But before I take my leave of Plotinus, I cannot refrain from addressing a few words to the Platonical part of my readers. If such, then, is the wisdom contained in the works of this philosopher, as we may conclude from the present specimen, is it fit so divine a treasure should be concealed in shameful oblivion? With respect to true philosophy, you must be sensible that all modern sects are in a state of barbarous ignorance: for Materialism and its attendant Sensuality, have darkened the eyes of the many, with mists of error; and are continually strengthening their corporeal tie. And can any thing more effectually dissipate this increasing gloom than discourses composed by so sublime a genius, pregnant w’ith the most profound conceptions, and every where full of intellectual light? Can any thing so thoroughly destroy the phantom of false enthusiasm, as establishing the real object of the true? Let us then boldly enlist ourselves under the banners of Plotinus, and, by his assistance, vigorously repel the encroachments of error, plunge her dominions into the abyss of forgetfulness, and disperse the darkness of her baneful night. For, indeed, there never was a period which required so much philosophic exertion; or such vehement contention from the lovers of Truth. On all sides, nothing of philosophy remains but the name, and this is become the subject of the vilest prostitution: since it is not only engrossed by the Naturalist, Chemist, and Anatomist, but is usurped by the Mechanic, in every trifling invention, and made subservient to the lucre of traffic and merchandize. There cannot surely be a greater proof of the degeneracy of the times than so unparalleled a degradation, and so barbarous a perversion of terms. For, the word philosophy, which implies the love of wisdom, is now become the ornament of folly. In the times of its inventor, and for many succeeding ages, it was expressive of modesty and worth; in our days, it is the badge of impudence and vain pretensions. It was formerly the symbol of the profound and contemplative genius; it is now the mark of the superficial and unthinking practitioner. It was once reverenced by kings, and clothed in the robes of nobility; it is now (according to its true acceptation) abandoned and despised, and ridiculed by the vilest Plebeian. Permit me, then, my friends, to address you in the words of Achilles to Hector.
Rouse, then, your forces, this important hour.
Collect your strength and call forth all your pow’r.
Since, to adopt the animated language of Neptune to the Greeks,
on dastards, dead to fame,
I waste no anger.; for they feel no shame;
But you, the pride, the flower of all our host,
My heart weeps blood, fo see your glory lost.
Nor deem the exhortation impertinent, and the danger groundless.
For lo! the fated time, the appointed shore;
Hark! the gates burst, the brazen barriers rear.
Impetuous ignorance is thundering at the bulwarks of philosophy, and her sacred retreats are in danger of being demolished, through our feeble resistance. Rise, then, my friends, and the victory will be ours. The foe is indeed numerous, but, at the same time, feeble: and the weapons of truth, in the hands of vigorous union, descend with irresistible force, and are fatal wherever they fall.