The Rudolf Steiner Archive

10. Plato's Phaedo and Timaeus. Discussions on the Immortality or Infinity of the Soul

[Ladies and gentlemen!]

[ 1 ] At the center of Plato’s system of ideas stands his dialogue on the immortality of the soul, the Phaedo. And this dialogue is perhaps, apart from the Timaeus, the most important of Plato’s dialogues. It is a work that, perhaps in the most eminent sense, provides proof that we are dealing decisively with “true mysticism”—indeed, with “theosophy”—in Plato. I must emphasize quite explicitly that we are dealing here with theosophy, even though the term is not applied to it. Nor can it be applied, because the term “theosophy” did not appear in literature until the third century. Before that, everything was referred to as “philosophy.” Thus, even the logical aspect of theosophy was philosophy. This was no different in Plato’s time. The word “philosophy” is as old as Pythagoreanism. The word “theosophy,” however, dates from the third century.

[ 2 ] We know that this Platonic theosophy appears particularly in the Phaedo. This dialogue, like the others, is centered on Socrates. He is at the heart of this dialogue. Furthermore, it is Socrates’s closest and most intimate circle of friends that gathers around him. That is likely why the thoughts expressed therein are also the most intimate. The other dialogues also take place between Socrates and a broader circle of friends. Consequently, much of what is said there need not be understood as Plato’s precise opinion, whereas in the Phaedo we are indeed presented with [Plato’s] deepest thoughts. Furthermore, the Phaedo is linked to one of the most significant moments in history: the death of Socrates. We are now led by philosophy from the transcendence of life to an understanding of death. When we then consider Dionysus, the god of pleasure, and what is said about him in the Phaedo, this is elevated in the Phaedo by the fact that it is Socrates, immediately before his death, who conducts this dialogue. In the moments before his impending death, he once again sets forth his views on life and on the transcendence of life; he speaks of the immortality of the soul. It is thus a significant moment in which the dialogue begins, so that we may perhaps have to seek out the most important thing that Plato believes he can communicate to us.

[ 3 ] When Socrates’ students visit him in prison and find themselves on the eve of the tragic event, some weep for him, while others say that he is dying the death of a wise man and therefore should not be mourned. But we immediately notice that a significant change has taken place in Socrates. Socrates was the turning point that drew wisdom out of spiritual life. We have seen that the Mysteries embodied the highest spiritual life, uniting religion, art, and truth within themselves. Socrates was the one who sought only the truth, who searched only for clear, pure concepts.

[ 4 ] Socrates’ approach to his students was aimed at reducing everything to clear, pure concepts. For this reason, Socrates is portrayed throughout his life as not really being a friend of poetry. Poetry was grouped together with the art of singing and music. He was portrayed as the man who pursued the truth in a prosaic, sober manner. Music was foreign to him. Shortly before his death, however, he became musical. In the spirit of the moment, he draws his students’ attention to the fact that swans, too, sing before they die, and that apparently an animal such as a swan only sings when it feels joy. So, he says, Socrates, too, will sing at the hour of his death. Besides, he says, I have been singing my whole life. Philosophy is the expression of the world’s deepest tones. Since I have sung my own work throughout my life, I may well sing at the end of my life, just as other people have sung.

[ 5 ] This is the conversation Socrates had with his students. It is telling that Socrates, shortly before his death, enters into a poetic mood. I would like to point out that all those who are imbued with this kind of wisdom share the same fundamental feeling. I would like to refer here to Goethe’s Faust. Anxiety, too, approaches Faust. It blinds him. But through this, he also gains inner sight. What the eyes have been doing their entire lives—namely, seeing—Faust comes to do inwardly at the end. This view—that in the hour before his death, Socrates does the same thing that other people have done throughout their entire lives—is the same fundamental sentiment as when Goethe allows Faust to become what others have been throughout their entire lives. This is expressed as the underlying tone that runs through the entire Phaedo,

[ 6 ] One should not assume that Platonic philosophy, with its understanding of the sensory world, must necessarily abhor sensory life in an ascetic manner or glide past it toward an unreal afterlife. That cannot be the point. Plato does not seek to destroy the life of the senses outright, because he wishes to transition from the life of the senses to the life of the pure spirit.

[ 7 ] That is not what Platonism aims for either. It does not lead to ascetic withdrawal; rather, by allowing people to glimpse the afterlife, it merely leads them to a different perspective on the sensory world. It is roughly as if we were to imagine the afterlife as a gloomy twilight realm, like a dark vault. No light shines into this vault for those who have not awakened supernatural powers within themselves. But the moment those powers are awakened, the light of eternity shines into the sensory world. We must not assume that we are distracted from the sensory world. No, it merely appears “in a new light.” “Merely,” I say. This is said only to those who believe that it disappears. No, it is retained in its entirety and merely bathed in a new radiance.

[ 8 ] Now we must ask ourselves: Where does this idea actually come from—that, in the spirit of Platonism, one must distinguish between the “finite sensory world” and the “infinite spiritual world,” between the “eternal” and the “temporal” world? In the material world, the distinction exists. If [this distinction] were also present for an infinite faculty of perception, then perhaps Platonism would be incomprehensible, for the question would then arise eternally: How do the two worlds—the spiritual and the sensory—relate to one another?

[ 9 ] This world of the spiritual would itself have to become finite if it had anything else alongside it, if it were unable to dissolve that other thing into itself. For Plato, the distinction between the sensory and the spiritual worlds exists only for human beings within the realm of human perception. It exists only for the human soul. It would not exist for a soul that had reached the end, one that had perfected its faculty of perception to such an extent that it could survey the entire universe. It is only because the human soul is enclosed between two powers—because it participates in part in forces situated both below and above it—that the human soul possesses a capacity for perception which it must divide into the sensory-material and the spiritual worlds. Such a dualism is possible only for a human being who has not reached higher levels.

[ 10 ] Because we are on the material plane, we all carry within us two world forces; we carry two powers within us: the power of the will, that Promethean nature which tends to become one with the Logos—this is the Promethean striving. The other force directs our striving downward; it is the striving of Prometheus’s brother, Epimetheus. What we can survey is the nature of Epimetheus—the non-spiritual nature within us—that which lies within us as the [reflective], the explanatory. Prometheus is the [forward-thinking] one, the one who looks out toward a higher plane. If we were to imagine a seven-part path and were to conceive of the journey from the material to the spiritual as leading through all these stages, we would have to imagine this striving as a Promethean one. And if we were to look back, we would have to describe this as the force that, in the Greek conception, is presented to us as Epimetheus.

[ 11 ] Let us assume that we have all reached the highest stage of development. For such beings, there would no longer be a Prometheus. We would all have been transformed into “Epimetheus®.” One might now ask: Is this the reason why Platonic-mystical philosophy posits a dualism—a world divided into a sensory and a spiritual part? It is intended neither for purely sensory beings nor for those who have become identical with the divine being, but for those who are on the path toward that end. Therefore, both the path upward and the path downward must be provided. In Platonic philosophy, these two perspectives interlock. Anyone who does not understand Platonic philosophy as viewing human beings as beings in a state of transformation will not be able to comprehend it, nor will anyone who regards it as self-contained—especially if, in looking toward the immortal, they fall into myth, or if they seek to extract higher truths from the unconscious.

[ 12 ] We must process the facts based on our understanding and determine them from reality. Science demands facts. But they apply only to those who look downward. Human beings can discover facts only to the extent and along the path that they themselves have traveled. At the point where humanity has now arrived, it ceases to discover anything beyond the sensory realm. For an animal—for example—there are only sensory perceptions.

[ 13 ] The person who advances through the third and fourth stages of life [of the sevenfold path] is no longer limited to the sensory realm. When he moves beyond the fourth stage of life, he beholds higher psychological truths. There, he no longer has sensory perceptions, but spiritual ones. It is only on the path lying below us that we perceive facts. But in the part that we can only glimpse from below—the part we have not yet traversed, the part that remains hidden from us, the part that reveals its secrets to us only gradually from above, the part that flows into us—we can never be given facts such as those that lie along our path. These must be expressed in the form of myth. And Plato casts them in such a form. This is the upward-looking perspective. This is the reason why Plato turned to mythical representation in his most important works. And this reason is also present in the Phaedo, the dialogue on the immortality of the soul.

[ 14 ] I have already mentioned that Plato does not intend to teach his closest students about eternity by providing them with proofs. The point is not to provide logical proofs, but rather to guide them, as it were, toward higher perceptions—to lead them to places they have not yet been, to lead them to places where they can see the world in a new splendor, in a new light.

[ 15 ] There we have the method as well. We begin with the simplest thing imaginable. Can’t we find something right here in our sensory world that might lead us further toward an understanding of the soul? Let’s take a look at the sensory world around us. We do not see things around us that remain, but rather things that come into being and pass away. We see flowers that spring up, bloom, and wither. We see an eternal process of becoming and passing away. This is inherent in all of nature. We must therefore assume that this “becoming and passing away” pervades the entire universe. What was previously a seed becomes fruit. Because what was previously dead is now alive, we are dealing with an eternal cycle.

[ 16 ] Just as it is with falling asleep and waking up, so it will be in the higher, truly spiritual spheres. It is not a valid objection to say: What applies to the lower spheres need not apply to the higher spheres. It is very much a part of higher knowledge that what happens in the higher sensory world is only a reflection of the Eternal, and we may very well use it to illustrate what takes place in the spiritual world. This is particularly important for understanding Platonism. One must not imagine that it is as if Plato were rejecting or separating the sensory world, or as if the non-sensory world were something entirely different from the sensory world. That is not the case. We simply need to illuminate the sensory world with the spiritual world. When we do this, we can also perceive the images of the Eternal.

[ 17 ] Plato used a comparative image. We know that when our eyes are directed toward sensory objects, they see only the passing images. Imagine people sitting in a cave. All the things that truly exist are located behind them. A light source is also located behind them. The people cannot turn around; they see only what is happening on the opposite wall. Thus, they do not see the objects themselves, for the light and the objects are behind them. But they see the shadows, and they also see the shadows of themselves.

[ 18 ] This is also true of sensory perception. If we remain at the level of sensory perception, we see the world only as sensory shadows. We do not see ourselves as we truly are; we see ourselves only as shadows. Only through spiritual deepening—only when a person is able to delve into their inner self, only when a person has attained this “know thyself,” when they see themselves—only then do they become aware of the deeper foundation of things.

[ 19 ] But shadows are also part of reality there. We must not imagine that a shadow is not real. No shadow will truly move unless the real form underlying it has moved. What is presented in the realm of shadows is merely a consequence of what takes place in the sensory and spiritual worlds. Those who understand the shadow images can also recognize the processes of the spiritual world within the sensory world. Every atom appears to them as an expression of the spiritual realm.

[ 20 ] Thus Plato was able to infer from the eternal cycle of life the becoming and origin of things; thus he was able to infer from the realm of the senses, from the shadows, the realm of the spirit. But now he has Socrates say: “This is indeed true.” But let us examine things even more closely and ask ourselves: when we direct our mind toward things, can we not have sensory perception there? Does not something eternal shine into our knowledge in the most subtle, shadow-like way? This argument is quite correct. For the materialists do not realize what a difference there must be between animal perception and human perception. Although human perception is initially dominated by the animal kind, it is nevertheless of such a nature that the spirit cannot be separated from it. Even in the coarsest form of human perception, a spiritual trace is still present. And that is why the Platonic conception of perception is also correct. When we perceive a trace of the spiritual, it signifies an “ascent toward the spiritual.” We could not ascend if the higher realm did not enter into our sensory world.

[ 21 ] Plato has Socrates say: “Consider this: how does the number ‘2’ come about? — By placing one sensible thing next to another. A joining has taken place. This has produced a ‘two.’ That is a joining.” The mind contemplates this joining by first counting “one” and then “two.” However, the sensory process can also occur by splitting the “one.” I then obtain the “two” by separating the “one” rather than joining it.

[ 22 ] This, then, has come about in exactly the opposite way for the sensory realm. On the one hand, we have a unification; on the other, a division. Yet the result is the same when viewed from the spiritual realm. Sensory perception is something that can represent the spiritual in a wide variety of ways. We can say: If human beings did not add something spiritual to the sensory, they would perceive nothing but sameness in the sensory. There would be no sameness for them unless the sensory process were exactly the same for them. Thus, for Plato, the spiritual shines into the sensory. We cannot, however, perceive whether the sensory shines into the spiritual. We must admit that even in the simplest of processes, the spirit stands alongside human beings in their sensory experiences, and that human beings therefore live and carry out their lives precisely because the spirit—even if only a spark at first—is present right down into sensory perception.

[ 23 ] If we consider the sevenfold nature of the human being and the universe, we see that they consist of pure matter and of what we call force, of what we call matter, and of what we call the spiritual and astral realms. But they also consist of what is present in animals—what we call the animating principle, the principle that animates matter. As a fourth element, we then consider what we find in the higher human being, and with this we have advanced as far as the immaterial spirit.

[ 24 ] Thus, according to Plato, we must imagine that this spark of the spirit—which is also present in the lowest of human beings—moves from top to bottom. We must imagine that, on the one hand, matter moves from the bottom up, and on the other hand, the spiritual moves from the top down, so that they interpenetrate and the human being becomes a dual being through the interplay of the spiritual and the sensory. So when we examine the matter, we find in any case that the spiritual is present in the human being, even if only in the thinnest form—as in mathematics.

[ 25 ] If the soul can perceive the spiritual only at one end, then it can regard this beginning of the spirit as a guarantee that it has a share in the spiritual and thus in the eternal; for the spiritual is the eternal in contrast to the material, because it is the enduring, the permanent, in contrast to what exists, since, as something spiritual in the sensory world, it always remains the same.

[ 26 ] For Plato, the goal is to guide his students to the point where the spiritual and the eternal are comprehended in their entirety, and then to lead [them] to the perception of the spirit within the sensory world, so that [they] thereby [become] citizens of the infinite realm. This is what Plato tells us in his book. He has reached the point where he shows us how the spiritual enters into the sensory.

[ 27 ] One important objection raised by his students is this: If we imagine that we have the sensible world in all its diversity before us and that the soul participates in the infinite, we can still conceive of something entirely different. Namely, we can imagine that the soul only appears to participate in the infinite. Let us imagine this diversity symbolized as a series of taut strings on a lyre. Through the interplay of the taut strings of the lyre, we can produce a harmony. Perhaps it is also just a single, harmonious tone that is struck. But we are always dealing with a harmony.

[ 28 ] Socrates objects: Let’s take a closer look. When it comes to harmony, must we not say that the strings—each one individually—fit into the harmony, so that every single string contributes to it? Is this also the case with the soul’s sensibility? Must it not transcend sensibility? Harmony exists only in the parts and through the parts. But the soul must transcend the parts in their particularities if it is to be a whole. And in this ability to transcend the individual parts of multiplicity lies the essence of the soul. The essence of the soul is therefore more than harmony. It is a life of its own. Spiritual life is not merely the harmonizing of the sensual, but something that possesses autonomy.

[ 29 ] And now Socrates makes a very important remark: We are now done with harmony. Let us now see what happens with “Cadmus.” — Now we are led back into the myth. It is interesting that this myth comes into play precisely at this point. Theologians have long marveled at the way this myth is woven into the narrative. Cadmus is the hero whose sister, Europa, was abducted by Zeus. [Zeus] did this in the form of a [bull]. Thus, Cadmus followed the trail of an ox, arrived at Europa, and founded the city of Thebes there. He brought the science of the East to the Greeks and the Thebans—the alphabet and also the spiritual content of the alphabet. We are then told that he married “Harmonia” after he had founded Thebes and established the Greek order.

[ 30 ] Cadmus is the self-reliant, striving human being—the one who ceaselessly strives for perfection. This is a trait we have also encountered in other divine figures. Harmonia, whom he married, is simply the harmony between the striving human being and the world. And when Socrates says that we are done with Harmonia, this has a significance.

[ 31 ] We have seen that harmony is not the highest goal, but that what is higher is independent comprehension within the harmony. We have thus moved beyond harmony at this point. We ascend to Kadmos. We can grasp this independence for ourselves.

[ 32 ] And now Socrates’ students draw his attention to some important objections. Even if one concedes that the soul is a harmony, it is not so for all eternity. We must assume that a living soul confronts sensory diversity. But this living aspect of the soul—even if it expresses much more of the personality in the earthly individual—need not be eternal; it can also be of temporal duration.

[ 33 ] In the image of the relationship between “clothing” and “human,” we can imagine the relationship between “body” and “soul.” In this way, we can also imagine that the clothing will one day be changed. One day, the human dies, and the clothing passes on to another. The garment outlives the person. It could be the same with the soul. It may also outlive the next physical form, and another soul could take possession of this body. One could imagine that the soul, while independent, is not of infinite duration.

[ 34 ] So we must also overcome this aspect that is bound by limited duration; we must show that we can find something independent within the human being; we must show that it is not merely something that lasts for a shorter or longer period of time—and is still transitory—but rather that it is the eternal that shines into the human condition.

[ 35 ] Platonism presents this proof—albeit in a figurative sense—by stating: When we observe something in the sensory world, we seek to understand its context. His predecessor, Anaxagoras, always sought out causes. When a stone fell to the ground, he sought the cause. If a stone was heated, he sought the cause that heated it—the sun’s rays or some other cause. But now he asks himself: Is this really sufficient? Aren’t we just going in circles when we seek a cause for every effect? Must we not acknowledge that we are in fact asserting something for which the opposite may be just as true?

[ 36 ] He illustrated this with an example. He asked himself: Why is this beautiful? Because it has a beautiful shape, a beautiful color, and so on. So if we want to know, “Why is this thing beautiful?” we come to realize that it can be beautiful in various ways. It can be beautiful because of its color or its shape, and so on. Therefore, he says: All things that share in beauty are beautiful. The same is true of goodness, greatness, and other qualities. All things share in the imperishable, eternal Ideas. What is beautiful today and what was beautiful millions of years ago are one and the same. They are the same ideas. They are found in the same beauty. Therefore, there is a piece of the eternal in everything that is transitory.

[ 37 ] We need only ask ourselves: What connection does the transitory have with the eternal? And then: How is man connected to the eternal? And the answer becomes clear: Through what we call the soul within him, and through the fact that he possesses something that distinguishes him in this regard. We have said: A thing is good if it shares in goodness; a thing is beautiful if it shares in beauty. What is it that makes us call the soul “soul”? Every thing excludes another. Take snow, for example. Snow shares in cold. When fire comes into contact with snow, the snow ceases to exist. Fire and snow are incompatible. Let us seek what remains in human beings when we set aside sensuality. Let us seek what is present in human beings just as the beautiful is present in beauty, the great in the great, and so on; let us seek in human beings that which is just as incompatible with the transitory as fire is with snow. What we find there is life.

[ 38 ] In the presence of the Primordial Living, the lifeless melts away just as snow melts before a fire. Through this, that spark of the Infinite, which penetrates the material world, becomes for human beings what they recognize as the true principle of the soul. And so he must say to himself: This Primordial Life is absolutely alive, is alive through and through, and because man shares in the Living, he also shares in the Eternal.

[ 39 ] This is the highest stage in the process of proof to which the Platonic Socrates ascends in the Phaedo. First, he seeks to explain how we must initially deal with “spirit” in every work of the senses. One must grasp this, and then one can look out toward the rest of the spiritual world.

[ 40 ] One might think it could be an illusion, a mere harmony. But now Socrates refutes the idea that we are dealing with harmony, and shows that we are not dealing with harmony but with an independent entity, because it is not merely the harmony itself but the individual parts that are transcended. These can only be transcended by an independent entity.

[ 41 ] And now he inquires into the independent essence and discovers that this independent essence is the Primordial Life, which is as incompatible with the transitory as fire is with snow. Therefore, we cannot say that Kadmos is temporary, but rather that it is a completely independent entity that shines into this world, and we must assume that we share in a real, infinite life.

[ 42 ] Thus Socrates leads his students step by step upward to the Primordial Living, where he presents to them as a myth what he has expounded as wisdom. He leads his students up into the ethereal heights of the heavens and seeks to describe what the Earth would look like if we were to view it from the ether. Wouldn’t it look quite different from how it appears to us, who walk about on Earth? Imagine the inhabitants of the ocean floor. They live on the Earth’s mud. Above that is the water, then the Earth’s air. Now we can imagine the transformed human being, who would be just as astonished as a deep-sea creature were it to view the ocean floor from the air. He presents another possibility to you in a vivid, intuitive way. He describes the underworld, the various rivers, and so on. The soul will take a different path in the underworld; it will experience different treatment there. Some will be cast immediately into Tartarus. These are the ones who were wicked, the criminals. The others will be washed back ashore and will be able to call out to those they have offended and ask for forgiveness.

[ 43 ] The sensory image is of lesser importance here. What is far more important is when he says: It could be this way, but it could also be different. This is not an exoteric perception, but rather a visualization. It is nothing other than the confirmation of what has already been attained within me. In any case, the imagery is fully justified by the preceding wisdom. When wisdom is to be made vivid, Plato turns to myth. He introduces a higher language—the language of myth.

[ 44 ] Thus we see that this Platonic dialogue on the eternity of the soul is, in essence, a discussion of the entire Platonic mystical tradition. It is one of the most significant works Plato has left us—perhaps one of the most important we have at all. It shows us what Plato actually wanted to give us: a philosophical-mystical representation of the gradual perfection of the human being within the [path of knowledge], an image of how the human being ascends through the Form to the apprehension of the Spirit, and how the human being arrives at conviction not by providing logical proofs, but by perceiving things for oneself.

[ 45 ] It is significant that Plato chose the form of the dialogue. This form is determined by the Platonic way of thinking, by the Platonic mindset. Plato is convinced that this involves the perception of spiritual, higher powers, and these must be developed through the word. The word is the key to the spiritual realm: it is therefore also the word that compelled Plato to depict the capacity for gradual perfection and development in the form of dialogues between the teacher and his students.

FAQ:

[ 46 ] It is amusing to see how our philosophers, when interpreting Platonic philosophy, get stuck on a certain point. To a certain extent, Kühnemann grasps that it is a matter of education, of enlivening the soul, and that immortality is still to be attained through knowledge. He goes along with the narratives even to the point where he can no longer control them.

[ 47 ] Plato is a predecessor of Philo. I would like to further explore Philo’s late Platonic mysticism. We are witnessing a continuous rise of mysticism. With Philo, mystical contemplation also reached its highest peak. This also forms the foundation for Christian mysticism—specifically for the Gospel of John—and leads to an understanding of the Book of Revelation.

[ 48 ] In our division into seven parts, the endpoints are treated as two opposing poles.

[ 49 ] The [Greek] alphabet traces its origins back to Cadmus.

[ 50 ] In his Philosophy of Revelation, Schelling created a “positive philosophy” in contrast to the “negative philosophy of logic.” He presented a philosophy of experience as opposed to a merely conceptual philosophy.

[ 51 ] The history of dogma is the further development of external myths in a scientific form. Schelling was openly ridiculed in Berlin for this. He did not find success in Berlin in 1841. He died in 1854.