Chapter XV: Section III (1)

It is now requisite that we should direct our attention to Iamblichus, the celebrated disciple of Porphyry, who, on account of the sublimity of his genius, and his admirable proficiency in theological learning, was surnamed, _the divine_. This extraordinary man who appears to have been born for the advancement of theology, though zealously attached to the Platonic philosophy, yet explored the wisdom of other sects, particularly of the Pythagoreans, Egyptians, and Chaldeans; and formed one beautiful system of recondite knowledge, from their harmonious conjunction. There is a short life of this philosophic hero extant, by Eunapius, the substance of which is as follows; Iamblicus was descended of a family equally illustrious, fortunate, and rich. His country was Chalcis, a city of Syria, which they denominate Cælen. He associated with Anatolius, who was the second to Porphyry, but he far excelled him in his attainments, and ascended to the very summit of philosophy. But after he had been for some time connected with Anatolius, and most probably found him insufficient to satisfy the vast desires of his soul, he applied himself to Porphyry, to whom (says Eunapuis) he was nothing inferior, except in the structure and power of composition. For his writings were not so elegant and graceful as those of Porphyry: they were neither agreeable, nor conspicuous; nor free from impurity of diction. And though they were not entirely involved in obscurity, and perfectly faulty; yet, as Plato formerly said of Zenocrates, he did not sacrifice to the _mercurial Graces_. Hence he is far from detaining the reader with delight, or inviting him to a perusal of his works; but he rather seems to avert and dull the attention, and frustrate the reader’s expectation. However, though the surface of his conceptions is not covered with the flowers of elocution, yet his thoughts contain a most admirable depth, and his imagination is truly divine. He shared in an eminent degree the favour of divinity on account of his cultivation of justice; and obtained a multitude of associates and disciples, who came from all parts of the world, for the purpose of participating the streams of wisdom, which so plentifully flowed from the sacred fountain of his wonderful mind. Among these was Sopater[96] the Syrian, of the greatest eloquence, both in composition and discourse; Eustathius the Cappadocian; and of the Greeks, Theodorus and Euphrasius. All these were excellent for their virtues and attainments, as well as many others of his disciples, who were not much inferior to the former in eloquence; so that it seems wonderful, how Iamblichus, could attend to them all, with such gentleness of manners and benignity of disposition.

He performed some few particulars relative to the veneration of divinity, by himself, without his associates and disciples; but was inseparable from his familiars in most of his operations. He imitated in his diet the frugal simplicity of the most ancient times; and during his repast exhilerated those who were present by his behaviour, and filled them as with nectar by the sweetness of his discourse. Some of these inflamed with an unwearied desire of hearing his wisdom, and incapable of being satiated with its pleasure, were his constant guests, and once addressed him as follows: “Why, O divine master, do you thus act alone, without communicating to us your most consummate wisdom? Yet it has been reported to us by your servants, that you have been seen, while engaged in prayer, elevated more than ten cubits from the ground, your body and garments at the same time being changed into a golden colour; and that when your prayers have been finished, your body has returned to its pristine form, and descending to the earth you have associated and discoursed with us as before.” Upon this Iamblichus laughed (though he was not addicted to laughter) and replied: “He who invented this false relation, was not unpleasant; but in future, nothing shall be transacted without you.”

The two following circumstances, relative to the theurgical powers of this wonderful man, are related by Eunapius, which the reader may credit or reject as he pleases. At that season of the year, when the sun rises in conjunction with the dog-star, Iamblichus went with his disciples to sacrifice, in one of the suburbs of the city; and after the sacrifice was performed they returned to town, gently walking along, and discoursing concerning the gods, as a subject very proper for the occasion. Then Iamblichus, who was perfectly lost in thought in the midst of the discourse, whose voice was fallen, and eyes immoveably fixed on the earth, turned to his companions and exclaimed: “Let us take another road, for not far from hence there is a funeral procession”. Iamblichus accordingly chose a purer way, and was accompanied by some who were ashamed to forsake their master: but the greater part, among whom was Aedesius, obstinately persisted in the former road, ascribing the affair to the vanity and superstition of the man, and tracing the event with avidity and caution. In the mean time, those whose office consists in burying the dead approached, contrary to the expectation of his disciples; and upon enquiring whether they had taken that road from the first, they answered in the affirmative, and that no other path led to the place of their destination. But the second relation is far more wonderful than the present: for in the first (says Eunapius) perhaps the sight and smell of Iamblichus was more powerful than that of his disciples. His associates therefore, not satisfied with this testimony of his extraordinary powers, were desirous to try him in a greater affair, and upon solliciting Iamblichus for this purpose, he replied that a proof of this kind was not dependant on his own will, but must be referred to a proper opportunity. In a short time after this, they all went to Gadara in Syria, a place so famous for baths, that, after Baiæ in Campania, it is the second in the Roman empire. Here a dispute concerning baths arising while they were bathing, Iamblichus smiling, said to them: “Though what I am about to disclose is not pious, yet for your sakes it shall be undertaken;” and at the same time he ordered his disciples to enquire of the natives, what appellations had been formerly given to two of the hot fountains, which were indeed less than the others, but more elegant and graceful. Upon enquiry, they found themselves unable to discover the cause of their nomination; but were informed that the one was called ἔρως, _eros_, or _love_, and the other ἀντέρως, _anteros_, or _the god who avenges the injuries of lovers_. Iamblichus immediately touching the water with his hand (for he sat perhaps on the margin of the fountain) and murmuring a few words, raised from the bottom of the fountain, a fair boy, of a moderate stature, whose hair seemed to be tinged with gold, and the upper part of whose breast was of a luminous appearance. His companions being astonished at the novelty of the affair, let us pass on says he, to the next fountain; and at the same time he arose, fixed in thought, and performing the same ceremonies as before, called forth the other love, who was in all respects similar to the former, except that his hair, scattered in his neck was blacker, and was like the sun in refulgence. At the same time both the boys, eagerly embraced Iamblichus, as if he had been their natural parent: but he immediately restored them to their proper seats, and when he had washed departed from the place. After this affair, the astonishment of his familiars and disciples was so great, that they submitted to the doctrines of Iamblichus with implicit assent. Eunapius observes that other extraordinary particulars were related of Iamblichus, but that they had too much the appearance of fables to be combined with historical veracity. He adds that he should fear the preceding relations, were delusive and fictitious, if they had not been confirmed by men who were eye-witnesses of their reality.

A celebrated philosopher named Alypius, lived at the same time as Iamblichus, who was deeply skilled in dialectic; but was of such a short stature, and so slender in body, that he exhibited the appearance of a pygmy. However his great abilities amply compensated for this trifling defect; and he might be said to have emigrated into soul alone, by which he was possessed as by some inspiring god. This Alypius had many followers, but his mode of philosophising, was confined to private conference and disputation, without committing any of his dogmata to writing. Hence his disciples gladly applied themselves to Iamblichus, desirous to draw abundantly from his copious mind, as from a perennial and overflowing fountain. The same therefore of each continually increasing, they once accidentally met like two refulgent stars, and were surrounded by so great a croud of auditors, that it represented some mighty musæum. While Iamblichus on this occasion waited rather to be interrogated than to propose a question himself, Alypius, contrary to the expectation of every one, relinquishing philosophical discussions, and seeing himself surrounded with a theatre of men, turned to Iamblichus, and said to him: _tell me O philosopher, is the rich man unjust, or the heir of the unjust? For in this case there is no medium._ But Iamblichus hating the acuteness of the question, replied, “This kind of disputation, O illustrious man, relative to external concerns, is foreign from our philosophical mode; since we alone propose as subjects of speculation, characters replete with philosophic virtue.” After he had said this he departed, and at the same time all the surrounding multitude was immediately dispersed. But Iamblichus collecting himself when alone, and admiring the acuteness of the question, often privately resorted to Alypius, whom he vehemently extolled for the subtility of his judgment, and the sagacity of his genius; and whose life he historically and copiously delineated. This Alypius was an Alexandrian by birth, and died in his own country, worn out with age: and after him Iamblichus[97], leaving behind him many roots and fountains of philosophy; which, through the cultivation of succeeding Platonists, produced a fair variety of vigorous branches and copious streams.

The writings of this extraordinary man, though inestimably valuable, are not numerous; and the greater part are unfortunately lost. The only one which is preserved, relative to the Platonic theology, is the following:

_On the mysteries of the Egyptians, Chaldæans, and Assyrians_: or an answer to the epistle of Porphyry to the prophet Anebo. This admirable book contains many of the greatest arcana, of the ancient theology; respecting gods and dæmons, their cultivation and commerce, and the conjunction of the soul with divinity. It fully solves all the doubts concerning the impassivity of a divine nature; demonstrates its omnipresence, and never-failing energy; shews that we are continually surrounded with its light; and that all the divinities subsist in indivisible union, and indissoluble consent. There is an excellent Greek and Latin edition of this work, published, with copious notes, by the learned Gale: and it is greatly to be wished, though but little to be expected, that it was once translated into English, accompanied with a philosophical comment, which might both disclose its beauties, and reveal the sacred mysteries it contains.

Among the lost writings of Iamblichus, respecting theology, we may reckon in the first place, _three books, concerning the physics, ethics, and theology of arithmetic_: or φυσικὰ ἠθικὰ και Θεολογούμενα Ἀριθμητικῆς. These three books, form the fifth, sixth, and seventh, of a great work by Iamblichus, in ten books, entitled, _a collection of the Pythagoric dogmata_. And the seventh book, Fabricius thinks is still extant.

2. _Concerning the gods._ From this work the emperor Julian derived most of the dogmata contained in his elegant oration to the sun.

3. _Commentaries on the Parmenides, Timæus and Phædo of Plato._ The inestimable value of the first and second of these commentaries is sufficiently evident from the frequent mention made of them by Proclus, in his writings on these dialogues; and from the admirable passages contained in them, which he has fortunately preserved.

4. _Concerning the perfection of the Chaldaic philosophy._ The twenty-seventh book of this great work, is cited by Damascius, in his MS. treatise περὶ ἀρχῶν: and this whole discourse was studied with avidity by Proclus, and enabled him as we are informed by Marinus, to ascend to the very summit of theurgic virtue. And thus much for the works of Iamblichus relative to the Platonic theology.

But here we may observe with wonder how the deepest mysteries of this theology, became more and more explicitly unveiled, in proportion as the Roman empire was hastening to its dissolution; and Christianity to an universal establishment. Though the works of Plotinus and Porphyry contain all the arcana of theology, yet they contain them occultly and concisely. Their depth is in a great measure latent, and their fire condensed. But in Iamblichus we find greater copiousness and precision: theology is rendered more easy of access, and her light is more widely diffused. The profundity of barbarian theology is more accurately explored, and its consent with that of Pythagoras and Plato more abundantly and distinctly evinced. We find in his works, mystery united with bright evidence, religion with sublime philosophy, and science with divine illumination. Now this difference in the mode of unveiling the Platonic theology, is perfectly agreeable to the state of the Roman empire, and the new religion, at the periods when these modes were adopted. In the times of Plotinus and Porphyry, when Galienus, and Dioclesian swayed the sceptre of the world, Rome was in the middle of her course to destruction and Christianity had nearly accomplished one half of her journey to ecclesiastical empire. However as neither the fall of Rome, nor the establishment of Christianity, were then absolutely certain, these philosophers were cautious in disclosing all, that a baser period might require. This period Iamblichus was destined to see approach under the reign of the emperor Constantine; when the new religion was established, and the old treated with ridicule and contempt. Indeed the new religion had no sooner ascended the throne, and assumed the reins of arbitrary power, but she was surrounded with myriads of unphilosophic converts, and in her progress to despotism, drew after her the capital of Rome; and at once fixed the destruction of its ancient empire. And thus we may see that the writings of Iamblichus were perfectly correspondent to the depravity of the times.

The most celebrated disciple of Iamblichus, appears to have been one Œdesius a Cappadocian, who was of noble birth; but, as is generally the case with philosophers, possessed but a slender estate. According to Eunapius who wrote his life, he was not much inferior to Iamblichus, except in a divine afflatus, which seems to have been peculiar to that illustrious hero. To Œdesius we may add Maximus and Dexippus, both disciples of Iamblichus; and frequently cited by Simplicius in his elaborate commentary on the predicaments of Aristotle. But here we must regret, that none of the immediate successors of Iamblichus, contributed any thing to the advancement of the ancient theology. They reverenced indeed the arduous flights, and divine genius of their master; but never attempted even to imitate, what they could not equal, and were content to gravel without presuming to soar. The iniquitous times indeed of the emperor Constantine, may afford a reasonable apology for the decay of genius, and the langour of philosophy. The destructive rod of ecclesiastical empire was already extended; and its lethargic influence was already felt on the active spirit of liberal investigation. Religious faction had now started from the bosom of delusion; and _holy_ persecution, was hastening from the infernal seats, to massacre the nations, and deluge Europe and Asia in blood. The peaceful and instructive disputes of philosophers, were now beginning to be exchanged for the jargon of orthodox and heterodox sectaries; and the calm voice of ancient theology, was silenced by the barbarous and tumultuous sounds, of Arian and Trinitarian clamours. This alarming change however, checked only for a short period, the generous ardour of the philosophic genius: for the æra was now at hand in which theology was destined to display the full blaze of her celestial light. _Sacred_ zeal indeed presumed to hurl the darts of _faith_, against her venerable person: but her arm was destitute of vigour, and her weapons fell innocent to the ground. The buckler of _true_ theology was not to be transpierced, by such imbecil darts; and the attempt was like that of weak old Priam, against the strong and youthful Pyrrhus.

---- ----telumque imbelle fine ictu
Conjecit; rauco quod protenus ære repulsum,
Et summo clypei necquicquam umbone pependit.

But the order of discourse now brings us to a survey of the last branch of the _theological tree_, in which we may discover amidst numerous ramifications, and elegant foliage, exhaustless vigour, and luxuriant fruit. The source of this illustrious branch was the great Athenian Plutarch, of whom such honourable mention has been made, in the preceding life of Proclus[98]. To Plutarch succeeded Syrianus and Olympiodorus; and to these Hermeas and Proclus. It was by the labours of this last philosophical hero, that theology received the consummation of excellence, and exhibited diffused elegance, combined with majesty and strength. This will be evident from perusing his life, and studying his more abstruse writings, among which the following elements may be deservedly ranked. Though Marinus as we have observed in the life of Proclus, was his immediate successor, yet Asclepiodotus the master of Damascius, was his best disciple; and was most capable of receiving the exuberant streams of wisdom, which vigorously flowed from his philosophic mind. After Asclepiodotus an illustrious series of philosophers succeeded, who terminated the golden chain of Platonists, and were the last advocates for the dignity of ancient wisdom and theology. These great men were Zenodotus, Severianus, Ammonius Hermias, Hierius, Asclepius, Simplicius, Isidorus, Damascius, Diogenes, Eulalius and Priscian. But of all these, none except Damascius, appears to have contributed any thing to the perfection of theology: for the works of the rest consist for the most part in excellent commentaries on Aristotle; but Damascius, in his book, on principles, has preserved a most valuable store of recondite wisdom, and unfolded some of the sublimest mysteries of ancient theology. This inestimable work is however still in manuscript, and is not likely in the present age to emerge from its shameful concealment.

Seven of the preceding illustrious heroes, who were united by friendship as well as philosophy, Damascius the Syrian, Simplicius of Cilicia, Eulalius the Phrygian, Priscian the Lydian, Hermias and Diogenes of Phœnicia, and Isidorus of Gaza, disgusted with the religion of their sovereign Justinian, determined to seek from Chosroes the Persian king, that liberty of conduct which their native country denied. Chosroes though a barbarian, was deeply skilled in the philosophy of Plato and Aristotle; and was so imbued with the dogmata of Plato, that not one of his abstruse dialogues escaped his penetrating genius. The ill success however of these philosophers in their journey to Persia, gives us reason to suspect that the philosophic attainments of Chosroes, were influenced more by pride than the love of truth: and that he affected the name without possessing the requisites of a sage. The return of these philosophers was precipitate, and their disappointment extreme. They derived however a considerable advantage from their expedition; and the conduct of Chosroes in this particular will confer immortal honour on his character and name. He was the means of procuring for the seven sages, an exemption from the barbarous penal laws of Justinian against the Pagans; and thus enabled them to end their days in security and peace, and in the enjoyment of that liberty of conscience which no religion before the Christian, ever attempted to destroy.

The reign of Justinian, indeed, as it firmly established the Christian religion, terminated the glorious empire of philosophy, by suppressing the schools of Athens, and suspending the ecclesiastical sword over the heads of heathen theologists. But the fall of philosophy was naturally succeeded by the darkness of delusion and ignorance; by the spirit of wild fanaticism, and intolerant zeal; by the loss of courage and virtue; and by the final dissolution of the empire of the world, She was ruined indeed but not without revenge. War, pestilence, and famine, were the scourges of a prince who had presumed to demolish her schools, and intercept the diffusion of her sacred light: and his reign was disgraced by an irreparable decrease of mankind, in the most fertile regions of the earth. We may add too that his dominions were alarmed with the dreadful blaze of two mighty comets, whose malignant light foretold approaching calamities and war; and signified perhaps the establishment of religious anarchy, and the commencement of _barbarous impiety_ and folly. And to complete this catalogue of prodigies and desolation, every year of his reign was marked with violent earthquakes of uncommon duration, and incredible extent. The whole surface of the Roman empire was agitated with horrid internal convulsions; and enormous chasms were formed by the earth’s strong vibrations. Large bodies were discharged into the air, and the sea concurring in the general ruin, overflowed or deserted its natural bounds, by alternately advancing and retreating with accumulated majesty and strength: and a mountain was torn from Libanus, and hurled into the waves, amidst the dreadful tossings of the deep. History after this period exhibits nothing but religious dissensions, despicable _councils_, and bigoted sects; the enmity of _saints_, and the discord of Nestorians and Jacobites, Maronites and Armenians, Copts and Abyssinians. _Religious_ war, and _pious_ rebellion succeeded to philosophical theory; and Nestor and Cyril led the confused and clamorous dance of ecclesiastical disputation.

It would neither be consistent with the design of this history, pleasing to the author, nor entertaining to the Platonic reader to trace the rapid increase of barbarism and ignorance, after the abolition of the Athenian and Alexandrian schools. It will be sufficient to observe that the jargon of innumerable sects, established a tyranny unknown to the Pagan world, the tyranny of religious despotism; and finally extirpated from the earth, the dominion of ancient wisdom and virtue. From the incredible multitude of different persuasions, Christianity lost all appearance of a _revelation_; and by the conduct of its professors, seemed rather calculated to confound than illuminate mankind. The same infatuated spirit has indeed marked its progress to the present day; and we find that in proportion as this baneful zeal prevails, knowledge retires, virtue droops, and magnanimity is destroyed: hypocrisy becomes the substitute for generosity; and whining cant succeeds the decent confidence, inspired by genuine dignity and worth. As the rapidity of a river is increased by the contraction of its channel; so its vigour is diminished by the multiplication of its streams. In a similar manner, the influence of any religion is lessened, when it is divided into various streams of opinion, by the discord of party, and the zeal of profession. The energy of the whole is lost by diffusion; and the river of the _Church_ is weakened by the numerous and narrow rivulets of _Dissenters_. Experience unfortunately shews, that the professors of a national religion, are generally men of greater integrity, than those who compose the dissenting sects; and the fact may be supported by a rational theory. The trifling employments, groveling cares, and contemptible fame which are necessarily connected with religious dissension, unavoidably debilitate the mind, and contract the heart. The whole attention is engrossed in regarding the little concerns, and supporting the narrow opinions of a party; and that strength of understanding, and integrity of character, which are requisite to acquire eminence in science and virtue, are lost in imbecile exertions and hypocritical cant. It is on this account that I should prefer a dissenter in Scotland, and a papist in France, to a dissenter and catholic in England: for in those countries they cease to be sectaries, and may consequently in some degree become virtuous and wise.

It seems at first sight surprising that there should be no sects among the Grecian polytheists: they were unanimous in their belief of a multitude of gods subordinate to one supreme: their mode of worship was uniformly the same; and they appear to have had no conception of religious innovation. Shall we say that a religion is false in proportion to its unity; that truth may be branched out into an endless variety of discordant streams; and that error alone resists the power of copious and confused division? Such a speculation is indeed curious, but not safe; and its result would perhaps be more logical than _orthodox_, and more informing than discreet! Let us therefore direct our attention, to a more important subject, and consider the excellence of the Christian religion with respect to the commercial interests of mankind. That Christianity is not favourable to philosophy (I mean that of the ancients) is evident from its causing the destruction of the ancient schools; which it has not yet restored, though more than a thousand years have elapsed since their dissolution. Indeed the wisdom of a _sage_, is not likely to coincide with the doctrine of a _fisherman_; and implicit faith, ills suits with liberal doubt, and severe investigation. However, the spirit of _meekness_, which Christianity so admirably inculcates, though opposite to the _dignity_ of philosophy, promotes the humility of merchandize, and facilitates the emoluments of trade. It enables men to suppress their passions from considerations of interest; teaches them to refer every thing to private advantage; and to consider magnanimity as a dangerous and arrogant virtue. It is to this spirit, that we must ascribe the great extent of commerce, in all the civilized parts of the world; and that Europe is much richer, though less wise than of old. The spirit of meekness by gradually suppressing the noble ardour of ancient heroism, and withdrawing the attention from abstract investigations, as daring and presumptuous, has given birth to innumerable discoveries in the arts, unknown to the speculative genius of antiquity. Hence the luxuries of life have received an immense improvement; and the spirit of meekness though not calculated to soar, has wandered over the surface of the earth, and diffused its _humble_ blessings even to the remote regions of the poles. Penetrating and smooth, it has crept like oil, through the communities of mankind; and increased the activity, by lubricating the joints of the flexible body of Commerce. As oil too allays the fury of the sea, and calms its agitated waves; so meekness suppresses the effervescence of desire, restrains the restless spirit of enquiry, and calms the impetuosity of genius. Hence though we are no longer surprised with the daring exploits, and prodigious talents which distinguished the ancient world, yet we can boast a greater uniformity of character, a more general equality in moderate attainments, and a more interested spirit. In consequence of this universal mediocrity, our capacity for commerce increased, and our abilities enlarged, for accumulating wealth by groveling pursuits. But the most important advantage acquired by the spirit of meekness, is that mentioned by the great apostle of the Gentiles, “of becoming all things to all men.” The benefits indeed which such a pliability of temper confers on a commercial kingdom, compose so great a part of the arcana of traffic, that revelation alone could have made mankind sensible of their importance. Meekness like Proteus assumes every possible appearance which the interest of concealment may require; and philosophy alone can trace it, through its multiform shapes, and vanquish its transforming power.

But though we excel the ancients in the virtue of meekness, and its attendant arts, we are infinitely below them in the cultivation of intellectual philosophy. By the invention of the microscope and telescope, we have indeed discovered the structure of the subtile parts of body, and beheld stars invisible to the ancient world. Hence our knowledge of particulars has received, and is continually receiving an immense increase: but we forget that particulars are infinite, and that while they produce the fleeting fabric of opinion, they are incapable of forming the steady and permanent basis of science. The doctrine of causes, was the object of ancient investigation: the enumeration of effects is the busy employment of the moderns. Experimental inquiries have enabled the philosopher of the present day to solve partial phænomena, and to deceive the importunities of doubt by the intervention of secondary causes. However, arguments derived from the modifications of matter, can only satisfy superficial enquirers; and will be indignantly rejected, by the profound and contemplative genius. So far from deriving any illumination by accumulated experiments, the professors of this philosophy confess their ignorance of principles; and neglect their investigation under the specious pretext of declining hypotheses. On the contrary the philosophers of antiquity impelled by intellectual dignity and strength, ascended to principles, as the pillars of the universe, and the sources of conviction and repose. Hence they glorified in asserting and vindicating the capacious powers of the soul: and by severe investigation, experienced the serene splendours of knowledge, and banished the anxieties of doubt. The intellectual philosophy refines the morals while it enlightens the mind, and improves the heart while it exalts the powers of imagination and thought. On the contrary the mechanical philosophy produces opposite consequences, by introducing the darkness of ignorance, and debasing the energies of the soul.

But there cannot I think be a more egregious instance of the barren state of philosophy at present, than the prevailing opinion that the most valuable knowledge is derived from common life, and the general conduct of mankind. The manners of the multitude, so far from affording any really valuable information, exhibit nothing but specimens of folly and vice, astonishingly various, and differently combined. A knowledge of this kind may indeed be necessary to the man who wishes to accumulate wealth, and acquire popular honours; but is infinitely remote from the possession of true wisdom, and the true cultivation of human understanding. The best, as well as the most exalted knowledge, is as we have already proved[99], that which is desirable for its own sake; which confers felicity on its possessor, and gives a final respite to the arduous labour of mental investigation. The knowledge of common things, is alone the province of common, or uncultivated minds; and men of great genius in every age, have been distinguished by their happy ignorance of the trifling pursuits, and empty attainments of the vulgar. Indeed he who mixes much with the multitude, necessarily imbibes false opinions and engages in puerile occupations: the strength and activity of his mind, is continually weakened, or unworthily exerted, by a general diffusion; and he at length loses all that intellectual energy, which nature first implants, but retirement calls forth into the blossoms of elegance, and the perfection of vigor.

The late Dr. Johnson is a striking instance of the truth of these observations; and a lasting example of the wretchedness of a mind unenlightened by philosophy. His talents were indeed vast and uncommon, but degraded by false cultivation and ruined through neglect. Hence he employed himself solely on subjects of vulgar speculation and thought deeply on nothing but the vices and follies of the illiterate and the base. Like a giant in the dark, his strokes were indeed powerful, but often ineffectual; and were never directed by the hand of wisdom, or assisted by the irradiations of truth. Thus he constantly displayed strength without skill, and exertion without knowledge, abilities without genius, and grandeur without a grace. He appears to resemble indeed nothing so much as the eyeless Polypheme. Deprived of the cheering light of science and philosophy, he wandered in the caverns of sense, wretched through the want of sight, and avoided by the timid multitude who trembled at his strength. To approach him too near was generally destructive of the order of society, and often fatal to the peace of bold but ignorant individuals.

His piety too as well as his literary talents shews how little of felicity is to be expected where philosophy is wanting. For though he professed to believe in the immortality of the soul, he was a perpetual slave to the dread of death: and though he was continually exercised in the externals of religion, he could find no consolation when alone. There is nothing indeed whose certainty is so generally admitted in discourse as the soul’s immortality; and yet nothing at present is so generally disbelieved. For I will not disgrace the word belief, by supposing it possible that a man can be firmly assured of this important truth, and yet continually seek for arguments in defence of its reality. This is however the case with modern believers. They profess reverence for the decisions, and faith in the doctrines of revelation; but are glad to seek for conviction in the arguments of philosophy. Faith is found sufficient to support the mind, while it reclines on the bosom of the church, or clings round the pillars of orthodox opinion. But when it is once shaken by enquiry and staggered by doubt; when it leaves the enchanted enclosure of faith, and ventures on the wide ocean of enquiry; it can alone find security in the harbour of reason, and rest in the embraces of philosophy.

Dr. Johnson is however celebrated by his female biographer as “a man good beyond the imitation of mortals.” As if goodness could ever reside in a soul perpetually harassed with fears, and agitated with passion; distracted with the prospects of futurity, and afraid of retiring into itself. Is it not ridiculous to suppose that a consciousness of virtue and worth can ever be combined with misery and fear; or that the steady and serene light of truth can ever dwell enshrined in the gloom of despondence, or beam through a mind disturbed and clouded with care? “The good man says Plotinus is ever tranquil and serene, undisturbed by passion, and superior to grief:” and that religion is but of little worth, which confers on its votary nothing but the torments of anxiety from consciousness of inward folly or vice; and the dread of dissolution from the uncertainty of its result. We may rest assured that no one can be truly worthy who is wretched in himself: for to be truly good is to resemble the divinity: and to suppose that misery can be combined with such a character, is to ascribe imperfection to deity, and unhappiness to the fountain of good. For the exemplar cannot be contrary to its image, though it may be infinitely superior in excellence and dignity of nature.

And thus much for a history of the restoration of the Platonic theology by the latter Platonists. I only add, that I am in no respect a debtor to the gratitude of the public: for my writings hitherto, have neither been attentively studied, nor liberally received. Solely influenced by the love of truth, I have endeavoured to disseminate the wisdom of Greece, and to draw aside the mystic veil of recondite theology: but experience has convinced me that the period of philosophy is past; and that some fortunate revolution can alone restore its fallen honours, and establish its original sway. Should the present work survive the literary wreck, which will probably precede the revival of philosophy, I shall consider myself amply rewarded for the toil of its execution: and I am not ashamed of owning, that the pleasing hopes of such an event have inspired me with the patience and vigour requisite to so laborious an undertaking. In short whatever may be its immediate or future success, my views have been liberal in the publication, and my mental advantages considerable from the study of ancient philosophy. Amidst the various storms of a life distinguished by outrage and disease, it has been a never-failing support, and an inviolable retreat. It has smoothed the brow of care, and dispelled the gloom of despondence; sweetened the bitterness of grief, and lulled agony to rest. After reaping such valuable advantages from its acquisition, I am already rewarded, though my labours should be unnoticed by the present and future generation. The lyre of true philosophy is no less tuneful in the desert than in the city; and he who knows how to call forth its latent harmony in solitude, will not want the testimony of the multitude to convince him that its melody is extatic and divine.

ELEMENTS

OF

THEOLOGY[100].

ON THE ONE.

PROPOSITION I.

All multitude participates in a certain respect of _the one_.

For if it in no respect participates of _the one_, neither will the whole be one whole, nor each of the many from which the multitude is composed: but each of these will also be multitude, and this will be the case in infinitum; and each of these infinites will again be infinite multitude. For if it in no respect participates of _the one_, neither according to its whole self, nor according to each of its parts, every where, and throughout there will be infinite multitude. For each of these _manys_, which ever you assume, will either be _one_ or _not one_, will either be multitude or nothing. But if each of these manys be nothing, that which is composed from them shall also be nothing. But if each be many, then each shall consist from infinite infinites. But these consequencies are impossible. Since no being is composed from infinite infinities[101]. For there is nothing greater than infinite. But that which is constituted from all is greater than each particular. Nor can any thing be composed from nothing. All multitude therefore participates in a certain respect of _the one_.

PROPOSITION II.

Every thing which participates of the one, is both _one_ and
_not one_.

For if it be not _the one itself_ (αὐτοὲν) (since it participates _of the one_) because it is something different from _the one_, it suffers _the one_, by participation, and sustains itself to become one. If then it be nothing else besides _the one_, it is one alone, and does not participate of _the one_, but is _the one itself_. But if it be something different from _the one_, which is not _the one_, but its participant, it is both _not one_ and _one_, not indeed the self-subsisting _one_, but _one being_, as participating of the _one itself_. This then is neither _one_, nor does it subsist as _the one_, but it is _one being_, at the same time participating of _the one_, and on this account, since it is not the self-subsisting one, it is both _one_ and _not one_, because it is something different from _the one_. For so far as it abounds it is _not one_; but so far as it is passive from participation, it becomes _one_. Every thing therefore which participates of _one_, is both _one_, and _not one_.

PROPOSITION III.

Every thing which becomes one, becomes so through the
participation of one; and is one, so far as it suffers the
participation of one.

For if things which are not one, become one, it must be by a conjunction, and communication with each other: and they will sustain the presence of one, without being _one itself_. Hence they will participate one, so far as they suffer themselves to become one. For if they are already one, they will not become one: since that which is, does not become that which it already is. But if they are formed from non-one, and privation, they will in the first place possess one, from some _one_, being ingenerated in their nature.

PROPOSITION IV.

Every thing united, is different from the _one itself_.

For if it is united it will participate of one, so far as it is called united. And that which participates of one is both one, and non-one. But _one itself_, is by no means one and non-one. For if this also was both one and non-one, the one which it contains will also possess both, and this in infinitum; since there is no _one itself_ in which the progression can stop; but every thing will be both one and non-one. That which is united therefore is something different from one. For if that which is united was the same with one, one would be infinite multitude; and in like manner each of the parts from which the united nature is composed.

PROPOSITION V.

All multitude is posterior to the one itself.

For if multitude is prior to the one, the one indeed will participate of multitude, but the multitude which is prior to the one, will not participate of the one: since it is multitude prior to the subsistence of the one. For it cannot participate that which is not: because that which participates of the one, is both one and non-one. But the one does not yet subsist, since multitude is the first. It is however impossible, that there should be any multitude, which in no respect participates of the one. Multitude therefore is not prior to the one. But if multitude subsists together with the one, it will be of the same order with the one: for time cannot hinder such a conjunction. Hence neither the one can be essentially many, nor multitude one, because they are at the same time contra-distinguished; since neither is prior, or posterior to the other. Multitude therefore will not be essentially one, and every thing it contains will be a non-one, and this in infinitum, which is impossible. Hence it naturally participates of the one, nor can any part of it be assumed which is not one: for if any part is not one, it will be an infinite composed from infinites, as we have demonstrated. And hence it entirely participates of the one. But if the one which is one itself, in no respect participates of multitude, multitude will be perfectly posterior to the one; participating indeed of the one, but not participated by the one. But if the one should participate of multitude in such a manner as to exist as one according to subsistence, but as not one according to participation; the one itself will be multiplied, in the same manner as multitude is united by the one. Hence the one will communicate with multitude, and multitude with the one. But things which coalesce, and communicate after a manner with each other, if they are congregated by something else, that something must have a prior existence. But if they connect themselves, they are not opposed to each other: for opposites do not hasten to a mutual conjunction. But if the one, and multitude have a contrary division, and multitude, so far as multitude, is not one, and the one so far as one, is not multitude; hence the one cannot subsist in the other: for they would be at the same time both one and two. But if there be any thing prior to the one, and multitude which collects them into one, this will either be one, or non-one. And if non-one, it will either be many, or nothing. But it is not many; lest multitude should be prior to the one. Nor is it nothing: for how can that congregate which is nothing? Hence it is the one alone. For this one is not also many, lest we should advance in an infinite progression. It is therefore the one itself; and all multitude proceeds from the one.

CONCERNING UNITY.

PROPOSITION VI.

Every multitude is either composed from things united, or from unities.

For that every one of things many is not multitude alone, is evident; and it is likewise clear that each part of this multitude again, is not multitude alone. But if it be not multitude alone, it is either united, or unities. And indeed if it participates of unity it is united: but if it be composed from things primarily united, it is unities. For if there be one itself, there is also that which primarily participates the one, and is primarily united. But this is composed from unities. For if it is composed from things united, these are again united from certain others, and this will take place in infinitum. But it is requisite that a nature which is primarily united, should be composed from unities. And thus we have discovered what we proposed in the beginning.

Concerning PRODUCING CAUSES, and THINGS PRODUCED.

PROPOSITION VII.

Every thing productive of another, is more excellent than the nature of
the thing produced.

For it is either more excellent, or worse, or equal. Let it be in the first place, equal.

That which is produced from this therefore, will itself also, either possess a power productive of some other, or it will be entirely barren. But if it be barren, it will on this account be worse than its producing cause: and because of its inefficacy, it will be unequal to that which is prolific, and possesses a productive power. But if it be productive of other natures, it will either produce that which is equal to itself (and this will be the case in all things, and all beings will be equal to each other, and nothing will be more excellent than another, since the productive nature always constitutes the thing produced equal to itself), or that which is unequal. But in this case, it will not be equal to its producing cause: for it is the property of equal powers to fabricate equal effects. But the productions of these are unequal to each other, since on this hypothesis the producing cause, is equal to that which is prior to itself, but that which is posterior is unequal to it. It is requisite, therefore, that the thing produced should not be equal to its producing cause.

But neither can the producing cause be over worse than the thing produced. For if the producing cause, confers essence on the thing produced, it bestows power also, according to essence. And if it is productive of all the power which that posterior to itself possesses, it can also make itself such as its production. But if it can do this, it will also make itself more powerful: for impotence cannot hinder, since a fabricative power is present, nor a defect of will: for all things, naturally desire good. Hence if it can form any thing else more prefect, it will also perfect itself, before it perfects that which is posterior to itself. The thing produced, therefore, is neither equal to, no more excellent than its producing cause: and hence the producing cause is entirely more excellent than the nature of the thing produced.

On the FIRST GOOD, which is called THE GOOD ITSELF.

PROPOSITION VIII.

The first good which is no other than good itself, precedes all the
participants of good.

For if all beings desire good, it is evident that the first good is above beings. For if he is the same with any one being, either being is the same with the good, and so this particular being, will no longer be desirous of good, since it is the good itself; for that which desires any thing, is indigent of that which it desires, and by its desire is different and foreign: or being and the good are different; and the good, will indeed participate of being, and being of the good. It is, therefore, a particular good resident in some particular participant, but not good simple and universal, and which all beings desire: for this is the common object of desire to all beings. But that which is generated in another, participates alone of that, in which it is generated. The first good therefore is nothing besides good. For if you add any thing else, by addition you diminish the good itself; effecting a particular good, instead of good simple and universal. For that which is added, since it is not good itself, but something less, diminishes by its essence the good itself.

Concerning that which is SUFFICIENT TO ITSELF.

PROPOSITION IX.

Every thing sufficient to itself, either according to essence,
or according to energy, is more excellent than that which is
insufficient, and the cause of whose perfection depends on
another cause.

For if all beings, naturally desire good, and one thing supplies itself with good, but another is indigent of something else; the former, will indeed have the cause of good present, but the latter separate and apart. By how much the nearer, therefore, that is which affords the object of desire, by so much the more excellent will it be than that which requires a separate cause, and externally receives the perfection of its being or energy. Besides, that which is sufficient, is both similar and diminished, and more similar to the good itself. It is diminished, because it participates good, and because it is not the first good. Yet it is in some respect allied to the good, because it can possess good from itself. But that which participates, and participates through another, is more distant from the first good, which is nothing else than good.

PROPOSITION X.

Every thing sufficient to itself is worse than that which is simply
good.

For what is that which is sufficient, than that which from itself, and in itself, possesses good? But this is now full of good, which also it participates: but it is not the simply good. For that, as has been demonstrated, is more excellent than the participation and repletion of good. If then that which is sufficient fills itself with good, that from which it fills itself will be more excellent than that which is sufficient, and will be superior to sufficiency: for that which is simply good is not indigent of any thing. For it does not desire any other; since by desire it would be imperfect; and thus would be full of good, and not the first good.

CONCERNING CAUSE.

PROPOSITION XI.

All beings proceed from one first cause.

For either there is no cause of beings, or the causes of all terminated beings revolve in a circle, or there is an infinite ascent of causes; so that one thing is the cause of another, and the prior subsistence (προυπόϛασις) of essence, no where stops its progression. But if there be no cause of beings, neither will there be an order of things second and first; of the perfecting, and perfect; of the adorning, and adorned; of the generating, and generated; of the active and passive: nor will there be any science of beings. For the knowledge of causes is the employment of science: and we then assert that we know, when we know the causes of beings. But if causes revolve in a circle, the same causes will be both prior and posterior, more powerful and more debile. For every thing which produces is more excellent than the nature of the thing produced. But there is no difference, whether we conjoin the cause with the thing caused by many, or fewer mediums, and place the thing caused as subordinate. For the cause is more excellent than all the intervening natures of which it is the cause: and by how much the greater the number of mediums, by so much the more is it a cause. But if there be an addition of causes in infinitum, and one always proceeds from another; on this hypothesis likewise science cannot subsist: for there is no knowledge of infinites. But causes being unknown, neither can there be any science of things subsequent to causes. If, therefore, it is requisite that there should be a cause of beings, and causes are distinct from things caused, and there can be no infinite ascent; there will be a first cause of beings, from which as a root particulars proceed, some of which exist in propinquity, and others at a distance from his nature. For that it is necessary there should be one principle, is demonstrated; because all multitude is secondary to the one.

PROPOSITION XII.

The principle and first cause of all beings is the good.