Ancient Philosophy After Aristotle

Plotinus

Plotinus (204—270 CE), the founder of Neoplatonism, stands as the last of the significant philosophers of antiquity. His life nearly coincided with one of the most calamitous periods in Roman history. Soon after his birth, the army recognized its power and instituted the practice of electing emperors for monetary reward, only to later assassinate them, providing an opportunity to resume trade within the empire. This activity hindered soldiers from defending the borders and facilitated vigorous invasions by Germans from the north and Persians from the east. War and epidemic reduced the population of the empire by nearly a third, while rising taxes and dwindling resources precipitated financial collapse even in provinces untouched by enemy troops. Cities that had been bastions of culture suffered particularly; many affluent citizens fled in large numbers to escape tax collectors. Only in the period following Plotinus's death was order restored, and the empire temporarily saved by the decisive measures of Diocletian and Constantine.

None of this is mentioned in Plotinus's works. He turned away from the spectacle of ruin and poverty in the tangible world to contemplate the eternal realm of goodness and beauty. In this, he found himself in harmony with all the most serious minds of his era. For all of them—both Christians and pagans—the world of practical affairs appeared equally devoid of hope, and only the "Other World" seemed worthy of devotion. For the Christian, the "Other World" was the Kingdom of Heaven, attained after death; for the Platonist, it was the eternal world of ideas, in which the real world was juxtaposed against the realm of illusory appearances. Christian theologians integrated these perspectives and adopted much from Plotinus's philosophy. The theologian Inge, in his sacred text on Plotinus, aptly underscores what Christianity owes to him. "Platonism," he asserts, "is a vital foundation of Christian theology, with which no other philosophy, I dare say, can harmonize without friction." He insists that "there is absolutely no possibility of severing Platonism from Christianity without tearing Christianity apart." He points out that St. Augustine refers to Plato’s system as the "purest and most brilliant of all philosophical systems," and to Plotinus as a man in whom "Plato lives anew," who, had he lived a bit later, "would have changed a few words and phrases and become a Christian." According to Inge, St. Thomas Aquinas was "closer to Plotinus than to the authentic Aristotle."

Thus, Plotinus is historically significant as a figure who influenced the formation of medieval Christianity and Catholic theology. Any historian discussing Christianity must endeavor to understand the substantial transformations it underwent and the diversity of forms it could take even within the same epoch. The Christianity of the synoptic gospels is almost devoid of metaphysics. In this respect, contemporary Christian teaching in America resembles primitive Christianity; Platonism is alien to the widely held thoughts and feelings in the U.S., and most American Christians are far more occupied with their duties here on earth and social change in the everyday world than with the transcendental hopes that once comforted people when all earthly matters evoked despair. I speak not of changes in dogmas, but of the difference in what is assigned greater significance and what commands more interest. A modern Christian cannot grasp the Christianity of past ages if they do not understand how great this difference is. Since our outline is historical, we are interested in the powerful beliefs of past centuries, and regarding these beliefs, one cannot help but agree with Inge about the influence of Plato and Plotinus.

However, Plotinus's philosophy is important not only historically. It represents, better than any other philosophy, a significant type of theories. The value of a philosophical system can be assessed on various grounds. The first and most obvious argument is when we regard a particular philosophical system as true. Few studying philosophy in our time would so characterize Plotinus’s system; in this respect, Inge is a rare exception. But truth is not the only merit that metaphysics can possess. Metaphysics can embody beauty, and the latter can certainly be found in Plotinus’s metaphysical system; there are passages reminiscent of the concluding stanzas of Dante’s "Paradiso," with which almost nothing can compare in literature.

His descriptions of the eternal world of splendor
Present for our exalted imagination
That tranquil song of pure conscience,
Which I sing before the sapphire-blue throne
To Him who sits upon it.

Philosophy is also significant because it articulates well what people are inclined to believe in certain moods or circumstances. Simple feelings of joy and sorrow are the objects of not philosophy but rather of simple poetry and music. Only joy and sorrow, accompanied by reflections on the universe, give rise to metaphysical theories. One may be a cheerful pessimist or a melancholic optimist. Samuel Butler may serve as an example of the former; Plotinus is a magnificent example of the latter. In the century in which he lived, misfortune was immediate and violent, while happiness, if it were achievable at all, was sought in contemplation of matters far removed from sensual impressions. Such happiness always carries an element of tension; it is nothing like the simple joy of a child. And since it arises not from the everyday world but from contemplation and imagination, it requires the ability to ignore or disdain life’s sensations. Thus, it is not those who revel in instinctual happiness that create this type of metaphysical optimism, which relies on belief in the reality of the supersensory world. Among those who were unhappy in the worldly sense yet resolutely sought a higher happiness in the realm of theory, Plotinus holds a very honorable place.

Nor should one underestimate his purely intellectual merits. In many respects, he clarified Plato's teachings; he developed this type of theory, which he defended alongside many others, with utmost consistency. His arguments against materialism are sound, and his entire conception of the relationship between soul and body is clearer than the conceptions of Plato and Aristotle.

Like Spinoza, he possesses a certain moral purity and exaltation that leaves a profound impression. He is always sincere, never harsh or strict, and consistently strives to explain to the reader as simply as possible what he believes to be important. Whatever one may think of him as a theoretical philosopher, it is impossible not to love him as a person.

Plotinus's life is known only through the biography written by his student and friend Porphyry, a Syrian whose real name was Malchus. However, this account contains an element of fantasy, which makes it difficult to rely entirely on its more credible pages.

Plotinus regarded his spatiotemporal emergence as insignificant and spoke reluctantly of the contingencies of his historical existence. He did, however, mention that he was born in Egypt, and it is known that, during his youth, he studied in Alexandria and lived there until the age of thirty-nine; his teacher was Ammonius Saccas, often considered the founder of Neoplatonism. Later, Plotinus joined the expedition of Emperor Gordian III against the Persians, reportedly with the intention of studying Eastern religions. The emperor, still a youth, was killed by soldiers, as was common in that era. This event took place during the campaign in Mesopotamia in 244 CE. Following this, Plotinus abandoned his plans regarding the study of Eastern religions, settled in Rome, and soon became a teacher. Among his listeners were many influential individuals, and Emperor Gallienus regarded him favorably. At one point, Plotinus prepared a proposal for founding a republic modeled after Plato's "Republic" in Campania and constructing a new city for this purpose, which was to be called Platonopolis. Initially, the emperor looked upon this project favorably, but ultimately withdrew his approval. It seems strange that there could be a place for a new city so close to Rome. However, it is likely that by then the area had become malarial (as it is now), which had not been the case before. Until the age of forty-nine, Plotinus wrote nothing, but thereafter he wrote extensively. His works were organized and published by Porphyry, who was more of a Pythagorean than Plotinus, and under his influence, the supernatural overshadowed the teachings of the Neoplatonist school more than it should have, had he adhered more closely to Plotinus's doctrine.

Plotinus held deep respect for Plato, often referring to him simply as "He." In general, the "blessed ancients" are treated with a reverence that does not extend to the atomists. He debated with the Stoics and Epicureans, as they were still active at the time—arguing with the Stoics solely due to their materialism, and with the Epicureans over every aspect of their philosophy. Aristotle's philosophy exerted a greater influence on Plotinus than might appear, as borrowings from his works often go unacknowledged. In many respects, the influence of Parmenides can be felt.

In Plotinus, Plato is not as vivid as the authentic Plato. The theory of forms, the mystical doctrine in the dialogue "Phaedo," Book VI of the "Republic," and the discussions of love in the "Symposium" constitute nearly the entirety of Plato's philosophy as presented in the "Enneads" (the name given to Plotinus's writings). Political interests, the search for definitions of individual virtues, the joy found in mathematics, the dramatic and warm appreciation of individuals, and above all, Plato's playfulness are entirely absent in Plotinus. As Carlyle remarked, "Plato feels entirely free in Zion," whereas Plotinus, by contrast, always maintains a demeanor of restraint.

In Plotinus's metaphysics, we begin with the Holy Trinity: the One, the Spirit, and the Soul. These three are unequal, akin to the persons of the Christian Trinity; the One is supreme, followed by the Spirit, and finally, the Soul.

The One is somewhat nebulous. At times, he is referred to as God, and at other times as the Good; he transcends Being, which immediately follows the One. We must not attribute predicates to him but rather speak only of "He is" (this echoes Parmenides). It would be erroneous to speak of God as "All," for God surpasses all. God is present in everything. The One can be present without needing any arrival: "Whereas He is nowhere—that is already not nowhere." Although the One is sometimes referred to as the Good, we are also told that he precedes both the Good and the Beautiful. At times, the One seems reminiscent of Aristotle's God: we are told that God has no need for what he has produced and ignores the created world. The One is indeterminate, and regarding him, more truth resides in silence than in any words.

We now turn to the Second Person, whom Plotinus designates as the Nous. It is quite difficult to find an English word that expresses this Nous. The standard dictionary translates it as "mind," but this is not the precise accompanying meaning, particularly when the term is used in the philosophy of religion. If we were to say that Plotinus places intellect above the soul, we would give this assertion a completely misleading interpretation. McKenna, the translator of Plotinus, uses the expression "principle of intellectuality," but this is an unfortunate phrase and does not indicate an object suitable for religious veneration. The Reverend Inge uses the term "Spirit," which may be the best among the appropriate words. However, it overlooks the intellectual element, so crucial to all Greek philosophy of religion following Pythagoras. Mathematics, the world of ideas, and all thought regarding the imperceptible possess a divine quality for Pythagoras, Plato, and Plotinus: they constitute the activity of the Nous or at least the closest approximation to its activity that we can envision. It is precisely this intellectual element in Plato's religion that led Christians, especially the author of the Gospel of John, to identify Christ with the Logos. In this context, the Logos would need to be translated as intellect; this would preclude using the word "mind" as a translation for Nous. I will follow the Reverend Inge in using the word "Spirit," but with the caveat that Nous carries an accompanying intellectual meaning absent in the word "spirit," as it is commonly understood. However, I will often use the term Nous without translation.

Nous, we are told, is the image of the One; it is birthed because the One, in the process of self-knowledge, had a vision; this vision is Nous. This is a challenging concept. The existent without any parts, Plotinus asserts, can know itself; in this case, the seer and the seen are one. In God, who is conceived in analogy to the Sun, as in Plato, that which gives light and that which is illuminated are the same. Continuing this analogy, Nous can be considered the light through which the One perceives itself. For us, it is possible to know the Divine Intellect, which we willfully forget. To comprehend the Divine Intellect, we must examine our own soul when it is most godlike: we must detach ourselves from the body and from that part of the soul that forms the body, as well as from "sensations of desires and impulses and all such vain hopes," and what remains after this is the image of the Divine Intellect.

"Those who are divinely initiated and inspired by it possess, at the very least, the knowledge that they feel something great within themselves, even though they cannot articulate what it is; from the stirring gestures and sounds they emit, they sense a force beyond themselves that moves them: in much the same way, we must relate to the Higher when pure Nous is present within us; we know the Divine Mind that bestows order upon Being and everything else; but we also know something else, distinct from all these, a principle more noble than all that we know as Being; fuller and greater, standing above reason, intellect, and sensation, comparable to these forces but not confined by them."

Thus, when we are "divinely initiated and inspired," we see not only the Nous but also the One. When we, in this manner, come into contact with the Divine, we cannot reason or articulate what we have seen in words; this comes later. "In the moment of contact, there are no powers to make any assertions; there is no satisfaction: reflection, it seems, comes afterward. We may know that we have had a vision when the Soul suddenly perceives light. This light is from the Higher and is the Higher; we may believe in the Presence when, just as another God calls a certain person, He brings light: light is the proof of the coming. Thus, the Soul remains unilluminated without this vision; illuminated, it gains what it seeks. And the true aim before the Soul is to absorb this light, to see the Higher through the Higher, not through the light of some other principle—to see the Higher through simple vision; for how the Soul is illuminated is like how we see the Sun through sunlight.

But how to achieve this?

"Cast everything aside" (V, 3, 17).

The experience of "ecstasy" (being outside one's body) often occurred for Plotinus:

"Many times this has happened: stepping outside the body into oneself; becoming external to all other things and concentrated within oneself; contemplating wondrous beauty; and then—more than ever—confident of communion with the highest order; leading the noblest life, acquiring identity with the divine; being within it through participation in this activity, resting above all in the intelligible—what is lesser than the highest; and yet there comes a moment of descent from intellect to reasoning, and after this cohabitation in the divine, I ask myself how it happened that I can now descend, and how the Soul could enter my body—the Soul that, even within the body, is higher, as it has shown itself."

This brings us to the Soul—the third and lowest member of the Trinity. Although the Soul is subordinate to the Nous, it is the creator of all living things: it has fashioned the Sun, the Moon, the stars, and the entire visible world. It is the offspring of the Divine Intellect. The Soul is dual: there is an inner soul, persistently striving towards the Nous, and another that is turned outward. The latter is associated with the descending movement, in which the Soul generates its image, which is Nature and the realm of the senses. The Stoics equated Nature with God, but Plotinus views it as a lower sphere, an emanation of the Soul—specifically, of the Soul when it forgets to gaze upwards at the Nous. This perspective echoes the gnostic view that the visible world is evil; however, Plotinus does not adhere to this interpretation. The visible world is beautiful and serves as the dwelling of blessed spirits; it is merely less good than the intellectual realm. In a fascinating and sharp debate concerning the gnostic claim that the cosmos and its Creator are evil, he acknowledges that certain elements of gnostic doctrine, such as the hatred of matter, may have been borrowed from Plato, but he maintains that other aspects, which are not derived from Plato, are erroneous.

His objections to gnosticism are twofold. On one hand, he argues that the Soul, when it creates the material world, does so from a memory of the divine, not because it has become fallen; he believes that the sensory world is as good as it can possibly be; he acutely senses the beauty of things perceived through the senses.

"Who among those who truly perceive the harmony of the realm of intellect can fail to respond to the harmony contained in the sounds perceived by the senses, if they have an inclination towards music? Who among geometers or those engaged in arithmetic does not find satisfaction in contemplating the symmetry, relationships, and principles of order observed in visible things? Consider even the works of painting: those who view these works with physical eyes do not see the same thing in equal measure; they are deeply moved as they recognize objects that reveal for the eyes the presence of what lies within the idea—thereby called to remember the truth, to that very experience from which love arises. And thus, if the sight of beauty, splendidly reproduced on the surface, hastens the mind to another sphere, without a doubt, no one gazing upon the loveliness generously pouring forth in this world of sense, upon the universal order, upon the form displayed by the stars even in their separation—no one can be so dull, so indifferent, as to not be stirred by it; no one can be untouched by a reverent awe when contemplating all that is so great, which has arisen from this greatness. To remain unmoved by this would imply not only a failure to create this world but also a lack of any vision of that other."

There is another argument against the gnostic viewpoint. The gnostics believe that nothing divine is connected with the Sun, the Moon, and the stars; they were created by some evil spirit. Only the soul of man among perceived things possesses any goodness. Yet Plotinus is firmly convinced that the celestial bodies are the bodies of godlike beings, immeasurably superior to humans. The gnostics declare "their own soul, the soul of the least being belonging to the human race, to be immortal, divine; but all the heavens and the stars in the heavens are not connected to the Immortal Principle, even though they are much purer and more beautiful than their own souls." Supporting Plotinus's perspective, there is authoritative testimony in the Timaeus, which was embraced by some Church Fathers, including Origen. His view is vividly appealing, expressing sentiments naturally inspired by celestial bodies, making man feel less alone in the physical world.

In Plotinus's mysticism, there is nothing dark or hostile to beauty. Yet he remains the last religious teacher for many centuries to whom such a characterization can be attributed. Beauty and all pleasures associated with it begin to be regarded as deriving from the Devil; both pagans and Christians start to extol ugliness and filth. Julian the Apostate, like the orthodox saints of his time, boasted of the density of his beard. Such sentiments find no resonance in Plotinus.

Matter is created by the Soul and lacks independent reality. Each Soul has its hour; when it arrives, it descends and enters a suitable body. The motive for this is not reason but something resembling sexual desire. When the Soul departs from the body, it must enter another body if it has sinned, for justice demands that it be punished. If in this life you have killed your mother, in the next life, you will be a woman, and your son will kill you. Sin must be punished; punishment occurs through the incessant, transitory movement of the sinner's errors.

Do we recall this life after death? The answer is entirely logical, yet it is not the one that most modern theologians would provide. Memory is tied to our temporal existence, whereas the best and truest life lies in eternity. Therefore, as the Soul strives for eternal life, it will remember less and less; friends, children, a spouse—all will gradually be forgotten; ultimately, we will know nothing of the things of this world and will only contemplate the realm of intellect. There will be no memory of the individual who, in contemplative vision, realizes their own self. The Soul will merge into oneness with the Nous, but not through its own destruction; the Nous and the individual Soul will remain both non-identical to one another and identical.

In the fourth Ennead, where the discussion concerns the Soul, one section (the seventh tractate) is dedicated to examining the question of immortality. The body, being composite, is not immortal; thus, if it is a part of ourselves, we are not entirely immortal. But what is the relationship of the Soul to the body? Aristotle (who is not mentioned explicitly) asserted that the Soul is the form of the body, yet Plotinus rejects this view on the grounds that the intellectual act would be impossible if the Soul were any kind of form of the body. The Stoics believe that the Soul is material, but the unity of the Soul proves this impossible. Moreover, since matter is passive, it could not create itself; matter could not exist if the Soul did not create it, and if the Soul did not exist, matter would vanish in an instant. The Soul is not material and not a form of material body, but an Essence, and Essence is eternal. This view is implicitly expressed in Plato’s arguments that the Soul is immortal because ideas are eternal; only in Plotinus does it become thoroughly explicit.

How does the Soul enter the body from the estrangement of the intellectual world? The answer is as follows: through inner attraction. But this inner attraction, though at times base, can be relatively noble. At its best, the Soul "feels the need for complex order, a pattern it has seen in the principle of intellect (Nous)." In other words, the Soul contemplates the inner realm of essence and longs to create something as closely resembling this realm as possible, which can be seen outwardly rather than inwardly, like (as we might say) a composer who first creates their music in imagination and then wishes to hear it performed by an orchestra.

Yet this desire of the Soul to create has unfortunate consequences. As long as the Soul lives in the pure world of Essence, it is not separate from other souls dwelling in the same realm; but as soon as it connects with a body, it must manage what is beneath it, and because of this, it becomes estranged from other souls possessing different bodies. With rare exceptions, the Soul remains shackled to the body. "The body obscures the truth, but there everything appears clear and distinct."

This doctrine, much like Plato’s, struggles to avoid the perspective that creation was a mistake. The Soul, at its highest level, is satisfied with the world of essence, the Nous. If it were always at this level, it would not create but merely contemplate. Apparently, the act of creation must be justified on the grounds that the created world is, in general, the best of all logically possible worlds; but it is a copy of the eternal world and, as such, possesses beauty possible for a copy. The most definitive assertion is found in the tractate concerning the gnostics:

"To ask why the Soul created the Cosmos is to ask why the Soul exists and why the Creator creates. The question also encompasses the beginning in the eternal and further presents creation as an act of mutable Being, which transforms from one state to another.

Those who think this way must be instructed (if they wish to accept such an amendment) regarding the nature of the divine and compelled to cease such blasphemy towards the majestic powers that so easily comes to them where all should be respectful doubt.

Even in the governance of the Universe, there is no basis for such attacks, for it provides clear evidence of the greatness of the Intellectual Kind."

This “All,” which has come into being, is not an amorphous structure like the lower forms within it that are born night and day from the abundance of its vitality. The universe is a life that is organized, effective, complex, and all-encompassing, revealing an incomprehensible wisdom. How, then, can anyone deny that it is a pure, wonderfully formed image of the Intellectual Deity? Undoubtedly, this is a copy rather than the original, but it is the essence of its true nature; it cannot simultaneously be a symbol and a reality. To claim that it is an inadequate copy is erroneous; nothing is omitted from what must include the beautiful reproduction of physical order. Such a reproduction must necessarily be present here, although not through deliberate artifice, for the Intellectual cannot be the last of things but must perform a dual act: one within itself and the other outwardly; there must then be something subsequent to the Divine, for only the thing in which all power culminates cannot descend below something [in] itself.

This is likely the best answer to the Gnostics—an answer that makes possible the principles of Plotinus. This issue, in a slightly altered formulation, has been inherited by Christian theologians; they too found it challenging to explain creation without blasphemous conclusions, according to which the creator lacked something prior to creation. Indeed, it was more difficult for them than for Plotinus, as he could assert that the nature of the Mind made creation inevitable, while for Christians, the world originated from the unrestrained manifestation of God’s free will.

Plotinus possessed a vivid sense of some kind of abstract beauty. Describing the position of the intellect as a mediator between the One and the soul, he suddenly bursts forth with words that exemplify rare eloquence: “The highest, in its development, could never have been born in a soulless vessel, nor even directly in the form of the Soul; it will proclaim itself through enduring beauty: before the Great King, the lowest beings first appear in a sequence of existence, followed by those ever higher, ever closer to the King and regal; then comes his own retinue, and finally, the Supreme Monarch himself appears, and then all prostrate themselves and praise him, except for those who were content with the vision before his arrival and departed before his coming.”

There exists a Treatise on Intellectual Beauty that expresses similar sentiments: “All the blessed gods are beautiful in a way that our words cannot convey. What makes them so? The Mind, and especially the Mind, manifesting in them (the divine sun and stars) for the visible… Life is beautiful There; and to these divine beings, truth is both mother and nurse, sustenance and existence, and they see all not as a process but as authentic being, seeing themselves in all; for all is transparent, there is no darkness, and no contradiction; each being is clear to another, in depth and breadth: light passes through light. And each contains within itself all, and at the same time sees all in every other, so that everywhere is all, and all is all, and each is all, an infinite sequence of the sublime. Each is great, and the small is great; the sun There embraces all the stars, and each star, in turn, embraces the stars and the sun. And although some forms of being dominate in each existence, all reflect one another.”

In addition to the imperfection that inevitably characterizes the world, since it is merely a copy, for Plotinus, as well as for Christians, there exists a more positive evil as a result of sin. Sin is a consequence of free will, which Plotinus upholds in opposition to determinists and, in particular, astrologers. He hesitates to completely deny the value of astrology, but he attempts to set boundaries for it so that the remaining scope of astrology may be reconciled with free will. He does the same with respect to magic; the sage, he says, is free from the magician’s power. Porphyry recounts that a rival philosopher attempted to bewitch Plotinus, but that thanks to his holiness and wisdom, the magic rebounded against the rival. Porphyry, like all followers of Plotinus, is much more superstitious than he himself. Superstition in Plotinus is as minimal as possible for that era.

Let us now endeavor to summarize the merits and shortcomings of Plotinus's teachings, primarily absorbed by Christian theology to the extent that it remained systematic and intellectual.

First and foremost, let us consider the construct of what, according to Plotinus, serves as a safe refuge for ideals and hopes, as well as that which encompasses both moral and intellectual efforts. In the 3rd century and in the centuries that followed the invasion of the barbarians, Western civilization stood on the brink of final destruction. Fortunately, while theology was almost the only surviving domain of intellectual activity, the system adopted at that time was not entirely superstitious but preserved, albeit sometimes deeply hidden, doctrines embodying much of the achievements of Greek thought and much of the moral piety common to Stoics and Platonists. This enabled the emergence of scholastic philosophy, and later, with the advent of the Renaissance, it strengthened the influence of Plato in that era, and thus of other ancient philosophers.

On the other hand, the philosophy of Plotinus had the shortcoming of encouraging people to look inward rather than outward: when we gaze within, we see the nous, which is divine, whereas when we look outward, we see the imperfections of the sensual world. This kind of subjectivism gradually increased; it can be found in the doctrines of Protagoras, Socrates, and Plato, as well as among the Stoics and Epicureans. But initially, it was merely doctrinal, not psychological; for a long time, it did not extinguish scientific curiosity. We see how Posidonius, around 100 B.C.E., undertook travels to Spain and the Atlantic coast of Africa to study tides. Gradually, however, subjectivism engulfed human feelings, as well as its doctrines. Science was no longer cultivated, and only virtue was deemed important. Virtue, as understood by Plato, encompassed all that was then possible in terms of intellectual achievements; but in later centuries, it increasingly came to be regarded as encompassing only virtuous will, not the desire to understand the physical world or to improve human institutions. Christianity, in its ethical doctrines, was not free from this deficiency, although in practice, the belief in the importance of spreading the Christian faith provided a practically realizable object for moral efforts that were no longer limited to self-perfection.

The philosophy of Plotinus is simultaneously an end and a beginning: the end of what concerns the Greeks and the beginning of what concerns Christianity. For the ancient world, wearied by centuries of disappointment and tormented by despair, his doctrine might have been acceptable, but it could not provide a stimulating impetus. For a more coarse, barbarous world, where the surging energy needed more to be tamed and regulated than stimulated, whatever could penetrate from his teachings was beneficial, as the evil that needed to be overcome was connected not with apathy but with cruelty. What could be preserved of his philosophy was inherited by philosophers in the last years of the Roman Empire.