Video Transcription

In the 1920s and 1930s, the quest for a coherent “Platonic system” and the difficulty of reconstructing it from the Dialogues led scholars to search for indirect clues in Aristotle and post-platonic literature. From the 1960s onwards, especially in the works of Konrad Gaiser and Hans Joachim Krämer, the notion of a platonic esoteric philosophy gained ground—namely, the idea that the Dialogues did not contain the doctrinal core and that this was Plato’s deliberate choice. Despite the controversies, the esoteric hypothesis is no longer considered extravagant, for the need to “go beyond” is felt by many scholars, as John Findlay put it: “My first and most fundamental conviction is that the platonic Dialogues are not, taken by themselves, the kind of works in which anyone’s opinions on any subject can be clearly set out. They point beyond themselves and, if one does not go beyond, one cannot understand them.”

But “beyond” where? In the Second Letter, Plato leaves us perplexed, declaring that in the Dialogues he merely allowed Socrates to speak, so that his “true self” never appeared. If the letter is genuine, Plato writes to Dionysius with the irony possible only between two well-acquainted interlocutors: “What people today attribute to ‘Plato’ is in reality the teaching once imparted by Socrates, when he was still young and handsome…” Plato’s true self, then, must be sought elsewhere.

Aristotle refers to an Unwritten Doctrine, taught orally, but not to a “secret” doctrine deliberately concealed. In the Imperial Age the voices grow louder. Syria appears as the centre from which a Platonism spreads that claims to hold the keys to this doctrine. Yet, there, Plato is described merely as an intermediary; behind him lies an ancient doctrine that had also inspired Pythagoras. By tracing its roots back to a remote antiquity, the originality of both Plato and Pythagoras was effectively diminished. Apamea was the birthplace of the Stoic Posidonius, Nicomachus of Gerasa was Syrian, Amelius taught there, and so did Numenius, author of a now-lost work bearing the modern-sounding title: On All the Things Plato Did Not Say. And it was in Syria that the “divine” Iamblichus founded his school, a meeting place for students from across the Mediterranean.

In line with this perspective, the mid-second-century author of the Didaskalikos—a handbook of Platonism—declares that Plato communicated his doctrine only to a select few: “The most precious and greatest treasure he did not consider easy to discover, nor, once discovered, safe to divulge to all. Certainly, he disclosed his ideas on the Good only to a very small and carefully chosen circle of companions.”

For these Middle Eastern philosophers, then, there was no “public” Plato alongside a “secret” one: there was only the latter, and to grasp him required a key. In the opening book of the Platonic Theology, Proclus, echoing his master Syrianus, affirms that Plato’s philosophy was reserved for a few elect. Yet it was not hidden, nor is it necessary to search for lost works. The key is to read the Dialogues in the right way. Meaning lies not outside the text, but within. Yet we cannot perceive it without first undergoing an intermediate transformation. In short, the deciphering key is the reader’s own evolution. Once the reader is transformed, the words of the Dialogues reveal a new sense, and their meaning is unveiled.

To some, the Dialogues have seemed like notes for the inner members of a circle. Nietzsche inclined to this interpretation when, reflecting on the Phaedrus, he wrote: “For Plato, writing in general has no didactic or educational purpose, but only serves as a reminder for those already educated and possessing knowledge. The Dialogues are mnemonic tools for members of the Academy.” Much debate has surrounded the notorious Seventh Letter, where Plato declared that no public writing of his true doctrine would ever exist. The conclusion reached by the Tübingen School is this: what was most precious to him was transmitted orally to a restricted circle. Philologists object that in the absence of documentary evidence one may assert anything and its opposite, and that anyone claiming to reconstruct an Unwritten Doctrine is, in fact, proposing his own. This may well be true. Yet it is Plato himself who repeatedly casts bait in the Dialogues. As Ferrari notes: “Plato often employs the Ideas, but rarely makes them the object of explicit discussion. Yet the way in which the Ideas are invoked suggests that a theory—that is, a consistent set of assumptions—is somehow presupposed.”

The Dialogues, it is said, are heterogeneous, fragmentary, riddled with ambiguities and obscurities. Some break off without conclusion, or conclude in ways that leave more doubts than certainties. At times, the following dialogue contradicts or questions the outcome of the previous one—assuming, of course, that the sequence in which we read them is the correct one, which remains a matter of debate. Irony, too, plays no small part; yet from the modern standpoint, filtered through the tribulations of translation, it is hard to detect, for to perceive the sense of the contrary one must first know what is serious, straight, and normal. Irony appeals to a world of values subtly shared by the intended recipient, so that Plato’s words might mock what they appear to affirm when taken literally. Thus every dialogue compels us to follow our own personal red thread. As Eugene Tigerstedt remarks: “With every reading we are compelled to choose, to decide how to interpret what we are reading.”

Most Dialogues, except perhaps the Parmenides and the Timaeus, operate at a communicative level accessible to readers unversed in “extreme” Metaphysics. Yet Plato’s logic demanded an evolutionary leap. That “geometrical thinking”, required by the Academy, presupposed a particular forma mentis. The mature Plato’s Pythagoreanism was not suited to all minds—at least not immediately, nor in unmediated form. Hence the need to select one’s audience and to grade the teaching, so as not to speak to empty chairs or incur ridicule, as Aristoxenus reports concerning Plato’s infamous and disastrous public lecture On the Good. “To the Principle!”