Porphyry of Tyre on Theology and Theurgy

Historians like to stage philosophy as a debate between a handful of key figures who shaped the vocabulary and debates of their time. Other philosophers—seen as dwarves standing on the shoulders of giants—are relegated to the sidelines of history and deprived of any meaningful influence. While this generally does not do justice to the complexity of the history of philosophy, in some cases it draws the curtain over minor figures who, despite the limited influence of their ideas, have lastingly contributed to certain specific discussions. Such is the case, to an eminent degree, for the fourth-century philosopher Porphyry.
Born in Tyre, a city in the Roman province of Phoenice (modern-day Lebanon), Porphyry received his philosophical training from Plotinus, one of the most important philosophers of ancient times. Both Plotinus and Porphyry belong to the greater context of Neoplatonism, a philosophical tradition born from Plato’s teaching that influenced the vocabulary and arguments of Western philosophy in a determinative way. However, while Plotinus shaped Neoplatonism in essential ways, Porphyry’s contribution was more modest and punctual. This modesty and punctuality deprived him of the spotlight and fame, but one could argue that these qualities make him all the more interesting as a philosopher.

Porphyry’s most important contribution to Neoplatonism and, more generally, to the history of philosophy lies in his attempt to rethink the relation between religion and philosophy. Religious thinkers and philosophers have been competing for ultimate answers to the fundamental problems of human existence for thousands of years.

Religion tends to articulate ultimate answers in the shape of mythological narratives and commitment to practices such as divination, sacrifices, or astrology. Philosophy, on the other hand, relies on discursive and intellectual means such as reasoning, conceptualization, and argumentation. The tension between these two models has haunted Greek thinkers since the historical beginning of philosophy. Some philosophers incorporated religious ideas in their teaching, while others, such as Xenophanes, thought that talking about individual gods and mythological constructions was irresponsible.

At Porphyry’s time, this question had become even more urgent. With the rise of the Jewish and Christian religions, the Greeks’ own religious tradition found itself in a difficult spot: Should Greek thinkers embrace religious ideas to stand up to the new Christian and Jewish rivals, or should they dismiss religion and insist on the exclusivity of philosophy? While Neoplatonists such as Plotinus promoted a compromise between the two choices, Porphyry and later Neoplatonists had to come up with a new, more satisfying solution.

In his two texts, Letter to Anebo and Philosophy from Oracles, Porphyry argues that while philosophy and religion may ultimately turn out to be irreconcilable, there are ways to explain their differences within a conceptually coherent framework. For Porphyry, religion is represented by what he calls “theurgy.” Theurgy is a form of ceremonial or ritual interaction with the gods, for example, through sacrifices, invocations, and other such practices capable of influencing the gods’ intentions. The type of philosophy concerned with divine reality is called “theology.” How can theology and theurgy be brought together without excluding one of the two? 

Porphyry’s main claim is that religious practices such as theurgy should ultimately conform to philosophical standards. Or, to put it differently: one shouldn’t cultivate religious commitments that contradict philosophical ideas about divine reality. This is what Porphyry explains in the first two of the three texts translated here. God is, according to Neoplatonic philosophy, an all-powerful intellect. To live in accordance with God’s intellectual nature, one should seek to make one’s own life intellectual, that is, to refrain from transient, bodily desires and to only cultivate interests that produce knowledge and virtue. Porphyry encapsulates this in the idea that one should orient one’s whole thinking toward God as intellect, as the third
text states.

In the third text, Porphyry establishes criteria by which one can judge whether religion conforms to philosophical standards or not: if a certain religion incites practitioners to invoke the gods to acquire material goods, and if it says nothing about ways to find happiness in life in a sustainable and genuine way, then that religion is vain.

Today, as religion appears in new shapes and extends into new practices, Porphyry’s standpoint appears provocative. Does his call to adjust religion to philosophy or to rationalize amount to elitism? Should philosophers aspire to intervene in religious questions? Is there any form of rationality that may be seen as universally normative? While we cannot expect Porphyry to give us ultimate answers to these questions, his philosophy allows us to understand their historical background and to critically reflect on our own assumptions about religion.