In these meadows, then, _the images of the dead_ are said to reside.

Now these εἴδωλα, or _images_, are no other than those vehicles of

the soul, which have been so copiously, and admirably discussed by

Synesius, in the preceding quotation from his book on dreams, and

which, from their residence in the starry regions, must be luciform,

etherial, and pure. It is this phantastic spirit, or primary vehicle of

the soul, which Virgil alludes to, in these beautiful lines:

----exinde per amplum

Mittimur Elysium, et pauci læta arva tenemus:

Donec longa dies perfecto temporis orbe

Concretum exemit labem, purumque reliquit

Ætherium sensum, atque auraï simplicis iguem.

i.e. “We are afterwards sent through ample Elysium, and a few of us

possess the joyful plains: till a long period, when the revolving orb

of time has perfected its circulation, frees the soul from its concrete

stains, and leaves the etherial sense pure, together with _the fire

(or splendour) of simple æther_.” For here he evidently conjoins the

rational soul, or _the etherial sense_, with its splendid vehicle, or

_the fire of simple ether_; since it is well known that this vehicle

according to Plato, is rendered by proper purgation αὐγοειδές, or

_luciform_, and divine. It must here however be observed that souls in

these _meadows of asphodel_, or _summit of Pluto’s empire_, are in a

falling state; or in other words through the secret influx of matter,

begin to desire a terrene situation. And this explains the reason why

Hercules in the infernal regions, is represented by Homer boasting of

his terrene exploits and glorying in his pristine valour: why Achilles

laments his situation in these abodes; and souls in general are engaged

in pursuits, similar to their employments on the earth: for all this

is the natural consequence of a propensity to a mortal nature, and a

desertion of the regions every way lucid and divine. Let the reader too

observe, that, according to the arcana of the Platonic doctrine, the

first and truest seat of the soul, is in the intelligible world, where

she lives entirely divested of body, and enjoys the ultimate felicity

of her nature. And this is what Homer divinely insinuates when he says:

Τὸν δὲ μέτ’, εἰσενόησα βίην Ἡρακληείην,

Εἴδωλον· αὐτὸς δὲ μετ’ ἀθανάτοισι θεοῖσι

Τέρπεται ἐν θαλίῃς, καὶ ἔχει καλλίσφυρον Ἥβην.----κ. τ. λ.

i.e. “after this I saw the Herculean power, or _image_: but Hercules

himself is with the immortal gods, delighting in celestial banquets,

and enjoying the beautiful-footed Hebe.” Since for the soul to dwell

with the gods entirely separated from its vehicle, is to abide in the

intelligible world, and to exercise, as Plotinus expresses it, the more

sacred contests of wisdom.

Should it be enquired why departed souls, though in a state of

felicity are compared by Homer to _dreams_ and shadows, I answer with

Porphyry (apud Stob. p. 132.) that they are shadows with respect to

human concerns, both because they are destitute of body, and are void

of memory: for after they have passed the Stygian river, they are

entirely ignorant of their pristine life on the earth, though they

recognize, and converse with each, other, as is evident from the

discourses between Patroclus, Ajax, and Antilochus. Indeed together

with memory, they lose all knowledge of corporeal resemblances, which

are rendered apparent through the ministry of the phantasy. For since

the phantasy consists from memory, as Plato asserts in the Phelebus;

whatever we imagine perishes with the memory; and when this is taken

away all the perturbations of the soul are removed, as she then becomes

wholly intellectual and passes into a state divinely prudent and wise.

However, by means of the blood, which, as we have before observed, is,

according to Homer, the instrument of the phantastic soul, departed

spirits recognize material forms, and recollect their pristine

condition on the earth. And to the phantasy reasoning pertains; since

it is nothing more than an aggregation of memory, collected through

imaginations, into the judgment of universals. But this is very

different from the _intellective energy_, acquired by the soul beyond

Acheron, which Cocytus and Pyriphlegethon fill, from the whirling

streams of the dreadful Styx. Let the reader, however, remember that

the phantasy is two-fold, communicating in its supreme part with the

rational soul, and in its inferior part with sense; and that it is this

inferior part which the soul deserts, when it acquires an intellectual

condition of being.

[93] Iliad xxiv. l. 527.

[94] This was no doubt fully proved by Porphyry, in some of his

unfortunately lost writings; such as his book _on the philosophy of

Homer_; or that, _on the Allegories of the Grecian and Egyptian

Theology_, of which we have already made mention. However, it does

not seem impossible, from the hints afforded us in this excellent

treatise, for a person conversant in the Platonic philosophy, to evince

the truth of this assertion. Presuming, therefore, that an attempt of

this kind will be acceptable to the liberal reader, though my abilities

are far inferior to those of Porphyry; I shall request his attention to

the contents, and his pardon for the length of the ensuing discourse.

I only promise, that I shall make use of a small treatise in Greek, on

the wanderings of Ulysses, by an anonymous author, where he appears to

have penetrated the sense of the allegory; and freely reject his in

terpretation, when foreign from the leading character of Ulysses, above

mentioned, according to Numenius and Porphyry.

The first apparently fabulous adventure then of Ulysses, is that of

the Lotophagi; a coast upon which he was driven by the violence of the

winds; and which produced a fruit called Lotos, whose enchanting taste

caused oblivion, and a vehement desire of perpetually abiding with the

Lotophagi. Or as it is beautifully described by Homer, in the elegant

version of Mr. Pope:

The trees around them all their fruit produce,

Lotos the name, divine, nectarious juice!

(Thence call’d Lotophagi) which whoso tastes,

Insatiate riots in the sweet repasts,

Nor other home, nor other care intends,

But quits his house, his country, and his friends:

The three we sent from off th’ enchanting ground

We dragg’d reluctant, and by force we bound:

The rest in haste forsook the pleasing shore,

Or, the charm tasted, had return’d no more.

Lib. ix. l. 94. &c.

Here we view Ulysses subject to different desires, and blown about by

contrary blasts of fortune, inconsiderately permitting the various

affections of his soul to be engaged in improper employments; who,

after they have tasted of sensual pleasures, and fraudulent manners,

refuse to return to ruling intellect, and the natural good habits of

the soul. Hence, fascinated by delight, they consign their country

and kindred to oblivion; and desire to live forever lost in the

intoxication of pleasure. Reason, however, no longer sustaining that

her dignity should be obscured by depraved enjoyment, immediately

recalls the affections from fraudulent deeds; which is represented by

Ulysses withdrawing his men from the coasts of Lotophagi. After this

she binds and restrains them, by the most weighty arguments, so as to

prevent them from afterwards returning to evil. And indeed, she treats

the affected parts of the soul, in a manner accommodated to their

disease; and strengthens and fortifies such as are not affected, and

removes them from the possession of noxious delight.

The next adventure of Ulysses is that of the Cyclops, whom he deprived

of sight, and irritated with reproaches. Now, according to Porphyry

in the above excellent treatise, this is no other than a malignant

natal dæmon, who destroys by his stratagems the good affections of the

soul; which is occultly signified by Ulysses loosing his companions,

through the brutal appetite of the destructive dæmon. Ulysses,

however, lamenting the dreadful effects of his voluntary confinement,

meditates, and at length accomplishes his deliverance, together with

that of the remaining good habits of his soul; and glories in resuming

the liberty he has lost. But this fable indeed contains one of the

greatest arcana of philosophy: for this is what Synesius occultly

intimates, in the preceding quotation from his book on dreams; when

he speaks of matter marking her votaries in her secret volume, and

severely punishing such as desert from her service. Thus Ulysses after

a voluntary submission to his natal dæmon, by indulging the irrational

appetites and desires of his soul, flies from his base servitude; and

adds irritations to his flight. He is, however, pursued by the anger

of the marine and material dæmons, and punished for his escape. For

he who blinds the eye of sense, and extinguishes its light, after his

will has profoundly assented to its use, must expect punishment for

the attempt; as necessary to his own private good, and the general

order of the universe. Indeed, troubles and misfortunes resulting

from such undertakings, not only contribute to appease the anger of

their malevolent authors, but likewise purify and benefit the subjects

of their revenge. He, therefore, who in the present life, perceives

himself like Ulysses, attended by uncommon misfortunes, while he is

in the road of virtue, and eagerly searching for wisdom, may safely

conclude, that either here, or in a prior state of existence, he has

voluntarily submitted to the power of his natal dæmon, and has now

deprived him of sight; and that he has been profoundly delighted with

the nature of matter, and is now abrogating the confessions which he

made. This too is insinuated in the beautiful story of Psyche, by

Apuleius, when the terrestrial Venus, sends Mercury, with a book in

which her name is inscribed, to apprehend Psyche as a fugitive from her

mistress. For this whole story relates to the descent of the soul into

this terrene body, and its wanderings and punishments till it returns

to its true country and pristine felicity. And this I may probably

demonstrate in some future period, by publishing a translation of this

admirable fable, and a comment on the divine mysteries it contains. We

must here, however, observe, that as the advancements of Ulysses in

virtue are but moderate, till he leaves Calypso; so the greatest of

his troubles commence after that period, as our discourse will shortly

evince.

In the next fable, which is that of Æolus, a being, as the name

implies, various and versatile, though hospitable and benignant, we see

Ulysses sorrowful and wandering, through the anger of his natal dæmon,

enquiring after a refuge from misfortune; though not as becomes one

studious of piety, but committing himself to enchanters and magicians,

and relying on their incantations for his deliverance from danger. He

cannot, however, accomplish his end, by such undertakings, but remains

frustrated of his hope, and filled with shame for his disappointment.

The Poet too, by attributing the ill success of Ulysses to his sleep,

egregiously insinuates that the rational soul was in a dormant state,

when he confided in practices so incapable of producing the desired

end, and so inconsistent with the goods which intellect confers. Such

methods, indeed, as they increase the desire of success, so they

present strongly to our view, the distant object of our pursuit;

but this is immediately succeeded by the sleep of reason, and the

destruction of hope. And this is what Homer, appears to signify, by the

following verses:

Nine prosp’rous days, we ply’d the lab’ring oar;

The tenth presents our welcome native shore:

The hills display the beacon’s friendly light,

And rising mountains gain upon our sight.

Then first my eyes by watchful toils opprest,

Comply’d to take the balmy gifts of rest;

Then first my hands did from the rudder part,

(So much the love of home possess’d my heart.)

Lib. x. l. 28, &c.

And hence;

---- ---- ---- the thongs unbound,

The gushing tempest sweeps the ocean round;

Snatch’d in the whirl, the hurried navy flew,

The ocean widen’d, and the shores withdrew.

After this succeeds the adventure of the Lestrigons which seems to

indicate the yet imperfect condition of Ulysses’ nature, unable to

distinguish the coast of virtue, from the infamous regions of vice.

Hence he becomes an involuntary prey to the depredations of depraved

manners; and is for some time incapable of exerting the power of

reason. However, at length perceiving the magnitude of the evils with

which he is surrounded, he cuts the detaining cables of vice, and flies

from his dangerous situation; deploring, indeed the ruined state of his

better manners, but rejoicing that his principal part has escaped, and

that he is not totally destroyed. And this the poet appears to me to

insinuate by the following verses:

Whilst thus their fury rages at the bay,

My sword our cables cut, I call’d to weigh;

And charg’d my men, as they from fate would fly

Each nerve to strain, each bending oar to ply.

The sailors catch the word, their oars they seize,

And sweep with equal strokes the smoky seas;

Clear of the rocks th’ impatient vessel flies;

Whilst in the port each wretch encumber’d dies.

With earnest haste my frighted sailors press,

While kindling transports glow’d at our success;

But the sad fate that did our friends destroy

Cool’d every breast, and damp’d the rising joy.

Lib. x. l. 125, &c.

In the next fable, which is the beautiful allegory of Circe, we shall

find some deep arcana of philosophy contained, exclusive of its

connection with Ulysses. By the Æean island then, in which the palace

of Circe was situated, we must conceive the region of sorrow and

lamentation; for this word is evidently derived from the interjection

αἲ, _alas!_ and the adjective αἰηνὲς, _lamentable_. And by Circe we

must understand the goddess of sense: for thus Porphyry in Stobæus

p. 141. Ὅμηρος δὲ τὸν ἐν κύκλῳ περίοδον καὶ περιφορὰν παλιγγενεσίας,

Κίρκην προσηγόρευκεν, ἡλίου παῖδα, τοῦ πᾶσαν φθορὰν γενέσει, καὶ

γένεσιν αὖ πάλιν φθορᾷ συνάπτοντες ἀεὶ καὶ συνείροντος. i.e. “Homer

calls Circe, the daughter of the sun, the period and revolution of

regeneration in a circle, who ever connects and combines all corruption

with generation, and generation again with corruption.” Hence, we may

observe that the Æean isle, or this region of sense, is with great

propriety called the abode of trouble and lamentation. In this region

then, the companions of Ulysses, that is, the thoughts and natural

powers of his soul, are changed by the incantations of the goddess;

and his opinions and natural motions, rashly wandering from the

authority of ruling intellect, are converted through the allurements

of delight, into an unworthy and irrational habit. Ulysses, however,

or the rational soul, is by the assistance of Mercury, or reason,

prevented from destruction. Hence, intellect roused by its impassive

power, and recollecting the ills which its natural faculties endure;

at the same time, being armed with prudent anger, and the plant moly,

or virtue, which is able to repel the allurements of pleasure, wars

on the goddess of sense, and prevents the effects of her fascinating

charms. Nor is reason alone free from the dire incantations of delight,

but it likewise restores to their proper form the powers of nature,

which had been previously corrupted; and thus departs a gainer by its

loss. For he who returns to himself from the dominion of vice, derives

at least this advantage in his return, that he becomes afterwards more

prudent in resisting its incursions, and employs his first defeat as

an incitement to the acquisition of virtue. It must here, however, be

observed that Ulysses is an involuntary offender, in all his adventures

posterior to that of the Cyclops. His passions, indeed, hurry him into

various vices and misfortunes, but his will by no means concurs with

their endurance. But his connection with his natal dæmon was voluntary;

and after his departure from hence, he must be considered as in a

gradual course of purification, though his progress in virtue is but

small, till the latter part of his abode with Calypso.

But Homer’s account of Circe, exclusive of its relation to Ulysses,

contains, according ta Porphyry (in Stob. p. 141), an admirable

explanation of the soul. “For thus, (says he) Homer speaks:

No more was seen the human form divine;

Head, face, and member, bristle into swine:

Still curst with sense, there _minds_ remain alone,

And their own voice, affrights them when they groan.

Lib. x. l. 239, &c.

This fable, therefore, is the enigma of the opinions of Pythagoras and

Plato respecting the soul; signifying that it is of an incorruptible

and eternal nature, but not void of passion and mutability; since by

dissolution and death, it is capable of being transmuted and changed,

into other corporeal forms; and by its desire of pleasure it pursues

a form adapted and allied to the condition of its life. And in this

the assistance of learning and philosophy is perceived, if the soul,

mindful of what is honest, and disdaining base and unlawful pleasures,

can govern and defend herself from being changed into a beast; and

from embracing a brutal and impure body, which increases and nourishes

a nature dull and irrational, together with desire and anger, rather

than reason. Indeed, the order and nature of this transmutation is

predicated by the dæmon of Empedocles, when he says:

Σαρκῶν ἀλλόγνωτι περιϛέλλουσα χιτῶνι.

Καὶ μετ’ ἀμπέχουσα τὰς ψυχάς.

i.e. _folding round the external garment of flesh; and afterwards

investing souls with its covering_. But the Æean isle, which

receives the dead body is that part of the continent, into which souls

first descending wander and lament, and are ignorant

---- ---- what coast before them lies

Or where the sun shall set, or where shall rise.

Indeed, since through the love of pleasure, they desire an association,

and nourishment in the flesh, and in conjunction with its nature, they

again fall into the confused mixture of generation, truly mingling

things eternal and mortal, prudence and passion, celestials, and

terrestrials; ensnared and fascinated by pleasures, again leading

to the fluctuating realms of generation. And in this case, souls

particularly require the greatest felicity and prudence; lest

pursuing the most base concerns, and becoming bound to their parts

and passions, they obtain an unhappy and brutal life. For that which

is called the τριοδος, or triple path of Hades, is perceived in the

_rational_, _irascible_, and _desiderative_ parts of the soul; each

of which contains the principle of a life convenient to its nature.

And these assertions are not to be reckoned the figments of fables

and the inventions of poets, but are to be esteemed as true and

natural discourses. For those whose _desires_, in their mutation and

generation, obtain the principality, will be changed into assinine

bodies, and an impure life, through the dominion of gluttony and

lust. But when the soul raging with weighty contentions, and odious

cruelties, seeks a second generation, it betakes itself full of recent

severity, into the nature of a wolf, or lion; acquiring a body of this

kind as a defensive organ, adapted to its ruling affection. Hence, it

is requisite that every one should be pure with respect to death, as

in the sacred mysteries of initiation, by banishing every depraved

affection, mitigating every desire, and expelling envy and anger from

all connection with the body. And this is the true Mercury with his rod

of gold, the clear indicator of honest conduct, who entirely prohibits

and restrains the soul from the mixture of generation; or if she should

drink the envenomed potion, preserves her in a human life, as long as

can possibly be effected.”

After this follows the allegory, respecting the descent of Ulysses

into the infernal regions, which, exclusive of its connection with

Ulysses, contains likewise some of the greatest arcana of the Grecian

theology. As it respects Ulysses, it appears to me to insinuate, his

flying to the assistance of necromancy, in order to know the result of

the ills with which he is surrounded, through the anger of his natal

dæmon. Hence Tiresias is nothing more than a departed spirit evocated

by magical art, for the purpose of disclosing the secrets of futurity,

and informing Ulysses how he may return to the true empire of his

mind. The success, however, was not answerable to the certainty of the

information: and perhaps Homer meant to intimate by this allegory, that

the end of such illicit practises is never correspondent to the desires

by which they are undertaken. Hence he plainly indicates the madness

of such a conduct, by the consequences which may possibly attend

its execution; and by the hortor which forced Ulysses to hasten its

conclusion: for thus Ulysses speaks:

Curious to view the kings of ancient days,

The mighty dead that live in endless praise,

Resolv’d I stand; and haply had survey’d

The god-like Theseus, and Perithous’ shade;

But swarms of spectres rose from deepest hell,

With bloodless visage, and with hideous yell,

They scream, they shriek; sad groans and dismal sounds

Stun my fear’d ears, and pierce hell’s utmost bounds.

No more my heart the dismal din sustains,

And my cold blood hangs shiv’ring in my veins;

Lest Gorgon rising from th’ infernal lakes,

With horrors arm’d, and curls of hissing snakes,

Should fix me stiffen’d at the monstrous sight,

A stony image, in eternal night!

Lib. ii. l. 627. &c.

Indeed by such a conduct, he becomes impious, profane, and execrable;

till he returns to that condition of mind, in which the judgement of

reason, and the light of intellect emerges through the gloom of impiety

and folly; and prudent cogitations dance round the liberated soul. For

in this case it may be truly said:

Here the gay morn resides in radiant bow’rs,

Here keeps her revels with the dancing hours.

Lib. xii. l. 3. & 4.

With respect to the recondite wisdom contained in the description of

the infernal regions, I shall only observe from Porphyry (ap. Stob.

p. 131.) that the reason why departed spirits, are represented as

possessing no knowledge of human concerns, till they inhale the vapour

of blood, is because according to Homer and many of his successors,

human intelligence or prudence consists in blood. And this says

Porphyry is confirmed by the testimony of most writers posterior to

Homer, who inform us that when the blood is inflamed by a fever or the

bile, imprudence and foolishness is produced. But Empedocles considered

the blood as an instrument of prudence, when he says:

Αἵματος ἐν πελάγεσι εθραμμένη ἀντιθορόντος,

Τῆ τε νόημα μάλιϛα κικλήσκεται ἀνθρώποισιν.

Αἶμα γὰρ ἀνθρώποις περικάρδιόν ἐϛι νόημα.

The sense of which is, “that the blood surrounding the heart is the

seat of intelligence in men.”

But we must now view Ulysses passing from sense to imagination; in

the course of which voyage, he is assailed by various temptations,

of surprising power, and destructive effect. We shall perceive him

victorious in some of these, and sinking under others; but struggling

against the incursions of all. Among the first of these is the

enchanting melody of the Sirens,

Whose song is death, and makes destruction please.

By which the poet evidently signifies alluring and fraudulent

pleasures, which charm the soul in its passage from a sensible life,

with flattering and mellifluous incantations. These delights however

will be vanquished by him, who, imitating the example of Ulysses,

closes, with divine reasons and energies as with wax, the powers of

the soul, and the organs of sense; so that every passage being barred

from access, they may in vain warble the song of extacy, and expect to

ruin the soul by the enchanting strain. It will however be requisite

that besides this, the corporeal assaults, should be restrained by the

bands of philosophy, and rendered irresistible by external machines:

for thus like Ulysses, we shall employ the senses, without yielding to

their impetuous invasions; and experience delight without resigning the

empire of reason to its fascinating controul.

Ulysses having escaped the danger of the Syrens, passes on to the rocks

of Scylla and Charybdis, of terrific appearance, and irresistible

force. By these two rocks, the poet seems to signify the affections

compressing human life on both sides; and which every one must

experience; who proceeds like Ulysses in a regular manner to an

intellectual state of existence. Some of these, which are conversant

with the soul, are like Scylla, of a lofty malignity; fraudulent yet

latent, and obscure, as concealed in the penetralia of the mind. And

such is pride, and other depraved affections of the soul. In these

recesses, a dæmon, the prince of such affections resides, a dire and

enraged dog, who partly exposes his own malice, and partly hides it in

impenetrable obscurity. Hence he is capable of producing mischief in

a two-fold respect: for he privately hurts by malignant stratagems,

openly ravishes the soul, on the lofty rock of haughtiness; and rends

it with the triple evil of deadly teeth, I mean revolt, hatred of

humanity, and haughty arrogance. Indeed a dæmon of this kind will be

perpetually vigilant, in endeavouring to destroy, at one time the

whole, and at another time a part of the soul, struggling like Ulysses

against passion, and yielding reluctantly to its invasions.

But the other affections which belong to the body, are indeed lofty,

and evidently destructive, but far inferior to the others; since their

baseness is conspicuous, and not concealed by ostentation. A wild

fig-tree, that is the will, is produced on the top of this rock; wild

indeed, on account of its free nature, but sweet in fruition; and

under which, often through the day, the impetuosities of the boiling

body, are accustomed to absorb; and disturb the man, agitating upwards

and downwards inflamed desire, so that mighty destruction both to

soul and body, is produced by their mutual consent. But it is highly

proper that a rock of this last kind, should be anxiously avoided by

one, who like Ulysses is labouring to return to his true country and

friends. Hence if necessity requires he will rather expose himself to

the other: for there the energy of cogitation, and of the souls simple

motions, is alone necessary to be exerted; and it is easy to recover

the pristine habit of the soul. In short the poet, seems to represent

by this allegory of the two rocks, as well the dangers spontaneously

arising from the soul, as those which happen from the external mass

of matter; both of which must be sustained, or one at least by a

necessary consequence. For it is impossible that neither of them should

be experienced by any one, who is passing over the stormy ocean of a

sensible life.

After this succeeds the allegory of the Trinacrean isle, containing the

herds sacred to the god of day, which were violated by the companions

of Ulysses; but not without destruction to the authors of this impiety,

and the most dreadful danger to Ulysses. By the result of this fable,

the poet evidently shews that punishment attends the sacrilegious,

and the perjured; and teaches us that we should perpetually reverence

divinity with the greatest sanctity of mind, and be cautious how we

commit any thing in divine concerns contrary to piety of manners, and

purity of thought. But Homer by attributing sense to the flesh and

hides of the stain herds, manifestly evinces, that every base deed,

universally proclaims the iniquity of its author: but that perjury and

sacrilege are attended with the most glaring indications of guilt, and

the most horrid signatures of approaching vengeance, and inevitable

ruin. We may here too observe that the will of Ulysses, was far

from consenting to this impious deed; and that though his passions

prevailed at length over his reason, it was not till after frequent

admonitions had been employed, and great diligence exerted to prevent

its execution. This indeed is so eminently true, that his guilt was the

consequence of surprize, and not of premeditated design; which Homer

appears to insinuate, by relating that Ulysses was asleep, when his

associates committed the offence.

In the next fable, we find Ulysses impelled, by the southern wind,

towards the rocks of Scylla and Charybdis; in the latter of which he

found safety, by clinging on the fig-tree which grew on its summit,

till he refunded the mast, on which he rode after the tempest. But

the secret meaning of the allegory appears to me as follows: Ulysses

who has not yet taken his leave of a sensible life, is driven by the

warmth of passion, represented by the southern gales, into the dire

charybdis of insane desires, which frequently boiling over, and tossing

on high the storms of deprived affections, plunges into ruin, the soul

obnoxious to its waves. However he is far from shameful idleness, and

careless security; but perceiving the danger to which he is exposed,

when the base storms begin to swell, and the whirlpool of depravity

roar, he seizes the helm of temperance, and binds himself fast to the

solid texture of his remaining virtue. The waves of desire are indeed

tempestuous in the extreme; but before he is forcibly merged by the

rage of the affections, into the depths of depravity, he tenaciously

adheres to his unconsenting will, seated as it were on the lofty summit

of terrene desire. For this like the wild fig-tree affords the best

refuge to the soul struggling with the billows of base perturbations.

Hence he by this means recovers the integrity which he had lost, and

afterwards swims without danger over the wares of temptation; ever

watchful and assiduous while he sails through this impetuous river of

the flesh, and is exposed to the stormy blasts of heated passion and

destructive vice. Hence too while he is thus affected, and anxious

lest the loss from unworthy affections should return upon himself,

he will escape being lacerated by the teeth of arrogance, though she

should terribly and fiercely bark in the neighbourhood of desire,

and endeavour like Scylla, to snatch him on her lofty rock. For

these who are involuntarily disturbed like Ulysses by the billows of

desire, suffer no inconvenience from the depraved rock of pride: but

considering the danger of their present situation, they relinquish

confident conceit, for modest diffidence, and anxious hope.

Hitherto we have followed Ulysses in his voyage over the turbulent

and dangerous ocean of sense; in which we have seen him struggling

against the storms of temptation, and in danger of perishing through

the tempestuous billows of vice. We must now attend him in the region

of imagination, and mark his progress from the enchanted island, till

he regains the long lost empire of his soul. That the poet they by

Calypso occultly signifies the phantasy, is I think evident from his

description of her abode, (for the anonymous Greek author, affords us

no farther assistance.) For she is represented as dwelling in a cavern,

illuminated by a great fire; and this cave, is surrounded with a thick

wood, is watered by four fountains, and is situated in an island, far

remote from any habitable parts, and invironed by the mighty ocean.

All which particulars correspond with the phantasy, as I presume the

following observations will evince. In the first place then, as the

phantasy is situated between sense and cogitation, it communicates with

each in such a manner that its beginning is the end of the cogitative

power, and its end is the commencement of the senses. Hence on account

of its two-fold nature it partakes of a two-fold light; receiving in

its supreme part the splendor of cogitation, and in its inferior part,

a light corresponding to that of sense. Now it is this inferior part

or the common phantasy, which is represented by the cave of Calypso,

for its light is artificial and external like that of fire: and this

correspondence is evident from the etymology of the phantasy, which

is derived from φάος, or _light_. In the next place the island is

said to be surrounded with a thick wood, which evidently corresponds

to a material nature, or this humid body, with which the phantasy is

invested: for ὕλη, or _a wood_, implies matter according to its primary

signification. But the four fountains by which the cave is watered

occultly intimate those four gnostic powers of the soul discovered by

the Pythagoreans, and embraced by Plato; _intelligence_, _cogitation_,

_opinion_, and _imagination_. And these fountains are said, with great

propriety and correspondence to communicate with each other. In the

last place the island is said to be invironed with the ocean, which

admirably agrees with a corporeal nature, forever flowing without

admitting any periods of repose. And thus much for the secret agreement

of the cavern and island with the regions of imagination.

But the poet by denominating the goddess, Calypso, and the island,

Ogygia, appears to me, very evidently to confirm the preceding

exposition: for Calypso is derived from καλύπτω, which means _to cover

as with a veil_; and Ogygia, is from ὠγύγιος, _ancient_. Now, as we

have been previously informed by Synesius, the phantastic spirit, is

the primary vehicle of the rational soul, which it derived from the

planetary spheres, and in which it descended to the corporeal world.

It may therefore with great propriety be said to cover the soul, as

with a fine garment, or veil; and it is no less properly denominated

_ancient_, when considered as the first vehicle of the soul.

In this region of the phantasy then, Ulysses is represented as an

involuntary captive; continually employed in bewailing his absence from

his true country, and ardently longing to depart from the fascinating

embraces of the goddess. For thus his situation is beautifully

described by the poet:

But sad Ulysses by himself apart,

Pour’d the big sorrows of his swelling heart;

All on the lonely shore he sat to weep,

And roll’d his eyes around the restless deep;

Tow’rd his lov’d coast, he roll’d his eyes in vain,

’Till dim’d with rising grief they stream’d again.

Lib. v. 1. 82. &c.

His return however, is at length effected by means of Mercury, or

reason, who prevails on the goddess to yield to his dismission. Hence

after her consent, Ulysses is said with great propriety, to have placed

himself on the throne, where Mercury had sate: for reason now resumes

her proper seat, and begins to exercise her authority with undisturbed

controul. But Homer appears to me to insinuate something egregious,

when he represents Ulysses on his departure from Calypso, sailing by

night, and contemplating the order and light of the stars, in the

following beautiful lines:

And now rejoycing in the prosp’rous gales,

With beating heart Ulysses spread his sails;

Plac’d at the helm he sate, and mark’d the skies,

Nor clos’d in sleep his ever watchful eyes.

There view’d the Pleiads, and the northern team,

And great Orion’s more refulgent beam,

To which around the axle of the sky

The bear revolving, points his golden eye;

Who shines exalted on th’ ætherial plain,

Nor bathes his blazing forehead in the main,

Far on the left those radiant fires to keep

The nymph directed, as he sail’d the deep.

Full seventeen nights he cut the foamy way;

The distant land appear’d the following day:

Then swell’d to sight Phæacia’s dusky coast,

And woody mountains half in vapour lost;

That lay before him, indistinct and vast,

Like a broad shield amid the wat’ry waste.

Lib. v. l. 269, &c.

Indeed as Ulysses is the image of a man passing in a regular manner

from a sensible life, and advancing from darkness to light, he is

very properly represented as sailing by the splendor of the stars,

and directing his course by the most conspicuous of these illustrious

orbs. For star-light corresponds to the light of the mathematical

sciences, which are the proper employment of one who is departing

from the sensible phantasy, and her detaining charms. And the stars

themselves correspond to ideas, from which the light of science is

derived. Ulysses therefore who is hastening to an intellectual life,

contemplates these lucid objects with vigilant eyes, rejoycing in the

illuminations and assistance they afford him, while sailing over the

dark ocean of a material nature.

But as he is now earnestly engaged in departing from sense, he

must unavoidably be pursued by the anger of Neptune, whose service

he has forsaken; and whose offspring he has blinded by stratagem,

and irritated by reproach. Hence in the midst of these delightful

contemplations, he is almost overwhelmed by the waves of misfortune,

roused by the wrath of his implacable foe. He is however through divine

assistance or Leucothea, enabled to sustain the dreadful storm: for

receiving from divinity, the immortal fillet of true fortitude, and

binding it under his breast, (the proper seat of courage) he encounters

the billows of adversity, and bravely shoots along the boisterous ocean

of life.

Ulysses therefore having with much difficulty escaped the dangers

arising from the wrath of Neptune, lands at length on the island of

Phæacia, where he is hospitably received, and honourably dismissed. Now

as it is proper that he who like Ulysses departs from the delusions of

imagination, should immediately betake himself to the more intellectual

light of thought, the land of Phæacia, ought to correspond to the

realms of cogitation: and that this is the case the following discourse

will I persuade myself abundantly evince. In the first place then this

island is represented by the poet, as enjoying a perpetual spring;

which plainly indicates, that it is not any terrene situation. Indeed

the critical commentators have been so fully convinced of this, that

they acknowledge Homer describes Phæacia, as one of the Fortunate

Islands; but they have not attempted to penetrate his design, by such a

description. Now if we consider the perfect liberty, unfading variety,

and endless delight, which the regions of cogitation afford, we shall

find that it is truly the fortunate island of the soul. In the next

place the poet by the description of the palace of Alcinous, the king

of this island, egregiously insinuates the pure and splendid light of

cogitation: for thus he speaks:

The front appear’d with radiant splendors gay,

Bright as the lamp of night, or orb of day.

The walls were massy brass: the cornice high

Blue metals crown’d, in colours of the sky:

Rich plates of gold the folding doors incase;

The pillars silver, on a brazen base;

Silver the lintels deep projecting o’er,

And gold the ringlets that command the door.

Two rows of stately dogs, on either hand,

In sculptur’d gold, and labour’d silver stand.

These Vulcan form’d intelligent to wait

Immortal guardians at Alcinous’ gate.

Lib. vii. l. 84, &c.

And he represents it, as no less luminous internally, by night.

Refulgent pedestals the walls surround,

Which boys of gold with flaming torches crown’d;

The polish’d ore reflecting ev’ry ray;

Blaz’d on the banquets with a double day.

For this palace is not like the cavern of Calypso naturally obscure,

but remarkably bright and refulgent. Indeed Homer by his description

of the outside of this palace, sufficiently indicates its agreement

with the planet Mercury, who is the god of speech; and cogitation as

Plato beautifully observes in the Theætetus, is nothing more than

inward discourse. For, according to astronomers, the planet Mercury is

resplendent with the colours of all the other planets. Thus Baptista

Porta in Cœlest. Physiog. p. 88. Videbis in eo Saturni luridum, Martis

ignem, Jovis candidum, Veneris flavum, nec-non utriusque nitor,

hilaritasque, et ob id non peculiaris formæ, sed eorum formam capit,

cum quibus associatur, ob id in describendo ejus colore astrologi

differunt. That is, “you may perceive in this planet the pale colour

of Saturn, the fire of Mars, the whiteness of Jupiter, and the

yellow of Venus: likewise the brilliancy and hilarity of each; and

on this account it is not of a peculiar form, but receives the form

of its associates, and by this means causes astrologers to differ in

describing its colour.”

But that the island of Phæacia, is the region of cogitation, is

indisputably confirmed by Homer’s account of the ships fabricated by

its inhabitants: for thus he beautifully describes them:

Ὄφρα σε τῇ πέμπωσι τιτυσκόμεναι φρεσὶ νῆες.

Οὐ γὰρ Φαιήκεσσι κυβερνητῆρες ἔασιν.

Οὐδέ τι πηδάλι’ ἐϛτὶ τάτ’ ἄλλαι νῆες ἔχουσιν.

Ἀλλ’ αὐταὶ ἴσασι νοήματα καὶ φρένας ἀνδρῶν.

Καὶ πάντων ἴσασι πόλιας καὶ πίονας ἀγροὺς

Ἀνθρώπων. καὶ λαῖτμα τάχισθ’ ἁλὸς ἐκπερόωσιν,

Ἠέρι καὶ νεφέλῃ κεκαλυμμέναι· οὐδέ ποτέ σφιν,

Οὔτέ τι πημανθῆναι ἔπι δέος οὐτ’ απολέσθαι·

Lib. viii. l. 556, &c.

i.e. “That ships intently directed by intellect, may send you to your

country. For the Phæacians have no pilots, nor have the ships helms

like others: but they know the thoughts and minds of men. They likewise

know the cities and fertile fields of all men; and swiftly swim over

the waters of the sea, covered with darkness and clouds: for they never

are afraid of sustaining any damage, or of being utterly lost.” Or in

verse:

So shalt thou instant reach the realm assign’d,

Is wond’rous ships self-mov’d, instinct with mind;

No helm secures their course, no pilot guides,

Like man intelligent they plow the tides,

Conscious of ev’ry coast, and ev’ry bay,

That lies beneath the fan’s all seeing ray;

And veil’d in clouds impervious to the eye,

Fearless and rapid thro’ the deep they fly.

Now it is absurd to suppose that Homer would ever employ such an

hyperbole, in merely describing the excellency of the Phæacian ships:

for it so eminently surpasses the bounds of probability, and is so

contrary to the admirable prudence, which Homer continually displays,

that it can only be admitted as an allegory, pregnant with latent

meaning, and the recondite wisdom of antiquity.

It must here however be observed, that as the energies of cogitation

are two-fold, according to the objects on which they are employed

(for they are either sensible or intellectual); so the manners of

Alcinous and his nobles, are perfectly opposite to those of the other

inhabitants. For these latter are thus described by the poet:

A race of rugged mariners are these;

Unpolish’d men, and boistrous as their seas;

The native islanders alone their care,

And hateful he that breathes a foreign air.

These did the ruler of the deep ordain

To build proud navies, and command the main;

On canvas wings to cut the wat’ry way;

No bird more light, _no thought more swift than they_.

Lib. vii. l. 33, &c.

The last of which lines, so remarkably agrees with the preceding

account, that I presume no stronger confirmation can be desired. Nor is

the original less satisfactory:

Τῶν νέες ὼκεῖαι ὡσεὶ πτερὸν ἠὲ νόημα.

i.e. “The ships of these are swift as a wing, or as _a conception of

the mind_.” But the inhabitants of the palace, are represented as

spending their days in continual festivity, and unceasing mirth: in

listening to the harmony of the lyre; or in forming the tuneful mazes

of the joyful dance. And this distinction of manners, admirably agrees

with the difference between vulgar, and intellectual cogitations: for

the former of these are boisterous, and rough, selfish and proud;

skilled indeed in rapidity, but groveling and unpolished. But the

latter are constantly employed in intellectual festivity and mirth;

in tuning the melodious lyre of divine recollection, or forming the

responsive dance of refined imaginations. It was with the greatest

reason therefore, that Ulysses exclaimed on this occasion:

How sweet the products of a peaceful reign?

The heav’n taught poet, and enchanting strain:

The well fill’d palace, the perpetual feast,

A land rejoycing, and a people blest.

How goodly seems it ever to employ

Man’s social days in union, and in joy?

The plenteous board high-heap’d with cates divine,

And o’er the foaming bowl the laughing wine.

Lib. ix. l. 3, &c.

And here we may observe how much the behaviour of Ulysses at the palace

of Alcinous, confirms the preceding exposition, and agrees with his

character as a man passing in a regular manner from the delusions of

sense, to the realities of intellectual enjoyment. For as he is now

seated in the palace of cogitation, it is highly proper that he should

call to mind his past conduct, and be afflicted with the survey; and

that he should be wakened to sorrow by the lyre of reminiscense,

and weep over the follies of his active life. Hence when the divine

bard Demodocus, inspired by the fury of the muses, sings the wrath

of Ulysses and Achilles, on his golden lyre; Ulysses is vehemently

affected with the relation. For:

Touch’d at the song, Ulysses strait resign’d

To soft affliction all his manly mind:

Before his eyes the purple vest he drew,

Industrious to conceal the falling dew:

But when the music paus’d, he ceas’d to shed

The flowing tear, and rais’d his drooping head.

Lib. viii. l. 83, &c.

And when the inhabitants of the palace, or refined cogitations,

transported with the song, demanded its repetition:

Again Ulysses veil’d his pensive head,

Again unmann’d a shower of sorrow shed.

For reminiscence is delightful to the former, because purified from

guilt: but afflictive to the latter, because he has not yet arrived at

the summit of virtue, and acquired the perfection of contemplative good.

But while Ulysses is at the palace of Alcinous, Homer takes occasion of

introducing, some admirable mythological arcana, in the story of Mars

and Venus; the explication of which from Proclus, on Plato’s Republic,

page 388. will I persuade myself be acceptable to the Platonic reader,

and vindicate Homer from acting improperly by introducing this

excellent fable. “Both Vulcan and Mars then (says Proclus) operate

about the universal world. And Mars indeed separates, perpetually

nourishes, and constantly excites the contrarieties of the universe,

that the world may exist perfect and entire from all its parts. But

Vulcan adorns the whole sensible machine by his artifice, and fills it

with certain reasons, proportions, and powers of nature. Hence he is

feigned by Homer to construct twenty tripods about the heavens, that

he may adorn them with the most perfect of many-sided figures: and he

is likewise said to fashion a multitude of sublunary forms, variously

figured, and artificially adorned; as when he says:

Chains, bracelets, pendants, all their toys I wrought.

Iliad. xviii.

But each of these deities requires the assistance of Venus; Mars

that he may insert order and harmony in contrary natures; but Vulcan

that he may induce beauty, in sensible operations, and thus render

the world beautiful and divine. However since Venus is every where,

Vulcan indeed always enjoys her, according to the superior orders of

beings. As for instance, if Vulcan is super-mundane, Mars is mundane;

and if the former is in the heavens, the latter enjoys Venus, in the

regions subject to the moon. Hence Vulcan is said to have taken Venus

for his wife according to the will of Jove; but Mars is reported to

have committed adultery with Venus. For the cause of beauty, and

conciliation, is naturally conjoined with the artificer of sensible

concerns: but is after a manner foreign from the presiding deity of

division and contrariety: for the collective, are opposed to the

separating genera of gods. And hence fables have given the appellation

of adultery, to this consent of dissimilar causes. But a consent of

this kind was necessary to the world, that contraries might join in

mutual conciliation, and the war of the universe terminate in peace.

Indeed as in the celestial regions, beauty, elegance of form, and the

fabrications of Vulcan, are particularly conspicuous: but in the realms

of generation, elementary war, opposition, contrariety of natural

powers, and the gifts of Mars, reside: on this account I say, the sun

beholding from the heavens the congress of Mars and Venus, betrays it

to Vulcan, with all whose actions he unites in amicable co-operation.

After this, Vulcan entangles them with all-various bonds, invisible to

other gods, that he may connect the mundane genera, with artificial

reasons; and may produce one constitution from the contrarieties of

Mars, and the conciliating benefits of Venus. For both are required in

generation. But according to Timæus, there are some bonds of celestial,

and others of sublunary concerns: and the latter are dissoluble, but

the former of a perpetual nature. Hence Vulcan at last dissolves the

bonds, with which he had confined Venus and Mars; and this he effects

through the persuasion of Neptune.

Who sues importunate to loose the god.

For Neptune desirous that the perpetual continuity of generation, may

be preserved, and that the circle of mutation may revolve into itself,

causes begotten natures to be corrupted, and such as are corrupted to

be renewed. Is there any reason then, why we should wonder at Homer’s

feigning Mars and Venus to be fettered with the bonds of Vulcan, since

Timæus also gives the appellation of bonds, to the demiurgic reasons,

by which the celestial gods constitute generated natures? Is it not

likewise congruous to the nature of things, that these bonds should be

again dissolved, since they are the bonds of generation? Indeed the

first, and most perfect artificer of things seems to have composed the

world from contrary elements, and to have given them friendship in a

certain proportion, by uniting the effects of Vulcan, Venus, and Mars,

in association with each other. For producing the contrarieties of the

elements, he operates within himself, according to Mars: but when he

fabricates friendship, he energizes according to the power of Venus;

and by connecting the natures of Venus and Mars, he appears to contain

in himself the primitive exemplar of Vulcan’s art. _Hence he is all,

and operates with all the gods._ Besides the junior artificers

imitating their father, produce mortal animals, and again receive them

when they perish, fabricating at the same time with Vulcan, mundane

bonds, and primarily containing in themselves the causes of their

dissolution. For every where, he who possesses a bond, knows also the

necessity of its solution.”

We may here too observe that Ulysses, with the greatest propriety

relates his past adventures in the palace of Alcinous: for as he now

betakes himself to the intellectual light of thought, it is highly

necessary that he should review his past conduct, faithfully enumerate

the errors of his life, and anxiously sollicit a return to true

manners, and perfect rectitude of mind. But the description of his

departure from Phæacia is no less pregnant with philosophical mystery,

than poetical beauty. For as he is now passing by the pure energy of

thought, to his true country, the rational soul; he is represented as

departing by night, and falling into so profound a sleep in his voyage,

as to be insensible for some time of its happy consummation. For thus

according to the poet:

He climb’d the lofty stern; then gently prest

The swelling couch, and lay compos’d to rest.

Lib. xiii. l. 75.

And the vehemence of his thoughts, is finely represented by the

rapidity of the vessel:

Now plac’d in order the Phæacian train

Their cables loose, and launch into the main:

At once they bend, and strike their equal oars,

And leave the sinking hills, and less’ning shores.

While on the deck the chief in silence lies,

And pleasing slumbers steal upon his eyes.

As fiery coursers in the rapid race

Urg’d by fierce drivers thro’ the dusty space,

Toss their high heads, and scour along the plain;

So mounts the bounding vessel o’er the main.

Back to the stern the parted billows flow,

And the black ocean foams and roars below.

Thus with spread sails the winged galley flies;

Less swift an eagle cuts the liquid skies;

Divine Ulysses was her sacred load,

A man in wisdom equal to a god!

Much danger long and mighty toils he bore,

In storms by sea, and combats on the shore;

All which soft sleep now banish’d from his breast,

Wrapt in a pleasing, deep, and death-like rest.

By the night, therefore, Homer intimates the stillness and tranquillity

which attends intellectual contemplation: and by the sweet and

death-like sleep of Ulysses, his being abstracted from all sensible

concerns, while merged in the profound and delightful energies of

thought. For he has now bid adieu to the storms of passion, and the

conflicts of desire; and is hastening to expel these dangerous foes,

from the secret recesses of his soul.

Nor is it without reason that the poet represents Ithaca as presenting

itself to the mariners’ view, when the bright morning star emerges from

the darkness of night. For thus he speaks:

But when the morning star, with early ray,

Flam’d in the front of heav’n, and promis’d day;

Like distant clouds the mariner descries

Fair Ithaca’s emerging hills arise.

Lib. xiii. l. 93, &c.

Since it is only by the dawning beams of intellect, that cogitation can

gain a glimpse of the native country, and proper empire of the soul.

But when Ulysses awakes from the delightful sleep of his corporeal

energies, and, through the assistance of Minerva, recognizes his native

land, he immediately enters into a consultation with the goddess, how

he may effectually banish the various perturbations and inordinate

desires which yet lurk in the penetralia of his soul. For this purpose

it is necessary that he should relinquish all external possessions,

mortify every sense, and employ every stratagem, which may finally

destroy these malevolent foes. On this occasion the garb of poverty,

the wrinkles of age, and the wants of life, are symbols of mortified

habits, desertion of sensible pursuits, and an intimate conversion to

intellectual good. For the sensitive eye must now give place to the

purer sight of the rational soul; and the strength and energies of a

corporeal nature must yield to superior vigor of intellectual exertion,

and the severe labour of moral investigation. And this Homer appears

most evidently to insinuate by the following beautiful lines:

Now seated in the olive’s sacred shade,

Confer the hero and the martial maid,

The goddess of the azure eyes began:

Son of Laertes! much-experienc’d man!

The suitor train thy earliest care demand,

Of that luxurious race to rid the land:

Three years thy house their lawless rule has seen,

And proud addresses to the matchless queen.

But she thy absence mourns from day to day,

And inly bleeds, and silent wastes away:

Elusive of the bridal hour she gives

Fond hopes to all, and all with hopes deceives.

Lib. xiii. l. 372.

Hence:

It fits thee now to wear a dark disguise,

And secret walk unknown to mortal eyes,

For this my hand shall wither ev’ry grace,

And ev’ry elegance of form and face,

O’er thy smooth skin a bark of wrinkles spread,

Turn hoar the auburn honours of thy head,

Disfigure every limb with coarse attire,

And in thy eyes extinguish all the fire;

Add all the wants and the decays of life,

Estrange thee from thy own; thy son, thy wife;

From the loath’d object ev’ry fight shall turn,

And the blind suitors their destruction scorn.

Lib. xiii l. 397, &c.

After this follows the discovery of Ulysses to Telemachus, which is

no less philosophically sublime than poetically beautiful. For by

Telemachus we must understand intellectual virtue, the true progeny

of Ulysses, or the rational soul. Hence Ulysses, while employed in

the great work of mortification, recognizes his legitimate offspring,

and secretly plans with him the destruction of his insidious foes.

The assistance however of Minerva, or wisdom, is requisite to this

discovery, who beautifies and adorns the rational soul, and restores

it on this occasion, to its pristine dignity and excellence of form.

But it is necessary that this should be nothing more than a temporary

change, till the enemies of reason are destroyed, and the dominion of

intellect regained. With great propriety, therefore, is Telemachus

represented as exploring his absent father, and impatient for his

return: for the rational soul then alone associates with true virtue,

when it withdraws itself from sensible delights, and earnestly

meditates a restoration of its fallen dignity, and original sway.

And now Ulysses presents himself to our view in the habits of

mortification, hastening to his long deserted palace, or the occult

recesses of his soul, that he may mark the conduct, and plan the

destruction of the malevolent passions, who are secretly attempting

to subvert the empire of his mind. Hence the poet very properly and

pathetically exclaims:

And now his city strikes the monarch’s eyes,

Alas! how chang’d! a man of miseries;

Propt on a staff, a beggar old and bare,

In tatter’d garments, flutt’ring with the air!

Lib. xvii. l. 201, &c.

However as this disguise was solely assumed for the purpose of

procuring ancient purity and lawful rule, he divests himself of the

torn garments of mortification, as soon as he begins the destruction

of occult desires; and resumes the proper dignity and strength of his

genuine form. But it is not without reason that Penelope, who is the

image of intellectual purity, furnishes the instrument by which the

hostile rout of passions are destroyed: for what besides the arrows of

purity can be sufficient to extirpate the leading bands of impurity and

vice? Hence as soon as he is furnished with this irresistible weapon,

he no longer defers the ruin of his insidious foes, but:

Then fierce the hero o’er the threshold strode;

Stript of his rags, he blaz’d out like a god.

Full in their face the lifted bow he bore,

And quiver’d deaths a formidable store;

Before his feet the rattling show’r he threw,

And thus terrific to the suitor crew.

Lib. xxii. l. 1. &c.

But Homer represents Penelope as remaining ignorant of Ulysses, even

after the suitors are destroyed, and he is seated on the throne of

majesty, anxious to be known, and impatient to return her chaste and

affectionate embrace. For thus he describes her:

Then gliding through the marble valves in state,

Oppos’d before the shining fire she sate.

The monarch by a column high enthron’d,

His eye withdrew, and fix’d it on the ground

Anxious to hear his queen the silence break:

Amaz’d she sate, and impotent to speak;

O’er all the man her eyes she rolls in vain,

Now hopes, now fears, now knows, then doubts again.

Lib. xxiii. l. 88, &c.

Nor ought this to appear strange, for purity has been so long absent

from his soul, that it is difficult to obtain a recollection of their

pristine union, and legitimate association with each other. However in

order to facilitate this discovery, he renders all harmonious and pure,

within the recesses of his soul; and by the assistance of Minnerva, or

wisdom, resumes the garb and dignity which he had formerly displayed.

Then instant to the bath, (the monarch cries)

Bid the gay youth and sprightly virgins rise,

Thence all descend in pomp, and proud array,

And bid the dome resound the mirthful lay;

While the sweet lyrist airs of raptures sings,

And forms the dance responsive to the strings.

Lib. xxiii. l. 131, &c.

And afterwards Ulysses is described, as appearing through the

interposition of Minerva, _like one of the immortals_:

So Pallas his heroic form improves

With bloom divine, and like a god he moves.

Lib. xxiii. l. 163.

For indeed he who, like Ulysses, has destroyed the power of his

passions, and purified himself from their defiling nature, no longer

ranks in the order of mortals, but assimilates with divinity itself.

And now that he may become entirely known to intellectual purity, that

chaste Penelope of the soul, he need only relate the secrets of their

mystic union, and recognize the bower of celestial love. For then

perfect recollection will ensue; and the anxiety of diffidence will be

changed into transports of assurance, and tears of rapturous delight.

And thus we have attended Ulysses through his various wanderings and

woes, till he recovers the ruined empire of his soul. We must however

remember, according to the beautiful observation of Porphyry, in the

above treatise, that he is not freed from molestation till he has

passed over the raging sea of a material nature, has entirely appeased

the anger of divinity, and is become so insensible to the concerns of a

corporeal life, as to be ignorant of their nature and use. For:

Then heav’n decrees in peace to end his days,

And steal himself from life by slow decays;

Unknown to pain, in age resign his breath,

When late stern Neptune points the shaft of death;

To the dark grave retiring as to rest;

His people blessing, by his people blest.

Lib. iii, l. 281, &c.

[95] Φόρκυνος δέ τις ἐϛὶ λιμὴν ἁλίοιο γέροντος.

[96] This Sopater, succeeded Plotinus in his philosophical school. Vide

Sozom. Hist. Eccles. 1, 5.

[97] The exact time of Iamblichus’ death is unknown; it is however

certain, that it was during the reign of Constantine; and according

to the accurate Fabricius, prior to the year of Christ 333. Biblioth.

Græc. Tom. 4. p. 283.

[98] See vol. I. of this work.

[99] Vol. I. Sect. 4.

[100] I have already mentioned this admirable work, with the praise it

so justly deserves, in my account of the life and writings of Proclus.

(Vol. I. of this work, p. 38.) I now add, with great pleasure that I

have been no less fortunate with respect to the translation of these

Elements than in translating the commentaries of Proclus. For the Greek

text, is very frequently defective in parts essential to the meaning;

and consequently necessary to the perfection of the whole. This defect

I have been able to supply from a Latin version of Patricius (Ferrar,

1583) who appears to have had a perfect manuscript in his possession.

But notwithstanding this assistance, I must freely own, that I never

translated any thing which required so much intense thought, and severe

labour in its execution. This indeed must necessarily be the case,

if the abstruseness of the subject, the difficulty of finding proper

terms, and the defects of the original, are properly considered. But

the learned reader may be experimentally convinced of the truth of this

assertion, if he only compares the Greek text with the Latin version of

Æmilius Portus; in which I am sorry to say, he will scarcely find one

proposition, in which Portus has not mistaken the sense of his author.

Indeed were I disposed to entertain the critical reader, I might swell

the volume with copious notes from the blunders of Portus; and display

the superiority of my own version by contrasting the English with the

Latin. But I consider verbose criticisms of this kind as both useless

and pedantic; as remote from the philosophical genius; and as alone

calculated to fill up the leisure hours of men, who have ruined their

understandings in the study of words. The genuine Platonist who may

be ignorant of Greek, will I persuade myself, rejoice to see this

invaluable treasure in his native tongue: and those who have been led

to consider the theology of the heathens as delusion, and absurdity,

will doubtless be surprized to find, that it is replete with the

sublimest knowledge, and the most important truths. Yet I must admonish

the reader, that these Elements cannot be understood by any one, who

is not a thorough adept in the preceding Commentaries on Euclid: for

the propositions relate to the most abstract subjects that can be

conceived; and the demonstrations are uncommonly subtle and profound.

Indeed if opportunity permitted, I should attempt a commentary on every

proposition: but this if ever I should be able to accomplish it, must

be reserved for some more auspicious period. In the mean time I hope

that my occasional elucidations, will be acceptable to the Platonic

reader, and assist him in the study of this inestimable work. I only

add, that these Elements form an admirable introduction to the six

books of Proclus on Plato’s theology.

[101] The absurdity of this consequence consists in this, that from the

hypothesis of unity being excluded, infinite infinites would subsist

separate from each other, without any bond of conciliating unity;

which is evidently impossible. For though every line contains infinite

infinites in _capacity_, because the smallest part of every line

is capable of infinite division; yet these infinites in capacity are

connected by the power of unity, and form one finite line.

[102] Because, since the whole is motive, the part which is moved will

also be motive, and so will be at the same time both moving and moved.

And if a part moves, and the whole is moved; then because of the motion

of whole, the part will be both moving and moved.

[103] The truth of this may be exemplified in light. Thus for instance

we see many species of light; one kind emanating from the sun, another

from fire and the stars, another from the moon, and another from

the eyes of many animals. But this light though various, is every

where familiar, and discovers in its operations a unity of nature.

On account of its uniformity therefore it requires one principle,

and not different principles. But the sun is the only principle of

all mundane light. And though there are many participants of light

posterior to the solar orb, yet they scatter their uniform light,

through one solar nature, property and power. But if we again seek for

the principle of light in the sun, we cannot say that the solar orb

is the principle of light: for the various parts of this orb diffuse

many illuminations. There will therefore be many principles. But we

now require one first principle of light. And if we say that the soul

of the sun generates light, we must observe that this is not effected

by her animal multiplicity, or she would diffuse different lights:

and hence we must assert that she generates visible by intellectual

light. But this production again, does not subsist through intellectual

variety, but rather by a unity of intellect: and this unity is a symbol

of that simple unity which is the principle of the universe. And to

this principle the solar intellect is united by its unity; and through

this it becomes a god. This divine unity of the sun, therefore, is the

principle of the uniform light of the world; in the same manner as

simple unity and goodness is the author of intelligible light to all

intelligible natures.

[104] This will be evident by considering that _the one_, or the

first principle of all, must produce that which first proceeds from

himself, by _union_ (καθ’ ἕνωσιν.) And as his first production

must be the most similar of all things to himself, and must be at

the same time multitude (or in what respect would it differ from the

one); hence it is necessary, that this progression must be no other

than self-perfect unities. In consequence therefore of this sublime

doctrine, as Proclus beautifully observes (Theol. Plat. p. 123.)

there is one god, and many gods; one unity, and many unities prior to

beings: and one goodness, and many goodnesses after this first good. It

likewise follows that the first principle of all is a super-essential

one; and that after this one, there are many super-essential unities.

And we may consider every unity of beings, as the flower of some

certain being; and as the summit and centre about which every being

subsists. For a farther account and confirmation of this sublime

doctrine, study the third book of Proclus on Plato’s Theology.

[105] By _imparticipable_, in these Elements, we must understand that

which participates nothing belonging to the characteristic of its

nature, and which is likewise participated through proper mediums by

all subordinate natures. Thus for instance _imparticipable being_,

is that which participates nothing of _being_, but is the source

of _being_, to others; and at the same time it is not participated

without a medium by subordinate essences; since the participation of

being, in subordinate natures, is accomplished through the immediate

progeny of _being itself_. And so of the rest. Nor ought it to seem

wonderful that an imparticipable should preside over every series of

causes: for this is a necessary consequence, if we consider that every

cause must be that to its following progeny, which the first cause of

all, is to the universality of things. But the first cause of all is

perfectly imparticipable; since he would not be purely _the one_, if he

was mingled with _many_, and received the condition of a subordinate

nature. As the divine unities therefore are participated by all the

following orders of things, and are the mediums, by which every being

is conjoined with the first cause of all; so the immediate progeny of

every primary cause conjoins all the subsequent progressions with that

cause, which from its similarity to _the first_ is properly denominated

an imparticipable.

[106] Because if the one generates through motion, an infinite motion

must take place, through the want of an immoveable nature.

[107] In order to understand this proposition the reader must observe

that the hypothesis requires that both the progression and regression

subsist together. And this hypothesis is no less proper than true; for

unless effects were continually converted to their causes, they could

not exist; since they depend on these for their subsistence, and this

can only be procured by conversion.

[108] This is absurd, because every partible nature must be converted

to something different from itself, on account of its parts. So

likewise since a self-subsistent nature resides in itself, if such

a nature was partible, one divisible whole would be in another, not

different from itself.

[109] Because every composite consists of matter and form; the former

of which is base, and the latter more excellent.

[110] The truth of this reasoning may be evinced by the following

considerations: Every thing which is measured by time, and such is

every corporeal nature, depends on time for the perfection of its

being. But time is composed of the past, present, and future. And if we

conceive that any one of these periods is taken away from the nature

with which it is connected, that nature must immediately perish. Time,

therefore, is so essentially and intimately united with the natures

which it measures, that their being, such as it is, depends on the

existence of time. But time, as is evident, is perpetually flowing,

and this in the most rapid manner imagination can conceive. It is

evident, therefore, that the natures to which it is so essential,

must subsist in a manner equally transitory and flowing. As we cannot

therefore affirm with propriety of any part of time, that it _is_;

since even before we can form the assertion, the present time is no

more; so with respect to all corporeal natures (from their subsistence

in time) before we can say that they exist, they lose all identity of

being. But as it appears to me this flowing, and evanescent nature of

things existing in time, may be aptly illustrated by the following

similitude. Conceive a line, all whose parts are in a continual flux,

like the waters of the most rapid river: and let it be distinguished

by three different colours, so profoundly mingled with each other,

that every part of the line may possess these colours, in the same

manner as the whole line. Now a line of this kind, will very properly

represent time, distinguished by past, present, and future, to which

the three colours correspond. If then we conceive another line moving

on this coloured line, with an equable uniform motion, corresponding

to the motion of the parts of the coloured line, and so that in every

instant of its motion it may be tinged with one of these colours in

regular succession; we shall see the condition of a nature whose being

is measured by the progressions of time. For as the perpendicular line,

in its uniform motion, no sooner assumes one colour, than it deserts it

for another, and cannot on this account be said to possess any colour;

so every corporeal nature, from its being profoundly mingled with the

fleeting and unreal essence of time, cannot be said to possess any true

and substantial being.

Such then is the unreal condition of every thing subsisting in time, or

of every thing corporeal, and entangled with matter. By this shadowy

essence of body is finely demonstrated by Plotinus in the sixth book

of his third Ennead, as follows: “Being (says he) properly so called

is neither body, nor is subject to corporeal affections: but body,

and its properties, belong to the region of non-entity. But you will

ask, how is it possible, that visible matter, should possess no real

being: that matter, in which stones and mountains reside, the solid

earth, and bodies which mutually resist; since bodies which impel each

other, confess by their collision, the reality of their existence?

You will likewise ask after what manner things which neither strike

against, nor resist each other; which neither externally act, nor

internally suffer, nor are in any respect the objects of sight, viz.

soul and intellect, are to be reckoned true and real beings? We reply,

that, on the contrary, things more corpulent are more sluggish and

inert, as is evident in bulky masses of earth: but whatever is less

ponderous is more movable and alert; and the more elevated the more

movable. Hence fire, the most movable of all the elements, flies in a

manner from a corporeal nature. Besides, as it appears to me, whatever

is more sufficient to itself, disturbs others less, and brings less

inconvenience: but such things as are more ponderous and terrene,

unable, from their defect of being, to raise themselves aloft, and

becoming debile and languid, strike and oppress surrounding bodies,

by their falling ruin and sluggish weight. Since it is evident, that

bodies destitute of life, fall with molestation on any proximate

substance, and more vehemently impel and pain whatever is endued with

sense. On the contrary, animated beings, as participating more of

entity, by how much the more of being they possess, by so much the

more harmless they impinge on their neighbouring bodies. Hence motion,

which is a kind of life, or soul, or an imitation of life in bodies,

is more present with whatever is less corpulent; as if more of body

was necessarily produced where a defect of being happens in a greater

degree. Again, it will more manifestly appear from passivity, that

whatever is more corpulent is more passive; earth in greater degree

than the other elements; and the rest in a similar proportion. For some

things, when divided, suddenly return to their former union, when no

obstacle prevents their conjunction; but from the section of a terrene

body, the divided portions, always remain separate; as if destitute of

natural vigour, and without any inherent desire of union and consent.

Hence they are ready, by every trifling impulse, to remain as they

are impelled; to rush from the embraces of _bound_, and hasten

into multitude, and non-entity. So that whatever becomes corporeal in

an eminent degree, as falling fast into non-entity, has but little

power of recalling itself into one. And on this account ponderous and

vehement concussions are attended with ruin, when by mutual rushing

one thing impels another. But when debility runs against debility,

the one is valid against the other, in the same manner as non-entity

rushing on non-entity. And this we think a sufficient confutation of

their opinion, who only place being in the genus of body, persuaded by

the testimony of impulses and concussions, and the phantasms perceived

through the senses, which testify that sense is alone the standard of

truth. Such as these are affected in a manner similar to those in a

dream, who imagine that the perceptions of sleep are true. For sense

is alone the employment of the dormant soul: since as much of the soul

as is merged in body, so much of it sleeps. But true elevation, and

true vigilance, is a resurrection from and not with the dull mass of

body. For indeed a resurrection with body, is only a transmigration

from sleep to sleep, and from dream to dream, like a man passing in

the dark from bed to bed. But that elevation is perfectly true, which

entirely rises from the dead weight of bodies: for these possessing a

nature repugnant to soul, possess something opposite to essence. And

this is farther evident, from their generation, their continual flowing

and decay; properties entirely foreign from the nature of being,

substantial and real.”

[111] The account of eternity given by Plotinus, in which its _total_

nature is copiously demonstrated, is so inimitably sublime and

profound, that I cannot refrain from presenting the reader with the

following paraphrased translation, of the most considerable part of the

seventh book of his third Ennead, relative to the nature of eternity.

Proclus (in Theol. Plat. p. 149.) observes that the definition of

eternity given by Plotinus in this discourse, viz. “Infinite life,

which at once openly exhibits itself, and manifestly declares its own

being,” is a definition framed _in a most divinely inspired manner_

(ἐνθεαϛικώτατα.)

“Since we reckon eternity and time to be different from each other, and

that the one respects a nature which always is, and that the other is

conversant with things in generation, unstable and flowing, from which

this sensible universe is composed; we are apt to believe that from our

natural ingenuity, and a sudden view of intelligence, an instinctive

knowledge concerning time and eternity, is profoundly inherent in

our souls; since we always affirm the same properties of these, and

never vary in the appellations we assign them. But when we endeavour

to approach nearer to these, and to explain their natures in a more

perfect manner, we are immediately perplexed with doubts; and receiving

the different sentiments of the ancients on this subject, according

to the difference of our opinions, and perhaps conceiving the same

sentiment, in a manner different from other men, we advance no farther

in our enquiries; esteeming it sufficient, if when interrogated, we are

able to relate the opinions of antiquity on this important subject.

Indeed it is proper to believe that some of the ancient, and blessed

philosophers, have discovered the truth: but it is highly necessary to

enquire what method they pursued in their investigation, and how we

may arrive at the knowledge of the same exalted truths. And first, it

will be proper to enquire what they think of eternity, who judge it to

be different from time: since from the knowledge of that which is, as

the exemplar, we may perhaps more plainly understand, the nature of

its image, which is denominated time. But if any one previous to his

contemplation of eternity, should conceive the nature of time in his

imagination, he may perhaps happen, by advancing into the intelligible

world, and by a certain reminiscence, to comprehend that to which time

is assimilated: since time possesses a similitude to eternity.

What then shall we say eternity is? Is it intelligible essence itself,

in the same manner, as some are reported to affirm, that time is the

whole heavens, and the world? For since we imagine and understand

eternity to be something especially venerable, which we likewise affirm

of an intelligible nature, we are not able to discern which of these

is most venerable. And as that which is superior to these, ought not

to be described by appellations of this kind, perhaps eternity, and an

intelligible nature, may with propriety be received as the same. Again,

both eternity, and the intelligible world, comprehend in themselves

beings entirely the same. But when we say that the one abides in the

other, placing intelligibles in eternity, and when we pronounce every

thing intelligible eternal, as in the Timæus of Plato, where it is

written, “If the nature of the exemplar is eternal, &c.” in these

cases, I say, we affirm eternity to be something different from an

intelligible nature; at the same time confessing that eternity dwells

about, or is resident in, or is present with an intelligible nature.

For indeed it is not necessary that because both are venerable, they

should be perfectly the same: since perhaps the venerableness of the

one, is derived from the other. And what is farther added to establish

their identity, that the same things are contained by each, is to

be thus explained: that an intelligible nature contains every thing

belonging to itself, as parts; but that eternity comprehends at the

same time the whole, not as a part, but because all things of this kind

are called eternal, from its continual presence. But ought we to judge

of eternity according to permanent station in the intelligible world,

as in this sensible world we are accustomed to consider time according

to motion? But it may be properly enquired, in the first place, whether

eternity, is the same with station belonging to being. For if it is the

same with station, we cannot with mere propriety, speak of a station

which is eternal, than we can of an eternal eternity: since that is

eternal which participates of eternity. Besides, if station is the

same with eternity, how can motion be eternal? For in this case, it

must lose its nature, and become permanent and stable. Besides, how

is the notion of station contained in the _ever itself_? I do no not

mean the _ever_, or _always_ which respects time, but that which we

understand when we speak of eternity. But if the _ever itself_, is

contained in the station of being, we must consequently segregate the

other genera of beings from eternity. Besides, it is requisite to

conceive of eternity, not in station alone, but as abiding in _one_;

and to preserve its indistant property, lest it should become entirely

the same with time. But station, considered simply as station, neither

contains in itself the intelligence of one, nor of that which is

indistant. Hence we predicate of eternity, that it abides in one: and

consequently it participates of station, without being station itself.

What then is the nature of that, by which we call the whole of the

divine world eternal and perpetual? And what is perpetuity itself?

Is it the same with eternity, or does eternity subsist according to

the perpetual? Perhaps we ought to conceive of eternity, as a certain

one collected from many; viz. either as one intelligence, or one

nature; whether consequent to things in the intelligible world, or

existing together with it, or beheld as situated in the depths of its

essence. All these, I say, reduced into eternity a one, which is also

many, and is endued with a various capacity. Indeed he who beholds

a various capacity, when he considers it as a subject, denominates

it essence; but so far as he perceives life, he denominates it

motion, and afterwards station, considered as abiding in a manner

entirely the same. He will likewise behold difference and sameness,

so far as they are many, bound in one. So that he who contracts the

difference, subsisting in things which are many, into one life alone,

and contemplates an unceasing sameness of energy, never passing its

intelligence, or life, from one thing into another, but ever abiding in

the same manner in itself, far remote from all distance; he, I say, who

beholds all these, contemplates eternity, viewing life ever possessing

a present whole, where all things abide together in sameness, without

the order of first and last, and are comprehended in an indivisible

bound. Where all things are collected into one, as into a point, not

yet proceeding into a linear flux, but abiding in sameness, that is,

in itself, in an ever present _now_; because nothing of its nature is

past, nothing in it is future; but what it is, it always is. Hence

eternity is not a subject, but that which beams as it were from its

subject, according to the possession of an ever present identity;

promising itself, that its ever abiding nature, will never be changed.

For what should happen to this in future, which it is not at present?

Since it is a perfect and present plenitude of all things. Nor can the

term _was_, the appellation of time past, belong to eternity. For what

can that be, which _was_ present with its nature, and _is past_? It in

like manner independant of all connection with futurity. And hence

eternity is that which neither _was_, nor _will be_, but alone _is_,

which it possesses in a stable manner; because it is neither changed

into a future, nor altered from a past duration. So that the eternity,

which we are now investigating, is life total and full, abiding in its

essence about being; and is every where indistant and one.

Nor indeed is it to be thought, that eternity happens extrinsically

to the first essence; but we should consider it, as dwelling in this

essence, as emanating from, and abiding together with it. For it is

beheld as profoundly resident in its essence; because from perceiving

every thing else which we affirm to abide there, as perfectly intimate,

we say that all things emanate from essence, and abide together with

essence. For it is requisite that first natures should abide with, and

reside in first beings, and in these have the whole of their essence,

because the beautiful dwells in these, and emanates from them: and this

also may be asserted of truth. And partly indeed the whole itself,

is as it were in a part, but partly, as parts in the whole: as if

this true nature was a whole, not congregated from parts, but itself

generating parts, that on this account it may be truly all. Besides,

truth which flourishes there, is not a certain consonance towards

another, but is peculiar to every thing of which it is the truth.

Indeed it is requisite that this total truth, if total, should not only

be total, so far as it is all things, but should likewise so possess

the whole, that nothing may be wanting to itself. And if this is the

case, no affection of futurity can possibly belong to this being: for

if the circulation of time can add any thing to its essence, it must be

defective till such an accession takes place. Besides, nothing contrary

to nature can happen to this true being; for it suffers nothing. So

that since nothing is generated in it, its being is independent of

all temporal connections; and hence it is neither _about to be_, nor

_will be_, nor _was made_, nor is _made_. If indeed the affections

of futurity are taken away from generated natures, because they are

conversant with perpetual acquisition, they cease to exist. But to

things of a nature essentially different, the addition of any future

circumstance of being causes them to fall from the stable seat of

essence. So that it is manifest from hence, that being itself could

not reside in these natures, if they were composed from the past, and

future processions of time. Since essence in generated natures appears

to be nothing more than a certain procession from _real being_, from

the beginning of generation, till it arrives at the extremity of time,

when it ceases any longer to exist. And that which is called the being

of these, subsists in such a manner that by diminishing any part of

this extension, life is likewise diminished: for in this manner it is

necessary that every thing which participates of futurity should exist.

Hence it continually hastens, by a natural desire, to what is future,

without desiring to repose; since it continually draws fresh supplies

of being to itself, while it performs one thing after another, and

is moved in a certain orb of progression, by its desire of essence.

And thus we have discovered the existence of temporal beings, and the

cause of their motion to eternal duration, through the assistance of

futurity. But to such things as are first, and to beings truly blessed,

the desire of futurity is unknown; for they are already total; and

whatever of life they ought to possess, they now totally possess: so

that they seek after nothing, because nothing which is requisite to the

full energy and perfection of their essence is future, and consequently

nothing happens to them connected with futurity. The absolute and total

essence, therefore, of a being which is not separated into parts,

but is total in all its parts, and in no one circumstance of being

deficient, and to which nothing of non-entity can possibly happen (for

it is not only requisite that all beings should be present with that

which is universal; and total, but that everything appertaining to

non-entity, should be always excluded) is eternity: for that is called

eternal which always is.”

And shortly after this, he adds: “Hence eternity is something

especially venerable, and is the same with a god, as inherent

intelligence affirms. But intelligence likewise dictates that eternity

is the same with that god, whom we denominate being and life. And it

may with the greatest propriety be said, that eternity is a deity

shining and unfolding himself in intelligible light, such as he is

in his essence: in an essence, I say, perfectly unchangeable, and

the same, and thus firmly abiding in an unceasing energy of life.

Nor ought any one to wonder that we speak of eternity, as composed

from many. For every thing which abides in the intelligible world,

is called many, on account of its infinite power; since infinite

there receives its denomination, because it never falls off from the

consummate intellectual plenitude of its nature. And indeed it is

particularly called after this manner, because its loses nothing of

its own: and if any one should describe eternity after this manner, as

life already infinite because universal, and because it never deserts

the integrity of its nature; (since it cannot be diminished by the

past, nor increased, by the future, because it is a perfect whole)

he who thus describes eternity, will approach very near to its true

definition. For what is afterwards added, that it is a perfect whole,

and loses nothing of its integrity, is only a certain exposition of

the definition which affirms it to be infinite life. But because a

nature of this kind, thus all-beautiful and eternal, abides about the

_one itself_, emanating and in no respect departing from it, but ever

abiding about and in it, and living with it, in indissoluble union;

hence it is said by Plato, not rashly, but in a manner truly beautiful,

and profound, _that eternity abides in one_: so that he not only

reduces that which eternity contains into one; but the life of being

in like manner reduces itself, about _the one itself_. This then is

what we investigate, and that is eternity, which thus abides. For that

which is the energy of life abiding from itself, and residing in the

depths of unity, without any deception, either in essence or life, is

without all controversy eternity. Since truly _to be_, is never _not to

be_, and to possess no diversity of being. But when in discoursing on

eternity, we use the term _ever_; also when we say, it is not sometimes

_being_, and sometimes _non-being_, we must consider these appellations

as adopted only for the purpose of explanation; because the term _ever_

is not perhaps principally assumed, but is employed, in order to shew,

an incorruptible, and never-failing nature.

But here it is proper to enquire, whether we affirm all this concerning

eternity, by means of a power foreign from its nature, and as of a

foreign concern? But how is this possible? For how can intelligence

take place in the soul, unless by an intimate union of intellect, with

the object of its intellection? And after what manner can this profound

union subsist, by an intelligence of such things as are foreign from

our intellectual nature? It is therefore requisite, that we should be

partakers of eternity; or we could not thus define its nature, and

exhibit the properties which it contains.”

[112] The nature of _time itself_, which every thing in generation

participates, has been a subject of much subtle and profound

speculation to the Pythagoric, Platonic, and Peripatetic philosophers.

According to Archytas the Pythagorean (as we are informed by

Simplicius, on Aristotle’s Categories) “time is a generative number,

proceeding from the motion of the mundane soul, as from unity.” But

others of the ancients considered it as a certain extension of soul

about intellect. Others confessed, that time was the period of soul and

intellect. According to the determination of others, it is a natural

extension about intellect. And others described time, by circulations

in a circular nature; all which the Pythagoric sect comprehends. Time,

therefore, according to Archytas and the most ancient philosophers,

is a self-moving motion, and the number of temporal unity: for as

eternity abides in _one_, so time is moved in _number_. According to

Plato, “time is a certain image flowing in number, of eternity abiding

in one.” But according to Aristotle, “it is the number, or measure of

motion according to prior, and posterior.” But the opinion of Plotinus

respecting time, is perhaps the most profound of all: and though the

preceding definitions when attentively considered contain an abundance

of intellectual truth, yet the doctrine of Plotinus on this subject

_rekindles_ a greater light in our intellectual conceptions. In his

book then on eternity and time, which we have cited in the preceding

proposition, after many admirable doubts concerning the nature of time,

he enters on its definition, as follows:

“But it is requisite to recal ourselves again to that nature which we

have said resides in eternity: a nature immutable and total, and a life

infinite and indeclinable, and abiding in, and about the one. But time

was not as yet, or at least was not among these true beings, but was

about to follow, by a certain reason and nature of a posterior energy.

Supernal natures therefore acting quietly among themselves, if any one

desires to know how time first fell, he will not perhaps improperly

call upon the Muses, who then were not, for the important explanation.

Perhaps also he will opportunely invoke them, since the Muses then

existed, according to true conceptions of their nature. And perhaps

such a one will find time already generated, such as it now is, and

manifests itself to our intellectual view. But he will speak concerning

it after the following manner:

“Before priority originated, and was indigent of that which is

posterior, time not yet existing according to procession, reposed

together with priority in being itself, with a tranquil and

intellectual energy. But at length time desiring a nature engaged in

a multiplicity of affairs, and anxious to govern itself, and become

independent, and always chusing to possess more of that which is

present, began to be agitated, and at the same time commenced a flowing

duration, subsisting in continual succession, and a transition into

different periods of existence. And by conceiving that from this

motion, a certain longitude of procession is effected, we establish

time, as an image of eternity. For since it is a certain restless

power of the mundane soul, desirous of transferring what it there

beholds, into another, it cannot sustain that a collected whole should

be at once present with its nature: but as the spermatic reason,

unfolding itself from a certain quiet seed, acts according to an

abundant discursive energy; dispersing in the mean time that which is

called abundant, by a certain division, and instead of the one which

abides in itself, unfolding and consuming a non-abiding one, and

thus proceeding into a more debile extension: so likewise the nature

of the mundane soul fabricating the sensible world in imitation of

that which is superior, and agitated with a motion, not such as the

intelligible world contains, but rather similar to the motion which is

there; with a motion I say affecting to represent its image, it renders

itself in the first place temporal, as a substitute for eternity. But

afterwards it endeavours to become subservient to time, because it

compels the world to reside in time, comprehending all its transitions

in its forming nature. For the world is moved in this nature; since

there is no other place for the universe than the mundane soul; and

in the time of this soul, it is agitated without end. For this soul

applying one energy after another in succession, generates that which

is consequent, together with its energy, and at the same time proceeds

with a cogitation posterior to this energy, and which before this had

no existence, because cogitation was not yet in energy. Its present

life too, is now not entirely similar to the preceding life: and hence

together with this energy, another life succeeds; and in consequence

of this another time is produced. Time, therefore, is allotted a

distance and protraction of life; and a perpetual prorogation of

life, possesses a perpetual time. If any one, therefore, should say

that time is an energy of the mundane soul, perpetually proceeding

in a certain transitory motion, from one life to another, he will

perhaps appear to assert something correspondent to the truth. For if

eternity is life abiding in station, and in a habit similar and the

same, and already infinite; and if it is requisite that time should

be the image of eternity, in the same manner as this universe is the

image of the intelligible world, certainly instead of the life which

flourishes there, another life must reside in a certain power of

the mundane soul, equivocal with respect to intelligible life; and

instead of intellectual motion, it is requisite that there should be a

motion of some part of the soul. Likewise instead of identity, and a

similar and abiding habit, that which does not abide in the same, but

always pursues a different energy must succeed. And again instead of a

property indistant, and one, a resemblance of one possessing unity in

a continued succession. Besides instead of that which is infinite and

total, that which perpetually propagates itself in infinite succession.

Lastly, instead of that which is a collected whole, that which sustains

parts, and is always about to be total and perfect. For thus it will

imitate that which is total, collected, and infinite, if it wishes its

essence to consist in a continual pursuit of being; and thus resembles

the being of eternity itself. But it is requisite not to receive time

external to soul, in the same manner as eternity is not external to

being itself. Nor again, must we conceive that time exists as an

appendage, or any thing posterior, in the same manner as conceptions

of this kind, are not proper to eternity: but we must contemplate it

as beheld seated in the recesses of soul, with which it exists in

conjunction, just as eternity subsists in being itself.”

[113] By the last of beings, he means matter, which on account of its

formless nature may be considered as nothing more than the shadow of

being; or something if possible still more privative and simple.

[114] By ὕπαρξις, _hyparxis_, in these Elements is meant that

_characteristic_ or _summit_ of any nature, through which it subsists:

and in the gods is the same with the _unity_ and _deity_ of their

natures. And it is likewise necessary to inform the reader, that by

ὑπόϛτασις, _hypostasis_, or subsistence, is meant any individual nature

whether essential, or super-essential, considered as something distinct

and different from _accident_.

[115] By matter proceeding from the cause of all, nothing more is meant

than that it depends entirely on the first cause for its shadowy and

unreal subsistence: for as the emanations of causes are extended in

proportion to their eminence; hence the precessions of the one extend

beyond those of every other cause, and even leave faint traces of their

illuminations in the dark receptacle of matter.

[116] This follows from Prop. 69. For every whole prior to parts, may

be said to be a whole of parts, because every whole formed from parts,

participates of that totality which is prior to parts.

[117] Thus matter possesses a certain obscure image of being, but does

not preserve the most debile impression of form. For as the gradations

of being are more extended than those of form, and as matter is the

last of things; thence matter may be said to retain the footstep of

_being_ in its dark receptacle, whilst the processions of form are

reflected like echoes from its rebounding seat.

[118] The proposition ends here in the Greek, though very erroneously;

and its conclusion forms the beginning of the next proposition. It is

strange that Portus would not have detected, this egregious mistake,

which the alteration of a single letter, would have enabled him to

rectify. Thus if after αλλὰ μεν’ ἀεὶ ὐπόκειται γινόμενον. ἄπειρον

ἄρα ἔχει την’ του yίνεσθαι δυναμιν, which is the conclusion of the

proposition; παν’ τὸ ὅντως ὅν, &c. is retained, instead of ἐαν τὸ ὄντως

ὄν, and is made the beginning of the next proposition, the whole will

be correct and plain. Such mistakes, are dreadful instances of the

danger attending the understanding from the study of words alone.

[119] To a reader not skilled in the Platonic philosophy, it will

doubtless appear strange, that _being_ should be prior to _eternity_,

and yet each participate of one another. This apparent paradox may

be easily solved, by considering that the mode of participation

is different in each. For _being_ participates of eternity, as

establishing, illuminating, replenishing, and deifying eternity: but

_eternity_ participates of being, as depending upon, established and

deifyed by being. So that when a superior, participates of an inferior

nature, the participation consists in the energy of the former on the

latter: but when an inferior participates of a superior nature, the

participation consists in its receiving the communications of the

superior nature.

[120] The reader must not be surprised to find that among infinites,

some are more infinite than others. For as among beings some are truer

than others, and possess more of real being in proportion as they

approach nearer to being itself; at the same time that they are all in

a certain respect beings: so infinites possess more of infinity, as

they approach nearer to the infinite itself. Thus for instance eternity

possesses infinity more truly than time, though time also is infinite;

because the infinity of eternity, is a stable indivisible life, but

the infinity of time consists in an unceasing progression, or as it

were an unwearied pursuit of infinity, which it can alone obtain in

an extended and partible manner. And this difference among infinites

extends even to matter itself, which is the most degraded and abject of

all infinites, because it is infinite only in the most dormant capacity.

[121] Thus for instance the first being, or being _itself_, does

not flow from any being as its cause, because it is without any

participation of being: and though it proceeds from a superior cause,

i.e. the _one itself_, yet it does not proceed from this cause, on

account of its being an imparticipable, but on account of its being

subordinate to _the one_, and consequently a participant of the one.

And this is likewise true in every other imparticipable.

[122] Ὄντως in the original, which means indeed literally, _truly_. But

the philosophical reader will please to observe that as it is an adverb

derived from the participle ὤν, or _being_; its full meaning is _truly

according to being_. So that by _true life_, we must understand _life

according to the truth of being_; and so of the rest.

[123] For if that which is primarily eternal, is eternal according

to essence, but not according to energy, it will be the same with

the world, which is the first participant of time. For the world is

essentially eternal, because though its parts are subject to change,

yet considered as a whole, it is perpetually the same. But then it is

not eternal in _energy_, but in _capacity_ alone. For it subsists in a

perpetual capacity of existence; and its flowing essence is perpetually

composed from the past, present, and future circulations of time.

[124] In the original it is κατ’ ὐσιαν, but it should doubtless be

read, according to our translation κατ’ ἐνέργειαν.

[125] Thus for instance the qualities which subsist about bodies are

incorporeal, and consequently eternal and incorruptible; but yet they

are not immortal, because they are destitute of life.

[126] In the Greek θανατου is erroneously printed, instead of αθανατου,

which the reader will evidently perceive must be the true reading.

But though this is sufficiently obvious to those who understand the

proposition; yet Portus, who seldom attends to the meaning, has, from

not rectifying this mistake, given the most ridiculous translation of

this concluding sentence, that can possibly be imagined. The original

is: τὸ δὲ ὄν τῆς ζωῆς περιληπτικώτερον, καὶ του θανάτου, (lege

αθανατου) ἅρα τὸ ἀΐδιον. The translation of Portus: “Illud vero, quod

est, vitam, et mortem magis complectitur, _vel, ipsum vero ens, plura

complectitur, et latius patet, quam vita et mors_. Ergo ipsum eternum

_est illud, quod non recipit ipsum non esse, et quod semper est_;” i.e.

“But that which is, comprehends in a greater degree, life and death;

or being itself comprehends more, and is of greater extent than life

and death. Therefore, eternity itself, is that which does not receive

non-being, and which always is.”

[127] That is neither according to time alone, nor eternity alone: but

from the participation of both.

[128] Instead of ὡς δι’ ὁμοιῶν ἀνόμοιον, read ὡς δι’ ὁμοιῶν εἰς ὅμοιον.

And read with astonishment the version of Portus; who not perceiving

the error of the text, has made nonsense of the passage, as usual.

[129] To such as understand these Elements, this argument for the

existence of a multitude of gods, is perfectly demonstrative and clear.

Indeed as every production of nature possesses the power of generating

its similar, it is much more necessary that the first cause of all

should generate a multitude the most similar to himself, that can

possibly be conceived. For every being produces that which is similar

prior to the dissimilar; as indeed a contrary mode of proceeding

would be absurd and impossible. The immediate or first productions

therefore of the first god, must be a multitude of gods: or otherwise

his first progeny would not be perfectly similar to himself. Nor

does this doctrine, is any respect derogate from the dignity of the

supreme god, as the ignorant suppose; but on the contrary tends to

exalt his majesty, and evince the ineffable beneficence and perfection

of his nature. For though it establishes a multitude of gods, yet

it teaches that they are dependant on the first, who is perfectly

incomprehensible, and without participation. So that it leads us to

consider the subordinate deities, as so many lesser luminaries shining

before the presence of the sun of good, and encircling with awful

grandeur his ineffable radiance, and occult retreats. And that this

doctrine fully displays his superlative goodness, is sufficiently

manifest; since by a contrary assertion we must ascribe imperfection

to the fountain of excellence, and leave deity impotent and barren.

Indeed this opinion is so natural and reasonable, that, excepting the

Jews, it was embraced by every nation of the ancient world. Nor ought

we to wonder that the Jews were an exception to the universal consent

of mankind, in this important particular. For with respect to the

origin of this despicable, _though chosen people_, it was scarcely

known to the Heathens; “the greater part of whom,” as Dr. Burnest

justly observes (De Origin. Rer. cap. 7.) “supposed them to be natives

of Egypt, sprung from the same root, or considered them as a vile,

and inconsiderable people.” And as to their learning we may remark

with the same author, “that they never excelled in philosophical, or

mathematical knowledge; and never gave the world a famous example of

the strength of human wit; from whence arose that bitter reproach

of Apollonius, _That the Jews were the most trifling of all the

barbarians, and that they were the only people who had never found out

any thing useful for life_.” The example of the Jews, therefore,

ought to be so far from deciding against Polytheism, that when their

character is impartially estimated, it will strengthen the evidence of

its reasonableness and truth.

[130] Though the first cause of _the one itself_, confers on every

thing a proper symbol of his ineffable nature; yet this occult unity,

or impression is not divine in things subject to generation and decay,

but in true essences alone, in the number of which rational souls must

be ranked. Such of these, however, as are of a partial nature, and on

this account are not the immediate progeny of _the first one_, do not

contain a unity which can be called a god; because they are connected

with motion, and are in a certain respect composite essences. But

where there is a most true essence, as in separate intellects, and

celestial souls, the unity of each is a god. And indeed on account

of these unities, which are as it were expressive characters of the

first unity, the essences of the gods contain all things, and extend

their providential care to every part of the universe, with unbounded

beneficence, and immaculate power. But these divine unities are

perpetually united to the first one, like rays to light, and lines

to a centre. They likewise subsist in the most perfect union with

each other. For since union in other natures is effected through the

power of unity, these divine unities must be much more closely united,

through their subsisting much nearer to the first and most perfect

one. Every divine unity, therefore, though it is neither essence,

nor obnoxious to essential multitude, yet abides in essence; or is

rather the summit, and as it were blossom of essence. And as every

thing is established in its proper species through form, and as we

derive our being through soul; so every god is a deity, from the

secret unity which he contains. Hence these divine unities subsist

in the intelligible world, and in the essences of the gods, like so

many splendid lamps in diaphanous spheres, mingling their rays with an

ineffable union, energy, and consent. And situated in most admirable

order, in the vestibule of the good, they occultly signify divine

silence, and solitary beauty; and perspicuously announce to posterior

natures the awful sanctuary of their incomprehensible cause.

[131] We may farther infer the necessity of providence in the gods,

from considering that as they are the producing causes of all things,

so all things abide, and are radically established in their natures.

For where can any thing subsist, which is not contained in their

unknown and all-pervading comprehensions? But if this be the case,

since all things are in reality the offspring of the gods, they must

continually be the objects of their providential exertions. For

as goodness is the characteristic of these divine natures, it is

impossible that they should abandon their progeny, or cease to impart

their beneficent, unenvying, and all-powerful communications. Nor must

we think that these providential exertions are laborious to the gods;

since, as Proclus well observes, (Theol. Plat. p. 41.) that which

is according to nature, is not laborious to any thing. “For neither

(says he) is it laborious for fire to give warmth, nor for snow to

refrigerate, nor for bodies themselves to energize according to their

peculiar powers. Nor prior to bodies, is it laborious to natures

themselves to nourish, or generate, or increase: for these are the

operations of natures. Nor again, prior to these, is it laborious to

souls to exert their peculiar energies: for many of their energies

are attended with delight, many are the result of their essence;

and many motions are produced by their presence alone.” Hence if

the communication of good naturally belongs to the gods, providence

also is natural to these divinities, which they exert in a tranquil,

unpolluted, and incorporeal manner.

Should it be enquired in what manner providence operates, the following

beautiful passage from Proclus on the Parmenides, as cited by Ficinus,

in his commentary on that dialogue, will give us abundant satisfaction:

“Let us conceive (says he) a ship agitated by the winds and waves,

and let us suppose, that the imagination of some one is so powerful,

that while he imagines the sea, the sea immediately flows; that while

he imagines the ship, the ship is constructed; and that the winds and

waves, arise agreeable to his imagination, and as the consequences of

its vehement energy. Now it is evident, that such a one would not be

compelled, in surveying these particulars, to employ a confused and

distracted vision; but both his knowledge and operation, would equally

subsist in a uniform manner. And such is the simplicity of divine

intelligence, with respect to the intuition and fabrication of inferior

concerns.”

[132] The reader must remember that the gods are alone super-essential,

through their _unities_, which are the characteristics of their

natures: for as irrationality is the essential signature of a brute,

and rationality of a man; so a divine unity, is the invariable

characteristic of a god.

[133] By this ἀπήχημα, or _resounding echo of soul_, we must understand

that vital quality, by which the soul is united to the body; and

which is nothing more than the extreme image and shadow of the soul.

The necessity of such a connecting quality, will easily appear, from

considering that an _incorporeal_ nature, like that of soul, cannot be

connected with _body_, without a vital medium. In consequence of this

we may consider with Plotinus, (Ennead. IV. lib. 4.) the animated body

as resembling illuminated and heated air; and the pains and pleasures

of the body, will be conversant with this shadow of the soul.

[134] This must be understood of immediate participation; and on this

hypothesis, it is certainly true, that neither two or more unities

are participated by one being. For since there is an order among

the unities, and some are more universal than others, two cannot be

immediately participated by one being, without an alteration taking

place in the subsistence of each. This is evident from the cxxxii.

Proposition, in which it is proved _that all the orders of the gods

are bound in union by a medium_: and consequently since all the

unions are connected by proper mediums, it is impossible that any two

can be immediately participated.

[135] For as being itself, is no other than the highest order of the

gods and the most uniform multitude, and as the characteristic of every

god is a divine unity; hence the characteristic of being itself, will

be the, unity proceeding from bound. But as all the divine unities

are super-essential; hence _being itself_ according to its

characteristic will be super-essential.

[136] For as matter is deservedly called _non-being_, because it is

_worse_ than all things; in like manner this appellation is proper to

the first cause, as he is _better_ than all things.

[137] He who understands this divine sentence, _that all things

sympathise with all_, will see that the _magic_ cultivated by the

ancient philosophers, is founded in a theory no less sublime than

rational and true. Such a one will contemplate the universe as one

great animal, all whose parts are in union and consent with each

other; so that nothing is foreign and detached; nothing strictly

speaking void of sympathy and life. For through various parts of the

world, when considered as separated from the whole, are destitute of

_peculiar_ life; yet they possess some degree of animation however

inconsiderable, when considered with relation to the universe. Life

indeed may be compared to a perpetual and universal sound; and the soul

of the world resembles a lyre, or some other musical instrument, from

which we way suppose this sound to be emitted. But from the unbounded

diffusion as it were of the mundane soul, every thing participates of

this harmonical sound, in greater or less perfection, according to

the dignity of its nature. So that while life every where resounds,

the most abject of beings may be said to retain a faint echo of the

melody produced from the mundane lyre. It was doubtless from profoundly

considering this sympathy between the mundane soul, and the parts of

the world, that the ancient philosophers were enabled to procure the

presence of divinity, and perform effects, beyond the comprehension of

the _vulgar_. And that this was the opinion of Plotinus, the following

passage evinces: “It appears to me that the ancient wise men, who

wished to procure the presence of the gods, by fabricating statues and

performing sacred rites, directed their intellectual eye to the nature

of the universe, and perceived that the nature of soul was every where

easy to be attracted, when a proper subject was at hand, easily passive

to its influence. But every thing adapted to imitation, is readily

passive; and is like a mirror able to seize a certain form, and reflect

it to the view.” Ennead iv. lib. 3.

[138] For as this divine light operates according to the debilitated

nature of the subject into which it is received (and there is no

other way in which it can operate), it necessarily appears to receive

a dominion foreign from its own. Hence it appears both obscure and

impotent, though in reality neither: for these are the imperfections of

the subject which it actuates and illumines.

[139] According to the Chaldaic theology, which is the same with

the Platonic, the intelligible order, subsisting immediately after

_the one_, consists of three triads; the summit of each being called

_father_, the middle, _power_, and the third _intellect_. This is

profoundly and beautifully explained by Proclus in Theol. Plat. lib. 3.

to which I refer the reader desirous of copious information, on this

sublime and interesting subject. I only add that Plato in the Timæus,

ascribes these appellations to the demiurgus of the universe: and this

sufficiently proves that words of this kind are not the invention of

the latter Platonists, according to the ignorant assertion of Hyde, in

the preface to his book, “On the Religion of the Persians;” a work of

an alluring title, but of insignificant execution.

[140] In consequence of this the cause of protection must be superior

to the cause of purgation, or purity. For since protection preserves

things in their proper order, but purity separates things excellent

from such as are base, and the latter is preparatory to the former;

hence protection must be superior in the order of causes to purgation.

[141] That _being_ and _form_ differ from each other is evident

from the 73d and 74th proposition of these Elements, in which it is

demonstrated that _being_ is superior to _form_; because being is above

that which is total; and that which is total is above form.

[142] He who understands this will see the propriety of the appellation

_fabricator_, and _father_, given by Plato in the Timæus to the

artificer of the world; and why _fabricator_ is placed before _father_;

concerning which consult Proclus on Plato’s Theology, lib. v. cap. 16.

[143] This must be understood, not as if the first intellect understood

nothing but itself; but that it understands no other intellect besides

itself. For the divine unities, and the first one, are the objects of

its continual speculation: and in this exalted employment its life and

felicity invariably and eternally consists.

[144] This last sentence of the proposition, is in the original: καὶ

νοητὸν εϛὶ. τοῦτο, τὸ μέν, ὅ ἐϛι, τὸ δέ, ἀφ’ οὗ ἐϛίν. And this Portus

renders with his usual unskilfulness: et est mente-perceptum. Hoc autem

partim quidem, _est illud_, quod est, partim vero, _est illud_, a quo

est. That is, “and it is intelligible. But this is partly that which it

is, but partly is that from which it is.” The wrong pointing after εϛὶ,

which instead of period should be a comma, and τοῦτο being erroneously

printed for τούτῳ were the causes of Portus’ mistake: and this he would

have rectified, had be understood the proposition.

[145] Thus for instance intellect in _being itself_, which comprehends

the highest order of intelligibles, is νοῦς νοητός, or an _intelligible

intellect_; because it is the object of intelligence to all subordinate

natures, and because its vision is transcendently simple and occult.

But every intellect is indeed the same with the intelligible in its own

nature, but is subordinate to _intelligible itself_.

[146] Intellect in energy, or in the act of understanding is the same

with the object of its intellection. For the object of its perception,

must be resident in its essence, or it would perceive externally

like sense; and thus would not behold the thing itself, but only its

image. But if that which is intelligible is seated in the essence of

intellect, it will in no respect differ from intellect: for it will be

essential to its nature, and will consequently be intellectual, as well

as intelligible.

[147] By an intellection _according to one_ (καθέν) we must understand

a various intelligence subsisting indivisibly, and without mutation.

Just as when by one and the same energy of vision, we survey the

various parts of the same countenance though distant from each other.

And an intellection of this kind belongs to all intellects subordinate

to the first: for the intelligence of this is perfectly simple, and

comprehends all things in one.

[148] That part of his proposition, within the crotchets is in one

place very defective in the Greek, which may be corrected as follows:

Instead of reading οἱ δὲ μἑτ’ εκεἰνους, δια πλειόνων, ελασσω. κατὰ

τὴν δυ['ν]αμιν οὗν ελλαμψιν ἐκἔινοι δὶ ἑλασσόνων πλέιονα παραγούσιν,

ὁλικοίτερα εν αυτὅις ἕιδη: read after πλειωων:----ελασσω, κατὰ τὴν

δυναμιν ἅλλειψιν. ει ουν εκεινοι δε and the rest as above.

[149] The reader must observe that this is to be understood of

immediate participation.

[150] Instead of ἡ γαρ θεοτης συνεξαπτει τῳ νῳ. κ. τ. λ. as in the

original, the sense requires that we should read: ὃ γαρ εὕς συνεξαπτει

τῳ θεοτητει. κ. τ. λ.

[151] For inferiors are comprehended in superiors, and particulars

in universals; so that he who knows universals, knows particulars

also; though the reverse of this is not true. The soul, therefore, by

possessing a natural capacity of knowing herself, and things superior

to her own nature, will from the illuminations attending her knowledge

of the latter, know herself in a much more eminent and perspicuous

manner.

[152] Thus for instance the body of the world, or of any particular

animal, is vital from its receiving the echo of soul; but as it does

not at the same time, essentially possess _life_, (or else it

would be soul) it is composed from life, and non-life. For it is

nothing more than body, or non-life, united with the last image of

soul, or a debile life.

[153] This truly divine sentence, is derived from the most profound

theory; and can alone be understood by those who have deeply studied

the six books of Proclus on Plato’s Theology. I shall, therefore, only

observe for the sake of the _intellectual reader_, that as _essence_,

_life_, and _intellect_ subsist in occult union, in the first being,

which comprehends the highest order of the gods; and as _intelligence_

is the medium between that which is _intelligible_, and _intellect_; it

is evident that life itself is intelligence.

[154] Because eternity subsists in life, and is no other than infinite

life, as is copiously proved from Plotinus, in the note to Proposition

LII.

[155] For that which is properly eternal, is perfectly stable, and is

never subject to mutation.

[156] In Proposition CLXXXIV. And from hence it appears, that by

particular souls in this Proposition, are meant such as are capable of

being changed from the possession of intellect, into its privation.

[157] The reader must observe that these vehicles or divine bodies,

the first participants of their correspondent souls, are no other than

those vehicles, so beautifully described by Synesius, and inserted in

the preceding history of Theology.

[158] For a demonstration of the truth of this sentence, see the note

to page 59, vol. I. of this work.

[159] Instead of ὣστε καὶ ἡ μεῥικὴ ψυχὴ, καὶ το αἴτιον. κ. τ. λ.--I

read, ῶστε τὸ αἴτιον της μεῤικὴς ψυχὴς, καὶ ἄρα. κ. τ. λ.

[160] χειρόνων is erroneously printed in the Greek, instead of χειτᾶνων.

[161] That part of this proposition, within the crotchets, is neither

in the Greek which is here defective, nor in the translation of

Patricius, but is added from my own conjecture; whether or not with

propriety, the reader must determine.

Transcriber’s Notes:

1. Obvious printers’, punctuation and spelling errors have been

corrected silently.

2. Where appropriate, the original spelling has been retained.

3. Some hyphenated and non-hyphenated versions of the same words have

been retained as in the original.

4. Italics are shown as _xxx_.