Guthrie-Plotinus: affection

(b.) (No aggregation of atoms could form a whole that would be one and sympathetic with itself.) Others, on the contrary, insist that the soul is constituted by the union of atoms or indivisibles (as thought Leucippus, Democritus   and Epicurus  .) To refute this error, we have to examine the nature of sympathy (or community of affection, a Stoic characteristic of a living being,) and juxtaposition. On the one hand an aggregation of corporeal molecules which are incapable of being united, and which do not feel cannot form a single sympathetic whole such as is the soul, which is sympathetic with herself. On the other hand, how could a body or extension be constituted by (a juxtaposition of) atoms? [Ennead IV,7 (2) 3]

(d.) (The soul is not a simple manner of being of matter, because matter could not give itself a form.) Some Stoics might deny that form was a “being,” asserting the soul to be a mere affection (or, manner of being) of matter. From whence then did matter acquire this affection and animating life? Surely matter itself could not endow itself with a form and a soul. That which endows matter or any body with life must then be some principle alien and superior to corporeal nature. [Ennead IV,7 (2) 3]

(12). a. Since the soul is not corporeal, its real nature must be ascertained. Shall we assert that she is something distinct from the body, but dependent thereon, as, for instance, a harmony? Pythagoras  , indeed, used this word in a technical sense; and after him the harmony of the body has been thought to be something similar to the harmony of a lyre. As tension produces in the lyre-strings an affection (or, manner of being, or state) that is called harmony, likewise, as contrary elements are mingled in our body, an individual mixture produces life and soul, which, therefore, is only an individual affection of this mixture. [Ennead IV,7 (2) 8]

c. What then can be the nature of the soul, if she is neither a body, nor a corporeal affection, while, nevertheless, all the active force, the productive power and the other faculties reside in her, or come from her? What sort of a “being,” indeed, is this (soul) that has an existence independent of the body? She must evidently be a veritable “being.” Indeed, everything corporeal must be classified as generated, and excluded from genuine “being,” because it is born, and perishes, never really exists, and owes its salvation exclusively to participation in the genuine existence, and that only in the measure of its participation therein. [Ennead IV,7 (2) 8]

It is therefore by no means necessary that when one member of the universe experiences an affection, the latter be clearly felt by the All. The existence of sympathy is natural enough, and it could not be denied; but this does not imply identity of sensation. Nor is it absurd that our souls, while forming a single one should be virtuous and vicious, just as it would be possible that the same essence be at motion in me, but at rest in you. Indeed, the unity that we attribute to the universal (Soul) does not exclude all multiplicity, such a unity as befits intelligence. We may however say that (the soul) is simultaneously unity and plurality, because she participates not only in divisible essence in the bodies, but also in the indivisible, which consequently is one. Now, just as the impression perceived by one of my parts is not necessarily felt all over my body, while that which happens to the principal organ is felt by all the other parts, likewise, the impressions that the universe communicates to the individual are clearer, because usually the parts perceive the same affections as the All, while it is not evident that the particular affections that we feel would be also experienced by the Whole. [Ennead IV,9 (8) 2]

If the Soul were a body, then would the division of this body necessarily produce the multitude of souls, and this essence would be different in its different parts. Nevertheless, as this essence would be homogeneous, the souls (between which it would divide itself) would be similar to each other, because they would possess a single identical form in its totality, but they would differ by their body. If the essence of these souls consisted in the bodies which would serve them as subjects, they would be different from each other. If the essence of these souls consisted in their form, they would, in form, be but one single form; in other terms, there would be but one same single soul in a multitude of bodies. Besides, above this soul which would be one, but which would be spread abroad in the multitude of bodies, there would be another Soul which would not be spread abroad in the multitude of bodies; it would be from her that would proceed the soul which would be the unity in plurality, the multiple image of the single Soul in a single body, like a single seal, by impressing the same figure to a multitude of pieces of wax, would be distributing this figure in a multitude of impressions. In this case (if the essence of the soul consisted in her form) the soul would be something incorporeal, and as she would consist in an affection of the body, there would be nothing astonishing in that a single quality, emanating from a single principle, might be in a multitude of subjects simultaneously. Last, if the essence of the soul consisted in being both things (being simultaneously a part of a homogeneous body and an affection of the body), there would be nothing surprising (if there were a unity of essence in a multitude of subjects). We have thus shown that the soul is incorporeal, and an essence; we must now consider the results of this view. [Ennead IV,9 (8) 4]

Thus the absolutely divisible (essence) does not exist alone; there is another one located immediately beneath it, and derived from it. On one hand, this inferior (essence) participates in the indivisibility of its principle; on the other, it descends towards another nature by its procession. Thereby it occupies a position intermediary between indivisible and primary (essence), (that is, intelligence), and the divisible (essence) which is in the bodies. Besides it is not in the same condition of existence as color and the other qualities; for though the latter be the same in all corporeal masses, nevertheless the quality in one body is completely separate from that in another, just as physical masses themselves are separate from each other. Although (by its essence) the magnitude of these bodies be one, nevertheless that which thus is identical in each part does not exert that community of affection which constitutes sympathy, because to identity is added difference. This is the case because identity is only a simple modification of bodies, and not a “being.” On the contrary, the nature that approaches the absolutely indivisible “Being” is a genuine “being” (such as is the soul). It is true that she unites with the bodies and consequently divides with them; but that happens to her only when she communicates herself to the bodies. On the other hand, when she unites with the bodies, even with the greatest and most extended of all (the world), she does not cease to be one, although she yield herself up to it entirely. [Ennead IV,2 (21) 1]

Sensations are not affections, but actualizations, and judgments, relative to passions. The affections occur in what is other (than the soul); that is, in the organized body, and the judgment in the soul. For if the judgment were an affection, it would itself presuppose another judgment, and so on to infinity. Though accepting this statement, we must, nevertheless, examine whether the judgment itself, as such, in nowise participates in the nature of its object; for if it receive the impression thereof, it is passive. Besides, the “images derived from the senses” — to use the popular language — are formed in a manner entirely different from what is generally believed. They are in the same case as the intellectual conceptions, which are actualizations, and through which, without being affected, we know objects. In general, neither our reason nor our will permit us, in any way, to attribute to the soul modifications and changes such as the heating or cooling of bodies. Further, we have to consider whether that part of the soul, that is called the passive (or affective, or irrational), must also be be considered as unalterable, or as being affectible. But we will take up this question later; we must begin by solving our earlier problems. [Ennead III,6 (26) 1]

If, (on the Stoic hypothesis) the soul were extended, and corporeal, it would be difficult, or rather impossible for her to remain impassible and unalterable when the above-mentioned occurrences take place within her. If, on the contrary, she be a “being” that is unextended, and incorruptible, we must take care not to attribute to her affections that might imply that she is perishable. If, on the contrary, her “being” be a number or a reason, as we usually say, how could an affection occur within a number or a reason? We must therefore attribute to the soul only irrational reasons, passions without passivity; that is, we must consider these terms as no more than metaphors drawn from the nature of bodies, taking them in an opposite sense, seeing in them no more than mere analogies, so that we may say that the soul experiences them without experiencing them, and that she is passive without really being such (as are the bodies). Let us examine how all this occurs. [Ennead III,6 (26) 1]

Let us now pass to that part of the soul that is called the “passional” (or, affective). We have already mentioned it, when treating of all the “passions” (that is, affections), which were related to the irascible-part and appetitive part of the soul; but we are going to return to a study of this part, and explain its name, the “passional” (or, affective) part. It is so called because it seems to be the part affected by the “passions;” that is, experiences accompanied by pleasure or pain. Amidst these affections, some are born of opinion; thus, we feel fear or joy, according as we expect to die, or as we hope to attain some good; then the “opinion” is in the soul, and the “affection” in the body. On the contrary, other passions, occurring in an unforeseen way, give rise to opinion in that part of the soul to which this function belongs, but do not cause any alteration within her, as we have already explained. Nevertheless, if, on examining unexpected fear, we follow it up higher, we discover that it still contains opinion as its origin, implying some apprehension in that part of the soul that experiences fear, as a result of which occur the trouble and stupor which accompany the expectation of evil. Now it is to the soul that belongs imagination, both the primary imagination that we call opinion, and the (secondary) imagination that proceeds from the former; for the latter is no longer genuine opinion, but an inferior power, an obscure opinion, a confused imagination which resembles the action characteristic of nature, and by which this power produces each thing, as we say, unimaginatively. Its resulting sense-agitation occurs within the body. To it relate trembling, palpitation, paleness, and inability to speak. Such modifications, indeed, could not be referred to any part of the soul; otherwise, such part of the soul would be physical. Further, if such part of the soul underwent such affections these modifications would not reach the body; for that affected part of the soul would no longer be able to exercise its functions, being dominated by passion, and thus incapacitated. [Ennead III,6 (26) 4]

The affective part of the soul, therefore, is not corporeal; it is a form indeed, but a form engaged in matter, such as the appetite, the power of growth, both nutritive and generative, a power which is the root and principle of appetite, and the affective part of the soul. Now a form cannot undergo an affection or a passion, but must remain what it is. It is the matter (of a body) which is capable of being affected by a “passion” (an affection), when this affection is produced by the presence of the power which is its principle. Indeed it is neither the power of growth that grows, nor the nutritive power that is fed; in general, the principle that produces a motion is not itself moved by the movement it produces; in case it were moved in any way, its movement and action would be of an entirely different nature. Now the nature of a form is an actualization, by its mere presence producing (something), just as if the harmony alone could cause the vibration of the strings of a lyre. Thus the affective part (of the soul, without itself being affected) is the cause of the affections, whether the movement proceed from it, that is, from sense-imagination, or whether they occur without (distinct) imagination. [Ennead III,6 (26) 4]

We might further consider whether, inasmuch as opinion originates in a higher principle (of the soul), this principle does not remain immovable because it is the form of harmony, while the cause of the movement plays the role of the musician, and the parts caused to vibrate by the affection, that of the strings; for it is not the harmony, but the string that experiences the affection; and even if the musician desired it, the string would not vibrate unless it were prescribed by the harmony. [Ennead III,6 (26) 4]

If then, from the very start, the soul undergo no affections, what then is the use of trying to render her impassible by means of philosophy? The reason is that when an image is produced in the soul by the affective part, there results in the body an affection and a movement; and to this agitation is related the image of the evil which is foreseen by opinion. It is this affection that reason commands us to annihilate, and whose occurrence even we are to forestall, because when this affection occurs, the soul is sick, and healthy when it does no occur. In the latter case, none of these images, which are the causes of affections, form within the soul. That is why, to free oneself from the images that obsess one during dreams, the soul that occupies herself therewith is to be wakened. Again, that is why we can say that affections are produced by representations of exterior entities, considering these representations as affections of the soul. [Ennead III,6 (26) 5]

If matter could be affected, it would have to preserve some of the affection, retaining either the affection itself, or remain in a state different from the one in which it was before it was affected. But when one quality appears after another quality, it is no longer matter that receives it, but matter as determined by a quality. If even this quality should evanesce, though leaving some trace of itself by the action it has exercised, the substrate will still more be altered; proceeding thus it will come to be something entirely different from pure matter, it will be something multiple by its forms and by its manners of existence. It will no longer be the common receptacle of all things, since it will contain an obstacle to many things that could happen to it; matter would no longer subsist within it, and would no longer be incorruptible. Now if, by definition, matter always remains what it was since its origin, namely “matter,” then, if we insist that it be altered, it is evident that matter no longer remains such. Moreover, if everything that is altered must remain unchanged in kind, so as not to be changed in itself, though changed in accidents; in one word, if that which is changed must be permanent, and if that which is permanent be not that which is affected, we come to a dilemma; either matter is altered, and abandons its nature; or it does not abandon its nature, and is not changed. If we say that matter is changed, but not in so far as it is matter, it will, to begin with, be impossible to state in what it is changed; and further, we would thereby be forced to insist it was not changed. Indeed, just as other things, which are forms, cannot be changed in their “being” (or, nature), because it is this very unalterability which constitutes their “being” (or, nature), likewise, as the “being” (or, nature) of matter is to exist in so far as it is matter, it cannot be altered in so far as it is matter, and it must necessarily be permanent in this respect. Therefore if form be unalterable, matter must be equally unalterable. [Ennead III,6 (26) 10]

Plato agreed with this, and being persuaded that, by participation, matter does not receive form and shape, as would some substrate that should constitute a composite of things intimately united by their transformation, their mixture, and their common affections; in order to demonstrate the opposite, namely, that matter remains impassible while receiving forms, invented a most apposite illustration of a participation that operates without anything being affected (namely, that engravers, before using dies on the soft wax, clean them carefully). Almost any other kind of illustration would fail to explain how the substrate can remain the same in the presence of forms. While trying to achieve his purpose, Plato has raised many questions; he has besides applied himself to demonstrate that sense-objects are devoid of reality, and that a large part of their hypostatic substance is constituted by appearance. Plato demonstrates the permanence and identity of matter by showing that it is by the figures with which it is endued that matter affects animated bodies, without itself suffering any of their affections. He wishes to convince us that in being endued with these figures, matter undergoes neither affection nor alteration. Indeed, in the bodies that successively assume different figures, we may, relying on analogy, call the change of figures an alteration; but since matter has neither figure nor existence, how could we, even by analogy, call the presence of a figure an alteration? The only sure way of avoiding a misunderstanding in expression is to say that the substrate possesses nothing in the manner it is usually supposed to possess it. How then could it possess the things it contains, unless as a figure? Plato’s illustration means that matter is impassible, and that it contains the apparent presence of images which are not really present therein. [Ennead III,6 (26) 12]

We must still further preliminarily insist on the impassibility of matter; for by using the usual terms we might be misled into wrongly thinking that matter could be affected. Thus Plato speaks of matter being set on fire, being wetted, and so forth, as if it received the shapes of air or water. However, Plato modifies the statement that “matter receives the shapes of air and water” by the statement that matter “is set on fire and wetted,” and he demonstrates that by receiving these shapes it nevertheless has none of its own, and that forms do not more than enter into it. This expression “matter is set on fire” must not be taken literally; it means only that matter becomes fire. Now to become fire is not the same thing as being set on fire; to be set on fire can achieve no more than what is different from fire, than what can be affected; for that which itself is a part of fire could not be set on fire. To insist on the opposite would amount to saying that metal itself formed a statue, or that fire itself spread into matter and set it on fire. The theory that a (“seminal) reason” had approached matter, forces us to question how this reason could have set matter on fire. The theory that a figure had approached matter would imply that that which is set on fire is already composed of two things (matter and a figure), and that these two entities form a single one. Although these two things would form a single one, they would not affect each other, and would act only on other entities. Nor would they even in this case act jointly; for one would effect no more than to hinder the other from avoiding (form). The theory that when the body is divided matter also must be divided, would have to answer the question, How could matter on being divided, escape the affection undergone by the composite (of form and matter)? On such a theory, one might even assert that matter was destroyed, and ask, Since the body is destroyed, why should not matter also be destroyed? What is affected and divided must be a quantity or magnitude. What is not a magnitude cannot experience the same modifications as a body. Therefore those who consider matter affectible would be forced to call it a body. [Ennead III,6 (26) 12]

What is called inevitable necessity and divine justice consists in the sway of nature which causes each soul to proceed in an orderly manner into the bodily image which has become the object of her affection, and of her predominating disposition. Consequently the soul, by her form, entirely approaches the object towards which her interior disposition bears her. Thus she is led and introduced where she is to go; not that she is forced to descend at any particular moment into any particular body; but, at a fixed moment, she descends as it were spontaneously where she ought to enter. Each (soul) has her own hour. When this hour arrives, the soul descends as if a herald was calling her, and she penetrates into the body prepared to receive her, as if she had been mastered and set in motion by forces and powerful attractions exerted by magic. Similarly in an animal, nature administers all the organs, solves or begets everything in its own time, grows the beard or the horns, gives special inclinations and powers to the being, whenever they become necessary. Similarly, in plants, (nature) produces flowers or fruits at the proper season. The descent of souls into the bodies is neither voluntary nor forced; it is not voluntary, since it is not chosen or consented to by souls. It is not compulsory, in the sense that the latter obey only a natural impulsion, just as one might be led to marriage, or to the accomplishment of various honest actions, rather by instinct than by reasoning. Nevertheless, there is always something fatal for each soul. One accomplishes her destiny at some one moment; the other soul at some other moment. Likewise, the intelligence that is superior to the world also has something fatal in its existence, since itself has its own destiny, which is to dwell in the intelligible world, and to make its light radiate therefrom. Thus individuals come here below by virtue of the common law to which they are subjected. Each one, indeed, bears within himself this common law, a law which does not derive its power from outside, but which depends on the nature of those who are subject to it, because it is innate in them. Consequently all voluntarily carry out its decrees at the predestined time, because this law impels them to their goal; and because, deriving its force from those whom it commands, it presses and stimulates them and inspires them with the desire to go whither their interior vocation calls them. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 13]

Nor will the soul be in the body as (a quality) is in a substrate. The attribute of being a substrate is a mere affection, like a color, or a figure; but the soul is separable from the body. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 20]

Must we attribute sensation to each power, but in a different manner? In this case, for instance, it will be sight, and not appetite, which will perceive sense-objects; but appetite will be later wakened by sensation which will be “relayed,” (as the Stoics would say); and though it does not judge of sensation, it will unconsciously feel the characteristic affection. The same state of affairs will obtain with anger. It will be sight which will show us an injustice, but it will be anger which will resent it. Just so, when a shepherd notices a wolf near his flock, the dog, though he have not yet observed anything, will be excited by the smell or noise of the wolf. It certainly is appetite which experiences pleasure, and which keeps a trace of it; but this trace constitutes an affection or disposition, and not a memory. It is another power which observes the enjoyment of pleasure, and which remembers what occurred. This is proved by the fact that memory is often ignorant of the things in which appetite has participated, though appetite still preserve traces thereof. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 28]

What about (the memory) of friends, of parents, of a wife, of the fatherland, and of all that a virtuous man may properly remember? In the image of the soul (the irrational soul) these memories will be accompanied by a passive affection; but in the man (the rational soul) they will not be so accompanied. The affections exist since the beginning in the inferior soul; in the superior soul, as a result of her dealings with the other, there are also some affections, but only proper affections. The inferior soul may well seek to remember the actions of the superior soul, especially when she herself has been properly cultivated; for she can become better from her very principle up, and through the education she receives from the other. The higher soul must willingly forget what comes to her from the inferior soul. When she is good, she can, besides, by her power contain the subordinate soul. The more she desires to approach the intelligible world, the more she must forget the things from here below, unless the whole life she has led here below be such that she has entrusted to her memory none but praiseworthy things. Even in our own world, indeed, it is a fine thing to release oneself from human preoccupations. It would therefore be still finer to forget them all. In this sense we might well say that the virtuous soul should be forgetful. She thus escapes manifoldness, reduces manifoldness to unity, and abandons the indeterminate. She therefore ceases to live with manifoldness, lightens her burdens, and lives for herself. Indeed, while remaining here below, she desires to live in the intelligible world, and neglects all that is foreign to her nature. She therefore retains but few earthly things when she has arrived to the intelligible world; she has more of them when she inhabits the heavens. Hercules (in heaven) may well vaunt his valor; but even this valor seems to him trifling when he has arrived at a region still holier than heaven, when he dwells in the intelligible world, when he has risen over Hercules himself by the force manifested in those struggles which are characteristic of veritable sages. [Ennead IV,3 (27) 31]

First, what is the nature of anger? We grow irritated at maltreatment of ourselves or of a person dear to us; in general, when we witness some outrage. Therefore anger implies a certain degree of sensation, or even intelligence, and we should have to suppose that anger originates in some principle other than the vegetative power. Certain bodily conditions, however, predispose us to anger; such as being of a fiery disposition, and being bilious; for people are far less disposed to anger if of a cold-blooded nature. Besides, animals grow irritated especially by the excitement of this particular part, and by threats of harm to their bodily condition. Consequently we would once more be led to refer anger to the condition of the body and to the principle which presides over the constitution of organism. Since men are more irritable when sick than when well, when they are hungry, more than when well satisfied, anger or its principle should evidently be referred to the organized and living body; evidently, attacks of anger are excited by the blood or the bile, which are living parts of the animal. As soon as the body suffers, the blood as well as the bile boils, and there arises a sensation which arouses the imagination; the latter then instructs the soul of the state of the organism, and disposes the soul to attack what causes this suffering. On the other hand, when the reasonable soul judges that we have been injured, she grows excited, even if there were no disposition to anger in the body. This affection seems therefore to have been given to us by nature to make us, according to the dictates of our reasons, repel and threatens us. (There are then two possible states of affairs.) Either the irascible power first is moved in us without the aid of reason, and later communicates its disposition to reason by means of the imagination; or, reason first enters into action, and then reason communicates its impulse to that part of our being which is disposed to anger. In either case, anger arises in the vegetative and generative power, which, in organizing the body, has rendered it capable to seek out what is agreeable, and to avoid what is painful; diffusing the bitter bile through the organism, imparting to it a trace of the soul, thus communicating to it the faculty of growing irritated in the presence of harmful objects, and, after having been harmed, of harming other things, and to render them similar to itself. Anger is a trace of the soul, of the same nature as the soul’s faculty of desire, because those least seek objects agreeable to the body, and who even scorn the body, are least likely to abandon themselves to the blind transports of anger. Although plant-life possesses the vegetative power, it does not possess the faculty of anger because it has neither blood nor bile. These are the two things which, in the absence of sensation, leads one to boil with indignation. When however sensation joins these two elements, there arises an impulse to fight against the harmful object. If the irrational part of the soul were to be divided into the faculty of desire, and that of anger, and if the former were to be considered the vegetative power, and the other, on the contrary, as a trace of the vegetative power, residing in either the heart or blood, or in both; this division would not consist of opposed members, because the second would proceed from the first. But there is an alternative: both members of this division, the faculties of desire and anger, might be considered two powers derived from one and the same principle (the vegetative power). Indeed, when the appetites are divided, it is their nature, and not the being from which they depend, that is considered. This essence itself, however, is not the appetite, but completes it, harmonizing with it the actions proceeding from the appetite. It is also reasonable to assign the heart as seat of the trace of the soul which constitutes anger; for the heart is not the seat of the soul, but the source of the (arterially) circulating blood. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 28]

Since the influence exteriorly exercised by the heavens on us, on animals, and on human affairs generally has been excluded from physical causes (of astrology) and from voluntary decisions of divinities, it remains for us to find some cause to which it may reasonably be attributed. First, we will have to admit that this universe is a single living being, which contains within its own organism all living beings; and that it contains a single Soul, which is communicated to all its parts; namely, to all beings that form part of the universe. Now every being that is contained in the sense-world is a part of the universe. First, and unrestrictedly, it is a part of the universe by its body. Then, it is again part of the universe by its soul, but only so far as it participates (in the natural and vegetative power) of the universal Soul. The beings which only participate in (the natural and vegetative power) of the universal Soul are completely parts of the universe. Those who participate in another soul (the superior power of the universal Soul), are not completely parts of the universe (because they are independent by their rational souls); but they experience passions by the actions of the other beings, as far as they have something of the universe (so far as by their irrational souls, they participate in the natural and vegetative power of the universe), and in the proportion in which they possess some part of the universe. This universe is therefore a single living being that is self-sympathetic. The parts that seem distant are not any the less near, as, in each animal, the horns, nails, fingers, the organs at distance from each other, feel, in spite of the interval which separates them, the affection experienced by any other one of them. In fact, as soon as the parts are similar, even when they are separated by an interval instead of being placed by each others’ side, they sympathize by virtue of this their similarity, and the action of the distant one is felt by all the others. Now in this universe which is a single living being, and which forms a single organism, there is nothing distant enough in place not to be near because of the nature of this being whose unity makes it self-sympathetic. When the suffering being resembles the acting one, it experiences a passion conformable to its nature; when on the contrary it differs, it experiences a passion that is foreign to its nature, and painful. It is therefore not surprising that though the universe be single, one of its parts can exert on another a harmful influence, since it often happens to ourselves that one of our parts wounds another by its action; as for instance, that the bile, setting anger in motion, should crush and tear some other part of the body. Now something analogous to this bile which excites anger, and to other parts that form the human body, is discovered in the universe. Even in plants there are certain things which form obstacles to others, and even destroy them. Now the world forms not only a single animal, but also a plurality of animals; each of them, as far as it has a share in the singleness of the universe, is preserved thereby; but, in so far as this animal enters into the multiplicity of some other animal, he can wound it, or be wounded by it, make use of it, or feed on it, because it differs from itself as much as it resembles itself; because the natural desire of self-preservation leads us to appropriate what is suitable to itself, and in its own interest to destroy what is contrary thereto. Finally, each being, fulfilling its part in the universe, is useful to those that can profit by its action, and wounds or destroys those who cannot support it; thus plants are scorched by the passage of fire, and the little animals are dragged along or trampled by the greater. This generation and this corruption, this betterment and deterioration of things render easy and natural the life of the universe considered as a single living being. Indeed, it would not otherwise have been possible that the particular beings it contains should have lived as if they were alone, should possess their ends in themselves, and should live only for themselves; since they are only parts, they must, as such, concur in the ends of the whole of which they are parts; and, so far as they are different, they could not each preserve its own life, because they are contained in the unity of the universal life; neither could they entirely remain in the same state, because the universe must possess permanence, and because of the universe, permanence consists in ever remaining in motion. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 32]

How will the worthy man be able to escape the action of the enchantments and the philtres employed by magic? His soul escapes them entirely; his reason is impassible, and cannot be led to change opinions. The worthy man, therefore, can suffer only through the irrational part that he receives from the universe; this part alone “suffers.” Nor will he be subdued by the loves inspired by philtres, because love presupposes a soul’s inclination to experience what another soul experiences. As enchantments act on the irrational part of the soul, their power will be destroyed by fighting them; and by resisting them by other enchantments. As a result of enchantments, therefore, it is possible to experience sicknesses, and even death; and, in general, all the affections relative to the body. Every part of the universe is subject to experiencing an affection caused in it by another part or by the universe itself (with the exception of the wise man, who remains impassible); without there being anything contrary to nature it can also feel this affection only at the end of some time. [Ennead IV,4 (28) 43]

(There is an opinion that) the medium first receives and then transmits the affection, and impression. For instance, if some one stand in front of us, and directs his gaze at some color, he also sees it; but the color would not reach us unless the medium had experienced the affection. To this it may be answered that there is no necessity for the affections to be experienced by the medium, inasmuch as the affection is already experienced by the eye, whose function consists precisely in being affected by color; or at least, if the medium be affected, its affection differs from that of the eye. For instance, a reed interposed between the hand and the fish called the “torpedo,” or “electric ray,” does not feel the same numbness which it nevertheless communicates to the holding hand; still, the hand would not be affected with numbness unless the reed formed a communication between the fish and the hand. However, the matter is not beyond discussion, for (even without any intermediary, if for instance) the fisher were in (direct contact) with the “ray” inside of the net, he would also feel the electric numbness. This communication therefore seems based on sympathetic affections. That, by virtue of its nature, one being can be sympathetically affected by some other being, does not necessarily imply that the medium, if different, shares that affection; at least (it is certain that) it is not affected in the same manner. In such a case, the organ destined to experience the affection experiences it far better when there is no medium, even when the medium itself is susceptible to some affection. [Ennead IV,5 (29) 1]

Those who (with Plotinos   himself) teach that vision operates by sympathy, assert that vision is poorer through a medium, because this medium hinders, fetters, and weakens sympathy. In this case, indeed, the medium necessarily weakens sympathy even though it shared the same nature (as the eye and the object), and was affected in the same manner. (It acts like the integument) of some body that is deeply burned by fire applied to it; the interior parts are less affected because they are protected by the exterior parts. There is no doubt that the parts of one and the same animal will be less affected in experiencing sympathy because of the existence of a medium. The affection will be weakened according to the nature of the medium, because such a medium would hinder excess of affection, unless indeed that which is transmitted (by one part to another) is not such as to fail to affect the medium. But if the universe sympathize with itself because it constitutes a single organism, and if we are affected because we are contained within this single organism, and form part of it, why should any continuity be necessary for us to feel a distant object? The single organism, indeed, could not be continuous without the continuity of some medium; this continuous medium is affected only by accident; but otherwise we would have to admit that all can be affected by all. But if these two objects are affected in one manner, and other two objects are affected in another manner, there might not always be need of a medium. Whoever asserts the need of a medium for vision will have to advance a very good argument, inasmuch as that which traverses the air does not always affect the air, and often limits itself to dividing the air. Thus when a stone falls the only thing that happens to the air is that it fails to support the stone. As falling is part of the stone’s nature, it would be unreasonable to assert that its falling was due to the reaction exerted by the ambient air. Otherwise we would have to assert that it is this same reaction of the ambient air that makes fire ascend, which is absurd; because the fire, by the rapidity of its motion, forestalls this reaction. That, by the very rapidity of the motion, reaction is accelerated, takes place only by accident, and has no relation to the upward impulsion; for trees grow from above without receiving any (upward) impulsion. Even we, when walking, divide the air without being pushed by the reaction of the air; the air behind us limits itself to filling the void we have created. If then the air allow itself to be divided by bodies without being affected by them, what would hinder the air from permitting free transit for the images to reach the eye, without being thereby divided? [Ennead IV,5 (29) 2]

If these images do not reach us by some sort of effluence, why should the air be affected, and why should we ourselves be affected only as a result of the affection experienced by the air? If we felt only because the air had been affected before us, we would attribute the sensation of sight not to the visible object, but to the air located near us, as occurs with heat. In the latter case it is not the distant fire, but the air located near us which, being heated, then warms us; for the sensation of heat presupposes contact, which does not occur with vision. We see, not because the sense-object is imposed on the eye (but because the medium is illuminated); now it is necessary for the medium to be illuminated because the air by itself is dark. If the air were not dark, it would have no need of light; for (to effectuate vision) the obscurity, which forms an obstacle to vision, must be overcome by light. That is perhaps the reason why an object placed very near the eye is not seen; for it brings with it the darkness of the air, together with its own. [Ennead IV,5 (29) 2]

Here is another important (related) question. If there existed another world and organism which had no relation with our world, and if on the surface of the sky was an eye that was looking, would it perceive this other world at a moderate distance, or would it have no relation thereto? This question will be considered later. Now however we shall give a further proof that the medium has nothing to do with vision. If the air were affected, it would experience a material affection, similar to the figure impressed on wax. In this case, a certain part of the object would be impressed on a certain part of the air; and consequently, the part of the air nearest to the eye would receive a part of the visible object, and this part would be of a size equal to that of the pupil. Now a visible object is seen in its entirety, and all those who are in the air equally see it, whether they behold it from the front, or side, or whether they be one behind the other, without however forming mutual obstacles. This proves that every part of the air contains the entire visible object. This cannot be explained by any corporeal affection, but by higher laws, suitable to the soul, and to the (universal) organism which everywhere responds to itself. [Ennead IV,5 (29) 3]

What is the mutual relation between the light that emanates from the eye, and the light which is exterior to the eye, and which extends between the eye and the object? Light has no need of air as a medium, unless indeed somebody should undertake to say that there is no light without air, in which case air would be a medium only accidentally. Light itself, however, is an unaffected medium, for there is no necessity here for an affection, but only for a medium; consequently, if light be not a body, there is no need of a body (to act as medium). It might be objected that sight has no need either of a foreign light nor of a medium to see near by, but has need of them for vision at a distance. Later we shall consider whether or not light without air be possible. Now let us consider the first point. [Ennead IV,5 (29) 4]

If the light which is contiguous to the eye should become animated, and if the soul should, so to speak, interpenetrate it, uniting with it as she unites with the interior light, there would be no need of intermediary light for the perception of the visible object. Sight resembles touch; it operates in light by somehow transferring itself to the object, without the medium experiencing any affection. Now consider: does the sight transfer itself to the visible object because of the existence of an interval between them, or because of the existence of some body in the interval? In the latter case, vision would occur by removing this obstacle. If, on the other hand, it be because of the existence of a mere interval, then the nature of the visible object must seem inert and entirely inactive. This is however impossible; not only does touch announce and experience the neighboring object but, by the affection it experiences, it proclaims the differences of the tangible object, and even perceives it from a distance, if nothing oppose it; for we perceive the fire at the same time as the air that surrounds us, and before this air has been heated by the fire. A solid body heats better than does the air; and consequently it receives heat through the air, rather than by the intermediation of air. If then the visible object have the power to act, and if the organ have the power of experiencing (or suffering), why should sight need any intermediary (besides light) to exert its power? This would really be needing an obstacle! When the light of the sun reaches us, it does not light up the air before lighting us, but lights both simultaneously; even before it has reached the eye, while it is still elsewhere, we have already seen, just as if the air was not affected at all; that is the case, probably, because the medium has undergone no modification, and because light has not yet presented itself to our view. Under this hypothesis (which asserts that the air receives and transmits an affection) it would be difficult to explain why during the night we see the stars and, in general, any kind of fire. [Ennead IV,5 (29) 4]

The hypothesis that the light contiguous to the visible object is affected, and transmits this affection by relays from point to point into the eye, is essentially identical with that theory which supposes that the medium must be preliminarily modified by the visible object; a hypothesis that has already been discussed above. [Ennead IV,5 (29) 4]

As to hearing, there are several theories. One is that the air is first set in motion, and that this motion, being transmitted unaltered from point to point from the (location of the) sound-producing air as far as the ear, causes the sound to arrive to the sense. Again, another theory is that the medium is here affected accidentally, and only because it happens to be interposed; so that, if the medium were annihilated, we would feel the sound immediately on its production by the shock of two bodies. We might think that the air must first be set in motion, but the medium interposed (between the first moved air and the ear) plays a different part. The air here seems to be the sovereign condition of the production of sound; for, at the origin of the sound, the shock of two bodies would produce no sound if the air, compressed and struck by their rapid concussion did not transmit the motion from point to point as far as the ear. But if the production of the sound depend on the impulsion impressed on the air, the (qualitative) difference between voices and (instrumental) sounds will challenge explanation; for there is great difference (of “timbre”) between metal struck by metal of the same kind, or another. These differences are not merely quantitative, and cannot be attributed to the air which (everywhere) is the same, nor to the force of the stimulus (which may be equal in intensity). Another theory (of Aristotle  ’s) is that the production of voices and sound is due to the air, because the impulsion impressed on the air is sonorous. (To this it should be answered that) air, in so far as it is air, is not the cause of sound; for it resounds only in so far as it resembles some solid body, remaining in its situation, before it dilates, as if it were something solid. The (cause of the sound) then is the shock between objects, which forms the sound that reaches the sense of hearing. This is demonstrated by the sounds produced in the interior of animals, without the presence of any air, whenever one part is struck by some other. Such is the sound produced by certain articulations when they are bent (as, the knee); or certain bones, when they are struck against each other, or when they break; in this case air has nothing to do with the production of the sound. These considerations compel a theory of hearing similar to our conclusions about sight. The perception of audition, like that of vision, therefore consists in a repercussion (an affection sympathetically felt) in the universal organism. [Ennead IV,5 (29) 5]

Could light exist without air, if the sun illuminated the surface of bodies, and if there were a void in the interval which is accidentally illuminated by virtue of its location (between the sun and the bodies)? It is certain that if the other things were affected because the air itself was affected, and if light were nothing more than an affection of the air, that is, its substance; then indeed this affection could not exist without the experiencing subject (the air). But (in our view) light is not essentially characteristic of air as such; for all fiery and brilliant bodies, among which are precious stones, possess a luminous color. Could that which passes from a brilliant body into some other body exist without that other body? If light be but a simple quality of an object, and as every quality implies a subject on which it depends, light will have to be sought in the body in which it resides. If, on the contrary, light be only an actualization produced by some other thing, and if there be no body contiguous to the luminous object, and it be entirely surrounded by a void, why could light not exist, and radiate upwards (as well as downwards, and in every direction)? Since light radiates, why should it not radiate without hindrance? If its nature be to fall, it will spontaneously descend; for neither the air nor any illuminated body will make it issue from the illuminating body, nor can force it to advance, since it is neither an accident that implies a subject, nor an affection that implies an affected object. Otherwise, the light would remain (in the illuminated body) when the object from which it emanates should happen to withdraw; but since the light withdraws with it, it radiates. In what direction does light radiate? (Its radiation) demands no more than the existence of sufficient space; otherwise the body of the sun would lose its actualization; that is, the light it radiates. In this case light would not be the quality of a subject, but the actualization that emanates from a subject, but which does not pass into any other subject (as a kind of undulation); but if another subject be present, it will suffer an affection. As life, which constitutes an actualization of the soul, affects the body if it be present, and does not any the less constitute an actualization if the body be absent, likewise light constitutes an actualization subject to the same conditions. It is not the obscurity of the air that begets light, nor obscurity mingled with the earth which produces an impure light; otherwise one might produce something sweet by mingling some thing with what is bitter. The statement that light is a modification of the air, is incomplete without the addition that the air must itself be modified by this modification, and that the obscurity of the air is no longer obscure after having undergone that change. The air itself, however, remains what it was, just as if it had not been affected. The affection belongs only to that which has been affected. Color therefore does not belong to the air, but subsists in itself; the air’s only function is its presence. But enough of this. [Ennead IV,5 (29) 6]

If there were a body outside of our world, and if an eye observed it from here without any obstacle, it is doubtful that the eye could see that body, because the eye would have no affection common to it; for community of affection is caused by the coherence of the single organism (that is, the unity of the world). Since this community of affection (or, sympathy), supposes that sense-objects and that the senses belong to the single organism, a body located outside of the world would not be felt, unless it were part of the world. In this case, it would be felt. If it were not a part of the world, but yet by its color and other qualities it was conformed to the organ that was to cognize it, would it be felt? No, it would not be felt, that is, if such a hypothesis (of a body located outside of the world) were at all admissible. If however, anyone should refuse to admit such a hypothesis, he would pretend that it is absurd that the eye should not see the color located in front of it, and that the other senses do not perceive the qualities before them. That is the reason of its absurdity. For we are active or passive only because we are integral parts of the single organism, and are located within it. Is anything still left to be considered? If what we have said suffices, our demonstration is finished; otherwise we shall have to give still further proofs to support our proposition. [Ennead IV,5 (29) 8]

One does not become a good man merely by scorning the divinities, the world, and the beauties it contains. Scorn of the divinities is the chief characteristic of the evil. Perversity is never complete until scorn of the divinities is reached; and if a man were not otherwise perverse, this vice would be sufficient to make him such. The respect which the (Gnostic) pretend to have for the intelligible divinities (the aeons) is an illogical accident. For when one loves a being, he loves all that attaches thereto; he extends to the children the affection for the parent. Now every soul is a daughter of the heavenly Father. The souls that preside over the stars are intellectual, good, and closer to the divinity than ours. How could this sense-world, with the divinities it contains, be separated from the intelligible world? We have already shown above the impossibility of such a separation. Here we insist that when one scorns beings so near to those that hold the front rank, it can only be that one knows them by name only. [Ennead II,9 (33) 16]

To begin with, it is unreasonable to insist that the notion of the subject one comes to us from the subject itself (which is one), from the visible man, for instance, or from some other animal, or even some stone. Evidently the visible man and the One are things entirely different, which could not be identified; otherwise, our judgment would not be able (as it is) to predicate unity of the non-man. Besides, as the judgment does not operate on emptiness for the right side, and other such things, seeing a difference of position when it tells us that an object is here, or there; likewise, it also sees something when it says that an object is one; for it does not experience there an affection that is vain, and it does not affirm unity without some foundation. It cannot be believed that the judgment says that an object is one because it sees that it is alone, and that there is no other; for, while saying that there is no other, the judgment implicitly asserts that the other is one. Further, the notions of “other” and “different” are notions posterior to that of unity; if the judgment did not rise to unity, it would not assert either the “other” nor the “different”; when it affirms that an object is alone, it says, “there is one only object”; and therefore predicates unity before “only.” Besides, the judgment which affirms is itself a substantial (being) before affirming unity of some other (being); and the (being) of which it speaks is one likewise before the judgment either asserts or conceives anything about it. Thus (being) must be one or many; if it be many, the one is necessarily anterior, since, when the judgment asserts that plurality is present, it evidently asserts that there is more than one; likewise, when it says that an army is a multitude, it conceives of the soldiers as arranged in one single corps. By this last example, it is plain that the judgment (in saying one body), does not let the multitude remain multitude, and that it thus reveals the existence of unity; for, whether by giving to the multitude a unity which it does not possess, or by rapidly revealing unity in the arrangement (which makes the body of the multitude), the judgment reduces multitude to unity. It does not err here about unity, any more than when it says of a building formed by a multitude of stones that it is a unity; for, besides, a building is more unified than an army. If, further, unity inhere in a still higher degree in that which is continuous, and in a degree still higher in what is not divisible, evidently that occurs only because the unity has a real nature, and possesses existence; for there is no greater or less in that which does not exist. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 13]

As to those who consider unity as relative, they might be told that unity could not lose its proper nature merely as a result of the affection experienced by some other being without itself being affected. It cannot cease being one without experiencing the privation of unity by division into two or three. If, on being divided, a mass become double without being destroyed in respect to its being a mass, evidently, besides the subject, there existed unity; and the mass lost it because the unity was destroyed by the division. So this same thing which now is present, and now disappears, should be classified among essences wherever it be found; and we must recognize that, though it may be an accident of other objects, it nevertheless exists by itself, whether it manifest in sense-objects, or whether it be present in intelligent entities; it is only an accident in posterior (beings, namely, the sense-objects); but it exists in itself in the intelligible entities, especially in the first Essence, which is One primarily, and only secondarily essence. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 14]

What then is the principal cause (by virtue of which objects participate in numbers)? A being is one by the presence of one; double, because of the presence of the pair; just as it is white because of the presence of whiteness; beautiful, because of the presence of beauty; and just by that of justice. If that be not admitted, we shall be reduced to asserting that whiteness, beauty and justice are nothing real, and that their only causes are simple relations; that justice consists in some particular relation with some particular being; that beauty has no foundation other than the affection that we feel; that the object which seems beautiful possesses nothing capable of exciting this affection either by nature, or by acquirement. When you see an object that is one, and that you call single, it is simultaneously great, beautiful, and susceptible of receiving a number of other qualifications. Now why should unity not inhere in the object as well as greatness and magnitude, sweetness and bitterness, and other qualities? We have no right to admit that quality, whatever it be, forms part of the number of beings, whilst quantity is excluded; nor to limit quantity to continuous quantity, while discrete quantity is excluded from the conception of quantity; and that so much the less as continuous quantity is measured by discrete quantity. Thus, just as an object is great because of the presence of magnitude, as it is one by the presence of unity; so is it double because of the presence of being a pair, and so forth. [Ennead VI,6 (34) 14]

Shall the decision of what is good be entrusted to the desire of the soul? If we are to trust this affection of the soul, we shall be declaring that whatever is desirable for her is good; but we would not be seeking why the Good is desired. Thus, while we use demonstrations to explain the nature of every entity, we would be trusting to desire for the determination of the Good. Such a proceeding would land us in several absurdities. First, the Good would only be an attribute. Then, since our soul has several desires, and each of the latter has different objects, we would not be able to decide which of these objects would be the best, according to desire. It would be impossible to decide what would be better before we know what is good. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 19]

Now when a being has attained the good it was pursuing it is sure of possessing it as soon as it feels that it is better, feels no regret, is satisfied, takes pleasure therein, and seeks nothing beyond. What shows the insufficiency of pleasure is that one does not always like the same thing; doubtless pleasure ever charms, but the object which produces it is not the same; it is always the newest object that pleases most. Now the good to which we aspire must not be a simple affection, existing only in him who feels it; for he who mistakes this affection for the Good remains unsatisfied, he has nothing but an affection that somebody else might equally feel in presence of the Good. Consequently no one will succeed in making himself enjoy a pleasure he has not achieved; such as, for instance, rejoicing in the presence of an absent son; or, for a glutton to relish imaginary food; or, for a lover, to tremble at the touch of his absent mistress, or (to thrill in a theoretic) orgasm. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 26]

Now, rising in thought to the Good, we must examine whether pleasure must be mingled with the Good to keep life from remaining imperfect, even if we should, besides, contemplate the divine things, and even Him who is their principle. When (Plato) seems to believe that the good is composed of intelligence, as subject, and also of affection which wisdom makes the soul experience, he is not asserting that this blend (of intelligence and pleasure) is either the goal (of the soul), or the Good in itself. He only means that intelligence is the good, and that we enjoy its possession. This is a first interpretation of (Plato’s) opinion about the Good. Another interpretation is that to mingle intelligence with pleasure is to make a single subject of both of them, so that in acquiring or in contemplating such an intelligence we possess the good; for (according to the partisans of this opinion), one of these things could not exist in isolation, nor, supposing that it could so exist, it would not be desirable as a good. But (shall we ask them), how can intelligence be mingled with pleasure so as to form a perfect fusion therewith? Nobody could be made to believe that the pleasure of the body could be mingled with Intelligence; such pleasure is incompatible even with the joys of the soul. [Ennead VI,7 (38) 30]

What does it matter that certain qualities are derived from an affection, and that others are not derived therefrom? The origin of qualities contributes nothing to their distinction or difference. If certain qualities be derived from an affection, and if others do not derive therefrom, how could they be classified as one kind? If it be said that some imply “experiencing” while others imply “action,” they can both be called qualities merely by similarity of appellation (homonymy). [Ennead VI,1 (42) 11]

Those who deny the privilege of living well to plants, because these lack sensation, are not on that account obliged to grant it to all animals. For, if sensation consist in the knowledge of the experienced affection, this affection must already be good before the occurrence of the knowledge. For instance, the being must be in a state conformable to nature even though ignorant thereof. He must fulfil his proper function even when he does not know it. He must possess pleasure before perceiving it. Thus if, by the possession of this pleasure, the being already possesses the Good, he thereby possesses even well-being. What need then is there to join thereto sensation, unless indeed well-being be defined as sensation and knowledge (of an affection or state of the soul) rather than in the latter affection and state of the soul itself? [Ennead I,4 (46) 2]

The Good would thus be reduced to no more than sensation, or the actualization of the sense-life. In this case, to possess it, it is sufficient to perceive irrespective of the content of that perception. Other persons might assert that goodness results from the union of these two things: of the state of the soul, and of the knowledge the soul has of it. If then the Good consist in the perception of some particular state, we shall have to ask how elements which, by themselves, are indifferent could, by their union, constitute the good. Other theories are that the Good consists in some particular state, or in possession of some particular disposition, and conscious enjoyment of the presence of the Good. These would, however, still have to answer the question whether, for good living, it be sufficient that the being knows he possesses this state; or must he know not only that this state is pleasant, but also that it is the Good? If then it be necessary to realize that it is the Good, the matter is one no longer of the function of sensation, but of a faculty higher than the senses. To live well, in this case, it will no longer be sufficient to possess pleasure, but we shall have to know that pleasure is the Good. The cause of happiness will not be the presence of pleasure itself, but the power of judging that pleasure is a good. Now judgment is superior to affection; it is reason or intelligence, while pleasure is only an affection, and what is irrational could not be superior to reason. How would reason forget itself to recognize as superior what is posited in a genus opposed to it? These men who deny happiness to plants, who explain it as some form of sensation, seems to us, in spite of themselves, to be really seeking happiness of a higher nature, and to consider it as this better thing which is found only in a completer life. [Ennead I,4 (46) 2]

Consequently, our evils are the consequences (of our actions); they are its necessary effects, not that we are carried away by Providence, but in the sense that we obey an impulsion whose principle is in ourselves. We ourselves then indeed try to reattach our acts to the plan of Providence, but we cannot conform their consequences to its will; our acts, therefore, conform either to our will, or to other things in the universe, which, acting on us, do not produce in us an affection conformed to the intentions of Providence. In fact, the same cause does not act identically on different beings, for the effects experienced by each differ according to their nature. Thus Helena causes emotions in Paris which differ from those of Idumeneus. Likewise, the handsome man produces on a handsome man an effect different from that of the intemperate man on the intemperate; the handsome and temperate man acts differently on the handsome and temperate man than on the intemperate; and than the intemperate on himself. The deed done by the intemperate man is done neither by Providence, nor according to Providence. Neither is the deed done by the temperate man done by Providence; since he does it himself; but it conforms to Providence, because it conforms to the Reason (of the universe). Thus, when a man has done something good for his health, it is he himself who has done it, but he thereby conforms to the reason of the physician; for it is the physician who teaches him, by means of his art, what things are healthy or unhealthy; but when a man has done something injurious to his health, it is he himself who has done it, and he does it against the providence of the physician. [Ennead III,3 (48) 5]

We must also reflect that the impressions which we derive from the stars do not reach us in the same condition in which they leave them. Just as fire in us is much degenerated from that in the heaven, so sympathy, degenerating within the receiving person, begets an unworthy affection. Courage produces in those who do not possess it in the proper proportions, either violence or cowardliness. Love of the beautiful and good thus becomes the search for what only appears so. Discernment, in undergoing this degradation, becomes the trickiness which seeks to equal it, without succeeding in doing so. Thus all these qualities become evil in us, without being such in the stars. All the impressions we receive thereof are in us not such as they are in the stars; besides they are still further degraded by mingling with the bodies, with matter, and with each other. [Ennead II,3 (52) 11]

We shall later on consider the organized body; here we must find how the conjunction of soul and body could experience suffering. The theory that the affection of the body modifies it so as to produce a sensation which itself would end in the soul, leaves unexplained the origin of sensation. To the theory that suffering has its principle in this opinion or judgment, that a misfortune is happening to ourselves or some one related to us, whence results disagreeable emotion first in the body, and then in the whole living organism, there is this objection, that it is yet uncertain to which opinion belongs; to the soul, or to the conjunction of soul and body. Besides, the opinion of the presence of an evil does not always entail suffering; it is possible that, in spite of such an opinion, one feels no affliction; as, for instance, one may not become irritated at believing oneself scorned; or in experiencing no desire even in the expectation of some good. [Ennead I,1 (53) 5]

How then arise these affections common to the soul and the body? Shall we then say that desire derives from the desire-appetite, anger from the anger-appetite, or in short, every emotion or affliction from the corresponding appetite? But even so, they will not be common, and they will belong exclusively to the soul, or to the body. There are some whose origin needs the excitation of blood and bile, and that the body be in some certain state which excites desire, as in physical love. On the contrary, however, the desire of goodness is no common affection; it is an affection peculiar to the soul, as are several others. Reason, therefore, does not allow us to consider all affections as common to soul and body. [Ennead I,1 (53) 5]