Chapter X: Book IV (4)

Several women too, enamoured with the love of wisdom, were the auditors of Plotinus. The Platonic philosophy, indeed, as it necessarily combines truth with elegance, is naturally adapted to captivate and allure the female mind, in which the love of symmetry and gracefulness is generally pre-dominant. Hence, in every age, except the present, many illustrious females have adorned the Platonic schools, by the brilliancy of their genius, and as uncommon vigour and profundity of thought. This too, would doubtless be the case in our own country, if all the works of Plato and his disciples were but once faithfully and elegantly translated into English: but till the obstacle of Greek is removed, we may in vain expect thinking females[56], and I had almost said Platonic philosophers among men. Porphyry adds, that many men and women of noble birth, when at the point of death, delivered up, and commended their children and all their substance to Plotinus as to a sacred and divine guardian. Hence, says he, you might see the house of Plotinus full, both of young men and virgins, among the number of which was one Potamon, whom he educated with diligence and care. Nor was he wearied in hearing the procurators of his pupils, often rendering an account of their administration; nor did he disdain to pay attention to their expences, affirming, that as they did not yet philosophize, they ought to possess their own goods, and to receive, without detriment, an increase of their estate. Yet though he procured for so many pupils the chief necessaries of life, the intellectual energy of his soul while he was awake, never suffered any interruption from externals, nor any remission of vigour. He was extremely mild, though not _meek_[57], in his manners, and was easy of access to all his adherents and friends. Hence, so great was his philosophic urbanity, that though he resided at Rome twenty-six years, and had been the arbiter of many litigious causes, which he amicably dissolved, yet he had no enemy throughout that great and illustrious city. This last circumstance, indeed, reflects the highest honour on the philosophic character of Plotinus; but, at the same time, some merit is due to the age in which he fortunately lived. Had he been destined to make his appearance in the present times, unsupported by fortune, and with no other recommendation than an uncommon greatness of mind, and an unequalled depth of thought; from being despised, insulted, and distressed, he must surely have been indignant, though not morose, and severe though not agitated with wrath. He would have been scornful without pride, contemptuous without weakness, patient without servility, and solitary without affectation. He would have lived without notice, wrote with success, and died without regret. But born to a happier fate, his genius was not doomed to languish in the shades of obscurity, but attained to the blossom of perfection in the sun-shine of philosophy, and through the liberal pains of Grecian and Roman cultivation.

But though Plotinus was thus universally esteemed at Rome, and in general by all who had the happiness of his acquaintance, yet he had one vehement enemy in the person of Alexandrinus Olympius, who had been for a short time the disciple of Ammonius, who desired to arrogate to himself the chief place in philosophy, and endeavoured to render Plotinus the object of general contempt. So deadly, indeed, was his hatred of our philosopher, that he attempted to invade him, by drawing down the baneful influences of the stars. The attempt was, however, vain, and its effects noxious to their author. For the sidereal defluctions, instead of being hurtful to Plotinus, were reflected on Olympius. Hence he exclaimed to his companions, “that the soul of Plotinus possessed such a mighty power, that it immediately repelled malignant influences directed upon his person, on the authors of the evil.” But Plotinus, when Olympius first machinated his sidereal inchantments, was conscious of his design, and said to his friends; “Now the body of Olympius is contracted like a purse, and all his members are bruised together.” After Olympius, therefore, had often found to his own detriment, that the baneful influences intended for Plotinus were repelled on himself, he desisted from such base and fruitless undertakings. Indeed, says Porphyry, Plotinus naturally possessed something greater than the rest of mankind, which the following extraordinary relation abundantly evinces. A certain Egyptian priest, who at that time visited Rome, and who became suddenly known to Plotinus by one of his friends (perhaps Porphyry himself), desirous to exhibit his wisdom in that illustrious city, persuaded our philosopher to attend him, for the purpose of beholding, through his invocations, his familiar dæmon; to which request he readily consented. But the invocation was performed in the temple of Isis; this being the only pure place in Rome the Egyptian priest was able to find. However, instead of a dæmon, as was expected, a god approached, who was not (says Porphyry) in the genus of dæmons. The Egyptian astonished at the unexpected event, exclaimed, “Happy Plotinus, who hast a god for a dæmon, and whose familiar attendant does not rank among the inferior-kind!” But this extraordinary and delightful vision was of short duration: for the priest affirmed it was not then lawful to interrogate any thing, nor any longer to enjoy the vision, because a certain common contemplative friend, who was present at the spectacle, suffocated some birds which he held in his hands for the sake of safety, either impelled by envy, or terrified with fear. As Plotinus, therefore, was allotted a dæmon belonging to the diviner orders, the divine eye of his soul was perpetually elevated to this guardian deity. On this account he composed a book _concerning every man’s familiar dæmon_, in which he diligently endeavours to assign the causes of the diversity subsisting among these attendants on mankind. As a still farther proof of his uncommon greatness of mind, Porphyry adds, that when Amelius who was an observer of sacred rites, in which he officiated, according to the Roman calends, once requested Plotinus to attend him in the discharge of these religious ceremonies, he replied, “It becomes them to approach to me, and not me to them.” But from what conceptions (says Porphyry), he spoke in such an exalted manner of himself, we were unable to conceive, and afraid to ask. We may, however, presume, that Plotinus meant to insinuate the high degree of purity and perfection of his intellectual part, which rendered him so superior to the use of corporeal sacrifices, and the cultivation of material deities, and dæmons, that he ought rather to be propitiated by others, than to propitiate himself. For a soul like his, was, indeed, to use his own expression, ὕϛερος θεὸς, _a posterior god_, ready winged for flight, and scarcely detained by the fetters of body. This I know will pass for great arrogance and presumption among the philosophers of the present day, who consider _meekness_ and _humility_ as the highest ornaments of their nature, and the truest characteristics of genuine worth. But surely a sublime and godlike soul can never think _meanly_ of its nature, or be willing to suppress and extinguish the inevitable consciousness of its own dignity and elevation. Humiliating conceptions flourish no where but in the breasts of the servile, or the base; and are the ornaments of no characters, but those of the impotent and the mean. Their influence is baneful to the advancement of science, and destructive of all genuine excellence and worth. They damp the glowing ardour of true theology, curb the celestial flight of philosophy, and blast the vigourous blossoms of genius. Let it, however, be remembered, that while we banish meekness, we are by no means the advocates of arrogance and conceit; but are alone desirous of vindicating the proper dignity of the worthy soul, and of rescuing its generous and ardent confidence from the frigid embraces of humiliating opinion. It is one thing to be _modest_, and another to be _meek_: for the former is the shadow attendant on genius, inseparable from its progress, and the symbol of its reality; but the latter is the dæmon of traffic, the inspirer of its projects, the support of its credit, and the harbinger of its appearance. It flies from the face of genius like the shadows of night before the beams of the morning, and, terrified at the approach of the elevated mind, hides itself in the dark retreats of trembling pusillanimity. But to return from this digression: Plotinus appears to have possessed an unequalled skill in physiognomy, as the following circumstance eminently evinces. A lady, named Chion, who, together with her daughters resided in his house, and there happily passed a chaste widowhood, was fraudulently deprived of a very valuable necklace. In consequence of this, all the servants and domestics were summoned into the presence of Plotinus, who regarded their several countenances, selected one, and accused him of the theft. The man was immediately chastised, and for a long time denied the fact, but at length confessed his guilt, and restored the necklace. In a similar manner (says Porphyry) he wonderfully predicted the destiny of the young men of his acquaintance; as of one Polemo, he foretold, that he would be very much addicted to love, and not arrive to the maturity of his age, which happened according to his prediction. But the last instance of his sagacity, related by Porphyry, excels all the rest, both in the singular skill displayed in its execution, and the happy consequences it produced. Porphyry, as we are informed by Eunapius, in his life, on his first acquaintance with Plotinus, bade a final farewel to all his preceptors, and totally applied himself to the friendship and confidence of this wonderful man. Here he filled his mind with science, and drew abundantly, without satiety, from the perennial fountain, seated in the sanctuary of the soul of Plotinus. But afterwards being conquered, as it were, by the magnitude of his doctrines, he conceived a hatred of body, and human nature, and could no longer endure the fetters of mortality. “Hence (says Porphyry) I formed an intention of destroying myself, which Plotinus wonderfully perceived, and as I was walking home, stood before me, and said, _Your present design, O Porphyry, is not the dictate of a sound intellect_, _but rather of a soul raging with an atrabilious fury_. In consequence of this, he ordered me to depart from Rome, and accordingly I went into Sicily, particularly when I heard that a certain worthy and elegant man dwelt at that time about Lilybæum. And by this means, indeed, I was liberated from this perturbation of soul, but was in the mean time hindered from being with Plotinus till his death.”

But the great reputation of this divine man was not confined to the senate and people of Rome, for the emperor Galienus, and his wife Salonina, honoured his person, and reverenced his doctrine. Indeed, so highly was he esteemed by the emperor, that, relying on his benevolence, he requested that a city in Campania, which had been formerly destroyed, might be restored, and rendered a fit habitation for philosophers; and besides this, that it might be governed by the laws of Plato, and called Platonopolis. Had this design succeeded, Plotinus intended to have dwelt there with all his disciples, and to have realized the beautiful republic, conceived by the godlike genius of Plato. The emperor, indeed, assented to his wishes, and the philosopher would have easily accomplished his intentions, if some of the emperor’s familiars, impelled by envy or indignation, or some other injust and selfish cause, had not warmly opposed its execution.

This extraordinary man (as we are informed by Porphyry) was strenuous in discourse, sagacious in invention, and prompt in the most opportune perceptions: but he was frequently incorrect in his speech, as well as in writing; and this most probably owing to the vehemence and vigour of his conceptions. Besides this, while he was engaged in discourse, his intellect beamed through his corporeal frame, and diffused over his countenance its intimate light. He was, indeed, of a most beautiful aspect, but when he disputed (says Porphyry) he seemed far more lovely to the view. Then a placid gentleness appeared in receiving questions; and a vigour uncommonly robust was demonstrated in their dissolution. When Porphyry once had interrogated him for three days, _by what means principally the soul was united with the body_, he persevered in demonstrating the manner of its conjunction. And when a certain person, named Thaumasius, entered his school, for the purpose of discussing common questions in philosophy, and premised that he wished to hear the explanatory sentences of Plotinus, but that the questions and answers of Porphyry were by no means adapted to a disputation of this kind, Plotinus replied: _unless we dissolve the doubts arising from the interrogations of Porphyry, we shall not be able to comment any thing, in an uninterrupted series of discourse_. But he wrote with a most intense acuteness of thought, and an abundant intellect. His writings are remarkably sententious, and he abounds, every where, more with profundity of sense than copiousness of words. “He poured forth (says Porphyry) many things agitated by the impulse of inspiring deity; and was often wonderfully affected with the object of his investigation.” With me indeed every page of his works is a _volume_, and every sentence an _oracle_. The latent dogmata of the Stoics, and Peripatetics, are inserted in his books; and more particularly the Sentences of Aristotle posterior to his Physics. He was ignorant of nothing pertaining to geometry, arithmetic, optics, and music, though he had never reduced these sciences to practice. The commentaries of the Platonic philosophers, Cronius, Numenius, Gaius, Atticus; as also of the Peripatetics, Aspasius, Alexander, Adrastus, &c. were read in his schools: but nothing was repeated from these in an uninterrupted series. For his conceptions were entirely his own; and his contemplations were different from theirs. In interpretation, and the discussion of questions, he bore the intellect of Ammonius. As soon as he was sufficiently imbued with reading, and had given, in a short discourse, sentences full of profound contemplation he arose, and left the school. Having once read the book of Longinus concerning principles, he said, _that Longinus was indeed a philologist, but by no means a philosopher_; and this indeed, as it appears to me, by a necessary consequence: for the knowledge of _words_ is entirely foreign from the study of _things_. When Origen (not the Christian father of that name) once came into his school, Plotinus whose cheeks were covered with blushes, wished to rise, and being sollicited by Origen to continue his discourse, he replied “that discourse ought to cease, when he who speaks perceives he addresses himself to those who are well acquainted with his doctrine.” And thus after a short dissertation he arose from thence.

When in the celebration of Plato’s nativity, Porphyry recited a poem _on the sacred marriage_[58], and a certain person who was present objected that Porphyry was mad, because many things were said in the poem mystically, and inspired by a divine fury, Plotinus openly exclaimed, “You have shewn yourself at the same time both a philosopher and a priest.” On a certain time too an orator, named Diophanes, read an apology for the intoxicated Alcibiades in the banquet of Plato, endeavouring to prove that it was proper for the sake of learning virtue that the lover should expose himself to the object of his attachment, and not even refuse venereal congress. But while he was reading this licentious defence, Plotinus often rose from his seat, as if he would suddenly leave the assembly: but he restrained himself till it was finished. However, when he left the company, he commanded Porphyry to confute the oration. But when Porphyry desired the orator to lend him his discourse, for this purpose, and was refused, he answered him from recollection, and delivered his answer in the presence of the same auditors as had attended Diophanes. On this occasion Plotinus was so much rejoiced, that he often repeated in the assembly

“Thus write, and you’ll illuminate mankind[59].”

Our philosopher too, applied himself to the rules of astronomy, though (says Porphyry) not according to a very mathematical mode. That is, as we may presume, he very little regarded the calculation of eclipses, or measuring the distance of the sun and moon from the earth, or determining the magnitudes and velocities of the planets: for he doubtless considered employments of this kind as more the province of the mathematician than of the profound and intellectual philosopher. The mathematical sciences are indeed the proper _means_ of acquiring wisdom, but they ought never to be considered as its _end_. They are the bridge as it were between sense and intellect, by which we may safely pass through the night of oblivion over the dark and stormy ocean of matter, to the lucid regions of the intelligible world: and he who is desirous of returning to his true country will speedily pass over this bridge, without making any needless delays in his passage. Plotinus also diligently applied himself to the judgments of the astrologers; but when he found that their predictions were not worthy of belief, he often confuted their presages in his writings.

At that time there were many Christians, and likewise some heathens, who forsaking the ancient philosophers, became the followers of Adelphius and Aquilinus. These men circulated a variety of books of Alexander, Libycus, Philocomus, Demostratus, Lydus; and openly exhibited certain revelations of Zoroaster, Zostrianus, Nicotheus, Allogenes, Mesus, with others of a similar kind. By this means they deceived many, and were themselves deceived, asserting that Plato had by no means penetrated the depth of an intelligible essence. On this occasion, Plotinus urged many arguments in his disputations against these impostors, and composed a book in confutation of their tenets, inscribed, _against the Gnostics_, leaving a farther discussion of their errors to the labours of his disciples. Hence Amelius composed forty books against the book of Zostrianus; and Porphyry shewed by a variety of arguments, that the writings which they attributed to Zoroaster, were adulterated and recent, and were composed by the propagators of the heresy, that their institutions might pass for the genuine doctrines of the ancient Zoroaster.

Many of the Greeks (says Porphyry) falsly accused Plotinus of privately usurping the doctrines of Numenius, which calumny Tryphon, a Stoic and Platonist, told to Amelius. On this occasion Amelius composed a book, inscribed by Porphyry; _Concerning the difference between the dogmata of Plotinus and Numenius_, which he dedicated to Porphyry. Every one of the books, indeed, of this great man bear such evident marks of original thought, and singular depth, the execution in each is so similar, and the conceptions so uncommonly abstruse, that no one can understand his meaning, and believe him indebted to the labours of others. Porphyry adds, that he was likewise considered by many as a mere trifler, and treated with contempt, because says he they could by no means comprehend his sayings. Besides the manners of Plotinus contributed to produce and increase this disdain, for he was foreign (says Porphyry) from all sophistical ostentation, and pride; and conducted himself in the company of disputants, with the same freedom and ease as in his familiar discourses. With the superficial and the vain, a haughty carriage and severe aspect are considered as the badges of wisdom: but nothing in reality is more foreign from its possession. For true wisdom when it is deeply possessed gives affability and modesty to the manners, illumines the countenance with a divine serenity, and diffuses over the whole external form an air of dignity and ease. Add to this, that Plotinus did not hastily disclose to every one, the syllogistic necessities, which were latent in his discourse. “The same thing (says Porphyry) happened to me, when I first heard Plotinus. On which account I endeavoured to provoke him, by writing against him, endeavouring to shew _that intellections are not external to intellect_.” But after the writings of Porphyry on this subject were read to Plotinus, he said, smiling; “It must be your employment Amelius, to dissolve these doubts, occasioned by his ignorance of our opinion.” After Amelius, therefore, had composed no small book against the objections of Porphyry, and Porphyry had again contradicted his writings, and was once more answered by Amelius: “At length (says Porphyry) having scarcely after all these attempts fathomed the depth of Plotinus, I changed my opinion, wrote a recantation of my error, which I recited in a general assembly, considered the books of Plotinus ever after as most worthy of belief, and provoked my master by every possible means to disclose his opinion in a more particular and copious manner.” This relation is a most egregious instance of the unequalled profundity, as well as excellence of Plotinus’s writings: for who will presume to question the merit of composition, which was at first so difficult to be comprehended, and afterwards so greatly admired by such a genius as Porphyry? By a genius equally accurate, elegant and profound, who knew how to combine the Graces with Philosophy and Science, and to adorn the majestic brows of truth with the flowers of enchanting elocution.

But the testimony of the celebrated Longinus concerning our philosopher, sufficiently evinces his uncommon excellence and worth; and in the present age will probably be more esteemed than the eulogium of Porphyry. In a letter, therefore, which he wrote to Porphyry desiring him to come from Sicily into Phœnicia where he resided, and to bring with him the books of Plotinus, he writes among other things as follows: “These books (meaning those of Plotinus) are not moderately faulty, so that I have no means of using them, though I desire above measure to consider what Plotinus has written concerning the _soul_, and on _being_.” And again: “Do not send these books but bring them with you, and not these alone, but any others which may have escaped the notice of Amelius. _For why should I not enquire, with the greatest diligence, after the writings of this man, which deserve the highest honour and veneration?_ This indeed I have always signified to you, both when present and absent, and when you resided at Tyre, that I could not understand many of the hypotheses of Plotinus’s books, _but that I immoderately loved and reverenced the manner of his writing, the density of his conceptions, and the very philosophic disposition of his questions. And indeed I judge that the investigators of truth ought only to compare the books of Plotinus with the most excellent works._”

This testimony of Longinus is the more remarkable, as, prior to this, he had for a long time despised our philosopher, through the ignorant aspersions of others. The wonderful genius of Plotinus, was indeed so concealed under the garb of modesty, that before fame had announced his worth, it was only visible to a penetrating and sagacious few. But Longinus (says Porphyry) thought the works of Plotinus which he had received from Amelius incorrect, through the fault of the transcribers, because he was unacquainted with his usual elocution: for if any, the books in the possession of Amelius were correct, because they were transcribed from the manuscripts of Plotinus. Porphyry has likewise preserved the preface of a book composed by Longinus, inscribed, _concerning the end_, and dedicated to Plotinus and Amelius, in the course of which he thus speaks of our philosopher. “_Plotinus and Gentilianus Amelius are replete with a copiousness of propositions, which they studiously discuss, and have seriously chosen the employment of writing, using a mode of contemplation peculiar, and their own. And Plotinus indeed, as it seems, has more certainly explained the Pythagoric and Platonic principles than his predecessors. For the writings of Numenius, Cronius, Moderatus, and Thrasyllus, are not to be compared, for accuracy in any part, with the books of Plotinus on the same subjects._”

If such then is the decision of Longinus concerning the abilities and writings of this extraordinary man: of Longinus who is celebrated by one of our first poets, _as inspired by all the Nine_; and whose literary reputation is universal; what judgment must we form of the philosophic taste of the present age, when we find that the very name of Plotinus is known but to a few, and his works scarcely to any? The inference is obvious: let the reader draw it, and lament. But (says Porphyry), if it be requisite to employ the testimony of the wise, who is wiser than a god? Than a god, who truly said of himself:

[60]The number of the sands is known to me,
And the broad measure of the mighty sea.
I know the thoughts within the dumb conceal’d,
And words I hear, by language unreveal’d.

And this is no other than Apollo, who when Amelius enquired, where the soul of Plotinus had emigrated, answered in divine numbers, as follows:

To strains immortal full of heav’nly fire,
My harp I tune well strung with vocal wire;
Dear to divinity a friend I praise,
Who claims those notes a god alone can raise.
For him a god in verse mellifluous sings,
And beats with golden rod the trembling strings.
Be present Muses and with general voice
And all the powers of harmony rejoice;
Let all the measures of your art be try’d,
In rapt’rous sounds, as when Achilles dy’d:
When Homer’s melody the band inspir’d,
And god like furies every bosom fir’d.
And lo! the sacred choir of Muses join,
And in one general hymn their notes combine.
I Phœbus in the midst to whom belong
The sacred pow’rs of verse, begin the song.
Genius sublime! once bound in mortal ties,
A dæmon now and more than mortals wise;
Freed from those members that with deadly weight
And stormy whirl inchain’d thy soul of late:
O’er lifes rough ocean thou hast gain’d that shore,
Where storms molest, and change impairs no more;
And struggling through its deeps with vig’rous mind,
Pass’d the dark stream, and left base souls behind.
Plac’d where no darkness ever can obscure,
Where nothing enters sensual and impure;
Where shines eternal minds unclouded ray,
And gilds the realms of intellectual day.
Oft merg’d in matter by strong leaps you try’d,
To bound aloft, and cast its folds aside;
To shun the bitter stream of sanguine life,
Its whirls of sorrow, and its storms of strife.
While in the middle of its boist’rous waves,
Thy soul robust, the deeps deaf tumult braves;
Oft beaming from the gods thy piercing sight,
Beheld in paths oblique a heav’nly light:
Whence rapt from sense with energy divine,
Before thy eyes immortal splendors shine;
Whose plenteous rays in darkness most profound,
Thy steps directed and illumin’d round.
Nor was the vision like the dreams of sleep,
But seen while vigilant you brave the deep;
While from your eyes you shake the gloom of night,
The glorious prospects burst upon your sight:
Prospects, beheld but rarely by the wise,
Tho’ men divine, and fav’rites of the skies.
But now set free from the lethargic folds,
By which th’ indignant soul dark matter holds;
The natal bonds deserted, now you soar,
And rank with Dæmon forms a man no more.
In that blest realm where love and friendship reign,
And pleasures ever dwell unmixt with pain;
Where streams ambrosial in immortal course
Irriguous flow, from Deity their source.
No dark’ning clouds those happy skies assail,
And the calm æther knows no stormy gale.
Supremely blest thy lofty soul abides,
Where Minos and his brother judge presides;
Just Æacus, and Plato the divine,
And fair Pythag’ras there exalted shine;
With other souls who form the general choir,
Of love immortal, and of pure desire;
And who one common station are assign’d,
With Genii of the most exalted kind.
Thrice happy thou! who life’s long labours past,
With holy Dæmons dost reside at last:
From body loosen’d, and from cares at rest,
Thy life perpetual, and divine thy feast.
Now ev’ry Muse who for Plotinus sings,
Here cease with me to tune the warbling strings;
For thus my golden harp with art divine,
Has told, Plotinus! endless bliss is thine.

“According to this oracle then (says Porphyry) Plotinus was worthy, and mild, gentle and endearing, and such as we found him to be by invariable experience. And again, it asserts that he was vigilant, endued with a purified soul, and always elevated to divinity, which he ardently loved. Likewise that he endeavoured by exerting all his powers to emerge from the bitter waters of this sanguine life. Hence when by the assistance of this blessed light, he had often raised himself by intellectual conceptions, to that first god who is superior to intellect, and had ascended according to all the gradations in the banquet of Plato to an union with his ineffable nature, this supreme principle suddenly appeared to him, neither possessing any form, nor any idea, but established above intellect, and every intelligible essence. And to this supreme god I Porphyry once approached, and was united with his nature, when I was sixty-eight years of age. The end of life therefore appeared to Plotinus: for the end and scope of existence to him, was a conjunction with that deity who is every where present. But he four times obtained this end, while I resided with him, not in capacity, but by an ineffable energy. Besides the oracle adds, that the gods often surrounding Plotinus with divine splendors, directed him in the right path, while they benignantly extended to his eyes abundant rays of celestial light: so that he may be said to have composed his books from the contemplation, and intuition of divinity. But from internal and external vigilance, he is said by the oracle, to have seen many and most beautiful spectacles, which no other philosopher has easily beheld. For human contemplation may indeed have various degrees of excellence, but when compared with divine knowledge, cannot fathom a depth, such as is penetrated by the gods. Hitherto the oracle shews, what were the energies of Plotinus, and what he obtained, while surrounded with body. But after his solution from body, it declares that he arrived at the blessed society, where friendship, sweet desire, joy, and love united with the deity, perpetually reign. Besides this, how the sons of the divinity, Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Æacus, are appointed the judges of souls; and that Plotinus departed to these, not for the purpose of receiving their decisions of his conduct, but to enjoy their conversation, with whom also other gods of the most exalted order converse. Where Plato and Pythagoras reside, and other sublime souls, who compose the choir of immortal love; and where the most blessed dæmons have fixed their abode. And lastly, that the life of the inhabitants, in these celestial regions is ever flourishing and full of joy, and perseveres in perpetuity of bliss, from the benignant communications of divinity.” And thus much for the life of Plotinus, who was a philosopher unequalled for the strength and profundity of his intellect, and the purity and elevation of his life. He was a being, wise without the usual mixture of human darkness, and great without the general combination of human weakness and imperfection. He seems to have left _the orb of light_, solely for the benefit of mankind; that he might teach them how to repair the ruin contracted by their exile from good, and how to return to their true country, and their proper kindred and allies. I do not mean that he descended into mortality for the purpose of enlightening the vulgar part of mankind: for this would have been a vain and ridiculous attempt. The splendour of truth cannot be apprehended by eyes totally fixed in the dark night of oblivion; but previous to this, punishment must be inflicted, and purgation employed; the labours of Hercules must be accomplished, and the sufferings of Ulysses endured. But he came as a guide to the liberal few, who are struggling to gain the lost region of light, but know not how to break the fetters by which they are detained; and who are impatient to leave the obscure cavern of sense, where all is delusion and shadow, and to ascend to the realms of intellect, where all is substance and reality.

Let us now consider what were the principal tenets of the Platonic theology, which this extraordinary man restored, and illustrated in his writings. And, in the first place, he every where profoundly and copiously proves the super-essential nature of _the one_, or the supreme principle of things, which is one of the principal doctrines in the Parmenides, and is more plainly asserted in the Republic[61]. However prior to Plotinus[62], the interpreters of Plato ascended no higher than to intellect and being, and by this means placed a compound, and not a perfectly simple nature at the summit of the universe. This doctrine, which is called by Cudworth, _high-flown_, _phantastical_, and _unsafe_, will, I am sure, be deemed no better than _jargon_ and _reverie_, by modern philosophers, who, so far from being able to conceive a cause superior to being, scarcely possess a thought which is not the progeny of body and sense. It is, however, sufficient for our present purpose to prove that this is the opinion of Plato, and to shew how it is defended by Plotinus. In the sixth book of the Republic then, Plato most beautifully evinces the super-essential nature of the first cause, whom he calls the good, by his analogy to the sun, as follows. “Have you not observed, with respect to the author of the senses, in how perfect a manner he has formed the power of sight, and of being visible? I have not entirely perceived it, replied he. But consider it in this manner. Do hearing and sound require any other species, in order that the one may hear, and the other be heard, which third nature when absent, the one shall not hear, nor the other be heard? There is nothing, said he. It appears to me, indeed, that many others (that I may not say none), require no such third species. Or are you able to find any such power? By no means. Have you not perceived that sight, and the object of sight, require such a nature? How? When sight is present with the eyes, and they are directed to vision, when colour also is present, unless a third species is present, naturally formed for the purpose, the sight will be without vision, and the colours will be invisible. But what do you call this? What you call light. You speak the truth. Indeed, the sense of seeing, and the power of being seen, are joined together by a bond the most honourable of all other conjunctions, and by no trifling form, if light be not dishonourable. Whom then of the celestial gods can you assign as the cause of this, that light causes our sight to see in the best manner, and that objects are perceived by the eyes? The same as you and others assign; for you interrogate concerning the sun. But the sight is thus affected with reference to this god. How? Neither is the sight the sun; nor is the eye in which vision resides the sun. It is not. But of all the organs of sense, the eye participates most of the sun. Greatly so. Does it not preserve the power which it possesses, as infused from the sun? Entirely. Besides, the sun is not sight, but its cause, and is on this account beheld by sight. It is plainly so. This is what I called the son of the good, which the good generated analogous to itself: that as _this_ in the intelligible place, is to intellect and the objects of intelligence, so is _that_ in the visible place to sight. How is this? Explain yourself more largely. You know that the eyes as often as they are not turned towards objects whose colours the splendour of day irradiates and discloses, but to such as are faintly illuminated by nocturnal rays, grow dim by the vision, and appear almost blind, as if perfect sight was not resident in their nature. So it happens. But as often as they are turned to objects which the sun illustrates, they perspicuously perceive, and in the very same eyes, sight appears to be contained. It is so. Thus think also concerning the soul. For when it adheres to that in which truth, and being itself shines forth to view, then it understands and knows this, and appears to possess intelligence. But when it is carried to that which is mingled with darkness, which is generated and destroyed, the sharpness of its sight is blunted, it is conversant with various opinions, and it seems to be destitute of intellect. So it appears. Hence, that which affords truth to objects of intelligence, and extends the power of intellection to him who understands, you may call the idea of the good, the cause of science, and truth perceived by intellect. But since these two are so beautiful, I mean knowledge and truth, if you esteem the good itself, as something different from these, and far more beautiful, you will think in a proper manner. And, as it is proper to believe, that light and sight possess a certain form of the sun, but are by no means the sun itself: so here it is proper to judge, that knowledge and truth possess a certain form of the good itself, but are by no means the good; for its majesty is far more venerable and august.” And a little after he adds: “You may say therefore, that the good, not only affords to objects of knowledge the power of being known, but likewise distributes their being and essence, while in the mean time _the good itself is not essence, but above essence_, excelling it both in dignity and power.”

It is plain, therefore, from the words of Plato himself, that he considered the supreme principle of things superior to being; and consequently this doctrine was not devised by the latter Platonists, contrary to the opinion of their divine master. But this is likewise evident from the testimony of Speusippus, the immediate successor of Plato, who, as we are informed by Proclus[63] confirmed this doctrine from the most ancient authority, and asserted, “that the ancients considered _the one_, as better than being, and that the principle of being was free from all proportion to the subsequent order of things, as the good itself is separated from every condition of any particular good.” To this most respectable evidence we may also add, that of the philosopher Moderatus, who, as we are informed by Simplicius[64], declares, “that, according to the Pythagoreans (from whom Plato, it must be observed, received the greater part of his philosophy), the first one is above all essence.”

This sublime theory was supported by Plotinus, with all that truly philosophic accuracy and depth, for which his writings are every where so remarkable. Indeed, it appears to have been his favourite topic; for he has employed considerable parts of many of his books in its illustration and defence. Nor can we wonder at his partiality for this exalted speculation, if we consider that a union with this ineffable nature, was the great aim of all his desires, and the only end of all his studies and pursuits. This was the divinely solitary light to which his intellectual eye was ever directed, and which so abundantly illumined the most secret recesses of his soul. Here he discovered the true fountain of good, and drank deep of its perennial streams. And lastly, here he derived those inestimable stores of knowledge, which he so fortunately transmitted to future generations. That the English reader, therefore, may have a specimen of his inimitable writings on this abstruse subject, and may see some of the deepest mysteries of the Greek theology disclosed, I shall present him with a paraphrased translation of two books of Plotinus: the first of which is inscribed, _That Intelligibles are not external to Intellect, and concerning the Good_, and the other, _Concerning intelligible Beauty_. I have particularly chosen these, not only because they admirably unfold the depths of the Platonic philosophy and theology; but because the first relates to the vision of the _supreme_, explaining the wonderful manner in which it is accomplished; and the second describes the method of becoming united with the intelligible world. The Platonic reader will find in these books (if I have done justice to their divine author), instances of sublimity beyond all comparison with any other writings; and specimens of a profundity of thought unequalled by any other philosopher. I am sensible that the great labour I have employed in the translation, will be, most probably, lost on the present generation: but though I write with no views nor desires of popular renown, yet I flatter myself with the approbation of more equitable posterity. The fifth book, therefore, of the fifth Ennead of Plotinus is as follows:

“Is it possible any one can think that true intellect, possessing true being, can at any time be deceived, and believe in things which have no real existence? Certainly no one. For how could it be intellect, if it is ever liable to deception? It is requisite, therefore, that it should always understand, and that nothing should ever be concealed from it, like those natures that are subject to oblivion. But it is likewise necessary that knowledge should reside in its essence, not like one imagining or doubting, or deriving information from another. Nor yet again, like knowledge collected from demonstration. For though it is granted that some things are collected by demonstration, it cannot likewise be denied that something is of itself known to intellect, at the same time that reason dictates, that all knowledge is essential to its nature. But it is now necessary to enquire after what manner we must distinguish the essential knowledge of intellect, and that which it obtains by investigation. Likewise from whence the certainty is derived to intellect, of its essential knowledge? From whence its faith is derived, that it is in such a condition? Because about things offered to the senses, the belief of which appears more certain, it is usual to doubt whether they possess their apparent nature in the subject things, or in certain passions only; where certainly the judgment of intellect, or, at least, of thought, is required. For though it should, perhaps, be granted, that the natures of sensible objects are contained in their subject bodies, yet what is known by sense, is nothing more than an image of the object; for sense cannot apprehend the thing itself, since it abides external to its perception. But intellect when it understands and apprehends intelligibles, if it knows these as something different from itself, after what manner is it connected with them? For it may happen that it shall not meet with them, and consequently that it may not understand: or perhaps then at last when it meets with them it will immediately understand, and thus it will not always possess intellection. And if it should be said, that intelligibles are conjoined with intellect, it remains to enquire what such a conjunction means. Besides the intellections themselves will be certain figures: and, if this is the case, they will be adventitious, and nothing more than certain pulsations. But after what manner will intellect be figured; and what will be the form of intelligibles? Lastly, from this hypothesis intelligence will be like sense, a perception of externals. After what manner then do these disagree among themselves? Shall we say in this, that one of them comprehends lesser concerns? Also, how can intellect know that it perceives something in reality? Or how will it be able to judge that this is good, or beautiful, or just? For every one of these will be different from intellect, nor will it contain the principles of judging by which it believes, but these also will be external to its essence; and in the same manner truth. Again, intelligibles themselves, are either destitute of sense, life and intellect, or they possess intellect. If they possess intellect, they will equally contain both, and this will be the true and first intellect. But of this also we enquire how it contains truth, intelligible itself, and intellect. Whether subsisting in the same and together, or in some other manner? But if intelligibles themselves are destitute of intellect and life, we must enquire what they are. For they are neither certain propositions, nor axioms, nor dictions. For if this were the case they would affirm something of other things, but would not be things themselves: as if they should say, that what is just is beautiful, when at the same time justice itself is different from the beautiful itself. But if they should consider as simple essences, the just itself, and the beautiful itself, apart from each other: in the first place, intelligible itself will not be a certain one; but every intelligible will be separate from others. In which case we must enquire where they are, and in what places they are separately disposed: afterwards in what manner intellect every where running round in a discursive procession, is able to find these: also how it abides: and again, how it abides or perseveres in the same; and what form or figure it is endued with. Unless, perhaps, intelligibles are situated like certain images formed from gold, or from some other matter by a statuary or painter. But if this be the case, intellect in its perceptions will be the same as sense. Besides in what respect among these, is _this_ intelligible, justice, but _that_, something else. Lastly, this is the most powerful objection of all: viz. if any one should entirely admit, that these are extrinsical, and that intellect speculates them as having an external position, it necessarily follows that intellect does not possess the truth of these, but is deceived in the contemplation of each. For the object of its contemplation will be truly external: it will therefore behold them deprived of their intimate possession, and containing only their images in a knowledge of this kind. Since, therefore, it does not possess truth itself, but only contains certain images of truth, it will possess what is false, and have nothing of truth. If then it knows that it contains only what is false, it must undoubtedly confess itself to be destitute of truth: but if it is ignorant of this, and thinks that it participates of truth, when at the same time it is destitute of its possession, it is deceived by a two-fold fallacy, and is very far distant from truth. For it is on this account, as I think, that truth is not to be found in sensible objects but opinion alone: because opinion is conversant in receiving, from whence its name is derived. On this account it receives something different from itself, since that also is different from which it possesses what it receives. If then truth is not resident in intellect, such an intellect cannot be truth, nor a true intellect, nor intellect at all: nor indeed will truth be resident in any other place.

Hence it is not proper either to investigate intelligibles separate from intellect, or to confess that the figures of things only are contained in intellect, or to deprive it of truth, while we admit it is ignorant of intelligibles, and that the objects of its intellection have no existence in the order of things. But it is necessary to attribute all things to true intellect, if it is requisite to induce knowledge and truth; to preserve beings themselves; and that knowledge by which the essence of every thing is known; and no longer to acquiesce in the resemblances and images of things, as when we alone understand the particular mode of existence, and not the real essence of a thing; in this case neither possessing the object itself, nor dwelling with it, nor conspiring into one with its nature. For intellect indeed truly knows, nor is any thing concealed from its essential intelligence, nor is it liable to oblivion, nor does it wander by investigation, but it contains truth, and the seat of things in its essence, and is ever vital and intelligent. All which properties, indeed, ought to reside in the most blessed nature, or where can any thing honourable and venerable be found?

Hence it neither requires demonstration, nor the faith of persuasion, that intellect is thus essentially intelligent: for it is entirely manifest to itself, and there is nothing more worthy of faith than its own essence. So that it contains real truth, not consonant to any other but to itself, nor does it pronounce and exist any thing besides itself: and that which it is, it pronounces. Who then can confute it? And from whence can he bring his confutation? For the argument which is adduced must revolve into the same with the former. And although it is employed as different, it is nevertheless referred to the thing proposed by the first argumentator, and is with it entirely one and the same. For nothing can be found more true than truth.

This one nature intellect therefore is all beings: it is truth: it is a great deity: or rather it is not any particular god: but is deservedly every deity. And such is the nature of this second divinity, appearing to beholders, before they survey that superior God, who is seated in sublimer majesty on the illustrious throne of intellect, depending from his ineffable nature. For it is highly proper that he should not subsist in an inanimate seat, nor again immediately occur to us moving in the circular chariot of soul, but that an inestimable beauty should wonderfully shine before his appearance, as before the presence of a mighty king. For to such as advance to his intuition it is ordained that lesser things should first occur and afterwards that such as are greater should gradually present themselves to the view; and that such as surround the king should be more royal, and the rest in a degree proportionate to their distance from his ineffable glory. But after all these, the mighty king himself, suddenly shines forth to the view: while the rest venerate the king, in a suppliant manner; such I mean as do not depart from thence till they have proceeded to the last spectacle of all, like those who are satisfied with the splendor of the attendants on majesty. Another king, therefore, reigns in this intelligible world, and his attendants are different from his nature. But this supernal king does not rule over foreign subjects, but he possesses a just and natural government, and a true kingdom: since he is himself the king of truth, and is naturally the lord of his offspring the universe, and of the divine company of immortal gods. Hence he is the king of a king, and of kings, and is called by a juster name, the father of the gods. Whom indeed Jupiter in this respect imitates, since he does not acquiesce in the contemplation of his Father, but proceeds beyond this to his grand-sire, as to an energy in the very subsistence (ὑπόϛασις) of his essence.

But let us now ascend to the one itself, which is indeed truly one, not like other things which at the same time that they are many, are also one through the participation of unity. For we must now receive one itself, which is not one by participation, like such things as are not more truly one than many. We must likewise assert that the intelligible world is more one than other things, and that nothing is nearer than this to unity itself: at the same time that it is not purely one.