READING HALLTHE DOORS OF WISDOM |
CAH.VOL.XIITHE IMPERIAL CRISIS AND RECOVERY. A.D. 193-324
CHAPTER XVIIILITERATURE AND PHILOSOPHY IN THE EASTERN HALF OF THE EMPIREI.THE GREEK NOVEL AND RHETORIC
GREEK Literature at the beginning of the third
century, apart from the Christian schools, has no outstanding name or striking
personality, no work of any great note and very seldom one with even as much as
a suggestion of poetry. It was not that any of the ancient forms were
neglected. There was plenty of eagerness shown in the maintenance and
restoration of theatres, Odeums and play-houses of
various kinds; but they were chiefly for performances of mimes, and for farces
such as parodies of Christian baptism, and though a tragedy of Euripides might sometimes
still be seen holding the stage the real spirit of the theatre was dying. It is
true enough, also, that while, as may be observed as a sign of the times, the Georgies of Virgil were translated into Greek
hexameters, many didactic poems continued to be written. In one of these, On
Fishing (Halieutica) the author, Oppian, admittedly shows very fair skill in
his descriptions of the homes and habits of fish, and he won thereby the
imperial favour of a coin of gold for each verse; but
the other poem which has come down to us under his name, though it is not by
him (the Cynegetica) would deserve very
little attention did not the mss. contain miniatures of the animals described and even a picture of Apamea, the
author’s birthplace.
In this age of prolific verse-making epic poems
also swarmed. Many a sand-heap in the Fayum has been found full of scraps of papyrus
covered with copies of a Soterichus, Pisander, Tryphiodorus, Zoticus or some other manufacturer of hexameters all of the
same level. The craze for exertions of this kind went so far that a certain
Nestor of Laranda sought to emulate Homer by producing
an Iliad in words chosen in such a way that in none of the twenty-four
books did there once occur its distinguishing letter of the alphabet. It may
well be doubted whether at any time so many thousands of verses have been
written with so little creative imagination; but it must be remembered
contemporary taste required that all the poesy of which the age was capable
should appear in prose in order to make it musical and florid.
With the Greek orators of this generation the art
of speaking and writing concerned itself less and less with the mind, and
speakers set themselves up more and more as ‘melodists’ and rivals of lyric
poets. Even their delivery consisted of a rhythmical declamation of a very
artificial kind. They followed a prosody which the living language of their day
no longer obeyed, and by a form of virtuosity exploited the tone and
modulations of their speech, in this way securing their effects on audiences by
means which were largely musical. At a time when so much pleasure was taken in
listening to various wind and string instruments, the lecturer was delighted if
his singing and rhythmical eloquence was accompanied by the rapturous sounds of
the flute. He was carried away by the music of his own voice, and cared little
if his phrases were fine-sounding that they were almost devoid of meaning. An
adequate idea of these speakers can be formed by perusing the Lives of the
Sophists as told by their fellow-member and admirer Philostratus,
an orator who was a native of Lemnos. One seldom finds an idea of any note or a
flash of wit.
Philostratus would have small claim to the space here given to him were it not for the fact
that, in speaking of him, one cannot help touching on two people of an
attractiveness widely different from his—the beautiful and spirited Julia Domna, the intelligent and self-willed Empress to whom the
orator owed the subject of at least one of his chief works, and, with her, the
Emperor Septimius Severus himself.
The grandson of an orator resident at Rome in the
reign of Domitian, but born into a family which continued to speak Punic, the
young Septimius Severus at the age of eighteen was capable of expressing
himself in Greek with sufficient fluency to take part, in spite of his rustic
accent, in public declamations at his native town of Leptis Magna. Having
completed at Athens his equipment of literature and philosophy, Septimius
arrived at Rome to make himself an orator and advocatus fisci before becoming
a member of the Senate and commanding the legions of Pannonia who ultimately
raised him to the rank of emperor. As part of the extraordinary industry of
this hard-working man must be mentioned here the memoirs which he, like Marcus
Aurelius, wrote in Greek, and the fragments of his letters addressed to the
Senate, without any literary grace or charm, but concise, clear and to the
point. It is not surprising that one so well educated delighted to surround
himself with men of letters and preferably with Greeks, while his wife, Julia Domna, the daughter of the High Priest of the Sun at Emesa, held a real literary salon upon the Palatine.
Besides her sister, Julia Maesa, and her two nieces, Soaemias and the half-Christian Mamaea,
many famous writers and scholars were to be met at her house—the poet Oppian, who has already been mentioned; Aelian,
the honey-tongued storyteller, engaged in collecting the anecdotes of his Varta Historian Gordian, who was a poet
before he was an emperor; the learned doctor Sammonicus Serenus, who owned a magnificent collection of books;
sometimes Galen when his great age permitted him to be present; and many other
intimates of the Palatine who figure in the Deipnosofhistae of Athenaeus.
But Julia Domna, the
impassioned Syrian, ‘temeraire jusqu’a l’utopie’ in Renan’s phrase, must have had an almost
classical literary taste. When the orator Hermogenes started a reaction against
excessive regard for rhythm and musical effects in oratory, Julia Domna seems to have approved a return to a feeling for
moderation and imitation of the ancient models; at all events, Philostratus in one of his letters clothes in the form of a
learned treatise observations possibly intended to divert the Empress from an
inclination towards an old-fashioned purism in literature, of which he
disapproved.
As has often been pointed out, the advance of the
new religions evoked an opposition from pagan intellectuals who sought to give
new life to their old cults by allying them with philosophic creeds and
especially with a theology of sun-worship which spread ever more widely in
highly diverse forms, while in ethics they preached a Pythagorean asceticism.
The Empress herself, who from youth up had been initiated in the hellenized beliefs of the great Semitic sanctuaries, and
whose circle at Rome included thinkers from all parts of the Empire, was as it
were predestined to become the high priestess of a syncretic polytheism.
Realizing the need of finding a historical figure fitted to counter the
propaganda of subversive gospels, she sought particularly to revive the memory
of a hero of pagan hagiology, Apollonius of Tyana,
who lived under the first two Flavians and had left behind him in Greek lands
the reputation of a saint and wandering prophet drawing multitudes to himself
by his holy life and by so many beneficent miracles that the magicians of the
East used to invoke his aid and issue the formulas of their incantations under
his name. In time, he was looked upon as the greatest of all sorcerers.
Chancing to come upon the memoirs of one who claimed to have been a confidant
of this Apollonius—Damis a Babylonian—Julia Domna was impressed by the favourable light in which the character of the wise man was presented. Far from having practised sorcery this true follower of Pythagoras,
according to his disciple, had taught the purest of religions, and in India
especially, a country which long before Egypt and in different fashion had
enjoyed the favour of divine wisdom, had found the
evidence and inspiration to support his faith. As if to call attention to what Damis had recounted concerning India, some Brahmans and Samanians in the time of Julia Domna,
taking advantage of the means of travel provided by a renewal of trade with
Central Asia, came on a deputation to the religious propagandists in Syria,
particularly to Bardaisan, and it can be seen from
Porphyry that they succeeded in obtaining a hearing.
In any case the Empress, wishing to spread the
knowledge of the model character of the life of Apollonius, the holy man of Tyana, and of the source of his wisdom in an Eastern
country which worshipped the sun, entrusted the memoirs of Damis to Philostratus, one of the habituds of her parties whom we have already had occasion to mention. On the canvas
provided the court hagiographer boldly embroidered his theme, borrowing
extensively so as to unite in the eight books of his edifying biography the
features best suited to bring out the importance and virtues of his hero: his
love for his fellow-men, his profound pity for human suffering, his
deeply-rooted religion which showed itself in the worship of all the gods and
of the divine Sun in particular, and in his adoption of the Pythagorean
prohibition of the sacrifice of living creatures.
However full it may be of fine-drawn speeches
little to modern taste, the book was undeniably successful. Opponents of
Christianity were not slow to see what use could be made of it in combating
the propaganda of the new religion, if not in advancing a pagan syncretism. The
story of Apollonius, accepted as true, could be set against the Gospel as a
life noble, upright, godly, unselfish, and conspicuous for its miracles and
good works: the apologists of Greek culture did not fail to exploit it, and the
result was that Philostratus, second-rate
story-teller though he was, became one of the most famous of the Greek
novelists.
It may seem strange to connect with edifying work
of this nature the ten books of the Loves of Theagenes and Chariclea or Aethiopica. Certainly at
first sight there is nothing but agreeable diversion in the story of Chariclea, an Ethiopian princess abandoned at birth by her
mother, the queen Persina, then carried off to Delphi
to be brought up there by the Greek Callicles, subsequently enamoured of the handsome Thessalian Theagenes and by the
unkindness of fate involved with him in the severest trials of various kinds
until she finally appears before the king Hydaspes,
her father. Then, on the point of being sacrificed to the Sun with her faithful
lover, she reveals herself, recovers her rank and with it the right to marry
the man she loves. But, on a closer view, it will be seen that Heliodorus, the author of this seeming story of
adventure, is almost as much concerned to glorify the fierce chastity with
which he endows his virgin heroine as to demonstrate his skill in the art of
tying and untying the threads of an exciting plot. His descriptions of virtue
often become homilies, and, until the final words of his denouement, he
exhibits a religious feeling which is too characteristic of his age to be
regarded as a traditional feature of his literary form.
Nothing is known about the author of Laphnis and Chloe, and, this pastoral being
unique of its kind, any attempt to determine its own peculiar merits must be
guess-work. As for Longus himself,
although it is generally agreed that his work is to be included with those of
the orators of the time of Julia Domna, there is
little agreement about the type of society in which he wrote. Some are
impressed by the discovery in him of touches of a genuine and almost rustic
feeling for nature, while others insist that, from the very opening scene, the
balance of melodious antitheses betrays the sophisticated pastoral of the salon
with its bells and ribbons affectedly bedecking the necks of lambkins, sleek
and white as snow. But, in speaking of Daphnis and Chloe, it is hardly
possible not to give oneself up to the pleasure of admiration and leave on one
side questions of date and other such problems, It is, indeed, commonly admitted
that this pearl of Greek romance is one of the most attractive works that have
come down from antiquity. Translated by Amyot,
admired by Goethe, and imitated by Bernardin de S. Pierre, the author of Paul
et Virginie, this delightful source of inspiration may still be traced in
our own day. After ‘le petit berger avec sa flute et ses chevres’ of a
great painter, Corot, it has found expression in ‘la symphonie choregraphique’ of an equally great musician, Ravel.
No summary need be given here of this story of
the two young figures, Daphnis and Chloe, deserted by their parents and driven
amid all kinds of abduction and romantic adventures to the discovery of natural
love. In this pastoral the ordinary motifs of the genre make up
only the frame of the plot, and the love of the country which pervades it
certainly goes back to the poets of the Hellenistic age who first gave
expression to the modern feeling for nature: for the rocks, meadows, fountains,
streams, wooded hills, sea-shores, little chapels dedicated to Pan and the
nymphs, which decorate his tale, it may be said that Longus had before him the
Idylls of Theocritus, so strong is the bucolic tradition in his scenery. Here
again, therefore, we end by being faced with what has been called by one
scholar the ‘Hellenistic sea,’ the common source in whose vast waters were
absorbed and mingled for a time the most varied currents and elements of the
literatures of the world.
It has been already observed that the only
literary form of the time which would show much power of development was the
romance, which appeals largely through its opportunities of self-identification
with hero or heroine. Our picture would be seriously incomplete if we were to
leave this field of romantic literature without noticing its productions outside
scholarly circles. Everywhere in this age, even among the least educated
sections of the population, tales were invented and wonders sought out. Among the
Christians, too, edification was sought in the recital of adventures: travels
of the Evangelists in the remotest countries, acts of the apostles (Andrew,
John or Thomas) and even of the earliest evangelists, the life of Joseph the
carpenter, stories of the childhood of Jesus, or Conversions or Confessions
such as those of Cyprian of Antioch. The work of which Rufinus has left us a
Latin translation with the title S. Clementis Recognitiones is one of the best examples of this
type of composition. The title alone is almost enough to show the affinity of
this edifying narrative with the romantic literature of the age.
In the third century delight in romantic fiction
left its mark even on works of the most profound theological speculation. Men
still continued to enjoy reading Plato, and this preserved a taste for giving
controversial writings the form of fictitious discussion. Contemporary
Christian apologetic especially may be said to have caused a sort of revival of
the philosophic dialogue. But there was this difference, that fashionable
adventure stories were introduced into the setting. For instance, when Methodius, a cultured bishop of Olympus
in Lycia, wished to refute the very daring views of Origen on the future life
and the resurrection of the body, and had the idea of borrowing from the Phaedo the plan of a new dialogue on the Immortality of the Soul, he did not stop at
embellishing his work with some touches from the Protagoras. He also
found room for some of the inventions which were then a feature of adventure
stories, and in this dialogue, entitled Aglaophon, he relates how a friend of his, Theophilus, was cast up by a storm on the
Lycian coast, and how, when he sought for him, he found him in the house of a
doctor—the character who gives his name to the dialogue—engaged in a discussion
with him on the subject of the resurrection. Aglaophon acts as the mouthpiece of Origen and accordingly maintains that, as the flesh
is the origin of evil, if the body is reborn, sin must necessarily at the same
time be reintroduced into the soul. A certain Memmian,
in the course of discussion, undertakes to refute this argument, and the
dialogue ends in the discomfiture of the rash doctor who had claimed to
eliminate from the future life the presence of the human body, the most
attractive of all forms, and to substitute for it, as the support of the soul,
the ethereal or astral vehicles of the Platonists, with geometric
shapes—sphere, polyhedron, cube or pyramid—derived from the fancies of the Timaeus.
It was also in a dialogue that Methodius
controverted the doctrine of the eternity of the world—a doctrine assigned to a
fictitious follower of Origen of the name of Centaur—and in the same form he
discussed the problem of free-will. But he was destined to go down to posterity
more especially as the writer of the long dialogue called the Symposium of
the Ten Virgins. The pure love-feasts of this Symposium are set in a
delightful garden, a kind of earthly paradise in the far East, which is
poetically described by the author with the aid of scraps from the Phaedrus, the Theaetetus and the Axiochus. There also occurs a reminiscence of the untouched solitude which Euripides, in
one of his plays, had taken as the symbol of Modesty: Agatha, one of the wise
virgins, exclaims ‘there is the garland I offer to thee, woven with flowers
picked in the meadows of the Prophets, O Virtue, that I in my turn may adorn
thee.’ Methodius knew that, if he substituted Chastity for the Eros of the Symposium of Plato, the best analogue for the purity of his heroines was the ideal of the Hippolytus of Euripides.
This type of romantic imagination, which is so
noticeable a feature of the work of the bishop of Olympus, shows that Christian
teaching, without losing too much of its seriousness, is already beginning to
put off the heavy armour of its early polemics and is
turning to seek the company of the Muses. It strikes out on new paths leading
to the rhetorical schools, and secures the applause of the lecture-room.
Somewhat in the manner of Methodius, Apollinarius of
Laodicea a little later cast into Socratic dialogue the conversations of Jesus
and the apostles. Subsequently the pagan emperor, Julian, vexed by the sight
of Galileans at lectures on Greek literature, determined to put a stop to their
coming and plundering the resources of the Greeks in order to use them against
the civilization from which they had sprung.
Athens at this time was nothing more than a city of
the past, the resort of tourists, of art-lovers and literary critics, a quiet
town where men devoted themselves to disinterested study, literary pursuits and
the contemplation of history. But this was not to endure. Soon the march of
events tore Hellenism, in the most sacred of its retreats, from the joys of
contemplation and swept it into the storms of political affairs, though,
meanwhile, the Athenian rhetorical schools had, in Longinus, their last moment of splendour.
A nephew through his mother of the sophist Fronto—a
citizen of Emesa, like more than one of the friends
of Julia Domna—Longinus, on coming into a legacy from
his uncle, used his wealth in furthering his education by extensive travel,
particularly to Alexandria, attended by Ammonius Saccas in a society in which we shall see his name
reappear. He then settled at Athens, where he began by teaching rhetoric and
philosophy. He was nicknamed the ‘living library’ and the ‘walking museum,’ but
he was not lacking in shrewdness and taste. He soon became the leading figure
in literary criticism. Some of his judgments are known to us, and they seem to
deserve the esteem which they enjoyed. It was not long before pupils flocked to
his school. Among them he singled out a man of an inexhaustible love of learning,
one who, like himself, had come from Syria, the Tyrian Malchus,
‘the king,’ whose name he changed to its Greek equivalent, Porphyrius.
Longinus taught at the Academy, and, in loyalty
to the traditions of the School, he piously observed the anniversary of its
founder Plato. We have some detailed knowledge of one of these celebrations: at
the commemorative symposium the conversation turned on learned questions. The
thesis was put forward that Ephorus, Theopompus,
Menander, Hellanicus, Herodotus and Euripides were
plagiarists, and even the originality of the hero of the feast had to be
defended. This scene is of a piece with what we know of contemporary teaching
and reveals the learning and childishness of the talk of the scholars at Athens
who were united in the veneration of Plato. The occasion was before Porphyry
left for Rome about the year 262/3.
Five years later the Goths landed at the Piraeus.
In Athens itself they would have made a bonfire of the books of one of the
libraries, if one of their number, looked up to by his fellows for his wisdom,
had not pointed out to the barbarians that it would be better to leave the
Greeks buried in the lumber room of old books, which made them easy to conquer,
than to cause them to arm themselves with swords. About this time Zenobia, the
queen of Palmyra, had invited her countryman Longinus to her court, and the
master, hearkening to the voice of nature, decided it would be far better to
win a new empire for Hellenism than to persist in the defence of the Acropolis. He therefore left Greece, entrusting the latter task to the
historian Dexippus, and at Palmyra threw himself so
whole-heartedly into his new work of adviser to an ambitious princess that not
long afterwards, when Zenobia submitted to her conqueror Aurelian, he was condemned
to death for high treason by the Roman emperor. After the bravely faced
execution of the ill-starred champion of a lost cause, rhetoric at Athens was
for a time brought to a standstill. On the other hand, Dexippus learnt from the grim
fortunes of his times—like Cassius Dio, if not Herodian—the style and manner of
Thucydides, the weightiest and most profound of the historical writers of
antiquity.
II.
ALEXANDRIA: PLOTINUS
After the assassination of Geta, and at the time
of the massacres carried out at Alexandria by the merciless fratricide
Caracalla, the officials of the Museum at Alexandria were cruelly
deprived of their revenues and allowances and suffered great hardship; those
who were not natives of the country were even expelled. After this first alarm
the reading-rooms of the city libraries recovered sufficient quiet for the
Egyptian Athenaeus of Naucratis to be able to devote his leisure to the scrutiny of more than 1500
works and to draw from them the material for the essays in his Deipnosophistae in fifteen books on drinking,
eating, seasoning, sauces, the delicacies of notable gourmets, the customs at banquets,
and even on love, besides the dance, singing and games. These essays would have
caused the guests at the banquet to die of boredom if the banquet had really
been served. We today can find entertainment in the diverse episodes in the
literary life of the past of which Athenaeus’
compilation enables us to form a picture.
Literary pastimes such as those of Athenaeus were possible at Alexandria only for a short
period. About the time when the Goths pillaged Athens, the troops of Zenobia
(269—270) came and plundered the quarter of the public buildings and palaces (Brucheion) which had been erected in the capital of the
Ptolemies near the tomb of Alexander. The Museum was not spared in the general
destruction, and henceforth this great home of Greek culture, although it did
not disappear completely, could hardly do more than maintain a shadow of what
it had been in the past. As late as the time of Ammianus Marcellinus, the
scientific genius of the old metropolis still pursued various branches of
learning: ‘geometry continued to make useful discoveries, music had its
devotees, harmony its expounders, and, though astronomers were rarer, the
movements of the stars were still observed; a study never ceased to be made of
the science of numbers and especially of the art of foretelling the future.’
There is no lack of names or examples for a commentary on this piece of
evidence from Ammianus Marcellinus. It will be enough here to recall what was
said in the last volume about the mathematician Diophantus, with whom may be
placed the commentator Pappus and Theon his continuator. As for schools,
Ammianus in speaking of Alexandria mentions also those of medicine which
remained so celebrated that ‘it was enough for a doctor to say that he had
studied there, and no further recommendation was required of him.’ But one
thing Ammianus does not say, because he stood too close to perceive it. Even at
Alexandria in the third century the times were unfavourable for scientific observation and research. The age of discovery had come to an
end. One was content with making encyclopaedic compilations in order to adapt to the needs of the day what was essential in
knowledge already acquired by science and technical achievement. Men no longer
dreamed of probing into the secrets of nature; nature was regarded as the agent
of wonders and to gain her service recourse was had to miracle-workers who
expounded in oracles what they called the ‘holy science’ or ‘the great art.’
Despite the establishment of official doctors, medicine
itself so far declined that instead of being able to point to exact observations
of clinical workers one has to cite a magical pharmacopoeia and the occultism
of astrology, demonology and exorcism. In anatomy Galen, to give a single
example, was one of the last to carry out dissection. Moreover, with the growth
of sick wards attached to Christian benevolent institutions the art of healing
became in the end separated from university teaching. At the time of the great
plague in the third century the Christians exhibited a devoted solicitude for
the sick, while pagans were content to cast victims of the scourge into the
street.
But to help us to form an idea of the new
attitude taken up by those connected with the old-established Museum we have
something more valuable than a series of facts of this kind; we can come to
know a personality which by itself is worth more than a hundred others. His
works will show us, among other things, that the art of healing which men
sought more than anything else was a spiritual regime which would ensure the
soul’s happiness, not through the simple consciousness of belief and love, nor
by the mystical and sacramental effect produced by initiation into the secrets
of a ‘gnosis,’ but by the illumination of the intellect enraptured and
transported, as the result of a new conception of assimilation with God, to
the sublimities of the supreme Intelligence.
Plotinus was born at Lycopolis in204 and was already twenty-eight
when he came to Alexandria to learn philosophy. He studied under the most
famous teachers, but instead of finding himself enlightened, he experienced a
disillusion. In deep depression he confessed his disappointment to a friend,
who at once introduced him to the very select circle of the mysterious
Alexandrine, Ammonius Saccas. Plotinus was accepted by Ammonius, and soon realized
from talking with him that he had found exactly the sort of guide for whom he
was looking.
It may be asked what precisely did Ammonius teach. As if it were a mystery, all those who
listened to him had to promise to disclose nothing about it, and it is by the
teaching of Plotinus himself that we can best divine its nature. After eleven
years spent in philosophical discussion and meditation with this thinker,
Plotinus, when the Emperor Gordian opened the doors of the temple of Janus at
Rome to announce a great expedition against the Sassanid kingdom, determined to
make use of so fine an opportunity to observe on the spot ‘the philosophy practised by the Persians,’ as well as by the Indians, who
likewise were at that time exciting much interest. He therefore joined the army
which was preparing to invade Mesopotamia. But some months later Gordian was
killed by riotous soldiers near Doura, and Plotinus had to abandon his plan
without having got even as far as Ctesiphon. He returned to Antioch (February
244) after having perhaps an opportunity at Apamea on the Orontes of making
himself familiar with the philosophy of Numenius, which had always filled his
thoughts. Finally, from Antioch he went to Rome, where he opened a school.
A visitor to it for the first time must have been
deeply impressed. Still stunned by the bustle of the great city, and only a
step from the streets in which was displayed, in a brilliant setting of public
buildings, the splendour of a life of pleasure such
as we can hardly imagine, he came upon a quiet circle of ascetics who turned
their backs upon the world and meditated on books of philosophy, practising a lofty disdain for external things. Leading
together a life of sanctity the initiates of this philosophic conventicle looked,
first, for a moment of ecstasy on this earth and ultimately for the deliverance
of their soul through death and its return to the bosom of the eternal Being.
The existence in the world-capital of this small cloistered brotherhood of
‘pale folk’ is nothing of a surprise. It is one of those violent contrasts
which occur in the intense and hectic life of such a centre as that of Imperial Rome.
When Porphyry, no doubt bearing a letter of
introduction from Longinus, presented himself to Plotinus, the master’s
teaching had been fully thought out. His quiet and attractive manner, his
serious and simple nature, his distaste for fashionable rhetoric and cheap
success, the loftiness of his ideas and the strictness with which he followed
his philosophic principles, his knowledge of men and that intuitive
understanding which sometimes made him seem like a thought reader, the force
and passion of his words, his genuine enthusiasm and disinterestedness, won for
him an authority altogether different from that of the philosophers who lived
like private chaplains in the large houses of Rome and were good fellows with
whom master and servant enjoyed making merry. Plotinus had transformed and
exalted the part of the philosopher. He had cast a halo round him by earning
for himself so high a prestige in the eyes of the Romans. He was one of those
strong-willed geniuses who exercise a strange kind of fascination. He still
fascinates today. It is impossible to come into contact with him without being
overpowered. ‘I have been almost frightened,’ Novalis wrote to a friend, ‘by
his resemblance to Fichte and Kant.... In my heart I feel that he is worth more
than both of them.’
Plotinus’ mode of life was simple. He showed an
entire disregard for the care of the body and practised vegetarianism. Sometimes he abstained even from bread. Although he was not
strong he disobeyed his doctors’ orders, and he carried his scorn for worldly
things so far as to neglect them in all their forms, from the sonorous style
with which rhetoricians pleased the ear, to the details of his own writing,
which was by no means correct and hardly readable. On the other hand, he gave
himself up to meditation with an intense concentration of which Porphyry has left
us an impressive account. He was consumed by the fire of an intellectual
passion which transfigured him. Four times while Porphyry was staying with him,
the wise hierophant ‘went beyond the choir of virtues as a man leaves behind
him the statues of the gods to enter the sanctuary’ and reached ecstasy, or communion
and identification with the Infinite.
One of the original features in the teaching of
Plotinus is to be seen in the part played by images and figurative expressions
in the exposition of his ideas. If it were not for the luminous and brightly coloured touches which constantly help to make up for the
ineffectiveness of the reasoning, the Enneads, with their laborious
attempts to grasp the most elusive abstractions, would not wholly succeed in
conveying the writer’s doctrine. In this respect Plotinus followed the example
of the wise men of his country, who, as he tells us, instead of
writing letters and words on the walls of their temples, preferred to draw
images and symbols. It will not be surprising to hear that speculation so
little inspired by the method or even the spirit of the sciences called exact
showed itself as far removed as possible from a purely mechanistic conception
of the universe.
Nature, for Plotinus, knows
not levers. That is why he constantly emphasizes distant action; like an echo,
which seems to come from a wall of rock, whereas in fact it is caused by the
resonance of a far-off voice; like a softly spoken word which sets going
something at vast distances; like the heavenly choirs and the harmony of the
world whose agreement and rhythm are maintained across the intervening space
simply by the attention of the executants. Is it some material contact which
causes a flower or stone to vibrate in accord with the astral powers? How can
we explain the power of God in every branch of nature and the universal prayer
which makes every being try to rise towards Him?
The more improbable materialistic mechanism
appeared to Plotinus, the more universally he detected in the actions and
interactions of beings the effects of a kind of magic power and recognized the
reality of the universal sympathy made active in the mystical religions of his
day. But Plotinus is not content with the principle of unity thus revealed in
the interconnection of the members of a living organism. He needs a higher
unity, and, drawing inspiration from the idealism of Plato, he finds it in the
intelligence. For him the bond of dependence among beings becomes entirely
intellectual. The intelligences are to the supreme Intelligence and to one
another as the theorems of a particular science are to Science as a whole and
to one another: each of them potentially includes the others however different
from them it may be. Thus it is that one can contemplate in the unity of a
science its whole content. On the other hand beings have no reality except in
the Intelligence itself. They are neither before it, nor after it; the
Intelligence is, as it were, alike their first legislator and their principle,
or rather the very law of their being, and it is true to say that existence and
thought are the same thing.
By synthesizing the ‘rational-creative Logoi' of the Stoics with the Platonic Idea, and introducing them to the intelligible
world whence these ‘Logoi' shape sensible beings and reflect themselves
in them, Plotinus reached his famous doctrine of the creative activity of contemplation.
It is by contemplating the one that the soul gives unity—and therefore being—to
each of its productions.
To say that the one is the
principle of being is for him the same as saying that the only true reality is
contemplation. Not only is intelligence contemplation of its object, but nature
also is contemplation, silent, unspeaking, unconscious contemplation of the
intelligible pattern which it strives to imitate; an animal, a plant, any
object has its form, in the Aristotelian sense, only in so far as it contemplates the ideal pattern which
is reflected in it. To maintain that contemplation is at the same time
creation, is one of the most violent paradoxes ever propounded by philosophy.
Plotinus develops it with a variety and abundance of arguments and images which
are at times dazzling.
If anyone were to demand of Nature why it
produces, it would answer, if it were willing to listen and speak: ‘you should
not ask questions, but like me understand in silence: for I am a silent one,
and to talk is not my custom. What ought you to understand? This, that the
created world is my silent contemplation, a contemplation produced by my
nature: for being born myself of contemplation [the meditation of the
Intellective Soul], I am naturally contemplative and that which contemplates in
me produces an object of contemplation, as geometers describe figures while
contemplating. I, however, do not describe figures; but while I contemplate,
the outlines of bodies take substance, as though they had fallen from my lap. I
preserve the disposition of my mother [the universal soul] and of those who
engendered me (the rational-creative Logoi). They too were born of
contemplation. So my birth in turn came about by no action of theirs; from the
self-contemplation of Principles that are greater than I, I was generated.
This passage contains a comparison which helps
greatly towards understanding the paradox of creative contemplation: That
which contemplates in me produces an object of contemplation, as geometers
describe figures while contemplating.’ If one turns to the Timaeus, it
will be found there that, in the myth of creation, the four elements are
produced with simple geometrical outlines, those of the four regular polyhedra—the cube in the case of earth, the icosahedron in
that of water, the octahedron in that of air, the tetrahedron in that of fire;
so, as with the geometer, the soul of the world has but to consider the design,
as it were, of the constituent mathematical relations of the Intelligence,
which is its model, and then, acted upon by Eros, the figures which the soul
contemplates and whose beauty it admires and loves spontaneously project
themselves into reality. This example alone is enough to show how deeply imbued
with the spirit of Plato Plotinus was.
It will also have been noticed that the Mother of
sensible beings, or Nature (Averts), who speaks thus, is the daughter of the
universal soul (soul of the world or principle of life), and this soul is
itself born of pure Intelligence, which is at once thought and being—the
subject and object of modern philosophers—above which, to avoid plurality or,
in other words, to escape from the influence of matter, one must go one step
higher. Once arrived at the top of the slope by which the ascent has been made
through the three chief stages—the famous system of ‘the three hypostases’
(the trinity of the soul, the spirit and the One)—a specially gifted man may
experience, in a rapture, intuition of the Absolute. This Absolute, the father
of beings, inconceivable except as pure goodness, cannot but bestow existence
on all things, and while it keeps itself intact, unchanging, and indivisible
throughout its constant production, on everything which emanates from it, it
leaves its mark with a more or less vague or conscious desire to return to it.
Here if a man wishes to understand he needs the help of comparisons and
parallels.
Conceive a spring having no alien source; giving
itself to all rivers, yet not exhausted therein, but itself abiding at rest;
and the rivers that have gone out from it journeying a while together in one
flood before they run their several courses, yet each as it were already
conscious in what place its own waters shall find issue. Or conceive the life
of a great plant pervading every part, whilst the source of that life itself
endures undispersed, having its seat, as it were, in the root.
This, then, is the theme which this philosophy delights to return to and develop with every kind of variation: there proceeds from the Absolute in an unbroken continuity first the world of thought, secondly that of the pure ideas contained in it, thirdly that of souls and material bodies; then, under the impulse of desire, everything which has been born strives to return to the prime source of Being. The divine does not descend; however remote it may be, man must climb to the height of divinity, if he is to unite himself with the One above all multiplicity. The possibility of this union lies in the activity of pure thought, and, far beyond the human spirit, in the mysterious accord of the individual with the first Being, an accord beyond all reason. Only an imperfect idea of Plotinus can be gained without reading in their context some of the flashes of his ‘quivering and vibrating’ style, whereby is expressed the wealth of contradictory ideas and difficulties which come before him as soon as he tries to speak of this being in rapture with God in which consciousness of personality fades away. The teaching and vocation of this philosophy were
renunciation of this world and detachment from all activity in it for the sake
of a better. At the same time, this renunciation of the world did not at all
imply condemnation of it, nor a horror or deep dislike or denial. In the eyes
of Plotinus the world is beautiful, as should be the work and reflection of the
divinity which is immanent in it. A last ray of the Greek spirit in its decline
thus shines where the philosopher glorifies the splendour of the cosmos. On this theme he sometimes raises his voice in a way that can be
explained only by the antipathy which his eyes observed in his own audience.
In Plotinus’ day ‘gnosis,’ a
religious philosophy of Oriental inspiration, was spreading everywhere in
various forms. It condemned a world created by the spirit of evil and given up
to a cruel Destiny, and stressed the need of the worship of saving gods who
would intervene in person here on earth and distribute their favours and mercy to gatherings of the faithful and elect.
Dwelling on apocalypses and revelations, they set against Platonic cosmology,
ruled by pure Intelligence, the dualism of the armies of Good and Evil.
Compared with the immense antiquity of the traditions to which they appealed,
whether they were Syrian, Chaldean or Iranian, the seven centuries of Greek
thought seemed nothing but the first phase of a philosophy still in its
infancy. These ‘gnostics’ appeared to have everything
in their favour. They went straight to men’s souls in
all they said. They set forth a fine display of theology and speculative
fancies; They claimed that Plato himself was a pupil of their ancient wisdom
and that Christ gave them the mystical benefit of his death and redemption.
They forced their way into Plotinus’ audiences and argued against him. Their
persuasive tones shook the faith of his pupils, and Plotinus felt the need of
breaking free from the hold which threatened to fetter him. Plato’s position as
the supreme director of thought was seriously menaced, and the dogma of the
goodness of the world was openly flouted. Plotinus replied, and an echo of his
vehement refutations may be heard in the Enneads. Plotinus, in fact,
refused to look upon the soul as a prisoner in a satanic gaol with no hope of salvation except by the supernatural intervention of a
redeemer; for him, on the contrary, the soul, by itself and its own unaided
powers, could free itself from the body, cleave to the pure Intelligence,
regain its first dignity, and, at the end of its liberation, rise to God—not,
of course, to the personal God of the gnostics, but
to that state of ecstatic union with the One which it is the aim of philosophy
to achieve. To find God Plotinus has no need to enter a temple or bow down
before an image. His prayer is not a cry of despair, nor an avowal of
repentance, nor an entreaty designed to move to pity a being who can help if he
will. ‘The gift of the intellect is not like a present which can be taken away.
’ After a divorce from unity the soul has only to turn again towards the lost
communion and our fulness is re-established together with the desired
equilibrium. Our destiny is entirely in the life within us; it depends on that,
and on nothing else.
At Medinet Madi in the
Fayum a library has lately been discovered which proves that Manichaean
writings could be read in Egypt in the time of Ammonius Saccas, and in order to explain the vigour of Plotinus’ resistance to the invasion of gnosticism from the Near East his attempt to go and observe
the philosophy of India on the spot has been called in evidence; writers have
even tried to credit him with some of the understanding of Hindu asceticism
which Mani had won in the course of his travels a century before and of which
he took account in founding his cosmopolitan religion.
It is undeniable that there was some kind of contact between Plotinus and
Indian thought. But it is another matter to say that without this contact
Plotinus could not have conceived a type of idealism to which many independent
thinkers since his time have approached. Rather may it be said that Plotinus’
fundamental achievement was to bring to life in the heart of Platonism the
activity of certain affinities with Asia as old as the first philosophic
conversations in the gardens of the Academy. As far back as the time of Eudoxus of Cnidus Plato was sufficiently open-minded not to
refuse to consider the ideas of the East.
Plotinus brought to his work as a Greek thinker the same readiness to learn.
III.
PORPHYRY
In order to characterize the work of his pupil Porphyry it must be emphasized that
Plotinus stands at the beginning of a new era. Men were ceasing to observe the
external world and to try to understand it, utilize it or improve it. They were
turning away from nature because they could no longer see in it anything but
change, deterioration, corruption, materiality, coarseness and meanness. They
were driven in upon themselves. In the inmost consciousness of life and the
being of the soul they believed they were in touch with the eternal, the
unchanging and the divine. Instead of deifying the world and uniting themselves
with God by the heightening of the senses or by the contemplation of the stars,
they began to draw fancies from their inner impulses or sought benefit in
meditation. The idea of the beauty of the heavens and of the world went out of
fashion and was replaced by that of the Infinite.
Plotinus was one of the chief authors of this
revolution. He gave it theoretical justification. He clad the ascetic in the
cloak of Platonic philosophy. He expressed the new teaching of the value of
things by means of some of the most striking images which could appeal to men’s
minds. But there was nothing of the popularizer in the head of the Neoplatonic
school, and a long initiation was necessary in order to penetrate his thought.
He needed assistants capable of giving a kind of preliminary instruction. In
this work Porphyry excelled. He trained the minds of his students in the Qrganon of Aristotle and in the study of formal
logic. In time, by musing on the great principles of asceticism, he made
himself the moralist of the teaching of which Plotinus was the metaphysician.
In commenting on selected works of Aristotle and Plato on many points he
developed, justified and clarified the ideas of his master and even found new
applications of them. His untiring industry, his controversial ardour, and enthusiastic propaganda contributed greatly to
the good management and early success of the school. It has been said that he
became, as it were, the very soul of Hellenism and the protagonist of his
party. The most striking conversions to the ideas of Plotinus were due to him;
it was he who established the contact between Platonism and St Augustine, the
builder of a new City of God.
Plotinus was an admirable improviser, but no
composer on paper. He always disdained not only rhetorical artifice but also
the trouble needed to secure a well-turned and exact phrase. He did not even
re-read what he wrote. But he realized the value of a revision of his writings
by a skilled hand, and entrusted the task of publishing them to Porphyry. His
pupil accepted it, but did not carry it out at once. For a long time after the
death of Plotinus he was content to expound his master’s teachings orally. To
those who like Longinus asked for the written word he sent indifferent copies.
But he was urged ever more strongly to produce an accurate definitive text.
There was inevitably a loud demand for such a publication on the part of the
growing number of the admirers of Plotinus. Furthermore, in issuing the works
of the last great pagan thinker, Porphyry was taking thought not only of the
needs of the Platonic school but also for the Hellenism to which he was
devoted. Plotinus was the true interpreter of Plato. His works supplemented
those of the master of masters and were to supply men who were specially gifted
and eager to learn with a selection of pious meditations which they needed.
When Porphyry published his collection of Plotinus’ lectures in six Enneads or divisions, each consisting of nine chapters, he added notes at the
request of some friends who desired explanations. If today we may hope to
restore to life the oral teaching of Plotinus, it is mainly due to the
explanations that have by chance been handed down to us by the most understanding
and attentive of his auditors. Porphyry also provided his edition with
summaries and arguments, and at the beginning of the work gave an account of
the philosopher’s life.
In the short work thus devoted to the biography
of his master, Porphyry does not always speak in the tone or spirit that might
be desired. In more than one place the philosopher is looked at through the
idle fancies and hallucinations of silly imaginations obsessed by the marvellous, and many a story casts a halo round his head
which he himself would not have permitted. But on the whole Porphyry succeeds
in bringing his hero to life before us, in body and in soul. In his Life of
Plotinus he is still practising the art of the
older biographers, and there is a contrast between his way of showing forth the
merits of an ascetic and the manner which is soon to distinguish the first
products of Christian hagiography—for example the life of Antony the Hermit by
Athanasius. The souls which Porphyry sets himself to win for his faith are not
the simple souls of ‘the poor in spirit.’
The fame of Porphyry is very largely due to his
great work Against the Christians. During the reign of Severus Alexander
and Gallienus the new religion had enjoyed toleration. After all, neither the
observances of the believers nor their faith nor their attitude to society were
any longer a cause of trouble. Set beside the mystic frenzy of a strongly orientalized paganism, the Lord’s Supper celebrated as a
sacrifice, the water poured at baptism as in a rite of initiation, must have
had the effect of attractive and easily understood symbols, and even the piety
by which Christians were guided in invoking their Saviour God and asking salvation of him was still shared by many souls. In widely
different circles the Gospel made steady progress. At Rome the number of those
sealed of the faith was increasing rapidly, and during this period a strong and
influential episcopacy was being organized in the principal churches. More and
more, enlightened pagans had to take account of the seriousness of the
situation. The time was coming when a systematic persecution was to be set on
foot. It was these calamitous and troubled days that evoked the composition of
Porphyry’s treatise against the Christians.
There are in the Enneads moving hymns to
the creative Soul, ‘our beneficent sister who has the power to accomplish so
much without effort.’ As has been seen, she is the cause of the sympathy in
all the parts of the universe, mankind and the stars, the sea, animals and
plants. She gives nature its impressive beauty and its poignant sadness. Cybele
drank the water of Lethe, but in her dreams, which follow one another like
clouds racing across the sky, she seeks to recall God. She would not succeed in
raising her eyes or in uttering the saving words if the human soul did not find
them for her. For we are—as may be said, according to Plotinus—nature after its
awakening, already speaking to God and ready to see Him face to face. How
inexhaustible are such founts of a mysticism to which our poets will still so
often go to seek ecstatic visions 1 How limitless the fruitfulness of a
religion which could seem in fact dead, but which, even during its old age,
still had so brilliant a hierophant! The Neoplatonist depicted it in such
wonderful forms that the Christians felt compelled to avoid them. To avert the
effect of its charms, they had to pronounce anathema upon it.
Among the more enlightened spirits the conflict
was felt less keenly. With Plotinus certainly controversy never assumed an
unduly personal colour, and it left unimpaired the
dream of a common ideal and even of some measure of understanding. But the more
men turned to the public at large, the greater the wish to extend the field of
propaganda—the activity to which Porphyry devoted himself—and the more keenly
felt and inevitable became the clashes. Faced by the common herd, men were soon
drawn into a fighting attitude, and thus the Platonists undertook the justification
of all the observances of the established cults, while the Christians thundered
against the wickednesses of idolatry. There is, then,
nothing surprising in the sight of a Porphyry who thus became at the same time
popularizer of the teaching of Plotinus and adversary of the Church.
Nevertheless, the hostility of Porphyry is not to
be explained entirely by the development of philosophy. Amelius,
his fellowstudent and collaborator, still invokes
the testimony of the beginning of the gospel according to St John, and
although, following the fashion of the school, he calls the disciple of Christa
‘barbarian,’ there is nothing to show that he was hostile to the Church. Neoplatonism
and Christianity were doubtless rivals destined sooner or later to meet in
conflict, but, if we wish to explain the declaration of war, we must certainly
take into account the personality of Porphyry himself. No Neoplatonist was more
likely than he was to engage in hostilities. He had always concerned himself
with Christian teaching and observances and with the error which they seemed to
contain. In his earliest works, in his Philosophy of the Oracles, if he
appears to bow before the sanctity of Christ, he looks upon the reverence shown
to him as excessive. A little later, when he published his treatise On the
images of the gods, he writes for the select, from whom the Christians are
excluded, and it is the Christians whom he takes to task. It is clear that at
every period of his literary activity and before he could have dreamed of
putting his gifts at the service of the ideas of Plotinus, he looked on the new
religion as a hostile force.
Porphyry’s treatise against the Christians was a
considerable work. It ran to fifteen books, wherein Porphyry made full use of
his learning and intellectual skill. Trained, as he had been, by Longinus in
critical scholarship, he soon saw how to set about revealing inventions,
improbabilities and contradictions in the narratives of the Evangelists
and other canonical books, and he laboured to shatter
the authority of the evidence appealed to by true believers in support of their
faith. Origen’s allegorical interpretation, ‘which cleverly read into the
falsehoods of foreigners the beliefs of the Greeks,’ did not find favour in his eyes.
Porphyry repeats, follows up and enlarges all
that the ingenuity of Celsus had discovered by way of
argument. He brings against the books of Daniel a proof of spuriousness that
many modern scholars consider conclusive. He attacks the genealogy of Jesus. He
claims to show by the contradictions of the synoptists that their narratives
cannot claim to be believed. He criticizes many passages in the Acts of the
Apostles. He finds that Peter is contradicted by Paul. Paul he attacks with special
fury. The philhellene sees in him nothing but coarse rhetoric and intolerable
incoherence. Porphyry’s whole polemic is elaborated with an abundance of
arguments in which contemporary controversialists might find many of their favourite themes. Whenever rationalism came into conflict
with Christian revelation, it was enough to repeat what had been said by
Porphyry.
Porphyry, like his predecessor Celsus, was particularly shocked to see among the
Christians revolutionaries breaking with all their ancestral inheritance, even
with the ordinances of the Old Testament, and threatening the established order
of things. He puts them down as ‘barbarians.’ But, in spite of this, he seems
less concerned than Celsus to defend the Roman State.
His special originality comes out in the breadth of view with which he now and
then comprehends the struggle. Since Celsus the
horizon of Platonism had been widely extended. Porphyry has not the same
contempt as Celsus either for the Jews or for
Orientals. His humanity is such that he feels a measure of sympathy even with
the person of Christ and some parts of his teaching. He keeps his wrath for the
disciples of Jesus, for the distortions of which they were the originators and
for the ‘myths’ of the Evangelists. As early as his day the canon of the
writings of the New Testament had been determined. He knows it and directs his
attacks at it, and it is this which gives his criticism a forcefulness and
thrust which places it far above that of his predecessors. In him are found hardly
any of the crude aspersions to which pagan polemic of the first centuries had
recourse. Nor is he malevolent in tone like Julian. His controversy rarely
sinks to the futile. He makes a careful study of the points at issue and tries
to foresee objections. In the main he seems much less concerned with the effect
he will have on the public than with the particular error which he is seeking
to demonstrate.
Porphyry certainly endeavours to expose what he holds to be weaknesses in the arguments used to prove the
divine origin of Christianity; but apart from this the work which he conceived
is one of deep philosophy and not mere polemic. He speaks as a profoundly
religious man. The need of revelation, redemption, asceticism and immortality
inspires him with a faith like that of his opponents. In his desire to convince
and to find what he calls a universal(‘catholic’) wayof salvation, he goes so far as tojettison the theurgy and observances of pagan worship. He shows himself still filled
with the lofty and conciliatory thought of Plotinus.
In this respect, as in all others, he
marks the transition between early Neoplatonism and that of the time of
Iamblichus and Julian. Philosophy is already at war with Christianity, but, in
spite of the outbreak of hostilities, there can always be suspected in him a
hope of agreement.
This hope proved illusory. No settlement was
possible. In the treatise which Porphyry wrote against them the Christians saw
nothing but hostility, and they had good reason for feeling anxious about it.
The sum-total of testimonies and doctrines on which the Church based its
teaching had to meet the most formidable indictment which has ever been drawn
up by Hellenism. Rejoinders succeeded one another. Methodius, Eusebius of
Caesarea, Apollinarius of Laodicea and Philostorgius attempted refutations. But these refutations
were not thought sufficient. As late as 448, by the orders of the Emperors
Valentinian III and Theodosius II, the work was consigned to the flames, and
the edict which prescribed this auto-da-fe mentions Porphyry alone, saying
nothing of Celsus or of Hierocles or of Julian, as if of all the defences of paganism
only his need cause disquiet. Jerome, for example, pours out on Porphyry all
the abuse of which his nature was capable, and that is saying a good deal. He
calls him a scoundrel, an impudent fellow, a vilifier, a sycophant, a lunatic
and a mad dog.
It is as the collaborator of Plotinus that
Porphyry has his chief claim to our gratitude; but, at the same time, he has
rendered us services of a different kind. He was the author of a considerable
number of commentaries and miscellaneous works of learning, and he is one of
the chief scholars to whom we owe our knowledge of a host of writers of
antiquity. A large part of the information to be found in the Homeric scholia,
in the series of Neoplatonic commentaries and in many a Byzantine writer has come
down to us through him. For example, in modern collections of the fragments of
the pre-Socratics and Stoics, of the Orphic poems and many other works, it
would be enough to put Porphyry’s name at the head of the extracts which we
really owe to him, to show that his contribution is one of the largest. In this
respect he deserves a place beside Pliny, Galen, Ptolemy and the other men of
letters of the Imperial age whose learned works enable us in some measure to
make up for the loss of so many precious documents.
If Porphyry could return to the world of men, he
would undoubtedly be not a little surprised at the fate which has befallen his
work. Certainly the idea of the supreme importance of the spiritual life and
the search for individual salvation to which he gave a great part of his
efforts, have worked wonders on this earth. For many centuries a large elite of
mankind has withdrawn from the world and sought in the silence of the cloister
forgetfulness of bondage to the flesh. But the triumph of idealism and mysticism
has not fallen to the standards and to the leaders under whom the publisher of
the Enneads took his place. The doctrines of the Neoplatonists have
influenced men’s minds in a Christian form. In the visions of Dante and in the
outpourings of medieval piety Plotinus is forgotten, and in our own day also
there are few indeed who have even a slight knowledge of the debt due to him.
IV.
IAMBLICHUS
All that is known of the early education of the
philosopher Iamblichus can soon be
told. Born about 250 at Chalcis in Coele- Syria, this Semite was at first,
doubtless at Rome, the pupil of Porphyry and of the mathematician Anatolius; he then returned to Asia, and it is now known
that, following the example of the Neoplatonist Amelius,
he went to teach at Apamea. Details concerning the
life of Iamblichus are scanty, but of his works, which consisted of ponderous
commentaries on Aristotle and Plato, a life of Alypius, an essay on the gods,
and other writings, there remain considerable specimens and in particular long
fragments from a collection of treatises dealing with the philosophy of
Pythagoras: a Life of the master, an Exhortation to Philosophy, a
treatise On the science of mathematics. All these make up a tedious
collection, full of mystical remarks concerning the science of numbers and a
mass of quotations drawn from every kind of writer and paraphrased from a
moralistic standpoint, without any show of literary merit, but commonplace in
form and diffuse in style, a nerveless and wearisome composition. Whoever has
tried to read this writer, who far from having ‘sacrificed to the graces of
Hermes’ seems to wish ‘to repel with a phrase which grates upon the ears,’ will
ask himself how such a nincompoop could have been regarded by the most
distinguished men of his time as a divine master and how he managed to arouse
in them so passionate an enthusiasm.
For Plotinus, as has been seen, religion was a
matter entirely for the inward man, and the means by which an attempt is made
to impress the imagination in public worship were unworthy of a philosopher who
wished to preserve his soul from all contact with the external world. The
master took little thought for the general public. It was enough for him if his
mysticism was available to a chosen few. But as soon as Iamblichus took over
the management of the school, at a time when paganism in its hour of danger was
calling more and more urgently for all the forces of Hellenism to come to its
help, the Neoplatonists threw themselves into the struggle and they soon found
that Porphyry had been too yielding. In their desire to take more account of
the needs of their time they ceased to concern themselves only with an élite
and set to work to extend their field of propaganda. The system of Plotinus was
too remote for many minds; hence, in order to give a less abstruse form to the
speculations of his philosophy, Iamblichus and his successors thought it well
to enable men to contemplate them through the showy and misty images of the
mystery religions. Sarapis, Isis, Hecate, Demeter,
Dionysus and Cybele supplied them with a whole host of emblems which they put
to ingenious use, and in future it was by symbolic visions that they claimed to
prepare the return of the soul to God. The Neoplatonists thus turned themselves
into ‘hierophants’ and initiated their pupils into the secret cults of their
time. Multiplying the triads and hebdomads according to the needs of the
cause, Iamblichus set the example by admitting as many as 360 divine entities
with 21 lords of the world and 42 gods of nature. In this kind of barracks open
for a general mobilization of polytheism, the mystic priest could find a place
for anything which the established cults offered him, giving the place of honour naturally to the leader of the gods set in charge of
Plotinus’ intelligible world, the great king Helios, with his image the visible
Sun, his doubles Zeus and Sarapis, his
representatives Dionysus and Asclepius, his emanations Apollo and Athena (Providence
and soul of the world), and lastly his companion Aphrodite.
To this Neoplatonist the real aim was to set up
the great confraternity of all the doctrines and religious practices of
Hellenism, a Hellenism which from now onwards let its flag fly over all the
traditional beliefs of Greece and the Near East. The gods of every peopleware
henceforth joined to form a pantheon which puts its sanctuaries and priesthoods
at the disposal of all the devout, their religious blessings being, as it were,
pooled. All difference of opinion must in future be abolished. Not only Plato,
Aristotle and Pythagoras, but also Heraclitus, Democritus and the other
philosophers—Epicurus and the Cynics alone being excepted—as well as the Orphics and the followers of Hermes Trismegistus and with
them the Jews, gnostics and Chaldeans, have all to be
made to agree, and woe betide anyone who disturbs this united front! The
‘queries’ that Porphyry had submitted to the Egyptian priest Anebo will be regarded as blasphemous; Iamblichus will
dispose of them and condemn them with equal severity and unction. The
enlightened intellectualism of a Plotinus and a Porphyry drew its power and
insight from the free effort of individual thought. Iamblichus is inspired by a
mob fanaticism. Plotinus and Porphyry had rejected the help of saving gods:
Iamblichus appeals to every form of redemption and revelation borne witness to
by ancient tradition. Plotinus and Porphyry had laid great stress on silent
prayer and banished living sacrifice from the worship of the gods. In his
desire to found a pagan Catholic church Iamblichus is sensitive to the danger
to which his plan would be exposed by the smallest concession to the
revolutionary Evangelists: just as he pours scorn on the monks, so he persists
in the search for clever sophistries to show that, religion being made for the
people and the people having need of visible divinities to worship, like those
which can be seen in the sky, the fire and smoke of sacrifice are symbols
bearing, by their very antiquity, incomparable power to strengthen the prayers
and raise towards the gods of the world the souls of the faithful gathered in
the temples.
Egypt had long been for Greek religious feeling
the Holy Land. But at the time when the Sassanids were making the voice of
Zoroaster speak with a fresh accent, when the sacred books of the Hebrews,
thanks to their hellenizing interpreters, were
universally reverenced, when the prophet Mani claimed to renew the ancient
predications of Buddha, Jesus and Zoroaster, it was impossible to put a
comprehensive religious syncretism under the exclusive patronage of the old
priesthoods of the country of the Pharaohs. In the Second Century two holy men
called Julian, who styled themselves Chaldeans, drew up the extraordinary series
of oracles known as ‘logia Chaldaica’ in which
re-appeared, with the very spirit of the Timaeus of Plato, the
principles of the old Orphic-Pythagorean mysticism from which Plato himself had
borrowed so much. To show the ‘symphony’ of the wise men of ancient Greece with
the doctrines revealed to priesthoods many thousands of years old this doctrine
of Oriental colour seemed like a godsend. Iamblichus
at once said farewell to dialectic and the unsuccessful efforts of a
rationality that had only shown into what fog and wild vagaries reason,
suspended between myriads of errors, ends by sinking, and with all sail set
sought shelter in the harbour of superhuman revelation.
Thus it is Iamblichus who was responsible for an alliance which was to make his
successor, Proclus, observe that, if it were for him to decide, he would
destroy all books, with two exceptions, the Timaeus and the Logia. If
any originality is to be attributed to Iamblichus, it would have to be found in
his idea of combining so strangely the spirit of Plato with the most fanatical
aberrations; the conjunction was certainly monstrous, but the influence which
it produced spread rapidly, at all events in the East. In the crypt at Ephesus
in which the Neoplatonist Maximus initiated the future Emperor Julian into the
mysteries of paganism, the spells used by the wonder-worker were those which
Iamblichus had borrowed from the theurgy of the oracles called Chaldaean. Writing from Gaul to the philosopher Priscus,
one of his companions in Platonic mysticism, Julian asked him for a copy of
‘everything that Iamblichus wrote on his namesake’ (the theurge Julian). When
he set down these words, Julian believed he was undergoing a supernatural
experience and he apologizes for speaking with the rapture of an enthusiast and
adds, ‘ for my part I idolize Iamblichus in philosophy and my namesake, the
theurge in theosophy, and, to speak in the manner of Apollodorus,
compared with them in my eyes the others do not count.’ After this
piece of evidence there is no reason for surprise at reading in Eunapius that
pupils hurried in crowds all along the roads of Asia to the town of Apamea
where Iamblichus taught and where his conversation— not the reading of his
writings—charmed those present at his dinner parties so much that he seemed to
fill them with nectar. Like one inspired, living in communion with the gods,
when he made solemn sacrifice on the appointed dates, he caused spirits to
appear on the waters of fountains, and, as he prayed, his garments changed to a
beautiful golden hue, and, by a phenomenon like the levitation of spirits in
modern times, his body soared aloft ten cubits from the ground.
V.
CHRISTIAN APOLOGETICS: EUSEBIUS
The Phoenician Pamphilus was trained in the catechetical school of Alexandria under the direction of Pierius, the successor of Origen. On returning to his own
country he settled at Caesarea in Palestine, the city already well-known
through the Acts of the Apostles, where Origen had taught latterly and had left
his books. To carry on the work of his master, Pamphilus founded a biblical school at Caesarea and as a second ‘Demetrius of Phalerum’ not only spent money freely on collecting the
scattered remains of Origen’s library, but also began to copy with his own hand
the precious works which he was unable to acquire. Subsequently he had a whole
staff of scribes, which was soon joined by Eusebius, working for him and with
him so eagerly and efficiently that before long the school possessed a
collection of books unrivalled in Christian circles. In friendly collaboration
with Pamphilus, to whom he was so attached that he
used his name like that of an adoptive father, Eusebius then occupied himself
under his direction in transcribing, cataloguing and editing texts, in
considering questions of authenticity, in drawing up chronological lists of
writers and in collecting about them all kinds of information of literary
history. With a mind and training less philosophic than Origen and a learning
less profound than Porphyry he set himself, like them, to emulate the great
librarians who had in an earlier day inaugurated the methods of historical and
philological criticism in the Museum at Alexandria.
In 307 the persecution let loose by Galerius
attacked the school at Caesarea, and Pamphilus was cast
into prison. Eusebius relates the scenes of horror which he witnessed at that
time. But none the less for two years—we do not know how—he managed to continue
to work with his imprisoned master and together they wrote an elaborate Apology
for Origen. Pamphilus was executed in 310, and
his disciple took it on himself to complete their common work.
Eusebius was an indefatigable worker and continued writing until a very advanced age. As
has been said by the author of one of the best histories of the early Church,
‘he knew everything, biblical history, pagan history, ancient literature,
philosophy, geography, computation, exegesis. He commented on Isaiah, and the
Psalms and on other books. He could explain the difficult question of the
Passover which depended on exegesis, ritual and astronomy. Towards the end of
his life men began to be interested in the Holy Places, and Eusebius, who had a
thorough knowledge of Palestine and the Bible, explained the names of peoples
and places mentioned in Scripture, described Judaea and reconstructed the
ancient topography of the holy city. He excelled in formal orations; in
particular he delivered the one which opened the discussions of the Council of
Nicaea (325). It was to him that the Emperor Constantine turned when he needed
well-written and accurate copies of the Bible: he once asked him for fifty all
at once, for the churches of Constantinople. ’
The vast activity of Eusebius reveals an
impressive unity of inspiration. From start to finish of his literary career,
the man who may be thought of as the first archivist historiographer of the
Church set himself to rehabilitate the new religion in the eyes of educated men
by securing for it a title to nobility of which the unbeliever Porphyry was
ignorant. In the thought of this learned reviver of apologetic who gives a
richness and entirely new splendour to the ideas of
his predecessors, it is no longer a question of winning an indulgent toleration
for an obscure and latter-day sect. Eusebius has the skill to draw from history
a striking proof of Christianity, designed by God to enter upon the heritage of
ancient civilizations. Taking up Origen’s idea that with the accession of
Augustus the reign of the pax Romana had smoothed the way for the
mission of the Apostles and the preaching of the Gospel, he finds in it an
argument to prove that the destiny of the Roman Empire was providentially bound
up with that of Christianity, and in this way the historia philologos and philosophos of a Porphyry was, in the thought of his rival Eusebius, to serve as a
preparation for what he calls ‘ecclesiastical history.’
In the cause of Hellenism, or, as he put it, of ‘philosophy,’
in order to strengthen the consciousness that Greece ought to have of so many
inherited virtues and benefits to mankind, Porphyry had composed a chronography;
Eusebius followed his example by beginning his work with the drawing up of a
chronicle in the same way. But his subject led him to conceive of horizons
differently set from those of his predecessor. To recall the origins of Greek
thought it was naturally unnecessary to go farther back than Homer and the fall
of Troy; but it was necessary to go very much farther back if one wished, as
Eusebius did, to contrast with the traditions of the Greeks those of foreign
nations. At the same time Eusebius does not lose himself in the obscurities of
a past altogether fabulous. Dismissing the apocalyptic fancies of his
predecessor Julius Africanus who, in order to establish his messianic chiliasm,
claimed to know how many years ago the world had been created, Eusebius had not
to go beyond the time of the patriarch Abraham to prove his case. Even in its
starting-point his chronology is the work of a careful and exact mind. In the
first part (chronography) the author tried to fix the chronological order of
the important events of his history, using for each people as a terminal date;
in the second (table of concordant dates) he abstracted from these different
series of events a collection of synchronisms of which the most characteristic
in his eyes was the simultaneousness of the birth of Jesus and the census of Quirinius.
This work is the most considerable of its kind in antiquity, and one of the
foundations on which still rests our knowledge of the dates in a large part of
Greek and Roman history. It must be confessed that Eusebius does not display
the complete independence of mind or the forceful originality of an
Eratosthenes or Apollodorus, the creators of his type
of research, but the Christian chronographer knew how to work according to
their methods, and it may be allowed that, considering the evidence at his
disposal, he was perfectly honest in thinking that he had established the
priority of Moses to Homer and the primacy of the revelations of the Bible.
Christians were reproached by pagans with their
novelty, and the criticism was damaging, for the word ‘innovation’ still bore
the bad sense which the word ‘revolutionary’ has with us. But Eusebius held
that the accusation was unjust, as he sets out to prove in his Praeparatio and Demonstratio Evangelica, starting invariably from the ideas of
Origen. If the Christians gave up the beliefs of their ancestors and went over
to Judaism, that was because paganism with its obscene and shocking myths, with
its idolatry and the bad customs which it fostered, was an indefensible
aberration which had all too long perverted mankind. For centuries divine
wisdom had vouchsafed a glimpse of the truth to the best of the Greek
thinkers; in the teaching of a Plato Christians recognized opinions which were
‘relations and friends’ of their own. Having thus in the Praeparatio refuted pagan polytheism and shown the superiority of Hebraic monotheism,
Eusebius in the Demonstration which formed the sequel, turned to the
Jews to rebut their criticism that the Christians accepted Judaism only to
alter it. He maintained that the legislation of Moses was only a temporary dispensation,
intended to serve as a transition between the age of the patriarchs and the
coming of Christ. Christianity with its doctrine of the Trinity—the Father, the
Son and Holy Ghost—and of the salvation secured for men by free submission to
the divine will, was to him the natural development of Judaism and at the same
time the clear revelation of the ideas and aspirations imperfectly expressed
in the doctrines of the Platonic school. Nominally directed against the Jews,
the Demonstratio quite as much as the Praeparatio is really aimed at Porphyry’s treatise Against
the Christians, which by sounding the alarm in the name of threatened
traditions and philosophy, had reinforced among the conservative élite the
dislike of the new religion. The innumerable quotations from various writers,
biblical or profane, which form the staple of these two works of Eusebius, the Praeparatio and Demonstratio Evangelica, were put together and published
first, with the title of ‘introduction’, as collections of plain extracts,
while an express and detailed refutation of Porphyry’s treatise Against the
Christians was given in a separate work now lost which had itself been
preceded by a reply of the same kind to the pagan Hierocles,
the author of a comparison intended to show that the merits of Apollonius of Tyana were quite as exemplary as those of Jesus. In this
reply Eusebius made good use of his wide reading in overwhelming Hierocles with an exposure of his plagiarisms; on Eusebius’
showing this sham writer had done nothing more than copy Celsus and a re-reading of Origen was enough to refute him. No doubt Porphyry was
combated with a similar display of learning.
Having disabused the minds of his readers of all
the prejudices fostered by pagan polemic and thrown light on the ancient
origins of Christianity and on the orientation and course of universal history,
Eusebius had only to deal with the period of its full bloom since the teaching
of Jesus to complete his panegyric on the new religion. If he succeeded in
demonstrating the constant loyalty of the Church to the teaching of its
founder, men should recognize in it the realization of a work of salvation
prepared and foretold in the most distant past. The sufferings of the Jews
abandoned by God after the death of Christ and condemned to dispersion; all the
power of the Faith borne witness to by the heroism of the martyrs and by the
failure of persecutions; the permanence of the teaching of Christ assured by
the unbroken tradition of the creed received from the holy apostles; finally
the complete realization of divine promises with the victories, to begin with,
of Constantine over Maxentius (first edition), later over Licinius (second
edition) and with the coming of the kingdom of God in an Empire reconciled with
the Church—these are the chief events whose connection he wished to make clear
in his Ecclesiastical History. It was an indispensable work but one
which no member of the Church had hitherto attempted although, in his eyes, a
first sketch of it could be found in the corresponding part of his Chronicle. By means of the translation of Rufinus the work soon spread throughout the
Latin world, and made upon it a profound and lasting impression.
The relation of the method of Eusebius to that of
the Alexandrine grammarians who were the first to try to put together a
history of profane literature is now well understood. General history in
Eusebius comes out only through and by means of literary history. His practice
is patiently to collect and revise texts, to date them and classify them, and
finally to examine them pen in hand in order to extract passages containing exact
evidence and proof; he draws up lists of succession of bishops just as the
grammarians drew up lists of succession for the heads of the great
philosophical schools; for the martyrs he makes and reproduces a selection of
the best authenticated records of their trials. Work of this kind is largely
that of an archivist, and Eusebius did not always avoid the danger of letting
his main idea disappear under a mass of documents. His literary skill and gift
for composition are insufficient to overcome the difficulties of his task; for
example, the periods represented by each of his chapters are unequally enlarged
upon according to the greater or less abundance of the materials at his
disposal. But, for all that, by means of clearly marked guide-posts he keeps a
systematic arrangement where there seems only to be disorder; he brings out the
stages of history, and leads us to his goal, not by phrases but by documents;
and it is precisely this that gives an incomparable worth to what he insists is
an ‘ecclesiastical history,’ and to the whole bulk of his writings, however
slight their literary value may be.
It is hardly to be supposed that he did the work
of an enquirer, that is to say of an enquirer irresistibly driven by curiosity
to the search for the truth, as the title he chose might lead one to think. The
time was really past even for the historia of
Greek learning, and Porphyry had not succeeded inbeing more than an erudite compiler serving literary dilettanti. Much more than he
Eusebius was incapable of going against the stream or recovering the lost
spirit. It is not even as if his stimulus was a purely scientific curiosity. He labours to propagate a faith and his work is designed
to further a particular cause. What he looks for is the material of an
advocate. He concerns himself only with what suits him, and to suppress an
irrelevant record seems to him part of his task. It is no less true that in his
anxiety not to accept evidence or texts until they have been subjected to
strong criticism he draws his inspiration from the old historian and to
form a proper idea of the very great merits of his work, as of that of
Porphyry, whose rival he wished to be, it is enough to make a comparison and
consider, for example, how much genuine understanding and breadth of view is
to be found in the organizers of great modern encyclopaedias.
In the Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius
there is one other feature to observe. This first picture of the Church’s past,
which was to give it a very real consciousness of itself and complete selfconfidence, was not simply a work conceived and
carried out in Greek, but was written from the point of view of the East. The
Christian communities of the Western half of the Empire count for little; in
the eyes of the historian the great unity of the mare nostrum is fading,
or rather, as the vital centre of the organism grows
weak, disintegration begins, and cracks appear foretelling a more complete schism.
When, for example, Eusebius discusses heresies, the whole spectacle of the
European part of the Mediterranean seems hidden from him. His knowledge of
Tertullian’s Apologeticum comes from a Greek
translation, and he thinks Tertullian was a Roman; he discovers at Caesarea the
writings of Hippolytus of Rome, but carelessly enough locates somewhere or
other what he calls his ‘bishopric’; he has no more regard for the writings of
Cyprian. Even concerning the church of Rome the conscientious archivist does
not think it his duty to make himself well-informed; at least, for several
pontificates his chronology seems to mix up years and months. But there is no
reason for surprise. How could a scholar faithful to the spirit of the school
at Alexandria give up his time to Latin? Besides, at the time when Eusebius
concluded his Ecclesiastical History, men’s minds were turned to the
‘New Rome’ of an Empire that had changed its centre,
and in Greek ecclesiastical histories the Latins were soon to be referred to with
a hint of contempt as Italians.
The last part of Eusebius’ work belongs to a new
period on which we cannot enter. We may end by observing that in celebrating
the Tricennalia of Constantine Eusebius glorifies an
Empire which will not become Christian except with the aim of making the Church
subordinate to it. The time is near when at the councils questions of dogma
become questions of politics, and the choice of men in the succession of holy
apostles is made according to the purpose and will of the Government. Further
consideration cannot be given here to the relation of Eusebius’ work to the
great theological and political conflicts which threatened in his time, but
this account of Eusebius may be fittingly closed with this quotation:
certainly, the scholarship of the great disciple of Origen, Eusebius, ‘was
employed to fashion the political philosophy of the Byzantine world.’
When the sack of Rome by Alaric shattered the
dreams of Ecclesiastical History, the two halves of the Mediterranean
were already practically isolated from one another and shut up in two closed
vessels, and the shock of the catastrophe reached the East only as an echo, as
can be clearly seen by noticing how little space is given to the event in the
parallel narratives of the three synoptic historians, Socrates, Sozomen and Theodoret, and, after
their example, in the Tripartita composed by
Cassiodorus for the West. Very soon after the death of Plotinus, his school is
found roughly divided into two spheres of influence almost without
intercommunication, that of Iamblichus in the countries which had long been hellenized, and that of Porphyry in the West which still
remained younger. It is a sign of an incompatibility of temper, due, no doubt,
to a difference in age, which begins to part the two areas of the world which
Rome had hitherto united under its protection and which the pressure of
nationalism was finally to sunder.
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