Plutarch's Practical Ethics: The Social Dynamics of Philosophy

P LU TA RC H ’ S P R AC T I C A L E T H I C S

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Plutarch’s Practical Ethics The Social Dynamics of Philosophy

L I EV E VA N H O O F

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Great Clarendon Street, Oxford ox2 6dp Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide in Oxford New York Auckland Cape Town Dar es Salaam Hong Kong Karachi Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto With offices in Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries Published in the United States by Oxford University Press Inc., New York # Lieve Van Hoof 2010 The moral rights of the author have been asserted Database right Oxford University Press (maker) First published 2010 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this book in any other binding or cover and you must impose the same condition on any acquirer British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Data available Typeset by SPI Publisher Services, Pondicherry, India Printed in Great Britain on acid-free paper by MPG Books Group, Bodmin and King’s Lynn ISBN 978–0–19–958326–3 1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

In liefde opgedragen aan mijn ouders en aan Peter

Preface In the stressful world of the twenty-first century, many active people are in need of advice on how to reconcile the competing demands of ambition and happiness, work and family, friendship and competition. Mutatis mutandis, the same holds true for the Roman Empire, when, as has been emphasized in a number of studies over the last decade or so, the elite was engaged in a constant struggle for power and honour. This book studies a relatively neglected set of texts designed to help prominent Greeks and Romans navigate the turbulent waters of imperial society: the practical ethics of Plutarch of Chaeronea. In its current form, the book is largely the result of two years of intensive work whilst I was a lecturer in the department of Classics and Ancient History at the University of Exeter. I feel deep gratitude for the lucid advice and warm support of all my colleagues there, and especially Christopher Gill, who has read various drafts of the text, Stephen Mitchell, and John Wilkins. Without their stimulating criticism and suggestions, the book would not have been what it is today. The foundations of the second part of the book were laid during four years of doctoral study funded by the Research Council of the K.U. Leuven (Belgium). I am greatly indebted to my supervisors Luc Van der Stockt and Tim Whitmarsh for their encouragement and incisive comments, as well as to Philipp Stadter for enabling me to pursue part of my research at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill. Thanks also to Ewen Bowie, Tim Duff, Heinz-Gerd Ingenkamp, Rudi Laermans, Judith Mossman, Christopher Pelling, Toon Van Houdt, and Jelle Zeedijk, from whose ideas and comments I have benefited more than they can imagine. Finally, I also wish to acknowledge a more personal debt: to Father Henkes, Rita Suy, and Rita Van de Wiele, for the love of classics which they inspired in me; to Antonio Luis Cha´vez Reino, Gertrud and Hartmut Dietze-Mager, Hans Hauben, and Angelos Kritikos for showing how academic excellence, extreme generosity, and a great

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sense of humour can go hand in hand; and to Lieselotte Claessens, Rowan Fraser, and Matthias and Iris Reiss-Golumbeck, for being such great friends. My greatest debt, however, is to my parents and to my husband Peter, who give me what Victor Hugo termed the greatest happiness in life: the certainty of being loved. To them I dedicate this book with great love.

Acknowledgements Shorter, earlier versions of Chapter 6 have appeared in Nieto Iba´n˜ez and Lo´pez Lo´pez (edd.) (2008) and Ribeiro Ferreira, Van der Stockt, and do Ce´u Fialho (edd.) (2009). An earlier version of a number of passages from Chapter 8 is due to appear in Van der Stockt (ed.) (forthcoming). Chapter 7 also contains some material reworked from Van Hoof (2008). I sincerely thank Walter de Gruyter for their kind permission to reuse this material. In all cases, the version appearing here is to be preferred.

Contents Editions, Translations, and Abbreviations

xi

Introduction

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PART I. THE SOCIAL DYNAMICS OF PHILOSOPHY 1. Philosophy and Society

19

2. Strategies for Promoting Philosophy

41

3. Plutarch as a Philosopher in Society

66

PART I I . P LU TA RC H ’ S P R AC T I C A L E T H I C S 4. On Feeling Good

83

5. On Exile

116

6. On Talkativeness

151

7. On Curiosity

176

8. Precepts of Health Care

211

Conclusion

255

References

266

Index of Greek Words

303

General Index

305

Index Locorum

314

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Editions, Translations, and Abbreviations Throughout this book, all passages from Plutarch are quoted from the Teubner-editions listed in the bibliography, and translated by myself. For other authors, text and translation has been taken from the Loeb series unless indicated otherwise. In addition to the abbreviations of L’Anne´e philologique, the following ones will be used: DK KG LAW LIMC LSJ

OCD OED SIG SVF

H. Diels and W. Kranz (edd.) (1966–7), Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, 6th edn., Berlin. R. Ku¨hner and B. Gerth (1963), Ausfu¨hrliche Grammatik der griechischen Sprache, 3. Auflage, Munich. C. Andresen, L. Huber, and K. Bartels, K. (edd.) (1990 = 1965), Lexicon der alten Welt, Zurich. (1981–), Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classicae, Zurich. H. G. Liddell, R. Scott, and H. S. Jones (edd.) (1996), A Greek–English Lexicon, 9th edn., with a revised suppl., Oxford. S. Hornblower and A. Spawforth (edd.) (2003), The Oxford Classical Dictionary, 3rd edn., rev., Oxford. W. Trumble and L. Brown (edd.) (2002), Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, 5th edn., 2 vols., Oxford. W. Dittenberger (1915–1924), Sylloge Inscriptionum Graecarum, 3rd edn., 4 vols., Leipzig. H. Von Arnim (1924), Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta, Stuttgart.

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Introduction This study offers a new way of reading a group of writings by Plutarch of Chaeronea that deal with practical ethics. Central to the interpretation proposed here is what I am calling the social dynamics of philosophy, the dynamic interaction between these texts, which present themselves as philosophical, and the social context in which they functioned. The Greek polymath and philosopher Plutarch (c. ad 45–120)1 bequeathed an impressively large oeuvre, the surviving third of which fills no less than thirty-two Loeb volumes.2 About half of those volumes are taken up by forty-six biographies of famous Greek and Roman statesmen, largely paired—the Lives and Parallel Lives. The other half consists of a group of more than seventy works of multifarious contents.3 Although dealing with topics as diverse as philosophy, politics, rhetoric, literary criticism, symposia, and science, and exploiting, for those diverse purposes, the possibilities of various genres such as letters, speeches, dialogues, and essays, the latter group of writings has been homogeneously designated, since the Renaissance, as the Moralia. The choice of the name Moralia, literally 1

General studies on Plutarch include Ziegler (1951), Barrow (1967), Jones (1971), Russell (1973), Boulogne (1994), Sirinelli (2000), and Lamberton (2001). 2 The Catalogue of Lamprias, a list of Plutarch’s works probably composed by an anonymous librarian around the 3rd or 4th century, displays 227 items, whereas 83 works have come down to us, alongside identified fragments of at least 15 others. For the Catalogue of Lamprias, see Treu (1873), Ziegler (1908), 239–44, Ziegler (1927), 20–1, Ziegler (1951), 696–702, Irigoin (1986), Flacelie`re and Irigoin (1987), pp. ccxxviii–ccxxix and ccciii–cccx, Duff (1999), 1–2, and Swain (1999), 85. 3 On the chronology of Plutarch’s works, see Jones (1966), and, for the Parallel Lives, Delvaux (1995).

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Introduction

‘moral <works>’, is significant, stressing, as it does, the prominence of ethics in Plutarch’s non-biographical output.4 The main aim of many of the Moralia consists, indeed, in inciting their readers to reflect on virtue, happiness, and how to live—core elements of ancient ethics as well as of contemporary practical ethics.5 It is with these ethical works in the strict sense that this book is concerned. Generations of readers from antiquity up to the nineteenth century studied and appreciated these and other Plutarchean writings because of their educational value.6 Whilst this interpretation was still mirrored in Octave Gre´ard’s study of Plutarch’s ethics,7 the remainder of the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth represented the heyday of Quellenforschung, which quarried Plutarch’s works in order to reconstruct their sources. As the Moralia were thus reduced to nothing more than a compilation of one or more sources, they soon lost their attraction. The turning point came in 1951, when Konrad Ziegler not only offered a critical assessment of previous scholarship, but also proposed a reading of Plutarch’s works that allowed some more place for authorial creativity.8 In addition, he put forward a classification of Plutarch’s works. One of the categories he distinguished was that of popular-philosophical works of ethics, which were thus distinguished not only from Plutarch’s pedagogical and political writings, but also from his works on the psychology of animals and on literary criticism, from his theological, scientific, poetical, antiquarian, as well as from his rhetorical-epideictic writings, and especially—

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For the importance of morality in the Lives, see Frazier (1996), Pelling (1995), and Duff (1999). 5 See e.g. Annas (1993), 4, with further bibliography on virtue ethics in n. 3, and Gill (1995), 6–14, Gill (ed.) (2005), 1–12, and Gill (2006), 219–38. 6 Although outdated, Hirzel (1912) remains the best survey of Plutarch’s Nachleben from antiquity to the beginning of the 20th cent., but see also the essays in Gallo (ed.) (1998). 7 Gre´ard (1866). Although this study often contains remarkably accurate observations, it is now 150 years old, and largely limits itself to paraphrasing the most striking passages of individual works. 8 Ziegler (1951), esp. 911–28. For precursors of this idea, see Duff (1999), 8 n. 33. Note that Ziegler’s Realencyclopa¨die article was first published as a monograph in 1949.

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judging by Ziegler’s terminology—from the theoretical works of philosophy.9 All of this set in motion a new phase of Plutarch studies.10 The Lives proved most popular, especially in the English-speaking world, but the Moralia were not neglected either, especially in continental Europe.11 The group of writings that constitute the subject of this book have received a considerable amount of attention not only in more general treatments of Plutarch and his oeuvre,12 but also in more specialized studies. In 1971, Heinz-Gerd Ingenkamp published an influential study on the psychotherapeutic writings,13 analysing their literary structure as well as their therapeutic method and subject matter. About a decade later, Damianos Tsekourakis set out to examine the correspondence between Plutarch’s popular-philosophical writings and the genre of the diatribe, concluding that notwithstanding some similarities, they do not belong to that genre in any strict sense.14 The 1990s, in turn, saw the publication of a series of articles by Italo

9 Ziegler (1951) presents his categorization in cc. 636–7. The ‘popularphilosophisch-ethische Schriften’ are indeed introduced immediately after the ‘wissenschaftlich-philosophische Schriften’. For the continuing popularity of Ziegler’s categorization, see Gallo (1998), 3513. 10 Barthelmess (1986) and Harrison (1992) offer a state of the art of research on Plutarch’s Moralia. Moreover, the new series of Ploutarchos: Scholarly Journal of the International Plutarch Society contains an annotated ‘bibliography section’. 11 It is significant, in this respect, that whereas Jones (1971), in his study of Plutarch and Rome, dedicated four chapters to Plutarch’s Lives, one to his rhetorical, one to his political works, but none to his ethical works, the last two decades have seen the publication of a whole new edition, with introductions, Italian translations, and commentaries, of the Moralia, called Corpus Plutarchi Moralium, of which to date 44 volumes have appeared. On this series, see Gallo (1986) and Laurenti (1991). In Spain, translations of Plutarch’s Moralia are appearing in the Biblioteca Cla´sica Gredos series, and for the Low Countries, a translation of the Moralia has appeared at Chaironea Press. But see e.g. also Russell (1968) on the Moralia and Frazier (1996) on the Lives. 12 e.g. Jones (1971), Russell (1973), Boulogne (1994), and Sirinelli (2000). 13 Although this is probably the best translation of Ingenkamp’s label Seelenheilungsschriften, one should, of course, beware of the differences between ancient and modern conceptions of psychotherapy. Cf. Gill (1985). The term Seelenheilungsschriften was already used by Rabbow (1914), who focused on anger. For his 1971 book, Ingenkamp selected five writings in which Plutarch tries to heal his reader’s soul regarding a specific emotion: On the Control of Anger, On Talkativeness, On Curiosity, On Compliancy, and On Praising Oneself Inoffensively. 14 Tsekourakis (1983), esp. 99 and 107 regarding On Feeling Good.

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Gallo on the genres represented in the Moralia.15 Around the turn of the millennium, finally, Luc Van der Stockt published several articles on Plutarch’s method of work while writing especially the Moralia, arguing that the repetition of a cluster—defined as ‘a repeated and structured collection of heterogeneous materials’16—in different Plutarchean works can be interpreted as an indication that Plutarch is using his personal notebooks. Apart from these major studies and projects, scholars carried out lexicographical or thematical studies of Plutarch’s works. Studies have been produced, for example, on what words such as ÆÆ (‘enthusiasm’) or Oæª (‘anger’) mean in Plutarch;17 and conferences have been organized on themes such as religion,18 education,19 and philosophical affiliation.20 Focusing on the theoretical works, philosophers have recently shown, moreover, that Plutarch can be a first-class philosopher, able to defend his own, largely Platonic, position effectively against competing philosophers.21 If works of applied ethics are referred to in such philosophical studies, they are mostly used in order to back up findings from Plutarch’s more theoretical works. Yet

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e.g. Gallo (1996), (1998), and (2000). Another attempt to classify Plutarch’s Moralia was recently made by Flacelie`re and Irigoin (1987), pp. ccxvi–ccxxiii ‘du point de vue de la pre´sentation litte´raire des ouvrages’. 16 Van der Stockt (1999a), 580. For cluster-analysis, see esp. Van der Stockt (1999a) and (2004). 17 Enthusiasm: Vilchez (1996) and Van der Stockt (1999b); anger: Laurenti (1988) and Becchi (1990). 18 Cf. the proceedings of the congresses edited by Garcı´a Valde´s (1994), Gallo (1996), Montes Cala, Sa´nchez Ortiz de Landaluce, and Galle´ Cejudo (1999), and Pe´rez Jime´nez and Casadesu´s Bordoy (2001). 19 The theme of a recent congress of the Spanish Section of the International Plutarch Society, which took place in Barcelona in Nov. 2003 was ‘Plutarc a la seva e´poca: Paideia i societat’. The proceedings appeared in Jufresa et al. (edd.) (2005). 20 In 1987 and 1999, conferences were held on ‘Aspetti dello stoicismo e dell’epicureismo in Plutarco’ and ‘Plutarco, Plato´n y Aristo´teles’. Cf. Gallo (ed.) (1988) and Pe´rez-Jime´nez, Garcı´a Lo´pez, and Aguila´r (edd.) (1999). 21 Cf. Opsomer (2007a), 286, but see also the research done by scholars such as Algra, Becchi, Bonazzi, Dillon, Donini, Ferrari, Kechagia, and Roskam. The same evolution—moving away from Quellenforschung towards assessing Plutarch’s creative use of previous literature—is discernible in the study of literary quotations in Plutarch: whereas these were first largely compilations of the material of another author in Plutarch, scholars nowadays assess Plutarch’s creative deployment of the literary tradition and the relevance of previous authors for Plutarch’s own days. For excellent examples of such a new approach, see Bre´chet (2003) and Papadi (2005).

Introduction

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although it has been stressed repeatedly that they are nowhere in contradiction with the latter, Plutarch’s writings of practical ethics—if at all mentioned—are still often treated as second-rate philosophy. A recent collection of studies on Greek and Roman Philosophy 100 bc–200 ad offers a good illustration.22 In his introduction, Richard Sorabji asserts, very promisingly, that ‘Plutarch (although this may be a personal opinion) should be on the shelves of every household that has growing children, because he discusses so many issues that need discussion and do not get it. . . . if you want to know how to avoid being inquisitive, or over-accommodating out of false embarassment, or how to be succinct, you should read On inquisitiveness, On lack of face (Peri dusoˆpias), and On garrulousness.’23 Although this statement looks very positive, it is, for a start, formulated with extreme care (although this may be a personal opinion). More importantly, Sorabji’s initial estimate of the importance of Plutarch’s practical ethics is in no way reflected in the following studies: whereas the index locorum gives eighty-three hits for Plutarch, only five of those refer to writings on practical ethics. Of those five references, three are in Sorabji’s introduction, one in his contribution, and one in that of Opsomer. Although Jan Opsomer has studied Plutarch extensively from a philosophical standpoint, even he does not refer to How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend? for its own sake: ‘The same view and the same method underpin his practical moral advice in his less theoretical treatises. In De adulatore et amico, for instance. . . .’ 24 Remarks such as these are typical of the reception of Plutarch’s practical ethics.25 They should not, then, cause surprise, even after Sorabji’s promising introduction, which, after all,

22 But see also Dillon (1996), 184–230, explicitly focusing on ‘the serious philosophical treatises’ (p. 187), but adducing texts such as On the Control of Anger, On Feeling Good, and On Exile to back up his point (e.g. p. 189). 23 Sorabji (2007), 12–13. Later in the collection, Tarrant (2007), 449, ranks Plutarch’s Moralia amongst ‘the most challenging extant texts’ that can help to do away with Middle Platonism’s reputation for being dull. 24 Opsomer (2007b), 387. 25 Thus Babut, in his well-known study of Stoicism in Plutarch, after having scrutinized the polemical, technical works, adduces a number of ‘popular’ writings with the aim of ‘receuillir dans le reste de l’uvre les e´le´ments qui permettront de comple´ter cette enqueˆte’. Cf. Babut (1969), 116.

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recommends Plutarch to households with children—as if these writings were not first and foremost aimed at adults.26 One of the explanations behind such deprecatory readings may well be the very label with which Ziegler endowed these texts. ‘Popular-philosophical’ can indeed quite easily be misinterpreted not only in the sense of second-rank philosophy described earlier, but also in the sense of ‘originating in, or percolating to, the lower reaches of . . . society’,27 which is the sense that Teresa Morgan has recently given to what she calls ‘popular morality’ in Roman thought.28 Adapting Kenneth Dover’s approach to Greek popular morality, she studies ‘ethical ideas which were in wide circulation around the Empire and widely shared up and down the social spectrum’ as found in proverbs, fables, gnomai and exempla. Although, as we shall see, Plutarch’s writings on practical ethics are not wholly unrelated to these phenomena, they are set in a very different, thoroughly elite world and target a very select audience. As used by Ziegler, however, ‘popular-philosophical’ refers to a philosophical current in eighteenth-century German Enlightenment that sought to put into practice the ideal of emancipation by disseminating knowledge about science, ethics, and history. Popular philosophers sought to distance themselves from the ivory towers of academic philosophy by their philanthropic attempts to make men perfectly happy and tranquil in mind through education. Rather than commit themselves or others to one great philosophical system 26

Apart from On Listening and How the Young Man Should Study Poetry, which relate to adolescents, not children, Plutarch’s practical ethics clearly aim at Erwachsenenerziehung. Note, moreover, that How the Young Man Should Study Poetry is about, but not addressed to, an adolescent. As stated in n. 5 of the Conclusion, On the Education of Children is nowadays usually taken to be spurious. 27 In his Second Kingship Oration }} 5–6, Dio distinguishes the poetry of Homer, ‘worthy of the attention of a real man, particularly if he expects to rule over all the peoples of the earth’, from other poems, some of which ‘might be called popular (ÅØŒ ) also, in that they give advice and admonition to the masses and to private citizens’ (trans. Cohoon 1971). 28 Morgan (2007), 2. On pp. 290–4, Morgan offers an interpretation of Plutarch’s On Feeling Good from the point of view of popular morality as she understands the term, yet this again breaks up the text into small units rather than studying it in its own right. The same holds true for Sorabji (2000), 213 as well as for Trapp (2007). For similar caveats regarding the implications of the term Popularphilosophie as applied to popular philosophy in the second century ad, see Moreschini (1994), 5104.

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from which all truth could be deduced, these philosophers believed in independent personal judgement, in common sense, and in the method of induction from practical experience.29 Plutarch’s writings on practical ethics have much in common with eighteenth-century popular philosophy, as we shall see. By applying this label to them, however, Ziegler (unwittingly?) also made them share in the negative connotation of popular philosophy. Indeed, Kant (1724–1804) already uses the term popular philosophy pejoratively because it lacks philosophical foundation in rational principles. Many scholars after him shared this opinion, and this prejudice caused them to neglect ancient writings dedicated to practical ethics rather than theoretical philosophy.30 Recent years have seen a paradigm shift, however, and practical or applied ethics is thoroughly back in vogue: debates about abortion, euthanasia, and the use of stem cells have put medical and bioethics at the top of many governments’ agendas; the large-scale bankruptcies in 2008–9 have raised serious questions across the whole range of business ethics; a major outcome of the 2004 UN convention on climate change was the Buenos Aires Declaration on the Ethical Implications of Climate Change. Concomitantly, virtue ethics is considered to provide answers to these challenges as valid as deontological or utilitarian moral theories, and any high-street bookshop offers the interested reader several shelves, if not an entire section, dedicated to books on ‘how to live’.31 Not only the works of Plutarch that Ziegler classified as popular-philosophical works of ethics, but also the writings he labelled pedagogical and political would fit perfectly in this section of the bookshop. It is these writings, which I shall henceforward call Plutarch’s practical ethics, that form the subject of this book.32

29 A good survey of Popularphilosophie as a historical phenomenon can be found in Holzhey (1989) and Altmayer (1992), 3–15. Ziegler’s use of the term in relation to Plutarch was recently also discussed by Van der Stockt in an as yet unpublished conference paper. 30 Cf. Hadot (1995), 61–8 and Sellars (2007), 140. 31 For the renewed interest in ethics as practised in antiquity, see the contributions of scholars such as Annas, Hadot, Long, Nussbaum, Sellars, or Sorabji. For the differences between ancient and modern practices, see Williams (1993). 32 A list of all the writings involved can be found in the Conclusion.

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More specifically, I want to study this group of writings not through the lens of academic (or even Academic) philosophy, nor in order to answer extra-textual questions, but for their own sake and in their own right, as literary compositions in dynamic interaction with their socio-historical context.33 What is the aim of these writings? How does this aim relate to the socio-historical context in which they function? In line with this, it is also important to see how these writings situate their intended readers within that framework, and to what extent they want to change their readers’ positions. Another question I shall ask is that of which techniques and strategies Plutarch deploys in order to attain his goal. Or again, what kind of relationship is being evoked between philosophy and society? How do these texts present their own engagement with that sociohistorical context? Attention will also be given, finally, to the selfimage Plutarch projects in these writings. How does he negotiate the relationship between himself as an author and his readers? What is his agenda, and from where does he think he derives the authority to realize it? In order to answer these questions, I adopt an approach that combines the in-depth analysis of texts, which reveals their internal structure, connotations, and rhetorical devices—familiar from traditional philology and nowadays often referred to as close reading34— with perspectives opened up by more recent theoretical models for reading texts. Based on earlier (r)evolutions in linguistics, anthropology, sociology, and philosophy, approaches to texts such as new historicism and new cultural history have emphasized that texts are not secondary to any pre-given reality, but are thoroughly embedded within society: more specifically, they are not simply reflections of a 33 For the desirability of such a study in general, see Shipley (2000), 236; of Plutarch’s works, see Donini (2000), 135 and Whitmarsh (2004b). Studies such as Swain (1996) or Harris (2001), e.g., examine some of Plutarch’s writings from the perspective of the question ‘how the leading Greek intellectuals of the Second Sophistic viewed Rome and Roman power in Greece and the Greek world’ (Swain 1996, 1) or of ancient opinions on anger, and not in their entirety or in their own right. 34 I here understand ‘close reading’ as ‘a careful focus upon the texture of literary texts, sited in their historical and cultural context’, as defined by Whitmarsh (2004a), 7 and practised throughout his book, and not in the more specialized, technical sense of the method of reading proposed in the 1920s by the New Critics.

Introduction

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historical situation, but powerful means for constructing reality.35 This book, then, does not treat Plutarch’s practical ethics as static, moralizing works that are in danger of offering merely a sub-intellectual, diluted kind of philosophy; it is not a lexicographical or thematic study; nor does it analyse systematically the compositional techniques or train of thought of the texts in question. Likewise, it is less about philosophical arguments than about rhetorical strategies: the precise philosophical content of these works is of less interest to me than their aims, strategies, and effects, and if philosophical arguments are discussed, the focus is on the strategic use to which Plutarch puts them within the discursive context of each text rather than on their origin and the implications that may have for determining Plutarch’s philosophical allegiance.36 This book interprets Plutarch’s writings on practical ethics as dynamic forces in social practice and their author as an active player in society: the diachronic perspective is, in other words, secondary to the contemporary social context in which these texts were designed to function.37 Over the last fifteen years, classical scholars, especially those writing in English, have adopted this approach successfully in their

35 Clear accounts of new historicism can be found in Veeser (ed.) (1989), Cox and Reynolds (edd.) (1993), Hawthorn (1996), passim, and Abrams (1999), s.v. As for new cultural history, the essays edited by Hunt (1989) as well as Burke’s 2004 book offer an excellent introduction, survey, and assessment. Whereas new historicism is more closely linked with literary study, new cultural history is more in vogue with historians. Dawson (1992), esp. 1–11, Schmitz (2007), 159–75, esp. 172–4, and Whitmarsh (2004a), 5–8 offer clear presentations of what these approaches can offer for the study of classical texts. For the advantage of using a particular hermeneutic lens or methodology, see Martindale (1993), 1–34, esp. 14. 36 Like Hadot (1995a), ‘I offer almost no discussion of the actual arguments that provided the substance of philosophical discourse for the ancient schools’ in order to avoid ‘entering into inevitable controversies regarding the interpretations of these arguments’. Cf. Gerson (2002). 37 Compare, recently, the essays in Stadter and Van der Stockt (edd.) (2002), and esp. Stadter (2002a), 1: ‘The overall objective is to establish the context of Plutarch’s work in the society and the historical circumstances for which it was written, to see Plutarch not writing in a vacuum, but for readers whose ambitions, virtues, and weaknesses he recognized and whom he wished to help achieve a more philosophically based life.’ Although I largely agree with this view—which is right in talking not about a philosophical life, but a ‘more philosophically based life’—I shall lay more stress on the fact that the writings on practical ethics present themselves as offering help for living one’s life within society.

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Introduction

readings of Greek literature, with a focus on post-classical texts. There have been innovative and stimulating analyses of authors such as Musonius, Dio Chrysostom, Favorinus, Epictetus, Lucian, Pausanias, and Philostratus—often referred to as authors of the ‘Second Sophistic’38—and of genres such as satire or the novel. These have shed new light on the various ways in which authors writing in Greek under the Roman Empire negotiated and debated Greek cultural identity and Roman power, and how they thus sought to position or promote themselves dynamically within society. Plutarch, as a Greek living in the Roman Empire, is a promising author for studying from this perspective. His Parallel Lives as well as some of the Moralia have repeatedly been studied from this point of view.39 In line with this, the moralism in Plutarch’s Lives has been substantially reappraised in recent years. Philip Stadter, Christopher Pelling, Timothy Duff, and others have studied the Lives intensively and shown how Plutarch carefully designed them with the aim of improving his reader’s character. The way in which he does so is not through direct instruction, but through descriptive or exploratory moralism:40 by yielding insight into his protagonists’ characters, Plutarch not only invites the reader to form his own judgements on these, but also elicits a desire to imitate them. Notwithstanding their ethical appeal to both Greek and Roman addressees, to name but one of their most obvious features, Plutarch’s practical ethics have not received the same attention. They have been mostly mined for philosophical content, whether Plutarch’s own or that of

38 For a survey of research into the Second Sophistic, see Kennedy and Barnard (1974), Gleason (1995), pp. xvii–xx, Schmitz (1997), 24 and n. 49, and Whitmarsh (2001b), 1–2 and 18–19 and (2005), 6–10. This book hopes to show that Schmitz (1997), 234 was right in suggesting that research on Bildung und Macht in nonepideictic literature, for example philosophical texts, would yield interesting results. 39 E.g. Pelling (1989), Swain (1996), Payen (1998), Duff (1999), 287–309, Preston (2001), Pelling (2002), Stadter (2002a), Whitmarsh (2002), and Vasunia (2003). 40 The opposition between protreptic or expository moralism on the one hand and descriptive or exploratory moralism is discussed below, pp. 64–5. In his review of Trapp (2007), Boys-Stones (2008) states that ‘the thought (that philosophy may be teaching through means other than direct, explicit injunction) opens up all sorts of possibilities for the exploration of texts that it is otherwise rather hard to take seriously as very much more than elegant reworkings of schools that have had their day’.

Introduction

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the earlier sources he transmits (or is imagined to transmit), and they have been mainly studied as self-contained literary exercises with no relationship to the world surrounding them. The approach adopted in this book seeks to fill up this gap in Plutarch studies: I shall interpret Plutarch’s writings on practical ethics as socially engaged speech acts which not only contribute to the ethical well-being of the Graeco-Roman elite, but which also establish and consolidate Plutarch’s own social identity as a philosopher-citizen.41 This interpretation will lead to a better understanding of the nature of these texts, which is related to their specific function and their dynamic engagement in the social context. In addition, it will reveal a new picture of their author as an adroit and self-conscious social player. Part I of this book offers a systematic exploration of the general characteristics of Plutarch’s writings on practical ethics. The first chapter demonstrates that—by contrast with what might be suggested by Ziegler’s label—the texts in question can by no means be termed popular on account of their target readership. Plutarch’s choice of topics in these writings is indeed tailored to the highly educated, powerful elite of the Roman Empire: his practical ethics deal with problems that arise because of society’s expectations of its elite and because of the elite’s ambitions within society. By contrast with other philosophers, Plutarch does not aim to resolve these problems by downplaying social pressure, rejecting ambitions, or defying expectations. Instead, he presents philosophy as a resource to meet these more effectively and thus to function better within society. Far from trying to ‘sell’ his readers a different, philosophical life, Plutarch offers them practical help to avoid, or deal with, the failures, rejections, and frustrations they will experience as a result of their position within society. These writings are not, then, about teaching the reader Platonic philosophy systematically, but about helping him to adopt a broadly philosophical attitude, that is, a more philosophical way of perceiving, evaluating, and acting in

41

As stated by Ma (2000), 71: ‘Speech-act theory focuses on the “performative” aspect of language, i.e. the faculty of language to do things in the world, rather than on statements and their truth-value.’ See also pp. 75–85. For a different application of speech-act theory to ancient Greek studies, cf. Le´toublon (1986). For speech-act theory in general, see Austin (1962) and Pratt (1977).

12

Introduction

society, in which self-love makes space for self-knowledge. Chapter 2 examines how Plutarch tries to bring about this change. In order to convince his reader, he makes explicit, philosophical statements about how the reader should or should not behave, but above all deploys a wide range of discursive strategies and rhetorical techniques. For instance, addressees, dedicatees, and characters are depicted in such a way as to guide the reader’s reactions to the text in a subtle way. Patterns of behaviour are meaningfully associated with certain groups of people in order to encourage imitation or dissociation in the reader. The strategic use of different grammatical persons (first, second, or third person singular or plural) guides the reader through loaded polarities, and the perception of one’s behaviour by others is constantly stressed. What all these textual devices share is that they play heavily on the reader’s sense of honour. Rather than trying to do away with the reader’s social sensibilities, then, Plutarch deploys them strategically in order to promote philosophy. Once the reader is convinced, Plutarch offers him an elaborate combination of different kinds of exercises that will help him to put Plutarch’s advice into practice. These exercises not only implement the PlatonicPeripatetic pattern of education in an original way, they also distinguish themselves from contemporary Stoic ethics and set Plutarch’s practical ethics apart from his other philosophical works. Thus, the second chapter does away with the idea that the practical ethical writings, as opposed to other Plutarchean writings, offer a simple and straightforward kind of moralism. The third chapter, finally, relates all these features to Plutarch by exploring his self-presentation and his agenda as a writer and philosopher. It shows how Plutarch uses the philosophical, historical, and literary tradition in order to confer authority on himself as a philosopher. More specifically, he presents himself in and through his practical ethics as the one and only philosopher his elite readers should need. In this way, he not only promotes philosophy at the expense of competing cultural agents such as orators or doctors, he also promotes himself as compared to other philosophers. This way of reading Plutarch’s practical ethics also nuances the author’s elitism: socially he is of course an elitist, but not in a selfevident or straightforward way. Rather, he opens up a debate about different kinds of intellectual and cultural authority, and offers a distinctive view of what elite culture should be like. This is a view that

Introduction

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promotes his own position in society, of course, and that therefore shows him to be a sophistic(ated) social player. Part II presents a reading of five case studies alongside the interpretative lines set out in Part I. Chapter 4 is devoted to On Feeling Good, which presents itself as a letter written by Plutarch, who characterizes himself as a philosopher, at the demand of a publicly active man. As I demonstrate, Plutarch and his addressee can both be read as dramatic characters designed to guide the reader’s responses. In contrast to what other philosophers suggest, Plutarch does not encourage Paccius to give up public activity if he is to achieve wellbeing, nor to devote himself to studying philosophical intricacies: the help he offers him in this practical ethical text will be enough. This advice was of course tailor-made for Plutarch’s target readers, who often placed a high value on involvement in society, yet it also had the advantage of reserving the role of philosopher exclusively for Plutarch himself. On Exile, which forms the subject of the next chapter, is, as it were, the counterpart of On Feeling Good: in a kind of open letter, Plutarch here teaches that exclusion from politics does not have to lead to unhappiness. It is noteworthy, in this respect, that Plutarch exploited the theme of exile not, as other authors did, to discuss philosophy, but to discuss politics: he explicitly refuses to see exile as a turning point at which to opt for a philosophical life. At first sight, this is an altruistic project offering comfort to a man attached to politics with its concomitant honour and fame. Yet careful examination shows that Plutarch may be promoting his own life as well: if he did not make the same political career as some of his readers, he uses On Exile to present that as a sign not of weakness but of strength. The next two chapters each deal with a text that can be called ‘psychotherapeutic’. Chapter 6 is concerned with On Talkativeness, a work discussing speech, a central issue in elite culture in Plutarch’s day. As opposed to earlier authors such as Theophrastus, Plutarch is not merely concerned with too much talking, but also with the inappropriate or untimely use of speech. By thus extending the subject matter, Plutarch explores the borders between ethics and etiquette. He also deploys a wide range of rhetorical strategies in order to discourage the reader from using speech straightforwardly as an instrument for acquiring honour: philosophy, which replaces self-love with self-knowledge and concern for

14

Introduction

others, is needed in order to manipulate one’s cultural capital successfully in ever-changing social circumstances. If his text thus offers practical help in the Bourdieuvian sense of the word, Plutarch also seizes the opportunity to defend his own practice as a prolific writer. Chapter 7, in turn, deals with On Curiosity, a text that is rich in metaphor and simile and full of incidental colour. In Plutarch’s analysis, malicious curiosity, that is, the desire to discover other people’s evils, goes hand in hand with envy and malice: in order to win what they perceive to be a zero-sum game for reputation, people try to discover and spread scandal about others. Starting from this premiss, Plutarch demonstrates that the reader’s tactics do not yield social esteem: curiosity often leads to danger, always to dishonour. By engaging in a subtle dialogue with various traditional readings of curiosity, Plutarch manages to guide the reader away from malicious curiosity, to promote himself and his own writings, and to avoid a possible rebound effect when criticizing others for criticizing others. Chapter 8, finally, discusses Precepts of Health Care, a text concerned with a topic that formed the object of a fierce debate between doctors, gymnastics teachers, and philosophers throughout antiquity, as is clear from Plato and Galen. In order to shore up his own authority in matters of regimen, Plutarch presents his text in the form of a Platonic dialogue, which not only opens up an explicit debate over different approaches to health care, but also subtly manipulates the reader’s reactions in Plutarch’s favour: by positioning the characters involved in the opening discussion differently in relation to medical professionalism on the one hand and social agreeability on the other, Plutarch strongly suggests that what his elite readers need is not the specialized advice of a doctor or athletic trainer, but the more general guidelines which he himself has to offer and which will help his readers to live both healthily and successfully. The five texts chosen as case studies differ quite extensively from each other. First, they belong to different genres: whereas On Feeling Good presents itself as a letter, On Exile can be labelled an open letter, while On Curiosity and On Talkativeness are ethical treatises and Precepts of Health Care is a dialogue. Next, the selected writings treat a wide range of topics. Feeling good and exile are traditional topics of philosophical writings. Curiosity and talkativeness, on the other hand, had been dealt with before in genres such as comedy and

Introduction

15

historiography, but merely touched upon in philosophical writings. Plutarch, however, dedicates to both an elaborate ethical treatise. Precepts of Health Care, finally, which deals with bodily matters, may seem even further removed from what philosophy usually occupies itself with. Concomitantly, the works discussed in this study belong to different categories of the Moralia as well as to different subgroups of the popular-philosophical works of ethics as described by Ziegler. On Curiosity and On Talkativeness, for example, are both psychotherapeutic writings. In Ziegler’s view, On Exile, as a political work, does not even belong to the category of practical ethics. This book will make clear, however, that Ziegler’s category of popularphilosophical works of ethics shares a number of important characteristics with the pedagogical and political writings, which means that it makes sense to study them together as constituting Plutarch’s practical ethics. Last but not least, the authorial presence manifests itself in different ways in the five writings selected. On Feeling Good introduces Plutarch as a character explicitly, On Exile implicitly. On Curiosity and On Talkativeness betray his presence in much more indirect ways. In Precepts of Health Care, finally, the characters in dialogue are, as it were, designed to draw attention to Plutarch’s absence. Together, then, these writings constitute a representative sample of Plutarch’s practical ethics. Studying them in the ways described above will thus allow more general conclusions to be drawn about how these texts are designed to function in their socio-historical context, how they engage their readers, and how they constitute dynamic parts of the social practice of their author.

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PART I The Social Dynamics of Philosophy

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1 Philosophy and Society Over the last three decades, classical scholarship has discovered ‘the reader’, implied, addressed, and—at least to an extent—real. In the footsteps of reader-response criticism and reception studies as well as Aristotle and Horace, classicists have highlighted the role of the reader in genres as diverse as the novel, rhetoric, and didactic poetry:1 literature implies reading, performance an audience, and teaching a pupil. Philosophical texts are of course no exception to this rule: they are mostly tailored to one or a few model readers, and it is not difficult to imagine that it makes a great difference whether this model reader is a professional philosopher or a philosophical layman, to name but one obvious contrast.2 The readers of philosophical texts have not generally received much attention, however. In the case of Plutarch’s practical ethics, this neglect is particularly unfortunate,3 as their cast of addressees and characters is not only conspicuously large,4 but by itself disproves the view that these writings are ‘popular’ in the sense of being

1 Novel: Winkler (1985) and Dowden (1994) on Apuleius, Slater (1990) on Petronius, Bowie (1994) and Stephens (1994) in general; rhetoric: Korenjak (2000); didactic poetry: Schiesaro, Mitsis, and Strauss Clay (edd.) (1994), Spencer and Theodorakopoulos (edd.) (2006). For a general survey of the impact of reader-response theory on classics, see Korenjak (2000), 9–10 and esp. Schmitz (2007), 86–97. For additional examples, see Arethusa 19 (1986). 2 Cf. Hadot (1995b), 64. 3 Compare also Plutarch’s own comments on the importance of the listener in On Listening 45E. Cf. also Gleason (1995), p. xxiii and Said (2005). 4 More than half of the 23 Plutarchean writings identified by Ziegler (1951), 894–5 as containing a dedication fall within the practical ethics. Fabrini (2000) offers some discussion of Plutarch’s dedications, but focuses on their epistolary connotations.

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directed at the masses:5 the Athenian archon Euphanes, the Roman consul Fundanus, and Philopappus, grandson of the last King of Commagene as well as archon in Athens and suffect consul in Rome,6 clearly show that these writings aim at the elite. Plutarch’s works of practical ethics, many of which Ziegler called popularphilosophical, cannot, then, be termed popular on account of the readers they target or the characters that appear in them,7 or at least no more than either the majority of Plutarch’s other works, which address the same social stratum or even the same individuals, or than (more or less) contemporary philosophical authors such as Seneca and Epictetus.8 Wealth is indeed taken for granted, not only in the incidental references to the possession of prize-horses,9 slaves, expensive tableware, or seal-rings, or the consumption of luxury and therefore costly food,10 but also as a presupposition for political and intellectual activities.11 Political activity is another marker of elite 5 Donini (2000), 135, e.g., states that he is in agreement with Gallo (1998), 3517 and 3532 ‘nel non voler considerare questi scritti come opere di “filosofia popolare”, secondo una formula abbastanza corrente: si tratta comunque di opere rivolte a un pubblico di e´lite . . . ; di “popolare” non c’e` in essi davvero molto’. 6 On Philopappus and his monument, see Kirchner (1941), Cle´ment and Hoffleit (1969), 94–5 n. b, Sullivan (1977), 796–7, Kleiner (1983), and Miles (2000), esp. 29–36. For Philopappus in Plutarch, see Puech (1992), 4870–3 and Whitmarsh (2006). 7 For the correlation between the characters appearing in Plutarch’s practical ethics and the author’s target readership with these texts, see Van Hoof (2005). For the elitist character of Plutarch’s addressees, dedicatees, narratees, narrators, and readers, see Jones (1971), 44, Gallo (1998), 3517, who stresses the point for the writings of practical ethics in n. 26, and Stadter (1999b), p. xiv, focusing on the Lives. 8 Seneca’s most frequent dedicatee, Lucilius, e.g., became a knight and procurator, whilst the career of Arrian, the only certain pupil of Epictetus, is not entirely different from that of, say, Philopappus. On Epictetus’ audience, see Souilhe´ (2002), pp. viii–ix. Trapp (2007), 87–8 explicitly suggests that Plutarch’s writings reflect a more cultured readership than Epictetus’. 9 e.g. How the Young Man Should Study Poetry 31D, On Listening 39B, How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend? 59F. On the aristocratic and sometimes imperial connotations of horses, see Arrian, On Hunting 24.2–3 and Hadrian’s poem to his horse Borysthenes (CIL 12.1122). Cf. also Hyland (1990), esp. 157–9, and 237. 10 Slaves: On the Control of Anger 459A; expensive tableware: On Listening 42D, That One Ought Not to Borrow 828A; seal-rings: On the Control of Anger 461E, On Love of Wealth 526E; exquisite dishes: Precepts of Health Care 124F. 11 Honoratiores as a ‘leisure class’: Veblen (1998 = 1899), Quaß (1993), 11–12, and Stephan (2002), 66–7. For the convergence of ‘wealth, birth, formal education, learnt skill, ability, achievement, style of life’ in the hands of the elite, see Hopkins (1965), 14, Bowersock (1969), 27, Panagopoulos (1977), 226, Brown (1992), 37, Schmitz

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status, certainly in the imperial period. In comparison to the average in Plutarch’s Moralia,12 a remarkably large proportion of the twentytwo characters named in his practical ethical writings held political office: Soclarus, C. Iulius Antiochus Philopappus, Cornelius Pulcher, C. Minicius Fundanus, Paccius, Avidius Nigrinus and T. Avidius Quietus, Iunius Arulenus Rusticus, C. Iulius Eurycles Herculanus, Euphanes, Menemachus, C. Iulius Pardalas, and Tyrrhenus all fulfilled various political functions on the local, provincial, or imperial level. Equally important as an elite characteristic of these men—and an important reason for their inclusion in Plutarch’s works—was their wide interest in, and acquaintance with, Greek culture or paideia.13 The most obvious proof for this is the participation of several characters mentioned in works of practical ethics in the variegated collection of conversations presented in Table Talk: Philopappus, for example, is not only the dedicatee of How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend?, but also a participant in various conversations ‘at which he talked and listened no less out of kindliness than out of eagerness to learn (a b º ªø a b IŒø Øa çغÆŁæø Æ På w j çغ Ł ØÆ)’, as one can read in Table Talk 1.10 (628B). People such as Philopappus, then, are interested in a wide range of topics, but also know how to converse in a gentlemanly way.14 All this presupposes, of course, a good education. Indeed, for a start, these texts evoke a literate world, teeming with inscriptions, letters, and books.15 Throughout Plutarch’s works of practical ethics (1997), 45, and Jones (2005). As pointed out by Hopkins (1965), esp. 32, on the other hand, social mobility often arose from status dissonance (as opposed to status congruence), so that cultural capital could make up for, say, lower birth or moderate wealth. 12 Of all the politically active contemporaries mentioned in Plutarch’s oeuvre, about half seems to appear in the works of practical ethics. For prosopographic surveys of Plutarch’s friends, see Chenevie`re (1886), Ziegler (1951), 665–96, Jones (1971), esp. 39–64, and Puech (1992). 13 For education as a social marker, see Kaster (1988), Gleason (1995), p. xxiv, Schmitz (1997), Morgan (1998), Goldhill (2001), 17, Whitmarsh (2001b), 96–108, and Jones (2005). 14 Cf. also Van der Stockt (2000), 93–8 on ethics and etiquette in Table Talk. 15 Inscriptions: On Curiosity 520D–E; letters: On Feeling Good 464E, On Curiosity 522D; books: On Exile 604D, How Could You Profit by Your Enemies? 86C–D. On ancient literacy, see Kaster (1988), Harris (1989), Beard, Bowman, and Corbier (edd.) (1991), Thomas (1992), and Bowman and Woolf (1994).

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as, for that matter, much of the rest of his oeuvre, there are, moreover, manifold quotations from classical and post-classical Greek literature.16 Plutarch thus expects his readers to be acquainted with a wide range of Greek literature, and especially with authors such as Homer, Pindar, Herodotus, Thucydides, Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Aristophanes, and Menander.17 Many of these would be studied with the ªæÆÆØK / grammaticus or secondary school teacher following basic study of reading and writing. Yet this is not enough in terms of education, according to Plutarch:18 one should blend poetry with philosophy, so that poetry becomes an introduction to philosophy, and philosophy yields a correct understanding of poetry.19 Thus, the cultural interest and educational background of Plutarch’s readers also includes philosophy, as is clear from his focus on philosophical lectures in On Listening 20 as well as from the brevity of certain allusions to philosophical debates, which clearly assumes the reader to be familiar with the basics of philosophy.21 Obvious though it may be, it is important to note that these readers are not themselves professional philosophers. As indicated above, they often pursued political or other careers: Plutarch wrote his works of practical philosophy for amateur philosophers possessing a basic knowledge yet unable to live up to philosophical stan16 Note that Plutarch does not often refer to contemporary poetry: cf. Bowie (2002), 44–6. Nor, for that matter, to Latin literature, esp. poetry: cf. Strobach (1997), 39–46. 17 Cf. Gallo (1998), 3532, Donini (2000), 135, and Trapp (2007), 87–8. Compare Stadter (1988), 292–3 on the readership of the Lives and Klotz (2007), 652 on that of the Table Talk. 18 On grammatici, see Kaster (1988). For philosophy as the last stage in education, cf. Trapp (2007), 18–19, with reference to Plutarch’s On Listening 37D–38A. 19 How the Young Man Should Study Poetry, esp. } 1. See also Saı¨d (2005). Compare Lucian’s invective Against the Ignorant Book-Collector, or Dio Chrysostom’s comments in his Fourth Kingship Gration that having read many books in itself does not make one a true ÆØ ı , let alone a good man (} 30). 20 The philosophical focus of On Listening is clearest at 37F, 41B, 42C, 42E, 43C, 43F, 44B, 44F, 46A–C and E–F, and 47A–C. See also Hillyard (1981) and Hahn (1989), 90. 21 In On the Control of Anger, e.g., Plutarch refers briefly to the causes of anger without discussing them at length on the theoretical level. On Plutarch’s readership, see also Stadter (1988), 293 and (2002a), 7, and Van Hoof (2005), esp. 146–7 and 150–1. On the basic philosophical education of the readership of Plutarch’s practical ethics in general, see also Donini (2000), 135.

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dards without external guidance.22 As a result, Plutarch’s practical ethics take pains to argue, over and over again, that the reader is in need of philosophy. As such, these writings are not only therapeutic, but also fulfil a protreptic function.23 To an Uneducated Ruler, arguing that rulers ought to acquire philosophical advice, may be the clearest example, but one may also refer to the first paragraph of Precepts of Marriage, which argues that philosophy will enhance the love between spouses, or to Plutarch’s statement in On Compliance that it is the philosopher (› çغç, 529B) who will cut away excessive shyness from one’s soul, to give but a few examples. This image of Plutarch’s readership is confirmed by his most explicit characterization of it: ‹Æ b ªaæ ØŒæºªÆ ŒÆd I º ıŁ æÆ æŒæÆÆ ºÆÆ’ıØ ƒ ººd æ  ıªŒØa ŒÆæ H ŒÆd Åæ Ø K Ø ı, Iªæı ÆØ ŒÆd æØæÆE K º ªå  a ÆŁæa ŒÆd o ıºÆ F Æ, PŒ ¼Ø KØ  Ø ÆØ c Æ’ŁøØ ¼æ  çغºªØ ŒÆd ºØØŒ, æe R K ÅŒ  E › ºª. Iºº  æÆ Øa çıºÆŒ  Kd Ø æØı æÆ K ªæÆ’ÆØ ŒÆd ÆŁÆØ ØŒæºªÆ, ç w Iç Ø E ŒÆd I º E F Æ IƪŒÆ’ÇÆØ. (Precepts of Health Care, 137C) There is no reason to think that the stumbling blocks accompanying petty neglect and lack of freedom that face the majority of men, who put their diseased or barely healed bodies to test in harvesting crops and toilsome vigilance through sleepless nights and constant activity, would affect men of letters and men in public life, for whom I wrote this text. They have to guard against another, more serious kind of neglect inherent in reading and

22 Against Hadot (1995b), 272 and Barnes (2002), who do away with the distinction between professional and amateur philosophers almost completely, one can set not only Plutarch’s own explicit distinction in On Brotherly Love 479E, but also the more general ancient contrast between the political and the philosophical life. See below, Ch. 5. Although, as Trapp (2007), 23–7 has recently suggested, one can recognize various degrees of professionalism within the group of philosophers, there always remains a fundamental gap between even the Halbphilosophen and people who were not and did not pretend to be at all philosophers themselves. For an account of what a philosopher was in Plutarch’s days, see Hahn (1989), esp. 9–17 and 202–8 and Hadot (1995a), esp. 46–87. 23 On the importance of protreptic as a first step towards philosophy, see Trapp (2007), 54–5.

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learning, which induces them to disregard and neglect their bodies. (Precepts of Health Care, 137C)24

As Plutarch indicates in this passage, his intended readership consists of men of letters (philologoi) and men in public life (politikoi). Explicit references to these two groups of target readers recur in other Plutarchean writings of practical ethics.25 If the latter characterization as politikoi is rather straightforward, referring to at least passive but probably also active participation in politics and public life, the former refers to a whole spectrum of interests: philologoi are people who love words, conversation, literature, learning, reason(ing), philosophical argument, and so on. Yet whilst philologoi may love philosophical conversations, they are explicitly not professional philosophers: the word philologos, which in itself never came to denote a specific profession, was coined in the third century bc in opposition to the professional philosophos.26 Plutarch’s description of his intended readership thus confirms our analysis that he is writing for the cultural and political elite rather than for professional philosophers. Yet the passage quoted not only tells us who Plutarch’s intended readers were, it also conveys an impression of how these readers shape the text.27 Indeed, Plutarch’s reference to his intended readership justifies his selection of material: Plutarch is not interested in giving a complete survey of the possible ways in which people can neglect their bodies, but chooses to focus on the problems the elite had to confront. The text is tailored to the intended readership, in 24

For a more detailed discussion of the readership of Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care, see Ch. 8. 25 Philologoi: How to Listen to Lectures 43D and 45A; politikoi: How Could You Profit by Your Enemies? 86C, On Feeling Good (passim), On Praising Oneself Inoffensively 539E, 539F, 541C, 542D, and 545E, On Exile (passim), Whether an Old Man Should Engage in Public Affairs (passim), Political Precepts (passim). 26 An excellent survey of the origins and uses of philologia is Dihle (1986), esp. 204–7, but see also Abbott (1941), Nuchelmans (1950), and Kuch (1965); a brief survey of its meanings in Plutarch can be found in Panagopoulos (1977), 227. In That One Ought Not to Borrow }} 6–7, e.g., Plutarch, when telling the poorest amongst his readers (but see below, n. 30) that it would be less shameful to choose a profession than to contract debts, mentions manual labour, teaching letters, or being a pedagogue, but not teaching philosophy. 27 Van der Stockt (1999a), 577 n. 10 points to the fact that ‘the æ  required Plutarch to develop ideas meeting the needs of his dedicatee’, and gives references for further reading on the question.

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other words, and material is selected in view of the problems these readers may face. The same goes for Plutarch’s other works of practical ethics, which select and treat topics with regard to the Graeco-Roman elite. A political text such as Political Precepts, for example, does not offer a general or theoretical discussion on the best constitution, but offers guidance to members of the upper strata on how to practise politics within their cities and the Roman Empire: the text adopts an elite perspective and reveals a clear awareness of the specific situation of Greek politics under Roman dominion.28 Also, when writing on flattery, Plutarch does not adopt the perspective of the flatterer, but that of the person who risks becoming the victim of flattery. He explicitly indicates, moreover, that his focus will be not on cheap flatterers such as self-serving table-attendants (50C), but on sophisticated flatterers to whom even educated people may succumb. His interest lies in flattery that is not directed at just anybody, but at ‘great houses and undertakings, or even kingdoms and leading positions’ (49C)—a reference to the elite in words that were to have special resonance for the text’s dedicatee Philopappus, who, as said before, was descended from a royal lineage and held command as an Athenian archon and Roman consul. This multifaceted identity of Philopappus’ offers yet another clear clue as to the specific socio-historical framing of Plutarch’s writing How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend?: Greek and Roman ideas about friendship did not always coincide, and the different expectations this entailed often underlay problematic relationships.29 Another clear example of Plutarch’s focus on the problems of the Graeco-Roman elite of his days can be found in That One Ought Not to Borrow, a topic one would perhaps not so readily associate with the elite. Yet if 28 Tension between the glorious past and the very different present in Political Precepts: Duff (1999), 291–8, Vasunia (2003), 379–81, Trapp (2004), 191–2, and Roskam (2005); role of the local elites in the Roman Empire: Bowersock (1969), 30–42, esp. 30–1 and 41–2, Jones (1971), 43, 111, and 119, Aalders (1982), 5–7, and 26–7, Quaß (1982), Carrie`re and Cuvigny (1984), 33–40, Alcock (1993), 18–19, Quaß (1993), Hope (2000), esp. 130–8, and Stephan (2002); political situation in the Greek world under Roman domination: Millar (1983), Gauthier (1985), Desideri (1986), Sartre (1991), and Millar (1993); Plutarch’s presentation of the elite of the cities of the Empire: Lo Cascio (2007). 29 See Whitmarsh (2006), esp. 106–11, also pointing out the importance of flattery in post-classical discussions of friendship on pp. 96–7.

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Plutarch argues against borrowing, he prefaces this advice by stating that he does not address himself to people in need, but to people who do have resources themselves but who borrow from others in order to live more leisurely and luxuriously.30 The fourth paragraph of the work suggests, moreover, that lenders often come from abroad, marching, as it were, against the Greek cities and enslaving them through interests and debts. That One Ought Not to Borrow, then, is not about a financial problem anybody might, at any time, find himself confronted with; it is about a specific problem that the Greek elite of the Roman Empire would often encounter as a result of their position in society, which made them look down on any kind of labour and therefore induced them to borrow in order to keep up their comfortable lifestyle. Plutarch’s approach in these writings is, in other words, specific rather than universal: the aim of these texts is not to communicate the eternal truths of philosophy to mankind, but to offer help to a particular group of human beings who find themselves in a specific social and historical situation:31 these are truly writings of practical or applied ethics. The problems dealt with in Plutarch’s practical ethics arise from the tension between elite individuals and the society they live in, linked to one another through ambitions—the term çغØÆ (‘ambition’) is indeed quite prominent in these texts32—yet opposed through frustrations deriving from the inability to live up to society’s 30 Throughout That One Ought Not to Borrow Plutarch indeed stresses that credit is given only to people with property (see e.g. 827F and 830D). Towards the end of the work, he gives different advice to those who have money (} 8) and to those who do not (}} 6–7). Yet even the latter group turns out to consist of people who do not have to work for their living, and who borrow for luxury (cf. c ºı º ØÆ, 830D,  æıç, 830E) rather than out of need. Moreover, as shown by Ingenkamp (forthcoming b), the text targets people who may not be very rich but who have enjoyed a good education. It will be clear, then, that even the ‘poorest’ of Plutarch’s readers found himself in a relatively privileged position. Cf. Russell (1973), 171. 31 On the situational and executive approach of ancient popular wisdom and its difference from contemporary ethics, see Morgan (2007), 179–82. 32 Of 154 occurences of the stem çغØ- in the Moralia, 74 are to be found in the works of practical ethics. The only works in the latter category in which the word does not occur are Precepts of Marriage, On Curiosity, Consolation to His Wife, That a Philosopher Should Converse Especially with Men in Power, and To an Uneducated Ruler. For Plutarch’s use of çغØÆ in the Moralia, see Panagopoulos (1977) and Roskam (2004).

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expectations and through fears of social control. People with possessions accept loans from foreigners because they feel obliged to keep up certain standards of living (That One Ought Not to Borrow), others become angry because they feel they have not received their due (On the Control of Anger, 460D), and still others do not get along with their brothers out of rivalry (On Brotherly Love, 486A–E). Again, when Plutarch, looking for causes why people compromise their health, refers to the ‘unavoidable social engagements’ (Precepts of Health Care 123E) that arise when top officials are paying one a visit, this shows a clear awareness of social pressure.33 Likewise, politics was problematic for many Greeks of Plutarch’s age not only because they were unable to live up to their past standards of political power, as Plutarch points out in a famous passage of Political Precepts (813E), but also because they felt frustrated in their contemporary political aspirations if confined to prestige and power in their own cities rather than at the level of the Empire, as Plutarch suggests in On Feeling Good (470C). And if Plutarch says, in Precepts of Health Care, that orators and sophists often ruin themselves by overusing their voice, he leaves no doubt as to the reasons for their reckless behaviour when stating that some do so ‘because of repute and ambition, others on account of financial rewards or political rivalries’ (ƒ b  e Å ŒÆd çغØÆ, ƒ b Øa ØŁf j ºØØŒa ±ººÆ, 131A). Education and culture, then, are not innocent ornaments of the elite; rather, they are being deployed as a kind of symbolic capital34 in order to make profit in terms of distinction and prestige—yet also with all the risks involved in investments. Across the whole range of topics discussed in Plutarch’s practical ethics, then, it is the ambitions and expectations of the elite that cause problems: at stake in Plutarch’s practical ethics is, in other words, the reader’s membership of the elite. 33 In the Life of Coriolanus, 4.5, Plutarch goes so far as to say that fame is the aim of vitue ( Æ B Iæ B  º). For a discussion of the role Plutarch accords to fame in the life of statesmen, see Ingenkamp (2004). See also Panagopoulos (1977), 207. 34 For an account of different kinds of capital and the ways in which they can be acquired and deployed, see esp. Bourdieu (1983). For a clear account of Bourdieu’s opinion on the topic, see Schmitz (1997), 26–31 and Bryson (1998), 16–18. On culture as a vehicle for gaining prestige, see esp. Zanker (1995), esp. 206, 214, and 251, Schmitz (1997), passim, and Whitmarsh (2001b).

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How, then, does a philosopher resolve the tensions created by social pressure? Generally,35 ancient philosophers often seem to strongly oppose accepted social values to the philosophical ones they have to offer, while privileging the latter. Ordinary people’s behaviour is perceived as influenced by their emotions, while philosophers follow the lead of reason; society is said to value opinion (Æ), while philosophy searches for truth; and whereas society is complex and changes continuously, philosophy aspires to the Eternal and Unchanging, to mention but a few well-known oppositions. In more technical terms, philosophy often teaches that the values of society are, ultimately, matters of indifference (Stoa) or based on empty belief (Epicureanism). Most clearly, the idea that philosophy holds a radically different position is embodied by the Cynics, who reject all social norms and values in order to live a philosophical life.36 Even under the Roman Empire, ‘to embrace philosophia—at least as philosophoi presented it—was to turn to a set of values distinct from those of habit, tradition and the everyday world’.37 Epictetus, as is well known, aimed to bring about a thorough change of values from non-philosophical to philosophical ones.38 Platonists 35 There is still room for further research here, as the relationship between philosophers and society is mostly examined in terms of political philosophy (cf. the essays in Clark and Rajak (edd.) (2002), and the works referred to in n. 46) or of philosophical education (cf. Hadot (1995a), or Hadot and Hadot (2004)). Hahn (1989) offers an account of how philosophers see themselves within society, but much less of how they see the relationship of the philosophy they offer to their audiences on the one hand and the society within which these audiences live on the other. Dillon (2002) focused on the social position of philosophers, Haake (2007) on epigraphic reference to philosophers, and Trapp (2007), esp. 216–25, on political participation by philosophers, although also pointing out the ‘uncertain and ambiguous status of philosophia with respect to everyday values and institutions, caught between the urge to constitute itself as a set of radical alternatives and the desire to claim a central position in the established system’ (p. 225). 36 For the cynics and their withdrawal from society, see Hahn (1989), 172–81, the essays in Bracht Branham and Goulet-Caze´ (edd.) (1996), and Moles (2000). For philosophers of other denominations flirting with contemplative life, see Griffin (1989), 20 (Epicureans and Stoics), Zanker (1995), 287 (Musonius), Whitmarsh (2001a), and (2001b), 133–80 (Musonius, Dio Chrysostom, Favorinus). 37 Trapp (2007), 233, but see also Nussbaum (1994), 356–7, Hadot (1995a), 346, and Trapp (2007), 31, 236, and 243. 38 Cf. Gill (1988), Kamtekar (1998), esp. 155, Wehner (2000), Bowie (2002), 47, Long (2002), esp. 231–58, Graver (2003), Hadot and Hadot (2004), and Scaltsas and Mason (edd.) (2007).

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such as Alcinous stressed that happiness was for Plato ‘not to be found in human goods, but in the divine and blessed ones’.39 And although going further than preceding Stoics in playing on his readers’ pre-philosophical sensitivities by suggesting, for example, that virtue will be followed by glory, even Seneca remained within the limits of Stoic orthodoxy: the glory he has in mind is not just a different label for an identical concept, it is a philosophical alternative for worldly fame.40 Plutarch’s writings of practical ethics, on the other hand, present a thoroughly different equilibrium between philosophy and society. The advice he gives his readers in matters of public speech is telling in this respect: IªÆ  Ø ªaæ ¼ Ø r ÆØ ºØæı Å ŒÆŒÆ ŒÆd ł ª Å KŁ ºÆ I å ŁÆØ f ººf ›æH, N b æºÆ’Ø Æ  ŒÆŒÆ ŒÆd fiH ŒÆŁ a ÆPB j º  Æ ¼ªØ æª Ø Øc ŒÆd e PŒØ E, PŒ Ø Pıåc oø Pb Nåıæa çØ w PŒ i ŒæÆ Ø 
Øe  E . . . E H æƪÆ’ø (sc. K ÆØ), ¼ æfi q çÆFºÆ º  E e ºØØŒ. (On Praising Oneself Inoffensively, 545E) One would be amazed to see how the multitude is willing to abstain from vice if vice is reviled and censured; if, on the contrary, vice acquires a good name, and if honour and fame are added to its pleasure and advantage, there is no nature fortunate or strong enough that does not succumb to it. Therefore the politician must oppose . . . the praise of acts if they are vicious. (On Praising Oneself Inoffensively, 545E)

As this passage shows, Plutarch starts from a realistic assessment of people’s pre-philosophical values and behaviour: he acknowledges that even ordinary people would turn away from vice if that was held in bad repute, whereas not even the best people would prefer virtue over vice if vice were held in better repute. In contrast to previous philosophers, however, Plutarch does not argue against these social values. Instead, he advises his readers to take this as their starting point for influencing their audiences if they are to talk about themselves and others. As we 39

Alcinous, The Handbook of Platonism 27.3, trans. Dillon (1993). Cf. Newman (1988), who offers an excellent analysis of Seneca’s thoughts on reputation. See also Habinek (2000), and Mattern-Parkes (2001). Sherman (2005) has shown, moreover, how Seneca does take manners and outward decency into account in his philosophical works. 40

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shall see in the next chapter, Plutarch himself adopts exactly the same technique throughout his practical ethics: he often appeals to his reader’s social sensibilities in order to convince him for his own sake. Rather than changing his readers’ motivations, Plutarch thus mobilizes his reader’s fears and desires in order to promote himself and his philosophy among his readers. This, of course, implies a radically different equilibrium between philosophy and society. Indeed, while both Plutarch and Seneca regularly evoke loaded polarities such as politics and philosophy, activity and leisure, city and countryside, care of the body and care of the soul, concern with others and concern with the self, or external and internal orientation, Plutarch’s preference, in contrast to Seneca’s,41 does not lie a priori with the traditional ‘philosophical pole’. Plutarch’s advice in fact varies depending on the context, perspective, or discourse. Thus On Exile may favour philosophy, On Feeling Good and Political Precepts argue for politics. Again, whereas On Exile glorifies leisure, Precepts of Health Care states that political inactivity would be too high a price to be paid for health. Regarding city and countryside, On Curiosity seems to discourage people from hanging around in the city, while On Exile suggests many cities where one can dwell after exile. On Curiosity conceives of the body as an impediment to the soul, whereas Precepts of Health Care stresses that one should not neglect one’s body. On Curiosity advises one to concern oneself less, On Talkativeness on the contrary advises one to concern oneself more with others, and so on. As opposed to what seems to be a traditional philosophical stance on the topic, then, Plutarch does not argue that social values are intrinsically bad or that they should be either completely done away with or radically transformed. As such, Plutarch’s practical ethics are rather conservative:42 he does not criticize society, let alone preach revolution. For indeed, 41

A clear example can be found in Epistle 90.19, 27–9 and 34. On Plutarch’s conservatism, much to the taste, in all probability, of his politically active readers with high stakes in political power and establishment, see Pavis d’Escurac (1981), esp. 290, Go´mez Espelosı´n (1990), and Trapp (2004), 199. It is often said that philosophers of the Early Empire in general did not favour sociopolitical revolution (cf. Shaw (1985), Veyne (1987), 45, Zanker (1995), 181, Habinek (2000), 288–9, and Trapp (2007), 217 and 233), but the senatorial opposition of the Early Empire, often associated with Stoicism, presents a very different picture. Cf. Griffin (1989), 21, Reydams-Schils (2005), 5–10, and Trapp (2007), 226–57. 42

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although the problems Plutarch deals with in these writings are, as we said, ones that individuals find themselves confronted with in so far as they are embedded in society, it is noteworthy that Plutarch, like other ancient philosophers but unlike much contemporary applied ethics, seeks the solution only at the level of the individual: according to him, it is up to you whether the death of a child is something bad; you are the one who allows flatterers to approach you; you determine how much money you need and how you spend it. You are, in other words, the biggest threat to your own well-being in society.43 The responsibility for (not) living well within society is thus ascribed to individuals, not to society, and Plutarch’s philosophical therapy in these works is consequently centred on the individual, on the self, targeting individuals, not society. A clear sign of this is that whereas Plutarch, as we shall see in Chapter 2, deploys some quite technical terms referring to personal therapy, he does not develop any technical terminology to describe the social phenomena he describes, such as reference groups,44 conspicuous consumption, or cultural capital. Plutarch’s approach thus turns out to be personal rather than structural: he does not aim to subvert social mechanisms, but to bring about a change within individuals. In the remainder of this chapter, we shall see what this change does and does not entail for Plutarch, and what this implies for the kind of philosophy he offers his readers. A good starting point can be found in a passage from On Feeling Good that raises three important issues: u æ s e  ÅÆ fiH d ıØÆæ ç ÆØ ŒÆd P PÆ, oø f ı ƃ ØÆŁ  Ø ı ØFØ ÆÆE. P ªaæ  ıŁ ØÆ Ø E E º Ø e ¼æØ  f u Ø r , Iººa e çæ E –Æ e ÆPe  Ø E ŒÆd ¼æØ ŒÆd lØ. Øe c Ūc B PŁıÆ K ÆPE sÆ E KŒŒÆŁÆæø , ¥ Æ ŒÆd a KŒ ‰ NŒ EÆ ŒÆd çºØÆ c åƺ H åæø Ø ıç æÅÆØ. (On Feeling Good 466B–467A)

43 A clear indication can be found in the fact that even in How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend ?, which of all essays in the collection of practical ethics one might think to be most about others, self-love (çغÆıÆ, 48F, 49A, 65E, and 66E) plays a major role. 44 Cf. Merton (1957), 279–440. Other examples of ancient authors pointing out the importance of what modern sociologists call reference groups, are Galen, On Antidotes 14.24.14–18, Cassius Dio 71.35.2, or Lucian, Against the Ignorant BookCollector 22.

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For just as the shoe is turned around with the foot, and not the other way round, so people’s attitudes determine how their lives are. Indeed, it is not, as someone has said, habituation that makes the best life pleasant for those who have chosen it; rather, prudence makes the same life both best and most pleasant. Let us therefore cleanse the source of feeling good that lies within ourselves so that we turn to our advantage external circumstances by approaching them as being familiar and friendly. (On Feeling Good 466B–467A)

The first point to note in this passage is the recurrence of the word , life. From Pythagoras, to whom Plutarch here refers,45 onwards, ancient philosophers had discussed which life people ought to live.46 Plato distinguished between people living with the goal of gaining wisdom, honour, or wealth.47 Aristotle developed a more technical terminology and spoke of the pleasurable life, the political life, and the theoretical life.48 After him, the theme became the topic of a number of treatises On Lives (— æd ø), in which philosophers belonging to different schools set out their own views and terminol45 Plutarch himself ascribes the opinion to the Pythagoreans in On Exile 602B, as do Heraclides Ponticus, fr. 88 Wehrli, Diogenes Laertius 8.8, and Iamblichus, Life of Pythagoras 12.58–59. Cf. Helmbold (1939), 179 n. d. and Dumortier and Defradas (1975), 103 n. 3. Apelt (1926), pp. ix–xi and 40 n. 20, however, thinks Plutarch is here referring to Seneca, Hirzel (1879), 367, to Democritus. 46 The most comprehensive survey on the theme remains Joly (1956), but see also more recently Demont (1990), esp. 347–57 and 384–95, Trapp (1997), 133 with further primary and secondary reading, Scholz (1998), Duff (1999), 66, and Trapp (2007), 216–17. For Pythagoras’ opinions, see Joly (1956), 21–52. 47 Republic 581c–d. An excellent survey of Plato’s view on different kinds of lives as well as an account on the precise content of and relationship between theory and praxis, can be found in Huber (1985), 26–32. See further Jaeger (1948), 430–5, Snell (1951), 14–18, Joly (1956), 69–104, Festugie`re (1971), 126–32, Hentschke (1971), esp. 336, 344–5, 355–6, and 388, Gigon (1973), 84–7, 148–9, 152–3, 156–61, Eriksen (1976), 14–21, Demont (1990), 306–19, and 325–8, Hadot (1995a), 104–7, and Scholz (1998), 73–121. 48 A clear passage can be found in Nicomachean Ethics 1095b15–19. Ackrill (1974), Huber (1985), and Taylor (1995), 248–52 offer penetrating syntheses of Aristotle’s thoughts on the subject. Furthermore, see Jaeger (1948), 435–44, Snell (1951), 18–19, Grilli (1953), 125–33, Joly (1956), 105–27, Lobkowicz (1967), 4, Festugie`re (1971), 129 and 132–4, Hentschke (1971), esp. 330–45, Gigon (1973), 65–83 and 154–5, Kenny (1978), 192–5 and 203–10, Eriksen (1976), Demont (1990), 347–57, Hadot (1995a), 123–30, Scholz (1998), 123–81, and O’Connor (1999), 113–27. On the Magna Moralia and its relationship to Aristotelian and Peripatetic discussions on the subject, see Walzer (1929), esp. 189–93.

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ogy. Plutarch dealt with the topic in three works which are now lost, but references to it recur throughout his writings.49 In this particular passage, he refuses to oppose the good life to the pleasant life, as did other philosophers:50 instead of trying to convert his readers from the pleasant life they are leading towards a philosophical, supposedly good life, Plutarch’s philosophy helps them to enjoy the lives they are living. Indeed, whereas he refers to his dedicatees’ political activities in terms of a political life,51 he in no way presents his advice to them as bringing them nearer to a philosophical life. This is the advice he gives his readers throughout his practical ethics.52 In That a Philosopher Should Converse Especially with Men in Power, for example, he states explicitly that his philosophical discourse does not aim to make ‘a statue that is to stand unmoved once it is on its pedestal’ (776C–D). On the contrary, he suggests, philosophy aims to make people energetic (K æª ), active ( æƌ، ), and alive (łıåÆ): it helps them, in other words, to live their lives well in society. In the

49 The three Plutarchean works on the topic now lost are Lamprias Catalogue no. 105, On Lives (— æd ´ø), no. 159, On Lives against Epicurus (— æd ø æe ’¯ Œıæ), and no. 199, Which Life is Best ( ¼æØ ). Often, Plutarch is taken either for a representative of the mixed life (cf. Joly (1956), 175), or for a proponent of the political life. See e.g. Ziegler (1951), 820, Grilli (1953), 207, Aalders (1982), 7, Aalders and De Blois (1992), 3384, Caballero (1994), 548, Dillon (1996), 198, and Centrone (2000), 576–7. For Plutarch’s engagement with the theme in On the Sign of Socrates, see Georgiadou (1995). 50 This, at least, is how Plutarch presents it here. It should be noted, however, that several philosophers stressed that the life they proposed was a pleasant life. See e.g. Plato, Republic 583b–588a, Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1177a23–7, Diogenes Laertius 7.85–6 (Von Arnim 3.178), and Epicurus, Letter to Menoeceus 131. Joly (1956) moreover shows how all the philosophical schools ascribe the life they promote to the gods as well. 51 ´ ºØØŒ: Whether an Old Man Should Engage in Public Affairs 783C and 785E; Political Precepts 800E. 52 Cf. also Centrone (2000), 576. As such, Plutarch’s practical ethics does not fit the description of ancient philosophy as a ‘choix de vie’ or ‘mode de vie’ by Hadot (1995b) and (2002b). Even if Hadot understood his phrase ‘transformation du moi’ as something quite similar to a change in habitus, as argued by Sellars (2003), 111 n. 19, the choice of the term ‘choix de vie’ is unhappy, as it suggests a choice between (mutually exclusive) alternatives. This impression is strengthened by the fact that Hadot mostly refers to people who have in fact chosen the philosophical life, i.e. to philosophers. The only writing in which Plutarch refers to the philosophical life is On Exile ( çغç, 603E), but as we shall see in Ch. 5, even here Plutarch’s aim is not to turn his readers into philosophers.

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specific case of That a Philosopher Should Converse Especially with Men in Power, philosophy will help politicians to make correct judgements, take the right actions, and steer the right course.53 In How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend?, philosophy will allow one to be powerful and yet to distinguish between flatterers and friends. Philosophy is also needed for politically active men who want to enjoy euthymia (On Feeling Good). And thanks to philosophy, as opposed to, say, asceticism, one can both host symposia and stay in good health (Precepts of Health Care). Thus, rather than asking his readers to step out of their normal lives in order to dedicate themselves to philosophy, Plutarch presents philosophy as a tool that will improve the quality of their lives and further their social position: instead of opposing philosophy to society and thereby confronting the individual with the choice between two mutually exclusive alternatives, he presents philosophy in these writings as the bridge that can close the gap between individual and society.54 This approach was, of course, very congenial to Plutarch’s active and elite readers, but was it not also useful for Plutarch? Did Plutarch deliberately reserve the life of cultural capital par excellence, the philosophical life, for himself? An affirmative answer to this question may be no more than a partial explanation for his way of proceeding, but there may well be some truth in it: after all, scarcity determines at least partly the value of one’s capital.55 The second point regards the content of Plutarch’s advice: if Plutarch’s works of practical ethics do not try to convince their readers to abandon social values and adopt a philosophical life, what do they propose instead in order to resolve the reader’s problems? Plutarch’s 53 Trapp (2007), 223 refers to Plutarch as an example of a philosopher who is very positively disposed towards political activity. 54 Telling, in this respect, is the difference with the Stoics, for whom ‘the turn toward the self is a lifelong balancing act between two parallel sets of norms, philosophical and sociopolitical, that can create serious and far-reaching tensions’. Cf. Reydams-Schils (2005), 91. Whereas the Stoa presents philosophy as a different set of values that is to replace pre-philosophical values, Plutarch’s practical ethics present philosophy almost as a (necessary) means towards reaching one’s (prephilosophical) goals. 55 Cf. Bourdieu (1983), 187–8. The danger of trickling down, one could say, is lurking everywhere, and Plutarch, avant la lettre, may have had some awareness of that.

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version of the encounter between Alexander and Diogenes in the fifth paragraph of To an Uneducated Ruler captures this point well in suggesting that philosophy would have enabled Alexander to ‘become Diogenes in attitude and yet to remain Alexander in fortune’ (KB s çغçFÆ ŒÆd fiB ØÆŁ  Ø ªª ŁÆØ Øª Å ŒÆd fiB åfi Å   Ø `  º Ææ, 782B).56 Philosophy, then, would have left Alexander’s role and fortune untouched (cf.   Ø), but it would have changed (cf. ªª ŁÆØ) his attitude. Attitude (ØÆ’Ł Ø) is indeed a keyword in Plutarch’s practical ethics.57 Yet what is this proposed change of attitude about? In the passage quoted, which explicitly refers to a change in attitude, Plutarch suggests that the source of contentment within ourselves (K ÆPE . . . E) will help us to make better use of external circumstances (a KŒe): in order to deal well with pressure from outside, then, the reader has to change something within himself. The precise form of inner change needed will of course differ according to the particular problem discussed in each text, but the ultimate clue always lies with replacing self-love with self-knowledge. Self-love (çغÆıÆ) encourages people to show off by asking questions rather than profit from listening to a lecture; self-love induces people to believe that nothing and no one should be taken away from them and thereby makes them liable to excessive anger or grief; self-love puts the Greek politician at risk of incurring Roman anger by comparing himself to the great politicians of the classical past. In the same way, selflove makes us liable to flattery, induces us to praise ourselves in an offensive way, and engenders hate for our brothers. In fact, seventeen out of twenty occurences of çغÆı- in the Plutarchean text corpus occur in the writings on practical ethics, with only two occurences in the Lives and one in a text of theoretical philosophy.58 Self-knowledge 56 ’¯B tends to refer to a possibility in the past that was not exploited. See KG, 204–6. Cf. also the French translation of Cuvigny (1984), 44: ‘Eh bien, la philosophie lui euˆt permis de devenir moralement un Dioge`ne sans cesser de conserver sa condition d’alexandre’. 57 The word occurs in 466F, 468C, 474D, 474E, 475E, and 476A. 58 On Listening 40F, How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend? 48F, 49A, 65E, and 66E, On the Control of Anger 461A, On Feeling Good 468E and 471D, On Brotherly Love 491B and 492C, On Talkativeness 514A, On Praising Oneself Inoffensively 546B and 546E, and, if genuine, Consolation to Apollonius 111E. For the importance of çغÆıÆ in Plutarch’s psychotherapeutic writings, cf. Ingenkamp (1971), 131–44, in How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend?, Opsomer (1998), 150–5.

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(cf. ªHŁØ  Æı),59 on the other hand, is said to help one to distinguish flatterers from friends, but also to prevent one from reproaching others in a way that backfires on oneself, as well as from babbling in a way that leads to social exclusion. But the importance of self-knowledge in Plutarch’s practical ethics goes much further than these and other explicit references. In Precepts of Health Care, Plutarch strongly advises knowing one’s own body (136E–F); in On Compliance he condemns the practice of fooling oneself by eulogizing one’s vices (529E);60 and elsewhere he stresses the importance of knowing one’s place within one’s family (e.g. Precepts of Marriage), within society (e.g. That One Ought Not to Borrow 829F), within history (e.g. Political Precepts 813E), and within the cosmos (e.g. On Feeling Good 477C–D) if one wants to live well. At first sight, Plutarch’s focus on the inner self in general and the importance attached to self-knowledge in particular align his practical ethics with other philosophical texts of the Early Empire, described by Foucault in terms of ‘the care of the self’.61 Like the writings of other philosophers, Plutarch’s practical ethics indeed presuppose constant attention to one’s philosophical education, advise activities such as practical exercises, discussions, and reading, and draw parallels between the body and the soul.62 Yet although these writings are thus firmly rooted in the tradition of early imperial philosophy, to pin down Plutarch’s practical ethics as an ‘inward turn’ (‘conversion a` soi’) does

59

Explicit references to the ªHŁØ  Æı-principle can be found in How the Young Man Should Study Poetry 36A, How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend? 49B and 65F, How Could You Profit by Your Enemies? 89A, Consolation to Apollonius 116D, On Talkativeness 511B, and On Curiosity 517A. For more references, see Stadter (2000), 503–4, and n. 23. 60 Condemnations of eulogizing occur elsewhere as well. Cf. On the Control of Anger 462E–F. 61 Cf. Foucault (1984b), esp. 55–94. 62 Attention for philosophical education: On Feeling Good 464E, Precepts of Marriage 138C, On the Control of Anger 453D; discussions: How the Young Man Should Study Poetry 15B, How Could You Profit by Your Enemies? 86C, Precepts of Health Care 122B–C; reading: How Could You Profit by Your Enemies? 86D, On Exile 605F–606B, On Feeling Good 464E; medical analogy: On Compliance 535B, Whether an Old Man Should Engage in Public Affairs 788E. For more on practical and mental exercises, see Ch. 2; for more on the medical analogy, see Jaeger (1957), Pigeaud (1981), Gill (1985), 320–1, Nussbaum (1994), esp. 13–77, Hirsch-Luipold (2002), 228–34, Sellars (2003), esp. 41–2, 64–8, 84, and 102, Trapp (2007), 23, with further references in nn. 79-80, and Tsouna (2007), 60–8.

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not seem to do full justice to these writings. Indeed, as opposed to what is suggested throughout Foucault’s Le souci de soi, Plutarch’s practical ethics do not place philosophy above society. Foucault, although saying that the care of the self does not imply that one has to give up on all other activity, stresses that ‘the chief objective one should set for oneself is to be sought within oneself, in the relation of oneself to oneself’.63 Plutarch, as we have seen, far from advising his readers to give up their usual activities, takes their lives and usual activities into account, and presents philosophy as a way of fulfilling their social roles more successfully by teaching them how to function well within the specific social setting in which they find themselves. The final point I would like to make about the passage quoted above (pp. 31–2) regards the kind of philosophy being offered to the reader. Indeed, when stressing the necessity of philosophy in order to live a good and pleasant life, Plutarch chooses to use the word çæ E (prudence, rather than çÆ, wisdom), thus stressing the practical nature of his advice. The first sense in which the writings under discussion in this book are practical regards their aim: these writings aim to change people rather than to instruct them, as we shall see extensively in Chapter 2. But before we turn to studying that aspect of Plutarch’s practical ethics, I would like to draw attention to three further implications of their practical orientation. The first regards Plutarch’s selection of topics: his works of practical ethics do not discuss theoretical issues of technical philosophy64 such as the generation of the soul or the correct philosophical interpretation of the nature of moral virtue, but the realities of elite life within the Roman Empire, including problems concerning education, friendship, finance, politics, speech, health care, and marriage.65 While in some cases these were traditional philosophical issues such as anger, peace of mind, or friendship, many of the items discussed, such as curiosity, borrowing money, or how to listen to lectures, had not been dealt with (so 63 Foucault (1984b), 89 as translated by Hurley (1988), 64–5; but see also Foucault (1984b), 118–19 and 315 (‘un art de l’existence domine´ par le souci de soi’). On Foucault’s care of the self, see Gill (2006), 334–5. 64 ‘Technical’ is here being used to translate Ziegler’s category of ‘wissenschaftlichphilosophische Schriften’ (cf. Ziegler (1951), 636 and 744), not in its concrete sense of ‘referring to  åÅ’, as in Sellars (2003). 65 Cf. Trapp (2007), 53 and n. 110.

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elaborately) by philosophers before, or would have been associated with something else rather than with philosophy, as is the case with health care or public oratory. Secondly, these writings, when taken together, do not constitute a systematic, overall ethical theory. Comparison with other writings treating similar topics is illuminating. Seneca’s Letters to Lucilius, for example, are united by their dedication to the same dedicatee, and present him with a gradual sequence of ever more demanding philosophical advice.66 Or again, in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, one finds a systematic list of about a dozen moral virtues with their corresponding vices, defined as tendencies to excess and to deficiency. Individual emotions, virtues, and vices are thus presented as parts of a larger system in which they have their welldetermined place and from which their treatment is deduced. Plutarch, on the other hand, singles out specific emotions for an elaborate treatment and mentions others in passing when treating problems such as education or politics, but he does not accord any of them a specific place within a well-defined systematic moral theory. Indeed, although some of the topics discussed in Plutarch’s various writings of practical ethics are said to be related,67 they are not presented as parts of a master-plan that would deal systematically with all aspects of everyday life.68 Topics are, in other words, brought up not because they are parts of an ethical system, but because they can be problematical in the life of the elite. A third implication of the thorougly practical aim and nature of Plutarch’s practical ethics is that it entails a non-rigid philosophical approach.69 Like the rest of 66

Cf. Griffin (2007) and Morgan (2007), 289–90. Cf. below, p. 176–7 on the link between curiosity and talkativeness. The problems discussed are not linked to the life of an individual, and Plutarch did not write the Life of a contemporary person. Further differences with the Lives are discussed in Ch. 2. Also note that Plutarch did not build out with any of his dedicatees the long-term pedagogical relationship that turns Seneca’s Letters to Lucilius into a progressive philosophical programme. 69 As such, Plutarch’s writings of practical ethics are in line with a widespread tendency in the Early Empire of stressing one’s acquaintance with and interest in philosophy in general rather than making a point about philosophical adherence to one specific school. Cf. Zanker (1995), 240–1 and 260 with references to Foucault (1984b) and Hadot (2002a) in n. 57. It is interesting to note, however, that scholars tend to see Plutarch as an explicitly polemic philosopher. Cf. Trapp (2007), 14–15, who highlights Plutarch’s practice in the anti-Stoic and anti-Epicurean writings whilst neglecting that of the works of practical ethics. In reaction to such interpreta67 68

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Plutarch’s oeuvre, these writings betray a fundamental allegiance to Plato: the soul is conceived of as having both a rational and an irrational part, Plato is explicitly invoked remarkably often in order to confer authority, and traditionally Stoic and Cynic topics are endowed with a distinctively Platonic flavour, to name but a few striking instances.70 And yet Plato is not the end of the story in these writings. Alongside him, other philosophers are referred to in a positive sense, and arguments associated with different philosophical schools are welcomed as well. Thus in How Could You Profit by Your Enemies?, Plutarch refers to Diogenes, Crates, and Zeno as examples of dealing well with misfortune (87A). In On Brotherly Love, he lists himself as a philosopher alongside Epicurus and Apollonius the Peripatetic when giving examples of loving brothers (487D). And in On Exile, he even goes so far as to present his readers explicitly with philosophers of different schools to function as examples for readers with different philosophical convictions (605A–B). The philosophical tenor of the writings discussed, although largely Platonic, is, then, non-rigid. Philosophical controversies, which are the quintessence of Plutarchean works such as On Stoic Self-Contradictions or Against Colotes, constitute, in the works discussed in this study, at most thema, never rhe¯ma: they are never the main point Plutarch wishes to make, but occur at most in the margins.71 As stated in the Introduction, the fact that Plutarch’s works of practical ethics do not present a systematic and clearly defined tions, this book lays bare a very different aspect of Plutarch’s attitude towards other philosophical schools. 70 For Plutarch’s Platonism, see Jones (1980=1916), Do¨rrie (1969), Froidefond (1987), Dillon (1988), Babut (1991), Hershbell (1995), Dillon (1996), 184–230, Swain (1997), Gallo (1998), 3529, Opsomer (1998), the essays in Pe´rez-Jime´nez, Garcı´a Lo´pez, and AguilÆ’r (edd.) (1999), Ferrari (2004), Bonazzi (2005), 217–24, Gill (2006), 229–30, Karamanolis (2006), 85–126, and Opsomer (2007a). Even a writing like On the Control of Anger, in which Dillon (1996), 189, reads a rather Stoic attitude, is in fact thoroughly Platonic. Cf. Babut (1969), 94 and Laurenti (1988), 40–56. For the popularity of Plato in the Second Sophistic, see De Lacy (1974). 71 For the opposition of thema and rhe¯ma, that is, of information that is already known or unimportant, and new, important information, see Welte (1974), 141, Nickel (1979), 75–6, and Geerts et al. (1984), 911–17. The fact that philosophical allegiance is not rhe¯ma in these writings does, of course, not imply that these writings cannot be examined from this point of view; in fact, they often have been so, as the state of the art will have made clear. What I am stressing, though, is that this is not the only or even primary aim of these writings.

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philosophical theory has often encouraged scholars to dismiss them as unoriginal or to consider Plutarch a second-rate philosopher. Other works of his, such as On the Generation of the Soul in the Timaeus, Platonic Questions, On Isis and Osiris, and On Moral Virtue show that he could be as good and systematic a Platonist as any in the Early Empire. It is not, then, a lack of knowledge or ability that caused these writings to be less systematic or rigid. Quite the contrary, I would suggest: if one considers the intended readership and the practical aim Plutarch had in mind, the characteristics of these writings as analysed in this chapter are not vices but indispensable virtues. As we have seen, the writings under scrutiny were coined for men in public life and men of letters, not for professional philosophers or even men like Seneca’s dedicatee Lucilius, who had embarked upon a long-term and ever more demanding philosophical training course. Rather than trying to convert these men to the philosophical life or to a particular philosophical school, as philosophers before him had done, Plutarch adapts his writings to this particular audience: instead of opposing their values to the philosophical ones he has to offer and thereby risking the loss of sympathy, Plutarch’s aim in these writings is to show that philosophy can help them live their lives more successfully. In the next chapter, we shall see what arguments and strategies he uses to convince his readers.

2 Strategies for Promoting Philosophy In the previous chapter, we have seen that Plutarch presents his elite readership with a very practical, unsystematic, and non-rigorous kind of philosophy that aims to bring about an inner change that will help them to live their lives within Graeco-Roman imperial society more successfully. Yet how does one convince such highprofile readers to adopt a more philosophical attitude? How, in other words, does Plutarch aim to sell his philosophy to his readers? By way of introduction, let us have a look at a passage from On the Control of Anger: Kªg ªF, N b OæŁH, PŒ r Æ, ÆÅ b B NÆæ Æ Iæåc ØÅ  , u æ ƒ ¸ Œø  K E ¥ºøØ e  Ł Ø x  KØ, ŒÆ  ŁÆ c Oæªc K  æØ. ŒÆd æH  ,fi w çÅØ ‘ Œæ Å åƺ ø Å r ÆØ  K fi w F F IØÆ ÆfiH ª ÆØ e æø , oø ›æH  ’ OæªB KØÆ ı  ºØÆ ŒÆd  Æ ººÆ ZłØ åæÆ  ØÆ çøc x  NŒÆ F Łı I ÆÅ KÆıfiH, ı ıå æÆø N ç æe oø ŒÆd ÆæÆŒ ŒØÅŒg ›æHÆ  E çºØ ŒÆd fiB ªıÆØŒd ŒÆd E ŁıªÆæØ, P  N E ¼ªæØ ŒÆd IıŁÅ Iººa ŒÆd çøc I ÅB ŒÆd æÆå EÆ IçØ 
u æ  æØ H ıŁø K ªåÆ PŒ qŁ P æçc P ºªı å æØ P e ØŁÆe ŒÆd æÅb K ›غÆ fi ıÆ Ø  ’ OæªB ØÆçıº  Ø. (On the Control of Anger 455E–F) I don’t know whether I did right, but personally I started my healing process by observing anger in others, as the Spartans observe in the Helots how terrible drunkenness is moticed that people get very upset try anger and change. First, then, Hippocrates says that the worst illness is that in which the face of the sick person becomes most unlike its usual self. Likewise, I noticed that people get very upset by anger and change their gaze, complexion, pace, and voice. I formed myself this picture of the emotion and was disgusted at the idea of ever appearing so terrible and deranged to my friends, my wife, or my

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daughters, not only savage and unusual to see but also producing a harsh and rough sound—as I met other friends of mine who, under the influence of anger, were unable to preserve their character, appearance, grace of speech, or even any credibility or pleasantness in conversation. (On the Control of Anger 455E–F)

As this passage shows, Plutarch’s works of practical ethics deploy highly complex strategies to involve the reader. For a start, the person speaking in this passage is Fundanus, a Roman politician who would later become consul. The person he is speaking to is his friend Sulla, a well-educated Carthaginian. Although it is, of course, Plutarch who is writing the text, he does not speak in his own voice. What, then, is the function of the characters of Fundanus and Sulla? A second point to note is that this passage offers no direct instruction: notwithstanding the fact that On the Control of Anger is clearly focused on inciting and helping the reader to control his anger and become more gentle, there are no imperatives or explicit encouragements in this passage. What kind of help, then, does Plutarch offer his readers in his practical ethics? Finally, what Fundanus presents is not a philosophical evaluation of the intrinsical badness of anger, but a description of the outward changes caused by the emotion and the impressions these make upon other people. What kind of arguments does Plutarch use, then, to convince his readers? It is these and similar questions that the next pages will try to answer. In each of his works of practical ethics, Plutarch presents either himself or someone else speaking to or with, and sometimes also about, one or more other people. Taken at face value, these texts would therefore be of interest first and foremost to the addressees, dedicatees, narrators, or narratees named in them. For, after all, what does a reader care about the fact that the person for whom Plutarch wrote his essay On Exile, is unhappy in exile, or that Philopappus has so much self-conceit that he cannot distinguish between friends and flatterers? Whilst it may often be true that the text offers help or pays homage1 to the people named in it, there is, I think, much more to

1 Russell (1973), 11 highlights the positive presentation Plutarch gives of the people he names in his texts. Note, moreover, that Plutarch himself (How could you Tell a Flatterer from a Friend? 66E–74E) was aware of the fact that blunt criticism is often taken ill. Cf. Ahl (1984), 174. Being so lavish with his praise of others, however, may also be a subtle yet clever way of showing that he himself has ‘an abundance and wealth of fame’, as suggested in On Listening 44C. Cf. also Korenjak (2000), 183.

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these characters, which I propose to read primarily as dramatic roles.2 This is not to say that these dramatic roles are necessarily fictitious (indeed, one would expect them to correspond plausibly to reality);3 rather, the concept of dramatic role serves to stress the fact that the primary role of these characters as they are being depicted in Plutarch’s texts is to steer the real readers’ responses. In the dialogue On the Control of Anger, for example, Sulla compliments Fundanus for his progress in controlling anger—thus suggesting to the reader that controlling one’s anger is something admirable in the eyes of the Graeco-Roman elite: if the reader imitates Fundanus, he will be praised by his peers. Fundanus in other words is presented as a role model for the reader. Asked to tell how he reached this result, Fundanus first illustrates how terrible and ridiculous anger is by giving various examples of angry people. Right after that comes the passage quoted at the beginning of this chapter, in which Fundanus recounts how he started his healing process with the observation of anger in others.4 In this passage, then, Fundanus suggests to the reader how he should read Plutarch’s text: if Fundanus started this apparently very successful healing process by observing anger in others, the reader will be strongly encouraged to make the examples of angry misbehaviour given in Plutarch’s text the starting point for his own cure.5 Fundanus thus not only serves as a role model for controlling one’s anger; 2 For a similar approach to Plato’s dialogues, see most recently the essays edited by Scott (2007); earlier steps in the same direction are Ferrari (1987), the essays in Klagge and Smith (edd.) (1992), Rutherford (1995), and Gill (1996). 3 Whereas a few characters, such as the anonymous caricatural ‘curious person’ evoked in On Curiosity, are clearly fictitious, most bear the names of real people, which suggests they should correspond plausibly to reality if Plutarch is not to lose his credibility as a writer. In the cases where these characters are known to us from other sources as well, Plutarch’s picture of them is indeed never at odds with the information found elsewhere. 4 Compare Plutarch’s remarks on using great military or philosophical figures of the past as a mirror in the prologue to his Lives of Aemilius and Timoleon 1.1 and How Could One Become Aware of One’s Progress in Virtue? 85B. On those passages and the metaphor of the mirror, see Duff (1999), 30–4, with further references. 5 The quoted passage thus forms the point of connection between the opening observations that show how terrible anger is, and the main part of the text, which shows how one can get rid of it. Taken on their own, paragraphs 1 and 6–16 would be a rather innocent personal story of no practical interest to other people; in paragraphs 2–5, however, Plutarch makes sure to involve his readers. Cf. also Van der Stockt (2003), 116.

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he also shows the reader how he can read and apply Plutarch’s text to himself. Often, the main speaker—generally, though not always, Plutarch—represents what could in general be called a philosophically enlightened world-view, whereas other characters are depicted as being less inspired by philosophy. As a result of this polarity, the reader (that is, the real reader, you and me) finds himself in a dynamic relationship with the different characters.6 As such, these characters not only invite the reader to examine them and their characteristics and differences, they also raise questions about the reader himself and his own identity and position in relation to the different options represented in the text. In the dialogue Precepts of Health Care, for example, Zeuxippus recounts to his friend Moschion the philosophical discussion he was having the day before with their companion when Glaucus, another one of their acquaintances, interrupted them by pointing out that philosophers should not discuss health care. Characterization in the opening scene of Precepts of Health Care clearly takes place in the context of the debate on the relationship between philosophy and medicine. By presenting these positions as embodied in real characters rather than as abstract possibilities, Plutarch not only encourages the reader to evaluate both these characters and himself but also guides him in his judgement, as we shall see in our case study. If speakers in dialogues are, in a way, obvious exempla, Plutarch presents his readers with role models in his letters and essays as well. Thus, as we shall see when discussing in detail the letter On Feeling Good, Paccius and Plutarch represent two thoroughly different attitudes concerning euthymia, inviting the reader to position himself in relation to these characters and thereby indirectly setting him on his own pathway to contentment. Again, in the letter Plutarch wrote as a Consolation to His Wife, Timoxena is being commended for her reaction after the death of their little daughter. Comparison is 6 Although few of them will have been as wealthy as Philopappus or as powerful as Fundanus, Plutarch’s readers would often bear certain resemblances to the characters depicted in his texts, e.g. regarding socio-economic position or cultural education. Elsewhere, I have conceptualized the readership of Plutarch’s On the Control of Anger in terms of ‘concentric circles of friends’, with, at its centre, the characters appearing in the writings. Cf. Van Hoof (2005), 152.

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drawn with the reactions of other people in similar circumstances, and this invites the reader to reflect upon these different reactions. Moreover, if the text commends Timoxena, this definitely constitutes praise of her, but it can also be read as an encouragement to other readers (and to her, for that matter!) to display the same kind of laudable behaviour in similar situations.7 Very similar is the role of the brothers Nigrinus and Quietus in the essay On Brotherly Love: oø c ŒÆd ÆPe E, t ˝ØªæE ŒÆd ˚ıB , e ªªæÆÆ F æd çغÆ ºçÆ IÆŁÅØ, ŒØe IØ sØ Hæ. Kç’ L ªaæ ææ ÆØ, ÆFÆ æ   XÅ Ææıæ EŁÆØ Aºº j Ææƌƺ EŁÆØ  
ŒÆd e åÆEæ H Kç’ x ŒÆæŁF Ø Ø fiB Œæ Ø c K Øc  ÆØ æÆ, u æ K åæÅE ŒÆd çغŒ ºØ Ł ÆÆE PÅ æø. (On Brotherly Love, 478B) In like manner I also dedicate this writing On Brotherly Love to you, Nigrinus and Quietus, a gift to the pair of you, as you deserve it. For by already doing what is advocated here, you will seem to exemplify it rather than to be encouraged by it. And your joy in what you do right will strengthen your perseverance as you will be judged successful as it were by a public of good and honourable men. (On Brotherly Love, 478B)

Nigrinus and Quietus, Plutarch says, deserve his dedication because (ª æ) they already put into practice the advice it contains. As a result, they will testify to the advice rather than be encouraged by it. Or at least, as Plutarch stipulates, that is how it will seem (cf.   ). The addition of the auxiliary verb is not without importance, for two reasons. On the one hand, the text thus indicates that even Nigrinus and Quietus will benefit from the advice they read in Plutarch’s essay: the joy of being perceived as an example will strengthen them in their good attitude in matters of brotherly love.8 As such, then, they only seem to have reached the ideal of brotherly love, as there is still room for improvement. On the other hand, Plutarch’s essay ensures that

7 For similar exhortations through ethical praise in Dio’s Kingship Orations, see Moles (1983) and (1990). 8 Pace Dumortier and Defradas (1975), 142 and Helmbold (1939), 247, I take fiB Œæ Ø not as an indirect object referring to the judgement of Nigrinus and Quietus, but as a dative of instrument or manner referring to the positive impression they will make on the ‘spectators’: Nigrinus and Quietus will be strengthened in their good behaviour (rather than their good judgement) through the judgement (fi B Œæ Ø) of good people.

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other people, and not just ordinary ones (cf. åæÅE ŒÆd çغŒ ºØ), observe (cf. Ł ÆÆE) them, and that Nigrinus and Quietus will seem to those others to be good brothers. If this will yield pleasure to Nigrinus and Quietus and help them to continue on their good path, their spectators will, conversely, be incited to imitate them, or at least to reflect on the issue of brotherly love and to interrogate themselves in this respect. As such, then, the strategies of Plutarch’s practical ethics bear striking resemblance to the challenging kind of moralism Plutarch presents his readers in the Lives. In both cases, Plutarch pictures for his reader one or more people who, through their dramatic characterization, vividly stimulate him to reflect on issues faced by these characters. In the dialogue On the Control of Anger, Sulla points towards exactly this mechanism for improving oneself: K d ı PŒ Ø ÆPe ÆfiH Øa åæı æ ºŁ E åøæd ª   ŒÆd ØÆÆÆ B ı å Æ c ÆYŁÅØ, Iººa F’ Ø e  ºØÆ ØF ŒÆ ÆF çÆıº æ ŒæØc j  æø
  æ i YÅ e f çºı KçæA Øa åæı ŒÆd Ææ å Ø ›ø KŒ Ø Æı, PŒ N ª æø ª ª Æåf ŒÆd e HÆ  ºØ j å Eæ åÅŒ , Iººa ŒÆd e æ  ŒÆd e qŁ K ØŒ E, Y Ø åæÅe › åæ æ Ł ØŒ  j H çƺø IçfiBæÅŒ . (On the Control of Anger, 453A) But since it is not possible for one to come back to oneself after a while away, interrupting the continuity of one’s self-perception, this is really what makes each person a worse judge of himself than others. The second best option would be to inspect one’s friends from time to time and to offer oneself to them to the same end, not to see whether one quickly grew old and whether one is in a better or worse bodily condition, but to examine both one’s behaviour and character to see whether time has added anything useful or taken away anything despicable. (On the Control of Anger, 453A)

As opposed to what a painter can do with his painting, Sulla says in this passage, a man cannot get away from himself in order to observe himself better. In the end, in other words, one’s own attitudes become self-evident, and one is no longer a good judge of oneself. The solution Sulla proposes is mutual observation between friends every now and then. If Sulla is presented in the text as having just observed Fundanus and his attitude in matters of anger, the reader, as we have seen, is offered the same opportunity through Plutarch’s

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text. In other texts, he will be able to observe other characters with different problems, and as a result, the reader will become a better judge of himself. The confrontation with others proposed in Plutarch’s practical ethics is provocative in more than one way. For a start, the reader faces characters not of one or more centuries earlier, but contemporaries. They are contemporaries, moreover, with whom he is likely to share many characteristics and experiences, and with whom he would therefore be in direct competition, for example in the field of politics.9 Next, the issues at stake are, as we have seen, not universal or ahistorical truths, nor dramatic battle scenes or heroic conquests, but the specific problems that the Graeco-Roman elite of the Roman Empire, including the reader, is likely to encounter in everyday life. Finally, Plutarch’s works of practical ethics are very direct in their transformational appeal to the reader: they are rich in rhetorical techniques and discursive strategies which are designed to involve as well as to transform him. In On Talkativeness, Plutarch himself explains his vision of how he plans to change his readers. After spending the first fifteen paragraphs illustrating the disastrous results of garrulousness, he spells out to his readers how they can rid themselves of it: ÆFÆ  P ŒÆŪæÆ ªÅ  Iºº NÆæ Æ B Iº åÆ· H ªaæ ÆŁH Œæ Ø ŒÆd IŒ Ø æتØ ŁÆ, æ æÆ ’  ŒæØ K. P d ªaæ KŁÇ ÆØ ç ª Ø ŒÆd I æ ŁÆØ B łıåB n c ıå æÆ Ø· ıå æÆ  b a ŁÅ, ‹Æ a º Æ ŒÆd a ÆNåÆ a I ’ ÆPH fiH ºªø fi ŒÆÆø . (On Talkativeness 510C–D) Do not think that this is an accusation of talkativeness: it is a cure for it. Indeed, we overcome our emotions through conviction and exercise, but conviction comes first. For nobody accustoms himself to shun and reject from his soul what he is not disgusted at, and we are disgusted at our emotions once we rationally apprehend the harm and shame deriving from them. (On Talkativeness 510C–D)

In this programmatic passage, Plutarch defends his dwelling on the disastrous consequences of garrulousness in the preceding paragraphs by explaining to his readers how they may be healed. The 9

Note, in this respect, that the subjects of the Lives, elevated above even the most powerful of Plutarch’s readers, would have posed a less direct threat.

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healing process, he says, consists of two steps, namely krisis (conviction) and aske¯sis (exercise). In the first step, readers are to become disgusted10 at the emotions they are subject to by understanding the harm and shame that result from them. Only when they perceive this with their minds, will they be ready to accustom themselves to eradicate the emotion in question from their souls.11 If, then, these are the two steps the reader has to go through, Plutarch designed his practical ethics in such a way as to effect the reader’s healing process. The division of therapy into krisis and aske¯sis has been studied most extensively for the psychotherapeutic writings by Heinz-Gerd Ingenkamp (1971). A similar pattern can, however, be found throughout Plutarch’s practical ethics. On Listening, for example, highlights the dangers inherent in the sense of hearing before teaching the reader to listen in a way that will benefit him. Whether an Old Man Should Engage in Public Affairs both argues that it would be shameful to abandon public life in old age and gives advice as to how an old man should behave in politics. Or again, On Having Many Friends spends as much effort condemning the hunt for too many friends as it does promoting true friendship with a few. In all of these texts, then, Plutarch denounces bad attitudes or behaviour and instructs his readers on how to do better. Nevertheless, krisis and aske¯sis are not present as distinct sections of these texts, and the balance between both varies considerably. The same goes for the rest of Plutarch’s practical ethics. Some of them mainly give advice and steer the reader’s attitude regarding phenomena such as friendship or politics; others first and foremost console and guide the reader’s attitude in difficult circumstances such as death or exile; others again primarily correct a bad attitude in matters such as anger or compliance, or combine any of these focuses in different degrees.12 In combination with the conventions of the different genres represented in Plutarch’s practical ethics—essays, letters, and dialogues, as we shall see in more detail in the next chapter—these differences as

10

For the possible Platonic connotations of the term ıå æÆ Ø, see Ingenkamp (1971), 88–90. 11 For Plutarch’s somewhat unusual, yet ‘coherent combination of the ideals of apatheia and metriopatheia’, see Gill (2006), 229–38, with further references. 12 For different ancient subdivisions of practical ethics, see Gill (2003a), 42–3.

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regards point of departure have a bearing on how Plutarch manages the process described in On Talkativeness. One can easily imagine, for example, that the letter Consolation to His Wife, purportedly written while away from home to support his wife after the death of their daughter, Political Precepts, composed as an essay for Menemachus at his own demand, the dialogue On the Control of Anger where Fundanus relates his healing of anger, and the essay On Having Many Friends, which nobody has apparently asked for but from which everybody may benefit according to Plutarch, all implement krisis in quite different ways. Or again, although all of Plutarch’s works on practical ethics aim to change the reader’s attitude, some, such as To an Uneducated Ruler, That One Ought Not to Borrow, or On Love of Wealth, will lay more stress on convincing the reader, while others, such as Political Precepts, On Compliance, and Precepts of Health Care, focus on practice. Yet in all of his writings on practical ethics, Plutarch adopts strategies and techniques designed to involve and convince the reader, as well as to help him do better. It is to these that we now turn. Before proposing any exercises, Plutarch apparently deems it necessary to convince his readers that they should change themselves. Understandably so, since Plutarch’s writings on practical ethics dramatically oppose a speaker, who is usually Plutarch, to one or more other characters: they almost never address themselves directly to the readers, for whom the show is being staged.13 As a result, Plutarch needs to involve those readers in some way or other. Moreover, as we have seen, those readers are at best philologoi, but not philosophoi. They are people, in other words, of whom, although they are probably familiar with some kind of philosophical education, it cannot be taken for granted that they always know what is wrong and what is right; if they did, they would probably be reading something else in the first place. Apart from being involved, these people will, then, probably need to be instructed and convinced in some way as well. All this is what Plutarch does in what he terms krisis. Yet which arguments does he adopt in order to do so? In the programmatic passage quoted from On Talkativeness, Plutarch states that people 13

A notable exeption is the startling use of the second person singular in the third paragraph of On Curiosity. See below, p. 196–7.

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will get disgusted and thus reach the point of krisis when they understand rationally the harm and shame resulting from their behaviour.14 As criteria for disapproval, harm (cf. º Æ) and shame (cf. ÆNåÆ) call to mind what Aristotle already suggested are negative criteria of choice and value, namely what is shameful (ÆNåæ), harmful (ºÆ æ), and painful (ºı Åæ). Likewise, their opposites—noble (ŒÆº), advantageous (ç æ), and pleasant ()—are the criteria for choice recognized by Aristotle and almost all philosophers after him.15 These same philosophical criteria in fact recur in an explicit form throughout Plutarch’s practical ethics.16 In line with this, the reference to reasonable (cf. fiH ºªø fi ) understanding of these consequences points in the direction of a thoroughly rational process. There is no need to go through the details of these philosophical arguments: a meticulous analysis of them, at least as they occur in the psychotherapeutic writings, can be found in Ingenkamp’s 1971 monograph. In a much later postscript to that book, Ingenkamp (2000) re-examined the denunciation of anger in Plutarch’s On the Control of Anger and Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations, and suggested that Plutarch’s psychotherapy is of a rhetorical rather than of a philosophical kind:17 far from being its core or even starting point, rational arguments are only one element in Plutarch’s therapy amongst others. It is these other strategies and techniques, not only in On the Control of Anger or the psychotherapeutic writings, but throughout Plutarch’s practical ethics, which the following pages set out.

14 Plutarch’s stress on the dangers of emotions for one’s physical and social wellbeing, and the fear and shame caused by this, are discussed more extensively by Ingenkamp (1971), esp. 74–90, and (2000), esp. 258–65. For honour and shame in Greek literature in general, see Cairns (1993). 15 Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1104b32. Cf. Ingenkamp (1971), 74–5, Kenny (1978), 207, and Morgan (2007), 191–200. Note that the same criteria are already mentioned by Plato, Republic 363e–364a. 16 e.g. How the Young Man Should Study Poetry 20B, How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend? 66A, How Could You Profit by Your Enemies? 88D, On Having Many Friends 94D, On Feeling Good 476F, On Compliance 533F and 536D, Consolation to His Wife 609B, or Political Precepts 805B and 815B. For the importance of these three categories in Plutarch’s psychotherapeutical writings, see Ingenkamp (1971), 78–9. 17 As Ingenkamp (2000), 265 has shown, the philosophical flavour of the quoted passage may itself be a rhetorical move.

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First, Plutarch presents his readers with positive models for imitation as well as negative models from which they should distance themselves. Learning through examples was, of course, an important pedagogical device in imperial culture,18 and one used on a large scale by Plutarch in his Lives.19 A passage from On Praising Oneself Inoffensively offers several examples of how this device is being used in Plutarch’s practical ethics: K d b fiH b Æıe K ÆØFØ º FØ ƒ ººd çæÆ ŒÆd ¼åŁÆØ, fiH b  æ På ›ø, Iººa ŒÆd åÆæıØ ºº ŒØ ŒÆd ı ØÆæıæFØ æŁø, NŁÆØ ØØ f ÆPa æÆØæı ı ŒÆd æ Æ ÆPE ŒÆd ‹ºø ›Øæ ı K ÆØF  K ŒÆØæfiH ıØŒ ØF ŒÆd ı Øæ ç Ø æe Æıf e IŒæÆ· . . . ’`º Ææ b s  ˙æÆŒº Æ ØH ŒÆd ºØ `  º Ææ’ `æŒ Æf N e ØAŁÆØ æBª I e H ›ø· ˜ØØ b e ˆ ºøÆ ØÆæø ŒÆd ª ºøÆ B "ØŒ ºÆ I ŒÆºH Kº ŁÆ   e çŁı ŒÆŁÆØæH e  ª Ł ŒÆd e IøÆ B æd Æe ı  ø. (On Praising Oneself Inoffensively 542C–D) Yet since the majority of men vehemently oppose the person who praises himself, and get angry at him, but not at the one who praises another—in that case they often rejoice and spontaneously voice their agreement—some praise those who think, act, and are exactly like themselves in a clever way so as to make the audience side with them and turn its attention to them. . . . Thus Alexander by honouring Heracles, and Androcottus in turn by honouring Alexander enabled themselves to be honoured by analogy. Dionysius, on the other hand, ridiculed Gelon and made him the jest of Sicily, but in his envy unintentionally ruined the greatness and majesty of the power he himself held. (On Praising Oneself Inoffensively 542C–D)

In order to induce the reader to praise himself indirectly via the praise of others, rather than directly, Plutarch adduces several examples. The first example is that of Alexander praising Heracles. The result of this behaviour was, he suggests, that Alexander won great esteem for himself as well. The second example shows Androcottus paying tribute to Alexander, with the same positive result. The addi-

18

See Whitmarsh (2001b), 41–89, Morgan (2007), 122–59, and Trapp (2007), 58. For Plutarch’s own account of the process of learning through imitation, see the proem to his Life of Pericles. Duff (1999), 34–45 offers an illuminating discussion of the passage, whilst Van der Stockt (2005) stresses the importance of ambition in this process. Cf. also Swain (1996), 85. 19

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tion of this second example serves, as it were, to teach the reader how to imitate Alexander’s famous example: as Androcottus behaved like Alexander in praising someone else rather than himself, likewise the reader should imitate this practice in his own turn. The third example, finally, is designed to discourage the opposite behaviour:20 Dionysius harmed himself by reviling Gelon. Dionysius’ ridiculing of Gelon recurs in Plutarch’s Life of Dion } 5. By inserting Dion’s criticism of Dionysius, Plutarch there invites the reader to form his own opinion on Dionysius’ behaviour. This is in line with Plutarch’s own account of how the Lives educate the reader through imitation: ‘The Lives, Plutarch claims, not only instil a desire for imitation but actually change or “mould” character (MŁ ØF). This is achieved by the observer not simply looking, but also investigating, considering, testing.’21 Although Plutarch’s works of practical ethics obviously share the aim of changing the reader, the anecdote as it appears in On Praising Oneself Inoffensively encourages the reader in a more straightforward way to distance himself from Dionysius by drawing attention explicitly to the negative consequences that followed from his behaviour. In many other cases, however, Plutarch’s practical ethics encourage the reader to imitation and rejection in more indirect ways. Patterns of behaviour are, for example, often associated meaningfully with different types of people: the behaviour Plutarch wants to discourage his readers from is associated with wild animals, thoughtless people, or the masses,22 the behaviour and attitude he wants them to adopt with the educated people.23 These associations

20 On learning from negative examples, see Plutarch’s introduction to his Lives of Demetrius and Antony, discussed by Duff (1999), 45–9. 21 Duff (1999), 39. 22 Association of bad behaviour with wild animals: see How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend? 61D, On Love of Wealth 525E, or Political Precepts 809D; with thoughtless people: On Listening 46B, Precepts of Marriage 138A, or On Feeling Good 467B; with the masses: On Having Many Friends 95E, On Praising Oneself Inoffensively 547B, or Consolation to His Wife 611A. 23 For associations with the educated, see e.g. Precepts of Health Care 136C, On Exile 600D, or On Feeling Good 473C. See also Korenjak (2000), 183 on the Verhaltenskodex Plutarch proposes his readers in How to Listen to Lectures and Ingenkamp (2000) on the role of Standesethik in On the Control of Anger. Rather than seeing references to behaviour characteristic for certain groups of people as descriptions of pre-existing social norms, I stress their strategic aspect: they are deployed by Plutarch

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are subtle rhetorical strategies encouraging distancing and assimilation: if x is postulated as what sensible people do, doing x becomes a way of profiling oneself as a sensible person and vice versa.24 Another device that Plutarch deploys strategically is the use of a specific grammatical person. In On the Control of Anger, for example, Fundanus starts off by speaking about learning to control one’s anger in the first person singular. Gradually, he makes more and more general statements, reflected for example in the use of gerundives and impersonal verbs.25 Nevertheless, the text maintains the impression of a personal story through the use of the first person singular right to the end. The very first time Fundanus makes a general statement using the impersonal verb  E, for example, he first stresses that this is merely his own opinion (rÆØ).26 Similar interjections, often placing general statements within the framework of Fundanus’ thoughts, recur throughout the text. Another striking feature of this type in On the Control of Anger is the subtle shift from the first person singular to the first person plural when it comes to practical exercises. Whereas Fundanus uses almost exclusively the first person singular when talking about his personal reflections on anger (}} 6–10), the subsequent chapers, concerned with practical exercises (}} 11–16), see him shift towards the so-called ‘sociative’ first-person plural.27 First, he subtly inserts a few plurals, but gradually he moves towards the exclusive use of the plural—except, again, for the post factum framework in the first person singular offered in the very last paragraph.28 Although Fundanus is in the first instance talking to Sulla, and the first person plural could therefore, strictly speaking, refer primarily as speech acts encouraging the reader to either dissociation or imitation. For a comparable therapeutical technique in Philodemus, see Tsouna (2007), 86–7. 24 For the importance of subtleness and dissimulation in the process of education and socialization, see Schmitz (1997), 28, with reference to Bourdieu in n. 60. 25 Gerundives: 459A, 460E, 461C, 461E (2), and 463B;  E: 453D, 454A, 460A, 460C, 460D, 460E, 461D, 462B, and 463D. 26 453D. The fact that the impersonal  E is an indicative rather than an infinitive depending upon rÆØ clearly indicates that Fundanus is here making a general statement rather than giving his own opinion. 27 On the concept of the sociative plural, see Slotty (1927) and (1928). 28 The relationship of singular versus plural indicatives and personal and reflexive pronouns in paragraphs 6 to 16 is as follows: } 6: 7/0; } 7: 2/0; } 8: 0/0; } 9: 3/0; } 10: 2/1; } 11: 7/5; } 12: 1/3; } 13: 0/3; } 14: 0/6: } 15: 0/2; } 16: 19/2.

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to these two characters, the real reader, when reading a first person plural, inevitably finds himself included in it as well. As such, he is not only unwittingly involved more directly but also guided more firmly. In many cases, this effect is strengthened through the contrast that Plutarch draws between the first person plural and the third person singular. In On Curiosity, for example, Plutarch draws a caricature of the worst possible curiosity in the third person singular. To that caricature he opposes the first person plural.29 In this way, Plutarch not only creates a strong sense of opposition between ‘us’ and ‘him’, he also forces the reader to behave in a certain way if he wants to belong to the former category.30 Last but not least, Plutarch tries to involve and guide his readers by stressing the perception of one’s behaviour by others. The beginning of Fundanus’ healing as he recounts it in On the Control of Anger, quoted at the beginning of this chapter, is a clear case in point. Indeed, throughout that passage, anger is compared to an illness changing one’s face ( æø ): it alters one’s eyes (ZłØ), complexion (åæÆ), and bearing (æç), and makes one savage and unusual to see (N E). Moreover, the text points to the alteration not only of the sound of one’s voice (çø) under the influence of anger, but also of the contents of one’s words: when people are angry, Plutarch maintains, they are unable to conserve either their grace of speech (ºªı å æØ) or their winning and affable manners (e ØŁÆe ŒÆd æÅb K ›غÆfi). In strong contrast to Seneca, for example, at the beginning of his essay On Anger, Plutarch/Fundanus is not talking here about the inherent ugliness or ethical badness of anger, but about its outer appearance: what he abhors is the idea of being perceived in an angry state by others, and notably by one’s friends and family (cf. ı ıå æÆø N ç æe oø ŒÆd ÆæÆŒ ŒØÅŒg ›æHÆ  E çºØ ŒÆd fiB ªıÆØŒd ŒÆd E 29 This comes close to the situation in didactic poetry whereby a strong distinction is drawn ‘between the student, who perforce does not already have the knowledge the poet wishes to impart and an implied reader, to whom the poet appeals as an ally against the recalcitrant student, whether or not the reader is represented as already in the know’. Cf. Lowrie (2008). 30 Cf. Stadter (1988), 293 and Morgan (2007), 185, but see also Edwards (1993), 12–17, Gleason (1995), 70–2, Schmitz (1997), 26–66, Goldhill (2001), 17, and Whitmarsh (2001b), 90–130, esp. 96–108.

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ŁıªÆæØ). Once more, finally, anger is associated with ‘others’: combined with the association of drunkenness with the—socially inferior—Helots, the stress laid upon the unusual (IıŁÅ) aspect of one’s traits under the influence of anger again draws a strong contrast between ‘us’ and ‘them’: the reader is strongly incited to control his anger in order to remain one of ‘us’ and avoid being perceived as one of ‘them’. Analysing this list of Plutarch’s most important strategies and techniques designed to convince his reader, one common feature strikes the eye: they all play heavily on the reader’s sense of honour, referring to his ambitions or to the expectations of his peer group. Whereas a philosopher such as Epictetus ‘leads students to adopt an observer’s perspective on themselves while freeing them from concerns about how actual observers view them’,31 Plutarch makes use of the reader’s sensitivity to the opinion others have of him in order to persuade him to adopt a more philosophical attitude. In order to bring his reader where he wants, then, Plutarch pivots, as it were, on the reader’s normal, pre-philosophical motivations. This practice becomes even clearer if we turn to one of the passages where Plutarch does this quite explicitly: ‹Æ s Ø H  Æø I ºÆı ø j Kø Ææƪ ÅÆØ, çغØÅ  ÆE I å  Ø Aºº j ÆE I ºÆ Ø. (Precepts of Health Care, 125C) Whenever, then, some rare or posh means of enjoyment is at hand, one should take pride in abstinence rather than in enjoyment. (Precepts of Health Care, 125C)

The context of this passage is that according to Plutarch, many people consume exquisite foodstuffs just so that they can then boast of having eaten them. Instead of doing this, Plutarch argues, the reader should rather display self-control. The argument he uses to promote self-control is not, however, that honour is of no importance in matters of food, but that self-control regarding strange kinds of food is a better way of satisfying one’s love for honour

31

Kamtekar (1998), 137, but see also esp. pp. 155–60.

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(çغØÅ ).32 In Plutarch’s practical ethics, philosophy is, in other words, presented not as an impediment but as a help to realizing one’s ambitions within society. On the one hand, this implies that Plutarch goes much further in acknowledging his readers’ pre-philosophical values than other philosophers, who argued fiercely against their audience’s worldly ambitions. On the other hand, however, Plutarch uses his reader’s sense of honour in order to slip in the philosophical values he wants to instil in his readers: presenting philosophy as a way of gaining prestige serves the purpose of making his philosophical advice more acceptable in the eyes of his elite readership.33 While conceding to the reader the value of honour, then, Plutarch redefines what is honourable.34 This also accounts for the often noted ambiguity in Plutarch’s thinking about ambition: if one’s ambition is kept within the limits of what philosophy approves of, it drives men to great achievements; if unbridled, however, ambition can be dangerous, as illustrated in the lives—and, for that matter, Lives—of so many great men.35 Whilst preserving (a philosophically reinterpreted form of) honour, Plutarch thus condemns too strong a desire for it in its traditional form.

32

That self-control can be a way of distinguishing oneself from others who are less self-controlled, has been amply demonstrated by Elias (1939) for Western European codes of manners between 1200 and 1800. On the importance of self-control in antiquity, see Chadwick (1962), Foucault (1984a) and (1984b), and Hadot (1995c), 324–7; on the link between virtue and fame in Plutarch, see Ingenkamp (2004), 67–81, esp. n. 15. 33 Cf. Trapp (2007), 212 for a similar move in Dio’s Alexandrian Oration, where it is Dio’s strategy ‘to match its (viz. his audience’s) tastes for the lively and entertaining closely enough to convince it of his benevolence and empathy, but not so closely as to compromise his critical stance’. 34 Given that ‘fame implies that one deeply knows the rules for socially significant behaviour’ (Braudy (1986), 587), one could say that Plutarch redefines what is socially significant, thereby turning praise into an effective ‘means of shaping a society or an individual character’. Cf. Ingenkamp (2004), 71. Or, as Trapp (2004), 196 put it: ‘The language of euergesia, of philotimia, epimeleia and philanthropia, is all there in Plutarch. But at the same time—and this is less frequently appreciated— Plutarch can be seen to be making a determined effort to adjust its referents’. 35 See esp. Duff (1999), 83–7. For the negative side, and ambiguous status of, ambition in Plutarch, see further Wardman (1974), 115–24, Frazier (1988), Walsh (1992), 219–20, Stadter (2002b), 231, and Bearzot (2005), all focusing on the Lives, which deal of course with men of great honour.

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Philosophical values are also ‘instilled’ via the reader’s peer group, which Plutarch consistently presents as displaying exactly the attitude he wants his readers to adopt. Rather than a description of reality, then, Plutarch’s presentation of the reader’s peer group is a speech act strategically designed to change the reader:36 if the reader’s pre-philosophical values determine the peer group he aspires to, Plutarch does not propose a change in reference group, but he does use his power as a writer to give his own presentation of what the reader’s peer group values and how it behaves. And that, of course, is a strong incentive for the reader as well to adopt the philosophical attitude proposed by Plutarch. To want to change oneself is one thing; to do so, however, is another.37 Changing oneself effectively not only requires knowledge about what is desirable behaviour and what is not: it also implies that one internalizes a new way of thinking and incorporates the concomitant behaviour. In order to help and steer his readers in the actual realization of their healing process, Plutarch therefore includes exercises (cf. IŒ Ø, 510C) in his writings of practical ethics.38 More precisely, Plutarch offers his readers not one but two clearly distinguished kinds of exercises. The first kind of exercises is designated as epilogismos,39 reflection. The passage immediately following upon the 36 For speech-act theory, see the Introduction, n. 41, above. On the tension between the ‘audience ready for the text, and the text affecting the audience’, see Pelling (1995), 218. 37 At the beginning of his Political Precepts, Plutarch himself criticizes philosophers who only encourage ( ææ  ı, 798B) people to take up philosophy, but do not offer them any practical instruction (Ø ŒÆ b Åb Å  ØŁ  ı, 798B). 38 The term ¼ŒÅØ repeatedly occurs in Plutarch’s practical ethics to refer to the training required in order to acquire a good attitude. See e.g. How the Young Man Should Study Poetry 34C, How Could You Profit by Your Enemies? 90C, 90D, 91B, and 92D, On the Control of Anger 459B, On Talkativeness 510C and 515A, On Curiosity 520D, 521C, 521E, and 522B, and On Compliance 530E, 531B, and 532C. For possible meanings of ¼ŒÅØ in Plutarch, see Alesse (2005). 39 The term recurs in How the Young Man Should Study Poetry 30F, On Listening 60B, How Could You Profit by Your Enemies? 92F, On the Control of Anger 456E and 463F, On Feeling Good 471C, On Talkativeness 514E, On Compliance 532C, or Consolation to His Wife 611A. For epilogismos in Philodemus, who understands the concept as ‘a kind of survey, assessment, or appraisal of the phenomena . . . which allows us to establish a similarity among them and, on that basis, make inferences’, see Tsouna (2007), 55–7.

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programmatic statement in the sixteenth paragraph of On Talkativeness offers a good illustration of what Plutarch means by this term: F ŒÆÆF  K d H Iº åø, ‹Ø çغ EŁÆØ ıº Ø ØFÆØ, åÆæÇ ŁÆØ Ł º  KåºFØ, ŁÆı Ç ŁÆØ ŒF  ŒÆƪ ºHÆØ, Œ æÆ  Pb IƺŒıØ, IØŒFØ f çºı, Tç ºFØ f KåŁæ, Æıf I ººıØ. u F æH YÆÆ ŒÆd ç æÆŒ KØ F Łı, › H I ’ ÆPı ªØ ø ÆNåæH ŒÆd OıÅæH K غªØ. ˜ ı æø fi b åæÅ  K غªØfiH fiH H KÆø, IŒÆ I d ŒÆd  Å ı ŒÆd æå Øæ’ åÆ a B Kå ıŁÆ KªŒØÆ. (On Talkativeness 510D) Right now we apprehend in the case of chatterboxes that they are hated whilst they desire to be loved, that they annoy people whereas they want to please them, that they are being ridiculed whereas they have the impression of being admired, that they spend their money to no gain, that they wrong their friends, help their enemies, and ruin themselves. As such, this is the first cure and medicine against the emotion: reflection on the shameful and distressing effects that follow from it. In the second place: reflection on the opposite, always hearing and remembering and having at hand the praise of reticence. (On Talkativeness 510D)

Little of what is being said in this passage is new to the reader: the harmful and counterproductive effects of garrulousness had already been highlighted, for example in very similar terms in 504E, whilst the praises of reticence had been sung in 502E, 504A, and, especially, 505D–506C. Epilogismos consists precisely in repeating these arguments over and over again to oneself,40 so that they are transferred from Plutarch’s text into the reader’s mind (cf. ŒÆÆ-F , or, elsewhere, K- E):41 reflection is needed to instill the arguments formulated by Plutarch in the krisis into the reader’s mind. Reflection alone, however, is not enough: one should also learn to act differently. Many of Plutarch’s works of practical ethics therefore give quite specific advice on how to act in particular circumstances: when a father dies, brothers should mourn together so as to avoid argument about what they will inherit (On Brotherly Love, 483C); if 40 Cf. IŒÆ I d ŒÆd  Å ı ŒÆd æå Øæ åÆ, but see also On the Control of Anger 456D and 463E. 41 ˚ÆÆ E: How the Young Man Should Study Poetry 29B, On the Control of Anger 456F; K E: On Curiosity 523B, Consolation to His Wife 611B.

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an important but disputed decision is to be taken, the politician should seek alliances with the most powerful of his friends or with the gentlest amongst the powerful as they possess wisdom and will not be moved by rivalry (Political Precepts, 819B); and if one needs to talk about oneself in public, one should mix praise with blame (On Praising Oneself Inoffensively, 543F–544C). In those writings that deal with specific emotions, which have often been acquired through habituation,42 more extensive training or ethismos is offered in order to ‘tame and subdue one’s irrational and unbridled part through exercise (IŒ Ø)’.43 In How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend?, for example, Plutarch recommends changing oneself and seeing whether the (would-be) friend also changes (} 8). In On the Control of Anger 464C, on the other hand, Plutarch suggests that the reader should try to abstain from anger for increasingly long periods of time. And in On Compliancy, he even presents the reader with a fullyfledged therapy consisting of a series of gradually more difficult practical exercises that are to help him overcome excessive shame.44 As the integration of reflective exercises within that series shows, reflection and training, epilogismos and ethismos, reinforce one another and together help the reader to acquire a more philosophical attitude. Given its combination of conviction and exercise as well as reflection and training, Plutarch’s therapy is a typical example of what Christopher Gill has recently called a Platonic-Aristotelian pattern of education:45 in line with their opinion on the soul, Academics and Peripatetics did not limit education to rational development, as did the Stoics as well as the Epicureans, but highlighted the importance 42

Plutarch’s most explicit comment on this is to be found in On Curiosity 520D, but see also On Feeling Good 475B or On Compliancy 534A, where he suggests that people get accustomed to bad habits. On Exile 600E, on the other hand, suggests that education consists in accustoming children to a good attitude. 43 On the Control of Anger 459B. The noun KŁØ occurs but a few times in Plutarch’s practical ethics (namely in On the Control of Anger 459B, On Talkativeness 511E and 514E, and On Curiosity 520D). Much more frequent is the verb KŁÇÆØ, which, however, does not only refer to ethismoi, but also to aske¯sis in general. 44 On the gradual nature of Plutarch’s exercises, see Rabbow (1954), 223–49, Ingenkamp (1971), 105–18 and Hadot (1995b), 59 and 86. See also below, Ch. 7. 45 Gill (2006), esp. 132–136. The Platonic-Aristotelian precedents of Plutarch’s psychotherapeutical method were already pointed out by Ingenkamp (1971), esp. 88–9, 96–8.

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of habituation in order to educate the irrational part of the soul.46 Plutarch’s practical ethics clearly adopt the dualistic point of view, yet they do not do so in a self-evident way. Indeed, it is not the case that Plutarchean krisis represents the rational, aske¯sis the irrational part of the therapy; rather, both these parts of the therapy target the reader’s rational as well as his irrational part. In the case of krisis, we have indeed seen how Plutarch tries to convince his reader no less through rhetorical arguments than through philosophical ones: Plutarch plays as much on the reader’s sense of honour as he persuades him rationally. As far as aske¯sis is concerned, comparison of Plutarch’s exercises against anger with Seneca’s is illuminating:47 Ubi animum simul et corpus voluptates corrupere, nihil tolerabile videtur, non quia dura sed quia mollis patitur. Quid est enim cur tussis alicuius aut sternutamentum aut musca parum curiose fugata in rabiem agat aut obversatus canis aut clavis neglegentis servi manibus elapsa? (Seneca, On Anger 2.25.3) When both mind and body have been corrupted by pleasure, nothing seems bearable, not because things which you suffer are hard, but because you are soft. For what reason do you have to be driven into a fury at a cough or sneeze of someone, at a fly which has not raised enough interest to be chased, at a dog which gets in your way, or when a key is dropped by a careless servant? (Seneca, On Anger 2.25.3, trans. Cooper and Procope´ (1995), 63, modified)

According to Seneca, people often get angry not because they suffer unbearable offences, but because they are spoilt and as a result are easily offended. Seneca’s solution proposes asking a question: when one gets angry, one should ask to what extent anger is justified by the offence, and to what extent it is attributable to one’s own softness.

46 In his discussion of the education of the guardians in the Republic, e.g., Plato stresses that more than rational instruction is necessary in order to train the irrational part(s) of the soul. In the Laws, he goes one step further when stating that most people come to perform (seemingly) virtuous deeds through habituation rather than through knowledge. See Dodds (1951), 212: ‘In the Laws, at any rate, the virtus of the common man is evidently not based on knowledge, or even on true opinion as such, but on a process of conditioning or habituation by which he is induced to accept and act on certain “salutary” beliefs.’ On the relative importance of arguments and habits, see also Annas (1993), 54. 47 For Seneca’s On Anger, see Cupaiuolo (1975), Fillion-Lahille (1984) and (1989), 1616–38, and Van Hoof (2007).

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The assumption is that this will lead to a rational understanding of the real causes of one’s anger that lie within oneself, and that this understanding will in turn lead the mind not to give its assent to the initial impulse that immediately precedes anger, and thus avoid the emotion proper. Seneca’s exercises all work in this way, focusing first on pleading to oneself that one has not been unjustly offended (On Anger 2.22–2.36), then on setting anger before our eyes and estimating how awful it is (3.5–3.38). Although the author refers to many concrete and everyday situations in the course of these exercises, the exercises themselves remain, ultimately, intellectual in nature.48 The same goes for Plutarch’s epilogismoi, which are intended to instil a bad impression of anger into the reader’s mind. Yet as we have seen, Plutarch also proposes practical training:   ª ı å E ŒÆd ıŒa ŒÆd ŒÆa ØŒæe K fiB łıåfiB ıºº ª Æ Oæªa  ºØÆ çغÆıÆ ŒÆd ıŒºÆ  a æıçB ŒÆd ƺƌÆ . . . KŒıØ. . . . KŁØ  s e HÆ Ø’ P º Æ æe PŒºÆ ÆhÆæŒ  ÆıfiH ªØ · ƒ ªaæ Oºªø   Ø ººH PŒ I ıªå ıØ. ˚Æd  Øe Pb IæÆ ı I e B æçB Øø fiB åæÆŁÆØ E ÆæÆıªå ıØ, ŒÆd c ººa åºı ı ŒÆd ıŒºÆÆ I æ Æ Zł Kƺ E ÆıE ŒÆd çºØ c Oæª. (On the Control of Anger, 461A–C) Continuous and frequent fits of anger are gradually formed and engendered in the soul mostly by self-love and a difficult, spoilt, and soft character. . . . Therefore we should accustom our bodies through a simple lifestyle to become tolerant and self-sufficient, for those who need little are not likely to be in need of much. And there is nothing shameful in making a start with this in matters of food, by quietly consuming what is at hand instead of getting very angry and making trouble and thereby dishing oneself and one’s friends up with anger, a disgusting kind of sauce. (On the Control of Anger, 461A–C)

Although Plutarch’s analysis of the causes of anger is very similar to Seneca’s, the exercise he proposes is entirely different: instead of advising his readers to think before getting angry, Plutarch suggests that they accustom (KŁØ ) their bodies to abandoning luxury. On 48 Note the intellectual actions referred to both at the beginning of each of the sections (agenda est contra se causa, 2.22.4; vitia irae nobis . . . proposuerimus et illam bene aestimaverimus. 3.5.3) and throughout the text, e.g. cogitantes, 2.28.4, excutiemus, 2.30.1, cogitanda . . . exempla, 3.22.1.

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top of that, he proposes a specific exercise that will help them to do so: try eating simple food and do so quietly. This is obviously a training of the irrational part of the soul, as we saw before, and even, as Plutarch here explicitly points out, of the body (e HÆ)—a kind of training absent from Stoic writings such as Seneca’s On Anger, or, for that matter, Epictetus’ Discourse 1.18. Comparison of Plutarch’s On the Control of Anger and Seneca’s On Anger also illustrates the difference between Plutarch’s division in krisis and aske¯sis on the one hand, and the Stoic division between decreta (ªÆÆ) and praecepta ( Ææƪª ºÆÆ)—roughly, theoretical instruction and practical application49—on the other. In both writings, a substantial part of the text precedes, and prepares for, the proposed exercises. The way in which these preparatory parts operate is thoroughly different, however. After a brief, highly rhetorical introduction (1.1.1–1.2.3),50 Seneca first examines different definitions of anger (1.2.4–1.4.3), promoting the Stoic one as opposed to other definitions, and then examines whether this emotion should be allowed (1.5.1–1.31.4). Given the negative answer to that question, he then offers extensive proof that it is both possible and desirable to remove anger (2.1.1–2.17.2), and, in the second part of the work, he gives his reader practical advice on how to do this (2.18.1–3.43.5). Although the ultimate aim of Seneca’s On Anger is, of course, to eradicate anger from Novatus’ soul—that is, a practical rather than a theoretical aim—at least the first part of the work offers theoretical instruction on anger in general rather than practical advice. At first

49 On decreta and praecepta, see Inwood (1999) and Sellars (2007), 122. Decreta and praecepta seem to differ not only in aim (theory versus practice), but also in mode (description versus paraenesis) and content (general principles versus specific applications). These different criteria make for a complex picture. Although I argue that Seneca’s On Anger combines decreta and praecepta whereas Plutarch’s practical ethics are focused on praecepta, the situation is a complex one: the ultimate aim of Seneca’s theoretical instruction in part 1 of On Anger is practical rather than theoretical, whereas Plutarch’s choice to have Fundanus narrate his own story entails the adoption of descriptive rather than paraenetic language, as suggested earlier. 50 Cf. Ingenkamp (2000), 265–6 on the role of rhetorical passages in the otherwise philosophical argumentation against anger in Cicero’s Tusculan Disputations 4.36–4.37.

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sight, Plutarch’s division into krisis and aske¯sis may seem similar to the two parts of Seneca’s On Anger. Yet as we have seen, both parts of Plutarch’s text are devised to change the reader rather than to instruct him,51 and use rhetorical rather than philosophical arguments. Plutarchean krisis thus operates at once more rhetorically and more indirectly than the first part of Seneca’s On Anger, deploying, as we have seen, a variety of discursive strategies and rhetorical devices in order to guide the reader’s attitude and behaviour subtly. It presupposes some knowledge of philosophy, but can hardly be classified as theory itself: Plutarch takes a (Platonic) understanding of the nature of the soul for granted; he refers to the elements of various definitions of anger but does not give any definition himself; and in one instance he even conspicuously withholds theoretical discussion from a man who has not yet mastered the art of life.52 One could say, then, that Seneca’s On Anger contains both decreta and praecepta, whereas Plutarch’s On the Control of Anger focuses on the latter.53 That Plutarch’s practical ethics offer praecepta rather than decreta is confirmed by the fact that three of them are traditionally referred to as praecepta (on health care, marriage, and politics respectively),54 whereas none of the writings is ever said to offer decreta.55 51

Compare the difference in ancient rhetoric between forensic speeches, which aim first and foremost to move (movere) the reader, and symbouleutic speeches, which aim primarily to instruct (docere) him. For the usefulness of ancient rhetoric in distinguishing various works of Plutarch, see the Conclusion. 52 See below, p. 114. 53 It may of course be that Plutarch’s On Anger offered the corollary decreta, yet the conserved fragment refers to training ( º Å, fr. 148 = Stobaeus 3.20.70), which seems to point in the direction of practical rather than theoretical advice in On Anger as well. 54 Whilst the word ‘Precepts’ occurs only in the title of Precepts of Health Care and Precepts on Marriage, Plutarch repeatedly adopts the term in order to refer to his Political Precepts both within that work itself (798C and 818A) and in How Could You Profit by Your Enemies? 86C. On top of that, he refers to his own advice with the term ‘precepts’ in On Listening 42F and 48D, and, if genuine, in the Consolation to Apollonius 116E. 55 In On Feeling Good 476C, Plutarch suggests that the Epicurean philosopher Metrodorus of Lampsachus (c.331–278 bc) used philosophical theory (ªÆØ ŒÆd ºªØ) in order to defend himself against fortune; yet although he advises his readers to follow Metrodorus’ example, he never suggests they should study such theory as well. On the contrary, as we shall see: he actively discourages Paccius from busying himself with theoretical philosophy.

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In a recent study of Stoicism, John Sellars argues that if philosophy is conceptualized as an art of living ( åÅ æd e ), one needs not only to study philosophical theory (logoi), but also to practise exercises (aske¯sis) that will enable one to put this theory into action (erga). Ancient philosophical texts therefore do not limit themselves to theory, but also propose exercises or present the reader with actions.56 Plutarch’s practical ethics, it will be clear, fall within the category of philosophical literature concerned first and foremost with exercise.57 As such, they are clearly distinct from other Plutarchean writings. On the one hand, they set themselves apart from his writings of technical philosophy, which offer theoretical discussion. Both groups of writings indeed have very different aims: whereas the works of technical philosophy aim primarily at instructing the reader, that is, at convincing him of the truth of a certain point of view, Plutarch’s practical ethics aim, first and foremost, to change the reader’s behaviour, that is, to convince him to behave in a certain way rather than another. Another group of writings which the works on practical ethics set themselves apart from through their focus on exercise are the Lives: although the Lives largely share with the writings of practical ethics the aim of influencing the reader’s ethical behaviour, they do so not through exercise but by putting on display the actions of famous men of the past. At first sight, it might be tempting to double up this distinction between exercise and presentation with the methodological distinction observed by Pelling and elaborated by Duff between protreptic or expository moralism on the

56 Sellars (2003), 127 and 173, and (2007), 135. Whilst focusing on Stoic works such as Epictetus’ Handbook and Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations, Sellars also refers to Plutarch. Strangely enough, however, his references are to Plutarch’s technicalphilosophical writings rather than to his practical ethics. Whilst it is true that the level of practicality of Epictetus’ Handbook may be somewhere in between these two groups of writings, it is definitely Plutarch’s practical ethics that share Epictetus’ Handbook’s concern with exercise. 57 Cf. Sellars (2003), 121. For the concept, etymology, function, mechanism and form of these exercises, see ibid. 110–28. Sellars adopts the label ‘spiritual exercises’, yet while the connotations of the term ‘spiritual’ can be labelled ‘unhelpful’ in the case of the exercises proposed by Epictetus and Seneca, in the case of Plutarch’s exercises, and especially the KŁØ, they are utterly misleading.

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one hand and descriptive or exploratory moralism on the other.58 Whereas the former offers direct instruction on what one should or should not do, the latter ‘provides food for reflection, a reflection which may, ultimately, affect the audience’s behaviour’.59 However, rather than two (mutually exclusive) alternatives, these forms of moralism are the two extreme ends of a continuous scale: while it is true that the Lives are much closer to the exploratory pole, the moralism of Plutarch’s practical ethics is not as simple or straightforward as it has often been taken to be.60 It does, of course, contain very direct instruction in the form of imperatives, explicit encouragement, and mechanical exercises, but these are combined with much more complex guidance through a series of rhetorical techniques and discursive strategies, as shown in this chapter.

58

See Pelling (1988), 15 and Duff (1999), 68–70. Duff (1999), 69. Recently, Morgan (2007), 200–4 has highlighted the difference, within the context of popular morality in the Roman Empire, between simple imperatives on the one hand and more subtle ethical guidance through statements about the nature of the world, stories about what is necessary, and stories about what is impossible, on the other; yet none of these, as Morgan pointed out, leaves the reader much space for decision-making. 60 As I have shown elsewhere, Plutarch’s On the Control of Anger adopts much more descriptive moralism than Seneca’s On Anger. Cf. Van Hoof (2007), 71–2. 59

3 Plutarch as a Philosopher in Society Plutarch was born in Chaeronea, not far from Delphi, around ad 45. As a member of one of the most prominent families in the town, he received a good education and went on to study philosophy in Athens. After subsequent trips to Asia Minor, the homeland of the Second Sophistic where Plutarch may well have given speeches himself, as well as Egypt, he returned to Chaeronea. Later he went on several visits to Rome and Italy and acquired Roman citizenship. According to the Suda, a tenth-century lexicon, Plutarch received consular ornaments from Trajan, and according to Eusebius (c.263–339), the (honorary) procuratorship of Achaea from Hadrian.1 Whether or not this is historically true, these assertions suggest that Plutarch was highly respected by important Romans. Nevertheless, Plutarch is known to have spent most of his life in central Greece: it is there that he took up various offices in Chaeronea, was a priest of Apollo in Delphi, and died around ad 120. In many respects, then, Plutarch’s life resembles that of his characters:2 they all belonged to the elite, enjoying wealth and education and exerting political influence at least at a local level. If Plutarch did not

1 Suda, s.v. —ºÆæå and Eusebius apud Syncellus, 659 Dindorf. On these testimonies, see Bowersock (1969), 112, Jones (1971), 29–30 and 34, Babut (1975), 207, Fein (1994), 167–8, Swain (1996), 171, Duff (1999), 289 n. 7, Lamberton (2001), 12, Stadter (2002a), 13, Bowie (2002), 52, and Zecchini (2002). Bowie (1997), on the other hand, focused on Plutarch’s relationship with Hadrian. For the award of ornaments to men of cultural distinction, see Talbert (1984), 369–70. 2 Cf. Stadter (1988), 293. On the elite status of philosophers in the Roman Empire, see Hahn (1989), esp. 79 and Dillon (2002), esp. 33.

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develop as splendid a political career as most of them,3 he distinguished himself from all of them in another way. For indeed, despite all his wealth, journeys, and offices, Plutarch was, first and foremost, a prolific writer. In his corpus of writings one finds, amongst other things, antiquarian works, works of literary criticism, scientific works, rhetorical discourses, and symposia; but the largest part consists of philosophical works, including the Lives, the works of technical philosophy, and the works of practical ethics, concerned with presenting actions, theory, and exercises respectively. If, then, these are the key facts of Plutarch’s life as one can read them in any general study on the author,4 the question is how Plutarch presents himself to his readers in his works of practical ethics. For a start, it should be noted that Plutarch does not speak in his own voice in all of these texts. Indeed, in the two dialogues5 in this group, Plutarch does not take part in the conversation and is not named by the speakers: in Precepts of Health Care, Zeuxippus is talking to his friend Moschion about health care, whereas in On the Control of Anger, Fundanus narrates to Sulla how he learnt to control his anger. By contrast with his religious writings,6 for instance,

3 Cf. Stadter (2002a), 1 and 19, and Bowie (2002), esp. 48–50, setting out the differences with Arrian. On the indirect influence he had on leading politicians, see esp. Bowie (2002), 51, Stadter (2002a), 1, 6–7, and 11, (2002b), and (2007). Relations with Trajan: Fein (1994), 167–71 and Bowie (2002), 51; with Hadrian: Fein (1994), 171–4 and Bowie (1997), confirming the crux higlighted by Swain (1991) regarding his relations with Hadrian. Moreover, Plutarch may have been active as a diplomat for Delphi. Cf. Stadter (2004). On philosopher-diplomats, see Haake (2007), 284–5; on the political activities of intellectuals under the Roman Empire, see Desideri (1998). 4 For general studies on Plutarch, including information gathered from the Suda as well as from several other ancient authors and the inscriptions SIG 829A and 843, see above, n. 1. On Plutarch’s political career, see further Jones (1971), Russell (1973), Boulogne (1994), Centrone (2000), 575–6, De Blois (2004), McInerney (2004), and Stadter (2002a), 8–13 and (2004). 5 For the dialogue as a genre in Plutarch, see Hirzel (1895), 124–237, Ziegler (1951), 890–3, Flacelie`re and Irigoin (1987), pp. ccxvii–ccxxii, Barigazzi (1988), Gallo (1996), 11–14, (1998), 3522–3 and 3528–31, and esp. Van der Stockt (2000). 6 The statement by Russell (1993), 430 that ‘it is a feature of Plutarch’s dialogues that he is often a speaker himself ’ does not, then, apply to his writings of practical ethics. Note, moreover, that the proportion and number of dialogues within this group of writings is much smaller than in the group of religious writings, where more than half of the writings are dramatic or narrated dialogues.

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Plutarch does not, in these two dialogues on practical ethics, depict himself as searching for the truth together with others. Rather, he has other figures express his opinions in a way that is intended to change the reader. Ultimately, however, the direction in which they move the reader is the direction Plutarch wants the reader to take: one does not write philosophical works stating opinions one does not at all agree with unless clearly distancing oneself from them or in a completely ironical way, of which there are no signs at all in these two texts. On the contrary: in Precepts of Health Care, Zeuxippus explicitly states that he is telling Moschion the opinions of their companion, that is, of Plutarch. And in On the Control of Anger, as we have seen, the impression that all that is being said is Fundanus’ account of his own healing process is not always maintained consistently in his answer to Sulla: whereas Fundanus starts off using the first person singular to say what he thought, he gradually shifts towards the sociative first-person plural, involving the reader, or uses impersonal generalizations, thus aspiring to an authority that by far exceeds his own. Although he is not present within the dramatical setting of these dialogues, then, Plutarch’s authority shines through. In the rest of his practical ethics, Plutarch speaks through his own voice. Theoretically, one could distinguish between letters7 and essays,8 but this distinction is not consistently maintained. Three of Plutarch’s writings on practical ethics are preceded by traditional letter formulas, Precepts of Marriage being addressed to Pollianus and Eurydice, On Feeling Good to Paccius, and Consolation to his Wife to Timoxena.

7 The distinction between ‘real’ (Brief ) and ‘fictitious’ (Epistel ) letters, first suggested by Deissmann in 1923, has since long been reworked. See e.g. Sykutris (1931), and Koskenniemi (1956), 88–90. Recently, it has been explicitly eingeklammert by Rosenmeyer (2001), 5, who stated that ‘the slippery question of sincerity may be bypassed for a closer look at epistolary self-representation, the function of the letter form, and the nature of the relationship between writer(s) and reader(s)’. For discussion of Plutarchean letters, see Ziegler (1951), 894–5, Flacelie`re and Irigoin (1987), p. ccxvi, and Fabrini (2000). 8 On Plutarch’s essays as a genre, see Ziegler (1951), 893–4, Flacelie`re and Irigoin (1987), p. ccxvi, Gallo (1996), 14–15, (1998), 3523–5 and 3531–4, and (2000), 14, and Cerri (2001), 424. Donini (2000), on the other hand, discusses only those texts that have a certain level of technicality and rigour in both language and content—a criterion for which only On Feeling Good and On the Control of Anger classify, in his view. On the origin of philosophical treatises, see Frede (1996).

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These writings contain, moreover, some topoi traditional in ancient letters, such as a reference to a received letter, or a remark about sending the letter.9 None of these supposed letters, however, contains any traditional letter ending. Conversely, at least some of the essays come very close to letters:10 c ª  Å Ø åºc æd F IŒ Ø, t ˝ŒÆæ , I ƺŒ Ø ªæ łÆ, ‹ ø NfiB F Ł OæŁH IŒ Ø, ‹ H æÆø I ººÆÆØ e Iæ E I غÅçg ƒ Ø. (On Listening 37C) The discourse which I gave on the subject of listening to lectures I have written out and sent to you, my dear Nicander, so that you may know how to listen rightly to the voice of persuasion, now that you are no longer subject to authority, having assumed the garb of a man. (On Listening 37C)

At the beginning of his work On Listening, Plutarch not only addresses a friend, he also says that the text is being sent to him, as one does with a letter.11 Nor does it seem to be the case that the three letters distinguish themselves from the essays through a closer relationship between author and addressee.12 This is not to say that the genre of the letter has no function or consequences. On the contrary, as is the case with dialogues, the format adopted in Precepts of Marriage, On Feeling Good, and Consolation to His Wife constitutes the framework within which the reader will read these texts, and as such greatly influences and guides his reading. One can imagine, for example, how different an impression an essay giving Consolation to His Wife would have made as compared to the letter: the fact that 9 Received letter: On Feeling Good 464E, Consolation to His Wife 608B; sending the letter: Precepts of Marriage 138C, On Feeling Good 464E. For these and other topoi in ancient epistolography, see Koskenniemi (1956), 74–82. 10 This applies above all to essays which have a named addressee, which account for about half of the essays in Plutarch’s practical ethics. In Ch. 7, I discuss some of the reasons for not including a named dedicatee (p. 193). The essays that do not have a named dedicatee sometimes bear resemblances to some of Plutarch’s more rhetorical works such as On Envy and Hate or Whether Vice is Sufficient to Cause Unhappiness. They clearly distinguish themselves from these works, however, by their different aim and strategies. Cf. p. 256. 11 For the ‘epistolary preface’ of On Listening, cf. Hillyard (1981), 37–8, with further bibliography. 12 Whereas one may expect Plutarch to have a closer relationship with his wife Timoxena than with, say, Philopappus, it is much less clear whether the same would be the case with Pollianus and Eurydice, let alone with Paccius.

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Consolation to His Wife is presented as a letter from a husband to his wife at the occasion of the death of one of their children not only pictures Plutarch (and his wife) as experienced and therefore authoritative role models,13 but also conserves the personal tone as well as the impression that the death of their daughter has occurred only recently and thereby avoids what might otherwise have seemed either heartless advice or macabre capitalizing on one’s child’s death. Yet despite the difference in genre and, along with that, authorial role, Plutarch’s authoritative positioning does not necessarily differ fundamentally in the essays and what might be called the letter-essays.14 Throughout his practical ethics, Plutarch indeed presents himself as an authority on the topic he is dealing with. Thus regarding the question Whether an Old Man Should Engage in Public Affairs, Plutarch, being afraid that his friend Euphanes may see in old age an excuse not to do so any longer, says that he will give him advice: YÆØ  E L æe KÆıe Œ  ºªÇÆØ ŒÆd æe b Ø ºŁ E æd B æ ıØŒB ºØ Æ. (Whether an Old Man Should Engage in Public Affairs 783C) I therefore think it my duty to discuss with you the thoughts which I am continually going over in my own mind concerning the activity of old men in public affairs. (Whether an Old Man Should Engage in Public Affairs 783C)

In this passage, Plutarch presents himself firmly as an authority concerning the issue at stake: he maintains that he ought (YÆØ  E)15 to give Euphanes his opinion on whether old men should engage in politics. What he does not explain, however, is where he derives his authority on the matter from, or why his opinion should matter to Euphanes and other readers. One suggestion might be, of 13

Cf. Russell (1993), 429. Namely, a more or less systematic treatment of a well-defined subject supposedly written for and sent to a particular person. Cf. Betz (1978), 199. For parallels, one can think of the letters of Plato and Epicurus, which could be defined as ‘“softened” philosophical treatises’. Cf. Costa (2006), 181. On these kinds of letters, see also Edwards (1997), 24–5, Goldhill (2002), 64, and Inwood (2005), p. xii, with further references in nn. 2–5, (2007a), p. xix, and (2007b). Conversely, Carrie`re and Cuvigny (1984) apply the label ‘open letter’ to Political Precepts and Whether an Old Man Should Engage in Public Affairs. 15 The phrase is of course familiar from orators. See e.g. Demosthenes, First Olynthic Speech 16.6 and Fourth Philippic Speech 34.5, or Isocrates, Antidosis 106.8. 14

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course, that Plutarch thinks he has something to say on the matter because he finds himself in a similar position: it is clear from the text that, when writing this essay for Euphanes, Plutarch himself was on the verge of old age.16 Yet instead of solving the problem of his authority, this suggestion only defers it, as the question will again arise why Plutarch thinks he can give Euphanes advice on the matter rather than the other way round. Nor does Plutarch derive his authority from philosophical arguments, rigour, or systematicity. Instead, he adduces the views of other, well-established philosophers—Plato(nic) and others—in order to ground his own: by referring to the teachings of other philosophers when they are in accordance with his, Plutarch, in his own way, places himself within the philosophical tradition, and thereby builds up his authority.17 Rather than deducing his authority from one philosophical system, he thus builds it up inductively by referring to a series of philosophers as well as to a variety of other sources of authority. Indeed, very similar is his use of historical material in his works of practical ethics:18 often, Plutarch will quote a historical anecdote to illustrate what he is saying, to prove its truth and thereby enhance his own authority. Literary quotations taken from different authors as well as comparisons and metaphors of all aspects of life often serve similar purposes.19 Interestingly enough, as Luc Van der Stockt has shown, 16

Cf. 783B–C and 792F. Plutarch’s ‘eclecticism’, then, if this term can be used at all (cf. Donini (1988), 15–33, esp. 31), does not compromise his Platonism but rather serves to strengthen it. Cf. Castelne´rac (2007). Similarly, Plutarch’s use of philosophers of other denominations is radically opposed to the Sceptic ‘argument from disagreement’: whereas Sceptics show how dogmatic philosophers all differ in opinion on a given topic, Plutarch shows how philosophers of different schools are in agreement with and thus support the philosophy he presents to his readers. On Sceptical ethics, see Brittain (2001), 255–95. 18 Cf. Russell (1993), 426: ‘Most of Plutarch’s poetical quotations—except for the numerous ornamental snatches of two or three words—are of passages which convey a moral lesson or piece of historical information.’ Very different is his use of historical material in the Lives: there, this material is not only organized around the life of one person, it is also deployed not so much as an argument to ground the truth of a certain view than as an issue to think about. Cf. Duff (1999). 19 In How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend? 49B–C, e.g., Plutarch starts his considerations on flattery—against which he has been warning in the first paragraph with reference to Plato and the Delphic maxim ‘know thyself ’—by a comparison to woodworms and a quotation from Simonides, both intended to show that Plutarch’s 17

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elements such as references to philosophical doctrines, historical anecdotes, literary quotations, and comparisons often occur in what he called a ‘cluster’, defined, as stated above, as ‘a repeated and structured collection of heterogeneous materials’.20 Plutarch himself in fact describes the rationale behind such clusters:21 ŒÆd c u æ K ø æe a çÆFºÆ ŒÆd ºÆ æa ØÆÆ ºªı ŒÆd ªÆ IØ   Kø ŒÆd ºØØŒH IæH KŒF  IçØ ÆØ ŒÆd IÆŒæ Ø c Ø, oø ‹ Ø i I E oæø  Ææ ÆPE ŒÆd åæÅ, KŒæ ç Ø åæc ŒÆd Æh Ø I   Ø ŒÆd ÆæıæÆØ çغçØ, I ØÆ c oæ Ø KŒ Ø. ŒÆd ªaæ ŒÆØ ŒÆd Tç ºØ, Nåf B  ø ŒÆd IøÆ æºÆÆÅ, ‹Æ E I e ŒÅB º ª Ø ŒÆd æe ºæÆ fi I Ø ŒÆd  º ø Ø K Øƌƺ ø fi a —ıŁÆªæı ªÆÆ ŒÆd a —º ø ›ºªfiB, ŒÆd a #ºø Ææƪª ºÆÆ ŒÆd a ´Æ K d a ÆPa ¼ªfiÅ ªÆ KŒ Ø E ÆØØŒE IƪÆØ. (How the Young Man Should Study Poetry, 35E–F) As I suggested above that we reduce and counteract the credibility of lowly and harmful poems by opposing words and sayings of famous politicians, in the same way we should foster and strengthen whatever we find polite and useful in them with proofs and pieces of evidence taken from philosophers, crediting them with the invention. For this is right and useful, if credibility is reinforced with strength and status when the teachings of Pythagoras and Plato are in agreement with what is said on stage, sung by the lyre, and studied at school, and when the precepts of Chilon and Bias lead to the same conclusions as the authors that children read. (How the Young Man Should Study Poetry, 35E–F)

In this passage, Plutarch himself explains both the content and the function of clusters. As far as the former is concerned, he refers to a wide variety of material: apart from sayings of celebrities such as famous politicians—which indeed abound throughout Plutarch’s

point that flatterers attend upon important rather than unimportant people, is right. For further examples, see Tsekourakis (1983), 92. 20 Cf. the Introduction, p. 4. 21 Pace Morgan (2007), 290, who stated that ‘it is difficult . . . to identify any quite so deliberate pedagogical strategy in his essays as in Seneca’s; sayings and stories are scattered throughout his philosophical works, and Plutarch uses them in a variety of ways which seem to have more to do with the immediate context than their positions in the essay as a whole’. As I argue, clusters clearly fulfil the key function of conveying authority to statements which Plutarch makes at various points in his writings.

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practical ethics—he mentions the literary genres of drama and lyric poetry, but also includes a much broader reference to what children read at school. Literary quotations in Plutarch indeed mostly come from authors on the school curriculum. Pride of place, however, seems to be given to philosophy. Two things are noteworthy in the way in which Plutarch describes philosophy here. The first is that Plato is not the only philosopher Plutarch refers to: as we have already seen, Plutarch’s practical ethics refer not only to Plato, but to many other philosophers as well. The second point of interest relates to two of the philosophers Plutarch singles out here, namely Chilon and Bias, two of the Seven Sages. These philosophers of course were famous not for systematic doctrines, but for sayings and maxims, elements of popular morality Plutarch often uses in his clusters.22 Even more interesting for our current purposes, however, is Plutarch’s indication of the function that clusters have: they are to add (or destroy, depending on the circumstances) credibility ( Ø) to an argument and offer a kind of proof (I   Ø). They are, in other words, about constructing authority. Two key words indicate how they can perform this function. First, ÆæıæÆØ, providing evidence: the various elements in clusters inductively add up to proof of a statement. The second keyword is IøÆ or status: quotations from literature, sayings of famous commanders, and references to philosophers add the aura of tradition to an argument. Rather than deducing authority from a philosophical system, then, Plutarch builds up his authority inductively from a number of elements endowed with the prestige that tradition enjoyed in his days.23 As a result, clusters are characteristic not only of Plutarch’s way of working, as Van der Stockt argues, but also, it appears, of his way of building up authority. As an author, then, Plutarch assumes an authoritative position. Yet how does he—whether in his own voice or through that of others— present himself? What image of ‘Plutarch’ does he project through his 22 For the use of sayings, maxims, and proverbs in Plutarch, see Ferna´ndez Delgado (1991); in the Roman Empire in general, see Morgan (2007), 23–56 and 84–121. 23 For the prestige of the past in the Second Sophistic, see Swain (1996), 65–100 and Whitmarsh (2001b), 41–89; in imperial philosophy, see Frede (1999), 783 and Trapp (2007), 13.

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practical ethics?24 The first thing that strikes the eye, is that Plutarch, throughout these writings, consistently presents himself as a philosopher.25 In On Curiosity, he tells an anecdote about himself giving a philosophical lecture in Rome (KF  K  $fi Å Øƺ ª ı, On Curiosity 522D). In Precepts of Health Care, the companion whose opinions Zeuxippus recounts to Moschion is clearly characterized as a philosopher.26 And even in Political Precepts, Plutarch presents himself not as a politician, but as a philosopher: ›æH s  ÆæøæÅ  Iø B Pª  Æ K fiB ÆæØ Łø  ÞÅBæ  ÆØ æÅŒBæ  æªø, K Øc åæ PŒ å Ø Iæe çغçı  o ÆØŁæ K æ  Ø ºØØŒÆE ŒÆd ÅØ IªHØ ŒÆÆBÆØ ŒÆd ª  ŁÆØ ÆæÆ ت ø æªø fi c ºªø fi æÆØ ø Ł Æ, IØE b Ææƪª ºÆÆ ºÆ E ºØØŒ , c b ¼æÅØ PÆH KÆıfiH æŒıÆ rÆØ Çø. (Political Precepts 798B–C) So I see: you are eager to become in your native state a speaker of speeches, and a doer of actions in a way that is worthy of your noble birth, but you do not have time to come and observe what the life of a philosophical man is like in practice, amidst political affairs and public conflicts, nor to observe in person actual examples rather than theoretical ones. Given that, and given that you do ask to get political precepts, I think it would not at all be fitting for me to refuse. (Political Precepts 798B–C)

The reason why it might have been interesting for Menemachus to come to Chaeronea, Plutarch suggests, is that he would have been able to see a living example not of a politician who philosophizes, as 24

Russell (1993) offers a good survey of autobiographical references in Plutarch. My interest here lies more with self-presentation than with self-disclosure, in which Russell’s question (pp. 430–1) as to whether Plutarch’s self-references are factually true or not is of minor importance. 25 Cf. also Trapp (2007), 24. In other writings, Plutarch does sometimes refer to his own political activity, yet it remains true that ‘Plutarch [sic] preferred stance was a philosopher, not orator or politician’. Cf. Stadter (2002a), 4. See also Stadter (2004), 20. Fein (1994), 14, on the contrary, ranks Plutarch as a litte´rateur rather than a philosopher, yet as Bowie (2002) has shown, Plutarch’s choice not to write poetry or history—again—strengthened his profile as a philosopher. Contrast the situation in Table Talk, where Plutarch takes care to present himself ‘functioning in different relationship matrices’ (Klotz (2007), 666). 26 See below, p. 249.

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one might expect in a work on politics, but of a philosopher (cf. Iæe çغçı) active in politics. In the opening section of a work on politics, then, Plutarch presents himself clearly as a philosopher.27 Apart from presenting himself as a philosopher, Plutarch also defends or justifies what he is doing in that role (On Talkativeness, How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend? 28), stresses its difficulty (On Feeling Good, To an Uneducated Ruler) and necessity (On Exile, That a Philosopher Should Converse Especially with Men in Power), and presents it as an example (On Brotherly Love, On Feeling Good) that is being greatly approved of by others (Precepts of Health Care).29 To be more precise, however, Plutarch presents himself not merely as a philosopher, but as the philosopher: whereas a whole series of philosophers takes part in the discussions of Table Talk, On the Face in the Moon, or some of his works directed against the Stoics or the Epicureans, Plutarch is the only philosopher who appears in his works on practical ethics. This contributes to creating an image of Plutarch as the exclusive gatekeeper of philosophical insight. On top of that, Plutarch also accords himself the role of the unchallengeable exemplar. Indeed, if the use of the sociative first-person plural is a rhetorical device triggering strategies of imitation in the reader, it also positions the author at the right side of the divide. The result is a tone not so much of lecturing as of pursuing a road together. Yet on that road, Plutarch is clearly one step ahead of the reader:30 he shows a remarkable understanding of the problems which his readers may

27 Cf. already çغçø in 798B. Cf. also Stadter (2002a), 4. Throughout his oeuvre, Plutarch refers to his own political activities only a few times. Cf. Political Precepts 811B and 816D, Whether an Old Man Should Engage in Public Affairs 783C, Table Talk 2.10, 642F and 6.8, 693F, and Life of Demosthenes 2.2. 28 In How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend? 60E–F, Plutarch shows himself to be a friend by linking true friendship with laying bare one’s friends’ errors, as he himself of course constantly does throughout his practical ethics. Dio makes a comparable point in his Third Kingship Oration, 12–24. Cf. Whitmarsh (2001b), 194–5, with further bibliography in n. 57. 29 Justification: On Talkativeness 514D, How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend? 60E–F; difficulty: On Feeling Good 468C, To an Uneducated Ruler 779D–E; necessity: On Exile 599B, On Listening 37C–E; example: On Brotherly Love 487E, On Feeling Good 464E–F; approval: Precepts of Health Care 122E–F. 30 As Stadter (1988), 293 put it in relation to the proems of the Lives: ‘he establishes a relation of friendship and equality, in which he has pride of place

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face but depicts himself as dealing with those problems in an exemplary way. In the passage quoted from Political Precepts, for example, Plutarch presents himself as excelling in the political activity Menemachus and other readers may experience problems with, and in this way presents himself as the exemplar of the politician to be imitated by the reader. Yet although the reader is invited to imitate Plutarch as far as politics is concerned, he will never become entirely like Plutarch:31 while Plutarch depicts himself first and foremost as a philosopher even in Political Precepts, the reader, for all that he is to follow Plutarch as an example in politics, is not to turn into a philosopher himself. If, then, this is how Plutarch presents himself to the reader in his works of practical ethics, what effect is this self-presentation likely to have had?32 What are, in other words, the implications of these writings and the literary persona Plutarch evokes in them for himself as a historical person?33 First of all, there is the fact that Plutarch presents himself as the philosopher who will help his readers lead their lives in a more philosophical way but without turning them into philosophers themselves. By taking this stance, Plutarch not only places his readers under obligation to him by allowing them because of his reading and devotion to higher ideals’. Although his writings on practical ethics contain more first person references to Plutarch himself than the Lives, Plutarch occasionally presents himself as a role model for his readers in the Lives as well. The opening of the Lives of Aemilius and Timoleon forms a good example. Cf. Duff (1999), 30–1. On Plutarch’s presentation of himself as an example for his readers, see further Klotz (2007), esp. 666 and Trapp (2007), 58. 31 As such, this is a clever power strategy: on the one hand, the owner of power ‘needs to create a system wherein there are coveters, in order to convince himself and others that he has something’ (cf. Whitmarsh (2001b), 289), on the other hand, the power he has is only valuable to the extent that not too many other people have the same or a larger amount of power. 32 The aim is of course not to return to the old tradition of biographic interpretation; rather, it comes close to what Oliensis (1998) has done for Horace, namely to examine how Horace builds up authority for himself through his poems. Cf. also Krause (2003) for Dio, with a useful methodological excursus on p. 3. For a recent exploration of Plutarch’s self-presentation in his Table Talk, see Klotz (2007). 33 The opposition, better known as the opposition between persona poetica and persona pratica, is taken from Croce (1920), 73–85: whereas the persona pratica is the author as a historical person, the persona poetica could be defined as the sum of the implied authors present in the various works of one author. See Van Gorp, Ghesquiere, and Delabastita (1998), 215. See also Whitmarsh (2001b), 222.

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to live their lives well, he also makes them permanently indebted to him as a philosopher much more than if they were to become philosophers themselves. In this way, Plutarch’s self-presentation as the exclusive gatekeeper of philosophical capital acquires a deeper meaning as well: he literally defines and defends the boundaries of the philosophical field. In the second place, Plutarch also promotes the philosophical field as a whole, and thereby of course also himself as its exclusive gatekeeper. On the one hand, he enhances the esteem that philosophy enjoys within the political field by stressing how much politically active men need philosophy if they are to carry out their duties well and be content with their lives. Conversely, by presenting himself, even in the writings that deal with political issues, as a philosopher who also happens to be politically active rather than the other way round, Plutarch confirms the fact that his politicianreaders absolutely need philosophy, whereas he himself as a philosopher is an exemplum also in matters of politics without being in any way dependent upon politics for his happiness or well-being. By thus depicting himself as in some way above the ambitions and the fuss of political life, and disapproving of Greek politicians who leave their home towns in order to pursue an imperial career, Plutarch presents the fact that he himself did not have a brilliant political career not as a weakness, but as a deliberate choice and therefore as a sign of strength. On the other hand, Plutarch’s stress on the importance of philosophy for philologoi and politikoi also promotes philosophy within the cultural field: in order to speak well about oneself in public, one needs philosophy rather than sophistry, and if one is to stay healthy despite social engagements, one needs a philosopher rather than a doctor. Thus if philosophy, rhetoric, and medicine were the three main options for ‘higher education’ in Plutarch’s days, and philosophers, orators, and doctors the main competitors vying for students, public recognition, and authority,34 Plutarch’s practical ethics clearly plead the cause of philosophy.35 As we shall

34

Philosophers, doctors, and teachers of grammar and rhetoric were indeed the professional groups granted immunity—although the situation seems to have been more difficult in the case of philosophy than in the case of the other professions. Cf. Griffin (1987), 21–2 and Trapp (2007), 246 and 252. 35 Cf. the observations on Plutarch’s choice of topic above, p. 38.

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see in our case study of Precepts of Health Care, the debate on the need for specialized medical knowledge was a very lively one in Plutarch’s days. By deciding to write a philosophical work on the topic of health care, Plutarch could not but strongly engage in it. In fact, Precepts of Health Care markedly hints at the opposition from doctors that Plutarch expects. But the work goes further: it ingeniously incites its readers, whether they are doctors (!) themselves or not, to acknowledge the value and necessity of philosophy in matters of health care. The debate between philosophy and rhetoric, on the other hand, was no less vehement, with sophists and philosophers each investing their own forms of cultural capital in order to reinforce social esteem for themselves and their profession.36 Thus, while sophists wandered from one city to another to give display speeches with which they attracted not only huge audiences but also students paying ample fees,37 Plutarch never refers to the number of readers his practical ethics may attract,38 but does suggest their importance by addressing powerful people such as Philopappus, Fundanus, or Euphanes:39 he takes pride in the quality rather than the quantity of the readership of these texts. By presenting himself as 36 Cf. Von Arnim (1898), 4–114, Stanton (1973), and Hahn (1989), 46–53. That the boundaries between sophists and philosophers, although clear in theory, were not always equally clear in practice may be clear already from the fact that the very first words of Philostratus’ Lives of the Sophists are about ‘men who, though they were actually philosophers, ranked as sophists’ (f çغçÆÆ K fiÅ F çØ FÆØ, Lives of the Sophists 479). Cf. also Zanker (1995), 258, Korenjak (2000), 13 and 193, and Trapp (2007), 23–7. 37 Exacting payments from these students seems to have been even more problematic for philosophers. The way in which philosophers could promote themselves socially did not pass through economic capital, then, but through social capital. Cf. Hahn (1989), esp. 67–85. This ties in well with my argument that the way in which Plutarch seeks to promote himself with his writings of practical ethics is by convincing socially prominent people how much they also are in need of philosophy, and thereby augment the value of his own philosophical capital as well. 38 Plutarch himself of course also composed epideictic speeches, in which he sometimes presents himself as delivering such a discourse in front of an audience. Cf. Whether the Emotions of the Soul are Worse than Those of the Body 501F. Note, however, that Plutarch did not make a career as an orator in the way, say, Dio of Prusa did. See Stadter (2002a), 3–4. 39 For the power and importance of Plutarch’s dedicatees, see Ch. 1, esp. pp. 19–22, and Stadter (2002a), 5–6. For the cult of learning amongst the elite of the Roman Empire, see Zanker (1995). Note also that Plutarch, as opposed to Epictetus, e.g., addressed himself mainly to adults who often find themselves in the middle of their

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a philosopher with an important and powerful network, then, Plutarch asserts the social esteem enjoyed by philosophy within the cultural field.40 At the same time, displaying his social capital also allows Plutarch to present himself as powerful within the philosophical field, not only, I would suggest, to his primary intended readership, but also to fellow philosophers possibly overreading his texts.41 Indeed, although, as we have seen, it is definitely not Plutarch’s main aim to develop his own doctrines in opposition to those of other philosophers, it is a fact that in his presentation it is he, and not, say, a Stoic, or even another Platonic philosopher,42 who carries off the prize, and not a minor one, as we have just said: as he presents it, his philosophical advice is the one being read by powerful readers, and he therefore is the philosopher enjoying esteem in the political and cultural fields—a point which possible professional philosophers overreading these texts will not have missed. As such, then, Plutarch not only defends the borders of the philosophical field and promotes philosophy within the political and cultural fields, he also promotes his own position within the philosophical field. This examination of Plutarch’s self-presentation in his practical ethics and the effects it is likely to have had also challenges the prevailing image of Plutarch, which portrays him as a very bookish author. While he had indeed read a great deal and constantly interacted with earlier literature, my reading shows him to be a sophisticated author capable of manipulating his literary and philosophical heritage to his own ends.43 If we take Plutarch, as it were, out of the library and read him in his socio-cultural context, a picture indeed emerges that shows him not so much as a çغ Łæø , as he is

career, rather than to youngsters before they start it. See also the discussion, in Ch. 8, of Glaucus’ reproach in Precepts of Health Care that the companion’s advice was ‘pedagogic’. 40 Cf. Zanker (1995), 258 and Lendon (1997), 48–9. The latter moreover points out explicitly that ‘a distinguished man might therefore honour another to induce the other to honour him’ (p. 57). 41 For the concept of overreader, see Oliensis (1998), 6–7. 42 For inner-school competition between philosophers, see Lim (1995), 31–69. 43 Even Panagopoulos (1977), 200 has to admit that ‘malgre´ une e´rudition qui peut paraıˆtre parfois livresque, Plutarque reste un te´moin majeur de la vie de son temps’.

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traditionally depicted,44 but rather as a self-conscious player in society who adroitly invests his philosophical capital in order to promote his position within society. Although Plutarch represents himself, in these writings, as a philosopher rather than as a person of society, the very fact that he activates philosophy in order to negotiate his own place within society, shows, paradoxically enough, that he is, in the end, as much embedded in that society as anybody else. 44 See e.g. recently, Mossman (1997), p. x, referring to the ‘humane and agreeable persona he presents so well throughout his writings’, or Stadter (1999a), 481, describing him as ‘good-humored, slow to find fault, wise, and full of human warmth, of philanthropia’. I by no means want to deny this traditional picture of Plutarch as a çغ Łæø : all I hope to have shown, is that Plutarch appears from his writings under another guise as well, that is, as an adroit and often self-conscious philosopher in society.

PART II Plutarch’s Practical Ethics

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4 On Feeling Good The text that forms the subject of this chapter is about PŁıÆ.1 In the first paragraph, Plutarch describes this concept as ‘ease of soul and an untroubled life’ (cf. Iºı Æ łıåB ŒÆd  IŒø, 465A).2 As we shall see, the remainder of the text confirms this initial understanding by associating euthymia with concepts such as calm and serenity, whilst also adding a more positive connotation when linking it with joy. In more contemporary language, euthymia could be paraphrased as contentment and confidence, at its best combined with optimism and happiness: a persistent positive feeling that one knows, and is, all in all, pleased with, one’s role and place in the world, not because one tries to do away with all negative aspects of it, but because one accepts them and tries to make the best of them. This feeling implies that one does not feel jealousy or anger when others do better, that one has the resilience to deal with misfortunes and put them in perspective, and that one is confident that one is doing well and that in the end, things will always be all right and life is good. Being euthymos, then, is the opposite of depression, anxiety, stress, an inferiority complex, restlessness, perfectionism, discontent, pessimism, feeling down, fear of failure, panic attacks, and passive listlessness which characterize the mood of so many at the beginning of

1 As a noun, an adjective, or a verb, euthym- occurs no less than eighteen times throughout the text, namely in 464E, 464F, 465C (twice), 465D (twice), 466A, 467A, 467E, 469A, 469E, 470A, 471D, 473B, 473E, 476B, 476E, and 477D. For a discussion of the concept in antiquity, see Weische (1974). 2 For the comparison of the soul to a sea, cf. Hirsch-Luipold (2002), 239 and n. 38 and Duff (1999), 105–6, and n. 20.

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the twenty-first century.3 Because it is so relevant today, I have opted to translate euthymia as ‘feeling good’, which not only comes very close to a perfect translation of P-ŁıÆ, but which, I also hope, strikes a more contemporary note than ‘tranquillity of mind’ or ‘contentment’. At the beginning of his text, Plutarch says that he has ‘gathered together something on feeling good from the notes (hypomne¯mata) that I happened to have made for myself ’ (464F). For scholars in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, this famous statement4 was enough to reduce Plutarch’s On Feeling Good to a shabby amalgam of earlier texts on the topic:5 some saw Democritus, others Panaetius, and still others another Stoic or an Epicurean as Plutarch’s main or only source.6 As it soon became clear, however, that Plutarch probably used material drawn from different (philosophical) angles,7 more subtle ways of dealing with Plutarch’s sources were developed. Karl-Hans Abel (1987), for example, argued convincingly that reconstructing Panaetius’ work On Feeling Good from Plutarch’s work on this topic poses insurmountable problems. Plutarch did not follow Democritus uncritically either, for on closer examination, his Platonism shines through. Likewise, Christopher Gill, in a study 3 Cf. the interpretation of Serenus’ and Paccius’ problem in terms of nausea or boredom in Toohey (2004), 123–5. 4 The translation offered here is based on the understanding of the hypomne¯matastatement as explained by Van der Stockt (1999a). For earlier, quite different translations of it, see Van der Stockt and Van Meirvenne (forthcoming). 5 Van der Stockt (1996), 265–6, with further bibliography in n. 3, points out stylistic elements pointing towards quick composition, while Van der Stockt and Van Meirvenne (forthcoming) highlight the fact that On Feeling Good contains a number of not always perfectly integrated clusters. Ingenkamp (forthcoming a) also draws attention to what he calls ‘springboard’-arguments, that is, arguments which do not always show a clear connection with their immediate context, but the main function of which is to provide an impetus to an important point the author wants to make. Cf. also Morgan (2007), 290–1. In none of these cases is it clear, however, to what extent On Feeling Good is really different from other Plutarchean writings in these respects. 6 Democritus: Siefert (1908), Paton, Pohlenz, and Sieveking (1929), and Hershbell (1982), 84–9; Panaetius: Siefert (1908), and Paton, Pohlenz, and Sieveking (1929), Hirzel (1879), Broecker (1954), esp. 201–14, and Barigazzi (1962); Aristo of Chios: Heinze (1890) and Hense (1905b); Epicurean: Pohlenz (1905). Tsekourakis (1983), 77–117, on the other hand, saw strong influences from diatribe, esp. in }} 3–4, 6 and 10–13. 7 Fowler (1890), Helmbold (1939), 164, Betz (1978), 200, and Hershbell (1982), 84 and 93 all stressed the fact that Plutarch may have used a wide variety of sources.

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of the development of the idea of ‘being yourself ’ through the writings of Panaetius, Seneca, and Plutarch on PŁıÆ, attributed to Plutarch a broadly ‘“philosophical” approach to euthymia, which has appeal to Stoics and Epicureans alike, couched in terms which are as much Platonic or Peripatetic as Stoic or Epicurean’.8 Confirmation for these new interpretations came from a different quarter, when Luc Van der Stockt examined Plutarch’s statement on his compositional techniques in On Feeling Good more carefully and concluded that ‘far from testifying to Plutarch’s dependence on only one single source in De tranq. an., the statement . . . refers to  ÆÆ as to Plutarch’s own intellectual and literary property’.9 These hypomne¯mata, then, are notes taken by Plutarch while reading, teaching, or reflecting, on which he could draw when composing different works. Trying to define Plutarch’s source in writing On Feeling Good, then, is a complex task which, in the current stage of scholarly research, cannot be given a final answer: Plutarch apparently used different sources, of which many are no longer accessible to us, and which he, moreover, interpreted and represented in a creative way, suiting his own purposes. Rather than investigating whether and how these sources appear in On Feeling Good, I shall therefore focus on its author’s creativity and agenda in writing the work: what I am interested in is not where the text comes from, but what it leads up to. I propose, in other words, to explore the dynamics of the text as a speech act, that is, as a discourse with which the author seeks to produce a certain effect in his readers. Why is On Feeling Good framed as a letter to Paccius, and what are the implications of this presentation for the wider readership? What is Plutarch’s overall agenda with On Feeling Good, and what rhetorical strategies does he use in order to realize it?

8

Gill (1994), 4624. Cf. also Sirinelli (2000), 145. Van der Stockt and Van Meirvenne (forthcoming), with my italics. Before, Ziegler (1951), 787, Tsekourakis (1983), 114–17, and Dorandi (2000), 27–8 had already pointed out Plutarch’s own contribution to his hypomne¯mata. Further interpretations of Plutarch’s hypomne¯mata-statement can be found in Fowler (1890), 151, Heinze (1890), 497, Siefert (1896), 53, Pohlenz (1905), 275, Seidel (1906), 33, Siefert (1908), 3, Helmbold (1939), 163–4, Broecker (1954), 15, Barrow (1967), 109–10, Dumortier and Defradas (1975), Betz (1978), 200, and Hershbell (1982), 93. 9

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Far from being ‘invented’ by Plutarch, the concept of feeling good had had a long history in Greek literature, especially in philosophy. Plato, Aristotle, and the early Stoics discussed it in passing,10 Pindar, Xenophon, and Philo of Alexandria used the word euthymia repeatedly,11 and three philosophers dedicated an entire work to the topic:12 Democritus13 and Panaetius14 in Greek, and Seneca15 in Latin. The popularity of the topic among philosophers, including some of his older contemporaries such as Philo (died c. ad 50) and Seneca (died ad 65), on the one hand makes Plutarch’s interest in the topic understandable: if philosophers write about feeling good, then publishing a book on that topic becomes a way of presenting oneself as a philosopher. Yet on the other hand, it provokes the question why, although so much had already been written on it recently, Plutarch decided to write yet another work on the topic.16 Plutarch provides 10 Plato: Laws (792b7); Aristotle: Problems 954a25, 955a1, 955a16, 955a16, and 955a25; SVF 3, 105 (fr. 432). For the early history of the word, see Poltera (1997), 479–80 and Sotiriou (1998), 30. For Democritus, see below, n. 13. Epicurus, on the other hand, does not seem to have adopted the term. 11 For PŁıÆ in Philo, see Betz (1978), passim, and esp. 204. 12 For the possibility of a work On Feeling Good by Athenodorus, see below, n. 30. 13 For Democritus’ opinions on feeling good, cf. Bailey (1964), Guthrie (1965), 489–97, Steckel (1970), 208–12, Dumortier and Defradas (1975), 90, 191–9, Laurenti (1980), Hershbell (1982), 84, Demont (1990), 271–5, Gill (1994), 4610–11, Hadot (1995a), 287, and Salem (1996), 307–18. For further bibliography on the topic, see Annas (1993), 18 n. 34. 14 On this fragmentary work, see Siefert (1908), esp. 39–70, Grilli (1953), 137–61, and Broecker (1954), passim, and esp. 201–14, Long (1974), 211–16, Dumortier and Defradas (1975), 91, Rist (1969), 196 n. 5, Abel (1987), Flashar et al. (edd.) (1994), 648–9, and Gill (1994), 4609–16. 15 About this work of Seneca’s, see Griffin (1976), 222–3, Cavalca Schiroli (1981), Castiglioni (1984), 11–30, Maurach (1991), 123–32, and Gill (1994), 4616–24. 16 For a long time, On Feeling Good was dated before ad 79 in absolute terms and prior to On the Control of Anger in relative terms. Cf. Siefert (1908), 62, and Broecker (1954), 31. Jones (1966), 61–3 and 73 convincingly showed that a much later date is more likely in absolute terms, whereas Van der Stockt and Van Meirvenne (forthcoming) demonstrate that it may well be posterior to On the Control of Anger. Pace Sirinelli (2000), 140, a date of after about ad 100 therefore seems likely. Seneca’s On Tranquillity, on the other hand, is probably to be dated around ad 60. Cf. Andre´ (1989), 1730 and Maurach (1991), 123 n. 135 with further bibliography.

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himself with an excuse for doing so by indicating explicitly that he wrote the work at someone’s demand: On Feeling Good presents itself as a letter from Plutarch to a friend of his called Paccius.17 Although more than one contemporary Paccius is attested, no certain identification can be made, and the only knowledge we have about this dedicatee therefore derives from Plutarch’s text.18 Plutarch’s commendation of his addressee in the first paragraph offers a good starting point: ıÅ , ‹Ø ŒÆd çغÆ åø ª ØŒa ŒÆd Æ P e Kº Æ H K IªæA fi º ªø e F æƪ،F % æ  P ŁÆ, P ‰ KŒ E ‘ PÆØÇø  Zåº K ºÅ ’ H çıØŒH ÆŁH, Iººa ºº ŒØ IŒÅŒg Å  Ø ‰ h  ªæÆ I ƺº  Ø Œ ºØ h ÆŒºØ ºı ºc ÆæøıåÆ Pb Ø ÅÆ Œ çƺƺªÆ. (On Feeling Good 465A) I congratulate you because although you enjoy the friendship of leading people and a fame that is second to none of the forensic speakers, you have not suffered the fate of Merops in the tragedy: by contrast with him, ‘the fact that the mob calls you a happy man has’ not ‘driven’ you beyond the emotions it is natural to feel. On the contrary, you continue to remember what you have often heard, that a shoe does not protect one from gout, nor an expensive ring from hangnail, nor a diadem from a headache. (On Feeling Good 465A)

This passage highlights four characteristics of Paccius’ that are confirmed elsewhere in the text, and that make him into a model reader of Plutarch’s practical ethics. First, it points out that he moves in wealthy circles: Plutarch here refers to his friendship with important people,19 and mentions senatorial shoes, expensive rings, and diadems.20 Elsewhere in the text as well, there are implicit references to

17 Betz (1978), 199 explicitly calls On Feeling Good a letter-essay, Tsekourakis (1983), 114 likewise an K غc- æƪÆ Æ. For the genre of the letter amongst Plutarch’s practical ethics, see above, pp. 68–70 and nn. 7 and 14. 18 Several of the Paccii mentioned in RE 18.2, 2063–6 were contemporaries of Plutarch, yet as Ziegler (1951), 693 pointed out, there is no evidence that the Paccius mentioned in Plutarch’s letter can be identified with one of them. On Paccius, see furthermore Kroll (1943), 2063, Jones (1971), 59, and Puech (1992), 4865. 19 For important friendships, cf. also 467D, 471E, and 472B. 20 Pace Kroll (1943), 2063, Jones (1971), 59, Swain (1996), 170 n. 100 and Stadter (2002c), 125, Puech (1992), 4865 has shown convincingly that this passage does not allow the conclusion that Paccius was of senatorial rank.

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the world of the wealthy,21 and wealth itself is repeatedly mentioned explicitly as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.22 Second, the reference to oratory in this passage clearly presents Paccius as a man leading an active life, as is indeed confirmed later in the text.23 Ordinary people consider him to be happy on the basis of his conspicuously successful life, and the fact that Plutarch makes use of Paccius’ public activity and success as a captatio benevolentiae, that is, in order to arouse his reader’s goodwill, suggests, moreover, that Paccius took pride in them. Third, the fact that Plutarch adops a poetic quotation without feeling the need to explain that the quotation comes from Euripides’ tragedy Phaethon, or that Merops was an Ethiopian king and Phaethon’s father, suggests that Paccius has enjoyed a good education. This is confirmed by similar quotations throughout the text, as well as by Plutarch’s statement that On Feeling Good is a reply to a letter of Paccius (cf. ı c K غ, 464E). Finally, this passage also stresses that Paccius has enjoyed a philosophical education (cf. ºº ŒØ IŒÅŒ). The fact that he knew Plutarch, a philosopher, well enough in order to ask him to write something for him, confirms this impression. Living in Rome (464E), however, an educated and philosophically trained man such as Paccius would probably have had access to one or more existing philosophical works on feeling good: copies of, say, Seneca’s On Tranquillity will no doubt have circulated in Rome alongside Thrasyllus’ first-century edition of Democritus’ works.24 Nevertheless, Plutarch suggests that Paccius asked him to write something on feeling good, and that he complied with this request on the basis of 21

E.g. the reference to prize-horses in 471E. On horses as a marker of wealth, see above, Ch. 1, n. 9. 22 E.g. 471B, 472B, 472D, 472E, 474C, and 474D. Note the strong contrast with Seneca, who stresses the bad influence money can have on feeling good in On Tranquillity }} 8 and 9. 23 In 468B–C, Plutarch indeed suggests that Paccius’ problem may have been caused or exacerbated in the sphere of business (L . . . æ  Ø æ ªÆÆ Ø ı ) by business assistants (cf. H æd a æ  Ø  ıæªH). Although  ıæª does not occur as a terminus technicus in the survey of Greek Terms for Roman Institutions by Mason (1974), the addition of æd a æ  Ø makes it clear that Plutarch is talking about helpers for business rather than about personal servants. 24 Cf. Diogenes Laertius 9.45.

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earlier notes. Why, then, would previous works on feeling good have disappointed a man such as Paccius? What did Plutarch think he could offer men like Paccius that his predecessors did not offer?25 In On Feeling Good, Plutarch explicitly rejects previous advice on the topic. After the introductory paragraph, he starts his treatment of feeling good by criticizing the idea that ‘the man who is to feel good must not engage in many affairs, either private or public’ ( E e

PŁı EŁÆØ  ººÆ c ººa æ Ø  NfiÅ  ıfiB, 465C). We know from other sources that the dictum stems from Democritus.26 Plutarch thus starts his text by refuting a statement of the first author to have dedicated a treatise to the topic. The way in which he refers to Democritus, not by name but with the words › b s N  (‘someone who said’, 465C), points out how well known and widespread this old piece of advice was: people such as Paccius and Plutarch’s broader readership most likely had come across it when reading either Democritus’ own treatise, or other philosophical texts.27 Plutarch, then, does not try to hide the fact that other discussions of feeling good are in circulation, but stresses from the beginning that his treatment will be thoroughly different. Indeed, his quotation from Democritus is followed by a thorough refutation in three steps. First, Plutarch states that inactivity would be too high a price for feeling good, just as anaesthesia would be a bad remedy for suffering. Next, he says that it is not true ‘that those who are not engaged in many affairs are feeling good’. In order to substantiate this, he adduces the examples of women, who although passing their 25 Tsekourakis (1983), 116 suggests that Plutarch wanted to write something better, and above all something more adapted to the specific case of Paccius. In this chapter, I analyse how Plutarch’s text is shaped in order to realize these goals, yet I see Paccius as a model reader rather than as the (only) target reader. 26 Cf. Seneca, On Tranquillity 13.1 and Stobaeus 4.39.25 = fr. 68 B3 DK. Cf. also Hirzel (1879), 377, Heinze (1890), 498, Pohlenz (1905), 275, Paton, Pohlenz, and Sieveking (1929), Helmbold (1939), 170 n. a, Barigazzi (1962), esp. 113 and 115, and Tsekourakis (1983), 81. 27 Plutarch’s use of the particles b s may suggest that Paccius had referred to the dictum in his letter to Plutarch: according to Denniston (1966), s.v., b s can indeed be used when ‘the second speaker, while agreeing with what the first has said, as far as it goes, shows that he regards it as inadequate by substituting a stronger form of expression’. Yet the very fact that it became so famous as to be quoted by a Latin author in the first century ad ipso facto shows that one did not have to read (all of) Democritus in order to know this sentence of his.

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time within the house, are none the less subject to jealousy and other emotions, and Laertes, living in the countryside during Odysseus’ absence but none the happier for it. Finally, Plutarch points out that even Epicurus—who was otherwise known, or at least depicted by his enemies, as favouring a retreat from public life—did not object to politics and public affairs unconditionally: in the case of men who desire honour and fame (f çغı ŒÆd çغı, 465F), inactivity itself can be an impediment to feeling good and even make one feel bad ( N IŁıÆ ŒÆŁÅØ, 465E). As opposed to what other philosophers28 did, then, Plutarch does not advise giving up one’s activities in order to feel good. Amongst the readers of Plutarch’s practical ethics, who, like Paccius, were not only publicly active and ambitious, but also interested in philosophy and concerned for their own spiritual well-being, there will obviously have been a market for this different approach. Indeed, when advised in other works on feeling good to cut down their activities, such readers found themselves caught between Scylla and Charybdis: either having to give up activity in order to feel good, or continuing their activities but feeling bad. Plutarch saw the difficulty of the dilemma for these readers, as well as the opportunities this offered for himself as a philosopher: he suggests that one of them, although being familiar with earlier writings on the topic, resorted to asking him to write something on feeling good that would help him in particular (cf.  Ø ªæÆçBÆØ, 464E). Democritus’ statement had been adopted and, above all, adapted, by a number of philosophers. Several Epicureans, for example, seem to have used Democritus’ authority to shore up their argument about the detrimental effect of public activity on feeling good,29 and even the Stoic Athenodorus (first century bc) came to the conclusion that in a bad world, politics is no option if one wants to feel good.30 With 28 It is tempting, e.g., to read Plutarch’s second and third points as a refutation of Philodemus, who adduced the examples of unhappy men of action in order to refute the idea that tranquillity is the prerogative of politicians and military leaders (On Property Management 22.20–8). For a discussion of this passage of Philodemus, cf. Tsouna (2007), 188–9. 29 Cf. Dumortier and Defradas (1975), 300. 30 Athenodorus’ opinions on the topic can be read in the third paragraph of Seneca’s On Tranquillity. On the basis of this passage, Philippson (1931), 47–55, esp. 52–3, McGann (1969), 28, and Lotito (2001), 14 and n. 6 concluded that

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his criticism on the supposed incompatibility of an active life and feeling good,31 then, Plutarch also refutes these philosophers. Others, however, had taken a different stance. Orthodox Stoics are a case in point. According to Seneca, for example, Democritus’ dictum referred to ‘trivial affairs’ only, not to public activity in general (ad supervacua scilicet referentem, 13.1). A considerable part of Seneca’s On Feeling Good is, in fact, dedicated to arguing that the life to be chosen is the life of public involvement.32 Why, then, was Seneca’s text not sufficient for Plutarch’s readers, not even for the Roman ones amongst them,33 as Plutarch’s choice of a Roman dedicatee makes clear? In the third paragraph of On Feeling Good, Plutarch engages in a debate against ‘those who believe that one particular kind of life is free from pain, as some do the life of farmers, others that of bachelors, others that of kings’ (f b ªaæ IçøæØ ø Æ  ¼ºı  ÇÆ, ‰ ØØ e H ª øæªH j e H MØŁ ø j e H Æغ ø, 466A). Whether or not Plutarch knew Seneca’s On Tranquillity 34 and is arguing against this work in particular, is not clear,35 yet he does refute the idea that there is one kind of life (cf. Æ , 466A) which automatically leads to feeling good, whereas other lives do not: u æ ƒ  غd ŒÆd ÆıØH  K fiH º E, rÆ ÞA fi  N Ø Ø  Ø, Ka N ªÆFº K IŒ ı ŒÆd ºØ Ka N æØæÅ  ÆHØ, Pb æÆıØ c

Athenodorus wrote a work On Feeling Good, yet Seneca’s text does not specify where Athenodorus promoted his opinions on the subject (ut ait Athenodorus). Cf. also Hense (1893). 31 For Plutarch’s interpretation of Democritus here, see Dumortier and Defradas (1975), 300 and Tsekourakis (1983), 101 and n. 66. 32 Seneca, On Tranquillity 4.1–6.8. Cf. Gill (1994), 4619. 33 Greek knowledge of Latin indeed seems to have been more restricted than Roman knowledge of Greek. Cf. Balsdon (1979), 123–36 and Rochette (1997), esp. 163–4. 34 For Plutarch’s knowledge of Latin, see De Rosalia (1991), Strobach (1997), 33–46, and Geiger (2002). Although Plutarch mentions Seneca in his Life of Galba 20.1.1 as well as in On the Control of Anger 461F, there are no indications that he read his predecessor’s works. 35 Several poets also seem to have exploited the idea in a priamel. Horace’s first Satire and his first Ode are famous examples. For more examples and some further literature, see Schmid (1964), Nisbet and Hubbard (1975), 1–3, and Race (1982). Cf. also the more general, famous question of who is the happiest person (

P  Æ;), on which see Joly (1956), 17.

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åºc ŒÆd c  غÆ ı Æç æ  ÆE, oø ƃ H ø IØ ƺł Ø PŒ KÆØæFØ B łıåB a ºı FÆ ŒÆd Ææ Æ
ÆFÆ  Kd I ØæÆ æƪ ø, IºªØÆ, e c ÆŁÆØ Å K ÆŁÆØ åæBŁÆØ E ÆæFØ OæŁH. ÆFÆ ŒÆd ºıı å Ø Ç Ø ŒÆd ÅÆ, ÆFÆ ŒÆd ª ªÆÅŒÆ IØA fi ŒÆd Iª ı
Øa ÆFÆ ç ªıØ c Iªæa

rÆ c ıåÆ P ç æıØ, Øa ÆFÆ æƪøªa K ÆPºÆE ØŒıØ ŒÆd Ææ ºŁ  PŁf ÆæÆØ. . . . › ºªØe PŒºÆ ŒÆd  ƺc Kªª   Ø E æe ŒÆ . (On Feeling Good, 466C–D) Just as people who suffer from fear and nausea at sea think they will be more comfortable if they transfer from a little boat to a ship, and then again to a man-of-war, but do not reach any results because they carry their bitterness and cowardice with them, just so changing one kind of life for another does not relieve the soul of pain and distress—of inexperience, unreasonableness, and lack of ability and knowledge to make good use of given circumstances, that is. These are the defects that cause storm for rich and poor alike, these are the defects that afflict married and unmarried people. This is why people run away from public life but then cannot stand the quiet, this is why they pursue promotion at court, which gets them down as soon as they have acquired it. . . . Reason, once engendered, brings about openness and flexibility towards every kind of life. (On Feeling Good, 466C–D)

When unhappy, some people try to resolve their problems by opting for a different social position or a different kind of life. According to Plutarch, however, this change will not bring them any relief. If the beginning of the passage contains a negative formulation, the end presents a positive perspective: every kind of life (ŒÆ ) has the potential to allow one to feel good. As opposed to previous writings on the topic, then, Plutarch’s On Feeling Good does not direct the reader towards one kind of life rather than towards another:36 whether one is content or not does not depend upon one’s social role or position. It depends, on the contrary, on reason (ºªØ versus IºªØÆ) and the ‘ability and knowledge to make good use of given circumstances’ (cf. c ÆŁÆØ Å

36 The conspicuous absence of the noun PÆØÆ, ‘happiness’, seems to be in line with this, as the question of what kind of life to live played a considerable role in discussions of this important word of ancient ethics. See, e.g., Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1.5. Cf. also Joly (1956), 12–18 and Annas (1993), 365–6. On the other hand, its absence may be yet another clue pointing out that this is not a work of high philosophy. Cf. Morgan (2007), 199–200 and 333.

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K ÆŁÆØ åæBŁÆØ E ÆæFØ OæŁH). As the following examples show, the attitude Plutarch promotes is inextricably linked up with philosophy. Three philosophers that everybody would deem to be in a worse situation appear to be having a better time than three men who are apparently more favoured by fortune: Crates is happy with his wallet and cloak while Alexander cries because he has not yet conquered the whole world; Diogenes does not mind being sold as a slave while Agamemnon’s kingship caused him nothing but troubles; and Socrates enjoyed philosophizing with his friends in prison whereas Phaethon was unhappy in heaven because he was not allowed to drive his father’s chariot.37 Plutarch’s readers, then, should not change their social position or role, but acquire a more philosophical attitude. This idea recurs a bit further down in the text: Øe c Ūc B PŁıÆ K ÆPE sÆ E KŒŒÆŁÆæø , ¥Æ ŒÆd a KŒe ‰ NŒ EÆ ŒÆd çºØÆ c åƺ H åæø Ø ıç æÅÆØ. . . . Œı Æ fi ªaæ › —º ø e  I ŒÆ , K fiz ŒÆd  ºº Ø  E a æçæÆ, ŒÆd ƺÆ åæBŁÆØ ŒÆºH E FØ. ø b e b  ºº Ø PŒ Kç  E, e b æÅŒø  å ŁÆØ a ªØ Æ Ææa B åÅ ŒÆd   Ø Œ ø fi  , K fiz ŒÆd e NŒ E Tç º Ø  ºØÆ ŒÆd e IºÅ lŒØÆ ºı  Ø f K Øıªå Æ,   æ æª K, i s çæH . (On Feeling Good 467A–B) Let us therefore cleanse the source of feeling good that lies within ourselves, so that we turn to our advantage external circumstances by approaching them as being familiar and friendly, and not with unease. . . . For Plato compared life to a game of dice in which we should both throw good numbers and, after our throw, make good use of what has turned up. Yet whilst we do not have control over the result of the throw, it is our job, if we are sensible, to accept whatever fortune bestows upon us in a suitable manner, that is, to assign a place to everything in which what suits us will be of greatest use and what is unwanted will cause least harm if it happens to us. (On Feeling Good 467A–B)

With its first person plural hortative (KŒŒÆŁÆæø ), this passage contains the first explicit invitation to the reader to undertake action. The change to be brought about is an inner change, yet this inner change is to lead to a different reaction to external events. The 37

For the possible diatribic origins of these pairs of antithetical examples, see Tsekourakis (1983), 94–5.

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explanation for this course of action is given in the form of a comparison of life to a game of dice. Dicing had been used in literature before, and Plutarch here explicitly refers to Plato’s use of it. In the discussion on poetry in book 10 of the Republic, Socrates makes the point that poetry is bad because it presents people reacting emotionally to whatever happens to them. Socrates advises, on the contrary, ‘to deliberate (ıº  ŁÆØ) about what has happened to us, and, as it were in the fall of the dice (K  Ø Œø), to determine the movements of our affairs with reference to the numbers that turn up, in the way that reason (› ºª) indicates would be the best’ (Republic 604c–d, trans. Shorey (1935), 455). The image of the dice thus serves, in Plato, to emphasize the preference of a reasonable over an emotional reaction. Onto this opposition of reasonable and unreasonable reactions, Plutarch grafts that of what is and what is not in our control: we cannot escape the human condition (cf. PŒ Kç E), but we should make good use (cf.   æ æª K) of what happens to us. Although the distinction between what is and what is not up to us is already present in Aristotle,38 Plutarch’s use of it in this passage calls to mind Stoic philosophy, as the same message is attached to the image of dicing in Epictetus (cf. Ke æª, Discourse 2.5.3). Yet in contrast to Epictetus, for whom whatever happens to one is a matter of indifference (cf. IØ çæØ, Discourse 2.5.3), Plutarch’s point is not about detaching oneself from one’s desires and pleasures, but about turning everything to one’s advantage.39 38

e.g. Nicomachean Ethics 1114b–1115a. Cf. Hankinson (1999), esp. 531–4. Note the difference with Epictetus, Discourse 1.17, where he advises to ‘organize as well as possible the things that are in our power, and to take (åæBŁÆØ) the rest as they come’: the verb Epictetus uses in relation to negative affairs (åæBŁÆØ) lays far less stress on the positive and advantageous outcome highlighted by Plutarch, who uses åæBŁÆØ ŒÆºH ıç æÅÆØ, and Tç º Ø. Seneca (On Tranquillity 11.3) goes even further than Epictetus when suggesting that one should give up the wealth Fortune once bestowed upon one with the words: ‘Thank you for what I possessed and had. I made use of your gifts, but at great expense (magna . . . mercede); yet given that you command me to, I give them back and renounce them thankfully and willingly’. Plutarch’s advice, on the other hand, is more in line with Euripides, who adduced the image of the dice in his Hippolytus 718 (ZÆŁÆØ æe a F øŒÆ) in order to underscore the good use to which even bad events can be put. By referring to Plato rather than to Euripides, however, Plutarch draws attention to the the Platonic perspective adopted in his own work On Feeling Good, as well as to the role of reason and philosophy in general. 39

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This, of course, would be more acceptable and accessible to a man such as Paccius than to have to consider every calamity as a matter of indifference. And given their similarity to him, other readers are likely to find Plutarch’s arguments equally appealing. At the end of the passage, Plutarch even goes a step further by actively playing on his reader’s sense of honour when ascribing the good use of bad things to men of sense (cf. i s çæH ). In the sentence immediately following it, he suggests that people who react badly to outer circumstances are the ones ‘without skill (I åı) and sense as to how they should live (Iı æd e )’, whereas ‘sensible people’ (ƒ b çæØØ) make good use of all circumstances. In other passages too,40 Plutarch invites Paccius to ‘join the good ones’ by including him in a sociative first-person plural illustrating or at least inciting good behaviour. At other points,41 it is suggested that Paccius might not yet belong to the category he wants to belong to. As was set out in Chapter 2, all these associations are rhetorical strategies designed to make the reader change his attitude more eagerly. In the following section, we shall see what exactly he needs to do.

4.2. PLUTARCH’S PHILOSOPHICAL ADVICE ON FEELING GOOD In the preceding section, we have seen how Plutarch takes care to set apart his own approach to feeling good, tailored to the needs of people like Paccius, from that of previous philosophers: as opposed to the latter, Plutarch does not tell his readers which life to live or not to live. Instead, he suggests philosophy will bring about an inner change that will allow the reader to make the best of the external events that happen to him while living the life of his own choice. Even before he entered the discussion with competing approaches to feeling good (}} 2–5), however, Plutarch had set out this programme

40 41

e.g. 467A, 468F, 469A, 469E, 470A, 471A, and 476E. This is the case, e.g., in 468B, 468E, 469A, 469F, 471A, and 472F.

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very clearly (} 1). Indeed, after having congratulated Paccius for remembering, notwithstanding his success in the eyes of the world, that clothes or jewellery do not protect one against pains and illnesses, he explains why pomp and circumstance cannot provide a firm basis for feeling good, and what, on the contrary, can provide that basis: Ł  ª c æe Iºı Æ łıåB ŒÆd  IŒÆ åæÅ ø Zç º j Å j ı  ø K ÆPºÆE, i c e åæ  På æØfi q E åıØ ŒÆd e H I ø    I d ÆæÆŒºıŁfiB;  b F Kd ¼ºº j ºª NŁØ  ŒÆd   º ÅŒe F ÆŁÅØŒF ŒÆd Iºªı B łıåB KØÆ ı ºº ŒØ K غÆ  ŁÆØ Æåf ŒÆd c æØæA I ææ  ŒÆd ŒÆÆç æ   e H Ææø.42 . . . H ºªø, ‹Ø æe a ŁÅ ÅŁFØ,  E æe H ÆŁH K Ø º EŁÆØ f F åÆ, ¥ KŒ ººF Ææ Œ ıÆ Ø Aºº Tç ºHØ
. . . a ŁÅ a B łıåB ØƪæØÆØ Æ ŒÆÆ ÆFÆØ ÞÆ fi ø PŒ Ø, i c ºªØ Ææ  NŒ EØ ŒÆd ıŁ Ø K غÆ øÆØ H ÆæÆ ø. (On Feeling Good 465A–B) How could riches, fame, or influence at court contribute to ease of soul or an untroubled life if their presence is not always pleasurable to their possessors, and the longing for them when they are absent always follows? How else could one ensure this if not through reason, trained to take care to get under control quickly the emotional and irrational part of the soul when it breaks bounds, as it often does, and not to allow it to burst out over, or be cast down by, the circumstances at hand. . . . Intelligent people should provide themselves with arguments that help against the emotions before the emotions occur, in order that they may be more efficient because they have been prepared far in advance. . . . It is not easy to calm down the emotions of the soul when they are raging wild unless familiar and customary arguments are at hand to take control over their excitement. (On Feeling Good 465A–B)

As we saw earlier in this chapter and in Chapter 1, wealth, celebrity, and social capital were all important ingredients of the lives led by the readers of Plutarch’s practical ethics, including the dedicatee of On 42 Pace Paton, Pohlenz, and Sieveking (1929), 188 (I e H Ææø), Dumortier and Defradas (1975), 99 (I e H Ææø), and Helmbold (1939), 169 (I e H I ø), I follow the text of manuscripts %, —, and ˜. On the one hand, the text as it stands in these manuscripts fits best within the context, where Plutarch advises not to react too positively (I ææ ) or negatively (ŒÆÆç æ ) to what happens to be present. On the other hand, one can easily understand how H I ø and I ææ  could have induced a scribe to supplant I  for   or I - for Ææ-.

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Feeling Good. Plutarch does not condemn these external attributes as such, but he does suggest that they are insufficient to make one feel good: if one wants to enjoy one’s good fortune and feel good, one must learn to control one’s emotions by reason.43 This, obviously, is a long-term project: a long training44 will ensure one always has at hand reasonable arguments to calm down one’s emotions. The aim of this learning process is not, however, to make the reader realize that riches, fame, and important friendships are, in the end, matters of indifference or based on empty belief, as Stoic or Epicurean philosophers would have it; it is, rather, to help the reader to get the most out of external advantages by not becoming over-excited when they are available to him, nor being cast down by the lack or loss of them. What the reader has to learn, in other words, is to react reasonably rather than emotionally to good and bad events that happen to him. In this way, he will acquire active control over his own life (cf. K غÆ  ŁÆØ Æåf ŒÆd c æØæA) instead of being swept around passively by whatever presents itself (cf. I ææ , ŒÆÆç æ ). In line with this initial programme, Plutarch, after having invited the reader to undertake action in view of feeling good (467A), spends two paragraphs instructing the reader how to react to external events (}} 6–7). First of all, the reader should learn to give a positive turn to bad events (cf. F s  E æH IŒ E ŒÆd  º A, 467C). The first example Plutarch gives is probably one of the most memorable of the entire Plutarchean text corpus: if one wants to hit a dog with a stone but hits one’s mother-in-law45 instead, one should say that ‘it is not too bad this way either’ (P oø . . . ŒÆŒH, 467C). The text then continues with the famous examples of Diogenes and Zeno who

43

Elsewhere in On Feeling Good, Plutarch indeed stresses that external advantages are enjoyable if used well. See e.g. 469F–470A. 44 Cf. 465B ( NŁØ  ŒÆd   º ÅŒ, K Ø º EŁÆØ), 466D (ºª . . . Kªª  ), 467C (IŒ E ŒÆd  º A), 468E (KŁØŁ ), 475B (KŁØÇ ŁÆ ŒÆd ÆŁ  ), 476D ( º A ŒÆd ÆŁÆØ). In so far as Plutarch stresses that reason is to prepare arguments before the emotions arise ( æe H ÆŁH . . . KŒ ººF Ææ Œ ıÆ Ø 465B), Plutarch’s advice applies at least as much to other readers as to Paccius, for whom it is, in a sense, already too late (cf. below, p. 102 and n. 71). 45 On the comical stereotype of the mother-in-law and Plutarch’s use of it, see Hawley (1999), 121.

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both turned to philosophy after having suffered, before addressing the reader directly:  s Œøº Ø Ø EŁÆØ ı; Iæåc Ææƪª ººø ØÆæ ; K IªæfiH Ø  Ø K Ø º  H Nø. Iººa çغÆ   ª  I ŁÅ; IŒØø ŒÆd I æƪø ØfiÅ. ºØ K æ ªÆØ IåºÆ åıØ ŒÆd çæÆ ª ªÆ; . . . Æ Ø E ŒÆd e ØAŁÆØ   Ø ı  ø ‘  f Œ Æ  PŒ Æ’. Iººa Ø I ÅŒ  KŒ ØƺB j çŁı ıÅ æÆ ŒÆd ŒæÆŒØ; K d a %Æ hæØ e  FÆ ŒÆd c `  ŒÆ ØÆ, u æ —º øØ å ØÆŁ Ø æd c ˜Øıı çغÆ. (On Feeling Good 467D–E) What, then, prevents us from imitating such men? Have you failed in your attempt to gain an office? You will be able to live in the countryside and look after your own affairs. Or have you been repulsed in wooing the friendship of a leading figure? Your life will be free from danger and trouble. Or again: have you got caught up in business that takes up all your time and causes sorrows? . . . Fame and being honoured combined with a certain amount of power will make ‘labour pleasant and toil sweet toil’. Is it, on the contrary, misery and contempt that come your way because of slander or envy? The wind blows favourably in the direction of the Muses and the Academy, as it did with Plato when he encountered stormy weather in his pursuit of Dionysius’ friendship. (On Feeling Good 467D–E)

According to this passage, the reader should imitate (Ø EŁÆØ) famous examples from the past. As pointed out in Chapter 2, imitation was an important pedagogical device for Plutarch, both in his Lives and in his practical ethics. In this case, Plutarch sets out explicitly how readers can apply the examples of Diogenes and Zeno. Yet the way in which he does so in this particular instance is highly significant: the readers are to imitate Diogenes and Zeno not in turning towards a philosophical life, but in turning bad events into positive opportunities. Although depicting philosophers, then, the example is applied to life as lived by the readers of Plutarch’s practical ethics. Not getting a desired position, being unable to establish a friendship with somebody important, and being absorbed by timeconsuming activities must have been familiar disappointments and frustrations to people who, like Paccius, were ambitious and led active lives. The same goes for becoming the object of accusations or mockery, having no children, being poor, having a corrupted wife or daughter, or the slandering, anger, envy, badness, or jealousy of

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one’s friends, family, ministers, and enemies. Many people, Plutarch suggests, react very emotionally to such events: Plutarch refers to anger, pain, envy, fear, confusion, laments, and even tears.46 Given that feeling good is associated with concepts such as tranquillity (ªÆºÅ, 476A and 477A), serenity ( PÆ, 477A), and ease (ÞÆfiÅ, 477D), which are, obviously, the opposites of the emotions listed, the control of reason over the emotions becomes the key to feeling good. Although, as we shall see in the remainder of this section, it is much more than that, feeling good is thus about dealing well (cf. P-) with one’s emotions (cf. -ŁıÆ). As such, it can be considered the sum of Plutarch’s different psychotherapeutical efforts, and On Feeling Good is the generic work of which not only On the Control of Anger, On Curiosity, On Talkativeness, On Praising Oneself Inoffensively, and On Compliance, but also important aspects of writings such as On Listening, How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend?, How Could You Profit by Your Enemies?, On Love of Wealth, and even Consolation to His Wife or On Exile are specific applications.47 Given this central role of feeling good in Plutarch’s practical ethics, it will not come as a surprise when, at the end of the two paragraphs that argue against emotional reactions to events, Plutarch traces back the cause of feeling bad to self-love (çغÆıÆ, 468E). A large part of On Feeling Good is therefore dedicated to self-love and its opposite, self-knowledge (}} 8–19). The term çغÆıÆ recurs emphatically in 471D, where self-love is said to ‘make men eager to be first and victorious in everything, as well as insatiably engaging in everything’ (çغ æı ØFÆ ŒÆd çغŒı K AØ ŒÆd ø 46

e.g. anger: 467A, 468B, and 471E; pain: 465D, 465E, 466B, 466C, 466D, 467B, 467E, 468C, 468D, 472C, 472D, 473B, 474F, 475B, 476F, and 477A; envy: 475E; fear: 474D, 476A, and 476D; confusion: 465C, 465D, 466A, 466C, 467B, 473B, 474E, and 476C; laments: 469D, 470D, 477B, 477D, and 477E; tears: 466E, 469D, and 470C. 47 Plutarch himself may be pointing this out for the latter or even the last two treatises when he states, in On Feeling Good 476B, that the general principle he has just set out is applicable to bad events such as illnesses, distressful situations, or exile, ‘as the treatise dedicated to each of them shows’ (‰ › ŒÆŁ ŒÆ I  ŒıØ ºª, 476D). The special position of On Feeling Good in relation to many other works of practical ethics can also, at least partly, account for the great number of clusters that link On Feeling Good with those other works, and thereby confirms Van der Stockt’s interpretation of the hypomne¯mata-statement and Plutarch’s method of working.

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K ØæÆ ı I ºø, 471D).48 Both aspects, the wish to be first and the desire to engage in everything, receive attention in the text, especially in }} 10–11 and }} 12–13 respectively. The former is, of course, a thoroughly social ambition: it is the wish to be better than others. Many people have indeed a strong tendency not to consider themselves and their advantages as such, but to compare themselves (unfavourably) to others. Plutarch therefore advocates a change in focus from wanting what others have to being content with what one has oneself: ŒÆØ ŒÆd F  ªÆ æe PŁıÆ K, e  ºØÆ b Æe K ØŒ E ŒÆd a ŒÆŁ  Æ, N b c, f  

 æı I Ł øæ E ŒÆd , ŒÆŁ æ ƒ ººd æe f  æ åÆ IØ Ææ  ªıØ. ˇx  PŁf ƒ    Ø

PÆØÇıØ f º ºı ı, KŒ EØ b f Kº ıŁ æı, ƒ  Kº Ł æØ f ºÆ, yØ b ºØ Æs f ºıı, ƒ b ºØØ f  æÆ Æ, ƒ b Ææ ÆØ f Æغ E, ƒ b Æغ E f Ł . . . . ¼ºº  Ø #E, ¼ºº b ˆÆº Å j ´ØŁıe PŒ IªÆ H, Y Ø  æ j Æ j ÆØ K E ÆıF ºÆØ YºÅå , Iººa ŒºÆø ‹Ø c çæ E ÆæØŒı
Ka b ŒÆd çæfiB, ‹Ø Å ø æÆŪ E ‘$øÆø
Ka b ŒÆd æÆŪfiB, ‹Ø c  Æ  Ø
ŒÆd  Æ ø, ‹Ø c æH Iºº’ o æ IŪæ ŁÅ. (On Feeling Good 470A–C) Indeed, this is also highly conducive to feeling good: to concentrate first and foremost on oneself and one’s own affairs, or else to look at people who are worse off, instead of comparing oneself to those better off, as most people do. Prisoners call free men happy, for example, free men the free-born, the freeborn citizens, citizens in turn the rich, the rich satraps, satraps kings, and kings the gods. . . . Another person, from Chios, or another from Galatia or Bithynia, is not pleased if he has a certain fame or power amongst his own citizens, but weeps because he does not wear patrician shoes.49 In case he does wear them, because he does not yet hold military command at Rome; in case

48

For çغ æøÆ, see Schmitz (1997), 98 n. 4; for çغØŒÆ, Frazier (1996) 101–10 and 132–3. 49 The Greek word ÆæŒØ translates the Latin patricius calceus, the peculiar kind of half-boot that was one of the sartorial privileges of senators. From the Early Empire on, imperial patronage gradually promoted more and more wealthy and respectable provincials, especially from Baetica and Gallia Narbonensis, and later from North Africa and the Eastern provinces, to senatorial rank. Cf. Hammond (1957), Syme (1958), 1–23, Eck (1970), Halfman (1979), esp. 16–81, Saller (1982), esp. 147–204, and Talbert (1984), 29–38, Swain (1996), 170, and Schmitz (1997), 25 n. 51.

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he does hold it, because he is not yet a consul; and if he is consul, because he was proclaimed last and not first. (On Feeling Good 470A–C)

In a kind of sociological analysis avant la lettre, Plutarch observes that people want to be like the ones in the socio-economic level just above them—a textbook example of relative deprivation compared to a reference group:50 captives want to be free, freedmen want to be freeborn, the freeborn citizens, and so on. The reason why many people feel bad, then, is to be found in their ambitions in society: nobody is ever content with himself and his prestige and power (Æ j ÆØ)51 in comparison to others. If the first list Plutarch gives, ranging from captives to kings, is rather general, the second one, running from local politics to the Roman consulship, offers a specific application to the contemporary political situation: in Plutarch’s days, the Greeks, and especially the Greeks of the East, were no longer limited to a local political career (cf. K E ÆıF ºÆØ), but could aspire to a military or a political career within the Roman Empire (cf.  $øÆø).52 Elsewhere, Plutarch condemns this practice from a political point of view;53 here, however, he emphasizes the detrimental consequences for the individual, who feels unhappy if others hold a position he himself does not. Plutarch therefore suggests that the reader should either compare himself to social inferiors (} 10), or take into account the lesser aspects of his social superiors (} 11). Both solutions, he stresses, lead to the same result: the reader will realize his own good fortune as compared to other people, and in their eyes (Çźøe rÆØ Aºº j ÇźF  æı, 470E). Far, then, from minimizing the importance of prestige and power, far from doing away with the reader’s desire to be superior to others, Plutarch plays on his reader’s privileged social position as well as on the 50

For these notions, see Ch. 1 n. 44. For the inherent link between both concepts in imperial society, see Lendon (1997), 30–106, esp. 52–73. 52 On this passage, see Jones (1971), 116 and n. 50, Russell (1973), 9, Swain (1996), 169–71, Stadter (2002c), 124–5, and Bowie (2002), 52 and n. 49. For the gradual incorporation of Greeks into the Roman senate, see above, n. 49. 53 Cf. Political Precepts 814D. In the prologue to the Life of Demosthenes, Plutarch presents himself as living in a small city, and deliberately choosing to stay there ‘that it may not become smaller still’ ( E b ØŒæa NŒF  ºØ, ŒÆd ¥ Æ c ØŒæ æÆ ª ÅÆØ çغåøæF , Life of Demosthenes 2.2). 51

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importance he attaches to that position in order to bring him over to a more philosophical attitude that will make him feel good: he suggests that a more philosophical attitude, which includes an awareness of one’s self-love, will yield more satisfaction than the reader’s current behaviour. The second aspect of self-love which Plutarch highlights in On Feeling Good is the desire to engage in everything. As he explains, however, this is impossible. First of all, the desire to engage in everything is insatiable (cf. I ºø), and will therefore by definition never be fulfilled. But more importantly, some desires simply exclude one another: Øa ªaæ Pb ıı æå Ø Iººa Aºº  ÆØFŁÆØ çıŒ  IºººØ H  ıÆÇ ø· x ¼ŒÅØ ºªø ŒÆd ÆŁÅ ø I ºÅłØ I æƪÅ  EÆØ ŒÆd åºB, ı  Ø b ºØØŒÆd ŒÆd çغÆØ Æغ ø PŒ ¼ ı æƪ ø P IåºØH æتÆØ. . . . ŒÆd åæÅ ø K Ø º ØÆ b ı åc ŒÆd æÅØ Æh Ø ºF,  æłÆ b ŒÆd æØçæÅØ  ªÆ æe çغçÆ KçØ. ' ˇŁ  P Æ ø K, Iººa  E fiH —ıŁØŒfiH ªæ ÆØ ØŁ  Æe ŒÆÆÆŁ E, rÆ åæBŁÆØ æe £ n çıŒ , ŒÆd c æe ¼ºº ¼ºº ı ÇBº ºŒ Ø ŒÆd ÆæÆØ Ç ŁÆØ c çØ. (On Feeling Good 472C) Indeed, by their very nature, some pursuits cannot coexist: they are, rather, opposed to one another. Training in rhetoric and applying oneself to studying, for example, presuppose freedom from business and leisure, whereas political powers and friendships with kings do not come about without engagements and efforts. . . . And constant effort and care for money increase one’s fortune, while neglect and contempt for money is an important step towards philosophy. Therefore not all pursuits belong to everyone. Rather, one should obey the Pythian inscription and get to know oneself, and then apply oneself to the one thing for which one is naturally suited: one should not do violence to nature by dragging oneself towards the emulation of one kind of life now and then again another. (On Feeling Good 472C)

In this passage, the prerequisites for rhetoric and study are opposed to the ones for politics and society life, and the ones for wealth to the ones for philosophy. Paccius as it were embodies the truth of this statement: his question for advice from Plutarch proves that being an orator while also pursuing the friendship of important people, and being wealthy while also having an interest in philosophy, causes problems. An important reason for Paccius’ problem is, then, that his different interests pull him in different directions. According to

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Plutarch, it is therefore important to make one () choice and then stick with that choice. Similar advice can be found in Epictetus’ Discourse 3.15.8–13, where the incompatibility of different pursuits equally leads to the conclusion that one should be one person (Æ . . . ¼Łæø ). Yet the conclusion drawn by both philosophers is entirely different. Epictetus poses the reader the choice between either becoming a philosopher (çغçı  Ø) and getting ‘serenity, freedom, and tranquillity’54 (I Ł ØÆ, Kº ıŁ æÆ, IÆæÆÆ), or becoming anything else, such as a tax collector, a rhetorician, or a bureaucrat, but giving up the advantages of the philosophical life. According to Epictetus, then, feeling good is the prerogative of those who choose a philosophical life. Plutarch, on the other hand, does not tell his reader in any way what choice he should make: he should choose the life that fits his nature (cf. n çıŒ ). Earlier in the text, as we have seen, Plutarch had already stressed that feeling good is possible in every kind of life, and throughout On Feeling Good, he repeatedly stresses that all kinds of lives have advantages and drawbacks.55 To find out which life fits one’s nature implies, of course, thorough self-knowledge (cf. Æe ŒÆÆÆŁ E). Indeed, as Christopher Gill stresses, feeling good implies a fundamental form of psychological self-consciousness: it ‘presupposes certain reflexive ideas, that is, ideas about “the self ” (as we put it), and also certain reflexive practices’.56 Three aspects are of particular importance in Plutarch’s text. First, one should take a comprehensive view of oneself (}} 8–9 and 14–15). Instead of focusing on bad fortune or the lack or loss of good fortune, one should place one’s good fortune at the centre of one’s attention. From a synchronic point of view, one should realize that one has many advantages left at any given point of time. For those who do not see how many advantages there are—‘“And what 54 Translation taken from Long (2002), 108–9, who also offers a discussion of the passage. 55 Plutarch juxtaposes acting and being at leisure in such a way as to stress that both can (or cannot) lead to the achievement of a good feeling. See, for clear examples, 467D–E, 469E, 472B–C, 472F, and 473C–D. Joly (1956), 10–11 was therefore right in criticizing Grilli (1953) for confusing PŁıÆ and the theoretical life. 56 Gill (1994), 4628, but see also 4624–31. For the objective-participant idea of the self in Greek literature, see Gill (1996).

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good,” someone will say, “would we have?”’ (469D)—Plutarch enumerates benefits such as health, a house, fame, friends, and the freedom to choose one’s own role and profession in society. He also proposes a mental exercise: one should, he suggests, imagine that they are absent, and remind oneself of how valuable health is to the sick, friends and fame to strangers, and so on (çÆÆÆ ºÆ ø , IÆØŒÆ Æf ºº ŒØ, 469E). From a diachronic point of view, on the other hand, one should have a look at one’s life and all the good it encompasses in past, present, and future. Instead of forgetting or feeling bad about the past, fearing the future and therefore being unable to enjoy the present, Plutarch champions an attitude towards the past and the future that will enable one to enjoy the present.57 Plutarch sums up his whole point about a comprehensive view of the self in several images taken from the sphere of the arts: one should mix the good and bad elements of one’s life as musicians mix low and high tones and grammarians consonants and vowels, in order that the good aspects of our life outshine the bad ones just as bright colours should outshine darker ones in a painting (473F). Gill’s description in terms of a ‘quasiaesthetic attitude to our own lives’ thus acquires a special salience in Plutarch’s On Feeling Good. If this attitude can be traced back to a Democritean-Epicurean approach to feeling good, the second aspect of self-awareness referred to in On Feeling Good shows more resemblance to Stoic thinking, at least at first sight (}} 16–18). The first exercise that Plutarch proposes to his readers in this part of the text is to imitate Anaxagoras and to anticipate the blows of fortune before they strike. As Anaxagoras reacted to the death of his son by saying that he knew that his son was mortal, so one should know that one’s wealth is not guaranteed, that 57 A key passage is 473C–D, where Plutarch suggests we should ‘weave’ together the threads of past, present, and future so as to come to a unified sense of ourselves. On the philosophical implications of this passage, see Sen (1995) and Sorabji (2000), 231–2. Compare also Seneca’s comments in On the Brevity of Life 10.5. The idea of moral progress, on the other hand, introduces some sense of discontinuity, as Plutarch himself makes clear through Sulla’s voice at the beginning of his On the Control of Anger, 452F–453B. On ‘discontinuous selves’, see Sorabji (2000), 246–8; on the tension between continuity and discontinuity in imperial conceptions of the self, see Trapp (2007), 117–19.

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one’s leadership may be contested, or—another misogynous joke in On Feeling Good?—that one’s wife is . . . a woman.58 Premeditation of future evils was a traditional element of Stoic psychotherapy, and as many commentators have noted, Plutarch probably took the dictum of Anaxagoras from Panaetius’ On Feeling Good. Yet in order to show why all this is useful, Plutarch refers to the (sceptical) Academic Carneades (c.214–129 bc),59 who highlighted that we often grieve because we do not expect (e I æŒÅ, 474F) bad events to happen. Given the human condition, however, one should not be surprised when evil happens: ‘“YØ”—“  YØ; ŁÅ Ø ŁÆ ”’. ˇP d ªaæ oø F ÆŁÅØŒF ŒÆÆç æ ı ŒÆd OºØŁ  IغÆ  ÆØ ºª ‰ › B ŒØB ŒÆd çıØŒB I ÅØ ØH I ªŒÅ,fi w Øa e HÆ   ت  › ¼Łæø  Å ÆÅ fi w åfiÅ ºÆc øØ, K b E ŒıæØø Ø ŒÆd  ªØ Içƺc ÅŒ . (On Feeling Good 475C) ‘“Alas!”—“What do you mean, alas? This is the fate of human beings.”’ Indeed, no argument holds back the irrational part of the soul, when it is being cast down or slipping, as effectively as the one that calls to mind our common and physical necessity, to which man is bound through his embodiment: that is the only grasp he offers Fortune, while he is safe in the most important and greatest parts. (On Feeling Good 475C)

As human beings, suffering is bound to be our lot. It is therefore better to expect those evils, as that will render them less startling. Plutarch then goes on to suggest that nothing is more useful than the argument that reminds one of the structure of man: only man’s worst, corporeal part is liable to the blows of Fortune, whereas his best part is safe. One should realize, he argues, that suffering and even death apply to one’s body only. As indicated at the end of the previous section, this line of thought is familiar from Stoic philosophy. Epictetus’ first Discourse, for example, discusses what is and what is not up to us, and argues that there is nothing we should fear, given that we cannot suffer in the sphere of the former.

58 See the title of Van der Stockt and Van Meirvenne (forthcoming): ‘“My Wife is a Woman”. Plutarch on the Unexpected’. 59 474E. Note that Carneades’ name recurs in 477B, and therefore, as it were, frames this part of On Feeling Good—a strong indication of Plutarch’s Platonism.

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Plutarch’s account is couched in more Platonic terms, however.60 More than Epictetus, he stresses, for example, that the body is a part—a tiny one, granted, but still a part—of man (cf. ØŒæe  æ F IŁæ ı, 475D).61 In line with this, Plutarch also accepts more suffering as real. Thus, when referring to the traditional opposition of natural and imagined suffering (ç Ø versus fi Å, 475B), Plutarch lists illnesses, distressing situations, and the deaths of friends and children in the former category, whereas Epictetus would at best call them non-preferable indifferents. Once again, then, Plutarch goes further in acknowledging his readers’ pre-philosophical values than other philosophers. The third aspect of self-awareness in On Feeling Good, finally, combines the two former ones: rejoicing in the memory of one’s past good deeds (} 19) presupposes both insight into the structure of man, and the adoption of a comprehensive view of one’s own life.62 In order to feel good, Plutarch says, it is of great importance ( ªÆ æe PŁıÆ, 476E) to realize that whilst one cannot escape evil, one can decide not to commit any evil oneself. In this way, one avoids remorse, which is the worst of all pains: while reason provides the basis for reacting well to all other evils, regret, caused by reason itself, cannot be cured by it (476F). The abstention from evil deeds and purposes therefore makes the greatest contribution to feeling good: h  NŒÆ ºı ºc h åæıı ºBŁ h  IøÆ ª ı h  ª Ł IæåB, P ºªı å æØ j  ØÅ PÆ Ææ å Ø ø fi ŒÆd ªÆºÅ ÆÅ, ‹Å łıåc ŒÆŁÆæ ıÆ æƪ ø ŒÆd ıº ı ø ÅæH ŒÆd c F ı Ūc e qŁ I æÆå åıÆ ŒÆd IÆ
Iç  w ƃ ŒÆºÆd æ  Ø Þ ıÆØ ŒÆd c K æª ØÆ KŁıØÅ ŒÆd ƒºÆæa  a F  ªÆ çæ E åıØ ŒÆd c Å Æ ŒÆd  ÆØ æÆ B —ØÆæØŒB ªÅææçı Kº . (On Feeling Good 477A–B) 60 The text touches briefly upon the fundamentals of Plutarch’s opinions on the soul: man consists of body and soul, the soul is more important than the body, the soul has a reasonable and an affective part, and the former of these ought to control the latter. For Plutarch’s Platonic ideas on the soul, see Pinnoy (1967), Babut (1969), 2–43, and Gill (2006), 229–38. Plutarch himself deals with the topic in most theoretical terms in his On Moral Virtue. 61 Contrast e.g. Epictetus, Discourse 1.1.12. On Epictetus’ quasi-dualism in this respect, see Gill (2006), 96–100. 62 As such, it combines Democritean-Epicurean with Stoic material, yet again it is the Academy that has the final word (477B).

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No expensive house, no abundance of gold, no famous descent, no great power, no elegance or eloquence in speaking provides such serenity and good feeling to life as a soul free from bad actions and purposes, which possesses an undisturbed and unspoilt character as the source of life. From that source flow good deeds, which involve inspired and joyous activity as well as pride therein and a memory sweeter and more stable than the hope which, according to Pindar, sustains old age. (On Feeling Good 477A–B)

The beginning of this passage once more refers explicitly to the world of Plutarch’s elite readership. It recalls the opening scene, discussed above, where Plutarch stated that pomp and circumstance are insufficient to generate good feeling. At the beginning of his text, when refuting the idea that much activity would lead to feeling bad, Plutarch had also suggested that what matters is not so much the quantity as the quality of one’s deeds. This idea lies at the heart of the passage just quoted as well. The text has come full circle, then, and Plutarch is summing up. The explanation of why good deeds are so important for feeling good indeed recalls some core ideas discussed before. At the very end of the sentence, Plutarch refers to a sweet memory (Å) and thereby once more stresses the importance of a diachronically comprehensive view of oneself. Just before that, he highlights the idea that good deeds will lead to pride ( ªÆ çæ E). Once more, then, Plutarch capitalizes on his reader’s sense of honour: rather than presenting his reader with the choice between either realizing his social ambitions or feeling good, Plutarch’s advice claims to do both at the same time. The first good consequence of committing good deeds, finally, is ‘inspired and joyous activity’ (K æª ØÆ KŁıØÅ ŒÆd ƒºÆæ ). The stress on activity confirms Plutarch’s instructions at the beginning of On Feeling Good, where he advised that ambitious men should not give up their activities. The adjectives added to it, however, refer forwards rather than backwards: they prepare the reader for the work’s grand finale, in which divine inspiration and joy are indeed important elements. Central to the last paragraph of the text is the metaphor of life63 as the ultimate mystical initiation (e  ÅØ ZÆ ŒÆd  º c 63 This is remarkable, as initiation is here brought up regarding life, and not regarding death and the soul’s voyage to the hereafter, as it often was. Cf. Plato, Phaedo 81c, Plutarch, Consolation to His Wife 611D–E, Lucian, The Descent 22, Origen, Against Celsus 4.10 and 8.48, and Plotinus, Enneads 1.6.6.

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 º Ø Å, 477D), whereby the world is the sanctuary (ƒ æ, 477C), and the sun, the moon, the stars, water, earth, plants, and animals the things revealed (a  ØŒ Æ in mystery cults, cf. here Ł Æ, 477C). The image conveys two important messages. The first is the conclusion, drawn explicitly, that life should be full of joy (ªŁı, 477D): one should not wait for religious celebrations in order to rejoice and relax. Through this continuation of the religious metaphor, then, feeling good is compared to a good religious attitude, whereas feeling bad shows remarkable resemblances with superstition. Both the man who feels bad and the superstitious man fear death, for example, and interpret badly whatever happens to them; and whereas the superstitious person is said to be unable to enjoy life even on festival days, Plutarch here states that for a good man, every day is a festival.64 Thus feeling good implies more than the absence of pain and distress, and On Feeling Good is more than the simple sum of psychotherapy:65 feeling good implies joyous activity, and as such is a master concept about how to live one’s life.66 The second point regards the role of philosophy. Mystical initiation was often used by Plutarch and other ancient philosophers as a metaphor for philosophy itself, whereby philosophers were

64 Fear of death: On Superstition } 4; interpretation for the worse: On Superstition } 6; inability to enjoy festivals: On Superstition } 9. Furthermore, it can be noted that both superstition and feeling bad are explicitly linked with disturbance (Ææƌ،, On Superstition 167B and On Feeling Good 465D, 466C, and 473B), and that false opinion (Æ) plays a role in both as well (cf. On Superstition 165B, 165C, 165F, 167B, 169F, 170D, 170F, and 171E, and On Feeling Good 474B). For the link between mystery cults and superstition in Plutarch, see Van Nuffelen (2007). 65 Cf. already Gre´ard (1866), 183, who labels Plutarch’s precepts On Feeling Good ‘le couronnement de toutes les prescriptions’. Trapp (2007), 88 pointed out that On Feeling Good as it were transcends other Plutarchean writings on emotion control in that it ‘concentrates on the state of soul to which the emotions are a bar, rather than on the emotions in themselves’. 66 Cf. joy (e åÆEæ, 477B; and ªBŁ, 477D), jesting ( ÆÇ Ø, 466E), laughing (ª ºA, 466E), rejoicing ( PçæÆ Ø, 468C, and 474C; and åÆæ Ø, 470A), and having enjoyment (I ºÆ Ø, 470A). Barrow (1967), 108–9 insisted upon the element of ‘joy’ in feeling good as specific for Plutarch’s treatment of it. On the joy accompanying a turn inward, cf. also Foucault (1984b), 91: ‘Celui qui est parvenu a` avoir finalement acce`s a` lui-meˆme est, pour soi, un objet de plaisir. Non seulement on se contente de ce qu’on est et on accepte de s’y borner, mais on “se plaıˆt” a` soi-meˆme’.

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represented as mystagogues.67 In On Feeling Good, however, Plutarch explicitly says that god is our mystagogue (› Ł e E æa åæŪ E ŒÆd ıƪøª E, 477D). Nevertheless, he stresses the importance of (Platonic) philosophy. For a start, the idea that the sun, the moon, and the other things man will be able to contemplate in life are ‘perceptible images of intelligible ones which the divine mind shows us’, is explicitly ascribed to Plato (477C). It took a philosopher, then, to realize that life is an initiation into god’s creation. Likewise, Plutarch suggests, many people will need a philosopher in order to draw the right conclusions from this. Indeed, although God is willing to lead the initiation, many people refuse to rejoice in this festival: ÆPd b ÆE IÆ  ØÆ ŒÆd ÞÆ fi Å æÇ Ø Łb PŒ KŁ ºıØ, Iºº P   æø Ææƌƺø æ åÆØ ºª, fit åæ Ø ŒÆd E ÆæFØ I  ø ıÆØ ŒÆd H ª ªø PåÆæø Å ıØ ŒÆd æe e ºØ e ¥ º ø c Kº Æ ŒÆd çÆØæa å  I H ŒÆd Iı  ø æ ıØ. (On Feeling Good, 477F) They themselves do not want to provide themselves with any rest or ease from anywhere; on the contrary, even when others urge them to they do not accept any advice, which would help them to bear without complaining whatever presents itself, to cherish memories of the past, and to look forward to the future proactively, without fears or suspicions, and with joyful and shining hope. (On Feeling Good, 477F)

The very last sentence of On Feeling Good is thus a strong condemnation of people who not only refuse to see for themselves the benefits that life has to offer, but who also turn down the advice of others who urge them to do so. If one cannot bring oneself to feel good on one’s own, in other words, one should accept guidance about it. The implied message is that those who find feeling good problematical should give heed to the advice Plutarch gives in On Feeling Good. If they do, they will be able to deal with whatever presents itself to them in the present, they will rejoice in their memories of the past, and they will look forward to the future eagerly and without fear. By ending on this positive note, rather than on a negative and critical

67

Cf. Humbel (1994), Roskam (2001), and the other essays in Pe´rez Jime´nez and Casadesu´s Bordoy (edd.) (2001).

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one, Plutarch thus puts into practice his own advice to let evil be outshone by good.

4.3. PLUTARCH, PACCIUS, AND THE READER As we have just seen, the last sentence of Plutarch’s On Feeling Good contains a strong encouragement to the reader to give heed to Plutarch’s advice on feeling good. Although ending on a positive note, this encouragement was first formulated as a reproach to those people who, although not feeling good, do not accept the guidance of others. In contrast to such people, Paccius becomes a positive model of how other readers should receive Plutarch’s advice. It is worthwhile, therefore, to have a closer look at Plutarch’s presentation of Paccius and his question: Oł ı c K غc KŒØ Å, K fi w Ææ Œ º Ø æd PŁıÆ  Ø ªæÆçBÆØ ŒÆd æd H K ØÆø fi   ø K Ø º  æÆ KŪ ø. –Æ  ø e ÆEæ H ( ¯æøÆ ŒÆ º Æ  ÆNÆ F º E PŁf N  $Å, Ææa )ı ı F ŒæÆı ªæ ÆÆ   ª , x  KŒ E, K ØÆåÆ.  b åæ åø, ‰ æfiÅæÅ, ª  ŁÆØ æe x  Kºı Ł   ø Œ ÆE Æ ÆØ e ¼æÆ å æd OçŁBÆ Ø Ææ H Içت , I º  Å æd PŁıÆ KŒ H  Å ø z KÆıfiH ØÅ  KªåÆ
ª  ŒÆd b e ºª F PŒ IŒæ  ø  ŒÆ ŁÅæø Å ŒÆººØªæÆçÆ Iººa åæ Æ ÅŁÅØŒB K ØÇÅ E. (On Feeling Good 464E) I just got your letter, in which you urge me to write something for you on feeling good as well as on the elements in the Timaeus that need quite careful explanation. At the same time, however, an event took place that caused our friend Eros to sail to Rome quickly: he received a letter from Fundanus, that great man, and not surprisingly for him, the letter urged haste. I did not have time, then, as I would have preferred, to dedicate myself to your wishes. But since I could not stand the idea of you seeing the man arrive from here completely empty-handed, I gathered together something On Feeling Good from the notes that I happened to have made for myself. For I think that you requested this discourse not for the sake of hearing a work that would aim at elegance of style, but for practical use. (On Feeling Good 464E)

Analyses of this passage have traditionally interpreted Plutarch’s reference to Paccius’ question as an honour for the latter and a

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display of modesty on the part of the former. The fact that Plutarch repeats Paccius’ question and evokes the circumstances in which he composed his reply, on the other hand, is taken to be a topos of ancient letters that not only upholds the impression of a ‘real’ letter, but also, in this case, gives insight into Plutarch’s method of working, as we have seen above. Whilst all of this is true, there is, I think, much more to this opening scene. In the remainder of this chapter, I would therefore like to analyse its importance for On Feeling Good and its readers by focusing on three interrelated elements: the literary presentation of Paccius and Plutarch, the power relations between these two characters, and the reference to the Timaeus. At the beginning of On Feeling Good, Plutarch introduces68 himself as being urged to give philosophical advice and composing an answer on the basis of notes he had ready on the topic. Whereas Paccius is located in Rome, the reader is to imagine Plutarch himself writing the letter at home, in Chaeronea.69 The tranquillity of Greece, where Plutarch presents himself reading, taking notes as it occurs to him,70 and able to draw on these whenever the need arises, is thus opposed to the hustle and bustle of Rome: in Rome, Paccius is in need of advice on feeling good,71 and Fundanus is presented as a mighty man who never has a minute to lose.72 There appears to be, then, a nexus of oppositions: Plutarch versus Paccius, Greek versus Roman, tran68 Plutarch indeed starts On Feeling Good with his own name: —ºÆæå —ÆŒŒø fi P æ  Ø, 464E. 69 Plutarch does not explicitly say where he is, but the fact that Paccius’ letter was ‘brought to’ him (KŒØ Å, 464E), and that he could easily fall back on the notes which he happened to have made for himself, suggests that he is at home, in Chaeronea. 70 Note the addition of KªåÆ (464E, ‘happened’), which seems to indicate that Plutarch did not do this on purpose or in a hurry, but as it occurred to him. 71 Pace Gre´ard (1866), 190 and Abel (1987), 129, I think Plutarch clearly presents Paccius as a man who is not feeling good. Cf. Paccius’ question at the beginning (464E), Plutarch’s suggestion that he asked for something on feeling good for the sake of the practical use that would have (465A), and his explicit reference to a problem Paccius is facing (468B). 72 The adjective Œæ Ø, which I translated as ‘great’, is used to indicate general excellence (LSJ, s.v. 2), yet by its very etymology always carries along connotations of power (LSJ, s.v. 1). Although I do not want to go so far as to suggest that this adjective is a reference to Fundanus’ consulship and thereby establish ad 107 as the terminus ante quem for Plutarch’s On Feeling Good, I agree with Jones (1966), 62 in thinking that power in public life is being referred to here, just as it is a few lines later

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quillity versus hurry, philosophy versus power, and, at least at this point in the text, feeling good versus feeling bad. At first sight, then, the text seems to imply that feeling good is the prerogative of people who, like Plutarch, spend their time with Greek philosophy. This impression is confirmed by Paccius’ question to Plutarch: from Rome, he sends a letter to Plutarch, in which he urges him to write something on feeling good and on the Timaeus. Paccius thus seeks an answer to his problem in Greece and in philosophy, and sees Plutarch as a model. In so far as he feels good, Plutarch embodies of course an ideal which every reader aspires to. He stresses his expertise in the matter by saying that he made notes on feeling good for himself (cf. I º  Å æd PŁıÆ KŒ H  Å ø z KÆıfiH ØÅ  KªåÆ)73 which were of practical use to him (cf. ŒÆd  ). Paccius, on the other hand, is a real model for the reader, in that the readers of Plutarch’s practical ethics are more likely to recognize themselves in Paccius than in Plutarch, at least as far as socio-economic position and activities are concerned. By presenting Paccius, a man very similar to his readers, as appreciating his advice on feeling good, however, Plutarch also turned him into an ideal model for how the reader is to follow Plutarch’s lead. At first sight, Plutarch’s account of Paccius’ question and the circumstances under which he replied to it confirms the nexus of oppositions sketched above: Paccius apparently has the power to urge ( Ææ Œ º Ø) Plutarch to write something, and Fundanus apparently has more power over their common friend Eros74 and his travel plans than Plutarch does (cf.  . . . ‰ æfi ÅæÅ). Although covering it with the cloak of friendship, Plutarch’s philosophical output thus seems to be nothing more than obedience to the commands of his more powerful Roman friends. With On Feeling Good, however, Plutarch turns these power relationships upside down. In the first sentence already, for example, he suggests he concerning Paccius, as we have seen above. On Fundanus, see Groag (1932), 1820–6, Ziegler (1951), 691, and Puech (1992), 4861. 73 Note the contrast with the Lives, where Plutarch says he started writing for the sake of others but ended up enjoying it for his own (Life of Aemilius 1.1). 74 For Eros, see Puech (1992), 4847. On the practicalities of ancient epistolography, see Koskenniemi (1956), Thraede (1970), Stirewalt (1993), Zelzer (1997), 328–32, Miles (2000), 40–1, and Rosenmeyer (2001), 19–24.

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might as well have refused Paccius’ request, but took pity on him and therefore decided he would reply: ‘I could not stand the idea of you seeing the man [sc. Eros] arrive from here completely emptyhanded’. Paccius’ fate, then, seems to be in Plutarch’s hands: despite worldly power relations, Plutarch appears from the opening of On Feeling Good as the stronger figure: questions may come from Rome, yet Rome is dependent upon Greece for answers. At the very end of the text, Plutarch pins down this alternative power relationship by using the verb ‘to urge’ once more: whereas the beginning of On Feeling Good suggests Paccius thought he could urge Plutarch to write something for him, it is now Plutarch who urges ( Ææƌƺø, 477F) the reader to read his text. One of the most empowering moves in On Feeling Good is Plutarch’s statement that Paccius asked not only for something on feeling good, but also ‘on those elements in the Timaeus that need quite careful explanation’. For a start, being asked (or representing oneself as being asked) for explanation on the Timaeus positions one as an acknowledged authority in the field of philosophy. This is underlined by the fact that Plutarch refers specifically to ‘those elements in the Timaeus that need quite careful explanation’. The reference to the Timaeus at the beginning of On Feeling Good thus presents Plutarch as an expert in the field of technical philosophy. Yet although he confirms his knowledge of the Timaeus by inserting a clear reference to it at the end of On Feeling Good,75 Plutarch did not comply with Paccius’ request for something on the Timaeus.76 Why, then, did he choose to mention it, if he was not going to give in to it?77 There are, I think, three reasons. First, Paccius’ demand and Plutarch’s refusal once more confirm the power relationships estab-

75

On Feeling Good 477C refers to Timaeus 92c. Cf. Helmbold (1929), 239, n. b, Paton, Pohlenz, and Sieveking (1939), 219, and Dumortier, and Defradas (1975), 128, n. 1. 76 Not responding to a correspondent’s demand for a reply was indeed a strong statement. Cf. Lendon (1997), 50–1. In this case, it will have been all the more so, since Plutarch did in fact write a work On the Generation of the Soul in the Timaeus, but dedicated it to his own sons, Autobulus and Plutarch. 77 The following argument holds true irrespective of whether or not On Feeling Good was first sent to Paccius as a ‘real’ letter: in both cases, what matters is that Plutarch refers to Paccius’ demand but does not comply with it.

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lished in On Feeling Good: Plutarch is the one who decides, not Paccius. In the second place, the fact that Plutarch withholds discussion of the Timaeus from Paccius serves to draw a clear line: Paccius needs practical help (cf. åæ Æ ÅŁÅØŒB), not intricate discussions of the Demiurge and the Cosmos. People like him are, in other words, to stick to practical philosophy as offered in Plutarch’s On Feeling Good, rather than to venture on the study of big cosmic theories as found in Plato’s Timaeus. Thus if Paccius asked Plutarch for something on the Timaeus in the thought that such philosophical study would offer the solution for feeling bad, Plutarch redirects him to a well-defined form of Greek philosophy, namely his own practical ethics.78 The fact that Plutarch draws this line should not cause surprise: as we have seen, Plutarch later in the text explicitly says not only that the prerequisites for wealth and philosophy, or for study and influential friendships, exclude one another, but also that ambitious people such as Paccius would feel worse rather than better if they adopted a different kind of life. The readers of On Feeling Good are not to become philosophers: Plutarch does not want to make ‘Ploutarkhoi’ out of ‘Paccii’. The nexus of oppositions in the opening scene thus turns out to be both provisional and insurmountable: as opposed to what readers might think, feeling good is not linked exclusively to the Plutarchean-Greek-philosophical pole, and conversly, if readers want to feel good, they need not come to Greece79 and adopt Plutarch’s quiet lifestyle by dedicating themselves to philosophy. As Plutarch explicitly states, Paccius is to learn to feel good, not to to teach others to do so: ‘indeed, do not think it your job to correct those errors; that, by the way, is not an easy job’.80 Is this Plutarch, the philosopher, safeguarding his own job by keeping his

78

Likewise, the fact that Plutarch does not name the philosopher whose opinions on the correlation of feeling good and activity he refutes (cf. above, p. 89) may be a way of saying that Paccius should not busy himself with intricate philosophical controversies but rather find help in a more practically oriented writing such as Plutarch’s On Feeling Good. By not specifying the name, Plutarch suggests that it does not matter whom Paccius got these ideas from: what matters, is that he gets rid of them. 79 Plutarch indeed sends an answer to Paccius in Rome, rather than tell him to come to Greece and stay with him in order to learn how to feel good. 80 e b s I ØŁ Ø ÆFÆ c ØÇ e æª r ÆØ Å ¼ººø Þfi Ø, 468C.

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readers off? Is this Plutarch highlighting that practical philosophy requires no less talent than technical philosophy? The latter may have special resonance for philosophers overreading Plutarch’s text. For these (and for other) readers, Plutarch’s reference to Plato’s Timaeus at the beginning of On Feeling Good may, finally, have had another function: to draw attention to the work’s Platonic slant right from the beginning. Indeed, in spite of the undeniable influences of Panaetian or Stoic and Democritean-Epicurean influences,81 Plutarch’s text presents itself as thoroughly Platonic, exhibiting a dualistic conception of the soul, implementing traditional themes in a Platonic vein, and mentioning Plato’s name no less than six times.82 As such, Plutarch was a pioneer: the topic of feeling good had been treated before by Democritus on the one hand, and by Panaetius and Seneca on the other, but Plutarch was the first to deal with the topic from a Platonic point of view.83 In his On Feeling Good, Plutarch therefore engages in polemics against competing views. More specifically, he suggests that the teachings of other philosophers would not be suited for the ambitious and powerful target audience he has in mind. By picturing himself as being asked for this Platonic philosophy by a not unimportant, active Roman, Plutarch presents himself and the practical philosophy he has to offer as the choice of the moment and the authority for those in authority. 81

Cf. Gill (1994), 4624–31. Cf. also above, n. 6. Name: 467A, 467E, 471E, 472D, 474E, and 477C. 83 Cf. Abel (1987), but see also Shields (1948–9), 33, very generally, and Van der Stockt and Van Meirvenne (forthcoming): ‘Even if the reading of Panaetius elicited his reflections, he meditated as a Platonist from the start, i.e. in his hypomnema’. 82

5 On Exile Exile, a temporary or permanent removal from one or more places, was a common phenomenon throughout antiquity: it was a punishment for a wide variety of offences ranging from homicide to political intrigue, it could be imposed by government or taken up voluntarily in order to escape worse, and it involved either individuals or groups of people. Often, it involved people of considerable status and power. The Athenian general Themistocles, ostracized in the 470s bc, and the Roman statesman M. Claudius Marcellus, who had to retire to Mytilene in the civil war between Pompey and Caesar, are obvious examples in the political and military sphere. Yet like today, exile also hit influential people in the field of culture. If Salman Rushdie and Alexander Solzhenitsyn spring to mind as contemporary examples, Roman banishments of philosophers are amongst the best-known examples from antiquity.1 Given this ubiquity, it will not come as a surprise that exile looms large in ancient literature.2 The Homeric epics contain references to exile, lyric poets present poetic reflections on the topic, and tragedy explores the theme, for example in the myths of the Theban Cycle. Many historians, orators, and philosophers discuss the issue briefly in the course of their work. The most important factor for my 1 General studies on exile in antiquity include Mommsen (1899), 68–73 and 964–80, Balogh (1943), Grasmu¨ck (1978), Seibert (1979), and Roisman (1984). See also the essays in Gaertner (ed.) (2007). For exile in contemporary literature, see Whitmarsh (2001b), 137 n. 17, the essays in Russi (ed.) (2006), and Gaertner (2007), 1, all with further bibliography. On general bans against philosophers, see the bibliography offered in Whitmarsh (2001b), 134 n. 5. 2 For a survey of ancient literature on exile, see Doblhofer (1987), esp. 21–49, Claassen (1999), and the essays in Gaertner (ed.) (2007).

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current purpose, however, is the development of literature on exile as a subgenre of consolation.3 Started by the Cynic philosopher Teles in the third century bc, we now have Greek texts on the topic by Teles, Musonius, Plutarch, Dio, and Favorinus, and Latin ones by Ovid and Seneca.4 All these writings share a large stock of topoi, which have been extensively indexed. More recently, scholars have started to acknowledge that all of these writings have their own characteristics, and that it is especially these differences which yield interesting results when examined.5 Apart from the collection of essays edited by Jan Felix Gaertner, which, taken together, offer a good survey of ancient literature on exile with the notable exception of Musonius, the most important discussion is that by Tim Whitmarsh.6 In a stimulating analysis of this theme in Musonius, Dio, and Favorinus, he shows how ‘exile was not simply a tool of imperial repression: it was also appropriated by its victims (and, no doubt, by others, too) as a rhetorical resource through which individual agents could articulate their own philosophical status’.7 Despite its chronological closeness, Plutarch’s On Exile was not included in Whitmarsh’s analysis. Plutarch’s text is indeed very

3 For ancient consolatory literature, see Albert (1879), Buresch (1886), Boyer (1887), and Kassel (1958); for Plutarch’s consolations, see Aguila´r (1990), focusing exclusively on the Consolation to His Wife and the Consolation to Apollonius, Cannata Fera (1991), and Grilli (2000). 4 The contributions of Teles and Musonius were both handed down in Stobaeus, Eclogues 3.40, whilst Favorinus’ On Exile survived on papyrus P. Vat. 11. Except for the authors listed, there are important passages on exile in Cicero as well as in Cassius Dio 38.18–29. For Cicero, see Doblhofer (1987), 73–5 and the relevant sections in Claassen (1999); for Cassius Dio, see Claassen (1996b), 30–1. 5 An extensive list of exilic writings can be found in Caballero and Viansino (1995), 16–17. Haessler (1935), 35–6 lists the parallels between Teles, Seneca, Musonius, Dio Chrysostom, Plutarch, and Favorinus; Doblhofer (1987), esp. 41–9 between Teles, Cicero, Seneca, Musonius, Dio Chrysostom, Plutarch, Favorinus, and Cassius Dio. See also Giesecke (1891). The characteristics of each individual work received more attention in Degl’Innocenti Pierini (1996), Claassen (1996a), (1996b), and (1999), Whitmarsh (2001a) and (2001b), 133–80, as well as in the essays in Gaertner (ed.) (2007), of which Nesselrath (2007) summarizes the exilic writings by Teles, Plutarch, and Favorinus. Tsekourakis (1983), 117–34, on the other hand, examined the influences of diatribic literature, arguing against Seidel (1906), 65 that although some elements remind one of diatribe, On Exile is not Plutarch’s most diatribic piece. 6 See Gaertner (ed.) (2007) and Whitmarsh (2001a) and (2001b), 133–80. 7 Whitmarsh (2001b), 135.

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different from the writings of Musonius, Dio, and Favorinus. About forty years ago, Adelmo Barigazzi drew attention to the uniqueness of Plutarch’s On Exile in emphasizing the disturbing effects of politics on tranquillity of mind.8 Whitmarsh himself pointed out two further differences: Plutarch does not present himself as an exile, and his text is characterized by more metaphysical concerns.9 Jan Opsomer, finally, examined the cosmopolitan ideas in On Exile and argued that Plutarch takes pain to ‘change the history of a genre’10 by introducing Platonic ideas in a train of thought usually associated with Cynics and Stoics. In the following pages, I shall have a closer look at these and other features that set Plutarch’s On Exile apart from other writings on the topic. This will allow us to see what Plutarch’s agenda was in writing yet another text on the topic while several treatments were already available.

5.1. EXILE AND POLITICS Plutarch starts off his work On Exile with a general reflection on what kind of advice benefits people who suffer. The actual topic of the work is introduced only in the second paragraph, where Plutarch mentions as an example of suffering ‘exile, dishonour, and loss of magistracies’ (çıªa b ŒÆd IÆ ŒÆd ØH I º , 599D).11 From its first introduction, Plutarch thus associates exile firmly with the preclusion from politics and the concomitant loss of honour. As we shall see in the remainder of this chapter, this perspective is maintained throughout the text by repeated discussion of the value of political life as well as by a lengthy argument that shows that exile is not dishonourable. The contrast with other authors is striking. Seneca’s Consolation to Helvia, for example, focuses first and 8

See Barigazzi (1966). Cf. Whitmarsh (2001a), 270 n. 8 and (2001b), 137 n. 12. 10 Opsomer (2002), 290. 11 The word Ø can refer both to ‘esteem, honour’ in general (LSJ, s.v. 1) and to ‘a dignity, office, magistracy’ more specifically (LSJ, s.v. 3). I opt for the latter translation because the former is already implied in IÆ, and because Plutarch refers to IæåÆ, public offices, as the opposite of ØH I º . 9

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foremost on the change of location implied in exile (}} 6–9),12 then on the consequential poverty (}} 10–12), and only in the last (and shortest) instance on the disgrace resulting from his punishment (} 13). Politics does not enter the picture, then, and Seneca’s consolation about disgrace consists in arguing first that exile does not entail ignominy, and second that even if it does, the wise man is no less happy for it. Musonius’ On Exile is very similar in this respect, arguing that exile does not always lead to dishonour, but that even if it does, it leaves intact what really matters (H ª IºÅŁH IªÆŁH P  æŒ Ø, fr. 9 Hense (1905a), 50, line 9). Politics, again, is not discussed. In Favorinus’ On Exile, the exclusion from politics is discussed alongside dishonour, yet together with the loss of wealth (}} 19–27), this only forms the third of four causes that make exile difficult for most people, the others being the loss of one’s fatherland (}} 7–14), the longing for one’s friends and family (}} 15–18), and the lack of liberty (}} 28 ff.). Favorinus’ reply argues that offices and honour are only temporary loans from the gods, which we should be happy to hand back if asked to, while virtue and reason, the greatest gifts of the gods, cannot be removed (}} 21.5–22.3). Two major differences between Plutarch and these authors can be distinguished. First, the exclusion from politics is much more prominent in Plutarch’s text:13 whereas other authors at most discuss it briefly as one of a series of problems that people have in exile, Plutarch identifies the exclusion from politics as the main cause of suffering in exile right from the beginning. Compared to Seneca, moreover, Plutarch’s conception of dishonour is linked much more closely to the exclusion from politics: whereas Seneca gives more attention to the ignominy caused by the verdict of exile, Plutarch talks about the loss of the honours paid to people in public office. This is not only clear from his initial identification of dishonour (IÆ) with the loss of magistracies (ØH I º ), but also when he describes these as the opposites of ‘garlands, public offices, and front-seat privileges’ ( ç ı ŒÆd Iæåa ŒÆd æ æÆ, 599D).

12 Cf. Lotito (2001), 86–90, who argues that Seneca’s To Helvia On Consolation aims to reduce exile as much as possible to a change of place. 13 Cf. already Barigazzi (1966), 257.

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The second major difference regards the evaluation of dishonour and, where discussed, exclusion from politics. Seneca, Musonius, and Favorinus all offer what could be termed a typically philosophical consolation: they argue that the loss of honour or exclusion from politics is not bad because honour and politics are, ultimately, unimportant. What really matters is virtue, and the absence of political honours no more detracts from this than their presence increases it. By offering this reply, these authors highlight their detachment from the values of society and corroborate their philosophical persona: exile acquires a metaphorical role, to use Whitmarsh’s expression, as authors are ‘not merely topographically relocated, but also conceptually isolated from the norms and conventions of regular society’.14 Plutarch’s On Exile is very different. For a start, Plutarch is not talking about his own exile,15 but giving advice to an exiled friend. Plutarch does not name his addressee, yet repeated statements in the second person singular16 as well as explicit and implicit references create a picture of a rich, well-born, and well-educated friend of Plutarch’s from Sardis.17 Like On Feeling Good, then, On Exile is dedicated to a member of the elite of the Roman Empire. Although the reasons for his exile are not discussed, the very fact that he was exiled from Sardis strongly suggests that he had been politically active in his city. In contrast to Seneca, Musonius, and Favorinus, then, Plutarch’s text deals with the exile of a politician rather than a philosopher. This explains his emphasis on politics as the starting point of the advice he offers. The same starting point is discernible in Teles, who begins his treatment of exile by answering two questions about the loss of political 14

Whitmarsh (2001b), 145. Pace Seibert (1979), 276, who stated that ‘er (sc. Plutarch) Erhielt in der Verbannung die notwendige Ruhe und Muße zur Vollendung seines Werkes’, confusing Plutarch’s own situation with his dedicatee’s. On the question of whether Plutarch, as a result of some of his friendships, was ever in any way touched himself by exile, see Flacelie`re (1963), 43, Jones (1971), 24–5, and Stadter (1999b), p.ix. Grasmu¨ck (1978), 143–5, on the other hand, although devoting no more than three pages to Plutarch’s On Exile, did stress Plutarch’s special position resulting from the different identities of writer and exiled. 16 See 600A, 600B, 600E, 601B, 602D, 603F, 604B, and 607B. 17 Rich: 600A, 601F, 602C, 602F, and 603F; well-born: 605D; well-educated: 604D; friend: 599A, 599B, 600B, 600C, and 604B; Sardian: 600A, 601B, 604B, and 607E. On the implications this provenance may have, see Carrie`re and Cuvigny (1984), 31–3. 15

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influence as a result of exile.18 The first objection to exile is that exiles ‘hold no offices (PŒ ¼æåıØ), are not entrusted with any responsibilities, and do not enjoy freedom of speech’ (fr. 3 Hense (1969), 15, line 16). Teles’ reply lists three examples of contemporaries (ŒÆŁ A, fr. 3 Hense (1969), 16, line 6) who were exiled from their cities but subsequently gained political influence at various Hellenistic courts.19 In theory, the Roman Empire offered similar possibilities, especially for people with Roman citizenship. Given his pre-eminence and repeated dealings with the Romans, the character evoked in Plutarch’s On Exile is indeed likely to have had dual citizenship.20 Exile from one’s own city usually did not affect Roman citizenship. Nevertheless, Roman citizenship was concerned mainly with status and property, whereas civic rights were exercised largely on a local scale: one’s native city was where most played a political role, spoke in the assembly or held an office. Even for a man such as Plutarch’s friend, then, being exiled from his home town therefore implied the end of his (local) political career.21 Far from denying this or advising his friend to try and build up a new political career in Rome or elsewhere, Plutarch sees exclusion from politics as the most difficult consequence of exile for people such as his friend. It is indeed hard to overestimate the importance of being allowed to participate in city

18 Although Teles’ On Exile was handed down by Stobaeus in the abbreviated version by a certain Theodorus, its original structure seems to have been left intact. Cf. Nesselrath (2007), 88–91. 19 The examples listed are Lycinus from Italy who served as commander of a garrison under Antigonus Gonatas, Hippomedon, who fled (voluntarily?) from Sparta in 241 bc and subsequently became governor of Thrace in service of the Ptolemies, and the Athenian brothers Chremonides and Glaucon, who equally gained influence at the Ptolemaic court after the Chremonidean War (267–261 bc). Cf. Fuentes Gonza´lez (1998), 299–307. 20 Cf. 602C and 604B. On dual citizenship and its concrete realizations, see Sherwin-White (1973), 291–306, esp. 304, Millar (1977), 477–90, and Balsdon (1979), 82–96. On the loss of citizenship because of exile, see Balsdon (1979), 102–13. 21 Theoretically, one could of course appeal to the Emperor against one’s exile (cf. Rivie`re (2008), 48), yet Plutarch not only opposes drawing too much Roman attention to one’s city (cf. Political Precepts, } 19), but is also rather conservative: in contrast to the authors writing about their own banishments, Plutarch does not question the authority of the indictors of the punishment, let alone preach resistance. Cf. Grasmu¨ck (1978), 143–4. This is in accordance with Plutarch’s policy of acquiescing in Roman dominion. Cf Jones (1971), 118–20 and Swain (1996), 183.

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politics for the ancient Greeks.22 Teles also seems to have realized that his initial answer left room for the further objection that ‘exiles do not hold office in their native cities’ ( ª fiB NÆ fi PŒ ¼æåıØ ƒ çıª  , fr. 3 Hense (1969), 16, lines 8–9). In contrast to Seneca, Musonius, and Favorinus, then, Plutarch and Teles agree on the fact that the exclusion from politics in one’s city is one of the most challenging aspects of exile for the readers they target. Their answers, however, could not be more different. Teles’ answer is summarized in his rhetorical question, ‘what difference does it make, after all, whether you hold office or not?’ ( b ŒÆd ØÆç æ Ø ¼æå Ø j NØø  Ø;, fr. 3 Hense (1969), 16, lines 12–13). The reason why one should not be cast down by the fact that exile excludes one from politics, according to Teles, is that politics is, in the end, a matter of indifference. Plutarch, on the contrary, explicitly states that unless exiled, ‘it is felt to be neither decent nor just (P . . . ŒÆºe Pb ŒÆØ, 602B) to abandon one’s own city and inhabit another one’:23 one’s country asks that one pay taxes, go on an embassy to Rome, entertain the governor, and serve the state ( N  ªŒÆØ, æ  ı N  $Å,   ÆØ e ª Æ, º ØæªÅ, 602C). Far from being unimportant, then, Plutarch presents political activity and civic benefaction to one’s home city as duties which men like his friend have to take up. More than any other work on exile, then, Plutarch’s text acknowledges the importance and value of politics. In doing so, On Exile is in line with Plutarch’s other ‘political’ writings, where he stresses that people of noble birth should take up city politics (Political Precepts 798B) and continue to do so even in old age (Whether an Old Man Should Engage in Public Affairs 783B– 797F, esp. 785C and 791C–D), and disapproves of people who abandon their native cities in order to chase after a career in the Roman

22 For the importance of political participation in ancient Greece in general, see Lonis (1994), passim, and esp. p. 291: ‘Pour un Grec, vivre dans une cite´, c’est avoir le sentiment de compter dans sa communaute´’. Pace Caballero (1991), esp. 231–2 who seems to downplay the political consequences of adopting a new fatherland. 23 Plutarch stresses that this applies even if one’s city is obscure, problematic, and riven by faction and turbulence (602B). Note the contrast with Seneca, who, in his work On Leisure (6.2, and esp. 8.1–4), justifies his choice for the contemplative life by pointing to the fact that there exists no good country to be active in.

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administration (Political Precepts 814D).24 Nevertheless, On Exile also contains numerous negative remarks about politics: politicians are vulnerable to tumults, uprisings, and blackmail (602B, 602E, 603E, 603F, 604B), they are subject to the governor (602C, 602F, 604B), and have to fulfil various tasks and duties (602C, 602F, 603F, 604B). As a result, On Exile has often been considered a merely rhetorical piece or even a spurious text, because it would contradict Plutarch’s opinions as he expresses them elsewhere.25 What, then, is the aim of these negative remarks, and how do they relate to the importance attached to politics elsewhere in On Exile and in other Plutarchean writings? As we have seen, Plutarch singles out the exclusion from politics and the concomitant loss of honour as the primary source of people’s suffering in exile. In order to comfort his reader, Plutarch does not argue that politics and honour are unimportant, as did other philosophers, but he criticizes the way in which people look at the loss of politics in exile: Iººa c fiH ‘PŒ ¼æå  Pb ıº   Pb IªøŁ F ’ IŁ  e ‘P ÆØ Ç , PŒ IƺŒ  Pb æÅæ ŁÆ ŁæÆØ ª · Pb  º Ø F E ‹Ø › Œ ŒºÅæø  c K ÆæåÆ K, N IŒæ åº, N K ÆåŁc ¼ººø’. Iºº  E . . . B çıªB æe £  æ e ¼ K Ø Ø ÆææH  c I æƪÅ ŒÆd c åºc ŒÆd c Kº ıŁ æÆ. (On Exile 604C) Well then, set off against the consideration ‘I hold no office, I am not part of the council, I do not preside over the games’ the consideration that ‘I am not involved in faction, I am not exhausting my fortune, I am not tied to the antechamber of the governor; it does not matter to me now who gets assigned my province, whether he is prone to anger or in other ways difficult’. We, however . . . focus on one aspect of exile, namely dishonour, and thereby overlook its lack of duties, leisure, and freedom. (On Exile 604C)

Rather than focusing on honour and the positive implications of politics, which exile excludes, the reader should take into account

24 A possible allusion to this may be read as well in On Feeling Good 470C. See Russell (1973), 9. For the participation of old men in politics in antiquity, see Timmer (2008). 25 Cf. Hartmann (1916), 368–73, Ziegler (1951), 820, Grilli (1953), 207, and Aalders (1982), 7. Swain (1996), 185 already pointed out that ‘On Exile confirms key aspects of Plutarch’s attitude towards Rome as expressed in Political Advice’. Cf. also Caballero (1994), 548.

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that exile also absolves him from the negative aspects of politics: whilst putting an end to civic honours, exile also absolves one from the duties and sorrows of politics. Indeed, if assessed correctly, an active life dedicated to politics entails much more than just honour: it implies difficulties and dangers, disturbances and demands of all kind, useless activities on other people’s behalf, and the concomitant sorrows.26 The same idea can be found in other Plutarchean works of practical ethics. In two passages discussed above, for example, On Feeling Good points out that the life of a politician or public figure is full of engagements and efforts (PŒ ¼ ı æƪ ø P IåºØH, 472C), and that failing to obtain an office or the friendship of a leading figure allows one to retreat and look after one’s own affairs free from danger and trouble (467D). In How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend?, Plutarch has Crates point out to the exiled Demetrius of Phalerum that he should be glad to be ‘set free from hazardous and insecure business’ (69D). And even in Political Precepts, it is stressed that local politics is no easy business under the Roman Empire: the politician constantly has to find a balance between ruling his fellow citizens and being ruled by the Romans (813E). In this perspective, exile can become an opportunity for ridding oneself of the fuss and sorrows inherent in an active life dedicated to politics. Thus if Plutarch highlights the negative implications of the political life, it is to draw attention to the positive effect exile can have. The most important gift which exile has to offer him, is quiet (ıåÆ, 602E, 603F, 605B): e b  ªØ, ıåÆ, w ØłHØ  æØ, d ºº ŒØ ıå E  Ø. Iººa  Æ ŒÆd I Œæı  ı YŒØ ıŒç ÆØ ŒÆd ºı æ ª  KØå   ŒÆd ØŒ  KŒ H æÆø ŒÆd H Œ ø N Iªæa ŒÆd

N ÆPºc Æ fi ŒÆ ªıØ. N b B PŒ KåºH Ø, PŒ ÆNH, P Æ ØÇ , PŒ KªªıÆŁÆØ ÆæƌƺH, P ıÆæåÆØæ Ø ÆØ, Ø hØÆ b ŒÆd Ł ƒ  ºØØ H IƪŒÆø ŒÆd NŒ ø º ıØ, › b ¼ºº  ¼ıº ŒÆd ƒ æe I EÆØ fiH ıº ø fi ŒÆd  ÆŁÅŒØ åº Ç Ø. (On Exile 603E–604A) But most importantly: quiet, for which others thirst, will often be available to you. At home, sycophants and busybodies track us down when we play at draughts and retire from the public scene. They hunt us out of our suburban

26

See also 602C, 602E, 602F, 603E, 603F, 604A, 604B, 604D, 605C, and 606A–B.

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estates and parks and drive us back to the market place and the court forcefully. Nobody, however, sails to an island to bother us, to ask us something, to borrow something, to ask us to give security or help them in canvassing for election: only the very best amongst our connections and relatives sail to an island out of friendship and affection. The rest of life is left inviolate and sacred, if one accepts leisure and has learned to use it. (On Exile 603E–604A)

Plutarch starts from the assumption that peace and quiet is something highly desirable. At home, people try to get quiet by retiring to the countryside, yet they will be chased up and forced to return to business. Further in On Exile, Plutarch indeed explicitly states that people who have any fame or power cannot enjoy quiet at home (ıåÆ, w P ı   Ø YŒØ E ØÆF Æ j ÆØ åıØ, 605B).27 For people like his friend, then, exile becomes an opportunity to enjoy the quiet which they thirst for (cf. w ØłHØ  æØ). The condition, however, is that one accepts (ıº ø fi ) one’s circumstances and learns ( ÆŁÅŒØ)28 how to make good use of one’s free time (åº Ç Ø).29

5.2. EXILE AND PHILOSOPHY This, then, is where philosophy enters the picture. Indeed, throughout the text, Plutarch makes it clear that the key for dealing well with exile is to be found in philosophy. Towards the beginning of the text, Plutarch invites the reader to defend himself against fortune through reason,30 ‘by engaging in philosophy appropriately’ (Iı ŁÆ

27 In On Feeling Good, the life of a politician or political figure is indeed said to preclude the freedom from business and leisure (472C) enjoyed by people living different lives. 28 Cf. also 601C, 601F, and 606D. 29 For åº Ç Ø / åº, see Stocks (1936), Mikkola (1958), Solmsen (1964), esp. Demont (1990), passim, and Isebaert (1992), with further bibliography in n. 1. As Isebaert (1992), 299 pointed out, ‘la tension conceptuelle qui existe entre åº et IåºÆ de´termine toute l’histoire du mot 庒. 30 On Exile 599C, 600E, and 601F.

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çغçF  Iø, 600B).31 Throughout the text, this emphasis on philosophy is confirmed not only through many exemplary anecdotes about philosophers, but also through the structure of the argument: Øe Œi IºÅŁH ŒÆŒfiH ØØ ŒÆd ºı ÅæfiH æØ ø , K ª ŁÆØ  E e ƒºÆæe ŒÆd e hŁı KŒ H  Ææåø ŒÆd  º Ø  ø IªÆŁH, fiH NŒ ø fi e IººæØ KŒº ÆÆ. z b  çØ Pb å Ø ŒÆŒ, Iººa ‹º ŒÆd A e ºı F KŒ Œ B Å IÆ ºÆÆØ, ÆFÆ  E, ŒÆŁ æ E  ØŒØ a æø EÆ ÆØØ Kªªf ŒÆd  e å EæÆ ØF  ŒÆd IÆæ ç  KŁÇ  ŒÆÆçæ E, oø Kªªf ±  ı ŒÆd ı æ Æ e fi Å  I ŒÆº  Ø. (On ºªØ,32 e ÆŁæ ŒÆd e Œ e ŒÆd  æƪø Exile, 600D–E) And if, therefore, something really bad and painful happens to us, we should derive joy and a good feeling from the good things that are present and left to us and smooth away the negative with the positive features. As for those things which, on the other hand, have nothing bad by their nature but are made to seem painful completely and totally on the basis of empty opinion: we should expose how weak, empty, and imaginary they are by examining them and applying reason to them closely, in the same way as we teach children who fear masks to be sensible by making them go up to them and take them in their hands and by turning them around. (On Exile, 600D–E)

In this passage, taken from the beginning of the fifth paragraph, Plutarch distinguishes between events that are bad by their very nature and events that empty opinion makes appear bad.33 As stated in Chapter 4, this opposition is a familiar one in ancient philosophy, and was generally used to argue that the blows of fortune cannot really hurt one. In the first two paragraphs of On Exile, Plutarch seems to be 31 As in On Feeling Good, philosophy is once more suggested to imply selfexamination. Cf. 599C. 32 Pace Paton, Pohlenz, and Sieveking (1929), 515, I follow the reading of all manuscripts rather than changing e ºªØ into fiH ºªØfiH: as the genitive ø is implied but not given with ±  ı, so the dative Ø may be implied with ı æ Æ, in which case it is only logical that ºªØ is in the accusative. 33 For the presence of this opposition in On Feeling Good, see above, p. 106. On Exile, on the other hand, suggests that it is not the facts themselves ( æ ªÆÆ 599C, 599D, and 599F, and çØ 599D, 600D, 600E, 601B, 601D, and 602D) but the opinion (ŒæØ, 599D) one has of them, which makes ( Ø E, 599D, 599F, 600C, 600D, 601C, 601D, and 607A) exile an evil.

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going down the same pathway. In the first paragraph, he advises readers to examine whether their bodies or souls have become worse. Reason (ºªı, 599C) will thus reveal that the facts offer no ground for grief (cf. Œ H, 599C). In the second paragraph, he invites the reader to apply this principle (cf. K  Çø , 599C), and explicitly states that whereas nature (ç Ø, 599D) makes stone hard and ice cold, it is our own judgement (c   æÆ ŒæØ, 599D) that determines whether ‘exile, dishonour, and loss of magistracies, like their opposites, garlands, public offices, and front-seat privileges’ are heavy or light to bear.34 As we have seen above, the idea that exile does not deprive one of any good related to soul or body, or even of external goods, recurs in other texts on exile. At the beginning of the text, then, Plutarch places himself firmly in the philosophical tradition. In the following paragraphs, however, he takes a rather different stance, when starting from the assumption that ‘exile is something terrible, as most people say in speech and song’ (ø b  Ø, u æ ƒ ººd º ªıØ ŒÆd fi ¼ıØ,  çıªÅ, On Exile, 599F). At least temporarily, then, Plutarch takes his starting point from people’s pre-philosophical values as they can be found in what people say as well as in poetry. The help he thus offers to people is to make them feel good and joyful (cf. e ƒºÆæe ŒÆd e hŁı) despite the calamity that has hit them. If this aim calls to mind On Feeling Good, so do the arguments adduced:35 H æø ø ØŒæa ººa ŒÆd æØ Æ ŒÆd  ŒÆ c ÆYŁÅØ KØ, Iººa ت  ÆPE ØÆ H ªºıŒ ø ŒÆd æÅH c IÅÆ IçÆØæF . . . . F  Ø Ø E ŒÆd æe a ı ÆÆ, Œ æÆÆ ÆPE a åæØÆ ŒÆd çغ Łæø Æ36 H ı Ø Ææø, P æÆ çºı I æƪÅ e Åb K E H IƪŒÆø æe e . P ªaæ rÆØ ººf r ÆØ "ÆæØÆH, Q c a a æ ªÆÆ ŒÆd  a çıªB Aºº KŁ ºıØ ÆE  æå Ø ŒÆd IªÆ ıØ K d  Å oø Ø ª , j ŒÆŁ æ ƒ ŒåºÆØ, E Oæ ŒØ ıçı E Z  ¼ºº b Åb IªÆŁe å  H YŒØ   å Ø Iº ø. (On Exile, 600A)

34

In a sense, then, this argument offers a conviction (ŒæØ) of the reader’s usual way of thinking, just as other writings offer a conviction of the reader’s usual behaviour. 35 The ‘euthymistic’ echoes in On Exile were noted by Grilli (2000), 234. 36 Interpunction taken from Caballero (2000), 196.

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There are many foodstuffs that are bitter and sharp and unpleasant to our taste, yet by mixing something sweet and agreeable with them we take away their unpleasantness . . . The same principle can be applied to misfortunes as well, by mixing with them what is useful and positive in your present circumstances: wealth, friends, freedom from business, and no lack of any of the necessities of life. I believe there are indeed not many Sardians who would not wish they had your lot including exile and who would not love to live your life abroad rather than to be at home without pain like snails, bound to their shells but enjoying no other good. (On Exile, 600A)

To start with, this passage advocates what I earlier called a synchronically comprehensive view of oneself: the reader is urged to take into account not just the blows of Fortune, but also her blessings. These blessings are twofold in the case of exiles like Plutarch’s friend. On the one hand, it is stressed that they can continue to enjoy many of the privileges of their lives before exile: they will still be wealthy enough not to need to work for their living, and their friends, likely to belong to the same social stratum, can allow themselves to visit them in exile.37 On the other hand, the reader is incited to adopt what could be called a comprehensive view of exile, whereby one sees not just the negative aspects of exile, but also its positive consequences: as explained in the previous section, one should not focus exclusively on the exclusion from politics and the loss of honours entailed by exile, but also see the positive opportunities it offers in the form of freedom from business. Together, these comprehensive views should lead to an overall positive evaluation of life in exile, and to what Christopher Gill, as we have seen in Chapter 4, calls a ‘quasi-aesthetic attitude to our own lives’, expressed here in the comparison with food.38 The end of the passage matches yet another strategy promoted in On Feeling Good, namely to compare oneself to people who are less well-off than oneself. On the one hand, the reader may want to accept exile for fear of resembling a snail bound to its shell. On the other hand, Plutarch suggests that people such as his friend will still

37

Continuity of wealth: 601E, 601F; of friends: 603F, 604A. Notice the contrast with Favorinus, for whom the distance from friends and relatives and the loss of wealth are two of the four main reasons why people find exile difficult. 38 See above, p. 104. Other aesthetic comparisons used in }} 3 and 4 of On Exile include mingling bright colours and shade and mixing drinks.

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be enviable in the eyes of many others even when exiled. Far from arguing against the validity of economical and social values, then, On Exile uses them in order to make the reader accept the consolation offered. Halfway through the fifth paragraph, however, Plutarch returns to a more philosophical argument when ‘exile from what you think to be your fatherland’ is introduced as an example (x, 600E) of an event that seems painful because of empty opinion. More specifically, Plutarch argues that there is no such thing as a natural fatherland: ç Ø ªaæ PŒ Ø Ææ, u æ P r Œ P Iªæe Pb åƺŒ E, ‰ `  æø º ª , P NÆæ E
Iººa ª ÆØ Aºº  O Ç ÆØ ŒÆd ŒÆº EÆØ ø ŒÆ I d æe e NŒFÆ ŒÆd åæ . › ªaæ ¼Łæø , fi w çÅØ › —º ø, ‘çıe PŒ ªª Ø’ P IŒÅ ‘Iºº Pæ Ø’ KØ . . . › b "øŒæ Å  ºØ , PŒ `  ŁÅÆE P ' ¯ººÅ Iººa ‘ŒØ’ r ÆØ çÆ, ‰ ¼ Ø ‘$Ø’ r  j ‘˚æŁØ’. (On Exile 600E–F) For there is no such thing as a natural fatherland, any more than there is a natural house, field, forge, or surgery, as Aristo used to say. No, each of these things always becomes, or rather, is labelled and termed, thus in relation to the person who inhabits or uses it. For as Plato said, man is ‘not a plant rooted in the earth’, nor an unmoving one, ‘but a heavenly one’. Socrates put it even better when saying that he was not an Athenian or a Greek but a ‘Cosmian’, as one would say ‘Rhodian’ or ‘Corinthian’. (On Exile 600E–F)

Traditionally, fatherland was a political concept referring to one’s own city, the city in which one was born, had civic rights, and could therefore be politically active. In this passage, however, Plutarch redefines fatherland as a geographical place where one has been living for a while: it is not nature that determines one’s fatherland, but habit.39 As a result, man can be at home anywhere in the world. By quoting Socrates’ statement that he was a Cosmian, Plutarch makes it clear that he is here referring to the theme of cosmopolitanism often found in Cynic and Stoic literature. From Diogenes and Zeno onwards, indeed, Cynic and Stoic philosophers had pointed out that man is first and foremost a citizen of the world. Yet although Stoic

Cf. Musonius, On Exile fr. 9 Hense (1905a) 42, or Favorinus, On Exile, }} 7–14. See also Whitmarsh (2001b), 146–7 and 172–3. 39

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precedents are acknowledged in the reference to Aristo of Chios,40 Jan Opsomer has shown how Plutarch ‘takes care to change the history of a genre’ by presenting his own, Platonic version of the theme.41 Indeed, while he uses Aristo by way of comparison (cf. u æ), he locates the foundation (cf. ª æ) for his redefinition firmly in Plato’s metaphysics. References to Plato and his metaphysics keep recurring throughout On Exile, and the result is a thoroughly different implementation of the theme of cosmopolitanism: whereas the Stoics understood the cosmic city primarily in ethical terms as a community of humans (and gods) as rational beings, Plutarch goes for a more transcendent interpretation of heaven as our true fatherland, which means that human beings on earth are all, ultimately, exiles (607D, with another reference to Plato). In order to make his reader adopt this view, Plutarch uses three arguments that play on the reader’s sense of honour (}} 6–7). First, he suggests that from a metaphysical point of view, human beings who are unhappy in exile appear to be as petty and senseless as ants or bees, which are unhappy when driven out of a certain anthill or beehive. In order to avoid making such an impression, one should know and learn (cf. PŒ N  Pb  ÆŁÅŒ , 601C) to turn everything to one’s advantage and see things as they really are. One should, in other words, adopt the advice Plutarch gave in paragraphs three and four as well as that given in paragraphs two and five. In the second place, Plutarch states that we laugh not only at people who contend that the moon is better in Athens than in Corinth, but also at the Persian kings when they refuse to drink water other than that from the Choaspes river, and thereby turn the rest of the world into a waterless desert. By adopting the sociative first-person plural (ª ºH , 601C, ŒÆƪ ºH , 601D), Plutarch includes the reader in his way of thinking, and thereby leaves him no choice but to follow his advice on exile if he wants to continue laughing rather than being laughed at. In paragraph seven, finally, Plutarch lists Demetrius of Phaleron, Themistocles, Diogenes, and Stratonicus as famous 40

For further Stoic elements in Plutarch’s On Exile, see Babut (1969), 102–8. Opsomer (2002), esp. 289–90 and Nesselrath (2007), 91–9. For discussions of the theme in other authors, see Schofield (1991), Moles (1996), Nussbaum (1997), Obbink (1999), Schofield (2000), 452–3, and Dicke (2004). 41

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examples of good behaviour in exile. What made them successful, he suggests, is that they were intelligent and reasonable (å Ø . . . F ŒÆd ºªØ, 601F). Throughout the text, people who deal with exile properly are indeed referred to as intelligent and educated (600D, 601C, 601F, 606A, 606C, and 606D), whilst those who do not are labeled foolish (599C, 601C, 603B, 605D, and 607A). If, then, the reader wants to make an intelligent and well-educated impression— and which of Plutarch’s elite readers would not want to?—he should follow Plutarch’s advice. If, then, these paragraphs use social arguments rather than philosophical reasons in order to convince the reader, the beginning of the eighth paragraph once more gives Plutarch’s advice the aura of philosophy by inviting the reader to look at ‘the truth without empty opinion’ (¼ ı Œ B Å c IºŁ ØÆ, 602B). What he will then see is that the man who lives in his home city is a stranger ( ) in all other cities as it is his duty to stay in his own (602B). Whereas   traditionally denoted a man who came from another city and therefore did not enjoy citizenship, Plutarch here redefines the concept to mean a man who cannot go and live in another city at his own choice.42 In line with this, freedom (Kº ıŁ æÆ) is no longer seen as characteristic of the citizen who disposes of full civic rights but of the man who is not submitted to the duties which citizenship involves.43 Such a man is free to choose the city where he wants to live: e ªaæ ŒÆºe KŒ E Ææ ªª ºÆ H —ıŁÆªæ ø ‘ºF  e ¼æØ, f  ÆPe  ıŁ ØÆ Ø Ø,’ ŒIŁÆFÆ ç KØ ŒÆd åæØ· ‘ºF ºØ c IæÅ ŒÆd Å, ÆæÆ  ÆPc › åæ Ø Ø’. (On Exile, 602B–C)

42 For  Ø in Greek literature, cf. Gauthier (1971) and Baslez (1984) and (1989). For foreigners in Roman literature, see Balsdon (1979) and Noy (2000). In general, see also the essays in Dummer and Vielberg (edd.) (2004). For Plutarch’s more metaphysical concerns in On Exile, see Nesselrath (2007), 98–9. 43 As such, Kº ıŁ æÆ here comes close to I æƪÅ, lack of duties. Both words are indeed juxtaposed in 604C. For accounts of the political concept of Kº ıŁ æÆ, see Wirszubski (1950), Jones (1971), 120, Nestle (1972), Gigon (1973), 16, Raaflaub (1984), Swain (1996), 180–1, and Raaflaub (2004). For the philosophical connotations of freedom, see Grilli (1953), 66, Erskine (1990), 43–6 on Seneca, Epistles 8.7, and Gobry (2000), 45. Outside exilic writings, an explicit redefinition of Kº ıŁ æÆ can be read in Epictetus, Discourses 4.1.1.

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Indeed, that excellent precept of the Pythagoreans, ‘choose the best life and habit will make it pleasant’, is wise and useful in this context too: ‘choose the best and most pleasant city, and time will make it your fatherland’. (On Exile, 602B–C)

As we have seen in Chapter 1, Pythagoras was one of the first philosophers to reflect systematically on different kinds of lives. This passage starts with a reference to Pythagorean advice regarding the choice of life: one should choose the best life, and time will ensure that one feels happy in it. Given the start of On Exile, which, as we have seen, refers to the fact that many find exile hard to bear because it puts an end to one’s political career, the reader immediately has a sense of the relevance of the Pythagorean advice in the context of exile: if the political life is henceforward impossible, one should choose ‘the best’ kind of life, and familiarity with it will make it pleasant. What the reader expects, in other words, is a plea in favour of the philosophical life. Yet Plutarch turns out not to apply the Pythagorean advice in so straightforward a way. Instead, he makes an analogy: when exiled, one can choose the best and most pleasant city, and after a while, this will become one’s new fatherland. Plutarch thus refuses to conceive of exile in terms of a change of life, focusing instead on the issue of relocation. The following passage is even more explicit in this respect: › b s Zø ıŁ  m Ø ºØ c r å ÆF  a H çæø ŒÆÆ  Å  e B ŁÆº Å ‘ sª ’, r , ‘t åÅ, Ø E, N æøÆ ŒÆd  çغç ı ºÆı A’. Icæ b c  ıçø  Æ ÆØ Å OåºÆH PŒ i r ÆØ  łÆØ c åÅ ı ºÆı  N B, Iºº K ÆØ  Ø  ‹Ø e ºf ¼ºı ŒÆd Þ  ÆıF ŒÆd º Æ K I ÅÆØ ŒÆd ŒØı K ŁÆº fiÅ ŒÆd Łæı K IªæA fi æØ ºFÆ Ø ŒÆd åºÆE ŒÆd I æ Æ ŒÆd YØ  ‰ IºÅŁH øØ, Œ æfiH ŒÆd ØÆÆØ æØªæ łÆÆ c H IƪŒÆø åæ Æ. Æ ªaæ B NŒÆ PŒ å Ø, æ Æ, ºıæ, NåŁF, ºÆªø, ¼ªæÆ fi ŒÆd ÆØØA fi åæBŁÆØ ıº Ø; (On Exile 603D–E) When he learned that his only remaining ship, including its cargo, had been swallowed down by the sea, Zeno, for one, said: ‘Well done, Fortune! You compel me to a threadbare cloak and a philosopher’s life’. And unless completely infatuated or mad for the mob, a man would not, in my opinion, reproach Fortune when compelled to an island. Rather, he would praise her for taking away from him many an agitated moment as well as roaming, wandering abroad, risks at sea, and tumults in the

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market place. Instead she gives a settled life, full of leisure and without distractions: a life that is truly one’s own, for which she draws a circle of which centre and radius are determined by the necessities that meet one’s needs. For which island does not offer a house, a walk, a bath, and fish and hares for those who like to indulge in hunting and sport? (On Exile 603D–E)

The anecdote about Zeno recounted here recurs in other authors and in other works of Plutarch’s.44 Significantly, however, this is the only version paraphrasing Zeno’s ‘threadbare cloak’ in terms of ‘a philosopher’s life’ ( çغç). On the one hand, this addition draws attention to the theme of the different kinds of lives,45 which is furthermore highlighted in this passage by references to people who are infatuated or mad for the applause of the mob: whereas the former may be living a hedonistic life, the latter probably live a political life. As in On Feeling Good 467D, the advice they are given is not to follow Zeno’s example and dedicate themselves to philosophy,46 but to consider the negative implications of the political life, and the leisurely activities they will be able to enjoy thanks to exile. Plutarch does not want to cramp his reader into a straitjacket that does not fit him any more than is necessary: despite the example of Zeno, On Exile does not argue for a philosophical life that rejects everything the political life has to offer.47 Rather, it offers philosophical help to an exiled man who neither was, nor is to become, a philosopher himself: Plutarch does not want to turn his reader into a 44

A survey of all versions of the saying can be found in SVF 3, 63–4 (fr. 277). Whereas Diogenes Laertius (7.5) speaks about philosophy (çغçÆ fi ), and Seneca (On Tranquillity 14) about ‘following philosophy’ (philosophari), Plutarch in How Could You Profit by Your Enemies? speaks about a ‘threadbare cloak’ (87A). In On Feeling Good, ‘the Stoa’ (467D) was added. 45 The word  recurs no fewer than fourteen times in On Exile, and has technical connotations at least in 602C and 603D, but also in 603A, 603B, 603E, and 604D. 46 The opposition between Zeno, the philosopher, on the one hand, and people living apolaustic or political lives, on the other, is highlighted by the particles   . . .  . . . . 47 Pace Caballero (1994), 548, who discussed On Exile briefly in a survey of Plutarch’s thoughts on the opposition between different kinds of lives, and interpreted it as a work defending the  åºÆ. Likewise, I do not agree with Nesselrath (2007), 93 when he paraphrases çغçø (600B) as ‘like a true philosopher’.

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philosopher, he wants to convince him that in order to be able to live his life well henceforward, he will need to adopt a more philosophical attitude. The reader is to adopt Zeno’s way of thinking, not his kind of life, in other words. On the other hand, specifying that Zeno’s threadbare cloak is to be interpreted as a metaphor not for poverty but for a philosopher’s life counters the interpretation of exile as a deterioration in economical position, and stresses the continuity of life before and after exile. If the passage quoted first refers very modestly to the necessities one needs, the last sentence refers to a house, a bath, a walk, and hunting and sport. A little further in On Exile, Plutarch suggests that exiles may also spend their time reading (604D),48 travelling (604D), or simply at rest (604D). Plutarch thus suggests that exile will give people like his friend more time (cf. åºÆE, åº, 603E, 604A, 604C, and 604D) to enjoy the typical ingredients of elite life under the Empire:49 contrary to what some may think, culture and civilization do not stop with exile. Except for activities, Plutarch also suggests a number of places where one can go in exile. Under the Roman Empire, exile took different forms.50 The mildest one was called relegatio and entailed banishment from one or a few places only. At the other end of the scale, deportatio confined a person to one specific place, often an 48 For the association of books with exile, see e.g. Philostratus, Life of the Sophists 488 on Dio Chrysostom. On Exile contains a mass of literary quotations from different authors. Apart from offering these literary passages to the reader and thereby possibly teasing him into more reading, On Exile also teaches the reader how to deal with literature. Cf. below, pp. 141–3. By inciting his readers to read, Plutarch may, moreover, also be promoting his own work. 49 At least reading and hunting seem to have been typically elite activities in the Roman Empire. That hunting was indeed a popular pastime for the elite of the 1st–2nd cents. ad is clear, e.g., from Arrian’s On Hunting and Pliny’s Letters (e.g. 1.6, 5.6, 5.18, 9.10, 9.16, and 9.36). On hunting in the ancient world, see further Orth (1916), Anderson (1985), Green (1996), and Barringer (2001). Walking and bathing, on the other hand, seem to have been much more widespread. For walking as a daily activity, cf. Carcopino (1986), 363–70; for the structure and socio-cultural functions of bathing complexes in Plutarch’s days, see Marrou (1965), 198–200, 365, and 394, Carcopino (1986), 371–85, Yegu¨l (1992), 30–47, Fagan (1999), and Farrington (1999). 50 On exile under the Roman Empire, see Braginton (1944), Grasmu¨ck (1978), 62–145, and the relevant essays in Gaertner (ed.) (2007) and Pre´vot and Blaudeau (edd.) (2008). On the judicial meaning of exile and relegatio, see Hartman (1916), 371, Garnsey (1970), 111–22, Balsdon (1979), 102, Kelly (2006), 17–67, Riviere (2008), and Delmaire (2008).

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island,51 and implied the loss of property and citizenship. Although Plutarch’s On Exile clearly assumes that one’s property is left untouched,52 the reference to people who are being deported to an island (ı ºÆı  N B) in the passage just quoted clearly refers to one of the stricter forms of exile. Apart from the suggestion that even the smallest island offers everything that is necessary as well as many of the commodities of elite life, Plutarch gives four arguments why deported people should not lament their situation (}} 9–11). First, he argues that small islands have been home to great people both in myth—Plutarch refers to Ephialtes, Otes, Orion, Alcmaeon (602D) as well as to Nausithou¨s, the children of Minos, Codrus and Neileus (603B)—and in contemporary history, as the example of Tiberius’ retreat to Capri shows. On the one hand, then, readers can align themselves with such great figures by choosing the same islands to dwell on. On the other hand, Plutarch may be suggesting that these islands can boast an ancient genealogy, and are therefore less devoid of prestige than many readers may think.53 The second argument in favour of small islands is that they rid one of the political duties and problems inherent in one’s home city as described in the previous section. In this respect, the reader may fare even better than the Emperor, who could not escape political affairs even on Capri. Plutarch therefore reinterprets the myth of Alcmaeon by conjecturing ( . . . ‰ ƒ ØÅÆd º ªıØ· Kª  . . . NŒ Çø, 602E) that the son of Amphiarau¨s fled political troubles more than anything else when moving to a small and unknown place after having murdered his mother Eriphyle.54 Next, Plutarch argues that there is no relationship between having a life free from pain (e ¼ºı  , 603A) and the size of the city where one lives: what matters is how one deals with the situation. Nausithou¨s and his countrymen, for example, lived the most pleasant of lives (e XØ , 603B) after having moved away from a region full of industrious men to a desolate island (cf. Œa IæH IºçÅ ø, 603B). Nevertheless, thoughtless exiles (ƒ IÅØ

51

For traditional places of exile, cf. Balsdon (1979), 113–15. Cf. 600A, 601F, 602C, 602F, and 603F. 53 For city genealogies in the Second Sophistic, see Swain (1996), 73, with further bibliography in n. 14. 54 For this reinterpretation of the myth of Alcmaeon, see Barigazzi (1966), 256. 52

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çıª  , 603B) complain when they have to live on such an island. Again, Plutarch adduces an a fortiori argument when pointing out that even on an island, the reader will have more space than Xenophon on the one hand, and Plato and Xenocrates on the other, who spent their lives in the small district of Scillus and on the little plot of land that belonged to the Academy respectively (603B). The fourth argument, finally, offers consolation for the fact that deported people are not allowed to travel, but have to stay in one and the same place:55 although planets move whilst stars are fixed (cf. º ÅÆ vs. H I ºÆH I æø, 604A), the former are not happier than the latter. For after all, even the planets are limited in their movements by the laws of the universe, as the philosopher Heraclitus taught.56 Paragraphs nine to eleven, then, are clearly aimed at people who have been subjected to deportatio, as Plutarch explicitly confirms in paragraph twelve. After that, however, On Exile takes a different turn: Iººa ÆFÆ  , t çº , ŒÆd a ØÆFÆ æe KŒ ı º ªø  ŒIŒ Ø K fi ø  x  N B I ø fi ŒØ Ø I ØŒÆ Ø E a ¼ººÆ  ±ºe ºØB, n º E I ŒÆ KæŒ Ø
d  , På e   ı , Iººa I ØæÅ ı  ı, ÆH KØ KıÆ º ø  ØA ŒºıØ. (On Exile 604B) But let us give and repeat these and similar arguments to those people, dear friend, who have been banished to an island, and whom the grey, salty sea, which separates many against their will, precludes from all the rest. To you, however, one place has not been assigned but forbidden, and the prohibition from one gives you access to all others. (On Exile 604B)

Although the cause and juridical details of his banishment are not discussed, this passage makes it clear that the exiled friend whom Plutarch refers to throughout On Exile has been hit by relegation rather than deportation. Why, then, did Plutarch include a consola55 Elsewhere in On Exile, leading a life that does not require one to travel (Ø) is explicitly represented as something desirable. Cf. 603E. 56 The reference to the limited freedom of the planets may echo Plutarch’s earlier argument that people who have not been exiled are not free to go wherever they want (602B). Notwithstanding the title of his article, Opsomer (2002), 188 offers but a very brief paraphrase of the passage.

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tion on deportation? On the one hand, Plutarch’s arguments in paragraphs nine to eleven serve as an a fortiori argument:57 if deportation is not the end of the world, then relegation cannot be too bad. The fact that the argument about deportation takes up about a fifth of the entire text makes it unlikely, however, that this is Plutarch’s only reason.58 We shall come back to this point in the last section of this chapter, but for now, I would like to suggest that the inclusion of the argument about deportation also makes clear that Plutarch is consciously writing for a much broader audience than just his friend. This is confirmed later in the text, when Plutarch lists philosophers of different schools: apart from conveying authority to his own opinions on exile by suggesting that philosophers of different schools acted upon the same principles, Plutarch explicitly indicates that he is catering for readers with different preferences ( N c — æØ ÆÅØŒc I Çfi Å  ºØÆ ŒÆd  ŁÆÆŒÆ, . . . N c "øØŒ . . . , 605A–B).59 To a large extent, the advice Plutarch gives to people who have been relegated (} 12) coincides with the general principles set out at the beginning of the text. One passage offers a particularly good illustration:  Ø  ı . . . fiH  Ł HØ ıÅæØ K  ¯ º ıEØ ØÆæ Ø, ˜ØıØ K ¼ Ø ÆŪıæÇ Ø, —ıŁø Iª ø N ˜ ºçf Ææ ºŁ E,  Łø N ˚æØŁ, ¼ æfi q çغŁ øæ
N b , åºc æ Æ I ªøØ o  IŁæÅ e F ˜Øª ı ‘ `  æØ ºÅ IæØA fi , ‹Æ ŒfiB )غ ø fi , ˜Øª Å, ‹Æ ˜Øª  Ø ’  æƪÆ Æ  ¼æå Ł  ª  c ıŁÅ ÆØÆ æØ H. (On Exile 604C–D) Well then, it is possible . . . for someone who has been banished to stay in Eleusis when the mysteries are being celebrated, to join in the festival in the City at the Dionysia, and to go to Delphi when the Pythian Games are on and to Corinth when the Isthmian Games are on, if he likes spectacles. If not, then there is leisure, walking, reading, an uninterrupted sleep, and the saying of Diogenes, ‘Aristotle dines when Philip wants to, Diogenes when he himself wants to’, since no business, ruler, or governor upsets one’s regular way of life. (On Exile 604C–D) 57 In a sense, the argument also invites the reader, once more, to compare himself to those who are worse off than himself. 58 The argument takes up 3 out of 17 paragraphs, or 5 out of 25 pages in the Loeb edition. 59 For the ‘much wider, secondary audience’ Plutarch had in mind, see Opsomer (2002), 290. See also below, pp. 148–50.

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On the one hand, this passage repeats the advice to focus not on the negative aspects of exile, but on the positive ones. The latter include not just the continued enjoyment of the commodities of elite life, but also the absence of the disadvantages caused by politics. On the other hand, Plutarch here goes much further than any previous author in suggesting particular places where the exile can go.60 What he proposes to his reader, more specifically, is a kind of cultural tour of mainland Greece, visiting its main cities. The most significant aspect of his advice, however, is what he proposes his readers to go after, if he travels: the suggestion is for the reader to attend religious and cultural festivals, not to frequent philosophical schools. Although there are many references to the Athenian Academy in the text, the reader is not advised to become a philosopher there; and while the Pythian Games are represented as an important event to attend in Delphi, there is no invitation to come and study philosophy with Plutarch in Chaeronea.61 Likewise, philosophy is nowhere in On Exile to be found amongst the activities Plutarch suggests the reader will have more time for after being exiled. As opposed to the situation in other authors such as Musonius and Dio, then, Plutarch does not present exile as ‘the definitive moment in the philosophical biography’ of his readers:62 On Exile is not trying to turn its readers into philosophers any more than On Feeling Good is.

5.3. ANSWERING THE READER’S CONCERNS After the lengthy discussion that shows that exile is not a real evil, and how, even if it is so, the reader can still acquire a good feeling, the remaining paragraphs of On Exile draw the conclusions from the 60 For places to choose from as a new home, cf. 599E, 600F, 601B, 602D, 603C–D, 604B, 604C–D, 604F, or 605B–D. Cicero also contemplated different places to go to in exile. Cf. Claassen (1999), 279 n. 22. 61 Coming to live with a philosopher was indeed conceived as a particularly good way of getting philosophical schooling. Cf. Political Precepts 798B–C. 62 Whitmarsh (2001b), 159. For the association of exile with philosophy, see Gaertner (2007), 10–11; for the origins of this idea in accounts of Diogenes, see Bracht Branham (2007).

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preceding arguments in answering three objections readers may still have. First, Plutarch points out that many great men moved away from their native cities voluntarily.63 This is the case not only with many of the men of ‘greatest good sense and wisdom’ (H çæØø ø ŒÆd çø ø, 604D),64 but also with many wise men (f ç, 605A) as well as with ‘the most famous and powerful men of our own days’ (F ƒ ŒØÆØ ŒÆd Œæ ØØ, 605B). If the first category is exemplified by Euripides, Aeschylus, Herodotus, and Homer, and the second, as we have seen, by philosophers of different schools to suit the tastes of different readers, it is striking that Plutarch gives no specific examples in the latter category.65 Plutarch distinguishes two reasons why all these people chose to go and live abroad: they went away from their native lands in search of ‘quiet, which those who have any share in fame or power cannot easily enjoy at home’,66 or in quest for fame and honours (Æ . . . ŒÆd Øa KŁæ ı, 605A). Fame was also the result of exile for writers such as Thucydides, Xenophon, Timaeus, Androtion, and Bacchylides, who composed their best and most famous (a Œ ººØÆ H ıƪ ø ŒÆd ŒØÆÆ, 605C) literature in exile. Plutarch’s verdict is very clear:   yØ ŒÆd º   ¼ººØ H Ææø KŒ   PŒ I ªøÆ P ææØłÆ Æı, Iºº KåæÆ ÆE Pçı*ÆØ KçØ Ææa B åÅ c çıªc ºÆ , Ø m ÆÆåF ŒÆd  ŁÅŒ  Å ÆØ
H  KŒƺø ŒÆd ŒÆÆÆØÆ ø Pb x  ºª P e I º º Ø ÆØ. ˜Øe ŒÆd ª ºE KØ › Çø IÆ fiB çıªfiB æ EÆØ. (On Exile 605D) All these men and many others did not give up on themselves or cast themselves down when exiled from their fatherlands. Instead, they used their privileged background as travel provisions provided by Fortune when 63 Cf. Å e IƪŒ Ç, 604D;  s ı Kø ; P , 605B;  Æ  , ıb çıªÆ ıŁ  , Iººa çıª  ÆP, 605C. 64 Like Teles, Plutarch starts off his discussion of famous men who left their native cities by pointing out that many of them got buried abroad. Yet whereas Teles goes on to spend a substantial part of his text discussing whether being buried abroad is a bad thing (fr. 3 Hense (1969), 21, lines 2–23, line 13), Plutarch quickly shifts towards exile as a means towards fame on the one hand, and exile as a flight from political troubles on the other. 65 The reference may have been a silent homage to some friends of Plutarch’s like Mestrius Florus, who retired to Thermopylae after his political career under Vespasian and Domitian. Cf. Puech (1992), 4860. 66 See above, p. 125.

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she bestowed exile upon them, so that they gained fame everywhere, even after death, while not one story has come down to us about any one of those who exiled them and drove them out. And therefore the person who thinks that exile implies dishonour is ridiculous. (On Exile 605D)

Whereas those who have inflicted exile upon others have been completely forgotten by history, exile is represented in this passage as a way of gaining eternal fame: if one reacts well to exile and makes good use of one’s privileged background, exile can become a means (cf. Ø l) towards fame.67 Plutarch is here playing on his reader’s sense of honour in order to make him deal well with exile. This is even more explicit when he backs up this already remarkably strong presentation of exile as a pathway to fame by stating that surely ‘nobody is so indifferent to fame or so ignoble’ (P  KØ oø IçغØ Pb Iª , 605E) that he would not rather be Themistocles than Leobotes, Cicero than Clodius, or Timotheus than Aristophon, since in each of these pairs of exiles and banishers from the past, the former ones are now held in much higher esteem. As a strategic device, then, the references to the fame that exile can bring play on the reader’s desire for fame in order to exhort him to follow Plutarch’s advice and make the best possible use of their exile. At the same time, Plutarch’s lengthy argument in these paragraphs (}} 13–15) also provides an answer to what Plutarch recognized from the beginning of On Exile to be one of his readers’ greatest objections to exile, that is, the loss of honours it implies: the last sentence of the quotation explicitly says that it is not the person who is exiled, but the person who makes fun of the exile who is ridiculous. In the second place (} 16), Plutarch objects to the idea that exile is something bad because it makes one lose one’s freedom of speech ( ÆææÅÆ).68 He does so by first quoting and then refuting six lines 67 Bracht Branham (2007), 74–5 highlights the striking nature of this reference to fame in a writing that is otherwise heavily influenced by Cynic ideas. And while other authors also pointed out that some exiles such as Themistocles enjoyed prestige whilst abroad, none went so far as to propose exile as a way of gaining prestige. See e.g. Teles fr. 3 Hense (1969), 15, lines 11–14, or Musonius fr. 9 Hense (1905a), 46, lines 7–10. 68 On the concept of ÆææÅÆ, see Scarpat (1964), Raaflaub (2004), and the essays in Sluiter and Rosen (edd.) (2004). For the connection of exile and ÆææÅÆ, cf. Gaertner (2007), 16–17.

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from Euripides’ Phoenician Women (388–93), in which Iocasta and her son Polynices discuss the topic of exile.69 The passage is all the more interesting as Musonius (fr. 9 Hense (1905a), 48–9) had referred to some of the same lines of Euripides and applied to it the same rhetorical tool called anaskeue¯.70 Iºº K d ººf a F EPæØ ı ŒØ E ıÆH B çıªB ŒÆŪæ E ŒF, Yø  L º ª Ø ŒÆŁ  ŒÆ KæøH ŒÆd I ŒæØ 
‘ e  æ ŁÆØ Ææ; q ŒÆŒe  ªÆ;’ ‘ ªØ
æªfiH  Kd  EÇ j ºªø fi .’ ‘ › æ  ÆPF;  çıª Ø e ııå ;’ ‘£ b  ªØ
PŒ å Ø ÆææÅÆ.’ ‘ºı  r Æ, c º ª Ø – Ø çæ E.’ ‘c H ŒæÆø IÆŁÆ ç æ Ø åæ .’ ÆFÆ æHŁ  ›æA fi  ‰ PŒ OæŁH P IºÅŁH IØFÆØ. æH b ªaæ P ºı  ‘c º ª Ø – Ø çæ E ’, Iººa F å Iæe K ŒÆØæE ŒÆd æ ªÆØ Kå ıŁÆ ŒÆd Øø B   Ø . . .  ØÆ ‘c H ŒæÆø IÆŁÆ’ På w YŒØ  Æ j ç ªÆ I ªŒÅ ç æ Ø, Iººa ŒÆd Aºº ºº ŒØ ƒ    H I ƺºÆª ø f NåÆ K º Ø IŒø fiH ıŒçÆ E j Ø Ç ŁÆØ  ÆØ. e b  ªØ ŒÆd I Æ,

N ÆææÅÆ H çıª ø IçÆØæ EÆØ. (On Exile 605F–606B) Come on then, since the words of Euripides greatly disturb many readers when he seems to condemn exile, let us have a look at what he says line by line in the form of question and answer: ‘What is it like to be bereft of one’s fatherland? Isn’t it a great ill?’ ‘The greatest! It is even greater in practice than it is in theory.’ ‘What is it like? What misfortunes happen to exiles?’ ‘One is the greatest: an exile does not have freedom of speech.’ ‘What you say is the lot of a slave, not to say what one thinks!’ ‘Yes, one has to bear the folly of those in power.’ It is clear that these words do not assess the situation rightly or truly. For a start, it is not the lot of a slave ‘not to say what one thinks’, but of an intelligent man in circumstances and matters that require holding back and 69 For the use of Euripides’ Phoenician Women in exilic literature, see Doblhofer (1987), 163–6, Gleason (1995), 153 and n. 83, Bracht Branham (2007), 75, and Nesselrath (2007), 90–1 and nn. 14 and 16. 70 See Lausberg (1990), 540–1. Cf. also Whitmarsh (2001a), 277–8 and (2001b), 142–5. For Plutarch’s critical stance towards some of the opinions expressed in literature or maxims he refers to, see Tsekourakis (1983), 131–3.

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silence. . . . Next, those who remain at home have to bear ‘the folly of those in power’ no less than exiles. On the contrary, often those remaining have more fear of men who wield unjust power through false accusations or violence than those who have been exiled. But the greatest absurdity is the suggestion that exiles do not have freedom of speech. (On Exile 605F–606B)

Many readers were greatly disturbed by these words of Euripides because they thought the playwright offered a convincing condemnation of exile. In an opposition that is familiar from earlier on in On Exile, Plutarch suggests, however, that this is only an impression (cf. ŒF), which does not coincide with the actual truth.71 This is what he, as a philosopher, will make his readers see (cf. ›æAfi).72 First, Plutarch refutes Iocasta’s association of ‘not saying what one thinks’ with—non-free—slaves. Plutarch, on the contrary, argues that to conceal one’s opinions when necessary is, instead, characteristic of an intelligent man, who can discriminate as to when and why he ought to keep silent—as we shall see Plutarch argue extensively in On Talkativeness. Plutarch’s second point regards Polynices’ assertion that exiles have to bear the folly of the mighty. Plutarch’s reply is very brief, as it coincides with a point made repeatedly earlier in On Exile: people at home are even more at risk of falling victim to the chicanery and violence of those in power. Last but not least, Plutarch denies that exiles do not have freedom of speech, as does Musonius. Yet whereas both authors agree on the fact that freedom of speech is not a criterion for distinguishing between those who have and have not been exiled, they each propose a quite different distinction 71 The specification that he does so in the form of question and answer may be taken to stress that Euripides does not actually make a direct statement himself about exile, but has two characters discuss it. If so, Plutarch may imply that Euripides himself did not embrace the opinions uttered by his characters. Compare the fourth paragraph of How the Young Man Should Study Poetry, where Plutarch states that one should pay attention ‘whether the poet himself gives any hints against the sentiments expressed to indicate that they are distasteful to himself ’ ( s  ºÆ æ Œ  Y ØÆ › ØÅc ÆPe Kç  Ø øØ ŒÆa H º ª ø ‰ ıå æÆØ ø   ÆPF, How the Young Man Should Study Poetry 19A). 72 Plutarch’s practice here is in accordance with his explicit advice about reading poetry in his work How the Young Man Should Study Poetry, where he argues that one should not so much admire everything that is said and done in poetry, and especially in tragedy (}} 8–9), but be critical and have one’s mind decide upon the ethical worth of what is being said (} 11). Compare Plutarch’s stress on the role of the reader in On Listening 45E. Cf. also Gleason (1995), p. xxiii and Said (2005).

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instead. For Musonius, freedom of speech is the distinctive characteristic of the man who does not fear death or punishment—for the philosopher who dares to speak out his mind in the face of power, that is. Plutarch, on the other hand, stresses that it is only men of sense—whether they be philosophers or politicians—who know how to make good use of freedom of speech. Indeed, the examples of exiles freely speaking their minds which Plutarch gives include not only the philosophers Theodorus and Diogenes, but also Hannibal, who in this passage explicitly calls himself an intelligent man (F åø, 606C). In Plutarch’s On Exile, the opposition is thus formulated in social terms: whereas ‘good and worthy men’ (cf. ŒÆºH ŒÆd IªÆŁH, 606D) are characterized by freedom of speech, ‘ignoble descent’ (e Iª  , 606D) makes people silent. Free speech is, in other words, seen as a marker of social distinction rather than of philosophical profession. In the last paragraph (} 17), finally, Plutarch returns once more to the objection that it is shameful to be exiled. Plutarch replies that only fools ( Ææ ª E ¼çæØ, 607A) use exile as a term of reproach, while other people admire good people even if they happen to be exiled. As in paragraph fifteen, then, he suggests that considering exile something shameful is a sign of foolishness. The reader is then invited to distance himself from such foolish opinions through a series of subtle changes in grammatical person. Indeed, after these general statements in the third person plural, Plutarch first shifts to several observations in the first person plural: surely we see (›æH , 607A) that the Theseum is held in high repute no less than the Parthenon, although Theseus was an exile whereas Athena was not; and nothing would be left of Eleusis if we would consider Eumolpus, one of the founders of the Eleusinian mysteries, who was a migrant from Thrace, to be shameful (ÆNåı ŁÆ, 607B). In the next step, Plutarch asks whether the reader does not admire (PŒ K ÆØ E;, 607B) Antisthenes when he replied to someone who remarked that his mother was of Phrygian origin that the mother of the gods stemmed from the same region. This rhetorical question in the second person singular emphasizes the reader’s involvement in Plutarch’s way of thinking. In the last step, finally, Plutarch uses a rhetorical question in the second person singular which is clearly designed not so much to describe the reader’s behaviour as to guide it:

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 s P ŒÆd , ºØæ  çıª , I ŒæfiÅ, ‘ŒÆd ªaæ › F ˙æÆŒº ı F ŒÆººØŒı Æcæ çıªa q, ŒÆd › F ˜Øı , ‰ K çŁÅ c ¯Pæ Å I ıæ E’; (On Exile, 607B) Why, then, do you not also reply when someone reviles you as an exile, ‘so was the father of Heracles, who won so many battles, as well as the grandfather of Dionysus, when he was sent out to find Europa’? (On Exile, 607B)

If, then, the reader admires Antisthenes’ reply, he should imitate his behaviour and react to reproaches in the same way. The core of the answer once more stresses the fact that great people have been subjected to exile, or, more precisely, that people who have been exiled in the past afterwards turned out to become important because of their exile. This, of course, entails a message of hope for exiles in Plutarch’s own days. The other core idea elaborated in paragraph seventeen offers consolation by looking at exile once more from a metaphysical perspective: ultimately, all human beings are exiles in the sense that their souls have been confined to a body ‘as on an island buffeted by the seas’ (u æ K ø fi  º Kåfi Å º, 607D). By ascribing this wisdom explicitly to Empedocles and Plato, Plutarch, in the last paragraph of his On Exile, once more stresses the role of philosophy in dealing well with exile. The very last sentence of the text, which contrasts Anaxagoras and Socrates on the one hand to Phaethon and Tantalus on the other, is highly significant in this respect.73 Indeed, as the former pair showed when imprisoned, philosophy (cf. Kçغç Ø, 607F) enables one to be happy even if one is not being favoured by fortune. Conversely, all the goods which Fortune can possibly offer will not be enough to render people happy who lack such knowledge: they will be ruined by their folly (IçæÅ, 607F). In a sense, then, the last three paragraphs of the text are paradigmatic for Plutarch’s practice throughout On Exile: while the importance of philosophy for dealing well with unwished-for circumstances such as exile is stressed, philosophical arguments are intermingled with social arguments and rhetorical strategies in order to convince the reader. This is in line with Plutarch’s specific target readership and aim. Indeed, whereas all other roughly contemporary writings on exile

73

The opposition of Phaethon and Socrates occurred already in On Feeling Good 466E.

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offered, first and foremost, a presentation of their authors’ dealings with exile, Plutarch’s writing is not about his own banishment but that of someone else. This second person is characterized as a rich friend from a Greek city in the Roman East who, before being exiled, was politically active in his home town. As a result of his banishment, this kind of life is no longer possible. In order to make this change of life easier to bear, Plutarch points out the negative implications of the political life: it is a life full of work, difficulties, and dangers. He does not, however, go so far as to argue against the values of the political life; on the contrary, he deploys the reader’s pre-philosophical sensitivity to honour in order to convince him of the fact that exile does not need to be an evil. Nor does he go so far as to encourage his reader to fully adopt the philosophical life: as opposed to, say, the roughly contemporary Dio, Plutarch does not represent exile as a turning point at which to dedicate oneself exclusively to philosophy. Instead, Plutarch presents a much more down-to-earth solution, proposing for the reader specific places to live in and specific activities to busy himself with, and stressing the continuity of the reader’s social privileges even while in exile. Yet in order to be able to enjoy all this, the reader needs philosophical help.

5.4. PLUTARCH’S POLITICS AS A PHILOSOPHER Throughout On Exile, Plutarch starts from the assumption that people’s spontaneous reaction to unwished-for events is to lament and bewail their situation.74 In order to counter this, they need help (cf. åæ Æ å ), yet not all help is equally useful: H ºªø Iæı ŒÆd  ÆØ ı u æ H çºø çÆd r ÆØ f K ÆE ıçæÆE ÆæÆ Tç ºø ŒÆd ÅŁFÆ, K d æ Ø ª ººd ŒÆd æØƺ ªÆØ E K ÆØŒØ, Iºº Iåæø Aºº b ºÆ æH ŒÆŁ æ IŒºıØ ت Ø K Øå ØæF  ÅŁ E æØ º Œ Ø ŒÆd ıªŒÆÆ . . . . P ªaæ ıÆŒæıø ŒÆd ı ØŁæÅø . . . åæ Æ å , Iººa ÆææÅØÆÇ ø ŒÆd ØÆŒø ‹Ø e ºı EŁÆØ ŒÆd e 74

e.g. 599B, 602C, 605D.

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Æ ØF Æıe K d Æd b ¼åæÅ KØ ŒÆd ªØ  Œ H ŒÆd Iø. (On Exile 599A–B) As it is with our friends, so it is with discourse: best and most supportive, we are told, are those which stay with us in adversity to give useful help. For many, it is true, stay with the unfortunate and talk to them, yet they do so in a useless or rather harmful way: they are like men unable to swim who try to rescue the drowning, yet who by holding them closely drag them under. . . . Indeed, we do not need men who share in our tears and laments . . . , but men who speak frankly and teach us that grief and self-abasement are completely useless, and that to indulge in them is unwarranted and unwise. (On Exile 599A–B)

When friends are hit by misfortune, many people share in their tears and laments, whereas we actually need someone to teach us that to indulge in grief is unwarranted and unwise:75 while the collective hysteria (cf. ıÆŒæıø ŒÆd ı ØŁæÅø) brought about by the former is of no use and even causes harm, the latter kind of advice, which, as we have seen above, is clearly philosophical in kind, is useful and offers help. Plutarch’s On Exile thus starts off with a metatherapeutical statement on what a good discourse does and does not consist in. On the one hand, this remark encourages the reader to reflect on his own attitude and discourse towards exiled friends. On the other hand, it warns readers that if they are in need themselves, they should not turn to any friend of theirs, but to Plutarch, who suggests that he will speak frankly, that is, as a true friend (cf. ÆææÅØÆÇ ø). Although formulated in strong and decisive terms, Plutarch’s only argument in this passage is the comparison from the world of swimming: people who share in a person’s grief are like people who are unable to swim themselves and drag down the drowning when they try to rescue them. The implication, of course, is that he himself is an expert. As we have seen, the text later corroborates Plutarch’s authority by pointing out that philosophers of different schools lived their lives in accordance with the principles set out in Plutarch’s On Exile. Mythology and history are shown to reinforce his views, moreover, and literature is proven wrong unless it does the same. Immediately after the passage quoted, for example,

75

For a similar opposition between ŁæÅø fi Æ and NÆæ Æ, see Plato, Republic 604d.

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Plutarch adduces a line from Menander’s Epitrepontes to underpin the philosophical point that a reasonable examination (cf.  e F ºªı łÅºÆçÅŁ Æ ŒÆd IƌƺıçŁ Æ, 599C) of misfortune will show that it is not the external events themselves, but our own interpretation of them that casts us down. Again, in the second paragraph, Polynices’ complaints about exile in Euripides’ Phoenician Women are set against an epigram from Alcman which makes light of his removal from Sardis.76 Plutarch thus uses literature in order to promote his own philosophical discourse—and friendship77—as opposed to other people’s: he presents himself as the friend who will offer people the philosophical help they need, and thereby make misfortunes easier to bear.78 As we have seen, On Exile repeatedly addresses a rich friend of Plutarch’s who had been relegated from Sardis. In line with this, Plutarch’s advice focuses on elite men who were politically active, and who enjoyed a privileged position even if exiled. Some of it even relates specifically to relegation from Sardis. Nevertheless, On Exile does not present itself as a letter to this person.79 In fact, Plutarch nowhere mentions the name of his dedicatee. Traditionally, scholars have identified him with Menemachus, the young, aristocratic Sardian for whom Plutarch wrote his Political Precepts.80 Yet although it is true that the characteristics fit Menemachus, it is equally true that

76

The reference to Sardis will, of course, have been of special relevance to Plutarch’s friend. 77 The opening of On Exile indeed echoes How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend? at several points. Cf. Opsomer (2002), 190. 78 Throughout, On Exile seems to prefer comedy over tragedy. Explicit positive evaluation of comedy: cf. 599C and 600B (602B); negative remarks about or disagreement with tragedy: cf. 599B, 599D–E, 600E, 605F–606A, and 606D–607A. 79 If Claassen (1996b), 31–2 nevertheless calls Plutarch’s On Exile an ‘epistle’, she nuances this label by adding that it is a ‘declamatory monologue’. 80 The identity of the ‘dedicatees’ of the two works was proposed by Siefert (1896), 74–5, followed by Wilamowitz (1927), 296, Paton, Pohlenz, and Sieveking (1929), 512, Ziegler (1951), 678 and 819, De Lacy and Einarson (1959), 513, Barigazzi (1966), 252–3, Jones (1966), 72, Hani (1980), 133–4, Tsekourakis (1983), 118, Caballero (1991), 229, Puech (1992), 4859, Caballero and Viansino (1995), 7–10, Claassen (1996b), 43 n. 19, Swain (1996), 184, Grilli (2000), 231, Opsomer (2002), 286, and Nesselrath (2007), 92.

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they suit many an aristocrat from Sardis.81 Moreover, the very fact that Plutarch does not mention any name may be significant in itself. An easy way of explaining Plutarch’s silence is, of course, to interpret it as a sign of respect for his friend: Plutarch took care not to publicize his friend’s misfortune by dedicating a work about a ‘negative topic’ to him.82 But there may be more to it. Indeed, apart from the fact that the first reference to a particular addressee occurs only in the third paragraph (600A), Plutarch does not just refer to the situation and philosophical preferences of one particular person, but caters for different circumstances and convictions. As a result, On Exile is of interest not just to people such as his friend who have been relegated from Sardis, but to elite politicians who have been hit by various forms of exile all over the Empire. Plutarch indeed seems to have in mind readers from different cultural backgrounds when selecting examples not only from the Greek but also from the Roman world—something which not even the Roman knight Musonius had done when writing his Greek text on exile.83 Given Plutarch’s lengthy introduction, however, which not only invites the reader to reflect upon the advantages of philosophical advice, but which also withholds the actual topic of the text for more than a whole paragraph, I would like to go even further, and suggest that Plutarch’s On Exile also appeals to people who have not been hit by exile themselves. On the one hand, the text contains a number of allusions to the behaviour of people towards exiled friends. These may be intended not only as a consolation to people in exile, but also as guidance for people who are not exiled themselves but who have exiled friends, on how to behave, for example, when giving advice or 81 Cf. already Carrie`re and Cuvigny (1984), 30. As a result, On Exile is not necessarily posterior to Political Precepts. This implies that the terminus post quem postulated by De Lacy and Einarson (1959), 514, Jones (1966), 72, Hani (1980), 135–6, Caballero and Viansino (1995), 8, and Nesselrath (2007), 92 on the basis of that relative chronology is no longer valid. 82 Cf. also pp. 42 and 193. 83 Plutarch adduces Roman examples in 602E (Tiberius), 605E (Camillus), and 605F (Cicero vs. Clodius). Also, the anecdote about Hannibal and Antiochus (606C) relates to a battle against the Romans. Whereas such examples were absent from the exilic writings of Musonius and Dio, Favorinus would later follow Plutarch in this respect. Cf. Whitmarsh (2001b), 171. On the other hand, the suggestions Plutarch makes as to the places where people can go in exile are all towards the Greek world.

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going on a visit. On the other hand, the text invites reflection on various issues under discussion: how would I react if confronted with misfortune? Where would I turn for advice? What is the role of politics in my life? As we have seen above, politics is indeed a major issue in Plutarch’s On Exile, as opposed to other writings on the topic. The importance attached to it definitely matched its importance in the life of Plutarch’s dedicatee, as well as of his wider target audience. As most readers would have known, however, Plutarch himself was also politically active: he took up various offices in his home town Chaeronea, he went on embassy to Rome, and interacted with the Roman provincial government in Greece. Yet although all these political activities are mentioned in On Exile, Plutarch nowhere refers to his own experience with them as a politician. As the opening sentences of the text make clear, he presents himself as a philosopher offering help to people who cannot save themselves or be saved by other people who, like them, are not philosophers. The advice he gives puts the advantages of politics into perspective and lays bare its drawbacks. The first aim of these arguments is of course to console the specific target audience of the text when confronted with exile. Yet Plutarch may well also have had a more personal stake in his discourse on politics in On Exile. As stated in Chapter 3, Plutarch, notwithstanding his wealth and prominent social position, did not make a brilliant political career. In On Exile, he seizes the opportunity to present this as a sign not of weakness but of strength.84 On the one hand, he makes it clear that his political readers, for all their great careers, may well come to need him for philosophical help. On the other hand, politics is associated with much fuss and sorrow, while

84

Barigazzi (1966), esp. 257 already suggested that On Exile has an autobiographical touch to it in praising Plutarch’s withdrawal from the political scene in Rome and Athens to the tranquillity of Chaeronea. It should be noted, however, that the crucial difference between Plutarch and his dedicatee is that the former had the choice—and actually chose—to be politically active, albeit on a much smaller scale than he could have done, whereas politics was no longer an option for the latter. More than Barigazzi, moreover, I see Plutarch’s negative presentation of politics as a speech act rather than as a description of the author’s innermost feelings (cf. ‘con grande sincerita`’, Barigazzi (1966), 256), by stressing that Plutarch’s presentation of things first and foremost aims to influence his readers’ evaluation of himself.

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Plutarch locates himself safely above all this. In a rhetorical move designed to guide his readers’ opinions on himself, he suggests his situation is one which only fools (cf. Ææ ª E ¼çæØ, 607A) look down upon, and which others, on the contrary, ‘thirst for’ (ØłHØ, 603F). Plutarch’s pride as a philosopher is epitomized in the very last sentence of the work. Earlier we already saw how Plutarch there contrasts Socrates and Anaxagoras to Phaethon and Tantalus. The great privileges enjoyed by the latter—Phaethon was allowed to drive Apollo’s chariot and Tantalus to dine with the gods—may well mirror the political privileges and connections enjoyed by many of Plutarch’s more ambitious readers. Without philosophy, however, they cannot be truly successful in the long term.85 Contrasted to them is Socrates, of whom Plutarch says specifically that he ‘practised philosophy and urged his friends to philosophy’ (Kçغç Ø ŒÆd Ææ Œ º Ø çغç E f ıŁ Ø, 607F)—as did Plutarch himself. Yet although this choice of life brought Socrates no straightforward success in contemporary Athenian society, he was deemed happy by his friends ( PÆØØÇ    ÆPH, 607F). Plutarch, then, may have had less political power than his more ambitious friends, yet he presents himself as being in a much more enviable position than they are, thanks to philosophy. 85 In On Exile 603A, Tantalus is quoted as saying ‘learn not to attach too much importance to human things’ (ªøŒ IŁæ ØÆ c   Ø ¼ªÆ, Trag. graec. Frag., Aesch. 159).

6 On Talkativeness As many excellent studies over the past decade or two have shown, the ability to speak well, whether as a desire for purity of language or in the form of rhetorical improvisation, was an important marker of elite status and education in the period of the Second Sophistic.1 It will not come as a surprise, then, that this part of elite culture receives much attention in Plutarch’s practical ethics as well.2 On the one hand, Plutarch deals with speaking in a public context. A substantial part of the Political Precepts (}} 5–9) is devoted to political speeches, for example, while On Praising Oneself Inoffensively advises Eurycles Herculanus, engaged in local as well as in imperial politics, on how to avoid giving offence when he has to talk about himself. Other texts focus on speaking in contexts that are less rhetorical. In On Listening, for example, Plutarch instructs Nicander not only on how to listen to other people’s lectures, but also on how to react to them: When is it all right to interrupt the speaker? What kind of questions should one ask? How does one strike a balance between severe criticism and slavish praise? The latter question is also of great importance in How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend? (}} 2, 9, 11–19), a third of which is, furthermore, taken up with arguments showing that frankness of speech is a key to distinguishing the flatterer from the true

1 See Dihle (1992), Anderson (1993), 87–94, Swain (1996), 17–64, Schmitz (1997), 75–96 and 156–231, Stadter (2002a), 2, Whitmarsh (2005), 41–9, and Van der Stockt (2006). 2 For Plutarch’s non-rigid approach to atticism, see Schmid (1887–97), vol. 1, pp. 3 and 26 and vol. 4, pp. 635–85, Ziegler (1951), 931–2, Russell (1973), 20–3, Brenk (1992), 4426–9, Torraca (1998), esp. 3487–9, Salomies (2005), and Van der Stockt (2006), 1038–9.

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friend (}} 25–37). If these two texts discuss interpersonal communication in the context of lectures and friendship respectively, On Talkativeness, which forms the subject of this chapter, thematizes speech as such.

6.1. WORDS, WORDS, WORDS, OR: WHAT ’S IN A NAME? The Greek title of On Talkativeness is — æd Iº åÆ. The word adoleschia, first attested in the fifth century bc, traditionally referred to ‘idle, excessive talk’.3 Groups of people liable to accusations of talkativeness were therefore orators, and, albeit in a somewhat different sense, sophists and philosophers.4 Gradually, the term was applied more generally as a label for anybody who chatted too much. Thus if the Old and Middle Comedy used it to characterize sophists or philosophers, New Comedy often represents slaves as extremely talkative.5 In line with this, authors such as Philo of Alexandria, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, and Dio Chrysostom, to name but a few, apply the term as a clearly negative label to needless and thoughtless chattering.6 The most elaborate analysis of this behaviour is to be found in Theophrastus’ Characters, which make a distinction between the idle chatterer (Iº åÅ, Character 3), the

3

Cf. Steinmetz (1962), 54. For the etymology of the word, see Frisk (1973), s.v., and Chantraine (1968–80), s.v., but also Pettine (1975), 26 n. 1, and Altamura (1990), 222–3. Stobaeus’ Eclogues 3.36 contains a series of famous quotes or anecdotes about talkativeness, but Plutarch’s work on the topic is not mentioned there. For a more comprehensive account of Greek words referring to ‘talkativeness’, see Martı´n Garcı´a (1995). 4 Demosthenes, e.g., repeatedly feels the need to distance himself from chatterboxes. See Philippic 2, 32.4 and Oration 50, 2.4. Cf. Dover (1974), 25–8, Beardslee (1978), 264–5, with further bibliography, and Montiglio (2000), 116–57, esp. 116–22. That sophists were often liable to similar criticisms is clear from Isocrates, Against the Sophists 8, and Plato, Sophist 225d. For Socrates as a chatterer, see Aristophanes, Clouds 1480 and 1485, Plato, Phaedo 70c, and Xenophon, On Household Management 11.3.3. 5 For the association of slaves with talkativeness, see below, n. 29. 6 E.g. Philo, The Worse Attacks the Better 130, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, On Literary Composition 26, or Dio Chrysostom, Twentieth Discourse. On Retirement 3.

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garrulous man (º º, Character 7), the rumour-monger (ºª Ø, Character 8), and the slanderer (ŒÆŒºª, Character 28).7 Compared to Theophrastus, Plutarch is less technical, using Iº åÆ and ºÆºØ without distinction to denote talkativeness. In this chapter, I therefore adopt different translations for each of these words and their derivatives depending on the context. Theophrastus’ other two variants, rumour-mongering (ºª ØÆ) and slander (ŒÆŒºªÆ), do not occur as such in On Talkativeness. Regarding rumour-mongering, it can be noted that Plutarch indicates that chatterboxes often lie (503D), although he generally does not stress this aspect. The aspect of slander, finally, is completely absent from On Talkativeness.8 What Plutarch does share with Theophrastus, as well as with Philo, Dionysius, and Dio, is his focus on the garrulity of people in general rather than of orators, sophists, or philosophers.9 A first criticism in Plutarch’s On Talkativeness regards excessive talking: Plutarch stresses that any excuse is good enough for chatterboxes to start talking (502D); he evokes a lively picture of excessively long answers (513A); and he repeatedly refers to çºıÆæÆ, something that comes close to the idea implied in ‘logorrhea’.10 Further points of criticism show, however, that Plutarch is criticizing much more than just too much talking. A clear indication can be found in an anecdote about Eumenes, a Greek general and scholar who participated in the

7

For an account of Theophrastus’ ‘talkative’ characters, see Altamura (1990), 221–3. 8 Slander does play a role in On Curiosity, though. Cf. below, p. 188. By contrast, On Talkativeness focuses on bavardage as opposed to mauvaise langue. For the distinction between the two, see Hunter (1990), 300. 9 Since Ziegler’s (1951), 778 statement that the work has not been subject to Quellenforschung—confirmed by Beardslee (1978), 267—Ingenkamp (1971), 126–8 and (1978), 829–31, Dumortier and Defradas (1975), 225–6, and Pettine (1992), 19–26 have pointed out parallel passages in preceding and contemporary ancient Greek and Latin literature. Often, however, these passages do not adopt the word Iº åÆ. 10 The word çºıÆæÆ occurs in 503F, 505C, 508C, 510C, and 511D, ºBæ in 504B and 512D. It should be noted, however, that apart from the verbs derived from these nouns, Plutarch also uses º ª Ø (see esp. 505B, 508C, and 509D). The fact that some of the chatterer’s behaviour is denoted by that verb is significant: it implies that Plutarch is not merely interested in talking nonsense, but also in saying things that are interesting but ought to be kept silent in certain circumstances. Compare the discussion of Plutarch’s use of these various verbs by Auberger (1993), 298–306 and Gleason (1995), 98.

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Wars of the Successors (} 9). Instead of informing his friends and soldiers that Craterus was approaching, Eumenes told them that it was Neoptolemus, whom they looked down upon. As a result, they won the battle. The anecdote is clearly not about idle or excessive talk, but about what to say in specific circumstances. Equally interesting is Plutarch’s comment that Eumenes’ strategy was a clever one, because it was better to save his friends by not telling them the truth than to ruin them by doing so. Plutarch’s point here, then, does not lie with the quantity or even the quality of one’s words, but with the strategic use of speech and silence, that is, of giving and withholding information (cf. KæƪŠ  Øø , 506E).11 One key to a good use of speech lies with the timing of one’s words. There is, for example, the story of a farmer who had hosted King Seleucus at a time when the king wanted to stay incognito, but was killed by him because he could not restrain himself from showing his knowledge of the identity of his host (} 12). Had he but stayed silent a little longer, until Seleucus was in control again, Plutarch suggests, the king would have given him great favours, not only for his hospitality, but even more for his tactfulness and discretion as to when to remain silent and when to speak. At issue here is not so much the content of one’s words as their timing: what one can safely say at a certain time should often not be said at another. Another key to a good use of speech that arouses Plutarch’s special interest in On Talkativeness is the choice of one’s interlocutor. The description of Sulla’s siege and sack of Athens (505A–C) offers good illustrations. The fact that the Heptachalcon, one of the city’s main gates, was unguarded was apparently no secret among the Athenians, but it was not wise to mention it at the barber’s, where spies could hear everything. Nor was it sensible of the Athenians to abuse Sulla, a powerful man, when he was in front of the walls: they should have taken into account the consequences in case he took the city. Even more explicit in this respect is the anecdote about Fulvius,12 who

11

For an analysis of Plutarch’s criticism on ‘Quantita¨t’ and ‘Inhalt’ or ‘Qualita¨t’ of the chatterer’s words, see Ingenkamp (1971), 126–8 and (1978), 829–31. 12 On the question of the correctness of the name, see Paton, Pohlenz, and Sieveking (1929), 293, Helmbold (1939), 429, n. b, and Dumortier and Defradas (1975), 241 n. 2.

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passed on to his wife what he had heard Augustus say about his succession. His wife in turn told Livia, who then used it against the Emperor. When Fulvius found out about this, ‘ªøŒ ,’ çÅ, ‘˚ÆEÆæ ‹Ø I ææÅ PŒ KØ ÅÆ
ŒÆd Øa F  ººø IÆØæ E KÆı’
 b ªı, ‘ØŒÆø‘, r , ‘‹Ø Ø F ıØŒH åæ PŒ ªø P’ Kçıº ø c IŒæÆÆ’. (On Talkativeness 508B) He said: ‘Caesar has found out that I did not keep the secret; therefore, I shall kill myself’. His wife replied: ‘That is what you deserve, because although you have lived together with me for such a long time, you did not take into account, or guard against, my incontinent tongue’. (On Talkativeness 508B)

The first point being made in this passage is that certain things are I ææÅÆ, implying they ‘should not be told’ to anybody in the first place, for something is only a real secret if there is only one person who knows it (cf. ºª K fiH æø fi ŒÆÆ ø I ææÅ ‰ IºÅŁH KØ, 507A). In this respect, it would have been wise of Augustus himself not to say anything in Fulvius’ presence. The reason why he did, was probably that he thought he could trust Fulvius, who was his friend (cf. )ºØ  › ˚ÆÆæ ÆØæ, 508A). Likewise, Fulvius thought he could trust his wife. Yet as she points out to him—and that is the second point made in this passage—he should have taken into account (ªø) her garrulous habits and been careful (cf. Kçıº ø): not only the content and timing of the message, but also the person one is talking to should be taken into account. The reason why one should take into account one’s interlocutors is that speech is an eminently social act. As Plutarch sets out in 514E–F, there are three reasons why people speak: they need something themselves (   Ø), they think they may benefit others (f IŒÆ Tç ºF ), or they enjoy talking to one another (å æØ Øa ÆæÆŒ ı Ç  IºººØ . . . E ºªØ KçÅıØ c ØÆæØc ŒÆd c æAØ). Yet in any case, speech appears to imply concern for one’s partner in conversation. If one is in need of something and asks someone else about or for it, the other is by definition implied and one has no choice but to depend on—and thus adjust oneself to—the other’s goodwill. Truly benefiting one’s hearers, on the other hand, presupposes other-concern in the form of taking the point of view of the other to see what would bring benefit to him. Finally, people provide pleasure to one another, and make business

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or free time more agreeable with words as with salt.13 In order for this to be the case, there must be dialogue (cf. IºººØ), not monologue, and both parties must try to do their best in order to give pleasure (å æØ) to the other.14 Yet whereas ‘giving pleasure’ ideally implies that one offers a welcome service to someone else, chatterboxes seem to focus more on the idea of reciprocal indebtedness which is also implied in the Greek term å æØ: e ºª lØ ZÆ ŒÆd çغÆŁæø Æ ıºÆØ ƒ åæ Ø ŒÆŒH ŒÆd æå æø I Łæø  ØFØ ŒÆd ¼ØŒ, x  YÆØ åÆæÇ ŁÆØ ºı F  ŒÆd Iç z ŁÆı Ç ŁÆØ ŒÆƪ º Ø ŒÆd Ø z çغ EŁÆØ ıå æÆØ Ø. (On Talkativeness 504E) Speech is the most pleasant and social tie between men, but those who use it badly and without thinking make it inhuman and antisocial: they cause pain while they want to please, they make themselves ridiculous whilst they want to be admired, and they disgust people whilst they want to be loved. (On Talkativeness 504E)

If used well, speech is ‘the most pleasant and social tie between men’: it unites people, causes joy, and expresses affection (çغÆŁæø Æ). Chatterers, however, use speech without thinking, that is, without taking into account other people’s desires and purposes. Instead, they use it in order to be loved, in order to be admired, and in order to make people indebted to them. They use it for personal gain, in other words, and thereby make it inhuman (I Łæø ) and antisocial (¼ØŒ, 504E).15 By using speech in a bad way, however, the chatterer gets quite the contrary of what he hopes for: he offends his interlocutors, appears ridiculous, and is hated. As understood by Plutarch, then, garrulity is a problem that 13

Conversely, the chatterer spoils every pleasure his deeds may yield by his words. Cf. 504C. 14 At another point in the text, Plutarch suggests that a question is often not so much a demand for information as an invitation to talk (512B). 15 Cf. Beardslee (1978), 264: ‘De garrulitate . . . De curiositate . . . both treat a common form of anti-social behavior as an illness to be diagnosed and cured by philosophy’. The metaphor of the mixture is taken from the world of the symposium, an elite social institution par excellence: the word ¼ØŒ refers to the drinking of undiluted wine, of which Plutarch did not approve. See Nikolaidis (1999), 341 and Teodorsson (1999), 57–69.

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arises from people’s ambitions in society: the chatterer’s desires, although highly self-centred, need others in order to be fulfilled.16 This is why chatterboxes frequent public places such as the marketplace (504B), the theatre (504B), and the gymnasium (502F). Given its social nature, however, speech cannot be used for personal gain in so straightforward a way. It is precisely in this clash between the chatterer’s high-pitched but self-centred goals on the one hand, and the social character of speech, which presupposes other-concern in order to be effective, on the other, that his tragedy resides. The first victim of the chatterer’s bad use of speech is the chatterbox himself: nobody wants to listen to a chatterer (502D, 502E, and 503B), at least not voluntarily (503A). Even if he does have listeners, his speech is ‘ineffectual and fruitless’ (I ºc ŒÆd ¼ŒÆæ , 503B), as it does not produce the belief which all speech aims at (Pb Ø åıØ w A ºª Kç ÆØ, 503D). Significantly, Plutarch adds that chatterboxes meet with disbelief even if they are telling the truth (Œi IºÅŁ øØ). The explanation he gives is that a ‘large addition of falsehood . . . destroys its credit’. Whether one does or does not believe something has much to do with the general trustworthiness of the speaker as well, however.17 Elsewhere in the text, Plutarch indeed suggests that garrulity creates a stigma: H Ææ  E Ø ŒÆa åÅ I ªøŒa  H  ¯çæı غø j æÆ Æ IŁæ ı ŒÆ æØ ŒÆd A I Æ K  Ø ı Ø, I d c K ¸ ŒæØ  åÅ ŒÆd a ı åB ØŪ 
‹Ł   ¯ Æ ØÆ ÆæøØ å . (On Talkativeness, 514C) One of my fellow citizens who happened to have read two books of Ephorus, or maybe three, bored everybody to death and broke up every symposium by always recounting the battle of Leuctra and the subsequent events. Hence he got the nickname ‘Epaminondas’. (On Talkativeness, 514C)

16 As a result, On Talkativeness often comes close to On Praising Oneself Inoffensively. On that work, see Ingenkamp (1971), esp. 62–9, Betz (1978), and Gleason (1995), 9 and 149–50. 17 Compare the sociological observation by Goffman (1959), 69 that ‘those caught out in the act of telling barefaced lies not only lose face during the interaction but may have their face destroyed, for it is felt by many audiences that if an individual can once bring himself to tell such a lie, he ought never again to be fully trusted’.

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This anecdote is about a fellow citizen of Plutarch’s from Chaeronea who could not stop talking about the battle of Leuctra. Although the first result of his behaviour was that he would ruin the atmosphere at every symposium he appeared at,18 this disruption of social conviviality would backfire on himself above all others: he got the nickname Epaminondas, after the famous Theban general who won the battle of Leuctra. Repeated garrulity at various social occasions thus leads to permanent stigmatization, and, one can imagine, social exclusion. Indeed, Plutarch observes that people who are talking in a group and see a chatterbox arrive ‘give one another the sign to break camp’ (502E–F).19 The chatterer is thus clearly preceded by his bad reputation, and does not even have to start talking in order to make other people go away. People form a united front against him,20 and this excludes him from true participation in the community. As a result, the chatterer will have no friends, for who, Plutarch asks, would speak out frankly to a chatterbox (   ‹ºø ÆıfiH ÆææÅÆ I º ºØ , 506E)? Given that frank speech ( ÆææÅÆ) was one of the characteristics of true friendship, as Plutarch sets out in How Could you Tell a Flatterer from a Friend?, true and lasting friendships thus become impossible for the chatterer.

6.2. ON TALKATIVENESS AS A WORK OF PRACTICAL ETHICS On Talkativeness is a text that is remarkably explicit about its own nature, aims, and strategies. The opening sentence of the work sets the tone:

18 This point is not only made explicitly, but also echoed in the word order ( A I Æ K  Ø ı Ø). 19 For such talking in circles, see Lewis (1995b), 434. For the political impact of the phenomenon, see O’Neill (2003). 20 Formulating this in Goffman’s terms, one could say that he is excluded from the team, the members of which, through ‘informal staging cues will warn team-mates that the audience has suddenly come into their presence’. Cf. Goffman (1959), 180.

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Œº b IƺÆ  Ø Ł æ ıÆ ŒÆd åƺ e  çغçÆ c Iº åÆ. e ªaæ ç æÆŒ ÆPB, › ºª, IŒıø K, ƒ  Iº åØ P e IŒıØ. (On Talkativeness 502B) Philosophy takes a difficult and troublesome task upon itself when it wants to cure a loose tongue. For the medicine it offers, words of reason, requires listeners, whereas talkative people have ears for nothing. (On Talkativeness 502B)

Plutarch’s aim in On Talkativeness is to cure talkativeness.21 The explicit reference to philosophy in the first sentence makes it clear that this is a philosophical project.22 This is confirmed in the second sentence, where words of reason are said to be the remedy. From the beginning of the text, garrulity is also conceived of as an emotion ( Ł, 504E, 505E, and 510C–D) and a desire (K ØŁıÆ, 502E), and the chatterer is said to show a lack of self-control (IŒæÆÆ, 503C, 503E, 506F, 507F, 508B, and 508F)23 because his tongue does not obey reason. Obvious though all of this may seem, Plutarch was actually the first author to bring talkativeness into the realm of ethics and dedicate a whole treatise to the topic. As a result, it will not come as a surprise that On Talkativeness also offers the most elaborate and explicit description of Plutarch’s therapeutical strategies. As we have seen in Chapter 2, his division into conviction (krisis) and exercise (aske¯sis), and, within the latter category, into reflection (epilogismos) and training (ethismos), places him firmly within the PlatonicAristotelian tradition. In On Talkativeness, Plutarch sets out how each of these therapeutical steps works. In the part of the text dedicated to krisis (}} 1–15), Plutarch’s aim is to make his reader abhor talkativeness by showing him the harm (cf. º Æ, 510D) and shame (cf. ÆNåÆ, 510D) resulting from it,

21

Pace Pettine (1992), 17, who has ‘l’impressione che lo scopo moralistico e didascalico, con i vari riferimenti storici ed aneddotici inneggianti alla virtu` del silenzio o stigmatizzanti il vizio della loquacita`, sia servito al Nostro da mero pretesto per abbandonarsi piacevolmente alla raffigurazione arguta e gustosa del tipo immortale del linguacciuto pettegolo e blaterone’. 22 As la grandeur du vainqueur de´rive de la grandeur du vaincu, the emphatic statement that the task to be undertaken is a ‘difficult and troublesome’ one adds to the work’s—and its author’s—prestige. Cf. also 502E and 509C. 23 For garrulity as IŒæÆÆ and not as IŒºÆÆ, cf. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1117b35.

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because nobody will change his habits unless he has first been convinced that this is advantageous to him. The harmful consequences of talkativeness, both for chatterers themselves and for other people, receive a lot of attention in On Talkativeness.24 In the story about Fulvius, for example, Fulvius was condemned to death when Livia used against Augustus what she had heard from Fulvius’ wife. Sulla, on the other hand, was able to take Athens because of the strategic information spread by some old men at the barber’s, and he punished all Athenians because some of them had scolded him. If harm is a threat for men as living creatures, shame is a threat for them as social beings:25 whereas death is the worst case scenario in the former category, social exclusion is in the latter. As we have seen in the previous section, this is exactly Plutarch’s prediction for chatterboxes. Elsewhere in the text, he points out that chatterboxes are ridiculous and hated.26 If these points are quite explicit in encouraging the reader to distance himself from chatterboxes, the text also adopts a range of more subtle strategies. It is stated, for example, that ‘as your physician, the chatterer is worse than the disease; as your ship-mate, more unpleasant than sea-sickness; his praises are more annoying than another’s blame’ (504B). Chatterboxes are said to be worse than traitors (} 15), and garrulity is associated with groups of people of low education and social standing27 such as barbers,28 slaves,29 and 24 ‘In g. (On Talkativeness) widmet Plutarch den gefa¨hrlichen Folgen des Ł die la¨ngste Untersuchung (Kap. 7–15 pass.)’, according to Ingenkamp (1971), 78. 25 Cf. Ingenkamp (1971), 76: ‘die ÆNåÅ spielt . . . die Rolle fu¨r den Menschen als ÇfiH ºØØŒ, die die º Å fu¨r ihn als ÇfiH spielt’. 26 Chatterers hated: 504E, 509C, and 510D; ridiculed: 504E and 512C. Celentano (2000) termed the descriptions of the chatterer’s behaviour in Plutarch’s On Talkativeness ‘parodie di una comunicazione corretta’, and Palomar (2005), 102 states that Plutarch, in On Talkativeness, uses comparisons ‘hasta la caricatura’. 27 In 510A, Plutarch even suggests that chatterboxes have less self-control than geese. The association of people of lower sort with garrulity recurs in, e.g., Petronius, Satyricon 41–46, as discussed by Perutelli (1985) and Horsfall (1989). 28 e.g. 508F, 509A, and 509B. Compare also 505A. A discussion of the social function of barbers, including the gossip told in their shops, can be found in Carcopino (1986), 233–43, esp. 233–4 and nn. 70–5, which contain references to primary sources, and Lewis (1995b), esp. 436. See also Hunter (1990), 302 and Sellars (2003), 15–16. 29 e.g. 507D and 511D–E. Slaves were represented as extremely talkative by other authors as well. See e.g. Aristophanes, Frogs 750–3, and Juvenal, Satires 9.92–101. Cf. Hunter (1990), 304 and Pettine (1992), 22.

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women.30 The reader, on the other hand, is likely to be of higher social rank: not only does the act of reading suppose a degree of education only the elite could afford in antiquity, the text also refers to military men (513D), orators talking before governors or kings (513D), lovers of literature (514A–B), travelling (514B), and writing (514D).31 References to people of lower social standing are likely to have encouraged this kind of reader to adopt a good use of speech in order to distance himself as far as possible from his social inferiors. In this way, the text manages to invite the reader to position himself at a distance from the chatterer without ever directly addressing him as, or accusing him of, being one: On Talkativeness has no formal dedicatee32 and presents the chatterer in the third person. The role of reflection (epilogismos, }} 16–18 and 23b) is to transfer this way of thinking to the reader’s own mind. In the reflective exercise quoted in Chapter 2, Plutarch therefore shifts to the sociative first-person plural: ‘we apprehend (ŒÆÆF , 510D) in the case of chatterboxes that they are hated whilst they desire to be loved, that they annoy people whereas they want to please them, that they are ridiculed whereas they have the impression of being admired, that they spend their money to no gain, that they wrong their friends, help their enemies and ruin themselves’. The last paragraph of On Talkativeness also makes a strong and explicit appeal to its reader: Ø  I d  E ŒÆÆ EåŁÆØ ŒÆd ı º åŁÆØ E KŁØE c æåc KŒ Å ŒÆd e K غªØ, ‹Æ Ø  ººø  ºÆº E ŒÆd a ÞÆÆ fiH ÆØ ææ åfiÅ,  y › ºª › Kç g ŒÆd ŒÆÆØÆÇ ; K d    ªºH I Ææ Ø;   N Ø æتª ÆØ ŒÆºe j  Øø ÆØ ıå æ ; (On Talkativeness 514E)

30 Women were generally regarded as talkative, as appears e.g. from Semonides fr. 7 Diehl, 20, Juvenal 6.398–412 and 434–56, or from the point of an epigram discussed by O’Sullivan (1980), 51–2. See also Hunter (1990), 303, who, referring to a recent study on gossip in a Greek mountain village, gives the following quote: ‘Men gossip, but women are thought to do nothing but gossip.’ Conversely, controlling one’s speech becomes a way of ‘achieving manhood’. Cf. Gleason (1995), 131–58. 31 Concerning the social connotations of talkativeness, it is worthwhile referring to Beardslee (1978), 266: ‘For Plutarch it is a major social problem, for Christianity it is only a minor one (this changes, however, as soon as Christianity moves into the same social circles to which Plutarch belongs).’ 32 This is in line with Plutarch’s general practice. Cf. above, Ch. 2, n. 1.

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These practical exercises should always be mixed and combined with this reminder and reflection whenever we are about to say something and words are hurrying to our lips: what is it I want to say so immediately and urgently? what is my tongue gasping for? what good thing will happen to me if I speak, and what bad thing if I do not? (On Talkativeness 514E)

In its wording, the advice again changes from the impersonal third person to the first person plural, appealing to the reader more straightforwardly: whenever we are about to say something, we should reflect about that act before—possibly—doing so. What we are to discover by that reflection is just how close our own use of speech may come to the chatterer’s: the distinction that was apparently drawn between us, the readers, and the chatterer, may, after all, not be that definitive. The reflection On Talkativeness aims to elicit in its reader thus creates a self-awareness about garrulity, an awareness of just how threateningly close we come to it in normal civilized intercourse, and that we need to reflect constantly on how to avoid it. As a counterpart to all these negative remarks about chatterboxes, Plutarch also offers his reader positive examples and incentives. This, in fact, is the explicit goal of the second reflective exercise he proposes:  ı æø fi b åæÅ  K غªØfiH fiH H KÆø, IŒÆ I d ŒÆd  Å ı ŒÆd æå Øæ åÆ a B Kå ıŁÆ KªŒØÆ, ŒÆd e  e ŒÆd e –ªØ ŒÆd e ıÅæØH  B Øø B, ŒÆd ‹Ø ŁÆı ÇÆØ Aººe ŒÆd IªÆ HÆØ ŒÆd ç æØ ŒFØ H KÅø ø ŒÆd KŒç æ ø ƒ 檪ºØ ŒÆd æÆåıºªØ, ŒÆd z ºf F K OºªfiÅ º  Ø ı ƺÆØ. ŒÆd ªaæ —º ø f Øı K ÆØ E. (On Talkativeness, 510E) In the second place, we should reflect on their opposites: we should always hear and remember and have at hand the words of praise for controlling one’s tongue, as well as the worthy, holy, and mysterious nature of silence: brief and succinct speakers, who pack together much sense in few words, are admired more, are more loved, and convey the impression of being wiser than unbridled speakers who get carried away. Indeed, Plato also praises such people. (On Talkativeness, 510E)

In this passage, three arguments can be discerned that are meant to convince readers to follow Plutarch’s advice. A first point is Plutarch’s statement that Plato shares his opinions. As in his other works of practical ethics, then, Plutarch here builds up authority by reference

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to famous philosophers of the past, and to Plato especially.33 Elsewhere in On Talkativeness, Aristotle is presented as having looked down upon chatterboxes (503A–B), whilst Zeno is twice cited as an example of self-control in matters of speech. Apart from philosophers,34 On Talkativeness also tells a remarkably high number of illustrative anecdotes taken from Greek mythology as well as from Greek and Roman history. In the latter category, there is, for example, the anecdote about Fulvius and the Emperor Augustus which has already been commented upon, but there is also an even more recent story about one of the conspirators against the Emperor Nero who ruined the undertaking by talking about it before carrying it out (505C–D). On the Greek side, Plutarch even refers to a truly contemporary event that happened in Chaeronea, as we have seen. Garrulity, then, is clearly a phenomenon Plutarch’s readers are likely to come across in their daily lives, whether they are Roman or Greek. A second argument given in the passage quoted is that the control of one’s tongue makes one admired and loved. Later in the text, this is confirmed when Plutarch suggests that holding back from one’s hobby horses is ‘admirable’ (ŁÆıÆ, 514B). Likewise, Plutarch points out that Leaena, who shared in the conspiracy against Hippias and Hipparchus, got a bronze statue as a splendid reward (ŒÆºe ª æÆ, 505D) for her silence about the plot. Plutarch’s formulation in the passage quoted refers, of course, to the reader’s desires as set out in 504E, where, as we have seen, chatterers were said to use speech in order to be loved and admired or in order to get a reward. What Plutarch is saying, in other words, is that readers will be able to realize their wishes more effectively thanks to the philosophical advice he is offering them. Far, then, from doing away with his reader’s social concerns, he deploys these pre-philosophical

33 On the divine connotations of silence in Plutarch, see Casel (1919), 86–93, Montiglio (1984), Roskam (2001), Barrigo´n Fuentes (2005), Lo´pez Salva´ (2005), and Van Nuffelen (2007). 34 Beardslee (1978), 266 states that for Plutarch, talkativeness is ‘irreconcilable with being a philosopher’. Juvenal, Satire 2.14 cites reluctance to speak as characteristic of the philosopher.

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sensitivities strategically in order to win the reader over for his own sake.35 The final point that merits attention in this passage is Plutarch’s suggestion that people who speak little seem (ŒFØ) to be wiser (ç æØ). I start with the relationship between speech and wisdom. In the anecdote about ‘Epaminondas’ quoted earlier, Plutarch says that his fellow citizen ‘happened (cf. ŒÆa åÅ) to have read two or three’—out of the thirty!—books of Ephorus.36 Apart from the fact that the man talked too much, then, Plutarch suggests that his use of speech revealed him not to have enjoyed a very good education. Elsewhere in On Talkativeness, Plutarch explicitly points out that ‘those who have enjoyed a truly noble and royal education first learn to be silent, and only after that to speak’. Apparently, then, one has to learn (cf. ÆØ Æ) when to speak and when to be silent.37 Conversely, a good use of speech becomes the sign of a ‘truly noble and royal’ ( Pª F ŒÆd Æغ،B fiH ZØ)38 education. Following Plutarch’s advice in matters of speech indeed promises to offer what is necessary in order to seem (ŒFØ) wiser, in order, that is, to manipulate one’s cultural capital successfully.39 The importance of outward appearance implied in the verb ‘to seem’ is striking. Other 35

In 511A, Plutarch points out the charm (å æØ) and power (ÆØ) of short communication—thus calling to mind both the argument about å æØ (pleasure) referred to above, and the reader’s more general desire for power as set out in Ch. 1. 36 Compare Pindar’s statement that ‘the wise man is he who knows many things by the gift of nature: those who learned, boisterous in their garrulity, utter idle words like crows against the holy bird of Zeus’ (Olympic 2.86–9). Likewise, Juvenal 7.161–2 passes criticism on the similar behaviour of an orator who interlarded every speech with the same example. For the ‘Pedant als Kontrastfolie’, cf. Schmitz (1997), 146–56, drawing attention to OłØÆŁÆ, late-gotten learning. 37 For Plutarch’s interpretation of silence as an ‘educative norm’, see Barrigo´n Fuentes (2005). Compare also Plutarch’s educative advice to the young in On Listening, which also highlights the importance of silence. For the parallells between On Listening and On Talkativeness, see Ingenkamp (1971), 81–2. 38 Pace Helmbold (1939), 421 and Pettine (1992), 69, I prefer to interpret and translate fiH ZØ I e ŒØF with Pª F and Æغ،B, as do Dumortier and Defradas (1975), 237. 39 The chatterer’s desire to show the education one has enjoyed may be compared to the well-known sociological principle of overcompensation. A clear example is offered by the research of Labov (1972), esp. 43–69 on the ‘social stratification of (r) in New York City Department Stores’, and his comments on ‘“hypercorrect” behavior’ of the lower middle class on pp. 244–5 and 291.

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passages confirm this impression. Twice in On Talkativeness, for example, it is suggested that ‘every self-respecting and well-behaved man’ ( A ¼Łæø  ÆNø ŒÆd ŒØ, 503D and 512C)40 strongly opposes garrulity. Whereas the former of these two adjectives highlights the shame of being perceived in a negative light, the latter stresses the importance of outward appearance. Showing yourself to be well educated, making a good impression on others, and acquiring a good reputation in society thus loom remarkably large in On Talkativeness.

6.3. ON TALKATIVENESS AS A PRACTICAL CURE FOR GARRULITY: ETHICS AND ETIQUET TE If etiquette is traditionally defined as ‘the conventional rules of personal behaviour in polite society’,41 much of the latter part of the previous section seems to suggest that Plutarch’s On Talkativeness is concerned more with what we would term etiquette than with ethics, more with (external) norms and behaviour than with (internal) values and principles.42 The shame caused by garrulity receives much more attention in On Talkativeness than its intrinsic badness,43 indeed, and much of the advice given in Plutarch’s text recurs in humanistic and early modern courtesy manuals.44 As a result, we 40

For parallels between Plutarch’s use of these concepts and epigraphical evidence, see Panagopoulos (1977), 211–14. 41 OED, s.v. 42 Also note the repeated comparisons of talkativeness to the abuse of food and drink (512E–F, 513D, and 515A)—the latter being objects par excellence of etiquette. See, e.g. Leyerle (1995), 126: ‘The task of etiquette is to intervene in order to distance human eating from that of animals.’ Leyerle more than once (e.g. pp. 126 and 134–5) refers to Plutarch on this subject. Apart from food and drink, controlling talkativeness is also repeatedly linked with sexual self-control (503B, 504E, and 505A). Cf. also Goldhill (2002), 273. Likewise, Korenjak (2000), 183 terms Plutarch’s advice in On Listening a ‘Verhaltenskodex’. 43 Ingenkamp (1971), 78 noted that comment on the bad condition of the chatterer’s soul ‘tritt . . . , verglichen mit den u¨brigen Schriften, weit zuru¨ck’. 44 Bryson (1998) cites passages of such books stressing how important it is to adjust one’s words to the company (p. 163), not to praise oneself (p. 164; compare also Plutarch’s work How to Praise Oneself Inoffensively), to yield to superiors in

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find ourselves confronted with a paradox: a text that is remarkably explicit in underscoring its philosophical credentials turns out to devote more attention to manners than to morals. What, then, is going on here? Is Plutarch insincere and is he abusing the authority of philosophy in order to convey prestige to a writing that is actually about mere etiquette?45 Or does he have a different interpretation of the relationship between ethics and etiquette, one that sees them less as opposites than as complements? In the following pages, I shall clarify these points by analysing the practical training Plutarch proposes his readers in On Talkativeness }} 19–23a. If anywhere, this is indeed the place where his text might come closest to courtesy manuals, which typically tell the reader precisely what to do and what not to do in polite society. At the beginning of paragraph nineteen, Plutarch stresses the importance of training ( ªÆ æe ÆŁ › KŁØ, 511E) and explains that only habituation can overcome the disease (Ł Ø  E ŒæÆBÆØ F Æ, 511E). After this, he proposes a first practical exercise: æH b s K ÆE H ºÆ Kæø Ø Æıe KŁØÇ ø Øø A,  åæØ y   I  øÆØ c I ŒæØØ. . . . Ka b ƒŒÆH  æ I ŒæÅÆØ, ŒÆºH å Ø ı ÆØ ÆÆ ŒÆd ı ØçÆÆ Æ P F IŁæ ı ºÆ E
Ka b ,  ŒÆd Ø ÆØ e MªÅ  ŒÆd IÆ ºÅæHÆØ e Kºº E  I çŁ ŒÆd PŒ ¼ŒÆØæ KØ.  ºØÆ b çıº ø  Æı, ‹ ø c  æı Øe KæøÅŁ  ÆPd æºÆ ø   çŁ   c I ŒæØØ. (On Talkativeness 511F–512A) In the first place, then, as far as questions in company are concerned, let him acquire the habit of remaining silent until all have declined to answer. . . . If someone else answers the question adequately, it is appropriate to join in praising him and assenting with him and so acquire the reputation of being a gentle man. If not, then it is not invidious or inopportune both to point out what others did not know and thus to fill in the gap. But let us be on our guard particularly when someone else has been asked a question, that we do not jump in and take the answer out of his mouth. (On Talkativeness 511F–512A)

conversation (p. 166), and not to parade one’s knowledge (p. 184), to name just a few things. 45 Bryson (1998), 159–62 showed that behaviour is often ‘condemned as immoral rather than uncivil’.

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The passage starts with a third person imperative to the chatterer: ‘let him acquire the habit’ (cf. KŁØÇ ø). Soon, however, there is a strategic shift to an impersonally used verb (cf. ŒÆºH å Ø).46 As impersonality suggests general validity, the following sub-clause is of interest to everyone, including the reader. The last part of the quotation, finally, addresses the reader directly by changing to the first person plural (cf. çıº ø , æºÆ ø ). What the reader is supposed to do is to take a series of steps in a well-defined order when a question is asked in a group of people: stay silent; if someone else knows the answer, praise him; if no one does, give the answer yourself; but do not do so if someone else in particular has been asked the question. On the one hand, these guidelines are remarkably practical: there is nothing, say, in Epictetus’ comments on speech to match these precise rules.47 On the other hand, Plutarch’s guidelines are almost mechanical keys for correct behaviour, which promise the reader that he will make an impression of gentlemanly decorum on others. It is noteworthy, indeed, that Plutarch does not advise48 his readers to let other people answer a question and thereby show oneself to be a good person, but to ‘acquire the reputation of being a gentle man’ (Æ P F IŁæ ı ºÆ E) by praising and approving of someone else’s answer to a question. At this point, then, the advice given in On Talkativeness comes close to rules of etiquette. The second object for training is to be found in questions that are specifically addressed to an individual. This exercise already presents a more complex picture: 46 Throughout paragraphs 16–23, On Talkativeness repeatedly formulates concrete advice against garrulity in the (anonymous) third person, and sometimes impersonally. See e.g. 512C–D, 513D, 514A, 514B, 514C, and 514E. In this way, the reader is again appealed to without being explicitly labelled a chatterbox. 47 In his Handbook 33.1–2, Epictetus advises to ‘be for the most part silent, or speak merely what is necessary, and in few words’. Although the next sentence does give some specification as to what topics are to be avoided, his advice remains generalized and monolithic if compared to Plutarch’s various practical exercises that leave room for situations in which one should be silent as well as for those in which a conversation is ‘the most pleasant and social tie between men’ (504E, but see also 514E–F), and that range from waiting a few minutes before answering a question over avoiding one’s hobby horses to writing instead of speaking, as we are about to see. 48 More precisely, he says that this ‘is good’ (ŒÆºH å Ø)—thus referring to the typical philosophical value of goodness.

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  æ ı ¼ŒÅÆ æe a NÆ I Œæ Ø K, Æx På lŒØÆ  E æ å Ø e Iº å. æH  , ¥ Æ c º ŁfiÅ E K d ª ºøØ ŒÆd oæ Ø æŒÆºı Ø N ºªı ÆPe I ŒæØ   a  ıB. ØØ ªaæ Pb   Ø, ØÆæØB b ŒÆd ÆØØA  ŒÆ ıŁ   Øa Kæø Ø æ ººıØ E ØØ ŒÆd IÆŒØFØ ÆPH e ºBæ
n  E çıº  ŁÆØ ŒÆd c Æåf fiH ºªø fi Å u æ å æØ åÆ K Ø ÅA, Iººa ŒÆd e æ  F ıŁÆ ı Œ E ŒÆd c åæ Æ. ‹Æ b çÆÅÆØ fiH ZØ ıº  ÆŁ E, KŁØ  KçØ ÆØ ŒÆd Ø E Ø Ø ºº ØÆ  Æf B Kæø ø ŒÆd B I Œæ ø, K fiz æŁ EÆØ b › KæøH, Y Ø º ÆØ, ÆÆØ, Œ łÆŁÆØ  ÆPe æd z I ŒæØ EÆØ, ŒÆd c ŒÆÆæ å Ø Åb ŒÆÆåøÆØ c KæÅØ, Ø ıŁÆ Ø ºº ŒØ  e  ıB ¼ººÆ I ¼ººø I Œæ Ø ØÆ. (On Talkativeness 512C–E) The second exercise regards our own answers. A talkative person should indeed pay close attention to those, in the first place, that he may not unintentionally give a serious answer when people invite him to speak in order to ridicule and insult him. Some people indeed invent a few questions and put them to such chatterboxes in order to arouse their chatter— not that they need anything, but because they are after some entertainment and a joke. One should be on one’s guard against this practice: don’t leap upon a subject quickly, as if you are glad to be given the occasion, but take into account the way in which, and the reason why, the positor asked the question. If it is clear that he really wants some information, a man should accustom himself to wait and leave some time between question and answer, so that the person who asked the question can add something if he wants to, and so that he himself can think about what he is going to answer: one should not run over and cut short the question, giving an answer to another question out of excessive eagerness whilst the question is often still being asked. (On Talkativeness 512C–E)

As talkative people are often preceded by their own reputation, other people may make fun of them49 by asking questions which provoke them to talk. The humour of this situation lies in the fact that chatterboxes are too delighted at being offered an occasion to talk 49 Cf. also åº ı ÇÆØ, 504F and ŒÆƪ ºHÆØ, 510D. Plutarch’s use of derision as an argument against garrulity makes clear that the author’s interest, in On Talkativeness, is focused on the social aspect of garrulity. Very different is his concern in Precepts of Health Care, where he recommends keeping speaking even if everybody derides one (i   ŒÆƪ ºHØ, 130E). The (seeming) contradiction between both works was noted by Dodds (1933), 106.

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to notice the real purpose of the question, and thereby prove that their reputation is deserved. To prevent this from happening, Plutarch advises his reader to counter his desire for talking by careful attention (Œ E) to others: one should not only hear what they ask, but also reflect on the way in which they ask a question, as well as their intentions. This advice thus tries to break garrulity through reflection: it does not say that one should or should not answer a question, but that one should consider, when a question is being asked, whether to do so or not. In case one decides that the question should be answered, Plutarch advises leaving some time before doing so in order to give the questioner the chance to add something, and think about one’s own answer before actually giving it. Although notably concrete, these suggestions cannot be followed up mechanically: determining the purpose of a question, assessing people’s needs, and pitching one’s own answer at the right level presuppose flexibility in gauging various situations. As such, Plutarch’s advice on garrulity is ‘practical’ also in the sense given to that word by Bourdieu.50 According to Bourdieu, society is governed not by strict rules but by the flexible medium of practice, in which issues of strategy and timing are central. In the same way, Plutarch’s training against garrulity aims to enable the reader to respond creatively to ever varying circumstances. Plutarch’s third exercise regards the length and content of one’s answer to a question. The text starts off with an evocation of three possible kinds of answers to the question whether Socrates is at home. Ideally, he says, one gives a friendly (çغ Łæø , 513A) answer: ‘No, he isn’t, he is at the bank. He is waiting there for some guests.’ Yet often, people miss out on one or other side of this, either confining themselves to the strictly necessary (IƪŒÆE, 513A) ‘No, he isn’t’ or even just ‘No’, or spreading out into the superfluous ( æØ, 513A) explanation that ‘No, he isn’t at home, he is at the bank, waiting for some guests from Ionia, on behalf of whom Alcibiades sent him a letter when he found himself near Miletus with 50 Bourdieu (1972), esp. 174–89, and (1980), esp. 87–109. Popular morality and, by extension, Plutarch’s practical ethics, were, in a sense, well suited to cater for the endless variety of circumstances. Cf. Morgan (2007), 187–8. For elements of flexibility and situational variability in Stoic ethics, see Inwood (1999).

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Tissaphernes, the satrap of the Great King, who used to side with the Spartans, but who now helps the Athenians thanks to Alcibiades. For Alcibiades has made Tissaphernes change sides in an attempt to return to his fatherland, etc.’ Neither of the latter two answers allows a friendly conversation, of course. Yet whereas the person limiting himself to as few words as possible may not wish for more contact with other people, the chatterer, as we have seen in Section 6.1, gives an excessive answer in the hope of making others love and admire him for it. As a result, both the chatterer and the person who gives a very brief answer miss the opportunity for social communication, but only the former fails in achieving his desires and ambitions. At first sight, the advice to give an answer that avoids being either very brief or very long, looks like an almost mechanical guideline again. Soon, however, Plutarch adds that one should take the questioner’s need as the centre—regarding content, that is—and radius—defining the size—of one’s answer (Œ æø fi ŒÆd ØÆÆØ fiB åæ Æ fi F ıŁÆ ı æØªæ łÆÆ c I ŒæØØ, 513C). He illustrates the idea with an anecdote about Carneades and the director of the gymnasium he used to frequent:

N   KŒ ı (sc. F ˚Ææ ı) ‘ Ø  æ çøB’ P çƺø  ıå (sc. › ªıÆÆæå) ‘øØ e æØƺ ª ’. fiH  I ŒæØ ø fi  æ  F KæøH ºÅØ. (On Talkativeness 513C) When he (sc. Carneades) said, ‘Give me a measure to regulate my voice’, he (sc. the director of the gymnasium) answered: ‘I give you the person who is talking with you’. Spot-on. For the wishes of the questioner entail the regulation for the answer. (On Talkativeness 513C)

As this anecdote makes clear, the criterion for a good use of speech lies with one’s interlocutor.51 Taking someone else’s wishes as the criterion of one’s speech of course implies transcending one’s own ambitions and interests, as well as an openness towards others and consideration for their needs and feelings. In so far as the chatterer

51

Compare the anecdote about Plato in Stobaeus, Eclogues 3.36.22: ‘Plato said, when Antisthenes was once speaking too long during a lecture: “Don’t you know that the measure of the speech is not the speaker, but the listener?”’ (—º ø  `ØŁ ı K fiB ØÆæØfiB  ƌ溪Æ, ‘Iª E’ N  ‘‹Ø F ºªı  æ Kd På › º ªø, Iºº › IŒø;’).

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was characterized as a person acting out of self-love, this implies a change in values, an ethical change, in other words.52 This connection between behaviour and values is expressed even more explicitly in the fourth exercise for training oneself against garrulity: ŒÆd c u æ › "øŒæ Å KŒ º ı çıº  ŁÆØ H Øø ‹Æ c ØHÆ KŁ Ø IÆ Ł Ø ŒÆd H  ø ‹Æ  Ø c ØłHÆ, oø åæc ŒÆd H ºªø e Iº åÅ, x  l ÆØ  ºØÆ ŒÆd Œ åæÅÆØ ŒÆÆŒæø, ı ç EŁÆØ ŒÆd æe ı K Øææ Æ IØÆ Ø. . . . F ŒÆd æe f ºªı KŒ ı ŁÆØ, K x  ŒÆ K ØæÆ j Ø Øa H ¼ººø ØÆç æ Ø ÇıØ. çºÆı ªaæ J ŒÆd çغ › ØF   Ø e º E  æÆ ø fi  æ, ¥  ÆPe ÆF ıªå  Ø Œæ Ø þ
K ƒæÆØ › IƪøØŒ, K  庪ÆØ › ªæÆÆØŒ, K ØŪÆØ  ØŒE › ººc åæÆ K ºÅºıŁg ŒÆd ºÆÅ . (On Talkativeness 513C–D and 514A–B) Socrates, moreover, used to urge people to beware of foodstuffs that induce us to eat when we are not hungry and of drinks that induce us to drink when not thirsty. In the same way, the chatterer should beware of subjects that delight him most and which he employs excessively: when they present themselves, he should resist them. . . . This also happens to them in relation to those subjects in which they think to excel all others because of their experience or habit. For since such a man loves himself and desires fame, he spends the main part of the day at that in which he happens to excel himself: the great reader in telling stories, the literary expert in technical discussions, and the man who has traveled and spent time abroad in telling stories about foreign countries. (On Talkativeness 513C–D and 514A–B)

Although any subject is enough for the chatterer to start talking (513F–514A), hobby horses form a special danger: out of self-love and a desire for fame, chatterboxes have a tendency to prefer to talk about those subjects which they are particularly good at or interested in. By doing so, they hope to show off to their interlocutors, and be loved and admired by them in return. In reality, however, these 52

This, at least, is how Plutarch saw things. Cf. Ch. 1. Recently, Buss (1999), 798–9 has also pointed out the importance of etiquette in doing away with self-love.

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subjects turn them into even more long-winded and self-centred speakers than usual, and this makes them objects of ridicule and hatred. In order to avoid this trap, people should beware of their hobby horses. Plutarch’s advice thus encourages the reader to gain better self-knowledge, and that, as we have seen in Chapter 1, is one of the main aims of Plutarch’s philosophical project in the works of practical ethics. On a larger scale, self-knowledge can also become a first step in replacing self-love with other-concern. This proposed change in values makes it clear that the reference to Socrates at the beginning of the quotation is more than mere rhetoric: Plutarch’s advice against garrulity is not merely a matter of adopting good manners, it also aims to bring about an ethical change. Rather than being in opposition, then, ethics and etiquette go hand in hand in Plutarch’s On Talkativeness. This way of conceptualizing the relationship between ethics and etiquette is thoroughly different from current views today. Both amongst philosophers and amongst the general public, etiquette nowadays seems to be regarded with suspicion in case it becomes concern for mere manners.53 In antiquity, the situation was quite different. On the one hand, there was no term that matches our concept of etiquette. Several terms, such as e æ  (what is fitting) and e ŒÆº (what is beautiful), come close, yet as Heinz-Gerd Ingenkamp has demonstrated, these terms are also used to express ethical values.54 In line with this, it should be said, on the other hand, that the ancient conception of ethics as an art of living ( åÅ F ı) could quite easily accommodate an aesthetic component alongside an ethical one. As Nancy Sherman has recently shown in her study of Seneca’s On Doing Kindnesses, for example, a focus on etiquette in no way had to preclude a genuine concern for ethics.55 Likewise, according to Plutarch, garrulity is the outward sign of self-love, a well-defined ethical shortcoming. Behaving like a chatterbox therefore betrays the 53 Elias (1939), 8–10 quotes modern authors opposing inner virtue and outward appearance. Cf. also Leyerle (1995), 140, Bryson (1998), 197–208, and Sherman (2005), 63–4, with further bibliography on the contemporary conception of the relationship between ethics and etiquette in n. 11, of which I found Buss (1999) especially useful. 54 Ingenkamp (1989). 55 Sherman (2005).

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fact that one has not enjoyed (enough of) a philosophical education that teaches one how to overcome self-love by self-knowledge. Conversely, restraining one’s tongue becomes a way of showing both one’s commitment to the values of self-knowledge and concern for others, and, at the same time, one’s belonging to the group of welleducated people. Ethics and etiquette thus become two sides of the same coin: far from being in opposition with it, etiquette is the outward face of ethics.56

6.4. PLUTARCH’S TALKATIVENESS As opposed to the situation in On Feeling Good, Plutarch does not stage himself in On Talkativeness as a character, and in contrast to On Exile, he does not present himself here as a friend offering philosophical help. And yet he is present in this work as well. As the author of On Talkativeness, Plutarch speaks in the work in the first person. Although he does not, generally, tend to stress his persona, it shines through, for example in the anecdote about ‘Epaminondas’, ‘a man from my native town’ (H Ææ  H Ø, 514C).57 Yet apart from speaking himself, Plutarch also speaks about himself in On Talkativeness: Kb b ŒIŒ E › NŒ Å s  ºÆ ıø E, e æ å Ø fiH ºªø fi ŒÆd ŒæÆ E æÆØæ  ø ºŒ Kd KŁı . (On Talkativeness 511D) Personally, that slave causes me to feel terribly ashamed when I consider how impressive it is to pay attention to what is said and be master of one’s intention. (On Talkativeness 511D) 56 Conversely, some of the exercises against garrulity proposed by Plutarch will try to change’s the reader’s attitude through changing his behaviour. Van der Stockt (2000) already pointed out Plutarch’s interest in etiquette in his Table Talk as well as the ‘naturalness of the relationship of etiquette to ethics’ (p. 97). Cf. also Van der Stockt (2006), referring to Plutarch’s thoughts on public speech as ‘aesthetics and ethics’. Pace Trapp (2007), 235–6, who opposes philosophy to rhetoric because as he sees it, whereas rhetoric aims to influence its disciples’ outward performance, ‘philosophical self-formation, in obvious contrast, was inward, aiming indeed to have an impact on what is publicly observable, but via what is inner and hidden’. 57 Helmbold (1939), 463 translates Ææ  E with ‘in my native town’, Dumortier and Defradas (1975), 256 with ‘chez nous’, Pettine (1992), 117 with ‘uno dei nostri concittadini’. Cf. also Hunter (1999), 226–7.

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With an emphatic pronoun in the first person singular (K ), Plutarch here recounts the impression made on him by a slave who was trained so as to say no more than what he was asked. Plutarch recounts that when he considers that slave’s self-control, he feels shame. Reflection was, as has been argued, of primary importance for destroying garrulity; shame for being worse than a person who is socially inferior, on the other hand, was to encourage good behaviour. Placed in the part of On Talkativeness devoted to mental exercises, this personal anecdote allows Plutarch to introduce himself as familiar with the therapy against garrulity which he proposes. He thus becomes an example, a model for readers as to how to react to the anecdotes recounted in the text.58 At the same time, however, this self-presentation as a patient is striking in that it conjures up the image of Plutarch himself as dazzlingly close to being a chatterer. Any reader who is familiar with his oeuvre may well think that Plutarch here hit the nail on the head: the man wrote an impressive amount of texts in general, and within the very work On Talkativeness, there is an abundance of anecdotes59 that betray a pleasure in telling and talking that is not wholly different from the one ascribed to chatterboxes. Yet if Plutarch presents himself as familiar with the therapy against garrulity, he does so in a way that stresses his success with that therapy by suggesting that he felt shame. This fact, coming shortly after his methodological explanations of the effects of shame, suggests that he will probably want to shun garrulity, or else at least that he is conscious of his own liability to it. The same awareness or even a conscious doing away with it, is discernible behind another piece of practical advice which Plutarch offers in On Talkativeness: w ªaæ IÅb ÆØ e º º K fiH çغºªø fi º  Ç. KŁØ  b ŒÆd ªæ ç Ø Ø f Øı ŒÆd Øƺ ª ŁÆØ ŒÆ NÆ. . . . e  Iº åÅ Yø i  æe e ªæÆç E ŒØÆÆåÆ ŒÆd c F ºŁı I æŒıÆ ŒÆŁ   æÆ KºÆçæ æ ÆæÆŒ ı  Ø E ıFØ. (On Talkativeness 514D)

58 Cf. also Russell (1993), 436 on the didactic function of references to the author’s own shortcomings. 59 Cf. Helmbold (1939), 395, and Celentano (2000), 106.

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Indeed, excessive talkativeness is less unpleasant if it relates to literary subjects. Such people should therefore accustom themselves to writing or to discussing with themselves. . . . In the case of a talkative person, such shadow-boxing and shouting against his writing table keeps him away from people and as such makes him more easy for his companions from day to day. (On Talkativeness 514D)

Assuming that Plutarch, as a result of his immense literary activity, was indeed at risk of being seen as a chatterbox, this passage, taken from the part of On Talkativeness dedicated to practical exercises, constitutes an adequate reply: talking about literary subjects as well as writing is presented as an excellent alternative for garrulity, that will make a talkative person less unpleasant and more easy for others. Plutarch thus seizes the opportunity offered by writing a text on talkativeness in order to defend himself and his literary activity: On Talkativeness can be read as an apology not only of the elaborate work On Talkativeness teeming with anecdotes, but also of Plutarch’s prolific literary activities in general. In this way, then, Plutarch himself successfully activates his own cultural and philosophical capital in this (literary) conversation with his readers.

7 On Curiosity In a passage from On Talkativeness which we have not yet discussed, Plutarch draws attention to a particular characteristic of chatterboxes: fiB  Iº åÆ fi ŒÆd  æØ æªÆ ŒÆŒe PŒ ºÆ æ Ø· ººa ªaæ IŒ Ø Ł ºıØ, ¥ Æ ººa º ª Ø åøØ· ŒÆd  ºØÆ f I ææı ŒÆd Œ Œæı ı H ºªø æØØ  KØå ıØ ŒÆd I æ ıHØ. (On Talkativeness 508C) Along with talkativeness comes inquisitiveness, which is not a lesser vice: talkative people indeed want to hear many things so that they have many things to talk about. And most of all they go about tracking down and searching out secret and hidden stories. (On Talkativeness 508C)

In order to provide themselves with material for discussion, chatterboxes try to gather as much information as possible. Talkativeness thus goes hand in hand with inquisitiveness.1 More specifically, chatterers are said to stick their noses preferably into secret matters. This not only distinguishes innocent chatterboxes from more malicious intruders, it also enables Plutarch to point out that curiosity is not a lesser vice than garrulity. As a result, Plutarch not only refers to 1 Notwithstanding their related subject matter and similar therapeutical method, On Curiosity and On Talkativeness show very different structures. A composition under the reign of Trajan has been suggested for both works, yet whereas the reference to Domitian’s cruelty in 522E confirms 96 as the terminus post quem for On Curiosity, the only secure terminus post quem for On Talkativeness is Nero’s death in 68 (505C). For the date of On Curiosity, see Jones (1966), 72, Dumortier and Defradas (1975), 263, Inglese (1995), 29–30, and Strobach (1997), 30; of On Talkativeness, cf. Jones (1966), 70, Dumortier and Defradas (1975), 224, Pettine (1992), 28–9, and Strobach (1997), 30.

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nosy behaviour in On Talkativeness, but also dedicates a separate essay to it. It is this text, On Curiosity, that forms the subject of this chapter.

7.1. ON CURIOSITY: A CURIOUS TITLE On Curiosity starts off with the statement that a house that does not have enough ventilation or light, that does not offer enough protection against winter cold, or that is unhealthy, is best left (515B); ‘yet if, through familiarity, you have become fond of the place, it is possible to shift the lights, alter the stairs, open some doors and close others: that will make it brighter, better ventilated, and healthier’ (515B). The principle set out in the opening sentence is then first applied to different cities (515C), and after that to the emotions of the soul: ‘Since there are certain emotions that are unhealthy and harmful and that cause cold and darkness in the soul, the best thing would be to drive them out and destroy them to the ground. That would give one open sky, light, and pure air. If not, one should redirect and readjust them in some way or other by turning or shifting them around’ (515C–D). The reader, by now, has read almost twenty lines and still does not know what the text will be about.2 It seems, then, that Plutarch, ironically enough, is arousing his reader’s . . . curiosity—a curiosity of a non-malicious kind, however, regarding what Plutarch’s philosophical work will teach. One might object that the book-roll containing the text of On Curiosity would no doubt have had a name-tag attached to it.3 The reader would thus know from the start that the text would be ‘about 2 Of the other psychotherapeutical writings, On Talkativeness and On Praising Oneself Inoffensively mention their subjects immediately, and On Compliance after 7 lines. On the Control of Anger has a somewhat longer introduction before mentioning ‘anger’ ( æe Oæª, 453B, line 18 of the work), but that may be accounted for by its dialogical presentation. 3 On book-rolls and the habit of attaching a title-tag (ººı) to them, see Schubart (1921), esp. 104, Dorandi (1984), and Blanck (1992), esp. 83. For the actual titles given to books, cf. Nachmanson (1941) and Schmalzriedt (1970).

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polypragmosyne¯’ (— æd ºı æƪÅ).4 His curiosity, however, will not have been lessened by that knowledge, as the word ºı æƪÅ had been adopted, before Plutarch, in many different contexts and used with many diverse meanings. Etymologically, the words ºı æƪ E / ºı æ ªø / ºı æƪÅ point to busying oneself (- æƪ E) a lot ( ºı-).5 ‘A lot’ here means with more than one’s own things or more than one is supposed to busy oneself with, the opposite to minding one’s own business (a ÆıF æ  Ø).6 ‘Busying oneself ’ refers primarily to a physical activity, but by extension also to a mental one. Etymologically very similar is the word Plutarch sometimes uses as a synonym for ºı æƪÅ: æØ æªÆ.7 The primary context in which these words came to be used was politics: states or people taking actions that should not be taken by them, were said to be officious ( ºı æƪ E).8 Thus, the opponents, both internal and external, of Athens’ imperialism could use ºı æƪÅ to denote that policy,9 which was generally favoured by progressive, extreme demo4 For the difficulties involved in translating ºı æƪÅ, cf. Helmbold (1939), 471. Gellius (Attic Nights 11.16) already mentions the difficulties of translating ºı æƪÅ into Latin curiositas. Cf. Tasinato (1994), 58–61. For English translations of curiositas, see Defilippo (1990), 479–80. For the difficulties involved in understanding the emotions of a different culture in general, see Kaster (2005), esp. 5–9. 5 For the etymology and meaning of ºı æƪÅ, see Demont (1996), 28. For the history of ‘curiosity’ in antiquity in general, see Labhardt (1960). Volpe Cacciatore (1987) examines the concept in Plutarch; Mette (1956), Joly (1961), Walsh (1988), and Lim (1995), 149–81 focus on antiquity after Plutarch; Blumenberg (1973) offers a survey from Socrates to Freud; and Bo¨s (1995) from Cicero to Thomas Aquinas. 6 In his Politics 1299a, Aristotle opposes the related hapax ºı æƪÆ ø to the equally hapax  æƪÆ ø when comparing large states, where one magistracy is assigned to one function, to smaller ones, where many offices are gathered into few hands. 7 e.g. On Curiosity 516A, 517E, 519C, 521A, and 522B. The most elaborate treatment of æØ æªÆ seems to be Theophrastus’ thirteenth Character, which defines æØ æªÆ rather positively as ‘a well-intentioned appropriation of words and actions’ ( æ Å Ø ºªø ŒÆd æ  ø  a PÆ). On æØ æªÆ in Theophrastus’ Characters, see Steinmetz (1962), 155–6, Kapsalis (1982), 44–5, Tasinato (1994), 49–50 and 53–4, and Rusten, Cunningham, and Knox (2002), 90–1. 8 e.g. Herodotus Histories 3.15.5; Xenophon Hellenica 1.6.3.2. 9 e.g. Thucydides 6.87.3; Aristophanes Acharnians 833; Polybius Histories 2.13.3; Isocrates Areopagiticus 80.4. Discussions of political meddlesomeness can be found in

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crats.10 Another class of people often designated as intrusive in classical Athens were the sycophants,11 nosing out the affairs of others, mostly rich people, and suing them if possible. The sophists, teaching them how to do so, were therefore called by Isocrates ‘professors of meddlesomeness and greed’ ( ºı æƪÅ ŒÆd º  Æ . . . Ø ŒÆºØ, Against the Sophists 20.10). Even Socrates seems to have been classified by some as a busybody.12 In Plato’s Apology, Socrates answers such accusations.13 On the one hand, he distinguishes himself from ‘traditional’ busybodies: he is no politician, for he does not act in the public assembly (31c–e); he has no experience in court (17b–d); nor is he a sophist, as he does not exact any payment (31c). If, on the other hand, he admits to be constantly going round and interfering in other people’s affairs ( ºı æƪH, 31c), he explains that he does so by order of a god (e.g. 37e) and in order to examine himself and others and promote virtue (38a). Thus Socrates’ inquisitiveness is a mental activity.14 In Aristophanes’ Clouds, for example, Socrates is called a busybody because he has his mind set on enquiring about god and the cosmos.15 If the masses derided him for this, more educated people seem to have taken pride in such investigations. As a result, ºı æƪÅ became one of the standard terms to indicate research, either historical,16 or what Ehrenberg (1947), Adkins (1976), 311–17, Allison (1979), and Demont (1990), esp. 191–252, but see also Nestle (1926), Dienelt (1953), Kleve (1964), Huart (1968), Harding (1981), Whelan (1983), 7–20, Carter (1986), esp. 26–50, 71–7, and 99, and Vanhaegendoren (1999), 63–154. 10 For explicit links between meddlesomeness and revolution, see Plato, Republic 434b7–9, and Flavius Josephus, Jewish Antiquities 15.165.3. Cf. also Assmann (2005), 37–8. 11 e.g. Aristophanes, Wealth 913; Isocrates Antidosis 48.2, 98.5, 230.3, and 237.2. Cf. Dover (1974), 187–9, Adkins (1976), 301–11 and 317–18, Lateiner (1982), Whelan (1983), 20–5, and Demont (1990), esp. 95–7. 12 e.g. Xenophon Memoirs of Socrates 3.11.16. Cf. Adkins (1976), 319–27, Lateiner (1982), and Whelan (1983), 1–7 and 26–9. 13 Cf. also Plato’s famous definition of justice as ‘doing one’s own business and not to be a busybody’ (e a ÆF æ  Ø ŒÆd c ºı æƪ E ØŒÆØÅ K, Republic 433a). On this definition, see Gutglueck (1988). 14 On Socrates’ meddlesomeness, see Dienelt (1953), Kleve (1964), Whelan (1983), Demont (1990), 301–28, and Isebaert (1992), 308–10. 15 Passim, and esp. 225–34. Cf. also Plato, Laws 821a, 821a–822d. 16 e.g. Polybius, Histories 3.38.2, 5.75.6, 9.15.7, and 12.27. See also Demont (1990), 279–82 and Inglese (1997).

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we would call scientific.17 At other times, however, curiosity as a mental, non-political inquiry was directed to objects less worthy of study. Thus amongst the verses ascribed to Menander one reads that people should not ‘inquire into other people’s evils’,18 and the various, now lost, New Comedies entitled The Busybody probably implemented the concept in similar terms.19 Interpreted in this way, curiosity also attracted the attention of philosophers. Democritus, for example, condemns people who pry into other people’s affairs while neglecting their own.20

7.2. A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHICAL INTERPRETATION OF A SOCIAL PHENOMENON Semantically ranging from imperialism to gossiping and from science to intrusive curiosity, then, the term polypragmosyne¯ as it appears in the title of Plutarch’s text would not have given a definitive answer as to what the reader was to read about. The puzzle is only resolved when Plutarch starts the actual treatment of his subject with a definition of the kind of curiosity he is about to deal with:  ºı æƪÅ çغ Ł Ø  KØ Iººæø ŒÆŒH, h çŁı ŒFÆ ŒÆŁÆæ  Ø  h ŒÆŒÅŁ Æ• ‘ IººæØ, ¼Łæø ÆŒÆÆ , ŒÆŒe OıæŒ E e  YØ Ææƺ Ø;’ (On Curiosity 515D) Curiosity is a desire to discover other people’s evils, a disease which seems to be free from neither envy nor malice: ‘Why do you look so sharply on others’ evils, Malignant man, yet overlook your own?’ (On Curiosity 515D) 17 e.g. Theophrastus, Physicorum Opiniones fr. 12 Diels, 489, ll. 21–2. On the conception of ‘science’ as a part of philosophy, see Dihle (1986). 18 —ºı æƪ E c ºı IººæØÆ ŒÆŒ (Monostichoi 1.583/703). My translation. For meddlesomeness in Menander, see Mette (1962). 19 For a list of authors, see Inglese (1996), 16 n. 23. 20 Cf. Democritus fr. 80 DK: ÆNåæe a OŁ Æ ºı æƪ Æ Iª E a NŒœÆ.

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With this definition, Plutarch clearly indicates that the kind of ºı æƪÅ he will discuss in On Curiosity is a form of mental inquiry (cf. çغ Ł ØÆ). As we shall see, references to all traditional variants of curiosity as a mental inquiry will, in one way or another, occur throughout the work,21 but here, Plutarch specifically points towards comedy and philosophy. Comedy is called to mind not only implicitly, through the similarity of Plutarch’s definition to verses such as the one from Menander referred to above, but also explicitly, as the quotation Plutarch adds to his definition comes from an (unidentified) comedy. Philosophy, on the other hand, may be alluded to through the Platonic-Peripatetic form which the definition takes,22 but is definitely present through the introduction of curiosity as an emotion ( Ł, 515C, 520D, 522C) as well as through the connection Plutarch establishes between intrusiveness on the one hand, and envy and malice, two emotions often discussed by philosophers, on the other. In the course of On Curiosity, Plutarch extensively describes the behaviour of people who are subject to such a desire to discover other people’s evils. Adultery and promiscuity, lacklustre origins, fits of anger and jealousy amongst kin and friends, and personal or public bankruptcies are the typical phenomena that arouse the busybody’s interest (e.g. 517C, 517E, 518A). In order to discover such evils, he snoops on people’s genealogies, education, financial affairs, and marriage (516B). By investigating these issues, the busybody clearly intrudes into other people’s private lives. In 519F, for example, Plutarch states that busybodies eavesdrop through their neighbour’s walls, or snoop through other people’s correspondence. In this way, they try to discover as much evil as possible. The same motivation

21

There may even be a reference to political meddlesomeness in 519B, where Plutarch not only speaks of  ƺ , a word that could denote political revolution (see LSJ, s.v. II 3), but also makes the link with the legislation of the Locrians, in which the ‘desire for innovation’ will no doubt have been interpreted politically. Elsewhere, Plutarch explicitly links ºı æƪ E and  ø æÇ Ø (cf. Life of Phocion 29.5.3, and Life of Artaxerxes 6.1.1). 22 The definitions per genera et species which Plutarch gives in this work (515D and 518C) indeed seem to be moulded on the Platonic-Peripatetic model of defining a species by indicating its genus and then, ‘going down a branching tree of successive bipartite divisions’, pointing out its differentiae specificae. Cf. Hankinson (1995), 125.

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induces them to read every inscription on tombs and all graffiti on walls23 (} 11), to look into every open door (} 12), and to talk to as many people as possible: busybodies stop passers-by in order to learn the latest news from them (519A), they talk with slaves and women of the streets (519F), and they are more interested in talking than in working (518F). The following passage is particularly illuminating in this respect: ƒ b ºı æ ª  I ººıØ ŒÆd æ* ÆØ a ÆH Iåº Ø æd IººæØÆ ŒÆd  Æø b N Iªæe ÆÇıØ, e lıå ŒÆd Øø Åæe B KæÅÆ P ç æ . Ka b ŒÆd ÆæÆ ºøØ Øa åæı, ÆE H ª Øø I ºØ Kº ıØ Aºº j ÆE NÆØ• ŒÆd ıŁ ÆØ Ø   F ª  I  ŁŒÆØ j  r  OÅ ª ª • Æåf b ø K ºÅŁ   I æ åıØ. › b ªaæ IºÅŁØe KŒ E ª øæªe Pb e ÆP ø Kæå  KŒ º ø ºª  ø æ å ÆØ, º ªø,

r  Ø Œ ø Kæ E Kç x  ª ªÆØ ƃ Øƺ Ø; ÆFÆ ªaæ ºı æƪH F › ŒÆ æÆ æØ Æ E. (On Curiosity, 518E–F) Officious people ruin and abandon their own affairs by busying themselves with those of others, and they rarely ever go to their farms, as they cannot bear the quiet and silence of the countryside. And even when they do go and have a look every now and then, they look into the vines of their neighbours rather than into their own. Likewise, they try to discover how many of the neighbour’s cattle have died or how much of his wine has turned sour. Yet soon they have had enough of these things and run away. A true and good farmer, on the contrary, does not even like to receive news that comes from the city spontaneously, but says: ‘then he will tell me while digging on what conditions the treatise was concluded. For that is the business that now drives this damned creature’. (On Curiosity, 518E–F)

Whereas the true farmer will not interrupt work on his fields even in order to learn important news that comes from the city, the busybody visits his estates in the countryside only rarely, and is not really interested in agricultural production even when he does: instead of 23 Ancient cities must have teemed with inscriptions and graffiti of all sorts. Cf. Robert (1961), 69. Pompei and Herculaneum are, of course, the cities which are best documented when it comes to a diversity of wall-inscriptions and graffiti. See Richlin (1983), 81–3, and Wallace (2005).

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taking care of his own affairs (a ÆH, ÆE NÆØ), he is interested in his neighbour’s (IººæØÆ, H ª Øø) mischances, witness his specific questions as to what has gone wrong (I  ŁŒÆØ, OÅ ª ª ) in his neighbour’s farm.24 Soon, however, he gets bored and returns to the city. Given the greater opportunities for gathering news,25 busybodies indeed seem to have a marked preference for the city over the countryside: they love hanging out around the bazaar, the marketplace, and the harbours (519A), and they feel irresistibly attracted to shows in places such as the theatre and the hippodrome (} 13).26 As an estate owner living in the city, the busybody was no exception: the literature of the Early Empire, both Greek and Latin, shows us quite a few elite men27 living in the city yet possessing considerable estates in the countryside, which they would occasionally visit.28 Pliny the Younger, for example, refers repeatedly to his villas as places of leisure and tranquillity.29 The topos at work both in these letters and in the passage quoted from On Curiosity is 24 Conversely, in How to Profit from One’s Enemies, Plutarch sketches the distress felt by many people when they see ‘a well-tilled field or a flourishing garden’ (åæØ KŒ Å  . . . PŁÆºFÆ ŒB , 88B). Cf. Gre´ard (1874), 171. 25 Apart from the fact that more news will have been available (cf. Lewis (1995b), 432–41), cities, containing more people, more houses, and even more graffiti, offered more opportunities for gathering and spreading information. On the circulation of news and information in antiquity, see Lewis (1995a), Ando (2000), 165–7 on the acta diurna, and the essays in Capdetrey and Nelis-Cle´ment (edd.) (2006). On the spectacular aspects of Rome and other cities, which Plutarch stresses in 520C, see also Lucian, Nigrinus 16. Cf. also Garland (1995) and Whitmarsh (2001b), 255. 26 On the importance of these central public areas for gossip, see Hunter (1990), 302. 27 Little and medium-sized farmers usually cultivated their own estates, whereas large landowners lived in the city, having their affairs in the countryside looked after by a special slave. Cf. Saı¨d (1999), esp. 85 and 94–5. Apart from implying that busybodies can choose what to busy themselves with, they are presented as having slaves (515E) and a doorkeeper (515E), as being able to read (519F, 520D, 522D, 522E), and as riding a horse (519A). 28 See Rostovtzeff (1957), 244–56. Among the Greeks, this kind of person was prominent enough to become one of the stock characters of the novel. Cf. Ramage (1973), 14. Conversely, in on Feeling Good 467D, Plutarch mentions as one of the advantages of not having been elected for an office that one can go and live in the countryside and look after one’s estate oneself. 29 A well-known, clear example is 1.9. Note that this letter is addressed to C. Minicius Fundanus, the friend Plutarch refers to in On Feeling good, and with whom he spent time in the city of Rome. Other examples are 6.14, 9.6, 9.36, and 9.40. On Pliny and his villas, consult Lefe`vre (1977), Kehoe (1993), and Wolff (2003), 62–6.

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the contrast between the simple and virtuous countryside and the decadent and corrupted city with its uninterrupted turmoil.30 Yet whereas Pliny professes to despise the city’s liveliness and luxury in an attempt to establish a cultivated identity for himself, the busybody’s attachement to society life shows him to be neither a cultured man nor a hard-working farmer. The behaviour Plutarch thus describes had attracted the attention of philosophers before him.31 The most striking parallel is to be found in Philo of Alexandria: › b çÆFº Iªæa ŒÆd Ł ÆæÆ ŒÆd ØŒÆæØÆ ıº ıæØ  ŒÆd KŒŒºÅÆ ŒÆd Æ ººª ŒÆd ŁÆ IŁæ ø – çغ æƪfiÅ ıÇH  Ææ å Ø, c b ªºHÆ IØ d æe ¼ æ ŒÆd I æÆ ŒÆd ¼ŒæØ ØªÅØ, ıªå ø – ÆÆ ŒÆd çæø, IºÅŁ Ø ł ıB ŒÆd ÞÅE ¼ææÅÆ ŒÆd YØÆ ŒØE ŒÆd ƒ æE  ÅºÆ ŒÆd  ıÆØ ª ºEÆ IÆت, Øa e c ÆØ FŁÆØ e K ŒÆØæfiH Œ ººØ, ıåÆ, a b tÆ K ıæÆ  ŒÆ ºı æ ª æØ æªÆ· a ªaæ  æø Y IªÆŁa Y Æs ŒÆŒa ªºå ÆØ ÆŁ  Ø, ‰ ÆPŒÆ E b çŁ E, Kç x  b l ŁÆØ·  ŒÆ ªaæ ŒÆd ،ƺ ŒÆd çغ Åæ › çÆFº ç Ø. (Philo, On Abraham 20–1) The worthless man, passing his life in restlessness, haunts marketplaces, theatres, law courts, council-halls, assemblies, and every gathering and gettogether of men; his tongue he lets loose for unmeasured, endless, indiscriminate talk, bringing chaos and confusion into everything, mixing true with false, non-secret with secret, public with private, holy with profane, sensible with absurd, because he has not been trained to that silence which in season is most excellent. His ears he keeps alert in meddlesome curiosity, ever eager to learn his neighbour’s affairs, whether good or bad, and ready with envy for the former and joy at the latter; for the worthless man is a creature naturally malicious, a hater of good and lover of evil. (Philo, On Abraham 20–1)

In this passage, Philo describes people who spend their lives in a restless hurry out of meddlesome curiosity. His description has a lot 30 On this topos, see e.g. Ramage (1973), 122, 138 ff., Dover (1974), 112–14, Demont (1996), 20 n. 39, and 27, Hall (1996), and Whitmarsh (2001b), 100–8. Wolff (2003), 62 correctly noted that whereas social inferiors may have cursed the city because of the bad quality of life there (e.g. noises, traffic, . . . ), rich people like Pliny would complain rather about the unescapable social duties which would disturb them there. Compare e.g. Horace, Satires 1.9 and Juvenal’s third Satire. On Horace’s Satires 1.8 and 1.9 and their complaints on the life in the city, see Welch (2001). 31 Further parallel passages describing similar behaviour can be found in Friedla¨nder (1922), 246–7, 253–4, and 261–2 and Ingenkamp (1971), 128–9.

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in common with Plutarch’s On Curiosity: Philo points out the busybody’s preference for society life, he states that meddlesome people are eager to hear any news about others, and suggests that there is a connection with envy and spite. Like Plutarch, he also links meddlesomeness with talkativeness: busybodies are unable to make a distinction between non-secret and secret and between sensible and absurd, as Plutarch pointed out in On Talkativeness, as well as between private and public, truth and lie, or holy and profane, as Plutarch’s On Curiosity teaches. In contrast to Plutarch, however, Philo did not dedicate any text to either of these two social vices specifically: the passage quoted is taken from a larger opposition of the worthless man (› çÆFº) to the man of worth which, in turn, forms only a small part of Philo’s work On Abraham. The same applies to Seneca’s comments on meddlesomeness. In On Tranquillity 12.2–12.7, for example, Seneca describes people who spend their time hanging around other people’s houses, theatres, and public places (domos et theatra et fora) in order to discover things they are not meant to discover: such people, Seneca says, do not carry out any true business (inertiam), and yet lead a restless life (inquietam). The phenomenon Seneca describes in this passage, then, is essentially the same as the behaviour criticized in Plutarch’s On Curiosity.32 Yet although Seneca states explicitly that many people (magnae parti hominum) live this kind of life, and although references to it recur throughout his writings,33 Seneca did not propose any solution for it, let alone a therapy enabling and teaching readers to achieve that solution. The behaviour described in On Curiosity was not new, then, yet Plutarch turns out to be the only author of a work specifically dedicated to the topic, including an elaborate description and conviction of curiosity as well as a fully-fledged therapy against it.34 Once more, his practical ethics thus reveal themselves to transcend the 32 On the similarities and differences between this passage of Seneca’s and Plutarch’s On Curiosity, see Gre´ard (1866), 165–6. 33 Friedla¨nder (1922), 246 wrote: ‘Senecas Schriften . . . enthalten fast auf jeder Seite Klagen u¨ber die Unersprießlichkeit und Inhaltlosigkeit des Lebens in Rom’. 34 As indicated in n. 19, several new comedies were entitled The Busybody, and in them, curiosity will have been a major theme. The genre will have forbidden, however, treating the subject in a more elaborate way including a solution and a therapy.

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borders of the field traditionally covered by philosophy: On Curiosity takes its starting point not from a philosophical system, but from elite life within society as Plutarch and his readers would know it.

7.3. PLAYING THE READER’S ZERO-SUM GAME In the previous section, we have seen how Plutarch defines curiosity as a desire to discover other people’s evils. Immediately following that definition was the qualification that such intrusiveness is ‘a disease which seems to be free from neither envy (çŁı) nor malice (ŒÆŒÅŁ Æ)’. Shortly afterwards, he conceptualizes intrusiveness as an eye for maliciousness (fiB ŒÆŒÆfi c æØ æªÆ u æ OçÆŁºe KŁÅØ, 516A). In 518C, the connection between intrusiveness and these negative emotions is clarified: KØ ªaæ  ºı æƪÅ çغ ıÆ H K I Œæł Ø ŒÆd ºÆŁÆø. P d  IªÆŁe I Œæ  Ø Œ ŒÅ , ‹ ı ŒÆd a c ZÆ æ ØFÆØ. ˚ÆŒH s ƒæÆ › ºı æ ªø Oæ ª  K ØåÆØæ ŒÆŒÆ ı å ÆØ Ł Ø, çŁı ŒÆd ÆŒÆÆ I ºçfiH. )Ł b ª æ KØ º Å K  IººæØ IªÆŁE, K ØåÆØæ ŒÆŒÆ  c K  IººæØ ŒÆŒE. Iç æÆ  KŒ Łı IÅ æı ŒÆd ŁÅæØı ª ª ÅÆØ, B ŒÆŒÅŁ Æ. (On Curiosity 518C) For curiosity is a desire to find out what is hidden and covered. No one, however, hides a good acquisition, given that people even pretend to have good assets which they do not have. Since, then, the busybody longs for evil information, he is not free of the emotion of spite, akin to envy and grudge. For envy is pain at other people’s good, spite pleasure at other people’s evil. Both stem from a savage and bestial emotion, badness. (On Curiosity 518C)

As this passage points out, people go out of their way in order to keep up appearances: they hide whatever is negative and highlight positive assets, whether they actually possess these or not. As Plutarch explains in the ensuing paragraph (} 7), people are willing to forgo obvious gains or even to suffer great harm in order to safeguard a flattering public self-image: they refuse to tell a doctor about their sufferings, for example. In his well-known study on The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, Erving Goffman conceptualizes such social

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interactions as dramatic performances, in which front- and backstage are clearly distinguished. In the frontstage region, social actors show as positive a face as possible35 in order to make a good impression on the audience. Backstage, however, there may be destructive information on the show, information that betrays that the actor is not really the character he acts out whilst onstage. The whole idea of the division between frontstage and backstage is, of course, that access to the backstage is strictly limited: the audience is allowed in the frontstage region only. Busybodies as described by Plutarch, however, will not respect this implicit social agreement: they will enter regions and acquire information they are not meant to. In 516E, for example, Plutarch states that knockers and doormen have been installed in order to prevent strangers from coming into a house unexpectedly.36 Busybodies, however, creep past these obstacles in order to discover exactly the things which the door with its knocker or doorman is meant to shut off from the public eye, for example a lady who is not properly dressed, a slave who is being punished, or screaming maidservants. At the beginning of paragraph nine, Plutarch explains what busybodies do with the destructive information thus gathered:37 fiB b s ºıÆŁ Æ fi c ºıºªÆ  ŁÆØ ıÆ Ø . . . , fiB b æØ æªÆ fi c ŒÆŒºªÆ I ªŒÅ ıÆŒºıŁ E· L ªaæ  ø IŒıØ  ø ºÆºFØ, ŒÆd L Ææ ¼ººø  ıfiB ıºº ªıØ æe  æı  a åÆæA KŒç æıØ. (On Curiosity 519C) If one knows a lot, the consequence of course is that one has a lot to say . . . ; likewise, speaking evil is a necessary consequence of inquisitiveness: for what they like to hear, they like to tell, and what they zealously gather from some, they joyously bring out to others. (On Curiosity 519C)

In On Talkativeness, Plutarch not only pointed out the direct relationship between garrulity and curiosity, but also stated that people

35 For the notion of face as the ‘the public, projected self-image that is the basic currency of social interactions’, see Oliensis (1998), 1, with further bibliography in n. 1. 36 For the sharp division between the public domain and the private sphere of the house, see Lewis (1995b), 435, with further bibliography in n. 20. In How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend?, Plutarch singles out the flatterer’s intrusion into his victim’s private sphere as one of the worst aspects of flattery ( N a ø ØÆ ŒÆd c ªıÆØŒøEØ KŒ ø . . . e º æƪ ŒÆd Ø º ŒÆd ŒÆŒÅŁ , 61D). 37 Cf. also On Curiosity 516F, 517A, and 523A.

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tend to talk about what they happen to know best. These premises are here not only echoed ( ºıÆŁ Æfi— ºıºªÆ), but also applied to busybodies: busybodies like to talk, and given that they search out other people’s evils, they will have many bad things to say ( æØ æªÆ fi 38—ŒÆŒºªÆ). In so far as busybodies are talkative, then, what Plutarch says in On Talkativeness applies to them as well. There is, however, a difference between the talk of the busybody and that of the chatterbox. Indeed, as Ingenkamp (1971, 49) has shown, ŒÆŒºªÆ in On Curiosity does not only refer to spreading bad news, but also to giving a bad turn to news when passing it on.39 Thus whereas On Talkativeness covers the Theophrastean characters of the the idle chatterer, the garrulous man, and, to some extent, the rumour-monger, busybodies are more like Theophrastus’ slanderer (ŒÆŒºª, Character 28),40 in other words. As a result, it is not difficult to understand why Plutarch termed curiosity ‘not a lesser vice’ than garrulity in the passage quoted at the beginning of this chapter. In an anthropological study, Juliet Du Boulay has shown that gossip—for that is what the busybody’s talk boils down to—may have an important function of social control: ‘although gossip springs from the competition and hostility which exist between the different groups . . . , it relies for its expression on the common values and the shared history of the total community’.41 If, for example, a busybody spreads scandal over the disorderly behaviour of his neighbour’s slaves (516E), this reflects and reinforces the ideal of secure control over one’s household.42 Likewise, gossip about adultery 38 Ingenkamp (1971), 49 (and also 69–70) points out that the use of the word æØ æªÆ instead of ºı æƪÅ suggests that Plutarch is using the same hypomne¯ma or personal note as in On Talkativeness, where he only uses the former. Whilst this may or may not be true, it should be noted, however, that æØ æªÆ appears four more times (516A, 517E, 521A, and 522B) in On Curiosity, at places where there is no direct link with On Talkativeness. 39 That this practice was severely disapproved of, is clear from the fact that ŒÆŒºªÆ was used against people as an argument in court (cf. Hunter (1990), 306–7 and (1994), 102), and that in Athens, there even existed laws condemning ŒÆŒÅªæÆ (cf. Steinmetz (1962), 318–19). 40 For a vivid picture of slander and its detrimental effects, see Lucian’s piece on Slander. 41 Du Boulay (1974), 210–11, as quoted in Hunter (1994), 96. 42 Criticism on the life led by the members of one’s household therefore caused serious injury to one’s (socio-political) reputation. See e.g. Dio, Euboean Oration 114.

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(518A) is a strong speech act that not only condemns the acts of specific people, but also makes it clear to others that the community does not approve of such behaviour, in order to discourage them from it.43 Gossip in other words does not merely encompass prescriptive moralism for the person who forms the object of it, but also descriptive moralism for others: policing, as Virginia Hunter calls it, can have an important role in ‘ensuring that individuals conform to the norms of the group’.44 Plutarch himself may be pointing to this principle when suggesting that the busybody is useful to his enemies by demonstrating to them what they should avoid or correct (516A). At the same time, however, the busybody’s activity destroys the reputation of the people who form the object of his rumours. This is precisely what the busybody is after: he wants to blacken the reputation of other people. His motivations for doing so are ‘competition and hostility’, or, in Plutarch’s more philosophical jargon, envy and spite, defined as ‘pain at other people’s good fortunes’ and ‘joy at other people’s misfortunes’ respectively.45 The busybody wants other people to do badly (cf. hostility), in other words, because he sees the competition for a good reputation as a kind of zero-sum game (cf. competition):46 if he can destroy the reputation of his competitors or enemies while upholding his own, he thinks he is, from a relative standpoint, going up the ladder of social esteem. Like many of the problems discussed in Plutarch’s practical ethics, then, the driving forces behind curiosity are the ambitions of certain individuals within society. On the use of such criticism as an argument in the Athenian court, see Hunter (1990), 307–11 and (1994), 102–6. 43 The behaviour of a wife seems to have been important for the reputation of her husband. Cf. Hunter (1990), 315–21. For the interest in women’s behaviour in Rome, see Friedla¨nder (1922), 261–2. 44 Hunter (1994), 4. 45 For the connection between envy and spite, see Aristotle Rhetoric 1387a and Nicomachean Ethics 1108b. For discussions of these emotions, see the collection of essays edited by Konstan and Rutter (2003), in which various key passages of Greek literature on this theme are studied, as well as Tsouna (2007), 124–5, and Mulhern (2008). Plutarch dedicated much attention to envy in his writing On Envy and Hate. For envy in Plutarch’s Lives, see Verdegem (2005). 46 On zero-sum games in the context of ancient honour, see Whitmarsh (2001b), 189 n. 37, with further bibliography. Ben Ze’ev (2003) stresses the comparing and competitive element in the rivalrous emotions.

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In order to make people change their behaviour, two strategies are possible. The first consists in arguing that there is no zero-sum game for social esteem: if there is no competition for a limited amount of goods, it is not necessary to do better than others in order to do well yourself.47 As Christopher Gill (2003b) has demonstrated, this is exactly the argument used by Platonists, Stoics, and Epicureans in order to condemn rivalrous emotions such as envy and spite under all circumstances. With regard to reputation in particular, for example, it has been argued that ‘instead of gloria, a zero-sum type of honor that involved diminution of a rival, Seneca enjoyed claritas, or claritudo—illumination that differentiated him from the obscure masses yet did not necessarily diminish the brilliance of other leading Romans’.48 Although agreeing on the fact that envy is definitely a vice,49 Plutarch adopts a different strategy in order to discourage his reader from envious curiosity. Starting from the premiss that there is, in the society he and his readers live in, a zero-sum game for social esteem, he demonstrates that the reader’s tactics do not yield the hoped-for results: curiosity often leads to danger, always to dishonour, as Plutarch states at the end of the ninth paragraph ( ºº ŒØ b P IŒØø I d  Iø, 519F). The dangers of curiosity are alluded to through various comparisons towards the beginning of the text (P IŒØø, 517A).50 Giving in to curiosity is there compared to looking into the sun or tasting aconite: whilst or even before 47

Cf. Axelrod (1990), 110–13. Habinek (2000), 266. 49 Plutarch’s theoretical alignment with Platonism, Stoicism, and Epicureanism is even much clearer here than in On Feeling Good, to which Gill (2003b), 47–8 refers; nevertheless, the premiss from which he starts aligns him with the conventional view (and Aristotle) rather than with these more radical philosophical schools. 50 The aspect of danger may also be present in the comparison likening the busybody to a bird (} 3), if one takes this to refer not to a domestic fowl neglecting its own food, as Helmbold and Dumortier and Defradas have it, but to any bird which flies into a house—as will have happened quite often in a world in which the windows of private houses, although rather small, usually had no glass (Seneca, Epistle 90.25 mentions glass windows as something new and luxurious). For birds flying into houses, cf. Pollard (1977), 31 and 136. Whereas flying into someone’s house implies a transgression of the private sphere of the house, the reference to the corner ( d øÆ, 516D) indicates the fact that what the busybody looks for is hidden, and the dungheap (K å æfiÅ 516D) stands for his preference for evil things. The danger resides, of course, in the fact that people will have tried to chase the bird from their house. 48

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satisfying one’s curiosity, such actions blind or even kill one. Dishonour (Iø) and social disapproval,51 on the other hand, receive more attention in a later part of the text, where it is repeatedly said that busybodies are hated by other people (ØFÆØ, 518E, Øı ı, 523B, but see also 522F). In between these explicit statements, Plutarch points out the similarities between busybodies and tax collectors (518E), a hated class of people,52 and suggests that they are worse than sycophants,53 who, as we have seen, were traditionally accused of meddlesomeness:54 whereas sycophants bring people to court for crimes they have either planned or committed, busybodies find pleasure in divulging their neighbours’ mischances even if these are involuntary. As a result, Plutarch states, people entrust confidential documents to their slaves or to strangers rather than to intrusive friends or relatives (çºØ ŒÆd NŒ Ø ºı æ ªØ, 519E). As such, then, curiosity is self-defeating: ÆPE  a H ¼ººø ŒÆŒH e ÅÆ ŒÆd æe c K ØŁıÆ K  KØ.   ªaæ ÆPf çıº ÆØ ŒÆd I Œæ ÆØ, ŒÆd h æAÆ Ø ºı æ ª ›æH h N E IŒ  ø åıØ, Iººa ŒÆd ıºa IÆŁ ÆØ ŒÆd Œ ł Ø æƪ ø  æ ººÆØ,  åæØ i KŒ g › ØF ª ÅÆØ· Œi j ºªı Øe I ææı Ææ j æ  ø  ıÆÆ æÆØ Å Icæ ºı æ ªø K ØçÆfiB, ŒÆŁ æ

51 Pace Ingenkamp (1971), 79, I think the social consequences of curiosity do receive a lot of attention, not only through the explicit reference to dishonour (Iø, 519F), but also through the repeated references to the fact that busybodies are often the objects of hate—an emotion referred to in the application of the programmatic passage of On Talkativeness (510D). Cf. above, pp. 158 and 160. For the hate people feel towards busybodies, see also Aristotle, Rhetoric 1381b. 52 Negative remarks about  ºH  are indeed abundant in Greek literature. For examples of their being hated, see LSJ, s.v. On the tax system and its problems in general and on the portoria in particular, see Jones (1940), 59 and 123–5, de Laet (1949), Badian (1972), Brunt (1990), Alcock (1993), 19–24, and Sartre (2001), 819–23. 53 In On Exile, 603F busybodies and sycophants are named in one and the same breath as tracking down and (pur)suing people in the countryside, forcing them to go back to town. Volpe Cacciatore (1987), 142 and n. 57 confronts the two Plutarchean passages (On Curiosity 523A and On Exile 603F), but does not notice the fact that busybodies are here said to be worse than sycophants. 54 Sycophants existed in the Roman Empire of Plutarch’s days as well: in exchange for political or social (financial) advancement, they betrayed others. Cf. Friedla¨nder (1922), 256–9, Ingenkamp (1971), 127, Bartsch (1994), 7–8, and Rutledge (2001), 20–53.

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Zł ªÆºB ÆæÆæÆÅ ÆYæıØ KŒ  ı ŒÆd I Œæ ıØ· u ºº ŒØ a E ¼ººØ ÞÅa ŒÆd Ł Æa ı Ø ¼ææÅÆ ŒÆd IŁ ÆÆ ª ŁÆØ. (On Curiosity 519C–D) On top of all other evil consequences, their disease also impedes the fulfilment of their desire. For all are on their guard to hide things from them: they do not feel like doing anything if a busybody can see it, nor like saying anything if he can hear it. They rather postpone consultation or put off the consideration of business until such a man is out of the way. And if a busybody turns up whilst a secret is under discussion or when important business is being transacted, they drop the matter and conceal it, as one conceals a dish when a weasel runs past. As a result, they are often the only ones for whom matters which are open to see and hear for others remain secret and hidden. (On Curiosity 519C–D)

As there is always the risk not only that he will disclose secrets (I ææÅÆ),55 but also that he will distort one’s words, the busybody alone is kept purposely uninformed about things. As a result, he is unable to obtain the information he so much desires to get. On top of that, this passage makes it clear that busybodies, very much like chatterboxes, are socially excluded. Being curious is thus bad rather than good for one’s reputation: instead of advancing one’s position in society, curiosity destroys one’s social face. In his own way, then, Plutarch has shown that envy and curiosity are not conducive to social esteem: instead of dismissing the reader’s desire for honour, Plutarch has, once more, made a strategic use of it. In line with this, he proposes his own advice as the best way for gaining admiration: KF  K $fiÅ Øƺ ª ı  $ıØŒe KŒ E, n o æ I Œ Ø ˜ ØÆe fiB fiÅ çŁÆ, MŒæA , ŒÆd Øa  ı æÆØÅ Ææ ºŁg K غc ÆPfiH ˚ÆÆæ I øŒ
ª  Å b Øø B ŒIF ØÆºØ , ‹ ø IƪfiH c K غ, PŒ MŁ ºÅ  P ºı æ æ j Ø  ºŁ E Kb e ºª ŒÆd ØƺıŁBÆØ e IŒæÆæØ
Kç fiz   KŁÆÆÆ e  æ F Iæ. (On Curiosity 522D–E) Once when I was giving a seminar in Rome, the famous Rusticus, whom Domitian later killed out of envy for his reputation, was amongst the audience. In the middle of the seminar, a soldier came in and gave him a letter from Caesar. There was a silence, and I, too, paused, so that he could 55

The word I ææÅÆ indeed occurs no less than seven times in On Curiosity (517B (twice), 517D, 518D, 519C, 519D, and 522E).

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read the letter. Yet he did not want to open or read it before I had finished my lecture and the audience had gone away. Because of this incident, all were filled with admiration for the dignity of the man. (On Curiosity 522D–E)

This anecdote, which occurs towards the end of On Curiosity, catches the eye because it is the only contemporary example given in the text.56 Plutarch tells how the suffect consul of 92, Iunius Arulenus Rusticus, showed control over his curiosity regarding the content of a letter from the Emperor brought to him during one of Plutarch’s philosophy classes in Rome. The result, Plutarch says, was that Rusticus was admired by all (cf.   KŁÆÆÆ, 522E), whilst Domitian was envious (çŁÆ) of his reputation (fi Å). Whereas explicitly dedicating a work On Curiosity to a specific individual would have risked being insulting,57 telling such a flattering anecdote was fitting as a posthumous honour to a friend. Yet if this was Plutarch’s only aim, there was no need to depict him while studying philosophy with Plutarch.58 The addition of this fact strongly emphasizes the usefulness and importance of (Plutarch’s) philosophy for behaving well: if Rusticus resembled Plutarch’s readers in other respects, he is here characterized as following Plutarch’s courses and as not being a busybody. As such, he is a strategical device inviting readers to imitation.

7.4. PLUTARCH’S PHILOSOPHICAL CURE As stated above, On Curiosity starts with the suggestion that a defective house should be either left or altered. In the same way, the text aims to do something about the reader’s curiosity rather than 56 For the marked preference for examples of the classical and Hellenistic era over contemporary ones, see Bowie (1970), esp. 16 and (2002), 44–6. 57 Russell (1973), 11 stated that ‘the dedication is a compliment; that is the fundamental rule’. Likewise, strongly criticized participants in the Table Talk tend to be anonymous. Cf. Russell (1993), 431. 58 For Rusticus’ philosophical (Stoic) interests and their possible influence on his death, see Kroll (1917), 1084, Ziegler (1951), 689, Babut (1969), 239, Puech (1992), 4855, and Trapp (2007), 228, with further primary references in n. 10. On Rusticus and his relationship with Plutarch, see also Jones (1971), 23, 51, and 62.

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just describe it. Immediately after having defined curiosity, Plutarch indeed orders the reader, in a strong imperative in the second person singular, to shift his curiosity inwards: instead of intruding into other people’s evils, examine your own. As one can make a house brighter by shifting the lights ( ÆŁ Æ, 515B), so one should cure one’s curiosity by shifting (  Ł , 515D) one’s attention from other people to oneself. Given that curiosity is inspired by envy, as we have seen, Plutarch can assure the reader that he will find within himself a storeroom full of evil deeds he performed as well as good actions he neglected, arising from emotions such as envy, jealousy, cowardice, and pettiness (515D–F). Although this seems a logical and reasonably easy solution for curiosity, two problems impose themselves: busybodies either do not see their own evils, or, if they do, they cannot bear the sight of them. The first problem is highlighted in the second paragraph, where the busybody is characterized as the kind of man who looks for the mote in his brother’s eye but fails to see the beam in his own:59 the busybody does not realize how bad it is to search out other people’s genealogies, finances, family, and conversations. Towards the end of the paragraph, a contrast is drawn between the busybody on the one hand and Socrates on the other. As will be clear from the historical survey above, Socrates held an ambiguous position in relation to meddlesomeness: coming close to being a busybody in his opponents’ view because of his dealings with all kinds of private and public affairs, he insisted on his distance from political life in order to show that he was in fact the opposite of what they called a busybody. If he did meddle with other people’s affairs, this happened in an attempt to improve them: "øŒæ Å b æØfi Ø ØÆ æH,  —ıŁÆªæÆ º ªø  ØŁ · ŒÆd +æØ   ˇºı ÆØ  å åø fi ıƺg MæÆ  "øŒæ Å Øƺ ª  oø f  ı ØÆŁÅØ, ŒÆd Œæ ¼Æ H ºªø ÆPF  æÆÆ ŒÆd  ªÆÆ

59 The idea is illustrated through a comparison of the busybody with Lamia. This mythical princess was punished by Hera by the deprivation of sleep for being loved by Zeus. The latter, however, gave her the possibility to sleep by putting her eyes aside. When going outside, Lamia put on her eyes, looking around for children to devour. As a result, she was a nursery bogey. The comparans is well chosen because both Lamia and busybodies have bad intentions in keeping their eyes open whilst outside. See OCD, s.v. and Gonza´lez Terriza (1997). For images, see LIMC 6, 90–1.

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ºÆg oø K ÆŁH å , u fiH ÆØ ı  E ŒÆd ª  ŁÆØ Æ ÆØ Tåæe ŒÆd Nå
¼åæØ y º Æ `ŁÆÇ ØłH ŒÆd ØÆŒ ŒÆı  MæÆ B ŪB ŒÆd e ¼æÆ ŒÆd f ºªı ÆPF ŒÆd c çغçÆ ƒæÅ , w q  º K تHÆØ a ÆıF ŒÆŒa ŒÆd I ƺºÆªBÆØ.  `ºº ØØ e YØ  ‰ I æ Æ Ł ÆÆ æØ E På   ıØ P IÆŒº ÆØ e ºªØe ‰ çH Kç Æıf ŒÆd æØƪƪ E, Iºº  łıåc ª ıÆ ŒÆŒH ÆÆ H ŒÆd çæıÆ ŒÆd çı Å a  KŒ ÅA fi ŁæÆÇ ŒÆd ºÆA ÆØ æd IººæØÆ , ŒıÆ ŒÆd ØÆıÆ e ŒÆŒÅŁ . (On Curiosity 516C–D) Socrates went about trying to find out what arguments Pythagoras adopted to convince people. Again, Aristippus, when he met Ischomachus at Olympia, asked what kind of discussions Socrates had with youngsters that enabled him to bring about such attitudes in them. When he had heard some small specimens and examples of his words, he was so enflamed that he collapsed physically and became all pale and thin. After this, he was burning with great thirst, sailed to Athens, and drank from the fountain, studying the man, his words and his philosophy, the aim of which was to recognize one’s own vices and get rid of them. Some people, however, cannot bear to face their own life, regarding this as a most unpleasant sight. They are unable to let the light of reason shine over themselves for examination. Instead, their soul is full of various vices, it shivers and is afraid of what is inside and therefore leaps outwards to loiter around other people’s affairs, feeding and fattening their badness of character. (On Curiosity 516C–D)

In this passage, Socrates seems at first to be brought in as a busybody, going around trying to find out someone else’s affairs. A closer look, however, shows that this is not the case: what Socrates seeks out, is how Pythagoras managed to convince people, thus clearly pointing towards philosophy. In the same manner, Aristippus is then shown as asking how Socrates influenced those who listened to him. The answer to this question is significant: what is important, according to the text, is (Socrates’) ‘philosophy, the aim of which was to recognize one’s own vices and get rid of them’ (c çغçÆ . . . w q  º K تHÆØ a ÆıF ŒÆŒa ŒÆd I ƺºÆªBÆØ, 516C). Far from being an example of a busybody, then, Socrates is presented as offering a philosophical solution for it. If Plutarch claims that this solution consists in recognizing one’s vices on the one hand and ridding oneself of them on the other, these are, or course, precisely the two parts of Plutarch’s own therapy in his writings of practical ethics. By tracing back its origins to Socrates, he conveys authority to his own therapy. Nevertheless, at

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the end of the passage quoted he takes into account a second problem busybodies may have with the solution proposed thus far: whilst realizing their problem, they may prefer to turn away from it rather than to face it. As such, the busybody’s curiosity ‘is in fact a way of one’s escaping from oneself, a very unphilosophical attitude’.60 In a second part of the text, Plutarch therefore first convinces the reader to tackle his curiosity, before offering him another possible way of doing so. At the beginning of On Curiosity, Plutarch started from the assumption that his readers are liable to curiosity: he gave orders to do away with curiosity in the second person singular (515D–E), and described the busybody’s behaviour in the first person plural (516A–B). When shifting to the third person plural in order to announce the ultimate failure of the first solution (‘some people cannot bear to face’, ØØ . . . På   ıØ), the medium becomes the message: in order to help readers who cannot face their own vices, Plutarch now describes the busybody in the third person (ƒ ºı æ ª , 516D). In the third paragraph, Plutarch thus tells about a busybody who asked an Egyptian what he was carrying wrapped up, upon which the Egyptian answered that that was precisely the point of it being wrapped up. If, through this funny anecdote, Plutarch made the reader share in the derision of the busybody, the trap immediately closes in on him when Plutarch suddenly returns to the second person singular, asking the reader,61 who just laughed at others, why ‘you yourself (f , 516E), then, are inquiring after what is hidden?’62 After that, busybodies, described in 60 Nikolaidis (forthcoming). Conversely, one could say that if, judging by On Feeling Good, people generally tend to live in the light of others’ views rather than from within themselves, busybodies are pathologically obsessed with other people. There are indeed many oppositions between oneself and someone else (515D, 515E, 516A, 516B, 516C, and 516D), and between inside and outside (515D, 515F, 516A, and 516D). One should bear in mind, however, that the busybody’s aims are, ultimately, self-centred, as explained in the previous section. 61 Pace the quotation marks in Paton, Pohlenz, and Sieveking (1929), 315, Helmbold (1939), 480-1, and Dumortier and Defradas (1975), 269, it should be noted that it is also possible to read the reproach in the second person singular as a continuation of the Egyptian’s reply in the anecdote. Yet when read by the reader, they at least also apply to him, as I suggest here. 62 The same principle is highlighted by Mitsis (1994), 128 in relation to Lucretius: ‘in winking with the poet behind the back of the fool, we ourselves may be swallowing more of the poet’s medicine than we suspect’.

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the third person, are opposed to ‘us’ (516F, 518E, and 519E), a group of people who are vexed at busybodies and in which the startled reader will have hurried to include himself. The verb Plutarch uses in order to indicate this vexation, ‘we are disgusted’ (ıå æÆ , 516F), is indeed familiar from the programmatic passage of On Talkativeness: an important step in the reader’s psychological therapy is being taken, in other words. Its results can be seen most clearly at the beginning of the fifth paragraph, where Plutarch receives the following question:  s  çıª; æØ Æ, ‰ YæÅÆØ, ŒÆd  ŁºŒc B ºı æƪÅ  ºØÆ b K d a  ºø ŒÆd a ø æ łÆØ c łıå. a K PæÆfiH ºı æƪ Ø, a K ªfiB, a K I æØ, a K ŁÆº fiÅ. . . . lºØ ºı æƪ Ø F Œ  ØØ ŒÆd Ł  ¼ ØØ· Ç Ø a K  ºfiÅ ŒÆŁ æ K IŁæ ø fi  ƺ  . . . ºı æƪ Ø a ØŒæ æÆ, H H çıH a b I d  ŁÅº ŒÆd åº Ç Ø ŒÆd Iª ºº ÆØ Æd ŒÆØæfiH e ÆıH K Ø ØŒ Æ ºF, a b F   KØ ‹ØÆ Ø, F  u æ I،Š¼Łæø  KŒå Æ IŁæø c æØıÆ ªıa ŒÆd øåa ŒÆƺ  ÆØ . . . Yø b ÆF P ºı æƪ Ø, ‹Ø Ø Pb ŒÆŒe  Ø. Iºº N  E ø e æ æª K çÆºØ Ød . . . ØÆæ Ø, K d a ƒæÆ Iª ªø  ÆP. (On Curiosity, 517C–E) What escape is there, then? Shifting around, as I said, and diverting our inquisitiveness and above all turning our soul towards better and more pleasant subjects. Inquire about what is in heaven, on earth, in the air, and in the sea. . . . investigate where the sun goes down and where it comes up. Examine the changes of the moon, like the changes in a human being . . . Investigate smaller things: how it comes about that some plants are always blooming and green, always taking pride in showing their wealth, whereas other plants are sometimes like those, whilst at other times, they are left without anything at all, having thrown away their riches lavishly like a person who is not good at housekeeping . . . But perhaps you are not interested in inquiring about these matters because there is nothing evil in them. In that case, if your inquries must always lie with something base, let’s direct them towards history. (On Curiosity, 517C–E)

Rather than suggesting straightforwardly that the reader shift his curiosity to a different object, as he had done earlier in the text, Plutarch starts off this passage with a question: the implied reader is thus pictured as receptive of Plutarch’s advice. More specifically, the question is what escape there is from curiosity. Given that the will to

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flee is a typical reaction to fear, this question confirms the success of Plutarch’s tactics in the preceding paragraphs, where, as we have seen, he had not only highlighted the danger posed by busybodies, but also startled the reader by making him realize how threateningly close he comes to behaving like a busybody. The solution for curiosity Plutarch proposes in response to this question targets the busybody’s preference for evil things: one should divert one’s attention to better and more pleasant subjects (K d a  ºø ŒÆd a ø). As possible objects for study, Plutarch lists various aspects of nature and wildlife. As the passage quoted makes clear, however, he soon has to admit that this solution may not work: after all, curiosity is a desire to discover evil things rather than just anything. In response, he therefore proposes that the reader dedicate himself to the study of history, which contains numerous evil episodes about illicit love affairs, family feuds, and large-scale catastrophes. Although these are evils, their discovery does not cause trouble or pain to anybody (KåºH Å d H ıø Åb ºı H, 517F). Precisely this, however, turns this new proposal into a non-solution as well. Indeed, the ensuing paragraphs of the text (}} 6–9) explain that the kind of meddlesomeness that Plutarch envisages in On Curiosity, ultimately aims to destroy other people, as analysed in the previous section. Given that the study of history will not satisfy this desire, a different solution imposes itself. The remaining paragraphs of On Curiosity form a fully fledged, twofold therapy of curiosity. One part of this therapy proposes exercises for reflection (}} 10 and 16): Plutarch encourages the reader to acknowledge and remember that curiosity is bad, harmful, and shameful. In paragraph ten, he suggests that the busybody’s memory is a most inelegant and unlovely storeroom full of useless, futile, and unpleasant items (520A–B).63 In the last paragraph of the work, he

63 The word used in 520B is ªæÆÆçıºÆŒ E. The first translation for this word given in LSJ, s.v. is ‘a place to keep records’. Plutarch uses the word ªæÆÆçıºÆŒ E only twice. In the other passage, Life of Aristides 21, the word refers to a public storehouse. It is therefore not implausible that here as well, it refers to a room, not to a ‘record-box’ (Helmbold 1939, 501) or a ‘dossier’ (Dumortier and Defradas 1975, 277)—in which case the metaphor of the soul as a house would be lost.

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once more associates busybodies with a range of despicable people, and leaves no doubt as to what effect he envisages in doing so: F s PŒ ¼åæÅ KØ K E f ºı æ ªÆ, ‹ ø ÆNåøÆØ c æe f Øı ı  ºØÆ ŒÆd ıå æÆØ ı ›ØÅÆ ŒÆd ıªª  ØÆ F K ØÅ Æ. (On Curiosity 523B) It is, therefore, not useless for busybodies to reflect upon this, in order that they feel shame at the similarity and resemblance of their behaviour with that of the most hated and loathed people. (On Curiosity 523B)

Busybodies, so this passage argues, should feel ashamed when reflecting upon their similarity to hated and loathed people. Placed at the very end of On Curiosity, this sentence is to encourage the reader to distance himself from negatively characterized groups of people such as tax collectors and sycophants. The ultimate apotropaic role model in this text, however, is ‘the busybody’. Indeed, although Plutarch’s practical ethics more than once make one-sided and exaggerated statements in order to steer the reader’s reaction,64 the busybody evoked in On Curiosity is a straightforward caricature:65 continuously and exclusively focused on other people’s evils, he has no business of his own to take care of at all. Much worse than anyone could realistically be, this caricature invites the reader, who probably shares some characteristics with the busybody but always to a much lesser extent, to distance himself even further from a figure presented in so repulsive a way.66 In between these two paragraphs that present exercises for reflection, Plutarch proposes practical training. As this structure already shows, reflection and practical training go closely together. Indeed, if the first practical exercise encourages the reader not to read all inscriptions he encounters on his way, Plutarch suggests that this is 64

Cf. Ingenkamp (2000), 258. As such, this caricatural figure may have been influenced by comic representations of The Busybody. It turns out indeed that Plutarch shares with comedy not only his interpretation of curiosity, but also the fact that he stages people ‘inferior to existing humans’ (cf. Aristotle, Poetics 1448a16–8, on which see Else (1963), 82–9), and, especially with New Comedy, a tendency to present types rather than to elaborate characters of flesh and blood. 66 Plutarch’s caricature of the busybody thus has a clearly didactical-therapeutical aim, and is, in other words, an obvious example of a speech act. Cf. also Edwards (1993), 29 and Bryson (1998), 3–8. 65

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not difficult ( ªaæ åƺ , 520D) if we remind ourselves (  ººÆ ÆE, 520E) that we shall find nothing useful or beautiful there. Although reading such futile or ugly things does not seem to do any harm, it should be avoided for two reasons. The first is that it instils a habit of nosing into things which are none of one’s business. As Plutarch had explained at the beginning of paragraph eleven, curiosity is a disease that comes into being gradually, through habituation (Ł Ø). The most important ( ªØ) antidote for it is therefore practical training (KŁØ), that is, ‘to train (ªı Çø ) and teach (Ø Œø ) ourselves such self-control (KªŒæ  ØÆ), starting from the earliest stages ( ææøŁ )’. Although graffiti and inscriptions may cause no immediate harm, then, one should avoid reading them because they engender bad habits and thereby sow the seeds of curiosity. The other reason behind Plutarch’s warnings against reading everything is that if one directs one’s curiosity at too many useless and ugly objects, this happens to the detriment of one’s ‘curiosity for learning’ (e º æƪ F çغÆŁF, 520F). All these elements are elaborated upon in the next paragraph (} 12), where Plutarch advises his readers to accustom themselves not to look through other people’s doors. This practice, Plutarch stresses in various ways, is already a lot less innocent than reading inscriptions on one’s way. All the more clearly, it will therefore distort the soul and implant a bad habit. The result is disastrous: f b ºı æ ªÆ YØ i  e Æe ›ø Ł Æ æÆåźØÇ ı ŒÆd æØƪ ı, ‹Æ Ł ŒÆd  º Å ª ÅÆØ B Zł ø ÆPE ÆÆåF ØÆçæı Å.  E  , ‰ x ÆØ, c ŒÆŁ æ Ł æ ÆØÆ I ªøª ø Þ  ŁÆØ c ÆYŁÅØ, Iºº I    Å  e B łıåB K d a æ ªÆÆ ııªå  Ø ÆPE Æåf ŒÆd Øƪª ºº Ø, rÆ ºØ Œø Ke r ÆØ F ºªØF ŒÆd æ å Ø ÆPfiH. F b . . . ƃ c ıåFÆØ ÆØƪøªÆ u æ º ª  OæŁB Å IŒ ø ÆNŁ Ø æ Œæ åıÆØ ŒÆd ı ç ºŒ ÆØ ºº ŒØ N L c  E ŒÆÆ ººıØ c Ø ØÆ. (On Curiosity 521B–C) You may observe how busybodies are distracted and twisted around by any spectacle without distinction, once they have developed the habit and practice of scattering their glances in all directions. As I see it, however, the faculty of vision should not run around outside like an ill-trained servant girl. Instead, it should obey the orders of the soul to go on business mission, have a quick meeting, deliver the message, and then again stay within and

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obey the governance of reason. In reality, however . . . the senses have not received what we call proper education or training, they run away, and thus often drag the intellect with them, plunging it into matters it should not busy itself with. (On Curiosity 521B–C)

Once a bad habit has been engendered, people’s attention is dragged along by their eyes towards ‘any spectacle without distinction’.67 Plutarch’s advice in order to change this habit is not to cut oneself off from the outside world and focus exclusively on the life of the soul: he explicitly denies (ł F KØ, 521C) the story that Democritus would have blinded himself on purpose in order not to be disturbed by his senses.68 Instead, he proposes that the senses be educated (cf. ÆØƪøªÆ) and trained (cf. ¼ŒÅØ)69 to obey reason as their master.70 For indeed, as Plutarch explains in the Life of Pericles, the senses naturally perceive everything and anything, whilst reason can determine what are the proper objects to turn to.71 The situation whereby the senses obey reason is, of course, one of selfcontrol, the ideal Plutarch advocated at the outset of his practical training. In paragraph thirteen, the reader is encouraged to demonstrate such self-control and not get mixed up in circumstances that typically attract many busybodies, for example when there is a dis67

Cf. also ÆÆåF, 521C and N – ÆÆ, 522B. Note the frequent use of the passive mode. See e.g. æÆåźØÇ ı ŒÆd æØƪ ı (521B), and ØÆçæı Å (521C). 68 Cf. also Democritus fr. A23, A26, and A27 DK. Whereas Plato had Socrates argue in Phaedo 65a–66a that sight and hearing cannot yield any accurate knowledge, Polybius stressed the importance of these senses for scholarly investigation: ˜ı E ªaæ Zø ŒÆa çØ u i Y Øø Oæª ø E, x  Æ ıŁÆ ŁÆ ŒÆd ºı æƪF  (Histories 12.27). Although the addition of [IŒB ŒÆd ›æ  ø] is likely to be inauthentic here, the rest of the passage is explicit about which senses the author is talking about. Aristotle, on the other hand, had stressed the positive role of sight for people, who ‘naturally desire knowledge’ (Metaphysics A 980a21–7). 69 In On Listening, Plutarch offers such education of the ears. Conversely, the bad situation of the busybody is associated with ignorance (¼ªØÆ, 516A and 516B), darkness (cf. çH P æØÇ Ø, 516A), and neglect (cf. ÆææA fi , 516A; ÞÆ fi ŁıÆ fi , 516B; I ºÆ , 516B). 70 In On Moral Virtue 451D, Plutarch speaks about the emotions as e  Åæ ØŒ of the soul. Cf. also Plato, Republic 455C and Aristotle, Eudemian Ethics 1241b18–22. 71 Life of Pericles, 1.2–3. Cf. also Life of Demetrius 1.2, on which see Duff (1999), 45. Plutarch, although being anti-empiricist, indeed seems to have acknowledged the senses’ practical use if controlled by reason. Cf. Brittain (2001), 229–30, correcting Donini (1986), esp. 205 and 212–14.

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pute at the marketplace, or when a crowd has gathered around something. If, however, the reader does not yet have enough selfcontrol (Ka  IŒæÆH å Ø, 521E)72 to restrain himself, he should walk away in order to avoid such gatherings of busybodies and train his curiosity to obey reason (e º æƪ . . .  ÆŒ Ø fiH ºªØfiH ı ŁØÇ , 521E). If Plutarch repeatedly stressed that the exercises proposed thus far were relatively easy ( ªaæ åƺ , 520D,  ıå æ , 520D, P KŒ E åƺ , 521E), the remaining exercises are said to be more demanding: KŒ b ı Aºº K Ø Æ c ¼ŒÅØ OæŁH å Ø ŒÆd Ł Ææ IŒæ Æ PÅ æF Ææ ºŁ E, ŒÆd çºı K  OæåÅF Ø j Œøø fi F Ł Æ ÆæƺÆ Æ ØÆŁÆØ ŒÆd B K Æø fi ªØ Å j ƒ æø fi c K ØæÆçBÆØ. ŒÆŁ æ ªaæ › "øŒæ Å ÆæfiÅ Ø çıº  ŁÆØ H æø ø ‹Æ c ØHÆ KŁ Ø IÆ Ł Ø ŒÆd H  ø ‹Æ  Ø c ØłHÆ, oø åæc ŒÆd A H Ł Æ ø ŒÆd IŒı ø çıº  ŁÆØ ŒÆd ç ª Ø ‹Æ ŒæÆ E ŒÆd æ ª ÆØ f Åb   ı. › ªF ˚Fæ PŒ Kº  c — Ł ØÆ N E, Iººa F  `æ  ı º ª ‰ ¼Ø Ł Æ YÅ e B ªıÆØŒe r , ‘PŒF’, çÅ, ‘Øa F Aºº ÆPB Iç Œ • N ªaæ  e F ØŁ d Iç،Šæe ÆP, Yø ¼  ºØ IÆ  Ø  ÆPc ŒÆd c åº ÇÆ çØA ŒÆd Ł AŁÆØ ŒÆd ÆæÆŒÆŁBŁÆØ æ   ººa H  ıB Iø’. ›ø P › `º Ææ N ZłØ qºŁ B ˜Ææ ı ªıÆØŒe KŒ æ  Å r ÆØ º ª Å, Iººa æe c Å æÆ çØH ÆPB æ FØ sÆ, På   Ø c  Æ ŒÆd ŒÆºc N E. (On Curiosity 522A) Subsequently it is good to make the exercise more demanding and pass by a theatre where a successful show is in progress, to resist when friends are trying to drag one along to see a dancer or a comedian, and not to turn around when there is shouting in the stadium or the hippodrome. Indeed, Socrates advised to beware of food that induces us to eat when we are note hungry and of drinks that induce us to drink when not

72 Plutarch gives a clear definition of lack of self-control in his De virtute morali 445E: ‘lack of self-control (IŒæÆÆ), with the aid of reason, preserves its power of judgement intact, yet by its emotions, which are stronger than its reason, it is swept along against its judgement. That is why lack of self-control differs from self-indulgence (IŒºÆÆ), for in it reason is worsted by emotion, whereas with self-indulgence reason does not even fight.’ The busybody as an IŒæÆ knows, in other words, that he is doing something bad, but cannot resist his desire to discover other people’s evils. Compare the repeated references to adultery (Øå Æ, 519B, 519E), which was an obvious example of lack of self-control. See Annas (1993), 60.

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thirsty: in the same way, we should beware of and keep away from sights and sounds that take hold of us and attract us if we do not need them. Cyrus, for one, did not consent to go and see Pantheia. No, when Araspes said that the woman’s looks were worth seeing, he said: ‘In that case I am not going: that is rather a reason for keeping away from her. For if I am convinced by you to go and see her, maybe she herself will convince me another time, when I have no time, to go and see her, sit with her, and neglect many a matter that needs attention’. In the same way, Alexander did not go to see Darius’ wife, who was said to be very beautiful. Instead, he went to her mother, who was an old woman, because he could not bear to see the young and pretty one. (On Curiosity 522A)

As we have seen before, busybodies were characterized as unable to miss social excitement, which made them leave the city only rarely and for short periods of time. In this passage, Plutarch tells the reader not to let his life be determined by social events: he should pass by ( Ææ ºŁ E) a theatre where he can hear people laughing or applauding ( PÅ æF), he should thrust aside (ØÆŁÆØ) his friends when they try to take him along ( ÆæƺÆ Æ) to see a (pantomimic)73 dancer or a comedian, and he should not be deflected from his path (K ØæÆçBÆØ) when he hears excitement at the racecourse (B ªØ Å). Both the present participles and the consistent choice of a main verb with a prepositional prefix ( Ææ-, ÆæÆ-, K Ø) highlight the point that the aim of Plutarch’s exercise is not to discourage the reader from going to theatres, performances, or races as such: rather, such entertainments should not deflect the reader from more serious business. This interpretation is confirmed through the reference to Socrates’ advice as well as the anecdote about Cyrus. Socrates did not incite people not to eat or drink at all, but discouraged them from eating food or drinking drinks of the sort that would encourage them to eat or drink when they are not

73 LSJ, s.v. OæåÅ give ‘later esp. pantomimic dancer’, the specific word for this kind of dancer being ÆØ. Plutarch, however, never uses ÆØ, and apart from that, the sequence of highly popular forms of entertainment in which OæåÅ here appears, makes it likely that it denotes a pantomimic dancer. On the popularity of pantomime, echoed in Seneca the Elder, Questions about Nature 7.32.1, Seneca, On Anger 1.20.8, and Juvenal 6.63–6, see Hahn (1989), 98, Jory (2007), and Lada-Richards (2007).

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hungry or thirsty (c ØHÆ, c ØłHÆ).74 Likewise, Plutarch’s readers should beware of social events that distract them when they do not need it (Åb   ı). The ensuing anecdote about Cyrus is even more explicit: Cyrus refused to go and see a beautiful woman for fear he might be tempted to do so again when he had no time (c åº ÇÆ), and thereby neglect matters that need his attention (cf. H  ıB Iø). Likewise, Alexander is said to have gone to Darius’ mother, as he could not bear to face (På   Ø . . . N E) his enemy’s young and beautiful wife. As such, he is miles removed from many busybodies, who, as we have seen above, cannot bear to face ( æØ E På   ıØ, 516D) their own souls:75 whereas busybodies busy76 themselves investigating what is of no concern or use to them, and thereby have no time or energy left for more useful or worthy investigations,77 Alexander abstained from pleasures to which he was entitled in order not to be distracted from his ambitious project. In line with this, the last two, even more demanding, exercises propose training oneself by not giving in to one’s curiosity in circumstances in which curiosity is permitted. The first of these exercises (} 14) proposes trying, every now and then, not to hear or see ( ÆæÆŒFÆØ, ÆæØ E, 522B) information regarding oneself or one’s household, as the itching of curiosity is ‘bittersweet and uncontrollable’ (ªºıŒ ØŒæ ŒÆd IŒÆ å , 522C). Oedipus, for example, ruined himself and his family through his investigations into his own descent. And in On the Control of Anger, Plutarch suggests that curiosity (F ºı æ ª, 463F) into ‘the activities of one’s servant, the business of one’s friend, the time management of one’s son, and the whisperings of one’s wife’ causes frequent fits of anger. Although many people like to know everything that concerns them, then, the discovery of it often causes much unhappiness: the 74 This interpretation is the one explicitly proposed by Plutarch in Precepts of Health Care, 124D–E. Cf. below, p. 224. 75 For the absence, in the Lives, of curiosity as understood in On Curiosity, see Van Hoof (2008). 76 Cf. ØÆæ Ø, 517E; h Iåº EÆØ, 518A; Iåº Ø, 518E. For the idea of losing one’s time on other people’s affairs as expressed in Seneca’s Letters and On the Brevity of Life, see Goldschmidt (1953) and Bla¨nsdorf and Breckel (1983), 16 and 30–5. 77 e.g. 518B, 518E–F, 519F, 520F, 521C, and 521E.

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itchings of curiosity are, as Plutarch formulates it, bitter-sweet (cf. ªºıŒ ØŒæ). The uncontrollable nature of curiosity gets more attention in the next paragraph (} 15), where Plutarch advises the reader to accustom himself to not hurrying when a letter is brought, not getting up or rushing to encounter an arriving messenger, and preferring useful information over news. The rationale behind these exercises is explained at the end of the fifteenth paragraph: ‹Æ  Ø x   Ø æ çø e º æƪ Nåıæe I æª ÅÆØ ŒÆd ÆØ, PŒ Ø ÞÆ fi ø æe L Œ ŒºıÆØ ç æ ı Øa ıŁ ØÆ ŒæÆ E ıÆ KØ. (On Curiosity, 522E–F) Yet when someone makes his curiosity strong and violent by nourishing it upon permissible material, it is no longer easily possible to control it when it gets carried away towards what is not permissible, out of habit. (On Curiosity, 522E–F)

In order to be able to control one’s curiosity in matters that are none of one’s business, one should control one’s curiosity even in matters that do concern one: whilst there is nothing wrong in principle with enquiring about the behaviour of one’s wife or with being eager to open one’s mail as quickly as possible, these practices engender bad habits, over which one no longer has control (PŒ Ø . . . ŒæÆ E ıÆ KØ, cf. IŒÆ å ).78 The logic behind Plutarch’s most difficult exercise, then, is remarkably similar to that behind the easiest one.

7.5. OBSERVING PLUTARCH OBSERVING THE OBSERVER Throughout On Curiosity, then, Plutarch tries to do something about his reader’s curiosity. Although there are no explicit theoretical reflections about the therapeutic procedure, several elements are recognizable from the programmatic statement in On Talkativeness examined in Chapter 2: Plutarch arouses shame and fear in his 78

The idea of self-control is also highlighted in the comparison to adultery in 522B.

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readers, and he proposes exercises for both reflection and practical training. In On Curiosity, however, things are not as straightforward as in On Talkativeness: no separate part of the text is dedicated to conviction, and before proposing his core of gradually more difficult practical exercises framed by reflection, Plutarch has already presented two other solutions—and admitted their failure. What, then, is going on here? In the first part of On Curiosity, Plutarch tells his readers to examine themselves and their own vices rather than those of other people, because doing the latter implies that one has got a soul full of vices. As such, his advice here comes close to what would be the traditional philosophical view of curiosity: people should concentrate on becoming virtuous themselves, while all the rest does not really matter to them. At least for some readers (ØØ, 516D), however, Plutarch acknowledges that this is no option, as they find too many vices within themselves. As a result, he proposes a second way out: the second part of On Curiosity advises readers to turn to examining nature or history, because curiosity about other people’s evils can be dangerous. Although the implied reader was, as we have seen, clearly pictured as impressed by Plutarch’s arguments, Plutarch realizes that the reader is, nevertheless, strongly under the spell of curiosity because he thinks it will help his case in the zero-sum game for reputation. By demonstrating that curiosity does not enhance one’s reputation but is, on the contrary, shameful, Plutarch hits the reader in his weak spot before offering him an effective therapy consisting of reflection and practical training that takes up roughly the latter half of the text. Much more than other philosophers, then, Plutarch once more deploys his reader’s social ambitions as arguments in order to convince him. Much more than others, he also presents his reader with a series of highly practical exercises which allow the reader gradually to do away with malicious curiosity by changing certain habits of his daily life. Indeed, the aim of these exercises is not to block up the soul’s windows on the outer world79 in order to dedicate oneself exclusively to philosophy, but to establish reasonable control over when to look out of which window, why, and 79

On this image, which occurs in 515B, 515D, 515E, 516A, 516D, 518B, and esp. 521D, see Fuhrmann (1966), 104–5.

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for how long (} 12). It is not to encourage the reader to stop participating in social life, but to establish self-control over when to relax and when to work (} 13). It is not, finally, to do away with any curiosity the reader may experience, but to allow him to redirect his curiosity from ugly and harmful objects to good and useful ones.80 Such objects are, of course, suggested in the preceding parts of On Curiosity. As a result, once the reader has successfully undergone the cure elaborated in the last part of the text, the solutions proposed before, which were bound to fail when proposed earlier in the text, now become available to him as well. If, for example, the reader does not turn aside from his way home because he hears shouting in the racecourse, he will have more time and energy left to study nature or read history. Regarding nature, one of the topics Plutarch suggests for people to busy themselves with, is things ( , 517C)—a neutral plural in Greek, possibly referring to ÇfiHÆ, animals?—on earth, in the air, in the sea, another is the appearance of the moon. Is this Plutarch directing the readers of On Curiosity to his other works81 such as Whether Land or Sea Animals are Cleverer, On the Face in the Moon, or, regarding the other topics he mentions elsewhere in On Curiosity, his Natural Questions? And can the subsequent reference to the study of history refer to his Lives?82 On the other hand, successfully undergoing the therapy against intrusiveness proposed in the last part of On Curiosity also helps the reader to put into practice the first advice Plutarch gave in the text. Indeed, if the reason why some people did not dare to look into their own souls was that they could not face the mass of vices there, Plutarch’s therapy against curiosity will have 80

On the necessity of some ‘curiosity’ in order to busy oneself with scientific research, see Rihll (2002), 13. Plutarch himself explicitly calls the inquisitiveness of the doctor’s craft salutary: ŒÆØ øæØ KØ B  åÅ ÆÅ e º æƪ (518D). 81 The relative chronology of the composition of Plutarch’s works should, of course, be taken into account in formulating this hypothesis. The terminus post quem for On Curiosity is Domitian’s death in 96. Cf. above, n. 1. As none of the works mentioned can be dated with certainty before this date, we cannot, given the absence of a terminus ante quem for On Curiosity, know how many of his other works will have preceded it. 82 Note that, since the Lives are about ‘exploring virtue and vice’ (cf. Duff 1999), and thereby, ultimately, aim at the reader’s moral improvement, reading them would, in the end, boil down to the first solution proposed in On Curiosity.

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done away with more than just one of these vices. As we have seen, the two definitions Plutarch gives of curiosity in the text both point out its connection with envy and spite. Both times, these emotions are in fact associated with ŒÆŒŁ ØÆ, which I translated once as malice, once as badness. Literally meaning ‘a bad (ŒÆŒ-) disposition (qŁ)’, ŒÆŒŁ ØÆ can indeed be understood in two senses. On the one hand, ŒÆŒŁ ØÆ (‘malice’) is a specific emotion similar to envy and spite, a ‘nasty prejudicial disposition’ which induces people to interpret things in a negative light, for example.83 In so far as the busybody is a slanderer, he is a clear case in point. As a result of this, the busybody may also achieve ŒÆŒŁ ØÆ in its broader sense of having ‘a bad character’, a more general ethical ‘badness’ that may include rivalrous emotions such as envy and malice, but also others such as dishonesty and cowardice. The last part of Plutarch’s On Curiosity advises one not to try and improve oneself in relative terms by debasing others. Although, as we have seen, it does not attack the reader’s rivalrous emotions in any direct way, it does show that they do not yield social advancement. Indirectly, they thus discourage rivalrous emotions such as ŒÆŒŁ ØÆ in its first sense. If, then, this helps the reader to overcome at least some of his rivalrous emotions, this may make the task proposed in the first part of the text more feasible. As such, then, Plutarch’s On Curiosity also promises to yield a better character—the opposite of ŒÆŒŁ ØÆ in its second sense. In the end, then, the reader will have recognized (K تHÆØ, 516C) his own vices and got rid of them (I ƺºÆªBÆØ, 516C). Through the structure of his work, Plutarch thus draws attention to the fact that the mere hint at philosophy is insufficient for most readers. What they need is the assistance of a philosopher such as himself: thanks to Plutarch’s elaborate argumentation (ŒæØ) and therapy (¼ŒÅØ), the reader will be able to realize the aims of Socratic philosophy which are otherwise unattainable.

83 Cf. Goldhill (2002), 275. As will be clear from Plutarch’s reproaches in On the Malice of Herodotus (— æd B  Hæı ŒÆŒÅŁ Æ), this attitude seems to have carried away Plutarch’s marked aversion. See Duff (1999), 58–9, as well as Swain (1996), 146 about Plutarch’s own practice in the Lives.

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Although Plutarch does not cast himself as a character in On Curiosity as he did in On Feeling Good, nor present himself as a friend offering philosophical help as in On Exile, this example nevertheless suggests that he asserts his presence in this text as well. Leaving aside the pronouns and verbs in the first person plural, one can point, in this respect, to the reference to ‘my own town’ (c Kc ÆæÆ, 515C, with the emphatic possessive pronoun K) as a good example of a place that became healthier thanks to the reorganization by the mythical figure Chaeron.84 Likewise, it was pointed out earlier that Plutarch stressed the importance of his own philosophical teachings in the anecdote about Rusticus. If we now juxtapose that anecdote to the one about Socrates and Aristippus, a striking parallel emerges: Rusticus is to Plutarch as Aristippus was to Socrates. On the one hand, this confirms that the reader should associate himself with a philosopher. After all, Rusticus’ distinction from the average reader in matters of curiosity was coupled with his association with Plutarch, and Aristippus is even said to have collapsed physically (fiH ÆØ ı  E, 516C) until he finally sailed for Athens and ‘drank from the fountain, studying the man, his words and his philosophy, the aim of which was to recognize one’s own vices and get rid of them’. Plutarch himself, on the other hand, in this double parallel, is to be equalled with . . . Socrates! As an argument for conveying authority to oneself, this equation, of course, has weight. Yet the equation may advance our interpretation still further. Indeed, if Plutarch compares himself with Socrates, he may also be evoking for himself the point made about Socrates. Whereas Socrates had an ambiguous position in relation to curiosity, Plutarch not only shows that he is aware of that ambiguity, he also exploits it strategically in such a way as to show that Socrates only apparently resembled a busybody, whereas he was actually the very opposite of it. In this 84 On Chaeron, see Plutarch, Life of Sulla 17, and Bloch (1997), 1084. Although the text does not stress this, it may be that this mention of Chaeron, a mythical figure, conveys an aura of tradition upon the author, and thereby substantiates the latter’s claim for authority. Cf. Schmitz (1997), 181–93. A comparable claim for authority is made through mentioning the legislations of Locri and Thurii (519B): as old and famous (cf. Diodorus 12.11–19 on Charondas’ legislation for Thurii, and Diodorus 12.20–1 on that of Zaleucus for Locri) legislations condemning meddlesomeness, they enforce Plutarch’s argument that meddlesomeness is rejectable.

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way, then, On Curiosity may be Plutarch’s self-conscious answer to charges of meddlesomeness against himself. After all, it may well be that Plutarch’s practice of writing about other people’s relations with their brothers, about their political troubles and exile, or about their marriage qualified him, in the eyes of some of his fellow citizens, as a busybody.85 This, indeed, is the risk one runs when policing, even when this policing regards a policer . . . unless, of course, one is the clever social player Plutarch has once more revealed himself to be. 85 Dodds (1933), 100 indeed suggested that ‘some of his fellow citizens thought Plutarch a busybody’. Plutarch himself, moreover, states that some people accept a philosopher only as long as he does not meddle with their own lives (cf. On Listening, } 12). As a result, Plutarch’s demonstration that Socrates, who meddled with his fellow citizens’ lives, was no busybody, may be a defence of his own practice as well. Likewise, stating that examining history and, among other things, the genealogies and vices of famous historical people—as Plutarch himself did for and in his Lives— is a solution for curiosity, quite strongly implies that the person doing so is not liable to the reproach of meddlesomeness.

8 Precepts of Health Care In the opening paragraph of Precepts of Health Care, Plutarch indicates that this text will be ‘about a healthy regimen’ ( æd ØÆÅ ªØ ØB, 122C).1 What Plutarch wants to teach his readers here, in other words, is how they have to live in order to remain in good health. At first sight, we may be surprised to see Plutarch, who consistently presented himself as a philosopher in the other texts we have studied,2 engage with a subject which we would associate with medicine rather than with philosophy.3 Much of the advice he gives his readers about physical exercises and a healthy diet is indeed familiar from ancient medical treatises such as On Regimen, handed down in the Hippocratic Corpus,4 or Galen’s Precepts of Health Care. 1 For the etymology and meaning of the term ÆØÆ, see Wo¨hrle (1990), esp. 31–6; for an account of ª ØÆ as a goddess and as a concept, see Wilkins (2005). 2 Plutarch seems to have had a marked interest in medicine, though. Cf. Boulogne (1995), 2762–92, and also Babbitt (1928), 214, Ziegler (1951), 791, Defradas, Hani, and Klaerr (1985), 93, Tsekourakis (1989), 257–8, Lo´pez Fe´rez (1990), Senzasono (1992), 7–8, Tirelli (1992), 386 n. 11, Durling (1995), Aguila´r (1996), Martı´n del Pozo (1996), Aguila´r (2001), and Grimaudo (2004). 3 It is doubtful indeed whether Montignac’s diet or Dr Vogel’s products would have ever become so popular had their instigators not been able to rely on their authority as doctors. Yet while we are accustomed to a strict division between medicine and philosophy or, for that matter, other branches of knowledge, it should not be forgotten that there never was a Lizenzsystem for doctors in antiquity. Cf. Lloyd (1979), 86–98, Wo¨hrle (1990), 95, with further bibliography in n. 4, and Ko¨nig and Whitmarsh (2007), 25. As Morgan (1998), 27 has stressed, the same held true for the whole of ancient education. The relationship between philosophy and medicine in antiquity is discussed by Edelstein (1952). 4 Pace Smith (1979), esp. 44–60, the communis opinio does not attribute this work to Hippocrates himself. On that question and on the work On Regimen in general, see Joly (1960), esp. 203–9, Joly (1967), pp. ix–xxxiv, Wo¨hrle (1990), 60–87, with further

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Alongside pharmacology and surgery, dietetics was, in fact, one of the three branches of ancient medicine.5 Nevertheless, doctors were not the only group of people who claimed to have knowledge and therefore gave advice, in both oral and written form, about a healthy regimen.6 In the third book of the Republic, for example, Plato ascribes the invention of dietetics to Herodicus of Selymbria, a gymnastic teacher ( ÆØæÅ, 406a)7 of the fifth century bc who ‘blended gymnastics and medicine’ (Æ ªıÆØŒc NÆæØŒfiB, 406a).8 If Plato greatly disapproves of such athletic health care, he also criticizes medical dietetics, and proposes, instead, his own, philosophical view on how people should take care of their health. This debate over dietetics between doctors, gymnastic teachers, and philosophers was to continue for centuries to come. Seneca, for one, suggests that whilst doctors will prescribe Lucilius certain exercises bibliography, Craik (1995), King (2001), 45, Nutton (2004), 65–6 and 97, and Martı´nez Conesa (2006). 5 For the three traditional branches of medicine, see e.g. the ninth paragraph of the prooemium of Celsus’ On Medicine, or Galen, Thrasybulus 24 = 5.847 and 849K. Cf. Lonie (1977), 245–6 with further bibliography in n. 47, Mudry (1982), 66–8, and also Tirelli (1992), 388, Boudon (1994b), 1470–7, Mudry (1996), 303 and n. 15, Mazzini (1999), 17–18, Grant (2000), 6–7, and King (2001), 44. For the importance attached to dietetics in antiquity, cf. Edelstein (1931), 303 and 307, Joly (1967), p. ix, Defradas, Hani, and Klaerr (1985), 96, Wo¨hrle (1990), 18, and Nutton (2004), 96–7, 102, 125–6, 141, 240–1. On the other hand, it is not certain whether dietetics was ever considered to be as important as surgery or pharmacology. Cf. Wo¨hrle (1990), 190. The importance of dietetics from a cultural-historical point of view was stressed by Foucault (1984a), 133 and Wo¨hrle (1990), 9–11. 6 Although many writings on the topic must have existed (cf. Wo¨hrle (1990), passim, and esp. 16 and 160), only a few survive, including, apart from Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care, the Hippocratic On Regimen (and, if it is a separate work, also his On Healthy Diet), substantial fragments of Diocles of Carystus’ Healthy Regimen, and Galen’s Precepts of Health Care. Galen (Thrasybulus 37 = 5.879K) lists Hippocrates, Diocles, Praxagoras, Philotimus, Erasistratus, and Herophilus as examples of doctors who have written on dietetics. For a fuller list, see Wo¨hrle (1990), who also offers the most detailed discussion of ancient dietetics, with references to previous studies on pp. 12–13. For more recent discussions, see Craik (1995), Van der Eijk (1996) and (2008), 297–300, Nutton (2004), 125 and 140, and Wilkins (2005), 136, 139, and passim. 7 The ÆØæÅ was a teacher of gymnastics hired and paid by the city. When the stress in the gymnasium shifted from military training to more general education, he became one of the most important teachers in the gymnasium. Cf. LAW, s.v. 8 On the early history of dietetical practice and thinking, see Wo¨hrle (1990), 18–116, esp. 49–59 and 105–7 and Nutton (2004), 96–7 and n. 69.

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and foodstuffs against fluxes and fevers, philosophy will offer him advice that will allow him to support any disease (Epistle 78.5–29). In line with the traditional Stoic view on the topic, he thus suggests that health is, ultimately, unimportant: what matters is a virtuous way of dealing with illness. Galen (ad 129–199/216), on the other hand, who saw himself as a doctor as well as a philosopher,9 wrote a work entitled Thrasybulus or Whether Hygiene is a Part of Medicine or Gymnastics, in which he argues that dietetics is a part of medicine, not of gymnastics.10 Thus when Plutarch, as a philosopher, decided, somewhere after ad 81,11 to write his Precepts of Health Care, he entered into competition with various other groups of people promoting their own competence in this field.12 In the following pages, we shall therefore see how Plutarch strategically deploys the possibilities of the genre of the dialogue with its plural voices in order to open up an explicit debate over different claims for authority in matters of health care, and, at the same time, subtly manipulate the reader’s reactions in his own favour.

9 Galen famously wrote a work arguing That the Best Doctor is Also a Philosopher, in which he also presented Hippocrates as a doctor-philosopher. Cf. Singer (1997), 33. On Galen’s own philosophical interests and education, see Donini (1992), Hankinson (1992), esp. 3505–8, Aguila´r (1996), 24 and n. 3, Swain (1996), 357–79, and Grant (2000), 9. 10 On Galen’s polemic against athletic trainers in this work, see Ko¨nig (2005), 254– 300, esp. 267–74; see also Wo¨hrle (1990), 94–5 and Nieto Iba´n˜ez (2003). Note, also, that Galen explicitly refers the readers of his Precepts of Health Care to that work (Precepts of Health Care } 4). For athletic trainers vying for status in matters of dietetics, see Newby (2005), 24 and n. 18 with further bibliography. 11 The terminus post quem is the death of Titus, which occurred in ad 81 (cf. 123D). Cf. Babbitt (1928), 215, Jones (1966), 71, Defradas, Hani, and Klaerr (1985), 98, and Bellu (2005), 211. The argument for a later date proposed by Senzasono (1992), 9–11, based on structural similarities between Precepts of Health Care and On the Control of Anger, is not convincing. 12 Except for a possible work on dietetics by Democritus (cf. Wo¨hrle (1990), 60 n. 1), Plutarch seems to have been the first philosopher to have written any work specifically on the topic. For dietetic advice in Plato and Aristotle, see Wo¨hrle (1990), 117–57; in some fragments of Theophrastus, cf. Wo¨hrle (1990), 107 n. 29 as well as p. 178.

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Plutarch’s Practical Ethics 8.1. APPETIZER: ESTABLISHING ‘DIET-ETHICS’

Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care starts off as a dialogue between a doctor called Moschion and a friend of his called Zeuxippus. As it is an important key for understanding the text, the opening passage deserves to be quoted at length: %ˇ"#,˝· "f c ˆºÆFŒ åŁ , t Z Ø , e NÆæe I æłø ıçغç E E ıº ; Z¯-˛——ˇ"· ˇh I æØł Å, t çº %åø, h Kº  ıçغç E KŒ E, Iºº çıª ŒÆd KçŁÅ ºÆc çغÆåFØ ÆæÆå E. K b ªaæ NÆæØŒfiB ŒÆŁ ' ˇÅæ › Icæ ‘ ººH I Ø ¼ººø,’ PŒ P c b æe çغçÆ, Iºº I  Ø æÆåf ŒÆd Œº åø K E ºªØ. ŒÆd F KÆ Kç A Kåæ Ø, H Ø æøŁ  P ØŒæe P K Ø ØŒb æª E ªåıØ ‹æø  ºBŁÆØ Øƺ åŁ EØ æd ØÆÅ ªØ ØB. . . . %ˇ"#,˝· +ººa ŒÆd ø ªøª ŒÆd H ¼ººø, t Z Ø , æŁı IŒæÆc  ø i ª Å· Z¯-˛——ˇ": )غç ªaæ r c çØ, t %åø, ŒÆd fiH c çغØÆæFØ åƺ Æ Ø çغçø fi , ŒÆd IªÆÆŒ E N Aºº Æe Y ÆØ æŒ Ø ª ø æÆ ŒÆd Øƺ ŒØŒB ŒÆd ıØŒB ›æAŁÆØ  Æ Ø  j ÇÅ E ŒÆd ÆŁ  Ø ıº  ‘‹Ø Ø K  ª æØØ ŒÆŒ  IªÆŁ   ıŒÆØ’ fiH ÆØ. . . . H Kº ıŁ æø b  åH NÆæØŒc e b ªºÆçıæe ŒÆd æØe ŒÆd K Ø æ b P ØA K  æ å Ø, Ł øæØŒe b  ªÆ E çغÆŁFØ c øÅæÆ ŒÆd c ª ØÆ K ØøØ. u P Ææ ÆØ ‹æø K ،ƺ E  E E æd ªØ ØH Øƺ ª Ø çغçØ. %ˇ"#,˝
`ººa ˆºÆFŒ b KH , t Z Ø ,  e  Å ÆP ºB ıº  r ÆØ ŒÆd I æ B çغçÆ. . . . Z¯-˛——ˇ"
( ¯çÅ ı › ÆEæ H . . . (Precepts of Health Care, 122B–E) moschion: Did you really drive away Glaucus yesterday, when he wished to join in your philosophical conversation, Zeuxippus? zeuxippus: No, my dear Moschion, I did not drive him away, nor did he wish to join in our philosophical conversation. Rather, I ran away from and avoided offering an opportunity for him when he wished to fight us. Indeed, as far as medicine is concerned, the man is ‘worth many others’, as Homer would say, but he is not well disposed towards philosophy. On the contrary, he always has something rude and difficult about him when he speaks. Like now: he marched up against us, shouting already from afar that it was not a

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small or suitable thing, this confusion of boundaries which we had undertaken by discussing a healthy regimen. . . . moschion: I, for my part, would be glad and eager to hear these things and the rest, Zeuxippus. zeuxippus: That is because you have a natural interest in philosophy, Moschion: you are irritated by a philosopher who has no interest in medicine, and you get angry if he thinks it more fitting for him to be seen to lay claim to geometry, dialectic, and music than to wish to inquire and learn ‘all that of evil and good may have happened to be present in the dwelling’ that is one’s body. . . . Amongst the liberal arts, medicine is inferior to none as far as elegance, distinction, and pleasure are concerned. And on top of that, as a kind of added gift, it offers those who want to study it the preservation of life and health. Therefore, one should not criticize philosophers who discuss health care as though this constituted a transgression of boundaries. moschion: But let’s leave Glaucus alone, Zeuxippus: he is so self-important as to wish to be self-sufficient and not in any need of philosophy. . . . zeuxippus: Well, our companion asserted that . . . (Precepts of Health Care, 122B–E)

The doctor Moschion asks his friend Zeuxippus to tell him about the discussion on a healthy way of living he was having with another, unnamed companion of theirs (› ÆEæ H, 122F) the day before, until Glaucus, another doctor, interrupted them. Of what happened next, Moschion has already heard a report that is apparently quite negative about Zeuxippus and his companion. He therefore now asks Zeuxippus to tell him his version, and in particular what the companion said. The remainder of the work is Zeuxippus’ answer, a monologue giving ‘precepts of health care’ with occasional indications that they represent the companion’s opinions.13 Previous scholarship has been almost unanimous in dismissing this opening dialogue as a mere fac¸ade before the philosophical or medical ideas that were supposed to be Plutarch’s real message:14 the

13

Apart from the introduction, see esp. 122F, 123B, 123D, 124A, 135B, and 135D. Quellenforschung pointed out a range of medical, and, to some extent, philosophical sources from which Plutarch drew in writing his Precepts of Health Care. See Wendland (1886), 60, Babbitt (1928), 214, Boehm (1935), Ziegler (1951), 791, Defradas, Hani, and Klaerr (1985), 95, Morales Otal and Garcı´a Lo´pez (1985), 120–1, Lo´pez Fe´rez (1990), 220, and Senzasono (1992), 11–36, referring to Plato, Epicureanism, the Hippocratic Corpus, Erasistratus, and Asclepiades. 14

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work’s dialogical presentation would be ‘merely a literary subterfuge to present an essay in a slightly (! LVH) more attractive form’.15 In reality, however, the opening dialogue is not an innocent prelude with no further influence on the rest of the text. The repeated nominal addresses with which the characters introduce each other to the reader, as in drama, clearly betray the conscious staging of the dialogue: Precepts of Health Care is not a snapshot of ‘real’ life, it is a literary construction. By opting for the genre of the dialogue, moreover, Plutarch makes a clear philosophical statement. Indeed, whereas an essay could be either philosophical or medical, a dialogue was typically philosophical: doctors in general did not adopt the genre of the dialogue, and none of the other surviving dietetical works is cast in this form.16 The philosophical message of the genre is strengthened through clear references to Plutarch’s favourite philosopher, Plato. We shall come back to this in the last section of this chapter, but here it can be noted that the opening scene of Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care echoes the beginning of Plato’s Republic: both passages share the word ‘yesterday’ (åŁ ) as well as a present participle of ‘to want’ (ºÆØ), and even Glaucus’ very name (ˆºÆFŒ, Precepts of Health Care 122B) may point to Plutarch’s manipulation of this Platonic intertext (cf. ˆºÆŒø, Republic 327a).17 Most importantly, however, Plato’s Republic, as we have seen, opposes a philosophical view on health care to other kinds of dietetical advice. The fact that Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care pictures the doctor Glaucus as shouting from afar (cf. H Ø æøŁ , 122C) at Zeuxippus and his companion draws attention to the vividness of

15 Babbitt (1928), 215. See also Boehm (1935), 4–5, Smith (1978), 42, Defradas, Hani, and Klaerr (1985), 97, Morales Otal and Garcı´a Lo´pez (1986), 119, and Gallo (1998), 3522. And although Senzasono (1992), 16–17 and Tirelli (1992), 389 each seemed to take a step in the right direction, their interpretations of the text nowhere take real interest in the dialogic form. For a very brief discussion of the opening dialogue against the backdrop of the popularity of medicine in the Second Sophistic, see Bowersock (1969), 67. 16 Esp. in Greek literature, the dialogue seems to have been a typically philosophical genre. Cf. Hirzel (1895) and Russell (1968), 136. For Heraclides of Tarentum, see below, n. 111. 17 Plutarch’s Glaucus is characterized very differently from Plato’s Glaucon, however. Cf. below, pp. 251–3.

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the debate in Plutarch’s days.18 Glaucus’ point is that philosophers should not busy themselves with regimen because this implies a ‘confusion of boundaries’ (cf. ªåıØ ‹æø, 122C). At stake, then, is the issue of the specialization of knowledge,19 a key question in the debate between doctors and philosophers that must have been especially pressing in the case of dietetics, which did not require technical skills in as obvious a way as pharmacology and surgery did. The Hippocratic On Ancient Medicine, for example, emphasizes the difference between the specialized, technical knowledge of the doctor and the general wisdom of the philosopher.20 This idea is not only echoed by Celsus,21 but also underlies Galen’s condemnation, at the beginning of his work on The Construction of the Embryo, of philosophers who undertake to discuss this topic without anatomical knowledge. Zeuxippus, on the other hand, capitalizes on the special position of philosophy in relation to the liberal arts: whereas he positions medicine on a level with other arts such as geometry, dialectic, and music,22 philosophy is placed above them all.23 In so far as it is accepted (cf. ›æAŁÆØ) 18 For the importance of the question in Plutarch’s days, see Foucault (1984b), 135–6, Tirelli (1992), 386–7, Van der Stockt (1992), 288, and Boulogne (1995), 2771–2. 19 On the specialization of knowledge in antiquity, see Ku¨hnert (1961), Dihle (1986), esp. 196–7, Wo¨hrle (1990), 94–5, and Van der Stockt (1992), 287–9. 20 Paragraph 20 of On Ancient Medicine explicitly rejects the idea that one should have knowledge of human nature in general in order to be able to treat patients efficiently. See, on this passage, Schiefsky (2005), 293–318. A radically different opinion on the topic is ascribed to Hippocrates in Plato’s Phaedrus 270c. 21 See the prooemium of Celsus’ On Medicine, }} 74–5. Cf. also Mudry (1993). 22 Judging by the accounts of authors like Varro or Celsus, medicine traditionally seems to have been considered one of the liberal arts. Later, however, the series of liberal arts would be reduced from nine to seven, omitting medicine and architecture. For the ambiguous position of medicine in relation to the liberal arts, see Rawson (1985), 170, Wo¨hrle (1990), 241, and Boudon (1994a), 1429–31. Pace Tsekourakis (1989), 257, Stok (1993), 408, and Martı´n del Pozo (1996), 186 Plutarch’s text seems, to some extent, ambiguous, as H Kº ıŁ æø b  åH (‘amongst the liberal arts’) may, as a partitive genitive, go either with NÆæØŒ (‘medicine’), making medicine one of the liberal arts, or with P ØA (‘none’), in which case medicine would not (necessarily) be one of the liberal arts. For discussion of the problem, see Scarborough (1969), 103, Boulogne (1986), 305, Van der Stockt (1992), 288 and n. 7, with further bibliography, and Durling (1995), 311. 23 Cf. Hadot (1984) and Hahn (1989), 62–3 and nn. 8–9, with further bibliography. A strikingly different picture can be found in Galen’s Adhortation to Learning the Arts 5.5, where the doctor lists philosophy alongside medicine in a list of liberal arts.

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for philosophers to busy themselves with geometry or music, nobody should find fault with them if they have an interest in medicine, as medicine does not only share in the noble characteristics of the liberal arts, but additionally provides health. The opening dialogue of Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care thus not only highlights a debate which, as we shall see, is of great importance throughout the text, it also justifies itself as a philosophical writing about regimen. After this opening dialogue, Zeuxippus starts to tell Moschion what their companion told him on the day before. The first comment which Glaucus ridiculed concerns the temperature of one’s hands (} 2). As reported by Zeuxippus, the companion said (çÅ, 122F) that he had heard someone say (IŒFÆ Ø º ª, 122F) that keeping one’s hands warm is conducive to health: since cold hands risk causing fevers by concentrating too much warmth inside the body, it is healthy to conduct this warmth towards the surface. According to Defradas, Hani, and Klaerr, this precept can be traced back to pneumatic theory, which stressed the importance of the circulation of air within the body.24 By saying that he heard someone say this, the companion clearly suggests he has had at least some education in medicine.25 Yet the companion does not merely repeat what he heard from someone else, he also specifies its application: if we happen to be doing something that requires the use of our hands, the motion involved will suffice to keep our hands warm; yet if we are not engaged in such activities, we should not allow cold to take hold of our fingers. As we have seen in Chapter 1, Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care explicitly addresses itself to men of letters and men in public life.26 The companion’s application of pneumatic theory, then, seems to be coined especially for these men, who may occasionally (cf. ıªå ø , 123A) engage in physical activity, but who are usually free (åºc ¼ªÆ, 123A) to engage in intellectual or political activities. 24

Defradas, Hani, and Klaerr (1985), 102 n. 1. By singling out a medical theory that was not only intimately connected with philosophy, but that also seems to have originated in it (cf. Defradas, Hani, and Klaerr (1985), 95–6), the companion may be drawing attention to the dependence of medicine on philosophy. 26 For the non-specialist but elite readership of other dietetical works, see Wo¨hrle (1990), 114 and 240–1. 25

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The next advice given by the companion ( Ææfi Ø, 123B) and ridiculed by Glaucus is to accustom oneself beforehand to the regimen which doctors prescribe to the sick (} 3). By making the reader used to the diet which it is appropriate to follow when he is ill, this precept ensures that he does not get disgusted (‹ ø c ıå æÆø , 123B) at the food he has to eat when ill. The principle at work in this precept is a familiar one from On the Control of Anger, where it is suggested that it is not easy to exert self-control in a fit of anger unless one has armed oneself beforehand with arguments against it. The reference to disgust, on the other hand, echoes Plutarch’s programmatic passage in On Talkativeness, quoted in Chapter 2, as does Plutarch’s overall strategy in this paragraph. Indeed, in order to encourage readers to accustom themselves (ı ŁÇÆ Æ, 123B)27 beforehand to the regimen they will have to live by when ill, he suggests they bear in mind ( Å , 123C)28 two things. The first is how some men feel and act when ill: they get angry and shout at the simple dishes served to them. The second is that many, including the Emperor Titus, have been ruined because they could not stick by the regimen prescribed to them in illness. What Plutarch is proposing here, in other words, is a reflective exercise that will make the reader realize the shame and harm resulting from his usual behaviour and thereby encourage him to take up training towards a better attitude. Diet, which forms the object of the companion’s next precept, was traditionally an important aspect of ancient dietetics.29 On the one hand, medical authors described the qualities of different foodstuffs. The Hippocratic On Regimen 2.40–2.56 contains a real catalogue of foodstuffs and their qualities, for example, and Galen even attached so much importance to diet that he dealt with it in a separate work, On the Properties of Foodstuffs.30 On the other hand, medical authors 27

Cf. also 125D. Cf. also 126F. 29 Whereas the oldest dietetic handbooks such as On Regimen deal with all aspects of regimen, later doctors such as Galen dealt with foodstuffs in separate works. Cf. Wo¨hrle (1990), 246. 30 For this and other Galenic works on diet, which Galen himself explicitly ranked under dietetics, see Wo¨hrle (1990), 246 and n. 81, Grant (2000), Wilkins (2005), 147–9, and Wilkins and Hill (2006), 211–44. For catalogues describing the qualities of foodstuffs, see Wo¨hrle (1990), 78–80 and Powell (2003). 28

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gave advice on what and when to eat. According to Diocles of Carystus, for example, one should go to dinner with an empty stomach, after having done some exercises, and just before sunset, at least in summer, which is also the season when one should avoid consuming warming or drying foodstuffs.31 The idea behind all these medical precepts is that insight into the properties of different foodstuffs and drinks will allow a person to conserve or restore a healthy balance between the various elements in his body.32 Eating is conceptualized as something an individual needs to do if he is to stay alive, with the implicit assumption that people’s decisions in matters of food and drink are guided solely by the concern for their individual health. In reality, however, eating and drinking are often embedded in social institutions, in which people’s behaviour and relationships are regulated by a complex of written or unwritten rules:33 one only needs to think of the ancient symposium with its combination of food, drinks, and entertainment, to which implicit and explicit rules applied.34 In medical dietetics, however, there is no place for social institutions such as the symposium: not only do doctors not give advice on how to behave at the symposium, the advice they do give on how people should organize their lives if they want to stay healthy leaves no room for such social occasions.35 It is in this respect, then, that Plutarch’s dietetical advice may be most innovative (}} 4–5):

31

Fr. 182 VdE, 78–82. Cf. also Galen, Precepts of Health Care 6.95.2, 6.125.5, or 6.186.4, to name just a few instances. 32 e.g. Galen, Thrasybulus 19 = 5.839K. The most obvious example is the theory of the four humours, but the idea holds true for other medical schools as well. Cf. Wo¨hrle (1990), 191. See also Lloyd (1966), 15–26, Joly (1967), p. xviii, Lonie (1977), 237, Defradas, Hani, and Klaerr (1985), 96, and Lloyd (1991), 60–4. 33 Cf. Parsons (1952), 39 and Van Hoof, Van Ruysseveldt, and Snijders (1996), 23. For the privileged position of banquets as social institutions in Plutarch’s uvre, esp. in the Lives, see Titchener (1999a), esp. 481. 34 The fact that free women were not allowed, for example, will have been mostly accepted as an implicit rule, whereas the rules on the blend of wine and entertainment might be set explicitly ad hoc, as we learn from Plato’s Symposium, 176a–177a, e.g. The literature on ancient symposia is vast, but see esp. the essays in Murray (ed.) (1990) and Slater (ed.) (1991), as well as the studies of Lissarague (1991) and Davidson (1997). 35 Cf. Wo¨hrle (1990), 11–15, and esp. 113, with reference to Edelstein (1931), 260.

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 ºØÆ b çıºÆŒ  ºÅa ŒÆd  ŁÆ ŒÆd ı ÆŁ Æ æ ØÆ  ººıÆ j çºø  åc K å æd åÆ j æŒH  ÆØ ª ØŒc ŒÆd ı æØçæa I ÆæÆÅ, x  K Ø I ı ŒÆd ŒÆ

Pƺb e HÆ ŒÆd ŒFç K PÆ fi ÆæÆŒ ı ÇÆ. æª ª æ KØ K ııÆØ ŒÆd çغçæÆØ Æe K d H  æø ŒÆd H ıŁø çıº ÆØ c AØ   IÅÆ  ØB K ÆåŁB çÆ Æ ŒÆd çæØŒ. . . . æ ÆæÆŒ ıÆ  Æf H IƪŒÆø ı æØçæH, ŒÆd Złø fi ŒÆd ÆØ ŒÆd c ˜Æ  ŁfiÅ åæÆ çıº Æ K fiH ÆØ, ŒÆd æçÆ K d ÆFÆ ŒÆd ıº Å c Zæ Ø ¼ªÆ. (Precepts of Health Care, 123D–E) We should guard against excessive meals, drunkenness, and indulgence especially when we are about to have a celebration, when we have a visit of friends on hand, or when we expect to have dinner with a leading figure with its unavoidable social duties, thus keeping the body fit and buoyant when the weather is fine, as it were, for the oncoming wind and wave. For in company and good cheer it is difficult to stay within moderate and normal bounds without appearing extremely disagreeable as well as offensive and impolite to all. . . . We should prepare ourselves in anticipation of inevitable social duties by leaving space within our bodies for delicacies, nibbles, and even, by Zeus, strong drink: we should approach these things with a fresh and eager appetite. (Precepts of Health Care, 123D–E)

The first advice Plutarch gives his readers on matters of food and drink in Precepts of Health Care concerns eating and drinking in a social context. When attending banquets, hosting visiting friends, or having dinner with leading figures,36 people see themselves confronted with a dilemma: either to participate in the party but risk destroying their health, or to stick with their usual diet but appear ‘disagreeable as well as offensive and impolite’. Doctors would have no doubt advised the latter option, giving precedence to health over social duties.37 Likewise, Epictetus, in a discourse about social intercourse ( æd ı æØçæA, Discourse 4.2) suggests that it is better to become more virtuous even if this implies losing certain people’s affection, rather than to retain that affection but make no progress in virtue. Plutarch’s preferred solution is different. Rather than opting 36 As Plutarch indicates in On Compliancy 534C–D, it is even harder to refuse a request with such powerful people. 37 On the general disapproval of luxurious foods in—especially—the Roman world, see King (2001), 45–7.

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for one of the two sides of the dilemma, he first and foremost teaches his readers how to avoid the dilemma altogether: if they follow his advice, they can both have their cake and eat it. All they need to do, is to eat less before the party, so that the surplus consumed at the party does not cause too much of an imbalance in their bodies.38 Whilst this solution manages to take into account both the demands of health care and social expectations, it cannot be applied under all circumstances. A different solution is offered, indeed, for dealing with unexpected social events, for which one cannot take precautions: l  ªaæ ÆæÆÅØ i e K Ø Ø åfiÅ ŒÆd e I E, På w ÆØ Œ åÆæØ Å B ı æØçæA· ¼  Ø Ææ åø ÆØ u æ ŁıÆ ¼ª ı ÆPe I åÅÆØ, ÆæfiB b fiB ŒºØŒØ ŒÆd fiB æÆ ÇfiÅ  a æŁıÆ ŒÆd çغçæÅ –Æ Ø ÆÇø ŒÆd º ªø N Æı, ø çÆ EÆØ F ı ŁıŒ ı ŒÆd ıłçƪF. (Precepts of Health Care, 124B–C) If combined with cleverness and wit, a request to be excused is not less agreeable than participation: if someone abstains from a dinner he organizes—like a sacrifice one does not eat from—while yet vividly and cheerfully making a joking allusion to himself when drinks and food are being served, he will appear more pleasant than the man who participates in getting drunk and indulging in delicacies. (Precepts of Health Care, 124B–C)

Rather than giving in to social pressure by eating and then becoming ill, the reader is taught how to decline food and drink without incurring social disapproval: if one is clever and witty in one’s request to be excused,39 one can do what is healthy and still appear more pleasant than the man who fully participates in the party. If, then, unexpected social obligations do not allow the reader to avoid the dilemma altogether, Plutarch teaches him how he can overcome it: his advice will enable him to stick with his usual diet without

38 Compare Epicurus’ suggestion in his Letter to Menoeceus that a ‘simple and inexpensive diet supplies all that is needful for health, and . . . places us in a better condition when we approach at intervals a costly fare’ (Diogenes Laertius 10.131). 39 One could say that Plutarch is here educating his readers in ‘practice’ as described by Bourdieu, in which strategy and timing are of major importance (cf. above, Ch. 6, p. 169 and n. 50): whereas the condition of cleverness and wit (cf. e K Ø Ø ŒÆd e I E, 124B) refers to strategy, timing of course also greatly matters if one wants to cut the ground from under other people’s feet by alluding to oneself cheerfully and playfully.

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appearing disagreeable or impolite. Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care, then, are not just concerned with the healthiest diet for an individual taken by himself, but also take into account that individual’s social position and role: far from discouraging the reader from attending social occasions which, with their abundance of delicacies and alcohol, risk destroying his health, Plutarch teaches him how to reconcile the demands of health care and social decorum. For all that the three precepts discussed thus far deal with a topic which we would not expect a philosopher to discuss, then, they nevertheless show remarkable resemblances to Plutarch’s other works of practical ethics: Plutarch proposes exercises of reflection and practical training that are to help elite readers, who encounter health problems because of social ambitions and obligations, live their lives within society more successfully. Placed at the beginning of Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care, they set the tone for what may therefore be called Plutarch’s ‘diet-ethics’. As is already clear at the end of the first part of the text, this diet-ethical advice distinguishes itself above all by its socially integrated perspective on health care: whilst recognizing that his readers often incur health problems because of social ambitions and expectancies, Plutarch does not see health care and social obligations as mutually exclusive. On the contrary: as will be repeated several times in the remainder of the text, the reason why health care is so important, is because health is a necessary condition for living the life his readers are living. As opposed to what gymnastic teachers or doctors may say, then, the reader should not retreat from society in order to take care of his health. Rather, he should take care of it in a socially acceptable manner. This is what Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care aim to teach.

8.2. ENTREMETS: EXPLAINING THE PRINCIPLES OF DIET-ETHICS After having given a sample of diet-ethical precepts, Plutarch sets out to explain the principles underlying diet-ethics (}} 6–15). His first point picks up the argument about delicacies brought up in the

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preceding discussion about symposia (}} 6–7). Plutarch starts off with Socrates’ advice to guard against foodstuffs and drinks that encourage one to eat or drink when one is not hungry or thirsty.40 The implicit message of this anecdote, as we encountered it in On Talkativeness and On Curiosity, is here spelt out: Socrates does not forbid people to enjoy fine foods and wine, but these should be consumed instead, rather than on top, of one’s usual diet. If, in actual practice, people nevertheless indulge in delicacies to the detriment of their health, Plutarch sees two possible motivations: either ‘desire of pleasure and gluttony’ (çغÅÆ ŒÆd ªÆæØÆæªÆ, 124F), or ‘lack of taste and love of honour’ (I ØæŒÆºÆ ŒÆd çغØÆ, 124F). The former motivation receives no further attention: Plutarch can probably suppose his elite readers to have enjoyed enough of a philosophical education to overcome such basic, carnal desires. The latter motivation, on the other hand, is analysed in great detail. When offered exquisite dishes such as ‘udder, Italian truffles, Samian pita, or snow in Egypt’, many people indulge ‘in order to be able to tell others and arouse jealousy because they have enjoyed such exquisite and exotic things’ (‹ ø åøØ  æØ ØŪ EŁÆØ, Çź Ø B I ºÆ ø H oø ı æø ŒÆd æØH, 125A). By eating rare, expensive, and posh ( Æı ŒÆd ºı ºF, æØØ ŒÆd  ÆØ, 124F)41 foodstuffs which one hardly ever gets (cf. ı æø ŒÆd æØH), people hope to make others jealous (cf. Çź Ø).42 Food is thus consumed as a means for satisfying one’s love of honour (cf. çغØÆ), and the body is used in order to satisfy a desire of the mind. Whereas the first part of the text had drawn attention to the harmful effects of such behaviour on people’s

40 The anecdote is taken from Xenophon’s Memoirs of Socrates, 1.3.6. For Socrates’ view on dietetics as presented especially in that work, see Wo¨hrle (1990), 155–7. 41 Again, the text here lays bare some socio-economic fundamentals: rare things (cf.  Æı, 124F) are precious (cf. ºı ºF, 124F); as not everybody can therefore afford them, their acquisition becomes a way of distinguishing oneself from others; distinction, in turn, can lead to prestige and thus satisfy one’s desire for honour (cf. çغØÆ, 124E). Cf. Veblen (1998 = 1899), 68–101 on conspicuous consumption, that is, consumption of more or better than is needed. 42 On the distinctions created by different food patterns, see also Bourdieu (1979), 204–15. For food as an indication of social status in antiquity, see Wilkins and Hill (2006), 73–4.

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health (}} 4–5),43 Plutarch now demonstrates that it betrays a lack of taste (I ØæŒÆºÆ) as well as vulgar and uncultivated ideas (I º ıŁ æı ŒÆd çæØŒa çÆÆÆ, 124F)—terms with strong social connotations which obviously present the very opposite of what the reader is aiming at.44 Special disapproval is shown for those who indulge in expensive foodstuffs when at other people’s houses. According to Plutarch, this practice reveals pettiness and greed (ØŒæºªÆ ŒÆd ªºØåæÅ, 125E): consumption at other people’s expenses suggests that the host can and does afford what the guest can or does not, and thereby establishes a kind of hierarchy between host and guest. In Thorstein Veblen’s famous terminology, it involves vicarious consumption, consumption, that is, at the expense of someone else and therefore enhancing that person’s social position rather than one’s own.45 Rather than arguing against love of honour in matters of food, however, Plutarch suggests that ‘if one vies for honour in respect of such things, it is better, in view of health, to do so through self-control’ ( Y æ çغ E æe a ØÆFÆ, KªŒæÆ Æ fi Œ ººØ  bæ ªØ Æ, 125E). According to Plutarch, his diet-ethical advice will allow one to stay healthy and fulfil one’s personal ambitions in society at the same time.46 As in the other writings of practical ethics we have examined, then, Plutarch here plays on the reader’s sense of honour in order to •convince him to practise selfcontrol (KªŒæÆ Æ fi ) in matters of food and drink. Self-control was, of course, a concept favoured by philosophers. As Plutarch goes on to explain (}} 8 and 12), however, self-control in matters of regimen is not an aim in itself: ¼ºº b s æe a   º Œ  Yø, e ŒÆºe ŒÆd  e Kç ÆıF B KªŒæÆ Æ x  KØ  ،ƕ › b F ºª  bæ ººH H ŒÆd  ª ºø K. (Precepts of Health Care, 126B) 43 As one would expect in a work dealing with health and disease, the references to harm primarily relate to physical discomfort. Pain ( ): 128C, 128E, 129E, 129F, 131A, 132D, 135D, 136A, 136B, and 136F; illness (): 123B, 123C, 126B, 126C, 126D, 127D, 129B, 129F, 135B, 135D, and 136D. 44 Compare the famous dinner in Petronius’ novel, where the parvenu (!) Trimalchio piles one extravagant course on top of the other. 45 Cf. Veblen (1998 = 1899), 75–85. 46 Cf. the similar advice from Precepts of Health Care already quoted in Ch. 2, pp. 55–6.

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At another time, then, it may be that I have to speak against pleasures and show the intrinsic beauty and dignity of self-control; the current discourse, however, is in support of many and great pleasures (Precepts of Health Care, 126B)

As opposed to what people may think when they hear a plea for the typically philosophical concept of self-control, Plutarch here explicitly denies promoting self-control for philosophy’s sake: if that may be the point in other writings, Precepts of Health Care presents self-control as a condition for pleasure.47 Like Plutarch’s other writings of practical ethics, in other words, Precepts of Health Care promotes self-control as a means for realizing the reader’s prephilosophical desires. Indeed, whereas illnesses are said to allow one to engage in philosophy, or to be a military or political leader, they do not concede the enjoyment of any bodily pleasure (126C). The pleasure yielded by love, fine foods, baths, or wine depends not so much on the shape of the girl, the qualities of the foodstuffs and wine, or the temperature of the bath, but on our own bodily condition: if that condition is bad, even the most beautiful girl, the whitest bread, and the warmest bath will set up phlegm and bile (128D–E). Whilst clearly indicating that he is aware of the physical elements and processes that were thought to underlie illnesses, then, Plutarch here clearly sets himself apart from medical dietetics, especially as proposed in catalogues on the Properties of Foodstuffs: whether something is sweet or bitter, agreeable or not, depends on ourselves rather than on the food. Given, then, that Plutarch locates the key to good health as well as bodily pleasure firmly within ourselves, it is of utmost importance that we take good care of our bodies. Plutarch singles out three aspects, which are each illustrated with a nautical comparison. First, he incites his readers to keep their bodies in a continuous good condition (}} 9–10). They should not behave, he says, like shipowners who load their vessels so heavily that they constantly have to bale out the seawater (127C). They should not, in other words, overload their bodies with so much food as to need purgatives 47 Concomitantly, the absence of pain seems to be a leitmotiv in Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care: the term ¼ºı  recurs no less than seven times (130E (twice), 131C, 133E, 134F, 137A, and 137B).

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to save themselves, but rather keep their bodies in a good condition at any time, so that if it is ever put under pressure, it bobs up again like a cork: PŒ IªH  ‹Ø ŒÆd Øa Œ ı ıæ ı ¼Łæø Ø ŒÆd Ø KŒÆ Ø ŒÆd Øa æØł Ø. Iºº . . . ÆE øŁ  ÆNÆØ ŒÆd IæåÆE x PÆ ŒÆd HÆ Ææ å Ø e ºBŁ  Œ  . . . . Øe  E c . . . K ºÆ  e HÆ ŒÆd ÆæÆ  ŒÆŁÆæ Ø ÆsŁØ ŒÆd  ŒºÇ Ø, Iººa ØÆÅæ E Pƺ , ‹ ø, Œi Ø ŁfiB  , ç ººF ŒÅ  e ŒıçÅ IÆç æÅÆØ. (Precepts of Health Care, 127B–D) I am not unaware that people also get fevers because of fatigue as well as extremes of heat and cold. Yet . . . it is the body mass that gives as it were substance and body to these external causes and beginnings. . . . Therefore we should not . . . stuff the body and make it heavy and then use purgatives and enemas, but keep it in good condition so that even when it is put under pressure, it will bob up again like a cork because of its buoyancy. (Precepts of Health Care, 127B–D)

In this passage, Plutarch claims that he is well aware (cf. PŒ IªH) of the more remote causes for fevers such as fatigues and extremes of heat and cold.48 While thus refuting the possible criticism that his dietethical advice might be based on a lack of understanding of more complicated, external explanations behind illnesses, Plutarch suggests that it is not this technical knowledge that will prevent people from falling ill.49 According to him, the first key to health lies within ourselves and the factors that are in our control (cf. e ºBŁ  Œ  ). If this is the case, then surely philosophers, typically concerned for ‘what is up to us’,50 are in a better position to give health care advice than doctors. The second aspect of bodily care promoted by Plutarch concerns taking precautions in the case of premonitory symptoms and sensations that announce upcoming illnesses (} 11). Many people, Plutarch sug48 For Plutarch’s views on, and often technical knowledge of, the causes of diseases, see Tsekourakis (1989). 49 Plutarch’s hesitation to use much technical terminology in his Precepts of Health Care is, in fact, in line with the advice he gives his readers in 129D. Cf. also Scarborough (1969), 103, Tsekourakis (1989), 258, and Lo´pez Fe´rez (1990), 221. Note, moreover, that in the opening discussion, Zeuxippus twice (P  a  ıB, 122C, and P ı  a  ıB, 122E) stresses that the philosophical conversation about a healthy way of living which he had on the previous day was not carried out systematically. 50 Cf. above, Ch. 4, p. 94.

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gests, drag their bodies to the baths regardless of such symptoms, as a rotten and leaky boat into the sea. Or again, shame withholds them from going or staying ashore when a storm renders them seasick. As Plutarch explicitly points out (127D), Hippocrates had already indicated which symptoms indicate disease.51 Starting, once more, from the assumption that people will be guided solely by the concern for their health, medical dietetics then explains which foodstuffs or what regimen might prevent the disease from breaking out. Plutarch, on the other hand, starts from the observation that people often do not follow this healthy course of action. As before, his analysis suggests two possible motivations. The first is gluttony (ƒ b  e ºÆØÆæªÆ ŒÆd çغÅÆ, 127E). By passing over this motivation fairly quickly just like before, and by introducing the second motivation as ‘less gross’ (ƒ b Œł æØ, 127E), Plutarch either assumes or else strongly urges his readers to (have) overcome such carnal desires. The motivation of less gross people, on the other hand, lies with social pressure and ambitions: shame (ÆNåı Ø, 127E) withholds them from saying no when others invite them to come along to the gymnasium. Often, moreover, people provide as it were an excuse for their lack of self-control and indulgence by wishfully thinking (cf. Kº , 127F) to dispel wine with wine, and headache with headache, as a famous proverb had it. Against such popular wisdom, Plutarch sets off the advice of Cato the Elder, renowned, of course, for his parsimonious lifestyle: one should ‘make the great small, and do away with the small altogether’ (128A). If one acts according to this principle, simple measures will suffice: K  łÆ fi ŒÆd æ ÆŁ Æ fi Æ Iª b ª Ø Æ  æÆ K ŒºfiÅ Ø ª Ø ŒÆd c ÆæÆŁ ŁÆØ æ ÇÆ, ÆYåØÆ ººa  æÆ Œ EÆØ ŒÆŁÆØæ Ø ŒÆd ŒÆÆ ºÆ Ø ŒÆd Łø   NÆæf ŒÆd Ł æÆ  . (Precepts of Health Care, 128B) Those who think it is demeaning to stay in bed and not have one’s meal at a table for one day amidst suspicious premonitory symptoms of their body, keep to their bed for many days most shamefully whilst being purged and poulticed, servile and attentive to doctors. (Precepts of Health Care, 128B)

51 A detailed list of premonitory symptoms and the conditions they may indicate can be found, e.g., in On Regimen 3.70–3.85, as well as the entire fourth book, which discusses the implications of dreams.

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If premonitory symptoms suggest that one might fall ill, Plutarch advises staying in bed for a day. Readers, however, may find it demeaning (Iª b)—a term with strong social connotations—not to have dinner at table, in a socially acceptable way, that is. As a result, however, they will incur even more shame,52 as Plutarch strategically threatens, when the illness sets in and makes them completely dependent upon doctors. By using shame as an argument, then, Plutarch both convinces the reader and sets his own diet-ethical advice off most favourably against medical practices: whereas he promises pleasure if one takes care of oneself through simple measures, doctors will reduce one to shame by taking an authoritarian stance and forcing one to undergo painful medical interventions such as purging and poulticing. A final aspect of taking care of one’s body is neatly summarized in the comparison of one’s body to the sail of a ship, which should be used at full potential when the weather is fine, but taken in as soon as storms announce themselves (128F).53 In this part of the text (}} 13–14), Plutarch thus advocates a middle course between being too careful and anxious about one’s health on the one hand, and not giving heed to it at all on the other: one should regulate one’s health care according to the needs of the body as they arise. Although the excess in health care is brought up first (128E–F), Plutarch dedicates but little attention to it for the time being. As we shall see, however, the regimen that is over the top ( . . . IŒæØc çæÆ ŒÆd Ø Zıå º ª Å ÆØÆ, 128E) will play a major role in the remainder of the text. Negligence in health care, on the other hand, receives more attention here. Partly, Plutarch’s advice here repeats his arguments about taking action when disease is announced by premonitory symptoms. More than before, however, Plutarch here lists a series of warning signs ranging from changing appetites over sleeplessness to unusually strong emotions (129A–C). Hand in hand with this, more attention than before is here given to selfobservation (cf. çıº  Ø e HÆ,  E Œ E . . . ŒÆd Å  Ø). 52

Shame is also mentioned in 124E, 125B, 128A, 134B, and 136E. A good example of such adaptation to one’s bodily condition is given in 130C, where Plutarch differentiates various degrees in the exercise of speaking: if one is well, one should engage in speaking or discussions, but if the body is not in good condition, one should limit onself to reading or declaiming. 53

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The latter aspect is elaborated more systematically in the last paragraph before Plutarch’s diet-ethical precepts (} 15). In that paragraph, Plutarch first of all encourages the reader to observe his friends when they are ill. In doing so, however, one should not aim at showing off: displaying acquaintance with medical terminology and writings (K Ø ØŒ  NÆæØŒH  ø ŒÆd ªæÆ ø K ØæÆ, 129D) in order to impress one’s friends is explicitly rejected.54 Instead of lecturing others (c çØØŒH Åb æØ æªø, 129D),55 the reader should rather try to learn something himself: he should find out what regimen his friend was following when he fell ill, and correct within himself the errors he observes in others, as Plato advised. Throughout Precepts of Health Care, Plutarch indeed grounds his authority in matters of health care first and foremost in philosophy: Plato is mentioned seven times and Socrates three, alongside a considerable number of other philosophers.56 In line with his practice elsewhere, Plutarch here also refers to famous statesmen and writers.57 Yet the whole of the text evokes— strikingly—only one medical authority, namely Hippocrates 54

Compare Aulus Gellius, Attic Nights 16.3 on Favorinus’ showing off by setting out Erasistratus’ medical theories whilst visiting a sick friend. Cf. Gleason (1995), 140–1. Likewise, in Attic Nights 1.2, a young student of philosophy showing off his knowledge and using unfamiliar terms in order to do so is put in his place by Herodes Atticus. 55 Even apart from the term æØ æªø, which, as we have seen, occurred in On Talkativeness as well, the man showing off his acquaintance with medicine when visiting a sick friend resembles the chatterbox in that he does not want to listen, but is talking (ºÆºÆ, 129D) himself, in that he pedantically shows off what he happens to have read, and in the ridicule he brings upon himself by that behaviour: whereas he wants to use medical terms such as ‘stoppages’ and ‘irruptions’, these are in fact ‘trite generalities’ (ŒØÅÆ, 129D). 56 The philosophers named in Precepts of Health Care are Socrates (124D, 124E, and 130E), Plato (125B, 127A, 129C, 129D, 135D, and 137E), Crates (125E), Arcesilaus (126A), Prodicus (126C), Democritus (129A and 135E), Aristo of Chios (133D), Aristotle (133F), Xenocrates (135C), Theophrastus (135C and 135E), Epicurus (135C), and Heraclitus (136B). 57 Historical anecdotes in Precepts of Health Care regard Titus (123D), Philip (123E), Alexander and Medius (124C), Titus and Regulus (124C), Demades (126D), Lysimachus (126E), Timotheus (127A), Alexander (127B), Cato the Elder (127F and 131D), Niger (131A), Phocion (135C), Demetrius (135C), Epaminondas (136C), and Tiberius (136D). The literary authorities referred to are Homer (122C, 126D, and 133E), Simonides (125D), Hesiod (127D), Euripides (132A), and Menander (133A).

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(127D).58 Apparently, then, Plutarch does not find it necessary to ground his own authority in that of previous medical writers: he thinks it sufficient to point out that history, literature, and above all philosophy are on his side. By explicitly referring to Plato as the example to be imitated in 129D, Plutarch thus again draws attention to the opposition of medicine and philosophy: while it is suggested that medicine is not a good way to acquire honour, philosophy is shown to enable people to profit by their friends as well as by their enemies.59 The philosophical nature of Plutarch’s health care advice is further underlined, at this crucial point in the text, by two counsels. The first encourages the reader to a textbook example of a reflective exercise: when he sees others suffering from illnesses, he should impress upon himself (KÅÆ EÆØ æe Æı, 129E) how valuable a thing health is, and that he therefore needs to preserve it. The other suggestion proposes a practical exercise: after having stretched his body through indulgence, the reader should compensate this by a simpler regimen even if his body does not give any alarming signs. The reason Plutarch gives is that lack of self-control (IŒæÆÆ, 130A) causes superfluity and excess ( æøÆ . . . ŒÆd ºBŁ, 130A). The circle is complete, then: whilst the reference to lack of self-control matches the earlier insistence on self-control, the comment about overcrowding echoes the preceding advice on keeping one’s body in good condition.

8.3. MAIN DISH: PLUTARCH’S DIET-ETHICAL ADVICE After having given the reader insight into the principles of diet-ethics as well as convinced him that this will help him realize his desire for 58 For a similar deliberate selection in explicating one’s sources, see Chahoud (2007), discussing Nonius Marcellus’ lack of references to imperial grammarians. Notice the contrast with Galen’s Precepts of Health Care, which refer first and foremost to Hippocrates and other doctors. Cf. Wo¨hrle (1990), 245–6. 59 Plutarch’s advice to learn from other people’s errors is indeed remarkably similar to the advice he gives in How Could You Profit by Your Enemies? 92F.

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honour and pleasure whilst at the same time keeping him in good health, Plutarch can, finally, proceed to setting out his diet-ethical precepts of health care. About halfway through the text, he therefore proposes to take up every subject again.60 The first topic to be dealt with (}} 16–17) is that of ‘gymnastics suitable for men of letters’ ( æd ªıÆø çغºªØ ±æÇø, 130A). Given that gymnastics may, as we have seen, have lain at the basis of Greek dietetics, it will not come as a surprise that it occupies a place of major importance in Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care as in other dietetical writings.61 If exercise was originally seen as a preparation for military action, it soon became an important aspect of daily life for its own sake. As the stress shifted away from military training to an interest in sports and in one’s physical as well as mental well-being,62 gymnasia offered more and more possibilities for exercise, massage, and bathing, and thereby became important meeting places and centres of intellectual education.63 The Romans, for their part, traditionally attached more importance to bathing than to exercise, but gradually became more interested in Greek athletics.64 Whilst they therefore often incorporated the functions of the gymnasium into large bath60 Dietetics dealt with those ‘factors with which the body continually interacts, whether we like it or not, and the question of which of these have the capacity to help or harm it: ambient air, sleep or waking, rest and movement, hungry or eating, thirsty or drinking or somewhere between the two’. Cf. Galen, Thrasybulus 18 = 5.837–8K, but see also 35 = 5.872K. 61 Although dealing with exercises extensively in his Precepts of Health Care, Galen in the Thrasybulus (41 = 5.885–6K) takes care to emphasize that athletic exercises are only a small part of gymnastics, which, in turn, is only a small part of dietetics, which is one of the three parts of medicine. 62 The evolution of the ephebia illustrates this general development quite well: conceived, at first, as a formation of the citizen-soldier, it soon evolved into ‘une autre e´phe´bie, de type e´ducatif ’ (Marrou (1965), 168), to resolutely end up, in the Hellenistic world, as ‘plutoˆt aristocratique que civique, plus sportive que militaire’ (Marrou (1965), 171). On the evolution of the ephebia, see Marrou (1965), 165–73 and Pelekidis (1962). On the varying importance of military exercises in the gymnasium, see Van Wees (2004), 89–93 and Ko¨nig (2005), 45–63. 63 On gymnasia, their structure, and their importance in the Greek world, see Delorme (1960), Finley and Pleket (1976), 116–22, Owens (1991), 155, Vanhove (1992), 56–77, Yegu¨l (1992), 1–5 and 7–24, and Ko¨nig (2005), 47–63. 64 Traditional Roman preference for bathing over exercising: Edelstein (1931), 308, Marrou (1965), 351–2 and 364–6, and Ko¨nig (2005), 217–25; popularity of Greek athletics in the Roman Empire: Farrington (1997), Van Nijf (2001), Scanlon (2002), 40–63, and Newby (2005).

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ing complexes,65 the Greek world mirrored this evolution by the construction of many private baths and separate public baths, balaneia, in addition to the baths in the gymnasium, primarily designed for the use of the visitors of the gymnasium.66 Plutarch’s approach to gymnastics in Precepts of Health Care is to be understood against this evolution in the implementation and role of gymnastics. The main exercise Plutarch proposes is one that men of letters put into practice in their daily lives anyway: speaking.67 That breathing yields strength is admitted even by masseurs, he says. Yet whereas athletics aims at ‘the strength of the wrestler, which grows flesh and renders the exterior strong like the walls of a building’ (130A–B), Plutarch believes that the movement of breath involved in speaking suffices to create an ‘all-pervasive strength and a genuine tonus in the most vital and important parts’. Whilst this criticism of gymnastic dietetics clearly echoes traditional arguments against gymnastic teachers as put forward, for example, by Plato and Isocrates,68 Plutarch’s proposal for a relatively simple exercise is also in line with the decreased interest, under the Roman Empire, in physical training. Nevertheless, he stresses the importance of doing the exercise he proposes: one should not, he says, forgo speaking when travelling and staying in a hotel69 for fear of being derided by sailors, muleteers, or innkeepers. 65 On Roman baths and bathing, see DeLaine (1999), 7 and n. 4, DeLaine and Johnston (edd.) (1999), and Yegu¨l (1992), 30–47. 66 Cartledge and Spawforth (1989), 135 see the construction of thermal baths in Sparta as a sign of the Romanization of the way of life. For a more elaborate account of the Roman influence on Greek bathing, see Woolf (1994), 117, 126–30, Farrington (1999), and Ko¨nig (2005), 49 and 214. The shift in stress from exercise to bathing seems to have started already in the Hellenistic era. Cf. Marrou (1965), 201–4, Yegu¨l (1992), 21–9, and Farrington (1999), 57–8. 67 For speaking as a daily exercise, cf. Gleason (1995), 92. Plutarch’s recommendation of speaking as an exercise is linked with ancient theories on  FÆ (130B), which also stressed the importance of the  FÆ of the soul. Cf. Defradas, Hani, and Klaerr (1985), 95–6 and Sellars (2003), 125–6. Apart from speaking, Plutarch also mentions walking (130D, 130E, 133E, 133F, and 134A). 68 Isocrates, Panegyric 1, and Plato, Republic 410b, also quoted by Galen, Thrasybulus 36 = 5.875K. For criticisms of athletic dietetics, see Wo¨hrle (1990), 117–24. 69 Attention for regimen whilst travelling was not unusual: whilst Dieuches (4th– 3rd cent. bc) wrote on the regimen of people travelling on sea, Diocles (4th (–3rd?) cent. bc) gave instructions to those travelling overland. Cf. Wo¨hrle (1990), 170 and 201 respectively. For travelling in antiquity, see Casson (1974) and Constable (2003), esp. 11–39 on the bad reputation of hotels.

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Such people do not see anything wrong in people who take exercise by playing with a ball70 or by shadow-boxing, but ridicule the man who exercises himself by speaking, although this exercise at the same time teaches, examines, learns, and trains the memory. To be timid or embarassed in front of such people, Plutarch concludes, is much more disgraceful than to be derided by them (ÆYåØ e  ØŒ ÆØ ŒÆd ıø EŁÆØ ÆÆ ŒÆd O øŒı ŒÆd ÆŒ E, 130E). Notwithstanding this appeal to the reader’s sense of honour, which encourages him not to care for the opinion of people of lower social rank, Plutarch also warns against the excessive use of speaking as a means for conveying honour. In Chapter 1 (p. 27), we already saw how Plutarch points out that orators and sophists often ruin themselves by overusing their voice ‘because of repute and ambition, others on account of financial rewards or political rivalries’. The specific example he gives, is about a sophist from Chaeronea called Niger:71 ˝ªæ  ›   æ K ˆÆºÆÆ fi çØ ø ¼ŒÆŁÆ KªåÆ  NåŁ ŒÆÆ øŒ.  æı  K ØçÆ  øŁ  çØF ŒÆd  º H, OææøH ç Ø ı Æ ÆæÆå E, Ø B IŒ ŁÅ KØå Å K º Å •  ª ºÅ b çº ªB ŒÆd ŒºÅæA ª  Å, e  P ç æø I  Æ c øŁ  ÆŁ EÆ.  b s ¼ŒÆŁÆ Øa F æÆÆ KfiÅæ ŁÅ, e b æÆFÆ åƺ e ª   ŒÆd Þ ıÆØŒe I Eº  ÆP. (Precepts of Health Care 131A–B) When our Niger was performing as a sophist in Galatia, he happened to swallow a fish bone. Yet as another sophist from abroad turned up and was declaiming, Niger, dreading to give the impression that he had yielded to his rival, gave a declamation although the bone was sticking in his throat. A serious and obstinate inflammation arose, and unable to bear the pain, he underwent a deep incision from the outside: the bone was indeed taken out through that wound, yet the wound grew sore and purulent and thereby caused his death. (Precepts of Health Care 131A–B)

70 The popularity of ball games by way of exercise is illustrated by Galen’s famous little text On Exercise with the Small Ball. 71 On Niger, see Ziegler (1951), 679, Babut (1969), 252–4, Defradas, Hani, and Klaerr (1985), 120 n. 1, Puech (1992), 4863–4, and Senzasono (1992), 107 n. 101 (pp. 175–6). On the current anecdote and the information it yields about sophistic competition, see Schmitz (1997), 114–15 and Gleason (1995), 4.

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Niger thought to enhance his status by giving a speech despite his bad bodily condition. Events proved that he made the wrong decision: not only did he not—witness Plutarch’s anecdote about him—gain the reputation he had hoped for, he also harmed his body so much as to lose his life. Medical intervention through surgery72 was of no avail to him: he should have paid attention to his bodily condition beforehand, exactly as Plutarch urges in Precepts of Health Care. After this anecdote, Plutarch proceeds to the topic of bathing. Taking a cold bath is termed ‘ostentatious and juvenile’ (K Ø ØŒØŒe ŒÆd  ÆØŒ, 131B),73 whilst warm baths are said to ‘offer much by way of excuse’ (Ł æºıÆ øØ ººc ıªªÅ, 130C).74 As is confirmed by the small amount of text dedicated to the topic, bathing clearly did not arouse Plutarch’s enthusiasm: cold baths are disapproved of altogether, and rather than actively encouraging the reader to take a warm bath, he merely allows that there may be good reasons for taking one. In fact, he even suggests that one should forgo bathing completely if the body is in good condition, and have a rubbing with oil by the fire instead. In contrast to contemporary practice within the Roman Empire, then, Plutarch seems to be advocating what is in fact a rather traditional Greek approach to bathing.75 The second set of precepts given by Plutarch concerns nutrition. As far as food is concerned (} 18), Plutarch adds two pieces of advice to that given earlier. First, he suggests that one can lighten the burden of food by cutting down not just the quantity but the quality (fiB ØÅØ, 131D): rich foodstuffs such as meat, cheese, dried figs, or boiled eggs should be consumed in small quantities only, whereas we should feed upon lighter substances such as vegetables, poultry, and fish that are poor in fat. Whereas handbooks of medical dietetics systematically analyse the specific properties of the different foodstuffs listed here, Plutarch thus 72

For the surgery carried out on Niger, see Renehan (2000). E  ØØ, whether in words or deeds, is indeed reprehended repeatedly throughout Precepts of Health Care. See 123B, 129D, 131B, and 133E. 74 Cf. Babbitt (1928), 261. As Amyot already suggested (cf. Defradas, Hani, and Klaerr (1985), 121 n. 1), the passage is not very clear. After the previous sentence about the fact that cold baths exact a strict way of living and bring to book even the slightest deviation ( PŁ K º ªå ı ØŒæH Æe ±ÆæÆ, 131C), the current sentence might in fact also mean that warm baths allow for a more relaxed regime that has room for some indulgence every now and then. 75 For traditional Greek baths and bathing, see Yegu¨l (1992), 24–9. 73

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offers his readers the practical conclusions to be drawn from such an analysis. The second point regarding food concerns meat: Plutarch advises readers to eat little or, even better, no meat at all. In On Eating Meat, Plutarch displays the same preference for vegetarianism. Both in that work (995E–F) and in Precepts of Health Care (132A), he points out that meat weakens the mind. Yet whereas On Eating Meat emphasizes that eating meat is contrary to nature, Precepts of Health Care takes custom into account by admitting that eating meat has become an ‘unnatural second nature’ (çØ F Ææa çØ ª ª , 132A).76 As a result, the reader should not completely give up on meat, but use it as a support on top of other food rather than for the satisfaction of appetite, as do wild animals, according to Plutarch’s apotropaic suggestion. Via a brief mention of milk, which he says should be considered as a kind of food rather than as a drink, Plutarch moves on to discussing drinks, and more specifically wine and water (} 19). Regarding these drinks, On Regimen briefly points out that water is cold and humid whereas wine is warm and dry, and then turns to discussing the specific characteristics of different kinds of red and white wine (2.52).77 Plutarch also contrasts wine and water: ºŒÅ ªaæ J ŒÆd Of K Ø  Ø a F Æ ÆæÆå , ŒÆd æÆå æÆ Ø E ŒÆd Ææ Ø a ºÅª Æ, ÆæŪæÆ   Æ ŒÆd º ØÅ, L  ºØÆ e oøæ KøØ. . . . Å( Ø ªaæ  F oÆ ªæÅ ŒÆd ¼çıŒ,  b F Yı çæa å Ø ººc ŒÆd ÆØ PŒ P B E æç Ø Ł Ø Pb çغ Łæø . (Precepts of Health Care 132E) Because it is violent and sharp, wine intensifies bodily disturbances, and exacerbates and irritates the affected parts, which are in need of comfort and alleviation, which water will offer above all. . . . For the liquid of water is mild and calm, whereas that of wine has much impetuosity and vigour, which is not good or nice for fresh wounds. (Precepts of Health Care 132E)

76 For other differences between Plutarch’s stance on vegetarianism in On Eating Meat and Precepts of Health Care, see Senzasono (1992), 8 and Tirelli (1992), 391. For Plutarch’s ‘vegetarian’ tendencies in general, see Tsekourakis (1986) and (1987) and Waegeman (1988). On vegetarian tendencies in ancient diets, see Osborne (1995), Garnsey (1999), 85–91, and Wilkins and Hill (2006), 140–63. 77 On the medicinal use of wine, see Capriglione (1999) and Caldero´n Dorda (1999), the latter also discussing the use of medicine against drunkenness. For wine and drinking in antiquity in general, see Wilkins and Hill (2006), 164–84.

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Rather than describing their physical properties, Plutarch endows water and wine with ethical values:78 wine is described in terms that echo Plutarch’s description of anger in On the Control of Anger, whilst the effects of water are the characteristics of the person who controls his anger.79 Although the pleasant and useful qualities of wine are briefly mentioned in Precepts of Health Care (132B), it will not come as a surprise, then, that Plutarch’s main advice in matters of drink recommends water. In line with the initial recommendation to accustom oneself beforehand to the diet of the sick, the reader is now told to accustom himself (KŁØ , 132B) to drinking a few glasses of water every day: water should become part of his daily regimen ( Ææa c ŒÆŁ  æÆ ÆØÆ, 132B), so that his body does not refuse to drink water when it has to. Wine, on the other hand, should always be drunk in a good mixture ( PŒæÆÆ, 132B)80 with water, and drinking from this mixture (F Œ ŒæÆ ı, 132B) should, moreover, be alternated with drinking pure water. These precepts clearly recall the interest in sympotic conviviality as Plutarch displayed it earlier in the text.81 Sympotic practice is explored even further in the next precept (}} 20–1), which deals with the question of scholarly activity at and after dinner, and thereby clearly recalls several questions Plutarch deals with in his Table Talk.82 By arguing that cultivated discussions are beneficial to one’s health, Precepts of Health Care not only reinforces the opinions found in Table Talk, but also sanctions the project under78 For negative ethical qualities of wine and water, see Davidson (1997), 156, Nikolaidis (1999), Teodorsson (1999), and Wilkins (2000), 243–56 and (2006), 166. 79 e.g. ºŒÅ cf. ºÅªH, 459D; Of cf. OÅ, 453B; K Ø  Ø cf. K Ø  , 463F; ÆæÆå  cf. ÆæÆå , 464C; æÆå æÆ cf. æÆå æ, 453D; Ææ Ø cf. ÆæıØ, 463D; º ØÅ cf. º ø, 457C; X Ø cf. M ø, 457C; P B cf.

P  , 464D; çغÆŁæø  cf. çغ Łæø , 464D. 80 For Plutarch’s ideal of mixture, see Wardman (1974), 59 and Duff (1999), 89–94. 81 Several questions in Plutarch’s Table Talk deal with the consumption, qualities, and effects of wine (1.7, 3.3, 3.5, 3.7, 3.9, 5.4, 6.7). For Plutarch’s opinions on wine, see the different papers in Montes Cala, Sa´nchez Ortiz de Landaluce, and Galle´ Cejudo (edd.) (1999), esp. Alcalde Martı´n (1999), Go´mez and Jufresa (1999), Ingenkamp (1999a), Lo´pez Salva´ (1999), Nikolaidis (1999), and Teodorsson (1999). 82 The very first question, Whether philosophy is a fitting topic for conversation at a drinking party (Table Talk 1.1, 612E–615C), immediately springs to mind, but see also Table Talk 7.8, 711A–713F, on What kinds of entertainment are most appropriate at dinner. On Plutarch as a sympotic author, see Martı´n Garcı´a (1983), Teodorsson (1990), Stadter (1999a), and Klotz (2007).

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taken by Plutarch in his nine books of Table Talk. Indeed, the topics Plutarch enumerates as suitable for discussion at dinner in the former work largely coincide with those covered in the latter: whilst disapproving of complicated subjects (133C), Precepts of Health Care promotes examining a geometrical figure (133A) or a problem of natural science (133E), reading literature and books (133A and 133E), discussing musical instruments (133A and 133F), or engaging in questions of history (133E). The idea of conviviality is highlighted, moreover, by the emphasis on gentlemanly discussion and dialogue: one should not only talk, but also listen to others (IŒFÆØ ŒÆd N E, 133F, ºÆº E Ø ŒÆd IŒ Ø, 134A). Although, then, Plutarch admits that ‘business, sorrows, or sophistic discussions that boil down to ostentatious or strenuous competition’ ( æ ªÆØ  çæØ  çØØŒE IªHØ æe –غºÆ K Ø ØŒØŒc j ŒØÅØŒc æÆØ Ø, 133E) have no place at dinner, he strongly disagrees with masseurs and gymnastic teachers (Iº Ø H . . . ŒÆd ÆØæØH, 133B)83 who exclude all intellectual activities from the dinner table: i  A Å ¼ºº Ø ÇÅ E j çغç E j IƪتŒ Ø Ææa  E  KHØ H K fiH ŒÆºfiH ŒÆd Tç ºø fi e K ƪøªe ç B ŒÆd ªºıŒf æØ Kåø, Œ º   ÆPf c Kåº E, Iºº I ØÆ K fiH ıfiH ÆFÆ ŒÆd ÆE ƺÆæÆØ Øƺ ª ŁÆØ E IŁºÅÆE, R H غø K º  I d ØÅ æ  Ø K ŒÆØ ŒÆd øºåÆØ KŁÇ , ‰ › Œłe  Aæø º ª , E K ªıÆø fi ŒØ ›ø ºØ Ææf ØŒÆØ ŒÆd ºØŁı. (Precepts of Health Care, 133C–D) But if they will not even grant us any other inquiry, philosophical conversation, or reading at dinner on issues which, on top of being beautiful and useful, have something pleasurable and sweet, we shall order them not to bother us but to go away and tell these things in the promenade and in the palaestra to athletes, whom they have torn away from books, accustomed to spending their days in jesting and scurrility, and made like the herms in a gymnasium, glossy and made of stone. (Precepts of Health Care, 133C–D)

Inquiries, philosophical discussions, and books are—so it is stated, not argued—beautiful, useful, and pleasant. If masseurs and gymnastic teachers do not want to allow these, ‘we shall order them not

83

Compare the short but decisive negative description of the effects of athletic training and diet in Plutarch’s Roman Question 40, 274D–E.

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to bother us, but to go away’. The verdict is strong: we shall order (Œ º  ) them to go away. The ensuing part of the sentence even prosecutes athletic trainers in their own biotopes: by contrast with the cultivated atmosphere around the dinner table where people undertake inquiries or discussions with one another, the promenade84 and the palaestra produce hulking athletes. Whilst these people may be brilliant on the outside, they have never worked at their inner selves, and whilst they are beautiful, so it may even be implied, they are not really alive. The neglect of cultural activities as well as social life implied in Plutarch’s picture of gymnastic health care will probably have been enough to deter the well-educated target readers of Precepts of Health Care from gymnastic dietetics.85 According to Plutarch, there are two reasons for recommending cultural activities at the dinner table. The first is that they can be a great help in reining in one’s excessive appetite (IªÆ ŒÆd ı ÆæÆÅ K ØŁıÆ, 133A, e ŒıØŒe ŒÆd ŁÅæØH  H Oæ  ø, 133B). If, then, Plutarch’s target readers overcome the carnal desires to which most people are subject, this is thanks to cultural activities such as the ones proposed by Plutarch in Precepts of Health Care or Table Talk. The cultural capital acquired through reading and philosophy, in other words, will yield a good interest in terms of health. The other reason for advising philosophical discussions after dinner is that they form an ideal pastime between dinner and sleep. In advising to leave some time between eating and sleeping, Plutarch, as opposed to gymnastic trainers, aligns himself with doctors (ÆPd b ØŁ Ø E NÆæE ÆæÆØFØ I d F   ı ŒÆd F o ı ºÆ  Ø  ŁæØ, 133D). Yet apart from this general counsel, Plutarch points out that there is no agreement as to what exactly one should do: intensive sports such as boxing and wrestling are definitely no good, but should one keep the body warm by walking, as Aristotle suggests, or should one 84 The ı æ ı is a walking place, often in a gymnasium, either covered or not. See LSJ, s.v. I 1 and 2. 85 Plato (Republic 407b–c) already suggested that athletic health care does not leave any time for intellectual activities. Whereas Young (1984) argued that athletics were open to more people than just the elite, Pritchard (2006) recently refuted that thesis regarding Athens. Both, however, focus on athletic competition and on the archaic and classical eras. For the role and participation of the elite in athletic festivals in the imperial era, see Van Nijf (2001), esp. 321–7.

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avoid any movement because that interferes with the digestive process, as others contend (133F–134A)? The cultural activities which Plutarch proposes manage to realize both these options at the same time: whilst the body is kept quiet, the mind is gently engaged in agreeable discussion. Doctors, then, may prove gymnastic teachers to be wrong, but it takes a philosopher to suggest the perfect sympotic activity, which both benefits the individual’s health and allows for social conviviality. As Plutarch suggests, this perfect sympotic activity is the golden mean between too much intellectual activity at the dinner table and not enough. As the repeated occurrences of the word ‘moderate’ ( æØ) suggests, the idea of moderation is an important concept throughout Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care: nature is said to have only moderate demands (124E, 125F), and the reader is advised not to overdo massage (130D), to name but a few examples. To some extent, this insistence on the happy medium is in line with the idea of the right balance between warm and cold or wet and dry which, as has been mentioned above, was very important in Greek medicine. On top of this plea for moderation in the individual aspects of one’s regimen, there is, however, another, even more prominent, plea for moderation in Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care, situated at the meta-level of health care as a whole: on the one hand, one should not neglect one’s health out of gluttony, ignorance, or desire for honour; on the other, one should not make health care the only or main aim in life, nor take pride in abstinence or familiarity with medical dietetics. What one does should cause neither pain nor repentance, as Plutarch will formulate it succinctly later in the text (137B). If this idea was already touched upon above (}} 4–5), Plutarch now elaborates it first with regard to food (}} 22–3), then with regard to activity (}} 24–5). First, Plutarch discusses what to do when one has overloaded one’s stomach (} 22). As far as the use of emetics and cathartics is concerned, he is very clear: these medical remedies should be avoided except in truly exceptional circumstances.86 Most people (ƒ ºº, 134B), however, tend to use them in order to be able to eat again. Plutarch’s complaint in this respect (Œ  ø 86 Plutarch indeed opposes his diet-ethical health care to medical dietetics in this respect: if one ever has to vomit, this should be done without medication (çÆæ Œø, 134A, çÆæÆŒ Æ, 134C, 134D, and 134F, çÆæ Œø, 134E, ç æÆŒ, 134E).

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 ŒÆ ºÅæF  e HÆ ŒÆd ºØ ºÅæ ø Œ F , 134B) echoes Seneca’s famous dictum (vomunt ut edant, edunt ut vomant, Consolation to Helvia, 10.3). Yet whereas Seneca’s Latin version is part of an argument that is designed to show that the extravagant pleasures of the table yielded by riches are of no account compared to virtue, Plutarch argues that vomiting through emetics or cathartics impedes true pleasure (134B). Whilst Seneca opposes pleasure to virtue, in other words, Plutarch, in line with his earlier statement in Precepts of Health Care, promotes self-control (cf.  æÆ fi ØÆfi Å ŒÆd çæØ, 134D) as a precondition of pleasure. If Plutarch’s disapproval of emetics and cathartics first and foremost targets people who neglect their health out of gluttony and a desire for bodily pleasure, his next comments (} 23) deal with the practices of those at the other end of the scale, who deny their body pleasure by a strict and set regime of fasting (IŒæØ E ŒÆd  ƪ Æ IØÆ, 134F). People should not be bound, Plutarch writes, to ‘one formula of life, making sure everything is done at certain times, in certain numbers, and according to a certain routine’ (d åÆØ ı æ ØÆ ŒÆØæf j IæØŁf j æØı ¼ª ŁÆØ   º ÅŒ, 135A). Instead, they should be flexible (cf. Kº ıŁ æØ, 135A) and adjust their regimen to ever-changing circumstances (c ¼ººÅ ÆØÆ . . . æe e ııå  I d ÆE  ƺÆE  Œ å Ø, 135A).87 Similar advice has, in fact, already been given earlier in the text. In the third paragraph, Plutarch condemned ‘ostentatious and sophisticated abstinence’ (K Ø ØŒØŒa ŒÆd çØØŒa I å  Ø, 123B) and suggested that we should accustom our appetite to adjust itself to what is expedient (F ıç æ  Œ KŁÇÆ r ÆØ, 123C). Ten paragraphs later, he pointed out that a very strict and precisely measured regimen ( . . . IŒæØc çæÆ ŒÆd Ø Zıå º ª Å ÆØÆ, 128E) renders the body over-sensitive. In the seventeenth paragraph, again, he explicitly refuted a strict and set regimen (m ç ª  IŒæØB ŒÆd  ƪ Å I ø ÆØÆ, 131B), because it punishes one for even the slightest of deviations.88 Through its similar wording, the 87 Cf. also 137B. Again, then, Plutarch’s diet-ethical advice calls to mind the rules of practice as described by Bourdieu. Cf. above, Ch. 6, n. 50. 88 Cf. also Republic 403e–404a, where Plato, just like Plutarch, suggests that it is better to establish only general guidelines, as strict diets do not allow even the

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current passage obviously draws attention to these earlier passages. At the same time, however, it adds an extra dimension to the condemnation: P ªaæ Içƺb Pb Þfi Ø Pb ºØØŒe P IŁæø ØŒe Iºº Oæ ı Øe ÇøfiB æ ØŒe j  º åı e I  Æ F ŒÆd ŒÆÅƪŒÆ  K æçÆE ŒÆd I åÆE ŒÆd ŒØ Ø ŒÆd ıåÆØ N K ŒØ ØÆ  ŒÆd åºÆc ŒÆd æ  ØÆ ŒÆd ¼çغ ŒÆd ¼ I ø ø ºØ Æ ŒÆŁÆØ Æıf ŒÆd ı ºÆØ, ‘P ŒÆ ª c Kc’ çÅ ‘ªÅ’. (Precepts of Health Care, 135A–B) For it is not safe, nor easy, nor appropriate for a citizen or a human being, but it is like the life of some oyster or trunk of a tree, this inflexibility and constraint in matters of food and abstinence as well as movement and rest in men who have reduced and restricted themselves to an obscure, idle, and solitary life without friends or glory, very far removed from society. ‘I for my part,’ he said, ‘do not agree with this.’ (Precepts of Health Care, 135A–B)

If the fact that a rigid diet is not safe recalls Plutarch’s earlier arguments, the remainder of the passage focuses on the asocial character of such a regimen: inflexibility and constraint condemn people to an obscure life far from any social or political community. The description of this life is all but flattering, and as such encourages the reader to distance himself from it. As Plutarch here explicitly points out, this does not coincide with the advice given in his text, which, as we have seen, indeed attaches very much importance to social institutions such as the symposium. The reason, then, why people should avoid neglecting their health as well as too intensive health care, is that both these extremes prevent them from enjoying pleasure within society. In the passage quoted, Plutarch disapproves of strict regulations on movement and rest as well as on food and abstinence, and thereby introduces his next precept (}} 24–5). Indeed, immediately following upon this passage is an extensive argument that shows that the suspension of activity and business is not the price to be paid for

slightest deviation. If this is the intertext Plutarch is working with, it may well be that he too, like Plato (Republic 3.403e), is targeting athletic dietetics. For Plato’s condemnation of severe regimen, see Wo¨hrle (1990), 123.

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health (cf. P ªaæ IæªÆ ø(Ø  ª ØÆ ŒÆd I æÆÆ, 135B). The image is familiar from On Feeling Good (ø(Ø I æÆÆ, 465C), as is the following statement that he who thinks to conserve his health by inactivity is as similar to the person who thinks to conserve his eyes by not looking and his voice by not speaking (cf. ŒÆŒe b IÆØŁÅÆ ÆØ ç æÆŒ I Æ, 465C). As we saw in our first case study, these images formed part, in On Feeling Good, of an argument against the adoption of a different kind of life in view of feeling good.89 In the same way, Precepts of Health Care argues that the reader should not give up his usual life in order to attain or stay in good health. In the passage quoted above, Plutarch indeed explicitly condemns a life of leisure ( . . . åºÆ, 135B), and a bit later, he says that every kind of life ( Æe ı, 135D) has room for both disease and health. On top of that, he opposes philosophers and politicians not in order to demonstrate that philosophy is the condition for a good attitude towards external events, as he did in On Feeling Good 466D–E and On Exile 607F, but in order to show that giving up politics is in no way a condition for good health: the heads of the Academy and the Lyceum, Xenocrates and Theophrastus, are said to have been in no better health than their respective pupils Phocion and Demetrius, who became famous politicians (135C).90 The point is underlined by reference to Epicurus, who, for all his withdrawal from society, did not attain his own ideal of perfect bodily health. Plutarch’s insistence on not giving up on political activity placed him in strong contrast with competing views on dietetics.91 On Regimen, for example, does not mention political activities at all.92 Galen, in his Precepts of Health Care, suggests that the best conditions for living a long and healthy life consist in ‘being free from all necessary business, and devoted to the body alone’, as

89

Cf. above, pp. 89–90 The precise, parallel relationship between both couples of men was pointed out by Defradas, Hani, and Klaerr (1985), 130 n. 1 and Senzasono (1992), 127 n. 152 (p. 194). 91 For the importance of politics in Precepts of Health Care, see Senzasono (1997). 92 As Philips (1973), 78, pointed out: ‘these and more prescriptions in the four books of Regimen would take up the whole time of the person submitting to them. . . . They could not be combined with regular work as we understand it.’ 90

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opposed to being concerned with some art, business, occupation, political or private service, or another necessary job.93 Diocles of Carystus, on the other hand, does tell his readers at what point in the day, which should otherwise be entirely dedicated to health care, business can be carried out (fr. 182 VdE, 40–2).94 As opposed to Plutarch, however, he does not give any advice as to how this business should be carried out if one wants to stay in good health. According to Plutarch, two principles should be kept in mind. First, one should avoid unnecessary toils: ƒ ººd ŒÆŒ ÆŁFØ K d E ıåFØ, I ŒÆ  Æıf Iªæı ÆØ ŒÆd º ÆØ ŒÆd æØæÆE N Pb åæÅe P I E, Iºº K Åæ Ç   æØ j çŁF  j çغ ØŒF  j Æ IŒ æ ı ŒÆd Œ a ØŒ . (Precepts of Health Care, 135E) Most people suffer badly from whatever happens: they wear themselves out by sleepless nights, wandering, and running hither and thither for nothing useful or elegant, but because they are trying to insult others, or because they envy them or compete with them, or because they are trying to chase unprofitable and empty fame. (Precepts of Health Care, 135E)

Most people, then, do not behave as Plutarch teaches in his writings of practical ethics such as On Feeling Good, On the Control of Anger, Political Precepts, On Talkativeness, On Brotherly Love, How Could You Profit by Your Enemies?, and, above all, maybe, On Curiosity. As a result, they use all their time and energy pursuing useless, inelegant, and empty goals.95 Against this attitude, Plutarch invokes the authority of Plato, Democritus, and Theophrastus (135D–E) in order to convince the reader not to wear himself out on such trivialities, but to make sure he is in good health and condition for the performance of honourable and important activities ( æe a ŒÆºa æ  Ø ŒÆd  ª ºÆ, 135F). Plutarch’s second advice in matters of activity con-

93

201.

Precepts of Health Care 6.62. On this passage, see Wo¨hrle (1990), 113–14 and

94 Plato (Republic 3.406b–407c) already criticized the fact that neither athletic nor medical health care left much time for other activities. Cf. Wo¨hrle (1990), 123. Whilst he therefore sought to resolve this by pointing out the usefulness of his own health care advice for the well-being of the city-state, Hellenistic doctors left a little more room for intellectual and other activities. Cf. Wo¨hrle (1990), 196–202. 95 For this aspect of curiosity, see above, p. 204 and n. 75.

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cerns recuperation. Whilst it is important to allow the body sleep, food, and comfort, he says, one should avoid unnecessary pleasures and indulgence. The most visible argument he uses in order to convince the reader is an appeal to nature (çØ, 136B and 136C): people should not indulge in excessive pleasures because Nature requires no such immoderate enjoyments, but simple quiet and calm.96 A less explicit, but not less strong, argument, is the association of excessive indulgence with slavishness (I º Ł æ, 136B–C) and sailors (u æ ƒ ÆFÆØ, 136C): if readers want to avoid looking like such inferior groups of people, they will have to abide by Plutarch’s advice.97 Immediately after the passage quoted, Plutarch indeed suggests that sensible people (ƒ b F å , 136C) ‘focus their attention on the good to be achieved through activity’ ( æe fiH ŒÆºfiH B æ  ø c Ø ØÆ å , 136C). Sensible people, in other words, see gentle and moderate relaxation as a means that will enable them to realize the good actions. Plutarch pointed out earlier that health is a necessary condition for action (126B). Now he adds that action is the aim of health (e B ªØ Æ  º, 135C). Far from being the main aim in life, then, to which one ideally dedicates all one’s time and energy, as Galen and other doctors would have it, health care is to be seen as a means towards activity. One should not, in other words, give up activity in order to care for one’s health; rather, one should care for one’s health in order to be able to carry out one’s activities successfully.

96 Cf. already 132C–D. The appeal to nature as an argument, which recurs in this and other passages in Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care, was obviously used by medical writers, but also by philsophers. On the use of nature as an argument in ethics, see Annas (1993), 135–220. Naddaf (1992) and (2005) discusses the notion in earlier Greek thought, with the project of doing so for the subsequent period in two more volumes, whilst Morgan (2007), 211–13 explores how popular philosophy uses nature as a source of authority. 97 Throughout Precepts of Health Care, Plutarch associates bad health care attitudes with the foolish, childish, or servile behaviour of the uneducated and vulgar mass of people. Foolish: cf. I º æø, 127E; childish: cf. ÆØÆæØÅ, 128A or ŒÆŁ æ ƒ ÆE , 132E; servile and vulgar: cf. I º ıŁ æı ŒØfiB ŒÆd çæØŒa, 124F; boorish: IªæŒı Ø, 124B; insensible people: cf. F PŒ å Pb ºª, 124B; the mass of people: ƒ ºº, 126E, 134A, 134E, 135D, 136A, 136B or f b º ı, 127E.

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Before taking this point a final step further in the last paragraph of the text, Plutarch incites the reader once more to self-knowledge in matters of health care:98 Å(ŒıÆ TØ æØ  KÆÆæÆ N E ‰ Icæ  bæ ŒÆ ª ªg Å ŒÆd æ ø NÆæfiH å EæÆ ŒÆƪ ºÆ KØ. Kd b F b NæBŁÆØ Œ E Ææ æ, KŒ E  IºÅŁb r ÆØ, e  E ŒÆ ÆF  çıªH NØÅ ¼ Øæ r ÆØ ( ººÆd ªaæ ƃ ŒÆŁ ŒÆ ØÆçæÆ)  ŒæAØ Iª E m å Ø e HÆ Ł æÅ ŒÆd ÅæÅ, Ł x  ‰ç º EŁÆØ åæ  j º  ŁÆØ çıŒ . ÆF ªaæ IÆŁÅ KØ ŒÆd ıçºe KØŒ E fiH ÆØ ŒÆd Œøçe › ÆFÆ ÆŁ ø Ææ  æı ŒÆd ıŁÆ  F NÆæF  æ Ł æı Aºº j å ØH ªØÆ Ø, ŒÆd  æ a ªæa ÞA fi  j a Åæa æ å ÆØ, ŒÆd  æ ç Ø ıŒe å Ø e çıªe j  . ŒÆd ªaæ Tç ºØ N ÆØ a ØÆFÆ ŒÆd Þfi Ø. (Precepts of Health Care, 136D–E) I have heard that Tiberius Caesar once said that a man over sixty who reaches for a doctor is ridiculous. Personally, I think that he put it too strongly, but this much is true: nobody should be unfamiliar with the peculiarities of his own pulse—for there are many individual differences—, nor be ignorant about the mixture of warmth and dryness which characterizes his body, nor about what typically helps and what typically harms one’s body in actual practice. For the man who consults another man and asks his doctor whether his health is better in summer or in winter, whether he digests liquid or solid foodstuffs more easily, and whether his pulse is naturally fast or slow—that man has no self-awareness and occupies his body like a blind and deaf person. For it is both useful and easy to know such things. (Precepts of Health Care, 136D–E)

Although rejecting the idea that people over sixty should never call upon a doctor, this passage suggests that people will but rarely need to do so:99 they should know themselves what their constitution is, and what regimen is beneficial for them in different seasons. The elements Plutarch thus enumerates are, in fact, exactly the elements dealt with in medical dietetics: pulse, warmth and dryness, seasons, and different foodstuffs and drinks all figure prominently in the Hippocratic On Regimen, in Diocles of Carystus fr. 182 VdE, and in 98 On the importance of self-knowledge in Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care, see also Tirelli (1992), 395. As pointed out by Wo¨hrle (1990), 243, Plutarch thus recalls Socrates’ stance in Xenophon’s Memoirs Socrates, 4.7.9. Cf. also Boulogne (1995), 2776–7. 99 Cf. already Plato, Republic 3.410b, on which see Wo¨hrle (1990), 124.

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Galen’s Precepts of Health Care. What Plutarch is saying, in other words, is that doctors may be useful in exceptional circumstances, for example when an operation is needed, but that people should not seek dietetical advice from them: each person (ŒÆ) can and should (Tç ºØ . . . ŒÆd Þfi Ø) know what is good or bad for his own, individual body. By thus subsuming the dietetical knowledge of the doctor under the philosophical care of the self, Plutarch here subtly answers Glaucus’ initial reproach: far from being reserved for doctors, dietetical insight in one’s body belongs to everybody.100 By caring more for their mouths than for their stomachs, by engaging more with cookery101 than with dietetics, and by living more in view of pleasure than in view of health, however, people provide doctors with plentiful work (›Å æÆØ ººa Ææ åıØ æ ªÆÆ E NÆæE, 137B).102 By changing this attitude, then, Plutarch’s dietethics promise to make medical dietetics redundant. As we have seen in Chapter 1, Precepts of Health Care is explicitly intended for an elite readership. The risk for these people is not that they might destroy their health by sleepness nights and constant toil, but that they might neglect their body in favour of their soul. As Plutarch demonstrates in his last paragraph, though, the very importance these people attach to the activities of the soul should incite them to pay attention to their bodies: if the soul does not give in a little to the body when the latter needs it, the body will fall sick and thereby force the soul to give up ‘books and discussions and studies’ (cf. a ØºÆ ŒÆd f ºªı ŒÆd a ØÆæØ , 137D).103 In line with Plato’s advice to conserve the balance of a well-matched team 100

Likewise, Plutarch earlier suggested that simple foodstuffs that stimulate digestion and that are known to everyone ( AØ, 134E) do a better job than emetic or cathartic drugs. 101 Plutarch may here echo Plato’s famous definition of cookery as a degenerated form of medicine in Gorgias 464c–465b. For Seneca’s criticism on ever more sophisticated cookery, see Romano (2000), 36. On cooks in antiquity, see Wilkins (2005), 139–40; medical arguments against cooks are discussed in Wilkins and Hill (2006), 219–27. 102 Paradoxically enough, indeed, the extensive dietetical advice given by doctors did not diminish the need for doctors, but instead increased it. Cf. Wo¨hrle (1990), 115. 103 On the Platonic origin of this idea, see Wo¨hrle (1990), 124–40 and Boulogne (1995), 2772 and n. 87.

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between body and soul,104 the soul should therefore give most heed to the body when the body most helps the soul. For one should realize, Plutarch adds, that the very best that health has to offer is that there is no impediment to attaining and practising virtue both in words and in deeds. Good health, then, is a precondition not only for mental activities,105 but also for virtue in word and deed ( æe ŒBØ Iæ B ŒÆd åæBØ   ºªØ ŒÆd æ  Ø, 137E). By ending on this note, the text places its precepts of health care within an explicit philosophical framework: health is important because it enables one to realize the higher philosophical objective of virtue. For all its importance, then, health care is, ultimately, at the service of philosophy—a philosophy that, like always in Plutarch’s practical ethics, favours active deeds as much as culture and conviviality.

8.4. DESSERT: THE SOCIAL DYNAMICS OF PLUTARCH’S DIET-ETHICS As argued in Section 8.1, the opening dialogue of Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care highlights the debate over different views on dietetics and, concomitantly, over authority in matters of health care. Throughout the text, we have seen Plutarch opposing his diet-ethical advice to that offered by other groups of people: whereas Plutarch shows the reader how he can live his life within society in a way that is good for his health, doctors and gymnastic teachers saw health as an aim in itself and therefore gave dietetical advice in much more abstract terms, targeting the individual taken by himself rather 104

For Plato’s health care advice as ‘dietetics of the relation between body and soul’, see Wo¨hrle (1990), 124–40. 105 Whilst Celsus (On Medicine, 1.2.1) pointed out that weak men, including much townsfolk and most intellectuals (cupidi litterarum), should balance through care what they lack owing to their physical condition, status, or studies, Galen (Precepts of Health Care 1.5) defined being healthy as being unimpeded in one’s daily practices, including political activities ( ºØ  ŁÆØ). By contrast with Plutarch, however, neither of these medical authors dedicated much attention to activity in their actual dietetical advice, and neither referred to the exercise of virtue (Iæ ) in particular.

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than as a social being. In the opening dialogue, these contrasting views are embodied by the two characters which the reader gets to know indirectly. On the one hand, there is Glaucus, a doctor who vehemently defends the need for specialized knowledge in matters of dietetics.106 In Plutarch’s text, he is represented as socially inept: he is aggressive (cf. çغÆåFØ, 122B), there is something rude and difficult in his speech (I  Ø æÆåf ŒÆd Œº åø K E ºªØ, 122C), he shouts from afar (H Ø æøŁ , 122C), he tears apart other people’s opinions (K æÆ , 122D) and ridicules them (cf. ª ºÆŁ ø, 123A, K ª ºøØ æç æ , 124A), he is self-important ( e  Å, 122E), and he thinks he does not need philosophy (ÆP ºB ıº  r ÆØ ŒÆd I æ B çغçÆ, 122E).107 On the other hand, there is the companion, a philosopher who shows himself to be well aware of medical theories but who offers his own, diet-ethical perspective on health care in philosophical discussion (cf. ıçغç E, 122B) with people such as Zeuxippus.108 If this positive characterization already arouses the reader’s initial sympathy, this is reinforced by the support which the companion is shown to receive at an intradiegetic level from both direct participants in the dialogue. The first one to speak is Moschion, a doctor who loves to hear (cf. æŁı IŒæÆc  ø i ª Å, 122D, f b f ºªı E  ºŁ Æ, 122E–F) the companion’s opinions on health care.109 As Zeuxippus points out, Moschion, although a doc106

4850.

On Glaucus, see Gossen (1910), 1421, Ziegler (1951), 676, and Puech (1992),

107 It is noteworthy that Galen will offer a very similar image of gymnastic teachers, whom he suggests are uncultivated people who do not know or obey the rules of polite conversation. Cf. Thrasybulus 37 = 5.877–8K, and esp. 46 = 5.894–6K, where he tells an anecdote about a debate over Hippocrates’ views on massage, where he was asked by the doctors and philosophers (!) present at the scene to defend Hippocrates against a gymnastic teacher who shouted at him and who ‘could not even be quiet for long enough to follow the discussion, while I calmly set to explaining matters to the assembled company’ (trans. Singer (1997)). 108 Note that even in the rumour which Moschion had already heard about the events of the preceding day, and which was apparently quite ill-disposed towards Zeuxippus and his companion, it was Zeuxippus (cf.  , 122B) and not the companion who was thought to have driven Glaucus away when he wanted to join them (E, 122B). 109 That Moschion is a doctor is implied in 122D, and made more explicit in 123A, where Zeuxippus refers to the food which ‘you serve’ ( æç æ  )—a plural refer-

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tor by profession, has a natural interest in philosophy, and he does not approve of philosophers who do not return this interest (fiH c çغØÆæFØ åƺ Æ Ø çغçfiH, 122D). Through this presentation of Moschion, Plutarch not only subtly lashes out at fellow philosophers who might disagree with his interest in medicine, he also discourages doctors who might read his text from disparaging it outright: whereas that attitude would assimilate them to Glaucus, portrayed in a most negative light, Moschion provides a positive model for approaching Plutarch’s text. On top of that, the introduction of Moschion as a character also sanctions Plutarch’s diet-ethics in the eyes of other readers: if a doctor approves of it, then surely Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care must contain valuable advice. The other participant in Plutarch’s dialogue is Zeuxippus, presented as highly cultivated and sociable: within the opening scene, he quotes from both the Iliad (11.514, 122C) and the Odyssey (4.392, 122D), and he engages in philosophical discussions with both a philosopher and a doctor.110 Neither a philosopher nor a doctor himself, this is probably the character most readers can identify with most easily—a character that defends the companion against hostile people and rumours, and that shares the companion’s opinions with others.111 A feature of this text which I have not yet discussed, is that the opinions communicated in it are ascribed to ‘our companion’ (› ÆEæ H, 122F), whilst Plutarch’s name is nowhere mentioned.

ring to Moschion and Glaucus—to the sick. On Moschion, see furthermore Deichgra¨ber (1933), 349–50, Boehm (1935), 2, Ziegler (1951), 678–9, Fuhrmann (1972), 106, Puech (1992), 4862, and Boulogne (1995), 2764 n. 18. 110 For Zeuxippus, see Ziegler (1951), 687, von Geisau (1972), 379 (# 5), Glucker (1978), 265 n. 35, and Puech (1992), 4891–2. 111 This significantly distinguishes Plutarch’s dialogue from the apparent structure of Heraclides of Tarentum’s dietetic Symposium (1st cent. bc). Although this work is now largely lost, the surviving fragments, largely handed down in Athenaeus’ Sophists at Dinner, suggest a great resemblance to that work as far as the dramatic set-up is concerned, implying the continuous deployment of plural voices, including that of doctors, as opposed to Plutarch’s (as well as, to some extent, Plato’s) focus on one philosophical person in particular. For a recent edition of all the fragments of Heraclides of Tarentum, see Guardasole (1998). Note, furthermore, that the opening of Athenaeus’ Sophists at Dinner is similar to that of Plutarch’s Precepts of Health Care in its manipulation of (partly the same!) Platonic intertexts. Cf. Trapp (2000), esp. 353–6.

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Traditionally, scholars have had little problem identifying the two.112 Yet whilst I am convinced that, in the absence of any signs of irony, the opinions propagated in Precepts of Health Care are, ultimately, Plutarch’s,113 this identification, to my mind, does not solve the question, but makes it even more pressing: if Plutarch wanted to promote his opinions on a healthy regimen, why did he opt for a dialogue in which he himself does not figure, either as a character or by name? If the preceding pages have demonstrated the strategic advantages of the genre of the dialogue for introducing different viewpoints as well as for helping the reader determine his own stance, the key to understanding Plutarch’s anonymity, I believe, lies with Plato. Twice in Plato’s oeuvre, indeed, the formula ‘our companion’ occurs with the same wording as Plutarch’s, and both times, it refers to Socrates.114 By having Zeuxippus refer to him as ‘our companion’, then, Plutarch creates a parallel between himself and Socrates, and thereby conveys Socrates’ authority to himself. Glaucus, who defends the position radically opposed to Plutarch’s own, on the other hand, resembles Platonic characters such as Thrasymachus in the Republic: both make a fierce entrance (H Ø æøŁ , 122C cf. N e   çŁ ª  , Republic 1.336b–c), but are soon defeated.115 At the end of the fifth paragraph, Glaucus thus disappears from the text: ÆF E › ˆºÆFŒ K ª ºøØ æç æ  ‰ ÆØƪøªØŒ • H  ¼ººø P ı æŁı q IŒ Ø, P  E KŒ ø fi ØŪ EŁÆØ. f  K ØŒ Ø H º åŁ ø ŒÆ. (Precepts of Health Care, 124A) These were the things Glaucus ridiculed and flung in our face as being pedantic. The rest he was not at all eager to hear, nor we to tell him. You,

112 The equation was made already by Hirzel (1895), 166, taken over by Babbitt (1928), 215, Boehm (1935), 3–4, Ziegler (1951), 676, 678, and 687, Glucker (1978), 165, Defradas, Hani, and Klaerr (1985), 97, 305 n. 5, 306 n. 1, and 311 n. 2, and, recently, Senzasono (1992), 145 n. 9, Tirelli (1992), 387, Aguila´r (2001), 461, and Bellu (2005), 211. The hypothesis of Smith (1979), 33 n. 6, that the companion would be Glaucus, is not convincing. Moreover, in his main text Smith (1979), 34 states that ‘since Plutarch is the author, the teachings are those he has chosen to present’. 113 Cf. above, p. 68. 114 Cf. Phaedo 118a (F Ææı E) and Seventh Letter 325b (e ÆEæ H). 115 Throughout his oeuvre, Plutarch, like Plato, repeatedly introduces disturbing figures in his dialogues only to let them disappear almost immediately. Cf. Hirzel (1895), 190 and 214.

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on the other hand, should examine every single one of the things that were said. (Precepts of Health Care, 124A)

Plutarch’s advice on keeping up the temperature of one’s hands, accustoming oneself beforehand to the diet of the sick, and, especially, in the two immediately preceding paragraphs, reconciling health care with social obligations at symposia, was ridiculed by Glaucus as being—literally—‘pedagogical’ ( ÆØƪøªØŒ ). On the one hand, this specific reproach may be a dig at the philosophical condescension over athletic dietetics: if philosophers spoke dismayingly about gymnastic teachers ( ÆØæ Ø),116 Glaucus may be suggesting that philosophers themselves rank even lower as teachers of dietetics. After all, the pedagogue was a private slave waiting upon one or a few particular children, whilst the gymnastic teacher was a free man hired by the city to fulfil an important role in the gymnasium, which had a central role in education as in social life. On the other hand, Glaucus’ final reproach confirms his earlier argument in favour of a specialization of knowledge. Yet whilst the pedagogue’s involvement in education was indeed not of a technical character, he had a function of support as well as a gradually more and more important role in educating elite children in ethics and etiquette.117 In criticizing the companion’s advice for being pedagogic, Glaucus thus at the same time hits the point and betrays that he has missed it: Plutarch’s precepts indeed have a practical aim, they show a care for manners and morals, and they propose some very explicit rules, especially regarding banquets. Yet these rules are in no way aimed at children, let alone childish! On the contrary: far from imposing a fixed set of rules about banqueting and exercise, Precepts of Health Care suggests ways of dealing with these issues in social practice strategically and creatively. Thus Glaucus’ derision of others, derived from a deficient and partial understanding of their opinions, makes him ridiculous himself. In the passage quoted, it is therefore sug-

116 Galen (Thrasybulus 33 = 5.870K) points out that Plato chose to term such a person a ÆØæÅ rather than a ªıÆ. Whereas the former by its very etymology referred to childcare, as Galen points out a bit later in the text (Thrasybulus 45 = 891K), the latter was used to indicate a trainer of professional athletes. Cf. LSJ, s.v. 117 On the role of the pedagogue, see Marrou (1965), 220–1, with further bibliography in n. 4.

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gested that Glaucus is giving up battle. The terms chosen by Plutarch to indicate that he was not interested in hearing more make him the exact opposite of Moschion as presented in the opening dialogue (H  ¼ººø . . . P ı æŁı IŒ Ø, 124D, versus ŒÆd ø ªøª ŒÆd H ¼ººø . . . æŁı IŒæÆc  ø i ª Å, 122D). Given the positive characterization of Moschion, this is, of course, no compliment. On top of that, Plutarch has Zeuxippus add that he himself and his companion were not eager to say more to such a man. The addition is significant as it locates power clearly with the characters that profess Plutarch’s opinions: by going away, Glaucus not only gave up the battle, but actually did what they wanted him to do.118 In order to counterbalance this negative example, the text contains an explicit invitation to examine all that was said between Zeuxippus and his companion. Technically speaking, this invitation, formulated in the second person singular (f  K ØŒ Ø, 124D), is addressed by Zeuxippus to Moschion. In the absence of a vocative, however, the complex narratological situation, in which Plutarch presents the reader with a text in which two characters have a conversation about a discussion one of them was having on the previous day with an unnamed companion who, as we have seen, represents Plutarch’s opinions,119 almost deliberately seems to invite the reader to interpret these words as if it were Plutarch’s direct address to him: I do not want to lose my time trying to convince people like Glaucus, but you, dear reader, who surely would not (like to) resemble him, should examine everything I have to say. Such an invitation to examine what one says, is, of course, typical of Socrates.120 Together with the reference to Socrates in the next sentence (› "øŒæ Å, 124D), then, this allusion confirms what was earlier said about Plutarch’s choice to have Zeuxippus talk about ‘his companion’ rather 118 For power as ‘the ability of individuals or groups to make their own interests or concerns count, even when others resist’, cf. Giddens (1998), 338. 119 It should be noted, moreover, that Zeuxippus refers to his companion only occasionally after the opening paragraph. Cf. 135B and 135D. 120 A quick search through the TLG suffices indeed to show that Plato deployed the imperatives K ØŒ Ø and especially Œ Ø far more than any other author until John Chrysostom. See e.g. Republic 3.403d (Œ Ø b ŒÆd ), Republic 509a (Ø K ØŒ Ø), Phaedo 87c (Œ Ø ªaæ ŒÆd ), or Gorgias 473a (Œ Ø b ŒÆd ), to give but a few examples from dialogues already referred to in this chapter.

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than about ‘his friend Plutarch’. Far from weakening his position by the introduction of a debate that challenges his authority in matters of health care, Plutarch thus ingeniously deployed the full potential of the tradition of the philosophical dialogue in order to convey authority to himself and his health care advice, as well as to provide his elite readers not only with a philosophical regimen, but also with different possible models of approaching the text.

Conclusion In the course of this book, we have identified a number of characteristics shared by a distinct group of Plutarchean writings. The writings studied in this book are all aimed at educated elite men who have a basic knowledge of philosophy, but are not advanced students or philosophers themselves. They offer these readers not technical polemics about the precise philosophical interpretation of certain fields of knowledge, but practical help for fulfilling their role in society more successfully. This practical help does not entail a change of life, but the adoption of a more philosophically inspired attitude, in which self-knowledge is of central importance. In order to bring this change about, they deploy some philosophical arguments, but above all a range of rhetorical strategies that often capitalize on the reader’s sense of honour, such as the tactical use of grammatical personae, the strategic mobilization of characters as dramatic roles, and the meaningful association of behaviour with certain groups of people in order to trigger strategies of imitation or dissociation in the reader. Together with a range of uniquely practical exercises, these strategies are meant not only to convince the reader, but also to help him acquire a more philosophical attitude. The writer’s authority is not deduced from systematic rigour but built up inductively through references to literature, history, popular morality, as well as various philosophical traditions. Plutarch consistently presents himself as the one and only philosopher his elite readers (should) need, and as such, he subtly negotiates prestige for himself within the fields of politics, culture, and philosophy. In my subtitle, I summarized these characteristics as the ‘social dynamics of philosophy’. Typical of these texts is indeed that they react attentively to, and aim to have a dynamic influence on, social practice: on the one hand, they try to

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sell their readers a kind of philosophy that is not only compatible with society, but will also help them to fulfil their social roles more successfully; on the other hand, these philosophical writings are themselves being deployed by their author in order to promote himself as a philosopher within society. Within the discursive context of these writings, Plutarch thus activates philosophy as a kind of symbolic capital engendering power and prestige both for his readers and for himself. Objective, methodology, and authorial self-presentation clearly distinguish the writings studied in this book from Plutarch’s further literary output. The distinctive objective of Plutarch’s practical ethics can be conceptualized effectively in the terminology of ancient rhetoric: whereas the rhetorical-epideictic writings aim primarily at placere (pleasing)1 and the technical-philosophical writings at docere (teaching),2 the aim of the writings discussed in this book lies in movere (moving).3 As a result, while studying the philosophical programme proposed in these writings alongside the technicalphilosophical ones will show that they propose a diluted, yet in no way incompatible philosophical doctrine, such a reading does not do justice to them: the primary aim of these writings is not to teach their readers a system of philosophical knowledge nor to show them the superiority of Platonism over other philosophical schools, but to convince and help them to welcome the practical help of (Platonic) philosophy in their non-philosophical lives. While sharing this practical, moral aim, the Lives differ in methodology. As suggested earlier, this difference cannot be couched in terms of exploratory versus expository moralism: both groups of writings present their readers with a moral challenge, yet they do so within a very different discursive framework. Indeed, whereas the Lives are biographical narratives of famous Greek and Romans of the past, the writings studied in this book offer themselves as essays, letters, or dialogues each centred 1 Arguing theses could, of course, also be a philosophical propaedeusis. Cf. Hadot (1995b), 63. Yet even if so, the aim is not so much to change the audience, and the methodology in any case very different from that adopted in the practical ethics. 2 Several other subgroups of the Moralia recognized by Ziegler (1951) would have shared this primary aim. One can think, for example, of the ‘theologische Schriften’ or the ‘naturwissenschaftlichen Schriften’. 3 For the rhetorical distinction between different aims, see e.g, Cicero, Orator 69.

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around a problem the Graeco-Roman elite might encounter in their own lives. On the Control of Anger, for example, is about an emotion which recurs in many of the Lives. In some of the Lives, anger is (one of) the dominant emotion(s) that characterize the protagonist, yet even in those Lives, the reader sees many other emotions in action. If the texts studied in this book are less demanding in the sense that the reader receives stronger guidance, they are, at the same time, more demanding in that they leave the reader less space: the rhetorical strategies and practical exercises described above make sure that he cannot just read these texts for mere reflection, let alone mere entertainment.4 Also, in these texts which address the reader directly and explicitly, Plutarch, as an author, has to steer a much more delicate middle course between involving the reader and risking to insult him. Plutarch’s presence is, finally, much stronger in the works studied in this book than in the Lives: as well as occasional explicit references to himself, which are familiar from the Lives, Plutarch here not only casts himself as a character, but also deploys each of the writings examined in order to negotiate an interesting position for himself as a philosopher. Key in this authorial self-presentation is, amongst other things, the fact that he positions himself in a higly authoritative position, rather than as a philosopher in discussion with his fellows—a feature that sets the writings studied here apart from Plutarchean writings such as the Delphic dialogues, On the Face in the Moon, or Table Talk. If, then, these are the distinctive characteristics of a group of Plutarchean writings, which should therefore be read in a distinct way if their full potential is to be realized, which writings belong to this group? In my view, the following writings qualify (given in the order in which they traditionally appear in editions of the Moralia since Stephanus’ in 1572): How the Young Man Should Study Poetry, On Listening, How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend?, How Could You Profit by Your Enemies?, On Having Many Friends, Precepts of Health Care, Precepts of Marriage, On the Control of Anger, On 4 As has been repeatedly stressed in the last two decennia, the Lives were not intended for mere entertainment or reflection either; all I am saying is that the works of practical ethics use a number of rhetorical strategies and practical exercises that put much more pressure on the reader, as described in Ch. 2.

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Feeling Good, On Brotherly Love, On Talkativeness, On Curiosity, On Love of Wealth, On Compliance, On Praising Oneself Inoffensively, On Exile, Consolation to His Wife, That a Philosopher Should Converse Especially with Men in Power, To an Uneducated Ruler, Whether an Old Man Should Engage in Public Affairs, Political Precepts, That One Ought Not to Borrow, and, if they are genuine, On the Education of Children and Consolation to Apollonius.5 As will be clear, this list does not wholly coincide with Ziegler’s popular-philosophical works of ethics. On the one hand, not only Plutarch’s pedagogical writings but also some of his politicial treatises have been included.6 If Ziegler himself already merged the popular-philosophical works of ethics and the pedagogical writings when discussing Plutarch’s individual works because of their shared practical aim,7 I do not believe that there is any reason to separate the political writings included in the above list, given that they share not only the practical aim of the other writings, but also their method and authorial self-presentation. Apart from sharing the consolatory aim of Consolation to His Wife, On Exile also shows many resemblances with On Feeling Good, as our case study has shown. Political Precepts, in turn, addresses either the same or a very similar person to Plutarch’s anonymous friend in On Exile, and presents the author as a philosopher rather than as a politician, just as in Precepts of Health Care, where we saw Plutarch derive his authority not from his acquaintance with medical writers but from the philosophical tradition. Again, Whether an Old Man Should Engage in Public Affairs is no different from the five writings

5 On the Education of Children is usually taken to be spurious. Cf. Babbitt (1927), 3, Ziegler (1951), 810–12, Tsekourakis (1983), 90 n. 50, Flacelie`re and Irigoin (1987), 24–6, Duff (1999), 382, and Sirinelli (2000), 37. Although the same goes for the Consolation to Apollonius (cf. Paton, Pohlenz, and Wegehaupt (1929), 208, Kassel (1958), 48, De Lacy and Einarson (1959), 578, and Tsekourakis (1983), 90 n. 50), Defradas, Hani, and Klaerr (1985), 3–12, Aguila´r (1990), and Fabrini (2000), 253 n. 2 recently seem to have taken a different stance. 6 Donini (2000), 135 already opposed the ‘scritti etico-diatribici, eticopedagogici e politici’ as a group to Plutarch’s more technical philosophical works on the basis of their different target audience as well as technicality. 7 Separate categories: Ziegler (1951), 637; merged: Ziegler (1951), 703–4 (‘Popularphilosophisch-ethische Schriften (mit Einschluß der pa¨dagogischen)’) and 805, where he points out that ‘in einem weiteren Sinne sind alle die schon besprochenen popularphilosophisch-ethischen Abhandlungen des Seelenarztes P. pa¨dagogisch’.

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discussed in detail in this book in playing on the reader’s sense of honour. And in both To an Uneducated Ruler and That a Philosopher Should Converse Especially with Men in Power Plutarch stresses that his philosophy does not aim to turn politicians into philosophers: rather, philosophy is to help already successful politicians lead their active lives more successfully. Giving advice to successful people is, however, not an easy task, as Plutarch himself suggests when recounting, at the beginning of To an Uneducated Ruler, how Plato renounced composing laws for the Cyrenaeans because they were so prosperous. If Plutarch, on the other hand, did accept the challenge, he may well be implicitly emulating his beloved Plato. Thus Plutarch himself appears from his work To an Uneducated Ruler as a dynamic player in society none the less than from the other writings listed above. This is not to say, of course, that it cannot be useful to identify subgroups within the list given above, for example for the purposes of a thematic study of Plutarch’s works;8 the point I am making is that if one wants to do justice to the full richness of one, more, or all of the writings listed above, one should take into account their specific context, including the aim, method and agenda which they, as opposed to other Plutarchean works, share. The reason why I have, on the other hand, omitted On Moral Virtue, On Virtue and Vice, How Could One Become Aware of One’s Progress in Virtue, On Envy and Hate, and the Dialogue on Love from Ziegler’s list is precisely that those writings do not share in these common characteristics. On Moral Virtue, for example, has the explicit aim of ‘speaking about what is called “moral virtue” . . . : what is its essential nature, and how it comes into existence’.9 It has, in other words, a theoretical rather than a practical approach, and, in a discussion that seems to be of interest to professional philosophers rather than to amateurs, dwells indeed at length on different philosophical opinions in order to prove the correctness of the Platonic point of view by refuting

8 Ingenkamp (1971) studied the group of psychotherapeutical writings, Hahn (1989), 55 proposed a division between works aiming at education and instruction and works aiming at criticism, but one could also think of a threefold division between advice, remediation, and consolation. 9 Cf. On Moral Virtue, 440D: æd B MŁØŒB º ª Å Iæ B . . . N E æŒ ØÆØ Æ   PÆ å Ø ŒÆd H çÆŁÆØ çıŒ .

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especially the Stoic opinions on the topic.10 The same goes for the other texts omitted: although reading them in the way proposed in this book would yield interesting and innovative results—how exactly does Plutarch present himself as a philosopher to fellow philosophers, for example, and to what extent does his self-presentation differ from that of, say, Epictetus or Seneca?—, it would not bring out the full richness of those writings. Content or topic, we may conclude, which have often been adopted as criteria in order to classify Plutarch’s writings, are no match for the combination of objective, method, and authorial self-presentation as a criterion for determining how to read Plutarch’s texts.11 Throughout this book, I have referred to the group of texts listed above as Plutarch’s practical ethics. Apart from the fact that my list does not fully coincide with Ziegler’s popular-philosophical writings, there are two further reasons why I opted for a different term. On the one hand, I wanted to avoid the misunderstandings caused by, as well as the negative connotations attached to, popular philosophy, as I set out in my Introduction. On the other hand, even the best interpretation of popular philosophy does not cover all of the characteristics of Plutarch’s practical ethics described in this book. As far as objectives 10

Cf. also Ziegler (1951), 789, who wrote ‘daß es der Zweck der Schrift ist, die stoische Lehre u¨ber das Verha¨ltnis der ŁÅ zum ºªØ zu widerlegen und die platonisch-aristotelische Seelen-, Tugend- und Affektlehre zu verfechten’. Babut (1969) classifies On Moral Virtue with the polemical works, although indicating (p. 116) that it is not immediately recognizable as such. More recently, Ingenkamp (1999b) argued that On Moral Virtue is not so much a refutation of Stoic views on moral virtue as a defence of Platonic ones. Although Ingenkamp (1999b), 79 states that the work was written ‘nicht allein fu¨r ein enges Fachpublikum’, the intended readership of the work is more philosophical than that of the writings discussed in this study, as is clear from Ingenkamp’s own terminology for designating it (‘die Akademiker’, ‘die Platoniker’, or ‘Ju¨nger Platons’). 11 Ziegler (1951) indeed nowhere explicates his criteria for classification. One of his criteria indeed seems to be the content of the individual Plutarchean writings, but this criterion is not adopted throughout. If so, a writing such as Is ‘Live Unknown’ a Wise Precept? should be ranked together with the ‘political’ writings, and Can Virtue be Taught? and Whether Vice is Sufficient to Cause Unhappiness with the works of practical ethics. Gallo (1998), 3519–20 already argued that On Virtue and Vice and On Moral Virtue should not be taken together just because they deal with similar topics. I therefore here do not consider Plutarch’s lost works, as classification depends not on topic—which can often be derived from a title—but from the treatment this topic receives.

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and method are concerned, there are indeed many similarities between Plutach’s practical ethics and eighteenth-century popular philosophy: they both target a general public of educated readers, they address everyday subjects, they are not so much committed to one philosophical system or set of doctrines as rooted in practical experience, they are often rhetorical in nature, and they have the practical aim of making men happy. An important characteristic of Plutarch’s practical ethics which Ziegler’s label does not highlight,12 however, is Plutarch’s personal agenda. Indeed, careful study of the practical ethics has added another image to the series of portraits we possess of Plutarch, one that shows him not so much as a philanthropos than as a clever social player. This unique self-presentation has two farreaching consequences, with which I would like to conclude this book. The first consequence regards Plutarch’s relation to the Second Sophistic. Up to date, no study has been published that examines Plutarch’s relationship to this cultural movement of the first and second centuries ad. In 1993, Anderson probably summarized an opinion still commonly held today that ‘life of a rather different kind continued in the shadow of all this brilliance. At the turn of the first and second centuries Plutarch of Chaeronea lived for most of his career as if the Greek Renaissance and Second Sophistic were far from the horizon.’13 Throughout Plutarch’s oeuvre, there are indeed many negative remarks about the sophists.14 In his works of practical ethics, he not only ridicules the vogue of sophistry (On Brotherly 12

As stated above, not much research has been done on Popularphilosophie as a philosophical-historical current, and none at all, as far as I know, on its authorial selfpresentation. It would, of course, be fascinating to see to what extent Popularphilosophie resembles Plutarch’s practical ethics in this respect. 13 Anderson (1993), 9, but see also Jones (1971), 38, Moles (1978), 93 (‘Plutach, who perhaps tried to jump on the sophistic bandwagon but certainly did not succeed’), Harrison (1987), 272, Russell (1993), esp. 427 and 431, Swain (1996), 136–7, and Bowie (2002), 51 about Plutarch’s ‘low-key response to sophistic rhetoric’. Although Anderson (1993), 9–10 included Galen in this negative verdict, Von Staden (1997), Bowersock (2002), 159 and 166, and others have demonstrated that this image is incorrect. Many of the issues Von Staden (1997), 36 higlighted for Galen hold true for Plutarch as well. Further research into Plutarch’s relationship to the Second Sophistic would definitely pay off. 14 Bowersock (1969), 104 refers to a possible work of Plutarch against the sophists, to which Philostratus would have responded with his (probably spurious) Epistle 73 to Julia Domna. On Plutarch’s aversion to sophistry, see also Jeuckens (1908).

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Love 478C), but he also condemns the excessive use of Atticism as well as of Asianism (Political Precepts 802E–F) and shows the dreadful consequences that can result from sophistic pride (Precepts of Health Care 131A–B), to give but a few examples. As a result, Plutarch does not tend to receive much attention in studies of the Second Sophistic.15 Those works of his which bear unmistakable resemblances to Second Sophistic oratory—including the famous pieces On the Fortune of the Romans, On the Fortune and Virtue of Alexander, and On the Glory of the Athenians—are sometimes studied, but in general only to be subsequently (if not beforehand already) dismissed as ‘juvenile’.16 The arguments for this early date are far from conclusive, yet even if indeed written at the beginning of Plutarch’s career, these texts prove that Plutarch was perfectly able to compete with sophists in their own language. Far from inciting us to dismiss his rhetorical texts, then, this fact poses a question for the ‘non-rhetorical’ works of his oeuvre: if Plutarch could be a fashionable sophist, why did he, in the majority of his works, choose not to be one? The answer cannot be that Plutarch was a stranger in his contemporary world, unaffected by what was happening around him. Plutarch did not live in a socio-cultural or historical vacuum: he had contacts with sophistic writers such as Dio, Favorinus, and maybe Arrian17, and at least at some point of his career demonstrated an awareness of, and potential for, the current literary fashion. As a result, it seems to be time to rethink Plutarch’s relationship to the Second Sophistic. In my reading of his practical ethics, I have shown 15 Plutarch indeed does not figure in a way that is at all comparable to figures like Dio, Favorinus, or Lucian in Anderson (1993), Gleason (1995), Whitmarsh (2001b), or Whitmarsh (2005). In his review of Whitmarsh (2001b), Kim (2003) wrote that he ‘couldn’t help feeling my attention lagging when Musonius, Plutarch, or Marcus Aurelius entered the picture; for al W.’s careful reading practices, his theoretical apparatus simply works better for the more flamboyant, self-conscious texts’. In this book, I hope to have presented a way of reading that can bring out ‘sophistic’ characteristics even in those texts. 16 e.g. Ziegler (1951), 720, Jones (1971), 14 and 67, Swain (1989), 504 n. 3, and Strobach (1997), 29. 17 In the Lamprias catalogue, two titles (Speech Spoken in Reply to Dio at Olympia, n. 204, and Debate with Dio, n. 227) suggest an intellectual dialogue between Plutarch and Dio Chrysostom. On Plutarch’s relations with Dio, see further Bowersock (1969), 110–12, Russell (1973), 7, and Pernot (2007); with Favorinus: Bowie (1997) and (2002); with Epictetus and Arrian: Bowie (2002).

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how Plutarch was not only very well read, but also capable of manipulating this literary heritage to suit his own ends; how he did not just write these texts for philanthropic ends but also deployed them to negotiate an interesting social position for himself; and how he used these writings to build and entertain relationships with often powerful people, as well as to show his acquaintance with these people to his overreaders. Intended overreaders, as we saw, did not only include the broad field of powerful Greeks and Romans, but also competitors in the field of culture: orators, doctors, athletic trainers, and fellow philosophers. Thus Plutarch uses his works of practical ethics to promote himself within society. People such as Musonius, Dio, and Favorinus did so through attracting large audiences, Plutarch through the social status of his readership, yet the underlying mechanism is the same in both cases: they all use culture in order to gain prestige. As such, then, Plutarch may be much closer to the more sophistic authors of his age than is usually assumed.18 What distinguishes him, however, is the refined, philosophical rather than epideictic, discourse he develops about himself and his cultural capital. This, then, brings me to the second point. Indeed, the sophistic image of Plutarch revealed through this study of his practical ethics has yet another, no less important or far-reaching consequence: it encourages us to look at imperial philosophy through a different lens. Traditional histories of philosophy study doctrines, theories, and schools as if they were separate from, and even in conflict with the historical society in which they functioned. In recent years, scholars of the Second Sophistic have shown how the most sophistic philosophers—people such as Dio and Favorinus, for example— used philosophy in public performance as a tool for creating an (impressive) identity for themselves.19 This book has now made

18 In a sense, this deconstructs Plutarch’s point in That a Philosopher Should Converse Especially with Men in Power, where he tries to offer counter-arguments to a possible reproach that he is writing to important politicians out of self-interest. My picture of Plutarch lays bare that even he, although (claiming to be) a philosopher, is subject to social ambitions. 19 Cf. Hahn (1989), Gleason (1995), Whitmarsh (2001b), Bowersock (2002), and Whitmarsh (2005).

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a similar point regarding a man who, as we have seen in our Introduction, is more and more taken as a serious philosopher. Plutarch’s strength in his writings of practical ethics does not lie in doctrinal rigour or innovation. His originality lies with the ‘social dynamics of philosophy’: these texts present a new equilibrium between philosophy and society in that they capitalize on society as it exists not only in their choice of topic and aim, but also in the way they argue as well as in their authorial self-presentation. Similar observations have been made on other philosophers of the Early Empire: John Sellars (2003) has demonstrated how the point of Stoic writings such as Epictetus’ Handbook or Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations did not lie with theory, but with forms of practical ethics; Michael Trapp (2007) has shown that ‘philosophy may be teaching through means other than direct, explicit injunction’;20 Johannes Hahn (1989) has set out meticulously how philosophers interacted with society;21 and John Lendon stressed that however much philosophers sometimes argued against honour, they could not escape it: ‘philosophers were doomed to be honoured for their scorn of honour’.22 It seems time, now, not only to take these findings into account, but also to take them together in order to come to a full assessment of how philosophy functioned as a social phenomenon. Such a cultural history of philosophy would show philosophy to be not only a set of doctrines or a way of life, but also a kind of symbolic capital that can be acquired, deployed, lost or won in the social game that is human life, with power and prestige at stake. Plutarch was no doubt a clever player. We have already seen how he played the game with(in) his works of practical ethics. One of his greatest trumps, however, was that he did

20

Cf. Boys and Stones (2008). In his wake, see also Ewald (1999) and Haake (2007). 22 Lendon (1997), 91. Apart from Lendon (1997), esp. 90–1, see also Hahn (1989), 92 on Konzertphilosophen, Bowersock (2002) on epideictic currents in philosophy in the Second Sophistic, and Garland (2006), 81–3 as well as Morgan (2007), 4 on philosophers as celebrities. Trapp (2004), 200 moreover pointed out regarding Plutarch that ‘for all his strictures on the superfluity of statues, he is to be found towards the end of his life supervising the dedication of one to Hadrian; and soon after his death he himself was honoured by the dedication of a statue at Delphi and (if the identification is right) a herm at Chaeronea, on the latter of which he is described as “the benefactor”’. 21

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not bet all his money on this one horse:23 he wrote philosophical discourses on different levels. By answering fellow philosophers with technical polemics, proposing to the elite of his time a kind of philosophy that would help them realize their ambitions, and giving the masses the sophistic showpieces they went mad for, he not only managed to meet the needs and expectations of different audiences, but he also showed himself in different guises to different audiences. A text such as Against Colotes, for example, may have been primarily intended to defend the Platonic position against Epicurean philosophers, yet it also showed Plutarch scoring as a fully fledged philosopher at the expense of a competitor—an incitement to educated politicians to associate themselves with him rather than with another philosopher. Again, though On Virtue and Vice may have been first and foremost an epideictic masterpiece showing Plutarch’s oratorical potential to a wide public as well as to other orators, it also had the potential of persuading people to take philosophy more seriously. Last but not least, Plutarch’s practical ethics, which target an audience that is educated but has not specialized in philosophy and which thereby, as it were, represents the middle ground in Plutarch’s philosophical output, display Plutarch as a philosophical adviser to powerful people—a powerful as well as empowering position in the eyes not only of the public at large, but also of competing philosophers. Not only, then, could Plutarch not escape honour for himself as a philosopher, he also seems to have negotiated it for himself at all levels through philosophy. Thus far from showing Plutarch to be a second-rank author, the works of practical ethics, promoting philosophy as a way of realizing one’s ambitions, lay bare Plutarch’s own practice as a multifaceted philosopher fully exploiting, for his own ends, the social dynamics of philosophy. 23 Different levels can be recognized in the oeuvre of other imperial philosophers such as Iamblichus and Origen as well. Yet whereas the former does not come anywhere near Plutarch in practicality, it is not even certain whether the different levels of exegesis in the latter’s works were at all intended for different audiences.

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Index of Greek Words Iº åÆ 47, 58, 152–3, 159, 171, 174–5, 176; see also General Index talkativeness ÆNåÅ 47, 50, 143, 159, 199, 228–9; see also General Index shame IŒºÆÆ 159 n., 202 n. IŒæÆÆ 155, 159, 202, 231 I ææÅÆ 155, 192 ¼ŒÅØ 47–8, 57, 59, 60, 62–4, 97, 159, 201; see also General Index exercise IåºÆ 98, 102, 124, 182, 202–4  31–2, 64, 74, 83, 91–2, 93, 95, 96, 102, 106–7, 107–8, 124, 127–8, 132–3, 135, 172, 195, 241, 242, 243 º Å 47, 50, 72, 145–6, 159, 246; see also General Index harm Ø Ł Ø 31–2, 35; see also General Index attitude ªÆÆ 62, 72 Æ 27, 28, 29, 87, 96–7, 100, 101, 106, 118–9, 123, 125, 126, 131, 139, 166–7, 190–1, 192–3, 234, 242, 244; see also General Index honour and opinion, empty, and reputation ıå æÆ Ø 41, 47–8, 54–5, 156, 197, 199, 219; see also General Index disgust KŁØ 47, 59, 61, 126, 159, 161–2, 166–7, 168, 174, 200, 237, 238, 241; see also General Index training

Kº ıŁ æÆ 100, 103, 123, 131, 241; see also General Index freedom K غªØ 57–8, 61, 159, 161–2; see also General Index reflection K ØåÆØæ ŒÆŒÆ 186

PŁıÆ 31–2, 34, 44, 83–4, 85, 86, 89, 93, 100, 106, 110, 112, 127 n.; see also General Index feeling good ŒÆŒŁ ØÆ 180, 186, 208 ŒÆŒºªÆ 153, 188 ŒæØ 47–8, 58–9, 60, 62–3, 127 n., 159; see also General Index conviction ºÆºØ 153, 161, 187, 238 ºª ØÆ 153 º Å 50, 83, 91–2, 93, 96, 126, 127–8, 135, 145–6, 156, 186, 198; see also General Index pain   131 Oæª 4, 41, 61, 177 n.; see also General Index anger Ł 41, 47, 58, 96, 103, 159, 181, 186–7, 236; see also General Index emotion ÆØƪøªØŒ 251–2 ÆØ Æ 21, 164, 184, 200; see also General Index education ÆØæÅ 212, 238, 252 Ææƪª ºÆÆ 62, 72, 74, 98 ÆææÅÆ 140–1, 145–6, 158; see also General Index freedom of speech

304

Index of Greek Words

Ææ 74, 129, 131–2, 139, 141, 209; see also General Index fatherland æØ æªÆ 176, 178, 184, 186, 187–8, 197; see also General Index curiosity ºØØŒ 23–4, 29, 77 ºı æƪÅ 177–9, 180–1, 182, 184, 186, 191, 196, 197, 199, 200–1, 204; see also General Index curiosity çÆ 37 ç æ 31–2, 50, 93, 241 åº 69, 102, 123, 124–5, 132–3, 134, 137, 202–4, 218, 242–3 Ø 29, 118 n. ; see also General Index honour ç æÆŒÆ 58, 159, 240 n., 243; see also General Index drugs çŁ 51, 97, 166, 180, 184, 186, 192–3, 244

çغÆŁæø Æ 21, 79, 127–8, 156, 169, 236 çغÆıÆ 35, 61, 99; see also General Index self-love çغÆ 90, 171, 225 çغºªØ 23–4, 49, 77, 174–5, 232 çغ Ł ØÆ 21, 180–1, 200, 214–5 çغØŒÆ 99 çغ æøÆ 99 çغç E 35, 125–6, 144, 150, 214–5, 238, 249 çغçÆ 102, 132–3, 159, 194–5, 214–5, 249 çغç 23, 49, 72, 74–5, 103, 214–5, 250 çغØÆ 26, 27, 55–6, 90, 140, 224 çFØ 29, 201, 106, 126–7, 129, 184, 214–5, 236, 245, 246; see also General Index nature å æØ 41, 54, 106–7, 156, 168

General Index Abel, Karl-Hans 84 active life 88, 91, 124 addressees see dedicatees Aeschylus 22, 139 Alcibiades 169–70 Alcinous 29 Alcmaeon 135 Alexander the Great 35, 51–2, 93, 116, 203–4, 230 n., 262 ambition vi, 9 n., 11, 26–7, 51 n., 55–6, 77, 100–1, 107, 157, 170, 189, 206, 223, 225, 228, 234, 263 n., 265 Anaxagoras 104–5, 144, 150 Androcottus 51–2 Androtion 139 anecdotes 52, 71, 72, 74, 126, 133, 148 n., 152 n., 153–4, 158, 163, 164, 170, 173, 174, 175, 193, 196, 203–4, 209, 224, 230 n., 234 n., 235, 249 n. anger 3 n., 4, 8 n., 35, 37, 41–4, 46, 48, 49, 50, 53, 54–5, 59, 60–3, 67, 83, 98, 99, 123, 177 n., 181, 204, 219, 237, 257; see also Greek Index Oæª Antigonus Gonatas 121 n. Antisthenes 143–4, 170 n. Apollonius the Peripatetic 39 applied ethics 4, 7, 26, 31 Arcesilaus 230 n. Aristippus 195, 209 Aristo of Chios 84 n., 129–30, 230 n.

Aristophanes 22 Aristophon 140 Aristotle 19, 32, 38, 50, 86, 94, 137, 163, 190 n., 213 n., 130 n., 239 Aristotelianism 59; see also Plutarch Aristotelian influences Arrian, L. Flavius 20 n., 67 n., 134 n., 262 asceticism 34, 241–2 Asclepiades 215 n. Athenaeus 250 n. Athenodorus of Tarsus 86 n., 90 athletics 14, 133–4, 211–13, 220, 223, 229 n., 232–4, 238–40, 241 n., 244 n., 248, 249 n., 252 attitude 11, 32, 35, 41, 44, 45, 46, 48, 49, 52, 55, 57, 59, 63, 93, 95, 102, 104, 108, 128, 134, 146, 173 n., 195–6, 219, 243, 244, 247, 250, 255; see also Greek Index Ø Ł Ø audience 6, 19–24, 28 n., 29, 40, 51, 57 n., 65, 78, 115, 137, 149, 186–7, 192–3, 258 n., 263, 265 Augustus, the Emperor 155, 160, 163 Bacchylides 139 Barigazzi, Adelmo 118 bathing 133–4, 226, 228, 232–3, 235 Bias 72–3 body 23–4, 30, 36, 60–2, 105–6, 127, 144, 211–54

306

General Index

books see reading borrowing 25–7, 37, 125 Bourdieu, Pierre 14, 169 capital 14, 20 n., 27, 31, 34, 77–80, 96, 164, 175, 239, 256, 263, 264 care of the self 36–7, 247 caricature 43 n., 54, 160 n., 199 Carneades 105, 170 categorization 2, 3n., 15, 37 n., 50 n., 64, 255–61 Cato, M. Porcius (‘the Elder’) 228, 230 n. Celsus, A. Cornelius 217 Chaeronea 66, 74, 111, 138, 149, 157–8, 163, 234, 264 n. characters 12, 13, 14, 15, 19–22, 42–4, 47, 49, 53–4, 66, 111, 121, 142 n., 173, 209, 216, 249–54, 255, 257 children 5–6, 31, 59 n., 70, 72–3, 98, 106, 126, 194 n., 245 n., 252 Chilon 72–3 Chremonides of Athens, brother of Glaucon 121 n. Cicero, M. Tullius 50, 117 n., 138 n., 140, 148 n. citizenship 66, 121, 131, 135 Clodius, P. Clodius Pulcher 140 close reading 8 cluster 4, 72–3, 84 n., 99 n. Codrus 135 comedy 14, 147 n., 152, 181, 199 n.; see also Aristophanes, Menander comprehensive view of the self 103–4, 106–7, 128 conservatism 30, 121 n.

consolation 48, 117, 119, 120, 129, 136, 144, 148, 149, 258, 259 n. contemplative life see philosophical life contentment 35, 44, 77, 83–115 conviction 47–8, 59, 127 n., 159, 185, 206; see also Greek Index ŒæØ Crates of Thebes 39, 93, 124, 230 n. cultural history 212 n., 264; see also new cultural history curiosity 5, 14, 37, 54, 176–210; see also Greek Index æØ æªÆ and ºı æƪÅ Cynicism 28, 39, 117, 118, 129, 140 n. Cyrus the Great 203–4 decreta 62–3 dedicatees 10, 12, 13, 19–22, 24 n., 25, 33, 38, 40, 42, 69, 87, 91, 96, 120, 147–9, 161 deduction 7, 38, 71–3, 255 Delphi 66, 67 n., 137–8, 264 n. Demades 230 n. Demetrius of Phalerum 124, 130, 230 n., 243 Democritus 32 n., 84, 86, 88–91, 104, 115, 180, 201, 213 n., 230 n., 244 deontological ethics 7 deportation 134, 136–7 descriptive moralism 10, 62 n., 64–5, 189, 256 dialogue 1, 14, 15, 43, 44, 46, 48–9, 67–9, 156, 177 n., 213, 214–18, 248–54, 256, 257 diatribe 3, 84 n., 93 n., 117 n., 258 n. dice 93–4

General Index diet 211, 221–3, 224, 237, 238 n., 242, 252; see also drinks, food Dio, L. Cassius 31 n., 117 n. Dio Chrysostom 10, 78 n., 117–18, 134 n., 138, 145, 148 n., 152, 153, 262–3 Diocles of Carystus 212 n., 220, 233 n., 244, 246 Diogenes the Cynic 35, 39, 93, 97–8, 129, 130–1, 137–8, 143 Dionysius of Halicarnassus 152–3 Dionysius the Elder 51–2 Dionysius the Younger 98 discouragement, strategies of 13, 52, 189, 190, 208, 250; see also dissociation discursive strategies 8, 9, 12, 13, 30, 40, 41–65, 85, 95, 117, 140, 144, 158–9, 160–1, 163–4, 167, 190–1, 192, 213, 229, 251–4, 255, 257 disgust 41, 47–8, 50, 156, 197, 219; see also Greek Index ıå æÆ Ø dishonour 14, 118–20, 123, 127–8, 139–40, 190–1 dissociation 6, 12, 51–3, 143, 160–1, 199, 242, 255; see also discouragement doctors 12, 14, 77–8, 186, 207 n., 211–54, 263 Dover, Kenneth 6 dramatic roles 13, 42–6, 49, 255 drinks 128 n., 130, 156 n., 165, 171, 202–3, 220, 221, 222, 224, 225, 232 n., 236–7, 246; see also water, wine drugs 58, 159, 212, 217; see also Greek Index ç æÆŒÆ

307

Du Boulay, Juliet: 188 Duff, Timothy E. 10, 64 education 4, 6, 12, 20 n., 21–2, 25, 27, 36, 37–8, 49, 52, 59–60, 66, 77, 88, 120, 131, 151, 160–1, 164–5, 173, 179, 181, 201, 218, 224, 232, 239, 252, 255, 261, 265; see also Greek Index ÆØ Æ elite 6, 11, 12–14, 19–22, 24–7, 34, 37–8, 47, 56, 66, 107, 120, 131, 134–5, 138, 147–8, 151, 161, 183, 186, 223–4, 247, 252, 254, 255, 257, 265 emotions 3 n., 28, 38, 41–2, 47–8, 58, 59, 61–2, 87, 90, 94, 96–7, 99, 108 n., 159, 177, 178 n., 181, 186, 190, 194, 201 n., 202 n., 208, 229, 257; see also Greek Index Ł Empedocles 144 encouragement 12, 42–3, 45, 52, 57 n., 65, 110, 146, 161, 174, 199, 219, 234; see also imitation envy 14, 51, 98–9, 180–1, 184–5, 186, 189, 190, 192, 194, 208, 244 Epaminondas 230 n. ‘Epaminondas’ (nickname) 157–8, 164, 173 Ephialtes 135 Ephorus 157, 164 Epictetus 10, 20, 28, 55, 62, 64 n., 78 n., 94, 103, 105–6, 167, 221, 260, 262 n., 264 Epicureanism 28, 59, 86 n., 90, 97, 104, 190, 215 n., 265 Epicurus 39, 90, 230 n., 243

308

General Index

Erasistratus 212 n., 215 n., 230 n. Eros 110, 112–13 essays 1, 44, 48–9, 68–70, 177, 516, 256 etiquette 13, 21 n., 165–73, 252 eulogisms 36 Eumenes 153–4 Euphanes of Athens 20, 21, 70–1, 78 Euripides 22, 88, 139 n., 141–2, 147 Eurycles Herculanus 21, 151 Eurydice 68, 69 n. Eusebius of Caesarea 66 exempla 6, 39, 43–5, 51–3, 63 n., 74–7, 89, 93, 97–8, 121, 126, 133, 139, 143, 148, 162–3, 174, 193, 195, 231, 234, 253 exercises 12, 36, 47–9, 53, 57, 59, 60, 64–5, 159, 206; see also reflection and training; see also Greek Index ¼ŒÅØ exile 13, 14, 30, 42, 48, 99 n., 116–50, 210; see also deportation, relegation exploratory moralism see descriptive moralism expository moralism see prescriptive moralism fables 6 fame see reputation fasting see asceticism fatherland 119, 122 n., 129–32, 139, 141, 170; see also Greek Index Ææ Favorinus 10, 117–20, 122, 230 n., 262–3 feeling good 14, 32, 83–115, 118, 126, 138, 243; see also Greek Index PŁıÆ

flattery 25, 31, 34, 35–6, 42, 71 n., 72 n., 151–2, 187 n. Florus, L. Mestrius 139 n. food 20, 55, 61–2, 127–8, 165 n., 171, 202–3, 212–13, 219–25, 226, 228, 232 n., 235–6, 239, 240, 242, 245, 246, 247 n. Foucault, Michel 36–7 freedom 23, 100–1, 103, 104, 123, 131, 142; see also Greek Index Kº ıŁ æÆ freedom of speech 121, 140–3; see also Greek Index ÆææÅÆ Fulvius 154–5, 160, 163 Fundanus, C. Minicius 20, 21, 42–3, 46, 49, 53–4, 62 n., 67–8, 78, 110–12, 183 n. Gaertner, Jan Felix 117 Galen 14, 211, 213, 217, 219, 243–4, 245, 247, 261 n. garrulity see talkativeness Gelon 51–2 genre 1, 3, 4, 10, 14, 19, 48, 67–70, 73, 117, 118, 130, 185 n., 213, 216, 251–4 Gill, Christopher 59, 84, 103–4, 128, 190 Glaucon of Athens, brother of Chremonides 121 n. Glaucon (Platonic character) 216 n. Glaucus 44, 214–9, 247, 249–53 glory 29, 190, 242; see also reputation gnomai 6 Goffman, Erving 186–7 graffiti 182, 181 n., 200 grammatical persons 12, 53, 143, 167, 255

General Index Gre´ard, Octave 2 Greece and Rome 1, 8 n., 10, 25, 26, 27, 35, 66, 77, 91, 101, 111–14, 148–9, 163, 232–3, 235, 256, 263 gymnasium 157, 170, 212 n., 228, 232–3, 238–9, 252 gymnastics see athletics habituation 32, 47–8, 59–61, 129, 131–2, 155, 160, 166–8, 171, 174–5, 200–1, 205, 206, 219, 237, 238, 241, 252 Hadrian, the Emperor 20 n., 66, 67 n., 264 n. Hahn, Johannes 264 harm 47–8, 50, 58, 72, 93, 146, 159–60, 177, 186, 198, 200, 207, 219, 224, 225 n., 235, 246; see also Greek Index º Å Heracles 51, 144 Heraclides Ponticus 32 n. Heraclides of Tarentum 216 n., 250 n. Heraclitus 136, 230 n. Herodes Atticus 230 n. Herodicus of Selymbria 212 Herodotus 22, 139 Herophilus 212 n. Hesiod 230 n. Hippocrates 41, 211, 212 n., 213 n., 217, 219, 228, 230–1, 249 n. hippodrome 183, 202 Hippomedon of Sparta 121 n. Homer 6 n., 22, 116, 139, 214, 230 n., 250 honour vi, 12, 13, 29, 32, 50 n., 55–6, 60, 79 n., 90, 95, 107, 110, 119–20, 123, 124, 130, 139–40, 145, 189 n., 192, 193, 224, 225,

309

231–2, 234, 240, 255, 258–9, 264, 265; see also Greek Index Æ and Ø horses 20 human condition 94, 105 Hunter, Virginia 189 hunting 133–4 hypomne¯mata 84–5, 99 n., 115 n., 188 n. imitation 10, 12, 43, 46, 51–2, 75–6, 98, 104, 144, 193, 231, 255; see also encouragement imperatives 42, 65, 167, 194, 253 n. induction 7, 71, 73, 255 Ingenkamp, Heinz-Gerd 3, 48, 50, 172, 188 inquisitiveness see curiosity Isocrates 179, 233 jewellery 20, 87, 96 Kant, Immanuel 7 Lamia 194 n. Lamprias Catalogue 1 n., 33 n., 262 n. Leaena 163 leisure class 20 n.11 Leobotes 140 letter-essays 70 letters 1, 13, 14, 21, 38, 44, 48–9, 68–70, 85, 87–8, 110–12, 113 n., 147, 169, 183, 192–3, 205, 256 literacy see books literary references 4 n., 22, 71–3, 79, 88, 89, 94, 134 n., 140–3, 146–7, 150 n., 152 n., 181, 231, 250, 255

310

General Index

Lucian 10, 262 Lucilius (addressee of Seneca) 20 n., 38, 40, 212–3 Lysimachus 230 n. malice 14, 180–1, 186, 208 Marcus Aurelius 264 massage 232–3, 238, 240 meddlesomeness see curiosity medicine 44, 77, 211–54; see also doctors memory 106–7, 198, 234 Menander 22, 147, 180–1, 230 n. Menemachus of Sardis 21, 49, 74, 76, 147 Metrodorus of Lampsachus 63 n.55 Minos 135 Morgan, Teresa 6 Moschion 44, 67, 68, 74, 214–15, 218, 249–50, 253 Musonius Rufus 10, 117–18, 119–22, 138, 141–3, 148, 263 mysteries 107–9, 137–8, 143, 162 nature 29, 102–3, 126–7, 129, 164, 198, 206–7, 236, 240, 245; see also Greek Index çFØ Nausithou¨s 135 Neileus 135 New Cultural History 8, 9 n. New Historicism 8, 9 n. Niger of Chaeronea 230 n., 234–5 Nigrinus, C. Avidius 21, 45–6 Novatus, L. Annaeus 62 Oedipus 204 opinion, empty 108 n., 126, 129, 131; see also Greek Index Æ Opsomer, Jan 5, 118, 130

oratory 12, 27, 38, 77, 78 n., 88, 102, 116, 152–3, 161, 234, 262–3, 265 Orion 135 Otes 135 Paccius 13, 21, 44, 68, 85, 86–90, 95–8, 102, 110–15 pain 50, 91–2, 96, 99, 108, 126, 127–9, 135, 156, 186, 189, 198, 225 n., 227 n., 229, 234, 240; see also Greek Index º Å painting 46, 104 Panaetius 84–5, 86, 105, 115 Pardalas, C. Iulius 21 peer group 43, 55, 57 Pelling, Christopher 10, 64 perception by others 12, 45, 54–5, 165 Peripatos see Aristotelianism persona 76, 80, 120, 173 Phaethon 88, 93, 144, 150 Philip of Macedon 137, 230 n. Philo of Alexandria 86, 152, 153, 184–5 Philodemus 52 n., 57 n., 90 n. Philopappus, C. Iulius Antiochus Epiphanes 20, 21, 25, 42, 78 philosophical life 9 n., 11, 13, 23 n., 28, 31–4, 40, 98, 103, 122 n., 132–3, 145 Philostratus 10 Phocion 230 n., 243 Plato 14, 29, 32, 39 n., 43 n., 71, 72, 73, 86, 93–4, 98, 109, 110–15, 115, 129–30, 144, 162–3, 170 n., 179, 212, 213 n., 215 n., 216, 230–1, 233, 242 n., 244, 247, 248 n., 251, 252 n., 259

General Index Platonism 28–9, 40, 71, 79, 85, 190; see also Plutarch - Platonism Pliny, C. Plinius Caecilius Secundus (‘the Younger’) 183–4 Plutarch, 66–82; and Epicureanism 4 n., 33 n., 38 n., 39, 59–60, 75, 84–5, 90, 97, 104–6, 115, 190, 243, 265; and Stoicism 4 n., 5 n., 12, 29, 34, 38 n., 39, 59–60, 62, 64, 75, 79, 84–5, 91, 94, 97, 104–6, 115, 129–30, 133 n., 190, 259–60; and the Second Sophistic 13, 66, 77, 234–5, 238, 241, 261–5; aristotelian influences 12, 59 n., 85, 159, 181, 260 n.; as a character 15, 110–15, 257; as a speaker 44, 49; chronology of works 1 n., 86 n., 148 n., 176 n., 207 n., 213, 262; life 1, 66–7; Nachleben 2–7; Platonism 4, 11, 12, 39, 48 n., 59 n., 63, 71 n., 73, 84, 94 n., 105 n., 106, , 109, 115, 118, 130, 159, 162–3, 181, 216, 247 n., 256, 259, 265; self-presentation 12, 13, 39, 42, 67–80, 79–80, 101 n., 111–15, 118, 127, 147, 149–50, 173–5, 211, 226, 249–54, 255–64; self-promotion 12, 13, 14, 30, 34, 57 n., 67–80, 111–15, 133–4, 146, 149–50, 173–5, 208–10, 239–40, 255–64 oppositions 12, 28, 30, 33–4, 40, 44, 49, 50, 51–4, 94, 106, 110–15, 126, 133, 142, 143,

311

144, 150, 185, 196–7, 237, 248–54; see also dissociation political life 13, 21, 23–4, 31–4, 77, 88, 90–1, 98, 115, 118, 120, 124, 132–3, 145, 147, 194, 259 Pollianus 68, 69 n. popular philosophy 2, 6–7, 260–1 praecepta 62–3 premeditation 104–5 pre-philosophical values 28–30, 34, 40, 55–7, 106, 120, 122, 127, 129, 145, 163–4; see also philosophical life and political life Philotimus 212 n. Phocion 230 n., 243 Praxagoras 212 n. prescriptive moralism 10 n., 64–5, 189, 256 pride 55, 88, 106–7, 179, 197, 240, 262 Prodicus of Ceos 230 n. propaedeusis 256 n. prosopography 21 n.12 protreptic moralism see prescriptive moralism proverbs 6, 73 n., 228 psychotherapy 3, 13, 15, 48, 50, 59 n., 99, 105, 108 Pulcher, Cn. Cornelius 21 Pythagoras 32, 72, 132, 195 quasi-aesthetic attitude 104, 128 Quellenforschung 2, 4., 10–11, 84–5, 153 n., 215 n. Quietus, T. Avidius 21, 45–6 quotations see literary references

312

General Index

readership 8, 9 n., 11, 13, 19–24, 34, 40, 43–4, 54 n., 77–9, 87, 89 n., 90–1, 101, 107, 110–15, 133–4, 137, 139, 142 n., 144–5, 148–50, 161, 171, 198, 206, 218 n., 223, 224, 239, 247, 250, 253–4, 255, 260 n., 261, 263; see also audience reading 21, 22 n., 23–4, 36, 75 n., 85, 86, 89, 111, 134, 137, 142 n., 157, 161, 164, 177, 200, 229 n., 238, 239, 247 redefinitions 56, 129–31 reference groups 31, 57, 101 reflection 2, 45, 46, 57–8, 59, 61, 65, 104–7, 146, 148–9, 159, 161–5, 169, 174, 198–9, 206, 219, 223, 231; see also Greek Index K غªØ regimen 14, 211–55; see also athletics, bathing, diet, exercise relegation 134, 136, 137, 147–8 religion 4, 67, 108, 138, 256 n., 257; see also mysteries reputation 13, 14, 27 n., 29, 56 n., 87, 90, 96–7, 98, 100, 104, 125, 139–40, 158, 165–9, 171, 188 n., 189, 190, 192, 193, 206, 234–5, 244; see also Greek Index Æ rhe¯ma 39 rhetorical strategies see discursive strategies Rusticus, Iunius Arulenus 21, 192–3, 209 Sardis 120, 128, 147–8 Second Sophistic 8 n., 10, 39 n., 66, 73 n., 135 n., 151, 216 n., 261–4

Seelenheilungsschriften see psychotherapy self-control 55, 56 n., 159, 160 n., 163, 165 n., 174, 200, 201, 202 n., 205 n., 207, 219, 225–6, 231, 241 self-knowledge 12, 13, 35–6, 71, 99, 102–3, 104, 106, 162, 172–3, 246, 255 self-love 12, 13, 31, 35, 61, 99, 102, 157, 171–3, 196 n.; see also Greek Index çغÆıÆ Sellars, John 64, 264 Seneca, L. Annaeus (‘the Younger’) 20, 29, 30, 32 n., 38, 40, 54, 60–3, 64 n., 72 n., 85, 86, 88, 91, 115, 117, 118–19, 120, 122, 172, 185, 190, 212–3, 241, 247 n., 260 Seven Sages 73 shame 24 n., 47–8, 50, 58, 59, 61, 143, 159, 160, 165, 173–4, 198–9, 205, 206, 219, 228–9; see also Greek Index ÆNåÅ Sherman, Nancy 172 Simonides 71 n., 230 n. social control 27, 188 social pressure 11, 25, 27–8, 55, 222–3, 228, 252 sociative ‘we’ 53, 68, 75, 95, 130, 143, 161 Soclarus, T. Flavius 21 Socrates 93–4, 129, 144, 150, 152 n., 169, 171–2, 179, 194–5, 202–3, 209, 210 n., 224, 230, 246 n., 251, 253 Sophists 27, 78n, 152–3, 179, 234–5, 261–3 Sophocles 22 Sorabji, Richard 5

General Index speaking see talkativeness specialization of knowledge 14, 78, 217, 249, 252 speech acts 11, 52 n., 57, 85, 149 n., 188–9, 199 n. sports see athletics springboard arguments 84 n. Stadter, Philipp 10 Stoicism 28, 30 n., 34 n., 59–60, 62, 64, 86, 91, 97, 118, 169 n., 190, 193 n., 212–3, 264; see also Plutarch – and Stoicism Suda 66, 67 n. Sulla, L. Cornelius 154, 160 Sulla, Sextius 67–8, 104 n. surgery 212, 217, 235 sycophants 124–5, 179, 191, 199 symposia 34, 67, 156 n., 157–8, 220–3, 237, 240, 242, 252 talkativeness 13, 14, 37, 47, 151–75, 176, 185, 187–8; see also Greek Index Iº åÆ Tantalus 144, 150 tax-collectors 103, 191, 199 Teles 117, 120–2, 139 n., 140 n. theatre 157, 183–5, 202, 203 thema 39 Themistocles 116, 130, 140 Theophrastus 13, 152–3, 188, 213 n., 230 n., 243, 244 therapy 23, 31, 48, 50, 52 n., 59–60, 159, 174, 176 n., 185, 195, 197, 198, 199 n., 205–8 Tiberius, the Emperor 135, 148 n., 230 n., 246 Timotheus 140, 230 n. Timoxena 44–5, 68 Titus, the Emperor 213 n., 219, 230 n.

313

tragedy 87–8, 142, 147 n.; see also Aeschylus, Euripides, Sophocles training 47–8, 58–9, 61–2, 159, 161–2, 165–72, 175, 199–205, 206, 219, 223, 231, 237, 238, 241, 252, 255, 257; see also Greek Index KŁØ Trajan, the Emperor 66, 67 n. tranquillity of mind see feeling good Trapp, Michael 264 Tsekourakis, Damianos 3 Tyrrhenus 21 utilitarian ethics 7 Van der Stockt, Luc 4, 71, 73, 85 Veblen, Thorstein 225 vice 29, 36, 38, 176, 185, 188, 190, 195–6, 206–9 virtue 2, 29, 37, 38, 56 n., 119, 120, 172 n., 179, 206, 213, 221, 241, 248 virtue ethics 2 n., 7 water 130, 236–7 Whitmarsh, Tim 117–18, 120 wine 156 n., 182, 220 n., 224, 226, 228, 236–7 Xenocrates 136, 230 n., 243 Xenophon 86, 136, 139 Zeno of Citium 39, 97–8, 129, 132–4, 163 zero-sum game 14, 186–93, 206 Zeuxippus 214–8, 248–54 Ziegler, Konrad 2–3, 6–7, 11, 15, 20, 258–61

Index Locorum Alcinous Handbook of Platonism 27.3: 29 Aristophanes Acharnians 833: 178 n. Clouds 179 1480: 152 n. 1485: 152 n.

Problems 954a: 86 n. 955a: 86 n. Rhetoric 1381b: 191 n. 1387a: 189 n. Aulus Gellius Attic Nights 16.3: 230 n. Celsus

Frogs 750–3: 160 n. Wealth 913: 179 n.

On Medicine 232 n. 1.2.1: 248 n. 74–5: 217 n. Cicero

Aristotle Eudemian Ethics 1241b: 201 n. Metaphysics A 980a: 201 n. Nicomachean Ethics 38 1095b: 32 n. 1095b–1096a: 92 n. 1104b: 50 n. 1108b: 189 n. 1114–1115a: 94 n. 1177a: 33 n. 1117b: 159 n.

Orator 69: 256 n. Tusculan Disputations 4.36–4.37: 62 n. Dio Cassius 38.18.28: 117 n. 71.35.2: 31 n. Demosthenes First Olynthian Speech 16.6: 70 n. Second Philippic Speech 32.4: 152 n.

Poetics 1448a: 199 n.

Fourth Philippic Speech 34.5: 70 n.

Politics 1299a: 178 n.

Oration 50 2.4: 152 n.

Index Locorum Dio Chrysostom

Euripides

Euboean Oration 114: 188 n.

Hippolytus 718: 94 n.

Second Kingship Oration 5–6: 6 n.

Phaeton 88

Third Kingship Oration 12–24: 75 n. Fourth Kingship Oration 30: 22 n. Diogenes Laertius Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers 7.5: 133 n. 7.85–6: 33 n. 8.8: 32 9.45: 88 n. 10.131: 222 Dionysius of Halicarnassus

315

Phoenician Women 147 388–93: 141–2 Favorinus On Exile 117 n., 128 n., 148 n. 7–14: 119, 129 n. 15–18: 119 19–27: 119 28ff. : 119 21.5–22.3: 119 Galen Adhortation to Learning the Arts 5.5: 217 n. On Antidotes 14.24.14–18: 31 n., 234 n.

On Literary Composition 26: 152 n.

On Exercise with the Small Ball 234 n.

Epictetus

Precepts of Health Care 211, 212 n., 217, 231 n., 232 n., 243–4, 247 1.5: 248 4: 213 n. 6.95.2: 220 n. 6.125.5: 220 n. 6.186.4: 220 n.

Discourses 1.1: 105–6 1.17: 94 n. 1.18: 62 2.5.3: 94 3.15.8–13: 103 4.1.1: 131 n. 4.2: 221 Handbook 64 n., 264 33.1–2: 167 Epicurus Letters 70 To Menoecus 131, 222 n.

On Properties of Foodstuffs 219

That the Best Doctor is Also a Philosopher 213 n. The Construction of the Embryo 217 Thrasybulus 18 = 5.837–8.K: 233 n. 19 = 5.839K: 220 n. 24 = 5.847K: 212 n.

316 Galen (cont.) 24 = 5.849K: 212 n. 33 = 5.870K: 252 n. 35 = 5.872K: 232 n. 36 = 5.875K: 233 n. 37 = 5.877–8K: 249 n. 37 = 5.879K: 212 n. 41 = 5.885–6K: 232 n. 45 = 891K: 252 n. 46 = 5.894–6K: 249 n. Herodotus Histories 3.15.5 178 n.

Index Locorum Areopagiticus 80.4: 178 n. Panegyric 1: 233 n. Juvenal Satires 2.14: 163 n. 3: 184 n. 6.398–412: 161 n. 6.63–6: 203 n. 7.161–2: 164 n. 9.92–101: 160 n. Lucian

Hippocratic Corpus 211 On Ancient Medicine 217 On Regimen 212 n., 246 n. 2.40–56: 219 Homer Iliad 11.514: 250 Odyssey 4.392: 250

Against the Ignorant Book–Collector 22 n. 22: 31 n. Nigrinus 16: 183 Slander 188 n. The Descent 22: 107 n. Marcus Aurelius

Iamblichus

Meditations 64 n., 264

Life of Pythagoras 12.58–59: 32 n.

Menander Epitrepontes 147

Isocates Musonius Rufus Against the Sophists 8: 152 n. 20.10: 179 Antidosis 48.2: 179 n. 98.5: 179 n. 106.8: 70 n. 230.3: 179 n. 237.2: 179 n.

On Exile Fr. 9 Hense (1905a), 42: 129 n. Fr. 9 Hense (1905), 46: 140 n. Fr. 9 Hense (1905a), 48–9: 141–3 Philo On Abraham 20–21: 184–5

Index Locorum The Worse Attacks the Better 130: 152 n. Philodemus On Property Management 90 n. Philostratus

317

434b: 179 n. 455c: 201 n. 509a: 253 n. 581c–d: 32 n. 583b–588a: 33 n. 604d: 146 n.

Epistles 73: 261 n.

Sophist 225d: 152 n.

Life of the Sophists 78 n. 479: 78 n. 488: 134 n.

Symposium 176a–177a: 220 n. Timaeus 110–15 92c: 113 n.

Plato Apology 179

Pliny the Younger

Gorgias 473a: 253 n.

Letters 1.6: 134 n. 1.9: 183 n. 5.6: 134 n. 5.18: 134 n. 6.14: 183 n. 9.6: 183 n. 9.10: 134 n. 9.16: 134 n. 9.36: 134 n. 9.40: 183 n.

Laws 61 n. 792b: 86 n. 821a–822d: 179 n. Letters 70 n. Phaedo 65a–66a: 201 n. 70c: 152 n. 81c: 107 n. 87c: 253 n. Phaedrus 270c: 217 n. Republic 61 n. 327a: 216 363e–364a: 50 n. 401b: 233 n. 403d: 253 n. 403e–404a: 241 n. 403e: 242 n. 406a: 212 406b–407c: 244 n. 407b–c: 239 n. 410b: 246 n. 433a: 179 n.

Plutarch On the Education of Children 6 n., 258 How the Young Man Should Study Poetry 6 n., 257 14D–16A (=} 1): 22 n. 15B: 36 n. 19A: 142 n. 20B: 50 n. 25D–28D (=}} 8–9): 142 n. 29B: 58 n. 30C–32E (=} 11): 142 n. 30F: 57 n. 31D: 20 n.

318

Index Locorum

Plutarch (cont.) 34C: 57 n. 35E–F: 72 36A: 36 n. On Listening 6 n., 22, 48, 69 n., 99, 151, 164 n., 165 n., 201 n., 257 37C–E: 75 n. 37C: 69 37D–38A: 22 39B: 20 n. 40F: 35 n. 42D: 20 n. 42F: 63 n. 43D–44A (=} 12): 210 n. 44C: 42 n. 45E: 19 n., 142 n. 46B: 52 n. 60B: 57 n. How Could You Tell a Flatterer from a Friend? 5, 21, 25, 34, 75, 99, 147 n., 158, 257 48F: 31 n., 35 n. 49A: 31 n., 35 n. 49B–50B (=} 2): 151 49B–C: 71 n. 49B: 36 n. 49C: 25, 52F–53B (=} 8): 59 53B–54B (=} 9): 151 54D–61D (=}} 11–19): 151 59F: 20 n. 60E–F: 75 n. 61D: 52 n., 188 n. 65E–74E (=}} 25–37): 151–2 65E: 31 n., 35 n. 65F: 36 n. 66A: 50 66E–74E: 42 n. 66E: 31 n., 35 n. 69D: 124

How Could One Become Aware of One’s Progress in Virtue? 259 85B: 43 n. How Could You Profit by Your Enemies? 99, 244, 257 86C–D: 21 n. 86C: 63 n., 24 n., 36 n. 86D: 36 n. 87A: 39, 133 n. 88D: 50 n. 89A: 36 n. 90C: 57 n. 90D: 57 n. 91B: 57 n. 92D: 57 n. 92F: 57 n., 231 n. On Having Many Friends 48, 49, 257 94D: 50 n. 95E: 52 n. On Virtue and Vice 259, 260 n. Consolation to Apollonius 117 n., 258 111E: 35 n. 116D: 36 n. 116E: 63 n. Precepts of Health Care 14, 15, 30, 34, 44, 49, 54 n., 67, 68, 74, 75, 78, 211–254, 257, 258 122B–F (=} 1): 211, 214–18, 248–54 122B–E: 214–18 122B–C: 36 n. 122B: 216, 249 122C: 211, 216, 217, 227 n., 230 n., 249, 250, 251 122D: 249, 250, 253 122E–F: 75 n., 249 122E: 227 n., 249

Index Locorum 122F–123A (=} 2): 218 122F: 215, 218, 250 123A–D (=} 3): 219 123A: 218, 249 123B: 215 n., 219, 225 n., 235 n., 241 123C: 219, 225 n., 241 123D–124D (=}} 4–5): 220–3, 224–5, 240 123D–E: 221–2 123D: 213 n., 215 n., 230 n. 123E: 27, 230 n. 124A: 215, 249, 251–2 124B–C: 222–3 124B: 222 n., 245 n. 124C: 230 n. 124D–130A (=}} 6–15): 223 124D–126B (=}} 6–7): 223–4 124D–E: 204 n. 124D: 230 n., 253 124E: 224 n., 229 n., 230 n., 240 124F: 20 n., 224 n., 225, 245 n. 125A: 224 125B: 229 n., 230 n. 125C: 55–6 125D: 219 n., 230 n. 125E: 225, 230 n. 125F: 240 126A: 230 n. 126B–D (=} 8): 225 126B: 225–6, 245 126C: 225 n., 226, 230 n. 126D–127D (=}} 9–10): 226 126D: 225 n., 230 n. 126E: 230 n., 245 n. 126F: 219 n. 127A: 230 n. 127B: 227, 230 n. 127C: 226 127D–128C (=} 11): 227–8 127D: 225 n., 228, 230–1

319

127E: 228, 245 n. 127F: 228, 230 n. 128A: 228, 229 n., 245 n. 128B: 228–9 128C–E (=} 12): 225 128C: 225 n. 128D–E: 226 128E–129C (=}} 13–14): 229 128E–F: 229 128E: 225 n., 229, 241 128F: 229 129A–C: 229 129A: 230 n. 129B: 225 n. 129C–130A (=} 15): 230 129C: 230 n. 129D: 227 n., 230, 231, 235 n. 129E: 225 n., 231 129F: 225 n. 130A–131D (=}} 16–17): 232 130A–B: 233 130A: 231, 232 130B: 233 n. 130C: 229 n., 235 130D: 233 n., 240 130E: 168 n., 226 n., 230 n., 233 n., 234 131A–B: 234–5, 262 131A: 27, 225 n., 230 n. 131B: 235, 241 131C: 226 n., 235 131D–132A (=} 18): 235 131D: 230 n., 235 131A: 27 132A–F (=} 19): 236 132A: 230 n., 136 132B: 237 132C–D: 245 132D: 225 n. 132E: 236–7, 245 n. 132F–134A (=}} 20–21): 237

320

Index Locorum

Plutarch (cont.) 133A= 230 n., 238, 239 133B: 238, 239 133C–D: 238–9 133C: 238 133D: 230 n., 239 133E: 226 n., 230 n., 233 n., 235 n., 238 133F–134A: 240 133F: 230 n., 233 n., 238 134A–135B (=}} 22–3): 240 134A–F (=} 22): 240 134A: 233 n., 238, 240 n., 245 n. 134B: 229 n., 240, 241 134C: 240 n. 134D: 240 n., 241 134E: 240 n., 245 n., 247 n. 134F–135B (=} 23): 241 134F: 226 n., 240 n., 241 135A–B: 242 135A: 241 135B–136E (=}} 24–5): 240, 242 135B: 215 n., 225 n., 243, 253 n. 135C: 230 n., 243, 245 135D–E: 244 135D: 215 n., 225 n., 230 n., 243, 245 n., 253 n. 135E: 230 n., 244–5 135F: 244–5 136A: 225 n., 245 n. 136B–C: 245 136B: 225 n., 230 n., 245 136C 52 n., 230 n., 245 136D–E: 246–7 136D: 225 n., 230 n. 136E–F: 36 136E: 229 n. 136F: 225 n. 137A: 226 n. 137B: 226 n., 240, 241 n., 247 137C: 23–4

137D: 247 137E: 230 n., 248 Precepts of Marriage 23, 26 n., 36, 68, 69, 257 138B–D (= prooemium): 23 138A: 52 n. 138C: 36 n., 69 n. On Superstition 165B: 108 n. 165C: 108 n. 165F: 108 n. 166C–167A (=} 4): 108 n. 167B: 108 n. 167D–F (=} 6): 108 n. 169 D–E (=} 9): 108 n. 169F: 108 n. 170D: 108 n. 170F: 108 n. 171E: 108 n. On the Fortune of the Romans 262 On the Fortune and Virtue of Alexander 262 On the Glory of the Athenians 262 On Isis and Osiris 40 Can Virtue be Taught? 260 n. On Moral Virtue 40, 106 n., 259, 261 n. 440D: 259 n. On the Control of Anger 3 n., 5 n., 22 n., 39 n., 43, 44 n., 50, 52 n., 53, 62–3, 65 n., 67, 68, 86 n., 99, 213 n., 219, 237, 244, 257 452F–453D (=} 1): 43 452F–453B: 104 n. 453A: 46 453D–455E (=}} 2–5): 43 n. 453B: 177 n. 453D: 36 n.

Index Locorum 455E–464D (=}} 6–16): 43 n., 53 n. 455E–459B (=}} 6–10): 53 455E–F: 41–2, 54 456D: 58 n. 456E: 57 n. 456F: 58 n. 459A: 20 n. 459B–464D (=}} 11–16): 53 459B: 59 n. 459B: 57 n. 460D: 27 461A–C: 61–2 461A: 35 n. 461E: 20 n. 461F: 91 n. 462E–F: 36 n. 463B–464D (=} 16): 53 463E: 58 n. 463F: 57 n., 204 464C: 59 On Feeling Good 3 n., 5 n., 6 n., 13, 14, 15, 24 n., 30, 34, 44, 68–9, 75, 83–115, 120, 126 n., 127, 128, 138, 173, 190, 196 n., 209, 244, 257–8 464C: 237 n. 464D: 237 n. 464E–465C (=} 1): 95–6, 110–15 464E–F: 75 n. 464E: 21 n., 36 n., 69 n., 83 n., 88, 90, 110–11 464F: 83 n., 84 465A–B: 96–7 465A: 83, 87–9, 111 n. 465B: 97 465C–467C (=}} 2–5): 95 465C: 83 n., 89, 99 n., 243 465D: 83 n., 99 n., 108 n. 465E: 90, 99 n. 465F: 90

321

466A–467A (=}} 3–4): 84 n. 466A: 83 n., 91, 99 n. 466B–467A: 31–9 466B: 99 n. 466C–D: 91–3 466C: 99 n., 108 n. 466D–E: 243 466D: 97 n., 99 n. 466E: 99 n., 108 n., 144 n. 466F: 35 n. 467A–B: 93–5 467A: 83 n., 95 n., 97, 99 n., 115 n. 467B: 52 n., 99 n. 467C–468F (=}} 6–7): 97 467C–468A (=} 6): 84 n. 467C: 97 467D–E: 98–9, 103 n. 467D: 87 n., 124, 133, 183 n. 467E: 83 n., 99 n., 115 n. 468B–C: 88 n. 468B: 95 n., 99 n., 111 n. 468C: 35 n., 75 n., 99 n., 108 n., 114 n. 468D: 99 n. 468E: 35 n., 95 n., 97 n., 99 468F–477C (=} 8–19): 99 468F–470A (=}} 8–9): 103 468F: 95 n. 469A: 83 n., 95 n. 469D: 99 n., 104 469E: 83 n., 95 n., 103 n., 104 469F–470A: 97 n. 469F: 95 n. 470A–473B (=}} 10–13): 84 n. 470A–471C (=}} 10–11): 100 470A–471A (=} 10): 101 470A–C: 100–2 470A: 83 n., 95 n., 108 n. 470C: 27, 99 n., 123 n. 470D: 99 n.

322

Index Locorum

Plutarch (cont.) 470E: 101 471A–C (=} 11): 101 471A: 95 n. 471B: 88 n. 471C: 57 n. 471D–473B (=}} 12–13): 100 471D: 35 n., 83 n., 99–100 471E: 87 n., 88 n., 99 n., 115 n. 472B–C: 103 n. 472B: 87 n., 88 n. 472C: 99 n., 102–3, 124, 125 n. 472D: 88 n., 99 n., 115 n. 472E: 88 n. 472F: 95 n., 103 n. 473B–474C (=}} 14–15): 103 473B: 83 n., 99 n., 108 n. 473C–D: 103 n., 104 473C: 52 n. 473E: 83 n. 473F: 104 474B: 108 n. 474C–476D (=}} 16–18): 104 474C: 88 n., 108 n. 474D: 35 n., 88 n., 99 n. 474E: 35 n., 99 n., 105 n., 115 n. 474F: 99 n., 105 475B: 59 n., 97 n., 99 n., 106 475C: 105–6 475D: 106 475E: 35 n., 99 n. 476A: 35 n., 99 476B: 83 n., 99 n. 476C: 63 n., 99 n. 476D–477C (=} 19): 106 476D: 97 n., 99 n. 476E: 83 n., 95 n., 106 476F: 50 n., 99 n., 106 477A–B: 106–7 477A: 99 477B: 99 n., 105 n., 108 n.

477C–D: 36 477C: 108, 109, 113 n., 115 n. 477D: 83 n., 99, 107–8, 109 477E: 99 n. 477F: 109–10, 113 On Brotherly Love 75, 244, 258 478B: 45–6 479E: 23 n. 483C: 58 486A–E: 27 487D: 39 487E: 75 n. 491B: 35 n. Whether Vice is Sufficient to Cause Unhappiness 69 n., 260 n. On Talkativeness 3 n., 13, 14, 15, 30, 49, 75, 99, 142, 151–75, 176, 177, 185, 187, 188, 197, 206, 209, 230 n., 244, 258 502B–510C (=}} 1–15): 47, 159 502B: 159 502D: 153, 157 502D–F: 158 502E: 58, 157, 159 502F: 157 503A–B: 163 503A: 157 503B: 157, 165 n. 503C: 159 503D: 153, 157, 165 503E: 159 503F: 153 n. 504A: 58 504B: 153 n., 157, 160 504E: 156, 159, 160 n., 163, 165, 167 n. 504F: 168 505A–C: 154 505A: 160 n., 165 n. 505B: 153 n.

Index Locorum 505C–D: 163 505C: 153 n., 176 n. 505D–506C: 58 505D: 163 505E: 159 506C–E (=} 9): 153–4 506E: 154, 158 506F: 159 507A: 155 507D: 160 n. 507F: 159 508A: 155 508B: 155, 159 508C–F (=} 12): 154 508C: 153 n., 176 508F: 159, 160 n. 509A: 160 n. 509B: 160 n. 509C: 159 n., 160 n. 509D: 153 n. 510 A: 160 n. 510B–C (=} 15): 160 510C–511E (=}} 16–18): 161 510C–D: 47–8, 159, 205, 219 510C: 57, 153 n. 510D: 58, 159, 160 n., 161, 168 n., 191 n. 510E: 162 511A: 164 n. 511B: 36 n. 511D–E: 160 n. 511D: 153 n., 173–4 511E: 59 n., 166, 173–4 511E–514E (=}} 19–23a): 166 511E: 59 n. 511F–512A: 166–7 512B: 156 n. 512C–E: 168–9 512C–D: 167 n. 512C: 160 n., 165 512D: 153 n.

323

512E–F: 165 n. 513A: 153, 169 513C: 170–1 513C–514A: 171–2 513D: 161, 165 n., 167 n. 513F–514A: 171 514A–B: 161, 171 514A: 35 n., 167 n. 514B: 161, 163, 167 n. 514C: 157–8, 167 n., 173 514D: 75 n., 161, 174–5 514E–515A (=} 23b): 161 514E–F: 155, 167 n. 514E: 57 n., 59 n., 161–2, 167 n. 515A: 57 n., 165 n. On Curiosity 3 n., 14, 15, 26 n., 30, 43, 54, 99, 153 n., 176–210, 224, 244, 258 515B: 177, 194, 206 n. 515C–D: 177 515C: 177, 181, 209 515D–F: 194 515D–E: 196 515D: 180–1, 194, 196 n., 206 n. 515E: 183 n., 196 n., 206 n. 515F–516C (=} 2): 194 515F: 196 n. 516A–B: 196 516A: 178 n., 186, 188 n., 189, 196 n., 201 n., 206 n. 516B: 181, 196 n., 201 n. 516C–517A (=} 3): 49 n., 190 n., 196 516C–D: 194–6 516C: 195, 196 n., 208, 209 516D: 196, 204, 206 516E: 187, 188, 196 516F: 187 n., 197 517A: 36 n., 187 n., 190 517B: 192 n. 517C–E: 197–8

324

Index Locorum

Plutarch (cont.) 517C: 181, 207 517D: 192 n. 517E: 178 n., 181, 188 n., 204 n. 517F–519F (=}} 6–9): 198 517F: 198 518A: 181, 188, 204 n. 518B: 204 n., 206 n. 518C–519A (=} 7): 186 518C: 181, 186–7 518D: 192 n., 207 n. 518E–F: 182–3 518E: 191, 197, 204 n. 518F: 182 519A: 182, 183 519B: 181, 202 n., 209 n. 519C–D: 191–2 519C: 178 n., 187–8, 192 n. 519 D: 192 n. 519E: 191, 197, 202 n. 519F–520D (=} 10): 198 519F: 181, 182, 183 n., 190, 204 n. 520 A–B: 198 520B: 198 n. 520 C: 183 n. 520D–521A (=} 11): 182, 200 520D–E: 21 n. 520D: 57 n., 59 n., 181, 183 n., 200, 202 520E: 200 520F: 200, 204 n. 521A–D (=} 12): 182, 200, 206–7 521A: 178 n., 188 n. 521B–C: 200–1 521B: 201 n. 521C: 57 n., 201, 204 n. 521D: 206 n. 521E–522B (=} 13): 183, 201, 207 521E: 57 n., 202, 204 n. 522A: 202–5

522B–D (=} 14): 204 522B: 57 n., 178 n., 188 n., 201 n., 204, 205 n. 522C: 181, 204 522D–F (=} 15): 205 522D–E: 192–3 522D: 21 n., 74, 183 n. 522E–F: 205 522E: 176 n., 183 n., 192 n., 193 522F–523B (=} 16): 198–9 522F: 191 523A: 187 n., 191 n. 523B: 58 n., 191, 199 On Love of Wealth 49, 99, 258 525E: 52 n. 526E: 20 n. On Compliance 49, 99, 177, 258 529B: 23 530E: 57 n. 531B: 57 n. 532C: 57 n. 533F: 50 n. 535B: 36 n. 536D: 50 n. On Envy and Hate 69 n., 189 n., 259 On Praising Oneself Inoffensively 3 n., 52, 99, 151, 157 n., 177 n., 258 539E: 24 n. 539F: 24 n. 541C: 24 n. 542C–D: 51 542D: 24 n. 543F–544C: 59 545E: 24 n., 29 546B: 35 n. 546E: 35 n. 547B: 52 n.

Index Locorum On Exile 5 n., 13, 14, 15, 24 n., 30, 42, 75, 99, 116–50, 173, 209, 258 599A–B: 145–6 599A: 120 n. 599B: 75 n., 120 n., 145 n., 147 n. 599C–D: 127 599C: 125 n., 126 n., 127, 131, 147 599D–E: 147 n. 599D: 118, 119, 126 n., 127 599E: 138 n. 599F–600D (=}} 3–4): 128 n. 599F: 126 n., 127 600A: 120 n., 127–8, 135 n., 148 600B: 120 n., 125–6, 133 n., 147 n. 600C: 120 n., 126 n. 600D–E: 126 600D: 52 n., 126, 131 600E–F: 129–30 600E: 59 n., 120 n., 125 n., 127, 129, 147 n. 600F: 138 n. 601B–602B (=}} 6–7): 130–1 601B: 120 n., 126 n., 138 n. 601C: 125 n., 126 n., 130, 131 601D: 126 n., 126 n., 130 601E: 128 n. 601F: 120 n., 125 n., 128 n., 131, 135 n. 602B–D (=} 8): 131 602B–C: 131–2 602B: 32 n., 122, 123, 131, 136 n., 147 n. 602C: 120 n., 121 n., 122, 123, 124 n., 133 n., 135 n., 145 n. 602D–604A (=}} 9–11): 135–7 603D–E: 132–3 602D: 120 n., 126 n., 135, 138 n. 602E: 123, 124, 135, 148 n.

325

602F: 120 n., 123, 124 n., 135 n. 603A: 133 n., 135, 150 n. 603B: 131, 133 n., 135–6 603C–D: 138 n. 603D–E: 132–3 603D: 133 n. 603E–604A: 124–5 603E: 33 n., 123, 124 n., 133 n., 134, 136 n. 603F: 120 n., 123, 124, 128 n., 135 n., 150, 191 n. 604A: 124 n., 128 n., 134, 135, 136 604B–D (=} 12): 137 604B: 120 n., 121 n., 123, 124 n., 136–7, 138 n. 604C–D: 137–8 604C: 123–4, 131 n., 134 604D: 21 n., 120 n., 124 n., 133 n., 134, 139 604D–605F (=}} 13–15): 140 604F: 138 n. 605A–B: 39, 137 605A: 139 605B–D: 138 n. 605B: 124, 125, 139 605C: 124 n., 139 605D: 120 n., 131, 139–40, 145 n. 605E: 140, 148 n. 605F–607A (=} 16): 140 605F–606A: 147 n. 605F–606B: 36 n., 141–3 605F: 148 n. 606A–B: 124 n. 606A: 131 606C: 131, 143, 148 n. 606D–607A: 147 n. 606D: 125 n., 131, 143 607A–607F (=} 17): 143–4 607A: 126 n., 143, 150 607B: 120 n., 131, 143, 144

326

Index Locorum

Plutarch (cont.) 607D: 130, 144 607E: 120 n. 607F: 144, 150, 243 Consolation to His Wife 26 n., 44–5, 49, 68–9, 70, 99, 117 n., 258 608B: 69 n. 609B: 50 n. 611A: 52 n., 57 n. 611B: 58 n. 611D–E: 107 n. Table Talk 21, 22 n., 74 n., 75, 76, 173, 193 n., 237, 238, 239, 257 711A–713F (= 1.1): 237 n. 625A–C (= 1.7): 237 n. 642F (=2.10): 75 n. 650A–E (= 3.3): 237 n. 651F–653B (= 3.5): 237 n. 655D–656B (= 3.7): 237 n. 657B–E (= 3.9): 237 n. 677C–678B (= 5.4): 237 n. 692B–693E (= 6.7): 237 n. 693F (=6.8): 75 n. 711A–713F (= 7.8): 237 n. Dialogue on Love 259 That a Philosopher Should Converse Especially with Men in Power 26 n., 33, 34, 75, 258, 259, 263 n. 776C–D: 33

783C: 33 n., 70–1, 75 n. 785C: 122 785E: 33 n. 788E: 36 n. 791C–D: 122 Political Precepts 24 n., 25, 30, 49, 70, 76, 122, 124, 147, 148 n., 244, 258 798B–C: 74–5, 138 n. 798B: 57 n. 798C: 63 n. 800E: 33 n. 801C–804C (=}} 5–9): 151 802E–F: 262 805B: 50 n. 809D: 52 n. 811B: 75 n. 813E: 27, 36 814D: 101 n., 123 n. 814E–816A (=} 19): 121 n. 815B: 50 n. 816D: 75 n. 818A: 63 n. 819B: 59 That One Ought Not to Borrow 20 n., 25–6, 27, 49, 258 828F–829B (=} 4): 26 829E–831B (=}} 6–7): 24 n. 829F: 36 831B–832A (=} 8): 26 n.

To an Uneducated Ruler 23, 26 n., 35, 49, 75, 258, 259 779D–E: 75 n. 781F–782B (=} 5): 35 782B: 35

On the Malice of Herodotus 208 n.

Whether an Old Man Should Engage in Public Affairs 24 n., 70 n., 258 783B–797F: 122

On Eating Meat 995E–F: 236

On the Face in the Moon 75, 207, 257 Wheter Land or Sea Animals are Cleverer 207

Platonic Questions 40

Index Locorum On the Generation of the Soul in the Timaeus 40, 113 n. On Stoic Self–Contradictions 39 Against Colotes 39, 265 Is ‘Live Unknown’ a Wise Precept? 260 n. On Anger 54, 63 n. Parallel Lives 1–3, 10, 46–7, 51–2, 64, 71 n., 207, 256–7 Life of Pericles 51 n., 201 1.2–3: 201 n. Life of Coriolanus 4.5: 27 n. Life of Aemilius 1.1: 112 n. Life of Aristides 21: 198 n. Life of Sulla 17: 209 n. Life of Phocion 29.5.3: 181 n. Life of Demosthenes 101 n. 2.2: 75 n., 101 n. Life of Demetrius 52 n. 1.2: 201 n. Life of Dion 5: 52 Lives 1 Life of Artaxerxes 6.1.1: 181 n. Life of Galba 20.1: 91 n. Seneca the Elder Questions about Nature 7.32.1: 203 n.

Seneca Consolation to Helvia 118–19 6–9: 119 10–12: 119 10.3: 241 13: 119 Letters to Lucilius 38, 204 n. 8.7: 131 n. 78.5–29: 212–3 90.25: 190 n. On Anger 54, 60–3, 65 n. 1.1.1–1.2.3: 62 1.2.4–1.43: 62 1.5.1–1.31.4: 62 1.20.8: 203 n. 2.1.1–2.17.2: 62 2.18.1–3.43.5: 62 2.22–2.36: 61 2.25.3: 60 On Doing Kindnesses 172 On the Brevity of Life 204 n. 10.5: 104 n. On Tranquillity 85, 86, 88, 90 n., 91 3: 90 n. 4.1–6.8: 91 n. 8: 88 n. 9: 88 n. 11.3: 94 n. 12.2–12.7: 185 13.1: 89 n. 14: 133 n. Stobaeus Eclogues 121 n. 3.20.70: 63 n. 3.36: 152 n. 3.36.22: 170 n. 3.40: 117 n. 4.39.25: 89 n.

327

328

Index Locorum

Teles On Exile Fr. 3 Hense (1969), 15: 121, 140 n. Fr. 3 Hense (1969), 16: 121, 122 Fr. 3 Hense (1969), 21: 139 n.

Physicorum Opiniones Fr. 12 Diels 489: 180 n. Xenophon Hellenica 1.6.3.2: 178 n.

Theophrastus Characters 152, 188 3: 152 7: 153 8: 153 13: 178 n. 28: 153, 188

Memoirs of Socrates 1.3.6: 224 n. 3.11.16: 179 n. 4.7.9: 246 n. On Household Management 11.3.3: 152 n.