SECTION III.

40. The ancients, wishing to exhibit to us the peculiarity of incorporeal

being, so far as this can be effected by words, when they assert that

it is one, immediately add, that it is likewise all things; by which

they signified that it is not some one[175] of the things which are

known by the senses. Since, however, we suspect that this incorporeal

one is different from sensibles, in consequence of not perceiving

this total one, which is all things according to one, in a sensible

nature, and which is so because this one is all things:—hence the

ancients added, that _it is one so far as one_; in order that we might

understand that what is all things in truly existing being, is something

uncompounded, and that we might withdraw ourselves from the conception

of a coacervation. When likewise they say that it is every where, they

add that it is no where. When also they assert that it is in all things,

they add, that it is no where in every thing. Thus, too, when they say,

that it is in all things, and in every divisible nature which is adapted

to receive it, they add, that it is a whole in a whole. And, in short,

they render it manifest to us, through contrary peculiarities; at one and

the same time assuming these, in order that we may exterminate, from the

apprehension of it, the fictitious conceptions which are derived from

bodies, and which obscure the cognoscible peculiarities of real being.

41. When you have assumed an eternal essence, infinite in itself

according to power, and begin to perceive intellectually an hypostasis

unwearied, untamed, and never-failing, but transcending in the most

pure and genuine life, and full from itself; and which is likewise

established in itself, satisfied with, and seeking nothing but itself:—to

this essence, if you add a subsistence in place, or a relation to a

certain thing, at the same time that you [appear to] diminish it, by

ascribing to it an indigence of place, or a relative condition of being,

you do not [in reality] diminish this essence, but you separate yourself

from the perception of it, by receiving as a veil the phantasy which runs

under your conjectural apprehension of it. For you cannot pass beyond,

or stop, or render more perfect, or effect the least change in a thing

of this kind, because it is impossible for it to be in the smallest

degree deficient. For it is much more never-failing than any perpetually

flowing fountain can be conceived to be. If, however, you are unable

to keep pace with it, and to become assimilated to the intelligible

all, you should not investigate any thing pertaining to real being;

or, if you do, you will deviate from the path that leads to it, and

will look to something else. But if you investigate nothing else, being

established in yourself and your own essence, you will be assimilated to

the intelligible universe, and will not adhere to any thing posterior

to it. Neither, therefore, should you say, I am of a great magnitude.

For, omitting this greatness, you will become universal; though you were

universal prior to this. But, together with the universal, something else

was present with you, and you became less by the addition; because the

addition was not from truly-existing being. For to that you cannot add

any thing. When, therefore, any thing is added from non-being, a place is

afforded to Poverty as an associate, accompanied by an indigence of all

things. Hence, dismissing non-being, you will then become sufficient to

yourself[176]. For he will not return properly to himself who does not

dismiss things of a more vile and abject nature, and who opines himself

to be something naturally small, and not to be such as he truly is. For

thus he, at one and the same time, departs both from himself, and from

truly-existing being. When, also, any one is present with that which is

present in himself, then he is present with true being, which is every

where. But when you withdraw from yourself, then, likewise, you recede

from real being;—of such great consequence is it, for a man to be present

with that which is present with himself, [_i.e._ with his rational

part], and to be absent from that which is external to him.

If, however, true being is present with us, but non-being is absent,

and real being is not present with us in conjunction with other things

[of a nature foreign to it]; it does not accede in order that it may be

present, but we depart from it, when it is not present [with things of

a different nature]. And why should this be considered as wonderful?

For you when present are not absent from yourself; and yet you are not

present with yourself, though present. And you are both present with and

absent from yourself when you survey other things, and omit to behold

yourself. If, therefore, you are thus present, and yet not [in reality]

present with yourself, and on this account are ignorant of yourself,

and in a greater degree discover all things, though remote from your

essence, than yourself, with which you are naturally present, why should

you wonder if that which is not present is remote from you who are remote

from it, because you have become remote from yourself? For, by how much

the more you are [truly] present with yourself, though it is present, and

inseparably conjoined with you, by so much the more will you be present

with real being, which is so essentially united to you, that it is as

impossible for it to be divulsed from you, as for you to be separated

from yourself. So that it is universally possible to know what is present

with real being, and what is absent from it, though it is every where

present, and again is also no where. For those who are able to proceed

into their own essence intellectually, and to obtain a knowledge of

it, will, in the knowledge itself, and the science accompanying this

knowledge, be able to recover or regain themselves, through the union

of that which knows with that which is known. And with those, who are

present with themselves, truly-existing being will also be present. But

from such as abandon the proper being of themselves to other things,—from

these, as they are absent from themselves, true being will also be

absent. If, however, we are naturally adapted to be established in the

same essence, to be rich from ourselves, and not to descend to that which

we are not; in so doing becoming in want of ourselves, and thus again

associating with Poverty, though Porus[177] [or Plenty] is present;—and

if we are cut off from real being, from which we are not separated either

by place, or essence, nor by any thing else, through our conversion to

non-being, we suffer as a just punishment of our abandonment of true

being, a departure from, and ignorance of ourselves. And again, by a

proper attention to, we recover ourselves, and become united to divinity.

It is, therefore, rightly said, that the soul is confined in body as in

a prison, and is there detained in chains like a fugitive slave[178].

We should, however, [earnestly] endeavour to be liberated from our

bonds. For, through being converted to these sensible objects, we desert

ourselves, though we are of a divine origin, and are, as Empedocles says,

Heaven’s exiles, straying from the orb of light.

So that every depraved life is full of servitude; and on this account

is without God and unjust, the spirit in it being full of impiety, and

consequently of injustice. And thus, again, it is rightly said, that

justice is to be found in the performance of that which is the province

of him who performs it. The image also of true justice consists in

distributing to each of those with whom we live, that which is due to the

desert of each.

42. That which possesses its existence in another [_i.e._ in something

different from itself], and is not essentialized in itself, separably

from another, if it should be converted to itself, in order to know

itself, without that in which it is essentialized, withdrawing itself

from it; would be corrupted by this knowledge, in consequence of

separating itself from its essence. But that which is able to know

itself without the subject in which it exists, and is able to withdraw

itself from this subject, without the destruction of itself, cannot be

essentialized in that, from which it is capable of converting itself

to itself, without being corrupted, and of knowing itself by its own

energies. Hence, if sight, and every sensitive power, neither perceives

itself, nor apprehends or preserves itself by separating itself

from body; but intellect, when it separates itself from body, then

especially perceives intellectually, is converted to itself, and is not

corrupted;—it is evident that the sensitive powers obtain the power of

energizing through the body; but that intellect possesses its energies

and its essence not in body, but in itself.

43. Incorporeal natures are properly denominated, and conceived to be

what they are, according to a privation of body; just as, according to

the ancients, matter, and the form which is in matter, and also natures

and [physical] powers, are apprehended by an abstraction from matter.

And after the same manner place, time, and the boundaries of things, are

apprehended. For all such things are denominated according to a privation

of body. There are likewise other things which are said to be incorporeal

improperly, not according to a privation of body, but, in short, because

they are not naturally adapted to generate body[179]. Hence those of

the former signification subsist in bodies; but those of the second are

perfectly separated from bodies, and from those incorporeal natures which

subsist about bodies. For bodies, indeed, are in place, and boundaries

are in body. But intellect, and intellectual reason, neither subsist

in place nor in body; nor proximately give existence to bodies, nor

subsist together with bodies, or with those incorporeal natures which

are denominated according to a privation of bodies. Neither, therefore,

if a certain incorporeal vacuum should be conceived to exist, would it

be possible for intellect to be in a vacuum. For a vacuum may be the

recipient of body; but it is impossible that it should be the recipient

of intellect, and afford a place for its energy. Since, however, the

genus of an incorporeal nature appears to be twofold, one of these the

followers of Zeno do not at all admit, but they adopt the other; and

perceiving that the former is not such as the latter, they entirely

subvert it, though they ought rather to conceive that it is of another

genus, and not to fancy that, because it is not the latter, it has no

existence.

44. Intellect and the intelligible are one thing, and sense and that

which is sensible another. And the intelligible, indeed, is conjoined

with intellect, but that which is sensible with sense. Neither, however,

can sense by itself apprehend itself.... But the intelligible, which

is conjoined with intellect, and intellect, which is conjoined with

the intelligible, by no means fall under the perception of sense.

Intellect, however, is intelligible to intellect. But if intellect is the

intelligible object of intellect, intellect will be its own intelligible

object. If, therefore, intellect is an intellectual and not a sensible

object, it will be intelligible. But if it is intelligible to intellect,

and not to sense, it will also be intelligent. The same thing, therefore,

will be that which is intelligent, or intellectually perceives, and

which is intellectually perceived, or is intelligible; and this will be

true of the whole with respect to the whole; but not as he who rubs,

and he who is rubbed. Intellect, therefore, does not intellectually

perceive by one part, and is intellectually perceived by another: for

it is impartible, and the whole is an intelligible object of the whole.

It is likewise wholly intellect, having nothing in itself which can be

conceived to be deprived of intelligence. Hence one part of it does not

intellectually perceive, but not another part of it[180]. For, so far as

it does not intellectually perceive, it will be unintelligent. Neither,

therefore, departing from this thing, does it pass on to that. For of

that from which it departs, it has no intellectual perception. But if

there is no transition in its intellections, it intellectually perceives

all things at once. If, therefore, it understands all things at once, and

not this thing now, but another afterwards, it understands all things

instantaneously and always....[181]

Hence, if all things are instantaneously perceived by it, its perceptions

have nothing to do with the past and the future, but subsist in an

indivisible untemporal _now_; so that the simultaneous, both according

to multitude, and according to temporal interval, are present with

intellect. Hence, too, all things subsist in it according to one, and

in one, without interval, and without time. But if this be the case,

there is nothing discursive or transitive in its intellections, and

consequently they are without motion. Hence, they are energies according

to one, subsisting in one, and without increase or mutation, or any

transition. If, however, the multitude subsists according to one, and

the energy is collected together at once, and without time, an essence

of this kind must necessarily always subsist in [an intelligible] one.

But this is eternity. Hence, eternity is present with intellect. That

nature, however, which does not perceive intellectually according to one,

and in one, but transitively, and with motion, so that in understanding

it leaves one thing and apprehends another, divides and proceeds

discursively,—this nature [which is soul] subsists in conjunction with

time. For with a motion of this kind, the future and the past are

consubsistent. But soul, changing its conceptions, passes from one thing

to another; not that the prior conceptions depart, and the posterior

accede in their place, but there is, as it were, a transition of the

former, though they remain in the soul, and the latter accede, as if from

some other place. They do not, however, accede in reality from another

place; but they appear to do so in consequence of the self-motion of the

soul, and through her eye being directed to a survey of the different

forms which she contains, and which have the relation of parts to her

whole essence. For she resembles a fountain not flowing outwardly,

but circularly scattering its streams into itself. With the motion,

therefore, of soul, time is consubsistent; but eternity is consubsistent

with the permanency of intellect in itself[182]. It is not, however,

divided from intellect in the same manner as time is from soul; because

in intellect the consubsistent essences are united. But that which is

perpetually moved, is the source of a false opinion of eternity, through

the immeasurable extent of its motion producing a conception of eternity.

And that which abides [in one,] is falsely conceived to be the same with

that which is [perpetually] moved. For that which is perpetually moved,

evolves the time of itself in the same manner as _the now_ of itself,

and multiplies it, according to a temporal progression. Hence, some have

apprehended that time is to be surveyed in permanency no less than in

motion; and that eternity, as we have said, is infinite time; just as

if each of these imparted its own properties to the other; time, which

is always moved, adumbrating eternity by the perpetuity of itself, and

the sameness of its motion; and eternity, through being established

in sameness of energy, becoming similar to time, by the permanency of

itself arising from energy. In sensibles, however, the time of one thing

is distinct from that of another. Thus, for instance, there is one time

of the sun, and another of the moon, one time of the morning-star, and

another of each of the planets. Hence, also, there is a different year

of different planets. The year, likewise, which comprehends these times,

terminates as in a summit in the motion of the soul [of the universe,]

according to the imitation of which the celestial orbs are moved. The

motion of this soul, however, being of a different nature from that of

the planets, the time of the former also is different from that of the

latter. For the latter subsists with interval, and is distinguished from

the former by local motions and transitions.

FOOTNOTES:

[146] In the original, Ου το ποιουν εις αλλο, πελασει και αφῃ ποιει, α

ποιει· κ.τ.λ. But it is evident, from the sense of the whole passage,

that, for Ου το ποιουν, we should read, Ου παν το ποιουν, κ.τ.λ.

[147] The article ο is wanting here in the original before ετερος.

[148] Knowledge subsists conformably to the nature by which it is

possessed, and not conformably to the thing known. Hence it is either

better than, or co-ordinate with, or inferior to the object of knowledge.

Thus the rational soul has a knowledge of sensibles, which is superior

to sensibles; but it knows itself with a co-ordinate knowledge; and its

knowledge of divinity is inferior to the object of knowledge. Porphyry,

therefore, is not correct in what he here says. This dogma respecting the

conformity of knowledge to that which knows, rather than to the thing

known, originated from the divine Iamblichus, as we are informed by

Ammonius in his commentary on Aristotle’s treatise De Interpretatione,

and is adopted by Proclus (in Parmenid.). Boetius likewise employs it in

his reasoning in lib. v. about the prescience of divinity. None of his

commentators, however, have noticed the source from whence it was derived.

[149] Because here the generator is that _primarily_ which the thing

generated is _secondarily_. See my translation of Proclus’s Theological

Elements.

[150] Porphyry here summarily comprehends the rational gnostic powers

of the soul in intellect, because, being rational, they are expansions

of intellect properly so called. But these powers, beginning from the

lowest, are _opinion_, _dianoia_, and the summit of dianoia, which summit

is the intellect of the human soul, and is that power, by the light of

which we perceive the truth of axioms, it being intuitive perception.

_Dianoia_ is the discursive energy of reason; or it is that power which

reasons scientifically, deriving the principles of its reasoning from

intellect. And _opinion_ is that power which knows _that_ a thing is, but

is ignorant of the cause of it, or _why_ it is.

[151] In the original, ει δε μη εξω εκτεινομενος; but for ει δε μη, it

appears to me to be obviously necessary to read ουδε μη.

[152] In the original, εξω δε οντων υλης, ουδαμου αν ειη ταυτα; which

Holstenius, wholly mistaking the meaning, most erroneously translates,

“At si extra materiam sint, neutiquam id fieri poterit.” Farther on,

Porphyry asserts, that God, intellect, and soul, are no where, according

to corporeal locality.

[153] In the original, η μνημη ουκ εστι φαντασιων σωτηρια, αλλα των

μελετηθεντων προβαλλεσθαι εκ νεας προβληματα. But for προβληματα, I read

προλημματα. This power, by which Porphyry characterizes memory, is of a

stable nature. And hence memory is _stability of knowledge_, in the same

manner as immortality is _stability of life_, and eternity _stability of

being_.

[154] See the notes on the 3d book of my translation of Aristotle’s

treatise on the Soul, and also my translation of Plotinus on Felicity.

“The phantasy,” says Olympiodorus (in Platonis Phæd.) “is an impediment

to our intellectual conceptions; and hence, when we are agitated by

the inspiring influence of Divinity, if the phantasy intervenes, the

enthusiastic energy ceases: for enthusiasm and the phantasy are contrary

to each other. Should it be asked, whether the soul is able to energize

without the phantasy? we reply, that its perception of universals

proves that it is able. It has perceptions, therefore, independent of

the phantasy; at the same time, however, the phantasy attends it in its

energies, just as a storm pursues him who sails on the sea.”

[155] The analogy of the soul to harmony, is more accurately unfolded as

follows, by Olympiodorus, in his Commentary on the Phædo of Plato, than

it is in this place by Porphyry: “Harmony has a triple subsistence. For

it is either harmony itself, or it is that which is first harmonized, and

which is such according to the whole of itself; or it is that which is

secondarily harmonized, and which partially participates of harmony. The

first of these must be assigned to intellect, the second to soul, and the

third to body. This last, too, is corruptible, because it subsists in a

subject; but the other two are incorruptible, because they are neither

composites, nor dependent on a subject. Hence, the rational soul is

analogous to a musician, but the animated body to harmonized chords; for

the former has a subsistence separate, but the latter inseparable from

the musical instrument.”

[156] What Porphyry here says about matter, is derived from the treatise

of Plotinus, _On the Impassivity of Incorporeal Natures_, to my

translation of which I refer the reader.

[157] See my translation of the before-mentioned treatise of Plotinus.

[158] For τα οντα here, I read τα αυτα.

[159] Hence, it is beautifully said in the Clavis of Hermes Trismegistus,

“that the knowledge of _the good_ [or the supreme principle of things],

is a divine silence, and the quiescence of all the senses.” See, also, on

this subject, a most admirable extract from Damascius, περι αρχων, at the

end of the 3d volume of my Plato.

[160] For that which is truly incorporeal, is _every where_ virtually,

_i.e._ in power and efficacy, but is _no where_ locally.

[161] For μερισταις here, I read, μερικαις. For Porphyry is here speaking

of essences which are opposed to _such as rank as wholes_, as is evident

from the whole of this paragraph.

[162] The primary natures of which Porphyry is now speaking, are rational

partial souls, such as ours; for the natures superior to these, are never

converted to beings posterior to themselves.

[163] For αυτου, _isthic_, I read, αυτος.

[164] In the original, και ψυχη εν νῳ τε και θεῳ πανταχου, και ουδαμου εν

σωματι, but it appears to me to be necessary to read, και ψυχη εν νῳ τε

και θεῳ, και πανταχου και ουδαμου εν σωματι.

[165] και εν νῳ, is omitted in the original, but ought to be inserted, as

is evident from the version of Holstenius.

[166] The irrational life is a thing of this kind, which is partly

separable and partly inseparable from body. Hence, so far as it is

inseparable from body, it partakes of the _every where_; but, so far as

it is separable, of the _no where_.

[167] _i.e._ The animal spirit, or pneumatic soul, in which the rational

soul suffers her punishments in Hades.

[168] _i.e._ That part of the soul which is the source of all-various

desires.

[169] This philosophic apathy is not, as is stupidly supposed by most of

the present day, insensibility, but a perfect subjugation of the passions

to reason.

[170] The words και δικαιοσυνη, are omitted in the original. But it is

evident from the treatise of Plotinus “On the Virtues,” that they ought

to be inserted. For what Porphyry says in this Section about the virtues,

is derived from that treatise.

[171] Instead of κατ’ αυτην, here it is necessary to read, κατ’ αισθησιν.

[172] Conformably to this, as we have before observed, Aristotle says in

the 7th Book of his Nicomachean Ethics, “that corporeal pleasures are

remedies against pain, and that they fill up the indigence of nature, but

perfect no energy of the rational soul.”

[173] In the original, αλλα το εκβεβηκος τον μεγιστον ογκον, εις το

μεγιστον, και τον ελαχιστον εις το ελαχιστον, αμα λαβων, κ.τ.λ. This

Holstenius most erroneously translates, “Verum id quod maximam molem

intervallo maximo, et minimam minimo excedit simul sumens, &c.” For a

truly incorporeal nature, such as that of which Porphyry is now speaking,

has nothing to do with interval, and, therefore, does not by interval

surpass either the greatest or the least corporeal mass; but is received

transcendently by the greatest and the least magnitude.

[174] For διαληψεσιν, here, I read καταληψεσιν, and Holstenius also has

in this place _comprehensionibus_.

[175] In the original, καθο εν τι των κατ’ αισθησιν συνεγνωσμενων; but it

appears to me to be necessary, after καθο, to insert the words ουκ εστιν.

For incorporeal being is not like some one of the things which are known

by the senses, because no one of these is one, and, at the same time, all

things. Holstenius did not perceive the necessity of this emendation, as

is evident from his version of the passage.

[176] Immediately after this something is wanting in the original, (as is

evident from the asterisks,) which, as it appears to me, no conjecture

can appropriately supply.

[177] In the original, και δια τουτων παλιν τῃ πενιᾳ συνειναι, καιπερ

παροντος αυτου; but for αυτου, I read πορου; as it appears to me that

Porphyry is here alluding to what is said by Diotima, in the Banquet of

Plato, concerning the parents of Love, viz. that they are _Poverty_ and

_Porus_, or _Plenty_.

[178] See the Phædo of Plato. But something is here wanting in the

original, as is evident not only from the asterisks, but from the want of

connexion in the words themselves.

[179] _i.e._ They are not adapted to be the immediate causes of body,

because they are perfectly separated from it. The original is, ηδη δε ην

αλλα καταχρηστικως λεγομενα ασωματα, ου κατα στερησιν σωματος, κατα δε

ολως μη πεφυκεναι γεννᾳν σωμα. Holstenius, not understanding what is here

said by Porphyry, translates the words κατα δε ολως μη πεφυκεναι γεννᾳν

σωμα, “sed quod nullum omnino corpus generare possunt.” For Porphyry, as

is evident from what immediately follows, is here speaking of natures

which are perfectly separated from bodies, and which are, therefore, not

naturally adapted to be the immediate generators of them, not through any

deficiency, but through transcendency of power.

[180] In the original, διο ουχι τοδε μεν εαυτου νοει, τοδε δε ου νοει,

which Holstenius erroneously translates, “Ideoque non quidem unam sui

partem intelligit, alteram vero non intelligit.” For Porphyry is not here

speaking of intellect surveying its parts, but of its being _wholly_

intellective. This is evident from what immediately follows.

[181] The asterisks in the original denote something is wanting.

Nevertheless, what immediately follows them, is evidently connected with

what immediately precedes.

[182] See the fourth book of my translation of Proclus, on the Timæus

of Plato, in which the nature of time and eternity is most admirably

unfolded. See, also, my translation of Plotinus, on Eternity and Time. In

these works, what both these divine men have said of eternity, and what

the former has said of time, contains, as it appears to me, the _ne plus

ultra_ of philosophical investigation on these most abstruse subjects.

APPENDIX.

APPENDIX.

ON THE WANDERINGS OF ULYSSES.

In my History of the Restoration of the Platonic Theology [see Vol. II.

of my Proclus on Euclid,] and in a note accompanying my translation

of the treatise of Porphyry, on the Cave of the Nymphs, in that work,

I attempted, from the hints afforded by Porphyry, and the work of an

anonymous Greek writer, De Ulyxis Erroribus, to unfold the latent meaning

of the wanderings of Ulysses, as narrated by Homer. But as, from my

continued application to the philosophy of Plato for upwards of forty

years, I now know much more of that philosophy than I then did, a period

of thirty-five years having elapsed from that to the present time, I

shall again attempt to explain those wanderings, rejecting some things,

and retaining others which I had adopted before.

In the first place, it is necessary to observe, that Ulysses does not

rank among the first heroic characters, or in other words, he was not

one of those heroes who descend into the regions of mortality at certain

periods, not only in compliance with that necessity through which all

partial souls such as ours descend periodically, but also for the purpose

of benefiting others, and leading them back to their pristine state of

perfection. Hence, he was by no means such an exalted hero as Hercules,

or Pythagoras, or Socrates, or Plato; for they largely benefited others;

but he only benefited himself. For all his companions perished prior

to his arrival at Ithaca. So that he was able to save himself, but not

others. “Hence,” says Olympiodorus, in his MS. Scholia on the Gorgias

of Plato, “it is said, that Ulysses wandered on the sea by the will of

Neptune. For by this it is signified that the Odyssean life was neither

terrestrial, nor yet celestial, but between these. Since, therefore,

Neptune is the lord of the middle natures, on this account it is said,

that Ulysses wandered through the will of Neptune, because he had a

Neptunian allotment. Thus, also, theologists speak of the sons of

Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto, regarding the allotment of each. For we say,

that he who has a divine and celestial polity, is the son of Jupiter;

that he who has a terrestrial polity, is the son of Pluto; and he is the

son of Neptune, whose polity or allotment is between these[183].” Hence

Ulysses, from his Neptunian allotment, was a man who ranked among the

middle class of characters that transcend the majority of mankind.

In the next place, in order to understand accurately the recondite

meaning of the wanderings of Ulysses, it is requisite to know what the

most divine and theological poet Homer indicates by the Trojan war in

the Iliad. For Homer, by combining fiction with historical facts, has

delivered to us some very occult, mystic, and valuable information, in

those two admirable poems, the Iliad and Odyssey. Hence, by those who

directed their attention to this recondite information, he was said,

conformably to the tragical mode of speaking, which was usual with

the most ancient writers, to have been blind, because, as Proclus

observes[184], he separated himself from sensible beauty, and extended

the intellect of his soul to invisible and true harmony. He was said,

therefore, to be blind, because _that_ intellectual beauty to which he

raised himself cannot be perceived by corporeal eyes. Thus, too, Orpheus

is tragically said to have been lacerated in an all-various manner,

because men of that age _partially_ participated of his mystic doctrine.

The _principal part_ of it, however, was received by the Lesbians; and

on this account, his _head_, when separated from his body, is said to

have been carried to Lesbos. Hence, the Platonic Hermeas, conformably to

this opinion of the occult meaning of the Iliad, beautifully explains as

follows the Trojan war, in his Scholia on the Phædrus of Plato:

“By _Ilion_, we must understand the generated and material place, which

is so denominated from _mud and matter_ (παρα την ιλυν και την υλην,) and

in which there are war and sedition. But the Trojans are material forms,

and all the lives which subsist about bodies. Hence, also, the Trojans

are called _genuine_ (ιθαγενεις). For all the lives which subsist about

bodies, and irrational[185] souls, are favourable and attentive to their

proper matter. On the contrary, the Greeks are rational souls, coming

from Greece, _i.e._ from the intelligible into matter. Hence, the Greeks

are called _foreigners_ (επηλυδες,) and vanquish the Trojans, as being

of a superior order. But they fight with each other about the image of

Helen, as the poet says [about the image of Eneas].

Around the phantom Greeks and Trojans fight[186].

Helen signifying intelligible beauty, being a certain _vessel_ (ελενοη

τις ουσα,) attracting to itself intellect. An efflux, therefore, of this

intelligible beauty is imparted to matter through Venus; and about this

efflux of beauty the Greeks fight with the Trojans [_i.e._ rational

with irrational lives[187]]. And those, indeed, that oppose and vanquish

matter, return to the intelligible world, which is their true country;

but those who do not, as is the case with the multitude, are bound to

matter. As, therefore, the prophet, in the tenth book of the Republic,

previously to the descent of souls, announces to them how they may return

[to their pristine felicity], according to periods of a thousand and

ten thousand years; thus, also, Calchas predicts to the Greeks their

return in ten years, the number ten being the symbol of a perfect period.

And as, in the lives of souls, some are elevated through philosophy,

others through the amatory art, and others through the royal and warlike

disciplines; so with respect to the Greeks, some act with rectitude

through prudence, but others through war or love, and their return is

different [according to their different pursuits].”

The first obviously fabulous adventure, then, of Ulysses, is that of the

Lotophagi, which Homer beautifully narrates, and whose narration Pope

very elegantly translates as follows:

The trees around them all their fruit produce,

Lotos the name, and dulcet is the juice[188]!

(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[189].

Plato, in the 8th book of his Republic, has admirably unfolded to us

what the _lotos_ occultly indicates, viz. that it signifies “false and

arrogant reasonings and opinions:” for daily experience shows that

nothing is more enchanting and delicious than these to such as have made

no solid proficiency in virtue, and who, like some of the companions of

Ulysses, being fascinated by erroneous conceptions, consign their true

country and true kindred to oblivion, and desire to live for ever lost in

the intoxication of fallacious delight.

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

of sight, and irritated by reproaches. But according to Porphyry, in

the above-mentioned excellent treatise, this is no other than the natal

dæmon of Ulysses, or the dæmon to whose protecting power he became

subject, as soon as he was born[190]. In order, however, to understand

perfectly the arcane meaning of this fable, it is necessary to observe,

that according to the ancient theology, those souls that in the present

life will speedily return to their pristine felicity in the intelligible

world, have not the essential dæmon, or the dæmon which is inseparable

from the essence of the soul, different from the dæmon that presides

over the birth; for they are one and the same. But the case is otherwise

with more imperfect souls; as the natal is in these different from the

_essential_ dæmon[191]. As Ulysses, therefore, does not rank among the

more perfect heroic characters, and was not one who in the present life

is immediately ascending to his kindred star, or, in Platonic language,

to the paternal port, the soul’s true paradise of rest; but was a man

who, prior to this, had many laborious wanderings to accomplish, and many

difficulties and dangers of no common magnitude to sustain, his _natal_

was not the same with his _essential_ dæmon. As he is, however, departing

from a sensible to an intellectual life, though circuitously and slowly,

he is represented in so doing as blinding and irritating his _natal_

dæmon. 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 deed; as necessary ultimately to his own peculiar 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

authors, but likewise purify and benefit the subjects of their revenge.

According to the Greek theology, therefore, he who, in the present life,

while he is in the road of virtue, and is eagerly searching for wisdom,

perceives that there is a great resemblance between his destiny and that

of Ulysses, 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; or in other words, has abandoned

a life of sense; 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 Cupid and 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[192].

In the next fable, which is that of Æolus, the poet appears to me to

signify that providence of divinity which is of an elevating and guardian

nature, the influence of which, when properly received by the subjects

of it, enables them to pass with security over the stormy sea of life to

their native land; but when this influence is neglected through the sleep

of reason, the negligence is followed by a temporary destruction of hope.

This providence also of the Gods is not only one, but _all-various_,

which Homer appears to indicate by Æolus; the word αιολος signifying

various and manifold. As the advancement, therefore, of Ulysses in the

virtues is as yet imperfect, extending no farther than to the _ethical_

and _political_, which are but adumbrations of the _true_ virtues, the

cathartic and theoretic[193], he is said to have fallen asleep, and to

have been thereby disappointed of his wishes, his soul not being at that

time in a truly vigilant state, as not having yet elevated its eye to

real being from objects of sense which resemble the delusions of dreams.

By the adventure of the Lestrigons, which follows in the next place,

Homer represents to us Ulysses flying from voracity, and fierce and

savage manners; a flight indispensably necessary, as preparatory to his

attainment of the higher virtues.

In the next adventure, which contains the beautiful allegory of Circe,

we shall find some deep arcana of philosophy contained, exclusive of its

connexion with Ulysses. By the Æean isle, then, in which the palace of

Circe was situated, the region of sorrow and lamentation is signified,

as is evident from the name of the island itself. And, by Circe, we must

understand the Goddess of sense. For thus Porphyry, in Stobæus, p. 141:

“Homer calls the period and revolution of regeneration in a circle,

Circe, the daughter of the Sun, who perpetually connects and combines all

corruption with generation, and generation again with corruption.” And

this is asserted still more explicitly by Proclus, in his Scholia on the

Cratylus of Plato. For he says, “Circe is that divine power which weaves

all the life contained in the four elements, and, at the same time, by

her song harmonizes the whole sublunary world. But the shuttle with

which she weaves, is represented by theologists as golden, because her

essence is intellectual, pure, immaterial, and unmingled with generation;

all which is signified by the shuttle being golden. And her employment

consists in _separating_[194] stable things from such as are in motion,

according to divine diversity.” And he also informs us, “that Circe

ranks among the divinities who preside over generation, or the regions

of sense.” Homer, too, with great propriety, represents Circe, who

rules over the realms of generation, as waited on by Nymphs sprung from

fountains; for Nymphs, says Hermias (in Plat. Phædrum,) are Goddesses who

preside over regeneration, and are the attendants of Bacchus, the son

of Semele. On this account, they are present with water; that is, they

ascend, as it were, into, and rule over generation. But this Dionysius,

or Bacchus, supplies the regeneration of every sensible nature.

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, in consequence of being

very imperfect characters, are changed, through the incantations of the

Goddess, into brutes, _i.e._ into unworthy and irrational habits and

manners. Ulysses, however, as one who is returning, though slowly, to

the proper perfection of his nature, is, by the assistance of Mercury,

or reason, prevented from destruction. Hence intellect, roused by its

impassive power, and at the same time armed with prudent anger, and the

plant moly, or temperance, which is able to repel the allurements of

pleasure, wars on sensible delight, and prevents the effects of its

transforming power. Ulysses, also, though he was not able to lead his

companions back to their native land, the paternal port of the soul, yet

saves them from being transformed, through the enchantments of sense,

into an irrational life.

After this follows the allegory respecting the descent of Ulysses into

_Hades_, which occultly signifies, that he still lived a life according

to sense, and not according to intellect, and that, in consequence

of not having yet vanquished a terrestrial life, he was involved in

_obscurity_. For ancient wise men universally considered Hades as

commencing in the present state of existence, and that sense is nothing

more than the energy of the dormant soul, and a perception, as it were,

of the delusions of dreams, as I have abundantly proved in my treatise

on the Mysteries. The secret meaning, also, of what Ulysses saw in

Hades, is no less beautiful than profound, as the following extract

from the manuscript Commentary of Olympiodorus, on the Gorgias of

Plato, abundantly evinces: “Ulysses,” says he, “descending into Hades,

saw, among others, Sysiphus, and Tityus, and Tantalus. And Tityus he

saw lying on the earth, and a vulture devouring his liver; the liver

signifying that he lived solely according to the _epithymetic_ part of

his nature [or that part of the soul which is the source of desires,]

and that through this, indeed, he was, indeed, internally prudent;

but earth signifying the terrestrial condition of his prudence. But

Sysiphus, living under the dominion of ambition and anger, was employed

in continually rolling a stone up an eminence, because it perpetually

descended again; its descent implying the vicious government of himself;

and his rolling the stone, the hard, refractory, and, as it were,

rebounding condition of his life. And, lastly, he saw Tantalus extended

by the side of a lake, and that there was a tree before him, with

abundance of fruit on its branches, which he desired to gather, but it

vanished from his view. And this indeed indicates, that he lived under

the dominion of the phantasy; but his hanging over the lake, and in vain

attempting to drink, denotes the elusive, humid, and rapidly-gliding

condition of such a life.”

We must now, however, view Ulysses passing from sense to imagination; in

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

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.

But what is occultly signified by the Sirens, is beautifully unfolded by

Proclus, on the Cratylus of Plato, as follows: “The divine Plato knew

that there are three kinds of Sirens; the _celestial_, which is under

the government of Jupiter; _that which is effective of generation_, and

is under the government of Neptune; and _that which is cathartic_, and

is under the government of Pluto. It is common to all these, to incline

all things through an harmonic motion to their ruling Gods. Hence, when

the soul is in the heavens, they are desirous of uniting it to the

divine life which flourishes there. But it is proper that souls living

in generation should sail beyond them, like the Homeric Ulysses, that

they may not be allured by generation, of which the sea is an image. And

when souls are in Hades, the Sirens are desirous of uniting them through

intellectual conceptions to Pluto. So that Plato knew that in the kingdom

of Hades there are Gods, dæmons, and souls, who dance, as it were, round

Pluto, allured by the Sirens that dwell there.” Ulysses, therefore, as

now proceeding to a life which is under the dominion of imagination, but

which is superior to a life consisting wholly in sensitive energies,

abandons those alluring and fraudulent pleasures of sense, which charm

the soul with flattering and mellifluous incantations. Hence he closes

with divine reasons and energies, as with wax, the impulses of desire

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

they may in vain warble the song of ecstasy, and expect to ruin the soul

by the enchanting strain. He also restrains the corporeal assaults by the

bands of morality, and thus employs the senses without yielding to their

impetuous invasions; and experiences delight without resigning the empire

of reason to its fascinating control.

Ulysses, having escaped the dangers of the Sirens, 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 passions of anger and

desire, and their concomitants, that compress 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 are,

like Scylla, of a lofty malignity; fraudulent, yet latent and obscure,

as being concealed in the penetration of the soul. And such is revenge,

and other passions of a similar kind. In these recesses a dæmon, the

prince of such passions, resides. For the Chaldean oracles assert that

terrestrial dæmons dwell in the soul, which is replete with irrational

affections[195]. This dæmon also may justly be denominated 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

twofold respect. For he privately hurts by malignant stratagems, openly

ravishes the soul on the lofty rock of fury, and rends it with the triple

evil of deadly teeth, viz. dereliction of duty, hatred of humanity, and

self-conceit. 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 of one, struggling, like Ulysses, against passion, and

yielding reluctantly to its invasions.

But the other affections which pertain to desire are of a more corporeal

nature, and are more conspicuously depraved. A wild fig-tree, _i.e._ 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 destroy 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

thought, and of the soul’s 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 which spontaneously arise from the irascible part of

the soul, as those which are the effect of deliberation, and are of a

corporeal nature; 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 one who is passing over the stormy ocean of a sensible

life.

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

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

of Ulysses; but not without the destruction of the authors of this

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

fable, the poet evidently shows 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 slain 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 admonition had been employed, and

great diligence exerted, to prevent its execution. This, indeed, is so

eminently true, that his guilt was the consequence of surprise, 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 to the fig-tree which grew on its summit, till she

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

meaning of the allegory appears to me to be as follows:—Ulysses, who has

not yet taken leave of a life according to sense, is driven by the warmth

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

insane desires, which frequently boiling over, and tossing on high the

storms of depraved affections, plunges into ruin the soul obnoxious

to its waves. However, perceiving the danger to which he is exposed,

when the base storms begin to swell, and the whirlpools 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 passions, 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 thus

recovers the integrity which he had lost, and afterwards swims without

danger over the waves 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 Anger, though she should terribly and fiercely bark in the

neighbourhood of Desire, and endeavour, like Scylla, to snatch him on

her lofty rock. For those who are involuntarily disturbed, like Ulysses,

by the billows of Desire, suffer no inconvenience from the depraved rock

of Wrath; but considering the danger of their present situation, they

relinquish the false confidence produced by rage 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 then, by Calypso,

occultly signifies the phantasy or imagination, is, I think, evident

from his description of her abode. 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, remote from any habitable place, and environed by the mighty

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

the following observations will evince. In the first place, the primary

and proper vehicle of the phantasy, or, as it is called by the Platonic

philosophers, _the imaginative spirit_, is attenuated and ethereal, and

is therefore naturally luminous. In the next place, the island is said

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

material nature, or this body, with which the phantasy is invested. For

υλη, or _matter_, also signifies _a wood_. But the four fountains, by

which the cave is watered, occultly signify the four gnostic powers of

the soul, _intellect_, _the discursive energy of reason_, _opinion_,

_and sense_; with all which the phantasy, being also a gnostic power,

communicates; so that it receives images, like a mirror, from all of

them, and retains those which it receives from the senses, when the

objects by which they were produced are no longer present. Hence the

imagination, or the phantasy, [φαντασια,] is denominated from being των

φανεντων στασις, _the permanency of appearances_. And, in the last place,

the island is said to be environed by the ocean; which admirably accords

with a corporeal nature, for ever flowing, without admitting any periods

of repose. And thus much for the secret agreement of the cavern and

island with the region 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 καλυπτω, which signifies _to cover as with a

veil_; and Ogygia is from ωγυγιος, _ancient_. And as the imaginative

spirit is the primary vehicle of the rational soul, which it derived

from the planetary spheres, and in which it descended to the sublunary

regions, it may 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 dimm’d with rising grief they stream’d again[196].

His return, however, is at length effected through Mercury, or reason,

who prevails on the Goddess to yield to his dismission. Hence, after her

consent, Ulysses is, with great propriety, said to have placed himself

on the throne on which Mercury had sate: for reason then resumes her

proper seat when the reasoning power is about to abandon the delusive and

detaining charms of imagination. But Homer appears to me to insinuate

something admirable 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, rejoicing in the prosperous 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 viewed 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 the ethereal plain,

Nor bathes his blazing forehead in the main[197].

For what he here says of Ulysses, is perfectly conformable to what is

said by Plato in the 7th book of his Republic, respecting the man who

is to be led from the cave, which he there describes, to the light

of day, _i.e._ from a sensible to an intellectual life, viz. “that

he will more easily see what the heavens contain, and the heavens

themselves, by _looking in the night to the light of the stars and the

moon_, than by day looking on the sun, and the light of the sun.” For

by this, as Proclus well observes, “Plato signifies the contemplation

of intelligibles, of which the stars and their light are imitations, so

far as all of them partake of the form of the sun, in the same manner as

intelligibles are characterized by the nature of _the good_. These, then,

such a one must contemplate, that he may understand their essence, and

those summits of their nature, by which they are deiform processions from

the ineffable principle of things.” Ulysses, therefore, who is hastening

to an intellectual life, contemplates these lucid objects with vigilant

eyes, rejoicing in the illuminations and assistance they afford him while

sailing over the dark ocean of a sensible life.

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

unavoidably be pursued by the anger of Neptune, the lord of generation

and a sensible life, 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. It must, however, be carefully observed, that

the poet is far from ascribing a certain passion to a divine nature, when

he speaks of the anger of Neptune: for, in thus speaking, he, as well

as other theologists, intended only to signify our inaptitude to the

participation of its beneficent influence.

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 the rational energy of the soul, the land of Phæacia ought to

correspond to our intellectual part, and particularly to that portion of

it which is denominated in Greek _dianoia_, and which is characterized

by the power of reasoning scientifically, deriving the principles of its

discursive energy from intellect. And that it has this correspondence,

the following observations 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 terrestrial 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, in such a description. If, however, we consider

the perfect liberty, unfading variety, and endless delight, which our

intellectual part affords, we shall find that it is truly the Fortunate

Island of the soul, in which, by the exercise of the theoretic virtues,

it is possible for a man, even in the present life, to obtain genuine

felicity, though not in that perfection as when he is liberated from

the body. With respect to the Fortunate Islands, their occult meaning

is thus beautifully unfolded by Olympiodorus, in his MS. commentary

on the Gorgias of Plato: Δει δε ειδεναι οτι αι νησοι υπερκυπτουσι της

θαλασσης ανωτερω ουσαι, την ουν πολιτειαν την υπερκυψασαν του βιου και

της γενησεως, μακαρων νησους καλουσι· ταυτον δε εστι και το ηλυσιον

πεδιον. δια τοι τουτο και ο Ηρακλης τελευταιον αθλον, εν τοις εσπεριοις

μερεσιν εποιησατο, αντι κατηγωνισατο τον σκοτεινον και χθονιον βιον,

και λοιπον εν ημερα, ο εστιν εν αληθειᾳ και φωτι εζη: _i.e._ “It is

necessary to know that islands are raised above, being higher than the

sea. A condition of being, therefore, which transcends this corporeal

life and generation, is denominated the islands of the blessed; but these

are the same with the Elysian fields. And on this account, Hercules is

reported to have accomplished his last labour in the Hesperian regions;

signifying by this, that having vanquished an obscure and terrestrial

life, he afterwards lived in open day, that is, in truth and resplendent

light.” In the next place, the poet, by his description of the palace

of Alcinous, the king of this island, admirably indicates the pure and

splendid light of the energy of reason. For he says of it:

The front appear’d with radiant splendours 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[198].

And he represents it as no less internally luminous 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.

Indeed Homer, by his description of the outside of this palace,

sufficiently indicates its agreement with the planet Mercury, the

deity of which presides over the rational energy. For this God, in

the language of Proclus[199], “unfolds into light intellectual gifts,

fills all things with divine _reasons_ [_i.e._ forms, and productive

principles,] elevates souls to intellect, wakens them as from a profound

sleep, converts them through investigation to themselves, and by a

certain obstetric art and invention of pure intellect, brings them to a

blessed life.” According to astronomers, likewise, 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, necnon utriusque nitor,

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

quibus associatur, ob id in describendo ejus colore astrologi differunt.”

_i.e._ “You may perceive in this planet the pale colour of Saturn, the

fire of Mars, the whiteness of Jupiter, and the yellow of Venus; and

likewise the brilliancy and hilarity of each. On this account it is not

of a peculiar form, but receives the form of its associates, and thus

causes astrologers to differ in describing its colour.”

But that the island of Phæacia is the dominion of reason, is, I think,

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

inhabitants. For of these, he says:

So shalt thou instant reach the realm assign’d,

In wond’rous ships self-mov’d, instinct with mind.

No helm secures their course, no pilot guides,

Like man intelligent they plough the tides,

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

That lies beneath the sun’s all-seeing ray;

And veil’d in clouds impervious to the eye,

Fearless and rapid through the deep they fly[200].

For it is absurd to suppose that Homer would employ such an hyperbole,

in merely describing the excellency of the Phæacian ships. Hence, as it

so greatly surpasses the bounds of probability, and is so contrary to

the admirable prudence which Homer continually displays, it can only be

admitted as an allegory, pregnant with latent meaning, and the recondite

wisdom of antiquity. The poet likewise adds respecting the Phæacians:

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_.

The last of which lines so remarkably agrees with the preceding

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

is the original less satisfactory:

των νεες ωκειαι ωσει πτερον ηε νοημα[201],

_i.e._ “The ships of these men 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. For to the man who lives under the guidance of reason,

or to the good man, every day, as Diogenes said, is a festival. Hence,

such a one is constantly employed in tuning the lyre of recollection,

in harmonious revolutions about an intelligible essence, and the

never-satiating and deifying banquet of intellect.

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

of Alcinous, confirms the preceding exposition, and accords 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

converted to himself, and is seated in the palace of reason, 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

reminiscence, and weep over the follies of his past active life. Hence,

when the divine bard Demodocus, inspired by the fury of the Muses, sings

the contention between Ulysses and Achilles, on his golden lyre, Ulysses

is vehemently affected with the relation. And when the inhabitants of the

palace, _i.e._ the powers and energies of the rational soul, transported

with the song, demanded its repetition.

Again Ulysses veil’d his pensive head,

Again, unmann’d, a shower of sorrow shed.

For to the man who is making a proficiency in virtue, the recollection of

his former conduct is both pleasing and painful; pleasing, so far as in

some instances it was attended with rectitude, but painful so far as in

others it was erroneous.

Ulysses, also, is with the greatest propriety represented as relating his

past adventures in the palace of Alcinous. For as he now betakes himself

to the intellectual light of the reasoning power, it is highly necessary

that he should review his past conduct, faithfully enumerate the errors

of his life, and anxiously solicit a return to true manners, and perfect

rectitude of mind. As likewise he is now on his passage, by the pure

energy of reason to regain the lost empire of his soul, he is represented

as falling into so profound a sleep in his voyage, as to be insensible

for some time of its happy consummation; by which the poet indicates

his being separated from sensible concerns, and wholly converted to the

energies of the rational 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 sings:

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[202].

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

energy of reason can gain a glimpse of the native country and proper seat

of empire of the soul.

Ulysses therefore, being now converted to the energies of the rational

soul, and anxious to commence the cathartic virtues, recognizes, through

the assistance of Minerva, or wisdom, his native land: and 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 requisite that

he should relinquish all external possessions, mortify every sense,

and employ every stratagem, which may finally destroy these malevolent

foes. Hence, the garb of poverty, the wrinkles of age, and the want of

the necessaries 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 the corporeal nature must yield to

the superior vigour of intellectual exertion, and the severe exercise of

cathartic virtue. And this, Homer appears most evidently to indicate in

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[203];

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[204].

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 thine 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 sight shall turn,

And the blind suitors their destruction scorn[205].

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

no less philosophically sublime than poetically beautiful. For, by

Telemachus, we must understand _a true scientific conception of things_;

since this is the legitimate offspring of the energy of the rational

soul, in conjunction with philosophy. Hence Ulysses, while employed in

the great work of mortification, recognizes his genuine offspring, and

secretly plans with him the destruction of his insidious foes. And hence

we may see the propriety of Telemachus being represented as exploring

his absent father, and impatient for his return. For the rational soul

then alone associates with a true conception of things, when it withdraws

itself from sensible delights, and 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 those baneful passions which 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[206].

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 philosophy,

furnishes the instrument by which the hostile rout of passions are

destroyed. For what besides the arrows of philosophy can 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[207].

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 fixed 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[208].

By which Homer indicates, that Philosophy, through her long absence from

the soul, and the foreign manners and habits which the soul had assumed,

is a stranger to it, so that it is difficult for her to recognize the

union and legitimate association which once subsisted between them.

However, in order to facilitate this discovery, Ulysses renders all pure

and harmonious within the recesses of his soul; and, by the assistance of

Minerva, 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[209].

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[210].

For, indeed, he who, like Ulysses, has completely destroyed the

domination of his passions, and purified himself, through the cathartic

virtues, from their defiling nature, no longer ranks in the order of

mortals, but is assimilated to divinity. And now, in order that he may

become entirely known to Philosophy, that chaste Penelope of the soul,

it is only requisite for him to relate the secrets of their mystic

union, and recognize the bower of intellectual 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 in his various wanderings and woes,

till, through the _cathartic_ virtues, he recovers the ruined empire of

his soul. But, as it is requisite that he should, in the next place,

possess and energize according to the theoretic or contemplative virtues,

the end of which is a union with deity, as far as this can be effected

by man in the present life, Homer only indicates to us his attainment of

this end, without giving a detail of the gradual advances by which he

arrived at this consummate felicity. This union is occultly signified by

Ulysses first beholding, and afterwards ardently embracing his father

with ecstatic delight. With most admirable propriety, also, is Ulysses

represented as proceeding, in order to effect this union, by himself

_alone_, to his father who is also _alone_.

_Alone_ and unattended, let me try

If yet I share the old man’s memory[211],

says Ulysses. And afterwards it is said,

But all _alone_ the hoary king he found[212].

For a union with the ineffable _one_ of the Demiurgus, the true father

of the soul, can only be accomplished by the soul recurring to its own

_unity_; and having for this purpose previously dismissed and abandoned

every thing foreign to it. This occurrence, indeed, of the soul with

deity, is, as Plotinus divinely says, φυγη μονου προς μονον[213], _a

flight of the alone to the alone_, in which most beautiful expression I

have no doubt he alludes to this mystic termination of the wanderings

of Ulysses, in the embraces of his father. Proclus also, in a no less

admirable manner, alludes to this union in his Commentaries on the Timæus

of Plato[214]. The allusion is in his comment on the words, “It is

difficult, therefore, to discover the maker and father of this universe;

and, when found, it is impossible to speak of him to all men.” On this

passage Proclus observes: “It is necessary that the soul, becoming an

intellectual world, and being as much as possible assimilated to the

whole intelligible world, should introduce herself to the maker of the

universe; and from this introduction, should, in a certain respect,

become familiar with him through a continued intellectual energy. For

uninterrupted energy about any thing calls forth and resuscitates our

dormant ideas. But through this familiarity, becoming stationed at

the door of the father, it is necessary that we should be united to

him. For discovery is this, to meet with him, to be united to him, _to

associate alone with the alone_, and to see him himself, the soul hastily

withdrawing herself from every other energy to him. For, being present

with her father, she then considers scientific discussions to be but

words[215], banquets together with him on the truth of real being, and in

pure splendour is purely initiated in entire and stable visions. Such,

therefore, is the discovery of the father, not that which is doxastic [or

pertaining to opinion]; for this is dubious, and not very remote from the

irrational life. Neither is it scientific; for this is syllogistic and

composite, and does not come into contact with the intellectual essence

of the intellectual Demiurgus. But it is that which subsists according

to intellectual vision itself, a contact with the intelligible, and a

union with the demiurgic intellect. For this may properly be denominated

difficult, either as hard to obtain, presenting itself to souls after

every evolution of life, or as the true labour of souls. For, after the

wandering about generation, after purification, and the light of science,

intellectual energy and the intellect which is in us shine forth, placing

the soul in the father as in a port, purely establishing her in demiurgic

intellections, and conjoining light with light; not such as that of

science, but more beautiful, more intellectual, and partaking more of the

nature of _the one_ than this. _For this is the paternal port, and the

discovery of the father, viz. an undefiled union with him._”

With great beauty also, and in perfect conformity to the most recondite

theology, is the father of Ulysses represented as coarsely clothed, and

occupied in botanical labours:

But all alone the hoary king he found;

His habit coarse, but warmly wrapt around;

His head, that bow’d with many a pensive care,

Fenc’d with a double cap of goatskin hair;

His buskins old, in former service torn,

But well repair’d; and gloves against the thorn.

In this array the kingly gard’ner stood,

And clear’d a plant, encumber’d with its wood[216].

For this simplicity, and coarseness of the garb of Laertes, considered as

an image of the true father of Ulysses, is, in every respect, conformable

to the method adopted by ancient mythologists in their adumbrations

of deity. For they imitated the transcendency of divine natures by

things preternatural; a power more divine than all reason by things

irrational; and, by apparent deformity, a beauty which surpasses every

thing corporeal. This array, therefore, of the father of Ulysses, is, in

the language of Proclus, indicative “of an essence established in the

simplicity of _the one_, and vehemently rejoicing, as some one of the

piously wise says, in an unadorned privation of form, and extending it

to those who are able to survey it[217].” And the botanical labours of

Laertes are an image of the providential attention of the Demiurgus to

the immediate ramifications and blossoms of his own divine essence, in

which they are ineffably rooted, and from which they eternally germinate.

Though Ulysses, however, is placed through the theoretic virtues in the

paternal port, as far as this is possible to be effected in the present

life, yet we must remember, according to the beautiful observation of

Porphyry, that he is not freed from molestation, till he has passed over

the raging sea of a material nature; _i.e._ has become impassive[218] to

the excitations of the irrational life, and is entirely abstracted from

external concerns. 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[219].

I shall only observe farther, that Plotinus also considered the

wanderings of Ulysses as a fabulous narration containing a latent

meaning, such as that which we have above unfolded. This is evident from

the following extract from his admirable treatise _on the Beautiful_: “It

is here, then, [in order to survey the beautiful itself] that we may more

truly exclaim.

Haste, let us fly and all our sails expand,

To gain our dear, our long-lost native land[220].

But by what leading stars shall we direct our flight, and by what means

avoid the magic power of Circe, and the detaining charms of Calypso?

For thus the fable of Ulysses obscurely signifies, which feigns him

abiding an unwilling exile, though pleasant spectacles were continually

presented to his sight; and every thing was proffered to invite his

stay, which can delight the senses and captivate the heart. But our true

country, like that of Ulysses, is from whence we came, and where our

father lives[221].”

FOOTNOTES:

[183] Δια τοι τουτο, και τον Οδυσσεα λεγουσι κατα θαλατταν πλανασθαι

βουλῃ του Ποσειδωνος· σημαινουσι γαρ την Οδυσσειον ζωην, οτι ουδε χθονια

ην, αλλ’ ουδε μην ετι ουρανια, αλλα μεση· επει ουν ο Ποσειδων του μεταξυ

κυριος εστι, δια τουτο και τον Οδυσσεα φασι βουλῃ Ποσειδωνος [supple

πλανασθαι·] επειδη τον κληρον του Ποσειδωνος ειχεν· ουτω γουν και τους

μεν φασι Διος υιους, τους δε Ποσειδωνος, τους δε Πλουτωνος, προς τους

κληρους εκαστου· τον μεν γαρ εχοντα θειαν και ουρανιαν πολιτειαν Διος

φαμεν υιον, τον δε χθονιαν, Πλουτωνος, τον δε την μεταξυ Ποσειδωνος.

[184] In Plat. Polit. p. 398.

[185] Instead of αναλογοι ψυχαι, in this place, it is necessary to read

αλογοι ψυχαι.

[186] Iliad, V. v. 451.

[187] Conformably to this, Proclus, in Plat. Polit. p. 398, says, “that

all the beauty subsisting about generation [or the regions of sense],

from the fabrication of things, is signified by Helen; about which

there is a perpetual battle of souls, till the more intellectual having

vanquished the more irrational forms of life, return to the place from

whence they originally came.” For the beauty which is in the realms of

generation, is an efflux of intelligible beauty.

[188] This second line is, in Pope’s version, “Lotos the name, divine,

nectarious juice!” which I have altered as above, as being more

conformable to the original.

[189] Lib. ix. l. 94, &c.

[190] Vid. Censoris, De Die Natali, cap. iii.

[191] This is evident from the following passage in the Commentary of

Proclus, on the First Alcibiades of Plato: Ταις μεν ουν αποκαταστατικως

ζωσαις ψυχαις ο αυτος εστιν ανω κανταυθα δαιμων· ταις δε ατελεστεραις

αλλος μεν ο κατ’ ουσιαν δαιμων, αλλος δε ο κατα τον προβεβλημενον βιον.

p. 37, Edit. Creuz. But for a copious account of the essential dæmon, and

of the different orders and offices of dæmon, see the notes accompanying

my translation of the First Alcibiades, Phædo, and Gorgias of Plato.

[192] See the note (p. 90) accompanying my translation of the

Metamorphosis of Apuleius.

[193] For an accurate account of the gradation of the virtues, see

Porphyry’s Auxiliaries to Intelligibles, p. 217.

[194] For the shuttle is a symbol of separating power.

[195] And this is the meaning of the Chaldaic oracle,—

Σον αγγειον θηρες χθονος οικησουσιν.

_i.e._ “The wild beasts of the earth shall inhabit thy vessel.” For,

as Psellus well observes, by _the vessel_, the composite temperature of

the soul is signified, and by the wild beasts of the earth, terrestrial

dæmons.

[196] Odyss. lib. v. 82, &c. The translation by Pope.

[197] Ibid. lib. v. 269, &c.

[198] Odyss. lib. vii. 84, &c. The translation by Pope.

[199] In Euclid. Element. lib. i. p. 14.

[200] Odyss. lib. viii. 556, &c.

[201] Odyss. lib. vii. 33.

[202] Odyss. lib. xiii. 93, &c.

[203] _i.e._ Philosophy; for of this Penelope is an image.

[204] Odyss. lib. xiii. 373, &c.

[205] Odyss. lib. xiii. 397, &c. The translation of the above, and

likewise of all the following passages from the Odyssey, is by Pope.

[206] Odyss. lib. xvii. 201, &c.

[207] Odyss. lib. xxii. 1, &c.

[208] Odyss. lib. xxiii. 88, &c.

[209] Odyss. lib. xxiii. 131, &c.

[210] Odyss. lib. xxiii. 163, &c.

[211] Odyss. lib. xxiv. 215, &c.

[212] Ibid. lib. xxiv. 225.

[213] These are the concluding words of the last book of his last Ennead.

[214] See vol. i. p. 254, of my translation of that work.

[215] This is in consequence of a union with the Demiurgus being so much

superior to scientific perception.

[216] Odyss. lib. xxiv. 225, &c.

[217] τα μεν γαρ εστι θεια και εν τῃ απλοτητι του ενος ιδρυμενα την

ακαλλοπιστον ευμορφιαν· (lege αμορφιαν) ως φησι τις των τα οσια

σοφων, διαφεροντως αγαπωντα, και προτεινοντα τοις εις αυτα βλεπειν

δυναμενοις.—Procl. in Parmenid. lib. i. p. 38. 8vo. Parisiis, 1821.

[218] This impassivity, or perfect subjugation of the passions to reason,

which is the _true apathy_ of the Stoics and Platonists, is indicated by

Ulysses finding a nation

“Who ne’er knew salt or heard the billows roar.”

[219] Odyss. lib. xxiii. 281, &c. By _the people_, in these lines, the

inferior parts or powers of the soul are indicated.

[220] Iliad, lib. ii. 140, and lib. ix. 27.

[221] See my paraphrased translation of this treatise, p. 37, &c.

THE END.

LONDON:

PRINTED BY J. MOYES, GREVILLE STREET.