Christian Platonism as Spirituality


Art: Fyodor Bronnikov, Pythagoreans Celebrate Sunrise, 1869.

FOR some time I’ve hesitated to address the question, ‘What is Christian Platonism?’, believing this is something too important to treat lightly.  Just when it seemed I could delay no longer, W. R. Inge’s book, The Platonic Tradition in English Religious Thought (Hulsean Lectures, 1925−1926), became available online. As Inge’s definition and understanding of Christian Platonism, it turns out, corresponds closely to my own, and also has the imprimatur of a respected authority, let this suffice as a working definition for now.

As Inge explains in the first lecture, the key features of Christian Platonism might be summarized as follows:

• Christian Platonism is, first and foremost, a form of personal spirituality. It is not the abstract application of Platonic philosophy by Christian theologians (whom we might rather call Platonizing Christians).  It is, as Inge puts it, a religion of the spirit.  As such, it is based on personal religious experience, and, for that reason, not infrequently poses a challenge to dogmatic, authoritarian religion.

• This form of spirituality is very much — if not almost exactly — what St. Paul described as spiritual mindedness. As such, Christian Platonism is concerned with achieving a certain higher level of consciousness or awareness opposed to, or at least different from, our usual concerns for material and worldly things (carnal-mindedness).

• A religion of the spirit is the perennial philosophy, although this has evolved over time. It was the basis of Christ’s original teachings, which sought more to spiritually liberate individuals than to establish church hierarchies and dogmas.

• In each age there have been specific obstacles opposing the emergence of spiritual Christianity. Despite this, there have been periodic flowerings of it at opportune moments of history. Hopefully now is such a time.

Below are excerpts from this lecture, along with a few comments.

Religion of the Spirit

He begins by stating the axial age hypothesis: that during the 1st millennia before Christ, certain social and/or environmental changes led to the emergence of a different form of religion across Asia and the Mediterranean:

The study of comparative religion has revealed the remarkable fact that a new spiritual enlightenment, quite unique in character, came to all the civilised peoples of the earth in the millennium before the Christian era. The change was felt first in Asia, but the same breath passed over Greece and South Italy in the sixth and fifth centuries B.C. … The essence of the new movement was the recognition of an unseen world of unchanging reality behind the flux of phenomena, a spiritual universe compared with which the world of appearance grew pale and unsubstantial and became only a symbol or even an illusion.

With this new outlook upon life came the conception of salvation as deliverance…. The chief aim … should be to escape from the ‘weary wheel’ of earthly existence, and to find rest in the bosom of the Eternal. The way to this deliverance is by the observance of discipline, which whether ascetic, in the ordinary sense of the word, or not, involves a renunciation of the world of surface experience. (pp. 7−8)

Inge tends to characterize this new spiritual religion in dualistic, world-denying terms. What this excludes (but should not) is the possibility that more integrated forms of spirituality — i.e., harmonious combination of concerns for this and the Eternal world — existed at this time.  Ancient myths could be interpreted as reflecting such integral spirituality. Further, to assume no ‘religion of the spirit’ existed before the 1st millennium BC seems rather arbitrary.  However neither of these points are crucial to his main argument.

Plato, according to Inge, inherited this newly coalescing spirituality from earlier philosophers, organizing and presenting it more clearly than ever before:

[I]t is in Plato, the disciple of the Pythagoreans as well as of Socrates … that this conception of an unseen eternal world, of which the visible world is only a pale copy, gains a permanent foothold in the West. What (he asked) if man had eyes to see that pure Beauty, unalloyed with the stains of material existence, would he not hasten to travel thither, happy as a captive released from the prison-house? Such was the call, which, once heard, has never long been forgotten in Europe. It was revived with an even more poignant longing in the New Platonism of the Roman Empire, from which it passed into the theology and philosophy of the Christian Church. (pp. 9−10)

Christian Platonism

He then proceeds to discuss how Platonism passed into Christianity.  Jesus Christ, while not, that we know of, aware of Platonism, nevertheless sought to teach the perennial spiritual religion, and in an improved form:

A Christian will be disposed to find, in this independent growth of spiritual religion, which began to influence the Jews of the Dispersion not later than the second century before Christ, a divinely ordered preparation for the supreme revelation in the Gospel. For although we cannot trace any foreign influence, either Western or Oriental, upon the recorded teaching of Christ, which seems rather to point back to the highest flights of Jewish prophecy, it is unquestionable that most of the canonical books of the New Testament, especially the epistles of St. Paul and the Johannine group, do not belong to the Palestinian tradition. (p. 10)

Christ was primarily concerned with awakening into activity the consciousness of God in the individual soul; His parting promise was that this consciousness should be an abiding possession of those who followed in His steps … . The path of life, as He showed it by precept and example, was superior to anything that either Greeks or Indians traced out; but the conception of salvation is essentially the same — a growth in the power of spiritual communion by a consecrated life of renunciation and discipline. (p. 19)

It might be mentioned here that Jesus Christ, who likely knew Greek, may indeed have known something about Greek philosophy. At the very least (and this is not inconsistent with what Inge says above), the Jewish prophetic tradition and Plato’s writings may have had certain influences in common.

As distinct from the ‘original teachings’ of Christ, Inge allows for Platonic influence of the written Gospels, especially John’s.  He passes over this rather briefly, however, seeing a much clearer connection to Platonism in St. Paul’s writings:

We are on surer ground when we look for a Platonic element in St. Paul’s theology than when we discuss possible borrowings from the mystery-cults.

The whole doctrine of the Spirit in his epistles corresponds closely to the Platonic Νους. The equation was made by some of the Greek Fathers; and the associations of the two words are so similar that I have thought ‘Spirit ’ less misleading than any other English word in translating the Νους of Plotinus. The words, ‘The things that are seen are temporal, but the things that are not seen are eternal,’ [2 Cor 4:18] are pure Platonism; and this is not an isolated instance. In Rom. i. 20 ‘the invisible things’ (νοούμενα) are understood through the things that are made, and 1 Cor. xiii. 12 [‘For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.’] reminds us of Plato’s parable of the cave. The immateriality of Spirit was perhaps not quite clearly asserted by any writer before Plotinus. …

Other examples may be given of St. Paul’s affinity with Plato. The use of νους in Rom. vii. 23 (‘I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind’) is Platonic. … In 2 Cor. iii. 18 we read ‘we all, reflecting as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are transformed into the same image.’ Col. iii. 1, ‘If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above,’ reminds us of Plato’s exhortation to ‘cleave ever to the upward path and follow after righteousness and wisdom.’ [Rep. 10.621c]. We must turn away from material things, for ‘flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God.’ … They share the tripartite psychology which divides human nature into νους (or πνεύμα in Christian theology), ψυχή and σώμα. ‘The earthly house of our tabernacle in which we groan’ is very un-Jewish, and very like the σώμα σημα of Orphism. Lastly, in the Phaedrus as in i Corinthians, love is the great hierophant of the divine mysteries, which forms the link between divinity and humanity. (pp. 11−13).

Much more could be said here concerning the connection of St. Paul and Platonism and many more verses cited.  Especially emblematic is Rom. 12:2, And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind [νοῦς], that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God. Curiously, whereas Stoic influences on St. Paul have elicited considerable interest lately, any Platonic elements to his writings — which are arguably even more salient and important — have received little attention.

Inge describes how each historical epoch of Church history has presented special obstacles to the wide acceptance of spiritual Christianity, treating in succession the early centuries, Dark Ages, Middle Ages, Reformation and post-Reformation periods.

My point is that the religion of the Spirit, that autonomous faith which rests upon experience and individual inspiration, has seldom had much of a chance in the world since the Christian revelation, in which it received its full and final credentials. … [T]he luck of history, we may say, has hitherto been unfavourable to what I, at least, hold to be the growth of the divine seed. It has either fallen on the rock or by the wayside, or the thorns have grown up with it and choked it. (pp. 27,  29).

In the early centuries, both Eastern and Western Christianity suffered from excessive institutionalization, theocracy, and what he terms “caesaropapism”:

The religion of the Spirit has not fared much better in the West [than Buddhism in the East]. Scarcely had the persecutions ceased when the Church began to develop into the centralised autocracy which had become the type of civil government. Caesaropapism — the Byzantine type of state, which till lately survived in Russia, established itself in the East and produced a deadly stagnation in religious as well as secular life. In the West there was, in theory at least, a dual control; but the theocracy proved too strong for the Empire, which was rather an idea than a fact; and a fierce intolerance, which may be regarded as mainly Jewish in origin, but was strengthened by the Roman theory of rebellion against an Empire de iure universal, quenched or drove underground the free activities of religious thought. (p. 15)

In the Dark Ages, the loss of Greek learning in the West made it necessary to “bind the fetters of Church authority” on the masses.  Later, with the Middle Ages came the stranglehold of scholasticism and dogmatism.

Inge’s comments on the Reformation are especially interesting:

[T]he Reformation checked the progress of the religion of the Spirit. This was not the fault of the Reformers, but the inevitable result of the civil war which disrupted and distracted Christendom. In time of war the prophet and seer are not wanted. Effective partisan cries have to be devised, which will appeal to and be understood by the masses. If one side appeals to ancient and sacrosanct authority, the other side has to find a rival authority equally august and compelling.

… In the long and bitter struggle which was to decide which parts of Europe were to be Catholic and which Protestant, both sides were narrowed and hardened. The Roman Church was never again Catholic, and the Protestant Churches forgot the principles which justified their independent existence. The gains of the Renaissance were, within the religious domain, almost entirely lost. … Two religions of authority confronted each other, and real Christianity was once more driven underground. (pp. 23−24)

Inge sees both Catholicism and Protestantism as never having recovered from a descent into exaggerated dogmatism during the Reformation.  Among other things, this has left both camps ill-equipped to adapt to modern scientific discoveries.

Nevertheless, “The religion of the Spirit has an intrinsic survival value, and there have continually been “rare flowering-times of the human spirit which come and pass unaccountably, like the wind which bloweth where it listeth”:

We find it explicitly formulated by Clement and Origen, and we may appeal to one side of that strangely divided genius, Augustine. It lives on in the mystics, especially in the German medieval school, of which Eckhart is the greatest name. We find it again, with a new and exuberant life, in many of the Renaissance writers, so much so that our subject might almost as well be called the Renaissance tradition. Our own Renaissance poetry is steeped in Platonic thoughts. Later, during the civil troubles of the seventeenth century, it appears in a very pure and attractive form in the little group of Cambridge Platonists, Whichcote, Smith, Cudworth, and their friends. In the unmystical eighteenth century Jacob Bohme takes captive the manly and robust intellect of William Law, and inspires him to write some of the finest religious treatises in the English language. … The tradition has never been extinct; or we may say more truly that the fire which, in the words of Eunapius, ‘still burns on the altars of Plotinus,’ has a perennial power of rekindling itself when the conditions are favourable. (p. 28)

Whether these rare flowering-times are, as Inge suggests, unpredictable, or are connected with scientifically understandable socio-economic or evolutionary factors is unclear. The sociologist, Pitirim Sorokin, for example, saw in human cultural history a cyclical alternation of Idealism, materialism, rationalism and integralism that follows more or less lawful principles.

In a very helpful passage, Inge lists what he considers the essential features of Christian Platonism:

My contention is that besides the combative Catholic and Protestant elements in the Churches, there has always been a third element, with very honourable traditions, which came to life again at the Renaissance, but really reaches back to the Greek Fathers, to St. Paul and St. John, and further back still. The characteristics of this type of Christianity are

— a spiritual religion, based on a firm belief in absolute and eternal values as the most real things in the universe;

— a confidence that these values are knowable by man;

— a belief that they can nevertheless be known only by whole-hearted consecration of the intellect, will, and affections to the great quest;

— an entirely open mind towards the discoveries of science;

— a reverent and receptive attitude to the beauty, sublimity, and wisdom of the creation, as a revelation of the mind and character of the Creator;

— a complete indifference to the current valuations of the worldling. (p. 33)

See also Inge (1899, p. 79).  This is a good starting point, but we could easily expand it.  Christian Platonists also have a strong interest in understanding Goodness itself and in gaining the beatific vision. The are often perennialist in their interest in ancient traditions, and latitudinarian towards other religions and Christian denominations.  In terms of actual ascetical practices, Christian Platonists typically understand the cardinal virtues and contemplative practices as essential.  Many follow Philo in interpreting the Old Testament in allegorical terms corresponding to Platonic ethics and psychology.

He then adds:

The Christian element is supplied mainly by the identification of the inner light with the Spirit of the living, glorified, and indwelling Christ. This was the heart of St. Paul’s religion, and it has been the life-blood of personal devotion in all branches of the Christian Church to this day. (pp. 33−34)

Far more could — and ultimately should — be said about how Christianity improves on pagan Platonist spirituality.  Perhaps the very vastness of the topic caused Inge to settle on a very general, summary statement here.  Among the Christian innovations (besides the complex and multidimensional role of Christ in personal salvation), is a stronger view of a personal, loving God in Christianity: in Platonism Man seeks to ascend to God; in Christianity, God’s love is understood as so personal, so fervent, that God reaches out to Man.  It is God’s grace, ultimately, that leads one to liberation and salvation.  Further, in Christianity social charity is integral to spiritual salvation in a way not found (or at least not emphasized) in Platonism.

Future Prospects

Inge closes as follows:

In such a presentation of Christianity lies, I believe, our hope for the future. It cuts us loose from that orthodox materialism which in attempting to build a bridge between the world of facts and the world of values only succeeds in confounding one order and degrading the other. It equally emancipates us from that political secularising of Christianity which is just a characteristic attempt of institutionalism to buttress itself with the help of the secular power. This, as we have seen, has always been the policy of the religion of authority. The religion of Christ, the religion of the Spirit, will not have a chance till it is freed from these entanglements.

It will be a pleasure to me to consider briefly three periods in English History when there was a fruitful return in the Church to ‘her old loving nurse the Platonick philosophy’ … and I hope we are only at the beginning of a new Reformation on these lines. (pp. 34 – 35).

Unfortunately, we’ve seen no such renaissance of Christian Platonism or spiritual Christianity in the nearly 100 years since he wrote. Why?  Surely part of the answer lay in the twin juggernauts of materialism and globalization. Material technological advances will likely continue unabated for the indefinite future.  Will Western society be able to resist ever-more alluring gadgetry?  Or will it be recognized that advanced technology alone is unable to supply a fulfilling, meaningful and happy life?

But while the United States and Europe may by this point be ready for a new spiritual renaissance, developing countries may still find the appeal of materialism irresistible. At the same time, globalization has produced multi-national corporations that rival in wealth and power civil governments, and which are both able and willing to manipulate public tastes and opinions for self-interest.

To the extent that organized Christianity has changed since Inge wrote (as opposed to merely declined), we have seen emerge a fairly radical dominance of the social Gospel — radical in the sense that social justice and human rights are seen as more important than spirituality, prayer and worship.  In part, this is a necessary consequence of globalization, as the conditions of the world’s poor can no longer be ignored.  Yet amidst the clamor for social change we seem to have lost sight of spirituality — including the traditional view that personal love of God (and awareness of God’s personal love for us) is by far the most powerful and productive impetus for social charity.

If we survey the current situation, then, there seems little reason to believe that a new flowering of Christian Platonism will simply happen on its own today.  However if we leave the forces that shape human consciousness to history and economics, we are slaves of blind forces, of chaos.  Plato’s Timaeus suggests that chaos is the default state of matter, and that Form must be imposed upon it from without.  For Christianity to become a genuine religion of the spirit at this time, then, may require the conscious efforts of a dedicated minority.

Bibliography

Inge, William Ralph. Christian Mysticism: Considered in Eight Lectures Delivered Before the University of Oxford. New York: Scribner; London: Methuen, 1899. (Chs. 3 & 4, “Christian Platonism and Speculative Mysticism”, pp. 77−164).

Inge, William Ralph. The Platonic Tradition in English Religious Thought. London: Longmans, 1926.

1st draft: 21 Sep 2020