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The culmination of all this confusion we see in Proclus. The
unfortunate Hypatia, who is the most important personage between him and
Iamblichus, has left no writings to our times; we can only judge of her
doctrine by that of her instructors and her pupils. Proclus was taught
by the men who had heard her lecture; and the golden chain of the
Platonic succession descended from her to him. His throne, however, was
at Athens, not at Alexandria. After the murder of the maiden
philosopher, Neoplatonism prudently retired to Greece. But Proclus is
so essentially the child of the Alexandrian school that we cannot pass
him over. Indeed, according to M. Cousin, as I am credibly informed, he
is the Greek philosopher; the flower and crown of all its schools; in
whom, says the learned Frenchman, "are combined, and from whom shine
forth, in no irregular or uncertain rays, Orpheus, Pythagoras, Plato,
Aristotle, Zeno, Plotinus, Porphyry, and Iamblichus;" and who "had so
comprehended all religions in his mind, and paid them such equal
reverence, that he was, as it were, the priest of the whole universe!"
I have not the honour of knowing much of M. Cousin's works. I never
came across them but on one small matter of fact, and on that I found
him copying at second hand an anachronism which one would have conceived
palpable to any reader of the original authorities. This is all I know
of him, saving these his raptures over Proclus, of which I have quoted
only a small portion, and of which I can only say, in Mr. Thomas
Carlyle's words, "What things men will worship, in their extreme need!"
Other moderns, however, have expressed their admiration of Proclus; and,
no doubt, many neat sayings may be found in him (for after all he was a
Greek), which will be both pleasing and useful to those who consider
philosophic method to consist in putting forth strings of brilliant
apophthegms, careless about either their consistency or coherence: but
of the method of Plato or Aristotle, any more than of that of Kant or
Mill, you will find nothing in him. He seems to my simplicity to be at
once the most timid and servile of commentators, and the most cloudy of
declaimers. He can rave symbolism like Jacob Bohmen, but without an
atom of his originality and earnestness. He can develop an inverted
pyramid of daemonology, like Father Newman himself, but without an atom
of his art, his knowledge of human cravings. He combines all schools,
truly, Chaldee and Egyptian as well as Greek; but only scraps from their
mummies, drops from their quintessences, which satisfy the heart and
conscience as little as they do the logical faculties. His Greek gods
and heroes, even his Alcibiades and Socrates, are "ideas;" that is,
symbols of certain notions or qualities: their flesh and bones, their
heart and brain, have been distilled away, till nothing is left but a
word, a notion, which may patch a hole in his huge heaven-and-earth-embracing
system. He, too, is a commentator and a deducer; all has been
discovered; and he tries to discover nothing more. Those who followed
him seem to have commented on his comments. With him Neoplatonism
properly ends. Is its last utterance a culmination or a fall? Have the
Titans sealed heaven, or died of old age, "exhibiting," as Gibbon says
of them, "a deplorable instance of the senility of the human mind?"
Read Proclus, and judge for yourselves: but first contrive to finish
everything else you have to do which can possibly be useful to any human
being. Life is short, and Art--at least the art of obtaining practical
guidance from the last of the Alexandrians--very long.
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