Occultists & Mystics of All Ages
OCCULTISTS & MYSTICS OF ALL AGES
BY
RALPH SHIRLEY
AUTHOR OF “THE NEW GOD, AND OTHER ESSAYS,” “A SHORT LIFE OF ABRAHAM
LINCOLN,” ETC.
_WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS_
LONDON
WILLIAM RIDER & SON, LIMITED
8 PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C. 4
1920
_First Published Autumn 1920._
CONTENTS
1. APOLLONIUS OF TYANA ... 1
2. PLOTINUS ... 31
3. MICHAEL SCOTT ... 54
4. PARACELSUS ... 76
5. EMANUEL SWEDENBORG ... 91
6. COUNT CAGLIOSTRO ... 120
7. ANNA KINGSFORD ... 145
ILLUSTRATIONS
PARACELSUS ... 78
EMANUEL SWEDENBORG ... 92
COUNT CAGLIOSTRO ... 122
ANNA KINGSFORD ... 146
I
APOLLONIUS OF TYANA
The difficulty of treating of such a subject as the life and activities
of the Philosopher of Tyana lies in the fact that the story of
Apollonius’s career has been overlaid with legends of the miraculous on
the one hand, and distorted by religious prejudices on the other; while
the only authoritative account of this great religious reformer is
marred by the glaring deficiencies of the writer for the task which he
had in hand, and his inability to appreciate the life-work of the
subject of his biography. Indeed he fills many pages with literary
padding of the worst kind, while he fails to give us over and over again
the very facts which it is of value and importance for us to know.
Philostratus, the author of this life, was one of the literary coterie
that gathered round the presiding genius of the Empress Julia Domna, the
wife of Septimus Severus and mother of Caracalla. Julia Domna was a
generous patroness of art and literature, and her husband Severus was
devoted to the study of occult science. Gibbon, in his usual sceptical
vein, observes that “he was passionately addicted to the vain studies of
magic and divination, deeply versed in the interpretation of dreams and
omens, and perfectly acquainted with the science of judicial astrology.”
The Empress, who was a daughter of the Priest of the Sun at Emesa in
Syria, was an enthusiastic bibliophile and had collected, among her
other literary treasures, the note-books of Damis, the companion and
fellow traveller of Apollonius. These note-books or tablets contained
the records of his journeys and other details concerning the life of
Apollonius, who was as great a hero to Damis as ever Johnson was to
Boswell. If these notes were as full of detail as Philostratus asserts,
one can only regret that the biographer did not turn them to more useful
account. Damis was a native of Ninus or Nineveh, and Philostratus speaks
somewhat contemptuously of his defective Greek style. But it is probable
that with all their grammatical errors the note-books of Damis would
have given us a truer portrait of the great philosopher than the more
finished phrases and elaborate oratorical devices of Philostratus. The
biographer had also access to a book written by Maximus of Ægæ,
containing a record of Apollonius’s doings at that place. It requires an
acute critic to gauge how much of Philostratus’s narrative is literary
embellishment and interpolated matter, and how much is actually derived
from the original records. Even the Gospels of the Evangelists hardly
present a more difficult task to the critic anxious to discriminate
between the original and the glosses with which it is overlaid.
The other difficulty from which the record of Apollonius’s life and
teachings has suffered is due to the religious disputes which arose
through the rapid growth of Christianity and its conflict with the
previously existing religions of the Roman world. We may argue
legitimately enough that the power of working miracles is no proof of
the truth of the doctrines expounded by any religious teacher. But the
fact remains that in proselytising for Christianity the fullest use was
made of the miracles recorded as accomplished by Jesus in the Gospels,
in support of the contention in favour of the Divine origin of their
worker, and of his work. Illogical though this argument may appear to
the philosophic mind, it is not surprising that it should have carried
great weight, and indeed it must be admitted that it does so even at the
present day. What more natural, then, than that one of the disputants on
the other side should have produced a polemical pamphlet in which he
attempted to show that such an argument was a two-edged weapon, and that
in fact it was possible to produce better evidence in favour of the
miracles attributed to the pagan philosopher Apollonius than for those
of Jesus of Nazareth, and to argue that, this being the case, even
assuming the authenticity of the Gospel narrative, there was no more
justification for regarding the Jewish prophet as a God than the Tyanian
philosopher? Such a criticism of the claims of the Christians was in
fact written by Hierocles, a philosopher of some note and successively
governor of Palmyra, Bithynia, and Alexandria, about the first decade of
the fourth century A.D., under the title of _Philalethes_, or _The
Truth-lover_.
This pamphlet was not long in provoking a rejoinder from a leading light
of the Christian community. The reply, the author of which was Eusebius,
Bishop of Cæsarea, is still extant, though Hierocles’s contribution to
the controversy was destroyed, like much other evidence hostile to
Christianity, by the ecclesiastical authorities, when the new religion
finally became triumphant. Eusebius was able to show that Philostratus
was not a reliable authority, and that his judgment, where the
credibility of a narrative was in question, was clearly at fault. Though
the criticisms of Eusebius might have been applied with equal force to
much of the Gospel record, it is plain that his retort to Hierocles did
not lack point, the veracity of Philostratus being obviously not above
suspicion, and some of his narratives urgently calling for evidential
corroboration, indeed, in certain cases, being mere legend or romance.
This applies in especial to the account given of Apollonius’s journey to
India, which is interspersed with numerous fantastic stories which
appear to be derived by Philostratus from other sources and interpolated
in an unscrupulous manner, with the idea, presumably, of giving local
colour. There are, however, numerous records given which are clearly
taken direct from the narrative of Damis, and the general accuracy of
which there appears to be no adequate reason to call in question. One of
these offers a parallel to the various accounts of the raising of the
dead to life given in the Gospel story, as, for instance, the recalling
to life of the son of the widow of Nain; the raising from the dead of
Jairus’s daughter, and last but not least, the case of Martha and Mary’s
brother Lazarus, which, owing to the circumstances surrounding it, has
caught hold of the popular imagination to a greater extent than either
of the others. The record of the incident referred to is given in
Philostratus’s life[1] as follows:—
Here, too, is a miracle which Apollonius worked: A girl had died
just in the hour of her marriage, and the bridegroom was following
her bier lamenting, as was natural, his marriage left unfulfilled,
and the whole of Rome was mourning with him, for the maiden belonged
to a consular family. Apollonius then witnessing their grief, said:
“Put down the bier, for I will stay the tears that you are shedding
for this maiden.” And withal he asked what was her name. The crowd
accordingly thought that he was about to deliver such an oration as
is commonly delivered as much to grace the funeral as to stir up
lamentation; but he did nothing of the kind, but merely touching her
and whispering in secret some spell over her, at once woke up the
maiden from her seeming death; and the girl spoke out loud, and
returned to her father’s house, just as Alcestis did when she was
brought back to life by Hercules. And the relations of the maiden
wanted to present him with the sum of 150,000 sesterces, but he said
that he would freely present the money to the young lady by way of
dowry. Now, whether he detected some spark of life in her, which
those who were nursing her had not noticed—for it is said that
although it was raining at the time, a vapour went up from her
face—or whether life was really extinct, and he restored it by the
warmth of his touch, is a mysterious problem which neither I myself
nor those who were present could decide.
The record of this incident is presumably taken direct from the notes of
Damis, and is not, I think, to be too lightly set aside. Apollonius does
not appear to have made any claim to supernatural power in the matter,
nor need he be necessarily credited with anything beyond an intuitive
capacity for divining the fact that life had not finally departed. Nor
indeed are we bound to assume anything more than this intuitive capacity
as regards the two first-mentioned miracles in the Gospel records—those
of the son of the widow of Nain and Jairus’s daughter. The raising of
Lazarus may be held to stand in a different category, but it is
noteworthy as regards this, that only one Evangelist records the
incident and that his Gospel is the latest in date of the four. This has
naturally not escaped the attention of the critics, as it is almost
incredible that neither Matthew, Mark, nor Luke should have alluded to
so sensational an incident if they had any knowledge of its occurrence.
On the other hand, so dramatic an event could hardly have failed to
excite the greatest commotion at the time, and must, one would naturally
have supposed, inevitably have reached the ears of those who were
writing biographies of the performer of the miracle. The incident, in
short, is hardly one that could be placed even on the same evidential
plane as the raising of the consul’s daughter at Rome by Apollonius.
The problem as to whether life is, or is not, extinct in any specific
instance has over and over again proved too difficult of solution for
even the ablest of modern doctors, and in cases of trance, opinions of
the medical profession can be freely cited that there is no apparent
difference to be detected between the living and the dead. Numerous
tests have been applied and failed in cases where the patient has
eventually regained consciousness, and it is legitimate to suppose that
a certain clairvoyant power is in some cases alone capable of
determining the possibility of the spirit returning to reoccupy its
mortal tenement. According to occult theory, if the chord or magnetic
link that unites the astral with the physical body has not been
definitely severed, it is still possible for life to be restored. What
more probable than that one gifted with abnormal psychical powers, such
as either Jesus or Apollonius, might diagnose the presence of this
connecting link, which was invisible to all around?
Eusebius argues that the stories told of Apollonius’s psychic powers
detract from his credit as a philosopher. Such powers, he argues, only
appertain to a divine being, and therefore while they may be justly
credited in the case of Jesus they must be dismissed in that of
Apollonius. Such arguments will hardly appeal to the unbiased critic of
the present day. We must recognise, however, that it was Philostratus’s
methods of embellishing his narrative with fantastic oriental and other
legends which gave a loophole for the attack of Eusebius. There was,
indeed, a sufficiently serious sequel to this early passage of arms. The
discussion as to whether or not Apollonius’s miracles were entitled to
be set in juxtaposition to those of the Prophet of Nazareth, proved in
the end to be a veritable red-herring drawn across the track of the
whole story of Apollonius’s life and labours. Though there is no
recorded reference of Apollonius to Jesus or his teachings, he is made
to appear in the light of subsequent controversies as the false prophet
_par excellence_, and worker of pseudo-miracles, sent by the devil,
according to one ingenious commentator, to destroy the work of the
Saviour by an attempt to imitate his miracles, and thus to disprove
their unique character. When the printing press came into vogue and
classical literature was widely disseminated by this means, Aldus
hesitated to print the text of Philostratus’s _Life of Apollonius_, and
only did so finally with the text of Eusebius’s treatise added as an
appendix, so that, as he phrased it, “the antidote might accompany the
poison.” Later on, ingenious Continental commentators advanced the
theory that the life of Apollonius was a myth, and that it had for its
object the defence of classical philosophy as opposed to Christianity.
This theory is as ingenious as it is unconvincing, and even the
authority of its defenders, Baur and Zeller, has failed to secure it a
serious hearing at the present day. It is obvious that the supposed
antagonism between Jesus and Apollonius never really existed at all, and
though probably they were born within twenty years of each other, there
is no evidence to show that there was any connection of any kind between
their respective lives and activities.
The tradition which credits Apollonius with being a worker of miracles
and magician is widespread, but there is comparatively little that is
narrated of him by Philostratus which is incredible, if assumed to have
been performed by a man who had led a life such as that of the Sage of
Tyana, and who was gifted with such psychic powers as we are familiar
with at the present day. We shall probably be right in regarding most of
these narratives of psychic incidents as taken direct from the tablets
of Damis, and therefore in the main authentic, even if the details are
not in every case exact. A few instances will serve to illustrate the
point of what I have said.
After Apollonius’s visit to Athens, in which he was initiated into the
Eleusinian Mysteries, he took ship for Egypt, stopping at Rhodes on the
way. Arriving at Alexandria he found that his reputation had preceded
him, and was met everywhere with reverence and respect. He took
advantage of the friendly popular feeling towards him to intervene in a
case of miscarriage of justice. A robbery had recently taken place in
the town, and twelve men had been condemned in connection with it. An
innocent victim of the general sentence was revealed psychically to
Apollonius. He thereupon called the procession to a halt as they were
being led to execution, and instructed the guard to place the innocent
man last of the twelve. The delay thus secured gave time for a horseman
to ride up with a reprieve for the man in question, whose innocence had
been established subsequently to the trial. It is not difficult to
attribute such a case as this to psychic powers, but, on the other hand,
it is quite open to us to assume that Apollonius had learned something
by normal means as to the doubt hanging over the condemned man’s
implication in the crime.
Never, perhaps, has any possessor of noted psychic powers enjoyed the
friendship or the hostility of so many great Emperors as did Apollonius.
Vespasian and Titus were both intimate in their friendship, and sought
the advice of the sage of Tyana on various notable occasions. It was, it
appears, during this same visit to Alexandria that Vespasian arrived at
the great Egyptian seaport and requested an interview with the sage.
Vespasian explained to him his schemes, for he was already then aiming
at the supreme power. Apollonius encouraged him, and to his great
surprise informed him that it was his destiny to rebuild the temple of
Jupiter Capitolinus at Rome. As a matter of fact the temple had just
been burned down, but the news did not reach Egypt till some time later.
What we call nowadays a telepathic wave had conveyed the incident to the
knowledge of the seer. A similar instance of Apollonius’s telepathic
powers is narrated in connection with the death of Domitian. Apollonius
had previously been arrested by this Emperor on the ridiculous charge of
sacrificing an Arcadian boy, in order, apparently, to discover the
prospects of the succession of Nerva to the Empire. He was acquitted by
the monster who was Nero’s rival in cruelty without Nero’s artistic
talents, to the great surprise of all his friends. The story is that he
vanished mysteriously from the court. We may, however, I think, without
hesitation attribute this incident to Philostratus’s love of the
dramatic, especially as it seems clear that he had already been
acquitted and that there was no apparent reason why he should not walk
out as a free man like any ordinary mortal in similar circumstances.
What strikes the dispassionate reader as really remarkable is the fact
that though Apollonius was twice arrested, once by Nero and again by
Domitian, and though the philosophers of the day, being supposed to be
hostile to the tyrants, met almost invariably with short shrift, the
sage of Tyana was in each case acquitted and left the court, as we say
to-day, “without a stain on his character.” Why, if the Emperors had him
arrested, knowing doubtless the value of the charges against him, did
they not take steps to ensure his condemnation? The fact seems to be,
without doubt, that they regarded him with fear. Whether this fear was
due merely to his reputation as a worker of wonders, or to his actual
psychic power exercised at their expense in the courts of justice, is an
open question, and clearly admits of two opinions.
His own observations on this subject, as quoted by Philostratus, seem,
however, to justify our accepting by preference the latter of the two
views. Speaking to his friends about his intention to take ship for Rome
in order to meet openly any charge that might be made against him rather
than to lie low in some distant corner of the Empire as his disciples
were anxious that he should do, he observed that he would not consider a
man a coward because he had disappeared out of dread of Nero, but would
hail as a philosopher any one who rose superior to such a fear. And he
added, “Let not any one think it foolish so to venture along a path
which many philosophers are fleeing from, for in the first place I do
not esteem any human agency so formidable that a wise man can ever be
terrified by it, and in the second place I would not urge upon you the
pursuit of bravery unless it were attended with danger.” After dwelling
upon the ferocity and brutality of Nero, contrasting him with savage
animals who could sometimes be tamed, and mollified by coaxing and
flattery, whereas Nero was only roused to greater cruelty than before by
those who stroked him, he continued in the following remarkable strain:
If, however, any one is disposed to dread Nero for these reasons,
and is led abruptly to forsake philosophy, conceiving that it is not
safe for him to thwart his evil temper, let him know that the
quality of inspiring fear really belongs to those who are devoted to
temperance and wisdom, because they are sure of Divine succour. But
let him snap his fingers at the threats of the proud and insolent,
as he would at those of drunken men, for we regard these surely as
daft and senseless, but not as formidable.
We are accustomed to refer to Apollonius as a philosopher. While we are
perfectly correct in so doing, it is well to observe what the term
philosophy connotes when employed by the Tyanian sage. It is not
obviously a question merely of adopting a creed or view of life or a
certain set of philosophical opinions, but implies in the fullest
measure the life led in accordance with these opinions and inspired by
the courage with which the knowledge of their truth endows the man who
professes them. The keynote, indeed, to the whole of Apollonius’s life
lies in the fact that his so-called philosophy was an active and
inspiring force which dominated his whole conduct.
I have alluded to the evidence of Apollonius’s telepathic powers in
connection with the death of Domitian. His passage of arms with this
tyrant may have afforded the requisite psychic link. In any case the
Tyanian was made aware of Domitian’s assassination under sufficiently
dramatic circumstances. He had returned to Ionia after a stay of two
years in Greece, and was at the moment speaking at Ephesus. In the midst
of his discourse he seemed to lose the current of his words, and the
audience noticed a troubled expression passing over his features.
Suddenly breaking off any further attempt to continue his speech, he
stepped forward three or four paces on the platform from which he was
addressing the assembly, and cried out in loud tones, “Strike the
tyrant! Strike!” The audience were naturally amazed at this sudden
outburst, but soon coming to himself, Apollonius explained to them that
Domitian had been slain at that hour, and that a vision from the gods
had been granted to him at the moment of what actually took place. News
arrived in due course confirming his statement. This story is narrated
by Dion Cassius as well as by Philostratus.
Beyond these records there are several others of a sufficiently
startling character, which it is not easy to take too literally. There
is, for instance, the narrative of the rescue of a young Athenian from
the clutches of a vampire. The youth, according to the story, mistook
the vampire for a normal living woman, and being infatuated with her,
was on the point of marrying her until Apollonius dispelled the
illusion. Probably this was one of the many romances that had collected
round the name of Apollonius between his death and the time of
Philostratus, though there may possibly have been some small grain of
truth at the bottom of it. Another story which may have had some basis
in fact, has been so embroidered upon as to render it quite incredible
in the form in which it is presented by the biographer. This relates to
the supposed interview of Apollonius with the ghost of Achilles, which
was held to haunt the tomb of the Grecian hero. The reputation of
Apollonius was so great and his supposed power as a worker of miracles
had obtained so widespread a currency by the second century of our era
that all sorts of miraculous happenings were readily credited by the
ignorant public when ascribed to the Tyanian sage. Philostratus appears
to have made use of certain of these floating stories.
That the name of Apollonius was regarded with the greatest veneration
during the centuries following his death is abundantly evident.
Caracalla (Roman Emperor 211-216 A.D.) honoured his memory with a chapel
or monument (_heroum_). Alexander Severus (Emperor 225-235 A.D.) placed
his statue in his _lararium_ along with those of Christ, Abraham, and
Orpheus. Aurelius is stated to have vowed a temple to the sage of Tyana,
of whom he had seen a vision. Vopiscus at the end of the third century
speaks of him as “a sage of the most widespread renown and authority, an
ancient philosopher and a true friend of the gods.” “He it was,” says
Vopiscus, “who gave life to the dead. He it was who did and said so many
things beyond the power of men.” In the work entitled _Quaestiones et
Responsiones ad Orthodoxos_, attributed (though apparently in error) to
Justin Martyr, occurs among other of these “questions” the following:
“If God is the maker and master of creation how do the _telesmata_ of
Apollonius have power in the orders of that creation? For as we see,
they check the fury of the waves and the power of the winds, and the
inroads of vermin and attacks of wild beasts.” These _telesmata_ or
talismans were articles that had been, or were supposed to have been,
consecrated or magnetised, with some religious ceremony, by
Apollonius.[2]
We see, then, that around the name of this philosopher gathered, as time
went on, a mass of more or less incredible miraculous tradition. And, as
happens too often in such cases, the real work of this great religious
reformer was lost sight of amid this accumulation of legend that
impressed the popular eye, which was too dull to appreciate or
understand the deeper significance of the life-work and esoteric
teaching of the sage. Orthodox religion in the Roman Empire had indeed
at this time fallen into very much the same sort of discredit as
orthodox Christianity has among ourselves to-day. Two definite attempts
were made to resuscitate these old religions of Greece and Rome by
reviving the understanding of the essential spiritual truths which they
enshrined; the first by Apollonius of Tyana, who was above all else a
reformer of the ancient Greek religion from within, and the other, an
abortive one three hundred years later, by Julian the so-called
Apostate. These classical faiths were, however, too much overlaid with
mythological stories of an unedifying character ever again to recover
their ascendancy over the popular imagination, and the ascetic life and
esoteric interpretation which appealed to the isolated religious
communities which Apollonius visited in his extensive travels throughout
the countries bordering the Mediterranean, and as far east as Persia and
India, could not in their very nature make a popular appeal to the
average man. We see now that the triumph of Christianity was due to the
universality of its appeal, and that however uncertain the issue of the
struggle of the contending faiths appeared at the time, that issue was
never really in doubt. The ascetic philosopher worked for the little
public to whom the life of self-denial and esoteric truth are all in
all, and to whom the world and the pursuits of the ordinary citizen take
a place of minor importance. The “friend of publicans and sinners,” “who
was in all things tempted like as we are,” was able to “draw all men
unto him” by a compelling force such as the austere discipline and
profound philosophy of Apollonius could never command. Jesus of
Nazareth, in short, triumphed—and there is a profound significance in
this fact—because mankind in the realisation of his true humanity forgot
that he was accounted a God. The life of Apollonius was so far removed
from anything the average man could comprehend that the world lost sight
of the wisdom and deep spirituality of his teaching, in amazement at a
worker of miracles so far beyond human ken that he came to be reckoned
even a manifestation of Deity.
We are not, however, justified in supposing that it was primarily to his
miracle-working powers that Apollonius owed his reputation among his
contemporaries. It was rather as the wise man who had more knowledge and
experience of the world than those around him, whose judgment was
sounder and more unbiased by personal considerations than other men’s,
and whose high spirituality kept him aloof from all considerations of
private gain or private interest, that Apollonius was regarded by the
men of his own day. Later tradition which invested him with all kinds of
miraculous achievements served to dim the halo round a great name. The
foremost men of his time in thought and action, the Emperors Vespasian,
Titus, and many others, did not come to consult Apollonius because he
was some master magician. We do not in effect ask advice of a man in our
hour of need because he can do the vanishing trick in a court of law, or
pull rabbits out of his hat when there are no rabbits to pull, or do any
of the marvellous performances which strike the vulgar with amazement.
We seek rather the advice of one whose judgment is saner and whose
knowledge of the world is greater than that of his fellows. It was for
this reason that the wisest of the Roman Emperors came to consult
Apollonius by preference with regard to the great task with which they
were entrusted, when they had all the highest intellects in the Roman
Empire from which to choose.
The account of Titus’s first meeting with the Tyanian sage is of some
interest, and not without its humorous side. Apollonius, who was already
acquainted with his father, sent greetings to Titus, after the
suppression of the Jewish insurrection, saying in characteristic manner,
“Whereas you have refused to be proclaimed for success in war and for
shedding the blood of your enemies, I myself assign to you the crown of
temperance and moderation because you thoroughly understand what deeds
really merit a crown.” Titus thoroughly appreciated the compliment, and
was not to be outdone by the other’s courtesy. “On my own behalf,” he
replied, “I thank you no less than on behalf of my father, and I will
not forget your kindness. For although I have captured Jerusalem, you
have captured me.”
After Titus had been appointed to share his father’s responsibilities in
the government of the Empire he did not forget Apollonius, and when he
was in Tarsus wrote to the sage begging him to come and see him.
When he had arrived [says the narrative], Titus embraced him,
saying, “My father has told me by letter everything in respect of
which he consulted you; and lo! here is his letter, in which you are
described as his benefactor and the being to whom we owe all that we
are. Now though I am only just thirty years of age, I am held worthy
of the same privileges to which my father only attained at the age
of sixty. I am called to the throne to rule, perhaps before I have
learnt myself to obey, and I therefore dread lest I am undertaking a
task beyond my powers.” Thereupon Apollonius, after stroking his
neck, said (for he had as stout a neck as any athlete in training),
“And who will force so sturdy a bull-neck as yours under the yoke?”
“He that from my youth up reared me as a calf,” answered Titus,
meaning his own father, and implying that he could only be
controlled by the latter, who had accustomed him from childhood to
obey himself. “I am delighted then,” said Apollonius, “in the first
place, to see you prepared to subordinate yourself to your father,
whom without being his natural children so many are delighted to
obey, and next to see you rendering to his court homage in which
others will associate yourself. When youth and age are paired in
authority, is there any lyre or any flute that will produce so sweet
a harmony and so nicely blended? For the qualities of old age will
be associated with those of youth, with the result that old age will
gain in strength and youth in discipline.”
The records of Apollonius’s pithy sayings are very numerous and give a
better insight into the man’s character than the startling achievements
with which he is so commonly credited. Once, when staying at Smyrna, he
complimented the inhabitants on their zeal for letters and philosophy
and their numerous activities, urging them to take pride rather in
themselves than in the beauty of their city, for “although they had the
most beautiful of cities under the sun, and although they had a friendly
sea at their doors, nevertheless it was more pleasing for the city to be
crowned with men than with porticoes and pictures, or even with gold in
excess of what they needed.” “For,” he said, “public edifices remain
where they are and are nowhere seen except in that particular part of
the earth where they exist, but good men are conspicuous everywhere and
everywhere talked about, and so they can magnify the city the more to
which they belong in proportion to the numbers in which they are able to
visit any part of the earth.” And again, when visiting the monument to
Leonidas, the hero of Thermopylæ, he was enthusiastic in admiration for
the Greek leader, and on coming to the mound where the Lacedemonians
were said to have been overwhelmed by the arrows which the enemy rained
upon them, he heard his companions discussing with one another which was
the loftiest peak in Hellas, the topic being suggested, apparently, by
the sight of Mount Oeta which rose before their eyes. Accordingly
ascending the mound, he said, “I consider this the loftiest of all, for
those who fell here in defence of freedom raised it to a level with Oeta
and carried it to a height surpassing many mountains like Olympus.” On
another occasion when, on arriving at Athens, and meeting with an
enthusiastic reception at the hands of the people, he proposed to be
initiated into the Eleusinian Mysteries, the hierophant showed jealousy
of Apollonius’s great reputation, which he felt put his own into the
shade, and was reluctant, accordingly, to admit so formidable a rival.
He therefore made the excuse that Apollonius was a wizard and had
dabbled in impure rites, and that he could not in consequence consent to
initiate him. Apollonius, however, was fully equal to the occasion, and
retorted, “You have not yet mentioned the chief head of my offending,
which is that knowing as I do more about the initiatory rite than you do
yourself, I have nevertheless come for initiation to you as if you were
wiser than I am.” The attitude of the crowd was so hostile to the
hierophant, on discovering his rejection of their honoured guest, that
he found it advisable to change his tone. But Apollonius preferred to
postpone his initiation till a later occasion, and, it is said, foretold
the name of the successor who was destined to initiate him four years
after.
Of many men who have led a deeply spiritual life and sacrificed
everything for the sake of the pursuit of a spiritual ideal, it is
recorded that they were wild and profligate in youth. Such was the case
with St Francis of Assisi, and Apollonius’s contemporary, the zealous
Saul of Tarsus, led a changed life from the moment of his conversion.
Indeed it has been said, referring doubtless to such instances, that
“the greater the sinner the greater the saint.” This saying, however, is
by no means applicable to Apollonius. From his earliest days his choice
was made clear. He came of a family which was at once wealthy and
well-connected, and in addition to this he was endowed by nature with
exceptional abilities and a remarkable memory, while the beauty of his
person excited universal admiration. Every temptation, therefore, which
fortune could offer, might, one would have thought, have led him to
choose the path of worldly success. From the age of fourteen, however,
he abandoned all idea of the pursuit of pleasure and devoted himself to
discovering among the numerous Greek philosophies of the day some school
of thought which would enable him to live up to his own ideals. Finally
he adopted the system of Pythagoras, but was not content to receive it
in the sense of accepting its doctrines and not living the life, after
the manner of his teacher, Euxenus. Accordingly when Euxenus asked him
how he would begin his new mode of life, he replied, “As doctors purge
their patients.” “Hence” (says G. R. S. Mead, in his Biography), “he
refused to touch anything that had animal life in it, on the ground that
it densified the mind and rendered it impure. He considered that the
only pure form of food was what the earth produced, fruits and
vegetables. He also abstained from wine, for, though it was made from
fruit, it rendered turbid the ether in the soul, and destroyed the
composure of the mind.” In addition to this, he went barefoot, let his
hair grow long, and wore nothing but linen.
On the death of his father, when he was twenty years of age, he
inherited a considerable fortune, which was left to him to share with
his elder brother, a dissolute young man of three-and-twenty. When his
brother had run through his share of the patrimony, he endeavoured
(successfully as it appears) to rescue him from his vicious life, and
made over to him half his own share of the inheritance. Having
distributed the major part of the remainder among his relatives, he
merely retained for himself a bare pittance.
Before starting on his missionary activities—he was probably by far the
greatest traveller of his time—he took the vow of silence for five
years. After this, he travelled from place to place making the
acquaintance of temple priests and heads of the religious communities,
endeavouring always to bring back the public cults to the purity of
their ancient traditions and to suggest improvements in the practices of
the private brotherhoods, the most important part of his work being
devoted to those who were followers of the inner life. _Public_
instruction in ethics and practical life he never gave until after the
middle of the day, “for,” he said, “those who live the inner life should
on day’s dawning enter the presence of the gods, spending the time till
midday in giving and receiving instructions in holy things.” His Indian
expedition, from which his friends and disciples endeavoured to dissuade
him, he undertook, as he stated, on the advice of his inner monitor,
starting his perilous undertaking entirely alone, and so continuing
until he made the acquaintance of Damis at Nineveh.
There is some doubt as to the date of Apollonius’s birth, but an
allusion by Philostratus makes it appear that he was quite a young man
at the time of his Indian expedition, and as he apparently did not
commence his five years’ vow of silence till after he came of age, we
must assume that he was somewhere between twenty-six and thirty at the
commencement of this undertaking. Treadwell dates the Indian travels as
from 41 to 54 A.D. If this is approximately accurate we may assign his
birth-date to the second decade of the first century of the Christian
era. Assuming this to be the case, he was presumably over eighty years
old at the time of his death, which occurred about 98 A.D. Damis had
been his almost inseparable companion from the time when he first met
him at Nineveh. It seems to have been a case of something akin to “love
at first sight,” for the Assyrian was seized at once with an enthusiasm
for the nobility of Apollonius’s character, which was blent with a
natural and even dog-like affection. At the last, however, his companion
was not with him, and there is some mystery as to the exact place and
occasion of his death. He sent Damis away when the expected time
approached, on the pretext of entrusting him with a confidential letter
to the Emperor Nerva, so that it may be said of him, as it was of Moses,
“No man knoweth his burial place unto this day.”
Apollonius had never reason to regret his Indian travels. He became
deeply imbued with the metaphysical ideas of the Brahmins, and was in
the habit ever after of extolling their spiritual philosophy as the
fountain-head of all the profounder truths of Western religion. As to
Damis’s record of Apollonius’s sojourn with the Indian Philosophers, we
have only Philostratus’s garbled account to guide us, and the quotation
of Apollonius’s cryptic observation, “I saw men dwelling on the earth
and yet not on it; defended on all sides, without any defence; and yet
possessed of nothing but what all possessed.” It may be well to quote
the interpretation of this saying given by Mr Mead. “They were on the
earth but not of the earth, for their minds were set on things above.
They were protected by their innate spiritual power, of which we have so
many instances in Indian literature. And yet they possessed nothing but
what all men possess if they would but develop the spiritual part of
their being.” There are a good many references in the conversations with
Apollonius to the belief in Reincarnation, which was of course an
essential tenet of Pythagorean philosophy, and he himself averred that
in his previous life he was a man of no consequence, to wit, a ship’s
pilot. A letter ascribed to him, whether rightly or wrongly, has some
interesting observations on this subject.
“Why has this false notion,” he asks, “of birth and death” (_i.e._,
that they are real and not illusory in character)—“why has this
false notion remained so long without being refuted? Some think that
what has happened through them they have themselves brought about.
They are ignorant that the individual is brought to birth _through_
parents, not _by_ parents. Just as a thing produced through the
earth is not produced from it. The change which comes to the
individual is nothing that is caused by his visible surroundings,
but rather a change in the one thing which is in every man.”
The portrait of Apollonius which has been handed down through many
generations has become blurred and disfigured beyond recognition, and it
seemed therefore well to give, even if in but a brief outline, such a
sketch as might convey a juster idea of the philosopher whose friendship
the greatest men of his day considered it their highest honour to enjoy,
the man who chose the path of sanctity at a time of life when others
choose “the primrose path of dalliance,” who chose Wisdom for her own
sake and Truth for the sake of Truth.
The world holds no record of a long life lived more nobly, of a more
undaunted courage in confronting the tyrant, of a more unflinching
tenacity of purpose, of a more single-minded devotion to a high ideal.
His boyhood’s choice, the inspiration of his manhood, the beacon-light
of his latest years—to follow in the footsteps of that Form, so austere
in the simplicity of her loveliness, “whose ways are ways of
pleasantness and all whose paths are peace.”[3]
Footnote 1:
_Philostratus_, Book IV, chapter xlv. I am indebted to Dr Conybeare’s
translation, published by Messrs Heinemann, for this and some other
quotations. The book is a very useful one, the Greek and English being
given side by side.
Footnote 2:
I am indebted to G. R. S. Mead’s work, _Apollonius of Tyana, The
Philosopher-Reformer of the First Century A.D._ (London: T. P. S.),
for these particulars.
Footnote 3:
“Happy is the man that findeth wisdom. Length of days is in her right
hand and in her left hand riches and honour. Her ways are ways of
pleasantness and all her paths are peace” (Prov. iii. 13, 16, 17).
II
PLOTINUS
The problem of the origin of the universe is one with which every
religion in a certain sense claims to deal; but it is a problem only of
the most recondite sphere of metaphysics, while religions generally, in
order to ensure their success, make appeal to popular sympathy and
endeavour to bring down the truths which they enshrine to the
intellectual level of the masses of mankind. To put abstruse truths into
simple language is an impossibility. They can, however, be conveyed by a
species of symbolism, or presented in an allegorical form which will be
interpreted in one sense by the vulgar and in another by the philosopher
or the religious initiate. The communication of these hidden truths has
been represented in the case of most religions as a definite revelation
from a higher plane; but whatever claim is made as to their origin, they
are at least put before the rank and file of the faithful as dogmas to
be accepted unhesitatingly as a vital element of the orthodox religion
of the time or country. Such dogmas in their crude form, it is needless
to say, have never made appeal to the high philosophical intelligence of
the day. Under the autocratic regime of persecuting Christianity during
the Middle Ages of Europe, Christian dogma was indeed accepted nominally
by great intellects, but it was accepted under duress and with a
reservation, and subject to such interpretations of its inner meaning as
might commend themselves to the mental standpoint of their professor.
The men of highest intellect were compelled to express the faith that
was in them in the most guarded language, and if they failed to do so
they were only too liable to share the fate of Galileo, or—worse
still—of Giordano Bruno. The sole exception to this rule is to be found
in Oriental countries, such as India, where religion, whether Brahmin or
Buddhist, has assumed a less dogmatic form, and has found it possible
accordingly to assimilate and identify itself with philosophical
speculations of the profoundest and most abstruse character, without any
sense of incongruity or doing violence to its own specific tenets. It is
true that Mohammedanism appears to contradict this, but it must be
remembered that the religion of Mohammed was in the nature of a foreign
importation and not indigenous to Indian soil.
Thus it came about that the philosophers of early Greece and Rome were
almost invariably avowed sceptics as regards the popular religious
beliefs of their time, though in spite of this, with the sole exception
of Socrates, they were allowed to preach their doctrines openly in the
market place without let or hindrance. Thus, too, the triumph of
Christianity brought it eventually into open antagonism with philosophic
thought. In this case, however, the dogmatic and intolerant character of
the creed suffered no rival schools of opinion, and accordingly, within
200 years of the date at which it was established by Constantine as the
recognised religion of the Roman Empire, the Athenian schools of
philosophy were forcibly suppressed by Justinian.[4] For some two and a
half centuries before this latter date Neoplatonism in one form or
another had dominated the intellectual world of philosophy. It had
superseded the materialistic philosophies of earlier Rome and Greece,
and even before the time of Constantine, the Stoic and Epicurean schools
of thought had already ceased to appeal to the inquiring spirit of the
time. When, after a thousand years of intervening barbarism, under the
influence of the Renaissance movement, men began to turn their attention
once more to classic scholarship and classic philosophy, it was to
Plato, mainly as interpreted by his successor and follower, Plotinus,
that the leading spirits of the day turned in search of a solution of
those problems of life which were once more pressing for interpretation,
after the intellectual death in life of the Dark Ages, following the
break-up of the Roman Empire. Christianity, indeed, had its
metaphysics—for every religion is bound, in a sense, to explain its
Divinity to its devotees—but they were the bastard metaphysics of the
Athanasian Creed, the expression of a political compromise drawn up to
satisfy the warring sects of Christendom. Far different was the effort
of Plotinus, who sought not only to solve the riddle of the sphinx, but
to express in language intelligible to his hearers the solution of the
profoundest mysteries of the universe. How far he succeeded in doing so
is yet in dispute to the present day. At least the basis of his
philosophy still remains as an attempted approximation to the truth
which forms the groundwork for the efforts of every new seeker after
spiritual enlightenment.
At the date of the birth of Plotinus, Alexandria was the intellectual
capital of the world. There met East and West, in spite of Mr Rudyard
Kipling’s dictum to the contrary. There the philosophical and
intellectual speculations of the entire civilised world enjoyed a common
forum where the most diverse views found a ready audience. There Philo
interpreted Judaism in terms of current Greek thought. There Gnostics
and Christians contended for the supremacy of their various religious
doctrines. There, among others, Ammonius Saccas lectured on his
philosophical interpretation of the universal life, first from a
standpoint akin to that of the new Christian religion, which was already
obtaining so many converts, and later from an independent platform of
his own. To him, after listening to many different philosophers, in
whose views he found neither satisfaction nor illumination, came the
most illustrious of his pupils, Plotinus. Plotinus was at this time
about twenty-eight (he was born probably at Lycopolis in Egypt, in the
year 205 or 206 A.D.), and he continued to remain at Alexandria and to
elaborate his theories under the auspices of his master, Ammonius, for
some eleven years. At the expiration of this period the similarity of
the philosophy of Ammonius to that taught by the Brahmins of India, and
doubtless also the interest in these Oriental conceptions which had been
stimulated by the travels of Apollonius of Tyana, led to a decision on
the part of Plotinus to emulate the Tyanian sage and himself embark on a
similar mission. The expedition of the Emperor Gordian against the
Persians appeared to supply a favourable opportunity for carrying out
this project. This expedition was, however, destined to disaster, and
Gordian met with an untimely end. Plotinus himself barely escaped with
his life, but eventually reached Antioch in safety. Our philosopher did
not remain long in the Syrian capital, but at the earliest opportunity
sailed for Rome, where the remainder of his life was spent in lecturing
and in philosophic study and discussion.