Again, let the triangle have the base _a b_, and draw _b f_, parallel

to _a c_. The parallelogram, therefore, _a b f c_, is double of the

triangle. And hence, the quadrilateral figure, _a b c d_, is more

than double of the triangle. This being shewn; we affirm, that when

there is a quadrilateral figure, whose two opposite sides only, are

parallel, if one of the parallel sides is bisected, and right lines

are drawn from it to the other side, the quadrilateral figure, is

either more or less than double of the triangle resulting from such a

construction. But if one of the sides by which the parallel lines are

conjoined, is bisected, and certain right lines are drawn from it to

the remaining side, the quadrilateral figure, will be perfectly double

of the triangle which is produced. And this may be shewn as follows.

Let there be a quadrilateral figure _a b c d_, and let the side _a d_,

be parallel to the side _b c_, and bisect _d c_, in the point _e_,

and connect the right lines _a e_, _e b_, and produce _b e_, till it

coincides with _a d_, in some point, as _f_. Because, therefore, the

angles at the point _e_, are equal, for they are vertical; likewise,

because the angle _f d e_, is equal to the angle _b c e_, the side

also _f e_, will be equal to the side _e b_, and the triangle _d e f_,

will be equal to the triangle _b c e_. Let the common triangle _a d

e_, be added. The whole triangle, therefore, _a e f_, is equal to the

two triangles _a d e_, _b c e_. But the triangle _a e f_, is equal to

the triangle _a e b_: for they are upon equal bases, _b e_, _e f_, and

between the same parallels, if a line parallel to _b f_, is drawn[43].

Hence, the triangle _a e b_, is equal to the triangles _a d e_, _b c

e_, and the quadrilateral figure _a b c d_, is double of the triangle

_a e b_, which was to be shewn. After the same manner, we may shew,

that if the side _a b_, is bisected, and certain right lines are drawn

from it, to the side _e d_, the quadrilateral figure will be double

of the triangle formed by such a construction. If, therefore, one

of the sides by which the parallel lines are conjoined is bisected,

and from it certain right lines are drawn to the remaining side, the

quadrilateral figure shall be double of the triangle. And these things

are demonstrated for the sake of geometrical exercise. Let us now

proceed to the subsequent propositions.

[Illustration]

PROPOSITION XLII. PROBLEM XI.

To construct a parallelogram equal to a given triangle, in a given

rectilineal angle[44].

* * * * *

PROPOSITION XLIII. THEOREM XXXII.

The complements of parallelograms, situated about the diameter

of every parallelogram, are equal to each other.

[Illustration]

_The beginning of this commentary is wanting._

* * * * *

that parallelograms are not mutually conjoined according to one

point, and that the complements are not quadrilateral; it is requisite

that placing this also as a case, we should regard the same accident.

For let there be a parallelogram _a b_, having the parallelograms _c

k_, _d l_, about the same diameter, and let a certain right line _k

l_, which is a part of the diameter intervene between them. Again,

therefore, you may say the same, viz. that the triangle _a c d_,

is equal to the triangle _b c d_, and the triangle _e c k_, to the

triangle _k c f_; and likewise the triangle _d g l_, to the triangle _d

h l_. The remaining figure, therefore, _a g l k e_, of five sides, is

equal to the remaining five-sided figure _b f k l h_. But these were

the complements. Again, if the parallelograms are neither conjoined

according to a point, nor distant from each other, but mutually cut

each other, on this hypothesis also, the demonstration will be the

same. For let there be a parallelogram _a b_, and a diameter _c d_, and

let parallelograms be constructed about it, one of which is _e c f l_,

but the other, by which this also is intersected, _d g k h_. I say that

the complements _f g_, _e h_, are equal. For since the whole triangle

_d g k_, is equal to the whole triangle _d h k_, but a part of it also,

the triangle _k l m_, is equal to the triangle _k l n_; (since _l k_ is

a parallelogram); hence the remaining trapezium _d l n h_, is equal to

the remaining trapezium _d l m g_. But the triangle _a d c_, is equal

to the triangle _b c d_, and the triangle _f c l_, in the parallelogram

_e f_, to the triangle _e c l_, and the trapezium _d g m l_, to the

trapezium _d h n l_. The remaining quadrilateral figure, therefore _g

f_, is not unequal to the remaining quadrilateral figure _e h_. And

hence, the theorem is exhibited according to all its cases. But there

are three only, and neither more nor less. For the parallelograms

consisting about the same diameter, either cut each other or touch

each other, according to a point, or are distant from each other by a

certain part of the diameter.

[Illustration]

But the institutor of the Elements assumes the appellation of

_complements_, from the thing itself, so far as these also, besides

two parallelograms, fill up the whole: and on this account, it was

not of itself thought worthy of being remembered in the definitions.

For, indeed, variety is requisite to its declaration, such as the

knowledge of a parallelogram, and what those parallelograms are, which

are about the diameter of the whole parallelogram; since, when these

are explained, this likewise becomes known. But those parallelograms

are about the same diameter, which have a part of the whole diameter

for their own: and those which have not this condition, are by no

means about the same diameter. For when the diameter of the whole

parallelogram is cut by the sides of an internal parallelogram, then

this parallelogram is not about the same diameter with the whole

parallelogram. As for example, in the parallelogram _a b_, let the

diameter _c d_, cut the side _e h_, of the parallelogram _c e_. The

parallelogram, therefore, _e c_, is not about the same diameter with

the parallelogram _c d_.

[Illustration]

PROPOSITION XLIV. PROBLEM XII.

To a given right line, to apply a parallelogram equal to a given

triangle, in an angle which is equal to a given right lined

angle.

According to the Familiars of Eudemus, the inventions respecting

the _application_, _excess_, and _defect_ of spaces, is ancient, and

belongs to the Pythagoric muse. But junior mathematicians receiving

names from these, transferred them to the lines which are called conic,

because one of these they denominate a parabola, but the other an

hyperbola, and the third an ellipsis[45]; since, indeed these ancient

and divine men, in the plane description of spaces on a terminated

right line, regarded the things indicated by these appellations. For

when a right line being proposed, you adapt a given space to the whole

right line, then that space is said to be _applied_; but when you make

the longitude of the space greater than that of the right line, then

the space is said to _exceed_; but when less, so that some part of the

right line is external to the described space, then the space is said

to be _deficient_. And after this manner, Euclid, in the sixth book,

mentions both excess and defect. But in the present problem he requires

application, wishing to apply to a given right line a parallelogram

equal to a given triangle; that we may not only have the construction

of a parallelogram equal to a given triangle, but also an application

to a determinate right line. As for example, a triangle being given,

having an area of twelve feet, but a right line being proposed, whose

length is four feet, we may apply to the right line a parallelogram

equal to the triangle, if when we assume the whole length of four

feet, we find how many feet the breadth ought to contain, that the

parallelogram may become equal to the triangle. When, therefore, we

have discovered that the breadth is three feet, and have multiplied

the length with the breadth, the proposed angle being right, we shall

obtain the desired space. And such is the verb _to apply_, formerly

delivered by the Pythagoreans. But there are three things given in the

present problem; one, the right line to which it is to be so applied,

that it may become the whole side of that space; but the other is the

triangle to which that which is applied ought to be equal; and the

third is the angle to which it is requisite that the angle of the space

should be equal. And here it is again perspicuous, that when the angle

is right, the space which is applied, is either a quadrangle, or an

oblong; but when it is either acute or obtuse, the space is either a

rhombus, or rhomboides. Besides, this too is manifest, that the right

line ought to be finite; since this cannot be accomplished on an

infinite line. At the same time, therefore, as he says, _to apply to a

given right line_, he indicates that the right line must be necessarily

finite. But he uses in the construction of the present problem, the

construction of a parallelogram equal to a given triangle; since, as

we have observed, application is not the same with construction. For

the latter, indeed, constructs both the whole space, and all the sides;

but the former, when it has one side given, constitutes on this the

space, because it is neither deficient, nor exceeds according to this

extension, but uses this one side which comprehends the area. But you

may perhaps say, why does he use theorems, when he shews triangles

equal to triangles; but problems, when he shews triangles equal to

parallelograms? We reply, it is because equality spontaneously arises

in things of the same species; but requires origin, and fabrication, in

things of a dissimilar species, on account of the mutation subsisting

according to species, since it is by itself difficult of invention.

PROPOSITION XLV. PROBLEM XIII.

To construct a parallelogram equal to a given right-lined

figure, in a given rectilineal angle.

The present is more universal than the two problems, in which he

invented as well the construction, as the application of parallelograms

equal to a given triangle. For whether a triangle, or a quadrangle,

or any other quadrilateral figure is given, we may construct a

parallelogram equal to it, by the present theorem; since every

right-lined figure, as we have previously observed[46], may be

essentially resolved into triangles, and we have delivered a method

of discovering the multitude of triangles. When, therefore, we have

resolved a given rectangle into triangles, and have constructed a

parallelogram equal to one of them, and have applied to a given

right line, parallelograms equal to the rest; then, by assuming

that to which we have made the first application, we shall have

a parallelogram composed from these parallelograms, equal to the

right-lined figure composed from those triangles, and the thing

desired, will be accomplished. Hence, though such a rectangle should

be a figure of ten sides, yet, by resolving it into eight triangles,

and constructing a parallelogram equal to one of them, and seven times

applying parallelograms equal to the rest, we shall obtain the object

of investigation. But, as it appears to me, the ancients being incited

by this problem, sought how to describe a quadrangle equal to a circle.

For if a parallelogram can be found equal to any right-lined figure,

it deserves to be enquired whether right-lined figures also, can be

shewn equal to such as are curve-lined. And Archimedes shews that every

circle is equal to a right-angled triangle, one of whose radii is equal

to one of the sides which are about the right angle of the triangle;

but whose ambit is equal to the base. However, of this elsewhere: let

us now proceed to the consequent propositions.

PROPOSITION XLVI. PROBLEM XIV.

To describe a quadrangle from a given right line.

Euclid requires this problem, most particularly, in the construction

of the following theorem. But he appears to have been desirous to

deliver the origin of the two best rectilineal figures, viz. the

equilateral triangle, and the quadrangle; because these right lined

figures are required in the constitution of the mundane figures, and

particularly of those four, to which origin and dissolution belong.

For the icosaedron and the octaedron, and the pyramid, are composed

from equilateral triangles; but the cube from quadrangles. And on this

account, as it appears to me, he has principally _constructed_ the

former, but _described_ the latter. For he has discovered appellations

adapted to these figures: since the equilateral triangle, so far as its

composition is various, requires _construction_; but the quadrangle,

so far as it originates from one side, requires _description_. For

we cannot produce a triangle in the same manner as a quadrangle,

by multiplying the number of a given right line into itself; but

when we have conjoined right lines produced by other means, with

the extremities of the given right line, we construct from these

one equilateral triangle: and the description of circles, profits

in discovering that point from which it is requisite to connect

right lines, to the extremes of the proposed right line. But these

observations are indeed perspicuous.

[Illustration]

It may, however, be shewn, that the right lines, from which

quadrangles are described, being equal, the quadrangles also shall be

equal. For let the right lines _a b_, _c d_, be equal, and from _a b_,

describe the quadrangle _a b c g_, but from _c d_, the quadrangle _c

d h f_, and connect the right lines _g b_, _h d_. Because, therefore,

the right lines _a b_, _c d_, are equal, _a g_, _h c_, are also equal;

and they comprehend equal angles, and the base _g b_, is equal to the

base _h d_, and the triangle _a b g_, to the triangle _c d h_; and the

doubles of these are equal. Hence the quadrangle _a c_, is not unequal

to the quadrangle _c f_. But the converse of this also is true. For

if the quadrangles are equal, the right lines, also, from which they

are described, will be equal. Thus let the quadrangles _a f_, _c g_,

be equal, and let them be so placed, that the side _a b_, may be in a

right line with the side _b c_. Since therefore, the angles are right,

the right line also _f b_, will be in a direct position, with the

right line _b g_. Let the right lines _f c_, _a g_, _a f_, _c g_, be

connected. Because, therefore, the quadrangle _a f_, is equal to the

quadrangle _c g_; the triangle, also, _a f b_, is equal to the triangle

_c b g_. Let the common triangle _b c f_, be added. The whole triangle,

therefore, _a c f_, is equal to the whole triangle _c f g_.

[Illustration]

Hence, _a g_ is parallel to _f c_. Again, because, as well _a f g_,

as the angle _c g b_, is the half of a right angle, _a f_, is parallel

to _c g_. The right line, therefore, _a f_, is equal to the right line

_c g_, since they are the opposite sides of a parallelogram. Because,

therefore, there are two triangles, _a b f_, _b c g_, which have the

alternate angles equal, since _a f_, _c g_, are parallel; likewise one

side _a f_, equal to the side _c g_, the side, also, _a b_, shall be

equal to the side _b c_, and the side _b f_, to the side _b g_. And

thus it is shewn, that the quadrangles _a f_, _c g_, being equal, the

sides, also, from which they are described are equal.

PROPOSITION XLVII. THEOREM XXXIII.

In right angled triangles, the quadrangle, which is described

from the side subtending the right angle, is equal to the

quadrangles which are described from the sides comprehending the

right angle.

If we attend to the historians of antiquity, we shall find them

referring the present theorem to Pythagoras, and asserting that he

sacrificed an ox or its invention. For my own part, I admire those

who first investigated the truth of this theorem: but I possess a

greater admiration for the elementary institutor, not only because he

establishes its truth by evident demonstration, but likewise, because

he persuades us by scientific reasons, which cannot be confuted of a

theorem more universal than this in his sixth book[47]. For in that

he shews universally, _that in right-angled triangles, the figure

described from the side subtending the right angle, is equal to the

figures described from the sides comprehending the right angle, when

they are similar to the former figure, and are similarly described_.

For every quadrangle is similar to every quadrangle; but all

right-lined figures similar to each other, are not quadrangles: since

in triangles, and other multangles, similitude is inherent. Hence,

the reason which demonstrates that the figure described from the side

subtending the right angle, whether it is quadrangular, or of some

other form, is equal to the figures subsisting about the right angle,

similar to the former, and similarly described; exhibits something

more universal, and which possesses a greater power of producing

science, than the reason exhibits, affirming a quadrangle alone,

equal to quadrangles. For in the former case, it becomes manifest by

an universal ostension, that the rectitude of the angle affords to

the figure described from its subtending side, equality, to all the

figures, subsisting about its comprehending sides, similar to the

former, and similarly described: just as obtuseness is the cause of

excess; but acuteness of diminution. But how this theorem is evinced,

will be perspicuous, when we comment on it in the sixth book.

But let us now consider the truth of the present theorem, only adding

this, that _universal_ ought not to be shewn here, by him who has

taught nothing concerning the similitude of right-lined figures, and

the doctrine of proportion: for many things which are here exhibited

more particularly, are in that theorem shewn more universally by

the same method. The institutor of the Elements, therefore, shews

the thing proposed in the present, from the common contemplation

of parallelograms. But since right-angled triangles are two-fold,

i.e. either isosceles, or scalene; in isosceles triangles, we shall

never find numbers corresponding with the sides: for there is no

quadrangular number, exactly double of another quadrangular number;

since the square from the septenary is double of the square from the

quinary, by a deficience of unity. But in scalene triangles it is

possible, that numbers may be assumed, so as evidently to evince, that

the square from the side subtending the right angle, is equal to the

squares from the sides subsisting about the right angle. And of this

kind is the triangle in the republic, whose right angle is contained

by the ternary, and quaternary, but is subtended by the quinary. The

quadrangle, therefore, from the quinary, is equal to the quadrangles

from the other numbers: for this is twenty-five; but the quadrangle

from the ternary is nine, and from the quaternary sixteen. And thus

what we have asserted is perspicuous in numbers.

But there are delivered certain methods of inventing triangles of this

kind, one of which they refer to Plato, but the other to Pythagoras,

as originating from odd numbers. For Pythagoras places a given odd

number, as the least of the sides about the right angle, and when he

has received the quadrangle produced from this number, and diminished

it by unity, he places the half of the remainder, as the greatest of

the sides about the right angle; and when he has added unity to this,

he produces the remaining side which subtends the right angle. Thus

for example, when he has assumed the ternary, and has produced from

it a quadrangular number, and from this number nine, has taken unity,

he assumes the half of eight, that is four, and to this again he adds

unity, and makes five; and thus discovers a right-angled triangle,

having one of its sides of three, but the other of four, and the other

of five units. But the Platonic method originates from even numbers.

For when he has assumed a given even number, he places it as one of the

sides about the right angle, and when he has divided this into half,

and has produced a quadrangular number from the half, when he has added

unity to this quadrangle, he forms the subtending side, but when he has

taken unity from the quadrangle, he forms the remaining side about the

right angle. Thus for example, when he has assumed the number four, and

has multiplied the half of this into itself, and produced four, when he

takes away unity he forms the number three, but when he adds unity, he

produces the number five; and thus he has the same triangle effected,

as by the Pythagoric method. For the square from the number five, is

equal to the squares from the numbers three, and four. And thus much

for the digression of the present narration. But as the demonstration

of the elementary institutor is perspicuous, I do not think, that any

thing should be added, because it would be superfluous; but we should

be content with what is written. For those who have added any thing

more, as the familiars of Hero and Pappus, have been obliged to assume

in an affair of no difficulty, some of the propositions of the sixth

book; and the cause which regards this affair. We shall therefore pass

on to the following theorem.

PROPOSITION LXVIII. THEOREM XXXIV.

If the quadrangle described from one side of a triangle, is

equal to the quadrangles described from the other two sides of

the triangle: then the angle comprehended by the remaining two

sides of the triangle, is right.

[Illustration]

This theorem is the converse of the preceding, and the whole is

converted to the whole. For if the triangle is rectangular, the

quadrangle which is described, from the side subtending the right

angle, is equal to the quadrangles described from the other sides:

and if the square from this, is equal to the squares from the other

sides, the triangle is rectangular, because it has the angle right,

which is comprehended by the remaining sides. And the demonstration

of the Elementary institutor is indeed conspicuous. But when there is

a triangle _a b c_, having the quadrangle, which is described from

the side _a c_, equal to the quadrangles from the sides _a b_, _b c_,

since in the triangle, a right line from the point _b_, is raised at

right angles to the side _b c_, if it should be said, that the right

line must be raised at right angles, to other parts, and not at those

to which the elementary institutor raises it, we assert that this is

an impossibility. For it can neither fall within, nor without the

triangle; and can be no other than _a b_. For if possible, let it fall

as _b e_. Because, therefore, the angle _e b c_, is right, the angle _c

f b_, is doubtless acute; and hence, the remaining angle _a f b_, will

be obtuse. The side, therefore, _a b_, is greater than the side _b f_.

Let a line _b e_, be placed equal to _a b_, and connect _e c_. Because,

therefore, the angle _e b c_, is right, the quadrangle described from

the side _e c_, is equal to the quadrangles from the sides _e b_, _b

c_. But _e b_ is equal to _b a_. The quadrangle, therefore, from the

side _e c_, is equal to the quadrangles from the sides _a b_, _b c_.

But the quadrangle from the side _a c_, was also equal to the same.

Hence, the quadrangle from the side _e c_, is equal to that which is

described from the side _a c_; and so _e c_ is equal to _a c_. Two

right lines, therefore, _b e_, _e c_, are equal to the two _b a_, _a

c_, each to each, and are constructed upon the right line _b c_, which

is impossible. And hence, the line raised at right angles, does not

fall within the right line _a b_.

[Illustration]

But neither can it fall without, towards other parts of the right line

_a b_. For if possible, let it fall as _b g_, and let _b g_ be equal

to _a b_, and connect _c g_. Because, therefore, the angle _g b c_,

is right, the quadrangle described from the side _g c_, is equal to

the quadrangles from the sides _b g_, _b c_. But the quadrangle also,

from the side _a c_, was equal to the quadrangles from the sides _a

b_, _b c_, but _a b_ is equal to _g b_; and so _g c_ is equal to _a

c_. But the right line _g b_, also, is equal to the right line _b a_,

upon one right line _b c_, which is impossible. Hence, the right line

which is raised from the point _b_, at right angles to _b c_, neither

falls within, nor without the side _a b_; and therefore falls upon it.

And so the objection is dissolved. But the institutor of the Elements,

thus far completes his first book, in which he has delivered many

species of conversions; (for he often converts the whole of theorems to

the whole, and wholes to parts, and parts to parts) and has invented

a great variety of problems; (for he has delivered the sections,

positions, constructions, and applications of lines and angles).

He likewise touches upon that mathematical place which is called

admirable; and sufficiently brings local theorems into our remembrance.

Besides, he unfolds the elementary institution of universal and

particular theorems, and indicates the difference of indeterminate, and

determinate problems; all which, attending him in his progress, we have

orderly explained. Lastly, he refers the whole book to one purpose, I

mean the elementary institution, of the contemplation respecting the

more simple rectilineal figures; and finally, he investigates their

constructions, and considers their essential properties. But we,

indeed, shall give thanks to the gods, should we be able to comment

on the other books, in a similar manner. In the mean time, if other

cares should prevent the execution of our design, it is my opinion,

that such as are studious of these contemplations, ought to expound the

other books, after the same mode; by investigating that which is every

where difficult, and pertinent to the subject, and capable of an easy

division. For, indeed, the commentaries which are circulated at the

present period, are replete with great and various confusion, because,

at the same time, they neither infer any assignation of cause, nor

dialectic judgment, nor philosophic contemplation.

END OF THE COMMENTARIES.

THE

HISTORY

OF THE

RESTORATION OF THE PLATONIC THEOLOGY.

By the latter PLATONISTS.

SECT. I.

The Grecian theology, the history of whose restoration by the latter

Platonists is the design of the present dissertation, did not originate

among the Greeks, but was the progeny of barbarian propagation.

This will be evident by considering that Orpheus was a Thracian;

Thales, a Phœnician; Hermes Trismegistus, an Egyptian; Zoroaster,

a Persian; Anacharsis, a Scythian; and Pherecydes, a Syrian. Yet

though Greece was not the parent of theology, she was notwithstanding

her benevolent nurse, by whom she was kindly educated, and received

the full perfection of her nature. Indeed, though illustrious men

flourished in the East, and theology was there particularly cultivated,

yet her education was limited and rough, entangled with inexplicable

ceremonies, and guarded by the sanctity of inviolable oaths. But

when she was removed into the Grecian soil, and experienced the

happy temperature of its climate, her genius became both elegant and

profound; her person magnificent and graceful; and her ceremonies

rational and sublime. Particular nations, indeed, seem to have been

distinguished for particular pursuits. Thus the Egyptians appear to

have excelled in the powers of invention; and the East, in general, has

been remarkable for its attachment to the most recondite and mystic

philosophy. Thus the Romans were famous for the arts of eloquence and

war; and the Greeks have ever been celebrated as a people by whom

every branch of knowledge received its ultimate perfection. They were

a nation equally favoured by the graces, the muses, and philosophy;

whose celestial union formed the divine genius of Homer, and inspired

that elegance and depth with which the works of Plato are replete. They

were, in short, the standards of excellence to the ancient, and are

the objects of imitation to the enlightened part of the present world;

and their theology, as well as their arts, will be admired when modern

systems are no more.

It appears at first view strange that this sublime theology should rise

to its pristine perfection during the decline of the Roman empire; and

at a period when a new religion (I mean the Christian) was continually

increasing in reputation, and advancing with rapid steps to a despotic

establishment. But if we attentively consider, we shall find that

the very causes which apparently threatened its destruction were the

natural and proper sources of its renovation. As every part of the

universe subsists by perpetual change, it is necessary that philosophy

and the sciences, with respect to their appearance or the contrary,

should share in the general mutability of things: but at the same time,

it is necessary to their preservation to after-ages, that the order of

their revolution should be retrograde to that of sensible particulars.

Hence we shall often find, that while kingdoms descend in the circle of

vicissitude, philosophy ascends, and perhaps attains to her ultimate

perfection, at the very period when the most powerful nations become

extinct. Thus the falling empire of the Romans was naturally connected

with the rising greatness of philosophy; and the foreign ceremonies of

a new religion, were the proper means of bringing to light the secret

mysteries of the old. We may add too, that the same circumstances

produced the great difference between the first and last appearance

of this sublime theology. While Greece maintained her independence

unconscious of the Roman yoke, and undisturbed by religious invasions,

she disdained to expose her genuine wisdom to vulgar inspection, but

involved it in the intricate folds of allegory; and concealed it from

the profane under the dark veil of impenetrable mystery. But when she

lost her liberty and submitted to foreign dominion, when her most

ancient rites were threatened with invasion, and her sacred mysteries

were treated with contempt, she found it necessary to change the dress

of theology and to substitute a simple and elegant garb, instead of one

highly marvellous and mystic.

Yet we must not imagine that theology, now stript of her ancient

concealments, became the object of open inspection to the profane and

vulgar eye. She had not lost her refulgence, though she had changed

her appearance: for the rays of celestial majesty yet beamed from her

countenance, with a light awful and terrific to the multitude, but

lovely and alluring to the wise. Hence the splendors of divinity no

less secured her person from impious curiosity than the dark symbols

in which she was formerly involved. The enchanting imagery of a

celestial phantasy, and the pure light of an exalted intellect, while

they captivated and converted the philosophical part of mankind, were

inaccessible to the vulgar, whose mental eye, yet lost in the night

of oblivion, was darkened by the splendid vision. However, though the

real person of theology was not the object of vulgar inspection, her

shadow at least was beheld by the benighted multitude, and became the

subject of ridiculous opinions, and idle investigation. Hence some of

these astonished with the majesty of her image, fondly fancied she

was the progeny of the Jewish religion; and that her sacred mysteries

were nothing but corrupt imitations of Mosaic divinity: while others,

measuring the obscurity of her real person by the darkness of her

shadow, considered her doctrines as delusions, and her sublimest truths

as the reveries of a distempered imagination. Thus was true theology

perverted and vilified by the multitude, when she appeared in her

natural dress to mankind; till, in a few centuries after, indignant of

the daring profanation, she ascended to her native heaven, and left the

sons of folly involved in the shades of midnight error, and the gross

delusions of fancied inspiration.

But let us contemplate her history more minutely, and mark the several

particulars which distinguished her appearance on the earth. Let us

survey the lives of the great geniuses who so largely participated her

celestial light; and who so admirably transfused it in their writings

for the benefit of hitherto ungrateful posterity. Let us view with

wonder how she rose in majesty, as Rome declined in power, and appeared

in full perfection invested with celestial honours, and surrounded

with a godlike band of philosophic heroes, while that mighty empire

was rapidly diminishing in bulk, and on every side nodding to its

dissolution.

We are informed by Proclus[48], that all the Grecian theology is

the progeny of the mystic discipline of Orpheus; and that Pythagoras

was the first who learned the orgies of the gods from Aglaophemus

the disciple of Orpheus. This sacred theology was fully displayed by

Orpheus, with all the graces of poetical diction, accompanied with the

fury of the muses and divine illumination, in a great work entitled,

_The Sacred Discourse_, which was divided into twenty-four rhapsodies,

and which has unhappily perished in the ruins of time. In this

inestimable work, if we may be allowed to conjecture from a treatise of

the same name composed by Pythagoras, and often mentioned by Syrianus,

all the orders of the gods were celebrated from the highest principle

of things, to the last processions of the mundane divinities. But

Pythagoras was no doubt deeply indebted for a part of this knowledge to

the doctrine of Zoroaster, whose dogmata, according to Apuleius[49], he

embraced, and whose profound mysteries involved in oracular darkness,

we may presume he communicated to his initiated disciples. The whole

of this recondite theology was afterwards received by Plato from the

writings of Archytas, Philolaus, and other Pythagoreans, but was

so concealed by poetical embellishments, and mystical traditions,

that, like the numbers of Pythagoras, it was alone adapted to the

comprehension of a penetrating and sagacious few.

It is, however, a remarkable historical fact that this theology

was lost for many centuries among the disciples of Plato, on the

death of their divine master. But we are informed by Numenius[50]

the Pythagorean that Plato’s successors, Speusippus, Zenocrates,

and Polemo, perverted his dogmata, and almost entirely changed the

whole of his philosophy. And Aristotle, it is well known, however

he might retain some essential doctrines of his master, altered

others of the highest importance; and confining himself chiefly to

natural disquisitions, ascended but rarely and feebly to theological

contemplations. However it was not irrecoverably lost; and it

disappeared for a time, only to shine with brighter splendors on its

return. Truth, like the light of the sun, may suffer concealment,

but cannot be destroyed; for it would rather have its rays broken by

resistance than bound to obscurity. About two hundred and fifty two

years, therefore, after the Christian religion had made its appearance,

this sublime theology was restored by one Ammonius Saccas an

Alexandrian. This extraordinary person, was, it seems, at first nothing

more than a porter: though by what methods he rose from this servile

employment to the summit of philosophy, and what happy circumstances

first affected this wonderful change, are enquiries which can never

be answered, but whose loss will always be regretted by the liberal

few. But though he was not Διογενεῖς, nobly born, his doctrines, as

transmitted to us by his disciples, eminently evince his possessing

in high perfection all the other endowments of a true philosopher:

such as a penetrating genius, a docile sagacity, a tenacious memory,

and every other ornament of the soul, requisite, according to Plato,

to form the philosophic character. Indeed he must have possessed

these qualifications in a most remarkable degree; or he could never

have emerged from the obscurity and servility of a porter, to the

splendor and liberty of an exalted and divine philosopher. The truth

of this observation is confirmed by the appellation of θεοδίδακτος, or

_divinely-taught_, which was unanimously conferred on him, by his

contemporary philosophers.

This great man opened a philosophical school at Alexandria, but with a

determination not to commit the more abstruse and theological dogmata

of his philosophy to writing. Indeed he was so fearful of profaning

these sublime mysteries, by exposing them to vulgar inspection, that he

revealed them to his disciples Erennius, Origen, and Plotinus, on the

conditions of inviolable secrecy, and under the guard of irrevocable

oaths. However, fortunately for posterity, Erennius dissolved the

compact, and Origen (different from the Christian father of that

name), imitating Erennius, disclosed a part of his master’s secrets,

in a curious treatise on dæmons, which, among many other valuable

productions, is lost in the ruins of time. But the publications of

these two great men were but trifling efforts to unveil the mystic

wisdom of antiquity: since a perfect revelation was reserved for the

divine genius of Plotinus, who considering himself now freed from

his engagements, by the examples of his fellow disciples, resolved

to bring theology from her dark concealments and to present her to

the astonished world, in all the celestial graces and irresistible

majesty of her natural appearance. This wonderful man (if he was not

something more, since his writings discover a genius superior to the

human), who was born to astonish and enlighten mankind, was the first

who committed to writing the secrets of theology, free from the obscure

enigmas in which she had been enveloped by the sages of antiquity. The

celestial vigor and profundity of his genius, render his conceptions

indeed, unavoidably abstruse: but he who has once fathomed his depth,

will find himself amply compensated for the labour of investigation,

by the rewards of uncommon knowledge and inexpressible delight. There

is a long and curious life of this high priest of theology, and dæmon

of wisdom, extant by his disciple Porphyry, the substance of which, as

it will not I presume be unacceptable to the reader, and as it will

throw great light on the history of theology, I have selected from that

invaluable work.

Plotinus, was an Egyptian by birth, and was a native of Lycopolis,

as we are informed by Eunapius, for Porphyry is wholly silent as to

this particular. Indeed this is not wonderful, if we consider what

Porphyry asserts in the beginning of his life, _that he was ashamed,

that his soul was in body_. Hence says he, he would neither tell the

race, nor the parents from which he originated, nor would he patiently

relate in what country he was born. This I know will be considered by

a genuine modern, as either rank enthusiasm, or gross affectation; but

he who has perused and fathomed his writings will immediately subscribe

to its truth. The same vehement love for intellectual pursuits, and

contempt for body, made him disdain to sit for his picture; so that

when one of his disciples Amelius, begged that he would permit his

likeness to be represented, his answer expressed the true greatness of

his mind: as if (says he) it was not sufficient to bear this image,

with which nature has surrounded us from the first, you think that a

more lasting image of this image should be left as a work worthy to be

inspected. However the desire of Amelius was at length accomplished,

by the ingenious contrivance of one Carterius a painter, who by

frequenting the school of Plotinus, and viewing his countenance with

fixed attention, produced at length from his memory a happy likeness

of the philosopher. Though he was often afflicted with the colic, he

always refused the assistance of clysters, asserting that cures of

this kind were not proper to a man advanced in years. Nor would he

ever receive the assistance of theriacal antidotes, since he said, his

nourishment was not derived from the bodies of even tamer animals. He

likewise abstained from baths: but daily used frictions at home. But

when a grievous pestilence raged[51] at Rome, and the servants who were

accustomed to rub him, fell victims to the disease, from neglecting

cures of this kind, he gradually became a prey to the pestilence. So

great was the violence of this distemper, and its effects so dreadful

on Plotinus, as Eustochius informed Porphyry who was absent, that

through a very great hoarseness, all the clear, and sonorous vigour of

his musical voice was lost; and what was still worse, his eyes were

darkened, and his hands and feet were covered with ulcers. Hence,

becoming incapable of receiving the salutations of his friends, he

left the city; and went to Campania, to the estate of one Zethus, an

ancient departed friend. Necessaries were here administered to him from

the hereditary possessions of Zethus, and were likewise brought from

Minturnus, from the fields of Castricius[52]. But when this divine man

drew near to his dissolution, that period which is no less the dread

of the vulgar than the transport of the philosopher, and which to

Plotinus must be the moment of extatic rapture, Eustochius who dwelt at

Puteolus, was not very hasty in his approaches; doubtless not imagining

he was on the point of making his triumphant exit from a corporeal

life. However when he came into the presence of this departing hero, he

was just in time to receive his dying words, and to preserve the sacred

sentence to posterity. Listen ye profane with reverence, and treasure

in your memories ye wise, the weighty truth it contains! _As yet_

(says he) _I have expected you; and now I consent that my divine

part, may return to that divine nature, which flourishes throughout the

universe_. Such were the last words of this mighty man, which like

those contained in his writings are great and uncommon, wonderful and

sublime. He died at the conclusion of the second year of the emperor

Claudius’ reign; and was at the time of his death in the sixty-sixth

year of his age, according to the information given by Eustochius

to Porphyry. The most trifling particulars relative to the life and

death of so extraordinary a man merit our attention; and indeed we may

presume without being guilty of either superstition or enthusiasm,

that scarcely any thing trifling could mark the existence of such a

powerful and celestial genius. There is nothing, properly speaking,

can be little which has any relation to a character truly great: for

such is the power of uncommon genius, that it confers consequence on

every thing within the sphere of its attraction, and renders every

surrounding circumstance significant and important. Thus immediately on

the death of Plotinus, we are informed by Porphyry that a dragon[53]

which had been concealed under his bed, wandered through a hole in

the wall, and disappeared. But how great must the grief of Porphyry

have been, to be separated from his beloved master, at the time of

his death: from a master by whom he had been esteemed beyond the rest

of his fellow-disciples; and whose loss no succeeding period was ever

likely to repair. Indeed his disciples seem to have been unaccountably

dispersed, at this important crisis: for Porphyry was at Lilybæum,

Amelius at Apamea in Syria, Castricius at Rome, and Eustochius was

alone present at his departure. Porphyry afterwards informs us, in

perfect agreement with the genius of Plotinus, that he never would tell

to any one, the month, or day in which he was born: because he by no

means thought it proper that his nativity should be celebrated with

sacrifices and banquets. Indeed we cannot suppose that he who had such

a vehement contempt for a corporeal life, would be anxious that his

entrance into mortality should be solemnized with festivity; but rather

considering himself with Empedocles, as

“Heaven’s exile straying from the orb of light,”

he would be disposed to lament his captivity, and mourn the degradation

of his nature. However he was not averse to celebrate the nativities of

Socrates and Plato; for he assisted at the sacred rites, and invited

his friends to a philosophic banquet, where it was required that every

guest should recite a written oration, adapted to the occasion of their

amicable association.

But the few particulars which this great man condescended to relate of

himself, in familiar discourse, are the following: When he was eight

years of age, and was even under the tuition of a literary preceptor,

he used to frequent his nurse, and to uncover her breasts, through an

avidity of sucking her milk. And this custom he continued, till being

accused of troublesomness, and covered with shame through the reproof,

he neglected this extraordinary custom. This story however trifling it

may appear, indicates in my opinion the native innocence, and genuine

simplicity of manners which marked the character of Plotinus. It is

a circumstance, which does not merely point to something uncommon;

but it was the harbinger as it were of that purity and sanctity of

life, which so eminently formed the conduct, and adorned the writings

of our philosopher. But when he was in the twenty-eighth year of his

age, being vehemently inflamed with the love of philosophy, he was

recommended to the most excellent masters of Alexandria: but he left

their schools with sorrow and disappointment. By a fortunate event,

however, he told a certain friend, who was well acquainted with the

disposition of his mind, the cause of his affliction, and he brought

him to the celebrated Ammonius, whose school Plotinus had probably

overlooked among the great multitude with which that illustrious city

abounded. But when he had entered the school of Ammonius, and had heard

him philosophize, he exclaimed in transport to his friend, _this is

the man I have been seeking_. From that day he gave himself up to

Ammonius with sedulous attention for eleven years; and made such rapid

advances in his philosophy, that he determined to study the philosophy

of the Persians, and the wisdom particularly cultivated by the Indian

sages. For this exalted purpose, when the emperor Gordian marched into

Persia, in order to war upon that nation, Plotinus joined himself to

the army, being at that time in the nine and thirtieth year of his

age. But after Gordian was destroyed about Mesopotamia, Plotinus fled

to Antioch, where he received a fortunate shelter from the dangers and

devastations of war; and in the reign of the emperor Philip came to

Rome, in the fortieth year of his age. It seems therefore that Plotinus

was disappointed in his purpose at that time of procuring the Persian

and Indian wisdom: it is however certain that he afterwards obtained

his desire; and most probably without the inconvenience of a long and

dangerous journey. This will be evident from perusing his works; and

attending to the latent dogmata they contain.

It was a long time before Plotinus committed his thoughts to writing;

and gave the world a copy of his inimitable mind. That light which was

shortly to illuminate mankind, as yet shone with solitary splendour;

or at best beamed only on a beloved few. It was now destined to emerge

from its awful sanctuary, and to display its radiance with unbounded

diffusion. But a disciple like Porphyry, was requisite to the full

perfection of its appearance. Amelius was indeed laborious, but he

was at the same time verbose: he neither appears to have possessed

the inquisitive spirit, nor the elegant genius of Porphyry; and his

commentaries were too voluminous to be exquisitely good. Porphyry

gives a singular specimen of his endurance of labour, when he informs

us, that he committed to writing almost all the dogmata of Numenius,

and retained a very considerable part in his memory. He was not

however, though an excellent philosopher, calculated to urge Plotinus

to write, or to assist him in its prosecution: but this important

task was reserved for Porphyry, who in the words of Eunapius, “like a

mercurial chain, let down for the benefit of mortals, by the assistance

of universal erudition, explained every thing with clearness and

precision.” Plotinus indeed began to write in the first year of the

emperor Galienus; and he continued just to note such questions as

occurred to him, for the ten following years, in the last of which he

became acquainted with Porphyry, who was at that time in the thirtieth

year of his age. He had then composed one and twenty books, which

were in the hands but of a few: for the edition was difficult to be

procured, and was not universally known. Besides Plotinus, was neither

hasty nor rash in his publications: but he gave those only to the

light, which had been approved, by a mature and deliberate, judgment.

The one and twenty books we have previously mentioned, after various

inscriptions, at length obtained the following titles:

On the beautiful.

On the immortality of the soul.

On fate.

On the essence of the soul.

On intellect, and ideas, and being.

On the descent of the soul into body.

How that which is posterior to the first, proceeds from the first;

and concerning _the one_.

Whether all souls are one.

Concerning the good itself, or _the one_.

On the three principal hypostases.

On the generation and order of things posterior to the first.

On the two matters, intelligible and sensible.

Various considerations.

On the circular motion of the heavens.

On every one’s peculiar Dæmon.

On the rational exit, from the present life.

On quality.

Whether there are ideas of particulars.

On virtues.

On dialectic.

How the soul is said to be a medium between an impartible and

partible essence.

These one and twenty books were finished when Porphyry first became

acquainted with Plotinus; and when this great man was fifty-nine years

old. During the six years in which Porphyry was his companion as well

as disciple, many questions of a very abstruse nature, were discussed

in their philosophical conversations, which at the joint request of

Porphyry and Amelius, Plotinus committed to writing, and produced from

their investigation, two elaborate and admirable books, proving _that

true being is totally present in every part of the universe_. He wrote

besides two others; one of which asserts, _that the nature superior to

being, is without intellection_; and the other _distinguishes primary

from secondary intelligence_. He likewise composed at the same period,

the following books:

Concerning that which exists in capacity, and energy.

[54]That incorporeal natures are free from passivity.

Two books concerning the soul.

A third concerning the soul, or the manner in which we see.

On contemplation.

On intelligible beauty.

That intelligibles are not external to intellect; and concerning

intellect, and the good.

Against the Gnostics.

On numbers.

Why things seen at a distance appear small.

Whether felicity consists in length of time.

Concerning total mixture.

How the multitude of ideas subsists, and concerning the good.

On that which is voluntary.

On the world.

On sense and memory.

Three books on the genera of beings.

On eternity and time.

But while Porphyry resided in Sicily, Plotinus composed the five

following books, which he sent to him for his revision:

On felicity.

Two books on providence.

On gnostic essences, and that which is superior to their nature.

On love.

These books were transmitted to Porphyry in the first year of the

emperor Claudius’ reign. And about the beginning of the second year, a

little before his death, he sent him the following, and the last:

An enquiry into evil.

Whether the stars operate on sublunary natures.

What the nature is of man, and animal.

On the first good, and other goods.

The whole amount therefore of the books written by Plotinus,

connecting the preceding with the present, is fifty-four, which

Porphyry has divided into six enneads, assigning agreeable to the

meaning of the word, nine books to every ennead. But they bear evident

marks (says Porphyry) of the different periods, at which they were

composed. For the first one and twenty, which were written in the

former part of his life, if compared with the next in order seem to

possess an inferior power, and to be deficient in strength. But those

composed in the middle of his life exhibit the vigour of power, and

the summit of perfection. And such with a few exceptions are the four

and twenty we have already enumerated. But the last nine, composed

in the decline of life, carry the marks of remitted energy, and

drooping vigor. And this the four last declare, more evidently than

the preceding five. It must however be observed that this difference

is only visible, when they are contrasted with one another. To an

impartial observer, zealous of truth, and not deeply read in Plotinus,

each of his books will appear to be what it really is, uncommonly

profound, and inimitably sublime. Each is an oracle of wisdom, and a

treasury of invaluable knowledge; and the gradations of excellence

consist in the power of composition, and not in the matter from which

they are composed.

Plotinus had many auditors, and likewise a multitude of zealous

partizans, and philosophic familiars. This indeed must necessarily be

the case, if we consider the reputation of philosophy at that golden

period, and the extraordinary abilities and celestial genius of its

godlike restorer. Among the latter of these, Amelius the Tuscan, and

Paulinus the Scythopolitan, a physician, held a distinguished rank. To

which may be added Eustochius of Alexandria, a physician, who enjoyed

the familiarity of Plotinus to the last, was present at his death,

and giving himself entirely to the institutes of Plotinus, assumed

the habit of a genuine philosopher. Besides these, Zothicus, a critic

and poet, was conversant with Plotinus, who amended the works of

Antimachus, and rendered the Atlantic history very poetically in verse:

but after this he became blind, and died a short space of time prior

to Plotinus. Zethus too, was very familiar with our philosopher, who

derived his origin from Arabia, and married the wife of one Theodosius,

the familiar of Ammonius. He was deeply skilled in medicine, and

very much beloved by Plotinus, who endeavoured to dissuade him from

engaging in the administration of public affairs. Such indeed was his

familiarity with our philosopher, that, as we have already observed,

Plotinus spent the last hours of his life at his rural retreat.

Porphyry likewise informs us, that not a few senators were the sedulous

auditors of Plotinus. Philosophy indeed, as it is the most noble and

liberal of all pursuits, ought never to be separated from noble birth

and exalted rank. It is naturally allied with every thing great, and

is calculated to confer dignity, even on greatness itself. It exalts

the majesty of the monarch, stamps nobility with true grandeur, and

raises the plebean to immortality. In the age of philosophy, therefore,

we cannot wonder that she was reverenced by the senators of Rome. That

illustrious body, even at this declining period, retained a portion of

its ancient independence; and the generous ardor of unbounded liberty

was not yet extinguished by the frozen hand of despotic usurpation.

The Roman manners and _religion_ were not yet destroyed; and nobility

was not contaminated by the sordid occupations of traffic. _Meekness_

was not esteemed a _virtue_, nor _merchandize_ an _honour_!!! Among

this illustrious body of men, Marcellus Orontius diligently applied

himself to philosophy, and made rapid advances in its attainment. This

too, was the case with Sabinillus, and above all with the senator

Rogatianus[55]. So deeply enamoured was this last nobleman with the

charms of wisdom, and the discourses of Plotinus, and so attentive

to the care of separating his soul from his corporeal life, that he

neglected his wealth, and secular affairs, dismissed his servants, and

rejected the dignities of the state. Hence, when he was chosen prætor,

and the lictors waited for his appearance, he neither came into public,

nor regarded the duties of his office, nor dwelt in the house allotted

for his reception: but he supped and slept with certain of his friends

and familiars, and gave himself to absolute retirement in the day. By

this negligence and carelessness of life (says Porphyry), from being so

vehemently afflicted with the gout, that he was obliged to be carried

in a chair, he resumed his pristine strength and vigour. And from being

so diseased in his hands, that he could not extend them when necessary,

he so recovered their use by philosophic endurance, as to employ them

with greater expedition than the manual mechanic. This great man, as we

may suppose, possessed the principal place in the esteem of Plotinus,

who was not sparing in his praise of so uncommon a character, and

proposed him as an illustrious example to the pupils of philosophy.

Happy Rogatianus! who could relinquish power for knowledge, and prefer

the perpetual inheritance of wisdom to the gaudy splendors of title,

and the fleeting honours of command. Alexandrinus Serapion too, was one

of his associates, who was once a rhetorician, but afterwards, gave

himself to philosophical disputations; though, shameful to relate,

he was at the same time a slave to usury, and avarice. Besides all

these (says Porphyry), he reckoned me a native of Tyre, among his most

friendly adherents, whom he appointed to correct his writings.

The following particulars relative to composition are related by

Porphyry of this extraordinary man. He could by no means endure to

review twice what he had written, nor even to read his composition,

through the badness of his sight. But while he was writing, he neither

formed the letters with accuracy, nor exactly distinguished the

syllables, nor bestowed any diligent attention on the orthography:

but neglecting all these as trifles, he was alone intent to the

intelligence of his wonderful mind; and, to the admiration of all

his disciples, persevered in this custom to the end of his life. To

a man of mere words, Plotinus will doubtless appear inexcusable for

such _important_ omissions: but to the sublime and contemplative

genius, his negligence will be considered as the result of vehement

conception, and profound cogitation. Such, indeed, was the power of his

intellect, that when he had once conceived the whole disposition of his

thoughts from the beginning to the end, and had afterwards committed

them to writing, his composition was so connected, that he appeared to

be merely transcribing from a book. Hence he would discuss his domestic

affairs without departing from the actual intention of his mind; and

at the same time transact the necessary negociations of friendship,

and preserve a perpetual intelligence of his thoughts. In consequence

of this uncommon power of intellection, when he returned to writing,

after the departure of the person with whom he had been conversing,

he did not review what he had written, owing, as we have observed,

to the defect of his sight; and yet he so connected the preceding

with the subsequent conceptions, as if his composition had never been

interrupted. Hence he was, at the same time present with others, and

with himself, so that, as Porphyry observes, the self-converted energy

of his intellect was never remitted, except perhaps in sleep, which

he very moderately indulged. And so vigorous and frequent was the

conversion of his soul to intellect, that he would often abstain from

bread, swallowed up, as it were, in the depths of contemplation.

Several women too, enamoured with the love of wisdom, were the

auditors of Plotinus. The Platonic philosophy, indeed, as it

necessarily combines truth with elegance, is naturally adapted to

captivate and allure the female mind, in which the love of symmetry

and gracefulness is generally pre-dominant. Hence, in every age,

except the present, many illustrious females have adorned the Platonic

schools, by the brilliancy of their genius, and as uncommon vigour and

profundity of thought. This too, would doubtless be the case in our

own country, if all the works of Plato and his disciples were but once

faithfully and elegantly translated into English: but till the obstacle

of Greek is removed, we may in vain expect thinking females[56], and

I had almost said Platonic philosophers among men. Porphyry adds,

that many men and women of noble birth, when at the point of death,

delivered up, and commended their children and all their substance

to Plotinus as to a sacred and divine guardian. Hence, says he, you

might see the house of Plotinus full, both of young men and virgins,

among the number of which was one Potamon, whom he educated with

diligence and care. Nor was he wearied in hearing the procurators of

his pupils, often rendering an account of their administration; nor

did he disdain to pay attention to their expences, affirming, that as

they did not yet philosophize, they ought to possess their own goods,

and to receive, without detriment, an increase of their estate. Yet

though he procured for so many pupils the chief necessaries of life,

the intellectual energy of his soul while he was awake, never suffered

any interruption from externals, nor any remission of vigour. He was

extremely mild, though not _meek_[57], in his manners, and was easy

of access to all his adherents and friends. Hence, so great was his

philosophic urbanity, that though he resided at Rome twenty-six years,

and had been the arbiter of many litigious causes, which he amicably

dissolved, yet he had no enemy throughout that great and illustrious

city. This last circumstance, indeed, reflects the highest honour on

the philosophic character of Plotinus; but, at the same time, some

merit is due to the age in which he fortunately lived. Had he been

destined to make his appearance in the present times, unsupported by

fortune, and with no other recommendation than an uncommon greatness

of mind, and an unequalled depth of thought; from being despised,

insulted, and distressed, he must surely have been indignant, though

not morose, and severe though not agitated with wrath. He would have

been scornful without pride, contemptuous without weakness, patient

without servility, and solitary without affectation. He would have

lived without notice, wrote with success, and died without regret. But

born to a happier fate, his genius was not doomed to languish in the

shades of obscurity, but attained to the blossom of perfection in the

sun-shine of philosophy, and through the liberal pains of Grecian and

Roman cultivation.

But though Plotinus was thus universally esteemed at Rome, and in

general by all who had the happiness of his acquaintance, yet he

had one vehement enemy in the person of Alexandrinus Olympius, who

had been for a short time the disciple of Ammonius, who desired to

arrogate to himself the chief place in philosophy, and endeavoured to

render Plotinus the object of general contempt. So deadly, indeed,

was his hatred of our philosopher, that he attempted to invade him,

by drawing down the baneful influences of the stars. The attempt

was, however, vain, and its effects noxious to their author. For the

sidereal defluctions, instead of being hurtful to Plotinus, were

reflected on Olympius. Hence he exclaimed to his companions, “that the

soul of Plotinus possessed such a mighty power, that it immediately

repelled malignant influences directed upon his person, on the

authors of the evil.” But Plotinus, when Olympius first machinated

his sidereal inchantments, was conscious of his design, and said to

his friends; “Now the body of Olympius is contracted like a purse,

and all his members are bruised together.” After Olympius, therefore,

had often found to his own detriment, that the baneful influences

intended for Plotinus were repelled on himself, he desisted from such

base and fruitless undertakings. Indeed, says Porphyry, Plotinus

naturally possessed something greater than the rest of mankind, which

the following extraordinary relation abundantly evinces. A certain

Egyptian priest, who at that time visited Rome, and who became suddenly

known to Plotinus by one of his friends (perhaps Porphyry himself),

desirous to exhibit his wisdom in that illustrious city, persuaded

our philosopher to attend him, for the purpose of beholding, through

his invocations, his familiar dæmon; to which request he readily

consented. But the invocation was performed in the temple of Isis;

this being the only pure place in Rome the Egyptian priest was able to

find. However, instead of a dæmon, as was expected, a god approached,

who was not (says Porphyry) in the genus of dæmons. The Egyptian

astonished at the unexpected event, exclaimed, “Happy Plotinus, who

hast a god for a dæmon, and whose familiar attendant does not rank

among the inferior-kind!” But this extraordinary and delightful

vision was of short duration: for the priest affirmed it was not then

lawful to interrogate any thing, nor any longer to enjoy the vision,

because a certain common contemplative friend, who was present at the

spectacle, suffocated some birds which he held in his hands for the

sake of safety, either impelled by envy, or terrified with fear. As

Plotinus, therefore, was allotted a dæmon belonging to the diviner

orders, the divine eye of his soul was perpetually elevated to this

guardian deity. On this account he composed a book _concerning every

man’s familiar dæmon_, in which he diligently endeavours to assign the

causes of the diversity subsisting among these attendants on mankind.

As a still farther proof of his uncommon greatness of mind, Porphyry

adds, that when Amelius who was an observer of sacred rites, in which

he officiated, according to the Roman calends, once requested Plotinus

to attend him in the discharge of these religious ceremonies, he

replied, “It becomes them to approach to me, and not me to them.” But

from what conceptions (says Porphyry), he spoke in such an exalted

manner of himself, we were unable to conceive, and afraid to ask. We

may, however, presume, that Plotinus meant to insinuate the high degree

of purity and perfection of his intellectual part, which rendered him

so superior to the use of corporeal sacrifices, and the cultivation of

material deities, and dæmons, that he ought rather to be propitiated by

others, than to propitiate himself. For a soul like his, was, indeed,

to use his own expression, ὕϛερος θεὸς, _a posterior god_, ready winged

for flight, and scarcely detained by the fetters of body. This I know

will pass for great arrogance and presumption among the philosophers

of the present day, who consider _meekness_ and _humility_ as the

highest ornaments of their nature, and the truest characteristics of

genuine worth. But surely a sublime and godlike soul can never think

_meanly_ of its nature, or be willing to suppress and extinguish the

inevitable consciousness of its own dignity and elevation. Humiliating

conceptions flourish no where but in the breasts of the servile, or

the base; and are the ornaments of no characters, but those of the

impotent and the mean. Their influence is baneful to the advancement

of science, and destructive of all genuine excellence and worth. They

damp the glowing ardour of true theology, curb the celestial flight

of philosophy, and blast the vigourous blossoms of genius. Let it,

however, be remembered, that while we banish meekness, we are by no

means the advocates of arrogance and conceit; but are alone desirous of

vindicating the proper dignity of the worthy soul, and of rescuing its

generous and ardent confidence from the frigid embraces of humiliating

opinion. It is one thing to be _modest_, and another to be _meek_:

for the former is the shadow attendant on genius, inseparable from

its progress, and the symbol of its reality; but the latter is the

dæmon of traffic, the inspirer of its projects, the support of its

credit, and the harbinger of its appearance. It flies from the face

of genius like the shadows of night before the beams of the morning,

and, terrified at the approach of the elevated mind, hides itself in

the dark retreats of trembling pusillanimity. But to return from this

digression: Plotinus appears to have possessed an unequalled skill

in physiognomy, as the following circumstance eminently evinces. A

lady, named Chion, who, together with her daughters resided in his

house, and there happily passed a chaste widowhood, was fraudulently

deprived of a very valuable necklace. In consequence of this, all the

servants and domestics were summoned into the presence of Plotinus,

who regarded their several countenances, selected one, and accused him

of the theft. The man was immediately chastised, and for a long time

denied the fact, but at length confessed his guilt, and restored the

necklace. In a similar manner (says Porphyry) he wonderfully predicted

the destiny of the young men of his acquaintance; as of one Polemo, he

foretold, that he would be very much addicted to love, and not arrive

to the maturity of his age, which happened according to his prediction.

But the last instance of his sagacity, related by Porphyry, excels all

the rest, both in the singular skill displayed in its execution, and

the happy consequences it produced. Porphyry, as we are informed by

Eunapius, in his life, on his first acquaintance with Plotinus, bade

a final farewel to all his preceptors, and totally applied himself to

the friendship and confidence of this wonderful man. Here he filled

his mind with science, and drew abundantly, without satiety, from the

perennial fountain, seated in the sanctuary of the soul of Plotinus.

But afterwards being conquered, as it were, by the magnitude of his

doctrines, he conceived a hatred of body, and human nature, and could

no longer endure the fetters of mortality. “Hence (says Porphyry) I

formed an intention of destroying myself, which Plotinus wonderfully

perceived, and as I was walking home, stood before me, and said, _Your

present design, O Porphyry, is not the dictate of a sound intellect_,

_but rather of a soul raging with an atrabilious fury_. In consequence

of this, he ordered me to depart from Rome, and accordingly I went into

Sicily, particularly when I heard that a certain worthy and elegant

man dwelt at that time about Lilybæum. And by this means, indeed, I

was liberated from this perturbation of soul, but was in the mean time

hindered from being with Plotinus till his death.”

But the great reputation of this divine man was not confined to the

senate and people of Rome, for the emperor Galienus, and his wife

Salonina, honoured his person, and reverenced his doctrine. Indeed,

so highly was he esteemed by the emperor, that, relying on his

benevolence, he requested that a city in Campania, which had been

formerly destroyed, might be restored, and rendered a fit habitation

for philosophers; and besides this, that it might be governed by the

laws of Plato, and called Platonopolis. Had this design succeeded,

Plotinus intended to have dwelt there with all his disciples, and

to have realized the beautiful republic, conceived by the godlike

genius of Plato. The emperor, indeed, assented to his wishes, and the

philosopher would have easily accomplished his intentions, if some of

the emperor’s familiars, impelled by envy or indignation, or some other

injust and selfish cause, had not warmly opposed its execution.

This extraordinary man (as we are informed by Porphyry) was strenuous

in discourse, sagacious in invention, and prompt in the most opportune

perceptions: but he was frequently incorrect in his speech, as well

as in writing; and this most probably owing to the vehemence and

vigour of his conceptions. Besides this, while he was engaged in

discourse, his intellect beamed through his corporeal frame, and

diffused over his countenance its intimate light. He was, indeed, of a

most beautiful aspect, but when he disputed (says Porphyry) he seemed

far more lovely to the view. Then a placid gentleness appeared in

receiving questions; and a vigour uncommonly robust was demonstrated

in their dissolution. When Porphyry once had interrogated him for

three days, _by what means principally the soul was united with the

body_, he persevered in demonstrating the manner of its conjunction.

And when a certain person, named Thaumasius, entered his school, for

the purpose of discussing common questions in philosophy, and premised

that he wished to hear the explanatory sentences of Plotinus, but that

the questions and answers of Porphyry were by no means adapted to a

disputation of this kind, Plotinus replied: _unless we dissolve the

doubts arising from the interrogations of Porphyry, we shall not be

able to comment any thing, in an uninterrupted series of discourse_.

But he wrote with a most intense acuteness of thought, and an abundant

intellect. His writings are remarkably sententious, and he abounds,

every where, more with profundity of sense than copiousness of words.

“He poured forth (says Porphyry) many things agitated by the impulse

of inspiring deity; and was often wonderfully affected with the

object of his investigation.” With me indeed every page of his works

is a _volume_, and every sentence an _oracle_. The latent dogmata of

the Stoics, and Peripatetics, are inserted in his books; and more

particularly the Sentences of Aristotle posterior to his Physics. He

was ignorant of nothing pertaining to geometry, arithmetic, optics,

and music, though he had never reduced these sciences to practice. The

commentaries of the Platonic philosophers, Cronius, Numenius, Gaius,

Atticus; as also of the Peripatetics, Aspasius, Alexander, Adrastus,

&c. were read in his schools: but nothing was repeated from these in

an uninterrupted series. For his conceptions were entirely his own;

and his contemplations were different from theirs. In interpretation,

and the discussion of questions, he bore the intellect of Ammonius.

As soon as he was sufficiently imbued with reading, and had given, in

a short discourse, sentences full of profound contemplation he arose,

and left the school. Having once read the book of Longinus concerning

principles, he said, _that Longinus was indeed a philologist, but by

no means a philosopher_; and this indeed, as it appears to me, by a

necessary consequence: for the knowledge of _words_ is entirely foreign

from the study of _things_. When Origen (not the Christian father

of that name) once came into his school, Plotinus whose cheeks were

covered with blushes, wished to rise, and being sollicited by Origen

to continue his discourse, he replied “that discourse ought to cease,

when he who speaks perceives he addresses himself to those who are well

acquainted with his doctrine.” And thus after a short dissertation he

arose from thence.

When in the celebration of Plato’s nativity, Porphyry recited a poem

_on the sacred marriage_[58], and a certain person who was present

objected that Porphyry was mad, because many things were said in

the poem mystically, and inspired by a divine fury, Plotinus openly

exclaimed, “You have shewn yourself at the same time both a philosopher

and a priest.” On a certain time too an orator, named Diophanes, read

an apology for the intoxicated Alcibiades in the banquet of Plato,

endeavouring to prove that it was proper for the sake of learning

virtue that the lover should expose himself to the object of his

attachment, and not even refuse venereal congress. But while he was

reading this licentious defence, Plotinus often rose from his seat,

as if he would suddenly leave the assembly: but he restrained himself

till it was finished. However, when he left the company, he commanded

Porphyry to confute the oration. But when Porphyry desired the

orator to lend him his discourse, for this purpose, and was refused,

he answered him from recollection, and delivered his answer in the

presence of the same auditors as had attended Diophanes. On this

occasion Plotinus was so much rejoiced, that he often repeated in the

assembly

“Thus write, and you’ll illuminate mankind[59].”

Our philosopher too, applied himself to the rules of astronomy, though

(says Porphyry) not according to a very mathematical mode. That is, as

we may presume, he very little regarded the calculation of eclipses,

or measuring the distance of the sun and moon from the earth, or

determining the magnitudes and velocities of the planets: for he

doubtless considered employments of this kind as more the province of

the mathematician than of the profound and intellectual philosopher.

The mathematical sciences are indeed the proper _means_ of acquiring

wisdom, but they ought never to be considered as its _end_. They are

the bridge as it were between sense and intellect, by which we may

safely pass through the night of oblivion over the dark and stormy

ocean of matter, to the lucid regions of the intelligible world: and

he who is desirous of returning to his true country will speedily pass

over this bridge, without making any needless delays in his passage.

Plotinus also diligently applied himself to the judgments of the

astrologers; but when he found that their predictions were not worthy

of belief, he often confuted their presages in his writings.

At that time there were many Christians, and likewise some heathens,

who forsaking the ancient philosophers, became the followers of

Adelphius and Aquilinus. These men circulated a variety of books

of Alexander, Libycus, Philocomus, Demostratus, Lydus; and openly

exhibited certain revelations of Zoroaster, Zostrianus, Nicotheus,

Allogenes, Mesus, with others of a similar kind. By this means they

deceived many, and were themselves deceived, asserting that Plato had

by no means penetrated the depth of an intelligible essence. On this

occasion, Plotinus urged many arguments in his disputations against

these impostors, and composed a book in confutation of their tenets,

inscribed, _against the Gnostics_, leaving a farther discussion of

their errors to the labours of his disciples. Hence Amelius composed

forty books against the book of Zostrianus; and Porphyry shewed by

a variety of arguments, that the writings which they attributed to

Zoroaster, were adulterated and recent, and were composed by the

propagators of the heresy, that their institutions might pass for the

genuine doctrines of the ancient Zoroaster.

Many of the Greeks (says Porphyry) falsly accused Plotinus of

privately usurping the doctrines of Numenius, which calumny Tryphon,

a Stoic and Platonist, told to Amelius. On this occasion Amelius

composed a book, inscribed by Porphyry; _Concerning the difference

between the dogmata of Plotinus and Numenius_, which he dedicated to

Porphyry. Every one of the books, indeed, of this great man bear such

evident marks of original thought, and singular depth, the execution

in each is so similar, and the conceptions so uncommonly abstruse,

that no one can understand his meaning, and believe him indebted to

the labours of others. Porphyry adds, that he was likewise considered

by many as a mere trifler, and treated with contempt, because says he

they could by no means comprehend his sayings. Besides the manners of

Plotinus contributed to produce and increase this disdain, for he was

foreign (says Porphyry) from all sophistical ostentation, and pride;

and conducted himself in the company of disputants, with the same

freedom and ease as in his familiar discourses. With the superficial

and the vain, a haughty carriage and severe aspect are considered as

the badges of wisdom: but nothing in reality is more foreign from

its possession. For true wisdom when it is deeply possessed gives

affability and modesty to the manners, illumines the countenance with

a divine serenity, and diffuses over the whole external form an air of

dignity and ease. Add to this, that Plotinus did not hastily disclose

to every one, the syllogistic necessities, which were latent in his

discourse. “The same thing (says Porphyry) happened to me, when I

first heard Plotinus. On which account I endeavoured to provoke him,

by writing against him, endeavouring to shew _that intellections are

not external to intellect_.” But after the writings of Porphyry

on this subject were read to Plotinus, he said, smiling; “It must be

your employment Amelius, to dissolve these doubts, occasioned by his

ignorance of our opinion.” After Amelius, therefore, had composed

no small book against the objections of Porphyry, and Porphyry had

again contradicted his writings, and was once more answered by

Amelius: “At length (says Porphyry) having scarcely after all these

attempts fathomed the depth of Plotinus, I changed my opinion, wrote

a recantation of my error, which I recited in a general assembly,

considered the books of Plotinus ever after as most worthy of belief,

and provoked my master by every possible means to disclose his opinion

in a more particular and copious manner.” This relation is a most

egregious instance of the unequalled profundity, as well as excellence

of Plotinus’s writings: for who will presume to question the merit of

composition, which was at first so difficult to be comprehended, and

afterwards so greatly admired by such a genius as Porphyry? By a genius

equally accurate, elegant and profound, who knew how to combine the

Graces with Philosophy and Science, and to adorn the majestic brows of

truth with the flowers of enchanting elocution.

But the testimony of the celebrated Longinus concerning our

philosopher, sufficiently evinces his uncommon excellence and worth;

and in the present age will probably be more esteemed than the eulogium

of Porphyry. In a letter, therefore, which he wrote to Porphyry

desiring him to come from Sicily into Phœnicia where he resided, and to

bring with him the books of Plotinus, he writes among other things as

follows: “These books (meaning those of Plotinus) are not moderately

faulty, so that I have no means of using them, though I desire above

measure to consider what Plotinus has written concerning the _soul_,

and on _being_.” And again: “Do not send these books but bring them

with you, and not these alone, but any others which may have escaped

the notice of Amelius. _For why should I not enquire, with the greatest

diligence, after the writings of this man, which deserve the highest

honour and veneration?_ This indeed I have always signified to you,

both when present and absent, and when you resided at Tyre, that I

could not understand many of the hypotheses of Plotinus’s books, _but

that I immoderately loved and reverenced the manner of his writing, the

density of his conceptions, and the very philosophic disposition of his

questions. And indeed I judge that the investigators of truth ought

only to compare the books of Plotinus with the most excellent works._”

This testimony of Longinus is the more remarkable, as, prior to this,

he had for a long time despised our philosopher, through the ignorant

aspersions of others. The wonderful genius of Plotinus, was indeed so

concealed under the garb of modesty, that before fame had announced

his worth, it was only visible to a penetrating and sagacious few. But

Longinus (says Porphyry) thought the works of Plotinus which he had

received from Amelius incorrect, through the fault of the transcribers,

because he was unacquainted with his usual elocution: for if any, the

books in the possession of Amelius were correct, because they were

transcribed from the manuscripts of Plotinus. Porphyry has likewise

preserved the preface of a book composed by Longinus, inscribed,

_concerning the end_, and dedicated to Plotinus and Amelius, in the

course of which he thus speaks of our philosopher. “_Plotinus and

Gentilianus Amelius are replete with a copiousness of propositions,

which they studiously discuss, and have seriously chosen the employment

of writing, using a mode of contemplation peculiar, and their own.

And Plotinus indeed, as it seems, has more certainly explained the

Pythagoric and Platonic principles than his predecessors. For the

writings of Numenius, Cronius, Moderatus, and Thrasyllus, are not to be

compared, for accuracy in any part, with the books of Plotinus on the

same subjects._”

If such then is the decision of Longinus concerning the abilities and

writings of this extraordinary man: of Longinus who is celebrated by

one of our first poets, _as inspired by all the Nine_; and whose

literary reputation is universal; what judgment must we form of the

philosophic taste of the present age, when we find that the very name

of Plotinus is known but to a few, and his works scarcely to any? The

inference is obvious: let the reader draw it, and lament. But (says

Porphyry), if it be requisite to employ the testimony of the wise, who

is wiser than a god? Than a god, who truly said of himself:

[60]The number of the sands is known to me,

And the broad measure of the mighty sea.

I know the thoughts within the dumb conceal’d,

And words I hear, by language unreveal’d.

And this is no other than Apollo, who when Amelius enquired, where the

soul of Plotinus had emigrated, answered in divine numbers, as follows:

To strains immortal full of heav’nly fire,

My harp I tune well strung with vocal wire;

Dear to divinity a friend I praise,

Who claims those notes a god alone can raise.

For him a god in verse mellifluous sings,

And beats with golden rod the trembling strings.

Be present Muses and with general voice

And all the powers of harmony rejoice;

Let all the measures of your art be try’d,

In rapt’rous sounds, as when Achilles dy’d:

When Homer’s melody the band inspir’d,

And god like furies every bosom fir’d.

And lo! the sacred choir of Muses join,

And in one general hymn their notes combine.

I Phœbus in the midst to whom belong

The sacred pow’rs of verse, begin the song.

Genius sublime! once bound in mortal ties,

A dæmon now and more than mortals wise;

Freed from those members that with deadly weight

And stormy whirl inchain’d thy soul of late:

O’er lifes rough ocean thou hast gain’d that shore,

Where storms molest, and change impairs no more;

And struggling through its deeps with vig’rous mind,

Pass’d the dark stream, and left base souls behind.

Plac’d where no darkness ever can obscure,

Where nothing enters sensual and impure;

Where shines eternal minds unclouded ray,

And gilds the realms of intellectual day.

Oft merg’d in matter by strong leaps you try’d,

To bound aloft, and cast its folds aside;

To shun the bitter stream of sanguine life,

Its whirls of sorrow, and its storms of strife.

While in the middle of its boist’rous waves,

Thy soul robust, the deeps deaf tumult braves;

Oft beaming from the gods thy piercing sight,

Beheld in paths oblique a heav’nly light:

Whence rapt from sense with energy divine,

Before thy eyes immortal splendors shine;

Whose plenteous rays in darkness most profound,

Thy steps directed and illumin’d round.

Nor was the vision like the dreams of sleep,

But seen while vigilant you brave the deep;

While from your eyes you shake the gloom of night,

The glorious prospects burst upon your sight:

Prospects, beheld but rarely by the wise,

Tho’ men divine, and fav’rites of the skies.

But now set free from the lethargic folds,

By which th’ indignant soul dark matter holds;

The natal bonds deserted, now you soar,

And rank with Dæmon forms a man no more.

In that blest realm where love and friendship reign,

And pleasures ever dwell unmixt with pain;

Where streams ambrosial in immortal course

Irriguous flow, from Deity their source.

No dark’ning clouds those happy skies assail,

And the calm æther knows no stormy gale.

Supremely blest thy lofty soul abides,

Where Minos and his brother judge presides;

Just Æacus, and Plato the divine,

And fair Pythag’ras there exalted shine;

With other souls who form the general choir,

Of love immortal, and of pure desire;

And who one common station are assign’d,

With Genii of the most exalted kind.

Thrice happy thou! who life’s long labours past,

With holy Dæmons dost reside at last:

From body loosen’d, and from cares at rest,

Thy life perpetual, and divine thy feast.

Now ev’ry Muse who for Plotinus sings,

Here cease with me to tune the warbling strings;

For thus my golden harp with art divine,

Has told, Plotinus! endless bliss is thine.