The period after Plato’s death is marked by a proliferation of texts with increasing focus on the divinity of astral entities. Traditional gods appear in a handful of surviving philosophical fragments and testimonies, but usually they are placed in curious mythical stories or in a proximity to the cosmic gods. It is safe to say that they sparked little philosophical interest on their own. What stands in the transition from the traditional gods of Plato, who is still committed to their distinctive identities and areas of activity, to the full cosmologisation of these gods in Stoicism, which used the names of traditional gods to indicate various items in the universe, is Plato’s school, the Academy. Xenocrates and Aristotle, its highly influential students, played the key role in setting the parameters for the theological discourse in the early Hellenistic period. Their intense polemics as well as their own particular philosophical interests concerning the organisation, divinity and temporal status of the universe and its beings undeniably form the epicentre of truly fascinating post-Platonic texts. Although traditional gods are not a major topic in their work, their approach to these and other gods had a lasting effect on the later schools. However, much of what they sought to establish can be reconstructed only tentatively and even then, it requires more contextual evidence coming from the other figures of the Academy. Perhaps the most important among them for our topic is Philip of Opus, whose dialogue the Epinomis is the most complete surviving religious-philosophical text of this period. I believe that its theological thought is paradigmatic of the trajectory assumed by Academic theology, though there are important differences in details among these thinkers. In support of this thesis, this chapter examines the Epinomis and its conception of the traditional gods, whilst occasionally comparing the author of the dialogue with the other Academics. It shall revisit some of the key themes of this book – the theological significance of Ouranos, the distinction between the traditional and cosmic gods and the philosophical tension between cosmology and religion – with the aim of determining the degree of continuity between Plato’s later dialogues and the Academic material. It is my hope to show that religious speculation continued to resurface over the period of the Early Academy by returning to the questions posed by Plato.

4.1 The Epinomis on Religion

The Epinomis survived in Plato’s large corpus as an odd attachment to the Laws. Set as a sequel to it, the Epinomis was intended to prolong the leisurely walk of the Athenian Stranger and his companions Cleinias and Megillus by fulfilling their agreement to set the programme of studies for the highest Magnesian office, the Nocturnal Council. Strangely enough, such an agreement is missing in the Laws. The three legislators, moreover, are not found on their way to the shrine of Zeus, the final destination of the Laws, but taking notes in an academic environment.Footnote ¹ Topics for the class are Platonic and yet they seem to be set by a stranger. Contrary to the theory of four simple bodies in the Timaeus (31d–32b), there are five material elements in the Epinomis (981b–c). The new element is aether, which constitutes the bodies of daemons, intermediary creatures responsible for communication between human beings and gods (984e–985c). These higher gods are the cosmic gods, the only divinities whose existence can be confirmed with cosmological arguments (981d–e, 983a–c). In contrast to the Laws, some of the traditional gods are fused with the cosmic gods by ascribing the conventional religious names to the planetary bodies (987b–c). In this way, astronomy as means to observe the divine cosmos acquires a religious dimension: it becomes the most genuine mark of reverence towards the gods (990a). This shift demands some alterations in ethics too: piety (εὐσέβεια, 989b2) returns to the pantheon of virtues and astronomy replaces dialectics as the highest science for education of the ruling class (992c–e), contrary to the agenda of the Republic (6.511c–d, 7.534e–535a).

Perhaps the central innovation is the proposal to establish the framework for cosmic religion. The dialogue reproaches the contemporary religious situation in Greece, where the cosmic gods are pushed to the margins of cult practice (986e–988a). The solution is to institutionalise the worship of the cosmic gods on a parallel footing to the ritual honouring of the traditional gods. In particular, the cosmic gods are to receive sacrifices, festivals, sacred calendars and praises in hymns (983e–984a, 985a).Footnote ² Cosmic religiosity, however, does not require all the resources of the polis. In fact, some of them might even be redundant. The cosmic gods do not need such visible representations as statues, because they are directly accessible to everyone by means of astronomical observation (986a–d). Neither do the cosmic gods need temples, because the whole sky serves as their sacred space (984a). One can conjecture that the latter aspect affects the relationship between the cosmic gods and political communities: the cosmic gods are common to all human beings, so no planet or star should be considered as an exclusive patron god of the city. Moreover, the cosmic gods do not have individual areas of activity, since they all carry out the same cosmological function, namely to partake in the orderly psychic motions of the universe. As a result, they are collectively responsible for the good outcomes of these motions. We can see that an attempt to accommodate cosmology within the civic framework creates a new tension between the personal and the political, philosophy and religion. Leonardo Tarán aptly concludes that ‘though this cult of the cosmos is still proposed as a public cult of the city … [it] opens the way for the purely individualistic conception of the cosmic religion which comes to the fore with the Stoa and which becomes the common factor of the syncretistic thought of the Hellenistic and later ages’.Footnote ³

For these reasons, the Epinomis is no longer considered to be Plato’s work. It is a reception text, which engages with a number of Plato’s texts and where familiar themes assume new forms and lead towards unexpected conclusions. The majority of current scholars agree that the authorship belongs to Plato’s secretary, Philip of Opus. The doxographic tradition presents him as the person responsible for transcribing the Laws from wax tablets, publishing Plato’s dialogue and expanding it with an additional book. The themes of the Epinomis are well matched with the specific interests and philosophical profile of Philip: he was a theologian, who wrote two books on the gods, and an expert astronomer, who studied the sizes and distances of planets, the eclipses of the moon and other similar questions.Footnote ⁴ Philip initiates a transformative project, which picks out some of the more problematic areas of Plato’s thinking and aims to dissolve the conceptual tensions by providing consistency and systematicity, a general trend that began in the Early Academy and became particularly strong under the leadership of Xenocrates, the third head of the school.Footnote ⁵ For instance, the author’s motivation to dismiss the importance of the traditional gods might be explained by the following reasoning: if the Platonic taxonomy of living beings assumes that every class of living being has a predominant material element and if the class of divine beings are discerned by their visible fiery bodies (Ti. 39e–40a), then the traditional gods evidently fall short of this requirement. Combined with the fact that there is no other element left for the traditional gods, it is only too natural to suppose that the belief in the traditional gods is just an intellectual error. The dialogue tends to explain such errors as outcomes of flawed astronomical research (Epin. 986e–987a, 990a). Once the mistake is noted, one is led to conclude that the true gods are the cosmic gods. Thus, both here and throughout the Epinomis Philip seems to reach for philosophical coherence at the expense of cultural and religious variety.Footnote ⁶

The purpose of this chapter is to examine the ways in which the Epinomis triangulates between the Platonic legacy, Greek religion and the theological innovations of the Academy. Our starting point is the object of the new cult, the cosmic god. Section 4.2 will investigate the primary god of the Epinomis and his identity, which will show that Plato’s conception of Ouranos had strong following in the Early Academy. Section 4.3 will move down the ladder of theological hierarchy to explore the lower gods. It will not only analyse the strategy that assigns the names of the traditional gods to the cosmic gods, but also tackle the vexed question whether its aim was to collapse the distinction between the traditional and cosmic gods or not. Afterwards, Section 4.4 will reverse the theological perspective by looking into the worshippers of the new cult and discuss the moral and political implications of Philip’s theology. Specifically, it will examine the connection between astral piety and the ideal of godlikeness, compare Philip’s version of homoiōsis theōi with that of the other Academics, explore the place of ordinary people within the moral framework of cosmic religion, and the resulting social relations between the ordinary citizens and the elite astronomers. The last point will allow us to determine whether the Magnesia of the Epinomis retains the same core social structure that we found in the Magnesia of the Laws.

4.2 The Ouranian God in the Early Academy

The Epinomis begins as an enquiry into the nature of human wisdom and proposes to demonstrate that the science of numbers is the ultimate path towards it (976d–e, 977d–e). This science finds its origins not in a mere accident and chance (τύχη), but in an intentional act of god, whose religious name is the following:

We can see that Philip elevates Ouranos to the rank of the highest god by showing how cosmic motions, climatic fluctuations and the human ability to reason confirm that the Ouranian god is the source of goodness and rational order. The passage is an undisguised reaction to religious and poetic mischaracterisations of Ouranos, which is especially emphasised by the fact that Philip considers Ouranos as a being of religious significance, indeed, the central object of worship for all living beings. The proper way to honour such a god, however, does not consist of conventional forms of performative piety, but of contemplation stemming from mathematical enquiry and a study of the cosmic periods. For Philip, this is the ethical road to virtue and happiness (Epin. 977c–d).

Modern commentators were unsuccessful in discovering such a doctrine in Plato’s works. Their contention is that T29 is ‘un-Platonic’ and an ‘example of Philippus’ manipulation of his sources, as ouranos in the Timaeus simply refers to the heaven, not to any deity’.Footnote ⁷ But it is far from being the case. The key ideas of T29 are in line with our previous findings on the Timaeus (see Sections 1.2–1.3 and 3.1): Ouranos is regarded as the primary cosmic god to whom the younger gods are subordinated, whose activity ensures the order in the universe and who inspires human beings to cultivate intellectual virtues. Moreover, Philip conflates the terms ouranos and kosmos, which suggests the expanded meaning of the ouranos, that is, ‘the universe’.Footnote ⁸ Even the manner in which Ouranos is introduced in T29 mimics Timaeus’ prooimion in T2, when Philip makes a pious gesture by leaving it for the god to decide which of the three names he wants to adopt. Although there are some differences between T29 and T2, such as the addition of Olympus to the list of names or the curious suggestion that the primary god is worshipped by the lower divinities, they do not make the passage entirely ‘un-Platonic’.Footnote ⁹

That Philip adopts Timaeus’ conception of Ouranos is confirmed by one more conspicuous feature, which is the association of the Ouranian god with the world-soul. The textual evidence suggests that the powers of the two beings are coextensive. Philip contends that the primary god is the supreme cause (cf. 983b) and the way in which Ouranos exercises his causal power is the revolutions of the heavenly bodies, which give the effect of day and night (καὶ ἑλίττων δὴ ταῦτα αὐτὰ ὅταν μὴ παύηται πολλὰς μὲν νύκτας, πολλὰς δὲ ἡμέρας [ἃς] οὐρανός, 978d1–2).Footnote ¹⁰ In addition, Philip proposes to view soul as the cause of the universe (ψυχῆς οὔσης αἰτίας τοῦ ὅλου, 988d4–5), which expresses its causal power through the generation of motion. Specifically, it makes the bodies revolve and move in orbits (περιφέρειν, 988d2).Footnote ¹¹ Philip claims that a soul is attached to the ouranos (983b–c) and that the union of body and soul produces an animal (981a), which means that the cosmic animal results from a combination of the world-body and the world-soul. So, Ouranos expresses his agency through the world-soul. The broader purpose of dwelling on the relation between Ouranos and the world-soul is to prove that Ouranos is a contemplative, intelligent god (985a; cf. 981c) and to explain how he leads the beings inside him towards what is good (988d–e). The reformed vision of Ouranos, therefore, is not only preserved, but arguably even expanded in the Epinomis.

The surviving fragments of Plato’s associates testify to the enduring importance of Ouranos in the Academy. The Epicurean critic in Cicero’s testimony complains that Aristotle’s On Philosophy, an early work written either during his time in the Academy or soon after it, confuses the readers by ascribing divinity to the intellect (mens), the world (mundus) and the heavens (caelum) (ND 1.33.1–9 = fr. 26 Rose).Footnote ¹² He also claims that Heraclides of Pontus held ‘the world (mundum) to be divine’ and treated ‘earth and sky (caelum) as gods’ (ND 1.13.34).Footnote ¹³ Similarly, Aëtius gives a testimony that for Xenocrates’ student Polemo ‘kosmos is a god’ (τὸν κόσμον θεὸν, 1.7.20 MR).Footnote ¹⁴ A line later, he reports:

I shall discuss the whole passage below. For the present moment, I would like to focus on the underlined sentence. T30 implies a clear conceptual continuity between Philip and Xenocrates. Both of them postulate the same three kinds of gods – Ouranos, cosmic gods and daemons – in the same descending order, where Ouranos is singled out as the most prominent deity.Footnote ¹⁸ Both of them use the names of the traditional gods to indicate the cosmological beings Footnote ¹⁹ We can also observe an elegant symmetry between the references of T29 and T30 to the Olympians and Olympus: just as Ouranos of T29 is the seat of the cosmic gods, hence Olympus, so too the cosmic gods of T30 are seated in the heaven, hence are Olympians. In both instances, Ouranos functions as the cosmic container of gods, thus assuming a role which we have already found established in the Timaeus.Footnote ²⁰

The more pressing question now is why some of the Academics were motivated to dwell on Plato’s legacy. In Chapter 1 I argued that the term ouranos provided a delicate way to bridge the discursive gap between the religious tradition and the novel Platonic cosmology. But our brief overview shows that the Epinomis does not seek to find any balance between conventional religious beliefs and philosophy. So what did Philip and the other Academics intend to achieve by naming their cosmic god ‘Ouranos’? This question, I believe, has to be positioned within the context in which Plato’s Timaeus introduced Ouranos, and the philosophical controversy surrounding it. We saw that the origins of the universe coincide with the origins of Ouranos (Ti. 28b–c), which means that the Platonic cosmogony is simultaneously theogony. Although the divine universe has a beginning, there is no end to it, since the Demiurge guarantees its everlasting existence (41b). The new god, moreover, is granted the capacity for self-motion through its soul, that is, the world-soul. In this way, it receives a causal role to initiate and maintain the motions of planets and stars. This conception of created and ensouled world-god received a thorough re-examination in Aristotle’s De Caelo.

The object of Aristotle’s treatise is the universe, which is regularly referred to as ouranos and kosmos, but as both the title of the book and the terminological analysis of its content indicate, Aristotle gives preference to the term ouranos.Footnote ²¹ Aristotle questions whether ouranos can be generated, but everlasting. The main argument against Plato’s temporal creationism concerns the ontological status of the generated things: they are capable of change, which is due to contraries and so for the generated things destructibility remains a possibility (279b17–32). It also means that the generated things have the capacity of not being, which has to be actualised at some point of (infinite) time. So, the generated things cannot be everlasting and if the universe is to be eternal, it has to be ungenerated (281b3–282a13).Footnote ²² What is more, Aristotle proposes to derive the source of cosmic motions from the doctrine of natural motions and natural places. According to it, each simple body or element has a certain natural inclination to move either upwards from or downwards to the centre of the universe. Since none of the four elements naturally partake in a circular motion around the centre of the universe like the heavenly spheres, Aristotle postulates the existence of the fifth element, aether, with precisely this quality (268b26–269b13). The heavenly spheres, which contain and carry astral bodies, have such a distinctive material nature that there is no need to assume additional kinetic input of the world-soul – the properties of aether can do the explanatory job (289a11–35, 289b30–290a24, 292b25–293a11). These two objections shake the foundations of Plato’s cosmology and have significant theological implications too: the argument against temporal creationism removes the Demiurge or Intellect as the productive cause, while the argument for aether severs the link between the ouranos and the world-soul by making the latter superfluous in Aristotle’s system.Footnote ²³

It is remarkable, however, that this critique does not immediately affect the theological status of ouranos. Although De Caelo eliminates the overarching cosmological function of ouranos established in the Timaeus, the other qualities of ouranos, such as immortality, perfect motion and excellent spherical body, are sufficient to guarantee its divinity:

It is only with the introduction of the new kind of gods, the unmoved movers, in later treatises that the status of ouranos became more problematic. Book 12 (Λ) of the Metaphysics, which discusses these gods, mentions ouranos several times and never refers to it as something divine.Footnote ²⁴ The reason is that it is no longer clear, more generally, (1) whether the unmoved movers are immanent or transcendent to the heavenly spheres and, more specifically, (2) whether an astral body such as ouranos can count as a proper god rather than a celestial representation of the Prime Mover.Footnote ²⁵ But in so far as De Caelo is concerned, we can see that Aristotle develops major cosmological objections to Plato, whilst retaining the theological significance of the term ouranos.

It is important to note that there is a difference between the cosmological and theological meanings of this term in Aristotle’s treatise and it concerns the physical extension of ouranos. As a cosmological entity, it can refer to either the fixed stars or the heavens or the universe, though the last usage is the most frequent one in De Caelo.Footnote ²⁶ But as a divinity, it is primarily the extreme circumference of stars.Footnote ²⁷ To return to the passages above, the larger context of T31 concerns two motions, namely the motion of planets, which are in the supralunary spheres, and the revolution of the extreme circumference of stars, which encloses the whole universe. In T31, Aristotle explains the circular motion of the fixed stars by appealing to its eternal divine nature. It is reasonable to suppose that ouranos in the next passage also means the extreme circumference, because just before T32 Aristotle speaks about the boundaries of the universe (ἔξω τοῦ οὐρανοῦ, 279a16) and then in T32 he refers to ouranos as spatially the farthest being (ἀκρότατον). This departure from the Platonic cosmic god qua the whole world is not that surprising in light of Aristotle’s critique of the world-soul. If ouranos is no longer responsible for causing all the motions in the universe through the world-soul, we have to find another instance of astral movement manifesting perfection and being worthy of divine nature, and the regular motions of the fixed stars is clearly the best example of this kind.

The narrower theological use of ouranos in Aristotle has further ramifications: the unwandering stars, which, notwithstanding their common participation in the single motion of sameness, were still considered as individual entities, plural ‘divine living beings’ in the Timaeus (ζῷα θεῖα, 40b5), are unified and merged into a single separate divinity. This reform was successful to such an extent that the later commentators projected the same conception of the fixed stars even on Aristotle’s adversaries, such as Xenocrates:

On the surface, the two passages seem to entail that Xenocrates not only followed Aristotle in regarding the fixed sphere of stars as a single deity, but also in equating it with ouranos-kosmos, which would be truly a significant concession to Aristotle. Something comparable on the fixed stars can be found in Philip too (see T35 and its discussion below). However, the earlier report coming from Cicero does not equate caelum (i.e. ouranos) with the fixed stars. The infixa caelo is Cicero’s extremely rare technical expression for the fixed stars rather than a reference to the ‘fixed heaven’.Footnote ²⁸ A more literal translation of omnibus sideribus quae infixa caelo sunt is ‘all the stars implanted in the sky’ (trans. P. G. Walsh). Therefore, the two passages are similar in as much as they ascribe unity and divinity to the fixed stars, but only T33 calls them kosmos. My conjecture is that Clement did not have access to Xenocrates’ work and his sources may have been influenced by misplaced interpolations. For Aristotle himself uses the term ouranos to indicate ‘the heavens’ or ‘the world’ when discussing Xenocrates’ substances (e.g. Aristotle, Metaph. 1028b24–27 = fr. 23 IP). At any rate, we are about to see that neither Xenocrates, nor Philip were ready to abandon Plato’s conception of ouranos undefended.

The Academics took Aristotle’s critique of the world-soul and creationism seriously. In general, most of them defended Plato by accepting some form of eternalism and reinterpreting the temporal unfolding of the universe in the Timaeus as a didactic tool to explain the eternal cosmic structure and the causal relations between its parts. And just like Aristotle, they formulated their position in terms of ouranology. What is distinctive about their responses is that the Academics sought to rescue the organisational function of the Ouranian god in terms of its causal role and physical extension. Not every Academic succeeded, not at least in the eyes of Aristotle’s school, in building a coherent model. Theophrastus complains that with the notable exception of Xenocrates, most of the other philosophers, including Speusippus, the second head of the Academy, were incapable of deriving Plato’s conception of the universe from the first principles (Metaph. 6a23–b9 = fr. 20 IP).Footnote ²⁹ Let me briefly show the way in which the more fruitful solutions were formulated.

Xenocrates retained the notion of Ouranos as the main cosmic god. Its eternity was derived from the two fundamental ontological principles, the Monad and the Dyad.Footnote ³⁰ The general thread of Xenocrates’ response to Aristotle’s challenge is captured by the above-mentioned passage T30. Its narrative falls into four parts: first, it introduces the two basic ontological principles; second, it gives a list of cosmic beings; then, the passage concentrates on the primary elements; and finally, it gives a doxographical note, which claims that Xenocrates adopted Plato’s framework. Aëtius is right on this last point, because we can see Xenocrates following the narrative of the Timaeus.Footnote ³¹ In the prooimion, we find an exposition of the ontological premises (27c–29d), which is then succeeded by a cosmogony describing the origins of the universe (29e–41a), and after the speech of the Demiurge, the narrative turns to the nature of elements (53c–57d). The exposition in T30 is similar and gives us a way to look at the structure of the universe through various philosophical perspectives: on an ontological level, the universe is an interaction between the Monad and the Dyad;Footnote ³² on a theological-astronomical level, it is a family of cosmic gods; on a physical level, it is an organisation of the primary elements.Footnote ³³ According to Xenocrates’ reading of the Timaeus, the sequence of the three parts no longer express the temporal development of the universe, but dependence relations between various levels of reality.Each of the more complex entities is reducible to and thus dependent on a more primary entity.

On the most fundamental level of reality, the cosmic whole is the totality of interactions between the Monad and the Dyad, which are constitutive of what comes afterwards, namely the astral beings and the elements. What provides conceptual unity to this whole is the ouranos. As an ontological term, it unites the causal roles of the first principles, the mathematical-geometrical structures that emerge from the interaction between the Monad and the Dyad, and the dual nature (psychic and physical) that underpins the world-order. As a theological name, it refers to the primary cosmic god, whose function is to contain and organise the cosmic gods. Other testimonies provide further confirmation of the organisational role of ouranos-kosmos in Xenocrates’ philosophy. For instance, Theophrastus informs us that in the sequence of derivation the ouranos and its soul arouse from the Monad and the Form-numbers and that Xenocrates ‘somehow distributed everything around the kosmos, the sensibles, the intelligibles, the mathematicals alike, and even the divinities’ (ἅπαντά πως περιτίθησιν περὶ τὸν κόσμον, ὁμοίως αἰσθητὰ καὶ νοητὰ καὶ μαθηματικὰ καὶ ἔτι δὴ τὰ θεῖα, Metaph., 6b7–9 = fr. 20 IP). Sextus follows this line by using ouranos to differentiate two ontological levels, the intelligible and the sensible, and emphasising that ouranos itself is a being composed of these two (Adv. Log. 1.147–149 = fr. 2 IP).Footnote ³⁴ Another evidence in Themistius similarly uses kosmos as the main cosmological term, which is then broken down into the intelligible universe and the sensible universe (In de An. 11.19–20 = fr. 178 IP). The resulting view of the ouranos is constructed out of familiar Platonic topoi, but defined in such a way as to respond to Aristotle. Xenocrates aims to salvage a certain version of the Timaeus system by sacrificing Plato’s temporal creationism, rebutting Aristotle’s relocation of the divine Ouranos to the fixed stars and boosting the cosmological theory with a pair of principles that are immanent to the eternal Ouranos.Footnote ³⁵

Philip’s contribution to the debate with Aristotle is rarely acknowledged, partly because he was not among the influential figures in the Academy and partly because his position is not easily mapped onto the creationist-eternalist division. On the one hand, Philip presents himself as an unambiguous creationist: he speaks of the divine and the mortal things in generation (τὸ θεῖον τῆς γενέσεως καὶ τὸ θνητόν, 977e5–6) and later fleshes it out as a proposal to provide a new discourse on the origins of god and animals (θεογονίαν … καὶ ζῳογονίαν, 980c7). He places the starting point of the universe at the moment when soul and body combine into a single structure (981a). These two entities are not equal, since soul is temporally (and causally) prior to body: Philip describes soul as something that is older than body (παλαιότερον, 980d8; πρεσβύτερόν, 980e3). Is it older in virtue of having originated earlier than body? A positive answer would mean that there is a being or power superior to the world-soul, such as the Demiurge of the Timaeus, which could generate the world-soul. But this option is not available to Philip. We have already mentioned that Ouranos qua the world-soul is considered to be the ultimate cause. We can now add that this god expresses his causation not only through the cosmic motions, but also through the demiurgic functions. In particular, soul has an active power to fashion and create (πλάττειν καὶ δημιουργεῖν, 981b8), whereas body is affected by its power (πλάττεσθαι, 981c1).Footnote ³⁶ Thus, Philip conceptualises the world-soul as the creator of bodies. This is why we can find Philip assigning to Ouranos the power ‘to make any body and any mass of material into a living being and then make it move however he thinks best’ (ζῷον γεγονέναι πᾶν σῶμα καὶ ὄγκον σύμπαντα, ἔπειτα, ᾗπερ ἂν διανοηθῇ βέλτιστα, ταύτῃ φέρειν, 983b5–6), an example of which is the construction of the moon (978d).Footnote ³⁷ It is not Ouranos that is generated, but the things inside him (982d7–983e1), hence his title the ‘father’ (πατήρ, 978c4).

Plato’s conception of Ouranos undergoes a remarkable transformation in the Epinomis: the senior created god becomes the creator god. We can now appreciate why Philip saw fit to elevate the theological rank of Ouranos. Ouranos replaced the Demiurge and became the primary god, because Philip inherited the identification of Ouranos with the cosmos itself and then gave a novel proposal to integrate the functions of the Demiurge to the world-soul. Although scholars have noticed this philosophical innovation, the conceptual implications of Philip’s response to the eternalist critique have not been taken into account sufficiently. Philip follows the Timaeus in regarding the physical entities as generated and destructible, the kinds of items that are part and parcel of the realm of becoming. He is even ready to entertain the idea that the cosmic bodies may perish after ‘a vast length of life’ (μακραίωνα βίον, 982a2). In this respect, he seems to acknowledge Aristotle’s argument that the generated universe has to perish eventually.Footnote ³⁸ But is there anything eternal in the universe? Philip’s departure from the Timaeus gives him a new and exciting way to respond to this question. By fusing the Demiurge and the world-soul, he makes the world-soul an eternal being. The psychic aspect of the universe, therefore, is exempted from perishing and destruction. Hence, the curious position of Philip within this debate: he is a creationist in so far as the physical aspect of the universe is concerned, but he is an eternalist in so far as the psychic aspect of the universe is concerned. In addition, we have to recall that the world-soul is an eternal and creative power, so the demiurgic principle, which fashions bodies, is also immanent to this world-order. And here is the startling outcome of this theory: even if the world-body can perish at some point of time, the world-soul has the capacity to recreate it and so to restart the realm of becoming once again.

4.3 The Traditional Gods and the Planetary Names

Philip is particularly concerned with finding the right names for the cosmic gods, because the ordinary Greeks border on impiety thanks to their ignorance of the religious identities of astral beings.The proposed starting point for naming the gods is the resources lying in Syrian astronomy, which has already discovered the name of the morning/evening star by identifying it as Aphrodite (986e–987b). Accordingly, the solution is to transfer the known names to Greek culture and to formulate some new ones. The specific Syrian strategy for identifying the gods is curiously convenient for Philip, because it gives the cosmic gods the names of the traditional gods just as Philip did in the case of his primary god Ouranos. The truth of the matter, however, is that this project in its rudimentary form can be traced back to Plato’s later dialogues. As we saw in Chapter 1, there is a planet that belongs to Hermes (Ti. 38d), while Ouranos and Gaia are not only cosmic entities (34b, 40b) but also traditional gods (40e). In the Laws, the Athenian proposes a joint cult to Apollo and Helios, who are regarded as a single god (Lg. 12.945e, 12.946d, 12.947a). But Philip draws up a far more comprehensive list than Plato:

This is one of the first instances of a group of traditional gods reinterpreted as planets qua cosmic gods in Greek literature. However, the six astral names present in this passage – Aphrodite, Hermes, Kosmos, Kronos, Zeus, Ares – were not invented by Philip. Another contemporary example of a similar list is found in Aristotle, who reports that Eudoxus used four religious names for the planets: Hermes, Aphrodite, Zeus and Kronos (Metaph. 1073b17–38). Aristotle was also familiar with the star of Ares (Cael. 292a5). The repeated use of this particular list among Plato’s students, which also represents its earliest appearances, suggests that the project of naming all the five planets goes back to at least the Early Academy and was fully implemented by Eudoxus, who was the leading astronomer in Plato’s school.Footnote ³⁹

But there is an influential alternative interpretation. Franz Cumont has submitted that this project may have had an even earlier origin and argued that these names were transmitted from Babylon to the Academy via the Pythagoreans.Footnote ⁴⁰ It is true that the later commentators credit the Pythagoreans with the first correct description of the planetary positions (Simplicius, In Cael. 471.2–6). Alexander of Aphrodisias adds a crucial piece of information, which is the number of planets: he quotes Aristotle saying that the Pythagoreans identified the positions of five planets (In Metaph. 39.1–2), which is the number found in Philip and Eudoxus as well. Unfortunately, both commentators mention neither the names of the planets, nor the fact that the Pythagoreans were the translators of the Babylonian names into Greek. We must not presume that the correct identification of the position and the number of astral bodies necessarily led to the distribution of names, because there are examples where a certain philosopher identifies the planets by their positions or even colours without giving them a religious name, and this is exactly what Plato’s Socrates does in the Republic (10.617a).

Cumont’s thesis becomes even more problematic, if we look at the evidence on the Pythagorean astronomer presumably responsible for the identification of correct positions. Philolaus, the chief Pythagorean astronomer, is reported to have distributed planets around the central cosmic fire (DK44 A16), which was titled ‘the house of Zeus’ (Διὸς οἶκον).Footnote ⁴¹ This is yet another testimony which speaks of the position of planets without giving them names. In addition, it shows that Philolaus has a relatively different strategy for using the names of the traditional gods. Instead of associating Zeus with some planet, Philolaus gives the name ‘Zeus’ to the main cosmological entity. So, it eliminates at least one direct planetary link with the Babylonian gods. In other testimonies, which may be spurious, Philolaus is credited with giving other names of traditional gods to various mathematical items, but never to planets or stars (DK44 A14). We can be quite certain that Philolaus did not assign the same planetary names that we have in the Epinomis. In light of this evidence, the Pythagorean transmission thesis seems to be somewhat dubious, and we should stick to Eudoxus as the first unambiguous namer of planets.

Although the surviving evidence does not reveal Eudoxus’ theoretical interest in naming the planets, we can at least uncover the reasoning behind Philip’s list.Footnote ⁴² He is motivated to spell out the particular names of each planet, because it restores the equality among the cosmic gods, since some of them were not known, and thus allows assigning them a proper share of religious honours (986c). But is there any method that guided the procedure of naming the gods systematically? Philip abstains from explicitly stating it, and so does Aristotle – unsurprisingly at least in the case of Aristotle, given the fact that his true gods are the 47 or 55 unmoved movers of the heavenly spheres, who are not individuated by religious names or anthropomorphic character patterns.Footnote ⁴³ After all, Aristotle has a relatively different tactic with respect to Greek mythology than our two Academics: we can see that the latter followed the path marked by Plato in trying to adapt religious names to their own gods, whereas Aristotle did not take an active interest in refashioning the religious discourse. He was happy to dismiss most of the mythical beliefs, demythologise some of them by revealing that beneath a thick layer of misguided information some myths have a measure of correspondence to his own doctrines and move forward without trying to integrate them further.Footnote ⁴⁴

But to return to our original question, I think that some of the Academics have made attempts at formulating a principle of correspondence between philosophy and religion, which is well illustrated by Xenocrates in the previously discussed theological passage (T30). For almost every divinity in his system, Xenocrates gives a corresponding name that comes from the religious tradition. Thus, the Monad becomes Zeus, the universe becomes Ouranos and three out of five primary elements (air, water, earth) become Hades, Poseidon and Demeter. We must suppose that the progression of these names reflects the functions of the gods rather than their position in Greek theogonies. The senior gods of Xenocrates’ universe are not matched with the senior gods of Greek theogony, for that would amount to making Ouranos or Kronos and not Zeus the most prominent deity. Instead, Xenocrates seems to allocate traditional identities on a functional basis. For instance, the governing principle of the universe receives the name of the king of gods, Zeus, while the aquatic aspect of the universe is identified with the god of seas, Poseidon. In this way, the universe, which contains within itself everything, including the divinities, receives the name of the old heavenly god, Ouranos, who contained within himself the traditional gods.Footnote ⁴⁵

On the surface, Philip does not appear to use a single method for naming the planetary gods. However, Cumont has argued the Greek names nicely correspond to the Babylonian names and this remarkable translation was carried out on the functional basis as well, namely the specific qualities of the Greek gods were harmonised with their Babylonian counterparts. In particular, the five identifications were the following: Nabou – Hermes, Ishtar – Aphrodite, Nergal – Ares, Mardouk – Zeus, Ninurta – Kronos.Footnote ⁴⁶ Now Ishtar, who is associated with love and beauty, is the best example for his case, but others are not so straightforward. For Nabou (Hermes) has more to do with wisdom and scribes than thieves and tricks, while Ninurta (Kronos) is neither the father of Mardouk (Zeus), nor the first king of gods. At the very least, this is not a solid piece of theological adaptation. If the five names really came into the Greek world through a certain transmission, one must not assume that there was a rigorous method of functional correspondence or identificatory correlation in place. It is worthwhile to add, moreover, that the Academic list of planetary names in the Epinomis later found a contender, which preferred ‘Apollo’, ‘Hera’ and ‘Heracles’ to ‘Hermes’, ‘Aphrodite’ and ‘Ares’ respectively.Footnote ⁴⁷ If this shows anything, it is a certain level of arbitrariness about the whole process of translating and adapting the names. In the end, there is no way to prove or in fact disprove Cumont’s thesis – the list itself does not confirm his proposal, because it hangs on a series of further assumptions, such as that there was an influential translation from the Babylonian, that the Academics knew it and that they accepted it without any modification. We are left with just too many questions: why do we trust in Philip’s declaration that he relies on the Syrian astronomy, when we become suspicious whenever Plato invokes Egyptian knowledge? If the Academics knew the original list, why did Plato mention only one translated name, that of Hermes? What are the other arguments against thinking that the Academy invented this particular planetary name apart from the initial assumption that it was received through a transmission? And if there were competing names for the planet of, say, Ares/Heracles, why assume that the one in the Academic list (Ares) is the original rather than their own reformulation (from Heracles to Ares)?Footnote ⁴⁸

There can be, moreover, a number of local explanations of the specific theological identities in T35. One of Philip’s sources of inspiration could be the passage in the Republic, where each planet is characterised by a distinguishing colour and luminosity (10.617a).Footnote ⁴⁹ Philip may have reinterpreted this passage as suggesting that the given astral colour has a symbolical meaning. On this reading, one may conjecture that Ares received the reddest planet because the colour red is quite appropriate for the blood-soaked god of war.Footnote ⁵⁰ However, the religious identity of the planet can be determined not only by the colour, but also by its intensity and aesthetic appeal. Thus, Aphrodite received the brightest and most beautiful star. This link between the comparable qualities of the goddess and the planet is applicable to Hermes as well. His name is a takeover from Ti. 38d, where Hermes’ planet is singled out for its speed. In addition, T35 identifies this planet as a travel companion to Aphrodite and Helios. Both qualities of the planet are in harmony with the conventional areas of Hermes’ activity, namely travelling and quickness.Footnote ⁵¹

The last three names on the list (Kosmos, Kronos, Zeus) raise some challenge. T35 distinguishes the planets of Kronos and Zeus by their extreme slowness, which could mean that the two gods received their planets because of their astronomical qualities, namely the speed, rather than theological areas of activity. Tarán proposed to view the three names as representing the theogonic sequence.Footnote ⁵² The passage uses the terms kosmos and ouranos synonymously and once we replace Kosmos with Ouranos, we have a nice progression of the three generations of the reigning gods: Ouranos, Kronos, Zeus. However, the formulation, where the sphere of the fixed stars is titled ‘Kosmos’, is extremely nuanced and carefully crafted. The Epinomis treats the fixed stars as a single god ‘which above all should be called the kosmos’ (ὃν μάλιστά τις ἂν κόσμον προσαγορεύοι), which ‘moves in the opposite direction to all the others and carries them, as should be obvious even to humans who know a little about these things’ (Epin. 987b6–9). The way in which Philip introduces the divinity of the fixed stars is strikingly similar to Aristotle and Xenocrates. However, he does not go as far to define the fixed stars as the kosmos: he merely emphasises that the fixed stars especially (μάλιστα) capture what we understand as the kosmos. A similar idea can be found in the Timaeus. It describes how the Demiurge weaves together the body of the world with the world-soul, extending the latter from the centre to the circumference and then wrapping it around the universe (34b, 36e). The implication is that instead of being located at a particular point in space, the world-soul permeates the whole universe. But there seems to be something special about the emphasis on the boundary of the universe, since this is precisely the location of the fixed stars and the motion of sameness. Both ancient Platonists and modern scholars interpreted these passages as suggesting ‘that the presence of a rational soul is most clearly revealed at the circumference’.Footnote ⁵³ If that is so, the Epinomis appears to be conveying a similar idea. Just like the Timaeus, it makes an analogous point concerning the distinctive status of the fixed stars with their exceptional movements that display the workings of the world-soul and the motions of the sameness.Footnote ⁵⁴ It also means that the fixed stars are not identical with the primary god, Ouranos-Kosmos, who physically encompasses the whole universe rather than some specific cosmic area. The three cosmic gods, therefore, do not represent the theogonic generations. Lefka suggests that Kronos receives a slow planet because he is an old god that belongs to the ancient generation of divinities, but this seems to be unlikely because the same explanation would be eo ipso applicable to Zeus, who also receives a slow planet, and Zeus is anyone but a senior citizen.Footnote ⁵⁵ The question as to why the two of them received the names ‘Zeus’ and ‘Kronos’ unfortunately remains unresolved.

So the riddle about the original procedure of naming the planets and the specific role of the Academy in this process will probably continue to haunt scholarship.Footnote ⁵⁶ Be that as it may, we can see that Philip marries all of his cosmic gods with the traditional gods and thus develops a more coherent theory of double identification than Plato. Plato’s dialogues relate only some of the cosmic gods to the traditional gods, a practice which Philip expands to all cosmic gods, and Xenocrates to the ontological principles and the material elements as well.Footnote ⁵⁷ However, some of these Academic identifications do contradict each other. A good example is Zeus, who is the Monad in Xenocrates and a planet in Philip. Another common feature in both Academics is a stratified and complex society of gods. In Aëtius’ report (T30), we saw that Xenocrates has a hierarchical order of gods with the Monad and the Dyad dominating at the top of it. The cosmic gods assume the middle theological rank, which is still a higher position than the one held by the elements. On the whole, Xenocrates has three ranks of gods. Although Philip seems to establish only a single family of gods, we have to recall that the cosmic gods are subordinated to the heavenly father Ouranos and, in turn, they have the daemons, who are the messengers of gods, being subordinated to them (984e). So, there is a theological hierarchy in the Epinomis as well.

The marriage of the two families brings us to what we may call the ontology of naming. How does this procedure affect the nature of the traditional gods? Are they fully integrated with the family of cosmic gods, whereby only the names of the traditional gods are preserved? Or is there some theological distance between the two families, whereby the traditional gods can express a distinct facet of the divine? In other words, do the Academics keep the distinction between the two families of gods or not? It is evident that Xenocrates completely merges the two families together, thus creating a theological system, where the names of the traditional gods indicate various ontological and cosmological entities. On the first reading of the Epinomis, Philip seems to follow a similar path and cosmologises the traditional gods by assigning their names to the cosmic gods. But on closer inspection, T35 never calls this or that planet ‘Zeus’ or ‘Hermes’, as if a specific traditional god is nothing else than a specific planet. It uses the genitives to indicate that there is the planet of Zeus (Διός, 987c6) or the planet of Hermes (Ἑρμοῦ, 987b5), which seems to imply a relation of belonging or possession.Footnote ⁵⁸ To make matters even more complicated, Zeus is also mentioned as a member of the traditional gods, a group, which is clearly distinguished from the cosmic gods:

The two families of gods are regarded as unequal groups from the epistemic and theological point of view, so it is puzzling as to why the bodies of the cosmic gods can ‘belong’ to these lower traditional gods.Footnote ⁵⁹ It is clear though that the inequality of the two families does not compel Philip to deny the existence of the traditional gods. T36 suspends judgement with respect to the nature of these gods and promptly places them in the ritual environment without raising further questions.Footnote ⁶⁰ So there remains an unthematised difference between Zeus the traditional god and the cosmic god bearing the same name, which is accompanied by a further riddle concerning such gods as Hera, who have no corresponding planets in the Epinomis. Even if this does not clarify Philip’s conception of the traditional gods, we can at least say that they are not fully assimilated with the cosmic gods.

In conclusion, it is misleading to think that the members of the Early Academy unanimously collapsed the distinction between the traditional and cosmic gods. It is Xenocrates, the great systemiser of Plato’s legacy, who offered a wholesale reinterpretation of the traditional gods. He was the one to establish the clearer functional correspondence between the traditional gods and various powers and to allocate the religious names accordingly. In this way, he dissolved the distinction between the traditional and other kinds of gods. Such an extensive cosmologisation of the traditional gods finds its predecessor in Plato’s Phaedrus, but not in the later dialogues (see Introduction). Philip’s arrangement, on the other hand, is not so tidy and thus more in line with the Timaeus. Philip makes a provocative and unambiguous proposal to call the cosmic gods by the names of the traditional gods, but then he neither adopts a single method in distributing their names, nor assumes a clear position on the ontological implications of naming, which would define the place of the traditional gods in the overall architecture of the Epinomis. Thus, Philip seems to propose a loose union of the two families, where the cosmic gods and the traditional gods retain their independent identities. According to him, the broader purpose of discussing the names of planets and stars is to rectify incorrect religious beliefs about the cosmic gods, to prepare the way for their proper worship and to ensure virtuous behaviour among Magnesian citizens. Let us move then to the final topic of this chapter, the moral and political implications of Philip’s theological reform.

4.4 Piety and Godlikeness in the Cosmic City

The narrative arc of the Epinomis implicitly signals that Philip’s moral philosophy is based on a version of homoiōsis theōi. The dialogue is framed as an ethical guidance, which starts with an invitation to follow the Ouranian god (συνακολουθεῖν, 977b1) by means of contemplation (θεωρία, 977b1) and ends as a recommendation to become divine (θεῖος, 992c6) by learning mathematics. The initial point of this assimilative journey is an epiphanic experience of the Ouranian god, which arouses a sense of wonder and a desire to learn more about the universe (986c). It incites the moral agents to explore the motions and nature of planets and stars (982e, 990a), and, in particular, the role of Ouranos in the astral phenomena (977b). As soon as this philosophical passion assumes a more rigorous form of research programme, the agents are advised to begin their astronomical studies with the investigation into the circuits of the moon, after which comes the revolutions of the sun and then the motions of Hermes’ and Aphrodite’s planets (990a). They are also warned about the difficulties in comprehending the remaining astral entities because of their poor visibility and obscure motions. A further progress in astronomy depends on one’s competences in other mathematical subjects (990b). Given that numbers can explain the order, harmony and rhythm of the universe (978a), these subjects help the astronomer to understand the operations of cosmic souls in the remaining planets and to discover the true theological status of stars (991b–d). Philip is sure that this is the way for the astronomer to develop intellectual virtues such as wisdom (990a).

Philip is fully on board with the intellectualist and elitist approach to the ideal of godlikeness. In this respect, his conception of the assimilative object (the cosmic gods), the ethical means (intellectual virtues) and the target audience (the elite few) corresponds to what we found in the Timaeus (see Section 3.1). This is unsurprising perhaps in light of the high standing that the ideal of homoiōsis theōi had among the Academics. According to John Dillon’s tentative reconstruction, the ethical end in Xenocrates is human flourishing understood as a good state of the soul, which means perfecting the monadic aspect of one’s soul, the intellect, and thus becoming like the Monad (also called ‘Intellect’ or ‘Zeus’, see T30), the highest god in his system.Footnote ⁶¹ Our further information on the assimilative journey is quite speculative. Given Xenocrates’ inclination to explain nature by means of mathematical concepts, it is reasonable to start by assuming that the particular means to achieve this moral objective are mathematics. Xenocrates has a particular understanding of the object and role of mathematics, which makes a sharp contrast with what we find in the Epinomis. Philip’s mathematical sciences are arithmetic, geometry, stereometry, harmony and astronomy (990c–991b) – a set of studies which is completely in agreement with the Republic (7.522c–531d) except that the architectonic role in Socrates’ (and Plato’s) version is assigned to dialectics rather than astronomy. For Philip, astronomy is the crowning point of mathematics, because it reveals the cosmological nature of Ouranos. The arithmetical side of mathematics is useful here only in as much as the study of the properties of numbers ‘contributes to the nature of existing things’ (παρέχεται πρὸς τὴν τῶν ὄντων φύσιν, 990c8). ‘Contribution to the nature’ is undoubtedly a vague characterisation of what the numbers do, but there is no hint at the more substantial forms of contribution, namely that the numbers may be constitutive factors or primary causes of the whole universe.Footnote ⁶² Philip assigns this function to Ouranos and his demiurgic activity exercised through the world-soul, which is why the proper object of assimilation remains nothing else than the cosmic god.

By contrast, Xenocrates has numbers as the highest object of knowledge. He identifies them with the Forms, thereby fusing the two into the Form-numbers, because they have the same kind of essence and causation.Footnote ⁶³ In particular, the Form-numbers are the ‘defining factors’ of things (περιοριστικοί, Asclepius, In Arist. Metaph. 379.18–19 = fr. 24 IP) in the following sense:

On any minimalist reading of the beginning of T37, the Form-number must at least provide a type of causation that gives structure and definition to the generated entities. Proclus then gives his own explanation by distancing Xenocrates’ ‘paradigmatic’ cause from the material and final causes, but the underlined parenthesis seems to return to Xenocrates by a way of specifying why someone can mistake Xenocrates’ Form-number for these other types of causation. For our present topic, aspect (b) is of paramount importance: it seems to imply that Proclus draws from Xenocrates the assumption that the Form-number can produce cosmic order by stimulating the generated things to assimilate (ὁμοίωσιν) to it as the final cause. The proposal slightly reminds one of Aristotle’s Prime Mover, who moves the cosmic gods as an object of love, thus as the final cause too (Metaph. 1072b3–4).Footnote ⁶⁴ The Aristotelian flavour of this process should not worry us too much, because we saw that the Ouranian god has a teleological role for its imitators in Plato’s Timaeus too. In other words, (a) it is not only the Form-numbers that actively fashion the generated things, but (b) these things actively seek to emulate the Form-numbers as well. Such a teleological orientation makes sense even in the case of human beings, because Xenocrates claims that human soul is a self-moving number (Plutarch, De Procr. An. In Ti. 1012d–1013b = fr. 108 IP). Soul is derived from the Form-numbers that become mobile through the interaction with the intelligibles of the Monad, the principles of rest and motion (sameness and difference).Footnote ⁶⁵ So does it mean that human beings have to imitate the divine Form-numbers rather than the Monad in order to become godlike?

Perhaps most of the generated things partake in this kind of imitation, but certainly not the elite few endowed with intellection. Their mathematical studies do not end at this object of knowledge, for they still have to learn about the relation between the Form-numbers and Xenocrates’ highest god. The final step is to open the deepest ontological level, the very foundation of the Form-numbers. The numbers emerge, when the Monad qua the principle of indivisibility and unity limits the Dyad qua the principle of divisibility and multiplicity, whereby it confines the Dyad and creates units, the basis of numbers (Plutarch, De Procr. An. In Ti. 1012d9–e5 = fr. 108 IP). In this way, the mathematician recognises that the Form-numbers are dependent on the continuous eternal interaction between the Monad and the Dyad. And this is the reason why human beings have to assimilate not to the Form-numbers, which are units with causal power, but to the Monad, which is the principle of all unity. By this point, Xenocrates’ conception of the object of assimilation has moved away from the Timaeus to a considerable extent. But the spirit of the whole project remains, because both Xenocrates and Plato see the restoration of the psychic unity as the key result of this transformative experience and, by the way, so does Philip when he remarks that the goal of the moral agent is ‘to become one from many’ (ἐκ πολλῶν ἕνα γεγονότα, Epin. 992b6–7). To be sure, Xenocrates has a high regard for astronomy and its input to human knowledge too, for it allows us to study the intelligible aspects of Ouranos (Sextus Empiricus, Adv. Log. 1.147–149 = fr. 2 IP). But Ouranos is a derivative being, whose composition involves the Form-numbers, the geometricals and much more (Aristotle, Metaph. 1028b24–27 = fr. 23 IP). Accordingly, Xenocrates’ system requires us to reverse the hierarchy of sciences found in the Epinomis: just as a theological study of the cosmic god Ouranos is preparatory for discovering the highest god Monad, so too an astronomical study of various intelligibles in the universe is an intermediate step towards a mathematical study of the nature of the first principles.

Even Aristotle accepts the homoiōsis theōi as the highest ethical objective for human beings. In his early work Protrepticus, Aristotle likens human beings to gods in so far as they have intellect and argues that this is the way to claim our share in immortality and divinity (35.14–18, 48.9–21, 55.7–56.2 Pistelli), though it remains unclear whether the object of assimilation is kosmos or something else (51.8–10 Pistelli).Footnote ⁶⁶ This comparison between the gods and humans returns in the final chapters of the Nicomachean Ethics, where Aristotle aims to establish that the life of contemplation (θεωρία) is the best and the happiest. From a theological point of view, two points indicate the superiority of contemplation to other kinds of activity: (1) contemplation is based on intellect, which is the highest and divine aspect of humans, so this activity is the highest and most divine as well (EN 1177b26–1178a2); (2) the gods are happy and blessed, and they partake in a contemplative activity rather than practical, so if we are to be as happy and blessed as the gods, we have to partake in contemplation too (EN 1178b7–32). More broadly, Aristotle is in agreement with Xenocrates that the divine is imitated not only by human beings, but by all generated things, living beings and elements alike.Footnote ⁶⁷ The Aristotelian version, however, is targeted at the imitation of the Prime Mover. Different living beings will have their own distinctive ways of assimilating to the condition of this peculiar god.Footnote ⁶⁸ For human beings in particular, these are various contemplative activities. Although Aristotle does not provide a precise definition of contemplation in the Ethics, it is plausible that it would be wide enough to include astronomy, mathematics and other subjects from his own school, but ultimately the key subject must be the study of the essences and eventually the Prime Mover, hence the first philosophy understood as theology.Footnote ⁶⁹ Its value stems from the fact that it makes human beings akin to the god by ‘receiving as much immortality as possible’ (ἐφ’ ὅσον ἐνδέχεται ἀθανατίζειν, EN 1177b33) and also makes them ‘the most beloved by the gods’ (θεοφιλέστατος, EN 1177b24), so in a sense pious.Footnote ⁷⁰

Philip pursues a similar line by conceptualising astronomy as piety (θεοσέβεια, 990a1), thus associating an intellectual activity with a moral virtue.Footnote ⁷¹ The argument in favour of crossing the boundaries between the two kinds of virtue brings us back to the impoverished state of Greek astronomy: the flawed observations of the celestial phenomena did not enable the Greeks to acknowledge the divinity of the astral entities and to institute the ritual honouring of them (985d–986a, 900a). In other words, defective astronomy leads to the violation of the proper relation towards the gods, which is a grave act of injustice and religious incorrectness. It means that the theological recognition of the cosmic gods and the ensuing just relation towards them is the specifically moral aspect of being an astronomer.Footnote ⁷² So, astronomy cultivates moral virtues, whilst simultaneously developing intellectual virtues. This bold characterisation of the dual ethical nature of astronomy, however, is not entirely unprecedented, for the Athenian of the Laws contends that a pious person (θεοσεβής, 12.967d4) has to master the cosmological studies in order to prove the ontological priority of soul and the intelligence of the heavenly bodies. As we are about to see, the difference here is that Philip assigns a more comprehensive role to piety in the moral and political landscape of Magnesia.

In addition to astronomy, Philip introduces a more conventional form of piety (θεοσέβεια, 985c8), which is cult practice. The future legislator is advised to abstain from extreme religious innovations, to respect the ordinary beliefs in many sacred things (ἱερὰ πολλὰ, 985c6) and the ancestral laws on sacrifices (περὶ θυσιῶν, 985d2).Footnote ⁷³ Despite the fact that the worship of the traditional gods is accepted, these warnings should not be seen as a concession to conventional religion. Philip places a high value on hymns, prayers, sacrifices and festivals (985e, 986c) because cult practice provides the proper way to correct the above-mentioned injustice by giving the cosmic gods their due share of honours and spreading their recognition more widely among the masses.Footnote ⁷⁴ Philip regards the ritual honouring of the cosmic gods as the ethical prerequisite for every Magnesian (989c–d), because it helps them to familiarise themselves with these gods and nurtures a just and pious disposition towards the astral beings. The need for a performative mode of piety is based on a premise that the majority of people cannot train their philosophical understanding of the astral phenomena as it requires a cognitive capacity naturally limited to the few (974b, 989c). In this respect, cult practice is a lower version of the ethical ideal pursed by the astronomers with intellectual means. But together these two aspects of astral piety constitute a major change in Magnesia. They establish a framework of cosmic religion, which provides the Magnesian people with a twofold path to moral development. Therefore, unlike Magnesia of the Laws, Magnesia of the Epinomis is not a place where traditional religion and cosmic religion peacefully coexist together by expressing two levels of moral development. Traditional religion is set aside as an enduring cultural phenomenon, which is beyond firm knowledge (985d), the kind of epistemic certainty that could either secure its theological foundation or dismiss its moral value. It is only cosmic religion that embodies the two levels of moral development with certainty.

Such a take on the division of society into two sectors and the use of religion for moral purposes clearly grows out of Plato’s later dialogues, but it finds parallels in other works of Academics too. In Xenocrates’ ethics, for instance, philosophers differ from the masses in terms of whether their actions are guided by political compulsion or their own decision: the ordinary people need the force of law to do what the philosophers do voluntarily (frs. 172–176 IP). Aristotle finds a similar function in traditional religion – the past lawgivers used religion to persuade the masses and the present politicians will continue to employ it for practical purposes even in ideal social conditions (Metaph. 1074b3–5; Pol. 1335b12–16).Footnote ⁷⁵ What is distinctive about Philip is that cosmic religion is constructed out of philosophical and religious strands and deployed as the vehicle that both connects astronomers with the ordinary citizens and creates a hierarchy between them. It has an integrative function in so far as the two modes of piety, ritual and astronomy, have the same cult object and create a common religious identity of Magnesia. But it also has a differentiating function in so far as the two sectors of society are unequal in terms of their epistemic and moral capacities. Philip contends that the ordinary citizens are ‘honouring virtue’ (τιμῶντας ἀρετήν, 989c8–d1) in rituals without being able to acquire its complete version.Footnote ⁷⁶ As mentioned above, the reason is that ritual does not train philosophical understanding of the cosmic gods and, therefore, it lacks the required intellectual dimension, which is characteristic of astronomy. In two instructive passages on the relation between the moral and intellectual virtues, Philip claims that the intellectually virtuous agents are special in their capacity to give logos based on the science of numbers: the wise minority can grasp intelligent patterns and give rational explanations, thus comprehending the true nature of the cosmic gods, whilst the majority cannot do it (977c–d, 991e–992a). Philip uses these epistemic and moral inequalities, then, to justify political inequality and grant the elite an access to the Nocturnal Council (992d–e). In turn, the main task of the councillors is to supervise the participation of the ordinary people in cult practice and to ensure that their commitment to the cosmic gods is sincere (989c–d), which increases the social and religious cohesion of the cosmic city.

Philip’s conception of astral piety indicates a clear departure from Plato’s Laws. Philip does not adopt the neat bipartite divisions between religion and philosophy, the traditional gods and the cosmic beings, the morally virtuous majority and the intellectually virtuous minority that guided the construction of the old Magnesia. A new and more homogenous Magnesia is founded on a single framework of cosmic religion. Its initial function is to provide some theological consistency to the Platonic city and to compensate the past injustices done to the cosmic gods. It reinvents Magnesian society by focusing the citizens’ lives on the honouring of the cosmic gods. However, this project eventually reintroduces a bipartite division of society, only now it differentiates the average citizens, who participate in cult practice and cultivate performative piety, from the political elite, who conduct cosmological research and cultivate intellectual piety. Although this social structure seems to be similar to what we discussed in Chapter 3, its moral implications are more uncompromising than those of the Laws: ordinary people no longer need to practise courage or self-control by imitating the traditional gods in order to become the exemplary citizens of Magnesia. The ideal of godlikeness is removed from their moral horizon and replaced with a faithful submission to the rule of the astronomers, the only people capable of becoming godlike.

4.5 Conclusions

The aim of this chapter was to explore the reception of some of the Platonic religious themes in the Epinomis and, to a lesser extent, Xenocrates and Aristotle. We found that the Academics continued to speculate on the nature of Ouranos. Aristotle retained its theological meaning but narrowed its cosmological function. The other Academics responded to him by making Ouranos an eternal being by either integrating the Demiurge or, alternatively, the first principles to the world-soul. Then we examined the ways in which they gave religious names to gods. I argued that Xenocrates assigned the names of traditional gods to various ontological and cosmological entities on a functional basis, whereas Philip did not adopt a single strategy while distributing the religious names to the planets. Finally, we observed how Xenocrates and Philip used these theological results to support the cosmologisation of ethics and to transform piety to the astral beings into the primary virtue of Magnesia. In all these fields, we saw the Academics giving priority to the cosmic gods over the traditional gods.

Plato’s students showed no interest in defending the traditional gods against the new theological strands or at least preserving these gods in the form proposed by Plato. On the contrary, the Academics were the ones to develop these strands even further. The project of cosmic religion grew out of the need to firmly establish the cosmic gods in both intellectual and popular discourses and here the traditional gods helped our two authors to adapt the cosmic gods to the Greek cultural landscape. For this reason, the identities of the traditional gods were used instrumentally as a religious resource to accustom the public with the cosmic gods. But two Academics were split over their final position on the traditional gods. Xenocrates dissolved them fully by adopting the figurative reading of the traditional gods and thus merging them with the philosophical gods. By contrast, Philip associated only some of the old gods with the stars and planets. It is curious, however, that he refused to the explain the status of the traditional gods. His inclination to retain an independent group of these gods could be explained as a pragmatic compromise with ordinary people and their conventions. At any rate, we find here a mixture of continuity and innovation: the Academics took the Platonic religious themes as their point of departure, but they did not acknowledge any substantial need for the traditional gods. The traditional gods lost their explanatory roles and moral characteristics that were developed in the Timaeus, the Critias and the Laws. Unlike Plato’s later dialogues, Philip and Xenocrates did not sustain the even balance between religion and philosophy and replaced it with a strict subordination of religious ideas to philosophy.