[In the following essay, originally presented as a lecture, Ferwada considers the question of whether Plotinus showed inconsistency in the matter of pity.]

When you have gone beyond giver and gift and recipient, you have reached compassion.

Buddhist saying

Plotinus is a difficult philosopher. This I know from personal experience. But it is not my intention to let that show this afternoon. What I want to do today is put before you a number of straightforward texts from the Enneads, preceded by two texts (also not too complicated) from Porphyry's biography.¹ Let us start with a text in Porphyry Vita Plotini 9:

Many men and women of the highest rank, on the approach of death, brought him [Plotinus] their children, both boys and girls, and entrusted them to him along with all their property, considering that he would be a holy and god-like guardian. So his house was full of young lads and maidens … He used to say that as long as they did not take to philosophy their properties and incomes must be kept safe and untouched for them. Yet, though he shielded so many from the worries and cares of ordinary life, he never, while awake, relaxed his intent concentration upon the intellect. He was gentle, too, and at the disposal of all who had any sort of acquaintance with him. Though he spent twenty-six whole years in Rome and acted as arbitrator in very many people's disputes, he never made an enemy of any of the officials.

From chapter 12, however, we learn that not everybody shared this view of Plotinus:

The Emperor Gallienus and his wife Salonian greatly honoured and venerated Plotinus. He tried to make full use of their friendship: there was said to have been in Campania a city of philosophers which had fallen into ruin; this he asked them to revive, and to present the surrounding territory to the city when they had founded it. Those who settled there were to live according to the laws of Plato, and it was to be called Platonopolis; and he undertook to move there with his companions. The philosopher would easily have gained his wish if some of the courtiers, moved by jealousy, spite, or some such mean motive, had not prevented it.

Now we turn to some texts from the Enneads:

I 1 (53) 10.13-14. For the vices belong to this (i.e. the compositum of body and soul, not to the soul alone), since envy and jealousy and emotional sympathy are located there.

I 4 (46) 8.3. The wise man is not be pitied in his pain.

I 4 (46) 8.12-13. (How should the wise man behave) when the pains concern others? (To sympathize with them) would be a weakness in our soul.

The addition ‘sympathize’ is by no means found in all translations. It is present in Armstrong (cited above), Igal (la compasión), and Harder (sie mitzuleiden). Mackenna, Cilento and Bréhier adopt a different punctuation and do not add a reference to pity. In my opinion the train of thought in the passage makes the addition necessary.

In II 9 (33), the treatise against the Gnostics, man's suffering is placed in the context of the order of the cosmos. If things go wrong, it is the fault of the people involved themselves. If so, then—this seems to be the thought left unexpressed—what is the point of showing pity?

II 9 (33) 7.33-39. But if any of the parts of the universe is moved according to its nature, the parts with whose nature the movement is not in accord suffer, but those which are moved go on well, as parts of the whole; but the others are destroyed because they are not able to endure the order of the whole; as if when a great company of dancers was moving in order a tortoise was caught in the middle of its advance and trampled because it was not able to get out of the way of the ordered movement of the dancers: yet if it had ranged itself with that movement, even it would have taken no harm from them.

II 9 (33) 9.12-19. But if anyone commits murder, or is worsted by his passions because of his incapacity, why is it surprising that there should be sins, not in intellect but in souls that are like children which have not grown up? And if the world is like a sports-ground, where some win and others, lose, what is there wrong with that? If you are wronged, what is there dreadful in that to an immortal? And even if you are murdered, you have what you want. But if you have come by now to dislike the world, you are not compelled to remain a citizen of it. It is agreed that there are judgements and punishments here. How, then, is it possible rightly to disapprove of a city which gives each man his deserts?

Similar themes are found in the treatise on Providence:

III 2 (47) 4.44-48. Punishment certainly follows; and it is not unjust that someone who has come to be this sort of person should suffer the consequences of his condition; people must not demand to be well off who have not done what deserves well-being. Only the good are well off; that, too, is what gives the gods their well-being.

III 2 (47) 5.7-8. Men must fall sick if they have bodies. And even these troubles are not altogether without usefulness for the coordination and completions of the whole.

III 2 (47) 8.16-21. If some boys, who have kept their bodies in good training, but are inferior in soul to their bodily condition because of lack of education, win a wrestle with others who are trained neither in body or soul and grab their food and their dainty clothes, would the affair be anything but a joke?

III 2 (47) 13.1-17. The rational principle … makes slaves out of those who were masters before, if they were bad masters (and also because it is good for them this way); and, if men have used wealth badly, makes them poor (and for the good, too, it is not without advantage to be poor); and causes those who have killed unjustly to be killed in their turn, unjustly as far as the doer of the deed is concerned, but justly as far as concerns the victim; and it brings that which is to suffer together to the same point with that which is fit and ready to execute what that unjust killer is fated to endure. There is certainly no accident in a man's becoming a slave, nor is he taken prisoner in war by chance, nor is outrage done on his body without due cause, but he was once the doer of that which he now suffers; and a man who made away with his mother will be made away with by a son when he has become a woman, and one who has raped a woman will be a woman in order to be raped. Hence comes, by divine declaration, the name Adrasteia: for this world-order is truly Adrasteia (the Inescapable) and truly Justice and wonderful Wisdom.

III 2 (47) 15.21. And what does it matter if, when living beings are eaten, they come alive again as different animals?

III 2 (47) 15.62 … for children, too, weep and wail over things that are not evils.

Similar ideas are also put forward in the treatise on the soul (IV 3-4 (27-28)), except at IV 3 (27) 12, a text which stands apart from the rest.

IV 3 (27) 12.1-12. The souls of men, seeing their images in the mirror of Dionysus as it were, have entered into that realm in a leap downward from the Supreme: yet even they are not cut off from their origin, from the divine Intellect; it is not that they have come bringing the Intellectual Principle down in their fall; it is that though they have descended even to earth, yet their higher part holds for ever above the heavens. Their initial descent is deepened since that mid-part of theirs is compelled to labour in care of the care-needing thing into which they have entered. But Zeus, the father, takes pity on their toils and makes the bonds in which they labour soluble by death and gives respite in due time, freeing them from the body, that they too may come to dwell there where the Universal Soul, unconcerned with earthly needs, has ever dwelt.

IV 3 (27) 16.1-22. The punishment justly overtaking the wicked must therefore be ascribed to the cosmic order which leads all in accordance with the right. But what of chastisements, poverty, illness, falling upon the good outside of all justice? These events, we will be told, are equally interwoven into the world order and fall under prediction, and must consequently have a cause in the general reason: are they therefore to be charged to past misdoing? No: such misfortunes do not answer to reasons established in the nature of things; they are not laid up in the master-facts of the universe, but were merely accidental sequents: a house falls, and anyone that chances to be underneath is killed, no matter what sort of man he be: two squadrons of cavalry are moving in perfect order—or one if you like—but anything getting in the way is wounded or trampled down. Or we may reason that the undeserved stroke can be no evil to the sufferer in view of the beneficient interweaving of the All; or again, no doubt, that nothing is unjust that finds justification in a past history. We may not think of some things being fitted into a system with others abandoned to the capricious; if things must happen by cause, by natural sequences, under one Reason-Principle and a single set scheme, we must admit that the minor equally with the major is fitted into that order and pattern. Wrongdoing from man to man is wrong in the doer and must be imputed, but, as belonging to the established order of the universe, is not a wrong within that order or even as regards the innocent sufferer; it is a thing that had to be, and, if the sufferer is good, the issue is to his gain.

IV 4 (28) 28.25. It is understandable that we feel anger when others are victims of unjust conduct.

IV 4 (28) 32.32-47. For visibly the Universe is not merely one living organism; it is also a manifold. In virtue of the unity the individual is preserved by the All: in virtue of the multiplicity of things having various contacts, difference often brings about mutual hurt; one thing, seeking its own need, is detrimental to another; what is at once related and different is seized as food; each thing, following its own natural path, wrenches from something else what is serviceable to itself, and destroys or checks in its own interest whatever is becoming a menace to it: each, occupied with its peculiar function, assists no doubt anything able to profit by that, but harms or destroys what is too weak to withstand the onslaught of its action, like fire withering things round it or greater animals in their march thrusting aside or trampling under foot the smaller. The rise of all these forms of being, their destruction, and their modification, whether to their loss of gain, all goes to the fulfilment of the natural unhindered life of that one living being …

IV 4 (28) 39.29-30. The life in the cosmos does not look to the individual but to the whole. (And this whole, the universe, does not undergo affections, 42.40.)

IV 4 (28) 40.22. Gestures that evoke pity exert influence on the (irrational) soul (like magic), but do not affect reason.

IV 4 (28) 43.1. The wise man is immune to magic.

Our last text is located in VI 8 (39).

VI 8 (39) 6.17-18. Virtue does not follow upon occurrences as a saver of the imperilled; at its direction it sacrifices a man; it may decree the jettison of life, means, children, country even; it looks to its own high aim and not to the safeguarding of anything lower.

It is worth noting before we proceed, that … (pity) occurs only once in the Enneads (I 1 (53) 10.14), (pitiful) twice (I 4 (46) 8.3, IV 4 (28) 40.22), and that the verb … (show pity) is only used in a quotation from Plato (IV 3 (27) 12.8). … (Commiserate) is not found at all. Of (envy, jealousy) Plotinus says that the gods do not know it (II 9 (33) 17.17) (and the same must apply to the wise man, cf. I 6 (1) 5.27).

So much for the texts. I have already said that they are not difficult. They also do not appear to contradict each other. So why not simply draw the conclusion that Plotinus regarded pity as a vice. Then we keep to his own words (I 1 (53) 10.13-14) and our discussion is as good as finished. But deep in our heart we cannot help remembering how Porphyry tells us that Plotinus was a very nice person, a man who showed a great deal of concern for what happened to other people. Does this not indicate a certain dichotomy between doctrine and behaviour? If so, when does he show his true self, in what he does or in what he says? While preparing this talk I came across a passage in an article by Prof. Rist of Toronto.² On the one hand, he says, Plotinus just like a modern social-worker is aware that too great an emotional involvement in the misfortunes of those he would like to help will only inhibit his ability to do so. On the other hand, Plotinus also states quite clearly that love for the father (god) implies love for the children (men and women) (II 9 (33) 16.7ff.). Virtue is the first step towards god; without it god is no more than a word without content (II 9 (33) 15.40). And why should pity not be helpful in that respect and therefore be considered a virtue? Is the problem less straightforward than we first thought? And would it perhaps be worthwhile to pay some attention to the notion of sυνπάθεια, even though in Plotinus this word does not mean sympathy in our sense of the term, but almost exclusively the interdependence between the cosmos and its parts? Does this Greek notion of sympathy entail, to a certain degree at least, our notion of sympathy?

Before I turn to these questions, allow me first to take a look at some of the comments made on the subject of pity in classical literature before Plotinus. ‘Better be envied than pitied’ might look like a good English proverb, but we already find it attributed to Thales (DK I 64.9). And he was not the only one to write about pity.³ Let us begin with Homer.

In Homer it is considered that the heroes should display pity and they do so too, especially towards their fallen comrades. Suppliants also often ask for it, but do not always receive it. The word, especially when used with regard to the dead gives expression to the painful realization of a sense of involvement in the fate of the unfortunate. The gods are also frequently besought to show sympathy, and often they do so. But this is not entirely a matter of course, and sometimes the gods' sympathy is manifested in unexpected ways. Thus at the beginning of the post-Homeric Cypria it is stated that Zeus felt sorry for the earth, and decided to give her some relief by unleashing the Trojan war which would take the lives of many people.⁴ When Andromache begs her husband to take pity on her and her son and not go out to battle, Hector does show his feelings of sympathy by kissing his son, but that does not prevent him in the end from taking part in the war and meeting with death. Fate is stronger than human emotions, a fact to which Homer appears to resign himself. His attitude is clearly critical, however, when his heroes for whatever reason encase their heart in a suit of armour and behave in a pitiless and ruthless manner towards their fellow human beings. This is particularly evident in the case of Achilles. When he, for example, in his rage at the death of Patroclus hurls Lycaon into the river, even the river feels he must protest (Iliad XXI 146). But at the end of the epic Achilles does show mercy towards King Priam.

His character is, therefore, not presented as unremittingly pitiless. Attempts have sometimes been made to attribute these less harsh attitudes to the later parts of the epic and to declare them irreconcilable with the tough value system of the aristocracy. It would seem preferable to recognize the toughness of the aristocratic world and the conviction of the heroes that war and death were inevitable, but also to take into account that the perpetrators of these deeds could at the same time in certain cases demonstrate their solidarity with fallen friends and relations by means of feelings of sympathy. In the Odyssey (III 96, IV 226) we note that this sympathy can also have a threatening side: Telemachus asks both Nestor and Menelaus to tell him the full truth about his father and not to show pity.⁵ We must therefore conclude that the notion of pity plays an important role in Epic poetry, and that Homer casts light on its positive and negative aspects in an instructive way.

In later times we no longer find the positive and negative aspects of pity both given expression by the one and same person. To begin with examples of a positive attitude, Demosthenes unequivocally states (22.57) that compassion does the free citizen credit, and Aristotle too regards it only as a noble emotion just like friendship and respect.⁶ But we should observe that such compassion is never directed towards the poor and needy in general. As we shall see, it is limited to those who have been struck by the pθόυοs of the gods. It has to do with a rational weighing up of whether the misfortune that overcomes people is deserved or undeserved, and moreover betrays the fear that a similar misfortune may at some time overcome the one who feels pity. Should the Greeks wish to give expression to a deeper feeling of sympathy (suffering together), they use the word … ‘to feel pain together’. This is a privilege reserved for a small circle of intimate friends.

A somewhat surprising characteristic of the Greeks is that in the realm of law and jurisprudence they for the most part preached the practice of asking for [éleos]. Thrasymachus, for example, encourages the accused to attempt to move the judge to pity (fr.6, DK II 281.19), in order to secure an acquittal. Aristotle follows suit (Rhet.II 8 1385b11), but Socrates resists the temptation to rouse the pity of his judges (Apol.34c).

In the Epicurean tradition there is in general a positive attitude towards the demonstration of sympathy. Their source of inspiration Democritus calls έλεοs one of the good things (fr. B255 DK II 196) and wants people not to laugh at the misfortune of others, but to commiserate (fr.B107a DK II 164). This sentiment is repeated in the famous opening lines of the second book of Lucretius' De Rerum Natura. These lines are often interpreted as the limit of egoism and malicious pleasure: ‘it is a joy, when out at sea the storm-winds are lashing the waters, to gaze from the shore at the toils of another’. But the tertium comparationis does not lie in the pleasure felt at another's suffering. In line 14 it is clearly stated that Lucretius feels sorry for the bedazzled minds of men who set their eyes on worldly fame and wealth.⁷ From this the wise man is fortunately free. Concerning Epicurus himself Diogenes Laertius (X 118) informs us that he was full of compassion and forgiving towards every good man. Perhaps Seneca has the Epicureans in mind when he says that very many people regard misericordia as a virtue (De Clementia 4.4), to which he immediately adds that in reality it is the opposite. The sentiment of pity is a mental disease and no one feels pity except an idiot or a fool: such is the view of the Stoics and statements like this could apparently be extracted in large numbers from their works with the greatest of ease (SVF III 92-133 passim). Nevertheless Seneca does add that the true sage, though not allowing his mind to be clouded by sympathy, will with clear judgment bring help when required.⁸ Epictetus too exhorts his readers (I 18.3 & 9; I 28.9) to show pity towards certain sufferers. But it did remain in the eyes of the Stoics essentially a pathos, just like fear. It did not inspire one to disinterested service towards others, but remained an emotion which had an enslaving effect on the mind. …

This coincides well with what we read in Plato's famous image of the cave. Don't you think, Socrates asks Glaucon, that the man who is freed from his chains and leaves the cave for the real world will, when he recalls his former habitation and the so-called wisdom of his fellow-prisoners there, consider himself fortunate on account of his change in situation and feel pity for them (Rep. 516c)? But Plato does not use this sentiment as a reason for returning to the cave. The man who has received enlightenment returns, not in the first place out of pity, but because he has been forced (Rep. 517a) to recognize that he has a task, a duty towards those who have been left behind (Rep. 519eff.). Plato's opinion of pity as an emotion is not high, especially when it is summoned forth by play-acting on the stage (Rep. 606b). An additional point is that there can actually be no question of pity, if there is strictly speaking no suffering. The cave-dwellers are in fact not aware of their miserable condition. The messenger of enlightenment, by means of his interpretation of their situation, forces his pity on them with the same violence used earlier on to impose the joy of the ascent out of the cave on him. His pity actually widens the chasm that exists between him and the ones left behind. Only by imposing—with use of violence—his insight on them and bringing them to conversion, will he be able to bring about for them a real liberation from their enslaved condition.⁹

It is, of course, rather tempting to append to Plato's remark on theatrically roused pity one or two words concerning Aristotle's famous statement that fear and pity are summoned forth when we watch tragedy. I don't want to deal with this in depth. Others have done so at great length and better than I could do.¹⁰ But at least two comments are called for. Aristotle does not discuss the subject of pity in the De anima, but in the Poetica (VI 1449b, VII 1452a) and in the Rhetorica (II 1385b10 - 1386b8). This would appear to indicate that he regards this emotion in the first place as something to be aroused with a particular intention, i.e. to influence others in a positive sense. Secondly, this intention apparently does not have the purpose of lessening the rational insight of the person in whom it is aroused, but rather to heighten such insight. Pity is felt in respect of mistakes that occur because of ignorance, not in respect of unjust deeds done by people fully aware of what they are doing. Whereas Plato banished the poets from his ideal state because their works whipped up the emotions of the readers and thus weakened the power of reason, Aristotle calmly tolerates the emotions of fear and pity on the stage so that the spectators will be better able to deal with them in real life.¹¹ He integrates, as it were, pity with rational insight. …

In this context it is very interesting to observe that in the later Greek period an altar to the god Eleos achieved fame equal to that of Olympia and Delphi, as Philostratus informs us (Vita Soph. 2.12.2). Before the fourth century b.c. this altar is never mentioned, but is repeatedly referred to by all the great orators of the later period (Longinus, Libanius, to name but a couple). The cult of Eleos is closely connected with that of pιλαυθρωπία.¹² I must add here that the altar was not meant to serve as a place of refuge for the poor in general, but for the wealthy who had come on hard times.¹³

On the basis of the evidence so far discussed we are in a position to draw up some provisional conclusions. Speaking in general terms, we can say that there are two attitudes towards έλεοs in Greek literature: some writers reject it, others find it permissible. Those who reject it do so because in their view it is a kind of disease that has a paralyzing effect on man's reason. Our actions should, according to them, not be based on pity but on insight, and especially on insight into the real place of human existence within a justly ordered universe. This may sound rather grandiloquent, but such is the proper and good disposition of the philosopher-ruler in the view of both Plato and the Stoa. Once a man has acquired such a disposition, he may, if the circumstances permit, accept the emotion of pity, because the soul is in the final resort a unity and emotions—subordinated now to reason—obviously must have their place in it. Those who regard pity in itself as a positive emotion restrict its application in principle to members of their own class, especially if such people have known prosperity and have been struck down by misfortune. In this way sympathy is ensured if one should ever come into a position of need oneself. The appeal to pity in the law-courts is, of course, also wholly inspired by self-interest.

The ambiguous attitude shown by the Greeks towards the emotion of pity is in itself not strange. The same ambiguity is found in their attitude, for example, towards Eris (strife, jealousy). Concerning Eris Hesiod (Op. 11ff.) writes that there is an evil Eris (strife) who is cruel and cherishes the hope of war, but the other Eris, the daughter of Night, is much friendlier and incites a man to labour because he does not want to take second place to his neighbour. We should also at this point take notice of the two sides of envy [envy] as described by Hippias (fr.B16 DK II 322). Envy is justified if one is jealous of the wicked who prosper, unjustified if directed at the good. We should moreover not forget that [envy] … has a negative connotation—one should after all be content with one's lot—but that it is also connected with … (ambition) and as such forms an integral part of the Greek value system.¹⁴ …

The success of a friend can give rise to jealousy and his misfortune to pity. Even now, just as in the case of the Greeks, it is a lot easier to summon up feelings of pity than to rejoice at another's success. In this context I want to point out once more that the feeling of pity was considered acceptable if directed at those struck down by the pθóvoς of the gods. In this way one builds up a kind of insurance in case one should run into difficulties oneself; in other words it is a matter of tit for tat. In the worst case one might even say that it is based on fear for the eventual misfortune that is hidden in the lap of the gods.¹⁵

In order to complete my account it remains necessary to look at what is found in Jewish and Christian literature. A surprising discovery is that in the Septuagint [éleos] is often used to translate the Hebrew words chesed or rachamiem, which mean mercy, grace, love, and indicate a very positive attitude on the part of man or God. In the light of this fact it is not surprising that Philo regards [éleos] as a virtue to which one should aspire. Pity is, he writes in De virtutibus 144, the most vital of emotions and the most closely related to the rational soul. A similar idea is found in Egyptian literature; there too the divinity regards the poor with mercy.¹⁶

In the New Testament pity is chiefly taken to mean the showing of goodwill towards one's fellow human beings, the kindness and mercy shown, for example, in the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:37) and regarded as exemplary in the Beatitudes (Matt. 5:7, ‘blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy’). In addition the word also indicates God's forgiving and faithful nature, especially in the sense that God sent Christ in order to show mankind his mercy and to bring eternal redemption (Titus 3:5).¹⁷ The Christian writer Lactantius, for example, cites the opinion of Zeno which we already discussed above, that pity is a form of mental weakness. But he immediately adds, quae est maxima virtus; ‘it is in fact the greatest of virtues.’ Everywhere in both Greek and Latin Christian literature we find statements to the effect that God has shown his compassion towards us by sending his son into the world for the salvation of men. But it is also our duty to be full of [éleos] towards our fellow-men: it is the father of goodwill and the guarantee of love (Gregory of Nyssa, Orationes de beatitudinibus 5). …

In this context I would like to add a few words on the expression ‘Zeus took pity’ which Plotinus derived from Plato. In Plato's Symposium 191b Zeus takes pity on the two bisected halfs of the original androgynous creature, and, in order to secure their preservation, he moves their sexual organs to the front so that conception and reproduction could take place. When Plotinus repeats these words in IV 3 (27) 12, he lets Zeus show compassion towards souls who are in trouble. The god makes the bonds which are the cause of the troubles (their bodies) mortal and gives them periods of rest from time to time by freeing them from their bodies, so that they can journey to the place where the world-soul always dwells. There is thus a considerable difference between the contexts in which Plato and Plotinus use the phrase. In Plato there is clearly an ironical element. In Plotinus Zeus’ compassion results in a better life for the souls; we observe an eschatological aspect, parallel to what we find in the Bible and in Christian writers, but of course meant quite differently. The liberation experienced by the souls is only temporary—whereas in biblical theology the salvation that Christ offers mankind is eternal.

Having ventured into making a comparison between Greek and Jewish religion, I cannot resist citing one sentence out of Euripides' Hippolytus, even though I am well aware that I am skating on very thin ice. When Hippolytus lies on the ground, mortally wounded because he had been thrown out of his chariot and close to death, Artemis comes and stands next to him to bring comfort. He rejoices at this and asks her whether she sees how pitiful his situation is. She replies (1396), ‘I see it, but a goddess can allow no tears to flow from her eyes’. Greek gods are forbidden to weep. If Homer does ascribe such emotion to them, he is roundly castigated by Plato (Rep.388b-d), for in this way they do not set a good example for men.

It is striking that Proclus in his Commentary on Plato's Republic holds a quite different opinion (I 124.23-126.4). In his view the poets allude with these tears to the operation of divine providence. Through their weeping the gods show that they are moved by the fate of mortal men as individuals. Their deaths are to the gods a matter of concern. This does not mean that tears and lamentation are proof of the existence of evil in this world. That had already been pointed out by Plotinus (III 2 (47) 15.60). It demonstrates, rather, that divine concern extends all the way down to the individual person.

In the nine centuries that separate Plato from Proclus a shift has clearly taken place in the way the tears of the gods are interpreted (and also in the interpretation of Homer).¹⁹ It is of course rather tempting to point to the merciful God of the Old Testament, or to a text such as Rev.21:4, in which God will wipe away every tear from men's faces, or to the awe-inspiring words of John 11:35, in which Jesus is depicted as weeping at the grave of his friend Lazarus, and then draw the conclusion that the impact of Jewish-Christian thought has caused Greek thought to change its viewpoint on this issue. But today is not the time or place to come to such a conclusion. What we can say, I believe, is that in the Jewish-Christian world compassion on the part of both God and man was regarded as acceptable and indeed quite mandatory, whereas in Greek thought after Homer pity was permitted to gods and men only with reluctance and on the basis of a quite different view of things.

Enough has been said, I think, how the emotion of pity was experienced in classical literature. It is high time we returned to Plotinus.

The question was raised at the outset whether we can point to a certain dichotomy in Plotinus thought. In another article²⁰ I have put forward a number of examples, on the basis of which one can conclude that Plotinus does not in fact always speak with perfect consistency. Thus, for example, it does not become clear whether he considers there to be a prototype in the higher world for every individual being or allows a multiplicity of individual beings to be produced from one prototype. A second example is that he usually speaks about evil as privation of the good, but sometimes he appears to make evil into an independent entity that exists beside the good. Thirdly he speaks about his highest entity, the One, sometimes in impersonal, neuter terms, at other times in terms of a personal god.

In these three examples some scholars have seen a vacillation between true Greek thought and a kind of thinking that has been described as Oriental. There are some arguments in favour of this hypothesis. Plotinus' philosophical activities were entirely concentrated on the interpretation of Greek texts, but we know that he also showed interest in Persian and Indian philosophy; an interest that is at least partially to be explained by the fact that he lived in Alexandria till he was forty. From Indian sources we can determine that in Buddhism pity plays an entirely different role than in Greek philosophy. Gonda talks about it as follows:²¹

The boddhisattva has become the philosophical ideal. In ten steps he reaches the pinnacle of his career, the supreme wisdom. These steps are brought in relation to the doctrine of the ten or six perfections which make a person into a boddhisattva: generosity, moral conduct, forbearance, energy, meditation, wisdom. The last mentioned is not only omniscience, but also means all-embracing compassion.

What that means I have described with the motto that prefaces this article: ‘When you have gone beyond giver and gift and recipient, you have reached compassion.’

It seems conceivable, in the light of such information, that Plotinus in his writings speaks about pity in the traditional negative manner of Plato and the Stoics, yet in his personal life for quite different reasons maintains a much milder point of view. The example of Epicurus should warn us, however, not to conclude too hastily that there is Jewish, Christian, or even Buddhist influence involved here. We then reach the airy heights of speculation and are unable to put forward sufficient arguments of any weight to make our case convincing. The efforts of a scholar such as Bréhier to prove that Plotinus was influenced by Buddhism have generally been regarded as unsuccessful. With regard to the question of Christian influence too the scholarly world has rightly adopted a sceptical attitude. Recently Rist has made the suggestion that the concept of the will of God, as it occurs in one treatise, could be derived from a Christian work.²² Though I cannot disprove this idea, I remain unconvinced.

No solution is furnished, moreover, by Plotinus' use of the notion of αυμπάθεια. The opposite is true, in fact. Plato uses it in a physiological sense: if you see someone yawn, you experience the same thing and yawn with him … (Charmides 169c). A similar usage is found in ancient Greek medical writings. No connotation of personal involvement in the sorrow of another can as yet be detected.²³ It is true that in all manner of pagan Greek writings, especially of the later period (Epicurus), the word does come to mean ‘sympathy’ in our sense, and this meaning even has the upper hand in early Christian Greek literature. But Plotinus employs it almost exclusively to indicate the interdependence of the parts of the cosmos, as I already remarked earlier. And it is precisely that conception of cosmic interdependence which leads him to feel no sympathy with the suffering or demise of a single individual, because in the perspective of the cosmic process as a whole such a demise can only be seen as a good thing.

The only time that we catch a glimpse of an evaluation of what takes place in the cosmos as a whole that differs from what we usually come across in Greek philosophy is Plotinus' adaptation of the Platonic words ‘Zeus took pity’. Here, in this interpretative shift, there might well be evidence of the influence of Oriental philosophies. But this one passage is far too little to justify our regarding Plotinus as a figure mediating between two ways of thinking. He remains to the very core a Greek philosopher and there is no compelling reason for us to accept that he derives his inspiration for being a kind-natured person from an alien culture.

I have almost reached the end of my paper and I am fully aware that I have not yet come up with a convincing solution for the problem I raised at the beginning concerning the discrepancy between Plotinus' words and deeds. This is due partly to the fact that the notion of pity is in itself difficult to circumscribe and can be envisaged in at least two ways. It will not have escaped the observant listener that I have from time to time exchanged the word ‘pity’ for ‘compassion’ or ‘mercy’. This was done on purpose. Compassion or mercy sound a lot more positive in English than pity. To show pity can be a demonstration of weakness (the view of Nietzsche in a chapter of his Fröhliche Wissenschaft), but can also patronize the recipient, because he is not given the chance to overcome his difficulties himself. Compassion or mercy indicate the way God or an enlightened mind regard people who are oppressed. The ambiguity of the notion pity / compassion even finds expression in the vocabulary of a modern language.

Our problems are also partly due to the general disagreement on the question whether showing pity is a good thing for the person who shows it. To illustrate this I shall now relate here two stories in which pity plays an important role. In the wonderful fairy-tale recounted by Apuleius in his Metamorphoses there is a brief passage in which Psyche is set the task of making a journey through the underworld. She receives the following warning beforehand: ‘In your descent you'll come across a crippled old man who will ask you to pick up a few twigs that have fallen from his donkey. You mustn't do what he asks, for otherwise you'll never reach your goal’ (VI 18). She heeds the injunction, shows no pity and achieves her goal.

By way of contrast I now turn to the story of Parsifal. During his wanderings Parsifal comes to a castle where he finds an old man with a terrible wound, his uncle Amfortas. In silence he walks past him, without even asking what had happened to him. Later on he hears from Kundry that he will now never see the Grail, because he showed no pity towards his suffering fellow-man. In Wagner's famous opera Parsifal the choir of boys and youths sing, ‘Durch Mitleid wissend der reine Tor harre sein den ich erkor’. Pity plays a positive role here. Amfortas in Wagner's version asks for mercy in explicit terms.²⁴

Two stories, one theme. But what a different way of dealing with it! The one story is derived from the ancient pagan world. The other story has a Celtic source, though it certainly also contains traces of the Christianized Middle Ages. What should we make of them? That they demonstrate to perfection the difference between two worlds? Perhaps. But do they also show that the one way of doing things is better than the other? No, Psyche reaches her goal, on which her life depends, by doing precisely that (i.e. not showing pity) which causes Parsifal to miss his. So no general moral can be drawn in the sense that showing pity is always good or bad. The judgment reached is dependent on one's cultural or, if you prefer, religious background. But it may perhaps be possible to relate a humanitarian attitude to something other than pity, and in this way solve our problem.

In our discussion of the Stoics we already observed that in their opinion the philosopher adopts a humanitarian viewpoint on the basis of rational considerations. In the chapter of the Fröhliche Wissenschaft cited a little earlier Nietzsche offers us another approach. He writes: ‘we help our fellow-men not so much with Mitleid but with Mitfreude’. A similar viewpoint is found in Levinas.²⁵ And if we now return to Plotinus we discover that in his view real joy can only be achieved when one gains sight of the highest principle, the Good (VI 7 (38) 24-25). Such joy does not remain without consequences for one's daily life. He who has seen the Good cannot but report that communion with the Good to his fellow-men (VI 9 (9) 7.22).

It is striking that in the last-mentioned passage Plotinus refers to the mythical account of how Minos established his Laws as a memorial to his contact with Zeus, a contact which can be compared with the communion of the sage with the One. Such political consequences resulting from the communion of the sage with the One are not found in Plotinus. But I do wish to draw the general conclusion that in Plotinus' view he who has seen the Good is constrained to be good himself. Without doubt this forms the background of what we read in IV 3 (27) 13.19-20, namely that some people (those who have seen the One) do good deeds, without being impelled by rational considerations, in as natural a way as children dance. And that is, I submit, what happened in Plotinus' case.²⁶

Notes

1. For the Vita Plotini and Enneads I - III I quote the translation of A. H. Armstrong in the Loeb Classical Library; for Enneads IV - VI I have taken recourse to MacKenna's translation. My own reading of the passages can be found in my Dutch translation of the Enneads, which will be published later this year.

2. J. M. Rist, ‘Plotinus and moral obligation’ in The significance of Neoplatonism (Norfolk 1976) 230.

3. W. Burkert, Zum altgriechischen Mitleidsbegriff (diss. Erlangen 1955) 40.

4. W. Burkert op.cit. 80.

5. W. Burkert op.cit. 137.

6. See E. Milobenski, Der Neid in der griechischen Philosophie (Wiesbaden 1964) 88.

7. R. Ferwerda, ‘Some remarks on Lucretius’ Epoche 10(1980)9ff.

8. M. Pohlenz, Die Stoa (Göttingen 1959) 1.152. A useful survey of the various attitudes towards pity is found in the article on [éleos] in Kittel's Wörterbuch zum neuen Testament. See also G. J. Ten Veldhuys, De misericordiae et clementiae apud Senecam philosophum usu atque ratione (diss. Utrecht, Groningen 1935).

9. Cf. C. Verhoeven, Mensen in een grot (Baarn 1983) 142-162.

10. W. Schadewaldt, ‘Furcht und Mitleid’?, Antike und Gegenwart: über die Tragödie (1966) 16ff.; W.Kaufmann, Tragedy and philosophy (New York 1969) 49ff.; K. Tumlitz, Die tragischen Affekte Mitleid und Furcht nach Aristoteles (Vienna 1885); G. F. Else, Aristotle's Poetics (Leiden 1957) 229,375,383 and passim.

11. Hands op.cit. (n.9) 81.

12. R. E. Wycherley, ‘The altar of Eleos’ Class.Quart. N.S.4(1954) 143-151.

13. Hands op.cit. (n.9) 80.

14. P. Walcot, Envy and the Greeks (Warminster 1978) 21. See also Milobenski op.cit. (n.6) 47; E. Wistrand, ‘Bedeutungsentwicklung von Invidia’ Eranos 44 (1946) 355-369.

15. Ibid. 78-81.

16. See ibid. 77. Especially Amon is meant: cf. J. Vergote, De godsdienst van de Egyptenaren (Roermond 1971) 79; M. Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian literature II (Los Angeles 1976) 112.

17. We find a similar view in the Hermetic writings: the reborn soul is said to be the object of god's compassion (Corp.Herm.XIII 7). According to C. H. Dodd, The Bible and the Greeks (London 1935) 240, the use of this term betrays Jewish influence.

18. On this see H.Bolkestein, Wohltätigkeit und Armenpflege im vorchristlichen Altertum (Utrecht 1939) 428; G. Rodis-Lewis, La morale stoïcienne (Paris 1970) 98.

19. H. J. Blumenthal Journ.Hist.Philos.21 (1983) 98.

20. R. Ferwerda, ‘L'incertitude dans la philosophie de Plotin’ Mnemosyne 33 (1981) 119ff.

21. J. Gonda, Inleiding tot het Indische denken (Nijmegen 1948) 103-104.

22. J. M. Rist, Human value (Leiden 1982) 111ff. On the other hand, the distance between Plotinus and Paul can also easily be exaggerated. An example of such exaggeration is found, in my view, in the article of R. Bodéüs, ‘L'autre homme de Plotin’ Phronesis 28 (1983) 256.

23. Burkert op.cit. (n.3) 63-66.

24. On this see G. Brillenburg Wurth, De zin van het medelijden (The Hague³, no date) 22ff.

25. E. Levinas, Totalité et infini (The Hague 1980) 249. See also Spinoza's Ethics III 22.

26. Bodéüs' thesis (see above n.25) that Plotinus' asceticism means in practice that he averts himself ‘du reste des mortels’ is sheer nonsense.