The Life of Thomas Taylor by Manly P. Hall
In England, a Protestant who disputes
the
authority of the Church of England
is called
a Dissenter, or a non-conformist. In
the
18th century, these Dissenters were
subject
to numerous indignities, and special
abuse
was reserved for Dissenting ministers.
The
father of Thomas Taylor was such a
minister
and, as a result, was impoverished
by his
convictions.
He was described as a worthy and God-fearing
man, but it also appears that he was
set
in his ways and strongly opinionated.
He
was one of those good souls who made
life
difficult for himself and others. Into
this
meager and frustrated atmosphere, Thomas
Taylor was born in London, on the fifteenth
day of May, 1758. Early admirers referred
to this event with philosophical elegance,
declaring that on his natal day the
soul
of the philosopher “descended into
this mundane
sphere.” While Thomas was still in
his trim,
his reverent father decided that his
son
should follow in his footsteps and
become
a Dissenting minister. It seems, however,
that the muses and those tutelary spirits
which attend such matters decreed otherwise.
When Thomas reached his ninth year,
he was
sent to St. Paul’s school, a proper
atmosphere
in which to absorb theology and non-conformism.
Even at this early age, the boy gave
indications
of a contemplative turn of mind. He
also
revealed a strong spirit and a profound
aversion
to pedantry and pedagogy. He disliked
to
listen to the opinions of those whose
wordiness
indicated no depth of personal understanding.
A certain Mr. Ryder, who was one of
the masters
of St. Paul’s school, became interested
in
the serious and penetrating mind of
young
Taylor. When the lesson involved some
especially
grave or meaningful passage by a classic
author, Mr. Ryder would turn to Thomas,
saying
“Come, here is something worthy the
attention
of a philosopher.” After remaining
three
years in this school, young Taylor
be-came
so thoroughly disgusted with the superficial
manner in which classical languages
and sciences
were taught that he finally persuaded
his
father to take him home. There were
then
further family councils and Thomas
succeeded
in convincing his father that he was
not
designed by natural endowments for
the ministry.
This was a great blow, for it seemed
to the
good man that the career of a Dissenting
minister was the highest, noblest,
and most
enviable employment which the world
could
offer.
Young Thomas was an impetuous fellow,
and
shortly after his twelfth year he fell
deeply
in love with a Miss Morton, the oldest
daughter
of a respectable coal merchant in Doctor’s
Commons. She must have been an extraordinary
person, for it is recorded that she
was younger
than Thomas and he had recently passed
his
twelfth year. Miss Morton, the coal
merchant’s
daughter, was already highly and technically
educated with a profound interest in
the
most advanced subjects of philosophy.
Young
Thomas sang her praises constantly,
and declared
himself to be as much in love as any
of the
famous heroes of romance and chivalry.
His
greatest joy was to converse with his
beloved
or to describe her charms and attainments
to any who would listen. It was considered
almost incredible by his biographers
that
this boy, scarcely in his teens, should
have
been so deeply and lastingly smitten,
but
future events seemed to indicate that
destiny
had decreed this association.
Taylor’s father found difficulty in
deciding
a new direction for his son’s future.
He
was not overly enthusiastic when young
Thomas
indicated a strong preference for higher
mathematics. As a Dissenting minister,
the
senior Taylor was deeply skilled in
modern
theology, but was hopelessly deficient
in
the classical sciences and philosophies.
It seemed to him that the boy had chosen
a difficult and unpromising field of
endeavor.
Thomas found it necessary to study
at night
and to conceal his books, and the long
and
constant sacrifice of sleep may have
contributed
to the delicacy of the young man’s
constitution.
In 1773, when Thomas was about 15 years
old,
he was placed under his uncle, who
was one
of the officers of the dock-yard at
Sheerness.
This worthy uncle believed in keeping
young
people as busy as possible. Leisure
hours
were few, but these were used to advance
the speculative parts of mathematics,
for
Thomas was early of the opinion that
those
sciences were degraded when applied
to practical
affairs. Thomas was also reading Bolingbroke
and Hume at this period. Young Taylor
remained
with his tyrannical and uninspiring
uncle
for about three years and, unable to
endure
longer what he considered a state of
abject
slavery, sought liberation by returning
to
the Church. He left Sheerness and studied
for two years with the Reverend Mr.
Worthington,
a celebrated Dissenting preacher.
Here he recovered his basic knowledge
of
Latin and Greek. He did not advance
very
rapidly, however, because the text
with which
he worked did not challenge his mind.
While
he was a pupil of the Reverend Mr.
Worthington,
Taylor renewed with increased ardor
his acquaintance
with Miss Morton. It would seem that
he maintained
a rigorous program. He studied Greek
and
Latin all day, courted his fair lady
in the
evening, and read the Latin Quarto
of Simson’s
Conic Sections at night. In some way,
Taylor
found it possible during these congested
years to approach the study of modern
philosophy
and, armed with the subtler parts of
mathematics,
he attacked Newton’s Principia. He
never
finished the book, however, because
he regarded
a number of Newton’s Propositions to
be plainly
absurd. He particularly disapproved
of Propositions
VI, VII, and VIII in the Third Book.
The
biographers have noted that up to this
point,
Mr. Taylor’s life had flowed “limpid
and
unruffled.” They meant that in comparison
to his future adventures, his childhood
was
scarcely noteworthy.
Conspiracy now entered the picture.
It was
time for Thomas to enter the university,
so he bade Miss Morton an impassioned
farewell.
Her father, the respectable coal-merchant,
intended during Taylor’s absence to
marry
his daughter to a wealthy man who was
also
courting her most ardently. The young
lady,
who returned our hero’s devotion with
full
measure, seeking to protect herself
from
the tyrannical weight of parental authority,
consented to marry young Taylor secretly,
under the condition that the marriage
would
be only a formal one until he had finished
his studies at Aberdeen. And so it
came about
that these remarkable young people
were bound
in holy matrimony. The secret was soon
discovered,
however, and a series of distressing
parental
out-bursts followed. Fortunately, the
times
were such that even the most desperate
and
embittered parent would scarcely think
of
divorce. In time, the rages subsided,
and
the young couple attempted to establish
themselves
in a home of their own. It was then
that
young Thomas discovered that his selection
of interests scarcely fitted him for
successful
employment. For nearly a year, the
two young
people lived on seven shillings a week.
Mrs.
Taylor was cheated out of her inheritance
by a relative who was left the executor
of
her father’s estate. The young couple
was
abandoned by both friends and relatives
and,
in an emergency, could not borrow ten
shillings
and sixpence. Finally, Mr. Taylor secured
a position as an usher in a school
at Paddington.
He did not earn enough money so that
his
wife could be with him, and he was
permitted
to see her only on Saturday afternoons.
He
later found the situation of a clerk
in Mssrs.
Lubbock’s bank in London. This paid
him 50
pounds a year, and he received his
money
quarterly. He was unable to take care
of
his wife and keep enough funds for
his own
living. On a number of occasions when
he
reached his room in the evening, he
fell
senseless on the floor from malnutrition.
At last, he managed to rent a house
at Walworth
through the assistance of a schoolmate,
and
here, for the first time, the Taylors
were
able to experience a frugal family
existence.
Already, however, Thomas was showing
serious
impairment to his physical health and,
in
the years that followed, there was
no remedy
for this impairment. Settled in his
new home,
Taylor directed his attention to the
study
of chemistry, but his selection of
texts
indicated an inclination toward alchemy.
He remained true, however, to mathematics,
and having given much attention to
the quadrature
of the circle, which he believed could
be
verified geometrically, he published,
in
1780, a pamphlet entitled “A New Method
of
Reasoning in Geometry.” A very small
edition
of this little work was printed and
it attracted
slight attention. Later, the substance
was
incorporated into the first volume
of Taylor’s
translation of Proclus on Euclid. Up
to this
time, Taylor’s studies were merely
preparing
him for the specialization which was
to establish
his reputation in the literary world.
He
became acquainted with the treatise
of Sir
Kenelm Digby On Bodies and Man’s Soul.
Digby
was a celebrated physician and philosopher
of 17th-century England, and is remembered
especially for his famous theory of
“the
weapon salve,” a method of treating
wounds
by placing the medication on the weapon
that
caused them rather than upon the injury
itself.
The remedy was startlingly successful,
but
one factor in the cure had been generally
overlooked--Digby insisted that the
wound
be kept scrupulously clean. Taylor
considered
Sir Digby to be a great logician, metaphysician,
and universal scholar, whose name should
never be mentioned but with reverence
for
his unparalleled worth. Through Digby,
Taylor’s
attention was directed to the philosophy
of Aristotle, and he had no more than
read
Aristotle’s Physics when he determined
to
make the study of peripatetic philosophy
the principal work of his life. He
was so
enthusiastic that he soon fitted himself
to read Aristotle in the original,
and later
remarked that he had learned Greek
through
Greek philosophy, rather than Greek
philosophy
through Greek.
All this time, Taylor labored in the
banking
house from early morning to seven o’clock
in the evening, and when business was
pressing
was expected to remain until 9 or 10.
He
was therefore obliged to do most of
his studying
at night, and for several years seldom
retired
before two or three o’clock in the
morning.
He trained his mind to free himself
from
all interruption during those precious
hours
which he devoted to the classics. Neither
poverty nor daily responsibility interrupted
his dedicated pursuit of knowledge.
It was
said that, like Penelope of old, Taylor’s
ability to pursue his studies under
the most
trying circumstances was due to the
mental
discipline which he imposed upon himself.
He organized his daily employment so
efficiently
that he was able to satisfy the exacting
requirements of banking and at the
same time
to carry on philosophical reflections
during
working hours. As he made out bills,
balanced
accounts, and interviewed depositors,
his
mind was busily engaged in expanding
lines
of thought without making mistakes
in either.
Through Aristotle, Taylor passed naturally
to the contemplation of the works of
Plato.
As these researches unfolded, Taylor
came
to the conclusion that the philosophies
of
Aristotle and Plato might be likened
to the
Lesser and Greater Mysteries of the
Greeks.
It was only a step from Plato to Plotinus,
whose mystical apperception brought
a new
and deeper light to Taylor’s soul.
He also
studied Proclus’ On the Theology of
Plato,
a work so abstruse that he observed
that
he did not thoroughly understand its
full
meaning until he had read it three
times.
While Taylor was reflecting upon the
writings
of Proclus, the celebrated Mary Wollstonecraft
lived in his home for nearly three
months.
Taylor considered her a very modest,
sensible
and agreeable young woman, and she
referred
to the little room where Taylor studied
as
“the abode of peace.” When Taylor published
his little book A Vindication of the
Rights
of Brutes, he declared that he had
been induced
to this particular labor because Mr.
Thomas
Payne had convinced thousands of the
rights
of man, and Mary Wollstonecraft had
indisputably
proved that women are in every respect
equal
to men.
After Taylor had served nearly six
years
in Lubbock’s Bank, he found it necessary
to make an important decision. His
health
had been so undermined by long hours
of un-congenial
employment combined with his intensive
program
of reading and research, that he could
no
longer continue this double life. He
therefore
resolved to find a means of creating
a career
in his chosen field. His first effort
was
most curious. He attempted to construct
a
perpetual lamp such as is reported
to have
been found in ancient tombs. He used
phosphorus,
and exhibited his creation at the Freemasons
Tavern. Due to circum-stances beyond
his
control, the experiment was not a success,
but it did attract several devoted
and influential
friends through whose assistance he
was able
to sever his connection with the banking
world.
Next, at the suggestion of Mr. John
Flaxman,
the distinguished sculptor and artist,
Taylor
composed twelve lectures on Platonic
philosophy,
which he delivered at Mr. Flaxman’s
house
to a respectable and distinguished
audience.
His lectures were enthusiastically
received
and a Mr. Bennett Langton was so impressed
that he mentioned Thomas Taylor to
the King
of England. His majesty, though reminded
several times of Taylor’s work, went
no further
than to express his admiration, although
it was hoped for a time that he might
become
a patron of the scholar. During his
lectures,
Taylor also met and formed a lasting
friendship
with Mr. William Meredith, a man of
large
fortune and liberal mind. Meredith
became
a staunch supporter of Taylor, and
assisted
him financially in the publication
of several
of his books.
In 1787, Taylor became acquainted with
Dr.
Floyer Sydenham, a learned Platonist,
who
died in prison because he was unable
to pay
a debt which he owed to the keeper
of a restaurant.
Dr. Sydenham had come to the study
of Plato
late in life, but might have advanced
to
a great knowledge had he not been so
limited
by infirmity, poverty, and a tragic
death.
On April 1, 1787, Taylor composed an
eloquent
panegyric dedicated to Dr. Sydenham,
which
appeared in seven journals and was
reprinted,
with some changes, in Taylor’s Miscellanies.
According to the outline in The Platonist,
Taylor’s life after his attaining the
support
of a few sincere and enthusiastic friends
was largely devoted to his literary
work.
In 1787, he published his translation
of
The Mystical Hymns of Orpheus, and
this was
followed in regular order by most of
his
other translations and original writings.
To conserve space, a check list of
these
important books will be found at the
end
of this biographical outline. In 1788,
the
Marquis de Valadi, a French nobleman
with
philosophic inclinations, visited England
in search of Pythagorean lore. He presented
himself to Thomas Taylor and, with
true French
enthusiasm, is said to have thrown
himself
at the master’s feet. He presented
Taylor
with a small sum of money, which constituted
his entire fortune at the moment, and
begged
with great humility to become a disciple.
Taylor received him most graciously,
and
for a time instructed the Marquis in
the
essentials of philosophy. In due course,
however, Valadi decided that the contemplative
life was not for him, and he re-turned
to
France to take part in the political
commotion
then agitating the country. He bade
adieu
in full military attire, remarking,
“I am
going back to Alexander.”
About 1791, while working in the British
Museum, Taylor discovered a remarkable
Hymn
of Proclus to Athena. Taylor was fortunate
in having the facilities of the Museum
at
his disposal, for while it was not
the institution
it is today, it was rich in ancient
works,
most of which were unknown to 18th-century
scholars. It was Mr. Samuel Patterson
who
recorded the incident which led to
the translation
of Pausanias, The Description of Greece,
which appeared in 1794. Patterson was
present,
and remarked that the assignment was
“enough
to break a man’s heart.” The bookseller
replied
easily, “Oh, nothing will break the
heart
of Mr. Taylor.” The work was completed
in
ten months, including all the notes
and addenda,
and for his labor Taylor received sixty
pounds.
The strain of this assignment was so
great
that when the manuscript was finished
Taylor
lost the use of the forefinger of his
right
hand, which he never regained.
As may be expected, the critics attacked
the translation of Pausanias, intimating
that Mr. Taylor was no scholar. He
answered
his principal critic, Mr. Porson, as
follows:
“I only add that their invidious insinuation
that I do not understand Greek is too
contemptible
to merit a reply, unless they mean
that my
knowledge of Greek is by no means to
be compared
with that of Mr. Porson, because I
am not,
like him, unable to do anything without
accents:
for I confess, that in this respect
I am
so far inferior to him, that I can
read a
philosophic Greek manuscript without
accents
with nearly as much facility as a book
written
in my native tongue.”
During the six years between 1795 and
1801,
Taylor translated the remaining dialogues
of Plato which had not been completed
by
Dr. Floyer Sydenham, and continued
his work
upon the writings of Aristotle. During
this
period also, he contributed to several
periodicals,
where some of his most important writings
first appeared. About 1799, Taylor
became
assistant secretary to the Society
for the
Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures,
and
Commerce. Through the efforts of his
friends,
he secured a large majority of votes
for
this office, but he was forced to relinquish
it because his health would not permit
the
additional exertion. Soon after this,
he
engaged in a philosophical controversy
with
Dr. Gilles, whom he vanquished to the
satisfaction
of everyone except Dr. Gilles. About
this
time also, Taylor paid a special tribute
to William George Meredith to whom
he expressed
deepest friendship and the most profound
gratitude for his continuous assistance
and
inspiration. He also answered Dr. Gilles
in a pamphlet published in 1804. The
Miscellanies
in Prose and Verse, which appeared
in 1805,
is especially interesting because it
contains
Taylor’s original summary of Platonic
philosophy
under the title The Creed of the Platonic
Philosopher.
At this time, Taylor was also at work
on
his original translation of the complete
Aristotle in ten volumes, which is
the most
rare of his productions. He said that
only
fifty copies would be printed of each
volume,
and that they would be distributed
according
to his own discretion. Unfortunately,
this
monument to erudition has never been
reprinted,
and complete sets are almost unobtainable.
Mr. Bridgman, the critic who reviewed
this
work, was as unpleasant as possible;
but
he is forgotten, and Taylor’s memory
remains
green. In 1809, the audacious Mr. Taylor
published anonymously his Arguments
of the
Emperor Julian Against the Christians.
This
book had the distinction of being rigidly
suppressed and most of the copies destroyed.
We are fortunate in having an original
copy
of this book, which belonged to an
intimate
friend of Taylor’s, in our library.
In 1818, Taylor was heartened by a
very pleasant
letter which he received from Dr. Copleston,
provost of Oriel College. This letter
paid
high tribute to the depth and dignity
of
Taylor’s translation of Aristotle’s
Nicomachean
Ethics, which enjoyed a second edition.
Such
encouragement was cherished by the
scholar
because it was rare, especially coming
from
an advanced authority in the field.
After
1818, Taylor gave special consideration
to
the Neo-Platonic philosophy, and in
1822
he produced his well-known translation
of
the philosophical works of Apuleius,
from
the original Latin. This is probably
the
most often reprinted of Taylor’s translations.
The last of his works appeared in 1834,
and
consisted of several treatises of Plotinus.
It is noteworthy that there was no
indication
that his faculties or powers were diminishing.
Thomas Taylor passed from this life
early
on Sunday morning, the first day of
November,
1835. The Reverend Alexander Dyce,
the distinguished
editor of Shakespeare, was with Taylor
the
day before his death. He recorded his
visit
as follows:
“That he [Taylor] endeavored to carry
into
practice the precepts of the ancient
philosophers
is sufficiently notorious; that he
did so
to the last hour of his existence I
myself
had a proof: the day before he died
I went
to see him, and to my inquiry, ‘how
he was?’
he answered, ‘I have passed a dreadful
night
of pain,--but you remember what Posidonios
said to Pompey,’ (that pain was no
evil).”
Thomas Taylor wrote his own epitaph,
and
it would be difficult to imagine lines
more
appropriate.
“Health, strength, and ease, and manhood’s
active age, Freely I gave to Plato’s
sacred
cave.
With Truth’s pure joys, with Fame my
days
were crown’d, Tho’ Fortune adverse
on my
labors frown’d.”
The following description of Mr. Taylor
will
help to complete the picture. He was
described
as of medium size, well-proportioned,
with
an open, regular, and benevolent countenance.
There was a quiet dignity about him,
but
no intellectual affectations of any
kind.
His manner was such that he won the
friendship
and affection of all who knew him well.
His
dress was simple, and his conduct irreproachable.
Even among friends, he would never
compromise
his principles, but he was free and
easy,
and never attempted to dominate situations.
As he grew older, his appearance became
memorable,
but his manner was always gracious,
without
pride, haughtiness, or vanity. He had
an
extraordinary memory, which was always
available,
and he was an acute ob-server with
a profound
understanding of human nature. A wonderful
conversationalist, he possessed an
inexhaustible
fund of anecdotes, and was able to
entertain
his associates without ever becoming
personal
or referring to his own joys or sorrows.
Though a profound mathematician, he
had none
of the attributes of a traditional
scholar.
His abilities were diversified, but
his purpose
always the service of truth. Taylor
has been
called the Great English Pagan, and
it seems
that he even attempted, in a quiet
way, to
re-establish some of the rituals of
the Greek
religion. Early in their marriage,
he taught
his wife the Greek language, and it
was used
extensively in their home. There is
a report
that in order that he might more readily
comprehend the times and circumstances
of
the great philosophic era, he lived
in a
Grecian fashion, even in matters of
food
and clothing, but of this we can find
no
documentary proof.
The interest in the work of Thomas
Taylor
has increased through the years, and
his
books, which have remained scarce from
lack
of reprinting, are highly regarded
by all
students who wish to understand the
soul
of classical thinking. A tribute to
his memory
is both proper and timely.
Thomas Taylor produced some of the
most insightful
translations of the work of Plato even
written,
his series not only included excellent
translations
but commentaries by later Platonists
including
Proclus, Hermias, Damascius and Olympiodurus.
For anyone interested in philosophy,
the
Mysteries and esotericism his works
are of
great significance. For many years
only a
small selection of his translations
were
available, many through the Philosophical
Research Foundation in the USA. Recently,
the Prometheus Trust in England has
published
a definitive set of his work. The Thomas
Taylor Series includes 26 volumes,
all cloth
bound in Arbelave Library buckram and
printed
in a easy to read modern typeface on
wood-free
paper. Many of the works in this series
have
never been republished since their
original
release during Thomas Taylor’s lifetime.
This is a superb collection which deserves
a place in the library of anyone with
an
interest in philosophy and more especially
an interest in the religious and esoteric
traditions as represented within Platonism.
INTRODUCTION TO THE PHILOSOPHY AND WRITINGS
OF PLATO
By THOMAS
TAYLOR
"Philosophy," says
Hierocles, "is
the purification and perfection
of human
life. It is the purification,
indeed, from
material irrationality, and
the mortal body;
but the perfection, in consequence
of being
the resumption of our proper
felicity, and
a reascent to the divine likeness.
To effect
these two is the province of
Virtue and Truth;
the former exterminating the
immoderation
of the passions; and the latter
introducing
the divine form to those who
are naturally
adapted to its reception."
Of philosophy thus defined,
which may be
compared to a luminous pyramid,
terminating
in Deity, and having for its
basis the rational
soul of man and its spontaneous
unperverted
conceptions,--of this philosophy,
August,
magnificent, and divine, Plato
may be justly
called the primary leader and
hierophant,
through whom, like the mystic
light in the
inmost recesses of some sacred
temple, it
first shone forth with occult
and venerable
splendour.[1] It may indeed
be truly said
of the whole of this philosophy,
that it
is the greatest good which
man can participate:
for if it purifies us from
the defilements
of the passions and assimilates
us to Divinity,
it confers on us the proper
felicity of our
nature. Hence it is easy to
collect its pre-eminence
to all other philosophies;
to show that where
they oppose it, they are erroneous;
that
so far as they contain any
thing scientific
they are allied to it; and
that at best they
are but rivulets derived from
this vast ocean
of truth.
- [1] In the mysteries a light of this kind
shone forth from the adytum of the temple
in which they were exhibited.
-
To evince that the philosophy
of Plato possesses
this preeminence; that its
dignity and sublimity
are unrivaled; that it is the
parent of all
that ennobles man; and, that
it is founded
on principles, which neither
time can obliterate,
nor sophistry subvert, is the
principal design
of this Introduction.
To effect this design, I shall
in the first
place present the reader with
the outlines
of the principal dogmas of
Plato's philosophy.
The undertaking is indeed no
less novel than
arduous, since the author of
it has to tread
in paths which have been untrodden
for upwards
of a thousand years, and to
bring to light
truths which for that extended
period have
been concealed in Greek. Let
not the reader,
therefore, be surprised at
the solitariness
of the paths through which
I shall attempt
to conduct him, or at the novelty
of the
objects which will present
themselves in
the journey: for perhaps he
may fortunately
recollect that he has traveled
the same road
before, that the scenes were
once familiar
to him, and that the country
through which
he is passing is his native
land. At, least,
if his sight should be dim,
and his memory
oblivious, (for the objects
which he will
meet with can only be seen
by the most piercing
eyes,) and his absence from
them has been
lamentably long, let him implore
the power
of wisdom,
From mortal mists to purify
his eyes, That
God and man he may distinctly
see.
Let us also, imploring the
assistance of
the same illuminating power,
begin the solitary
journey.
Of all the dogmas of Plato,
that concerning
the first principle of things
as far transcends
in sublimity the doctrine of
other philosophers
of a different sect, on this
subject, as
this supreme cause of all transcends
other
causes. For, according to Plato,
the highest
God, whom in the Republic he
calls the good,
and in the Parmenides the one,
is not only
above soul and intellect, but
is even superior
to being itself. Hence, since
every thing
which can in any respect be
known, or of
which any thing can be asserted,
must be
connected with the universality
of things,
but the first cause is above
all things,
it is very properly said by
Plato to be perfectly
ineffable. The first hypothesis
therefore
of his, Parmenides, in which
all things are
denied of this immense principle,
concludes
as follows: "The one therefore
is in
no respect. So it seems. Hence
it is not
in such a manner as to be one,
for thus it
would be being, and participate
of essence;
but as it appears, the one
neither is one,
nor is, if it be proper to
believe in reasoning
of this kind. It appears so.
But can any
thing either belong to, or
be affirmed of
that, which is not? How can
it? Neither therefore
does any name belong to it,
nor discourse,
nor any science, nor sense,
nor opinion.
It does not appear that there
can. Hence
it can neither be named, nor
spoken of, nor
conceived by opinion, nor be
known, nor perceived
by any being. So it seems."
And here
it must be observed that this
conclusion
respecting the highest principle
of things,
that he is perfectly ineffable
and inconceivable,
is the result of a most scientific
series
of negations, in which not
only all sensible
and intellectual beings are
denied of him,
but even natures the most transcendently
allied to him, his first and
most divine
progeny. For that which so
eminently distinguishes
the philosophy of Plato from
others is this,
that every part of it is stamped
with the
character of science. The vulgar
indeed proclaim
the Deity to be ineffable;
but as they have
no scientific knowledge that
he is so, this
is nothing more than a confused
and indistinct
perception of the most sublime
of all truths,
like that of a thing seen between
sleeping
and waking, like Phaeacia to
Ulysses when
sailing to his native land,
That lay before him indistinct
and vast,
Like a broad shield amid the
watr'y waste.
In short, an unscientific perception
of the
ineffable nature of the Divinity
resembles
that of a man, who on surveying
the heavens,
should assert of the altitude
of its highest
part, that it surpasses that
of the loftiest
tree, and is therefore immeasurable.
But
to see this scientifically,
is like a survey
of this highest part of the
heavens by the
astronomer; for he by knowing
the height
of the media between us and
it, knows also
scientifically that it transcends
in altitude
not only the loftiest tree;
but the summits
of air and aether, the moon,
and even the
sun itself.
Let us therefore investigate
what is the
ascent to the ineffably, and
after what manner
it is accomplished, according
to Plato, from
the last of things, following
the profound
and most inquisitive Damascius
as our leader
in this arduous investigation.
Let our discourse
also be common to other principles,
and to
things proceeding from them
to that which
is last, and let us, beginning
from that
which is perfectly effable
and known to sense,
ascend too the ineffable, and
establish in
silence, as in a port, the
parturitions of
truth concerning it. Let us
then assume the
following axiom, in which as
in a secure
vehicle we may safely pass
from hence thither.
I say, therefore, that the
unindigent is
naturally prior to the indigent.
For that
which is in want of another
is naturally
adapted from necessity to be
subservient
to that of which it is indigent.
But if they
are mutually in want of each
other, each
being indigent of the other
in a different
respect, neither of them will
be the principle.
For the unindigent is most
adapted to that
which is truly the principle.
And if it is
in want of any thing, according
to this it
will not be the principle.
It is however
necessary that the principles
should be this
very thing, the principle alone.
The unindigent
therefore pertains to this,
nor must it by
any means be acknowledged that
there is any
thing prior to it. This however,
would be
acknowledged if it had any
connection with
the indigent.
Let us then consider body,
(that is, a triply
extended substance,) endued
with quality;
for this is the first thing
effable by us,
and is, sensible. Is this then
the principle
of things? But it is two things,
body, and
quality which is in body as
a subject. Which
of these therefore is by nature
prior? For
both are indigent of their
proper parts;
and that also which is in a
subject is indigent
of the subject. Shall we say
then that body
itself is the principle of
the first essence?
But this is impossible. For,
in the first
place, the principle will not
receive any
thing from that which is posterior
to itself.
But body, we say is the recipient
of quality.
Hence quality, and a subsistence
in conjunction
with it, are not derived from
body, since
quality is present with body
as something
different. And, in the second
place, body
is every way, divisible; its
several parts
are indigent of each other,
and the whole
is indigent of all the parts.
As it is indigent,
therefore, and receives its
completion from
things which are indigent,
it will not be
entirely unindigent.
Further still, if it is not
one but united,
it will require, as Plato says,
the connecting
one. It is likewise something
common and
formless, being as it were
a certain matter.
It requires, therefore, ornament
and the
possession of form, that it
may not be merely
body, but a body with a certain
particular
quality; as for instance, a
fiery, or earthly,
body, and, in short, body adorned
and invested
with a particular quality.
Hence the things
which accede to it, finish
and adorn it.
Is then that which accedes
the principle?
But this is impossible. For
it does not abide
in itself, nor does it subsist
alone, but
is in a subject of which also
it is indigent.
If, however, some one should
assert that
body is not a subject, but
one of the elements
in each, as for instance, animal
in horses
and man, thus also each will
be indigent
of the other, viz. this subject,
and that
which is in the subject; or
rather the common
element, animal, and the peculiarities,
as
the rational and irrational,
will be indigent.
For elements are always, indigent
of each
other, and that which is composed
from elements
is indigent of the elements.
In short, this
sensible nature, and which
is so manifest
to us, is neither body, for
this does not
of itself move the senses,
nor quality; for
this does not possess an interval
commensurate
with sense. Hence, that which
is the object
of sight, is neither body nor
color; but
colored body, or color corporalized,
is that
which is motive of the sight.
And universally,
that which its sensible, which
is body with
a particular quality, is motive
of sense.
From hence it is evident that
the thing which
excites the sense is something
incorporeal.
For if it was body, it would
not yet be the
object of sense. Body therefore
requires
that which is incorporeal,
and that which
is incorporeal, body. For an
incorporeal
nature, is not of itself sensible.
It is,
however, different from body,
because these
two possess prerogatives different
from each
other, and neither of these
subsists prior
to the other; but being elements
of one sensible
thing, they are present with
each other;
the one imparting interval
to that which
is void of interval, but the
other introducing
to that which is formless,
sensible variety
invested with form. In the
third place, neither
are both these together the
principles; since
they are not unindigent. For
they stand in
need of their proper elements,
and of that
which conducts them to the
generation of
one form. For body cannot effect
this, since
it is of itself impotent; nor
quality, since
it is not able to subsist separate
from the
body in which it is, or together
with which
it has its being. The composite
therefore
either produces itself, which
is impossible,
for it does not converge to
itself, but the
whole of it is multifariously
dispersed,
or it is not produced by itself,
and there
is some other principle prior
to it.
Let it then be supposed to
be that which
is called nature, being a principle
of motion
and rest, in that which is
moved and at rest,
essentially and not according
to accident.
For this is something more
simple, and is
fabricative of composite forms.
If, however,
it is in the things fabricated,
and does
not subsist separate from nor
prior to them,
but stands in need of them
for its being,
it will not be unindigent;
though its possesses
something transcendent with
respect to them,
viz. the power of fashioning
and fabricating
them. For it has its being
together with
them, and has in them an inseparable
subsistence;
so that, when they are it is,
and is not
when they are not, and this
in consequence
of perfectly verging to them,
and not being
able to sustain that which
is appropriate.
For the power of increasing,
nourishing,
and generating similars, and
the one prior
to these three, viz. nature,
is not wholly
incorporeal, but is nearly
a certain quality
of body, from which it alone
differs, in
that it imparts to the composite
to be inwardly
moved and at rest. For the
quality of that
which is sensible imparts that
which is apparent
in matter, and that which falls
on sense.
But body imparts interval every
way extended;
and nature, an inwardly proceeding
natural
energy, whether according to
place only,
or according to nourishing,
increasing, and
generating things similar.
Nature, however,
is inseparable from a subject,
and is indigent,
so that it will not be in short
the principle,
since it is indigent of that
which is subordinate.
For it will not be wonderful,
if being a
certain principle, it is indigent
of the
principle above it; but it
would be wonderful
if it were indigent of things
posterior to
itself, and of which it is
supposed to be
the principle.
By the like arguments we may
show that the
principle cannot be irrational
soul, whether
sensitive, or orectic. For
if it appears
that it has something separate,
together
with impulsive and Gnostic
enemies, yet at
the same time it is bound in
body, and has
something inseparable from
it; since it is
notable to convert itself to
itself, but
its enemy is mingled with its
subject. For
it is evident that its essence
is something
of this kind; since if it were
liberated
and in itself free, it would
also evince
a certain independent enemy,
and would not
always be converted to body;
but sometimes
it would be converted to itself;
or though
it were always converted to
body, yet it
would judge and explore itself.
The energies,
therefore, of the multitude
of mankind, (though
they are conversant with externals,)
yet,
at the same time they exhibit
that which
is separate about them. For
they consult
how they should engage in them,
and observe
that deliberation is necessary,
in order
to effect or be passive to
apparent good,
or to decline something of
the contrary.
But the impulses of other animals
are uniform
and spontaneous, are moved
together with
the sensible organs, and require
the senses
alone that they may obtain
from sensibles
the pleasurable, and avoid
the painful. If,
therefore, the body communicates
in pleasure
and pain, and is affected in
a certain respect
by them, it is evident that
the psychical
energies, (i. e. energies belonging
to the
soul) are exerted, mingled
with bodies, and
are not purely psychical, but
are also corporeal;
for perception is of the animated
body, or
of the soul corporalized, though
in such
perception the psychical idiom
predominates
over the corporeal; just as
in bodies, the
corporeal idiom has dominion
according to
interval and subsistence. As
the irrational
soul, therefore, has its being
in something
different from itself, so far
it is indigent
of the subordinate: but a thing
of this kind
will not be the principle.
Prior them to this essence,
we see a certain
form separate from a subject,
and converted
to itself, such as is the rational
nature.
Our soul, therefore, presides
over its proper
energies and corrects itself.
This, however,
would not be the case, unless
it was converted
to itself; and it would not
be converted,
to itself unless it had a separate
essence.
It is not therefore indigent
of the subordinate.
Shall we then say that it is
the most perfect
principle? But, it does not
at once exert
all its energies, but is always
indigent
of the greater part. The principle,
however,
wishes to have nothing indigent:
but the
rational nature is an essence
in want of
its own energies. Some one,
however, may
say that it is an eternal essence,
and has
never-failing essential energies,
always
concurring with its essence,
according to
the self-moved and ever vital,
and that it
is therefore unindigent; but
the principle
is perfectly unindigent. Soul
therefore,
and which exerts mutable energies,
will not
be the most proper principle.
Hence it is
necessary that there should
be something
prior to this, which is in
every respect
immutable, according to nature,
life, and
knowledge, and according to
all powers and
enemies, such as we assert
an eternal and
immutable essence to be, and
such as is much
honoured intellect, to which
Aristotle having
ascended, thought he had discovered
the first
principle. For what can be
wanting to that
which perfectly comprehends
in itself its
own plenitudes (oleromata),
and of which
neither addition nor ablation
changes any
thing belonging to it? Or is
not this also,
one and many, whole and parts,
containing
in itself, things first, middle,
and last?
The subordinate plenitudes
also stand in
need of the more excellent,
and the more
excellent of the subordinate,
and the whole
of the parts. For the things
related are
indigent of each other, and
what are first
of what are last, through the
same cause;
for it is not of itself that
which is first.
Besides, the one here is indigent
of the
many, because it has its subsistence
in the
many. Or it may be said, that
this one is
collective of the many, and
this not by itself,
but in conjunction with them.
Hence there
is much of the indigent in
this principle.
For since intellect generates
in itself its
proper plenitudes from which
the whole at
once receives its completion,
it will be
itself indigent of itself,
not only that
which is generated of that
which generates,
but also that which generates,
of that which
is generated, in order to the
whole completion
of that which wholly generates
itself. Further
still, intellect understands
and is understood,
is intellective of and intelligible
to itself,
and both these. Hence the intellectual
is
indigent of the intelligible,
as of its proper
object of desire; and the intelligible
is
in want of the intellectual,
because it wishes
to be the intelligible of it.
Both also are
indigent of either, since the
possession
is always accompanied with
indigence, in
the same manner as the world
is always present
with matter. Hence a certain
indigence is
naturally coessentiallized
with intellect,
so that it cannot be the most
proper principle.
Shall we, therefore, in the
next place, direct
our attention to the most simple
of beings,
which Plato calls the one being,
[Greek:
en on]? For as there is no
separation there
throughout the Whole, nor any
multitude,
or order, or duplicity, or
conversion to
itself, what indigence will
there appear
to me, in the perfectly united?
And especially
what indigence will there be
of that which
is subordinate? Hence the great
Parmenides
ascended to this most safe
principle, as
that which is most unindigent.
Is it not,
however, here necessary to
attend to the
conception of Plato, that the
united is not
the one itself, but that which
is passive[2]
to it? And this being the case,
it is evident
that it ranks after the one;
for it is supposed
to be the united and not the
one itself.
If also being is composed from
the elements
bound and infinity, as appears
from the Philebus
of Plato, where he calls it
that which is
mixt, it will be indigent of
its elements.
Besides, if the conception
of being is different
from that of being united,
and that which
is a whole is both united and
being, these
will be indigent of each other,
and the whole
which is called one being is
indigent of
the two. And though the one
in this is better
than being, yet this is indigent
of being,
in order to the subsistence
of one being.
But if being here supervenes
the one, as
it were, form in that which
is mixt and united,
just as the idiom of man in
that which is
collectively rational-mortal-animal,
thus
also the one will be indigent
of being. If,
however, to speak more properly,
the one
is two-fold; this being the
cause of the
mixture, and subsisting prior
to being, but
that conferring rectitude,
on being,--if
this be the case, neither will
the indigent
perfectly desert this nature.
After all these,
it may be said that the one
will be perfectly
unindigent. For neither is
it indigent of
that which is posterior to
itself for its
subsistence, since the truly
one is by itself
separated from all things;
nor is it indigent
of that which is inferior or
more excellent
in itself; for there is nothing
in it besides
itself; nor is it in want of
itself. But
it is one, because neither
has it any duplicity
with respect to itself. For
not even the
relation of itself to itself
must be asserted
of the truly one; since it
is perfectly simple.
This, therefore, is the most
unindigent of
all things. Hence this is the
principle and
the cause of all; and this
is at once the
first of all things. If these
qualities,
however, are present with it,
it will not
be the one. Or may we not say
that all things
subsist in the one according
to the one?
And that both these subsist
in it, and such
other things as we predicate
of it, as, for
instance, the most simple,
the most excellent,
the most powerful, the preserver
of all things,
and the good itself? If these
things, however,
are thus true of the one, it
will thus also
be indigent of things posterior
to itself,
according to those very things
which we add
to it. For the principle is,
and is said
to be the principle of things
proceeding
from it, and the cause is the
cause of things
caused, and the first is the
first of things
arranged, posterior to it.[3]
- [2] See the Sophista of Plato, where this
is asserted.
[3] For a thing cannot be said
to be a principle
or cause without the subsistence
of the things
of which it is the principle
or cause. Hence,
so far as it is a principle
or cause, it
will be indigent of the subsistence
of these.
-
Further still, the simple subsists
according
to a transcendency of other
things, the most
powerful according to power
with relation
to the subjects of it; and
the good, the
desirable, and the preserving,
are so called
with reference to things benefitted,
preserved,
and desiring. And if it should
be said to
be all things according to
the preassumption
of all things in itself, it
will indeed be
said to be so according to
the one alone,
and will at the same time be
the one cause
of all things prior to all,
and will be thus,
and no other according to the
one. So far,
therefore, as it is the one
alone, it will
be unindigent; but so far as
unindigent,
it will be the first principle,
and stable
root of all principles. So
far, however,
as it is the principle and
the first cause
of all things, and is pre-established
as
the object of desire to all
things, so far
it appears to be in a certain
respect indigent
of the things to which it is
related. It
has therefore, if it be lawful
so to speak,
an ultimate vestige of indigence,
just as
on the contrary matter has
an ultimate echo
of the unindigent, or a most
obscure and
debile impression of the one.
And language
indeed appears to be here subverted.
For
so far as it is the one, it
is also unindigent,
since the principle has appeared
to subsist
according to the most unindigent
and the
one. At the same time, however,
so far as
it is the one, it is also the
principle;
and so far as it is the one
it is unindigent,
but so far as the principle,
indigent. Hence
so far as it is unindigent,
it is also indigent,
though not according to the
same; but with
respect to being that which
it is, it is
undigent; but as producing
and comprehending
other things in itself, it
is indigent. This,
however, is the peculiarity
of the one; so
that it is both unindigent
and indigent according
to the one. Not indeed than
it is each of
these, in such a manner as
we divide it in
speaking of it, but it is one
alone; and
according to this is both other
things, and
that which is indigent. For
how is it possible,
it should not be indigent also
so far as
it is the one? Just as it is
all other things
which proceed from it. For
the indigent also
is, something belonging to
all things. Something
else, therefore, must be investigated
which
in no respect has any kind
of indigence.
But of a thing of this kind
it cannot with
truth be asserted that it is
the principle,
nor can it even be said of
it that it is
most unindigent, though this
appears to be
the most venerable of all assertions.[4]
--------------- [4] See the
extracts from
Damascius in the additional
notes to the
third volume, which contain
an inestimable
treasury of the most profound
conceptions
concerning the ineffable.
-
For this signifies transcendency,
and an
exemption from the indigent.
We do not, however,
think it proper to call this
even the perfectly
exempt; but that which is in
every respect
incapable of being apprehended,
and about
which we must be perfectly
silent, will be
the most, just axiom of our
conception in
the present investigation;
nor yet this as
uttering any thing, but as
rejoicing in not
uttering, and by this venerating
that immense
unknown. This then is the mode
of ascent
to that which is called the
first, or rather
to that which is beyond every
thing which
can be conceived, or become
the subject of
hypothesis.
There is also another mode,
which does not
place the unindigent before
the indigent,
but considers that which is
indigent of a
more excellent nature, as subsisting
secondary
to that which is more excellent.
Every where
then, that which is in capacity
is secondary
to that which is in energy.
For that it may
proceed into energy, and that
it may not
remain in capacity in vain,
it requires that
which is in energy. For the
more excellent
never blossoms from the subordinate
nature.
Let this then be defined by
us according
to common unperverted conceptions.
Matter
therefore has prior to itself
material form;
because all matter is form
in capacity, whether
it be the first matter which
is perfectly
formless, or the second which
subsists according
to body void of quality, or
in other words
mere triple extension, to which
it is likely
those directed their attention
who first
investigated sensibles, and
which at first
appeared to be the only thing
that had a
subsistence. For the existence
of that which
is common in the different
elements, persuaded
them that there is a certain
body void of
quality. But since, among bodies
of this
kind, some possess the governing
principle
inwardly, and others externally,
such as
things artificial, it is necessary
besides
quality to direct our attention
to nature,
as being something better than
qualities,
and which is prearranged in
the order of
cause, as art is, of things
artificial. Of
things, however, which are
inwardly governed,
some appear to possess being
alone, but others
to be nourished and increased,
and to generate
things similar to themselves.
There is therefore
another certain cause prior
to the above-mentioned
nature, viz. a vegetable power
itself. But
it is evident that all such
things as are
ingenerated in body as in a
subject, are
of themselves incorporeal,
though they become
corporeal by the participation
of that in
which they subsist, so that
they are said
to be and are material in consequence
of
what they suffer from matter.
Qualities therefore,
and still more natures, and
in a still greater
degree the vegetable life,
preserve the incorporeal
in themselves. Since however,
sense exhibits
another more conspicuous life,
pertaining
to beings which are moved according
to impulse
and place, this must be established
prior
to that, as being a more proper
principle,
and as the supplier of a certain
better form,
that of a self-moved animal,
and which naturally
precedes plants rooted in the
earth. The
animal however, is not accurately
self-moved.
For the whole is not such throughout
they
whole; but a part moves and
a part is moved.
This therefore is the apparent
self-moved.
Hence, prior to this it is
necessary there
should be that which is truly
self-moved,
and which according to the
whole of itself
moves ands is moved, that the
apparently
self-moved may be the image
of this. And
indeed the soul which moves
the body must
be considered as a more proper
self-moved
essence. This, however, is
twofold, the one
rational, the other irrational.
For that
there is a rational soul is
evident: or has
not every one a cosensation
of himself, more
clear or more obscure, when
converted to
himself in the attentions to
and investigations
of himself, and in the vital
and Gnostic
animadversions of himself?
For the essence
which is capable of this, and
which can collect
universals by reasoning, will
very justly
be rational. The irrational
soul also, though
it does not appear to investigate
these things,
and to reason with itself,
yet at the same
time it moves bodies from place
to place,
being itself previously moved
from itself;
for at different times it exerts
a different
impulse. Does it therefore
move itself from
one impulse to another? or
it is moved by
something else, as, for instance,
by the
whole rational soul in the
universe? But
it would be absurd to say that
the energies
of every irrational soul are
not the energies
of that soul, but of one more
divine; since
they are infinite, and mingled
with much
of the base and imperfect.
For this would
be just the same as to say
that the irrational
enemies are the energies of
the rational
soul. I omit to mention the
absurdity of
supposing that the whole essence
is not generative
of its proper energies. For
if the irrational
soul is a certain essence,
it will have peculiar
energies of its own, not imparted
from something
else, but proceeding from itself.
This irrational
soul, therefore, will also
move itself at
different times to different
impulses. But
if it moves itself, it will
be converted
to itself. If, however, this
be the case,
it will have a separate subsistence,
and
will not be in a subject. It
is therefore
rational, if it looks to itself:
for in being
converted to, it surveys itself.
For when
extended to things external,
it looks to
externals, or rather it looks
to colored
body, but does not see itself,
because sight
itself is neither body nor
that which is
colored. Hence it does not
revert to itself.
Neither therefore is this the
case with any
other irrational nature. For
neither does
the phantasy project a type
of itself, but
of that which is sensible,
as for instance
of colored body. Nor does irrational
appetite
desire itself, but aspires
after a certain
object of desire, such as honor,
or pleasure,
or riches. It does not therefore
move itself.
But if some one, on seeing
that brutes exert
rational energies, should apprehend
that
these also participate of the
first self-moved,
and on this account possess
a soul converted
to itself, it may perhaps be
granted to him
that these also are rational
natures, except
that they are not so essentially,
but according
to participation, and this
most obscure,
just as the rational soul may
be said to
be intellectual according to
participation,
as always projecting common
conceptions without
distortion. It must however
be observed,
that the extreme are that which
is capable
of being perfectly separated,
such as the
rational form, and that which
is perfectly
inseparable, such as corporeal
quality, and
that in the middle of these
nature subsists,
which verges to the inseparable,
having a
small representation of the
separable and
the irrational soul, which
verges to the
separable; or it appears in
a certain respect
to subsist by itself, separate
from a subject;
so that it becomes doubtful
whether it is
self-motive, or alter-motive.
For it contains
an abundant vestige of self-motion,
but not
that which is true and converted
to itself,
and on this account perfectly
separated from
a subject. And the vegetable
soul has in
a certain respect a middle
subsistence. On
this account to some of the
ancients it appeared
to be a certain soul, but to
others, nature.
Again, therefore, that we may
return to the
proposed object of investigation,
how can
a self-motive nature of this
kind, which
is mingled with the alter-motive,
be the
first principle of things?
For it neither
subsists from itself, nor does
it in reality
perfect itself; but it requires
a certain
other nature, both for its
subsistence and
perfection: and prior to it
is that which
is truly self-moved. Is therefore
that which
is properly self-moved the
principle, and
is it indigent of no form more
excellent
than itself? Or is not that
which moves always
naturally prior to that which
is moved; and
in short does not every form
which is pure
from its contrary subsist by
itself prior
to that which is mingled with
it? And is
not the pure the cause of the
commingled?
For that which is coessentialized
with another
has also an energy mingled
with that other.
So that a self-moved nature
will indeed,
make itself; but thus subsisting
it will
be at the same time moving
and moved, but
will not be made a moving nature
only. For
neither is it this alone. Every
form however
is always alone according to
its first subsistence;
so that there will be that
which moves only
without being moved. And indeed
it would
be absurd that there should
be that which
is moved only such as body,
but that prior
both to that which is self-moved
and that
which is moved only, there
should not be
that which moves only. For
it is evident
that there must be, since this
will be a
more excellent nature, and
that which is
self-moved, so far as it moves
itself, is
more excellent than so far
as it is moved.
It is necessary therefore that
the essence
which moves unmoved, should
be first, as
that which is moved, not being
motive, is
the third, in the middle of
which is the
self-moved, which we say requires
that which
moves in order to its becoming
motive. In
short, if it is moved, it will
not abide,
so far as it is moved; and
if it moves, it
is necessary it should remain
moving so far
as it moves. Whence then does
it derive the
power of abiding? For from
itself it derives
the power either of being moved
only, or
of at the same time abiding
and being moved
wholly according to the same.
Whence then
does it simply obtain the power
of abiding?
Certainly from that which simply
abides.
But, this is an immovable cause.
We must
therefore admit that the immovable
is prior
to the self moved. Let us consider
then if
the immovable is the most proper
principle?
But how is this possible? For
the immovable
contains as numerous a multitude
immovably;
as the self-moved self-moveably.
Besides
an immovable separation must
necessarily
subsist prior to a self-moveable
separation.
The unmoved therefore is at
the same time
one and many, and is at the
same time united
and separated, and a nature
of this kind
is denominated intellect. But
it is evident
that the united in this is
naturally prior
to and more honorable than
the separated.
For separation is always indigent
of union;
but not, on the contrary, union
of separation.
Intellect, however, has not
the united pure
from its opposite. For intellectual
form
is coessentialized with the
separated, through
the whole of itself. Hence
that which is
in a certain respect united
requires that
which is simply united; and
that which subsists
with another is indigent of
that which subsists
by itself; and that which subsists
according
to participation, of that which
subsists
according to essence. For intellect
being
self-subsistent produces itself
as united,
and at the same time separated.
Hence it
subsists according to both
these. It is produced
therefore from that which is
simply united
and alone united. Prior therefore
to that
which is formal is the uncircumscribed,
and
undistributed into forms. And
this is that
which we call the united, and
which the wise
men of antiquity denominated
being, possessing
in one contraction multitude,
subsisting
prior to the many.
Having therefore arrived thus
far, let us
here rest for a while, and
consider with
ourselves, whether being is
the investigated
principle of all things. For
what will there
be which does not participate
of being? May
we not say, that this, if it
is the united,
will be secondary to the one,
and that by
participating of the one it
becomes the united?
But in short; if we conceive
the one to be
something different from being,
if being
is prior to the one, it will
not participate
of the one. It will therefore
be many only,
and these will be infinitely
infinite. But
if the one is with being, and
being with
the one, and they are either
coordinate or
divided from each other, there
will be two
principles, and the above-mentioned
absurdity
will happen. Or they will mutually
participate
of each other, and there will
be two elements.
Or they are parts of something
else, consisting
from both. And, if this be
the case, what
will that be which leads them
to union with
each other? For if the one
unites being to
itself (for this may be said),
the one also
will energize prior to being,
that it may
call forth and convert being
to itself. The
one, therefore, will subsist
from itself
self-perfect prior to being.
Further still,
the more simple is always prior
to the more
composite. If therefore they
are similarly
simple, there will either be
two principles,
or one from the two, and this
will be a composite.
Hence the simple and perfectly
incomposite
is prior to this, which must
be either one,
or not one; and if not one,
it must either
be many, or nothing. But with
respect to
nothing, if it signifies that
which is perfectly
void, it will signify something
vain. But
if it signifies the arcane,
this will not
even be that which is simple.
In short, we
cannot conceive any principle
more simple
than the one. The one therefore
is in every
respect prior to being. Hence
this is the
principle of all things, and
Plato recurring
to this, did not require any
other principle
in his reasonings. For the
arcane in which
this our ascent terminates
is not the principle
of reasoning, nor of knowledge,
nor of animals,
nor of beings, nor of unities,
but simply
of all things, being arranged
above every
conception and suspicion that
we can frame.
Hence Plato indicates nothing
concerning
it, but makes his negations
of all other
things except the one, from
the one. For
that the one is he denies in
the last place,
but he does not make a negation
of the one.
He also, besides this, even
denies this negation,
but not the one. He denies,
too, name and
conception, and all knowledge,
and what can
be said more, whole itself
and every being.
But let there be the united
and the unical,
and, if you will, the two principles
bound
and the infinite. Plato, however,
never in
any respect makes a negation
of the one which
is beyond all these. Hence
in the Sophista
he considers it as the one
prior to being,
and in the Republic as the
good beyond every
essence; but at the same time
the one alone
is left. Whether however is
it known and
effable, or unknown and ineffable?
Or is
it in a certain respect these,
and in a certain
respect not? For by a negation
of this it
may be said the ineffable is
affirmed. And
again, by the simplicity of
knowledge it
will be known or suspected,
but by composition
perfectly unknown. Hence neither
will it
be apprehended by negation.
And in short,
so far as it is admitted to
be one, so far
it will be coarranged with
other things,
which are the subject of position.
For it
is the summit of things, which
subsist according
to position. At the same time
there is much
in it of the ineffable and
unknown, the uncoordinated,
and that which is deprived
of position, but
these are accompanied with
a representation
of the Contraries: and the
former are more
excellent, than the latter.
But every where
things pure subsist prior to
their contraries,
and such as are unmingled to
the commingled.
For either things more excellent
subsist
in the one essentially, and
in a certain
respect the contraries of these
also will
be there at the same time;
or they subsist
according to participation,
and are derived
from that which is first a
thing of this
kind. Prior to the one, therefore,
is that
which is simply and perfectly
ineffable,
without position, uncoordinated,
and incapable
of being apprehended, to which
also the ascent
of the present discourse hastens
through
the clearest indications, omitting
none of
those natures between the first
and the last
of things.
Such then is the ascent to
the highest God,
according to the theology of
Plato, venerably
preserving his ineffable exemption
from all
things, and his transcendency,
which cannot
be circumscribed by any gnostic
energy, and
at the same time, unfolding
the paths which
lead upwards to him, and enkindling
that
luminous summit of the soul,
by which she
is conjoined with the incomprehensible
one.
From this truly ineffable principle,
exempt
from all essence, power, and
energy, a multitude
of divine natures, according
to Plato, immediately
proceeds. That this must necessarily
be the
case, will be admitted by the
reader who
understands what has been already
discussed,
and is fully demonstrated by
Plato in the
Parmenides, as will be evident
to the intelligent
from the notes on that Dialogue.
In addition
therefore to what I have staid
on this subject,
I shall further observe at
present that this
doctrine, which is founded
in the sublimest
and most scientific conceptions
of the human
mind, may be clearly shown
to be a legitimate
dogma of Plato from what is
asserted by him
in the sixth book of his Republic.
For he
there affirms, in the most
clear and unequivocal
terms, that the good, or the
ineffable principle
of things is superessential,
and shows by
the analogy of the sun to the
good, that
what light and sight are in
the visible,
that truth and intelligence
are in the intelligible
world. As light therefore,
immediately proceeds
from the sun, and wholly subsists
according
to a solar idiom or property,
so truth or
the immediate progeny of the
good, must subsist
according to a superessential
idiom. And
as the good, according to Plato,
is the same
with the one, as is evident
from the Parmenides,
the immediate progeny of the
one will be
the same as that of the good.
But, the immediate
offspring of the one cannot
be any thing
else than unities. And, hence
we necessarily
infer that according to Plato,
the immediate
offspring of the ineffable
principle of things
are superessential unities.
They differ however
from their immense principle
in this, that
he is superessential and ineffable,
without
any addition; but this divine
multitude is
participated by the several
orders of being,
which are suspended from and
produced by
it. Hence, in consequence of
being connected
with multitude through this
participation,
they are necessarily subordinate
to the one.
No less admirably, therefore,
than Platonically
does Simplicius, in his Commentary
of Epictetus,
observe on this subject as
follows: "The
fountain and principle of all
things is the
good: for that which all things
desire, and
to which all things are extended,
is the
principle and the end of all
things. The
good also produces from itself
all things,
first, middle, and last. But
it produces
such as are first and proximate
to itself,
similar to itself; one goodness,
many goodnesses,
one simplicity and unity which
transcends
all others, many, unities,
and one principle
many principles. For the one,
the principle,
the good, and deity, are the
same: for deity
is the first and the cause
of all things.
But it is necessary that the
first should
also be most simple; since
whatever is a
composite and has multitude
is posterior
to the one. And multitude and
things, which
are not good desire the good
as being above
them: and in short, that which
is not itself
the principle is from the principle.
But it is also necessary that
the principle
of all things should possess
the highest,
and all, power. For the amplitude
of power
consists in producing all things
from itself,
and in giving subsistence to
similars, prior
to things which are dissimilar.
Hence the
one principle produces many
principles, many
simplicities, and many goodnesses,
proximately
from itself. For since all
things differ
from each other, and are multiplied
with
their proper differences, each
of these multitudes
is suspended from its one proper
principle.
Thus, for instance, all beautiful
things,
whatever and wherever they
may be, whether
in souls or in bodies, are
suspended from
one fountain of beauty. Thus
too, whatever
possesses symmetry, and whatever
is true,
and all principles, are in
a certain respect,
connate with the first principle,
so far
as they are principles and
fountains and
goodnesses, with an appropriate
subjection
and analogy. For what the one
principle is
to all beings, that each of
the other principles
is to the multitude comprehended
under the
idiom of its principle. For
it is impossible,
since each multitude is characterized
by
a certain difference, that
it should not
be extended to its proper principle,
which
illuminates one and the same
form to all
the individuals of that multitude.
For the
one is the leader of every
multitude; and
every peculiarity or idiom
in the many is
derived to the many from the
one. All partial
principles therefore are established
in that
principle which ranks as a
whole, and are
comprehended in it, not with
interval and
multitude, but as parts in
the whole, as
multitude in the one, and number
in the monad.
For this first principle is
all things prior
to all: and many principles
are multiplied
about the one principle, and
in the one goodness,
many goodnesses are established.
This too,
is not a certain principle
like each of the
rest: for of these, one is
the principle
of beauty, another of symmetry,
another of
truth, and another of something
else, but
it is simply principle. Nor
is it simply
the principles of beings, but
it is the principle
of principles. For it is necessary
that the
idiom of principle, after the
same manner
as other things, should not
begin from multitude,
but should be collected into
one monad as
a summit, and which is the
principle of principles.
Such things therefore as are
first produced
by the first good, in consequence
of being
connascent with it, do not
recede from essential
goodness, since they are immovable
and unchanged,
and are eternally established
in the same
blessedness. They are likewise
not indigent
of the good, because they are
goodnesses
themselves. All other natures
however, being
produced by the one good, and
many goodnesses,
since they fall off from essential
goodness,
and are not immovably established
in the
hyparxis of divine goodness,
on this account
they possess the good according
to participation."
From this sublime theory the
meaning of that
ancient Egyptian dogma, that
God is all things,
is at once apparent. For the
first principle,[6]
as Simplicius in the above
passage justly
observes, is all things prior
to all; i.
e. he comprehends all things
causally, this
being the most transcendent
mode of comprehension.
As all things therefore, considered
as subsisting
causally in deity, are transcendently
more
excellent than they are when
considered as
effects preceding from him,
hence that mighty
and all-comprehending whole,
the first principle,
is said to be all things prior
to all; priority
here denoting exempt transcendency.
As the
monad and the centre of a circle
are images
from their simplicity of this
greatest of
principles, so likewise do
they perspicuously
shadow forth to us its causal
comprehension
of all things. For all number
may be considered
as subsisting occultly in the
monad, and
the circle in the centre; this
occult being
the same in each with causal
subsistence.
[6] By the first principle here, the one
is to be understood for that arcane nature
which is beyond the one, since all language
is subverted about it, can only, as we have
already observed, be conceived and venerated
in the most profound silence.
That this conception of causal
subsistence
is not an hypothesis devised
by the latter
Platonists, but a genuine dogma
of Plato,
is evident from what he says
in the Philebus:
for in that Dialogue he expressly
asserts
that in Jupiter a royal intellect,
and a
royal soul subsist according
to cause. Pherecydes
Syrus, too, in his Hymn to
Jupiter, as cited
by Kercher
(in Oedip. Egyptiac.), has
the following
lines: [Greek: O theos esti
kuklos, tetragonos
ede trigonos, Keinos de gramme,
kentron,
kai panta pro panton.]
i. e. Jove is a circle, triangle
and square,
centre and line, and all things
before all.
From which testimonies the
antiquity of this
sublime doctrine is sufficiently
apparent.
And here it is necessary to
observe that
nearly all philosophers: prior
to Jamblichus
(as we are informed by Damascius)
asserted
indeed, that there is one superessential
God, but that the other gods
had an essential
subsistence, and were deified
by illuminations
from the one. They likewise
said that there
is a multitude of super-essential
unities,
who are not self-perfect subsistences,
but
illuminated unions with deity,
imparted to
essences by the highest Gods.
That this hypothesis,
however, is not conformable
to the doctrine
of Plato is evident from his
Parmenides,
in which he shows that the
one does not subsist
in itself.
(See vol. iii, p. 133). For
as we have observed
from Proclus, in the notes
on that Dialogue,
every thing which is the cause
of itself
and is self-subsistent, is
said to be in
itself. Hence as producing
power always comprehends,
according to cause that which
it produces,
it is necessary that whatever
produces itself
should comprehend itself so
far as it is
a cause, and should be comprehended
by itself
so far as it is caused; and
that it should
be at once both cause and the
thing caused,
that which comprehends, and
that which is
comprehended. If therefore
a subsistence
in another signifies, according
to Plato,
the being produced by another
more excellent
cause (as we have shown in
the note to p.
133, vol. iii), a subsistence
in itself must
signify that which is self-
begotten, and
produced by itself. If the
one therefore
is not self-sub- sistent as
even transcending
this mode of subsistence, and
if it be necessary
that there should be something
self-subsistent,
it follows that this must be
the characteristic
property of that which immediately
proceeds
from the ineffable. But that
there must be
something self- subsistent
is evident, since
unless this is admitted there
will not be
a true sufficiency in any thing.
Besides, as Damascius well
observes, if that
which is subordinate by nature
is self-perfect,
such as the human soul, much
more will this
be the case with a divine soul.
But if with
soul, this also will be true
of intellect.
And if it be true of intellect,
it will also
be true of life: if of life,
of being likewise;
and if of being, of the unities
above being.
For the self-perfect, the self-sufficient,
and that which is established
in itself,
will much more subsist in superior
than in
subordinate natures. If therefore,
these
are in the latter, they will
also be in the
former. I mean the subsistence
of a thing
by itself, and essentialized
in itself; and
such are essence and life,
intellect, soul,
and body. For body, though
it does not subsist
from, yet subsists by itself;
and through
this belongs to the genus of
substance, and
is contra-distinguished from
accident, which
cannot exist independent of
a subject.
Self-subsistent superessential
natures therefore
are the immediate progeny of
the one, if
it be lawful thus to denominate
things, which
ought rather to be called ineffable
unfoldings
into light from the ineffable;
for progeny
implies a producing cause,
and the one must
be conceived as something even
more excellent
than this. From this divine
self-perfect
and self-producing multitude,
a series of
self-perfect natures, viz.
of beings, lives,
intellects, and souls proceeds,
according
to Plato, in the last link
of which luminous
series he also classes the
human soul; proximately
suspended from the daemoniacal
order: for
this order, as he clearly asserts
in the
Banquet, "stands in the
middle rank
between the divine and human,
fills up the
vacant space, and links together
all intelligent
nature." And here to the
reader, who
has not penetrated the depths
of Plato's
philosophy, it will doubtless
appear paradoxical
in the extreme, that any being
should be
said to produce itself, and
yet at the same
time proceed from a superior
cause. The solution
of this difficulty is as follows:--Essential
production, or that energy
through which
any nature produces something
else by its
very being, is the most perfect
mode of production,
because vestiges of it are
seen in the last
of things; thus fire imparts
heat, by its
very essence, and snow coldness.
And in short,
this is a producing of that
kind, in which
the effect is that secondarily
which the
cause is primarily. As this
mode of production
therefore, from its being the
most perfect
of all others, originates from
the highest
natures, it will consequently
first belong
to those self-subsistent powers,
who immediately
proceed from the ineffable,
and will from
them be derived to all the
following orders
of beings. But this energy,
as being characterized
by the essential, will necessarily
be different
in different producing causes.
Hence, from
that which subsists, at the
summit of self
subsistent natures, a series
of self subsisting
beings will indeed proceed,
but then this
series will be secondarily
that which its
cause is primarily, and the
energy by which
it produces itself will be
secondary to that
by which it is produced by
its cause. Thus,
for instance, the rational
soul both produces
itself (in consequence of being
a self-motive
nature), and is produced by
intellect; but
it is produced by intellect
immutably, and
by itself transitively; for
all its energies
subsist in time, and are accompanied
with
motion. So far therefore as
soul contains
intellect by participation,
so far it is
produced by intellect, but
so far as it is
self-motive it is produced
by itself. In
short, with respect to every
thing self-subsistent,
the summit of its nature is
produced by a
superior cause, but the evolution
of that
summit is its own spontaneous
energy; and,
through this it becomes self-subsistent,
and self-perfect.
That the rational soul, indeed,
so far as
it is rational, produces itself,
may be clearly
demonstrated as follows:--That
which is able
to impart any thing superior
and more excellent
in any genus of things, can
easily impart
that which is subordinate and
less excellent
in the same genus; but well
being confessedly
ranks higher and is more excellent
than mere
being. The rational soul imparts
well being
to itself, when it cultivates
and perfects
itself, and recalls and withdraws
itself
from the contagion of the body.
It will therefore
also impart being to itself.
And this with
great propriety; for all divine
natures,
and such things as possess
the ability of
imparting any thing primarily
to others,
necessarily begin this energy
from themselves.
Of this mighty truth the sun
himself is an
illustrious example; for he
illuminates all
things with his light, and
is himself light,
and the fountain and origin
of all splendour.
Hence, since the souls imparts
life and motion
to other things, on which account
Aristotle
calls an animal antokincton,
self- moved,
it will much more, and by a
much greater
priority, impart life and motion
to itself.
From this magnificent, sublime,
and most
scientific doctrine of Plato,
respecting
the arcane principle of things
and his immediate
progeny, it follows that this
ineffable cause
is not the immediate maker
of the universe,
and this, as I have observed
in the Introduction
to the Timaeus, not through
any defect, but
on the contrary through transcendency
of
power. All things indeed are
ineffably unfolded
from him at once, into light;
but divine
media are necessary to the
fabrication of
the world. For if the universe
was immediately
produced from the ineffable,
it would, agreeably
to what we have above observed,
be ineffable
also in a secondary degree.
But as this is
by no means the case, it principally
derives
its immediate subsistence from
a deity of
a fabricative characteristic,
whom Plato
calls Jupiter, conformably
to the theology
of Orpheus. The intelligent
reader will readily
admit that this dogmas is so
far from being
derogatory to the dignity of
the Supreme,
that on the contrary it exalts
that dignity,
and, preserves in a becoming
manner the exempt
transcendency of the ineffable.
If therefore
we presume to celebrate him,
for as we have
already observed, it is more
becoming to
establish in silence those
parturitions of
the soul which dare anxiously
to explore
him, we should celebrate him
as the principle
of principles, and the fountain
of deity,
or in the reverential language
of the Egyptians,
as a darkness thrice unknown.[7]
Highly laudable
indeed, and worthy the imitation
of all posterity,
is the veneration which the
great ancients
paid to this immense principle.
This I have
already noticed in the Introduction
to the
Parmenides, an
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