Part 24

The next adventure of Ulysses is that of the Cyclops, whom he deprived of sight, and irritated by reproaches. But according to Porphyry, in the above-mentioned excellent treatise, this is no other than the natal dæmon of Ulysses, or the dæmon to whose protecting power he became subject, as soon as he was born[190]. In order, however, to understand perfectly the arcane meaning of this fable, it is necessary to observe, that according to the ancient theology, those souls that in the present life will speedily return to their pristine felicity in the intelligible world, have not the essential dæmon, or the dæmon which is inseparable from the essence of the soul, different from the dæmon that presides over the birth; for they are one and the same. But the case is otherwise with more imperfect souls; as the natal is in these different from the _essential_ dæmon[191]. As Ulysses, therefore, does not rank among the more perfect heroic characters, and was not one who in the present life is immediately ascending to his kindred star, or, in Platonic language, to the paternal port, the soul’s true paradise of rest; but was a man who, prior to this, had many laborious wanderings to accomplish, and many difficulties and dangers of no common magnitude to sustain, his _natal_ was not the same with his _essential_ dæmon. As he is, however, departing from a sensible to an intellectual life, though circuitously and slowly, he is represented in so doing as blinding and irritating his _natal_ dæmon. For he who blinds the eye of sense, and extinguishes its light, after his will has profoundly assented to its use, must expect punishment for the deed; as necessary ultimately to his own peculiar good, and the general order of the universe. Indeed, troubles and misfortunes resulting from such undertakings, not only contribute to appease the anger of their authors, but likewise purify and benefit the subjects of their revenge. According to the Greek theology, therefore, he who, in the present life, while he is in the road of virtue, and is eagerly searching for wisdom, perceives that there is a great resemblance between his destiny and that of Ulysses, may safely conclude, that either here, or in a prior state of existence, he has voluntarily submitted to the power of his natal dæmon, and has now deprived him of sight; or in other words, has abandoned a life of sense; and that he has been profoundly delighted with the nature of matter, and is now abrogating the confessions which he made. This, too, is insinuated in the beautiful story of Cupid and Psyche, by Apuleius, when the terrestrial Venus sends Mercury with a book in which her name is inscribed, to apprehend Psyche as a fugitive from her mistress. For this whole story relates to the descent of the soul into this terrene body, and its wanderings and punishments, till it returns to its true country and pristine felicity[192].

In the next fable, which is that of Æolus, the poet appears to me to signify that providence of divinity which is of an elevating and guardian nature, the influence of which, when properly received by the subjects of it, enables them to pass with security over the stormy sea of life to their native land; but when this influence is neglected through the sleep of reason, the negligence is followed by a temporary destruction of hope. This providence also of the Gods is not only one, but _all-various_, which Homer appears to indicate by Æolus; the word αιολος signifying various and manifold. As the advancement, therefore, of Ulysses in the virtues is as yet imperfect, extending no farther than to the _ethical_ and _political_, which are but adumbrations of the _true_ virtues, the cathartic and theoretic[193], he is said to have fallen asleep, and to have been thereby disappointed of his wishes, his soul not being at that time in a truly vigilant state, as not having yet elevated its eye to real being from objects of sense which resemble the delusions of dreams.

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

In the next adventure, which contains the beautiful allegory of Circe, we shall find some deep arcana of philosophy contained, exclusive of its connexion with Ulysses. By the Æean isle, then, in which the palace of Circe was situated, the region of sorrow and lamentation is signified, as is evident from the name of the island itself. And, by Circe, we must understand the Goddess of sense. For thus Porphyry, in Stobæus, p. 141: “Homer calls the period and revolution of regeneration in a circle, Circe, the daughter of the Sun, who perpetually connects and combines all corruption with generation, and generation again with corruption.” And this is asserted still more explicitly by Proclus, in his Scholia on the Cratylus of Plato. For he says, “Circe is that divine power which weaves all the life contained in the four elements, and, at the same time, by her song harmonizes the whole sublunary world. But the shuttle with which she weaves, is represented by theologists as golden, because her essence is intellectual, pure, immaterial, and unmingled with generation; all which is signified by the shuttle being golden. And her employment consists in _separating_[194] stable things from such as are in motion, according to divine diversity.” And he also informs us, “that Circe ranks among the divinities who preside over generation, or the regions of sense.” Homer, too, with great propriety, represents Circe, who rules over the realms of generation, as waited on by Nymphs sprung from fountains; for Nymphs, says Hermias (in Plat. Phædrum,) are Goddesses who preside over regeneration, and are the attendants of Bacchus, the son of Semele. On this account, they are present with water; that is, they ascend, as it were, into, and rule over generation. But this Dionysius, or Bacchus, supplies the regeneration of every sensible nature.

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

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

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

Whose song is death, and makes destruction please.

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

Ulysses, having escaped the dangers of the Sirens, passes on to the rocks of Scylla and Charybdis, of terrific appearance and irresistible force. By these two rocks the poet seems to signify the passions of anger and desire, and their concomitants, that compress human life on both sides; and which every one must experience who proceeds, like Ulysses, in a regular manner to an intellectual state of existence. Some of these are, like Scylla, of a lofty malignity; fraudulent, yet latent and obscure, as being concealed in the penetration of the soul. And such is revenge, and other passions of a similar kind. In these recesses a dæmon, the prince of such passions, resides. For the Chaldean oracles assert that terrestrial dæmons dwell in the soul, which is replete with irrational affections[195]. This dæmon also may justly be denominated a dire and enraged dog, who partly exposes his own malice, and partly hides it in impenetrable obscurity. Hence he is capable of producing mischief in a twofold respect. For he privately hurts by malignant stratagems, openly ravishes the soul on the lofty rock of fury, and rends it with the triple evil of deadly teeth, viz. dereliction of duty, hatred of humanity, and self-conceit. Indeed, a dæmon of this kind will be perpetually vigilant in endeavouring to destroy, at one time the whole, and at another time a part of the soul of one, struggling, like Ulysses, against passion, and yielding reluctantly to its invasions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But sad Ulysses, by himself apart, Pour’d the big sorrows of his swelling heart; All on the lonely shore he sat to weep, And roll’d his eyes around the restless deep; Tow’rd his lov’d coast he roll’d his eyes in vain, Till dimm’d with rising grief they stream’d again[196].

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

And now, rejoicing in the prosperous gales, With beating heart Ulysses spread his sails; Plac’d at the helm he sate, and mark’d the skies, Nor clos’d in sleep his ever watchful eyes. There viewed the Pleiads, and the northern team, And great Orion’s more refulgent beam; To which around the axle of the sky The Bear, revolving, points his golden eye; Who shines exalted on the ethereal plain, Nor bathes his blazing forehead in the main[197].

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