1. The theoretical foundations

The obvious place to start is On moral virtue. Significantly enough, this is not a dogmatic school handbook full of prescriptions and straightforward advice but a lively polemical attack against the Stoics, more precisely against their psychological monism that regards passions as wrong judgements.Footnote ² The implication of the Stoic view is that passions should be eradicated completely (the condition of apatheia), so that our conduct is entirely rational. For Plutarch, such an ideal rests on an erroneous understanding of human nature. In line with Plato, and through the method of introspection,Footnote ³ he argues in the main part of the work that we should distinguish between two parts of the soul: the rational and the irrational (the latter can further be subdivided into the appetitive and the spirited part).Footnote ⁴ This implies that a complete eradication of the passions is neither possible nor better (οὔτε…δυνατὸν οὔτ᾿ ἄμεινον, 443C). Passions should rather be brought under the control of reason and thus directly contribute to virtue. They are necessary (τὴν τοῦ πάθους ἀρχήν…ἀναγκαίαν οὖσαν) but require therapy and education (451C). Plutarch argues that, if passions were completely rooted out, even reason would be more inactive too (452B) – quite a remarkable claim for a Platonist, yet fully consistent with his overall argument.

Virtue, then, consists in a due proportion and mean of the passions (συμμετρίας παθῶν καὶ μεσότητας, 443C–D).Footnote ⁵ At first sight, this sounds quite Aristotelian and, as a matter of fact, scholars have often pointed to Peripatetic influences on Plutarch's position in On moral virtue.Footnote ⁶ Yet this does not mean that Plutarch here argues as a representative of the Peripatetic tradition. Rather, he uses this material as a welcome polemical tool against the Stoa and fully appropriates it to his own philosophical perspective.Footnote ⁷ His main source of inspiration, however, remains Plato.

There is an important passage near the beginning of the work, where Plutarch points to the connection between the human soul and the World Soul. Since the former, just like the latter (see above, Chapter II, §1), consists of two parts (441F–442A), passions cannot be done away with: they should participate in reason or be mixed with it (440D).Footnote ⁸ Just as the Demiurge takes the disordered precosmic soul and blends it with reason, we have to blend our passions with reason in order to acquire a well-ordered virtuous disposition. This parallel shows that the core of Plutarch's ethical thinking is rooted in his metaphysics. Moreover, this metaphysical background does not merely explain his attack on the Stoics and his general conception of moral virtue but, as we will see in the remainder of this chapter, it also exerts a considerable influence on his moral methodology. We here come across a major hermeneutic key for the correct understanding of all of Plutarch's ethical writings.

2. The basics of moral progress

Controlling passions and striving for virtue is far less easy than it sounds. If even the Demiurge could not completely overcome recalcitrant matter, we should not expect that human beings will succeed in entirely subjugating their passions. Ultimate perfection may well be beyond humans,Footnote ⁹ yet moral progress is possible and moral virtue can even be taught, as Plutarch argues in the short rhetorical work Is virtue teachable? Footnote ¹⁰ And if virtue is indeed teachable – a notorious Socratic issue – we should also be able to develop a substantial pedagogical method that supports our striving for it.

The general outlines of such a method can be found in How can one become aware of one's moral progress?, yet another attack against the Stoics.Footnote ¹¹ Plutarch there rejects the radical Stoic dichotomy between perfect sages and wicked fools, which in his view rules out moral progress, and goes on to provide his readers with several indications of such moral progress (προκοπή): the continuity of our course (76C–78A), mildness (πραότης)Footnote ¹² and lack of jealousy (78A–E), a change in our attitude towards and use of words (78E–80E), less interest in self-display (80E–82F), untroubled dreams (82F–83E), alleviation of the passions (83E–84B), consistency (84B–85B), ability to associate with good people (85B–D), and watchfulness regarding all faults (85E–86A). The whole list of indications, which are often discussed in a lively and astute way, throws interesting light on Plutarch's understanding of moral progress.

The starting point of the whole process of our moral improvement is our insight into our own deplorable condition. Self-examination should reveal our disease and show that we need moral therapy. This traditional medical imagery is omnipresent in Plutarch's works: time and again, the philosopher is seen as a doctor able to cure the souls of his patients.Footnote ¹³ Once these patients have acquired a certain self-knowledge, they should take the fundamental decision (προαίρεσις) to enter the process of moral progress.Footnote ¹⁴ Their course will contain several intermissions and retrogressions but also show a gradual evolution towards greater stability, consistency, and authenticity. They will develop a correct value scale and begin to regard things from the right perspective, which will significantly contribute to their tranquillity of mind.

Thus, we come to another important work, On tranquillity of mind, where Plutarch is especially concerned with the appropriate attitude towards fortune.Footnote ¹⁵ Reason enables us to rise above fortune. We should acquire the knowledge of making the right use of the present situation (χρῆσθαι τοῖς παροῦσιν ὀρθῶς; 466C) and begin to ‘live towards ourselves’ (πρὸς αὑτοὺς ζῆν; 471A). Such an inner-directed attitude will give us a certain invulnerability against unavoidable adversity.Footnote ¹⁶ Indeed, we all have the treasure of our tranquillity within ourselves (473B; see also 467A). The work culminates in a beautiful comparison: life is a festival, celebrated in the holy temple of the universe (477C–D). This is a fitting conclusion of a work that generally shows an optimistic spirit without being naïve or simplistic. Plutarch does not ignore the fact that much can go wrong in life (473F–474A; 475C) but prefers to focus on the positive side, countering negative experiences with a ‘yes, we can’ optimism that combines philosophical ideals with sober realism.

3. Plutarch's therapy

Plutarch devoted many works to individual passions and problematic behaviour. He deals at length with anger (On the control of anger), talkativeness (On talkativeness), curiosity (On curiosity), excessive compliance (On compliance), love of wealth (On love of wealth), envy and hate (On envy and hate), self-praise (On praising oneself inoffensively), and borrowing (That one ought not to borrow). All of these works contain elaborate and penetrating discussions of the respective passions and together they give an excellent idea of Plutarch's psychotherapeutic methods.Footnote ¹⁷

The key passage that reveals the overall structure of Plutarch's therapy is to be found in On talkativeness (510C–D):

The judgement or κρίσις consists in a detailed analysis of the passion, so that the patient begins to realize how harmful and shameful their condition actually is. The κρίσις is then followed by the ἄσκησις, which can itself be further subdivided into ἐπιλογισμοί and ἐθισμοί. The former are sound thoughts, which should always be reconsidered, whereas the latter consist of a series of concrete exercises: the patient should begin with small things (De coh. ira 464C; De cur. 520D; De vit. pud. 530E; 531F; 532B) and gradually move on to more difficult steps, while avoiding those situations that stimulate their passion (De gar. 513D–514C; De se ipsum laud. 546B–547C). The whole method thus presupposes and rests on the powerful force of habituation and requires continuous efforts and attention.Footnote ¹⁸ We should accept living under continuous treatment (ἀεὶ θεραπευομένους βιοῦν, De coh. ira 453D) and pay attention to every single detail (De prof. in virt. 85E–F). Needless to say, Plutarch's moral therapy is very demanding.

Moreover, from what we have seen so far, it also appears to be fairly traditional. It is, indeed, built around a couple of ideas that had long become common property among the different philosophical schools. Most ancient philosophers agreed on the importance of one's basic choice, considered virtue far more powerful than fortune, and underlined the importance of habituation and exercise. All this is high-minded and well-considered ethical thinking, no doubt, yet it is far from sparkling, to say the least, and the reader may be inclined to think that the syllogism with which we began this chapter has so far been corroborated rather than refuted. Was Plutarch a dull moralist after all? High time to explore the true spirit and attractiveness of Plutarch's moral works.

First, these works illustrate the full wealth of Plutarch's literary mastery, his erudition and rhetorical skills (see above, Chapter III, §5). The passions are depicted with striking images that often in a few well-chosen words reveal more than theoretical definitions. The endless talking of the chatterbox is compared to the perpetual outflow of the mouth of the Black Sea (De gar. 503C–D) and the Seven-voiced Stoa at Olympia (502D), the busybody to a wind that pulls up our garments (De cur. 516F–517A), the bad judgement of the niggard to a flat intestinal worm (De cup. div. 524D), compliance to a low-lying and loose terrain (De vit. pud. 530A), envy to sore eyes (De inv. et od. 537A) and beetles (537F), and money-lenders to vultures (De vit. aer. 829A) and harpies (832A). These are a mere handful of examples out of many more.

The effect of these images is enhanced by numerous charming anecdotes. The silly behaviour of the angry man is illustrated by the story of Ctesiphon the pancratiast, who thought it right to kick back at his mule (De coh. ira 457A), or by that of ‘the man who wished to beat the ass-driver, but when the driver cried out, “I am an Athenian,” indicated the ass and said, “You at any rate are not an Athenian,” and fell to beating it with many blows’ (461A). The next lively story is only one of the many entertaining anecdotes by which Plutarch illustrates the incurable condition of the inveterate chatterbox (De gar. 509A–C):

Plutarch was a born storyteller. Such enthralling stories have a clear moral relevance (here made explicit in the last sentence) but they also carry the reader along, making the message easily digestible. This is anything but dull moralizing. Plutarch's moral therapy indeed largely benefits from all the powers of his virtuoso rhetoric, although this rhetoric always serves a philosophical purpose.Footnote ¹⁹

Second, his moral works time and again show his deep insight into human psychology and psychopathology. He lays bare the secret motivations behind our shortcomings and reveals our vulnerable spots: how we are more upset by unexpected events,Footnote ²⁰ or how old men are prone to self-glorification while admonishing others (De se ipsum laud. 546F–547A). Such insights are juxtaposed to lifelike portraits of the vicious persons and their typical behaviour, like that of the curious man (De cur. 519E–F):

Or of the chatterbox (De gar. 514C):

Such passages combine remarkable literary qualities with sound psychological insight. Plutarch's moral therapy is definitely no package of rigid generalizations and simplifications but rests on a well-considered and sophisticated method rooted in a deep understanding of the human mind and careful observations of human behaviour.

Third, Plutarch always reminds his readers of their own responsibility and stimulates them to self-examination (αὑτὸν ἐπισκοπεῖν καὶ τὰ καθ᾿ αὑτόν, De tranq. an. 470B; cf. 472C).Footnote ²¹ In that sense, his moral thinking has an important emancipatory aspect. He provides his readers with a wealth of precious ideas but leaves the rest to them. They have to decide for themselves what they will do with all this material and how they may benefit from it and apply it to their own needs. In other words, they have to look for the moral course that best fits in with their own character and needs. Thus, we again come upon one of the fundamental characteristics of Plutarch's zetetic philosophy. Plutarch indeed invites his readers to moral zetesis.

This moral zetesis has its own character. Whereas intellectual problems can be examined together, for instance at school or over wine, in an amiable context of syzetesis, the individual role of the reader is much greater in a moral context. It is all about the reader's own virtue, about the therapy of their personal shortcomings. Plutarch's role is adapted in light of this focus. He shares all his erudition with his readers and appeals to them with the full power of his rhetorical talents, but then retreats into the background and never takes the decision for them.

This can also be seen in his use of moral examples. These constitute an important part of his moral therapy and are useful in the most varied circumstances. We should always have good men before our eyes and consider: ‘What would Plato have done in this case? What would Epameinondas have said? How would Lycurgus have conducted himself, or Agesilaus?’ (De prof. in virt. 85A–B). To a certain extent, even such personal zetesis is open to a component of syzetesis, in that Plutarch can help the reader in looking for appropriate examples. Yet his contribution to this process is confined to a respectful and emancipatory syzetesis that always considers the autonomy of his reader.Footnote ²² It is this pedagogy of examples, inspired by the principles of a respectful zetetic moral therapy, that also inspires the Parallel Lives (see below, Chapters V and VI).

Finally, Plutarch's general approach in his moral works is characterized by a spirit of distinct pragmatism and down-to-earthness.Footnote ²³ Van Hoof has shown that Plutarch carefully addresses the specific problems of his aristocratic readers, rather than trying to convert them into fully-fledged professional philosophers.Footnote ²⁴ He certainly did not philosophize in vacuo, yet we may add that such a down-to-earth focus is precisely part and parcel of his zetetic philosophical project. The previous chapters have already shown that Plutarch did not keep problematic issues dark nor cheaply explain them away, even when they were at odds with his own philosophical convictions. Even then, he preferred to mention them, since they could explain at least a few aspects of a given problem. His approach towards moral problems is fundamentally the same: he does not disregard the daily problems, trivial as well as serious, that interfere with high moral ideals. It would be all too easy to overemphasize the prominent importance of virtue while keeping silent about all the potholes and bumps in the road. Matters are usually not so simple, as Plutarch knew very well. He, the learned philosopher who breathed erudition and lived by theoretical thinking, was not blind to real life but was always willing to ‘look fortune in the face with open eyes’ (De tranq. an. 476E).

This also appears from his On exile, written to comfort an exile from Sardis. The work contains many commonplaces, adapted to a Platonic perspective,Footnote ²⁵ but also focuses on the concrete political consequences of banishment.Footnote ²⁶ Similarly, the Consolation to his wife is a moving attempt to comfort his wife on the death of their daughter. Again, many traditional ideas are passed in review,Footnote ²⁷ without minimizing what happened: ‘I know and can set a measure to the magnitude of our loss’ (608C). In such works and confronted with such circumstances, Plutarch begins by recognizing the problem and then looks for new opportunities, trying to arrive at a (more) positive outlook – not unlike the course he recommends in On tranquillity of mind: ‘This, then, we should train and practise first of all, like the man who threw a stone at his dog, but missed her and hit his stepmother, whereupon he exclaimed: “That is not bad either!”’ (467C).

This is another striking example of Plutarch's ‘yes, we can’ optimism, yet we may wonder whether it is not extremely banal in this kind of ‘limit situation’.Footnote ²⁸ It might be so in other authors but not in Plutarch. Even in such situations, his reflections are inspired by an authentic and sober-minded zetesis that modestly tries to encompass the bad with the good (τὰ χείρονα τοῖς χρηστοῖς ἐμπεριλαμβάνειν; 474B) without claiming to know the final reassuring truth.Footnote ²⁹

The same down-to-earth quality also appears in Precepts of health care. There, Plutarch advocates moderation concerning food, baths, exercises, and so on, underscoring the demands of our body. The whole work shows judicious reasonableness, underpinned by solid medical knowledge and natural philosophy and, as usual, embellished by entertaining anecdotes. Plutarch even goes so far as to state that the body suffers more from the soul than the soul from the body (135E), quite a surprising statement for a Platonist. What a difference from Plotinus, who felt ashamed to have a body (Porphyry, Plot. 1)! Yet Plutarch's position is perfectly in line with his general approach and even with the metaphysical basis of his ethical thinking: we should not act as if the body does not exist, nor should we be enslaved to it. The soul should rather use the body properly and, as it were, with demiurgic care, so that it can partake of a reasonable mode of living. In this light, Plutarch's general argument in Precepts of health care is not only sensible but also thoroughly Platonic.

We may conclude, then, that Plutarch's moral therapy is perfectly in line with the principles of his zetetic philosophy. He generally avoids dogmatic a prioris and distinct prescriptions. His moral therapy, based on a carefully elaborated method and irrigated by the streams of his multifaceted erudition, stimulates and supports a gradual process of improvement in which the individual readers take their responsibility to find and follow their own path towards moral virtue.

4. Lessons in virtue: listening to poets and philosophers

To an important extent, then, moral progress is for Plutarch a process of self-education. Every reader has to enter a process of moral zetesis, while benefiting from Plutarch's respectful syzetesis. This process can be encouraged from early childhood on, through parents, pedagogues, and teachers. We thus arrive at the topic of education, which is often discussed in Plutarch's works.Footnote ³⁰ It is a main theme in the Parallel Lives,Footnote ³¹ is no less important in the Table Talk (above, Chapter III, §3, with note 34) and in the polemical works, and also informs Plutarch's reflections about friendship (below, §5) and family relations (below, §6). This section briefly discusses two works that deal with two different phases of the educational process.

The starting point of How the young man should listen to poetry, dedicated to Marcus Sedatus, is Plutarch's observation that Sedatus’ son Cleander and his own son Soclarus have got to the age where they may become interested in poetry. Yet reading the poets requires guidance (15A):

In turning to the poets, Cleander and Soclarus tread on slippery ground. Plutarch frequently reminds the reader that the poets ‘tell many lies’ (16A; cf. 17E) and appeal to our passions: for their verses are full of disturbing factors (τὸ ταρακτικόν; 15C; cf. 25A and D) and thus constitute a potential source of immoral behaviour.

The most obvious conclusion would be a ban on all poetry, yet Plutarch realizes that such a solution would be ‘neither possible, perhaps, nor profitable’. It would not be profitable because such a rigorous anathema would also wipe out the many useful insights that can be found in the poets – insights, moreover, that are expressed in a charming poetic language, which yields no slight pedagogical advantage. If Cleander and Soclarus learn to read the poets with a philosopher's eye, they will at an early age gain a foretaste of philosophical thinking. Poetry is thus turned into propaedeutic for philosophy (36D–37B). Plutarch also adds that a complete anathema would perhaps not be possible. This reflects a sober evaluation of the situation – Plutarch knew the psychology of youngsters – but is also perfectly in line with the view he defends in On moral virtue about the passions. There as well, he argues that a complete eradication would be ‘neither possible nor better’ (οὔτε…δυνατὸν οὔτ᾿ ἄμεινον; 443C) and the imagery of Lycurgus’ blameworthy uprooting of the vine occurs in both works (De aud. poet. 15E–F and De virt. mor. 451C). Thus, we again find the same underlying methodological approach that can ultimately be traced back to Plutarch's metaphysics.

This, however, is not the end of the story. Theoretically speaking, several options are still open. Plutarch could have chosen a selection of ready-made verses like the Monostichae Menandri. Such a collection has all the benefits of a perfect propaedeutic while avoiding the dangers: the material is carefully selected, easily digestible, and philosophically blameless. It is characteristic of Plutarch that he does not choose this easy way but rather defends the integral reading of Homer, tragedy, lyric poetry, and so on, including all the risky and censurable passages. Again, he refuses to ignore facts. He does not wish to create a cocoon of artificial intellectual safety, even for younger people, but prefers to face the facts and deal with them in the best possible way. In other words, he chooses to seize the verses and blend them more demiurgico with a rational perspective.

Such a project requires a very careful and critical reading that pays attention to every single detail (19E; 28E–F; cf. 32A).Footnote ³² Again, we see how demanding Plutarch's moral thinking actually is. At the same time, it is perfectly in line with his zetetic conception of philosophy: also, when dealing with poetry, we always have to look for what is useful (τὸ χρήσιμον ζητεῖν, 16A; cf. 14F; 30D–E). Thus, the interpretation of the poets as conceived in How the young man should listen to poetry also provides a methodological propaedeutic to philosophy.

The next step in the educative process is discussed in On listening. This work is not dedicated to a father who still has to guide his son but to the young Nicander, who has recently assumed the toga virilis and no longer stands in need of a pedagogue. We are now at the level of the philosopher's school, where Nicander will often have to listen to lectures. Again, this is both useful and dangerous (μεγάλην μὲν ὠφέλειαν οὐκ ἐλάττω δὲ κίνδυνον τοῖς νέοις τοῦ ἀκούειν ἔχοντος, 38D) – a combination that recalls the situation concerning poetry in How the young man should listen to poetry. And, indeed, the basic approach in both works is very similar.Footnote ³³ In On listening Plutarch's focus is again on what is useful. Nicander has come to the school in order to amend his life and should thus assess every lecture by examining whether it has improved him (42A). Again, Plutarch thus recommends an active process of listening in which the listener should, as a fellow-worker with the speaker (συνεργὸς τοῦ λέγοντος; 45E), make a contribution himself. In general, Nicander should achieve the balance between a magnanimous and charitable attitude and a critical stance (44E–45B; 46C): ‘in praising the speakers we must be generous, but in believing their words cautious’ (41A).

One of the most attractive elements of this work is its many descriptions of the typical behaviour of students. We meet the know-it-all (39C–D), the envious student, regretting that the discourse is excellent and trembling with anxiety lest the remaining part prove even better (39D–40A), the over-enthusiastic student who readily agrees with everything (40F–41A), the overzealous student who time and again interrupts the speaker (42F), the student who likes to bother the speaker with problems beyond his expertise (43B–D), the student who wants to show off himself (43D), and the timid student, nodding in assent as if he understands the speaker (47D; 48A–B). All of them are characterized in a lively and attractive way, and together form a fine typology of students which, we may add, has lost little of its relevance today.

5. Friendship

The topic of friendship occurs very often in Plutarch's oeuvre. In the Parallel Lives, many examples of friendship can be found, like that between Theseus and Peirithous (Thes. 30.1–2), Epameinondas and Pelopidas (Pel. 3.1–4.8), and many others. It is important in family relations (e.g. between brothers, as developed in On brotherly love; see below, §6) and in politics (e.g. between the ruler and the philosopher; see below, §7). But Plutarch also devoted several works to questions about friendship.

In On having many friends, he argues that πολυφιλία (‘having many friends’) is a contradiction in terms. Many friends are like flies in the kitchen, disappearing as soon as the dainties are gone (94B). Real friends are rare, for true friendship rests on three things: virtue, intimacy, and usefulness (94B), and all these entail so many duties that it is simply impossible to cultivate the bonds of lasting friendship with more than a few persons. Behind the rhetoric of Plutarch's arguments thus appears a high-minded conception of friendship.Footnote ³⁴

A similar and more detailed ideal is to be found in How can one tell a flatterer from a friend?. In this treatise, dedicated to the king C. Julius Antiochus Philopappus, Plutarch examines how we can distinguish a flatterer from a friend. This is a traditional theme that can be discussed from different perspectives: economic (flatterers being parasites filling their belly without contributing anything themselves) or political (the flatterers of influential politicians).Footnote ³⁵ We may presume that the difficult exposure of flatterersFootnote ³⁶ was not merely a theoretical problem for the rich and powerful Philopappus – and, indeed, Plutarch pays attention to these aspectsFootnote ³⁷ – yet the overall focus of the work is a moral one. Plutarch zooms in on the negative consequences of flattery for the victim's character and virtue. And these consequences are devastating indeed.

The philosophical foundation of the work is the moral psychology of On moral virtue with its division of the soul into a rational and an irrational part. The former is connected with the friend, who appears throughout the work as a benevolent and competent doctor who mitigates the passions and fosters virtue. The irrational part of the soul falls prey to the flatterer, the advocate of the passions (62B), who justifies wickedness and attacks virtue (49B; 55E–57D). He finds an easy target in our vulnerable spot, that is, our self-love, which makes us blind regarding ourselves and thus does away with our self-knowledge and sound judgement.Footnote ³⁸ We can understand very well why Plutarch considers the flatterer so great a menace: he undermines everything that is of vital importance for authentic zetetic moral philosophy.

Moreover, Plutarch is not dealing with the ordinary flatterer but with the true professional, the τεχνίτης κόλαξ (57F),Footnote ³⁹ who cannot easily be unmasked, since he has many cunning techniques at his disposal. Plutarch provides us with a detailed description of the flatterer's conduct, embellished with numerous images: the flatterer is a bore-worm (49B), vermin (49C), a gadfly (55E), an ape (52B; 64E), and so on. Anecdotes and examples add a wealth of salient details: ‘The flatterers of Dionysius, whose sight was failing, used to bump against one another and upset the dishes at dinner’ (53F), or again: ‘I personally know of one man who put away his wife after his friend had sent his own away; but he was caught visiting her in secret and sending messages to her after his friend's wife had got wind of what was going on’ (54A–B). Thus Plutarch clarifies the wily behaviour of the flatterer. Such passages correspond to the κρίσις-part of his psychotherapeutic writings (see above, §3), offering an accurate diagnosis of the disease as the first step towards recovery. Such diagnosis actually constitutes the main part of the work, although more practical advice and handy hints are also scattered through it.

The final section deals with the frankness (παρρησία) of the true friend, who speaks his mind in order to reveal the truth and promote virtue. Several scholars have suggested that this section, which prima facie seems to stand on its own, was first written as a separate treatise and later added to How can one tell a flatterer from a friend?, but this hypothesis unduly minimizes the strong connections between the two parts.Footnote ⁴⁰ In fact, the last part provides a necessary addendum to and clarification of the previous discussion. Hitherto, Plutarch has suggested that there exists a strict opposition between the salutary frankness of the friend and the deceptive words of the flatterer who only aims at pleasure (55A–E; cf. 51C on frankness as the characteristic language of friendship, ἰδία φωνὴ τῆς φιλίας). The flatterer thus only uses a counterfeit frankness, if any (51C–D; 59B; 60B). Such a clear-cut opposition implies that the friend will always frankly blame our shortcomings. That is basically true, yet Philopappus could infer that the only true friend is a rigid and severe schoolmaster with the air of a Cato. And such a conclusion would be wrong, for this is not how Plutarch conceives of frankness.

In that sense, the section on parrhesia is a necessary clarification and elaboration of the previous discussion. At its beginning, Plutarch again recalls the philosophical foundations of his ethical thinking: vice (notably flattery) should not be cured by another vice (that is, excessively harsh criticism) but by virtue (66C). Again we find the same ideal of achieving the right from moderation (τὸ καλὸν ἐκ τοῦ μετρίου λαβεῖν, 66D–E), the same sense of nuance, and the same sharp psychological insight.Footnote ⁴¹ Less careful doctors of the soul may be inclined to find the easy solution for flattery in its opposite – that is, a strict and straightforward parrhesia – but Plutarch wisely realized that such frankness can also have negative effects (66D) and that sound parrhesia requires a certain know-how.

This explains the addition of the second part, where Plutarch explains what such sound frankness precisely means. One of its crucial aspects is taking the right opportunity (καιρός) into account (69B–C):

Furthermore, we should avoid insults, but instead mix some praise with our admonitions, not make a fuss about every single detail, and most of all proceed with mildness and benevolence. The whole section about frankness shows Plutarch to be a good and tactful judge of human character. Moreover, he as usual avoids casuistry and prefers to leave the final judgement to the reader. The last section, and the work as a whole, thus reflects the general spirit of Plutarch's diversified, nuanced, and open-minded moral thinking.

Yet there remains an obvious problem. Plutarch has argued that we need the frankness of the true friend on our way to moral perfection, but, if such true friends are rare (the lesson of On having many friends) and if true frankness is far from easy (as shown in How can one tell a flatterer from a friend?), are we then not cut off from all help in our attempts to find out the truth about ourselves? ‘Since friendship's voice has nowadays become thin and weak when it comes to frank speaking, while its flattery is voluble and its admonition mute, we have to depend upon our enemies to hear the truth’ (De cap. ex inim. 89B–C).

Thus Plutarch comes up with a new and quite unexpected solution: even our enemies can be very useful for our moral progress. This is the thesis of How can one profit from one's enemies?, which thus forms an interesting complement to How can one tell a flatterer from a friend?. The too rigid criticism that was rejected in the latter treatise is recovered in the former: such harsh criticism does not fit with genuine friends but it is fitting for enemies. Frankness is never ascribed to enemies, but their insults and attacks can be used for analogous purposes and often reveal more about ourselves than the comments of true friends. For if self-love, as we saw above, makes us blind regarding ourselves, a true friend may well, as another self, overlook our shortcomings. Enemies often have a much keener eye, as appears from the charming anecdote about Hiero (90B):

Enemies can thus play an interesting part in a broader project of moral (self-)therapy. The treatise in fact contains a whole method and art (μέθοδον καὶ τέχνην, 86E) of benefiting in different ways from the criticisms of our enemies. Their very existence compels us to continuous vigilance and a circumspect life (εὐλαβούμενον ζῆν, 87D). We should mildly endure their attacks and try to imitate or surpass them in their virtue. Many pages from How can one profit from one's enemies? illustrate the demanding character of Plutarch's ethical thinking and the high expectations he has for his readers. The work is dedicated to Cornelius Pulcher, a politician rather than a professional philosopher, but Plutarch does not lower his requirements. Pulcher is invited to surpass himself and to keep his life blameless (87D), and throughout the work, Plutarch seeks a delicate balance between demanding and edifying ideals and feasibility.

This balance even includes a dose of sober pragmatism. The starting point of the work is the observation that enmities are simply unavoidable (86C; 91E). Thus we find the same general approach as in On tranquillity of mind and the Consolations: Plutarch does not ignore this negative aspect of life, as if enmities were unimportant, but recognizes the problem and tries to transform it into something positive. The enemy ends up as an unpaid teacher (90A). Thus Plutarch again tries to organize a disordered aspect of life along rational principles. In that sense, How can one profit from one's enemies? is a ‘demiurgic’ treatise.

6. The family

Plutarch often discussed the relations in the οἶκος (household). In On affection for offspring, for instance, he argues against Epicurus that parental love for offspring is natural, and in On brotherly love he sings the praises of friendship between brothers and quite systematically shows how this can be maintained in several situations.Footnote ⁴² Marriage is central to two works. His Precepts of marriage consist of a series of short comparisons and moral reflections concerning married life, dedicated as a common present (κοινὸν δῶρον, 138C) to his students Pollianus and Eurydice. This work is a very interesting source for Plutarch's conception of marriage.Footnote ⁴³ Husband and wife really share their lives (συμβιοῦν rather than συνοικεῖν), as in a complete blending (κρᾶσις δι᾿ ὅλων).Footnote ⁴⁴ Their marriage and household should be ruled by philosophical reason (138A).

It is clear, then, that the wife should be no less familiar with philosophy and general education than her husband (145C–D), and then she will be held in esteem and even reach a blessed life (145F). Yet Plutarch was also a child of his times. Throughout the work, he makes it perfectly clear that the wife is subordinate to her husband: she should have no feelings of her own (140A), should not herself make advances to her husband (140C–D), should make no friends of her own (140D), and so on.Footnote ⁴⁵ Eurydice should be educated by her husband and Pollianus should be her professor, philosopher, and teacher in all that is most noble and divine (145C).

If all this is ‘traditional wisdom through a philosophical lens’,Footnote ⁴⁶ Plutarch takes it a step further in his Dialogue on love. In this dialogue, Plutarch's son Autobulus relates how his father long ago went to Thespiae with his young bride in order to sacrifice to Eros as a result of a conflict between their parents. While he was camped with his friends on Helicon, the group was visited by Anthemion and Pisias, who came to consult them about a remarkable question. In Thespiae lived a relatively young, beautiful, and rich widow called Ismenodora, who had fallen in love with a much younger boy, Bacchon, and wanted to marry him. The boy's mother and friends were opposed to the plan and Bacchon, still an ephebe, left the decision to his older cousin Anthemion and to Pisias, the most austere of his lovers (749E–F). Those two, however, disagreed on the question, Anthemion supporting the marriage and Pisias rejecting it, and had therefore decided to choose ‘Plutarch’ and his friends as arbiters.

The group of ‘Plutarch’ is itself divided: Protogenes praises pederastic love (750B–751B), whereas Daphnaeus replies with an attack on pederasty and a defence of conjugal love (751B–752B). The specific case of Bacchon and Ismenodora is discussed as well (752E–754E), but then follows a coup de théâtre: a messenger reports that Ismenodora has kidnapped Bacchon and is making preparations for the marriage (754E–F). Pisias leaves, blazing with indignation, and a bit later Anthemion also departs. This peripeteia forms the point of departure for a new discussion. ‘Plutarch’ makes a lengthy speech about the divine status of Eros, his domain and benefits (756A–766D). This is in several respects the culmination of the work, where, in an innovative way, Plutarch connects the ascent to the Beautiful with heterosexual, conjugal love.Footnote ⁴⁷ In a final speech, now in reply to Zeuxippus’ criticisms of such conjugal love, ‘Plutarch’ again defends the love between husband and wife, with a new attack on pederasty – a conspicuous change from Plato – and a few inspiring love stories (766E–771C). This section contains several close parallels to the Precepts of marriage. The same traditional perspective on marriage is thus authorized at the end of the work and we may presume that this is how Plutarch generally thinks about married life. The last paragraph of the work adds the dénouement: the marriage between Ismenodora and Bacchon is celebrated (771D–E). All's well that ends well…or is it?

Perhaps things are just a little bit more complicated. The Dialogue on love illustrates in a particularly expressive way how Plutarch's zetetic philosophy also examines family relations. The οἶκος should ideally be a place of stability and order, and this is indeed what Plutarch aims at in the Precepts of marriage. In the Dialogue on love, this ideal is questioned through an exceptional situation. The case of Ismenodora and Bacchon is quite singular. It may be the product of Plutarch's ‘rhetoric of exaggeration’, yet such a rhetoric is also philosophically relevant.Footnote ⁴⁸ Plutarch here deliberately pushes the boundaries and explores how far he can go. In the Precepts of marriage, the man clearly dominates his wife, and, for Plutarch, that is how it should be. Yet the husband's supremacy is not based on gender but on his intellectual and moral superiority.Footnote ⁴⁹ And this, of course, raises the question of what should be done in a case where such intellectual and moral superiority lies with the wife. Can she then assume the role of erastes? Is such an Umwertung aller Werte in the domain of marriage ethics really conceivable?

This is a masterly example of philosophical zetesis. Once again, Plutarch is not afraid of raising challenging and difficult questions and as usual carefully ponders alternative solutions. No wonder, then, that he mentions arguments both against and in support of the marriage. Pisias argues that Ismenodora will dominate Bacchon through her money (752E–753A), a point countered by ‘Plutarch’ (753C–754B). Protogenes points to the problem of the age difference (753A), again dismissed by ‘Plutarch’ (754B–E). Protogenes, however, plays his last trump (753B):

This is a strong argument that is fully in line with the ideal promoted in the Precepts of marriage and it is characteristic of Plutarch that he places it at the end of his list of counterarguments, where it receives its full effect.Footnote ⁵⁰ There can be little doubt that a tension exists between the general advice of the Precepts of marriage and the peculiar situation discussed in the Dialogue on love. Ismenodora's deed is aptly called a bold act by ‘Plutarch’ (πρᾶγμα θαυμαστὸν τετολμημένον, 754E), and even by Anthemion (τόλμημα, 755C). If Plutarch does not argue this away, we should not do that either.Footnote ⁵¹

This tension is also reflected in the disagreement between the characters: the opposition between Pisias and Anthemion is soon mirrored by that of Protogenes and Daphnaeus, and even by that of the gymnasiarchs of the city (756A). This, if anything, shows that the evaluation is far from easy, as the conflicting claims both have good arguments. The final decision, then, is not easy, even after the sublime reflections of ‘Plutarch’ and his general defence of marriage. His arguments will do for Pollianus and Eurydice, but the case of Ismenodora and Bacchon is no standard situation and the peculiarities do matter. Ignoring them would amount to oversimplifying the zetetic process.

Yet this is exactly what Plutarch seems to do at the very end of the work. Pisias has given up his resistance and has even become an enthusiastic champion of the marriage. This is another odd peripeteia, for there is nothing that can explain such a volte-face. As a matter of fact, his approval makes him a ridiculous figure (ἐπεγγελάσωμεν τἀνδρί, 771E). He had put forward strong arguments and now seems to have forgotten all of them. In that sense, the work's happy end is also a baffling one. It is no less the outcome of Ismenodora's bold act than the result of an authorial one by Plutarch himself.

Nevertheless, this unexpected end also reflects a tendency that occurs throughout the Dialogue on love. Philosophical arguments never influence the events. Rather, the opposite is true: the events follow their own logic and provide the starting point for philosophical reflection. And this logic of the events is the logic of the god Eros. The final sentence of the work thus contains a crucial hermeneutic clue: ‘it is clear that the god takes pleasure in what happens and is benevolently present in it’ (771E). At the end, everything turns out to be the work of Eros, the god whose great power has been praised earlier. Philosophy has done its work. It has provided understanding and justification, yet it cannot put life on hold: the last word should be for love/Love. The unexpected end is a recognition of this insight, a reverent obeisance to the god (τὸν θεὸν προσκυνήσωμεν, 771E).

7. Plutarch's political thinking

We have already seen that Plutarch was politically active, holding both minor and major offices in Chaeronea (see above, Chapter I, §3). At an advanced age, he characterized politics as an old familiar friend (An seni 783C). The philosophical basis of his political thinking and commitment can be found in two small works that complement one another. In That a philosopher should especially converse with rulers, he persuades the philosopher to associate with rulers, for, by educating these rulers to virtue, the philosopher will benefit ‘many through one’ and thus maximize both his usefulness and his pleasure.Footnote ⁵² To an uneducated ruler focuses on the other pole: the ruler who should listen to the philosopher's advice, control his passions by reason, and thus become the image of God in the state.Footnote ⁵³ Just like Plato, Plutarch thus aims at an ideal combination of philosophical insight and political power. The ruler, enlightened by reason and motivated by his love of what is honourable (φιλοκαλία),Footnote ⁵⁴ will guide his fellow citizens to virtue by controlling their passions and improving their character. In short, in Plutarch's eyes, honourable politics is care of the soul.

Plutarch's political project is thoroughly Platonic and we may presume that he had such ideals in view when deciding on his own political course in Chaeronea. Yet here the obvious problem of feasibility arises. Plutarch knew history well enough to know that philosophical education was no guarantee of political success. Plato's own ambitions in Sicily proved a total fiasco (Maxime cum principibus 779B–C; Dion 13.1–20.4). Alcibiades, the pupil of Socrates (Alc. 4.1–4; 6.1; 6.5), greatly harmed his own city. The honourable projects of Dion, Plato's close friend and student (Dion 1.2 and 4.4–5), and Phocion, an alumnus of the Academy (Phoc. 4.2 and 14.7), both ended in disaster. Time and again, history questions the feasibility of such Platonic ideals.

Plutarch was not naïve. In two other works, he examines how such theoretical ideals can be translated into political praxis. Should an old man engage in politics? is a passionate plea for the political relevance of old men, who should put their rich expertise at the disposal of their fellow citizens. They should continue to participate in politics, not by assuming all kinds of offices and interfering in every single detail, but by delegating, supervising, and advising their younger colleagues to serve the public interest. Even more concrete advice is given in the Political precepts, by far Plutarch's most important political work, dedicated to the novice politician Menemachus of Sardis. With this work, we find ourselves in the middle of municipal politics in Plutarch's day.Footnote ⁵⁵

At that time, the Greek cities were usually a kind of political aristocracy, governed by a few rich families, the πρῶτοι or ‘first citizens’, as Plutarch calls them (Praec. ger. reip. 815A). They occupied all the important positions and their rivalry sometimes caused internal disorders that risked destroying the balance of power and undermining social order. Their power base rested on their noble birth and their financial means, which enabled them to spend large sums of money on public projects. In return for these donations, they were publicly honoured as benefactors, which of course added to their influence. The days of democracy were gone,Footnote ⁵⁶ but the euergetic system at least brought about a certain stability and well-being.

This is the situation that constitutes the horizon of Plutarch's political thinking. We have already seen that Plutarch was never prone to forget the demands of real life and this is all the more true when dealing with politics. He recalls Cicero's apt evaluation of Cato the Younger, who lost the consular elections because he acted ‘as if he lived in Plato's state and not in the dregs of Romulus’ (Phoc. 3.2). Plutarch never forgot that he lived in the dregs of Chaeronea and this insight forms the down-to-earth starting point of his political thinking.Footnote ⁵⁷ He was a clever, sensible politician with a full measure of common sense and a pragmatic spirit. Yet, at the same time, this sobermindedness is perfectly in line with the general philosophical approach that we have found in all his ethical thinking. Just as he preferred to control the passions rather than to completely eradicate them, and to face misfortune rather than to explain it away, he also faced the reality of political life with all its complicated problems. He realized well enough that Lycurgus’ achievement of turning his city Sparta into a polis philosophousa (Lyc. 31.3) was extremely hard to imitate in his own day. For the populace is like a suspicious and capricious beast (Praec. ger. reip. 800C) that should, as much as possible, be brought under the control of reason, as recalcitrant matter was controlled by the Demiurge.Footnote ⁵⁸ In several respects, in fact, Plutarch's political project has a strongly demiurgical aspect. The politician himself is characterized as the best of artificers and the Demiurge of good order and justice (807C), and his task is to mix a healthy element free from passions with the diseased, faction-ridden part of the state (824A).Footnote ⁵⁹

But Menemachus is no Demiurge. Plutarch is not addressing a professional philosopher who has decided to enter politics, but a young politician, and this is something that he carefully bears in mind. Throughout the work, he starts from real life, from the dregs of the Greek polis, and then tries to reorient this towards a philosophical perspective. And this begins with the person of the politician himself: his political engagement should rest on the fundamental choice (προαίρεσις) to serve the public interest. A political career should not be for profit (798E–F; 819E) nor should we enter upon public life mainly for the sake of personal ambition or ‘love of honour’ (φιλοτιμία; 819F–822A).Footnote ⁶⁰ The politician should pursue what is honourable (τὸ καλόν) and thus we can also expect of him that he has acquired a virtuous disposition (800B–801C).

How should Menemachus conceive of this honourable ideal? Plutarch provides him with much general advice, while, as usual, respectfully leaving it to his reader to decide on how to apply this to his own situation. Menemachus should always be concerned with the public interest (807B; 812B; 817D; cf. An seni 794D). He should cause men to be good subjects (816F) and especially avoid internal disorder and pursue concord (824D). These are traditional political ideals that are here adopted in and adapted to a philosophical project.Footnote ⁶¹ For these ideals should indeed be reached through educating the citizens’ characters and making them better. A beginning politician like Menemachus should proceed in a systematic way, by first examining the general character of the people and accommodating himself to it, and then gradually changing it for the better (799B–800A). This idea, expressed with medical imagery, remains an important motif in the whole work: the politician should act as the physician of his fellow citizens’ souls. In other words, he should carry out a fundamentally philosophical project.

In order to reach this goal, he should fully master the rules of the political game. Again, Plutarch blends the often recalcitrant matter of political reality with more philosophical ideals. He recognizes the importance of virtuoso rhetoric as a means to persuade the people (801C–804C). While rhetoric is not the creator of persuasion (δημιουργὸς πειθοῦς), it certainly is its helper (συνεργός) (801C), for the people should not be led by their bellies but by their ears (802D). This does not mean, of course, that Menemachus should turn into a demagogue: his speech should be full of character, high-mindedness, and fatherly frankness (802F; cf. 815D). He should respect and use offices and office-holders, but also be prepared to overrule them whenever the public good is at stake (816A–817F).Footnote ⁶² He should make use of friends as his living instruments, while carefully avoiding favouritism (806F–809B). Time and again, Plutarch thus views the concrete contemporary political situation from the point of view of the philosopher, but always observes moderation and balance. An excessively strict and rigid course is consistently rejected. The politician should sometimes be indulgent on smaller details (817F–818E)Footnote ⁶³ and can even resort to cunning tricks (813A–C),Footnote ⁶⁴ without forgetting his honourable mission to educate the people to virtue.

Finally, what is the role of Rome? In politics, Rome is, of course, highly relevant: one small decree of the proconsul suffices to annul all the politician's efforts (824E–F). This the politician should bear in mind and abstain from silly démarches (814A):

Menemachus must realize that he always has the Roman shoe above his head (813E), as a new sword of Damocles.Footnote ⁶⁵ And even if a shoe may at first sight seem less terrifying than a sword, this shoe surely had equally devastating powers. He should therefore try to make himself and his fatherland blameless (814C) and obedient (814E) towards his rulers. At the same time, he should not exaggerate and force the Romans ‘to be their master more than they wish’ (814F–815A). This addendum reflects the political interest of the πρῶτοι, who had everything to win in keeping Rome at a distance and preserving their own restricted autonomy, although Plutarch cloaks this point too in philosophical terms. He argues that the politician is best placed to cure the souls of his fellow citizens in the enclosed space of his own city, administering a secret medical treatment (ἀπόρρητον ἰατρείαν, 815B), so that there is no need for external doctors and medicines (815B). To give Rome a philosophically meaningful place means to relegate it to the margin.

Thus Plutarch advocates a particularly clever and considered political course. He keeps loyal to his Platonic convictions and always translates his political aims into philosophical terms: the politician should educate his fellow citizens, promote concord, and serve the public interest. For that is honourable (καλόν). That is what Plato's political ideals can mean in the cities of Plutarch's day. At the same time, however, all these high-minded philosophical ideals serve the political ideology and interests of the ruling class. Plutarch's advice to Menemachus is a rationalization of the existing political order, a plea for a political status quo. There is no place for political revolution in Plutarch: the aristocrats should be pulling the strings, whereas the people should listen, obey, and be content. Nevertheless, we should not consider Plutarch's political philosophy as a mere façade, shrewdly developed in order to secure the privileges of his own class. Such an interpretation would be too cynical: Plutarch was not the man to use philosophy as a pretext. The sincerity of his philosophical ideals cannot be doubted, yet he knew how to reconcile them very cleverly with the concrete political situation of his day and with the interests of his own class, and how he could combine the happiness of the people (as he understood it) and the well-being of the city with his own self-realization as philosopher and aristocrat. For all these reasons, Plutarch stands out as a particularly intelligent political thinker.