Video transcription

It would be extraordinary to know in detail how Plato organised the work of the Academy, yet the surviving evidence is scant. In one passage of the Physics, Aristotle, speaking of Plato’s teaching, refers to certain “unwritten doctrines” (ἄγραφα δόγματα). In several passages of the Metaphysics, Aristotle also alludes to teachings for which no counterpart can be found in the Dialogues. This has led scholars to hypothesise that Aristotle knew of material of which Plato left no written trace.

The question is whether Aristotle was actually initiated into the true content of those teachings, or whether he had merely heard of them. A series of clues compels us to reconsider the relationship between the two men and Aristotle’s true role within the Platonic circle.

By way of historical gossip, Claudius Aelian relates in his Varia Historia that, whenever the impetuous Aristotle and his followers occupied the public area of the grounds, the now elderly Plato, disturbed by their presence, would withdraw to a more secluded quarter of his own property. Whatever value we may assign to this indirect testimony, it leaves us with a question: is Aelian speaking of physical spaces, or offering a metaphor for the division of Platonic doctrine into a public and an esoteric sphere?

When we speak of esotericism, we use the term in the sense defined by the Tübingen School, which Giovanni Reale explains with admirable clarity:

“Krämer and Gaiser sought in every possible way to explain that by ‘esoteric’ they meant those doctrines which Plato kept ‘intra-academic’ (innerakademisch), that is, doctrines developed only within the restricted circle of his disciples, and more precisely only for those disciples who, after being rigorously tested both generally and in particular, and after a long preparation conducted at several levels, demonstrated that they possessed the ability to understand and assimilate them adequately.”

John Findlay writes:

“It may reasonably be supposed that Plato divided his teaching within the Academy into two levels, and that he did so from the very beginning. He wrote and publicly presented his Dialogues for a general philosophical audience, but he also conducted intensive methodological and systematic discussions with small groups of participants.”

What is comprehensible in the Dialogues is what Plato deliberately chose to make explicit: namely, an exploration of the social and political consequences that might follow from a hypothetical practical application of Pythagorean logic. Yet it is the Divided Line itself that provides the clearest evidence that Platonic doctrine is essentially esoteric. It is directed towards the attainment of Noesis, a level of knowledge accessible only to a small number of seekers of truth, at the end of a long and difficult inner journey.

Each person must decide whether this constitutes elitism in a negative sense. What is certain is that no one would dream of calling an athlete “elitist” because, after years of severe discipline and sacrifice, he has trained his body to achieve results impossible for the average individual, and has thereby reached a level at which he competes only with others who have overcome the same limits.

Wealth is certainly not the decisive criterion, although an independent income is indispensable if one is to remain free from occupations that might obstruct speculative activity. Nor is the Academy founded upon a faithful adherence to a cult. It develops, rather, through critical and rational exchange.

We should recall how difficult it was for Plato to acquire the books of Philolaus, how carefully he preserved them, and how deeply concerned he was to keep the project secret. This is attested by the Second Letter addressed to Dionysius, in which he speaks cryptically of a “model of a sphere” divided into levels:

“The small sphere you sent me is not correct. Archidamus will explain the matter clearly when he reaches you. He must also give you an explanation of the question that was causing you difficulty, a subject that is certainly superior to all the others. From what you have told me, you are not satisfied with the explanation concerning the nature of the first point. I shall explain it to you in riddles, so that, should the tablet meet with some accident by land or sea, whoever reads it will be unable to understand it.”

From this passage, we may deduce several valuable elements. First: Plato is attempting to explain the diagram of the Psyché to Dionysius of Syracuse. Second: Dionysius is practising in order to understand it and asks Plato for confirmation. Third: Plato tells him that he has misunderstood certain stages. Fourth: one of Dionysius’ envoys, Archidamus, has been instructed in the conceptual correlate concerning the Forms, and is able to explain it to Dionysius, but only in person, because Plato does not want the secret to be disclosed.

Plato then offers the following cryptic explanation:

“Everything exists in relation to the ‘King-of-All’ and because of him, and this is the origin of all that is beautiful. In relation to the second point, there exists a second class of things; and in relation to the third point, a third class. Now, when the human mind engages with these things, it seeks to know their qualities, and its attention is drawn towards those with which it is consonant. Yet they never entirely satisfy it.

As for the ‘King’ and the things I have mentioned, nothing resembles him. At that point, the soul begins to ask itself: ‘What am I made of?’ This question — or rather the travail that this question produces within the soul — is the cause of every difficulty. Yet unless a man gives voice to it, he will never discover authentic truth.

Take care, however, that none of this should fall into the hands of ignorant men. For, in my opinion, there are perhaps no doctrines more ridiculous in the eyes of the multitude, nor, conversely, any more wondrous and inspiring to men of noble nature.”

Here Plato is once again explaining the Divided Line to Dionysius. According to its structure, each person knows external objects in a manner corresponding to his own noetic level, until, at a certain point, the object to be known — and whose investigation becomes problematic — is his own nature: “Who am I?”

Given the care with which Plato concealed the diagram of the Psyché, it is highly probable that it was never publicly displayed, perhaps not even during the famous lecture On the Good, which appeared convoluted and obscure to the bewildered audience.

According to Simplicius, the gathering was attended not only by members of the public unversed in philosophical discussion, but also by Aristotle, Heraclides Ponticus, Hestiaeus of Perinthus, Xenocrates, Speusippus, and others who are not named. Some of them apparently took notes that were later described as “enigmatic”.

Yet we cannot and must not conclude that all these figures enjoyed the same degree of intimacy with Plato. Relations among the members of the Academy may have differed considerably from what we imagine on the basis of modern institutions bearing the same name.

This is true, first of all, because Pythagorean thought seeks, as we have seen, to bring about a logical reconfiguration in an aspirant naturally predisposed towards synthetic, spatial, and architectural thinking. Some scholars have suggested that the relationship established within Plato’s Academy was not strictly vertical, between teacher and student, but circular.

In The Riddle of the Early Academy, Cherniss presents Plato as a primus inter pares: a mentor, supervisor, and coordinator of a group of thinkers who pursued their own studies according to their particular interests — theological in some cases, scientific in others — while comparing their findings and interacting with the rest of the group. Cherniss supposes that Plato’s extraordinary ability to detect contradictions made him an essential point of reference for those who wished to test their own convictions.

The circular model is an interesting hypothesis. We nevertheless maintain that only a few members of the group — the “so-called Pythagoreans” — possessed the keys to Synthetic Logic or, in other words, had been granted direct access to the diagram.

All the evidence leads us to conclude that the Academy contained two circles: a broader circle and a restricted inner one, within which discussion attained a different degree of depth. The inner group may have consisted of a small circle of selected “geometrical minds”, bound to secrecy regarding its teachings.

The conversation between Socrates and Glaucon on the Divided Line, recorded in the Republic, may be a fragment of one of the Pythagorean discussions conducted within this inner circle, in the presence of the diagram of the Psyché.

It is difficult to imagine that Plato, after praising the Pythagorean way of life, would not have attempted to follow the same pedagogical principles — since they were the practical consequences of its underlying logic — or that he would not have devoted equal care to the recruitment of younger members of the Academy.

Maurizio Giangiulio writes:

“Pythagoras’ relations with his disciples were personal and private in nature, yet the disciples came to be regarded as a group, as hetairoi, forming a community of friends.”

A community, then, formed by selected individuals who, in order to attain truth, collectively practised control over their basic impulses and adhered to an ethic derived from the underlying logic.

Let us recall the tripartition presented in the Republic: the “intellectual” soul — λογιστικόν — governs the “emotional” soul — θυμοειδές — which in turn governs the “instinctual” soul — ἐπιθυμητικόν. The path of knowledge is founded upon a process of ἄσκησις — an “ascent” of the individual consciousness along the Divided Line.

For all these reasons, we cannot exclude the possibility that Plato adopted a method of organising his circle similar to the Pythagorean system described by Iamblichus:

“After admission to discipleship, the different classes were assigned according to individual merit. Since disciples possess different characteristics, it is of little benefit for all of them to participate indiscriminately in everything. Nor would it have been right to share the deepest revelations with some while concealing them from others, for such discrimination would have created friction.

Pythagoras communicated a certain portion of the doctrine to everyone, giving each person what he was capable of understanding and making individual merit the criterion by which the extent of his teaching was determined. This highly articulated method led him to designate some as ‘Pythagoreans’ and others as ‘Pythagorists’, just as true poets are distinguished from mere versifiers. On the basis of this distinction, he regarded some of his disciples as models for the others.

The possessions of the Pythagoreans were held in common, since they were required to live together. The Pythagorists, by contrast, could continue to administer their own property, although they met frequently and were free to pursue the same activities. These methods of organisation, which originated with Pythagoras, were transmitted to his successors.”

Tradition relates that further distinctions existed among the Pythagoreans who lived within the Confraternity of Wisdom. Those who demonstrated a mind suited to metaphysical speculation could gain access to a more advanced level and assumed the title of Mathetic.

The Mathetics were bound by an oath of secrecy — an obvious requirement, given the severity of the selection process — and this may also explain why no diagram of the Psyché dating from Plato’s time has survived.

Just as there had been “Pythagoreans” and “Pythagorists”, we cannot exclude the possibility that Plato was surrounded by both “Academics” and “Academists”. When speaking to certain members of the Academy, Plato calls Unity and Multiplicity “the Great and the Small”, because those who had seen the diagram knew what he meant.

Passage 144 of the Parmenides, the Psychogony of the Timaeus, and the strongly visual and spatial character of the terms “Great” and “Small” prompt several questions. One of them should be formulated as follows: could Aristotle have referred to “the Great and the Small” without ever having seen its diagrammatic representation?

He would certainly have heard the expression “the Great and the Small” in conversations with Speusippus or Xenocrates — sources, alongside the Dialogues, from which he learned the substance of Plato’s Pythagoreanism — but without relating it to any figure.

Yet “the Great and the Small” is quite evidently the name of something visually present before the observer’s eyes: a figure that Aristotle, in all probability, had never seen, and of which he had never received a direct explanation from Plato. Had he done so, he would have made it the central object of his critical attention, dismantling and reassembling it, as was his custom, piece by piece.

However incredible it may seem to us as modern readers, Aristotle’s status within the Academy may have been far more limited than the Neoplatonic tradition has led us to suppose. We are influenced by the immense veneration Aristotle received in later centuries. Yet in the period of the Old Academy, matters may have been very different.

In the next video, we shall examine Plato’s critical attitude towards language and the role of the diagram. “To the Principle!”