “eye of the soul” ( δ’ Iς Hμμα τLς ψυχLς). As such, the dianoia directly grasps ()πιβλλουσα) mathematical objects and their related properties, and attributes to them their correspondent definitions (το0ς λ.γους α;τν &ποδδωσι). Aristotle also uses the expression “eye of the soul” in book VI of the Nicomachean Ethics, arguing that phronesis as a truth-attaining disposition cannot be acquired by “that” eye of the soul without moral virtue.24 Eustratios, however, is obviously not referring to this passage. “That” (τοτDω) eye of the soul is in fact a reference to Plato’s Republic (533c) where dialectic is described as the only science which aims directly at the first principle, dismissing hypothesis and thus securing its ground. Dialectic lifts the eye of the soul (τ τLς ψυχLς Hμμα) upwards, which was buried in an outlandish filth ()ν βορβ.ρDω βαρβαρικD). The handmaids of dialectic are the other sciences discussed earlier in the text by Plato, of which mathematics is included (533b–c), and these can be labelled “sciences” as well as generically dianoia.25 Without reservations the Neoplatonists identify dianoia with the Platonic eye of the soul, linking it to the consideration of mathematical objects and its purgative function. In the prologue to his commentary on book I of Euclid’s Elements, Proklos refers to this very passage of the Republic, claiming that only mathematics can enlighten and awake the eye of the soul, which was blinded and obscured (&ποτυφλομενον κα' κατορυττ.μενον) by other kinds of occupations. In doing so, mathematics has the function of turning the eye of the soul from images (&π τν ε#δ7λων) to the true realities ()π' τ* &λη L), bringing it from darkness to intellectual light.26 According to Proklos, Aristotelian abstraction cannot account for the way in which we grasp mathematical objects.27 On the contrary, “projectionism”, within a general theory of recollection, is the right account for the knowability of these objects. Projections occur 24

Aristotle, Ethica Nicomachea VI,13,1144a29–30:  δ’ Vξις τD Hμματι τοτDω γνεται τLς

ψυχLς ο;κ Aνευ &ρετLς.

Plato, Respublica 533c–d. In Euc. 20.17–23. Here Proklos states that the only way to account for mathematical objects is to rely on the generative projections of forms already existing in the soul (α$ γενν σεις προβολα' τν )ν α;τCL προυπαρχ.ντων ε#δν). 27 Cf. In Euc. 12.15–13.13. 25 26

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due to the logoi which constitute the essence of our soul. Thus, Syrianus explicitly says that geometrical objects are in the imagination, but they are located there insofar as they are parasitic (παρυφσταται) upon the logoi present in the dianoia, since that which derives from abstraction cannot be considered sufficiently accurate.28 Proklos’ commentary on book I of Euclid’s Elements further associates the dianoia and the eye of the soul. Ordinary mathematics, as distinguished from Pythagorean mathematics,29 is here described as the path of knowledge (κατ* παδευσιν δ.ν) because it has the same relation to knowledge as education has to virtue. In this respect the function of mathematics is to prepare the dianoia and the eye of the soul (τ Hμμα τLς ψυχLς) for the turning toward the upper realm.30 Proklos adds that if the eye of the soul remains closed, we would not be able to attain our proper perfection. This perfection is obtained through what Proklos calls mathesis, namely the recollection of the logoi eternally present in our soul ( τν &ϊδων )ν ψυχCL λ.γων &νμνησις), mathematics being the science that brings us to this recollection. It is due to the investigation of mathematical objects, then, that we awaken this innate knowledge, purifying the dianoia and ridding ourselves of ignorance.31 I believe that there is no other way to explain Eustratios’ reference to the eye of the soul than by linking it to the function of the dianoia within the cognitive process according to the Neoplatonists. Indeed, Eustratios’ account ignores the deeper Proklean arguments related to the topic of “projectionism” as the true account of mathematics. For example, Proklos argues that projections take place in the dianoia, but the dianoia cannot operate because of its weakness regarding the concept of an unextended form—namely the geometrical logoi in the soul—and so needs to project it into the imagination.32 Thus geometry deals with universal concepts but only in terms of their being distributed (κατατεταγμ"να) to the imagination, which means that the dianoia must somehow unfold them. The same is true for numbers, where the final projection takes place in opinion, doxa, which is thus elevated in its role and

28 Syrianus, In Metaph. 91.29–34; see also In Metaph. 95.29–36, where Syrianus explicitly states that sense-perception cannot be considered as a solid basis for the knowledge of mathematical objects. On Syrianus’ theory of mathematics, see Mueller (2002). 29 On this distinction, see Mueller (1987) in part. 317. 30 In Euc. 20,10–17. 31 In Euc. 46.13–47.6. 32 In Euc. 54.14–55.13; 141.2–19.

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function.33 Nonetheless, these differences remain insufficient to exclude a dependence upon Proklos and the Neoplatonic tradition. Understanding the reason for Eustratios’ twofold account attains greater importance when we note that the first reference to abstractionism is followed by a nod towards the Neoplatonic theory of mathematics. The reason can be found in a doxography on mathematical objects that was elaborated by the same Eustratios, one in which Aristotelian abstractionism and Platonic innatism are described as the two opposite positions on the matter at hand. According to the Platonists, says Eustratios, “abstractionism” cannot be considered a reliable account of mathematical objects because that which is derived by abstraction, i.e. that which is “later born” (=στερογενς), is considered to be inferior to sense-perception data and physical realities (τ* )ξ &φαιρ"σεως τν α#σ ητν )στι κα' φυσικν χερονα). It would be inappropriate for the soul to derive from the sensible particulars the logoi which already exist in itself ()ν /αυτCL το0ς λ.γους =φισταμ"νους), since these logoi are in the soul before sense-perception data (πρ τν α#σ ητν εJδη κα' λ.γους ο#κεους α;τCL λογικς κα' ψυχικς )νυπρχοντας). The pre-existing logoi are superior and prior by nature (κρεττους Hντας κα' φσει προτ"ρους) to the material forms (τν )νλων), the sense perception-data (α#σ ητν), and the sensible particulars (κα ’ Vκαστα).34 This account, which is devoted to discussing the Platonic view, vastly exceeds the one devoted to the Aristotelian position, obviously suggesting which of the two positions Eustratios prefers. Moreover, the whole argument seems to combine perfectly abstractionism with the purgative function of mathematics according to the Neoplatonists. Since the soul, continues the commentator, ignores (&γνοο+σα) these logoi from the beginning, because of the bond with generation (δι* τν δεσμν τLς γεν"σεως), i.e. because of the shock of birth, it needs to rely in some way on sense-perception (τCL α#σ σει) and on the forms and intelligi-

In Euc. 95.21–96.11. On the distinction between the different faculties dealing with geometrical and arithmetical objects, see Cleary (2002). 34 In EN 320.21–29: ε# γ*ρ κα' 8Αριστοτ"λης περ' τ* )ξ &φαιρ"σεως λ"γει τNν μα ηματικNν καταγνεσ αι, &λλ* το+το ο;κ Qρεσκε το,ς Πλατωνικς περ' το+το δοξζουσι, δι.τι τ* )ξ &φαιρ"σεως τν α#σ ητν )στι κα' φυσικν χερονα, Iς )ξ α;τν τNν γ"νεσιν Fχοντα κα' =στερογενς α;τν =φιστμενα. κα' Aτοπον εXνα φασι τNν ψυχ ν, πολλD κρεττω ο6σαν τLς φσεως )κ τν κα ’ Vκαστα κα' φυσικν Fχειν )ν /αυτCL το0ς λ.γους =φισταμ"νους, &λλ* μN Fχειν πρ τν α#σ ητν εJδη κα' λ.γους ο#κεους α;τCL λογικς κα' ψυχικς )νυπρχοντας, κρεττους Hντας κα' φσει προτ"ρους τν )νλων κα' α#σ ητν κα' κα ’ Vκαστα. 33

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ble contents derived by abstraction from matter (το,ς &φαιρουμ"νοις )κ τLς @λης εJδεσι κα' λ.γοις). It is due to this abstractive cognitive process that the soul, says Eustratios, is able to re-light the spark of knowledge in itself (τ τLς γν7σεως ζ7πυρον). This fire is said to exist in us both because of our specific nature and because it has been put in us by the Creator. However, it needs to be awakened because of its mixture with the passions. This fire needs to be purified in order to become visible again (δε,ται &νακα ρσεως ε#ς φαν"ρωσιν) as it is covered in ash and obscured under the form of vapor ()ν α# λCη κεκρυμμ"νον )μπρευμα). It shines forth through this dispersed vapor when it comes into contact with wood, and therefore it often starts to burn again (ε#ς πυρσν πολλκις &νπτεται).35 Such an extended description of the Platonists’ viewpoint—too long to be just a doxography—is evidently dependent upon Proklos.36 Even though the starting point in this doxography was the status of mathematical objects, it is clear that the point here is more general since it entails the problem of the value of Aristotelian a-posteriori con-

35 In EN 320.29–36: κZν )ξ &ρχLς &γνοο+σα τοτους δι* τν δεσμν τLς γεν"σεως χρLται τCL α#σ σει κα' το,ς &φαιρουμ"νοις )κ τLς @λης εJδεσι κα' λ.γοις, Mπως &ναφ CL )ξ α;τν )ν α;τCL τ τLς γν7σεως ζ7πυρον, : )κ τLς ο#κεας φσεως κα' το+ δημιουργ σαντος =πρχον α;τCL συγκ"χυται το,ς )κ τLς γεν"σεως π εσι, κα' δε,ται &νακα ρσεως ε#ς φαν"ρωσιν, Iς )ν α# λCη κεκρυμμ"νον )μπρευμα, : δN σκεδαννυμ"νης τLς α# λης )κφανεται κα' δραττ.μενον @λης ε#ς πυρσν πολλκις &νπτεται. Eustratios had already

expounded a similar argument in In APo. 257.33–258.14. 36 See for example, In Alc. 7.3–7: κα' γ*ρ γνοομεν /αυτο0ς =π τLς γενεσιουργο λ ης κατεχ.μενοι κα' =π τLς ταραχLς τν &λ.γων ε#δν τLς ζωLς )κκρου.μενοι, κα' ο#.με α πολλ* γιν7σκειν [ν γνοομεν δι* το0ς κατ’ ο;σαν μ,ν νυπρχοντας λγους. In Euc. 46.13–47.6: δεσμται δ? Hντες κα' τ Hμμα τLς ψυχLς μοντες ο; μ ποτε τNν προσ κουσαν μ,ν τελει.τητα σχοημεν. α@τη τονυν )στ'ν  μ ησις  τν &ϊδων )ν ψυχCL λγων &νμνησις, κα' μα ηματικN δι* τατην  πρς τ*ς &ναμν σεις μ,ν τ*ς )κενων συντελο+σα γνσις διαφερ.ντως )πονομζεται. κα' τ Fργον Aρα τLς )πιστ μης

τατης πο,ον δN τ )στιν )κ το+ \ν.ματος δηλο+ται κινητικν τLς )μφτου γν7σεως κα' )γερτικν τLς νο σεως κα' κα αρτικν τLς διανοας κα' )κφαντορικν τν κατ’ ο;σαν μ,ν =παρχ.ντων εδν, λ ης τε κα' γνοας &φαιρετικ.ν, [ν &π τς γεν σεως Fσχομεν, κα' &πολυτικν τν )κ τLς &λογας δεσμν, κατ* τν εν Hντως τν τLς )πιστ μης τατης Fφορον, :ς προγει μ?ν ε#ς τ )μφαν?ς τ* νοερ* δρα, πληρο, δ? πντα τν εων λ.γων, κινε, δ? τ*ς ψυχ*ς )π' νο+ν, κα' Eσπερ )κ κρου βα "ος &νεγερει, δι* ζητ σεως δ? )πιστρ"φει πρς /αυτς, κα' δι* μαιεας τελειο,, κα' δι’ ε=ρ"σεως το+ κα αρο+ νο+ περιγει πρς τNν μακαραν ζω ν. In Alc. 188.11–15: Mτι δ? κα' παρ* τν κρειττ.νων )γγνετα τις μ,ν γνσις τν πραγμτων, α$ τν εν α;τοψαι κα' =φηγ σεις $κανς δηλο+σιν, )κφανουσαι μ?ν τNν τξιν τν Mλων τα,ς ψυχα,ς, προκα ηγομεναι δ? τLς πρς τ νοητν πορεας κα' το0ς πυρσο!ς νπτουσαι το0ς &ναγωγος. See also Theol. Plat.

1,7.18; In R. 1,18.22. Eustratios’ reference to later-born concepts as inferior to senseperception data strongly echoes In Prm. 980.10–13.

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cepts and the functioning of the process of concept formation. Eustratios explicitly states that even according to the Platonists one cannot get rid of what is derived from sense-perception data. Eustratios evidently follows a Proklean model since, according to Proklos, mathematics begins precisely with reminders and reminiscence coming from without (Fξω εν) and ends with the logoi existing within the soul (ε#ς το0ς Fνδον λ.γους). Mathematics is awakened (&νεγερεται) by the lower realities but it strives for the higher forms.37 Abstraction in itself cannot account for the very knowledge of mathematical objects, but it serves the purpose of activating the recollection process. This Proklean doctrine constitutes the framework of Eustratios’ account of the knowability of mathematical objects. 1.2. The Objects of Physics In two of the passages from this section of the text Eustratios addresses the status of the objects proper to natural philosophy. These passages are extremely interesting because they take two different approaches to the topic at hand. In the first one (348.7–22), Eustratios provides the reader with a mere explanatory account of the objects of physics, namely material forms and sensible particulars (τ* Fνυλα κα' κα ’ Vκαστα). In this sense, the one who intends to deal with physical realities cannot investigate them according to the logical method (μN λογικς)— as in the case of mathematical abstraction—but according to the the method proper to physical examination (&λλ* φυσικς). In considering the physical objects one cannot get rid of matter. Eustratios further argues that the natural philosopher somehow employs logical methods (τα,ς λογικα,ς με .δοις). However, it is clear that it is not the same logical procedure that characterizes mathematics. On the contrary, it consists in deriving the universal determination (κα .λου) through discernment of the common element among the particular individuals ()π' πντων κοινς).38 Such an account might disappoint the reader since it simply proposes by way of explanation that which can be found in Aristotle himself 39 and avoids mentioning the widely attested terminological distinction between mathematical objects, which are said to arise from

37 38 39

In Euc. 18.10–20. In EN 348.7–22. Aristotle, Physica II,2,193b31 ff.

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abstraction ()ξ &φαιρ"σεως), and natural or physical objects, which are said to arise by addition ()κ προσ "σεως) of the determining properties.40 In the second passage (347.10–15), Eustratios reminds us that enmattered forms cannot be separated from their subjects and that physical objects cannot be defined without their material component. Eustratios explains that this is the case in irrational souls and physical objects in general. Because of this status material forms are neither perfect by themselves (α;τοτελL) nor self-established (α; "δραστα) and therefore need a subject in order to be settled and established (=ποκειμ"νου τινς πρς τ /δρασ Lναι δε.μενα), and only from this subject can they be abstracted by thought ()ξ )κενου &φαιρε σονται κατ’ )πνοιαν).41 Eustratios’ terminology becomes increasingly interesting with the use of the term α; "δραστα, which rarely occurs in late antique philosophical literature. For instance, it occurs in Priscianus Lydus’ commentary on On the Soul during his discussion of Aristotle’s reference to the thesis that the soul might be composed of elements. In particular, Priscianus mentions an example of what he assumes to be the meaning of Aristotle’s reference to “elements of each kind” (/κστου γ"νους στοιχεα) as an instance of what belongs to substance, namely being selfestablished (τ α; "δραστον) and not subsisting in a substratum or subject (μN )ν =ποκειμ"νω).42 If this is the case, one might consider α; "δραστον synonymous with α; υπ.στατον. In the end, this is what a famous Byzantine expert on Ancient and Late Antique philosophical literature, Michael Psellos, defends in his discussion of one passage from Gregory of Nazianzos’ Oratio de Filio.43 Discussing Gregory’s counter-argument to the Arian idea that the generation of the Son involves time, Psellos makes clear that this use of time, which he defines as the “measure of movement”, here refers to Aristotle and is neither self-established (α; "δραστον) nor self-subsistent (α; υπ.στατον).44 That the term α; "δραστον was also synonymous with α; υπ.στατον for Eustratios is made clear by the author when he distinguishes the mental separation that allows mathematical objects to be grasped from the separation that distinguishes “substantial forms” (ο;σι7δη εJδη). The latter are said to 40 Cf. Aristotle, De Caelo III,1,299a13–17. Simplikios, In Cael. 567.7–17; John Philoponos, In APr. 26.2–3. 41 In EN 347.10–15. 42 Priscianus Lydus, In de An. 68.31–32. 43 Gregory of Nazianzos, Or. 29, 9.15 ff. 44 Theol. I 53.101–105.

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be immaterial (Aυλα) and self-subsisting (α; υπ.στατα); they are not liable to mental separation from their subjects (ο;δενς =ποκειμ"νου ε#σ' χωριζ.μενα κατ’ )πνοιαν), such as is the case with mathematical objects, insofar as they are not settled in any subject but are settled in themselves (α;τ* /αυτο,ς ε#σιν Vδραι). Unsurprisingly, the terms used by the commentator seem to recall once again certain formulas to be found in Proklos, particularly one passage of the commentary on the Parmenides, where enmattered forms (τ* μ?ν εJδη τ* Fνυλα) are said to be in and of other things since they are settled in particular subjects (Fν τισιν =ποκειμ"νοις /δραζ.μενα). Therefore, the description of the objects of physics must be understood in terms of the distinction between that which is liable only to mental separation, that which exists as separate from matter, and that which can neither exist nor be defined without matter. Moreover, Eustratios clearly compares the status of enmattered forms with the status of those forms that exist in themselves as separate. The latter are self-subsistent and perfect, and therefeore do not exist in something else. These forms are the objects of sophia.45 1.3. The Objects of First Philosophy As argued above, according to Aristotle, young people can be good mathematicians, but they cannot be natural philosophers or men of wisdom, since the principles of mathematical knowledge are by abstraction, while the principles of natural philosophy and sophia are by experience, which requires time for their acquisition. Yet, if it is clear in what sense the principle of physics are experiential, then there remains the problem of explaining how the principles of sophia are also derived from experience. In fact, the objects of sophia, which Eustratios calls sophia par excellance (κατ’ )ξαρετον σοφα), are described as divine, immaterial and above sense-perception.46 Thus, to explain in what sense sophia 45 In EN 346.35–38: τ* δ? ο;σι7δη εJδη ο;χ ο@τως Fχουσιν, &λλ’ Aυλα Hντα κα' α; υπ.στατα ο;σαι ε#σ'ν Aυλοι κα' ο;δενς =ποκειμ"νου ε#σ' χωριζ.μενα κατ’ )πνοιαν, Mτι μηδ? Fν τινι =ποκειμ"νDω /δρζονται &λλ’ α;τ* /αυτο,ς ε#σιν Vδραι. = In Prm. 1136.7– 11: Ε# γ*ρ ) ελ σεις εωρLσαι π σαν τNν τν Hντων τξιν, Hψει τ* μ?ν εJδη τ* Fνυλα )ν Aλλοις Hντα μ.νον κα' Aλλων Hντα κα' "ν τισιν #ποκειμ νοις $δραζμενα. See also his Λγος δετερος περ το γου Πνεματος 81.11–14: τα+τ μοι ν.ει, Mτι τε Iς τ* τ"λεια τν ε#δν, T τν δεχομ"νων ο; δ"εται πρς =π.στασιν, &λλ’ α&'υπστατα μ"ν )στι κα( α&τοτελ, )ν /αυτο,ς δ’ /δρζει )κε,να κα' τLς ο#κεας πληρο, &γα .τητος. 46

In EN 348.23–24.

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can be said to derive from experience, he elaborates on the meaning of the word “experience”. “Experience” should not be understood in the usual and common sense way, i.e., a non-rational practice, but as a form of direct and intuitive knowledge concerning substantial matters.47 I would like to point out that the term πραγματει7δης, “laborious” or “concerning substantial matters,” which is here used to describe this knowledge, occurs in Proklos’ commentary on the Parmenides, where it refers to the “laborious game” of producing hypothesis and arguments. Every external argument, says Proklos, is a kind of game, as stated by Plato himself (Parm., 137b), expecially when compared to the unitary intellection of Being. This game is also “laborious” because it relates to the contemplation of beings.48 Proklos supports Eustratios’ explanation of the term πραγματει7δης in terms of a direct and intuitive knowledge (κατ’ )πιβολ ν) since the latter expression refers to the direct apprehension of the Forms, as I will show later. Both these expressions make it clear that, according to Eustratios, the kind of experience proper to sophia is a form of contemplation of separate realities. In the case of sophia, as in the case of physics, the first principles of the related kind of knowledge are represented by that which is first known to us (τ* πρς μ ς) and not by what is prior in nature (τ* φσει =πρχοντα πρ.τερον).49 As is well known, this very same distinction is to be found in the incipit of the Physics (I,1,184a17–25), where Aristotle elaborates on the the nature of the principles of the science of Nature, saying that the path of the investigation in this field leads from what is more recognizable and clear to us ()κ τν γνωριμωτ"ρων μ,ν  δς κα' σαφεστ"ρων) to what is clearer and more recognizable in itself or in its own nature ()π' τ* σαφ"στερα τCL φσει κα' γνωριμ7τερα). What is first (τ πρτον) cognizable to us are the particulars, while elements and principles are known to us after (@στερον) an analysis of the concrete data.50 Aristotle elaborates a similar argument in the Posterior Analytics (I,1,71b33–72a5) where the In EN 347.37–348.5: τα+τα μ?ν εJρηται πρς γνσιν το+ τCL μ?ν μα ηματικCL )πιστ μCη )ξ &φαιρ"σεως εXναι τ* =ποκεμενα, τCL δ? φυσικCL κα' πρ7τCη φιλοσοφPα, ] κα' κατ’ )ξαρετον σοφα καλε,ται, ο;χ. πς δ’ )ξ )μπειρας α$ &ρχα' τCL σοφPα κα' τCL φυσικCL, Fτι μα ε,ν λεπεται. οXμαι δN  )μπειρα )ντα+ α ο; κατ* τ σνη ες σημαιν.μενον εJληπται, %να τNν Aλογον σημανCη τριβ ν, &λλ’ &ντ' τLς πραγματει7δους κα' κατ’ )πιβολNν γν7σεως. 47

48 In Prm. 1036.9–12; 1051.38–1052.3. Here Proklos claims that the method followed by Parmenides is not an empty logical exercise but a “laborious game”, which concerns the nature of things. 49 In EN 348.24–26. 50 Aristotle, Physica I,1,184a17–25.

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premises, the true statements of a demonstration, are said to be causes, better known and prior (αJτι τε κα' γνωριμ7τερα δε, εXναι κα' πρ.τερα). He therefore distinguishes between two senses in which something can be said to be prior and better known: that which is prior in nature and that which is prior or better known to us, i.e. that which is nearer to our sense-perception (τ* )γγτερον τLς α#σ σεως) vis-à-vis that which is further (τ* πορρ7τερον) from it, namely the most universal concepts (τ* κα .λου μλιστα).51 The same distinction occurs in the tradition of the Late Antique commentators and is used to describe the different statuses of the three theoretical sciences, namely physics, mathematics, and metaphysics. Such a scheme can be found in Ammonius’ commentary on the Isagoge, where theology is said to come first, insofar as divine things are causative principles of everything (&ρχα' γ*ρ πντων τ* ε,α). Physics, on the contrary, is what is first in relation to us (πρς μ ς πρτον) since we would be unable to grasp the intelligible substance without its relation to sense-perception. That which is first in relation to us is in truth the last (Fσχατον): the enmattered is the last substance ()σχτη γ*ρ ο;σα  Fνυλος). Mathematics is intermediate, becuase its essential character is to be intermediate.52 He himself speaks in dynamic terms regarding the necessity of moving from the realm of physics, i.e., from what does not exist outside of matter, to the realm of the divine things, namely that which is fully separate. This movement cannot take place without the mediation of mathematics, which serves as a kind of bridge between physical and metaphysical investigation.53 Aristotle, An. Post. I,1,71b33–72a5. See also Themistios, In APo. 6,14–18. Ammonius, In Porph. 10.13–19; cf. also the general argument to be found in In Porph. 52.9–11: Eστε τ* τCL φσει πρ.τερα τCL γν7σει μν @στερα γνονται κα' τ* τCL φσει @στερα μν τCL γν7σει πρ.τερα> σαφ"στερον ο6ν τ πρτον, &σαφ"στερον δ? τ δετερον. Cf. on Ammonius and the so-called “Alexandrian school”, cf. Kremer (1961) and (1961–1962). See also Asclepius, In Metaph. 1.13. On this commentary, and on the Neoplatonic involvements of Ammonius’ position, see Verrycken (1990) in part. 204– 210. 53 Ammonius, In Porph. 12.8–13.7. Ammonius quotes Plotinus’ famous invitation to study mathematics (Enn. 1,3,3) because it allows an acquaintance with the incorporeal realm. This very same exortation is found in Asclepius, In Metaph. 151.4–6; Simplikios, In Ph. 14.4–6; Olympiodoros, Proll. 9.37–10.2; David, In Porph. 59.17–19. But an account of the different types of priority can also be found in Proklos, In Euc. 12.26–13.26; 13.27–14.11; 14.17–20; In Prm. 980.17–21. It seems that in these passages Proklos refers to Aristotle’s Posterior Analytics (I,1,71b33–72a5), remarking that the natural priority of the premises within scientific demonstration has to be undertsood as the priority of the a-priori reasons within our soul. 51 52

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Although Eustratios’ reference to the different types of priority strongly echoes the tradition of Late Antique commentatary, Eustratios refers again to Proklos when he provides the reader with examples of priority according to nature. This kind of priority can be found in the class of divine things ()ν το,ς εο,ς): that which produces (τ παργον), remarks Eustratios, is prior to that which is produced (το+ παραγομ"νου); that which perfects (τ τελεσιουργ.ν) is prior to that which is perfected (το+ τελεσιουργουμ"νου); that which protects (τ φρουρητικ.ν) is prior to that which is protected (το+ φρουρουμ"νου); that which purifies (τ κα αρτικ.ν) is prior to that which is purified (το+ κα αιρουμ"νου); that which illuminates (τ φωτιστικ.ν) is prior to that which is illuminated (το+ φωτιζομ"νου); and, in general, that which is transcendent (τ =περ"χον) is prior to that which is transcended (το+ =περεχομ"νου).54 These examples are adopted terms often used by Proklos to describe the general terms of the process of causation, namely the transcendence of that which causes in respect to that which is caused, or to describe specific powers and operations performed by the different ranks of gods.55 Furthermore, they can also be found in In EN 348.26–29. (1) τ παργον—το+ παραγομ"νου = Inst. 7.27–28: πντCη Aρα τ) παργον κρε,ττον τLς το παραγομ νου φσεως. Inst. 28.12–14: )πε' γ*ρ κρε,ττον )ξ &νγκης )στ' το παραγομ νου τ) παργον, τ* α;τ* μ?ν Gπλς κα' Jσα κατ* δναμιν ο;κ Aν ποτε εJη &λλ λοις. Inst. 65.15–19: R γ*ρ )ν τ* παργοντι τ) παραγμενον ρ ται, Iς )ν α#τPα προϋπρχον, δι.τι π ν τ αJτιον )ν /αυτD τ α#τιατν προεληφε, πρ7τως _ν Mπερ )κε,νο δευτ"ρως> R )ν τD παραγομ"νDω τ) παργον (κα' γ*ρ το+το, μετ"χον το παργοντος, )ν /αυτD δεκνυσι δευτ"ρως : τ) παργον =πρχει πρ7τως). In Prm. 739.1–2: )πε' γ*ρ ο;κ <ν δυνατν ο;δ? εμιτν τ* παργοντι τα;τν εXναι τ) παραγμενον. Theol. Plat. I,19,88.23–24: &νγκη γ*ρ εXναι το παργοντος τ) παραγμενον καταδε"στερον. Cf. also Damaskios, Pr. I,239.22–23: Τα+τα μ?ν ο6ν )στι τ* πεσαντα το0ς παλαιο0ς φιλοσφους &π τν κατ’ α#ταν προϋπαρχ.ντων τ, παραγμενα πντα παργειν. (2) τ τελεσιουργ.ν = In Alc. 82.18–21: μειζ.νως δ? Fτι λεκτ"ον Mτι τν δαιμ.νων ο$ μ?ν κα αρτικNν Fλαχον δναμιν κα' Aχραντον, ο$ δ? γεννητικ ν, ο$ δ? τελεσιουργν, ο$ δ? δημιουργικ ν, κα' Mλως κατ* τ*ς #δι.τητας διCLρηνται τν εν κα' τ*ς δυνμεις =φ’ Tς )τχ ησαν. (each intra-mundane God rules over one order of demons according to its characteristics and powers); In R. 1,136.23–26: τοιο+τοι γ*ρ ο$ τν κρειττ.νων Fρωτες, )πιστρεπτικο' τν καταδεεστ"ρων ε#ς τ* πρτα κα' &ποπληρωτικο' τν )ν α=το,ς &γα ν κα' τελεσιουργο( τν =φειμ"νων. (On the Gods bringing to perfection and reversion the lower realities); In Ti. 1,87.25–26: δι* γ*ρ δυδος  μον*ς πρ.εισιν )π' τNν τελεσιουργ)ν τν Mλων πρ.νοιαν. (it is through the dyad that the monad communicates its perfecting providence to the whole). Theol Plat. 4,52.15; 4,58.11–12; 4,75.14–17; 4,77.17–19 (on the preserving/συνεκτικο and perfecting/τελεσιουργο Gods); 4,108.5–8 (the third order of intelligible and intelligent Gods according to the Parmenides and the perfective/τελεσιουργ.ν character of its activity). (3) τ φρουρητικ.ν—το+ φρουρουμ"νου: In Ti. 1,154.1–2; 1,156.5–6; 3,312.15–16; Inst. 154.1–3, In Alc. 30.9–12 (on the protective Gods and their powers); In Ti. 2,106.15– 54 55

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Proklos’ description of the status of the transcendent Forms and their powers.56 Eustratios states that if we begin with that which is prior in nature, then accounting for or defining that which is secondary will remain impossible. Therefore, we must start from what is first for us, namely the last terms of the causation process: sense-perception data and individuals. From here we can return to that which is prior in nature by way of our admiration of their variety and constitutions. In this way, we are supposed to trace back, by means of rational and intellectual contemplation, through the immediately proximate cause until we arrive, by way of the intermediate realms, at the First Cause.57 In this 16; 2,107.16–17; 2,292,10 ff. (on the protective activity of the World-Soul); Theol. Plat. 1,78.19–21 (quoting the Chaldean Oracles on the celebrations of the paternal, protective/φρουρητικ, governing, and healing powers); Theol. Plat. 1,123.7–10: τν δ? =φισταμ"νων &π τν διττν &ρχν τν προϋπαρχουσν τLς &πογενν σεως, τ* μ?ν πρς τNν πατρικNν &φομοιο+ται κα' Fστι ποιητικ* κα' φρουρητικ, κα' συνεκτικ* τ* τοια+τα γ"νη τν εν . . . (on the class of gods resembling the paternal principle); 4,53.22–26 (the first triad of intelligible and intelligent gods has three properties: revealing, gathering, and protecting/φρουρητικ ); 5,122.13–15 (the properties of the second triads of immaculate Gods depend upon the protective/φρουρητικ cause); Inst. 151.23–25: Π ν μ?ν τ τLς κα αρ.τητος αJτιον )ν τ φρουρητικ περι"χεται τξει, ο;κ Fμπαλιν δ? π ν τ) φρουρητικ)ν τD κα αρτικD γ"νει τα;τ.ν. (On the relation between the protective and the purificatory); Inst. 154.4–6: ε# γ*ρ . φρουρ, τ τLς /κστου τξεως μ"τρον &τρ"πτως διασ7ζει κα' συν"χει πντα τ, φρουρο/μενα )ν τCL ο#κεPα τελει.τητι. Theol. Plat. 6,67.5–6: π ν γ*ρ τ) φρουρον πανταχ. εν σπεδει περιλαμβνειν τ) φρουρο/μενον (The divine protection protects all the objects in their proper perfection). (4) τ κα αρτικ.ν: In Ti. 1,38.9–10: Mλως δ? κα' περ' α;τ*ς τ*ς ψυχς ε#σι κα' &ναγωγο' δυνμεις κα' κα αρτικα (There are anagogic and purgative Potencies that take care of the souls) In R. 1,122.5– 7 (on the different ranges of demons responsible for the care of the souls that still requires correction and purification: there are the vengeant, the corrective, the purgative/κα αρτικα, and the one encharged to judge); Theol Plat. 1,86.23–24 (on Δκη as the divinity purgative of the wickedness of the souls). (5) φωτιστικ.ν—φωτιζ—φωτιζομ"νου: Iamblichos, Myst. 1,9.10–22: 3Ωσπερ ο6ν τ φς περι"χει τ* φωτιζ.μενα, ο=τωσ' κα' τν

εν  δναμις τ* μεταλαμβνοντα α;τLς Fξω εν περιεληφεν. (Light and that which receives light as metaphors for the causal power of the Gods); In R. 1,289.21–24: τν δ? α6 ε#κ.νων δηλο+ν δυναμ"νων κα' &γλματα κα' ζDωγραφ ματα κα' π ν Mτι τοιο+τον, α;τς διοριζ.μενος, τνας εXναι βολεται τ*ς ε#κ.νας, κα' Iς τ*ς &π τν φωτιζντων &ποτελουμ"νας )ν φωτιζομ νοις . . . Finally, Inst. 145.3 ff. for a passage in which these divine activities are all mentioned together, in regard to the influence of the divine orders on the inferior kinds. 56 E.g. In Prm. 911.37–40 (The Forms are not mere patterns but also productive, perfective/τελεσιουργικ and protective or conservative/φρουρητικ of sensible particulars). 57 In EN 348.30–37: &λλ’ μ,ν ο;κ Fστιν ε; 0ς )ξ &ρχLς κατειληφ"ναι τ* πρ.τερον, κ&κ τLς πρς )κε,να )πιβολLς το0ς περ' τν δευτ"ρων λ.γους &ποδιδ.ναι, &λλ* δLλα πρ7τως μ,ν τ* )σχτως )κε, εν &ποτελομενα. τα+τα δ? τ* )ν σ7μασι εωρομενα, B

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way Eustratios justifies the Aristotelian claim that sophia, like physics, requires experience. In other words, to grasp what is prior by nature we must start from what is prior to us, and it is this anagogical process that allows the contemplation of the separate substances and the First Cause. Everything in this description is taken from Proklos. The term )πιβολ used by the author to describe the mode of knowledge which allows us to grasp that which is prior by nature is found in Proklos in regard to the knowledge of the intelligibles.58 The very same expression “that which is secondary” to describe that which comes after what is prior in nature might also be traced back to a Neoplatonic context. For example, it is used by Proklos within the general description of the hierarchic nature of the causative process.59 The amazed admiration for sensible particulars mentioned by Eustratios, which is meant to arouse in us the knowledge for the higher realities, can also be found in Proklos. As a matter of fact, Eustratios speaks about our “being astonished” ()κπληττ.μενοι) by the characteristics of sense-perception data. Precisely this term occurs in Proklos for his description of the effects of beauty on souls during their conversion to the Good.60 Thus, according to Eustratios, our astonishment at the features and characteristics of sense-perception data leads us to a kind of anagogic ascension in the order of causes that always requires a tracing back to the next proximate cause. The words used in this argument are taken from a passage of Proklos’ commentary on the Parmenides (879.17–19) where Proklos describes the ascent to reason-principles in nature as the upwards procession from the element that is common to individuals

)στιν α#σ ητ* κα' κα ’ Vκαστα, οOς )πιβλλοντες κα' τNν τοτων ποικιλαν κα' σστασιν κα' συνοχNν κα' διεξαγωγNν )κπληττ.μενοι &ε' πρς τ προσεχ?ς δι* τLς λογικLς κα' νοερ ς εωρας &νατρ"χομεν αJτιον, Fστ’ Zν δι* τν μ"σων διακ.σμων ε#ς τNν πρ7την κα' μαν &ρχNν καταντ σωμεν.

See on this topic Ierodiakonou (2005b) 81. See for instance Inst. 36.30–32. In Eustratios this expression might also be understood to refer to what Eustratios had already written in his commentary on book I of the Nicomachean Ethics, where he mentions the followers of Parmenides and Plato on the nature of the ideas (περ' δ? τν #δεν Gπλς), which can be intelligent and intelligible (τν τε νοερν κα' νοητν) as well as primary and secondary (τν πρ7των κα' δευτ"ρων) In EN 49.7–9. Needless to say, Eustratios’ reference to the the dyptic intelligentintelligible is another reference to Proklos although our commentator does not deal with this topic in all its complexity. 60 This is clear in Theol. Plat. 3,64.6–12; In Alc. 328.6–10. 58 59

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and to their proximate cause.61 Moreover, this anagogic ascension, adds Eustratios, proceeds through intermediate realms (δι* τν μ"σων διακ.σμων), which are identified by the term δικοσμος or διακ.σμησις, an important technical expression found in Proklos for the description of different realms, planes of beings or world-orders.62 In another passage, Eustratios claims that sophia is the absolute knowledge of beings, namely of substances. Its object is not a particular qualified or accidental being (ο; συμβεβηκς M τι Hν )στν) but the substance or Being in an absolute sense (&λλ’ ο;σαν R Gπλς Hν).63 This argument can be found in the Aristotelian identification of the object of metaphysics with being qua being. In fact, says Aristotle in book IV of the Metaphysics, none of the other sciences treat being generally qua being (κα .λου περ' το+ Hντος CU Hν), but just some portion or part of it (τ συμβεβηκ.ς), like, for instance, the mathematical sciences.64 Needless to say, Eustratios’ reference to the concept of substance (ο;σα) can also be traced back to the Metaphysics, book VII, where Aristotle explicitly links the problem of being with the problem of substance. His formulation is akin to Eustratios’ argument where he states that that which is primary, i.e., not in a qualified or particular manner, but absolutely, will be substance (Eστε τ πρ7τως _ν κα' ο; τ' _ν &λλ’ _ν Gπλς  ο;σα Zν εJη).65 Moreover, the idea that metaphysics deals with τ Gπλς Hν can be found in many relevant passages of the late antique tradition.66 61 In Prm. 879.17–19: &π γ*ρ τν )ν το,ς κα "καστα κοινν )π' τ) προσεχ0ς α τιον α;τν νατρ χομεν, : δ )στι πντως εXδος φυσικ.ν. 62 Esutratius speaks about “intermediate realms” (δι* τν μ"σων διακ.σμων) through

which we proceed upwards towards the One and First Cause. This exact expression also occurs in Proklos in order to describe the declining procession to the last terms of the causation process. See for instance In Alc. 112.1–5, where beauty and greatness are said to come from above, from the most primary principles all the way to the visible world through all the intermediate realms (δι* πντων τν μ"σων διακ.σμων). See also the account of the different διακ.σμοι in Theol. Plat. 3,20.9 ff. Needless to say, δικοσμος is an important term for the Neoplatonists in general. Syrianus, for example, mentions five main διακ.σμοι: divine, intellective, psychic, natural, and sensible. They are all said to be filled by the Dyad with the numbers proper to them; cf. Syrianus, In Metaph. 112.35–113.3. Ammonius uses the term δικοσμος to describe the three primitive orders or realms of the natural substances, which he identifies with the divine, the intellective and the psychic one; cf. Ammonius, In Int. 24.22–29. 63 In EN 320.7–10:  δ? σοφα Gπλς περ' τNν τν Hντων γνσιν καταγινομ"νη, Qτοι τν ο;σιν, οc τι _ν γιν7σκει &λλ’ Gπλς Hν, Qγουν ο; συμβεβηκς M τι Hν )στιν &λλ’ ο;σαν R Gπλς Hν [)στιν]. 64 Aristotle, Metaphysica IV,1,1003a21–26. 65 Aristotle, Metaphysica VII,1,1028a29–20. 66 Cf. e.g. Asclepius, In Metaph. 226,6 ff.

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What is more interesting is that Eustratios finishes this argument by stating that the best part of sophia is the one that deals with the more principle beings (&ρχικ7τερα). Sophia is in this respect theology.67 In stating this Eustratios follows the Neoplatonic interpretation of Aristotle’s First Philosophy,68 which is also found in other Byzantine authors closer to Eustratios, like Michael Psellos and in Eustratios’ teacher John Italos.69 Metaphysics deals with higher realities, that which is immaterial and divine, and not liable to mental separation (like the mathematical objects), but existing as such as separated,70 which Eustratios, following Proklos, defines as the “causes in the proper sense of the word,” those beings which exist by absolute necessity.71 In this respect, says Eustratios, First Philsophy/theology also provides the particular sciences with their indemonstrable principles since it relates directly to the causative principles of every being, and is, therefore, the supreme science. Only in this way, according to Eustratios, can the man of wisdom, the sophos, clarify and strengthen the principles of each science by referring them to their true and supreme causes or principles.72 Eustratios proposes a description of the statuses of the three theoretical sciences following the tradition of the commentators through a consideration of their different types and degrees of separation from their object. He often uses terms taken from Proklos’ work in order to describe the anagogic ascent from the level of perishable realities to the level of true beings. The starting point for this upwards procession is the sensible knowledge that awakens in us the desire to strive towards the separate forms. Eustratios’ account of the nature and status of human intellect is linked to this idea.

In EN 320.13–19. Cf. e.g. Syrianus, In Metaph. 80.16–18; Ammonius, In Int. 27.32–33; Asclepius, In Metaph. 1.7–8; 1.17–18; 4.1–3; 134,10–12; Elias, In Porph. 20.21–22; Simplikios, In Ph. 364.15–16; John Philoponos, In APo. 331.10–11. Nevertheless, that the subject of Aristotle’s Metaphysics was a theological one had been already argued by Alexander of Aphrodisias; cf. Alexander of Aphrodisias, In Metaph. 171.5–11. For a detailed study on Alexander’s view, cf. Genequand (1979); Kremer (1961) 5–77; 105–129; 142–172; 209– 216; Verbeke (1981); O’Meara (1986); Steel (2005). 69 Psellos, Orat. min. 37.210–211; Phil. Min. II 69.15–16; Italos, QQ 26.16–17. 70 In EN 346.36–39. 71 Cf. Trizio (2006) 47–53; 53, 60. 72 In EN 322.12–19; 323.22–23. It might be useful to compare the whole set of arguments provided by Eustratios with two similar passages taken from Asclepius’ commentary on the Metaphysics, e. g., 3.21–4.3 and 361.28–33. 67 68

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In his commentary on EN,6,1141a3–8, where Aristotle identifies the intellect with the only truth-attaining disposition that can grasp the first principles, Eustratios provides a twofold classification of the different types of intellect. On the one hand, there is an intellect by essence (κατ’ ο;σαν) that posseses all the intelligibles in itself (πντα Fχων )ν /αυτD τ* γνωστ) and grasps them by means of direct and immediate apprehension (Gπλα,ς )πιβολα,ς κα' & ρ.οις καταλαμβνων). On the other, there is an intellect by disposition or habit (κα ’ Vξιν), which is identified with “our” human intellect. This intellect initially possesses common notions (τ*ς κοιν*ς )ννοας) as the result of its proper operations and intelligible contents, which are echoes of the Intellect that exists in an absolute and pure way (νο ματα &πηχ ματ τινα )ν /αυτD το+ Gπλς =πρχοντος νο+). Eustratios says that the human intellect does not share the perfect intellection that characterizes the intellect by essence. It can recover from this gap once it becomes free from the confusion caused by the passions. But even after gaining a purer form of knowledge, the human intellect cannot perform intellection in the same way as the intellect κατ’ ο;σαν. In fact, human intellection is still neither simultaneous nor eternal (ο;κ & ρ.ον ο;δ’ )ν α#νι) as is the Intellect described by Eustratios as existing in an absolute and pure manner, whose presence in us is witnessed by the intelligibles possessed as echoes. On the contrary, human intellect is only allowed a temporal form of knowledge, only grasping the intelligibles singularly (κα ’ dν κα' )ν χρ.νDω) while passing from one to the other (μεταβανων &φ’ /τ"ρου ε#ς Vτερον).73 Specialists in late antique philosophy will readily recognize this passage as a puzzle pieced together from Proklos’ arguments. For example, the distinction between intellect κατ’ ο;σαν and intellect κα ’ Vξιν is to be found in Proklos’ commentary on Plato’s Timaeus, where the author distinguishes between three types of intellect. The first one is the divine intellect, the demiurgic one; the second is the one participated ( μετε73 In EN 317.19–28:  μ?ν γ*ρ κατ’ ο;σαν νο+ς πντα Fχων )ν /αυτD τ* γνωστ* κα' Gπλα,ς )πιβολα,ς κα' & ρ.οις καταλαμβνων α;τ* ο;δ"ποτε )ξσταται &π’ α;τν,  δ? )ν μ,ν νο+ς κα ’ Vξιν Fχων τ εXναι, μ.νας Fχει )ξ &ρχLς τ*ς κοιν*ς )ννοας ο#κε,α )νεργ ματα κα' νο ματα &πηχ ματ τινα )ν /αυτD το+ Gπλς =πρχοντος νο+, Mταν δ? τLς τν πα ν &παλλαγCL συγχσεως κα' τν συνηρτημ"νων =περαρ CL δυνμεων κα' τ τ"λειον α;το+ =πολ ψεται /αυτο+ μ.νου γεν.μενος, τ.τε κα' /κστDω τν νοητν Gπλς )πιβλλειν δναται, ο;κ & ρ.ον ο;δ’ )ν α#νι Iς  κυρως νο+ς καταλαμβνων α;τ* &λλ* κα ’ dν κα' )ν χρ.νDω κα' μεταβανων &φ’ /τ"ρου ε#ς Vτερον, Iς προερηται.

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χ.μενος) by the Soul, which is substantial and by itself perfect; the third one is the intellect by disposition ( κα ’ Vξιν), by means of which the Soul is intelligent.74 Proklos seemingly refers this last distinction to the World-Soul, and Eustratios extends the term to include the particular souls, on the grounds that that which is valid for the World-Soul should also be valid for the particular ones. Proklos also seems to be the source of Eustratios’ argument regarding the different manners in which the intellect κατ’ ο;σαν and the intellect κα ’ Vξιν possess the intelligibles. The first one contains all forms in itself in a unitary manner and never abandons them (ο;δ"ποτε )ξσταται &π’ α;τν).75 The latter contains all forms as well, although in a secondary and discursive manner.76 Thus, Eustratios contends that at the beginning we possess only common notions (κοινα' Fννοιαι) as the soul’s proper (discursive) operations. In doing so, he follows the Neoplatonists in describing the type of knowledge that is coordinated with discursive reason as proceeding from common notions or axioms from which the soul produces arguments or demonstrations.77 However, even 74 In Ti. II,313.1–4. The same distinction is found in In Alc. 65.19–66.6, where the author compares the above mentioned types of intellect with three types of love, describing the third kind of love, which exists by irradiation in the souls as analoguous to the intellect by disposition (κα ’ Vξιν). See also the argument elaborated by Proklos in In Ti. I,406.14–25, where one can find a discussion on the nature of the principle that makes the soul intelligent, i.e., whether the intellect is substantial and situated above the soul, or whether it is a disposition or state of it. 75 In EN 317.21: ο;δ"ποτε )ξσταται &π’ α;τν. = In Alc. 187,8–11: οcτε γ*ρ τ*

κρεττονα γ"νη τLς μετ"ρας ψυχLς δι* μα σεως R ε=ρ"σεως τυγχνει τLς /αυτν τελει.τητος> &ε' γ*ρ σνεστι το,ς /αυτν γνωστο,ς κα' ο&δ ποτε φσταται α&τν ο;δ? )νδεL γγνεται τLς ο#κεας γν7σεως. Here Proklos states that the classes superior to our

soul do not attain perfection through a learning process since they are always united to their objects of knowledge and never leave them (ο;δ"ποτε &φσταται α;τν). 76 Inst. 194.30: Π σα ψυχN πντα Fχει τ* εJδη, T  νο+ς πρ7τως Fχει. 77 On this Neoplatonic theory, cf. O’Meara (1986) 12–13. That the knowledge of the intelligibles is somehow not properly coordinated (συστοιχς) with the discursive reason is clearly stated in an argument expounded by Proklos in In Prm. 949.11– 19. Cf. Steel (1997) 293–309, 295–297. The term “common notions” (κοινα' Fννοιαι) to describe the starting points of discursive reasoning and the principles of scientific demonstrations might be traced to Syrianus, In Met. 18.9–10; 21,31–34; Proklos, In Euc. 240.11–14; Ammonius, In Int. 7.16–22; Asclepius, In Metaph. 158.11–13; John Philoponos, In APr. 2.24–27. For a survey on the Neoplatonic usage of the expression “common notions” it might be useful to refer to Proklos, Theol. Plat. v. 1, p. 155, n. 4. In regard to the more techinical meaning of the expression “common notions,” it is interesting to note that, beginning probably with Alexander of Aphrodisias, common notions are sometimes identified tout-court with the axioms upon which the sciences are based. Cf. e.g. Alexander of Aphrodisias, In Top. 18.19–21. This is also what Eustratios does in In EN 319.8–9 and in In APo. 45.27–33.

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this discursive activity of the soul is grounded on contents which the soul somehow already possesses in itself. Eustratios defines these contents as the “echoes in us of an absolutely existing Intellect” (&πηχ ματ τινα )ν /αυτD το+ Gπλς =πρχοντος νο+). The term &πηχ ματα used by Eustratios to describe the innate knowledge in the particular soul, is another sign of the Proklean influence on this and other arguments elaborated by Eustratios.78 The commentator refers to the possibility that the human intellect might be freed from the passions, adding that it is this that enables it to transcend the potencies related to these passions (τν συνηρτημ"νων δυναμ"νων).79 This argument reflects a passage from Proklos’ commentary on the Alcibiades where the author describes the different vestures that the soul assumes in its descent into the body and which obstruct the contemplation of beings. The soul has to control and regulate, says Proklos, the secondary and tertiary potencies related or attached to it (τ*ς δευτ"ρας κα' τρτας δυνμεις τ*ς συνηρτημ"νας α;τCL).80 These potencies are basically lower powers that the soul brings forth from itself when it is embodied and guarantee the functionning of the bodily vital functions. Following the Neoplatonists, Eustratios calls these lower potencies “acts” ()ντ"λεχειαι), or “lives” (ζωα), which cannot be separated from bodies.81 These lives are necessary insofar as it is not possible for the soul to be attached directly to physis and bodies82 since a soul is an incorporeal essence and, as such, never comes in contact with a body. In entering the body the soul never loses its essential unity in this ensouling process of the body.83 This whole argument strongly echoes a formula found in Proklos’ commentary on the Timaeus. Here Proklos rejects the opinion of those,

Cf. e.g. In Alc. 99.13–19; Theol. Plat. 1,125.3–8; Inst. 129.26–28. Other occurrences of the term &πηχ ματα are listed in Ierodiakonou (2005b) 81, n. 30. The terms &π χημα and &πηχ ματα occur as well in Ps.-Dionysios; cf. e.g. De divinis nominibus 147.12; 191.5; 201.12. However, none of the passages of Ps.-Dionysios in which these terms occur can be linked to Eustratios’ argument since they only refer generically to the lower degrees of perfection found in the last terms of the causation process and not to concepts found in the human soul. 79 In EN 317.24–25. 80 In Alc. 224.1–9, in part. 8–9. 81 In EN 317.33; see also 276.37–38. For Neoplatonic occurrences of the term ζωα to describe the lower lives or potencies of the enbodied soul, see Proklos, In Prm. 818.33– 35; Priscianus Lydus, In de An. 219.32–34; 242.4; 246.37. 82 In EN 217.30–33. 83 For this Neoplatonic doctrine, see Steel (1978). 78

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probably referring to Aristotle, who believe that the soul is just a series of acts, potencies or lives inseparable from the body. Furthermore, according to Proklos, the embodied soul organizes the vital functions of the body through potencies or lives such that simply declaring that the soul is only the animating principle of the body would be wrong. Eustratios echoes Proklos’ doxographical account as he speaks about other lives which are responsible for the bond between the soul and the body, “which some call acts”. He simply takes this expression from Proklos without regard to the fact that in Proklos the whole argument has been rejected.84 This passage, as do many others from the commentary on book VI of the Nicomachean Ethics, seems to show that for Eustratios Proklos is not only a source, but source-material, i.e., a kind of terminological repertoire, which he freely employs in order to construct his own arguments. A highly educated Byzantine reader would probably have immediately noticed that the whole of Eustratios’s commentary on book VI of the Nicomachean Ethics is constructed in this way. It is an amazing piece of philosophical rhetoric, in which the author deepens the interpretation of the Aristotelian text by a careful line by line reconstruction of the source material offered by Proklos’ works. Eustratios seems to regard the original context and doctrinal framework of Proklos’ arguments and formulas as secondary since he uses Proklos’ vocabulary mainly as a means to construct coherent and consistent arguments, which pay more attention to form and style than to content. Returning to Eustratios’ view on the status of the human intellect, the condition according to which the soul acts discursively is not a definitive one. In fact, these lower potencies or lives can be somehow transcended so that the soul regains its essential purity. However, even when this happens, claims Eustratios, the soul cannot grasp the intelligibles in the same way as the νο+ς κατ’ ο;σαν. The operational gap between the human and the separate Intellect remains, as the intellectual and non-discursive operation of the soul is neither simultaneous

84 In EN 317.32–35: Iς κα' μετ* τNν λογικNν ψυχNν ο;χ  φσις ε; 0ς κα' τ* σ7ματα &λλ* ζωα τινες Vτεραι, Tς )ντελεχεας φασ'ν εXναι, &χωρστους οcσας σωμτων κα' ο#κεως α;τν )πιγινομ"νας τα,ς κρσεσι κα' τοτων διαλυομ"νων συναπιοσας. = In Ti. 2, 286, 23–26: Fτι τNν διαπλοκNν τοιατην &νεξ.με α λ"γειν, ο%αν τιν?ς λ"γουσιν, Iς μεριστα,ς δυνμεσι κα' ντελεχεαις κα' ζωα1ς χωρστοις τLς ψυχLς τD σ7ματι παροσης; μηδαμς. Proklos’ doxographical account introduced by the formula τιν?ς λ"γουσιν is clearly reflected in Eustratios’ use of the form φασιν.

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nor eternal (ο;κ & ρ.ον ο;δ’ )ν α#νι). The soul can grasp the intelligibles by means of direct apprehension—the above mentioned )πβολαι—that are singular and distinct acts of intellection, in the sense that one follows the other. In this way the intelligibles can be grasped one by one (κα ’ dν) and in time ()ν χρ.νDω) insofar as time is that which is involved in the process of passing from one intelligible content to the other (μεταβανων &φ’ /τ"ρου ε#ς Vτερον). This latter argument can be safely traced back to Proklos.85 If the Nous and the divine souls which attend upon the gods act and think with no interruption, then the particular souls, which exist within a realm of becoming and division, act and think in a discontinuous way.86 In the first entities, intellection is co-extensive with their essence; in the second, intellection is other than their essence.87 This separation between essence and activity characterizes the particular souls. They remain eternal in their essence, but they act within a temporal dimension.88 The terms and the formulas employed by Proklos are clearly reflected in Eustratios’ own arguments.89 In fact, he explains that the soul qua soul (Iς μ?ν ψυχ ) acts by unfolding (&νειλιγμ"νως) the intelligible contents within the realm of discursive reasoning, i.e., by means of syllogisms, passing from the order of the premises to the order of the conclusions (μεταβανουσα ε#ς συμπερσματα )κ προτσεων).90 However, the soul, when participating in the Intellect (Iς δ? μετ"χουσα νο+), acts by means of direct apprehensions, insofar as it already possesses in itself the principles and the definitions (τ*ς &ρχ*ς κα' το0ς Mρους) as echoes of the Nous (Iς νο+ &πηχ ματα), and it recollects the projections of the innate reasons of the soul in the dianoia. When it becomes intelligent, i.e., capable of intellectual operation, it acquires an intellection that is finally coordinated to the nature of the intelligible and no longer simply discursive even though it is not simultaneous and immediate like the knowledge proper to what Eustratios calls Intellect “by existence” (κα ’ 85

On this theory see O’Meara (2000). Cf. Steel (1997) 307. 87 See In Prm. 895.32–40. Further examples of this argument in the Neoplatonic tradition can be found in Steel (1978) 132–141. 88 For this principle see Inst. 191. 89 See e.g. In Prm. 1165.30–35; In Ti. 1, 245.6–7; 1,246.1–9. Here Proklos claims that our knowledge does not grasp all at once (ο; πντα δ? Bμα) but passes from one content to the other (&λλ* μεταβανων &π’ Aλλων )π’ Aλλα). Not only the content, but also the terms used by Proklos are the same as those used by Eustratios, as is clear from the use of the form μεταβανων to describe the passing from one intelligible to the other. 90 A quotation from John Philoponos, In de An. 2.2–3. 86

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@παρξιν).91 Intriguingly, this distinction between the soul qua soul and the soul as participating in the intellect, Iς μ?ν ψυχ and Iς δ? μετ"χουσα νο+, seems to be drawn directly from an argument in Proklos’

commentary on the Timaeus. Here Proklos mentions two ways in which the logos knows the eternal Being: the first one is Iς μ?ν λ.γος, that is discursively; the second one is Iς δ? νον, namely intellectually, which takes place by means of the direct apprehensions introduced above.92 Proklos argues that, although true intellection and knowledge are above the soul, they can be participated (μετ"χεσ αι) by the same soul when the logos acts intellectually (Mταν  λ.γος )νεργCL νοερς).93 Eustratios seems to follow Proklos in admitting that our knowledge functions μεταβατικς in two senses. First, discursive reasoning forces us to move from the order of premises to that of conclusions. Second, because the soul cannot, in a purely intellectual operation, grasp the intelligibles simultaneously, it needs to move from one content to the other.94 More interestingly, Eustratios concludes that the condition by means of which the soul becomes intelligent is not a natural one (φσις) but a dispositional one (Vξις).95 He clarifies that this dispositional status comes upon the soul from outside (Iς Fξω εν )πεισιο+σα )πκτητος) as something acquired ()πκτητος).96 The term )πκτητος, “acquired,” used by Eustratios to describe the dispositional and habitual nature of human intellect, can often be found in Proklos as a description of a

In EN 303.19–16:  γ*ρ ψυχN Iς μ?ν ψυχN &νειλιγμ"νως )νεργε,, συλλογιζομ"νη κα' μεταβανουσα ε#ς συμπερσματα )κ προτσεων, Iς δ? μετ"χουσα νο+ Gπλς )πιβλλει, Fχουσα μ?ν κα' τ*ς &ρχ*ς κα' το0ς Mρους Iς νο+ &πηχ ματα, γινομ"νη δ? κα' τοτων )π"κεινα, Mταν νοερ* γ"νηται, το,ς νοητο,ς νοητς )πιβλλουσα, ε# κα' μN & ρ.ως κα' μο+ Iς  κα ’ @παρξιν, &λλ* κα ’ dν περιεχομ"νη τ* πντα κα' νοο+σα κα ’ Vκαστον, δι κα'  τοιατη κατστασις ο; φσις &λλ* Vξις τLς ψυχLς \νομζεται, Iς Fξω εν )πεισιο+σα κα' γινομ"νη )πκτητος. The soul is all forms in an unfolded manner (&νειλιγμ"νως) = 91

In Euc. 16.10–16; In Prm. 987.37–39. When the soul becomes intelligent it grasps the intelligibles by means of direct apprehensions (Gπλς )πιβλλει/το,ς νοητο,ς νοητς )πιβλλουσα) = In Prm. 704.28–34; In Alc. 246.15–18; In Ti. 2,313.13–15. Even after the soul’s self reversion, it will grasp the intelligibles in a different manner than the Intellect. The soul cannot grasp the intelligibles all at once and simultaneously (μN & ρ.ως κα' μο+) = In Prm. 1165.24–25: ο2τε γ*ρ Mλην α;τNν (scil. the soul) 3μο το,ς το+ νο+ παργειν νο μασιν> ο& γ*ρ 'ρως α;τ* π"φυκεν ρP ν. 92 In Ti. 1,246.5–7. 93 In Ti. 1,245.28–31. 94 Cf. e.g. Theol. Plat. 4,43.20–22; In Ti. 1,219.1–3; 2,219.4–5. 95 This idea can be traced back to the tradition of the Neoplatonic commentators. Cf. Tempelis (1997) 317–320. 96 In EN 303.25–26.

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state or condition that does not belong to something essentially or substantially (Hντως) but only in a participatory or dispositional manner.97 A similar consideration can be made for the notion of κα ’ @παρξιν, which Eustratios associates with that Intellect that he also defines as κατ’ ο;σαν, κυρως or κριος νο+ς, referring to the Supreme Intellect.98 In fact, the concept of κα ’ @παρξιν is to be found in Proklos within a threefold distinction of the modes in which characters exist, namely in their causes (κατ’ α#ταν), substantially or existentially (κα ’ @παρξιν), and by participation (κατ* μ" εξιν).99 Sometimes, however, Proklos simply refers to the opposition κα ’ @παρξιν–κατ* μ" εξιν independently from the general description of the triadic structure of reality in order to draw a more general distinction between the substantial inherence of a character or property as opposed to possession through mere participation in the same character.100 Eustratios seems to refer precisely to this latter opposition when he compares the Intellect κα ’ @παρξιν, i.e., the Intellect which is essentially such, with the intellect by disposition or habit (κα ’ Vξιν), which is said to be adventitious and participated. Eustratios confirms this himself by making it clear that κα ’ Vξιν, “by disposition”, means κατ* μ" εξιν, “by participation”.101 Elsewhere, Eustratios elaborates a similar argument when he refers again to the idea that the soul, even after transcending the discursive dimension of its knowledge, cannot grasp the intelligibles in the same way as that found in what Eustratios defines as “the supreme Intellect” ( κριος νο+ς). The intelligent soul can only grasp them one by In R. 1,28.17–20. In this passage Proklos says that every god is essentially or substantially (Hντως) good insofar as he is constituted in his substance (ο;σιωμ"νος) according to the good and does not possess it as something acquired ()πκτητον) or as a disposition (Iς Vξιν). In fact, continues Proklos, that which is good in this latter way is neither essentially nor truly good (τD Hντι) but has only participated in the good (το+ &γα ο+ μετ"σχεν). See also In Ti. 1,352.19–22. If knowledge among the gods belongs to them essentially and substantially (κατ’ ο;σαν), and if their intellection is not acquired ()πκτητος), then they will know what they know in a way coordinated to their essence. However, it is also true that in the Inst. Proklos clearly states that since the substance of every god is supra-substantial goodness, he has goodness neither as a disposition (κα ’ Vξιν) nor substantially or essentially (κατ’ ο;σαν) but in a supra-substantial manner. Cf. Inst. 119.16–19. 98 In EN 314.16; 317.27. 99 Inst. 65; 140.17–18. On this topic, cf. Steel (1994). Cf. also Giocarinis (1964) 176, n. 39. 100 Cf. e.g. In Alc. 104.7–8. Here the gods are said to be self-sufficient κα ’ @παρξιν, whereas the other things are self-sufficient only κατ* μ" εξιν. 101 In EN 303.16–17. 97

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one, “dancing around the Intellect” (τν νο+ν περιχορεουσα).102 This latter expression is found in a similar context in Eustratios’ commentary on book I of the Nicomachean Ethics, where it is clear that it is a quotation from Proklos’ commentary on the Parmenides.103 By referring to it, Eustratios stresses that the soul’s capacity for operating in an intellectual manner is not an essential condition (ο;σιωδς) but is something acquired (κτητ.ν), a disposition or a habit supervening (Iς Vξιν )πιγιν.μενον) to the soul. According to Eustratios it is because of this status, i.e., acquired from outside (κτ7μενον Fξω εν) but also potentially losable (&ποβαλλ.μενον), that the Philosopher mentions the intellect among the other truth-attaining dispositions, namely Art, Scientific Knowledge, Practical Wisdom and Wisdom.104 Despite attributing this description of the dispositional and habitual state of the intellect to Aristotle himself, Eustratios seems to refer once again to Neoplatonic source-material. The term κτητ.ς means the same as )πκτητος, and it characterizes the participatory nature of the intellectual activity that belongs to the particular souls, as opposed to the essential (ο;σιωδς/κατ’ ο;σαν) possession of the same character. It is remarkable, then, that the two expressions, Iς Vξιν )πιγιν.μενον and Iς Fξω εν )πεισιο+σα, which are found in the two different passages here under discussion,105 appear almost verbatim in Proklos in the same passage from his commentary on the Parmenides, where Proklos distinguishes between two types of multiplicity among beings, one essential, and the other that which “supervenes from outside and is adventitious” (Fξω εν )πιγιν.μενον κα' )πεισοδιδες).106 It might be objected that in one passage of Alexander of Aphrodisias’s De anima one can find the notion of νο+ς κα ’ Vξιν described In EN 314.8–18: ε# γ*ρ κα' νοερ*ν λ"γει τNν ψυχNν κα' νο+ν =πρχειν φησ'ν )ν α;τCL, &λλ’ ο;κ ο;σιωδς =πρχειν )ν α;τCL τν νο+ν τ εται, &λλ γε κτητν κα' Iς Vξιν )πιγιν.μενον, κα * κα' πρ.τερον εJρηται. δι* το+το κα' τα,ς &λη ευτικα,ς Vξεσιν α;τν συνηρ μησεν, ρν α;τν κα' κτ7μενον Fξω εν κα' &ποβαλλ.μενον. κα αρ* γ*ρ γενομ"νη κα' )λευ "ρα τν πα ν  ψυχ , )λλμπεται μ?ν τCL πρς νο+ν γειτνισει, δ"χεται δ? )κε, εν τ νοερς )νεργε,ν, κα' ο@τω τNν τν Hντων προσλαμβνει κατληψιν Gπλα,ς )πιβολα,ς )φαπτομ"νη α;τν, ο;κ & ρ.ον Iς  κριος νο+ς ο;δ? πντων μο+, &λλ* κα ’ dν Vκαστον α;τν τν νο+ν περιχορεουσα κα' )ξ /τ"ρων τν =π’ α;το+ νοουμ"νων ε#ς Vτερον μεταβανουσα. 102

103 In EN 47.4–11, where the author quotes In Prm. 807.29–808.11. See also Giocarinis (1964) 191, n. 86, and Steel (2002) 52–53. 104 Cf. Aristotle, Ethica Nicomachea VI,3,1139b15–17. 105 Respectively in In EN 314.10 and in 303.26. 106 In Prm. 1187.41–1188.3. Cf. Psellos, Theol. I 4.28–29.

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in terms recalling the one used by Eustratios. Alexander distinguishes between an intellect that he calls “natural” or “material,” which is common to all men who are not physically incapacitated, and an acquired one ()πκτητος) that comes to be only afterwards (@στερον )γγιν.μενος), which Alexander calls “form” and “disposition” or “habit” (Vξις), i.e., the perfection of the natural and material intellect.107 In this passage the term )πκτητος and the expression @στερον )γγιν.μενος, similar to the forms Iς Vξιν )πιγιν.μενον and Iς Fξω εν )πεισιο+σα used by Eustratios, characterize Alexander’s notion of νο+ς κα ’ Vξιν. Nevertheless, Alexander’s dispositional intellect seems to refer to the habit or disposition that happens to be in those who go through a process of practice and learning, namely the possession of the intelligibles without actually thinking them. On the contrary, as previously seen, in Eustratios the expression κα ’ Vξιν has to be understood within the general metaphysical scheme, borrowed from Proklos, which is characterized by the distinction between that which exists and acts by its own essence and that which exists and acts by participation of something else. Indeed, the term Vξις thus interpreted entails the possession of an unactivated science, which is why, as we will see, Eustratios will follow Proklos in stating that we need to reactivate this knowledge. This Neoplatonic framework is even clearer when Eustratios remarks that the soul is able to act intellectually only in so far “as it participates in a principle superior to it” (το+ =π?ρ α;τNν τεταγμ"νου μετ"χουσαν), adding a verbatim quotation from Proklos’ Platonic Theology demanding that this participation requires “the proximity to the Intellect” (τCL πρς τν νο+ν γειτνισει).108 This doctrine of the different types of intellect is, according to Eustratios, part of a more general account of the whole causation process. Eustratios explains the soul’s proximity to the Intellect by referring to the necessary unity and uniformity of the processions of beings from the First Cause (τν Hντων α$ πρ.οδοι )κ τLς πρ7της α#τας κα ’ ε$ρμν γνοιντο) in such a way that each term of the causal chain is strictly Alexander of Aphrodisias, De An. 81.26–82.1. Cf. also Themistios, In de An. 95.30– 31; 98.21–24; 100.2–3; John Philoponos, In de An. 490.27. On this topic, see Davidson (1992) 10–12; De Libera (1990) 254–255. However, in Aristotle, De anima, 3,5,430a14–15 the term Vξις is referred directly to the active intellect. 108 In EN 317.28–30: δε, γ*ρ τNν ψυχNν τCL πρς τν νο+ν γειτνισει Fχειν τι νοερν το+ =π?ρ α;τNν τεταγμ"νου μετ"χουσαν. = Theol. Plat. 1,66.20–23: ψυχN δ? α;τοκνητος 107

ο6σα τLς κατ* νο+ν μετ"χει ζωLς κα' κατ* χρ.νον )νεργο+σα τ τLς )νεργεας Aπαυστον κα' τNν Aγρυπνον ζωNν )κ τς πρ)ς τ)ν νον Fχει γειτνισεως. The expression το+ =π?ρ α;τNν τεταγμ"νου μετ"χουσαν is freely borrowed from In Ti. 3,269.15–20, where Proklos

discusses the way in which the Indivisible is present in the particular souls.

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related to the one immediately superior to it by the possession of an element of similitude between the two terms (&ε' το+ =φειμ"νου συναπτομ"νου τD πρ α;το+ κα τινα πρς )κε,νο κεκτημ"νου μοωσιν).109 The attentive reader can easily recognize a rough version of Proklos’ more complex and detailed description of the causation process found in the Elements of Theology.110 In fact, compared with Proklos, Eustratios simply proposes a rough metahysical scheme characterized by the sole presence of a Separate, Supreme Intellect, a dispositional or habitual intellect, i.e. the intelligent soul, and the bodies to which the soul is attached through its lower potencies or lives. However, despite Eustratios’ simplified account of the process of causation, Proklos is clearly the shadow behind most of the arguments expounded by the commentator. This is not only true for Eustratios’ theory of the intellect but also for the commentator’s description of the process of concept formation. 3. Intellection and Recollection As previously shown, Eustratios alludes to intellection’s anagogical process, which starts from the last terms of the causation process, i.e., that which is first according to us, and gradually arrives at the First Cause.111 Sense-perception data play an essential role in our striving for the knowledge of higher realities. By producing in us astonishment and admiration for the exterior features of things, they can be considered the starting point for the whole process of intellection insofar as they stimulate and awaken the knowledge already present in our soul.112 When understood in light of Eustratios’ account of the graspability of mathematical objects, abstraction from sense-perception becomes necessary to reactivate the innate knowledge of our soul, a knowledge of which the soul itself is no longer aware, thanks to the shock of birth.113 Being of a participatory disposition, the human intellect bears in itself the traces of its cause. It possesses that which is possessed by the Nous, the separate Intellect, only in a secondary manner. As Eustratios

109 110 111 112 113

In EN 317.30–32. Cf. e.g. Inst. 11.8; 21.15–18; 29.3–4; 132.29–30; Theol. Plat. 5,103.5–6. Cf. n. 57, 61, and 62. Cf. n. 35. Ibid.

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says, there are echoes in us of an absolutely existing Intellect.114 The activity of the soul, however, confers common notions, as these notions are gathered together through induction from sensory data.115 In this respect, it has been argued that Eustratios’ position becomes inconsistent since he admits that we possess both the existence of a full knowledge of universals when we are already born and a full knowledge of the existence of universals that are abstracted from the common characters of individuals.116 While agreeing that one can find this twofold account for intellection in Eustratios, I reject the charge of inconsistency because Eustratios reconciles both abstraction from the individual particulars and innatism in one and the same theory of intellection. Evidence for my position can be found in Eustratios’ similar but more detailed explanation of how we pass from sense-perception and discursive reasoning to the pure knowledge of the intelligibles. Interestingly, this account has many more Christian elements than the one previously seen as it relates the temporary loss of the purely intellectual capacity to the loss, as it seems from the text, of our original Adamic condition.117 Human being, claims Eustratios, was created in a state of perfection, without lacking any of the dispositions that could have brought him to perfection. If he would have mantained this condition, he would be a man of wisdom (σοφ.ς), and he would not only be able to act dianoetically or discursively (διανοητικς) but also intellectually, according to his rank in the hierarchy of beings (κατ* τ &νλογον τLς φυσικLς α;τD τξεως).118 This description of the Adamic condition is again strongly influenced by Proklean terminology. The term διανοητικς, in fact, is to be found in Proklos as opposed to the knowledge which Eustratios defines as “by direct apprehensions”, characteristic of the intellectual operation properly so-called.119 However, as has been said before, the framework of Cf. n. 73. Ibid. 116 Cf. Ierodiakonou (2005b) 82. 117 In EN 297.16–298.6. This account apparently shows similarity with Basil of Caesarea, Homiliae in Psalmos 48.21 (col. 449–452); Gregory of Nyssa, De opificio hominis 136– 144. Also compare Eustratios’ passage with the Neoplatonic one, inspired by Proklos, quoted in n. 35. Finally, this passage is quoted verbatim by the 14th century philosopher and theologian Nicephoros Gregoras; cf. Nikephoros Gregoras, Solutiones quaestiones, I,493.178–494.191. 118 This latter expression seems to be borrowed from John of Damascus, Contra Manicheos, 81.7–8. 119 Cf. e.g. In Ti. 2,61.16–17; Cf. also n. 128. 114 115

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this argument remains a Christian one. Had man, claims the commentator, not transgressed the rank and the law which he received from the Creator, he would have remained in his state of perfection. Since he preferred to strive for the lower realities and to enjoy life according to the senses, he fell from the condition of perfection to the realm of coming to be and passing away. In this argument it is difficult to distinguish pagan from Christian sources. Eustratios refers to the Platonic, but also Christian image, of man’s intellectual eye (τ νοερν Hμμα) as closed and completely veiled (συμμ"μυστα τε κα' συγκεκλυπται) because of the loss of the state of perfection.120 He then clearly refers to typically Christian terminology when he claims that the eye of the soul was made turbid by the “thicker and mortal flesh” (τLς παχυτ"ρας σαρκς κα' νητLς), which echoes a passage from Gregory of Nazianzos in which the author describes, like Eustratios, the loss of the Adamic condition.121 Despite these Christian elements, Eustratios’ aim seems to be neither moral nor eschatological but mainly epistemological. As a matter of fact, the main consequence of the fall and the loss of man’s perfect and original condition is that human knowledge now depends on senseperception. However, he remarks once more that sense-perception plays the relevant role of awakening us from the sleep induced by the generation process.122 The terminology changes once again when Eustratios provides a basic account for the process of induction: from particular individuals we inductively ()παγωγικς) form or assemble together common notions (τ*ς κοιν*ς )ννοας), which are able to produce scientific conclusions.123 The common notions are immediate insoFor the expression τ νοερν Hμμα see Synesios, Epistulae 154.86; Syrianos, In Metaph. 25.6; Proklos, In Prm. 1128.32; Ps.-Dionysios, De caelesti ierarchia 50.13–14; Maximus the Confessor, Quaestiones ad Thalassium, 59.112; John of Damascus, Dialectica 1.27; Photios, De spiritus sancti mystagogia 77AB; Epistulae et Amphilochia, 284.278; Psellos, Omni. doc. 95.7. 121 Gregory of Nazianzos, Or. 45 633A; This passage by Gregory is quoted literally in In EN 276.16. For other related passages, see Bianchi (2005) 30, n. 46. 122 In EN 297.32–33: &φυπνιζοσης δ? κα' α;τν Eσπερ τCL γεν"σει καταδαρ νοντα. This expression is freely borrowed from Plato’s Phaedo, where the process of generation is said to be in one case falling asleep, and in the other waking up: Plato, Phaedo, 71d: κα' τ*ς γεν σεις α;το,ν τNν μ?ν καταδαρ'νειν εXναι, τNν δ’ &νεγερεσ αι. 123 In EN 297.33–38. Cf. also n. 99, where the common notions are said to be the product (ο#κε,α )νεργ ματα) of the (inductive) activity of our intellect, different from those concepts which on the contrary are echoes in our intellect of an absolutely existing Intellect (νο ματα &πηχ ματ τινα )ν /αυτD το+ Gπλς =πρχοντος νο+). For similar formulas related to the formation of universals by induction from individual 120

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far as the intellect forms them with sense-perception data, which in themsleves are immediate because they are in direct contact with our sensitive faculties. In this case, the terminology of the whole argument can easily be found in the tradition of the late antique commentators.124 But it seems that this account is insufficient for Eustratios since he adds that the constitution of the universal from individuals is only a preliminary step towards a further level in the process of concept formation. After induction man rids himself of the “veil of ignorance” and again becomes capable of striving for those realities that are superior and nobler than he and, ultimatively, for his Creator.125 The expression “veil of ignorance” refers to the veil that Moses had to wear,126 and to which St. Paul refers in his second letter to the Corinthians.127 However, it is interesting to notice that the expression “veil of ignorance” does not explicitly occur in either the Old or New Testament. Rather it seems to be borrowed from Origen’s interpretation of Moses’ veil in his Contra Celsum and can also be found in Theodore of Stoudios.128 In conclusion, induction, i.e., the constitution of the axioms of the sciences from individual particulars, is a consequence of the loss of man’s intellectual perfection and the subsequent fall into the realm of coming to be and passing away.129 Clearly, then, Eustratios’ position cannot be regarded as inconsistent, if, following the commentator, induction is understood to be a necessary step that leads to a higher

particulars, see In APo. 89.5–6:  γ*ρ )παγωγN τ* =π τ ζητομενον κα .λου λαβο+σα κα ’ Vκαστα, ο@τως τ κα .λου συνστησιν.; 268.30–31: )παγωγικς γρ, φησ, κα'  αJσ ησις )μποιε, τ κα .λου, )κ τν κα ’ Vκαστα τ κα .λου συνστασ αι ποιο+σα. Elsewhere (In APo. 22.24–28), Eustratios seems somehow to regard the common notions as innate concepts in our soul, or more probably as the dianoetical projections of these innate concepts. 124 I refer in particular to Eustratios’ use of the verb συνστημι to account for the constitution of universals from the manifold of particulars. See e.g. Alexander of Aphrodisias, In Top. 537.7–8; John Philoponos, In APo. 438.2–3; In Ph. 12.20–21. See also Proklos’ aporematic argument in In Euc. 13.27–14.4. Cf. In EN 297.36–37: )ξ [ν &μ"σων ο;σν Mτι κα' )ξ &μ"σων &φορμν α;τ*ς  νο+ς συναγ οχε . . . = John Philoponos, In APo. 439.19–20: &λλ’ &π α#σ σεως, Iς δ"δεικται, )νδδονται μ,ν φορμα( ξ 4ν τ κα .λου συνγομεν κα' )πιγιν7σκομεν. Similar arguments are also found in In EN 399.29–31. 125 In EN 297.38–40. 126 Ex. 34.29–35. 127 II Cor. 3.13–15. 128 Origen, Cels. VI,50.5–7; Theodore of Stoudios, Sermones Catecheseos Magnae, 30,84.36. 129 In EN 298.4–6.

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form of knowledge and awakens in us a knowledge that appears at the beginning to be only a confused echo of what is possessed in a concentrated and unified manner by the Supreme Intellect. Furthermore, this position can be easily traced back to Proklos and to the positive role that, according to this author, later-born concepts play as the point of departure for the process of recollection.130 That this might be the case is confirmed by the occurrence in Eustratios of the root &νεγερto describe the awakening in us of an innate form of intellection.131 As a matter of fact, this expression frequently occurs in Proklos precisely in regard to the awakening function of a later-born concept, and more generally in regard to the teaching-learning process and the process of anamnesis.132 All the evidence suggests that Eustratios follows Proklos in depicting the process of concept formation as starting from sense perception and from the concepts that the soul derives by induction from the individuals. Nonetheless, later-born concepts cannot fully account for the attainment of the true knowledge, but they are helpful in reactivating the inner knowledge of the soul and in enabling the same soul to act towards the intelligibles in a purely intellectual way and not in a merely discursive way. What is less clear is whether or not Eustratios treats the separate intelligible forms as if they exist outside of and prior to the Intellect. When he discusses Aristotle’s reference to the objects of science as being eternal and unperishable he describes them as selfsubsisting realities with a certain causative power, but when he elaborates on the characters of the separate and supreme Intellect he simply describes them as unitarily contained in it. The two solutions are not contradictory since Eustratios’ main source, Proklos, ranked the Intellect as the third member of a triad of which the first member is Being, which is described, in terms that Eustratios knew well, as the true being (τ Hντως Hν) and the intelligible, not in the sense of the content of the Intellect, but as the transcendent cause of that content.133 Apparently, Eustratios is not interested in the further elaboration of this topic.134 Cf. Steel (1997) 301. In APo. 265.22–23; 22.24–28. 132 Cf. e.g. Theol. Plat. 5,87.22–88.4. 133 See Inst. 161.21–27. 134 An echo of this problem is found in Giocarinis (1964) 200–203. The author resolutely concludes that according to Eustratios Ideas do not subsist outside of the divine mind although he recognizes that according to Eustratios’ main source, namely Proklos, the intelligible being exists outside of the Knowing Hypostasis. However, if this 130 131

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As shown by Ierodiakonou, Eustratios does not want to elaborate further on the status of Aristotle’s practical wisdom,135 although his comments on specific passages of the Aristotelian text regarding ethical problems are sometimes illuminating for this topic. Those passages in which Aristotle distinguishes science from art and practical wisdom by means of their different types of objects attracted Eustratios’ attention. Aristotle’s definitions of the object of science as being that which is eternal, non-generated and not subject to corruption, as well as Aristotle’s reference to the intellect as that which apprehends the first principles,136 provide Eustratios with the possibility of presenting a Neoplatonic theory of intellect and intellection inspired by Proklos. That this is the case is confirmed by Eustratios’ interpretation of Aristotle’s observation that, when contingent realities are out of the range of our consideration (Mταν Fξω το+ εωρε,ν), we do not know whether they exist or not.137 Eustratios claims that the term εωρε,ν can be understood in two ways. First, the term can be interpreted in the sense of perceiving (&ντ' το+ ρ ν) so that contingent realities are comparable to that which is in potency (τ* δυνμει Hντα). One can have sensory knowledge only when these objects are present in actuality; otherwise, it is not clear whether or not these objects exist.138 This interpretation seems to be rooted in one passage of Aristotle’s Metaphysics, in which the Philosopher asserts that there is no definition of individuals as they are apprehended by intelligence or sense-perception, although when they are out of the sphere of actuality (&πελ .ντες δ? )κ τLς )ντελεχεας) it is unclear as to whether they exist or not (ο; δLλον π.τερον ε#σ'ν R ο;κ ε#σν).139 However, Eustratios prefers another interpretation of Aristotle’s passage, as he devotes most of his comments to the idea that by εωρε,ν the Philosopher meant “to have intellection” (&ντ' το+ νοε,ν) or “to inquire” ()ξετζειν) into something. In this sense, the focus is no longer on the definitional unknowability of individuals, but on the notion of

seems to be the case in Eustratios’ commentary on book I of the Nicomachean Ethics, in his commentary on book VI of the same work the situation appears a bit more complicated. 135 Cf. Ierodiakonou (2004) in part. 237–238. 136 Aristotle, Ethica Nicomachea VI,6,1141a3–7. 137 Aristotle, Ethica Nicomachea VI,3,1139b19–23. 138 In EN 292.22–27. 139 Aristotle, Metaphysica VII,10,1136a3–7. Cf. also Gauthier & Jolif (1970) 453, where Gauthier refers to Ethica Nicomachea VII,5,1146b31–35 and Metaphysica VII,15,1040a2–5.

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universality as such. Eustratios resolutely remarks that necessary realities, the objects of science, are independent from one’s thinking activity.140 Plato and the Neoplatonic tradition seem to be the direct sources of this interpretation of Aristotle Mταν Fξω το+ εωρε,ν. The objects of science, claims Eustratios, exist by absolute necessity; they are eternal and non-generated and therefore above time.141 They are true beings (κυρως Hντα), whereas contingent realities are never truly beings (Hντως ο;δ"ποτε Hντα) for they do not possess the ontological status that Plato’s Timaeus ascribes to true beings, i.e., to remain always self-identical and unchanged (τ* &ε' κατ* τ* α;τ* κα' Iσατως Fχοντα).142 Eustratios is most probably referring to Timaeus (27d5–28a4) where one can find the distinction between what is intelligible by means of rational thought (τ μ?ν δN νο σει μετ* λ.γου περιληπτ.ν), which remains unchanged, and that which can only be an object of opinion, namely a non-rational activity. The object of opinion, says Plato, is subject to becoming and perishing, and “it is never truly a being” (Hντως δ? ο;δ"ποτε Hν). The terminology used by Eustratios, however, suggests that he read Plato while aware of the interpretation and formulas that he found in Proklos’ work. Eustratios quotes a passage from Proklos’ commentary on the Parmenides in which the author seems to refer to the same passage from Plato’s Timaeus discussed above (27d5–28a4): the explanation of a sensible particular is neither stable nor fixed but merely conjectural, while the knowledge of intelligibles is stable and irrefutable. This is because the intelligibles are “true beings” (κυρως Hντα).143 The expression is the same as the one employed by Eustratios, who adds that by “true beings” he means “that which remains always self-identical” (τ* &ε' κατ* τ* α;τ* κα' Iσατως Fχοντα).144 It is clear then that what Eustratios defines as that which exists by absolute necessity, what Aristotle himself had defined in the lemma as the object of science (τ )πιστητ.ν), is none other than the separate intelligible forms. Eustratios attributes a certain causative power to these realities. These forms, above generation and time, are the medium through In EN 292.28–33. On this point see Trizio (2006) 53–61. 142 In EN 293.15–19. 143 In Prm. 994.26–32. 144 For the expression τ* &ε' κατ* τ* α;τ* κα' Iσατως Fχοντα see first Plato, Phaed. 80b2; Resp. 484b4. But also Proklos, In R. 1,72.5; In Alc. 21.13; In Prm. 906.22–23. Cf. also Trizio (2006) 58–59. 140 141

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which creation and providence proceed into the realm of coming to be and passing away, reaching as far as the last terms of the causation process.145 That which is subject to generation and corruption is described by Eustratios, in Platonic terms, as a shadow that must refer to its archetype.146 Without the causative activity performed by the true separate beings, that which is subject to coming to be and passing away would remain uncaused and self-produced, which according to Eustratios is impossible.147 The intelligibles are described as purely good (ε#λικρινς &γα ), graspable only by the intellect (νD μ.νDω ληπτ) when free from the disturbance of the passions (νD τLς τν πα ν &παλλαττομ"νDω \χλ σεως) because the intellect receives the illumination of the First Light (τD πρ7τDω καταλαμπομ"νDω φωτ), whereas contingent realities can be grasped only by sense-perception and imagination (α#σ σει κα' φαντασPα ληπτ).148 Once again, a puzzle of quotations from Neoplatonic sources and sprinkled with sporadic Christian elements emerges.149 More importantly, Eustratios clearly states that the intelligibles are separate forms

In EN 294.14–16. In EN 294.16–19. For the term σκια, “shadows”, see Plato, Resp. 510a1; 515a7. 147 In EN 293.38: &νατια κα' α;τ.ματα. = Inst. 97. The entire argument that Eustratios advances in order to prove the existence of transcendent causes seems to depend on this proposition. 148 In EN 294.19–25: Fστιν Aρα τ* νοητ* κα' ε#λικρινς &γα * κα' τοτων &ρχ"τυπα κα' νD μ.νDω ληπτ* =πρχοντα, κα' &π το+ τρ.που δ? τLς γν7σεως α;τLς Fστι λαβε,ν τNν )κενων \ντ.τητα κα' Mσον =περ"χει τν τCLδε, εJ γε τα+τα μ?ν α#σ σει κα' φαντασPα ληπτ, )κε,να δ? διανοPα κα' μλιστα νD τLς τν πα ν &παλλαττομ"νDω \χλ σεως κα' )ν 145 146

κα αρD $σταμ"νDω κα' τD πρ7τDω καταλαμπομ"νDω φωτ' κα' το,ς &κιν τοις )κενοις &τρεμς )πιβλλοντι. 149 For the expression ε#λικρινς &γα  cf e.g. In Alc. 108,13. For the expression νD μ.νDω ληπτ referred to the intelligibles, see Alcinous, Didaskalikos 10,4.1, but also Clement

of Alexandria, Strom. 8,8,23,6.5–6; Gregory of Nazianzos, Or. 38 321B; Hermias Alexandrinus, In Phdr. 41.10; John Philoponos, In Nic. arith. introd. 18.6. See also In EN 278.15– 18, where the author claims that those who become mad for fame (δοξομανε,ς), those who enjoy themselves (δυπα ε,ς), and those who pursue pleasures (φιλ δονοι) all strive only for sense-perception data, being incapable of reverting (μN )πιστρεφ.μενοι) upon that which is graspable by the intellect (τν δ? νD ληπτν). For the expression α#σ σει κα' φαντασPα ληπτ see e.g. Themistios, In APr. 95.27–28; Proklos, In Prm. 892.10–11; John Philoponos, In APr. 271.15–16. For the expression τLς τν πα ν &παλλαττομ"νDω \χλ σεως see John Philoponos, In APr. 276.26: )πιτενει γ*ρ μ λλον τNν δυσχ"ρειαν κα' τ*ς κ τν πα'ν 5χλ6σεις. The expression τD πρ7τDω καταλαμπομ"νDω φωτ, which echoes In EN. 106.22–23, seems to occur under similar forms in many patristic authors, as well as in many pagan Neoplatonists. However, it might be useful to refer in particular to Psellos, Phil. min. I 36.350–353.

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with generative and noetic power, being the archetype of the perishable realities and the cause of our knowledge. The commentator avoids any reference to the status of these intelligbles as divine thoughts, as he did in his commentary on book I of the Nicomachean Ethics.150 On the contrary, he simply stresses that they exist as such, independently from one’s investigation or thinking activity, that is to say, that their universality does not depend on thought. They are prior to our intellect although, as has been said before, it is not clear whether or not they are also prior to the absolutely existing Intellect. Eustratios’s argument seems to be a more or less direct refutation of a well-known passage from Alexander of Aphrodisias’ De anima, in which the author seems to state that universals are thought-dependent entities.151 Universals are intellect when they are thought (κα' τ.τε )στ' νο+ς Mταν νοLται), but when they are not thought Alexander seems to state they no longer exist (ε# δ? μN νοο,το, ο;δ? Fστιν Fτι), that is to say, that outside the thinking activity they vanish (Eστε χωρισ "ντα το+ νοο+ντος α;τ* νο+ φ ερεται). It might be possibile that by claiming that the intelligible forms, the true beings, exist independently from one’s thinking activity and investigation, Eustratios is really criticizing this passage of Alexander’s De anima. What is certain is that he rejects the idea that universals are thought-dependent entities. The commentator definitely allows the existence of later-born concepts, i.e., concepts resulting by induction from sense-perception data. But they are only a means of bringing the soul from its birth-induced state of ignorance to true knowledge, the one related to the self-subsisting separate forms, which, as already discussed, Eustratios describes in Proklean terms. Therefore, this passage deserves to be mentioned alongside all the arguments elaborated in Late Antiquity, expecially by the Neoplatonists, against a thought-dependent theory of universals and in favor of their priority to our intellection.152 Eustratios’ position cannot be labelled as either “nominalistic,” i.e., the view according to which universals are just names independent from things but dependent on thoughts, or “conceptualistic,” i.e., the view that universals exist through thought. These two views, respecIn EN 40.22–24; 41.26–27. Alexander of Aphrodisias, De An. 90.2–11. However, scholars still debate this and other related passages by Alexander. Cf. e.g. Tweedale (1984); De Libera (1999); Sharples (2005). 152 On this subject, cf. Sorabji (2001); O’Meara (2001). 150 151

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tively held by Joannou153 and Lloyd,154 strictly reflect the context of the passages investigated by these two scholars. This context is mainly theological and involves the application to a greater or lesser extent of late antique logical theories. But I am not sure that one can consider a position developed in some of Eustratios’ theological writings to be fully representative of the author’s position on the topic at hand. On the contrary, in reconstructing Eustratios’ view of universals one must carefully distinguish between his general account and its concrete application to specific problems, e. g., as the proper way to define the co-existence of two natures in one and the same hypostasis. Moreover, the standard Neoplatonic account of the threefold status of universals that is found in Eustratios must be read in comparison with the Neoplatonist’s dynamic account of the nature and functioning of the process of concept formation. Admittedly, as stated by Benakis,155 Eustratios accepts, like the Neoplatonists, the existence of all three types of universals: separate forms before the many; in the particular individuals; and, as concepts derived by induction from sense-perception data. However, one should not forget that the admission of this threefold status for universals also entails a recognition of a qualitative difference between these three types of universals. As I have tried to show in this paper, Eustratios follows Proklos and in general the Neoplatonic tradition in believing that concepts derived from induction and enmattered forms do not have the same value as the separate intelligible forms: only separate intelligible forms are granted the status of true beings. Furthermore, the Neoplatonists do not confine themselves to the recognition of only three different types of universals. They also admit the existence of creative logoi in the mind of God, as Eustratios himself does in his commentary on book I of the Nicomachean Ethics, and of logoi ousiodeis in our soul, namely innate contents which the soul has to recall gradually and which Eustratios calls “echoes in us of the absolutely existing Intellect”.156

153

Cf. Joannou (1954a) and (1954b). Cf. Lloyd (1987) 346. 155 Cf. Benakis (1978–1979) and (1982a). 156 A brief account of the different universals known to the Neoplatonist can be found in Sorabji (2004) 133–146. 154

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4. Conclusions Far from being inconsistent, Eustratios’ position is simply Proklean in admitting that later-born concepts, derived by induction from senseperception data, only play the role of awakening our innate knowledge, bringing the human soul to the direct apprehension of the separate forms. By reading Eustratios’ commentary on book VI of the Nicomachean Ethics, one realizes how difficult it is to locate Eustratios within the traditional scheme that is used to define Byzantine literature of the XI and XIIth centuries. To label him as a Christian, as a Neoplatonist, or as a Christian Neoplatonist does not fully account for the very complex character of this Byzantine commentator. In the present paper I have tried to avoid these kinds of characterizations and to have instead focused upon Eustratios’ methodology and his textual approach, in particular, his peculiar way of constructing his arguments from his mainly Neoplatonic sources. Eustratios’ acquaintance with Neoplatonism should be understood in light of the author’s erudition and personal interest in Neoplatonic literature. The arguments expounded by the commentator seem to be carefully constructed even if at first glance they appear to be drawn piecemeal from Proklos’ own arguments and formulae. Just as the modern reader may notice the erudition of this author, he may also remark that this commentary was surely written for highly educated readers. Eustratios suggests this himself when he rhetorically concludes one of the many Neoplatonic explanations of the nature and function of the process of concept formation by writing that “one could probably consider us redundant for having extended this explanation too far, and so deviating from our initial purpose. But, taking our cue from the words of Aristotle, we prolonged this argument so that it might be useful to the φιλολ.γοι”, i.e., to those who are fond of learning and literature.157

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EUSTRATIOS OF NICAEA’S ‘DEFINITION OF BEING’ REVISITED

David Jenkins In 1954 Pericles Joannou published two short articles in Byzantinische Zeitschrift on Eustratios of Nicaea, our commentator of books I and VI of the Nicomachean Ethics.1 In the first of these articles, Joannou edited and commented briefly on an extended scholion attributed to Eustratios, in which he interprets a particularly enigmatic passage from John of Damascus’ second oration on the dormition of the Virgin Mary. Joannou argued that the scholion, which he titled the “Definition of Being,” showed Eustratios to be Byzantium’s first nominalist, a conclusion he supported with his second article, a similar edition and commentary on the semeioma from the synodical proceedings against Eustratios in 1117. In 1990 the four manuscripts which contain the “Definition of Being” were reedited and a new reading was published by Klaus Alpers, who put forward arguments that better established its attribution and date.2 However, Alpers did not address the philosophical content of the scholion itself but hoped to leave competent scholars a better philological foundation upon which to do so. The frequent citation of Joannou in subsequent overviews of Eustratios’ life and works suggests that his conclusion regarding Eustratios’ nominalism has gained at least a tacit acceptance.3 In his entry on Eustratios in the Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium Alexander Kazhdan claimed that “Eustratios developed the concept of the universalia as pure ‘names,’ whereas he regarded only the individual as existing.”4 On the other hand, A.C. Lloyd made a qualified use of these documents as evidence of Eustratios’ commitment to the “Aristolelian logic of universals” since he considered Joannou’s interpretation of the “Definition of Being” to be questionable.5 Linos Benakis had deeper reservations

1 2 3 4 5

Joannou (1954a); (1954b). Alpers (1990). Mercken (1973) 6*; Hunger (1978) 34. Kazhdan (1991). Lloyd (1987) 346. Lloyd acknowledged that the work was difficult and based

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and claimed that Joannou’s evidence for Eustratios’ nominalism was “based on a superficial reading.”6 Therefore, given the naturally problematic definition of nominalism and in light of the questions regarding its application to Eustratios, it might be worth revisiting the philosophical content of this so-called “Definition of Being.” Although Joannou refers to Eustratios’ scholion as his “Defintion of Being,” our two best manuscripts identify the passage itself as “the most universal definition of Plato’s philosophy.”7 The meaning of this passage has baffled commentators and translators for centuries since it appears far too abstract for its place within the oration’s narrative.8 Although Joannou argues against the possibility that the passage is an interpolation, this suggestion is not implausible since 1) the section of the oration that immediately follows the passage deals with the “beyond being” nature of God’s attributes, which, as we will see, is the critical concept found within the passage itself, and 2) the oration is already well-known for an obvious interpolation, the so-called Historia Euthymiaca.9 Nevertheless, the passage is certainly philosophically ambiguous enough to allow an interpretation that is consistent with the thought of John of Damascus, to whom Eustratios clearly attributes the passage and to its place within his second oration on the Virgin’s dormition. his argument primarily on another frequently cited instance of Eustratios’ alleged nominalism, his polemic against the mononphysitism of Tigranes. 6 Benakis (1978–1979) 333, note 46. 7 3Ορος κα ολικ7τατος φιλοσοφας Πλτωνος. Alpers (1990) 155. 8 See Second dormition 524, n. on lines 34–37. Kotter notes the following: 1) that Jacobus de Billius did not even include the passage in his 1577 edition; 2) that Michel Lequien, who translated the work in 1712, found these lines extremely obscure and incongruent with what was said immediately above and decided to include in the place of his own translation that of Aloysius Lipomanus (1558), hoping that he had had a better text to work with: There is no heavenly order that was not unanimously present, nor was anyone found who, simply because they lived in heaven and were incomparable to lower beings, refused to descend and perform all the services that I have mentioned (qui eo qoud in supernis versabatur, nullique inferiorum comparandus esset, descendere, et omnia quae dixi munera obire recusavit; PG 96.731); and 3) Pierre Voulet’s 1961 translation: No being made an exception. No one, even among the most elevated of those who are incomparable to any other, refused to lower oneself and to discharge all these services (Aucun être ne faisait exception. Aucun, même parmi les plus élevés de ceux qui ne sont comparables à nul autre, ne refusa de s’abasisser et de s’acquitter de tous ces services; Sources chrétiennes 80, p. 141). 9 Second dormition 7.1 (p. 524): 8Εντα+ α λ.γοι ε.πνευστοι κα' ε.φ εγκτοι. 8Εντα+  τινες @μνοι εοτερπε,ς κα' )ξ.διοι. gΥμνLσαι γ*ρ )χρLν κα' )π' τοτDω το+ εο+ τNν

=περπειρον &γα .τητα κα' τ =περμ"γε ες μ"γε ος κα' τNν &πειροδναμον δναμιν κα' τNν παντς @ψους κα' μεγ" ους )π"κεινα πρς μ ς α;το+ μετρι.τητα, τν =π"ρπλουτον πλο+τον τLς &καταλ πτου χρηστ.τητος, τNν Aπληστον τLς &γπης Aβυσσον. For the

Historia Euthymiaca, see Second dormition 504–505.

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Alpers is undoubtedly correct in claiming that the title of the passage is a later emendation, but I would qualify Lloyd’s suggestion that its identification as “the most universal definition of Plato’s philosophy” is erroneous since, taken on its face, the passage is not at all inconsistent with Neoplatonism, which might be the reason Eustratios was drawn to its interpretation (and why a later scribe attributed it to Plato).10 Eustratios was the student of John Italos, Michael Psellos’ successor as the Consul of Philosophers. Italos focused primarily on Aristotle’s logic, but like Psellos his metaphysical orientation owes much to the Neoplatonism of Proklos.11 We would assume then that Eustratios was well versed in the “Platonism” of his teachers, and in fact, in his commentary on Book 1 of the Nicomachean Ethics, he begins his defense of Plato against Aristotle’s critique of a single good by characterizing Plato’s philosophy in the following way:12 For Plato said that the one and the unspeakable and the good is the cause of all beings, and he placed the One beyond all beings, saying that it is the cause of all and therefore not one of the all, but beyond being and not existing, though not in the sense of lacking being but lying beyond all being.

Michael Psellos described Plato’s philosophy in very similar terms in one of his theological lectures:13 [Plato] said that the first good was one and before all and from all, both because it is not a being and because it is itself the cause and life of all beings.

In both instances, the One is described first as beyond being and therefore not a being in the proper sense, and second as the cause of all beings and therefore in all beings. It is to these two points

Alpers (1990) 154. Lloyd (1987) 346. We should keep in mind that when Italos and Psellos refer to Plato, they are more often than not referring to what we have come to identify as Neoplatonism. 12 In EN 43.11–14:  μ?ν γ*ρ Πλτων τ dν κα' τAρρητον κα' τ&γα ν τNν κοινNν α#ταν τν Hντων πντων εXπε, κα' =π?ρ τ* Hντα πντα τ dν Fταξεν, αJτιον μ?ν πντων )κε,νο λ"γων, ο;δ?ν δ? τν πντων δι* το+το κα' =π?ρ _ν κα' μN Hν, ο;χ Iς το+ Hντος λειπ.μενον, &λλ’ Iς Hντος παντς =περκεμενον> 13 Theol. I 4.90–92: )κε,νος γ*ρ dν λ"γων τ πρτον &γα ν κα' πρ πντων Fλεγεν dν κα' )κ πντων, τ μ?ν Mτι μηδ?ν τν Hντων, τ δ? Mτι πντων α;τς &ρχN κα' ζω > Psellos’ characterization of Plato’s philosophy served as the basis of his own: “Let us then consider the creator of all to exist as the first and transcendent mind, or rather as God and the good and the one, being both all things and no thing, both beyond beings and in beings.” Theol. I 90.26–28. 10 11

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precisely that our passage is the immediate corollary, whose translation I now hazard, assuming, as did Eustratios, that its meaning is abstractly philosophical:14 There is no being, which is not by nature a particular being or which is an individual as one. Because no being is beyond-being, and no being descends apart from and to everything, creating and not allowing itself to be acted upon.

Whereas the One is both transcendent and the cause of all, particular being exists in being and is caused. Only the One “descends apart from and to everything, creating and not allowing itself to be acted upon”; particular being is fated to its own particular relatedness within existence. This is the fundamental point that Eustratios elaborates throughout the scholion. However, he makes one critical qualification: he does not equate God with the Neoplatonic One. For Eustratios, God too is a particular being. He begins his commentary on the passage in this way:15 Nothing whatsoever is called a being that does not exist, and there is nothing whatsoever that is not a being by nature or does not exist. For how does something exist if it is not a being? For example, God is a being, as is fire, air, water and earth, all of these things exist by nature and are said to be; and not only these things, but all beings in so far as they are.

From there, Eustratios proceeds to clarify the existence of a particular being, which is characterized in each of his arguments by a relatedness that undermines its identity as “one”, whether this relation is to other particular beings or to its own substantial predicates. For instance, he understands the phrase “[no] individual is as one” to clarify the point that each particular being is not “as one.” This would include the particular being of the divine Logos, who, although he is one person, 14 Second dormition 6.34 (p. 524): iΕστι γ*ρ τν Hντων ο;δ"ν, : μN το+το π"φυκεν, R τ μ.νον Iς Vν> Mτι μηδ?ν τν Hντων τ =περε,ναι, κα' πρς ο;δ?ν παρατι "μενον κτεισι, κα' κατι.ν γε πρς Bπαντα, κα' ποιο+ν, κα' μN τ δρ σ αι δεχ.μενον. Joannou translated

the first part of the passage as: Nothing can exist without being a particular thing, with the exception of the Unique considered from the point of view of the One (Nichts kann existieren ohne ein Einzelnes zu sein, mit Ausnahme des Monos unter dem Gesichtspunkt des Hen betrachtet). Joannou (1954a) 360, n. 1. 15 Joannou (1954a) 366.1–4: ο;κ Fστιν _ν λεγ.μενον, : μN =πρχει, κα' ο;κ Fστι τι, : μN Hν, π"φυκεν Qγουν =πρχει> πς γ*ρ =πρχει, ε# μN Hν )στιν; Iς )κ παραδεγματος> _ν =πρχει ε.ς, _ν τjο π+ρ, _ν τ & ρ, _ν τ @δωρ, _ν  γL, τα+τα Hντα πεφκασι κα' λ"γονται>

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is not “as one” since he is both God and man. Even God Himself is not “as one” since the divine is known to be of three persons. Further, fire, air, water and earth are also not “as one” since there are clearly different kinds of each.16 The clause “because no being is beyondbeing” is understood to mean that a particular being (Hν) is not beyond or prior to its being in general (εXναι). Again, this distinction applies to God Himself, whose particularity as God does not precede His being in general or vice versa.17 Eustratios then extends his assertion of particular being to the clause “no being descends apart from and to everything, creating and not allowing itself to be acted upon”: there is no being, including God, that exists in isolation from other beings or is “unparticipated” by some other. Everything descends, creating and being created. God too exists among angels and human beings and is “placed next” (παρατ εται) to all creation, found complete in everything. He even makes us gods by adoption, thereby allowing us to become what He is Himself by nature. Fire, air, water and earth are likewise intertwined, both creating and being created by one another.18 Finally, the scholion ends with Eustratios applying all four of these points to Mary. First, she is a particular being. Second, she is not “as 16 Joannou (1954a) 366.7–18:  γ*ρ Θεο+ λ.γος μετ* το+ προσλ μματος ο;χ Iς dν )στι, ε# κα' εOς )στιν. Aλλο γ*ρ ες κα' Aλλο Aν ρωπος. &λλ’ ο;δ’  ες κα ’ /αυτν εOς γιν7σκεται. Aλλος γ*ρ  πατNρ κα' Aλλος  υ$ς κα' Aλλος  παρκλητος . . . &λλ’ ο;δε τ π+ρ, Qτοι τ φς, Iς dν )στι. &στ"ρες γ*ρ κα'  πυρχανς  )ν τCL ΑJτνCη κα' τ παρ’ =μ,ν π+ρ . . . &λλ’ ο;δ’  &Nρ Iς εOς κα ορ ται κα' Fστι. πνε, γ*ρ ποικλως )ν τ? βορρP κα' ν.τDω κα' το,ς λοιπο,ς . . . ο;δε τ @δωρ Iς dν )στι. τ γ*ρ στερ"ωμα κα'  κρσταλλος κα' χιlν κα' τ τLς αλττης . . . ο;δε  γL Iς dν )στι. γL γ*ρ  τ? &φ7δης κα' γL  αλ7δης κα' γL  καλλιεργουμ"νη . . . 17 Joannou (1954a) 367.1–5: πς γ*ρ πρ το+ εOναι Fσται τι τν Hντων; Vκαστον, Mτε Hν )στι, τ.τε κα' τ εOναι κ"κτηται.  γ*ρ ε.ς, mν &ε, κα' τ εOναι κ"κτηται &nδιον, κα' ο; προτερεει τD εD τ _ν το+ εOναι, οcτε τ εOναι το+ Hντος. &λλ’ ο;δ? Vκαστον τν Hντων προτερεει το+ /αυτο+ εOναι, R τ εOναι το+ /αυτο+ Hντος. Asserting that

God is a being is not inconsistent with the thought of John of Damascus. While John acknowledged that the substance of divinity is beyond substance he also claimed that substance comprehends God. In his Institutio Elementaris, he clarifies this point by saying, “substance is the highest genus, which supernaturally (=περουσως) comprehends the uncreated divinity as it intellectually (γνωστικς) and comprehensively (περιοχικς) encompasses all of creation” (Institutio Elementaris 7.25). 18 Joannou (1954a) 367.9–16: τουτ"στιν ο;κ Fστι τν Hντων ο;δ"ν, Do μN συνυπρχει α;τD τι τν Hντων. κα' ο;κ Fστι τι, : μN κτεισι, Qτοι συγκατ"ρχεται κα' παρα "ει Bπαντα. κα' ο;κ Fστι τν Hντων, : ποιε, κα' α;τ μN ποιε,ται, Qγουν : μN μετ"χεται α;τ., =π’ Aλλου τιν.ς.  γ*ρ Θε.ς, ε# κα' =π?ρ τ π ν )στι, &λλ* συνυπρχει κα' &γγ"λοις κα' &ν ρ7ποις, κα' πσCη τCL κτσει παρατ εται, Qγουν ε=ρσκεται )ν π σι τ"λειος. κα' ποιε, )μ? ε.ν, τν )κ στοιχεων συγκεμενον, ποιε,ται δ? =π’ )μο+, Qγουν εο+μαι )γl "σει. κτεισι γρ, Qγουν κεκ"νωται )π' μικρ.ν, μενας : Uν.

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one” since she is both a virgin and a mother. Third, these attributes exist in general when they come to exist in Mary’s particularity and are in no way beyond being. And finally, Mary is both celebrated by the angels and saints and illuminates them in turn with her brilliance, in this way affected by others just as she affects them.19 So, in each case, we see that Eustratios characterizes a particular being by its relation to something else. Whether in relation to other beings as causes or effects, or to substantial predicates or universals, a particular being is never an isolated and pure unity. Joannou concludes his own analysis of the scholion by saying that here “we see how the doctrine of universals first penetrated theology in Byzantium before it was taught by Abelard several decades later in the West.”20 He argues that in the case of Eustratios this penetration was of a decidedly nominalistic bent, which can be distilled to three points: 1) the restriction of existence to particular being reduces the ontological status of the universal to a mere concept; 2) essence and existence are indistinguishable, i.e, a particular being’s participation in being in general is simultaneous and coextensive, and 3) the identity of a particular being’s essence and existence, i.e., its definition by means of its substantial predicates or universals, determines its particularity and distinguishes it from other particular beings, an identity in which God too participates.21 If we collapse points 2 and 3, we are left with two fundamental issues: the ontological status of the universal and the identity of “essence and existence.” Let us proceed then to the first of these. While his emphasis on particular being might appear to suggest that Eustratios was, in the words of A.C. Lloyd, like Aristotle, “turning the

Joannou (1954a) 368.2–9: _ν γ*ρ )στι κα' α@τη κα' =π τ _ν &νγεται κα' ο;χ Iς dν  μ.νη γιν7σκεται, Fστι γ*ρ κα' παρ "νος κα' μ τηρ. και τα+τ’ ο@τως Hντα ο;χ =π?ρ τ εOναι ε#σ, &λλ’ Mτε τα+τα, Qγουν γ"ννησις κα' παρ ενα, =π τ _ν γεγ.νασι, τ.τε κα' τ εOναι κ"κτηνται κα' ο;χ =π?ρ τ εOναι ε#σν . . . κα' )ποησε μ?ν α;τ , Mτε κατ"λαμψε τα,ς μαρμαρυγα,ς /αυτLς το0ς συνελ .ντας, δ"δεκται δ? κα' τ δρ σ αι, Mτε κατελμφ η =π το+ πνεματος, κα' : π"πον ε πεποηκεν. 19

Joannou (1954a) 365. Joannou (1954a) 360: Das Allgemeine ist nur als Begriff gegeben . . . (p. 362) Essenz und Existenz sind nicht unterscheidbar . . . (p. 363) Der Identität EssenzExistenz zufolge ist das einzig wirklich existerende Einzelding (το+το, τι), ein in der eigenen Gesetzlichkeit autonomes Wesen, d. h. nicht nur von den anderen Dingen, sondern auch, wenn man den schöpferischen, göttlichen Akt des Anfangs der Welt (&π’ &ρχLς) voraussetzt, sogar von Gott in seinem Dasein unabhängig: es ist wahrhaftig ein Einzelding (μ.νον). 20 21

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relative positions of the intelligible and sensible worlds upside down,” he does not specifically address the problem of universals in the “Definition of Being.”22 For that we must turn to his Aristotelian commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics and Posterior Analytics. We should begin by noting at least two important aspects of the relationship between these commentaries and the “Definition of Being.” First, it is more than likely that many years separate the commentaries from our scholion. Klaus Alpers has ably argued that the scholion dates from 1082 to 1086, after Eustratios’ diaconate and before his promotion to metropolitan, or during the period in which he would have been, as the manuscripts identify him, a presbyter. It is also more than likely that his commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics and Posterior Analytics date from a period after his anathema in 1117.23 Further, the scholion was written in response to an inquiry by a certain Tzetziros and is remarkably untechnical in its language, reminding us of the many short pedagogical lectures written by Psellos, whereas the commentaries make full use of both Aristotelian and Neoplatonic terminology.24 Lloyd has observed that the “three-fold division of what may loosely be called the universal is the most fundamental for the interplay between Aristotelian and Neoplatonic logic.”25 Eustratios deals explicitly with this traditional division several times in his commentaries, most famously on Book I of the Nicomachean Ethics, where he introduces the wholes before, from and in the parts (πρ τν μερν, )κ τν μερν, )ν το,ς μ"ρεσι).26 Kimon Giocarinis has argued that Eustratios used these distinctions to defend the Platonic doctrine of Ideas, whereas Linos Benakis has specifically identified our author as an heir to the “conceptual realism” of the Alexandrian Neoplatonists, who both maintained the substantial primacy of a transcendent universal (πρ τν πολλν) and accepted Aristotle’s argument that the conceptual or abstracted universal ()π' το,ς πολλο,ς) is subsequent to the substance of a particular Lloyd (1955–1956) 67. Browning (1962) 6; Alpers (1990) 151. 24 It is tempting to identify the Tzetziros of our scholion with the Tziros who was present with Eustratios at the condemnation of their teacher John Italos in 1082. Eustratios was then a proximos, or teacher, at the School of Saint Theodore of Sphorakion, and perhaps this Tziros, a student of lesser philosophical ability, sought clarification from Eustratios a few years later after reading this passage in John of Damascus. For examples of Psellos’ lectures, see: Psellos Phil min. I 3, 6, 13, 36, 48; Phil min. II 74, 93, 95, 160; Theol. I 53, 107. 25 Lloyd (1955) 61. 26 In EN 40–41. 22 23

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being’s inseparable form ()ν το,ς πολλο,ς).27 There can be no question that in his Aristotelian commentaries Eustratios maintains the primacy of a transcendent universal. He addresses Aristotle with an exasperated vocative four times in the context of defending this universal in his commentary on Book I of the Ethics.28 In each instance, Eustratios cannot understand Aristotle’s implication, in essence, that an image is prior to its paradigm, that a universal whether innate or abstracted from sensible particulars is somehow prior to its causative transcendent form. However, regarding the universals from and in the parts, his position is perhaps less Alexandrian than Benakis claims. In a recent article, Katerina Ierodiakonou has stressed that for Eustratios “the main distinction which matters is the distinction between the universals which are paradigms of perceptual individuals and exist in God’s mind, and the universals which are later-born than the perceptual individuals and subsist in them.”29 In other words, Eustratios operates with two universals, one before the parts (πρ τν μερν) and one after the parts ()κ τν μερν or )π' το,ς πολλο,ς). I think Ierodiakonou is correct here, but the identification of this whole after the parts might be better clarified. Whereas Ierodiakonou questions whether Eustratios recognized a whole )ν το,ς μ"ρεσι I would argue that Eustratios understood the universal after the parts ()π' το,ς πολλο,ς) to be one of three different states of the universal )ν το,ς μ"ρεσι (the apparent conflation of these two wholes led Lloyd to wonder if Eustratios wasn’t just “plain confused”).30 In other words, the two wholes with which Eustatios is concerned are in fact the πρ τν μερν and the )ν το,ς μ"ρεσι. In both his most developed discussions of this issue (In EN 40–41 and In APo. 194–195), Eustratios does acknowledge the whole )κ τν μερν, but he understands it to be a collection (A ροισμα, σν ετα) of “extensional objects” (whether of similar or dissimilar parts), and not a conceptual “genus of logic,” to borrow the terminology of Sten Ebbesen, who has noted how Porphyry also finessed this distinction.31 What Eustratios restricts to the 27 Giocarinis (1964). Benakes (1978–1979) 330–333. Developed by Ammonius and his successors though explicit in Proklos as well, see Ammonius, In Porph. 42; Proklos, Inst. 67. 28 In EN 49.25, 50.30, 53.25, 56.2. 29 Ierodiakonou (2005b). 30 Lloyd (1987) 345. 31 In APo 195.34: )κ τν μερν δ? τ* σν ετα κα' ε#ς πολλ* μεριζ.μενα, εJ ’ μοιομερL Iς λ ος ε#ς λ ους Mλον _ν πρς μ"ρη ε#ς T κα' διαιρετ.ς )στιν, [ν Vκαστον τ. τε Hνομα κα' τν λ.γον το+ Mλου )πιδ"χεται, εJτ’ &νομοιομερL Iς Aν ρωπος ε#ς χε,ρας π.δας

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universal )ν το,ς μ"ρεσι is precisely the three genera of logic that Ierodiakonou identifies when she clarifies Eustratios’ understanding of γ"νη and εJδη (In APo. 194.26), namely, as wholes subsequently abstracted after the parts ()π' το,ς πολλο,ς; )ξ &φαιρ"σεως); as seen commonly in the parts at the moment of perception (τ )ν α;το,ς κοινς εωρομενον); and as wholly existing in each particular ()ν το,ς κα ’ Vκαστα). These genera of logic are therefore all in the parts, but differentiated as existing, perceived or abstracted.32 What Ierodiakonou correctly identifies as critical is the fact that Eustratios assigns definite existence only to the whole existing in each particular (Iρισμ"νως =πρχει), while he grants partial existence to the whole seen in the parts (=φσταται, &λλ’ ο; κα ’ /αυτ.) and no existence at all to the whole abstracted from the parts (ο;κ =φσταται).33 These ontological distinctions lead her to conclude that for Eustratios “apart from God’s thoughts, only individuals exists” and that “such a position clearly differentiates him both from the nominalism which Joannou has ascribed to him and from the conceptual or moderate realism which Benakis has talked about in connection with the Neoplatonic tradition.”34 In other words, on the one hand, his denial of the abstracted whole’s existence disqualifies him as a conceptual realist, and on the other, his granting of existence to the whole existing in each particular and of partial existence (subsistence) to the whole commonly seen in particulars distances him from a nominalism that sees every universal as a mere concept. I would say that this is a fair characterization of the position on universals that Eustratios developed in his later commentaries and does qualify the nominalism Joannou claims to see in the scholion. Nevertheless, even if we argue that Eustratios was or became less nominalistic than Joannou would have believed, his later position

κεφαλ ν> ο;δ?ν γ*ρ τν μερν το+ &ν ρ7που Mμοιον τD MλDω, Iς μ τε τοcνομα μ τε τν λ.γον το+ Mλου δεχ.μενον> In EN 40.37: τ δ? )κ πντων A ροισμα Mλον )στ'ν Iς )κ μερν τν κατ* μ"ρος τοτων μονδων συντε ειμ"νον. Ebbesen (1990b) 156. 32 Sten Ebbesen has lucidly explained the inevitable conflation of these apparent “modes.” He identifies the abstraction with the “unranked” universal (for the sake of his example, /common dog/), the common element of each particular with the “ranked” universal (/this particular dog/) and the particular instance with the particular itself (/Snuffy/) and goes on to say, “If you cannot quite make up your mind on the question, and I think Porphyry could not, /this particular dog/ has a strange intermeidary status between /Snuffy/ and /common dog/. In a sense it is identical with the former, in a sense with the latter and in a sense, maybe, it is a compound of the two.” Ebbesen (1990b) 153. 33 In EN 281.25; In EN 346.3; Refutation 165. 34 Ierodiakonou (2005b) 77.

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on universals does differ from the conceptual realism of the Alexandrian Neoplatonists for precisely nominalistic reasons: we can at least say that Eustratios was always more nominalistic than the Alexandrians in this regard. Let us turn now to Joannou’s second characterization of the “Definition of Being”: the identity of what he calls “essence and existence.” Although Joannou acknowledges that Eustratios admitted a conceptual distinction between essence and existence, or between being in general and particular being, he rightly points out that Eustratios denied any temporal precedence or material distinction to essence.35 Particular being was simultaneous and inseparable from its being in general. If we assume, as I think we can, that Eustratios thought in more or less Neoplatonic terms, we might consider looking at this issue from within a simplified representation of Neoplatonism which will allow us to correlate this “identity” with our discussion of universals.36 For this purpose I will borrow the first six propositions of Proklos’ Elements of Theology, which describe and relate the most comprehensive elements of his thought: the One, unity, the unified and the not-one (matter). These elements can be understood as the possible combinations of two distinctions, namely, an unparticipated and participated unity and a non-participating and participating plurality where the unparticipated generates the participated and unity is prior to plurality.37 This generation is conceptualized as a procession that meets its own return in the shared participation of unity and “unified” plurality. If we assume for the sake of representation that the relationship between the unparticipated and the participated is horizontal and that between unity and plurality is vertical, we might expect the following scheme:38

35

Freilich gibt Eustratios den Begriffsunterschied zwischen Sein und Dasein, Essenz und Existenz zu, aber er spricht jeder Wesenheit das “Frühersein” im Sinne eines Duns Scotus und noch meher jegliche wirkliche “physische” Unterscheidung ab . . . Joannou (1954a) 362. 36 See Trizio (2006) and Steel (2002) for the Eustratios’ Neoplatonism. 37 We should be clear that there is no “non-participating” plurality per se in Proklos. Nevertheless, as was generally accepted, he clearly understood matter to be the constituent of particulars that did not share in form (Aμοιρος, Inst. Prop. 72, p. 68). Damascius a generation later described matter precisely as “non-participating” (τ μN μετ"χον τν ε#δν  @λη )στ'ν, In Prm. 281.13–14). 38 Proklos cannot sustain the clarity of this logic throughout his deductive system since he is forced to expand the single vertical relationship that I have represented

eustratios of nicaea’s ‘definition of being’ revisited The One Unparticipated unity (procession →)

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Unity Participated unity Unified Participating plurality

Not One (matter) Non-participating plurality (← return)

Proklos later correlates these elements with a triad of what we might call existence, which states that every existent exists in three senses, in its cause, (κατ’ α#ταν), in its own substantial existence (κα ’ @παρξιν), and in its participation as an effect (κατ* μ" εξιν). These three types of existence are then identified with our three different wholes: the whole “before the parts” (unparticipated unity) exists κατ’ α#ταν as the pre-existing cause of all parts; the whole “from the parts” (participated unity) exists κα ’ @παρξιν as the parts taken together as an existing whole; the whole “in the part” (the participating plurality) exists κατ* μ" εξιν in its particular participation of an existing whole from the parts.39 Proklos is aware of but does not clarify the ambiguity inherent in the whole from the parts we have discussed above; while he acknowledges that parts taken together as wholes are of two kinds, either wholes whose parts are themselves wholes or wholes whose parts are not (e.g., “man” taken as a whole of whole “men” as opposed to “man” taken as a whole composed of a head, feet and hands), he does not address how this whole can also be thought of as either a collection of extensional objects or as a logical collection, be it a species or genus.40 In any event, we would add these relations to our Proclean scheme in the following way:

between unity and the unified to a series of vertical relationships that accommodate the descending continuity of the Neoplatonic hypostases, i.e., to the Henads, Being, Mind, Soul and Matter, since each hypostasis possesses its own unparticipated unity. Only when this series of hypostases is telescoped back into a single vertical relation are the four elements related with logical consistency, a tendency which, I would argue, is characteristic of the Byzantine appropriation of Proklos that begins with Psellos. For Psellos, Unity is identified with Nous and the Unified with Soul; for Italos and Eustratios, these associations become more logically conceived as genus/species and immanent form respectively. See Jenkins (2006) 134–142. 39 Inst. 65, 67 (pp. 62–65). 40 Inst. 67.11–14 (p. 64).

122 The One Unparticipated unity κατ’ α#ταν Whole before the part

david jenkins Unity Participated unity κα ’ @παρξιν Whole from the parts Unified Participating plurality

Not One (matter) non-participating plurality

κατ* μ" εξιν

Whole in the parts

These correlations are the basis of the conceptual realism of the Alexandrian Neoplatonists, with the important clarification that for them, following Aristotle, the whole from the parts, understood now specifically as a logical abstraction, is subsequent to the substance of the whole in the parts, whereas for Proklos the whole in the parts remains clearly and logically subordinate to the whole from the parts (prop. 68: Every whole-in-the-part is a part of a whole-of-parts). As we have seen in his Aristotelian commentaries, Eustratios has moved beyond the Alexandrians in removing substance entirely from the abstracted whole from the parts and by clearly identifying this whole as a kind of whole in the parts, while confining the whole from the parts ()κ τν μερν) to a collective whole of extensional objects, separate from the genera of logic.41 Further, Eustratios understands perception to be the simultaneous awareness of the common element shared by particulars and the individual instance of that element in each particular. Perception falls on both indiscriminately (συγκεχυμ"νως), and it is only later (=στερογεν ) that abstraction allows their separation.42 The whole commonly seen in the parts is then in some sense both the whole of abstraction and the whole of particular existence since, on the one hand, it is subsequently comprehended as an abstraction and on the other, it exists in each particular prior to perception (this simultaneEbbesen (1990b) 156. In APo. 266.17–28: ο; γ*ρ Zν ε# μN  αJσ ησις )γν7ριζεν Mλως τν Aν ρωπον, pδνατο Zν  ψυχN δι* τLς κατ’ α;τNν γν7σεως ε#ς τNν &ν ρ7που #"ναι κατληψιν κα' γνσιν, κα' τ κα .λου & ροζειν )ν /αυτCL. ν+ν δ? το+το γνεται α;τCL> α#σ νεται Aρα. κα'  αJσ ησις τρ.πον τιν* το+ κοινο+, ε# κα' μN Iς κοινο+, &λλ’ Iς κα ’ Vκαστα. R μ λλον Zν εJποις Iς κοινο+ R Iς κα ’ Vκαστα α#σ νεσ αι το+ κα ’ Vκαστα. ε# γ*ρ διακρ,ναι  αJσ ησις &π’ &λλ λων pδνατο κα ’ /αυτNν τ* κα ’ Vκαστα, Iς κα ’ Vκαστα Zν α;τν α#σ νεσ αι Fδοξε> ν+ν δ’ &διακρτως )πιβλλει α;το,ς κα' συγκεχυμ"νως γιν7σκει α;τ. σημε,ον δ’ Mτι κα' τ* παιδα πντας προσαγορεει πατ"ρας το0ς Aνδρας κα' μητ"ρας τ*ς γυνα,κας, Iς κατ’ αJσ ησιν )νεργο+ντα μ.νον κα' μ πω διακριτικNν Vξιν τν /κστου #διωμτων Fχοντα. 41 42

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ous identification is reflected in the “hybrid” existence attributed to this whole).43 We could then map Eustratios’ understanding of universals onto our diagram in the following way: The One Unparticipated unity κατ’ α#ταν Whole before the parts

Unity Participated unity κα ’ @παρξιν Whole in the parts (abstraction/perception) Unified Participating plurality

Not One (matter) non-participating plurality

κατ* μ" εξιν

Whole in the parts (perception/existence)

We see then that Eustratios has confined the genera of logic, his three states of the whole in the parts, to the relationship between unity and the unified, or between the Neoplatonic existences κα ’ @παρξιν and κατ* μ" εξιν. The whole from the parts falls away since it is in some sense pre-logical as a collection of extensional objects,44 and the whole before the parts remains supra-logical as paradigm, an element of Neoplatonic metaphysics with no apparent role within the operations of Aristotelian logic.45 Nevertheless, the whole-before-the-parts is still very much alive in the thought of Eustratios of Nicaea. Joannou is undoubtedly correct in attributing his insistence on the identity of “essence and existence” to 43 Sten Ebbesen has lucidly explained the inevitable conflation of these apparent states. He identifies the abstraction with the “unranked” universal (for the sake of his example, /common dog/), the common element of each particular with the “ranked” universal (/this particular dog/) and the particular instance with the particular itself (/Snuffy/) and goes on to say, “If you cannot quite make up your mind on the question, and I think Porphyry could not, /this particular dog/ has a strange intermediary status between /Snuffy/ and /common dog/. In a sense it is identical with the former, in a sense with the latter and in a sense, maybe, it is a compound of the two.” Ebbesen (1990b) 153. 44 “At the very beginning of the Isagoge he [Porphyry] examines the meaning of genos. The first use of the word, he says, was to designate the origin of each man’s birth, and next it came to designate the set (plêthos) or collection (athroisma) of people sharing a common origin of birth. It is not in any of these sense, he continues, that we use the word when we speak of the genos to which the species are subordinate, but probably the logical use was established in imitation (kath’ homoiotêta) of prior usage . . . ” Ebbesen (1990b) 155. 45 See Lloyd (1990) 73.

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an affirmation of creation ex nihilo and a refutation of any pre-existing forms that the Creator was obligated to follow in the manner of Plato’s Demiurge. When God created a particular existent, He also created its essence as a divine thought. As Ierodiakonou has argued, for Eustratios only these thoughts and individuals truly exist, the former the simultaneous paradigms of the latter. So in terms of our diagram, we would locate “essence” with the whole before the parts and “existence” with the substance (ο;σα) of the particular, or the whole in the parts which exists in each particular (Aristotle’s “immanent form”). However, as we have seen, the common element existing in each particular is not so easily disentangled from its perception and subsequent abstraction in the human soul. In other words, the insistence on the identity of “essence and existence,” while perhaps intended as a refutation of Plato’s Demiurge, results in affirming the existence of a particular’s common elements, however subtly that existence is later defined in relation to its paradigms in the mind of God. The images of these paradigms are the common elements of particulars, which undoubtedly exist, but they are also perceived and abstracted, and the distinction between paradigm and abstraction begins to blur in the apparent and operative logic of simple predication: no being is “as one” because no being is beyond the predication implied by “part” and “whole.” This is what Lloyd has called the nominalism of Porphyry, whose pedogogical appropriation of Aristotle gave one the impression that “at the cost of making the logic purely formal, any significant name, simple or composite, could fall under its rules.”46 That every particular existence has an “essence” is then no more than saying every part has a whole or every particular has a universal or every subject has a predicate, and vice versa. In the “Definition of Being” Eustratios provides examples that are no more than this, a subject possessing multiple predicates and a predicate encompassing multiple subjects: while the Logos can be thought of as a particular one, he is not “as one” since he is both God and man. So too is Mary a particular individual, but she is also a virgin and a mother; conversely, God and even the elements of fire, water, air and earth, can be thought of as one, but each is not “as one” since God encompasses the three divine persons, Father, Son and Holy Spirit just as the elements encompass their particular kinds. The simplicity of this logic also lies behind his polemic against the monophysitism of

46

Lloyd (1957) 156.

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Tigranes (ca. 1114). In order to rationalize Christ’s two natures, Eustratios urges theologians to consider applying the distinction that Greek philosophers make between a particular and a universal to the distinction between a person and a nature: a person is particular, a nature universal. Since a particular can possess several substantial predicates, so too can the Logos possess two natures. Although he again prefers to identify the particular with primary existence and the universal with subsequent abstraction, he sees no reason to fret over the fact that sometimes the Greeks claim that the particular is subordinate to the universal and its participant and at other times that the universal is either subsequent to the particular or nothing at all: whenever these claims are useful, they can be used; whenever they are not, they should be ignored.47 It is therefore difficult to assess the implications of Eustratios’ understanding of universals given, on the one hand, that he denies the abstracted whole of its existence, and on the other, that he affirms the whole before the parts and its operation within logical predication as the paradigm of an image which apparently stretches from existence to abstraction. What we can say is that in at least the “Definition of Being” and his polemical works, where Eustratios hopes to rationalize the two natures of the Logos and three persons of the Trinity, these positions seem to converge almost exclusively on particular being understood as the logical relationship between a particular and its defining universals (between the participating unified and the participated unity of our scheme). In fact this convergence is so strong that it defines what I consider the most significant feature of Eustratios’ thought: the identification of God Himself with particular being. Though perhaps understandable in the context of a Porphyrian nominalism that extends formal logic to every name, this identification is still striking and seemingly at odds with the long and orthodox tradition of Ps.-Dionysios, who understood God to be beyond all being, particular or otherwise.48 Not that Eustratios denies this; in fact, even in the “Definition of Being” he specifically acknowledges that God is beyond 47 Refutation 162–166. His representation of this alleged Greek position is not entirely Aristotelian since the Neoplatonic universal “before the parts” and existence κατ’ α#ταν are both specifically acknowledged as elements of that same argument. 48 As Gerhard Podskalsky has pointed out, Eustratios did not hesitate to use the apophatic character of Pseudo-Dionysius’ thought when it suited his polemical intentions, but this appropriation seems disingenuous at best given “seine im übrigen fast positivistischen Einstellung zur Theologie.” Podskalsky (1977) 117.

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everything (=π?ρ τ π ν). However, his admission here is clearly concessive and occurs in a passage where Eustratios not only asserts that God exists among men and angels but also that “He creates me a god composed from [the] elements and is created by me (κα' ποιε, )μ? ε.ν, τν )κ στοιχεων συγκεμενον, ποιε,ται δ? =π’ )μο+).” Joannou’s reading immediately clarifies this remarkably heretical statement to mean, in language reminiscent of John Italos, “that is to say, I am made a god by adoption (Qγουν εο+μαι )γl "σει).”49 Not surprisingly, our four manuscripts differ significantly here, and Alpers rejects Joannou’s reading, dropping altogether “He is created by me” (a phrase which in both its instances was crossed out by later hands) in preference for: κα' ποιε, μ?ν )μ? ε.ν, τν )κ τν στοιχεον συγκεμενον, Qγουν εο+μαι )γ7, κα' : )στιν )κε,νος φσει, γνομαι )γ7 "σει. This reading better clarifies the distinction between divinized by adoption ( "σει) and divine by nature (φσει), but Alpers makes no attempt to explain or fails to recognize that the particle μ"ν would more than likely require its correlative δ", which is of course supplied by ποιε,ται δ? =π’ )μου. Only Vaticanus Graecus 711 preserves the passage as a μ"ν δ" construction: κα' ποιε, μ?ν )μ? ε.ν, τν )κ στοιχεον συγκεμενον, ποιε,ται δ? =π’ )μου, Qγουν γνεται Aν ρωπος δι’ )μ? πλNν Gμαρτας, κα' : )στιν )κε,νος φση, γνομαι )γ7 "σει ( . . . that is to say, He became a man without sin on account of me and what He is by nature I become by adoption). Though this reading is perhaps theologically acceptable the language remains provocative. Nevertheless, the notion is understandable if we push for the particularity of God within the metaphysics of Neoplatonism. If God as the One descends the chain of being in His procession, He is also met by us in the ascent of our return, a notion Michael Psellos himself had suggested.50 In the “Definition of Being” Eustratios makes it clear that God not only descends to and is found complete in everything, but like all particular being He is also acted upon in return and participated by something else, in His case, as Eustratios suggests, by our sinfulness which required the incarnation of the Logos. However, the opposite movements of procession and return, both logically necessary as binding the cause and effect of particular being, imply in the case of God that the movement that begins in His transcendence is conditioned by or related to the movement that returns from matter, or as our alleged emendation suggests, that God is also created by us. 49 50

QQ 81.21. Theol. I 64.

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This is not the only time we see Eustratios experimenting with this particular implication of Neoplatonic theology. In his commentary on Book VI of the Nicomachean Ethics, he justifies the partition of the soul by comparing it to the “composition” (σν εσις) of divinity, which, although one in itself, is participated (κατ* μετοχ ν) by others that are different κα ’ =πρξιν, so that the whole is made up of both divinity and the divinized ( εομενον).51 Morever, like Italos before him, Eustratios was specifically condemned in 1117 for applying the idea of the return to the Logos, in his case, for claiming that the humanity of Christ worships his divinity “as a servant,” δουλικς, and that his humanity was perfected only upon its return to the divine. Jesus was, in theory, like any man, but he is the Logos because the return of his humanity to the divine was perfectly accomplished.52 To his accusers, the economy of this theosis was too logically conceived, and Eustratios was finally charged with reducing the nature of Christ to an Aristotelian syllogism.53 In spite of this, in his later commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics, Eustratios would continue to claim that a being’s perfection depends on its appropriate return to the transcendent cause of everything.54 So even if we claim that Eustratios tended to restrict the possibilities of philosophy to the logic of predication, he was still operating from within the thought world of Neoplatonism.55 It is well worth noting in this context that forty years after his condemnation, Nicholas of Methone wrote a refutation of Proklos’ Elements of Theology, which allows us to compare his views on the specific chapters that interest us here, namely, those that address the three-part division of existence and the relationships of wholes to parts.56 In both instances, Nicholas makes

In EN 287.28–37. Niketas of Herakleia was among his accusers, specifically citing Eustratios’ speculation concerning the theosis of Christ’s humanity. See Apologia 304.17–25. 53 As Kapriev points out, the charge of “Aristoteliansim” simply means the use of syllogistic thinking, which was condemned since it implies a formal structure within which the divine is comprehended. Kapriev (2005) 214. 54 In EN 288.18–22: gΕκστου τν Hντων R γινομ"νων  μ?ν ο;σα κατ* τNν )κ το+ ποιητικο+ α#του εωρε,ται πρ.οδον,  δ? τελει.της κατ* τNν πρς )κε,νο )πιστροφNν τLς πρς )κε,νο &ντιποιουμ"νου )φ"σεως κ&κε,νο κατ* μ"τρον μιμε,σ αι σπουδζοντος, %ν’ Iς )κε,νο τ"λειον, ο@τω κα' α;τ τ"λειον κατ* τNν α;τD Gρμ.ζουσαν τελει.τητα γνοιτο. 55 Recent commentators have qualified Joannou’s insistence on nominalism by reminding us of Eustratios’ Neoplatonism. See Kapriev (2005) 214; Podskalsky (1989) col. 117. 56 Refutation 69–71. 51 52

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it his point to reestablish the transcendence of God. He accepts the three-part division of existence with one important qualification: it does not, as Proklos claims, apply to every existent, but only to God. Only God exists κατ* μ" εξιν in that He exists in everything; the reciprocal movement of every existent in return to God is rejected. Likewise, in discussing wholes and parts, Nicholas states that there is only one whole, the transcendent God “before the parts.” The other wholes are mere relations found in objects and can make no claim to a fundamental structure of reality or a scheme of participation. The refutation seems aimed directly at Eustratios: God is a transcendent and not a particular being, and the logic which might have suggested His particularity is only valid when it affirms His transcendence. In fact, it could be argued that the identification of particular being with God does inevitably compromise His transcendence. John Italos and Michael Psellos, who clearly associated the being of God with the Neoplatonic One, would have undoubtedly interpreted the final lines of our passage from John of Damascus in a significantly different way: the phrase, “Because no being is beyond-being, and no being descends apart from and to everything, creating and not allowing itself to be acted upon,” could not possibly refer to the One since the One is beyond being and descends with its transcendence uncompromised. This is the striking departure of Eustratios, who, without denying that God is beyond being, nevertheless understands His descent through existence in the same way as that of any other particular being.57 Like the Neoplatonic One, God descends perfectly to and encompasses everything, but unlike the Neoplatonic One, He descends affected and participated by his creation. This is perhaps another reason why Eustratios can acknowledge the paradigm of God’s thought as the whole before the parts but inevitably only require it as the most comprehensive universal that can be predicated of particulars. Every particular participates in God κατ* μ" εξιν, but its substantial existence κα ’ =πρξιν only requires a participated universal. For Eustratios this seems to be the operative sense of the identity of “essence and existence”: the simultaneity of particular and universal. While the abstracted whole

57 “Eustratius’ argument is of more than historical interest. It implies that the meaning of ‘exists’ is the same in, say ‘centaurs exist’, ‘frozen air exists’, and ‘God exists’, for the difference between the states of affairs which the sentences describe is to be looked for only in the difference between centaurs, frozen air, and God.” Lloyd (1990) 74–75.

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is subsequent, it is the same whole in the parts that exists and is simultaneously perceived. So was Eustratios a nominalist? We agree with Ierodiakonou that Joannou’s claim that Eustratios understood universals to be mere concepts (or “pure names” as Kazhdan claims) is an oversimplification of his position as developed in the Aristotelian commentaries even though his rejection of the existence of the abstracted universal is clear (there is no explicit argument about universals in the “Definition of Being”).58 However, as regards Joannou’s second observation, that Eustratios equated “essence and existence,” I think the case is clear: Eustratios does tend to limit the discussion of being to the formal logic of predication, both in his engagement with Aristotle and in the “Definition of Being.” Whether for reasons of philosophical affinity in the first instance or polemical clarity in the second, this reduction tends to eclipse the paradoxical being of both God and matter in so far as they name, as our simple scheme suggests, the unparticipated correlates of predication’s universal and particular constituents. Eustratios’ philosophical predecessors, John Italos and Michael Psellos, were less willing to ignore the problematic implications of this lack of participation. Italos still affirmed the existence of universals, granted at least subsistence to abstraction, and openly pondered the significance of being both above and below particulars, identifying these types of “non-being” specifically with God and matter.59 Psellos maintained a thoroughly Dionysian understanding of God’s being as an apophatic regress of “beyonds” that transcend all comprehension:60 But further, if you want to be theologically precise, God is neither everything nor beyond everything, neither a definition nor a comprehensive term, neither light, nor life, nor mind, nor being, nor the One, nor even

58 Lloyd has a different explanation for what I am considering nuance: “Byzantine authors had not sufficiently focused the question what exactly the fundamentum in re amounted to. Consequently it is in a sense anachronistic to expect in each case to assess their commitment to nominalism.” Lloyd (1990) 73–74. 59 QQ 19.15–17 (p. 21): ο;δ? γ*ρ τ =π?ρ τ* Hντα μN Hν, Eσπερ ο;δ? τ =π τα+τα> Aμφω γ*ρ τα+τα Hντα, [ν τ μ?ν Iς κρε,ττον τν Hντων μN Hν, τ δ? Iς χε,ρον, κα' τ μ?ν ε.ς, τ δ? @λη. 60 Theol. I 56.56: μ λλον δ", ε# βολει τNν &κριβL εολογαν μα ε,ν, οcτε π ν  ες οcτε =π?ρ τ π ν, οcτε Mρος οcτε περιοχ , ο; φς, ο; ζω , ο; νο+ς, ο;κ Hν, ο;χ Vν, &λλ’ ο;δ’ =π?ρ τ Vν> τ* γ*ρ τοια+τα \ν.ματα μ"τερ ε#σι πα ματα κα' τLς μετ"ρας ψυχLς qδ,νες> )κ,νο δ? Aρρητον κα' =περρρητον, κα' ο; μ.νον M τι )στ'ν ο;κ )πιστμε α, &λλ’ ο;δ? τNν τοτου &κριβο+μεν Aγνοιαν, κα' γ*ρ κα' τ Aγνωστον α;το+ &κατληπτον. See also Phil. Min. I 7.80; Theol. I 26.80.

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david jenkins beyond the One. These names are the products of our experience and the pangs of our soul, but God is unspeakable and beyond unspeakable and not only do we not know what He is, we have no idea how to determine our ignorance of Him since even His unknowablility is incomprehensible.

EUSTRATIOS OF NICAEA ON THE SEPARATION OF ART AND THEOLOGY

Charles Barber Eustratios, Metropolitan of Nicaea was one of the more sophisticated and engaged writers on the nature of art and painting in Byzantium.1 Yet, his work remains little used by art historians and theologians who seek to conceptualize the object that we call “icon.” Rather, the literature on Byzantine aesthetics has tended to privilege the theologians of Late Antiquity, of the “iconoclastic” era, and the Palaeologan period.2 As such, Eustratios remains one of our more underappreciated thinkers on Byzantine art. Modern editions, translations, and a richer secondary literature will no doubt help change this situation.3 Until these become available, this essay, like the other rare accounts of Eustratios’s writing on art, must be considered preliminary. Given this condition, my essay will attempt to show how Eustratios developed a consistent account of the image, one that led him to reject the post-iconoclastic elevation of the icon to the status of theology or philosophy. In order to do this, I will focus on three of Eustratios’s writings. His discussion of art in his Commentary on Nicomachean Ethics 6 and his two closely linked essays on icons: the Dialogue and the Syllogistic Demonstration.4 While the three works discussed here reveal the consistency of his thought, even though the Ethics might date to ca. 1120 and the icon essays belong to the early 1090s, they also reveal one notable 1 Draeseke (1896) 319–336; Joannou (1952) 24–34; Joannou (1954a) 358–368; Joannou (1954b) 369–378; Joannou (1958) 1–30; Browning (1962) 1–12; Browning (1963) 173; Giocarinis (1964) 159–204; Gouillard (1967) 206–210; Glavinas (1972) 195–198; Mercken (1973) 6*–14*; Lloyd (1987) 341–351; Mercken (1991) 5*–7*; Trizio (2006) 35–63. This paper on Eustratios’s thinking on art draws on materials published in Barber (2007) 99–130. 2 There is no mention of Eustratios in such standard if aging works as: Mathew (1963), Bychkov (1977), or Ouspensky (1992). 3 Mary Fox and Dave Jenkins have prepared the translations from Eustratios’s Syllogistic Demonstration. This forms part of a collaborative project that is working under my direction to prepare editions, translations and commentaries on the materials bequeathed us by Komnenian discussions of the icon. 4 In EN 299–321; Dialogue 127–151 and Syllogistic Demonstration 151–160.

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addition in the later text.5 I will turn to this at the end of the paper, where I will suggest that this addition, an identification of the best wisdom with theology, presents an attempt by Eustratios to remove the icon from the contentious theological position it had occupied in eleventh-century Byzantium by lessening its status in regard to theology proper. The passage from the Ethics commentary that introduces this addition is towards the end of the section that concerns Aristotle’s distinction of art from prudence and the respective values of doing and making and contains Eustratios’s response to section 1141a9 of Aristotle’s text, which reads: The term wisdom is employed in the arts to denote those men who are the most accurate masters of their art, for instance, it is applied to Pheidias as a sculptor and to Polykleitos as a statuary. In this use then wisdom signifies nothing other than artistic excellence. ΤNν δ? σοφαν )ν τα,ς τ"χναις το,ς &κριβεσττοις τ*ς τ"χνας &ποδδομεν, οXον Φειδαν λι ουργν σοφν κα' Πολκλειτον &νδριαντοποι.ν, )ντα+ α μ?ν ο6ν ο;δ?ν Aλλο σημανοντες τNν σοφαν, R Mτι &ρετN τ"χνης )στν>6

In the course of his lengthy commentary on this passage Eustratios elaborates on the nature of the particular wisdom that belongs to the arts. Both Pheidias and Polykleitos are praised for the accuracy of their imitations in stone of natural things, for example: Polykleitos is called a wise sculptor, making accurate imitations in the stones according to what is possible as regards the subject. Πολκλειτος &νδριαντοποις σοφς qνομζετο, &κριβε,ς κα' α;τς τ*ς μιμ σεις )ν το,ς λ οις κατ* τ )γχωρο+ν τD =ποκειμ"νDω ποιομενος.7

In this phrase we can hear a condition introduced by Eustratios, as he notes that these imitations are determined by that which is: “possible as regards the subject.” This suggests that the artist is dependent upon what the subject discloses of itself. Eustratios then expands upon this: Since substance is being proper, the things in and around substance are not beings proper, but each is said to be a kind of being and a kind of being of substance, as the quantity of substance, or the quality of substance or the relation or position, like lying, standing and leaning, or substance being in a place or in time or any of the other nine 5 The date for the commentaries draws on Browning (1962). The date for the icon essays is suggested at Dialogue 129, where the essays are linked to a Synod. 6 In EN 318.27–30. 7 In EN 319.19–21.

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categories. Each of the arts is likewise, since something is worked from the underlying substance in the substance and around the substance. That which is known is that which is worked out and inheres in and around substance. This is artistic form, which is brought forth by the artist in the material proper to that art. And this is an accident, and therefore something that is not properly being, so that the excellence and perfection concerning it (i.e. accidence) is a kind of wisdom. But wisdom proper derives from the knowledge of beings, that is, of substances, which are not a kind of being, but being proper, namely, not accidence, which is a kind of being, but substance or being proper. Just as we say about coming-to-be, on the one hand, that the coming-to-be of accidence from non-being is not coming-to-be proper but a kind of coming-to-be, and on the other, that the coming-to-be of substance is complete and not a kind of coming-to-be on account of its actually being complete, as Aristotle has taught us, so too is the knowledge and wisdom of each accidence a kind of knowledge and a kind of wisdom. And the wise man concerning this wisdom is a kind of wise man about something kind of wise, and the wise man concerning substances and the things in themselves that follow upon substances is completely wise and wise in the proper sense, and moreover he is the best of all in wisdom, who concerns himself with the most fundamental aspects of beings and the best wisdom is his science, namely, theology. Iς γ*ρ  μ?ν ο;σα _ν Gπλς, τ* δ? )ν τCL ο;σPα κα' περ' τNν ο;σαν ο;χ Gπλς Hντα, &λλ τι _ν Vκαστον τοτων λ"γεται, κα τι τLς ο;σας Hν, οOον ποσ.της ο;σας R ποι.της ο;σας R σχ"σις R "σις, Iς τ κε,σ αι κα' %στασ αι κα' &νακεκλσ αι, R τ )ν τ.πDω εXναι τNν ο;σαν R τ )ν χρ.νDω Q Aλλο τι τν κατηγοριν, ο@τω κα' τν τεχνν /κστη, )πε' τLς ο;σας =ποκειμ"νης )ν τCL ο;σPα κα' περ' τNν ο;σαν )ργζετα τι, )κενου )στ' γνωστικ , ο! τε )ργζεται κα' : )ν τCL ο;σPα κα' περ' τNν ο;σαν )ντ ησι. το+το δ" )στι τ κατ* τNν τ"χνην εXδος, : )ν τCL ο#κεPα @λCη τLς τ"χνης =π το+ τεχντου &ποτελε,ται. το+το δ" )στι συμβεβηκ.ς, κα' δι* το+τ. τι _ν ο;χ Gπλς, κα' δι* το+τ. τις σοφα  κατ’ α;τ τελει.της κα' &ρετ ,  δ? σοφα Gπλς περ' τNν τν Hντων γνσιν καταγινομ"νη, Qτοι τν ο;σιν, οc τι _ν γιν7σκει &λλ’ Gπλς Hν, Qγουν ο; συμβεβηκ.ς M τι Hν )στιν αλλ’ ο;σαν R Gπλς Hν [)στιν.] Iς ο6ν )π' τν γεν"σεων τNν μ?ν το+ συμβεβηκ.τος )κ το+ μN εXναι γ"νεσιν ο;χ Gπλς γ"νεσιν &λλ τινα γ"νεσιν λ"γομεν, τNν δ? τLς ο;σας γ"νεσιν Mλως, &λλ’ οc τινα δι* τ Mλως Hντως εXναι γ"νεσιν, Iς κα' α;τς  8Αριστοτ"λης μ,ν παραδ"δωκεν, ο@τω κα' τNν γνσιν κα' τNν σοφαν τν μ?ν συμβεβηκ.των /κστου γνσιν τινα κα' σοφαν τιν, κα' τν κατ’ α;τNν σοφ.ν τι σοφν κα τινα σοφ.ν, τν δ? κατ* τ*ς ο;σας σοφν κα' τ* κα ’ α=τ τα,ς ο;σαις /π.μενα Mλως σοφν κα' Gπλς σοφ.ν, πντων δ’ ε#σ"τι )ν σοφPα κρτιστον τν περ' τ* &ρχικ7τερα τν Hντων καταγιν.μενον κα' σοφαν κρατστην τNν )πιστ μην α;το+, sτις )στ'ν  εολογα.8 8

In EN 319.37–320.19.

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I want to develop two strands from this passage. First, I would like to show that his accidental account of art is consistent with Eustratios’ discussion of art elsewhere. Second, I will, as mentioned earlier, return to the implications of his separation of the work of art from the practice of theology. The points made in the passage above build from the preceding discussion of art in the Ethics. So that by the time the reader reaches this section he or she has seen that Eustratios has elaborated upon but not really extended the scope of Aristotle’s text. Art is therefore already understood to be a rational process of making that proceeds under its own conditions.9 As it proceeds art moves that which is external to the substance being worked.10 It brings something into existence and the cause of this is the artist,11 who is obliged to be accurate as it is this that puts the material of the image and the form of the subject in contact with one another (κα' Fστι τις σοφς Iς )ν τCLδε τCL @λCη κα' τDδε τD =ποκειμ"νDω το+ &κριβο+ς )φαψμενος).12 Furthermore, art, unlike natural things, is not necessary.13 It is therefore of little surprise that when we come to the passage quoted above that the wisdom accredited to art is of a second order. While the artist might be called wise, with reference to his or her accurate rendering of the accidents that adhere to or surround substance, this wisdom is of a different, lesser, order when compared to the wisdom of one who attends to being proper. This last, in its best form, is designated the work of the theologian. Eustratios’s account of art in his Ethics commentary follows upon the assumptions that underpin his earlier and extended engagement with the question of art in the two essays on the icons that were written in the early 1090s. In these, we find a rigorous and philosophical rendering of the prevailing discourse on icons, veneration, and the visible, as bequeathed in the writings of the ninth-century iconophile authors Nikephoros of Constantinople and Theodore of Stoudios. Eustratios’s two essays were written in response to a theory of iconic depiction proposed by Leo, Metropolitan of Chalcedon in a dispute that ran from 1082 until 1094. This theory was developed in the course of

9 10 11 12 13

In EN In EN In EN In EN In EN

299–300, 307–308. 301–302. 300–301, 307–308. 319.26–28. 301.

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Leo’s defense of his charge that the Emperor Alexios I Komnenos had been guilty of iconoclasm when he had melted down church silver that bore sacred images. The core of Leo’s definition was that the formal relation between the image and its subject, their common likeness, made the icon of Christ worthy of adoration. While Leo resisted the argument made by Basil of Euchaita that the material of an image was transformed by the impression of divine form into its surface, he did argue that the form seen in the image not only gave the one looking at the object immediate access to the divine hypostasis of Christ himself, but also made the object as a whole sacred.14 In response Eustratios presented an array of arguments intended to define more precisely an icon’s proper limits. These arguments were grounded on two key themes. First, there was a need to draw a clearer distinction between knowledge of the Logos and knowledge of the incarnate Christ. Second, there was a need to define more clearly the kind of knowledge that an icon could convey. I would like to begin with a passage from the Syllogistic Demonstration that Antony Lloyd and others have drawn to our attention.15 This reads: But they [Leo of Chalcedon] then say that we consider it [the icon] worthy of adoration not by isolating its material outlines, but by perceiving the ground of the human per se, which is the divine hypostasis adored in this portrait. But the essential ground of a particular man is nothing other than humanity itself, which is seen equally in all men, and the one who adores this would no more adore the assumed existing in God the Logos than the humanity of any other particular man. And the one adoring this would seem rightly to be an anthropolater. Since God the Logos, having assumed humanity, divinized nature, it follows that the perfection of nature exists in the one in number [i.e. the particular]. Therefore the essential ground of all enmattered and natural things is perceived per se, not existing outside of particulars, but having its existence in them: not as a whole from parts, but in the parts existing whole in each of them.16 And the one who adores the bare ground adores a concept more than a thing. Φασ' δ? α6 ις, Iς ο; σχ ματα τLς @λης &φαιρο+ντες τLς λατρεας &ξιο+μεν, &λλ* τν το+ &ν ρ7που λ.γον κα ’ /αυτν )πινοο+ντες, Iς εοϋποσττDω τοτDω χαρακτLρι λατρεομεν. 8Αλλ’  λ.γος  ο;σι7δης το+ &ν ρ7που ο;δ"ν )στιν Vτερον R  &ν ρωπ.της α;τ ,  )ν π σιν &ν ρ7ποις )πσης

14 15 16

Stephanou (1946) 190–198; Carr (1995) 579–584; Barber (2007) 131–157. Lloyd (1987) 348. cf. In APo. 195–196.

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εωρουμ"νη, κα'  τατCη λατρεων ο; μ λλον λατρεει τD )ν τD ΘεD Λ.γDω =ποστντι προσλ μματι, R /κστDω τν κατ* μ"ρος &ν ρ7πων. Κα'  τατCη λατρεων δ.ξειεν Zν δικαως &ν ρωπολτρης> )πε' κα'  Θες Λ.γος ο@τω δι* το+ προσλ μματος τNν φσιν ) "ωσεν, Iς τLς φσεως τελεας )ν τD /ν' κατ’ &ρι μν =παρχοσης. iΕπειτα  λ.γος  ο;σι7δης )π' πντων τν )νλων κα' φυσικν )πινοε,ται μ?ν κα ’ /αυτ.ν, ο;χ =φισταται δ? χωρ'ς τν κα ’ Vκαστα, )ν τοτοις Fχων τNν @παρξιν> Iς Mλον ο;κ )κ μερν, &λλ’ )ν μ"ρεσιν Iς )ν /κστDω =πρχων Mλον α;τν> κα'  τD λ.γDω λατρεων γυμνD, )πινο ματι μ λλον λατρεει R πργματι.17

Eustratios makes several points here. First the ground (λ.γος) of man is humanity rather than divinity. Second, it follows from this first point that man cannot be adored. Third, the incarnation has divinized all of nature. Fourth, it follows from this that the divine may be perceived in the post-incarnational particular. Fifth, if one tries to adore the ground—in this instance divinity—beyond the particular, one will only adore a concept rather than the thing that mediates and presents that ground to us. It is this last point that leads Eustratios to criticize the distinction that Leo has tried to draw, namely that we can perceive Christ through the icon but not in it. For Eustratios, Leo has overlooked the icon as a medium whose very material particularity allows Christ to be knowable. Granted this, it is important then to recognize the constraints that this medium imposes. Foremost among these is the understanding that the description and definition of an icon, as an artifact, is not to be confused with the physical account of the implications of the incarnation identified in this passage. This leads Eustratios to argue that: The portrait of the particular is nothing else, that is a portrayal that both depicts and impresses the accidents specific to it, the accumulation of which would never be found in any other thing of a similar nature; therefore, depicting it from these [accidents], or sometimes describing it with words, we are able to portray and distinguish it from others; nor will the universal ever be depicted, so that someone could adore this in images, but rather only the material outline of the particular and this according to appearance. ΧαρακτNρ δ? το+ κα ’ Vκαστα ο;δ?ν Vτερον, R διαχραξις κα' οOον διγραψς τε κα' διατπωσις τν #δως συμβεβηκ.των α;τD, [ν τ Z ροισμα ο;κ Zν )π’ Zλλου τινς τν μοφυν ε=ρε εη ποτ"> δι κα' )κ τοτων α;τν ε#κονζοντες, R λ.γDω ποτ? =πογρφοντες, διιστ ν τν Zλλων κα' χαρακτη-

17

Syllogistic Demonstration 157.

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ρζειν δυνμε α> ο;δ’ ε#κονισ σεται Zν τ κα .λου, %να κα' )ν ε#κ.σι τοτDω λατρεει τις, &λλ’ R μ.νον σχLμα κα' wνυλον το+ κα ’ Vκαστα κα' α;τ τν κατ’ )πιφνειαν.18

Here, Eustratios’s insistence that a portrait is only an accumulation of visible traces of a particular subject, leads him to reiterate that there can be no portrait of a universal, such divinity, without the mediation of the particular. This line of reasoning is also developed in Eustratios’s Dialogue. Here, too, Eustratios begins by arguing against the possibility of seeing the divine in an icon, by pointing out that painting can pertain to the human alone: It follows then that the human alone is to be depicted . . . just as, clearly, therefore the divine cannot be painted . . . the divine is undifferentiated and undivided; it follows that it cannot be painted . . . By the same argument they cannot be depicted together. For if they were to be, then the divine would again have dimension and measure, as it is united unconfused to the flesh within the one person. It follows therefore that only the human can be depicted: either in its own right or in relation to something else. λεπεται Bρα μ.νην εXναι τNν &ν ρωπ.τητα τ εικονιζ.μενον . . . Mτι μ?ν ο6ν  ε.της ο;κ Vστιν ε#κονιστ.ν, δLλον . . .  δ? ε.της &μ"ριστ.ν τε κα' &διστατον> ο;κ Bρα ε#κονιστ.ν . . . ΤD δ? α;τD λ.γDω ο;δ? τ συναμφ.τερον Vσται ε#κονιστ.ν. Ε# γ*ρ Vσται, πλιν  ε.της διαστατ.ν τε κα' μεριστ.ν> )πειδ περ κατ* μαν =π.στασιν &συγχτως Qνωται τCL σαρκ. Λεπεται ο6ν μ.νην ε#κονιστNν εXναι τNν &ν ρωπ.τητα. Αcτη δ? ] Gπλς ] κατ τι.19

This passage hints at the problem of representing Christ that concerns Eustratios. Christ’s person consists of two natures, the human and the divine. One is bounded by time and space, the other is not. Because the divine is without these bounds it is, in itself, unrepresentable. All that can be depicted in the icon is that which is manifest through the human. Furthermore, that which is seen by these means is not even humanity proper, it is the accidental traces external to the human substance: Form is the visible or rather that which is seen or manifest, thence the shape is exact in accordance to appearance. For vision is not cast into the abyss, nor does it grasp the essential, but only the colors of this and their common sensible outlines, I speak of number, movements and other such 18 19

Syllogistic Demonstration 157. Dialogue 131–132.

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charles barber things, which are all accidents. One must also transfer the name on to the essential form as it is named in accordance with the likenesses of the shape. For these simulate and adorn and beautify the substance. iΕστι γ*ρ εXδος τ ε#δ.μενον Qγουν βλεπ.μενον κα' φαιν.μενον, Mπερ )στ'ν  μορφN /κστου κατ* )πιφνειαν. Ο; γ*ρ ε#ς β ος  Hψις )πιβλλει, ο;δ? τLς ο;σας )φπτεται, μ.νων δ? χρωματων κα ’ /αυτNν κα' τν κοινν α#σ ητν σχημτων, λ"γω &ρι μο+, κιν σεως, κα' εx τι τοιο+τον Vτερον, Bπαντα συμβεβηκ.τα )στι. Μετεν νεκται δ? τοcνομα κα' )π' τ* κατ* ο;σαν εJδη κα ’ μοι.τητα τLς μορφLς \νομασ "ντα. 8Επιμορφζει γ*ρ κα' τα+τα κα' κοσμε, κα' καλλνει τ =ποκεμενον.20

Eustratios’s opponent is unwilling to accept such a rigidly formalist understanding of the icon and argues that the traces in the work of art disclose the entirety of their subject: But since the accidents artistically portrayed according to the shape in Christ disclose him in this divine portrait, we say that [we are able] to worship [him] in this in terms of adoration through what is disclosed by them. 8Αλλ’ )πε' τ* συμβεβηκ.τα κατ* τNν μορφNν τD ΧριστD χαραττ.μενα τεχνικς α;τν )κε,νον μηνει τν εοϋπ.στατον χαρακτLρα, )κενDω φαμ?ν προσκυνε,ν λατρευτικς τD μηνυομ"νDω =π’ α;τν.21

This leads Eustratios to ask: What then is disclosed in the image, that which is painted or that which is not painted? τ δN μηνεται )ν α;το,ς; : γρφεται, R : ο; γρφεται;22

In answer to his own question he reiterates the importance of the dual aspect of Christ, who has two natures in a single hypostasis. This leads him to argue that while the icon can only show one of these natures, that is the human,23 the icon can lead us to contemplate the divine, which resides elsewhere. Similarly, we may venerate the icon, but the adoration addressed to the divine cannot be mediated by such an object.24 Worship by means of an icon must therefore be distinguished from the direct worship—that is adoration—of God.25 Hence:

20 21 22 23 24 25

Dialogue 142. Dialogue 144. Dialogue 144. Dialogue 145. Dialogue 147. Dialogue 149.

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For while our worship [understood as adoration] of him is unmediated, the imitation [of him] is mediated. )κε, μ?ν γ*ρ &μ"σως προσκυνο+μεν α;τD, )ντα+ α δ? δι* μ"σης μιμ σεως>26

This mediating function for the icon is founded upon its accidental nature. It cannot offer direct access to the substance of its subject, as it can only convey the external qualities of that subject. Hence: Yet the icon takes the outline and the shape of the depicted, not the essence. The outline and shape are simply a quality and the fourth kind of quality. Every quality is simply an accident. No accident should be adored. Equally no outline or shape should be adored. What we are talking about when we talk about the icon is perfectly obvious: the artistic and the mimetic. The pre-eternal Divine Logos has assumed into himself at the end of days the additional from the holy virgin and Theotokos, the first fruit of our mixture. The hypostasis of the Divine Logos has required the adoption of our nature, so that the two natures might be contemplated in the one hypostasis. So, just as the Son of God has maintained his infallible hypostatic particularities, according to which the hypostasis is distinguished from the Father and the Spirit. So, too, did the Son of Man possess other particularities by which he differs from the mother and other men. What are these secondary things, substance or accident? By which I mean, colors, size, perhaps the curve of a nose, or the hair for instance, or the outlines from which he has emerged: the eyebrows, the eyes, and each part that is manifest on his exterior, by means of which when we see them on icons we recognize who each icon is representing. iΕτι  ε#κlν τ σχLμα κα' τNν μορφNν το+ ε#κονιζομ"νου λαμβνει ο; τNν ο;σιαν> τ δ? σχLμα κα'  μορφN ποι.της Gπλς κα' τ"ταρτον γ"νος ποι.τητος> π σα δ? Gπλς ποι.της συμβεβηκ.ς> ο;δ?ν δ? συμβεβηκς λατρευτ.ν> ο;δ?ν Aρα σχLμα R μορφN λατρευτ.ν. Πντως δ? ο;κ Aδηλον περ' ποου σημαινομ"νου τLς ε#κ.νος )ν π σι τοτοις  λ.γος μ,ν> περ' γ*ρ τLς τεχνικLς τε κα' κατ* μμησιν> Mτι  Θες Λ.γος προαι7νιος zν )π’ )σχτων τν μερν /αυτ τ πρ.σλημμα )κ τLς Gγας Παρ "νου κα' Θεοτ.κου =πεστ σατο, τNν &παρχNν το+ μετ"ρου φυρματος> κα' =π.στασις α;τς  Θες Λ.γος τL προσληφ εση φσει μ,ν )χρημτισεν, Iς )ν μι =ποστσει τ*ς δο εωρε,σ αι φσεις. gΩς μ?ν ο;ν υ$ς το+ Θεο+ )τ ρησεν &διπτωτα τ* =ποστατικ* α;το+ #δι7ματα, κα ’ T διεκρνετο το+ Πατρς κα' το+ Πνεματος κα ’ =π.στασιν> Iς δ? υ$ς &ν ρ7που Fσχεν α; ις #δι7ματα Vτερα, κα ’ T διαφ"ρει τLς μητρς κα' τν λοιπν &ν ρ7πων. Τα+τα δN τ* δετερα τ )στιν ο;σα R συμβεβηκ.ς; ο$.ν τι λ"γω, τ χρμα, το μ"γε ος,  γρυπ.της τυχ.ν,  τοιδε τρχωσις,  τν παρειν τοιδε

26

Dialogue 148.

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charles barber σχημτισις, τν χειλ"ων, τν \φ αλμν, κα' /κστου μορου κατ* τNν Fξω εν )πιφνειαν, Bπερ )ν τα,ς ε#κ.σι γρφοντες, τνος )στι γνωρζομεν τNν /κστου τν ε#κονιζομ"νων ε#κ.να.27

The answer to his last question is, of course, accident. What Eustratios sets forth in these texts is an account of painting that wishes to distinguish precisely the icon, a man-made object, from its natural subject. This difference is substantial. While Eustratios identifies the availability of the divine through a post-incarnational divinized nature, he is unwilling to allow this presence to the work of art. It becomes necessary, then, for him to distinguish that which is in nature from that which is visible in a painting. A painting remains the trace of the visible, a record of the accidents that describe the particular manifestation of a given subject but that should not be confused with their substance. These writings on the icons provide early insight into Eustratios’s thought. They show an engagement with the philosophical world of eleventh-century Byzantine philosophy. This did not go unnoticed by a late, fierce critic of Eustratios’s thought. When, in the summer of 1117, Niketas, Metropolitan of Herakleia, wrote a discourse that demanded the removal of Eustratios from his episcopal see, he chose to link the Syllogistic Demonstration text to Eustratios’s discourse addressed to the Armenians, which had been written in 1114.28 Read together, Niketas argued that these texts betrayed an incautious application of philosophical technique to a theological problem. The relevant passage reads: We find that the vow taken by the metropolitan of Nicaea, where he states that: “I have been suspected of professing a bad doctrine that I have never borne in mind, as God knows, and that I do not now bear in mind.” was for the pleasure of those listening, for he has clearly had these things in mind many times before. For in his discourse concerning icons he considers that the assumed should not be adored. At the start of this discourse he demonstrates that when one is a creature one cannot be adored, and so he divides the one Christ into the adored and the non-adored, the worshipped and the non-worshipped, while at the end of the discourse he introduces a rational distinction for the assumed, and considering on its own terms that which has never existed without the Logos that has assumed it, he excludes this [the assumed] from the adoration and worship which is rendered to the heavenly powers themselves. Having also applied this rational distinction for the assumed in the two discourses for which he is being criticized [the Armenian texts], he has fallen into the abyss of a contrary doctrine. It follows 27 28

Dialogue 154–155. The Armenian discourse can be found at Refutation 160–198.

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therefore that one cannot say that he has repented these errors, rather one is indeed suspicious regarding his approach. Mτι ε=ρσκομεν τNν )ξομολ.γησιν ]ν  Νικαας )ποι σατο, λ"γων Mτι> 3Υποπτος )γεν.μην )π' δ.ξCη ο;κ &γα CL Rν ο;δ"ποτε )φρ.νησα, Iς  Θες οXδεν, ο;δ? ν+ν φρον, )π’ )ξαπτCη τν &κου.ντων γενομ"νην> φανερς γ*ρ κα' πρ πολλο+ τ* α;τ* )φρ.νει. Κα' γ*ρ )ν τD περ' ε#κ.νων λ.γDω α;το+ τ πρ.σλημμα οXδεν &λτρευτον, )ν &ρχCL μ?ν το+ λ.γου α#ταν το+ &λτρευτον εXναι &ποφαιν.μενος τ εXναι κτιστ.ν, και τν Vνα Χριστν ε#ς λατρευτν κα' &λτρευτον, προσκυνητν κα' &προσκνητον, Aντικρυς διαιρν, )ν δ? τD τ"λει το+ λ.γου τCL )πινοPα διαρεσιν προσγων το+ προσλ μματος, κα' τ μηδ"ποτε κα ’ /αυτ =πρξαν χωρ'ς το+ προσλαβ.ντος Λ.γου κα ’ /αυτ εωρν κα' τLς λατρεας κα' προσκυν σεως, ]ν κα' =π’ α;τν τν ο;ρανων προσκυνε,ται δυνμεων, το+το &ποστερν. ΤατCη δ? τCL δι’ )πινοας το+ προσλ μματος διαιρ"σει κα' )ν το,ς δυσ' λ.γοις οOς &πεβλετο χρησμενος, ε#ς τ τLς &λλοκ.του δ.ξης )μπ"πτωκε βρα ρον. Λοιπν ο6ν τν &πατντα ο;κ Aν τις εJπCη μετανοο+ντα, @ποπτον δ? μ λλον κα' περ' α;τNν τNν προσ"λευσιν.29

Niketas here criticizes Eustratios for applying logical distinctions to theological problems. In particular, he objects to Eustratios’s construction of his argument from the premise that one can separate the adopted (Christ’s human nature) from the Logos that has adopted this nature in the person of Christ. For Niketas, the distinctions drawn by this manner of thinking were problematic because they appeared to betray Eustratios’s continued adherence to the thought of John Italos, Eustratios’s teacher, who in 1082 was condemned for his own application of philosophical premises to theological matters. Consequently, we can see that Eustratios is condemned in regard to the question of the icons for failing to live up to the vow he had taken to distance himself from his teacher’s method. Given that the primary complaint against Eustratios was defined by his Armenian discourse, the additional reference to the Syllogistic Demonstration might at first glance appear superfluous. I would, however, like to suggest that this reference served a purpose that went beyond simply establishing a heretical genealogy for the Armenian text. It also introduced the question of the icon into Niketas’s description of Eustratios’s orthodoxy. This was a significant gesture in eleventh- and twelfth-century Byzantium, as one’s understanding of icons was an important means of evaluating the orthodoxy of one’s thinking. This 29 Darrouzès (1966) 302.23–304.3. The reference to the discourse on icons appears to cite discussions at Syllogistic Demonstration 152 and 159.

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function for the work of art was annually rehearsed in the Feast of Orthodoxy, which at this period was beginning to expand around the core question of the image, and is also attested in the trials of Symeon the New Theologian and John Italos, as well as the professions of faith by Michael Psellos and John Italos. In each instance the icon played a significant role as a means of defining or testing the orthodoxy of the figure on trial.30 This function for the icon was a legacy of the iconoclastic era, whose theologians—primarily Theodore of Stoudios and Nikephoros of Constantinople—had established the centrality of the icon for the definition of orthodoxy, thus implicitly elevating the icon to the level of theology. This status was confirmed by the seventh canon of the Constantinopolitan council of 869–870, which had declared: Setting up holy and venerable icons and teaching the similar disciplines of divine and human wisdom are very beneficial. It is not good if this is done by those who are not worthy. For this reason no one is to paint the holy churches who has been anathematized by what has been decreed, nor to teach in a similar place, until they have turned back from their deceit. Therefore, if anyone after our declaration were to allow these in whatever manner to paint holy icons in the church or to teach, if he is a cleric he will endanger his rank, if he is a layman he will be banished and deprived of the divine mysteries. Τ τ*ς Gγας κα' σεπτ*ς ε#κ.νας &ναστηλο+ν κα' το0ς πλησον διδσκειν τ* μα ματα τLς εας τε κα' &ν ρωπνης σοφας, λαν \νησιφ.ρον> ο; καλν δ? το+το μN παρ* τν &ξων γνεσ αι> τοτου χριν μηδαμς ε#κονουργε,ν )ν το,ς $ερο,ς ναο,ς το0ς &να εματισ "ντας εσπζομεν, μ τε μNν )ν ο$Dωδ ποτε τ.πDω διδσκειν, μ"χρις Zν )πιστραφσιν )κ τLς #δας &πτης. ΕJ τις ο!ν μετ* το+τον μν τν Mρον πρς ζωγραφικNν Gγων ε#κ.νων )ν )κκλησPα R διδασκαλικNν α;το0ς πωσο+ν παραδ"ξοιτο πρ ξιν, ε# μ?ν κληρικ.ς )στιν, ε#ς τν Jδιον κινδυνευ"τω βα μ.ν, ε# δ? λαϊκ.ς, &φοριζ"σ ω, κα' στερεσ ω τν εων μυστηρων.31

Here, painting, theology and philosophy are placed on the same plane and are subject to the same policing. It is this legacy that Eustratios sought to dismantle when he followed Aristotle in distinguishing wisdom in the arts from wisdom proper. For, while wisdom proper encompassed “substances and the things in themselves,” the wisdom of the arts only addressed the accidental qualities of such a thing. This distinction leads Eustratios to distinguish theology, the highest manifestation 30 31

This thread can be found throughout Barber (2007). Conciliorum Oecumenicorum Decreta 148.

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of wisdom proper, from what is now a different and secondary wisdom, namely that of the arts. In so doing, it can be suggested that by linking and then distinguishing artistic and theological wisdom in his Ethics commentary, Eustratios was attempting to escape from the problems that had arisen throughout the eleventh century and now in his own career from the use of the icon as a litmus test of orthodoxy.

THE ANONYMOUS COMMENTARY ON NICOMACHEAN ETHICS VII: LANGUAGE, STYLE AND IMPLICATIONS

Elizabeth A. Fisher The anonymous commentator on NE VII has gained a tripartite reputation for incompetence among the scholars of the past two centuries who have examined his work. Their verdict is unanimous: he is incompetent in managing the morphology and vocabulary of Greek, incompetent in mustering adequate Greek style to express himself, and incompetent in understanding and explicating philosophical ideas. As a philologist by training and inclination, I cannot discuss Anonymous as a philosopher, but his capabilities as a writer of Greek and some peculiarities of his interests as a commentator seem to be worthy of further examination. My observations on this topic at the Notre Dame workshop also elicited some very interesting observations from the other workshop participants on the similarity of Anonymous’ commentary to the work of other known Aristotelian commentators as well as on the possible identity of our elusive subject. Accordingly, I shall treat not only Anonymous’ language and style but also the implications of those topics for contextualizing his commentary. Whatever his own limitations, Anonymous travels in the company of respectable commentators whose treatments of individual books of the Nicomachean Ethics were assembled by Eustratios and Michael of Ephesus at the instigation of Anna Komnene.1 These early twelfth-century scholars selected existing commentaries on some books and supplied their own commentaries to Books I and VI (Eustratios) and to Books V, IX and X (Michael).2 Did Michael and Eustratios invite Anonymous and his commentary on Book VII into their select circle, or did his work intrude into the collection without their endorsement later in its textual history? The question is open, since the first evidence of this collection as it now survives dates from the mid-13th century, when Robert Grosseteste, bishop of Lincoln, translated into Latin these com1 2

Browning (1990) 399. Mercken (1990) 407–441.

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mentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics.3 The surviving Greek manuscripts that contain the Anonymous Commentary on Book Seven all postdate Grosseteste’s translation.4 In the opinion of H.P.F. Mercken, editor of Grosseteste’s translation, Anonymous is so incompetent that Michael and Eustratios could not possibly have approved his commentary on Book VII for inclusion in their collection; Anonymous must be an intruder who arrived late.5 Inferior to the other commentators in matters both of style and of substance, Anonymous is now considered an egregious interloper in their company. In 1816 F. Schleiermacher distinguished Anonymous from the other commentators on the Nicomachean Ethics by labeling his work not so much scholia as exegesis; Schleiermacher then lodged a series of complaints against Anonymous:6 1. His understanding of familiar philosophical concepts is flawed (e.g., σοφιστικς λ.γος ψευδ.μενος Anon. 414.21–28) 2. His remarks are tasteless (“abgeschmakkter”), e.g., regarding the child-eating monster Lamia (Anon. 427.38–40) 3. His Greek syntax is faulty, for he always (“immer”) uses a neuter plural subject with a plural verb 4. His vocabulary is corrupted by the Latinism κρβωνας for Aν ρακας (Anon. 428.13 and 29) Schleiermacher characterized Anonymous’ commentary as “exceeding everything in its poverty” (“an Dürftigkeit alles übertreffend”) and concluded that it is a “shoddy effort” (“Machwerk”). Concerning the identity of Anonymous, Schleiermacher speculated that he was a physician, because he frequently incorporates examples from medicine into his commentary. H.P.F. Mercken not only took up Schleiermacher’s complaints against Anonymous but also further multiplied and interpreted them. After reiterating the poverty of the commentary on Book VII and the commentator’s inadequacy as a philosopher, lack of good taste and Rose (1871) 65–66. Heylbut (1892) lists three manuscripts of the fourteenth century, five of the fifteenth, one of the late fifteenth or early sixteenth century, two of the sixteenth century, and one of the seventeenth century; the Aldine Edition dates from 1536. All citations of Anonymous’ text are to the Heylbut edition. 5 Mercken (1991) * 26. 6 Schleiermacher (1838) 309–326. 3 4

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lapses in elementary aspects of classical Greek such as his combination of plural verbs with neuter plural subjects and use of the Latin calque κρβωνας, he conceded that sixth-century authors do combine plural verbs with neuter plural subjects but declared the usage unclassical and foreign to the practice of Michael and Eustratios in their commentaries on the Ethics.7 Mercken added to the list of stylistic lapses committed by Anonymous his use of a present form built on the aorist φαγε,ν and his relentless repetition of Qτοι in explanations in his commentary. Repeating Schleiermacher’s suggestion that Anonymous was a physician, Mercken dated his activity before Grosseteste’s mid-13th century translation of the Ethics commentaries but after the work of Michael and Eustratios.8 Leaving aside the issue of his abilities (or lack thereof) as a philosopher, let us examine in detail the aspects of Anonymous’ language and style that have so offended Schleiermacher and Mercken. First, regarding their charge that Anonymous is tasteless in commenting upon the child-eating monster mentioned by Aristotle, we may compare the original passage from Aristotle with Anonymous’ comment upon it. When Aristotle says “I mean monsters, like the female who they say ripped open pregnant women and ate their children,”9 Anonymous makes Aristotle’s general statement about “monsters” more precise by noting that such behavior characterized the Lamia: “[Eating children] seemed sweet to the Lamia. The Lamia was a woman in the Pontus region who, because she had killed her own children, devoured the infants of other women.”10 Anonymous’ brief remarks on the Lamia are standard in the folktale tradition surrounding her except for his observation that the Lamia was native to Pontus. This information is unique to Anonymous,11 who is apparently attempting to integrate the Lamia with the savage and cannibalistic tribes περ' τν Π.ντον mentioned immediately after her by Aristotle (1148b22–24) and further specified by Anonymous as ο$ . . . Σκ αι περ' Π.ντον (428.1). Although his remarks on the Lamia might suggest that Anonymous displays shoddy scholarship Mercken (1990) 437–438. Mercken (1990) 408–409. 9 λ"γω δ? τ*ς ηρι7δεις, οOον τNν Aν ρωπον ]ν λ"γουσι τ*ς κυοσας &νασχζουσαν τ* παιδα κατεσ ειν (EN 1148b20–22). 10 )δ.κει δ? τCL ΛαμPα δ.  Λαμα γυν τις <ν περ' τν Π.ντον, sτις δι.τι &π7λετο τ* ο#κε,α τ"κνα, τ* τν Aλλων γυναικν βρ"φη Qσ ιεν (427.38–39). 11 The online Thesaurus Linguae Graecae (hereafter, TLG) cites only Anonymous for the combination of Lamia with Pontus. 7 8

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or a pedantic disposition, on this topic he is no more “tasteless” than Aristotle himself. If the remarks of Anonymous are not incongruous with Aristotle’s original text in the matter of taste, does his practice regarding neuter plural subjects with plural verbs indicate that his Greek falls short of the classical standard? According to Herbert Weir Smyth, no; a singular verb is regular with a neuter plural subject in Attic Greek, but the plural verb does occur in Homer, Thucydides and Xenophon.12 Moreover, Anonymous does not, as Schleiermacher claimed, “always” (“immer”) employ the less regular usage. A sampling of Anonymous’ neuter plural subjects using the TLG isolates this example of the regular and less regular Attic usages in one sentence: τ* ηρα δι* το+το ο; λ"γεται &κρατL, δι.τι ο;κ Fχουσι τNν κα .λου =π.ληψιν (422.2–3).13 Similarly, Anonymous uses singular and plural verbs in equal proportion with neuter plural subjects within the space of 21 lines on p. 433 (lines 3–23). Some passages, on the other hand, demonstrate Anonymous’ fixation on one usage or the other. Neuter subjects occur with singular verbs three times within four lines on p. 419 (lines 2–5) and with plural verbs five times within nine lines on p. 425 (lines 28–36). Anonymous may be following the preference of his source closely in these latter instances; however, the examples of regular and less regular usage in close proximity suggest to me that Anonymous was indifferent to this matter. In his dialect and to his native speaker’s ear, both usages were acceptable. Pace Schleiermacher and Mercken, both Eustratios and Michael of Ephesus demonstrate a similarly casual attitude regarding this point. Checking the incidence of singular and plural verbs with neuter plural subjects in the TLG turns up instances of both usages in Michael’s commentary,14 even in the same sentence on p. 502 lines 19–20: ε#σ' δ? τ* λοιπ* πντα &π τν παροιμιν δηλομενα, T μετ’ \λγον {η σεται. Eustratios also wavers between neuter plural subjects with either singular or plural verbs;15 an example of each appears juxtaposed on p. 9 lines 13n–14n: |Ων δ’ ε#σ' τ"λη τιν* παρ* τ*ς πρξεις, )ν τοτοις βελτω π"φυκε τν )νεργειν τ* Fργα and on p. 21 lines 24–25: )πε' γ*ρ οcτε τ* Smyth (1956) § 959. See also ο;δ’ Mλως Fχουσι τ* ηρα λ.γον &λλ* πντα δι"φ αρται, 433.23. 14 For example, see the plural verbs at 463.17, 473.19, 495.17, 507.19, and 512.7; a singular verb occurs at 464.10. 15 For example, see the plural verbs at 8.27n, 12.9, 19.20, 49.35, 66.1, and 67.32; singular verbs at 7.27, 10.28, 13.1. 12 13

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Hντα οcτε τ* γιν.μενα )ξ &νγκη ε#σ'ν R γνεται πντα. Regarding this

point of grammatical usage, Anonymous’ modern critics prove to be much more rigorous that two notable early twelfth-century commentators on Aristotle. Perhaps their lapses are not as frequent as those of Anonymous, but they are nonetheless evident. Anna Komnene herself demonstrates twelfth-century stylistic practices consistent with the usage of Anonymous. In a list of Anna’s deviations from the rules of classical Greek grammar, Georgina Buckler notes the frequent occurrence of neuter plural subjects with plural verbs in Anna’s prose.16 Further, both Anna and Anonymous share a penchant for sometimes choosing Latin words when “native” Greek words exist. In Anna’s Alexiad we find φ.ρον (“forum” replacing &γορ), π.ρτα (“gate” instead of πλη), κλεσουρα (“gorge” or “pass” from Latin clausura for ε#σβολ ), etc.17 Anna’s choice of Latinisms apparently in contemporary use over their more dignified and classical Greek synonyms resembles Anonymous’ use of κρβωνας instead of Aν ρακας at p. 428 line 29 and also in close conjunction with the classical word that he also knew (428 lines 12–13: Fτι δ? δ0 δοκε, τισι, παρ* φσιν δ? δοκε,, τ )σ ειν Aν ρακας. )ν Mσοις γ*ρ πλεονζει  μελαγχολικς χυμ.ς, δ0 δοκε, τ )σ ειν κρβωνας). The root κρβων- is not unusual in the vocabulary of twelfth-century authors: e.g. κρβωνον (John Phokas), καρβ7νιον (Typikon of the Pantokrator), nor unprecedented in the tenth century. Constantine Porphyrogennetos uses καρβ.νιον in De cerimoniis.18 These authors write to instruct and to inform their readers rather than to dazzle them with rhetorically sophisticated vocabulary and constructions imitated from classical Greek. Robert Browning has discussed the linguistic register they adopt as coexisting with the formal and artificial style affected by “Atticising” authors and quotes Constantine Porphyrogennetos’ justification for using it: “So that what I write may be clear and easy to distinguish, I have employed a conversational and simple style, using the same words, and the appellations long attached to each object and uttered in regards to it.”19 Browning terms the stylistic register they employ “technical Koine,” typified by a toleration of vocabulary drawn from contemporary speech, simplified sentence structure, Buckler (1929) 483, n. 7. Buckler (1929) 487. 18 Lexikon zur byzantinischen Gräzität, s. v. 19 Browning (1978) 103–104; translation of Constantine Porphyrogennetos De caerimoniis 5.2.4, by Robert Browning. 16 17

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and a relaxed attitude towards the syntax and morphology of classical Greek.20 Commentators on law, medicine, rhetoric and literature typically settled into this register as the most appropriate and useful for instruction and explanation; in the twelfth century, Eustathios of Thessalonike used both an Atticising style in making rhetorically dazzling speeches and technical Koine in explicating Homer. When placed in this stylistic environment, Anonymous’ indifference to the niceties of a verb’s number with neuter plurals, his use of the Latinism κρβωνας, his toleration for the unclassical form φαγε, (a present form generated from the aorist of )σ ω), and his unsophisticated style marked by the repetition of Qτοι may be seen as practical in terms of the needs of his contemporary audience, even if not acceptable to Schleiermacher and Mercken. Karl Praechter sketches a situation in which a commentator like Anonymous might present his exegesis of a text that he first read out to students listening to his lecture.21 In the context of a lecture hall or classroom, Anonymous’ use of φαγε, may provide a useful example of his strategy to engage his audience. Commenting upon Aristotle’s views on bodily pleasures, Anonymous observes, “For if someone is hungry and gobbles and feeds, pleasure then follows for him.”22 In switching between the colloquial Koine word φαγε, and the Atticising χορτζει,23 Anonymous accomplishes a juxtaposition of linguistic registers that could be interpreted as a sort of humorous device intended to engage and divert his students; I have tried to replicate this effect by contrasting the register represented by “gobbles” with the more formal one reflected in “feeds.” In the context of such a classroom environment, Anonymous’ habit of accumulating explanations with the repetitive and unimaginative conjunction Qτοι does have some purpose. His audience, eager for instruction and grateful for explication of each concept he introduced, might find repeated illustrations marked by the familiar Qτοι welcome as the modern reader/ philosopher does not. Anonymous’ reliance upon this pedagogical strategem is easy to cite but too frequent to document in full. Two examples will illustrate Anonymous’ practice. Browning (1978) 107–108; for the twelfth century, see 119–123. Praechter (1990) 40–44. 22 ε# γρ τις πεινP κα' φαγε, κα' χορτζει, τ.τε Vπεται α;τD δον (448.16). 23 φγει occurs in Chrysostom, Theophilos, Aesop and Georgios Monachos; χορτζει occurs in Aelian, Hesiod, Eubolos and the Septuagint. 20 21

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On page 408 eight instances of Qτοι occur within ten lines of text (12– 21), and on page 410 eleven instances occur within eighteen lines (17– 36). To gauge the effect of this prominent aspect of Anonymous’ style as a commentator, let us examine Aristotle’s text at the opening of NE VII (1145a15–20) with Anonymous’ commentary following it: Μετ* δ? τα+τα λεκτ"ον, Aλλην ποιησαμ"νους &ρχ ν, Mτι τν περ' τ* Q η φευκτν τρα )στ'ν εJδη, κακα &κρασα ηρι.της. τ* δ’ )ναντα το,ς μ?ν δυσ' δLλα> τ μ?ν γ*ρ &ρετNν τ δ’ )γκρτειαν καλο+μεν> πρς δ? τNν

ηρι.τητα μλιστ’ Zν Gρμ.ττοι λ"γειν τNν =π?ρ μ ς &ρετ ν, ρωικ ν τινα κα' εαν

Anonymous resorts repeatedly to Qτοι as he comments upon this passage: 3Οτι τν φευκτν, τοι τν κακιν τν περ' τ* Q η τοι τν εωρουμ"νων )ν τα,ς p ικα,ς &ρετα,ς, τρα ε#σ'ν εJδη κακιν.  γ*ρ κακα &ντκειται πσαις τα,ς p ικα,ς &ρετα,ς.  γ*ρ δειλα κα'  ραστης κα'  &κολασα, CU κακαι, &ντκεινται τα,ς p ικα,ς &ρετα,ς Iς κακαι. τ, δ0 ναντα, τοι &π τν τριν τοι α$ δ’ &ρετα, α% ε#σιν )νανται το,ς δυσ, τCL τε κακPα κα' τCL &κρασPα, φανερα ε#σι. τ μ?ν γρ, τοι τ )ναντον τCL κακPα, καλο+μεν &ρετ ν ( γ*ρ κακα &ντκειται τCL p ικCL &ρετCL), τ δ", τοι τ )ναντον τCL &κρασPα, καλο+μεν )γκρτειαν. πρ)ς δ0 τ7ν 'ηριτητα, τοι τCL δ? ηρι.τητι, μλιστα Gρμ.ζει ε#πε,ν &ντι κε,σ αι τNν =π?ρ μ ς &ρετ ν, τοι τNν ρωϊκNν κα' εαν. (p. 408. 12–21)

Although Michael and Eustratios occasionally use Anonymous’ beloved conjunction, their commentaries on the NE do not present the dense thickets of Qτοι typical of Anonymous’ style.24 A desire to be at once comprehensive, organized and precise typifies this commentary and also the derivative eleventh-century rhetorical commentaries of John Sikeliotes and John Doxopatres.25 As we shall soon see, other commentators punctuated their explications with Q or with Qγουν as persistently as Anonymous resorted to Qτοι. Does Anonymous’ commentary reveal that he was a physician as well as a pedagogue? Citing his frequent references to medical matters, Schleiermacher and Mercken believed that he was. Among such references is his hapax legomenon λι ,τιν, which he identifies as νεφρ,τιν (kidney disease): το,ς Fχουσι λι ,τιν ν.σον R νεφρ,τιν (423.25). Here Anonymous 24 Eustratios uses pairs of Qτοι at p. 18.40–41, p. 101.22–23, p. 119.5–6, p. 119.16– 17 and p. 352.27–28; he uses Qτοι alone at p. 366. 29. Michael uses pairs of Qτοι at p. 480.19–20, 571.2–3, 583.35, and 614.35–615.1. 25 Browning (1975) 9.

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demonstrates the same enthusiasm for medical synonyms that we have seen in the case of his Latinized reference to κρβωνας (428.12–13) used in conjunction with &ν ρκας, the classical word occurring in Aristotle’s text: \νχων τρ7ξεις, Fτι δ’ &ν ρκων κα' γLς (1148b28). Anonymous’ reference to charcoal eating rewards examination in the fuller context of his remarks, where he explains the phenomenon according to the theory of humors, central to post-Galenic medical thinking.26 Paraphrasing Aristotle, Anonymous states, “It is seemingly pleasurable to some, although contrary to nature, to eat charcoal. For in persons with an excess of melancholic humor, it is seemingly pleasurable to eat charcoal. In others, however, for whom the acidic humor predominates, it is seemingly pleasurable to eat earth or clay. From some symptom, then, either of the melancholic or acidic humor, this (condition) results.”27 The theory of humors is by no means obscure medical knowledge restricted to practicing physicians; it survives still in such expressions as “bilious temperament” and “sanguine disposition.” Robert Todd observes that medical references are in fact common in the medieval commentaries to Aristotle and that John Philoponus, the sixth-century commentator on Aristotle’s De anima, left us “the best extant example of Greek philosophical commentary employing medical ideas” but was neither a physician nor a philosopher by profession but rather a grammatikos.28 Since the commentators generally relied heavily upon the works of their predecessors,29 a philosopher of Anonymous’ modest attainments should not be described as a physician simply on the basis of his desire to display general medical knowledge in his commentary. Whatever his status vis-à-vis the medical profession and his deficiencies as a philosopher and stylist, Anonymous is at times a resourceful and colorful source of unusual and memorable literary tidbits. His rather eccentric remarks regarding the child-devouring Lamia at page 427 lines 38–39 have already been noted. Aristotle’s introductory remarks on the “bestial man” (1145a30) prompt Anonymous to remark, “Such a one was Echetos” (οOον <ν  iΕχετος 409.32), reminding his Sarton (1952) 338–339. Fτι δ? δ0 δοκε, τισι, παρ* φσιν δ? δοκε,, τ )σ ειν Aν ρακας. )ν Mσοις γ*ρ πλεονζει  μελαγχολικς χυμ.ς, δ0 δοκε, τ )σ ειν κρβωνας. Aλλοις δ? δ0 δοκε, τ )σ ειν γLν, Qτοι πηλ.ν, Mσοις \ξ7δης χυμς Fγκειται. &π. τινος ο6ν συμπτ7ματος R μελαγχολικο+ χυμο+ R \ξ7δους το+το α;το,ς )πιγνεται. (428.11–16). 28 Todd (1984) 103–105. 29 Todd (1995). 26 27

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audience of Homer’s cruel tyrant, notorious mutilator of men (Odyssey 18.85–87, 116; 21.308). When Aristotle cites Niobe and Satyros as examples of excessive devotion between parents and children (1148a35– 1148b2), Anonymous supplies the full stories justifying Aristotle’s allusion (426.16–29), not only fulfilling the role expected of a commentator but also exceeding it; to the well-known narrative of Niobe’s insult to Leto, mother of Apollo and Artemis, he adds information particular to Homer, namely that Niobe had six sons and six daughters (Iliad 24.602– 604). By adding Homeric allusions to Echetos and to Niobe’s children, Anonymous reveals his own literary interests and his conviction that a reference to Homer is always useful to engage and to inform an audience. He could be sure that his audience would recognize and appreciate allusions to Homer, for he observes that the Iliad provided the basis for education in his time. Responding to Aristotle’s comment that students at an elementary level of instruction parrot words without understanding their real meaning, (ο$ πρτον μα .ντες συνερουσι μ?ν το0ς λ.γους, Jσασι δ’ οcπω> 1147a22), Anonymous specifically cites the first few words of the Iliad: “Similarly, contemporary children who are first beginning to learn also parrot and say, ‘Sing, Muse, the wrath’ although they do not know nor understand what they are saying” (μοως δ? κα' ο$ πα,δες ο$ ν+ν πρτον &ρξμενοι μαν νειν συνερουσι μ?ν κα' λ"γουσι “μLνιν Aειδε ε”, οcπω δ? Jσασι κα' νοο+σι τ λ"γουσι 420.27–29). Here,

Anonymous sounds like a grammatikos all too familiar with the frustrations of teaching students who grasp only superficially the texts their teacher knows intimately and values profoundly. Perhaps it is too generous to attribute details of the commentary to deep-seated humanistic convictions on the part of Anonymous, since he is persistently eager to supply literary context for mundane aspects of Aristotle’s text. To illustrate the affection of an unrestrained person (&κρατ ς, cf. 434.19) for debilitating luxuries mentioned by Aristotle as inducing “softness” ( μαλακ.ς) at 1150a9–14, Anonymous specifies Pramnian wine (λυπε,ται  μαλακ.ς, οOον ε# )πι υμε, οXνον Πρμνιον πιε,ν 434.30 and 32),30 apparently anticipating Aristotle’s characterization two pages later of the unrestrained person ( &κρατ ς) as one who gets drunk quickly and easily ( &κρατ ς )στι το,ς ταχ0 με υσκομ"νοις κα' =π’ \λγου οJνου κα' )λττονος R Iς ο$ πολλο 1151a5–6). Although Anonymous may be an incompetent philosopher, at least he has read

30

Perhaps an allusion to Homer; cf. Iliad 11 line 639 and Odyssey 10 line 235.

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and remembered Aristotle’s text. He also appreciates wines other than Pramnian. When the master mentions in general terms “restorative pleasures” (χαρουσιν &ναπληρουμ"νης τε τLς φσεως 1153a2–8), Anonymous cites wine drinking among such pleasures and specifies Chian wine (τD πιε,ν οXνον Χι7την 449.9–10). Anonymous may at times be suspected of simply indulging his penchant for making Aristotle’s text more elaborate and more precise in detail. When Aristotle cites lines from the sixth-century bce elegiac poet Demodocus remarking upon the foolish Milesians (1151a8–10), Anonymous not only follows tradition in identifying Demodocus as a Milesian but also adds the detail that he was born on the island of Leros ( Δημ.δοκος Μιλ σιος Λ"ριος <ν τ γ"νος 439.15–16). Anonymous and Diogenes Laertius (I. 84) are the only extant sources for this last tidbit of information.31 In this highly selective discussion of Anonymous’ literary interests, I have reserved to the end a particularly tantalizing instance either of his scholarly industry and resourcefulness or of his willingness to present pseudo facts without any basis in sources. Aristotle refers to an unnamed monster who offered up for sacrifice and then devoured his own mother (Eσπερ  τNν μητ"ρα κα ιερεσας κα' φαγ7ν 1148b26); Anonymous confidently identifies this depraved person as Xerxes, king of the Persians ( Ξ"ρξης  τν Περσν βασιλε0ς μανε'ς Fφαγε τNν /αυτο+ μητ"ρα κρεουργ σας 428.10–11). I can find no other source for this astonishing revelation, although a second anonymous commentator on the Nicomachean Ethics repeats it in the fourteenth century, apparently on the authority of Anonymous or perhaps relying upon an unidentified source they both share.32 At this point it may be helpful to summarize a philologist’s sketch of Anonymous based on characteristics of his commentary. 1. His Greek vocabulary and syntax are neither inappropriate nor without precedent for a Middle Byzantine writer using the “technical Koine” register of the language. 2. His writing style reflects the needs of students in a lecture environment. 3. His citations of medical information in his commentary indicate that he is conversant with the tradition of Aristotelian commen31 32

Cf. Greek Elegiac Poetry from the Seventh to the Fifth Centuries bc, 404–407. Anecdota Graeca e codd. manuscriptis Bibliotecae Regiae Parisiensis, v. I, 423.

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tators but not that he is necessarily a physician by profession; he may have been a grammatikos. 4. He is well informed about literature and enthusiastic about incorporating into his commentary allusions to literary sources and identifications of persons and places drawn from literature. Might it be possible to identify Anonymous, or at least to situate his activities in a particular time and place? Scholars have made some intriguing attempts to do so. In the 1973 Introduction to the first volume of his Grosseteste edition, Mercken tentatively suggested that it was Anonymous himself who compiled the NE commentaries rather late (i.e., shortly before Grosseteste translated them) and who completed the set by supplying a commentary for Book VII where it was lacking.33 In 1990, however, Mercken dropped this suggestion entirely from the revised Introduction printed by Sorabji.34 In the 1991 Introduction to the third volume of his edition, Mercken specifically repudiated his earlier suggestion and remarked further that the incompetence of Anonymous disqualified him from any possible association with Michael of Ephesus or the circle of Anna Komnene. “Was it perhaps,” he wondered, “not in Byzantium that the last gap in the compilation was filled?” (italics mine).35 Mercken’s rhetorical question is somewhat ambiguous, at least to my ear. It is generally assumed that the set of commentaries on NE originated in Constantinople; therefore, I take Mercken’s question to imply a different place of origin. Since Robert Grosseteste, working in Italy, assembled a group of Greek scholars to assist him in his Aristotelian studies,36 we might speculate that Anonymous belonged to this circle. Lacking any supporting evidence, however, a speculation it must remain. An animated discussion at the Notre Dame Workshop centered on the possible identity of Anonymous and produced some interesting candidates. Peter Frankopan observed that Stephanos Skylitzes claims to have written a commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics that is now lost. Stephanos mentions this commentary incidentally in his scholia on Aristotle’s Rhetoric, noting the succession pattern of Georgian and Celtic kings and advising, “Concerning such governmental practices, consult

33 34 35 36

Mercken (1973) * 28. Mercken (1990) 437–438. Mercken (1991) * 26–27. Mercken (1973) * 34–37.

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my scholia on the Ethics” (περ' δ? τν τοιοτων πολιτειν &νγνω ι τ* )ν το,ς 8Η ικο,ς μου σχ.λια, 277.27–28).37 Could Stephanos Skylitzes be the anonymous commentator on Book VII? In several respects, the little that is known of his career and writings fits the profile of Anonymous. Like Anonymous, Stephanos adopted the “technical Koine” appropriate for a commentary or collection of scholia. Although he exhibits no inhibitions in using neuter plural subjects with plural verbs, as in 8Ιστ"ον κα' )π' τινν πCN μ?ν τ* σημε,α προηγο+νται [ν ε#σι σημε,α (266.20),38 he also follows on occasion the classicizing usage combining a singular verb with such subjects (e.g., καταφατικς γ*ρ συνγεται &ε' τ* δι* σημεων &ποδεικνμενα. 266.11–12). Stephanos admits into his vocabulary words of Latin origin like 8Απριλλος (Aprilis, 272.19), #ουδικιλιος (iudicialis, 296.32) and κλεισο+ρα (clausura), which Stephanos labels a word of the popular dialect (οOον τ*ς #διωτικς παρ* πολλο,ς λεγομ"νας κλεισορας 269.2–3).39 He also resorts to the tedious repetition of Q in a passage like 267.13–19, where this alternative to Anonymous’ Qτοι occurs twelve times in seven lines: ποτ? δ? ο; λ"γονται {ητορικ* &λλ* συμβουλευτικ* δικανικ* )πιδεικτικ* περ' ε#ρ νης περ' πολ"μου περ' π.ρων περ' φυλακLς χ7ρας νομικ, ε# περ' πολιτειν εXεν κα' ν.μων. ε# ο6ν τ* τρα τLς {ητορικLς εJδη μετιlν κα' συμβουλευ.μενος κα' δικανευ.μενος κα' πανηγυρζων &π το+ μ λλον )ν το,ς τρισ'ν )πιχειρ σεις το+ Uττον το+ δυνατο+, {ητορικ* τα+τα ε#π? τ* προβλ ματα>

Careful examination of Stephanos Skylitzes’ commentary on Aristotle’s Rhetoric has enabled scholars to date its composition to 1122–1123, when Stephanos was a mere twenty-six years old, and to locate its author in Constantinople; since his lost commentary on the NE predates his work on the Rhetoric, the earlier commentary was a notably precocious effort.40 Stephanos enjoyed a truly meteoric rise as a scholar, appointed hyperedros, then proedros at the St. Paul school directly upon completing his own education there and revealing in his commentary great enthusiasm for the logical writings of Aristotle and a remarkable breadth of literary knowledge.41 O. Schissel, for example, cites Stephanos’ refer37

Rabe (1896). All citations of Stephanos’ text are to this edition. E.g., 264.18–19, 271.16 and 272.11. 39 Buckler (1929) 487, notes that κλεσουρα (“important mountain pass with a fortress and garrison”) occurs four times. 40 I have derived my summary of Stephen’s career from Wolska-Conus (1976) 599– 603. 41 Wolska-Conus (1976) 605–606. 38

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ence to the Souda Lexicon (285.18) and to an unidentified lexicon to Homer (306.8–9), as well as his affection for obscure mythological data such as the details he provides on the career of Meleager (276.25 and 295.22, drawn from Apollodoros’ Bibliotheka).42 Nevertheless, he was not a particularly talented or original philosopher. Wolska-Conus remarks that “the composition, language and inspiration of his scholia breathe mediocrity.”43 He moved, however, in an elevated social circle. Named metropolitan of Trebizond at the age of thirty, Stephanos soon returned to Constantinople mortally ill and died; his student Theodore Prodromos delivered a monody for his teacher and friend. Chronologically and socially, the career of Stephanos Skylitzes fits the circle of scholars who provided Anna Komnene with a commentary on the NE, and in some respects he resembles our mysterious and unidentified Anonymous commentator on NE Book VII. Like Anonymous, he writes in a technical Koine style with an eye to the needs of students and with a pronounced taste for literature and mythology; he is familiar with the works of Aristotle, but he is not an outstanding philosopher. That said, some of Stephanos’ characteristics as a commentator are at odds with those of Anonymous. When stringing together a series of alternatives, his preferred conjunction is not Qτοι but Q; unlike Anonymous, he includes in his commentary a significant number of references to Scripture. The social and intellectual proximity to the circle of Michael of Ephesus and Eustratios that Stephanos evidently enjoyed might militate against identifying him with Anonymous. In the view of Mercken, Anonymous’ commentary on Book VII is so egregious in its incompetence that Michael and Eustratios could not possibly have selected it for inclusion in their collection.44 In the current state of our knowledge, we cannot identify the Anonymous commentary on NE VII with Stephanos Skylitzes’ lost scholia. During the discussion of Anonymous and his commentary at the Notre Dame Workshop, Sten Ebbesen proposed an additional direction for inquiry regarding his identity. Ebbesen observed that Leo Magentinos, bishop of Mytilene, supplied a popular commentary on Aristotle’s Sophistici Elenchi that was frequently used by later medieval commentators despite its rather mediocre content and inelegant style. Although little is known of Leo Magentinos’ career, Ebbesen dates his activity to 42 43 44

Schissel (1929) col. 2366. Wolska-Conus (1976) 602. Mercken (1991) * 26.

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the late twelfth or early thirteenth century.45 Just as Anonymous relies heavily upon Qτοι in his scholia on NE VII, so Leo resorts with annoying frequency to its equivalent Qγουν in commenting upon the SE. An example comes readily to hand in Leo’s scholion on 174b23, where Qγουν occurs five times within six lines of text: δε, λοιπν κα' το0ς )ρωτντας χρ σ αι τοτDω, γουν τD διαιρε,ν τ προκεμενον, εJτε )νστανται ο$ &ποκριν.μενοι Iς μN )λεγχ "ντες, εJγε Iδ' μ"ν, γουν )π’ Aλλου σημαινομ"νου συμβανει τοδ, γουν τ )λεγχ Lναι κα' &πατη Lναι α;τος, Iδ' δ", γουν )π’ Aλλου σημαινομ"νου, μ , γουν ο; συμβανει τ &πατη Lναι κα' )λεγχ Lναι (Scholion 284 lines 12–17).46

Not surprisingly, Leo Magentinos adopts the “technical Koine” register in his scholia, generally pairing a neuter plural subject with a plural verb as in his note on 164a22, )ξ [ν πντα τ* σοφσματα γνονται, τ τε παρ* τNν λ"ξιν κα' τ* )κτς τLς λ"ξεως. τνα δ? τα+τ ε#σι μετ* μικρν μ Cης (Scholion 2, lines 6–7, Ebbesen (1981) v. 2, p. 284). His practice is not consistent, however. In his remarks on 168b31, he uses neuter plural subjects with a plural, then a singular verb in close succession: )πε' &ξωμ )στιν Iς τ! τD α;τD κα' /ν' "πρχοντα κα' &λλ λοις ε$σ τα;τ, οJεται  σοφιστNς )πε' τD τιν' μ"λιτι =πρχει κα' τ μ"λιτι εXναι κα' τ ξαν D, %σται Aρα τα&τ! τ μ"λι κα' τ ξαν ν κα' πρς Aλληλα &ντιστρ"φοντα. ο;κ &λη ?ς δ? Iς τ* τD α;τD =πρχοντα κα' &λλ λοις ε#σ' τα;τ> (Scholion 124, lines 19–25, Ebbesen (1981) v. 2, p. 289).

Any detailed analysis of Leo’s Greek style and personal interests as revealed by his scholia is complicated by the derivative nature of his work. “He was no philosopher of distinction,” Ebbesen remarks, “He quarried the works of earlier commentators and he did not always understand them.”47 It is difficult, therefore, to characterize Leo as a commentator or to compare him in specific terms to Anonymous or to Stephanos Skylitzes. I cannot, for example, find any instance of Latin vocabulary in Leo’s scholia; that may be because Leo adhered closely to sources that did not use Latinate words. Literary and cultural references in Leo’s commentary represent his interests inasmuch as he chose to include rather than avoid them, but such references are rare. Perhaps we see Leo briefly assume the role of cultural impresario as he elucidates Aristotle’s text at 167a7. Aristotle states, “. . . Owing to the similarity of the language, ‘to be something’ appears to differ 45 46 47

Ebbesen (1981) v. 1, 303. Ebbesen (1981) v. 2, 292. All citations of Leo’s text are to this edition. Ebbesen (1981) v. 1, 303.

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only a little from ‘to be,’ and ‘not to be something’ from ‘not to be.’ In like manner when something is predicated in a certain respect and absolutely . . .” (i. e., “anyplace and without qualification”)48 (φανεται δ? δι* τ πρεγγυς τLς λ"ξεως κα' μικρν διαφ"ρειν τ εXνα τι το+ εXναι, κα' τ μN εXνα τι το+ μN εXναι. μοως δ? κα' τ παρ* τ πCN κα' τ Gπλς> 167a5–7). Leo Magentinos expands vividly upon this passage: “Thus, if it seems good among the Triballoi to sacrifice their elders, by this very fact and without qualification and in every place is this considered good. Once there was this example of such; all the people in the Golden Age were good according to Hesiod,49 but according to him no person in the Iron Age was good” (τουτ"στιν ε# )ν Τριβαλλο,ς δοκε, &γα ν τ το0ς γ"ροντας ειν, Qδη κα' Gπλς κα' ε#ς πντα τ.πον &γα ν το+το νομζεται. το+ δ? ποτ? παρδειγμα το+το> πντες ο$ )ν τD χρυσD γ"νει Aν ρωποι κατ* τν gΗσοδον &γα ο' <σαν> ο;δε'ς δ? Aν ρωπος )ν τD σιδηρD γ"νει κατ’ α;τν &γα ς <ν. Scholion 71, lines 7–

12, Ebbesen (1981) v. 2, p. 287). According to the TLG, Leo shares this particular combination of arresting examples only with an anonymous scholion, where the similarity is striking: “Both all people are just and no person (is), but not at the same time nor always, but the one sort in the Golden Age, the other in the Iron (Age). And in some places (it is considered) good to sacrifice fathers. For (it is so) among the Triballoi, but without qualification, (it is) not (good)” (κα' πντες Aν ρωποι δκαιοι κα' ο;δες, ο;χ Bμα δ? ο;δ’ &ε, &λλ’ ο$ μ?ν )π' το+ χρυσο+ γ"νους, ο$ δ? )π' το+ σιδηρο+. κα που τ το0ς γονε,ς ειν καλ.ν> )ν Τριβαλλο,ς γρ, Gπλς δ’ ο;. Anonymi in Aristotelis Sophisticos Elenchos paraphrasis, Scholion 24, lines 13–15). Did the anonymous scholiast rely upon Leo for this combination of examples—or vice versa? Alternatively, did the two commentators rely upon the same hitherto unidentified source? Michael of Ephesus (= ps.-Alexander-2)50 also mentions the Golden and Iron Ages from Hesiod’s myth in his scholion to this passage of the SE, but without citing Hesiod by name: “But also (there is) the one who says that every person in the Golden Age was good and no person in the Iron (Age was) good, then concludes that every man and no man was good” (&λλ* κα'  λ"γων πντα Aν ρωπον )π' το+ χρυσο+ γ"νους &γα ν εXναι κα' ο;δ"να Aν ρωπον )π' το+ σιδηρο+ &γα .ν, Forster transl. (1955) 27; explication mine. Cf. Op. 106–201. 50 Ebbesen identifies ps.-Alexander-2 as the first edition of Michael’s commentary on the SE; cf. Ebbesen (1981) v. 1, 268. 48 49

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εXτα συναγαγlν πντα Aν ρωπον κα' μηδ"να Aν ρωπον &γα ν εXναι,

lines 30–34, Ebbesen [1981] v. 1, p. 268). Ebbesen identifies Michael of Ephesus as a source favored by Leo Magentinos;51 Leo may have adopted his reference to the myth of the Five Ages of Man from Michael’s commentary, adding Hesiod’s name in the process. The reference to Triballoi is unusual applied to the SE; I can find no instance in the TLG earlier than Leo’s. Leo’s wording resembles Aristotle’s discussion of Triballoi in the Topics (115b21–25); “In the same way, also, it is honourable in some places to sacrifice one’s father, for example amongst the Triballi, but without qualification it is not honourable. (Or is a relativity to persons rather than places indicated here? For it makes no difference where they may be; for, wherever they are, it will be honourable in their eyes because they are Triballi.)”52 (τν α;τν δ? τρ.πον κα' πο0 μ?ν καλν τν πατ"ρα ειν, οOον )ν Τριβαλλο,ς, Gπλς δ’ ο; καλ.ν. R το+το μ?ν ο; πο0 σημανει &λλ* τισν> ο;δ?ν γ*ρ διαφ"ρει Mπου Zν oσιν> πανταχο+ γ*ρ α;το,ς Fσται καλ.ν, ο6σι Τριβαλλο,ς). Since Leo composed commentaries upon all Aristotle’s logical works,53 he may have supplied the reference to the Triballoi independently, based on his recollection of the passage from the Topics. Does Leo Magentinos’ scholion on SE 167a7 help to redeem his reputation as a commentator on Aristotle? Can we conclude that he, like Stephanos Skylitzes and the anonymous commentator on NE VII, demonstrates enthusiasm for specifying literary details and displays some independent knowledge of Aristotle’s writings? The possibility is open. However, certainty eludes us because the medieval commentaries on Aristotle’s works are still imperfectly and incompletely known. Wolska-Conus noted thirty years ago that the task of preparing manuscript inventories of the myriad medieval Aristotle commentaries had only just begun.54 Among them may lie Leo’s source for his scholion on SE 167a7, quietly awaiting publication and recognition. Our investigation of the anonymous commentator on NE VII leads us to the same impasse. In the present state of scholarship, we cannot identify Anonymous nor even specify the period of his activity. His commentary shares features both with the work of the twelfth-century 51 52 53 54

Ebbesen (1981) v. 1, 306. Forster transl. 379. Ebbesen (1981) v. 1, 302. Wolska-Conus (1976) 604.

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commentators in the circle surrounding Anna Komnene, and also with the scholia of the late twelfth- or early thirteenth-century commentator Leo Magentinos. Although he may be a mediocre philosopher, Anonymous remains a master of evasion.55

55 I am grateful to my colleague Professor Denis Sullivan (University of Maryland) for helpful suggestions, valuable citations, and unfailing encouragement as I prepared this paper; I also wish to thank Börje Bydén for his careful reading and helpful suggestions on portions of the argument advanced here.

MICHAEL OF EPHESUS ON THE EMPIRICAL MAN, THE SCIENTIST AND THE EDUCATED MAN (IN ETHICA NICOMACHEA X AND IN DE PARTIBUS ANIMALIUM I)*

George Arabatzis

I Michael of Ephesus, when commenting on the last book of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, gives lengthy consideration to the empirical man and to a lesser extent the degree how this figure relates to the world of education/culture. In my paper, I will not discuss the Aristotelian text, but will concentrate on the structure and the possible coherence of Michael’s ideas. To facilitate this reading, I will present a series of translations I have made of passages from Michael’s commentary. These will not give the total of Michael’s thinking on this book, but should offer the reader a good understanding of Michael’s analysis. The references in my text are to the CAG edition of Michael’s commentaries, although the punctuation of the translated passages is often mine. In his commentary, Michael underlines the traditional Aristotelian position regarding the importance of experience for the sciences and the arts, noting that they combine logos and action: . . .experience contributes greatly to the medical and other arts, whose objective is not pure knowledge, but whose work consists of logos and action. . . (617.12–14)

In a previous passage, Michael says that the problem of experience is related to the question of the distinction between the general and the particular and states that the domain of particular things possesses a certain autonomy in relation to the world of generalities. Among the ‘knowers’ of particular things from experience, he not only mentions doctors, but also fathers: * A part of this paper is developing arguments from my book on Michael of Ephesus; see Arabatzis (2006).

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george arabatzis he who knows the general will care for the particular; but the one who does not know the general, there is nothing preventing him from caring through experience about a particular thing and about what is good and what is bad for him. Among those who are good for people are the doctors who know from experience what can save them [their health] and consequently, the father who knows by experience what sports are good for his son so that he may train him better than a coach. (614.18–24)

The whole question is finally linked to the condition of the empirical man as knower: the empirical man is distinguished from the layman, who can possibly judge what is good and bad, but who lacks the ‘knowledge proper to the empirical man,’ meaning a dexterity in accomplishing the practicalities of every particular thing in general: empirical men [are prudent men and knowers] not only in music but in everything in general; I call ‘empirical men’ those scientists and artists who occupy themselves in everything. In everything the empirical man judges works appropriately, namely by which means and how we accomplish them. The doctor knows what is health and by which means and how it is accomplished. The doctor knows what is health and by which drugs and which diet it comes along and how to use them; but not the layman. In the same manner, the painter knows which icon is the best and where somebody makes an error and in which part [of the image] and it is impossible for inexperienced and unskillful men to conceive and realize such a work; but it is dear to them [the laymen] to know if the work has been well done or not. Accordingly, those who are not politicians cannot legislate but possibly they can judge if the laws are good. (618.2–12)

The last remark introduces us to the question of the role of laws as models of knowledge for the empirical man. This point follows upon Michael’s identification of a contradiction inherent in the nature of law. At first, Michael points to the weakness of law as a generality that may be surpassed by the reality of action: law for general issues and actions for particular issues are what is best; as for medicine, we should not always follow the generalities, but there are things for which general laws are erroneous and say otherwise; so the doctor does otherwise according to each case; it follows then that neither should the law command the whole reality. (612.20–25)

In another passage, Michael points to the strength of law which is its power to compel; this power is not due to violence but to the prudence and the intelligence of the eldest, that follows upon long experience, and to the legitimacy granted them by the people who are convinced

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that laws are indeed products of prudence and intelligence and that they also produce prudence and intelligence: It is habitual for Aristotle to name intelligence that which is superior by art or prudence or experience or prediction or discovery of the good and the useful. We need intelligence to become good. But the fatherly intelligence, meaning someone’s father, possibly will choose the good, unless he is vulgar and of the populace, and will convince healthy men directed toward the good to act for the good; but for vulgar characters, he [the father] is feeble and set aside and does not have what it is needed, meaning the violence of law; because the natural [fatherly] filter blocks the violence toward the son. So, what can one say about the father? One man cannot wholly command all the sons of a state unless he is a king or a tyrant. These latter can accomplish this task because they have plenty of power. But, for the reason that not all states are under the command of one king or tyrant, we need laws. Every law has the power to compel because it is a discourse that derives from prudence and intelligence and posits prudence and intelligence. And prudence and intelligence concerning actions come after long experience. And he [Aristotle] said when he spoke about prudence that we should accept the sayings of the experienced and the eldest as Principles. Because they possess an ‘eye’ gained from experience; he called the prudence through which they can see that which will be useful ‘eye.’ So, people obey laws believing that the legislators made the laws because they were able to perceive in advance through their ‘eye’ the good and the useful. (608.27–609.10)

The two passages above go beyond the stated contradiction in the law: that is, that the law as a mixture of logos and action is simultaneously complete and incomplete. As logos it can account for great experience and can also produce good actions. At the same time, it is incomplete because it cannot account for the totality of reality. Yet, the law can overcome a gap in reality: the father who is sufficient for the supervision of one son is insufficient for the supervision of all sons, while a king or a tyrant cannot stand as ‘fathers’ for the whole of society. Later, Michael does not forget to raise the question as to whether laws can effectively make many people good. The problem is there related to the legislator, who is conceived as an educator. Like the teachers of arts and sciences, the legislator who can make one man good can also do the same for many: The distinction between laws that are fair and evil is the work of the legislator, just as it is the work of the doctor to distinguish what is good from what is bad for the health . . . it is to be considered, they say, whether the law that can make somebody good can make many like him and whether that which is useful for many is also useful for one. This is one and the same question. He who is right and without error does the

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george arabatzis same regarding the other arts and sciences and the artists and scientists. As it happens there, where the one capable of teaching and making him a doctor or a musician can make many like him and, respectively, he who can make many can make one, the same happens with the law: who can make one great can make many likewise and vice versa. (611.24–31)

Still, in a previous passage, Michael declares that many are estranged from the virtue of the educated man. While the educated man is characterized by aidos (shame, self-respect, sense of honor), the many only obey the good because of fear and the threat of legal punishment: the educated are accustomed to stay away from the evil and to listen to the words of those who profess the good and run toward them; but as for the many, it is impossible to turn them toward the good. . . because the many, if they ever show themselves unfaithful to evil and respond to the good, they don’t act out of aidos but because of fear or the threat of legal punishment. (606.1–6)

Aidos is a difficult word to translate and even more difficult to understand in the context of the Byzantine society of the eleventh-twelfth centuries. It is, however, very probable that it had an affinity with the concept of timiôteron in science that we are going to examine below.

II In order to understand the relation between the empirical man and the educated man we must turn now to other texts by Michael of Ephesus. Thus, in his scholia and glossae In Politica, he states that: we call the craftsman an empirical man and the architectural man a logical man. We call craftsmen those who are actually identified as the subordinate assistants, architectural men those who are now named doctors and chief doctors. The proemium of the first book of the de Partibus Animalium correctly identifies the educated man in every art and science, and I myself also discuss this in my commentary on the book.1 (306.28–34)

Let us now follow this reference to the following assertions in Michael’s commentary in de Partibus Animalium I:

1 This is for the present time the only non CAG edition of a Michael of Ephesus’ text; see In Pol.

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in terms of geometry, the educated man is not the man who is accustomed to geometrical theorems (such a man is called the chief [kyrios] scientist), but is he who possesses the geometrical principles and knows some theorems and is able, on the basis of these, to judge whether his interlocutor is a geometer according to geometrical principles and if he converses as a geometer ought. The man who has [the knowledge] of geometrical, mathematical, astronomical, physical principles and simply [haplôs] of every art and science ( . . .) such a man should be identified as being completely educated, as one who is educated about everything and possesses the principles of everything, and who is thought to be capable of judging everything, and is one in number; such a man is not many but one ( . . .). It is obvious from the above that the scientist is an educated man but that not every educated man is a scientist; even if he ever theorizes (theorei) about it [the truth of a scientific assertion], the educated man does not determine (skopei) in advance the truth or not of the object (that is the work of the scientist), but his work is to theorize whether the object is geometrical and is shown according to geometrical principles. (1.3–2.10)

The original Aristotelian text that Michael comments upon states that: Every study and investigation, the humblest and the noblest (timiôteran) alike, seems to admit of two kinds of proficiency; one of which may be properly called educated knowledge of the subject, while the other is a kind of acquaintance with it. For an educated man should be able to form a fair judgment as to the goodness or badness of an exposition. To be educated is in fact to be able to do this; and the man of general education we take to be such. It will, however, of course, be understood that we only ascribe universal education to one who in his own individual person is thus able to judge nearly all branches of knowledge, and not to one who has a like ability merely in some special subject. For it is possible for a man to have this competence in some one branch of knowledge. (639a1–12, transl. W. Ogle, p. 994)

We see that Michael’s commentary points firstly to the fact that the educated man is ‘one in number’, a this, and more precisely ‘one not many’. Another interesting statement concerns ‘the scientist being an educated man but not every educated man being a scientist.’ Michael’s definitions ought to be of interest to modern scholars, in that his commentaries refer to notions like numerical identity and numerical difference concerning the educated man and the scientist, to the asymmetrical relation between them, or rather, to the referential opacity that covers the two terms as well as to their ontological status.2 It seems that,

2

For a summary of the relevant research see Gil (2005).

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according to Michael, Aristotle makes a classification of the educated men and the scientists before he proceeds with his other classifications of the animals. This is a view that is generally neglected in modern analysis of the above passage of the Parts of Animals. Characteristically, Kullmann insists on the many possibilities of interpretation that this text offers.3 Balme makes a threefold distinction between the specialist who knows the data of his particular science, the educated man that, whether a specialist or not, can distinguish if an explanation is based on the proper Principles, and the man who can do that for one science and not for another.4 For Terence Irwin, the Aristotelian educated man is the man capable of distinguishing between sciences, that is to state the difference between mathematical and philological sciences; it is the educated man, he says, and not the scientist, to whom Aristotle addresses the greater part of his work.5 For J.-M. Le Blond the near identification of the educated man with the dialectician clearly shows Aristotle’s withdrawal from his scientific rigor for the benefit of his dialectics. The reason for this withdrawal was that, having returned from Asia Minor to Athens, he addresses an Athenian public that held dialectics in the highest esteem. The praise of the educated man shows also, according to Le-Blond, that general education needs some deep knowledge of science and cannot be exclusively formal.6 For Düring, who does not refer extensively to the passage examined here, there is not the slightest withdrawal in the Introduction to Parts of Animals towards dialectics but the continuation of the Aristotelian interest for speculative philosophy.7 It is Pierre Aubenque who has examined the above passage more thoroughly; he rejects Le Blond’s view that Aristotle’s thesis is conditioned by the fact that he was addressing the Athenian public and instead insists on the critical epistemological function of the educated man. The turn towards general culture is an anti-Platonic step taken by Aristotle under sophistic influence. Science cuts off humans from the totality of their existence and the scientist, as a specialist, is alienated from other humans and even from himself. As long as dialectics is not a science it can be re-evaluated by Aristotle with the intent of humanizing science. The reason for the

3 4 5 6 7

Kullman (1974) 6–7. Balme (1972) 70–71. Irwin (1988) 27–29. Le Blond (1945) 52–54, 130. Düring (1943) 34 ff.

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need of this dialectics of general culture is that the foundations of science itself escape scientific reasoning. Aubenque, therefore, in declaring that Aristotle, although a scientist himself, refused to consider science as an absolute value, interprets the Aristotelian text in light of some very modern anxieties about the role of science in society.8

III Before we continue with Michael’s analysis of the relations between the empirical man, the scientist and the educated man we have to acknowledge and answer two questions: What is modern scholarship’s opinion regarding both Michael’s commentaries In EN and his wider activity as a commentator? And, are the different positions proposed in the different commentaries logically consequent? I will deal briefly with these questions. The latest theory about the scholiastic activity of Michael of Ephesus is that he, together with Eustratios of Nicaea (c. 1050–1120), wrote commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics for the sake of the Byzantine princess Anna Komnene;9 Michael produced scholia on the books V, IX, X and Eustratios on books I and VI. Ancient scholia were used for most of the rest of the books. Friedrich Schleiermacher held these scholia in very high esteem, especially the ones by Eustratios.10 According to Mercken, it is probably the Christian Platonism of Eustratios that attracted Schleiermacher’s interest, while Michael is said to be the more Aristotelian of the two commentators.11 Anna Komnene, in her famous historical book the Alexiad has only good things to say about Eustratios but does not mention Michael at all.12 The modern editor of the Nicomachean Ethics R.A. Gauthier has a remarkably lower opinion of these commentaries than Schleiermacher.13 More recently, Michael’s activities as a commentator have attracted the attention of scholars like Nussbaum, Preus and Konstan (see Bibliography). The fact that Michael was the first to have commented on the biological works of

8 9 10 11 12 13

Aubenque (1960) 144–149. Browning (1990). Schleiermacher (1838) 309–326. Mercken (1990) 416, 418, 434–436. Alex. 14.8. Gauthier & Jolif (1970) 100–105, 121.

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Aristotle and on his Politics after many centuries is most intriguing for the modern historian of philosophy. The question is whether and to what extent we can claim that Michael of Ephesus’ views on the relations between education and science in the commentary In PA are coherent with those expressed in his commentary In EN. According to Browning, this latter commentary is dated after 1118, the year of Anna Komnene’s forced retirement to the Monastery of Kecharitomeni.14 At one point in Michael’s commentary In Parva Naturalia (149.8–16), the author refers to his commentary In PA in a list of his other commentaries that includes In Parva and In de Motu Animalium. He also announces a commentary In Metaphysics V– XIII—a much debated question in modern scholarship as we will see below—and says that what remains for him to do is a commentary In de Coloribus. We find no mention here of his work In EN. Michael’s life is also very difficult to date. At the beginning of the twentieth century Praechter, on the evidence of some anonymous scholia written before 1040 that contained passages by Michael, defended the position that Michael was not, as it had been believed until then, a pupil of Michael Psellos, but his contemporary. Ebbesen showed that both the anonymous scholia and the passages attributed to Michael were based on more ancient commentaries, so there was no need for a co-dependency of the two. This point supports Browning’s thesis that Michael belonged to the circle of Anna Komnene’s scholiasts. In his commentary In Politica, Michael gives some information about himself, as Ernest Barker has already noted.15 Here, Michael manifests a critical attitude towards the government of his times. If we were to follow the earlier date for his life and work, Michael would have been referring to the reign of Alexios I Komnenos, but if we accept the newer hypothesis, then it can be suggested that he was thinking of Emperor John II Komnenos, Anna’s brother and, arguably, the usurper of her throne. Another passage that is critical of the Byzantine Emperor also indicates that John Komnenos and not Alexios Komnenos was the subject of the comment. Within the same scholia and glossae, Michael remarks that the Turks desired the maintenance of a status quo with the Byzan-

14 Anna Komnene, first-born child of the Emperor Alexios I Komnenos, had the ambition to rule the state together with her husband Nikephoros Bryennios after her father’s death. It was her younger brother John who took over the command probably with the collaboration of the dying Emperor and later forced Anna to monastic life. 15 Barker (1957) 140.

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tines, even though they were superior in number. According to Barker, who, following Praechter on this point, dated Michael in the eleventh century, Michael is referring to the year 1096 when Byzantines and Turks had a common enemy to face, namely the Crusaders. Following the more recent dating of his life and works, I think that Michael is, in fact, referring to the period after 1130 when the Emperor John chose not to attack the Sultanate of Ikonion, an ally of the Byzantines at the time, but to march against the emirate of Melitene in Syria.16 Consequently, on the basis of this last comment, the scholia In Politica must have been written after 1130 a date that should be considered as the terminus post quem for the work. A commentary on the Politics must have been of prime interest for Anna Komnene given her politically ambitious personality. We can then assume that the views that Michael held In PA were still representative of his views even after 1130. This same year must be considered to be the terminus ante quem for this latter commentary. It is obvious from the above that both the scholia In EN and In Politica belong to the later phase of Michael’s commenting activity and that the author still maintained the positions expressed In PA.

IV It is now time to examine Michael’s approach to the problem of the relations between the empirical man, the scientist and the educated man. At first, we may summarize his definition of the empirical man following his commentary In EN in the following terms (1) The empirical man is the man of particular experiences in general Furthermore, any scientist/artist 1,2,3 . . . n is an empirical man, in that he is interested in every particular thing, so that (2) scientist / artist 1 is an empirical man scientist / artist 2 is an empirical man scientist / artist 3 is an empirical man ... ... scientist / artist n is an empirical man 16

Ostrogorsky (1997) 45.

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Of course, (2) presupposes that (3) every empirical man is not a scientist In his scholia In Politics, Michael distinguishes between the empirical man and the logical man with the difference being between the arts and the sciences.17 However, in his commentary In EN the difference becomes weaker as it is shown by the example of the doctor as a scientist who cares for particularities and not only for general laws if he wants to be effective in his science. As for the educated man, Michael states that (4) the educated man can identify the different sciences and know some of their conclusions Now, if we turn to the position of the educated man, in relation to the scientist, we see that according to Michael (5) every scientist is an educated man but (6) every educated man is not a scientist It is clear that for Michael, and according to (5) and (6), unlike the modern scholars I have mentioned earlier, the perception of the educated man does not mean any kind of withdrawal from the scientific ambitions of Aristotle. The scientist of particular sciences continues to be the peak of learning and not some educated man/dialectician that would reign platonically over the sciences as ‘one over many’. In that, Michael stays close to the Aristotelian idea of the autonomy of sciences. If we phrase (5) in terms similar to (2) we should have (7) scientist 1 is an educated man scientist 2 is an educated man scientist 3 is an educated man ... ... scientist n is an educated man

17 We should keep in mind that for Aristotle this difference is not always valid; see NE 2,5,1106b5–15; Met. 981a12–b9; however, see the subsequent passage Met. 981b25– 982a3 where he returns to the distinction between the sciences and arts stated in NE 6,3,1139b14–36.

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What is then the status of the educated man? If we suppose that ‘some educated man is a scientist’, we would have (8) some educated man is a scientist 1 But in no case we can come up with (9) some educated man being a scientist 1 is a scientist 2 because that would mean (10) scientist 1 is a scientist 2 and would allow (11) scientist 1 is a scientist 3 ... scientist 1 is a scientist n This is absurd and would mean the end of the distinctiveness of the different particular sciences, a position very much unlike the Aristotelian project; it would also be the end of the ‘chief scientist’ according to Michael. So (9), (10) and (11) are false. Thus, the educated man is seen by Michael as a kind of limit permitting the distinction between the different particular sciences. Furthermore, the educated man being ‘one in number’, i.e. a this, cannot be infinite and so stands as a limit equally for the infinite multiplication of the sciences; thus in the series of sciences 1,2,3 . . . n, the n cannot stand for infinity. The final question about education concerns the relation between the empirical man and the educated man and has to do with the possibility that the scientist/artist 1,2,3 . . . n is the third term permitting us to say that ‘the educated man is an empirical man’ or ‘an empirical man is an educated man’. The second inference would be absurd according to (3), but the first could have some degree of truth, meaning that in some aspects the educated man is an empirical man and more precisely she/he is empirical in regard to the perception of empirical data. The question is whether we could have a repetition of (5) and (6), when the two terms are now the educated man and the empirical man and are expressed in the following way (12) every educated man is an empirical man (13) every empirical man is not an educated man

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Would the difference be that the educated man refers to sciences and the empirical man to sciences/arts? That cannot be true, not only because the status of sciences and arts is often identical in Aristotle, as I mentioned above, but because Michael does not state the difference in his commentary In PA I, a passage that he himself considers authoritative on the subject. We have seen earlier that on the moral level the educated man is entirely alien to the empirical man. I will try to show that this also comprises the epistemological level and thus that (12) is false.

V It is important to investigate the way in which Michael faces the world of empirical facts or in other terms the material world. In his commentary In PA I, writing about the famous passage that constitutes (for Jaeger) Aristotle’s praise of empirical research,18 Michael states: if someone thinks the theory of the parts of which animals consist to be ignoble (atimon), for not producing pleasure to our senses, he must think the same of himself; for, what pleasure can the menses of women or the foetal membranes that cover the baby when it comes out of his mother’s belly, or the flesh, the nerves and such-like of which man consists produce? It is significant that we cannot see without much discomfort that of which the human species consists; we call ‘discomfort’ the sorrow that is produced in the senses or, as we might say, disgust. (23.3–9)

The question of material bodies and their painful or pleasurable perception must be related, I think, to the following passage from the commentary In EN, where Michael uses the term “somatoeidis = bodily material, corporeal”. sight, for this species, is a perception without materiality, as Aristotle has shown in the second book of De anima . . ., being without the material from which they derive. Hearing and smell are more corporeal (somatoeideis) and they perceive the sensed objects more passively together with their material. (569.8–14)

We find only one occurrence of somatoeidis in the Aristotelian corpus, in the Problems, XXIV, 936b35, where we read:

18

PA 5,644b22–645b3; see Jaeger (1934) 337.

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but substances which have body in them, like thick soups and silver, since, owing to their weight, they contain much corporeal matter (somatoeides) and other resistance, because they are subjected to violent force as the heat tries to make its way out, form bubbles wherever the heat prevails. (transl. E.S. Forster)

In Michael’s passage, in contrast to Aristotle, we perceive a change of perspective from objects to senses, from the knowable to the knowing subject. This departure from Aristotle is combined in Michael with some allegiance to a Platonism that is manifest in the following text from In EN : He (sc. Aristotle) says, that once the omissions and that which must be supplied from elsewhere are brought together, in accordance with the assumptions of the Epicurean and later Stoic philosophers concerning happiness, one can attribute a share of happiness even to non-rational animals, while according to myself and Plato and others who along with us would place happiness in the intellective life, it is impossible for nonrational animals to be happy in that way. . . 19 (598.19 ff.)

The animals in the above passage must be considered to be bodies without reason but not somatoeide because this last term refers explicitly only to human beings. It is a term we find, in the way that Michael uses it, in Plato’s Phaedo where it is said about the soul that: Because each pleasure or pain nails it as with a nail to the body and rivets it on and makes it corporeal (somatoeide), so that it fancies the things are true which the body says are true. (83d)

And, at another point, Plato speaks of the soul contaminated by the body: so that it thought nothing was true except the corporeal (somatoeides), which one can touch and see and drink and eat and employ in the pleasures of love, and if it is accustomed to hate and fear and avoid that which is shadowy and invisible to the eyes but is intelligible and tangible to philosophy (81b). (transl. Harold North Fowler, 1960, Loeb Classical Library)

Furthermore, Michael in relating the distasteful vision of the parts of the human body with science, he refers to the timiôteron of science; it is a relation that reminds us of the discussion in Plato’s Parmenides about the existence or not of the ideas of the humblest, ignoble things =atimotaton (Parmenides, 130c ff.). In response to this problem, Michael seems to 19

Quoted in Praechter (1990) 40, translated by Victor Caston.

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answer in the most unequivocal way: the timiôteron of things depends on the degree of the timiôteron of human perception. The question of pain and pleasure in relation to somatoeidis introduces us to the way that Michael relates them to perception and to science in his commentary In PA of the famous Aristotelian encomium of the scientific work quoted above. It is obvious that the empirical world is at the same time the world of facts and the world of the morally good and evil. The second point is evident in the way Michael promotes the higher (intellectual) pleasures against the lower—somatoeideis?—ones: Every mind is searching its proper good and intuits it or dreams about it and submits to the animal and oppressive pleasures, which are not properly pleasures because of their evil lessons and the necessary and consequent ignorance of real pleasures. Because the judging mind is overtaken by darkness regarding the nonesuch, real pleasures . . . (In EN 9–10 538.12 ff.)

Michael’s ‘intellectualism’ seems to draw not only from Plato but also from Proclus as it is shown in the next passage, where the Proclian influences were noted by Carlos Steel20 and are indicated here in italics: . . .escaping from the appetites of every kind and the consecutive sensations that deceive the intellect and introducing fantasies as introducing forming and dividing principles and something like an unsolvable multiplicity, rejecting the opinions as multiple and in themselves and for the other things, and mixed to the senses and the imagination (because every opinion acts together with irrational sensation and imagination), returning to science and intellect, and after that to the life of intellect and the simple intuition, and on the process receiving the illumination from the divine and filling inside with the immaculate light. What is the good by which the divine rewards those who engage themselves in the intellect that is relative to it? (In EN 9–10 603.16–30)

We can see in the above that alongside the Proclian references are expressions that remind us of a Christian orthodox vocabulary, such as that of the Greek fathers of the Church, for example: “filling inside with the immaculate light”. Michael’s attitude is that of a Christian or of a man that has been raised in a Christian cultural environment or in a culture with a monotheistic ground. This is also evident in another passage from his In de Motu Animalium, where Michael relates the timiôteron to the prior. We read: Saying [Aristotle] that the first mover always moves, he adds, ‘for the eternally noble and the primarily and truly good, and not just occasion20

See Steel (2002) 55–56.

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ally good’, like our goods (for these are not always goods), ‘is too divine and precious to have anything prior to it’, i.e., that it is so divine that nothing is prior in worth to it; for such a thing is more precious [timiôteron] than anything. (114.11–15, transl. Preus)

How, then, is the question of the timiôteron to be linked to Michael’s Aristotelism in a more precise manner than by simply positing some vague Platonic or Neoplatonic influence? A critical reading of a remark by Nussbaum allows us to do this.21 Nussbaum thinks that Michael’s expression: “if there were, among beings and having reality, some powers greater than the powers of heaven and earth, they would move tomorrow or some time” (In MA 110.14–16, transl. Preus) is a real contribution to the comprehension of Aristotle’s expression: “if there are superior motions, these will be dissolved by one another” (Movement of Animals 699b25–26, transl. A.S.L. Farquharson). She thinks that the Byzantine scholiast’s hypothesis about a moving principle is correct, in that, if it could exercise a force greater than the forces of earth and heaven, it would do so and thence destroy the world. Nevertheless, Nussbaum believes that Michael’s interpretation of “one another” as interaction of forces and bodies (“for the words by one another are equivalent to the earth by the force greater than its power, and the heaven by the force greater than its power”, op. cit., 110.16–17, transl. Preus) is erroneous. For Aristotle, according to Nussbaum, states that the moving principle that has a force capable of moving and eventually destroying the world must also be a body—a sixth body different from the five physical ones; the reason being that Aristotle continues by saying that the force of the aforesaid body cannot be infinite because there cannot be an infinite body: “for they cannot be infinite because not even body can be infinite” (op. cit., 699b27–28). In that way, Michael’s interpretation, Nussbaum says, is half right—as long as it points to one moving principle for Aristotle’s passage—and half erroneous—for not attributing to this moving principle the quality of being a body. However, for a Christian or a man brought up in a Christian environment as Michael was, his interpretation is placed midway between Aristotle and his cultural setting. Furthermore, Michael includes physics among the theoretical sciences and not, as certain commentators have tried to defend, following a confusing statement in Parts of Animals, distinct from the theoretical sciences.22 Yet, I don’t think that Michael would wholly 21 22

Nussbaum (1978) 317–318. For a different view, see Preus (1981) 75. Balme (1972) 76 ff. and Düring (1980) 213–221 for an opposite view.

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subscribe to a speculative worldview where first philosophy plays the role of theology. He would rather leave this role to Christian theology. Thus Michael inherits the Neoplatonic intellectualism but not the Neoplatonic metaphysics. This disposition allows him to value the exterior world, even its discomforting sides, as part of the creation—in an almost ‘eucharistic’ manner—and at the same time to conceive what I will describe below as a scientific intentionality towards the world.

VI In view of the above, the problem of the relations between the educated man and the empirical man becomes less crucial than the question concerning the relations between scientists and empirical men. How can (2) and (7) be true at the same time? Neither the distinction between the sciences and the arts nor the criterion of practicality can be decisive here. I think that what we need is to see the scientist in a more complex way and the qua device can be of great utility. For Michael the scientist of the particular sciences, the ‘chief scientist (kyriôs),’ as he calls him, is (14) a scientist qua doctor. . . qua geometer. . . qua naturalist, etc. (14) is equivalent to the series: scientist1, scientist2, scientist3 . . . scientistn. It is only this scientist of (14) that can be appropriately called an educated man. Only a scientist of the particular sciences is an educated man; in virtue of the fact that both the scientist and the educated man may be called thises. We should note the conceptual affiliation between the haplôs of the “simply educated” and the “kyriôs” of the “chief scientist” from the commentary In PA, a similarity to which Bonitz has already pointed in the Aristotelian corpus. So (7) must be formulated in the following manner (15) every scientist qua doctor. . . qua geometer. . . qua naturalist, etc. is an educated man There is also a scientist as a generic name that does not need a definition in terms of particular sciences; we can put this second scientist between quotation marks and call him a ‘scientist’. It is this second ‘scientist’ that must be called an empirical man since both the ‘scientist’ and the empirical man are rather generic names than thises. Thus (2) is false and must be replaced by the following (16) a ‘scientist’ is an empirical man

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We can see here how Michael’s intellectualism, although inspired by Platonism, finds itself in Aristotelism (the combination of the two traditions is a constant mark of Byzantine philosophy, before its final phase anyway). The ‘scientist’ and the empirical man are generic names due to the fact that they are dealing with the material world that is itself indefinite, informal, vague. By the same token, we can understand what is the proper content of the educated man. The educated man marks the difference from the natural, material world and shows that intelligence is the proper ‘nature’ of man. Thus, we can say (17) the educated man delimits the different sciences, restricts the number of sciences and demarcates the intellectual man from nature

VII It is clear by now that Michael’s analysis of Aristotle’s introduction in the Parts of Animals I is different from most of the analyses of modern scholars. Michael conceives of neither a humane critique of science, as Aubenque does; nor of a retreat in the face of dialectics, as does Le Blond; significantly, he does not focus on the educated man, as Irwin does; his approach is also distinguished from the question of Aristotelianism as speculative philosophy, that Düring emphasizes. I think that while most of the above scholars perceive the relation between the educated man and the scientist only in terms of Michael’s first articulation concerning “principles/theorems”, this Byzantine thinker goes beyond this (which for a medieval commentator such as him probably follows upon the difference of proprieties found in Porphyry’s commentary In Categories) and advances the articulation of ‘Skopein/Theorein’. The first articulation, although implied in Aristotle’s Posterior Analytics, is more clearly stated in Proclus’ Commentary in Euclid’s First Book of Elements. We may here perceive another filiation between Neoplatonic philosophy and the Michael’s work as a commentator. The second articulation, like the first, is not a clear-cut distinction, and so differs from Proclus, who would like to attribute different functions to different levels of the intellect. For Michael, the two terms characterize both the educated man and the scientist, as the whole question is, I think, part of a theory or proto-theory of scientific intentionality suggested by the terms skopein and theorein. The first is the more immediate and proto-reflexive intentionality, the one that probably causes the pain and the pleasure in

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perception. The second intentionality produces the theorems, or otherwise the objects of theoretical activity—these objects are linguistically formulated as ‘terms / horoi’ but that does not mean that the objects of the first intentionality are pre-linguistic; the activity of theorein can be called ‘theorization of the objects’. In that way, the distinction between skopein and theorein can be described as a distinction between intentionality of the content and intentionality of the object, a classical distinction in the theories of intentionality after Brentano.23 The existence of such a theory or proto-theory of intentionality is to be found in Michael’s commentaries. To the relevant passages quoted above, we must add the following that Stan Ebbesen has drawn our attention to as the sole original contribution by Michael in his commentary in Sophistici Elenchi:24 The phrase ‘the science is not in the species’ is equivalent to ‘the science is not said by the species although it is in the species’. Such as the medicine is a species of science (what is meant by the ‘suppose it to be the medical science, as it is in general’) is clear that it [the science] is in the medicine; yet, although it is in the medicine, it is not said by it; for, he who says medicine does not say science; the reason for that is induced by him [Aristotle] by saying ‘the science is of the knowable’, meaning that science is said potentially of the knowable but the medicine is not said of an object; neither grammary is said grammary of an object nor any of the other particular sciences, as we have learnt from the Categories; so, if somebody saying science means science of an object but he who says medicine does not mean of an object, it is clear that the species is not said together with the genre. Better, the assertion ‘the science is not in the species’ is equivalent to ‘the science is not appearing in the species’. It is habitual for him [Aristotle] to use such interpretations as one who says science does not say medicine although this last is under the science; likewise, one who says double does not say half. (183.8–24)

Michael’s text refers to Sophistical Refutations, 181b25 ff. where, in relation to the ‘science of an object,’ the caution against repeating the same things many times is discussed: With regard to those which draw one into repeating the same thing a number of times, it is clear that one must not grant that predications of relative terms have any meaning in abstraction by themselves, e.g. double apart from double of half, merely on the ground that it figures in it. For ten figures in ten minus one and do in not do, and generally the affirmation in the negation; but for all that, if someone says that this is not white, he does not say that it is white. Double, perhaps, has not even 23 24

Simons (2001). Ebbesen (1981) 270.

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any meaning at all, any more than half; and even if it has a meaning, yet it has not the same meaning as in the combination. Nor is knowledge the same thing in a specific branch of it (suppose it, e.g., to be medical science) as it is in general; for in general it is science of the knowable (transl. W.A. Pickard-Cambridge; translation modified: science instead of knowledge for the Greek word: ‘episteme’).

Concerning Michael’s remark that “it is habitual for him [Aristotle] to use such interpretations”, Ebbesen states that Michael means that Aristotle “has the habit of turning his sentences upside down.”25 I think that Michael is saying something more here, meaning the caution about what in the Sophistical Refutations is called “repeating the same thing many times”. By drawing attention to the “principle of not repeating the same thing many times” Michael refers to a passage of his commentary In PA (10.10–30) and so relates this to the critique of the Platonic dichotomy. I have located a very similar passage in the commentary In Metaph. Z (521.19–36) As the animals are divided in animals endowed with feet and footless ones, the feet-endowed animals must be distinguished by their proper differentiae and not say something like, from the feet-endowed animals others have feathers and others not, if we are to divide appropriately; because these are not differentiae of the feet-endowed animals. But we must distinguish them qua feet-endowed and say that other are clovenfooted and other not cloven-footed; this is the differentia of the foot; the cloven-footness is a kind of footness like the logical animal is a kind of animal. But some people who are incapable and have not the power to define the differentiae of every kind, they do that, I mean they divide by improper differentiae. But the feet-endowed animals, even if they are something else also, should be divided by their proper differentiae until we arrive to undivided ones that would be impossible to distinguish by another differentia. And then, there would be as many kinds of feet as the last differentiae of the feet-endowed animals that can not be further divided. Because if, as he has often said, the genus after the last differentia is the species, it is evident that the feet-endowed animals happen to be as many as the subsequent differentiae; and if so, it is obvious that the last differentia is the substance and the definition of the thing and we should include in the definition only this one and the genus if we are not to say many times the same thing and babble. (521.19–36)

In the parallel text from the commentary In PA, after a similar argument, Michael concludes: 25

Ibid.

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george arabatzis . . . If then the last differentia is the main [kyria] one in distinguishing the species, then the rest are said in vain; the last differentia is implying the previous differentiae. If someone says that this is not the main differentia but the rest also and that we have to utter them as well then he arrives to repeat many times the same thing; that’s what he said in the book Z of the Metaphysics. (10.10–30)

If there was a general agreement that the commentaries In Metaph. E–N are written by Michael, then this passage would be of great interest for the present study. As it now stands, the disagreement of the scholars about the paternity of the commentary In Metaph. E–N ends up unfavorably disposed towards Michael: for he is either the author of these commentaries but not a great scholiast or he is making an untrue statement when he says that he is the author.26 As for the passages In Metaph. Z and In PA I that I have introduced as being very similar to one another, if we follow Sten Ebbesen’s account of Michael’s working method (described as a hasty picking from every kind of source), then this similarity does not allow us to identify conclusively the authorship of the commentaries In Metaph. E–N. In relation to the “rule of not repeating the same thing many times” could we refer here to a nominalistic intuition (opposed to an essentialist’s stand that is often connected with Aristotle’s Biology) in addition to the intellectualism that I have ascribed to Michael? I think that we ought to avoid such hasty categorizations when speaking of a Byzantine commentator; his ‘intellectualism’ or ‘nominalism’ does not follow the well-known Western Medieval philosophical concepts. For the purposes of this study, it would be better to speak of a principle of economy in expression that is possibly situated in the field of the notorious Byzantine affection for rhetoric. The originality of Michael’s position is rather to be found in his theory of the intentionalities related to culture and the sciences. It is a fact that the theories of intentionality are also well rooted in the philosophical tradition of the Western Christianity (intentio), especially after Augustine; the presence of the concept in Greek philosophy is a much debated question while the presence of Augustinian thought in Byzantium is rather late and in any case, at least for the period that goes from the Photian schism to the conquest of Constantinople by the

26 See In PN 149.14–15; in fact, Michael speaks of the books Z to N. See Luna (2001) and Taran (2005); see also Arabatzis (2006) 162–170.

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Crusaders, never too great.27 As to whether there was or was not a theory of intentionality in classical philosophy that might have inspired Michael remains an open question. Victor Caston is in favor of such a theory in classical thought.28 For him, we must include among the Greek terms that suggest intentionality the ones related to purpose, like the verb skopein, especially in connection with books, letters and discourses.29 I would like here to add, commentaries, as I believe the distinction between skopos and theoria refers to the technique of commentary itself. In fact, commentaries are divided according to the purpose/skopos of the redaction and to a general discussion/theoria of its topics.30 If Michael’s paternity of the commentaries In Metaph. 5–13 can be accepted, then the hypothesis of a proto-theory of scientific intentionality in him is strengthened by the fact that the commentary In Metaph. 10 states precisely the manner in which philosophy is characterized by the activities of skopein and theorein: [Aristotle] teaches that the philosopher is determining (skopein) and theorizing (theorian) being and that it is the proprium of a science to theorize being qua being, just as the mathematician, when abstracting from his discourse the harshness, weight, softness and heat and all that pertains to the sensible nature of bodies, that is the contrarieties of the senses, leaves only the continuum of size, lines, levels, solids. (645.6–10)

However, Caston doubts as to whether theoria serves as a metaphor for vision and, consequently, as a paradigm, such as Michael’s, concerning whether the viewing of parts of the human body could suggest some kind of intentionality. Others defend the position that vision has a special meaning in Aristotle as being the most immaterial of the senses and for having an epistemological significance as the paradigm for the theoretical life.31 In Nic. Eth. X, theoria is presented as ‘the pleasantest of excellent activities’ (1177a23–24, transl. W.D. Ross revised by J.O. Urmson). This leads to the following question: since for Aristotle every activity is characterized by its own pleasure on the basis of which there cannot be deduced any hierarchy of pleasures, how then can theoria be said to be the pleasantest activity? This happens in much the same way as vision is conceived as superior to other senses: 27 28 29 30 31

See Lössl (2000). See Caston (2001) 23–48. Caston (1993) 219. See Praechter (1990) 45 ff. See Gonzalez (1991).

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george arabatzis sight is superior to touch in purity, and hearing and smell to taste; the pleasures, therefore, are similarily superior, and those of thought superior to these, and within each of the two kinds some are superior to others. (1176a1–3, transl. W.D. Ross revised by J.O. Urmson)

Michael’s commentary In EN 9–10 569.8–14, as well as the metaphor of the ‘eye’ of prudence from In EN 9–10 609.6–10, respond to this passage. These and other passages discussed above speak in favor of a theory or proto-theory of scientific intentionality in Michael. To these, might be added the use of terms such as ‘emphainesthai = appearing’ from In SE 183.8–24, that does not point to perception alone, but also to intellectual perception or, as I have said, to scientific intentionality. If we notice that Michael defined the educated man as ‘The man who has [the knowledge] of Geometrical, Mathematical, Astronomical, Physical Principles and simply [haplôs] of every art and science’ and if every scientist is an educated man (and if the philosopher purposes and theorizes like a scientist does, as the passage In Metaph. 10 claims—if it is by Michael’s hand), then it seems possible that Michael has distinguished himself from the long tradition, following Philoponus and John of Damascus, that had promoted the First Philosophy as an ‘art of arts and science of sciences’. We can conclude by stating that according to Michael the relations between the scientist, the empirical man and the educated man are the following: (a) science is prior (timiôtera) in regard to intellect; (b) following upon (a) Michael opposes the idea of the educated man as an hyper-scientist such as Plato’s dialectician; (c) the educated man is different from the empirical man as thisness is different from generic names; (d) the above statements are part of a more general classification of science, culture and experience. In fact, by commenting on the relations between the three, Michael not only underlines the classificatory power of the scientist, but also uses the scientist and the educated man as model objects of classification. We therefore have every right to speak here of a philosophy of sciences.32

32 The question left open is that of empirical data. We have seen in his commentary In EN and In PA that Michael refuses to enlist in speculative philosophy and also permits the infiltration of ‘purified’ empirical objects into his theory of science. Yet, the full presuppositions and implications of his positions remain to be clarified.

SOME OBSERVATIONS ON MICHAEL OF EPHESUS’ COMMENTS ON NICOMACHEAN ETHICS X

Katerina Ierodiakonou A study of the Byzantine twelfth-century composite commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics cannot pass over Michael of Ephesus’ contribution to it. For it is not only that Michael is undoubtedly the writer of the comments on books V, IX and X,1 it has also been plausibly suggested that it was he who compiled this commentary, bringing together the comments of Aspasius, Eustratios and two anonymous commentators.2 He thus produced an invaluable tool for a better understanding of Aristotle’s ethical theories, a tool which proved to be of great help not only to the Byzantines, but also to the students of Aristotle in the medieval West, who extensively used its Latin translation made by Robert Grosseteste in the thirteenth century. Nevertheless, we know next to nothing about Michael’s life, and little attention has been given so far to the content of his comments on the Nicomachean Ethics. At least we now can say with confidence, thanks to Browning’s and Ebbesen’s research, that he lived not in the eleventh century, as Praechter had argued, but in the twelfth century, and moreover that he most probably, together with Eustratios, belonged to Anna Komnena’s circle of intellectuals.3 It still remains unsettled, however, whether Michael wrote his commentaries only while he was working under Anna, or whether he worked on Aristotle also before and after this period.4 On the other hand, we seem to be well informed about the remarkable breadth of his writings as an Aristotelian commentator. He not only wrote commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics, but also on Metaphysics V–VIII and on the Sophistical Refutations, both wrongly attributed to Alexander, on the Generation of Animals, wrongly attributed to Philoponos, on the Parva naturalia, on the Parts of Animals, on the MoveIn EN 5, In EN 9–10. Ebbesen (1990) 451, n. 23; Mercken (1990) 437. 3 Praechter (1931); Browning (1990) 399–400; Ebbesen (1981) 268–285; Mercken (1990) 430–432. 4 Preus (1981a) 10, n. 22; Mercken (1990) 437. 1 2

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ment of Animals, on the Progression of Animals, all edited in the CAG series;5 furthermore, he wrote comments on the pseudo-Aristotelian treatise De coloribus, which are still unedited,6 on the Politics, which have only partly survived,7 and finally, on the Prior and Posterior Analytics, on the Topics, on the Physics, on the De caelo and on the Rhetoric, which are unfortunately lost.8 But Michael’s surviving commentaries have not been studied in great detail. It is only due to Ebbesen’s work that we know something about Michael’s logical comments on Aristotle’s Sophistical Refutations, and we owe it to Preus’ and Arabatzis’ efforts that we know something about Michael’s comments on Aristotle’s zoological writings.9 Now, concerning the comments on the Nicomachean Ethics, there is no systematic study of them. Mercken has discussed them in general terms, and he has raised the general issue of whether Michael should be regarded as a Platonist or as an Aristotelian. On his view, Michael’s task as a commentator was to clarify Aristotle’s doctrines without taking sides; that is to say, without being a militant Aristotelian, but also without trying to force Aristotle into a Platonic, or for that matter, a Christian mould.10 Since there is no detailed study of any of Michael’s comments on the Nicomachean Ethics, I want to focus here on these comments, and in particular on the comments on book X of the Nicomachean Ethics. To be more precise, I want to discuss three issues which arise from Michael’s comments: 1. The use of medical examples 2. The distinction between two kinds of eudaimonia 3. The issue whether non-rational animals can achieve eudaimonia I choose these three issues because I think that they themselves are philosophically interesting, though I am not sure that what Michael has to say about them is original. The fact that we have no other ancient

5

In metaph.; In SE; In GA; In PN ; In PA. A graduate student in the University of Hamburg, V. Papari, is now preparing under the supervision of Prof. D. Harlfinger an edition of these comments as part of her doctorate thesis. The Latin translation of these comments, together with a German translation, can be found in Col. 103–129. 7 Pol. xvii–xxi and 293–327 (translated in Barker 1957). 8 Praechter (1990) 51–52. Conley (1990) 38 suggests that the anonymous Rhetoric commentary in In Rh. is Michael’s. 9 Ebbesen (1981); Preus (1981a) and (1981b); Arabatzis (2006). 10 Mercken (1990) 434–436. 6

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or Byzantine commentary on book X of the Nicomachean Ethics makes it very difficult to judge whether Michael here just copies and rephrases old material, as Ebbesen and Preus have claimed in the case of his logical and zoological comments,11 or whether he has something new to say. There is no doubt that if one wants to make an overall judgement about Michael’s originality, or give a general characterisation of him as an Aristotelian commentator, one would need to work through all of his commentaries in a systematic way; but this is beyond the scope of my paper. 1. The Use of Medical Examples Even a hasty reader of Michael’s ethical comments cannot fail to notice his frequent references to medicine. Aristotle, of course, does the same in many places throughout the Nicomachean Ethics, but in Michael’s comments the occurrences of medical examples are certainly more numerous and more striking; for they are more detailed and seem to require a certain amount of in depth medical knowledge (cf. 618.25– 619.4). It really is peculiar that this fact has not until now been used as further evidence to support the claim that perhaps Michael was a medical doctor.12 In the majority of cases Michael uses medical examples in his comments on Nicomachean Ethics X in order to clarify something in Aristotle’s ethical theory. For instance, in order to clarify the view that pleasure is something which we desire for itself and not for the sake of something else, Michael uses the example of medical treatment as an illustration of the distinction he has in mind; obviously, drugs or bloodletting are not desired for themselves but only because they can restore a patient’s health (534.29–34).13 Again, in order to clarify the view that ethical virtues should be regarded as the final end of an agent’s actions, Michael puts forward as an analogous case the example of health, which undoubtedly constitutes the final end of a doctor’s

Ebbesen (1981) 284; Preus (1981b). Praechter (1906) 863–864; Mercken (1990) 432–433. 13 τοιο+τον δ?  δον . ο;δε'ς γ*ρ )ρωτP τν δ.μενον, δι* τ sδεται, Eσπερ τν λου.μενον R φλ"βα τεμε,ν  φρμακον πιε,ν βουλ.μενον, δι* τ τοτων Vκαστον α$ρε,ται. το+τον γ*ρ εJ τις Fροιτο, δι* τ )π' τNν φαρμακοποσαν %εται, τχ’ Zν εJποι %να =γιανCη, )κε,νο δ? εJ τις Fροιτο δι* τ τNν δονNν δι7κει, εJποιεν Zν δι’ α;τNν κα' ο; δι’ Aλλο τι. 11 12

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actions (594.29–34).14 And there are many other similar cases in which medicine is used as an example which Michael seems to consider as simpler and easier to understand.15 But there are also at least two contexts in which Michael’s use of medical examples is particularly interesting and enlightening. The first case I want to focus on concerns Michael’s comments on Aristotle’s sentence right at the beginning of book X of the Nicomachean Ethics. Aristotle verbatim says ‘After these matters we ought perhaps next to discuss pleasure’ (1172a19),16 and Michael undertakes to explain why Aristotle here uses the adverb ‘perhaps’ (is¯os). In doing so, he tries to make sense of the reason why Aristotle includes in his ethical treatise an account of pleasure, and thus raises the issue of the relation between pleasure and eudaimonia. According to Michael’s comment (530.2–12),17 if Aristotle had thought that pleasure actually is a part of eudaimonia, he would have said that it is necessary in this context to talk about pleasure. For just like in the case of a horse it is necessary to talk about the non-rational, since it is part of a horse to be non-rational, similarly in the case of pleasure, if pleasure is a part of eudaimonia, it would be necessary to talk about pleasure in an ethical treatise on eudaimonia. If, however, pleasure is not a part of eudaimonia, but only its symptom, as it were, and shadow, it would not be obligatory to talk about pleasure in this context, though of course we would still have the option to do so. Now, from the two examples used here, that of the symptom and that of the shadow, Michael in the rest of the passage chooses to further elaborate 14 Iς γ*ρ #ατρο+ τελικν αJτιον κα' τ ο! Vνεκα πντα ποιε, κα' πρττει, Mσα ποιε, κα' πρττει, =γεια, κα' ο#κοδ.μου &ρχN τελικN  ο#κα κα' στρατηγο+ νκη, σ7φρον.ς τε  τν πα ν συμμετρα, ο@τω κα' τLς φρον σεως, Iς δ"δεικται Mτε περ' τατης Fλεγεν, ο$ κατ* τ*ς p ικ*ς &ρετ*ς \ρ ο' σκοπο' τ"λη ε#σ' κα' αJτια τν πραττομ"νων )κενων Vνεκα.

15 E.g. 531.24–27; 542.28–31; 543.2–3; 16–18; 19–22; 544.10–15; 547.14–17; 557.24– 41; 562.22–26; 564.10–13; 573.11–13; 19–21; 585.17–24; 585.35–586.2; 611.28–31; 614.35– 615.2; 615.10–14; 615.35–616.2. 16 Μετ* δ? τα+τα περ' δονLς Jσως Vπεται διελ ε,ν. 17 Τ σως R δι* φιλ.σοφον εXπεν ε;λβειαν R )νδεικνμενος, Mτι ε# μ"ν )στιν  δονN μ"ρος τLς &ρετLς, Iς κα' το+ %ππου τ Aλογον, ο;κ Jσως &λλ’ &νγκη περ' δονLς ε#πε,ν. &ναγκα,ον γ*ρ ε#δ"ναι τ* μ"ρη )ξ [ν τ Mλον το,ς βουλομ"νοις μα ε,ν καλς τ Mλον, Mτι ποτ" )στιν. ε# δ’ ο;κ Fστι μ"ρος &λλ’ οOον σμπτωμ τι κα' σκι* τα,ς καλλσταις )νεργεαις )πισυμβανουσα, Jσως δε, λ"γειν περ' α;τLς. δι* τ Jσως; δι.τι δυνατ.ν )στι κα' δχα τν )πισυμβαιν.ντων μαν νειν τ* πργματα, οOς Vπεται τ* τοιδε συμπτ7ματα. δυνατν γρ )στι γνναι τριταου φσιν κα' Aνευ τν /πομ"νων α;τD συμπτωμτων, χολεμεσας κα' $δρτος κα' τν Aλλων, κα' ε;δαιμονας ο;σαν δχα το+ γιν7σκειν τ )στιν δον , ε# μN μ"ρος α;τLς )στιν, &λλ τι τν συμβαιν.ντων α;τCL.

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on the medical example of the symptom (sympt¯oma), and this as follows: he claims that it is not necessary to discuss pleasure when talking about eudaimonia, because just as it is possible to understand the nature of tertian fever without knowing its symptoms, namely sweat and vomiting of bile, it similarly is possible to understand the nature of eudaimonia without knowing much about pleasure; for pleasure supervenes on (episymbainousa) eudaimonia, just like symptoms supervene on what they are symptoms of. The relation between pleasure and eudaimonia is a central issue in Aristotle’s ethics, since it is important for him to demarcate his ethical theory from those of his predecessors or contemporaries; they either identified pleasure with the ultimate good, and thus its possession with eudaimonia, or they claimed that pleasure is not at all a good, and thus not desirable in itself, or, finally, that eudaimonia involves some pleasure as a good. Aristotle’s account of pleasure as an activity (energeia), rather than a movement (kin¯esis), of the soul marks his innovation in understanding pleasure as an activity which completes or perfects (teleioun) virtuous human action without actually being its final aim (telos). It is well-known that many different interpretations have been suggested by modern scholars in connection with Aristotle’s notion of pleasure and its relation to eudaimonia. More specifically, many different interpretations have been offered to explain the alleged inconsistency between Aristotle’s account of pleasure in book VII and that in book X; for though in book VII Aristotle talks of pleasure as an activity of the soul, in book X pleasure seems at times to be taken as what completes or perfects an activity, and thus appears as an end in itself. I do not intend to get involved in this debate. Still, I want to draw attention to the way Michael understands Aristotle’s notion of pleasure and to what he consequently has to say about the relation between pleasure and eudaimonia in his comments. For what seems novel in Michael’s understanding of Aristotle’s notion of pleasure is his analogy of pleasure as a symptom of eudaimonia, an analogy which we find nowhere in Aristotle’s text. Furthermore, Michael explains what it means for pleasure to be a symptom of eudaimonia, namely that pleasure supervenes on it; and it is interesting to note here that, instead of Aristotle’s verb ‘epigenesthai’ (1104b4; 1174b33), Michael twice uses the verb ‘episymbainesthai’ (530.7; 8),18 a verb which we find repeatedly in

18

Cf. also ‘symbainesthai’ in 530.12.

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Galen’s medical treatises.19 Finally, Michael also explains what it means for something to supervene on something else, by putting forward an epistemological criterion; for, according to him, something supervenes on something else, if the knowledge of what supervenes is not a necessary prerequisite for the understanding of the nature of the thing on which it supervenes (530.7–12). I do not know whether the medical example of a symptom in connection with the view that pleasure supervenes on eudaimonia as its symptom for the first time was introduced into the discussion by Michael in the twelfth century, or whether he simply followed an earlier interpretation of Aristotle’s text in a commentary which has been lost. But leaving aside the issue of originality, I think that Michael’s use of this medical analogy is indeed helpful in understanding Aristotle’s notion of pleasure and its relation to eudaimonia; for it indicates that the relation between pleasure and eudaimonia is certainly not an accidental one, but pleasure is inseparable from eudaimonia without being a part of it. The analogy which Aristotle himself uses, namely that of pleasure ‘as an end which supervenes as the bloom of youth on those in the flower of their age’ (1174b),20 has proved to be more cryptic and much more difficult to decipher. The second case I want to discuss concerns Michael’s references to medicine as a paradigmatic discipline. That is to say, in his attempt to determine the position of ethics and politics among the sciences, Michael, as Aristotle before him, uses the example of medicine in order to establish its epistemic status and then compare it with that of ethics and politics. But though the example of medicine as a scientific discipline proved useful to Aristotle himself in the Nicomachean Ethics, Michael’s account of medicine as a science is more systematic and interesting in its details, especially in its exposition of those particular characteristics of medicine responsible for its scientific character. Michael claims that medicine is a science. In his commentary of book V of the Nicomachean Ethics he draws the distinction between sciences and rational abilities (3.6–16).21 According to him, rhetoric 19 20

E.g. XV 528.2K; XVIIA 164.2K; XVIIIA 89.18K; 396.8K. Iς )πιγιν.μεν.ν τι τ"λος, οOον το,ς &κμαοις  Eρα.

21 &λλ* δι* τ #ατρν λ"γομεν τν δυνμενον κα' τ* =γιειν* κα' τ* νοσ7δη πρττειν, μοως δ? κα' διαλεκτικν κα' { τορα τν δυνμενον )φ’ /κτερα )πιχειρε,ν; R Mτι κα' α$ )πιστLμαι κα' α$ δυνμεις α$ α;τα ε#σι τν )ναντων> ο; γ*ρ Fχουσι τ εXναι )ν τD τ Vτερον τν &ντικειμ"νων δνασ αι κα' βολεσ αι δεικνναι, Eσπερ  δικαιοσνη )ν τD βολεσ αι κα' δνασ αι μ.να τ* δκαια, &λλ’ Fστιν α;τα,ς s τε παρασκευN κα' 

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and dialectic are rational abilities, because they attempt to do one or the other of two contraries (ta antikeimena epicheirein), whereas medicine and music are sciences, because, though they require knowledge of both contraries (gin¯oskein ta antikeimena), they aim at only one of them. A similar distinction between sciences and rational abilities also is found in Michael’s commentary of book X of the Nicomachean Ethics, though medicine is not explicitly mentioned there (616.3–6).22 Hence, medicine on Michael’s view is a science, because, though it presupposes knowledge of both contraries, namely how to cure and how to harm patients, medicine aims only at restoring patients’ health. To establish medicine among the sciences, and consequently also ethics and politics, Michael seems to closely follow the tradition of the other ancient and Byzantine commentators on the Nicomachean Ethics. This subject I have already discussed in another paper.23 What I want to focus on now is what Michael has to say about those particular characteristics of medicine that give it the status of a science, and especially about the type of knowledge medicine requires. Michael often points out in his comments on book X of the Nicomachean Ethics that medicine, just like the theoretical sciences, involves knowledge of the universal. He says, for instance, that medicine is knowledge not of Parmenides, but of all old men in general, and not of Socrates, but of all men with Socrates’ temperament. Sometimes, though, Michael adds, it is more important for treating a patient to know from experience the particular case than to know the general rules of medicine (614.15–27).24 Thus, according to him, it is perfectly justifiable that doctors often do βολησις κα' τ εXναι πρς τ* &ντικεμενα )πιχειρε,ν. το+το δ? λ"γω )π' τLς {ητορικLς κα' διαλεκτικLς> )π' δ? τLς #ατρικLς ο;χ ο@τως, &λλ’ Fστιν α;τCL τ εXναι )ν τD γιν7σκειν τ* &ντικεμενα. δυνμεις δ? λ"γει τNν διαλεκτικNν κα' {ητορικ ν, )πιστ μας δ? μουσικNν κα' #ατρικ ν> κα' γ*ρ α!ται τν &ντικειμ"νων ε#σ' γνωστικα. 22 πολιτικ'ς κα τ(ν λοιπ(ν )πιστημ(ν κα δυνμεων; δυνμεις )κλουν ο$ παλαιο' τ*ς )πιχειροσας τ"χνας ε#ς τ&ναντα, οOον {ητορικNν διαλεκτικ ν, )πιστ μας δ? τ*ς μN τοιατας, οOον &ρι μητικNν γεωμετραν φυσικ ν. 23

Ierodiakonou (2005a).

Mτι δ? α$ )πιστLμαι τ* κοιν* διδσκουσιν, Jσμεν Bπαντες ο$ τατας μετι.ντες.  γ*ρ #ατρικN ο; διδσκει τ συμφ"ρει Σωκρτει, &λλ* τ πσCη κρσει ποα  Σωκρτους, οOον πσCη ερμCL κα' ξηρP , κα' τ παντ' γ"ροντι, &λλ’ ο; τ ΠαρμενδCη.  μ?ν ο6ν τ κα .λου ε#δlς )πιμελη εη Zν κα' το+ κα ’ Vνα. &λλ* κα' Vνα τιν* το+ κα .λου &γνοο+ντα ο;δ?ν κωλει )πιμελη Lνα τινος /νς )κ περας ε#δ7ς, τνα τε τ* qφελο+ντα α;τν κα' τνα τ* βλπτοντα. κα' ε#σ τινες μ λλον qφελο+ντες α=το0ς τν #ατρν )κ περας γιν7σκοντες τ* σ7ζοντα α=τος, Eστε κα'  πατNρ  γιν7σκων )κ περας τν υ$ν πο,α τν γυμνασων qφελο+σι, μ λλον Zν γυμνσειε το+ γυμναστο+. διοσει δ?  τοιο+τος το+ τ κα .λου ε#δ.τος, Mτι  τ κα .λου ε#δlς πολλο0ς Zν #σαιτο κα' πολλο0ς Zν &μ"μπτως γυμνσειεν, 24

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not follow the general rule; for example, although in general those who have fever should not eat, doctors realise that sometimes not eating is not beneficial to certain patients (cf. 612.22–33). And again this is something doctors learn from experience. Hence, medicine does not only involve knowledge of the universal but presupposes a great deal of experience, which means that medicine as a discipline should be closely connected with its practical exercise.25 Michael explicitly says that doctors do not only have knowledge of the universal, but most importantly they cure patients; this after all is the reason why it is crucial not only to know what the medical textbooks say, but also how to combine this with practical experience in treating patients (618.25– 619.4).26 Michael’s insistence on the importance of combining reason and experience in medicine is not novel; on the contrary, it is very much in the spirit of Aristotle as well as of Galen. For Galen, too, suggests in many places of his voluminous writings that we should, on the one hand, learn as much as possible from experience and develop a body of empirical knowledge that is quite uncontaminated by any theory, and, on the other hand, develop a general theory, and then check the results of this theory against our body of empirical knowledge. He thus tries to find a position from which one can see that there is an important place in medicine for the approach of the Empiricist doctors, just as there is a need for the general theories which the Rationalist doctors adhere to, that the two do not exclude but rather complement each other, and that they depend on each other in an accomplished doctor. Indeed, it may be Galen’s influence which accounts in good part for the fact

ο!τος δ? )κε,νον μ.νον :ν )κ περας οXδεν, Mτι πρς τν τοιοτων qφελε,ται, βλπτεται δ? παρ* τν τοιοτων.

Cf. V 8.15–28; 63.2–20; 64.3–14; IX 513.19–22; 617.10–14; 618.4–7. Iς κα' )π' τLς #ατρικLς, φησν, ρμεν. ο; γ*ρ  συναγαγlν τ* #ατρικ* βιβλα κα' &νεγνωκlς α;τ* δναται τ* #ατρικ* πρττειν> κατοι λ"γουσιν, Mτι Mδε μ?ν νοσε,, π ς  νοσν R μοιομερ?ς ν.σημα νοσε, R \ργανικ.ν, &λλ* τ.δε μ?ν οOον \ργανικν ο; νοσε, δι* τδε κα' τδε, μοιομερ?ς Aρα, κα' το+το R τ.δε R τ.δε R τ.δε, &λλ* μNν ο; τ.δε ο;δ? τ.δε Mδε νοσε, δι* τδε κα' τδε> τ.δε Aρα> &λλ* μNν τ.δε εραπεεται, ε# τχοι, κα' 25 26

δι* κεν7σεως τLς &π φλεβν κα' δι* κα ρσεως κα' $δρ7των> κα' τα+τα διελ .ντες κα' τν τρ.πον τLς εραπεας ε#π.ντες &γνοο+σι τ ποιητ"ον, εJτε φλ"βα δε, τεμε,ν R $δρτα κινLσαι R γαστ"ρα λαπξαι.  δ? Bμα τD λ.γDω κα' τNν πε,ραν Fχων ε; 0ς πρττει, ε#δlς τ δε, πρ ξαι ν+ν κα' τ μ . κα' Fστιν  ε#ρημ"νη τν νοσημτων διαρεσις κα' τν #αμτων το,ς μ?ν )μπειρικο,ς κα' το,ς λογικο,ς Bμα qφ"λιμος, το,ς δ? μ.να τ* βιβλα &νεγνωκ.σιν ο;δαμς. Iς ο6ν )π' τLς #ατρικLς ο@τω κα' )π' τν ν.μων κα' πολιτειν Fχοι Zν Iς συναγωγCL τν τοιοτων>

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that, after his time, doctors as well as those who discuss the theory and practise of medicine, like Michael does, seem to have lost their interest in the ancient dispute between the ancient medical schools, namely the Empiricists, the Rationalists and the Methodists.27 But Michael does not agree with Galen only in his understanding of medicine as a science which depends both on theory and on practical experience. He also gives an explanation similar to that of Galen’s as to why in the case of medicine it is not enough to have knowledge of the universal (540.3–38).28 For Michael points out that there is something indefinite in the practice of medicine, namely that medicine when it comes to restoring the health of particular patients accepts of degrees. This does not mean, according to Michael, that health itself accepts of degrees, or in other words that medical knowledge is anything but universal. However, as soon as we consider, not health in

27

Frede (1985).

Κα' ο!τος  συλλογισμς )ν δευτ"ρDω σχ ματι περανεται ο=τωσ>  δονN &.ριστ.ς )στι, π ν &γα ν Iρισμ"νον )στν,  δονN Aρα ο;κ Fστιν &γα .ν. )νσταται δ? κ&ν τοτDω πρς τNν λ"γουσαν πρ.τασιν, Mτι  δονN &.ριστ.ν τι πρ γμ )στι κα φησιν> ε# μ?ν )κ το+ sδεσ αι &ορστου Hντος (ο$ μ?ν γ*ρ sδονται μ λλον, ο$ δ? Uττον, κα' ο$ μ?ν μ.γις )π' δονNν ρμσιν, ο$ δ? τχιον) ε# μ?ν )κ το+ sδεσ αι &ορστου Hντος κα' τNν δονNν &.ριστ.ν τι λ"γουσι, περιφανς ψεδονται. το+το γ*ρ )ποσουσι κα' κατ* τν &ρετν &γα ν ο;σν κα' κατ* τLς =γιεας κα' κατ* τν )πιστημν> κα' γ*ρ κα' )π' τοτων ρ ται τ &.ριστον> ο$ μ?ν γ*ρ μ λλον =γιανουσι κα' μ λλ.ν ε#σι γραμματικο' κα' μ λλον σ7φρονες κα' μ λλον &νδρε,οι κα' μ λλον μετ"χουσι τν &ρετν κα' Vξεων κα' )πιστημν, ο$ δ? Uττον. Eστε κατ* το+τον τν λ.γον Fσονται κα' τν &ρετν κα'  =γεια κα' τν )πιστημν /κστη τε μ λλον κα' Uττον Fχουσα δι* τ το0ς μ?ν μ λλον μετ"χειν κα' μ λλον )νεργε,ν κατ’ α;τς, το0ς δ? Uττον> κα' Fσονται κατ* το+το κα' α!ται &.ριστοι κα' φα+λαι. ε# δ? ο; κατ* το+ sδεσ αι τ &.ριστον κατηγορο+σιν, &λλ* κατ’ α;τLς τLς δονLς, κα' ο@τω διδηλον τ ψε+δος. Eσπερ κα' τ εXδος τLς =γιεας κα' τ τ <ν εXναι =γεια Vν τι κα' τα;τ.ν )στιν Iρισμ"νον κα' &νεπδεκτον το+ μ λλον κα' Uττον. τ γ*ρ =γεια κα' τ τ <ν εXναι =γιεας &νεπτατον κα' &ννετ.ν )στιν. Vκαστον γ*ρ το+ ’ Mπερ )στ'ν οcτε )πτασιν οcτε Aνεσιν )πιδ"χεται, οOον  &νδρεα  σωφροσνη κα' /κστη τν )πιστημν, το,ς δ? κατ’ α;τ*ς λεγομ"νοις τ μ λλον κα' Uττον )νορ ται, ο@τω κα' τ εXδος τLς δονLς κα' τ τ <ν εXναι δονLς &νεπτατον κα' &ννετ.ν )στιν, Eστε κα' Iρισμ"νον, Eστε κα' &γα .ν. λ"γει δ? μιγε1ς μ?ν δον*ς α;τ κα ’ α=τ χωρς τινος =ποκειμ"νου τ εXδος τLς δονLς νοομενον κα' Gπλς π ν Aλλο εXδος, οOον λευκ.τητα, μελαναν, =γειαν> μεμιγμ"νας δ? τ*ς με ’ =ποκειμ"νου νοουμ"νας, οOον τ*ς )ν )μο' κα' σο' κα' το,ς Aλλοις )νοσας. α$ μ?ν ο6ν μεμιγμ"ναι, α )ν )μο' κα' σο' )ν )πιτσει κα' &ν"σει %στανται κα' &ναπεπλησμ"ναι ε#σ' τLς &οριστας, α;τ* δ? τ* εJδη, οOον  =γεια κα'  δονN κα' τ* Aλλα, Eσπερ εJρηται, &ννετα κα' &νεπτατα κα "στηκεν. Mτι δ? πολ0 τ &.ριστον κα' σχεδν &περληπτον τ )ν /κστοις τLς =γιεας δηλο+σιν α$ κρσεις. ε# γ*ρ  τοιδε κρ σις τν )ν μ,ν στοιχεων )στ'ν  =γεια, α$ δ? κρσεις κα' τ )ν α;τα,ς μ λλον κα' Uττον &.ριστον, δLλον Iς κα' α$ /π.μεναι ταταις =γειαι &.ριστο ε#σι. κα' τ λ"γω τ*ς τν πντων, Mπου κα' το+ α;το+ κα' /νς οOον Σωκρτους κα ’ Eραν Iς ε#πε,ν )πιτενεται κα' &νεται; 28

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general, but the health of a particular person, we should consider different degrees of health. And this is what Galen claims, when he distinguishes between the general nature of a disease and the treatment of a particular patient; the former should be diagnosed through a scientific and certain method, whereas the latter can only follow a conjectural or stochastic procedure. According to Galen, this distinction results from the unpredictable and unique features of the individual’s temperament, whereas the theorems of medicine are universal and certain.29 2. The Distinction between Two Kinds of Eudaimonia Let me now turn to the second issue, namely Michael’s distinction between two kinds of eudaimonia. There are indeed many passages in his commentary on book X of the Nicomachean Ethics in which Michael distinguishes between what he calls theoretical eudaimonia and political or practical eudaimonia (529.9–11 et passim), a distinction which we find nowhere in Aristotle’s text, at least not in these terms. But is it a distinction which Aristotle himself implicitly adheres to, or does Michael interpret Aristotle’s text in a way which clearly is not Aristotelian? But we should begin with another relevant distinction also drawn by Michael, namely the distinction between two kinds of virtues, the ethical or political or practical virtues and the theoretical virtues (571.31– 572.12).30 At first one could think that this distinction corresponds exactly to Aristotle’s distinction of ethical (¯ethikai) and intellectual (diano¯etikai) virtues at the end of book I of the Nicomachean Ethics. But the terminology used here, i.e. the characterisation of virtues as political and

29

Ierodiakonou (1995). περ' &ρετν μ"ν, Mτι  μ?ν πρακτικN κα' πολιτικN λεγομ"νη ε;δαιμονα τ"λος )στ' τν πρακτικν κα' p ικν &ρετν,  δ? εωρητικN ε;δαιμονα τ"λος )στ' πασν τν πρακτικν κα' εωρητικν &ρετν. διττν γ*ρ τν Aν ρωπον ο!τος  φιλ.σοφος δοξζων, τν μ?ν )κ ψυχLς κα' σ7ματος, τν δ? νο+ν (\νομζει δ? νο+ν τNν λογικNν ζω ν, Qτοι α;τ τ λογικν τLς ψυχLς μ"ρος, :ν δN νο+ν κα' Hντως κα' πρ7τως κα' μλιστα Aν ρωπον τ εται), διττNν κα' τNν ε;δαιμοναν ε=ρσκει, τNν μ?ν νοερ*ν κα' τελεαν, ]ν καλε,

εωρητικ ν, τNν δ? μετ* τν )κτς =φισταμ"νην. )κτς δ? λ"γουσι τ ν τε το+ σ7ματος =γειαν, τNν τLς @λης χορηγαν, τNν ε;γ"νειαν κα' τNν ε;τεκναν. κα' ε#κ.τως το+το λ"γει κα' σμφωνον /αυτD. τD γ*ρ τν Aν ρωπον )κ ψυχLς κα' σ7ματος &φορζοντι &νγκη κα' τNν το+ σ7ματος Vξιν ε#ς τNν τLς &ν ρωπνης ε;δαιμονας συμπλ ρωσιν παραλαμβνειν. ο; γ*ρ δ που ατ"ρου τν το+ Mλου μορων κακς Fχοντος εcδαιμον Fσται ποτ? τ Mλον. δι.τι μ?ν ο6ν τ"λος )στ' τ διττν το+το τLς ε;δαιμονας τν &ρετν, δι* το+το τ* περ' τν &ρετν διLλ εν &μφοτ"ρων, τν τε πρακτικν κα' τν λογικν. 30

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theoretical, reminds us more of the distinction between political and theoretical virtues which we find, for instance, in Plotinus and then in Porphyry; though they both add to these yet another category, that of the purificatory virtues which help us to be free of bodily passions.31 And moreover, when Michael explicitly says that the Peripatetics do not further distinguish between political and ethical virtues, whereas the Platonists do (578.12–25),32 what most probably he is aware of is Iamblichus’ and later Platonists’ distinction between political and ethical virtues.33 According to Michael, then, the person who has the political virtues achieves political eudaimonia, whereas the person who has both the political and the theoretical virtues achieves theoretical eudaimonia. Hence, political eudaimonia is an imperfect kind of eudaimonia, whereas theoretical eudaimonia is the only perfect eudaimonia the virtuous person can have.34 But is there only a terminological similarity between Michael’s and the Platonists’ view? Or does Michael present us with an interpretation of Aristotle’s text which is influenced to a significant degree by Platonic views? There is no doubt that Michael’s theoretical eudaimonia is the eudaimonia which Aristotle discusses in book X of the Nicomachean Ethics and which can be achieved through contemplation (the¯oria). On the other hand, political eudaimonia seems to be the kind of eudaimonia which can be achieved both by the acquisition of external goods and by the exercise of the ethical virtues, i.e. what Aristotle might appear to discuss in the early books of the Nicomachean Ethics. But should political eudaimonia be regarded as a kind of eudaimonia in Aristotle’s sense? For Aris31

Plotinus, Enneads 1.2.1.15–16 et passim; Porphyry, Sent. 32.

Τ κρτιστον σημανει τ &κρ.τατον> λ"γει δ? κρατστην κα' &κροττην )ν"ργειαν κα' ε;δαιμοναν τNν νοερ*ν ζω ν. δεξας δ , Mτι  ε;δαιμονα ψυχLς )στιν )ν"ργεια κατ’ &ρετ ν, )πειδN  &ρετN διττ , s τε πρακτικ , ]ν κα' p ικNν κα' πολιτικNν ο$ )κ το+ Περιπτου καλο+σιν (ο$ γ*ρ Πλατωνικο' /τ"ρας εXναι λ"γουσι τ*ς πολιτικ*ς τν p ικν)> )πε' ο6ν διττN κατ’ α;το0ς  &ρετ ,  μ?ν p ικ ,  δ? εωρητικ , κα' δι* το+το κα'  ε;δαιμονα διττ , )ν μ?ν τD πρ7τDω βιβλDω εXπε περ' πολιτικLς ε;δαιμονας, κα ’ ]ν  πολιτικς ε;δαμων κοσμε, τ* χερω τD λ.γDω, )ν τοτDω δ? λ"γει περ' τLς εωρητικLς ε;δαιμονας κα' το+ κατ’ α;τNν ε;δαμονος, Mς )στιν  πρ7τως κα' Hντως Aν ρωπος κα'  &λη ινς Aν ρωπος,  )ν μ,ν δηλον.τι νο+ς κα' )πιγιν.μενος  τοιο+τος ε;δαμων τD πολιτικD ε;δαμονι. &δνατον γρ )στιν Fν τινι γεν"σ αι νοερ*ν ζωNν μN μετρ σαντι τ* π η δι* τν p ικν &ρετν κα' κατ* τNν πολιτικNν ε;δαιμοναν ζ σαντι. 32

33 On the different kinds of virtues, cf. Dillon (1990); Wildberg (2002); O’Meara (2003) 40–49. 34 For the Neoplatonic background of the notion of political eudaimonia, cf. O’Meara (2003), 90. For further discussion of the notion of political eudaimonia in Michael of Ephesos and in Eustratios of Nicaea, cf. O’Meara (2004) 113 and (2008) 48–49.

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totle does not suggest that, if one acquires external goods and exercises the ethical virtues, then one can be said to have reached eudaimonia. There is, of course, in contemporary Aristotelian scholarship a disputed question about whether eudaimonia can be reached only by contemplation or whether ethical virtues and external goods are also required; this is the famous issue of the so-called inclusive or the dominant conception of the end in Aristotle, and hence of his notion of eudaimonia. But Michael’s distinction between political and theoretical eudaimonia seems to try to circumvent this issue. For Michael does not talk of one kind of eudaimonia, but of two kinds; one can achieve political eudaimonia just by acquiring external goods and exercising ethical or political virtues, while someone who exercises both political and theoretical virtues achieves theoretical eudaimonia. And theoretical eudaimonia is obviously considered as the highest form of eudaimonia (kyri¯os, kratist¯e, teleia eudaimonia),35 since it presupposes practical eudaimonia; for it is not possible, according to Michael, to devote one’s life to contemplation, if one does not first manage to master the bodily passions and to live an ethically virtuous life. Does the difference between Aristotle’s theory and Michael’s interpretation merely lie in the fact that Michael attributes to the person of ethical or political virtues a kind of eudaimonia, even if this is not the perfect kind? There is a further distinction drawn by Michael in this context which is very illuminating, especially in revealing the motivation behind the distinction between political and theoretical eudaimonia (580.3–18).36 On Michael’s view a human being should be thought of in two ways: firstly, the human being as the composite of body and soul, and secondly, the human being as reason or intellect (nous); indeed, this 35

E.g. 558.7; 578.9; 580.4; 9; 600.31.

gΟ λ"γων λ.γος τNν το+ ειοττου τν )ν μ,ν κατ* τNν ο#κεαν &ρετNν )ν"ργειαν τελεαν ε;δαιμοναν, &τελεστ"ραν δ? τNν πολιτικNν σμφων.ς )στι κα' το,ς πρ.τερον )ν τD πρ7τDω βιβλDω {η ε,σι κα' τCL &λη εPα. )πε' γ*ρ διττν &φορζομεν τν Aν ρωπον κα' τν Hντως κα' μλιστα κα' πρ7τως Aν ρωπον τν νο+ν μν εXνα φαμεν, δετερον δ? τν )κ ψυχLς κα' σ7ματος, &λη "ς )στι κα' σμφωνον τCL &λη εPα τ λ"γειν τNν )ν"ργειαν το+ Hντως κα' πρ7τως &ν ρ7που κρατστην κα' τελεαν κα' σεμνοτ"ραν τLς πολιτικLς ε;δαιμονας, κα' τοσοτDω βελτονα κα' τιμιωτ"ραν, MσDω τ* =ποκεμενα περ' T )νεργε, τν =ποκειμ"νων τCL πολιτικCL κρεττω κα "στηκε. τLς μ?ν γ*ρ πολιτικLς )στι τ κ.σμον )πγειν το,ς δευτ"ροις κα' τξιν κα' Mρον τι "ναι (κα' εJρηται πολλ* περ' τοτων )ν τD πρ7τDω βιβλDω), τατης δ? &ντασις πρς τ* κρεττω κα' Vνωσις κα' γνσις τLς τν εων ο;σιν κοινωνας κα' διαφορ ς, Mτε κα' )ν"ργεια λ"γεται νο+ς  τα+τα εωρε,ν ο@τως δυνμενος. Fστι μ?ν γ*ρ κα' πρ το+ )νεργε,ν δνασ αι ε;δαιμ.νως κατ* τNν νοερ*ν τατην κα' Fν εον ζωNν ο;σα &σ7ματος χωρζεσ αι δυναμ"νη το+ ζD7ου τοτου, ο! τNν )πιτροπεαν Fλαχε. 36

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latter notion of the human being is, according to him, the true human being (al¯eth¯es, al¯ethinos, ont¯os, malista, pr¯ot¯os anthr¯opos).37 Moreover, political or ethical virtues characterise the human being as the composite of body and soul, whereas theoretical virtues characterise the true human being. But this is not a distinction we find in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. Of course, in book X Aristotle does talk about the composite nature of human beings to which the ethical virtues belong, whereas the exercise of the virtue of reason is contemplation and we should try so far as we can to achieve this. But this does not mean that Aristotle would accept Michael’s distinction between the human being as the composite of body and soul and the true human being. Rather, the terminology used here of the true human being is again Platonising, and the distinction itself between the composite human being and the true human being can be found, for instance, in Plotinus’ Enneads.38 In addition, the similarity to Platonic views extends further to the way Michael describes the condition of theoretical eudaimonia. For he defines theoretical eudaimonia not only as the knowledge of the divine,39 something we would expect from a reading of Aristotle’s Ethics or Metaphysics, but as the knowledge of and connection with (epaf¯e) the divine.40 In this context, moreover, Michael talks of the attempt to separate oneself from the animal which resides in us and unite ourselves (en¯osis) with the divine,41 by being drawn to it (anatasis)42 and accepting its illumination (ellampsis).43 We are clearly reminded here not only of Plotinus’ terminology, but also of Platonic doctrines.44 It could be argued, however, that Aristotle also claims that we as rational beings must try, so far as we can, to, in contemplation, share in the life of the divine. But in this case, too, Aristotle thinks of the human being who, being the composite of body and soul, tries to exercise theoretical wisdom as far as humanly possible, rather than of the true human being

37 529.5–6; 576.25–32; 578.21; 579.15–16; 580.6–8; 585.8; 11; 588.35–36; 589.34; 591.15–22; 592.22. 38 E.g. Enneads 1.1.7.20; 1.1.10.7; cf. 1.1.8.10; 4.7.14.10–13; 6.7.6.9–13. 39 580.14–15; 581.12; 586.10; 18–19; 589.20. 40 586.10; 589.20; 596.11. 41 579.4; 580.14; 591.3. 42 529.15; 580.14. 43 586.17; 591.4; 603.31; 33. 44 epaf¯e: 1.2.6.13; 6.7.36.4; 6.9.7.25; ellampsis: 1.1.10.11; 1.1.11.2; 1.1.11.14; 1.12.25. Cf. Proclus, In Alc. 3.103–104; 2.235–236; In Parm. 5.273; In Tim. 21; 75; 76; 79; 121; De prov. et fato 21–22; 24.

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who separates itself from its bodily existence in order to be illuminated by and connected with the divine. Hence, I do not think that Michael simply uses philosophical language ‘coloured by Neoplatonism’, as Mercken suggests; rather, it seems to me that Michael does try ‘to force Aristotle into a Platonic mould’, or, in other words, he does attempt ‘to make Aristotle fit into a Neoplatonic strait jacket.’45 But to stress the Platonic influence on Michael’s notion of eudaimonia to the exclusion of other sources also would be misleading. For the way he talks in particular of theoretical eudaimonia indicates that his reading of Aristotle’s text is not close to Aristotle’s spirit, but is rather an interpretation influenced by different traditions; Neoplatonism is certainly one, but Christianity is also present. For instance, Michael claims that, apart from being perfect, the most pleasant, continuous, chosen for itself and self-sufficient, a feature of theoretical eudaimonia is that in this state there is no need for regret and repentance (metameleia / metanoia).46 Aristotle does not characterise the life of contemplation in these terms, nor do the Platonists stress such a characteristic of eudaimonia;47 on the other hand, both the notion of regret and that of repentance are very much part of the Christian outlook. Finally, there is an interesting passage in Michael’s comments of book X on the issue of the true human being, in which it becomes clear that Michael is conscious of the fact that what he presents is an interpretation of Aristotle’s text which is not at all unchallenged (576.25–32).48 For Michael here claims that the allegedly Aristotelian distinction between the true human being and the human being as the composite of body and soul implies that the true human being is separated from the body, and thus continues to live after death. According to Michael, therefore, those who interpret Aristotle as not believing in the immortality of the soul are fundamentally wrong. But we can recognise here Michael’s attempt to reconcile his Christian Mercken (1990) 434–435. 566.34–35; 575.7–8; 582.35–39; 582.36; 589.24. 47 Cf. Plotinus, Enneads 2.1.4.30; 2.9.6.2–3. 48 κα' ρP ς, Mπως τν Hντως κα' μλιστα Aν ρωπον )ν λογικCL ζωCL τ εται κα' διττν α;τν δι* τοτων &ποφανεται, Vνα μ?ν τν )κ ψυχLς κα' σ7ματος, D[ κα' τ ε6 ζLν κα' ε;δαιμονε,ν )ν τD κατ* τ*ς &ρετ*ς ζLν εXπεν εXναι )ν το,ς Μεγλοις 8Η ικο,ς, Iς κα' )ν τD πρ7τDω τνδε βιβλDω, Aλλον δ? τν πρ7τως κα' Hντως Aν ρωπον, τν )ν μ,ν νο+ν =π?ρ ο! προϊlν )ρε,. χωρισ ε'ς δ? το+ σ7ματ.ς )στιν α;τ το+ ’ Mπερ )στ. κα' δLλον )κ τοτων Iς ο$ λ"γοντες τν 8Αριστοτ"λην νητNν δοξζειν τNν ψυχNν ο;δ"ν τι λ"γουσιν. &λλ* περ' μ?ν τοτων )ν Aλλοις. 45 46

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beliefs with Aristotle’s doctrines, though this might have been facilitated by an already Platonising interpretation of Aristotle. 3. The Issue as to Whether Non-Rational Animals Can Achieve Eudaimonia It is time now to turn to the last issue I want to discuss briefly, namely Michael’s comment about Aristotle’s claim that non-rational animals cannot achieve eudaimonia (598.18–599.38). Michael says that, since the perfect kind of eudaimonia is theoretical eudaimonia, and one can achieve theoretical eudaimonia only by exercising both political and theoretical virtues, and theoretical virtues crucially involve the excellence of reason, non-rational animals cannot achieve theoretical eudaimonia. This is, according to Michael, Aristotle’s view, but he crucially adds that it is also his own view, Plato’s view and the view of all those who identify eudaimonia with intellectual life (598.18–25).49 Mercken mentions this text as an example of a passage in which Michael summons Plato in support of Aristotle’s views. He claims that such passages serve to clarify Aristotle’s text, without necessarily proving Michael’s interest in defending or attacking Plato’s doctrines.50 Indeed there is no doubt that Michael here summons Plato in support of Aristotle’s view, since Plato, too, would agree that non-rational animals cannot attain eudaimonia. I think, though, that the way Michael refers to Plato is not as neutral as Mercken presents it. For it seems that Michael summons Plato in support of Aristotle’s views, because Michael considers him as an important authority, whose views have particular weight for him. And a final short remark about the content of Michael’s comment. Although it seems that Plato and Aristotle are in agreement that nonrational animals cannot achieve eudaimonia, according to Michael the Epicureans and the later Stoics claim that this is possible. For in the case of the Epicureans, Michael says, eudaimonia is identified with eupa49 Τοιατην )ν"ργειαν τNν εωραν λ"γει, Qτοι τNν νοερ*ν ζωNν κα' γνσιν τν &ρστων κα' εων. λ"γει δ? Iς συλλεξαμ"νους τ* παραλελειμμ"να κα' [ν προσυπακοειν Fξω εν χρ , Mτι κατ* μ?ν τ*ς τν Aλλων φιλοσ.φων 8Επικουρεων τε κα' τν @στερον Στωικν περ' ε;δαιμονας =πολ ψεις δνατα τις ε;δαιμοναν μεταδιδ.ναι κα' το,ς &λ.γοις ζD7οις, κατ’ )μ? δ? κα' Πλτωνα κα' το0ς Aλλους Mσοι τNν ε;δαιμοναν )ν νοερP ζωCL $στμεν, &δνατον κατ* τατην ε;δαιμονε,ν τ* Aλογα τν ζD7ων, )στερημ"να νο+ κα' ζωLς λογικLς. 50

Mercken (1990) 435, n. 86.

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theia; but non-rational animals can achieve eupatheia, therefore nonrational animals can achieve eudaimonia. In the case of the later Stoics, eudaimonia is identified with well-being, well-being is identified with living in accordance with nature, non-rational animals live in accordance with nature, and therefore non-rational animals can achieve eudaimonia (598.25–34).51 It is, I think, very interesting that Michael here refers at all to the Epicureans and the later Stoics, though there is a question as to what exactly he has in mind when he talks about the later Stoics. And it is striking that he tries to present their theories in a syllogistic form, though there is no evidence that the Stoics, or for that matter the Epicureans, argued about this topic and in this particular way. Moreover, Michael’s presentation of the Stoic position is really unfair. The Stoics would never claim that non-rational animals can achieve eudaimonia, for what is important in their understanding of what it means for human beings to live in accordance with nature is that human beings can live in accordance with their rational nature, and thus can have a grasp of what they should or should not do in order to achieve eudaimonia. But Michael’s criticism of the Epicurean and the Stoic position is not at all original; for he clearly follows Plotinus, whose views on this subject he reworks or even almost quotes.52 In conclusion, I discussed three different issues which arise from Michael of Ephesus’ comments on book X of the Nicomachean Ethics. It has become clear by now that in the relevant passages Michael seems to have been influenced by the views of Plato, Galen, Plotinus and the Neoplatonists; he even refers to the Hellenistic philosophers, though only to argue against them. That is to say, Michael’s comments seem to do much more than simply present and elucidate Aristotle’s views. Zervos has pointed out the Platonic influences on Michael, Praechter has contrasted Michael of Ephesus, the Aristotelian, with Michael PselMτι δ? δυνατν κατ* το0ς 8Επικορου τροφμους κα' το0ς Στωικο0ς μετ"χειν ε;δαιμονας κα' τ* Aλογα ζDα, δι* τοτων Aν τις παραστ σειεν> ε# τ ε;πα ε,ν ε6 ζLν )στι κατ’ 8Επκουρον, τ δ? ε6 ζLν τα;τ.ν )στι κατ’ 8Επκουρον κα' το0ς Στωικο0ς τD ε;δαιμονε,ν, τ ε;πα ε,ν Aρα ε;δαιμονε,ν )στιν> =πρχει δ? το,ς &λ.γοις ζD7οις τ ε;πα ε,ν, Eστε κα' τ ε;δαιμονε,ν. πλιν, ε# τ κατ* φσιν διγειν κατ* το0ς Στωικο0ς ε6 ζLν )στι, τ δ? ε6 ζLν κα' κατ’ α;το0ς κα' κατ’ 8Επκουρον ε;δαιμονε,ν )στι, τ κατ* φσιν Aρα διγειν ε;δαιμονε,ν )στιν> &λλ* μNν =πρχει το,ς &λ.γοις ζD7οις τ κατ* φσιν διγειν &π γεν"σεως μ"χρι τLς &κμLς> ε;δαιμονε,ν Fστι Aρα τ* Aλογα ζDα. 51

52 Enneads 1.4.1–2. I would like to thank Dominic O’Meara for pointing out to me the source of Michael’s comments here.

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los, the Platonist, Preus has claimed that Michael tries to stay as close as possible to the spirit of Aristotle, Mercken has suggested that Michael’s Aristotelianism is never a militant one.53 It seems that modern scholars have moved from regarding Michael as a Platonist to regarding him as an Aristotelian, even if not a militant one. To stress once again the Platonic roots of Michael’s comments, as I have done, does not mean that I want to return to the view that he is a Platonist. On the contrary, what I have tried to show by working my way through these passages of his commentary is that perhaps it is rather difficult to put a specific label to Michael. For Michael is a commentator of Aristotle, and this means that he thinks that Aristotle’s work is significant, and thus in explaining it wants to stay close to his spirit. But this does not mean that he agrees with Aristotle in everything. At the same time, Michael often follows Plato, Plotinus and the Neoplatonists, or other ancient thinkers, like for instance Galen. Besides, it may have been important for him, as a Christian commentator of ancient philosophical texts not to adhere uncritically to an Aristotelian, Platonic or other ancient viewpoint. Hence, it is, I think, essential in the future not only to closely read all of Michael’s commentaries, before we attempt to assess his overall contribution in Byzantine thought, but to carefully reflect on the role of a commentator in twelfth-century Byzantium, as he no doubt is.

53

Zervos (1920) 222–223; Praechter (1931); Preus (1981b) 22; Mercken (1990) 434.

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INDEX Abelard, Peter, 116 Abraham, 41 Agamemnon, 24 Ailios Aristeides, 17 Ailios Dionysios, 11 Albertus Magnus, 66 Alexander of Aphrodisias, 65, 74–75, 97–98, 107, 185 Alexios I Komnenos, 24–25, 27, 40, 45–46, 49, 51, 53, 57–60, 135, 170 Alpers, K., 111, 113, 117, 126 Ammonius, 75 Andronikos, son of the emperor John II, 23 Andronikos Kallistos, 67 Andronikos Rhodios, 67 Antioch, 51 Apollo, 153 Apollodoros, 157 Arabatzis, G., 186 Arethas of Caesarea, 10 Aristophanes, 6, 11, 19–20, 29, 31 Aristotle, 1, 14, 17, 20–21, 29–30, 36–38, 40–41, 45–50, 52–59, 61, 64–69, 72–74, 76, 81–82, 88–90, 93, 97, 103–105, 109, 113, 116– 118, 122, 124, 129, 132, 134, 142, 147–154, 156–158, 160, 163, 165, 168–170, 172, 174–175, 177, 179, 181, 183, 185–190, 192, 194–199, 201 Artemis, 153 Aspasius, 68, 185 Athena, 40 Athens, 14, 16, 22, 168 Aubenque, P., 168–169, 172 Augustine, 182 Bacon, Francis, 18 Balme, D.M., 168 Bardanes, George, 14 Barker, E., 170–171

Basil of Caesarea, 8, 39 Basil of Euchaita, 135 Baynes, N., 43 Bellerophontes, 10, 30 Benakis, L., 65, 108, 111, 117–119 Berroia, 26–27 Bertha-Eirene, 23, 27, 29 Blachernai, 51 Blachernites, Theodore, 61 Bogomils, 61 Brentano, F., 180 Brown, P., 43 Browning, R., 149, 170, 185 Bryennios, Nikephoros, 57 Buckler, G., 149 Budelmann, F., 30 Bury, J.B., 43 Bywater edition, 73 Caston, V., 183 Constantine IX Monomachos, 28 Constantine Paleokappas, 67 Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos, 6, 37, 149 Constantinople, 35, 38, 46, 51, 156– 157 Coulon, V., 6 Crete, 67 Crusaders, 3, 8, 51, 60, 171, 183 Cyclopes, 38 Damaskios, 71 Dareios, 15 Demodocus, 154 Demosthenes, 17–18 Digenes Akrites, 22 Diktys of Crete, 24, 26 Diogenes Laertius, 154 Dionysios Periegetes, 30, 32, 34 Dionysios Thrax, 14–15 Doxopatres, John, 151 Düring, I., 168, 179

224

index

Ebbesen, S., 118, 157–158, 160, 170, 180–182, 185–187 Echetos, 152–153 Eirene, 23, 25, 29 Epictetus, 69 Estienne, H., 12, 15–17 Euclid, 47–48, 58, 76–77 Euripides, 56 Eustathios of Thessalonike, 11, 14– 15, 17, 20, 22, 29–37, 150 Eustratios of Nicaea, 14, 20–21, 30, 37–40, 45–46, 48–54, 56– 57, 59, 61, 65–66, 71–73, 75–83, 85, 87–109, 111–114, 116–120, 122–129, 131–132, 134, 136–138, 140–143, 145–148, 151, 157, 169, 185 Farquharson, A., 177 Forster, E.S., 175 Fowler, H.N., 175 Frankopan, P., 155 Galen, 56, 190, 192–194, 200–201 Gauthier, R., 169 Gibbon, E., 18 Giocarinis, K., 71, 117 Greece, 3 Gregory of Nazianzos, 14, 17–18, 39, 81, 101 Grosseteste, Robert, 41, 66, 145–147, 155, 185 Hades, 54 Hagia Sophia, 49 Heliodoros of Proussa, 67 Herakles, 24, 33, 59 Hermogenes, 13, 16–17, 20, 40 Hesiod, 19–20, 29–31, 33, 159–160 Hesychios of Miletos, 18 Heylbut, G., 67 Homer, 7, 10–11, 15, 19–25, 27–28, 31–32, 35–36, 38, 59, 148, 150, 153, 157 Iamblichos, 195 Idomeneus, 24

Ierodiakonou, K., 104, 118–119, 124, 129 Ikonion, 171 Ioasaph, 67 Irwin, T., 168, 179 Isaac I Komnenos, 24–26, 29 Isaac, son of Abraham, 41 Jacob, 41 Jaeger, W., 174 James of Venice, 66 Jeffreys, E., 23 Jeffreys, M., 23 Jesus Christ, 33, 60, 135–139 Jesus, son of Nun, 41 Joannou, P., 108, 111–112, 116, 119– 120, 123, 126, 129 Job, 41 John Chrysostom, 56, 60 John Filagrios, 67 John Galenus, 20, 30, 33, 37 John I Doukas, 34 John II Komnenos, 22–23, 46, 170– 171 John Italos, 21, 25, 51–52, 54–56, 61, 65, 68, 75, 89, 113, 126–129, 141– 142 John of Damascus, 111–112, 128, 184 John Sikeliotes, 151 John Solomon, 55 John Taronites, 57–58 John VI Kantakouzenos, 67 Jones, A.H.M., 18 Julian, 7 Kadmos, 10 Kazhdan, A., 111, 129 Kerkyra, 14 Knossos, 24 Kointos, 26 Komnene, Anna, 11, 21, 23–25, 37, 40, 46–62, 64, 145, 149, 155, 157, 161, 169–171, 185 Komnenoi, 17 Konstan, D., 169 Kullmann, W., 168

index Lamia, 147, 152 Lattimore, R., 28 Le Blond, J.M., 168, 179 Leo Magentinos, 157–161 Leo of Chalcedon, 40, 50, 52, 54, 134–136 Leo the Philosopher, 10 Leros, 154 Leto, 153 Libanios, 18 Linear B, 10, 24 Lloyd, A.C., 65–66, 108, 111, 113, 116–118, 124, 135 Loeb Classical Library, 4 Lykophron, 20, 29–31 Magdalino, P., 54 Magnanimous Man, 58 Manasses, Constantine, 23, 61 Manuel I Komnenos, 23, 27, 46, 53, 57 Marcus Aurelius, 69 Maria Skleraina, 28 Mauropous, John, 60 Meleager, 157 Melitene, 171 Mercken, H.P.F., 65–66, 146–148, 150–151, 155, 157, 169, 186, 198– 199, 201 Metochites, Theodore, 68 Michael Choniates, 14, 22, 33 Michael of Ephesus, 20, 30, 37– 39, 47–50, 64–65, 71, 145–148, 151, 155, 157, 159–160, 163– 201 Michael, later Patriarch of Constantinople, 54 Momigliano, A., 43 Mommsen,T., 43 Moses, 41, 102 Muses, 7 Neilos of Calabria, 52, 54 Nero, 24 Nicholas of Methone, 25, 127 Nikander, 29 Nikephoros Blemmydes, 68

225

Nikephoros I, patriarch of Constantinople, 134, 142 Niketas Choniates, 47 Niketas of Herakleia, 13–14, 40, 51, 140–141 Niobe, 153 Nussbaum, M., 169, 177 Odysseus, 24, 59 Olympiodoros, 67 Olympos, 14 Oppian, 29 Oxford Classical Texts, 4 Pachymeres, George, 67 Palamedes, 10 Pardos, Gregory, 13, 15–17, 20, 40 Pargiter, E., 65 Parmenides, 191 Patriarch John IX Agapetos, 53 Patroklos, 24 Paul, 102 Pausanias, 11 Pegasos, 30 Peleus, 15 Perikles, 40 Pfeiffer, R., 1, 16 Pheidias, 132 Philoponos, John, 15, 152, 184–185 Phokas, John, 149 Photios, 11, 17 Pickard-Cambridge, W., 181 Pindar, 20, 30–31, 33 Plato, 18, 20–21, 47–48, 55, 57–60, 69, 76, 83, 90, 105, 112–113, 124, 175–176, 184, 199–201 Plethon, George Gemistos, 68–69 Plotinus, 33, 195, 197, 200–201 Plutarch, 60, 69 Polybios, 6 Polykleitos, 132 Pontus, 147 Porphyry, 118, 124, 179, 195 Praechter, K., 150, 170–171, 185, 200 Preus, A., 169, 177, 186–187, 201 Prisianus Lydus, 81

226 Prodromos, Theodore, 14, 21, 24, 46–48, 53, 61, 157 Proklos, 25–26, 31, 71–72, 76–80, 82–83, 85–88, 90–100, 103–105, 108–109, 113, 120–122, 127–128, 176, 179 Ps. Dionysios the Areopagite, 125 Psellos, Michael, 13, 17–18, 20–21, 25–26, 28, 58, 65, 68, 71, 81, 89, 113, 117, 126, 128–129, 142, 170, 200 Pseudo–Aristotle, 68–69, 186 Pseudo–Olympiodoros, 67 Ptolemy, 47–48, 58 Quintus of Smyrna, 26 Ross, W.D., 183–184 Satyros, 153 Saul, 15 Schissel, O., 156 Schleiermacher, F., 146–148, 150– 151, 169 Shepard, J., 60 Simplikios, 6 Smyth, H.W., 148 Socrates, 33, 191 Solon, 41 Sorabji, R., 65, 155 Spivey, N., 8 Steel, C., 71, 176 Stephanos Skylitzes, 30, 155–158, 160 Stephanos, Metropolitan of Trebizond, 48 Stephen of Byzantion, 13 Symeon the New Theologian, 142 Synesios of Cyrene, 15 Syrianus, 77

index Teubner, 4 Themistios, 5 Theodore of Smyrna, 54 Theodore of Stoudios, 102, 134, 142 Thucydides, 7, 148 Tigranes, 125 Titans, 33 Todd, R., 152 Tornikios, George, 25, 37, 47–48, 50, 56–58, 62 Trebizond, 157 Triballoi, 159–160 Triklinios, Demetrios, 19 Trizio, M., 65 Trojan War, 7, 24, 26 Troy, 24 Tryphon, 15 Tzetzes, John, 10–11, 14, 16, 20, 23– 24, 26–32, 38, 53 Tzetziros, 117 Urmson,J.O., 183–184 Venice, 65 Virgin Mary, 115–116, 124, 139 Walz, C., 13, 16 Wilson, N.G., 2 Wolska-Conus, W., 157, 160 Xenophon, 148 Xerxes, 154 Xiphilinos, John, 60 Zervos, C., 71, 200 Zeus, 7, 15, 27, 33, 39 Zonaras, John, 11, 47

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81. Gelber, H.G. It Could Have Been Otherwise. Contingency and Necessity in Dominican Theology at Oxford, 1300-1350. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13907 9 82. Bos, E.P. Logica modernorum in Prague about 1400. The Sophistria disputation ‘Quoniam quatuor’ (MS Cracow, Jagiellonian Library 686, ff. 1ra-79rb), With a Partial Reconstruction of Thomas of Cleve’s Logica. Edition with an Introduction and Appendices. 2004. ISBN 90 04 14009 3 83. Gottschall, D. Konrad von Megenbergs Buch von den natürlichen Dingen. Ein Dokument deutschsprachiger Albertus Magnus-Rezeption im 14. Jahrhundert. 2004. ISBN 90 04 14015 8 84. Perler, D. and Rudolph, U. (Eds.). Logik und Theologie. Das Organon im arabischen und im lateinischen Mittelalter. 2005. ISBN 90 04 11118 2 85. Bezner, F. Vela Veritatis. Hermeneutik, Wissen und Sprache in der Intellectual History des 12. Jahrhunderts. 2005. ISBN 90 04 14424 2 86. De Rijk, L.M. Giraldus Odonis O.F.M.: Opera Philosophica. Vol. II: De Intentionibus. Critical edition with a study on the medieval intentionality debate up to ca. 1350. 2005. ISBN 90 04 11117 4 87. Nissing, H.-G. Sprache als Akt bei Thomas von Aquin. 2006. ISBN 90 04 14645 8 88. Guerizoli, R. Die Verinnerlichung des Göttlichen. Eine Studie über den Gottesgeburtszyklus und die Armutspredigt Meister Eckharts. 2006. ISBN-13: 978-90-04-15000-3, ISBN-10: 90-04-15000-5 89. Germann, N. De temporum ratione. Quadrivium und Gotteserkenntnis am Beispiel Abbos von Fleury und Hermanns von Reichenau. 2006. ISBN-13: 978-90-04-15395-0, ISBN-10: 90-04-15395-0 90. Boschung, P. From a Topical Point of View. Dialectic in Anselm of Canterbury’s De Grammatico. 2006. ISBN-13: 978-90-04-15431-5, ISBN-10: 90-04-15431-0 91. Pickavé, M. Heinrich von Gent über Metaphysik als erste Wissenschaft. Studien zu einem Metaphysikentwurf aus dem letzten Viertel des 13. Jahrhunderts. 2006. ISBN-13: 978-90-04-15574-9, ISBN-10: 90-04-15574-0 92. Thom, P. Logic and Ontology in the Syllogistic of Robert Kilwardby. 2007. ISBN 978 90 04 15795 8. 93. Goris, W. Absolute Beginners. Der mittelalterliche Beitrag zu einem Ausgang vom Unbedingten. 2007. ISBN 978 90 04 16215 0 94. Köhler, T.W. Homo animal nobilissimum. Konturen des spezifisch Menschlichen in der naturphilosophischen Aristoteleskommentierung des dreizehnten Jahrhunderts. Teilband 1. 2007. ISBN 978 90 04 16289 1 95. Bonner, A. Art and Logic of Ramon Llull. A User’s Guide. 2007. ISBN 978 90 04 16325 6 96. Folger-Fonfara, S. Das ‘Super’-Transzendentale und die Spaltung der Metaphysik. Der Entwurf des Franziskus von Marchia. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 16384 3 97. Roling, B. Locutio angelica. Die Diskussion der Engelsprache als Antizipation einer Sprechakttheorie in Mittelalter und Früher Neuzeit. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 16553 3 98. Kirchhoff, R. Die Syncategoremata des Wilhelm von Sherwood. Kommentierung und historische Einordnung. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 16633 2 99. Courtenay, W.J. Ockham and Ockhamism. Studies in the Dissemination and Impact of His Thought. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 16830 5 100. Gaus, C. etiam realis scientia. Petrus Aureolis konzeptualistische Transzendentalienlehre vor dem Hintergrund seiner Kritik am Formalitätenrealismus. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 16972 2 101. Barber, C. and D. Jenkins (Eds.). Medieval Greek Commentaries on the Nicomachean Ethics. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17393 4 102. Brown, S.F., T. Dewender and T. Kobusch (Eds.). Philosophical Debates at Paris in the Early Fourteenth Century. 2009. ISBN 978 90 04 17566 2