“I would not assert that theurgy may not be lawfully undertaken,” replied Plotinus, “provided that the adept shall have purified himself by a fast of forty months.”

“It may be from neglect of this precaution,” said Porphyry, “that our Maximus finds it so much easier to evoke the shades of Commodus and Caracalla than those of Socrates and Marcus Aurelius; and that these good spirits, when they do come, have no more recondite information to convey than that virtue differs from vice, and that one’s grandmother is a fitting object of reverence.”

“I fear this must expose Platonic truth to the derision of Epicurean scoffers,” remarked Plotinus.

“O master, speak not of Epicureans, still less of Stoics!  Wait till thou hast regained thy full strength, and then take counsel of some oracle.”

“What meanest thou?” exclaimed Plotinus, “I insist upon knowing.”

Porphyry was saved from replying by the hasty entrance of a bustling portly personage of loud voice and imperious manner, in whom Plotinus recognised Theocles, the chief of the Stoics.

“I rejoice, Plotinus,” he began, “that thou hast at length emerged from that condition of torpor, so unworthy of a philosopher, which I might well designate as charlatanism were I not so firmly determined to speak no word which can offend any man.  Thou wilt now be able to reprehend the malice or obtuseness of thy deputy, and to do me right in my contention with these impure dogs.”

“Which be they?” asked Plotinus.

“Do I not sufficiently indicate the followers of Epicurus?” demanded the Stoic.

“O master,” explained Porphyry, “in allotting and fitting up apartments designed for the respective sects of philosophers I naturally gave heed to what I understood to be the principles of each.  To the Epicureans, as lovers of pleasure and luxury, I assigned the most commodious quarters, furnished the same with soft cushions and costly hangings, and provided a liberal table.  I should have deemed it insulting to have offered any of these things to the frugal followers of Zeno, and nothing can surpass my astonishment at the manner in which the austere Theocles has incessantly persecuted me for choice food and wine, stately rooms and soft couches.”

“O Plotinus,” replied Theocles, “let me make the grounds of my conduct clear to thee.  In the first place, the honour of my school is in my keeping.  What will the vulgar think when they see the sty of Epicurus sumptuously adorned, and the porch of Zeno shabby and bare?  Will they not deem that the Epicureans are highly respected and the Stoics made of little account?  Furthermore, how can I and my disciples manifest our contempt for gold, dainties, wine, fine linen, and all the other instruments of luxury, unless we have them to despise?  Shall we not appear like foxes, vilipending the grapes that we cannot reach?  Not so; offer me delicacies that I may reject them, wine that I may pour it into the kennel, Tyrian purple that I may trample upon it, gold that I may fling it away; if it break an Epicurean’s head, so much the better.”