Personal Grief and Public Mourning in Plutarch's Consolation To His Wife

Personal Grief and Public Mourning in Plutarch's Consolation
to His Wife
Han Baltussen
American Journal of Philology, Volume 130, Number 1 (Whole Number 517),

Spring 2009, pp. 67-98 (Article)
Published by Johns Hopkins University Press

DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/ajp.0.0044
For additional information about this article

https://muse.jhu.edu/article/261639
Access provided at 20 Apr 2019 08:10 GMT from University of Groningen

PERSONAL GRIEF AND PUBLIC MOURNING IN
PLUTARCH’S CONSOLATION TO HIS WIFE
Han Baltussen
u
Abstract. In this article, I argue that Plutarch’s consolation letter to his wife
is not merely an act of public posturing but a moving personal document, a
public statement on correct grieving, and a demonstration of the syncretistic
trend in philosophy in early Imperial times. The letter can be connected to a
tradition of ancient consolatory activities which established an ancient form
of psychotherapy. Here I draw particular attention to the syncretistic aspect of
philosophical stances. The case study provides a new and richer interpretation
of this remarkable document, opening up further avenues for the study of the
ancient consolation genre.
PROLOGUE
Around 90 c.e., Plutarch of Chaeronea, a Platonic philosopher

in his mid forties, received a (delayed) message from his wife that their
two-year-old daughter had died.1 We know this from Plutarch’s reply to
his wife, which is a moving, if very stylized, document providing us with
an intimate look at this tragedy. The degree of intimacy in this letter is
quite unusual compared to many other extant consolations. Plutarch’s
letter opens thus (Consol. 608B):
T1: Plutarch, to his wife, greetings! The messenger you sent to tell me of
the child’s death must have missed me on his way to Athens; I only heard
of it from my niece when I got to Tanagra. I imagine the funeral is over
now, and I hope it has been done in the way that will make for the least
pain for you both now and in the future. (trans. Russell)
1
The idea for this article arose from a lecture course on the afterlife in antiquity
given by my colleague R. Newbold. This article is part of a larger project which aims to
(re)trace and analyse the psychotherapeutic strategies regarding grief and mourning in
classical antiquity; it is supported by the Australian Research Council (Discovery grant
DP 0770690) for 2007–2009.
American Journal of Philology 130 (2009) 67–98 © 2009 by The Johns Hopkins University Press
68 han baltussen
With these words Plutarch begins his consolation (παραμυθητικὸς [sc.

λόγος] πρὸς τὴν γυναῖκα) and he goes on to write with considerable sensitiv-
ity, while at the same time addressing issues which can easily be viewed as
didactic and intended for a wider audience, a feature common to ancient
epistolary writings. In this instance, the combination of the private and
the public can be explained in part by Plutarch’s recent appointment as a
priest of Apollo at Delphi, a public office with important responsibilities,
as social historian Sarah Pomeroy has recently pointed out.2 However,
I will suggest that his approach does not detract from the letter’s value
as a personal reflection on the tragic event, even if to the modern eye
it may seem we do not get full access to his most private moment of
grief. From the outset, certain questions arise (but cannot be answered
through lack of evidence). Why did he not return to his wife? Is this the
best way to assist in this difficult time? How effective can a letter be in
a case like this? Clearly, modern and ancient sensitivities about one’s
priorities and manner of response differ considerably, signaling a divide
in social and personal customs. But I would contend that there are still
significant points of contact with our modern views in the way in which
Plutarch reveals something about his reactions and those of his wife,
presumed or real. He has done a remarkable job in juggling the differ-
ent aspects of his roles as a public figure and as father and husband. On
Pomeroy’s reading, Plutarch remains perhaps too much the typical head
of the family who instructs the docile wife in appropriate behavior. Yet
despite certain provisos regarding personal and social customs, we can
go further in better understanding the complex nature of his approach
in this letter.
There are two important reasons for discussing this text. First, it
can give us extraordinary insight into a personal response to a tragic
event, primarily because very few parallels survive of a letter about
so young a child.3 Second, I would like to consider some less-studied
aspects of this document, which as an example of consolatory writings
will help us to understand how in classical Greece a growing interest in,
and incipient knowledge of, the workings of the mind had emerged and
2
Pomeroy 1999, 75–78. It is a feature of many consolatory works; see Treggiari 1998.
The importance of Delphi is reflected in the fact that it is “the scene of three of his most
widely read dialogues” (Lamberton 2001, 11; cf. 155–72).
3
Hawley 1999, 125. Those to women are also rare, see Wilcox 2006, 75. But note how
Wilcox seems to exclude examples from Late Antiquity (I owe this observation to David
Scourfield). King 2000, 145, and n. 85, claims there are “only six historical cases of grief for
a child aged 0–4 years” in Latin literature.
personal grief and public mourning 69
how philosophical views could be brought in for therapeutic purposes.

Of course, Plutarch’s letter of consolation is a post-classical work, but it
exhibits many signs of the tradition of which it is a part, and his approach
constitutes one of several possible responses to death in antiquity, beyond
the traditional lamentation or ritualistic procedures.4 I shall disagree only
on minor points with the Pomeroy collection, whose comments, though
invaluable, still leave room for extracting further interesting details from
the text. I shall argue that there is more philosophy in the letter than
has been noted and that Plutarch’s use of the tradition of consolatory
writings is more subtle and innovative than the papers in the Pomeroy
collection allow.5
My approach differs in another way from existing research; the let-
ter has featured mostly in the context of social history, so my attempt to
study Plutarch within the consolation tradition places emphasis on the
underlying philosophical ideas for dealing with grief and death and how
his use of this tradition contributes to the form and content of the docu-
ment. Like those of today, these acts of consolation involve words and as
such they may already be called a form of psychotherapy, while suggesting
that further work using modern approaches to grief may prove useful for
supporting this perspective. My use of the term “psychotherapy” may need
some clarification, because it is obvious that our modern post-Freudian
society has developed new and more sophisticated ideas about the ways
in which the mind works and the possible reasons for mental illness and
its remedies. The popular understanding of therapy in Western society
conjures up couches and therapists, drawn-out sessions of digging into
one’s personal past, and complicated theories of the operations of the
mind. Here I take psychotherapy in the sense of the ancient philosophical
tradition, which to a limited degree exhibits similarities to our modern
understanding of the term. Greek philosophical strategies for dealing with
grief may not have developed an elaborate model of the subconscious;
but whether by intuition or by long experience, there is an awareness
that mental problems such as grief required specific approaches which
could include verbal and medical strategies. In this particular case study,
I shall demonstrate how Plutarch himself uses a range of ideas including
philosophical ones. Given the limited evidence up to the first century c.e.,
See Holst-Warhaft 1996 and below, 70–71.

4
Pomeroy 1999, 77, comments “the form and content are conventional” (my italics).
5
In Pomeroy 1999, several papers comment on the Plutarch consolation and it includes a
comprehensive bibliography by Harvey.
70 han baltussen
Plutarch’s letter may serve as a useful example for exploring the nature
and development of ancient psychotherapy.6
A full treatment of the thematic links between consolation and
Greek (or modern) psychotherapy cannot be offered here,7 but some
significant evidence up to his time will clarify the different strands con-
tributing to this tradition (rhetoric, philosophy, commonsense views). I
shall start in section 1 with some comments on the background of this
notion of “healing the mind” to place the letter in a broader context.
Next, a brief interpretive summary of the letter’s content will be offered
in section 2 to provide an impression of its structure and certain rhetorical
components, illustrating its persuasive force.8 A second contrast, shown
in section 3, between the traditional (or conventional) and the philo-
sophical arguments allows for comparison with some other consolations,
illustrating Plutarch’s selective and adaptive use of known techniques and
common arguments. Paying special attention to the relation between the
private and the public will help to show that the persuasive force of the
consolation does not rely just on individual arguments but also on their
order and cumulative effect (what I shall call the “rhythm” of the letter).
Finally, in section 4, I will draw out some implications for further study
of consolatory writings.
1. BEGINNINGS OF CONSOLATION
Many Greek and Roman authors before Plutarch attempted to help

others bear their loss or suffering. Death is, after all, an inescapable part
of the human condition, as is our awareness of our mortality and how we
undertake to deal with it. Some passages in Homer dealing more specifi-
cally with grief (Il. 5.381–415; Il. 24) may have guided orators who in the
fifth century b.c.e. wrote funerary speeches, thus developing the more
focused discourse for exhortation and advice to those who are left behind.9
Innovative efforts came with increased theorizing of the philosophers
6
I refrain from speaking of a consolatory “genre,” because I agree with the Scourfield
1993, 16, cautionary note about the problematic nature of this term given the diverse set
of documents studied in this context.
7
Mostly studied in the context of medical history and predominantly concerns mad-
ness and melancholy; see, e.g., Drabkin 1955, Simon 1978, Milns 1986, Jackson 1999.
8
The evidence for treatments of mental disorders in medical and philosophical writ-
ings will be selectively referenced in the footnotes but must await a fuller discussion on
another occasion. See also Gill 2006.
9
On mourning in the archaic period, see Derderian 2001, 15–62; on the funerary
speech (epitaphios logos) as a typical Athenian phenomenon, 161–88. Basic discussion
and rhetorical teachers (Sophists), who were no longer satisfied with

traditional explanations and tried to apply rational thinking to human
activities and their motivations. Rhetorical manipulation came to include
the subtle guiding of the audience’s minds by way of alluring sound pat-
terns and clever semantic analysis.10 From Plato’s time onwards (early
fourth century b.c.e.), this type of philosophical consolation inspired by
philosophical ideas emerged as a more distinct class of writings and a
range of stock arguments and topics developed.11
Plato was the first to give the activity of mental manipulation a more
systematic consideration. In his book The Anatomy of the Soul, Anthony
Kenny leaves no doubt about Plato’s importance in this matter when
he opens his first chapter with the confident statement: “The concept of
mental health was Plato’s invention.”12 It was Plato who came up with a
theory of the mind, which tried to account for several different drivers
for our actions, and it has often been observed that Freud’s tripartite
division (Ego, Id, Super-ego) owes much to it. It was Plato who tried
to come up with an integrated model by giving it some kind of unity
(Rep. 4–6; Phaedo 67–74), giving the mind its pride of place yet without
ignoring some of its defects. His tripartite soul, a conglomerate consist-
ing of three distinct functions or “parts” (relating to appetite, spirit, and
reason13), was an important notion which enabled him to explain to his
fellow Athenians (or so it must have seemed to him) why, for instance,
we feel internal conflict when we get angry, or are sad, or crave food,
drink or sex. These functions were all known, but no one had succeeded
in offering an integrated model of some kind to give them all a place.
The success of Plato’s model depends as much on the powerful
imagery he created as on its explanatory force.14 Although far from perfect,
of the development of consolatory strategies in Kassel 1958, 3–12; Scourfield 1993, 15–23
(with older literature).
10
See Segal 1962 on Gorgias’ skill in persuasion on the basis of a new style of
rhetoric.
11
Cf. Kassel 1958, 3–12; De Lacy and Einarson 1959, 576–77. I will mention significant
texts in the early history of philosophical consolation below. Surviving works of this period
up to the first century c.e. are limited.
12
Kenny 1973, 1.
13
The Greek terms are epithume\tikon, thumoeidos, nous (Rep. 435c–441a; the first
is called alogiston at 439d); the soul and body could separate, Phaedo 67d. For a general
account of Plato’s psychology, see also Robinson 1995.
14
His imaginative metaphors will linger in the mind: life cycles, prior knowledge in
the Phaedo; body-soul connection in Charmides 157b; and soul as a chariot in the Phaedrus
(246a).
72 han baltussen
Plato’s analysis was a major step forward in the understanding of human

behavior and its psychological mechanisms in the fourth century b.c.e.
The Homeric model of the mind, if we can call it that, is still far removed
from a clear recognition of distinct parts, let alone from the ability to
integrate them into a coherent description of the mind or the soul. Plato’s
model sparked further debate and new models immediately.15
What is important for our purposes is that Plato had a model at
all, thereby creating an opportunity for approaching mental phenomena
with a tool or framework for analysis. Two things in particular stand
out in his works: first, that he offers a hypothesis as to how the mind
works; this gives him a considerable advantage as a philosopher, since
it is the minds of people that he wants to influence. He was, in other
words, developing his insights into human psychology instinctively, and,
by knowing his audience, crafting his words and images in such a way
that might grab their attention and have a lasting effect. But note that
this part of his strategy targets healthy minds, as it were. So a second
aspect becomes relevant, namely, that a model of the healthy mind offers
ways of curing disorders of the mind.16 In both cases one might say that
Plato is striving to direct our minds either (1) along the road of proper
reasoning (philosophy), leading to illumination and becoming “like god”
(Tht. 176b1–2), or (2) out of a mental disorder (mania), that labyrinth
of confused thoughts, caused either by the gods, traumatic events (loss,
grief), or by misguided ideas.17
In several dialogues where Plato discusses rational thought, he is
suggesting that the best way to treat the soul is to do so in conjunction
with the body,18 while the best way to “lead the soul” is by language,
both in the case of philosophical guidance and when the mind has gone
astray. And “leading the soul” is of course exactly the phrase used later
for this kind of philosophical activity: psychagogia.19 This idea allows us
15
On the Stoics and Aristotle see Nussbaum 1986, Sorabji 2000. I am grateful to
George Boys-Stones for discussion of this issue.
16
The importance of this point is emphasized by, e.g., Drabkin 1955, Simon 1978,
Milns 1986.
17
See Simon 1978, chap. 4, esp. 62–77; Porter 2002, chap. 2.
18
On their interdependence, see, e.g., Phd. 64a–67d, 79c; Tim. 86b; disease and emo-
tion affect both, Phd. 86c, 91d, Crat. 404a, Tht. 185d–186c; they have parallel mechanisms,
Symp. 206c; and both require care Symp. 208, Grg. 464–65, 478d, 524c–d, Hipp. Min. 372e,
Rep. 408a–410e and “education” (paideia) Rep. 376e.
19
The term psychagogia, (literally “leading of the soul”) is used to define a positive
role for rhetoric (Phdr. 261a, τέχνη ψυχαγωγία τις διὰ λόγων, “a certain art of leading the
soul by means of words”; for its earliest occurrence, see Segal 1962, 149, n. 91, who notes
that it is not attested for Gorgias).
to view certain modes of giving advice in ancient Greece as “counseling”

or “psychotherapy,” with Plato as one of its pioneers. Other factors must
have contributed to the increasing awareness of the power of the word,
in particular rhetoric as developed by the sophists (e.g., Gorgias), culmi-
nating in the philosophical use of rhetorical techniques in other contexts.
One example is Gorgias’ comment at Gorgias 456b, which alludes to the
possible, but indirect, “medical” application of the persuasive powers of
rhetoric.20
There is, I would argue, evidence even earlier than Plato regarding
concerted attempts to assist people in their psychological discomforts
such as grief by way of verbal communication. Although mentioned in
most overviews of consolatory writings, evidence regarding Antiphon
the Sophist, a close but somewhat younger contemporary of Gorgias
(ca. 480–411 b.c.e.), has not been adequately pressed into service in the
context of consolation by the word: it shows, first, how language was being
exploited for therapeutic purposes before Plato, and second, how his use
of the “talking cure” already marks a step forward from the approach
of Gorgias. Two interesting reports deserve our attention. In the first,
Ps.Plutarch Lives of Ten Orators 883–84 [= T6(a) Pendrick], we read:
Antiphon is said to have composed tragedies both by himself and with

the tyrant Dionysius. While he was still involved in poetry,21 he designed a
method for the cure of grief (τέχνη ἀλυπίας), on the analogy of the treatment
of the sick by doctors and, getting himself a dwelling in Corinth near the
market-place, he advertised that he was able to cure those suffering from
grief through [the power of] words (διὰ λόγων); and discovering the causes
of their sickness by inquiry he gave consolation to sufferers.
(trans. Dillon 2003, slightly modified)
Note in particular the analogy with doctors who cure physical illness and
the instrumental role of words in curing those suffering from grief (διὰ
λόγων . . . θεραπεύειν). Very similar information is found in another source
(Philostr., 244–49 c.e.), who informs us that Antiphon “developed great
powers of persuasion . . . and he announced a course on ‘grief-assuaging’
20
I am building on Laín Entralgo 1970, 97, who quotes this passage as part of a very
interesting discussion of the therapy of the word and the possible medical application of
the persuasive powers of rhetoric, even if only indirectly to persuade a patient to be treated
by a doctor. Note that Gorgias’ brother was a physician. For Gorgias’ psychagogic powers,
Segal 1962 is still unsurpassed (on logos and emotions, see 125–27; on medical terms in the
Helen, see 132). See also Furley 1992, 211–12.
21
The link with early (lyric) poetry is another aspect that needs further study.
74 han baltussen
lectures (νηπενθεῖς ἀκροάσεις), asserting that no one could tell him of a

grief so terrible that he could not root it out of the mind” (Philostr. 1.15
[498 Olearius] = T6(d) Pendrick). In the light of our earlier remarks, it
is of great interest that Antiphon was deliberately compared to Nestor:
“nicknamed ‘Nestor’, because of his ability to persuade when speaking
on any subject.”22
As Laín Entralgo rightly points out, “the initial ‘persuasive’ or
‘cheering speech’ of which Nestor and Patroclus made use in the Homeric
world has become a technique with Gorgias and Antiphon.”23 But note
that Antiphon used the persuasive possibilities of language specifically
in the context of grief. The genuine nature of these reports has been
questioned, but the arguments to support this skepticism strike me as
unconvincing.24 There is independent evidence that Antiphon shows a
marked interest in the small problems of everyday life and, given the
kind of thoughts and topics he deals with (F49, pain and pleasure; F50–52,
contemplation on life in general; F58, fears and pleasures; F66, old age),
it is not hard to imagine that he had an interest in offering assistance to
those in mourning by using his verbal skills.
So we can see that, while Gorgias had clearly opened the gates
for a wider application of rhetoric in the service of medical treatment,
Antiphon is said to concentrate on the causes (αἰτίας) of the affliction.25
The mention of causes may indicate that he seemed to adopt, or wanted
to be seen as having, a more “scientific” approach.26 It is of great signifi-
22
Pendrick 2002, 96.
23
See Laín Entralgo 1970, 98, 101–2, for further discussion of Antiphon’s therapeutic
strategy.
24
The rather skeptical evaluation of this report by Pendrick 2002, 241, “fantasy of a
comic poet or a fictitious anecdote concocted by a Hellenistic writer,” seems over-cautious
and refrains from dating the anecdote (perhaps because he presumes it to be fictional?).
One reviewer of Pendrick’s book has in fact commented that he uses “caution verging on
agnosticism” (Tania Gergel in CR 55-1:411). Even if the story were apocryphal, it illus-
trates the awareness of the usefulness of rhetoric and words in the context of grief in an
author who antedates Plutarch. We cannot ignore the interesting analysis by Furley 1992,
203–5, which goes a long way in showing that (this) Antiphon has a quite rich vocabulary
in assessing emotions and a coherent set of concepts that aims for the control of them
and avoid pain and discomfort (alupia), which in addition tallies well with contemporary
concerns over emotions and how to deal with them effectively. Neither case can be fully
proven, but Furley’s account of Antiphon’s grief-therapy is more plausible than Pendrick’s
refusal to accept its possibility.
25
Cf. Laín Entralgo 1970, 101.
26
An approach in line with the Presocratics and Sophists, as illustrated for instance
by Democritus’ famous remark that he would prefer to discover a cause over being the
king of Persia (fr. 118 DK).
cance here that Antiphon is said to have used the persuasive powers in
the context of grief counseling, but now as the actual means to a thera-
peutic end. And what is more, the word for “grief-assuaging” (νηπενθεῖς)
is particularly well-chosen, as it would undoubtedly27 have reminded the
Greeks of the adjective attached to the powerful potion which Helen
gave to Odysseus to alleviate his sorrow over lost friends and a long and
dangerous journey (Od. 4.220–21: φάρμακον . . . | νηπενθές τ᾿ ἄχολόν τε
κακῶν ἐπίληθον ἁπάντων).
It would exceed the scope of this article to describe developments
from the fifth century down to Plutarch, but a few significant instances of
the philosophical tradition should be mentioned. Accounts of philosophi-
cal consolatory writing usually begin with Crantor, a member of Plato’s
Academy. His On Grief (περὶ πένθους) does not survive, but its influence
has been shown in several later sources, in particular in Cicero’s Tusculan
Disputations and [Plutarch] Consolation to Apollonius.28 Its most striking
features (apart from being for the death of a child) were the advocacy of
metriopatheia (a moderate strategy for dealing with strong emotions, i.e.,
not advocating the full suppression of emotions as the Stoics did) and the
exempla adduced in it. Cicero offers a wealth of information on the Stoic
approach in Tusculan Disputations 3–4, which thus provides a glimpse of
the (lost) Consolatio he wrote in an attempt to console himself upon the
death of his only daughter.29 The discussion in the Tusc. Disp. is a philo-
sophical treatment of a more general nature, exploring how to deal with
the emotions, including grief.30 For the early Imperial age, several works
survive in the Stoic tradition, by now the dominant philosophical school
of thought. Either in specific works of consolation or as part of a general
account of how to cope with life’s difficulties, these works show an ongoing
tradition and a growing sophistication regarding the exhortatory efforts
27
The point is already made in Laín Entralgo but can be strengthened by noting that
the adjective is a hapax legomenon in the Odyssey (based on TLG-E search for νηπενθ-).
28
Reconstructions of the first, Cicero’s lost Consolatio ad se (on which I am preparing
a separate study), have been attempted by van Wageningen and Buresch but have been
heavily criticized, e.g., by Kumaniecki 1968, who gives a more plausible reconstruction of
the content. Graver 2002a, 187–94 (appendix A), provides a useful comparison between
Cicero and [Plutarch] to establish their overlap in certain topics originating in Crantor:
see text to n. 61 below.
29
See Graver 2002a. In February 45 b.c.e. shortly after she gave birth; it was the
second child from her (unhappy) marriage with Publius Cornelius Dolabella, consul in 44
b.c.e. The first son was born on 19 May 49 b.c.e. (ad Att. 10.18) and died that year. The
second child survived.
30
The philosophical tract bears only minimal but valuable traces of his personal
tragedy, which followed the end of his professional career as a politician in 45–44 b.c.e.
76 han baltussen
one could make in the personal and public sphere. The most significant
cases are some of Seneca’s letters, Epictetus’ Manual, and the memoirs
of emperor Marcus Aurelius (ca. 165 c.e.).31 A striking omission in Plu-
tarch’s letter is that there are no clear references to the Stoics, while we
know that he found some of their ideas congenial.32 It will be instructive
to view Plutarch’s letter against this particular philosophical background.
The chronological distance to Plato and Crantor is not an obstacle, given
the links with intermediate works (especially prominent from Cicero
onwards). Knowledge of these earlier works can assist in establishing to
what extent Plutarch is making use of a “tradition,”33 adapting it or even
presenting innovative thoughts or arguments.
2. PLUTARCH’S CONSOLATION:
NARRATIVE STRUCTURE AND RHETORICAL STRATEGY
How does Plutarch arrange his arguments to address his wife? The first
difficulty Plutarch had to face was being away from home, so the letter
apparently was his only hope to support his wife in this difficult time.34
As seen above (T1), he first feels the need to apologize for writing to her
with some delay, because the messenger carrying her letter found him
later than expected. He expresses the hope that the funeral went well
and he places emphasis on the hope that it was not too painful for her,
exhorting her not to wait for him on decisions she deems appropriate for
making her grief more bearable. The question as to whether we possess
the actual version of the letter sent to his wife is discussed below, but
the most probable interpretation is that we have the revised version of
a note which he sent to her.35
31
Bibliography on all three is substantial. I select recent contributions here: on Seneca,
see the important selection in Scourfield 1993, 20, n. 93, and Wilson 1997; on Epictetus, see
Long 2002; for Marcus Aurelius, see Rutherford 1989 with further references to secondary
readings. Of interest is also the pseudo-Platonic Axiochus, a work which combines Platonic,
Cynic, and Epicurean ideas. O’Keefe 2006, 404, calls it “a fairly crude cut-and-paste job”;
note, however, that he defends the resulting inconsistency as a deliberate strategy of a
skeptical kind, to be dated to between 300 and 36 b.c.e. (389–90).
32
A helpful point made by one of AJP’s anonymous referees.
33
On his possible use of florilegia and rhetorical works, see Kassel 1958, 50, with n. 2.
Plutarch’s knowledge of Latin authors cannot be excluded since he did possess knowledge
of Latin (Lamberton 2001, 10–11).
34
Cf. Pomeroy 1999, 75.
35
Pomeroy 1999, 76–77, suggests plausibly this is what could have happened, even
if there is no proof of an earlier shorter version. Her other idea that the three titles (see
In these opening lines, there is a strong focus on his wife, and Plutarch
sensibly aims his consoling effort at her as a mother. This is part of an
ongoing concern to address her various roles and is reflected in several
shifts in the author’s particular focus. However, Plutarch’s thoughts are not
only concerned with his wife’s sorrow but also encompass considerations
outside the circle of the family, as the following passage demonstrates:
T2: If there is anything you wish to do . . . pray do it, without extravagance

and superstition, for which I know you have no inclination.
(Consol. 608, §1 Russell, my italics)
This remark refers beyond the family to a broader social sphere, since
rules of appropriate behavior are appealed to in two ways: the first is
related to correct procedure (rituals); the second is the inclusion of a
remark which (as he himself admits) is really superfluous, when he says
that he knows she was not prone to either of these negative elements in
mourning practices. They are signs of the balancing act he will continue
to perform, that between the private and the public sphere.36
Plutarch goes on to offer further thoughts on how his wife might
approach her grief in a number of different ways. Plutarch evokes a
memory of the wonderful qualities of the child, reminding her that this
ought to help alleviate the pain (Consol. 608, §2 Russell), not aggravate it.
He calls the child “beloved by me above all,” an unusual comment given
the limited involvement of fathers in the raising of daughters.37 He also
highlights her age as particularly endearing, as it is one of innocence.38 He
praises his wife for her behavior which (either from the reports he appar-
ently had received or from previous occasions) expressed her measured
response, presumably in public. He attaches more general considerations
app. crit. on 65) would suggest a posthumous publication, because it signals that the title
was not his own (76; also De Lacy and Einarson 1959, 576, n. c), may support this, but of
course stylistic features (e.g., signs of haste, lack of polish) may also play a role here; see
below section 3 and n. 72.
36
This is a feature common to epistolary literature in general. Cf. Scourfield 1993,
16–17, whose compact introduction is a very useful account of the main features of ancient
consolatory literature, but in this case has not been given the attention it deserves. Cf. n.
96 below.
37
On the role of women in classical Greece as child-bearing and tied to the home, see
Pomeroy 1975, 79–84, and 1997, 6; on the importance of controlling “women’s reproductive
capacity,” see Pomeroy 1997, 10. See also Foxhall 1999, 145–47.
38
Consol. 608, §2: “there is a special savor in our affection for children of that age; it lies
in the purity of the pleasure they give, the freedom from any crossness or complaint.”
78 han baltussen
about the right female behavior, which allowed honoring the dead but
should exclude excessive lamentation (Consol. 609, §4 Russell).39 He
includes in the praise of his wife comments by philosophers who visited
them in the past, implying that she has shown exemplary demeanor.40
Moderation is an important theme here, and he makes sure that a potential
audience can become aware that the excessive behavior often occurring
at the death of a person does not take place in his household.
A further section (§6) adds more praise for his wife, but now its
focus has shifted from the wife’s responses and behavior to the relation
between the mother and child. Here, too, his wife is presented as excep-
tional, because in an earlier case of the death of a child she had been
more involved with rearing and raising the child than was common in
aristocratic circles (see below). He also scathingly refers to the lack of
sincerity of women who regard babies as dolls (paignia) and who, when
these die, are more concerned about themselves than the deceased.41 Inter-
estingly, at this point he uses the expression “ungrateful grief” (ἀχάριστον
πένθος, 609E; contrast ἀμεμφές, 610E), referring to a fable (mentioned a
few lines on) attributed to Aesop about the original link between tears
and Grief: when Zeus was handing out privileges to the gods, Grief appar-
ently came late and all that was left were the tears shed for the dead.42
Plutarch suggests that the moral of the story is not to mourn for too long,
since grief “will grow on us” (it becomes a σύντροφον and σύνοικον),43 and
he emphasizes that the traditional parts of mourning such as lamenting
and cutting hair have a bad influence on the mind (διάνοιαν, 610E). This
section includes moving comments on his wife’s loving care for the baby,
mentioning “surgery” to the breast necessitated by having breastfed her
39
On the role of women in funerary practice, see Pomeroy 1997, chap. 3, “Death
and the Family,” where she provides evidence which shows that Plutarch is not following
conventional ways exactly.
40
Hawley 1999, 125–26, suggests Plutarch is idealizing his wife and his family.
41
The paignia were mentioned earlier when he spoke of his daughter (608D, see T6
below), thereby creating a stark contrast between the proper use she made of the toys and
the improper use some mothers made by regarding their children as “playthings.”
42
As Pomeroy 1999, 80, points out, perhaps following Perry 1965, this is a story not
part of the standard set of Aesopic fables but one of many attributed to different authors;
Perry prints it in an appendix (517, no. 462). The same story occurs in ps.Plutarch Consola-
tion to Apollonius 19 = Mor. 112A (for its influence, see esp. Scourfield 1993, 21, with his n.
99). De Lacy and Einarson 1959, 591, refer to Seneca Ep. 99.4 for another version.
43
Again a contrast is suggested, this time between the right kind of company in the
house (609E–F) and the wrong kind of “bed-fellows” in this passage (overlong grieving).
son Chaeron (§5 Russell). Breastfeeding was not an obvious part of the
mother’s role in ancient Greece, at least not for aristocratic families.44
This initial and rather evocative image of the caring parents, their
hardships and sacrifices, already signals how Plutarch seeks to present
his wife and himself as special and atypical. The image Plutarch projects
is one of empathy with his wife, shored up by the collaborative strand
in their relationship, their shared care (τοσούτων μοι τέκνων ἀνατροφῆς
κοινωνήσασα . . . δι᾿ αὐτῶν ἡμῶν, 608C) and affection (φιλόστοργος, 608C,
609A) for the children. Most striking is his moment of self-evaluation
in which he expresses doubt about the assumption (he is clearly making
himself) that advice given to others in situations like these may be helpful
to oneself (608F). It shows that he is also grieving. This point is followed
by praise for her prudence in not hiring wailing women, who for Plutarch
seem to be the epitome of lack of restraint, a notion common to most
philosophical schools, but especially to the Stoics.45 In a direct address
to his wife, Plutarch now invites her to remember the time before they
had the child and, as he states, “when we had no complaints against the
future” (§8 Russell).46 This is, incidentally, a second reference to memory
and how it can play a significant role, since a fond memory is considered
an antidote to grief—a point to which I shall return.
Towards the end, Plutarch is more explicit about his philosophical
intentions (for more subtle indicators see section 3 below): he describes
happiness as depending on “right thinking, which results in a stable frame
of mind, and that the vicissitudes of fortune do not mean a great decline
or any catastrophic landslide in one’s life” (§9 Russell). This leads to a
final exhortation to consider a number of arguments, some of which
are recurrent topics (e.g., “count your blessings,” “your child’s suffering
is over”), while others are those that have been offered by schools of
44
In classical times, wet nurses were often employed by the well-to-do (for ancient
sources, see Pomeroy 1999, 79, note to Consol. §2). Concerning classical Athens, Golden
1990, 149, notes that women did often nurse children themselves. However, the evidence he
mentions in his n. 45 (225–26, Favorinus in Aulus Gellius Noctes Atticae 12.1; Plut. Moralia
3C–D) suggests that in the second century it was less common for women to nurse children,
so that a recommendation was in order. Bradley 1999, 188, notes that “the constant presence
of a nurse . . . undercuts to some degree the emphasis on direct parental involvement.”
45
Sorabji 2000, chap. 12, esp. the section “The relation of indifference to therapy”
(175–80).
46
As De Lacy and Einarson 1959, 577–78, suggest, here Plutarch adapts the trope
of the state of man as identical to the state before birth and transfers it to the mother,
“exhorting her to turn her mind back to the time before the child was born” (610D, quoted
from 578, my italics).
80 han baltussen
thought in earlier times. As a result, Plutarch also urges her to ignore

certain other advice, which makes the claim that there is no pain after
death for those who have “suffered dissolution.” His advice is to regard
the soul as immortal (the phrase is “a bird in a cage,” §10 Russell), no
doubt a reference to the Platonic idea of the soul’s captivity during its
earthly existence.
So far my interpretive paraphrase has placed particular emphasis on
the different perspectives the author adopts, uncovering the structure of
the letter. It reveals the overall rhythm of a rather well-crafted (though
not perfectly polished) document. The letter’s persuasive force depends
unmistakably on rhetorical elements: it starts with a captatio benevolentiae
(apology); moves on to the most common function of consolatory writ-
ings, exhortatio (“remain calm”), including praise and advice (memories
should not cause sadness but joy); a bridging comment, illustrating what
kind of fond memory is meant (report of the child’s behavior, below T6);
further exhortatio, but now with specific focus on relevant relationships
(relation of the wife and Plutarch, mother and child), building contrast
with inappropriate behavior (“bad women”; virtuous attitude); the final
stages illustrate further innovative reuse of conventional elements (e.g.,
memories; happiness defined as right thinking; “count your blessings”;
deprived of little things only), ending with an appeal to appropriate
customs (“traditional” laws and customs).
These different components seem to amount to a rather varied col-
lection of comments, but variety may well have been one of Plutarch’s
aims.47 A well-planned progression emerges: by moving from empathic
support to assuaging thoughts, to praise for virtue in contrast with vice,
to philosophical framing of a positive outlook the letter builds up to its
climax. The end, if not an afterthought, is perhaps an act of compromise,
a gesture towards decent traditionalism rather than an instance of the
outrageous and emotional behavior he is arguing against. But note that
the “paternal and ancient customs” are not really conventional, since
they refer to Plutarch and his wife’s shared religious initiations.48 These
Dionysiac mysteries (611D) are a natural supplement to the Platonic
vision, as found in his De Iside et Osiride where he developed a Platonic
interpretation of the Isis cult, and work well as a belief shared by his
wife and a wider circle.49
47
Suggested in Hawley 1999, 122.
48
Note also the reference to initiations of respectable nature (612A) in contrast to
the “Bacchic rites” (609A) which evoke the licentious behavior of the lamenting women.
49
A point made by one of AJP’s anonymous referees. On De Iside, see esp. Griffiths
1970; Russell 1973, 75–76; Heyob 1975, 40–52 (48 on the importance of Isis for women).
A few additional rhetorical elements in the letter deserve our

attention. Some can be considered conventional parts of a consolation:
the exhortations, the praise of the deceased,50 and the good memories
are all elements found in earlier examples of consolation, whether public
funerary speeches or more private expressions of empathy.51 We should
compare, for instance, the conventional themes from rhetorical manuals
which Plutarch seems to give a “rhetorical arrangement much like that
recommended for private funeral speeches by Dionysius of Halicarnas-
sus.”52 Rhetorical manuals do in fact recommend encomium or praise
which is shown in lists specifying the components of such a eulogy, as
paraphrased here:
T3: a. Dead person is spared present or future suffering
b. Died a noble death
c. Enjoyed blessings of a long life
d. Individual characteristics highlighted
e. End with remarks on the blessed state of the soul (as in
Plato)53
A standard pattern that we find in other letters of consolation comes
close,54 yet there are elements not used here. Funerary orations basically
share “praise for the ancestors and the fallen, exhortation to the citizens,
and consolation of the relatives.”55 These aspects contribute to its main
function: to deliver a public speech in commemoration of the war victims
and to console the citizens by providing a rationale for their deaths.
Philosophers’ consolations also provide insight into rhetorical strate-
gies. The little we know about Crantor’s work suggests that it allowed for
emotions as natural phenomena but that they also need to remain within
Richter 2001, 204–5, emphasises the allegorical process Plutarch uses to guide his reader
and by which he aims to appropriate the myth for his exegesis of the Timaeus, ending up
with a philosophical discourse (the preferred approach to religion, 207).
50
In this case it is fairly limited because it concerns such a young person, but note
especially the mention of φιλανθρωπία (608D twice), φιλοστοργία/-ος (608C, 609E), εὐκολία,
πραότης (608D).
51
On the importance of funerary orations in fifth-century Athens, see Derderian
2001, Loraux 2006. In Plato, Menexenus 236e we find a first appreciation of the elements
required for a funerary oration (Derderian 2001, 162–63, 172).
52
Martin and Phillips 1978, 409–11. The work is no longer considered to be by Dio-
nysius of Halicarnassus (Sassini in DNP 3, 636).
53
Martin and Phillips 1978, 411–12.
54
See Scourfield 1993, 15–23, for a compact overview.
55
See Derderian 2001, 162, with n. 7.
82 han baltussen
certain limits.56 Shared themes between Cicero and the ps. Plutarchean
Consolation to Apollonius include the following:57 (1) the advice not to
attempt a cure “while the wound or illness is still inflamed” (analogy with
medicine); (2) moderation of emotion and the suggestion that some form
of preparation will help deal with it; (3) grief as a common experience;
(4) grieving does not help (e.g., does not bring the dead person back).
While Plutarch also uses themes 1 and 3, he is sparing with the use of
exempla or exemplary cases from the past. These are usually meant to
inspire the addressee to feel comfort in a shared experience.58 What is
unusual and innovative in Plutarch’s approach is that he holds up events
to his wife (and possibly others) from her own life as exempla (Consol.
§5), perhaps suggesting that she can take heart from her better (former?)
self. And what is more, Plutarch’s sensitivity and quite personal details,
the elaborate praise of the addressee, his preference for the moderate
reactions and emotions, and, the philosophical stances he alludes to, are
indications he does not follow the tradition slavishly.59 Plutarch’s strategy
is clearly his own.
Plutarch’s originality can be illustrated in more detail by selecting
a few additional short passages (T4–6). Strong indications that Plutarch’s
prime objective is to practice a form of psychagogia, occur at important
moments in his advisory exhortations and betray a preference for rational
argument intended to control emotions.60 Leading up to the climax of
the letter, the philosophical point of the importance of “right thinking”
(ἐξ ὀρθῶν ἐπιλογισμῶν, 611A), Plutarch emphasizes the crucial role of his
wife’s mental attitude, using what looks like a technique referred to among
modern psychologists as “priming” of the mind: a subtle use of particular
words which set us up for a specific attitude.61 It is most clearly found
in his comments on fending off the wrong kind of mourning (emphasis
on thought and rationality, e.g., εὔνοια, 609E; διάνοια, ψυχή, 610A) and
on choosing the better approach in dealing with loss, sorrow, and grief,
as for instance in 610F:
56
Graver 2002, 188.
57
Graver 2002, 189–91.
58
But see Hawley 1999 for some good examples of conventional motifs.
59
Already noted in De Lacy and Einarson 1959, 577; Martin and Phillips 1978, 412.
Graver 2002a, 187, points out that the evidence does not suffice to assess whether Crantor’s
treatise “pursued a clear philosophical agenda.”
60
It is this aspect that resembles Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) most clearly,
as psychiatrists themselves have pointed out (Wright et al. 2006, 1). Of course letters lack
the “Socratic Questioning” approach that is also a main component in CBT (19–20).
61
See Bargh et al. 1996; cf. Gladwell 2005, 53–59.
T4: Just as perfume while always a delight to the smell, serves on occasion
to dispel foul odours so the thought of our blessings (ἐπίνοια τῶν ἀγαθῶν)
has a further necessary use . . .
A very similar sentiment is found in 611B:
T5: You must not dwell upon the present tears and lamentations of your
visitors, but rather bear in mind (ἐννόει μᾶλλον) how enviable you still
appear (ὡς ζηλουμένη) in their eyes for your children, your home and way
of life. (trans. Russell)
These and similar comments also bring out certain broader contrasts
present in the whole letter, between outsiders and the family (e.g., the
bad women come from outside, ἔξωθεν, 610C; us versus the multitude,
ἡμᾶς . . . οἱ πολλοί, 611A), and the mental/thinking versus the bodily/
feelings (e.g., 610B on bad women, their excessive behavior is “feeding”
the pain, described as “adding fire to fire”). The final words are in fact
a remarkable statement of contrast between “personhood” and outside
world (612B) when Plutarch makes a distinction between the personal
and the wider social sphere (τὰ μὲν ἐκτὸς . . . τὰ δὲ ἐντός).
One short, but very powerful passage can easily demonstrate how
he projects an image of his daughter which betrays his deep affection
for her (Consol. 608C):
T6: She was the daughter you wanted after four sons and she gave me the
opportunity to give her your name. There is special savor in our affection
for children at that age; it lies in the purity of the pleasure they give, the
freedom from any crossness or complaint. She herself too had great natural
goodness and gentleness of temper: her response to affection and her gen-
erosity both gave pleasure and enabled us to perceive the human kindness
in her nature. She would ask her nurse to feed not only other babies but the
objects and toys that she liked playing with, and would generously invite
them, as it were, to her table, offering the good things she had and sharing
her greatest pleasures with those who delighted her. (trans. Russell)
Despite his use of some standard elements, Plutarch clearly succeeds in

adding a personal touch to the response, appealing to a shared experi-
ence of special significance for both parents as well as shared grief. The
lively portrayal of the child is both moving and generous as a tribute to
the child and the mother. Rather than assume that this shared experience
would be readily available for recall, he gives a striking characterisation
of the child, “picturing” her with words as a last tribute and as a lasting
image for the mother to treasure. In other words, this striking passage
84 han baltussen
contributes to the value of the letter as a memento of the child, to be read

and reread long after her demise. Such a vivid evocation with (potential)
emotional impact is typical of a literary technique called ekphrasis.62
Would such an interpretation be overstating the emotional ties of
parents and children in antiquity, as is often surmised? It is sometimes
held that the Greeks and Romans were lacking in feeling when it con-
cerned the death of small children. Yet if we realize that childhood in
antiquity was very harsh, and that parents would be used to losing sev-
eral children during their lifetime (as did Plutarch), this may help us to
understand better their attitudes. Our use of labels such as “infanticide”
and “the exposure of children” is often too judgmental and does not take
into account that calculated emotional investment in their offspring was
often the wisest choice for parents.63 Although it is difficult to gauge the
level and sincerity of such emotional investment, it would be rather harsh
to deny the parents of classical antiquity any feelings for their young
children, given their capacity for such vivid vignettes like the one we
find in Plutarch. Bradley (1999, 192) aptly sums up the predicament for
modern scholars: “This is not to say, however, that the degree of social
differentiation of childhood or of the concern for children in antiquity
was identical to that found in modern western societies, and what remains
important, even vital, is to establish exactly where the boundaries lay in
a society permeated by heavy child mortality.”
Thus in its argumentative progression the letter oscillates between
the personal and the public domain, between the corporeal and the mental,
and between conventional customs and philosophical ideas.64 There can
be little doubt about the fact that Plutarch devotes considerable space to
personal elements in the relationship with his wife: the fond memories
of early days of marriage (cf. Martin and Phillips 1978, 406–7), of the
child’s behavior as well as the praise for her special relation with the child
which included atypical behavior compared to that of most mothers in
her day, illustrate this in detail. Plutarch clearly makes an effort to honor
his different roles as husband, father, and public figure—a difficult task,
but one which he seems to manage rather well.
62
See, e.g., James 1991, 4, for the definition used in the Byzantine period going back to
the rhetorical exercises from the second to fourth century c.e. (progymnasmata); cf. Miller
2001, 2–3, with reference to Zeitlin 1994, 138–96, and Goldhill 1994, 197–223.
63
On attitudes to children, see esp. Golden 1988, Eyben 1996, and Bradley 1999.
64
De Lacy and Einarson 1959, 576–77, emphasize that time pressure is a reason for
using conventional topics: “[a consolation] . . . must be produced within a limited time if
they are to have their fullest effect. Consequently the writer has all the more reason to avail
himself of traditional arguments, modifying them to suit the particular circumstances.”
3. PERSONAL GRIEF AND ITS AUDIENCES
The analysis of the letter so far has revealed how structure and various
rhetorical elements play a significant role in Plutarch’s attempt to make
his consolation persuasive. I now turn to the more complex question of
how Plutarch positions himself in relation to his intended audience(s):
is he only addressing his wife or are there any other potential address-
ees? The domains of the private and the public are not easy to define
in antiquity. What is especially striking is that the two spheres were not
separated as strictly as is often the case today.65 We have already been
made aware that this is not a document sent off in great haste but rather
one which was given some thought, most likely after a revision. A closer
reading of the letter will show that Plutarch may be exploiting this lack
of a sharp dividing line between the two domains for his own purposes,
which makes this letter (whether intended or not) a public statement of
a philosophical position.
We can approach this issue by broaching a related problem raised
in the literature regarding the sincerity of this document, insofar as it
presents private information to the public eye. The personal tone in this
letter, although acknowledged as remarkable, has also raised eyebrows
among critics. They have asked for instance, how much genuine private
emotion is disclosed? How soon after receiving the news did he write
this? Can we at all imagine that he wrote this rather well crafted and
well-balanced document so soon after the event? Russell (1999) is espe-
cially suspicious on the last point, arguing that most of the revelations
strike him as literary, because Plutarch is trying to advertise himself and
his household as exemplary. One cannot deny that such a motive seems
also present in the many comments on his wife’s behavior. But to narrow
the letter’s purpose down to such a singular aim would be to ignore the
evidence for other motives; furthermore, Plutarch’s concern with their
exemplary role seems a shrewd move, exhibiting psychological insight:
to do this by way of elaborate praise allows the message to “cut both
ways” and be doubly effective.
On other points, it seems to me, Russell’s line of interpretation works
less well. Can we really maintain that the kinds of disclosures we find
are literary devices, when Plutarch does in fact talk about certain very
private details (e.g., the medical treatment for a sore nipple)? I find it hard
to believe that aggrandizement of himself and his family was Plutarch’s
65
On the public and private with regard to the family in antiquity, see Pomeroy
1997, 17–19, 22–23, 135–40.
86 han baltussen
sole motive. First, it is important to acknowledge that Plutarch’s multiple

perspective, taking his three roles (father, husband, priest) into account,
presents a considerable challenge here. Second, the “public intimacy” of
ancient epistolary documents should also not be underestimated.66 The
private sphere is never as fully private in antiquity as we moderns see it.
Despite the increased interest in psychological aspects of human nature
by some individuals, we should never forget the importance of actions:
as Tim Duff has made clear in his penetrating study of Plutarch’s Lives,
the focus was very much on the external and a person’s deeds: “Ancient
conceptions of character were therefore less centered on the private,
inner world of the individual, more with actions and their evaluation.”67
Plutarch’s personal revelations, I suggest, are meant to be shared and
to educate his fellow humans. They cannot be considered as completely
private but seem located on a sliding scale between the most intimate and
the most public. It is, however, very difficult to be more accurate about
the intended audience: does it merely concern his household (slaves might
not understand his wife’s self-control), or does it concern his wider circle
of friends, or even the local community?
It is possible that modern suspicion about sincerity, once such a
sad experience is expressed in literary form, is caused by our misguided
views on how an aristocrat and intellectual in early imperial Rome gave
proper expression to emotions. But does grief about a child require
the expression of raw emotion? Does public responsibility override
the personal? Plutarch seems better than that in two ways: he has the
ability to write well even when shaken emotionally (§1); in addition, he
has a point when it comes to the excessive display of emotions (bad for
the mourner), which would tie in with the broader point of considering
public opinion. A further revision of the letter with a view to publication
(whether it was in fact published or not) does not change that.68 For all
66
I borrow the expression from Prof. Pauline Allen (Australian Catholic University) in
her 2005 annual A. D. Trendall Memorial Lecture of the Australian Academy of the Humani-
ties (text accessed online at http://www.abc.net.au/rn/arts/linguafranca/stories/2006/1597032
.htm, April 7, 2006).
67
Duff 2002, 13, with reference to Christopher Gill’s work on personality (Gill 1983,
1990, 1996). This is not to say, as I have indicated above, that they could not have a sense
of personality. Plutarch is after all not an average author.
68
Pomeroy 1999, 76, has suggested that the occurrence of several titles for the letter
is a good indication that it was published posthumously. This would support my interpreta-
tion, since the complicated question whether this was intended for publication is thereby
thrown back to the position that Plutarch may have contemplated publishing it but had
not yet finalized it for that purpose. See also text to my n. 70.
these reasons I will continue to maintain that Plutarch’s strategy was

not just intended to advertise his family’s virtuous qualities but rather
a considered response in which his psychagogic effort aimed at his wife
(private) is carefully combined with the moral responsibility he feels for
his community (public).
A further argument for the author’s personal engagement is the
original touch visible in a number of interesting innovations. Plutarch
uses so-called commonplaces in a variety of ways: as part of a new argu-
ment, as part of a new arrangement of arguments, or as an adaptation of
an existing argument. A few examples may illustrate this.69 His praise of
the addressee highlights current and past behavior, extends the empathy
of his opening statement, and adds further reassurance from the pater
familias (608C–D). His “eulogy” of the deceased allows the sharing
and preserving of memories and the commendation of character of the
addressee (a parent’s urge to commemorate is natural). The Epicurean
“symmetry argument” comparing the time before birth with that after
death, which normally applies to the deceased, is now used with refer-
ence to the addressee. Finally, there is an awareness of the physical side
effects of grief, which emphasizes the body-soul link, the need for proper
care, and reference to philosophical ideas of eternal soul and reincarna-
tion. His awareness of the pathology of grief, which is not totally new in
itself,70 is put to good use, when he describes the detrimental effects of
grief on the body (e.g., “distress and emotional disturbance of mourning,”
609A–B). This is clearly in line with the Platonic idea of the intricate
connection between body and soul (610A–B). In other words, the “diag-
nostic” approach is trying to heal the whole patient; establishing a proper
diagnosis is the first step to prognosis and the best way to proposing a
solution.71 The eulogy of a child is also unusual insofar as it differs from
the traditional position toward young children found near the end of
69
In their footnotes, De Lacy and Einarson 1959, 577–78, have done important
groundwork for the comparison with the existing tradition, but there is no broader ex-
planatory narrative beyond a few brief comments in their introduction. Phrases in italics
indicate innovations.
70
Cf. Martin and Phillips 1978, 428–29.
71
There are at least two explicit references to the link between mental and physical
healing (either by way of contrast or parallelism); at 610D he uses the example of a sufferer
from ophthalmia to argue that the “inflammation” should not be touched (“scratching makes
it break out into a far-reaching and troublesome affliction”); at 611F the influence of the
body on the soul speaks of the soul as “weakened and fused to the body as if by drugs”
(καθάπερ ὑπὸ φαρμάκων). Plutarch seems to continue the traditional view of the analogical
nature of healing body and soul, which can be traced back to Gorgias, as we saw above.
88 han baltussen
the letter (612A) where the notion of “person” seems restricted to those
aged seven and above. Some distinguishing aspects relate to Plutarch’s
Platonism, but there is clear preference for lavish praise over lament (cf.
Plato Menexenus 247c–d).72 These selected points constitute departures
from conventional topoi and reveal Plutarch’s originality.73 Plutarch
assimilates and reuses arguments in subtle ways and thus may have dif-
ferent readerships in mind. It would be invidious to reproach Plutarch
for showing awareness of his public role in society. To the modern eye,
the “double-barrelled” approach may seem inappropriate, but modern
values of the priority of the private do not apply here. It is the remark-
able mix of all the important factors involved—the personal, the private
and the public—arranged in a well-considered format of conventional
and original moves, which make this document so special. In summing
up the letter’s nature, the scholars Martin and Phillips have expressed
it quite well: “The consolation as a whole is a successful combination of
learning and humanity.”74
4. PHILOSOPHICAL BORROWINGS
The particular philosophical views alluded to in the letter raise an impor-

tant question that I have not seen raised before. In his Advice to the Bride
and Groom 145, Plutarch insists that the bride study philosophy on the
grounds that she is old enough: in Plutarch’s eyes women, as Pomeroy
insists, were teachable.75 So offering his wife advice of a philosophical
nature is hardly surprising. Several remarks in the letter show his overall
allegiance to Plato. A particularly striking reference was that to the soul
as a “bird in a cage” (611E). This could be an allusion to the Orphic
view that the soul is trapped in the body, hampered by it, and therefore
longing to get out.76 The image of the bird in a cage might be taken as
suggesting that the soul will escape at some point and return to the better
world of the Platonic Forms, a movement up to heavenly spheres which
promises both closeness to God and a superb understanding of reality.77
72
A point already made by Derderian 2001, 172.
73
The reminder of her “earlier bereavement” already in De Lacy and Einarson 1959,
578. The point about transferal is already made at 577–78.
74
Martin and Phillips 1978, 412. Cf. Pomeroy’s considerations in her introduction.
75
See also Stadter 1999 on what level of education Plutarch expected in women.
76
The famous σῶμα σῆμα thesis, mentioned, e.g., in Plato Gorgias 493a and Cratylus
400c, though not clearly endorsed.
77
Phdr. 247b–48a. The association of souls and birds (or winged entities) is of course
as old as Homer (soul is the life force of a human being, which upon death “flies off”) in
Greek literature and appears even earlier in eastern religions.
The second comment claims that “happiness depends on the right think-
ing, which results in a stable frame of mind” (§9 Russell). Most Greek
philosophers would have this kind of rationalistic approach, but given
Plutarch’s allegiance to Plato, we may safely assume that the origin of
this line of thinking lies in his Platonism.78 However, the philosophical
views he alludes to are not, as one might expect, exclusively Platonic but
originate in two very different philosophical camps—at least that is what
a modern reader will conclude in hindsight. The question then is how we
can explain this confluence of seemingly opposed doctrines in this letter.
Do they need reconciling or is the tension not an issue?
Plutarch also brings in positions about the afterlife, which we would
associate with Epicurean thought. At 611D he alludes to the Democritean/
Epicurean view of the dissolution of the body, which apparently was not
new to his wife. But Plutarch is confident she will not be taken in by this
view (οἶδ᾿ ὅτι κωλύει σε πιστεύειν), and he seems aware of the fact that it is
Epicurean.79 The Platonic and Epicurean positions on the afterlife are of
course diametrically opposed. Was Plutarch not aware of this potentially
contradictory combination of views, or is there another reason for this
“eclectic” use of philosophical stances? I suggest to ask for consistency
may be the wrong question to put to this material. Another important
aspect can make this clear.
Plutarch’s use of memory as an important component of his consola-
tory strategy is of great interest, but it has elicited very little comment in
existing scholarship.80 Epicurus argued that fond memories can function
as the antidote to misery and bad circumstances, something he illustrated
himself, since it is reported that on his deathbed he reminded himself of
the good times he had had with his friends: a past conversation and its
memory is sufficiently pleasant to outweigh the pain of his final sufferings
(Letter to Idomeneus, quoted in D.L. 10.22). Plutarch twice81 refers to the
78
Once again similarity with modern cognitive behavior therapy comes to the fore,
working on the assumption that cognitions have control over emotions; retelling and
analysing one’s actions is the first step to thinking differently about an event (Wright et al.
2006, 1–4).
79
De Lacy and Einarson 1959, 601, n. e, refer to Epic. Ad Menoec. 124 and Kuriai
Doxai ii.
80
One brief comment in Martin and Phillips 1978, 406.
81
A few other references to memory are of a different nature; at 609A he assures
his wife that a parent’s urge to commemorate (μεμνῆσθαι) is natural; at 609D Plutarch
reminisces about his wife’s exemplary behavior on a previous occasion; at 611F it belongs
to the Platonic theory of recollection. It also helps to underline the importance of the care
for the soul, “its [= old age] most grievous fault is to render the soul stale in its memories
of the other world and make it cling tenaciously to this one.”
90 han baltussen
importance of memories in mourning in an attempt to persuade his wife

that these can lead to “delight and enjoyment” (χάριν καὶ ἀπόλαυσιν, 610E)
and relief (χρεία, 610F). In the first case he shows by example that want-
ing to ban bad memories (δέδια, 608D) will also banish useful memories
(μνήμη). The same line of thought is resumed at 610E–F with increased
use of crucial terms (twice, μνήμη; once, μεμνῆσθαι) to argue that memories
of the child should be used to rejoice in what she meant to them, and in
the second case (§8 Russell = 610D), he tries to make his wife see that
from a certain vantage point (the time before they had children), the loss
is relatively small. The appeal to one Epicurean argument here does not
prevent him from rejecting another. In 611D he invites his wife to reject
the view that death means mere dissolution of the body, an anonymous
but unmistakable reference to the atomistic views of Epicurus, who
denied that there was an afterlife, merely nothingness and oblivion, and
dissolution of the physical part of our existence, the atoms (cf. Lucretius
DRN 2.1105–74, world as a whole; 3.94–829, mind and soul). This line
of argument was meant to show that death is nothing to us (nil igitur
mors est ad nos neque pertinet hilum, 3.830; see n. 83 below), an insight
which, once we realize and understand it, is meant to bring tranquility.
There is no hint in our document that Plutarch sees a problem in using
all these points within one argument geared to offer consolation.82 We
can conclude that a demand for consistency is inappropriate; it was not a
primary concern in the broader consolatory tradition.83 Indeed, it would
seem that in consolation, the end justifies the means.
Thus Plutarch provides an intriguing insight into the reception and
development of consolatory topoi. Himself a Platonist, he also offers
several points of advice which we may recognize as being of different
philosophical stock, taking his overall approach to be a combination of
Platonist, Epicurean, as well as Stoic origin. His call for moderation in
grief (§4, 6) could be a Stoic or Aristotelian notion (though no doubt
also a shared view among other schools), while the references to the
therapeutic value of memories of their child’s character are originally
Epicurean (§8), as may be the suggestion that the girl now has come to
82
Similar eclectic approach in ps.Plato, Axiochus (see above n. 34). Yet, Plutarch’s
position on calmness and restraint is, as Pomeroy 1999, 76, rightly points out, “against
social convention.” It is perhaps curious that Plutarch wrote a whole treatise against the
Epicurean philosophical stance (On the impossibility of living the life according to Epicurean
philosophy) and would not be aware of the origin of this particular stance.
83
See esp. O’Keefe 2006 on the inconsistent “collage” of philosophical views in the
ps.Platonic Axiochus; see above n. 34.
painlessness (§9).84 Finally, against the idea of the dissolution of body and
soul, he offers the firm Platonist belief that the soul is immortal (§10),
adding that “a soul which does not stay here long in captivity leaps up
towards its natural home.”
In this remarkable example, then, we see that the author succeeds
in producing a consolation that is both conventional and new. The
philosophical background is mixed to the extent that the author would
seem to ignore the potential conflicts we can identify from hindsight.
The Platonic belief in immortality of the soul goes hand in hand with
the Epicurean idea that the memory of things in this life offers pleasure
and consolation. It would certainly go too far to ask whether Plutarch’s
philosophical allegiance is at stake. This kind of syncretistic approach
to collecting useful consolatory arguments is not uncommon. It is an
indication of the necessarily flexible nature required for the act of con-
solation and suggests that these stock examples, far from being anemic,
standardized commonplaces, served the user well in providing words at
a time when many are at a loss for words.85 Rather than trivialize these
commonplaces as “mere platitudes,” we should acknowledge their power
to express an individual’s response to grief in a verbal form sanctioned
by experience.
5. CONCLUSIONS
The analysis of this letter has revealed a number of insights not found
elsewhere in the scholarly literature. I have tried to demonstrate, first,
how Plutarch’s letter succeeds in providing sensitive advice and subtle
guidance to his wife for this time of sorrow and grief, and second, how
he is capable of making selective use of conventional consolatory mate-
rials and making them his own, tailored to the present situation and
requirements. Plutarch’s strategy is situated within a matrix of several
oppositions (life-death, mind-body, tradition-philosophy, private-public),
which serve different purposes and cater to different audiences. What has
clearly emerged is his emphasis on an approach which appeals primarily
84
I am grateful to George Boys-Stones for assistance in clarifying the argument in
this section.
85
The commonplace of being speechless, prominent for instance in Jerome’s Ep. 60,
I.2: stupet animus, manus tremit, caligant oculi, lingua balbutit (see Scourfield’s commentary,
1993, 82–83), does not occur here. At first sight, then, Plutarch does not seem at a loss for
words. But it is also possible to read this as an illustration of his self-moderation and of
his ability to live up to his responsibility as pater familias.
92 han baltussen
to rational considerations, “priming” the addressee for the philosophi-

cal “punch line” which defines happiness as “right thinking” (ἐξ ὀρθῶν
ἐπιλογισμῶν, 611A).86 Yet at the same time, Plutarch is not neglecting the
emotional dimensions of the situation; by embedding his psychological
guidance within a rhetorical framework of empathy and compassionate
admonition, he remains very much aware of his grief and his responsibili-
ties. How much of his strategy is calculated rhetoric or honest compassion
is probably impossible to determine with absolute certainty.
Moreover, by regarding the letter as a case study for different forms
of social interaction (sections 2 and 3), I have put greater emphasis on
how it could have a function beyond the closed circle of this aristocratic
family in the late first century c.e. Plutarch the moralist is unable to avoid
speaking as both father and husband, showing that his personal involve-
ment is quite strong, maybe as strong as his sense of responsibility; he
combines personal detail with considerations which concern his family’s
public role.87 Some may find the publicizing of grief an unacceptable
exploitation of one’s personal life.88 Others will accept it as a testimony
to Plutarch’s sense of humanity, sharing insights from experience so
that others may benefit from them.89 This reading of the letter has the
advantage of explaining a great number of details in the description of
the child’s character, behavior, and the reactions evoked in her parents
which might otherwise remain rather puzzling or sentimental.90 After
86
The terminology seems to bear this out; the consolation aims to show that belief/
opinion (e.g., δόξα, 609F) determines one’s perspective on this; what is more, he exhorts his
wife consistently to apply her reasoning faculty in trying to overcome grief (608D, 608E,
ἐπίνοιαν; 609E εὔνοια; 610A, διάνοια; 610D, 610F, ἐπίνοια; 611E, διανοοῦ).
87
Cf. n. 62 above.
88
I wonder whether this cynical viewpoint on publicizing one’s grief is characteristic
of the modern perspective (embarrassment?) regarding death, as the recent comments on a
theatre production may indicate. In his review of the stage version of Joan Didion’s account
of her grief, John Lahr (The New Yorker [online] April 9, 2007) writes, “In the translation
from the page to the stage, however, there is an essential change of chemistry, as well as
a new vulgarity. The reading experience which is private is about reflection; the theatrical
experience, which is public, is about capitulation.” Opinion remains divided; in another
review McNulty writes (LA Times [online] March 30, 2007), “she has done something noble,
not exploitative, as has sometimes been whispered—she has set her tough mind against the
crushing intractability of existence and, knowing that she hasn’t a chance, still manages to
hold her intellectual ground.” See also my n. 89, below.
89
Cf. Russell 1973, 75. Accounts of grief and mourning continue to be published to
this day: e.g., C. S. Lewis, A Grief Observed (1961); Joan Didion, The Year of Miraculous
Thinking (2005).
90
We must not forget that we only have “half” of the correspondence, so that we are
not informed about whether this consolation was in fact successful. Nor do we hear of the
the internal analysis, I placed the letter in the context of philosophical

psychotherapy (section 4) in antiquity, showing how Plutarch’s awareness
and use of established arguments is distinct and innovative.
The result is a fascinating glimpse of one ancient philosophical
consolation which points the way for a broader analysis and interpreta-
tion of this tradition.91 It is a type of writing which forms a distinct class
by its objective of offering therapy for the troubled soul. Such works
lend themselves eminently to be explored for the experience and wis-
dom accumulated over time in relation to this most universal of human
experiences: grief and mourning.92 The letter thus allows for a closer
comparison to the modern perspective in its psychagogic aspect, that is,
the attempt to change the mental state of the addressee and suggest a
way forward.93 The sequence of steps may be compared to the trajectory
of modern therapy when it moves from empathy (apology), to uplifting
exhortation and praise,94 to more exhortation (but now philosophically
inspired). In more modern terms, one could say that Plutarch moves
from non-judgmental compassion to supportive advice, in which giving
meaning to the event from different angles results in ways to incorporate
this saddening moment into a framework of one’s future. His respect
for his wife goes beyond the average approach of expressing regret and
commiserations in “mere platitudes.” This extra effort serves to reach a
wider audience outside his immediate family circle. Although it could be
argued that Plutarch does not need to distinguish sharply between the
domain of private and public, because these tended to allow for overlaps,
reason why Plutarch would not have returned home or what the cause of death was. But I
would disagree with those who have remarked (in discussion) that this is a callous attempt
to present the male perspective only and in line with Plutarch’s moralizing activities in his
Lives or essays. See also my n. 71 above and Duff 2002.
91
Further work is forthcoming (n. 1 above). There is a need for studies that connect
the literary, medical, and philosophical interpretations, as, e.g., in Nussbaum 1986.
92
A similar argument is presented for Cicero in Treggiari 1998, whose paper was
very helpful in assessing the social aspects of this topic.
93
Again, cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) comes to mind as a modern equiva-
lent: it encourages the patient to gain control of imagined and real emotions by cognitive
appraisal and to envisage solutions by anticipating responses (Wright et al. 2006, 4–10).
Methods include Socratic questioning, individualized conceptualization, and developing
behavioral methods (17). On the ancient idea of “pre-rehearsal of future ills,” see Graver
2002b. Cf. nn. 64, 82, 92, above.
94
Hawley 1999, 122, speaks of “didactic flattery.” His comment, “The technique recalls
that of the Lives . . . ,” is potentially misleading, because these were most likely written quite
a bit later than the Consolation (Duff 2002, 1: “early decades of the second century”), so it
can only be as a general comment on Plutarch’s strategies from hindsight.
94 han baltussen
one can see how the aim of presenting exemplary behavior to the com-
munity is most persuasive if one can show this to be the case in one’s
own household. To achieve this, he recasts existing arguments to fit his
personal circumstances.
It is a peculiarly human characteristic that we have the ability to
generate empathy and communicate compassion in language and thus
to share grief, even across geographical distances. Plutarch’s consolation
to his wife is just one example in which the gap between the theoretical
and practical and between the private and the public is bridged with
considerable skill. If only we knew his wife’s response.95
University of Adelaide, Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton

e-mail: han.baltussen@adelaide.edu.au
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American Journal of Philology, Volume 130, Number 1 (Whole Number 517),

Published by Johns Hopkins University Press

For additional information about this article

Access provided at 20 Apr 2019 08:10 GMT from University of Groningen

Around 90 c.e., Plutarch of Chaeronea, a Platonic philosopher

With these words Plutarch begins his consolation (παραμυθητικὸς [sc.

how philosophical views could be brought in for therapeutic purposes.

See Holst-Warhaft 1996 and below, 70–71.

Many Greek and Roman authors before Plutarch attempted to help

and rhetorical teachers (Sophists), who were no longer satisfied with

Plato’s analysis was a major step forward in the understanding of human

to view certain modes of giving advice in ancient Greece as “counseling”

Antiphon is said to have composed tragedies both by himself and with

lectures (νηπενθεῖς ἀκροάσεις), asserting that no one could tell him of a

T2: If there is anything you wish to do . . . pray do it, without extravagance

thought in earlier times. As a result, Plutarch also urges her to ignore

A few additional rhetorical elements in the letter deserve our

A very similar sentiment is found in 611B:

Despite his use of some standard elements, Plutarch clearly succeeds in

contributes to the value of the letter as a memento of the child, to be read

3. PERSONAL GRIEF AND ITS AUDIENCES

sole motive. First, it is important to acknowledge that Plutarch’s multiple

these reasons I will continue to maintain that Plutarch’s strategy was

The particular philosophical views alluded to in the letter raise an impor-

importance of memories in mourning in an attempt to persuade his wife

to rational considerations, “priming” the addressee for the philosophi-

the internal analysis, I placed the letter in the context of philosophical

University of Adelaide, Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton

Van Wageningen, Jacob. 1916. De Ciceronis libro Consolationis. Groningen:

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