sdi

ὄρνις γάρ σφιν ἐπῆλθε περησέμεναι μεμαῶσιν αἰετὸς ὑψιπέτης ἐπ᾽ ἀριστερὰ λαὸν ἐέργων φοινήεντα δράκοντα φέρων ὀνύχεσσι πέλωρον ζωὸν ἔτ᾽ ἀσπαίροντα, καὶ οὔ πω λήθετο χάρμης, κόψε γὰρ αὐτὸν ἔχοντα κατὰ στῆθος παρὰ δειρὴν ἰδνωθεὶς ὀπίσω: ὃ δ᾽ ἀπὸ ἕθεν ἧκε χαμᾶζε ἀλγήσας ὀδύνῃσι, μέσῳ δ᾽ ἐνὶ κάββαλ᾽ ὁμίλῳ, αὐτὸς δὲ κλάγξας πέτετο πνοιῇς ἀνέμοιο. Jove's bird on sounding pinions beat the skies; A bleeding serpent of enormous size His talons trussed; alive, and curling round, He stung the bird, whose throat received the wound: Mad with the smart, he drops the fatal prey, In airy circle wings his painful way, Floats on the winds, and rends the heaven with cries; Amidst the host the fallen serpent lies. (Homer, Iliad XII ll. 200–7, tr. Alexander Pope.)

As I said previously, I think that the myth of Isis describes the macrocosm, the myth of Osiris describes the mesocosm, and the myth of Horus describes the microcosm. Meditating on the first, therefore, taught me all sorts of interesting things about the structure of the cosmos. Meditating on the second can, presumably, teach us many things about society, but I confess that (as something of a hermit and a misanthrope) my meditations on the topic have not been very fruitful. But the last is, perhaps, the most interesting of the three to me, because, given that Fire has descended and divided, meditating on it should teach us what we can do about it.

Alas, though, what Plutarch gives us to work with is so sparse! So little of the ancient mysteries are recorded, and Plutarch has explicitly neutered much of what little was available in the interests of propriety. I have endeavored to reconstruct as much of the myth as I can from other sources, but even with those, there is not a lot to work with. (We do happen to have a papyrus specifically concerning this part of the myth, but it's very fragmentary and pretty weird, and I had trouble making much use of it.) So, just like in the Isis and Osiris myths, I've wished to attach an equivalent Greek myth to compare against. I had two candidates especially to dig into for this.

The first was the myth of Apollo, which is recounted in the Homeric Hymn to Apollo. (This is pretty reasonable since Apollo is implicitly related to Horus by Homer, Odyssey XV 525–6; and explicitly equated with Horus by Herodotus, History II cxliv; Diodorus Siculus, Library of History I xxv; Plutarch, Isis and Osiris XII; etc.; and Leto is explicitly equated with Isis by Isidorus, the Oxyrhynchus papyrus, etc.) In that myth, Zeus is Osiris; Hera, Set; Leto (Lycian lada, "wife"), Isis; Asteria ("starry," cf. astral), Nephthys; Apollo, Horus; Artemis (here, daughter of Zeus and Asteria rather than Apollo's twin), Anubis; and Delos, Buto. Leto wanders before giving birth to Apollo in Delos in the same way that Isis wanders before giving birth to Horus in Buto; Leto does not nurse Apollo but he is fed ambrosia and nectar in the same way that Isis does not nurse Diktys; finally, Apollo slays the Delphic serpent in the same way that Horus's men slay the serpent chasing Tewaret. The Apollo myth came to Greece by way of Lycia—presumably this is why Apollo was on the side of the Trojans in the Iliad?—and since the myth claims the first priests of Apollo were sailors from Crete, I suppose that the transmission of this myth is from Egypt, to Crete, to Lycia, to Greece.

The second was the myth of Io, which is recounted in Pseudo-Apollodorus, Library II i. (Again, this is pretty reasonable since Io is explicitly equated with Isis by Diodorus Siculus, Library of History, I xxiv; Ovid, Metamorphoses IX l. 666 ff.; the Oxyrhynchus papyrus; the Suda; etc.) Io is turned into a cow in the same way Isis's head is replaced with a cow's; Hermes frees Io in the same way as Thoth rescues Isis; Hera induces Io to wander in the same way as Set induces Isis to wander; Io gives birth to Epaphus when she reaches Egypt in the same way as Isis gives birth to Horus upon her return to Egypt; Hera's kidnapping of Epaphus causes Io to search for him in the same way as Set's dismemberment of Osiris causes Isis to search for him, producing Horus; the queen of Byblos nurses Epaphus in the same way as Isis "nurses" Diktys; and finally, upon her return to Egypt, Io becomes queen and institutes the mysteries in the same way as Isis institutes the mysteries after finding Osiris's pieces. Since Io is said to be the ancestor of a great many heroes (Perseus, Cadmus, Heracles, Minos, etc.)—some of whom are directly related to Dionysus—I suppose that those myths all share some chain of transmission, though it is difficult to say exactly how.

Sadly, since only rags and tatters match up—and not even in order!—neither shed a lot of light on our myth. While pondering this in my perplexity, though, my angel (ever a tease) posed a riddle to me, which lead me to realize that the story of Tiresias advising Odysseus in Hades (Odyssey XI) is the mirror image of Osiris training Horus from Hades. Tiresias prophesies the last leg of Odysseus's homeward journey, and the structure of this prophecy matches closely with the Horus myth:

I find the parallels between these two narratives compelling, and will need to reread the Odyssey with the Isis and Osiris myths in mind. I have, in the past, been fairly critical of using Homer as a theological source, but one cannot dispute that the blind Chian casts a long shadow over the philosophers; his stories obviously came from somewhere, and these days I am becoming increasingly suspicious that "somewhere" means "Egypt" in the same way that "Western philosophy" means "Plato." (Plutarch (Isis and Osiris XXXIV) says as much, and there are those legends that Homer studied under the "imagination of Egypt;" cf. Photius, Library CXC; Eustathius on the Odyssey I.) Anyway, the linking of Horus and Odysseus puts us on firm ground, since Plotinus (Enneads I vi §8–9) and Thomas Taylor (The Wanderings of Ulysses) both explain what Odysseus's journey means in a manner agreeable, it seems to me, with the interpretation of Empedocles that I have been working with, so let's take a look.

Osiris's questions to Horus (D1, above) run like this:

Osiris. What do you think is the best thing?

Horus. To avenge one's parents!

Osiris. Okay. What animal is most useful to a soldier?

Horus thinks for a moment. A horse.

Osiris raises his eyebrows. Why?

Horus. Well, a lion would be better in a pinch, but without a horse, how could you annihilate the fleeing enemy!?

Osiris beams. Yes! You are ready, my son!

I should emphasize how out-of-character this is for Osiris: he is elsewhere described as gentle, charming, laughter-loving, fond of dance, and he went out of his way (as king of Egypt) to civilize the world through pursuation rather than force. Horus, on the other hand, is bloodthirsty and merciless. If you've ever seen a falcon eat, perhaps that's unsurprising, but in terms of the myth, I believe Horus is so determined because there is no half-assing spirituality: if one is to try to ascend, they must devote their whole being to it; if they do not, they cannot become whole, and the soul must be whole to be like Fire, which is indivisible. So even though Osiris is, himself, peaceful and gentle, he encourages Horus's resolve of Necessity: after all, Horus is the son of stern-and-severe Isis, too, and having the backbone she furnishes is table stakes for the difficult climb up the mountain. Tiresias says as much to Odysseus, too: "You seek to return home, mighty Odysseus, and home is sweet as honey; but heaven will make your voyage hard and dangerous, because I do not think the Earthshaker will fail to see you and he is furious at you for blinding his son." Odysseus is less bloodthirsty than Horus, but nonetheless resigns himself to his fate: "Alas, Tiresias, if that is the thread which the gods have spun, then I have no say in the matter."

Then we have the three battles between Horus and Set, only the first of which is really described in any detail. In this part of the myth, I don't think Set is acting as Air itself, but rather as something of a proxy for Strife; this is because Air is separatory from the perspective of Fire, and Horus is "avenging" Osiris. The three battles represent the individual soul transcending each of Earth, Water, and Air, respectively, in the process of returning to its Source. This isn't as straightforward as it seems at first, though, because of a couple structural considerations stemming from how the natures of the four roots. First, Earth and Water are both material and separate out under the influence of Strife simultaneously, so a soul still requires the use of a material body until it has transcended both. Second, Fire is indivisible and descends whole and therefore must reascend whole; this implies that the third battle with Set cannot occur until all souls are ready to transcend Air simultaneously, which is something that only occurs at the end of time, when the cosmos again comes completely under the influence of Love.

What does it mean for the soul to transcend the roots? Plato's Diotima discusses it (in a roundabout sort of way) in the Symposium (201D ff.) and Plotinus discusses it in Enneads I ii "On Virtue" (which Porphyry summarizes, more lucidly I think, in the 34th of his Sentences). One's Earthy part is the physical body, the soul's "bestial" part: to transcend Earth is to move beyond purely sensory experience and gain the ability to consider ideals on the same level as them; this is the mastery of Plato's "civic virtues," the ability to live a civilized life as a man rather than the savage life of an animal. One's Watery part is one's desiring faculty, its hungers and needs: to transcend Water is to move beyond material desires; this is the mastery of Plotinus's "purificatory virtues," the ability to cease to concern oneself with material things in favor of spiritual things. One's Airy part is the soul's emotional faculty, its ability to experience and judge things from an individual perspective: to transcend Air is to move beyond individuality completely; this is the mastery of Plotinus's "contemplative virtues," the ability to process things from all perspectives simultaneously, rather than one-at-a-time. Diotima says concordantly that one climbs the ladder of love from personal beauty to general beauty, from general beauty to abstract beauty, and from abstract beauty to universal beauty. Meanwhile, Porphyry explains that mastery of the civic virtues makes one a human; the purificatory virtues, an angel; and the contemplative virtues, a god (indeed, in this context, the god Osiris-Horus specifically, as all souls return to their Source).

Only the first of these is illustrated in the Horus myth, the transcending of Earth. That it is Earth and not Water is made clear in a few ways. First, we have the killing of the snake: we have seen destroyed phalluses already, with Isis cutting Osiris out of the heather stalk (representing matter being made to support other-than-bestial forms) and with the fish eating Osiris's penis (representing society being structured to foster an other-than-bestial life). The killing of the snake itself seems to be one "hacking to pieces" (analysing and overcoming) their bestial nature. Second, Tewaret is a concubine of Set's—a "lesser Nephthys," perhaps a being of Water rather than Water itself—which suggests to me the harnessing of desire (for peace, for comfort, for security, etc.) to create a civilized existence; that is, it is for this desire that the bestial nature is hacked to pieces. Third, Horus's violent deposing of Isis is a pretty literal—if violent, calling to mind the words of another initiate—description of the individual soul transcending Earth.

In the Odysseus story, this first battle plays out between Ææa (representing the bestial life, which is why everyone is a pig except Odysseus, who has Hermes—intelligence—guiding him) and Ogygia (home to Calypso, the seductive daughter of Atlas "who separates Earth from Heaven"). Odysseus encounters many monsters and troubles, and while he manages to escape from each (with difficulty), his men are unable to control themselves and are not so lucky, and so Odysseus comes to Ogygia alone. From this, Thomas Taylor (riffing on Plotinus, Enneads II iii §13?) makes the excellent point that there are three categories of souls. The first, which he likens to Heracles (and I might liken to Pythagoras or the Buddha or Jesus), is mighty and is capable of saving both themselves and others; if Odysseus was one of these, he and his men would have traveled swiftly back to Ithaca. No, Odysseus (who I might liken to dear Porphyry), rather, is of the second category, strong enough to save himself but not strong enough to save others, and this is why he struggles and strains to return to Ithaca, and manages it only after tremendous delay with neither his men nor his ship nor his plunder. (The third category is the mass of men, strong enough to accomplish nothing but get eaten by some monster or drown at sea—that is, to be lost in sense experience. Here, I disagree a little with Taylor, as eventually all souls must return to their Source, but it may take such time and suffering as to make Odysseus's journey seem luxurious by comparison.)

The episode with Horus's eye is pretty opaque, and in fact Plutarch omits it entirely from his recording of the myth, but it becomes much more understandable when we compare it to the Odysseus story. Notice how, in D3, Horus loses his eye while Odysseus loses his ship, while in D8, Horus gets his eye back and Odysseus is ferried to Ithaca on a Phæacian ship; these imply that Horus's eye and Odysseus's ship are, symbolically, the same. I didn't notice any references describing it specifically, but Odysseus's original ship is presumably a normal one (if of fine quality); on the other hand, Homer tells us the Phæacian ships are magical, the gift of Poseidon and "swift as a thought." Recall what Empedocles says of sight:

γαίῃ μὲν γὰρ γαῖαν ὀπώπαμεν, ὕδατι δ' ὕδωρ,
αἰθέρι δ' αἰθέρα δῖον, ἀτὰρ πυρὶ πῦρ ἀίδηλον,
στοργὴν δὲ στοργῇ, νεῖκος δέ τε νείκει λυγρῷ.

We see Earth by Earth, Water by Water,
Aither by divine Aither, Fire by destructive Fire,
Love by Love, and Strife by baneful Strife.

I think Horus's eye and Odysseus's ship represent what one is capable of seeing: Horus's original (mundane) eye is the Earth-eye by which we see Earth, while the returned eye is the (magical) Water-eye by which we see Water. (In theory, there is also a (divine) Air-eye by which we see Air, but this last is inherent to the individual soul and it doesn't need a vehicle to house it, which is why Horus doesn't lose his eye a second time and why Odysseus's final journey must be made on foot and without the use of a ship at all.) It is of interest to me that Horus does without his eye for a while, able neither to properly see Earth nor Water, since I have experienced this myself: I have nearly lost the ability to perceive and enjoy the beauty of Earth, but I am only very slowly developing the ability to see and appreciate higher beauty, so there is something of a gap where I seem to have a foot in both worlds but it feels more like having a foot in neither. (I wonder if this is what St. John of the Cross was talking about when he describes "the dark night of the soul.") In any case, just as we see Odysseus climbing the ladder of roots in his use of vehicles, we see the same thing reiterated in the guidance he receives: in escaping from Circe and Calypso (transcending Earth), Odysseus is guided by Hermes, who (in terms I've discussed previously) is his intelligence; in reclaiming his household (transcending Water), Odysseus is guided by Athena, who is his wisdom; however, Odysseus receives no help at all in propitiating Poseidon (transcending Air), since in doing so he is guided only by Truth.

At the same time as the soul loses its eye for material things, Set is said to lose his testicles, for which the Pythagoreans' famous censure of "beans" comes to mind:

An old and false opinion has seized men and prevailed, that the philosopher Pythagoras [...] abstained from the bean, which the Greeks call κύαμος. In accordance with this opinion, the poet Callimachus wrote:

As Pythagoras, I tell you too:
Abstain from beans, a malign food.

[...] It seems that the cause of the error about not dining on beans is that in the poem of Empedocles, who followed Pythagoras's teachings, this verse is found:

δειλοί, πάνδειλοι, κυάμων ἄπο χεῖρας ἔχεσθαι

Wretches, utter wretches, keep your hands off beans!

For most people thought that κύαμοι refered to the legume, as is the common usage. But those who have studied Empedocles's poem with more care and learning say that in this place κύαμοι means "testicles" and that these are called κύαμοι in the Pythagorean manner, cryptically and symbolically, because they conceive [punning κύαμος "bean" with κυεῖν "to conceive"] and supply the power of human reproduction. So, in that verse Empedocles wanted to draw men away not from eating beans but from a desire for sex.

(Aulus Gellius, Attic Nights IV xi.)

The first battle closes with Set in chains, brought by a triumphant Horus before Queen Isis. In the same way that gentle Osiris acts bizarrely in this myth, so too does his wife: normally severe and uncompromising, here she meekly lets her husband's murderer go free. The reason for this is, of course, that Earth is the extremity of the cosmos and most under the influence of Strife: Isis has no power over Set, whether she wishes it or not. Horus's decapitating of Isis and claiming the throne demonstrates that he asserts control over Earth, and is no longer bound to submit to her will: having mastered the civic virtues, he now is bound by a higher law than those of the Law-Giver. The replacement of Isis's head with that of a cow's shows that, rather than Earth being the master (as a human), she is now a docile beast of burden (as a cow): since Horus has mastered being human, the body can now be recognized as a mere tool rather than one's whole being. This is similar to Odysseus on Ogygia: Calypso is ever trying to seduce Odysseus, but even with all her blandishments, Odysseus simply no longer cares for creature-comforts, even those of a goddess, but is completely detached from them and ever sits on the shore looking towards Ithaca and hoping to see even a wisp of smoke on the horizon. Calypso even promises him immortality, but Calypso's sort of immortality is just more turnings on the wheel of rebirth.

While I am following what I think is a Pythagorean take on the myth, it must be noted that Manetho (Epitome of Physical Doctrines) and Diodorus Siculus (Library of History I xi) say that the Egyptians came up with all this by watching the Sun and Moon in their revolutions in the sky. I have avoided following that interpretation for now, though it has much to recommend it. (For example, the fourteen pieces that Osiris is chopped into is the two week period of the waxing Moon; Set is said to have killed Osiris under the light of the full Moon; Set is likened to the eclipses, which "eat" the Sun; etc.) But consider: if the Sun is Osiris, the soul, and the Moon is Isis, the body, then the Moon is full when she is furthest from the Sun; this is when the soul is lost in matter and the body shines brightest. But just after this, as the Moon begins to return to the Sun, she wanes, and at the very point when the body is less bright than the soul (that is, less than half of it is illuminated), the Moon becomes crescent-shaped. Perhaps this is also what is signified by Isis taking on the horns of a cow.

After the triumph over Earth comes the trial of Horus, and given the placement in the myth and the overall symbolism of a courtroom, this must surely refer to the judgement of the dead for their deeds and misdeeds in life (cf. J. Gwyn Griffiths, The Conflict of Horus and Seth III). Unlike the cautionary episodes in the myth of Isis (e. g. of Diktys and his brother), this episode is salutary: Horus has acted righteously and is rewarded for his behavior, as his eye is returned to him and his authority is legitimized. In the Odyssey, Zeus judges Odysseus to be "beyond all men in understanding and in sacrifice to the deathless gods" and lends the explicit support of Olympus to his return home. The message here is that if one acts righteously and devotes themselves to heaven, then heaven will return the favor and support them in their upward journey. Since, as I have said, one must transcend both Earth and Water to become free of material existence, and since Water has not yet been transcended by this point in the narrative, then I must suppose that this refers to reincarnation into circumstances more conducive to their spiritual growth.

Reincarnation wasn't a widespread belief in ancient Greece (cf. Homer, Iliad XXI l. 569); in fact, it was considered a peculiarity, and perhaps the keynote, of Pythagoras's teachings:

[Pythagoras] was accustomed to speak of himself in this manner: that he had formerly been Æthalides, and had been accounted the son of Mercury, and that Mercury had desired him to select any gift he pleased except immortality; he accordingly had requested that, whether living or dead, he might preserve the memory of what had happened to him. [...] At a subsequent period he passed into Euphorbus, and was wounded by Menelaus, and while he was Euphorbus, he used to say that he had formerly been Æthalides, and that he had received as a gift from Mercury the perpetual transmigration of his soul, so that it was constantly transmigrating and passing into whatever plants or animals it pleased, and he had also received the gift of knowing and recollecting all that his soul had suffered in hell, and what sufferings too are endured by the rest of the souls.

But after Euphorbus died, he said that his soul had passed into Hermotimus, and when he wished to convince people of this, he went into the territory of the Branchidæ, and going into the temple of Apollo, he showed his shield which Menelaus had dedicated there as an offering, for he said that he, when he sailed from Troy, had offered up his shield which was already getting worn out, to Apollo, and that nothing remained but the ivory face which was on it. When Hermotimus died, then he said that he had become Pyrrhus, a fisherman of Delos, and that he still recollected everything, how he had been formerly Æthalides, then Euphorbus, then Hermotimus, and then Pyrrhus. When Pyrrhus died, he became Pythagoras, and he still recollected all the aforementioned circumstances.

(Diogenes Laertius, The Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers VIII i §4. Aulus Gellius (Attic Nights IV xi) adds that Pythagoras also claimed to have been "a beautiful courtesan named Alco.")

Empedocles famously echoes Pythagoras's teachings:

ἤδη γάρ ποτ' ἐγὼ γενόμην κοῦρός τε κόρη τε
θάμνος τ' οἰωνός τε καὶ ἐξ άλὸς ἔμπορος ἰχθύς.

For I have already become a boy and a girl
And a bush and a bird and a fish from the sea.

This is one of those teachings that causes modern commentators to suppose that Pythagoras got his doctrines from the East, but I see no reason not to suppose that the Egyptians had some similar belief. Herodotus says so explicitly (Histories II cxxiii); meanwhile, Diogenes Laertius (Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers VIII ii §2) tells us that Plato was an initiate of the Pythagoreans but, like Empedocles, was expelled for revealing the mysteries in writing; and he espouses the doctrine in the Republic, and in the Phædrus (246A–9D) he goes further and says that normal souls must struggle for ten thousand years to "grow their wings," but those souls who choose philosophical lives three times in a row "will have wings given them." In the Odyssey, after Zeus judges Odysseus favorably, he has three days' swim ahead of him before he is given the use of the Phæacian ship, "swift as wings," exhibiting nearly identical symbolism. Since the return voyage part of the Odyssey fits the Horus myth so closely, it seems plausible to me that the teaching ultimately comes from Heliopolis but the detail was either not available to Plutarch, or else was excised from the myth along with Isis's beheading and the loss of Horus's eye. (It's hard to say which! In describing the Eleusinian mysteries (On the Man in the Moon XXVII ff.), Plutarch speaks of triumphant souls being given "wreaths of feathers," and while he connects the Isis myth to his explanation there (Isis and Osiris XLIV ff.) it's perhaps more likely that he's simply following Plato.)

Not only does wisdom support Odysseus in those philosophical lives, but Zeus gives explicit divine aid comes in the form of the White Goddess (Ino, daughter of Cadmus, whom Zeus divinized), who gives Odysseus her veil so that he might safely reach land, which seems to me to symbolise those dæmons who call to the souls nearing the upper world as (for example) those of Socrates or Plotinus.

In any case, after the three philosophical lives, Horus defeats Set a second time, meanwhile Odysseus is "given wings" in the form of the Phæacian ship, returns to Ithaca, and sets his house in order, turning out all things discordant and foreign. (Indeed, the suitors remind me of nothing so much as of Plotinus's analogy of the assembly (Enneads IV iv §17), where the "brawlers and roarers" overpower the wise-but-quiet words of the best; but here, the best overrules them.) The individual soul has thus traversed the ocean (transcended Water) and become a hero: no longer do they require a material body, but they proceed to live in the world of Air as a pure soul alongside the golden race. What does the soul do there? I really don't know, and I suspect we couldn't comprehend it anyway: Horus is the child of Fire and Earth, and so those two realms must be completely natural to him; similarly, he was nursed by Water, and so while he is a foreigner there, it is at least familiar to him; but he lacks that same sort of connection with Air, and so it must be rather alien. I suppose, like Socrates (Phædo 67A–C) that we should simply have the good hope that when we reach there, that we shall "be with the pure and know all that is pure."

There remains only the third battle between Horus and Set, and for Odysseus to propitiate Poseidon. I think it very appropriate that, while it is foretold by Tiresias, the Odyssey ends before Odysseus actually goes and accomplishes it. This is because Fire is indivisible: in the same way as it must descend whole, it must also reascend whole. This means that the soul finally rejoining its Source and Goal can only occur for all souls simultaneously countless eons from now, after the last souls finally leave the material world behind and the roots begin to collapse together again. At that point, this cycle of the cosmos will end, all will be joined in Love (as Tiresias says, "your people shall be happy round you"), and a new cycle will begin where Fire will descend into matter anew (as Tiresias says, "death shall come to you from the sea"). All this is beyond the scope of the individual, and that is why the Odyssey, which is about the individual soul, ends before it takes place; in any case, I imagine this final battle to be much more sedate, requiring none of the tremendous trauma of the first two: merely long ages of time.

And with that, we're through the mysteries of Isis, Osiris, and Horus! (Phew!) I never expected to spend five months on a mere nine pages of prose, and yet exploring them has helped me to make a lot more sense of Greek mythology, the philosophical tradition, and my own personal theology and place in the cosmos; so I can see why my angel led me to it and encouraged me to study it.

While I'm satisfied with my first—erm, first-and-a-half?—pass through the myth itself, there are still a few bits and pieces I'd like to follow-up on. What's the deal with Perseus and Andromeda? There's supposedly an echo of the myth in the Iliad XIV, is that so? I've shown the second half of the Odyssey to fit the myth, but what about the rest of it? I've mentioned that I think Apuleius was an initiate of Isis, Osiris, and Horus; but does his myth of Cupid and Psyche fit, too? Is there anything to be gained by more deeply considering the Sun and Moon cycle as the origin of the myth? These are all interesting to me and you may see a smattering of smaller and less formal posts on them in the coming weeks and months as I have a chance to explore them, but they're tangential to the myth itself and so I'm considering them more in the mode of appendices.

One of those bits and pieces, though, is Achilles; I've been re-reading the Iliad over the holidays, so why don't I deal with him briefly, here? I mentioned before that his birth and childhood match the myth of Isis; it is also the case, I think, that his prophecy and death match the myth of Horus. Achilles's signature characteristic is wrath, just like Horus's is vengeance. At Horus's trial, it is said that Geb, his grandfather, was the judge; in the same way, Achilles's grandfather, Æacus, is the judge of the dead in the underworld. Just like Horus, Achilles is a demi-god, possessing a mortal half (his body) and an immortal half (his name); and just like Odysseus with Penelope and Calypso, Achilles got to choose which half was which: he could live forever as a nobody, or die young but be immortalized in glory. Achilles made the right choice, favoring soul over body. Will you?

Phaedrus. You never cross the border, do you, Socrates? In fact, it seems to me you never even leave the city walls!

Socrates. I beg your pardon, my friend, but I love to learn and it is the people of the city that are my teachers: I learn nothing from the trees or open country.

(Plato, Phaedrus 230D)

If you watch the skies, what do you see? The Sun and Moon, of course, stand apart from all others; among the stars, Venus, Jupiter, and Sirius; but what else? Here I must take issue with Socrates, since I have, alas, been a city kid most of my life, and the city is where lovely Nut goes to die (in more ways than one). I remember the summer when I moved out to the country and could, for the first time in my life, really see the sky; and what amazed me the most was that mighty river, the Milky Way, meandering across Heaven. I stood outside for hours merely gazing at it, for nothing material, save the Moon Herself, can compete in beauty and wonder...

...but we'll get to that. Let me first say that our old friend Apuleius tells us (in the Golden Ass XI) that there were three sets mysteries of Isis and Osiris: the first is the mysteries of Isis, the second is the mysteries of Osiris, and the third is not named. He also tells us that the first two mysteries are more-or-less the same. Diodorus tells us (in the Library of History I xcvi) that the mysteries of Isis are identical to the mysteries of Eleusis (read Isis and Osiris §§12–20 followed by the Homeric Hymn to Demeter if you'd like to see this for yourself), that the mysteries of Osiris are identical to the mysteries of Dionysus, and of the third mystery he makes no reference whatsoever. (Very mysterious!) From this, I speculate that the vast bulk of this myth cycle—where Osiris is killed, Isis wanders, collects his pieces, and resurrects him—covers the pageant of both the mysteries of Isis and Osiris. The difference, I think, is that they're told from different perspectives: in the former, the initiate follows Isis in her wanderings; in the latter, the initiate follows Osiris in his death, dismemberment, reconstruction, and resurrection. The third mystery, then, I presume to be what remains: the initiate follows the contending between, and eventual triumph of, Horus over Set.

The myth cycle that forms the mysteries of Isis and Osiris is too lengthy to take in a single stretch, though, so I'm going to break it into pieces. Today, we'll start with the murder of Osiris.

[1–8, 16–17, 45. Heaven and Earth give birth to Osiris, Set, Isis, and Nephthys. Osiris and Isis give birth to the brothers Horus. Osiris and Nephthys give birth to Anubis.]

Stepping back for a moment, I have identified the inhabitants of Duat with the planets. But what relevance is this? Heaven and Earth are conjoined; the planets—the gods!—are not merely without you, they are also within: Osiris, Set, Isis, Nephthys, the brothers Horus, and Anubis all dance in both sky and soul. So while I have already identified these beings in macrocosm, it would be worthwhile to pause for a moment and identify them in microcosm, too, before we continue with the myth.

The second generation of gods are, I think, the inherent capacities of the soul: those capacities that the soul is inherently "born" with. Osiris and Isis, being bright, calm, and rising relatively high in the sky, are those higher capacities of the soul: in Platonic terms, they are the tendency towards the good, the serene intuition of the higher mind, the well-bred horse hitched to the chariot in the Phaedrus. Nephthys and Set, being dim, frenetic, and never rising far above the horizon, are those baser capacities of the soul: the tendencies towards the "sensible world," the relentless chatter of the lower mind, the wild horse hitched to the chariot. The morning stars are the beginning of these tendencies, while the evening stars are their end: so Osiris is the innocent, pristine tendency towards good, while Isis is the wise, experienced tendency towards good; Nephthys is innocent tendency away from good, while Set is the wilful tendency away from good. Hence, Osiris is generous and beautiful, but he is also trouble since he is foolish and trusting. Isis is wise, but harsh and severe. Nephthys isn't terrible, since she doesn't know better: enjoyment and appreciation of the material world isn't evil, it just isn't as good as it could be. Set, though, is something of a wanton rejection of the good, and this is why the myth considers him sterile: there is no future to be found there.

The third generation of gods are, then, the cultivated capacities of the soul: those capacities that develop as the soul "grows its wings." I'm sure you can guess as what these are by examining their parents' natures, but we'll investigate them more deeply when we get further in the myth.

These points correspond to Persephone (Osiris) being born of Zeus and Demeter (Heaven and Earth, though Demeter also takes on the role of Isis); and of Psyche (gentle Osiris in the first half of the myth, determined Isis in the second) and her sisters (Nephthys and Set) being born of "a king and queen" (also Heaven and Earth). Psyche's sisters running off to get married right away shows their rejection (either innocent or wilful) of the good; Psyche, however, lingers and so retains more of that memory of the Beauty to sustain her, slowing and limiting (but not, alas, preventing) her descent.

9. [§13] While Isis watches over Set, Osiris leaves Heaven and teaches the Egyptians the arts of civilization.

Macrocosmically, Venus heliacally rises in the east. Presumably, Mercury will heliacally rise and set several times while Venus remains in the east, and at some point Osiris will unwittingly sleep with Nephthys (e.g. Venus and Mercury go conjunct as morning stars).

One of the things I think I misunderstood in my original perusal of Plotinus and the myths is that souls do not merely descend from Heaven once, but twice! The soul must fall from Heaven to Duat, and again from Duat to Earth. (Being born twice, one must also die twice, which is why Plutarch speaks of the first death and the second death. Perhaps this is why initiates are called "twice-born:" the initiation awakens them to this fact.) Persephone being kidnapped by Hades is her first birth, and eating the pomegranate is her second birth. Psyche being carried by Zephyr into the beautiful valley is her first birth, and throwing herself into the river is her second. In both cases, there is no harm done in the first birth: Persephone can go home whenever she likes, and Psyche is comfortably married and carrying a divinity in her womb; it is only after the second that their trials and travails begin. In the same way, Osiris/Set/Isis/Nephthys being born is their first birth, and in the same way, there is no harm done yet; they are no longer in their pristine state, but neither are they degraded in the material world. So I do not think Osiris merely coming to Egypt is his "fall:" Egypt must be representative something else.

As I've mentioned, I think Heaven is the macrocosm, and Earth is the microcosm. The planets wandering in Heaven is the macrocosmic Duat, and so I think Osiris ruling in Egypt, here, is the microcosmic Duat. Osiris coming to Egypt is not the morning star falling to Earth, it is the reflection of Osiris rising in the morning sky within you. And consider, to the Egyptians, Egypt was "home:" it is the good place that they wish to be. We will soon see other Earthly locations, each with their Heavenly analogues: foreign lands (Byblos in this myth, Eleusis in the Demeter myth, etc.) are equivalent to a star being beneath the horizon in the sky and of the soul being "in exile," as Empedocles says:

τῶν καὶ ἐγὼ νῦν εἰμι, φυγὰς θεόθεν καὶ ἀλήτης,
νείκει μαινομένῳ πίσυνος.

I too am now one of these, an exile from the gods and a wanderer,
trusting in mad strife.

There is also the Nile itself (or, in Hesiod, the Styx), which is the Milky Way in the sky, and the bridge by which souls descend from their higher state to their lower one (cf. Plato, Republic X; Porphyry on the Cave of the Nymphs; Sallustius on the Gods and the World IV; Macrobius on the Dream of Scipio I xii), which we shall see shortly. The Milky Way intersects the ecliptic in two places, representing the places where Earth and Duat meet: Tanis in the east, where Osiris leaves Egypt, is the intersection by which souls descend (which Porphyry calls "the gate of gods"), while Buto in the west, where Osiris returns to Egypt, is the intersection by which souls ascend (which Porphyry calls "the gate of men").

What of Osiris teaching the Egyptians the arts of civilization? This is saying that Osiris—as I have said, the upward tendency of the soul, that vague recollection of the good—is what separates us from the beasts, who only possess the Nephthys/Set or "base" capacities of the soul.

10. Upon his return, Set secretly measures him and constructs a beautifully-ornamented box sized to fit him exactly.

Macrocosmically, Mercury heliacally rises in the west while Venus remains in the east.

The box is, of course, the physical body that the soul "fits into." The soul is said to be enticed by sensual pleasure to descend into the material world, so the box is said to be beautifully ornamented so that simple, starry-eyed Osiris is lured into it.

This corresponds to Hades offering pomegranate seeds to Persephone, and to Psyche's wicked sisters filling her with doubt.

11. On 17 Hathor, Set invites Osiris, Queen Aso of Ethiopia, and seventy-two conspirators to a party.

12. Set and the conspirators trick Osiris into the box, nail it shut, seal it with molten lead, and push it into the Nile, after which it floats downriver, reaching the sea near Tanis.

Simple, trusting Osiris is tricked into sensual desire and thus descends into corporeality, leaving Egypt and going into exile. We see the microcosmic form in the myth directly; in the macrocosmic form, this is Venus going conjunct the Sun while, at the same time, the Sun is going conjunct the Milky Way; at heliacal rising, this looks like Venus "falling into" the Milky Way and then disappearing. This presently happens around the winter solstice, but it varies slowly over time due to the precession of the equinoxes; it would have occurred around 17 Hathor (in late Autumn) during the Hellenistic era.

These points correspond to Persephone eating the pomegranate seeds and no longer being allowed to return home; and to Psyche gazing upon Cupid, Cupid fleeing, and Psyche trying to drown herself in a river.

13. [§14] Pan and the satyrs learn of Osiris's death and tell Isis.

14. Isis grieves and wanders in search of Osiris.

Macrocosmically, Venus is no longer conjunct the Sun and begins to rise in the west, seemingly "stepping out" of the Milky Way.

Porphyry tells us in his Sentences [VIII] that "what Nature has bound, Nature must unbind, and what the soul has bound, the soul must unbind." Osiris falling for the box is representative of the second of these. But Pan and his satyrs represent Nature and its subordinate generative powers; their notifying Isis therefore represents Nature binding the soul to itself. That is, the soul is now subject to Nature's law: which we may call Ma'at, Necessity, or karma.

These points correspond to Hekate and Helios hearing Persephone's scream, telling Demeter what happened and trying to comfort her, her quitting Olympus in a rage, and her wandering in search of Persephone; and to Psyche coming to shore near Pan, Pan comforting her, and her wandering in search of Cupid. It is noteworthy that Helios/Pan counsel Demeter/Psyche to accept the situation and behave piously: they are telling the soul how to unbind itself. This is the easy part; the problem is that the soul reels in shock from its descent, and it will take a long time—many lives—before it can finally pull itself together enough to follow their advice. By the time this finally occurs, the soul has racked up so much karma that it must now pay it back before Nature, too, will unbind it.

Apuleius tells us (in the Apology §§53–56) that initiates were given talismans from the mysteries in which they were initiated, which were kept in linen and placed on their home altar to pray and meditate over. These are not, as far as I know, identified anywhere, but I wonder if the talisman of the mystery of Isis was an icon of the tyet, or "knot of Isis," representing the binding of the soul to the law of Nature:

𓎬

As always, in pondering the myth I find myself wondering about many adjacent things:

• The title of this post is, of course, from Holly Golightly's song in the film Breakfast at Tiffany's. I couldn't help myself: while thinking of the Milky Way, it occurred to me that the song can easily describe the incarnate soul finally coming to acceptance of Necessity in its desire to return to Duat:

  Moon River, wider than a mile,
  I'm crossing you in style some day.
  Oh, dream-maker, you heart-breaker,
  Wherever you're going, I'm going your way!

  Two drifters, off to see the world—
  There's such a lot of world to see!
  We're after the same rainbow's end
  Waiting 'round the bend:
  My huckleberry friend,
  Moon River, and me.

  The Milky Way is no longer a curse, but a teacher and guide. Psyche ceases her wandering and submits herself to Venus.

• Empedocles is well-known for his four elements, but I wonder if we've been misinterpreting him all these many centuries. What he actually said was,

  τέσσαρα γὰρ πάντων ῥιζώματα πρῶτον ἄκουε·
  Ζεὺς ἀργὴς Ἥρη τε φερέσβιος ἠδ' Ἀιδωνεύς,
  Νῆστις θ' ἣ δακρύοις τέγγει κρούνωμα βρότειον.
  
  First, hear of the four roots of all things:
  gleaming Zeus and life-bringing Hera and Aidoneus
  and Nestis, who moistens with tears the springs of mortals.

  I'm of half a mind to see these four, not as elemental forces in the Aristotelian sense, but as literally referring to Osiris (that brightest star of Heaven), Isis (the mother of the gods and resurrector of Osiris), Set, and Nephthys (who grieves with Isis). Come to think of it, "Nestis" and "Nephthys" sound suspiciously similar: νῆστις ["fasting, hungry"] is universally assumed to be an epithet, but what if it is a (punning) transliteration?

• Despite much effort, nobody has managed to figure out what creature the "Set animal" depicted in Egyptian hieroglyphics and art represents:

  𓃩
  ...woof woof?

  If, as I suggest, Nephthys/Set represent the "bestial" capacity of the soul, one wonders if it's not supposed to represent any actual animal at all, but rather some sort of "generic" or "idealized" beast? Perhaps a composite of a Nephthys dog body (she is the mother of Anubis, after all) and a Set (...aardvark?) head?

• One of the highlighted arts that Osiris teaches the Egyptians is to refrain from cannibalism. The Egyptian priests were said to be vegetarian, as were Pythagoras (who learned from them) and Empedocles (who learned from Pythagoras and specifically links meat-eating to cannibalism and the descent of souls). Porphyry wrote a lengthy treatise (On Abstinence from Eating Animals) in defense of vegetarianism for those who aspire to philosophy, and Apuleius tells us that prospective initiates were required to fast from meat prior to their initiations. All this suggests to me that the myth is referencing the karmic implications of meat-eating.

• I skipped over Queen Aso, above. Trying to figure out what she represents led me down quite a bit of a rabbit-hole.

  In the Perseus myth (cf. Pseudo-Apollonius, the Library II iv), Cassiopeia is the Queen of Ethiopia. I am unable to find an etymology for Cassiopeia anywhere, though it bears at least slight resemblence to Aso ("k-ASO-peia"). The constellation bearing her name straddles the Milky Way and is not far from "the gate of the gods," so presumably she is something of an onlooker to Osiris's fall.

  But that's not all. Cassiopeia is the mother of Andromeda, who is chained to a rock in the same way that Isis is bound to Nature, and whose name (Ἀνδρομέδα=ἀνδρός-μέδω "I protect my husband") is closely related to the role of Isis in our myth. Is Perseus Osiris? Nobody knows the etymology of Perseus, but it is interesting to note that the names Osiris and Perseus (and, indeed, Orpheus) are all pretty similar...

  I hadn't considered the Perseus myth to be yet-another-derivative of the Osiris myth, but at first glance, there seems to be a relationship. I haven't thought deeply about it yet, but it's another myth I'll need to spend more time on. Worse, this makes me realize that the myth of Jason and Medea is related, too: the "Meda" of Andromeda is closely related to "Medea," and of course Isis and Medea are both sorceresses who use magic to rescue their husbands, both are exiled from their homelands, both have a relationship with somebody who is cut into many pieces and strewn about, both murder two young brothers, etc. etc., so toss yet another myth on the pile.

  All this is to say that I apologize for not having a nice, tidy answer to the question of Queen Aso and the 72 conspirators handy: if I chased the rabbit down that rabbit-hole, I would be as lost and mad as poor Alice. I will have to tackle it some other time, when I am better-prepared.

• It is interesting that Pan features at the exact same point in the exact same capacity in both Isis and Osiris and Cupid and Psyche. To my mind, this is too exact a parallel to be a coincidence, and an argument that Apuleius (who invented the Cupid and Psyche myth) was either an initiate of Isis himself, or an initiate of Demeter and an avid reader of Plutarch, or both.

• I had somehow missed it my first few times through Hesiod, but ll. 775–806 of the Theogony describe exactly the same phenomenon that the poem of Empedocles (and, of course, this myth) does: if any god commits perjury, then that god is forced to traverse the Styx (that is, descend into the material world), sleeping as if in a heavy trance for a year, and then forced to exile and hard labor for nine years, only after each of these being able to rejoin the gods. Indeed, this is why the gods swear by the Styx in the Iliad, Odyssey, and Homeric Hymns: for fear of being forced into exile themselves.

• Tanis was situated on the Tanitic branch of the Nile, while Buto was situated between the Sebennytic and Bolbitine branches of the Nile. The Tanitic branch and the Sebennytic branches silted up sometime between AD 150 (cf. Ptolemy, Geography) and AD 600 (cf. George of Cyprus, Description of the Roman World), but the Bolbitine branch still exists (now called the Rosetta). If we treat the world as symbolic of spiritual truths, as Sallustius bids us, and if Tanis and Buto have the meanings I've ascribed to them above, then the silting-up of Tanis seems to say that the old truths are closed and that no new revelations are coming into the world that way; while the half-silting-up of Buto seems to suggest that, while the mysteries are no longer a major avenue of return, the way back up through them is not yet completely closed to us...

The craftsman bowed. [...] "Child, who has taught you?"

"Me? I don't know anything. I just ask questions."

"Then go on asking questions [...]. And remember that it is better not to know and to know that one does not know, than presumptuously to attribute some random meaning to the symbols."

(Isha Schwaller de Lubicz, Her-Bak ("Chick-Pea"), the Living Face of Ancient Egypt XXIII, as translated by Charles Edgar Sprague.)

In Sais, the statue of Athena—whom the Egyptians believe to be Isis—carried the inscription, "I am all that has been, and is, and shall be, and my robe no mortal has yet uncovered."

(Plutarch, Isis and Osiris IX.)

The truth is, O men of Athens, that God only is wise, and in [the oracle by which Apollo said Socrates is the wisest of men,] He means to say that the wisdom of men is little or nothing: He is not speaking of Socrates, He is only using my name as an illustration, as if He said, "He, O men, is the wisest, who, like Socrates, knows that his wisdom is in truth worth nothing."

(Socrates, as quoted by Plato, Apology.)

Often it is said that it is more important to ask the right questions than to give the right answers, and I feel like I am slowly understanding why this is and must be so...

Socrates. [...] I think, indeed, that [Hesiod] calls [dæmons] a "golden race," not as naturally composed from gold, but as being beautiful and good: but I infer this, from his denominating our race an "iron" one.

(Plato, Cratylus 397e)

When asked how men might live most virtuously and most justly, Thales said, "If we never do ourselves what we blame in others."

(Diogenes Laertius, The Lives and Opinions of the Eminent Philosophers I ii "Thales" §19)

One wonders if the "golden race" is "golden" because they practice the "golden rule?"

For who would readily agree that the earth has always existed when historians assure us that the development and improvement and even the discovery of many things are of recent date, and when in the memories and tales of the ancients we find crude men, unkempt rustics, not far removed from wild beasts in their savagery, who did not use the food that we enjoy, but subsisting at first on nuts and berries, only recently began to look for nourishment from the plower furrow; and when we have such faith in the beginning of the world and of the human race itself that we believe that the Golden Age was the first and that subsequent ages degenerated through the baser metals to the last Age of Iron?

And, lest we seem to rely entirely upon the authority of legends, who would not conclude that the earth began at a definite time not so very far in the past when even Greek history does not record salient events more than two thousand years ago? [...] If the world was in the beginning or, as philosophers would have it, before the beginning, why, in the passage of countless ages, was the culture that we now enjoy not discovered? And the knowledge of writing, the sole means of preserving the past? Why, finally, did so many types of experience come so late to some nations, witness the Gauls learning about the vine and the raising of olives at the time when our nation was already fully developed, and other peoples still ignorant of many things that have proved boons to us?

(Macrobius, Commentary on the Dream of Scipio X)

Solon said that when he travelled [to Egypt] he was held in great esteem amongst them; moreover, when he was questioning such of their priests as were most versed in ancient lore about their early history, he discovered that neither he himself nor any other Greek knew anything at all, one might say, about such matters. And on one occasion, when he wished to draw them on to discourse on ancient history, he attempted to tell them the most ancient of our traditions, [...] whereupon one of the priests, a prodigiously old man, said, "O Solon, Solon, you Greeks are always children: there is no such thing as an old Greek."

And on hearing this he asked, "What do you mean?"

And the priest replied, "You are young in soul, every one of you. For therein you possess not a single belief that is ancient and derived from old tradition, nor yet one science that is hoary with age. And this is the cause thereof: there have been and there will be many and divers destructions of mankind, of which the greatest are by fire and water, and lesser ones by countless other means. [... Because of these,] your people and the others are but newly equipped, every time, with letters and all such arts as civilized States require and when, after the usual interval of years, like a plague, the flood from heaven comes sweeping down afresh upon your people, it leaves none of you but the unlettered and uncultured, so that you become young as ever, with no knowledge of all that happened in old times in this land or in your own."

(Critias, as quoted by Plato, Timæus 21e ff.)

We, of course, for all our technological sophistication are no better off than the Greeks were.

Geoffrey Steadman, in his introduction to his didactic Greek edition of the Symposium, says,

The role of memory and oral history in the telling of the Symposium becomes even more meaningful when we realize that all the party’s guests were real Athenians whom Plato’s contemporary readers could place at a significant moment in the recent past. Imagine that instead of the Symposium we were reading about a nightlong seminar on the nature of love attended by the statesman Robert Kennedy, singer Mick Jagger, theologian Paul Tillich, actor Rock Hudson, minister and activist Martin Luther King, philosopher Michel Foucault and General William Westmoreland on the eve of the Gulf of Tonkin resolution in 1964. [...] Needless to say, there would be much more on our minds than the discussion of love. Our attention would turn not only to the topic of love but also to the past and often tragic, future lives of the speakers, their occupations, and the relationship between these figures and the view of love that each espouses.

Sometimes the gulf between the previous generation and my own seems unbreachable, as of the people and events Steadman lists, only one was familiar to me. (My wife didn't do much better, either, so it's not just me!) So I don't think his point holds: in trying to make the events of the distant past more relatable, he has only served to distance the recent past, since in many ways, the almost-archetypal characters of Socrates and Alcibiades are infinitely more relatable than those of the bizarre clown world of the 20th century.

Plato (in the Symposium) and Plotinus (in III v "On Love" and VI ix "On the Good") made a pretty big deal of the distinction between vulgar love and heavenly love, treating the former as being of the sensible world and the latter as being of the intelligible world, and therefore capital-B Better. But I'm not so sure this is so: is it not the case that the nature of the sensible world is separation, while the nature of the intelligible world is unity?

This would lead me to expect that while there are many kinds of love here in the sensible world, all of them should blend together into a harmonious whole There in the intelligible world. Here we speak of physical sex, emotional affection, imaginal devotion; but There, Love is all of these at once and more. Here, we have Aphrodite Pandemos and Aphrodite Ourania; but There, there is only Aphrodite.

"Socrates, you are just like those troll-shaped cabinets they sell in shops which, when opened, have pretty little pictures of the gods inside. For, Socrates, please don't be offended when I say that you look like a troll, act like a troll, and even bewitch people like a troll; but if one but looks within you, ah! what they see!—such beauty you hide within your coarse exterior!"

(Alcibiades; as quoted by Plato, Symposium; and as paraphrased by yours truly)

Plato's interests were diverse, but perhaps the one he is best remembered for is his longstanding political utopianism: his longest and most-read dialogues concern the state and how carefully-crafted laws might improve its citizenry. Plato's great rival, Diogenes the Cynic, instead taught the opposite: that one should withdraw from not only politics but all cultural norms, adhering to no laws but Nature's.

Plato never involved himself in Athens' politics—perhaps unsurprisingly, Plato's wish for a "philosopher king" didn't fly in a democracy—but later in life he became involved in the politics of Syracuse. Syracuse was one of the jewels of the Hellenic world, rivaling Athens in size, wealth, and beauty—but, notably, was ruled by a tyrant, Dionysius I.

Dionysius had heard of the great fame of Plato and invited him to Sicily: Plato, noble-born and always happy to feast with kings, agreed. It seems the two did not hit it off, however: Plato kinda sorta insinuated that, without virtue, Dionysius would never become a true king; and, of course, the king kinda sorta answered that, without a head, Plato would never become an old dotard. As it happened, though, the king's brother-in-law, Dion, had taken a liking to Plato and managed to stay the execution. Plato was instead sold into slavery, but a friend happened to be at the auction and bought Plato for a small fortune and sent him back to Athens.

Not long after this, Diogenes, sniffing about, came upon a pensive-looking Plato in an upscale restaurant. "Oh, Plato," he barked, "you don't seem to be enjoying yourself. After dining in Sicily, are Athenian olives not good enough for you?" (By "Athenian olives," Diogenes was apparently referring to Athens' home-grown democracy.) Plato didn't catch Diogenes' meaning, so he motioned to the plate and said, "You're welcome to have some." To drive his point home, Diogenes stuffed the whole plateful in his mouth. Plato exclaimed, "I said some, Diogenes, not all!" but the rascally dog merely winked and wandered off.

This wasn't the end of Plato's political involvement in Syracuse, however. Dionysius died and his son, Dionysius II, took the throne, but he was as much a tyrant as his father, and moreover dissolute and incompetant. Dion remained an advisor, and, as I said, had taken a liking to Plato; he invited him back to Syracuse in order to teach his nephew and hopefully moderate his behavior. Plato did so, but his proposals to rewrite the city's laws made Dionysius suspicious of his uncle's motives: he imprisoned Plato and sent Dion into exile. In retaliation, Dion formed an army and conquered Sicily. He freed Plato and sent him home, but proved to be no better of a ruler than Dionysius was—in fact, he was soon assassinated and the throne was usurped by Callippus, another of Plato's disciples.

Back in Athens, Diogenes had scavenged some wild vegetables to make a coarse supper of, and was washing them in a public fountain, when Plato came by and said to him, "You know, Diogenes, if you made friends of the rich, instead of enemies, you wouldn't need to wash vegetables." Diogenes answered him, "Yes, Plato, but if you had been washing vegetables, you wouldn't have languished in prison."

Eventually, Dionysius regained his throne. Plato sailed a third time to Syracuse, hoping to make some amends and moderate the tyrant's renewed cruelty, but he returned home disappointed. And for all his hopes and idealism, what had he accomplished? Twenty years of chaos for the poor men and women of Sicily.

In the weeks that followed, as Plato pondered all of this, a letter arrived for him from Corinth. Plato glanced at the address, which read, "Diogenes to Plato the Sage." Plato sighed; thought, "I didn't know dogs could write;" and opened the letter.

It read, simply, "I told you so."

Diogenes was fond of auditing Plato's lectures at the Academy, not so much as a student, but as a heckler. On one occasion, Plato was discoursing on the topic of the Ideas, discussing "tableness" and "cupness" and the like. Diogenes interrupted him and said, "But Plato! I can see a table and a cup, but I can't see 'tableness' and 'cupness.'"

Plato replied, "Well, while any given instance of an Idea is visible to the senses, the Idea itself is visible only to the intellect. So what you have said is natural enough, since while you have eyes, alas! you have no brain."