method of dividing an angle in any required proportion. Let there be an acute angle given _g a k_, which it is required to divide in the ratio of the right line _a c_ to _c g_. Bisect _a c_ in _b_, and from the centre _a_, with the radius _a b_, describe the arch _b e_, and with a radius equal to _a c_, describe an arch touching _b e_, in the point _b_. Likewise with a radius double to _a c_, describe another tangent arch at the point _b_, and with a radius equal to _a g_, a tangent arch at the same point, according to the figure; and lastly, let the arches _c d_, _g k_, from the centre _a_ be drawn. Then 1⁄2 of the arch _b e_, shall be equal to 1⁄4 of _c d_, and to 1⁄8 of the arch similarly placed, described with a radius the double of _a c_, as is well known. Bisect then _b e_ in _f_, and make each of its two next tangent arches at _b_, equal to _b f_, which is easily done, from what has been already observed; and through the points of equality describe a circle, this (by the theorem in page 56, of our Dissertation), shall cut off some part of the tangent arch described with the radius _a g_, equal to _b f_, or the fourth part of _c d_. Hence, a part in the arch _g k_, may be easily taken equal to _c d_, which let be _g l_, and drawing the right line _a l_, the angle _g a l_, shall be to _l a k_, as _a c_ to _e g_, which was required to be done.

The same construction will serve for the division of a right angle in any given ratio, as is evident; and if the given angle be obtuse, the problem may be solved by a two-fold operation, that is, by bisecting the obtuse angle, and dividing either of the equal sections in the given ratio; for when this is effected, the whole angle may be easily divided in the same proportion. Hence, too, a right line may be speedily obtained equal to a given arch of a circle.

[18] In the 30th Prop.

[19] See Chap. 8. Book 2d.

[20] Mr. Simson having a great objection to the word infinite, though it is adopted by Euclid, substitutes in its place the word _unlimited_; but not in my opinion with any success. For if by _unlimited_, he means infinite, the alteration is ridiculous: but if he means only _indefinite_, or a line which has boundaries, though they are not ascertained, the problem will not succeed, as the ensuing commentary most beautifully evinces. I only add, that the reader, if he be a man of taste, and possesses any spark of the philosophic genius, must be greatly delighted with the digression of Proclus in this comment, concerning the nature of infinite, as it is perfectly philosophical and truly sublime.

[21] That no other figure besides these can fill place, will be evident, if its angle, when found, is multiplied by any number: for, as Tacquet well observes, it will always either exceed, or be deficient from four right angles. For a more particular demonstration of this admirable theorem, see Tacquet Elementa Geometriæ, p. 88.

[22] Pappus in Mathem. Collect. shews that any two sides, whose ratio to the external sides is less than two to one, may be inscribed after this manner in a triangle.

[23] See likewise concerning these triangles, ol. I. p. 173 of these Commentaries.

[24] In the second comment of this book.

[25] This will be manifest from the following figure. Let the circles _a c_, _b d_, be drawn passing through their respective centres _a_, _b_; and from the centre _c_, with the radius _c b_, equal to _a b_, describe the arch _a b d_, and draw the lines _c b_, _c d_, _c a_. Then because _a c b_ is an equilateral triangle, as also _c b d_, each of the angles _a c b_, _b c d_, shall be equal to 2⁄3 of one right angle; and because the biline _c d_, is equal to the biline _c b_, hence, the angle formed by the arch _c b_, and the arch _c d_, viz. the angle _a c f_, shall be equal to the angle formed by the right line _c b_, and the right line _c d_, i.e. to 2⁄3 of one right angle. Q. E. D.

[26] See more concerning these universal genera in the third section of the Dissertation, Vol I. of this work.

[27] In Book II. Comment 2. of this work.

[28] In the Comment on the 32d proposition.

[29] In book III. chap. I. and in Com. 3.

[30] In lib. i. de Cælo, tex. 35.

[31] Clavius and Simson have employed a multitude of propositions in the demonstration of this petition, but their demonstrations fall far short in my opinion of the elegance of the present.

[32] In Lib. III. Com. 2.

[33] i.e. In his last analytics. See the second section of the Dissertation, Vol. I, of this work.

[34] In the definitions which are with great propriety called by the Platonists hypotheses, because their evidence is admitted without proof, which at the same time they are capable of receiving from the first philosophy.

[35] In his last Analytics. See page 49, of the Dissertation, Vol. I. of this work.

[36] See the last preceding figure.

[37] This is a well known property of the hyperbola, and its asymptotes; and is thus expressed by Mr. Simson, in his Conic Sections, Lib. 3. Prop. 16. “If from a point in the hyperbola, any two lines are drawn to the asymptotes, and if from any point, in the same or opposite hyperbolas, there are drawn to the asymptotes other right lines parallel to the former; then the rectangle contained by the lines first drawn, shall be equal to the rectangle contained by the other drawn lines.”

[38] Thus let there be a square, whose side is equal to three, and a parallelogram whose longest side is equal to four, and its shortest to two; the ambit of each figure will indeed be equal to twelve, but the area of the square will be equal to nine, and of the parallelogram to eight.

[39] This will be evident by conceiving a rectangular parallelogram equal to that which is non-rectangular, described on the same base: for the ambit of the former will be less than that of the latter, and consequently less than the parallelogram, with an ambit equal to the non-rectangular parallelogram.

[40] From hence it is evident that it was the intention of Proclus to comment on the whole of Euclid: but it does not appear that he ever carried this design into execution.

[41] The present Commentary is imperfect, both in the Greek, and the translation of Barocius; who observes that the conclusion is wanting in all the copies which he had an opportunity of perusing. Those who are curious may consult his scholium, in which he has endeavoured to complete it.

[42] See Comment 8, of the third book, with its note.

[43] Barocius is of opinion, that this Commentary was originally mutilated; and that the part which follows the word _drawn_, was added by some skilful geometrician, as necessary to the perfection of the demonstration. See his Scholium to this Commentary.

[44] The Commentary of Proclus, on this proposition is wanting in the Greek, and, as we are informed by Barocius in all the MS. copies which he had an opportunity of consulting. Barocius has endeavoured to supply this deficiency, after the manner of Proclus; but he appears to have fallen into prolixity, by a too minute division of the problem.

[45] See Sims. Sect. Con. Lib. I. Prop. 13. and Lib. II. Prop. 23, and Lib. III. Prop. 48.

[46] In the sixth Commentary of this book.

[47] In the 31st proposition.

[48] Ἅπασα γὰρ ἡ παρ’ Ἕλλησι θεολογία τῆς Ὀρφικῆς ἐϛὶ μυϛαγωγίας ἔκγονος·: πρώτου μὲν Πυθαγόρου παρὰ Ἀγλαοφήμου τὰ περὶ Θεῶν ὄργια διδαχθέντος. Procl. in Plat. Theol. p. 13.

[49] In Lib. ii. Florid.

[50] Euseb. Prepar. Evang. lib. xiv.

[51] This pestilence was in the time of the emperor Gallienus, and raged so vehemently, according to Trebellius Pollio, that five thousand men perished with an equal disease in one day. This happened in the year of Christ 262, and of Gallienus, 9, 10; and not long after Porphyry applied himself to Plotinus. Fabricius.

[52] This is the Firmus Castricius to whom Porphyry inscribes his books on Abstinence.

[53] This was probably nothing more than a small serpent resembling the form of a dragon.

[54] It is strange that Fabricius should think it ought to be entitled περὶ τῆς ἀπαθείας τῶν σωμάτων: for he who reads this book must see that such a title would be ridiculous. Vide Bibl. Grec. tom. iv. p. 143.

[55] This Rogatianus is the person Porphyry alludes to in his Treatise on Abstinence, lib. i. p. 106, when he speaks as follows. “There was once an instance, where a negligence of terrene concerns and a contemplation and intuition of such as are divine, expelled an articular disease, which had infested a certain person for the space of eight years. So that at the very same time, that his soul was divested of a solicitous concern for riches, and material affairs, his body was freed from a troublesome disease.”

[56] I have, however, the happiness of being intimate with a lady, who is a noble exception to this remark; and is both an excellent Greek scholar, and skilled in the Platonic philosophy.

[57] For this is alone the virtue of traffic; and is the chief support of its professors.

[58] Concerning the Ἱεροὶ Γάμοι, or holy marriages, which were first celebrated by the Orphic Theologers, see the note to the hymn to Proserpine, in my translation of the Orphic Initiations.

[59] A line somewhat altered from Homer. The original is βάλλ’ οὕτως αἴ κέν τι φόως Δαναοῖσι γένηαι. Iliad. 8. l. 282.

[60] In the original.

Οἶδα δ’ ἐγὼ ψάμμου τ’ ἀριθμόν, καὶ μέτρα θαλάσσης, Καὶ κωφοῦ ξυνίημι, καὶ οὐ λαλέοντος ἀκούω.

[61] Lib. 6.

[62] Vide Procl. in Plat. Theol. p. 89, et 90.

[63] This passage is cited by Ficinus, in the second volume of his works, p. 1186. and is, I doubt not, taken from the manuscript Commentary of Proclus on the Parmenides.

[64] οὗτος γὰρ (i.e. Moderatus) κατὰ τοὺς Πυθαγορείους τὸ μὲν πρῶτον ἓν ὑπὲρ τὸ ὄν καὶ πᾶσαν οὐσίαν ἀποφαίνεται. Simp. in Ar. Phys. fol. 50.

[65] In the note to page 14, of this volume, we have shewn from Proclus that light is place, and is an immaterial body. Indeed that light is something superior to sensible matter may, I think, be evinced by the following consideration. As the supreme principle of the universe, (who can be compared to nothing so properly as light,) is the light of the intelligible world, and is at the same time more exalted than every thing which it contains; so in this sensible, which is the image of the intelligible world, it is necessary that corporeal light, should be more excellent than any material nature. But as Proclus prosecutes this speculation on light, in the above mentioned passage, in a most admirable and uncommon manner; let us attend him in the abstruse investigation. In the first place speaking of that light which emanates from the fontane soul of the world, and which, according to the Zoroastrian oracle,

Ἄρδην ἐμψυχοῦσα φάος, πῦρ, αἰθέρα, κόσμους,

abundantly animates, light, fire, ether, and the world; he says that this light is one fire, above the three others, viz. the empyrean, etherial, and material fire; and that it first unfolds the eternal quiet of the gods, and illustrates essential spectacles to such as are worthy of their inspection. For by the assistance of this light, things destitute of figure and impression, are impressed according to reason and intelligence. And perhaps (says Simplicius) he calls light place, because it is a certain description and type of the universe, and gives distance to things, which without the presence of light would not appear to be distant. But here Proclus very philosophically doubts against his own position. In the first place, how body can be received and penetrated by body. In the second place, whether place, i.e. light, is inanimate, or participates of soul. But (says he) it cannot be inanimate, because it is better than the animated natures which it contains, and because rational beings are said to be animated. Hence this body, will be animated the first of all others. But if it is animated, how can it be immoveable? And he dissolves the first doubt, because there are some immaterial bodies void of affection and passion. For (says he) a body void of matter neither resists nor is resisted; since that which is impelled and repelled, is eminently passive in such operations. But neither can such a body be divided, since it is void of passivity. Hence neither can the absurdity be adduced, that the universe is received by a minimum, or penetrates a minimum. For if it cannot be divided, neither can it be equally divided with the smallest; and if this is impossible, neither can it be permeated by the universe.

But he removes the second objection, by asserting, that this body, i.e. light, is animated by that soul, which is the fountain of others; and that it possesses a divine life, and an essence self-motive, but not in energy. For if we assert that soul is self-motive, in a two-fold manner, in one respect according to essence, but in the other according to energy; we must likewise affirm that place, or light is partly moveable, and partly immoveable. For what should hinder our asserting, that place participates of such a life, and that it lives according to an immutable essence, and not according to a self-motive energy? But if you are desirous (says he) of considering the motion of place, according to energy, you will plainly perceive, that it is, as it were, the mover of the bodies which are moved, and which turn their parts according to a certain distance; since these cannot be every where, and are incapable of being present to all the parts of place, according to each of their parts. And this is that intervention and affinity, which it possesses with soul moving without dimension. For, life so far as life, appears to produce motion: and since place is that which first participates of life, motion to place, will confer a true motion on every part; and will produce a desire in every part of the moved body of arriving at its whole, and since it is not able to accomplish this, on account of the natural property of interval, of subsisting divisibly in the universe. For whatever desires any nature, which it is not able to reach, through its peculiar defect, is then more enflamed in the pursuit of that, which it cannot possess through the imbecility of its nature. For it is requisite (says he) that between an incorporeal and immutable life, such as that of soul, the fountain of the rest; and one corporeal and mutable, that one immutable and corporeal should intervene as a proper medium. And thus much from Proclus concerning place or light, whose reasonings appear to me equally elegant and philosophical, subtle and profound.

But the opinion of the Phœnicians respecting light, as preserved by the emperor Julian in his elegant oration to the sun, is no less admirable than that of Proclus; and at the same time asserts its immaterial nature. “According to the Phœnicians (says Julian) who are skilled in divine science and wisdom, the universally-diffused splendor of light, is the sincere energy of an intellect perfectly pure: i.e. of the solar intellect, which as Julian expresses it, scattering its light from the middle region of the heavens, fills all the celestial orbs with powerful vigour, and illuminates the universe with divine and incorruptible light.” With great reason, therefore, does Plotinus assert, that light is nothing else than that which is visible: for this must be the necessary property of a nature, possessing a triple dimension without sensible matter.

[66] En. 2. l. 9. c. i.

[67] Intellectual System, p. 562.

[68] In Timæum. p. 93. 94.

[69] In Plat. Theol. p. 158

[70] In Plat. Theol. p. 27.

[71] Ennead, 5. p. 492.

[72] Intellectual System, p. 568.

[73] Præpar. Evan. lib. iv. c. 6.

[74] Lib. x. cap. 29.

[75] It is necessary to inform the genuine Platonic reader, that Synesius was not a bishop, and had not embraced Christianity, when he composed the present excellent book. This is not only evident from the recondite wisdom of antiquity, which it every where displays, but from his expressly using in one place, p. 151, the epithet, _the mundane god_ (θεὸς ἐγκόσμιος) in the same manner as it is always employed by heathen Platonists. There are three Latin versions of this admirable work: the first and best by Ficinus, the next both in the order of time and excellence, by Cornarius, and the last and worst by Petavius. This industrious Jesuit, indeed, though sufficiently learned on other subjects, appears by his version to be very ignorant of the Greek philosophy. This will be evident by comparing his translation with the Greek, and, I hope, I may add, with the above version, which contains the greatest, and most important part of this inestimable work. With respect to Synesius, he was a native of Cyrene, in Africa; travelled into Egypt for improvement; and perfected his studies under the celebrated Hypatia: a woman no less eminent for her uncommon abilities, than remarkable for her tragical death, effected by the infernal revenge of the Alexandrian church, and the _orthodox_, _patriarchal_, _Christian_ malice of St. Cyril. Though Synesius was reluctantly consecrated bishop of Ptolemais about the year 410, yet we may collect from his tenets, that he was not a perfect convert to Christianity; and from his epistles, that he lamented his episcopal station. For with respect to the former, he denied the immediate creation of the world, its final destruction, and the resurrection of the dead: and with regard to the latter, he frequently and earnestly begs to be discharged from his office; and declares that as he was by education a heathen, and by profession a philosopher, he had met with no success since he presumed to serve at the altar. Particularly in a letter to his friend Olympius (Epist. 95.) he declares that if his duty as a bishop should be any hinderance to his philosophy, he would relinquish his diocese, abjure his orders, and remove into Greece. For farther conviction in this particular consult Epist. 11, 13, 57, 67, 80, 105: and the Clidophorus, and Hypatia of Toland, who largely and curiously descants on the life and writings of Synesius. I shall only add, that even Petavius, the editor of his works, affirms, that in some of the books composed after his profession of Christianity, Synesius appears as great a heathen as before: and this conduct may be reconciled, by what Synesius himself asserts in one of his letters: (Epist. 105.) “that it may be sometimes expedient to lye, in order to do good; since philosophical truth is not necessary for the vulgar, who may receive hurt from their knowledge. _Wherefore_ (says he) _if this method_, (that is of concealing the truth), _be consistent with the rights of episcopal dignity, I may be consecrated. I shall freely philosophize at home, and tell fables abroad; neither teaching, nor unteaching, but suffering people to live in the prejudices they have imbibed._” This must be allowed to be sound philosophy, excellent policy, and true _orthodoxy_!

[76] This is excellently amplified by Porphyry in Senten. 32. p. 232, “As the soul’s residence on the earth, (says he) does not consist in being conversant in the earth, as bodies, but in presiding over bodies situated on the earth: so likewise the soul is said to be in Hades, when she presides over her image, which has a nature accommodated to place, but then obtains a subsistence in darkness. Hence if Hades is a subterranean dark place, the soul though not separated from being, dwells in this case in Hades, attracting to herself her image. For the spirit which she had collected from the spheres, attends her in her departure from a solid body. But from her affection towards body, reason having a partial object, according to which, she obtained a habitude towards a body of this kind, while she lived; from this propense affection, a form of the phantasy is impressed on the spirit, and so she attracts the image. But she is said to be in Hades, because she obtains a spirit of a formless and dark nature: and since a heavy and humid spirit, extends to subterranean places, on this account also the soul is said to dwell under the earth; not because her essence passes from place to place, and subsists in place, but because it receives the habits of bodies endued with a natural inclination to local transitions, and the possession of place. And bodies of this kind indeed, receive the soul, according to aptitudes, from a certain disposition towards her nature. For according to her particular disposition, she finds a body defined, correspondent to her order and properties. Hence when the soul is in a more pure condition of being, a body is natural to her, approximating very nearly to that which is immaterial; such as an etherial body. But when she proceeds from reason to the object of imagination, she naturally obtains a solar-form body; and when effeminated and captivated with the love of forms, she is united with a lunar-form body. Lastly, when she falls into bodies composed from humid vapours, a perfect ignorance of being succeeds, and darkness and infancy. And indeed in her egress from body, when she retains a spirit disturbed by a humid evaporation, she attracts a shade, and is weighed down; a spirit of this kind, endeavouring to dwell naturally in the bottom of the earth, unless some other cause draws it into a contrary place. As therefore when surrounded with this terrene shell, it is necessary she should reside on the earth; so likewise when she attracts a humid spirit, it is necessary she should be surrounded with the image. But she attracts moisture, when she continually studies to be present with a nature, whose operation consists in moisture, and is mostly subterranean. But when she endeavours to depart from nature, she becomes a dry splendor, without a shadow, and without a cloud: for humidity constitutes a cloud in the air; but dryness produces from vapour, a dry splendor.”

[77] This _sacred discourse_ composed by Pythagoras was two-fold; one in verse, mentioned by Heraclides, and the other ΠΕΡΙ ΘΕΩΝ, in Doric prose, both which are unfortunately lost. It appears, however, from the present passage, that a part of one of them consisted in explaining the labours of Hercules, who, like Ulysses, is an allegorical character, representing the progress of a man from the impurity of a sensible life, till he acquires the perfection and purity of a life intellectual and divine. Hence Proclus on Plato’s Republic, p. 382. “Hercules being purified by sacred initiations, and having acquired undefiled advantages, deserved a perfect establishment among the gods.” We may conceive, therefore, that by the club of Hercules is meant philosophy, and by his lion’s skin, prudence; through whose assistance he tamed the passions, those monsters of the soul, and destroyed vain cogitations: both which are occultly signified by the twelve labours he endured. I only add that Petavius appears to have been entirely ignorant, that any such writings as the _sacred discourses_, ever existed: for he translates them in one place _sacræ historiæ_, and in another, where they are mentioned in the singular number, (λόγος) _nostra hæc oratio_. Such ignorance may be excusable in the modern priest; but as a man of learning Petavius cannot be defended by any apology in such vile translations.

[78] The Scholium of Nicephorus upon this passage is as follows: “Synesius (says he) calls the dross of matter, that which the phantasy, descending from the supernal spheres, derives from the natural elements of fire and air. And this he observes it is not lawful to leave in the precipice of matter, viz. in the world every way obscure and dark, but it is requisite to draw it upwards, by the assistance of temperance, continence, and the other virtues, and re-elevate it to the etherial world; since there is a place allotted for nature, and the image, in the region every where lucid. But he calls the _image_, the phantastic spirit, as being connate to the rational soul, though of a subordinate nature. For as _intellect_ is the resemblance and image of the divinity, but the _rational soul_ of intellect: so _the phantastic spirit_, or irrational soul, is the image of the rational soul. Hence, as _nature_ or the natural soul, is the image of the phantastic spirit, and of this again _the body_, and of body, _matter_: on this account he observes that the phantasy obtains a certain familiar proportion to the natures which communicate with it on each side, by a certain union and affinity, and by a tendency to the same common end. Hence in its descent it not only acquires fire and air, from the rational soul, which has a supernal situation, but likewise from the natural elements, which are placed beneath.” Nicephori Scholia, p. 390.

[79] “Synesius says that there are two extreme seats, the summits of the universe, one beneath, every way dark, the other above, wholly luminous; and that the former is miserable, but the latter blessed. But because opposites cannot be immediately copulated together, he asserts that in the middle of these two seats, there are many other regions, differing from each other, which he denominates in one part luminous, and in the other obscure, participating of the extremes, and beneath the region totally resplendent with light. Just in the same manner as _cogitation_ is the medium between intellect and soul: but _opinion_ is seated between the phantasy and the soul; and _sense_ between the phantasy and body. And these mediums mutually penetrate, and extend through each other, from body to intellect, and participate all their surrounding natures. As air possesses on each side two extremities and seats, by means of which, it is hot in its supreme situation, through its proximity to elementary fire, but humid in its inferior extremity, through its vicinity to water.’ Nicephori Schoia, p. 392.

[80] The Greek is very defective in this place, which I have endeavoured to supply, as the learned reader may observe.

[81] Pope’s Odyssey, book xix.

[82] There are three editions of this excellent work. The first Greek and Latin by Holstenius, Cantab. 1655; the second by Barnes, prefixed to his Homer; and the third by some German editor, which I have not seen.

[83] I. e. about ten Italian miles.

[84] Viz. a mile and a half.

[85] These verses are not to be found in any of the hymns now extant, ascribed to Homer.

[86] Macrobius in the 12th chapter of his comment on Scipio’s dream, has derived some of the ancient arcana which it contains, from the present part of this admirable work. What he has farther added, I shall translate on account of its excellence, and connection with the above passage of Porphyry. “Pythagoras (says he) thought that the empire of Pluto, began downwards from the milky way, because souls falling from thence, appear already to have receded from the gods. Hence he asserts, that the nutriment of milk is first offered to infants, because their first motion commences from the galaxy, when they begin to fall into terrene bodies. On this account, since those who are about to descend, are yet in _Cancer_, and have not left the milky way, they rank in the order of gods. But when by falling they arrive at the _Lion_; in this constellation, they enter on the exordium of their future condition. And, because in the _Lion_, the rudiments of birth, and certain primary exercises of human nature commence; but _Aquarius_ is opposite to the Lion, and presently sets, after the Lion rises: hence, when the sun is in Aquarius, funeral rites are performed to departed souls; because he is then carried in a sign, which is contrary, or adverse to human life. From the confine, therefore, in which the zodiac, and galaxy touch each other, the soul descending from a round figure, which is the only divine form, is produced into a cone by its defluxion. And as a line is generated from a point, and proceeds into length, from an indivisible; so the soul from its own point, which is a monad, passes into the duad, which is the first protraction. And this is the essence which Plato in the Timæus, calls indivisible, and at the same time divisible, when he speaks of the fabric of the mundane soul. For as the soul of the world, so likewise that of man will be found in one respect ignorant of division, if the simplicity of a divine nature is considered; and in another respect capacious of division, if we regard the diffusion of the former through the world, and of the latter through the members of the body.

As soon, therefore, as the soul gravitates towards body, in this first production of herself, she begins to experience a material tumult, that is, matter flowing into her essence. And this is what Plato remarks in the Phædo, that the soul is drawn into body, staggering with recent intoxication; signifying by this the new drink of matter’s impetuous flood, through which the soul becoming defiled and heavy, is drawn into a terrene situation. But the starry _cup_, placed between Cancer and the Lion, is a symbol of this mystic truth, signifying that descending souls first experience intoxication in that part of the heavens, through the influx of matter. Hence, oblivion the companion of intoxication, there begins silently to creep into the recesses of the soul. For if souls retained in their descent to bodies, the memory of divine concerns of which they were conscious in the heavens, there would be no dissension among men, concerning divinity. But all, indeed, in descending drink of oblivion; though some more, and others less. On this account, though truth is not apparent to all men on the earth, yet all exercise their opinions about it: because _a defect of memory, is the origin of opinion_. But those discover most, who have drank least of oblivion: because they easily remember what they had known before in the heavens. Hence, that which is called _lectio_ by the Latins, is called by the Greeks ἀνάγνωσις, or _repeated knowledge_; because when we learn any truths, we recognize what we naturally knew, before material influxion, rushing into the body, had intoxicated the soul. But it is this _hyle_ or matter which composes all that body of the world, which we every where perceive adorned with the impressions of forms. Its highest and purest part, however, by which divine natures, are either sustained, or composed, is called nectar, and is believed to be the drink of the gods: but its more inferior and turbid part, is the drink of souls. And this is what the ancients have denominated the river of Lethe. But according to the Orphic writers the νοῦς ὑλικὸς, or _material intellect_, is Bacchus, who proceeding from that indivisible part, is divided into particulars. Hence, in the Orphic mysteries, he is reported to have been torn in pieces, by Titanic fury, and the fragments being buried, are said to have risen entire, and collected into one; because intellect by passing into a divisible from an indivisible nature, and again returning from divisible to indivisible, both accomplishes the duties of the world, and does not desert the arcana of its own nature.

The soul, therefore, falling with this first weight, from the zodiac, and milky-way into each of the subject spheres, is not only clothed with the accession of a luminous body, but produces the particular motions, which is to exercise in the respective orbs. Thus in Saturn, it energises according to a ratiocinative and intellective power, which they call λογιϛικὸν and θεωρητικὸν: in the sphere of Jove, according to the power of acting, which is called πρακτικὸν: in that of Mars, according to the ardour of courage, which is denominated θυμικὸν: in the orb of the sun, according to a sensitive and phantastic nature, which they call αἰσθητικὸν and φανταϛικὸν: but according to the motion of desire, which is denominated ἐπιθυμητικὸν, in the planet Venus: of pronouncing and interpreting what it perceives, which is called ἑρμηνευτικὸν, in the orb of Mercury; and according to a plantal nature, and a power of acting on body, which is denominated φυτικὸν, when it enters the lunar globe. And this sphere, as it is the last among the divine orders, so it is the first in our terrene situation. For this body, as it is the dregs of divine concerns; so it is the first substance of an animal. And this is the difference between terrene and supernal bodies (under which last, I comprehend the heavens, the stars, and the other elements) that the latter are called upwards to be the seat of the soul, and merit immortality from the very nature of the region, and an imitation of sublimity; but the soul is drawn down to these terrene bodies, and is on this account reported to die, when it is inclosed in this fallen region, and the seat of mortality. Nor ought it to cause any disturbance, that we have so often named the death of the soul, which we have pronounced to be immortal. For the soul is not extinguished by its own proper death, but is only overwhelmed for a time. Nor does it lose the benefit of perpetuity, by its temporal demersion: since when it deserves to be purified from the contagion of vice, through its entire refinement from body; it will be restored to the light of perennial life, and will return to its pristine integrity and perfection.”

[87] Iliad. lib. xx. l. 223, &c.

[88] In the original ἱϛᾶσιν οὖν καὶ σύμβολον τῆς μεσημβρίας καὶ τοῦ νότου, ἐπὶ ῇ θύρᾳ μεσημβριάζοντος τοῦ θεοῦ. Which Holstenius translates most erroneously, as follows: “Austrum igitur meridei symbolum statuunt: cum Deus meridiano tempore ostio immineat.”

[89] Iliad. lib. ix. l. 579.

[90] Iliad. lib. viii. l. 395.

[91] Iliad. lib. viii. l. 393.

[92] This assertion of Pythagoras that _the people of dreams_, δῆμος ὀνείρων, are souls situated in the milky way, admirably contributes to elucidate the following passage in the 24th book of the Odyssey, respecting the descent of the suitors’ souls to the region of spirits:

Πὰρ δ’ ἴσαν Ὠκεανοῦ τε ῥοὰς καὶ Λευκάδα πέτρην, Η’δὲ παρ’ ἠελίοιο πύλας καὶ δῆμον ὀνείρων Ἤισαν, αἶψα δ’ ἴκοντο κατ’ ἀσφοδελὸν λειμῶνα, Ἔνθά τε ναίουσι ψυχαὶ εἴδωλα καμόντων.

i.e. “But they passed beyond the flowing waters of the ocean, and the rock Leucas, and the gates of the sun, and _the people of dreams_: and they immediately came into meadows of asphodel, where souls the images of the dead reside.” For it is evident from hence that the souls of the suitors passed through the galaxy, or the seats of the blessed, according to the most ancient theology: and I doubt not but Homer describes in these lines the complicated progression of an impure soul till it regains its original habitation in the stars, and again begins to gravitate to this terrene abode. This, I presume, will be manifest from the following elucidation of these admirable lines.

In the first place these souls are said to pass over _the flowing waters of the ocean_, and _the Leucadian_, or _white rock_. Now by this nothing more is meant than the flight of the suitors’ souls to the extremity of the earth, in order to a subterranean descent: for, according to the most ancient opinion, the earth is bounded by the ocean; and the Leucadian rock may, as Eustathius observes, be some rock on the earth’s extremity, which receives the last rays of the sun. Afterwards they are said to pass through _the gates of the sun_, by which, as Porphyry informs us above, we must understand the tropics of Cancer and Capricorn: and as Capricorn is subterranean, and affords a passage to ascending immortals, we must conceive that they enter through this prior to the tropic of Cancer. But in order to comprehend the perfect propriety of this transition, we must observe that the souls of the suitors on account of their impurity, are punished in the recesses of the earth, before they enter the celestial tropics, and pass into the meadows of Pluto. This the poet evidently evinces by the _screaking noise_, which they utter, and the squalid paths, through which they descend: a noise of this kind as Proclus well observes, (in Plat. Repub.) “representing a species of life solely given to appetite and imagination.” After they have been purified therefore by subterranean punishment, they are fit to ascend to _the people of dreams_, or the souls of the blessed situated in the milky way. However as the soul, on account of her middle nature, is incapable of a perpetual sameness of situation, but is formed for infinite circulations (as will be demonstrated in the following elements); hence Homer, without mentioning her duration among the gods, though it is doubtless very extended, agreeable to the mystic brevity of his Muse, makes her immediately pass into _the meadows of Asphodel, where souls the images of the dead reside_. Now these _meadows of Asphodel_, form the supreme part of Plato’s dominions: for, according to Pythagoras, as we are informed by Macrobius, in the preceding note to page 287, the empire of Pluto commences downwards from the milky way; so that these meadows are most probably situated in _the Lion_, the constellation into which souls first fall, after they leave the tropic of Cancer. But the description of the Asphodel, perfectly corresponds with, and confirms the preceding exposition. For the Asphodel is a plant, bearing a naked _starry flower_, which comprehends an ovarium, or _orbicular figure_, after the manner of a cup. And what can more aptly symbolize with the stars, than such a flower? It was usual too with the ancients to scatter this plant in the tombs of the deceased; occultly intimating most probably, the similitude of this flower to the pristine and proper habitations of the soul. And hence it derived its appellation from σποδός, _ashes_, διὰ τὴν τῶν καιομένων νεκρῶν σποδόν, i.e. _from the ashes of burnt dead bodies_.

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