may be realised from Plato's conception of the universe. There is only
one way of understanding him thoroughly. It is to place him in the
light which streams forth from the Mysteries.
Plato's later disciples, the Neo-Platonists, credit him with a secret
doctrine which he imparted only to those who were worthy, and which he
conveyed under the "seal of secrecy." His teaching was looked upon as
mysterious in the same sense as the wisdom of the Mysteries. Even if
the seventh Platonic letter is not from his hand, as is alleged, it
does not signify for our present purpose, for it does not matter
whether it was he or another who gave utterance to the view expressed
in this letter. This view is of the essence of Plato's philosophy. In
the letter we read as follows: "This much I may say about all those
who have written or may hereafter write as if they knew the aim of my
work,--that no credence is to be attached to their words, whether they
obtained their information from me, or from others, or invented it
themselves. I have written nothing on this subject, nor would anything
be allowed to appear. This kind of thing cannot be expressed in words
like other teaching, but needs a long study of the subject and a
making oneself one with it. Then it is as though a spark leaped up and
kindled a light in the soul which thereafter is able to keep itself
alight." This utterance might only indicate the writer's powerlessness
to express his meaning in words,--a mere personal weakness,--if the
idea of the Mysteries were not to be found in them. The subject on
which Plato had not written and would never write, must be something
about which all writing would be futile. It must be a feeling, a
sentiment, an experience, which is not gained by instantaneous
communication, but by making oneself one with it, in heart and soul.
The reference is to the inner education which Plato was able to give
those he selected. For them, fire flashed forth from his words, for
others, only thoughts.
The manner of our approach to Plato's _Dialogues_ is not a matter of
indifference. They will mean more or less to us, according to our
spiritual condition. Much more passed from Plato to his disciples than
the literal meaning of his words. The place where he taught his
listeners thrilled in the atmosphere of the Mysteries. His words awoke
overtones in higher regions, which vibrated with them, but these
overtones needed the atmosphere of the Mysteries, or they died away
without having been heard.
In the centre of the world of the Platonic Dialogues stands the
personality of Socrates. We need not here touch upon the historical
aspect of that personality. It is a question of the character of
Socrates as it appears in Plato. Socrates is a person consecrated by
his dying for truth. He died as only an initiate can die, as one to
whom death is merely a moment of life like other moments. He
approaches death as he would any other event in existence. His
attitude towards it was such that even in his friends the feelings
usual on such an occasion were not aroused. Phædo says this in the
_Dialogue on the Immortality of the Soul_: "Truly I found myself in
the strangest state of mind. I had no compassion for him, as is usual
at the death of a dear friend. So happy did the man appear to me in
his demeanour and speech, so steadfast and noble was his end, that I
was confident that he was not going to Hades without a divine mission,
and that even there it would be as well with him as it is with any one
anywhere. No tender-hearted emotion overcame me, as might have been
expected at such a mournful event, nor on the other hand was I in a
cheerful mood, as is usual during philosophical pursuits, and although
our conversation was of this nature; but I found myself in a wondrous
state of mind and in an unwonted blending of joy and grief when I
reflected that this man was about to die." The dying Socrates
instructs his disciples about immortality. His personality, which had
learned by experience the worthlessness of life, furnishes a kind of
proof quite different from logic and arguments founded on reason. It
seems as if it were not a man speaking, for this man was passing away,
but as if it were the voice of eternal truth itself, which had taken
up its abode in a perishable personality. Where a mortal being is
dissolving into nothing, there seems to be a breath of the air in
which it is possible for eternal harmonies to resound.
We hear no logical proofs of immortality. The whole discourse is
designed to lead the friends where they may behold the eternal. Then
they will need no proofs. Would it be necessary to prove that a rose
is red, to one who has one before him? Why should it be necessary to
prove that spirit is eternal, to one whose eyes we have opened to
behold spirit? Experiences, inner events, Socrates points to them, and
first of all to the experience of wisdom itself.
What does he desire who aspires after wisdom? He wishes to free
himself from what the senses offer him in every-day perception. He
seeks for the spirit in the sense-world. Is not this a fact which may
be compared with dying? "For," according to Socrates, "those who
occupy themselves with philosophy in the right way are really striving
after nothing else than to die and to be dead, without this being
perceived by others. If this is true, it would be strange if, after
having aimed at this all through life, when death itself comes they
should be indignant at that which they have so long striven after and
taken pains about." To corroborate this, Socrates asks one of his
friends: "Does it seem to you befitting a philosopher to take trouble
about so-called fleshly pleasures, such as eating and drinking? or
about sexual pleasures? And do you think that such a man pays much
heed to other bodily needs? To have fine clothes, shoes, and other
bodily adornments,--do you think he considers or scorns this more than
utmost necessity demands? Does it not seem to you that it should be
such a man's whole preoccupation not to turn his thoughts to the body,
but as much as possible away from it and towards the soul? Therefore
this is the first mark of the philosopher, that he, more than all
other men, relieves his soul of association with the body."
On this subject Socrates has something more to say, _i.e._, that
aspiration after wisdom has this much in common with dying, that it
turns man away from the physical. But whither does he turn? Towards
the spiritual. But can he desire the same from spirit as from the
senses? Socrates thus expresses himself on this point: "But how is it
with reasonable knowledge itself? Is the body a hindrance or not, if
we take it as a companion in our search for knowledge? I mean, do
sight and hearing procure man any truth? Or is what the poets sing
meaningless, that we see and hear nothing clearly?... When does the
soul catch sight of truth? For when it tries to examine something with
the help of the body, it is manifestly deceived by the latter."
Everything of which we are cognisant by means of our bodily senses
appears and disappears. And it is this appearing and disappearing
which is the cause of our being deceived. But when with our reasonable
intelligence we look deeper into things, the eternal element in them
is revealed to us. Thus the senses do not offer us the eternal in its
true form. The moment we trust them implicitly they deceive us. They
cease to deceive us if we confront them with our thinking insight and
submit what they tell us to its examination.
But how could our thinking insight sit in judgment on the declarations
of the senses, unless there were something living within it which
transcends sense-perception? Therefore the truth or falsity in things
is decided by something within us which opposes the physical body and
is consequently not subject to its laws. First of all, it cannot be
subject to the laws of growth and decay. For this something contains
truth within it. Now truth cannot have a yesterday and a to-day, it
cannot be one thing one day and another the next, like objects of
sense. Therefore truth must be something eternal. And when the
philosopher turns away from the perishable things of sense and towards
truth, he is turning towards an eternal element that lives within him.
If we immerse ourselves wholly in spirit, we shall live wholly in
truth. The things of sense around us are no longer present merely in
their physical form. "And he accomplishes this most perfectly," says
Socrates, "who approaches everything as much as possible with the
spirit only, without either looking round when he is thinking, or
letting any other sense interrupt his reflecting; but who, making use
of pure thought only, strives to grasp everything as it is in itself,
separating it as much as possible from eyes and ears, in short from
the whole body, which only disturbs the soul and does not allow it to
attain truth and insight when associated with the soul.... Now is not
death the release and separation of the soul from the body? And it is
only true philosophers who are always striving to release the soul as
far as they can. This, therefore, is the philosopher's vocation, to
deliver and separate the soul from the body.... Therefore it would be
foolish if a man, who all his life has taken measures to be as near
death as possible, should, when it comes, rebel against it.... In
truth the real seekers after wisdom aspire to die, and of all men they
are those who least fear death." Moreover Socrates bases all higher
morality on liberation from the body. He who only follows what his
body ordains is not moral. Who is valiant? asks Socrates. He is
valiant who does not obey his body but the demands of his spirit when
these demands imperil the body. And who is temperate? Is not this he
who "does not let himself be carried away by desires, but who
maintains an indifferent and moral demeanour with regard to them.
Therefore are not those alone temperate who set least value on the
body and live in the love of wisdom?" And so it is, in the opinion of
Socrates, with all virtues.
Thence Socrates goes on to characterise intellectual cognition. What
is it after all, to cognise? Undoubtedly we arrive at it by forming
judgments. I form a judgment about some object; for instance, I say to
myself, what is in front of me is a tree. How do I arrive at saying
that? I can only do it if I already know what a tree is. I must
remember my conception of a tree. A tree is a physical object. If I
remember a tree, I therefore remember a physical object. I say of
something that it is a tree, if it resembles other things which I have
previously observed and which I know to be trees. Memory is the medium
for this knowledge. It makes it possible for me to compare the various
objects of sense. But this does not exhaust my knowledge. If I see two
similar things, I form a judgment and say, these things are alike.
Now, in reality, two things are never exactly alike. I can only find a
likeness in certain respects. The idea of a perfect similarity
therefore arises within me without having its correspondence in
reality. And this idea helps me to form a judgment, as memory helps me
to a judgment and to knowledge. Just as one tree reminds me of others,
so am I reminded of the idea of similarity by looking at two things
from a certain point of view. Thoughts and memories therefore arise
within me which are not due to physical reality.
All kinds of knowledge not borrowed from sense-reality are grounded on
such thoughts. The whole of mathematics consists of them. He would be
a bad geometrician who could only bring into mathematical relations
what he can see with his eyes and touch with his hands. Thus we have
thoughts which do not originate in perishable nature, but arise out of
the spirit. And it is these that bear in them the mark of eternal
truth. What mathematics teach will be eternally true, even if
to-morrow the whole cosmic system should fall into ruins and an
entirely new one arise. Conditions might prevail in another cosmic
system, to which our present mathematical truths would not be
applicable, but these would be none the less true in themselves.
It is only when the soul is alone with itself that it can bring forth
these eternal truths. It is at these times related to the true and
eternal, and not to the ephemeral and apparent. Hence Socrates says:
"When the soul returning into itself reflects, it goes straight to
what is pure and everlasting and immortal and like unto itself; and
being related to this, cleaves unto it when the soul is alone, and is
not hindered. And then the soul rests from its mistakes, and is like
unto itself, even as the eternal is, with whom the soul is now in
touch. This state of soul is called wisdom.... Look now whether it
does not follow from all that has been said, that the soul is most
like the divine, immortal, reasonable, unique, indissoluble, what is
always the same and like unto itself; and that on the other hand the
body most resembles what is human and mortal, unreasonable, multiform,
soluble, never the same nor remaining equal to itself.... If,
therefore, this be so, the soul goes to what is like itself, to the
immaterial, to the divine, immortal, reasonable. There it attains to
bliss, freed from error and ignorance, from fear and undisciplined
love and all other human evils. There it lives, as the initiates say,
for the remaining time truly with God."
It is not within the scope of this book to indicate all the ways in
which Socrates leads his friends to the eternal. They all breathe the
same spirit. They all tend to show that man finds one thing when he
goes the way of transitory sense-perception, and another when his
spirit is alone with itself. It is to this original nature of spirit
that Socrates points his hearers. If they find it, they see with
their own spiritual eyes that it is eternal. The dying Socrates does
not prove the immortality of the soul, he simply lays bare the nature
of the soul. And then it comes to light that growth and decay, birth
and death, have nothing to do with the soul. The essence of the soul
lies in the true, and this can neither come into being nor perish. The
soul has no more to do with the becoming than the straight has with
the crooked. But death belongs to the becoming. Therefore the soul has
nothing to do with death. Must we not say of what is immortal, that it
admits of mortality as little as does the straight of the crooked?
Starting from this point, "must we not ask," adds Socrates, "that if
the immortal is imperishable, is it not impossible for the soul to
come to an end when death arrives? For from what has been already
shown, it does not admit of death, nor can it die any more than three
can be an even number."
Let us review the whole development of this dialogue, in which
Socrates brings his hearers to behold the eternal in human
personality. The hearers accept his thoughts, and they look into
themselves to see if they can find in their inner experiences
something which assents to his ideas. They make the objections which
strike them. What has happened to the hearers when the dialogue is
finished? They have found something within them which they did not
possess before. They have not merely accepted an abstract truth, but
they have gone through a development. Something has come to life in
them which was not living in them before. Is not this to be compared
with an initiation? And does not this throw light on the reason for
Plato's setting forth his philosophy in the form of conversation?
These dialogues are nothing else than the literary form of the events
which took place in the sanctuaries of the Mysteries. We are convinced
of this from what Plato himself says in many passages. Plato wished to
be, as a philosophical teacher, what the initiator into the Mysteries
was, as far as this was compatible with the philosophical manner of
communication. It is evident how Plato feels himself in harmony with
the Mysteries! He only thinks he is on the right path when it is
taking him where the Mystic is to be led. He thus expresses himself on
the subject in the Timæus. "All those who are of right mind invoke the
gods for their small or great enterprises; but we who are engaged in
teaching about the universe,--how far it is created and
uncreated,--have the special duty, if we have not quite lost our way,
to call upon and implore the gods and goddesses that we may teach
everything first in conformity with their spirit, and next in harmony
with ourselves." And Plato promises those who follow this path, that
divinity, as a deliverer, will grant them illuminating teaching as the
conclusion of their devious and wandering researches.
* * * * *
It is especially the _Timæus_ that reveals to us how the Platonic
cosmogony is connected with the Mysteries. At the very beginning of
this dialogue there is mention of an initiation. Solon is initiated by
an Egyptian priest into the formation of the worlds, and the way in
which eternal truths are symbolically expressed in traditional myths.
"There have already been many and various destructions of part of the
human race," says the Egyptian priest to Solon, "and there will be
more in the future; the most extensive by fire and water, other lesser
ones through countless other causes. It is also related in your
country that Phaëthon, the son of Helios, once mounted his father's
chariot, and as he did not know how to drive it, everything on the
earth was burnt up, and he himself slain by lightning. This sounds
like a fable, but it contains the truth of the change in the movements
of the celestial bodies revolving round the earth and of the
annihilation of everything on the earth by much fire. This
annihilation happens periodically, after the lapse of certain long
periods of time." This passage in the _Timæus_ contains a plain
indication of the attitude of the initiate towards folk-myths. He
recognises the truths hidden in their images.
The drama of the formation of the world is brought before us in the
_Timæus_. Any one who will follow up the traces which lead to this
formation of the cosmos arrives at a dim apprehension of the
primordial force from which all things proceeded. "Now it is difficult
to find the Creator and Father of the universe, and when we have found
Him, it is impossible to speak about Him so that all may understand."
The Mystic knew what this "impossibility" means. It points to the
divine drama. God is not present in what belongs merely to the senses
and understanding. In those He is only present as nature. He is under
a spell in nature. Only one who awakens the divine within himself is
able to approach Him. Thus He cannot at once be made comprehensible to
all. But even to one who approaches Him, He does not appear Himself.
The _Timæus_ says that also. The Father made the universe out of the
body and soul of the world. He mixed together, in harmony and perfect
proportions, the elements which came into being when He, pouring
Himself out, gave up His separate existence. Thereby the body of the
world came into being, and stretched upon it, in the form of a cross,
is the soul of the world. It is what is divine in the world. It found
the death of the cross so that the world might come into existence.
Plato may therefore call nature the tomb of the divine, a grave,
however, in which nothing dead lies but the eternal, to which death
only gives the opportunity of bringing into expression the omnipotence
of life. And man sees nature in the right light when he approaches it
in order to release the crucified soul of the world. It must rise
again from its death, from its spell. Where can it come to life again?
Only in the soul of initiated man. Then wisdom finds its right
relation to the cosmos. The resurrection, the liberation of God, that
is wisdom. In the _Timæus_ the development of the world is traced from
the imperfect to the perfect. An ascending process is represented
imaginatively. Beings are developed. God reveals Himself in their
development. Evolution is the resurrection of God from the tomb.
Within evolution, man appears. Plato shows that in man there is
something special. It is true the whole world is divine, and man is
not more divine than other beings. But in other beings God is present
in a hidden way, in man he is manifest. At the end of the _Timæus_ we
read: "And now we might assert that our study of the universe has
attained its end, for after the world was provided and filled with
mortal and immortal living beings, it, this one and only begotten
world, has itself become a visible being embracing everything visible,
and an image of the Creator. It has become the God perceptible to the
senses, and the greatest and best world, the fairest and most perfect
which there could be." But this one and only begotten world would not
be perfect if the image of its Creator were not to be found amongst
the images it contains. This image can only be engendered in the human
soul. Not the Father Himself, but the Son, God's offspring, living in
the soul, and being like unto the Father, him man can bring forth.
Philo, of whom it was said that he was the resurrected Plato,
characterised as the "Son of God" the wisdom born out of man, which
lives in the soul and contains the reason existing in the world. This
cosmic reason, or Logos, appears as the book in which "everything in
the world is recorded and delineated." It also appears as the Son of
God, "following in the paths of the Father, and creating forms,
looking at their archetypes." The platonising Philo addresses this
Logos as Christ, "As God is the first and only king of the universe,
the way to Him is rightly called the 'Royal Road.' Consider this road
to be philosophy ... the road which the company of the ancient
ascetics took, who turned away from the entangling fascination of
pleasure and devoted themselves to the noble and earnest cultivation
of the beautiful. The law names this Royal Road, which we call true
philosophy, God's word and spirit."
It is like an initiation to Philo when he enters upon this path, in
order to meet the Logos who, to him, is the Son of God. "I do not
shrink from relating what has happened to me innumerable times. Often
when I wished to put my philosophical thoughts in writing, in my
accustomed way, and saw quite clearly what was to be set down, I
nevertheless found my mind barren and rigid, so that I was obliged to
desist without having accomplished anything, and seemed to be hampered
with idle fancies. At the same time I could not but marvel at the
power of the reality of thought, with which it rests to open and to
close the womb of the human soul. Another time, however, I would begin
empty and arrive, without any trouble, at fulness. Thoughts came
flying like snowflakes or grains of corn invisibly from above, and it
was as though divine power took hold of me and inspired me, so that I
did not know where I was, who was with me, who I was, or what I was
saying or writing; for just then the flow of ideas was given me, a
delightful clearness, keen insight, and lucid mastery of material, as
if the inner eye were able to see everything with the greatest
distinctness."
This is a description of a path to knowledge so expressed that we see
that any one taking this path is conscious of flowing in one current
with the divine, when the Logos becomes alive within him. This is also
expressed clearly in the words: "When the spirit, moved by love, takes
its flight into the most holy, soaring joyously on divine wings, it
forgets everything else and itself. It only clings to and is filled
with that of which it is the satellite and servant, and to this it
offers the incense of the most sacred and chaste virtue."