SECTION III.

40. The ancients, wishing to exhibit to us the peculiarity of incorporeal being, so far as this can be effected by words, when they assert that it is one, immediately add, that it is likewise all things; by which they signified that it is not some one of the things which are known by the senses. Since, however, we suspect that this incorporeal one is different from sensibles, in consequence of not perceiving this total one, which is all things according to one, in a sensible nature, and which is so because this one is all things:—hence the ancients added, that it is one so far as one; in order that we might understand that what is all things in truly existing being, is something uncompounded, and that we might withdraw ourselves from the conception of a coacervation. When likewise they say that it is every where, they add that it is no where. When also they assert that it is in all things, they add, that it is no where in every thing. Thus, too, when they say, that it is in all things, and in every divisible nature which is adapted to receive it, they add, that it is a whole in a whole. And, in short, they render it manifest to us, through contrary peculiarities; at one and the same time assuming these, in order that we may exterminate, from the apprehension of it, the fictitious conceptions which are derived from bodies, and which obscure the cognoscible peculiarities of real being.

41. When you have assumed an eternal essence, infinite in itself according to power, and begin to perceive intellectually an hypostasis unwearied, untamed, and never-failing, but transcending in the most pure and genuine life, and full from itself; and which is likewise established in itself, satisfied with, and seeking nothing but itself:—to this essence, if you add a subsistence in place, or a relation to a certain thing, at the same time that you [appear to] diminish it, by ascribing to it an indigence of place, or a relative condition of being, you do not [in reality] diminish this essence, but you separate yourself from the perception of it, by receiving as a veil the phantasy which runs under your conjectural apprehension of it. For you cannot pass beyond, or stop, or render more perfect, or effect the least change in a thing of this kind, because it is impossible for it to be in the smallest degree deficient. For it is much more never-failing than any perpetually flowing fountain can be conceived to be. If, however, you are unable to keep pace with it, and to become assimilated to the intelligible all, you should not investigate any thing pertaining to real being; or, if you do, you will deviate from the path that leads to it, and will look to something else. But if you investigate nothing else, being established in yourself and your own essence, you will be assimilated to the intelligible universe, and will not adhere to any thing posterior to it. Neither, therefore, should you say, I am of a great magnitude. For, omitting this greatness, you will become universal; though you were universal prior to this. But, together with the universal, something else was present with you, and you became less by the addition; because the addition was not from truly-existing being. For to that you cannot add any thing. When, therefore, any thing is added from non-being, a place is afforded to Poverty as an associate, accompanied by an indigence of all things. Hence, dismissing non-being, you will then become sufficient to yourself. For he will not return properly to himself who does not dismiss things of a more vile and abject nature, and who opines himself to be something naturally small, and not to be such as he truly is. For thus he, at one and the same time, departs both from himself, and from truly-existing being. When, also, any one is present with that which is present in himself, then he is present with true being, which is every where. But when you withdraw from yourself, then, likewise, you recede from real being;—of such great consequence is it, for a man to be present with that which is present with himself, [i.e. with his rational part], and to be absent from that which is external to him.

If, however, true being is present with us, but non-being is absent, and real being is not present with us in conjunction with other things [of a nature foreign to it]; it does not accede in order that it may be present, but we depart from it, when it is not present [with things of a different nature]. And why should this be considered as wonderful? For you when present are not absent from yourself; and yet you are not present with yourself, though present. And you are both present with and absent from yourself when you survey other things, and omit to behold yourself. If, therefore, you are thus present, and yet not [in reality] present with yourself, and on this account are ignorant of yourself, and in a greater degree discover all things, though remote from your essence, than yourself, with which you are naturally present, why should you wonder if that which is not present is remote from you who are remote from it, because you have become remote from yourself? For, by how much the more you are [truly] present with yourself, though it is present, and inseparably conjoined with you, by so much the more will you be present with real being, which is so essentially united to you, that it is as impossible for it to be divulsed from you, as for you to be separated from yourself. So that it is universally possible to know what is present with real being, and what is absent from it, though it is every where present, and again is also no where. For those who are able to proceed into their own essence intellectually, and to obtain a knowledge of it, will, in the knowledge itself, and the science accompanying this knowledge, be able to recover or regain themselves, through the union of that which knows with that which is known. And with those, who are present with themselves, truly-existing being will also be present. But from such as abandon the proper being of themselves to other things,—from these, as they are absent from themselves, true being will also be absent. If, however, we are naturally adapted to be established in the same essence, to be rich from ourselves, and not to descend to that which we are not; in so doing becoming in want of ourselves, and thus again associating with Poverty, though Porus [or Plenty] is present;—and if we are cut off from real being, from which we are not separated either by place, or essence, nor by any thing else, through our conversion to non-being, we suffer as a just punishment of our abandonment of true being, a departure from, and ignorance of ourselves. And again, by a proper attention to, we recover ourselves, and become united to divinity. It is, therefore, rightly said, that the soul is confined in body as in a prison, and is there detained in chains like a fugitive slave. We should, however, [earnestly] endeavour to be liberated from our bonds. For, through being converted to these sensible objects, we desert ourselves, though we are of a divine origin, and are, as Empedocles says,

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

So that every depraved life is full of servitude; and on this account is without God and unjust, the spirit in it being full of impiety, and consequently of injustice. And thus, again, it is rightly said, that justice is to be found in the performance of that which is the province of him who performs it. The image also of true justice consists in distributing to each of those with whom we live, that which is due to the desert of each.

42. That which possesses its existence in another [i.e. in something different from itself], and is not essentialized in itself, separably from another, if it should be converted to itself, in order to know itself, without that in which it is essentialized, withdrawing itself from it; would be corrupted by this knowledge, in consequence of separating itself from its essence. But that which is able to know itself without the subject in which it exists, and is able to withdraw itself from this subject, without the destruction of itself, cannot be essentialized in that, from which it is capable of converting itself to itself, without being corrupted, and of knowing itself by its own energies. Hence, if sight, and every sensitive power, neither perceives itself, nor apprehends or preserves itself by separating itself from body; but intellect, when it separates itself from body, then especially perceives intellectually, is converted to itself, and is not corrupted;—it is evident that the sensitive powers obtain the power of energizing through the body; but that intellect possesses its energies and its essence not in body, but in itself.

43. Incorporeal natures are properly denominated, and conceived to be what they are, according to a privation of body; just as, according to the ancients, matter, and the form which is in matter, and also natures and [physical] powers, are apprehended by an abstraction from matter. And after the same manner place, time, and the boundaries of things, are apprehended. For all such things are denominated according to a privation of body. There are likewise other things which are said to be incorporeal improperly, not according to a privation of body, but, in short, because they are not naturally adapted to generate body. Hence those of the former signification subsist in bodies; but those of the second are perfectly separated from bodies, and from those incorporeal natures which subsist about bodies. For bodies, indeed, are in place, and boundaries are in body. But intellect, and intellectual reason, neither subsist in place nor in body; nor proximately give existence to bodies, nor subsist together with bodies, or with those incorporeal natures which are denominated according to a privation of bodies. Neither, therefore, if a certain incorporeal vacuum should be conceived to exist, would it be possible for intellect to be in a vacuum. For a vacuum may be the recipient of body; but it is impossible that it should be the recipient of intellect, and afford a place for its energy. Since, however, the genus of an incorporeal nature appears to be twofold, one of these the followers of Zeno do not at all admit, but they adopt the other; and perceiving that the former is not such as the latter, they entirely subvert it, though they ought rather to conceive that it is of another genus, and not to fancy that, because it is not the latter, it has no existence.

44. Intellect and the intelligible are one thing, and sense and that which is sensible another. And the intelligible, indeed, is conjoined with intellect, but that which is sensible with sense. Neither, however, can sense by itself apprehend itself.... But the intelligible, which is conjoined with intellect, and intellect, which is conjoined with the intelligible, by no means fall under the perception of sense. Intellect, however, is intelligible to intellect. But if intellect is the intelligible object of intellect, intellect will be its own intelligible object. If, therefore, intellect is an intellectual and not a sensible object, it will be intelligible. But if it is intelligible to intellect, and not to sense, it will also be intelligent. The same thing, therefore, will be that which is intelligent, or intellectually perceives, and which is intellectually perceived, or is intelligible; and this will be true of the whole with respect to the whole; but not as he who rubs, and he who is rubbed. Intellect, therefore, does not intellectually perceive by one part, and is intellectually perceived by another: for it is impartible, and the whole is an intelligible object of the whole. It is likewise wholly intellect, having nothing in itself which can be conceived to be deprived of intelligence. Hence one part of it does not intellectually perceive, but not another part of it. For, so far as it does not intellectually perceive, it will be unintelligent. Neither, therefore, departing from this thing, does it pass on to that. For of that from which it departs, it has no intellectual perception. But if there is no transition in its intellections, it intellectually perceives all things at once. If, therefore, it understands all things at once, and not this thing now, but another afterwards, it understands all things instantaneously and always....

Hence, if all things are instantaneously perceived by it, its perceptions have nothing to do with the past and the future, but subsist in an indivisible untemporal now; so that the simultaneous, both according to multitude, and according to temporal interval, are present with intellect. Hence, too, all things subsist in it according to one, and in one, without interval, and without time. But if this be the case, there is nothing discursive or transitive in its intellections, and consequently they are without motion. Hence, they are energies according to one, subsisting in one, and without increase or mutation, or any transition. If, however, the multitude subsists according to one, and the energy is collected together at once, and without time, an essence of this kind must necessarily always subsist in [an intelligible] one. But this is eternity. Hence, eternity is present with intellect. That nature, however, which does not perceive intellectually according to one, and in one, but transitively, and with motion, so that in understanding it leaves one thing and apprehends another, divides and proceeds discursively,—this nature [which is soul] subsists in conjunction with time. For with a motion of this kind, the future and the past are consubsistent. But soul, changing its conceptions, passes from one thing to another; not that the prior conceptions depart, and the posterior accede in their place, but there is, as it were, a transition of the former, though they remain in the soul, and the latter accede, as if from some other place. They do not, however, accede in reality from another place; but they appear to do so in consequence of the self-motion of the soul, and through her eye being directed to a survey of the different forms which she contains, and which have the relation of parts to her whole essence. For she resembles a fountain not flowing outwardly, but circularly scattering its streams into itself. With the motion, therefore, of soul, time is consubsistent; but eternity is consubsistent with the permanency of intellect in itself. It is not, however, divided from intellect in the same manner as time is from soul; because in intellect the consubsistent essences are united. But that which is perpetually moved, is the source of a false opinion of eternity, through the immeasurable extent of its motion producing a conception of eternity. And that which abides [in one,] is falsely conceived to be the same with that which is [perpetually] moved. For that which is perpetually moved, evolves the time of itself in the same manner as the now of itself, and multiplies it, according to a temporal progression. Hence, some have apprehended that time is to be surveyed in permanency no less than in motion; and that eternity, as we have said, is infinite time; just as if each of these imparted its own properties to the other; time, which is always moved, adumbrating eternity by the perpetuity of itself, and the sameness of its motion; and eternity, through being established in sameness of energy, becoming similar to time, by the permanency of itself arising from energy. In sensibles, however, the time of one thing is distinct from that of another. Thus, for instance, there is one time of the sun, and another of the moon, one time of the morning-star, and another of each of the planets. Hence, also, there is a different year of different planets. The year, likewise, which comprehends these times, terminates as in a summit in the motion of the soul [of the universe,] according to the imitation of which the celestial orbs are moved. The motion of this soul, however, being of a different nature from that of the planets, the time of the former also is different from that of the latter. For the latter subsists with interval, and is distinguished from the former by local motions and transitions.

FOOTNOTES:

In the original, Ου το ποιουν εις αλλο, πελασει και αφῃ ποιει, α ποιει· κ.τ.λ. But it is evident, from the sense of the whole passage, that, for Ου το ποιουν, we should read, Ου παν το ποιουν, κ.τ.λ.

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

Knowledge subsists conformably to the nature by which it is possessed, and not conformably to the thing known. Hence it is either better than, or co-ordinate with, or inferior to the object of knowledge. Thus the rational soul has a knowledge of sensibles, which is superior to sensibles; but it knows itself with a co-ordinate knowledge; and its knowledge of divinity is inferior to the object of knowledge. Porphyry, therefore, is not correct in what he here says. This dogma respecting the conformity of knowledge to that which knows, rather than to the thing known, originated from the divine Iamblichus, as we are informed by Ammonius in his commentary on Aristotle’s treatise De Interpretatione, and is adopted by Proclus (in Parmenid.). Boetius likewise employs it in his reasoning in lib. v. about the prescience of divinity. None of his commentators, however, have noticed the source from whence it was derived.

Because here the generator is that primarily which the thing generated is secondarily. See my translation of Proclus’s Theological Elements.

Porphyry here summarily comprehends the rational gnostic powers of the soul in intellect, because, being rational, they are expansions of intellect properly so called. But these powers, beginning from the lowest, are opinion, dianoia, and the summit of dianoia, which summit is the intellect of the human soul, and is that power, by the light of which we perceive the truth of axioms, it being intuitive perception. Dianoia is the discursive energy of reason; or it is that power which reasons scientifically, deriving the principles of its reasoning from intellect. And opinion is that power which knows that a thing is, but is ignorant of the cause of it, or why it is.

In the original, ει δε μη εξω εκτεινομενος; but for ει δε μη, it appears to me to be obviously necessary to read ουδε μη.

In the original, εξω δε οντων υλης, ουδαμου αν ειη ταυτα; which Holstenius, wholly mistaking the meaning, most erroneously translates, “At si extra materiam sint, neutiquam id fieri poterit.” Farther on, Porphyry asserts, that God, intellect, and soul, are no where, according to corporeal locality.

In the original, η μνημη ουκ εστι φαντασιων σωτηρια, αλλα των μελετηθεντων προβαλλεσθαι εκ νεας προβληματα. But for προβληματα, I read προλημματα. This power, by which Porphyry characterizes memory, is of a stable nature. And hence memory is stability of knowledge, in the same manner as immortality is stability of life, and eternity stability of being.

See the notes on the 3d book of my translation of Aristotle’s treatise on the Soul, and also my translation of Plotinus on Felicity. “The phantasy,” says Olympiodorus (in Platonis Phæd.) “is an impediment to our intellectual conceptions; and hence, when we are agitated by the inspiring influence of Divinity, if the phantasy intervenes, the enthusiastic energy ceases: for enthusiasm and the phantasy are contrary to each other. Should it be asked, whether the soul is able to energize without the phantasy? we reply, that its perception of universals proves that it is able. It has perceptions, therefore, independent of the phantasy; at the same time, however, the phantasy attends it in its energies, just as a storm pursues him who sails on the sea.”

The analogy of the soul to harmony, is more accurately unfolded as follows, by Olympiodorus, in his Commentary on the Phædo of Plato, than it is in this place by Porphyry: “Harmony has a triple subsistence. For it is either harmony itself, or it is that which is first harmonized, and which is such according to the whole of itself; or it is that which is secondarily harmonized, and which partially participates of harmony. The first of these must be assigned to intellect, the second to soul, and the third to body. This last, too, is corruptible, because it subsists in a subject; but the other two are incorruptible, because they are neither composites, nor dependent on a subject. Hence, the rational soul is analogous to a musician, but the animated body to harmonized chords; for the former has a subsistence separate, but the latter inseparable from the musical instrument.”

What Porphyry here says about matter, is derived from the treatise of Plotinus, On the Impassivity of Incorporeal Natures, to my translation of which I refer the reader.

See my translation of the before-mentioned treatise of Plotinus.

For τα οντα here, I read τα αυτα.

Hence, it is beautifully said in the Clavis of Hermes Trismegistus, “that the knowledge of the good [or the supreme principle of things], is a divine silence, and the quiescence of all the senses.” See, also, on this subject, a most admirable extract from Damascius, περι αρχων, at the end of the 3d volume of my Plato.

For that which is truly incorporeal, is every where virtually, i.e. in power and efficacy, but is no where locally.

For μερισταις here, I read, μερικαις. For Porphyry is here speaking of essences which are opposed to such as rank as wholes, as is evident from the whole of this paragraph.

The primary natures of which Porphyry is now speaking, are rational partial souls, such as ours; for the natures superior to these, are never converted to beings posterior to themselves.

For αυτου, isthic, I read, αυτος.

In the original, και ψυχη εν νῳ τε και θεῳ πανταχου, και ουδαμου εν σωματι, but it appears to me to be necessary to read, και ψυχη εν νῳ τε και θεῳ, και πανταχου και ουδαμου εν σωματι.

και εν νῳ, is omitted in the original, but ought to be inserted, as is evident from the version of Holstenius.

The irrational life is a thing of this kind, which is partly separable and partly inseparable from body. Hence, so far as it is inseparable from body, it partakes of the every where; but, so far as it is separable, of the no where.

i.e. The animal spirit, or pneumatic soul, in which the rational soul suffers her punishments in Hades.

i.e. That part of the soul which is the source of all-various desires.

This philosophic apathy is not, as is stupidly supposed by most of the present day, insensibility, but a perfect subjugation of the passions to reason.

The words και δικαιοσυνη, are omitted in the original. But it is evident from the treatise of Plotinus “On the Virtues,” that they ought to be inserted. For what Porphyry says in this Section about the virtues, is derived from that treatise.

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

Conformably to this, as we have before observed, Aristotle says in the 7th Book of his Nicomachean Ethics, “that corporeal pleasures are remedies against pain, and that they fill up the indigence of nature, but perfect no energy of the rational soul.”

In the original, αλλα το εκβεβηκος τον μεγιστον ογκον, εις το μεγιστον, και τον ελαχιστον εις το ελαχιστον, αμα λαβων, κ.τ.λ. This Holstenius most erroneously translates, “Verum id quod maximam molem intervallo maximo, et minimam minimo excedit simul sumens, &c.” For a truly incorporeal nature, such as that of which Porphyry is now speaking, has nothing to do with interval, and, therefore, does not by interval surpass either the greatest or the least corporeal mass; but is received transcendently by the greatest and the least magnitude.

For διαληψεσιν, here, I read καταληψεσιν, and Holstenius also has in this place comprehensionibus.

In the original, καθο εν τι των κατ’ αισθησιν συνεγνωσμενων; but it appears to me to be necessary, after καθο, to insert the words ουκ εστιν. For incorporeal being is not like some one of the things which are known by the senses, because no one of these is one, and, at the same time, all things. Holstenius did not perceive the necessity of this emendation, as is evident from his version of the passage.

Immediately after this something is wanting in the original, (as is evident from the asterisks,) which, as it appears to me, no conjecture can appropriately supply.

In the original, και δια τουτων παλιν τῃ πενιᾳ συνειναι, καιπερ παροντος αυτου; but for αυτου, I read πορου; as it appears to me that Porphyry is here alluding to what is said by Diotima, in the Banquet of Plato, concerning the parents of Love, viz. that they are Poverty and Porus, or Plenty.

See the Phædo of Plato. But something is here wanting in the original, as is evident not only from the asterisks, but from the want of connexion in the words themselves.

i.e. They are not adapted to be the immediate causes of body, because they are perfectly separated from it. The original is, ηδη δε ην αλλα καταχρηστικως λεγομενα ασωματα, ου κατα στερησιν σωματος, κατα δε ολως μη πεφυκεναι γεννᾳν σωμα. Holstenius, not understanding what is here said by Porphyry, translates the words κατα δε ολως μη πεφυκεναι γεννᾳν σωμα, “sed quod nullum omnino corpus generare possunt.” For Porphyry, as is evident from what immediately follows, is here speaking of natures which are perfectly separated from bodies, and which are, therefore, not naturally adapted to be the immediate generators of them, not through any deficiency, but through transcendency of power.

In the original, διο ουχι τοδε μεν εαυτου νοει, τοδε δε ου νοει, which Holstenius erroneously translates, “Ideoque non quidem unam sui partem intelligit, alteram vero non intelligit.” For Porphyry is not here speaking of intellect surveying its parts, but of its being wholly intellective. This is evident from what immediately follows.

The asterisks in the original denote something is wanting. Nevertheless, what immediately follows them, is evidently connected with what immediately precedes.

See the fourth book of my translation of Proclus, on the Timæus of Plato, in which the nature of time and eternity is most admirably unfolded. See, also, my translation of Plotinus, on Eternity and Time. In these works, what both these divine men have said of eternity, and what the former has said of time, contains, as it appears to me, the ne plus ultra of philosophical investigation on these most abstruse subjects.

APPENDIX.

APPENDIX.

ON THE WANDERINGS OF ULYSSES.

In my History of the Restoration of the Platonic Theology [see Vol. II. of my Proclus on Euclid,] and in a note accompanying my translation of the treatise of Porphyry, on the Cave of the Nymphs, in that work, I attempted, from the hints afforded by Porphyry, and the work of an anonymous Greek writer, De Ulyxis Erroribus, to unfold the latent meaning of the wanderings of Ulysses, as narrated by Homer. But as, from my continued application to the philosophy of Plato for upwards of forty years, I now know much more of that philosophy than I then did, a period of thirty-five years having elapsed from that to the present time, I shall again attempt to explain those wanderings, rejecting some things, and retaining others which I had adopted before.

In the first place, it is necessary to observe, that Ulysses does not rank among the first heroic characters, or in other words, he was not one of those heroes who descend into the regions of mortality at certain periods, not only in compliance with that necessity through which all partial souls such as ours descend periodically, but also for the purpose of benefiting others, and leading them back to their pristine state of perfection. Hence, he was by no means such an exalted hero as Hercules, or Pythagoras, or Socrates, or Plato; for they largely benefited others; but he only benefited himself. For all his companions perished prior to his arrival at Ithaca. So that he was able to save himself, but not others. “Hence,” says Olympiodorus, in his MS. Scholia on the Gorgias of Plato, “it is said, that Ulysses wandered on the sea by the will of Neptune. For by this it is signified that the Odyssean life was neither terrestrial, nor yet celestial, but between these. Since, therefore, Neptune is the lord of the middle natures, on this account it is said, that Ulysses wandered through the will of Neptune, because he had a Neptunian allotment. Thus, also, theologists speak of the sons of Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto, regarding the allotment of each. For we say, that he who has a divine and celestial polity, is the son of Jupiter; that he who has a terrestrial polity, is the son of Pluto; and he is the son of Neptune, whose polity or allotment is between these.” Hence Ulysses, from his Neptunian allotment, was a man who ranked among the middle class of characters that transcend the majority of mankind.

In the next place, in order to understand accurately the recondite meaning of the wanderings of Ulysses, it is requisite to know what the most divine and theological poet Homer indicates by the Trojan war in the Iliad. For Homer, by combining fiction with historical facts, has delivered to us some very occult, mystic, and valuable information, in those two admirable poems, the Iliad and Odyssey. Hence, by those who directed their attention to this recondite information, he was said, conformably to the tragical mode of speaking, which was usual with the most ancient writers, to have been blind, because, as Proclus observes, he separated himself from sensible beauty, and extended the intellect of his soul to invisible and true harmony. He was said, therefore, to be blind, because that intellectual beauty to which he raised himself cannot be perceived by corporeal eyes. Thus, too, Orpheus is tragically said to have been lacerated in an all-various manner, because men of that age partially participated of his mystic doctrine. The principal part of it, however, was received by the Lesbians; and on this account, his head, when separated from his body, is said to have been carried to Lesbos. Hence, the Platonic Hermeas, conformably to this opinion of the occult meaning of the Iliad, beautifully explains as follows the Trojan war, in his Scholia on the Phædrus of Plato:

“By Ilion, we must understand the generated and material place, which is so denominated from mud and matter (παρα την ιλυν και την υλην,) and in which there are war and sedition. But the Trojans are material forms, and all the lives which subsist about bodies. Hence, also, the Trojans are called genuine (ιθαγενεις). For all the lives which subsist about bodies, and irrational souls, are favourable and attentive to their proper matter. On the contrary, the Greeks are rational souls, coming from Greece, i.e. from the intelligible into matter. Hence, the Greeks are called foreigners (επηλυδες,) and vanquish the Trojans, as being of a superior order. But they fight with each other about the image of Helen, as the poet says [about the image of Eneas].

Around the phantom Greeks and Trojans fight.

Helen signifying intelligible beauty, being a certain vessel (ελενοη τις ουσα,) attracting to itself intellect. An efflux, therefore, of this intelligible beauty is imparted to matter through Venus; and about this efflux of beauty the Greeks fight with the Trojans [i.e. rational with irrational lives]. And those, indeed, that oppose and vanquish matter, return to the intelligible world, which is their true country; but those who do not, as is the case with the multitude, are bound to matter. As, therefore, the prophet, in the tenth book of the Republic, previously to the descent of souls, announces to them how they may return [to their pristine felicity], according to periods of a thousand and ten thousand years; thus, also, Calchas predicts to the Greeks their return in ten years, the number ten being the symbol of a perfect period. And as, in the lives of souls, some are elevated through philosophy, others through the amatory art, and others through the royal and warlike disciplines; so with respect to the Greeks, some act with rectitude through prudence, but others through war or love, and their return is different [according to their different pursuits].”

The first obviously fabulous adventure, then, of Ulysses, is that of the Lotophagi, which Homer beautifully narrates, and whose narration Pope very elegantly translates as follows:

The trees around them all their fruit produce, Lotos the name, and dulcet is the juice! (Thence call’d Lotophagi) which, whoso tastes, Insatiate riots in the sweet repasts, Nor other home, nor other care intends, But quits his house, his country, and his friends. The three we sent from off th’ enchanting ground We dragg’d reluctant, and by force we bound: The rest in haste forsook the pleasing shore, Or, the charm tasted, had return’d no more.

Plato, in the 8th book of his Republic, has admirably unfolded to us what the lotos occultly indicates, viz. that it signifies “false and arrogant reasonings and opinions:” for daily experience shows that nothing is more enchanting and delicious than these to such as have made no solid proficiency in virtue, and who, like some of the companions of Ulysses, being fascinated by erroneous conceptions, consign their true country and true kindred to oblivion, and desire to live for ever lost in the intoxication of fallacious delight.

The next adventure of Ulysses is that of the Cyclops, whom he deprived of sight, and irritated by reproaches. But according to Porphyry, in the above-mentioned excellent treatise, this is no other than the natal dæmon of Ulysses, or the dæmon to whose protecting power he became subject, as soon as he was born. In order, however, to understand perfectly the arcane meaning of this fable, it is necessary to observe, that according to the ancient theology, those souls that in the present life will speedily return to their pristine felicity in the intelligible world, have not the essential dæmon, or the dæmon which is inseparable from the essence of the soul, different from the dæmon that presides over the birth; for they are one and the same. But the case is otherwise with more imperfect souls; as the natal is in these different from the essential dæmon. As Ulysses, therefore, does not rank among the more perfect heroic characters, and was not one who in the present life is immediately ascending to his kindred star, or, in Platonic language, to the paternal port, the soul’s true paradise of rest; but was a man who, prior to this, had many laborious wanderings to accomplish, and many difficulties and dangers of no common magnitude to sustain, his natal was not the same with his essential dæmon. As he is, however, departing from a sensible to an intellectual life, though circuitously and slowly, he is represented in so doing as blinding and irritating his natal dæmon. For he who blinds the eye of sense, and extinguishes its light, after his will has profoundly assented to its use, must expect punishment for the deed; as necessary ultimately to his own peculiar good, and the general order of the universe. Indeed, troubles and misfortunes resulting from such undertakings, not only contribute to appease the anger of their authors, but likewise purify and benefit the subjects of their revenge. According to the Greek theology, therefore, he who, in the present life, while he is in the road of virtue, and is eagerly searching for wisdom, perceives that there is a great resemblance between his destiny and that of Ulysses, may safely conclude, that either here, or in a prior state of existence, he has voluntarily submitted to the power of his natal dæmon, and has now deprived him of sight; or in other words, has abandoned a life of sense; and that he has been profoundly delighted with the nature of matter, and is now abrogating the confessions which he made. This, too, is insinuated in the beautiful story of Cupid and Psyche, by Apuleius, when the terrestrial Venus sends Mercury with a book in which her name is inscribed, to apprehend Psyche as a fugitive from her mistress. For this whole story relates to the descent of the soul into this terrene body, and its wanderings and punishments, till it returns to its true country and pristine felicity.

In the next fable, which is that of Æolus, the poet appears to me to signify that providence of divinity which is of an elevating and guardian nature, the influence of which, when properly received by the subjects of it, enables them to pass with security over the stormy sea of life to their native land; but when this influence is neglected through the sleep of reason, the negligence is followed by a temporary destruction of hope. This providence also of the Gods is not only one, but all-various, which Homer appears to indicate by Æolus; the word αιολος signifying various and manifold. As the advancement, therefore, of Ulysses in the virtues is as yet imperfect, extending no farther than to the ethical and political, which are but adumbrations of the true virtues, the cathartic and theoretic, he is said to have fallen asleep, and to have been thereby disappointed of his wishes, his soul not being at that time in a truly vigilant state, as not having yet elevated its eye to real being from objects of sense which resemble the delusions of dreams.

By the adventure of the Lestrigons, which follows in the next place, Homer represents to us Ulysses flying from voracity, and fierce and savage manners; a flight indispensably necessary, as preparatory to his attainment of the higher virtues.

In the next adventure, which contains the beautiful allegory of Circe, we shall find some deep arcana of philosophy contained, exclusive of its connexion with Ulysses. By the Æean isle, then, in which the palace of Circe was situated, the region of sorrow and lamentation is signified, as is evident from the name of the island itself. And, by Circe, we must understand the Goddess of sense. For thus Porphyry, in Stobæus, p. 141: “Homer calls the period and revolution of regeneration in a circle, Circe, the daughter of the Sun, who perpetually connects and combines all corruption with generation, and generation again with corruption.” And this is asserted still more explicitly by Proclus, in his Scholia on the Cratylus of Plato. For he says, “Circe is that divine power which weaves all the life contained in the four elements, and, at the same time, by her song harmonizes the whole sublunary world. But the shuttle with which she weaves, is represented by theologists as golden, because her essence is intellectual, pure, immaterial, and unmingled with generation; all which is signified by the shuttle being golden. And her employment consists in separating stable things from such as are in motion, according to divine diversity.” And he also informs us, “that Circe ranks among the divinities who preside over generation, or the regions of sense.” Homer, too, with great propriety, represents Circe, who rules over the realms of generation, as waited on by Nymphs sprung from fountains; for Nymphs, says Hermias (in Plat. Phædrum,) are Goddesses who preside over regeneration, and are the attendants of Bacchus, the son of Semele. On this account, they are present with water; that is, they ascend, as it were, into, and rule over generation. But this Dionysius, or Bacchus, supplies the regeneration of every sensible nature.

Hence we may observe, that the Æean isle, or this region of sense, is, with great propriety, called the abode of trouble and lamentation. In this region, then, the companions of Ulysses, in consequence of being very imperfect characters, are changed, through the incantations of the Goddess, into brutes, i.e. into unworthy and irrational habits and manners. Ulysses, however, as one who is returning, though slowly, to the proper perfection of his nature, is, by the assistance of Mercury, or reason, prevented from destruction. Hence intellect, roused by its impassive power, and at the same time armed with prudent anger, and the plant moly, or temperance, which is able to repel the allurements of pleasure, wars on sensible delight, and prevents the effects of its transforming power. Ulysses, also, though he was not able to lead his companions back to their native land, the paternal port of the soul, yet saves them from being transformed, through the enchantments of sense, into an irrational life.

After this follows the allegory respecting the descent of Ulysses into Hades, which occultly signifies, that he still lived a life according to sense, and not according to intellect, and that, in consequence of not having yet vanquished a terrestrial life, he was involved in obscurity. For ancient wise men universally considered Hades as commencing in the present state of existence, and that sense is nothing more than the energy of the dormant soul, and a perception, as it were, of the delusions of dreams, as I have abundantly proved in my treatise on the Mysteries. The secret meaning, also, of what Ulysses saw in Hades, is no less beautiful than profound, as the following extract from the manuscript Commentary of Olympiodorus, on the Gorgias of Plato, abundantly evinces: “Ulysses,” says he, “descending into Hades, saw, among others, Sysiphus, and Tityus, and Tantalus. And Tityus he saw lying on the earth, and a vulture devouring his liver; the liver signifying that he lived solely according to the epithymetic part of his nature [or that part of the soul which is the source of desires,] and that through this, indeed, he was, indeed, internally prudent; but earth signifying the terrestrial condition of his prudence. But Sysiphus, living under the dominion of ambition and anger, was employed in continually rolling a stone up an eminence, because it perpetually descended again; its descent implying the vicious government of himself; and his rolling the stone, the hard, refractory, and, as it were, rebounding condition of his life. And, lastly, he saw Tantalus extended by the side of a lake, and that there was a tree before him, with abundance of fruit on its branches, which he desired to gather, but it vanished from his view. And this indeed indicates, that he lived under the dominion of the phantasy; but his hanging over the lake, and in vain attempting to drink, denotes the elusive, humid, and rapidly-gliding condition of such a life.”

We must now, however, view Ulysses passing from sense to imagination; in the course of which voyage he is assailed by various temptations of great power, and destructive effect. We shall perceive him victorious in some of these, and sinking under others; but struggling against the incursions of all. Among the first of these is the enchanting melody of the Sirens,

Whose song is death, and makes destruction please.

But what is occultly signified by the Sirens, is beautifully unfolded by Proclus, on the Cratylus of Plato, as follows: “The divine Plato knew that there are three kinds of Sirens; the celestial, which is under the government of Jupiter; that which is effective of generation, and is under the government of Neptune; and that which is cathartic, and is under the government of Pluto. It is common to all these, to incline all things through an harmonic motion to their ruling Gods. Hence, when the soul is in the heavens, they are desirous of uniting it to the divine life which flourishes there. But it is proper that souls living in generation should sail beyond them, like the Homeric Ulysses, that they may not be allured by generation, of which the sea is an image. And when souls are in Hades, the Sirens are desirous of uniting them through intellectual conceptions to Pluto. So that Plato knew that in the kingdom of Hades there are Gods, dæmons, and souls, who dance, as it were, round Pluto, allured by the Sirens that dwell there.” Ulysses, therefore, as now proceeding to a life which is under the dominion of imagination, but which is superior to a life consisting wholly in sensitive energies, abandons those alluring and fraudulent pleasures of sense, which charm the soul with flattering and mellifluous incantations. Hence he closes with divine reasons and energies, as with wax, the impulses of desire and the organs of sense; so that every passage being barred from access, they may in vain warble the song of ecstasy, and expect to ruin the soul by the enchanting strain. He also restrains the corporeal assaults by the bands of morality, and thus employs the senses without yielding to their impetuous invasions; and experiences delight without resigning the empire of reason to its fascinating control.

Ulysses, having escaped the dangers of the Sirens, passes on to the rocks of Scylla and Charybdis, of terrific appearance and irresistible force. By these two rocks the poet seems to signify the passions of anger and desire, and their concomitants, that compress human life on both sides; and which every one must experience who proceeds, like Ulysses, in a regular manner to an intellectual state of existence. Some of these are, like Scylla, of a lofty malignity; fraudulent, yet latent and obscure, as being concealed in the penetration of the soul. And such is revenge, and other passions of a similar kind. In these recesses a dæmon, the prince of such passions, resides. For the Chaldean oracles assert that terrestrial dæmons dwell in the soul, which is replete with irrational affections. This dæmon also may justly be denominated a dire and enraged dog, who partly exposes his own malice, and partly hides it in impenetrable obscurity. Hence he is capable of producing mischief in a twofold respect. For he privately hurts by malignant stratagems, openly ravishes the soul on the lofty rock of fury, and rends it with the triple evil of deadly teeth, viz. dereliction of duty, hatred of humanity, and self-conceit. Indeed, a dæmon of this kind will be perpetually vigilant in endeavouring to destroy, at one time the whole, and at another time a part of the soul of one, struggling, like Ulysses, against passion, and yielding reluctantly to its invasions.

But the other affections which pertain to desire are of a more corporeal nature, and are more conspicuously depraved. A wild fig-tree, i.e. the will, is produced on the top of this rock; wild, indeed, on account of its free nature, but sweet in fruition; and under which, often through the day, the impetuosities of the boiling body are accustomed to absorb and destroy the man, agitating upwards and downwards inflamed desire; so that mighty destruction, both to soul and body, is produced by their mutual consent. But it is highly proper that a rock of this last kind should be anxiously avoided by one, who, like Ulysses, is labouring to return to his true country and friends. Hence, if necessity requires, he will rather expose himself to the other: for there the energy of thought, and of the soul’s simple motions, is alone necessary to be exerted, and it is easy to recover the pristine habit of the soul. In short, the poet seems to represent, by this allegory of the two rocks, as well the dangers which spontaneously arise from the irascible part of the soul, as those which are the effect of deliberation, and are of a corporeal nature; both of which must be sustained, or one at least, by a necessary consequence. For it is impossible that neither of them should be experienced by one who is passing over the stormy ocean of a sensible life.

After this succeeds the allegory of the Trinacrian isle, containing the herds sacred to the God of day, which were violated by the companions of Ulysses; but not without the destruction of the authors of this impiety, and the most dreadful danger to Ulysses. By the result of this fable, the poet evidently shows that punishment attends the sacrilegious and the perjured; and teaches us that we should perpetually reverence divinity, with the greatest sanctity of mind, and be cautious how we commit any thing in divine concerns contrary to piety of manners and purity of thought. But Homer, by attributing sense to the flesh and hides of the slain herds, manifestly evinces that every base deed universally proclaims the iniquity of its author; but that perjury and sacrilege are attended with the most glaring indications of guilt, and the most horrid signatures of approaching vengeance and inevitable ruin. We may here, too, observe, that the will of Ulysses was far from consenting to this impious deed; and that, though his passions prevailed at length over his reason, it was not till after frequent admonition had been employed, and great diligence exerted, to prevent its execution. This, indeed, is so eminently true, that his guilt was the consequence of surprise, and not of premeditated design; which Homer appears to insinuate by relating that Ulysses was asleep when his associates committed the offence.

In the next fable we find Ulysses, impelled by the southern wind towards the rocks of Scylla and Charybdis; in the latter of which he found safety, by clinging to the fig-tree which grew on its summit, till she refunded the mast, on which he rode after the tempest. But the secret meaning of the allegory appears to me to be as follows:—Ulysses, who has not yet taken leave of a life according to sense, is driven by the warmth of passion, represented by the southern gales, into the dire vortex of insane desires, which frequently boiling over, and tossing on high the storms of depraved affections, plunges into ruin the soul obnoxious to its waves. However, perceiving the danger to which he is exposed, when the base storms begin to swell, and the whirlpools of depravity roar, he seizes the helm of temperance, and binds himself fast to the solid texture of his remaining virtue. The waves of desire are, indeed, tempestuous in the extreme; but before he is forcibly merged, by the rage of the passions, into the depths of depravity, he tenaciously adheres to his unconsenting will, seated, as it were, on the lofty summit of terrene desire. For this, like the wild fig-tree, affords the best refuge to the soul struggling with the billows of base perturbations. Hence he thus recovers the integrity which he had lost, and afterwards swims without danger over the waves of temptation; ever watchful and assiduous, while he sails through this impetuous river of the flesh, and is exposed to the stormy blasts of heated passion and destructive vice. Hence, too, while he is thus affected, and anxious lest the loss from unworthy affections should return upon himself, he will escape being lacerated by the teeth of Anger, though she should terribly and fiercely bark in the neighbourhood of Desire, and endeavour, like Scylla, to snatch him on her lofty rock. For those who are involuntarily disturbed, like Ulysses, by the billows of Desire, suffer no inconvenience from the depraved rock of Wrath; but considering the danger of their present situation, they relinquish the false confidence produced by rage for modest diffidence and anxious hope.

Hitherto we have followed Ulysses in his voyage over the turbulent and dangerous ocean of sense; in which we have seen him struggling against the storms of temptation, and in danger of perishing through the tempestuous billows of vice. We must now attend him in the region of imagination, and mark his progress from the enchanted island, till he regains the long-lost empire of his soul. That the poet then, by Calypso, occultly signifies the phantasy or imagination, is, I think, evident from his description of her abode. For she is represented as dwelling in a cavern, illuminated by a great fire; and this cave is surrounded with a thick wood, is watered by four fountains, and is situated in an island, remote from any habitable place, and environed by the mighty ocean. All which particulars correspond with the phantasy, as I presume the following observations will evince. In the first place, the primary and proper vehicle of the phantasy, or, as it is called by the Platonic philosophers, the imaginative spirit, is attenuated and ethereal, and is therefore naturally luminous. In the next place, the island is said to be surrounded with a thick wood, which evidently corresponds to a material nature, or this body, with which the phantasy is invested. For υλη, or matter, also signifies a wood. But the four fountains, by which the cave is watered, occultly signify the four gnostic powers of the soul, intellect, the discursive energy of reason, opinion, and sense; with all which the phantasy, being also a gnostic power, communicates; so that it receives images, like a mirror, from all of them, and retains those which it receives from the senses, when the objects by which they were produced are no longer present. Hence the imagination, or the phantasy, [φαντασια,] is denominated from being των φανεντων στασις, the permanency of appearances. And, in the last place, the island is said to be environed by the ocean; which admirably accords with a corporeal nature, for ever flowing, without admitting any periods of repose. And thus much for the secret agreement of the cavern and island with the region of imagination.

But the poet, by denominating the Goddess Calypso, and the island Ogygia, appears to me very evidently to confirm the preceding exposition. For Calypso is derived from καλυπτω, which signifies to cover as with a veil; and Ogygia is from ωγυγιος, ancient. And as the imaginative spirit is the primary vehicle of the rational soul, which it derived from the planetary spheres, and in which it descended to the sublunary regions, it may with great propriety be said to cover the soul as with a fine garment or veil; and it is no less properly denominated ancient, when considered as the first vehicle of the soul.

In this region of the phantasy, then, Ulysses is represented as an involuntary captive, continually employed in bewailing his absence from his true country, and ardently longing to depart from the fascinating embraces of the Goddess. For thus his situation is beautifully described by the poet:

But sad Ulysses, by himself apart, Pour’d the big sorrows of his swelling heart; All on the lonely shore he sat to weep, And roll’d his eyes around the restless deep; Tow’rd his lov’d coast he roll’d his eyes in vain, Till dimm’d with rising grief they stream’d again.

His return, however, is at length effected through Mercury, or reason, who prevails on the Goddess to yield to his dismission. Hence, after her consent, Ulysses is, with great propriety, said to have placed himself on the throne on which Mercury had sate: for reason then resumes her proper seat when the reasoning power is about to abandon the delusive and detaining charms of imagination. But Homer appears to me to insinuate something admirable when he represents Ulysses, on his departure from Calypso, sailing by night, and contemplating the order and light of the stars, in the following beautiful lines:

And now, rejoicing in the prosperous gales, With beating heart Ulysses spread his sails; Plac’d at the helm he sate, and mark’d the skies, Nor clos’d in sleep his ever watchful eyes. There viewed the Pleiads, and the northern team, And great Orion’s more refulgent beam; To which around the axle of the sky The Bear, revolving, points his golden eye; Who shines exalted on the ethereal plain, Nor bathes his blazing forehead in the main.

For what he here says of Ulysses, is perfectly conformable to what is said by Plato in the 7th book of his Republic, respecting the man who is to be led from the cave, which he there describes, to the light of day, i.e. from a sensible to an intellectual life, viz. “that he will more easily see what the heavens contain, and the heavens themselves, by looking in the night to the light of the stars and the moon, than by day looking on the sun, and the light of the sun.” For by this, as Proclus well observes, “Plato signifies the contemplation of intelligibles, of which the stars and their light are imitations, so far as all of them partake of the form of the sun, in the same manner as intelligibles are characterized by the nature of the good. These, then, such a one must contemplate, that he may understand their essence, and those summits of their nature, by which they are deiform processions from the ineffable principle of things.” Ulysses, therefore, who is hastening to an intellectual life, contemplates these lucid objects with vigilant eyes, rejoicing in the illuminations and assistance they afford him while sailing over the dark ocean of a sensible life.

But as he is now earnestly engaged in departing from sense, he must unavoidably be pursued by the anger of Neptune, the lord of generation and a sensible life, whose service he has forsaken, and whose offspring he has blinded by stratagem, and irritated by reproach. Hence, in the midst of these delightful contemplations, he is almost overwhelmed by the waves of misfortune, roused by the wrath of his implacable foe. He is, however, through divine assistance, or Leucothea, enabled to sustain the dreadful storm. For, receiving from divinity the immortal fillet of true fortitude, and binding it under his breast, (the proper seat of courage,) he encounters the billows of adversity, and bravely shoots along the boisterous ocean of life. It must, however, be carefully observed, that the poet is far from ascribing a certain passion to a divine nature, when he speaks of the anger of Neptune: for, in thus speaking, he, as well as other theologists, intended only to signify our inaptitude to the participation of its beneficent influence.

Ulysses therefore, having with much difficulty escaped the dangers arising from the wrath of Neptune, lands at length on the island of Phæacia, where he is hospitably received, and honourably dismissed. Now, as it is proper that he who, like Ulysses, departs from the delusions of imagination, should immediately betake himself to the more intellectual light of the rational energy of the soul, the land of Phæacia ought to correspond to our intellectual part, and particularly to that portion of it which is denominated in Greek dianoia, and which is characterized by the power of reasoning scientifically, deriving the principles of its discursive energy from intellect. And that it has this correspondence, the following observations will, I persuade myself, abundantly evince. In the first place, then, this island is represented by the poet as enjoying a perpetual spring, which plainly indicates that it is not any terrestrial situation. Indeed, the critical commentators have been so fully convinced of this, that they acknowledge Homer describes Phæacia as one of the Fortunate Islands; but they have not attempted to penetrate his design, in such a description. If, however, we consider the perfect liberty, unfading variety, and endless delight, which our intellectual part affords, we shall find that it is truly the Fortunate Island of the soul, in which, by the exercise of the theoretic virtues, it is possible for a man, even in the present life, to obtain genuine felicity, though not in that perfection as when he is liberated from the body. With respect to the Fortunate Islands, their occult meaning is thus beautifully unfolded by Olympiodorus, in his MS. commentary on the Gorgias of Plato: Δει δε ειδεναι οτι αι νησοι υπερκυπτουσι της θαλασσης ανωτερω ουσαι, την ουν πολιτειαν την υπερκυψασαν του βιου και της γενησεως, μακαρων νησους καλουσι· ταυτον δε εστι και το ηλυσιον πεδιον. δια τοι τουτο και ο Ηρακλης τελευταιον αθλον, εν τοις εσπεριοις μερεσιν εποιησατο, αντι κατηγωνισατο τον σκοτεινον και χθονιον βιον, και λοιπον εν ημερα, ο εστιν εν αληθειᾳ και φωτι εζη: i.e. “It is necessary to know that islands are raised above, being higher than the sea. A condition of being, therefore, which transcends this corporeal life and generation, is denominated the islands of the blessed; but these are the same with the Elysian fields. And on this account, Hercules is reported to have accomplished his last labour in the Hesperian regions; signifying by this, that having vanquished an obscure and terrestrial life, he afterwards lived in open day, that is, in truth and resplendent light.” In the next place, the poet, by his description of the palace of Alcinous, the king of this island, admirably indicates the pure and splendid light of the energy of reason. For he says of it:

The front appear’d with radiant splendours gay, Bright as the lamp of night, or orb of day. The walls were massy brass: the cornice high Blue metals crown’d in colours of the sky. Rich plates of gold the folding doors incase; The pillars silver on a brazen base. Silver the lintels deep projecting o’er, And gold the ringlets that command the door. Two rows of stately dogs on either hand, In sculptur’d gold, and labour’d silver, stand. These Vulcan form’d intelligent to wait Immortal guardians at Alcinous’ gate.

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

Refulgent pedestals the walls surround, Which boys of gold with flaming torches crown’d; The polish’d ore, reflecting ev’ry ray, Blaz’d on the banquets with a double day.

Indeed Homer, by his description of the outside of this palace, sufficiently indicates its agreement with the planet Mercury, the deity of which presides over the rational energy. For this God, in the language of Proclus, “unfolds into light intellectual gifts, fills all things with divine reasons [i.e. forms, and productive principles,] elevates souls to intellect, wakens them as from a profound sleep, converts them through investigation to themselves, and by a certain obstetric art and invention of pure intellect, brings them to a blessed life.” According to astronomers, likewise, the planet Mercury is resplendent with the colours of all the other planets. Thus Baptista Porta in Cœlest. Physiog. p. 88. “Videbis in eo Saturni luridum, Martis ignem, Jovis candidum, Veneris flavum, necnon utriusque nitor, hilaritasque, et ob id non peculiaris formæ, sed eorum formam capit, cum quibus associatur, ob id in describendo ejus colore astrologi differunt.” i.e. “You may perceive in this planet the pale colour of Saturn, the fire of Mars, the whiteness of Jupiter, and the yellow of Venus; and likewise the brilliancy and hilarity of each. On this account it is not of a peculiar form, but receives the form of its associates, and thus causes astrologers to differ in describing its colour.”

But that the island of Phæacia is the dominion of reason, is, I think, indisputably confirmed by Homer’s account of the ships fabricated by its inhabitants. For of these, he says:

So shalt thou instant reach the realm assign’d, In wond’rous ships self-mov’d, instinct with mind. No helm secures their course, no pilot guides, Like man intelligent they plough the tides, Conscious of ev’ry coast and ev’ry bay, That lies beneath the sun’s all-seeing ray; And veil’d in clouds impervious to the eye, Fearless and rapid through the deep they fly.

For it is absurd to suppose that Homer would employ such an hyperbole, in merely describing the excellency of the Phæacian ships. Hence, as it so greatly surpasses the bounds of probability, and is so contrary to the admirable prudence which Homer continually displays, it can only be admitted as an allegory, pregnant with latent meaning, and the recondite wisdom of antiquity. The poet likewise adds respecting the Phæacians:

These did the ruler of the deep ordain To build proud navies, and command the main; On canvas wings to cut the wat’ry way, No bird more light, no thought more swift than they.

The last of which lines so remarkably agrees with the preceding explanation, that I presume no stronger confirmation can be desired. Nor is the original less satisfactory:

των νεες ωκειαι ωσει πτερον ηε νοημα,

i.e. “The ships of these men are swift as a wing, or as a conception of the mind.” But the inhabitants of the palace are represented as spending their days in continual festivity, and unceasing mirth; in listening to the harmony of the lyre, or in forming the tuneful mazes of the joyful dance. For to the man who lives under the guidance of reason, or to the good man, every day, as Diogenes said, is a festival. Hence, such a one is constantly employed in tuning the lyre of recollection, in harmonious revolutions about an intelligible essence, and the never-satiating and deifying banquet of intellect.

And here we may observe how much the behaviour of Ulysses, at the palace of Alcinous, confirms the preceding exposition, and accords with his character, as a man passing in a regular manner from the delusions of sense, to the realities of intellectual enjoyment. For as he is now converted to himself, and is seated in the palace of reason, it is highly proper that he should call to mind his past conduct, and be afflicted with the survey; and that he should be wakened to sorrow by the lyre of reminiscence, and weep over the follies of his past active life. Hence, when the divine bard Demodocus, inspired by the fury of the Muses, sings the contention between Ulysses and Achilles, on his golden lyre, Ulysses is vehemently affected with the relation. And when the inhabitants of the palace, i.e. the powers and energies of the rational soul, transported with the song, demanded its repetition.

Again Ulysses veil’d his pensive head, Again, unmann’d, a shower of sorrow shed.

For to the man who is making a proficiency in virtue, the recollection of his former conduct is both pleasing and painful; pleasing, so far as in some instances it was attended with rectitude, but painful so far as in others it was erroneous.

Ulysses, also, is with the greatest propriety represented as relating his past adventures in the palace of Alcinous. For as he now betakes himself to the intellectual light of the reasoning power, it is highly necessary that he should review his past conduct, faithfully enumerate the errors of his life, and anxiously solicit a return to true manners, and perfect rectitude of mind. As likewise he is now on his passage, by the pure energy of reason to regain the lost empire of his soul, he is represented as falling into so profound a sleep in his voyage, as to be insensible for some time of its happy consummation; by which the poet indicates his being separated from sensible concerns, and wholly converted to the energies of the rational soul. Nor is it without reason that the poet represents Ithaca, as presenting itself to the mariners’ view, when the bright morning star emerges from the darkness of night. For thus he sings:

But when the morning star, with early ray, Flam’d in the front of heav’n and promis’d day; Like distant clouds, the mariner descries Fair Ithaca’s emerging hills arise.

Since it is only by the dawning beams of intellect, that the discursive energy of reason can gain a glimpse of the native country and proper seat of empire of the soul.

Ulysses therefore, being now converted to the energies of the rational soul, and anxious to commence the cathartic virtues, recognizes, through the assistance of Minerva, or wisdom, his native land: and immediately enters into a consultation with the Goddess, how he may effectually banish the various perturbations and inordinate desires, which yet lurk in the penetralia of his soul. For this purpose, it is requisite that he should relinquish all external possessions, mortify every sense, and employ every stratagem, which may finally destroy these malevolent foes. Hence, the garb of poverty, the wrinkles of age, and the want of the necessaries of life, are symbols of mortified habits, desertion of sensible pursuits, and an intimate conversion to intellectual good. For the sensitive eye must now give place to the purer sight of the rational soul; and the strength and energies of the corporeal nature must yield to the superior vigour of intellectual exertion, and the severe exercise of cathartic virtue. And this, Homer appears most evidently to indicate in the following beautiful lines:

Now seated in the olive’s sacred shade, Confer the hero and the martial maid. The Goddess of the azure eyes began: Son of Laertes! much experienc’d man! The suitor train thy earliest care demand, Of that luxurious race to rid the land. Three years thy house their lawless rule has seen, And proud addresses to the matchless queen; But she thy absence mourns from day to day, And inly bleeds, and silent wastes away; Elusive of the bridal hour, she gives Fond hopes to all, and all with hopes deceives.

Hence:

It fits thee now to wear a dark disguise, And secret walk unknown to mortal eyes; For this my hand shall wither ev’ry grace, And ev’ry elegance of form and face, O’er thy smooth skin a bark of wrinkles spread, Turn hoar the auburn honours of thy head, Disfigure every limb with coarse attire, And in thine eyes extinguish all the fire; Add all the wants and the decays of life, Estrange thee from thy own; thy son, thy wife; From the loath’d object ev’ry sight shall turn, And the blind suitors their destruction scorn.

After this follows the discovery of Ulysses to Telemachus, which is no less philosophically sublime than poetically beautiful. For, by Telemachus, we must understand a true scientific conception of things; since this is the legitimate offspring of the energy of the rational soul, in conjunction with philosophy. Hence Ulysses, while employed in the great work of mortification, recognizes his genuine offspring, and secretly plans with him the destruction of his insidious foes. And hence we may see the propriety of Telemachus being represented as exploring his absent father, and impatient for his return. For the rational soul then alone associates with a true conception of things, when it withdraws itself from sensible delights, and meditates a restoration of its fallen dignity and original sway.

And now Ulysses presents himself to our view in the habits of mortification, hastening to his long deserted palace, or the occult recesses of his soul, that he may mark the conduct and plan the destruction of those baneful passions which are secretly attempting to subvert the empire of his mind. Hence, the poet very properly and pathetically exclaims:

And now his city strikes the monarch’s eyes, Alas! how chang’d! a man of miseries; Propt on a staff, a beggar, old and bare, In tatter’d garments, flutt’ring with the air.

However, as this disguise was solely assumed for the purpose of procuring ancient purity and lawful rule, he divests himself of the torn garments of mortification, as soon as he begins the destruction of occult desires; and resumes the proper dignity and strength of his genuine form. But it is not without reason that Penelope, who is the image of philosophy, furnishes the instrument by which the hostile rout of passions are destroyed. For what besides the arrows of philosophy can extirpate the leading bands of impurity and vice? Hence, as soon as he is furnished with this irresistible weapon, he no longer defers the ruin of his insidious foes, but

Then fierce the hero o’er the threshold strode; Stript of his rags, he blaz’d out like a God. Full in their face the lifted bow he bore, And quiver’d deaths a formidable store; Before his feet the rattling show’r he threw, And thus terrific to the suitor crew.

But Homer represents Penelope as remaining ignorant of Ulysses, even after the suitors are destroyed, and he is seated on the throne of majesty, anxious to be known, and impatient to return her chaste and affectionate embrace. For thus he describes her:

Then gliding through the marble valves in state, Oppos’d before the shining fire she sate. The monarch, by a column high enthron’d. His eye withdrew, and fixed it on the ground, Anxious to hear his queen the silence break: Amaz’d she sate, and impotent to speak; O’er all the man her eyes she rolls in vain, Now hopes, now fears, now knows, then doubts again.

By which Homer indicates, that Philosophy, through her long absence from the soul, and the foreign manners and habits which the soul had assumed, is a stranger to it, so that it is difficult for her to recognize the union and legitimate association which once subsisted between them. However, in order to facilitate this discovery, Ulysses renders all pure and harmonious within the recesses of his soul; and, by the assistance of Minerva, or wisdom, resumes the garb and dignity which he had formerly displayed.

Then instant to the bath (the monarch cries,) Bid the gay youth and sprightly virgins rise, Thence all descend in pomp and proud array, And bid the dome resound the mirthful lay; While the sweet lyrist airs of raptures sings, And forms the dance responsive to the strings.

And afterwards, Ulysses is described as appearing, through the interposition of Minerva, like one of the immortals.

So Pallas his heroic form improves, With bloom divine, and like a God he moves.

For, indeed, he who, like Ulysses, has completely destroyed the domination of his passions, and purified himself, through the cathartic virtues, from their defiling nature, no longer ranks in the order of mortals, but is assimilated to divinity. And now, in order that he may become entirely known to Philosophy, that chaste Penelope of the soul, it is only requisite for him to relate the secrets of their mystic union, and recognize the bower of intellectual love. For then perfect recollection will ensue; and the anxiety of diffidence will be changed into transports of assurance, and tears of rapturous delight.

And thus we have attended Ulysses in his various wanderings and woes, till, through the cathartic virtues, he recovers the ruined empire of his soul. But, as it is requisite that he should, in the next place, possess and energize according to the theoretic or contemplative virtues, the end of which is a union with deity, as far as this can be effected by man in the present life, Homer only indicates to us his attainment of this end, without giving a detail of the gradual advances by which he arrived at this consummate felicity. This union is occultly signified by Ulysses first beholding, and afterwards ardently embracing his father with ecstatic delight. With most admirable propriety, also, is Ulysses represented as proceeding, in order to effect this union, by himself alone, to his father who is also alone.

Alone and unattended, let me try If yet I share the old man’s memory,

says Ulysses. And afterwards it is said,

But all alone the hoary king he found.

For a union with the ineffable one of the Demiurgus, the true father of the soul, can only be accomplished by the soul recurring to its own unity; and having for this purpose previously dismissed and abandoned every thing foreign to it. This occurrence, indeed, of the soul with deity, is, as Plotinus divinely says, φυγη μονου προς μονον, a flight of the alone to the alone, in which most beautiful expression I have no doubt he alludes to this mystic termination of the wanderings of Ulysses, in the embraces of his father. Proclus also, in a no less admirable manner, alludes to this union in his Commentaries on the Timæus of Plato. The allusion is in his comment on the words, “It is difficult, therefore, to discover the maker and father of this universe; and, when found, it is impossible to speak of him to all men.” On this passage Proclus observes: “It is necessary that the soul, becoming an intellectual world, and being as much as possible assimilated to the whole intelligible world, should introduce herself to the maker of the universe; and from this introduction, should, in a certain respect, become familiar with him through a continued intellectual energy. For uninterrupted energy about any thing calls forth and resuscitates our dormant ideas. But through this familiarity, becoming stationed at the door of the father, it is necessary that we should be united to him. For discovery is this, to meet with him, to be united to him, to associate alone with the alone, and to see him himself, the soul hastily withdrawing herself from every other energy to him. For, being present with her father, she then considers scientific discussions to be but words, banquets together with him on the truth of real being, and in pure splendour is purely initiated in entire and stable visions. Such, therefore, is the discovery of the father, not that which is doxastic [or pertaining to opinion]; for this is dubious, and not very remote from the irrational life. Neither is it scientific; for this is syllogistic and composite, and does not come into contact with the intellectual essence of the intellectual Demiurgus. But it is that which subsists according to intellectual vision itself, a contact with the intelligible, and a union with the demiurgic intellect. For this may properly be denominated difficult, either as hard to obtain, presenting itself to souls after every evolution of life, or as the true labour of souls. For, after the wandering about generation, after purification, and the light of science, intellectual energy and the intellect which is in us shine forth, placing the soul in the father as in a port, purely establishing her in demiurgic intellections, and conjoining light with light; not such as that of science, but more beautiful, more intellectual, and partaking more of the nature of the one than this. For this is the paternal port, and the discovery of the father, viz. an undefiled union with him.”

With great beauty also, and in perfect conformity to the most recondite theology, is the father of Ulysses represented as coarsely clothed, and occupied in botanical labours:

But all alone the hoary king he found; His habit coarse, but warmly wrapt around; His head, that bow’d with many a pensive care, Fenc’d with a double cap of goatskin hair; His buskins old, in former service torn, But well repair’d; and gloves against the thorn. In this array the kingly gard’ner stood, And clear’d a plant, encumber’d with its wood.

For this simplicity, and coarseness of the garb of Laertes, considered as an image of the true father of Ulysses, is, in every respect, conformable to the method adopted by ancient mythologists in their adumbrations of deity. For they imitated the transcendency of divine natures by things preternatural; a power more divine than all reason by things irrational; and, by apparent deformity, a beauty which surpasses every thing corporeal. This array, therefore, of the father of Ulysses, is, in the language of Proclus, indicative “of an essence established in the simplicity of the one, and vehemently rejoicing, as some one of the piously wise says, in an unadorned privation of form, and extending it to those who are able to survey it.” And the botanical labours of Laertes are an image of the providential attention of the Demiurgus to the immediate ramifications and blossoms of his own divine essence, in which they are ineffably rooted, and from which they eternally germinate.

Though Ulysses, however, is placed through the theoretic virtues in the paternal port, as far as this is possible to be effected in the present life, yet we must remember, according to the beautiful observation of Porphyry, that he is not freed from molestation, till he has passed over the raging sea of a material nature; i.e. has become impassive to the excitations of the irrational life, and is entirely abstracted from external concerns. For,

Then heav’n decrees in peace to end his days, And steal himself from life by slow decays; Unknown to pain, in age resign his breath. When late stern Neptune points the shaft of death; To the dark grave retiring as to rest; His people blessing, by his people blest.

I shall only observe farther, that Plotinus also considered the wanderings of Ulysses as a fabulous narration containing a latent meaning, such as that which we have above unfolded. This is evident from the following extract from his admirable treatise on the Beautiful: “It is here, then, [in order to survey the beautiful itself] that we may more truly exclaim.

Haste, let us fly and all our sails expand, To gain our dear, our long-lost native land.

But by what leading stars shall we direct our flight, and by what means avoid the magic power of Circe, and the detaining charms of Calypso? For thus the fable of Ulysses obscurely signifies, which feigns him abiding an unwilling exile, though pleasant spectacles were continually presented to his sight; and every thing was proffered to invite his stay, which can delight the senses and captivate the heart. But our true country, like that of Ulysses, is from whence we came, and where our father lives.”

FOOTNOTES:

Δια τοι τουτο, και τον Οδυσσεα λεγουσι κατα θαλατταν πλανασθαι βουλῃ του Ποσειδωνος· σημαινουσι γαρ την Οδυσσειον ζωην, οτι ουδε χθονια ην, αλλ’ ουδε μην ετι ουρανια, αλλα μεση· επει ουν ο Ποσειδων του μεταξυ κυριος εστι, δια τουτο και τον Οδυσσεα φασι βουλῃ Ποσειδωνος [supple πλανασθαι·] επειδη τον κληρον του Ποσειδωνος ειχεν· ουτω γουν και τους μεν φασι Διος υιους, τους δε Ποσειδωνος, τους δε Πλουτωνος, προς τους κληρους εκαστου· τον μεν γαρ εχοντα θειαν και ουρανιαν πολιτειαν Διος φαμεν υιον, τον δε χθονιαν, Πλουτωνος, τον δε την μεταξυ Ποσειδωνος.

In Plat. Polit. p. 398.

Instead of αναλογοι ψυχαι, in this place, it is necessary to read αλογοι ψυχαι.

Iliad, V. v. 451.

Conformably to this, Proclus, in Plat. Polit. p. 398, says, “that all the beauty subsisting about generation [or the regions of sense], from the fabrication of things, is signified by Helen; about which there is a perpetual battle of souls, till the more intellectual having vanquished the more irrational forms of life, return to the place from whence they originally came.” For the beauty which is in the realms of generation, is an efflux of intelligible beauty.

This second line is, in Pope’s version, “Lotos the name, divine, nectarious juice!” which I have altered as above, as being more conformable to the original.

Lib. ix. l. 94, &c.

Vid. Censoris, De Die Natali, cap. iii.

This is evident from the following passage in the Commentary of Proclus, on the First Alcibiades of Plato: Ταις μεν ουν αποκαταστατικως ζωσαις ψυχαις ο αυτος εστιν ανω κανταυθα δαιμων· ταις δε ατελεστεραις αλλος μεν ο κατ’ ουσιαν δαιμων, αλλος δε ο κατα τον προβεβλημενον βιον. p. 37, Edit. Creuz. But for a copious account of the essential dæmon, and of the different orders and offices of dæmon, see the notes accompanying my translation of the First Alcibiades, Phædo, and Gorgias of Plato.

See the note (p. 90) accompanying my translation of the Metamorphosis of Apuleius.

For an accurate account of the gradation of the virtues, see Porphyry’s Auxiliaries to Intelligibles, p. 217.

For the shuttle is a symbol of separating power.

And this is the meaning of the Chaldaic oracle,—

Σον αγγειον θηρες χθονος οικησουσιν.

i.e. “The wild beasts of the earth shall inhabit thy vessel.” For, as Psellus well observes, by the vessel, the composite temperature of the soul is signified, and by the wild beasts of the earth, terrestrial dæmons.

Odyss. lib. v. 82, &c. The translation by Pope.

Ibid. lib. v. 269, &c.

Odyss. lib. vii. 84, &c. The translation by Pope.

In Euclid. Element. lib. i. p. 14.

Odyss. lib. viii. 556, &c.

Odyss. lib. vii. 33.

Odyss. lib. xiii. 93, &c.

i.e. Philosophy; for of this Penelope is an image.

Odyss. lib. xiii. 373, &c.

Odyss. lib. xiii. 397, &c. The translation of the above, and likewise of all the following passages from the Odyssey, is by Pope.

Odyss. lib. xvii. 201, &c.

Odyss. lib. xxii. 1, &c.

Odyss. lib. xxiii. 88, &c.

Odyss. lib. xxiii. 131, &c.

Odyss. lib. xxiii. 163, &c.

Odyss. lib. xxiv. 215, &c.

Ibid. lib. xxiv. 225.

These are the concluding words of the last book of his last Ennead.

See vol. i. p. 254, of my translation of that work.

This is in consequence of a union with the Demiurgus being so much superior to scientific perception.

Odyss. lib. xxiv. 225, &c.

τα μεν γαρ εστι θεια και εν τῃ απλοτητι του ενος ιδρυμενα την ακαλλοπιστον ευμορφιαν· (lege αμορφιαν) ως φησι τις των τα οσια σοφων, διαφεροντως αγαπωντα, και προτεινοντα τοις εις αυτα βλεπειν δυναμενοις.—Procl. in Parmenid. lib. i. p. 38. 8vo. Parisiis, 1821.

This impassivity, or perfect subjugation of the passions to reason, which is the true apathy of the Stoics and Platonists, is indicated by Ulysses finding a nation

“Who ne’er knew salt or heard the billows roar.”

Odyss. lib. xxiii. 281, &c. By the people, in these lines, the inferior parts or powers of the soul are indicated.

Iliad, lib. ii. 140, and lib. ix. 27.

See my paraphrased translation of this treatise, p. 37, &c.

THE END.

LONDON: PRINTED BY J. MOYES, GREVILLE STREET.