Quest Magazine

Printed in the  Spring 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Hodson, Geoffrey, "I Got Everything from The Secret Doctrine” Mondrian and Theosophy: A Misunderstood Relationship"   Quest 113:2, pg 34-35

 By Massimo Introvigne

Piet Mondrian (1872–1944) joined the Theosophical Society on May 14, 1909. Early interpreters minimized its influence on the Dutch painter, with Yve-Alain Bois in 1990 claiming that “the Theosophical nonsense with which the artist’s mind was momentarily encumbered” quickly vanished from his work.

However, Mondrian himself credited Theosophy for significantly shaping his art. In 1918, he told fellow artist Theo van Doesburg (1883–1931) that he “got everything from The Secret Doctrine” by H.P. Blavatsky (1831–91). By 1921, Mondrian argued in a letter to Rudolf Steiner (1861–1925) that Neo-Plasticism was the “art of the foreseeable future for all true Anthroposophists and Theosophists.” When Steiner did not respond, Mondrian reiterated this view by writing to van Doesburg in 1922 that “it is Neo-Plasticism that exemplifies Theosophical art (in the true sense of the word).” Neo-Plasticism was a twentieth-century Dutch art movement (in which Mondrian was prominent) that sought to create visual harmony through the use of basic geometric shapes and primary colors.

Mondrian’s theoretical writings are difficult to grasp without understanding their Theosophical roots. His first attempt to express his abstract art ideas was an article written for the Dutch Theosophical journal Theosophia in 1913–14, but it was deemed too complex and rejected by the Theosophists, and got lost. However, two sketchbooks for the article compiled in Paris at that time survive. They reveal that Mondrian believed Theosophy could distill art into universal elements like colors and lines, capturing its essence beyond representation.

Dutch historian Carel Blotkamp suggested that Mondrian should be seen as a man of the Belle Époque (1871‒1914). In 1919, Mondrian wrote from Paris about his excitement for the book Comment on devient fée (“How to Become a Fairy”) by the French occultist Joséphin Péladan (1858–1918). “You will find much of me in this work,” Mondrian wrote; “he takes inspiration from the same ancient [occult] source.” Although the book represented nineteenth-century occultism, which was seen as outdated by then, Mondrian still valued it. 

The Dutch artist first encountered occultism and Theosophy while studying at Amsterdam’s Rijksacademie between 1892 and 1897. Among Mondrian’s classmates was Karel de Bazel (1864–1932), a prominent Dutch architect who joined the Theosophical Society in 1894 and cofounded its Vahana Lodge in Amsterdam in 1896. Fellow architects Johannes Lauweriks (1864–1932) and Hermanus Johannes Maria Walenkamp (1871–1933) were also members. From 1903, another notable Dutch architect, Michiel Brinkman (1873–1925), chaired the Rotterdam Theosophical Lodge. 

Around 1900, Mondrian experienced a religious crisis, prompting him to leave his parents’ Calvinist Protestant faith and explore Theosophy and The Great Initiates by Edouard Schuré (1841–1929), a book he continued to study throughout his life.

In 1909, influenced by fellow painter Cornelis Spoor (1867–1928), Mondrian developed an interest in yoga and finally joined the Theosophical Society. Several of his paintings, such as Devotion (1908) and the triptych Evolution (1911), are linked to Theosophy, as Mondrian confirmed in his notebooks and letters. Scholar Robert P. Welsh (1932–2000) suggested that Evolution represents the three stages of Theosophical enlightenment. 

When Mondrian went to Paris in 1912, he stayed at the French Theosophical Society’s headquarters before moving to his studio. In the Netherlands, he kept a portrait of Mme. Blavatsky in his Laren studio.

Mondrian was already influenced by Theosophy before he met Mathieu Hubertus Josephus Schoenmaekers (1875–1944) around 1914 or 1915. Schoenmaekers, a former Catholic priest and Theosophist, developed his own “Christosophy” and significantly impacted Mondrian’s worldview, art, and the foundation of De Stijl in 1917. Schoenmaekers coined the term Nieuwe Beelding (Neo-Plasticism) in 1916. Initially, Mondrian was deeply influenced by Schoenmaekers, but by 1918, he viewed him negatively, believing any valuable ideas Schoenmaekers had were derived from Blavatsky. Mondrian argued that cosmic harmony, truth, and beauty could be represented by a vertical male line and a horizontal female color and background.

Theosophy influenced Mondrian’s development of Neo-Plasticism and his collaboration with, and eventual split from, van Doesburg in 1924–25. This split is commonly linked to van Doesburg’s use of diagonal lines versus Mondrian’s preference for horizontals and verticals. Another factor was that van Doesburg, who was not a member of the Theosophical Society, began to criticize Mondrian’s “rigid” Theosophy and the shift of Neo-Plasticism into what he perceived as a religious movement. 

Michel Seuphor (1901–99) claimed that Mondrian’s beliefs evolved from Calvinism to Theosophy and ultimately to Neo-Plasticism, which replaced Theosophy as a comprehensive worldview. For Mondrian, especially after his 1930s debates with Dutch philosopher Louis Hoyack (1893–1967), Neo-Plasticism was a revolutionary project aimed at societal transformation. He believed Neo-Plastic painting eliminated old art forms to create new ones, and this philosophy could similarly reform state, church, and family into simpler, better structures. His paintings were manifestos for this vision. Mondrian stated that “the rectangular plane of varying dimensions and colors visibly demonstrates that internationalism does not mean chaos ruled by monotony, but an ordered and clearly divided unity.”

Many Theosophists dismissed these utopian concepts and failed to grasp Mondrian’s art. He felt the leaders in the Theosophical Society were “always against my work.” Although his vision of global reform had similarities with Masonic ideas, he wrote in 1932 that his application to become a Freemason was ignored by the Dutch lodges. 

Despite the painful rejections, Mondrian didn’t sever ties with Theosophy. Upon moving to London in 1938, he requested a transfer to the local Theosophical Society. Notably, his close friend in London was Winifred Nicholson (1893–1981), a Christian Scientist, whose metaphysical Christianity intrigued many Theosophists, although it differed from Theosophy. 

As Charmion von Wiegand (1896–1983), the American painter who was Mondrian’s closest associate and perhaps lover in the last years of his life, noted that after relocating to New York in 1940, Mondrian ceased his active involvement with the Theosophical Society, although remaining a member. She explained that he “had gone beyond organizations or groups . . . To him, they represented limitations, a division in the total unity he sought to achieve.” Nonetheless, von Wiegand asserted, he had not rejected Theosophy but had made it “implicit to his life.”

Mondrian considered himself an “old soul,” meaning he had gone through multiple reincarnations. Theosophy often states that old souls are misunderstood by their peers. Theosophists did not appreciate Mondrian’s Neo-Plasticism, expecting Theosophical art to feature specific symbols or “thought-forms”—the shapes and colors perceived by clairvoyants like Annie Besant (1847‒1933) and C.W. Leadbeater (1854–1934). For many Theosophists, this was true Theosophical art, and Mondrian’s wasn’t. Mondrian, however, believed that pure Theosophical art was in fact Neo-Plasticism. 

Massimo Introvigne is an Italian sociologist of religions. He is the founder and managing director of the Center for Studies on New Religions (CESNUR), an international network of scholars who study new religious movements. Introvigne is the author of some seventy books and more than 100 articles in the field of sociology of religion. This article is reproduced with permission from Bitter Winter, an online magazine on religious liberty and human rights.

Printed in the  Spring 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Hodson, Geoffrey, "Fire and the Spirits of Fire"   Quest 113:2, pg 31-33 

By Geoffrey Hodson

Fire is one of the garments of God, Who, to the spirits of fire, appears clothed in flame. They regard Him as the central fiery heart of all manifested life and the solar system as an expression of Him as fire.

In order to understand fire as an element, the mind must be disassociated from the idea of physical flame. As to man on earth the sun appears expressed throughout the whole system in terms of power, light, heat, and vitality, so to the salamander the sun is manifested on all planes as fire.

The fire angels see the universe as a vast roaring sea of flame—a furnace in which all things burn. Every object on every plane is seen in terms of fire, as if it were aflame. Men, angels, trees, landscapes, and globes are all centers of fire, permeated and surrounded by fiery energy. Salamanders are the embodiments of that all-pervasive element; in it they live and work as the servants of the Logos, Who, to them, is the central flame.

The septenary division of the universe, as of the cosmos, finds a reflection in the realms of fire: fire exists in seven states, and there are seven degrees of salamanders or fire angels, each more glorious and more fiery than his brother of lower degree. Earthly fire is of the lowest degree, as are the astral salamanders of whom it is an expression. All fire, on every plane, is summed up in one great archangel, who is the God of fire in our solar system and under whom, in their graded orders, the salamanders work.

The purpose of the universal fire is to regenerate and to transform; to ensure continuity of growth by means of change, and to ensure that no part or parts of the universe should become static, resistant, and inert. The element of fire is an expression of the divine Will, which exerts a ceaseless forward pressure upon all life and manifests in all form as an inward urge towards a more perfect expression of the ensouling life. Fire has the special function of maintaining universal movement, and its denizens possess that fiery quality which transforms and regenerates and, when necessary, destroys. On earth the salamander and his element of fire are most familiar in their aspect as “destroyers”—yet you employ them not only to consume, but also as producers of light, heat, and power.

Between the earthly fire and the heart of the Logos, which is eternally aflame, there is an unbroken chain of fire by means of which He manifests the fire aspect of His nature throughout His system; that manifestation produces a form which somewhat resembles the familiar single sunflower which blooms in earthly gardens. The heart of the blossom is the sun, and each petal is a mighty tongue of flame, playing from the sun out to the farthest confines of the system. From whatever direction this fire flower is seen, the same aspect of widely opened petals appears, for the solar sunflower extends into every dimension of the system and therefore presents a full face from every point of view. Yet not the gentle beauty of an earthly flower but a roaring sea of fire is presented to the gaze of him who is able to see the fire aspect of the Logos. Each petal of the fiery flower is a living tongue of flame through which, with a mighty roar, power is rushing in a steady and continuous stream.

Amidst this colossal display the fire angels dwell, wielding its resistless energy and directing the play of the fiery solar forces according to the will of that supreme Fire which is their source of life. They are the lords of fire, the archangels of flame, the spiritual regenerators of the system; living embodiments of fire power, they are inspired by the fiery Will of the atmic Logos, Who is the one Supreme Ruler, of Whom this mighty solar fire-flower and the great lords of fire are a direct expression.

In color golden yellow and flamelike, they resemble gigantic men built of flame; in the hand of each is a spear and on the head a golden crown of living fire. Flames shoot forth from them on every side; every change of consciousness sends forth a tongue of flame; every gesture flings a flood of fire. They form an august body of solar fire-angels who, each at his station where the petal-shaped tongues of flame rush forth, encircle the sun. Through them passes power, to be transformed in passing, lest its naked energy should destroy the system which, by their mediation, it regenerates and transforms. They shield the solar system lest the fiery power should blind the eyes of those to whom it is a source of light, burn those to whom it is a source of heat, and shatter those to whom it is a source of power.

Such are the mighty Ones Who stand before the fiery throne of the fiery Father of angels and of men. Below them, rank on rank, grade on grade, is ranged the mighty order of the spirits of the fire. On every plane of Nature they serve their Fire King and own allegiance to their fire lords. Their fiery nature gives them an appearance of uncontrolled ferocity, of fiery and destructive power. In each of them, at every level, a measure of the fiery logoic power is stored. Their growth is marked by an increase in that power, an added stature and a more perfect expression of the fire of the logoic Will.

The greatest earthly fire is but a dim and faint reflection of the true fire of the sun; the brightest earthly blaze seems but a shadow beside its radiant light. The fire aspect of the system, as of the universe, resembles lightning formed into a sunflower, whose every petal is a permanent lightning flash and whose heart is the womb in which lightning is born. All manifested life, on every plane, is surrounded and permeated by fire; there is no interplanetary space; the separation of the globes is but illusion; the sun is not the isolated center of a ring of planets; there is but one homogeneous whole, fire-filled.

Every atom in the system and all the space between the atoms is filled with fire, and all is aflame with fiery power. Center and circumference are one. Though mighty solar flowers, whose petals touch the orbits of the furthest globes, present themselves full-faced from every point of view, there is but one flower and one fire, as there is but one solar Logos. The solar flower is His body, the planets are His organs, the sun His fiery heart. The solar fire-angels are His limbs, and His mighty head and feet form the organs of One mightier than He, the universal Lord of universal Fire.

In olden days the solar Lords of fire sent a messenger to the earth to found the religion of fire and deliver the message of fire to men. His name was Zarathustra; he was one of the flowers of earth’s humanity, one of its first fruits, who, having won his way into the realm of fire and learnt to dwell therein, had gained the knowledge and the power to stand unharmed before the solar Lords, to learn from them the message he should bring and to receive the gift of mastery of fire. He appeared amongst his people amid tongues of flame and surrounded by the spirits of fire. He told of fire the regenerator and transformer and taught his people to transform their lives by the fire of their own will united with the divine Will. He taught that every evil in their lives and in their land must be consumed by fire, that thus they might prepare a temple for the regenerating power of the spiritual sun. Knowing the word of power, he called down fire from on high; from that fire the temple lamps and fires on the hearth were lit throughout the land.

Zarathustra’s mission marked an epoch in the evolutionary life of the planet, for he brought the element of fire into closer contact with the element of earth. Until chemists have discovered the significance of fire as an element and have learnt to trace it in the atom and through all the kingdoms of Nature, the meaning of this statement cannot be fully grasped.

After Zarathustra’s time, a change took place in all the earthly elements, for he brought an added measure of the solar fire into the heart of that physical atom from which all the chemical elements are formed. He established the kingdom of fire upon earth, and since his day, all matter has become more malleable and more responsive to thought and will.

Whenever fire burns upon your hearth, it forms a vehicle for the solar fire; therefore should fire be everywhere regarded as sacred. The lighting of a fire invokes a salamander; the fire of the hearth has its appropriate nature spirit, the forest fires have theirs; a great conflagration attracts them in large numbers, and they come to revel and rejoice in the manifestation of their element on earth. As they are but the embodiments of the solar fire, they may be regarded as ensouling physical fire, to which they bear a relation similar to that borne by the fire aspect of the solar Logos to themselves.

Volcanoes are centers in which the solar fire is concentrated and where salamanders gather in their various degrees; for wherever their element is active, there the fire spirits are present. Far below the surface of the earth there burns an unquenchable fire, a veritable portion of the solar fire by which it is still fed, and with which it is in unbroken and direct connection. There dwell mighty members of the salamanders’ race; there labor many orders of nature spirits and angels, for the interior source of life and power to the planet exists at the center of the earth. There its vital energies are renewed, jaded matter is recharged, and interstellar atoms are impressed with the special vibratory rate of the planet in order that they may pass into the circulating stream of the planet’s atomic life.

The fiery life force of the Logos arises at the center of the earth. No earthly channels are required for its passage; it arrives direct through the operation of the higher dimensional mechanism by which the system is ordered. Here are stored and renewed the magnetic energies of the planet, each under the charge of its appropriate nature spirit and angel. Each type of force is a physical reflection of an aspect of the central divine energy and is intimately associated with the region of solar fire.

The fiery sun—not its physical veil—is the powerhouse from which the life-giving energies of the Logos are projected throughout the system. The fire angels are the agents of that power, the engineers in charge of the mechanism by which it regenerates and transforms all life within its sphere of influence. The most prominent characteristic of the power of fire is change; thus physical fire consumes by the law of its being, which is to produce a change of form, that new orders of power may be released.

This invisible element of fire is at work behind the whole system, as are its agents. In every rock, in every stone, jewel, plant, animal, and man, it ceaselessly exerts an influence in the direction of change; because of its presence, nothing in Nature can ever stand still; it ensures the growth of the system. Its power is wielded, not only by the nature-spirits who labor instinctively in the cause of change, but by the great fire angels who consciously produce all changes throughout the system, so that the new birth which results may grow ever nearer and nearer to the likeness of its archetype in the mind of God. Thus fire is “the power that maketh all things new” and change is the universal watchword, the fundamental law throughout the whole realm of fire, the word by which its energies are freed and its denizens evoked.

When the spark leaps from the flint, divinity is revealed; when the fire is lighted on the hearth, the sacred Presence is invoked; where that divinity is revealed and that Presence is invoked, man and angel should both pay homage to that to which they owe their life. The days of fire worship must return; within men’s hearts and minds the sacred fire of the divine life must burn more brightly as each man knows himself to be the earthly counterpart of the central fiery Man who reigns omnipotent, whose throne is set both in his heart and in the fiery heart of the universe.

Fire is the parent of spring, the promise of renewal in all worlds; fire dwells in the heart of man, fire warms his blood; in his invisible self he is a man of fire.

<POETRY>Hymn to Fire

Hail, fire! Hail, fiery solar Lords!

Hail, Spirits of the Fire!

In all your countless numbers,

In all your manifold degrees,

We greet you, Brethren of the Fire!

O holy Fire! O wondrous Flame!

Transformer of the universe, regenerator of all worlds,

Life-giver to all form.

The glory of Thy fiery power fills heaven and earth,

And all the wide dominions that lie between the stars.

Thou art the spark within the stone, the life within the tree,

Thou art the fire on the hearth, the splendor of the sun.

Thine is the hand which paints the roseate morn,

Thine the fiery beauty of the sunset sky;

Thine the warm breath of flower-scented summer breeze,

Thine the power that maketh all things new.

Fire to Fire, we offer our souls to Thee,

Draw us closer to Thy fiery heart,

That we may lose ourselves in Thee.

O Fire Divine! Burn fiercely in our lives,

That darkness, lust, and hate may be dispelled

And human souls shine forth in purity,

With all the dazzling glory of the sun.

Cleanse us, O lordly Fire; rejuvenate our hearts and minds;

Burn up the dross, recharge the will,

And send us forth to labor in Thy name,

Thy chosen men of Fire.

Amen.</POETRY>

Geoffrey Hodson (1886‒1983) was a Theosophist, occultist, and philosopher. He was the author of over fifty books on Theosophy, spiritualism, psychic and spiritual development, mysticism, fairies, angels, meditation, health, and disease. He also wrote over 200 articles and held radio talks. This article is reprinted with the kind permission of the Theosophical Society in England and Wales.

Printed in the  Spring 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Georgiades, Erica, "Plutarch on Serenity of Mind"   Quest 113:2, pg 27-30 

By Erica Georgiades

Plutarch (AD c.45–c.120) was a distinguished priest of Apollo at the oracle of Delphi. He was also a historian and Middle Platonist philosopher whose legacy has profoundly influenced the world. Among his extensive writings, his treatise On Contentment (Peri euthumias, often translated as On Serenity of Mind is especially noteworthy for those aspiring to lead a genuinely philosophical and theosophical life.

In this work, Plutarch meticulously curates a diverse range of philosophical insights on contentment, drawing not only from his own wisdom but also from the teachings of philosophers and poets such as Socrates (c.470–399 BC), Plato (427–347 BC), Xenophon (430–355 BC), Euripides (480–406 BC), Hesiod (c.700 BC), Homer (eighth century BC), Epicurus (341‒270 BC), and Cratus of Thebes (365‒285 BC).

By incorporating the ideas of numerous thinkers, including himself, Plutarch showcased the richness and depth of classical Hellenic philosophy as a practical guide to living a life of contentment and achieving serenity of mind. This work also shows that classical philosophy, rather than being a merely dialectical, metaphysical, and analytical discipline, was a way of life that emphasized self-knowledge, contemplation, reverence for the divine, and, one could argue, achieving enlightenment. The result is a wonderful and timeless source of living wisdom for everyday life, from which every person thirsting for a truly theosophical life can draw guidance and inspiration.

The word philosophy comes from the ancient Greek philein, meaning to love, and sophia, meaning wisdom, so it literally translates as love of wisdom. The term was coined by the great pre-Socratic philosopher and mathematician Pythagoras (c.570–c.490 BC).

The word theosophy is derived from the Greek theos, god, and sophia. Hence it is often translated as divine wisdom or wisdom of God. It presupposes the existence of the divine, the sacred, and a transcendent source of wisdom that can only be drawn from the waters of Mnemosyne, or remembrance. This is the sacred spring flowing from our soul or higher self, which Plato associates with remembering one’s divine nature.

In the Platonic tradition, in order to remember one’s divine nature, it is necessary to live a noble and virtuous life, full of love for wisdom and compassion for all beings. But this is not enough. It is also necessary to thirst for union with the divine or, as Blavatsky says in The Voice of the Silence, to “thirst for Wisdom” (Blavatsky, 45) or starve for the “bread of Wisdom” kneaded with “Amrita’s [immortality’s] clear waters” (Blavatsky, 28).

Plutarch’s insights on living a life that leads to serenity of mind and contentment provide work for those thirsty for wisdom. Some of the main topics addressed in the treatise can be broadly classified as follows:

1. Praise the divine.
2. Apathy and seclusion are not remedies for the soul.
3. Do not seek eudaimonia (happiness) in material goods; instead practice simplicity and moderation.
4. Develop balance and self-control by cultivating a positive state of mind.
5. Live in the present.
+6. Exercise prudence and learn from nature.

In exploring each of these, it is important to bear in mind that classical philosophers generally held that the art of living should be practiced daily and repeatedly, much like athletes who need daily training to prepare for the Olympic games. By contrast, Plutarch writes, “those who are without skill and sense as to how they should live, like sick people whose bodies can endure neither heat nor cold, are elated by good fortune and depressed by adversity” (467b).

Plutarch refers to the need to reach a state of mind indifferent to pleasure and pain, happiness and sorrow, good fortune and misfortune. In order to achieve such a state, it is necessary to practice art of living. The importance of achieving a similar state of mind is also emphasized in The Voice of the Silence, where H.P. Blavatsky likens it to “titikṣha,” which she defines as a state “of supreme indifference; submission, if necessary, to what is called ‘pleasures and pains for all,’ but deriving neither pleasure nor pain from such submission—in short, the becoming physically, mentally, and morally indifferent and insensible to either pleasure or pain” (Blavatsky, 93). Such indifference does not mean apathy but achieving an inner state in which one will not be carried away by pleasure or pain.

To Praise the Divine

Plutarch highlights Xenophon’s idea that it is important to remember and praise the divine on a daily basis, in every moment of your life, not only in difficult times, but also in times of happiness. He proposed that if we want to live a life full of eudaimonia, serenity, peace, and contentment, we should praise the divine amidst joy or sorrow, peace or adversity.

He further hinted that such a practice will lead us closer to our soul or higher self: “For as savage dogs become excited at every strange cry and are soothed by the familiar voice only, so also the passions of the soul, when they are raging wild, are not easily allayed, unless customary and familiar arguments are at hand to curb the excited passions” (465b).

Praising the divine, then, is related to connecting our life with a consciousness of our divine nature. 

Apathy and Seclusion Are Not Remedies for the Soul

Plutarch emphasizes that it is wrong to think that in order to achieve serenity of mind, we should avoid politics or worldly affairs, retreating into nature and practice quietness “on a mattress” (465d). It is wrong to think that seclusion is a remedy for the soul, because an ill person needs exercise and be active to heal. Similarly, in order to live a philosophical life, we should be active in the world. He also cites Plato’s view that in facing adversities, we should remain as calm as possible, reflect on the circumstances, and try to make the best of it

as it were with the fall of the dice, to determine the movements of our affairs with reference to the numbers that turn up, in the way that reason indicates would be best, and instead of stumbling like children, clapping one’s hands to the stricken spot and wasting the time in wailing, ever to accustom the soul to devote itself at once to the curing of the hurt and the raising up of what has fallen. (Plato, Republic 604c-d)

To reinforce this idea, Plutarch gives us a wonderful example of how we should face challenges and adversities in life: “Sensible persons, like bees, extract honey from thyme, the hardest and driest plant.” (467c).

In other words, instead of seeking isolation or whining about hardships and adversities, we should—like the bees, who can make honey from thyme—make the best of the adversities and challenges we may face in life. Contentment, serenity of mind, and eudaimonia are not achieved by inaction but by righteous deeds. Therefore, do not seek seclusion from the world, but learn to resolve the most difficult situations with a serene state of mind.

Practice Simplicity and Moderation

We should not seek eudaimonia in material possessions such as money and fame, for contentment, serenity, and simplicity need to be practiced constantly. Part of this daily practice is to focus on the good we have. For example, if we lose a friend, a family member, we may feel sad and suffer. Yet in the face of adversity, the mind should not be allowed to be immersed in pain and suffering. It is important to focus constantly on the good we have instead of allowing the mind to be violently dragged toward adversities.

Cultivate a Positive State of Mind

The evil that we may encounter in life, such as anger, jealousy, and gossip, should not preoccupy our mind and heart, negatively affecting our mental state or cause us sadness and grief (468d). Instead, we should face adversities with inner harmony and self-control. To achieve such serenity, it is important first to accept the fact that there are both good and evil, positive and negative circumstances in life. “Every man has within himself the store-rooms of tranquillity and discontent, and that the jars containing blessings and evils are not stored ‘on the threshold of Zeus,’ but are in the soul” (473c; the “threshold of Zeus” is an allusion to the Iliad, 24:527).

The goal, then, is to achieve balance and harmony between these two different poles. This requires constant practice, training our minds to see and focus on the good instead of being carried away by things that cause us anxiety, anger, and sadness.

Plutarch gave two examples to highlight this principle: the patient and the musician. A patient who finds it difficult to eat does not blame or grieve because others can eat, but tries to heal so that he too can enjoy his meal. In the same way, when the mind is drawn violently into negative thoughts, we become ill. In such a case, it is necessary to heal our soul instead of blaming the circumstances. To achieve this, we need to constantly turn the mind away from anything that causes pain and distress, focusing attention on the good we have and making the best of it: “Why do you scrutinize too keenly your own trouble, my good sir, and continue to make it ever vivid and fresh in your mind, but do not direct your thoughts to those good things which you have?” (469b).

To use another analogy: before mastering a musical instrument, a musician will play unpleasant sounds, because the instrument can inherently produce both harmonic and disharmonic sounds. It depends on the skill of the musician to play harmonic melodies, which is achieved by constant practice.

We are the musicians, and life is our musical instrument. We must learn to play it properly to produce harmonic melodies. This can only be achieved through extensive training and practice. “For the harmony of the universe, like that of a lyre or a bow, is by alternatives, and in mortal affairs there is nothing pure and unmixed” (473f‒474a).

Similarly, in life there is not only the positive or negative, but a mixture of the two. The right combination leads us to the beautiful, to the good. The musician achieves harmony by avoiding disharmonious sounds, eventually mastering the instrument and producing beautiful tunes.

We must do the same in our lives. Plutarch cites Socrates as an example:

When Socrates​ heard one of his friends remark how expensive the city [Athens] was, saying, “Chian wine costs a mina, a purple robe three minae, a half-pint of honey five drachmas,” he took him by the hand and led him to the meal-market, “Half a peck for an obol! the city is cheap”; then to the olive-market, “A quart for two coppers!”, then to the clothes-market, “A sleeveless vest for ten drachmas! the city is cheap.” We also, therefore, whenever we hear another say that our affairs are insignificant and in a woeful plight because we are not consuls or governors, may reply, “Our affairs are splendid and our life is enviable: we do not beg, or carry burdens, or live by flattery.” (470f‒471a)

In showing the positive side of things, Plutarch suggests that as a philosopher, he was constantly focusing on the good he had instead of allowing the mind to be carried away by any evil that may affect his life.

Live in the Present

Plutarch advises us to live in the present instead of allowing ourselves to be carried away by thoughts of the past or expectations of the future. Nor should we allow our minds to be lost in pain and suffering resulting from adversities.

Many people are insensitive because their minds are not focused on the present. Both future expectations and the recollection of past events carry the mind away from the present, which may result in a state of sadness, intense desire, or fear.

To achieve serenity of mind, it is important to comprehend the immense value of everything experienced in the present moment. To realize this, Plutarch suggests that we imagine how life would be without what we have right now. 

Learn from Nature

The wise one hopes for the best but prepares for the worst. Happiness brings more joy to those who are not afraid of the future. We need to reflect on the transience of life and the fact that we will all leave our physical bodies one day. Today you know that you are healthy, but you also know that tomorrow you may become ill. Today you know that you have all your family members close to you, but you also know that tomorrow they may be gone. The awareness of the possibility of losing what we have and the acceptance of this fact without fear is an exercise in prudence.

To learn from nature, to appreciate the beauty and light that exist in all beings, and to respect all forms of life are other ideas that we can draw from Plutarch. He emphasizes that nature is not only sacred but divine and is full of contentment and serenity. We just need to observe it with the light of our soul:  

For the universe is a most holy temple and most worthy of a god; into it man is introduced through birth as a spectator, not of hand-made or immovable images, but of those sensible representations of knowable things that the divine mind, says Plato,​ has revealed, representations which have innate within themselves the beginnings of life and motion, sun and moon and stars, rivers which ever discharge fresh water, and earth which sends forth nourishment for plants and animals. Since life is a most perfect initiation into these things and a ritual celebration of them, it should be full of tranquillity and joy. (477d)

Sources

Citations from Plutarch and Plato refer to pagination numbers standard for these authors across all editions.

Blavatsky, H.P. The Voice of the Silence. Pasadena, Calif.: Theosophical University Press, 2015 [1889].

Plato. Republic. Translated by Paul Shorey. In Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns, eds. Plato: The Collected Dialogues. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton/Bollingen, 1961.

Plutarch, Moralia, volume 6. Translated by W.C. Helmbold. Cambridge, Mass.: Loeb Classical Library, 1939.

Erica Georgiades holds a master’s degree in research of religious experiences. She is the director of the European School of Theosophy and the School of Wisdom. She is also the president of the Theosophical Society in Greece.

Printed in the  Spring 2025  issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Bucci, Dominic, "The Daimon in Pre-Socratic and Platonic Thought"   Quest 113:2, pg 23-26 

By Dominic Bucci 

When we sit back and reflect on the direction of our lives, we can see some hand of guidance that has been instrumental in placing us in our current positions. This often goes unnoticed by many, preventing a deeper entrance into spiritual reality. The touch of guidance is often not noticed until we reflect.

To define daimon is not an easy task, not solely because the term is often ambiguous in translation. While the daimon’s function as a guide has been consistent across time, its position relative to us, both collectively and personally, has not.

For the past several years, I have been studying the ever-unfolding concept of the daimon.  I have been looking both at it and through it to gain a new view of the world and my spiritual path.

The daimon is a guide that is unique to each of us, and one that evolves with us as we grow in understanding. It is a guide on our path of immortality, the track that we all follow that is above the mere individual life. When our vision is limited to this life alone, the daimon can sometimes appear to be acting contrary to our best interests. I have found that this is only the case when we fail to view life as an expanded journey of the soul.

The daimon is a living being, a spirit that we have often anthropomorphized by projecting human qualities onto it. For this reason, when it interacts with us outside of human form, it can go unseen or appear ghostly or as coincidence or synchronicity. Nonetheless, it is a part of the experience of being human, no matter what we believe or where or when we were born. The daimon has been observed in some form in every culture and tradition since the beginning of recorded history. Some of its Eastern relatives are the Buddhist yidam (tutelary deity), the Islamic qareen (a kind of spiritual double), and the ishta devata (personal god) of Hinduism.

The English word daimon (plural daimones) is derived from the Greek δαίμων (daimon). The concept is quite distinct from the stigmatized word demon.  According to Liddell and Scott’s unabridged Greek lexicon, daimon is probably derived in turn from δαίω (daio), meaning to distribute (lots or fates): indeed, as we will see, daimon is sometimes translated as fate. Sometimes in ancient Greek the word was used to indicate divine power, as opposed to θεός (theos), which refers to a god in a personal sense. In other cases, daimon indicates a supernatural being somewhere in between gods and humans. In still other cases, daimon was used as more or less equivalent to theos. As is often the case, the meaning was often determined by the context. Daimon in the original Greek is a living concept.

The Origins of the Daimon in the West

At a time when prophets were poets, the daimon emerged in the epic poetry of Homer and Hesiod. Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey portrayed the daimon as both a guardian spirit watching over individuals and as the forces of fate influencing destiny—the common thread being that of a supernatural, external force governing over being.

In the eighth century BC, Hesiod discussed the origin of the daimones in his epic Works and Days by introducing the European myth of the ages of man, which divided the history of the world into five eras. The first was the Golden Age, when humans lived in an Edenic paradise as gods, knowing no sorrow or toil on earth and living in harmony. These first humans lived lifespans of many hundreds of years. When they died, they simply went peacefully to sleep, and their spirits became the daimones that were to guide the mortals who came during the subsequent ages. The daimones were seen as the lingering essence of the Golden Age, embodying its ideals by providing beneficent guidance.

At this point, before the Greeks had thoroughly developed the concept of psyche or “soul,” the daimon was seen as a force outside and separate from us. Later, once the concept of the soul had been fleshed out, the daimon could also be found to be acting from within, the relationship moving from outer to inner.

The Pre-Socratic Daimon

The daimon features prominently in the thought of the Greek philosophers of the sixth and fifth centuries BC, who preceded Socrates and are known as the pre-Socratics. One of them, Heraclitus, is known for the often quoted maxim: “Character is daimon [fate] for the human.” His contemporary Parmenides referred to the daimon as “the divinity that steers all things.” Empedocles, who introduced the concept of four elements of fire, air, water, and earth, explained that the daimon was a force of pure love on a cosmic path of return. With his teachings, the focus began on the daimon that is individual and present.

Socrates

The Athenian Socrates (c.470‒399 BC) is regarded as a kind of founding figure of Western philosophy. The dialogues of Plato, almost all of which feature Socrates prominently, are our principal source of knowledge about him, since Socrates left no writings of his own.

Socrates experienced one of the earliest recorded relationships with a personal daimon, with whom he was in constant contact since childhood, although he had not gained access to it through conscious practice, spiritual devotion, or any type of religious ritual. Socrates’ daimon appeared as an inner voice that frequently warned him against potential mistakes or harmful actions. His daimon did not tell him what to do, only what to avoid. It acted as a kind of internal veto. Its mode of operation was to ensure that he did not stray from the path assigned to him by the gods.

Socrates’ frequent references to his daimon formed part of the charges brought against him by the state of Athens in 399 BC. The Apology of Socrates, written by Plato but ostensibly a record of Socrates’ speech in his own defense, details his trial. He was accused of “introducing new gods” as well as corrupting the youth of Athens with his ideas.

Socrates was condemned to death by forced suicide. Before his death, his pupils provided the means for his escape to another city and urged him to flee, but he refused. Instead he decided to drink the poison hemlock as ordered and accept his sentence. Socrates’ daimon made sure that he fulfilled the pattern of his faith and the significant destiny it was.

Socrates mentioned that a daimon’s task is to interpret and convey human things to the gods and divine things to humans; being in the middle, the daimon can supplement each. In Plato’s Symposium, Socrates says, “God does not mix with men, but through the daimonic all association and converse comes between the gods and men, whether sleeping or awake.”

It was therefore with Socrates that the concept of the daimon began to shift from that of occult forces that took hold of people in mysterious ways and made them act under their influence to that of a guide that worked to keep the soul from straying from its assigned path. Socrates made a conscious bond with his inner guide. Whereas previously the daimon had been primarily viewed as a source outside of a person’s control, Socrates experienced it as an inner intimate relationship.

Socrates advised communing with one’s daimon in order to comprehend the gods through the deeds they perform in the world rather than waiting for them to reveal themselves to us. 

Plato

While Socrates can be credited with originating the idea of the personal daimon, Plato played a crucial role in disseminating the idea of the daimon as a superior or divine part of the soul. He also shaped our understanding of it as a protector and guide for the individual during this life and the life to come.

Plato introduced the philosophical idea of deifying all beings through a direct personal bond with the divine realm of the “Forms.” He also explained that the psyche existed before and after life on earth and undergoes a process of repeated incarnations until it achieves a state of purity.  

Plato regarded the physical world as unreal as opposed to an incorporeal, unchangeable other world, which is to be regarded as primary. Plato placed the ego in an immortal soul that is alien to the body and captive in it.

Plato’s Allegory of the Chariot

In his dialogue the Phaedrus Plato developed his concept of the soul through the allegory of the chariot. He divided the soul into three distinct parts: the charioteer or driver and two horses pulling the chariot. The charioteer represents the logos, or the force that makes us reflect. One horse, a noble one, represents thumos, or the force that makes us aspire. The other, unruly horse represents eros, the force that makes us desire. Eros is driven by the sensual impressions of the world and our bodily appetites. Thumos is driven by social norms and expectations, like courage, ambition, and honor. The logos is the pure capacity for mental reflection but can generate nothing by itself; by this understanding, it can only process the data provided by the eros and thumos. The success of the tripartite soul relies on the harmonious interaction of all the soul’s components.

The higher part of the soul, situated above and in contact with the logos is the nous (or consciousness). Its function is to understand nature in an unbiased and undistorted fashion, remaining pure and untouched, beyond the imitations of illusory reality. While the logos receives its sense impressions filtered through eros and thumos, it also receives undistorted information from the nous, which intuitively provides a higher form of insight.

The nous is often understood as the divine or spiritual assistance that humans receive to help comprehend reality, acting as a living spiritual force that draws true reasoning from flawed perceptions. The function of the nous in the human soul is to unite the ephemeral nature of matter with the eternal spirit behind it. According to Plato, nous was implanted in humans as something divine—as a daimon.

When the nous is recognized and integrated into the tripartite soul, it opens up space for the daimon to emerge separate from the mental functions of the psyche. The charioteer-driver must tame the horses in order to hear the voice of the daimon. The importance of this point cannot be stressed enough: we must learn how to handle the world’s distractions in order to establish this contact with the daimon for guidance.

When Plato located the daimon inside the soul, he identified it with “an upper part,” which is immortal and divine and at the same time representing an ideal to which the human soul aspires. This upper, divine part of the soul wishes to escape the state of servitude and disequilibrium to which its mortal parts hold it. Plato stated, “As concerning the most sovereign form of soul in us, we must conceive that heaven has given it to each man as a daimon, that part which we say dwells in the summit of our body and lifts us from earth towards our celestial affinity, like a plant whose roots are not in earth, but in the heavens.”

The daimon, as nous, can be understood as the part of the soul that stands as a mediator between the earthly realm and the celestial sphere, as a living, spiritual chain that connects all humans to their eternal higher self.

By deifying the nous, Plato laid the foundation for all the philosophical, occult, and religious traditions of a personal and immortal divine being assigned to and watching over every incarnated human. Plato discussed the daimon in many of his dialogues, particularly in the tenth and last book of The Republic, with its myth of Er. 

The Myth of Er

This myth recounts the tale of a soldier named Er, who has been left for dead in battle but who has merely fallen into a coma. When he awakens after twelve days, he tells of his journey in the afterlife. This includes information about reincarnation, the astral plane, and the daimon.

After being struck down on the battlefield, Er awakens on the astral plane and finds himself in a vast meadow filled with souls. Er sees two openings leading in and out of the sky, and two leading in and out of the underground. Judges sit between these openings and judge the souls based on their lives. These judges then tell the souls the path they are to follow: the good are guided into the sky, and the immoral are directed below. When it is Er’s turn to approach the judges, he is told to remain, listen, and observe in order to report his experience back to humankind.

Er watches as souls return from both the sky path and the underground path. From the sky, the souls return and recount beautiful sights and wondrous feelings. From the underground, the souls return haggard, dirty, tired, and crying in despair; recounting horrible experiences—as each has been required to pay a tenfold penalty for all the wicked deeds they committed when alive.

After this experience, the souls are required to travel farther, and they reach a place where they can see a brilliantly bright shaft of rainbow light that extends upwards into the sky and resembles a giant spindle. Er describes this spindle as having celestial spheres that orbit around it in a perfect circle. The spindle turns in the lap of a personified Necessity, whose daughters, the Fates, are present around it.

The souls are organized into rows and are selected according to a lottery to come forward and choose their next life. Er observes a man who has not known the terrors of the underground, but has been rewarded in heaven, hastily choose a powerful dictatorship. Upon further inspection of this life, the man finds that he is going to commit many atrocities. Er notes that this is often the case for those who have been through the path in the sky, whereas those who have been punished often choose a better life.

The step that precedes the reincarnation of the soul is the choosing of a daimon that will accompany the soul to help it through its new life until its next reincarnation. Each soul is then required to drink some of the water of the river of forgetfulness. Er is not permitted to drink any at all, so he can remember his experience when he returns to earthly life. As they drink, each soul forgets everything it has just experienced. As the souls lie down to sleep, each is lifted up into the night in various directions for rebirth, completing their journey.

Er remembers nothing of the journey back into his body. He opens his eyes to find himself lying on a funeral pyre early in the morning, but able to recall his journey through the afterlife.

A central theme in the myth of Er is the importance of personal choice in shaping one’s destiny. Souls are presented with a variety of lives to choose from, and this choice determines their future experiences. The daimon acts as a guide and guardian, helping the soul navigate the consequences of its choice. This emphasizes the idea that individuals are responsible for their own lives and the choices they make.

The idea of the human soul as immortal—and the realization that we are more than merely corporeal—provided space for the daimon to exist. This led to an understanding of a higher self beyond the lower ego. When we can appreciate the daimon and find him—in history, in mythology, in philosophy, in psychology, and in religion—we have created space for contact.

In the Platonic world, human lives were seen intertwined with nature, and things and events were understood to occur cyclically in balance. Evil was considered more of an imbalanced temporary state that could be corrected rather than existing as an independent force in its own right.

When Christianity formulated its religious duality of good and evil, the daimon became demonized. An internal connection to divinity became something to fear as demonic rather than as a place of looking within oneself to find guidance and connect directly with God. Westerners were now required to have an intermediary on our behalf—a disempowerment would last for hundreds of years until Theosophy and other esoteric traditions reopened the possibility of direct connection.

Dominic Bucci is a federal contractor, property developer, and graduate student in the East-West psychology department at the California Institute of Integral Studies.