Nevertheless, after the lapse of a few years, Dionysius again
invited him to Syracuse, and again he accepted the invita-
tion. But the second journey ended in disaster like the first,
and Plato was even in danger of his life, but was rescued
by the intervention of the Pythagoreans. He returned to
Athens in his seventieth year, and lived till his death in the
seclusion of his school, never again attempting to intervene
in practical politics.
For more than another decade he dwelt and taught in
Athens. His life was serene, quiet, and happy. He died
peacefully at the age of eighty-two.
Plato’s writings take the form of dialogues. In the ma-
jority of these, the chief part is taken by Socrates, into
whose mouth Plato puts the exposition of his own philos-
ophy. In a few, as for example the “Parmenides,” other
speakers enunciate the Platonic teaching, but even in these
Socrates always plays an importantrôle. Plato was not
only a philosopher, but a consummate literary artist. The
dialogues are genuinely dramatic, enlivened by incident, hu-
mour, and life-like characterization. Not only is the portrait
of Socrates drawn with loving affection, but even the minor
characters are flesh and blood.
A most important element of Plato’s style is his use of
myths. He does not always explain his meaning in {170} the
form of direct scientific exposition. He frequently teaches
by allegories, fables, and stories, all of which may be in-
cluded under the one general appellation of Platonic myths.
These are often of great literary beauty, but in spite of this
they involve grave disadvantages. Plato slips so easily from
scientific exposition into myth, that it is often no easy mat-
ter to decide whether his statements are meant literally or
allegorically. Moreover, the myths usually signify a defect
in his thought itself. The fact is that the combination of
poet and philosopher in one man is an exceedingly danger-
ous combination. I have explained before that the object
of philosophy is, not merely to feel the truth, as the poet
and mystic feel it, but intellectually to comprehend it, not
merely to give us a series of pictures and metaphors, but
a reasoned explanation of things upon scientific principles.
When a man, who is at once a poet and a philosopher,
cannot rationally explain a thing, it is a terrible tempta-
tion to him to substitute poetic metaphors for the explana-
tion which is lacking. We saw, for example, that the writ-
ers of the Upanishads, who believed that the whole world
issues forth from the one, absolute, imperishable, being,
which they called Brahman, being unable to explain why
the One thus differentiates itself into the many, took refuge
in metaphors. As the sparks from the substantial fire, so,
they say, do all finite beings issue forth from the One. But
this explains nothing, and the aim of the philosopher is not
thus vaguely to feel, but rationally to understand. Now
this is not merely my view of the functions of philosophy.
It is emphatically Plato’s own view. In fact Plato was the
originator of it. He is perpetually insisting that {171} noth-
ing save full rational comprehension deserves the names of
knowledge and philosophy. No writer has ever used such
contemptuous language as Plato used of the mere mystic
and poet, who says wise and beautiful things, without in
the least understanding why they are wise and beautiful.
No man has formed such a low estimate of the functions of