The Oxford Handbook of the Second Sophistic

by Daniel S. Richter

  His major contributions here consist of a literal interpretation of the Timaeus and an apparently original theory to explain the “precosmic world soul.” He claims that his literal, rather than symbolic or allegorical interpretation went against the whole tradition up to his time. This, and Plutarch’s identification of God with the Demiurge—and with Being and the Good in his other writings, something not in Plato—was apparently not as original as Plutarch (and some modern scholars) have claimed (Opsomer 2005, 52–53, 65, 77, 94). Apparently quite original, though, was his theory of Plato’s world soul. According to this interpretation, the “precosmic” universe was disorderly, guided by soul (psyche) without a mind (nous). Once, however, the world soul received intellect, its fortunes changed. Order entered into the universe, it truly became a cosmos, and time could begin (1013a, 1014b–e). The idea of the human composite as mind (nous or daimon), soul, and body, comes from Plato’s Timaeus (90a). Plutarch, however, applied it to the world soul and emphasized the importance of the soul, as distinguished from intellect, as the seat of the passions. The theory then became fundamental not only for his cosmology but also for his ethical theory and practical ethics.

  One of the Platonic Questions is entitled “Why Plato calls God the Father and Maker.” Plutarch claims that since God has endowed the world soul with mind, He has given it a part of Himself, and, thus, can be called its father and not just its maker. Though technically about the world soul, the theory can be applied to human beings (e.g., De tranq. anim. 473d–e). The answer may be a reaction against the extreme distance in “being” between mortals and God as apparently developed in Alexandrian Platonism and as emphasized in Ammonius’s speech at the end of The E at Delphi.

  The confrontations between the philosophical schools in the Hellenistic period may have been sterile exercises. During the Second Sophistic, however, such engagements offered a real stimulus to philosophical creativity. Plutarch, along with other Platonists, was able to undermine the predominance of Stoicism and Epicureanism and offer what he considered a better option. But he could draw upon a long tradition of philosophical literature, especially Stoic ethical treatises, and incorporate their doctrines, methods, and examples. Another important contribution was his integration of the aporetic side of Platonism, typified by Socrates and the Platonic dialogues, with the systemization of Platonism developed after Plato in the Academy and by later Platonists after the Academy’s demise. In doing so, he was arguably “the most faithful reader of Plato in his age” (Donini, as quoted in Bonazzi and Sharples 2011, 11–12).

  The Face on the Moon is one of the mixed philosophical or cosmological-religious-ethical works. More a pseudodialogue than a dialogue, it is split into two parts. The first consists of an extremely long, technical section on the composition of the moon, comprising about three-quarters of the work, while the second is a shorter, mythical part. The first, the best that antiquity has left us, is a highly technical astronomical treatise, and the result is basically correct. The moon is a solid body reflecting the sun’s light. The mythical part involves a “double death” of the souls, first the separation of the soul (psyche) from the body on earth, followed by that of the intellect (nous) from the soul with its passions, on the moon (944e–f). Some scholars argue that this double death and seemingly materialistic conception of soul could not derive from Plato alone (but see Donini 2011a, 330). The scientific side in any case is influenced by an Aristotelianizing source. Then, in the myth Plutarch deliberately seems to contradict the scientific section just presented (cf. 943e–f and 923c–d). As with the scientific and mythical parts, no speaker seems to be completely reliable or possess the whole truth. Plutarch apparently chose this somewhat aporetic approach in order to stimulate the reader toward further and more promising speculation along Platonic lines (Donini 2011b, 98–99).

  The Daimonion [supernatural voice or sign] of Socrates has been considered a masterpiece. Involving history, ethics, and religion, it is more than philosophical. Plutarch stresses the importance of philosophical inquiry, offers an original answer to the meaning of Socrates’s daimonion, and underscores the continuum between human and divine worlds. The dialogue is framed by one of the greatest moments in Boeotian history, the revolt of the Thebans against the Spartans and their puppets in December 379 BCE. One of Plutarch’s most stirring “dramatic dialogues,” it may be, like the Dialogue on Love, influenced by the rise of the novel in this period. As elsewhere in Plutarch’s dialogues, one sees an apparent disconnect between the parts, in this case, the myth, the history, the discussion of the presumed idealism of Epaminondas, and the exposition of the daimones (spiritual beings, whose voices Socrates may have heard; for “flawed characters,” see Brenk 2016). A central theme supposedly is the daimonic guidance of certain chosen men. Surprisingly, though, Plutarch barely mentions that Epaminondas himself, much like Socrates, is being guided by a daimon. At 585f–586a, however, we learn that the daimon that once guided Lysis, the recently dead Pythagorean teacher of Epaminondas, is now instructing the Theban hero. Plutarch here introduces an element of “daimonic” time. The daimones, mediators between the divine and men as in Plato’s Symposium, seem to have knowledge of past, present, and future (Brenk 1996, esp. 50–51 [80–81]). The dialogue is an exercise in local Boeotian identity and pride but includes cosmopolitan perspectives. In this case, the Socrates and Athens of Plato’s dialogues are evoked through the theme and through the presence of Simmias, a pupil of Socrates and Plato, who appears in his dialogues. Simmias and a stranger also bring to life the Pythagoreans of faraway Magna Graecia. Epaminondas absents himself from the philosophical discussions and for other reasons seems to represent a defective ideal. Thus, the dialogue seems to revolve primarily around the importance of philosophical discussion and deeper probing into Plato’s thought. Epaminondas and events, however, seem to move in another world. Still, the emphasis on paideia and the philosophically determined life certainly had a strong appeal for his readers.

  Plutarch’s philosophical writings include a large number of Table Talks (or Sympotic Questions), associated with an institution still relevant during the Second Sophistic (Stadter 2015, 98–107). These have a familiar or festive setting and include participants without philosophical education. The discussions generally occur at festivals and formal occasions, with important guests present, and they reveal the representation, preservation, and “performance” of cultural memory. In this respect, they resemble other means of preserving cultural memory, such as the processions and ceremonies which were taking place at the same time. In Question 9.14, for example, the number of the Muses is discussed, but also their role as handed down in Greek philosophy, religion, literature, art, music, Delphic folklore, astronomy, and everyday life. Also, while attention is paid to local diversity, the Sympotic Questions contribute to the creation of the imperial type of Panhellenism (König 2007, 63–68). As such, they are particularly relevant for understanding the culture and ideals of the Second Sophistic. Until recently, scholars usually discounted these essays with their frequent off-hand and pseudo-scientific answers. They serve, though, at least superficially, as exercises in becoming an intellectual (pepaideumenos) in the Second Sophistic. One apparent goal is to demonstrate how, through apparently trivial speculation, one can learn important philosophical principles (Kechagia 2011a, 93–94, 104; König 2007, 52–64). The Sympotic Questions, then, are a kind of handbook intended not only for the young but even for important adults, such as the Roman Sosius Senecio, to whom they, like the Lives, were dedicated. The longest of them, in fact, deals with the art of conversation, a topic suggested by Sosius Senecio himself (Wright 2008, 144–146). The range of topics to which the speakers are expected to give sophisticated answers is vast. They range from natural science to folklore, literature, and philosophy. Surprising is the lack of a definitive answer, especially since the authoritative and final voice is often that of Plutarch himself. In some cases, though, he appears as a young man, and is not averse to presentin
g himself as the “star pupil” of his teacher, Ammonius, as in 3.1, and possibly in 9.2 and 9.3 (Klotz 2011, 171–178; König 2007, 52). The speaker’s prestige offers some help for evaluating the answer, as does the length and position of the speech, for example, at the end. Sometimes one can test an opinion against Plutarch’s in another work. Still, rarely do the opinions of a speaker seem to coincide perfectly with those expressed by Plutarch elsewhere. Evidently, his primary purpose was to stimulate philosophical inquiry and to characterize the speaker individually. A conflict, moreover, seems to exist between two separate criteria, plausibility and “sympotic harmony.” Was there method in this madness of “interpretive pluralism”? Evidently the idea is to challenge the readers to decide for themselves and formulate their own answers, thus entering, in a sense, into the sympotic discussion contained in this work (König 2007, 45, 50).

  Out of ninety-five Sympotic Questions, Plutarch is the principal speaker in thirty-three. Moreover, each has a preface, and his voice is very strong at the opening of each book. Oddly, his philosophy teacher, Ammonius, has a relatively minor role, though his monologue ends the work (9.15 [747b–748D]; Klotz 2011, 177). One should not exaggerate the strictly philosophical content. Plutarch asserts that philosophy should not be excluded (716d–f), but defines it as “the art of life” (613b) (Kechagia 2011a, 91–93). Then, we find a cautious note: since not all the participants are philosophers, the topics should be familiar, simple, and easy (641d), not pedantic, abstruse, or belligerent (614f). In fact, though, the crafty participant (and reader), quickly learns that to create una bella figura, he had better “bone up” on natural science. Most topics discussed fall within the categories of biology, botany, physiology, health, and astronomy (forty-two cases). Next comes sympotic behavior (seventeen), literature (including mythology and grammar) (eleven); then sociology (including ethnicity, strange customs, and religious behavior; five); music (four); theater, choruses, dance (four); sports (four); philosophy (two); and religion (one). For other Questions, only nonhelpful titles remain (four). The only real philosophical question in the modern sense seems to be 8.2 (718b–720c), “What Plato meant by saying that God is always doing geometry.” The four solutions are based on epistemology, ethics, cosmology, and metaphysics. Like a name on an empty tomb, another question exists only as a title, “On the subject of our having no permanent identity, since our substance is always in flux” (9.11 [741c]). This, at least literally, represents Ammonius’s position at the end of The E at Delphi. Plutarch’s own position elsewhere was the contrary. Yet, two “questions” do not represent a great deal of philosophical involvement in the modern sense of the term. The topics of the Sympotic Questions, nonetheless, reveal much about the interests, strengths, weaknesses, foibles, and aspirations of Greco-Romans of the Second Sophistic.

  RELIGION

  For many readers the most memorable parts of Plutarch’s Moralia are his religious writings, in particular his intimations of horrendous demons, or more properly, good and bad daimones. Some essays are exercises in comparative religion, such as his Roman and Greek Questions, while others are Platonic-style dialogues with developed myths. An often-cited work, On Superstition, surprisingly treats superstition as worse than atheism, but it may be spurious. On Isis and Osiris treats a part of Egyptian religion, offering the basic data and different interpretations. Three dialogues, each from a different perspective and written separately, discuss the Delphic Oracle. Finally, major eschatological dialogues recreating the spirit of Plato, examine the fate of the soul after death (for an overview, Hirsch-Luipold 2016).

  Plutarch’s Roman and Greek Questions, among other works, arguably reveal him as the best scholar of comparative religion of his time. Although he knew Latin reasonably well (Stadter 2011) and Roman culture, he has been accused of using Greek answers for Roman questions (Preston 2001, 93–94, 105, 112–113). This is misleading. Any count of the categories of the responses is bound to be arbitrary, and there are some cross-references. However, of the 113 Roman Questions, only twenty-eight answers are based on Greek customs or religion. Moreover, these explanations are generally offered as Greek parallels in confirmation of answers based on Roman culture. The majority of the answers are what Plutarch terms common-sense ones (κατὰ λόγον, e.g., 281c), not really Greek answers. He normally rejects myth-ritual- or myth-history-type explanations. True, the principal Roman authority, Varro, is cited only eight times, but in the entire Greek Questions only three Greek authorities are cited, Aristotle and Mnasigeiton (295f), and Architimus, who wrote a History of Arcadia (300b), the last two of which are very obscure. A rough count gives 119 answers based on Roman culture (some questions with more than one answer) and only eleven, or around 10 percent, based on Greek culture, while 102 answers are neutral. Plutarch’s treatment, rather than being excessively grecocentric, reveals a broad Roman and cosmopolitan sweep.

  As typical of the Second Sophistic, he was interested in foreign religions, but his treatment is rather paradoxical (see Pelling 2016). He devotes an entire, very long essay to the cult of Isis and Osiris, based on early Hellenistic sources, but treats Persian religion only briefly. A conspiracy of silence seems to surround his approach to Christians, though the Neronian persecution had given them notoriety and famous letters between Pliny and the Emperor Trajan discuss them. Among extant Greek and Roman authors on Jews and Judaism, he stands out, but the bar is low. His contribution is minimal and disappointing by modern standards (Quaest. conv. 4.5 [669e–671c]) and 4.6 [671c–672c]). Still, by contemporary standards the passages are, like those on other religions, reasonably sympathetic. Tacitus was contemptuous of the Jews but praised their monotheism and aniconic worship (Hist. 5.5.4). Plutarch, surprisingly, never mentions this defining characteristic. The passages on the Jews appear in the Sympotic Questions, notorious for unreliable statements. Moreover, the speaker, not Plutarch but his brother Lamprias, explains “Levites” from Lysios or Euïos (names for Dionysus), and “Sabbath” from Saboi (a rare name for Bacchics). In Sympotic Questions 8.5 (726e), Lamprias offers absurd etymologies on another subject. In On Isis and Osiris, contrary to his practice, Plutarch does employ Greek etymologies for foreign words but interprets them allegorically. The Jewish matter, however, may be based on an excellent source, Hecataeus of Abdera (Geiger 2011, 217–219).

  Pilgrimages to religious sites were very popular during the Second Sophistic (see Rutherford on pilgrimage, chapter 39 in this volume). Pausanias devotes a major section of his Description of Greece to Delphi. Not surprisingly, Plutarch, who was a priest there, dedicated three major dialogues to the shrine, The E at Delphi, The Oracles of the Pythia, and The Obsolescence of the Oracles. Rather than offering a comprehensive description of the shrine, each dialogue is concerned with one major question, namely: the nature the Pythia’s inspiration, the significance of the mysterious letter E erected there, and the reason for the present decline of oracular sites. Of these, The Oracles of the Pythia most resembles Lucian’s On the Syrian Goddess and Pausanias’s description of Delphi. In contrast to Pausanias’s treatment, though, it devotes only ten pages or about 25 percent of the work to the actual site. In Lucian’s On the Syrian Goddess, the guides’ fantastic tales stir shock and awe. Here they drive the skeptical viewers to the exits (De Pyth. or. 395a–b). Plutarch’s Delphic essays are concerned with the past, as in Pausanias and Lucian, especially the extremely distant past, without romantic idealization. In The Oracles of the Pythia, the main speaker, Theon, eulogizes the present (406b–c). Though the Pythia has been reduced to prose today, the literary quality of the ancient verse oracles was rather miserable. Once persecutions of ethnic groups, internecine struggles, tyrants, and horrible ills abounded. Now the world enjoys profound peace and tranquility (408b–c).

  In Lucian’s On the Syrian Goddess, the shrine at Hierapolis is rife with wondrous events, but in Plutarch they are minimal. He avoids them almost entirely in The Oracles of the Pythia, with the exception of five common statue “mirac
les” (397e–f), indicative of their being “filled with divinity” (398a). More stupendous wonders occur in The Obsolescence of the Oracles. They include the story of the “death of the Great Pan,” supposedly a great daimon passing away off the west coast of the Adriatic (419a–e), the death of daimones off the coast of Britain (419–420a), and the “true story” of a sage living near the Persian Gulf, the companion of roaming nymphs and daimones (420f–421f). Unfortunately, the gullibility of these tellers of tall tales diminishes their credibility (Brenk 1977, 85–112).

  In his major dialogues, which recapture the spirit of Plato’s Phaedrus and Republic, however, Plutarch indulged in stupendous eschatological scenes of torture and torment in the next life, with release to divine status for the virtuous. Like monotheism, conversion and salvation seem to characterize the age. There is no standard eschatology. Each myth is shaped to fit a particular dialogue. In both The Daimonion of Socrates and The Face on the Moon, the myth is essentially based upon Plutarch’s division of the human composite into body, soul, and intelligence (nous or logos). Though the concept comes from the Timaeus, Plato himself did not exploit this tripartite division in his brief myth on the destiny of the souls. In Plutarch we find a novel, physical application of the theory. Souls are punished and reincarnated on the moon. If not sufficiently purified, they are then reincarnated and descend to earth. For others, though, their soul (psyche), treated as a physical substance, dies and is absorbed into the moon, but through love for the “desirable, and beautiful and divine and blessed” their purified nous escapes from the moon, presumably to enjoy the Platonic “blessed vision” (944e).