The Lesser Platoneia

November 7th is not actually Plato’s birthday. But let’s celebrate anyway.

Requirements for the Student (and the Teacher)

In his commentary on Plato’s Parmenides, Proclus explains the basic requirements for both students and teachers of divine mysteries. While he’s speaking specifically in terms of the Platonic-Pythagorean tradition, I’d suggest that something akin to these considerations will form part of any healthy religious or spiritual tradition. And I would further suggest that these lessons can be very challenging for us modern westerners, given how much they’re at odds with prevailing notions in our society.

The Discernment of Images

Especially (but not only) with regard to pop-culture depictions, modern polytheists often find ourselves needing to distinguish sacred images in which a God is robustly present, from those which are not (literally) inspired in such a way.

This is not a new problem.

Perfect Intervals, Made Obscure

Over the last few days, I’ve begun slowly working my way through the second volume of the English translation of Proclus’ commentary on Plato’s Republic. It’s slow going, both because the arguments Proclus offers in the text are challenging in their own right, and also—perhaps moreso—because of the huge barriers and impediments to understanding which the translators add in by their own choices.

A Common Source

In my last post, I alluded to the critical distinction between simply interpreting the writings of Plato as an endpoint in themselves, and using the writings of Plato as tools to access, understand, and explain the same transcendent realities that Plato himself was also trying to access, understand, and explain. It is only in the latter case that we are thinking like the ancient commentators, that we are approaching Plato with a mindset akin to theirs. Here is one small illustration of the difference, from Morrow and Dillon’s English translation of Proclus’ commentary on Plato’s Parmenides.

Message in a Bottle

Today, we remember Proclus, who died in Athens on this date, in 485 CE.

It’s quite possible, by mistranslating a few words here, a few key phrases there, for modern readers to ignore the Gods in the works of Plato, Aristotle, and so many of the other philosophers of antiquity. It’s quite possible, with only a little bit of squinting, to look past the deep and genuine piety that informed these great thinkers.

Not so, when it comes to Proclus. The Gods—who are at once the source and summit of all being, and the immortal divine persons we approach in prayer and devotion—cannot be ignored in Proclus’ work, no matter how hard you squint. Proclus thus provides us a vital key, which can open for us the brilliant and inspired words of Plato, and indeed of all the thousand years to Hellenic philosophy and theology, of which Proclus was the inheritor. And this is a vital key, in the most literal sense of “bringing to life” the tradition which has been handed on to us.

Wonder and Inquiry

“Son of Klinias, I think that you are wondering…”

Plato’s Alcibiades—the first Platonic dialogue that students in late antiquity, following the Iamblichean curriculum, would read—begins with Socrates speaking these words. From this manifest appearance of wonder comes the invitation to philosophy. Yet for Socrates, and for the Platonist following his example, philosophy never displaces wonder, never undermines the encounter with the cosmos which is philosophy’s own fons et origo, as we see throughout Plato’s portrayal of Socrates, and especially in the Parmenides and the Phaedo.

Divine Poiēsis (an encouragement to virtue)

Early in book III of his Parmenides Commentary, Proclus distinguishes two kinds of creative activity (poiēsis): that which comes about from the very being of the cause, and that which results from some deliberate choice.

Beings in the middle of the metaphysical hierarchy do both. Our soul, for example, gives life to the body by its very being (provided that the material substratum is serviceable), while it does other things by choice. Lower down the hierarchy, though, we find fire heating by its very being, but not doing anything by deliberate choice. And so, in keeping with one of the basic principles of Platonic metaphysics, if creative activity by being alone extends farther down, it must also extend farther up.

Furthermore, creative activity that results from being alone is effortless, and is more suited to the Gods:

The creative activity of those beings that make what they do by their very being is effortless, and we must conclude that effortlessness belongs primarily to the divine, since we also live most easily and with least effort when our life and Godlike and in the path of virtue.

Proclus, in Parm. 787 Cousin; trans. Morrow & Dillon, p. 159.

And this seems to me an excellent, yet gentle, encouragement to virtue.

Happy birthday, Proclus!

Today marks the 1,609th anniversary of the birth of that pious and brilliant philosopher, successor of Plato, Proclus.

A few fun things to honor the occasion:

• A poem I wrote last year for Proclus’ nativity.
• Edward Butler’s oration for Proclus’ 1,600th birthday.
• The biography of Proclus, written by Marinus, his colleague and successor in the Academy.
• Also, apparently Proclus has a crater on the Moon named in his honor. Who knew?

“Truly, I am amazed…”

Just a beautful thought for the day. In his commentary on the Alcibiades, Proclus compares Socrates’ attentive care for Alcibiades with the attentive care of the Demiurge for the cosmos:

If what “was in discordant and disorderly movement” [Timaeus 30a] could say something to the Demiurge, it would have uttered these words: “In truth, I wonder at your beneficent will and power, that have reached as far as my level, are everywhere present to me, and from all sides arrange me in an orderly fashion.”

In Alc. 125,15–126,1; trans. O’Neill.