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I've been studying the Egyptian mysteries of Isis, Osiris, and Horos; I have no idea where they came from, though it seems noteworthy that they are illustrated in the stars, focusing on the heliacal rising and setting of various constellations along the galactic plane. Many of the other mysteries we know about—Innana/Ishtar and Dumuzid, Astarte and Baal, Aphrodite and Adonis, the Eleusinian mysteries, the Dionusian mysteries, the Apolline mysteries, the house of Oikles and some other parts of the Thebaian myth (like Oidipous), the house of Tantalos, the house of Danaus, Atalante, and (I think, though I have not studied it carefully yet) the Argonautica—all seem to derive from these Egyptian mysteries, as they share the same structure and tell the same story.

While I haven't dug very deeply into them, there seem to also have been the Mesopotamian mysteries of Gilgamesh and Enkidu; I also have no idea where they came from, though it seems noteworthy that they are also illustrated in the stars, focusing (as far as I can tell) on the movement of the planets along the constellations of the ecliptic plane. Some others of the mysteries, most notably Herakles, seem to derive from these Mesopotamian mysteries, as they share the same structure and tell the same story.

It's interesting to me that we see a lot of crossover and interaction between these two mysteries: for example, Gilgamesh spurning Ishtar (noting that Taurus, the Bull of Heaven, marks the intersection of the ecliptic and galactic planes just as it marks the intersection of the two myths), Herakles besieging Thebai, Jason taking Herakles on his voyage, etc. I have no idea if these indicate two parts of one greater story, or if they indicate the priority of one set of mysteries over the other, or if they simply show conflict between the different mystery schools.

I suppose that the mysteries are simply a mystery.

Occasionally, at long intervals, we see that an individual takes up the mysteries and sets out to retell them in their own way. "Homer" gave us perhaps the classic version of them in the Odyssey. Virgil retold an explicitly civic Roman version of them in the Aeneid. Apuleius retold an explicitly Platonist version of them in Cupid and Psyche. I haven't yet read it myself, but I'm told that Dante has retold a Christian-Neoplatonist version of them in the Divine Comedy. Within their various contexts, these are praiseworthy works, worthy of respect and ripe for contemplation.

My daughter and I recently finished reading Michael Ende's The Neverending Story, which follows in the same tradition, telling an explicitly Western-occult-revival version of the mysteries. I don't know who Ende studied under, but he certainly mastered at least the Lesser Mysteries, as he has missed nothing and provides worthy commentary and color on each point. One could do far worse than spending a year meditating one's way through it.

It's also, of course, an engaging narrative: my daughter—who, of course, has not studied the mysteries at all—loved it. If you haven't read it (and especially if you've seen the film, which is to the book as lead is to gold), I highly recommend it. It's worthy of your time.

Hmm. Herodotos says (Histories I §131) of the Persians,

They call the whole circle of heaven Zeus [e.g. Ahura-Mazda], and to him they offer sacrifice on the highest peaks of the mountains; they sacrifice also to the sun and moon and earth and fire and water and winds.⁠ These are the only gods to whom they have ever sacrificed from the beginning.

Of course we see Empedokles's four roots there. There's just one problem: Empeokles was contemporaneous with Herodotos, writing about the same time as him. (They both lived in what is now Italy, but in different regions: Empedokles in Sicily, and Herodotos in what is now Calabria.)

So here we have another source referencing the same doctrine at the same time as Empedokles. This is another argument in favor of my hypothesis that the four roots did not originate with him, but that he learned them from the Pythagoreans, who learned them from Pythagoras. Where did Pythagoras get them? I had made the case that he got them from the Egyptian mysteries on the basis of deific and symbolic associations, and that's plausible, but then—assuming Herodotos isn't misleading us—it suggests that the Egyptians similarly influenced the Zoroastrians.

On the other hand, Pythagoras is said to have studied with just about everyone (including the Persian magi, though how he had time for it after spending 20 years in Egypt is anyone's guess), and so it's possible that the Greek doctrine of the roots came from the Persians. But then it's a remarkable coincidence that these line up so nicely with the Egyptian teachings which apparently predate Zoroastrianism (or even Mazdaism) by at least a millennium.

Alternatively, it could be that the four roots were generally current in the spiritual milieu of the time, and Empedokles was simply the first to write it down. (This wouldn't be too surprising, since Empedokles was expelled from the Pythagoreans for doing so, meaning that it was a secret teaching.)

Whichever of the cases is true, I think we can be reasonably confident that the teaching didn't originate with Empedokles.

Digging through my folder of random pictures, I stumbled across this silly nonsense I made for my daughter a while back:

Saint George, his noble steed, and that dragon are all made out of the exact same origami model as that mob of birds I posted several years ago. In light of my recent studies, I award no points for guessing where our plucky hero seems to have originated...

What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

(Juliet speaking. William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet II ii.)

"Why do you need a new name to get well?"

"Only the right name gives beings and things their reality," she said. "A wrong name makes everything unreal. That's what lies do."

(Atreyu interrogating the Childlike Empress. Michael Ende, The Neverending Story XI, as translated by Ralph Manheim. "Atreyu," incidentally, means "the Son of All," as he was an orphan raised by the whole village.)

It is a bit odd that the convention in English is to translate American Indian names (e.g. we call the famous Lakota "Crazy Horse" and not "Tȟašúŋke Witkó") but that we transliterate Ancient Greek names (e.g. we call the famous Athenian "Plato" and not "Broad-Shoulders"). This is usually said to be "racist," as if we are looking down on American Indians, but I think the opposite, that we should rather translate the names of other languages so that their meaning isn't veiled: the more I study Greek, and the more I study the Mysteries, the more clear it is to me that names are everything and are worth the closest study.

(Indeed, while I am estranged from my family, I am grateful for the name they gave me: Ἰάσων Jason "of Iaso," that is, a dedication to the goddess of recuperation from disease, which has been the purpose of this life—and, indeed, is the meaning behind the myth of my heroic namesake.)

Here's a few miscellaneous name-notes I've run across recently as I struggle my way through Homer.

• νεφεληγερέτα Ζεύς nephelegereta Zeus is usually translated "Zeus Cloud-Gatherer," with the epithet traditionally derived from νεφελη-ἀγείρετα nephele-ageireta "who gathers clouds to himself;" but I wonder if it is, in fact, the simpler νεφελη-γερέτα nephele-gereta "who was given the clouds as his king's prerogative" (cf. Homer, Iliad XV 187–93).

• Humans are often called μερόπων ἀνθρώπων meropon anthropon "humans of divided voice (e.g. speak in words);" e.g. treating language as a differentiator between men and beasts. It occurs to me that the first men didn't speak, though; speech was the gift of Hermeias to Πανδώρα Pandora "all-gifted" (cf. Hesiod, Works and Days 77–80), and it is only her and presumably her descendants that have the ability to speak. (This is all of present humankind, of course, via Pandora's daughter Purrha, who survived the flood alongside Deukalion.) So the gift was a curse, but the curse was also a gift—but then, I suppose μηχανεύς Ζεύς mekhaneus Zeus "Zeus Contriver" never does anything for merely one reason...

• I find it interesting that Homer calls the constellations τείρεα teirea "signs," since the famous prophet Τειρεσίας Teiresias "sign-reader" is the quintessential Master of the Mysteries (being the savior of Thebai, the initiator of Odusseus, and the only mortal who retained hits wits beyond death); this reinforces, I think, my theory that the constellations are (or, perhaps, were) meant to be the hieroglyphs on the walls of the Great Temple which Plotinos so often refers to (cf. Enneads II iii "Are the Stars Causes?" §7, Enneads V viii "On the Intellectual Beauty" §6; Enneads VI ix "On the Good, or the One" §11). That is, I think we are being exhorted to be like Teiresias and learn to "read the signs" for ourselves!

I have no idea what the Egyptian sphinx represents—best guess is that it was originally just a lion, but some narcissistic jerk re-sculpted his face onto it—but the Greek sphinx, at least, is simply the riddle, the puzzle, the koan personified: it entices you in with it's pretty face and soft breasts, but once you get close, it sinks its claws into you. (In fact, the word Σφίγξ "sphinx" is from the Greek σφίγξω "I will hold tight.") With that image, an entire avenue of sphinxes seems a frightening prospect, and yet here I am, traipsing down just such a path...

A while back I noted that there were two major Greek myth cycles, the "city myth" and the the "hero myth." The first of these (exemplified by the two great cycles of the Heroic age, Thebai and Troia) follows seven generations of kings as they found a city, the city's royal line splits, the main branch fails (due to assaults from foreigners ultimately caused by a divine curse), while the secondary branch moves on to found a new city. On the other hand, the "hero myth" (exemplified by the Horos myth and the Orestes branch of the Epic Cycle), describes the structure of the world that we inhabit and describes what we can do about it; it is meant to be an example to prospective initiates, just like Athenaie says:

ἢ οὐκ ἀίεις οἷον κλέος ἔλλαβε δῖος Ὀρέστης
πάντας ἐπ’ ἀνθρώπους, ἐπεὶ ἔκτανε πατροφονῆα,
Αἴγισθον δολόμητιν, ὅ οἱ πατέρα κλυτὸν ἔκτα;
καὶ σύ, φίλος, μάλα γάρ σ’ ὁρόω καλόν τε μέγαν τε,
ἄλκιμος ἔσσ’, ἵνα τίς σε καὶ ὀψιγόνων ἐὺ εἴπῃ.

Or haven't you heard what kind of renown noble Orestes gained
among all men when he avenged his father by murdering
that weaselly Aigisthos, who killed his illustrious father?
Likewise you, my friend—for I see that you are very handsome and well-built—
be courageous! so that even those yet to come may speak well of you.

(Athenaie, in the guise of Mentes, exhorting Telemakhos. Homer, Odyssey I 298-302, as translated—hopefully not too badly!—by yours truly.)

This is, in fact, why Horos never goes to Bublos or why Orestes never goes to Troia: they are drawing on the lessons of the "city myth" in order to determine their own path. The city is an abstraction or teaching to them, the stories of those who went before, rather than a lived experience. In fact, it suggests that the city is a place they want to avoid, a source of trouble! Because of this, it seems rather important to make sense of what the city is and what it means, but I've been in difficulty doing so. I hit upon a potential angle on it, though, that I thought might be worth walking through.

I recently mentioned the Ra Material in reference to Teiresias (himself a part of the Thebaian city myth), and while pondering this, I realized that "Ra's" metaphysics dovetails neatly with the city myth, with "Ra's" seven degrees of consciousness corresponding very well with the seven generations of kings; under this interpretation, the city myth describes the unfolding of the Cosmos from Source to Source, while the hero myth, situated at the end of it, tells us what we can do about it right now, today, and what we can expect to happen to us if we try.

As a disclaimer and a reminder, I'm pretty skeptical of channeled texts (and doubly so of anything "New Age") for a few reasons: first, I have a pretty strong anti-modernity bias; second, most people are incapable of reaching up to the aither to channel angels, and even if they can, it can be very difficult to tell since daimons "know how to tell many convincing lies;" third, the channelled material always reflects the biases of the person doing the channelling, and if one isn't personally close with them, it can be very difficult to correct for these; and fourth, the "New Age" seems to largely presuppose a worldview I don't adhere to, and involve wish-fulfilment fantasies which I'm not interested in. So this material needs to be taken with salt; please consider this post merely an attempt to expand upon my prior exploration of Teiresias in order to make a more comprehensive evaluation of the model possible.

Perhaps I should start by describing "Ra's" view of the development of consciousness. (Or attempting to, it is not perfectly clear to me, so take this as a sketch.) Consciousness is analogized as a vibration, and this continuum of vibration is discretized into seven degrees of consciousness, just like how we break up all the possible vibrations of the air into a scale of seven notes or all the possible vibrations of the visual spectrum into seven colors. Since souls are just a vehicle for consciousness, we inherently possess the capacity to vibrate in any harmony of frequencies, at least potentially; but in practice, one has to "climb the scale" a bit at a time, from lowest vibration to highest vibration:

1. Red, which relates to being, and is the consciousness of "inanimate" objects.

2. Orange, which relates to growth and movement, and is the consciousness of plants and animals.

3. Yellow, which relates to social identity, and is the consciousness of humans. Being the vibration of identity, it is the first properly "individual" degree: red and orange are "herd" or "group" consciousness, while yellow consciousness is individual (at least once sufficiently developed).

4. Green, which relates to love, and is the consciousness of lower daimons. Love is polarized: one may give love (compassion) or take love (selfishness), and thus green consciousness is dual in nature.

5. Blue, which relates to communication and wisdom, and is the consciousness of higher daimons, though it is also (being the lowest vibration not subject to mortality) where we resonate with after death. Blue retains the polarized nature of green; the positive pole is the collective search of understanding (collaboration), while the negative pole is the individual search of understanding (hoarding knowledge).

6. Indigo, which relates to universality, and is the consciousness of angels. Unlike green and blue, indigo is not meaningfully polarized, because of the nature of universality; negatively-polarized individuals, having mastered wisdom, come to understand this and reorient themselves positively as they endeavor to comprehend the All.

7. Violet, which is related to transcendance and unity. This is, in a sense, rejoining the All and moving on to a new "octave" of existence, in which one co-creates the universe as and with God. (At least, apparently: "Ra" claimed to be of indigo consciousness, themselves, and claimed only secondhand knowledge about violet consciousness from its own teachers.)

Apparently souls usually ascend as groups: that is to say, the group of what we now call "human souls" all passed through the red stage more-or-less together, then the orange stage more-or-less together, and are now working through the yellow stage more-or-less together. ("Ra" says the reason why the earth is such a mess is that, apparently unusually, humans aren't developing consistently: a few are polarizing positively, a few others are polarizing negatively, and the vast majority aren't polarizing at all. Evidently conditions are much smoother in the common case where the group develops together.) There are uncommon exceptions to souls developing as a group, however: some people are souls of a higher degree, who incarnate as humans in order to teach and guide; while, conversely, some few human souls "jump the tracks" and, through spiritual practices or divine support or sometimes even by accident, behold God naked and become able to ascend separately from the rest of their group.

I think that's enough about "Ra's" metaphysics to get on with. So far so good, and other than the emphasis on soul-groups, isn't too distant from Empedokles or Plotinos.

As for the city myths, there is, unfortunately, no one good source remaining for either of them. I'd like to look at Troia today, partly because I looked at Thebai last time and partly because the Epic cycle is by far the more familiar to me. The outlines of it's history can be more-or-less cobbled back together from bits and pieces in the Iliad and Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite (which I trust) and the Library (which is my preferred fallback when a reliable source isn't available). Here is a sketch at describing the seven generations, with citations:

1. Dardanos, the favorite mortal son of Zeus, founded Dardania at the foot of Mt. Ide. [Il. XX 215-8, 301–5.]

2. Erikhthonios, the son and successor of Dardanos, "became the richest of all men" with a herd of three thousand mares. Boreas mated with some of these mares in the form of a black stallion, adding twelve semi-divine horses to Erikhthonios's herd. [Il. XX 219–29.]

3. Tros is the son and successor of Erikhthonios, renaming the kingdom (but not the city) of Dardania after himself. [Il. XX 230, Lib. III xii §2.]

4. At this point the royal line splits three ways, as Tros has three sons: Ilos, Assarakhos, and Ganumedes. All three are described as faultless. Ilos goes to Phrygia; he wins a prize of fifty men and women; following an oracle's instruction, he follows a dappled cow to the hill of Ate; he asks Zeus for a sign; he is given the Palladium; and he founds Ilios on the spot. Assarakhos, meanwhile, simply succeeds to the throne of Dardania. Ganumedes, finally, being peer of the gods and most beautiful of mortals, is spirited away in a whirlwind to be the immortal, ageless cupbearer of Zeus; Tros is grieved by his son's disappearance until Zeus sends Hermes to tell him what has become of him and give him divine horses. [Il. XX 231–5; HH 202–17; Lib. III xii §3.]

5. Laomedon is the son and successor of Ilos, and also described as faultless. Kapus is the son and successor of Assarakhos. [Il. XX 236, 239.]

6. Priamos is the son and successor of Laomedon; he is the final king of Ilios, since while Zeus loves Priamos and his city, he withdraws his favor from Priamos's line and gives it to Aineias. Ankhises is the son and successor of Kapus; he was seduced by Aphrodite, but not made immortal; and he secretly bred his mares to the divine horses of Laomedon (descendants of those ransomed for Ganumedes), thereby stealing their bloodline. [Il. IV 44–9, V 265–72, XX 236, 300–8; HH.]

7. Hektor is the son and heir apparent of Priamos, but is killed in battle by Akhilleus. Aineias is the son and successor of Ankhises; he is the son of Aphrodite; he is most pious and beloved by the gods; and he escapes Ilios and refounds it after it is sacked. [Il. II 819–21, XX 293–308, XXII; HH.]

Now, let's synthesize these two models. I don't think this is too difficult! The seven kings can obviously be linked to the seven degrees of consciousness, with the line of descent showing the progression of consciousness (e.g. orange follows red just as Erikthonios follows Dardanos), and with the split among the sons of Tros showing the split in polarization at the green level of consciousness (e.g. just as, after Tros, the Troad has two kingdoms, Dardania and Ilios, so too does consciousness have two polarities after yellow). Everything else falls out naturally from there.

Mt. Ide (traditionally from ἴδη "woods," as in a place of material to harvest and work with) is the world-axis or ladder of consciousness, which is why Zeus sits atop it and watches all. The hill of Ate (Ἄτη "blindness, recklessness") is presumably where Zeus threw her after Hera tricked him into recklessly making Iphikles king rather than Herakles (cf. Il. XIX 91–136), clearly a place where a lack of foresight makes one deviate from the intended course. Dardania (apparently related to the onomatapoeic δάρδα darda "bee," like "bumble" in English, and an appropriate name for cooperation, as a hive of bees work together for the good of all) is the positive polarization of consciousness, while Ilios (which Ilos, of course, selfishly named for himself) is the negative polarization of consciousness, distant from Ide but still in sight of it (as one can never really escape divinity).

Dardania is founded by Dardanos at the foot of Ide since red consciousness is foundational, inherently positive, and where everything begins; while Ilios is founded by Ilos on Ate since green consciousness is the first that can be negatively polarized (though doing so is short-sighted). Nonetheless, each of Tros's three children are described as ἀμύμονες "without blemish," because all is one, so to love others and to love self are both to love God. However, Tros has a third faultless son: Ganumedes; Xenophon's Socrates (Symposium VIII xxx) makes the case that Ganumedes was beautiful in soul, and I likewise think that Ganumedes is a mythic representation of how peculiarly virtuous souls can short-circuit the usual path of growth through intensive self-development and/or devotion to divinity. Zeus withdraws his favor from Priam because negative polarization halts at the indigo level (thus ending the line of Ilos), and Hektor dies in battle because it is not possible for a negative polarization to transcend. Aineias refounds Ilios because the result of returning to the One is to co-create the next "octave" of consciousness.

Homer goes to particular lengths to talk about horses (maybe they should have called him Φίλιππος Phillip "horse fancier"), so these must be noteworthy for some reason. I suppose that while the kings represent the levels of consciousness in general, the horses must represent their property; that is, specific individuals or groups of individuals within those levels of consciousness. Perhaps the wealth of Erikhthonios indicates the vast speciation of the natural world, while the offspring of Boreas ("the North Wind") indicates that only some of the many species of animals are judged desirable enough to become vessels of the yellow level (e.g. are imbued with "breath" or "wind," that is, individual soul); perhaps the horses Zeus gifts to Ilos indicate that while some beautiful souls may leave the group, the group is not neglected, but is in fact given support in recompense for their loss in order to maintain balance; that Ankhises breeds his horses with the descendents of these perhaps suggests that these beautiful souls join groups of the indigo level ("go to be with the angels"). These kinds of things aren't really discussed in the Ra Material so far as I recall, though, so this is all not-terribly-deep guesswork based strictly on the symbolism in the myth.

A few miscellaneous notes from while I was working my way through all this:

• I have long wondered why Homer is so very down on Aphrodite; she seems to me to be among the nicest of the gods. One nice thing about this interpretation of the city myth is that it makes sense of this. Aphrodite is love, and loving mode of consciousness—green—is where polarization takes place; since Ilios is the negative polarization, which is ultimately incapable of returning to the source, this is the reason for the city's downfall. In fact, that Zeus refuses to adjudicate the apple to any of the goddesses indicates that God has given us free will to choose our paths; that Paris has to choose between Aphrodite (= love​ = green?), Athene (= wisdom​ = blue?), and Hera (= universality = indigo?) indicates that these are the levels affected by choice of polarization; that Paris chooses Aphrodite for reasons of self-gratification reinforces the recklessness (ate) of the negative polarization in general.

• I'm not really prepared to do a deep-dive on the Thebaian myth yet, but while we're talking about sphinxes, it's worth noting that Oidipous, being of the fifth royal generation, would, by this theory, be of the blue, or wisdom, degree of consciousness. This makes his solving of the sphinx's riddle—a test of wisdom—pretty appropriate!

• If you'll recall in the Horos-myth, I likened Thoth to "experience," the reason or purpose behind climbing the ladder of consciousness: so God-in-part can come to know part-of-God. Thoth is married to Maat, the "necessity" of this occurring. It is noteworthy that the child of Thoth and Maat is Seshat "scribess," who is depicted with two cow horns and a seven-petalled flower above her head. It is plausible to me that "scribess" is a reference to consciousness being that which observes and records (cf. Od. XI 223–4) and the seven-petalled flower is indicative of the seven modes of consciousness here described:

  𓋇

  This would, of course, presuppose that "Ra" is correct in saying that they influenced the development of Egypt with their teachings.

ἦ τοι μὲν ξανθὸν Γανυμήδεα μητιέτα Ζεὺς
ἥρπασε ὃν διὰ κάλλος, ἵν᾽ ἀθανάτοισι μετείη
καί τε Διὸς κατὰ δῶμα θεοῖς ἐπιοινοχοεύοι,
θαῦμα ἰδεῖν, πάντεσσι τετιμένος ἀθανάτοισι,
χρυσέου ἐκ κρητῆρος ἀφύσσων νέκταρ ἐρυθρόν.
Τρῶα δὲ πένθος ἄλαστον ἔχε φρένας, οὐδέ τι ᾔδει,
ὅππη οἱ φίλον υἱὸν ἀνήρπασε θέσπις ἄελλα:

You know how most-clever Zeus spirited away blonde Ganumedes
because of his beauty, to be among the deathless ones
and serve wine to the gods in the house of Zeus,
a sight to behold as he is honored by all the immortals
as he draws crimson nectar from the golden bowl.
But incessant worry gripped the heart of Tros, since he didn't know
whither the heaven-sent cyclone had caught up his beloved boy.

(Aphrodite consoles Ankhises. Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite 202–208, as translated—hopefully not too badly!—by yours truly. Yes, it really says "cyclone!")

When Ts'ui-wei was asked about the meaning of Buddhism, he answered: "Wait until there is no one around, and I will tell you." Some time later the monk approached him again, saying: "There is nobody here now. Please answer me." Ts'ui-wei led him out into the garden and went over to the bamboo grove, saying nothing. Still the monk did not understand, so at last Ts'ui-wei said, "Here is a tall bamboo; there is a short one!"

(Shi Daoyuan, The Transmission of the Lamp XV ccclxiii; as retold by Alan Watts, The Way of Zen II i.)

Okay, so while I just revised Enneads I iv, it seems I might as well revise the joke that went with it. Perhaps you recall how I was tired after work, but since I'm a burning-the-candle-at-both-ends kind of person, forged ahead to study this particular essay, but a bird flew overhead and pooped on the page I was reading, an obvious omen to just give it a rest already.

My daughter was asking me about my angel today, as I mentioned how they have a very playful personality. She asked for examples, and so I told her a number of my angel stories. I got to this one, and while she was laughing about it, I was telling her how that page of the Enneads is still kinda messed up since of course I had to wash the poop off. She fetched the book from the shelf and asked me to show her which page it was, so I turned to the beginning of Enneads I iv and pointed to the worn-out section near the top of the page.

As I did so, I realized that I had missed the joke's punch line!

See, in the edition of the Enneads I was reading, the essay on True Happiness starts halfway down the page; the top half of the page is the last part of the prior essay on Dialectic. Here is the relevant section, with where the poop landed (which is now half-erased from being scrubbed clean) highlighted:

And while the other virtues bring the reason to bear upon particular experiences and acts, the virtue of Wisdom [...] is a certain super-reasoning much closer to the Universal; for it deals with correspondence and sequence, the choice of time for action and inaction, the adoption of this course, the rejection of that other [...].

The bird didn't just poop on my book, it literally pointed out that it would have been wise for me to rest. Lorna Byrne says somewhere that "angels find it easier to move minds than physical objects," but it seems to me that they're plenty capable of fine movements when need be...

I've been pretty down lately: most of this month I've been ill and very weak, and even after that, it's been stressful trying to catch back up with everything that fell by the wayside, and frustrating to strugglingly clear the fog from my mind and get back to being capable of thinking. I had a little space available to me, today, and I thought I might pluck Plotinos off the shelf... little did I know that this essay, which I struggled to make sense of two years ago, was just what I needed today.

Despite being a little lost last time, my summary actually wasn't too bad, but I still wanted to tinker with it, some:

I iv: On Well-Being [Revision of my original summary.]

Let us consider a musician and his lyre. It is the lyre that sings sweetly, but can it be considered to have well-being? No—the lyre might be in tune or in good repair, but it is the musician that can be well; the lyre is a mere instrument of the musician's well-being. But let us suppose that the lyre is out of sorts: does this mean the musician is unwell? Not necessarily: perhaps it fell out of tune in his absence and he is not even aware of it, or perhaps he sings on even without accompaniment, or perhaps he has grown tired of playing and does something else. In whatever case, the musician cares for the instrument, tuning it and fixing it as needed, but only insofar as it contributes to his own well-being.

In the same way, a man's body is the mere instrument of the soul; and while the body might experience pleasure or contentment, this is merely akin to the lyre being in good shape. No, the Good is the highest of all, and so a man's good must come from his higher part: his well-being is of the soul, and being of the soul it is to be found solely within and not subject to the vagaries of without.

Just like how the lyre is not essential to the musician's well being, what does the saintly man—he who is consumed with divinity—care for the body? He will be swayed neither by power and luxury, on the one hand, nor disease and disaster, on the other. Would we not call him a man of tremendous well-being, who could be satisfied even as he is placed on the pyre? But this is just what happens when the practice of the virtues is taken to its end.

In general, in my summaries of Plotinos, I have taken the tack of summarizing his conclusions and more-or-less ignoring his arguments. I think I was upset with my summary the first time since this was the first essay in which doing so was really glaring... it really leaves a lot out. But I think, by the end of summarizing the Enneads, I came to the conclusion that I can't really do justice to the full arguments; really, these summaries exist to A) remind me of the contents of the essays, and B) maybe, hopefully, entice others to read Plotinos—at least, those essays that seem most interesting to them. So if my summary seems abrupt and you want to know what the good man is like and why, then just read the real thing: it's linked above and it's not very long.

I didn't realize this the first time through Plotinos, but this essay is about εὐδαιμονία eudaimonia, the meaning of which was one of my Big Questions™ when I went through On the Gods and the World. The dictionary gives "prosperity, good fortune, wealth;" Murray and Nock translate this word as "happiness;" Taylor translates it "felicity;" MacKenna goes a little further and translates it "true happiness;" and Armstrong is critical of these and translates it as "well-being." I agree with Armstrong that any variation on "happiness" is misleading: the philosophers are not saying that the virtuous feel good, they are saying that they have transcended feeling. But it would be wrong to call such people "stoic" or "impassive," I think: Taoist and Zen masters are well known for their good humor, and angels (as the beings intrinsically possessing the virtues we try to take on) are full of joy. (Indeed, when I think of my own angel, I think of them first and foremost as playful.) Perhaps a very literal translation of eudaimonia might be "well-spirited," which I can sorta see as encompassing all of these notions.

In my summary I mention tossing the good man on a pyre, but Plotinos's actual example was of tossing him in the Bull of Phalaris. I wasn't familiar with it, but good old Diodoros tells us the story in the Library of History IX xviii–xix. Yipes!

Even though Plotinos is following Plato in his arguments, and even though Plato and Diogenes were at odds, it is hard not to see the stray dog as an exemplar of eudaimonia, retaining his well-being even as he was sold into slavery.

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Happy Hermes-Day! Can we talk about Teiresias for a second? That whole thing with the snakes [item 3] has been bothering me.

So if you're recall, one day blind Teiresias was walking on Mount Kullene (the birthplace of Hermes), stumbled across two snakes entwined in sex, and he accidentally crushes one or both of them with his staff. Hera was infuriated at this and changed Teiresias into a woman. Teiresias becomes a priestess of Hera. At some point, Apollo advises Teiresias that if he ever happens upon the same situation to crush one or the other of the snakes with his staff; in the eighth year of being a woman, Teiresias does and is restored to his original form.

This is clearly a story about reincarnation in order to learn a particular lesson: Teiresias is each of us, Teiresias's sex-change is reincarnating into different bodies, Hera is "mother Earth" and becoming her priestess is to devote oneself to learning her lessons; Apollo is the mysteries and his advice is the mystery teachings; eight years is a "great year" representing one's greater life (Apollodoros, Library III iv §2).

All that is very straightforward, I think; the only question is, what is the lesson to be learned? It has something to do with polarity, certainly, which already puts me at a disadvantage since I'm of a monistic bent and have a difficult time making sense of dualities; but it is further complicated by the fact that almost every version of the story we possess tells it differently. I tend to trust Apollodoros more than the others, but his version is itself ambiguous, so we're on our own.

Thinking about this, though, reminded me of the Ra Material; if you're not familiar with it, it's one of the major channeled texts of the New Age movement. (Since it's a channeled text, we're already in super-grain-of-salt-territory, but bear with me.) "Ra" states that there are seven degrees of consciousness, and that each degree of consciousness has a lesson to learn in order for beings of that consciousness to move to the next degree of consciousness. First degree beings (like minerals) are static and inanimate, and their lesson is to learn to move and grow. Second degree beings (like plants and animals) are animate but unselfconscious, and their lesson is to learn individuality. We humans are third degree beings, and our lesson is to learn to relate the individual to the all. "Ra" says that there are two polarities of relating to the all: the positive pole of giving to others or compassion, and the negative pole of taking from others or selfishness; since all is one, both the love of others and the love of self are ways of loving the all, and so either way can carry one upwards, but the crucial point is to develop enough reflective capacity and will to be capable of actively choosing a path.

Of course, all models are wrong, but some are useful: true or not, "Ra's" model certainly has the merit of making sense of the snakes. The female snake is the negative pole (and let me stress that I'm not denouncing women, I am referring strictly to the inward-attracting direction of any negative pole); the male snake is the positive pole (as outward-emitting); Teiresias is doomed to reincarnation by being incapable of choosing a path (his first killing is accidental); over a great year he studies the lessons of earth, guided by the mysteries; finally, he is freed from reincarnation by choosing a path (his second killing is willed). Perhaps it even makes sense of why so many variants of the story are recorded: a "pure" version of the story, like the "Ra" material, stresses the free will of the individual to choose as they please; however, "moralistic" versions of the story might urge the individual to prefer one or the other polarity. (And I can certainly sympathize with this: I would, myself, much rather hasten to the light in love than sound the darkness in isolation.)

Penises (as emblematic of male sexuality) are really all over the mysteries, from the phalluses in the temples of Osiris to the thursoi of Dionusos. (Hell, if you haven't read De Dea Syria, there's a veritable boatload of penises in there for you.) I've always thought that's pretty weird to say the least, but if it's an injunction towards the positive pole, that would at least make some sense of it.

It is interesting to me that Hermes picked up the image of the story as his symbol, carrying always the kerukeion with it's two snakes coiling around Teiresias's cornel-wood staff, topped by the wings which the development of will grants. It is interesting that this became Hermes's symbol even though Athena also figures prominently in the Teiresias myth; we see just the opposite in the Perseus myth, where Perseus is guided by both gods, but only Athena took her symbol—the head of Medousa affixed to a shield—from there.